Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 218 — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ee ae tt ll rl ———— 6 the a en leg, as I first saw it, suspended from his belt. His presence in the Indian encampment was easil accounted for. He was in alliance with their chief: for the Utahs were at times én paz with the settle- ments of the Taos Valley; and the Spanish trappers and traders went freely among them. Pez-leg had been on a trapping expedition to the Parks; and having fallen in with the Utahs, had become the guest of Wa-ka-ra. SHAPTER LI, PEG-LEG. ‘Tre huntress returned soon?” said the chief, in- terrogatively, as the girl glided up to him. “She bri strange game!’ added he, with a smile. Pe o is the young warrior with the white circle upon his breast? He is a pale-face. It is not the custom of our white brothers to adorn themselves in such fashion?” “The painting is not his,” replied the girl. ‘It has been done by the hands of his enemies—by reg- men. The white circle was designed for a mark, at which many bullets have been fired. Thered streaks you see are blood, that has streamed from wounds inflicted on the stranger's wigs Be en Wa-rka-ra shall know who caused that blood to flow, he will hasten to avenge it.” ' ‘Tf it be the wish of the white huntress, Wa-ka-ra will avenge the blood—even though his own_people may have spilled it. Speak, Ma-ra-nee! You say that red-men have done this—were they Utahs?”’ ‘No; but the enemies of the Utahs.’ “The Utahs have enemies—on the north, south, east, and west they have foes. Whence comes the stranger? and who has been spilling his blood?” “From the east—from the Arupuhoes.” “Ugh!” exclaimed the chief, with a start, his countenance suddenly becoming clouded with an angry expression. ‘‘Arapahoes! Where has the pale-face encountered the Arapahoes?’’ **On the Huerfano.” ‘Good; the white huntress brings news that will zladden the hearts of the Utah warmiors! Arapa- oes on the eps 2 Rat eres them there?"’ The huntress repli poin me. “He has been Their Saptive ’* she added, ‘‘and has just escaped from them. He can guide Wa-ka- ra to their camp, where the Utah chief will find his deadliest enemy—Red-Hand.”’ At the mention of this name, the cloud that was athering upon the brow of the Utah chief became ker by several shades, and the mild expression was no longer observable. In its place was a look of fierce resolve, blended with glances that spoke a savage joy. Some old and terrible resentment was rekindled by the name—with a hope, no doubt, of its gratified? The chief now entered upon a series of interroga- tories directed to myself. He spoke English— thanks to his trapper associations: and it was in this lan- age he had been conversing with the huntress. fis inquiries were directed to such particulars as might put him in possession of the necessary know!l- edge for an attack upon the Arapahoes. As con- ae possible, I made known their position and numbers—with other circumstances calculated to aid in the design. The account I gave seemed to gratify him. As soon as our dialogue was ended, I had the satisfaction to hear him declare his inten- tion of pepeeeens at once to the valley of the Hu- erfano! To me it was joyful news: my comrades might yet be rescued from the hands of the Arapa- hoes? ‘*Ma-ra-nee!” said he —— addressing himself to the huntress, “ conduct the stranger to your tent! Give him food. And you, Cojo/"’ he contin- ued, turning to the little Mexican, ‘‘ you are skilled in medicine—look to his wounds! e can repose while we are preparing. Ho! sound the signal of assembly! Summon our braves to the war-dance!”’ The last words were addressed to an Indian who was standing close behind him. Quickly succeeding the order, the notes of a bugle burst upon the air— strange sounds in an Indian camp! But the white man's music was not the only sign of civilized life to be observed among the tents of the Utahs. The guns and pistols—the spurs, lan and saddle—the shakos and hemlets—all spoke o the spoiled presidios on the Mexican frontier; while fair-skinned doncellas of Spanish race were seen mingling with the copper-colored squaws—aiding them in their domestic duties—captives to all ap- pearance contented with their captivity |! None of this. was new to me. I had witnessed similar scenes in the land of the Comanche. They are of daily occurrence along the whole frontier of Spanish America: where the red-inan constantly encroaches—reclaiming the country of his ances- tors, wrestled from him three centuries ago by the eupidity of the Conquistadores. he red-man no longer goes to war as a mere savage. He has disciplined his strength into a per- fect strategy; and possesses a military system as complete as that of the most civilized nations. The Comanche cavalry charges in line, and can perform evolutions to the call of the bugle! So can the Utah, as I had evidence at that moment. Before the trumpet-notes had ceased to reverbe- rate from the 8, five hundred warriors had secured their horses, and stood beside them armed and ready to mount. A ent of regular dra- goons could not have nded to ** Boots and sad- dies” with — e ge Pag-leg took possession Of me. * Genor Pintado!” said he, speaking in § f and after having examined my wounds, “the best medicine for you will be your breakfast; and while your conpaisana is preparing it, you can come with me, and have a little water thrown over you. Thig painting does not improve your looks; besides, if it get into your wounds, they will be all the more diffi- cult to make a cure of. Nos vamos ! The huntress had retired to a tent that stood near that of the chief, and a little to the rear of it. 1 fo)- lowed the Mexican, who, in a hobbling gait, proceed- ed toward the stream. The cold bath, assisted by some Taos brandy from the gourd ¢ of the trapper, soon restored m strength; and the hideous pigment, lathered wi the bruised roots of the palmi the soap-plant of the New Mexicans, soon disappeared from my skin. A few slices of the oregano cactus applied to my wounds, placed them in a condition to heal with a The Wild Huntress. rapidity almost miraculous; forsuch is the curative power of this singular plant. My Mexican medico was yet more generous, and furnished me with a handsome Navajo blanket, which served as a com- plete covering for m shoulders. “* Carram’o/” exclaimed he, as he tendered the garment, “‘ take it, Americano } You may be able to repay me when you have recovered your possi- ble-sack from the Arapahoes. Mitra!" he added, pointing toward the ae oer your breakfast is ready: | yonder the senorita is calling you. Take heed, hom- | bre! oF her eyes may cause you a more dangerous wound than any of those you have recelved from the bullets of the Arapahoes. Vuya/”’ I resisted an inclination to make inquiries: though the hint of the Taos trapper half-furnished me with an excuse, My ““countrywoman,”’ he had called her. No doubt he knew more of her history; but I questioned him not. Remembering her promise, I had hopes that I might soon learn it from her own lips, CHAPTER LIL A BEAUTIFUL HOSTESS, “ Anas, stranger!’ said she, as I approached the tent, “ be has altered your appearance wonderfully. Oh! you are not so frightful now. Comein! Here is P nole, and a little broiled goat’s flesh. Iamsorry Notwithstanding the superiority of my steed, it I did not bring some of the wild gsieep. It is most | wasas much asi could do to keep pace with my excellent; but in my haste I did not think of it, | new allies, whose horses, used to all sorts of ground Bread I cannot give you; we never have it here.” | went gliding along the uneven paths, as if they had “| have been accustomed to ruder fare than this,” | been graded roads. said I, accepting the proffered viands, and without | Through tangled bushes they scrambled without further ceremony, seating myself to discuss them. stay, over sharp and slippery recks—their unshod There was an interval of silence, during which I | hoofs rendermg them sure-footed as mountain rge lay our route, and paths, ost feared to walk my horse, | were now passed in a quick eontinuous Sema od with wm i “To whom?” “To him who saved my life—to him who saved’ me— Ah! see, the chief mg Sete He the war-song- is ended. At another time I shall tell you all; but not now. We must haste, or the warriors will be gone.” “Surely you do not intend to accompany us?" “The women follow ata distance to take care of the wounded. I go with them.” The voice of Wa-ka-ra, calling to me to join him and his warriors, put an end to a cae or that had done but little to illustrate the story of the strange person by my side. If possible, I was more mystified than ever. But it was nota time to be tempted by the lure of an idle curiosity, however interesting the theme. The perilous situation of my old comrades came once more vividly before my mind. The thought re- called me to my duty, and hurrying from the pres- ence of that beautiful being—whom I ho seon te behold again—lI lea upon the back of my horse and joined the Utah warriors, as they swept in gallop from out the lines of their encampment. CHAPTER LIL. EFFROCTING THE SURROUND. Tre ride was rough and rapid. continued eating. Once or twice, my hostess went | sheep. Down the out, returning again to see if anything was wanted. | over which I had a The warlike preparations going on outside appeared greatly to interest her; andI thought she regarded | Wesoon reached the scene of my encoun them with impatience, or as if anxious about the | the huntress. The dog still kept sentry over the event. game, OCouchant by the body of the bighorn, he ‘Who or what was the object of this solicitude? | only growled as the cavalcade swept past. No one Wa-ka-ra? In what relationship stood she to’ the | stopped to relieve him of his charge. On a war ex- chief? A captive she could scarcely be: else would | pedition the chase is universally neglected. Even its she not have been permitted to stray sofarfromthe | spoils are spurned. Hunger is sup to beget. encampment? His wife? The separate tent, as also | prowess, asit sharpens the wits, and the savage fights the style used by the Utah in addressing her, nega- bent upon an empty stomach. tived the idea, What then? I longed to hear the The hurried movements of the Indians—the eager- history of this wild huntress; but the opportunity | ness each one exhibited to press forward—proved had not yet arrived. how earnest they were on this expedition. It was : Ah? said she, returning once more within the | not my affair that was stimulating them to such tent, “‘1 fear they will be too late. The red post is | speed. A tribal hostility of long standing—older only just now erected; and the war-dance may last | than the warriors themselves—existed weem foran hour. It is a usele-s coremony—only asuper- | Utah and Arapaho. Between the bands of Wa-ka-ra stition. The chief himself does not believe in it; but | and Red Hand the hostile inheritance had increased his braves will not go to battle without performing | until it had reached the maximum of the most it. Hark! they are commencing the chant!” | deadly rendetta. This will account for the hot haste: I caught the low monotone o yore voices, grad- | with which we hurried on—for the universal excite- ually rising and swelling into a prolonged chorus. | ment that prevailed in the ranks of my Utah allies. At intervals, one was heard speaking in solo: asif They knew that they outnumbered their enemies. proclaiming some distinguished deed, to incite the | They already exulted in the anticipation of a grand warriors to emulation. Then followed a clangor of | coup. yells, and loud whoops, breathing menace and re- For all that, they were not rushing recklessly inte —EE > battle. The Utah chieftain was too skilled a soldier. “It is the war-song that accom es their dance,” | I gy ty that he was acting upon a preconceived added she. ‘* You may rest till it is finished. Then | plan, and his stratezy was soon made known to me. It was that of the “ surround.” The band was to break up into four divisions of nearly equal numerical strength. The first under Wa-ka-ra himself, was to go round by the bluffs: and, having worked its way into the lower canyon would enter the plain from that direction. Should the Arapahoes attempt to retreat toward the Arkan- sas, this art could intercept them. A second di- visio keeping above the bluffs—was to make to a point nearly mee the butte; where, by a ravine known to the Indians, a descent could be made into the valley of the Huerfano. A third was to seek its station upon the opposite side—where a similar defile led down to the plain; while the re- maining warriors were to move forward by the on. canyon, and halt at its mouth—until the other es were known to have reached their re- spective places. At a signal agreed upon, all four divisions were te move forward ata rapid gallop, and c in upon the enemy. The first party was to give the cue, as it had the furthest to go; and, by tho time it could reach its destination, the others would be ready. A smoke was to be the signal for charging forward. you must be ready: they will ride off as soon as the ceremony is over.”’ She flung herself on one of the buffalo-robes that covered the floor of the tent; and half-seated, half recli , appeared to reflect. The attitude displayed a fe e form of magnificent outlines; and with a face dazzlingly beautiful, this lar woman pre- sented a picture something more than attractive. “ Wa-ka-ra must love her?" thought I. As I made this reflection, I again observed the me- lancholy expression upon her countenance; and once more the resemblance to her of whom I was think- ing! My interestin the beautiful huntress was every moment a& enting. I felt an indescribable yearn- ing to hear the story of her misfortunes; for in no other light could Il regard the situation in which I had found her. ‘“*You have promised to tell me of # reared said I, reminding her of what she had said. “T shail keep my promise, upon the condition, of which I have forewarned ycu.” “Name it then—if not impossible, I am ready to accept it.” ‘It is not impossible, though it may tax your generosity more than you expect. You have said The plan was well conceived; and if it should that you intend returning to the States. Will you | prove that the Arapahoes were still by the butte, a tuke me with yout” geht a Voutrance might be looked for as the certaiw A start must have betrayed my astonishment at | result. They would have no alternative but fight. the unexpected request. The execution of the movement was soon entered Willingly,” I replied; “but now—I fear—it is | upon. : impossible." ear the place where I had passed the last houre “Your journey is not ended? Is that what you | of the night, a side ravine—which, in the darkness. mean ?"’ : T had not observed—alo up out of the gorge. By * Alas! I know not when or where it may end.” canyons and deep defiles, the whole face of the * That isstrange! But you intend to go some | country was cut up in this bipinnate fashion—overy pass of it being well-known to the Utahs. Hence their confidence in being able to effect the surround of their enemies, who were less familiar with this region; and who must bave been tempted thither by the passage of the train. Up the latezal ravine rode Wa-ka-ra with his dusky warriors; while the second division, intended te all their kindness—and they have been kind, in | take station on the bluff, defiled b the sameé track, their own rude fashion—I cannot remain. I long for | but more slowly. The rest of us kept on down the the society of civilized beings. Oh, stranger! I | gorge cannot tell you how I long to see—”’ mee Till then leé me be your traveling com- anion?” P The proposal left me for a moment without a word Ba “Oh, do not refuse me!” centinued she, in an appealing tone. “I will wait u you; I will hunt for ou—anything, but longer I cannot stay here. Wit On reaching the main canyon, the party destined She hesitated. for the opposite bluff separated from the otter, and **Whom?” I asked, in expectation of hearing a | proceed vent dl by a branch ravine that opened to the upper plain. The fourtla and last division rode direct down the bank of the river—upon the path by which I tad been Up rn oe This division was in charge of the secon name. ‘A gister—a sweet, gentle sister, who loved me as her own life—whom I loved more than my life. Oh, not till we were parted knew I the strength of that ~~ love. chief, and to it was I myself assigned—with ‘* How long since you have seen this sister?” Peg-leg, also a volunteer, as my imm te com- ‘* Six months ago I left her—deceived by a villain, | panion. The trapper had himself some old scores lleft her. Six years it has seemed, I cannot to settle with the Arapahoes, and appeared as eager for the fight as an tab in the tribe. endure this savage life. They honor me—they give rx Apprehensive of falling in with some straggzli me a]l the hospitality in cage het et tp I am not happy. Stranger! say you will relieve me from this | pursuers of the preceding night, we moved forwa terrible existence? y you will take me with vith caution. The sub-chief was an old warrior, ou?” . whose scars and grizzled hair betokened experience “T freely promise it, if it be yourdesire. But what | of many a hostile encounter, and no doubt many a of these? ill they—will he consent?” cunning stratagem. Scouts were sent in advance; | and these, returning from time to time, signaled that the path was clear. Advancing in this fashion, we at length reached the embouchure of the canyon, and halted within its gloomy shadow. **Yes—ves! He has said I may go, whenever an opportunity should offer. Brave chief! he has nobly kept his word to him who is now no more.”’ = S ° ~ JOO : | GOMNE S) 21 (E(@) - o« — —o > ee ee ay ~ - * - _— "Fa" ss : a - ee * a a: aS *