CHAPTER FORTY ONE.
THE BARRANCA.
We staked our horses upon the open plain, and, returning to the thicket,cut down wood and kindled fires. We felt secure. Our pursuers, evenhad they escaped back to the valley, could not now reach us, except byturning the mountains or waiting for the falling of the flood.
We knew that that would be as sudden as its rise, should the rain cease;but the storm still raged with unabated fury.
We could soon overtake the atajo; but we determined to remain for sometime at the canon, until men and horses had refreshed themselves byeating. Both were in need of food, as the hurried events of thepreceding days had given no opportunity for a regular bivouac.
The fires were soon blazing under shelter of the overhanging rocks; andthe dried meat was broiled for our suppers, and eaten with sufficientrelish. Supper ended, we sat, with smoking garments, around the redembers. Several of the men had received wounds. These were rudelydressed by their comrades, the doctor having gone forward with theatajo.
We remained for several hours by the canon. The tempest still playedaround us, and the water rose higher and higher. This was exactly whatwe wished for; and we had the satisfaction of seeing the flood increaseto such a height that, as Rube assured us, it could not subside forhours. It was then resolved that we should continue our journey.
It was near midnight when we drew our pickets and rode off. The rainhad partially blinded the trail made by El Sol and his party, but themen who now followed it were not much used to guide-posts, and Rube,acting as leader, lifted it at a trot. At intervals the flashes oflightning showed the mule tracks in the mud, and the white peak thatbeckoned us in the distance.
We travelled all night. An hour after sunrise we overtook the atajo,near the base of the snow mountain. We halted in the mountain pass;and, after a short while spent in cooking and eating breakfast,continued our journey across the sierra. The road led through a dryravine, into an open plain that stretched east and south beyond thereach of our vision. It was a desert.
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I will not detail the events that occurred to us in the passage of thatterrible jornada. They were similar to those we experienced in thedeserts to the west. We suffered from thirst, making one stretch ofsixty miles without water. We passed over sage-covered plains, withouta living object to break the death-like monotony that extended aroundus. We cooked our meals over the blaze of the artemisia. But ourprovisions gave out; and the pack mules, one by one, fell under theknives of the hungry hunters. By night we camped without fires; wedared not kindle them; for though, as yet, no pursuers had appeared, weknew they must be on our trail. We had travelled with such speed thatthey had not been able to come up with us.
For three days we headed towards the south-east. On the evening of thethird we descried the Mimbres Mountains towering up on the easternborder of the desert. The peaks of these were well known to thehunters, and became our guides as we journeyed on.
We approached the Mimbres in a diagonal direction, as it was our purposeto pass through the sierra by the route of the old mine, once theprosperous property of our chief. To him every feature of the landscapewas a familiar object. I observed that his spirits rose as we proceededonward.
At sundown we reached the head of the Barranca del Oro, a vast cleftthat traversed the plain leading down to the deserted mine. This chasm,like a fissure caused by some terrible earthquake, extended for adistance of twenty miles. On either side was a trail; for on both thetable-plain ran in horizontally to the very lips of the abyss. Aboutmidway to the mine, on the left brow, the guide knew of a spring, and weproceeded towards this with the intention of camping by the water.
We dragged wearily along. It was near midnight when we arrived at thespring. Our horses were unsaddled and staked on the open plain.
Here Seguin had resolved that we should rest longer than usual. Afeeling of security had come over him as he approached thesewell-remembered scenes.
There was a thicket of young cotton-trees and willows fringing thespring, and in the heart of this a fire was kindled. Another mule wassacrificed to the manes of hunger; and the hunters, after devouring thetough steaks, flung themselves upon the ground and slept. Thehorse-guard only, out by the caballada, stood leaning upon his rifle,silent and watchful.
Resting my head in the hollow of my saddle, I lay down by the fire.Seguin was near me with his daughter. The Mexican girls and the Indiancaptives lay clustered over the ground, wrapped in their tilmas andstriped blankets. They were all asleep, or seemed so.
I was as wearied as the rest, but my thoughts kept me awake. My mindwas busy with the bright future. "Soon," thought I, "shall I escapefrom these horrid scenes; soon shall I breathe a purer atmosphere in thesweet companionship of my beloved Zoe. Beautiful Zoe! before two dayshave passed I shall again be with you, press your impassioned lips, callyou my loved: my own! Again shall we wander through the silent gardenby the river groves; again shall we sit upon the moss-grown seats in thestill evening hours; again shall we utter those wild words that causedour hearts to vibrate with mutual happiness! Zoe, pure and innocent asthe angels." The child-like simplicity of that question, "Enrique, whatis to marry?" Ah! sweet Zoe! you shall soon learn. Ere long I shallteach you. Ere long wilt thou be mine; for ever mine!
"Zoe! Zoe! are you awake? Do you lie sleepless on your soft couch? oram I present in your dreams? Do you long for my return, as I to hastenit? Oh, that the night were past! I cannot wait for rest. I couldride on sleepless--tireless--on--on!"
My eye rested upon the features of Adele, upturned and shining in theblaze of the fire. I traced the outlines of her sister's face: thehigh, noble front, the arched eyebrow, and the curving nostril. But thebrightness of complexion was not there; the smile of angelic innocencewas not there. The hair was dark, the skin browned; and there was awildness in the expression of the eye, stamped, no doubt, by theexperience of many a savage scene. Still was she beautiful, but it wasbeauty of a far less spiritual order than that of my betrothed.
Her bosom rose and fell in short, irregular pulsations. Once or twice,while I was gazing, she half awoke, and muttered some words in theIndian tongue. Her sleep was troubled and broken.
During the journey, Seguin had waited upon her with all the tendersolicitude of a father; but she had received his attentions withindifference, or at most regarded them with a cold thankfulness. It wasdifficult to analyse the feelings that actuated her. Most of the timeshe remained silent and sullen.
The father endeavoured, once or twice, to resuscitate the memories ofher childhood, but without success; and with sorrow at his heart he hadeach time relinquished the attempt.
I thought he was asleep. I was mistaken. On looking more attentivelyin his face, I saw that he was regarding her with deep interest, andlistening to the broken phrases that fell from her lips. There was apicture of sorrow and anxiety in his look that touched me to the heart.
As I watched him, the girl murmured some words, to me unintelligible,but among them I recognised the name "Dacoma."
I saw that Seguin started as he heard it.
"Poor child!" said he, seeing that I was awake; "she is dreaming, and atroubled dream it is. I have half a mind to wake her out of it."
"She needs rest," I replied.
"Ay, if that be rest. Listen! again `Dacoma.'"
"It is the name of the captive chief."
"Ay; they were to have been married according to their laws."
"But how did you learn this?"
"From Rube: he heard it while he was a prisoner at the town."
"And did she love him, do you think?"
"No. It appears not. She had been adopted as the daughter of themedicine chief, and Dacoma claimed her for a wife. On certainconditions she was to have been given to him; but she feared, not lovedhim, as her words now testify. Poor child! a wayward fate has beenhers."
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nbsp; "In two journeys more her sufferings will be over. She will be restoredto her home, to her mother."
"Ah! if she should remain thus it will break the heart of my poorAdele."
"Fear not, my friend. Time will restore her memory. I think I haveheard of a parallel circumstance among the frontier settlements of theMississippi."
"Oh! true, there have been many. We will hope for the best."
"Once in her home the objects that surrounded her in her younger daysmay strike a chord in her recollection. She may yet remember all. Mayshe not?"
"Hope! Hope!"
"At all events, the companionship of her mother and sister will soon winher from the thoughts of savage life. Fear not! She will be yourdaughter again."
I urged these ideas for the purpose of giving consolation. Seguin madeno reply; but I saw that the painful and anxious expression stillremained clouding his features.
My own heart was not without its heaviness. A dark foreboding began tocreep into it from some undefined cause. Were his thoughts in communionwith mine?
"How long," I asked, "before we can reach your house on the Del Norte?"
I scarce knew why I was prompted to put this question. Some fear thatwe were still in peril from the pursuing foe?
"The day after to-morrow," he replied, "by the evening. Heaven grant wemay find them safe!"
I started as the words issued from his lips. They had brought pain inan instant. This was the true cause of my undefined forebodings.
"You have fears?" I inquired, hastily.
"I have."
"Of what? of whom?"
"The Navajoes."
"The Navajoes!"
"Yes. My mind has not been easy since I saw them go eastward from thePinon. I cannot understand why they did so, unless they meditated anattack on some settlements that lie on the old Llanos' trail. If notthat, my fears are that they have made a descent on the valley of ElPaso, perhaps on the town itself. One thing may have prevented themfrom attacking the town: the separation of Dacoma's party, which wouldleave them too weak for that; but still the more danger to the smallsettlements both north and south of it."
The uneasiness I had hitherto felt arose from an expression which Seguinhad dropped at the Pinon spring. My mind had dwelt upon it, from timeto time, during our desert journeyings; but as he did not speak of itafterwards, I thought that he had not attached so much importance to it.I had reasoned wrongly.
"It is just probable," continued the chief, "that the Passenos maydefend themselves. They have done so heretofore with more spirit thanany of the other settlements, and hence their long exemption from beingplundered. Partly that, and partly because our band has protected theirneighbourhood for a length of time, which the savages well know. It isto be hoped that the fear of meeting with us will prevent them fromcoming into the Jornada north of the town. If so, ours have escaped."
"God grant," I faltered, "that it may be thus!"
"Let us sleep," added Seguin. "Perhaps our apprehensions are idle, andthey can benefit nothing. To-morrow we shall march forward withouthalt, if our animals can bear it. Go to rest, my friend; you have notmuch time."
So saying, he laid his head in his saddle, and composed himself tosleep. In a short while, as if by an act of volition, he appeared to bein a profound slumber.
With me it was different. Sleep was banished from my eyes, and I tossedabout, with a throbbing pulse and a brain filled with fearful fancies.The very reaction from the bright dreams in which I had just beenindulging rendered my apprehensions painfully active. I began toimagine scenes that might be enacting at that very moment: my betrothedstruggling in the arms of some savage; for these southern Indians, Iknew, possessed none of the chivalrous delicacy that characterise thered men of the "forest."
I fancied her carried into a rude captivity; becoming the squaw of somebrutal brave; and with the agony of the thought I rose to my feet andrushed out upon the prairie.
Half-frantic, I wandered, not heeding whither I went. I must havewalked for hours, but I took no note of the time.
I strayed back upon the edge of the barranca. The moon was shiningbrightly, but the grim chasm, yawning away into the earth at my feet,lay buried in silence and darkness. My eye could not pierce itsfathomless gloom.
I saw the camp and the caballada far above me on the bank; but mystrength was exhausted, and, giving way to my weariness, I sank downupon the very brink of the abyss. The keen torture that had hithertosustained me was followed by a feeling of utter lassitude. Sleepconquered agony, and I slept.