Chapter 23 - The Scalp Hunters by Mayne Reid
The Programme
Shortly after, I was wandering out to the caballada to look after my horse, when the sound of a bugle fell upon my ear. It was the signal for the men to assemble, and I turned back towards the camp.
As I re-entered it, Seguin was standing near his tent, with the bugle still in his hand. The hunters were gathering around him.
They were soon all assembled, and stood in groups, waiting for the chief to speak.
“Comrades!” said Seguin, “to-morrow we break up this camp for an expedition against the enemy. I have brought you together that you may know my plans and lend me your advice.”
A murmur of applause followed this announcement. The breaking up of a camp is always joyous news to men whose trade is war. It seemed to have a like effect upon this motley group of guerilleros.
The chief continued—
“It is not likely that you will have much fighting. Our dangers will be those of the desert; but we will endeavour to provide against them in the best manner possible.
“I have learned, from a reliable source, that our enemies are at this very time about starting upon a grand expedition to plunder the towns of Sonora and Chihuahua.
“It is their intention, if not met by the Government troops, to extend their foray to Durango itself. Both tribes have combined in this movement; and it is believed that all the warriors will proceed southward, leaving their country unprotected behind them.
“It is my intention then, as soon as I can ascertain that they have gone out, to enter their territory, and pierce to the main town of the Navajoes.”
“Bravo!” “Hooray!” “Bueno!” “Très bien!” “Good as wheat!” and numerous other exclamations, hailed this declaration.
“Some of you know my object in making this expedition. Others do not. I will declare it to you all. It is, then, to—”
“Git a grist of scalps; what else?” cried a rough, brutal-looking fellow, interrupting the chief.
“No, Kirker!” replied Seguin, bending his eye upon the man, with an expression of anger. “It is not that. We expect to meet only women. On his peril let no man touch a hair upon the head of an Indian woman. I shall pay for no scalps of women or children.”
“Where, then, will be your profits? We cannot bring them prisoners? We’ll have enough to do to get back ourselves, I reckon, across them deserts.”
These questions seemed to express the feelings of others of the band, who muttered their assent.
“You shall lose nothing. Whatever prisoners you take shall be counted on the ground, and every man shall be paid according to his number. When we return I will make that good.”
“Oh! that’s fair enough, captain,” cried several voices.
“Let it be understood, then, no women nor children. The plunder you shall have, it is yours by our laws, but no blood that can be spared. There is enough on our hands already. Do you all bind yourselves to this?”
“Yes, yes!” “Si!” “Oui, oui!” “Ya, ya!” “All!” “Todos, todos!” cried a multitude of voices, each man answering in his own language.
“Let those who do not agree to it speak.”
A profound silence followed this proposal. All had bound themselves to the wishes of their leader.
“I am glad that you are unanimous. I will now state my purpose fully. It is but just you should know it.”
“Ay, let us know that,” muttered Kirker, “if tain’t to raise har we’re goin’.”
“We go, then, to seek for our friends and relatives, who for years have been captives to our savage enemy. There are many among us who have lost kindred, wives, sisters, and daughters.”
A murmur of assent, uttered chiefly by men in Mexican costume, testified to the truth of this statement.
“I myself,” continued Seguin, and his voice slightly trembled as he spoke, “am among that number. Years, long years ago, I was robbed of my child by the Navajoes. I have lately learned that she is still alive, and at their head town with many other white captives. We go, then, to release and restore them to their friends and homes.”
A shout of approbation broke from the crowd, mingled with exclamations of “Bravo!” “We’ll fetch them back!” “Vive le capitaine!” “Viva el gefe!”
When silence was restored, Seguin continued—
“You know our purpose. You have approved it. I will now make known to you the plan I had designed for accomplishing it, and listen to your advice.”
Here the chief paused a moment, while the men remained silent and waiting.
“There are three passes,” continued he at length, “by which we might enter the Indian country from this side. There is, first, the route of the Western Puerco. That would lead us direct to the Navajo towns.”
“And why not take that way?” asked one of the hunters, a Mexican. “I know the route well, as far as the Pecos towns.”
“Because we could not pass the Pecos towns without being seen by Navajo spies. There are always some of them there. Nay, more,” continued Seguin, with a look that expressed a hidden meaning, “we could not get far up the Del Norte itself before the Navajoes would be warned of our approach. We have enemies nearer home.”
“Carrai! that is true,” said a hunter, speaking in Spanish.
“Should they get word of our coming, even though the warriors had gone southward, you can see that we would have a journey for nothing.”
“True, true!” shouted several voices.
“For the same reason, we cannot take the pass of Polvidera. Besides, at this season, there is but little prospect of game on either of these routes. We are not prepared for an expedition with our present supply. We must pass through a game-country before we can enter on the desert.”
“That is true, captain; but there is as little game to be met if we go by the old mine. What other road, then, can we take?”
“There is still another route better than all, I think. We will strike southward, and then west across the Llanos to the old mission. From thence we can go north into the Apache country.”
“Yes, yes; that is the best way, captain.”
“We will have a longer journey, but with advantages. We will find the wild cattle or the buffaloes upon the Llanos. Moreover, we will make sure of our time, as we can ‘cache’ in the Pinon Hills that overlook the Apache war-trail, and see our enemies pass out. When they have gone south, we can cross the Gila, and keep up the Azul or Prieto. Having accomplished the object of our expedition, we may then return homeward by the nearest route.”
“Bravo!” “Viva!” “That’s jest right, captain!”
“That’s clarly our best plan!” were a few among the many forms by which the hunters testified their approval of the programme. There was no dissenting voice. The word “Prieto” struck like music upon their ears. That was a magic word: the name of the far-famed river on whose waters the trapper legends had long placed the El Dorado, “the mountain of gold.” Many a story of this celebrated region had been told at the hunters’ camp-fire, all agreeing in one point: that there the gold lay in “lumps” upon the surface of the ground, and filled the rivers with its shining grains. Often had the trappers talked of an expedition to this unknown land; and small parties were said to have actually entered it, but none of these adventurers had ever been known to return.
The hunters saw now, for the first time, the prospect of penetrating this region with safety, and their minds were filled with fancies wild and romantic. Not a few of them had joined Seguin’s band in hopes that some day this very expedition might be undertaken, and the “golden mountain” reached. What, then, were their feelings when Seguin declared his purpose of travelling by the Prieto! At the mention of it a buzz of peculiar meaning ran through the crowd, and the men turned to each other with looks of satisfaction.
“To-morrow, then, we shall march,” added the chief. “Go now and make your preparations; we start by daybreak.”
As Seguin ceased speaking, the hunters departed, each to look after his “traps and possibles”; a duty soon performed, as these rude rangers were but little encumbered with camp equipage.
I sat down upon a log, watching for some time the movements of my wild companions, and listening to their rude and Babel-like converse.
At length arrived sunset, or night, for they are almost synonymous in these latitudes. Fresh logs were flung upon the fires, till they blazed up. The men sat around them, cooking, eating, smoking, talking loudly, and laughing at stories that illustrated their own wild habits. The red light fell upon fierce, dark faces, now fiercer and more swarthy under the glare of the burning cotton-wood.
By its light the savage expression was strengthened on every countenance. Beards looked darker, and teeth gleamed whiter through them. Eyes appeared more sunken, and their glances more brilliant and fiend-like. Picturesque costumes met the eye: turbans, Spanish hats, plumes, and mottled garments; escopettes and rifles leaning against the trees; saddles, high-peaked, resting upon logs and stumps; bridles hanging from the branches overhead; strings of jerked meat drooping in festoons in front of the tents, and haunches of venison still smoking and dripping their half-coagulated drops!
The vermilion smeared on the foreheads of the Indian warriors gleamed in the night light as though it were blood. It was a picture at once savage and warlike—warlike, but with an aspect of ferocity at which the sensitive heart drew back. It was a picture such as may be seen only in a bivouac of guerilleros, of brigands, of man-hunters.