Part 38 (1/2)
THE CHARGE.
The hors.e.m.e.n who had forged ahead, for a while, hindered me from seeing the enemy. The Utahs had halted, and were discharging their guns. The smoke from their shots shrouded both allies and enemies; but, from the fact of a halt having been made, I presumed the Arapahoes were making stand by the b.u.t.te. It was not so. After the first round of shots, the firing ceased; and the Utahs again went charging onward.
The Arapahoes had given way, and were fleeing down the valley. There they must meet Wa-ka-ra. And this or something like it, was their intention. With the four divisions closing upon them from all sides at once, they saw there was no chance of saving themselves--except by making a desperate charge on some one singly, in the hope of causing it to yield, and thus open for them a way of escape. They had no difficulty in making choice of which they should meet. The band of Wa-ka-ra was between them and their own country. It was the direction in which they must ultimately retreat; and this decided them to take down the valley.
A slight swell in the plain, which we were at that moment crossing, gave me a view of the retreating Arapahoes. In the distance, I could see the band of Wa-ka-ra advancing towards them at full speed. In a few seconds would meet in s.h.i.+vering charge these mortal foes.
The Utahs of our party were urging their horses to utmost speed.
Well-mounted as were myself and companions, we were unable to overtake them. Those that came from right and left had suddenly swerved from their course; and in two converging lines were sweeping down the valley to the a.s.sistance of their chief. We pa.s.sed close under the edge of the b.u.t.te. In the excitement of the chase, I had almost forgotten to look up--when a shrill shout recalled to my memory the captive on the cross.
The cry came from the summit--from Sure-shot himself. Thank Heaven! he lived!
”Hooza! hoozay!” shouted the voice. ”Heaving speed yees, whos'ever ye be! Hooza! hoozay! Arter the verming, an' gie 'em goss! Sculp every mother's son o' 'em. Hooza! hoozay!”
There was no time to make reply to these cries of encouragement. Enough to know that it was our old comrade who gave utterance to them. It proved he was still living; and, echoing his exulting shout, we galloped onward.
It was a fearful sight to behold the two dark bands as they dashed forward upon one another--like opposing waves of the angry ocean.
Through the hors.e.m.e.n in front of me, I could see the meeting, and hear the shock. It was accompanied by wild yells--by voices heard in loud taunting tones--by the rattling of s.h.i.+elds, the cras.h.i.+ng collision of spear-shafts, and the sharp detonations of rifles. The band of Wa-ka-ra recoiled for a moment. It was by far the weakest; and had it been left to itself, would have sustained defeat in this terrible encounter. But the Utahs were armed both with rifles and pistols; and the latter, playing upon the ranks of the Arapahoes, were fast thinning them. Dusky warriors were seen dropping from their horses; while the terrified animals went galloping over the field--their wild neighs adding to the uproar of the fight. There was but one charge--a short but terrible conflict--and then the fight was over. It became transformed, almost in an instant, to a disorderly flight. When the hot skurry had ended, the remnant of the prairie-hors.e.m.e.n was seen heading down the valley, followed by the four bands of the Utahs--who had now closed together.
Pressing onward in the pursuit, they still vociferated their wild _Ugh!
aloo_!--firing shots at intervals, as they rode within reach of their flying foemen.
Neither Wingrove nor I had an opportunity of taking part in the affray.
It was over before we could ride up; and, indeed, had it been otherwise, neither of us could have been of much service to our allies. Painted as both were, and in full war-costume--in other words, naked to the breech-clout--we could not have distinguished friends from foes! It was partly this consideration that had occasioned us to halt. We drew up on the ground where the collision had occurred with the band of Wa-ka-ra.
We looked upon a spectacle that might at any other time have horrified us. A hundred bodies lay over the sward, all dead. There were Utahs as well as Arapahoes; but, though we could not distinguish the warriors of the two tribes in the confusion of the fight, there was no difficulty in identifying their dead. There was a signal difference in the aspect of the slain Indians. Around the skulls of the Utahs, the thick black tresses were still cl.u.s.tering; while upon the heads of the Arapahoes there was neither hair nor skin. Every one of them had been already scalped. Wounded men were sitting up, or propped against dead bodies-- each with two or three comrades bending over him. Horses were galloping around, their lazos trailing at will; while weapons of every kind-- spears, s.h.i.+elds, bows, quivers, and arrows--were strewed over the sward.
A group of about a dozen men appeared at some distance, cl.u.s.tered around a particular object. It was the dead body of a man--a chief, no doubt?
Not without feelings of apprehension did I approach the spot. It might be the n.o.ble Wa-ka-ra? I rode up, and looked over the shoulders of those who encircled the corpse. A glance was sufficient to put an end to my apprehensions. The body was covered with blood, and pierced with many wounds. It was frightfully mutilated; but I was able to identify the features as those of Red-Hand, the chief of the Arapahoes! Scarred and gashed though it was, I could still trace those sinister lines that in life had rendered that face so terrible to behold. It was even more hideous in death; but the Utahs who stood around no longer regarded it with fear. The terror, which their dread foeman had oft inspired within them, was now being retaliated in the mockery of his mutilated remains!
The Mexican had ascertained that Wa-ka-ra was still unhurt, and heading the pursuit. Having myself no further interest in the scene, I turned away from it; and, with Wingrove by my side, rode back towards the b.u.t.te.
CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE.
TRAGIC AND COMIC.
Some words pa.s.sed between us as we went. For my companion, I had news that would make him supremely happy. Our conversation turned not on that. ”Soon enough,” thought I, ”when they shall come together. Let both hearts be blessed at the same time.” Ah! how my own was bleeding.
Little suspected the Spanish hunter how his tale had tortured me!
Wingrove, in brief detail, gave me the particulars of his escape. Like myself, he had been captured without receiving any serious injury. They would have killed him afterwards, but for the interference of the Chicasaw, who, by some means, had gained an ascendancy over the Red-Hand! In the breast of this desperate woman burned alternately the pa.s.sions of love and revenge. The former had been for the time in the ascendant; but she had saved the captive's life, only in the hope of making him _her_ captive. She had carried him to the copse, where he had pa.s.sed the night in her company--one moment caressed and entreated-- in the next reviled, and menaced with the most cruel death! In vain had he looked for an opportunity to get away from her. Like a jealous tigress had she watched him throughout the live-long night; and it was only in the confusion, created by our sudden approach, that he had found a chance of escape from the double guardians.h.i.+p in which he had been held. All this was made known to me in a few hurried phrases.
Sure-shot! we were within speaking distance; but who could have identified the Yankee in such a guise? The tricoloured escutcheon I had myself so lately borne--the black face, shoulders, and arms--the white circle on the breast--the red spot--all just as they had painted me!
”Jehosophet an' pigeon-pie!” cried he, as he saw us approach; ”air it yeou, capting? an' Wingrove, teoo!”
”Yes, brave comrade! Your shot has saved us all. Patience! we shall soon set you free!”
Leaping down from our horses, we hurried up the sloping path. I was still anxious about Sure-shot's safety; but in another moment, my anxiety was at an end. He was yet unscathed. Like myself, he had received some scratches, but no wound of a dangerous character. Like myself, he had died a hundred deaths, and yet lived! His gleesome spirit had sustained him throughout the dread ordeal. He had even joked with his cruel tormentors! Now that the dark hour was past, his _jeux d'esprit_ were poured forth with a continuous volubility. No; not continuous. At intervals, a shadow crossed his spirit, as it did that of all of us. We could not fail to lament the fate of the unfortunate Hibernian.
”Poor Petrick!” said Sure-shot, as we descended the slope, ”he weer the joyfulest kimrade I ever hed, an' we must gi' him the berril o' a Christyan. I wonder neow what on airth them verming lies done wi' him?
Wheer kin they have hid his body?”