The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West

  CHAPTER VII.

  THE RANGERS.

  On the banks of the Rio San Pedro, and on the side of a hill, stood a_rancheria_ composed of some ten cabins, inhabited by a population ofsixty persons at the most, including men, women and children. Thesepeople were Coras Indians, hunters and agriculturists, belonging to theTortoise tribe. These poor Indians lived there on terms of peace withtheir neighbours, under the protection of the Mexican laws. Quiet andinoffensive beings, during the nearly twenty years they had beenestablished at this place they had never once offered a subject ofcomplaint to their neighbours, who, on the contrary, were glad to seethem prosper, owing to their gentle and hospitable manners. ThoughMexican subjects, they governed themselves after their fashion, obeyingtheir caciques, and regulating in the assembly of their elders all thedifficulties that arose in their village.

  On the night when we saw the squatters leave the cabin in disguise, sometwenty individuals, armed to the teeth and clothed in strange costumes,with their faces blackened so as to render them unrecognizable, werebivouacked at about two leagues from the rancheria, in a plain on theriver's bank. Seated or lying round huge fires, they were singing,laughing, quarrelling or gambling with multitudinous yells and oaths.Two men seated apart at the foot of an enormous cactus, were conversingin a low tone, while smoking their husk cigarettes. These two men, ofwhom we have already spoken to the reader, were Fray Ambrosio, chaplainto the Hacienda de la Noria, and Andres Garote, the hunter.

  Andres was a tall, thin fellow, with a sickly and cunning face, whodraped himself defiantly in his sordid rags, but whose weapons were in aperfectly good condition.

  Who were the men causing this disturbance? They were "rangers," but thisrequires explanation.

  Immediately after each of the different revolutions which haveperiodically overturned Mexico since that country so pompously declaredits independence, the first care of the new president who reaches poweris to dismiss the volunteers who had accidentally swollen the ranks of hisarmy, and supplied him the means of overthrowing his predecessor. Thesevolunteers, we must do them the justice of allowing, are the very scumof society, and the most degraded class human nature produces. Thesesanguinary men, without religion or law, who have no relations orfriends, are an utter leprosy to the country.

  Roughly driven back into society, the new life they are forced to adoptin no way suits their habits of murder and pillage. No longer able towage war on their countrymen, they form free corps, and engagethemselves for a certain salary, to hunt the Indios Bravos--that is tosay, the Apaches and Comanches--who desolate the Mexican frontiers. Inaddition to this, the paternal government of North America in Texas, andof Mexico in the States of the Confederation, allots them a certain sumfor each Indian scalp they bring in.

  We do not fancy we are saying anything new in asserting that they arethe scourge of the colonists and inhabitants, they plunder shamelesslyin every way when they are not doing worse.

  The men assembled at this moment on the banks of the Rio San Pedro werepreparing for a war party--the name they give to the massacres theyorganise against the redskins.

  Toward midnight Red Cedar and his three sons reached the rangers' camp.They must have been impatiently expected, for the bandits received themwith marks of the greatest joy and the warmest enthusiasm. The dice, thecards, and botas of mezcal and whiskey were immediately deserted. Therangers mounted their horses, and grouped round the squatters, near whomstood Fray Ambrosio and his friend Andres Garote.

  Red Cedar took a glance round the mob, and could not repress a smile ofpride at the sight of the rich collection of bandits of everydescription whom he had around him, and who recognised him as chief. Heextended his arm to command peace. When all were silent the giant tookthe word.

  "Senores caballeros," he said, in a powerful and marked voice, whichmade all these scamps quiver with delight at being treated like honestpeople, "the audacity of the redskins is growing intolerable. If we letthem alone they would soon inundate the country, when they would end byexpelling us. This state of things must have an end. The governmentcomplains about the few scalps we supply; it says we do not carry outthe clauses of the agreement we have formed with it; it talks aboutdisbanding us, as our services are useless, and therefore burdensome tothe republic. It is our bounden duty to give a striking denial to thesemalevolent assertions, and prove to those who have placed confidence inus that we are ever ready to devote ourselves to the cause of humanityand civilisation. I have assembled you here for a war party, which Ihave been meditating for some time, and shall carry out this night. Weare about to attack the rancheria of the Coras, who for some years pasthave had the impudence to establish themselves near this spot. They arepagans and thieves, who have one hundred times merited the severechastisement we are about to inflict on them. But I implore you, senorescaballeros, display no mistaken pity. Crush this race of vipers--let notone escape! The scalp of a child is worth as much as that of a man; sodo not let yourselves be moved by cries or tears, but scalp, scalp tothe end."

  This harangue was greeted as it deserved to be; that is, by yells ofjoy.

  "Senores," Red Cedar continued, "the worthy monk who accompanies me willcall down the blessing of Heaven on our enterprise; so kneel down toreceive the absolution he is about to give you."

  The bandits instantaneously dismounted, took off their hats, and knelton the sand. Fray Ambrosio then repeated a long prayer, to which theylistened with exemplary patience, repeating _amen_ after each occasion,and he ended by giving them absolution. The rangers rose, delighted atbeing thus freed from the burden of their sins, and got into theirsaddles again.

  Red Cedar then whispered a few words in Fray Ambrosio's ears, who bowedhis head in assent, and immediately set out in the direction of theHacienda de la Noria, followed by Andres Garote. The squatter thenturned to the rangers, who were awaiting his orders.

  "You know where we are going, gentlemen," he said. "Let us start, and,before all, be silent, if we wish to catch our game in its lair; for youknow that the Indians are as cunning as opossums."

  The band started at a gallop, Red Cedar and his sons being at theirhead. It was one of those calm nights which predispose the soul toreverie, such as America alone has the privilege of possessing. The darkblue sky was spangled with an infinite number of stars, in the centre ofwhich shone the majestic Southern Cross, sparkling like a king's mantle;the atmosphere was extraordinarily transparent, and allowed objects tobe noticed at a great distance; the moon profusely spread around hersilvery rays, which gave the scenery a fantastic appearance; amysterious breeze sported through the tops of the great trees; and attimes vague rumours traversed the space, and were lost in the distance.

  The gloomy horsemen still went on, silent and frowning, like thephantoms of the ancient legends, which glide through the shadows toaccomplish a deed without a name. At the end of scarce an hour therancheria was reached. All were resting in the village--not a lightflashed in the hut. The Indians, wearied with the hard toil of the day,were reposing, full of confidence in the sworn faith, and apprehendingno treason.

  Red Cedar halted twenty yards from the rancheria, and drew up hishorsemen so as to surround the village on all sides. When each had takenhis post, and the torches were lighted, Red Cedar uttered the terriblewar cry of the Apaches, and the rangers galloped at full speed on thevillage, uttering ferocious howls, and brandishing the torches, whichthey threw on the cabins.

  A scene of carnage then took place which the human pen is powerless todescribe. The unhappy Indians, surprised in their sleep, rushedterrified and half naked out of their poor abodes, and were pitilesslymassacred and scalped by the rangers, who waved with a demoniac laughtheir smoking, blood-dripping scalps. Men, women, and children, all werekilled with refinements of barbarity. The village, fired by the rangers'torches, soon became an immense funebral pile, in which victims andmurderers were huddled pell-mell.

  Still a few Indians had succeeded in collecting. Formed in a compacttroop of twenty men, they opp
osed a desperate resistance to theirassassins, exasperated by the odour of blood and the intoxication ofcarnage. At the head of this band was a half-nude, tall Indian ofintelligent features, who, armed with a ploughshare, which he wieldedwith extreme force and skill, felled all the assailants who came withinreach of his terrible weapon. This man was the cacique of the Coras. Athis feet lay his mother, wife, and two children--dead. The unhappy manstruggled with the energy of despair. He knew his life would besacrificed, but he wished to sell it as dearly as possible.

  In vain had the rangers fired on the cacique--he seemed invulnerable:not one of the bullets aimed at him had struck him. He still fought, andthe weight of his weapon did not seem to fatigue his arm. The rangersexcited each other to finish him; but not one dared to approach him.

  But this combat of giants could not endure longer. Of the twentycompanions he had round him on commencing the struggle, the cacique nowonly saw two or three upright: the rest were dead. There must be an end.The circle that inclosed the hapless Indian drew closer and closer.Henceforth it was only a question of time with him. The rangers,recognising the impossibility of conquering this lion-hearted man, hadchanged their tactics: they no longer attacked him, but contentedthemselves with forming an impassable circle round him, waitingprudently for the moment when the strength of the prey, which could notescape them, was exhausted, in order to rush upon him.

  The Coras understood the intention of his enemies. A contemptuous smilecontracted his haughty lips, and he rushed resolutely toward these menwho recoiled before him. Suddenly, with a movement quicker than thought,he threw with extraordinary strength the ploughshare among the rangers,and bounding like a tiger, leaped on a horse, and clutched its riderwith superhuman vigour.

  Ere the rangers had recovered from the surprise this unforeseen attackoccasioned in them, by a desperate effort, and still holding thehorseman, the chieftain drew from his girdle a short sharp knife, whichhe buried up to the hilt in the flanks of the horse. The animal uttereda shriek of pain, rushed headlong into the crowd, and bore both awaywith maddening speed.

  The rangers, rendered furious at being played with by a single man, andseeing their most terrible enemy escape them, started in pursuit; butwith his liberty the Coras had regained all his energy: he felt himselfsaved. In spite of the desperate efforts the rangers made to catch himup, he disappeared in the darkness.

  The cacique continued to fly till he felt his horse tottering under him.He had not loosed his hold of the horseman, who was half strangled bythe rude embrace, and both rolled on the ground. This man wore thecostume of the Apache Indians. The Coras regarded him for an instantattentively, and then a smile of contempt played round his lips.

  "You are not a redskin," he said, in a hollow voice; "you are only apaleface dog. Why put on the skin of the lion when you are a cowardlycoyote?"

  The ranger, still stunned by the fall he had suffered, and the hug hehad endured, made no reply.

  "I could kill you," the Indian continued; "but my vengeance would not becomplete. You and yours must pay me for all the innocent blood you haveshed like cowards this night. I will mark you, so that I may know youagain."

  Then, with fearful coolness, the Coras threw the ranger on his back, puthis knee on his chest, and burying his finger in the socket of his eye,gave it a sharp rotatory movement, and plucked out his eyeball. On thisfrightful mutilation, the wretch uttered a cry of pain impossible todescribe. The Indian got up.

  "Go!" he said to him. "Now I am certain of finding you again whenever Iwant you."

  At this moment the sound of hoofs could be heard a short distance off:the rangers had evidently heard their comrade's cry, and were hurryingto his aid. The Coras, rushed into the bushes and disappeared. A fewmoments later the rangers came up.

  "Nathan, my son!" Red Cedar shouted as he leaped from his horse andthrew himself on the body of the wounded man. "Nathan, my firstborn, isdead!"

  "No," one of the rangers answered; "but he is very bad."

  It was really the squatter's eldest son whom the cacique had mutilated.Red Cedar seized him in his arms, placed him before him on the saddle,and the band started again at a gallop. The rangers had accomplishedtheir task: they had sixty human scalps hanging from their girdles. Therancheria of the Coras was no longer aught save a pile of ashes.

  Of all the inhabitants of this hapless village only the caciquesurvived; but he would suffice to avenge his brothers.