CHAPTER VI.
THE APACHES.
At the shot fired by Pedro Sandoval, after the fashion, of a perorationto his too lengthened story, as we have seen, the Apaches, who hadhitherto kept out of earshot, ran up at full speed. Red Cedar hurried inpursuit of Bloodson, but uselessly; he could not catch up to him, andwas compelled to rejoin his comrades. The latter were already makingpreparations to bury the old pirate, whose body they could not leave tobe devoured by the wild beasts and birds of prey. Sandoval was a greatfavourite of the Apaches, with whom he had lived a long time, and theyhad on many occasions, been able to appreciate his courage and maraudingtalents.
Stanapat had assembled his band, and was at the head of a certain numberof resolute warriors, whom he divided into two parties, and thenapproached Red Cedar.
"Will my brother listen to the words of a friend?" he said.
"My father can speak; although my heart is very sad, my ears are open,"the squatter answered.
"Good," the chief continued; "my brother will take a party of my youngmen, and put himself on the trail of the palefaces, while I pay thewhite warrior the duties proper for him."
"Can I thus leave a friend, before his body is placed in the ground?"
"My brother knows what he ought to do, but the palefaces are rapidlyretiring."
"You are right, chief; I go, but I leave you my warriors--my comradeswill be sufficient for me. Where shall I find you again?"
"At Bloodson's teocali."
"Good; will my brother soon be there?"
"In two days."
"The second sun will find me with all my warriors by the side of thesachem."
Stanapat bowed in reply: Red Cedar approached the corpse of Sandoval,bent down, and seized his frigid hand.
"Farewell, brother," he said, "pardon me for not being present at yourfuneral, but an important duty claims me; I am going to avenge you.Farewell, my old comrade, rest in peace, your enemies will not live manydays--farewell!"
After this funeral oration, the squatter gave his comrades a signal,bowed once again to Stanapat, and started at a gallop, followed by theother pirates. When their allies were out of sight, the Apaches beganthe funeral ceremony, which had been interrupted by the conversationbetween their chief and the pirate. Stanapat ordered the corpse to bewashed, the face painted of various colours, while the other Indianssurrounded it, bewailing. Some, whose grief was more powerful orexaggerated, made incisions in their arms, or chopped off a joint of oneof the left hand fingers, in sign of morning. When all was ready, thesachem placed himself by the head of the corpse, and addressing thecompany, said:
"Why do you weep? Why do you lament? See, I do not weep; I, his oldestand most devoted friend. He has gone to the other land, the Wacondah hasrecalled him; but if we cannot bring him back among us, our duty is toavenge him. The palefaces have lulled him, we will kill as manypalefaces as we can, in order that they may accompany him, and wait onhim, and that he may enter the presence of the Wacondah as a greatwarrior should appear. Death to the palefaces!"
"Death to the palefaces!" the Indians shouted, brandishing theirweapons.
The chief turned his head away, and a smile of contempt curled his thinlips at this enthusiastic explosion. But this, smile lasted no longerthan a lightning flash. Reassuming at once, the Indian stoicism,Stanapat, with all the decorum customary on such occasions, clothed thebody in the richest robes to be found, and the handsomest blankets. Thecorpse was then placed in a sitting posture, in the grave dug for it,whose bottom and sides had been lined with wood; a whip, weapons, andsome other articles were added, then the earth was thrown in, and thewhole covered with heavy stones so that the coyotes could not pull outthe body. This duty accomplished, at a signal from their chief theApaches remounted their horses, and started at a gallop on the roadleading to Bloodson's teocali, thinking no more of the comrade from whomthey had separated for ever, than if he had never existed.
The Apaches marched for three days; at the evening of the fourth, aftera fatiguing day across the sands, they halted at about a league from theRio Gila, in a thick wood, where they hid themselves. So soon as theencampment was formed, Stanapat sent off scouts in various directions,to discover whether the other war parties of the allied nations werenear, and to try and discover at the same time Red Cedar's trail.
When the sentinels were posted, for several warlike tribes of the FarWest guard themselves with great care when on the war trail, Stanapatvisited all the posts, and prepared to listen to the reports of thescouts, several of whom had already returned. The three first Indianswhom he questioned, announced but little of importance; they haddiscovered nothing.
"Good," said the chief; "the night is dark, my young men have moles'eyes; tomorrow, at sunrise, they will see more clearly; they can sleepthis night. At daybreak, they will start again, and perhaps discoversomething."
He made a signal with his hand to dismiss the scouts, who bowedrespectfully to the chief, and retired in silence. Only one remainedimpassive and motionless, as if the words had not been addressed to himas well as to the others. Stanapat turned and looked at him for someseconds.
"My son, the Swift Elk, did not hear me doubtless," he said; "he canrejoin his comrades."
"The Elk heard his father," the Indian replied, coolly.
"Then why does he remain?"
"Because he has not told what he saw, and what he saw is important tothe chief."
"Wah!" said Stanapat, "And what has my son seen which his brothers didnot discover?"
"The warriors were seeking in another direction, that is why they didnot perceive the trail."
"And my son has found one?"
Swift Elk bowed his head in affirmation.
"I await my son's explanation," the chief went on.
"The palefaces are two bowshot lengths from my father's camp," theIndian answered laconically.
"Oh! Oh!" the chief said doubtfully; "That seems to me too much."
"Will my father see?"
"I will see," Stanapat said as he rose.
"If my father will follow me, he will soon see."
"Let us go."
The two Indians started. Swift Elk led the sachem through the wood, andon reaching the river bank, he showed him a short distance off a rock,whose black outline rose silent and gloomy over the Gila.
"They are there," he said, stretching out his arm in the direction ofthe rock.
"My son has seen them."
"I have seen them."
"That is the Rock of Mad Buffalo, if I am not mistaken."
"Yes," the Indian answered.
"The position will be difficult to carry," the sachem muttered, as hecarefully examined the rock.
This place was called the rock or hill of Mad Buffalo, which name itindeed still bears, for the following reasons. The Comanches had, somefifty years ago, a famous chief who rendered his tribe the most warlikeand redoubtable of all in the Far West. This chief, who was called theMad Buffalo, was not only a great warrior, but also a great politician.By the aid of sundry poisons, but especially of arsenic, which hepurchased of the white traders for furs, he had succeeded, by killingall those who opposed him, in inspiring all his subjects with anunbounded superstitious terror. When he felt that death was at hand, andunderstood that his last hour had arrived, he indicated the spot he hadselected for his sepulchre.
It was a pyramidal column of granite and sand about four hundred andfifty feet in height. This pillar commands for a long distance thecourse of the river which washes its base and which, after makingnumberless windings in the plain, comes back close to it again. MadBuffalo ordered that his tomb should be erected on the top of this hill,where he had been accustomed to go and sit. His last wishes were carriedout with that fidelity the Indians display in such matters. His body wasplaced at the top of the hill, mounted on his finest steed, and overboth a mound was formed. A pole stuck in the tomb bore the banner of thechief, and the numerous scalps which he had raised from his enemies inaction.
; Hence the mountain of Mad Buffalo is an object of veneration for theIndians, and when a redskin is going to follow the war trail for thefirst time, he strengthens his courage by gazing on the enchanted hillwhich contains the skeleton of the Indian warrior and his steed.
The chief carefully examined the hill: it was, in truth, a formidableposition. The whites had rendered it even stronger, as far as waspossible, by cutting down the tallest trees they found, and formingthick palisades lined with pointed stakes and defended by a ditcheighteen feet in width. Thus protected, the hill had been converted intoa real impregnable fortress, unless regularly besieged.
Stanapat re-entered the wood, followed by his comrade, and went back tothe bivouac.
"Is the chief satisfied with his son?" the Indian tasked ere he retired.
"My son has the eyes of a tapir; nothing escapes him."
Swift Elk smiled proudly as he bowed.
"Does my son," the chief continued, in an insinuating voice, "know thepalefaces who are entrenched on the hill of Mad Buffalo?"
"Swift Elk knows them."
"Wah!" said the sachem; "my son is not mistaken; he has recognised thetrail?"
"Swift Elk is never mistaken," the Indian answered in a firm voice; "heis a renowned warrior."
"My brother is right; he can speak."
"The pale chief who occupies the Rock of Mad Buffalo is the great whitehunter whom the Comanches have adopted, and who is called Koutonepi."
Stanapat could not check a movement of surprise.
"Wah!" he exclaimed; "Can it be possible? My son is positively sure thatKoutonepi is entrenched on the top of the hill?"
"Sure," the Indian said without hesitation.
The chief made Swift Elk a sign to retire, and, letting his head fall inhis hands, he reflected profoundly.
The Apache had seen correctly; Valentine and his comrades were really onthe rock. After the death of Dona Clara, the hunter and his friendsstarted in pursuit of Red Cedar, not waiting, in their thirst forvengeance, till the earthquake was quite ended, and nature had resumedits ordinary course. Valentine, with that experience of the desert whichhe possessed so thoroughly, had, on the previous evening, discovered anApache trail; and, not caring to fight them in the open, owing to thenumerical weakness of his party, had scaled the hill, resolved to defendhimself against any who dared to attack him in his impregnable retreat.
In one of his numerous journeys across the desert, Valentine had noticedthis rock, whose position was so strong that it was easy to hold itagainst an enemy of even considerable force, and he determined to takeadvantage of this spot if circumstances compelled him at any time toseek a formidable shelter.
Without loss of time the hunters fortified themselves. So soon as theentrenchments were completed, Valentine mounted on the top of MadBuffalo's tomb, and looked attentively out on the plain. It was thenabout midday: from the elevation where Valentine was, he surveyed animmense extent of country. The prairie and the river were deserted:nothing appeared on the horizon except here and there a few herds ofbuffaloes, some nibbling the thick grass, others carelessly reclining.
The hunter experienced a feeling of relief and indescribable joy onfancying that his trail was lost by the Apaches, and that he had time tomake all preparations for a vigorous defence. He first occupied himselfwith stocking the camp with provisions, not to be overcome by famine ifhe were, as he supposed, soon attacked. His comrades and himself,therefore, had a grand buffalo hunt: as they killed them, their fleshwas cut in very thin strips, which were stretched on cords to dry in thesun, and make what is called in the pampas _charque_. The kitchen wasplaced in a natural grotto, which was in the interior of theentrenchments. It was easy to make a fire there with no fear ofdiscovery, for the smoke disappeared through an infinite number offissures, which rendered it imperceptible. The hunters spent the nightin making water bottles with buffalo hides: they rubbed fat into theseams to prevent them leaking, and they had time to lay in aconsiderable stock of water. At sunrise Valentine returned to hislook-out, and took a long glance over the plain to assure himself thatthe desert remained calm and silent.
"Why have you made us perch on this rock like squirrels?" General Ibanezsuddenly asked him.
Valentine stretched out his arm.
"Look," he said; "what do you see down there?"
"Not much; a little dust, I fancy," the general said cautiously.
"Ah!" Valentine continued, "Very good, my friend. And do you know whatcauses that dust?"
"I really do not."
"Well, I will tell you; it is the Apaches."
"_Caramba_, you are not mistaken?"
"You will soon see."
"Soon!" the general objected; "Do you think they are coming in thisdirection?"
"They will be here at sunset."
"Hum! You did well in taking your precautions, well, comrade. _Cuerpo deCristo!_ we shall have our work cut out with all these red demons."
"That is probable," Valentine said with a smile.
And he descended from the top of the tomb where he had hitherto beenstanding.
As the reader has already learned, Valentine was not mistaken. TheApaches had really arrived on that night at a short distance from thehill, and the scout found the trail of the whites. According to allprobability, a terrible collision was imminent between them and theredskins; those two races whom a mortal hatred divides, and who nevermeet on the prairie without trying to destroy each other. Valentinenoticed the Apache scout when he came to reconnoitre the hill; he thenwent down to the general, and said with that tone of mockery habitual tohim--
"Well, my dear friend, do you still fancy I am mistaken?"
"I never said so," the general exclaimed quickly; "Heaven keep me fromit! Still, I frankly confess that I should have preferred your beingmistaken. As you see, I display no self-esteem; but what would you have?I am like that, I would sooner fight ten of my countrymen than one ofthese accursed Indians."
"Unfortunately," Valentine said with a smile, "at this moment you haveno choice, my friend."
"That is true, but do not be alarmed; however annoyed I may feel, Ishall do my duty as a soldier."
"Oh! Who doubts it, my dear general?"
"_Caspita_, nobody, I know: but no matter, you shall see."
"Well, good night; try to get a little rest, for I warn you that weshall be attacked tomorrow at sunrise."
"On my word," said the general with a yawn that threatened to dislocatehis jaw, "I ask nothing better than to finish once for all with thesebandits."
An hour later, with the exception of Curumilla, who was sentry, thehunters were asleep; the Indians, on their side, were doing the samething.