The Scalp Hunters

I kept up it till I was fairly “in the dark”; and then groping against one side, I found a recess, in which I ensconced myself. By peeping round the rock, I could see out of the cave and some distance over the bottom of the barranca, where the bushes grew thin and straggling.

I had hardly seated myself when my attention was called to a scene that was passing outside. Two men on their hands and knees were crawling through the cactus plants in front of the cave. Beyond them half a dozen savages on horseback were beating the thicket, but had not yet seen the men. These I recognised easily. They were Gode and the doctor. The latter was nearer me; and as he scrambled on over the shingle something started out of the rocks within reach of his hand. I noticed that it was a small animal of the armadillo kind. I saw him stretch forward, clutch it, and with a pleased look deposit it in a bag that was by his side. All this time the Indians were whooping and yelling behind him, and not fifty yards distant.

Doubtless the animal was of some new species, but the zealous naturalist never gave it to the world. He had scarcely drawn forth his hand again when a cry from the savages announced that he and Gode were discovered, and the next moment both lay upon the ground pierced with lances, and to all appearance dead!

Their pursuers now dismounted with the intention of scalping them. Poor Reichter! his cap was pulled off; the bleeding trophy followed, and he lay with the red skull towards the cave – a hideous spectacle!

Another Indian had alighted, and stood over the Canadian with his long knife in his hand. Although pitying my poor follower, and altogether in no humour for mirth, knowing what I did, I could not help watching the proceedings with some curiosity.

The savage stood for a moment, admiring the beautiful curls that embellished the head of his victim. He was no doubt thinking what handsome fringes they would make for his leggings. He appeared to be in ecstasies of delight; and from the flourishes which he made with his knife, I could see that it was his intention to skin the whole head!

After cutting several capers around it, he stooped and grasped a fistful of curls; but, before he had touched the scalp with his blade, the hair lifted off, displaying the white and marble-like skull!

With a cry of terror, the savage dropped the wig, and, running backward, fell over the body of the doctor. The cry attracted his, comrades; and several of them, dismounting, approached the strange object with looks of astonishment. One, more courageous than the rest, picked up the wig, which they all proceeded to examine with curious minuteness.

Then, one after another went up to the shining skull and passed his fingers over its smooth surface, all the while uttering exclamations of surprise. They tried on the wig, took it off, and put it on again, turning it in various ways. At length, he who claimed it as his property pulled off his plumed head-dress and, adjusting the wig upon his own head, front backward, stalked proudly around, with the long curls dangling over his face.

It was altogether a curious scene, and, under other circumstances, might have amused me. There was something irresistibly comic in the puzzled looks of the actors; but I had been too deeply affected by the tragedy to laugh at the farce. There was too much of horror around me. Seguin perhaps dead; she gone for ever, the slave of the brutal savage. My own peril, too, at the moment; for I knew not how soon I might be discovered and dragged forth. This affected me least of all. My life was now of little value to me, and so I regarded it.

But there is an instinct, so-called, of self-preservation, even when the will ceases to act. Hopes soon began to shape themselves in my mind, and along with these the wish to live. Thoughts came. I might organise a powerful band; I might yet rescue her. Yes! even though years might intervene, I would accomplish this. She would still be true! She would never forget!

Poor Seguin! what a life of hope withered in an hour! he himself sealing the sacrifice with his blood!

But I would not despair, even with his fate for a warning. I would take up the drama where he had ended. The curtain should rise upon new scenes, and I would not abandon the stage until I had accomplished a more joyous finale; or, failing this, had reached the dénouement of death or vengeance.

Poor Seguin! No wonder he had been a scalp-hunter. I could now understand how holy was his hate for the ruthless red man. I, too, had imbibed the passion.

With such reflections passing hastily – for the scene I have described, and the sequent thoughts, did not occupy much time – I turned my eyes inwards to examine whether I was sufficiently concealed in my niche. They might take it into their heads to search the shaft.

As I endeavoured to penetrate the gloom that extended inwards, my gaze became riveted on an object that caused me to shrink back with a cold shudder. Notwithstanding the scenes I had just passed through, this was the cause of still another agony.

In the thick of the darkness I could distinguish two small spots, round and shining. They did not scintillate, but rather glistened with a steady greenish lustre. I knew that they were eyes!

I was in the cave with a panther, or with a still more terrible companion, the grizzly bear!

My first impulse was to press back into the recess where I had hidden myself. This I did, until my back leaned against the rocks. I had no thoughts of attempting to escape out. That would have been from the frying-pan into the fire, for the Indians were still in front of the cave. Moreover, any attempt to retreat would only draw on the animal, perhaps at that moment straining to spring.

I cowered closely, groping along my belt for the handle of my knife. I clasped this at length, and drawing it forth, waited in a crouching attitude.

During all this time my eyes had remained fixed on the lustrous orbs before me.

I saw that they were fixed upon mine, and watched me without as much as winking.

Mine seemed to be possessed of abstract volition. I could not take them off. They were held by some terrible fascination; and I felt, or fancied, that the moment this should be broken, the animal would spring upon me.

I had heard of fierce brutes being conquered by the glance of the human eye, and I endeavoured to look back my vis-à-vis with interest.

We sat for some time, neither of us moving an inch. I could see nothing of the animal’s body; nothing but the green gleaming circles that seemed set in a ground of ebony.

As they had remained motionless so long, I conjectured that the owner of them was still lying in his lair, and would not make his attack until something disturbed him; perhaps until the Indians had gone away.

The thought now occurred to me that I might better arm myself. I knew that a knife would be of little avail against a grizzly bear. My pistol was still in my belt, but it was empty. Would the animal permit me to load it? I resolved to make the attempt.

Still leaving my eyes to fulfil their office, I felt for my flask and pistol, and finding both ready, I commenced loading. I proceeded with silence and caution, for I knew that these animals could see in the dark, and that in this respect my vis-à-vis had the advantage of me. I felt the powder in with my finger, and pushing the ball on top of it, rolled the cylinder to the right notch, and cocked.

As the spring “clicked,” I saw the eyes start. “It will be on me now!”

Quick as the thought, I placed my finger to the trigger but before I could level, a voice, with a well-known accent, restrained me.

“Hold on thur!” cried the voice. “Why didn’t ’ee say yur hide wur white? I thought ’twur some sneaking Injun. Who are ’ee, anyhow? ’Tain’t Bill Garey? No, Billee, ’tain’t you, ole fellur.”

“No,” said I, recovering from my surprise; “it’s not Bill.”

“I mout ’a guessed that. Bill wud ’a know’d me sooner. He wud ’a know’d the glint o’ this niggur’s eyes as I wud his’n. Ah! poor Billee! I’s afeerd that trapper’s rubbed out; an’ thur ain’t many more o’ his sort in the mountains. No, that thur ain’t.

“Rot it!” continued the voice, with a fierce emphasis; “this comes o’ layin’ one’s rifle ahint them. Ef I’d ’a had Tar-guts wi’ me, I wudn’t ’a been hidin’ hyur like a scared ’possum. But she are gone; that leetle gun are gone; an’ the mar too; an’ hyur I am ’ithout eyther beast or weepun; cuss the luck!”

And the last words were uttered with an angry hiss, that echoed through every part of the cave.

“Yur the young fellur, the capt’n’s friend, ain’t ’ee?” inquired the speaker, with a sudden change of tone.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I didn’t see yur a-comin’ in, or I mout ’a spoke sooner. I’ve got a smart lick across the arm, an’ I wur just a-tyin’ it up as ye tumbled in thur. Who did ’ee think this child wur?”

“I did not think you were anyone. I took you for a grizzly bear.”

“Ha! ha! ha! He! he! he! I thort so, when I heard the click o’ your pistol. He! he! he! If ever I sets my peepers on Bill Garey agin, I’ll make that niggur larf till his guts ache. Ole Rube tuk for a grizzly! If that ain’t – Ha! ha! ha! ha! He! he! he! Ho! ho! hoo!”

And the old trapper chuckled at the conceit, as if he had just been witnessing some scene of amusement, and there was not an enemy within a hundred miles of him.

“Did you see anything of Seguin?” I asked, wishing to learn whether there was any probability that my friend still lived.

“Did I? I did; an’ a sight that wur. Did ’ee iver see a catamount riz?”

“I believe I have,” said I.

“Wal, that wur him. He wur in the shanty when it felled. So were I m’self; but I wa’n’t there long arter. I creeped out some’rs about the door; an’ jest then I seed the cap, hand to hand wi’ an Injun in a stan’-up tussle: but it didn’t last long. The cap gi’n him a sockdolloger some’rs about the ribs, an’ the niggur went under; he did.”

“But what of Seguin? Did you see him afterwards?”

“Did I see him arterwards? No; I didn’t.”

“I fear he is killed.”

“That ain’t likely, young fellur. He knows these diggin’s better’n any o’ us; an’ he oughter know whur to cacher, I reckin. He’s did that, I’ll be boun’.”

“Ay, if he would,” said I, thinking that Seguin might have followed the captives, and thrown away his life recklessly.

“Don’t be skeert about him, young fellur. The cap ain’t a-gwine to put his fingers into a bee’s nest whur thur’s no honey; he ain’t.”

“But where could he have gone, when you did not see him afterwards?”

“Whur could he ’a gone? Fifty ways he kud ’a gone through the brush. I didn’t think o’ lookin’ arter him. He left the Injun whur he had throw’d him, ’ithout raisin’ the har; so I stooped down to git it; an’ when I riz agin, he wa’n’t thur no how. But that Injun wur. Lor’! that Injun are some punkins; he are.”

“What Indian do you mean?”

“Him as jined us on the Del Norte – the Coco.”

“El Sol! What of him? is he killed?”

“Wal, he ain’t, I reckin; nor can’t a-be: that’s this child’s opeenyun o’ it. He kim from under the ranche, arter it tumbled; an’ his fine dress looked as spick as ef it had been jest tuk out o’ a bandy-box. Thur wur two at him, an’, Lor’! how he fit them! I tackled on to one o’ them ahint, an’ gin him a settler in the hump ribs; but the way he finished the other wur a caution to Crockett. ’Twur the puttiest lick I ever seed in these hyur mountains, an’ I’ve seed a good few, I reckin.”

“How was it?”

“’Ee know, the Injun – that are, the Coco – fit wi’ a hatchet?”

“Yes.”

“Wal, then; that ur’s a desprit weepun, for them as knows how to use it; an’ he diz; that Injun diz. T’other had a hatchet, too, but he didn’t keep it long. ’Twur clinked out o’ his hands in a minnit, an’ then the Coco got a down blow at him. Wagh! it wur a down blow, an’ it wa’n’t nuthin’ else. It split the niggur’s head clur down to the thrapple. ’Twus sep’rated into two halves as ef ’t had been clove wi’ a broad-axe! Ef ’ee had ’a seed the varmint when he kim to the ground, ’ee’d ’a thort he wur double-headed. Jest then I spied the Injuns a-comin’ down both sides o’ the bluff; an’ havin’ neyther beast nor weepun, exceptin’ a knife, this child tuk a notion ’twa’n’t safe to be thur any longer, an’ cached; he did.”