Page 52 of The Scalp Hunters


  CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

  RUNNING AMUCK.

  Another day came: our day for action. We saw our enemies making theirpreparations; we saw them go off to the woods, and return bringing clubsfreshly cut from the trees; we saw them dress as for ball-play orrunning.

  At an early hour we were taken forward to the front of the temple. Onarriving there, I cast my eyes upward to the terrace. My betrothed wasabove me; I was recognised.

  There was mud upon my scanty garments, and spots of blood; there wasdust on my hair; there were scars upon my arms; my face and throat werestained with powder, blotches of black, burnt powder: in spite of all, Iwas recognised. The eyes of love saw through all!

  I find no scene in all my experience so difficult to describe as this.Why? There was none so terrible; none in which so many wild emotionswere crowded into a moment. A love like ours, tantalised by proximity,almost within reach of each other's embrace, yet separated by relentlessfate, and that for ever; the knowledge of each other's situation; thecertainty of my death: these and a hundred kindred thoughts rushed intoour hearts together. They could not be detailed; they cannot bedescribed; words will not express them. You may summon fancy to youraid.

  I heard her screams, her wild words and wilder weeping. I saw her snowycheek and streaming hair, as, frantic, she rushed forward on the parapetas if to spring out. I witnessed her struggles as she was drawn back byher fellow-captives, and then, all at once, she was quiet in their arms.She had fainted, and was borne out of my sight.

  I was tied by the wrists and ankles. During the scene I had twice risento my feet, forced up by my emotions, but only to fall down again.

  I made no further effort, but lay upon the ground in the agony ofimpotence.

  It was but a short moment; but, oh! the feelings that passed over mysoul in that moment! It was the compressed misery of a life-time.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------

  For a period of perhaps half an hour I regarded not what was going onaround me. My mind was not abstracted, but paralysed: absolutely dead.I had no thoughts about anything.

  I awoke at length from this stupor. I saw that the savages hadcompleted their preparations for the cruel sport.

  Two rows of men extended across the plain to a distance of severalhundred yards. They were armed with clubs, and stood facing each otherwith an interval of three or four paces between their ranks. Down theinterval we were to run, receiving blows from everyone who could givethem as we passed. Should any of us succeed in running through thewhole line, and reach the mountain foot before we could be overtaken,the promise was that our lives should be spared!

  "Is this true, Sanchez?" I whispered to the torero, who was standingnear me.

  "No," was the reply, given also in a whisper. "It is only a trick tomake you run the better and show them the more sport. You are to dieall the same. I heard them say so."

  Indeed, it would have been slight grace had they given us our lives onsuch conditions; for it would have been impossible for the strongest andswiftest man to have passed through between their lines.

  "Sanchez!" I said again, addressing the torero, "Seguin was yourfriend. You will do all you can for her?"

  Sanchez well knew whom I meant.

  "I will! I will!" he replied, seeming deeply affected.

  "Brave Sanchez! tell her how I felt for her. No, no, you need not tellher that."

  I scarce knew what I was saying.

  "Sanchez!" I again whispered--a thought that had been in my mind nowreturning--"could you not--a knife, a weapon--anything--could you notdrop one when I am set loose?"

  "It would be of no use. You could not escape if you had fifty."

  "It may be that I could not. I would try. At the worst, I can but die;and better die with a weapon in my hands!"

  "It would be better," muttered the torero in reply. "I will try to helpyou to a weapon, but my life may be--"

  He paused. "If you look behind you," he continued, in a significantmanner, while he appeared to examine the tops of the distant mountains,"you may see a tomahawk. I think it is held carelessly. It might besnatched."

  I understood his meaning, and stole a glance around. Dacoma was at afew paces' distance, superintending the start. I saw the weapon in hisbelt. It was loosely stuck. It might be snatched!

  I possess extreme tenacity of life, with energy to preserve it. I havenot illustrated this energy in the adventures through which we havepassed; for, up to a late period, I was merely a passive spectator ofthe scenes enacted, and in general disgusted with their enactment. Butat other times I have proved the existence of those traits in mycharacter. In the field of battle, to my knowledge, I have saved mylife three times by the quick perception of danger and the promptness toward it off. Either less or more brave, I should have lost it. Thismay seem an enigma; it appears a puzzle; it is an experience.

  In my earlier life I was addicted to what are termed "manly sports." Inrunning and leaping I never met my superior; and my feats in suchexercises are still recorded in the memories of my college companions.

  Do not wrong me, and think that I am boasting of these peculiarities.The first is but an accident in my mental character; and others are onlyrude accomplishments, which now, in my more matured life, I see butlittle reason to be proud of. I mention them only to illustrate whatfollows.

  Ever since the hour of my capture I had busied my mind with plans ofescape. Not the slightest opportunity had as yet offered. All alongthe journey we had been guarded with the most zealous vigilance.

  During this last night a new plan had occupied me. It had beensuggested by seeing Sanchez upon his horse.

  I had matured it all, except getting possession of a weapon; and I hadhopes of escape, although I had neither time nor opportunity to detailthem to the torero. It would have served no purpose to have told himthem.

  I knew that I might escape, even without the weapon; but I needed it, incase there might be in the tribe a faster runner than myself. I mightbe killed in the attempt; that was likely enough; but I knew that deathcould not come in a worse shape than that in which I was to meet it onthe morrow. Weapon or no weapon, I was resolved to escape, or die inattempting it.

  I saw them untying O'Cork. He was to run first.

  There was a circle of savages around the starting-point; old men andidlers of the village, who stood there only to witness the sport.

  There was no apprehension of our escaping; that was never thought of: aninclosed valley, with guards at each entrance; plenty of horses standingclose by, that could be mounted in a few minutes. It would beimpossible for any of us to get away from the ground. At least, sothought they.

  O'Cork started.

  Poor Barney! His race was not a long one. He had not run ten pacesdown the living avenue when he was knocked over, and carried back,bleeding and senseless, amidst the yells of the delighted crowd.

  Another of the men shared a similar fate, and another; and then theyunbound me.

  I rose to my feet, and, during the short interval allowed me, stretchedmy limbs, imbuing my soul and body with all the energy that my desperatecircumstances enabled me to concentrate within them.

  The signal was again given for the Indians to be ready, and they weresoon in their places, brandishing their long clubs, and impatientlywaiting for me to make the start.

  Dacoma was behind me. With a side glance I had marked well where hestood; and backing towards him, under pretence of getting a fairer"break," I came close up to the savage. Then suddenly wheeling, withthe spring of a cat and the dexterity of a thief, I caught the tomahawkand jerked it from his belt.

  I aimed a blow, but in my hurry missed him. I had no time for another.I turned and ran. He was so taken by surprise that I was out of hisreach before he could make a motion to follow me.

  I ran, not for the open avenue, but to one side of the circle ofspectators, where were the old men and idlers.


  These had drawn their hand weapons, and were closing towards me in athick rank. Instead of endeavouring to break through them, which Idoubted my ability to accomplish, I threw all my energy into the spring,and leaped clear over their shoulders. Two or three stragglers struckat me as I passed them, but missed their aim; and the next moment I wasout upon the open plain, with the whole village yelling at my heels.

  I well knew for what I was running. Had it not been for that, I shouldnever have made the start. I was running for the caballada.

  I was running, too, for my life, and I required no encouragement toinduce me to make the best of it.

  I soon distanced those who had been nearest me at starting; but theswiftest of the Indians were the young men who had formed the lines, andI saw that these were now forging ahead of the others.

  Still they were not gaining upon me. My school training stood me inservice now.

  After a mile's chase, I saw that I was within less than half thatdistance of the caballada, and at least three hundred yards ahead of mypursuers; but to my horror, as I glanced back, I saw mounted men! Theywere still far behind, but I knew they would soon come up. Was itpossible he could hear me?

  I knew that in these elevated regions sounds are heard twice theordinary distance; and I shouted, at the top of my voice, "Moro! Moro!"

  I did not halt, but ran on, calling as I went.

  I saw a sudden commotion among the horses. Their heads were tossed up,and then one dashed out from the drove and came galloping towards me. Iknew the broad black chest and red muzzle. I knew them at a glance. Itwas my brave steed, my Moro!

  The rest followed, trooping after; but before they were up to trampleme, I had met my horse, and flung myself, panting, upon his back!

  I had no rein; but my favourite was used to the guidance of my voice,hands, and knees; and directing him through the herd, I headed for thewestern end of the valley. I heard the yells of the mounted savages asI cleared the caballada; and looking back, I saw a string of twenty ormore coming after me as fast as their horses could gallop.

  But I had no fear of them now. I knew my Moro too well; and after I hadcleared the ten miles of valley, and was springing up the steep front ofthe sierra, I saw my pursuers still back upon the plain.