"Oh, heavens! what could it mean?"

"Wagh! Santisima! Sacre Dieu!" were the exclamations of the hunters.

"Surely no mortal hand has done this?"

"It wa'n't nuthin' else," cried a well-known voice, "ef yur call an Injun a mortal. 'Twur a red-skin, and this child—look 'ee-e!"

I heard the click of a rifle along with this abrupt exclamation. I turned suddenly. Rube was in the act of levelling his piece. My eye involuntarily followed the direction of the barrel. There was an object moving in the long grass.

"A buffalo that still kicks," thought I, as I saw the mass of dark-brown hair; "he is going to finish him; it is the calf!"

I had scarcely made the observation when the animal reared up on its hind legs, uttering a wild human scream; the shaggy hide was flung off; and a naked savage appeared, holding out his arms in an attitude of supplication.

I could not have saved him. The rifle had cracked, the ball had sped. I saw it piercing his brown breast, as a drop of sleet strikes upon the pane of glass; the red spout gushed forth, and the victim fell forward upon the body of one of the animals.

"Wagh! Rube!" exclaimed one of the men; "why didn't ye give him time to skin the meat? He mout as well 'a done that when he war about it;" and the man laughed at his savage jest.

"Look 'ee hyur, boyees!" said Rube, pointing to the motte; "if 'ee look sharp, yur mout scare up another calf yander away! I'm a-gwine to see arter this Injun's har; I am."

The hunters, at the suggestion, galloped off to surround the motte.

I felt a degree of irresolution and disgust at this cool shedding of blood. I drew my rein almost involuntarily, and moved forward to the spot where the savage had fallen. He lay back uppermost. He was naked to the breech-clout. There was the debouchure of a bullet below the left shoulder, and the black-red stream was trickling down his ribs. The limbs still quivered, but it was in the last spasms of parting life.

The hide in which he had disguised himself lay piled up where it had been flung. Beside it were a bow and several arrows. The latter were crimsoned to the notch, the feathers steeped in blood and clinging to the shafts. They had pierced the huge bodies of the animals, passing through and through. Each arrow had taken many lives! The old trapper rode up to the corpse, and leisurely dismounted from his mare.

"Fifty dollar a plew!" he muttered, unsheathing his knife and stooping over the body. "It's more'n I got for my own. It beats beaver all hollow. Cuss beaver, say this child. Plew a plug—ain't worth trappin' if the varmint wur as thick as grass-jumpers in calf-time. 'Ee up, niggur," he continued, grasping the long hair of the savage, and holding the face upward; "let's get a squint of your phisog. Hooraw! Coyote 'Pash! Hooraw!"

And a gleam of triumph lit up the countenance of the old man as he uttered these wild exclamations.

"Apash, is he?" asked one of the hunters, who had remained near the spot.

"That he are, Coyote 'Pash, the very niggurs that bobtailed this child's ears. I kin swar to thur ugly picters anywhur I get my peepers upon 'em. Wouwough—ole woofy! got 'ee at last, has he! Yur a beauty, an' no mistake."

So saying, he gathered the long crown locks in his left hand, and with two slashes of his knife, held quarte and tierce, he cut a circle around the top of the head, as perfect as if it had been traced by compasses. He then took a turn of the hair over his wrist, giving it a quick jerk outward. At the same instant, the keen blade passed under the skin, and the scalp was taken!

"Counts six," he continued, muttering to himself while placing the scalp in his belt; "six at fifty—three hunder shiners for 'Pash har; cuss beaver trappin'! says I."

Having secured the bleeding trophy, he wiped his knife upon the hair of one of the buffaloes, and proceeded to cut a small notch in the woodwork of his gun, alongside five others that had been carved there already. These six notches stood for Apaches only; for as my eye wandered along the outlines of the piece, I saw that there were many other columns in that terrible register!



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

ANOTHER "COUP."

A shot ringing in my ears caused me to withdraw my attention from the proceedings of the earless trapper. As I turned I saw a blue cloud floating away over the prairie, but I could not tell at what the shot had been fired. Thirty or forty of the hunters had surrounded the motte, and, halted, were sitting in their saddles in a kind of irregular circle. They were still at some distance from the timber, as if keeping out of arrow-range. They held their guns crosswise, and were shouting to one another.

It was improbable that the savage was alone; doubtless there were some of his companions in the thicket. There could not be many, however, for the underwood was not large enough to conceal more than a dozen bodies, and the keen eyes of the hunters were piercing it in every direction.

They reminded me of so many huntsmen in a gorse waiting the game to be sprung; but here, the game was human.

It was a terrible spectacle. I looked towards Seguin, thinking that he might interfere to prevent the barbarous battue. He noticed my inquiring glance, and turned his face from me. I fancied that he felt ashamed of the work in which his followers were engaged; but the killing, or capture, of whatever Indians might be in the motte had now become a necessary measure, and I knew that any remonstrance of mine would be disregarded. As for the men themselves, they would have laughed at it. This was their pastime, their profession, and I am certain that, at that moment, their feelings were not very different from those which would have actuated them had they been driving a bear from his den. They were, perhaps, a trifle more intense; certainly not more inclined towards mercy.

I reined up my horse, and awaited with painful emotions the denouement of this savage drama.

"Vaya, Irlandes! What did you see?" inquired one of the Mexicans, appealing to Barney. I saw by this that it was the Irishman who had fired the shot.

"A rid-skin, by japers!" replied the latter.

"Warn't it yer own shadder ye sighted in the water?" cried a hunter, jeeringly.

"Maybe it was the divil, Barney?"

"In trath, frinds, I saw a somethin' that looked mighty like him, and I kilt it too."

"Ha! ha! Barney has killed the devil. Ha! ha!"

"Wagh!" exclaimed a trapper, spurring his horse toward the thicket; "the fool saw nothin'. I'll chance it, anyhow."

"Stop, comrade!" cried the hunter Garey; "let's take a safer plan. Redhead's right. Thar's Injuns in them bushes, whether he seen it or not; that skunk warn't by himself, I reckin; try this a way!"

The young trapper dismounted, and turned his horse broadside to the bushes. Keeping on the outside, he commenced walking the animal in a spiral ring that gradually closed in upon the clump. In this way his body was screened; and his head only could be seen above the pommel of his saddle, over which he rested his rifle, cocked and ready.

Several others, observing this movement on the part of Garey, dismounted, and followed his example.

A deep silence prevailed as they narrowed the diameters of their circling courses.

In a short time they were close in to the motte, yet still no arrow whizzed out. Was there no one there? So it seemed; and the men pushed fearlessly into the thicket.

I watched all this with excited feelings. I began to hope there was no one in the bushes. I listened to every sound; I heard the snapping of the twigs and the muttering of the men. There was a moment's silence as they pushed eagerly forward.

Then I heard a sudden exclamation, and a voice calling out—

"Dead red-skin! Hurrah for Barney!"

"Barney's bullet through him, by the holies!" cried another. "Hollo, old sky-blue! Come hyar and see what ye've done!"

The rest of the hunters, along with the ci-devant soldier, now rode forward to the copse. I moved slowly after. On coming up, I saw them dragging the body of an Indian into the open ground: a naked savage, like the other. He was dead, and they were preparing to scalp him.

"Come now, Barney!" cried one of the men in a joking manner, "the har's your'n. Why don't ye off wid it, man?"

"It's moine, dev yez say?" asked Barney, appealing to the speaker.

"Sartinly; you killed him. It's your'n by right."

"An' it is raaly worth fifty dollars?"

"Good as wheat for that."

"Would yez be so frindly, thin, as to cut it aff for me?"

"Oh! sartinly, wid all the plizyer of life," replied the hunter, imitating Barney's accent, at the same time severing the scalp, and handing it to him.

Barney took the hideous trophy, and I fancy that he did not feel very proud of it. Poor Celt! he may have been guilty of many a breach in the laws of garrison discipline, but it was evident that this was his first lesson in the letting of human blood.

The hunters now dismounted, and commenced trampling the thicket through and through. The search was most minute, for there was still a mystery. An extra bow—that is to say, a third—had been found, with its quiver of arrows. Where was the owner? Could he have escaped from the thicket while the men were engaged around the fallen buffaloes? He might, though it was barely probable; but the hunters knew that these savages run more like wild animals, like hares, than human beings, and he might have escaped to the chapparal.

"If that Injun has got clar," said Garey, "we've no time to lose in skinnin' them bufflers. Thar's plenty o' his tribe not twenty miles from hyar, I calc'late."

"Look down among the willows there!" cried the voice of the chief; "close down to the water."

There was a pool. It was turbid and trampled around the edges with buffalo tracks. On one side it was deep. Here willows dropped over and hung into the water. Several men pressed into this side, and commenced sounding the bottom with their lances and the butts of their rifles.

Old Rube had come up among the rest, and was drawing the stopper of his powder-horn with his teeth, apparently with the intention of reloading. His small dark eyes were scintillating every way at once: above, around him, and into the water.

A sudden thought seemed to enter his head. I saw him push back the plug, grasp the Irishman, who was nearest him, by the arm, and mutter, in a low and hurried voice, "Paddy! Barney! gi' us yur gun; quick, man, quick!"

Barney, at this earnest solicitation, immediately surrendered his piece, taking the empty rifle that was thrust into his hand by the trapper.

Rube eagerly grasped the musket, and stood for a moment as if he was about to fire at some object in the pond. Suddenly he jerked his body round, and, poising the gun upward, fired into the thick foliage.

A shrill scream followed; a heavy body came crashing through the branches, and struck the ground at my feet. Warm drops sparkled into my eyes, causing me to wince. It was blood! I was blinded with it; I rubbed my eyes to clear them. I heard men rushing from all parts of the thicket. When I could see again, a naked savage was just disappearing through the leaves.

"Missed him!" cried the trapper. "Away wi' yur sodger gun!" he added, flinging down the musket, and rushing after the savage with his drawn knife.

I followed among the rest. I heard several shots as we scrambled through the brushwood.

When I had got to the outer edge I could see the Indian still on his feet, and running with the speed of an antelope. He did not keep in a direct line, but zigzag, leaping from side to side, in order to baffle the aim of his pursuers, whose rifles were all the time ringing behind him. As yet none of their bullets had taken effect, at least so as to cripple him. There was a streak of blood visible on his brown body, but the wound, wherever it was did not seem to hinder him in his flight.

I thought there could be no chance of his escape, and I had no intention of emptying my gun at such a mark. I remained, therefore, among the bushes, screening myself behind the leaves and watching the chase.

Some of the hunters continued to follow him on foot, while the more cunning ones rushed back for their horses. These happened to be all on the opposite side of the thicket, with one exception, and that was the mare of the trapper Rube. She was browsing where Rube had dismounted, out among the slaughtered buffaloes, and directly in the line of the chase.

As the savage approached her, a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and diverging slightly from his course, he plucked up the picket-pin, coiled the lasso with the dexterity of a gaucho, and sprang upon the animal's back.

It was a well-conceived idea, but unfortunate for the Indian. He had scarcely touched the saddle when a peculiar shout was heard above all other sounds. It was a call uttered in the voice of the earless trapper. The mustang recognised it; and instead of running forward, obedient to the guidance of her rider, she wheeled suddenly and came galloping back. At this moment a shot fired at the savage scorched her hip, and, setting back her ears, she commenced squealing and kicking so violently that all her feet seemed to be in the air at the same time.

The Indian now endeavoured to fling himself from the saddle; but the alternate plunging of the fore and hind quarters kept him for some moments tossing in a sort of balance. He was at length pitched outward, and fell to the ground upon his back. Before he could recover himself a Mexican had ridden up, and with his long lance pinned him to the earth.

A scene followed in which Rube played the principal character; in fact, had "the stage to himself."

"Sodger guns" were sent to perdition; and as the old trapper was angry about the wound which his mare had received, "crook-eyed greenhorns" came in for a share of his anathemas. The mustang, however, had sustained no serious damage; and after this was ascertained, the emphatic ebullitions of her master's anger subsided into a low growling, and then ceased altogether.

As there appeared no sign that there were other savages in the neighbourhood, the next concern of the hunters was to satisfy their hunger. Fires were soon kindled, and a plenteous repast of buffalo meat produced the desired effect.

After the meal was ended, a consultation was held. It was agreed that we should move forward to the old mission, which was known to be not over ten miles distant. We could there defend ourselves in case of an attack from the tribe of Coyoteros, to which the three savages belonged. It was feared by all that these might strike our trail, and come up with us before we could take our departure from the ruin.

The buffaloes were speedily skinned and packed, and taking a westerly course, we journeyed on to the mission.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

A BITTER TRAP.

We reached the ruin a little after sunset. We frightened the owl and the wolf, and made our bivouac among the crumbling walls. Our horses were picketed upon the deserted lawns, and in the long-neglected orchards, where the ripe fruit was raining down its ungathered showers. Fires were kindled, lighting the grey pile with their cheerful blazing; and joints of meat were taken out of the hide-packs and roasted for supper.

There was water in abundance. A branch of the San Pedro swept past the walls of the mission. There were yams in the spoliated gardens; there were grapes, and pomegranates, and quinces, and melons, and pears, and peaches, and apples; and with all these was our repast garnished.

It was soon over, and videttes were thrown out on the tracks that led to the ruin. The men were weak and weary with their late fasting, and in a short while stretched themselves by their saddles and slept.

So much for our first night at the mission of San Pedro.

We were to remain for three days, or until the buffalo meat should be dried for packing.

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They were irksome days to me. Idleness displayed the bad qualities of my half-savage associates. The ribald jest and fearful oath rang continually in my ears, until I was fain to wander off to the woods with the old botanist, who, during these three days, revelled in the happy excitement of discovery.

I found companionship also in the Maricopa. This strange man had studied science deeply, and was conversant with almost every noted author. He was reserved only when I wished him to talk of himself.

Seguin during these days was taciturn and lonely. He took but little heed of what was going on around him. He seemed to be suffering from impatience, as every now and then he paid a visit to the tasajo. He passed many hours upon the adjacent heights, looking anxiously towards the east: that point whence our spies would come in from the Pinon.

There was an azotea on the ruin. I was in the habit of seeking this place at evening after the sun had grown less fervid. It afforded a fine prospect of the valley; but its chief attraction to me lay in the retirement I could there obtain. The hunters rarely climbed up to it, and their wild and licenced converse was unheard for the time. I used to spread my blanket among the crumbling parapets, and stretched upon it, deliver myself up to the sweet retrospect, or to still sweeter dreams that my fancy outlined upon the future. There was one object on my memory: upon that object only did my hopes dwell.

I need not make this declaration; at least to those who have truly loved.

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In the programme placed before me by Seguin, I had not bargained for such wanton cruelties as I was now compelled to witness. It was not the time to look back, but forward, and perhaps, over other scenes of blood and brutality, to that happier hour, when I should have redeemed my promise, and won the prize, beautiful Zoe.

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My reverie was interrupted. I heard voices and footsteps; they were approaching the spot where I lay. I could see that there were two men engaged in an earnest conversation. They did not notice me, as I was behind some fragments of the broken parapet, and in the shadow. As they drew nearer, I recognised the patois of my Canadian follower, and that of his companion was not to be mistaken. The brogue was Barney's, beyond a doubt.

These worthies, I had lately noticed, had become "as thick as two thieves," and were much in each other's company. Some act of kindness had endeared the "infantry" to his more astute and experienced associate, who had taken him under his patronage and protection.

I was vexed at the intrusion; but prompted by some impulse of curiosity, I lay still and listened.

Barney was speaking as they approached.

"In trath, Misther Gowdey, an' it's meself 'ud go far this blissed night for a dhrap o' the crayter. I noticed the little kig afore; but divil resave me av I thought it was anythin' barrin' cowld water. Vistment! only think o' the owld Dutch sinner bringin' a whole kig wid 'im, an' keepin' it all to himself. Yez are sure now it's the stuff?"

"Oui! oui! C'est liqueur! aguardiente."

"Agwardenty, ye say, div ye?"

"Oui! c'est vrai, Monsieur Barney. I have him smell, ver many time. It is of stink tres fort: strong! good!"

"But why cudn't ye stale it yerself? Yez know exactly where the doctor keeps it, an' ye might get at it a hape handier than I can."

"Pourquoi, Barney? pecause, mon ami, I help pack les possibles of Monsieur le docteur. Pardieu! he would me suspect."

"I don't see the raison clear. He may suspect ye at all evints. How thin?"

"Ah! then, n'importe. I sall make von grand swear. No! I sall have ver clear conscience then."

"Be the powers! we must get the licker anyhow; av you won't, Misther Gowdey, I will; that's said, isn't it?"

"Oui! Tres bien!"

"Well, thin, now or niver's the time. The ould fellow's just walked out, for I saw him meself. This is a nate place to drink it in. Come an' show me where he keeps it; and, by Saint Patrick! I'm yer man to hook it."

"Tres bien! allons! Monsieur Barney, allons!"

Unintelligible as this conversation may appear, I understood every word of it. The naturalist had brought among his packs a small keg of aguardiente, mezcal spirits, for the purpose of preserving any new species of the lizard or snake tribe he should chance to fall in with. What I heard, then, was neither more or less than a plot to steal the keg and its contents!

My first impulse was to leap up and stop them in their design, as well as administer a salutary rebuke to my voyageur and his red-haired companion; but a moment's reflection convinced me that they could be better punished in another way. I would leave them to punish themselves.

I remembered that some days previous to our reaching the Ojo de Vaca, the doctor had captured a snake of the adder kind, two or three species of lizards, and a hideous-looking animal, called, in hunter phraseology, the horned frog: the agama cornuta of Texas and Mexico. These he had immersed in the spirit for preservation. I had observed him do so, and it was evident that neither my Frenchman nor the Irishman had any idea of this. I adopted the resolution, therefore, to let them drink a full bumper of the "pickle" before I should interfere.

Knowing that they would soon return, I remained where I was.

I had not long to wait upon them. In a few minutes they came up, Barney carrying what I knew to be the devoted keg.

They sat down close to where I lay, and prising out the bung, filled the liquor into their tin cups, and commenced imbibing.

A drouthier pair of mortals could not have been found anywhere; and at the first draught, each emptied his cup to the bottom!

"It has a quare taste, hasn't it?" said Barney, after he had taken the vessel from his lips.

"Oui! c'est vrai, monsieur!"

"What dev ye think it is?"

"Je ne sais quoi. It smells like one—one—"

"Is it fish, ye mane?"

"Oui! like one feesh: un bouquet tres bizarre Fichtro!"

"I suppose it's something that the Mexicans have drapped in to give the agwardenty a flayver. It's mighty strong anyhow. It's nothing the worse av that; but it 'ud be sorry drinkin' alongside a nate dimmyjan of Irish patyeen. Och! mother av Moses! but that's the raal bayvaridge!"

Here the Irishman shook his head to express with more emphasis his admiration of the native whisky.

"Well, Misther Gowdey," continued he, "whisky's whisky at any rate; and if we can't get the butther, it's no raison we should refuse the brid; so I'll thank ye for another small thrifle out of the kig," and the speaker held out his tin vessel to be replenished.

Gode lifted the keg, and emptied more of its contents into their cups.

"Mon Dieu! what is dis in my cops?" exclaimed he, after a draught.

"Fwhat is it? Let me see. That! Be me sowl! that's a quare-looking crayter anyhow."

"Sac-r-r-re! it is von Texan! von fr-r-og! Dat is de feesh we smell stink. Owah—ah—ah!"

"Oh! holy mother! if here isn't another in moine! By jabers! it's a scorpion lizard! Hoach—wach—wach!"

"Ow—ah—ah—ack—ack! Mon Dieu! Oach—ach—! Sac-r! O—ach—ach— o—oa—a—ach!"

"Tare-an-ages! He—ach! the owld doctor has—oach—ack—ack! Blessed Vargin! Ha—he—hoh—ack! Poison! poison!"

And the brace of revellers went staggering over the azotea, delivering their stomachs, and ejaculating in extreme terror as the thought struck them that there might be poison in the pickle.

I had risen to my feet, and was enjoying the joke in loud laughter. This and the exclamations of the men brought a crowd of hunters up to the roof, who, as soon as they perceived what had happened, joined in, and made the ruin ring with their wild peals.

The doctor, who had come up among the rest, was not so well satisfied with the occurrence. After a short search, however, the lizards were found and returned to the keg, which still contained enough of the spirit for his purposes. It was not likely to be disturbed again, even by the thirstiest hunter in the band.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

THE PHANTOM CITY.

On the morning of the fourth day our spies came in, and reported that the Navajoes had taken the southern trail.

They had returned to the spring on the second day after our leaving it, and thence had followed the guiding of the arrows. It was Dacoma's band, in all about three hundred warriors.

Nothing remained for us now but to pack up as quickly as possible, and pursue our march to the north.

In an hour we were in our saddles, and following the rocky banks of the San Pedro.

A long day's journey brought us to the desolate valley of the Gila, upon whose waters we encamped for the night. We slept near the celebrated ruins, the second resting-place of the migrating Aztecs.

With the exception of the botanist, the Coco chief, myself, and perhaps Seguin, no one in the band seemed to trouble himself about these interesting antiquities. The sign of grizzly bears, that was discovered upon the mud bottom, gave the hunters far more concern than the broken pottery and its painted hieroglyphics. Two of these animals were discovered near the camp, and a fierce battle ensued, in which one of the Mexicans nearly lost his life, escaping only after most of the skin had been clawed from his head and neck. The bears themselves were killed, and made part of our suppers.

Our next day's march lay up the Gila, to the mouth of the San Carlos river, where we again halted for the night. The San Carlos runs in from the north; and Seguin had resolved to travel up this stream for a hundred miles or so, and afterwards strike eastward to the country of the Navajoes.

When this determination was made known, a spirit of discontent showed itself among the men, and mutinous whisperings were heard on all sides.

Shortly after we halted, however, several of them strayed up the banks of the stream, and gathered some grains of gold out of its bed. Indications of the precious metal, the quixa, known among the Mexicans as the "gold mother," were also found among the rocks. There were miners in the band, who knew it well, and this served to satisfy them. There was no more talk of keeping on to the Prieto. Perhaps the San Carlos might prove equally rich. Rumour had also given it the title of a "golden river"; at all events, the expedition must cross the head waters of the Prieto in its journey eastward; and this prospect had the effect of quieting the mutineers, at least for the time.

There was another influence: the character of Seguin. There was no single individual in the band who cared to cross him on slight grounds. They knew him too well for that; and though few of these men set high value on their lives, when they believe themselves, according to "mountain law," in the right, yet they knew that to delay the expedition for the purpose of gathering gold was neither according to their compact with him nor agreeable to his wishes. Not a few of the band, moreover, were actuated by motives similar to those felt by Seguin himself, and these were equally desirous of pushing on to the Navajo towns.

Still another consideration had its influence upon the majority. The party of Dacoma would be on our track as soon as they had returned from the Apache trail. We had, therefore, no time to waste in gold-hunting, and the simplest of the scalp-hunters knew this.

By daybreak we were again on the march, and riding up the banks of the San Carlos.

We had now entered the great desert which stretches northward from the Gila away to the head waters of the Colorado. We entered it without a guide, for not one of the band had ever traversed these unknown regions. Even Rube knew nothing about this part of the country. We were without compass, too, but this we heeded not. There were few in the band who could not point to the north or the south within the variation of a degree: few of them but could, night or day, tell by the heavens within ten minutes of the true time. Give them but a clear sky, with the signs of the trees and rocks, and they needed neither compass nor chronometer. A life spent beneath the blue heavens of the prairie uplands and the mountain parks, where a roof rarely obstructed their view of the azure vaults, had made astronomers of these reckless rovers.

Of such accomplishments was their education, drawn from many a perilous experience. To me their knowledge of such things seemed instinct.

But we had a guide as to our direction, unerring as the magnetic needle: we were traversing the region of the "polar plant," the planes of whose leaves, at almost every step, pointed out our meridian. It grew upon our track, and was crushed under the hoofs of our horses as we rode onward.

We travelled northward through a country of strange-looking mountains, whose tops shot heavenward in fantastic forms and groupings. At one time we saw semi-globular shapes like the domes of churches; at another, Gothic turrets rose before us; and the next opening brought in view sharp needle-pointed peaks, shooting upward into the blue sky. We saw columnar forms supporting others that lay horizontally: vast boulders of trap-rock, suggesting the idea of some antediluvian ruin, some temple of gigantic Druids!

Along with singularity of formation was the most brilliant colouring. There were stratified rocks, red, white, green, and yellow, as vivid in their hues as if freshly touched from the palette of the painter.

No smoke had tarnished them since they had been flung up from their subterranean beds. No cloud draped their naked outlines. It was not a land of clouds, for as we journeyed amongst them we saw not a speck in the heavens; nothing above us but the blue and limitless ether.

I remembered the remarks of Seguin.

There was something inspiriting in the sight of these bright mountains; something life-like, that prevented us from feeling the extreme and real desolation by which we were surrounded. At times we could not help fancying that we were in a thickly-populated country—a country of vast wealth and civilisation, as appeared from its architectural grandeur. Yet in reality we were journeying through the wildest of earth's dominions, where no human foot ever trod excepting such as wear the moccasin; the region of the "wolf" Apache and the wretched Yamparico.

We travelled up the banks of the river, and here and there, at our halting-places, searching for the shining metal. It could be found only in small quantities, and the hunters began to talk loudly of the Prieto. There, according to them, the yellow gold lay in lumps.

On the fourth day after leaving the Gila, we came to a place where the San Carlos canoned through a high sierra. Here we halted for the night. When morning came, we found we could follow the river no farther without climbing over the mountain; and Seguin announced his intention of leaving it and striking eastward. The hunters responded to this declaration with a joyous hurrah. The golden vision was again before them.

We remained at the San Carlos until after the noon heat, recruiting our horses by the stream; then mounting, we rode forward into the plain. It was our intention to travel all night, or until we reached water, as we knew that without this, halting would be useless.

We had not ridden far until we saw that a fearful Jornada was before us—one of those dreaded stretches without grass, wood, or water. Ahead of us we could see a low range of mountains, trending from north to south, and beyond these, another range still higher than the first. On the farther range there were snowy summits. We saw that they were distinct chains, and that the more distant was of great elevation. This we knew from the appearance upon its peaks of the eternal snow.

We knew, moreover, that at the foot of the snowy range we should find water, perhaps the river we were in search of; but the distance was immense. If we did not find it at the nearer sierra, we should have an adventure: the danger of perishing from thirst. Such was the prospect.

We rode on over the arid soil; over plains of lava and cut-rock that wounded the hoofs of our horses, laming many. There was no vegetation around us except the sickly green of the artemisia, or the fetid foliage of the creosote plant. There was no living thing to be seen save the brown and hideous lizard, the rattlesnake, and the desert crickets that crawled in myriads along the parched ground, and were crunched under the hoofs of our animals. "Water!" was the word that began to be uttered in several languages.

"Water!" cried the choking trapper.

"L'eau!" ejaculated the Canadian.

"Agua! agua!" shouted the Mexican.

We were not twenty miles from the San Carlos before our gourd canteens were as dry as a shingle. The dust of the plains and the hot atmosphere had created unusual thirst, and we had soon emptied them.

We had started late in the afternoon. At sundown the mountains ahead of us did not seem a single mile nearer. We travelled all night, and when the sun rose again we were still a good distance from them. Such is the illusory character of this elevated and crystal atmosphere.

The men mumbled as they talked. They held in their mouths leaden bullets and pebbles of obsidian, which they chewed with a desperate fierceness.

It was some time after sunrise when we arrived at the mountain foot. To our consternation no water could be found!

The mountains were a range of dry rocks, so parched-like and barren that even the creosote bush could not find nourishment along their sides. They were as naked of vegetation as when the volcanic fires first heaved them into the light.

Parties scattered in all directions, and went up the ravines; but after a long while spent in fruitless wandering, we abandoned the search in despair.

There was a pass that appeared to lead through the range; and entering this, we rode forward in silence and with gloomy thoughts.

We soon debouched on the other side, when a scene of singular character burst upon our view.

A plain lay before us, hemmed in on all sides by high mountains. On its farther edge was the snowy ridge, with stupendous cliffs rising vertically from the plain, towering thousands of feet in height. Dark rocks seemed piled upon each other, higher and higher, until they became buried under robes of the spotless snow.

But that which appeared most singular was the surface of the plain. It was covered with a mantle of virgin whiteness, apparently of snow; and yet the more elevated spot from which we viewed it was naked, with a hot sun shining upon it. What we saw in the valley, then, could not be snow.

As I gazed over the monotonous surface of this plain, and then looked upon the chaotic mountains that walled it in, my mind became impressed with ideas of coldness and desolation. It seemed as if everything was dead around us, and Nature was laid out in her winding-sheet. I saw that my companions experienced similar feelings, but no one spoke; and we commenced riding down the pass that led into this singular valley.

As far as we could see, there was no prospect of water on the plain; but what else could we do than cross it? On its most distant border, along the base of the snowy mountains, we thought we could distinguish a black line, like that of timber, and for this point we directed our march.

On reaching the plain, what had appeared like snow proved to be soda. A deep incrustation of this lay upon the ground, enough to satisfy the wants of the whole human race; yet there it lay, and no hand had ever stooped to gather it.

Three or four rocky buttes were in our way, near the debouchure of the pass. As we rounded them, getting farther out into the plain, a wide gap began to unfold itself, opening through the mountains beyond. Through this gap the sun's rays were streaming in, throwing a band of yellow light across one end of the valley. In this the crystals of the soda, stirred up by the breeze, appeared floating in myriads.

As we descended, I observed that objects began to assume a very different aspect from what they had exhibited from above. As if by enchantment, the cold snowy surface all at once disappeared. Green fields lay before us, and tall trees sprang up, covered with a thick and verdant frondage!

"Cotton-woods!" cried a hunter, as his eye rested on these still distant groves.

"Tall saplins at that—wagh!" ejaculated another.

"Water thar, fellers, I reckin!" remarked a third.

"Yes, siree! Yer don't see such sprouts as them growin' out o' a dry paraira. Look! Hollo!"

"By gollies, yonder's a house!"

"A house? One, two, three! A house? Thar's a whole town, if thar's a single shanty. Gee! Jim, look yonder! Wagh!"

I was riding in front with Seguin, the rest of the band strung out behind us. I had been for some time gazing upon the ground, in a sort of abstraction, looking: at the snow-white efflorescence, and listening to the crunching of my horse's hoofs through its icy incrustation. These exclamatory phrases caused me to raise my eyes. The sight that met them was one that made me rein up with a sudden jerk. Seguin had done the same, and I saw that the whole band had halted with a similar impulse.

We had just cleared one of the buttes that had hitherto obstructed our view of the great gap. This was now directly in front of us; and along its base, on the southern side, rose the walls and battlements of a city—a vast city, judging from its distance and the colossal appearance of its architecture. We could trace the columns of temples, and doors, and gates, and windows, and balconies, and parapets, and spires. There were many towers rising high over the roofs, and in the middle was a temple-like structure, with its massive dome towering far above all the others.

I looked upon this sudden apparition with a feeling of incredulity. It was a dream, an imagination, a mirage. Ha! it was the mirage!

No! The mirage could not effect such a complete picture. There were the roofs, and chimneys, and walls, and windows. There were the parapets of fortified houses, with their regular notches and embrasures. It was a reality. It was a city!

Was it the Cibolo of the Spanish padre? Was it that city of golden gates and burnished towers? After all, was the story of the wandering priest true? Who had proved it a fable? Who had ever penetrated this region, the very country in which the ecclesiastic represented the golden city of Cibolo to exist?

I saw that Seguin was puzzled, dismayed, as well as myself. He knew nothing of this land. He had never witnessed a mirage like that.

For some time we sat in our saddles, influenced by strange emotions. Shall we go forward? Yes! We must reach water. We are dying of thirst; and, impelled by this, we spur onward.

We had ridden only a few paces farther when the hunters uttered a sudden and simultaneous cry. A new object—an object of terror—was before us. Along the mountain foot appeared a string of dark forms. They were mounted men!

We dragged our horses to their haunches, our whole line halting as one man.

"Injuns!" was the exclamation of several.

"Indians they must be," muttered Seguin. "There are no others here. Indians! No! There never were such as them. See! they are not men! Look! their huge horses, their long guns; they are giants! By Heaven!" continued he, after a moment's pause, "they are bodiless! They are phantoms!"

There were exclamations of terror from the hunters behind.

Were these the inhabitants of the city? There was a striking proportion in the colossal size of the horses and the horsemen.

For a moment I was awe-struck like the rest. Only a moment. A sudden memory flashed upon me. I thought of the Hartz Mountains and their demons. I knew that the phenomenon before us could be no other; an optical delusion; a creation of the mirage.

I raised my hand above my head. The foremost of the giants imitated the motion.

I put spurs to my horse and galloped forward. So did he, as if to meet me. After a few springs I had passed the refracting angle, and, like a thought, the shadowy giants vanished into the air.

The men had ridden forward after me, and having also passed the angle of refraction saw no more of the phantom host.

The city, too, had disappeared; but we could trace the outlines of many a singular formation in the trap-rock strata that traversed the edge of the valley.

The tall groves were no longer to be seen; but a low belt of green willows, real willows, could be distinguished along the foot of the mountain within the gap. Under their foliage there was something that sparkled in the sun like sheets of silver. It was water! It was a branch of the Prieto.

Our horses neighed at the sight; and, shortly after, we had alighted upon its banks, and were kneeling before the sweet spirit of the stream.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE MOUNTAIN OF GOLD.

After so fatiguing a march, it was necessary to make a longer halt than usual. We stayed by the arroyo all that day and the following night. But the hunters longed to drink from the Prieto itself; and the next morning we drew our pickets, and rode in the direction of that river. By noon we were upon its banks.

A singular stream it was, running through a region of bleak, barren, and desolate mountains. Through these the stream had forged its way by numerous canons, and rushed along a channel at most places inaccessible. It was a black and gloomy river. Where were its sands of gold?

After riding for some distance along its banks, we halted at a point where its bed could be reached. The hunters, disregarding all else, clambered eagerly over the steep bluffs, and descended to the water. They hardly stayed to drink. They crawled through narrow interstices, between detached masses of rock that had fallen from above. They lifted the mud in their hands, and washed it in their cups; they hammered the quartz rock with their tomahawks, and pounded it between great stones. Not a particle of the precious metal could be found. They must either have struck the river too high up, or else the El Dorado lay still farther to the north.

Wet, weary, angry, uttering oaths and expressions of disappointment, they obeyed the signal to march forward.

We rode up the stream, halting for the night at another place where the water was accessible to our animals.

Here the hunters again searched for gold, and again found it not. Mutinous murmurs were now spoken aloud. "The gold country lay below them; they had no doubt of it. The chief took them by the San Carlos on purpose to disappoint them. He knew this would prevent delay. He cared not for them. His own ends were all he wanted to accomplish. They might go back as poor as they had come, for aught he cared. They would never have so good a chance again."

Such were their mutterings, embellished with many an oath.

Seguin either heard not or did not heed them. He was one of those characters who can patiently bear until a proper cue for action may offer itself. He was fiery by nature, like all Creoles; but time and trials had tempered him to that calmness and coolness that befitted the leader of such a band. When roused to action, he became what is styled in western phraseology a "dangerous man"; and the scalp-hunters knew it. He heeded not their murmurings.

Long before daybreak, we were once more in our saddles, and moving onward, still up the Prieto. We had observed fires at a distance during the night, and we knew that they were at the villages of the "Club" Apache. We wished to pass their country without being seen; and it was our intention, when daylight appeared, to "cacher" among the rocks until the following night.

As dawn advanced, we halted in a concealed ravine, whilst several of us climbed the hill to reconnoitre. We could see the smoke rising over the distant villages; but we had passed them in the darkness, and instead of remaining in cache, we continued on through a wide plain covered with sage and cactus plants. Mountains towered up on every side of us as we advanced. They rose directly from the plains, exhibiting the fantastic shapes which characterise them in those regions. Their stupendous precipices overlooked the bleak, barren tables frowning upon them in sublime silence. The plains themselves ran into the very bases of these, cliffs. Water had surely washed them. These plateaux had once been the bed of an ancient ocean. I remembered Seguin's theory of the inland seas.

Shortly after sunrise, the trail we were following led us to an Indian crossing. Here we forded the stream with the intention of leaving it and heading eastward.

We halted our horses in the water, permitting them to drink freely. Some of the hunters, moving ahead of the rest, had climbed the high banks. We were attracted by their unusual exclamations. On looking upward, we perceived several of them standing on the top of a hill, and pointing to the north in an earnest and excited manner. Could it be Indians?

"What is it?" shouted Seguin, as we pushed forward.

"A gold mountain! a gold mountain!" was the reply.

We spurred our horses hurriedly up the hill. On reaching its top, a strange sight met our gaze. Away to the north, and as far as the eye could see, an object glistened in the sun. It was a mountain, and along its sides, from base to summit, the rocks glittered with the bright semblance of gold! A thousand jets danced in the sunbeams, dazzling the eye as it looked upon them. Was it a mountain of gold?

The men were in a frenzy of delight. This was the mountain so often discussed over the bivouac fires. Who of them had not heard of it, whether credulous or not? It was no fable, then. There it was before them, in all its burning splendour.

I turned to look at Seguin. His brow was bent. There was the expression of anxiety on his countenance. He understood the illusion; so did the Maricopa; so did Reichter. I knew it too. At a glance I had recognised the sparkling scales of the selenite.

Seguin saw that there was a difficulty before us. This dazzling hallucination lay far out of our course; but it was evident that neither commands nor persuasion would be heeded now. The men were resolved upon reaching it. Some of them had already turned their horses' heads and were moving in that direction.

Seguin ordered them back. A stormy altercation ensued; in short, a mutiny.

In vain Seguin urged the necessity of our hastening forward to the town. In vain he represented the danger we were in of being overtaken by Dacoma's party, who by this time were upon our trail. In vain the Coco chief, the doctor, and myself, assured our uneducated companions that what they saw was but the glancing surface of a worthless rock. The men were obstinate. The sight, operating upon long-cherished hopes, had intoxicated them. They had lost all reason. They were mad.

"On, then!" cried Seguin, making a desperate effort to restrain his passion. "On, madmen, and satisfy yourselves—our lives may answer for your folly!" and, so saying, he turned his horse, and headed him for the shining beacon.

The men rode after, uttering loud and joyful acclamations.

At the end of a long day's ride we reached the base of the mountain. The hunters leaped from their horses, and clambered up to the glittering rocks. They reached them. They broke them with their tomahawks and pistol-butts, and cleft them with their knives. They tore off the plates of mica and glassy selenite. They flung them at their feet, abashed and mortified; and, one after another, came back to the plain with looks of disappointment and chagrin. Not one of them said a word, as they climbed into their saddles, and rode sullenly after the chief.

We had lost a day by this bootless journey; but our consolation lay in the belief that our Indian pursuers, following upon our trail, would make the same detour.

Our course now lay to the south-west; but finding a spring not far from the foot of the mountain, we remained by it for the night.

After another day's march in a south-easterly course, Rube recognised the profiles of the mountains. We were nearing the great town of the Navajoes.

That night we encamped on a running water, a branch of the Prieto that headed to the eastward. A vast chasm between two cliffs marked the course of the stream above us. The guide pointed into the gap, as we rode forward to our halting-place.

"What is it, Rube?" inquired Seguin.

"'Ee see that gully ahead o' us?"

"Yes; what of it?"

"The town's thur."



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

NAVAJOA.

It was near evening of the next day when we arrived at the foot of the sierra, at the debouchure of the canon. We could not follow the stream any farther, as there was no path by the channel. It would be necessary to pass over the ridge that formed the southern jaw of the chasm. There was a plain trail among scrubby pines; and, following our guide, we commenced riding up the mountain.

After ascending for an hour or so, by a fearful road along the very brink of the precipice, we climbed the crest of the ridge, and looked eastward. We had reached the goal of our journey. The town of the Navajoes was before us.

"Voila!"

"Mira el pueblo!"

"Thar's the town!"

"Hurrah!" were the exclamations that broke from the hunters.

"Oh, God! at last it is!" muttered Seguin, with a singular expression of countenance. "Oh, God be praised! Halt, comrades! halt!"

Our reins were tightened, and we sat on our weary horses looking over the plain. A magnificent panorama, magnificent under any circumstances, lay before us; but its interest was heightened by the peculiar circumstances under which we viewed it.

We are at the western extremity of an oblong valley, looking up it lengthwise. It is not a valley, though so called in the language of Spanish America, but a plain walled in on all sides by mountains. It is elliptical in form, the diameter of its foci being ten or twelve miles in length. Its shortest diameter is five or six miles. It has the surface of a green meadow, and its perfect level is unbroken by brake, bush, or hillock. It looks like some quiet lake transformed into an emerald.

It is bisected by a line of silvery brightness that curves gracefully through its whole extent, marking the windings of a crystal stream.

But the mountains! What wild-looking mountains, particularly those on the north side of the valley! They are granite upheaved. Nature must have warred at the birth of these; the very sight of them suggests the throes of a troubled planet. Huge rocks hang over, only half resting upon fearful precipices; vast boulders that seem as though the touch of a feather would cause them to topple down. Grim chasms open into deep, dark defiles, that lie silent, and solemn, and frowning. Here and there, stunted trees, the cedar and pinon, hang horizontally out, clinging along the cliffs. The unsightly limbs of the cactus, and the gloomy foliage of the creosote bush, grow together in seams of the rocks, heightening their character of ruggedness and gloom. Such is the southern barrier of the valley.

Look upon the northern sierra! Here is a contrast, a new geology. Not a rock of granite meets the eye; but there are others piled as high, and glistening with the whiteness of snow. These are mountains of the milky quartz. They exhibit a variety of peaks, naked and shining; crags that hang over deep, treeless ravines, and needle-shaped summits aspiring to the sky. They too have their vegetation, a vegetation that suggests ideas of the desert and desolation.

The two sierras appear to converge at the eastern end of the valley. We are upon a transverse ridge that shuts it in upon the west, and from this point we view the picture.

Where the valley ends eastwardly, we perceive a dark background lying up against the mountains. We know it is a pine-forest, but we are at too great a distance to distinguish the trees. Out of this forest the stream appears to issue; and upon its banks, near the border of the woods, we perceive a collection of strange pyramidal structures. They are houses. It is the town of Navajoa! Our eyes were directed upon it with eager gaze. We could trace the outlines of the houses, though they stood nearly ten miles distant. They suggested images of a strange architecture. There were some standing apart from the rest, with terraced roofs, and we could see there were banners waving over them. One, larger than the rest, presented the appearance of a temple. It was out on the open plain, and by the glass we could detect numerous forms clustered upon its top—the forms of human beings. There were others upon the roofs and parapets of the smaller houses; and many more moving upon the plain nearer us, driving before them flocks of animals, mules, and mustangs. Some were down upon the banks of the river, and others we could see plunging about in the water.

Several droves of horses, whose mottled flanks showed their breed, were quietly browsing on the open prairie. Flocks of wild swans, geese, and gruyas winged their way up and down the meandering current of the stream.

The sun was setting. The mountains were tinged with an amber-coloured light; and the quartzose crystals sparkled on the peaks of the southern sierra.

It was a scene of silent beauty. How long, thought I, ere its silence would be broken by the sounds of ravage and ruin!

We remained for some time gazing up the valley, without anyone uttering his thoughts. It was the silence that precedes resolve. In the minds of my companions there were varied emotions at play, varied in kind as they differed in intensity.

Some were holy. Men sat straining their eyes over the long reach of meadow, thinking, or fancying, that in the distance they might distinguish a loved object—a wife, a sister, a daughter, or perhaps the object of a still dearer and deeper affection. No; the last could not be. None could have been more deeply affected than he who was seeking for his child. A father's love was the strongest passion there.

Alas! there were other emotions in the bosoms of those around me, passions dark and sinful. Fierce looks were bent upon the town. Some of these betokened fierce feelings of revenge; others indicated the desire of plunder; and others still spoke, fiend-like, of murder! There had been mutterings of this from day to day as we journeyed. Men disappointed in their golden dreams had been heard to talk about the price of scalps!

By a command from Seguin the hunters drew back among the trees, and entered into a hurried council. How was the town to be taken? We could not approach it in the open light. The inhabitants would see us before we could ride up, and make their escape to the forest beyond. This would defeat the whole purpose of our expedition.

Could not a party get round to the eastern end of the valley and prevent this? Not through the plain itself, for the mountains rested upon its surface, without either foothills or paths along their sides. In some places vast cliffs rose to the height of a thousand feet, stepping directly upon the level plain. This idea was given up.

Could we not turn the southern sierra, and come in through the forest itself? This would bring us close to the houses under cover. The guide was questioned, and answered in the affirmative. But that could only be accomplished by making a detour of nearly fifty miles. We had no time for such a journey, and the thought was abandoned.

The town, then, must be approached in the night. This was the only plan practicable; at least, the most likely to succeed. It was adopted.

It was not Seguin's intention to make a night attack, but only to surround the buildings, keeping at some distance out, and remain in ambush till the morning. All retreat would thus be cut off, and we should make sure of taking our captives under the light of day.

The men threw themselves to the ground, and, holding their bridles, waited the going down of the sun.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

THE NIGHT AMBUSCADE.

A short hour passes. The bright orb sinks behind us, and the quartz rock saddens into a sombre hue. The straggling rays of twilight hover but a moment over the chalky cliffs, and then vanish away. It is night.

Descending the hills in a long string, we arrive upon the plain. We turn to the left, and keep round the mountain foot. The rocks guide us.

We proceed with caution, and exchange our words only in whispers. We crawl around and among loose boulders that have fallen from above. We turn many spurs that shoot out into the plain. Occasionally we halt and hold council.

After a journey of ten or twelve miles, we find ourselves opposite the Indian town. We are not over a mile from it. We can see the fires burning on the plain, and hear the voices of those who move around them.

At this point the band is divided. A small party remains making its cache in a defile among the rocks. These guard the captive chief and the antajo of mules. The rest move forward, guided by Rube, who carries them round the edge of the forest, here and there dropping a picket of several men as he proceeds.

These parties conceal themselves at their respective stations, remain silent, and wait for the signal from the bugle, which is to be given at the hour of daybreak.

The night passes slowly and silently. The fires one by one go out, until the plain is wrapt in the gloom of a moonless midnight. Dark clouds travel over the sky, portending rain: a rare phenomenon in these regions. The swan utters its wild note, the gruya whoops over the stream, and the wolf howls upon the skirts of the sleeping village. The voice of the bull-bat wails through the air. You hear the "flap, flap" of his long wings as he dashes down among the cocuyos. You hear the hoof-stroke on the hard plain, the "crop" of the browsing steed, and the tinkling of the bit-ring, for the horses eat bridled.

At intervals, a drowsy hunter mutters through his sleep, battling in dreams with some terrible foe. Thus goes the night. These are its voices.

They cease as daybreak approaches. The wolf howls no longer; the swan and the blue crane are silent; the night-hawk has filled his ravenous maw, and perches on the mountain pine; the fire-flies disappear, chased by the colder hours; and the horses, having eaten what grew within their reach, stand in lounging attitudes, asleep.

A grey light begins to steal into the valley. It flickers along the white cliffs of the quartz mountain. It brings with it a raw, cold air that awakens the hunters.

One by one they arouse themselves. They shiver as they stand up, and carry their blankets wrapped about their shoulders. They feel weary, and look pale and haggard. The grey dawn lends a ghastly hue to their dusty beards and unwashed faces.

After a short while they coil up their trail-ropes and fasten them to the rings. They look to their flints and priming, and tighten the buckles of their belts. They draw forth from their haversacks pieces of dry tasajo, eating it raw. They stand by their horses, ready to mount. It is not yet time.

The light is gathering into the valley. The blue mist that hung over the river during the night is rising upward. We can see the town. We can trace the odd outlines of the houses. What strange structures they are!

Some of them are higher than others: one, two, four stories in height. They are each in form like a pyramid without its apex. Each upper story is smaller than that below it, the roofs of the lower ones serving as terraces for those above. They are of a whitish yellow, the colour of the clay out of which they are built. They are without windows, but doors lead into each story from the outside; and ladders stretch from terrace to terrace, leaning against the walls. On the tops of some there are poles carrying bannerets. These are the residences of the principal war-chiefs and great warriors of the nation.

We can see the temple distinctly. It is like the houses in shape, but higher and of larger dimensions. There is a tall shaft rising out of its roof, and a banner with a strange device floating at its peak.

Near the houses we see corrals filled with mules and mustangs, the live-stock of the village.

The light grows stronger. Forms appear upon the roofs and move along the terraces. They are human forms enveloped in hanging garments, robe-like and striped. We recognise the Navajo blanket, with its alternate bands of black and white.

With the glass we can see these forms more distinctly; we can tell their sex.

Their hair hangs loosely upon their shoulders, and far down their backs. Most of them are females, girls and women. There are many children, too. There are men, white-haired and old. A few other men appear, but they are not warriors. The warriors are absent.

They come down the ladders, descending from terrace to terrace. They go out upon the plain, and rekindle the fires. Some carry earthen vessels, ollas, upon their heads, and pass down to the river. They go in for water. These are nearly naked. We can see their brown bodies and uncovered breasts. They are slaves.

See! the old men are climbing to the top of the temple. They are followed by women and children, some in white, others in bright-coloured costumes. These are girls and young lads, the children of the chiefs.

Over a hundred have climbed up. They have reached the highest root. There is an altar near the staff. A smoke rolls up—a blaze: they have kindled a fire upon the altar.

Listen! the chant of voices, and the beat of an Indian drum!

The sounds cease, and they all stand motionless and apparently silent, facing to the east.

"What does it mean?"

"They are waiting for the sun to appear. These people worship him."

The hunters, interested and curious, strain their eyes, watching the ceremony.

The topmost pinnacle of the quartz mountain is on fire. It is the first flash of the sun!

The peak is yellowing downward. Other points catch the brilliant beams. They have struck the faces of the devotees. See! there are white faces! One—two—many white faces, both of women and girls.

"Oh, God! grant that it may be!" cries Seguin, hurriedly putting up the glass, and raising the bugle to his lips.

A few wild notes peal over the valley. The horsemen hear the signal. They debouche from the woods and the defiles of the mountains. They gallop over the plain, deploying as they go.

In a few minutes we have formed the arc of a circle, concave to the town. Our horses' heads are turned inwards, and we ride forward, closing upon the walls.

We have left the atajo in the defile; the captive chief, too, guarded by a few of the men. The notes of the bugle have summoned the attention of the inhabitants. They stand for a while in amazement, and without motion. They behold the deploying of the line. They see the horsemen ride inward.

Could it be a mock surprise of some friendly tribe? No. That strange voice, the bugle, is new to Indian ears; yet some of them have heard it before. They know it to be the war-trumpet of the pale-faces!

For awhile their consternation hinders them from action. They stand looking on until we are near. Then they behold pale-faces, strange armour, and horses singularly caparisoned. It is the white enemy!

They run from point to point, from street to street. Those who carry water dash down their ollas, and rush screaming to the houses. They climb to the roofs, drawing the ladders after them. Shouts are exchanged, and exclamations uttered in the voices of men, women, and children. Terror is on every face; terror displays itself in every movement.

Meanwhile our line has approached, until we are within two hundred yards of the walls. We halt for a moment. Twenty men are left as an outer guard. The rest of us, thrown into a body, ride forward, following our leader.



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

ADELE.

We direct ourselves to the great building, and, surrounding it, again halt. The old men are still upon the roof, standing along the parapet. They are frightened, and tremble like children.

"Do not fear; we are friends!" cried Seguin, speaking in a strange language, and making signs to them.

His voice is not heard amidst the shrieks and shouting that still continue.

The words are repeated, and the sign given in a more emphatic manner.

The old men crowd along the edge of the parapet. There is one among them who differs from the rest. His snow-white hair reaches below his waist. There are bright ornaments hanging from, his ears and over his breast. He is attired in white robes. He appears to be a chief; for the rest obey him. He makes a signal with his hands, and the screaming subsides. He stands forward on the parapet, as if to speak to us.

"Amigos, amigos!" (friends!) cries he, speaking in Spanish.

"Yes, yes; we are friends," replies Seguin, in the same language. "Do not fear us! We came not to harm you."

"Why harm us? We are at peace with the white pueblos to the east. We are the children of Montezuma; we are Navajoes. What want you with us?"

"We come for our relatives, your white captives. They are our wives and daughters."

"White captives! You mistake us. We have no captives. Those you seek are among the nations of the Apache, away far to the south."

"No; they are with you," replies Seguin. "I have certain information that they are here. Delay us not, then! We have come a far journey for them, and will not go without them."

The old man turns to his companions. They converse in a low voice, and exchange signs. Again he faces round to Seguin.

"Believe me, senor chief," says he, speaking with emphasis, "you have been wrongly informed. We have no white captives."

"Pish! 'Ee dod-rotted ole liar!" cries Rube, pushing out of the crowd, and raising his cat-skin cap as he speaks. "'Ee know this child, do 'ee?"

The skinless head is discovered to the gaze of the Indians. A murmur, indicative of alarm, is heard among them. The white-haired chief seems disconcerted. He knows the history of that scalp!

A murmur, too, runs through the ranks of the hunters. They had seen white faces as they rode up. The lie exasperates them, and the ominous click of rifles being cocked is heard on all sides.

"You have spoken falsely, old man," cries Seguin. "We know you have white captives. Bring them forth, then, if you would save your own lives!"

"Quick!" shouts Garey, raising his rifle in a threatening manner; "quick! or I'll dye the flax on yer old skull."

"Patience, amigo! you shall see our white people; but they are not captives. They are our daughters, the children of Montezuma."

The Indian descends to the third story of the temple. He enters a door, and presently returns, bringing with him five females dressed in the Navajo costume. They are women and girls, and, as anyone could tell at a glance, of the Hispano-Mexican race.

But there are those present who know them still better. Three of them are recognised by as many hunters, and recognise them in turn. The girls rush out to the parapet, stretch forth their arms, and utter exclamations of joy. The hunters call to them—

"Pepe!" "Rafaela!" "Jesusita!" coupling their names with expressions of endearment. They shout to them to come down, pointing to the ladders.

"Bajan, ninas, bajan! aprisa, aprisa!" (Come down, dear girls! quickly, quickly!)

The ladders rest upon the upper terraces. The girls cannot move them. Their late masters stand beside them, frowning and silent.

"Lay holt thar!" cries Garey, again threatening with his piece; "lay holt, and help the gals down, or I'll fetch some o' yerselves a-tumblin' over!"

"Lay holt! lay holt!" shouted several others in a breath.

The Indians place the ladders. The girls descend, and the next moment leap into the arms of their friends.

Two of them remain above; only three have come down. Seguin has dismounted, and passes these three with a glance. None of them is the object of his solicitude!

He rushes up the ladder, followed by several of the men. He springs from terrace to terrace, up to the third. He presses forward to the spot where stand the two captive girls. His looks are wild, and his manner that of one frantic. They shrink back at his approach, mistaking his intentions. They scream with terror!

He pierces them with his look. The instincts of the father are busy: they are baffled. One of the females is old, too old; the other is slave-like and coarse.

"Mon Dieu! it cannot be!" he exclaims, with a sigh. "There was a mark; but no, no, no! it cannot be!"

He leans forward, seizing the girl, though not ungently, by the wrist. Her sleeve is torn open, and the arm laid bare to the shoulder.

"No, no!" he again exclaims; "it is not there. It is not she."

He turns from them. He rushes forward to the old Indian, who falls back frightened at the glare of his fiery eye.

"These are not all!" cries he, in a voice of thunder; "there are others. Bring them forth, old man, or I will hurl you to the earth!"

"There are no other white squaws," replied the Indian, with a sullen and determined air.

"A lie! a lie! your life shall answer. Here! confront him, Rube!"

"'Ee dratted old skunk! That white har o' yourn ain't a-gwine to stay thur much longer ev you don't bring her out. Whur is she? the young queen?"

"Al sur," and the Indian points to the south.

"Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" cries Seguin, in his native tongue, and with an accentuation that expresses his complete wretchedness.

"Don't believe him, cap! I've seed a heap o' Injun in my time; an' a lyiner old varmint than this'n I never seed yet. Ye heerd him jest now 'bout the other gals?"

"Yes, true; he lied directly; but she—she might have gone—"

"Not a bit o' it. Lyin's his trade. He's thur great medicine, an' humbugs the hul kit o' them. The gal is what they call Mystery Queen. She knows a heap, an' helps ole whitey hyur in his tricks an' sacrifiches. He don't want to lose her. She's hyur somewhur, I'll be boun'; but she ur cached: that's sartin."

"Men!" cries Seguin, rushing forward to the parapet, "take ladders! Search every house! Bring all forth, old and young. Bring them to the open plain. Leave not a corner unsearched. Bring me my child!"

The hunters rush for the ladders. They seize those of the great building, and soon possess themselves of others. They run from house to house, and drag out the screaming inmates.

There are Indian men in some of the houses—lagging braves, boys, and "dandies." Some of these resist. They are slaughtered, scalped, and flung over the parapets.

Crowds arrive, guarded, in front of the temple: girls and women of all ages.

Seguin's eye is busy; his heart is yearning. At the arrival of each new group, he scans their faces. In vain! Many of them are young and pretty, but brown as the fallen leaf. She is not yet brought up.

I see the three captive Mexicans standing with their friends. They should know where she may be found.

"Question them," I whisper to the chief.

"Ha! you are right. I did not think of that. Come, come!"

We run together down the ladders, and approach the delivered captives. Seguin hurriedly describes the object of his search.

"It must be the Mystery Queen," says one.

"Yes, yes!" cries Seguin, in trembling anxiety; "it is; she is the Mystery Queen."

"She is in the town, then," adds another.

"Where? where?" ejaculates the halt-frantic father.

"Where? where?" echo the girls, questioning one another.

"I saw her this morning, a short time ago, just before you came up."

"I saw him hurry her off," adds a second, pointing upward to the old Indian. "He has hidden her."

"Caval!" cries another, "perhaps in the estufa!"

"The estufa! what is it?"

"Where the sacred fire burns; where he makes his medicine."

"Where is it? lead me to it!"

"Ay de mi! we know not the way. It is a sacred place where they burn people! Ay de mi!"

"But, senor, it is in this temple; somewhere under the ground. He knows. None but he is permitted to enter it. Carrai! The estufa is a fearful place. So say the people."

An indefinite idea that his daughter may be in danger crosses the mind of Seguin. Perhaps she is dead already, or dying by some horrid means. He is struck, so are we, with the expression of sullen malice that displays itself upon the countenance of the medicine chief. It is altogether an Indian expression—that of dogged determination to die rather than yield what he has made up his mind to keep. It is a look of demoniac cunning, characteristic of men of his peculiar calling among the tribes.

Haunted by this thought, Seguin runs to the ladder, and again springs upward to the root, followed by several of the band. He rushes upon the lying priest, clutching him by the long hair.

"Lead me to her!" he cries, in a voice of thunder; "lead me to this queen, this Mystery Queen! She is my daughter."

"Your daughter! the Mystery Queen!" replies the Indian, trembling with fear for his life, yet still resisting the appeal. "No, white man; she is not. The queen is ours. She is the daughter of the Sun. She is the child of a Navajo chief."

"Tempt me no longer, old man! No longer, I say. Look forth! If a hair of her head has been harmed, all these shall suffer. I will not leave a living thing in your town. Lead on! Bring me to the estufa!"

"To the estufa! to the estufa!" shout several voices.

Strong hands grasp the garments of the Indian, and are twined into his loose hair. Knives, already red and reeking, are brandished before his eyes. He is forced from the roof, and hurried down the ladders.

He ceases to resist, for he sees that resistance is death; and half-dragged, half-leading, he conducts them to the ground-floor of the building.

He enters by a passage covered with the shaggy hides of the buffalo. Seguin follows, keeping his eye and hand upon him. We crowd after, close upon the heels of both.

We pass through dark ways, descending, as we go, through an intricate labyrinth. We arrive in a large room, dimly lighted. Ghastly images are before us and around us, the mystic symbols of a horrid religion! The walls are hung with hideous shapes and skins of wild beasts. We can see the fierce visages of the grizzly bear, of the white buffalo, of the carcajou, of the panther, and the ravenous wolf. We can recognise the horns and frontlets of the elk, the cimmaron, and the grim bison. Here and there are idol figures, of grotesque and monster forms, carved from wood and the red claystone of the desert.

A lamp is flickering with a feeble glare; and on a brazero, near the centre of the room, burns a small bluish flame. It is the sacred fire— the fire that for centuries has blazed to the god Quetzalcoatl!

We do not stay to examine these objects. The fumes of the charcoal almost suffocate us. We run in every direction, overturning the idols and dragging down the sacred skins.

There are huge serpents gliding over the floor, and hissing around our feet. They have been disturbed and frightened by the unwonted intrusion. We, too, are frightened, for we hear the dreaded rattle of the crotalus!

The men leap from the ground, and strike at them with the butts of their rifles. They crush many of them on the stone pavement.

There are shouts and confusion. We suffer from the exhalations of the charcoal. We shall be stifled. Where is Seguin? Where has he gone?

Hark! There are screams! It is a female voice! There are voices of men, too!

We rush towards the spot where they are heard. We dash aside the walls of pendant skins. We see the chief. He has a female in his arms—a girl, a beautiful girl, robed in gold and bright plumes.

She is screaming as we enter, and struggling to escape him. He holds her firmly, and has torn open the fawn-skin sleeve of her tunic. He is gazing on her left arm, which is bared to the bosom!

"It is she! it is she!" he cries, in a voice trembling with emotion. "Oh, God! it is she! Adele! Adele! do you not know me? Me—your father?"

Her screams continue. She pushes him off, stretching out her arms to the Indian, and calling upon him to protect her!

The father entreats her in wild and pathetic words. She heeds him not. She turns her face from him, and crouches down, hugging the knees of the priest!

"She knows me not! Oh, God! my child! my child!"

Again Seguin speaks in the Indian tongue, and with imploring accents—

"Adele! Adele! I am your father!"

"You! Who are you? The white men; our foes! Touch me not! Away, white men! away!"

"Dear, dearest Adele! do not repel me—me, your father! You remember—"

"My father! My father was a great chief. He is dead. This is my father now. The Sun is my father. I am a daughter of Montezuma! I am a queen of the Navajoes!"

As she utters these words, a change seems to come over her spirit. She crouches no longer. She rises to her feet. Her screaming has ended, and she stands in an attitude of pride and indignation.

"Oh, Adele!" continues Seguin, more earnest than ever, "look at me! look! Do you not remember? Look in my face! Oh, Heaven! Here, see! Here is your mother, Adele! See! this is her picture: your angel mother. Look at it! Look, oh, Adele!"

Seguin, while he is speaking, draws a miniature from his bosom, and holds it before the eyes of the girl. It arrests her attention. She looks upon it, but without any signs of recognition. It is to her only a curious object.

She seems struck with his manner, frantic but intreating. She seems to regard him with wonder. Still she repels him. It is evident she knows him not. She has lost every recollection of him and his. She has forgotten the language of her childhood; she has forgotten her father, her mother: she has forgotten all!

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I could not restrain my tears as I looked upon the face of my friend, for I had grown to consider him such. Like one who has received a mortal wound, yet still lives, he stood in the centre of the group, silent and crushed. His head had fallen upon his breast, his cheek was blanched and bloodless; and his eye wandered with an expression of imbecility painful to behold. I could imagine the terrible conflict that was raging within.

He made no further efforts to intreat the girl. He no longer offered to approach her; but stood for some moments in the same attitude without speaking a word.

"Bring her away!" he muttered, at length, in a voice husky and broken; "bring her away! Perhaps, in God's mercy, she may yet remember."



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

THE WHITE SCALP.

We repassed the horrid chamber, and emerged upon the lowermost terrace of the temple. As I walked forward to the parapet, there was a scene below that filled me with apprehension. A cloud seemed to fall over my heart.

In front of the temple were the women of the village—girls, women, and children; in all, about two hundred. They were variously attired: some were wrapped in their striped blankets; some wore tilmas, and tunics of embroidered fawn-skin, plumed and painted with dyes of vivid colour; some were dressed in the garb of civilised life—in rich satins, that had been worn by the dames of the Del Norte; in flounces that had fluttered in the dance around the ankles of some gay maja.

Not a few in the crowd were entirely nude. They were all Indians, but of lighter and darker shades; differing in colour as in expression of face. Some were old, wrinkled, and coarse; but there were many of them young, noble-like, and altogether beautiful.

They were grouped together in various attitudes. They had ceased their screaming, but murmured among themselves in low and plaintive exclamations.

As I looked, I saw blood running from their ears! It had dappled their throats and spurted over their garments.

A glance satisfied me as to the cause of this. They had been rudely robbed of their golden hangings.

Near and around them stood the scalp-hunters, in groups and afoot. They were talking in whispers and low mutterings. There were objects about their persons that attracted my eye. Curious articles of ornament or use peeped out from their pouches and haversacks—bead-strings and pieces of shining metal—gold it was—hung around their necks and over their breasts. These were the plundered bijouterie of the savage maidens.

There were other objects upon which my eye rested with feelings of deeper pain. Stuck behind the belts of many were scalps, fresh and reeking. Their knife-hilts and fingers were red; there was blood upon their hands; there was gloom in their glances.

The picture was appalling; and, adding to its awful impression, black clouds were at the moment rolling over the valley, and swathing the mountains in their opaque masses. The lightning jetted from peak to peak, followed by short claps of close and deafening thunder.

"Bring up the atajo!" shouted Seguin, as he descended the ladder with his daughter.

A signal was given; and shortly after the mules, in charge of the arrieros, came stringing across the plain.

"Collect all the dry meat that can be found. Let it be packed as speedily as possible."

In front of most of the houses there were strings of tasajo hanging against the walls. There were also dried fruits and vegetables, chile, roots of the kamas, and skin-bags filled with pinons and choke-berries.

The meat was soon brought together, and several of the men assisted the arrieros in packing it.

"There will be barely enough," said Seguin. "Here, Rube," continued he, calling to the old trapper; "pick out your prisoners. Twenty will be as many as we can take. You know them: chose those most likely to tempt an exchange."

So saying, the chief turned off towards the atajo, leading his daughter with the intention of mounting her on one of the mules.

Rube proceeded to obey the orders given him. In a short time he had collected a number of unresisting captives, and had put them aside from the rest. They were principally girls and young lads, whose dress and features bespoke them of the noblesse of the nation, the children of chiefs and warriors.

This movement was not regarded in silence. The men had drawn together, and commenced talking in loud and mutinous language.

"Wagh!" exclaimed Kirker, a fellow of brutal aspect; "thar are wives apiece, boys: why not every man help himself? Why not?"