Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 218 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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14 have passed just before us. Had the dragoon es- cort gone that way? More likely a party of mounted travelers belonging to the train? And yet this did not strike us as being likely. We were soon convinced that such was not the case, On riding forward, we came upon a mud deposit, at the mouth of one of the transverse ravines, over which led the trail. The mud exhibited the tracks distinctly and ina more significant light—they were hoof-tracks. We saw that more than a hundred horses had passed up the defile, and not one shod animal among them. This fact was very significant. They could not have been troop-horses? Nor yet those of white men? If ridden, they must have been ridden by Indians? It did not follow that they were ridden, We were traveling through a region frequented by the mustang. Droves had been seen upon our route, at great distances off; for these are the shyest and wildest of all animals. A cudallada may have sa ay through the gorge, on their way to the upper valley? There was nothing improbable in this. Although the plains are the favorite habitat of the horse, the mustang of Spanish America is half a mountain animal, and often netrates the most difficult a ag climbing the declivities with hoof as sure as t of a chamois. Had these horses been ridden? That was the point to be determined, and how? The sign was not very intelligible, but sufficient! so for our purpose. The little belt of mud-deposit was only disturbed by a single line of tracks, cross- ing it directly from side to side. The animals had it in single file. Wild horses would have crowded over it, some of them at least kicking out to one side or the other? ThisI myself knew. The reasonin appeared conelusive. We had no longer a doub that a large party of Indians had gone up the gorge before us, and not very long before us. It now became a question of advance or retreat. To halt within the defile, even had a halting-place offered, would have been perilous above all things. There was no spot where we could either conceal ourselves or our animals. The mounted Indians ht be returning down again; and finding us in such a snug trap, would have us at their mercy. We did not think, therefore, of staying where we were. Togo back was too discouraging. We were already half through the canyon, and had ridden over a most difficult oe often fording the stream at great risk, and climbing over bowlders of rock that imperiled the necks, both of ourselves and our animals. We determined to keep on. We were in hopes that the Indians had by this time passed clear through the gorge, and ridden out into the valley above. In that case there would be no great risk in our Appa gpa to the “pger end. Our expectations did not deceive us e reached the mouth of the chasm, without having seen other signs of those who had preceded us than the tracks of their horses. We had heard sounds, however, that had given us some apprehension—the reports of guns—not as during the early of the day, in single shots, but in half-dozens at a time, and once or twice in large volleys, as if of a scattering fusd/ade. The sounds came from the direction of the u per valley, and were but faintly heard, so faintly that we were in doubt as to whether they were the reports of fire- arms. The grumbling and rushing of the river hin- dered us from hearing them more distinctly. But for the presence of Indians in the valley, about which we were quite certain, we should, perhaps, not have noticed the sounds, or else have taken for something else. Perhaps we might have conjec- tured, that a gang of buffaloes had passed near the train, leading to a brisk ooapazing o rifles. But the pease of Indians rendered hypothesis less robable. * We still continied to observe caution. Before emerging from the defile, we halted near its entrance, ve and myself stealing forward to reconnoiter. An elevated post, whicb we obtained upon a shelf of the rock, gave us a commanding prospect of the r valley. The sight restored our confidence; caravan was in view / | CHAPTER XXXIII. THE ORPHAN BUTTE. Tue landscape over which we were looking was one that has long been celebrated, in the legends of trapper and cidolero, and certainly no lovelier is to be met with in the midland regions of America. pas new to my eyes, I reco it from the descriptions I had read and heard of it. There was an idiosyncrasy in its features—especially in that lone mound rising conspicuously in its midst, which at once proclaimed it the valley of the Huerfano. Therestood the ‘‘ Orphan Butte.’’ There was nom its identity. This valley is ir mney a level plain, flanked on each side by a continuous line of bluffs or ** benches," themselves forming the abutments of a still higher , which constitutes the general level of the country. The width between the bluffs is five or six miles; but at the distance of some ten miles from our point of view, the cliffs converge, apparently closing in the valley in that direction. T how- ever, is only apparent. Above the butte is another deep canyon, through which the river has cleft its way. The intervening space is a picture fair to behold. The surface, level as a billiard table, is covered with onme grass, of a bright, almost emerald verdure. he uniformity of this color is relieved by cotton- wood copses, whose foliage is but one shade darker. Commingling with these, and again slightly darken- ing the hue of the frondage, are other trees, with a variety of shrubs or c ng plants, as clematis, riety of shrub limbi lants, lemati wild roses, and willows. Here and there a noble Popes stands apart, as if disdaining to associate with the more lowly growth of the groves. The butte itself, rising in the center of the plain, and irl nearly two hundred feet above the _ general level, has all the semblance of an artificial work—not of human hands, but a cairn constructed - by giants. Just such does it appear—a vast pyramidal cone, composed of huge hye mg blocks of granite, black almost asa coal—the dark color being occasioned by an iron admixture in the rock. For two-thirds of forty feet in superficial extent, and seamed a ee Se 7 The Wild Huntress. es i ae r its slope, a thick growth of cedar covers the mound | _ This truth flashed on me asI beheld a fearful ob- with a skirting of darkest rte Above this appear the dark naked prisms—piled one upon the other, in a sort of irregular crystallization, and ending in a summit slightly truncated. Detached bowlders lie around its base, huge pieces that having yielded to the disintegrating influences of rain and wind, had lost their balance, and rolled down the declivity of its sides. No cther similar elevation is near—the distant bluffs. alone equaling it in hight. But there the resemblance ends; for the latter are a formation of stratified sandstone, while the rocks composing the butte are purely granitic! Even in a geological point of view, is the Orphan Butte isolated from allthe world. In a double sense, does it merit its distinctive title. Singular is the picture formed by this lone mound, and the park-like scene that surrounds it—a picture rare as fair. Its very framing is peculiar. The bench of light-reddish sandstone sharply outlined on each edge—the bright greenof the sward along its base—and the dark belt of cedars cresting its sum- mit, form, as it were, a double molding to the frame. Over this can be distinguished the severer | | ‘ i } outlines of the great Cordilleras; above them, again, | the twin cones of the Wa-to-yah; and grandly towering over all, the sharp sky-piercing summit of Pike’s Peak. All these forms gleaming in the full ey of a noonday sun, with a heaven above them of deep ethereal blue, present a picture that for SS and sublimity is not surpassed upon the earth. A long while could we have gazed upon it; but an object that came at once under our eyes, turned our thoughts into a far different channel. Away up the aa f at its furthest end, ng a small white spot—little tg 73 to our view than the disk of an archer’s target. It was of an irregular roundish form; and on both sides of it were other shapes—smaller and of darker hue. We had no difficulty in making out what these appearances were; the white object was the tilt of a wagon, the dark forms around it were those of men—mounted and afoot! It must have been the last wagon of the train, since no other could be seen; and as it appeared at the very end of the valley—in the angle formed by the convergence of the cliffs—we concluded that there the canyon opened into which the rest had entered. Whether the wagon seen was moving onward, we did not stay to determine. The caravan was in sight; and this, acting upon us like an electric in- fluence, impelled us to hasten forward. Calling to our companions to advance, we re- mounted our horses, rode out of the gorge, and kept on up the valley. We no longer observed the slightest caution. The caravan was before our eyes; and there could be no doubt that, ina couple of hours, we should be able to come up with it. As to danger, we no longer thought of such a thing. Indians would scarcely be so daring as to assail us within sight of the train? Had it been night, we might have reasoned differ- ently ; but, under the broau light of day, we could not imagine there was the slightest prospect of danger. We resolved therefore, to ride direct for the wagons without making halt. Yes—one halt was to be made. I had promised the ci-devant soldiers to make civilians of them be- fore bringing them face to face with the escort; and this was to be accomplished by means of some spare wardrobe which Wingrove and I chanced to have among our packs. The place fixed upon as the scene of the metamorphosis was the butte—which lay directly on our route. As we rode forward, I was gratified at perceiving that the wagon still remained in sight. If it was moving on, it had not yet reached the head of the valley. Perhapsit had stopped to receive some re- pairs? So much the better; we should the sooner overtake it. On arriving at the butte, the white canvas was still visible; though from our low position onthe plain, oe top of the tilt could be seen. While Wingrove was unpacking our spare ee ments, I dismounted and climbed to the summit of the mound—in order to obtain a better view. I had no difficulty in getting up—for, strange to say, a trail runs over the Orphan Butte, from southeast to northwest, regularly aligned with Pike’s Peak in the latter direction, and with Spanish Peaks in the former! But this alignment was not the circum- stance that struck me as singular. A far more cu- rious phenomenon came under my observation. The path leading to the summit was entirely clear of the granite blocks that everywhere else covered the declivities of the mound. _ Between these it passed like a narrow lane, the huge prisms rising on each side of it, piled up in a regular trap-like formation, as if placed there ~§ the hand of man. The latter hypothesis was out of the question. Many of the blocks were a dozen feet in diameter, and tons in weight. Titans alone could have lifted them! The summit itself was a table of some rents by Vy seve- ral fissures. Only by following the path could the summit be reached without great difficulty. The loose bowlders upon one another in such fashion that even the most expert climber would have found difficulty in scaling them, and the stunt- ed spreading cedars that w between their clefts combined in forming a chevaue de frise almost im- penetrable. I was not permitted to dwell long on the contem- plation of this geological phenomenon, On reaching the summit, and ae my tele- scope up the valley, I obtained a tableau in its field of vision that almost caused me to drop the glass out of my fingers! The whole wagon was in view down to its wheel-tracks, and the dark forms were still around it. Some were afoot, others on horseback, while a few appeared to be | flat along the sward. Whoever these last may have been, I saw at the first glance what the others were. The bronzed skin of naked bodies—the masses of long, sweeping hair—the plumed crests and floati dra —were perfectly peppers’ in the glass—an allindicating a truth of terrible significance that the forms thus seen were those of savage men! Both they on horseback and afoot were Indians be- yond a doubt. And those horizontally extended? ey were whife men—the owners of the wagons? ' ' | SE ; ' | = ject—a body lying head toward me, with its crown of mottled red an! white gleaming significantly through the glass. I had no doubt as to the nature of the object; it was a scalpless skull! CHAPTER XXXIV. RAISING A RAMPART, I kept the telescope to my eye not half so long as I have taken in telling of it. Quick as I saw that the men stirring around the wagon were Indians, I thought only of screening my person from their sight. To effect this I dropped from the summit of the rock on the opposite side from that facing toward the savages. Showing only the top of my head, and with the glass once more leveled up the valley, I con- tinued my observation. .I now became assured that the victim of the ensanguined skull was a white man; that the other prostrate forms were also the bodies of white men, all dead—all, no doubt, muti- lated in a similar manner. I was interrrupted by a sudden movement on the part of thesavages. Those on horseback were seen separating from the rest; and, the instant after, ap- peared coming on in the direction of the butte. The movement was easily accounted for. My im- rudence had betrayed our presence. I had been seen while standing on the summit of the mound. I felt regret for my own rashness; but there was no time to indulge in the feeling, and I stifled it. The moment called for action—demanding all the firm- ness of nerve and coolness of head which, fortunate- ly, I had acquired by the experience of similar crises. Instead of shouting to my comrades—as yet un- conscious of the approaching danger—I remained upon the summit without uttering a word, or show- ing a sign that might alarm them. My object in so acting was to avoi sudden panic, and keep my mind free to think over some plan of escape. The Indians were still five miles off. It would be some minutes at least before they could attack us. Two or three of these could be spared for reflection. After that, it would be time to callin the counsel of my companions. ape by flight appeared hopeless. On the short- est survey of the circumstances I perceived that our only chance lay in defending ourselves. The chance was not much worth; but there was no alternative. We must stand and fight, or fall without resisting. From such a foeas that coming down upon us, we need expect no grace—not a modicum of mercy. Where was our defense to be made? On the sum- mit of the butte? ‘There was no better place in sight—no other that could be reached, offering so many advantages. Had we chosen it for a point of defense, it could not have promised better for the purpose. As already stated, the cone was slightly truncated—its top ending ina m-sa. The table was = enough to hold four of us. By crouching low, or lying flat upon it, we should be screened from the arrows of the Indians, or such other weap- ons as they might use. On the other hand, the muzzles of four guns pointed at them, would deter them from approaching the base of the butte. Searcely a minute was lin maturing a plan, and I lost less time in communicating it to my com- anions. Returning to them as fast as Icould make re descent, I announced the approach of the In- ans. The announcement produced a surprise sufficiently unpleasant, but no confusion. he old soldiers had been too often under fire to be frightened out of their senses at the approach of an enemy, and the young hunter was not one to give way toa panic. All three remained cool and collected as they listened to my hurried detail of the plan I had sketched out for our defense. There was no difficulty in inducing them to adopt it. All agreed to it eagerly and at once; in short, all saw that there was no alternative. Up the mound again—this time followed by my three comrades—each of us heavily laden. In addi- tion to our guns and ammunition, we carried our saddles and mule-bags, our blankets and buffalo- robes. It was not their intrinsic value that tempted us to take this trouble with our impedimenta, our ob- ject was to make with them a rampart upon the rock. We had just time for a second trip, and, flinging our first loads up to the table, we rushed back down the declivity. h seized upon such objects as of- fered themselves—valises, the soldiers’ knapsacks joints of the antelope lately killed, and the not meal-bag—all articles likely to avail us in building our bulwark. , I had just time to bid farewell to my Arab, to run my fingers along his smooth arching neck, to my lips to his velvet muzzle. Brave steed! tried and trusty friend! I could have wept at the parting. He made answer to my caresses; he answered them with a low whimpering neigh. ‘He knew there was something amiss, that there was danger. Our hur- ried movements had apprised him of it; but the mo- ment after, his alte attitude, his ee and the loud snorting from his spread nostrils, tol that he perfectly comprehended the danger. He heard the distant trampling of hoofs; he knew that an enemy was approaching. I heard the sounds my- self, and rushed back up the butte. My companions were already upon‘the summit, busied in building the rampart around the rock. I joined them, and aided them in the work. Our paraphernalia proved excellent for the pur- pose—light enough to be easily handled, and suffi- ciently firm to resist either bullets or arrows. Be- fore the {ndians had come within hailing distanc he parapet was completed; and, crouching behin it, we awaited their approach. CHAPTER XXXV. THE WAR-CRY. THe war-cry ‘‘ How-ow-owgh-aloo-oo!” uttered loudly from a hundred throats, comes pee oy the valley. Its fiendish notes, coupled with the de- mon-like forms that give utterance to them, are well calculated to quail the stoutest heart. Ours are not without fear. Though we know that the danger is not immediate, there is a cance in the tones of that wild slogan. They express more than the usual hostility of red to white; they breathe a spirit of vengeance. The gestures of menace, the brandished spears and bended bows, the war-cl €om the confusion consequent upon a. ress. ubs. Ebooks Geom)