Chapter Forty Nine
An Unexpected Appearance
The finding of the flowers, or rather the reflections to which they gave rise, rendered me more anxious than ever to come up with, the caravan. The little incident had made me aware of a new danger hitherto unthought of. Up to that hour, my chief anxiety with regard to Lilian Holt had been the companionship of the Mormon. This had been heightened by some information incidentally imparted by the deserters – chiefly by Sure-shot. It related to the destination of a number of the emigrants, who accompanied the caravan; and with whom the rifleman had held intercourse, previous to their departure from Van Buren. These were not prospective gold-diggers, but persons migrating westward from motives more spiritual: they were Saints bound for the Salt Lake – there intending to stay and settle.
There was a large party of these “Latter-day” converts under the conduct of an apostolic agent. This much had Sure-shot ascertained. He had not seen their leader, nor heard his name. Joshua Stebbins might be the very man? Even as a conjecture, this was bitter enough. Up to the time of joining with the deserters, I had consoled myself with the belief, that California was the destination of this saint and his squatter protégé; though at times I was troubled with the remembrance of Su-wa-nee’s words. Their truth was almost confirmed by the report of the ex-rifleman. I could not now think otherwise, than that Stebbins was bound for the Mormon city; and that he was the fox in charge of the flock of geese that accompanied the emigrant train. It was more than probable. While waiting in Swampville for the letter of Lilian, I had learnt something of the history of the ci-devant schoolmaster – not much of the period subsequent to his departure from that place – little more than the fact that he had joined the Mormons, and had risen to high office in their church – in short, that he was one of their “apostles.” This fact, however, was one of primary significance.
Had the squatter also submitted to the hideous delusion? Was he also on his way to the shrine of the faith? The answer to the former question was of slight importance, so long as that to the latter might be conceived in the affirmative. If Holt was bound to the Salt Lake, then was the fate of his daughter to be dreaded. Not long there may a virgin dwell. The baptism of the New Jordan soon initiates its female neophytes into the mysteries of womanhood – absolutely compelling them to the marriage-tie – forcing them to a wedlock loveless and unholy.
Suffering under such apprehensions, I scarcely needed the additional stimulus of jealousy to urge me onward; and yet, strange as it may appear, the finding of the bouquet had produced this effect. I would have ridden on, without halt, but our animals required rest. We had been travelling nearly all night, and throughout the morning – under the friendly shelter of the cotton-wood forest. We all needed an hour or two of repose; and, seeking a secure place near the ground of the deserted camp, we stopped to obtain it. The train could not be far ahead of us. While seated in silence around the fire we had kindled, we could hear at intervals the reports of guns. They came from up the valley, and from a far distance. The sounds reached us but faintly – now single shots, and then two or three together, or following in quick succession. We were at no loss to account for the reports. They were caused by the hunters of the caravan, in pursuit of game. We had now entered that charming region where elk and antelope abounded. On our morning-march we had seen herds of both trooping over the sward – almost within range of our rifles. Even as we sat, a band of beautiful antelopes appeared in the open ground near our bivouack fire; and, after satisfying their curiosity by gazing at us for a moment, they trotted off into the covert. It was a tempting sight – too tempting for the young backwoods hunter to resist. Seizing his rifle, he took after them – promising us as he went off a more savoury breakfast than the dry buffalo-meat we were broiling. Soon after, we heard the report of his piece; and, presently, he re-appeared with a dead “prong-horn” upon his shoulders.
As Wingrove came up to the fire, I noticed a singular expression upon his countenance. Instead of being rejoiced at his success, his looks betrayed anxiety! I questioned him as to the cause. He did not answer directly; but, drawing me to one side, inquired in a whisper, if I had seen any one in his absence.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“If it wan’t altogether unpossible, I’d swar I seed that girl.”
“What girl?”
I trembled, as I put the question: I was thinking of Lilian.
“That darnationed devil of a Chicasaw.”
“What! Su-wa-nee?”
“Yes – Su-wa-nee.”
“Oh – that cannot be? It could not be her?”
“So I’d a thort myself; but darn me, capt’n! if I kin b’lieve it wa’nt her. What I seed war as like her as two eggs.”
“What did you see?”
“Why, jest arter I’d killed the goat, an’ war heisting it on my shoulders, I spied a Injun glidin’ into the bushes. I seed it war a squaw; an’ jest the picter o’ the Chicasaw. She ’peared as ef she hed kim right from hyar, an’ I thort you must a seed her.”
“Did you get sight of her face?”
“No, her back war torst me, an’ she kep on ’ithout turnin’ or stoppin’ a minnit. ’Twar the very duds that girl used to wear, an’ her bulk to an inch. It kudn’t a been liker her. Darn me, ef ’twan’t eyther her or her ghost!”
“It is very improbable that it could have been either?”
I did not for a moment entertain the idea that it was the Chicasaw he had seen; and yet my comrade was fully impressed with the belief, and reiterated the assertion that he had either seen Su-wa-nee or her “shadder.” Though the thing was improbable, it was not beyond possibility. We knew that there were Indians travelling with the train: we had heard so before starting out. But what likelihood was there of Su-wa-nee being among them? Certainly not much. That there were prairie Indians around us, was probable enough. We had already observed their traces upon the ground of the deserted camp. The “squaw” seen by Wingrove might be one of these.
Whether or not, her presence proved the proximity of red-skins; and the knowledge of having such dangerous neighbours, summoned us to a fresh exercise of vigilance and caution. Our fire was instantly extinguished; and, contenting ourselves with a morsel of the half-broiled buffalo-beef, we moved to some distance from the spot, before proceeding, to cook the antelope. A dark covert in the thick woods offered us a more secure kitchen. There we rekindled our fire – and roasting the ribs of the prong-horn, refreshed ourselves with an ample meal. After an hour’s repose, we resumed our journey – in confident expectation, that before sunset we should get within sight of the caravan.
Chapter Fifty
Up the Cañon
We had not ridden far from our halting-place, when we arrived at the end of the great cotton-wood forest. Beyond that, the trace led over open ground – here and there dotted by groves and “islands” of timber. Through these we threaded our way – keeping as much as possible among the trees. Further on, we came upon a gorge – one of the noted cañons through which the Huerfano runs. Here the river sweeps down a narrow channel, with rocky banks that rise on each side into precipitous cliffs of stupendous height.
To avoid this gorge – impassable for wheeled vehicles – the waggon-trace, below its entrance, turns off to the right; and we perceived that the caravan had taken that direction. To get round the heads of the transverse ravines, that run into the cañon, a détour must be made of not less than ten miles in length. Beyond the cañon – the trace once more returns to the stream.
The notes of a military reconnoissance had forewarned me of this deviation; and, furthermore, that the trace passes over a ridge altogether destitute of timber. To follow it, therefore, in the broad light of day, would expose our little party to view. If hostile Indians should be hanging after the caravan, they would be sure to see us, and equally certain to make an attack upon us; and from the traces we had noticed at the night-camp – to say nothing of what Wingrove had seen – we knew there were Indians in the valley. They might not be hostile; but the chances were ten to one that they were; and, under this supposition, it would be imprudent in us to risk crossing the ridge before nightfall. There were two alternatives: to remain under the timber till after sunset, and then proceed by night; or to push on into the cañon, and endeavour to make our way along the bed of the stream. So far as we knew, the path was an untried one; but it might be practicable for horses. We were now on the most dangerous ground we had yet trodden – the highway of several hostile tribes, and their favourite tenting-place, when going to, or returning from, their forays against the half-civilised settlements of New Mexico.
The proximity of the caravan – which we calculated to be about ten miles ahead of us – only increased our risk. There was but little danger of the Indians attacking that: the train was too strong, even without the escort. But the probability was, that a band of Indian horse-thieves would be skulking on its skirts – not to make an attack upon the caravan itself but as wolves after a gang of buffalo, to sacrifice the stragglers. Unless when irritated by some hostile demonstration, these robbers confine themselves to plundering: but in the case of some, murder is the usual concomitant of plunder.
The delay of another night was disheartening to all of us – but especially so to myself, for reasons already known. If we should succeed in passing through the cañon, perhaps on the other side we might come in sight of the caravan? Cheered on by this prospect, we hesitated no longer; but hastening forward, entered between the jaws of the defile. A fearful chasm it was – the rocky walls rising perpendicularly to the height of many hundreds of feet – presenting a grim façade on each side of us. The sky above appeared a mere strip of blue; and we were surrounded by a gloom deeper than that of twilight. The torrent roared and foamed at our feet; and the trail at times traversed through the water.
There was a trail, as we soon perceived; and, what was more significant, one that had recently been travelled! Horses had been over it; and in several places the rocky pebbles, that should otherwise have been dry, were wet by the water that had dripped from their fetlocks. A large troop of horses must have passed just before us. Had the dragoon escort gone that way? More likely a party of mounted travellers 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 in a 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 travelling through a region frequented by the mustang. Droves had been seen upon our route, at great distances off: for these are the shyest and wildest of all animals. A caballada may have passed through the gorge, on their way to the upper valley? There was nothing improbable in this. Although the plains are the favourite habitat of the horse, the mustang of Spanish America is half a mountain animal; and often penetrates the most difficult passes – climbing the declivities with hoof as sure as that of a chamois.
Had these horses been ridden? That was the point to be determined, and how? The sign was not very intelligible, but sufficiently so for our purpose. The little belt of mud-deposit was only disturbed by a single line of tracts – crossing it directly from side to side. The animals had traversed it in single file. Wild horses would have crowded over it– some of them at least kicking out to one side or the other? This I myself knew. The reasoning appeared conclusive. We had no longer a doubt 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 conceal either ourselves or our animals. The mounted Indians might be returning down again; and, finding us in such a snug trap, would have us at their mercy? We did not think, therefore, of staying where we were. To go back was too discouraging. We were already half through the cañon, and had ridden over a most difficult path – often fording the stream at great risk, and climbing over boulders of rock, that imperilled 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 proceeding to the upper end. Our expectations did not deceive us. We reached the mouth of the chasm – without having seen other signs of those who had proceeded 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 part 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 fusillade! The sounds came from the direction of the upper 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 hindered 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 them for something else. Perhaps we might have conjectured, that a gang of buffaloes had passed near the train – leading to a brisk emptying of rifles. But the presence of the Indians rendered this hypothesis less probable.
We still continued to observe caution. Before emerging from the defile, we halted near its entrance – Wingrove and myself stealing forward to reconnoitre. An elevated post – which we obtained upon a shelf of the rock – gave us a commanding prospect of the upper valley. The sight restored our confidence: the caravan was in view!
Chapter Fifty One
The Orphan Butte
The landscape over which we were looking was one that has long been celebrated, in the legends of trapper and cibolero, and certainly no lovelier is to be met with in the midland regions of America. Though new to my eyes, I recognised 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. There stood the “Orphan Butte.” There was no mistaking its identity.
This valley, or, more properly, vallé– a word of very different signification – is in reality a level plain, flanked on each side by a continuous line of bluffs or “benches” – themselves forming the abutments of a still higher plain, 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. This, however, is only apparent. Above the butte is another deep cañon, 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 gramma grass, of a bright, almost emerald verdure. The uniformity of this colour is relieved by cotton-wood copses, whose foliage is but one shade darker. Commingling with these, and again slightly darkening the hue of the frondage, are other trees, with a variety of shrubs or climbing-plants – as clematis, wild roses, and willows. Here and there, a noble poplar stands apart – as if disdaining to associate with the more lowly growth of the groves.
These “topes” are of varied forms: some rounded, some oval, and others of more irregular shape. Many of them appear as if planted by the hands of the landscape-gardener; while the Huerfano, winding through their midst, could not have been more gracefully guided, had it been specially designed for an “ornamental water.”
The butte itself, rising in the centre of the plain, and towering 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 prismatic blocks of granite, black almost as a coal – the dark colour being occasioned by an iron admixture in the rock. For two-thirds of its slope, a thick growth of cedar covers the mound with a skirting of darkest green. Above this appear the dark naked prisms – piled one upon the other, in a sort of irregular crystallisation, and ending in a summit slightly truncated. Detached boulders 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 other similar elevation is near – the distant bluffs alone equalling it in height. 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 all the 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 green of the sward along its base – and the dark belt of cedars cresting its summit, form, as it were, a double moulding to the frame. Over this can be distinguished the severer 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 light of a noonday sun, with a heaven above them of deep ethereal blue, present a picture that for grandeur 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 valley, at its furthest end, appeared a small white spot – little bigger to our view than the disc 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 waggon: the dark forms around it were those of men – mounted and afoot! It must have been the last waggon of the train: since no other could be seen; and as it appeared at the very end of the valley – in the angle formed by the convergence of the cliffs – we concluded that there the cañon opened into which the rest had entered. Whether the waggon seen was moving onward, we did not stay to determine. The caravan was in sight; and this, acting upon us like an electric influence, impelled us to hasten forward.
Calling to our companions to advance, we remounted 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, in a 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 differently; but, under the broad light of day, we could not imagine there was the slightest prospect of danger. We resolved, therefore, to ride direct for the waggons, without making halt.
Yes – one halt was to be made. I had promised the ci-devant soldiers to make civilians of them before 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 waggon still remained in sight. If it was moving on, it had not yet reached the head of the valley. Perhaps it had stopped to receive some repairs? 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 on the plain, only the top of the tilt could be seen. While Wingrove was unpacking our spare garments, 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 south-east to north-west, regularly aligned with Pike’s Peak in the latter direction, and with Spanish Peaks in the former! But this alignment was not the circumstance that struck me as singular. A far more curious 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 by 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 twenty by forty feet in superficial extent, and seamed by several fissures. Only by following the path could the summit be reached without great difficulty. The loose boulders rested upon one another, in such fashion, that even the most expert climber would have found difficulty in scaling them; and the stunted spreading cedars that grew between their clefts, combined in forming a chevaux de frise almost impenetrable.
I was not permitted to dwell long on the contemplation of this geological phenomenon. On reaching the summit, and directing my telescope 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 waggon 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 lying flat along the sward. Whoever these last may have been, I saw at the first glance what the others were. The bronzed skins of naked bodies – the masses of long sweeping hair – the plumed crests and floating drapery – were perfectly apparent in the glass – and all indicating a truth of terrible significance that the forms thus seen were those of savage men! Yes: both they on horseback and afoot were Indians beyond a doubt. And those horizontally extended? They were white men – the owners of the waggons? This truth flashed on me, as I beheld a fearful object – a body lying head towards me, with its crown of mottled red and white, gleaming significantly through the glass. I had no doubt as to the nature of the object: it was a scalpless skull!