Chapter 25 - The Scalp Hunters by Mayne Reid
The War-Trail
The band was mounted by the earliest dawn, and as the notes of the bugle died away our horses plashed through the river, crossing to the other side. We soon debouched from the timber bottom, coming out upon sandy plains that stretched westward to the Mibres Mountains. We rode over these plains in a southerly direction, climbing long ridges of sand that traversed them from east to west. The drift lay in deep furrows, and our horses sank above the fetlocks as we journeyed. We were crossing the western section of the Jornada.
We travelled in Indian file. Habit has formed this disposition among Indians and hunters on the march. The tangled paths of the forest, and the narrow defiles of the mountains admit of no other. Even when passing a plain, our cavalcade was strung out for a quarter of a mile. The atajo followed in charge of the arrieros.
For the first day of our march we kept on without nooning. There was neither grass nor water on the route; and a halt under the hot sun would not have refreshed us.
Early in the afternoon a dark line became visible, stretching across the plain. As we drew nearer, a green wall rose before us, and we distinguished the groves of cotton-wood. The hunters knew it to be the timber on the Paloma. We were soon passing under the shade of its quivering canopy, and reaching the banks of a clear stream, we halted for the night.
Our camp was formed without either tents or lodges. Those used on the Del Norte had been left behind in “caché.” An expedition like ours could not be cumbered with camp baggage. Each man’s blanket was his house, his bed, and his cloak.
Fires were kindled, and ribs roasted; and fatigued with our journey (the first day’s ride has always this effect), we were soon wrapped in our blankets and sleeping soundly.
We were summoned next morning by the call of the bugle sounding reveille. The band partook somewhat of a military organisation, and everyone understood the signals of light cavalry.
Our breakfast was soon cooked and eaten; our horses were drawn from their pickets, saddled, and mounted; and at another signal we moved forward on the route.
The incidents of our first journey were repeated, with but little variety, for several days in succession. We travelled through a desert country, here and there covered with wild sage and mezquite.
We passed on our route clumps of cacti, and thickets of creosote bushes, that emitted their foul odours as we crushed through them. On the fourth evening we camped at a spring, the Ojo de Vaca, lying on the eastern borders of the Llanos.
Over the western section of this great prairie passes the Apache war-trail, running southward into Sonora. Near the trail, and overlooking it, a high mountain rises out of the plain. It is the Pinon.
It was our design to reach this mountain, and “cacher” among the rocks, near a well-known spring, until our enemies should pass; but to effect this we would have to cross the war-trail, and our own tracks would betray us. Here was a difficulty which had not occurred to Seguin. There was no other point except the Pinon from which we could certainly see the enemy on their route and be ourselves hidden. This mountain, then, must be reached; and how were we to effect it without crossing the trail?
After our arrival at Ojo de Vaca, Seguin drew the men together to deliberate on this matter.
“Let us spread,” said a hunter, “and keep wide over the paraira, till we’ve got clar past the Apash trail. They won’t notice a single track hyar and thyar, I reckin.”
“Ay, but they will, though,” rejoined another. “Do ye think an Injun’s a-goin’ to pass a shod horse track ’ithout follerin’ it up? No, siree!”
“We kin muffle the hoofs, as far as that goes,” suggested the first speaker.
“Wagh! That ud only make it worse. I tried that dodge once afore, an’ nearly lost my har for it. He’s a blind Injun kin be fooled that away. ’Twon’t do nohow.”
“They’re not going to be so partickler when they’re on the war-trail, I warrant ye. I don’t see why it shouldn’t do well enough.”
Most of the hunters agreed with the former speaker. The Indians would not fail to notice so many muffled tracks, and suspect there was something in the wind. The idea of “muffling” was therefore abandoned. What next? The trapper Rube, who up to this time had said nothing, now drew the attention of all by abruptly exclaiming, “Pish!”
“Well! what have you to say, old hoss?” inquired one of the hunters.
“Thet yur a set o’ fools, one and all o’ ee. I kud take the full o’ that paraira o’ hosses acrosst the ’Pash trail, ’ithout making a sign that any Injun’s a-gwine to foller, particularly an Injun on the war-beat as them is now.”
“How?” asked Seguin.
“I’ll tell yur how, cap, ev yur’ll tell me what ’ee wants to cross the trail for.”
“Why, to conceal ourselves in the Pinon range; what else?”
“An’ how are ’ee gwine to ‘cacher’ in the Peenyun ’ithout water?”
“There is a spring on the side of it, at the foot of the mountain.”
“That’s true as Scripter. I knows that; but at that very spring the Injuns ’ll cool their lappers as they go down south’ard. How are ’ee gwine to get at it with this cavayard ’ithout makin’ sign? This child don’t see that very clur.”
“You are right, Rube. We cannot touch the Pinon spring without leaving our marks too plainly; and it is the very place where the war-party may make a halt.”
“I sees no confoundered use in the hul on us crossin’ the paraira now. We kan’t hunt buffler till they’ve passed, anyways. So it’s this child’s idee that a dozen o’ us ’ll be enough to ‘cacher’ in the Peenyun, and watch for the niggurs a-goin’ south. A dozen mout do it safe enough, but not the hul cavayard.”
“And would you have the rest to remain here?”
“Not hyur. Let ’em go north’ard from hyur, and then strike west through the Musquite Hills. Thur’s a crick runs thur, about twenty mile or so this side the trail. They can git water and grass, and ‘cacher’ thur till we sends for ’em.”
“But why not remain by this spring, where we have both in plenty?”
“Cap’n, jest because some o’ the Injun party may take a notion in thur heads to kum this way themselves. I reckin we had better make blind tracks before leavin’ hyur.”
The force of Rube’s reasoning was apparent to all, and to none more than Seguin himself. It was resolved to follow his advice at once. The vidette party was told off; and the rest of the band, with the atajo, after blinding the tracks around the spring, struck off in a north-westerly direction.
They were to travel on to the Mezquite Hills, that lay some ten or twelve miles to the north-west of the spring. There they were to “cacher” by a stream well known to several of them, and wait until warned to join us.
The vidette party, of whom I was one, moved westward across the prairie.
Rube, Garey, El Sol, and his sister, with Sanchez, a ci-devant bull-fighter, and half a dozen others, composed the party. Seguin himself was our head and guide.
Before leaving the Ojo de Vaca we had stripped the shoes off the horses, filling the nail-holes with clay, so that their tracks would be taken for those of wild mustangs. Such were the precautions of men who knew that their lives might be the forfeit of a single footprint.
As we approached the point where the war-trail intersected the prairie, we separated and deployed to distances of half a mile each. In this manner we rode forward to the Pinon mountain, where we came together again, and turned northward along the foot of the range.
It was sundown when we reached the spring, having ridden all day across the plain. We descried it, as we approached, close in to the mountain foot, and marked by a grove of cotton-woods and willows. We did not take our horses near the water; but, having reached a defile in the mountain, we rode into it, and “cached” them in a thicket of nut-pine. In this thicket we spent the night.
With the first light of morning we made a reconnaissance of our caché.
In front of us was a low ridge covered with loose rocks and straggling trees of the nut-pine. This ridge separated the defile from the plain; and from its top, screened by a thicket of the pines, we commanded a view of the water as well as the trail, and the Llanos stretching away to the north, south, and east. It was just the sort of hiding-place we required for our object.
In the morning it became necessary to descend for water. For this purpose we had provided ourselves with a mule-bucket and extra xuages. We visited the spring, and filled our vessels, taking care to leave no traces of out footsteps in the mud.
We kept constant watch during the first day, but no Indians appeared. Deer and antelopes, with a small gang of buffaloes, came to the spring-branch to drink, and then roamed off again over the green meadows. It was a tempting sight, for we could easily have crept within shot, but we dared not touch them. We knew that the Indian dogs would scent their slaughter.
In the evening we went again for water, making the journey twice, as our animals began to suffer from thirst. We adopted the same precautions as before.
Next day we again watched the horizon to the north with eager eyes. Seguin had a small pocket-glass, and we could see the prairie with it for a distance of nearly thirty miles; but as yet no enemy could be descried.
The third day passed with a like result; and we began to fear that the warriors had taken some other trail.
Another circumstance rendered us uneasy. We had eaten nearly the whole of our provisions, and were now chewing the raw nuts of the pinon. We dared not kindle a fire to roast them. Indians can read the smoke at a great distance.
The fourth day arrived and still no sign on the horizon to the north. Our tasajo was all eaten, and we began to hunger. The nuts did not satisfy us. The game was in plenty at the spring, and mottling the grassy plain. One proposed to lie among the willows and shoot an antelope or a black-tailed deer, of which there were troops in the neighbourhood.
“We dare not,” said Seguin; “their dogs would find the blood. It might betray us.”
“I can procure one without letting a drop,” rejoined a Mexican hunter.
“How?” inquired several in a breath.
The man pointed to his lasso.
“But your tracks; you would make deep footmarks in the struggle?”
“We can blind them, captain,” rejoined the man.
“You may try, then,” assented the chief.
The Mexican unfastened the lasso from his saddle, and, taking a companion, proceeded to the spring. They crept in among the willows, and lay in wait. We watched them from the ridge.
They had not remained more than a quarter of an hour when a herd of antelopes was seen approaching from the plain. These walked directly for the spring, one following the other in Indian file. They were soon close in to the willows where the hunters had concealed themselves. Here they suddenly halted, throwing up their heads and snuffing the air. They had scented danger, but it was too late for the foremost to turn and lope off.
“Yonder goes the lasso!” cried one.
We saw the noose flying in the air and settling over his head. The herd suddenly wheeled, but the loop was around the neck of their leader; and after three or four skips, he sprang up, and falling upon his back, lay motionless.
The hunter came out from the willows, and, taking up the animal, now choked dead, carried him towards the entrance of the defile. His companion followed, blinding the tracks of both. In a few minutes they had reached us. The antelope was skinned, and eaten raw, in the blood!
Our horses grow thin with hunger and thirst. We fear to go too often to the water, though we become less cautious as the hours pass. Two more antelopes are lassoed by the expert hunter.
The night of the fourth day is clear moonlight. The Indians often march by moonlight, particularly when on the war-trail. We keep our vidette stationed during the night as in the day. On this night we look out with more hopes than usual. It is such a lovely night! a full moon, clear and calm.
We are not disappointed. Near midnight the vidette awakes us. There are dark forms on the sky away to the north. It may be buffaloes, but we see that they are approaching.
We stand, one and all, straining our eyes through the white air, and away over the silvery sward. There are glancing objects: arms it must be. “Horses! horsemen! They are Indians!”
“Oh, God! comrades, we are mad! Our horses: they may neigh!”
We bound after our leader down the hill, over the rocks, and through the trees. We run for the thicket where our animals are tied. We may be too late, for horses can hear each other miles off; and the slightest concussion vibrates afar through the elastic atmosphere of these high plateaux. We reach the caballada. What is Seguin doing? He has torn the blanket from under his saddle, and is muffling the head of his horse!
We follow his example, without exchanging a word, for we know this is the only plan to pursue.
In a few minutes we feel secure again, and return to our watch-station on the height.
We had shaved our time closely; for, on reaching the hill-top, we could hear the exclamations of Indians, the “thump, thump” of hoofs on the hard plain, and an occasional neigh, as their horses scented the water. The foremost were advancing to the spring; and we could see the long line of mounted men stretching in their deploying to the far horizon.
Closer they came, and we could distinguish the pennons and glittering points of their spears. We could see their half-naked bodies gleaming in the clear moonlight.
In a short time the foremost of them had ridden up to the bushes, halting as they came, and giving their animals to drink. Then one by one they wheeled out of the water, and trotting a short distance over the prairie, flung themselves to the ground, and commenced unharnessing their horses.
It was evidently their intention to camp for the night.
For nearly an hour they came filing forward, until two thousand warriors, with their horses, dotted the plain below us.
We stood observing their movements. We had no fear of being seen ourselves. We were lying with our bodies behind the rocks, and our faces partially screened by the foliage of the pinon trees. We could see and hear with distinctness all that was passing, for the savages were not over three hundred yards from our position.
They proceed to picket their horses in a wide circle, far out on the plain. There the grama grass is longer and more luxuriant than in the immediate neighbourhood of the spring. They strip the animals, and bring away their horse-furniture, consisting of hair bridles, buffalo robes, and skins of the grizzly bear. Few have saddles. Indians do not generally use them on a war expedition.
Each man strikes his spear into the ground, and rests against it his shield, bow, and quiver. He places his robe or skin beside it. That is his tent and bed.
The spears are soon aligned upon the prairie, forming a front of several hundred yards; and thus they have pitched their camp with a quickness and regularity far outstripping the Chasseurs of Vincennes.
They are encamped in two parties. There are two bands, the Apache and Navajo. The latter is much the smaller, and rests farther off from our position.
We hear them cutting and chopping with their tomahawks among the thickets at the foot of the mountain. We can see them carrying faggots out upon the plain, piling them together, and setting them on fire.
Many fires are soon blazing brightly. The savages squat around them, cooking their suppers. We can see the paint glittering on their faces and naked breasts. They are of many hues. Some are red, as though they were smeared with blood. Some appear of a jetty blackness. Some black on one side of the face, and red or white on the other. Some are mottled like hounds, and some striped and chequered. Their cheeks and breasts are tattooed with the forms of animals: wolves, panthers, bears, buffaloes, and other hideous devices, plainly discernible under the blaze of the pine-wood fires. Some have a red hand painted on their bosoms, and not a few exhibit as their device the death’s head and cross-bones!
All these are their coats of arms, symbolical of the “medicine” of the wearer; adopted, no doubt, from like silly fancies to those which put the crest upon the carriage, on the lackey’s button, or the brass seal stamp of the merchant’s clerk.
There is vanity in the wilderness. In savage as in civilised life there is a “snobdom.”
What do we see? Bright helmets, brazen and steel, with nodding plumes of the ostrich! These upon savages! Whence came these?
From the cuirassiers of Chihuahua. Poor devils! They were roughly handled upon one occasion by these savage lancers.
We see the red meat spluttering over the fires upon spits of willow rods. We see the Indians fling the pinon nuts into the cinders, and then draw them forth again, parched and smoking. We see them light their claystone pipes, and send forth clouds of blue vapour. We see them gesticulate as they relate their red adventures to one another. We hear them shout, and chatter, and laugh like mountebanks. How unlike the forest Indian!
For two hours we watch their movements, and listen to their voices. Then the horse-guard is detailed, and marches off to the caballada; and the Indians, one after another, spread their skins, roll themselves in their blankets, and sleep.
The fires cease to blaze; but by the moonlight we can distinguish the prostrate bodies of the savages. White objects are moving among them. They are dogs prowling after the débris of their supper. These run from point to point, snarling at one another, and barking at the coyotes that sneak around the skirts of the camp.
Out upon the prairie the horses are still awake and busy. We can hear them stamping their hoofs and cropping the rich pasture. Erect forms are seen standing at intervals along the line. These are the guards of the caballada.