The Scalp Hunters (2 page)

The moon was still shining brightly. My late companion had halted not far from where I had left him, and stood glaring back with an air of extreme bewilderment. There was something so comical in the sight that I yelled with laughter as I sat securely on my perch.

I looked to the south-west. As far as the eye could see, the prairie was black, and moving. The living wave came rolling onward and toward me; but I could now observe it in safety. The myriads of glancing eyes, sparkling like phosphoric gleams, no longer flashed terror.

The drove was still half a mile distant. I thought I saw quick gleams, and heard the report of firearms away over its left border; but I could not be certain. I had begun to think of the fate of my comrades, and this gave me hopes that they were safe.

The buffaloes approached the butte on which I was seated; and, perceiving the obstacle, suddenly forked into two great belts, and swept right and left around it. What struck me at this moment as curious was, that my bull, my particular bull, instead of waiting till his comrades had come up, and falling in among the foremost, suddenly tossed up his head, and galloped off as if a pack of wolves had been after him. He ran towards the outside of the band. When he had reached a point that placed him fairly beyond the flank, I could see him closing in, and moving on with the rest.

This strange tactic of my late companion puzzled me at the time, but I afterwards learned that it was sound strategy on his part. Had he remained where I had parted with him, the foremost bulls coming up would have mistaken him for an individual of some other tribe, and would certainly have gored him to death.

I sat upon the rock for nearly two hours, silently watching the sable stream as it poured past. I was on an island in the midst of a black and glittering sea. At one time I fancied I was moving, that the butte was sailing onward, and the buffaloes were standing still. My head swam with dizziness, and I leaped to my feet to drive away the strange illusion.

The torrent rolled onward, and at length the hindmost went straggling past. I descended from the knoll, and commenced groping my way over the black, trodden earth. What was lately a green sward now presented the aspect of ground freshly ploughed, and trampled by droves of oxen.

A number of white animals, resembling a flock of sheep, passed near me. They were wolves hanging upon the skirts of the herd.

I pushed on, keeping to the southward. At length I heard voices; and, in the clear moonlight, could see several horsemen galloping in circles over the plain. I shouted "Hollo!" A voice answered mine, and one of the horsemen came galloping up; it was Saint Vrain.

"Why, bless me, Haller!" cried he, reining up, and bending from his saddle to get a better view of me, "is it you or your ghost? As I sit here, it's the man himself, and alive!"

"Never in better condition," I replied.

"But where did you come from? the clouds? the sky? where?" And his questions were echoed by the others, who at this moment were shaking me by the hand, as if they had not seen me for a twelvemonth.

Gode seemed to be the most perplexed man of the party.

"Mon Dieu! run over; tramp by von million buffles, et ne pas mort! 'Cr-r-re matin!"

"We were hunting for your body, or rather, the fragments of it," said Saint Vrain. "We had searched every foot of the prairie for a mile round, and had almost come to the conclusion that the fierce brutes had eaten you up."

"Eat monsieur up! No! tre million buffles no him eat. Mon Dieu! Ha, Sleep-head!"

This exclamation of the Canadian was addressed to Hibbets, who had failed to warn my comrades of where I lay, and thus placed me in such a dangerous predicament.

"We saw you tossed in the air," continued Saint Vrain, "and fall right into the thick of them. Then, of course, we gave you up. But how, in Heaven's name, have you got clear?"

I related my adventure to my wondering comrades.

"Par Dieu!" cried Gode, "un garcon tres bizarre: une aventure tres merveilleuse!"

From that hour I was looked upon as a "captain" on the prairies.

My comrades had made good work of it, as a dozen dark objects that lay upon the plain testified. They had found my rifle and blankets, the latter trodden into the earth.

Saint Vrain had still a few drops in his flask; and after swallowing these, and again placing the guard, we returned to our prairie couches and slept out the night.

* * *

In the evening I sat in my room waiting for Saint Vrain. His voice reached me from without-

"`Las ninas de Durango

Commigo bailandas,

Al cielo-!'

"Ha! Are you ready, my bold rider?"

"Not quite. Sit down a minute and wait."

"Hurry, then! the dancing's begun. I have just come that way. What! that your ball-dress? Ha! ha! ha!" screamed Saint Vrain, seeing me unpack a blue coat and a pair of dark pantaloons, in a tolerable state of preservation.

"Why, yes," replied I, looking up; "what fault do you find? But is that your ball-dress?"

No change had taken place in the ordinary raiment of my friend. The fringed hunting-shirt and leggings, the belt, the bowie, and the pistols, were all before me.

"Yes, my dandy; this is my ball-dress: it ain't anything shorter; and if you'll take my advice, you'll wear what you have got on your back. How will your long-tailed blue look, with a broad belt and bowie strapped round the skirts? Ha! ha! ha!"

"But why take either belt or bowie? You are surely not going into a ball-room with your pistols in that fashion?"

"And how else should I carry them? In my hands?"

"Leave them here."

"Ha! ha! that would be a green trick. No, no. Once bit, twice shy. You don't catch this 'coon going into any fandango in Santa Fe without his six-shooters. Come, keep on that shirt; let your leggings sweat where they are, and buckle this about you. That's thecostume du bal in these parts."

"If you assure me that my dress will becomme il faut , I'm agreed."

"It won't be with the long-tailed blue, I promise you."

The long-tailed blue was restored forthwith to its nook in my portmanteau.

Saint Vrain was right. On arriving at the room, a large sala in the neighbourhood of the Plaza, we found it filled with hunters, trappers, traders, and teamsters, all swaggering about in their usual mountain rig. Mixed among them were some two or three score of the natives, with an equal number of senoritas, all of whom, by their style of dress, I recognise as poblanas, or persons of the lower class,-the only class, in fact, to be met with in Santa Fe.

As we entered, most of the men had thrown aside their serapes for the dance, and appeared in all the finery of embroidered velvet, stamped leather, and shining "castletops." The women looked not less picturesque in their bright naguas, snowy chemisettes, and small satin slippers. Some of them flounced it in polka jackets; for even to that remote region the famous dance had found its way.

"Have you heard of the electric telegraph?"

"No, senor."

"Can you tell me what a railroad is?"

"Quien sabe?"

"La polka?"

"Ah! senor, la polka, la polka! cosa buenita, tan graciosa! vaya!"

The ball-room was a long, oblong sala with a banquette running all round it. Upon this the dancers seated themselves, drew out their husk cigarettes, chatted, and smoked, during the intervals of the dance. In one corner half a dozen sons of Orpheus twanged away upon harp, guitar, and bandolin; occasionally helping out the music with a shrill half-Indian chant. In another angle of the apartment, puros, and Taos whisky were dealt out to the thirsty mountaineers, who made the sala ring with their wild ejaculations. There were scenes like the following:-

"Hyar, my little muchacha! vamos, vamos, ter dance! Mucho bueno! Mucho bueno? Will ye?"

This is from a great rough fellow of six feet and over, addressed to a trim little poblana.

"Mucho bueno, Senor Americano!" replies the lady.

"Hooraw for you! Come along! Let's licker fust! You're the gal for my beaver. What'll yer drink? Agwardent or vino?"

"Copitita de vino, senor." (A small glass of wine, sir.)

"Hyar, yer darned greaser! Set out yer vino in a squ'll's jump! Now, my little un', hyar's luck, and a good husband!"

"Gracias, Senor Americano!"

"What! you understand that? You intende, do yer?"

"Si, senor!"

"Hooraw, then! Look hyar, little 'un, kin yer go the b'ar dance?"

"No entiende."

"Yer don't understan' it! Hyar it is; thisa-way;" and the clumsy hunter began to show off before his partner, in an imitation of the grizzly bear.

"Hollo, Bill!" cries a comrade, "yer'll be trapped if yer don't look sharp."

"I'm dog-gone, Jim, if I don't feel queery about hyar," replies the hunter, spreading his great paw over the region of the heart.

"Don't be skeert, man; it's a nice gal, anyways."

"Hooray for old Missouri!" shouts a teamster.

"Come, boys! Let's show these yer greasers a Virginny break-down. `Cl'ar the kitchen, old folks, young folks.'"

"Go it hoe and toe! `Old Virginny nebir tire!'"

"Viva el Gobernador! Viva Armijo! Viva! viva!"

An arrival at this moment caused a sensation in the room. A stout, fat, priest-like man entered, accompanied by several others, it was the Governor and his suite, with a number of well-dressed citizens, who were no doubt the elite of New Mexican society. Some of the new-comers were militaires, dressed in gaudy and foolish-looking uniforms that were soon seen spinning round the room in the mazes of the waltz.

"Where is the Senora Armijo?" I whispered to Saint Vrain.

"I told you as much. She! she won't be out. Stay here; I am going for a short while. Help yourself to a partner, and see some tun. I will be back presently.Au revoir !"

Without any further explanation, Saint Vrain squeezed himself through the crowd and disappeared.

I had been seated on the banquette since entering the sala, Saint Vrain beside me, in a retired corner of the room. A man of peculiar appearance occupied the seat next to Saint Vrain, but farther into the shadow of a piece of furniture. I had noticed this man as we entered, and noticed, too, that Saint Vrain spoke to him; but I was not introduced, and the interposition of my friend prevented me from making any further observation of him until the latter had retired. We were now side by side; and I commenced a sort of angular reconnaissance of a face and figure that had somewhat strangely arrested my attention. He was not an American; that was evident from his dress; and yet the face was not Mexican. Its outlines were too bold for a Spanish face, though the complexion, from tan and exposure, was brown and swarth. His face was clean-shaven except his chin, which carried a pointed, darkish beard. The eye, if I saw it aright under the shadow of a slouched brim, was blue and mild; the hair brown and wavy, with here and there a strand of silver. These were not Spanish characteristics, much less Hispano-American; and I should have at once placed my neighbour elsewhere, but that his dress puzzled me. It was purely a Mexican costume, and consisted of a purple manga, with dark velvet embroidery around the vent and along the borders. As this garment covered the greater part of his person, I could only see that underneath was a pair of green velveteen calzoneros, with yellow buttons, and snow-white calzoncillos puffing out along the seams. The bottoms of the calzoneros were trimmed with stamped black leather; and under these were yellow boots, with a heavy steel spur upon the heel of each. The broad peaked strap that confined the spur, passing over the foot, gave to it that peculiar contour that we observe in the pictures of armed knights of the olden time. He wore a black, broad-brimmed sombrero, girdled by a thick band of gold bullion. A pair of tags of the same material stuck out from the sides: the fashion of the country.

The man kept his sombrero slouched towards the light, as I thought or suspected, for the concealment of his face. And vet it was not an ill-favoured one. On the contrary, it was open and pleasing; no doubt had been handsome beforetime, and whatever caused its melancholy expression had lined and clouded it. It was this expression that had struck me on first seeing the man.

Whilst I was making these observations, eyeing him cross-wise all the while, I discovered that he was eyeing me in a similar manner, and with an interest apparently equal to my own. This caused us to face round to each other, when the stranger drew from under his manga a small beaded cigarero, and, gracefully holding it out to me, said-

"Quiere a fumar, caballero?" (Would you smoke, sir?)

"Thank you, yes," I replied in Spanish, at the same time taking a cigar from the case.

We had hardly lit our cigarettes when the man again turned to me with the unexpected question-

"Will you sell your horse?"

"No."

"Not for a good price?"

"Not for any price."

"I would give five hundred dollars for him."

"I would not part with him for twice the amount."

"I will give twice the amount."

"I have become attached to him: money is no object."

"I am sorry to hear it. I have travelled two hundred miles to buy that horse."

I looked at my new acquaintance with astonishment, involuntarily repeating his last words.

"You must have followed us from the Arkansas, then?"

"No, I came from the Rio Abajo."

"The Rio Abajo! You mean from down the Del Norte?"

"Yes."

"Then, my dear sir, it is a mistake. You think you are talking to somebody else, and bidding for some other horse."

"Oh, no! He is yours. A black stallion with red nose and long full tail, half-bred Arabian. There is a small mark over the left eye."

This was certainly the description of Moro; and I began to feel a sort of superstitious awe in regard to my mysterious neighbour.

"True," replied I; "that is all correct; but I bought that stallion many months ago from a Louisiana planter. If you have just arrived from two hundred miles down the Rio Grande, how, may I ask, could you have known anything about me or my horse?"

"Dispensadme, caballero! I did not mean that. I came from below to meet the caravan, for the purpose of buying an American horse. Yours is the only one in the caballada I would buy, and, it seems, the only one that is not for sale!"

"I am sorry for that; but I have tested the qualities of this animal. We have become friends. No common motive would induce me to part with him."

"Ah, senor! it is not a common motive that makes me so eager to purchase him. If you knew that, perhaps-" he hesitated a moment; "but no, no, no!" and after muttering some half-coherent words, among which I could recognise the "Buenos noches, caballero!" the stranger rose up with the same mysterious air that had all along characterised him, and left me. I could hear the tinkling of the small bells upon the rowels of his spurs, as he slowly warped himself through the gay crowd, and disappeared into the night.

The vacated seat was soon occupied by a dusky manola, whose bright nagua, embroidered chemisette, brown ankles, and small blue slippers, drew my attention. This was all I could see of her, except the occasional flash of a very black eye through the loophole of the rebozo tapado. By degrees, the rebozo became more generous, the loophole expanded, and the outlines of a very pretty and very malicious little face were displayed before me. The end of the scarf was adroitly removed from the left shoulder; and a nude, plump arm, ending in a bunch of small jewelled fingers, hung carelessly down.

I am tolerably bashful; but at the sight of this tempting partner, I could hold in no longer, and bending towards her, I said in my best Spanish, "Do me the favour, miss, to waltz with me."

The wicked little manola first held down her head and blushed; then, raising the long fringes of her eyes, looked up again, and wits a voice as sweet as that of a canary-bird, replied-

"Con gusto, senor." (With pleasure, sir.)

"Nos vamos!" cried I, elated with my triumph; and pairing off with my brilliant partner, we were soon whirling about in the mazy.

We returned to our seats again, and after refreshing with a glass of Albuquerque, a sponge-cake, and a husk cigarette, again took the floor. This pleasurable programme we repeated some half-dozen times, only varying the dance from waltz to polka, for my manola danced the polka as if she had been a born Bohemian.

On one of my fingers was a fifty-dollar diamond, which my partner seemed to think wasmuy buenito . As her igneous eyes softened my heart, and the champagne was producing a similar effect upon my head, I began to speculate on the propriety of transferring the diamond from the smallest of my fingers to the largest of hers, which it would, no doubt, have fitted exactly. All at once I became conscious of being under the surveillance of a large and very fierce-looking lepero, a regular pelado, who followed us with his eyes, and sometimesin persona , to every part of the room. The expression of his swarth face was a mixture of jealousy and vengeance, which my partner noticed, but, as I thought, took no pains to soften down.

"Who is he?" I whispered, as the man swung past us in his chequered serape.

"Esta mi marido, senor," (It is my husband, sir), was the cool reply.

I pushed the ring close up to the root of my finger, shutting my hand upon it tight as a vice.

"Vamos a tomar otra copita!" (Let us take another glass of wine!) said I, resolving to bid my pretty poblana, as soon as possible, a good-night.

The Taos whisky had by this time produced its effect upon the dancers. The trappers and teamsters had become noisy and riotous. The leperos, who now half-filled the room, stimulated by wine, jealousy, old hatreds, and the dance, began to look more savage and sulky. The fringed hunting-shirts and brown homespun frocks found favour with the dark-eyed majas of Mexico, partly out of a respect for, and a fear of, courage, which is often at the bottom of a love like theirs.