CHAPTER XVII.
THE PUREST OF PEARLS.
By the noise of the cavalcade it could be calculated to be numerous.
Uncle Sweet Potato, who had so completely kept to himself whilst thescuffle had lasted, now appeared suddenly at the ranch door, with thealacrity of a man close to whose rear a red-hot branding iron was beingapproached. At the same time, the riders stopped their horses there.
Tio Camote had closed the thick door smartly, and held a colloquythrough a small wicket in its centre, in a language which was not knownto Mr. Gladsden. On the other hand, Oliver had started as the dialogueprogressed, and bending towards his companion, said in his ear:
"Indians! Hostile Indians, Apaches!--_Mimbres_ Apaches!" he concluded,as the speech revealed more and more particularities. "All men--theyare 'bad'--I can smell they are charcoal'd--blackened for war! I tell'er what, mighty slim chance but in strategem agen sich a powerfulsquad to whop. That's the voice of an old acquaintance--big chief--ah,he's head chief now! We hev swapped hosses, an' we've exchanged shots,but never draw'd blood, an' we may be considered neutrals on Spanishterritory, but all the same, be on your guard. That fool is too muchafeard on 'em not to let 'em in. Our hosses are not worth a red cent'spurchase apiece, wuss luck! Those 'Paches are as fond of hoss flesh asa Spanish gal of peanut candy. Still, if in a wuss squeeze than afore,you reckon on me pulling you out clean."
"I am puzzled again. Is the Indian a friend or foe?"
"Both or neither. But, lor', in the wildest parts, I have gone tosleep with my heels to the same fire as my deadliest enemy, and wokeup--well, I still live. It's 'cordin' to sarkimstances; and this hereis a pertickler sarkimstance--crammed with liveliness to the lid, likea tin o' them Italian sprats."
"Serious! Worse than before."
"Jess so. But don't show any surprise; keep _your_ tongue out of thetongue fire, and don't gainsay me in any way."
"I'm your puppet again."
"You'll not repent it."
"I am convinced of that."
"Hush, right thar! He's going to let them in. And they're big foolInjin enough to git off their hosses, wharon they'm as easy of movementas an eagle, and come down to common ground, whar they waddle likegeese. These hoss Ingins are no beauties, seen so, hobbling up to a barin a doggery, but they air fond o'white man's pison, and no two waysabout that."
Indeed, Camote, who probably was not insured and preferred running therisk of being butchered in his house to being certainly baked whenit should be fired over his head for his resistance to the commandto open, bowed in the chiefs of the new customers' party, and theirbodyguard.
These six or eight red men silently placed themselves on the floorby one of the tables in a squatting position near the door, pulledout every man a tomahawk pipe which they filled with _morrichee_, orsacred tobacco, which proved that they were members of an upper class,past masters in the council lodges, lit up and set to smoking, withoutany observations, though the pools of blood, and the shattered andbullet perforated furniture, revealed that there had recently been adisturbance there. They even betrayed no token of having perceived thetwo other persons at their table, and the men behind the bar, who wereexchanging dubious, uneasy glances, whilst they felt gooseflesh undertheir scalp.
But the American knew that a secret, quick glance had "counted" them,for he whispered:
"We're reckoned up, and they don't stomach _our_ looks. Tell 'ee, sir,they don't like close shooting and tough chawing."
After a few moments, one of the Indians smote the table with hishatchet pipe. Tio Camote ran over to the spot, with the most obsequiousof hotelkeepers' smiles on his lips.
"Heap big drink!"
"Mezcal!" uttered the savages.
"Si, si, si, Senor Camicho" (for _cacique_, Aztec for chieftain), wasthe celeritous answer, as the ranchero hastened to set half a dozenbottles of spirit and some horn cups on the bench, to be nearer theirreach than the table, before them.
They filled up and drank with a gusto that proved they had overcome thecounsels of their wise men not to let the firewater be their tempter.They resumed smoking and the puffs crossed one another in the dreariestsilence. Yet this silence was more appalling than the riot of the latebrawlers in the Green Ranch.
These Apache chiefs were attired much like their leader and resembledhim in build, being picked warriors, or rather, more probably, chiefswho had attained rank for fighting and marauding alone. They werelarge men for Apaches, and but for their legs being bowed by life onhorseback from boyhood up, would have overtopped six feet. They werewell built too, and their features not ignoble, though rapacity mouldedthe prominent traits, as well as could be ascertained beneath thestreaks of grey, blue, yellow and red plastered on in accordance withlaws or convention, in what space was left by a prodigious smearingwith the war colour in preeminence, black. As there were no signs ofmourning, they had so far been perfectly successful in their incursioninto Sonora, and had not lost a man. Their large dark eyes, deep andgloomy, sparkled now and anon with cunning.
Taking one as an example, he wore his hair gathered up so as to forma kind of pad on the top of his head, a very good idea for defence;some pendent plaits were not his own hair and had buffalo hair twinedin them, too; to each was hung at the end some little charm, pebblefangs, precious stone in the rough, gold or silver nugget, and so on.A long line of eagle and vulture feathers, varied in hue, possiblydyed, stood up on his head and out from him right down his back, whencethe line flowed free quite to his neck. Through the actual topknot,a long eagle feather, in special signification of commandership, wasstuck slantingly. This one in particular whom we are depicting, hadmounted a pair of buffalo horns adorned with ribbons and human hair,very fair or bleached, not unlike the headgear of the ancient Britons.Being out on the warpath, he had laid aside collar of claws, porcupinequills and teeth, and bracelets, so that the war jacket of deerskin,beautifully dressed, gathered in at the waist by a simple thong, lookedplain indeed. His buckskin breeches were ornamented with embroidery,and his stockings of American make were decorated similarly by thepatient squaws. His moccasins were bright with beadwork and quite clearof entanglement, though it seemed otherwise, from the artfully arrangedknee knot of dangling feathers and animal tails.
For weapons they had the tomahawk pipe of bronze, and scalping knife,one or two bows and arrows, the lustre of the black strings showinghuman hair was twisted in them as a trophy; the guns were not verygood, being cast-off army pieces, for which they had powder horns andbullet bags, quite old fashioned. Their spears were left without;they had rawhide whips hanging by a loop to the wrist, and ornamentedusefully with a war whistle for the issue of commands, more clearlysounded and distantly heard than by voice, a system known among theSouthern Indians from time out of mind though only of recent yearsadopted by European armies.
Strange and picturesque to the Englishman, though their odour of smokeand rancid grease and horses would have been less unendurable in theopen air, Gladsden owned that they were manly fellows enough whoinspired reasonable respect and almost consideration.
Unfortunately for appearances, whatever their nation may have beenin ancient days, now these Apaches are about the most plundering,murderous, ferocious rovers of the Southwest, especially hating all thewhites. Liars and thieves, they are a scourge who must be crushed outby the civilisation to which they will not truly bow the knee.
Whilst these unpleasant guests smoked and drank, our friends pretendedto doze. Camote would have liked to have shut up shop; but he wasnot the man, with only two assistants, to undertake to clear out thehorde before he retired to his virtuous pillow. The mere prospectiveof a wrangle with these ugly customers made his hair imprudently riselike a cockatoo's crest. He sat up on his counter, with dangling legsthat swung in concord with his agitation, with folded arms to lookundaunted, but not losing sight of the reds. He smoked cigarette aftercigarette, and gulped large draughts of _pulque_ by way of consolationand to nourish his patience.
Meanwhile th
e night advanced; the stars were paling away in thecelestial depths, and the moon "downing." It was nearly three in themorning, and yet the humbler Indians and the numerous horses withouthardly betrayed their proximity by a sound. For upwards of three hoursthe Apaches had gone on smoking and imbibing without their hard headsgiving way or any tongue being loosened.
All of a sudden the chief, who wore the odd diadem of horns, shook theashes out of his pipe on his left thumbnail, and spoke in a loud enoughvoice, though he still stared into vacancy. At the words, the Americanranger started slightly, opened his eyes fully, and in a measure made anod of courtesy.
"My brother the Ocelot," said the chief, "seems to be pretty much wornout to sleep so soundly. Were his eyes not sealed with sleep, he musthave taken notice that a friend has come into the lodge of the 'SpanishDog,' and has seated himself not far from the Hunter of the North,along with several braves of his grand nation."
"Resting the sight ain't sleeping, not by a long heap! No, Tiger Cat,the Ocelot never owns on to being wore out, I opine. If the Ocelotwa'n't staring at the chiefs, 'tis jest 'cause he has seen 'em, most on'em, afore now, ginerally when thar was smoke in the air, blood dropsas plenty as rain up North, and ha'r in rich plenty--you could stuff abuffalo hide plump out. The Ocelot knows his place in this part of thekentry--he don't shove his claws into no chief's mush and milk. He sorto' keeps low till a question aimed at him, hits him fa'r and squar';that's the kind of ginuine Ocelot, this Ocelot air."
"_Wagh!_ The hunter speaks well," remarked the Apache, wagging hishead with apparent satisfaction, "there's no split in his tongue._Bueno_--good!"
"No, _sir!_ 'Tis a straight, whole, single tongue."
"The Wacondah has opened a slit in his bosom for the smoke of his heartto steal forth pure. His sayings fall sweet and soft on the ear of theMimbres Apaches, for they are the words of a friend. Let the Ocelottalk on. It is so long since the Mimbres heard the music of his voicethat the papoose that was at the back of the squaw now stands alone,so high,"--making an imaginary line in the air with a wave of the pipehatchet,--"and plays at shooting with bow and arrow at the dogs. Buthis whole heart has not sprung forward to shake hands with his brother.His face is carved out of white flint. Is there no smile? Is he notglad to see the best warriors on the Apache roving ground? Is he notsurprised to see them here?"
"Considering, chief," returned Oregon O., nudging with his knee thatof the Englishman under the table, quite imperceptibly, "consideringthe Ocelot knew the Apaches were 'warm' round here, and that a callwas down in the programme of the dance, the Ocelot has no grounds foropening his eyes any wider."
"U-wagh!" ejaculated the chief, evincing some astonishment himself,"The Apache chiefs were expected by the great pale hunter?"
"They jess was," answered the other laconcially.
"Arrrh!" sighed the Indian with pretended awe and an insinuating smile."The hunter has met _the Book medicine men_ (preachers, missionaries)in the land of the beaver and white bear--he has been initiated intotheir lodge--he has a heap big medicine, he knows everything."
"The chief is making merry, he is no longer straight with his friend.Whether I carry good or bad medicine, it don't help me much in thisnick, as my brother ought to know."
"The Tiger Cat has been 'playing--,' with the Spaniards!" said theApache, with an emphasis on the English word he used, which causedthe hotelkeeper to shrink, "And a cloud has settled on his mind. Hecannot make out what the white hunter is driving at. He looks. He see_Nada_--nothing."
"If one of them stirs a finger towards me, shoot into the mass,"whispered Oliver, rising leisurely, to his comrade.
He left the table, and strode up to the Indians, among whom he stopped,his back to the edge of the table they disdained, leaning on his rifle,of which the beauty and value (for a breechloader is a miracle to theireyes) made their nervous tongues lick their thin upper lip and thicklower one like a snake when the game is presented.
"See here, chief," said he, "the Ocelot has hearing as fine as theymake 'em, and the faintest sounds tell their story in his ear. Did Inot know you and your cavalyada were down to'rds the Smoking Mountain,and have I not heard the amble of those mules out thar, a-toting alitter between them? In that litter is a white woman. I'm atter her,for her family's sake--what's the price of the captive?"
The Indians exchanged a look of amazement, but they were notdisconcerted. Indeed, Tiger Cat answered without wincing:
"Who can make (dead) meat of the white hunter? Beside the Ocelot, theTiger Cat is a prairie cricket."
"Speak out plain, then, chief. If you have the woman along with you,guarded by your _soldiers_ (the young warriors) so carefully, it is toclaim much price. What's the figure?"
"The Ocelot has all the wit of the palefaces, all the cunning of thered men. The Tiger Cat does not debate. He has a captive of worth--ay,'the purest of pearl' is worth her weight in dressed buffalo robes.But the prize is his. Why should the Ocelot hunger for the prey of theTiger Cat?"
"You'll jess let me back out about now, chief," said Oregon Oliver,negligently. "If we cannot trade, we'll take the back paths apart fromone another, and no bad blood."
He half turned as if to go away, but not without a glance of sympathyin bitterness at the certainly strange palanquin, draped with Navajowaterproof blankets, suspended elastically between two mules, nowvisible to him without.
But the wily redskin was evidently perplexed. The guides who haveintimate relations with the United States army always are looked uponpeculiarly by the Indians who have been thrashed by the blue capecoats. He detained the hunter by gently plucking at his blanket.
"The Ocelot bounds away too quickly," he observed, as if offended. "Hasanger flamed up between us brothers?"
"Ne'er a flame," replied the other, who was far from seeking a quarreljust then and there, with such overpowering odds in his disfavour, "butwhen we can't trade, let's sleep on it; we'll see it sure 'nuff, howthe _dicker_ promises."
"The white hunter has a stranger friend with him," remarked the Apache,with the abrupt change of conversation which is natural to men of nogreat conversational powers, and perhaps to let his interlocutor seethat the previous subject was exhausted; "he is no hunter; I daresay heis a chief of many gold buttons."
He alluded to the quantity of eagle buttons which adorn the uniform ofthe United States officers, who, of course, dress up as if for parade,in "talks" with the savages.
"You are out thar', chief; he is no friend of mine, no militaryossifer; only some traveller coming over the mountains to get intoGreaser land."
"And you are his guide?"
"Who says so?"
"The Tiger Cat's eyes are sharp; he sees what goes on over the prairieand plains. Did not the hunter's ten-shoot gun (he could express onlyso many units by twice throwing up his extended hand) speak, and somemixed blooded dog bite the river bank?"
"It is so! I struck a _coup_ (French Canadian hunter word for a strokeof war, a blow). It's nothing to crow over; it's nothing to _cache_.When a mosquito stings, you slap, don't you? Same when a mestizo buzzesclose; you can have his topknot as much as you like. But why," addedhe, repeating the other's phrase, "why does the Tiger Cat hanker afterthe Ocelot's dead?"
"The Tiger Cat kills his own game. What he says, he says to let thepaleface hunter see that he has eyes upon the land and the river. Now,"he concluded, releasing the flap of the blanket, "my brother can go,and sleep, if he be ready to drop."
Oliver went back to his seat, carelessly enough to all appearances.
"What's that about a woman," inquired Mr. Gladsden, eagerly in a lowvoice.
"A guess of mine that hit to the centre spot. Those red devils havesomething in a hoss-barrow of which they are taking pertickler care,and they wouldn't show her up here, so I guessed it war a captive.Now, the captive they spare and tender 'so fash' (fashion), you betyer life, she's something first quality and all the hair on. Besides,you hear him call her 'La Perla Purisima,' and that's the name youdon't hear every Sp
anish gal wear. Though, I will say this for them,that where I durn a Mexican man half a hundred times for bad gifts, Ibless a Mexican female critter once at least. The one's a tough knot,not wuth the burning, and won't make saddletree, picket peg, or goodarrow-wood, but the gals, most offen, is good stuff, and I'm a-tellingyou."
"A captive, a young girl, fair, pure; oh heaven! In the power of thesedemons!" groaned Gladsden.
"Don't shake the table! I've done all my uttermost: I made him thinkher family are already on her trail, that she's worth a huge ransom.If they've protected her so far, by the biggest of marvels in my'sperience, why not a little longer; tell we kin git clar of thisinfarnal 'tanglement, and can swoop on 'em at our advantage? Daringis a prime hoss to mount, to show off afore the crowd in front of thehotel, but give me patience when I've got to hunt the red scalpers.Patience, sir! We've got fifteen shots to spare in each of ourWinchesters, and the extra one in afore them; to say nothing of ourfive-shooters. Oh," he added, with a bitter and contemptuous look atthe Mexicans, "if there was only enough manhood for one in them three,durn their greasy pelts!"
Unfortunately, granting that they overcame the Apache headmen withinthe four brick walls, there were many without who could set fire to theranch and consume them like toads in a forest conflagration, while theywould be as far from rescuing the invisible captive as ever.
All fell into silence again, save that the three Mexicans, nestlingtowards one another, ventured to converse in an undertone. The Apachescontinued to imbibe and smoke their gleaming hatchet calumets. Thisdreary and onerous situation lasted for all of an hour after thehunter's parley with the red men, till they had finished their liquorand let their pipes die out.
The pale dawning light not merely appeared outside, but began to changethe colour of the glow from the nearly exhausted lamps. At the sametime the fresh morning air began battling with the fumes of spirits andtobacco.
Suddenly the similarly silent Indians on the exterior awoke. Therewere cautious signals exchanged; the horses, too, participated in thegrowing agitation, and shifted uneasily.
Two Apaches appeared at the doorway and gave an alarm to the chiefs,who had pricked up their cars, but only then deigned to rise at fulllength. They spoke together. All but two left the house, and almostinstantly a figure draped in blankets was dragged over the sill.Flinging off the hands clutching her wrists with an indignant outburstwhich made the wraps to fall, the white men and the Mexicans beheld agraceful apparition unveiled.
It was quite a young girl for age, but being precocious, like alltropical creatures, a woman in development, she looked only too lovelyin such a miserably unfit scene, fragile yet exuberant, with fine, tinyhands and feet, and narrow waist, black eyes, fair creamy skin andcarnation lips; her very step seemed not to press the ground. In herears and around her neck were pearls of unwonted dimensions; but it wasevidently her character and her beauty which had won her the title of"La Perla Purisima."
At the same moment a distant fusillade was audible.
"Follow, and do as I do!" shouted Oliver, taking his decision with thatswiftness of the prairie expert, which is, perhaps, the predominanttrait that most bewilders the savages, trained to do no act without thewarrant of magical manifestations.
With all possible speed he flung himself forward and dashed theIndian to the right of him as far aloof as the walls, at the sametime throwing his left arm in a backhanded way around the Mexicansenorita's waist so that, in drawing her forward, she was immediatelypushed behind him.
Gladsden--on whom the sight of the lovely girl had had a profoundeffect--had also sprung forward, and not exactly imitating thehunter, pushed with his gun muzzle at a second Apache, and, whetherintentionally or not, firing at the same instant, a hole was actuallyblown through the wretch, who leaped up in the air convulsively andso received a terrible cut of the hatchet of Tiger Cat, aimed at hisslayer.
"You've made your _coo'!_ Now kick the rest of them right clean out!"roared Oliver, stooping to avoid a pistol shot, and, in rising witha heavy stool in his hand, breaking the collarbone of the man whohad shot. "Now thar, Caballeros of the bluest blood," he shoutedderisively, "do something, only do something, if you want to sleepanother night in your hide!"
But already the two remaining Apaches had recoiled into the doorway,encumbered with the dead body of their brother whose scalp they wishedto save, and Tiger Cat alone really confronted the whites.
This seeing, Tio Camote broke the spell of terror that had convertedhim into a mere statue on his counter, and snatching a cutlass frombetween two casks, smacked the boards with it to make an encouragingnoise, calling out to his aids:
"Upon them, and second those valorous foreigners!"
Tiger Cat, enraged at the captive being so swiftly snatched out ofhis power, levelled a gun at the poor frightened thing over Oliver'sshoulder. But already Gladsden had the Apache on the flank, and beingtoo near him to use his rifle as a club, shifted it into his left hand,and dealt the redskin a terrible fisticuff. Staggered at this unusualblow from a weapon not in Indian war practice, the chief reeled andfell into the embrace of the white hunter.
"Whoopee," he cried, "I hev the varmint in my hug. Shut the door, youdog-goned greasers, and pile every mortal thing agen it!"
He hugged the chief so tightly that his breastbone cracked, and hisarms, pinioned to his side, were numbed to the very finger, so that helet the smoking gun drop.
"Just pick his we'pins out of his girdle, and mind that pison hatchetpipe, the least scratch means death!" said the ranger.
The Mexicans, inspired by this successful skirmish, had banged thesolid door to, and added a table and three full barrels to itsfastenings.
"Pooty!" exclaimed the man from Oregon at last drawing breath. "Let mehave a yard or two of leather rope, d'ye hyar?" raising his voice, asthere was a rising din without and a chopping on the door.
Presently the chief was securely bound and flung down on the groundwhere he was attached to the ring of a trapdoor leading to a small winevault, or rather cave into which, to presume from the air of them, thethree Mexicans would have liked to creep.
The external noise ceased. There were but two or three sharp whistlesof command, and a gentle creeping away of the troop, as it were.
"Some enemy of theirs exchanged shots with their pickets," interpretedOliver, "and as he is in force and resolutely coming on, they have goneinto 'cover.' If they are the pirates of the prairie, we are no betteroff than before, but we are 'all hunk,' quite safe, _sereno_, missee,"he said, turning kindly to the young girl, "if they are Mexicansoldiers or your friends."
She had joined her hands fervently; then, at the mention of friends,more clearly comprehending her comparative safety, she uttered herthanks in a torrent of eloquence, and the sweetest voice in theworld. All the time of her speaking, stray shots punctuated her flowof gratitude, so to say. Undoubtedly Oliver was right; some foes ofthe Apaches were giving them quite enough occupation to prevent themattempting to learn the fate even of their principal chief.
"Yes, they are my friends, my father, too, oh, I am sure my fatheris at the head of them!" cried the young girl, forgetting all hercaptivity, and its ignominies in her revulsion to joy. "Open the doorto them."
"Stop! Nothing of the sort," interposed the hunter, peremptorily."Those are not the old muskets of peons, nor the captured French riflesof the Mexican soldiery. Bide! Bide and we shall bimeby sec aboutwelcoming our deliverers."
And whilst Gladsden sought to console the little beauty whose face hadbecome gloomy again, the hunter began to scold the Mexicans for theircowardice.
"But," observed Gladsden, more and more perplexed as he examined theyoung lady, "La Perla Purisima, while very charming, is not a name.Pray who are you, Senorita?"
"But," said she with a pout, "La Perla is my name, the truth, whilstPurisima is the flattery. I was christened La Perla from the mainincident in my father's early life--"
"Indeed, indeed! And your father?"
"You are, in
sooth, a stranger, Senor, not to recognise the daughter ofthe very richest hacendero and proprietor in all Upper Sonora. I am,Senor, Perla Dolores de Bustamente y Miranda!"
"Dolores!" roared our Englishman, with the delightful leap of thepuzzled brain when a solution is afforded. "Why I knew you all along bythe likeness to your mother!"
And enfolding her in his arms he gave her an affectionate embrace,only a little less painful than that which had rendered the Tiger Cat_hors de combat_, and kissed her on both cheeks, whilst to her furtherastonishment, tears streamed from his eyes.
"Dolores! My dear little girl," continued Mr. Gladsden, when he couldspeak tolerably calmly, "Did you never hear your father and mothermention an Englishman? But there, I am sure they put my name into yourprayers, when you were yet in your cradle!"
"The Englishman! Oh, the English caballero!" cried the daughter of thepearl fisher, clapping her hands together in enthusiastic glee. "Yes,don Jorge Federico."
"George, it is! How trippingly my name comes off your honey tongue."
"That is easily accounted for, Senor, as it is my brother's."
"What! You have a brother! And they named their boy after me! Well,upon my soul! Here, you Oliver, if you don't take back your generaldenunciation of the Mexican race, we are no longer friends. At least,gratitude is not so ephemeral among them. So, don Benito never hasforgotten his old comrade?"
The young lady touched the pearls in her ear and at her necksignificantly to imply that the story of the filibuster's treasure wasone familiar to her.
"You are one of our saints, Senor?"
"Sit down, on my knee! Heaven bless you; I have children of my own,too! And tell me all about your home, your excellent parents, and yourgood, brave, handsome brother. I'll wager a fortune he is brave andhandsome."
"Hush!" interrupted the hunter. "Draw the girl out of a line with thatwicket in the door. Someone has ridden right up to it, jingling withwe'pins. More war talk!"