The Bee Hunters: A Tale of Adventure
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"Yes, yes; I know your courage carries you on to rashness: but what you would undertake is worse than temerity – it is madness!"
"Madness, señor! The word is too strong. Can a resolute man, well armed and mounted, have anything to fear from the Indians?"
"If you had nothing to do but defend yourself against Indians and wild beasts. I should be somewhat in your way of thinking, señor: a determined white can make head against twenty redskins. But how will you escape from the Tigercat?"
"From the Tigercat? Excuse me, caballero, but I do not understand you at all."
"I will soon explain, señor. The Tigercat is a white. This man, from reasons unknown to all, has joined the Apaches, has become one of their chiefs, and sworn implacable hatred to all men of his own colour."
"I have heard vaguely of the man you mention; but, after all, he is the only one of his race among the Indians. Redoubtable as he may be, he is not invulnerable, I suppose; and a brave man might kill him."
"Unfortunately you are mistaken, caballero; this man is not the only one of his race among the Indians; other bandits of his class are with him."
"Yes," cried Doña Manuela; "his son among the rest, who, they say, is as fierce a bandit as his father."
"Mother, that is only a surmise. If you come to proof, nothing can be affirmed against Stoneheart."
"Who is the man of whom you speak?"
"His son, as people say; but one cannot be sure of it."
"And you call this man Stoneheart?"
"Yes, señor. For my own part, I know several instances of his generosity, which indicate, on the contrary, a heart in its right place, and an ardent spirit capable of noble deeds."
A slight blush overspread the face of Don Fernando.
"Let us return to the Tigercat," said he. "What have I to dread from this man?"
"Everything. Concealed in the prairie, like a hideous zopilote (vulture) on its point of rock, this wretch pounces upon the caravans, whatever their strength, and pillages them; he murders in cold blood the solitary travellers whom their evil destiny delivers into his hands: his nets are stretched with such cruel skill, that none may escape him. Listen to me, caballero: give up this journey, or you are a lost man."
"I thank you for your advice, which, I know, is prompted by the interest you take in me; nevertheless, I cannot follow it. But it is too late; allow me to retire. I observed a hammock under the zaguán, in which I could pass the night admirably."
"I will give orders to have my son's chamber prepared for you."
"I could not allow anyone to be disturbed on my account, señora; I am an old traveller. Moreover, the night is already far gone. I swear you would disoblige me by forcing me to accept the chamber of Don Estevan."
"Do as you think proper, caballero. A guest is one sent from God; he ought to be master in the house he inhabits, as long as he chooses to honour it with his presence. May the Lord watch over your repose and bless your slumbers! My son shall show you the corral (outhouse) where your horse has been stabled, in case you should wish to depart before the household is awake."
"Many thanks, once more, señorita. I hope to pay my respects to you before I go."
Having exchanged a few more compliments with his hostess, Don Fernando rose and left the room, accompanied by Don Estevan. The wish he expressed, to sleep in a hammock under the zaguán, was not at all extraordinary, and perfectly in accordance with the customs of a country where the nights, by their beauty and freshness, compensate the inhabitants for the overpowering heat of the day.
The American ranchos all have a porch, formed by four, and often six columns, outside the house, and which support an azotea (flat roof). In the large space between these columns, which are placed on either side of the main entrance, hammocks are slung, in which the owners of the dwellings themselves often pass the night, preferring to sleep in the open air rather than endure the torrid heat which literally converts into a stove the interior of the houses.
Don Estevan led his guest to the corral, explained to him the mechanism of the lock, asked if he could be of any further service, wished him good night, and retired into the house, leaving the door open, so that Don Fernando might enter if he thought fit.
Doña Manuela awaited her son's return in the apartment where he had left her. The old lady seemed restless.
"Well," she asked, immediately her son made his appearance, "what do you think of this man, Estevan?"
"I, mother!" he answered, looking astonished; "What can I think of him? I saw him today for the first time."
The old señora shook her head impatiently.
"You have been side by side for many hours; such a long tête-à-tête should have given you an opportunity of studying and forming an opinion of him."
"That man, my dear mother, during the short time I have been with him, has appeared under so many different aspects, that it has been altogether an impossibility, I will not say to form an opinion, but even to gain a ray of light by means of which I could direct my study of him. I believe his to be a strong nature, full of nerve, capable of good or evil, accordingly as he follows the impulse of his heart or the calculations of his egotism. At San Lucar everyone seems to dread him instinctively, – for nothing ostensible in his conduct justifies the repulsion he inspires; no one can say positively who he is: his life is an impenetrable mystery."
"Estevan," said his mother, placing her hand heavily on his arm, as if to lend force to the words she was about to utter, "a secret presentiment warns me that the presence of this man in these parts presages great misfortune. I cannot explain why. The moment he entered, his features recalled a confused recollection of events that happened long ago. I saw in his face points of resemblance with that of a person dead, alas! How long?" She sighed. "When he spoke, the tone of his voice sounded mournfully on my ear; for the voice completed the likeness I had found in his face. Whoever this man may be, I am convinced there is trouble, perhaps danger, in store for us. I am old, my son; I have much experience; and, you know, one is seldom mistaken at my age. Presentiments come from God; we must have faith in them. Watch that man's doings as long as he remains here. I could wish you had never brought him under our roof."
"What could I do, mother? Hospitality is a duty from which no one should shrink."
"I do not reproach you, Estevan; you have acted according to your conscience."
"God grant that you delude yourself, mother! After all, whatever the man's intentions may be, if he seeks to injure us, as you suppose, we can but countermine his machinations."
"No, Estevan; it is not exactly for ourselves I fear."
"For whom, then, mother?"
"Cannot you understand me?" said she, with, a mournful smile.
"¡Vive Dios, mother! Let him beware. But no, it is impossible. Nevertheless, I will go to the hacienda at daybreak, and put Don Pedro on his guard."
"Do not say a word to them, Estevan; but watch over them like a faithful friend."
"Yes, mother, you are right," said Estevan, who had suddenly become thoughtful. "I will surround Hermosa with a vigilant protection, so secret that no one shall suspect it. I swear it, ¡vive Dios! I would a thousand times rather die under the most atrocious torture, than see her exposed anew to dangers like those of the last few days. And now, mother, give me your blessing, and let me go."
"Go, my son; and God protect you!"
Don Estevan bent respectfully before his mother, and retired; but before seeking repose, he made a minute examination of the house, and did not extinguish his lamp till after he had convinced himself that all was in perfect order.
As soon as Don Estevan had left him, Don Fernando threw himself into the hammock, and closed his eyes. The night was calm and beautiful; the stars studded the heavens with an infinite number of diamonds; the moon spread her silver rays over the landscape; at intervals, the prolonged baying of the watchdogs mingled with the abrupter bark of the coyotes (prairie-wolves), whose sinister forms were often perceptible in the distance, the transparency of the atmosphere permitting remote objects to be easily distinguished.
All slept, or seemed to sleep.
Suddenly Don Fernando raised his head, and peered cautiously over the edge of his hammock. Thoroughly convinced that silence reigned throughout the house, he slipped to the ground; after carefully listening, and prying into the darkness in all directions, he placed on his head the accoutrements of his horse, and turned his steps towards the corral.
Opening the door noiselessly, he whistled gently. At the signal, the horse raised his head, and walked up to his master, who was holding the door half open.
The latter caught him by the mane, caressed him playfully, and then saddled and bridled him with the dexterity and speed only acquired by constant habit. The task over, his master wrapped his hoofs in four pieces of sheepskin, to deaden the sound of his steps, vaulted into the saddle, and bending over the neck of the noble brute: "Santiago!" cried he, "now is the time to prove your mettle."
The horse, as if he understood his master, dashed off into the darkness, and took the direction of the river at the top of his speed.
Meanwhile the greatest silence pervaded the rancho, none of the inhabitants of which seemed to be aware of this sudden flight.
CHAPTER XII
THE REDSKINS
We must now return to the Far West.
On the banks of the Rio Grande del Norte, about ten leagues' distance from the presidio of San Lucar stood the atepelt, or temporary village, of Des Venados.
The atepelt, a simple camp, like most of the Indian villages, consisted of about a hundred callis, or huts, irregularly grouped near each other.
Each calli was built of about a dozen stakes driven into the ground, four or five feet high at the sides, and six or seven in the centre, with an aperture towards the east, for the master of the calli to throw water in the direction of the rising sun – a ceremony by which the Indians conjure the Wacondah to befriend their families during the course of the day just breaking.
These callis were covered with bison hides sewn together, with a hole in the centre to admit the exit of the smoke of the fires kindled in the interior, – fires which equal in number the wives of the owner, each wife having a right to a fire of her own.
The hides which formed the outer walls were carefully dressed, and painted of divers colours; the painting, by its extravagance, enlivening the aspect of the atepelt.
The lances of the fighting men were planted upright in the ground in front of the entrance to the calli. These light lances, made of flexible reed, sixteen or eighteen feet long, and armed at one end with a long grooved iron, forged by the Indians themselves, are the most redoubtable weapons of the Apaches.
The liveliest joy seemed to animate the atepelt. In some callis the women were spinning the wool of their flocks with their spindles; in others they wove those zarapés, so renowned for their fineness and the perfection of the work, at looms of primitive simplicity.
The young people of the tribe, assembled in the centre of the atepelt, – a large open space, – were playing at milt (an Indian word signifying "arrow") a singular game, to which the Indians are greatly addicted.
The players trace a large circle on the ground, into which they step, arranging themselves in two opposite rows. The leader of one row, holding a ball filled with air in the right hand, the leader of the other in the left, they throw their balls backwards with a motion which brings them in front again. The left leg is then lifted, the ball caught and hurled at the opposite player, whose body it must touch, under penalty of losing a point. A thousand extravagant contortions ensue on the part of the latter, in order to avoid the ball: he stoops, he rises, bends himself backwards or forwards, jumps up where he stands, or bounds to one side. If the ball quits the ring, the first player loses two points and runs after it; if, on the contrary, the second is struck, he must seize the ball and throw it back at his opponent, whom it must hit, or he loses a point. The next in order, at the opposite side of the ring, begins the game again; and so on, till the close of the sport.
One can understand what shouts of laughter arise from the grotesque attitudes into which the players fall as the game goes on.
Other Indians of riper age, were gravely playing with curious packs of cards, made of squares of hide, coarsely painted with figures of different animals.
In a calli larger and better painted than the other huts of the atepelt– the dwelling of the sachem, or principal chief, whose lances, ornamented at the foot with pieces of skin-dyed red, were the distinguishing badge of power – three men, crouched round the embers of a fire, were, talking, heedless of the uproar without. They were the Tigercat, the Zopilote, and the amantzin, or the sorcerer of the tribe.
The Zopilote was a half-breed, who had taken refuge with the Apaches long ago, and been adopted by them. This man, every way worthy of the name he bore, was a wretch whose cold and malignant cruelty revolted the very Indians, who are themselves not delicate in matters of this kind. The Tigercat had made this ferocious miscreant, who was devoted to him, prime-minister of his vengeance, and the docile instrument of his will. His latest wife, to whom he had been married a year, had given birth to a boy that morning – hence the rejoicings of the Indians; and he had come to take the orders of the Tigercat – the great chief of the tribe – with respect to the ceremonies usual on the like occasions.
The Zopilote left the calli, to which he speedily returned, followed by his wives and all his friends, one of whom held the infant in his arms. The Tigercat, placing himself between the Zopilote and the amantzin at the head of the party, led them towards the Rio Grande del Norte.
The procession halted on the bank of the river; the amantzin took a little water in the hollow of his hand, and threw it into the air, muttering a prayer to the Master of the life of men. He next proceeded to the great medicine; that is, the newborn child, wrapped in his woollen swaddling bands, was five times plunged into the waters of the river, while the amantzin repeated, in a loud voice:
"Master of life, look upon this young warrior with favourable eye; remove from him all evil influences; protect him, Wacondah!"
At the termination of this part of the ceremony, the procession returned to the atepelt, and arranged itself in a circle in front of the Zopilote's calli, at the entrance of which lay a young mare on her back, with her four feet tied together. A new zarapé was stretched under the belly of the animal, on which relations and friends deposited, one after the other, the gifts intended for the child – spurs, arms, and clothing. The Tigercat, out of friendship for the Zopilote, had consented to act as godfather to the infant. He placed it in the midst of the various gifts which filled the zarapé.
Then the Zopilote seized his scalping knife, opened at one slash the flanks of the mare, tore out the heart, and gave it, bleeding as it was, to the Tigercat, who made a cross with it on the forehead of the child, addressing him thus:
"Young warrior of the tribe of Apache-Bisons, be brave and cunning. I name thee Mixcoatzin– Cloud-Serpent."
The father took the child, and the chief, raising the bleeding heart above his head, shouted thrice:
"Long live the Cloud-Serpent!"
The cry was enthusiastically repeated by the bystanders. The amantzin then commended the child to the Spirit of Evil, praying him to make the young warrior brave, eloquent, and cunning; terminating his prayer in these words, which found an ardent response in the hearts of all those fierce beings:
"Above all, may he never be a slave!"
Thus terminated the ceremony: every religious rite had been performed. The poor mare, the victim of this stupid superstition, was cut into pieces; a great fire was kindled; friends and relations took their seats at a feast, which was intended to last until nothing was left of the mare.
The Zopilote was about to seat himself, and feast with the others; but, at a sign from the Tigercat, he followed the great chief to his calli, where they once more took their seats by the fire. The amantzin was also with them.
The Tigercat waved his band to his wives, who left the calli, and after a short meditation, spoke as follows:
"I trust my brothers, and my heart opens before them like a chirimoya" (a kind of American pear), "to show them my secret thoughts: I have sorrowed for many days."
"My father sorrows for his son Stoneheart," said the amantzin.
"No; I care not where he is now; I can find him again when I want him. But I have a secret mission to confide to a safe man. Till this morning, I hesitated to open my heart to you."
"Let my father speak; his sons listen."
"To hesitate longer would be to compromise things sacred. You will to horse, Zopilote; I have no words for you: you know where I send you. Induce these men to aid our enterprise; it will be a notable service."
"I will do it. Do I go at once?"
"Without delay."
"In ten minutes I shall be far hence;" and, saluting the chiefs, he went out.
A few minutes later, the sound of a horse's hoofs fading away in the distance announced his departure.
Tigercat gave a sigh of satisfaction.
"Let my brother, the amantzin open his ears," said he. "I am about to leave the atepelt, I hope to be back tonight; but my absence may be for two or three days. I leave my brother in my stead and place; he will command the warriors, and will forbid them to go far from the village, or approach the frontiers of the palefaces. It is important that the Gachupinos (Mexicans) should not learn that we are so near them; to do so would mar our plan. Does my brother understand?"
"The Tigercat has no forked tongue; the words breathed from his mouth are clear. His son understands."
"Good. I can go in peace: my brother will watch over the tribe."
"I will obey the orders of my father. If he is absent many suns, he will not have to reproach his son."
"Ugh! My son's words lift the skin that covered my heart and filled it with sorrow. The Master of Life watch over him! I go."
"Ugh! My brother is a sage warrior. The Wacondah will protect him on his road; he will succeed."
The two men gravely saluted each other. The amantzin remained by the fire; the chief departed.
It is probable that, if the old sachem had remarked the expression of knavish hate on the face of the sorcerer at the moment they parted, he would not have quitted the village.
As the Tigercat threw himself into the saddle with a lightness hardly to be expected at his years, the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and night enveloped the prairie.
The old man, without seeming to care for the darkness, pressed his horse with his knees, gave him his head, and galloped off.
The sorcerer, with bent person and head stretched forward, listened anxiously to the lessening sound of the chief's rapid course. When all was still again, he raised himself erect, a smile of triumph played across his thin and livid lips, and he uttered triumphantly the words, "At last!" – a summary of the thoughts secreted in his heart.
Then he arose, left the calli, seated himself a few paces from it, crossed his arms over his chest, and chanted, in a deep bass and a mournful and monotonous rhythm, the Apache lament, beginning with the following verse, which we reproduce as a specimen of the language of this barbarous people:
"El mebin ni tlacaelanteyTuz apan Pilco payentzinAncu maguida coaltzinAy guinchey ni polio menchey."[I have lost my tlacaelantey in the country of Pilco. Oh, murderous knives, which have changed him into shades and flies!]
As the sorcerer went on with his song, his voice became by degrees louder and more confident. In a short time, warriors, wrapped in their bison robes, issued from several of the huts, and, with furtive steps, approached the sorcerer, and entered the calli. At the close of the lament, the sorcerer rose, ascertained that no other person was coming towards him, that no laggard was loitering at his call, and in his turn entered the calli, to join those whom he had convoked thus singularly.
There were twenty men in all; they stood silent and motionless, like bronze statues, round the fire, whose flames, revived by the draught caused by their entrance, threw sinister shadows over their stern and determined features. The amantzin placed himself in the midst, and said:
"Let my brothers sit at the council fire."
The warriors squatted down in a circle.
The sorcerer then took from the hands of the hachesto, or public crier, the great calumet, the bowl of which was of red clay, and the tube six feet long, of aloes wood, garnished with feathers and hawks' bells. He filled it with a washed tobacco, called morriche, which is never used except upon great occasions, lighted it with a medicine stick, and having drawn a long breath of more than a minute, and discharged the smoke through mouth and nose, presented the calumet to the warrior on his right. The latter followed his example; and the calumet passed thus from hand to hand, till it returned to the amantzin.
The latter shook the ashes into the fire, muttering, in a low voice, a few unintelligible words; after which, be restored the calumet to the hachesto, who went out to watch, in order to ensure secrecy to the deliberations of the council.
There was a long silence; the profoundest calm brooded over the village; no sound disturbed the tranquillity of the atepelt; and one might have thought oneself a hundred leagues from a human dwelling.
At length the amantzin rose, cast a searching look over the assembly, and spoke.
"Let my brothers open their ears," he said in measured tones. "The spirit of the Master of Life has entered into my body; it is he who dictates the words which spring from my lips. Chiefs of the Bison-Apaches! The spirit of your ancestors has ceased to animate your souls. You are no longer the terrible warriors, who declared war, without truce or mercy, against the palefaces – those cowards, and hateful despoilers of your hunting grounds; you are only antelopes, who fly with faltering feet from the distant sound of an erupha (gun) of the palefaces; you are old women, to whom the Yorris (Spanish) give their petticoats; your blood no longer runs bright in your veins, and a skin stretches over your heart and covers it completely. You, formerly so brave and terrible, have made yourselves the coward slaves of a dog of a paleface, who chases you like frightened rabbits, and holds you trembling under his eye. Thus speaks the Master of Life. What do you answer, warriors of the Apaches?"
He ceased, and waited for one of the chiefs to take up the word. During this insulting speech, a tremor of indignation agitated the Indians; it was only by great efforts they obtained the mastery over their passion. But when the amantzin ceased, a chief rose.
"Is the sorcerer of the Apaches-Bisons mad," said he in a voice of thunder, "that he should speak thus to the chiefs of his nation? He who counts the foxes' tails attached to our heels will see if we are women, and if the courage of our ancestors is dead in our hearts. What if the Tigercat is a paleface? – His heart is Apache. The Tigercat is wise; he has seen many things; the counsels he gives are good."
The amantzin smiled with disdain.
"My brother the White-Eagle speaks well; it is not for me to answer him."