Chapter Fifteenth.
"Calamity is man's true touchstone."
In their retreat after the attack upon the emigrant train to whichRupert and Don belonged, the Indians passed again over the ground wherethey had shot down the latter.
He still lay motionless and insensible, just as he had fallen from hishorse. Several of the savages dismounted and stooped over him, onedrawing a scalping-knife from his belt, and with the other hand seizingRupert by the hair.
At that instant consciousness returned. Rupert opened his eyes, andseeing the gleaming knife lifted high in the air, sent up a swift butsilent cry to God for help.
The Indian's hold upon his hair suddenly relaxed, and the knifewas returned to his belt. He had changed his mind, as he gave hiscompanions to understand in a few words quite unintelligible to Rupert,who was indeed again fast losing consciousness; an answering sentenceor two came indistinctly to his ear as sounds from the far distance;then he knew nothing more for a time, how long he could not tell; buton recovering consciousness he found himself strapped to the back of anIndian pony which was slowly toiling up a steep ascent; a narrow pathwinding round a mountain; on the right a rocky wall, on the other asheer descent of many hundred feet.
Rupert turned dizzy, sick, and faint as he caught a glimpse of thefrightful precipice, the foaming stream and jagged rocks at its base;and but for the thongs that bound him firmly to the back of his steed,he must inevitably have fallen and been dashed to pieces upon them.
He could not in that first moment remember what had befallen him, andcalled in a faint voice upon his brother, "Don, where are we?"
No reply, and he called again, more faintly than before, for he wasvery weak from pain and loss of blood, "Don, Don!"
An Indian's "Ugh!" and a few words in an unknown tongue answered himfrom the rear.
The sounds were guttural and harsh, and seemed to him to commandsilence.
Instantly he comprehended that he was a prisoner and in whose hands;sorely wounded too, for every movement of his pony gave him exquisitepain; and now memory recalled the events of the afternoon--the chase,the stinging shot, the fall from his horse, then the waking as from adream, to feel the grasp upon his hair and see the scalping-knife heldaloft in the air and just ready to descend upon his devoted head.
Question upon question crowded upon his mind. Where were his latecompanions, Morton and Smith? were they killed? were they prisonerslike himself? or had they escaped? Had the train been attacked; andif so, what was the result? Oh, above all, where was Don, the youngerbrother, over whom he was to have watched with paternal care? He wouldhave defended Don's life and liberty with his own; but, alas, theopportunity was denied him.
He thought of his own probable fate: what was there to expect buttorture and death? He remembered to have read that the Indianssometimes carried a prisoner a long distance that the rest of theirtribe might share the delight of witnessing his dying torments. Rupertshuddered at the thought that this was the fate reserved for him, andfeeling very weak, half hoped he might die on the way to meet it.
Silently he lifted up his heart in prayer to God for help and succor inthis his sore extremity, and that the consolations of God might not besmall to the dear ones at home--especially the tender mother--when thenews of his sad fate should reach them.
The last gleams of the setting sun lighted up the lofty pathway theywere pursuing, but down in that deep valley at the foot of the mountainit was already growing dark; he could see into its depths as he laywith his cheek resting on the neck of the pony; turning his head, thewall of rock towering on the other side came into view.
He was bound hand and foot and could lift only his head; he seemed tohave hardly strength for that; but, anxious to learn the number ofhis captors and whether he were the only prisoner, he made an effort,feebly lifted it, and glanced before and behind him.
He could only see that there were several mounted Indians ahead, andone or more in his rear, all hideous in war-paint and feathers; theremight be many more at each end of the line--for they were travellingsingle file, along the narrow, winding path, but a small portion ofwhich came within the line of his vision. And there might be otherprisoners, though he saw none.
Even that slight exertion had exhausted him; his head dropped, andagain pain of body and distress of mind were forgotten in a long anddeath-like swoon.
It was night, lighted only by the stars, and the path winding downward,when again he revived for a few moments shivering and benumbed withcold, weak and faint with hunger and loss of blood, and sufferinggreatly from the pain of his wounds.
He heard no sound but the rush of a mountain torrent and the clatter ofthe horses' hoofs over the stony way; he had scarcely more than notedthese things when again his senses forsook him.
When next he revived, two of his captors were busy in undoing the ropethat made him fast to the pony, which was standing stock still on levelground only a few feet from a fire of brushwood, that sent up flame andsmoke and blazed and crackled with a cheery sound which spoke of warmthfor benumbed limbs, while some venison and trout broiling on the coalsgave out a savory smell.
Several warriors were grouped about the fire, one giving particularattention to the cooking, the others lounging in picturesque andrestful attitudes on the grass.
Rupert was quickly lifted from the pony and laid on the grass besidethem, with his feet to the fire. Then the cord was taken from hiswrists and a bit of the smoking venison put into his hand. He devouredit ravenously, and, his hunger appeased, presently fell into a deepsleep; having first committed himself and dear ones to the care andprotection of that God who is everywhere present and almighty to defendand save.
His wounds had been rudely bound up in a way to stanch the flow ofblood, it being the desire of his captors to keep him alive, at leastfor a time. More mercifully disposed than they oftentimes are, andknowing that he was too weak for flight, they left him unbound throughthe night, merely fastening a cord round each arm and securing theother end to the arm of a stout warrior, one of whom lay on each sideof the prisoner.
Rupert had noted as they laid him down that no other white man was insight; this gave him hope that the rest had escaped; yet he could notknow that it was not by death, so that the discovery brought smallrelief to his anxiety of mind on their account.
Morning found him feverish and ill, his wounds very painful; but atan early hour the Indians resumed their line of march with him in themidst, strapped to the pony as before.
It was a terrible journey, climbing steep ascents, creeping alongnarrow ledges of rock, where a single false step would have sent themdown hundreds of feet, to be dashed in pieces upon the sharp pointsof the rocks below; now descending by paths as steep, narrow, anddangerous as those by which they had ascended, and anon fording streamsso deep and swift that the helpless, hapless prisoner was in imminentdanger of drowning.
He, poor fellow, was too ill to note the direction in which theywere travelling, though he had a vague idea that it was in the mainsouth-westerly.
Beside the difficulties and dangers of the way, he suffered intenselyfrom the pain of his wounds, and often from intolerable thirst.
One day he woke as from a troubled sleep to find himself lying ona bearskin in an Indian wigwam, a young girl sitting beside himembroidering a moccasin.
Their eyes met, and hers, large, soft, and dark as those of a gazelle,lighted up with pleased surprise.
"You are better, senor," she said, in low musical tones, and in theSpanish tongue.
Rupert understood her; he was fond of languages, and had gained a goodknowledge of Spanish from Dr. Landreth, who had learned to speak itfluently during his long sojourn in South America.
"Yes," he said faintly in that tongue, "and you have been my kindnurse?"
"It has been happiness to care for the weak and wounded stranger," shesaid in her liquid tones, "though I little thought he could speak to mein my own language; for you are not my countryman, senor; your face istoo fair."
"I am from the United States," he replied. "And you, fair lady?"
"I am a Mexican, a captive among the Indians like yourself," was themournful reply, tears gathering in the beautiful eyes.
His heart was touched with sympathy, and he was opening his lips toexpress it; but with playful authority she bade him be quiet and notwaste his feeble strength in talk.
Then she brought him food and drink prepared by her own fair hands,and fed him too--for he had scarce strength to feed himself--anddirectly his hunger was satisfied he fell asleep again.
When again he woke it was night; the stars were shining in the sky, ashe could see through the opening in the top of the wigwam left for theescape of smoke, and by their glimmer he could faintly perceive theoutlines of dusky forms lying on all sides of him; their quietude andthe sound of their breathing telling that they slept.
The impulse came strongly upon him to rise and flee--captivity was sodreadful, liberty so sweet--and it might be that, though so strangelyspared up to this time, torture and death were yet to be his portion ifhe remained.
He started up, but only to fall back again in utter exhaustion. Hecould do nothing to save himself, and there was no earthly helper near;but sweetly to his mind came the opening verses of the forty-sixthpsalm, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.Therefore will we not fear, though the earth be removed, and thoughthe mountains be carried into the midst of the sea," and silentlycommitting himself and loved ones--all, alas, so far distant--to thecare of that almighty Friend, he fell asleep again.
He was quite alone when next he woke, and it was broad daylight, for abright sunbeam had found its way through the opening in the roof, andlaid bare to his view the whole interior of the wigwam, with all itsfilth and lack of the comforts of civilized life.
All was silence within, but from without came the merry shouts andlaughter of the Indian children at play. Presently one pushed asidethe curtain of skins answering for a door, and a pair of wild blackeyes stared Rupert in the face for a moment; then the curtain fell, andsoft, swift-retreating footfalls came faintly to his ear.
Not many minutes had passed when it was again drawn aside, and Juanita,the Mexican girl he had seen the day before, stepped within, droppingit behind her.
Her sweet though melancholy smile seemed to light up the forlorn hutas she bade Rupert good-morning in her liquid tones, using the Spanishtongue as before, and asked if he could eat the morsel she had brought.Alas, not such a breakfast as would have been served him in his ownfar-away home.
It was a broiled fish, hot from the coals, laid upon a bit of barkcovered with green oak-leaves in lieu of a napkin. He thanked hergratefully, and asked if she could give him some water with which towash his face and hands before eating.
Setting his breakfast on the ground beside him, she went out, andpresently returned with a gourd filled with cold, clear water from alittle stream that ran sparkling and dancing down the mountain-side buta few yards away.
He first took a long deep draught, for he was suffering withfeverish thirst, then laved face and hands, she handing him his ownpocket-handkerchief, which had been washed in the stream and dried inthe sun, to use in place of a towel.
He recognized it; then glancing down at his person, saw that he wasattired in the clothes he had on when taken, and that, as they werefree from blood-stains, they too must have been washed by some kindlyhand and replaced upon him after their cleansing.
"How much I owe you!" he said, looking gratefully at her.
"No, not much," she answered, with shy modesty. "Now eat, senor, oryour breakfast will be cold."
"I must first rest a little," he returned, with a sigh of weariness,as he fell back exhausted upon his rude couch.
She caught up several deer and bear skins that lay scattered about,rolled them together and placed them as a pillow under his head; thendrawing two small objects from beneath that one on which he had beenlying, she held them up to his gaze, asking, "Do you value these,senor?"
"Indeed do I," he cried, stretching out an eager hand; "my preciouslittle Bible and my medicine case! I am thankful beyond expression thatthey have been preserved to me. How did it happen, senora?"
She explained that she had seen them in the possession of his captor,had begged that they might be given to her, and the Indian, thinkingthem of little worth, had readily complied with her request.
He poured out renewed thanks as he took up his Bible and turned overthe leaves, gazing upon it the while with loving, delighted eyes.
"An English book, is it not?" she asked, watching him with mingledsurprise and curiosity.
"Yes," he said, "the Book of books; God's own holy Word. You have readit in Spanish, senora?"
"The Bible? We are not allowed to touch it; our Church forbids; I neversaw one before," and she gazed upon it with a kind of awed curiosityand interest.
"A Papist," he thought, pityingly; "peradventure it was for her sakeI was sent here--that I may lead her from that darkness into the truelight. If life be spared me, I will, with God's help, do my best."
She broke in upon his thoughts. "Come, senor, eat, your fish will bequite cold."
When Juanita left him, carrying away with her the remains of hisrepast, an old squaw paid him a short visit, looking curiously at him,and grunting out several questions which were utterly unintelligible tohim; he could only shake his head and feebly sign to her that he didnot understand.
She left him, and he took up his book, but found the light was notsufficient to enable him to read, for it was a very small edition whichhe had been accustomed to carry in his pocket.
He was heartily glad when Juanita again appeared, this time with themoccasin she was embroidering in her hand, and seated herself at hisside.
"I am stronger to-day, senora," he said, "and can listen and talk;tell me of yourself."
To that she answered briefly that she was an orphan, both parentshaving died while she was yet a mere infant; that she had lived inthe family of an uncle, where she was made to feel her poverty anddependence, and her life rendered far from happy; that some months agothe Indians had made a raid upon her uncle's ranch, killed him and allhis family, and carried her off a prisoner to this mountain fastness;that she had been adopted by one of their chiefs, Thunder-Cloud, andhad no hope of any better fate than a life spent among the savages.
"Too sad a fate for one so beautiful, senora," Rupert said; "but do notdespair; God, who rescued Daniel from the lions' den, and Jonah fromthe belly of the whale, can save us also even from this stronghold ofour savage foe."
"I know nothing of the occurrences you speak of," she said, "and I darenot venture to address any petition directly to the great God; butI pray daily to the Blessed Virgin and the saints to have pity upona poor friendless girl and restore me to my country and my people,though, alas! I know not of one in whose veins flows a single drop ofmy blood."
"Ah, senora," replied Rupert, "you need not fear to approach the greatGod in the name of His dear Son, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.He bids us do so, and tells us that He is the hearer and answerer ofprayers."
He paused, closed his eyes, and lifted up his heart in silentsupplication for her and for himself.
She thought he slept, and sat very quietly, busy with her embroideryand waiting for him to wake again.
At length he opened his eyes, and asked her if she knew what fate theIndians had reserved for him.
She told him a council had been held while he lay unconscious from hiswounds; that there was a heated discussion, some of the braves beingset upon putting him to a torturing death, while others would have heldhim for ransom; but finally Thunder-Cloud, whose shot had brought himto the ground, had claimed him as his peculiar property, and declaredhis intention to adopt him as his son. "So," she concluded, "you,senor, need have no fear of being slain by any of the tribe, unlesscaught in an attempt to escape."
"God be praised!" he ejaculated, with clasped hands and upliftedeyes, "for life is sweet so long
as there is a possibility of futurerestoration to home and loved ones."
"You will attempt to escape?" she asked, with a look of apprehension;"it will be very dangerous, senor, for they are terribly fierce--theseApaches."
He looked at her with a faint smile. "I am far too weak to think of itnow, but one day, when I have recovered my health and strength, I mayfind an opportunity."
"And I shall be left alone with the savages as before," she said, witha touchingly mournful cadence in her exquisite voice.
"You must fly also, senora," he answered. "I think it is to you I owemy life, for have you not been my faithful nurse through I know not howlong a sickness? Then how could I be so ungrateful as to leave you herein captivity while I seek home and freedom for myself?"
"You have home and kindred, father and mother perhaps, senor?" she saidinquiringly, the soft eyes she fixed upon his face wistful and dim withunshed tears.
"Ah," he answered with emotion, "the thought of their anguish when theyshall learn my fate doubles my distress."
"Then," she sighed, "better to be alone in the world, like me, withnone to care whether you live or die."
"Nay, sweet lady, there is one who cares very much, though he has knownyou so short a time," he said with a grateful look; "one who would feeldoubly desolate were you to leave him here alone with his captors."