CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
THREE DAYS IN THE TRAP.
Our attention was now turned to our own situation. Dangers anddifficulties suddenly presented themselves to our minds.
"What if they should stay here to hunt?"
The thought seemed to occur to all of us at the same instant, and wefaced each other with looks of apprehension and dismay.
"It is not improbable," said Seguin, in a low and emphatic voice. "Itis plain they have no supply of meat, and how are they to pass to thesouth without it? They must hunt here or elsewhere. Why not here?"
"If so, we're in a nice trap!" interrupted a hunter, pointing first tothe embouchure of the defile and then to the mountain. "How are we toget out? I'd like to know that."
Our eyes followed the direction indicated by the speaker. In front ofthe ravine in which we were, extended the line of the Indian camp, not ahundred yards distant from the rocks that lay around its entrance.There was an Indian sentinel still nearer; but it would be impossible topass out, even were he asleep, without encountering the dogs thatprowled in numbers around the camp.
Behind us, the mountain rose vertically like a wall. It was plainlyimpassable. We were fairly "in the trap."
"Carrai!" exclaimed one of the men, "we will die of hunger and thirst ifthey stay to hunt!"
"We may die sooner," rejoined another, "if they take a notion in theirheads to wander up the gully."
This was not improbable, though it was but little likely. The ravinewas a sort of _cul de sac_, that entered the mountain in a slantingdirection, and ended at the bottom of the cliff. There was no object toattract our enemies into it, unless indeed they might come up in searchof pinon nuts. Some of their dogs, too, might wander up, hunting forfood, or attracted by the scent of our horses. These wereprobabilities, and we trembled as each of them was suggested.
"If they do not find us," said Seguin, encouragingly, "we may live for aday or two on the pinons. When these fail us, one of our horses must bekilled. How much water have we?"
"Thank our luck, captain, the gourds are nearly full."
"But our poor animals must suffer."
"There is no danger of thirst," said El Sol, looking downward, "whilethese last;" and he struck with his foot a large round mass that grewamong the rocks. It was the spheroidal cactus. "See!" continued he,"there are hundreds of them!"
All present knew the meaning of this, and regarded the cacti with amurmur of satisfaction.
"Comrades!" said Seguin, "it is of no use to weary ourselves. Let thosesleep who can. One can keep watch yonder while another stays up here.Go, Sanchez!" and the chief pointed down the ravine to a spot thatcommanded a view of its mouth.
The sentinel walked off, and took his stand in silence. The rest of usdescended, and after looking to the muffling of our horses, returned tothe station of the vidette upon the hill. Here we rolled ourselves inour blankets, and, lying down among the rocks, slept out the night.
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We were awake before dawn, and peering through the leaves with feelingsof keen solicitude.
There is no movement in the Indian camp. It is a bad indication. Hadthey intended to travel on, they would have been stirring before this.They are always on the route before daybreak. These signs strengthenour feelings of apprehension.
The grey light begins to spread over the prairie. There is a white bandalong the eastern sky. There are noises in the camp. There are voices.Dark forms move about among the upright spears. Tall savages strideover the plain. Their robes of skins are wrapped around their shouldersto protect them from the raw air of the morning.
They carry faggots. They are rekindling the fires!
Our men talk in whispers, as we lie straining our eyes to catch everymovement.
"It's plain they intend to make a stay of it."
"Ay! we're in for it, that's sartin! Wagh! I wonder how long thara-goin' to squat hyar, any how."
"Three days at the least: may be four or five."
"Great gollies! we'll be froze in half the time."
"What would they be doin' here so long? I warrant ye they'll clar outas soon as they can."
"So they will; but how can they in less time?"
"They can get all the meat they want in a day. See! yonder's buffalo aplenty; look! away yonder!" and the speaker points to several blackobjects outlined against the brightening sky. It is a herd ofbuffaloes.
"That's true enough. In half a day I warrant they kin get all the meatthey want: but how are they a-goin' to jirk it in less than three?That's what I want to know."
"Es verdad!" says one of the Mexicans, a cibolero; "tres dias, almenos!" (It is true--three days, at the least!)
"Ay, hombre! an' with a smart chance o' sunshine at that, I guess."
This conversation is carried on by two or three of the men in a lowtone, but loud enough for the rest of us to overhear it.
It reveals a new phase of our dilemma on which we have not beforereflected. Should the Indians stay to "jerk" their meat, we will be inextreme danger from thirst, as well as of being discovered in our cache.
We know that the process of jerking buffalo beef takes three days, andthat with a hot sun, as the hunter has intimated. This, with the firstday required for hunting, will keep us four days in the ravine!
The prospect is appalling. We feel that death or the extreme torture ofthirst is before us. We have no fear of hunger. Our horses are in thegrove, and our knives in our belts. We can, live for weeks upon them;but will the cacti assuage the thirst of men and horses for a period ofthree or four days? This is a question no one can answer. It has oftenrelieved the hunter for a short period, enabling him to crawl on to thewater; but for days!
The trial will soon commence. The day has fairly broken. The Indiansspring to their feet. About one-half of them draw the pickets of theirhorses, and lead them to the water. They adjust their bridles, pluck uptheir spears, snatch their bows, shoulder their quivers, and leap onhorseback.
After a short consultation they gallop off to the eastward. In half anhour's time, we can see them running the buffalo far out upon theprairie: piercing them with their arrows, and impaling them on theirlong lances.
Those who have remained behind lead their horses down to thespring-branch, and back again to the grass. Now they chop down youngtrees, and carry faggots to the fires. See! they are driving longstakes into the ground, and stretching ropes from one to the other. Forwhat purpose? We know too well.
"Ha! look yonder!" mutters one of the hunters, as this is first noticed;"yonder goes the jerking-line! Now we're caged in airnest, I reckin."
"Por todos santos, es verdad!"
"Carambo! carrajo! chingaro!" growls the cibolero, who well knows themeaning of those stakes and lines.
We watch with a fearful interest the movements of the savages.
We have now no longer any doubt of their intention to remain for severaldays.
The stakes are soon erected, running for a hundred yards or more alongthe front of the encampment. The savages await the return of theirhunters. Some mount and scour off toward the scene of the buffalobattue, still going on, far out upon the plain.
We peer through the leaves with great caution, for the day is bright,and the eyes of our enemies are quick, and scan every object. We speakonly in whispers, though our voices could not be heard if we conversed alittle louder, but fear makes us fancy that they might. We are allconcealed except our eyes. These glance through small loopholes in thefoliage.
The Indian hunters have been gone about two hours. We now see themreturning over the prairie in straggling parties.
They ride slowly back. Each brings his load before him on the withersof his horse. They have large masses of red flesh, freshly skinned andsmoking. Some carry the sides and quarters; others the hump-ribs, thetongue, the heart, and liver--the _petits morceaux_--wrapped up in theskins of the slaug
htered animals.
They arrive in camp, and fling their loads to the ground.
Now begins a scene of noise and confusion. The savages run to and fro,whooping, chattering, laughing, and dancing. They draw their longscalping-knives, and hew off broad steaks. They spit them over theblazing fires. They cut out the hump-ribs. They tear off the whitefat, and stuff the boudins. They split the brown liver, eating it raw!They break the shanks with their tomahawks, and delve out the savourymarrow; and, through all these operations, they whoop, and chatter, andlaugh, and dance over the ground like so many madmen.
This scene lasts for more than an hour.
Fresh parties of hunters mount and ride off. Those who remain cut themeat into long thin strips, and hang it over the lines already preparedfor this purpose. It is thus left to be baked by the sun into "tasajo."
We know part of what is before us. It is a fearful prospect; but menlike those who compose the band of Seguin do not despond while theshadow of a hope remains. It is a barren spot indeed, where they cannotfind resources.
"We needn't holler till we're hurt," says one of the hunters.
"If yer call an empty belly a hurt," rejoins another, "I've got italready. I kud jest eat a raw jackass 'ithout skinnin' him."
"Come, fellers!" cries a third, "let's gramble for a meal o' thesepeenyuns."
Following this suggestion, we commence searching for the nuts of thepine. We find to our dismay that there is but a limited supply of thisprecious food; not enough either on the trees or the ground to sustainus for two days.
"By gosh!" exclaims one, "we'll have to draw for our critters."
"Well, and if we have to--time enough yet a bit, I guess. We'll biteour claws a while first."
The water is distributed in a small cup. There is still a little leftin the xuages; but our poor horses suffer.
"Let us look to them," says Seguin; and, drawing his knife, he commencesskinning one of the cacti. We follow his example.
We carefully pare off the volutes and spikelets. A cool, gummy liquidexudes from the opened vessels. We break the short stems, and liftingthe green, globe-like masses, carry them to the thicket, and place thembefore our animals. These seize the succulent plants greedily, crunchthem between their teeth, and swallow both sap and fibres. It is foodand drink to them. Thank Heaven! we may yet save them!
This act is repeated several times, until they have had enough.
We keep two videttes constantly on the look-out--one upon the hill, theother commanding the mouth of the defile. The rest of us go through theravine, along the sides of the ridge, in search of the cones of thepinon.
Thus our first day is spent.
The Indian hunters keep coming into their camp until a late hour,bringing with them their burdens of buffalo flesh. Fires blaze over theground, and the savages sit around them, cooking and eating, nearly allthe night.
On the following day they do not rouse themselves until a late hour. Itis a day of lassitude and idleness; for the meat is hanging over thestrings, and they can only wait upon it. They lounge around the camp,mending their bridles and lassos, or looking to their weapons; they leadtheir horses to the water, and then picket them on fresh ground; theycut large pieces of meat, and broil them over the fires. Hundreds ofthem are at all times engaged in this last occupation. They seem to eatcontinually.
Their dogs are busy, too, growling over the knife-stripped bones. Theyare not likely to leave their feast; they will not stray up the ravinewhile it lasts. In this thought we find consolation.
The sun is hot all the second day, and scorches us in the dry defile.It adds to our thirst; but we do not regret, this so much, knowing itwill hasten the departure of the savages. Towards evening, the tasajobegins to look brown and shrivelled. Another such day and it will beready for packing.
Our water is out, and we chew the succulent slices of the cactus. Theserelieve our thirst without quenching it.
Our appetite of hunger is growing stronger. We have eaten all thepinons, and nothing remains but to slaughter one of our horses.
"Let us hold out till to-morrow," suggests one. "Give the poor brutes achance. Who knows but what they may flit in the morning?"
This proposition is voted in the affirmative. No hunter cares to risklosing his horse, especially when out upon the prairies.
Gnawed by hunger, we lie waiting for the third day.
The morning breaks at last, and we crawl forward as usual, to watch themovements of the camp. The savages sleep late, as on yesterday; butthey arouse themselves at length, and after watering their animals,commence cooking. We see the crimson streaks and the juicy ribs smokingover the fires, and the savoury odours are wafted to us on the breeze.Our appetites are whetted to a painful keenness. We can endure nolonger. A horse must die!
Whose? Mountain law will soon decide.
Eleven white pebbles and a black one are thrown into the water-bucket,and one by one we are blinded and led forward.
I tremble as I place my hand in the vessel. It is like throwing the diefor my own life.
"Thank Heaven! my Moro is safe!"
One of the Mexicans has drawn the black.
"Thar's luck in that!" exclaims a hunter. "Good fat mustang better thanpoor bull any day!"
The devoted horse is in fact a well-conditioned animal; and placing ourvidettes again, we proceed to the thicket to slaughter him.
We set about it with great caution. We tie him to a tree, and hopplehis fore and hind feet, lest he may struggle. We propose bleeding himto death.
The cibolero has unsheathed his long knife, while a man stands by,holding the bucket to catch the precious fluid: the blood. Some havecups in their hands, ready to drink it as it flows!
We were startled by an unusual sound. We look through the leaves. Alarge grey animal is standing by the edge of the thicket, gazing in atus. It is wolfish-looking. Is it a wolf? No. It is an Indian dog!
The knife is stayed; each man draws his own. We approach the animal,and endeavour to coax it nearer. But no; it suspects our intentions,utters a low growl, and runs away down the defile.
We follow it with our eyes. The owner of the doomed horse is thevidette. The dog must pass him to get out, and he stands with his longlance ready to receive it.
The animal sees himself intercepted, turns and runs back, and againturning, makes a desperate rush to pass the vidette. As he nears thelatter, he utters a loud howl. The next moment he is impaled upon thelance!
Several of us rush up the hill to ascertain if the howling has attractedthe attention of the savages. There is no unusual movement among them;they have not heard it.
The dog is divided and devoured before his quivering flesh has time togrow cold! The horse is reprieved.
Again we feed our animals on the cooling cactus. This occupies us forsome time. When we return to the hill a glad sight is before us. Wesee the warriors seated around their fires, renewing the paint upontheir bodies.
We know the meaning of this.
The tasajo is nearly black. Thanks to the hot sun, it will soon beready for packing!
Some of the Indians are engaged in poisoning the points of their arrows.All these signs inspire us with fresh courage. They will soon march;if not to-night, by daybreak on the morrow.
We lie congratulating ourselves, and watching every movement of theircamp. Our hopes continue rising as the day falls.
Ha! there is an unusual stir. Some order has been issued. "Voila!""Mira! mira!" "See!" "Look, look!" are the half-whispered ejaculationsthat break from the hunters as this is observed.
"By the livin' catamount, thar a-going to mizzle!"
We see the savages pull down the tasajo and tie it in bunches. Thenevery man runs out for his horse; the pickets are drawn; the animals areled in and watered; they are bridled; the robes are thrown over them andgirthed. The warriors pluck up their lances, sling their quivers, seizetheir shields and bows, and leap lightly upon horseback. T
he nextmoment they form with the rapidity of thought, and wheeling in theirtracks, ride off in single file, heading to the southward.
The larger band has passed. The smaller, the Navajoes, follow in thesame trail. No! The latter has suddenly filed to the left, and iscrossing the prairie towards the east, towards the spring of the Ojo deVaca.