CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.
A CONFLICT UPON A CLIFF.
My horse, idle for days, had recovered his full action, and bore me upthe rocky path with proud, springy step. My nerves drew vigour fromhis, and the strength of my body was fast returning. It was well. Iwould soon be called upon to use it. The picket was still to be passed.
While escaping from the town, in the excitement of the more proximateperil I had not thought of this ulterior one. I now remembered it. Itflashed upon me of a sudden, and I commenced gathering my resolution tomeet it.
I knew there was a picket upon the mountain! Sanchez had said so; hehad heard them say so. What number of men composed it? Sanchez hadsaid two, but he was not certain of this. Two would be enough, morethan enough for me, still weak, and armed as I was with a weapon in theuse of which I had little skill.
How would they be armed? Doubtless with bows, lances, tomahawks, andknives. The odds were all against me.
At what point should I find them? They were videttes. Their chief dutywas to watch the plains without. They would be at some station, then,commanding a view of these.
I remembered the road well--the same by which we had first entered thevalley. There was a platform near the western brow of the sierra. Irecollected it, for we had halted upon it while our guide went forwardto reconnoitre. A cliff overhung this platform. I remembered that too;for during the absence of the guide, Seguin and I had dismounted andclimbed it. It commanded a view of the whole outside country to thesouth and west. No doubt, then, on that very cliff would the videttesbe stationed.
Would they be on its top? If so, it might be best to make a dash, andpass them before they could descend to the road, running the risk oftheir missiles, their arrows and lances. Make a dash! No; that wouldbe impossible. I remembered that the path at both ends of the platformnarrowed to a width of only a few feet, with the cliff rising above itand the canon yawning below. It was, in fact, only a ledge of theprecipice, along which it was dangerous to pass even at a walk.Moreover, I had re-shod my horse at the mission. The iron was wornsmooth; and I knew that the rock was as slippery as glass.
All these thoughts passed through my mind as I neared the summit of thesierra. The prospect was appalling. The peril before me was extreme,and under other circumstances I would have hesitated to encounter it.But I knew that that which threatened from behind was not lessdesperate. There was no alternative; and with only half-formedresolutions as to how I should act, I pushed forward.
I rode with caution, directing my horse as well as I could upon thesofter parts of the trail, so that his hoof-strokes might not be heard.At every turn I halted, and scanned the profile of each new prospect;but I did not halt longer than I could help. I knew that I had no timeto waste.
The road ascended through a thin wood of cedars and dwarf pinons. Itwould zigzag up the face of the mountain. Near the crest of the sierrait turned sharply to the right, and trended in to the brow of the canon.There the ledge already mentioned became the path, and the roadfollowed its narrow terrace along the very face of the precipice.
On reaching this point I caught view of the cliff where I expected tosee the vidette. I had guessed correctly--he was there, and, to myagreeable surprise, there was only one: a single savage.
He was seated upon the very topmost rock of the sierra, and his largebrown body was distinctly visible, outlined against the pale blue sky.He was not more than three hundred yards from me, and about a third ofthat distance above the level of the ledge along which I had to pass.
I halted the moment I caught sight of him, and sat making a hurriedreconnaissance. As yet he had neither seen nor heard me. His back wasto me, and he appeared to be gazing intently towards the west. Besidethe rock on which he was, his spear was sticking in the ground, and hisshield, bow, and quiver were leaning against it. I could see upon hisperson the sparkle of a knife and tomahawk.
I have said my reconnaissance was a hurried one. I was conscious of thevalue of every moment, and almost at a glance I formed my resolution.That was, to "run the gauntlet," and attempt passing before the Indiancould descend to intercept me. Obedient to this impulse, I gave myanimal the signal to move forward.
I rode slowly and cautiously, for two reasons: because my horse darednot go otherwise; and I thought that, by riding quietly, I might getbeyond the vidette without attracting his notice. The torrent washissing below. Its roar ascended to the cliff; it might drown the soundof the hoof-strokes.
With this hope I stole onward. My eye passed rapidly from one to theother; from the savage on the cliff to the perilous path along which myhorse crawled, shivering with affright.
When I had advanced about six lengths upon the ledge, the platform camein view, and with it a group of objects that caused me to reach suddenlyforward and grasp the forelock of my Moro--a sign by which, in theabsence of a bit, I could always halt him. He came at once to a stand,and I surveyed the objects before me with a feeling of despair.
They were two horses, mustangs; and a man, an Indian. The mustangs,bridled and saddled, were standing quietly out upon the platform; and alasso, tied to the bit-ring of one of them, was coiled around the wristof the Indian. The latter was sitting upon his hams, close up to thecliff, so that his back touched the rock. His arms lay horizontallyacross his knees, and upon these his head rested. I saw that he wasasleep. Beside him were his bow and quiver, his lance and shield, allleaning against the cliff.
My situation was a terrible one. I knew that I could not pass himwithout being heard, and I knew that pass him I must. In fact, I couldnot have gone back had I wished it; for I had already entered upon theledge, and was riding along a narrow shelf where my horse could notpossibly have turned himself.
All at once, the idea entered my mind that I might slip to the ground,steal forward, and with my tomahawk--
It was a cruel thought, but it was the impulse of instinct, the instinctof self-preservation.
It was not decreed that I should adopt so fearful an alternative. Moro,impatient at being delayed in the perilous position, snorted and struckthe rock with his hoof. The clink of the iron was enough for the sharpears of the Spanish horses. They neighed on the instant. The savagessprang to their feet, and their simultaneous yell told me that both haddiscovered me.
I saw the vidette upon the cliff pluck up his spear, and commencehurrying downward; but my attention was soon exclusively occupied withhis comrade.
The latter, on seeing me, had leaped to his feet, seized his bow, andvaulted, as if mechanically, upon the back of his mustang. Then,uttering a wild shout, he trotted over the platform, and advanced alongthe ledge to meet me.
An arrow whizzed past my head as he came up; but in his hurry he hadaimed badly.
Our horses' heads met. They stood muzzle to muzzle with eyes dilated,their red nostrils steaming into each other. Both snorted fiercely, asif each was imbued with the wrath of his rider. They seemed to knowthat a death-strife was between us.
They seemed conscious, too, of their own danger. They had met at thevery narrowest part of the ledge. Neither could have turned or backedoff again. One or other must go over the cliff--must fall through adepth of a thousand feet into the stony channel of the torrent!
I sat with a feeling of utter helplessness. I had no weapon with whichI could reach my antagonist; no missile. He had his bow, and I saw himadjusting a second arrow to the string.
At this crisis three thoughts passed through my mind; not as I detailthem here, but following each other like quick flashes of lightning. Myfirst impulse was to urge my horse forward, trusting to his superiorweight to precipitate the lighter animal from the ledge. Had I beenworth a bridle and spurs, I should have adopted this plan; but I hadneither, and the chances were too desperate without them. I abandonedit for another. I would hurl my tomahawk at the head of my antagonist.No! The third thought! I will dismount, and use my weapon upon themustang.
This last was clearly the best;
and, obedient to its impulse, I slippeddown between Moro and the cliff. As I did so, I heard the "hist" ofanother arrow passing my cheek. It had missed me from the suddenness ofmy movements.
In an instant I squeezed past the flanks of my horse, and glided forwardupon the ledge, directly in front of my adversary.
The animal, seeming to guess my intentions, snorted with affright andreared up, but was compelled to drop again into the same tracks.
The Indian was fixing another shaft. Its notch never reached thestring. As the hoofs of the mustang came down upon the rock, I aimed myblow. I struck the animal over the eye. I felt the skull yieldingbefore my hatchet, and the next moment horse and rider, the latterscreaming and struggling to clear himself of the saddle, disappearedover the cliff.
There was a moment's silence, a long moment, in which I knew they werefalling--falling--down that fearful depth. Then came a loud splash, theconcussion of their united bodies on the water below!
I had no curiosity to look over, and as little time. When I regained myupright attitude (for I had come to my knees in giving the blow), I sawthe vidette just leaping upon the platform. He did not halt a moment,but advanced at a run, holding his spear at the charge.
I saw that I should be impaled unless I could parry the thrust. Istruck wildly, but with success. The lance-blade glinted from the headof my weapon. Its shaft passed me; and our bodies met with a shock thatcaused us both to reel upon the very edge of the cliff.
As soon as I had recovered my balance, I followed up my blows, keepingclose to my antagonist, so that he could not again use his lance.Seeing this, he dropped the weapon and drew his tomahawk. We now foughthand to hand, hatchet to hatchet!
Backward and forward along the ledge we drove each other, as theadvantage of the blows told in favour of either, or against him.
Several times we grappled, and would have pushed each other over; butthe fear that each felt of being dragged after mutually restrained us,and we let go, and trusted again to our tomahawks.
Not a word passed between us. We had nothing to say, even could we haveunderstood each other. But we had no boast to make, no taunt to urge,nothing before our minds but the fixed dark purpose of murdering oneanother!
After the first onset the Indian had ceased yelling, and we both foughtin the intense earnestness of silence.
There were sounds, though: an occasional sharp exclamation, our quick,high breathing, the clinking of our tomahawks, the neighing of ourhorses, and the continuous roar of the torrent. These were thesymphonies of our conflict.
For some minutes we battled upon the ledge. We were both cut andbruised in several places, but neither of us had as yet received orinflicted a mortal wound.
At length, after a continuous shower of blows, I succeeded in beating myadversary back, until we found ourselves out upon the platform. Therewe had ample room to wind our weapons, and we struck with more energythan ever. After a few strokes, our tomahawks met, with a violentconcussion, that sent them flying from our hands.
Neither dared stoop to regain his weapon; and we rushed upon each otherwith naked arms, clutched, wrestled a moment, and then fell together tothe earth. I thought my antagonist had a knife. I must have beenmistaken, otherwise he would have used it; but without it, I soon foundthat in this species of encounter he was my master. His muscular armsencircled me until my ribs cracked under the embrace. We rolled alongthe ground, over and over each other. Oh, God! we were nearing the edgeof the precipice.
I could not free myself from his grasp. His sinewy fingers were acrossmy throat. They clasped me tightly around the trachea, stopping mybreath. He was strangling me.
I grew weak and nerveless. I could resist no longer. I felt my holdrelax. I grew weaker and weaker. I was dying. I was--I--Oh, Heaven!pard--on. Oh--!
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I could not have been long insensible; for when consciousness returned Iwas still warm, sweating from the effects of the struggle, and my woundswere bleeding freshly and freely. I felt that I yet lived. I saw thatI was still upon the platform; but where was my antagonist? Why had nothe finished me? Why had not he flung me over the cliff?
I rose upon my elbow and looked around. I could see no living thingsbut my own horse and that of the Indian galloping over the platform,kicking and plunging at each other.
But I heard sounds, sounds of fearful import, like the hoarse, angryworrying of dogs, mingling with the cries of a human voice--a voiceuttered in agony!
What could it mean? I saw that there was a break in the platform, adeep cut in the rock; and out of this the sounds appeared to issue.
I rose to my feet, and, tottering towards the spot, looked in. It wasan awful sight to look upon. The gully was some ten feet in depth; andat its bottom, among the weeds and cacti, a huge dog was engaged intearing something that screamed and struggled. It was a man, an Indian.All was explained at a glance. The dog was Alp; the man was my lateantagonist!
As I came upon the edge, the dog was on the top of his adversary, andkept himself uppermost by desperate bounds from side to side, stilldashing the other back as he attempted to rise to his feet. The savagewas crying in despair. I thought I saw the teeth of the animal fast inhis throat, but I watched the struggle no longer. Voices from behindcaused me to turn round. My pursuers had reached the canon, and wereurging their animals along the ledge.
I staggered to my horse, and, springing upon his back, once moredirected him to the terrace--that part which led outward. In a fewminutes I had cleared the cliff and was hurrying down the mountain. AsI approached its foot I heard a rustling in the bushes that on bothsides lined the path. Then an object sprang out a short distance behindme. It was the Saint Bernard.
As he came alongside he uttered a low whimper and once or twice waggedhis tail. I knew not how he could have escaped, for he must have waiteduntil the Indians reached the platform; but the fresh blood that stainedhis jaws, and clotted the shaggy hair upon his breast, showed that hehad left one with but little power to detain him.
On reaching the plain I looked back. I saw my pursuers coming down theface of the sierra; but I had still nearly half a mile of start, and,taking the snowy mountain for my guide, I struck out into the openprairie.