Chapter 33 - The Scalp Hunters by Mayne Reid
A Bitter Trap
We reached the ruin a little after sunset. We frightened the owl and the wolf, and made our bivouac among the crumbling walls. Our horses were picketed upon the deserted lawns, and in the long-neglected orchards, where the ripe fruit was raining down its ungathered showers. Fires were kindled, lighting the grey pile with their cheerful blazing; and joints of meat were taken out of the hide-packs and roasted for supper.
There was water in abundance. A branch of the San Pedro swept past the walls of the mission. There were yams in the spoliated gardens; there were grapes, and pomegranates, and quinces, and melons, and pears, and peaches, and apples; and with all these was our repast garnished.
It was soon over, and videttes were thrown out on the tracks that led to the ruin. The men were weak and weary with their late fasting, and in a short while stretched themselves by their saddles and slept.
So much for our first night at the mission of San Pedro.
We were to remain for three days, or until the buffalo meat should be dried for packing.
They were irksome days to me. Idleness displayed the bad qualities of my half-savage associates. The ribald jest and fearful oath rang continually in my ears, until I was fain to wander off to the woods with the old botanist, who, during these three days, revelled in the happy excitement of discovery.
I found companionship also in the Maricopa. This strange man had studied science deeply, and was conversant with almost every noted author. He was reserved only when I wished him to talk of himself.
Seguin during these days was taciturn and lonely. He took but little heed of what was going on around him. He seemed to be suffering from impatience, as every now and then he paid a visit to the tasajo. He passed many hours upon the adjacent heights, looking anxiously towards the east: that point whence our spies would come in from the Pinon.
There was an azotea on the ruin. I was in the habit of seeking this place at evening after the sun had grown less fervid. It afforded a fine prospect of the valley; but its chief attraction to me lay in the retirement I could there obtain. The hunters rarely climbed up to it, and their wild and licenced converse was unheard for the time. I used to spread my blanket among the crumbling parapets, and stretched upon it, deliver myself up to the sweet retrospect, or to still sweeter dreams that my fancy outlined upon the future. There was one object on my memory: upon that object only did my hopes dwell.
I need not make this declaration; at least to those who have truly loved.
In the programme placed before me by Seguin, I had not bargained for such wanton cruelties as I was now compelled to witness. It was not the time to look back, but forward, and perhaps, over other scenes of blood and brutality, to that happier hour, when I should have redeemed my promise, and won the prize, beautiful Zoe.
My reverie was interrupted. I heard voices and footsteps; they were approaching the spot where I lay. I could see that there were two men engaged in an earnest conversation. They did not notice me, as I was behind some fragments of the broken parapet, and in the shadow. As they drew nearer, I recognised the patois of my Canadian follower, and that of his companion was not to be mistaken. The brogue was Barney’s, beyond a doubt.
These worthies, I had lately noticed, had become “as thick as two thieves,” and were much in each other’s company. Some act of kindness had endeared the “infantry” to his more astute and experienced associate, who had taken him under his patronage and protection.
I was vexed at the intrusion; but prompted by some impulse of curiosity, I lay still and listened.
Barney was speaking as they approached.
“In trath, Misther Gowdey, an’ it’s meself ’ud go far this blissed night for a dhrap o’ the crayter. I noticed the little kig afore; but divil resave me av I thought it was anythin’ barrin’ cowld water. Vistment! only think o’ the owld Dutch sinner bringin’ a whole kig wid ’im, an’ keepin’ it all to himself. Yez are sure now it’s the stuff?”
“Oui! oui! C’est liqueur! aguardiente.”
“Agwardenty, ye say, div ye?”
“Oui! c’est vrai, Monsieur Barney. I have him smell, ver many time. It is of stink très fort: strong! good!”
“But why cudn’t ye stale it yerself? Yez know exactly where the doctor keeps it, an’ ye might get at it a hape handier than I can.”
“Pourquoi, Barney? pecause, mon ami, I help pack les possibles of Monsieur le docteur. Pardieu! he would me suspect.”
“I don’t see the raison clear. He may suspect ye at all evints. How thin?”
“Ah! then, n’importe. I sall make von grand swear. No! I sall have ver clear conscience then.”
“Be the powers! we must get the licker anyhow; av you won’t, Misther Gowdey, I will; that’s said, isn’t it?”
“Oui! Très bien!”
“Well, thin, now or niver’s the time. The ould fellow’s just walked out, for I saw him meself. This is a nate place to drink it in. Come an’ show me where he keeps it; and, by Saint Patrick! I’m yer man to hook it.”
“Très bien! allons! Monsieur Barney, allons!”
Unintelligible as this conversation may appear, I understood every word of it. The naturalist had brought among his packs a small keg of aguardiente, mezcal spirits, for the purpose of preserving any new species of the lizard or snake tribe he should chance to fall in with. What I heard, then, was neither more or less than a plot to steal the keg and its contents!
My first impulse was to leap up and stop them in their design, as well as administer a salutary rebuke to my voyageur and his red-haired companion; but a moment’s reflection convinced me that they could be better punished in another way. I would leave them to punish themselves.
I remembered that some days previous to our reaching the Ojo de Vaca, the doctor had captured a snake of the adder kind, two or three species of lizards, and a hideous-looking animal, called, in hunter phraseology, the horned frog: the agama cornuta of Texas and Mexico. These he had immersed in the spirit for preservation. I had observed him do so, and it was evident that neither my Frenchman nor the Irishman had any idea of this. I adopted the resolution, therefore, to let them drink a full bumper of the “pickle” before I should interfere.
Knowing that they would soon return, I remained where I was.
I had not long to wait upon them. In a few minutes they came up, Barney carrying what I knew to be the devoted keg.
They sat down close to where I lay, and prising out the bung, filled the liquor into their tin cups, and commenced imbibing.
A drouthier pair of mortals could not have been found anywhere; and at the first draught, each emptied his cup to the bottom!
“It has a quare taste, hasn’t it?” said Barney, after he had taken the vessel from his lips.
“Oui! c’est vrai, monsieur!”
“What dev ye think it is?”
“Je ne sais quoi. It smells like one—one—”
“Is it fish, ye mane?”
“Oui! like one feesh: un bouquet très bizarre Fichtro!”
“I suppose it’s something that the Mexicans have drapped in to give the agwardenty a flayver. It’s mighty strong anyhow. It’s nothing the worse av that; but it ’ud be sorry drinkin’ alongside a nate dimmyjan of Irish patyeen. Och! mother av Moses! but that’s the raal bayvaridge!”
Here the Irishman shook his head to express with more emphasis his admiration of the native whisky.
“Well, Misther Gowdey,” continued he, “whisky’s whisky at any rate; and if we can’t get the butther, it’s no raison we should refuse the brid; so I’ll thank ye for another small thrifle out of the kig,” and the speaker held out his tin vessel to be replenished.
Gode lifted the keg, and emptied more of its contents into their cups.
“Mon Dieu! what is dis in my cops?” exclaimed he, after a draught.
“Fwhat is it? Let me see. That! Be me sowl! that’s a quare-looking crayter anyhow.”
“Sac–r–r–ré! it is von Texan! von fr–r–og! Dat is de feesh we smell stink. Owah—ah—ah!”
“Oh! holy mother! if here isn’t another in moine! By jabers! it’s a scorpion lizard! Hoach—wach—wach!”
“Ow—ah—ah—ack—ack! Mon Dieu! Oach—ach—! Sac-r! O—ach—ach—o—oa—a—ach!”
“Tare-an-ages! He—ach! the owld doctor has—oach—ack—ack! Blessed Vargin! Ha—he—hoh—ack! Poison! poison!”
And the brace of revellers went staggering over the azotea, delivering their stomachs, and ejaculating in extreme terror as the thought struck them that there might be poison in the pickle.
I had risen to my feet, and was enjoying the joke in loud laughter. This and the exclamations of the men brought a crowd of hunters up to the roof, who, as soon as they perceived what had happened, joined in, and made the ruin ring with their wild peals.
The doctor, who had come up among the rest, was not so well satisfied with the occurrence. After a short search, however, the lizards were found and returned to the keg, which still contained enough of the spirit for his purposes. It was not likely to be disturbed again, even by the thirstiest hunter in the band.