Chapter 86 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
The Comanche Camp
We had reached our ground just at the moment I desired. It was twilight—dark enough to render ourselves inconspicuous under the additional shadow of the trees—yet sufficiently clear to allow a full reconnoissance of the enemy’s position. Our point of view was a good one—under a single coup-d’oeil commanding the encampment, and a vast extent of country around it. The hill we had climbed—a sort of isolated butte—was the only eminence of any considerable elevation for miles around; and the site of the camp was upon the plain that stretched away from its base—apparently beyond limit!
The plain was what is termed a “pecan” prairie—that is, a prairie half covered with groves, copses, and lists of woodland—in which the predominating tree is the pecan—a species of hickory (carya olivaeformis), bearing an oval, edible nut of commercial value. Between the groves and mottes of timber, single trees stood apart, their heads fully developed by the free play given to their branches. These park-looking trees, with the coppice-like groves of the pecan, lent an air of high civilisation to the landscape; and a winding stream, whose water, under the still lingering rays, glistened with the sheen of silver, added to the deception. Withal, it was a wilderness—a beautiful wilderness. Human hands had never planted those groves—human agency had nought to do with the formation or adornment of that lovely landscape.
Upon the bank of the stream, and about half a mile from the base of the hill, stood the Indian camp. A glance at the position showed how well it had been chosen—not so much for defence, as to protect it against a surprise.
Assuming the lodge—there was but one—as the centre of the camp, it was placed upon the edge of a small grove, and fronting the stream. From the tent to the water’s edge, the plain sloped gently downward, like the glacis of a fortification. The smooth sward, that covered the space between the trees and the water, was the ground of the camp. On this could be seen the dusky warriors, some afoot, standing in listless attitudes, or moving about; others reclining upon the grass, and still others bending over the fires, as if engaged in the preparation of their evening meal.
A line of spears, regularly placed, marked the allotment of each. The slender shafts, nearly five yards in length, rose tall above the turf—like masts of distant ships—displaying their profusion of pennons and bannerets, of painted plumes and human hair. At the base of each could be seen the gaudy shield, the bow and quiver, the embroidered pouch and medicine-bag of the owner; and grouped around many of them appeared objects of a far different character—objects that we could not contemplate without acute emotion. They were women: enough of light still ruled the sky to show us their faces; they were white women—the captives.
Strange were my sensations as I regarded those forms and faces; but they were far off—even a lover’s eye was unequal to the distance.
Flanking the camp on right and left were the horses. They occupied a broad belt of ground—for they were staked out to feed—and each was allowed the length of his lazo. Their line converged to the rear, and met behind the grove—so that the camp was embraced by an arc of browsing animals, the river forming its chord. Across the stream, the encampment did not extend.
I have said that the spot was well selected to guard against a surprise. Its peculiar adaptability consisted in the fact, that the little grove that backed the camp was the only timber within a radius of a thousand yards. All around, and even on the opposite side of the stream, the plain was treeless, and free from cover of any kind. There were no inequalities of ground, neither “brake, bush, nor scaur,” to shelter the approach of an enemy.
Had this position been chosen, or was it accidental? In such a place and at such a time, it was not likely they had any fear of a surprise; but with the Indian, caution is so habitually exercised, that it becomes almost an instinct; and doubtless under such a habit, and without any forethought whatever, the savages had fixed upon the spot where they were encamped. The grove gave them wood; the stream, water; the plain, pabulum for their horses. With one of these last for their own food, they had all the requisites of an Indian camp.
At the first glance, I saw the strength of their position—not so much with the eye of a soldier, as with that of a hunter and bush-fighter did I perceive it. In a military sense, it offered no point of defence; but it could not be approached by stratagem, and that is all the horse-Indian ever fears. Alarm him not too suddenly—give him five minutes’ warning, and he cannot be attacked. If superior in strength, you may chase him; but you must be better mounted than he to bring him to close combat. Retreat, not defence, is generally the leading idea of Comanche strategy, unless when opposed to a Mexican foe. Then he will stand fight with the courage of a master.
As I continued to gaze at the Indian encampment, my heart sank within me. Except under cover of a dark night—a very dark night—it could not be entered. The keenest spy could not have approached it: it appeared unapproachable.
The same thought must at that moment have occupied the minds of my companions; I saw the gloom of disappointment on the brows of all as they knelt beside me silent and sullen. None of them said a word; they had not spoken since we came upon the ground.