The Wild Huntress, by Captain Mayne Reid. 

________________________________________________________________________This book is divided up into 105 chapters of roughly the same length andeach moving forward the events with some significant incident. It mustbe remembered that the author was one of the very first writers todescribe the Wild West, and this book, first published in 1855, hisninth book to appear in this genre, is very masterly. 

After a little scene-setting the story opens with Frank Wingrove, whohad bought an area of land in Tennessee that was already in the hands ofa squatter, Hickman Holt, coming to explain the situation to thesquatter who, not unnaturally is rather annoyed. They are just about tohave a duel to the death when a third party arrives on the scene. Thisis the start of the main events of the book, for Frank has fallen inreciprocated love with one of the two beautiful daughters of thesquatter. I will not spoil the story for you, but it takes you in thedirection of California, and into the hands of the Indians. It alsotakes you into the encampment of a Mormon train, that is making its waytowards Salt Lake City. It is rather an exciting, and indeedinteresting tale, well worth reading. Listening to it may be harder toaccomplish, because so many of the people in the story talk invarious forms of uneducated English, but it's worth a try. ________________________________________________________________________THE WILD HUNTRESS, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

THE SQUATTER'S CLEARING. 

The white-headed eagle, soaring above the spray of a Tennessean forest, looks down upon the clearing of the squatter. To the eye of the bird itis alone visible; and though but a spot in the midst of that immensegreen sea, it is conspicuous by the colour of the trees that stand overit. They stand, but grow not: the girdling ring around their stems hasdeprived them of their sap; the ivory bill of the _log-cock_ hasstripped them of their bark; their leaves and twigs have long sincedisappeared; and only the trunks and greater branches remain, likeblanched skeletons, with arms upstretched to heaven, as if mutelyappealing for vengeance against their destroyer. 

The squatter's clearing, still thus encumbered, is a mere vistal openingin the woods, from which only the underwood has been removed. The moreslender saplings have been cut down or rooted up; the tangle ofparasitical plants have been torn from the trees; the cane-brake hasbeen fired; and the brush, collected in heaps, has melted away upon theblazing pile. Only a few stumps of inferior thickness give evidence, that some little labour has been performed by the axe. 

Even thus the clearing is a mere patch--scarcely two acres in extent--and the rude rail-fence, that zig-zags around it, attests that the owneris satisfied with the dimensions of his agricultural domain. There areno recent marks of the axe--not even the "girdling" of a tree--nothingto show that another rood is required. The squatter is essentially ahunter; and hates the sight of an extensive clearing--as he would thelabour of making one. The virgin forest is his domain, and he is notthe man to rob it of its primeval charms. The sound of the lumberer'saxe, cheerful to the lonely traveller, has no music for his ear: it isto him a note of evil augury--a knell of dread import. It is not oftenthat he hears it: he dwells beyond the circle of its echoes. Hisnearest neighbour--a squatter like himself--lives at least a mile off;and the most proximate "settlement" is six times that distance from thespot he has chosen for his cabin. The smoke of his chimney mingles withthat of no other: its tall column ascends to heaven solitary as thesquatter himself. 

The clearing is of an irregular semi-circular shape--a deep narrowstream forming the chord, and afterwards cleaving its way through theotherwise unbroken forest. In the convexity of the arc, at that pointmost remote from the water, stands the cabin--a log "shanty" with"clapboard" roof--on one side flanked by a rude horse-shed, on the otherby a corn-crib of split rails. 

Such a picture is almost peculiar to the backwoods of America. Some maydeem it commonplace. For my part, I cannot regard it in this light. Ihave never looked upon this primitive homestead of the pioneer withoutreceiving from it an impression of romantic pleasure. Something seemsto impart to it an air of vague and mystic grandeur. Perhaps Iassociate the picture with the frame in which it is set--the magnificentforest that surrounds it, every aisle of which is redolent of romance. Such a scene is suggestive of hunter lore and legend--of perils by floodand field, always pleasant to be remembered--of desperate deeds ofheroism performed by gallant backwoodsmen or their equally gallantantagonists--those red warriors who once strode proudly along theforest-path, but whose upright forms are no longer seen under theshadows of its trees. 

Perhaps it is from reflections of this kind, that I view with interestthe clearing and cabin of the squatter; or it may be from having at oneperiod of my life encountered incidents, in connection with such ascene, of a character never to be forgotten. 

In spring this picture is transformed--suddenly as by the shifting of apanoramic view; or, as upon the stage, the Harlequin and brilliantColumbine emerge from the sober disguisement of their dominoes. If inwinter the scene might be termed rude or commonplace, it now no longermerits such titles. Nature has girded on her robe of green, and by thetouch of her magical wand, has toned down its rough features to analmost delicate softness. The young maize--planted in a soil that haslain fallow, perhaps for a thousand years--is rapidly culming upward;and the rich sheen of the long lance-like leaves, as they bendgracefully over, hides from view the sombre hues of the earth. Theforest trees appear with their foliage freshly expanded--some; as thetulip-tree, the dogwood, and the white magnolia, already in the act ofinflorescence. The woods no longer maintain that monotonous silencewhich they have preserved throughout the winter. The red cardinalchatters among the cane; the blue jay screams in the pawpaw thicket, perhaps disturbed by the gliding of some slippery snake; while themock-bird, regardless of such danger, from the top of the talltulip-tree, pours forth his matchless melody in sweet ever-varyingstrain. The tiny bark of the squirrel, and the soft cooing of theCarolinian dove, may be heard among other sounds--the latter suggestiveof earth's noblest passion, as its utterer is the emblem of devotionitself. At night other sounds are heard, less agreeable to the ear: theshrill "chirrup" of cicadas and tree-toads ringing so incessantly, thatonly when they cease do you become conscious of their existence; thedull "gluck-gluck" of the great bullfrog; the sharp cries of the heronand _qua-bird_; and the sepulchral screech of the great horned owl. Still less agreeable might appear the fierce miaulling of the red_puma_, and the howl of the gaunt wolf; but not so to the ears of theawakened hunter, who, through the chinks of his lone cabin, listens tosuch sounds with a savage joy. 

These fierce notes are now rare and exceptional--even in the backwoods--though, unlike the war-whoop of the Indian, they have not altogetherdeparted. Occasionally, their echo may be heard through the aisles ofthe forest, but only in its deepest recesses--only in those remote river"bottoms" where the squatter delights to dwell. Even there, they areheard only at night; and in the morning give place to softer and sweetersounds. 

Fancy, then, a fine morning in May--a sunshine that turns all it touchesinto gold--an atmosphere laden with the perfume of wild-flowers--the humof honey-seeking bees--the song of birds commingling in sweetestmelody--and you have the _mise en scene_ of a squatter's cabin on thebanks of the Obion, half an hour after the rising of the sun. Can sucha picture be called _commonplace_? Rather say it is enchanting. 

Forms suddenly appear upon the scene--forms living and lovely--in thepresence of which the bright sunshine, the forest glories of green andgold, the bird-music among the trees, the flowery aroma in the air, areno longer needed to give grace to the clearing of the squatter. Itsignifies not that it is a morning in the middle of May: were it thedreariest day of December, the effect would be the same; and thisresembles enchantment itself. The rude hut seems at once transformedinto a palace--the dead trunks become Corinthian columns carved out ofwhite marble--their stiff branches appear to bend gracefully over, likethe leaves of the recurrent _acanthus_--and the enclosure of carelesslytended maize-plants assumes the aspect of some fair garden of theHesperides!

The explanation is easy. Magic is not needed to account for thetransformation: since there exists a far more powerful form ofenchantment in the divine presence of female beauty. And it is presentthere, in its distinct varieties of _dark_ and _fair_--typified in thepersons of two young girls who issue forth from the cabin of thesquatter: more than typified--completely symbolised--since in these twoyoung girls there appears scarce one point of resemblance, save thepossession of a perfect loveliness. The eye of the soaring eagle maynot discover their charms--as did the bird of Jove those of the lovelyLeda--but no _human_ eye could gaze for a moment on either one, withoutreceiving the impression that it was looking upon the fairest object onearth. This impression could only be modified, by turning to gaze uponthe other. 

Who are these young creatures? Sisters?

There is nothing in their appearance to suggest the gentle relationship. One is tall, dark, and dark-haired, of that golden-brown complexionusually styled _brunette_. Her nose is slightly aquiline, and her eyeof the oblique Indian form. Other features present an Indian character, of that type observable in the nation of the Chicasaws--the former lordsof this great forest. She may have Chicasaw blood in her veins; but hercomplexion is too light for that of a pure Indian. 

Her dress strengthens the impression that she is a _sang-mele_. Theskirt is of the common homespun of the backwoods, striped with ayellowish dye; but the green bodice is of finer stuff, with morepretensions to ornament; and her neck and wrists are embraced by avariety of those glancing circlets so seductive in the eyes of an Indianbelle. The buskin-mocassin is purely Indian; and its lines ofbead-embroidery gracefully adapt themselves to the outlines of feet andankles of perfect form. The absence of a head-dress is another point ofIndian resemblance. The luxuriant black hair is plaited, and coiledlike a coronet around the head. There are no combs or pins of gold, butin their place a scarlet plumelet of feathers--from the wings of the redcardinal. This, set coquettishly behind the plaits, shows that somelittle attention has been given to her toilet; and simple though it be, the peculiar _coiffure_ imparts to the countenance of the maiden thatair usually styled "commanding. "

Although there is nothing masculine in this young girl's beauty, asingle glance at her features impresses you with the idea of a characterof no ordinary kind--a nature more resolute than tender--a heart endowedwith courage equalling that of a man. The idea is strengthened byobserving that in her hand she carries a light rifle; while a horn andbullet-pouch, suspended from her left shoulder, hang under the rightarm. She is not the only backwoods' maiden who may be seen thus armedand accoutred: many are even skilled in the use of the deadly weapon!

In striking contrast with all this is the appearance of her companion. The impression the eye receives in looking on the latter is that ofsomething soft and beautiful, of a glorious golden hue. It is thereflection of bright amber-coloured hair on a blonde skin, tinted withvermilion imparting a sort of luminous radiance divinely feminine. Scrutinise this countenance more closely; and you perceive that thefeatures are in perfect harmony with each other, and harmonise with thecomplexion. You behold a face, such as the Athenian fancy haselaborated into an almost living reality in the goddess Cytherea. 

This creature of golden roseate hue is yet very young--scarcely morethan a child--but in the blue sky above her burns a fiery sun; and intwelve months she will be a woman. 

Her costume is still more simple than that of her companion: a sleeveddress of the same striped homespun, loosely worn, and open at thebreast; her fine amber-coloured hair the only covering for her head--asit is the only shawl upon her shoulders, over which it falls in ampleluxuriance. A string of pearls around her neck--false pearls, poorthing!--is the only effort that vanity seems to have made in the way ofpersonal adornment. Even shoes and stockings are wanting; but the mostcostly _chaussure_ could not add to the elegance of those pretty_mignon_ feet. 

Who are they--these fair flowers of the forest?

_Let_ the mystery end. They _are_ sisters--though not the children ofone mother. They are the daughters of the hunter--the owner of thecabin and clearing--his only children. 

Happy hunter! poor you may be, and your home lowly; it can never belonely in such companionship. The proudest prince may envy you thepossession of two such treasures--beyond parallel, beyond price!

CHAPTER TWO. 

MARIAN AND LILIAN. 

Passing outward from the door, the two young girls pause in their steps:an object has attracted their attention. A large dog is seen runningout from the shed--a gaunt fierce-looking animal, that answers to thevery appropriate name of "Wolf. " He approaches the sisters, and salutesthem with an unwilling wag of his tail. It seems as though he could notlook pleased, even while seeking a favour--for this is evidently thepurpose that has brought him forth from his lair. 

He appeals more especially to the older of the girls--Marian. 

"Ho, Wolf! I see your sides are thin, old fellow: you want yourbreakfast! What can we give him, Lil?"

"Indeed, sister, I know not: there is nothing for the poor dog. "

"There is some deer-meat inside?"

"Ah! I fear father will not allow Wolf to have that. I heard him sayhe expected one to take dinner with him to-day? You know who?"

An arch smile accompanies this half-interrogatory; but, for all that, the words do not appear to produce a pleasant effect. On the contrary, a shade is observable on the brow of her to whom they are addressed. 

"Yes, I _do_ know. Well, he shall not dine with _me_. 'Tis just forthat I've brought out my rifle. To-day, I intend to make my dinner inthe woods, or go without, and that's more likely. Never fear, Wolf! youshall have your breakfast; whether I get my dinner or not. Now, for thelife of me, Lil, I don't know what we can give the poor brute. Thosebuzzards are just within range. I could bring one of _them_ down; butthe filthy creatures, ugh! even a dog won't eat them. "

"See, sister! yonder is a squirrel. Wolf will eat squirrels, I know:but, ah! it's a pity to kill the little creature. "

"Not a bit. Yon little creature is a precious little thief; it's justbeen at our corn-crib. By killing it, I do justice in a double sense: Ipunish the thief, and reward the good dog. Here goes!"

The squirrel, scared from its depredation on the corn, sweeps nimblyover the ground towards the nearest tree. Wolf having espied it, rushesafter in headlong pursuit. But it is a rare chance indeed when a dogcaptures one of these animals upon the ground; and Wolf, as usual, isunsuccessful. 

He has "treed" the squirrel; but what of that? The nimble creature, having swooped up to a high limb, seats itself there, and looks downupon its impotent pursuer with a nonchalant defiance--at intervals moreemphatically expressing the sentiment by a saucy jerk of its tail. Butthis false security proves the squirrel's ruin. Deceived by it, thesilly animal makes no effort to conceal its body behind the branch; but, sitting upright in a fork, presents a fair mark to the rifle. The girlraises the piece to her shoulder, takes aim, and fires. 

The shot tells; and the tiny victim, hurled from its high perch--aftermaking several somersaults in the air--falls right into the jaws of thathungry savage at the bottom of the tree. Wolf makes his breakfast uponthe squirrel. 

This young Diana of the backwoods appears in no way astonished at thefeat she has performed; nor yet Lilian. Doubtless, it is an everydaydeed. 

"You must learn to shoot, Lil. "

"O sister, for what purpose? You know I have neither the taste for it, nor the skill that you have. "

"The skill you will acquire by practice. It worth knowing how, I canassure you. Besides it is an accomplishment one might stand in need ofsome day. Why, do you know, sister, in the times of the Indians, everygirl understood how to handle a rifle--so father says. True, thefighting Indians are gone away from here; but what if you were to meet agreat hear in the woods?"

"Surely I should run away from him. "

"And surely I shouldn't, Lil. I have never met a bear, but I'd justlike to try one. "

"Dear sister, you frighten me. Oh, do not think of such a thing!Indeed, Marian, I am never happy when you are away in the woods. I amalways afraid of your meeting with some great wild beast, which maydevour you. Tell me, why do you go? I am sure I cannot see whatpleasure you can have in wandering through the woods alone. "

"Alone! Perhaps I am not _always alone_. "

These words are uttered in a low voice--not loud enough for Lilian tohear, though she observes the smile that accompanies them. 

"You see, sister Lil, " continues Marian in a louder tone our tastesdiffer. You are young, and like better to read the story-books yourmother left you, and look at the pictures in them. My mother left me nostory-books, nor pictures. She had none; and did not care for them, Ifancy. She was half-Indian, you know; and I suppose I am like her: forI too, prefer realities to pictures. I love to roam about the woods;and as for the danger--pooh, pooh--I have no fear of that. I fearneither bear nor panther, nor any other quadruped. Ha! I have morefear of a two-legged creature I know of; and I should be in greaterdanger of meeting with that dreaded biped by _staying at home_?

The speech appears to give rise to a train of reflections in which thereis bitterness. The heroine of the rifle remains silent while in the actof reloading; and the tinge of melancholy that pervades her countenancetells that her thoughts are abstracted. While priming the piece, she iseven _maladroit_ enough to spill a quantity of the powder--thoughevidently not from any lack of practice or dexterity. 

Lilian has heard the concluding words of her sister's speech with somesurprise, and also noticed the abstracted air. She is about to ask foran explanation, when the dialogue is interrupted. Wolf rushes past witha fierce growl: some one approaches the clearing. 

A horseman--a man of about thirty years of age, of spare form andsomewhat sinister aspect--a face to be hated on sight. And at sight ofit the shadow deepens on the brow of Marian. Her sister exhibits noparticular emotion. The new-comer is no stranger: it is only JoshStebbins, the schoolmaster of Swampville. He is their father's friend, and comes often to visit them: moreover, he is that day expected, asLilian knows. Only in one way does she show any interest in hisarrival; and that is, on observing that he is better dressed than usual. The _cut_ of his dress too, is different. 

"See, sister Marian!" cries she in a tone of raillery, "how fine MisterJosh is! black coat and waistcoat: a standing collar too! Why, he isexactly like the Methody minister of Swampville! Perhaps he has turnedone. I shouldn't wonder: for they say he is very learnt. Oh, if thatbe, we may hear him preach at the next camp-meeting. How I should liketo hear him hold forth!--ha, ha, ha!"

The young creature laughs heartily at her own fantastic conceits; andher clear silvery voice for a moment silences the birds--as if theypaused to listen to a music more melodious than their own. Themock-bird echoes back the laugh: but not so Marian. She has observedthe novelty as well as her sister; but it appears to impress her in avery different manner. She does not even smile at the approach of thestranger; but, on the contrary, the cloud upon her brow becomes a shadedarker. 

Marian is some years older than her sister--old enough to know thatthere is _evil_ in the world: for neither is the "backwoods" the home ofan Arcadian innocence. She knows the schoolmaster sufficiently todislike him; and, judging by his appearance, one might give her creditfor having formed a correct estimate of his character. She suspects theobject of his visit; more than that, she knows it: _she is herself itsobject_. With indifferent grace, therefore, does she receive him:scarcely concealing her aversion as she bids him the customary welcome. Without being gifted with any very acute perception, the new-comer mightobserve this _degout_ on the part of the young girl. He takes no noticeof it however--either by word, or the movement of a feature. On thecontrary, he appears perfectly indifferent to the character of thereception given him. Not that his manner betrays anything likeswagger--for he is evidently not one of the swaggering sort. Rather ishis behaviour characterised by a cool, quiet effrontery--a sort ofsarcastic assurance--ten times more irritating. This is displayed inthe laconic style of his salutation: "Morning girls! father at home?"--in the fact of his dismounting without waiting to be invited--in sharplyscolding the dog out of his way as he leads his horse to the shed; and, finally, in his throwing the saddle-bags over his arm, and steppinginside the cabin-door, with the air of one who is not only master of thehouse, but of the "situation. "

Inside the door he is received by the squatter himself; and in theexchange of salutations, even a casual observer might note a remarkabledifference in the manner of the two men; the guest cool, cynical, confident--the host agitated, with eye unsteady, and heart evidently illat ease. There is a strange significance in the salutation, as also inthe little incident that follows. Before a dozen words have passedbetween the two men, the schoolmaster turns quietly upon his heel, andcloses the door behind him--the squatter making no objection to the act, either by word or gesture! The incident may appear of triflingimportance; but not so to Marian, who stands near, watching everymovement, and listening to every word. Why is the door closed, and byJosh Stebbins?--that rude door, that, throughout the long summer-day, isaccustomed to hang open on its raw-hide hinges? All day, and often allnight--except during the cold wintry winds, or when rain-storms blowfrom the west? Why is it now closed, and thus unceremoniously? Nowonder that Marian attaches a significance to the act. 

Neither has she failed to note the agitated mien of her father whilereceiving his visitor--that father, at all other times, and in thepresence of all other people, so bold, fierce, and impassible! Sheobserves all this with a feeling of pain. For such strange conductthere must be a cause, and a serious one: that is her reflection. 

The young girl stands for some moments in the attitude she has assumed. Her sister has gone aside to pluck some flowers growing by the bank ofthe stream, and Marian is now alone. Her eye is bent upon the door; andshe appears to hesitate between two thoughts. Shall she approach andlisten? She knows _a little_--she desires to know _more_. 

She has not merely conjectured the object of the schoolmaster's visit;she is _certain_ it concerns herself. It is not simply that whichtroubles her spirits. Left to herself, she would make light of such asuitor, and give him his _conge_ with a brusque promptitude. But herfather--why does _he_ yield to the solicitations of this man? This isthe mystery she desires to unravel. 

Can it be a _debt_? Scarcely that. In the lawless circle of backwoods'Society, the screw of the creditor has but little power over the victimof debt--certainly not enough to enslave such a free fearless spirit asthat of Hickman Holt. The girl knows this, and hence her painfulsuspicion that points to some _other cause_. What cause? She wouldknow. 

She makes one step towards the house, as if bent upon espionage. Againshe pauses, and appears undecided. The chinks between the logs are openall round the hut--so, too, the interstices between the hewn planks ofthe door. No one can approach near to the walls without being seen fromthe inside; and a listener would be sure of being discovered. Is itthis reflection that stays her in her steps? that causes her to turnback? Or does the action spring from a nobler motive? Whichever it be, it seems to bring about a change in her determination. Suddenly turningaway, she stands facing to the forest--as if with the intention oflaunching herself into its sombre depths. A call of adieu to hersister--a signal to Wolf to follow--and she is gone. 

Whither, and for what purpose? Why loves she these lone rambles underthe wild-wood shade? She has declared that she delights in them; butcan we trust her declaration? True, hers a strange spirit--tinged, nodoubt, with the moral tendencies of her mother's race--in which the loveof solitude is almost an idiosyncrasy. But with her this forest-rangingis almost a new practice: only for a month or so has she been indulgingin this romantic habit--so incomprehensible to the home-loving Lilian. Her father puts no check upon such inclinations: on the contrary, heencourages them, as if proud of his daughter's _penchant_ for the chase. Though purely a white man, his nature has been Indianised by the habitsof his life: and in his eyes, the chase is the noblest accomplishment--even for a woman? Does the fair Marian think so? Or has she anothermotive for absenting herself so frequently from her home? Let us followher into the forest. There, perhaps, we may find an answer to theenigma. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

THE LOVERS' RENDEZVOUS. 

Glance into the forest-glade! It is an opening in the woods--a_clearing_, not made by the labour of human hands, but a work of Natureherself: a spot of earth where the great timber grows not, but in itsplace shrubs and tender grass, plants and perfumed flowers. 

About a mile distant from the cabin of Hickman Holt just such an openingis found--in superficial extent about equal to the squatter'scorn-patch. It lies in the midst of a forest of tall trees--among whichare conspicuous the tulip-tree, the white magnolia, cotton-woods, andgiant oaks. Those that immediately encircle it are of less stature:graduating inward to its edge, like the seats in an amphitheatre--as ifthe forest trees stooped downward to kiss the fair flowers that sparkleover the glade. 

These lesser trees are of various species. They are the sassafraslaurel, famed for its sanitary sap; the noble Carolina bay, with itsaromatic leaves; the red mulberry: and the singular Osage orange-tree(_Maclura aurantica_), the "bow-wood" of the Indians. The pawpaw alsois present, to attest the extreme richness of the soil; but theflowering plants, that flourish in profuse luxuriance over the glade, are sufficient evidence of its fertility. Why the trees grow not there, is one of Nature's secrets, not yet revealed to man. 

It is easier to say why a squatter's cabin is not there. There is nomystery about this: though there might appear to be, since the_clearing_ is found ready to hand. The explanation is simple: the gladeis a mile distant from water--the nearest being that of the creekalready mentioned as running past the cabin of the squatter. ThusNature, as if jealous of this pretty wild-wood garden, protects it fromthe defilement of man. 

Nevertheless, the human presence is not unknown to it. On this verymorning--this fair morning in May, that has disclosed to our view thecabin and clearing of the squatter--a man may be observed entering theglade. The light elastic step, the lithe agile form, the smooth face, all bespeak his youth; while the style of his dress, his arms andequipments proclaim his calling to be that of a hunter. 

He is a man of the correct size, and, it may be added, of the correctshape--that is, one with whose figure the eye finds no fault. It ispleased at beholding a certain just distribution of the memberspromising strength and activity for the accomplishment of any possiblephysical end. The countenance is equally expressive of good mentalqualities. The features are regular and open, to frankness. Aprominent chin denotes firmness; a soft hazel eye, gentleness; and afull rounded throat, intrepid daring. There is neither beard upon thechin, nor moustache upon the lip--not that the face is too young foreither, but both have been shaven off. In the way of hair, amagnificent _chevelure_ of brown curls ruffles out under the rim of thecap, shadowing over the cheeks and neck of the wearer. Arched eyebrows, a small mouth, and regular teeth, give the finish to a face which mightbe regarded as a type of manly beauty. 

And yet this beauty appears under a russet garb. There is no evidenceof excessive toilet-care. The brush and comb have been but sparinglyused; and neither perfume nor pomatum has been employed to heighten theshine of those luxuriant locks. There is sun-tan on the face, that, perhaps with the aid of soap, _might_ be taken off; but it is permittedto remain. The teeth, too, might be made whiter with a dentifrice andbrush; but in all likelihood the nearest approach to their having everbeen cleansed has been while chewing a piece of tough deer-meat. Nevertheless, without any artificial aids, the young man's beautyproclaims itself in every feature--the more so, perhaps that, in gazingupon his face, you are impressed with the idea that there is an"outcome" in it. 

In his dress, there is not much that could be altered for the better. The hunting-shirt of the finest buckskin leather with its fringed capeand skirt, hangs upon his body with all the grace of an Athenian tunic;while its open front permits to be seen the manly contour of his breast, but half concealed under the softer fawn-skin. The wrappers of greenbaize, though folded more than once around his legs, do not hide theirelegant _tournure_; and an appropriate covering for his feet is a pairof strong mocassins, soled with thick leather. A coon-skin cap sitshigh upon his head slightly slouched to the right. With the visage ofthe animal turned to the front, and the full plume-like tail, with itsalternate rings, drooping to the shoulder, it forms a head-dress that isfar from ungraceful. A belt around the waist--a short hunting-knife inits sheath--a large powder-horn hanging below the arm-pit--abullet-pouch underneath, and _voila tout_! No, not all, there remainsto be mentioned the rifle--the arm _par excellence_ of the Americanhunter. The portrait of Frank Wingrove--a dashing young backwoodsman, whose calling is the chase. 

The hunter has entered the glade, and is advancing across it. He walksslowly, but without caution--without that habitual stealthy tread thatdistinguishes the sons of Saint Hubert in the West. On the contrary, his step is free, and the flowers are crushed under his feet. He is noteven silent; but humming a tune as he goes. Notwithstanding that heappears accoutred for the chase, his movements are not those of one inpursuit of game. For this morning, at least, he is out upon a differenterrand; and, judging from his jovial aspect, it should be one ofpleasure. The birds themselves seem not more gay. 

On emerging from the shadow of the tall trees into the open gladeeffulgent with flowers, his gaiety seems to have reached its climax: itbreaks forth in song; and for some minutes the forest re-echoes thewell-known lay of "_Woodman spare that tree_. " Whence this joyoushumour? Why are those eyes sparkling with a scarce concealed triumph?Is there a sweetheart expected? Is the glade to the scene of alove-interview--that glade perfumed and flowery, as if designed for sucha purpose? The conjecture is reasonable: the young hunter has the airof one who keeps an assignation--one, too, who dreams not ofdisappointment. Near the edge of the glade, on the side opposite tothat by which the hunter has come in, is a fallen tree. Its branchesand bark have long since disappeared, and the trunk is bleached to abrilliant white. In the phraseology of the backwoods, it is no longer atree, but a "log. " Towards this the hunter advances. On arriving atthe log he seats himself upon it, in the attitude of one who does notanticipate being for long alone. 

There is a path that runs across the glade, bisecting it into two nearlyequal parts. It is a tiny track, evidently not much used. It conductsfrom the stream on which stands the cabin of the squatter Holt, toanother "fork" of the same river--the Obion--where clearings arenumerous, and where there is also a large settlement bearing thedignified title of "town. " It is the town of Swampville--a name perhapsmore appropriate than euphonious. Upon this path, where it debouchesfrom the forest, the eye of Frank Wingrove becomes fixed--not in thedirection of Swampville, but towards the clearing of the squatter. Fromthis, it would appear probable that he expects some one; and that theperson expected should come from that side. A good while passes, andyet no one answers his inquiring glance. He begins to manifest signs ofimpatience. As if to kill time, he repeatedly rises, and again reseatshimself. With his eye he measures the altitude of the sun--the watch ofthe backwoodsman--and as the bright orb rises higher in the heavens, hisspirits appear to sink in proportion. His look is no longer cheerful. He has long since finished his song; and his voice is now heard again, only when he utters an ejaculation of impatience. All at once thejoyous expression is restored. There is a noise in the woods, and itproceeds from the right direction--a rustling of dead leaves that litterthe path, and occasionally the "swish" of recoiling branches. Some oneapproaches the glade. The young hunter springs to his feet, and standslistening. 

Presently, he hears voices; but he hears them rather with surprise thanpleasure--as is indicated by another quick change passing over hiscountenance. The cheerful aspect has again given place to a look ofdisappointment--this time approaching to chagrin. "Thar's talk goin'on;" mutters he to himself. "Then she's not alone! Thar's someb'dyalong wi' her. Who the darnation can it be?"

After this characteristic soliloquy, he remains silent listening farmore eagerly than before. The noises become more distinct, and thevoices louder. More than one can be distinguished mingling in theconversation. 

For some seconds, the hunter maintains his attentive attitude--his eyesternly fixed upon the _embouchure_ of the path. His suspense is ofshort duration. Hearing the voices more plainly, he recognises theirtones; and the recognition appears to give another sudden turn to histhoughts. The expression of chagrin gives place to one of simpledisappointment. "Bah!" exclaims he, throwing himself back upon thedead-wood. "It ain't _her_, after all! It's only a gang o' them rovin'red-skins. What, in Old Nick's name, fetches 'em this way, an' jest atthe time when they ain't wanted?"

After a moment's reflection, he starts up from the log, continuing tomutter: "I must hide, or they'll be for havin' a parley. That 'ud neverdo, for I guess _she_ can't be far off by this. Hang the crooked luck!"

With this elegant finish, the speaker glides rapidly round the end ofthe fallen tree, and makes for the nearest underwood--evidently with thedesign of screening himself from sight. He is too late--as the "Ugh"uttered on the opposite side of the glade convinces him--and changinghis intention, he fronts round, and quietly returns to his formerposition upon the log. 

The hunter's conjecture has proved correct. Bronzed faces showthemselves over the tops of the bushes on the opposite edge of theglade; and, the moment after, three Indians emerge into the open ground. That they are Indians, their tatterdemalion dress of coloured blankets, leggings, and mocassins would indicate; but their race is evenrecognisable in their mode of march. Though there are but three ofthem, and the path runs no longer among trees, they follow one anotherin single file, and in the true typical "trot" of the red aboriginal. 

The presence of Indians in these woods requires explanation--for theirtribe has long before this time been transported to their new lands westof the Mississippi. It only needs to be said that a few families havepreferred to remain--some from attachment to the scenes of their youth, not to be severed by the prospect of a far happier home; some fromassociations formed with the whites; and some from more trivial causes--perhaps from being the degraded outcasts of their tribes. Throughoutthe whole region of the backwoods, there still exists a sparsepopulation of the indigenous race: dwelling, as their ancestors did, under tents or in the open air; trafficking in small articles of theirown manufacture; in short, performing very much the same _metier_ as theGitanos in Europe. There are other points of resemblance between thesetwo races--amounting almost to family likeness--and which fairlyentitles the Indians to an appellation sometimes bestowed uponthem--_the Gipsies of the New World_. 

The three Indians who have entered the glade are manifestly what istermed an "Indian family" or part of one. They are father, and mother, and daughter--the last a girl just grown to womanhood. The man is inthe lead, the woman follows, and the young girl brings up the rear. They are bent upon a journey, and its object is also manifest. Thepannier borne upon the back of the woman, containing fox and coon-skins, with little baskets of stained wicker--and the bead-embroideredmocassins and wampum belts that appear in the hands of the girl--bespeaka purposed visit to the settlement of Swampville. 

True to the custom "of his fathers, " the Indian himself carriesnothing--if we except a long rusty gun over his shoulder, and a smallhatchet in his belt: rendering him rather a formidable-looking fellow onhis way to a market. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE CATASTROPHE OF A KISS. 

The log on which the young hunter had seated himself is some pacesdistant from the path. He has a slight knowledge of this Indian family, and simply nods to them as they pass. He does not speak, lest a wordshould bring on a conversation--for the avoidance of which he has apowerful motive. 

The Indian makes no halt, but strides silently onward, followed by hispannier-laden squaw. The girl, however, pauses in her steps--as ifstruck by some sudden thought. The action quickly follows the thought;and, turning out of the path, she approaches the spot where the hunteris seated. 

What wants she with him? Can this be the _she_ he has been expectingwith such impatience? Surely not! And yet the maiden is by no meansill-looking. In her gleaming oblique eyes there is a certain sweetnessof expression; and a tinge of purple-red, bursting through the bronze ofher cheeks, lends to her countenance a peculiar charm. Add to this, luxuriant black hair, with a bosom of bold outlines--which the sparsesavage costume but half conceals--and you have a portrait something morethan pretty. Many a time and oft, in the history of backwoods life, hasthe heart of the proud pale-face offered sacrifice at such a shrine. Isthis, then, the expected one? No. Her actions answer the question; andhis too. He does not even rise to receive her, but keeps his seat uponthe log--regarding her approach with a glance of indifference, notunmingled with a slight expression of displeasure. 

_Her_ object is presently apparent. A bullet-pouch of white buckskin, richly worked with porcupine quills, is hanging over her arm. Onarriving before the hunter she holds it out, as if about to present itto him. One might fancy that such is her intention; and that the pouchis designed as a _gage d'amour_; but the word "dollar, " whichaccompanies the offer, precludes the possibility of such a supposition. It is not thus that an Indian girl makes love. She is simply solicitingthe pale-face to purchase. In this design she is almost certain to besuccessful. The pouch proclaims its value, and promises to sell itself. Certainly it is a beautiful object--with its quills of brilliant dye, and richly-embroidered shoulder-strap. Perhaps no object could be heldup before the eyes of Frank Wingrove more likely to elicit hisadmiration. 

He sees and admires. He knows its value. It is cheap at a dollar;besides, he was just thinking of treating himself to such a one. Hisold catskin is worn and greasy. He has grown fastidious of late--forreasons that may be guessed. This beautiful pouch would sit well overhis new hunting-shirt, and trick him out to a T. In the eyes ofMarian--

His desire to become the possessor of the coveted article hinders himfrom continuing the reflection. Fortunately his old pouch contains therequired coin; and, in another instant, a silver dollar glances in thepalm of the Indian girl. 

But the "goods" are not delivered over in the ordinary manner. Athought seems to strike the fair huckster; and she stands for a momentgazing upon the face of the handsome purchaser. Is it curiosity? Or isit, perhaps, some softer emotion that has suddenly germinated in hersoul? Her hesitation lasts only for an instant. With a smile thatseems to solicit, she approaches nearer to the hunter. The pouch isheld aloft, with the strap extended between her hands. Her design isevident--she purposes to adjust it upon his shoulders. 

The young hunter does not repel the proffered service--how could he? Itwould not be Frank Wingrove to do so. On the contrary, he leans hisbody forward to aid in the action. The attitude brings their facesalmost close together: their lips are within two inches of touching!For a moment the girl appears to have forgotten her purpose, or else sheexecutes it in a manner sufficiently _maladroit_. In passing the strapover the high coon-skin cap, her fingers become entangled in the browncurls beneath. Her eyes are not directed that way: they are gazing witha basilisk glance into the eyes of the hunter. 

The attitude of Wingrove is at first shrinking; but a slight smilecurling upon his lip, betokens that there is not much pain in thesituation. A reflection, however, made at the moment, chases away thesmile. It is this:--"'Tarnal earthquakes! were Marian to see me now!She'd never believe but that I'm in love with this young squaw: she'sbeen jealous o' her already. "

But the reflection passes; and with it, for an instant, the remembranceof "Marian. " The sweetest smelling flower is that which is nearest--sosings the honey-bee. Human blood cannot bear the proximity of thosepretty lips; and the kindness of the Indian maiden must be recompensedby a kiss. She makes no resistance. She utters no cry. Their lipsmeet; but the kiss is interrupted ere it can be achieved. The bark of adog--followed by a half-suppressed scream in a female voice--causes theinterruption. The hunter starts back, looking aghast. The Indianexhibits only surprise. Both together glance across the glade. MarianHolt is standing upon its opposite edge!

Wingrove's cheek has turned red. Fear and shame are depicted upon hisface. In his confusion he pushes the Indian aside--more rudely thangently. "Go!" he exclaims in an under voice. "For God's sake go!--youhave ruined me!"

The girl obeys the request and gesture--both sufficiently rude aftersuch sweet complaisance. She obeys, however; and moves off from thespot--not without reproach in her glance, and reluctance in her steps. Before reaching the path she pauses, turns in her track, and glidesswiftly back towards the hunter. 

Wingrove stands astonished--half afrighted. Before he can recoverhimself, or divine her intent, the Indian is once more by his side. Shesnatches the pouch from his shoulders--the place where her own hands hadsuspended it--then flinging the silver coin at his feet, and uttering ina loud angry tone the words, "False pale-face!" she turns from the spot, and glides rapidly away. In another moment she has entered theforest-path, and is lost to the sight. 

The scene has been short--of only a few seconds' duration. Marian hasnot moved since the moment she uttered that wild, half-suppressedscream. She stands silent and transfixed, as if its utterance haddeprived her of speech and motion. Her fine form picturesquely drapedwith bodice and skirt; the moccasin buskins upon her feet; the coiledcoronet of shining hair surmounting her head; the rifle in her hand, resting on its butt, as it had been dashed mechanically down; the hugegaunt dog by her side--all these outlined upon the green background ofthe forest leaves, impart to the maiden an appearance at once majesticand imposing. Standing thus immobile, she suggests the idea of somerival huntress, whom Diana, from jealousy, has suddenly transformed intostone. But her countenance betrays that she is no statue. The colourof her cheeks--alternately flushing red and pale--and the indignantflash of that fiery eye, tell you that you look upon a living woman--onewho breathes and burns under the influence of a terrible emotion. 

Wingrove is half frantic. He scarce knows what to say, or what to do. In his confusion he advances towards the young girl, calling her byname; but before he has half crossed the glade, her words fall upon hisear, causing him to hesitate and falter in his steps. "Frank Wingrove!"she cries, "come not near me. Your road lies the other way. Go! followyour Indian damsel. You will find her at Swampville, no doubt, sellingher cheap kisses to triflers like yourself. Traitor! we meet no more!"

Without waiting for a reply, or even to note the effect of her words, Marian Holt steps back into the forest, and disappears. The younghunter is too stupefied to follow. With "false pale-face" ringing inone ear, and "traitor" in the other, he knows not in what direction toturn. At length the log falls under his eye; and striding mechanicallytowards it, he sits down--to reflect upon the levity of his conduct, andthe unpleasant consequences of an unhallowed kiss. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

SQUATTER AND SAINT. 

Return we to the squatter's cabin--this time to enter it. Inside, thereis not much to be seen or described. The interior consists of a singleroom--of which the log-walls are the sides, and the clapboard roof theceiling. In one corner there is a little partition or screen--thematerials composing it being skins or the black bear and fallow deer. It is pleasant to look upon this little chamber: it is the shrine ofmodesty and virgin innocence. Its presence proves that the squatter isnot altogether a savage. 

Rude as is the interior of the sheiling, it contains a few relics ofbygone, better days--not spent there, but elsewhere. Some books areseen upon a little shelf--the library of Lilian's mother--and two orthree pieces of furniture, that have once been decent, if not stylish. But chattels of this land are scarce in the backwoods--even in thehouses of more pretentious people than a squatter; and a log-stool ortwo, a table of split poplar planks, an iron pot, some pans and pails oftin, a few plates and pannikins of the same material, a gourd "dipper"or drinking-cup, and half-a-dozen common knives, forks, and spoons, constitute the whole "plenishing" of the hut. The skin of a cougar, notlong killed, hangs against the wall. Beside it are the pelts of otherwild animals--as the grey fox, the racoon, the rufous lynx, musk-rats, and minks. These, draping the roughly-hewn logs, rob them to someextent of their rigidity. By the door is suspended an old saddle, ofthe fashion known as _American_--a sort of cross between the high-peaked_silla_ of the Mexicans, and the flat pad-like English saddle. On theadjacent peg hangs a bridle to match--its reins black with age, and itsbit reddened with rust. Some light articles of female apparel are seenhanging against the wall, near that sacred precinct where, during thethe night-hours, repose the fair daughters of the squatter. 

The cabin is a rude dwelling indeed--a rough casket to contain a pair ofjewels so sparkling and priceless. Just now, it is occupied by twoindividuals of a very different character--two men already mentioned--the hunter Hickman Holt, and his visitor Joshua Stebbins, theschoolmaster of Swampville. The personal appearance of the latter hasbeen already half described. It deserves a more detailed delineation. His probable age has been stated--about thirty. His spare figure andill-omened aspect have been alluded to. Add to this, low stature, atripe-coloured skin, a beardless face, a shrinking chin, a nosesharp-pointed and peckish, lank black hair falling over the forehead, and hanging down almost low enough to shadow a pair of deep-setweazel-like eyes: give to this combination of features a slightlysinister aspect, and you have the portrait of Joshua Stebbins. It isnot easy to tell the cause of this sinister expression: for the featuresare not irregular; and, but for its bilious colour, the face couldscarcely be termed ill-looking. The eyes do not squint; and the thinlips appear making a constant effort to look smiling and saint-like. Perhaps it is this _outward_ affectation of the saintly character--belying, as it evidently does, the spirit within, that produces theunfavourable impression. In earlier youth, the face may have beenbetter favoured; but a career, spent in the exercise of evil passions, has left more than one "blaze" upon it. 

It is difficult to reconcile such a career with the demeanour of theman, and especially with his present occupation. But Joshua Stebbinshas not always been a schoolmaster; and the pedagogue of a bordersettlement is not necessarily, expected to be a model of morality. Evenif it were so, this lord of the hickory-switch is comparatively astranger in Swampville; and, perhaps, only the best side of hischaracter has been exhibited to the parents and guardians of thesettlement. This is of the saintly order; and, as if to strengthen theillusion, a dress of clerical cut has been assumed, as also a whitecravat and black boat-brimmed hat. The coat, waistcoat, and trousersare of broad-cloth--though not of the finest quality. It is just such acostume as might be worn by one of the humbler class of Methodist borderMinisters, or by a Catholic priest--a somewhat rarer bird in thebackwoods. 

Joshua Stebbins is neither one nor the other; although, as will shortlyappear, his assumption of the ecclesiastical style is not altogetherconfined to his dress. Of late he has also affected the clericalcalling. The _ci-devant_ attorney's clerk--whilom the schoolmaster ofSwampville--is now an "apostle" of the "Latter-day Saints. " Thecharacter is new--the faith itself is not very old--for the events weare relating occurred during the first decade of the Mormon revelation. Even Holt himself has not yet been made aware of the change: as wouldappear from a certain air of astonishment, with which at first sight heregards the clerical habiliments of his visitor. 

It would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast than that presentedin the appearance of these two men. Were we to select two paralleltypes from the animal world, they would be the sly fox and the grizzlybear--the latter represented by the squatter himself. In Hickman Holtwe behold a personage of unwonted aspect: a man of gigantic stature, with a beard reaching to the second button of his coat, and a face notto be looked upon without a sensation of terror--a countenanceexpressive of determined courage, but at the same time of fierceness, untempered by any trace of a softer emotion. A shaggy sand-colouredbeard, slightly grizzled; eyebrows like a _chevaux de frise_ of hogs'bristles; eyes of a greenish-grey, and a broad livid scar across theleft cheek--are component parts in producing this aspect; while a redcotton kerchief, wound turban-like around the head, and pulled low downin front, renders its expression more palpable and pronounced. 

A loose surtout of thick green blanket-cloth, somewhat faded and worn, adds to the colossal appearance of the man: while a red-flannel shirtserves him also for a vest. His huge limbs are encased in pantaloons ofblue Kentucky "jeans;" but these are scarcely visible--as the skirt ofhis ample coat drapes down so as to cover the tops of a pair of roughhorse-skin boots, that reach upwards to his knees. The costume iscommon enough on the banks of the Mississippi; the colossal form is notrare; but the fierce, and somewhat repulsive countenance--that is moreindividual. 

Is this father of Marian and Lilian? Is it possible from so rude a stemcould spring such graceful branches--flowers so fair and lovely? If so, then must the mothers of both have been beautiful beyond common! It iseven true, and true that both were beautiful--were for they are gone, and Hickman Holt is twice a widower. Long ago, he buried the half-bloodmother of Marian; and at a later period--though still some years ago--her gentle golden-haired successor was carried to an early grave. 

The latter event occurred in one of the settlements, nearer to theregion of civilised life. There was a murmur of mystery about thesecond widowhood of Hickman Holt, which only became hushed on his"moving" further west--to the wild forest where we now find him. Hereno one knows aught of his past life or history--one only excepted--andthat is the man who is to-day his visitor. 

Contrasting the two men--regarding the superior size and more formidableaspect of the owner of the cabin, you would expect his guest to makesome show of obeisance to him. On the contrary, it is the squatter whoexhibits the appearance of complaisance. He has already saluted hisvisitor with an air of embarrassment, but ill-concealed under the wordsof welcome with which he received him. Throughout the scene ofsalutation, and afterwards, the schoolmaster has maintained hischaracteristic demeanour of half-smiling, half-sneering coolness. Noting the behaviour of these two men to one another, even a carelessobserver could perceive that the smaller man is the _master_!

CHAPTER SIX. 

AN APOSTOLIC EFFORT. 

The morning needed no fire, but there were embers upon the clay-hearth--some smouldering ends of faggots--over which the breakfast had beencooked. On one side of the fireplace the squatter placed a stool forhis visitor; and then another for himself, as if mechanically on theopposite side. A table of rough-hewn planks stood between. On this wasa bottle containing maize-corn whiskey--or, "bald face, " as it is morefamiliarly known in the backwoods--two cracked cups to drink out of; acouple of corn-cob pipes; and some black tobacco. All thesepreparations had been made beforehand; and confirmed, what had droppedfrom the lips of Lilian, that the visitor had been expected. Beyond thecustomary phrases of salutation, not a word was exchanged between thehost and guest, until both had seated themselves. The squatter thencommenced the conversation. 

"Yev hed a long ride, Josh, " said he, leaning towards the table andclutching hold of the bottle: "try a taste o' this hyur_rot-gut_--'taint the daintiest o' drink to offer a man so genteellydressed as you air this morning; but thur's wuss licker in these hyurback'oods, I reckun. Will ye mix? Thur's water in the jug thar. "

"No water for me, " was the laconic reply. "Yur right 'bout that. Itsfrom old Hatcher's still--whar they us'ally put the water in afore theygive ye the licker. I s'pose they do it to save a fellur the trouble o'mixing--Ha! ha! ha!" The squatter laughed at his own jest-mot as if heenjoyed it to any great extent, but rather as if desirous of putting hisvisitor in good-humour. The only evidence of his success was a drysmile, that curled upon the thin lip of the saint, rather sarcasticallythan otherwise. 

There was silence while both drank; and Holt was again under thenecessity of beginning the conversation. As already observed, he hadnoticed the altered style of the schoolmaster's costume; and it was tothis transformation that his next speech alluded. "Why, Josh, " said he, attempting an easy off-hand style of talk, "ye're bran new, spick span, from head to foot; ye look for all the world jest like one o' them erecantin' critters o' preechers I often see prowlin' about Swampville. Durn it, man! what dodge air you up to now. _You_ hain't got rileegun, I reck'n?"

"I have, " gravely responded Stebbins. 

"Hooraw! ha, ha, ha! Wal--what sort o' thing is't anyhow?"

"My religion is of the right sort, Brother Holt. "

"Methody?"

"Nothing of the kind. "

"What then? I thort they wur all Methodies in Swampville?"

"They're all _Gentiles_ in Swampville--worse than infidels themselves. "

"Wal--I know they brag mightily on thur genteelity. I reckon you'reabout right thur--them, storekeepers air stuck-up enough for anythin'. "

"No, no; it's not that I mean. My religion has nothing to do withSwampville. Thank the Lord for his mercy, I've been led into a surerway of salvation. I suppose, Brother Holt, you've heard of the newRevelation?"

"Heern o' the new rev'lation. Wal, I don't know as I hev. What's thename o't?"

"The book of _Mormon_?"

"Oh! Mormons! I've hearn o' them. Hain't they been a fightin' a spellup thur in Massouray or Illinoy, whar they built 'em a grandiferoustemple? I've hearn some talk o't. "

"At Nauvoo. It is even so, Brother Holt the wicked Gentiles have beenpersecuting the Saints: just as their fathers were persecuted by theEgyptian Pharaohs. "

"An' hain't they killed their head man--Smith he wur called, if Irecollex right. "

"Alas, true! Joseph Smith has been made a martyr, and is by this timean angel in heaven. No doubt he is now in glory, at the head of theangelic host. "

"Wal--if the angels are weemen, he'll hev a good wheen o' 'em about him, I reck'n. I've hearn he wur at the head of a putty consid'able host o''em up thur in Massoury--fifty wives they said he hed! Wur that eretrue, Josh?"

"Scandal, Brother Holt--all scandal of the wicked enemies of our faith. They were but wives _in the spirit_. That the Gentiles can'tcomprehend; since their eyes have not been opened by the Revelation. "

"Wal, it 'pears to be a tol'able free sort o' rileegun anyhow. Kind o'Turk, aint it?"

"Nothing of the kind. It has nothing in common with the doctrines ofMohammedanism. "

"But whar did _you_ get it, Josh Stebbins? Who gin it to you?"

"You remember the man I brought over here last fall?"

"Sartint I do. Young he wur--Brig Young, I think, you called him. "

"The same. "

"In coorse, I remember him well enough; but I reckon our Marian do aleetle better. He tried to spark the gurl, an' made fine speeches toher; but she couldn't bar the sight o' him for all that. Ha! ha! ha. Don't ye recollex the trick that ar minx played on him? She unbuckledthe girt o' his saddle, jest as he wur a-goin' to mount, and down hekim--saddle, bags, and all--cawollup to the airth! ha! ha! Arter he wurgone, I larfed till I wur like to bust. "

"You did wrong, Hickman Holt, to encourage your daughter in hersauciness. Had you known the man--_that man, sir, was a prophet_!"

"A prophet!"

"Yes--the greatest perhaps the world ever saw--a man in directcommunication with the Almighty himself. "

"Lord! 'Twan't Joe Smith, wur it?"

"No; but one as great as he--one who has inherited his spirit; and whois now the head of all the Saints. "

"That feller at thur head? You 'stonish me, Josh Stebbins. "

"Ah! well you may be astonished. That man has astonished me, HickmanHolt. He has turned me from evil ways, and led me to fear the Lord. "The squatter looked incredulous, but remained silent. "Yes--that sameman who was here with me in your humble cabin, is now Chief Priest ofthe Mormon Church! He has laid his hands on this poor head, andconstituted me one of his humble Apostles. Yes, one of the _Twelve_, intrusted with spreading the true faith of the Saints over all theworld. "

"Hooraw for you, Josh Stebbins! You'll be jest the man for that sort o'thing; ye've got the larnin' for it, hain't you?"

"No doubt, Brother Holt, with the help of the Lord, my humbleacquirements will be useful; for though _He_ only can open for us poorsinners the kingdom of grace, he suffers such weak instruments, asmyself, to point out the narrow path that leads to it. Just as with thePhilistines of old, the hearts of the Gentiles are hardened likeflint-stones, and refuse to receive the true faith. Unlike thefollowers of Mohammed, _we_ propagate not by the sword, but by theinfluence of ratiocination. "

"What?"

"Ratiocination. "

"What mout that be?"

"Reason--reason. "

"Oh! common sense you mean, I s'pose?"

"Exactly so--reasoning that produces conviction; and, I flatter myself, that, being gifted with some little sense and skill, my efforts may becrowned with success. "

"Wal, Josh, 'ithout talkin' o' common sense, ye've good grist o'lawyers' sense--that I know; an' so, I suppose, ye've tuk it into yourhead to make beginnin' on me. Aint that why ye've come over thismornin'?"

"What?"

"To make a Mormon o' me. "

Up to this time the conversation had been carried on in a somewhat stiffand irrelevant manner; this more especially on the side of the squatter, who--notwithstanding his endeavours to assume an air of easynonchalance--was evidently labouring under suspicion and constraint. From the fact of Stebbins having sent a message to forewarn him, of thisvisit, he knew that the schoolmaster had some business with him of morethan usual importance; and it was a view to ascertain the nature of thisbusiness, and relieve himself from suspense, that the interrogatory wasput. He would have been right glad to have received an answer in theaffirmative--since it would have cost him little concern to turn Mormon, or profess to do so, notwithstanding his pretended opposition to thefaith. He was half indulging himself in the hope that this might be theerrand on which Stebbins had come: as was evinced by a more cheerfulexpression, on his countenance; but, as the Saint lingered long beforemaking a reply, the shadows of suspicion again darkened over the brow ofthe squatter; and with a nervous uneasiness, he awaited the answer. 

"It'll be a tough job, Josh, " said he, with an effort to appearunconcerned--"a tough job, mind ye. "

"Well, so I should expect, " answered the apostle drily; "and, just forthat reason, I don't intend to undertake it: though I should like, Brother Holt, to see you gathered into the fold. I know our great HighPriest would make much of a man like _you_. The Saints have manyenemies; and need strong arms and stout hearts such as yours, HickmanHolt. The Lord has given to his Prophet the right to defend the truefaith--even with carnal weapons, if others fail; and woe be to them whomake war on us! Let them dread the _Destroying Angels_!"

"The Destroying Angels! What sort o' critters be they?"

"They are the _Danites_. "

"Wal I'm jest as wise as ever, Josh. Dod rot it, man! don't bemystiferous. Who air the Danites, I shed like to know?"

"You can only know them by initiation; and you _should_ know them. You're just the man to be one of them; and I have no doubt you'd be madeone, as soon as you joined us. "

The apostle paused, as if to note the effect of his words; but thecolossal hunter appeared as if he had not heard them. It was not thathe did not comprehend their meaning, but rather because he was notheeding what had been said--his mind being occupied with a presentimentof some more unpleasant proposal held in reserve by his visitor. Heremained silent, however; leaving it to the latter to proceed to thedeclaration of his design. The suspicions of the squatter--if directedto anything connected with his family affairs--were well grounded, andsoon received confirmation. After a pause, the Mormon continued:

"No, Hickman Holt, it aint with _you_ my business lies to-day--that is, not exactly with you. "

"Who, then?"

"_Your daughter_!"

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

THE MORMON'S DEMAND. 

A shudder passed through the herculean frame of the hunter--though itwas scarcely perceptible, from the effort he made to conceal it. It wasnoticed for all that; and the emotion that caused it perfectlyunderstood. The keen eye of the _ci-devant_ law clerk was too skilledin reading the human countenance, to be deceived by an effort atimpassibility. 

"My daughter?" muttered Holt, half interrogatively. 

"Your daughter!" echoed the Mormon, with imperturbable coolness. 

"But which o' 'em? Thur's two. "

"Oh! you know which I mean--Marian, of course. "

"An' what do ye want wi' Marian, Josh?"

"Come, Brother Holt? it's no use your feigning ignorance. I've spokento you of this before: you know well enough what I want with her. "

"Durn me, if I do! I remember what ye sayed afore; but I thort ye wuronly jokin'. "

"I was in earnest then, Hickman Holt; and I'm still more in earnest now. I want a wife, and I think Marian would suit me admirably. I supposeyou know that the saints have moved off from Illinois, and are nowlocated beyond the Rocky Mountains?"

"I've heern somethin' o't. "

"Well, I propose going thereto join them; and I must take a wife withme: for no man is welcome who comes there without one. "

"Y-e-s, " drawled the squatter, with a bitter smile, "an' from what I'veheern, I reckon he'd be more welkum if he fetched half-a-dozen. "

"Nonsense, Hickman Holt. I wonder a man of your sense would listen tosuch lies. It's a scandal that's been scattered abroad by a set ofcorrupt priests and Methody preachers, who are jealous of us, becausewe're drawing their people. Sheer wicked lies, every word of it!"

"Wal, I don't know about that. But I know one thing, to a sartinty--youwill niver get Marian's consent. "

"I don't want Marian's consent--that don't signify, so long as I haveyours. "

"Myen?"

"Ay, yours; and I must have it. Look here, Hickman Holt! Listen to me!We're making too long a talk about this business; and I have no time towaste in words. I have made everything ready; and shall leave for theSalt Lake before three more days have passed over my head. The caravanI'm going with is to start from Fort Smith on the Arkansas; and it'll beprepared by the time I get there, to move over the plains. I've boughtme a team and a waggon. It's already loaded and packed; and there's acorner in it left expressly for your daughter: therefore, she must go. "

The tone of the speaker had suddenly changed, from that of saintlyinsinuation, to bold open menace. The squatter, notwithstanding hisfierce and formidable aspect, did not dare to reply in the same strain. He was evidently cowed, and suffering under some fearful apprehension. "_Must_ go!" he muttered, half involuntarily, as if echoing the other'swords. "Yes, _must_ and _shall_!"

"I tell ye, Josh Stebbins, she'll niver consent. "

"And I tell you, Hickman Holt, I don't want her consent. That I leave_you_ to obtain; and if you can't get it otherwise, you must _force_ it. Bah! what is it for? A good husband--a good home--plenty of meat, drink, and dress: for don't you get it into your fancy that theLatter-Day Saints resemble your canting hypocrites of other creeds, whothink they please God by their miserable penances. Quite the reverse, Ican assure you. We mean to live as God intended men should live--eat, drink, and be merry. Look there!" The speaker exhibited a handful ofshining gold pieces. "That's the way our church provides for itsapostles. Your daughter will be a thousand times better off there, thanin this wretched hovel. Perhaps _she_ will not mind the change so muchas _you_ appear to think. I know many a first-rate girl that would beglad of the chance. "

"I know _she_ won't give in--far less to be made a Mormon o'. I'veheern her speak agin 'em. "

"I say again, she must give in. After all, you needn't tell her I'm aMormon: she needn't know anything about _that_. Let her think I'm onlymoving out west--to Oregon--where there are plenty of respectableemigrants now going. She'll not suspect anything in that. Once out atSalt Lake City, she'll soon get reconciled to Mormon life, I guess. "

The squatter remained silent for some moments--his head hanging forwardover his broad breast--his eyes turned inward, as if searching withinhis bosom for some thought to guide and direct him. In there, no doubt, a terrible struggle was going on--a tumult of mixed emotions. He lovedhis daughter, and would leave her to her own will; but he feared thissaintly suitor, and dared not gainsay him. It must have been some dreadsecret, or fiendish scheme, that enabled this small insignificant man tosway the will of such a giant!

A considerable time passed, and still the squatter vouchsafed no answer. He was evidently wavering, as to the nature of the response he shouldmake. 

Twice or thrice he raised his head, stealthily directing his glance tothe countenance of his visitor; but only to read, in the looks of thelatter, a fixed and implacable purpose. There was no mercy there. 

All at once, a change came over the colossus. A resolution ofresistance had arisen within him--as was evinced by his altered attitudeand the darkening shadow upon his countenance. The triumphant glancesof the pseudo-saint appeared to have provoked him, more than the matterin dispute. Like the buffalo of the plains stung with Indian arrows, orthe great _mysticetus_ of the deep goaded by the harpoon of the whaler, all the angry energies of his nature appeared suddenly aroused fromtheir lethargy; and he sprang to his feet, towering erect in thepresence of his tormentor. "Damnation!" cried he, striking the floorwith his heavy heel, "she won't do it--she won't, and she _shan't_!"

"Keep cool, Hickman Holt!" rejoined the Mormon, without moving from hisseat--"keep cool! I expected this; but it's all bluster. I tell youshe will, and she _shall_!"

"Hev a care, Josh Stebbins! Hev a care what yur about! Ye don't knowwhat you may drive me to--"

"But I know what I may _lead_ you to, " interrupted the other with asneering smile. 

"What?" involuntarily inquired Holt. 

"The gallows, " laconically answered Stebbins. 

"Devils an' damnation!" This emphatic rejoinder was accompanied with afurious grinding of teeth, but with a certain recoiling--as if the angryspirit of the giant could still be stayed by such a menace. 

"It's no use swearing about it, Holt, " continued the Mormon, after acertain time had passed in silence. "_My_ mind's made up--the girl mustgo with me. Say _yes_ or _no_. If yes, then all's well--well for yourdaughter, and well for you too. I shall be out of your way--Salt Lake'sa long distance off--and it's _not likely you'll ever set eyes on meagain_. You understand me?"

The saint pronounced these last words with a significant emphasis; andthen paused, as if to let them have their full weight. They appeared toproduce an effect. On hearing them, a gleam, like a sudden flash ofsunlight, passed over the countenance of the squatter. It appeared theoutward index of some consolatory thought freshly conceived; and itscontinuance proved that it was influencing him to take a different viewof the Mormon's proposal. He spoke at length; but no longer in the toneof rage--for his passion seemed to have subsided, as speedily as it hadsprung up. 

"An' s'pose I say _no_?"

"Why, in that case, I shall not start so soon as I had intended. Ishall stay in the settlements till I have performed a duty that, for along time, I have left undone. "

"What duty is't you mean?"

"One I owe to society; and which I have perhaps sinfullyneglected--_bring a murderer to justice_!"

"Hush! Josh Stebbins--for Heaven's sake, speak low! _You know it isn'ttrue_--but, hush! the gurls are 'thout. Don't let them hear sech talk!"

"Perhaps, " continued Stebbins, without heeding the interruption, "perhaps that murderer fancies he might escape. He is mistaken if hedo. One word from me in Swampville, and the hounds of the law would beupon him; ay, and if he could even get clear of _them_, he could notescape out of my power. I have told you I am an Apostle of the greatMormon Church; and that man would be cunning indeed who could shun thevengeance of our Destroying Angels. Now, Hickman Holt, which is it tobe? _yes or no_?" The pause was ominous for poor Marian. 

The answer decided her doom. It was delivered in a hoarse husky voice:"_Yes--yes--she may go_!"

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

A SPLENDID PENSION. 

The treaty of Guadalupe Hidalogo was followed by an extensive_debandement_, which sent many thousands of sabres ringing back intotheir scabbards--some of them soon after to spring forth in the cause offreedom, calumniously called "filibustering;" others perhaps destinednever to be drawn again. Using a figurative expression, not a few wereconverted into spades; and in this _pacific_ fashion, carried to the farshores of the Pacific Ocean--there to delve for Californian gold--whilestill others were suspended in the counting-house or the studio, to rustin inglorious idleness. A three years' campaign under the sultry skiesof Mexico--drawing out the war-fever that had long burned in the bosomsof the American youth--had satisfied the ambition of most. It was onlythose who arrived late upon the field--too late to pluck a laurel--whowould have prolonged the strife. 

The narrator of this tale, Edward Warfield--_ci-devant_ captain of acorps of "rangers"--was not one of the last mentioned. With myself, aswith many others, the great Mexican campaign was but the continuation ofthe little war--_la petite guerre_--that had long held an intermittentexistence upon the borders of Texas, and in which we had borne part; andthe provincial laurels there reaped, when interwoven with the fresherand greener bays gathered upon the battle-fields of Anahuac, constituteda wreath exuberant enough to content us for the time. For my part, notwithstanding the portentous sound of my ancestral patronymic, I wastired of the toils of war, and really desired a "spell" of peace: duringwhich I might indulge in the _dolce far niente_, and obtain for mywearied spirit a respite of repose. My wishes were in similitude withthose of the poet, who longed for "a lodge in some vast wilderness--someboundless contiguity of shade;" or perhaps, more akin to those of thatother poet of less solitary inclinings, who only desired the "desert asa dwelling-place, with one fair spirit for his minister!" In truth, Ifelt a strong inclination for the latter description of life; and, inall likelihood, would have made a trial of it, but for the interferenceof one of those ill-starred contingencies that often embarrass the bestintentions. A phrase of common occurrence will explain the circumstancethat offered opposition to my will: "want of the wherewith to support awife. "

I had been long enough in the wilderness, to know that even a "dwellingin the desert" cannot be maintained without expense; and that howeverpure the desert air, the _fairest_ "spirit" would require something moresubstantial to live upon. Under this prudential view of the case, marriage was altogether out of the question. We, the _debandes_, weredismissed without pension: the only reward for our warlike achievementsbeing a piece of "land scrip, " good for the number of acres upon theface of it--to be selected from "government land, " wherever the holdermight choose to "locate. " The scrip was for greater or less amount, according to the term of the receiver's service. Mine represented a"section" of six hundred and forty acres--worth in ordinary times, adollar and quarter per acre; but just then--on account of the marketbeing flooded by similar paper--reduced to less than half its value. With this magnificent "bounty" was I rewarded for services, thatperhaps--some day--might be--never mind!--thank heaven for blessing mewith the comforting virtues of humility and contentment! This bit ofscrip then--a tried steed that had carried me many a long mile, andthrough the smoke of more than one red fray--a true rifle, that I hadmyself carried equally as far--a pair of Colt's pistols--and a steel"Toledo, " taken at the storming of Chapultepec--constituted the bulk ofmy available property. Add to this, a remnant of my last month's pay--in truth, not enough to provide me with that much coveted article, a_civilian's suit_: in proof of which, my old undress-frock, with itsyellow spread-eagle buttons, clung to my shoulders like a second shirtof Nessus. The vanity of wearing a uniform, that may have once beenfelt, was long ago threadbare as the coat itself; and yet I was notwanting in friends, who fancied that it might still exist! How littleunderstood they the real state of the case, and how much did theymisconstrue my _involuntary_ motives!

It was just to escape from such unpleasant associations, that I held onto my "scrip. " Most of my brother-officers had sold theirs for a"song, " and spent the proceeds upon a "supper. " In relation to mine, Ihad other views than parting with it to the greedy speculators. Itpromised me that very wilderness-home I was in search of; and, having noprospect of procuring a fair spirit for my "minister, " I determined to"locate" without one. 

I was at the time staying in Tennessee--the guest of a campaigningcomrade and still older friend. He was grandson of that gallant leader, who, with a small band of only forty families, ventured three hundredmiles through the heart of the "bloody ground" and founded Nashvilleupon the bold bluffs of an almost unknown river! From the lips of theirdescendants I had heard so many thrilling tales of adventures, experienced by this pioneer band, that Tennessee had become, in my fancya region of romance. Other associations had led me to love thishospitable and chivalric state; and I resolved, that, within itsboundaries, I should make my home. A visit to the Land-office ofNashville ended in my selection of Section Number 9, Township --, as myfuture plantation. It was represented to me as a fertile spot--situatedin the "Western Reserve"--near the banks of the beautiful Obion, and notfar above the confluence of this river with the Mississippi. Theofficial believed there had been some "improvement" made upon the landby a _squatter_; but whether the squatter still lived upon it, he couldnot tell. "At all events, the fellow will be too poor to exercise the_pre-emption right_, and of course must move off. " So spoke the landagent. This would answer admirably. Although my Texan experience hadconstituted me a tolerable woodsman, it had not made me a woodcutter;and the clearing of the squatter, however small it might be, would serveas a beginning. I congratulated myself on my good luck; and, withoutfurther parley, parted with my scrip--receiving in return the necessarydocuments, that constituted me the legal owner and lord of the soil ofSection 9. The only additional information the agent could afford mewas: that my new purchase was all "heavily timbered, " with the exceptionbefore referred to; that the township in which it was situated wascalled Swampville; and that the section itself was known as "Holt'sClearing"--from the name, it was supposed, of the squatter who had madethe "improvement. "

With this intelligence in my head, and the title-deeds in my pocket, Itook leave of the friendly official; who, at parting, politely wished me"a pleasant time of it on my new plantation!"

CHAPTER NINE. 

FRIENDLY ADVICE. 

On returning to the house of my friend, I informed him of my purchase;and was pleased to find that he approved of it. "You can't be takenin, " said he, "by land upon the Obion. From what I have heard of it, itis one of the most fertile spots in Tennessee. Moreover, as you arefond of hunting, you'll find game in abundance. The black bear, andeven the panther--or `painter, ' as our backwoodsmen have it--are stillcommon in the Obion bottom; and indeed, all throughout the forests ofthe Reserve. "

"I'm rejoiced to hear it. "

"No doubt, " continued my friend, with a smile, "you may shoot deer fromyour own door; or trap wolves and wild-cats at the entrance to yourhen-roost. "

"Good!"

"O yes--though I can't promise that you will see anything of _Venus_ inthe woods, you may enjoy to your heart's content the noble art of_venerie_. The Obion bottom is a very paradise for hunters. It was itthat gave birth to the celebrated Crockett. "

"On that account it will be all the more interesting to me; and, fromwhat you say, it is just the sort of place I should have chosen to_squat_ upon. "

"_By_ the by, " interrupted my friend, looking a little grave as hespoke, "your making use of that familiar phrase, recalls thecircumstance you mentioned just now. Did I understand you to say, therewas a _squatter_ on the land?"

"There _was_ one--so the agent has told me; but whether he be still_squatted_ there, the official could not say. "

"Rather awkward, if he be, " rejoined my friend, in a sort of musingsoliloquy; while, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, he kept pullinghis "goatee" to its full length. 

"In what way awkward?" I asked in some surprise. "How can _that_signify?"

"A great deal. These squatters are queer fellows--_ugly_ customers todeal with--especially when you come to turn them out of their house andhome, as they consider it. It is true, they have the _pre-emptionright_--that is, they may purchase, if they please, and send you to seeka location elsewhere; but this is a privilege those gentry rarely pleaseto indulge in--being universally too poor to purchase. "

"What then?"

"Their motto is, for `him to keep who can. ' The old adage, `possessionbeing nine points of the law, ' is, in the squatter's code, nodead-letter, I can assure you. "

"Do you mean, that the fellow might refuse to turn out?"

"It depends a good deal on what sort of a fellow he is. They are notall alike. If he should chance to be one of the obstinate andpugnacious kind, you are likely enough to have trouble with him. "

"But surely the law--"

"Will aid you in ousting him--that's what you were going to say?"

"I should expect so--in Tennessee, at all events. "

"And you would be disappointed. In almost any other part of the state, you _might_ rely upon legal assistance; but, I fear, that aboutSwampville you will find society not very different from that you haveencountered on the borders of Texas; and you know how little help thelaw could afford you _there_, in the enforcement of such a claim?"

"Then I must take the law into my own hands, " rejoined I, falling intovery old-fashioned phraseology--for I was beginning to feel indignant atthe very idea of this prospective difficulty. "No, Warfield, " repliedmy sober friend, "do not take that course; I know you are not the man tobe _scared_ out of your rights; but, in the present case, prudence isthe proper course to follow. --Your squatter, if there be one--it is tobe hoped that, like many of our grand cities, he has only an existenceon the map--but if there should be a real live animal of thisdescription on the ground, he will be almost certain to haveneighbours--some half-dozen of his own kidney--living at greater or lessdistances around him. They are not usually of a clannish disposition;but, in a matter of this kind, they will be as unanimous in theirsympathies, and antipathies too, as they would about the butchering of abear. Turn one of them out by force--either legal or otherwise--and itwould be like bringing a hornets' nest about your ears. Even were youto succeed in so clearing your land, you would find ever afterwards aset of very unpleasant neighbours to live among. I know some cases inpoint, that occurred nearer home here. In fact, on some wild lands ofmy own I had an instance of the kind. "

"What, then, am I to do? Can you advise me?"

"Do as others have often done before you; and who have actually beenforced to the course of action I shall advise. _Should there be asquatter_, and one likely to prove obstinate, approach him as gently asyou can, and state your case frankly. You will find this the best modeof treating with these fellows--many of whom have a dash of honour, aswell as honesty in their composition. Speak of the _improvements_ hehas made, and offer him a recompense. "

"Ah! friend Blount, " replied I, addressing my kind host by his baptismalname, "it is much easier to listen to your advice than follow it. "

"Come, old comrade!" rejoined he, after a momentary pause, "I think Iunderstand you. There need be no concealment between friends, such aswe are. Let not that difficulty hinder you from following the course Ihave recommended. The old general's property is not all gone yet; and, should you stand in need of a hundred or two, to make a _second_purchase of your plantation, send me word, and--"

"Thanks, Blount--thanks! it is just as I should have expected; but Ishall not become your debtor for such a purpose. I have been afrontiersman too long to be bullied by a backwoodsman--"

"There now, Warfield, just your own passionate self! Nay, you must takemy advice. Pray, do not go rashly about it, but act as I havecounselled you. "

"That will depend upon contingencies. Should Master Holt--for I believethat is my predecessor's name--should he prove _amiable_, I may consentto go a little in your debt, and pay him for whatever log-chopping hehas done. If otherwise, by the Lady of Guadalupe!--you remember our oldMexican shibboleth--he shall be cleared out of his clearing _sansfacon_. Perhaps we have been wasting words upon an ideal existence!Perhaps there is no squatter after all; or that old Holt has long since`gone under' and only his ghost will be found flitting around theprecincts of this disputed territory. Would not that be an interestingcompanion for my hours of midnight loneliness? A match for the wolvesand wild-cats! Ha! ha! ha!"

"Well, old comrade; I trust it may turn out no worse. The ghost of asquatter might prove a less unpleasant neighbour than the squatterhimself, dispossessed of his _squatment_. Notwithstanding thisbadinage, I know you will act with judgment; and you can count upon myhelp in the matter, if you should require it. " I grasped the speaker'shand, to express my gratitude; and the tight pressure returned, told meI was parting with one of the few friends I had in the world. 

My _impedimenta_ had been already packed. They did not need muchstowage. A pair of saddle-bags was sufficient to contain all mypersonal property--including the title-deeds of my freehold! My arms Icarried upon my person: my sword only being strapped along the saddle. Bidding adieu to my friend, I mounted my noble Arab; and, heading him tothe road, commenced journeying towards the _Western Reserve_. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

A CLASSIC LAND. 

Between Nashville and Swampville extends a distance of more than ahundred miles--just three days' travel on horseback. For the first tenmiles--to Harpeth River--I found an excellent road, graded andmacadamised, running most of the way between fenced plantations. Mynext point was _Paris_; and forty miles further on, I arrived in_Dresden_! So far as the nomenclature was concerned, I might havefancied myself travelling upon the continent of Europe. By going alittle to the right, I might have entered Asia: since I was told of_Smyrna_ and _Troy_ being at no great distance in that direction; and byproceeding in a south-westerly course, I should have passed through_Denmark_, and landed at _Memphis_--certainly an extensive tour withinthe short space of three days! Ugh! those ugly names! Whathedge-schoolmaster has scattered them so loosely and profusely over thislovely land? Whip the wretch with rattlesnakes! Memphis indeed!--as ifMemphis with its monolithic statues needed commemoration on the banks ofthe Mississippi! A new Osiris--a new Sphinx, "half horse, halfalligator, with a sprinkling of the snapping turtle. " At every forkingof the roads, whenever I inquired my way, in my ears rang those classichomonyms, till my soul was sick of sounds. "Swampville" was euphony, and "Mud Creek" _soft_ music in comparison! Beyond Dresden, the titlesbecame more appropriate and much more rare. There were long stretcheshaving no names at all: for the simple reason, that there were no_places_ to bear them. The numerous creeks, however, had been baptised;and evidently by the backwoodsmen themselves, as the titles indicated. "Deer Creek" and "Mud"--"Coon" and "Cat"--"Big" and "Little Forky"--toldthat the pioneers, who first explored the hydrographic system of theWestern Reserve, were not heavily laden with classic lore; and a pity itis that pedantry should be permitted to alter the simple, but expressiveand appropriate, appellatives by them bestowed. Unfortunately, thesystem is followed up to this hour by the Fremonts and otherpseudo-explorers of the farthest west. The soft and harmonious sound ofIndian and Spanish nomenclature--as well as the more striking titlesbestowed by the trappers--are rapidly being obliterated from the maps;their places to be supplied--at the instigation of a fulsome flattery--by the often vulgar names of demagogic leaders, or the influential headsof the employing _bureau_. 

"I know the old general will be pleased--perhaps reciprocate thecompliment in his next despatch--if I call this beautiful river`Smith. '"

"How the secretary will smile, when he sees his name immortalised uponmy map, by a lake never to be dried up, and which hereafter is to beknown by the elegant and appropriate appellation of `Jones!'" Underjust such influence are these absurd titles bestowed; and theconsequence is, that amid the romantic defiles of the Rocky Mountains, we have our ears jarred by a jumble of petty and most inappropriatenames--Smiths, Joneses, Jameses, and the like--while, from the sublimepeaks of the Cascade range, we have "Adams, " "Jackson, " "Jefferson, ""Madison, " and "Washington, " overlooking the limitless waters of thePacific. This last series we could excuse. The possession of highqualities, or the achievement of great deeds, ennobles even a commonname; and all these have been stamped with the true patent. In theassociated thoughts that cling around them, we take no note of thesound--whether it be harsh or harmonious. But that is another question, and must not hinder us from entering our protest against thenomenclature of Smith, Jones, and Robinson!

Beyond Dresden, my road could no longer be termed a road. It was a meretrace, or lane, cut out in the forest--with here and there a tree"blazed, " to indicate the direction. As I neared the point of mydestination, I became naturally curious to learn something about it--that is, about Swampville--since it was evident that this was to be the_point d'appui_ of my future efforts at colonisation--my depot and portentry. I should have inquired had I found any one to inquire _from_;but, for ten miles along the road, I encountered not a human creature. Then only a "darkey" with an ox-cart loaded with wood; but, despairingof information from such a source, I declined detaining him. The onlyintelligence I was able to draw from the negro was that; "da `city' o'Swampville, massr, he lay 'bout ten mile furrer down da crik. " The "tenmile down da crik" proved to be long ones; but throughout the wholedistance I saw not a creature, until I had arrived within a mile or soof the "settlement!"

I had been already apprised that Swampville was a new place. Its famehad not yet reached the eastern world; and even in Nashville was itunknown, except, perhaps, to the Land-Office. It was only afterentering the Reserve, that I became fully assured of its existence; andthere it was known as a "settlement" rather than a "city. " For allthat, Swampville proved to be not so contemptible a place; and thereason I had encountered so little traffic, while approaching it, wasthat I had been coming in the _wrong direction_--in other words, I hadapproached it _from behind_. 

Swampville was in reality a _riverine_ town. To it the east was a_back_ country; and its front face was to the west. In that directionlay its world, and the ways that opened to it. Log-shanties began toline the road--standing thicker as I advanced; while at intervals, appeared a "frame-house" of more pretentious architecture. In front ofone of these--the largest of the collection--there stood a tall post; orrather a tree with its top cut off, and divested of its lower branches. On the head of this was a "martin-box"; and underneath the dwelling ofthe birds, a broad framed board, on which was legible the word "Hotel. "A portrait of Jackson, done in "continental uniform, " embellished theface of the board. The sign seemed little appropriate: for in the harshfeatures of "Old Hickory" there was but slight promise of hospitality. It was no use going farther. The "Jackson Hotel" was evidently the"head inn" of the place; and without pause or parley, I dismounted atits door. 

I was too well used to western habits to wait either for welcome orassistance--too careful of my Arab to trust him to hands unskilled--andI did the unsaddling for myself. A half-naked negro gave me some slighthelp in the "grooming" process--all the while exhibiting his ivories andthe whites of his eyes in an expression of ill-concealed astonishment, produced apparently by the presence of my uniform coat--to the "darkey, "no doubt, an uncommon apparition. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

THE "JACKSON HOTEL. "

I found that I had arrived in the very "nick of time:" for just as Ireturned from the stable, and was entering the verandah of the hotel, Iheard the bell calling its guests to supper. There was no ado madeabout me: neither landlord or waiter met me with a word; and followingthe stream of "boarders" or travellers who had arrived before me, I tookmy seat at the common _table-d'hote_. 

Had the scene been new to me, I might have found food for reflection, orobserved circumstances to astonish me. But I had been long accustomedto mix in as motley a throng, as that which now surrounded the table ofthe Swampville hotel. A supper-table, encircled by blanket and "jeans"coats--by buckskin blouses and red-flannel shirts--by men without coatsat all--was nothing strange to me; nor was it strange either to findthese _bizarre_ costumes interspersed among others of fashionable cutand finest cloth. Black broad-cloth frocks, and satin or velvet vests, were quite common. Individuals thus attired formed a majority of theguests--for in young settlements the "hotel" or "tavern" is also aboarding-house, where the spruce "storekeepers" and better class ofclerks take their meals--usually sleeping in the office or store. 

In glancing around the table, I saw many old "types, " though not oneface that I had ever seen before. There was one, however, that soonattracted my attention, and fixed it. It was _not_ a lady's face, asyou may be imagining; though there were present some of that sex--thelandlord's helpmate who presided over the coffee-pot, with some three orfour younger specimens of the backwoods fair--her daughters and nieces. All, however, were absolutely without attraction of any sort; and Isomewhat bitterly remembered the _mot_ of double meaning, with which myfriend had entertained me at parting. 

Venus was certainly not visible at the Swampville _table-d'hote_: forthe presiding divinity was a perfect Hecate; and her attendant damselscould have found no place in the train of the Cytherean goddess. No--the face that interested me was neither that of a female, nor in any wayfeminine. It was the face of a _man_; and that in the most emphaticsense of the word. He was a young man--apparently about four or fiveand twenty--and costumed as a backwoods hunter; that is, he wore abuckskin hunting-shirt, leggings, and mocassins--with bullet-pouch andpowder-horn suspended over his shoulder, and hunting-knife sheathed inhis belt. The coon-skin cap, hanging against the adjacent wall, was hishead-dress: I had seen him place it there, before taking his seat at thesupper-table. With the personal appearance of this young man the eyewas at once satisfied. A figure of correct contour, features of nobleoutline, a face expressive of fine mental qualities--were the moresalient characteristics that struck me at the first glance. Regardingthe portrait more particularly, other details became manifest: roundhazel eyes, with well-developed lashes; brows finely arched; amagnificent shock of nut-brown curling hair; a small, well-formed mouth, with white, regular teeth--all contributed to the creation of what mightbe termed a type of manly beauty. This beauty appeared in a somewhatneglected garb. Art might have improved it; but it was evident thatnone had been employed, or even thought of. It was a clear case of"beauty unadorned;" and the possessor of it appeared altogetherunconscious of its existence. I need not add that this mentalcharacteristic, on the part of the young man, heightened the grace ofhis personal charms. 

Why this young fellow fixed my attention, I can scarcely tell. Hiscostume was by no means uncommon: though it was the only one of the kindthere present. It was not that, however, nor yet his fine personalappearance, that interested me; but rather something I had observed inhis bearing and manner. As we were seated opposite each other, near thefoot of the long table, I had an excellent opportunity of observing him. Notwithstanding his undoubted good looks--sufficiently striking to havefilled the possessor with vanity--his deportment was marked by a modestreserve, that proved him either unaware of his personal advantages, orwithout any conceit in them. By the glances occasionally cast towardshim, from the opposite end of the table, I could perceive that "MissAlvina" and "Miss Car'line" were not insensible to his attractions. Neither, however, had reason to congratulate herself upon anyreciprocity of her favouring glances. The young man either did notobserve, or, at all events, took no notice of them. The melancholytinge pervading his features remained altogether unaltered. Equallyimpassible did he appear under the jealous looks of some three or foursmart young storekeepers--influenced, no doubt, by tender relationsexisting between them and the aforementioned damsels, whose sly_espieglerie_ of the handsome hunter could not have escaped theirobservation. 

The young man appeared to be be rather _friendless_, than unknown. Icould perceive that almost all of the company were acquainted with him;but that most of them--especially the gentlemen in broad-cloth--affectedan air of superiority over him. No one talked much to him: for hisreserved manner did not invite conversation; but when one of these didaddress a few words to him, it was in the style usually adopted by thewell-to-do citizen, holding converse with his less affluent neighbour. The young fellow was evidently not one to be sneered at or insulted;but, for all that, I could perceive that the broad-cloth gentry did notquite regard him as an equal. Perhaps this may be explained by thehypothesis that he was _poor_, and, indeed, it did not require muchpenetration to perceive that such was the reality. The hunting-shirt, though once a handsome one, was no longer new. On the contrary, it wasconsiderably "scuffed;" and the green baize wrappers upon his limbs werefaded to a greenish brown. Other points proclaimed a light purse--perhaps far lighter than the heart of him who carried it--if I was tojudge by the expression of his countenance. 

Notwithstanding all this, the young hunter was evidently an object ofinterest--whether friendly or hostile--and might have been the_cynosure_ of the supper-table, but for my undress-frock andspread-eagle buttons. These, however, claimed some share of thecuriosity of Swampville; and I was conscious of being the object of aportion of its surveillance. I knew not what ideas they could have hadabout me, and cared as little: but, judging from the looks of the men--the broad-cloth gentlemen in particular--I was impressed with asuspicion that I was neither admired nor welcome. In the eyes of your"sovereign citizen, " the mere military man is not the hero that he iselsewhere; and he must show something more than a uniform coat, torecommend himself to their suffrages. I was conceited enough to imaginethat Miss Alvina, and her _vis-a-vis_, Miss Car'line, did not lookaltogether unfriendly; but the handsome face and magnificent curls ofthe young hunter were beside me; and it was no use taking the fieldagainst such a rival. I was not jealous of him, however, nor he of me. On the contrary, of all the men present, he appeared most inclined to becourteous to me--as was evinced by his once or twice pushing within myreach those delicate dishes, distributed at _very_ long distances overthe table. I felt an incipient friendship for this young man, which heappeared to reciprocate. He saw that I was a stranger; andnotwithstanding the pretentious fashion of my dress, perhaps he noticedmy well-worn coat, and conjectured that I might be as poor andfriendless as himself. If it was to this conjecture I was indebted forhis sympathies, his instincts were not far astray. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

COLONEL KIPP. 

As soon as I had swallowed supper, I hastened to place myself _enrapport_ with the landlord of the hostelry--whose name I had ascertainedto be "Kipp, " or "_Colonel_ Kipp, " as his guests called him. Though Ihad no intention of proceeding farther that night, I was desirous ofobtaining some information, about the whereabout of my new estate, withsuch other facts in relation to it, as might be collected in Swampville. The landlord would be the most likely person to give me the desiredintelligence. This distinguished individual I encountered soon after inthe verandah--seated upon a raw-hide rocking-chair, with his feetelevated some six inches above the level of his nose, and resting acrossthe balustrade of the railing--beyond which his huge horse-skin bootsprotruded a full half yard into the street. But that I had been alreadymade aware of the fact, I should have had some difficulty inreconciling the portentous title of "colonel" with the exceedinglyunmilitary-looking personage before me--a tall lopsided tobacco-chewer, who, at short intervals, of about half a minute each, projected thejuice in copious squirts into the street, sending it clean over the toesof his boots!

When I first set eyes upon the colonel, he was in the centre of a circleof tooth-pickers, who had just issued from the supper-room. These werefalling off one by one; and, noticing their defection, I waited for anopportunity to speak to the colonel alone. This, after a short time, offered itself. 

The dignified gentleman took not the slightest notice of me as Iapproached; nor until I had got so near, as to leave no doubt upon hismind that a conversation was intended. Then, edging slightly round, anddrawing in the boots, he made a half-face towards me--still, however, keeping fast to his chair. 

"The army, sir, I prezoom?" interrogatively began Mr Kipp. 

"No, " answered I, imitating his laconism of speech. "No!"

"I have been in the service. I have just left it. "

"Oh--ah! From Mexico, then, I prezoom?"

"Yes. "

"Business in Swampville?"

"Why, yes, Mr Kipp. "

"I am usooally called _kurnel_ here, " interrupted the backwoods_militario_, with a bland smile, as if half deprecating the title, andthat it was forced upon him. 

"Of course, " continued he, "you, sir, bein' a strenger--"

"I beg your pardon, _Colonel_ Kipp: I _am_ a stranger to your _city_, and of course--"

"Don't signify a dump, sir, " interrupted he, rather good-humouredly, inreturn for the show of deference I had made, as also, perhaps for mypoliteness in having styled Swampville a city. "Business in Swampville, you say?"

"Yes, " I replied; and, seeing it upon his lips to inquire the nature ofmy business--which I did not wish to make known just then--I forestalledhim by the question: "Do you chance to know such a place as Holt'sClearing?"

"Chance to know such a place as Holt's Clearin'?"

"Yes; Holt's Clearing. "

"Wal, there _air_ such a place. "

"Is it distant?"

"If you mean Hick Holt's Clearin', it's a leetle better'n six miles fromhere. He squats on Mud Crik. "

"There's a squatter upon it, then?"

"On Holt's Clearin'? Wal, I shed rayther say there _air a squatter_on't, an' no mistake. "

"His name is Holt is it not?"

"That same individooal. "

"Do you think I could procure a guide in Swampville--some one who couldshow me the way to Holt's Clearing?"

"Do I think so? Possible you might. D'ye see that ar case in thecoon-cap?" The speaker looked, rather than pointed, to the young fellowof the buckskin shirt; who, outside the verandah, was now standing bythe side of a very sorry-looking steed. I replied in the affirmative. "Wal, I reckon he kin show you the way to Holt's Clearin'. He's anothero' them Mud Crik squatters. He's just catchin' up his critter to gothat way. "

This I hailed as a fortunate circumstance. If the young hunter livednear the clearing I was in search of, perhaps he could give me all theinformation I required; and his frank open countenance led me to believehe would not withhold it. It occurred to me, therefore, to make aslight change in my programme. It was yet _early_--for supper in thebackwoods is what is elsewhere known as "tea. " The sun was still anhour or so above the horizon. My horse had made but a light journey;and nine miles more would be nothing to him. All at once, then, Ialtered my intention of sleeping at the hotel; and determined, if theyoung hunter would accept me as a travelling companion, to proceed alongwith him to Mud Creek. Whether I should find a bed there, never enteredinto my calculation. I had my great-sleeved cloak strapped upon thecantle of my saddle; and with that for a covering, and the saddle itselffor a pillow, I had made shift on many a night, more tempestuous thanthat promised to be. 

I was about turning away to speak to the young man, when I was recalledby an exclamation from the landlord:--"I guess, " said he, in ahalf-bantering way, "you hain't told me your business yet?"

"No, " I answered deferentially, "I have not. "

"What on airth's takin' you to Holt's Clearin'?"

"That, Mr Kipp--I beg pardon--_Colonel_ Kipp--is a private matter. "

"Private and particular, eh?"

"Very. "

"Oh, then, I guess, you'd better keep it to yourself. "

"That is precisely my intention, " I rejoined, turning on my heel, andstepping out of the verandah. 

The young hunter was just buckling the girth of his saddle. As Iapproached him, I saw that he was smiling. He had overheard theconcluding part of the conversation; and looked as if pleased at the wayin which I had bantered the "colonel, " who, as I afterwards learnt fromhim, was the grand swaggerer of Swampville. A word was sufficient. Heat once acceded to my request, frankly, if not in the most elegantphraseology, "I'll be pleased to show ye the way to Holt's Clarin'. Myown road goes jest that way, till within a squ'll's jump o't. "

"Thank you: I shall not keep you waiting. "

I re-entered the hotel to pay for my entertainment, and give orders forthe saddling of my horse. It was evident that I had offended thelandlord by my brusque behaviour. I ascertained this by the _amount_ ofmy bill, as well as by the fact of being permitted to saddle for myself. Even the naked "nigger, " did not make his appearance at the stable. Not much cared I. I had drawn the girth too often, to be disconcertedby such petty annoyance; and, in five minutes after, I was in the saddleand ready for the road. Having joined my companion in the street, werode off from the inhospitable _caravanserai_ of the Jackson Hotel--leaving its warlike landlord to chew his tobacco, and such reflectionsas my remarks had given rise to. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

THROUGH THE FOREST. 

As we passed up the street, I was conscious of being the subject ofSwampville speculation. Staring faces at the windows, and gaping groupsaround the doors, proved by their looks and gestures, that I wasregarded as a rare spectacle. It could scarcely be my companion who wasthe object of this universal curiosity. A buckskin hunting-shirt was aneveryday sight in Swampville--not so a well-mounted _military_ man, armed, uniformed, and equipped. No doubt, my splendid Arab, _caracoling_ as if he had not been out of the stable for a week, came infor a large share of the admiration. 

We were soon beyond its reach. Five minutes sufficed to carry us out ofsight of the Swampvillians: for, in that short space of time, we hadcleared the suburbs of the "city, " and were riding under the shadows ofan unbroken forest. Its cold gloom gave instantaneous relief--shadingus at one and the same time from the fiery sun, and the glances ofvulgar observation through which we had run the gauntlet. I at leastenjoyed the change; and for some minutes we rode silently on, my guidekeeping in advance of me. 

This mode of progression was not voluntary, but a necessity, arisingfrom the nature of the road--which was a mere "trace" or bridle-path"_blazed_" across the forest. No wheel had ever made its track in thesoft deep mud--into which, at every step, our steeds sank far above thefetlocks--and, as there was not room for two riders abreast, I followedthe injunction of my companion by keeping my horse's head "at the tailo' his'n. " In this fashion we progressed for a mile or more, through atract of what is termed "bottom-timber"--a forest of those giganticwater-loving trees--the sycamore and cotton-wood. Their tall greytrunks rose along the path, standing thickly on each side, and sometimesin regular rows, like the columns of a grand temple. I felt a secretsatisfaction in gazing upon these colossal forms: for my heart hailedthem as the companions of my future solitude. At the same time I couldnot help the reflection, that, if my new estate was thus heavilyencumbered, the clearing of the squatter was not likely to be extendedbeyond whatever limits the axe of Mr Holt had already assigned to it. 

A little further on, the path began to ascend. We had passed out of thebottom-lands, and were crossing a ridge, which forms the _divide_between Mud Creek and the Obion River. The soil was now a dry gravel, with less signs of fertility, and covered with a pine-forest. The treeswere of slender growth; and at intervals their trunks stood far apart, giving us an opportunity to ride side by side. This was exactly what Iwanted: as I was longing for a conversation with my new acquaintance. 

Up to this time, he had observed a profound silence; but for all that, Ifancied he was not disinclined to a little _causerie_. His reserveseemed to spring from a sense of modest delicacy--as if he did notdesire to take the initiative. I relieved him from this embarrassment, by opening the dialogue:--"What sort of a gentleman is this Mr Holt?"

"Gentleman!"

"Yes--what sort of _person_ is he?"

"Oh, what sort o' person. Well, stranger, he's what we, in these parts, call a rough customer. "

"Indeed?"

"Rayther, I shed say. "

"Is he what you call a poor man?"

"All that I reckon. He hain't got nothin', as I knows on, 'ceptin' hisold critter o' a hoss, an' his clarin' o' a couple o' acres orthereabout; besides, he only _squats_ upon that. "

"He's only a squatter, then?"

"That's all, stranger; tho' I reckon he considers the clarin' as muchhis own as I do my bit o' ground, that's been bought an' paid for. "

"Indeed?"

"Yes--I shedn't like to be the party that would buy it over his head. "

The speaker accompanied these words with a significant glance, whichseemed to say, "I wonder if that's _his_ business here. "

"Has he any family?"

"Thar's one--a young critter o' a girl. "

"That all?" I asked--seeing that my companion hesitated, as if he hadsomething more to say, but was backward about declaring it. 

"No, stranger--thar war another girl--older than this 'un. "

"And she?"

"She--she's gone away. "

"Married, I suppose?"

"That's what nobody 'bout here can tell nor whar she's gone, neyther. "

The tone in which the young fellow spoke had suddenly altered from gayto grave; and, by a glimpse of the moonlight, I could perceive that hiscountenance was shadowed and sombre. I could have but little doubt asto the cause of this transformation. It was to be found in the subjectof our conversation--the absent daughter of the squatter. From motivesof delicacy I refrained from pushing my inquiries farther; but, indeed, I should have been otherwise prevented from doing so: for, just at thatmoment, the road once more narrowed, and we were forced apart. By theeager urging of his horse into the dark path, I could perceive that thehunter was desirous of terminating a dialogue--to him, in allprobability, suggestive of bitter memories. 

For another half hour we rode on in silence--my companion apparentlyburied in a reverie of thought--myself speculating on the chances of anunpleasant encounter: which, from the hints I had just had, was nowrather certain than probable. Instead of a welcome from the squatter, and a bed in the corner of his cabin, I had before my mind the prospectof a wordy war; and, perhaps afterwards, of spending my night in thewoods. Once or twice, I was on the point of proclaiming my errand, andasking the young hunter for advice as how I should act; but as I had notyet ascertained whether he was friend or foe of my future hypotheticalantagonist, I thought it more prudent to keep my secret to myself. 

His voice again fell upon my ear--this time in a more cheerful tone. Itwas simply to say, that I "might shortly expect a better road--we wereapproaching a `gleed;' beyont that the trace war wider, an' we mightride thegither again. "

We were just entering the glade, as he finished speaking--an opening inthe woods of limited extent. The contrast between it and the darkforest-path we had traversed was striking--as the change itself waspleasant. It was like emerging suddenly from darkness into daylight:for the full moon, now soaring high above the spray of the forest, filled the glade with the ample effulgence of her light. Thedew-besprinkled flowers were sparkling like gems; and, even though itwas night, their exquisite aroma had reached us afar off in the forest. There was not a breath of air stirring; and the unruffled leavespresented the sheen of shining metal. Under the clear moonlight, Icould distinguish the varied hues of the frondage--that of the red maplefrom the scarlet sumacs and sassafras laurels; and these again, from thedark-green of the Carolina bay-trees, and the silvery foliage of the_Magnolia glauca_. 

Even before entering the glade, this magnificent panorama had burst uponmy sight--from a little embayment that formed the _debouchure_ of thepath--and I had drawn bridle, in order for a moment to enjoy itscontemplation. The young hunter was still the length of his horse inadvance of me; and I was about requesting him to pull up; but before Icould give utterance to the words, I saw him make halt of himself. This, however, was done in so awkward and hurried a manner, that I atonce turned from gazing upon the scene, and fixed my eyes upon mycompanion. As if by an involuntary effort, he had drawn his horsealmost upon his haunches: and was now stiffly seated in the saddle, withblanched cheeks and eyes sparkling in their sockets--as if some objectof terror was before him! I did not ask for an explanation. I knewthat the object that so strangely affected him must be visible--thoughnot from the point where I had halted. 

A touch of the spur brought my horse alongside his, and gave me a viewof the whole surface of the glade. I looked in the direction indicatedby the attitude of the hunter: for--apparently paralysed by someterrible surprise--he had neither pointed nor spoken. 

A little to the right of the path, I beheld a white object lying alongthe ground--a dead tree, whose barkless trunk and smooth naked branchesgleamed under the moonlight with the whiteness of a blanched skeleton. In front of this, and a pace or two from it, was a dark form, uprightand human-like. Favoured by the clear light of the moon, I had nodifficulty in distinguishing the form to be that of a woman. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

SU-WA-NEE. 

Beyond doubt, the dark form was that of a woman--a young one too, asevinced by her erect bearing, and a light agile movement, made at themoment of our first beholding her. Her attire was odd. It consisted ofa brownish-coloured tunic--apparently of doeskin leather--reaching fromthe neck to the knees; underneath which appeared leggings of likematerial, ending in mocassins that covered the feet. The arms, neck, and head were entirely bare; and the colour of the skin, as seen in themoonlight, differed from that of the outer garments only in being ashade or two darker! The woman, therefore, was not white, but an_Indian_: as was made further manifest by the sparkling of beads andbangles around her neck, rings in her ears, and metal circlets upon herarms--all reflecting the light of the moon in copious coruscations. AsI brought my horse to a halt, I perceived that the figure was advancingtowards us, and with rapid step. My steed set his ears, and snortedwith affright. The jade of the hunter had already given the example--each, no doubt, acting under the impulse of the rider. Mine was afeeling of simple astonishment. Such an apparition in that place, andat that hour, was sufficient cause for surprise; but a more definitereason was, my observing that a different emotion had been roused in thebreast of the young hunter. His looks betrayed fear, rather thansurprise! "Fear of what?" I asked myself, as the figure advanced; andstill more emphatically as it came near enough to enable me to make outthe face. As far as the moonlight would permit me to judge, there wasnothing in that face to fray either man or horse: certainly nothing tocreate an emotion, such as was depicted in the countenance of mycompanion. 

The complexion was brown, as already observed; but the features, if notof the finest type, were yet comely enough to attract admiration; andthey were lit up by a pair of eyes, whose liquid glance rivalled thesheen of the golden pendants sparkling on each side of them. I shouldhave been truly astonished at the behaviour of my guide, but for thenatural reflection, that there was some cause for it, yet unknown to me. Evidently, it was not his first interview with the forest maiden: for Icould now perceive that the person who approached was not exactly awoman, but rather a well-grown girl on the eve of womanhood. She was oflarge stature, nevertheless, with bold outline of breast, and arms thatgave token of something more than feminine strength. In truth, sheappeared possessed of a _physique_ sufficiently formidable to inspire acowardly man with fear--had such been her object--but I could perceiveno signs of menace in her manner. Neither could cowardice be anattribute of my travelling-companion. There was an unexplainedsomething, therefore, to account for his present display of emotion. 

On arriving within six paces of the heads of our horses, the Indianpaused, as if hesitating to advance. Up to this time, she had notspoken a word. Neither had my companion--beyond a phrase or two thathad involuntarily escaped him, on first discovering her presence in theglade. "She here? an' at this time o' night!" I had heard him mutterto himself; but nothing more, until the girl had stopped, as described. Then, in a low voice, and with a slightly trembling accent, hepronounced interrogatively, the words "Su-wa-nee?" It was the name ofthe Indian maiden; but there was no reply. 

"Su-wa-nee!" repeated he, in a louder tone, "is it you?"

The answer was also given interrogatively, "Has the White Eagle lost hiseyes, by gazing too long on the pale-faced fair ones of Swampville?There is light in the sky, and the face of Su-wa-nee is turned to it. Let him look on it: it is not lovely like that of the _half-blood_, butthe White Eagle will never see that face again. "

This declaration had a visible effect on the young hunter: the shade ofsadness deepened upon his features: and I could hear a sigh, withdifficulty suppressed--while, at the same time, he appeared desirous ofterminating the interview. 

"It's late, girl, " rejoined he, after a pause: "what for are ye here?"

"Su-wa-nee is here for a purpose. For hours she has been waiting to seethe White Eagle. The soft hands of the pale-faced maidens have held himlong. "

"Waitin' to see me! What do you want wi' me?"

"Let the White Eagle send the stranger aside. Su-wa-nee must speak tohim alone. "

"Thar's no need o' that: it's a friend that's wi' me. "

"Would the White Eagle have his secrets known? There are some he maynot wish even a friend to hear. Su-wa-nee can tell him one that willcrimson his cheeks like the flowers of the red maple. "

"I have no saycrets, girl--none as I'm afraid o' bein' heerd byanybody. "

"What of the half-blood?"

"I don't care to hear o' her. "

"The White Eagle speaks falsely! He does care to hear. He longs toknow what has become of his lost Marian. Su-wa-nee can tell him. "

The last words produced an instantaneous change in the bearing of theyoung hunter. Instead of the repelling attitude, he had hithertoobserved towards the Indian girl, I saw him bend eagerly forward--as ifdesirous of hearing what she had to say. Seeing that she had drawn hisattention, the Indian again pointed to me, and inquired: "Is thepale-faced stranger to know the love-secrets of the White Eagle?"

I saw that my companion no longer desired me to be a listener. Withoutwaiting for his reply, I drew my horse's head in the opposite direction, and was riding away. In the turning, I came face to face with him; andby the moonlight shining full over his countenance, I fancied I coulddetect some traces of mistrust still lingering upon it. My fancy wasnot at fault: for, on brushing close past him, he leaned over towardsme, and, in an earnest manner, muttered: "Please, stranger! don't gofur--thar's danger in this girl. She's been arter me before. " I noddedassent to his request; and, turning back into the little bay, thatformed the embouchure of the path, I pulled up under the shadow of thetrees. 

At this point I was not ten paces from the hunter, and could see him;but a little clump of white magnolias prevented me from seeing thegirl--at the same time that it hid both myself and horse from her sight. The chirrup of the cicadas alone hindered me from hearing all of whatwas said; but many words reached my ear, and with sufficientdistinctness, to give me a clue to the subject of the promisedrevelation. Delicacy would have prompted me to retire a little fartheroff; but the singular caution I had received from my companion, prevented me from obeying its impulse. 

I could make out that a certain Marian was the subject of theconversation; and then more distinctively, that it was Marian Holt. Just as I expected, the daughter of my squatter: that other and olderone, of whom mention had been already made. This part of the revelationwas easily understood: since I was already better than half prepared forit. Equally easy of comprehension was the fact, that this Marian wasthe sweetheart of my travelling companion--_had been_, I should rathersay; for, from what followed, I could gather that she was no longer inthe neighbourhood; that some months before she had left it, or beencarried away--spirited off in some mysterious manner, leaving no tracesof the why or whither she had gone. Nearly all this I had conjecturedbefore: since the young hunter had half revealed it to me by his manner, if not by words. Now, however, a point or two was added to my previousinformation relating to the fair Marian. _She was married_. Married--and to some odd sort of man, of whom the Indian appeared to speakslightingly. His name I could make out to be Steevens, or Steebins, orsomething of the sort--not very intelligible by the Indian's mode ofpronouncing it--and, furthermore, that he had been a schoolmaster inSwampville. 

During the progress of the dialogue, I had my eye fixed on the younghunter. I could perceive that the announcement of the marriage wasquite new to him; and its effect was as that of a sudden blow. Ofcourse, equally unknown to him had been the name of the husband; thoughfrom the exclamatory phrase that followed, he had no doubt had hisconjectures. 

"O God!" he exclaimed, "I thort so--the very man to a' done it. Lordha' mercy on her!" All this was uttered with a voice hoarse withemotion. "Tell me!" continued he, "whar are they gone? Ye say yeknow!"

The shrill screech of a tree-cricket, breaking forth at that moment, hindered me from hearing the reply. The more emphatic words onlyreached me, and these appeared to be "Utah" and "Great Salt Lake. " Theywere enough to fix the whereabouts of Marian Holt and her husband. 

"One question more!" said the rejected lover hesitatingly, as if afraidto ask it. "Can ye tell me--whether--she went _willingly_, or whether--thar wan't some force used?--by her father, or some un else? Can yetell me that, girl?"

I listened eagerly for the response. Its importance can be easilyunderstood by one who has _sued_ in vain--one who has _wooed_ without_winning_. The silence of the cicada favoured me; but a long intervalpassed, and there came not a word from the lips of the Indian. 

"Answer me, Su-wa-nee!" repeated the young man in a more appealing tone. "Tell me that, and I promise--"

"Will the White Eagle promise to forget his lost love? Will hepromise--"

"No, Su-wa-nee; I cannot promise that: I can _niver_ forget her. "

"The heart can _hate_ without forgetting. "

"Hate _her_? hate Marian? No! no!"

"Not if she be false?"

"How do I know that she war false? You haven't told me whether she wentwillin'ly or agin her consent. "

"The White Eagle shall know then. His gentle doe went willingly to thecovert of the wolf--_willingly_, I repeat. Su-wa-nee can give proof ofher words. "

This was the most terrible stroke of all. I could see the hunter shrinkin his saddle, a death-like pallor over-spreading his cheeks, while hiseyes presented the glassy aspect of despair. 

"Now!" continued the Indian, as if taking advantage of the blow she hadstruck, "will the White Eagle promise to sigh no more after his falsemistress? Will he promise to love _one_ that can be true?"

There was an earnestness in the tone in which these interrogatories wereuttered--an appealing earnestness--evidently prompted by a burningheadlong passion. It was now the turn of her who uttered them, to waitwith anxiety for a response. It came at length--perhaps to thelaceration of that proud heart: for it was a negative to its dearestdesire. 

"No, no!" exclaimed the hunter confusedly. "Impossible eyther to hateor forget her. She may a been false, an' no doubt are so; but it's toolate for me: _I can niver love agin_. "

A half-suppressed scream followed this declaration, succeeded by somewords that appeared to be uttered in a tone of menace or reproach. Butthe words were in the Chicasaw tongue, and I could not comprehend theirimport. 

Almost at the same instant, I saw the young hunter hurriedly draw backhis horse--as if to get out of the way. I fancied that the crisis hadarrived, when my presence might be required. Under this belief, Itouched my steed with the spur, and trotted out into the open ground. To my astonishment, I perceived that the hunter was alone. Su-wa-neehad disappeared from the glade!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

MAKING A CLEAN BREAST OF IT. 

"Where is she?--gone?" I mechanically asked, in a tone that must havebetrayed my surprise. 

"Yes--gone! gone! an' wi' a Mormon!"

"A Mormon?"

"Ay, stranger, a Mormon--a man wi' twenty wives! God forgi' her! I'drather heerd o' her death!"

"Was there a man with her? I saw no one. "

"O stranger, excuse my talk--you're thinkin' o' that ere Injun girl. 'Taint her I'm speakin' about. "

"Who then?"

The young hunter hesitated: he was not aware that I was already inpossession of his secret; but he knew that I had been witness of hisemotions, and to declare the name would be to reveal the most sacredthought of his heart. Only for a moment did he appear to reflect; andthen, as if relieved from his embarrassment, by some suddendetermination, he replied:

"Stranger! I don't see why I shedn't tell ye all about this bisness. Idon know the reezun, but you've made me feel a kind o' confidence inyou. I know it's a silly sort o' thing to fall in love wi' a handsumgirl; but if ye'd only seen _her_!"

"I have no doubt, from what you say, she was a beautiful creature, "--this was scarcely my thought at the moment--"and as for falling in lovewith a pretty girl, none of us are exempt from that little weakness. The proud Roman conqueror yielded to the seductions of the brown-skinnedEgyptian queen; and even Hercules himself was conquered by a woman'scharms. There is no particular silliness in that. It is but the commondestiny of man. "

"Well, stranger, it's been myen; an' I've hed reezun to be sorry for it. But it's no use tryin' to shet up the stable arter the hoss's beenstole out o't. She are gone now; an' that's the end o' it. I reckonI'll niver set eyes on her agin. "

The sigh that accompanied this last observation, with the melancholytone in which it was uttered, told me that I was talking to a man whohad truly loved. 

"No doubt, " thought I, "some strapping backwoods wench has been theobject of his passion, "--for what other idea could I have about thechild of a coarse and illiterate squatter? "Love is as blind as a bat;and this red-haired hoyden has appeared a perfect Venus in the eyes ofthe handsome fellow--as not unfrequently happens. A Venus withevidently a slight admixture of the prudential Juno in her composition. The young backwoodsman is poor; the schoolmaster perhaps a little betteroff; in all probability not much, but enough to decide the preference ofthe shrewd Marian. "

Such were my reflections at the moment, partly suggested by my ownexperience. 

"But you have not yet told me who this sweetheart was? You say it isnot the Indian damsel you've just parted with?"

"No, stranger, nothin' o' the kind: though there are some Injun in _her_too. 'Twar o' her the girl spoke when ye heerd her talk o' ahalf-blood. She aint just that--she's more white than Injun; her motheronly war a half-blood--o' the Chicasaw nation, that used to belong inthese parts. "

"Her name?"

"It _war_ Marian Holt. It are now Stebbins, I s'pose! since I've jestheerd she's married to a fellow o' that name. "

"She has certainly not improved her name. "

"She are the daughter o' Holt the squatter--the same whar you say you'rea-goin'. Thar's another, as I told ye; but she's a younger un. Hername's Lilian. "

"A pretty name. The older sister was very beautiful you say?"

"I niver set eyes on the like o' her. "

"Does the younger one resemble her?"

"Ain't a bit like her--different as a squ'll from a coon. "

"She's more beautiful, then?"

"Well, that depends upon people's ways o' thinkin'. Most people as know'em liked Lilian the best, an' thort her the handsumest o' the two. That wan't my notion. Besides, Lilly's only a young crittur--not out o'her teens yit. "

"But if she be also pretty, why not try to fall in love with her? Downin Mexico, where I've been lately, they have a shrewd saying: _Un clavosaca otro clavo_, meaning that `one nail drives out another'--as much asto say, that one love cures another. "

"Ah, stranger! that may be all be very well in Mexico, whar I've heerdthey ain't partickler about thar way o' lovin': but we've a sayin' herejest the contrairy o' that: `two bars can't get into the same trap. '"

"Ha, ha, ha! Well your backwoods proverb is perhaps the truer one, asit is the more honest. But you have not yet told me the fullparticulars of your affair with Marian? You say she has gone away fromthe neighbourhood?"

"You shall hear it all, stranger. I reckon thar can be no harm intellin' it to _you_; an' if you've a mind to listen, I'll make a cleanbreast o' the whole bisness. "

The hunter proceeded with his revelation--to him, a painful one--and, although I had already divined most of the particulars, I interruptedhim only with an occasional interrogative. The story was as I hadanticipated. He had been in love with Marian Holt; and was under theimpression that she returned it. She had given him frequent meetings inthe forest--in that very glade where we had encountered the Indian girl, and in which we were still lingering. Her father was not aware of theseinterviews. There had been some coolness between him and the younghunter; and the lovers were apprehensive that he might not approve oftheir conduct. This was the prologue of the hunter's story. Theepilogue I give in his own words: "'Twar a mornin'--jest five monthsago--she had promised to meet me here--an' I war seated on yonder logwaitin' for her. Jest then some Injuns war comin' through the gleed. That girl ye saw war one o' 'em. She had a nice bullet-pouch to sell, an' I bought it. The girl would insist on puttin' it on; an' while shewar doin' so, I war fool enough to gie her a kiss. Some devil hed putit in my head. Jest at that minnit, who shed come right into the gleedbut Marian herself! I meant nothin' by kissin' the Injun; but I s'poseMarian thort I did: she'd already talked to me 'bout this very girl; an'I believe war a leetle bit jealous o' her--for the Injun ain't to sayill-lookin'. I wanted to 'pologise to Marian; but she wouldn't listento a word; an' went off in a way I niver seed her in before. 'Twar thelast time I ever set eyes on her. "

"Indeed. "

"Ay, stranger, an' it's only this minnit, an' from that same Injun girl, that I've heard she's married, an' gone off to the Mormons. The Injunshad it from some o' her people, that seed Marian a crossin' theparairies. "

"That Indian damsel--Su-wa-nee, I think you named her--what of her?"

"Ah! stranger, that's another o' the konsequences o' doin' what aintright. Since the day I gin her that kiss, she'd niver let me alone, butused to bother me every time I met her in the woods; an' would a comearter me to my own cabin, if it hadn't been for the dogs, that wud taran Injun to pieces. She war afeerd o' them but not o' me, no matter howI thraitened her. I war so angry wi' her, for what had happened--thougharter all, 'twar more my fault than hern--but I war so vexed wi' herabout the ill-luck, that I used to keep out o' her way as well as Icould, an' didn't speak to her for a long time. She got riled 'boutthat, an' thraitened revenge; an' one night, as I war comin' fromSwampville, 'bout this time--only 'twar as dark as a pot o' pitch--I warjest ridin' out into this very gleed, when all o' a suddint my ole hossgin a jump forrard, an I feeled somethin' prick me from behind. 'Twarthe stab o' some sort o' a knife, that cut me a leetle above the hip, an' made me bleed like a buck. I know'd who did it; tho' not thatnight--for it war so dark among the bushes, I couldn't see a steim. ButI kim back in the mornin', and seed tracks. They war the tracks o' amocassin. I know'd 'em to be hern. "

"Su-wa-nee's tracks?"

"Sartin. I know'd 'em well enough, as I'd often seed her tracks throughthe crik bottom. "

"Did you take no steps to punish her?"

"Well--no--I didn't. "

"How is that? I think it would have been prudent of you to have donesomething--if only to prevent a recurrence of the danger. "

"Well, stranger! to tell truth, I war a leetle ashamed o' the wholebisness. Had it been a man, I'd a punished _him_; but they _do_ say thegirl's in love wi' me, arter her Injun way; an' I didn't like to berevengeful. Besides it war mostly my own fault: I had no bisness to afooled wi' her. "

"And you think she will not trouble you again?"

"I don know about that, arter what's happened the night. She's goneaway thraitnin' agin. I did think she'd gin up the notion o' revenge:for she know'd I'd found out that 'twar her that stabbed me. I told herso, the next time I seed her; an' she 'peared pleased 'bout my nothavin' her ta'en up. She said it war generous of the White Eagle--that's the name her people gies me--for thar's a gang o' them stilllivin' down the crik. She gin me a sort of promise she wouldn't troubleme agin; but I warn't sure o' her. That's the reezun, stranger, Ididn't want ye to go fur away. "

"I think it would be prudent in you to keep well on your guard. Thisredskin appears to be rather an unreflecting damsel; and, from what youhave told me, a dangerous one. She certainly has a strange way ofshowing her affection; but it must be confessed, you gave her someprovocation; and as the poet says, `Hell knows no fury like a womanscorned. '"

"That's true, stranger!"

"Her conduct, however, has been too violent to admit of justification. You appear to have been unfortunate in your sweethearts--with each in anopposite sense. One loves you too much, and the other apparently notenough! But how is it you did not see her again--Marian I mean!"

"Well, you understand, I wan't on the best of tarms wi' old Hick Holt, an' couldn't go to his clarin'. Besides after what had happened. Ididn't like to go near Marian anyhow--leastway for a while. I thort itwould blow over 's soon's she'd find out that E war only jokin' wi' theInjun. "

"So one would have supposed. "

"'Twar nigh two weeks afore I heerd anything o' her; then I larned thatshe war gone away. Nobody could tell why or whar, for nobody knew, 'ceptin Hick Holt hisself; an' he ain't the sort o' man to tellsaycrets. Lord o' mercy! I know _nowt_ an' it's worse than I expected. I'd sooner heerd she war dead. "

A deep-drawn sigh, from the very bottom of his soul, admonished me thatthe speaker had finished his painful recital. 

I had no desire to prolong the conversation. I saw that, silence wouldbe more agreeable to my companion; and, as if by a mutual and tacitimpulse, we turned our horses' heads to the path, and proceeded onwardacross the glade. 

As we were about entering the timber on the other side, my guide reinedup his horse; and sat for a moment gazing upon a particular spot--as ifsomething there had attracted his attention. 

What? There was no visible object--at least, none that was remarkable--on the ground, or elsewhere!

Another sigh, with the speech that followed, explained the singularityof his behaviour, "Thar!" said he, pointing to the entrance of theforest-path--"thar's the place whar I last looked on Marian!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

A PREDICAMENT IN PROSPECT. 

For half a mile beyond the glade, the trace continued wide enough toadmit of our riding abreast; but, notwithstanding this advantage, noword passed between us. My guide had relapsed into his attitude ofmelancholy--deepened, no doubt, by the intelligence he had justreceived--and sat loosely in his saddle, his head drooping forward overhis breast. Bitter thoughts within rendered him unconscious of what waspassing without; and I felt that any effort I might make to soften theacerbity of his reflections would be idle. 

There are moments when words of consolation may be spoken in vain--when, instead of soothing a sorrow, they add poison to its sting. I made noattempt, therefore, to rouse my companion from his reverie; but rode onby his side, silent as he. Indeed, there was sufficient unpleasantnessin my own reflections to give me occupation. Though troubled by noheart-canker of the past, I had a future before me that was neitherbrilliant nor attractive. The foreknowledge I had now gained ofsquatter Holt, had imbued me with a keen presentiment, that I wastreading upon the edge of a not very distant dilemma. Once, or twice, was I on the point of communicating my business to my travellingcompanion; and why not? With the openness of an honest heart, had heconfided to me the most important, as well as the most painful, secretof his life. Why should I withhold my confidence from him on a subjectof comparatively little importance? My reason for not making aconfidant of him sooner has been already given. It no longer existed. So far from finding in him an ally of my yet hypothetical enemy, in alllikelihood I should have him on my die. At all events, I felt certainthat I might count upon his advice; and, with his knowledge of the_situation_, that might be worth having. 

I was on the eve of declaring the object of my errand, and solicitinghis counsel thereon, when I saw him suddenly rein in, and turn towardsme. In the former movement, I imitated his example. 

"The road forks here, " said he. "The path on the left goes straightdown to Holt's Clarin'--the other's the way to my bit o' a shanty. "

"I shall have to thank you for the very kind service you have renderedme, and say `Good-night. '"

"No--not yet. I ain't a-goin' to leave ye, till I've put you 'ithinsight o' Holt's cabin, tho' I can't go wi' ye to the house. As I toldye, he an' I ain't on the best o' tarms. "

"I cannot think of your coming out of your way--especially at this latehour. I'm some little of a tracker myself; and, perhaps, I can make outthe path. "

"No, stranger! Thar's places whar the trace is a'most blind, and youmout get out o' it. Thar'll be no moon on it. It runs through a thicktimbered bottom, an' thar's an ugly bit o' swamp. As for the lateness, I'm not very reg'lar in my hours; an' thar's a sort o' road up the crikby which I can get home. 'Twan't to bid you good-night, that I stoppedhere. "

"What, then?" thought I, endeavouring to conjecture his purpose, whilehe was pausing in his speech. 

"Stranger!" continued he in an altered tone, "I hope you won't takeoffence if I ask you a question?"

"Not much fear of that, I fancy. Ask it freely. "

"Are ye sure o' a bed at Holt's?"

"Well, upon my word, to say the truth, I am by no means sure of one. Itdon't signify, however. I have my old cloak and my saddle; and itwouldn't be the first time, by hundreds, I've slept in the open air. "

"My reezuns for askin' you air, that if you ain't sure o' one, an' don'tmind stretching' yourself on a bar-skin, thar's such a thing in myshanty entirely at your sarvice. "

"It is very kind of you. Perhaps I may have occasion to avail myself ofyour offer. In truth, I am not very confident of meeting with afriendly reception at the hands of your neighbour Holt--much less beingasked to partake of his hospitality. "

"D'ye say so?"

"Indeed, yes. From what I have heard, I have reason to anticipaterather a cold welcome. "

"I'deed? But, "--My companion hesitated his his speech--as if meditatingsome observation which he felt a delicacy about making. "I'm a'mostashamed, " continued he, at length, "to put another question, that war onthe top o' my tongue. "

"I shall take pleasure in answering any question you may think proper toask me. "

"I shedn't ask it, if it wa'n't for what you've jest now said: for Iheerd the same question put to you this night afore, an' I heerd youranswer to it. But I reckon 'twar the _way_ in which it war asked thatoffended you; an' on that account your answer war jest as it should abeen. "

"To what question to you refer?"

"To your bisness out here wi' Hick Holt. I don't want to know it, outo' any curiosity o' my own--that's sartin, stranger. "

"You are welcome to know all about it. Indeed, it was my intention tohave told you before we parted--at the same time to ask you for someadvice about the matter. "

Without further parley, I communicated the object of my visit to MudCreek--concealing nothing that I deemed necessary for the elucidation ofthe subject. Without a word of interruption, the young hunter heard mystory to the end. From the play of his features, as I revealed the moresalient points, I could perceive that my chances of an amicableadjustment of my claim were far from being brilliant. 

"Well--do you know, " said he, when I had finished speaking, "I had asuspeecion that that might be your bisness? I don know why I shed athort so; but maybe 'twar because thar's been some others come here tosettle o' late, an' found squatters on thar groun--jest the same asHolt's on yourn. That's why ye heerd me say, a while ago, that Ishedn't like to buy over _his_ head. "

"And why not?" I awaited the answer to this question, not without acertain degree of nervous anxiety. I was beginning to comprehend thecounsel of my Nashville friend on the ticklish point of _pre-emption_. 

"Why, you see, stranger--as I told you, Hick Holt's a rough customer;an' I reckon he'll be an _ugly_ one to deal wi', on a bisness o' thatkind. "

"Of course, being in possession, he may purchase the land? He has theright of pre-emption?"

"'Taint for that. _He_ ain't a-goin' to _pre-empt_, nor buy neyther;an' for the best o' reezuns. He hain't got a red cent in the world, an'souldn't buy as much land as would make him a mellyun patch--not he. "

"How does he get his living, then?"

"Oh, as for that, jest some'at like myself. Thar's gobs o' game in thewoods--both bar an' deer: an' the clarin' grows him corn. Thar'ssqu'lls, an' 'possum, an' turkeys too; an' lots o' fish in the crik--ifone gets tired o' the bar an' deer-meat, which I shed niver do. "

"But how about clothing, and other necessaries that are not found in thewoods?"

"As for our clothin' _it_ ain't hard to find. We can get that inSwampville by swopping skins for it, or now an' then some deer-meat. O'anythin' else, thar ain't much needed 'bout here--powder, an' lead, an'a leetle coffee, an' tobacco. Once in a while, if ye like it, a tasteo' _old corn_. "

"Corn! I thought the squatter raised that for himself?"

"So he do raise corn; but I see, stranger, you don't understand our oddnames. Thar's two kinds o' corn in these parts--that as has been to the_still_, and that as hain't. It's the first o' these sorts that HickHolt likes best. "

"Oh! I perceive your meaning. He's fond of a little corn-whisky, Ipresume?"

"I reckon he are--that same squatter--fonder o't than milk. Butsurely, " continued the hunter, changing the subject, as well as the toneof his speech--"surely, stranger, you ain't a-goin' on your bisness thenight?"

"I've just begun to think, that it _is_ rather an odd hour to enter uponan estate. The idea didn't occur to me before. "

"Besides, " added he, "thar's another reezun. If Hick Holt's what heused to be, he ain't likely to be very _nice_ about this time o' night. I hain't seen much o' him lately; but, I reckon, he's as fond o' drinkas ever he war; an' 'tain't often he goes to _his_ bed 'ithout askinful. Thar's ten chances agin one, o' your findin' him wi' brick inhis hat. "

"That would be awkward. "

"Don't think o' goin' to-night, " continued the young hunter in apersuasive tone. "Come along wi' me; an' you can ride down to Holt's inthe mornin'. You'll then find him more reezonable to deal wi'. I can'toffer you no great show o' entertainment; but thar's a piece o'deer-meat in the house, an' I reckon I can raise a cup o' coffee, an' apone or two o' bread. As for your shore, the ole corn-crib ain't quiteempty yet. "

"Thanks thanks!" said I, grasping the hunter's hand in the warmth of mygratitude. "I accept your invitation. "

"This way, then, stranger!"

We struck into a path that led to the right; and, after riding about twomiles further, arrived at the solitary home of the hunter--a log-cabinsurrounded by a clearing. I soon found he was its sole occupant--as hewas its owner--some half-dozen large dogs being the only livingcreatures that were present to bid us welcome. A rude horse-shed was athand--a "loose box, " it might be termed, as it was only intended toaccommodate one--and this was placed at the disposal of my Arab. The"critter" of my host had, for that night, to take to the woods, andchoose his stall among the trees--but to that sort of treatment he hadbeen well inured. A close-chinked cabin for a lodging; a bear-skin fora bed; cold venison, corn-bread, and coffee for supper; with a pipe tofollow: all these, garnished with the cheer of a hearty welcome, constitute an entertainment not to be despised by an old campaigner; andsuch was the treatment I met with, under the hospitable _clapboard_ roofof the young backwoodsman--Frank Wingrove. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

THE INDIAN SUMMER. 

 Look forth on the forest ere autumn wind scatters Its frondage of scarlet, and purple, and gold: That forest, through which the great "Father of Waters" For thousands of years his broad current has rolled! Gaze over that forest of opaline hue, With a heaven above it of glorious blue, And say is there scene, in this beautiful world, Where Nature more gaily her flag has unfurled? Or think'st thou, that e'en in the regions of bliss, There's a landscape more truly Elysian than this?

 Behold the dark sumac in crimson arrayed, Whose veins with the deadliest poison are rife! And, side by her side, on the edge of the glade, The sassafras laurel, restorer of life! Behold the tall maples turned red in their hue, And the muscadine vine, with its clusters of blue; And the lotus, whose leaves have scarce time to unfold, Ere they drop, to discover its berries of gold; And the bay-tree, perfumed, never changing its sheen, And for ever enrobed in its mantle of green!

 And list to the music borne over the trees! It falls on the ear, giving pleasure ecstatic-- The song of the birds and the hum of the bees Commingling their tones with the ripples erratic. Hark! hear you the red-crested cardinal's call From the groves of annona?--from tulip-tree tall The mock-bird responding?--below, in the glade, The dove softly cooing in mellower shade-- While the oriole answers in accents of mirth? Oh, where is there melody sweeter on earth?

 In infamy now the bold slanderer slumbers, Who falsely declared 'twas a land without song! Had he listened, as I, to those musical numbers That liven its woods through the summer-day long-- Had he slept in the shade of its blossoming trees, Or inhaled their sweet balm ever loading the breeze, He would scarcely have ventured on statement so wrong-- "Her plants without perfume, her birds without song. " Ah! closet-philosopher, sure, in that hour, You had never beheld the magnolia's flower?

 Surely here the Hesperian gardens were found-- For how could such land to the gods be unknown? And where is there spot upon African ground So like to a garden a goddess would own? And the dragon so carelessly guarding the tree, Which the hero, whose guide was a god of the sea, Destroyed before plucking the apples of gold-- Was nought but that monster--the mammoth of old. If earth ever owned spot so divinely caressed, Sure that region of eld was the Land of the West!

The memory of that scene attunes my soul to song, awaking any muse fromthe silence in which she has long slumbered. But the voice of the coymaiden is less melodious than of yore: she shies _me_ for my neglect:and despite the gentlest courting, refusing to breathe her divine spiritover a scene worthy of a sweeter strain. And this scene lay not uponthe classic shores of the Hellespont--not in the famed valleys of Alpand Apennine--not by the romantic borders of the Rhine, but upon thebanks of _Mud Creek_ in the state of Tennessee! In truth, it was alovely landscape, or rather a succession of landscapes, through which Irode, after leaving the cabin of my hospitable host. It was the seasonof "Indian summer"--that singular phenomenon of the occidental clime, when the sun, as if rueing his southern declension, appears to returnalong the line of the zodiac. He loves better the "Virgin" than"Aquarius;" and lingering to take a fond look on that fair land he hasfertilised by his beams, dispels for a time his intruding antagonist, the hoary Boreas. But his last kiss kills: there is too much passion inhis parting glance. The forest is fired by its fervour; and many of itsfairest forms the rival trod of the north may never clasp in his coldembrace. In suttee-like devotion, they scorn to shun the flame; but, with outstretched arms inviting it; offer themselves as a holocaust tohim who, through the long summer-day, has smiled upon their tremblingexistence. 

At this season of the year, too, the virgin forest is often the victimof another despoiler--the _hurricane_. Sweeping them with spitefulbreath, this rude destroyer strikes down the trees like fragile reeds--prostrating at once the noblest and humblest forms. Not one is leftstanding on the soil: for the clearing of the hurricane is a completework; and neither stalk, sapling, nor stump may be seen, where it haspassed. Even the giants of the forest yield to its strength, as thoughsmitten by the hand of a destroying angel! Uprooted, they lie along theearth side by side--the soil still clinging to the clavicles of theirroots, and their leafy tops turned to the lee--in this prostratealignment slowly to wither and decay! A forest, thus fallen, presentsfor a time a picture of melancholy aspect. It suggests the idea of somegrand battle-field, where the serried hosts, by a terrible discharge of"grape and canister, " have been struck down on the instant: not onebeing left to look to the bodies of the slain--neither to bury norremove them. Like the battle-field, too, it becomes the haunt of wolvesand other wild beasts; who find among the fallen trunks, if not food, afastness securing them from the pursuit both of hound and hunter. Herein hollow log the black she-bear gives birth to her loutish cubs, training them to climb over the decaying trunks; here the lynx and redcouguar choose their cunning convert; here the racoon rambles over hisbeaten track; the sly opossum crawls warily along the log, or goes tosleep among the tangle of dry rhizomes; while the gaunt brown wolf maybe often heard howling amidst the ruin, or in hoarse bark baying themidnight moon. 

In a few years, however, this sombre scene assumes a more cheerfulaspect. An under-growth springs up, that soon conceals the skeletons ofthe dead trees: plants and shrubs appear--often of different genera andspecies from those that hitherto usurped the soil--and the ruin is nolonger apparent. The mournful picture gives place to one of luxuriantsweetness: the more brilliant sheen of the young trees and shrubs, nowcovering the ground, and contrasting agreeably with the sombre hues ofthe surrounding forest. No longer reigns that melancholy silence that, for a while, held dominion over the scene. If, at intervals, be heardthe wild scream of the couguar, or the distant howling of wolves, thesescarcely interrupt the music falling endlessly upon the ear--the redcardinals, the orioles, the warbling _fringillidae_, and the polyglotthrushes--who meet here, as if by agreement, to make this lovely sylvanspot the scene of their forest concerts. 

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Shortly after leaving the cabin of this young backwoodsman, my path, hitherto passing under the gloomy shadows of the forest, debouched uponjust such a scene. I had been warned of its proximity. My host, atparting, had given me directions as to how I should find my way acrossthe _herrikin_--through which ran the trace that conducted to theclearing of the squatter, some two miles further down the creek. I wasprepared to behold a tract of timber laid prostrate by the storm--thetrees all lying in one direction, and exhibiting the usual scathed anddreary aspect. Instead of this, on emerging from the dark forest, I wasagreeably surprised by a glorious landscape that burst upon my view. 

It was, as already stated, that season of the year when the Americanwoods array themselves in their most attractive robes--when the veryleaves appear as if they were flowers, so varied and brilliant are theirhues--when the foliage of the young beeches becomes a pale yellow, andglimmers translucent against the sun--when the maples are dying off of adeep red, and the sumac and sassafras turning respectively crimson andscarlet--when the large drupes of the Osage orange, the purple clustersof the fox-grape, and the golden berries of the persimmon or Virginianlotus, hang temptingly from the tree: just at that season when thebenignant earth has perfected, and is about to yield up, her annualbounty; and all nature is gratefully rejoicing at the gift. No wonder Iwas agreeably impressed by the gorgeous landscape--no wonder I reignedup, and permitted my eyes to dwell upon it; while my heart responded tothe glad chorus, that, from bird and bee, was rising up to heaven aroundme! I, too felt joyous under the reflection that, amid such lovelyscenes, I had chosen my future home. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

A BACKWOODS VENUS. 

After indulging for some time in a sort of dreamy contemplation I oncemore gave the bridle to my horse, and rode onward. I was prepared for atortuous path: my host had forewarned me of this. The _herrikin_, hesaid, was only three hundred yards in breadth; but I should have to ridenearly twice that distance in crossing it. His statement provedliterally true. The old trace, passing down the creek bottom, had runat right angles to the direction of the storm; and, of course, the treeshad fallen perpendicularly across the path--where they still lay, thickas hurdles set for a donkey-race. Some of them could be stepped over bya horse, and a few might be "jumped, " but there were others that rosebreast high; and a flying-leap over a five-barred gate would have beenan easy exploit, compared with clearing one of these monstrous barriers. I might add, also, from experience, that leaping a log is a feat ofconsiderable danger. There is no room for "topping;" and should theiron hoof strike, there is nothing that will yield. On the other side, the rider has the pleasant prospect of a broken neck--either for himselfor his horse. Not being in any particular hurry, I took the matterquietly; and wound my way through a labyrinth worthy of being the mazeof Fair Rosamond. 

I could not help remarking the singular effect which the _herrikin_ hadproduced. To the right and left, as far as my view could range, extended an opening, like some vast avenue that had been cleared for thepassage of giants, and by giants made! On each side appeared theunbroken forest--the trunks standing like columns, with shadowy aislesbetween: their outward or edge-row trending in a straight line, as if soplanted. These showed not a sign that the fierce tornado had passed sonear them; though others, whose limbs almost interlocked with theirs, had been mowed down without mercy by the ruthless storm. 

I had arrived within fifty yards of the opposite side, and the darkforest was again before my face; but even at that short distance, theeye vainly endeavoured to pierce its sombre depths. I wascongratulating myself, that I had passed the numerous logs that layacross the path, when yet one more appeared between me and the standingtrees. It had been one of the tallest victims of the tornado; and nowlay transversely to the line of the track, which cut it about midway. On nearing this obstacle, I saw that the trace forked into two--onegoing around the tops of the decaying branches, while the other took thedirection of the roots; which, with the soil still adhering to them, formed a rounded buttress-like wall of full ten feet in diameter. Thetrunk itself was not over five--that being about the thickness of thetree. It was a matter of choice which of the two paths should befollowed: since both appeared to come together again on the oppositeside of the tree; but I had made up my mind to take neither. One of mymotives, in seeking this forest-home, had been a desire to indulge inthe exciting exercise of the chase; and the sooner I should bring myhorse into practice, the sooner I might take the field with a prospectof success. Log-leaping was new to my Arab; and he might stand in needof a little training to it. The log before me had open ground on bothsides; and afforded a very good opportunity for giving him his firstlesson. Thus prompted by Saint Hubert, I was about spurring forward tothe run; when a hoof-stroke falling upon my ear, summoned me to desistfrom my intention. 

The sound proceeded from the forest before my face; and, peering intoits darkness, I could perceive that some one, also on horseback, wascoming along the path. This caused me to change my design, or rather topause until the person should pass. Had I continued in my determinationto leap the log, I should, in all likelihood, have dashed my horse atfull gallop against that of the approaching traveller; since our courseslay directly head to head. 

While waiting till he should ride out of the way, I became aware that Ihad committed an error--only in regard to the _sex_ of the person whowas approaching. It was not a _he_! On the contrary, something so verydifferent that, as soon as I had succeeded in shading the sun-glare outof my eyes; and obtained a fair view of the equestrian traveller, myindifference was at an end: I beheld one of the loveliest apparitionsever made manifest in female form, or I need scarcely add, in any other. It was a young girl--certainly not over sixteen years of age--but witha contour close verging upon womanhood. Her beauty was of thatcharacter which cannot be set forth by a detailed description in words. In true loveliness there is a harmony of the features that will notsuffer them to be considered apart; nor does the eye take note of anyone, to regard it as unique or characteristic. It is satisfied with the_coup d'oeil_ of the whole--if I may be permitted the expression. Realbeauty needs not to be considered; it is acknowledged at a glance: eyeand heart, impressed with it at the same instant, search not to studyits details. 

The impression made upon me by the first sight of this young girl, wasthat of something soft and strikingly beautiful, of a glorious goldenhue--the reflection of bright amber-coloured hair on a blonde skin, tinged with a hue of vermilion--something that imparted a sort ofluminous radiance divinely feminine. Even under the shadow of thetrees, this luminous radiance was apparent--as if the face had a _halo_around it! The reader may smile at such exalted ideas, and deem themthe offspring of a romantic fancy; but had he looked, as I, into theliquid depths of those large eyes, with their blue irides and darkerpupils; had he gazed upon that cheek tinted as with cochineal--thoselips shaming the hue of the rose--that throat of ivory white--thosegolden tresses translucent in the sunlight--he would have felt as I, that something _shone_ before his eyes--a face such as the Athenianfancy has elaborated into an almost living reality, in the goddessCytherea. In short, it was the Venus of my fancy--the very ideal I hadimbibed from gazing upon many a picture of the Grecian goddess. Theprognostication of my friend had proved emphatically false. If it wasnot _Venus_ I saw before me, it appeared her _counterpart_ in humanform!

And this fair creature was costumed in the simplest manner--almostcoarsely clad. A sleeved dress of homespun with a yellowish stripe, loosely worn, and open at the breast. A cotton "sun-bonnet" was theonly covering for her head--her bright amber-coloured hair the onlyshawl upon her shoulders, over which it fell in ample luxuriance. Astring of pearls around her neck--false ones I could see--was the soleeffort that vanity seemed to have made: for there was no other articleof adornment. Even shoes and stockings were wanting; but the mostcostly _chaussure_ could not have added to the elegance of those_mignon_ feet, that, daintily protruding below the skirt of her dress, rested along the flank of the horse. 

More commonplace even than her homespun frock was the steed that carriedher--a sorry-looking animal, that resembled the skeleton of a horse withthe skin left on! There was no saddle--scarce the semblance of one. Apiece of bear-skin, strapped over the back with a rough thong, didservice for a saddle; and the little feet hung loosely down without stepor stirrup. The girl kept her seat, partly by balancing, but as much byholding on to the high bony withers of the horse, that rose above hisshoulders like the hump of a dromedary. The scant mane, wound aroundher tiny fingers scarcely covered them; while with the other hand sheclasped the black reins of an old dilapidated bridle. The want ofsaddle and stirrup did not hinder her from poising herself gracefullyupon the piece of bear-skin; but hers was a figure that, could not beungraceful in any attitude; and, as the old horse hobbled along, therude movement all the more palpably displayed the magnificent mouldingof her body and limbs. 

The contrast between horse and rider--the old _critter_ and the young_creature_--was ridiculously striking: the former appearing a burlesqueon the most beautiful of quadrupeds, while the latter was the veryimpersonation of the loveliest of biped forms. 

It is scarcely probable that the Cyprian goddess could ever have beenbrought into such a ludicrous juxtaposition--a shame upon Mercury if shewas! In classic lore we find mention of no such sorry steed; and, forhis counterpart in story, we must seek in more modern times--fixing uponthe famed charger of Calatrava's knight. But here the analogy must end. The charms of the dark-haired Dulcinea can be brought into nocomparison with those of the golden-haired wood-nymph of the ObionBottom. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

A SERIES OF CONTRE-TEMPS. 

At sight of this charming equestrian, all thoughts of leaping the logwere driven out of my mind; and I rode quietly forward, with theintention of going round it. It might be that I timed the pace of myhorse--_mechanically_, no doubt--but however that may have been, Iarrived at the prostrate tree, just as the young girl reached it fromthe opposite side. We were thus brought face to face, the log-barrierbetween us. I would have spoken; but, for the life of me, I could notthink of something graceful to say; and to have used the hackneyedphraseology of "Fine morning, miss!" would, in those beautiful blue eyesthat glistened under the shadow of the sun-bonnet, have rendered me ascommonplace as the remark. I felt certain it would; and therefore saidnothing. 

Some acknowledgement, however, was necessary; and, lifting theforage-cap from my forehead, I bowed slightly--as such a salutationrequired--but with all the _verve_ that politeness would permit. Mysalutation was acknowledged by a nod, and, as I fancied, a smile. Either was grace enough for me to expect; but, whether the smile was theoffspring of a feeling in my favour, or at my expense, I was unable atthe moment to determine. I should have an opportunity of repeating thebow, as we met again in going round the tree. Then I should certainlyspeak to, her; and, as I turned my horse's head to the path, I set aboutthinking of something to say. 

I had taken the path leading to the right--that which passed round theroot of the tree. Of the two ways this appeared to be the shorter andthe more used. What was my chagrin, when, in glancing over my arm, Iperceived that I had made a most grievous mistake: the girl was going inthe opposite direction! Yes--she had chosen to ride round the branchingtops of the dead-wood--by all the gods, a much wider circuit! Was itaccident, or design? It had the appearance of the latter. I fanciedso, and fell many degrees in my own estimation. Her choosing what wasevidently the "round-about" direction, argued unwillingness that weshould meet again: since the _mazy_ movement we were now performingprecluded all chance of a second encounter, except with the great logstill between us. Even then we should be no longer _vis-a-vis_ asbefore, but _dos-a-dos_, almost on the instant of our approaching! Toinsure even this poor privilege, I rode rapidly round the great buttressof roots, that for a moment concealed the fair equestrian from my sight. I did this with the intention of getting forward in time. So rapidlydid I pass, and so absorbed was I in the idea of another sweetsalutation, that I saw not the fearful creature that lay basking uponthe log--on the sunny side of the upheaved mass of earth. 

Once on the other side, I discovered that I had made a third mistake--equally as provoking as the second--I had arrived _too soon_!Golden-hair was away up among the tangle of the tree-tops. I could seeher bright face gleaming through the branches--now and then hidden bythe broad leaves of the bignonias that laced them together. To make mestill more miserable, I fancied that she was moving with a _studiedslowness_! I had already reached that point, where the path parted fromthe log. I dared not pause: there was no excuse for it. Not the shadowof one could I think of; and, with a lingering towards that glitteringattraction, I reluctantly headed my horse to the forest. A last glanceover my shoulder disclosed no improvement in my situation: she was stillbehind the trellised leaf-work of the bignonias, where she had stayedperhaps to pluck a flower. 

"Happier far if I had never seen her!" was the reflection that occurredto me, as I entered the gloomy shadow of the trees--less gloomy than myown thoughts. 

With one circumstance I now reproached myself: why had I been so shywith this forest damsel? The very way to secure her indifference. Whyhad I not _spoken_ to her, if only in commonplace? Even "Good-day"would have promised me a response; and the result could not have beenmore unfavourable. Why the deuce had I not bidden her "Good-day"? Ishould have heard her voice--no doubt an additional charm--for I neveryet saw a beautiful woman with a harsh voice; and I fear the inverseproposition is equally true. Why passed I without speaking? No doubt, she deems me a _yokel_! Perhaps it was my very shyness she was smilingat? S'death! what a simpleton--Ho! what do I hear? A woman's voice--acry?--of terror? There again!--a scream! the words, "Help, oh! help!"Is it she who is calling? Yes--yes it is she! By such strange soundswere my reflections interrupted. Turning my horse with a wrench, Iurged him back along the path. I was yet scarcely a dozen lengths fromthe log--for the reflections above detailed were but the thoughts of amoment. Half-a-dozen bounds of my steed brought me back to the edge ofa standing timber--where I pulled up, to ascertain the purport of thissingular summons that had reached me. 

I made no inquiry--no explanation was needed. The scene explaineditself: for, at the moment of my emerging from the shadowy path, I had atableau under my eyes, expressive as it was terrifying. The girl wasupon the other side of the log, and near the point where she should haveturned off from it; but, instead of advancing, I saw that she had cometo a halt--her attitude expressing the wildest terror, as if somefearful object was before her! The jade, too, showed affright, bysnorting loudly--his head raised high in the air, and his long earspointing forward. The young girl was dragging mechanically on thebridle--as if to head him away from the spot. But this was impossible:another log, overlapping the first, formed an avenue, so narrow as toleave not the slightest chance of a horse being able to turn in it. Into this the animal had backed. There was no way of his getting frombetween the two trunks, but by going straight forward or backward. Forward he _dared not go_; and backward he was moving, as fast as thenature of the place would permit: now halting with his hips against oneof the logs; then with a quick rush backing against the other, that, butfor the support thus obtained, would have brought him upon his haunches!The retrograde movement on the part of the horse was evidently theresult of terror, at the sight of some object in front. It was aidedalso by the half-mechanical action of the rider: who, pullingcontinuously on the bridle, and repeating her cries for help, appearedequally to suffer from affright! My astonishment was of short duration. Effect and cause came under my eye almost at the same instant. Thelatter I saw upon the log in hideous form--the form of a _couguar_!

Slowly advancing along the dead-wood--not by bounds or paces, but withthe stealthy tread of a cat--his long red body stretched out to its fullextent--the beast more resembled a gigantic caterpillar than aquadruped. I could scarcely detect the movement of his limbs, soclosely did the monster crawl; but his great tail, tapering three feetbehind him, was seen vibrating from side to side, or at intervals movingwith quick jerks--expressive of the enjoyment he was receiving in thecontemplation of his prey--for such he deemed the helpless maiden beforehim. 

I saw not the couguar's face--hideous sight at such a moment--nor yethis eyes. Both were turned from me, and fixed steadfastly upon hisintended victim. The fierce beast did not perceive my approach--perhapsa fortunate circumstance. Once or twice I saw him pause, as ifcrouching for a spring. Luckily, the old horse, making a freshretrogression, caused the couguar again to advance along the log, in thesame creeping attitude as before. With a glance, I had comprehended thesituation: indeed, at the first glance I understood it perfectly. Mydelay in acting only arose from the necessity of preparing for action;and that did not take long. 

It was habitual with me to carry my rifle over my shoulder, or restedacross the pommel of my saddle: in either case, always in hand. It wasbut the work of a moment to get the piece ready. The pressure of themuzzle against my horse's ear, was a signal well understood; and at oncerendered him as immobile as if made of bronze. Many years of practice--during which I had often aimed at higher game--had steeled my nerves andstraightened my sight. Both proved sufficiently true for thedestruction of the couguar. Quick after the crack, I saw his red bodyroll back from the log; and, when the smoke thinned off, I could see theanimal writhing upon the ground. Why the couguar had fallen to my side, I could not tell: for he was fairly on the ridge of the dead-wood when Ifired. Perhaps, on receiving the shot, he had fancied that it came fromthe only enemy visible to him; and, by an instinct impelling him toescape, had tumbled off in the opposite direction. I perceived that hewas not yet dead. He was still wriggling about among the branches; butit was clear that the piece of lead had taken the "spring" out of him. The bullet had passed through his spine, crashing the column in twain. After playing upon him with my revolving pistol, until I had emptiedthree or four of its chambers, I had the satisfaction of seeing him givehis last spasmodic "kick. "

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What followed, I leave to the imagination of my reader. Suffice it tosay, that the incident proved my friend. The ice of indifference wasbroken; and I was rewarded for my sleight-of-hand prowess by somethingmore than smiles--by words of praise that rang melodiously in my ear--words of gratitude spoken with the free innocent naivete of childhood--revealing, on the part of her who gave utterance to them, a trulygrateful heart. 

I rode back with my fair protegee across the track of fallen timber--Icould have gone with her to the end of the world! The tortuous pathhindered me from holding much converse with her: only, now and then, wasthere opportunity for a word. I remember little of what was said--on myside, no doubt, much that was commonplace; but even _her_ observations Ican recall but confusedly. The power of love was upon me, alikeabsorbing both soul and sense--engrossing every thought in thecontemplation of the divine creature by my side I cared not to talk--enough for me to look and listen. 

I did not think of questioning her as to whence she had come. Even hername was neither asked nor ascertained! Whither she was going wasrevealed only by the accident of conversation. She was on her way tovisit some one who lived on the other side of the creek--some friend ofher father. Would that I could have claimed to be her father's friend--his relative--his son!

We reached a ford: it was the crossing-place. The house, for which hervisit was designed, stood not far off, on the other side; and I mustneeds leave her. Emboldened by what had passed, I caught hold of thatlittle hand. It was a rare liberty; but I was no longer master ofmyself. There was no resistance; but I could perceive that the tinyfingers trembled at my touch. 

The old horse, with provoking impatience, plunged into the stream; andwe were parted. I watched her while crossing the creek. The crystaldrops sparkled like pearls upon her naked feet. Some of them, dashedhigher by the hoofs of the horse, were sprinkled upon her cheek, andclung to the carmined skin as if kissing it! I envied those diamonddrops!

Lingering upon the bank, I gazed upon her receding form--with my eyes, followed it through the forest aisle; and then, saw it only atintervals--moving like some bright meteor among the trees--until by asudden turning in the path, it was taken from my sight. 

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

SWEET AND BITTER. 

Slowly and reluctantly, I turned back from the stream, and once moreentered amid the wreck of the hurricane. Along the sunny path, theflowers appeared to sparkle with a fresher brilliancy--imbuing the airwith sweet odours, wafted from many a perfumed chalice. The birds sangwith clearer melody; and the hum of the honey-bee rang through theglades more harmoniously than ever. The "_coo-coo-oo_" of the dovesblending with the love-call of the squirrel, betokened that both wereinspired by the tenderest of passions. "Pensando de amor, " as theSpanish phrase finely expresses it; for at that moment, the beautifulwords of the southern poet were in my thoughts, and upon my lips:

 Aunque las fieras En sus guaridas Enternecidas Pensan de amor!

Even the fierce beasts in their forest lairs become gentle under theinfluence of this all-pervading passion!

I rode on slowly and in silence--my whole soul absorbed in thecontemplation of that fair being, whose image seemed still before myeyes--palpable as if present. My heart quivered under the influence ofa gentle joy. The past appeared bright; the present, happiness itself;the future, full of hope. I had found the very "wilderness-home" of mylongings; the fair spirit that should be my minister! No doubt rosebefore my mind to dim the brilliant prospect before me--no shadow hungover the horizon of my hopes. The prospect before me appeared brightand sunny as the sky above my head. Within and without the world wassmiling--all nature seemed tinted with the hue of the rose! Thisdelightful reverie lasted for a time--alas! too short a time--only whileI was traversing the track, that, but the moment before, I had passedover in such pleasant companionship. 

On arriving at the scene of my late adventure, a turn was given to mythoughts. It had been a scene of triumph, and deserved commemoration. The body of the panther lay across the path. His shining skin was atrophy not to be despised; and, dismounting on the spot, with myhunting-knife I secured it. I could point to it with pride--as thefirst spoil obtained in my new hunting-field; but I should prize itstill more, as the memento of a far sweeter sentiment. In a fewminutes, it was folded up, and strapped over the cantle of my saddle;and, with this odd addition to my equipage, I once more plunged into theforest-path. 

For the next mile, the trace led through heavy bottom-timber, such as wehad traversed, after leaving the settlement of Swampville. The blackearth, of alluvial origin, was covered deeply with decayed vegetation;and the track of horses and cattle had converted the path into mud. Atintervals, it was intersected by embayments of wet morass--theprojecting arms of a great swamp, that appeared to run parallel with thecreek. Through these, my horse, unused to such footing, passed withdifficulty--often floundering up to his flanks in the mud. Though itwas but the hour of noon, it more resembled night, or the late gloamingof twilight--so dark were the shadows under this umbrageous wood. As ifto strengthen the illusion, I could hear the cry of the bittern, and thescreech of the owl, echoing through the aisles of the forest--soundselsewhere suggestive of night and darkness. Now and then, light shoneupon the path--the light that indicates an opening in the forest; but itwas not that of a friendly clearing. Only the break caused by somedismal lagoon, amidst whose dank stagnant waters even the cypress cannotgrow--the habitat of black water-snakes and mud-turtles--of cranes, herons, and _Qua-birds_. Hundreds of these I saw perched upon therotting half-submerged trunks--upon the cypress "knees" that rose likebrown obelisks around the edge of the water; or winged their slow flightthrough the murky gloom, and filling the air with their deafeningscreams. On both sides of the trace towered gigantic trees, flanked attheir bases with huge projections, that appeared like the battlements ofa fortress, these singular protuberances rose far above the height of myhorse--radiating from the trunks on every side, and often causing thepath to take a circuitous direction. In the deep gloom, the track wouldhave been difficult to follow, but for an occasional blaze appearingupon the smooth bark of the sycamores. 

The scene was by no means suggestive of pleasant reflections--the lessso, since I had ascertained, from my host of yesternight, that thegreater portion of Section Number 9 was of just such a character; andthat there was scarcely a spot upon it fit for a "homestead, " except theone already occupied! "Such an `encumbrance' on my estate, " reflectedI, "is worse than the _heaviest mortgage_;" and I should have beenwilling at that moment to part with the timber at a very "lowvaluation. " But I well knew the value of such a commodity. On theThames or the Mersey, a mine of wealth--on Mud Creek, it would not havebeen taken as a gift! My spirits fell as I rode forward--partlyinfluenced by the sombre scenes through which I was passing--partly bythe natural reaction which ever follows the hour of sweet enjoyment--andpartly, no doubt, from some unpleasant presentiments that were once moreshaping themselves in my mind. 

Up to this time, I had scarcely given thought to my errand, or itsobject. First the gay hues of the morning, and then the romanticincidents of the hour, had occupied my thoughts, and hindered me fromdwelling on future plans or purposes. Now, however, that I was comingclose to the clearing of the squatter, I began to feel, that I was also_approaching a crisis_. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

A RUDE RESPONSE. 

An opening of about two acres in extent, of irregular semi-circularshape, with the creek for its chord, and a worm-fence zig-zagging aroundits arc--scarcely a clearing: since trees bleached and barkless standthickly over it; a log shanty, with clapboard roof, in the centre of theconcavity, flanked on one side by a rude horse-shed, on the other, by acorn-crib of split rails; all three--shed, shanty, and crib--like thetower of Pisa, threatening to tumble down; near the shanty, a wood-pile, with an old axe lying upon the chop-block; by the shed and crib, alitter of white "shucks" and "cobs;" in front, among the stumps andgirdled trees, a thin straggle of withered corn-stalks, shorn of theirleafy tops--some standing, some trampled down: such was the picturebefore my eyes, as, with my horse, breast up against the fence, I lookedinto the clearing of Squatter Holt!

"It must be the place--my place? there is no other clearing within amile? My directions have been given with exact minuteness of detail. Ihave followed them to the letter: I cannot be mistaken: I have reachedHolt's Clearing at last. "

I had ridden quite up to the fence, but could see no gate. A set ofbars, however, between two roughly mortised uprights, indicated anentrance to the enclosure. The top bar was out. Not feeling inclinedto dismount, I sprang my horse _over_ the others; and then trottedforward in front of the shanty. The door stood wide open. I had hopesthat the sound of my horse's hoof-stroke would have brought some oneinto it; but no one came! Was there nobody within? I waited for aminute or two, listening for some sign of life in the interior of thecabin. No voice reached me--no sound of any one stirring! Perhaps thecabin was empty! Not untenanted: since I could perceive the signs ofoccupation, in some articles of rude furniture visible inside thedoorway. Perhaps the inmates had gone out for a moment, and might be inthe woods, near at hand?

I looked around the clearing, and over the fence into the forest beyond. No one to be seen no one to be heard! Without the cabin, as within, reigned a profound silence. Not a living thing in sight--save the blackvultures--a score of which, perched on the dead-woods overhead, andfetid as their food, were infecting the air with their carrion odour. Although within easy range of my rifle, the foul birds took no heed ofmy movements; but sat still, indolently extending their broad wings tothe sun--now and then one coming, one going, in slow silent flight--their very shadows seeming to flit lazily among the witheredmaize-plants that covered the ground. 

I had no desire to appear rude. I already regretted having leaped myhorse over the bars. Even that might be regarded as rather a brusquemethod of approach to a private dwelling; but I was in hopes it wouldnot be noticed: since there appeared to be no one who had witnessed it. I coughed and made other noises, with like unfruitful result. Mydemonstrations were either not heard, or if heard, unheeded. 

"Certainly, " thought I, "if there be any one in the house, they must notonly hear, but _see me_:" for although there was no window, I couldperceive that the logs were but poorly "chinked;" and from within thehouse, the whole clearing must have been in sight. Nay, more, theinterior itself was visible from without--at least the greater part ofit--and, while making this observation, I fancied I could trace theoutlines of a human figure through the interstices of the logs! Ibecame convinced it was a human figure; and furthermore, the figure of aman. It was odd he had not heard me! Was he asleep? No: that couldnot be--from the attitude in which he was. He appeared to be seated ina chair, but with his body erect, and his head held aloft. In suchposition, he could scarcely be asleep? After making this reflection, Icoughed again--louder than before; but to no better purpose! I thoughtthe figure moved. I was sure it moved; but as if with no intention ofstirring from the seat! "Cool indifference!" thought I--"what can thefellow mean?" I grew impatient; and, feeling a little provoked by theinexplicable somnolency of the owner of the cabin, I determined to trywhether my voice might not rouse him. "Ho! house, there!" I shouted, though not loudly; "ho!--holloa!--any one within?" Again the figuremoved--but still stirred not from the seat! I repeated both my summonsand query--this time in still a louder and more commanding tone; andthis time I obtained a response. 

"Who the hell _air_ you?" came a voice through the interstices of thelogs--a voice that more resembled the growl of a bear, than thearticulation of a human throat. "Who the hell air you?" repeated thevoice, while at the same time, I could perceive the figure rising fromthe chair. 

I made no answer to the rough query. I saw that my last summons hadbeen sufficient. I could hear the hewn floor-planks cracking under aheavy boot; and knew from this, that my questioner was passing towardsthe door. In another instant he stood in the doorway--his body fillingit from side to side--from head to stoop. A fearful-looking man wasbefore me. A man of gigantic stature, with a beard reaching to thesecond button of his coat; and above it a face, not to be looked uponwithout a sensation of terror: a countenance expressive of determinedcourage, but, at the same time, of ferocity, untempered by any trace ofa softer emotion. A shaggy sand-coloured beard, slightly grizzled;eyebrows like a _chevaux-de-frise_ of hogs' bristles; eyes of agreenish-grey, with a broad livid scar across the left cheek, werecomponent parts in producing this expression; while a red cottonkerchief, wound, turban-like, around the head, and, pulled low down infront, rendered it more palpable and pronounced. A loose coat of thickgreen blanket, somewhat faded and worn, added to the colossal appearanceof the man; while a red-flannel shirt served him also for a vest. Hislarge limbs were inserted in pantaloons of blue Kentucky _jeans_ cloth;but these were scarcely visible, hidden by the skirt of the ampleblanket-coat that draped down below the tops of a pair of roughhorse-skin boots reaching above the knee, and into which the trousershad been tucked. The face of the man was a singular picture; thecolossal stature rendered it more striking; the costume corresponded;and all were in keeping with the rude manner of my reception. 

It was idle to ask the question. From the description given me by theyoung backwoodsman, I knew the man before me to be Hickman Holt thesquatter. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

A ROUGH RECEPTION. 

For fashion's sake, I was about to utter the usual formula, "Mr Holt, Ipresume?" but the opportunity was not allowed me. No sooner had thesquatter appeared in his doorway, than he followed up his blasphemousinterrogatory with a series of others, couched in language equally rude. 

"What's all this muss about? Durn yur stinkin' imperence, who air ye?an' what air ye arter?"

"I wish to see Mr Holt, " I replied, struggling hard to keep my temper. 

"Ye wish to see Mister Holt? Thur's no _Mister_ Holt 'bout hyur. "

"No?"

"No! damnation, no! Didn't ye hear me!"

"Do I understand you to say, that Hickman Holt does not live here?"

"You understan' me to say no sich thing. Eft's Hick Holt ye mean, hediz live hyur. "

"Hick Holt--yes that is the name. "

"Wall what o't, ef't is?"

"I wish to see him. "

"Lookee hyur, stranger!" and the words were accompanied by a significantlook; "ef yur the shariff, Hick Holt ain't at home--ye understand me?_he ain't at home_. "

The last phrase was rendered more emphatic, by the speaker, as heuttered it, raising the flap of his blanket-coat, and exhibiting a hugebowie-knife stuck through the waistband of his trousers. I understoodthe hint perfectly. 

"I am not the sheriff, " I answered in an assuring tone. I was in hopesof gaining favour by the declaration: for I had already fancied that mybizarre reception might be owing to some error of this kind. 

"I am _not_ the sheriff, " I repeated, impressively. 

"Yur not the shariff? One o' his constables, then, I s'pose?"

"Neither one nor other, " I replied, pocketing the affront. 

"An' who air ye, anyhow--wi' yur dam glitterin' buttons, an' yur waistdrawd in, like a skewered skunk?"

This was intolerable; but remembering the advice of my Nashvillefriend--with some additional counsel I had received over-night--I strovehard to keep down my rising choler. 

"My name, " said I--

"Durn yur name!" exclaimed the giant, interrupting me; "I don't care adog-gone for yur name: tell me yur bizness--that's what I wanter know. "

"I have already told you my business: I wish to see Mr Holt--Hick Holt, if you like. "

"To _see_ Hick Holt? Wal, ef that's all yur bizness, you've _seed_ him;an' now ye kin go. "

This was rather a literal interpretation of my demand; but, withoutpermitting myself to be _nonplussed_ by it, or paying any heed to theabrupt words of dismissal, I replied, half interrogatively: "You, then, are he? You are Hick Holt, I suppose?"

"Who said I ain't--durn your imperence? Now, then, what d'ye want wi'me?"

The filthy language, the insulting tone in which it was uttered, thebullying manner of the man--evidently relying upon his giant strength, and formidable aspect--were rapidly producing their effect upon me; butin a manner quite contrary to that anticipated by Master Holt. It wasno doubt his design to awe me; but he little knew the man he had to dealwith. Whether it might be called courage or not, I was just as recklessof life as he. I had exposed my person too often, both in single combatand on the battle-field, to be cowed by a bully--such as I fancied thisfellow to be--and the spirit of resistance was fast rising within me. His dictatorial style was unendurable; and discarding all furtherprudential considerations, I resolved to submit to it no longer. I didnot give way to idle recrimination. Perhaps, thought I, a firm tone maysuit my purpose better; and, in my reply, I adopted it. Before I couldanswer his question, however, he had repeated it in a still more peevishand impatient manner--with an additional epithet of insult. "Wal, Mister Jaybird, " said he, "be quick 'bout it! What d'ye want wi' _me_?"

"In the first place Mr Hickman Holt, I want civil treatment from you;and secondly--"

I was not permitted to finish my speech. I was interrupted by anexclamation--a horrid oath--that came fiercely hissing from the lips ofthe squatter. 

"Damnation!" cried he; "you be damned! Civil treetmint i'deed! You'rea putty fellur to talk o' civil treetmint, arter jumpin' yur hoss over aman's fence, an' ridin' slap-jam inter his door, 'ithout bein' asked!Let me tell yer, Mister Gilt Buttons, I don't 'low any man--white, black, or Injun--to enter my clarin' 'ithout fust knowin' his reezun. Ye hear that, d'ye?"

"_Your_ clearing! Are you sure it is _yours_?"

The squatter turned red upon the instant. Rage may have been thepassion that brought the colour to his cheeks; but I could perceive thatmy words had produced another emotion in his mind, which added to thehideousness of the cast at that moment given to his features. 

"Not my clarin'!" he thundered, with the embellishment of anotherimprecation--"not my clarin'! Shew me the man, who says it's not!--shew'm to me! _By_ the Almighty Etarnal he won't say't twice. "

"Have you _purchased_ it?"

"Neer a mind for that, mister; I've _made_ it: that's my style o'purchase, an', by God! it'll stan' good, I reck'n. Consarn yur skin!what hev you got to do wi't anyhow?"

"This, " I replied, still struggling to keep calm, at the same timetaking the title-deeds from my saddle-bags--"this only, Mr Holt. Thatyour house stands upon Section Number 9; that I have bought that sectionfrom the United States government; and must therefore demand of you, either to use your _pre-emption, right_, or deliver the land over to me. Here is the government grant--you may examine it, if you feel soinclined. "

An angry oath was the response, or rather a volley of oaths. 

"I thort that wur yur bisness, " continued the swearer. "I thort so; butjest this time you've kim upon a fool's errand. Durn the governmentgrant! durn your pre-emption right! an' durn yur title-papers too! Idon't valley them more'n them thur corn-shucks--I don't. I've got mypre-emption dokyment inside hyur. I'll jest shew ye that, mister; an'see how ye'll like it. "

The speaker turned back into his cabin, and for a moment I lost sight ofhim. 

"Pre-emption document!" he said. Was it possible he had purchased theplace, and was gone to fetch his title-deeds?

If so--

My reflection was cut short. In another moment he re-appeared in thedoorway; not with any papers in his hand--but, instead, a long rifle, that with its butt resting on the door-stoop, stood almost as high ashimself?

"Now, Mister Turn-me-out?" said he, speaking in a satirical triumphanttone, and raising the piece in front of him, "thur's my title--mypre-emption right's the right o' the rifle. _It's_ clur enuf: ye'llacknowledge that, won't ye?"

"No, " I replied in a firm voice. 

"Ye won't? The hell, ye won't? Look hyur, stranger! I'm in airnest. Look in my eye, an' see if I ain't! I gi' ye warnin' then, that efye're not out o' this clarin' in six jumps o' a squ'll, you'll niver goout o' it a livin' man. You see that ere stump? Its shadder's jest acreepin' up to the house: the minnit that shadder touches the wall, I'llshoot you down, as sure's my name's Hick Holt. Mind, I've gin yewarnin'!"

"And I give you warning, Mr Holt, that I am prepared to defend myself;and if you miss--"

"Miss!" ejaculated he with a contemptuous toss of the head--"miss, yefool! thur's no fear o' that. "

"If you miss, " continued I, without heeding the interruption, "I shallshow you no mercy. If you are going to take the cowardly advantage ofhaving the the first shot, I have my advantage too. In self-defence, Ishall be justified in killing you; and if you fire at me, I shallcertainly do so. Be warned! I never spare a coward. "

"Coward!" exclaimed the colossus, with an imprecation that was horribleto hear. "An' how ef I don't miss?" continued he, apparently calminghis rage, and speaking with a significant sneer--intended to awe me, byinsinuating the certainty of his aim. "How ef I don't miss, MisterPopgun?"

"You may, for all that. Don't be too sure of hitting--I've been shot atbefore now. "

"You'll niver be shot at _arter_ now, 'ceptin' ye leave this clarin'. One crack from my gun'll be enuf for ye, I reck'n. "

"I'll take my chance. If it should go against me, _you_ won't gain byit. Remember, my good man, it's not a duel we're fighting! You havechosen to attack me; and if I should fall in the affair, I've faithenough in the law to believe it will avenge me. "

I fancied that my speech produced some effect upon the fellow; and, seeing that he remained silent, I followed up it by words of similarimport: "If it be my fate to fall, I leave behind me friends who willinquire into my death. Trust me, they will do so! If I kill _you_, itwill be but justifiable homicide, and will be so adjudged; while yourkilling me will be regarded in a different light: it will be pronounced_murder_!" I gave full emphasis to the last word. 

On hearing it my antagonist showed signs of emotion. I fancied I sawhim tremble, and turn slightly pale! With an unsteady voice he replied:

"Murder? No, no; I've gin ye warnin' to go. Ye've time enuf yet tosave yerself. Git out o' the clarin', an' thur'll be no harm done ye!"

"I shall not go out of the clearing, until you've acknowledged myclaim. "

"Then you'll niver go out o' it alive--I swar by God! niver!"

"You are determined, then, to be my _murderer_?"

I again pronounced the word in the most emphatic tone. I saw that itaffected him in some singular way; whether through a fear ofconsequences; or that there still lingered in his heart some spark ofhumanity; or, perhaps--but least possible of all he was beginning to beashamed of his foul play. By which of of these three motives, or bywhat other inspired, I could not guess; but he seemed to cower under theimputation. 

"Murderer!" echoed he, after a moment of apparent reflection. "No, no;it's bad enuf to hev the blame o' that, 'ithout bein' guilty o't. Iain't agwine to _murder_ ye; but I ain't agwine neyther to let ye go. Imout a did so a minnit agone, but ye've lost yur chance. Ye've called_me_ a _coward_; an' by the Etarnal! no man 'll say that word o' HickHolt, an' live to boast o't. No, mister! ye've got to die; an' ye mayget yurself ready for't, 's soon's ye like. Coward indeed!"

"I repeat it--your act is cowardly. "

"What act?"

"Your unprovoked attack upon me--especially since it gives you the firstshot. What if I were to shoot you down now? With the pistol you see inmy holster here, I could send six bullets through your body, before youcould bring your rifle to your shoulder. What would you call that?Sheer cowardice, would it not be; and murder too?"

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

A DUEL WITHOUT SECONDS. 

While I was speaking, I saw a change pass over the countenance of mygigantic antagonist--as if some new resolve was forming in his mind, that affected the programme he had already traced out. Was it possibleI had touched him on a point of honour? It was this purpose I desiredto effect; and, though hopeless it might appear, I continued the onlykind of appeal that, with such a spirit, seemed to promise any chance ofsuccess. 

"You _dare_ not play fair in this game?" I said, banteringly. "You_are_ a coward; and would murder me. You want the first shot: you knowyou do?"

"It's a lie!" cried the colossus, raising himself to his full height, and assuming an air of chivalric grandeur I could not have deemed himcapable of--"it's a lie! I don't wish to murder ye; an' I don't wantthe the first shot neyther. "

"How?"

"I hain't so little confidence in my shootin' as to care for you an' yurjim-crack gun! Nor is Hick Holt in such consate wi' his life eyther, that he's afeerd to risk it. Tho' ye air a stuck-up critter, I won'tgi' ye the opportunity to 'kuse me o' foul play. Thur's grit in ye, Ireck'n; and seein' that's made me change my mind. "

"What!" I exclaimed, taken by surprise at the speech, and fancying itpromised an end to our altercation--"you have changed your mind? youmean to act justly then?"

"I mean, it shall be a _fair stan'-up fight_ atween us. "

"Oh! a duel?"

"Duel, or whatever else ye may call it, mister. "

"I agree to that. But how about seconds?"

"D'ye think two men can't fight fair 'ithout seconds? Ye see yanderstump standin' nigh the bars?"

"Yes--I see it. "

"Wal, mister, thur you'll take yur stand--ahine or afront o' it, whichsomever ye like best. Hyur's this other un, clost by the crib--thur'll be my place. Thur's twenty yurds atween 'em, I reck'n. Is thatyur distance?"

"It will do as well as any other, " I replied mechanically--still underthe influence of surprise, not unmingled with a sentiment of admiration. 

"Dismount, then! Take your pouch an' flask along wi' ye--ye see I'vegot myen? One shot at ye's all _I'll_ want, I reck'n. But ef thur shedbe a miss, look out for quick loadin'! an' mind, mister! thur's one o'us'll niver leave this clarin' alive. "

"About the first shot? Who is to give the signal?"

"I've thort o' that a'ready. It'll be all right, promise ye. "

"In what way can you arrange it?"

"This way. Thur's a hunk o' deer-meat in the house: I mean to fetchthat out, and chuck it over thur, into the middle o' the clarin'. Yesee them buzzarts up thur on the dead-woods?" I nodded in theaffirmative. "Wal--it won't be long afore one or other o' them flopsdown to the meat; an' _the first o' 'em that touches ground, that'll bethe signal_. That's fair enuf, I reck'n?"

"Perfectly fair, " I replied, still speaking mechanically--for the veryjustness of the proposal rendered my astonishment continuous. 

I was something more than astonished at the altered demeanour of theman. He was fast disarming me. His unexpected behaviour had subdued myire; and, all consideration of consequences apart, I now felt a completedisinclination for the combat! Was it too late to stay our idle strife?Such was my reflection the moment after; and, with an effort conqueringmy pride, I gave words to the thought. 

"Yur too late, mister! 'twon't do now, " was the reply to my pacificspeech. 

"And why not?" I continued to urge; though to my chagrin, I began toperceive that it _was_ an idle effort. 

"Yuv riz my dander; an', by God! yuv got to fight for it!"

"But surely--"

"Stop yur palaver! By the tarnal airthquake, I'll 'gin to think _you_air a coward! I thort ye'd show, the white feather afore 'twur allover!"

"Enough!" cried I, stung by the taunt; "I am ready for you one way orthe other. Go on. "

The squatter once more entered his cabin, and soon came out again, bringing forth the piece of venison. "Now!" cried he, "to yur stand!an' remember! neyther fires _till a bird lights on the grown_! Arterthat, ye may go it like blazes!"

"Stay!" said I; "there is something yet to be done. You are actinghonourably in this affair--which I acknowledge is more than I was led toexpect. You deserve one chance for your life; and if I should fall itwill be in danger. You would be regarded as a murderer: that must notbe. "

"What is't you mean?" hurriedly interrogated my antagonist, evidentlynot comprehending my words. Without answering to the interrogatory, Idrew out my pocket-book; and, turning to a blank leaf of the memorandum, wrote upon it: "_I have fallen in fair fight_. " I appended the date;signed my name; and, tearing out the leaf, handed it to my adversary. He looked at it for a moment, as if puzzled to make out what was meant. He soon saw the intention, however, as I could tell by his grim smile. 

"You're right thur!" said he, in a drawling tone, and after a pause. "Ihedn't thunk o' that. I guess this dockyment 'll be nothin' the wuss o'my name too? What's sauce for the goose, air likewise sauce for thegander. Yur pencil, ef ye please? I ain't much o' a scholart; but Ireck'n I kin write my name. Hyur goes!" Spreading out the paper on thetop of a stump, he slowly scribbled his name below mine; and then, holding the leaf before my eyes, pointed to the signature--but withoutsaying a word. This done, he replaced the document on the stump; anddrawing his knife, stuck the blade through the paper, and left theweapon quivering in the wood! All these manoeuvres were gone throughwith as cool composure, as if they were only the prelude to someordinary purpose!

"I reck'n, strenger, " said he, in the same imperturbable tone, "that'llkeep the wind from blowin' it away, till we've settled who it's tobelong to. Now, to yur place! I'm agwine to throw the deer-meat!"

I had already dismounted, and stood near him rifle in hand. Unresistingly, I obeyed the request; and walked off to the stump thathad been designated, without saying another word, or even lookingaround. I had no apprehension of being shot in the back: for the latebehaviour of the man had completely disarmed me of all suspicion oftreachery. I had _not_ the slightest fear of his proving a traitor; andno more did I hold him to be a coward. That impression was gone longago. 

I confess, that never with more reluctance did I enter upon the field offight; and at that moment, had my antagonist required it, I should notonly have retracted the allegation of of cowardice, but, perhaps, havesurrendered up my claim to the clearing--though I knew that this couldbe done, only at the expense of my name and honour. Were I to have doneso, I could never have shown my face again--neither in the settlement ofSwampville, nor elsewhere. Even among my polished friends of morefashionable circles, I should have been taunted--branded as a coward andpoltroon! The rude character of my adversary would have been no excuseespecially after the manner in which he was acting. "Backed out" wouldhave been the universal verdict! Moreover, notwithstanding theapparently calm demeanour the squatter had now assumed--courteous Imight almost call it--I knew he was implacable in his determination. There was no alternative--_I must fight_!

I arrived at the stump; and turning on my heel, stood facing him. Hewas already in his place--with the joint of venison in one hand, and hislong rifle in the other. The moment was nigh, when one of us shouldmake an abrupt exit from the world!

Such a destiny, for one or other of us, I saw depicted in the impassibleface of my adversary--as plainly as if written upon the sky. I couldread there, that there was no chance of escaping the combat; and Iresigned myself to meet it. 

"Now, mister!" cried my antagonist in a clear firm voice, "I'm agwine tochuck the meat. Remember! neyther's to fire, till a bird lights on theground! Arter that, ye may go it like hell!"

I saw him swing the joint once or twice round his head; I saw it jerkedaloft, and then whirling through the air; I saw it falling--falling, till the sodden sound told that it had reached the ground. It was afearful moment!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

WAITING THE WORD. 

In truth was it a fearful moment--one to shake the steadiest nerves, orthrill the stoutest heart. To me, it was an ordeal far more terriblethan that of an ordinary duel; for there was, lacking the motive--atleast on my side--which usually stimulates to an affair of honour. Sense of wrong I felt, but too slightly for revenge--not enough to steelthe heart to the spilling of blood. Anger I _had_ felt but the momentbefore; and then I could have fought, even to the death! But my blood, that had boiled up for an instant, now ran coldly through my veins. Theunexpected behaviour of my adversary had calmed my wrath--acting upon itlike oil upon troubled water. 

Thus to fight without seconds; to die without friend to speak the lastword of worldly adieu; or to take the life of another, without humanbeing to attest the fairness of the act--no earthly eye beholding us--noliving creature save the black vultures--appropriate instruments to givethe death-signal--ominous witnesses of the dark deed: such were theappalling reflections that came before my mind, as I stood facing mydetermined antagonist. It would scarcely be true to say, that I feltnot fear; and yet it was less cowardice, than a sort of vague vexationat risking my life in so causeless a conflict. There was somethingabsolutely ludicrous in standing up to be shot at, merely to square withthe whim of this eccentric squatter; and to shoot at him seemed equallyridiculous. Either alternative, upon reflection, appeared the veryessence of absurdity: and, having ample time to reflect, while awaitingthe signal, I could not help thinking how farcical was the whole affair. 

No doubt, I might have laughed at it, had I been a mere looker on--herald or spectator; but, unfortunately, being a principal in thisdeadly duello--a real wrestler in the backwoods arena--the provocativeto mirth was given in vain; and only served to heighten the solemnity ofthe situation. The circumstances might have elicited laughter; but thecontingency, turn whatever way it might, was too serious to admit oflevity on my part. Either horn of the dilemma presented a sharp point. To suffer one's-self to be killed, in this _sans facon_, was little elsethan suicide--while to kill, smacked strongly of murder! And one or theother was the probable issue--nay, more than probable: for, as I bent myeyes on the resolute countenance of my _vis-a-vis_, I felt certain thatthere was no chance of escaping from the terrible alternative. He stoodperfectly immobile--his long rifle raised to the "ready, " with itsmuzzle pointing towards me--and in his eye I could not read theslightest sign that he wavered in his determination! That grey-greenorb was the only member that moved: his body, limbs, and features werestill and rigid, as the stump behind which he stood. The eye aloneshowed signs of life. I could see its glance directed towards threepoints--in such rapid succession, that it might be said to look "threeways at once"--to the decoy upon the ground, to the shadowy forms uponthe tree, and towards myself--its chief object of surveillance!

"Merciful Heavens! is there no means to avert this doom of dread? Is itan absolute necessity, that I must either kill this colossus, or bemyself slain? Is there no alternative? Is there still no chance of anarrangement?"

Hopeless as it appeared, I resolved to make a last effort for peace. Once more I should try the force of an appeal. If he refused to assentto it, my position would be no worse. Better, indeed: since I stood inneed of some stimulus to arouse me to an attitude, even of defence. This thought swaying me, I called out:

"Holt! you are a brave man. I know it. Why should this go on? It isnot too late--"

"_You_ air a coward!" cried he, interrupting me, "an' I know it--asneakin' coward, in spite o' yur soger clothes! Shet up yur durnedhead, or ye'll scare away the birds! an', by the tarnal! ef you do, I'llfire at ye, the fust that takes wing!"

"Let that be the signal, then!" cried I, roused to an impatientindignation by this new insult: "_the first that takes wing_!"

"Agreed!" was the quick rejoinder, delivered in a tone that bespokedetermination to abide by it. 

My irresolution troubled me no longer. Thus driven to bay, I felt thatfurther forbearance would not only be idle, but dangerous. It wasplaying with my life, to leave it in the hands of this unrelentingenemy. Better make _him_ suffer for his sanguinary folly, than bemyself its victim. Stirred by these thoughts, I grasped my rifle--nowfor the first time with a determination to make use of it. By the sameprompting, my eye became active--watching with resolute regard themovements of the birds, and measuring the ground that separated me frommy adversary. 

Notwithstanding the sting which his words had inflicted, I was yethampered by some considerations of mercy. I had no desire to _kill_ theman, if I could avoid it. To "cripple" him would be sufficient. I hadno fear of his having the shot before me. Long practice had given mesuch adroitness in the use of my weapon, that I could handle it with thequickness and skill of a juggler. Neither did I fear to miss my aim. Ihad perfect reliance on the sureness of my sight; and, with such a markas the huge body of the squatter, it was impossible I could miss. Inthis respect, the advantage was mine; and, at so short a distance, Icould have insured a fatal shot--had such been my intention. But it wasnot. The very contrary was my wish--to draw blood without inflicting amortal wound. This would perhaps satisfy the honour of my antagonist, and bring our strife to an end. 

Whether any such consideration was in his mind, I could not tell. Itwas not visible in his eye--nor in his features that, throughout thewhole scene, preserved their stern statue-like rigidity. There was nohelp for it--no alternative but to shoot at him, and shoot him down--ifpossible, only to wing him; but, of course, a sense of my own dangerrendered this last of less than secondary importance. A single exchangeof shots would, no doubt decide the affair; and the advantage would fallto him who was "quickest on the trigger. " To obtain this advantage, then, I watched with eager eye the behaviour of the birds. In likemanner was my antagonist, occupied. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

THE DUEL DELAYED. 

Full five minutes passed, and not one of the vultures showed signs ofstirring--five minutes of prolonged and terrible suspense. It was oddthat the birds had not at once swooped down upon the piece of venison:since it lay conspicuously upon the ground--almost under the tree wherethey were perched! A score of them there were--ranged along the deadlimbs--each with an eye keen of sight as an eagle's! Beyond doubt, theyobserved the object--they would have seen it a mile off, and recognisedit too--why, then, were they disregarding it--a circumstance socontradictory of their natural instincts and habits, that, even in thatdread hour, I remarked its singularity? The cause might have beensimple enough: perhaps the birds had already glutted themselveselsewhere? Some wild beast of the woods--more likely, some strayingox--had fallen a victim to disease and the summer heats; and his carcasehad furnished them with their morning's meal? There was evidence of thetruth of this, in their blood-stained beaks and gorged maws, as also theindolent attitudes in which they roosted--many of them apparentlyasleep! Others at intervals stretched forth their necks, and halfspread their wings; but only to yawn and catch the cooling breeze. Notone of all the listless flock, showed the slightest disposition to takewing. 

There were several already in the air, wheeling high aloft; and two orthree had just joined their companions--increasing the cluster upon thetree. These had arrived, after we had taken our stand; and others wereconstantly coming down. But the signal mutually agreed to was mutuallyunderstood: it was the _departure_ of one of the birds--not its_arrival_--that was to give the cue of _entree_ to the tragic act--thesignal for the scene of death. 

Those five minutes to me appeared fifty--ah! far more than that: for, brief as was the actual time, a world of thoughts passed through my mindduring its continuance. The past and future were alike considered. Thememory of home, kindred, and friends; the probability that all such tieswere to be severed _now_ and for ever; some regret that laurels latelywon were to be so briefly worn; the near prospect of life's termination;of a death inglorious--perhaps scarcely to be recorded; vague visions ofa future world; doubts not unmingled with dread, about the life to come:such were the thoughts that whirled confusedly through my brain. 

And the _proximate_ past had also its share in my reflections--perhapsoccupying the largest space of all. That thing of light and gold--thatbut an hour ago had filled my heart to overflowing--was still there, mingling with its last emotions! Was I never more to look upon thatradiant form? never more behold that face so divinely fair? never morelisten to that melodious voice? Never more! The negative answer tothese mental interrogatives--though only conjectural--was the bitterestreflection of all!

Still stir not the vultures: only to preen their black plumes with fetidbeak; or, extending their broad wings, to shadow the sunbeam from theirbodies. It is the hour of noon; and the sun, shining down from thezenith, permeates the atmosphere with his sultriest rays. The birdsdroop under the extreme heat. It imbues them with a listless torpor. Carrion itself would scarce tempt them from their perch. Five minuteshave elapsed; and not one moves from the tree--neither to swoop to theearth, nor soar aloft in the air! I no longer wish them to tarry. Thesuspense is terrible to endure--the more so from the ominous stillnessthat reigns around. Since the last angry challenge, not a word has beenexchanged between my adversary and myself. In sullen silence, we eyeeach other, with scintillating glances watching for the signal. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The situation was more than unpleasant. I longed for the _finale_. Myantagonist also showed signs of impatience. No longer preserving hisstatue-like _pose_, his body began to sway from side to side; while atintervals, he stamped the ground with his heavy heel. From theincreasing anger that betrayed itself in his looks, I expected anexplosion. It came at length. "Durn them buzzarts!" cried he, with ahurried gesture, "thar agwine to keep us stannin' hyur till sundown. Durn the sleepy brutes! we can't wait no longer on 'em. I dare ye--"

The challenge thus commenced was never completed--at all events, I didnot hear its conclusion; and know not to this hour what he meant to haveproposed. His speech was interrupted, and his voice drowned, by theshrill neighing of my horse--who seemed startled at some sound from theforest. Almost at the same instant, I heard a responsive neigh, as ifit were an echo from behind me. I heeded neither the one nor the other. I saw that the birds were aroused from their lethargic attitude. Someof them appeared as if pressing upon their limbs to spring upwards fromthe tree. The deadly moment had come!

With my rifle raised almost to the level, I glanced rapidly towards myantagonist. His piece was also raised; but, to my astonishment, heappeared to be grasping it mechanically, as if hesitating to take aim!His glance, too, showed irresolution. Instead of being turned eitherupon myself or the vultures, it was bent in a different direction, andregarding with fixed stare some object behind me! I was facing round toinquire the cause, when I heard close at hand the trampling of a horse;and, almost at the same instant, an exclamation, uttered in the silverytones of a woman's voice. This was followed by a wild scream; and, simultaneously with its utterance, I beheld a female form springing overthe bars! It was that of a young girl, whom I recognised at a glance. It was she I had encountered in the forest!

I had not time to recover from my surprise before the girl had glidedpast me; and I followed her with my eyes, as she ran rapidly over thespace that separated me from the squatter. Still mute with surprise, Isaw her fling herself on the breast of my antagonist--at the same timecrying out in a tone of passionate entreaty: "Father, dear father! whathas _he_ done? Mercy! O mercy!"

Good God! _her_ father? Holt _her_ father?

"Away, Lil!" cried the man in a peremptory tone, removing her arms fromhis neck. "Away, gurl! git ye from, hyur!"

"No, father! dear father! you will not? What does it mean? What has_he_ done? Why are you angry with _him_?"

"Done! gurl? He's called me _coward_; an' 'ud drive us out o' house an'home. Git ye gone, I say! Into the house wi' ye!--away!"

"Mercy! O father, have mercy! Do not kill him. He is brave--he isbeautiful! If you knew--"

"Brave! beautiful?--gurl, yur ravin'! What do you know about him?Ye've niver seed him afore?"

"Yes, dear father! only an hour ago. If you but knew--it was he whosaved me. But for him--Father! he must not--he shall not die!"

"Saved ye? What do ye mean, gurl?"

"Hilloo! what's all this rumpus?"

The familiar ejaculation, and its adjunct interrogatory, admonished methat a new personage had appeared upon the scene. The voice came frombehind. On turning, I beheld the unexpected speaker--a man onhorseback, who had ridden up to the bars; and having halted there wascraning his neck into the enclosure--gazing upon the scene that wasbeing enacted there, with a singular half-comic, half-satiricalexpression of countenance!

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

THE PEACEMAKER. 

Without knowing why, I hailed the arrival of this stranger as opportune. Perhaps his presence, added to the entreaties of that fair youngcreature--still urgent in my behalf--might prevent the effusion ofblood. Indeed, I had already determined that none should be spilled by_me_--let the consequences be as they might; and whatever was to be the_denouement_ of this awkward affair, I had resolved that my rifle shouldhave nought to do in deciding it. The piece had fallen to the "orderarms;" the ill-omened birds had forsaken their perch; and, now soaringin the blue sky, almost beyond the reach of human vision, theirmovements were no longer heeded--neither by my adversary nor myself. 

Turning away from the stranger--whom I had only regarded for a second ortwo--I faced again to the more interesting tableau in front of me. That, too, was rapidly undergoing a change. The squatter no longerclung to his rifle. The girl had taken it from his hands; and washurrying with it into the door of the cabin. There was no hindrancemade by my antagonist! On the contrary, he appeared to have deliveredit over to her--as if the affair between us was to have a pacifictermination, or, at all events, a respite. 

What surprised me more than all was the altered demeanour of myadversary. His whole manner seemed to have undergone a sudden change. Sudden it must have been, since it had taken place during a second ortwo, while my attention was occupied by the newly arrived horseman. What still further astonished me, was, that this transformation wasevidently produced by the presence of the stranger himself! That it wasnot due to the young girl's interference, I had evidence already. Thathad not moved him for a moment. Her earnest appeal had received arepulse--energetic and decisive, as it was rude; and of itself wouldcertainly not have, saved me. Beyond doubt, then, was I indebted to thestranger for the truce so unexpectedly entered upon. 

The change in Holt's demeanour was not more sudden than complete. Atfirst, an air of astonishment had been observable; after that, anexpression of inquietude--becoming each moment more marked. No longerdid he exhibit the proud aspect of a man, who felt himself master of theground; but, on the contrary, appeared cowed and quailing in thepresence of the new-comer--whom he had met at the entrance, and at onceinvited into the enclosure. This manner was observable in thehalf-mechanical courtesy, with which he removed the bars, and took holdof the stranger's horse--as also in some phrases of welcome, to which hegave utterance in my hearing. 

For myself, I was no longer regarded, any more than if I had been one ofthe dead-woods that stood around the clearing. The squatter passed, without even looking at me--his whole attention seemingly absorbed bythe new arrival! It was natural I should regard with curiosity anindividual, whose presence had produced such a wonderful effect; and myscrutinising gaze may have appeared rude enough to him. I cannot saythat he elicited my admiration. On the contrary, his appearanceproduced an opposite effect. I beheld him with, what might be termed aninstinct of repulsion: since I could assign no precise reason for thedislike with which he had inspired me on sight. He was a man of aboutthirty years of age; of a thin spare body, less than medium height; andfeatures slightly marked with, the _bar sinister_. A face withoutbeard--skin of cadaverous hue--nose sharply pointed--chin and foreheadboth receding--eyes small, but sparkling like those of a ferret--andlong lank black hair, thinly shading his cheeks and brows--were theprominent characteristics of this man's portrait. His dress was of aclerical cut and colour--though not of the finest fabric. The coat, trousers, and vest were of black broad-cloth--the coat and waistcoatbeing made with standing collars, similar in style to those worn byWesleyan ministers--or more commonly by Catholic priests--while a whitecravat not over clean and a hat with curving boat-brim, completed thesaintly character of the costume. 

Judging from his personal appearance, I concluded that I saw in theindividual before me the Methodist minister of Swampville. If so, itwould account for the obsequiousness of his host, though notsatisfactorily. There was something more than obsequiousness in Holt'smanner--something altogether different from that deferential respect, with which the gospel minister is usually received in the houses of thehumbler classes. Moreover, the character of the squatter--such as I hadheard it, and such as I had myself observed it to be--bore nocorrespondence with the attitude of reverence he had so suddenlyassumed. Even under the hypothesis, that the new-comer was hisclergyman, I was puzzled by his behaviour. 

He in the ecclesiastical costume appeared to be a man of few words; andof gesture he made a like limited use: having passed me, without eventhe courtesy of a bow. On the contrary, I was honoured with a glance ofcynical regard--so palpable in its expression, as to cause an itching inmy fingers, notwithstanding the saintly gown. I contented myself, however, with returning the glance, by one I intended should bear a likecontemptuous expression; and, with this exchange, we separated from eachother. I remained by my stand, without offering remark--either to thesquatter or his guest. The only change I effected in my position, wasto sit down upon the stump--where, with my rifle between my knees, Iresolved to await the issue. All idea of using the weapon was gone outof my mind--at least, against Hickman Holt. He was _her_ father: Iwould as soon have thought of turning its muzzle to my own body. 

I tarried, therefore, with no hostile intention. On the contrary, Ionly waited for an opportunity to propose some pacific arrangement ofour difficulty; and my thoughts were now directed to this end. I hadevery chance of observing the movements of the two men: since, insteadof entering the cabin, they had stopped in front of it--where they atonce became engaged in conversation. I took it for granted that I wasmyself the subject; but, after a time, I began to fancy I was mistaken. Judging from the earnest manner of both--but more especially from Holt'sgestures and frequent ejaculations--something of still greater interestappeared to be the theme of their dialogue. I saw the squatter's facesuddenly brighten up--as if some new and joyous revelation had been madeto him; while the features of his visitor bore the satisfied look ofone, who was urging an argument with success. They were evidentlytalking of some topic beyond my affair, and unconnected with it; butwhat it could be, I was unable even to guess. Perhaps, had I listenedmore attentively, I might have arrived at some knowledge of it--sincewords were occasionally uttered aloud--but my eyes were busier than myears; and at that moment, neither the squatter nor his guest was thesubject of my thoughts. 

Beyond them was the attraction that fascinated my gaze--that thing ofroseate golden hue, whose shining presence seemed to light up the darkinterior of the cabin--gleaming meteor-like through the interstices ofthe logs--now softly moving from side to side, and now, thank Heaven!gliding towards the door! Only for a moment stood she silently on thestoop--one smiling moment, and she was gone. Her fair face was oncemore hidden, behind the rude _jalousie_ of the logs; but the smileremained. It was mine; and lingered long within the trembling temple ofmy heart. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

YES--YES!

Towards the interior of the hut, hallowed by such lovely presence, Icontinued to direct my glances--with an occasional side-look, noting themovements of the two men. Whatever had been the exciting topic ofdiscourse but the moment before, I saw that it was now changed; and thatI was myself the subject of their conversation. This I could tell bytheir looks and gestures--evidently bearing upon me and my business. Conscious that I was observing them--and as if desirous of conferringmore privately--they passed round to the rear of the cabin; where forthe time they were out of my sight, as well as hearing. So far fromregretting this movement, it was just what I desired: it left me free tocontinue the pleasant espionage in which I had become engaged. New moreboldly my eyes explored the dark interior of the hut--more freely roamedmy glance along the interstices of the logs. Gladly should I have goneup to the doorway--fain would I have been to enter--had I not beenrestrained; but delicacy, and something more stood in the way; and I wasforced to keep my ground. Again I saw the bright form flitting within. Gliding gently across the floor--as if on tiptoe, and by stealth--theyoung girl stood for a while near the back-wall of the cabin. Closebehind this, the two men were conversing. Did she go there to listen?She might easily hear what was said: I could myself distinguish thevoices, and almost the words. 

She remained motionless; and, as well as I could judge, in an attitudeof attention--her head lowered, and her body bent slightly forward. Iwas forming conjectures as to her motive, when I saw her moving awayfrom the spot. In another instant, she appeared in the doorway--thistime evidently with some design, as her manner clearly betokened. For amoment she stood upon the stoop, fronting towards me--but with her faceaverted, and her eyes by a side-glance directed towards the rear of thehut. She appeared to look and listens--as if noting the position of themen; and then, seemingly satisfied that she was not herself observed, she suddenly faced round, and came running towards me!

Taken by surprise--a surprise mingled with sweet satisfaction--I rose tomy feet; and stood silently but respectfully awaiting her approach. Ihad acted with prudence in not speaking: for I saw by her manner thatthe movement was a stolen one. Moreover, the finger, raised for aninstant to her lips, admonished me to silence. I understood the signal, so piquantly given; and obeyed it. In another instant she was near--near enough for me to hear her words--delivered in a half-whisper. Shehad paused before me in an attitude that betokened the fear ofinterruption; and, before speaking, again cast behind her another ofthose unquiet looks. 

"Brave stranger!" said she, in a hurried undertone, "I know you are notafraid of my father; but oh, sir! for mercy's sake, do not fight withhim!"

"For _your_ sake, " I said, interrupting her, and speaking in a low butimpressive tone--"for your sake, fair Lilian, I shall not fight withhim. Trust me, there is no fear. I shall bear anything, rather than--"

"Hush!" said she, again motioning me to silence, at the same timeglancing furtively behind her. "You must not speak: you may be heard!Only listen to me. I know why you are here. I came out to tell yousomething. "

"I listen. "

"Father does not now wish to quarrel with you: he has changed his mind. I have just heard what they said. He intends to make you a proposal. Oh, sir! if you can, please agree to it; for then there--will be notrouble. I hope there will be none!"

"For you, fair Lilian, I shall agree to it--whatever the conditions be. Can you tell me what proposal he intends making me?"

"I heard him say he would _sell_--Oh, mercy! they are coming--if I amseen--"

The murmuring words were drowned by the louder voices of the men--whowere now heard returning round the angle of the wall. Fortunately, before they had reached the front of the cabin, the young girl hadglided back into the doorway; and no suspicion appeared to beentertained by either, of the clandestine visit just paid me. 

On rounding the corner, the stranger stopped. The squatter continued toadvance, until within a few paces of where I stood. Then halting, heerected his gigantic form to its full height; and, for a moment, confronted me without speaking. I noticed that his countenance nolonger bore signs of angry passion; but, on the contrary, betrayed sometraces of a softer feeling--as of regret and contrition. 

"Strenger!" said he at length, "I've two things to propose to ye; an' efyou'll agree to them, thur's no need why you an' I shed quarrel--leestof all plug one another wi' bullets, as we wur agwine to do a minnitago. "

"Name your conditions!" rejoined I, "and if they are not impossible forme to accept, I promise you they shall be agreed to. "

With Lilian in my thoughts, they would be hard indeed if I could notsquare with whatever terms he might propose. 

"They ain't unpossible--neyther o' 'em; thur only just an' fair. "

"Let me hear them; and believe me, Hickman Holt, I shall judge them mostliberally. "

"Fust, then, you called me a coward. Do you take that back?"

"Willingly I do. "

"So fur good; an' now for tother proposal I hev to make. I don'tacknowledge yur right to this clarin'. I've made it; an' call it myown, as a sovereign citizen of these United States; an' I don't care acuss for pre-emption right, since I don't believe in any man's right tomove me off o' the groun' I've clared. But I ain't so durned pertickler'bout this hyur bit. Another 'll answer my bizness equally as well--maybe better--an' ef ye'll pay me for my _improvements_, ye can takeboth clarin' an' cabin, an' hev no more muss about it. Them's myproposals. "

"How much do you expect for these improvements? At what sum do youvalue them?"

I trembled as I awaited the answer. My poor purse felt light as it layagainst my bosom--far lighter than the heart within: though that hadbeen heavier but an hour before. I knew that the sack contained lessthan two hundred dollars, in notes of the Planters' Bank; and I fearedthat such a sum would never satisfy the expectations of the squatter. 

"Wal, stranger, " replied he, after a pause, "thur worth a good wheen o'dollars; but I shan't valley 'em myself. I'll leave that part o' thebizness to a third individooal--my friend as stands thur; an' who's ajust man, an's been some'at o' a lawyer too. He'll say what's fairatween us. Won't ye, Josh?"

I thought this rather a familiar style of address, on the part of thesquatter, towards his clerical and saint-like friend; but I refrainedfrom showing my astonishment. 

"Oh, yes, " replied the other, "I'll value the property with pleasure--that is, if the gentleman desires me to do so. "

"How much do you think it worth?" I inquired with nervous anxiety. "Well, I should say that, for the improvements Mr Holt has made, ahundred dollars would be a fair compensation. "

"A hundred dollars?"

"Yes--in cash, of course, I mean. "

"Will you be satisfied with that sum?" said I, turning to Holt for theanswer. 

"Parfitly satisfied--so long's it's in cash. "

"I agree to give it then. "

"All right, strenger! a bargain's a bargain. You kin shell out thedollars; and I'll gie ye pursession afore this gentleman--who'll witnessit in writin', ef you like. "

"I want no writing. I can trust to your word. "

It was no flattery: I felt at the moment that the squatter--rudely as hehad acted--was still possessed of an honourable principle; and I knewthat, under the circumstances, his word would not only be as good as hisbond, but _better_! I made no hesitation, therefore; but, counting outthe money, placed it upon the stump--alongside that curious document, impaled there by the blade of the squatter's knife. 

"When 'ud ye like to take pursession?" asked the outgoing tenant. 

"At your convenience, " I replied, wishing to behave as courteously aspossible. 

"It won't take _me_ long to move. My furniter ain't very cumbersome;an' I kud let ye in to-morrow, ef 't wan't that I hev some unexpectedbizness with my friend hyur. Say day arter the morrow? Ef ye'll kumthen, ye'll find me ready to deliver up. Will that answer for ye?"

"Admirably!" was my reply. 

"All right, then! I'd ask ye in, but thur's nothin' to gieyou--'ceptin' that piece o' deer-meat, an' it's raw. Besides, strenger, I've some partickler _bizness jest now_, that I'm 'bleeged to see to. "

"Oh, never mind! I shall not need any refreshment till I reachSwampville. "

"Wal, then, I'll bid you good-mornin' at the same time wishin' you lucko' your bargin. "

"Thanks--good morning!"

I leaped into the saddle, and turned my horse's head towards theentrance of the enclosure. I should have given him the touch to goforward with more reluctance, had I not perceived the fair Liliangliding out of the cabin, and proceeding in the same direction! Two or, three of the bars had been replaced by the clerical visitor; and she hadgone, apparently, to remove them. Was it simple courtesy, or a pretenceto speak with me? My heart heaved with a tumultuous joy, as I fanciedthat the latter might be her motive. When I reached the entrance, thebars were down; and the young girl stood leaning against one of theuprights--her round white arm embracing the post. Envied piece oftimber!

"Promise me, we shall meet again?" said I, bending down, and speaking ina half-whisper. 

She looked back towards the cabin with a timid glance. We were notobserved. The two men had gone into the horse-shed. In her fingers, Inoticed the flower of a bignonia. She had taken it from among thegolden tresses of her hair. Her cheek rivalled the crimson of itscorolla, as she flung the blossom upon the saddle-bow. 

"Promise me!" I repeated in a more earnest tone. 

"Yes--yes!" she replied in a soft low voice, that resembled the whisperof an angel; and then, hearing noises from the house, she passedhurriedly away. "Yes--yes--!" cried the mimic thrush, as I rode onthrough the tall tulip-trees. "Yes--yes!" repeated a thousand rivalsongsters; or were the sounds I heard but the echoes of her voice, stillpealing through the glad chambers of my heart?

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

AN ERRAND OF LOVE. 

This second purchase and payment rendered necessary a communication withmy Nashville friend. Fortunately, Swampville had a mail; and, to availmyself of it, I rode direct for the settlement. On my return, I foundthe river-town, figuratively speaking, on fire. Short as bad been theperiod of my absence, it had been marked by an incident of no ordinarycharacter. That morning's mail had conveyed to the settlement theintelligence of a rare and interesting event--the discovery of the _goldplacers_ of California. I had heard rumours of this before--only halfbelieved, and not yet reaching to Swampville. Returned emigrants fromCalifornia were now reported, as having arrived in Saint Louis and otherfrontier towns--bringing with them, not only the full account of thegold discovery, but its confirmation, in the shape of large "chunks" ofgold-bearing quartz, and bags of the yellow dust itself. The marvelloustale was no longer questioned, or doubted. The mail had broughtnewspapers from New Orleans and Saint Louis, giving detailed accounts ofthe digging of Sutter's mill-race by the disbanded soldiers of the"Mormon Battalion;" of the _crevasse_ caused by the water, which hadlaid open the wonderful auriferous deposits; and describing also thehalf frantic excitement which the news had produced these populouscities. 

In this, Swampville had not been slow to imitate them. I found thelittle village on the _qui vive_: not only the idlers showing aninterest in the extraordinary intelligence; but the business men of theplace being equally startled out of their sobriety. A "company" wasalready projected, in which many well-to-do men had registered theirnames; and even Colonel Kipp talked of transporting his _penates_ acrossthe great plains, and swinging the Jackson sign upon the shores of thePacific. Swampville was smitten with a golden mania, that seemed topromise its speedy depopulation. 

Though many of my old _camarados_ of the Mexican campaign found freshvent for their energies in this new field of enterprise, for me it hadno attractions whatever. I therefore resisted the solicitations of theSwampvillians to "jine thar company"--in which I was offered thecompliment of a command. On that day, and at that hour, not for all thegold in California would I have forsaken my new home in the forest--under whose "boundless contiguity of shade" sparkled, in my eyes, "ametal more attractive. " Instead of longing for the far shores of thePacific, I longed only to return to the banks of Mud Creek; and chafedat the necessary delay that hindered me from gratifying my wish. Eventhe generous hospitality of Colonel Kipp--amiable under the influence ofgolden dreams--even the smiles of the simpering Alvina, and the more_brave_ coquetry of Car'line--now become a decided admirer of my yellowbuttons--were not sufficient to preserve my spirits from _ennui_. Onlyat meals did I make my appearance at the hotel--at all other times, seeking to soothe the impassioned pulsations of my heart in the darkdepths of the forest. There I would wander for hours, not listing whereI went; but ever finding myself, as if by some instinct, upon the paththat conducted in the direction of the creek! It was some solace tolisten to the notes of the wild-woods--the songs of birds and bee--forthese had become associated in my mind with the melodious tones ofLilian's voice--to look upon the forest flowers; more especially uponthe encarmined blossom of the bignonia--now to me a symbol of thesweetest sentiment. The one most prized of all, I had carefullypreserved. In a glass I had placed it, on the dressing-table of mychamber, with its peduncle immersed in water. 

My zealous care only procured me a chagrin. On returning from one of myrambles, I found the flower upon the floor, crushed by some spitefulheel? Was it thy heel, Caroline Kipp? In its place was a bunch ofhideous gilly-flowers and yellow daffodils, of the dimensions of adrum-head cabbage--placed there either to mock my regard, or elicit myadmiration! In either case, I resolved upon a _revanche_. By itswound, the bignonia smelt sweeter than ever; and though I could notrestore the pretty blossom to its graceful campanulate shape, from thattime forward it appeared in my buttonhole--to the slight torture, Ifancied, of the backwoods coquette. 

In the two days during which I was denied sight of her my love forLilian Holt was fast ripening into a passion--which absence only seemedto amplify. No doubt the contrast of common faces--such as those Iobserved in Swampville--did something towards heightening my admiration. There was another contrast that had at this time an influence on myheart's inclinings. To an eye, fatigued with dwelling long andcontinuously on the dark complexions of the south--the olivine hue ofAztec and Iberian skins--there was a relief in the radiance of thiscarmined blonde, that, apart from her absolute loveliness, was piquantfrom the novelty and rareness of the characteristic. Additionalelements of attraction may have been: the _mise en scene_ thatsurrounded her; the unexpected discovery of such a precious jewel in sorude a casket; the romantic incident of our first encounter; and theequally peculiar circumstances attending our second and last interview. All these may have combined in weaving around my spirit a spell, thatnow embraced, and was likely to influence, every act of my futureexistence. Therefore, on the morning of the third day, as I mounted myhorse, and turned his head in the direction of Holt's clearing, it wasnot with any design of dispossessing the squatter. Occupied with sweetlove-dreams, I had as yet given no thought to the ruder realities oflife. I had formed no plan for colonising--neither towards enteringupon possession, nor extending the "improvement" I had twice purchased. 

Notwithstanding both purchase and payment, the squatter might stillcontinue to hold his cabin and clearing--and share with me the disputedland. Welcome should I make him, on one condition--the condition ofbecoming his guest--constant or occasional--in either way, so long as Imight have the opportunity of enjoying the presence of his fairdaughter, and to her demonstrating my heart's devotion. Some such idea, vaguely conceived, flitted across my mind, as I entered upon my secondjourney to Mud Creek. My ostensible object was to take formalpossession of an estate, and turn out its original owner. But my heartwas in no unison with such an end. It recoiled from, or rather had itforgotten, its purpose. Its throbbings were directed to a differentobject: guiding me on a more joyful and auspicious errand--_the errandof love_. 

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. 

A RED-SKINNED SIBYL. 

Not a sound came from the forest to disturb my sweet musings. Silentwas the sky of the Indian summer--soft and balm-laden its breeze. Thetrees stirred not; the branches seemed extended in the stillness ofrepose; even the leaves of the _tremuloides_, hanging on theircompressed petioles, were scarcely seen to quiver. The rustling heardat intervals, was but the fluttering of bright wings amid the foliage;or the rushing of some mountebank squirrel in reckless evolution amongthe branches--sounds harmonising with the scene. Not till I had enteredthe glade was I aroused from my reverie--at first gently, by the suddenemergence from shade into light; but afterwards in a more sensiblemanner on sight of a human form--at a glance recognised as that of theIndian maiden. She was seated, or rather reclining, against theblanched log; her brown arm embracing an outstretched limb; halfsupported on one leg--the other crossed carelessly over it in anattitude of repose. Beside her on the log lay a wicker pannier, filledwith odds and ends of Indian manufacture. 

Though I had risen close up to the girl, she vouchsafed noacknowledgment of my presence. I observed no motion--not even of theeyes; which, directed downwards, seemed fixed in steadfast gaze upon theground. Nothing about her appeared to move--save the coruscation ofmetallic ornaments that glittered in the sun, as though her body wereenveloped in scale-armour. Otherwise, she might have been mistaken fora statue in bronze. And one, too, of noble proportions. The attitudewas in every way graceful; and displayed to perfection the full boldcontour of the maiden's form. Her well-rounded arm entwining thebranch, with her large body and limbs outlined in _alto-relievo_ againstthe entablature of the white trunk, presented a picture that a sculptorwould have loved to copy; and that even the inartistic eye could notlook upon without admiration. 

Instinctively I checked my horse, and halted in front of this singularapparition. I can scarcely tell why I did so; since neither by look norgesture was I invited to take such a liberty. On the contrary, I couldperceive that my movement was regarded with displeasure. There was nochange in the statuesque attitude: even the eyes were not raised fromthe earth; but a frown was distinctly traceable on the features of thegirl. Thus repulsed, I should have ridden on; and would have done so, but for that sense of awkwardness, which one feels in similarsituations. By pausing in the marked manner I had done, and gazing sopointedly at the girl, I had committed an act of ill-breeding--of whichI now felt sensible. Indian though she was, she was evidently no common_squaw_; but gifted with certain noble traits, of which many a maidenwith white skin might have envied her the possession. Beyond that, Iknew she was the victim of a passion--all-absorbing as it was hopeless--and this in my eyes, ennobled and sanctified her. 

Just then, I had myself no cause to fear an unrequited love--no need tobe ungenerous or selfish--and could, therefore, afford to extend mysympathy to the sufferings of another. It was some vague prompting ofthis kind, that had caused me to draw up--some idea of offeringconsolation. The repelling reception was altogether unexpected, andplaced me in a predicament. How was I to escape from it? By holding mytongue, and riding on? No; this would be an acknowledgment of havingcommitted an act of _gaucherie_--to which man's vanity rarely accedes, or only with extreme reluctance. I had rushed inconsiderately into themire, and must plunge deeper to get through. "We must become worse tomake our title good. "

So reflecting, or rather without reflecting at all, I resolved to"become worse"--with the risk of making a worse of it. "Perhaps, "thought I, "she does not recognise me?" She had not looked at me asyet. "If she would only raise her eyes, she would remember me as thefriend of the White Eagle. That might initiate a conversation; andcause her to interpret more kindly my apparent rudeness. I shall speakto her at all hazards. Su-wa-nee!" The dark Indian eye was raised uponme with an angry flash; but no other reply was vouchsafed. "Su-wa-nee!"I repeated in the most conciliatory tone. "Do you not remember me? Iam the friend of the White Eagle. "

"And what is that to Su-wa-nee? She has no words for you--you may goon!"

This decided repulse, instead of bettering my position, rendered itstill more complicated. Somewhat confusedly, I rejoined: "I am on theway to visit the White Eagle. I thought--perhaps--you might--thatpossibly you might have some message for him. "

"Su-wa-nee has no message for the White Eagle!" replied she, interrupting me, in the indignant tone, and with a contemptuous toss ofher head. "If she had, she would not choose a false pale-face, likehimself, to be its bearer. You fancy, white man, you can insult theIndian maiden at your pleasure? You dare not take such liberty with oneof your own colour?"

"I assure you I had no such intention: my object was very different. Iwas prompted to speak to you, knowing something of your affair of theother night with my friend Wingrove--which you remember I was witnessof. I could not help overhearing--"

I was interrupted by another quick contemptuous exclamation, thataccompanied a glance of mingled vexation and scorn:--"You may know toomuch, and too little, my brave slayer of red panthers! Su-wa-nee doesnot thank you for interfering in her affairs. She can promise yousufficient occupation with your _own_. Go! See to them!"

"How? What mean you?" I hurriedly asked, perceiving a certainsignificance in her looks, as well as words, that produced within me asudden feeling of inquietude. "What mean you?" I repeated, too anxiousto wait her reply; "has anything happened?"

"Go, see yourself! You lose time in talking to a _squaw_, as you callus. Haste! or your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed, like thatwhich you wear so proudly upon your breast. The wolf has slept in thelair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim! Su-wa-neejoys at it: ha, ha, ha! Hers will not be the only heart wrung by thevillainy of the false pale-face. Ha, ha, ha! Go, brave slayer of redpanthers! Ah! you may go, but only to grieve: you will be too late--toolate--too late!"

Finishing her speech with another peal of half-maniac laughter, shesnatched her pannier from the log, flung it over her shoulder, andhurried away from the spot! Her words, though ill understood, were fullof fearful significance, and acted upon me like a shock--for a momentparalysing my powers both of speech and action. In my anxiety toascertain their full meaning, I would have intercepted her retreat; butbefore I could recover from my unpleasant surprise, she had glided inamong the shrubbery, and disappeared from my sight. 

CHAPTER THIRTY. 

A STORM WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 

Heading my horse to the path, I rode out of the glade; but with verydifferent feelings from those I had on entering it. The words of thisill-starred maiden--attainted with that sibylline cunning peculiar toher race--had filled my heart with most dire forebodings. Her speechcould not be mere conjecture, put forth to vex and annoy me? She hadscarcely motive enough for this; besides, her display of a positiveforeknowledge was proof against the supposition, that she was deceivingme?

"Slayer of red panthers? You may go, but only to grieve. "

"Your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed like that you wear soproudly upon your breast. "

These, and other like innuendoes, could not be conjectural? Howeverobtained, they betokened a knowledge of the past, with an impliedforecast of the future--probable as it was painful. The "yellow fawn, "too. The reference was clear; Lilian Holt was the yellow fawn. But thewolf that had "slept in its lair"? Who was the wolf? Who was to makeher a victim? and how? These unpleasant interrogatives passed rapidlythrough my mind, and without obtaining reply. I was unable to answerthem, even by conjecture. Enough that there _was_ a wolf; and thatLilian Holt was in danger of becoming his victim!

This brought me to the consideration of the last words, still ringing inmy ears: "You will be too late--too late!" Prompted by their impliedmeaning, I drove the spurs into my horse, and galloped forward--as fastas the nature of the ground would permit. My mind was in dreadconfusion--a chaos of doubt and fear. The half-knowledge I had obtainedwas more painful to endure than a misfortune well ascertained: for Isuffered the associated agonies of suspense, and darkly outlinedsuspicion. A wolf! In what shape and guise? A victim? How, and bywhat means? What the nature of the predicted danger?

The elements seemed in unison with my spirit: as if they too had takentheir cue from the ill-omened bodings of my Indian oracle! Astorm-cloud had suddenly obscured the sun--black as the wing of thebuzzard-vulture. Red shafts were shooting athwart the sky--threateningto scathe the trees of the forest; thunder rolled continuously alongtheir tops; and huge isolated rain-drops, like gouts of blood, camepattering down upon the leaves--soon to fall thick and continuous! Iheeded not these indications. At that moment, what where the elementsto me? What cared I for the clouds or rain--lightning, thunder, or theriven forest? There was a cloud on my own heart--an electric rushthrough my veins--of far more potent spell than the shadows of the sky, or the coruscations of the ethereal fire. "The wolf has slept in thelair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim. You willbe too late--too late!" These were clouds to be regarded--the fires tobe feared. No heavenly light to guide me along the path, but a flameinfernal burning in my breast?

The bars were down, but it mattered not: I would have leaped the fence, had there been no gateway; but the entrance to the enclosure was free;and, galloping through it, I drew bridle in front of the hut. The doorwas open--wide open, as was its wont; and I could see most of theinterior. No one appeared within! no one came forth to greet me!

Inside, I observed some pieces of rude furniture--several chairs and arough table. I had noticed them on my first visit. They were now inthe same place--just as I had seen them before. One of my apprehensionswas allayed by the sight: the family was still there. "Strange that noone hears me! that no one comes out to receive me!"

I made these reflections, after having waited a considerable while. "Surely I was expected? It was the time named by Holt himself? The dayand hour! Was I again unwelcome? and had the squatter relapsed into hisuncourteous mood?"

It certainly had that appearance: more especially, since it was rainingat the moment--as if the very clouds were coming down--and I stood inneed of shelter. But that grievance was little thought of. I wassuffering a chagrin, far more intolerable than the tempest. Where wasLilian? Such cool reception, on her part, I had not expected. It wasindeed a surprise. Had I mistaken the character of this Idylliandamsel? Was she, too, an arch creature--a coquette? Had she bestowedthe blossom only to betray me?

I had looked down at the crushed corolla borne upon my breast. I hadpromised myself a triumph by its presence there. I had formed pleasantanticipations of its being recognised--fond hopes of its creating aneffect in my favour. The flower looked drenched and draggled. Itscarmine colour had turned to a dull dark crimson: it was the colour ofblood!

I could bear the suspense no longer. I would have hailed the house; butby this time I had become convinced that there was no one inside. Aftera short survey, I had remarked a change in the appearance of the cabin. The interstices between the logs--where they had formerly been coveredwith skins--were now open. The draping had been removed; and a closerscrutiny enabled me to perceive, that, so far as human occupants wereconcerned, the house was empty! I rode up to the door; and, leaningover from my saddle, looked in. My conjecture was correct. Only thechairs and table with one or two similar pieces of "plenishing, "remained. Everything else had been removed; and some worthless _debris_strewed over the floor, told that the removal was to be consideredcomplete. _They were gone_!

It was of no use harbouring a hope that they might still be on thepremises--outside or elsewhere near. The pouring rain forbade such, asupposition. There was nowhere else--the horse-shed excepted--wherethey could have sheltered! themselves from its torrent; and they werenot in the shed. Rosinante was absent from his rude stall--saddle andbridle had alike disappeared. I needed no further assurance. They weregone. 

With a heavy heart, I slid out of my saddle; led my steed under theshed; and then entered the deserted dwelling. My footfall upon theplank-floor sounded heavy and harsh, as I strode over it, making asurvey of the "premises"--my future home. I might have observed withludicrous surprise the queer character of the building, and how sadly itneeded repair. But I was in no mood to be merry, either with the houseor its furniture; and, tottering into one of the odd-looking chairs, Igave way to gloomy reflections. Any one, seeing me at that moment, would have observed me in an attitude, more benefiting a man about to beturned out of his estate, than one just entering upon possession!

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. 

A VIRGIN HEART IN CIPHER. 

"Gone! and whither gone?" Half aloud, I soliloquised the interrogatory. There was an echo from the empty walls, but no reply. Even conjecturefailed to furnish an answer. The affair was altogether unexpected. Notanticipating that the squatter would leave his cabin before my return, Ihad made no inquiry either about his destination or future designs. Iwas, therefore, without the slightest clue as to whither he had gone. Nor should I have had any inquietude at this premature disappearance, but for the words of the Indian sibyl. Beyond the mere disappointmentof missing an interview with Lilian--chagrin enough after suchhigh-raised expectation--I should not have felt either uneasiness orregret. It would have been but natural to believe, that they had movedto some neighbour's house--perhaps to that up the creek, where lived the"friend of Lilian's father"--in all likelihood, the saint I had seen--orsome other within a five-mile circuit. Or, if even ten miles distant, what would it matter to me? A ride of ten miles twice a day would benothing--only an airing for my Arab. I should soon scent out thewhereabouts of that sweet-smelling rose. Not all the forests inTennessee could hide from me my fair blooming flower. 

Such _would have been_ my reflections, no doubt, had I not encounteredthe Indian girl. But her words of harsh warning now guided the currentof my thoughts into a ruder channel--"You may go, but only to grieve:you will be too late. "

Figurative as was her speech, and undefined its meaning, it producedwithin me a presentiment sufficiently real: that the removal was not amere flit to some temporary shelter under a neighbour's roof, but adeparture for a distant point. Scarcely a presentiment, but a belief--aconviction. Around me were circumstances corroborative of this view. The articles of furniture left behind, though rude, were still of acertain value--especially to a householder of Holt's condition; and hadthe squatter designed to re-erect his roof-tree in the neighbourhood, hewould no doubt have taken them with him. Otherwise they were too heavyfor a distant migration. 

Perhaps he intended to return for them? If so--but no: there was noprobability of his doing so. I need not have tried to comfort myselfwith the reflection. The innuendoes of the Indian had already negativedthe hope. Still vaguely indulging in it, however, I cast a glancearound the room in search of some object that might guide my conjecturesto a more definite conclusion. 

While so employed, my eyes fell upon a piece of paper carelessly folded. It lay upon the rough table--the only object there, with the exceptionof some crumbs of corn-bread, and the _debris_ of a tobacco-pipe. I_recognised_ the piece of paper. It was an old acquaintance--the leaffrom my memorandum-book--upon which was written that laconic "last willand testament, " jointly signed by the squatter and myself. On observingthis paper upon the table, it did not occur to me, that it had been leftthere with any design. My reflection was, that the squatter had takenit from the stump, and carried it into the house--perhaps to shew it tohis clerical visitor. No doubt, they had enjoyed a good laugh over it--as the souvenir of a ludicrous incident; and for this very reason Iresolved upon preserving it. 

I had taken the document in my hand, and was about depositing it in mypocket-book, when my eye was attracted by some fresh writing on thepaper. A slight scrutiny of the recent cipher secured for the torn leafa deeper interest than I had before felt in it: I saw that it was thechirography of a female hand. What other than the hand of Lilian? Ithought of no other. Beyond doubt, her fingers had guided the pencil--for it was pencil-writing--and guided it so deftly, as to impress mewith surprise and admiration. Astonished was I, that she--the child ofa rude squatter--should be able to set down her ideas in so fair ahand--thoughts thrilling, though simply expressed. 

Ah! sweet simple words! Trembled my own hand as I read them--trembledas from a spell of delirium--a delirium produced by the antagonisticemotions of grief and joy! Yes! both were present. In that simpleinscript I had found cue for both: for there I learnt the ecstatic truththat I was beloved, and along with it the bitter intelligence, that mylove was lost to me for ever! Words of welcome, and words of woe! howcould they be thus commingled? Read them, and learn:

"To Edward Warfield, --

"Stranger!--It is to say farewell, but I am very sad as I write thesewords. When you asked me to promise to meet you again, I was happy, Isaid, Yes. O sir! it can never be! We are going to some far place, andshall be gone before you come here, and I shall never see you again. Itis very distant, and I do not know the name of the country, for it isnot in Tennessee, nor in the United States, but somewhere in the west, along way beyond the Mississippi river and the great prairies; but it isa country where they dig gold out of the sand--perhaps you have heard ofit, and might know it. I tried to know its name, but father is angrywith me for speaking of you, and will not tell me; and our friend, thatyou saw, who is taking us with him, will not tell me either. But Ishall find out soon, and if I thought you might like to know where weare gone, I would write to you. I am glad that mother taught me towrite, though I do not compose very well; but if you will allow me, Iwill send a letter to Swampville, from the first place we come to, totell you the name of the country where we are going. I know your name, for it is upon this paper, and I hope you will not think I have donewrong, for I have written my own name beside it. O sir! I am very sadthat I am not to see you any more, for I am afraid father will nevercome back. I could cry all night and all day, and I have cried a deal, but I am afraid of their seeing me, for both father and his friend havescolded me, and said a many things against you. I do not like to hearthem say things against you; and for that reason I try not to let themknow how very sorry I am that I am never to meet you any more. Bravestranger! you saved my life; but it is not that, I think, that makes meso unhappy now, but something else. You are so different from theothers I have seen; and what you said to me was not like anything I everheard before; your words sounded so sweet, and I could have listened tothem for ever. I remember every one of them. And then I was so proudwhen you took the flower from me, and held it to your lips, for it mademe think that you would be my friend. I have been very lonely since mysister Marian went away--she went with the man you saw. I hope to seeher soon now, as she is somewhere out in the country where we are goingto, but that will not make me happy, if I can never see you again. 

"O sir! forgive me for writing all that I have written; but I thoughtfrom what you said to me you would not be displeased with me for it, andthat is why I have written it. But I must write no more, for my eyesare full of tears, and I cannot see the paper. I hope you will not burnit, but keep it, to remember--

"Lilian Holt. "

Yes, Lilian! to the last hour of my life! Close to my bosom shall itlie--that simple souvenir of your maiden love. Sacred page! Transcriptof sweet truth--hallowed by the first offerings of a virgin heart!Over, and over, and over again, I read the cipher--to me more touchingthan the wildest tale of romance. Alas! it was not all joy. There wasmore than a moiety of sadness, constantly increasing its measure. Inanother moment, the sadness overcame the joy. I tottered towards thechair, and dropped into it--my spirit completely prostrated by theconflicting emotions. 

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. 

A WORD ABOUT MORMON MONSTERS. 

Not long did I remain under the mental paralysis. There was no time foridle repining. The intelligence, derived from the torn leaf, had givenme a cue for action; and my spirit struggled to free itself from thelethargy of grief. Hope whispered the watchword, "Up and be doing!" andI arose to obey its mandate. 

My heart was on fire--wildly, madly on fire. The contents of thatepistle, while it imbued my spirit with the sweetest of all earthlypleasures, revealed to it the deadliest of dangers--imparting to it ananguish beyond expression. It told me far more than the writer herselfknew--both of her love and what she had need to fear: for, in herguileless innocence, was she alike unconscious of the passion and theperil. Not so I. She had opened her heart before me. As on a printedpage, I could trace its tender inclinings. Had this been all, I shouldhave been happy--supremely happy. But, alas! that writing told me more:that she who had pencilled it was in deadly peril. No--not _deadly_: itwas not of life; but of something fur dearer--to me a thousand timesmore dear--her virgin honour. Now comprehended I, in all theirdiabolical significance, those wild weird words: "The wolf has slept inthe lair of the forest deer--the yellow fawn will be his victim!" Nowknew I the wolf--a wolf disguised in the clothing of the lamb? Itneeded no remarkable acumen to tell to whom the figure referred. Thewriting itself revealed him--all but the name; and that was manifest byimplication. The man with whom "Marian went away"--he whom I had seenin clerical garb and guise, was the wolf of the metaphor; and that manwas Stebbins, the _Mormon! With him, too, Lilian had gone away_!

Not with words can I express the suggestive hideousness of this thought. To understand it in all its cruel significance, the reader should beacquainted with that peculiar sect--known as the "Church of Latter-DaySaints"--should have read its history and its chronicles. Without thisknowledge, he will be ill able to comprehend the peculiar bitterness, that in that hour, wrapped and wrung my soul. Accident had made meacquainted with the Mormon religion; not with its tenets--for it hasnone--but with the moral idiosyncrasy of its most eminent "apostles, " aswell as that of its humbler devotees--two very different classes of"Saints. "

In the animal world, we seek in vain for the type of either class. Theanalogies of wolf and lamb, hawk and pigeon, cat and mouse, cannot beemployed with any degree of appropriateness--not one of them. In allthese creatures there are traits either of nobility or beauty. Neitheris to be found in the life and character of a Mormon--whether he be asincere neophyte or a hypocritical apostle. Perhaps the nearestantagonistic forms of the animal world, by which we might typify theantithetic conditions of Mormon life, both social and religious, arethose of fox and goose; though no doubt the subtle Reynard would scornthe comparison. Nor, indeed, is the fox a true type: for even about himthere are redeeming qualities--something to relieve the soul from thatloathing which it feels in contemplating the character of a "rulingelder" among the "Saints. "

It would be difficult to imagine anything further removed, from what wemay term the "divinity of human nature, " than one of these. Vulgar andbrutal, cunning and cruel, are ordinary epithets; and altogether tooweak to characterise such a creature. Some of the "twelves" and of the"seventies" may lack one or other of these characteristics. In mostcases, however, you may safely bestow them all; and if it be the chiefof the sect--the President himself--you may add such other _ugly_appellatives as your fancy may suggest; and be sure that yourportraiture will still fall short of the hideousness of the original. Perhaps the most striking characteristic of these fanatics is theabsolute openness of their cheat. A more commonplace imposture hasnever been offered for acceptance, even to the most ignorant of mankind. It appeals neither to reason nor romance. The one is insulted by thevery shallowness of its chicanery, while its rank _plebbishness_disgusts the other. Even the nomenclature, both of its offices andoffice-bearers, has a vulgar ring that smacks of ignoble origin. Thenames "twelves, " "seventies, " "deacons, " "wifedoms, " "Smiths" (Hiram andJoseph), Pratt, Snow, Young, Cowdery, and the like--coupled as they arewith an affectation and imitation of Scripture phraseology--form avocabulary burlesquing even the Sacred Book itself, and suggesting bytheir sounds the true character of the Mormon Church--a very essence ofplebeian hypocrisy. 

I have used the word "fanatics, " but that must be understood in alimited sense. It can only be applied to the "geese"--the ignorant andbesotted _canaille_--which the "apostolic" emissaries have collectedfrom all parts of Europe, but chiefly from England, Scotland, and Wales. The Welsh, as might be expected, furnish a large proportion of theseemigrant geese; while, strange as it may sound, there is but one Irishgoose in the whole Mormon flock! There are but few of these "birds" ofnative American breed. The general intelligence, supplied by a properschool system, prevents much proselytism in that quarter; but it doesnot hinder the acute Yankee from playing the part of the fox: for inreality this is his _role_ in the social system of Mormondom. ThePresident or "High Priest and Prophet" himself, the Twelves andSeventies, the elders, deacons, and other dignitaries, are all, ornearly all, of true Yankee growth; and to call these "fanatics" would bea misapplication of the word. Term them conspirators, charlatans, hypocrites, and impostors, if you will, but not fanatics. The Mormonfox is no fanatic: he is a _professor_ in the most emphatic sense of theword, but not a _believer_. His profession is absolute chicanery--hehas neither faith, dogma, nor doctrine. 

There are writers who have defended these _forbans_ of religion; andsome who have even spoken well of their system. Captain Stansbury, theexplorer, has a good opinion of them. The captain is at best but asuperficial observer; and, unfortunately for his judgment, received mostcourteous treatment at their hands. It is not human nature "to speakill of the bridge that has carried one over"; and Captain Stansbury hasobeyed the common impulse. In the earlier times of the Mormon Church, there were champions of the Stansbury school to defend its membersagainst the charge of _polygamy_. In those days, the Saints themselvesattempted a sort of denial of it. The subject was then too rank to comeforth as a revelation. But a truth of this awkward kind could not longremain untold; and it became necessary to mask it under the moremoderate title of a _spiritual-wifedom_. It required an acutemetaphysician to comprehend this spiritual relationship; and themoralist was puzzled to understand its sanctity. During that period, while the Saints dwelt within the pale of the Gentiles' country thiscloak was kept on; but after their "exodus" to the Salt Lakesettlements, the flimsy garment was thrown off--being found tooinconvenient to be worn any longer. There the motive for concealmentwas removed, and the apology of a _spiritual-wifedom_ ceased to exist. It came out in its carnal and sensual shape. Polygamy was boldlypreached and proclaimed, as it had ever been practised, in its mosthideous shape; and the defenders of Mormon purity, thus betrayed bytheir pet proteges, dropped their broken lances to the ground. The"institution" is even more odious under Mormon than Mohammed. There isno redeeming point--not even the "romance of the harem"--for the_zenana_ of a Latter-day Saint is a type of the most vulgar materialism, where even the favourite sultana is not exempted from the hardwork-a-day duties of a slave. 

Polygamy? No! the word has too limited a signification. Tocharacterise the condition of a Mormon wife, we must resort to thephraseology of the _bagnio_. 

_In company of a Mormon had Lilian gone away_! No wonder that my heartwas on fire--wildly, madly on fire. I rose from my seat, and rushedforth for my horse. The storm still raged apace. Clouds and rollingthunder, lightning and rain--rain such as that which ushered in theDeluge! The storm! What cared I for its fury? Rain antediluvian wouldnot have stayed me in doors--not if it had threatened the drowning ofthe world!

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. 

ANOTHER DUEL DETERMINED ON. 

Into my saddle--off out of the clearing--away through the drippingforest--on through the sweltering swamp, I hurried. Up the creek was myroute--my destination, the dwelling of the hunter, Wingrove. Surely, insuch weather, I should find him at home?

It was natural I should seek the young backwoodsman. In such anemergency, I might count with certainty on having his advice andassistance. True, I anticipated no great benefit from either: for whatcould either avail me? The young man was helpless as myself; and hadsimilarly suffered. This would secure me his sympathy; but what morecould he give?

After all, I did not reckon it as nothing. The condolence of a friendor fellow-sufferer may soothe, though it cannot cure; and for such asolace the heart intuitively seeks. Confidence and sympathy areconsolatory virtues--even penance has its purpose. I longed, therefore, for a friend--one to whom I could confide my secret, and unbosom mysorrow; and I sought that friend in the young backwoodsman. I had aclaim upon him: he had made me the confidant of _his_ care--therecipient of his heart confessed. Little dreamed I at the time, Ishould so soon be calling upon him for a reciprocity of the kindness. 

Fortune so far favoured me--I found him at home. My arrival scarcelyroused him from a dejection that, I could perceive, was habitual to him. I knew its cause; and could see that he was struggling against it--lestit should hinder him from the fulfilment of his duties as a host. Itdid not. There was something truly noble in this conquest of courtesyover the heart heavily laden--charged and engrossed with selfish care. Not without admiration, did I observe the conflict. I hesitated not toconfide my secret to such a man: I felt convinced that under thebuckskin coat beat the heart of a gentleman. I told him the whole storyof my love--beginning with the hour in which I had left him. 

The tale aroused him from his apathy--more especially the episode, whichrelated to my first meeting with Lilian, and the encounter thatfollowed. As a hunter, this last would have secured his attention; butit was not altogether that. 

The scene touched a chord in unison with his own memories; for by somesuch incident had he first won the favour of Marian. As I approachedthe _finale_ of the duel scene--that point where the stranger hadappeared upon the stage--I could perceive the interest of my listenerculminating to a pitch of excitement; and, before I had pronounced tenwords in description of the clerical visitor, the young hunter sprang tohis feet, exclaiming as he did so--"Josh Stebbins!"

"Yes; it was he--I know it myself. "

I continued the narrative; but I saw I was no longer listened to withattention. Wingrove was on his feet, and pacing the floor with nervousirregular strides. Every now and then, I saw him glance towards hisrifle--that rested above the fireplace; while the angry flash of hiseyes betokened that he was meditating some serious design. As soon as Ihad described the winding up of the duel, and what followed--includingmy departure from Swampville--I was again interrupted by the younghunter--this time not by his speech but by an action equallysignificant. Hastily approaching the fireplace, he lifted his riflefrom the cleets; and, dropping the piece upon its butt, commencedloading it!

It was not the movement itself, so much as the time and manner, thatarrested my attention; and these declared the object of the act. Neither for squirrel nor coon--deer, bear, nor panther--was that riflebeing loaded!

"Where are you going?" I inquired, seeing that he had taken down hiscoon-skin cap, and slung on his pouch and powder-horn. "Only a bit downthe crik. You'll excuse me, stranger, for leavin' o' ye; but I'll beback in the twinklin' o' an eye. Thar's a bit o' dinner for ye, if youcan eat cold deer-meat; an' you'll find somethin' in the old bottlethar. I won't be gone more'n a hour. I reckon I won't. "

The emphasis expressed a certain indecision, which I observed withoutbeing able to interpret. I had my conjectures however. 

"Can I not go with you?" I asked in hopes of drawing him to declare hisdesign. "The weather has cleared up; and I should prefer riding out, tostaying here alone. If it is not some business of a private nature--"

"Thar's nothin' particularly private about it, stranger; but it's abizness I don't want you to be mixed up in. I guess ye've got yur owntroubles now; 'ithout takin' share o' myen. "

"If it is not rude, may I ask the business on which you're going?"

"Welcome to know it, stranger. I'm a-goin' _to kill Josh Stebbins_!"

"Kill Josh Stebbins?"

"Eyther that, or he shall kill me. "

"Oh! nonsense!" I exclaimed, surprised less at the intention--which Ihad already half divined--than at the cool determined tone in which itwas declared. 

"I've said it, stranger! I've sworn it over an' over, an' it shell bedone. 'Taint no new notion I've tuk. I'd detarmined on makin' himfight long ago: for I'd an old score to settle wi' him, afore that 'unyou know o'; but I niver ked got the skunk to stan' up. He allers tukcare to keep out o' my way. Now I've made up my mind he don't dodge meany longer; an', by the Etarnal! if that black-hearted snake's to befoun' in the settlement--"

"He is not to be found in the settlement. "

"Not to be foun' in the settlement!" echoed the hunter, in a tone thatbetrayed both surprise and vexation--"not to be foun' in the settlement?Surely you ain't in earnest, stranger? You seed him the day aforeyesterday!"

"True--but I have reason to think he is gone. "

"God forbid! But you ain't sure o' it? What makes you think he airgone?"

"Too sure of it--it was that knowledge that brought me in such haste toyour cabin. "

I detailed the events of the morning, which Wingrove had not yet heard;my brief interview with the Indian maiden--her figurative prophecy thathad proved but two truthful. I described the deserted dwelling; and atlast read to him the letter of Lilian--read it from beginning to end. 

He listened with attention, though chafing at the delay. Once or twiceonly did he interrupt me, with the simple expression--"Poor little Lil!"

"Poor little Lil!" repeated he when I had finished. "She too gone wi'him!--just as Marian went six months ago!

"No--no!" he exclaimed correcting himself, in a voice that proclaimedthe agony of his thoughts. "No! it war different--altogether different:_Marian went willin'ly_. "

"How know you that?" I said, with a half-conceived hope of consolinghim. 

"Know it? O stranger! I'm sure o' it; Su-wa-nee sayed so. "

"That signifies nothing. It is not the truer of her having said so. Ajealous and spiteful rival. Perhaps the very contrary is the truth?Perhaps Marian was forced to marry this, man? Her father may haveinfluenced her: and it is not at all unlikely, since he appears to behimself under some singular influence--as if in dread of his saintlyson-in-law. I noticed some circumstances that would lead one to thisconclusion. "

"Thank ye, stranger, for them words!" cried the young hunter, rushingforward; and grasping me eagerly by the hand. "It's the first bit o'comfort I've had since Marian war tuk away! I've heerd myself that Holtwar afeerd o' Stebbins; an' maybe that snake in the grass had a coilabout him somehow. I confess ye, it often puzzled me, Marian's takin'it so to heart, an' all about a bit o' a kiss--which I wudn't a tuk, ifthe Indian hadn't poked her lips clost up to myen. Lord o' mercy! I'dgie all I've got in the world, to think it war true as you've sayed. "

"I have very little doubt of its being true. I have now seen yourrival; and I think it altogether improbable she would, of her own freewill, have preferred him to you. "

"Thank ye, stranger! it's kind in you to say so. She's now married an'gone: but if I thort thar had been _force_ used, I'd 'a done long ago_what I mean to do now_. "

"What is that?" I asked, struck by the emphatic energy with which thelast words were spoken. "Foller _him_, if it be to the furrest eend o'the world! Yes, stranger! I mean it. I'll go arter him, an' track himout. I'll find him in the bottom o' a Californey gold mine, or whereverhe may try to hide hisself; an', by the etarnal! I'll wipe out thescore--both the old un and the new un--in the skunk's blood, or I'llnever set fut agin in the state o' Tennessee. I've made up my mind toit. "

"You are determined to follow him?"

"Firmly detarmined!"

"Enough! Our roads lie together!"

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. 

A DEPARTURE IN A "DUG-OUT. "

We were in perfect accord as to our course of action, as in ourthoughts. If our motives were not similar, our enemy was the same. Only was there a difference in our prospective designs. Love was thelure that beckoned me on; Wingrove was led by revenge. To follow _him_, and punish guilt, was the _metier_ of my companion; to follow _her_, andrescue innocence, was the _role_ cast for me. Though guided by two suchdifferent passions, both were of the strongest of our nature--eithersufficient to stimulate to the most earnest action; and without loss oftime, we entered upon it in full determination to succeed. I hadalready formed the design of pursuit; and perhaps it was with the hopeof obtaining an associate and companion, that I had sought an interviewwith the hunter. At all events, this had been my leading idea. Hisexpressed determination, therefore, was but the echo of my wish. Itonly remained for us to mould our design into a proper and practicableform. 

Though not much older than my new comrade, there were some things inwhich I had the advantage of him. I was his superior in experience. Heacknowledged it with all deference, and permitted my counsels to takethe lead. The exercise of partisan warfare--especially that practisedon the Mexican and Indian frontiers--is a school scarcely equalled fortraining the mind to coolness and self-reliance. An experience thusobtained, had given mine such a cast; and taught me, by many awell-remembered lesson, the truthfulness of that wise saw; "The morehaste the less speed. " Instead, therefore of rushing at once _in mediasres_, and starting forth, without knowing whither to go, my counsel wasthat we should act with caution; and adopt some definite plan ofpursuit. It was not the suggestion of my heart, but rather of my head. Had I obeyed the promptings of the former, I should have been in thesaddle, hours before, and galloping somewhere in a westerly direction--perhaps to find, at the end of a long journey only disappointment, andthe infallibility of the adage. 

Taking counsel from my reason, I advised a different course of action;and my comrade--whose head for his age was a cool one--agreed to followmy advice. Indeed, he had far less motive for haste than I. Revengewould keep, and could be slept upon; while with emotions such as mine, aquiet heart was out of the question. She whom I loved was not only indanger of being lost to me for ever, but in danger of becoming thevictim of a dastard _coquin_--diabolic as dastard! Suffering under thesting of such a fearful apprehension, it required me to exert all theself-restraining power of which I was possessed. Had I but known _whereto go_, I should have rushed to horse, and ridden on upon the instant. Not knowing, I was fortunately possessed of sufficient prudence torestrain myself from the idle attempt. 

That Holt and his daughter were gone, and in company with the Mormon, weknew: the letter told that. That they had left the cabin was equallyknown; but whether they were yet clear off from the neighbourhood, wasstill uncertain; and to ascertain this, was the first thing to beaccomplished. If still within the boundaries of the settlement, or uponany of the roads leading from it, there would be a chance of_overtaking_ them. But what after that? Ah! beyond that I did nottrust myself to speculate. I dared not discuss the future. I refrainedfrom casting even a glance into its horoscope--so dark did it appear. Ihad but little hope that they were anywhere within reach. That phraseof fatal prophecy, "You will be too late--too late!" still rang in myears. It had a fuller meaning than might appear, from a hastyinterpretation of it. Had not it also a figurative application? and didit not signify I should be too late _in every sense_?

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At what time had they taken their departure? By what route? and uponwhat road? These were the points to be ascertained; and our only hopeof obtaining a clue to them was by proceeding to the place of departureitself--the deserted dwelling. Thither we hied in all haste--prepared, if need be, for a more distant expedition. On entering the enclosure, we dismounted, and at once set about examining the "sign. " My companionpassed to and fro, like a pointer in pursuit of a partridge. I hadhoped we might trace them by the tracks; but this hope was abandoned, onperceiving that the rain had obliterated every index of this kind. Eventhe hoof-prints of my own horse--made but an hour before--were washedfull of mud, and scarcely traceable. 

Had they gone upon horseback? It was not probable: the house-utensilscould hardly have been transported that way? Nor yet could they haveremoved them in a wagon? No road for wheels ran within miles of theclearing--that to Swampville, as already stated, being no more than abridle-path; while the other "traces, " leading up and down the creek, were equally unavailable for the passage of a wheeled vehicle. 

There was but one conclusion to which we could come; and indeed wearrived at it without much delay: they had gone off in a canoe. It wasclear as words or eye-witnesses could have made it. Wingrove well knewthe craft. It was known as Holt's "dug-out;" and was occasionally usedas a ferry-boat, to transport across the creek such stray travellers aspassed that way. It was sufficiently large to carry several at once--large enough for the purpose of a removal. The mode of their departurewas the worst feature in the case; for, although we had been alreadysuspecting it, we had still some doubts. Had they gone off in any otherway, there would have been a possibility of tracking them. But a_conge_ in a canoe was a very different affair: man's presence leaves notoken upon the water: like a bubble or a drop of rain, his traces vanishfrom the surface, or sink into the depths of the subtle element--anemblem of his own vain nothingness!

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. 

A DANGEROUS SWEETHEART. 

Our conjectures as to the mode of their departure were at an end. Onthis point, we had arrived at a definite knowledge. It was clear theyhad gone off in the canoe; and with the current, of course: since thatwould carry them in the direction they intended to travel. The settlingof this question, produced a climax--a momentary pause in our action. We stood upon the bank of the stream, bending our eyes upon its course, and for a time giving way to the most gloomy reflections. Like ourthoughts were the waters troubled. Swollen by the recent rain-storm, the stream no longer preserved its crystal purity; but in the hue of itswaters justified the name it bore. Brown and turbid, they rolled past--no longer a stream, but a rushing torrent--that spumed against thebanks, as it surged impetuously onward. Trees torn up by the roots werecarried on by the current--their huge trunks and half-riven branchestwisting and wriggling in the stream, like drowning giants in theirdeath-struggle. In the "sough" of the torrent, we heard their sighs--inits roar, the groans of their departing spirits!

The scene was in unison with our thoughts; and equally so with thelaughter that at that moment sounded in our ears--for it was laughterwild and maniac. It was heard in the forest behind us; ringing amongthe trees, and mingling its shrill unearthly echo with the roaring ofthe torrent. Both of us were startled at the sound. Though the voicewas a woman's, I could see that it had produced on Wingrove a certainimpression of fear. On hearing it, he trembled and turned pale. Ineeded no explanation. A glance towards the forest revealed the cause. A female form moving among the trees told me whence had come thatunexpected and ill-timed cachinnation. 

"Lord o' mercy!" exclaimed my companion, "that Injun again! She's beenarter me since that night, an' threatens to have a fresh try at takin'my life. Look out stranger! I know she's got pistols. "

"Oh! I fancy there's not much danger. She appears to be in thelaughing mood. "

"It's jest that ere larf I don't like: she's allers wust when she's inthat way. "

By this time the Indian had reached the edge of the clearing very nearthe rear of the cabin. Without pausing she sprang up on the fence--asif to enter the enclosure. This, however, proved not to be herintention; for, on climbing to the topmost rail, she stood erect uponit, with one hand clutching the limb of a tree, to keep her in position. As soon as she had attained the upright attitude, another peal oflaughter came ringing from her lips, as wild as that with which she hadannounced her approach; but there was also in its tones a certainmodulation that betokened scorn! Neither of us uttered a syllable; but, observing a profound silence, stood waiting to hear what she had to say. Another scornful laugh, and her words broke forth:

"White Eagle! and proud slayer of red panthers! your hearts are troubledas the stream on which your eyes are gazing! Su-wa-nee knows yoursorrows. She comes to you with words of comfort. "

"Ah! speak them then!" said I, suddenly conceiving a hope. "Hear youthat sound in the forest?"

We heard no sound, save that of the water grumbling and surging at ourfeet. We answered in the negative. "You hear it not? Ha, ha, ha!where are your ears? It is ringing in mine. All day I have heard it. Listen! there it is again!"

"She's a mockin' us, " muttered my companion; "thar ain't no soun' inpartickler. "

"No? we cannot hear it; you are mocking us, " I rejoined, addressingmyself to the brown-skinned, sibyl. "Ha! ha! ha! It is _it_ that ismocking you. It mocks you, and yet it is not the mocking-bird. It isnot the dove cooing gently to his mate, nor the screaming of the owl. It is the cuckoo that mocks you! ha! ha! the cuckoo! Now, do you hearit, White Eagle? Do _you_ hear it, proud slayer of red panthers? Ha!it mocks you both!"

"Oh! bother, girl!" exclaimed. Wingrove in a vexed tone; "ye're atalkin' nonsense. "

"Truth, White Eagle--truth! the black snake has been in your nest; andyours too, slayer of panthers! He has wound himself around your prettybirds, and borne them away in his coils--away over the great desertplains--away to the Big Lake! Ha, ha, ha! In the desert, he willdefile them. In the waters of the lake, he will drown them--ha, ha, ha!"

"Them's yur words o' comfort, air they?" cried Wingrove, exasperated toa pitch of fury. "Durned if I'll bar sech talk! I won't stan' it anylonger. Clar out now! We want no croakin' raven hyar. Clar out! or--"

He was not permitted to finish the threat. I saw the girl suddenly dropdown from her position on the fence, and glide behind the trunk of atree. Almost at the same instant a light gleamed along the bank--whichmight have been mistaken for a flash of lightning, had it not beenfollowed instantaneously by a quick crack--easily recognisable as thereport of a pistol! I waited not to witness the effect; but rushedtowards the tree--with the design of intercepting the Indian. The bluesmoke lingering in the damp air, hindered me from seeing the movementsof the girl; but, hurrying onward, I clambered over the fence. Once onthe other side, I was beyond the cloud, and could command a view for ascore of yards or so around me; but, in that circuit, no human form wasto be seen! Beyond it, however, I heard the vengeful, scornful, laugh, pealing its unearthly echoes through the columned aisles of the forest!

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. 

THE HOROLOGE OF THE DEAD HORSE. 

With inquiring eye and anxious heart, I turned towards the spot where Ihad left my companion. To my joy, he was still upon his feet, andcoming towards me. I could see blood dripping from his fingers, and acrimson-stained rent in the sleeve of his buckskin shirt; but thecareless air with which he was regarding it, at once set my mind atrest. He was smiling: there could not be much danger in the wound? Itproved so in effect. The bullet had passed through the muscular part ofthe left forearm--only tearing the flesh. The wound did not evenrequire a surgeon. The haemorrhage once checked, the dressing which myexperience enabled me to give it was sufficient; and kept slung a fewdays it would be certain to heal. 

Unpleasant as was the incident, it seemed to affect my companion farless than the words that preceded it. The allegorical allusions werebut two well understood; and though they added but little to theknowledge already in his possession, that little produced a renewedacerbity of spirit. It affected me equally with my comrade--perhapsmore. The figurative revelations of the Indian had put a still darkerphase on the affair. The letter of Lilian spoke only of a far country, where gold was dug out of the sand. --California, of course. There wasno allusion to the Salt Lake--not one word about a migration to themetropolis of the Mormons. Su-wa-nee's speech, on the other hand, clearly alluded to this place as the goal of the squatter's journey!How her information could have been obtained, or whence derived, was amystery; and, though loth to regard it as oracular, I could not divestmyself of a certain degree of conviction that her words were true. Themind, ever prone to give assent to information conveyed by hints andinnuendos, too often magnifies this gipsy knowledge; and dwells not uponthe means by which it may have been acquired. For this reason gave Iweight to the warnings of the brown-skinned sibyl--though uttered onlyto taunt, and too late to be of service. 

The incident altered our design--only so far as to urge us to its morerapid execution; and, without losing time, we turned our attention oncemore to the pursuit of the fugitives. The first point to be ascertainedwas the _time_ of their departure. 

"If it wan't for the rain, " said the hunter, "I ked a told it by thartracks. They must a made some hyar in the mud, while toatin' tharthings to the dug-out. The durned rain's washed 'em out--every footmarko' 'em. "

"But the horses? what of them? They could not have gone off in thecanoe?"

"I war just thinkin' o' them. The one you seed with Stebbins must abeen hired, I reck'n; an' from Kipp's stables. Belike enuf, the skunktuk him back the same night, and then come agin 'ithout him; or Kippmight a sent a nigger to fetch him?"

"But Holt's own horse--the old `critter, ' as you call him?"

"That _diz_ need explainin'. He _must_ a left him ahind. He culdn't atuk _him_ in the _dug-out_; besides, he wan't worth takin' along. Theold thing war clean wore out, an' wuldn't a sold for his weight incorn-shucks. Now, what ked they a done wi' him?"

The speaker cast a glance around, as if seeking for an answer. "Heigh!"he exclaimed, pointing to some object, on which he had fixed his glance. "Yonder we'll find him! See the buzzarts! The old hoss's past prayin'for, I'll be boun'. "

It was as the hunter had conjectured. A little outside the enclosure, several vultures were seen upon the trees, perched upon the lowestbranches, and evidently collected there by some object on the ground. On approaching the spot, the birds flew off with reluctance; and the oldhorse was seen lying among the weeds, under the shadow of a giganticsycamore. He was quite dead, though still wearing his skin; and a broadred disc in the dust, opposite a gaping wound in the animal's throat, showed that he had been slaughtered where he lay!

"He's killed the crittur!" musingly remarked my companion as he pointedto the gash; "jest like what he'd do! He might a left the old thing tosome o' his neighbours, for all he war worth; but it wudn't a been HickHolt to a did it. He wan't partickler friendly wi' any o' us, an' leasto' all wi' myself--tho' I niver knew the adzact reezun o't, 'ceptin'that I beat him once shootin', at a _barbecue_. He war mighty proud a'his shootin', an' that riled him, I reck'n: he's been ugly wi' me iversince. "

I scarcely heeded what the young hunter was saying--my attention beingoccupied with a process of analytical reasoning. In the dead horse, Ihad found a key to the time of Holt's departure. The ground for somedistance around where the carcass lay was quite dry: the rain havingbeen screened off by a large spreading branch of the sycamore, thatextended its leafy protection over the spot. Thus sheltered, the bodylay just as it had fallen; and the crimson rivulet, with its terminating"pool, " had only been slightly disturbed by the feet of the buzzards--the marks of whose claws were traceable in the red mud, as was that oftheir beaks upon the eyeballs of the animal. All these were signs, which the experience of a prairie campaign had taught me how tointerpret; and which the forest lore of my backwoods comrade alsoenabled him to read. At the first question put to him, he comprehendedmy meaning. 

"How long think you since he was killed?" I asked, pointing to the deadhorse. "Ha! ye're right, stranger!" said he, perceiving the object ofthe interrogatory. "I war slack not to think o' that. We kin easy findout, I reck'n. "

The hunter bent down over the carcass, so as to bring his eyes close tothe red gash in the neck. In this he placed the tips of his fingers, and kept them there. He uttered not a word, but held his head slantwiseand steadfast, as if listening. Only for a few seconds did he remain inthis attitude; and then, as if suddenly satisfied with the examination, he rose from his stooping posture, exclaiming as he stood erect:

"Good, by thunder! The old horse hain't been dead 'bove a kupple o'hours. Look thar, stranger! the blood ain't froze? I kin a'most fancythar's heat in his old karkiss yet!"

"You are sure he has been killed this morning?"

"Quite sure o't; an' at most three, or may be four hour agone. Seethar!" he continued, raising one of the limbs, and letting it dropagain; "limber as a eel! Ef he'd a been dead last night, the leg'd beenstiff long afore this. "

"Quite true, " replied I, convinced, as was my companion, that the horsehad been slaughtered that morning. 

This bit of knowledge was an important contribution towards fixing thetime of the departure. It told the _day_. The hour was of lessimportance to our plans; though to that, by a further process ofreasoning, we were enabled to make a very near approximation. Holt musthave killed the horse before going off; and the act, as both of usbelieved, could not have been accomplished at a very early hour. As faras the sign enabled us to tell, not more than four hours ago; andperhaps about two, before the time of my first arrival in the clearing. Whether the squatter had left the ground immediately after theperformance of this rude sacrifice, it was impossible to tell. Therewas no sign by which to determine the point; but the probability was, that the deed was done just upon the eve of departure; and that theslaughter of the old horse was the closing act of Holt's career in hisclearing upon Mud Creek. Only one doubt remained. Was it he who hadkilled the animal? I had conceived a suspicion pointing to Su-wa-nee--but without being able to attribute to the Indian any motive for theact. 

"No, no!" replied my comrade, in answer to my interrogatory on thishead: "'twar Holt hisself, sartin. He culdn't take the old hoss alongwi' him, an' he didn't want anybody else to git him. Besides, the girlhedn't no reezun to a did it. She'd a been more likely to a tuk the oldcritter to thar camp--seein' he war left behind wi' nobody to own him. Tho' he wan't worth more'n what the skin 'ud fetch, he'd adone for themar Injuns well enuf, for carryin' thar traps an' things. No, 'twan'ther, nor anybody else 'ceptin' Holt hisself--he did it?"

"If that be so, comrade, there is still hope for us. They cannot havemore than four hours the start. You say the creek has a windingcourse?"

"Crooked as a coon's hind leg. "

"And the Obion?"

"Most part the same. It curls through the bottom like the tail o' acur-dog; an' nigher the Massissippy, it don't move faster than a snail'ud crawl. I reck'n the run o' the river 'll not help 'em much. The'llhev a good spell o' paddlin' afore they git down to Massissippy; an' Ihope that durned Mormon 'll blister his ugly claws at it!"

"With all my heart!" I rejoined; and both of us at the same instantrecognising the necessity of taking time by the forelock, we hurriedback to our horses, sprang into our saddles and started along the traceconducting to the mouth of the Obion. 

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. 

A LOOKOUT FROM ALOFT. 

It cost us a fatiguing ride of nearly twelve hours' duration--most of italong by-roads and bridle-paths--at intervals passing through tracts ofswampy soil, where our horses sank to the saddle-girths in mud. We rodecontinuously: stopping only once to recruit our horses at one of the"stands, " or isolated log hostelries--which are found upon the old"traces" connecting the sparse settlements of the backwoods. It was theonly one we saw upon our route; and at it we remained no longer than wasabsolutely necessary to rest our wearied steeds, and put them in acondition for the completion of the journey. We knew the necessity ofhaste. Our only hope lay in being able to reach the mouth of the Obionbefore the canoe could pass out of it. Otherwise, our journey would bein vain; and we should not only have our long ride for nothing, butwould be under the necessity of doubling the distance by riding backagain. 

Along the route we found time to discuss the circumstances--both thosein our favour and against us. The water-way taken by the canoe was farfrom being direct. Both the creek and the larger stream curvedrepeatedly in their courses; and in ordinary times were of sluggishcurrent. The freshet, however, produced by the late rain-storm, hadrendered it swifter than common; and we knew that the canoe would becarried down with considerable rapidity--faster than we were travellingon horseback. On such roads, for so great a distance, fast travellingwas impossible; and could only have been accomplished at the risk ofkilling our horses. Mounted as I was, I might have made more of thetime; but I was under the necessity of slackening pace for mycompanion--whose sorry steed constantly required waiting for. Our solechance lay in our route being shorter, and in the circumstance that thefugitives had not a very long start of us; but for all this the issuewas exceedingly doubtful; and by the nicest calculations, we weresatisfied we should have but little margin to spare. 

I need hardly point out the importance of our arriving in time. Shouldthe canoe get beyond the mouth of the Obion--without our seeing it--weshould be left undetermined as to whether they had gone _up_ theMississippi or _down_; and therefore altogether without a guide as toour future movements. In fact, we should be unable to proceed furtherin the pursuit. So far as the mouth of the Obion, their route wasfixed; and of course ours was also determined. But beyond, it would beon our part mere blind guessing; and, should evil chance conduct us inthe wrong direction, the result would be ruin to our prospects. On theother hand, could we but arrive in time--if only to see the canoeentering the great river--and note which turning it took--our purposewould be accomplished. That is, our _present_ purpose; for beyond thatof ascertaining their route of travel across the plains, and their pointof destination, I had formed no plans. To follow them wherever theymight go--even to the distant shores of the Pacific--to seek themwherever they might settle--to settle beside them--beside _her_--thesewere the ideas I had as yet but vaguely conceived. All ulterior designswere contingent on the carrying out of these, and still shrouded underthe clouded drapery of the ambiguous future. 

The purposes of my travelling companion differed slightly from mine, andwere, perhaps, a little more definite. His leading idea was asettlement of old scores with Stebbins, for wrongs done to him--which henow more particularly detailed to me. They were sufficientlyprovocative of revenge; and, from the manner of my comrade, and the vowshe occasionally uttered, I could perceive that he would be as eager inthe pursuit as myself. In all probability, an encounter with themigrating party would bring about an important change in theirprogramme: since the young hunter was determined, as he expressedhimself, "to force the durned skunk into a fight. "

Inspired by such motives, we pressed on to the end of our journey; andreached the mouth of the Obion, after a long and wearisome ride. It wasmidnight when we arrived upon the shore of the Mississippi--at its pointof confluence with the Tennessean stream. The land upon which we stoodwas scarcely elevated above the surface of the water; and covered, everyfoot of it, with a forest of the cotton-wood poplar, and otherwater-loving trees. These extending along the marshy borders of bothstreams, hindered us from having a view of their channels. To obtainthis, it was necessary to climb one of the trees; and my comrade beingdisabled, the task devolved upon me. Dismounting, I chose one thatappeared easiest of ascent; and, clambering up it as high as I couldget, I fixed myself in a fork, and commenced duty as a vidette. 

My position could not have been better chosen. It afforded me a fullview, not only of the Obion's mouth, but also of the broad channel intowhich it emptied--at their confluence, forming an expanse of water that, but for its rolling current; might have been likened to a vast lake. There was moonlight over the whole surface; and the erratic ripples werereflected in sparkling coruscations--scarcely to be distinguished fromthe gleaming of the "lightning bugs, " that hovered in myriads along thehedges of the marsh. Both banks of the lesser stream were draped to thewater's edge with an unbroken forest of cotton-woods--the tops of whichexhibiting their characteristic softness of outline, were unstirred bythe slightest breeze. Between rolled the brown waters of the Obion, inruder, grander flow, and with channel extended by the freshet. Everyinch of it, from side to side, was under my observation--so completely, that I could distinguish the smallest object that might have appearedupon its surface. Not even the tiniest waif could have escaped me--muchless a canoe freighted with human beings; and containing that fairerform, that would be certain to secure the keenest and most eager glancesof my eye. 

I congratulated myself on reaching this perch. I perceived that abetter post of observation could not have been chosen. It was completefor the purpose; and, if I could only have felt sure that we had arrivedin time, all would have been satisfactory. Time alone would determinethe point; and, turning my eyes up stream, I entered upon my earnestvigil. 

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. 

THE WHITE FOG. 

Vain vigil it proved. I shall not tire the reader with details. Suffice it to say, that we kept watch till morning's dawn; and then, profiting by the daylight, sought out a more convenient post ofobservation, where we continued our surveillance--watching and sleepingin turn. Throughout the following day, and into the second, was ourvigil extended: until no longer able to hope against hope, we agreedfinally to abandon it. But for one circumstance, we might have feltsurprise at the result. We were both convinced that we had reached theriver's mouth in good time: since, by our calculations, the canoe couldnot possibly have "headed" us. But for the same circumstance, we mighthave believed, that they had not yet come down the Obion; and perhapswould have remained at our post a day longer. 

The explanation is this: On the first night of our watch, a few hoursafter having taken my station in the tree, a fog had suddenly arisenupon the rivers, shrouding the channels of both. It was the _whitefog_--a well-known phenomenon of the Mississippi--that often extends itsdangerous drapery over the bosom of the "Father of Waters:" a thing ofdread, even to the skilled pilots who navigate this mighty stream. Onthat particular night, the fog lay low upon the water: so that in myposition near the top of the tree I was entirely clear of its vapourydisc; and could look down upon its soft filmy cumuli floating gentlyover the surface--white and luminous under the silvery moonlight. Themoon was still shining brightly; and both sky and forest could be seenas clearly as ever. The water-surface alone was hidden from my sight--the very thing I was most anxious to observe. As if by some enviousdemon of the flood, this curtain seemed to have been drawn: for, just asthe fog had fairly unfurled itself, I fancied I could hear the dippingof a paddle at no great distance off in the channel of the stream. Moreover, gazing intently into the mist--as yet thin and filmy--Ifancied I saw a long dark object upon the surface, with the silhouettesof human forms outlined above it--just as of a canoe _en profile_ withpassengers in it. I even noted the number of the upright forms: threeof them--which exactly corresponded to that of the party we wereexpecting. So certain was I at the moment, of seeing all this, that Ineed not have shouted to assure myself. Excited with over-eagerness, Idid so; and hailed the canoe in hopes of obtaining an answer. Mysummons produced not the desired effect. On the contrary, it seemed tostill the slight plashing I had heard; and, before the echoes of myvoice died upon the air, the dark objects had glided out of sight--having passed under thick masses of the floating vapour. Over and over, I repeated my summons--each time changing the form of speech, and eachtime with like fruitless effect! The only answer I received was fromthe blue heron, that, startled by my shouts, rose screaming out of thefog, and flapped her broad wings close to my perch upon the tree. Whether the forms I had seen were real--or only apparitions conjured upby my excited brain--they vouchsafed no reply; and, in truth, in thevery next moment, I inclined to the belief that my senses had beendeceiving me!

From that time, my comrade and I were uncertain; and this, uncertaintywill explain the absence of our surprise at not seeing the canoe, andwhy we waited no longer for its coming. The most probable conjectureswere that it had passed us in the fog; that the apparition was real; andthey that occupied the canoe were now far-away on the Mississippi--nolonger trusting to such a frail craft, but passengers on one of thenumerous steam-boats, that by night as by day, and in oppositedirections, we had seen passing the mouth of the Obion. 

In all likelihood, then, the fugitives were now beyond the limits ofTennessee; and we felt sufficiently assured of this. But the moreimportant point remained undetermined--whether they had gone northwardor southward--whether by the routes of the Missouri or those of theArkansas? Upon this question we were as undecided as ever. At thatseason of the year, the probabilities were in favour of the southernroute; but it depended on whether the emigrants intended to proceed atonce across the plains, or wait for the return of spring. I knew, moreover, that the Mormons had their own "trains, " and ways oftravelling; and that several new routes or "trails" had been discoveredduring the preceding year, by military explorers, emigrants for Oregonand California, and by the Mormons themselves. This knowledge onlycomplicated the question, leaving us in hopeless doubt and indecision. Thus unresolved, it would have been absurd to proceed further. Our onlyhope lay in returning to Swampville. And whence this hope? What was tobe expected in Swampville? Who was there in that village of goldendreams to guide me upon the track of my lost love? No one--no humanbeing. The index of my expectation was not a living thing, but aletter! Assuredly, I had not forgotten that promise, so simply yetsweetly expressed: "If I thought you would like to know where we aregone, I would write to you;" and again: "If you will allow me, I willsend a letter to Swampville, _from the first place we come to_, to tellyou where we are going. " Oh! that I could have told her how much I"would like to know, " and how freely she had my permission to write!Alas! that was impossible. But the contingencies troubled me not much;I was full of hope that she would waive them. Communicating this hopeto my companion, we rode back to Swampville: with the design of layingsiege to the post-office, until it should surrender up to us thepromised epistle. 

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. 

THE PROMISED EPISTLE. 

Under any circumstances, a return to Swampville would have beennecessary: certain pecuniary requirements called me back to thatinteresting village. A journey, even across the desert, cannot be madewithout money; and the hundred dollars I had paid to Holt, with hoteland other incidental outlays, had left me with a very light purse. Itwould have taken three times as much as I was master of, to provide uswith the scantiest equipment required for a prairie journey; and towardthis the young hunter, willing to give his all, was able to contributenothing. He would cheerfully have parted with his patrimony--as I withmy purchase--for a very slender consideration; but, at that crisis, theCalifornian speculation demanded all the specie in circulation; andneither his clearing nor mine would have sold for a single dollar, hadthe payment been required in cash. A credit sale could not have servedus in any way; and we were forced to hold on to our depreciatedproperty--upon which not a single cent could be borrowed. 

Never stood I in more need of my Nashville friend; and my appeal, already made, was promptly responded to--as I expected it would be. Onthe third day after my despatch, the answer arrived--with a handsomeenclosure; enough to carry us across the continent, and back again ifneed be. We were now ready for the road. We waited only for that otherletter, that was to be the index to our destination. 

How we passed our time during that interval of expectation is not worthdescribing. We enjoyed the hospitality of the Jackson hotel; andcontrived to escape the _espieglerie_ of its husband-hunting denizens, by hunting the deer of the surrounding forest. During the whole time, we went not near our respective "plantations" on Mud Creek. Wingrovehad good reason for being shy of that quarter; and I had no inclinationto trust myself to its souvenirs. Moreover, the hours of the mail-riderwere neither fixed nor regular; and on this account I avoided aprolonged absence from the post-office. 

Six days of this expectancy I endured--six days of alternate hope anddoubt--the latter at times so distressing, that even in the excitementof the chase I could not procure distraction for my thoughts! More thanonce my comrade and I had almost ceased to hope; and half resolved tolaunch ourselves on the great prairie ocean--trusting to chance to guideus to the haven of our hopes. On the sixth day we had determined uponit; and only awaited the mail, that should arrive on the morning of theseventh. The seventh proved the day of joy. Our doubts were dispelled. The cloud that hung over our course was cleared away, by the arrival ofthe expected epistle! My fingers trembled as I took the precious billetfrom the hands of the postmaster. He must have observed my emotion--though I did not open the letter in his presence. The superscriptionwas enough to tell me from whom it came. I had studied the fac-simileof that pretty cipher, till it was well impressed upon my memory; andcould therefore recognise it at a glance. I did not even break open theenvelope till we were upon the road. The post-mark, "_Van Buren, Arkansas_, " sufficiently indicated the direction we were to take; andnot, till we had cleared the skirts of Swampville, and were _en route_for Memphis, did I enter on the pleasure of perusal. The address wassimply as before: "To Edward Warfield;" and so to the apostrophiccommencement: "Stranger!" I could have wished for some less distantword--some familiar phrase of endearment, but I was contented--for Iknew that Lilian's too recent love had lacked the opportunity oflearning its language. Before it had time to achieve the employment ofthose sweet forms of speech, its course had been rudely interrupted. Thus ran the letter:

"Stranger!--I hope you got my other letter, and that you were able toread it, for I had no paper, nor pens, nor ink to write it better--onlya little bit of a pencil, that was my mother's, and a leaf which fathersaid you tore out of a book. But I think I could have wrote it better, only I was so afraid that they would see me, and scold me for it, and Iwrote it in a great hurry, when they were from home, and then left it onthe table after both of them had gone down to the creek to get into thecanoe. I thought no one would come to the house before you, and I hopedall the morning you might come before we were gone. I would have givena great deal to have been able to see you again; and I think fatherwould have waited till you came, only his friend would not let him staylonger, but hurried us away. But I hope you got the letter, and thatyou will not be offended at me for writing this one I send you, withoutyour leave. I promised that if you would allow me, I would write fromsome place, and tell you the name of the country where we are going; butI forgot that it would be impossible for you to give me leave, as youcould not see me, nor yet know where to write it to me. I now know whatcountry it is, for everybody we have seen is talking about it, andsaying that it is full of gold, that lies on the ground in pieces as bigas hickory nuts; and I hear the name a many a time, over and over again. Father calls it `Californey, ' and some `California, ' and this, Isuppose, is the right way of spelling it. It is near a great sea, orocean as they call it, which is not the same that comes in atPhiladelphia and New York, but far greater and bigger than theMississippi and the Obion, and all the rivers put together. It must bea very large sea to be bigger than the Mississippi! But I am sure youmust know all about it, for I have heard them say you have travelled inthese far-away countries, and that you were an officer in the army, andhad been fighting there with the Mexicans. I am glad you were notkilled, and got safe home again to Tennessee; for if you had beenkilled, I should never have seen you; but now it is just as bad, if I amnever to see you again. O sir! I would write to you from that countrywhen we are settled there; but I fear you will forget me before then, and will not care to hear anything more about us. 

"I shall never forget our dear Tennessee. I am very sorry at leavingit, and I am sure I can never be happy in California with all its gold--for what good can gold be to me? I should so like to hear sometimesfrom our old home, but father had no friends who could write to us; theonly one we knew is gone away like ourselves. 

"Maybe, sir, you would not mind writing to us--only a very short letter, to tell us how you get on with the clearing, and whether you have madeit much bigger, and built a great house upon it, as I have heard fathersay you intended to do. I shall always like to hear that you are ingood health, and that you are happy. 

"I have to tell you of a very strange thing that happened to us. At themouth of the Obion river, when we were in the canoe at night-time--forwe travelled all that night--we heard some one shouting to us, and OSir! it was so like your voice that I trembled when I heard it, for itappeared as if it came down out of the clouds. It was a thick mist, andwe could see no one; but for all that, I would have cried out, butfather would not let me speak. It appeared to be right above our heads;and father said it was some wood-cutters who had climbed into a tree. Isuppose that must have been it; but it was as like your voice as if ithad been you that shouted, and as I knew you could not be there, it mademe wonder all the more. 

"We arrived at this place yesterday. It is a large town on the Arkansasriver: and we came to it in a steam-boat. From here we are to travel ina waggon with a great many other people in what they call a `caravan, 'and they say we shall be many months in getting to the end of thejourney. It is a long time to wait before I can write again, for thereare no towns beyond Van Buren, and no post to carry a letter. Butthough I cannot write to you, I will not forget to think of the wordsyou said to me, as I am now thinking of them every minute. In one of mymother's books which I brought with me, I have read a pretty piece. Itis in poetry; and it is so like what I have been thinking of you, that Ihave learnt it off by heart. It is so true-like and so pretty a piecethat I thought you might like to read it, and hoping it may please you, I write it at the end of my letter, which I fear I have already made toolong; but I hope you will have patience to read it all, and then readthe poetry:--

 "I think of thee when Morning springs From sleep with plumage bathed in dew; And like a young bird lifts her wings Of gladness on the welkin blue. And when at noon the breath of love O'er flower and stream is wandering free, And sent in music from the grove-- I think of thee--I think of thee!

 "I think of thee, when soft and wide The Evening spreads her robe of light, And like a young and timid bride, Sits blushing in the arms of Night. And when the moon's sweet crescent springs In light or heaven's deep, waveless sea, And stars are forth like blessed things-- I think of thee--I think of thee!

"O sir! it is very, very true! I do think of you, and I am sure I shalldo so as long as I live. 

"Lilian Holt. "

Ah, Lilian! I too think of thee, and thy sweet song! Simple, butsuggestive words. Knew I but where to address thee, you should know howresponsive to them are the echoes of my heart!

CHAPTER FORTY. 

THE CARAVAN. 

We rode on to Memphis as rapidly as our horses could travel--far tooslow for our desires. Thence a steam-boat carried us to Little Rock, and another to Van Buren. Many days had been consumed while waiting foreach boat--so many that on arriving at Van Buren, we found that thecaravan had the start of us by full two weeks! Its probable route weascertained without any difficulty--up along the Arkansas to the RockyMountains, through the valley of the Huerfano, and the passes Robideauand Coochetopa--thence across the head waters of the Colorado, and bythe old Spanish trail to California. It was principally a caravan ofgold-seekers: adventurers of all nations. Even Indians had gone withit--of the half-civilised tribes of the frontier--red and white equallytempted by the yellow attractions spread out for them in California. Though large, it was what is termed a "light train"--having morepack-animals than waggons. On this account, it would make way all thefaster; and unless delayed by some accident, we might be a long time incoming up with it. It was not without a large measure of vexation thatwe learnt how far it had got the start of us. 

I should have submitted with less resignation to the necessary delays, but that my mind had been to some extent tranquillised by the contentsof Lilian's letter. They had inclined me to the belief that theemigrants were simply _en route_ for California--as was all the worldjust then--and that the Mormon was, after all, not so strong in his newfaith as to resist the universal golden lure. His design in taking thesquatter with him might be merely of a secular character--having for itsobject the securing of a partner, in whose brawny arms the wash-pan androcker might be handled to advantage. That they whom we sought weregone with the caravan, we were soon satisfied. Holt was too marked aman to have escaped observation, even in a crowd of rough squatters likehimself; but more than one eye had rested upon his fair daughter thatlonged to look upon her again. _Her_ traces were easily told--astestified by the answers to my shy inquiries. Like some bright meteor, whose tract across the heavens remains marked by its line of luminousphosphorescence, her radiant beauty was remembered. I needed not toinquire of her. Scarcely a coterie of which she was not the subject ofconversation--to my infinite jealousy and chagrin. Not that aught wassaid of her, that should have given rise to such feelings: they were butthe offspring of love's selfishness. 

Not long had I to submit to such torture. Our stay in Van Buren was ofthe shortest. In less than twenty hours after our arrival in thevillage, we took our departure from it--turning our faces towards thealmost limitless wilderness of the west. I had endeavoured to add toour company but without success. The caravan had cleared Van Buren ofits unemployed population; and not an idler remained--at least not onewho felt inclined to adventure with us. Even the needy "loafer" couldnot be induced to try the trip--deeming ours too dangerous anexpedition. To say the least, it was reckless enough; but impelled bymotives far more powerful than the thirst of gold, my comrade and Ientered upon our journey with scarce a thought about its perils. Theonly addition to our company was a brace of stout pack-mules, thatcarried our provisions and other _impedimenta_; while the old horse ofthe hunter had been replaced by a more promising roadster. 

It would be idle to detail the incidents of a journey across theprairies. Ours differed in no way from hundreds of others that havebeen made, and described--except, perhaps, that after reaching thebuffalo range, we travelled more by night than by day. We adopted thisprecaution simply to save our scalps--and along with them our lives--since the buffalo range--especially upon the Arkansas--is peculiarly the"stamping" ground of the hostile savage. Here may be encountered thePawnee and Comanche, the Kiowa and Cheyenne, the Waco and fierceArapaho. Though continually engaged in internecine strife amongthemselves, all six tribes are equally enemies to the pale-facedintruders on their domain. At this time they were said to be especiallyhostile--having been irritated by some late encounters with parties, ofill-behaved emigrants. It was not without great peril, therefore, thatwe were passing through their territory; and what we had heard, beforeleaving Van Buren, had made us fully conscious of the risk we wererunning. 

To meet with one of the hunting or war-parties of these Indians, mightnot be certain death; but certain they would be to disarm and _dismount_us; and that, in the midst of the great prairie ocean, is a danger thatoften conducts to the same _denouement_. It was not preference, then, but precaution, that led us to adopt the "secret system" of travellingby night. Our usual plan was to lie by during the day or for thegreater part of it, concealed in some selected cover--either among rocksor copsewood. By stealing to a conspicuous eminence, we were enabled toview the route ahead of us, and map out our journey for the night. Uponthis we would enter an hour or two before sundown: for then the Indianhunter has returned to his encampment, which can be easily avoided, byseeing its smoke from afar. We often saw their smokes, and more thanonce the Indians themselves; but were never seen by them--so cautiouslydid we carry out our measures. 

In this fashion we "groped" our way with considerable rapidity. Guidedby the waggon tracks--especially when there was a moon--we could travelalmost as fast as by daylight. Only upon dark nights was our progressretarded; but, notwithstanding every impediment, we were enabled totravel faster than the caravan, and we knew that we were rapidly gainingupon it. We could tell this by the constantly freshening trail; but wehad a more accurate criterion in _the count of the camps_. By thenumber of these, we knew to a certainty that we were approaching thecaravan. We were in high hopes of being able to come up with it, beforeit should enter the mountain-passes--more dangerous to the travellerthan even the plains themselves: because at that season more beset bybands of marauding savages. Under the influence of these hopes, we werepressing forward, with all the haste it was in our power to make; whenour journey was varied by an incident of a somewhat unexpectedcharacter. 

CHAPTER FORTY ONE. 

AN UN-PRAIRIE-LIKE APPARITION. 

The incident referred to occurred high up the Arkansas, at thecelebrated grove known as the "Big Timbers. " We had started about twohours before sundown, and were riding in a due westerly direction, overa "rolling" prairie--the ridges of which, as ill-luck would have it, rantransversely to our course: causing the path to be constantly goingupward or downward. It was not this that troubled us; but the factthat, as we crested each swell, we were freshly exposed to observationfrom a distance; and this recurring so often, kept us continuously onthe alert. 

Once or twice, we thought of halting again till after the sun had gonedown: for we knew that we were treading upon dangerous ground; but, failing to perceive any fresh Indian sign, we gave way to ourirresolution, and continued on. We proceeded with caution, however:always ascending in stealthy silence, and peeping carefully over theridges before crossing them. After reconnoitring the interveningvalleys, we would ride rapidly across, to make up the time we had lostin our reconnoissance. In this way we had travelled some eight or tenmiles--until the sun was so far down, that his lower limb rested on thehorizon. We were ascending a ridge, and had got our eyes on a levelwith its crest, when upon the face of another ridge--about half a milefurther on--we beheld two forms outlined against the declivity. We sawthat they were human forms; and that they were Indians was our firstthought; but a moment's observation convinced us we were in error. Theywere afoot--Indians would have been on horseback. There was no floatingdrapery about their bodies--Indians would have had something of thissort; besides there were other circumstances observable in their figuresand movements, that negatived the supposition of their being red-skins. They were singularly disproportioned in size: one appearing at least afoot the taller, while the shorter man had twice this advantage ingirth!

"What, in Old Nick's name, kin they be?" inquired my companion--thoughonly in soliloquy, for he saw that I was as much puzzled as himself. "Kin ye make 'em out wi' your glass, capt'n?" I chanced to have a smallpocket-telescope. Adopting the suggestion, I drew it forth, andlevelled it. In another instant, I had within its field of vision atableau that astonished me. 

The figures composing it were but two--a very tall man, and a very shortone. Both were dressed in round-about jackets and trousers. One, theshorter, had a little dark cap upon his head; while the height of thetaller man was increased full ten inches, by what appeared to be a blacksilk or beaver hat. The cut of their respective costumes was nearly thesame; but the colour was entirely different--the tall personage beingall over of a bottle-green tint, while his shorter companion shone moreconspicuously in sky-blue. Notwithstanding their vivid colours, neithercostume had anything Indian about it: nor was it like any other sort of"rig" that one might expect to encounter upon the prairies. Whatfashion it was, did not occur to me at the moment; for the sun, glancingupon the object-glass of the telescope, hindered me from having a fairview. Moreover, my attention was less directed to the dress of the men, than to their movements. The backs of both were towards us; and theywere going forward in the same direction as ourselves. The tall man wasin the lead, carrying what appeared to be two guns--one over his leftshoulder, and another in his right hand. He was advancing in slowirregular strides, his thin body slightly stooped forward, and his longneck craned out in front of him as if trying to look over the ridge, whose crest he was just approaching. The short man was some half-dozenpaces in the rear; and moving in a fashion altogether different. Hisbody was bent against the hill at an angle of less than forty-fivedegrees with the horizon; and his short stout legs were playing in rapidsteps, as if keeping time to a treadmill! He appeared to be pushingsomething before him; but what it was, I could not guess: since it wascompletely covered by the disc of his body spread broadly against thehill. It was not till he had reached the summit, and made a slight turnalong the ridge, that I saw what this object was. The exclamation ofludicrous surprise, that escaped my companion, told me that he had alsomade it out. "Good gosh, capt'n!" cried he, "look yander! Consarn myskin! ef 't ain't a _wheelberra_!" A wheelbarrow it certainly was: forthe two men were now traversing along the top of the ridge, and theirbodies from head to foot, were conspicuously outlined against the sky. There was no mistaking the character of the object in the hands of theshorter individual--a barrow beyond the shadow of a doubt--trundle andtrams, box, body, and spoke-wheel complete!

The sight of this homely object, in the midst of the savage prairies, was as ludicrous as unexpected; and we might have hailed it with roarsof laughter, had prudence permitted such an indecorous exhibition. Asit was, my companion _chuckled_ so loudly, that I was compelled tocaution him. Whether my caution came too late, and that the laughterwas heard, we could not tell; but at that moment the tall pedestrianlooked back, and we saw that he had discovered us. Making a rapid signto his companion, he bounded off like a startled deer; and, after aplunge or two, disappeared behind the ridge--followed in full run by theman with the wheelbarrow! One might have supposed that the fright wouldhave led to the abandonment of the barrow. But no: it was taken along--hurried out of our sight in an instant--and in the next, both man andmachine disappeared as suddenly as if some trap had admitted them intothe bowels of the earth! The singular fashion of their flight--the longstrides taken by the gander-like leader, and the scrambling attempt atescape made by the barrow-man--produced a most comic effect. I was nolonger able to restrain myself, but joined my companion in loud andrepeated peals of laughter. 

In this merry mood, and without any apprehension of danger, we advancedtowards the spot where the odd figures had been seen. Some brokenground delayed us; and as half a mile of it had to be passed over, wewere a considerable time in reaching the summit of the hill. Onarriving there, and looking over the swell, behind which they haddisappeared, neither tall nor short man was to be seen. A timberedvalley lay beyond: into this they had evidently escaped. The track ofthe wheelbarrow, where it had pressed down the grass, alone indicatedtheir recent presence upon the spot--as it did also the direction theyhad taken. Their retreating from us was easily accounted for: theycould have seen only the tops of our heads, and had no doubt taken usfor Indians!

CHAPTER FORTY TWO. 

A FOOT OF THIRTEEN INCHES. 

The presence of the wheelbarrow explained a point that had been puzzlingus for some days. We had fallen upon its track more than once, andsupposed it to have been made by the wheel of a cart; but in no instancebeing able to find the corresponding one, had given it up as a hopelessenigma. The only explanation we had succeeded in offering ourselveswas: that some light cart had accompanied the caravan--the load ofwhich, being badly balanced, had thrown the weight upon one wheel, allowing the other to pass over the ground without making an impression. As it was only on dry grass we had traced it, this explanation hadsufficed--though far from being satisfactory. Neither my companion normyself ever thought of a wheelbarrow. Who would, in such a place?

"In the name o' Old Nick, who kin they be?" asked Wingrove, as we haltedon the ridge, where the fugitives had been last seen. "I'm not withoutmy suspicions, " I replied, just then thinking of a peculiarity that hadbut slightly occupied my attention--the cut and colour of their dresses. "If I am not mistaken, the two shy birds that have fled from us are abrace of uncle Sam's eagles. "

"Sojers?"

"In all probability, and `old sojers' at that. "

"But what 'ud sojers be a doin' out hyar?"

"Travelling to California, like ourselves. "

"Desarters, may be?"

"Just what I suspect. No doubt the pair have slipped off from some ofthe frontier posts; and having no opportunity to provide themselves witha better means of transport, have brought the wheelbarrow with them. Itis ludicrous enough, but by no means improbable. There are some queercustomers in the service of Uncle Sam. "

"I think there be--ha, ha, ha! What shed we do, capt'n? Hedn't webetter catch up to 'em?"

"That, comrade, may be easier said than done. If they're deserters--andthey must be, if they're soldiers at all--they'll take precious goodcare not to let any one come near them, if they can help it. The escortthat accompanies the train will account for their not being along withit. If they've caught a glimpse of my buttons, they'll be _cached_ bythis time. "

"They only seed our heads. I reck'n they tuk us for Injuns?"

"In that case, they'll hide from us all the same--only a little morecunningly. "

"Consarn their sojer skins! Ef they war as cunnin' as a kupple o'possums, they can't a hide the track o' the berra; an' so long's theykeep in the timber, I kalklate I kin lift thar trail. I reck'n I ain'tquite forgot how: though I am bamfoozled a bit by these hyar parairies--consarn them! Ah! them woods, capt'n! it diz one good to look at 'em!"

The eyes of the young hunter sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke. Itwas a real forest that was before us--a large tract covered withgigantic cotton-wood trees, and the only thing deserving the name offorest we had seen for many days. As my companion stood gazing upon it, I could trace upon his countenance a joyous expression, that rarelyappeared there. The sight of the "Big Timbers" recalled to him theforests of his own Tennessee--with happy memories of other times. Theywere not unmingled with shadows of regret: as I could tell by the changethat came stealing over his features. 

"We must try to overtake them, " said I, without answering to theebullition. "It is important for us to come up with them. Even if theybe deserters, they are white men; and all whites are friends here. Theymuster two guns; and if these fellows are what I take them to be, theyknow how to handle them. We must follow them: there's no time to belost. "

"Ye're right thar, capt'n! The night's a comin' down fast. It'sa'ready gettin' dark; an' I'm afeerd it'll be tough trackin' under thetimber. If we're to catch up wi' them the night, we hain't a minnit tospare. "

"Let us forward then!"

Crossing the ridge, we descended rapidly on the other side--the track ofthe wheel guiding us in a direct line to the nearest point of the woods. We could tell that the barrow had been trundled down the hill at topspeed--by the manner in which the iron tire had abraded the surface ofthe slope. We had no difficulty in following the trace as far as theedge of the timber, and for some distance into it: but there, to ourgreat surprise, the wheel-track abruptly ended! It was not that we hadlost it by its having passed over dry or rocky ground. On the contrary, around the spot where it so suddenly disappeared, the surface wascomparatively soft; and even an empty barrow would have made animpression sufficiently traceable, either by my companion or myself. 

After beating about for some time, and extending our circle to thedistance of a hundred yards or so, we failed to recover the sign. Certainly the barrow had not gone farther--at all events, not upon itstrundle. Instinctively, we turned our eyes upward--not with anysuperstitious belief that the fugitives had made a sudden ascent intothe air. But the idea had occurred to us, that they might have hiddenthemselves in a tree, and drawn the barrow up into it. A single glancewas sufficient to satisfy us that this conjecture was erroneous. Thethin foliage of the cotton-woods offered no cover. A squirrel couldhardly have concealed itself among their branches. 

"I've got it!" exclaimed the hunter, once more seeking along thesurface. "Hyar's thar tracks; tho' thar ain't no signs of the berra. Isee how they've blinded us. By gosh! thar a kupple o' cunnin' oldcoons, whosomever they be. "

"How have they managed it?"

"Tuk up the machine on thar shoulders, an' toted it thataway! See!thar's thar own tracks! They've gone out hyar--atween these two trees. "

"Right, comrade--that appears to be the way they've done it. Sureenough there is the direction they have taken. "

"Well! ef I wan't bothered wi' these hyar animals, I ked follow themtracks easy enough. We'd soon kum upon the wheel agin, I reck'n: theyain't a-goin' to travel fur, wi' a hump like thet on thar shoulders. "

"No; it's not likely. "

"Wal, then, capt'n, s'pose we leave our critters hyar, an' take arter'em afut? We kin quarter the groun' a good bit ahead; an I guess we'lleyther kum on them or thar berra afore long. "

I agreed to this proposal; and, after securing our four quadrupeds totrees, we started off into the depth of the woods. Only for a shortdistance were we able to make out the footsteps of the men: for they hadchosen the dry sward to walk upon. In one place, where the path wasbare of grass, their tracks were distinctly outlined; and a minuteexamination of them assured me of the correctness of my conjecture--thatwe were trailing a brace of runaways from a military post. There was nomistaking the print of the "regulation" shoe. Its shape was impressedupon my memory as plainly as in the earth before my eyes; and itrequired no quartermaster to recognise the low, ill-rounded heel andflat pegged soles. I identified them at a glance; and saw, moreover, that the feet of both the fugitives were encased in the same cheap_chaussure_. Only in size did the tracks differ; and in this so widely, that the smaller was little more than two-thirds the length of thelarger one! The latter was remarkable for size--not so much in itsbreadth as length, which last was not less than thirteen standardinches!

On noting this peculiarity, my companion uttered an exclamation ofastonishment. "Thar's a fut, an' no mistake!" cried he. "I reck'n'twar Long-legs as made them tracks. Well! ef I hedn't seed the manhisself, I'd a swore thar war giants in these parts!"

I made no reply, though far more astonished than he. My astonishmentsprang from a different source; and was mixed up in my mind with someold memories. _I remembered the foot_!

CHAPTER FORTY THREE. 

TRACKING THE TRUNDLE. 

Yes, I had seen that foot before; or one so very like it, that theresemblance was cheating me. This could hardly be. With the exceptionof its fellow, the foot of which I was thinking could have nocounterpart on the prairies: it must be the same? At first, myrecollections of it were but vague. I remembered the foot associatedwith some ludicrous incidents; but what they were, or when and wherethey had occurred, I could not say. Certainly I had seen it somewhere;but where? No matter: the foot recalled no unpleasant associations. Ifelt satisfied it was a _friendly_ one; and was now more anxious thanever of overtaking its sesquipedalian owner. 

After proceeding a short distance, the shoe-tracks again became tooindistinct to be followed farther. By quartering, however, we came uponthem once more--at a place where the impressions were deep and clearlydefined. Once more the immense foot rose upon the _retina_ of mymemory--this time more vividly--this time enabling me to _place_ it: forI now remembered many an odd incident that had secured it a corner onthe page of my recollections. Sticking through a stirrup with anenormous Mexican Spur on its heel--its owner mounted on a horse thin andrawboned as himself--I remembered the foot, as well as the limbs andbody to which it was attached. Beyond a doubt, the tall fugitive wewere following was an old fellow campaigner--a veteran of the "RifleRangers!"

The figure, as seen through the telescope, confirmed me in the belief. The long limbs, arms, and neck--the thin, angular body--all werecharacteristics of the bodily architecture of Jephthah Bigelow. I nolonger doubted that the taller of the two men was my old follower "JephBigelow, " or "Sure-shot, " as his Ranger comrades had christened him; andappropriate was the designation--for a surer shot than Jeph never lookedthrough the hind-sights of a rifle. Who the little man might turn outto be, I could not guess--though I was not without some recollections ofa figure resembling his. I remembered a certain Patrick, who was also a"mimber of the corpse, " and whose _build_ bore a close resemblance tothat of him seen between the trams of the barrow. My conjecture as towho the men were, increased my desire to overtake them. If the tall manshould turn out to be Sure-shot, a rifle would be added to our strengthworth a dozen ordinary guns; and, considering the risk we were running--in danger of losing our scalps every hour in the day--it was of no smallimportance that we should join company with the deserters. 

We made every exertion, therefore, to come up with them--my comradeemploying all the lore of the backwoods, in his effort to recover theirtraces. The new footmarks we had discovered, though lost the instantafter, had served one good purpose. They indicated the generaldirection which the two men had followed; and this was an importantpoint to be ascertained. We found another index in the trees. These inmost places stood thickly together; and it was only here and there thatan object of such breadth as a wheelbarrow could pass _conveniently_between their trunks. Carried upon the shoulders, it would be anawkward load with which to squeeze through any tight place; and it wasreasonable to conclude that only the more open aisles of the forestwould be followed. This enabled us to make pretty sure of the routetaken; and, after trusting to such guidance for several hundred yards, we had the satisfaction to light once more upon the shoe-tracks. Againonly a short distance were we able to follow them; but they confirmedour belief that we were still on the right trail. My comrade hadsuggested that the man who carried the barrow "wud soon tire o' totin'it:" and this proved to be the case. On striking into an oldbuffalo-path, our eyes were once more gladdened by the sight of thewheel-track--plainly imprinted in the mud. 

"Our prospecting" was for the time at an end. The barrow-trackcontinued along the buffalo-path; and we were able to follow it, almostas fast as our legs could carry us. Even after it had grown too darkfor us to see the track of the wheel, we were not disconcerted. Wecould follow it by the _feel_--stooping only at intervals to make surethat it was still among our feet. In this way we had travelled, to thefull distance of a mile from the place where our horses had been left, when all at once the barrow-track gave out. The buffalo-path continuedon; but no barrow had passed over it, unless carried as before. Thiswas improbable, however; and we were forced to the conclusion, that thetwo men had turned off, by some side-path we had not observed. 

While looking for this, a sound reached our ears, that resembled themurmur of a distant waterfall; but, listening more attentively, we coulddistinguish in it a different intonation. We at once moved in thedirection whence the noise came; and before we had advanced a hundredyards through the thickly standing trees, we were aware that what weheard was the sound of human voices. Another hundred yards brought uswithin hearing of words--at the same time that a luminous reflectioncast upwards upon the trees, indicated that there was a fire at no greatdistance off. The underwood hindered us from seeing the fire; butguided by its gleam, we continued to advance. After making another longreach through the leafy cover, we got the fire well under our eyes, aswell as those who had kindled it. We had no conjecture as to whether wehad been following the true track, or whether it was the two runawaytravellers we had _treed_. The point was determined by an object seenstanding close to the fire, in the full glare of its ruddy light. NeedI say it was the wheelbarrow?

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. 

A BRACE OF "OLD SOJERS. "

Yes, it was the wheelbarrow; and the "U. S. Ordnance" branded upon itsside, and visible under the light of the blazing pile, told whence ithad come. Either Fort Gibson or Fort Smith was minus a barrow, drawnfrom their stores by no very formal _requisition_. There were thetakers of it--one on each side of the fire--presenting as great acontrast as could well be found in two human beings. Although of thesame species, the two individuals were as unlike each other as a tallgreyhound to a turnspit. Both were seated, though in differentattitudes. The little man was "squatted"--that is, with legs crossedunder him, after the fashion of tailors. The long legs of his_vis-a-vis_ would scarcely admit of being thus disposed of; and hisweight was resting altogether upon his hips and heels. In this posture, the caps of his knees stood up to the level of his shoulders--so thathis body, viewed _en profile_, presented a pretty accurate imitation ofthe letter N--that sort termed by engravers the "rustic letter. " Thehuge black hat capped one extremity; and the long pedal-like feet thatrested horizontally on the ground terminated the other, completing thealphabetical resemblance. 

A face, with a certain mocking monkeyish expression, but without anytrait of fierceness or ill-nature--a nose slightly snub--quickscintillating eyes--a chin, tipped with a little tuft of clay-colouredbeard--some half-dozen queue-like tangles, of bright-yellowish hair, hanging down behind the hat--the hat itself a black "silk, " badlybattered--such were the salient points of the portrait appearing abovethe knee-caps of the taller man. With the exception of the "tile, " hiscostume was altogether military--to me well-known. It was the ordinaryundress of the mounted rifles: a dark-green round-about of coarsecloth--with a row of small brass buttons from throat to waist--andoveralls of the same material. In the particular sample before us, _overalls_ was rather an inappropriate name. The garment so designatedscarcely covered the calves of the wearer's legs--though of these therewas not much to cover. The jacket appeared equally scant; and betweenits bottom border and the waistband of the trousers, there was aninterval of at least six inches. In this interval was seen a shirt oftrue Isabella colour, which also appeared over the breast--the jacketbeing worn unbuttoned. The frouzy cotton was visible at other places--peeping through various rents both in jacket and trousers. A blackleather stock concealed the collar of the shirt--if there was any--andthough the stock itself was several inches in depth, there were otherseveral inches of naked neck rising above its rim. Coarse woollensocks, and the cheap _contract_ shoe completed the costume ofSure-shot--for it was he. 

His contrasting comrade was equally in military garb--even more so, bythe additional article of a cloth forage-cap. His was also an undressuniform; but, though of very similar cut to the other, and resembling itin the quality of the material, the colour was different. It wassky-blue, turned whitey with wear--the buttons of the jacket being oflead, and the facings of white worsted tape. It was a better fit thanthe green uniform; and its wearer had evidently some conceit in thestyle of it--as was evidenced by the jacket being carefully buttonedfrom waist to throat, and the forage-cap set jauntily on "three hairs. "The little man was an "infantry. " His horizontal diameter was twicethat of his tall companion of the rifles; and in the rounded contour ofhis body, not an angle was apparent. His garments were quite filled byhis body, arms and legs--so that there was not a wrinkle to be seenanywhere. It was a form usually styled "dapper. " His face was also ofthe rotund shape--the features all tolerably regular, with the exceptionof the nose--that, like the nasal organ of his comrade, was _nezretrousse_--the turn-up being infinitely more pronounced. Theexpression was equally indicative of good-nature and good-fellowship--asthe apple-like bloom of his cheeks, and the ochreous tinge upon the tipof the nose, sufficiently testified. Cheeks, lips, and chin werebeardless--with the exception of a thick stubble that had lately sprungup; but some well-greased rings of a darkish colour ruffing out underthe rim of the forage-cap, showed that the "infantry" was not insensibleto the pride of hair. Neither in regard to him had I made a mistakenconjecture. Another old acquaintance and comrade-in-arms--theredoubtable Patrick O'Tigg--a true son of the "Sad. "

The two worthies, when first seen, were seated as described--bothengaged in a very similar occupation--cooking. It was--by the mostsimple process--that of the _roti_. Each held in his hand a longsapling, upon the end of which a piece of red meat was impaled; andthis, projected over the fire, was fast blackening in the blaze. Moreof the same meat--buffalo-beef, it appeared--was seen in thewheelbarrow; its other freight being one or two greasy bags, a brace ofknapsacks, a cartouche box and belt, two ordnance spades, with theguns--a "regulation" rifle and musket--lying across the top of the load. 

It was evident from this collection that the men were deserters; thatthey had armed and equipped themselves at the expense of thequartermaster. Perhaps the paymaster had been in arrears with them; andthey had adopted this ready and effectual method of wiping out thescore? My only wonder was at not seeing a brace of _branded_ horsesalong with them; but in all probability, on the day--or night--of theirdeparture, the stable sentry had been doing his duty. 

On becoming assured of the identity of the two individuals, my firstimpulse was to step forward to the fire, and make myself known to them. So eagerly were both engaged in attending to their spits, that they hadneither seen nor heard us--although they themselves were now silent, andwe were within less than twenty feet of them. The intervening bushes, however would have sheltered us from their sight, even if they had beena little more vigilant--as I should have expected Sure-shot to havebeen. They were trusting all to the thicket in which they had pitchedtheir camp; and, being hungry and wearied no doubt, were for the momentoff their guard. Some fantasy decided me not to disturb them for amoment--a sort of curiosity to hear what they would say, and, ifpossible, discover their _whence_ and _whither_. We were perfectlywithin earshot; and could have heard even a whisper passing from theirlips--as we could also note the expression upon their faces. A sign tomy companion was sufficient; and, crouching behind the leafy screen, weawaited the continuation of the suspended dialogue. 

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. 

THE BARROW IN DEBATE. 

Our patience was not put to a severe test. O'Tigg was not the man tokeep his tongue in tranquillity for any extended time. Neither wasSure-shot an admirer of the silent system. Both were talkers. On thisoccasion, the "infantry" was the first to make himself heard. 

"Be japers! comrayde, I'm afther thinkin' fwhat purty fools us hiv bin, to tak it afut this way, loike two thramps, whin wez moight ivery bit aswil hav been stroidin' a pair ov good pownies. We cowld a fitched apair from the Fort wid all the aize in the wurld. "

"Yees, Petrick, certing ye ain't fer 'stray 'bout thet pertickler; we'vebeen raither ungumptious. "

"Besoides, wez rooight as wil hav been hung for a shape as a lamb. We'll be flogg'd all as wan, iv the iskhort foinds us, fur taykin' theguns, an' the knapsacks, an' the whaleborra--bad luck to the borra!"

"No, Petrick, don't cuss the berra--it hes served us for certing. Wekedn't a got along 'thout the machine--how ked we? We ked niver hevtoted our doin's es we've did; an' but for the piece o' bacon an' theteer bag o' meal, we'd a sterved long afore this, I recking. Don't cussthe berra. "

"Och! it's made my showlders ache, as if some skhoundrel had been batin'them wid a sprig ov shillaylah!"

"Ne'er a mind 'bout thet! yer shoulders 'll be all right arter ye've gota wink o' sleep. Spank my skin! ef thet ere wan't a cute dodge--it'sthrowd the Indyens off o' the scent for certain; or we'd a heerd some'uto' them verming afore this. "

"Faith, I think we've sucksaided in bamboozling thim, shure enough. "

The meat by this time showed sufficiently done; and the two men appliedthemselves to eating, with an earnestness that allowed no time fortalking. The conversation had revealed enough of their past actions, and future designs, to confirm the conjectures I had already formedabout them. 

As stated, they had both belonged to the "Rangers" of immortal memory. After the disbandment of the corps, they had entered upon a fresh leaseof soldier-life, by enlisting into the regular army. O'Tigg had givenpreference to the sky-blue of the "line;" while the Yankee had taken tothe mounted rifles--as a capital marksman, like him, would naturally do. Indeed, it would have been impossible to have "licked" the latter intoanything like soldierly shape; and all the drill-sergeants in creationcould not have made him stand with "toes turned in, " or "eyes right. "To have "dressed" the old ranger in line would have been a physicalimpossibility. In the mounted rifles, personal appearance is of lessimportance; and considering the little inclination there is to enlist inthe American army--especially in times of peace--the oddest lookingarticle is thankfully accepted. In the dearth of recruits. Sure-shotcould have had no difficulty in passing inspection. 

Both had evidently become tired of their respective services. Theroutine of a frontier post is of itself sufficient to produce thedeadliest _ennui_; and the Californian attraction had "capped theclimax. " The temptation was too strong for either Yankee or Hiberniannature to resist; and these worthy types of both had taken French-leaveof the fort. It was thus that I epitomised the recent history of my old_camarados_. As they were evidently aware of the caravan being in theadvance, and had been following it, it was easily conjectured that FortSmith--a military post on the Arkansas opposite Van Buren--had been thescene of their defection. Very likely, they had kept near the train allalong the route--with a view to guidance and partial protection--as alsofor a _dernier ressort_ to which they might betake themselves in case oftheir stores giving out. The escort, hinted at, would be sufficient toaccount for their not being in closer communication with the caravan. 

It appeared, they had been so far fortunate in escaping an encounterwith Indians; but this, as in our case, was most likely due to thepassage of the caravan. We knew that the red-skinned robbers would betoo much occupied with the train itself and its more immediatestragglers, to be looking out for any so far in the rear as we; and tothis circumstance, no doubt, were we indebted for the uninterruptedtravel we had achieved. A greater proximity to the train would haverendered our passage more perilous. Sure-shot, though a slouch in hisdress, was no simpleton. The trick of taking up the barrow was, nodoubt, a conception of his brain, as well as its being borne upon theshoulders of the Irishman--who, in all likelihood, had performed the_role_ of wheeling it from Fort Smith to the Big Timbers, and wasexpected to push it before him to the edge of the Pacific Ocean! It wasevident that Patrick was tired of his task: for they had not made muchprogress in their Homeric supper, before he once more returned to thesubject. 

"But shure now, comrayde! we moight manage widout the borra--seein' aswe've got into the buffalos' counthry. Aren't them bastes as aizy tokill as tame cows? Shure we'd niver be widout mate as long as ourpowder lasts?"

"Jess t'other way, ye fool! We're a going _out_ o' the buffulercountry, an' into perts where theer ain't a anymal bigger than a rat. On t'other side o' the mountings, theer ain't no beests o' any kind--neery one; an' its jess theer we'll want that eer bag o' meel. Ef wedon't take it along, we'll sterve for certing. "

"Be me sowl! I'd ruther carry the male on my showlders. There's lissof it now; an' maybe I could manage it, iv you'ld only carry the spids, an' thim other things. We moight lave the knapsicks an' kyarthridge-boxbehind. What use ud they be in Kalifornya? They'll only lade to ourdetiction by the throops out there. "

"Don't ee be skeert 'bout thet, kimrade! Ef theer's troops inCaliforney, they'll hev theer hands full 'ithout troublin' us, Ireeking. We ain't like to be the only two critters as hain't got a_pass_ for the diggins. Ne'er a bit o't. We'll find deserters outtheer es thick as blue-bottles on a barkiss. Certingly we shell. Besides, Petrick, we needn't take the knepsacks all the way out theer, nor the berra neythur, nor nuthin' else we've brought from the Fort. "

"Fwhat div yez mane?" interrogated the Irishman--evidently puzzled tointerpret the other's speech. "We kin leave all them fixing in MormingCity. "

"But will the thrain be afther thravellin' that way? Shure ye don'tknow that. "

"Certing it will. A putty consid'able pert o' it air made up o'Mormings; an' they'll be boun' to the Salt Lake. We kin foller them an'drop t'other. In the Morming settlements, we kin swop our unyforms forsuthin' else, an' the berra too. Es to the knepsacks an' cartridge-box, I guess as how I inteend to make a spec on them ere two articles. "

"Fwhat! a pair ov soger knapsacks, an' an owld kyarthridge-box! Theywuldn't fitch the worth ov dhrinks apaice. "

"Theer your mistaking, Mister Tigg. Preehaps they'll swop better'n youthink. How d'ye know I ain't like to git a beest apiece for 'em--eythera mule or a hoss? This child ain't a going to fut it all the way toCaliforney. B'yont the Morming City, he rides a spell, I recking. "

"Be japers! that's an out-an'-out good oidea. But how dev ye mane tocarry it through? that's what bothers Patrick O'Tigg. "

"We--ell, Petrick, I'll tell ee my plan. I ain't got it straightenedout yet, but I hope to hev it all right by the time we're on t'otherside the mountings--leastwise before we reaches Morming City. "

"Arrah! fwhat is it?" inquired the impatient Irishman. 

The Yankee did not vouchsafe an immediate answer; but, while polishingoff the bone he held in his hand, appeared at the same time to be busywith some mental operation--perhaps _straightening out_ the plan he hadpromised to reveal. 

CHAPTER FORTY SIX. 

A TOUGH STORY. 

For some seconds the two worthies observed a mutual silence--broken onlyby a formidable rattle of teeth, as large "chunks" of buffalo-meat wereput through their respective masticating machines. Curious to hear thepromised revelation, Wingrove and I checked our impatience, and clung toour covert among the bushes. One thing--to which their speech hadincidentally adverted--was not without much significance; and hadproduced upon me a certain impression that was unpleasant. Theyappeared to know, or Sure-shot did, that at least a portion of the trainwas _en route_ for the Mormon city. It is true, I had had originallysuspicions of this; but the letter of Lilian had led me to hope it mightbe otherwise. Any destination but that. 

I had commenced reflecting upon this point, when I was interrupted bythe voice of Sure-shot resuming the conversation. Thus did he enter onhis explanation:

"Ye see, kimrade, these Mormings, es I've heern, air mighty taken up wi'sogerin', an' thet sort o' thing. Ye've heerd talk o' theer greatbettelion. They'll be arter these eer treppings for certing, since theyhain't much chence o' gittin' soger fixings out theer. We-ell, what Imean to do is to put the knepsacks off on 'em for some new improvemento' pattern. I guess it air thet--I've heerd say so at the Fort--thenthe Morming jineral, who air the prophet hisself, an' who's got berrlso' dollars--he'll buy the knepsacks at any price. Now, de ye take, Mister Tigg?"

"Troth do I. But dev ye think yez can fool thim so aizy?"

"Easy as eatin' punkin-pie. Jehosophet! I hain't been five year in thetradin' line 'ithout lernin' the bizness, I recking. "

"Be me faith! yez must have been raal cliver at it, whin ye sowld themcypress-knees for bacon-hams to the Bawltemoreans. You remimber thatstory yez towld us down in Mixico?"

"Yees; certingly I remember it--he, he, he! But I kim a better trickthen thet on the Orleens people 'bout five yeer ago--jest 'fore I jinedthe Rangers. "

"Fwhat was it, shure?"

"We--ell, ye see, I wan't allers es poor es I'm now. I hed apertnership in a bit o' a schooner, es used to trade 'tween Bosting an'Orleens, an' we used to load her wi' all sorts o' notions, to sell tothe Orleens folk. Jehosophet an' pork-pies! they air fools, an' nomistake--them Creole French. We ked a sold 'em wooden nutmegs, an'brick-dust for Cayenne pepper, an' such like; an' I 'bout guess es howwe did spekoolate a leetle in thet line o' bizness. Wall, there kim atime when they tuk a notion they ked make cheep _brogan_, as they call'em, out o' allygator's leather, an' supply the hul nigger market wi''em. The neels were dear, an' so they tuk to usin' boot-pegs; but nothevin' a manafactry o' the pegs down south, they hed to git 'em from theno'th. Jest then, my pertner an' I thought o' makin' a spekoolashun onthe pegs; so we loaded our schooner wi' thet eer freight, chuck right upto the hetches; an' then sot off from Bosting for Orleens. We thortwe'd make our derned fortune out thet eer trip. "

"Shure yez did, didn't ye?"

"No-o-o; neer a bit o' 't. It keemd nigh breakin' us. "

"Arrah, how?"

"We-ell! ye see, when we got roun' to Orleens, we learnt that theboot-trade hed a'most stopped. The allygator leather didn't turn outjest the thing for brogans; an' besides, it got sca'ce by reezun o' thekillin' o' them verming. In coorse, the pegs hed fell in price; they'dkim down so low, that we ked only git twenty-five cents a bushel for'em!"

"Mother ov Moses! only twenty-five cents a bushel!"

"Thet was all they'd fetch--offer 'em when an' wheer we would. Incoorse, we wan't fools enough to take thet--the dernationed pegs hedcost us more in Bosting!"

"Divil a doubt ov it? But fwhat did yez do wid 'em, anyhow?"

"We-ell, Mister Tigg, we weer cleer beat at fust; an' didn't know whatto do--neyther me'r my pertner. But arter takin' a good think over it, I seed a way o' gitting out o' the scrape--leestwise 'ithout sech a lossas sellin' the pegs at twenty-five cents the bushel. I seed a chence o'gitting rid o' them at fifty cents. "

"Arrah, now! in fwhat way, comrade?"

"You've seed boot-pegs, I recking, Mister Tigg?"

"An' shure I hiv. Aren't they the same that's in these suttlers'brogues we've got on--bad luck to them?"

"Jess the same--only whitier when they air new. "

"Be japers! I think I remimber seein' a barrel full ov thim in NewYark. "

"Very certing it were them--they air usooaly packed in berr'ls. Can youthink o' anything they looked like?"

"Wil, in troth, they looked more loike oats than anything I canrecollect. Shure they did look moighty like oats!"

"An' don't ee kalkerlate they'd a looked more like oats, ef they'd beenpointed at both ends instead o' one!"

"In troth, would they--all that same. "

"We-ell, thet's the very idee thet kem inter my mind at the time. "

"Arrah now, is it? An' fwhat did yez do wid the pegs then?"

"_Jest sharpened the other eends o' 'em, an' sold 'em for oats_!"

The puzzled, half-incredulous stare, on the countenance of theHibernian, was ridiculous in the extreme. The allegation of the Yankeehad deprived him of speech; and for some moments he sat gazing at thelatter, evidently in doubt whether to give credence to the story, orreject it as a little bit of a "sell" upon the part of his comrade--withwhose eccentricity of character he was well acquainted. Equallyludicrous was the look of gravity on the countenance of the other--whichhe continued to preserve under the continued gaze of his comrade, withall the solemnity of a judge upon the bench. It was as much as mycompanion and I could do to restrain our laughter; but we were desirousof witnessing the finale of the affair, and, by an effort, succeeded inholding in. 

"Och, now, Misther Shure-shat!" gasped the Irishman at length, "an' it'sonly jokin' ye are?"

"Truth I tell ye, Petrick--every word o' 't. Ye see the oats weer jestthen sellin' at fifty cents the bushel, an' thet paid us. We made alettle suthin', too, by the speekolashun. "

"But how did yez get the other inds pointed at all--at all?"

"Oh! thet weer eezy enough. I invented a machine for thet, an' run 'emthrough in less'n no time. When they kim out at t'other eend o' themachine, _I kednt meself a told 'em from oats_!"

"Och! now I comprehend. Arrah! an' wasn't it a quare thrick? Be mysowl, it bates Bannagher all to paces! Ha, ha, haw!"

Wingrove and I could hold in no longer, but joining in the loudcachinnation--as if we had been its echoes--sprang forward to the front. Infantry and rifleman bounded to their feet, with a simultaneous shoutof "Indians!" and dropping their spits and half-eaten _appolas_ of meat, dashed into the bushes like a pair of frightened rabbits! In aninstant, both were out of sight; and their whereabouts was aloneindicated by the rattling of the branches as they passed through them. I was apprehensive of losing them altogether; and regretted not havingused more caution in approaching them. At that crisis, an idea came tomy aid; and giving out an old signal, well-remembered by the _ci-devant_rangers, I had the gratification of receiving a double response. Theutterance of the signal had brought them to an instantaneous halt; and Icould hear them exchanging surmises and exclamations of astonishment, asthey retraced their steps towards the fire. Presently, a pair of short, snub-nosed faces were seen peering through the leaves; while from thelips of their owners burst simultaneously, "The cyaptin'!" "Thecapting!" with various other phrases in their respective _patois_, expressive of surprise and recognition. 

A few words sufficed to explain all. As we had surmised, the men weredeserters. Neither attempted to deny what, in time of peace, is notconsidered a very heinous crime; and for which, just then, the"Californian fever" was considered an ample justification. It was noaffair of ours. I was only too rejoiced to join company with therunaways, of whose loyalty to myself I had proofs of old. Their guns--more especially the rifle of Sure-shot--would be a valuable addition toour strength; and, instead of crawling along under the cover of night, we might now advance with more freedom and rapidity. It was determined, therefore, to share our means of transport with our new comrades--anoffer by them eagerly and readily accepted. The partial consumption ofour stores had lightened the packs upon our mules; and the contents ofthe wheelbarrow, equally divided between them, would give to each onlyits ordinary load. The barrow itself was abandoned--left among the BigTimbers--to puzzle at a future period some red-skinned archaeologist--Cheyenne or Arapaho!

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. 

THE MOUNTAIN PARKS. 

We now proceeded along the route with more confidence; though stillacknowledging the necessity of caution, and always reconnoitring theground in advance. Although the four of us might have defendedourselves against four times our number of Indian enemies, we werepassing through apart of the country, where, if Indians were to be metat all, it would be in large bands or "war-parties. " The Arkansas headsin that peculiar section of the Rocky Mountain chain known as the"Parks"--a region of country celebrated from the earliest times offur-trading and trapping--the arena of a greater number of adventures--of personal encounters and hair-breadth escapes--than perhaps any otherspot of equal extent upon the surface of the globe. Here the greatCordillera spread out into numerous distinct branches or "Sierras, " overwhich tower those noted landmarks of the prairie traveller, "Pike's" and"Long's" Peaks, and the "Wa-to-ya" or "Cumbres Espanolas";--projectedfar above their fellows, and rising thousands of feet into the region ofeternal snow. Between their bases--embosomed amid the most ruggedsurrounding of bare rocky cliffs, or dark forest-clad declivities--lie_vallees_, smiling in the soft verdure of perpetual spring--watered bycrystal streams--sheltered from storms, and sequestered from all theworld. The most noted of these are the Old and New "Parks, " and the"Bayou Salade"--because these are the largest; but there are hundreds ofsmaller ones, not nameless, but known only to those adventurous men--thetrappers--who for half a century have dwelt in this paradise of theirperilous profession: since here is the habitat of the masonic beaver--its favourite _building ground_. 

Over these valley-plains roam "gangs" of the gigantic buffalo; while inthe openings between their copses may be descried the elk, antelope, andblack-tailed deer, browsing in countless herds. On the cliffs thatoverhang them, the noble form of the _carnero cimmaron (ovis montana_)--or, "Bighorn" of the hunters--maybe seen, in bold outline against thesky; and crawling through the rocky ravines is encountered the grizzlybear--the most fierce and formidable of American _carnivora_. The redcouguar and brown wolverene crouch along the edges of the thicket, tocontest with jackal and wolf the possession of the carcass, where somestray quadruped has fallen a victim to the hungry troop; while blackvultures wheeling aloft, await the issue of the conflict. Birds offairer fame add animation to the scene. The magnificent _meleagris_, shining in metallic lustre, with spread wings and tail, offers atempting aim to the hunter's rifle--as it promises to afford him a richrepast; and the _coq de prairie_, and its gigantic congener the "sagegrouse, " whirr up at intervals along the path. The waters have theirdenizens, in the grey Canada and white-fronted geese--ducks of numerousspecies--the stupid pelican and shy loon--gulls, cormorants, and thenoble swan; while the groves of _alamo_ ring with the music of numerousbright-winged songsters, scarcely known to the ornithologist. 

But no land of peace is this fair region of the Rocky Mountains. Thereare parks, but no palaces--there are fertile fields, but none to tillthem--for it is even dangerous to traverse them in the open light ofday. The trapper skulks silently along the creek--scarcely trustinghimself to whisper to his companion--and watching warily as he renewsthe bait of _castoreum_. The hunter glides with stealthy tread fromcopse to copse--dreading the echo of his own rifle. Even thered-skinned rover goes not here alone, but only with a large band of hiskindred--a "hunting" or "war-party. " The ground is neutral, as it ishostile--claimed by many tribes and owned by none. All enter it to huntor make war, but none to settle or colonise. From every quarter of thecompass come the warrior and hunter; and of almost as many tribes asthere are points upon the card. From the north, the Crow and Sioux;from the south, the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Jicarilla-Apache--and evenat times the tame Taosa. From the east penetrate, the Cheyenne, thePawnee, and Arapaho; while through the western gates of this hunters'paradise, pour the warlike bands of the Utah and Shoshonee. All thesetribes are in mutual enmity or amity amongst themselves, of greater orless strength; but between some of them exists a hostility of thedeadliest character. Such are the vendettas between Crow and Shoshonee, Pawnee and Comanche, Utah and Arapaho. Some of the tribe have therepute of being friendly to the whites. Among these may be mentionedthe Utahs and Crows; while the more dreaded names are Cheyenne, Kiowa, and Arapaho; the last in hostility to the whites equalling the notedBlackfeet farther north. In all cases, however, the amity of theprairie Indian is a friendship upon which slight faith can be placed;and the trapper--even in Crow or Utah land--is accustomed "to sleep withone eye open. " In past times, Utahs have been more partial to thepale-faces than most other tribes of North Americans; and in theirterritory many of the celebrated trapper-stations, or "rendezvous, " aresituated. At times, mutual provocations have led to dire encounters;and then are the Utahs to be dreaded--more, perhaps, than any otherIndians. In their association with their trapper allies, they havelearnt how to handle--and with skill--that most formidable of weapons, for partisan warfare--the hunter's rifle. 

At the time of which I write, the Utahs were reported to be on goodterms with the whites. The Mormons had done everything to conciliatethem; and it was said that a single white man might traverse theirterritory with perfect safety. It was chiefly in the passes that led tothe Utahs' country, that danger from Indians was to be apprehended--inthe valleys and ravines above mentioned--where Cheyennes, Comanches, Pawnees, and Arapahoes were more likely to be met with than the Utahsthemselves. 

We were not yet certain by which pass the caravan might cross the greatCordillera. From beyond the Big Timbers, three routes were open to it. First was the southern route through the Eaton mountains, which leads toSanta Fe, in New Mexico, and is known as the "Santa Fe trail. " I didnot anticipate their taking this one. It was not their design, onleaving Fort Smith, to pass by Santa Fe--else would they have kept upthe Canadian, by the head of the Llano Estacado; and thence toCalifornia by the Gila. Another route parts from the Arkansas stillhigher up--by one of its affluents, the _Fontaine que bouit_. This isthe "Cherokee trail, " which, after running north along the eastern slopeof the Rocky Mountains, crosses them by the Cheyenne Pass, and onthrough Bridger's Pass into the central valley of the Great Basin. Neither did I believe that the train would travel by this trail. Theseason of the year was against the supposition. In all probability, thecentral route of the three would be the one followed--leading from theArkansas up the Huerfano river, and through "Robideau's Pass, " or thatof the "Sangre de Cristo. " Either of these conducts into the valley ofthe Rio del Norte; thence by the famed "Coochetopa, " or "gate of thebuffaloes, " on the head waters of the Western Colorado. 

This pass, though long known to the trappers and _ciboleros_ of NewMexico, had only just come into notice as a road to the Pacific; but, being one of the most central and direct, it had already been tried bothby Californian and Mormon emigrants, and found practicable for waggons. The caravan had left Van Buren with the design of taking this road; butI knew that the design might be altered by contingencies--hence ouruncertainty. 

The Rocky Mountains could be crossed, by following up the Arkansas toits remotest sources on the southern side of the Bayou Salade; but thestupendous gorges through which that river runs leave no passpracticable for wheeled vehicles. Only by mounted men, or pack-mules, can the Cordillera be crossed at that point; and of course it did notoccur to us that the caravan we were following would attempt it. Atthree points, then, might we expect to find its trace parting from theArkansas--near Bent's Old Fort, for the southern route: at the _Fontaineque bouit_ river, for the northern; and for the central, it shoulddiverge up the valley of the Huerfano. In any case, our risk would beunquestionably great. We should have to travel through districts ofcountry, where white man and red man meet only as foes; where to killeach other at sight is the instinct and practice of both; and where, though it may sound strange to civilised ears, to _scalp_, after killingeach other, is equally a _mutual_ custom!

Such was the character of the region through which we should have totravel. No wonder we were anxious to come up with the caravan, beforeit should have passed through the dangerous gorges of the mountains. Independent of other motives, our personal safety prompted us to hastenon. At first, our new comrades were not exactly agreeable to the designof overtaking the train. They had the _escort_ in their thoughts, andalong with it, the dread of the nine-tailed cat. But a littleinstruction as to the far greater danger they were in from Indians--ofwhich up to that hour they had been in happy ignorance--reconciled themto our purpose; and thenceforward they picked up their feet with apleasing rapidity. Both preferred risking the skin of their backs tolosing that of their heads; but of the former they had now less fear:since I had promised to _disguise_ them, before bringing them face toface with the troopers of the escort. 

Notwithstanding our increased strength, we travelled with as muchcaution as ever: for the danger had augmented in proportion. We mademost way under the friendly shadow of night--sometimes by the light ofthe moon--and only by day, when we could discover no Indian sign in ourneighbourhood. Only two of us could ride at a time--the other twotaking it afoot; but in this way a journey can be made almost as well, as when each has a horse to himself. Our pack-animals gave us littletrouble: as the continued travel had long since trained them to followin file, and without requiring to be led. We refrained from makingfires, where the ground was unfavourable. Only when we could choose ourcamp in the midst of a timbered thicket, or down in the secluded depthof some rocky ravine, did we risk kindling fires; and them weextinguished as soon as they had served the purposes of our simple_cuisine_. These precautions, drawn from experience, were absolutelynecessary in a passage across the prairies--at least by a party so smallas ours. Perhaps had we continued them, we might have escaped amisfortune that soon after befell us; and the tale of which is now to betold. 

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. 

THE ABANDONED BOUQUET. 

Having passed Bent's Fort--of wide celebrity in trapper lore--whilom thescene of many a wild revel of the "mountain-men, " but now abandoned andin ruins--we arrived at the confluence of the Huerfano. As we expected, the trace turned up the valley of this latter stream--thus deciding theroute taken by the caravan. 

We rode on through a forest of grand cotton-woods and willows; and atabout seven miles distant from the mouth of the Huerfano river, reacheda point, where the caravan had crossed over to its left bank. On theother side, we could see the ground of their encampment of the nightbefore. We could tell it by the fresh traces of animals and waggons--debris of the morning's repast--and half-burnt faggots of the tires thathad cooked it, still sending up their clouds of oozing smoke. 

The stream at this point was fordable; and crossing over, we stood uponthe deserted camp-ground. With singular emotions, I walked amid thesmouldering fires--forming conjectures as to which of them might havebeen graced by that fair presence. Where had she passed the night, andwhat had occupied her thoughts? Were those gentle words still lingeringin her memory? Were they upon her lips? It was pleasant for me torepeat them. I did not need to draw the writing forth. Long since werethe lines fixed in my remembrance--oft through my heart had vibrated theburden of that sweet song:

"I think of thee--I think of thee!"

My reflections were not altogether unmingled with pain. Love cannotlive without doubts and fears. Jealousy is its infallible concomitant--ever present as the thorn with the rose. How could I hope that one hourof my presence had been sufficient to inspire in that young bosom thepassion of a life? It could scarcely be other than a slightimpression--a passing admiration of some speech, word, or gesture--tootransient to be true? Perhaps I was already forgotten? Perhaps onlyremembered with a smile, instead of a sigh? Though still but a shorttime since our parting, many scenes had since transpired--many eventshad occurred in the life of that young creature to give it experience. Forms of equal--perhaps superior elegance--had come before her eye. Might not one of these have made its image upon her heart?

The caravan was not a mere conglomeration of coarse rude adventurers. There were men of all classes composing it--not a few of accomplishededucation--not a few who, using a hackneyed phrase, were "men of theworld, "--familiar with its ways and its wiles--and who perfectlyunderstood all those intricate attentions and delicate lures, by whichthe virgin heart is approached and captured. There were military mentoo--those ever to be dreaded rivals in love--young officers of theescort, laced, booted, and spurred--bedecked, moreover, with thatmysterious influence which authority ever imparts to its possessor. Could these be blind to the charms of such a travelling companion?Impossible. Or could she--her young bosom just expanding to receive thegod of love--fail to acknowledge the nearest form as his image?Painfully improbable!

It was therefore with feelings of no very pleasant kind that I soughtaround for some souvenir. The remains of a fire, a little apart fromthe rest, near the edge of a piece of copsewood, drew my attention. Itlooked as if it had been a spot on which some family group had encamped. I was led to this conjecture, by observing some flowers scatterednear--for the grassy sward showed no other sign. The flowers betokenedthe presence of womankind. Fair faces--or one at least--had beamed inthe light of that fire. I felt morally certain of it. I approached thespot. The shrubbery around was interlaced with wild roses; while bluelupins and scarlet pelargoniums sparkled over the glade, under thesheltering protection of the trees. By the edge of the shrubbery lay abouquet, that had evidently been put together with some care!Dismounting, I took it up. My fingers trembled as I examined it: foreven in this slight object I read indications of design. The flowerswere of the rarest and prettiest--of many kinds that grew not near. They had been plucked elsewhere. Some one had given both time andattention to their collection and arrangement. Who? It would have beenidle to shape even a conjecture, but for a circumstance, that appearedto offer a certain clue; and, not without bitter thoughts, did I try tounwind it. The thread which was warped around the flower-stalks was ofyellow silk. The strands were finely twisted; and I easily recognisedthe bullion from the tassel of a sash. That thread must have been takenfrom the sash of a dragoon officer!

Had the bouquet been a gift? To whom? and by whom? Here all conjectureshould have ended; but not without a feeling of painful suspicion did Iexamine those trivial signs; and the feeling continued to annoy me, longafter I had flung the flowers at my feet. 

A reflection came to my relief, which went far towards restoring myspirits' equanimity. If a gift, and to Lilian Holt, she had scarcelyhonoured it--else how could the flowers have been there? Had they beenforgotten, or left unregarded? There was consolation in eitherhypothesis; and, in the trust that one or the other was true, I sprangback into my saddle, and with a more cheerful heart, rode away from thespot. 

CHAPTER FORTY NINE. 

AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE. 

The finding of the flowers, or rather the reflections to which they gaverise, rendered me more anxious than ever to come up with, the caravan. The little incident had made me aware of a new danger hitherto unthoughtof. Up to that hour, my chief anxiety with regard to Lilian Holt hadbeen the companionship of the Mormon. This had been heightened by someinformation incidentally imparted by the deserters--chiefly bySure-shot. It related to the destination of a number of the emigrants, who accompanied the caravan; and with whom the rifleman had heldintercourse, previous to their departure from Van Buren. These were notprospective gold-diggers, but persons migrating westward from motivesmore spiritual: they were _Saints_ bound for the Salt Lake--thereintending to stay and settle. 

There was a large party of these "Latter-day" converts under the conductof an apostolic agent. This much had Sure-shot ascertained. He had notseen their leader, nor heard his name. Joshua Stebbins might be thevery man? Even as a conjecture, this was bitter enough. Up to the timeof joining with the deserters, I had consoled myself with the belief, that California was the destination of this saint and his squatterprotege; though at times I was troubled with the remembrance ofSu-wa-nee's words. Their truth was almost confirmed by the report ofthe ex-rifleman. I could not now think otherwise, than that Stebbinswas bound for the Mormon city; and that he was the fox in charge of theflock of geese that accompanied the emigrant train. It was more thanprobable. While waiting in Swampville for the letter of Lilian, I hadlearnt something of the history of the _ci-devant_ schoolmaster--notmuch of the period subsequent to his departure from that place--littlemore than the fact that he had joined the Mormons, and had risen to highoffice in their church--in short, that he was one of their "apostles. "This fact, however, was one of primary significance. 

Had the squatter also submitted to the hideous delusion? Was he also onhis way to the shrine of the faith? The answer to the former questionwas of slight importance, so long as that to the latter might beconceived in the affirmative. If Holt was bound to the Salt Lake, thenwas the fate of his daughter to be dreaded. Not long there may a virgindwell. The baptism of the New Jordan soon initiates its femaleneophytes into the mysteries of womanhood--absolutely compelling them tothe marriage-tie--forcing them to a wedlock loveless and unholy. 

Suffering under such apprehensions, I scarcely needed the additionalstimulus of jealousy to urge me onward; and yet, strange as it mayappear, the finding of the bouquet had produced this effect. I wouldhave ridden on, without halt, but our animals required rest. We hadbeen travelling nearly all night, and throughout the morning--under thefriendly shelter of the cotton-wood forest. We all needed an hour ortwo of repose; and, seeking a secure place near the ground of thedeserted camp, we stopped to obtain it. The train could not be farahead of us. While seated in silence around the fire we had kindled, wecould hear at intervals the reports of guns. They came from up thevalley, and from a far distance. The sounds reached us but faintly--nowsingle shots, and then two or three together, or following in quicksuccession. We were at no loss to account for the reports. They werecaused by the hunters of the caravan, in pursuit of game. We had nowentered that charming region where elk and antelope abounded. On ourmorning-march we had seen herds of both trooping over the sward--almostwithin range of our rifles. Even as we sat, a band of beautifulantelopes appeared in the open ground near our bivouack fire; and, aftersatisfying their curiosity by gazing at us for a moment, they trottedoff into the covert. It was a tempting sight--too tempting for theyoung backwoods hunter to resist. Seizing his rifle, he took afterthem--promising us as he went off a more savoury breakfast than the drybuffalo-meat we were broiling. Soon after, we heard the report of hispiece; and, presently, he re-appeared with a dead "prong-horn" upon hisshoulders. 

As Wingrove came up to the fire, I noticed a singular expression uponhis countenance. Instead of being rejoiced at his success, his looksbetrayed anxiety! I questioned him as to the cause. He did not answerdirectly; but, drawing me to one side, inquired in a whisper, if I hadseen any one in his absence. 

"No. Why do you ask?"

"If it wan't altogether unpossible, I'd swar I seed that girl. "

"What girl?"

I trembled, as I put the question: I was thinking of Lilian. 

"That darnationed devil of a Chicasaw. "

"What! Su-wa-nee?"

"Yes--Su-wa-nee. "

"Oh--that cannot be? It could not be her?"

"So I'd a thort myself; but darn me, capt'n! if I kin b'lieve it wa'nther. What I seed war as like her as two eggs. "

"What did you see?"

"Why, jest arter I'd killed the goat, an' war heisting it on myshoulders, I spied a Injun glidin' into the bushes. I seed it war asquaw; an' jest the picter o' the Chicasaw. She 'peared as ef she hedkim right from hyar, an' I thort you must a seed her. "

"Did you get sight of her face?"

"No, her back war torst me, an' she kep on 'ithout turnin' or stoppin' aminnit. 'Twar the very duds that girl used to wear, an' her bulk to aninch. It kudn't a been liker her. Darn me, ef 'twan't eyther her orher ghost!"

"It is very improbable that it could have been either?"

I did not for a moment entertain the idea that it was the Chicasaw hehad seen; and yet my comrade was fully impressed with the belief, andreiterated the assertion that he had either seen Su-wa-nee or her"shadder. " Though the thing was improbable, it was not beyondpossibility. We knew that there were Indians travelling with the train:we had heard so before starting out. But what likelihood was there ofSu-wa-nee being among them? Certainly not much. That there wereprairie Indians around us, was probable enough. We had already observedtheir traces upon the ground of the deserted camp. The "squaw" seen byWingrove might be one of these. 

Whether or not, her presence proved the proximity of red-skins; and theknowledge of having such dangerous neighbours, summoned us to a freshexercise of vigilance and caution. Our fire was instantly extinguished;and, contenting ourselves with a morsel of the half-broiledbuffalo-beef, we moved to some distance from the spot, beforeproceeding, to cook the antelope. A dark covert in the thick woodsoffered us a more secure kitchen. There we rekindled our fire--androasting the ribs of the prong-horn, refreshed ourselves with an amplemeal. After an hour's repose, we resumed our journey--in confidentexpectation, that before sunset we should get within sight of thecaravan. 

CHAPTER FIFTY. 

UP THE CANON. 

We had not ridden far from our halting-place, when we arrived at the endof the great cotton-wood forest. Beyond that, the trace led over openground--here and there dotted by groves and "islands" of timber. Through these we threaded our way--keeping as much as possible among thetrees. Further on, we came upon a gorge--one of the noted _canons_through which the Huerfano runs. Here the river sweeps down a narrowchannel, with rocky banks that rise on each side into precipitous cliffsof stupendous height. 

To avoid this gorge--impassable for wheeled vehicles--the waggon-trace, below its entrance, turns off to the right; and we perceived that thecaravan had taken that direction. To get round the heads of thetransverse ravines, that run into the _canon_, a detour must be made ofnot less than ten miles in length. Beyond the canon--the trace oncemore returns to the stream. 

The notes of a military reconnoissance had forewarned me of thisdeviation; and, furthermore, that the trace passes over a ridgealtogether destitute of timber. To follow it, therefore, in the broadlight of day, would expose our little party to view. If hostile Indiansshould be hanging after the caravan, they would be sure to see us, andequally certain to make an attack upon us; and from the traces we hadnoticed at the night-camp--to say nothing of what Wingrove had seen--weknew there were Indians in the valley. They might not be hostile; butthe chances were ten to one that they were; and, under this supposition, it would be imprudent in us to risk crossing the ridge before nightfall. There were two alternatives: to remain under the timber till aftersunset, and then proceed by night; or to push on into the canon, andendeavour to make our way along the bed of the stream. So far as weknew, the path was an untried one; but it might be practicable forhorses. We were now on the most dangerous ground we had yet trodden--the highway of several hostile tribes, and their favourite_tenting-place_, when going to, or returning from, their forays againstthe half-civilised settlements of New Mexico. 

The proximity of the caravan--which we calculated to be about ten milesahead of us--only increased our risk. There was but little danger ofthe Indians attacking that: the train was too strong, even without theescort. But the probability was, that a band of Indian horse-thieveswould be skulking on its skirts--not to make an attack upon the caravanitself but as wolves after a gang of buffalo, to sacrifice thestragglers. Unless when irritated by some hostile demonstration, theserobbers confine themselves to plundering: but in the case of some, murder is the usual concomitant of plunder. 

The delay of another night was disheartening to all of us--butespecially so to myself, for reasons already known. If we shouldsucceed in passing through the canon, perhaps on the other side we mightcome in sight of the caravan? Cheered on by this prospect, we hesitatedno longer; but hastening forward, entered between the jaws of thedefile. A fearful chasm it was--the rocky walls rising perpendicularlyto the height of many hundreds of feet--presenting a grim _facade_ oneach side of us. The sky above appeared a mere strip of blue; and wewere surrounded by a gloom deeper than that of twilight. The torrentroared and foamed at our feet; and the trail at times traversed throughthe water. 

There _was_ a trail, as we soon perceived; and, what was moresignificant, one that had recently been travelled! Horses had been overit; and in several places the rocky pebbles, that should otherwise havebeen dry, were wet by the water that had dripped from their fetlocks. Alarge troop of horses must have passed just before us. Had the dragoonescort gone that way? More likely a party of mounted travellersbelonging to the train? And yet this did not strike us as being likely. We were soon convinced that such was not the case. On riding forward, we came upon a mud-deposit--at the mouth of one of the transverseravines--over which led the trail. The mud exhibited the _tracks_distinctly and in a more significant light--they were _hoof-tracks_! Wesaw that more than a hundred horses had passed up the defile; and notone _shod_ animal among them! This fact was very significant. Theycould not have been troop-horses? Nor yet those of white men? Ifridden, they must have been ridden by Indians? It did not follow thatthey were ridden. We were travelling through a region frequented by the_mustang_. Droves had been seen upon our route, at great distances off:for these are the shyest and wildest of all animals. A _caballada_ mayhave passed through the gorge, on their way to the upper valley? Therewas nothing improbable in this. Although the plains are the favouritehabitat of the horse, the _mustang_ of Spanish America is half amountain animal; and often penetrates the most difficult passes--climbing the declivities with hoof as sure as that of a chamois. 

Had these horses been ridden? That was the point to be determined, andhow? The sign was not very intelligible, but sufficiently so for ourpurpose. The little belt of mud-deposit was only disturbed by a singleline of tracts--crossing it directly from side to side. The animals hadtraversed it in single file. Wild horses would have _crowded over it_--some of them at least kicking out to one side or the other? This Imyself knew. The reasoning appeared conclusive. We had no longer adoubt that a large party of Indians had gone up the gorge before us, andnot very long before us. 

It now became a question of advance or retreat. To halt within thedefile--even had a halting-place offered--would have been perilous aboveall things. There was no spot, where we could conceal either ourselvesor our animals. The mounted Indians might be returning down again; and, finding us in such a snug trap, would have us at their mercy? We didnot think, therefore, of staying where we were. To go back was toodiscouraging. We were already half through the canon, and had riddenover a most difficult path--often fording the stream at great risk, andclimbing over boulders of rock, that imperilled the necks, both ofourselves and our animals. We determined to keep on. 

We were in hopes that the Indians had by this time passed clear throughthe gorge, and ridden out into the valley above. In that case therewould be no great risk in our proceeding to the upper end. Ourexpectations did not deceive us. We reached the mouth of the chasm--without having seen other signs of those who had proceeded us, than thetracks of their horses. 

We had heard sounds, however, that had given us some apprehension--thereports of guns--not as during the early part of the day, in singleshots, but in half-dozens at a time, and once or twice in largevolleys--as if of a scattering _fusillade_! The sounds came from thedirection of the upper valley; and were but faintly heard--so faintlythat we were in doubt, as to whether they were the reports of fire-arms. The grumbling and rushing of the river hindered us from hearing themmore distinctly. But for the presence of Indians in the valley--aboutwhich we were quite certain--we should perhaps not have noticed thesounds, or else have taken them for something else. Perhaps we mighthave conjectured, that a gang of buffaloes had passed near the train--leading to a brisk emptying of rifles. But the presence of the Indiansrendered this hypothesis less probable. 

We still continued to observe caution. Before emerging from the defile, we halted near its entrance--Wingrove and myself stealing forward toreconnoitre. An elevated post--which we obtained upon a shelf of therock--gave us a commanding prospect of the upper valley. The sightrestored our confidence: _the caravan was in view_!

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. 

THE ORPHAN BUTTE. 

The landscape over which we were looking was one that has long beencelebrated, in the legends of trapper and _cibolero_, and certainly nolovelier is to be met with in the midland regions of America. Thoughnew to my eyes, I recognised it from the descriptions I had read andheard of it. There was an idiosyncrasy in its features--especially inthat lone mound rising conspicuously in its midst--which at onceproclaimed it the valley of the _Huerfano_. There stood the "OrphanButte. " There was no mistaking its identity. 

This valley, or, more properly, _valle_--a word of very differentsignification--is in reality a level plain, flanked on each side by acontinuous line of bluffs or "benches"--themselves forming the abutmentsof a still higher plain, which constitutes the general level of thecountry. The width between the bluffs is five or six miles; but, at thedistance of some ten miles from our point of view, the cliffs converge--apparently closing in the valley in that direction. This, however, isonly apparent. Above the butte is another deep canon, through which theriver has cleft its way. The intervening space is a picture fair tobehold. The surface, level as a billiard-table, is covered with_gramma_ grass, of a bright, almost emerald verdure. The uniformity ofthis colour is relieved by cotton-wood copses, whose foliage is but oneshade darker. Commingling with these, and again slightly darkening thehue of the frondage, are other trees, with a variety of shrubs orclimbing-plants--as clematis, wild roses, and willows. Here and there, a noble poplar stands apart--as if disdaining to associate with the morelowly growth of the groves. 

These "topes" are of varied forms: some rounded, some oval, and othersof more irregular shape. Many of them appear as if planted by the handsof the landscape-gardener; while the Huerfano, winding through theirmidst, could not have been more gracefully guided, had it been speciallydesigned for an "ornamental water. "

The butte itself, rising in the centre of the plain, and towering nearlytwo hundred feet above the general level, has all the semblance of anartificial work--not of human hands, but a cairn constructed by giants. Just such does it appear--a vast pyramidal cone, composed of hugeprismatic blocks of granite, black almost as a coal--the dark colourbeing occasioned by an iron admixture in the rock. For two-thirds ofits slope, a thick growth of cedar covers the mound with a skirting ofdarkest green. Above this appear the dark naked prisms--piled one uponthe other, in a sort of irregular crystallisation, and ending in asummit slightly truncated. Detached boulders lie around its base, hugepieces that having yielded to the disintegrating influences of rain andwind, had lost their balance, and rolled down the declivity of itssides. No other similar elevation is near--the distant bluffs aloneequalling it in height. But there the resemblance ends; for the latterare a formation of stratified sandstone, while the rocks composing thebutte are purely granitic! Even in a geological point of view, is theOrphan Butte isolated from all the world. In a double sense, does itmerit its distinctive title. 

Singular is the picture formed by this lone mound, and the park-likescene that surrounds it--a picture rare as fair. Its very framing ispeculiar. The bench of light-reddish sandstone sharply outlined on eachedge--the bright green of the sward along its base--and the dark belt ofcedars cresting its summit, form, as it were, a double moulding to theframe. Over this can be distinguished the severer outlines of the greatCordilleras; above them, again, the twin cones of the Wa-to-yah; andgrandly towering over all, the sharp sky-piercing summit of Pike's Peak. All these forms gleaming in the full light of a noonday sun, with aheaven above them of deep ethereal blue, present a picture that forgrandeur and sublimity is not surpassed upon the earth. 

A long while could we have gazed upon it; but an object, that came atonce under our eyes, turned our thoughts into a far different channel. Away up the valley, at its furthest end, appeared a small white spot--little bigger to our view than the disc of an archer's target. It wasof an irregular roundish form; and on both sides of it were other, shapes--smaller and of darker hue. We had no difficulty in making outwhat these appearances were: the white object was the tilt of a waggon:the dark forms around it were those of men--mounted and afoot! It musthave been the last waggon of the train: since no other could be seen;and as it appeared at the very end of the valley--in the angle formed bythe convergence of the cliffs--we concluded that there the canon openedinto which the rest had entered. Whether the waggon seen was movingonward, we did not stay to determine. The caravan was in sight; andthis, acting upon us like an electric influence, impelled us to hastenforward. 

Calling to our companions to advance, we remounted our horses, rode outof the gorge, and kept on up the valley. We no longer observed theslightest caution. The caravan was before our eyes; and there could beno doubt that, in a couple of hours, we should be able to come up withit. As to danger, we no longer thought of such a thing. Indians wouldscarcely be so daring as to assail us within sight of the train? Had itbeen night, we might have reasoned differently; but, under the broadlight of day, we could not imagine there was the slightest prospect ofdanger. We resolved, therefore, to ride direct for the waggons, withoutmaking halt. 

Yes--one halt was to be made. I had promised the _ci-devant_ soldiersto make _civilians_ of them before bringing them face to face with theescort; and this was to be accomplished by means of some spare wardrobewhich Wingrove and I chanced to have among our packs. The place fixedupon as the scene of the metamorphosis was the butte--which lay directlyon our route. As we rode forward, I was gratified at perceiving thatthe waggon still remained in sight. If it was moving on, it had not yetreached the head of the valley. Perhaps it had stopped to receive somerepairs? So much the better: we should the sooner overtake it. 

On arriving at the butte, the white canvas was still visible; thoughfrom our low position on the plain, only the top of the tilt could beseen. While Wingrove was unpacking our spare garments, I dismounted, and climbed to the summit of the mound--in order to obtain a betterview. I had no difficulty in getting up--for, strange to say, a trailruns over the Orphan Butte, from south-east to north-west, regularlyaligned with Pike's Peak in the latter direction, and with _SpanishPeaks_ in the former! But this alignment was not the circumstance thatstruck me as singular. A far more curious phenomenon came under myobservation. The path leading to the summit was entirely clear of thegranite blocks that everywhere else covered the declivities of themound. Between these it passed like a narrow lane, the huge prismsrising on each side of it, piled up in a regular trap-like formation, asif placed there by the hand of man! The latter hypothesis was out ofthe question. Many of the blocks were a dozen feet in diameter, andtons in weight. Titans alone could have lifted them! The summit itselfwas a table of some twenty by forty feet in superficial extent, andseamed by several fissures. Only by following the path could the summitbe reached without great difficulty. The loose boulders rested upon oneanother, in such fashion, that even the most expert climber would havefound difficulty in scaling them; and the stunted spreading cedars thatgrew between their clefts, combined in forming a _chevaux de frise_almost impenetrable. 

I was not permitted to dwell long on the contemplation of thisgeological phenomenon. On reaching the summit, and directing mytelescope up the valley, I obtained a tableau in its field of visionthat almost caused me to drop the glass out of my fingers! The wholewaggon was in view down to its wheel-tracks; and the dark forms werestill around it. Some were afoot, others on horseback--while a fewappeared to be lying flat along the sward. Whoever these last may havebeen, I saw at the first glance what the others were. The bronzed skinsof naked bodies--the masses of long sweeping hair--the plumed crests andfloating drapery--were perfectly apparent in the glass--and allindicating a truth of terrible significance that the forms thus seenwere those of savage men! Yes: both they on horseback and afoot wereIndians beyond a doubt. And those horizontally extended? They were_white_ men--the owners of the waggons? This truth flashed on me, as Ibeheld a fearful object--a body lying head towards me, with its crown ofmottled red and white, gleaming significantly through the glass. I hadno doubt as to the nature of the object: it was a scalpless skull!

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. 

RAISING A RAMPART. 

I kept the telescope to my eye not half so long as I have taken intelling of it. Quick as I saw that the men stirring around the waggonwere Indians, I thought only of screening my person from their sight. To effect this, I dropped down from the summit of the rock--on theopposite side from that facing toward the savages. Showing only the topof my head, and with the glass once more levelled up the valley, Icontinued the observation. I now became assured that the victim of theensanguined skull was a white man; that the other prostrate forms werealso the bodies of white men, all dead--all, no doubt, mutilated in asimilar manner?

The tableau told its own tale. The presence of the waggon halted, andwithout horses--one or two dead ones lying under the tongue--the ruck ofIndians clustering around it--the bodies stretched along the earth--other objects, boxes, and bales, strewed over the sward--all weresignificant of recent strife. The scene explained what we had heardwhile coming up the canon. The fusillade had been no fancy, but afearful reality--fearful, too, in its effects, as I was now satisfied bythe testimony of my telescope. The caravan had been attacked, or, morelikely, only a single waggon that had been straggling in the rear? Thefiring may have proceeded from the escort, or the armed emigrants?Indians may have fallen: indeed there were some prostrate forms apart, with groups gathered around them, and those I conjectured to be thecorpses of red men. But it was evident the Indians had provedvictorious: since they were still upon the field--still holding theplace and the plunder. 

Where were the other waggons of the train? There were fifty of them--only one was in sight! It was scarcely possible that the whole caravanhad been captured. If so, they must have succumbed within the pass? Afearful massacre must have been made? This was improbable: the more so, that the Indians around the waggon appeared to number near two hundredmen. They must have constituted the full band: for it is rare that awar-party is larger. Those seen appeared to be all warriors, naked fromthe breech-clout upward, their skins glaring with pigments. Neitherwoman nor child could I see among them. Had the other waggons beencaptured, there would not have been so many of the captors clusteredaround this particular one. In all likelihood, the vehicle had beencoming up behind the others? The animals drawing it had been shot downin the skirmish, and it had fallen into the hands of the successfulassailants?

These conjectures occupied me only a moment. Mingled with them was oneof still more special import: to whom had belonged the abandoned waggon?With fearful apprehension, I covered the ground with my glass--straining my sight as I gazed through it. I swept the whole surface ofthe surrounding plain. I looked under the waggon--on both sides of it, and beyond. I sought amidst the masses of dusky forms I examined thegroups and stragglers--even the corpses that strewed the plain. ThankHeaven! they were all black, or brown, or red! All appeared to be_men_--both the living and the dead--thank Heaven! The ejaculationended my survey of the scene: it had scarcely occupied ten seconds oftime. 

It was interrupted by a sudden movement on the part of the savages. Those on horseback were seen separating from the rest; and, the instantafter, appeared coming on in the direction of the butte! The movementwas easily accounted for. My imprudence had betrayed our presence. Ihad been seen while standing on the summit of the mound! I felt regretfor my own rashness; but there was no time to indulge in the feeling, and I stifled it. The moment called for action--demanding all thefirmness of nerve and coolness of head which, fortunately, I hadacquired by the experience of similar arises. Instead of shouting to mycomrades--as yet unconscious of the approaching danger--I remained uponthe summit without uttering a word, or showing a sign that might alarmthem. My object in so acting was to avoid the confusion, consequentupon a sudden panic, and keep my mind free to think over some plan ofescape. The Indians were still five miles off. It would be someminutes at least before they could attack us. Two or three of thesecould be spared for reflection. After that, it would be time to call inthe counsel of my companions. 

I am here describing in detail, and with the tranquillity of closetretrospect, thoughts that follow one another with the rapidity oflightning flashes. To say that I reflected coolly, would not be true: Iwas at that moment too much under the influence of fear for tranquilreflection. I perceived at once that the situation was more thandangerous: it was desperate. Flight was my first thought, or rather myfirst instinct: for, on reflection, it failed. The idea was to flingoff the packs, mount the two pedestrians upon the mules, and gallop backfor the canon. The conception was good enough, if it could have beencarried out, but of this there was no hope. The defile was too distantto be reached in time. The two who might ride the mules could nevermake it--they must fall by the way. Even if all four of us shouldsucceed in getting back to the canon, what then? Was it likely weshould ever emerge from it? We might for a time defend ourselves withinits narrow gorge; but to pass clear through and escape at the other endwould be impossible. A party of our pursuers would be certain to takeover the ridge, and head us below. To anticipate them in their arrivalthere, and reach the woods beyond, would be utterly out of our power. The trail through the canon was full of obstacles, as we had alreadydiscovered--and these would delay us. Without a prospect of reachingthe forest below it would be of no use attempting flight. In the valleyaround us there was no timbered tract--nothing that deserved the name ofa wood: only copses and groves, the largest of which would not havesheltered us for an hour. 

I had a reflection. Happy am I now, and proud, that I had the virtue tostifle it. For myself, escape by flight might not have been soproblematical. A steed stood near that could have carried me beyond alldanger. It only needed to fling myself into the saddle, and ply thespur. Even without that impulsion, my Arab would, and could, havecarried me clear of the pursuit. Death was preferable to the thought. I could only indulge it as a last resort--after all else had failed andfallen. Three men were my companions, true and tried. To all of them, I owed some service--to one little less than my life--for the bullet ofthe eccentric ranger had once saved me from an enemy. It was I who hadbrought on the impending attack. It was but just I should share itsdanger; and the thought of shunning it vanished on the instant of itsconception. Escape by flight appeared hopeless. On the shortest surveyof the circumstances I perceived that our only chance lay in defendingourselves. The chance was not much worth; but there was no alternative. We must stand and tight, or fall without resisting. From such a foe asthat coming down upon us, we need expect no grace--not a modicum ofmercy. Where was our defence to be made? On the summit of the butte?There was no better place in sight--no other that could be reached, offering so many advantages. Had we chosen it for a point of defence, it could not have promised better for the purpose. As already stated, the cone was slightly truncated--its top ending in a _mesa_. The tablewas large enough to hold four of us. By crouching low, or lying flatupon it, we should be screened from the arrows of the Indians, or suchother weapons as they might use. On the other hand, the muzzles of fourguns pointed at _them_, would deter them from approaching the base ofthe butte. Scarcely a minute was I in maturing a plan; and I lost lesstime in communicating it to my companions. Returning to them, as fastas I could make the descent, I announced the approach of the Indians. 

The announcement produced a surprise sufficiently unpleasant, but noconfusion. The old soldiers had been too often under fire to befrightened out of their senses at the approach of an enemy; and theyoung hunter was not one to give way to a panic. All three remainedcool and collected, as they listened to my hurried detail of the plan Ihad sketched out for our defence. There was no difficulty in inducingthem to adopt it. All agreed to it eagerly and at once: in short, allsaw that there was no alternative. Up the mound again--this timefollowed by my three comrades--each of us heavily laden. In addition toour guns and ammunition, we carried our saddles and mule-packs, ourblankets and buffalo-robes. It was not their intrinsic value thattempted us to take this trouble with our _impedimenta_: our object wasto make with them a rampart upon the rock. We had just time for asecond trip; and, flinging our first loads up to the table, we rushedback down the declivity. Each seized upon such objects as offeredthemselves--valises, the soldiers' knapsacks, joints of the antelopelately killed, and the noted meal-bag--all articles likely to avail usin building our bulwark. 

The animals must be abandoned--both horses and mules. Could we takethem up to the summit? Yes, the thing could be accomplished, but towhat purpose? It would be worse than useless: since it would onlyrender them an aim for the arrows of the enemy, and insure their beingshot down at once. To leave them below appeared the better plan. Atree stood near the base of the mound. To its branches their bridleshad been already looped. There they would be within easy range of ourrifles. We could shelter them so long as there was light. To protectthem might appear of little advantage; since in the darkness they couldbe easily taken from us. But in leaving them thus, we were not withoutsome design. We, too, might build a hope on the darkness. If we couldsucceed in sustaining the attack until nightfall, flight might _then_avail us. In truth, that seemed the only chance we should have ofultimately escaping from our perilous situation. We resolved, therefore, to look well to the safety of the animals. Though, forced toforsake them for a time, we might still keep the enemy off, and againrecover them? The contingency was not clear, and we were too muchhurried to dwell long upon it. It only flitted before our minds like agleam of light through, the misty future. 

I had just time to bid farewell to my Arab--to run my fingers along hissmooth arching neck--to press my lips to his velvet muzzle. Bravesteed! tried and trusty friend! I could have wept at the parting. Hemade answer to my caresses: he answered them with a low whimperingneigh. He knew there was something amiss--that there was danger. Ourhurried movements had apprised him of it; but the moment after, hisaltered attitude, his flashing eyes, and the loud snorting from hisspread nostrils, told that he perfectly comprehended the danger. Heheard the distant trampling of hoofs: he knew that an enemy wasapproaching. I heard the sounds myself, and rushed back up the butte. My companions were already upon the summit, busied in building therampart around the rock. I joined them, and aided them in the work. 

Our _paraphernalia_ proved excellent for the purpose--light enough to beeasily handled, and sufficiently firm to resist either bullets orarrows. Before the Indians had come within hailing distance, theparapet was completed; and, crouching behind it, we awaited theirapproach. 

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE. 

THE WAR-CRY. 

The war-cry "How-ow-owgh-aloo-oo!" uttered loudly from a hundredthroats, comes pealing down the valley. Its fiendish notes, coupledwith the demon-like forms that give utterance, to them, are wellcalculated to quail the stoutest heart. Ours are not without fear. Though we know that the danger is not immediate, there is a significancein the tones of that wild slogan. They express more than the usualhostility of red to white--they breathe a spirit of vengeance. Thegestures of menace--the brandished spears, and bended bows--thewar-clubs waving in the air--are all signs of the excited anger of theIndians. Blood has been spilled--perhaps the blood of some of theirchosen warriors--and ours will be sought to a certainty. We perceive nosigns of a pacific intent--no semblance that would lead us to hope formercy. The foe is bent on our destruction. He rushes forward to kill!

I have said that the danger was not immediate. I did not conceive itso. My conception was based upon experience. I had met the prairieIndians before--in the south; but north or south, I knew that theirtactics were the same. It is a mistake to suppose that these savagesrush recklessly upon death. Only when their enemy is far inferior tothem in numbers--or otherwise an under-match--will they advance boldlyto the fight. They will do this in an attack upon Mexicans, whoseprowess they despise; or sometimes in a conflict with their own kind--when stimulated by warrior pride, and the promptings of the tribalvendetta. On other occasions, they are sufficiently careful of theirskins--more especially in an encounter with the white trappers, or eventravellers who tenter the prairies from the east. Of all other weapons, they dread the long rifle of the hunter. It is only after stratagem hasfailed--when _do or die_ becomes a necessity--that the horse-Indian canbring himself to charge forward upon the glistening barrel. The merehope of plunder will not tempt even the boldest of red-skinned robberswithin the circle of a rifle's range. They all know from experience thedeadliness of its aim. 

Most probably plunder had been their motive for attacking the train; buttheir victims could only have been some straggling unfortunates, tooconfident in their security. These had not succumbed without astruggle. The death of all of them proved this: since not a prisonerappeared to have been taken. Further evidence of it was seen upon thesward; for as the crowd scattered, I observed through, the glass severalcorpses that were not those of white men. The robbers, thoughvictorious, had suffered severely: hence the vengeful yells with whichthey were charging down upon us. With all their menace both of signsand sounds, I had no fear of their charging; up the mound, nor yet toits base. There were fifty yards around it within range of our guns;and the first who should venture within this circle would not be likelyto go forth from it alive. 

"Not a shot is to be fired, till you are sure of hitting! Do not one ofyou pull trigger, till you have sighted your man!" This was the orderpassed around. On the skill of my comrades I could confide--onSure-shot with all the certainty which his _soubriquet_ expressed; and Ihad seen enough of the young hunter, to know how he handled his rifle. About the Irishman alone was there a doubt--only of his coolness and hisaim--of his courage there was none. In this, the infantry was perhapsequal to any of us. 

The words of caution had scarcely parted from my lips, when the enemycame galloping up. Their yelling grew louder as they advanced; and itsechoes, ringing from the rocks, appeared to double the number of theirwild vociferations. We could only hear one another by calling out atthe top of our voices. But we had little to say. The time for talkinghad expired: that of action had arrived. On come the whooping; savages, horrid to behold: their faces, arms, and bodies frightfully painted, each after his own device, and all as hideous as savage conception cansuggest. The visages of bears, wolves, and other fierce animals, aredepicted on their breasts and shields--with the still more horridemblems of the death's head, the cross-bones, and the red-hand. Eventheir horses are covered with similar devices--stained upon their skinsin ochre, charcoal, and vermilion! The sight is too fearful to befantastic. On they come, uttering their wild "Howgh-owgh-aloo!"brandishing their various weapons, and making their shields of_parfleche_ rattle by repeated strokes against their clubs and spears--on comes the angry avalanche!

They are within a hundred yards of the butte. For a moment we are indoubt. If they charge up the declivity, we are lost men. We may shootdown the foremost; but they are twenty to one. In a hand-to-handstruggle, we shall be overwhelmed--killed or captured--in less thansixty seconds of time!

"Hold your fire!" I cried, seeing my comrades lie with their cheeksagainst their guns; "not yet! only two at a time--but not yet! Ha! as Iexpected. "

And just as I had expected, the wild ruck came to a halt--those in thelead drawing up their horses, as suddenly as if they had arrived uponthe edge of a precipice! They had come to a stand just in the nick oftime. Had they advanced but five paces further, at least two of theirnumber would have tumbled out of their saddles. Sure-shot and I hadeach selected our man, and agreed upon the signal to fire. The otherswere ready to follow. All four barrels resting over the rampart hadcaught the eyes of the Indians. A glance at the glistening tubes wassufficient. True to their old tactics, it was the sight of these thathad halted them!

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. 

THE RED-HAND. 

The whooping and screaming are for a while suspended. Those in the rearhave ridden up; and the straggling cavalcade becomes massed upon theplain, at less than two hundred yards' distance from the butte. Shoutsare still heard, and talking in an unknown tongue; but not the dreadwar-cry. That has failed of its effect, and is heard no longer. Nowand then, young warriors gallop toward the butte, vaunt their valour, brandish their weapons, shoot off their arrows, and threaten us by wordand gesture. All, however, keep well outside the perilous circumferencecovered by our guns. 

We perceive that they, too, have guns, both muskets and rifles--in all, a dozen or more! We can tell that they are empty. Those who carry themare dismounting to load. We may expect soon to receive their fire; but, from the clumsy manner in which they handle their pieces, that need notterrify us--any more than their arrows, already sent, and falling farshort. 

Half-a-dozen horsemen are conspicuous. They are chiefs, as can be toldby the eagle plumes sticking in their hair, with other insignia on theirbreasts and bodies. These have ridden to the front, and are groupedtogether--their horses standing head to head. Their speeches andgesticulations declare that they are holding council. The movements ofmenace are no longer made. We have time to examine our enemies. Theyare so near that I need scarcely level the glass upon them; thoughthrough it, I can note every feature with minute distinctness. 

They are not Comanches. Their bodies are too big, and their limbs toolong, for these Ishmaelites of the southern plains. Neither are they ofthe Jicarilla-Apache: they are too noble-looking to resemble theseskulking jackals. More like are they to the Cayguas? But no--they arenot Cayguas. I have met these Indians, and should know them. Thewar-cry did not resemble theirs. Theirs is the war-cry of the Comanche. I should have known it at once. Cheyennes they may be--since it istheir especial ground? Or might it be that tribe of still darker, deadlier fame--the hostile Arapaho? If they be Arapahoes, we need lookfor no mercy. 

I sweep the glass over them, seeking for signs by which I may identifyour enemy. I perceive one that is significant. The leggings of thechiefs and principal warriors are fringed with scalps; their shields areencircled by similar ornaments. Most of these appendages are of darkhue--the locks long and black. But not all are of this kind or colour. One shield is conspicuously different from the rest. A red-hand ispainted upon its black disc. It is the _totem_ of him who carries it. A thick fringe of hair is set around its rim. The tufts are ofdifferent lengths and colours. There are tresses of brown, blonde, andeven red; hair curled and wavy; coarse hair; and some soft and silky. Through the glass I see all this, with a clearness that leaves no doubtas to the character of these varied _chevelures_. They are the scalpsof whites--both of men and women! And the red-hand upon the shield? Ared-hand? Ah! I remember. There is a noted chief of the name, famedfor his hostility to the trappers--famed for a ferocity unequalled amonghis race--a savage, who is said to delight in torturing his captives--especially if it be a pale-face who has had the misfortune to fall intohis hands. Can it be that fiend--the Red-Hand of the Arapahoes?

The appearance of the man confirms my suspicion. A body, tall, angular, and ill-shaped, scarred with cicatrised wounds, and bent with age; aface seamed with the traces of evil passion; eyes deep sunken in theirsockets, and sparkling like coals of fire--an aspect more fiend-likethan human! All this agrees with the descriptions I have had of theRed-Hand chief. Assuredly it is he. Our enemies, then, are theArapahoes--their leader the dreaded _Red-Hand_. 

"Heaven have mercy upon us! These men will have none!" Such was theejaculation that escaped my lips, on recognising, or believing that Irecognised, the foe that was before us. 

The Red-Hand is seen to direct. He is evidently leader of the band. All seem obedient to his orders; all move with military promptness athis word or nod. Beyond doubt, it is the Red-Hand and his followers, who for crimes and cold-blooded atrocities are noted as he. A dreadedband, long known to the traders of Santa Fe--to the _ciboleros_ from theTaos Valley--to the trappers of the Arkansas and Platte. We are not thefirst party of white men besieged by these barbarous robbers; and if itbe our fate to fall, we shall not be their first victims. Many a brave"mountain-man" has already fallen a victim to their fiendish grasp. Scarcely a trapper who cannot tell of some comrade, who has been"rubbed" out by Red-Hand and his "Rapahoes. "

The council of the chiefs continues for some time. Some _ruse_ is beingdevised and debated among them. With palpitating hearts we await theissue. I have made known my suspicions as to who is our enemy, andcautioned my comrade's to be on their guard. I have told them that, ifmy conjecture prove true, we need look for no mercy. The talk is at anend. Red-Hand is about to address us. Riding two lengths in front ofhis followers, the savage chief makes halt. His shield is heldconspicuously upward--its convexity towards us--not for any purpose ofsecurity; but evidently that we may see its device, and know the bearer. Red-Hand is conscious of the terror inspired by his name. In his otherhand, he carries an object better calculated than the shield to begetfearful emotions. Poised on the point of his long spear, and held highaloft, are the scalps recently taken. There are six of them in thebunch--easily told by the different hues of the hair; and all easilyidentified as those of white men. They are the scalps of the slainteamsters, and others who had vainly attempted to defend the capturedwaggon. They are all fresh and gory--hang limber along the shaft. Theblood is not yet dry upon them--the wet surface glitters in the sun! Weview them with singular emotions--mine perhaps more singular than any. I endeavour to identify some of those ghastly trophies. I am but toosatisfied at failing. 

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE. 

AN ILL-TIMED SHOT. 

"_Hablo Castellano_?" cries the savage chieftain in broken Spanish. 

I am not surprised at being addressed in this language by a prairieIndian. Many of them speak Spanish, or its North Mexican _patois_. They have opportunities of learning it from the New Mexican traders, butbetter--_from their captives_. 

"_Si cavallero_! I speak Spanish. What wishes the warrior with thered-hand upon his shield?"

"The pale-face is a stranger in this country, else he would not ask sucha question? What wishes the Red-Hand? Ha, ha, ha! The scalps of thewhite men--their scalps and lives--that is the will of the Arapahochief!"

The speech is delivered in a tone of exultation, and accompanied by ascornful laugh. The savage is proud of his barbarous and bloodthirstycharacter: he glories in the terror of his name! With such a monster, it seems idle to bold parley. In the end, it will be only to fight, andif defeated, to die. But the drowning man cannot restrain himself fromcatching even at a straw. 

"Arapaho! We are not your enemies! Why should you desire to take ourlives? We are peaceful travellers passing through your country; andhave no wish to quarrel with our red brothers. "

"Red brothers! ha, ha, ha! Tongue of a serpent, and heart of a hare!The proud Arapaho is not your brother: he disclaims kindred with apale-face. Red-hand has no brothers among the whites: all are alike hisenemies! Behold their scalps upon his shield! Ugh! See the freshtrophies upon his spear! Count them! There are six! There will beten. Before the sun goes down, the scalps of the four squaws skulkingon the mound will hang from the spears of the Arapahoes!"

I could not contradict the declaration: it was too fearfully probable. I made no reply. 

"Dogs!" fiercely vociferated the savage, "come down, and deliver up yourarms!"

"An' our scalps too, I s'pose, " muttered the Yankee. "Neo, certinglynot, at your price: I don't sell my notions so dirt cheep as thet comesto. 'Twouldn't pay nohow. Lookee yeer, old red gloves!" continued hein a louder voice, and raising his head above the rampart--"this heer o'mine air vallable, do ee see? It air a rare colour, an' a putty colour. It 'ud look jest the thing on thet shield o' yourn; but 'tain't thereyet, not by a long chalk; an' I kalklate ef ye want the skin o' my head, ye'll have to trot up an' take it. "

"Ugh!" ejaculated the Indian with an impatient gesture. "The yellowsquaw is not worth the words of a chief. His scalp is not for theshield of a warrior. It will be given to the dogs of our tribe. Itwill be thrown to the jackals of the prairie. "

"Ain't partickler abeout what 'ee do wi' 't--thet is, efter ye've gotit. Don't ye wish 'ee may get it? eh?"

"Wagh!" exclaimed the savage, with another impatient gesticulation. "The Red-Hand is tired talking. One word more. Listen to it, chief ofthe pale-faces! Come down, and deliver up your fire-weapons! TheRed-Hand will be merciful: he will spare your lives. If you resist, hewill torture you with fire. The knives of his warriors will hew theliving flesh from your bones. You shall die a hundred deaths; and theGreat Spirit of the Arapahoes will smile at the sacrifice!"

"And what if we do not resist?"

"Your lives shall be spared. The Red-Hand declares it on the faith of awarrior. "

"Faith o' a warrior!--faith o' a cut-throat! He only wants to comeround us, capting, an' git our scalps 'ithout fightin' for 'em--thet'swhat the red verming wants to be at--sure as shootin'. "

"Why should the Red-Hand spare our lives?" I enquired, taken bysurprise at any offer of life coming from such a quarter. "Has he notjust said, that all white men are his enemies?"

"True. But white men may become his friends. He wants white men forhis allies. He has a purpose. "

"Will the Red-Hand declare his purpose?"

"Freely. His people have taken, many fire-weapons. See! they areyonder in the hands of his braves, who know not how to use them. Ourenemies--the Utahs--have been taught by the white hunters; and the ranksof the Arapaho warriors are thinned by their deadly bullets. If thepale-faced chief and his three followers will consent to dwell with theband of Red-Hand, and teach his warriors the great medicine of thefire-weapon, their lives shall be spared. The Red-Hand will honour theyoung soldier-chief, and the White Eagle of the forest. "

"Soldier-chief. White Eagle of the forest! How can he have known--"

"If you resist, " continued he, interrupting my reflections, "theRed-Hand will keep his word. You have no chance of escape. You are butfour, and the Arapaho warriors are numerous as the trees of the BigTimber. If one of them fall by your fire-weapons, he shall be revenged. The Red-Hand repeats what he has said: the knives of his braves willhew the living flesh from your bones. You shall die a hundred deaths, and the Great Spirit of the Arapahoes will smile at the sacrifice!"

"Be Jaysis, cyaptin!" cried O'Tigg, who, not understanding Spanish, wasignorant of what had been said, "that ugly owld Indyan wants a bit ovcowld lid through him. In troth, I b'lave the musket moight raich him. She belonged to Sargent Johnson, an' was considhered the longest raichgun about the Fort. What iv I throy her carry on the ridskin? Say theword, yer honour, an' here goes!"

So astounded was I at the last words of the Arapaho chief, that I paidno heed to what the Irishman was saying. I had turned towardsWingrove--not for an explanation: for the young hunter, also ignorant ofthe language in which the Indian spoke, was unaware of the allusion thathad been made to him. I had commenced translating the speech; but, before three words had escaped my lips, the loud bang of a musketdrowned every other sound; and the cloud of sulphureous smoke coveringthe whole platform, hindered us from seeing one another! It needed noexplanation. The Irishman had taken my silence for consent: he hadfired! From the thick of the smoke came his exulting shout:

"Hooray! he's down--be my sowl! he's down! I knew the owld musket 'udraich him! Hooray!"

The report reverberated from the rocks--mingling its echoes with thewild vengeful cries that came pealing up from the plain. In an instant, the smoke was wafted aside; and the painted warriors were once morevisible. The Red-Hand was erect upon his feet, standing by the side ofhis horse, and still holding his spear and his shield. The horse wasdown--stretched along the turf, and struggling in the throes of death!

"Begorrah! cyaptin! wasn't it a splindid shat?"

"A shot that may cost us our scalps, " said I: for I saw that there wasno longer any chance of a pacific arrangement--even upon the conditionof our making sharpshooters of every redskin in the tribe. "Ha, ha, ha!" came the wild laugh of the Arapaho. "Vengeance on the pale-facedtraitors! vengeance!"

And shaking his clenched fist above his head, the savage chief retiredamong his warriors. 

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX. 

ATTEMPT TO STAMPEDE. 

We made an attempt to open the interrupted parley. In vain. Whateveramicable design the Red-Hand might have conceived was now changed to afeeling of the most deadly hostility. There was no more "talk" to bedrawn from him--not a word. In the midst of his warriors, he stoodscowling and silent. Neither did any of the chiefs deign to reply. Thecommon braves made answers to our overtures; but only by the insult of apeculiar gesture. Any hopes we might have conceived of a pacifictermination to the encounter, died within us as we noted the behaviourof the band. Whether the Indian was in earnest in the proposal he hadmade, or whether it was a mere scheme to get our scalps without fightingfor them, we could not tell at the time. There was an air ofprobability that he was honest about the matter; but, on the other hand, his notorious character for hostility to the white race contradictedthis probability. I had heard, moreover, that this same chief was inthe habit of adopting such stratagems to get white men into his power. We had no time to speculate upon the point; nor yet upon that whichpuzzled us far more--how he had arrived at the knowledge of who we were!What could he have known of the "White Eagle of the forest, " or the"young soldier-chief?" So far as I was myself concerned, the titlemight have been explained. 

My uniform--I still wore it--might have been espied upon the prairies?The Indians are quick at catching an appellation, and communicating itto one another. But the figurative soubriquet of the young hunter?That was more specific. The Red-Hand could not have used itaccidentally? Impossible. It bespoke a knowledge of us, and ouraffairs, that appeared mysterious and inexplicable. It did not fail torecall to our memory the apparition that had astonished Wingrove in themorning. There was no opportunity to discuss the question. We had onlytime for the most vague conjectures--before the savages began to fire atus--discharging in rapid succession the guns which they had loaded. 

We soon perceived that we had little to fear from this sort of attack. Unless by some stray bullet, there was not much danger of their hittingus. Their clumsy _manege_ of the fire-weapon was evident enough. Itadded to the probability, that the chief had been in earnest about ourgiving instructions to his warriors. Still was there some degree ofdanger. The guns they had got hold of were large ones--most of them oldmuskets of heavy calibre--that cast their ounces of lead to a longdistance. We heard their bullets pattering against the rocks, and oneor two of them had passed whistling over our heads. It was justpossible to get hit; and, to avoid such an accident, we crouched behindour parapet, as closely as if we had been screening ourselves from themost expert marksmen. For a long time we did not return their fire. O'Tigg was desirous of trying another shot with his piece, but I forbadeit. Warned by what they had witnessed, the Indians had retired beyondeven the range of the Serjeant's fusil. 

Two parties of savages now separate from the main body; and, takingopposite directions, go sweeping at full gallop round the butte. Wedivine their object. They have discovered the position of our animals:the intention is to _stampede_ them. We perceive the importance ofpreventing this. If we can but keep our animals out of the hands of thesavages until darkness come down, then may there be some prospect of ourescaping by flight. True, it is only a faint hope. There are manycontingencies by which the design may be defeated, but there are alsocircumstances to favour it; and to yield without a struggle, would onlybe to deliver ourselves into the hands of an unpitying foe. The lastwords uttered by the Arapaho chief have warned us that death will bepreferable to captivity. 

We are sustained by another remembrance. We know that we are not thefirst white men who have been thus surrounded, and who afterwardscontrived to escape. Many a small band of brave trappers have sustainedthe attack of a whole Indian tribe; and though half of their number mayhave fallen, the others lived to relate the perilous adventure. Thelife of a determined man is difficult to take. A desperate sortie oftenproves the safest defence; and three or four resolute arms will cut aloophole of escape through a host of enemies. Some such thoughts, flitting before us, hinder us from succumbing to despair. 

It was of the utmost importance, to prevent our animals from being sweptoff; and to this end were our energies now directed. Three of us facedtowards them--leaving the fourth to watch the movements of the enemy onthe other side of the butte. 

Once more the wild cry rings among the rocks, as the red horsemen galloparound--rattling their shields, and waving their weapons high in theair. These demonstrations are made to affright our animals, and causethem to break from their fastenings. They have not the desired effect. The mules prance and hinnie; the horses neigh and bound over the grass;but the long boughs bend without breaking: and, acting as elasticsprings, give full play to the affrighted creatures. Not a rein snaps--not a lazo breaks--not a loop slides from its hold! The first skurry isover; and we are gratified to see the four quadrupeds still groupedaround the tree, and fast as ever to its branches. The _stampede_ hasproved a failure. Another swoop of the wild horsemen ends with likeresult: and then another. And now closer and closer they come--galloping in all directions, crossing and meeting, and wheeling andcircling--with shrill screams and violent gesticulations. As they passnear, they shelter themselves behind the bodies of their horses. An armover the withers, a leg above the croup, are all of the riders we cansee. It is useless to fire at these. The horses we might tumble overat pleasure; but the men offer no point to aim at. At intervals a redface gleams through the tossing locks of the mane; but, ere we can takesight upon it, it is jerked away. For a considerable time this play iskept up, the Indians all the time yelling as if engaged in some terribleconflict. 

As to ourselves, we are too wary to waste our shots upon the horses; andwe reserve them in the hope of being able to "draw a bead" on some ridermore reckless than the rest. The opportunity soon offers. Two of thesavages exhibit a determination to succeed in snatching away the horses. Knife in hand, they career around, evidently with the design of cuttingthe bridles and lazoes. Cheered on by the shouts of their comrades, they grow less careful of their skins, and at length make a dash towardsthe group under the tree. When almost within head-reach of thefastenings by which the mules are held, one of the latter slews suddenlyround, and sends her heels in a well-directed fling against the head ofthe foremost horse! The steed instantly wheels, and the other comingbehind follows the same movement, exposing both the riders to our aim. They make an effort to throw themselves to the other side of theiranimals; but the opportunity is lost. Our rifles are too quick forthem. Two of us fire at the same instant; and as the smoke clears away, the red robbers are seen sprawling upon the plain. Our shots haveproved fatal. Before we can reload, the struggles of the fallenhorsemen have ended; and both lie motionless upon the grass. 

The lesson was sufficient for the time. Warned by the fate of theircomrades, the Indians, although still continuing their noisydemonstrations, now kept well out of the range of our rifles. Thereappeared to be no others in the band, desirous of achieving fame at sucha risk of life. 

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN. 

OUR WEAK POINT. 

For some time the savage horsemen continued their circling gallop aroundthe butte--one occasionally swooping nearer; but covered by the body ofhis horse in such a way that it was impossible to sight him. Thesemanoeuvres were executed by the young warriors, apparently in a spiritof bravado, and with the design of showing off their courage andequestrian skill. We disregarded the harmless demonstrations, watchingthem only when made in the direction of our animals. At intervals ahideous face peeping over the withers of a horse, offered a temptingtarget. My comrades would have tried a flying shot had I not restrainedthem. A miss would have damaged our prestige in the eyes of the enemy. It was of importance that they should continue to believe in theinfallibility of the fire-weapon. 

After a time, we observed a change of tactics. The galloping slackened, and soon came to an end. The horsemen threw themselves into smallgroups, at nearly equal distances apart, and forming a ring round thebutte. Most of the riders then dismounted, a few only remaining upontheir horses, and continuing to dash backward and forward, from group togroup. These groups were beyond the range of our rifles, though not ofthe sergeant's musket. But the savages--both mounted and afoot--hadtaken care to make ramparts of their steeds. At first, this manoeuvreof our enemies appeared to have no other object than that of placingthemselves in a position to guard against our retreat. A moment'sreflection, however, told us that this could not be the design. Therewere but two points by which we could pass down to the plain--onopposite sides of the butte--why then should they _surround_ it? Itcould not be for the purpose of cutting off our retreat? That could bedone as effectually without the circular deployment. 

Their design soon became apparent. We observed that the muskets weredistributed among the groups, three or four to each. With these theynow opened fire upon us from all sides at once, keeping it up as fast asthey could load the pieces. The effect was to render our situation alittle more perilous. Not having the means to make our parapetcontinuous, we were at several points exposed. Had we had good marksmento deal with, we should have been in danger. As it was, we drew wellback towards the centre of the platform; and were screened by its outerangles. Now and then a shot struck the rock, sending the splinters inour faces; but all four of us escaped being hit by the bullets. 

We had made an observation that rendered us uneasy: we had observed aweak point in our defence. We wondered that our assailants had not alsonoticed it. Around the butte, and close up to its base, lay manyboulders of rock. They were prisms of granite, that had become detachedfrom the cairn itself, and rolled down its declivity. They rested uponthe plain, forming a ring concentric with the circular base of themound. Many of these boulders had a diameter of six feet, and wouldhave sheltered the body of a man from our shots. Others, again, restedalong the sloping sides of the butte--also of prismatic shapes, withsides overhanging. These might form ramparts for our assailants shouldthey attempt to storm our position. Even the spreading cedars wouldhave hidden them from our sight. They were the trailing juniper of thewestern wilds--very different from the Virginian cedar. They were ofbroad bushy forms, with stunted stems, and tortuous branches, denselyset with a dark acetalous foliage. They covered the sides of the butte, from base to middle height, with a draping perfectly impenetrable to theeye. Though there was no path save that already mentioned, assailants, active as ours, might unseen have scaled the declivity. Should theIndians make a bold, dash up to the base of the butte, leave theirhorses, and take to the rocks, they might advance upon us without risk. While working their way up the slope, they would be safe from our shots, sheltered by the projecting prisms, and screened by the trees. Weshould not dare to expose ourselves over the edge of the platform: sincethe others, remaining behind the boulders below, would cover us withtheir aim; and the shower of arrows would insure our destruction. Thosewho might scale the mound, would have us at their mercy. Assailing ussimultaneously from all sides, and springing suddenly upon the platform, ten to one against us, they could soon overpower us. 

These were the observations we had made, and the reflections thatresulted from them. We only wondered that our enemies had not yetperceived the advantage of this plan of attack; and, since they hadneglected it so long, we were in hopes that the idea would not occur tothem at all. It was not long before we perceived our error; and that wehad miscalculated the cunning of our dusky foes. We saw the Indiansonce more taking to their horses. Some order had reached them from theRed-Hand, who stood conspicuous in the midst of the largest group of hiswarriors. The movement that resulted from this order was similar tothat already practised in the endeavour to stampede our animals: onlythat all the band took part in it--even the chiefs mounting and ridingamong the rest. The marksmen _alone_ remained afoot, and continued tofire from behind their horses. 

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Once more the mounted warriors commence galloping in circles round thebutte. We perceive that at each wheel they are coming nearer, and candivine their intent. It is the very plan of attack we have beenapprehending! We can tell by their gestures that they are about tocharge forward to the rocks. 

Regardless of the fire from the plain, we creep back to the edge of theparapet, and point our pieces towards the circling horsemen. We areexcited with, new apprehensions; but the caution to keep cool is oncemore passed around; and each resolves not to fire without being certainof his aim. On our first shots will depend the success or failure ofthe attack. As before, we arrange that two only shall fire at a time. If the shots prove true, and two of our foes fall to them, it may checkthe charge, perhaps repulse it altogether? Such often happens with anonset of Indians--on whom the dread of the fire-weapon acts with amysterious effect. On the other hand, if we miss, our fate is sealedand certain. We shall not even have the choice of that last desperateresort, on which we have built a hope. We shall be cut off from allescape: for our animals will be gone before we can reach them. On foot, it will be idle to attempt flight. Even could we run the gauntletthrough their line, we know they could overtake us upon the plain!

We feel like men about to throw dice for our lives, and dice too thatare loaded against us! Nearer and nearer they come, until they arecoursing within fifty yards of the butte, and scarcely twice thatdistance from our guns. Were their bodies uncovered, we could reachthem; but we see only their hands, feet, and faces--the latter only atintervals. They draw nearer and nearer, till at length they are ridingwithin the circle of danger. Our superior elevation gives us theadvantage. We begin to see their bodies over the backs of their horses. A little nearer yet, and some of these horses will go riderless overthe plain! Ha! they have perceived their danger--one and all of them. Notwithstanding their cries of bravado, and mutual encouragement, theydread to make the final rush. Each fears that himself may be thevictim!

Our heads were growing dizzy with watching them, and we were stillexpecting to see some of them turn their horses, and dash inward to thebutte; when we heard a signal-cry circulating through their ranks. Allat once the foremost of them was seen swerving off, followed by thewhole troop! Before we could recover from our surprise, they hadgalloped far beyond the range of our guns, and once more stood haltedupon the plain!

CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT. 

A RAMPART ON WHEELS. 

For a time, our hearts throbbed more lightly; the pressure ofapprehension was removed. We fancied the savages had either not yetbecome fully aware of the advantage of storming our position, or thatthe certainty of losing some of their number had intimidated them frommaking the attempt. They had abandoned their design, whatever it was;and intended waiting for night--the favourite fighting-time of theIndian. This was just what we desired; and we were congratulatingourselves that the prospect had changed in our favour. Our joy wasshort-lived: the enemy showed no signs of repose. Clustered upon theplain, they still kept to their horses. By this, we knew that someother movement was intended. The chiefs were again in the centre of thecrowd, the Red-Hand conspicuous. He was heard haranguing his warriors, though we could not guess the purport of his speech. His gestures toldof fierce rage--his glances, now and then directed towards us, betokeneda spirit of implacable vengeance. At the conclusion of his speech, hewaved his hand in the direction of the waggon. The gesture appeared tobe the accompaniment of a command. It was promptly and instantlyobeyed. A dozen horsemen dashed out from the group, and galloped off. Their course was straight up the valley--towards the scene of their latestrife. Those who had remained upon the ground dismounted, and wereseen giving their horses to the grass. This might have led us toanticipate a suspension of hostilities; but it did not. The attitude ofour enemies was not that of purposed repose. On the contrary, they cametogether afoot; and engaged in what appeared to be an eagerconsultation. The chiefs spoke in turn. Some new scheme was beingdiscussed. We watched the party who had ridden off. As anticipated, the waggon proved to be the _butt_ of their excursion. Having reachedit, they halt; and, dismounting, become grouped around it. It isimpossible for some time to tell what they are doing. Even the glassdoes not reveal the nature of their movements. There are others besidesthose who rode up; and the white tilt appears in the midst of is darkcluster of men and horses. Their errand at length becomes obvious. Thecrowd is seen to scatter. Horses appear harnessed to the tongue--thewheels are in motion--the vehicle is turning round upon the plain. Wesee that some half-dozen horses are hitched on, with men seated upontheir backs as teamsters! They make a wheel, and head down the valleyin the direction of the butte. They are seen urging the animals into arapid pace. The waggon, no longer loaded, leaps lightly over the smoothsward. The horses are spurred into a gallop; and amidst the shouts ofthe savage drivers, drag the huge vehicle after them with the roughrapidity of a mountain howitzer. In a few minutes, it advances to theground occupied by the dismounted band, who surround it upon itsarrival. 

We upon the summit have a full view of all. We recognise the well-knownTroy waggon--with its red wheels, blue body, and ample canvas roof. Thelettering, "Troy, New York, " is legible on the tilt--a strange sight inthe midst of its present possessors! What can be their object with thewaggon? Their actions leave us not long in doubt. The horses areunharnessed and led aside. Half-a-dozen savages are seen crouchingunder the axles, and laying hold of the spokes. As many more standbehind--screened from our sight by the tilt-cloth, the body, and boxing. The pole projects in the direction of the mound!

Their object is now too painfully apparent. Without thinking of theanalogy of the Trojan horse, we see that this monster of a modern Troyis about to be employed for a similar purpose. Yes--shielded by thethick planking of its bed--by its head and hind boards--by its canvascovering, and other cloths which they have cunningly spread along itssides, the savages may approach the mound in perfect safety. Such istheir design. With dismay, we perceive it. We can do nought either toretard or hinder its execution. Those under the vehicle can "spoke" thewheels forward, without in the least exposing their bodies to our aim. Even their hands and arms are not visible: buffalo-robes and blanketshang over, draping the wheels from our view. Those behind are equallywell screened; and can propel the huge machine, without risk of danger. We note all these circumstances with feelings of keen apprehension. Weadopt no means to hinder the movement: we can think of none, since noneis possible. We are paralysed by a sense of our utter helplessness. 

We are allowed but little time to reflect upon it. Amidst the shouts ofthe savages, we hear the creaking of the wheels; we behold the mass inmotion! Onward it comes toward the mound--advancing with apparentlyspontaneous motion, as if it were some living monster--some horridmammoth--approaching to destroy and devour us!

Had it been such a monster, its proximity could scarce have inspired uswith a greater dread. We felt that our destruction was equally certain. The savages would now surround us--advance up the rocks--spring upon usfrom all sides at once; and, although we might fight to the death--whichwe had determined to do--still must we die. The knowledge that weshould die fighting, and with arms in our hands--that we should fallupon the corpses of our enemies, avenging death before parting withlife--this knowledge was but a feeble ray to support and cheer us. Though no cowards--not one of us--we could not look forward to our fate, without a feeling of dread. The certainty of that fate we could nolonger question. Even the time seemed to be fixed. In a few minutes, the assailants would be upon us; and we should be engaged in the laststruggle of our lives--without the slightest probability of being ableto save them!

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE. 

THE ASSAULT. 

With the prospect of such fatal issue--so proximate as to seem alreadypresent--no wonder that our hearts were dismayed at sight of the waggonmoving towards us. As the inhabitants of a leaguered city behold withfear the advance of the screened catapult or mighty "ram, " so regardedwe the approach of that familiar vehicle--now a very monster in oureyes. We were not permitted to view the spectacle in perfect security. As the waggon moved forward, those who carried the muskets drew stillnearer under cover of their horses, and once more played upon us theiruncertain but dangerous shower. With the bullets hissing above andaround us, we were forced to lie low--only at intervals raising ourheads to note the progress of the party proceeding to storm. 

Slowly but surely the machine moved on--its wheels turning under theimpulse of brawny arms--and impelled forward by pressure from behind. To fire upon it would have been of no avail: our bullets would have beenthrown away. As easily might they have pierced through a stockade oftree-trunks. Oh! for a howitzer! but one discharge of iron grape tohave crashed through those planks of oak and ash--to have scattered indeath, that human machinery that was giving them motion! Slowly andsteadily it moved on--stopping only as some large pebble opposed itselfto the wheel--then on again as the obstacle was surmounted--on till theintervening space was passed over, and the triumphant cheer of oursavage foemen announced the attainment of their object. 

Risking the straggling shots, we looked over. The waggon had reachedthe base of the butte; its tongue was forced up among the trees--itsbody stood side by side with the granite prisms. The storming party nolonger required it as a shield: they would be sufficiently sheltered bythe great boulders; and to these they now betook themselves--passingfrom one to the other, until they had completely surrounded the butte. We observed this movement, but could not prevent it. We saw the Indiansflitting from rock to rock, like red spectres, and with the rapidity oflightning flashes! In vain we attempted to take aim; before a barrelcould be brought to bear upon them, they were gone out of sight. Weourselves, galled by the leaden hail, were forced to withdraw behind ourramparts. 

A moment of suspense followed. We knew not how to act: we were puzzledby their movements, as well as by the silence in which they were makingthem. Did they intend to climb up the butte, and openly attack us?What else should be their design? What other object could they have insurrounding it? Only about a dozen had approached under cover of thewaggon. Was it likely that so few of them would assail us boldly andopenly? No. Beyond a doubt, they had some other design! Ha! whatmeans that blue column slowly curling upward? It is smoke! See!Another and another--a dozen of them! From all sides they shoot upward, encircling the mound! Hark to those sounds! the "swish" of burninggrass--the crackle of kindling sticks? They are making fires around us!The columns are at first filmy, but soon grow thicker and more dense. They spread out and join each other--they become attracted towards therocky mass--they fall against its sides, and wreathing upward, wrap itssummit in their ramifications. The platform is enveloped in the cloud!We see the savages upon the plain--dimly, as if through a crape. Thosewith the guns in their hands still continue to fire; the others aredismounting. The latter abandon their horses, and appear to beadvancing on foot. Their forms through the magnifying mist loomspectral and gigantic! They are visible only for a moment. The smokerolls its thick volume around the summit, and shrouds them from oursight. We no longer see our enemy or the earth. The sky is obscured--even the rock on which we stand is no longer visible, nor one of us tothe other!

Throughout all continues the firing from the plain; the bullets hurtlearound our heads, and the clamour of our foemen reaches our ears withfierce thrilling import. We hear the crackling of faggots, and thespurting hissing noise of many fires; but perceive no blaze--only thethick smoke rising in continuous waves, and every moment growing denseraround us. We can bear it no longer; we are half-suffocated. Any formof death before this! Is it too late to reach our horses? Doubtless, they are already snatched away? No matter: we cannot remain where weare. In five minutes, we must yield to the fearful asphyxia. 

"No! never! let us die as we had determined, with arms in our hands!"Voices husky and hoarse make answer in the affirmative. 

We spring to our feet, and come together--so that we can touch eachother. We grasp our guns, and get ready our knives and pistols. Wemake to the edge of the rock, and, sliding down, assure ourselves of thepath. We grope our way downward, guided by the granite walls on eachside. We go not with caution, but in the very recklessness of adesperate need. We are met by the masses of smoke still rollingupwards. Further down, we feel the hot caloric as we come nearer to thecrackling fires. We heed them not, but rush madly forward--till we havecleared both the cloud and the flames, and stand upon the level plain!

It is but escaping from the fires of hell to rush into the midst of itsdemons. On all sides they surround us with poised spears and brandishedclubs. Amidst their wild yells, we scarcely hear the cracking of ourguns and pistols; and those who fall to our shots are soon lost to oursight, behind the bodies of others who crowd forward to encompass us. For a short while we keep together, and fight, back to back, facing ourfoes. But we are soon separated; and each struggles with a dozenassailants around him!

The struggle was not protracted. So far as I was concerned, it ended, almost on the instant of my being separated from my comrades. A blowfrom behind, as of a club striking me upon the skull, deprived me ofconsciousness: leaving me only the one last thought--_that it wasdeath_!

CHAPTER SIXTY. 

A CAPTIVE ON A CRUCIFIX. 

Am I dead? Surely it _was_ death, or an oblivion that equalled it? Butno--I live! I am conscious that I live. Light is falling upon myeyes--thought is returning to my soul! Am I upon earth? or is itanother world in which I awake? It is a bright world--with a sky ofblue, and a sun of gold; but are they the sky and sun of the earth?Both may belong to a future world? I can see no earth--neither fields, nor trees, nor rocks, nor water--nought but the blue canopy and thegolden orb. Where is the earth? It should be under and around me, butI cannot see it. Neither around nor beneath can I look--only upward andforward--only upon the sun and the sky! What hinders me from turning?Is it that I sleep, and dream? Is the incubus of a horrid nightmareupon me? Am I, like Prometheus, chained to a rock face upward? No--notthus; I feel that I am standing--erect as if nailed against a wall! IfI am not dreaming, I am certainly in an upright attitude. I feel mylimbs beneath me; while my arms appear to be stretched out to their fullextent, and held as in the grasp of some invisible hand! My head, too, is fixed: I can neither turn nor move it. A cord traverses across mycheeks. There is something between my teeth. A piece of wood itappears to be? It gags me, and half stifles my breathing! Am I inhuman hands? or are they fiends who are thus clutching me?

Anon my senses grow stronger, but wild fancies still mock me: I am yetuncertain if it be life! What are those dark objects passing before myeyes? They are birds upon the wing--large birds of sable plumage. Iknow them. They are vultures. They are of the earth. Such could notexist in a region of spirits? Ah! those sounds! they are weird enoughto be deemed unearthly--wild enough to be mistaken for the voices ofdemons. From far beneath, they appear to rise--as if from the bowels ofthe earth, sinking and swelling in prolonged chorus. I know andrecognise the voices: they are human. I know the chaunted measure: itis the death-song of the Indian! The sounds are suggestive. I am notdreaming--I am not dead. I am awake, and on the earth. 

Memory comes to my aid. By little and little, I begin to realise mysituation. I remember the siege--the smoke--the confused conflict--allthat preceded it, but nothing after. I thought I had been killed. Butno--I live--I am a captive. My comrades--are _they_ alive? Not likely. Better for them, if they be not. The consciousness of life need be nocomfort to me. In that wild chaunt there is breathing a keen spirit ofvengeance. Oh! that I had not survived to hear it! Too surely do Iknow what will follow that dirge of death. It might as well be my own!

I am in pain. My position pains me--and the hot sun glaring upon mycheek. My arms and limbs smart under thongs that bind too tightly. Onecrosses my throat that almost chokes me, and the stick between my teethrenders breathing difficult. There is a pain upon the crown of my head, and my skull feels as if scalded. Oh Heavens! _have they scalped me_?With the thought, I endeavour to raise my hand. In vain: I cannot budgeeither hand or arm. Not a finger can I move; and I am forced to remainin horrid doubt as to whether the _hair_ be still upon my head--withmore than a probability that it is gone! But how am I confined? andwhere? I am fast bound to something: every joint in my body is fixedand immobile, as if turned to stone! I can feel thongs cutting sharplyinto my skin; and my back and shoulders press against some supportingsubstance, that seems as hard as rock. I cannot tell what it is. Icannot even see my own person--neither breast nor body--neither arms norlegs--not an inch of myself. The fastening over my face holds itupturned to the sky; and my head feels firmly set--as if the vertebralcolumn of my neck had become ossified into a solid mass!

And where am I in this stringent attitude? I am conscious that I am acaptive and bound--a captive to Indians--to Arapahoes. Memory helps meto this knowledge; and furthermore, that I should be, if I have not beencarried elsewhere, in the valley of the Huerfano--by the Orphan Butte. Ha! why should I not be _upon_ the butte--on its summit? I remembergoing down to the plain; and there being struck senseless to the earth. For all that, I may have been brought up again. The savages may haveborne me back to satisfy some whim? They often act in such strangefashion with, their vanquished victims. I must be on some eminence:since I cannot see the earth before me? In all likelihood, I am on thetop of the mound. This will account for my not having a view of theground. It will also explain the direction in which the voices arereaching me. Those who utter them are below upon the plain?

The death-song ceases: and sounds of other import are borne upward to myears. I hear shouts that appear to be signals--words of command in thefierce guttural of the Arapaho. Other sounds seem nearer. Idistinguish the voices of two men in conversation. They are Indianvoices. As I listen they grow more distinct. The speakers areapproaching me--the voices reach me, as if rising out of the groundbeneath my feet! They draw nigher and nigher. They are close to whereI stand--so close that I can feel them breathing upon my body--but stillI see them not. Their heads are below the line of my vision. I feel ahand--knuckles pressing against my throat; the cold blade of a knife islaid along my cheek; its steel point glistens under my eyes. I shudderwith a horrid thought. I mistake the purpose. I hear the "wheek" thatannounces the cutting of a tight-drawn cord. The thong slackens, anddrops off from my cheeks. My head is free: but the piece of woodbetween my teeth--it remains still gagging me firmly. I cannot get ridof that. 

I can now look below, and around me. I perceive the correctness of myconjecture. I am on the butte--upon its summit. I am close to the edgeof the platform, and command a full view of the valley below. A paintedArapaho is standing on each side of me. One is a common warrior, withnought to distinguish him from his fellows. The other is a chief. Evenwithout the insignia of his rank, the tall gaunt form and lupine visageare easily identified. They are those of Red-Hand the truculentchieftain of the Arapahoes. 

Now for the first time do I perceive that I am naked. From the waistupward, there is not a rag upon me--arms, breast, and body all bare!This does not surprise me. It is natural that the robbers should havestripped me--that they should at least have taken my coat, whose yellowbuttons are bright gold in the eyes of the Indian. But I am now tolearn that for another, and very different, purpose have they thusbereft me of my garments. Now also do I perceive the _fashion_ in whichI am confined. I am erect upon my feet, with arms stretched out totheir full fathom. My limbs are lashed to an upright post; and, withthe same thong, are my arms tied to a transverse beam. _I am bound upona cross_!

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE. 

THE MYSTERIOUS CIRCLE. 

In an exulting tone, the savage chief broke silence. "_Bueno_!" criedhe, as soon as he saw that my eyes were upon him--"_bueno, bueno_! Thepale-face still lives! the heart of the Red-Hand is glad of it--ha, ha, ha! Give him to drink of the fire-water of Taos! Let him be strong!Fill him with life, that death may be all the more bitter to him!"

These orders were delivered to his follower, who, in obedience to them, removed the gag; and, holding to my lips a calabash filled with Taoswhiskey, poured a quantity of the liquor down my throat. The beverageproduced the effect which the savage chief appeared to desire. Scarcelyhad I swallowed the fiery spirit when my strength and senses wererestored to their full vigour--but only to make me feel more keenly thesituation in which I stood--to comprehend more acutely the appallingprospect that was before me. This was the design in resuscitating me. No other purpose had the cruel savage. Had I entertained any doubt asto the motive, his preliminary speech would have enlightened me; but itwas made still clearer by that which followed. 

"Dog of a pale-face!" cried he, brandishing a long Spanish knife beforemy eyes; "you shall see how the Red-Hand can revenge himself upon theenemies of his race. The slayer of Panthers, and the White Eagle, shalldie a hundred deaths. They have mocked the forest maiden, who hasfollowed them from afar. Her vengeance shall be satisfied; and theRed-Hand will have his joy--ha, ha, ha!"

Uttering a peal of demoniac laughter, the Indian held the point of theknife close to my forehead--as if about to drive the blade into my eyes!It was but a feint to produce terror--a spectacle which this monsterwas said to enjoy. 

Wingrove was still alive: the wretch Su-wa-nee must be near?

"_Carajo_!" again yelled the savage. "What promised you the Red-Hand?To cut the living flesh from your bones? But _no_--that would bemerciful. The Arapahoes have contrived a sweeter vengeance--one thatwill appease the spirits of our slain warriors. We shall combine sportwith the sacrifice of the pale-faced dogs--ha, ha, ha!"

After another fiendish cachinnation, far more horrible to hear than hiswords of menace, the monster continued:

"Dog! you refused to instruct the Arapaho in the skill of thefire-weapon; but you shall furnish them with at least one lesson beforeyou die--ha, ha! You shall soon experience the pleasant death we haveprepared for you! Ugh!"

"Haste!" he continued, addressing himself to his follower; "prepare himfor the sacrifice! Our warriors are impatient for the sport. The bloodof our brothers is calling for vengeance. This in white, with a redspot in the centre--the rest of his body in black. "

These mysterious directions were accompanied by a corresponding gesture. With the point of his knife, the savage traced a circle upon mybreast--just as if he had been _scribing_ it on the bark of a tree. Thescratch was light, though here and there it drew blood. At the words"red spot in the centre, " as if to make the direction more emphatic, hepunctured the spot with his knife till the blood flowed freely. Had hedriven the blade to its hilt, I could not have flinched: I was fixedfirmly as the post to which they had bound me. I could not speak aword--either to question his intent, or reply to his menace. The gagwas still between my teeth, and I was necessarily silent. It matteredlittle about my remaining silent. Had my tongue been free, it wouldhave been idle to use it. In the wolf's visage, there was no one traitof clemency: every feature bespoke the obduracy of unrelenting cruelty. I knew that he would only have mocked any appeal I might have made. Itwas just as well that I had no opportunity of making it. After givingsome further directions to his follower--and once more repeating hissavage menace, in the same exulting tone--he passed behind me; and Ilost sight of him. But I could tell by the noise that reached me atintervals, that he had gone down from the rock, and was returning to hiswarriors upon the plain. 

It was the first time since my face-fastenings had been cut loose, thatI had a thought of looking in that direction. During all the while thatthe Red-Hand stood by me, I had been in constant dread of instantdeath--or of some equally fearful issue. The gleaming blade had neverbeen out of my eyes for two seconds at a time; for in the gesticulationsthat accompanied his speeches, the steel had played an important part, and I knew not the moment, it might please the ferocious savage to putan end to my life. Now that he was gone, and I found a respite from historturing menace, my eyes turned mechanically to the plain. I therebeheld a spectacle, that under other circumstances might have filled mewith horror. Not so then. The agony of my thoughts was already tookeen to be further quickened. Even the gory skull of one of mycomrades, who lay scalped upon the sward, scarcely added an emotion. Itwas a sight I had anticipated. They could not all be alive. 

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO. 

A SAVAGE ARTIST. 

The ensanguined skull was the first object that caught my eye. The deadman was easily identified. The body--short, plump, and rotund--could beno other than that of the unfortunate Irishman. His jacket had beenstripped off; but some tattered remnants of sky-blue, still clinging tohis legs, aided me in identifying him. Poor fellow! The lure ofCalifornian metal had proved an ill star for him. His golden dream wasat an end. He was lying along the sward, upon his side, half doubledup. I could not see his face. His hands were over it, with palmsspread out--as if shading his eyes from the sun! It was a position ofordinary repose; and one might have fancied him asleep. But the gorycrown, and red mottling upon the shirt--seemingly still wet--forbade thesupposition. He slept; but it was the sleep of death!

My eyes wandered in search of the others. There were fires burning. They were out upon the plain, some three hundred yards from the base ofthe butte. They had been lately kindled: for their smoke was rising inthick columns, part of it falling again to the earth. Around the fires, and through the smoke, flitted the forms of the Indians. They appearedto be cooking and feasting. Some of them staggering over the ground, kept up an incessant babble--at intervals varying their talk with savagewhoops. Others danced around accompanying their leaps with themonotonous "hi-hi-hi-ya. " All appeared to have partaken freely of thefire-water of Taos. A few more seriously disposed were grouped aroundfour or five prostrate forms--evidently the bodies of their slain. Thetwo we had shot from their horses must have been amongst these: sincethey were no longer to be seen where they had fallen. Those around thebodies stood hand in hand chanting the dismal death-song. 

Not far from the fires, a group fixed my attention. It consisted ofthree figures--all in attitudes as different as it was possible to placethem in. He who lay along the ground, upon his back, was the younghunter Wingrove. He still wore his fringed buckskin shirt and leggings;and by these I recognised him. He was at too great a distance for hisfeatures to be distinguished. He appeared to be bound hand and foot--with his ankles lashed together, and his wrists tied behind his back. He was thus lying upon his arms, in an irksome position; but theattitude showed that he was alive. I knew it already. 

Some half-dozen paces from him was a second form, difficult to berecognised as that of a human being--though it was one. It was the bodyof Jephthah Bigelow. Its very oddness of shape enabled me to identifyit--odder from the attitude in which I now beheld it. It was lying flatalong the grass, face downward, the long ape-like legs and armsstretched out to their full extent--both as to length and width--andradiating from the thin trunk, like spokes from the nave of a wheel!Viewing it from my elevated position, this attitude appeared all themore ludicrous; though it was easy to perceive that it was notvoluntary. The numerous pegs standing up from the sward, and the cordsattached to them, and leading to the arms and limbs, showed that the_spread-eagle_ position was a constrained one. That it was Sure-shot, Ihad no doubt. The spare locks of clay-coloured hair were playing aboutin the breeze; and some remnants of bottle-green still clung around hislimbs. But without these, the spider-like frame was too characteristicto be mistaken. I was glad to see those yellowish tufts. They toldthat the wearer still lived--as was also made manifest by the fact ofhis being bound. A dead body would not have merited such particulartreatment. 

It was the third figure of this group that most strongly claimed myattention. I saw that it was not that of a warrior; though quite astall as many upon the plain. But the contour of the form wasdifferent--as also the fashion of the garments that draped it. It wasthe figure of a woman! Had I not been guided in my conjectures--by acertain foreknowledge--by the allusions that had occurred in thespeeches of Red-Hand--I should never have dreamt of identifying thatform. Forewarned by these, the apparition was not unexpected. Thewoman was Su-wa-nee! She was standing erect by the prostrate form ofthe young hunter--her head slightly bent, and her face turned towardshim. An occasional motion of her arm showed that she was speaking tohim. The gesture seemed to indicate a threat! Was it possible that inthat dread hour she was reviling him? I was at too great a distance, either to hear her words, or note the expression upon her face. Only bythe dumb show of her gesticulations, could I tell that a scene waspassing between them. 

A glance around the plain enabled me to note some other changes that hadrecently taken place. The horses of the Indians were now picketed uponthe grass, and browsing peacefully--as if the clangour of strife hadnever sounded in their ears. I could see my own Arab a little apart, with Wingrove's horse and the mules--all in the charge of a horse-guard, who stood sentry near them. The waggon was still by the base of themound. The cedars along its sides were yet unburnt! I thought that theflames had consumed them, but no. The object of their fires had been toblind us with their smoke--thus to drive us from our position, andfacilitate our capture. 

I was not permitted to make these observations without interruption. The savage--who had stood by me had a duty to perform; and during allthis time he was busied in its performance. A singular and inexplicableoperation it at first appeared to me. His initiatory act was to blackenmy body from the waist upward, including my face, throat, and arms. Thesubstance used appeared to be a paste of charcoal, which he rubbedrudely over my skin. A circle upon my breast--that traced out by theblade of the chief--was left clear; but as soon as the black ground hadbeen laid on, a new substance was exhibited, of snow-white colour, resembling chalk or gypsum. With this--after the blood had beencarefully dried off--the circular space was thickly coated over, until awhite disc, about as large as a dining-plate shewed conspicuously on mybreast! A red spot in the centre of this was necessary to complete the_escutcheon_; but the painter appeared at a loss for the colour, andpaused to reflect. Only a moment did he remain at fault. He was aningenious artist; and his ingenuity soon furnished him with an idea. Drawing his knife, and sticking the point of it some half inch deep intothe fleshy part of my thigh, he obtained the required "carmine"; and, after dipping his finger in the blood, and giving it a dab in the centreof the white circle, he stood for a short time contemplating his work. A grim smile announced that he was satisfied with it; and, uttering afinal grunt, the swarthy Apelles leaped down from the platform, anddisappeared from my sight. A horrid suspicion had already takenpossession of my soul; but I was not left long to speculate upon thepurpose for which I had been thus bedaubed: the suspicion gave place tocertainty. 

Upon the plain directly in front of me, and at less than a hundredyards' distance from the butte, the warriors were collecting in groups. The Red-Hand with his under-chiefs had already arrived there; and theother Indians were forsaking the fires, and hurrying up to the spot. They had left their lances apart, standing upright on the plain, withtheir shields, bows, and quivers leaning against them, or suspended fromtheir shafts. The only weapons taken along with them to the commonrendezvous were the muskets. With these they were now occupyingthemselves--apparently preparing them for use. I saw them mark out aline upon the grass, by stretching a lazo between two upright pegs. Isaw them wiping, loading, and priming their pieces--in short, goingthrough all the preliminary manoeuvres, observed by marksmen preparingfor a trial of skill. Then burst on me in all its broad reality thedread horror for which I was reserved--then did I comprehend the designof that white circle with its centre of red: the savages were about tohold a shooting-match--_my own bosom was to be their target_!

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE. 

A PITILESS PASTIME. 

Yes--to hold a shooting-match was undoubtedly the design of my captors;and equally clear was it that my breast was to be their mark. Thisexplained my position upon the summit of the mound, as well as myattitude upon the cross. I was bound to the latter, in order that myperson might be held erect, spread, and conspicuous. I could notcomfort, myself with any doubt as to their intention. Every movement Isaw confirmed it; and the question was finally set at rest by Red-Handpossessing himself of one of the loaded muskets, and making ready tofire. Stepping a pace or two in front of the line of his warriors, heraised the piece to his shoulder, and pointed it towards me. It is vainto attempt describing the horror I endured at that moment. Utterlyunable to move, I gazed upon the glistening barrel, with its dark tube, that threatened to send forth the leaden messenger of death. I havestood before the pistol of the duellist. It is not a pleasant positionto be in, under any conditions of quarrel. Still it is perfecthappiness compared with that I then held. In the former case, there arecertain circumstances that favour the chances of safety. You know thatyou are _en profile_ to your antagonist--thus lessening the danger ofbeing hit. Judging by yourself, you feel assured that the aim takenwill be quick and unsteady, and the shot a random one. You areconscious of possessing the capability of motion--that whether you mayfeel inclined to give way to it or not, you still have a certaindiscretion of avoiding the deadly missile--that by superior skill orquickness, you may anticipate your antagonist and hinder his bullet frombeing sent. There are other circumstances of a moral nature to sustainyou in a trial of this kind--pride, angry passion, the fear of socialcontempt; and, stronger than all--perhaps most frequent of all--thejealousy of rival love. From none of all these could I derive support, as I stood before the raised musket of the Arapaho. There was noadvantage--either moral or physical--in my favour. I was broad front tothe danger, without the slightest capacity of "dodging" it; whilst therewas nothing to excite the nerves of the marksman, or render his aimunsteady. On the contrary, he was sighting me as coolly, as if about tofire at a piece of painted plank. 

It may have been but a minute, that the savage occupied himself inadjusting his aim; but to me it appeared ten. In such a situation, Imay have believed the seconds to be minutes: they seemed so. Inreality, the time must have been considerable. The drops of sweat thathad started from my brow were chasing each other over my cheeks, andtrickling down upon my breast. So prolonged was the suspense, I beganto fancy that the Arapaho was designedly dallying with his aim, for thepurpose of sporting with my fears. He may have had such motive forprocrastination. I could have believed it. Distant though he was, Icould mark his fiendish smile, as he repeatedly dropped the piece fromhis shoulder, and then returned it to the level. That he meant morethan mere menace, however, was proved in the end. Having satisfiedhimself with several idle feints, I saw him make demonstration, as ifsetting himself more determinedly to the work. This time he wascertainly in earnest. His cheek lay steadily along the stock--his armsappeared more rigid--his finger was pressing on the trigger--the momenthad come!

The flash from the pan--the red stream poured forth from the muzzle--thehist of the bullet, were all simultaneous. The report came afterwards;but, before it had reached my ears, I knew that I was untouched. Thelead had already whizzed past, at a distance--as I could judge by thesound--of several feet from my body. I heard a scratching behind me;and the instant after, a swarthy face was thrust before my eyes. It wasthat of the artist, who had painted me for the part I was playing. Ihad been under the impression that he had gone down to the plain, but Inow perceived my error. He had remained near me, concealing his bodybehind the rock. I saw that he was now enacting a different _role_--that of marker for the marksmen. Running his eye over my body, andperceiving that I was nowhere hit, he telegraphed the intelligence tohis comrades upon the plain; and then glided back to his covert. 

I was relieved from the terrible anxiety; but only for a short moment--amere interval of about a dozen seconds' duration. The Red-Hand, afterfiring, had resigned his place; but this was instantly occupied by oneof his sub-chiefs, who, armed with another musket, in turn stepped up tothe line. Again I saw the gleaming barrel brought to the level, withits dark tube pointed upon my body. This marksman was more expeditious;but for all that, it was to me a time of racking torture. Again did thedrops bead out upon my brow, and chase one another down my cheeks. Again had I to undergo all the agony of death itself and, as before, without dying, or even losing a drop of my blood! As before, I beheldthe puff of smoke, the flash, the blaze of fire projected from themuzzle: but ere the crack reached me, I heard the "thud" of the bullet, as it flattened against the granite on which I stood. This time themarker did not mount up to the platform. He had seen the splintersshivered from the rock; and without further inquiry, for the secondtime, telegraphed a miss. 

A third candidate appeared upon the stand; and my fears returned--asacute as ever. This fellow caused me to suffer nearly a dozen deaths. Either was his gun without a flint, or his powder damp: since aftersnapping nearly a dozen times, the piece still refused to go off. Hadit been designed to give me a new horror, the thing could not have beenbetter planned: for each time that the savage essayed to fire, I had toundergo the agony of a fresh apprehension. The scene ended by anothergun being placed in his hands, that _did_ go off; but with no advantageto the clumsy marksman: for his bullet, like that of the Red-Hand, whistled past, far wide of the mark. 

A fourth now took the ground. This was a tall, swarthy warrior, one ofthe tallest of the tribe; and without the insignia of a chief. The cooland deliberate manner in which he went about his work, caused me toanticipate in him a better shot; and my apprehensions were heightened toa degree of painful intensity. I felt my whole frame shiver as his gunblazed forth; and for a time I believed myself hit. The cheer of hiscompanions upon the plain announced the belief in the success of theshot; but he upon the summit soon undeceived them--just as I becamemyself reassured. The bullet had struck the wood-work of my crucifix--one of the crosspieces to which my arms were attached. It was the shockof the timber that had deceived me into the belief that I had beenstruck. 

A fifth marksman followed; and then another and another--until more thana dozen had tried their hands. The guns were now all emptied; but thiscaused only a temporary cessation in the cruel sport. They were soonreloaded; and new candidates stepped forward to make trial of theirskill. 

I had by this time discovered that they were not practising for meresport. It was a _game_, and bets were laid, upon it. Apart upon theplain, the stakes were placed, consisting of saddles, robes, weapons, and the plunder of the emigrant waggon. Horses also were picketednear--surplus animals--that were betted against one another: whether inmany separate wagers, or all forming a grand "pool, " I could notdetermine. My own scalp--I was uncertain whether I still wore it--wasno doubt the chief object of the contest. It was the "cup, " to be givento him who should place his bullet in that white circle upon my breast, and nearest the red spot in the centre!

The guns being once more reloaded, the firing recommenced, I saw thatonly one shot was allowed to each; and this only to those who hadentered a stake. The condition gave me an opportunity of experiencingmy apprehensions in different degrees: since, according to the apparentadroitness or clumsiness of the marksman, my fears of being hit weregreater or less. Strange to say, before a dozen shots had been fired, _I no longer wished them to miss_! The dread ordeal, so oft repeated, was too terrible to be borne. I was sustained by no hope of ultimateescape. I knew that the fiends would continue firing, till some one ofthem should finish me by a fatal shot; and I cared not how soon itshould be sent. Nay, I even desired that it should come quickly. Deathwas preferable to the agony I was enduring. 

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR. 

A HUNDRED DEATHS. 

For a full hour was the pitiless pastime continued--during which atleast fifty shots had been fired at my person. The truculent chieftainhad threatened me with a hundred deaths. He was fulfilling his threatto the letter; for, notwithstanding the unskilful practice, I felt, onthe eve of each discharge, a certain creeping of the flesh, and curdlingof the blood, as if that moment was to be my last. If I had not yetdied a hundred times, for at least so many had I felt all the sensationsthat should precede actual death. In truth over a hundred times: foralthough but fifty shots had been fired, twice as often had the old gunssnapped or flashed in the pan; and each of these was preceded by itsespecial pang. I had not escaped altogether unscathed: I had been hitin two or three places--in my arms and limbs. Blood was running down mylegs, and creeping over my feet. I could feel it warm and wet, as ittrickled between my toes. In a little hollow of the rock, directly infront of me, a crimson pool was collecting. The wounds could not besevere: since I scarcely felt them. Perhaps only the crease of abullet? A scratch would be sufficient to cause the effusion of theblood--copious though it appeared to be; and I felt certain that no bonehad yet been broken--that no vital part of my body had been touched. 

After about an hour had been spent by the savages in their fiendishsport, the firing became suddenly suspended. I could not tell why; andsought for an explanation by watching the movements of the marksmen. Had they exhausted their ammunition? This was the idea that cameuppermost. The chiefs had turned face to face, and were again engagedin some earnest deliberation. The subject of their talk was made knownby their gesticulations. They were pointing towards Sure-shot, whostill lay, as I have described, flat upon his face. 

Wingrove was no longer there; nor yet Su-wa-nee! Where could they havegone? I had seen both but the moment before! Had she unbound, andrescued him? Was it about them that the savages were in consultation?No; the result proved not. It was the deserter who was the object oftheir attention--as was soon made manifest by their movements. 

Half a dozen warriors were seen separating from the group and running upto the spot where Sure-shot lay. Stooping around him, they undid hisfastenings; and then, having, raised him to his feet, commenced dragginghim towards the crowd of marksmen. The terrified man made noresistance. It would have been idle. There was a brawny savage on eachside, grasping him by the wrist; and three or four behind pushing himforward at a run. His long hair streaming loosely, strengthened theexpression of despair that was depicted upon his countenance. No doubthe deemed it his last hour. Whether could they be dragging him?Whither but to death? This was my own belief--at first; but in a fewminutes I had reason to change it. For a short while, Sure-shot wasencircled by the dusky forms, and I saw him not--or only the crown ofhis head--conspicuous by its yellow hue among the darker _chevelures_ ofthe Indians. What were they doing to him? I could not guess; but theyappeared to be offering him no further violence. After a time, thegroup scattered from around him, and the ex-rifleman was again uncoveredto my view. With some surprise, I perceived that the expression of hiscountenance had undergone a total change. It was no longer that ofterror--much less of despair. On the contrary, there was a certain airof confidence visible both in his look and manner--as if something hadbeen said, or done to him, that had given him satisfaction! I wasfurther surprised at perceiving that he had a gun in his hands--his ownrifle--and that he was in the act of loading the piece! My surprisechanged to indignation as I saw him step forward to the line, and standfacing me--evidently with the intention to fire! "Cowardly traitor! hehas accepted life upon some base condition. Jeph Bigelow! Sure-shot!whom I thought true as steel! I would not have believed it. " Such wasthe reflection, to which my gag prevented me from giving utterance. Inreality, I felt astonished at the behaviour of the old ranger. Ibelieved him a better man; but the dread of death is a powerful test toapply to the human soul; and hard must be the conditions of life when, under such circumstances, they are refused. Sure-shot had succumbed tothe temptation. 

Such was my belief, as I saw him raise his piece, and stand confrontingme--in an attitude that too plainly bespoke his intention. Anothersurprise awaited me--another stimulus to my indignation. Instead oflooking ashamed of his work, and cowering under my glance, he appearedeager and determined to execute the dastardly design. There was even anexpression of fierceness, ill becoming his countenance habitually meek. Under other circumstances, it would have been ludicrous enough. "Bravado, " thought I, "assumed, no doubt, to give satisfaction to hisnew allies?"

I had not recovered from the confusion of my surprise, when his voicefell upon my ear--uttered in a tone of anger, and accompanied withcorresponding gestures. But the words that reached me explained all. On hearing them, I no longer suspected the loyalty of my old comrade. The angry expression _was_ assumed; but the counterfeit had a design, far different from that which I had attributed to it. It was Sure-shothimself--still tricky as true. 

"Capting!" cried he, speaking quickly, and raising his gun with agesture of menace, "pay 'tention to whet I'm 'beout to say. Looksavagerous at me, an' make these yeer verming b'lieve you an' me'sque'lling. Fo'most tell me, ef they've krippled ye 'beout the legs? Iknow ye can't speak; but shet yeer eyes, an' thet says `No. '"

I was for the moment puzzled, by the matter as well as manner of hisspeech, which in no way corresponded. In an instant, however, Iperceived that he had some design; and I hastened to obey his hurriedinstructions. As to the first, I needed to make no alteration in mydemeanour. Under the belief that he was disloyal, I had been regardinghim with a glance sufficiently scowling. I preserved the expression--atthe same time closing my eyes, as a negative answer to his query. Although I believed myself to be hit somewhere about the legs, I feltconfident that I was not "crippled. "

"So fur good!" continued he, still speaking loudly and angrily. "Neow!slew yeer right elbow down a leetle, an' gi' me a better chance at theteer strip o' hide. I kinder guess as heow I kin cut the thing. It'peers to be all o' one piece, an' 'll peel off yeer body like a rope o'rushes. Ef I cut it, theer'll be a chance for ye. Theer's only one o'the verming ahint the mound. Yeer hoss air theer; make for the anymal--mount 'im, an' put off like a streak o' greased lightnin'! Neow!"

As he finished speaking, he stepped nearer to the line, and placedhimself in an attitude to fire. I now fully comprehended his design. Isaw, as he said, that the cord which bound me to the crucifix was all ofone piece--a thin thong of raw-hide--lapped not very tightly around myarms, legs, and body. If cut through at any point, it could easily bedetached; and, true enough, my horse must be behind the butte, for Icould not see him in front. By a quick rush I might succeed in reachinghim, before the Indians could intercept me? If so, then indeed mightthere be a chance of escaping. 

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE. 

A SHARP SHOT. 

Slender as appeared the prospect of my being freed from my fastenings, by the method proposed, I was not without some faith in Sure-shot beingable to cut the thong. His skill in the use of the rifle was notoriouseven among good marksmen--and his aim believed to be unerring. I hadknown him to bring down with his bullet a bird upon the wing; and hadheard him declare that it was not by the _eye_ but by the _mind_ that hedid it. In other words: he meant, that his skill was not mechanical;but that he was guided in the act by some mental operation--which hehimself but imperfectly understood. I could believe this the morereadily--since Sure-shot was not the only marksman I had known possessedof this peculiar power. A something inexplicable, which may be classedwith the mysterious phenomena of clairvoyance and "horse-whispering. "

With such belief in his skill, therefore, I was not without some hopethat he might succeed in his design; and, to give him the chance hedesired, I made a violent effort, and wrenched my arm downward. It was, to all appearance, a demonstration of my wrath, at what thepseudo-renegade had been saying to me; and it seemed to be thusinterpreted by most of the savages who stood around him. The words ofSure-shot, spoken in English, were of course unintelligible to them;but, notwithstanding the inappropriate gestures which he had made useof, the suspicions of one were aroused. This was Red-Hand himself. 

"What says he of the yellow scalp-lock to the captive?" inquired thechief in Spanish. "Let him take heed, or he too shall become ashooting-mark for the Arapaho warriors!"

Sure-shot's reply was characteristic. It was also in broken Spanish, which the ranger had picked up during our campaign, on the Rio Grande. Translated, it ran thus: "I'm only telling him how I'm about to getsquare with him. _Carrambo_! great chief! when I was a soldier in thearmy, yon fellow was my _capitano_, and gave me a flogging. Believe me, chief, I'm right glad of this opportunity to have revenge on him. That's what I have been saying to him. "

"Ugh!" grunted the savage, apparently satisfied with the explanation. 

"Neow, capting!" angrily shouted the rifleman, once more raising hispiece to the level, "look e' out! Don't be skeert abeout my hittin' o'ye! The whang lies well ageen the bit o' timber. The ball's a big un. I recking I kin bark it anyheow. Heer's to try!"

A tall yellow-haired man standing with a rifle to his shoulder--hissallow cheek resting against the stock--the barrel apparently alignedupon my body--the quick detonation of a percussion-cap--a stream of redfire and smoke from the muzzle--a shock, followed by the quivering ofthe timbers to which I was tied, were perceptions and sensations ofalmost simultaneous occurrence. Twisting my head, and turning my eyesalmost out of their sockets, I was able to note the effect of the shot. The thong had been hit, just at the point where it doubled over the edgeof the wood. It was cut more than half through! By raising my elbow toits original position, and using it as a lever, I could tear apart thecrushed fibres. I saw this; but in the anticipation of a visit from themarker, I prudently preserved my attitude of immobility. In a momentafter, the grinning savage came gliding in front of me; and, perceivingthe track of the bullet, pointed it out to those upon the plain. I wasin a feverish state of suspense lest he might suspect design; but wasrelieved on seeing him step aside--while the shuffling grating noisefrom behind admonished me, that he was once more letting himself downover the edge of the platform. 

The crowd had already closed around Sure-shot, who appeared to beexpostulating with the chief--as if offering some explanation of hisfailure. I did not wait to witness the _denouement_. Raising my elbow, and giving my arm a quick jerk, I heard the thong snapping asunder; andsaw the broken ends spring out from their folds. Another wrench set myright arm free; and then, clutching the loosened coils, I unwound themwith as much rapidity, as if I had been freeing myself from the embraceof a serpent! Not one of the Indians saw what I was about, till after Ihad undone my fastenings. Their eyes had been turned upon Sure-shot--with whom they appeared to be engaged in some angry altercation. It wasonly after I had sprung to one side, and stood clear of the crucifix, that I heard their ejaculations of astonishment, followed by a wildcontinuous yelling. 

I stayed not to note what they were doing. I merely glanced towardsthem, as I turned away; and perceived that they were still fixed totheir places, as if petrified by surprise! The moments were precious;and, bounding across the platform, I leaped down upon the opposite side. 

There was a little shelf about six feet below the summit. I found itoccupied by the indigenous artist. He was seated upon the edge, withhis legs hanging over. His back was towards me; and he was onlyapprised of what had transpired by seeing me as I sprang to his side. He had already heard the yells from the other side; and was about to getto his feet, at the moment I dropped down behind him. He was too latefor the accomplishment of his purpose. I saw that he was unarmed; butwas apprehensive that by flinging himself upon me, he might hold ordelay me. I hesitated not as to what I should do. Bushing forward, Iplanted my foot against his shoulder, and giving his body a violentimpulsion, projected it clear over the edge. I saw it striking upon theangular prisms, and bounding from block to block--till it sunk out ofsight amidst the tortuous branches of the cedars. I ran down thesloping path--taking many yards at a step. 

Not far off, was my horse--with that of Wingrove, and the mules. Theyformed a little group--but no longer under charge of a guard: for thelatter had just left them, and was running forward to intercept me. Isaw that he had a weapon in his hand. It was a gun. He was pointing itupon me as he ran--endeavouring to take aim before firing. I heeded notthe threatening attitude, but rushed straight towards him. I could notgo round him: since he was between me and the horses. We both ran, asif to meet one another. When less than five paces separated us, theIndian stopped, sighted me and pulled trigger. His gun snapped! Beforehe could lower the piece, I had clutched the barrel: and, with adesperate effort, wrenched the weapon from his grasp. I made a feint tostrike him over the head. He threw up his arms to ward off the blow. Instead of using the gun as a club, I thrust him with the butt rightunder the ribs; and stretched him gasping upon the grass. He fell, asif shot through the head! Still holding on to the gun--which, by astrange accident, proved to be my own rifle--I ran up to my horse. Thecreature welcomed me with a neigh of joy! It was but the work of amoment to draw the picket-pin, gather up the laryette, and spring to hisback. Once there, I felt that I was free!

The Indians came screaming around the butte--most of them afoot, andwith no other weapons than the empty muskets. A few, more prudent thantheir fellows, had made towards their arms and horses; but, both beingat a distance, they had not yet reached them; and the advantage wasmine. I was no longer hurried in my actions--not even afraid. I had noapprehension of being retaken. On the back of my brave steed, I feltlike an ocean cast-away, who has climbed up the sides of a strong ship, and once more stands safely upon deck! I felt confident that from mypursuers, I could gallop away at will; and, after taking time to adjustmy laryette as a halter, I gave the head to my horse, and rode off. MyArab needed no urging. Up the valley went he, like a bird upon thewing. I could laugh to scorn the savage pack that came hallooing behindme. 

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX. 

THE CHASE AND THE SYNCOPE. 

I made direct for the canon whence issued the stream. Its gap grewwider as I approached it--though still appearing only a dark cleftbetween the rocks, like the entrance to some subterranean passage. Ilooked forward to it with satisfaction. Its shadowy chasm promisedshelter and concealment. When near the entrance of the gorge, I passedthe ground where the waggon had been captured. Part of its load--barrels and heavy boxes--were lying upon the sward. They were allbroken, and rifled of their contents. The plunder had been carried tothe butte. The dead bodies were still there--only those of the whitemen. I even halted to examine them. They were all stripped of theirclothing--all scalped, and otherwise mutilated. The faces of all wereblood-bedaubed. Under the red mask I could not have recognised them--even had they been the faces of old friends! There were six of them. Divested of their garments, I could form no conjecture as to who or whatthey had been--whether teamsters or emigrants, gold-seekers or soldiers. The Mormon could not have been among them: the bodies were all toostout for his; while, on the other hand, there was none of them thatcould have been mistaken for that of the squatter, Holt. I turned awayfrom the sickening sight, and continued my gallop. 

My pursuers were a good mile behind me. The sun had already sunk overthe crest of the cliffs, and I could just see the mounted savagesthrough the darkling gloom--still fallowing as fast as their horsescould gallop. In five minutes after, I had entered the gorge. Thetwilight continued no longer: in the canon it was night. I followed thestream upwards, keeping along near the bank. Thick darkness was overand around me; but the gleam of the water and its rippling sound servedto guide me on the path. I could not see any track--either of horses orwaggons--but I knew they had passed over the ground. There was a narrowstrip of bottom land thickly timbered; and an opening through the treesindicated the road that the waggons must have taken. I trusted thetrail to my horse. In addition to his keen instinct, he had beentrained to tracking; and with his muzzle projected forward anddownward--so that his lips almost touched the earth--he lifted the scentlike a hound. We could only make progress at a quick walk; but Iconsoled myself with the thought that my pursuers could go no faster. Seeing how easily I had ridden away from them, they might determine toabandon the pursuit--returning to revenge themselves upon myfellow-captives. 

About these my mind was filled with, bitter reflections; and strangeenough, my strongest sympathies were with. Sure-shot! I could not helpthinking that he had sacrificed himself to save me. There could be nodoubt of his having done so. He had been offered life, on sometraitorous condition, and could have lived. The Indian whom I hadhurled over the rocks, if still alive, would explain my escape. Thecunning savages would easily understand it. My brave comrade would takemy place upon the crucifix?

For Wingrove I had less fear. Surely love--even slighted love--wouldsave him from the sacrifice? Yet, after what had occurred, I had butlittle reason to hope even for him. I could think of but one chance ofrescuing them: to overtake the train, and prevail upon the escort toreturn. I wondered at the dragoons having abandoned the waggon, andleft the poor fellows who were with it to their fate! I could onlyexplain such conduct, by supposing that these had been far behind, andthat their disaster was still unknown to the people of the caravan. Thesix men who had fallen might have been the only ones along with thewaggon; and their firing, as they defended themselves, might not havebeen heard? The roar of the water in the canon might have drowned thereports of their guns; and, as I now listened to its deafening sound, Icould believe in this hypothesis. 

Indulging in such conjectures, I had groped my way some two or threemiles up the gorge, when I became sensible of a singular faintnessstealing over me. A chill crept through my frame--not like thatproduced by cold from without; but as if the blood was freezing in myveins! The feeling was accompanied by a sense of torpor and lassitude--like that experienced by one dropping to sleep in a snow-storm. I madean effort to rouse myself--thinking it was sleep that was oppressing me. It might well have been--since it was more than thirty hours since Ihad slept, and then only for a short while. It occurred to me that, bydismounting and walking for a distance, I might recover warmth andwakefulness. With this design, I alighted from my horse. Once upon theground, I discovered that I could not walk--that I could not even keepmy feet! My limbs tottered under me, as if I had been for monthsbed-rid. Only by holding on to my horse could I stand erect! Whatcould it mean? My Arab turned his face towards me, as if making thesame inquiry! I endeavoured to remount him, but could not. I wasunable even to clamber upon his back; and after an unsuccessful effort, desisted--still supporting myself against his body. Had he moved away, at the moment, I should have fallen. And I must have fallen--after mysenses left me. In the last gleam of consciousness, I rememberedstanding by the side of my horse. But I must have fallen: for whenthought returned, I found myself upon my back, stretched at full lengthalong the grass!

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN. 

PASSED BY THE PURSUIT. 

I must have fallen upon my back, or else turned upon it after falling. On opening my eyes, the sky was the first object that my glanceencountered. I saw only a strip of it, of dark-blue colour, bordered oneach side by black. I knew it was the sky by its twinkling stars; andthat the black borderings were the cliffs of the canon. By this Iremembered where I was, and the stars and darkness admonished me it wasstill night. There was hot air upon my face--as if some one was behindbreathing down upon me. I turned my head, and looked upward. A pair ofbrilliant eyes were glancing into mine. So confused were my senses, that it was some time before I made them out to be the eyes of my Arab. He was standing over me, with his muzzle close to my forehead. It washis breath I had felt upon my face. I could not tell how long I hadbeen entranced. I had no clue to the time of night, and I was not in aposition to consult the stars. I must have lain several hours, partlyin syncope, and partly asleep. It was fortunate I had a buffalo-robearound my body. I had found it lying upon the plain among the dead men;and had snatched it up, and tied it around my shoulders as I rode on. But for it, I might have perished in my slumber: since the night waschill, and I had neither covering on my back, nor blood in my veins, toresist the cold. It was the absence of the latter that had brought meto the ground. I had left most of my blood upon the butte. 

Sleep or time had revived me. I was able to get to my feet; and Iarose. I was still weak, and staggered like a lamb; but my senses weresufficiently clear; and I now recollected everything that hadtranspired. I was also conscious of the danger of remaining in thatplace; and it was this thought that induced me to get up--with theintention of going forward. 

I was strong enough to mount, and just strong enough to keep the seatupon my horse; but I was aware of the necessity of putting a widerdistance between myself and the Red-Hand before daylight should arrive;and I continued onward up the ravine. The trace was easily followed--more easily than when I first entered the canon. There was more light;and this must have been caused by a moon. I could see none--the cliffshindered me--but the strip of sky visible above the rocks showed thesheen of moonlight. 

I rode but slowly. Feeble though I was, I could have ridden faster, butI was proceeding with caution. Strange as it may seem, I was now payingmore regard to the front than the rear. I had a suspicion that mypursuers might be _ahead_ of me. I could hardly believe in their havingabandoned the pursuit, after so slight an effort. Too many of them hadfallen by my hand. They would scarce let me escape so easily, and withmy scalp untaken: I had ascertained that the trophy was still upon myhead. It was quite possible they had passed me. While endeavouring tomount my horse, I had drawn him from the path; and the place where I hadfound myself lying was behind some bushes, where I should have beenscreened from the eyes of any one riding along the track. In daylight Imight have been seen; but not then. At that hour the darkness wouldhave concealed me. And it _had_ concealed me, as I soon afterdiscovered. My suspicion that the pursuers had passed me proved themeans of saving me. But for the caution it had prompted me to observe, I should have ridden head to head against their horses! I had proceededabout a mile further, and was still advancing when my steed raised hishead horizontally, and gave utterance to a low snort. At the sameinstant, he stopped without any tightening of the rein! Above the soughof the stream, I heard noises. The intonation of the red man's voicewas easily recognised. There were Indians in front of me! Were theycoming or going? The voices grew louder as I listened--the speakerswere nearing me. 

My first thought was to glide behind the trees; but a glance showed methat these were not tall enough. They were mere bushes. They mighthave concealed the body of a man; but a horse standing up could not havebeen hidden behind them. For a moment I was undecided as to how Ishould act--till I bethought me of turning, and riding back to where Ihad lain. I was in the act of facing about, when through the sombrelight I observed a break in the cliff. It appeared to be a gap--theentrance of a lateral ravine. It offered a chance of concealment: sinceit was even darker than within the canon itself. I hesitated not aboutaccepting the shelter it promised; and, heading my horse into it, I roderapidly but silently forward. 

When fairly concealed under its shadowy gloom, I again halted andlistened. I heard the hoof-strokes of horses and the voices of men. Irecognised the deep guttural of the Arapahoes. A troop was riding past, going back towards the valley. They were those who had pursued me. Were these _all_ of my pursuers. There appeared to be only a smallparty--ten or a dozen horsemen. Others might have gone up the river, who had not yet returned. It was this doubt that caused me to hesitate;otherwise I should have ridden back into the canon, and kept on up thestream. But by doing so I might place myself between two parties of mypursuers, with no chance of retreating in either direction. Moreover, pickets might have been stationed along the path. To fall upon one ofthese would be fatal. Why not follow the lateral ravine? I might rideup that for a distance, and then leaving it, cross over to the caravantrace--above any point to which the pursuit might have been carried?

This plan appeared feasible; and, without delay, I adopted it. I rodeon up the gorge, which very much resembled that I had left--only thatthere was no water in it. It had not been always so: for my path hereand there ran over a channel of rocks, which indicated the bed of astream, now dry. I followed the ravine for a mile or more; and thenlooked for a path that would take me across to the caravan trail. Ilooked in vain. Stupendous cliffs rose on each side. I could not scalethem. I had no choice but to keep on up the ravine; but that would begoing at right angles to my proper course!

There was no alternative but to halt and wait for daylight. Indeed, Iwas too faint to ride further. Slight exertion fatigued me; and, nolonger in dread of immediate danger I deemed it more prudent to stop, and, if possible, gain strength by rest. I dismounted, gave my horse tothe grass; and, having wrapped myself in the warm robe, soon enteredupon the enjoyment of sleep--sweeter and more natural than theinvoluntary slumber in which I had been lately indulging. 

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT. 

THE TRACK OF THE MOCASSIN. 

The blue dawn of morning was glinting among the rocks when I awoke. Onthe crest of the cliff was a streak of amber-coloured light, thatbetokened the rising of the sun and warned me that it was time to bestirring. I had no toilet to make--no breakfast to eat: nothing to dobut mount my horse and move onward. I continued up the lateral ravine--since there was no path leading out from it; and to return to theHuerfano, would have been to ride back into the teeth of danger. Istill felt faint. Though less than twenty-four hours since I had eaten, I hungered acutely. Was there nothing I could eat? I lookedinquiringly around. It was a scene of sterility and starvation. Not asymptom of life--scarcely a sign of vegetation! Rocks, bare andforbidding, formed two parallel facades grinning at each other acrossthe gorge--their rugged features but little relieved by the mottling ofdark junipers that clung from their clefts. There appeared neither rootnor fruit that might be eaten. Only a chameleon could maintainexistence in such a spot!

I had scarcely made this reflection, when, as if to contradict it, theform of a noble animal became outlined before my eyes. Its colour, size, and proportions, were those of a stag of the red deer species; butits spiral horns proclaimed it of a different genus. These enabled meto identify it as the rare mountain-ram--the magnificent _ammon_, of theNorthern Andes. It was standing upon a salient point of the cliff--itsform boldly projected against the purple sky, in an attitude fixed andstatuesque. One might have fancied it placed there for embellishment--acharacteristic feature of that wild landscape. The scene would havebeen incomplete without it. From my point of observation it was fivehundred yards distant. It would have been equally safe at five: since Ihad no means of destroying it. I might easily have crept withinshot-range--since a grove of cotton-woods, just commencing where I hadhalted, extended up the bottom of the ravine. Under these I could havestalked, to the base of the cliff on which the animal stood--a sort ofangular promontory projecting into the gorge. This advantage onlyrendered the sight more tantalising: my gun was empty, and I had nomeans of reloading it. Was it certain the piece was empty? Why shouldthe Indian have believed it to be loaded? Up to this moment, I had notthought of examining it. I drew the ramrod, and inverted it into thebarrel. The head struck upon a soft substance. The screw stood fourfingers above the muzzle: the gun was charged! There was no cap uponthe nipple. There had been none! This accounted for the piece havingmissed fire. In all likelihood, I owed my life to the circumstance ofthe savage being ignorant of the percussion principle!

I was now indebted to another circumstance for a supply of caps. Thelocker near the heel of the stock had escaped the attention of theIndians. Its brass cover had passed for a thing of ornament. Onspringing it open the little caps of corrugated copper gleamed before myeyes--an abundance of them. I tapped the powder into the nipple;adjusted a cap; and, dismounting, set forth upon the stalk. Thespreading tops of the cotton-woods concealed me; and, crouching underthem, I made my approaches as rapidly as the nature of the ground wouldpermit. It grew damper as I advanced; and, presently, I passed pools ofwater and patches of smooth mud--where water had recently lain. It wasthe bed of an intermittent stream--a hydrographic phenomenon of frequentoccurrence in the central regions of North America. The presence ofwater accounted for that of the cotton-wood trees--a sure indication ofmoisture in the soil. 

The water was a welcome sight. I was suffering from thirst even morethan from hunger; and, notwithstanding the risk of losing my chance of ashot, I determined to stop and drink. I was creeping forward to theedge of one of the ponds, when a sight came under my eyes thatastonished me; and to such a degree, as to drive both thirst and hungerout of my thoughts--at least for the moment. In the margin of sandy mudextending along the edge of the water, appeared a line of tracks--thetracks of human feet! On crawling nearer, I perceived that they weremocassin-tracks, but of such tiny dimensions, as to leave no doubt as tothe sex of the individual who had made them. Clearly, they were theimprints of a woman's feet! A woman must have passed that way! AnIndian woman of course!

This was my first reflection; and almost simultaneous with it aroseanother half-interrogative conjecture: was it Su-wa-nee? No. The footwas too small for that of the forest maiden. I had a remembrance of thedimensions of hers. The tracks before my eyes were not over eightinches in length: and could only have been made by a foot slender, andof elegant shape. The imprint was perfect; and its clear outlinedenoted the light elastic tread of youth. It was a _young_ woman whohad made those footmarks. 

At first, I saw no reason to doubt that the tracks were those of someIndian girl. Their size would not have contradicted the supposition. Among the aboriginal belles of America, a little foot is the rule--alarge one the exception. I had tracked many a pair much smaller thanthose; but never had I seen the footprints of an Indian with the _toesturned out_; and such was the peculiarity of those now before me. Thisobservation--which I did not make till after some time had elapsed--filled me with astonishment, and something more. It was suggestive ofmany and varied emotions. The girl or woman who had made these trackscould never have been strapped to an Indian cradle. She must be white!

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE. 

A RIVAL STALKER. 

It was not by any conjuncture that I arrived at this conclusion. I wasquite confident that the footsteps were not those of a _squaw_--allinexplicable as was the contrary hypothesis. I observed that they werevery recent--of less than an hour's age. As I rose from regarding them, a new sign appeared on the same bed of sand--the footmarks of a wolf!No--I was deceived by resemblance. On nearer examination, they were notwolf-tracks I saw; but those of a dog, and evidently a large one. Thesewere also fresh like the woman's tracks--made doubtless at the sametime. The dog had accompanied the woman, or rather had been followingher: since a little further on, where both were in the same line, histrack was uppermost. 

There were two special reasons why this sign should astonish me: a_white_ woman in such a place, and _wearing moccasins_! But for thestyle of the _chaussure_, I might have fancied that the tracks werethose of some one who had strayed from the caravan. I might haveconnected them with _her_--ever uppermost in my thoughts. But--no. Small though they were, they were yet too large for those _mignon_ feet, well-remembered. After all, I _might_ be mistaken? Some dusky maidenmight have passed that way, followed by her dog? This hypothesis wouldhave removed all mystery, had I yielded to it. I could not: it wascontrary to my tracking experience. Even the dog was not Indian: theprints of his paws proclaimed him of a different race. 

My perplexity did not hinder me from quenching my thirst. The pain wasparamount; and after assuaging it, I turned my eyes once more towardsthe cliff. The wild ram had not stirred from his place. The nobleanimal was still standing upon the summit of the rock. He had not evenchanged his attitude. In all likelihood, he was acting as the sentinelof a flock, that was browsing behind him. The sun was falling fair uponhis body, and deepened the fern-red colour upon his flanks. I couldnote his full round eyes glistening under the golden beam. I was nearenough to bring him down; and, should the rifle prove to have beenproperly loaded, I was likely to have for my breakfast the choicestviand of the mountain region of America. I had raised my piece, sightedthe noble game, and was about to pull trigger, when, to my astonishment, the animal sprang off from the cliff; and, turning back downward, fellheavily into the gorge!

When I saw him pitching outward from the rock, I fancied he was makingone of those singular somersaults, frequently practised by the _ovisammon_ in descending the ledges of a cliff. But no. Had the descentbeen a voluntary one, he would have come down upon his huge elastichorns, instead of falling as he had done, with the dull sodden sound ofa lifeless body?

I perceived that the bighorn had ceased to live; and the report of agun--that rang through the gorge, and was still reverberating from thecliffs--told the cause of his death. Some hunter, stalking on the otherside, had taken the start, of me! White or red? Which fired the shot?If an Indian, my head would be in as much danger of losing its skin asthe sheep. If a white man, I might still hope for a breakfast ofbroiled mutton. Even a churl might be expected to share with a starvingman; but it was not the quarter in which to encounter a Christian ofthat kidney. It was the crack of a rifle. The red man rarely huntswith the rifle. The arrow is his favourite weapon for game. Notwithstanding the remoteness from civilisation, the probabilities werethat the hunter was white. He might be one of those attached to thecaravan; or, more likely, a _free_ trapper. I knew that upon severalhead tributaries of the Arkansas there were settlements of thesesingular men. 

From prudential considerations, I kept my place. Screened by thecotton-woods, I should have an opportunity of deciding the point, without my presence being suspected. If the hunter should prove to bean Indian, I could still retreat to my horse without being observed. Ihad not long to wait. I heard a noise, as of some one making waythrough the bushes. The moment after, a huge wolf-like animal rushedround the projecting angle of the cliff, and sprang upon the carcase ofthe bighorn. At the same instant a voice reached my ears--"Off there, Wolf! off, villain dog! Don't you see that the creature is killed--nothanks to you, sirrah?" Good heavens! it was the voice of a woman!

While I was yet quivering under the surprise produced by the silverytones, the speaker appeared before my eyes--a girl majesticallybeautiful. A face smooth-skinned, with a tinge of golden-brown--cheeksof purplish red--a nose slightly aquiline, with nostrils of spiralcurve--eyes like those of the Egyptian antelope--a forehead white andhigh, above bounded by a band of shining black hair, and surmounted by acoronet of scarlet plumes--such was the head that I saw rising above thegreen frondage of the cotton-woods! The body was yet hidden behind theleaves; but the girl just then stepped from out the bushes, and herwhole form was exhibited to my view--equally striking and picturesque. I need not say that it was of perfect shape--bust, body, and limbs allsymmetrical. A face like that described, could not belong to anungainly form. When nature designs beauty, it is rare that she does herwork by halves. Unlike the artists of the anatomic school, she makesthe model for herself--hence the perfect correspondence of its parts. And perhaps fairer form had nature never conceived. The dullestsculptor might have been inspired by its contemplation. 

The costume of the girl corresponded to the cast of her features. Aboutboth there was that air of wild picturesqueness, which we observe in artpaintings of the gipsy, and sometimes in the gipsy herself--for thosesirens of the green lanes have not all disappeared; and, but that sawthe snowy cone of Pike's Peak rising over the crest of the cliff, Imight have fancied myself in the Sierra Asturias, with a beautiful_gitana_ standing before me. The soft fawn-skin _tilma_, with its gaudybroidering of beads and stained quills--the fringed skirt and buskinedankles--the striped Navajo blanket slung scarf-like over her shoulders--all presented a true gipsy appearance. The plumed circlet upon the headwas more typical of Transatlantic costume; and the rifle carried by afemale hand was still another idiosyncracy of America. It was from thatrifle the report had proceeded, as also the bullet, that had laid lowthe bighorn! It was not a _hunter_ then who had killed the game; butshe who stood before me--a huntress--the Wild Huntress. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY. 

THE WILD HUNTRESS. 

No longer was it from fear that I held back; but a hesitancy springingfrom surprise mingled with admiration. The sight of so much beauty--grand as unexpected--was enough to unnerve one, especially in such aplace--and one to whose eye the female form had so long been a stranger. Su-wa-nee's I had seen only at a distance; and hers, to my sight, wasno longer beautiful. I hesitated to show myself--lest the sight of meshould alarm this lovely apparition, and cause her to take flight. Thethought was not unnatural--since the tricoloured pigments of black, red, and white were still upon my skin; and I must have presented the pictureof a chimney-sweep with a dining-plate glued upon his breast. In such aguise I knew that I must cut a ludicrous figure, and would have slippedback to the pool, and washed myself; but I dreaded to take my eyes fromthat beautiful vision, lest I might never look upon it again! In myabsence, she would be gone? I feared even then, that on seeing me shemight take flight: and I was too faint to follow her. For this reason, I stood silently gazing through my leafy covert, like one who watchesthe movements of some shy and beautiful bird. I almost dreaded tobreathe lest the sound might alarm her. I was planning, at the sametime, how I should initiate an interview. 

Her voice again reached me, as she recommenced scolding the dog: evenits chiding tones were sweet. She had approached, and stooped for amoment over the bighorn, as if to satisfy herself that the animal wasdead. Her canine companion did not appear to be quite sure of the fact:for he continued to spring repeatedly upon the carcass with open mouth, as if eager to devour it. 

"Off, off!" cried she, threatening the dog with the butt of her rifle. "You wicked Wolf! what has got into you? Have I not told you that thething is dead--what more do you want? Mind, sirrah!" continued she, shaking her finger significantly at the dog--"mind, my good fellow!_you_ had no part in the killing of it; and if you spoil the skin, youshall have no share in the flesh. You hear me? Not a morsel!"

Wolf appeared to understand the hint and retired. Impelled by hunger, Iaccepted the cue:

"You will not refuse a morsel to one who is starving?"

"Aha! who speaks?" cried the huntress, turning round with a glancerather of inquiry than alarm. "Down, Wolf!" commanded she, as the dogbounded forward with a growl. "Down, you savage brute! Don't you hearthat some one is starving? Ha! a negro! Poor devil! where can he havecome from, I wonder?"

Only my head was visible--a thick bush in front of me concealing mybody. The coat of char upon my face was deceiving her. 

"No, not a negro, " said I, stepping out and discovering my person--"nota negro, though I have been submitted to the treatment of one. "

"Ho! white, red, and black! Mercy on me, what a frightful harlequin!Ha, ha, ha!"

"My toilet appears to amuse you, fair huntress? I might apologise forit--since I can assure you it is not my own conception, nor is it to mytaste any more than--"

"You are a white man, then?" said she, interrupting me--at the same timestepping nearer to examine me. 

"I was, yesterday, " I replied, turning half round, to give her a sightof my shoulders, which the Indian artist had left untouched. "To-day, Iam as you see. "

"O heavens!" she exclaimed, suddenly changing her manner, "this red? Itis blood! You are wounded, sir? Where is your wound?"

"In several places I am wounded; but not dangerously. They are onlyscratches: I have no fear of them. "

"Who gave you these wounds?"

"Indians. I have just escaped from them. "

"Indians! What Indians?"

"Arapahoes. "

"Arapahoes! Where did you encounter them?"

The question was put in a hurried manner, and in a tone that betrayedexcitement. 

"On the Huerfano, " I replied--"by the Orphan butte. It was the band ofa chief known as the Red-Hand. "

"Ha! The Red-Hand on the Huerfano! Stranger! are you sure of this?"

The earnest voice in which the interrogatory was again put somewhatsurprised me. I answered by giving a brief and rapid detail of ourcapture, and subsequent treatment--without mentioning the names of mytravelling companions, or stating the object of our expedition. Indeed, I was not allowed to enter into particulars. I was hurried on byinterpellations from my listener--who, before I could finish thenarrative of my escape, again interrupted me, exclaiming in an excitedmanner:

"Red-Hand in the valley of the Huerfano! news for Wa-ka-ra!" After apause she hastily inquired: "How many warriors has the Red-Hand withhim?"

"Nearly two hundred. "

"Not more than two hundred?"

"No--rather less, I should say. "

"It is well--You say you have a horse?"

"My horse is at hand. "

"Bring him up, then, and come along with me!"

"But my comrades? I must follow the train, that I may be able to returnand rescue them?"

"You need not, for such a purpose. There is one not far off who can aidyou in that--better than the escort you speak of. If too late to savetheir lives, he may avenge their deaths for you. You say the caravanpassed yesterday?"

"Yesterday about noon. "

"You could not overtake it, and return in time. The Red-Hand would begone. Besides, you cannot get from this place to the trail taken by thecaravan, without going back by the canon; and there you might meet thosefrom whom you have escaped. You cannot cross that way: the ridge isimpassable. "

As she said this, she pointed to the left--the direction which I hadintended to take. I could see through a break in the bluff aprecipitous mountain spur running north and south--parallel with theravine I had been threading. It certainly appeared impassable--trendingalong the sky like the escarpment of some gigantic fortress. If thiswas true, there would be but little chance of my overtaking the escortin time. I had no longer a hope of being able to effect the rescue ofmy comrades. The delay, no doubt, would be fatal. In all likelihood, both Wingrove and Sure-shot had ere this been sacrificed to thevengeance of the Arapahoes, freshly excited by my escape. Only from asense of duty did I purpose returning: rather with the idea of beingable to avenge their deaths. 

What meant this mysterious maiden? Who possessed the power to rescue mycomrades from two hundred savages--the most warlike upon the plains?Who was he that could aid me in avenging them?

"Follow me, and you shall see!" replied the huntress, in answer to myinterrogatory. "Your horse! your horse! Hasten, or we shall be toolate. The Red-Hand in the valley of the Huerfano! Wa-ka-ra willrejoice at the news. Your horse! your horse!" I hastened back for myArab, and hurriedly led him up to the spot. 

"A beautiful creature!" exclaimed she, on seeing the horse; "no wonderyou were able to ride off from your captors. Mount!"

"And you?"

"I shall go afoot. But stay! time is precious. Can your steed carry usboth?"

"Undoubtedly he can. "

"Then it is better we should both ride. Half an hour is everything; andif the Red-Hand should escape--You mount first--be quick!"

It was not the time to be squeamish--even under the glance of theloveliest eyes. Taking the robe from my shoulders, I spread it over theback of my horse; and employing a piece of the laryette as a surcingle, I bound it fast. Into the improvised saddle I mounted--the girl, from arock, leaping upon the croup behind me. "You, Wolf!" cried she, apostrophising the dog; "you stay here by the game, and guard it fromthe _coyotes_. Remember! rascal! not a mouthful till I return. Now, stranger!" she continued, shifting closer to me, and clasping me roundthe waist, "I am ready. Give your steed to the road; and spare him not, as you value the lives of your comrades. Up the ravine lies our way. Ho! onward!"

The brave horse needed no spur. He seemed to understand that speed wasrequired of him; and, stretching at once into a gallop, carried us gailyup the gorge. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE. 

A QUEER CONVERSATION. 

Is other days, and under other circumstances, the touch of that roundarm, softly encircling my waist, might have caused the current of myveins to flow fast and fevered. Not so then. My blood was thin andchill. My soul recoiled from amatory emotions, or indulged in them onlyas a remembrance. Even in that hour of trial and temptation, my heartwas true to thee, Lilian! Had it been _thy_ arm thus wound around mywaist--had those eyes that glanced over my shoulder been blue, and thetresses that swept it gold--I might for the moment have forgotten theperil of my companions, and indulged only in the ecstasy of a selfishlove. But not with her--that strange being with whom chance had broughtme into such close companionship. For her I had no love-yearnings. Even under the entwining of that beautiful arm, my sense was as cold, asif I had been in the embrace of a statue. My thoughts were not there. 

My captive comrades were uppermost in my mind. Her promise had given mehope that they might yet be rescued. How? and by whom? Whither were wegoing? and whose was the powerful hand from which help was to come? Iwould have asked; but our rapid movement precluded all chance ofconversation. I could only form conjectures. These pointed to whitemen--to some rendezvous of trappers that might be near. I knew therewere such. How else in such a place could _her_ presence be accountedfor? Even that would scarce explain an apparition so peculiar as thatof this huntress-maiden! Other circumstances contradicted the idea thatwhite men were to be my allies. There could be no band of trappersstrong enough to attack the dark host of Red-Hand--at least with thechance of destroying it? She knew the strength of the Arapahoes. I hadtold her their number, as I had myself estimated it--nearly two hundredwarriors. It was rare that a party of white hunters mustered above adozen men. Moreover, she had mentioned a name--twice mentionedit--"Wa-ka-ra. " No white was likely to bear such an appellation. Theword was undoubtedly Indian--especially as the huntress had pronouncedit. 

I waited for an opportunity to interrogate her. It offered at length--where the path ran circuitously among loose rocks, and it was impossibleto proceed at a rapid pace I was about initiating a dialogue, when I wasforestalled in my intention. 

"You are an officer in the army!" said my companion, halfinterrogatively. "How should you have known that?" answered I in somesurprise--perceiving that her speech was rather an assertion than aquestion. "Oh! easily enough; your uniform tells me. "

"My uniform?"

"Yes. Have you not still a portion of it left?" inquired she, with astriking simplicity. "I see a mark here where lace stripes have been. That denotes an officer--does it not? The Arapahoes have stripped themoff, I suppose?"

"There was lace--true--you have guessed correctly. I have been in thearmy. "

"And what was bringing you out here? On your way to the gold countries, I dare say?"

"No, indeed, not that. "

"What, then, may I ask?"

"Only a foolish freak. It was a mere tour without much purpose. Iintended soon to return to the States. "

"Ah! you intend returning? But you say you _were following_ thecaravan--you and your three fellow-travellers! Why were you not _with_it? Would it not have been safer?" I hesitated to make reply. Myinterrogator continued:

"It is not usual for so small a party to pass over the prairies alone. There is always danger from the Indians. Sometimes from whites too! Ahme! there are white savages--worse savages than red--far worse--farworse!"

These strange speeches, with the sigh that accompanied them, caused meto turn my head, and steal a glance at the countenance of my companion. It was tinged with melancholy, or rather deeply impressed with it. She, too, suffering from the past? In this glance I again remarked what hadalready attracted my notice--a resemblance to Lilian Holt! It was ofthe slightest, and so vague, that I could not tell in what it lay. Certainly not in the features--which were signally unlike those ofLilian; and equally dissimilar was the complexion. Were I to place theresemblance, I should say that I saw it in the cast of the eye, andheard it in the voice. The similitude of tone was striking. LikeLilian's, it was a voice of that rich clarion sound with which beautifulwomen are gifted--those having the full round throat so proudlypossessed by the damsels of Andalusia. Of course, reflected I, thelikeness must be accidental. There was no possibility of its beingotherwise; and I had not a thought that it was so. I was simplyreminded of looks and tones that needed not that to recall them. Thesouvenirs so excited hindered me from making an immediate reply. 

"Your observations are somewhat singular?" I remarked at length. "Surely you have not verified them by your own experience?"

"I have. Yes--and too sadly, ever to think them otherwise than just. Ihave had little reason to love those of my own colour--that is, if I amto consider myself a white. "

"But you are so, are you not?"

"Not altogether. I have Indian blood in my veins. "

"Not much, I should fancy?"

"Enough to give me Indian inclinings--and, I fear, also a dislike tothose of my own complexion. "

"Indeed?"

"Perhaps less from instinct than experience. Ah! stranger! I havereason. Is it not enough that all have proved false--father, lover, husband?"

"Husband! You are married, then?"

"No. "

"You have been?"

"No. "

"Why did you say _husband_!"

"A husband only in name. I have been married, but never a wife; wedded, but never--"

The speaker paused. I could feel her arm quivering around my waist. She was under the influence of some terrible emotion!

"Yours must be a strange story?" I remarked, with a view of inducingher to reveal it. "You have greatly excited my curiosity; but I knowthat I have no claim to your confidence. "

"You may yet win it. "

"Tell me how. "

"You say you intend returning to the States. I may have a commissionfor you; and you shall then hear my story. It is not much. Only asimple maiden, whose lover has been faithless--her father untrue to hispaternal trust--her husband a cheat, a perjured villain. "

"Your relationships have been singularly unfortunate; but your wordsonly mystify me the more. I should give much to know who you are, andwhat strange chance has led you hither?"

"Not now--time presses. Your comrades, if still alive, are in peril. That is your affair; but mine is that the Red-Hand may not escape. Ifhe do, there's one will grieve at it--one to whom I owe life andprotection. "

"Of whom do you speak?"

"Of the mortal enemy of Red-Hand and his Arapahoes--of Wa-ka-ra. "

"Wa-ka-ra?"

"Head chief of the Utahs--you shall see him presently. Put your horseto his speed! We are close to the camp. Yonder are the smokes risingabove the cliff! On stranger! on!"

As directed, I once more urged my Arab into a gallop. It was not forlong. After the horse had made about a hundred stretches, the canonsuddenly opened into a small but beautiful _vallon_--treeless and turfedwith grass. The white cones, appearing in serried rows near its upperend, were easily identified as an encampment of Indians. "Behold!"exclaimed my companion, "the tents of the Utahs!"

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO. 

WA-KA-RA. 

The lodges were aligned in double row, with a wide avenue between them. At its head stood one of superior dimensions--the wigwam of the chief. They were all of conical shape; a circle of poles converging at theirtops, and covered with skins of the buffalo, grained and bleached to thewhiteness of wash-leather. A slit in the front of each tent formed theentrance, closed by a list of the hide that hung loosely over it. Nearthe top of each appeared a triangular piece of skin, projecting outwardfrom the slope of the side, and braced, so as to resemble an invertedsail of the kind known as _lateen_. It was a wind-guard to aid thesmoke in its ascent. On the outer surface of each tent was exhibitedthe biography of its owner--expressed in picture-writing. Moreespecially were his deeds of prowess thus recorded--encounters with thecouguar and grizzly bear--with Crows, Cheyennes, Pawnees, andArapahoes--each under its suitable symbol. The great marquee of thechief was particularly distinguished with this kind of emblematicalemblazonment--being literally covered with signs and figures, like thepatterns upon a carpet. No doubt, one skilled in the interpretation ofthese Transatlantic hieroglyphs, might have read from that copiouscipher many a tale of terrible interest. In front of the tents stoodtall spears, with shields of _parfleche_ leaning against them; also longbows of _bois d'arc (Maclura aurantica_), and shorter ones of horn--thehorns of the mountain-ram. Skin-quivers filled with arrows, hungsuspended from the shafts; and I observed that, in almost every groupingof these weapons, there was a gun--a rifle. This did not much astonishme. I knew that, to the Utah, the medicine weapon is no longer amystery. Here and there, hides freshly flayed were pegged out upon thegrass, with squaws kneeling around them, engaged in the operation ofgraining. Girls, with water-tight baskets, poised upon the crown of thehead, were coming from or going towards the stream. Men stood ingroups, idly chatting, or squatted upon the turf, playing at games ofchance. Boys were busy at their bow-practice; and still youngerchildren rolled their naked bodies over the grass, hugging half-grownpuppies--the companions of their infant play. Troops of dogs trottedamong the tents; while a mixed herd of horses, mules, sheep, goats, andasses browsed the plain at a little distance from the camp. Such wasthe _coup d'oeil_ that presented itself to my gaze, as we rode up to theUtah encampment. 

As might be expected, our arrival caused a change in the occupation ofeverybody. The dicers leaped to their feet--the squaws discontinuedtheir work, and flung their scrapers upon the skins. "_Ti-ya_!" was theexclamation of astonishment that burst from hundreds of lips. Childrenscreamed, and ran hiding behind their dusky mothers; dogs growled andbarked; horses neighed; mules hinnied; asses brayed; while the sheep andgoats joined their bleating to the universal chorus. "On to the chief'stent!" counselled my companion, gliding to the ground, and preceding meon foot, "Yonder! the chief himself--Wa-ka-ra!"

An Indian of medium size and perfect form, habited in a tunic ofembroidered buckskin, leggings of scarlet cloth, head-dress of colouredplumes, with crest that swept backward and drooped down to his heels. Agaily striped _serape_, suspended scarf-like over the left shoulder, with a sash of red China crape wound loosely around the waist, completeda costume more picturesque than savage. A face of noble type, with aneye strongly glancing, like that of an eagle; an expression of featuresin no way fierce, but, like the dress, more gentle than savage; acountenance, in repose mild--almost to meekness. Such saw I. 

Had I known the man who stood before me, I might have remarked howlittle this latter expression corresponded with his real character. Notthat he was cruel, but only famed for warlike prowess. I was face toface with the most noted war-chief of America: whose name, though new tome, was at that moment dreaded from Oregon to Arispe, from the banks ofthe Rio Bravo to the sierras of Alta California. It was _Walker_--thewar-chief of the Utahs--the friend of the celebrated trapper, whose namehe had adopted; and which, by the modification of Utah orthoepy, hadbecome _Wa-ka-ra_. 

An odd individual--a very odd one--was standing beside the chief as Irode up. He appeared to be a Mexican, to judge by his costume and thecolour of his skin. The former consisted of _jaqueta_ and _calzoneros_of dark-coloured velveteen, surmounted by a broad-brimmed _sombrero_ ofblack glaze; while the complexion, although swarthy, was several shadeslighter than that of the Indian. He was a man of diminutive stature, and with a countenance of a serio-comical cast. An expression of thiskind pervaded his whole person--features and figure included--and washeightened by the presence of a singular accoutrement that hungsuspended from his leathern waist-belt. It was a piece of timber someeighteen inches in length, and looking like the section of a boot-tree, or the half of a wooden milk-yoke. At the thick end was a concavity orsocket, with straps, by which it was attached to the belt; and thissingular apparatus, hanging down over his thigh, added to the grotesqueappearance of its owner. The little Mexican had all the cut of a"character;" and he was one, as I afterwards ascertained. He was noother than the famous Pedro Archilete--or "Peg-leg, " as his comradescalled him--a trapper of Taos, and one of the most expert and fearlessof that fearless fraternity. 

The odd accoutrement which had puzzled me was nothing more than anartificial leg! It was an implement, however, he only used uponoccasions--whenever the natural one--the ankle of which had been damagedby some accident--gave out through the fatigue of a march. At othertimes he carried the wooden leg, as I first saw it, suspended from hisbelt!

His presence in the Indian encampment was easily accounted for. He wasin alliance with their chief: for the Utahs were at that time _en paz_with the settlements of the Taos Valley; and the Spanish trappers andtraders went freely among them. Peg-leg had been on a trappingexpedition to the Parks; and having fallen in with the Utahs, had becomethe guest of Wa-ka-ra. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE. 

PEG-LEG. 

"The huntress has returned soon?" said the chief, interrogatively, asthe girl glided up to him. "She brings strange game!" added he, with asmile. "Who is the young warrior with the white circle upon his breast?He is a pale-face. It is not the custom of our white brothers to adornthemselves in such fashion?"

"The painting is not his, " replied the girl. "It has been done by thehands of his enemies--by red men. The white circle was designed for amark, at which many bullets have been fired. The red streaks you seeare blood, that has streamed from wounds inflicted on the stranger'sbody! When Wa-ka-ra shall know who caused that blood to flow, he willhasten to avenge it. "

"If it be the wish of the white huntress, Wa-ka-ra will avenge theblood--even though his own people may have spilled it. Speak, Ma-ra-nee! You say that red men have done this--were they Utahs?"

"No; but the enemies of the Utahs. "

"The Utahs have many enemies--on the north, south, east, and west theyhave foes. Whence comes the stranger? and who has been spilling hisblood?"

"From the east--from the _Arapahoes_. "

"Ugh!" exclaimed the chief, with a start, his countenance suddenlybecoming clouded with an angry expression. "Arapahoes! Where has thepale-face encountered the Arapahoes?"

"On the Huerfano. "

"Good; the white huntress brings news that will gladden the hearts ofthe Utah warriors! Arapahoes on the Huerfano! who has seen them there?"The huntress replied by pointing to me. "He has been their captive, "she added, "and has just escaped from them. He can guide Wa-ka-ra totheir camp, where the Utah chief will find his deadliest enemy--Red-Hand. "

At the mention of this name, the cloud that was gathering upon the browof the Utah chief became darker by several shades, and the mildexpression was no longer observable. In its place was a look of fierceresolve, blended with glances that spoke a savage joy. Some old andterrible resentment was rekindled by the name--with a hope, no doubt, ofits being gratified?

The chief now entered upon a series of interrogatories directed tomyself. He spoke English--thanks to his trapper associations: and itwas in this language he had been conversing with the huntress. Hisinquiries were directed to such particulars as might put him inpossession of the necessary knowledge for an attack upon the Arapahoes. As concisely as possible, I made known their position and numbers--withother circumstances calculated to aid in the design. The account I gaveseemed to gratify him. As soon as our dialogue was ended, I had thesatisfaction to hear him declare his intention of proceeding at once tothe valley of the Huerfano! To me it was joyful news: my comrades mightyet be rescued from the hands of the Arapahoes?

"Ma-ra-nee!" said he, again addressing himself to the huntress, "conductthe stranger to your tent! Give him food. And you, _Cojo_!" hecontinued, turning to the little Mexican, "you are skilled in medicine--look to his wounds! He can repose while we are preparing. Ho! soundthe signal of _assembly_! Summon our braves to the war-dance!"

The last words were addressed to an Indian who was standing close behindhim. Quickly succeeding the order, the notes of a bugle burst upon theair--strange sounds in an Indian camp! But the white man's music wasnot the only sign of civilised life to be observed among the tents ofthe Utahs. The guns and pistols--the spurs, lances, and saddles--theshakos and helmets--all spoke of the spoiled _presidios_ on the Mexicanfrontier; while fair-skinned _doncellas_ of Spanish race were seenmingling with the copper-coloured squaws--aiding them in their domesticduties--captives to all appearance contented with their captivity! Noneof this was new to me. I had witnessed similar scenes in the land ofthe Comanche. They are of daily occurrence along the whole frontier ofSpanish America: where the red man constantly encroaches--reclaiming thecountry of his ancestors, wrested from him three centuries ago by thecupidity of the _Conquistadores_. 

Upon the side of the Indian now lies the strength--if not in numbers--atleast in courage and war-prowess. The horse he once dreaded has becomehis dearest friend; and he can manage him with a skill scarcely equalledby his pale-faced adversary. The lance and fire-weapon are in hishands; the spirit-thunder no longer appals him: he knows its origin andnature, and uses it in the accomplishment of a terrible retaliation! Onthe northern continent, Utah and Yaqui, Kiowa and Comanche, Apache andNavajo, have all proved their superiority over the degenerateddescendants of Cortez: as in the south have Cuncho and Cashibo, Goajiraand Auracanian, over those of the ruthless Pizarro. The red man nolonger goes to war as a mere savage. He has disciplined his strengthinto a perfect strategy; and possesses a military system as complete asthat of most civilised nations. The Comanche cavalry charges in line, and can perform evolutions to the call of the bugle! So can the Utah, as I had evidence at that moment. Before the trumpet-notes had ceasedto reverberate from the rocks, five hundred warriors had secured theirhorses, and stood beside them armed and ready to mount. A regiment ofregular dragoons could not have responded to "Boots and saddles" withgreater expedition!

Peg-leg took possession of me. "Senor Pintado!" said he, speaking inSpanish, and after having examined my wounds, "the best medicine for youwill be your breakfast; and while your _conpaisana_ is preparing it, youcan come with me, and have a little water thrown over you. Thispainting does not improve your looks; besides, if it get into yourwounds, they will be all the more difficult to make a cure of. _Nosvamos_!"

The huntress had retired to a tent that stood near that of the chief, and a little to the rear of it. I followed the Mexican, who, in ahobbling gait, proceeded towards the stream. The cold bath, assisted bysome Taos brandy from the gourd _xuage_ of the trapper, soon restored mystrength; and the hideous pigment, lathered with the bruised roots ofthe _palmilla_--the soap-plant of the New Mexicans, soon disappearedfrom my skin. A few slices of the _oregano_ cactus applied to mywounds, placed them in a condition to heal with a rapidity almostmiraculous; for such is the curative power of this singular plant. MyMexican _medico_ was yet more generous, and furnished me with a handsomeNavajo blanket, which served as a complete covering for my shoulders. 

"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed he, as he tendered the garment, "take it, _Americano_! You maybe able to repay me when you have recovered yourpossible-sack from the Arapahoes. _Mira_!" he added, pointing towardsthe tents--"your breakfast is ready: yonder the _senorita_ is callingyou. Take heed, _hombre_! or her eyes may cause you a more dangerouswound than any of those you have received from the bullets of theArapahoes. _Vaya_!"

I resisted an inclination to make inquiries: though the hint of the Taostrapper half furnished me with an excuse. My "countrywoman, " he hadcalled her. No doubt he knew more of her history; but I questioned himnot. Remembering her promise, I had hopes that I might soon learn itfrom her own lips. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR. 

A BEAUTIFUL HOSTESS. 

"Aha, stranger!" said she, as I approached the tent, "he has alteredyour appearance wonderfully. Oh! you are not so frightful now. Comein! Here is _pinole_, and a little broiled goat's flesh. I am sorry Idid not bring some of the wild sheep. It is most excellent; but in myhaste I did not think of it. Bread I cannot give you: we never have ithere. "

"I have been accustomed to ruder fare than this, " said I, accepting theproffered viands, and without further ceremony, seating myself todiscuss them. 

There was an interval of silence, during which I continued eating. Onceor twice, my hostess went out, returning again to see if anything waswanted. The warlike preparations going on outside appeared greatly tointerest her; and I thought she regarded them with impatience, or as ifanxious about the event. 

Who or what was the object of this solicitude? Wa-ka-ra? In whatrelationship stood she to the chief? A captive she could scarcely be:else would she not have been permitted to stray so far from theencampment? His wife? The separate tent, as also the style used by theUtah in addressing her, negatived the idea. What then? I longed tohear the history of this wild huntress; but the opportunity had not yetarrived. 

"Ah!" said she, returning once more within the tent, "I fear they willbe too late. The red post is only just now erected; and the war-dancemay last for an hour. It is a useless ceremony--only a superstition. The chief himself does not believe in it; but his braves will not go tobattle without performing it. Hark! they are commencing the chaunt!"

I caught the low monotone of many voices, gradually rising and swellinginto a prolonged chorus. At intervals, one was heard speaking in solo:as if proclaiming some distinguished deed, to incite the warriors toemulation. Then followed a clangour of yells, and loud whoops, breathing menace and revenge. 

"It is the war-song that accompanies their dance, " added she. "You mayrest till it is finished. Then you must be ready: they will ride off assoon as the ceremony is over. "

She flung herself on one of the buffalo-robes that covered the floor ofthe tent; and half seated, half reclining, appeared to reflect. Theattitude displayed a feminine form of magnificent outlines; and with aface dazzlingly beautiful, this singular woman presented a picturesomething more than attractive. 

"Wa-ka-ra must love her?" thought I. 

As I made this reflection, I again observed the melancholy expressionupon her countenance; and once more the resemblance to her of whom I wasthinking! My interest in the beautiful huntress was every momentaugmenting. I felt an indescribable yearning to hear the story of hermisfortunes: for in no other light could I regard the situation in whichI had found her. 

"You have promised to tell me of yourself?" said I, reminding her ofwhat she had said. 

"I shall keep my promise--upon the condition, of which I have forewarnedyou. "

"Name it then--if not impossible, I am ready to accept it. "

"It is not impossible--though it may tax your generosity more than youexpect. You have said that you intend returning to the States. _Willyou take me with, you_?" A start must have betrayed my astonishment atthe unexpected request. 

"Willingly, " I replied; "but now--I fear--it is impossible. "

"Your journey is not ended? Is that what you mean?"

"Alas! I know not when or where it may end. "

"That is strange! But you intend to go back some time? Till then, letme be your travelling companion?"

The proposal left me for the moment without a word to say. "Oh, do notrefuse me!" continued she, in an appealing tone; "I will wait upon you;I will hunt for you--anything, but longer I cannot stay here. With alltheir kindness--and they have been kind, in their own rude fashion--Icannot remain. I long for the society of civilised beings. O stranger!I cannot tell you how I long to see!"--She hesitated. 

"Whom?"

I asked in expectation of hearing a name. "A sister--a sweet gentlesister, who loved me as her own life--whom I loved more than my life. Oh! not till we were parted knew I the strength of that love. "

"How long since you have seen this sister?"

"Six months ago, I left her--deceived by a villain, I left her. Sixyears it has seemed! Oh! I cannot endure this savage life. Theyhonour me--they give me all the hospitality in their power--but I am nothappy. Stranger, say you will relieve me from this terrible existence?Say you will take me with you?"

"I freely promise it, if it be your desire. But what of these? Willthey--will _he_ consent?"

"Who?"

"Wa-ka-ra. "

"Yes--yes! He has said I may go, whenever an opportunity should offer. Brave chief! he has nobly kept his word to him who is now no more. "

"To whom?"

"To him who saved my life--to him who saved me--Ah! see, the chiefapproaches! the war-song is ended. At another time, I shall tell youall; but not now. We must haste, or the warriors will be gone. "

"Surely _you_ do not intend to accompany us?"

"The women follow at a distance, to take care of the wounded. I go withthem. "

The voice of Wa-ka-ra, calling to me to join him and his warriors, putan end to a dialogue, that had done but little to illustrate the storyof the strange personage by my side. If possible, I was more mystifiedthan ever. But it was not a time to be tempted by the lure of an idlecuriosity, however interesting the theme. The perilous situation of myold comrades came once more vividly before my mind. The thoughtrecalled me to my duty; and, hurrying from the presence of thatbeautiful being--whom I hoped soon to behold again--I leaped upon theback of my horse; and joined the Utah warriors, as they swept in fullgallop from out the lines of their encampment. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE. 

EFFECTING THE SURROUND. 

The ride was rough and rapid. Notwithstanding the superiority of mysteed, it was as much as I could do to keep pace with my new allies--whose horses, used to all sorts of ground, went gliding along the unevenpaths, as if they had been graded roads. Through tangled bushes theyscrambled without stay, over sharp and slippery rocks--their unshodhoofs rendering them sure-footed as mountain sheep. Down the gorge layour route; and paths, over which I had almost feared to walk my horse, were now passed in a quick continuous gallop. We soon reached the sceneof my encounter with the huntress. The dog still kept sentry over thegame. Couchant by the body of the bighorn, he only growled as thecavalcade swept past. No one stopped to relieve him, of his charge. Ona war expedition the chase is universally neglected. Even its spoilsare spurned. Hunger is supposed to beget prowess, as it sharpens thewits; and the savage fights best upon an empty stomach. 

The hurried movements of the Indians--the eagerness each one exhibitedto press forward--proved how earnest they were on this expedition. Itwas not my affair that was stimulating them to such speed. A tribalhostility of long standing--older than the warriors themselves--existedbetween Utah and Arapaho. Between the bands of Wa-ka-ra and Red-Handthe hostile inheritance had increased until it had reached the maximumof the most deadly _vendetta_. This will account for the hot haste withwhich we hurried on--for the universal excitement that prevailed in theranks of my Utah allies. They knew that they outnumbered their enemies. They already exulted in the anticipation of a grand _coup_. 

For all that, they were not rushing recklessly into battle. The Utahchieftain was too skilled a soldier. I perceived that he was actingupon a preconceived plan; and his strategy was soon made known to me. It was that of the "surround. " The band was to break up into fourdivisions of nearly equal numerical strength. The first, under Wa-ka-rahimself, was to go round by the bluffs; and, having worked its way intothe lower canon, would enter the plain from that direction. Should theArapahoes attempt to retreat towards the Arkansas, this party couldintercept them. A second division--also keeping above the bluffs--wasto make to a point nearly opposite the butte; where, by a ravine knownto the Indians, a descent could be made into the valley of the Huerfano. A third was to seek its station upon the opposite side--where a similardefile led down to the plain; while the remaining warriors were to moveforward by the upper canon, and halt at its mouth--until the other threeparties were known to have reached their respective places. 

At a signal agreed upon, all four divisions were to move forward at arapid gallop, and close in upon the enemy. The first party was to givethe cue: as it had furthest to go; and, by the time it could reach itsdestination, the others would be ready. A smoke was to be the signalfor charging forward. The plan was well conceived; and if it shouldprove that the Arapahoes were still by the butte, a fight _a l'outrance_might be looked for as the certain result. They would have noalternative but fight. 

The execution of the movement was soon entered upon. Near the placewhere I had passed the last hours of the night, a side ravine--which, inthe darkness I had not observed--sloped up out of the gorge. By canonsand deep defiles the whole face of the country was cut up in this_bi-pinnate_ fashion--every pass of it being well-known to the Utahs. Hence their confidence in being able to effect the surround of theirenemies, who were less familiar with this region; and who must have beentempted thither by the passage of the train. 

Up the lateral ravine rode Wa-ka-ra with his dusky warriors; while thesecond division, intended to take station on the bluff, defiled by thesame track, but more slowly. The rest of us kept on down the gorge. 

On reaching the main canon, the party destined for the opposite bluffseparated from the other; and proceeded circuitously by a branch ravinethat opened to the upper plain. 

The fourth and last division rode direct down the bank of the river--upon the path by which I had been pursued. This division was in chargeof the second chief; and to it was I myself assigned--with Peg-leg, alsoa volunteer, as my immediate companion. The trapper had himself someold scores to settle with the Arapahoes; and appeared as eager for thefight as any Utah in the tribe. 

Apprehensive of falling in with some straggling pursuers of thepreceding night, we moved forward with caution. The sub-chief was anold warrior, whose scars and grizzled hair betokened experience of manya hostile encounter, and no doubt many a cunning stratagem. Scouts weresent in advance; and these, returning from time to time, signalled thatthe path was clear. Advancing in this fashion, we at length reached theembouchure of the canon, and halted within its gloomy shadow. 

As yet not an Arapaho had been seen: but, on climbing to a ledge ofrocks, I had the satisfaction to perceive that these brigands were stillby the butte. I saw not them, but their horses--the _cavallada_ beingalmost in the position in which I had left it! From this it wasevident, that they had returned from the pursuit: had abandoned italtogether, and given their steeds to the grass. Only a few of the menwere in sight--moving about among the fires, that still burned upon theplain; but the strength of the _cavallada_ told that the others werethere--no doubt, concealed from our view by the interposed mass of themound. I saw the waggon at its base--the white tilt conspicuous againstthe dark-green foliage of the cedars. But my eyes dwelt not upon this. In rapid glance, they were carried to the summit. 

The crucifix was still there. I could trace its timbers--its uprightand horizontal beams--though not distinctly. I knew what was renderingtheir outlines indistinct. There was a body upon the cross--the body ofa man. It was that which interrupted the regularity of the lines. Thetimbers were between me and the body--for I viewed it from behind--andat such a distance, I could not have told who was the crucified man, even had he been facing me. Wingrove or Sure-shot--one or the other. Of that much I was certain. I could make out that the man was naked--just as I had been myself: I saw his white skin glistening along eachside of the upright post. 

While gazing upon it, I heard the report of a musket. Nearly at thesame instant, a little blue-coloured cloud was ascending into the air. It rose from behind the butte; and was easily recognisable as smokeproduced by the discharge of a gun. The savages had returned to theircruel sport. Too clearly did I comprehend the signs of that fiendishexhibition. After regarding the crucifix for awhile, I noted acircumstance that enabled me to decide which of my comrades wasundergoing the terrible ordeal. To a certainty, Sure-shot was thesufferer. The Red-Hand had fulfilled his threat; and my brave preserverwas now promoted to my place. The circumstance that guided me to thisknowledge was sufficiently definite. I could tell it was Sure-shot byhis height. I remembered that my own crown scarcely reached the top ofthe upright post. That of him now enduring the torture rose above it--by the head. Under the bright sunbeam, there was a sheen of yellowhair. That of Wingrove would have appeared dark. Beyond doubt, Sure-shot was the martyr now mounted upon that dread cross!

I viewed the spectacle with feelings not to be envied. My soul chafedat the restraint, as it burned with bitter indignation against thesedemons in human form. I should have rushed forward to stay thesacrifice, or, if too late, to satisfy the vengeance it called forth;but I was restrained by reflecting on the impotency of the act. Theprudent chief who commanded the Indians would not move, till thesmoke-signal should be given; and videttes had climbed far up on thecliff, to watch for and announce it. It was not anticipated that weshould have long to wait. Our party had moved slowly down the defile;and the time consumed in our advance was considerable--almost enough tohave enabled the others to get to their respective stations. Thisthought--along with my experience of the ball-practice of theArapahoes--in some measure reconciled me to the delay. If he upon thecross was still living, his chances of escape were scarcelyproblematical. Another shot or two from such marksmen would be neitherhere nor there. If the unfortunate man were already dead, then was thedelay of _less_ consequence: we should still be in time to avenge him. But he was _not_ dead. The evidence that he was living was before myeyes; though, in the confusion of the moment, I had no sooner perceivedit. Above the top of the post appeared the head held stiffly upright. This proved that the body still lived. Had it been otherwise, the headwould have been drooping?

CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX. 

THE HISTORY OF THE HUNTRESS. 

I had just made these observations as the Mexican clambered up the rock, and took stand by my side. 

"_Hijo de Dios_!" exclaimed he, as his eyes fell upon the cross, "_lacrucifixion_! What a conception for savages! _Mira_!" he continued, asanother white cloud puffed out from behind the sloping side of themound, and the report of a musket came booming up the valley, "_Santissima_! they are firing at the unfortunate!"

"Yes, " said I; "they are playing with one of my comrades, as they didyesterday with myself. "

"Ah, _mio amigo_! that is an old game of the Arapahoes. They used topractise it with their arrows, and for mere sport. Now that they havetaken to guns, I suppose they combine instruction with amusement, as thebooks say. _Carrambo_! what cruel brutes they are! They have no morehumanity than a grizzly bear. God help the poor wretch that falls intotheir clutches! Their captive women they treat with a barbarity unknownamong other tribes. Even beauty, that would soften a savage of anyother sort, is not regarded by these brutal Arapahoes. Only think ofit! They were about to treat in this very fashion the beautiful_Americana_--the only difference being that they had strapped her to atree instead of a crucifix. _Carrai-i_!"

"The beautiful Americana?"

"_Yes_--she who brought you to the camp. "

"What! She in the hands of the Arapahoes?"

"_Sin duda_; it was from them she was taken. "

"When, and where? How, and by whom?"

"_Hola! hombre_--four questions at once! _Muy bien_! I can answerthem, if you give me time. To the first, I should say about six monthsago. To the second, near the Big Timbers, on the Arkansas. My reply tothe third will require more words; and before giving it, I shall answerthe fourth by saying that the girl was taken from the Rapahoes by DonJose. "

"Don Jose--who is Don Jose?"

"Oh! perhaps you would know him by his American name--Oaquer?"

"Walker, the celebrated trapper? Joe Walker?"

"The same, _amigo_. Oaquara, the Utahs pronounce it. As you perceive, their young chief is named so, and after him. The trapper and he weresworn friends--brothers--or more like father and son: since Don Jose wasmuch the older. "

"_Were_ friends. Are they not so still?"

"_Valga me dios_! No. That is no longer possible. Don Jose has goneunder--was rubbed out more than three months ago, and by these veryRapahoes! That is why your fair _conpaisana_ is now with the Utahs. The old trapper left her to his namesake Oaquara--under whose protectionshe has been ever since. "

"He has been true to his trust? He _has_ protected her?" Under theinfluence of singular emotions did these questions escape me. 

"_Seguramente, amigo_!" replied the Mexican, with an ingenuousnesscalculated to allay my unpleasant fancies, "the Utah chief is a noblefellow--_un hombre de bien_--besides, he would have done anything forhis old friend--whose death greatly grieved him. That is just why yousee him here in such haste. It was not to avenge your wrongs that theydanced their war-measure--but the death of Don Jose. All the same toyou, however: since your _companeros_ are likely to have the advantageof it. As for the Americana, " continued he, before I had time to makerejoinder, "_Virgen santissima_! such a maiden was never seen in theseparts. Such a shot! Not a marksman in the mountains could match withher, except Don Jose himself, who taught her; and as for hunting--_lalinda cazadora_! she can steal upon the game like a couguar. Ah! shecan protect herself. She _has_ done so. But for her spirit and rifle, the Red-Hand would have ruined her. "

"But how? you have not told me--"

"True, _cavallero_! I have yet to answer number three. _Bueno_! As Isaid, it was near the Big Timbers, where she got into the hands of theArapahoes. There was only a small band of the robbers, with Red-Hand attheir head. He wanted to play the brute with her. She kept him offwith her rifle, and a big dog you have seen. Red-Hand became angry, andhad her strapped to a tree--where the monsters threatened to shoot theirarrows into her body. Whether they intended to kill her, or only toterrify the poor girl, is not known; but if the former was their design, they were hindered from putting it into execution. Just at that moment, Don Jose came upon the ground with a party of trappers from therendezvous on Cuerno Verde. They were strong enough to beat off thered-skinned ravishers and save the Americana. That is how she was takenfrom the Rapahoes. "

"A brave deed! But how did she chance to be there? Since Bent's Portwas abandoned, there is no white settlement near the Big Timbers. "

"Ah! _senor_! that is the strangest part of the whole story. It wastold me by Don Jose himself, while we were _companeros_ on a trappingexpedition--just after he had saved the girl. _Carrambo_!--a strangetale!"

"Have you any objection to tell it to me? I feel a singular interest inthis young girl. "

"_Sin duda_! Of many a mountain-man, the same might be said; and manyan Indian too. Hum! _cavallero_! you would not be flesh and blood, ifyou didn't. "

"Not _that_, I assure you. My interest in her springs from a differentsource. I have other reasons for inquiring into her history. "

"You shall have it, then, _cavallero_--at least so much as I know of itmyself: for it is reasonable to suppose that Don Jose did not tell meall he knew. This much: the _nina_ was with a caravan that had comefrom one of your western states. It was a caravan of Mormons. You haveheard of the Mormons, I suppose--those _hereticos_ who have madesettlements here beyond?"

"I have. "

"Well--one of these Mormons was the husband of the girl, or rather_ought_ to have been--since they were married just at starting. Itappears that the young woman was against the marriage--for she lovedsome one more to her choice--but her father had forced her to it; andsome quarrel happening just at the time with the favourite lover, shehad consented--from pique, _sin duda_--to accept the Mormon. "

"She did accept him?"

"Yes--but now comes the strange part of the story. All I have told youis but a common tale, and the like occurs every day in the year. "

"Go on!"

"When she married the Mormon, she did not know he _was_ a Mormon; and itappears that these _hereticos_ have a name among your people worse thanthe very _Judios_. It was only after the caravan had got out into theplains, that the girl made this discovery. Another circumstance equallyunpleasant soon came to her knowledge; and that was: that the man whopretended to be her husband was after all no husband--that he did notact to her as a husband should do--in short, that the marriage had beena sham--the ceremony having been performed by some Mormon brother, inthe disguise of a _clerico_!"

"Was the girl's father aware of this deception!"

"Don Jose could not tell. He may have known that the man was a Mormon;but Don Jose was of opinion that the father himself was betrayed by thefalse marriage--though he was present at it, and actually bestowed thebride!"

"Strange!"

"Perhaps, _cavallero_! the strangest is yet to come. For what purpose, do you suppose, was this deception practised upon the poor girl?"

"I cannot guess--go on!"

"_Carrai_! it was a hellish purpose; but you shall hear it. TheseMormons have at their head a great chief priest--_una propheta_, as theycall him. He is a polygamist--a perfect Turco--and keeps a harem ofbeautiful _ninas_, who pass under the name of `spiritual wives. ' It wasonly after the young Americana had got far out upon the plains--indeed, to the Big Timbers, where she escaped from him--that she found out theterrible fate for which her false husband had designed her. She learntit from the other women who accompanied the caravan; and who, basewretches that they were! rather envied her the _honour_ by which she wasto be distinguished! _Por Dios_! a terrible fate for a young creatureinnocent and virtuous like her!"

"Her fate? Quick--tell me! for what had the villain destined her?"

"_Virgen Santa_! for the harem of the Mormon prophet!"

"_Mira_!" exclaimed the Mexican, almost in the same breath--"_Mira_! thesignal-smoke of Wa-ka-ra! To horse! to horse! _mueran los Arapahoes_!"

It was not the signal that called from my lips a convulsive exclamation. It was wrung from my agony, ere the smoke had been descried. It wasdrowned amidst the shouts of the savage warriors, as they crowdedforward out of the chasm. Leaping down from the ledge, and flingingmyself on the back of my horse, I mingled in the melee. 

As we swept from the gorge, I cast a glance behind. The sound of femalevoices caused me to look back. The Utah women, mounted on mules andhorses, were coming down the canon, with the white huntress at theirhead! I wished a word with _her_; but it was too late. I dared neitherpause nor go back. My Utah allies would have branded me as a coward--atraitor to my own cause! I did not hesitate a moment; but, joining inthe "Ugh-aloo, " I dashed into the midst of the dusky host, and gallopedonward to the charge. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN. 

THE SURPRISE. 

The white cloud--a puff of powder-smoke--had scarcely scattered in theair, when a dark mass appeared upon the plain, emerging from thesulphureous vapour. It was a troop of horsemen--the warriors ofWa-ka-ra. On giving the signal they had issued forth from the lowercanon, and were coming up the valley at a gallop. They were too distantfor us to heat their charging cheer; but from right and left proceeded adouble shout--a war-cry answering to our own; and, the moment after, astream of dusky forms was seen pouring down each bluff, through thesloping gorges that led to the plain. 

We could hear the shout that announced the astonishment of theArapahoes. It betokened more than astonishment; there was terror in itswild intonations. It was evident that they had been taken altogether bysurprise; having no suspicion that an enemy was near--least of all thedreaded foes who were now rushing forward to surround them. 

The red men are rarely betrayed into a panic. Accustomed from earliestyouth to war, with all its wiles, they are always prepared for a_stampede_. It is the system they themselves follow, and are everexpecting to be practised against them. They accept the chances ofattack--no matter how sudden or unforeseen--with all the coolness of acontest premeditated and prearranged. Even terror does not alwayscreate confusion in their ranks--for there are no ranks--and inconflicts with their own race, combinations that result from drill anddiscipline are of little consequence. It is usually a fight hand tohand, and man to man--where individual prowess prevails, and wheresuperior personal strength and dexterity conduct to conquest. It is forthis reason that the scalp-trophy is so highly prized: it is a proofthat he who has taken it must have fought to obtain it. When "hair israised" in a night attack--by the chance of an arrow or a bullet--it isless esteemed. By the laws of Indian warfare the stratagem ofassassination is permissible, and practised without stint. But a _coup_of this kind is far less glorious, than to slay an enemy, in the openfield, and under the broad glare of the sunlight. In conflicts by day, strategy is of slight advantage, and superior numbers are alone dreaded. 

It was the superior numbers of their Utah enemies that caused dismay inthe ranks of the Arapahoes. Otherwise, they would not have regarded themode of attack--whether their assailants advanced upon them in a singlebody, or in four divisions, as they were doing. Indeed it was merelywith a view of cutting off their retreat, that the Utah chieftain hadadopted the plan. Had he not taken the precaution to approach from allsides at once, it would have been necessary for him to have waited forthe night, before an attack could have been made. In daylight it wouldhave been impossible to get even within shot-range of the enemy. TheArapahoes were as well-mounted as the Utahs; and perceiving theirinferiority in numbers, they would have refused to fight, and riddenoff, perhaps, without losing a man. 

The strategic manoeuvre of the Utah was meant to force the Red-Hand to aconflict. This was its purpose, and no other. It was likely to besuccessful. For the Arapahoes, there appeared no alternative but standand fight. The attack, coming from four points at one and the sametime, and by superior numbers must have caused them fear. How could itbe otherwise? It failed, however, to create any remarkable confusion. We could see them hurrying around the butte, in the direction of their_cavallada_: and, in an incredibly short space of time, most of thewarriors had leaped to their horses, and with their long spears toweringhigh above their heads, had thrown themselves into an irregularformation. 

The plain at this moment presented an animated spectacle. He upon thesummit of the butte, if still alive, must have viewed it with singularemotions. The painted Arapahoes clustered around their chief, and forthe moment appearing in a close crowd, silent and immobile: from north, south, east, and west, the four bands of the Utahs approaching in rapidgallop, each led by its war-chief; while the "Ugh! aloo!" pealing fromfive hundred throats, reverberated from cliff to cliff, filling thevalley with its vengeful echoes! The charge might have been likened toa chapter from the antique--an onslaught of Scythians! Would theArapahoes await the shock of all four divisions at once? All were aboutequally distant, and closing in at equal speed. Surely the Red-Handwould not stay to be thus attacked. 

"_Carrambo_! I wonder they are not off before this!" shouted Archilete, who was galloping by my side. "Ha, yonder!" added he, "a party on footmaking from the grove of _alamos_! They are waiting for those to comeup--that's what's been detaining them. _Mira_!"

As the Mexican spoke, he pointed to a small tope of cotton-woods, whichgrew isolated about three or four hundred yards from the mound. Out ofthis was seen issuing some fifteen or twenty Arapahoes. They were onfoot--except three or four, who appeared to be carried by the others. 

"Their wounded!" continued the trapper. "They've had them under thebushes to keep the sun off them, I suppose. _Mira_! they are meetingthem with horses! They mean flight then. "

A party with led-horses were seen galloping out from the base of thebutte, evidently to take up the men on foot--who were still hurryingtowards their mounted comrades, as fast as the nature of their dutywould permit them. There were several groups of the Indians on foot--each no doubt in charge of a disabled comrade. One crowd appeared toencircle a man who was not borne upon their shoulders, but was movingforward on his own feet. The violent gesticulations of those whosurrounded him drew our attention. The man was evidently being menacedand urged forward--as if he went against his will!

"_Carrai_!" exclaimed the Mexican, "_he_ is not one of their wounded. Acaptive! One of your _camarados_, I dare say?"

"No doubt of it, " I replied, at that moment equally guided to theconjecture. 

"Wagh!" exclaimed the trapper, "the poor fellow's scalp is in dangerjust now. I wonder they take all that trouble to get him away alive!--that puzzles me, _amigo_! I think it high time they looked to their ownlives, without being so particular about that of their prisoner. _Santissima Virgen_! As I live, there's a woman among them!"

"Yes--I see her--I know her. Her presence explains why they are takinghim alive. "

"You know her?"

"And him too. Poor fellow! I hope she will befriend him; but--"

I was hindered from continuing the explanation. Just at that moment, the led-horses were rushed up to: and those in charge of the woundedwere seen to spring to their backs. Here and there, a double mountproclaimed that the disabled men were still capable of making a lasteffort for their lives. All had got upon their horses, and in astraggling crowd were making to join the main band; when, just at thatmoment, one of the horses that carried two men was seen to swervesuddenly from the line, and, heading up the valley, come galloping inour direction. The horse appeared to have taken fright, and shied awayfrom the others; while the men upon his back were tossing and writhingabout, as if trying to restrain him! At the same instant, half-a-dozenmounted Arapahoes were seen shooting forth from the crowd, and with loudyells galloping in pursuit of the runaway! The double-loaded steed--apowerful animal--kept on his course; but, not until he had approachedwithin three or four hundred paces of our own front, could I account forthis strange manoeuvre. Then was I enabled to comprehend the mysteriousescapade. The rider upon the croup was Frank Wingrove! He upon thesaddle was a red Arapaho. The bodies of the two men appeared to belashed together by a raw-hide rope; but, in front of the Indian, I couldperceive the muscular arms of the young backwoodsman tightly embracingthe chest of the savage, while with the reins in his fingers he wasguiding the gallop of the horse! With a shout of joy I hailed theescape of my comrade, now no longer problematical. In a score ofseconds more, we should meet. 

The pursuers--satisfied that his recapture was hopeless without riskingtheir own scalps--had already turned with a despairing shout, and weregalloping back. Wingrove was near enough to hear the cry ofencouragement that passed from my lips; and, soon recognising me, despite the disguise of the serape, headed his horse directly towardsus. 

"Hooraw, capt'n!" cried he, as he came up. "Hev you e'er a knife to cutme clar o' this Indjun? Durn the niggur! I've got _him_ in a leetle o'the tightest fix he's been in for a while, I reck'n. Dog-gone ye! keepstill, ye skunk, or I'll smash every rib in yur body! Quiet now!"

During all this time, the Indian was making the most strenuous effortsto free himself from the grasp of his powerful adversary--nowendeavouring to throw himself down from the horse, anon trying to turnthe animal in an opposite direction. But the thongs intended to securehis captive--and which had no doubt been wound around both of them by athird hand--had become bonds for himself. Wingrove, who had by somemeans wrenched his wrists free from their fastenings, had turned thetables upon his captor, by transforming him into a captive! I chancedto be without a knife; but the Mexican was supplied with the necessaryimplement; and, drawing it from its sheath, shot past me to use it. Ithought he intended to cut the thongs that bound the _two_ men together. So did he: but not till after he had performed another operation--whichconsisted in plunging his blade between the ribs of the Arapaho! At thestab, the Indian gave utterance to his wild death-shout. In the sameinstant his head coggled over upon his shoulder, his body relaxed itsmuscular tension, and hung limp over the raw-hide rope. A snig of thered blade severed the thong; and the Indian's body sliding down from thewithers of the horse, fell with a dull dead sound upon the turf. 

"Here _Americano_!" cried the trapper, holding out the ensanguined knifeto Wingrove; "take this weapon for want of a better. Let us on! See!the _picaros_ are making off. _Vamos! nos vamonos_!"

The incident had delayed us but for a very short while--perhaps not halfa minute; but as we returned to the charging gallop, most of our partyhad passed us; and the foremost were already within rifle range, andopening fire upon the Arapahoes. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT. 

THE CHARGE. 

The horsemen who had forged ahead, for a while, hindered me from seeingthe enemy. The Utahs had halted, and were discharging their guns. Thesmoke from their shots shrouded both allies and enemies; but, from thefact of a halt having been made, I presumed the Arapahoes were makingstand by the butte. It was not so. After the first round of shots, thefiring ceased; and the Utahs again went charging onward. 

The Arapahoes had given way, and were fleeing down the valley. Therethey must meet Wa-ka-ra. And this or something like it, was theirintention. With the four divisions closing upon them from all sides atonce, they saw there was no chance of saving themselves--except bymaking a desperate charge on some one singly, in the hope of causing itto yield, and thus open for them a way of escape. They had nodifficulty in making choice of which they should meet. The band ofWa-ka-ra was between them and their own country. It was the directionin which they must ultimately retreat; and this decided them to takedown the valley. 

A slight swell in the plain, which we were at that moment crossing, gaveme a view of the retreating Arapahoes. In the distance, I could see theband of Wa-ka-ra advancing towards them at full speed. In a few secondswould meet in shivering charge these mortal foes. 

The Utahs of our party were urging their horses to utmost speed. Well-mounted as were myself and companions, we were unable to overtakethem. Those that came from right and left had suddenly swerved fromtheir course; and in two converging lines were sweeping down the valleyto the assistance of their chief. We passed close under the edge of thebutte. In the excitement of the chase, I had almost forgotten to lookup--when a shrill shout recalled to my memory the captive on the cross. The cry came from the summit--from Sure-shot himself. Thank Heaven! helived!

"Hooza! hoozay!" shouted the voice. "Heaving speed yees, whos'ever yebe! Hooza! hoozay! Arter the verming, an' gie 'em goss! Sculp everymother's son o' 'em. Hooza! hoozay!"

There was no time to make reply to these cries of encouragement. Enoughto know that it was our old comrade who gave utterance to them. Itproved he was still living; and, echoing his exulting shout, we gallopedonward. 

It was a fearful sight to behold the two dark bands as they dashedforward upon one another--like opposing waves of the angry ocean. Through the horsemen in front of me, I could see the meeting, and hearthe shock. It was accompanied by wild yells--by voices heard in loudtaunting tones--by the rattling of shields, the crashing collision ofspear-shafts, and the sharp detonations of rifles. The band of Wa-ka-rarecoiled for a moment. It was by far the weakest; and had it been leftto itself, would have sustained defeat in this terrible encounter. Butthe Utahs were armed both with rifles and pistols; and the latter, playing upon the ranks of the Arapahoes, were fast thinning them. Duskywarriors were seen dropping from their horses; while the terrifiedanimals went galloping over the field--their wild neighs adding to theuproar of the fight. There was but one charge--a short but terribleconflict--and then the fight was over. It became transformed, almost inan instant, to a disorderly flight. When the hot skurry had ended, theremnant of the prairie-horsemen was seen heading down the valley, followed by the four bands of the Utahs--who had now closed together. Pressing onward in the pursuit, they still vociferated their wild _Ugh!aloo_!--firing shots at intervals, as they rode within reach of theirflying foemen. 

Neither Wingrove nor I had an opportunity of taking part in the affray. It was over before we could ride up; and, indeed, had it been otherwise, neither of us could have been of much service to our allies. Painted asboth were, and in full war-costume--in other words, naked to thebreech-clout--we could not have distinguished friends from foes! It waspartly this consideration that had occasioned us to halt. We drew up onthe ground where the collision had occurred with the band of Wa-ka-ra. We looked upon a spectacle that might at any other time have horrifiedus. A hundred bodies lay over the sward, all dead. There were Utahs aswell as Arapahoes; but, though we could not distinguish the warriors ofthe two tribes in the confusion of the fight, there was no difficulty inidentifying their dead. There was a signal difference in the aspect ofthe slain Indians. Around the skulls of the Utahs, the thick blacktresses were still clustering; while upon the heads of the Arapahoesthere was neither hair nor skin. Every one of them had been alreadyscalped. Wounded men were sitting up, or propped against dead bodies--each with two or three comrades bending over him. Horses were gallopingaround, their lazos trailing at will; while weapons of every kind--spears, shields, bows, quivers, and arrows--were strewed over the sward. 

A group of about a dozen men appeared at some distance, clustered arounda particular object. It was the dead body of a man--a chief, no doubt?Not without feelings of apprehension did I approach the spot. It mightbe the noble Wa-ka-ra? I rode up, and looked over the shoulders ofthose who encircled the corpse. A glance was sufficient to put an endto my apprehensions. The body was covered with blood, and pierced withmany wounds. It was frightfully mutilated; but I was able to identifythe features as those of Red-Hand, the chief of the Arapahoes! Scarredand gashed though it was, I could still trace those sinister lines thatin life had rendered that face so terrible to behold. It was even morehideous in death; but the Utahs who stood around no longer regarded itwith fear. The terror, which their dread foeman had oft inspired withinthem, was now being retaliated in the mockery of his mutilated remains!The Mexican had ascertained that Wa-ka-ra was still unhurt, and headingthe pursuit. Having myself no further interest in the scene, I turnedaway from it; and, with Wingrove by my side, rode back towards thebutte. 

CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE. 

TRAGIC AND COMIC. 

Some words passed between us as we went. For my companion, I had newsthat would make him supremely happy. Our conversation turned not onthat. "Soon enough, " thought I, "when they shall come together. Letboth hearts be blessed at the same time. " Ah! how my own was bleeding. Little suspected the Spanish hunter how his tale had tortured me!

Wingrove, in brief detail, gave me the particulars of his escape. Likemyself, he had been captured without receiving any serious injury. Theywould have killed him afterwards, but for the interference of theChicasaw, who, by some means, had gained an ascendancy over theRed-Hand! In the breast of this desperate woman burned alternately thepassions of love and revenge. The former had been for the time in theascendant; but she had saved the captive's life, only in the hope ofmaking him _her_ captive. She had carried him to the copse, where hehad passed the night in her company--one moment caressed and entreated--in the next reviled, and menaced with the most cruel death! In vain hadhe looked for an opportunity to get away from her. Like a jealoustigress had she watched him throughout the live-long night; and it wasonly in the confusion, created by our sudden approach, that he had founda chance of escape from the double guardianship in which he had beenheld. All this was made known to me in a few hurried phrases. 

Sure-shot! we were within speaking distance; but who could haveidentified the Yankee in such a guise? The tricoloured escutcheon I hadmyself so lately borne--the black face, shoulders, and arms--the whitecircle on the breast--the red spot--all just as they had painted me!

"Jehosophet an' pigeon-pie!" cried he, as he saw us approach; "air ityeou, capting? an' Wingrove, teoo!"

"Yes, brave comrade! Your shot has saved us all. Patience! we shallsoon set you free!"

Leaping down from our horses, we hurried up the sloping path. I wasstill anxious about Sure-shot's safety; but in another moment, myanxiety was at an end. He was yet unscathed. Like myself, he hadreceived some scratches, but no wound of a dangerous character. Likemyself, he had died a hundred deaths, and yet lived! His gleesomespirit had sustained him throughout the dread ordeal. He had even jokedwith his cruel tormentors! Now that the dark hour was past, his _jeuxd'esprit_ were poured forth with a continuous volubility. No; notcontinuous. At intervals, a shadow crossed his spirit, as it did thatof all of us. We could not fail to lament the fate of the unfortunateHibernian. 

"Poor Petrick!" said Sure-shot, as we descended the slope, "he weer thejoyfulest kimrade I ever hed, an' we must gi' him the berril o' aChristyan. I wonder neow what on airth them verming lies done wi' him?Wheer kin they have hid his body?"

"True--where is it? It was out yonder on the plain? I saw it there:they had scalped him. "

"Yees; they sculped him at the time we weer all captered. He weer lyingjest out theer last night at sundown. He ain't theer now; nor ain't abeen this mornin', or I'd a seed him. What do ees think they've donewi' him anyhow?"

The disappearance of the body was singular enough. It had undoubtedlybeen removed from the spot where it had lain; and was now nowhere to beseen! It was scarcely probable that the wolves had eaten it, for theIndians had been all night upon the ground; and their camp-fires werenear. True, the _coyotes_ would have cared little for that; but surelythe brutes could not have carried the body clear away? The bones, atleast, would have remained? There were none--not a trace either of bodyor bones! We passed around the butte, and made search on the otherside. There was no dead body there--no remains of one. Ha--the river!It swept past within fifty yards of the mound. It would account for thedisappearance of the corpse. Had the Indians thrown it into the water?We walked towards the stream, half mechanically. We had littleexpectation of finding the remains of the unfortunate man. The currentrushed rapidly on: the body would have been taken along with it?

"Maybe it mout hev lodged somewheres?" suggested Sure-shot. "Ef we shedfind it, capting, I'd like to put a sod over him, for old times' sake. Shell we try down the stream?"

We followed the bank downward. A little below grew willows, forming aselvedge to the river's edge. Their culms curved over, till the longquivering leaves dipped into the water. Here and there were thickets ofthem extending back into the plain. Only by passing through these couldthe bank of the river be reached. We entered among the willows, Wingrove going in the advance. 

I saw him stoop suddenly, as if to examine the ground. An exclamationescaped him, and the words:

"Someb'dy's crawled through hyar, or been dragged through--one o' thetwo ways. "

"No!" added he, after a moment, "he's not been dragged; he's beencreepin' on his hands an' knees. Look thar! the track o' a knee, asclar as daylight; an', by the tarnal! it's been covered wi' broad-cloth. No Injun kud a made that mark!"

We all bent over to examine the sign. Sure enough, it was the track ofa man's knee; and the plastic mud exhibited on its surface a print offretted lines, which must have been made by coarse threadbare cloth!

"By Gosh!" exclaimed Sure-shot, "that eer's the infantry overall--thegivernment cloth to a sartingty. Petrick's been abeout heer. Lordy, tain't possyble he's still living?"

"Shure-shat! Shure-shat! Mother ov Moses! is it yerself I hear?"

The voice reached us in a hoarse whisper. It appeared to rise out ofthe earth! For some moments, we all stood, as if petrified by surprise. 

"Shure-shat!" continued the voice, "won't yez help me out? I'm too waketo get up the bank. "

"Petrick, as I'm a livin' sinner! Good Lordy, Petrick! wheer air ye?'Tain't possyble yeer alive?"

"Och, an' shure I'm aloive, that same. But I'm more than half did, forall that; an' nearly drownded to boot. Arrah, boys! rache me a hand, an' pull me out--for I can't move meself--one of my legs is broke. "

We all three rushed down to the water--whence the voice appeared tocome. Under the drooping willows, where the current had undermined thebank, we perceived an object in motion. A fearful object it was to lookupon: it was the encrimsoned skull of our scalped comrade! His body wassubmerged below the surface. His head alone was visible--a horridsight! The three of us leaped at once into the stream; and, raising thepoor fellow in our arms, lifted him out on the bank. It was as he hadalleged. One of his legs was broken below the knee; and other frightfulwounds appeared in different parts of his body. No wonder the Indianshad believed him dead, when they stripped off that terrible trophy!

Notwithstanding the ill usage he had received, there was still hope. His wounds, though ugly to the eye, were none of them mortal. Withcare, he might recover; and, taking him up as tenderly as possible, weconveyed him back to the butte. The Arapahoes had left their_impedimenta_ behind them--blankets and robes at discretion. Withthese, a soft couch was prepared under the shade of the waggon body, andthe wounded man placed upon it. Such rude dressing, as we were able togive, was at once administered to his wounds; and we found new joy inthe anticipation of his recovery. His disappearance--from the spotwhere he had been left for dead--was explained. He had "played'possum, " as he himself expressed it. Though roughly handled, andactually senseless for a time, he had still clung to life. He knew thatthe Indians believed him dead--else why should they have scalped him?With a faint hope of being left upon the field, he had lain still, without stirring hand or foot; and the savages, otherwise occupied, hadnot noticed him after taking his scalp. By some accident, his hands hadgot over his face; and, perceiving that these screened his countenancefrom observation, he had permitted them to remain so. With half-openedeyes, he could see between his fingers, and note many of the movementsthat were passing upon the plain in front of him--all this without theIndians having the slightest suspicion that he lived!

It was a terrible time for him--an ordeal equal to that endured bySure-shot and myself. Every now and then some half drunken savage wouldcome staggering past; and he knew not how soon some one of thesestrollers might stick a spear into him, out of mere wantonness! On thearrival of night, his hopes had revived; and the cool air had also theeffect of partially restoring his strength. The savages, carousingaround their fires, took no notice of him; and, as soon as darkness wasfairly down, he had commenced crawling off in the direction of theriver. He had a double object in going thither. He was suffering fromhorrid thirst; and he hoped there to find relief, as well as ahiding-place. After crawling for more than an hour, he had succeeded inreaching the bank; and, taking to the water, he had waded down, andconcealed himself under the willows--in the place where we had foundhim. Such was the adventure of the _ci-devant_ soldier, PatrickO'Tigg--an escape almost miraculous!

As if fulfilling the laws of dramatic justice--that the farce shouldsucceed the tragedy--our attention was at this moment called to aludicrous incident. The Mexican trapper had ridden up, and haltedbeside the waggon; when all at once his eyes became fixed upon an objectthat lay near at hand upon the grass. It was the black silk hat of theex-rifleman, already mentioned in our narrative. After gazing at it fora moment, the Mexican slid down from his horse; and, hobbling towardsthe hat, took it up. Then uttering a fierce "_Carajo_, " he dashed the"tile" back to the ground, and commenced stamping upon it, as if it hadbeen some venomous serpent he desired to annihilate!

"Hilloo! theer, _hombre_!" shouted Sure-shot. "What the ole scratch airye abeout? Why, ye yeller-bellied fool, thet's my _hat_ yeer stompin'on!"

"_Your_ hat!" echoed the trapper in a contemptuous tone. "_Carrambo, senor_! you should be ashamed of yourself. Any man who would wear asilk hat! Wagh!"

"An' why ain't a silk hat as good's any other?"

"_Maldito sea_!" continued the trapper, taking the wooden leg from hiswaist, and hammering the hat with it against a stone--"_malditosombrero_! but for that accursed invention, we poor trappers wouldn't beas we are now. _Carrambo_! it's fetched beaver down to a plew a plug;while only ten years ago, we could get six _pesos_ the skin! Only thinkof that! _Carrai-i-i_!" Pronouncing this last exclamation with bitteraspirate, the incensed trapper gave the unfortunate hat one more blowwith his timber leg; and then, spurning the battered tile from his toe, hobbled back to his horse! Sure-shot was disposed to be angry, but aword set all right. I perfectly comprehended the nature of thetrapper's antipathy to silk hats, and explained it to my comrade. Intheir eyes, the absurd head-gear is more hideous than even to those whoare condemned to wear it--for the trappers well know, that theintroduction of the silk hat has been the ruin of their peculiarcalling. 

"'Twan't much o' a hat, after all, " said Sure-shot, reconciled by theexplanation. "It b'longed to the sutler at the Fort: for yee see, capting, as we left theere for a leetle bit o' a hurry, I couldn't laymy claws on my own ole forage-cap; so I took the hat in its place? an'thet's how I kim by the thing. But heer's a hat perhaps, mister, thisheer'll pleeze ye better? Will it, eh?"

As Sure-shot put the question, he took up the plumed bonnet of anArapaho warrior--which had been left lying among the rocks--and, adjusting the gaudy circlet upon his head, strode backward and forwardover the ground with all the swelling majesty of an Indian dandy! Theodd-looking individual and his actions caused the laughter of thebystanders to break forth in loud peals. The Mexican fairly screamed, interlarding his cachinnations with loud "santissimas, " and otherSpanish exclamations; while even the wounded man under the waggon wasunable to restrain himself at the mirth-provoking spectacle. 

CHAPTER EIGHTY. 

SPIRITUAL WIVES. 

I joined not in the merriment of my companions. I took no share intheir mirth. The trapper's story had intensified the anguish of mythoughts; and now, that I found time to dwell upon its purport, myreflections were bitter beyond expression. I could have no doubt as towho was the heroine of that strange history. She who had been soshamefully deceived--she who had so nobly risked her life to save herhonour--she the wild huntress, by the Utahs called _Ma-ra-nee_--could beno other than that _Marian_, of whom I had heard so much--Marian Holt!

The circumstances detailed by the trapper were perfectly conformable tothis belief--they concurred in establishing it. The time--the place--the route taken--the Mormon train all agreed with what we hadascertained regarding Stebbins's first expedition across the prairies. The Mexican had mentioned no names. It was likely he knew them not; orif so, it was scarcely probable he could have pronounced them. But itneeded not names to confirm me in the belief that "Josh Stebbins" wasthe sham-husband, and that she whom he would have betrayed--thishuntress-maiden, was the lost love of my comrade Wingrove--the sister ofmy own Lilian. This would account for the resemblance that had struckme. It no longer seemed vague, in my memory: I could now trace itpalpably and clearly. 

And this was the grand beauty upon which the young backwoodsman had soenthusiastically descanted. Often had he described it to my incredulousear. I had attributed his praises to the partiality of a lover's eye--having not the slightest suspicion that their object was possessed ofsuch merits. No more should I question the justice of his admiration, nor wonder at its warmth. The rude hyperbole that had occasionallyescaped him, when speaking of the "girl"--as he called her--no longerappeared extravagant. In truth, the charms of this magnificent maidenwere worthy of metaphoric phrase. Perhaps, had I seen her first--beforelooking upon Lilian--that is, had I not seen Lilian at all--my own heartmight have yielded to this half-Indian damsel? Not so now. The gaudytulip may attract the eye, but the incense of the perfumed violet issweeter to the soul. Even had both been presented together, I could nothave hesitated in my choice. All the same should I have chosen the goldand the rose; and my heart's preference was now fixed, fondly and forever. 

My love for Lilian Holt was a passion too profound to be otherwise thanperpetual. It was in my bosom--in its innermost recesses, all-pervading--all-absorbing. There would it cling till death. Even inthose dread hours when death seemed hovering above my head, the thoughtof Lilian was uppermost--even then did my mind dwell upon the perilsthat encompassed her path. And now that I was myself delivered fromdanger, had I reason to regard the future of my beloved withapprehensions less acute? No. The horrid scheme which the trapper'sstory had disclosed in respect to her sister--might not she, too, be thevictim of a similar procuration? O heaven! it was too painfullyprobable. The more I dwelt upon it, the more probable appeared thisappalling hypothesis. 

I have already spoken of my experience of Mormon life, and the insight Ihad incidentally obtained into its hideous characteristics. I have saidthat the _spiritual-wife_ doctrine was long since exploded--repudiatedeven by the apostles themselves--and in its place the _many-wife_ systemhad been adopted. There was no change in reality, only in profession. The practice of the Mormon leaders had been the same from the beginning;only that then polygamy had been carried on _sub rosa_. Publicity beingno longer dreaded, it was now practised "openly and above board. " Weterm it polygamy--adopting an oriental phrase. It is nothing of thekind. Polygamy presupposes some species of marriage, according to thelaws of the land; but for Mormon matrimony--at least that indulged in bythe dignitaries of the church--there were no statutes, except such asthey had chosen to set up for themselves. The ceremony is simply afarce; and consists in the sprinkling of a little water by some brotherapostle, with a few mock-mesmeric passes--jocosely termed the "laying onof hands!" The cheat is usually a secret performance: having no otherobject than to overcome those natural scruples--not very strong amongwomen of Mormon training--but which sometimes, in the case of younggirls of Christian education, had opposed themselves to the designs ofthese impudent impostors. Something resembling matrimony may be thecondition of a Mormon wife--that is, the wife of an ordinary "Saint, "whose means will not allow him to indulge in the gross joys of polygamy. But it is different with the score or two of well-to-do gentlemen whofinger the finances of the church--the tenths and other tributes whichthey contrive to extract from the common herd. Among these, theso-called "wife" is regarded in no other light than that of _une femmeentretenue_. 

I knew that one of the duties specially enjoined upon those emissariestermed "apostles, " is to gather young girls from all parts of the world. The purpose is proclaimed with all the affectation of sanctifiedphraseology:--that they should become "mothers in the church, " and bythis means lead to the more rapid increase of the followers of the truefaith! This is the public declaration, intended for the common ear. But the leaders are actuated by motives still more infamous. Theiremissaries have instructions to select the _fairer forms_ of creation;and it is well-known that to making converts of this class, have theirenergies been more especially devoted. 

It was this species of proselytising--alas! too often successful--thatmore than aught else had roused the indignation of the backwoodsmen ofMissouri and Illinois, and caused the expulsion of the Saints from theirgrand temple-city of Nauvoo. In the ranks of their assailants were manyoutraged men--fathers who looked for a lost child--angry brothers, seeking revenge for a sister lured from her home--lovers, who lamented asweetheart beguiled by that fatal faith--and no doubt the blood of thepseudo-Saint's, there and then shed, was balm to many a chafed andsorrowing spirit. 

In the category of this uxorious infamy, no name was more distinguishedthan that of him, on whose shoulders the mantle of the _prophet_ haddescended--the chief who now held ascendancy among these self-styledsaints; and who, with an iron hand, controlled the destinies of theirchurch. A man cunning and unscrupulous; a thorough plebeian in thought, but possessed of a certain portentous polish, well suited to deceive thestupid herd that follows him, and sufficient for the character he iscalled upon to play; a debauchee boldly declared, and scarcely caringfor the hypocrisy of concealment; above all, an irresponsible despot, whose will is law to all around him; and, when needing enforcement, canat any hour pretend to the sanction of authority from heaven: such isthe head of the Mormon Church! With both the temporal and spiritualpower in his hands; legislative, executive, and judicial united--thefiscal too, for the prophet is sole treasurer of the _tenths_--thismonster of imposition wields a power equalled only by the barbaricchiefs of Africa, or the rajahs of Ind. It might truly be said, thatboth the souls and bodies of his subjects are his, and not their own. The former he can control, and shape to his designs at will. As for thelatter, though he may not take life openly, it is well-known that hissacred edict issued to the "destroying angels, " is equally efficaciousto kill. Woe betide the Latter-day Saint, who dares to dream of dissentor apostasy! Woe to him who expresses disaffection, or even discontent!Too surely may he dread a mysterious punishment--too certainly expectthe midnight visitation of the _Danites_!

Exercising such influence over Mormon men, it is almost superfluous toadd, that his control over Mormon women is yet more complete. Virtue, assailed under the mask of a spiritual hypocrisy, is apt to give way--alas! too easily--in all parts of the world; but in a state of society, where such slips are rather a fashion than a disgrace, it is needless tosay that they are of continual occurrence. The practice of thepseudo-prophet in wife-taking has very little limit, beyond that fixedby his own desires. It is true he may not outrage certain formalities, by openly appropriating the wives of his followers; but should he fancyto become the _husband_ of their daughters, not only is there noopposition offered on the part of the parent, but the base proposal isregarded in the light of an honour! So esteemed it the women from whomMarian Holt had run away--the brave girl preferring the perils ofstarvation and savage life to such gentle companionship! Thuscontemplating the character of the vulgar Alcibiades, for whose haremshe had been designed--in full knowledge of the circumstances which nowsurrounded her sister--how could I deem the situation of Lilianotherwise than similar--her destiny the same? With such a tyrant tobetray, such a father to protect, no wonder that I trembled for herfate! No wonder that the sweat--forced from me my by soul's agony--broke out in bead-drops upon my brow!

CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE. 

THE DEATH-SONG. 

Prostrated in spirit, I sunk down among the rocks, covering my face withmy hands. So occupied was I with wild imaginings, that I saw not theUtah women as they passed down the valley. They did not approach thebutte, nor make halt near, but hastened directly onward to the scene ofconflict. I had for the moment forgotten them; and was only reminded oftheir proximity on hearing the death-wail, as it came pealing up thevalley. It soon swelled into a prolonged and plaintive chorus--interrupted only by an occasional shriek--that denoted the discovery ofsome relative among the slain--father, brother, husband--or perhapsstill nearer and dearer, some worshipped lover--who had fallen under thespears of the Arapahoes. 

Was Maranee among them?--the wailing women? The thought roused me frommy reverie of wretchedness. A gleam of joy shot suddenly across mymind. It was the wild huntress that had given origin to the thought. On her I had founded a new hope. She must be seen! No time should belost in communicating with her? Had she accompanied the women of thetribe? Was she upon the ground?

I rose to my feet, and was going for my horse. I saw Wingrove advancingtowards me. The old shadow had returned to his brow. I might exult inthe knowledge of being able to dispel it--once and for ever? Fortunatefellow! little suspected he at that moment how I held his happiness inmy hand--how, with one word, I could raise from off his heart the load, that for six long months had weighed heavily upon it! Yes--a pleasanttask was before me. Though my own heart bled, I could stop the bleedingof his--of hers, both in a breath. Now, or not yet? I hesitated. Ican scarcely tell why. Perhaps it was that I might enjoy a doubledelight--by making the disclosure to both of them at once? I had asweet surprise for them. To both, no doubt, it would be a revelationthat would yield the most rapturous joy. Should I bring them face toface, and leave them to mutual explanations? This was the question thathad offered itself, and caused me to hesitate and reflect. No. I couldnot thus sport with hearts that loved. I could not procrastinate thatexquisite happiness, now so near. At once let them enter upon itsenjoyment! But both could not be made happy exactly at the sameinstant? One or other must be first told the glad truth that was instore for them? Apart they must be told it; and to which was I to givethe preference? I resolved to follow that rule of polite society, whichextends priority to the softer sex. Wingrove must wait!

It was only with an effort, I could restrain myself from giving him ahint of his proximate bliss. I was sustained in the effort, however, byobserving the manner in which he approached me. Evidently he had somecommunication to make that concerned our future movements? Up to thatmoment, there had been no time to talk--even to think of the future. 

"I've got somethin' to say to you, capt'n, " said he, drawing near, andspeaking in a serious tone; "it's better, may be, ye shed know it aforewe go furrer. The girl's been givin' me some partickalers o' thecaravan that I hain't told you. "

"What girl?"

"The Chicasaw--Su-wa-nee. "

"Oh--true. What says she? Some pleasant news I may anticipate, sinceshe has been the bearer of them?" It was not any lightness of heartthat caused me to give an ironical form to the interrogative. Far fromthat. 

"Well, capt'n, " replied my comrade, "it is rayther ugly news thered-skinned devil's told me; but I don' know how much truth thar's init; for I've foun' her out in more 'n one lie about this bizness. She'sbeen wi' the carryvan, however, an' shed know all about it. "

"About what?" I asked. 

"Well--Su-wa-nee says that the carryvan's broke up into two. "

"Ha!"

"One helf o' it, wi' the dragoons, hes turned south, torst Santa Fe; theother, which air all Mormons, hev struck off northardly, by a differentpass, an' on a trail thet makes for thar new settlements on Salt Lake. "

"There's not much news in that. We had anticipated something of thekind?"

"But thar's worse, capt'n. "

"Worse!--what is it, Wingrove?" I put the question with a feeling ofrenewed anxiety. 

"Holt's gone wi' the Mormons. "

"That too I had expected. It does not surprise me in the least. "

"Ah! capt'n, " continued the backwoodsman with a sigh, while anexpression of profound sadness pervaded his features, "thar's ugliernews still. "

"Ha!" I involuntarily exclaimed, as an evil suspicion crossed my mind. "News of _her_? Quick! tell me! has aught happened to _her_?"

"The worst that kud happen, I reck'n--_she's dead_. "

I started as if a shot had passed through my heart. Its convulsivethrobbing stifled my speech. I could not get breath to utter a word;but stood gazing at my companion in silent agony. 

"Arter all, " continued he, in a tone of grave resignation, "I don't knowif it _air_ the worst. I sayed afore, an' I say so still, thet I'druther she war dead that in the arms o' thet ere stinkin' Mormon. PoorMarian! she's hed but a short life, o' 't, an' not a very merry oneeyether. "

"What! Marian? Is it of her you are speaking?"

"Why, sartin, capt'n. Who else shed it be?"

"Marian dead?"

"Yes--poor girl, she never lived to see that Salt Lake city--whar thecussed varmint war takin' her. She died on the way out, an' war berryedsom'rs on the paraireys. I wish I knew whar--I'd go to see her grave. "

"Ha! ha! ha! Whose story is this?"

My companion looked at me in amazement. The laugh, at such a time, musthave sounded strange to his ears. 

"The Injun heerd it from Lil, " replied Wingrove, still puzzled at mybehaviour. "Stebbins had told it to Holt, an' to her likeways. Pooryoung creetur! I reck'n he'll be a wantin' her too--now thet he's lostthe other. Poor little Lil!"

"Cheer, comrade, cheer! Either Su-wa-nee or Stebbins has lied--belikeboth of them, since both had a purpose to serve: the Mormon to deceivethe girl's father--the Indian to do the same with you. The story isfalse, Marian Holt is _not_ dead. "

"Marian ain't dead?"

"No, she lives--she has been true to you. Listen. "

I could no longer keep from him the sweet secret. The reaction--consequent on the bitter pang I had just experienced, while under themomentary belief that it was Lilian who was dead--had stirred my spirit, filling it with a wild joy. I longed to impart the same emotions to mysuffering companion; and, in rapid detail, I ran over the events thathad occurred since our parting. To the revelations which the Mexicanhad made, Wingrove listened with frantic delight--only interrupting mewith frenzied exclamations that bespoke his soul-felt joy. When I hadfinished, he cried out:

"She war _forced_ to go! I thort so! I knew it! Whar is she, capt'n!Oh, take me to her! I'll fall on my knees. I'll axe her a thousandtimes to pardon me. 'Twar the Injun's fault. I'll swar it war theChicasaw. She's been the cuss o' us both. Oh! whar is Marian? I loveher more than iver! Whar is she?"

"Patience!" I said; "you shall see her presently. She must be down thevalley, among the Indian women. Mount your horse, and follow me!"

CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO. 

MARANEE. 

We had ridden around the butte, and were in sight of the crowd ofwailing women, when one on horseback was seen emerging from their midst, and turning head towards us. The habiliments of the rider told that shewas a woman. I recognised the Navajo scarf, and plumed circlet, asthose worn by the wild huntress. It was she who had separated from thecrowd! Had I needed other evidence to identify her, I saw it in thewolf-like animal that was bounding after her, keeping pace with thegallop of her horse. 

"Behold!" I said. "Yonder is Marian--your own Marian!"

"It air, as I'm a livin' man! I mightn't a know'd her in that queerdress; but yon's her dog. It's Wolf: I kud tell him, any whar. "

"On second thoughts, " suggested I, "perhaps, I had better see her first, and prepare her for meeting you! What say you?"

"Jest as you like, capt'n. P'raps it mout be the better way. "

"Bide behind the waggon, then! Stay there till I give you a signal tocome forth. "

Obedient to the injunction, my companion trotted back, and disappearedbehind the white tilt. I saw the huntress was coming towards the mound;and, instead of going forth to meet her, I remained upon the spot wherewe had halted. A few minutes sufficed to bring her near; and I wasimpressed more than ever with the grand beauty of this singular maiden. She was mounted in the Indian fashion, with a white goatskin for asaddle, and a simple thong for a stirrup; while the bold style in whichshe managed her horse, told that, whatever had been her early training, she of late must have had sufficient practice in equestrian manoeuvres. 

The steed she bestrode was a large chestnut-coloured mustang; and as thefiery creature reared and bounded over the turf, the magnificent form ofits rider was displayed to advantage. She still carried her rifle; andwas equipped just as I had seen her in the morning; but now, sharing thespirit of her steed--and further animated by the exciting incidents, still in the act of occurrence--her countenance exhibited a style ofbeauty, not the less charming from the wildness and _braverie_ thatcharacterised it. Truly had she merited the praises which the youngbackwoodsman had oft lavished upon her. To all that he had said themost critical connoisseur would have given his accord. No wonder thatWingrove had been able to resist the fascinations of the simperingsyrens of Swampville--no wonder that Su-wa-nee had solicited in vain!Truly was this wild huntress an attractive object--in charms farexcelling the goddess of the Ephesians. Never was there such mate for ahunter! Well might Wingrove rejoice at the prospect before him!

"Ho, stranger!" said she, reining up by my side, "you are safe, I see!All has gone well?"

"I was in no danger: I had no opportunity of entering into the fight. "

"So much the better--there were enough of them without you. But yourfellow-travellers? Do they still survive? I have come to inquire afterthem. "

"Thanks to you and good fortune, they are still alive--even he who wasscalped, and whom we had believed to be dead. "

"Ah! is the scalped man living?"

"Yes; he has been badly wounded, and otherwise ill-used; but we havehopes of his recovery. "

"Take me to him! I have learnt a little surgery from my Indian friends. Let me see your comrade! Perhaps I may be of some service to him?"

"We have already dressed his wounds; and I believe nothing more can bedone for him, except what time may accomplish. But I have anothercomrade who suffers from wounds of a different nature, _which you alonecan cure_. "

"Wounds of a different nature?" repeated she, evidently puzzled by myambiguous speech; "of what nature, may I ask?" I paused before makingreply. 

Whether she had any suspicion of a double meaning to my words, I couldnot tell. If so, it was not openly evinced, but most artfully concealedby the speech that followed. "During my stay among the Utahs, " saidshe, "I have had an opportunity of seeing wounds of many kinds, and haveobserved their mode of treating them. Perhaps I may know how to dosomething for those of your comrade? But you say that I _alone_ cancure them?"

"You, and you only. "

"How is that, stranger? I do not understand you!"

"The wounds I speak of are not in the body. "

"Where, then?"

"In the heart. "

"Oh! stranger, you are speaking in riddles. If your comrade is woundedin the heart, either by a bullet or an arrow--"

"It is an arrow. "

"Then he must die: it will be impossible for any one to save him. "

"Not impossible for you. You can extract the arrow--you can save him!"

Mystified by the metaphor, for some moments she remained gazing at me insilence--her large antelope eyes interrogating me in the midst of herastonishment. So lovely were those eyes, that had their irides beenblue instead of brown, I might have fancied they were Lilian's! In allbut colour, they looked exactly like hers--as I had once seen them. Spell-bound by the resemblance, I gazed back into them withoutspeaking--so earnestly and so long, that she might easily have mistakenmy meaning. Perhaps she did so: for her glance fell; and the circle ofcrimson suffusion upon her cheeks seemed slightly to extend itscircumference, at the same time that it turned deeper in hue. 

"Pardon me!" said I, "for what may appear unmannerly. I was gazing at aresemblance. "

"A resemblance?"

"Yes! one that recalls the sweetest hour of my life. "

"I remind you of some one, then?"

"Ay--truly. "

"Some one who has been dear to you?"

"Has been, and _is_. "

"Ah! and who, sir, may I have the fortune to resemble?"

"One dear also to you--_your sister_!"

"My sister!"

"Lilian. "

CHAPTER EIGHTY THREE. 

OLD MEMORIES AWAKENED. 

The rein dropped from her fingers--the rifle fell upon the neck of herhorse, and she sat gazing at me in speechless surprise. At length, in alow murmur, and as if mechanically, she repeated the words:

"My sister Lilian?"

"Yes, Marian Holt--your sister. "

"My name! how can you have become acquainted with it? You know mysister?"

"Know her, and love her--I have given her my whole heart. "

"And she--has she returned your love?"

"Would that I could say surely yes! Alas! I am still in doubt. "

"Your words are strange. O sir, tell me who you are! I need notquestion what you have said. I perceive that you know my sister--andwho I am. It is true: I am Marian Holt--and you? you are fromTennessee?"

"I have come direct from it. "

"From the Obion? perhaps from--"

"From your father's clearing on Mud Creek, Marian. "

"Oh! this is unexpected--what fortune to have met you, sir! You haveseen my sister then?"

"I have. "

"And spoken with her? How long ago?"

"Scarcely a month. "

"So lately! And how looks she? She was well!"

"How looks she?--Beautiful, Marian, like yourself. She was well, too, when I last saw her. "

"Dear Lilian!--O sir! how glad I am to hear from her! Beautiful I knowshe is--very, very beautiful. Ah me!--they said I was so too, but mygood looks have been lost in the wilderness. A life like that I havebeen leading soon takes the softness from a girl's cheeks. But, Lilian!O stranger! tell me of her! I long to hear of her--to see her. It isbut six months, and yet I think it six years, since I saw her. Oh! howI long to throw my arms around her! to twine her beautiful golden-hairaround my fingers, to gaze into her blue innocent eyes!" My heartechoed the longings. 

"Sweet little Lilian! Ah--little--perhaps not, sir? She will be grownby this? A woman like myself?"

"Almost a woman. "

"Tell me, sir--did she speak of me? Oh, tell me--what said she of hersister Marian?"

The question was put in a tone that betrayed anxiety. I did not leaveher to the torture of suspense; but hastily repeated the affectionateexpressions which Lilian had uttered in her behalf. 

"Good kind Lil! I know she loves me as I love her--we had no othercompanions--none I may say for years, only father himself. And father--is he well?"

There was a certain reservation in the tone of this interrogatory, thatcontrasted strangely with that used when speaking of her sister. I wellknew why. 

"Yes, " I replied, "your father was also in good health when I saw him. "

There was a pause that promised embarrassment--a short interval ofsilence. A question occurred to me that ended it. "Is there no oneelse about whom you would desire to hear?"

I looked into her eyes as I put the question. The colour upon hercheeks went and came, like the changing hues of the chameleon. Herbosom rose and fell in short convulsive breathings; and, despite anevident effort to stifle it, an audible sigh escaped her. The signswere sufficient. I needed no further confirmation of my belief. Withinthat breast was a souvenir, that in interest far exceeded the memoriesof either sister or father. The crimson flush upon her cheek, the quickheaving of the chest, the half-hindered sigh, were evidences palpableand pronounced. Upon the heart of Marian Holt was the image of thehandsome hunter--Frank Wingrove--graven there, deeply and never to beeffaced. 

"Why do you ask that question?" at length she inquired, in a voice ofassumed calmness. "Know you anything of my history? You appear to knowall. Has any one spoken of me?"

"Yes--often--one who thinks only of you. "

"And who, may I ask, takes this single interest in a poor outcastmaiden?"

"Ask your own heart, Marian! or do you wish me to name him?"

"Name him!"

"Frank Wingrove. "

She did not start. She must have expected that name: since there was noother to be mentioned. She did not start, though a sensible change wasobservable in the expression of her countenance. A slight darkling uponher brow, accompanied by a pallor and compression of the lips, indicatedpain. 

"Frank Wingrove, " I repeated, seeing that she remained silent. "I knownot why I should have challenged you to name him, " said she, stillpreserving the austere look. "Now that you have done so, I regret it. I had hoped never to hear his name again. In truth, I had well-nighforgotten it. "

I did not believe in the sincerity of the assertion. There was a slighttincture of pretence in the tone that belied the words. It was the lipsalone that were speaking, and not the heart. It was fortunate thatWingrove was not within earshot. The speech would have slain him. 

"Ah, Marian!" I said, appealingly, "he has not forgotten yours. "

"No--I suppose he mentions it--with boasting!"

"Say rather with bewailing. "

"Bewailing? Indeed! And why? That he did not succeed in betrayingme?"

"Far otherwise--he has been true to you!"

"It is false, sir. You know not, perhaps, that I was myself witness ofhis base treachery. I saw him--"

"What you saw was a mere accidental circumstance; nor was it of hisseeking. It was the fault of the Chicasaw, I can assure you. "

"Ha! ha! ha! An accidental circumstance!" rejoined she, with acontemptuous laugh; "truly a rare accident! It was guilt, sir. I sawhim with his arms around her--with my own eyes I saw this. What fartherproof needed I of his perfidy?"

"All that you saw, I admit, but--"

"More than saw it: I heard of his faithlessness. Did not she herselfdeclare it--in Swampville? elsewhere!--boasted of it even to my ownsister! More still: another was witness to his vile conduct--had oftenseen him in her company. Ha! little dreamed he, while dallying in thewoods with his red-skinned squaw, that the earth has ears and the treeshave tongues. The deceiver did not think of that!"

"Fair Marian, they are foul calumnies; and whoever has given utteranceto them did so to deceive you. Who, may I ask, was that other witnesswho has so misled you!"

"Oh! it matters not now--another villain like himself--one who--O God!I cannot tell you the horrid history--it is too black to be believed. "

"Nay, you may tell it me. I half know it already; but there are somepoints I wish explained--for your sake--for Wingrove's--for the sake ofyour sister--"

"My sister! how can it concern her? Surely it does not? Explain yourmeaning, sir. "

I endeavoured to avoid the look of earnest inquiry that was turned uponme. I was not yet prepared to enter upon the explanation. "Presently, "I said, "you shall know all that has transpired since your departurefrom Tennessee. But first tell me of yourself. You have promised me?I ask it not from motives of idle curiosity. I have freely confessed toyou my love for your sister Lilian. It is that which has brought mehere--it is that which impels me to question you. "

"All this is mystery to me, " replied the huntress, with a look ofextreme bewilderment. "Indeed, sir, you appear to know all--more thanI--but in regard to myself, I believe you are disinterested, and I shallwillingly answer any question you may think proper to ask me. Go on! Ishall conceal nothing. "

"Thanks!" said I. "I think I can promise that you shall have no reasonto regret your confidence. "

CHAPTER EIGHTY FOUR. 

PLAYING CONFESSOR. 

I was not without suspicion as to the motive of her _complaisance_: infact, I understood it. Despite the declamatory denial she had given toits truth, my defence of Wingrove, I saw, had made an impression uponher. It had no doubt produced pleasant reflections; and rendered myselfindirectly an object of gratitude. It was natural that such kindnessshould be reciprocated. 

My own intent in "confessing" the girl was twofold. First, onWingrove's account: for, notwithstanding all that had been said anddone, her love for him _might have passed_. If so, instead of thathappy reunion of two loving hearts, which I had anticipated bringingabout, I should be the witness of a most painful interview. 

Without further delay, I entered upon the theme. My interrogatorieswere answered with candid freedom. The answers proved that what theMexican had told me was true to the letter. 

"And did your father force you to this marriage?"

The reply was given hesitatingly. It was in the affirmative. "He did. "

"For what reason did he so?"

"I could never tell. The man had some power over him; but how or inwhat way, I knew not then, nor do I now. My father told me it was adebt--a large sum which he owed him, and could not pay. I know notwhether it was that. _I hope it was_. "

"You think, then, that Stebbins used some such means to force yourfather's consent?"

"I am sure of it. My father told me as much. He said that by marryingStebbins I could save him from disgrace, and entreated, rather thanforced me to it. You know, sir, I could not ask why: he was my father. I do think that it was _not_ his wish that I should have that man; butsomething threatened him. "

"Did your father know it was a false marriage?"

"No, no; I can never think so. I am sure the villain deceived him inthat, as he did me. Oh! father could never have done so! People, Ibelieve, thought him wicked, because he was short with them, and usedrough language. But he was not wicked. Something had crossed him; andhe drank. He was at times unhappy, and perhaps ill-tempered with theworld; but never with us. He was always kind to sister and myself--never scolded us. Ah! no, sir; I can never think he knew that. "

"He was aware that Stebbins was a Mormon--was he not?"

"I have tried to believe that he was not--though Stebbins afterwardstold me so. " I well knew that he was aware of it, but said nothing. 

"His saying so, " continued she, "proves nothing. If father did know ofhis being a Mormon, I am sure he was ignorant of the wickedness of thesepeople. There were stories about them; but there were others whocontradicted these stories, and said they were all scandal--so littledoes the world know what is true from what is false. I learntafterwards that the very worst that was said of them was even less thanthe truth. "

"Of course, _you_ knew nothing of Stebbins being a Mormon?"

"Oh! sir, how could I? There was nothing said of that. He pretended hewas emigrating to Oregon, where a good many had gone. Had I known thetruth, I should have drowned myself rather than have gone with him!"

"After all, you would not have obeyed your father's will in the matter, had not something else arisen. At his solicitation, you gave yourconsent; but were you not influenced by the incident that had occurredin the forest-glade?"

"Stranger! I have promised you I would conceal nothing; nor shall I. On discovering the falsehood of him who had told me he loved me, I wasmore than mad--I was revengeful. I will not deny that I felt spite. Iscarcely cared what became of me--else how could I have consented tomarry a man for whom I had neither love nor liking? On the contrary, Imight almost say that I loathed him. "

"And you _loved_ the other? Speak the truth, Marian! you have promisedto do so--you loved Frank Wingrove?"

"I did. "

A deep-drawn sigh followed the confession. 

"Once more speak the truth--you _love him still_?"

"Oh! if he had been true--if he had been true!"

"If true, you could love him still?"

"Yes, yes!" replied she, with an earnestness not to be mistaken. 

"Love him, then, Marian! love him still! Frank Wingrove is true!" Idetailed the proofs of his loyalty from beginning to end. I had learntevery circumstance from Wingrove himself, and was able to set them forthwith all the circumstantiality of truth itself. I spoke with as muchearnestness as if I had been suing in my own cause; but I was listenedto with willing ears, and my suit was successful. I even succeeded inexplaining that _sinister kiss_, that had been the cause of so muchmisfortune. 

CHAPTER EIGHTY FIVE. 

FURTHER REFLECTIONS. 

I might, without blame, have envied them those sweet throbbings of theheart, so different from my own. Widely different, since mine beat withthe most painful pulsations. The cloud which had fallen upon it throughthe revelations of the Mexican, had been further darkened by the detailsthat confirmed them; and now that the excitement, of the conflict wasover, and I had an opportunity to reflect upon the future withcomparative coolness, the agony of my soul became more concentrated andkeen. I scarcely felt joy that my life was saved; I almost wished thatI had perished by the hands of the Indians!

The strange story of the trapper, now fully corroborated by its ownheroine--with the additional facts obtained from herself--were onlypartially the cause of the horrid fancies that now shaped themselves inmy imagination. I could have but one belief about the intention ofStebbins. That was, that the base wretch was playing procurator to hisdespot master, doubtless to serve some ends of self-advancement: since Iwell knew that such were the titles to promotion in the Mormonhierarchy. With the experience of her sister fresh before my eyes, Icould have no other belief than that Lilian, too, was being led to alike sacrifice. And how was this sacrifice to be stayed? How was thesad catastrophe to be averted? It was in the endeavour to answer theseinterrogatories that I felt my feebleness--the utter absence ofstrength. Had it been a mere question of overtaking the caravan, therewould have been no need for the slightest uneasiness. It would still bemany days--weeks, indeed--before the north-going train could, arrive atits destination; and if my apprehensions about the designs of Stebbinswere well founded, Lilian would be in no danger until after her arrivalin the so-called "Mormon city. " It was there--within the walls of thatmodern Gomorrah--upon a shrine consecrated to the mockery of every moralsentiment, that the sacrifice of virtue was to be offered up--there wasit that the wolf awaited the lamb for his victim-bride!

I knew, if no obstacle should be encountered--such as that which hadjust delayed us--that we could easily come up with the Mormon emigrants. We had no longer a similar obstacle to dread. The whole country beyondthe mountains was Utah territory; and we could count upon these Indiansas friends. From that quarter we had nothing to apprehend; and thecaravan might easily be overtaken. But what then? Even though incompany with it, for my purpose I should be as powerless as ever. Bywhat right should I interfere with either the squatter or his child? Nodoubt it was their determination to proceed with the Mormons, and to theMormon city--at least the father's determination. This was no longer amatter of doubt; and what could I urge to prevent his carrying it out?I had no argument--not the colour of a claim--for interference in anyway! Nay, it was more than probable that to the migrating Mormons Ishould be a most unwelcome apparition--to Stebbins I certainly should, and perhaps to Holt himself. I might expect no very courteous treatmentat their hands. With Stebbins for their leader--and that fact was nowascertained--I might find myself in danger from his _Danites_--of whomno doubt there would be a party "policing" the train. 

Such considerations were not to be disregarded. I knew the hostilitywhich, even under ordinary circumstances, these fanatics are accustomedto feel towards outsiders to their faith; but I had also heard of their_display_ of it, when in possession of the power. The "Sectary" whosets foot in the city of Latter-day Saints, or travels with a Mormontrain, will be prudent to keep his dissent to himself. Woe to him if heproclaim it too boastingly!

Not only with difficulties then, but with dangers was my purpose beset;though the difficulties caused me far more concern than the actualdangers. Had Holt been upon my side--had I been certain of hisconsent--I should have cared little for the dangers of an _abduction_:for this was the plan to which my thoughts now pointed. Even had I beensure that Lilian herself would agree to such a thing, I should havedeemed all danger light, and still have entertained a hope of itsaccomplishment. The contingencies appeared fearfully unfavourable: thefather _would not_ consent--the daughter _might not_? It was this lastdoubt that gave the darkest hue to my reflections. I continued them--turning the subject over and over--viewing it from every point. SurelyHolt would not contribute to the ruin of his daughter--for in no otherlight did I regard her introduction to the society of the Mormon city?There was manhood in the man--somewhere down near the bottom of hisheart--perhaps some remnants of rough virtue. This I had myself proved;and, if filial testimony were to be trusted, he was not so abandoned acharacter as he appeared. Was it possible he could be aware of the realintentions of the churl who was leading him and his to ruin? After all, he _might_ not. It is true he was aware that Stebbins was a Mormon; butas Marian had suggested--in her efforts to justify him, poor girl--hemight be ignorant of the true character of these sanctified _forbans_. 

The story that Marian had died on her way out, showed that Holt wasbeing grossly deceived in relation to that matter. It also gave colourto the idea, that he might be equally the victim of deception about theother. It was in the hope of being able to hold him guiltless I had soclosely questioned Marian: for instinct had already whispered me that inhis hands, more than in aught else, rested my hope or my ruin. For thatreason had I been so eager to ascertain his inclinings. 

That he was under some obligation to the pseudo-apostle was perfectlyclear. More than a mere obligation; something that produced a conditionof awe: as I had myself been a witness. Some dark secret, no doubt, wasshared between them. But were it ever so dark even were it blackmurder--it might not be, on the part of Holt, a voluntary endurance: andMarian had hinted at something of this sort. Here--out in the midst ofthe wild desert--far from justice and from judges--punishment for an oldoffence might be less dreaded; and a man of the bold stamp of thisTennesseean squatter might hopefully dream of escaping from the ties ofterror by which his spirit had so long been enthralled? Conjectures ofthis nature were chasing one another through my brain; and not withoutthe effect of once more giving a brighter tinge to the colour of mymental horizon. I naturally turned my eyes upon Marian. In her Ibeheld an ally of no ordinary kind--one whose motive for aiding me torescue her sister, could be scarce less powerful than my own. 

Poor girl! she was still in the enjoyment of those moments of bliss!She knew not the misery that was yet in store for her. Wingrove had mydirections to be silent upon that theme--the more easily obeyed in thefulness of his own happiness. It was no pleasant task to dash fromtheir lips, the cup of sweet joy; but the time was pressing, and as thesacrifice must come, it might as well come at once. I saw that theUtahs had given up the pursuit. Most of them had returned to the sceneof their short conflict; while others, singly or in squads, were movingtowards the butte. The women, too, were approaching--some with thewounded--some carrying the bodies of the slain warriors--chaunting thedismal death-song as they marched solemnly along. Casting a glance atthe wailing multitude, I leaped down from the rock, and rapidlydescended to the plain. 

CHAPTER EIGHTY SIX. 

A TRUE TIGRESS. 

I walked out towards the stream. The lovers met me halfway. As Ilooked in their eyes, illumined and sparkling with the pure light oflove, I hesitated in my intent. "After all, " thought I, "there will notbe time to tell her the whole story. The Indians will soon be on theground. Our presence will be required in the council; and perhaps itwill be better to postpone the revelation till that is over? Let herenjoy her new-found happiness for an hour longer. "

I was thus hesitating--at the same time looking the beautiful huntressin the face--when, all of a sudden, I saw her start, and fling from herthe hand she had been hitherto holding in her fond clasp! The look ofher lover--mine as well--was that of bewildered astonishment. Not sohers. Her cheek turned pale--then red--then paled again; while a glanceof proud anger shot forth from her eyes! The glance was directedoutwards to the plain, back upon Wingrove, and then once more quick andpiercing towards the plain. Equally puzzled by her look and behaviour, I faced round in the direction indicated by her glance. I had theexplanation at once. 

The chief, Wa-ka-ra, had arrived at the butte; and sat halted upon hiswar-steed by the side of the waggon. There were three or four otherIndians around him, mounted and afoot; but one on horseback was entirelyunlike the rest. This one was a woman. She was not bound, yet it waseasy to see she was a captive. That could be told by the way she wasencircled by the Indians, as well as by their treatment of her. She wason horseback, as already stated, and near to the Utah chief--in front ofhim. Neither Wingrove nor I had any difficulty in identifying thecaptive. It was Su-wa-nee, the Chicasaw. The eye of jealousy had foundher equally easy of identification: since it was by it she was firstrecognised. It was upon her that Marian was directing those lightningglances. It was her presence that had caused that convulsive start, andthose fearful emotions, that now proclaimed themselves in thecountenance of the huntress-maiden. 

The storm soon burst. "Perjured hypocrite! this is the love you havesworn--with the oath still burning upon your lips? Once more betrayed!O man! Once more betrayed! O God! would that I had left you to yourfate!"

"I declar', Marian--"

"Declare nothing more to me! Enough--yonder is your attraction--yonder!Oh! to think of this outrage! Here--even here to the wild desert hashe brought her; she who has been the cause of all, my unhappy--Ha! sheis coming up to you! Now, sir, meet her face to face--help her from herhorse--wait upon her! Go! villain, go!"

"I swar' Marian, by the livin'--"

His speech was interrupted. At that moment Su-wa-nee, who had shot herhorse clear from the _entourage_, of her guards, came galloping upon theground. I was myself so surprised at this proceeding, that I could notstir from the spot; and not until the Chicasaw had passed directly infront of us and halted there, could I believe that I was otherwise thandreaming. Wingrove appeared equally the victim of a bewilderedsurprise. As Su-wa-nee drew up, she gave utterance to a shrill scream;and flinging herself from her horse, rushed onward in the direction ofMarian. The latter had turned away at the conclusion of her franticspeech; and was now close to the bank of the stream, with her backtowards us. There was no mistaking the intention of the Chicasaw. Thehideous expression of her face--the lurid fire burning in her obliqueeyes--the white teeth shining and wolf-like--all betrayed her horriddesign; which was further made manifest by a long knife seen glitteringin her grasp! With all my voice I raised a warning shout! Wingrove didthe same--so, too, the Utahs, who were following their captive. Theshout was heard, and heeded. Fortunately it was so: else in anotherinstant warning would have been too late, and the vengeful Chicasawwould have launched herself upon her unconscious victim. The huntressfaced round on hearing the cry. She saw the approaching danger; and, with the subtle quickness of that Indian nature common to both, sheplaced herself in an attitude of defence. She had no weapon. Her latelove scene needed none. Her rifle had been left by the butte, and shewas without arm of any kind; but, quick as thought, she wound theMexican _serape_ about her wrist, and held it to shield her body fromthe threatened thrust. The Chicasaw paused, as if to make more certainof her aim; and for a moment the two stood face to face--glaring at eachother with that look of concentrated hate which jealousy alone can give. It was the enraged tigress about to spring upon the beautiful pantherthat has crossed her path. 

All this action was well-nigh instantaneous--so quick in its occurrence, that neither I nor Wingrove could get up in time to hinder theassailant. We both hastened forward as fast as it was in our power; butwe should have been too late, had the thrust been better aimed, or lessskilfully avoided. It was given. With a wild scream the Chicasawbounded forward and dealt the stroke; but, by a dexterous sleight, thehuntress received it on the _serape_, and the blade glanced harmlesslyaside. We hurried onward to get between them; but at that moment athird combatant became mingled in the fray, and the safety of Marian wassecured. 

It was not the hand of man that had rescued her; but an ally whom, perhaps, she deemed more faithful. It was the dog Wolf! The impetuswhich the Indian had given to the thrust, and its consequent failure, had carried her past her intended victim. She was turning with thedesign of renewing the attack, when the dog rushed upon the ground. With a savage growl the animal sprang forward; and, vaulting high intothe air, launched himself on the breast of the Chicasaw--at the sameinstant seizing her by the throat! In this position he clung--holdingon by his terrible teeth, and aided by his paws, with which he keptconstantly clawing the bosom of the Indian! It was a painful spectacle;and now that Marian was safe, Wingrove and I ran on with the intentionof releasing the woman from the grasp of the dog. Before we could getnear, both victim and avenger disappeared from our sight! The Indian inher wild terror had been retreating backward. In this way she hadreached the bank; and, having lost her footing, had fallen back downwardupon the water! As we arrived upon the edge, neither woman nor dog wasvisible. Both had sunk to the bottom! Almost on the instant theyre-appeared on the surface, the dog uppermost; and we saw that his teethwere still fastened upon the throat of his human victim! Half-a-dozenmen leaped into the water; and, after a struggle, the savage animal wasdragged from his hold. It was too late. The sharp incisors had donetheir dread work; and, as the body of the wretched woman was raised overthe bank, those who lifted it perceived that the last breath had goneout of it. The limbs were supple, and the pulse no longer beat. Su-wa-nee had ceased to live!

CHAPTER EIGHTY SEVEN. 

SUSPICIOUS APPEARANCES. 

The Indians came crowding around the corpse--both warriors and women. Their exclamations betokened no sympathy. Even the squaws looked onwith unpitying aspect--though the victim was of their own race and sex. They knew she had been allied with their enemies; and had been witnessesof her savage assault upon _Maranee_, though ignorant of its motive. Some of them who had lost kindred in the strife, already stirred bygrief and fury, were proceeding to insult the lifeless and mutilatedremains--to mutilate them still more! I turned away from the loathsomescene. Neither the dead nor the living, that composed this ghastlytableau, had further interest for me. 

My glance, wandering in search of other forms, first fell upon that ofWingrove. He was standing near, in an attitude that betokened extremeprostration of spirit. His head hung forward over his breast; but hiseyes were not directed to the ground: they were turned upward, gazingafter a form that was passing away. It was that of the huntress. Thegirl had regained her horse; and was riding off, followed by the dog. She went slowly--as if irresolute both as to the act and the direction. In both, the horse appeared to have his will: the reins rested looselyupon his withers; while his rider seemed wrapped in a silentabstraction. I was hastening towards my Arab, with the design ofjoining her, when I saw that I was anticipated. Another had conceived asimilar intention. It was Wa-ka-ra. 

The young chief, still on horseback, was seen spurring out from themidst of his men, and guiding his war-steed in the direction taken bythe huntress. Before I could lay hands upon my bridle, he had gallopedup to Marian, and falling into a gentler pace, rode on by her side. Idid not attempt to follow them. Somewhat chagrined at having my designsinterrupted, I gave up the intention of mounting my horse, and turnedback towards Wingrove. As soon as I was near enough to read theexpression upon his features, I saw that my chagrin was more than sharedby him. An emotion of most rancorous bitterness was burning in thebreast of the young backwoodsman. His glance was fixed upon the twoforms--slowly receding across the plain. He was regarding everymovement of both with that keen concentrated gaze, which jealousy alonecan give. 

"Nonsense, Wingrove!" said I, reading the thoughts of his heart. "Don'tlet that trouble you: there's nothing between them, I can assure you. "

Certainly the spectacle was enough to excite the suspicions of a lessjealous lover--if not to justify them. Both the equestrians had haltedat a distant part of the plain. They were not so distant, but thattheir attitudes could be observed. They still remained on horseback;but the horses were side by side, and so near each other, that thebodies of their riders appeared almost touching. The head of the chiefwas bent forward and downward; while his hand appeared extended outward, as if holding that of the huntress! It was a fearful tableau for alover to contemplate--even at a distance; and the white lips, clenchedteeth, and quick irregular beating of Wingrove's heart--perfectlyaudible to me as I stood beside him--told with what terrible emotionsthe sight was inspiring him. I was myself puzzled at the attitude ofthe Utah chief--as well as the silent complaisance with which hisattentions appeared to be received. It certainly had the seeming ofgallantry--though I was loth to believe in its reality. In truth Icould not give credence to such a thought. It was not human nature--noteven woman's--to play false in such _sans facon_. The appearance mustcertainly be a deception?

I was endeavouring to conjecture an explanation, when a moving objectattracted my attention. It was a horseman who appeared upon the plain, beyond where the huntress and the chief had halted. To our eyes, he wasnearly in a line with them--approaching down the valley from the uppercanon--out of which he had evidently issued. He was still at aconsiderable distance from the other two; but it could be seen that hewas coming on at full gallop and straight towards them. In a fewmoments, he would be up to where they stood. I watched this horsemanwith interest. I was in hopes he would keep on his course, andinterrupt the scene that was annoying myself, and torturing mycompanion. I was not disappointed in the hope. The hurrying horsemanrode straight on; and, having arrived within a few paces of the groundoccupied by the others, drew his horse to a halt. At the same instant, the Utah chief was seen to separate from his companion; and riding up tothe stranger, appeared to enter into conversation with him. 

After some minutes had elapsed, the chief faced round to the huntress;and, apparently giving utterance to some parting speech, headed hishorse toward the butte, and along with the stranger, came gallopingdownward. The huntress kept her place; but I saw her dismount, andstoop down towards the dog, as if caressing him. I resolved to seizethe opportunity of speaking with her alone; and, bidding Wingrove waitfor my return, I once more hastened to lay hold of my horse. Perhaps Ishould encounter the chief on the way? Perhaps he might not exactlylike the proceeding? But Marian must be communicated with uponsomething besides matters of love; and my honest intention rendered meless timid about any idle construction the savage might please to putupon my conduct. Thus fortified, I leaped to the back of my steed, andhurried off upon my errand. 

CHAPTER EIGHTY EIGHT. 

A FRESH ECLAIRCISSEMENT. 

As we rode in counter-directions, I met the chief almost on the instant. I was slightly surprised that he passed, without taking notice of me!He could not fail to guess whither I was going: as I was headingstraight for the huntress; and here was no other object to have drawn mein that direction. He did not even appear to see me! As he passed at arapid pace, his eyes were bent forward upon the butte, or occasionallyturned towards the horseman who galloped by his side. The strangehorseman was an Indian. From the absence of the war-costume, I couldtell he had not been engaged in the late conflict, but had just arrivedfrom some distant journey--no doubt, a messenger who brought news. Hisjaded horse and dusky garb justified this conjecture. Equally desirousof shunning an encounter, I passed the two riders in silence, and kepton my course. As I drew near to the huntress-maiden, I was speculatingon the reception I might expect, and the explanation I ought to give. How would she receive me? Not with much grace, I feared; at all events, not till she should hear what I had to say. The ambiguous and ill-timedappearance of the Chicasaw, combined with the sinister and dramaticincident which followed, must have produced on her mind eccentric anderroneous impressions. The effect would naturally be to falsify, notonly the protestations of her lover, but my own testimony borne in hisbehalf, and indeed all else she had been told. It was not difficult topredict an ungracious reception. As I approached, she gave overcaressing the dog; and once more leaped to the back of her horse. I wasin fear that she would ride off, and shun me. I knew I could easilyovertake her; but a chase of this nature would scarcely have been to myliking. 

"Marian Holt!" I said, in a tone of gentle remonstrance, "yoursuspicions are unjust; I have come to offer you an explanation--"

"I need none, " interrupted she in a quiet voice, but without raising hereyes. A gentle wave of her hand accompanied the words. I fancied boththe tone and the gesture were repellant; but soon perceived that I wasmistaken. "I need none, " she repeated, "all has been explained. "

"Explained! How?" I inquired, taken by surprise at the unexpecteddeclaration. "Wa-ka-ra has told me all. "

"What!--of Su-wa-nee?" A gesture of assent was the answer. "I am gladof this. But Wa-ka-ra! how knew he the circumstance?"

"Partly from the Mexican to whom your people have communicated them--partly from the captive Arapahoes. Enough--I am satisfied. "

"And you forgive Wingrove?"

"Forgiveness now lies upon his side. I have not only wronged him by mysuspicions, but I have reviled him. I deserve his contempt, _I_ canscarcely hope to be forgiven. "

Light had broken upon me--bright light it was for Wingrove! Thesuspicious _duetto_ with the Utah chief was explained. Its innocencewas made further manifest, by what came under my eyes at the moment. Onthe arm that was raised in gesture, I observed a strip of cotton woundround it above the wrist. A spot of blood appeared through the rag!

"Ha! you are wounded?" said I, noticing the bandage. "It is nothing--merely a scratch made by the point of the knife. Wa-ka-ra has bound itup. It still bleeds a little, but it is nothing. " It was the _role_ ofthe surgeon, then, the chief had been playing when seen in thatambiguous attitude! More light for Wingrove!

"What a fiend!" I said, my reflection directed towards Su-wa-nee. "Shedeserved death!"

"Ah--the unfortunate woman! hers has been a terrible fate; and whethershe deserved it or not, I cannot help feeling pity for her. I would toGod it had been otherwise; but this faithful companion saw the attemptupon my life; and when any one attacks me, nothing can restrain him. Itis not the first time he has protected me from an enemy. Ah me! minehas been a life of sad incidents--at least the last six months of it. "

I essayed to rescue her from these gloomy reflections. I foresaw thetermination of her troubles. Their end was near. Words of cheer wereeasily spoken. I could promise her the forgiveness of her lover: sinceI knew how freely and promptly that would be obtained. 

"Ah, Marian, " I said, "a bright future is before you. Would that Icould say as much for myself--for your sister Lilian!"

"Ha!" exclaimed she, suddenly excited to an extreme point of interest, "tell me of my sister! You promised to do so? Surely _she_ is not indanger?"

I proceeded to reveal everything--my own history--my first interviewwith Lilian--my love for her, and the reasons I had for believing it tobe returned--the departure from Tennessee with the Mormon--our pursuitof the train, and capture by the Indians--in short, everything that hadoccurred, up to the hour of my meeting with herself. I added mysuspicions as to the sad destiny for which her sister was designed--which my own fears hindered me from concealing. After giving way tothose natural emotions, which such a revelation was calculated toexcite, the huntress-maiden suddenly resumed that firmness peculiar toher character; and at once entered with me into the consideration ofsome plan by which Lilian might be saved from a fate--which her ownexperience told her could be no other than infamous. 

"Yes!" cried she, giving way to a burst of anguish, "too well know I thedesign of that perjured villain. O father! lost--dishonoured! Osister! bartered--betrayed! Alas! poor Lilian!"

"Nay--do not despair!--there is hope yet. But we must not lose time. We must at once depart hence, and continue the pursuit. "

"True--and I shall go with you. You promised to take me to my home!Take me now where you will--anywhere that I may assist in saving mysister. Merciful heaven! She, too, in the power of that monster ofwickedness!"

Wingrove, wildly happy--at once forgiving and forgiven--was now calledto our council. The faithful Sure-shot was also admitted to theknowledge of everything. We might stand in need of his efficient arm. We found an opportunity of conferring apart from the Indians--for the_scalp-dance_ now engrossed their whole attention. Withdrawing somedistance from the noisy ceremony, we proceeded to discuss thepossibility of rescuing Lilian Holt from the grasp of that knave intowhose power the innocent girl had so unprotectedly fallen. 

CHAPTER EIGHTY NINE. 

PLANNING AN ABDUCTION. 

Our deliberations occupied but a brief time. I had already consideredthe subject in all its bearings; and arrived at the conviction thatthere was only one course to be followed, by which Lilian's safety couldbe secured--that is, by carrying her off from the Mormon train. In thisopinion her sister fully agreed. She knew it would be idle to expectthat the wolf would willingly yield up his victim; and the painfulthought was pressing upon her that even her own father, hoodwinked bythe hypocrites that surrounded him, might reject the opportunity ofsaving his child! He would not be the only parent, who, blinded by thisabominable delusion, has similarly sacrificed upon the unhallowed altarof Mormondom. Of this melancholy fact Marian was not ignorant. Herunhappy journey across the great plains had revealed to her many astrange incident--many a wicked phase of the human heart. 

All agreed that Lilian must be taken from the Mormons, either by forceor by stealth. It must be done, too, before they could reach the SaltLake city. Once upon the banks of the Transatlantic Jordan, thesepseudo-saints would be safe from the interference of their most powerfulenemies. There the deed of abduction would be no longer possible; or, if still possible, _too late_. Was it practicable elsewhere--upon theroute? And how was it to be effected? These were the questions thatoccupied us. There were but three men of us: for the Irishman, nowcompletely _hors de combat_, must be left behind. True, thehuntress-maiden, who had declared her determination to accompany us, might well be counted as a fourth; in all four guns. But what wouldfour guns avail against more than ten times the number? Wingrove hadlearnt from the wretched Chicasaw that there were a hundred men with theMormon train. It was idle, therefore, to think of carrying her off byforce. That would have been sheer quixotism--only to end fatally forall of us. 

And was it not equally idle to dream of an abduction by stealth?Verily, it seemed so. How were we to approach this Mormon host? Howenter their camp, guarded as it would be by the jealous vigilance oflynx-eyed villains? By day, it would be impossible; by night, hazardous, and equally impracticable would be our purpose. We could notjoin company with these clannish emigrants, without offering someexcuse. What pretext could be put forward? Had we been strangers tothem, we might have availed ourselves of some plausible story; but, unfortunately, it was not so. All of us, except Sure-shot, would beknown to their leader. My presence, however unexpected, would at onceproclaim my purpose to the keen-witted knave; and as for Marian Holt, hers would be a position of positive danger--even equalling that inwhich her sister was now placed. Stebbins could _claim_ her--if not bya true husband's right, at least by the laws of Mormon matrimony; and ofcourse by those laws would the case be judged in a Mormon camp--theapostle himself being their interpreter!

The hope which I had built upon the prospect of an alliance with Marianwas, that by her intercession Lilian might be induced voluntarily tomake her escape--even, if necessary, _from her father_! I had conceivedthe hope too hastily--without dwelling upon the danger to Marianherself. This was now evident to all of us. We saw that Marian couldnot safely enter the Mormon camp. We could not think of submitting herto a danger that might too probably conduct to a double sacrifice--twovictims instead of one. Our thoughts turned upon the ex-rifleman. Hewas the only one of us unknown to the leader of the Mormons, and to Holthimself. To Sure-shot, then, were our hopes next transferred. He mightjoin the train on some pretext, the rest of us remaining at a distance?By this agency, a communication might be effected with Lilian herself;the proximity of her sister made known; the perils of her ownsituation--of which no doubt the young creature was yet entirelyignorant. Her scruples once overcome by a knowledge of her own danger, she would herself aid in contriving a plan of escape! For such apurpose, Sure-shot was the man--adroit, crafty, courageous. Thus ranour reflections. 

It may be wondered why, in this emergency, we had not thought ofWa-ka-ra: surely he could have given us effective aid. With his mountedwarriors, he could soon have overtaken the Mormon train, surrounded it, and dealt out the law to its leader? But we had already learnt theimprobability of our appeal being acted upon. Marian had interpreted tous the views of the Utah chief in relation to the Mormons. These wilydiplomatists had, from their first settlement in the Utah territory, courted the alliance of Wa-ka-ra and his band. They had made much ofthe warlike chief--had won his confidence and friendship--and at thathour the closest intimacy existed between him and the Mormon prophet. For this reason, Marian believed it would require a stronger motive thanmere personal friendship to make him act as their enemy. 

In such an important enterprise, no chance should be left untried. Iwas determined none should be; and therefore incited Marian to make anappeal to the Utah chief. She consented. It was worth the experiment. Should the answer prove favourable, our difficulties would soondisappear, and we might hope for a speedy success. If otherwise, ourprospects would still be the same--no worse: for worse they couldscarcely be. Marian left us, and proceeded on her errand to the chief. We saw him withdraw from the ceremonies, and, going apart, engage withthe girl in what appeared an earnest and animated conversation. Withhopeful hearts we looked on. Wingrove was no longer jealous. I hadcured him with a hint; and the bandaged arm of his betrothed hadexplained the delicate attentions, which the Indian had been seen tobestow upon her. The dialogue lasted for ten minutes, the speakers atintervals glancing towards us; but we knew the theme, and patientlyawaited the issue. It was soon to be declared to us. We saw the chiefwave his hand--as a signal that the conversation was ended; and thespeakers parted. Wa-ka-ra walked back among his warriors, while Marianwas seen returning to our council. We scrutinised her countenance asshe approached, endeavouring to read in it what our wishes dictated--anaffirmative to our appeal. Her step was buoyant; and her glance, if notgay, at least not one that betokened disappointment. We were unable todetermine, however, until her words declared the answer of the chief. As Marian had anticipated, he could not consent to act openly againstthe Mormons. But the tale had enlisted his sympathy; and he had evensuggested a plan by which we might carry out our design, without thenecessity of his interference. 

It was this: the horseman that had just arrived, chanced to be amessenger from the Mormons. Unable to find the Coochetopa Pass, theywere still encamped in the great valley of San Luis, on the banks of theRio del Norte. The only one of them who had been across the plainsbefore was their leader--Stebbins, of course--and he, having gone by theCherokee trail and Bridger's Pass, was entirely unacquainted with theroute they were now following. They were in need of a guide; and havingencountered the Indian at this crisis, and learnt that he belonged tothe band of Wa-ka-ra--not far off, as the man informed them--they haddespatched him to the Utah chief, with a request that the latter wouldfurnish them with a guide, and two or three of his best hunters. BeforeMarian had ended her explanation, I had divined the scheme. We were _topersonate the guide and hunters_. That was the suggestion of the Utahchief!

It was perfectly feasible. Nothing can be easier than to counterfeitthe semblance of the American Indian. The colour of the skin is of noconsequence. Ochre, charcoal, and vermilion made red man and white manas like as need be; and for the hair, the black tail of a horse, half-covered and confined by the great plumed bonnet, with its crestdropping backward, is a disguise not to be detected. The proud savagedoffs his eagle plumes to no living man; and even the most intrusiveMormon would not dare to scrutinise too closely the _coiffure_ of anIndian warrior. The plan was rendered further practicable, by a new andable ally enlisting himself into our ranks. This was the trapper, Archilete, who, from a hint given him by the Utah chief, at oncevolunteered to act as the guide. The Mexican had already conceived aninstinctive antipathy towards the Mormon "hereticos;" and we might relyupon his fidelity to our cause. The scheme exactly suited the eccentriccharacter of this singular man; and he entered upon his duties _conamore_, and at once. By his assistance we soon procured the requiredcostumes and pigments; but neither were to be "put on" in the presenceof the Utahs. It was necessary that Wa-ka-ra should not be compromisedby a too conspicuous "intervention. "

The friendly chief had hinted a further promise to Marian--even an openinterference in our favour--should that become necessary. He wouldfollow close after the Mormon train; and, should our design prove afailure, might _then use his influence_ on our behalf. This would havebeen the best news of all. With such a prospect, we should have hadlittle to fear for the result; but alas! before leaving the ground, anincident occurred that threatened to prevent our generous ally fromfulfilling that promise, however formally he might have made it. 

CHAPTER NINETY. 

PROTECTOR AND PROTEGEE. 

The incident referred to was the arrival of a scout, who, after theconflict, had followed upon the trail of the Arapahoes. This manbrought the intelligence that the scattered enemy had again collected--that, while fleeing from the _rout_, they had met with a large war-partyof their own tribe--accompanied by another of their allies, theCheyennes; that both together formed a band of several hundred warriors;and that they were now marching back towards the valley of theHuerfano--to take revenge for the death of Red-Hand, and the defeatwhich his party had sustained! This unexpected news brought thescalp-dance to an abrupt termination; and changed the whole aspect ofthe scene. The women, with loud cries, rushed towards their horses--with the intention of betaking themselves to a place of security; whilethe warriors looked to their arms--determined to make stand against theapproaching foe. It was not expected that the enemy would make theirattack at once. Certainly not before night, and perhaps not for days. The preparations to receive them were therefore entered upon with allthe coolness and deliberation that attack or defence might require. 

The encounter eventually came off; but it was only afterwards that Ilearnt the result. The Utahs were again victorious. Wa-ka-ra in thisaffair had given another proof of his strategic talent. He had madestand by the butte, but with only half of his warriors--distributed insuch a manner as to appear like the whole band. These, with theirrifles, could easily defend the mound against the arrows of the enemy;and did so during an assault that lasted for several hours. Meanwhilethe other half of his band had been posted upon the bluffs, hidden amongthe cedars; and, descending in the night, they had stolen unexpectedlyupon the allied forces, and attacked them in the rear. A concertedsortie from the mound had produced complete confusion in the ranks oftheir enemies; and the Utahs not only obtained a victory, but "hair"sufficient to keep them scalp-dancing for a month. As I have said, itwas afterwards that these facts came to my knowledge. I have hereintroduced them to show that we could no longer depend on any contingentintervention on the part of the Utah chief; and we were therefore themore keenly conscious that we should have to rely upon our ownresources. 

The Utahs showed no wish to detain us. They felt confident in their ownstrength, and in the fire-weapons--which they well knew how to use--and, after thanking their friendly chief for the great service he hadrendered us, and confiding our wounded comrade to his care, we partedfrom him without further ceremony. I witnessed not his parting withMarian. Between them there was an interview, but of what nature I couldnot tell. The huntress had stayed behind; and the rest having riddenforward, no one of us was present at that parting scene. There may havebeen a promise that they should meet again: for that was expected by allof us; but whether there was, or what may have been the feelings of theIndian at parting with his pale-faced _protegee_, I was not to know. Itwas difficult to believe that the young chief could have looked so longon that face, so beautifully fair, without conceiving a passion for itspossessor. It was equally difficult to believe, that if this passionexisted, he would have thus surrendered her to the arms of another. Anact so disinterested would have proved him noble indeed--the Rolla ofthe North! If the passion really did exist, I knew there could be noreciprocity. As Marian galloped up, and gazed in the eyes of thehandsome hunter--now entirely her own--her ardent glance told thatWingrove was the proud possessor of that magnificent maiden. 

In volunteering to be one of our party Marian was submitting herself toa fearful risk. That of the rest of us was trifling in comparison. Inreality we risked nothing, further than the failure of our plans; and acertain punishment if taken in the act of abduction. But even for thisthe Saints would scarcely demand our lives--unless in hot blood weshould be slain upon the instant. Her position was entirely different. The Mormon apostle, whether false husband or real, could and would claimher. There was no law in that land--at all events, no power--to hinder_him_ from acting as he should please; and it was easy to foresee whatwould be his apostolic pleasure. The very presence of Wingrove wouldstimulate him to a revengeful course; and should her Indian disguise bedetected, Marian might look forward to a fate already deemed by herworse than death. She was sensible of all this; but it did not turn herfrom her determination. Her tender affection for Lilian--her earnestdesire to save her sister from the peril too plainly impending, renderedher reckless about her _own_; and the bold girl had formed theresolution to dare everything--trusting to chance and her own strongwill for the successful accomplishment of our purpose. I no longerattempted to dissuade her against going with us. How could I? Withouther aid my own efforts might prove idle and fruitless. Lilian might notlisten to _me_? Perhaps that secret influence, on which I had soconfidently calculated, might exist only in a diminished degree?Perhaps it might be gone for ever? Strange to say, though I had drawnsome sweet inferences from those neglected flowers, every time the_bouquet_ came back to my memory, it produced a palpable feeling ofpain! He who so cunningly sued, might hope for some measure of success?And she, so sweetly solicited--more dangerous than if boldly beset--hadher heart withstood the sapping of such a crafty besieger! _My_influence might indeed be gone; or, if a remnant of it still existed, itmight not turn the scale against that of her father--that fearfulfather! What should he care for one child, who had already abettedanother to her shame?

Possessed by these thoughts, then, I tried not to turn Marian from herpurpose. On the contrary, I rather encouraged it. On her influencewith Lilian I had now placed my chief reliance. Without that, I shouldhave been almost deprived of hope. It might turn out that Lilian nolonger loved me. Time, or absence, might have inverted the _stylus_upon the tender page of her young heart; and some other image may havebecome impressed upon its yielding tablet? If so, my own would sorelygrieve; but, even if so, I would not that hers should be corrupted. Shemust not be the victim of a villain, if my hand could hinder it! "No, Lilian! though loved and lost, I shall not add to the bitterness of yourbetrayal. My cup of grief will possess sufficient acerbity withoutmingling with it the gall of revenge. "

CHAPTER NINETY ONE. 

THE NIGHT-CAMP. 

We again rode through the upper canon of the Huerfano, keeping along thebank of the stream. Farther on we came to the forking of two trails--the more southern one leading up to the Cuchada, to the pass of Sangrede Cristo. By it had the gold-seekers gone in company with thedragoons--the latter _en route_ for the new military post of PortMassachusetts--the former, no doubt, intending to take the line of theGila or Mohave to their still distant destination--the gold-bearingplacers of California?

Above its upper canon the Huerfano bends suddenly to the north; and upits bank lies the route to Robideau's Pass--the same taken by the Mormontrain. We had no difficulty in following their trail. The wheel andhoof-tracks had cut out a conspicuous road; and the numbers of bothshowed that the party was a large one--much larger than our previousinformation had led us to anticipate. This was of little consequence--since in any case, we could not have used force in the accomplishment ofour design. I regarded it rather as a favourable circumstance. Thegreater the multitude, the less likelihood of an individual beingclosely observed, or speedily missed. We reached Robideau's Pass as thesun was sinking over the great plain of San Luis. Within the pass welighted upon the ground of the Mormon encampment. It had been theirhalting-place of the night before. The wolves were prowling among thesmouldering fires--whose half-burnt faggots still sent up their wreathsof filmy smoke. 

We now knew the history of the captured waggon and slain teamsters. Ourguide had learnt it from the Utah messenger. The vehicle had belongedto the Mormons; who, at the time the Arapahoes made their attack, wereonly a short distance in the advance. Instead of returning to therescue of their unfortunate comrades, their dread of the Indians hadcaused them to yield ready obedience to the Napoleonic motto, _sauve quipeut_: and they had hurried onward without making stop, till nightovertook them in the Robideau Pass. This version enabled me to explainwhat had appeared very strange conduct on the part of the escort. Thecharacter of the victims to the Arapaho attack would in some measurehave accounted for the indifference of the dragoons. With the safety ofthe Mormons they had no concern; and would be likely enough to leavethem to their fate. But the guide had ascertained that bothgold-diggers and dragoons--disgusted with their saintly _compagnons duvoyage_--had separated from them; and, having gone far ahead, in allprobability knew nothing of the sanguinary scene that had been enactedin the valley of the Huerfano!

We resolved to pass the night on the ground of the deserted encampment. By our guide's information--received from the runner--the Mormons wereabout thirty miles in advance of us. They were encamped on the banks ofthe Rio del Norte, there awaiting the answer of the Utah chief. Thatanswer we should ourselves deliver on the following day. Having giventhe _coyotes_ their _conge_, we proceeded to pitch our buffalo-tents. Abrace of these, borrowed from the friendly Utahs, formed part of thepacking of our mules. One was intended for the use of thehuntress-maiden--the other to give lodgment to the rest of our party. Not but that all of us--even Marian herself--could have dispensed withsuch a shelter. We had another object in thus providing ourselves. Itmight be necessary to travel some days in the company of the Saints. Inthat case, the tents would serve not only for shelter, but as a place of_concealment_. The opaque covering of skins would protect us from thetoo scrutinising gaze of our fellow-travellers; and in all likelihoodwe--the hunters of the party--should stand in need of such privacy toreadjust our disguises--disarranged in the chase. Under cover of thetents, we could renew our toilet without the danger of being intrudedupon. Chiefly for this reason, then, had we encumbered ourselves withthe skin lodges. 

Thus far had we come without interruption. Though the trail was a routefrequently travelled, both by Indians and whites, no one of either racehad been encountered upon the way. We had seen neither man nor horse, excepting our own. For all that, we had not advanced without a certaincircumspection. There was still a possibility of peril, of which wewere aware; and we omitted no precautions that might enable us to avoidit. The danger I allude to was a probable encounter with some of ourlate enemies--the Arapahoes. Not those who had just been discomfited;but a party of my own pursuers of the preceding night. Some of thesehad returned to the butte as already stated, but had _all_ gone back?Might not others--stimulated by a more eager spirit of vengeance, or theambition of striking a glorious _coup_ by my capture--have continued thepursuit? If so we might expect to encounter them on their return; or, if first perceived, we might fall into an ambuscade. In either caseshould they chance to outnumber us--to any great extent--a collisionwould be inevitable and dangerous. 

If such a party was ahead of us--and it was still a question--we knewthat they could not possibly be aware of the defeat sustained by theircomrades under Red-Hand; and, having no knowledge of their ownpredicament, would fight without that dread, which such a circumstancemight otherwise have inspired. It was scarcely probable either, thattheir party would be a very small one--by no means as small as our own. It was not likely that less than a dozen of their warriors would ventureover ground, where, at every moment, they would risk meeting with a morepowerful band of their Utah enemies--to say nothing of an encounter witha retaliating party from the Mormon train? Weighing the probabilitiesthat Arapahoes were ahead of us, we had taken due precaution to avoidthe contingency of meeting them. We had looked for "sign" to contradictour suspicions, or confirm them. We had not found any--either tracks oftheir horses, or any other trace of their passage along the trail. Inthe canon, yes. There we had seen the hoof-prints of their horses: butnot beyond it, nor at the entrance of Robideau's Pass. If they had goneforward, it must have been by some parallel route, and not upon thetrail of the emigrant waggons? Nor yet upon the area of the encampmenthad we been able to meet with any indications of their presence: thoughwe had spent the last minutes of daylight in a careful scrutiny of theground. 

As for myself I looked for indications of a very different kind; butequally without success. The absence of all Lilian sign satisfied usthat we had no enemy to fear. Even the wary trapper saw no imprudencein our making a fire, and one was made--a large pile, for which thehalf-burnt faggots scattered over the camp afforded the ready material. The fire was not called for by the cold--for the night was a mild one--but simply to serve the purposes of our _cuisine_; and, hungered by thelong ride, we all did full justice to our supper of dried deer-meat, eaten _alfresco_. 

After the meal the men of us sat around the fire, indulging in thatluxury--esteemed sweet by the prairie traveller--the fumes of theNicotian weed. Marian had retired to her tent; and, for a few minutes, was lost to our sight. After a short time she came forth again; but, instead of joining us by the cheerful _hearth_, she was seen saunteringdown in the direction of the stream. This caused a defection in ourparty. The young backwoodsman rose to his feet; and silently, but withrather an awkward grace, walked towards the tent--not Marian's. Hemight as well have spared himself the trouble of taking up some of hisaccoutrements, and pretending to examine them. The feint was perfectlytransparent to the rest of us--especially when the action ended, by hisstrolling off almost on the identical track taken by thehuntress-maiden!

"_Amantes_?" (lovers), whispered Archilete, half-interrogatively, aswith a smile of quiet significance he followed the receding form of thehunter. "Yes; lovers who have been long separated. "

"_Carrambo_! Do you say so? This then should be the rival of the falsehusband?" I nodded assent. "_Por Dios, Senor_; it is not to bewondered at that the canting _heretico_ stood no chance in that game--had it been played fairly. Your _camarado_ is a magnificent fellow. Ican understand now why the wild huntress had no eyes for our_mountain-men_ here. No wonder she sighed for her far forest-home. _Ayde mi, cavallero_! Love is a powerful thought, even the desert will notdrive it out of one's heart. No, no; _valga me dios_! no!"

The tone in which the Mexican repeated the last words had a tinge ofsadness in it--while his eyes turned upon the fire with an expressionthat betrayed melancholy. It was easy to tell that he too--odd, andeven ludicrous as was his personal appearance--either was, or had been, one of love's victims. I fancied he might have a story to tell--a lovestory? and at that moment my mind was attuned to listen to such a tale. Sure-shot had also left us--our animals picketed a few paces offrequiring his attention--and the two of us were left alone by the fire. If the trapper's tale should prove a sentimental romance--and such arenot uncommon in the Mexican border land--the moment was opportune. Seeing that my new acquaintance was in the communicative mood, I essayedto draw him forth. 

"You speak truly, " I said. "Love _is_ a powerful passion, and defieseven the desert to destroy it. You yourself have proved it so, Ipresume? You have souvenirs?"

"Ay, senor, that have I; and painful ones. "

"Painful?"

"As poison--_Carrai-i-i_!"

"Your sweetheart has been unfaithful?"

"No. "

"Her parents have interfered, I suppose, as is often the case? She hasbeen forced against her will to marry another?"

"Ah! _senor_, no. She was never married. "

"Not married? what then?"

"She was _murdered_!"

Regret at having initiated a conversation--that had stirred up such amelancholy memory--hindered me from making rejoinder; and I remainedsilent. My silence, however, did not stay the tale. Perhaps mycompanion longed to unburden himself; or, with some vague hope ofsympathy, felt relief in having a listener. After a pause he proceededto narrate the story of his love, and the sad incidents that led to itsfatal termination. 

CHAPTER NINETY TWO. 

GABRIELLA GONZALES. 

"_Puez, Senor_!" commenced the Mexican, "your comrades tell me, you havebeen campaigning down below on the Rio Grande. "

"Quite true--I have. "

"Then you know something of our Mexican frontier life--how for the lasthalf century we have been harassed by the _Indios bravos_--our _ranchos_given to the flames--our grand _haciendas_ plundered and laid waste--ourvery towns attacked--many of them pillaged, destroyed, and now lying inruins. "

"I have heard of these devastations. Down in Texas, I have myself beenan eye-witness to a similar condition of things. "

"Ah! true, _senor_. Down there--in Tejas and Tamaulipas--things, I haveheard, are bad enough. _Carrai_! here in New Mexico they are ten timesworse. There they have the Comanches and Lipanos. Here we have anenemy on every side. On the east Caygua and Comanche, on the west theApache and Navajo. On the south our country is harassed by the Wolf andMezcalero Apaches, on the north by their kindred, the Jicarillas; while, now and then, it pleases our present allies the Utahs, to ornament theirshields with the scalps of our people, and their wigwams with thefairest of our women. _Carrambo! senor_! a happy country ours, is itnot?"

The ironically bitter speech was intended for a reflection, rather thanan interrogation, and therefore needed no reply. I made none. "_Puez, amigo_!" continued the Mexican, "I need hardly tell you that there isscarce a family on the Rio del Norte--from Taos to El Paso--that has notgood cause to lament this unhappy condition of things; scarce one thathas not personally suffered, from the inroads of the savages. I mightspeak of houses pillaged and burnt; of maize-fields laid waste to feedthe horses of the roving marauder; of sheep and cattle driven off todesert fastnesses; bah! what are all these? What signify such triflingmisfortunes, compared with that other calamity, which almost everyfamily in the land may lament--the loss of one or more of its members--wife, daughter, sister, child--borne off into hopeless bandage, tosatisfy the will, or gratify the lust, of a merciless barbarian?"

"A fearful state of affairs!"

"_Ay senor_! Even the bride has been snatched off, from before thealtar--from the arms of the bridegroom fondly clasping, and before hehas had time to caress her! _Ay de mi, cavallero_! Truly can I saythat: it has been my own story. "

"Yours?"

"Yes--mine. You ask _me_ for souvenirs. There is one that will clingto me for life!" The Mexican pointed to his mutilated limb. "_Carrambo_!" continued he, "that is nothing. There is another woundhere--here in my heart. It was received at the same time; and will lastequally as long--only a thousand times more painful. "

These words were accompanied by a gesture. The speaker placed his handover his heart, and held it there to the end of his speech--as if tostill the sad sigh, that I could see swelling within his bosom. Hiscountenance, habitually cheerful--almost comic in its expression--hadassumed an air of concentrated anguish. It was easy to divine that hehad been the victim of some cruel outrage. My curiosity had becomefully aroused; and I felt an eager desire to hear a tale, which, thoughbeyond doubt painful, could not be otherwise than one of romanticinterest. 

"Your lameness, then, had something to do with the story of yourblighted love? You say that both misfortunes happened to you at thesame time!" My interrogatives were intended to arouse him from thereverie into which he had fallen. I was successful; and the recital wascontinued. 

"True, _senor_--both came together; but you shall hear all. It is notoften I speak of the affair, though it is seldom out of my thoughts, Ihave tried to forget it. _Carrambo_! how could I, with a thing likethat constantly recalling it to my memory?" The speaker again pointedto his deformed foot with a smile of bitter significance. "_Por Dios, cavallero_! I think of it often enough; but just now more than common. Their presence--" he nodded towards the lovers, whose forms were justvisible in the grey twilight, "the happiness I see reminds me of my ownmisery. More especially does _she_ recall the misfortune to my memory--this wild huntress who has had misfortunes of her own. But beyond that, _senor_, though you may think it strange, your _conpaisana_ iswonderfully like what she was. "

"Like whom?"

"Ah! _senor_, I have not told you? She that I loved with all the lovein my heart--the beautiful Gabriella Gonzales. "

Men of the Spanish race--however humble their social rank--are giftedwith a certain eloquence; and in this case passion was lending poetry tothe speech. No wonder I became deeply interested in the tale, andlonged to hear more of Gabriella Gonzales. 

"_En verdad_, " continued the Mexican, after a pause, "there are manythings in the character of your countrywoman to remind me of my lostlove--even in her looks. Gabriella, like her, was beautiful. Perhapsyour comrade yonder might not think her so beautiful as the huntress;but that is natural. In my mind Gabriella was everything. She hadIndian blood in her veins: we all have in these parts, though we boastof our pure Spanish descent. No matter; Gabriella was white enough--tomy eyes white as the lily that sparkles upon the surface of the lagoon. Like yonder maiden, she inherited from her ancestors a free daringspirit. She feared neither our Indian enemies, nor danger of anykind--_Por Dios_! Not she. "

"Of course she loved you?"

"Ah! that truly did she--else why should she have consented to marry me?What was I? A poor _cibolero_--at times a hunter and trapper ofbeavers, just as I am now? I was possessed of nothing but my horse andtraps; whiles he--_Carrambo! senor_, proud _ricos_ pretended to herhand!"

It is possible that my countenance may have expressed incredulity. Itwas difficult to conceive how the diminutive Mexican--as he appearedjust then in my eyes--could have won the love of such a grand belle ashe was describing Gabriella to be. Still was he not altogetherunhandsome; and in earlier life--before his great misfortune hadbefallen him--he might have been gifted with some personal graces. Highqualities, I had heard of his possessing--among others courage beyondquestion or suspicion; and in those frontier regions--accursed by thecontinual encroachment of Indian warfare, and where human life is everyday in danger--that is a quality of the first class--esteemed by all, but by none more than those who stand most in need of protection--thewomen. Often there as elsewhere--more often than elsewhere--doescourage take precedence of mere personal appearance, and boldness winsthe smile of beauty. It was possible that the possession of thisquality on the part of Pedro Archilete had influenced the heart of thefair Gabriella. This might explain her preference. 

The Mexican must have partially divined my thoughts, as was proved bythe speech that followed. "Yes, _amigo_! more than one rich_haciendado_ would have been only too happy to have married Gabriella;and yet she consented to become my wife, though I was just as I am now. May be a little better looking than at this time; though I can't saythat I ever passed for an Apollo. No--no--_senor_. It was not my goodlooks that won the heart of the girl. "

"Your good qualities?"

"Not much to boast of, _cavallero_. True, in my youth, I had the nameof being the best horseman in our village--the best _rastreador_--themost skilful trapper. I could `tail the bull, ' `run the cock, ' and pickup a girl's ribbon at full gallop--perhaps a little more adroitly thanmy competitors; but I think it was something else that first gained methe young girl's esteem. I had the good fortune once to save her life--when, by her own imprudence, she had gone out too far from the village, and was attacked by a grizzly bear. _Ay de mi_! It mattered not. Poornina! She might as well have perished then, by the monster's claws. She met her death from worse monsters--a death far more horrible; butyou shall hear. "

"Go on! From what you have disclosed, I am painfully interested in yourtale. "

CHAPTER NINETY THREE. 

A BLOODY BRIDAL. 

"_Puez senor_! what I am about to tell you happened full ten years ago, though it's as fresh in my mind as if it was yesterday. You may haveheard of the village of Valverde? It is about fifty leagues south ofSanta Fe, on the Rio del Norte--that portion of the valley we call the_Rio Abajo_. It was at one time a settlement of some importance--richand prospering as any in New Mexico--but, in consequence of theincursions of the Apaches, it fell into decay. Is now a complete ruinwithout a single inhabitant. "

"_Well, amigo_; it was there I was born: and there lived I, till I wastwenty-five years of age--up to the time when that calamity befell me, and mine--the same I am about to speak of. I may say two years afterthat time; for I did not leave the neighbourhood till I had takenrevenge upon those who were the cause of my misfortunes. I have spokenof Gabriella Gonzales. I have told you that I loved her; but I couldnot find words to tell you how much I loved her. You, who have come allthis way in pursuit of a sweetheart, --you, _cavallero_, can understandall that. Like you with yours, I too could have followed Gabriella tothe end of the world! _Puez amigo_! Like you, I had the good fortuneto be loved in return. "

I could not divine the object of the Mexican in proclaiming thissimilitude. Perhaps it was done with the view of cheering me--for thequick-witted fellow had not failed to notice my despondency. It couldonly be a conjecture on his part: for how could he know ought of Lilian, beyond the fact of my preference for her, and that she was the object ofour expedition? Of course he was aware, like all the others, of thepurpose of our pursuit. From Sure-shot, or Wingrove, he might havelearnt a little more; but neither he nor they could possibly have beenacquainted with a sentiment of which, alas! I was myself in doubt--thevery doubt which was producing my despondency. His incidental allusioncould have been only conjecture. I would have joyed to believe it just;but whether just or not it had the effect of soothing me; and, silentlyaccepting it, I permitted him to continue his narration. 

"I need not enter into the particulars of my wooing. Gabriella livedupon a _hato_ some distance below Valverde, and nearer to the desert ofthe Dead Man's Journey (_Jornada del muerto_)--of which no doubt youhave heard mention. Her father was a _hatero_, and owned large flocksof sheep. He pastured them upon the great plains on the eastern side ofthe Sierra Blanca--where I was in the habit of going in my capacity of_cibolero_ to hunt the buffaloes. The _hatero_ and I becameacquainted--became friends. He invited me to visit his house, and Iwent. I saw Gabriella for the first time; and ever afterwards was herbeautiful face before my eyes. I went often, as you may believe, _cavallero_; but for a long time I was uncertain whether I was welcome--I mean to Gabriella: for her father still continued my friend. It wasonly after the incident I have mentioned--my saving her from the bear--that I felt certain my love was returned. 

"She had ventured too far into the mountains, where I had chanced to beat the time. I heard her voice calling for help. I ran through therocks, and came up, just as a huge bear was springing upon her. I was agood shot, and my bullet brought down the monster--stretching himlifeless at her feet. Gabriella thanked me with sweet words--withsmiles that were far sweeter, and told me still more. From that hour Iknew that she was mine. Shortly after she consented to marry me. "

"You were married, then?"

"Married--but only for an hour. "

"Only for an hour!"

"Ah! _senor_; just so. One hour of wedded life, and then we were partedfor ever. Death parted us. Death to her--to me worse than death;despair that has never left me--no--never will. "

The voice of the speaker trembled in sorrowful tone. It was manifestlya sorrow that defied any efforts I might have made at consolation. Imade none; but in silence and with eager attention awaited to hear thedenouement of a drama, whose prologue promised such a tragical ending. 

"_Puez, senor_, " proceeded the narrator, after a short silence, "Gabriella, as I have said, consented to marry me, and we were married. It was the day of our wedding. We had parted from the church; and withour friends had gone out into the country for a _dia de campo_. Therewere about twenty of us in all, young men and girls--about, an equalnumber of each--all in their holiday dresses, just as they had been tothe church. Most of the girls were Gabriella's bridesmaids, and stillwore the flowers and jewels they had used at the ceremony. The placechosen for our _dia de campo_ was a pretty spot, about a mile distantfrom the town. It was a glade in the midst of the _chapparal_, surrounded by beautiful trees, and sweet-smelling flowers. We wentafoot: for the distance did not make it worth while for us to ride. Besides, we preferred enjoying the ramble, without being encumbered withhorses. Well, _senor_; we had arrived on the ground, spread out therepast we had brought with us, uncorked the wine-bottles, and were inthe full tide of enjoyment--talking and laughing gaily--when all of asudden--we heard the trampling of horses. Not of one or two; but thehoof-strokes of a whole troop. At first we thought it might be the_cavallada_ of some rich proprietor, galloping past the place. We knewthat horses were pastured in that neighbourhood; and it was like enoughto be one of the half-wild droves straying through the _chapparal_. Still we were not without apprehension: for it might also be a troop ofApaches--who in those times made frequent forays upon the defencelesssettlements. Alas, _cavallero_! our apprehensions proved but too just. We had been seated on the grass, around our festive preparations. Wehad scarce time to spring to our feet, ere the yell of the savagessounded in our ears; and almost on the instant the glade was filled withdusky warriors. They were all upon horseback, brandishing their longlances, and winding their _lazos_ around their heads. Fearfullypainted, and whooping their wild cries, they resembled the very_demonios_! We could neither retreat nor defend ourselves. Againstsuch odds it would have been idle to have attempted the latter: besides, we were all without weapons. On an occasion like that which had calledus forth, one does not think of preparing for such an event. I own itwas imprudent of us to go out unarmed--more especially when the countrywas filled with Indian _novedades_--but who could have dreamt that suchwas to be the fatal termination to our joyous _dia de campo? Ay de mi_!I may well call it fatal. Very few of our men survived that dreadfulday. Two or three of the young fellows managed to retreat into thebushes; and afterwards got off. The others were killed upon the spot--most of them impaled upon the spears of the Apaches! The women wereleft untouched: for the Indians rarely kill our women. Them theyreserve for a different destiny. Ah! _cavallero_! a destiny worse thandeath! Not one of them escaped. The poor _ninas_ were all madecaptives; and each, borne off in the arms of a swarthy savage, wasmounted upon his horse. Gabriella, the queen of all, --because by farthe most beautiful--was chosen by the chief. I saw her struggling inhis grasp, I saw him dragging her over the ground, and raising her tothe withers of his steed. I saw him leap up behind her, and prepare toride off--Gabriella, my beloved--my bride!"

Here the speaker paused--as if overcome by the very remembrance of theincidents he was relating; and it was some time before he becamesufficiently composed to resume his narrative. 

CHAPTER NINETY FOUR. 

A ROUGH DRAG. 

Recovering himself, at length, the narrator proceeded:--

"You may ask, _senor_, how I came to be witness of all these outrages. Was I not speared like my companions? Was I not, like them, killed uponthe spot! I answer, no. I was still alive; and I might almost sayuninjured. True I had been beaten and bruised in the struggle--for Ihad made an impotent effort at defending myself--but they had not killedme. I was for a time stunned, and senseless; but my senses returnedbefore the fray was over; and I was a witness to the closing scene. Itwas then I saw the young girls in the act of being hurried off by theircaptors. It was then my heart was wrung, by the spectacle of Gabriellastruggling in the arms of the chief. I was helpless to interfere. Iwas prostrate upon the earth, and held fast in the gripe of two brawnysavages--one kneeling on each side of me. I expected them at everyinstant to put an end to my life. I awaited the final blow--either thestroke of a tomahawk or the thrust of a spear. I only wondered theywere delaying my death. My wonders ceased, when I at length got my eyeson the face of the Apache chief--which up to that moment I had not seen. Then I recognised an old enemy, whom I had encountered on the plains;and I saw that the recognition was mutual. This explained why they hadnot finished me on the spot. I was spared only to suffer some morehorrible mode of death. 

"It was not long till I was made acquainted with their intention. I sawthe chief telegraph some order to the Indians who guarded me; which oneof the latter hastened to execute. A lazo was looped around my ankle, and carried out. The other end of it was made fast to the tail of ahorse; after which the Indian leaped upon the back of the animal. Theother also mounted his own horse; and the whole troop appeared ready togallop off. I could see that the savages were hastening theirdeparture. There was but a small band of them; and, as the place wasnear a large town, they had reason to fear pursuit. Those of our partywho had escaped would return at once to the town--where troops werestationed at the time. This explained to me the hurried movements theIndians were making. _Carrambo, senor_! I had not much opportunity toreflect on the chances of our being rescued by our friends. I saw whatthe savages intended for me; and that was sufficient to occupy all mythoughts. I was to be dragged at the tail of a horse!

"Yes, _cavallero_! and the infernal design was instantly carried intoexecution; for in a moment after, the chief gave the signal to rideforward, and the whole troop went off at a gallop. He to whose croup Iwas attached was last in the line; and, consequently, I was trailedalong without coming in contact with the others--the long lazoseparating me from his horse by a distance of more than a dozen yards. Fortunately the ground over which they dragged me, was free from rocksor other inequalities--else I should have been torn to pieces. Itchanced to be a smooth, grassy sward; and protected by my leathern_jaqueta_ and _calzoneros_, I was less injured than one might expect. It was my ankle that suffered most--for the loop soon slipped down belowthe joint, and nearly drew the bone out of its socket. That, _senor_, is how I came to be `_un cojo_' as you see. "

With a bitter smile the speaker pointed to his deformed foot, and thencontinued:--"Well--I suppose it would have killed me in the end: sincethe smooth turf did not extend far in the direction the savages weretaking. But just then an idea came into my head, that gave me some hopeof being able to relieve myself from my perilous situation. After thefirst hundred yards or so had been passed over, I saw that the savageshad ceased to pay any attention to me. They were all too eager to hurryonward; besides, they were occupied with the women captives. Itoccurred to me, that if I could only get my foot free from the noose, Imight part company with my captors, without any of them perceiving it. I remembered that I had a knife in my pocket; and, as my hands had beenleft free, I believed that I could get my fingers upon it, notwithstanding the rapid rate at which I was being jerked over theground. I tried to get out my knife, and succeeded. As good luck wouldhave it, just then, the path on which my captors were travelling, narrowed between two groves of timber--forming a kind of avenue or lane. Through this the troop had to pass in Indian file--my particularhorseman still keeping in the rear. While going through, the gallop ofthe horses was interrupted--or at least their pace was greatlyslackened--the rearmost of the band being thrown almost into a walk. This gave me the opportunity I desired; and, making an effort, I doubledmy body over on itself--until I was able to reach the lazo beyond myfoot. A single cut of my keen blade severed the thong; and I wasdetached on the instant. With anxious gaze I looked after theretreating horsemen: fearing they would see what I had done, gallopback, and spear me where I lay; but to my great joy I saw them ride on, till the last of them was out of sight. Yes, _cavallero_!" continuedthe narrator, "I saw the last horse, and the very tail to which I hadbeen attached, pass out of sight. No doubt the horse knew what hadhappened, but not his rider. Not one of the whole troop appeared tohave any suspicion that there was aught amiss--until I had crawled intothe bushes, and got some distance from the path. Then I could hearthem, as they galloped back, and rode whooping through the thicket insearch of me. _Carrambo, senor_! I then felt more anxious than ever. Up to that time I had no thought of anything else than being rubbed out. I had been certain of it, from the first moment of the attack upon ourparty. Now, however, I had conceived a hope that I might escape, andreturn to the rescue of Gabriella. To be captured the second time wouldhave been ten times more disagreeable than at first--when there was noopportunity either to hope for safety, or to reflect on the means ofsecuring it. Now that a chance of life had offered itself, I was doublyfearful of losing it. I could make but little headway--so much was Idisabled--but half hobbling, half crawling, I worked on through thethicket in the direction of the town. I could hear the savages beatingthe bushes behind; and every moment I expected to have them upon me. They would in time have traced, and overtaken me; but perhaps they carednot much for the capture. They had secured the booty they most prized;and, probably, reflected that, by wasting time in searching for me, theymight risk losing it again. For this, or some other reason, they gaveup the search; and I could tell by their voices, heard at a greaterdistance, that they were riding off. Without staying to assure myself, I limped on to the town--which I reached at length. Two of my friends, who had escaped at the first onslaught, had got there before me. Thenews of the sad disaster had spread like a prairie fire. The wholepopulation was excited by the outrage; for the young girls made captiveshad many friends and relations in the place. So also the men who hadbeen murdered. The troops were summoned to arms. It chanced to be asquadron of lancers--one of the best then in the service of thegovernment--and these, along with about a hundred volunteers, allmounted, rode forth in pursuit of the savages. Notwithstanding that mywounded ankle pained me exceedingly, I was able to accompany them onhorseback. _Americano_! I fear my narrative may be wearying you; andtherefore I shall not enter into the particulars of the pursuit. Sufficient to say, that we succeeded in overtaking the ravishers. Itwas near midnight when we came up with them. We found them in theircamp, with huge fires blazing all over the ground. We approached withinpistol range before any alarm was given. They had been carousing on_mezcal_, and were keeping no guard. The bright blaze showed us howthey had been occupied. The women sat here and there, many of themlying prostrate upon the earth. Their torn garments and dishevelled airbetokened that a sad catastrophe had befallen them! We could bear thesight no longer. With hearts full of vengeance, both soldiers andcitizens rushed upon the base despoilers; and the work of retributionbegan. Gabriella had been the first to become aware of our advance;and, springing to her feet, had bounded beyond the reach of her captors, and was running outward to meet us. _Ay de mi_! it was the last race ofher life. An Indian arrow shot after was too quick for her; and, pierced through and through, she fell dying into my arms. _Pobrecita_!She kissed me with her parting breath, and then expired. Ah! _senor_, that was a kiss of death!" A long deep-drawn sigh, and the droopingattitude into which the speaker had fallen, told me that he had endedhis narrative. Out of respect to the sacredness of his sorrow, Iforbore questioning him farther at the time. It was only afterwardsthat I learnt from him some additional particulars: how most of thesavages were slain upon the spot, and the captive girls rescued; but, although escaping with lifer they had all been the victims of barbarianlust, that brought more than one of them to an early grave! A wild taleit may appear; and, although we may term it a _romance of New Mexico_, its counterpart is not the less an oft-recurring _reality_ in thatunhappy land. 

CHAPTER NINETY FIVE. 

ASSUMING THE DISGUISE. 

Our fire began to burn low, before the lovers returned into its light. During their moonlit ramble, no doubt, many sweet memories were renewed. No wonder they should wish to prolong it. But all of us required acertain measure of rest; and it was time to make the necessaryarrangements for passing the night. Although we had given up allapprehension on the score of the Arapahoes; yet that was no reason whywe should not observe a proper prudence, and keep prepared for anyemergency that might arise. In that wild neutral road, trodden by manytribes, an enemy may spring up at any moment, or come from any side. Itwas agreed between us that one should keep watch, while the othersslept--each taking his _tour_ of guard throughout the night. Marian wasof course excepted from this "detail, " and, after bidding us allgood-night, the huntress-maiden retired to her tent--at the entrance ofwhich the ever-faithful and ever-watchful Wolf placed himself. Theredid the great dog stretch his body--a sentinel _couchant_--with suchgrim Cerberus-like resolution, that even Wingrove might not have daredto cross the threshold of that sacred precinct? As yet we had notassumed our Indian disguises. The opening scene of the travestie wasreserved for the morning; and, after arranging the hours of ourrespective watches--the trapper taking the first and longest--the restof us crept under the covering of the buffalo lodge, and sought thatrepose necessary to recruit us for coming events. 

At earliest dawn, and long before the sun had gilded the snowy summitsof the Spanish peaks, we were all afoot. A breakfast--similar inmaterials to our supper of the preceding night was hastily prepared, andstill more hastily eaten. After that we proceeded to equip ourselvesfor the masquerade. Peg-leg acted as principal _costumier_; and wellunderstood he the _role_ he was called upon to perform. Perfectlyacquainted with the Utah costume--both that used for war and the chase--there was no fear about the correctness of his heraldry being called inquestion. He knew every quartering: of the Utah escutcheon, with aminuteness of detail that would have done credit to a King-at-arms. 

For himself he needed no disguise. As a trapper of Taos, he might alsobe an associate of Utah hunters; and personally unknown to the Mormons, they would have no other thoughts about him--further than that theirfriend Wa-ka-ra had sent him to guide them across the deserts of theColorado. At the Mormon camp, therefore, he could present himself inhis Mexican costume, without the Saints having the slightest suspicionas to his true character. This left him free to lend his services tothe rest of us, and assist in our heraldic emblazonment. His firstessay was upon myself. My features being sufficiently pronounced, rendered it all the more easy to make an Indian of me; and a uniformcoat of vermilion over my neck, face, and hands, transformed me into asomewhat formidable-looking warrior. A buckskin hunting tunic, leggingsand mocassins concealed the remainder of my skin; while some locks oflong hair extracted from the mane and tail of my Arab, and craftilyunited to my own dark tresses, with the plumed bonnet and drooping crestoverall, completed a costume that would have done me credit at aParisian _bal masque_. 

With equal facility was accomplished the metamorphosis of the youngbackwoodsman, but not so easily that of Sure-shot. The _nez retrousse_, thin yellow hair, and green-grey eyes appeared to be insurmountableobstacles to the Indianising of the ex-rifleman. Peg-leg, however, proved an artist of skill. The _chevelure_ of Sure-shot, well saturatedwith charcoal paste, assumed a different hue. A black circle aroundeach eye neutralised the tint of both iris and pupil. To his face wasgiven a ground-coat of red ochre; while some half-dozen dark stripes, painted longitudinally over it, and running parallel to the nose, extinguished the snub--transforming the Yankee into as good an Indian asany upon the ground!

Marian was her own "dresser;" and while we were engaged outside, wasmaking her toilet within the tent. Her costume would require but littlealteration: it was Indian already. Her face alone needed masking--andhow was that to be done? To speak the truth, I was apprehensive uponthe score of her disguise. I could not help reflecting on the fearfulfate that awaited her, should the counterfeit be detected, and the girlidentified. All along, I had felt uneasy upon this point; and had beenendeavouring to devise some scheme by which to avoid the imprudence ofher presenting herself in the Mormon camp. But the thought of Lilian--the perilous situation in which she was placed--perhaps more than all, the selfishness of my own love, had hindered me from thinking of anydefinite alternative. 

When I saw the huntress-maiden issue forth from her tent--her faceempurpled with the juice of the _allegria_ berries--her cheeksexhibiting, each a circle of red spots, with a line of similar markingsextended across her forehead--I no longer felt apprehension for theresult. Though the hideous tattooing could not hide the charms of herspeaking countenance, it had so changed its expression, that evenWingrove himself would not have recognised her! More like was it tobaffle the scrutiny of father and false husband. 

In due time we were all dressed for the drama; and, after making a_cache_ of our cast-off garments, we struck tents, and moved forward tothe performance. The faithful Wolf accompanied us. It was against mywish, and contrary to the counsel of our guide; but Marian would notpart with a companion that more than once had protected her from cruelenemies. The dog had been disguised, as the rest of us. Shorn of hisshaggy coat, with his tail trimmed smooth as that of a greyhound--hisskin, moreover, stained Indian fashion--there seemed but slight dangerthat the animal could be recognised. 

CHAPTER NINETY SIX. 

THE MORMON TRAIN. 

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

"_Mira_!" exclaimed the Mexican, "_el campamento de los Judios_!"(Behold! the encampment of the Jews!)

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

The plain that stretched before us was the grand _valle_ of San Luis;but presenting none of those characteristics which we usually associatewith the word "valley. " On the contrary, its surface was perfectlylevel--having all the aspect of a sleeping sea; and with the white filmyhaze suspended over it, it might easily have been mistaken for anexpanse of ocean. At first sight, it appeared to be bounded only by thehorizon; but a keen eye could perceive its western rim--in the dimoutlines of the Sierra San Juan, backed by the brighter summits of the"Silver" Mountains (_Sierra de la plata_). More conspicuous, on thenorth, were the wooded slopes of the Sierras Mojada and Sawatch; while, right and left, towered the snow-covered peaks of Pike and the Watoyah--like giant sentinels guarding the approach to this fair mountain-girtvalley. These details were taken in at a single _coup d'oeil_; and inthe same glance the eye was attracted by the sheen of real water, that, like a glittering cord, was seen sinuously extended through the centreof the plain. Under the dancing sunbeams, it appeared in motion; and, curving repeatedly over the bosom of the level land, it resembled somegrand serpent of sparkling coruscation that had just issued from themysterious mountains of the "Silver Sierra, " and was slowly and gentlygliding on towards the distant sea. From the elevation on which westood, we could trace its tortuous windings, towards the distant Sierraof San Juan; and in the concavity of one of these--almost upon the vergeof our vision--we beheld "el campamento de los Judios. "

Unprepared for it, we should never have thought of taking what we sawfor an encampment of Mormons, or men of any kind. Under the white filmyveil that floated over the plain, some half-dozen little, spots of amore intensified white were barely visible. These the Mexicanpronounced to be "los carros" (the waggons). I had recovered mypocket-glass, and this was now called into requisition. A glancethrough it enabled me to confirm the trapper's statement. The whitespots were waggon-covers: they could be none other than those of theMormon train. I could make out only some half-dozen of them; but therewere others behind. The vehicles were clumped, or, more likely, _corralled_ upon the plain. This, indeed, was evident from theirarrangement. Those seen were set in a regular row, with their sidestowards us--forming, no doubt, one quarter of the "corral. "

I looked for living forms. These were also visible under the glass--menand animals. Of the latter, a large drove of different kinds andcolours could be seen, mottling the plain to some distance from thewaggons. The men were moving about the vehicles. Women I could alsodistinguish by their dresses; but the distance was too great for me tonote the occupations of either sex--even by the aid of the magnifyinglens. Lilliputians they looked--both men and women--while the horsesand cattle might have been mistaken for a pack of curs. It mattered notto us to know their occupation; nor even what they might be doing whenwe should arrive upon the ground. We had no intention of stealing uponthem. Confident in our complete _deguisement_, we intended to rideboldly forward--if need be, into the very middle of their camp. It wasnow the hour of noon; and we halted to bivouac. Although the distancethat separated us from the Mormon camp was still considerable, we werein no hurry, about advancing. We had formed the resolution not to joincompany with the Saints, until near sunset. We knew that there would becurious eyes upon us; and in the hour of twilight we should be lessexposed to their scrutiny. True, we might have joined them in thenight, and passed off our counterfeit semblance with still greatersecurity. But the morning would bring fresh light, with curiosityunsatisfied, and that would be more disadvantageous. Half an hour ofobservation, and the novelty of our arrival would wear off. For thisthe half hour of twilight would be the best time. No doubt, they hadmet many parties of friendly Indians while crossing the great plains. There had been some among their travelling companions. They wouldscarce consider us a curiosity. We had a reason for reaching theirencampment a little before nightfall: we wanted a few minutes of lightto take the bearings of the _corral_, and get acquainted with the_topography_ of the surrounding plain. Who could tell what chancesmight turn up in our favour? An opportunity might occur that verynight--as likely as afterwards, and perhaps under more favourablecircumstances? We had no desire to enter upon our engagement as guideand hunters. We should be too willing to abandon the _role_, evenbefore beginning it. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last rays of the setting sun were sparkling on the selenite of theSilver Mountains, as we approached the encampment of the Saints. We hadgot near enough to make out the dimensions of the caravan. We saw thatthere were about a score of the large tilted waggons (Troy andConestoga), with several smaller vehicles (Dearborns and Jerseys). Thelatter, with springs, were no doubt the more luxurious travellingcarriages of such Saints as may have been in easier circumstances athome; while the ox-drawn "Conestogas" belonged to the common crowd. With the larger waggons, a "corral" had been formed--as is the usualcustom of the prairie caravan. 

In the following fashion is the enclosure constructed:--The two frontwaggons are drawn side by side, and halted close together. The two thatfollow next on the trail, are driven up outside of these--until theirfront wheels respectively touch the hind ones of the pair that precedethem--when they also stop. The pair following in their turn doubletheir poles upon these; and so on, till half the train is expended. Theenclosure is not yet complete. It forms only a half-circle, or rather asemi-ellipse; and the corresponding half is obtained, by a slight changein the mode of bringing up the remaining vehicles. These are drivenforward to the ground, so that the rear of each is turned _inward_--thereverse of what was observed in bringing the others into place--and thedouble-curve which before was constantly diverging, now becomesconvergent. When all the waggons have got into their places, theellipse will be completed; but it is customary to leave an _open_ spaceat the end--a sort of avenue by which the enclosure may be entered. When horses and cattle require to be _corralled_, this entrance can beclosed, by simply stretching a rope across it. If danger beapprehended, the travellers can keep within this enclosure--the bodiesof the waggons forming an excellent rampart of defence. The tilts serveas tents; and under their capacious covering the female members of theemigrant's family are accustomed to sleep in comfort and security. Sentinels outside, and horse-guards picketed still further off, givewarning of the approach of an enemy. 

As we drew near the camp, we could perceive that in this approvedfashion had the Mormons constructed their _corral_. Most of the lightervehicles were inside the enclosure; and there we could see the forms ofwomen and children moving about in an excited manner--as if they hadretreated thither on discovering our approach. The men still remainedoutside; and the horses and horned cattle had been left undisturbed. Our party was not large enough to have created an alarm--even had ourarrival been unexpected. It could scarcely have been so. No doubt theytook us for what we were: the emissaries of the Utah chief!

When within a few hundred yards of the camp, a party, already onhorseback, came trotting towards us. Archilete had hoisted a piece ofwhite fawn-skin on his gun-rod--the world-known symbol of peace, and sounderstood by the red men of America. A towel or table-cloth, orsomething of the sort, was held up in answer; and after thedemonstration the mounted men spurred forward to meet us. When we hadapproached within a dozen lengths of each other, both parties reined up;and the Mexican and Mormon leader, separating from their respectivefollowers, met midway between the two parties, shook hands, and enteredinto conversation. What they said was simple enough. I could hear thetrapper declaring in broken English the nature of our errand--that hehad been sent by Wa-ka-ra to act as their guide; and that we his_companeros_, were the Utah hunters, to provide game for the caravan. Of the Mormons who rode up to us there were half-a-dozen in all; and Iwas fain to hope that they were not a fair specimen of the emigrantparty. They were not--as I afterwards ascertained. They were the_Danites_, or _Destroying Angels_, that accompanied the train. "Destroying _devils_" would have been a more appropriate appellation:for six more villainous-looking individuals I had never beheld. Therewas no sign of the angelic, neither in their eyes nor features--not atrace; but, on the contrary, each might have passed for an impersonationof the opposite character--a very "devil incarnate!" Five of them I hadnever seen before--at least to remember them. The sixth only on oneoccasion. Him I remembered well. The man who had once looked in theface of the ex-attorney's clerk, and _ci-devant_ schoolmaster ofSwampville, was not likely soon to cast that countenance from hisremembrance. It was Stebbins who was talking to the Mexican. Thedialogue was of brief duration. The tale told by the trapper wasscarcely news: it had been expected; and was therefore accepted withoutsuspicion. The interview ended by the Mormon leader pointing to a placewhere we might pitch our tents--outside the waggon enclosure, and nearthe bank of the river. This was just what we desired; and, proceedingdirect to the spot, we commenced unpacking our paraphernalia. 

CHAPTER NINETY SEVEN. 

THE CORRALLED CAMP. 

As soon as our quality was known, the Saints came crowding around us. The corral poured forth its contents--until nine-tenths of the wholecaravan, men, women and children, stood gazing upon us, with that stareof idiotic wonder peculiar to the humbler classes of countries calledcivilised. We managed to withstand the ordeal of their scrutiny with anassumed air of true savage indifference. Not without an effort, however: since it was difficult to resist laughing at the grotesqueexclamations and speeches, which our appearance and movements elicitedfrom these wondering yokels. We were cautious not to notice theirremarks--appearing as if we understood them not. Peg-leg, by the aid ofhis Anglo-American jargon--picked up among the mountain-men--was able tosatisfy them with an occasional reply. The rest of us said nothing;but, to all appearance earnestly occupied with our own affairs, only bystealth turned our eyes on the spectators. I could perceive that thehuntress was the chief attraction; and for a moment my apprehensionswere sufficiently keen. The girl had done nothing to disguise her sex--the mask extending no farther than to her face and features. Her neck, hands, and wrists--all of her skin that might be exposed--were stainedIndian of course; and there would have been little likelihood of theirdetecting the false epidermis under a casual observation. Had it been amere ordinary person--painted as she was--she might have passed for anIndian without difficulty. As it was, however, her voluptuous beautyhad tempted a closer scrutiny; and, spite of her disfigured features, Isaw glances directed upon her expressive of secret but passionateobservation. Some of the bystanders took no pains to conceal theirpredilection. 

"Darnationed likely squaw!" remarked one. "Who air she, oldtimber-toes?" inquired he, addressing himself to the guide. "Squaw--Utah gal, " replied the Mexican in his trapper patois. Pointing to me, he continued: "She sister to hunter-chief--she hunter too--kill bighorn, buffalo, deer. _Carrambo! si_! She grand _cazadora_!"

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

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

We had now an opportunity of studying the Mormons _chez eux memes_: fornot one of them had the slightest idea that their talk was understood byus. Most of them appeared to be of the humbler class of emigrants--farm-people or those of mechanical calling--artisans of the commontrades--shoemakers, blacksmiths, joiners, and the like. In thecountenances of these there was no cast that betrayed a character, either of particular saintliness or sin. In most of them, theexpression was simply stolid and bovine; and it was evident that thesewere the mere cattle of the herd. Among them could be observed asprinkling of a different sort of Saints--men of more seemingintelligence, but with less moral inclinings--men of corrupt thoughtsand corrupt lives--perhaps once gentle, but now fallen--who had, nodoubt, adopted this pseudo-religion in the expectation of betteringtheir temporal rather than spiritual condition. The influence of theselast over the others was quite apparent. They were evidently chiefs--bishops or deacons--"tenths" or "seventies. " It was singular enough tosee _dandies_ among them; and yet, however ludicrous the exhibition, dandyism was there displayed! More than one "swell" strutted throughthe crowd in patent-leather boots, Parisian silk hat, and coat ofshining broad-cloth! The temporary halt had offered an opportunity forthis display of personal adornment; and these butterflies had availedthemselves of the advantage, to cast for a few hours the chrysalis oftheir travelling gear. 

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

My own eyes dwelt not upon these. Ever since our arrival upon theground, I had been watching with keen glances the opening that led intothe corral. Every one who came forth--man or woman--had been the objectof my scrutiny. But my glances had been given in vain; and were notrewarded by the recognition of a single individual. The entrance wasabout two hundred yards from the place where our tents were beingpitched; but even at that distance I should have recognised the colossalsquatter. As for Lilian, my heart's instinct would have declared heridentity at the most casual glance. Neither father nor daughter had yetmade their appearance outside the enclosure: though all the world besidehad come freely forth, and many were going back again. It was odd, tosay the least, they should act so differently from the others. She, Iknew, was very different from the "ruck" that surrounded her; and yetone would have thought that curiosity would have tempted her forth--thatsimple childlike inclination, natural in one so young, to witness ourwild attire--to gaze on our plumes and our paint? I could less wonderat Holt himself being insensible to such attraction; but in her itseemed strange. My astonishment increased, as form after form passedout from the opening, but not that for which my eyes were searching. Itceased to be astonishment: it grew into chagrin; and after that assumedthe character of an apprehension. This apprehension I had alreadyentertained, but in a less definite form. It now shaped itself into acruel doubt--the doubt of _her being there_--either inside the corral, or anywhere in the Mormon camp!

After all, had we taken the wrong track? Might not Holt have kept onwith the gold-diggers? The story of the Chicasa signified nothing. Might not Lilian, under the protection of that gallant dragoon, with thetorn tassel--might not she? "It is quite probable, " I muttered tomyself, "highly probable that they are not here! The squatter may haveresisted the will of his Apostolic companion; and, separating himselffrom the Mormon party, have gone on with the diggers? No! yonder! Holthimself, as I live!"

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

CHAPTER NINETY EIGHT. 

BEAUTY EMBROWNED. 

The apparition--for it had something of the character of one--restoredmy equanimity. Holt was with the Mormon train; and of course Lilianalso. It may seem strange that this knowledge should have given mesatisfaction--that a belief, but yesterday grieving me, should to-daybring gladness!

The apparent anomaly is easily explained. It was the consequence of achange in the situation. My confidence in the success of our scheme hadnow become strengthened--almost to a certainty. So deftly had we takenour measures, that we need apprehend no great difficulty in attainingthe end aimed at. Among the Saints, there was not the slightestsuspicion of our character--at least none had yet shown itself. Weshould be free to come and go, as we pleased: since the very nature ofour contract required it. Camp and caravan would be alike accessible tous--at all hours, I might say--and surely opportunities would not belacking for the accomplishment of our purpose?

Only one object was worth regarding: the will of Lilian herself. Shemight still refuse to become a runaway? She might not consent toforsake her father? In that case, our efforts would be idle indeed!Had I reason to expect such a perverse contingency? Surely not? Thoughmy own influence might be gone, her sister would still have the power topersuade her? Her eyes once opened to the conspiracy that threatenedher, surely but one thought could arise in that virtuous bosom--how toescape from it? "No--no, " was my concluding reflection, spoken insoliloquy, "there need be no fear of opposition in that quarter. True, Lilian is still a child; but her virtue is that of a virgin heart. Hersister's story, when told to her, will arouse her to a sense of her owndanger. She will be ready, as we, to adopt measures for averting it. "

Drawing comfort from this reflection, I was turning to attend to myhorse. The gallant creature had been sadly neglected of late, andneeded my care. A huge Mexican _silla_, that with its trappingshalf-covered its body, would have sufficiently disguised him; but I hadnot much fear of his being recognised. Stebbins and Holt had both seenhim--once only, and then under such circumstances that it was scarcelypossible they could have noticed him. Otherwise, they might haveremembered him readily enough. Such a noble steed, once seen, would noteasily be forgotten. I had no fear, however; and was about to removethe saddle, when an object presented itself to my eyes that interruptedmy intention--causing me to remain fixed and immobile. In the openground, scarcely twenty paces from where I stood, was a form that fellupon the eye like a beam of empyrean light in the midst of deepestdarkness--a girl of golden roseate hue, with a _chevelure_ of yellowhair hanging to her haunches in all its lustrous luxuriance! Scarcelytwenty paces separated me from Lilian Holt: for need I say that it wasLilian herself who was standing before me?

Instinctively, I noted changes. The wax-like smoothness, and, to acertain extent, the whiteness of her complexion, had yielded to thefervid rays of the prairie sun; but the slight embrowning appearedrather an improvement: as the bloom upon the peach, or the russet on thenectarine, proves the superior richness of the fruit. It had toned downthe red upon her cheeks, but the glow was still sufficiently vivid. Iobserved or fancied another change--in her stature. She appeared tohave grown larger and taller--in both respects, almost equalling hersister--and resembling the latter in that full development of form, which was one of the characteristic features of her queen-like beauty. These were the only changes external. Even the simple costume--the oldhomespun frock of yellowish stripe--still enveloped her form; no longerhanging loosely as of yore, but presenting a more sparing fit on accountof the increased dimensions of the wearer. The string of pearls, too--false pearls, poor thing!--yet encircled her throat, whose now fulleroutline was more capable of displaying them. A pleasing reflectioncrossed my mind at the moment, that shaped itself into an interrogatory:might there have been no motive for further adornment?

As erst, her little feet were naked--gleaming with roseate translucenceagainst the green background of the herbage. She was standing when Ifirst saw her: not in a position of rest, but with one foot pressing theturf, the other slightly retired, as if she had just paused in hersteps. She was not fronting me, but half-turned. She appeared to havecome as near as she intended, and was about going off again in anoblique direction: like the startled antelope, that, despite itstimidity, stops to gaze upon the "object that has alarmed it. " So shorta time had my eyes been averted from the path by which she must haveapproached, I might well have fancied that she had suddenly sprung outof the earth--as Cytherea from the sea! Equally brilliant was theapparition--to me, of far more absorbing interest. Her large eyes werefixed upon me in a gaze of wondering curiosity--a curiosity which thepicturesque habiliments and savage character of my toilet were wellcalculated to provoke. Her examination of me was soon ended; and shewalked off in the direction towards which she had already turned hersteps. She seemed scarcely satisfied, however: as I observed that shelooked repeatedly back. What thought was prompting her to this? Womenhave keen perceptions--in intuition almost equalling instinct in itsperceptive power. Could she have a suspicion? No, no: the thing wasimprobable--impossible!

The path she was following would conduct her to the bank of the river--about a hundred yards above where our tents had been pitched, and a likedistance from the nearest of the waggons. Her object in going thitherwas evident. A tin water-can, hanging by its iron handle over herwrist, proclaimed her errand. On reaching the river, she did notproceed to fill the vessel; but, placing it near the water's edge, satdown beside it. The bank, slightly elevated above the stream, offered asort of projecting bench. Upon this she had seated herself--in such anattitude that her limbs hung over, until one foot was immersed in thewater. Her long hair lay spread upon the grass behind her; and with herhead drooping forward, she appeared to gaze into the crystal depths ofthe stream--as intently, as if mirrored there she saw the form uponwhich the thoughts most delighted to dwell. Up to this point, I hadwatched her every movement. But only by stealth and in silence: since Iknew that eyes were upon me. Just then, however, most of the gazersretired from our tents--a call to supper within the corral havingsummoned them away. For all that, I dared not approach the girl. Theact would have appeared strange; and even she might desire to shun thetoo _free_ intrusion of my savage presence--perhaps flee from italtogether? The opportunity of speaking with her was sufficientlytempting. Such another might not soon recur? I trembled at the thoughtof losing it. What was to be done? I might have sent Marian. She wasstill inside her tent, where she had taken shelter from the bold glancesof her vulgar admirers. She did not yet know that Lilian was outside. I might have given her notice of the circumstance, and deputed her tospeak with her sister; but I had certain reasons for not following thiscourse. 

At this crisis an idea occurred to me, that promised to aid me inobtaining the interview I longed for. My Arab had not yet been given tothe grass! Near where Lilian was seated, the herbage was luxuriant--more so than anywhere around. Upon it I could picket my steed, or holdhim in hand, while he should browse? I lost not a minute in removingthe saddle, and adjusting the halter; and scarcely another inapproaching the spot where the young girl was seated. I drew near, however, with due circumspection--fearful that by a too brusque approachI might hasten her departure. I gave my horse to the grass--now andthen guiding him with a pull upon the halter, which I still held in myhand. The young girl saw that I was gradually nearing her, and lookedtwice or three times towards me--not with any air of alarm. Rather ofinterest, I thought; but this may have been only a fancy. My horseappeared to share her attention--indeed, more than share it: since shefixed her eyes upon him frequently, and looked longer at him each time!Was it the noble form that was attracting her admiration? Or was theresomething that called up a recollection! She might remember the horse?

"Oh, Lilian! would that I could speak to you as myself! How my heartyearns to give and receive some token of recognition? But no--not yet. I would not declare myself, till assured that that recognition might bewelcome. Not till I could learn, whether the tender tie that bound ourhearts was still unloosed--whether its too slender thread was yetunbroken!"

I had resolved to explore the secret chambers of her heart; and this itwas that rendered me desirous of anticipating any interview that mightoccur with her sister. Perhaps too easily might I obtain the knowledgeof which I was in search? I might reach, only to _rue_ it? As I drewnear, my hopes of being permitted to address myself to her increased. She still kept her seat, and made no attempt to shun me. I hadapproached within speaking distance. Words were upon my tongue; when aharsh voice, coming from behind, interrupted, at the same instant, bothmy speech and my intention. 

CHAPTER NINETY NINE. 

THE YELLOW DUENNA. 

"Good lor, gal! wha you doin' down da? You know Mass' Holt an' Mass'Stebbins want dar coffee? Why ain't you done fotch de water?"

I faced round on hearing the voice. The tone and patois had alreadyadmonished me that the speaker was neither white nor Indian, but of thatthird typical race that mingles in the social life of the transatlanticworld--an African. The harsh accentuation had prepared me for theappearance of a man and a negro; but, on turning, I perceived that I wasmistaken--both as to the sex and colour. In the speaker I beheld a_mulatto_--a yellow woman of large size--gross, corpulent, and greasy. Her dress was a light-coloured muslin print--negligently open at thebreast, and garnished with gaudy ribbons, from which freely protrudedthe mountainous masses of her bosom. On her head was a _toque_ ofchecked "bandana, " folded over the black corkscrew ringlets, that scarcereached so low as her ears; while ungartered stockings upon her ankles, and slipshod shoes upon her feet, completed the _tout ensemble_ of hercostume. Notwithstanding the _neglige_ visible in her apparel, therewere signs of conceit as to personal appearance. The fashion andtrimmings were not in keeping with that of her tabooed race; and in theset of the _toque_ there was a certain air of coquetry. The features, small and regular, might have once passed for handsome; but they werenow nearly eliminated by her obese condition, which produced adisproportionate rotundity of face. The eyes, moreover, had lost allloveliness, if ever they had been endowed with such an expression. Their glance, in its brightest day, could have been only animal. It wasstill sufficiently sensual; but sensuality of a sullen and leeringcharacter. The voice of this woman had already produced an unpleasanteffect upon me; so, too, the words spoken. The sight of her, as shestood "akimbo, " her hands resting upon her enormous haunches, onlystrengthened the sinister impression, which was still further confirmedby my observing that it had caused a similar effect elsewhere--uponLilian! Even over that radiant countenance I could see that a cloud hadstolen, and continued to shadow it!

"Say, gal! wha you doin' dar, anyhow? You fill dat pail double-quick, or, golly, you catch it!" A threat! Lilian listens to it, and obeys!

"I am coming, Aunt Lucy!" replied the girl, in a trembling voice, at thesame time hastening to fill the water-can. 

I was in hopes that this conciliatory answer would send the mulatta backinto the corral. To my chagrin, it produced a result directly thereverse; for, on hearing it, the woman came waddling down in rapidstrides towards the river. She made direct for the spot where Lilianwas filling the can; and by her quick, nervous gestures, and the luridlight flashing in her half-buried eyes, I could perceive that somehideous passion was stirring within her. Lilian had already perceivedthat she was approaching, and stood waiting for her--evidently in awe!When within a few paces of the girl, the fat fury opened speech uponher--and in a tone as vindictive as the sound of her voice was harsh andgrating. 

"Wha for, gal, you call me _Aunt_ Lucy? Wha for you say dat? Dam! youcall me so 'gain, I jab you eyes out. Sure I live, I gouge you!"

The monster, as she spoke, stretched out her hand, bending the thumbwith a significant gesture. 

She continued in the same spiteful tone:--"I tear you' har you soconceit' 'bout--you' golding har, folks call. Piff! you' har da colourob yella squash. I pull um out o' you' head in fistful, you call me_Aunt_ Lucy 'gain. "

"I did not know it would offend you, " replied the young girl, in a meekvoice. "Do not the others call you by that name?" she inquiredhesitatingly. "Mr Stebbins does so?"

"Nebba you mind what Mass' Stabbins he do; da's my affair. You hab acare _you_ no call me so. Da's my affair, too. Jes you say _Aunt_ Lucy'gain, I soon spoil you' beauty, buckra gal. "

"I shall not do so again, Lucy, " timidly rejoined the young girl. 

"_Miss_ Lucy, you please. Don't you tink you still in Tennessee! You'know better bye 'n bye. Yella woman out heer good as white--marry whiteman all same--all same 'mong da Mormons--yah, yah, yah!"

A leer towards Lilian accompanied this laughter, rendering its hideoussignificance more palpably expressive. So provoked was I by the brutalbehaviour of the yellow wench, I could scarcely restrain myself fromrushing up, and kicking her over the bank upon which she was standing. Nothing but the stern necessity of preserving my incognito hindered mefrom treating her as she deserved; and, even then, it cost me an effortto keep my place. As I continued to watch them. I could see that theyoung girl cowered beneath the threats of this bold bawdril, who had insome way gained an ascendancy over her--perhaps appointed by Stebbins toact in the double capacity of spy and guardian? Notwithstanding thehorrid imaginings to which the woman's presence had given rise, Isucceeded in smothering my wrath, and remaining silent. My good starwas guiding me; and soon after I was rewarded for the act of prudence. 

"Say, gal!" continued the mulatta, still addressing herself to Lilian, "wha for you sittin' down dar, gazin' into da water? S'pose you tinkyou see him shadda dar? Yah, yah, yah!"

"Whose shadow?" innocently inquired the girl. I trembled whilelistening for the reply. "O Lordy! you berry innocent gal, make 'pear!S'pose I no see you write him name in dat ere book you got? S'pose I nosee you make him letter in de sand, wha we camp on Akansaw? You scratcham name ebberywha; you got um on de big box inside Mass' Stebbins'swaggon. Ha! you better no let Mass' Stebbins see him name dar!"

I would at that instant have given my horse for a glance at either boxor book. But in another moment the necessity was gone; and therevelation, though made by polluted lips, was not the less welcome to myears. What cared I whether the oracle was profane, so long as itsresponse echoed my most earnest desires?

"S'pose nobody read but youseff?" continued the mulatta, in the samejeering tone. "S'pose nobody know what E. W. Stand for? yah, yah!S'pose dat ere don't mean Edwa'd Wa'ffeld? eh missy yella bar--dat himname?" The young girl made no reply; but the crimson disc became widelysuffused over her cheek. With a secret joy I beheld its blushingextension. "Yah, yah, yah!" continued her tormentor, "you may see umshadda in da water--dat all you ebba see ob Edwa'd Wa'ffeld. Whoebbardat ere coon may be, you nebbar set you' eyes on him 'gain--nebba!" Adark shade quickly overcast the crimson, betokening that the words gavepain. My pleasure was in like proportion, but inversely. "You fool, missy' golding har? you' better gone 'long wi' de young dragoon officawho want take you--dat am, if you must had man all to youseff. Yah, yah, yah! Nebba mind, gal! you get husban' yet. Mass' Stebbins he findyou husban'--he got one for you a'ready--waitin' dar in de Mormon city;you soon see! Husban' got fifty odder wife! Yah, yah, yah!"

Words appeared upon the lips of Lilian--low murmured and but halfuttered. I could not make out what they were; but they appeared not tobe a reply to the speeches that had been addressed to her. Rather werethey the involuntary accompaniment to an expression of peculiar anguish, that at that moment revealed itself on her features. The mulatta didnot seem either to expect, or care for an answer: for on givingutterance to the fiendish insinuation, she turned upon her slipperedheels, and hobbled back towards the camp. I held my face averted as shewas passing near where I stood. I feared that she might be attracted tostop and examine me; and I had a motive for wishing her to keep on. Hercuriosity, however, did not appear to be very excitable. Such as itwas, it evolved itself in a comic fashion--as I could tell by the coarse"Yah, yah, yah!" that broke from her as she passed me. I could perceiveby the receding of the sound, that she had gone on without stopping. Lilian followed at a distance of about ten paces. Her body was bent toone side by the weight of the water-can; while her long golden-hair, falling in confusion over the straining arm, almost swept the sward ather feet. The toilsome attitude only displayed in greater perfectionthe splendid development of that feminine form--which death alone couldnow hinder me from calling my own. 

I had already planned my course of action. I only waited for anopportunity to carry it out. No longer desired I to remain unrecognisedby her. The barrier that had hitherto restrained me from giving sign orword--and that would still have continued to do so--had now beenremoved, happily as unexpectedly. In my heart, now filled and thrillingwith joy, there was no motive for further concealment; and I resolved atonce to declare myself. Not openly, however; not by speech, nor yet bygesture. Either might provoke an exclamation; and draw upon us pryingeyes that were observing at no great distance. As stated, I had alreadyshaped out my course; and, for a minute or more, had been waiting forthe very opportunity that now offered. 

During the conversation above detailed, I had not been an inactivelistener. I had taken from my pocket a scrap of paper, and pencilledupon it three simple words. I knew the paper on which I was writing: itwas the half-leaf of a letter well-remembered. The letter itself wasnot there: it was within the folds of my pocket-book; but there waswriting on the fly-leaf, and on both faces of it. On one side werethose cherished verses, whose sweet simple strain, still vibrating uponthe chords of my heart, I cannot help repeating:

 "I think of thee, when Morning springs From sleep, with plumage bathed in dew, And like a young bird lifts her wings Of gladness on the welkin blue. And when at Noon the breath of love O'er flower and stream is wandering free, And sent in music from the grove, I think of thee--I think of thee!

 "I think of thee, when soft and wide The Evening spreads her robe of light; And, like a young and timid bride, Sits blushing in the arms of night. And when the moon's sweet crescent springs In light o'er heaven's deep waveless sea; And stars are forth like blessed things, I think of thee--I think of thee!"

"O sir! it is very, very true! I do think of you; and I am sure I shalldo so as long as I live. 

"Lilian Holt. "

On the reverse side of the page I had penned, or rather pencilled, aresponse. Not then, but in an idle hour by the way: with thepresentiment, that it might some time reach the hands of her for whom itwas intended. In those hands I was now determined to place it--leavingthe issue to the cipher itself. The answer ran thus:

To Lilian. 

 "As music sweet, thy gentle lay Hath found an echo in my heart; At morn, at eve, by night, by day, 'Tis never from my thoughts apart: I hear the strain in every breeze That blows o'er flower, and leaf, and tree; Low murmuring, the birds and bees All seem to sing--I think of thee!

 "Perhaps, of me no more a thought Lingers within thy bosom blest: For time and absence both are fraught With danger to the lover's rest? O Lilian! if thy gentlest breath Should whisper that sad truth to me, My heart would soon be cold in death-- Though dying, still 'twould think of thee!"

"Edward Warfield, _The Indian Hunter_. "

The words at the moment added were those appended to my own name--whichI had introduced to aid in the recognition. However inappropriate mightbe the scheme for making myself known, I had no time to conceive anyother. The interruption caused by the mulatta had hindered me from averbal declaration, which otherwise I might have made; and there was nolonger an opportunity for the periphrasis of speech. Even a word mightbetray me. Under this apprehension, I resolved to remain silent; andwatch for the occasion when I might effect the secret conveyance of thepaper. 

As the young girl drew near, I stepped towards her--pointing to my lips, and making sign that I wished to drink. The action did not alarm her. On the contrary, she stopped; and, smiling kindly on the thirsty savage, offered the can--raising it up before her. I took the vessel in myhands, holding the little billet conspicuous between my stained fingers. Conspicuous only to her: for from all other eyes the can concealed it--even from those of the bizarre _duenna_, who had faced round and wasstill standing near. Not a word escaped me, as I pretended to drink. Ionly nodded towards the paper as I raised the vessel to my lips. 

Ah! that weird instinct of a woman's heart--a woman who loves! Howpleasant to watch its subtle play, when we know that it is exerted inour favour! I saw not the action, nor yet the emotion that may havebeen depicted on that radiant face. My eyes were averted. I dared nottrust them to watch the effect. I only knew that the can was taken frommy hands--the paper along with it; and, like a dream, the fairwater-carrier passed from before me--leaving me alone upon the spot! Myeyes followed the receding form, now side by side with that of thechiding guardian. Together they entered the corral--Lilian upon thenearer side; but, as the maiden's face disappeared behind the sombreshadow of the waggons, a glance given back through those shining tressesconvinced me that my scheme had succeeded!

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED. 

A SISTER'S APPEAL. 

I hastened to inform Marian of what had passed--having returned to thetents, without giving any sign of the excitement that was stirringwithin my breast. Why not to-night? Why not at once--within the hour?These were my reflections, put interrogatively, as I hurried over theground. The huntress still remained within her tent; but, enjoying thefraternal privilege, I could enter; and, stooping, I passed under thecovering of skins. 

"You have seen sister Lilian!" she said, affirmatively, as I entered. 

"I have. "

"And spoken with her?"

"No--I dared not trust myself to speak; but I have given her a token ofrecognition. "

"In writing? I saw you. She knows, then, that you are here?"

"By this time she should--that is, if she has found an opportunity tolook at the paper. "

"She will find that, I daresay. Oh, she _is_ beautiful--very beautiful. I do not wonder, sir, that you love her! Were I a man--Knows she thatI too am here?"

"Not yet. I feared to tell her, even in writing. I feared that in thesudden transport of joy which such a discovery would produce, she mightproclaim it to your father--perhaps to _him_!"

"You are right--there might have been a risk of that. She must not knowthat I am here, till we can caution her against declaring it. How doyou propose to act?"

"I have come to take counsel from you. If we could only make known toher that you are present, she might find an opportunity of stealingforth; and in the darkness, all the rest could be accomplished. Evento-night--why not this very night?"

"Why not?" echoed the huntress, catching eagerly at the idea. "Thesooner the better. But how am I to see her? Should I enter their camp?Perhaps--"

"If you write to her, I--"

"_Would_, stranger? say _could_. Writing is not one of myaccomplishments. My father cared little to teach me--my mother stillless: she cared not at all. Alas! poor ignorant me: I cannot even writemy own name!"

"It matters not: dictate what you would say to her. I have here paperand pencil; and shall write for you. If she has read the other, shewill be on the look-out--and no doubt we may find an opportunity ofgiving a note to her. "

"And she of reading it, no doubt. Yes; it does seem the best course wecan pursue--the surest and safest. Surely Lilian has not forgotten me?Surely she will follow the advice of a sister who dearly loves her?"

Drawing out my pencil, and tearing a leaf from the memorandum-book, Istood ready to act as amanuensis. The intelligent though unletteredmaiden, resting her forehead upon her hand--as if to aid in giving shapeto her thoughts--commenced the dictation:

"Beloved sister!--A friend writes for me--one whom you know. It isMarian who speaks--your own sister Marian--still living and well. I amhere with others--in the disguise of Indians--those you have seen. Weare here on your account alone. We have come to save you from adanger--O sister! a dreadful danger: which your innocent heart cannothave dreamt of!"

I was not so certain of this. The shade I had observed upon Lilian'scountenance--produced by the taunting speeches of the mulatta--hadconvinced me that the young girl was not without some presentiment ofher peril, however vaguely outlined. So much the better for ourpurpose; and, as I had already declared this belief to Marian, I did notinterrupt her. She continued: "When you have read this, do not show itto any one. Do not make known its contents even to--"

The maiden paused for a moment. Filial affection, too cruelly crushed, was causing her voice to falter. Tremblingly and low muttered came thewords:

"Our father--!"

"Dear Lil!" proceeded she in a firmer tone, "you know how dearly I lovedyou? I love you still the same. You know I would have risked my lifeto save yours. I now risk that and more--ah! far more, if I could tellyou; but some time you shall know all. And you, dear Lil! your dangeris even greater than of life--for it is the danger of dishonour! Hearme, then, beloved sister, and _do_ not refuse to follow my advice! Whenit is dark--and to-night if possible--steal out from the camp. Separateyourself from the vile people who surround you--separate yourself--Osister! it is hard to say the word--from him, our father--him who shouldhave been our protector, but who, I fear--Alas! I cannot speak thethought. To-night, dear Lil! if possible, to-night! To-morrow it maybe too late. Our disguise may be discovered, and all our plansfrustrated. To-night--to-night! Fear not! your friend awaits you--asalso your old favourite, Frank Wingrove, with other brave companions. Your sister will receive you with open arms. "

"Marian. "

Surely Lilian would not resist such an appeal? Surely it would beenough to separate her--even from him whose slight protection scarcelygave him claim to the sacred title of parent?

Our next anxiety was, as to how the note might be delivered. We thoughtof Archilete; and in the end he might have been employed to convey it toher for whom it was intended. But just at that moment the Mexican wasabsent. In the performance of his _metier_ as guide, he had entered thecorral, and was engaged with the chief men of the caravan--giving themsuch counsel as might enable them to pursue their route, and no doubtconcealing those points that might be prejudicial to our cause. I hadno reason to doubt the fidelity of the man. It is true his betrayal ofus would have been fatal; though it might afterwards have broughthimself to punishment. But it never occurred to me to question hisloyalty. His sentiment of hostility for the Mormon "hereticos" had beenfreely and repeatedly expressed; and I reposed perfect confidence in thehonesty of his declarations. On discovering the absence of Archilete, the idea occurred to me, that it might not be necessary to await hisreturn to the tents. Time was too valuable to be wasted. Already hadthe sun sunk to rest over the grand desert of the Colorado; and thesombre shadows of the Sierra San Juan were projected far into theplain--almost to the edge of the encampment. In these latitudes, thesoft eve lingers but a few minutes; and night was already spreading herrusset mantle over the earth. The white tilts of the waggons gleamedpaler through the grey light; and the red glare of the camp-fires, burning within the corral, now shone upon the canvas--disputing thepower to illumine it, with the last touches of the twilight. Anotherminute--scarcely another minute--and the day would be done. 

"Come!" I said to my companion, "we may go together. The guide hasproclaimed us sister and brother--prophetic words, I hope. Believing inthat relationship, these people will not see anything extraordinary inour taking a stroll together. _Outside_ the camp, we may find theopportunity we are in search of?"

Marian offered no objection; and, issuing together from the tent, weproceeded in the direction of the corralled waggons. 

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE. 

A CARAVAN BALL. 

As if to favour our design, the night descended dusk as the wing of avulture. The summits of San Juan were no longer visible--their outlinesbecoming blended with the dark background of sky; while the more sombreslopes of the Sierra Mojada had long since faded from the view. Evenlight-coloured objects could be but dimly traced through the profoundobscurity--such as the white covers of the waggons, our ownweather-bleached buffalo-tents, the metallic sheen of the stream, andthe speckled oxen browsing along its banks. Between these objects theatmosphere was filled with a uniform and amorphous darkness; and duskyforms like ours could be seen only under the light of the blazing fires. A few of these had been kindled outside the enclosure--near the avenueentrance; but most were inside, surrounded by groups of emigrants--theflames casting their ruddy light upon the bright cheerful faces of womenand children, or on the ruder and more careworn countenances of the men. Underneath the waggon-bodies, the red light, broken by the radiatingspokes of the wheels, gleamed outward in a thousand jets; and menwalking outside, flung gigantic shadows over the plain. Nearer to theline of barricade, only the shadows of their limbs were projected, theupper part of their persons being shrouded from the glare by the tiltsand boxing of the waggons. Under this friendly cover we were enabled toapproach close up to the vehicles, without much risk of attractingobservation. But few persons were straying outside--only thecattle-guards and other routine-officers of the caravan, all equallynegligent of their duties. They knew they were in Utah territory, andhad no enemy to fear. 

It was, moreover, the hour of most interest in the daily routine of atravelling-train: when forms cluster around the bivouac fire, and brightfaces shine cheerfully in the blaze; when the song succeeds the supper, the tale is told, and the merry laugh rings on the air; when the pipesends up its aromatic wreaths of blue curling smoke; and sturdy limbs, already rested from the toils of the day, feel an impulse to springupward on the "light fantastic toe. " On that eve, such an impulse hadinspired the limbs of the Mormon emigrants. Scarcely had the _debris_of the supper been removed, ere a space was cleared midway between theblazing fires; music swelled upon the air--the sounds of fiddle, horn, and clarionet--and half a score of couples, setting themselves _enquadrille_, commence treading time to the tune. Sufficiently _bizarre_was the exhibition--a dance of the true "broad-horn" breed; but we hadno thought of criticising an entertainment so opportune to our purpose. The swelling sound of the instruments drowning low conversation--theconfusion of many voices--the attraction of the saltatory performance--were all circumstances that had suddenly and unexpectedly arisen in ourfavour. My companion and I had no longer a fear that our movementswould be noted. Indeed, only those who might be in the waggons, andlooking through the draw-string aperture in the rear of the tilts, wouldbe likely to see us at all. But most of these apertures were closed, some with curtains of common canvas--others with an old counterpane, ablanket, or such rag as was fitted for the service. 

We saw no face looking outwards. All were turned upon the attractivecircle of Terpsichoreans, that, under the brilliant light of the fires, were bounding through the mazy figures, of the dance. The waggonsforming the sides of the enclosure were in _echellon_; and their tiltslapping on each other, it was impossible to see between them. With thetwo, however, that closed the end of the _corral_, the case wasdifferent. These had been drawn up side by side, and parallel to eachother; and though their wheels touched, there still remained a spaceabove the tires, through which we could command a view of the groundwithin the enclosure. At this point we had placed, ourselves. Itproved the very vantage-ground we desired. We could view the enclosedellipse longitudinally, and note nearly every movement made by thoseinside. Even should we be detected in our espionage, it would passwithout suspicion as to our real object. What more natural than that weshould desire to witness the spectacle of the dance? The act would beconstrued as springing from mere savage curiosity?

Our eyes, wandering over the different figures, soon became fixed upontwo. They were men, and seated--near each other, and some paces apartfrom the crowd of dancers. They were Holt and Stebbins. Both were bythe side of a large fire, that threw its red light in full glare overthem--so that not only their figures, but even the expression upon theirfeatures we could distinctly trace. The squatter, pipe in mouth, andwith head drooping down almost to his knees, looked grimly into thefire. He was paying no attention to what was passing around him. Histhoughts were not there? Stebbins, on the other hand, appeared eagerlyto watch the dancers. He was dressed with a degree of adornment; andexhibited a certain patronising attitude, as if master of the sports andceremonies! Men and women went and came, as if paying court to him; andeach was kept for a moment in courtly converse, and then graciouslydismissed, with all the ludicrous etiquette of mock ceremonial!

I looked among the dancers--scrutinising each face as it came round tothe light. There were girls and women--some of all ages. Even thegross _mulatto_ was "on the floor, " hobbling through the figures of aquadrille. But Lilian? I was disappointed in not seeing her--adisappointment that gratified me. Where was she? Among the spectators?I made a hurried examination of the circle. There were faces fair andyoung--white teeth and rose-hued cheeks--but not hers. She was notamong them! I turned to her sister to make a conjectural inquiry. Isaw that the eyes of Marian were fixed upon her father. She wasregarding him with a singular expression. I could fancy that somestrange reflection was passing through her mind--some wild emotionswelling within her bosom. I refrained from interrupting the current ofher thoughts. 

Up to this time, the waggon beside which we stood had been dark inside. Suddenly, and, as if by magic, a light flashed within, gleaming throughthe translucent canvas. A candle had been lighted under the tilt; andnow continued to burn steadily. I could not resist the temptation tolook under the canvas. Perhaps a presentiment guided me? It needed nodisarrangement of the cover. I had only to step a pace to one side andopposite the curtain in the rear of the vehicle. The slight rudehanging had been negligently closed. An interstice left open betweenthe two flaps permitted a fall view of the interior. A number of largeboxes and articles of household use filled up the bed of the waggon. Over these had been thrown some coarse garments, and pieces ofbed-clothing--blankets, counterpanes, and a bolster or two. Near theforward end, a chest of large dimensions stood higher than the rest; andupon the lid of this a piece of tallow-candle was burning, in the neckof an old bottle! Between the flame of the candle and my eyes a figureintervened, shadowing the rearward part of the waggon. It was a femalefigure; and, dim as was the light, I could trace the outlines of alovely _silhouette_, that could be no other than that of Lilian Holt. Aslight movement of the head brought the gleam of golden-hair under theflickering flame; and the features were seen _en profile_. They werehers. It was Lilian who occupied the waggon. She was alone--though infront of the vehicle, I could see forms not distant from where she sat. Young men were loitering there. Ardent glances were directed towardsher. She appeared desirous of shunning them. She held in her hands abook. One might have fancied she was reading it: for it was open. Butthe light fell sparingly on the page; and her stealthy glances towardsit told, something else than the book was occupying her attention. Apiece of detached paper that gleamed whiter between the leaves, wasevidently the object of her solicitude. It was the writing upon thatshe was trying to decipher. I watched with eager glance. I noted everymovement of the fair reader. Marian had joined me. We both watchedtogether. 

It required an effort to restrain ourselves from speech. A word wouldhave been worth all this writing; but it might also have ruinedeverything. They who stood in front of the waggon might hear that word. It was not spoken. Lilian was evidently embarrassed by the presence ofthese young men; and cast uneasy glances towards them as she read. Perhaps the restraint thus placed upon her hindered any violent show ofemotion, which the writing on the paper might have called forth. Ashort suppressed sigh, as she finished reading; a quick searching glanceamong the groups in front--another, shot stealthily towards the rear ofthe waggon--this was all in her manner that might have appeared unusual. I waited till her eyes were again turned rearward; and then, gentlyparting the canvas flaps, I held Marian's note between my fingers insidethe curtain. The apparition of my red-hand did not cause an alarm. Thepoem had paved the way for the more prosaic epistle: and neither screamnor start was occasioned by its delivery. As soon as I saw that thepiece of paper was observed, I dropped it among the boxes, and withdrewmy hand. The fear that we might have been noticed standing too long inone place, influenced us to move away. If fortune should favour thereading of that note, on our return we might find our scheme much moreripe for execution. With this reflection, we glided silently from thespot. 

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO. 

TO HORSE AND AWAY. 

Our absence was of short duration--a turn to the tents and back again. While there, I had spoken a word to Wingrove and Sure-shot. Archiletewas still absent. I had warned my comrades not to picket our horses attoo great a distance from the tents: as we knew not how soon we mightneed them. Little thought I, as I delivered this cautionary counsel, that within the hour--nay, almost within that minute--we should behastening to mount and be gone! Our idea had been that some time aboutmidnight--perhaps later--when the camp should be buried in sleep--Lilian, already warned that we were in wait for her, would steal forthand join us at the tents. Thence, trusting to the speed of our horses, we should find no difficulty in escaping--even though pursuit might begiven on the instant of our departure. We were all well-mounted--aswell, at least, as the Mormons could be--and with a guide who knew thepasses, we should have the advantage of them. 

It did not occur to Marian or myself, that that very moment might havebeen more appropriate for flight, than the hour of midnight or anyother. Then, in the midst of their noisy revelry, when all eyes wereturned upon the dance, and souls absorbed in the giddy whirl ofpleasure--when slight sounds were unnoticed amidst the swelling musicand the clangour of voices--when even the hoof-stroke of a gallopinghorse would have fallen unheard or unheeded--then, indeed, would havebeen the very time for our designed abduction! The idea did not occurto either of us. I cannot tell why it did not: unless it was that wewere hindered from thinking of final measures, by our uncertainty as tothe _disposition_ of Lilian. Her consent was _now_ the most importantcondition to our success--as her refusal would be its grandest obstacle. Surely she would _not_ refuse? We could not for a moment harbour theapprehension. By this time she must have read the letter? We could nowsafely speak face to face with her--that is, if opportunity should befound for an interview. To seek that opportunity, therefore, were wereturning a second time to the rear of the waggons. The candle was yetburning under the tilt. Its flame feebly illuminated the canvas. Wedrew near with stealthy tread, taking notice that we were not observed. We stood once more by the end of the huge vehicle. We were raising oureyes to look through the curtain, when at that instant the light wentout. Some one had suddenly extinguished it! One might have regardedthis as an ill omen; but, the moment after, we could hear a slightrustling sound--as of some one moving under the cover of the waggon, andpassing along towards its hinder end. We stood silent, listening to thesound. It ceased at length; but, immediately after, the edge of thecurtain was raised slowly, and without noise. A face appeared in theopening! There was scarcely any light; but even through the grimdarkness that lovely face gleamed soft and white. Marian stood nearest, and easily recognised it. In a tender tone she pronounced the magicword: "Sister!"

"O Marian! sister! is it you?"

"Yes, dearest Lil! But hush! speak low!"

"Are you yet alive, dear Marian? or am I dreaming?"

"No dream, sister, but a reality. "

"O mercy! tell me, sister--"

"All--all--but not now--there is no time. "

"But _he_, dear sister? who is he that is with you?"

I stepped near enough to reply in a whisper: "One, Lilian, who _thinksof thee_!"

"O sir! Edward!--Edward!--it is you!"

"Hush!" whispered Marian, again interposing with a quick gesture ofcaution. "Speak only in whispers! Lilian!" continued she in a firmtone, "you must fly with us!"

"From our father? Do you mean that, Marian?"

"From our father--ay, even from him!"

"O dear sister! what will he say? what will he do, if I forsake him?--Our poor father!--"

There was anguish in the tones of her voice, that told of filialaffection still strong and true, however much it may have been trampledupon. 

"Say and do?" interrupted Marian. "He will rejoice--_should_ rejoice--when he knows the danger from which you have escaped. O sister! dearsister! believe me--believe your own Marian! A fearful fate is beforeyou. Flight with us can alone save you. Even father will soon bepowerless to protect you, _as he was to protect me_. Do not hesitatethen, but say you will go with us? Once beyond the reach of thosevillains who surround you, all will be well. "

"And our father, Marian?"

"No harm will come to him. It is not his ruin they seek; but yours, sister, yours!" A choking sigh was all the reply I could hear. Itappeared to be a signal that the spell was broken: as if the heart hadescaped from some thraldom in which it had been long held. Had thewords of Marian produced conviction? or had they but confirmed someapprehension previously conceived? Was it the snapping of the filialthread I had heard in that anguished expression? Both the sigh and thesilence that followed seemed to signify assent. To make more sure, Iwas about to add the influence of my intervention, with all the fervencyof a lover's appeal. Wild words were upon my lips; when at that momentsome strange interjections reached my ears, uttered within theenclosure. I stepped suddenly to one side, and looked over the wheelsof the waggon. There I beheld a spectacle that caused the blood to rushthrough my veins in quick quivering current. Marian saw it at the sametime. Holt had been seated near the fire, when seen but the momentbefore; but, as we now looked through, we saw that he had risen to hisfeet, and was standing in an attitude that betrayed some singularexcitement! It was from him the interjections had proceeded. The causewas easily explained. The dog Wolf was leaping up against his legs--uttering low growls of recognition, and making other demonstrations ofjoy. The animal had identified its old master! Despite the stainedsnout and close-trimmed tonsure--despite both paint and shears--the doghad been also identified. Between him and his master the recognitionwas mutual. I saw this at a glance; and the speeches of the squatteronly confirmed what was already evident to the eye. 

"Durn it, ef 'taint my ole dog!" cried he, after several shorterexclamations--"my ole dog Wolf! Hullo, Stebbins!" continued he, facingsharply round to the Saint; "what's the meanin' o' this? Didn't youtell me that he wur dead?"

Stebbins had turned pale as a sheet; and I could see his thin lipsquivering with excitement. It was less fear than some other passionthat was playing upon his features; and too easily could I conjecturethe current of thought that was running through his brain. The presenceof that animal must have called up a train of reflections, far wilderand stranger than those that were passing through the mind of thesquatter; and I could perceive that he was making an effort to concealhis emotions. "'Tis a very odd circumstance, " said he, speaking in atone of assumed surprise--"very odd indeed! It is your dog, certainly, though the animal has been disfigured. I _thought_ he was dead. Themen of our spring caravan told me so. They said that the wolves hadkilled him. "

"Wolves! durn it, I mout a know'd they kudn't a killed him--not all thewolves on the parairies! Why thur ain't the scratch o' a claw on him!Whar did he come from anyhow? Who's brought him hyur?"

I could see that Stebbins was desirous of parrying the question. Hegave an evasive answer. "Who knows? He has likely been in the hands ofsome Indians--the paint shows that--and preferring the company ofwhites, he has followed us, and strayed into the camp. "

"Did he come with them ere Injuns that's outside?" quickly inquiredHolt. 

"No?--I fancy not with them, " answered the Mormon, in whose glance Icould detect the falsehood. 

"Let's go an' see!" proposed the squatter, making a step towards theentrance of the corral. 

"No--not to-night, Holt!" hastily interposed the other, and with aneagerness that showed the interest he felt in procrastinating theinquiry. "We must not disturb them to-night. In the morning, we cansee them, and learn all about it. "

"Durn about disturbin' them! Why not to-night, instead o' the mornin'?"

"Well--if you wish to know to-night, I'll go myself, and speak to theguide. No doubt, if the dog came with them, he can tell us all aboutit? You stay here till I return?"

"Don't be long then. Ho, Wolf! ole fellur! Injuns have had ye, eh?Durn it, old boy! I'm as gled to see ye, as if--"

An unexpected reflection was called forth by the form of speech--notthat to which he was about to give words--but one whose bitterness, notonly hindered him from saying what he had intended, but caused himinstantly to abandon his caresses of the dog. Staggering back to hisseat, he dropped heavily down upon it--at the same time burying his facein his hands. The expression upon the Mormon's features, as he partedfrom the fire, was one of demoniac significance. Clearly hecomprehended all! I saw him gliding off through, the corral, withsilent stealthy tread, like some restless spirit of darkness. Here andthere he paused; and for a moment held one in conversation--then quicklypassing on to another. There was no mistaking the object of thesemanoeuvres. As clearly as if declared. I divined their intent. _Hewas summoning the "Destroyers_!"

Not a moment was to be lost. I rushed back to the rear of the waggon;and with open arms gave utterance to my anguished appeal. But it needednot that, Marian had been, before me. Both she and her sister hadwitnessed the scene within the corral. Both already foresaw the comingstorm: and ere my lips could close, after delivering the impassionedspeech, Lilian Holt lay upon my bosom! It was the first time that faircheek had pressed upon my shoulder--the first time those soft arms hadentwined around my neck! Not for an instant dared I indulge in thesweet embrace. If we lingered, it might be the last! To the tents! tothe tents! I knew that the horses would be waiting. A signal alreadygiven should have warned my comrades; and I had no conjecture, no fearabout their being in readiness. As I expected, we found them all--bothmen and horses--the steeds saddled, bridled, and ready. The Mexican wasthere with the rest. The apparition of the dog had given him his cue;and he had hurriedly returned to the tents. We thought not of these, nor of the other paraphernalia--neither our mules nor their packs. Ourlives and liberty alone concerned us. My Arab neighed joyfully, as Isprang into the saddle. He was proud to carry that fairer form upon thecroup; and, as he bounded forward over the plain, his triumphant snorttold, that he understood the glorious service he was called upon toperform. 

As we parted from the tents, we could see a number of dark forms rushingout from the avenue. In the red glare their shadows were projected farover the plain--even in advance of our horses. They were the shadows ofmen afoot; and we soon galloped beyond them. The music had suddenlyceased; and the murmuring hum of the dancers had given place to shoutsand loud cries, that betokened a _stampede_ in the camp. We coulddistinguish the voices of men calling to the horse-guards; and, soonafter, the quick trampling of hoofs, as the animals were hurried up tothe enclosure. But we had very little uneasiness about the pursuit. Wewere too well-mounted to fear being overtaken; and, as we galloped offinto the night, with confidence could we echo the cry of the boldborderer: "They'll have fleet steeds that follow!"

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE. 

SEEKING A CACHE. 

We rode direct for Robideau's Pass. The night still continued dark, butwe had no difficulty in finding our way. Even in the obscurity, thedeep trace of the heavy emigrant train was sufficiently conspicuous; andwe were enabled to follow the back-track with precision. Ourexperienced guide could have conducted us over it blindfold. That wewere pursued, and hotly pursued, there could be little doubt. For mypart, I felt certain of it. The stake which Stebbins had hitherto held, was too precious to be parted with on slight conditions. The jealousvigilance with which Lilian had been guarded along the route--amounting, as I had incidentally ascertained, to a positive espionage--her yellowduenna at once acting as spy and protectress--all were significant ofthe intent already suspected by us, but of which the young girl herselfwas perhaps happily ignorant. The failure of his design--and now forthe second time--would be a rude _contre-temps_ for the pseudo-apostle;and would no doubt endanger his expected promotion. Besides, he musthave believed or suspected, that Marian Holt still lived; that she hadsurvived the exposure consequent on her escape from the first caravan;and this belief or suspicion would now be confirmed by the reappearanceof the dog. Nay, it was almost certain, that on recognising the animal, the truth had suddenly flashed upon him, that Marian was herself uponthe ground; and that the spotted countenance that had for the momentdeceived him, was that of his Tennessean bride. The abduction followingupon the instant would not only confirm this belief, but would redoublehis eagerness in a pursuit that promised a recapture of both thevictims, who had thus unexpectedly escaped from his control. 

Though with different motives, it was natural that Holt himself shouldbe equally eager to pursue. He might still know nothing about thepresence of Marian or her disguise. To him it would simply appear thathis other child had been stolen from the camp--carried off by Indians--and that _should_ be sufficient to rouse him to the most strenuousefforts for her recovery. For these reasons we had no doubt about ourbeing pursued; and with all the zeal and energy of which our apostolicenemy and his myrmidons were capable of putting forth. 

Twenty miles separated the Mormon camp from the entrance to Robideau'sPass. Nearly the whole of that distance we traversed at a gallop. Sofar we had experienced no apprehension; but, after entering the pass, our foaming horses began to show signs of fatigue. Those of Sure-shotand Wingrove, that were weaker than the rest, manifested symptoms ofgiving out. Both were evidently broken, and without rest could go nofurther. This produced a new uneasiness. We presumed that the horsesof our pursuers would be comparatively fresh--after their long rest attheir encampment--while ours had not only made a considerable journeythe day before, but on that same day had passed over fifty miles ofground--twenty of it in a gallop! No wonder they were manifesting signsof distress. 

Shortly after entering the pass, we drew up to deliberate. Bycontinuing onward, we should be almost certain to be overtaken. Thiswas the more probable, from the keen pursuit we had reason toanticipate. To remain where we were, would be to await the coming up ofthe enemy--no doubt in such numbers as to render our capture secure; andany attempt to defend ourselves would be idle as fatal. It was nolonger with Indians we should have to deal--no longer with lances andarrows--but with strong bold men, armed like ourselves, and faroutnumbering us. To conceal ourselves within the gorge, and permit ourpursuers to pass, might have served our purpose for the time--had therebeen sufficient cover. But neither the rocks nor trees offered anadvantageous hiding-place for our horses. The risk of their beingdiscovered appeared too great. We dared not trust to such a slightchance of security. Within the pass, it was not possible to part fromthe trail; and on discovering the condition of our horses, we regrettednot having left it before entering. We even entertained the question ofreturning some distance: since we might leave the trail by ascending aspur of the mountains in our rear. But this course appeared tooperilous. Perhaps at that moment our pursuers might be entering thepass? Perhaps at that moment "adown the glen rode armed men"--though asyet our ears were not assailed by the sound of their trampling. 

Fortunately, in this moment of hesitancy, a thought occurred to ourMexican comrade, that promised to release us from the dilemma. It was a_memory_ that had suddenly flashed upon him. He remembered, on one ofhis trapping expeditions, having discovered a ravine that led out ofRobideau's Pass on the northern side. It was a mere cleft cliff--justwide enough to admit the body of a man on horseback--but further up, itopened into a little plain or _vallon_, as the Mexican termed it, completely girt in by mountains. These on all sides rose soprecipitously from the plain, as to render it impossible for a mountedman to scale them. The trapper had himself been obliged to return bythe gorge--after having vainly endeavoured to find a way leading outwardabove. The vallon was therefore a _cul-de-sac_; or, as the trapper inhis native synonyme called it, a _bolson_. Our guide was of opinionthat this _bolson_ would serve as a hiding-place, until we could restour horses. He was confident that the entrance of the ravine was notfar from where we had halted; and, moreover, that he should be able tofind it without difficulty. His advice, therefore, was, that we shouldseek the gorge; and, having found it, ride up into the vallon, and thereremain, till the following night. The pursuit might pass in themeantime, and return again; but whether or not, our animals would thenbe rested; and even should we again encounter the pursuers we might hopeto escape, through the superior speed of our horses. 

The plan was feasible. There was but one objection that struck me; andI offered it for the consideration of our guide. The _vallon_ as he hadstated, was a _cul-de-sac_. Should we be _tracked into it_, there wouldbe no chance of retreat: we should be taken as in a trap?

"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed the Mexican, in answer to my suggestion, "nofear of being tracked by such curs as they. They know nothing of thatbusiness. Not one of their whole fraternity could follow the trace of abuffalo in snow-time. _Carrambo_! No. "

"There is one who could, " I replied; "one who could follow a feeblertrail than ours. "

"What! A _rastreador_ among these _Judios_! Who, _cavallero_?"

"Their father!" I whispered the reply, so that neither of the girlsshould overhear it. 

"Oh! true, " muttered the Mexican--"the father of the huntress--a hunterhimself? _Carrai_! that's like enough. But no matter. I can take youup the gorge in such fashion, that the most skilled _rastreador_ of theprairies would never suspect we had passed through. Fortunately, theground is favourable. The bottom of the little canon is covered withcut rocks. The hoof will leave no mark upon these. "

"Remember that some of our horses are shod: the iron will betray us?"

"No, senor, we shall muffle them: _nos vamos con los pies en medias_!"(Let us travel in stockings!)

The idea was not new to me; and without further hesitation, we proceededto carry it into execution. With pieces of blanket, and strips cut fromour buckskin garments, we muffled the hoofs of our shod horses; andafter following the waggon-trail, till we found a proper place forparting from it, we diverged in an oblique direction, towards the bluffthat formed the northern boundary of the pass. Along this bluff wefollowed the guide in silence; and, after going for a quarter of a milefurther, we had the satisfaction to see him turn to the left, andsuddenly disappear from our sight--as if he had ridden into the face ofthe solid rock! We might have felt astonishment; but a dark chasm atthe same instant came under our eyes, and we knew it was the ravine ofwhich our guide had spoken. Without exchanging a word, we turned ourhorses' heads, and rode up into the cleft. There was water runningamong the shingle, over which our steeds trampled; but it was shallow, and did not hinder their advance. It would further aid in concealingtheir tracks--should our pursuers succeed in tracing us from the mainroute. But we had little apprehension of their doing this: so carefullyhad we concealed our trail on separating from that of the waggons. 

On reaching the little _vallon_, we no longer thought of danger; but, riding on to its upper end, dismounted, and made the best arrangementsthat circumstances would admit of for passing the remainder of thenight. Wrapped in buffalo-robes, and a little apart from the rest ofour party, the sisters reclined side by side under the canopy of acotton-wood tree. Long while had it been since these beautiful formshad reposed so near each other; and the soft low murmur of theirvoices--heard above the sighing of the breeze, and the rippling sound ofthe mountain rills--admonished us that each was confiding to the otherthe sweet secret of her bosom!

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR. 

UN PARAISO. 

We come to the closing act of our drama. To understand it fully, it isnecessary that the setting of the stage--the _mise-en-scene_--bedescribed with a certain degree of minuteness. The little valley-plain, or _vallon_, in which we had _cached_ ourselves, was not over threehundred yards in length, and of an elliptical form. But for this form, it might have resembled some ancient crater scooped out of the mountain, that on all sides swept upward around it. The sides of this mountain, trending up from the level of the plain, rose not with a gentleacclivity, but with precipitous abruptness. At no point, however, didit assume the character of a cliff. It might have been scaled withdifficulty by a man on foot, especially should he avail himself of theassistance of the trees--pines and trailing junipers--that grew over thesteep so thickly as to conceal the greater portion of its rocky_facade_. Here and there only, a bare spot might be observed--a littlebuttress of white laminated gypsum, mingled with sparkling selenite;while at other places a miniature torrent, leaping over the rocks, anddancing among the dark cedars, presented a very similar appearance. These little torrents, plashing down to the plain, formed numerouscrystal rills that traversed the _vallon_. Like the branches of asilver candelabrum, all united near its centre, and there formed apellucid stream, that, sweeping onward, discharged itself through theravine into Robideau's Pass. The effect of this abundance of water hadbeen to produce within the _vallon_ a proportionate luxuriance ofvegetation, though it had not assumed the form of a forest. A fewhandsome cotton-woods, standing thinly over it, were the only trees; butthe surface exhibited a verdure of emerald brightness enamelled by manya gay corolla--born to blush unseen within this sweet secluded glen. Along the edge of the rivulet, large water-plants projected their broadleaves languidly over the stream; and where the little cascades camedown from the rocks, the flowers of beautiful orchids, and other rareepiphytes, were seen sparkling under the spray--many of them clinging tothe _coniferae_, and thus uniting almost the extreme types of thebotanical world!

Such lovely landscape was presented to our eyes in the "bolson" intowhich our trapper-guide had conducted us. It appeared lovely as wefirst beheld it--under the blue light of dawn; but lovelier far, whenthe sun began to tinge the summits of the Mojada Mountains thatencircled it, and scatter his empurpled roses on the snowy peaks of theWa-to-yah--just visible through the gorge. 

"_Esta un Paraiso_!" (It is a Paradise!) exclaimed the Mexican, warmingwith the poetry of his race. "_En verdad un Paraiso_! Even betterpeopled than the Paradise of old. _Mira! cavalleros_!" continued he. "Behold! not one Eve, but two! each, I daresay, as beautiful as themother of mankind!"

As the trapper spoke, he pointed to the young girls, who, hand-in-hand, were returning from the stream--where they had been performing theirablutions. The spots of _allegria_ had disappeared from the cheeks ofMarian, that now gleamed in all their crimson picturesqueness. It wasfor Wingrove to admire these. My own eyes were riveted upon the roseateblonde; and, gazing upon her face, I could not help echoing thesentiment of the enthusiastic speaker: "Beautiful as the mother ofmankind!" Wingrove and I had been to the _lavatory_ before them; andhad succeeded to a certain extent in scouring our skins clear of thevermilion bedaubment. In the anticipation of this pleasant interview, it was natural we should seek to rescue ourselves from a disguise, thatthe eye of woman could not look upon otherwise than with _degout_. Itwas natural, too, we should desire those clasped hands to come asunder--those maiden forms to be separated from one another?

Fortune was pleased to respond to our wishes. A flower hanging from thebranch of a tree at that moment caught the eye of Lilian; and, droppingher sister's hand, she hastened to gather it. Marian, who cared lessfor flowers, did not follow her. Perhaps her inclination tempted herthe other way?

But one did follow the fair Lilian--unable to resist the opportunity forfree converse--the only one that had offered since that first sweetinterview. How my heart bounded, when I beheld the blossom of thebignonia; for it was that which hung drooping from the branch of thecotton-wood, round which its bright leaves were amorously entwining!How it swelled with a triumphant joy, when I saw those tiny fingers, extend towards the _Sower, gently_ pluck it from its stem, and place itupon my bosom! Talk not of bliss, if it be not this! We strayed onthrough the straggling trees, along the banks of the stream, by theedges of the little rills. We wandered around the vallon, and stood bythe torrents that fell foaming from the rocks. We mingled our voiceswith the waters, that in low murmurings appeared to repeat the sentimentso endeared to us, "I think of thee!"

"And you will, Lilian--you will always thus think of me?"

"Yes, Edward!--for ever and ever!"

Was the kiss unhallowed that could seal such promise? No--it wassacred--

Down to Earth's profound, And up to Heaven!

Thus benighted with the sweet hallucination of love, how could we dreamthat on earth there existed an alloy? How suspect that into thatsmiling garden the dread serpent could ever intrude himself? Alas! hewas at that moment approaching it--he was already near!

The place we had chosen for our temporary bivouac--and where we hadpassed the night--was at the upper extremity of the little valley, andclose in to the cliff. We had selected this spot, from the ground beinga little more elevated than the general surface, and in consequencedrier. Several cotton-wood trees shaded it; and it was furthersheltered by a number of large boulders of rock, that, having fallenfrom the cliff above, lay near its base. Behind these boulders, the menof our party had slept--not from any idea of the greater securityafforded by them, but simply from a delicate motive--being thusseparated from the _chamber_ occupied by our fair _protegees_. 

It had never occurred to us that our place of concealment could bediscovered in the night; and, even long after the day had arisen, soconfident did we continue in our fancied security, that we had taken noprecautions--neither to reconnoitre the cliffs in search of away ofretreat, nor to adopt any means of defence in the event of our beingassailed. As far as Wingrove and I were concerned, I have explainedthis negligence, for it was negligence of the most imprudent character. The Mexican, feeling quite certain that he had succeeded in blinding ourtrail, was perhaps less cautious than he might otherwise have been; andSure-shot equally trusted to his new comrade, for whose still theex-ranger had conceived an exalted opinion. 

I could see withal that Archilete was not without some apprehension. Hehad buckled on his artificial leg--the real one having become fatiguedby pressing too long on the stirrup; and, as he hobbled over the ground, I noticed that from time to time he cast inquiring glances down thevalley. Observing these signs of impatience more than once, I began togrow uneasy. 

Prudence required that even that sweet scene should be interrupted--onlytemporality, I hoped--until some plan should be adopted, that wouldrender us more secure against the contingency of our being discovered. With my fair companion, I had turned away from the sweet whisperings ofthe cascade, and was facing to the upper end of the vallon--when, all atonce, I observed a strange manoeuvre on the part of "Peg-leg. " Thetrapper had thrown himself flat upon the grass; and with his ear placedclose to the ground, appeared to listen. The movement was toosignificant not to attract the attention of everybody. My companion wasthe only one who did not comprehend it; but she observed that it hadpowerfully affected all the others; and an ejaculation of alarm escapedher, as she saw them hastening up to the place occupied by the prostratetrapper. Before we could arrive on the spot, the man had sprung backinto an erect attitude; and, as he stamped his timber leg with violenceupon the ground, was heard to exclaim: "_Carrambo, camarados_! The cursare upon our trail! _Oiga los_?--_el perro_--_el perro_!" (You hearthem?--the dog--the dog!) The words were scarcely out of his mouth whentheir interpretation was given in the sound that came pealing up thevalley. Borne upon the sighing breeze, it was heard above the rushingnoise of the waters--easily heard, and as easily understood. It was thebay of a dog, who ran "growling" along a trail! Its deep tone was evenidentified. The huntress recognised it in the first note that fell uponher ear--as was evidenced by her quick exclamation: "Wolf! my dog Wolf!"The speech had scarcely escaped her, before the dog himself made hisappearance, convincing us all of his identity. The animal, seeing us, ran no longer by the scent; but with raised snout came galloping acrossthe valley, and bounded forward to receive the caresses of his mistress. We rushed to our weapons; and, having grasped them, ran behind theboulders of rock. It would have been idle to have taken to our horses. If our pursuers were following the dog, and guided by him, they wouldalready be near enough to intercept our retreat from the vallon?Perhaps they were at that moment in the gorge? We had but one hope; andthat was, that the dog might be _alone_. Missing Marian at the camp, hemight have struck upon her trail, and been running upon it throughoutthe night! This seemed scarcely probable: for Holt could have detainedhim; and in all likelihood would have done so? Still less probable didit appear, as we watched the movements of the dog himself. Instead ofstaying by Marian, and continuing to receive her caresses, we noticedthat at short intervals he ran off again, making demonstration in thedirection he had come--as if in expectation of some one who wasfollowing at his heels! The slight hope we had conceived was quicklyand rudely crushed, by the confirmation of this fact. The voices ofmen, echoing hoarsely through the gorge, confirmed it! Beyond doubt, they were our pursuers, guided by the dog--who little comprehended thedanger he was thus conducting towards the object of his instinctiveaffections!

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE. 

AN UNEXPECTED DEFECTION. 

Almost as soon as we heard the voices, we saw those who were givingutterance to them. A horseman appeared issuing from the jaws of thechasm--another, and another--until eight had filed into the open ground!They were all armed men--armed with guns, pistols, and knives. He inthe lead was at once identified. The colossal stature, the greenblanket-coat, red shirt, and kerchief turban, proclaimed that theforemost of our pursuers was Holt himself. Immediately behind him rodeStebbins; while those following in file were the executive myrmidons ofthe Mormon faith--the _Destroying Angels_!

On entering the open ground, Holt alone kept on without slackening hisspeed. Stebbins followed, but more cautiously and at a distance ofseveral lengths of his horse. The Danites at sight of our animals, andourselves too--for they could not fail to see our faces over the rocks--drew up; not suddenly, but one after the other--as if irresolute whetherto advance, or remain where they were. Even Stebbins, though moving onafter the squatter, did so with evident reluctance. He saw the barrelsof our rifles gleaming above the boulders; and, when within about fiftypaces of our position, he too reined in--keeping the body of Holtbetween himself and our guns. The squatter continued to advance, without the slightest show of fear. So near had he got to us, that wecould note the expression upon his features, though it was difficult tounderstand it. It was one that bespoke reckless determination--no doubta determination to recover his child from the savages who had stolenher; for as yet he had no reason to think otherwise than that we wereIndians. Of course, none of us thought of firing upon Holt; but, hadStebbins at the moment advanced only a step nearer, there was more thanone rifle ready to give out its deadly detonation. 

Holt approached rapidly, his horse going a trot. He held his long gunobliquely in front of him, and grasped in both hands--as if ready tofire on the instant. All at once, he checked his horse, dropped the gunon the pommel of his saddle, and sat gazing towards us with a look ofbewildered surprise. _White_ faces appearing over the rock instead of_red_ ones, had caused this sudden change in his demeanour. 

Before he had time to give utterance to his astonishment, Lilian glidedfrom behind the boulder, and standing with arms extended, cried out: "Ofather! they are not Indians! It is Marian! it is--" At the sameinstant her sister appeared by her side. 

"Marian alive!" cried Holt, recognising his long-lost daughter. "Mychild Marian yet livin'! God be praised! Thur's one weight off o' mypoor soul--an' now to eeze it o' another!" As he uttered the lastwords, he wrenched his horse half around, and dropped to his feet uponthe nearer side. Then, quickly resting his rifle over the hollow of thesaddle, he brought its barrel to bear on the breast of Stebbins--whostill sat upon horseback, scarce twenty paces distant from its muzzle. 

"Now, Josh Stebbins!" cried the squatter, in a voice of thunder, "thetime's come to squar the yards wi' _you_!"

"What do you mean, Holt?" mechanically inquired the Mormon, in tremblingsurprise. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, you infernal skunk, that afore ye leave this groun', ye've gotto make a clean breast o' it, an' clar me o' the crime o' murder. "

"What murder?" inquired Stebbins, prevaricatingly. 

"Oh! you know what I'm talkin' about! 'Twant _no_ murder. 'Twar only asuicide; an' God knows it broke my own heart. " Holt's voice was huskywith emotion. He continued, after a pause: "For all o' that, appearances wur agin' me: an' you invented proofs that wud a stood goodamong lawyers, though thur as false as yur own black heart. Ye've kep''m over me for years, to sarve yer rascally designs. But thur's neitherlaw nor lawyers hyur to help you any longer. Thur's witnesses o' bothsides--yur own beauties down yander; an' some hyur o' a better sort, Ireck'n. Afore them, I call on ye to declar that yur proofs wur false, an' that I'm innocent o' the crime o' murder!"

There was a profound silence when the speaker finished. The strange andunexpected nature of the demand, held every one in breathless surprise. Even the armed men at the bottom of the _vallon_ said not a word; andperceiving that, by the defection of Holt, there was almost gun for gunagainst them, they showed no signs of advancing to the protection oftheir apostolic leader. The latter appeared for a moment to vacillate. The fear depicted upon his features was blended with an expression ofthe most vindictive bitterness--as that of a tyrant forced to yield upsome despotic privilege which he has long wielded. True, it matteredlittle to him now. The intended victims of his vile contrivance--whatever it may have been--were likely to escape from his control inanother way; but, for all that, he seemed loth to part with even theshadow of his former influence. He was not allowed much time forreflection: scarce the opportunity to look round upon his Danites, which, however, he did--glancing back as if desirous of retreatingtowards them. 

"Stan' yur groun'!" shouted the squatter in a tone of menace--"stan' yurgroun'! Don't dar to turn yur face from me! Ef ye do, ye'll only getthe bullet in yur back. Now, confess! or, by the etarnal God! youhain't another second to sit in that seddle!" The quick threateningmanner in which the speaker grasped his gun, told Stebbins thatprevarication would be idle. In hurried speech, he replied: "Youcommitted no murder, Hickman Holt! I never said you did!"

"No! but you said you would; and you invented proofs o' it? Confess youinvented proofs, an' kep' 'em over my head like a black shadder?Confess that!" Stebbins hesitated. "Quick, or ye're a dead man!"

"I did, " muttered the guilty wretch, trembling as he spoke. "An' theproofs wur false!"

"They were false--I confess it. "

"Enuf!" cried Holt, drawing down his gun. "Enuf for me. An' now, yecowardly snake, ye may go wi' yur beauties yander. They'll not like yea bit the wuss for all this. Ye may go--an' carry yur conscience alongwi' ye--ef that 'll be any comfort to ye. Away wi' ye!"

"No!" exclaimed a voice from behind, and at the same time Wingrove wasseen stepping out from the rock. "Not yet adzactly. _I've_ got a scoreto settle wi' the skunk. The man who'd plot that way agin another, hain't ought to live. _You_ may let him off, Hick Holt, but _I_ won't;nor wud you eyther, I reck'n, if you knew--"

"Knew what!" interrupted the squatter. "What he intended for yourdaughter. "

"He air my daughter's husband, " rejoined Holt, in a tone that betokeneda mixture of bitterness and shame. "That was my fault, God forgi' me!"

"He ain't her husband--nothin' o' the kind. The marriage war a sham. He war takin' poor Marian out thar for a diffrent purpose--an' Liliantoo. "

"For what purpose?" cried Holt, a new light seeming suddenly to breakupon his mind. 

"To make--" answered Wingrove hesitatingly. "I can't say the word, HickHolt, in presence o' the girls--to make _wives_ to the Mormon Prophet--that's what he intended wi' both o' 'em. "

The scream that, like the neigh of an angry horse, burst from the lipsof the squatter, drowned the last words of Wingrove's speech; andsimultaneously the report of a rifle pealed upon the air. A cloud ofsmoke for a moment enveloped Holt and his horse, from the midst of whichcame a repetition of that wild vengeful cry. At the same instant thesteed of Stebbins was seen running riderless down the valley, while theSaint himself lay stretched, face upward, upon the sward! His bodyremained motionless. He was dead--a purple spot on his forehead showingwhere the fatal bullet had entered his brain!

The sisters had just time to shelter themselves behind the rocks when avolley from the Danites was poured upon us. Their shots fell harmlesslyaround; while ours, fired in return, had been better aimed; and anotherof these fearful men, dropping out of his saddle, yielded up his lifeupon the spot. The remaining five, seeing that the day had gone againstthem, wheeled suddenly about; and galloped back down the gorge--tentimes faster than they had ridden up it. It was the last we saw of the_Destroying Angels_!

"O my children!" cried Holt, in a supplicating tone, as he staggeredforward, and received both within his outstretched embrace, "will ye--can ye forgi' me? O God! I've been a bad father to ye; but I knew notthe wickedness o' these Mormon people. No--nor half o' _his_, till itwar too late; an' now--"

"And now, father!" said Marian, interrupting his contrite speech with aconsoling smile, "speak not of forgiveness! There is nothing toforgive; and perhaps not much to regret: since the perils we have gonethrough, have proved our fidelity to one another. We shall return homeall the happier, having escaped from so many dangers, dear father!"

"Ah, Marian, gurl, you don't know all--we hev now no home to go to!"

"The same you ever had, " interposed I, "if you will consent to acceptit. The old cabin on Mud Creek will hold us all till we can build alarger one. But no, "--I added, correcting myself--"I see two here whowill scarcely feel inclined to share its hospitality. Another cabin, higher up the creek, will be likely to claim them for its tenants?"Marian blushed; while the young backwoodsman, although turning equallyred at the allusion, had the courage to stammer out, that he always"thort his cabin war big enough for two. "

"Stranger!" said Holt, turning to me, and frankly extending his hand, "I've much to be ashamed o', an' much to thank ye for; but I accept yurkind offer. You bought the land, an' I'd return ye the money, ef 'thedn't been all spent. I thort I kud a made up for it, by gieing yesomethin' ye mout a liked better. Now I see I can't even gi' ye thatsomethin' since it appears to be yourn a'ready. Ye've won her, stranger! an' ye've got her. All I kin now do is to say, that, from thebottom o' my heart I consent to yur keepin' her. "

"Thanks--thanks!" Lilian was mine for ever. 

The curtain falls upon our drama; and brief must be the epilogue. Toscenes warlike and savage succeeded those of a pacific and civilisedcharacter--as the turbulent torrent, debouching from its mountainchannel, flows in tranquil current through the alluvion of the levelplain. By our Utah allies, whom we encountered on the following day, wewere "outfitted" for recrossing the prairies--the abandoned waggon, witha team of Indian mules, affording a proper means of transport. Notwithout regret did we part with the friendly Mexican trapper, and ourbrave associates, the ex-rifleman and ex-infantry. We had afterwardsthe gratification to learn that the scalpless man survived his terriblemutilation; that under the protection of Peg-leg, he and Sure-shot weretaken to the valley of Taos--whence, along with the next migration of"diggers, " they proceeded, by the Colorado, to the golden placers ofCalifornia. 

To detail the incidents of our homeward journey, were a pleasant taskfor the pen; but the record would scarcely interest the reader. Thecolossal squatter, silent but cheerful, drove the waggon, and busiedhimself about the management of his mules. The young backwoodsman and Iwere thus left free to interchange with our respective "sweethearts"those phrases of delirious endearment--those glances of exquisitesweetness, that only pass between eyes illumined by the light of amutual love. Proverbially sweet is the month after marriage; but thehoneymoon, with all its joys, could not have exceeded in bliss thoseante-nuptial hours spent by us in recrossing the prairies. Clear as thesky over our heads was the horoscope of our hearts; all doubt andsuspicion had passed away; not a shadow lingered upon the horizon of ourfuture, to dim the perfect happiness we enjoyed. In our case, thedelight of anticipation could not be enhanced by actual possession:since we had possession already. 

We arrived safely in Swampville. In the post-office of that interestingvillage a letter awaited me, of which "jet black was de seal. " Underordinary circumstances, this should have cast a gloom upon my joy; butcandour forces me to confess that a perusal of the contents of thatepistle produced upon me an effect altogether the reverse. The letterannounced the demise of an octogenarian female relative--whom I hadnever seen--but who, for a full decade of years, beyond the periodallotted to the life of man--or women either--had obstinately persistedin standing betwixt me and a small reversion--so long, indeed, that Ihad ceased to regard it as an "expectation. " It was of no great amount;but, arriving just then in the very "nick o' time, " was doubly welcome;and under its magical influence, a large quantity of superfluous timbersoon disappeared from the banks of Mud Creek. 

Ah! the squatter's clearing, with its zigzag fence, its girdled trees, and white dead-woods! It is no longer recognisable. The log-hut isreplaced by a pretentious frame-dwelling with portico and verandahs--almost a mansion. The little maize patch, scarcely an acre in extent, is now a splendid plantation, of many fields--in which wave the goldentassels of the Indian corn, the broad leaves of another indigenousvegetable--the aromatic "Indian weed, " and the gossamer-like florets ofthe precious cotton-plant. Even the squatter himself you would scarcelyrecognise, in the respectable old gentleman, who, mounted upon his cob, with a long rifle over his shoulder, rides around, looking after theaffairs of the plantation, and picking off the squirrels, who threatenthe young corn with their destructive depredations. It is not the onlyplantation upon Mud Creek. A little further up the stream, another ismet with--almost equally extended, and cultivated in like manner. NeedI say who is the owner of this last? Who should it be, but the youngbackwoodsman--now transformed into a prosperous planter? The twoestates are contiguous, and no jealous fence separates the one from theother. Both extend to that flowery glade, of somewhat sad notorietywhose bordering woods are still undefiled by the axe. 

Not there, but in another spot, alike flowery and pleasant, the eye ofthe soaring eagle, looking from aloft, may see united together a joyousgroup--the owners of the two plantations--with their young wives, Marianand Lilian. The sisters are still in the fall bloom of theirincomparable beauty. In neither is the maiden yet subdued into thematron--though each beholds her own type reflected in more than onebright face smiling by her side; while more than one little voice lispssweetly in her ear that word of fond endearment--the first that fallsfrom human lips. Ah! beloved Lilian! thine is not a beauty born toblush but for an hour. In my eyes, it can never fade; but, like theblossom of the citron, seems only the fairer, by the side of its ownfruit! I leave it to other lips to symbol the praises of thy sister--

The Wild Huntress. 

THE END.