Part 50 (1/2)

”Ay de mi! we know not the way. It is a sacred place where they burn people! Ay de mi!”

”But, senor, it is in this temple; somewhere under the ground. He knows. None but he is permitted to enter it. Carrai! The estufa is a fearful place. So say the people.”

An indefinite idea that his daughter may be in danger crosses the mind of Seguin. Perhaps she is dead already, or dying by some horrid means.

He is struck, so are we, with the expression of sullen malice that displays itself upon the countenance of the medicine chief. It is altogether an Indian expression--that of dogged determination to die rather than yield what he has made up his mind to keep. It is a look of demoniac cunning, characteristic of men of his peculiar calling among the tribes.

Haunted by this thought, Seguin runs to the ladder, and again springs upward to the root, followed by several of the band. He rushes upon the lying priest, clutching him by the long hair.

”Lead me to her!” he cries, in a voice of thunder; ”lead me to this queen, this Mystery Queen! She is my daughter.”

”Your daughter! the Mystery Queen!” replies the Indian, trembling with fear for his life, yet still resisting the appeal. ”No, white man; she is not. The queen is ours. She is the daughter of the Sun. She is the child of a Navajo chief.”

”Tempt me no longer, old man! No longer, I say. Look forth! If a hair of her head has been harmed, all these shall suffer. I will not leave a living thing in your town. Lead on! Bring me to the estufa!”

”To the estufa! to the estufa!” shout several voices.

Strong hands grasp the garments of the Indian, and are twined into his loose hair. Knives, already red and reeking, are brandished before his eyes. He is forced from the roof, and hurried down the ladders.

He ceases to resist, for he sees that resistance is death; and half-dragged, half-leading, he conducts them to the ground-floor of the building.

He enters by a pa.s.sage covered with the s.h.a.ggy hides of the buffalo.

Seguin follows, keeping his eye and hand upon him. We crowd after, close upon the heels of both.

We pa.s.s through dark ways, descending, as we go, through an intricate labyrinth. We arrive in a large room, dimly lighted. Ghastly images are before us and around us, the mystic symbols of a horrid religion!

The walls are hung with hideous shapes and skins of wild beasts. We can see the fierce visages of the grizzly bear, of the white buffalo, of the carcajou, of the panther, and the ravenous wolf. We can recognise the horns and frontlets of the elk, the cimmaron, and the grim bison. Here and there are idol figures, of grotesque and monster forms, carved from wood and the red claystone of the desert.

A lamp is flickering with a feeble glare; and on a brazero, near the centre of the room, burns a small bluish flame. It is the sacred fire-- the fire that for centuries has blazed to the G.o.d Quetzalcoatl!

We do not stay to examine these objects. The fumes of the charcoal almost suffocate us. We run in every direction, overturning the idols and dragging down the sacred skins.

There are huge serpents gliding over the floor, and hissing around our feet. They have been disturbed and frightened by the unwonted intrusion. We, too, are frightened, for we hear the dreaded rattle of the crotalus!

The men leap from the ground, and strike at them with the b.u.t.ts of their rifles. They crush many of them on the stone pavement.

There are shouts and confusion. We suffer from the exhalations of the charcoal. We shall be stifled. Where is Seguin? Where has he gone?

Hark! There are screams! It is a female voice! There are voices of men, too!

We rush towards the spot where they are heard. We dash aside the walls of pendant skins. We see the chief. He has a female in his arms--a girl, a beautiful girl, robed in gold and bright plumes.

She is screaming as we enter, and struggling to escape him. He holds her firmly, and has torn open the fawn-skin sleeve of her tunic. He is gazing on her left arm, which is bared to the bosom!

”It is she! it is she!” he cries, in a voice trembling with emotion.

”Oh, G.o.d! it is she! Adele! Adele! do you not know me? Me--your father?”

Her screams continue. She pushes him off, stretching out her arms to the Indian, and calling upon him to protect her!

The father entreats her in wild and pathetic words. She heeds him not.