But Seguin had still another design. It was a strategic manoeuvre, a desperate and dernier ressort on his part. It was this: he saw that, if he could once get the captives, his wife and daughter, down among the houses, there would be a possibility, in the event of a fight, of carrying them off. The queen, too, might thus be rescued as well. It was the alternative suggested by despair.

In a hurried whisper he communicated this to those of his comrades nearest him, in order to insure their prudence and patience.

As soon as the proposal was made, the Navajoes rose from their seats, and clustered together in a corner of the room to deliberate. They spoke in low tones. We could not, of course, understand what was said; but from the expression of their faces, and their gesticulations, we could tell that they seemed disposed to accept it. They knew that the queen had not recognised Seguin as her father. They had watched her closely as she rode down the opposite side of the barranca; in fact, conversed by signals with her, before we could interfere to prevent it. No doubt she had informed them of what happened at the canon with Dacoma's warriors, and the probability of their approach. They had little fear, then, that she would remember her mother. Her long absence, her age when made captive, her after-life, and the more than kind treatment she had received at their hands, had long since blotted out every recollection of her childhood and its associations. The subtle savages well knew this; and at length, after a discussion which lasted for nearly an hour, they resumed their seats, and signified their assent to the proposal.

Two men, one from each party, were now sent for the three captives, and we sat waiting their arrival.

In a short time they were led in.

I find a difficulty in describing the scene that followed. The meeting of Seguin with his wife and daughter; my own short embrace and hurried kiss; the sobs and swooning of my betrothed; the mother's recognition of her long-lost child; the anguish that ensued as her yearning heart made its appeals in vain; the half-indignant, half-pitying looks of the hunters; the triumphant gestures and ejaculations of the Indians: all formed points in a picture that lives with painful vividness in my memory, though I am not sufficiently master of the author's art to paint it.

In a few minutes the captives were led out of the house, guarded by two men, while the rest of us remained to complete the negotiation.



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

A CONFLICT WITH CLOSED DOORS.

The occurrence did not improve the temper of either party, particularly that of the hunters. The Indians were triumphant, but not a whit the less inclined to obstinacy and exaction. They now returned to their former offer. For those of our captives that were woman-grown they would exchange one for one, and for their chief Dacoma they offered to give two; for the rest they insisted on receiving two for one.

By this arrangement, we could ransom only about twelve of the Mexican women; but finding them determined, Seguin at length assented to these terms, provided they would allow us the privilege of choosing the twelve to be exchanged.

To our surprise and indignation this was refused!

We no longer doubted what was to be the winding up of the negotiation. The air was filled with the electricity of anger. Hate kindled hate, and vengeance was burning in every eye.

The Indians scowled on us, glancing malignantly out of their oblique eyes. There was triumph, too, in their looks, for, they believed themselves far stronger than we.

On the other side sat the hunters quivering under a double indignation. I say double. I can hardly explain what I mean. They had never before been so braved by Indians. They had, all their lives, been accustomed, partly out of bravado and partly from actual experience, to consider the red men their inferiors in subtilty and courage; and to be thus bearded by them, filled the hunters, as I have said, with a double indignation. It was like the bitter anger which the superior feels towards his resisting inferior, the lord to his rebellious serf, the master to his lashed slave who has turned and struck him. It was thus the hunters felt.

I glanced along their line. I never saw faces with such expressions as I saw there and then. Their lips were white, and drawn tightly over their teeth; their cheeks were set and colourless; and their eyes, protruding forward, seemed glued in their sockets. There was no motion to be detected in the features of any, save the twitching of angry muscles. Their right hands were buried in the bosoms of their half-open shirts, each, I knew, grasping a weapon; and they appeared not to sit, but to crouch forward, like panthers quivering upon the spring.

There was a long interval of silence on both sides.

It was broken by a cry from without—the scream of the war-eagle!

We should not have noticed this, knowing that these birds were common in the Mimbres, and one might have flown over the ravine; but we thought, or fancied, that it had made an impression upon our adversaries. They were men not apt to show any sudden emotion; but it appeared to us that, all at once, their glances grew bolder, and more triumphant. Could it have been a signal?

We listened for a minute. The scream was repeated; and although it was exactly after the manner of a bird well known to us—the white-headed eagle—we sat with unsatisfied and tearful apprehensions.

The young chief, he in the hussar dress, was upon his feet. He had been the most turbulent and exacting of our opponents. He was a man of most villainous and licentious character, so Rube had told us, but nevertheless holding great power among the braves. It was he who had spoken in refusal of Seguin's offer, and he was now about to assign his reasons. We knew them without that.

"Why," said he, looking at Seguin as he spoke, "why is it that the white chief is so desirous of choosing among our captives? Is it that he wishes to get back the yellow-haired maiden?"

He paused a moment, as if for a reply; but Seguin made none.

"If the white chief believes our queen to be his daughter, would not he wish that her sister should be her companion, and return with her to our land?"

Again he paused; but, as before, Seguin remained silent.

The speaker proceeded.

"Why not let the yellow-haired maiden return with us, and become my wife? Who am I that ask this? A chief of the Navajoes, the descendants of the great Montezuma; the son of their king!"

The savage looked around him with a vaunting air as he uttered these words.

"Who is she," he continued, "that I am thus begging for a bride? The daughter of one who is not even respected among his own people: the daughter of a culatta!"

I looked at Seguin. I saw his form dilating. I saw the big veins swelling along his throat. I saw gathering in his eyes that wild expression I had once before noticed. I knew that the crisis was near.

Again the eagle screamed!

"But," proceeded the savage, seeming to draw new boldness from the signal, "I shall beg no more. I love the white maiden. She must be mine; and this very night shall she sleep—"

He never finished the sentence. Seguin's bullet had sped, piercing the centre of his forehead. I caught a glimpse of the red round hole, with its circle of blue powder, as the victim tell forward on his face!

All together we sprang to our feet. As one man rose hunters and Indians. As if from one throat, pealed the double shout of defiance; and, as if by one hand, knives, pistols, and tomahawks were drawn together. The next moment we closed and battled!

Oh! it was a fearful strife, as the pistols cracked, the long knives glittered, and the tomahawks swept the air; a fearful, fearful strife!

You would suppose that the first shock would have prostrated both ranks. It was not so. The early blows of a struggle like this are wild, and well parried, and human life is hard to take. What were the lives of men like these?

A few fell. Some recoiled from the collision, wounded and bleeding, but still to battle again. Some fought hand to hand; while several pairs had clutched, and were striving to fling each other in the desperate wrestle of death!

Some rushed for the door, intending to fight outside. A few got out; but the crowd pressed against it, the door closed, dead bodies fell behind it; we fought in darkness.

We had light enough for our purpose. The pistols flashed at quick intervals, displaying the horrid picture. The light gleamed upon fiend-like faces, upon red and waving weapons, upon prostrate forms of men, upon others struggling in every attitude of deadly conflict!

The yells of the Indians, and the not less savage shouts of their white foemen, had continued from the first; but the voices grew hoarser, and the shouts were changed to groans, and oaths, and short, earnest exclamations. At intervals were heard the quick percussions of blows, and the dull, sodden sound of falling bodies.

The room became filled with smoke and dust, and choking sulphur; and the combatants were half-stifled as they fought.

At the first break of the battle I had drawn my revolver, and fired it in the face of the closing foemen. I had fired shot after shot, some at random, others directed upon a victim. I had not counted the reports, until the cock "checking" on the steel nipple told me I had gone the round of the six chambers.

This had occupied but as many seconds of time. Mechanically I stuck the empty weapon behind my belt, and, guided by an impulse, made for the door. Before I could reach it, it was closed, and I saw that to get out was impossible.

I turned to search for an antagonist; I was not long in finding one. By the flash of a pistol I saw one of the Indians rushing upon me with upraised hatchet. Up to this time something had hindered me from drawing my knife. I was now too late; and, holding out my arms to catch the blow, I ducked my head towards the savage.

I felt the keen blade cutting the flesh as it glanced along my shoulder. I was but slightly wounded. He had missed his aim from my stooping so suddenly; but the impetus brought our bodies together, and the next moment we grappled.

We stumbled over a heap of rock, and for some moments struggled together upon the ground, neither able to use his weapon. Again we rose, still locked in the angry embrace; again we were falling with terrible force. Something caught us in our descent. It shook; it gave way with a crashing sound, and we fell headlong into the broad and brilliant light!

I was dazzled and blinded. I heard behind me a strange rumbling like the noise made by falling timbers; but I heeded not that: I was too busy to speculate upon causes.

The sudden shock had separated us, and both rose at the same instant, again to grapple, and again to come together to the earth. We twisted and wriggled over the ground, among weeds and thorny cacti. I was every moment growing weaker, while the sinewy savage, used to such combats, seemed to be gaining fresh nerve and breath. Thrice he had thrown me under; but each time I had clutched his right arm, and prevented the descending blow. I had succeeded in drawing my knife as we fell through the wall; but my arm was also held fast, and I was unable to use it.

As we came to the ground for the fourth time, my antagonist fell under me. A cry of agony passed from his lips; his head "coggled" over among the weeds; and he lay in my arms without struggling.

I felt his grasp gradually relaxing. I looked in his face. His eyes were glassy and upturned. Blood was gurgling through his teeth. I saw that he was dead.

To my astonishment I saw this, for I knew I had not struck him as yet. I was drawing my arm from under him to do so, when I noticed that he ceased to resist. But the knife now caught my eye. It was red, blade and haft, and so was the hand that clasped it.

As we fell I had accidentally held it point upward. My antagonist had fallen upon the blade!

I now thought of my betrothed, and, untwining myself from the lithe and nerveless limbs of the savage, I rose to my feet. The ranche was in flames!

The roof had fallen in upon the brazero, and the dry shingles had caught the blaze. Men were crawling out from the burning ruin, but not to run away. No! Under its lurking flames, amidst the hot smoke, they still battled fierce, and foaming, and frenzied.

I did not stay to recognise whom they were, these tireless combatants. I ran forward, looking on all sides for the objects of my solicitude. The wave of female dresses caught my eye, far up the cliff, on the road leading to the Navajo captives. It was they! The three were climbing the steep path, each urged onward by a savage.

My first impulse was to rush after; but at that moment fifty horsemen made their appearance upon the hill, and came galloping downward.

I saw the madness of attempting to follow them, and turned to retreat towards the other side, where we had left our captives and horses. As I ran across the bottom, shots rang in my ear, proceeding from our side of the barranca. Looking up, I descried the mounted hunters coming down at a gallop, pursued by a cloud of savage horsemen. It was the band of Dacoma!

Uncertain what to do, I stood for a moment where I was, and watched the pursuit.

The hunters, on reaching the ranches, did not halt, but galloped on down the valley, firing as they went. A body of Indians swept on after them, while another body pulled up, clustered around the blazing ruin, and commenced searching among the walls.

I was yet screened in the thicket of cacti; but I saw that my hiding-place would soon be pierced by the eyes of the subtle savages; and dropping upon my hands and knees, I crept into the cliff. On reaching it, I found myself close to the mouth of a cave, a small shaft of the mine, and into this I at once betook myself.



CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

A QUEER ENCOUNTER IN A CAVE.

The place into which I had crawled was of irregular outlines. Rocks jutted along the sides, and between these, small lateral shafts had been dug, where the miners had followed the ramifications of the "quixa." The cave was not a deep one; the vein had not proved profitable, and had been abandoned for some other.

I kept up it till I was fairly "in the dark"; and then groping against one side, I found a recess, in which I ensconced myself. By peeping round the rock, I could see out of the cave and some distance over the bottom of the barranca, where the bushes grew thin and straggling.

I had hardly seated myself when my attention was called to a scene that was passing outside. Two men on their hands and knees were crawling through the cactus plants in front of the cave. Beyond them half a dozen savages on horseback were beating the thicket, but had not yet seen the men. These I recognised easily. They were Gode and the doctor. The latter was nearer me; and as he scrambled on over the shingle something started out of the rocks within reach of his hand. I noticed that it was a small animal of the armadillo kind. I saw him stretch forward, clutch it, and with a pleased look deposit it in a bag that was by his side. All this time the Indians were whooping and yelling behind him, and not fifty yards distant.

Doubtless the animal was of some new species, but the zealous naturalist never gave it to the world. He had scarcely drawn forth his hand again when a cry from the savages announced that he and Gode were discovered, and the next moment both lay upon the ground pierced with lances, and to all appearance dead!

Their pursuers now dismounted with the intention of scalping them. Poor Reichter! his cap was pulled off; the bleeding trophy followed, and he lay with the red skull towards the cave—a hideous spectacle!

Another Indian had alighted, and stood over the Canadian with his long knife in his hand. Although pitying my poor follower, and altogether in no humour for mirth, knowing what I did, I could not help watching the proceedings with some curiosity.

The savage stood for a moment, admiring the beautiful curls that embellished the head of his victim. He was no doubt thinking what handsome fringes they would make for his leggings. He appeared to be in ecstasies of delight; and from the flourishes which he made with his knife, I could see that it was his intention to skin the whole head!

After cutting several capers around it, he stooped and grasped a fistful of curls; but, before he had touched the scalp with his blade, the hair lifted off, displaying the white and marble-like skull!

With a cry of terror, the savage dropped the wig, and, running backward, fell over the body of the doctor. The cry attracted his, comrades; and several of them, dismounting, approached the strange object with looks of astonishment. One, more courageous than the rest, picked up the wig, which they all proceeded to examine with curious minuteness.

Then, one after another went up to the shining skull and passed his fingers over its smooth surface, all the while uttering exclamations of surprise. They tried on the wig, took it off, and put it on again, turning it in various ways. At length, he who claimed it as his property pulled off his plumed head-dress and, adjusting the wig upon his own head, front backward, stalked proudly around, with the long curls dangling over his face.

It was altogether a curious scene, and, under other circumstances, might have amused me. There was something irresistibly comic in the puzzled looks of the actors; but I had been too deeply affected by the tragedy to laugh at the farce. There was too much of horror around me. Seguin perhaps dead; she gone for ever, the slave of the brutal savage. My own peril, too, at the moment; for I knew not how soon I might be discovered and dragged forth. This affected me least of all. My life was now of little value to me, and so I regarded it.

But there is an instinct, so-called, of self-preservation, even when the will ceases to act. Hopes soon began to shape themselves in my mind, and along with these the wish to live. Thoughts came. I might organise a powerful band; I might yet rescue her. Yes! even though years might intervene, I would accomplish this. She would still be true! She would never forget!

Poor Seguin! what a life of hope withered in an hour! he himself sealing the sacrifice with his blood!

But I would not despair, even with his fate for a warning. I would take up the drama where he had ended. The curtain should rise upon new scenes, and I would not abandon the stage until I had accomplished a more joyous finale; or, failing this, had reached the denouement of death or vengeance.

Poor Seguin! No wonder he had been a scalp-hunter. I could now understand how holy was his hate for the ruthless red man. I, too, had imbibed the passion.

With such reflections passing hastily—for the scene I have described, and the sequent thoughts, did not occupy much time—I turned my eyes inwards to examine whether I was sufficiently concealed in my niche. They might take it into their heads to search the shaft.

As I endeavoured to penetrate the gloom that extended inwards, my gaze became riveted on an object that caused me to shrink back with a cold shudder. Notwithstanding the scenes I had just passed through, this was the cause of still another agony.

In the thick of the darkness I could distinguish two small spots, round and shining. They did not scintillate, but rather glistened with a steady greenish lustre. I knew that they were eyes!

I was in the cave with a panther, or with a still more terrible companion, the grizzly bear!

My first impulse was to press back into the recess where I had hidden myself. This I did, until my back leaned against the rocks. I had no thoughts of attempting to escape out. That would have been from the frying-pan into the fire, for the Indians were still in front of the cave. Moreover, any attempt to retreat would only draw on the animal, perhaps at that moment straining to spring.

I cowered closely, groping along my belt for the handle of my knife. I clasped this at length, and drawing it forth, waited in a crouching attitude.

During all this time my eyes had remained fixed on the lustrous orbs before me.

I saw that they were fixed upon mine, and watched me without as much as winking.

Mine seemed to be possessed of abstract volition. I could not take them off. They were held by some terrible fascination; and I felt, or fancied, that the moment this should be broken, the animal would spring upon me.

I had heard of fierce brutes being conquered by the glance of the human eye, and I endeavoured to look back my vis-a-vis with interest.

We sat for some time, neither of us moving an inch. I could see nothing of the animal's body; nothing but the green gleaming circles that seemed set in a ground of ebony.

As they had remained motionless so long, I conjectured that the owner of them was still lying in his lair, and would not make his attack until something disturbed him; perhaps until the Indians had gone away.

The thought now occurred to me that I might better arm myself. I knew that a knife would be of little avail against a grizzly bear. My pistol was still in my belt, but it was empty. Would the animal permit me to load it? I resolved to make the attempt.

Still leaving my eyes to fulfil their office, I felt for my flask and pistol, and finding both ready, I commenced loading. I proceeded with silence and caution, for I knew that these animals could see in the dark, and that in this respect my vis-a-vis had the advantage of me. I felt the powder in with my finger, and pushing the ball on top of it, rolled the cylinder to the right notch, and cocked.

As the spring "clicked," I saw the eyes start. "It will be on me now!"

Quick as the thought, I placed my finger to the trigger but before I could level, a voice, with a well-known accent, restrained me.

"Hold on thur!" cried the voice. "Why didn't 'ee say yur hide wur white? I thought 'twur some sneaking Injun. Who are 'ee, anyhow? 'Tain't Bill Garey? No, Billee, 'tain't you, ole fellur."

"No," said I, recovering from my surprise; "it's not Bill."

"I mout 'a guessed that. Bill wud 'a know'd me sooner. He wud 'a know'd the glint o' this niggur's eyes as I wud his'n. Ah! poor Billee! I's afeerd that trapper's rubbed out; an' thur ain't many more o' his sort in the mountains. No, that thur ain't.

"Rot it!" continued the voice, with a fierce emphasis; "this comes o' layin' one's rifle ahint them. Ef I'd 'a had Tar-guts wi' me, I wudn't 'a been hidin' hyur like a scared 'possum. But she are gone; that leetle gun are gone; an' the mar too; an' hyur I am 'ithout eyther beast or weepun; cuss the luck!"

And the last words were uttered with an angry hiss, that echoed through every part of the cave.

"Yur the young fellur, the capt'n's friend, ain't 'ee?" inquired the speaker, with a sudden change of tone.

"Yes," I replied.

"I didn't see yur a-comin' in, or I mout 'a spoke sooner. I've got a smart lick across the arm, an' I wur just a-tyin' it up as ye tumbled in thur. Who did 'ee think this child wur?"

"I did not think you were anyone. I took you for a grizzly bear."

"Ha! ha! ha! He! he! he! I thort so, when I heard the click o' your pistol. He! he! he! If ever I sets my peepers on Bill Garey agin, I'll make that niggur larf till his guts ache. Ole Rube tuk for a grizzly! If that ain't—Ha! ha! ha! ha! He! he! he! Ho! ho! hoo!"

And the old trapper chuckled at the conceit, as if he had just been witnessing some scene of amusement, and there was not an enemy within a hundred miles of him.

"Did you see anything of Seguin?" I asked, wishing to learn whether there was any probability that my friend still lived.

"Did I? I did; an' a sight that wur. Did 'ee iver see a catamount riz?"

"I believe I have," said I.

"Wal, that wur him. He wur in the shanty when it felled. So were I m'self; but I wa'n't there long arter. I creeped out some'rs about the door; an' jest then I seed the cap, hand to hand wi' an Injun in a stan'-up tussle: but it didn't last long. The cap gi'n him a sockdolloger some'rs about the ribs, an' the niggur went under; he did."

"But what of Seguin? Did you see him afterwards?"

"Did I see him arterwards? No; I didn't."

"I fear he is killed."

"That ain't likely, young fellur. He knows these diggin's better'n any o' us; an' he oughter know whur to cacher, I reckin. He's did that, I'll be boun'."

"Ay, if he would," said I, thinking that Seguin might have followed the captives, and thrown away his life recklessly.

"Don't be skeert about him, young fellur. The cap ain't a-gwine to put his fingers into a bee's nest whur thur's no honey; he ain't."

"But where could he have gone, when you did not see him afterwards?"

"Whur could he 'a gone? Fifty ways he kud 'a gone through the brush. I didn't think o' lookin' arter him. He left the Injun whur he had throw'd him, 'ithout raisin' the har; so I stooped down to git it; an' when I riz agin, he wa'n't thur no how. But that Injun wur. Lor'! that Injun are some punkins; he are."

"What Indian do you mean?"

"Him as jined us on the Del Norte—the Coco."

"El Sol! What of him? is he killed?"

"Wal, he ain't, I reckin; nor can't a-be: that's this child's opeenyun o' it. He kim from under the ranche, arter it tumbled; an' his fine dress looked as spick as ef it had been jest tuk out o' a bandy-box. Thur wur two at him, an', Lor'! how he fit them! I tackled on to one o' them ahint, an' gin him a settler in the hump ribs; but the way he finished the other wur a caution to Crockett. 'Twur the puttiest lick I ever seed in these hyur mountains, an' I've seed a good few, I reckin."

"How was it?"

"'Ee know, the Injun—that are, the Coco—fit wi' a hatchet?"

"Yes."

"Wal, then; that ur's a desprit weepun, for them as knows how to use it; an' he diz; that Injun diz. T'other had a hatchet, too, but he didn't keep it long. 'Twur clinked out o' his hands in a minnit, an' then the Coco got a down blow at him. Wagh! it wur a down blow, an' it wa'n't nuthin' else. It split the niggur's head clur down to the thrapple. 'Twus sep'rated into two halves as ef 't had been clove wi' a broad-axe! Ef 'ee had 'a seed the varmint when he kim to the ground, 'ee'd 'a thort he wur double-headed. Jest then I spied the Injuns a-comin' down both sides o' the bluff; an' havin' neyther beast nor weepun, exceptin' a knife, this child tuk a notion 'twa'n't safe to be thur any longer, an' cached; he did."



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

SMOKED OUT.

Our conversation had been carried on in a low tone, for the Indians still remained in front of the cave. Many others had arrived, and were examining the skull of the Canadian with the same looks of curiosity and wonderment that had been exhibited by their comrades.

Rube and I sat for some time in silence, watching them. The trapper had flitted near me, so that he could see out and talk in whispers.

I was still apprehensive that the savages might search the cave.

"'Tain't likely," said my companion. "They mout ef thur hadn't 'a been so many o' these diggins, do 'ee see? Thur's a grist o' 'em—more'n a hundred—on t'other side; an' most o' the men who got clur tuk furrer down. It's my notion the Injuns seed that, an' won't disturb—Ef thur ain't that dog!"

I well understood the meaning of the emphasis with which these last words were repeated. My eyes, simultaneously with those of the speaker, had fallen upon the dog Alp. He was running about in front of the cave. I saw at a glance he was searching for me.

The next moment he had struck the trail where I had crawled through the cacti, and came running down in the direction of the cave.

On reaching the body of the Canadian, which lay directly in his track, he stopped for a moment and appeared to examine it. Then, uttering a short yelp, he passed on to that of the doctor, where he made a similar demonstration. He ran several times from one to the other, but at length left them; and, with his nose once more to the ground, disappeared out of our view.

His strange actions had attracted the attention of the savages, who, one and all, stood watching him.

My companion and I were beginning to hope that he had lost me, when, to our dismay, he appeared a second time, coming down the trail as before. This time he leaped over the bodies, and the next moment sprang into the mouth of the cave.

A yell from without told us that we were lost.

We endeavoured to drive the dog out again, and succeeded, Rube having wounded him with his knife; but the wound itself, and the behaviour of the animal outside, convinced our enemies that someone was within the shaft.

In a few seconds the entrance was darkened by a crowd of savages, shouting and yelling.

"Now show yur shootin', young fellur!" said my companion. "It's the new kind o' pistol 'ee hev got. Load every ber'l o' it."

"Shall I have time to load them?"

"Plenty o' time. They ain't a-gwine to come in 'ithout a light. Thur gone for a torch to the shanty. Quick wi' yur! Slap in the fodder!"

Without waiting to reply, I caught hold of my flask, and loaded the remaining five chambers of the revolver. I had scarcely finished when one of the Indians appeared in front with a flaming brand, and was about stooping into the mouth of the cavern.

"Now's yur time," cried Rube. "Fetch the niggur out o' his boots! Fetch him!"

I fired, and the savage, dropping the torch, fell dead upon the top of it!

An angry yell from without followed the report, and the Indians disappeared from the front. Shortly after, an arm was seen reaching in, and the dead body was drawn back out of the entrance.

"What will they do next, think you?" I inquired of my companion.

"I can't tell adzactly yit; but thur sick o' that game, I reckin. Load that ber'l agin. I guess we'll git a lot o' 'm afore we gins in. Cuss the luck! that gun, Tar-guts! Ef I only had that leetle piece hyur! 'Ee've got six shots, have 'ee? Good! 'Ee mout chock up the cave wi' their karkidges afore they kin reach us. It ur a great weepun, an' no mistakes. I seed the cap use it. Lor'! how he made it tell on them niggers i' the shanty! Thur ain't many o' them about, I reckin. Load sure, young fellur! Thur's plenty o' time. They knows what you've got thur."

During all this dialogue none of the Indians made their appearance, but we could hear them on both sides of the shaft without. We knew they were deliberating on what plan they would take to get at us.

As Rube suggested, they seemed to be aware that the shot had come from a revolver. Doubtless some of the survivors of the late fight had informed them of the fearful havoc that had been made among them with our pistols, and they dreaded to face them. What other plan would they adopt? Starve us out?

"They mout," said Rube, in answer to my question, "an' kin if they try. Thur ain't a big show o' vittlin' hyur, 'ceptin' we chaw donnicks. But thur's another way, ef they only hev the gumshin to go about it, that'll git us sooner than starvin'. Ha!" ejaculated the speaker, with emphasis. "I thort so. Thur a-gwine to smoke us. Look 'ee yander!"

I looked forth. At a distance I saw several Indians coming in the direction of the cave, carrying large bundles of brushwood. Their intention was evident.

"But can they do this?" I inquired, doubting the possibility of our enemies being able to effect their purpose in that way; "can we not bear the smoke?"

"Bar it! Yur green, young fellur. Do 'ee know what sort o' brush thur a-toatin' yander?"

"No," said I; "what is it?"

"It ur the stink-plant, then; an' the stinkinest plant 'ee ever smelt, I reckin. The smoke o' it ud choke a skunk out o' a persimmon log. I tell 'ee, young 'un, we'll eyther be smoked out or smothered whur we are; an' this child hain't fit Injun for thirty yeern or better, to go under that a way. When it gets to its wurst I'm a-gwine to make a rush. That's what I'm a-gwine ter do, young fellur."

"But how?" I asked, hurriedly; "how shall we act then?"

"How? Yur game to the toes, ain't 'ee?"

"I am willing to fight to the last."

"Wal, than, hyur's how, an' the only how: when they've raised the smoke so that they can't see us a-comin', we'll streak it out among 'em. You hev the pistol, an' kin go fo'most. Shoot every niggur that clutches at ye, an' run like blazes! I'll foller clost on yur heels. If we kin oncest git through the thick o' 'em, we mout make the brush, an' creep under it to the big caves on t'other side. Them caves jines one another, an' we mout dodge them thur. I seed the time this 'coon kud 'a run a bit, but these hyur jeints ain't as soople as they wur oncest. We kin try neverthemless; an' mind, young fellur, it's our only chance: do 'ee hear?"

I promised to follow the directions that my never-despairing companion had given me.

"They won't get old Rube's scalp yit, they won't. He! he! he!"

I turned towards him. The man was actually laughing at this wild and strangely-timed jest. It was awful to hear him.

Several armfuls of brush were now thrown into the mouth of the cave. I saw that it was the creosote plant, the ideodondo.

It was thrown upon the still blazing torch, and soon caught, sending up a thick, black smoke. More was piled on; and the fetid vapour, impelled by some influence from without, began to reach our nostrils and lungs, causing an almost instantaneous feeling of sickness and suffocation. I could not have borne it long. I did not stay to try how long, for at that moment I heard Rube crying out—

"Now's your time, young fellur! Out, and gi' them fits!"

With a feeling of desperate resolve, I clutched my pistol and dashed through the smoking brushwood. I heard a wild and deafening shout. I saw a crowd of men—of fiends. I saw spears, and tomahawks, and red knives raised, and—



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

A NOVEL MODE OF EQUITATION.

When consciousness returned, I found that I was lying on the ground, and my dog, the innocent cause of my captivity, was licking my face. I could not have been long senseless, for the savages were still gesticulating violently around me. One was waving them back. I recognised him. It was Dacoma!

The chief uttered a short harangue that seemed to quiet the warriors. I could not tell what he said, but I heard him use frequently the word Quetzalcoatl. I knew that this was the name of their god, but I did not understand, at the time, what the saving of my life could have to do with him.

I thought that Dacoma was protecting me from some feeling of pity or gratitude, and I endeavoured to recollect whether I had shown him any special act of kindness during his captivity. I had sadly mistaken the motives of that splendid savage.

My head felt sore. Had they scalped me? With the thought I raised my hand, passing it over my crown. No. My favourite brown curls were still there; but there was a deep cut along the back of my head—the dent of a tomahawk. I had been struck from behind as I came out, and before I could fire a single bullet.

Where was Rube? I raised myself a little and looked around. He was not to be seen anywhere.

Had he escaped, as he intended? No; it would have been impossible for any man, with only a knife, to have fought his way through so many. Moreover, I did not observe any commotion among the savages, as if an enemy had escaped them. None seemed to have gone off from the spot. What then had—? Ha! I now understood, in its proper sense, Rube's jest about his scalp. It was not a double-entendre, but a mot of triple ambiguity.

The trapper, instead of following me, had remained quietly in his den, where, no doubt, he was at that moment watching me, his scapegoat, and chuckling at his own escape.

The Indians, never dreaming that there were two of us in the cave, and satisfied that it was now empty, made no further attempts to smoke it.

I was not likely to undeceive them. I knew that Rube's death or capture could not have benefited me; but I could not help reflecting on the strange stratagem by which the old fox had saved himself.

I was not allowed much time for reflection. Two of the savages, seizing me by the arms, dragged me up to the still blazing ruin. On, heavens! was it for this Dacoma had saved me from their tomahawks? for this, the most cruel of deaths!

They proceeded to tie me hand and foot. Several others were around, submitting to the same treatment. I recognised Sanchez the bull-fighter, and the red-haired Irishman. There were three others of the band, whose names I had never learnt.

We were in an open space in front of the burning ranche. We could see all that was going on.

The Indians were clearing it of the fallen and charred timbers to get at the bodies of their friends. I watched their proceeding's with less interest, as I now knew that Seguin was not there.

It was a horrid spectacle when the rubbish was cleared away, laying bare the floor of the ruin. More than a dozen bodies lay upon it, half-baked, half-roasted! Their dresses were burned off; but by the parts that remained still intact from the fire, we could easily recognise to what party each had belonged. The greater number of them were Navajoes. There were also the bodies of hunters smoking inside their cindery shirts. I thought of Garey; but, as far as I could judge, he was not among them.

There were no scalps for the Indians to take. The fire had been before them, and had not left a hair upon the heads of their dead foemen.

Seemingly mortified at this, they lifted the bodies of the hunters, and tossed them once more into the flames that were still blazing up from the piled rafters. They gathered the knives, pistols, and tomahawks that lay among the ashes; and carrying what remained of their own people out of the ruin, placed them in front. They then stood around them in a circle, and with loud voices chanted a chorus of vengeance.

During all this proceeding we lay where we had been thrown, guarded by a dozen savages. We were filled with fearful apprehensions. We saw the fire still blazing, and we saw that the bodies of our late comrades had been thrown upon it. We dreaded a similar fate for our own.

But we soon found that we were reserved for some other purpose. Six mules were brought up, and upon these we were mounted in a novel fashion. We were first set astride on the bare backs, with our faces turned tailwards. Our feet were then drawn under the necks of the animals, where our ankles were closely corded together. We were next compelled to bend down our bodies until we lay along the backs of the mules, our chins resting on their rumps. In this position our arms were drawn down until our hands met underneath, where they were tied tightly by the wrists.

The attitude was painful; and to add to this, our mules, not used to be thus packed, kicked and plunged over the ground, to the great mirth of our captors.

This cruel sport was kept up even after the mules themselves had got tired of it, by the savages pricking the animals with their spears, and placing branches of the cactus under their tails. We were fainting when it ended.

Our captors now divided themselves into two parties, and started up the barranca, taking opposite sides. One went with the Mexican captives and the girls and children of the tribe. The larger party, under Dacoma— now head chief, for the other had been killed in the conflict—guarded us.

We were carried up that side on which was the spring, and, arriving at the water, were halted for the night. We were taken off the mules and securely tied to one another, our guard watching us without intermission till morning. We were then packed as before and carried westward across the desert.



CHAPTER FIFTY.

A FAST DYE.

After a four days' journey, painful even to be remembered, we re-entered the valley of Navajoa. The other captives, along with the great caballada, had arrived before us; and we saw the plundered cattle scattered over the plain.

As we approached the town, we were met by crowds of women and children, far more than we had seen on our former visit. These were guests, who had come in from other villages of the Navajoes that lay farther to the north. They were there to witness the triumphant return of the warriors, and partake of the great feast that always follows a successful foray.

I noticed many white faces among them, with features of the Iberian race. They had been captives; they were now the wives of warriors. They were dressed like the others, and seemed to participate in the general joy. They, like Seguin's daughter, had been Indianised.

There were many Mestizoes, half-bloods, the descendants of Indians and their Mexican captives, the offspring of many a Sabine wedding.

We were carried through the streets, and out to the western side of the village. The crowd followed us with mingled exclamations of triumph, hatred, and curiosity. At the distance of a hundred yards or so from the houses, and close to the river bank, our guards drew up.

I had turned my eyes on all sides as we passed through, as well as my awkward position would permit I could see nothing of her, or any of the female captives. Where could they be? Perhaps in the temple.

This building stood on the opposite side of the town, and the houses prevented me from seeing it. Its top only was visible from the spot where we had been halted.

We were untied and taken down. We were happy at being relieved from the painful attitude in which we had ridden all the way. We congratulated ourselves that we should now be allowed to sit upright. Our self-congratulation was brief. We soon found that the change was "from the frying-pan into the fire." We were only to be "turned." We had hitherto lain upon our bellies; we were now to be laid upon our backs.

In a few moments the change was accomplished, our captors handling us as unceremoniously as though we had been inanimate things. Indeed we were nearly so.

We were spread upon the green turf on our backs. Around each man four long pins were driven into the ground, in the form of a parallelogram. Our arms and legs were stretched out to their widest, and raw-hide thongs were looped about our wrists and ankles. These were passed over the pins, and drawn so tightly that our joints cracked with the cruel tension. Thus we lay, faces upturned, like so many hides spread out to be sun-dried.

We were placed in two ranks, "endways," in such a manner that the heads of the front-rank men rested between the feet of their respective "rears." As there were six of us in all, we formed three files, with short intervals between.

Our attitudes and fastenings left us without the power of moving a limb. The only member over which we had any control was the head; and this, thanks to the flexibility of our necks, we could turn about, so as to see what was going on in front or on either side of us.

As soon as we were fairly staked down, I had the curiosity to raise my head and look around me. I found that I was "rear rank, right file," and that my file leader was the ci-devant soldier O'Cork.

The Indian guards, after having stripped us of most of our clothing, left us; and the girls and squaws now began to crowd around. I noticed that they were gathering in front of my position, and forming a dense circle around the Irishman. I was struck with their ludicrous gestures, their strange exclamations, and the puzzled expression of their countenances.

"Ta—yah! Ta—yah!" cried they, and the whole crowd burst into shrill screams of laughter.

What could it mean? Barney was evidently the subject of their mirth; but what was there about him to cause it, more than about any of the rest of us?

I raised my head to ascertain: the riddle was solved at once. One of the Indians, in going off, had taken the Irishman's cap with him, and the little, round, red head was exposed to view. It lay midway between my feet, like a luminous ball, and I saw that it was the object of diversion.

By degrees, the squaws drew nearer, until they were huddled up in a thick crowd around the body of our comrade. At length one of them stooped and touched the head, drawing back her fingers with a start and a gesture, as though she had burned them.

This elicited fresh peals of laughter, and very soon all the women of the village were around the Irishman, "scroodging" one another to get a closer view. None of the rest of us were heeded, except to be liberally trampled upon; and half a dozen big, heavy squaws were standing upon my limbs, the better to see over one another's shoulders.

As there was no great stock of clothing to curtain the view, I could see the Irishman's head gleaming like a meteor through the forest of ankles.

After a while the squaws grew less delicate in their touch; and catching hold of the short, stiff bristles, endeavoured to pluck them out, all the while screaming with laughter.

I was neither in the state of mind nor the attitude to enjoy a joke; but there was a language in the back of Barney's head, an expression of patient endurance, that would have drawn smiles from a gravedigger; and Sanchez and the others were laughing aloud.

For a long time our comrade endured the infliction, and remained silent; but at length it became too painful for his patience, and he began to speak out.

"Arrah, now, girls," said he, in a tone of good-humoured intreaty, "will yez be aizy? Did yez niver see rid hair afore?"

The squaws, on hearing the appeal, which of course they understood not, only showed their white teeth in loud laughter.

"In trath, an' iv I had yez on the sod, at the owld Cove o' Cark beyant, I cud show yez as much av it as 'ud contint ye for yer lives. Arrah, now, keep aff me! Be the powers, ye're trampin' the toes aff me feet! Ach! don't rug me! Holy Mother! will yez let me alone? Divil resave ye for a set of—"

The tone in which the last words were uttered showed that O'Cork had at length lost his temper; but this only increased the assiduity of his tormentors, whose mirth now broke beyond bounds. They plucked him harder than ever, yelling all the while; so that, although he continued to scold, I could only hear him at intervals ejaculating: "Mother av Moses!" "Tare-an-ages!" "Holy vistment!" and a variety of similar exclamations.

This scene continued for several minutes; and then, all at once, there was a lull, and a consultation among the women, that told us they were devising some scheme.

Several girls were sent off to the houses. These presently returned, bringing a large olla, and another vessel of smaller dimensions. What did they intend to do with these? We soon learned.

The olla was filled with water from the adjacent stream, and carried up, and the smaller vessel was set down beside Barney's head. We saw that it contained the yucca soap of the Northern Mexicans. They were going to wash out the red!

The Irishman's hand-stays were now loosened, so that he could sit upright; and a copious coat of the "soft-soap" was laid on his head, completely covering his hair. A couple of sinewy squaws then took hold of him by the shoulders, and with bunches of bark fibres applied the water, and scrubbed it in lustily.

The application seemed to be anything but pleasant to Barney, who roared out, ducking his head on all sides to avoid it. But this did not serve him. One of the squaws seized the head between her hands, and held it steady, while the other set to it afresh and rubbed harder than ever.

The Indians yelled and danced around; but in the midst of all I could hear Barney sneezing, and shouting in a smothered voice—

"Holy Mother!—htch-tch! Yez may rub—tch-itch!—till yez fetch-tch the skin aff—atch-ich-ich! an' it won't—tscztsh!—come out. I tell yez— itch-ch! it's in the grain—itch-itch! It won't come out—itch-itch!— be me sowl it won't—atch-itch-hitch!"

But the poor fellow's expostulations were in vain. The scrubbing continued, with fresh applications of the yucca, for ten minutes or more; and then the great olla was lifted, and its contents dashed upon his head and shoulders.

What was the astonishment of the women to find that instead of modifying the red colour, it only showed forth, if possible, more vivid than ever!

Another olla of water was lifted, and soused about the Irishman's ears, but with no better effect.

Barney had not had such a washing for many a day; at least, not since he had been under the hands of the regimental barber.

When the squaws saw that, in spite of all their efforts, the dye still stuck fast, they desisted, and our comrade was again staked down. His bed was not so dry as before; neither was mine, for the water had saturated the ground about us, and we lay in mud. But this was a small vexation, compared with many others we were forced to put up with.

For a long time the Indian women and children clustered around us, each in turn minutely examining the head of our comrade. We, too, came in for a share of their curiosity; but O'Cork was "the elephant."

They had seen hair like ours oftentimes upon their Mexican captives; but, beyond a doubt, Barney's was the first red poll that had ever been scratched in the valley of Navajoa.

Darkness came on at length, and the squaws returned to the village, leaving us in charge of the guards, who all the night sat watchfully beside.



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

ASTONISHING THE NATIVES.

Up to this time we had no knowledge of the fate that was designed for us; but, from all that we had ever heard of these savages, as well as from our own experience of them, we anticipated that it would be a cruel one.

Sanchez, however, who knew something of their language, left us no room to doubt such a result. He had gathered from the conversation of the women what was before us. After these had gone away, he unfolded the programme as he had heard it.

"To-morrow," said he, "they will dance the mamanchic—the great dance of Montezuma. That is a fete among the girls and women. Next day will be a grand tournament, in which the warriors will exhibit their skill in shooting with the bow, in wrestling, and feats of horsemanship. If they would let me join them, I could show them how."

Sancho, besides being an accomplished torero, had spent his earlier years in the circus, and was, as we all knew, a most splendid horseman.

"On the third day," continued he, "we are to 'run amuck,' if you know what that is."

We had all heard of it.

"And on the fourth—"

"Well? upon the fourth?"

"They will roast us!"

We might have been more startled at this abrupt declaration had the idea been new to us, but it was not. The probability of such an end had been in our thoughts ever since our capture. We knew that they did not save us at the mine for the purpose of giving us an easier death; and we knew, too, that these savages never made men prisoners to keep them alive. Rube was an exception; but his story was a peculiar one, and he escaped only by his extreme cunning. "Their god," continued Sanchez, "is the same as that of the Mexican Aztecs; for these people are of that race, it is believed. I don't know much about that, though I've heard men talk of it. He is called by a queer, hard name. Carrai! I don't remember it."

"Quetzalcoatl?"

"Caval! that's the word. Pues, senores; he is a fire-god, and fond of human flesh; prefers it roasted, so they say. That's the use we'll be put to. They'll roast us to please him, and at the same time to satisfy themselves. Dos pajaros al un golpe!" (Two birds with one stone.)

That this was to be our fate was no longer probable, but certain; and we slept upon the knowledge of it the best way we could.

In the morning we observed dressing and painting among the Indians. After that began dancing, the dance of the mamanchic.

This ceremony took place upon the prairie, at some distance out in front of the temple.

As it was about commencing, we were taken from our spread positions and dragged up near it, in order that we might witness the "glory of the nation."

We were still tied, however, but allowed to sit upright. This was some relief, and we enjoyed the change of posture much more than the spectacle.

I could not describe the dance even if I had watched it, which I did not. As Sanchez had said, it was carried on only by the women of the tribe. Processions of young girls, gaily and fantastically attired, and carrying garlands of flowers, circled and leaped through a variety of figures. There was a raised platform, upon which a warrior and maiden represented Montezuma and his queen, and around these the girls danced and chanted. The ceremony ended by the dancers kneeling in front, in a grand semicircle. I saw that the occupants of the throne were Dacoma and Adele. I fancied that the girl looked sad.

"Poor Seguin!" thought I: "there is none to protect her now. Even the false father, the medicine chief, might have been her friend. He, too, is out of the way, and—"

But I did not occupy much time with thoughts of her; there was a far more painful apprehension than that. My mind, as well as my eyes, had dwelt upon the temple during the ceremony. We could see it from the spot where we had been thrown down; but it was too distant for me to distinguish the faces of the white females that were clustered along its terraces. She no doubt was among them, but I was unable to make her out. Perhaps it was better I was not near enough. I thought so at the time.

I saw Indian men among the captives; and I had observed Dacoma, previous to the commencement of the dance, proudly standing before them in all the paraphernalia of his regal robes.

Rube had given me the character of this chief: brave, but brutal. My heart was oppressed with a painful heaviness as we were hurried back to our former places.

Most of the next night was spent by the Indians in feasting. Not so with us. We were rarely and scantily fed; and we suffered, too, from thirst, our savage guards scarcely deigning to supply us with water, though a river Was running at our feet.

Another morning, and the feasting recommenced. More sheep and cattle were slaughtered, and the fires steamed anew with the red joints that were suspended over them.

At an early hour the warriors arrayed themselves, though not in war attire, and the tournament commenced. We were again dragged forward to witness their savage sports, but placed still farther out on the prairie.

I could distinguish, upon the terrace of the temple, the whitish dresses of the captives. The temple was their place of abode.

Sanchez had told me this. He had heard it from the Indians as they conversed one with another. The girls were to remain there until the fifth day, that after our sacrifice. Then the chief would choose one of the number for his own household, and the warriors would "gamble" for the rest! Oh, these were fearful hours!

Sometimes I wished that I could see her again once before I died. And then reflection whispered me, it was better not. The knowledge of my fate would only add fresh bitterness to hers. Oh, these were fearful hours!

I looked at the savage tournament. There were feats of arms and feats of equitation. Men rode at a gallop, with one foot only to be seen over the horse, and in this attitude threw the javelin or shot the unerring shaft. Others vaulted from horse to horse, as they swept over the prairie at racing speed. Some leaped to their saddles, while their horses were running at a gallop, and some exhibited feats with the lasso. Then there was a mock encounter, in which the warriors unhorsed each other, as knights of the olden time.

It was, in fact, a magnificent spectacle—a grand hippodrome of the desert; but I had no eyes for it.

It had more attraction for Sanchez. I saw that he was observing every new feat with interested attention. All at once he became restless. There was a strange expression on his face; some thought, some sudden resolve, had taken possession of him.

"Say to your braves," said he, speaking to one of our guards in the Navajo tongue; "say that I can beat the best of them at that. I could teach them to ride a horse."

The savage reported what his prisoner had said, and shortly after several mounted warriors rode up, and replied to the taunt.

"You! a poor white slave, ride with the warriors of Navajo! Ha! ha! ha!"

"Can you ride upon your head?" inquired the torero.

"On our heads? How?"

"Standing upon your head while your horse is in a gallop."

"No; nor you, nor anyone. We are the best riders on the plains; we cannot do that."

"I can," affirmed the bull-fighter, with emphasis.

"He is boasting! he is a fool," shouted several.

"Let us see!" cried one. "Give him a horse; there is no danger."

"Give me my own horse, and I will show you."

"Which is your horse?"

"None of them now, I suppose; but bring me that spotted mustang, and clear me a hundred lengths of him on the prairie, and I shall teach you a trick."

As I looked to ascertain what horse Sanchez meant, I saw the mustang which he had ridden from the Del Norte. I noticed my own favourite, too, browsing with the rest.

After a short consultation among themselves, the torero's request was acceded to. The horse he had pointed out was lassoed out of the caballada and brought up, and our comrade's thongs were taken off. The Indians had no fear of his escaping. They knew that they could soon overtake such a steed as the spotted mustang; moreover, there was a picket constantly kept at each entrance of the valley. Even could he beat them across the plains, it would be impossible for him to get out to the open country. The valley itself was a prison.

Sanchez was not long in making his preparations. He strapped a buffalo-skin tightly on the back of his horse, and then led him round for some time in a circle, keeping him in the same track.

After practising thus for a while, he dropped the bridle and uttered a peculiar cry, on hearing which the animal fell into a slow gallop around the circle. When the horse had accomplished two or three rounds, the torero leaped upon his back, and performed the well-known feat of riding on his head.

Although a common one among professional equestrians, it was new to the Navajoes, who looked on with shouts of wonder and admiration. They caused the torero to repeat it again and again, until the spotted mustang had become all of one colour.

Sanchez, however, did not leave off until he had given his spectators the full programme of the "ring," and had fairly "astonished the natives."

When the tournament was ended, and we were hauled back to the river-side, the torero was not with us. Fortunate Sanchez! He had won his life! Henceforth he was to be riding-master to the Navajo nation!



CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

RUNNING AMUCK.

Another day came: our day for action. We saw our enemies making their preparations; we saw them go off to the woods, and return bringing clubs freshly cut from the trees; we saw them dress as for ball-play or running.

At an early hour we were taken forward to the front of the temple. On arriving there, I cast my eyes upward to the terrace. My betrothed was above me; I was recognised.

There was mud upon my scanty garments, and spots of blood; there was dust on my hair; there were scars upon my arms; my face and throat were stained with powder, blotches of black, burnt powder: in spite of all, I was recognised. The eyes of love saw through all!

I find no scene in all my experience so difficult to describe as this. Why? There was none so terrible; none in which so many wild emotions were crowded into a moment. A love like ours, tantalised by proximity, almost within reach of each other's embrace, yet separated by relentless fate, and that for ever; the knowledge of each other's situation; the certainty of my death: these and a hundred kindred thoughts rushed into our hearts together. They could not be detailed; they cannot be described; words will not express them. You may summon fancy to your aid.

I heard her screams, her wild words and wilder weeping. I saw her snowy cheek and streaming hair, as, frantic, she rushed forward on the parapet as if to spring out. I witnessed her struggles as she was drawn back by her fellow-captives, and then, all at once, she was quiet in their arms. She had fainted, and was borne out of my sight.

I was tied by the wrists and ankles. During the scene I had twice risen to my feet, forced up by my emotions, but only to fall down again.

I made no further effort, but lay upon the ground in the agony of impotence.

It was but a short moment; but, oh! the feelings that passed over my soul in that moment! It was the compressed misery of a life-time.

————————————————————————————————————

For a period of perhaps half an hour I regarded not what was going on around me. My mind was not abstracted, but paralysed: absolutely dead. I had no thoughts about anything.

I awoke at length from this stupor. I saw that the savages had completed their preparations for the cruel sport.

Two rows of men extended across the plain to a distance of several hundred yards. They were armed with clubs, and stood facing each other with an interval of three or four paces between their ranks. Down the interval we were to run, receiving blows from everyone who could give them as we passed. Should any of us succeed in running through the whole line, and reach the mountain foot before we could be overtaken, the promise was that our lives should be spared!

"Is this true, Sanchez?" I whispered to the torero, who was standing near me.

"No," was the reply, given also in a whisper. "It is only a trick to make you run the better and show them the more sport. You are to die all the same. I heard them say so."

Indeed, it would have been slight grace had they given us our lives on such conditions; for it would have been impossible for the strongest and swiftest man to have passed through between their lines.

"Sanchez!" I said again, addressing the torero, "Seguin was your friend. You will do all you can for her?"

Sanchez well knew whom I meant.

"I will! I will!" he replied, seeming deeply affected.

"Brave Sanchez! tell her how I felt for her. No, no, you need not tell her that."

I scarce knew what I was saying.

"Sanchez!" I again whispered—a thought that had been in my mind now returning—"could you not—a knife, a weapon—anything—could you not drop one when I am set loose?"

"It would be of no use. You could not escape if you had fifty."

"It may be that I could not. I would try. At the worst, I can but die; and better die with a weapon in my hands!"

"It would be better," muttered the torero in reply. "I will try to help you to a weapon, but my life may be—"

He paused. "If you look behind you," he continued, in a significant manner, while he appeared to examine the tops of the distant mountains, "you may see a tomahawk. I think it is held carelessly. It might be snatched."

I understood his meaning, and stole a glance around. Dacoma was at a few paces' distance, superintending the start. I saw the weapon in his belt. It was loosely stuck. It might be snatched!

I possess extreme tenacity of life, with energy to preserve it. I have not illustrated this energy in the adventures through which we have passed; for, up to a late period, I was merely a passive spectator of the scenes enacted, and in general disgusted with their enactment. But at other times I have proved the existence of those traits in my character. In the field of battle, to my knowledge, I have saved my life three times by the quick perception of danger and the promptness to ward it off. Either less or more brave, I should have lost it. This may seem an enigma; it appears a puzzle; it is an experience.

In my earlier life I was addicted to what are termed "manly sports." In running and leaping I never met my superior; and my feats in such exercises are still recorded in the memories of my college companions.

Do not wrong me, and think that I am boasting of these peculiarities. The first is but an accident in my mental character; and others are only rude accomplishments, which now, in my more matured life, I see but little reason to be proud of. I mention them only to illustrate what follows.

Ever since the hour of my capture I had busied my mind with plans of escape. Not the slightest opportunity had as yet offered. All along the journey we had been guarded with the most zealous vigilance.

During this last night a new plan had occupied me. It had been suggested by seeing Sanchez upon his horse.

I had matured it all, except getting possession of a weapon; and I had hopes of escape, although I had neither time nor opportunity to detail them to the torero. It would have served no purpose to have told him them.

I knew that I might escape, even without the weapon; but I needed it, in case there might be in the tribe a faster runner than myself. I might be killed in the attempt; that was likely enough; but I knew that death could not come in a worse shape than that in which I was to meet it on the morrow. Weapon or no weapon, I was resolved to escape, or die in attempting it.

I saw them untying O'Cork. He was to run first.

There was a circle of savages around the starting-point; old men and idlers of the village, who stood there only to witness the sport.

There was no apprehension of our escaping; that was never thought of: an inclosed valley, with guards at each entrance; plenty of horses standing close by, that could be mounted in a few minutes. It would be impossible for any of us to get away from the ground. At least, so thought they.

O'Cork started.

Poor Barney! His race was not a long one. He had not run ten paces down the living avenue when he was knocked over, and carried back, bleeding and senseless, amidst the yells of the delighted crowd.

Another of the men shared a similar fate, and another; and then they unbound me.

I rose to my feet, and, during the short interval allowed me, stretched my limbs, imbuing my soul and body with all the energy that my desperate circumstances enabled me to concentrate within them.

The signal was again given for the Indians to be ready, and they were soon in their places, brandishing their long clubs, and impatiently waiting for me to make the start.

Dacoma was behind me. With a side glance I had marked well where he stood; and backing towards him, under pretence of getting a fairer "break," I came close up to the savage. Then suddenly wheeling, with the spring of a cat and the dexterity of a thief, I caught the tomahawk and jerked it from his belt.

I aimed a blow, but in my hurry missed him. I had no time for another. I turned and ran. He was so taken by surprise that I was out of his reach before he could make a motion to follow me.

I ran, not for the open avenue, but to one side of the circle of spectators, where were the old men and idlers.

These had drawn their hand weapons, and were closing towards me in a thick rank. Instead of endeavouring to break through them, which I doubted my ability to accomplish, I threw all my energy into the spring, and leaped clear over their shoulders. Two or three stragglers struck at me as I passed them, but missed their aim; and the next moment I was out upon the open plain, with the whole village yelling at my heels.

I well knew for what I was running. Had it not been for that, I should never have made the start. I was running for the caballada.

I was running, too, for my life, and I required no encouragement to induce me to make the best of it.

I soon distanced those who had been nearest me at starting; but the swiftest of the Indians were the young men who had formed the lines, and I saw that these were now forging ahead of the others.

Still they were not gaining upon me. My school training stood me in service now.

After a mile's chase, I saw that I was within less than half that distance of the caballada, and at least three hundred yards ahead of my pursuers; but to my horror, as I glanced back, I saw mounted men! They were still far behind, but I knew they would soon come up. Was it possible he could hear me?

I knew that in these elevated regions sounds are heard twice the ordinary distance; and I shouted, at the top of my voice, "Moro! Moro!"

I did not halt, but ran on, calling as I went.

I saw a sudden commotion among the horses. Their heads were tossed up, and then one dashed out from the drove and came galloping towards me. I knew the broad black chest and red muzzle. I knew them at a glance. It was my brave steed, my Moro!

The rest followed, trooping after; but before they were up to trample me, I had met my horse, and flung myself, panting, upon his back!

I had no rein; but my favourite was used to the guidance of my voice, hands, and knees; and directing him through the herd, I headed for the western end of the valley. I heard the yells of the mounted savages as I cleared the caballada; and looking back, I saw a string of twenty or more coming after me as fast as their horses could gallop.

But I had no fear of them now. I knew my Moro too well; and after I had cleared the ten miles of valley, and was springing up the steep front of the sierra, I saw my pursuers still back upon the plain.



CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

A CONFLICT UPON A CLIFF.

My horse, idle for days, had recovered his full action, and bore me up the rocky path with proud, springy step. My nerves drew vigour from his, and the strength of my body was fast returning. It was well. I would soon be called upon to use it. The picket was still to be passed.

While escaping from the town, in the excitement of the more proximate peril I had not thought of this ulterior one. I now remembered it. It flashed upon me of a sudden, and I commenced gathering my resolution to meet it.

I knew there was a picket upon the mountain! Sanchez had said so; he had heard them say so. What number of men composed it? Sanchez had said two, but he was not certain of this. Two would be enough, more than enough for me, still weak, and armed as I was with a weapon in the use of which I had little skill.

How would they be armed? Doubtless with bows, lances, tomahawks, and knives. The odds were all against me.

At what point should I find them? They were videttes. Their chief duty was to watch the plains without. They would be at some station, then, commanding a view of these.

I remembered the road well—the same by which we had first entered the valley. There was a platform near the western brow of the sierra. I recollected it, for we had halted upon it while our guide went forward to reconnoitre. A cliff overhung this platform. I remembered that too; for during the absence of the guide, Seguin and I had dismounted and climbed it. It commanded a view of the whole outside country to the south and west. No doubt, then, on that very cliff would the videttes be stationed.

Would they be on its top? If so, it might be best to make a dash, and pass them before they could descend to the road, running the risk of their missiles, their arrows and lances. Make a dash! No; that would be impossible. I remembered that the path at both ends of the platform narrowed to a width of only a few feet, with the cliff rising above it and the canon yawning below. It was, in fact, only a ledge of the precipice, along which it was dangerous to pass even at a walk. Moreover, I had re-shod my horse at the mission. The iron was worn smooth; and I knew that the rock was as slippery as glass.

All these thoughts passed through my mind as I neared the summit of the sierra. The prospect was appalling. The peril before me was extreme, and under other circumstances I would have hesitated to encounter it. But I knew that that which threatened from behind was not less desperate. There was no alternative; and with only half-formed resolutions as to how I should act, I pushed forward.

I rode with caution, directing my horse as well as I could upon the softer parts of the trail, so that his hoof-strokes might not be heard. At every turn I halted, and scanned the profile of each new prospect; but I did not halt longer than I could help. I knew that I had no time to waste.

The road ascended through a thin wood of cedars and dwarf pinons. It would zigzag up the face of the mountain. Near the crest of the sierra it turned sharply to the right, and trended in to the brow of the canon. There the ledge already mentioned became the path, and the road followed its narrow terrace along the very face of the precipice.

On reaching this point I caught view of the cliff where I expected to see the vidette. I had guessed correctly—he was there, and, to my agreeable surprise, there was only one: a single savage.

He was seated upon the very topmost rock of the sierra, and his large brown body was distinctly visible, outlined against the pale blue sky. He was not more than three hundred yards from me, and about a third of that distance above the level of the ledge along which I had to pass.

I halted the moment I caught sight of him, and sat making a hurried reconnaissance. As yet he had neither seen nor heard me. His back was to me, and he appeared to be gazing intently towards the west. Beside the rock on which he was, his spear was sticking in the ground, and his shield, bow, and quiver were leaning against it. I could see upon his person the sparkle of a knife and tomahawk.

I have said my reconnaissance was a hurried one. I was conscious of the value of every moment, and almost at a glance I formed my resolution. That was, to "run the gauntlet," and attempt passing before the Indian could descend to intercept me. Obedient to this impulse, I gave my animal the signal to move forward.

I rode slowly and cautiously, for two reasons: because my horse dared not go otherwise; and I thought that, by riding quietly, I might get beyond the vidette without attracting his notice. The torrent was hissing below. Its roar ascended to the cliff; it might drown the sound of the hoof-strokes.

With this hope I stole onward. My eye passed rapidly from one to the other; from the savage on the cliff to the perilous path along which my horse crawled, shivering with affright.

When I had advanced about six lengths upon the ledge, the platform came in view, and with it a group of objects that caused me to reach suddenly forward and grasp the forelock of my Moro—a sign by which, in the absence of a bit, I could always halt him. He came at once to a stand, and I surveyed the objects before me with a feeling of despair.

They were two horses, mustangs; and a man, an Indian. The mustangs, bridled and saddled, were standing quietly out upon the platform; and a lasso, tied to the bit-ring of one of them, was coiled around the wrist of the Indian. The latter was sitting upon his hams, close up to the cliff, so that his back touched the rock. His arms lay horizontally across his knees, and upon these his head rested. I saw that he was asleep. Beside him were his bow and quiver, his lance and shield, all leaning against the cliff.

My situation was a terrible one. I knew that I could not pass him without being heard, and I knew that pass him I must. In fact, I could not have gone back had I wished it; for I had already entered upon the ledge, and was riding along a narrow shelf where my horse could not possibly have turned himself.

All at once, the idea entered my mind that I might slip to the ground, steal forward, and with my tomahawk—

It was a cruel thought, but it was the impulse of instinct, the instinct of self-preservation.

It was not decreed that I should adopt so fearful an alternative. Moro, impatient at being delayed in the perilous position, snorted and struck the rock with his hoof. The clink of the iron was enough for the sharp ears of the Spanish horses. They neighed on the instant. The savages sprang to their feet, and their simultaneous yell told me that both had discovered me.

I saw the vidette upon the cliff pluck up his spear, and commence hurrying downward; but my attention was soon exclusively occupied with his comrade.

The latter, on seeing me, had leaped to his feet, seized his bow, and vaulted, as if mechanically, upon the back of his mustang. Then, uttering a wild shout, he trotted over the platform, and advanced along the ledge to meet me.

An arrow whizzed past my head as he came up; but in his hurry he had aimed badly.

Our horses' heads met. They stood muzzle to muzzle with eyes dilated, their red nostrils steaming into each other. Both snorted fiercely, as if each was imbued with the wrath of his rider. They seemed to know that a death-strife was between us.

They seemed conscious, too, of their own danger. They had met at the very narrowest part of the ledge. Neither could have turned or backed off again. One or other must go over the cliff—must fall through a depth of a thousand feet into the stony channel of the torrent!

I sat with a feeling of utter helplessness. I had no weapon with which I could reach my antagonist; no missile. He had his bow, and I saw him adjusting a second arrow to the string.

At this crisis three thoughts passed through my mind; not as I detail them here, but following each other like quick flashes of lightning. My first impulse was to urge my horse forward, trusting to his superior weight to precipitate the lighter animal from the ledge. Had I been worth a bridle and spurs, I should have adopted this plan; but I had neither, and the chances were too desperate without them. I abandoned it for another. I would hurl my tomahawk at the head of my antagonist. No! The third thought! I will dismount, and use my weapon upon the mustang.

This last was clearly the best; and, obedient to its impulse, I slipped down between Moro and the cliff. As I did so, I heard the "hist" of another arrow passing my cheek. It had missed me from the suddenness of my movements.

In an instant I squeezed past the flanks of my horse, and glided forward upon the ledge, directly in front of my adversary.

The animal, seeming to guess my intentions, snorted with affright and reared up, but was compelled to drop again into the same tracks.

The Indian was fixing another shaft. Its notch never reached the string. As the hoofs of the mustang came down upon the rock, I aimed my blow. I struck the animal over the eye. I felt the skull yielding before my hatchet, and the next moment horse and rider, the latter screaming and struggling to clear himself of the saddle, disappeared over the cliff.

There was a moment's silence, a long moment, in which I knew they were falling—falling—down that fearful depth. Then came a loud splash, the concussion of their united bodies on the water below!

I had no curiosity to look over, and as little time. When I regained my upright attitude (for I had come to my knees in giving the blow), I saw the vidette just leaping upon the platform. He did not halt a moment, but advanced at a run, holding his spear at the charge.

I saw that I should be impaled unless I could parry the thrust. I struck wildly, but with success. The lance-blade glinted from the head of my weapon. Its shaft passed me; and our bodies met with a shock that caused us both to reel upon the very edge of the cliff.

As soon as I had recovered my balance, I followed up my blows, keeping close to my antagonist, so that he could not again use his lance. Seeing this, he dropped the weapon and drew his tomahawk. We now fought hand to hand, hatchet to hatchet!

Backward and forward along the ledge we drove each other, as the advantage of the blows told in favour of either, or against him.

Several times we grappled, and would have pushed each other over; but the fear that each felt of being dragged after mutually restrained us, and we let go, and trusted again to our tomahawks.

Not a word passed between us. We had nothing to say, even could we have understood each other. But we had no boast to make, no taunt to urge, nothing before our minds but the fixed dark purpose of murdering one another!

After the first onset the Indian had ceased yelling, and we both fought in the intense earnestness of silence.

There were sounds, though: an occasional sharp exclamation, our quick, high breathing, the clinking of our tomahawks, the neighing of our horses, and the continuous roar of the torrent. These were the symphonies of our conflict.

For some minutes we battled upon the ledge. We were both cut and bruised in several places, but neither of us had as yet received or inflicted a mortal wound.

At length, after a continuous shower of blows, I succeeded in beating my adversary back, until we found ourselves out upon the platform. There we had ample room to wind our weapons, and we struck with more energy than ever. After a few strokes, our tomahawks met, with a violent concussion, that sent them flying from our hands.

Neither dared stoop to regain his weapon; and we rushed upon each other with naked arms, clutched, wrestled a moment, and then fell together to the earth. I thought my antagonist had a knife. I must have been mistaken, otherwise he would have used it; but without it, I soon found that in this species of encounter he was my master. His muscular arms encircled me until my ribs cracked under the embrace. We rolled along the ground, over and over each other. Oh, God! we were nearing the edge of the precipice.

I could not free myself from his grasp. His sinewy fingers were across my throat. They clasped me tightly around the trachea, stopping my breath. He was strangling me.

I grew weak and nerveless. I could resist no longer. I felt my hold relax. I grew weaker and weaker. I was dying. I was—I—Oh, Heaven! pard—on. Oh—!

————————————————————————————————————

I could not have been long insensible; for when consciousness returned I was still warm, sweating from the effects of the struggle, and my wounds were bleeding freshly and freely. I felt that I yet lived. I saw that I was still upon the platform; but where was my antagonist? Why had not he finished me? Why had not he flung me over the cliff?

I rose upon my elbow and looked around. I could see no living things but my own horse and that of the Indian galloping over the platform, kicking and plunging at each other.

But I heard sounds, sounds of fearful import, like the hoarse, angry worrying of dogs, mingling with the cries of a human voice—a voice uttered in agony!

What could it mean? I saw that there was a break in the platform, a deep cut in the rock; and out of this the sounds appeared to issue.

I rose to my feet, and, tottering towards the spot, looked in. It was an awful sight to look upon. The gully was some ten feet in depth; and at its bottom, among the weeds and cacti, a huge dog was engaged in tearing something that screamed and struggled. It was a man, an Indian. All was explained at a glance. The dog was Alp; the man was my late antagonist!

As I came upon the edge, the dog was on the top of his adversary, and kept himself uppermost by desperate bounds from side to side, still dashing the other back as he attempted to rise to his feet. The savage was crying in despair. I thought I saw the teeth of the animal fast in his throat, but I watched the struggle no longer. Voices from behind caused me to turn round. My pursuers had reached the canon, and were urging their animals along the ledge.

I staggered to my horse, and, springing upon his back, once more directed him to the terrace—that part which led outward. In a few minutes I had cleared the cliff and was hurrying down the mountain. As I approached its foot I heard a rustling in the bushes that on both sides lined the path. Then an object sprang out a short distance behind me. It was the Saint Bernard.

As he came alongside he uttered a low whimper and once or twice wagged his tail. I knew not how he could have escaped, for he must have waited until the Indians reached the platform; but the fresh blood that stained his jaws, and clotted the shaggy hair upon his breast, showed that he had left one with but little power to detain him.

On reaching the plain I looked back. I saw my pursuers coming down the face of the sierra; but I had still nearly half a mile of start, and, taking the snowy mountain for my guide, I struck out into the open prairie.



CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE.

As I rode off from the mountain foot, the white peak glistened at a distance of thirty miles. There was not a hillock between: not a brake or bush, excepting the low shrubs of the artemisia.

It was not yet noon. Could I reach the snowy mountain before sunset? If so, I trusted in being able to follow our old trail to the mine. Thence, I might keep on to the Del Norte, by striking a branch of the Paloma or some other lateral stream. Such were my plans, undefined as I rode forth.

I knew that I should be pursued almost to the gates of El Paso; and, when I had ridden forward about a mile, a glance to the rear showed me that the Indians had just reached the plain, and were striking out after me.

It was no longer a question of speed. I knew that I had the heels of their whole cavalcade. Did my horse possess the "bottom"?

I knew the tireless, wiry nature of the Spanish mustang; and their animals were of that race. I knew they could gallop for a long day without breaking down, and this led me to fear for the result.

Speed was nothing now, and I made no attempt to keep it up. I was determined to economise the strength of my steed. I could not be overtaken so long as he lasted; and I galloped slowly forward, watching the movements of my pursuers, and keeping a regular distance ahead of them.

At times I dismounted to relieve my horse, and ran alongside of him. My dog followed, occasionally looking up in my face, and seemingly conscious why I was making such a hurried journey.

During all the day I was never out of sight of the Indians; in fact, I could have distinguished their arms and counted their numbers at any time. There were in all about a score of horsemen. The stragglers had gone back, and only the well-mounted men now continued the pursuit.

As I neared the foot of the snowy peak, I remembered there was water at our old camping-ground in the pass; and I pushed my horse faster, in order to gain time to refresh both him and myself. I intended to make a short halt, and allow the noble brute to breathe himself and snatch a bite of the bunch-grass that grew around the spring. There was nothing to fear so long as his strength held out, and I knew that this was the plan to sustain it.

It was near sundown as I entered the defile. Before riding in among the rocks I looked back. During the last hour I had gained upon my pursuers. They were still at least three miles out upon the plain, and I saw that they were toiling on wearily.

I fell into a train of reflection as I rode down the ravine. I was now upon a known trail. My spirits rose; my hopes, so long clouded over, began to assume a brightness and buoyancy, greater from the very influence of reaction. I should still be able to rescue my betrothed. My whole energies, my fortune, my life, would be devoted to this one object. I would raise a band stronger than ever Seguin had commanded. I should get followers among the returning employes of the caravan; teamsters whose term of service had expired. I would search the posts and mountain rendezvous for trappers and hunters. I would apply to the Mexican Government for aid, in money—in troops. I would appeal to the citizens of El Paso, of Chihuahua, of Durango.

"Ge-hosaphat! Hyur's a fellur ridin' 'ithout eyther saddle or bridle!"

Five or six men with rifles sprang out from the rocks, surrounding me.

"May an Injun eat me ef 'tain't the young fellur as tuk me for a grizzly! Billee! look hyur! hyur he is! the very fellur! He! he! he! He! he! he!"

"Rube! Garey!"

"What! By Jove, it's my friend Haller! Hurrah! Old fellow, don't you know me?"

"Saint Vrain!"

"That it is. Don't I look like him? It would have been a harder task to identify you but for what the old trapper has been telling us about you. But come! how have you got out of the hands of the Philistines?"

"First tell me who you all are. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, we're a picket! The army is below."

"The army?"

"Why, we call it so. There's six hundred of us; and that's about as big an army as usually travels in these parts."

"But who? What are they?"

"They are of all sorts and colours. There's the Chihuahuanos and Passenos, and niggurs, and hunters, and trappers, and teamsters. Your humble servant commands these last-named gentry. And then there's the band of your friend Seguin—"

"Seguin! Is he—"

"What? He's at the head of all. But come! they're camped down by the spring. Let us go down. You don't look overfed; and, old fellow, there's a drop of the best Paso in my saddle-bags. Come!"

"Stop a moment! I am pursued."

"Pursued!" echoed the hunters, simultaneously raising their rifles, and looking up the ravine.

"How many?"

"About twenty."

"Are they close upon you?"

"No."

"How long before we may expect them?"

"They are three miles back, with tired horses, as you may suppose."

"Three-quarters—halt an hour at any rate. Come! we'll have time to go down and make arrangements for their reception. Rube! you with the rest can remain here. We shall join you before they get forward. Come, Haller!—come!"

Following my faithful and warm-hearted friend, I rode on to the spring. Around it I found "the army"; and it had somewhat of that appearance, for two or three hundred of the men were in uniform. These were the volunteer guards of Chihuahua and El Paso.

The late raid of the Indians had exasperated the inhabitants, and this unusually strong muster was the consequence. Seguin, with the remnant of his band, had met them at El Paso, and hurried them forward on the Navajo trail. It was from him Saint Vrain had heard of my capture; and in hopes of rescuing me had joined the expedition with about forty or fifty employes of the caravan.

Most of Seguin's band had escaped after the fight in the barranca, and among the rest, I was rejoiced to hear, El Sol and La Luna. They were now on their return with Seguin, and I found them at his tent.

Seguin welcomed me as the bearer of joyful news. They were still safe. That was all I could tell him, and all he asked for during our hurried congratulation.

We had no time for idle talk. A hundred men immediately mounted and rode up the ravine. On reaching the ground occupied by the picket, they led their horses behind the rocks, and formed an ambuscade. The order was, that all the Indians must be killed or taken.

The plan hastily agreed upon was, to let them pass the ambushed men, and ride on until they had got in sight of the main body; then both divisions were to close upon them.

It was a dry ravine above the spring, and the horses had made no tracks upon its rocky bed. Moreover, the Indians, ardent in their pursuit of me, would not be on the outlook for any sign before reaching the water. Should they pass the ambuscade, then not a man of them would escape, as the defile on both sides was walled in by a precipice.

After the others had gone, about a hundred men at the spring leaped into their saddles, and sat with their eyes bent up the pass.

They were not long kept waiting. A few minutes after the ambuscade had been placed, an Indian showed himself round an angle of the rock, about two hundred yards above the spring. He was the foremost of the warriors, and must have passed the ambushed horsemen; but as yet the latter lay still. Seeing a body of men, the savage halted with a quick jerk; and then, uttering a cry, wheeled and rode back upon his comrades. These, imitating his example, wheeled also; but before they had fairly turned themselves in the ravine, the "cached" horsemen sprang out in a body from the rocks and came galloping down.

The Indians, now seeing that they were completely in the trap, with overpowering numbers on both sides of them, threw down their spears and begged for mercy.

In a few minutes they were all captured. The whole affair did not occupy half an hour; and, with our prisoners securely tied, we returned to the spring.

The leading men now gathered around Seguin to settle on some plan for attacking the town. Should we move on to it that night?

I was asked for my advice, and of course answered, "Yes! the sooner the better, for the safety of the captives."

My feelings, as well as those of Seguin, could not brook delay. Besides, several of our late comrades were to die on the morrow. We might still be in time to save them.

How were we to approach the valley?

This was the next point to be discussed.

The enemy would now be certain to have their videttes at both ends, and it promised to be clear moonlight until morning. They could easily see such a large body approaching from the open plain. Here then was a difficulty.

"Let us divide," said one of Seguin's old band; "let a party go in at each end. That'll git 'em in the trap."

"Wagh!" replied another, "that would never do. Thar's ten miles o' rough wood thar. If we raised the niggurs by such a show as this, they'd take to them, gals and all, an' that's the last we'd see o' them."

This speaker was clearly in the right. It would never do to make our attack openly. Stratagem must again be used.

A head was now called into the council that soon mastered the difficulty, as it had many another. That was the skinless, earless head of the trapper Rube.

"Cap," said he, after a short delay, "'ee needn't show yur crowd till we've first took the luk-outs by the eend o' the kenyun."

"How can we take them?" inquired Seguin.

"Strip them twenty niggurs," replied Rube, pointing to our captives, "an' let twenty o' us put on their duds. Then we kin take the young fellur—him hyur as tuk me for the grizzly! He! he! he! Ole Rube tuk for a grizzly! We kin take him back a pris'ner. Now, cap, do 'ee see how?"

"You would have these twenty to keep far in the advance then, capture the videttes, and wait till the main body comes up?"

"Sartinly; thet's my idee adzactly."

"It is the best, the only one. We shall follow it." And Seguin immediately ordered the Indians to be stripped of their dresses. These consisted mostly of garments that had been plundered from the people of the Mexican towns, and were of all cuts and colours.

"I'd recommend 'ee, cap," suggested Rube, seeing that Seguin was looking out to choose the men for his advance party, "I'd recommend 'ee to take a smart sprinklin' of the Delawars. Them Navaghs is mighty 'cute and not easily bamfoozled. They mout sight white skin by moonlight. Them o' us that must go along 'll have to paint Injun, or we'll be fooled arter all; we will."