 CHAPTER XXIX A DINNER WITH TWO DISHES El Sol, I have said, was standing over the prostrate Indian. His countenance indicated the blending of two emotions, hate and triumph. His sister at this moment galloped up, and, leaping from her horse, advanced rapidly forward. "'Behold,' said he, pointing to the Navajo chief, "'Behold the murderer of our mother.'" The girl uttered a short, sharp exclamation, and drawing a knife rushed upon the captive. "'No, Luna,' cried El Sol, putting her aside, "'No, we are not assassins. That is not revenge. He shall not yet die. We will show him alive to the squads of the Maricopa. They shall dance the Mamanchik over this great chief, this warrior captured without a wound.'" El Sol uttered these words in a contemptuous tone. The effect was visible on the Navajo. "'Dog of a Coco,' cried he, making an involuntary struggle to free himself. "'Dog of a Coco, league with the pale robbers. Dog! Ha! You remember me, Tacoma? It is well.' "'Dog,' again ejaculated the Navajo, interrupting him, and the words hissed through his teeth while his eyes glared with an expression of the fiercest malignity. "'He he,' cried Rube, at this moment galloping up, "'He he! That engines as savour just as a meat-axe. Lamb him! Warm his colaps with the bull-rope. He's warmed my old mire. Nick syrup him.' "'Let us look to your wound, Mr. Holler,' said Sanguine, alighting from his horse, and approaching me as I thought with an uneasiness of manner. How is it? Through the flesh? You are safe enough, if indeed the arrow has not been poisoned. I tear. El Sol. Here, quick, my friend, tell me if this point has been dipped.' "'Let us first take it out,' replied the Maricopa, coming up. We shall lose no time by that.' The arrow was sticking through my forearm. The barb had pierced through the flesh until about half of the shaft appeared on the opposite side. El Sol caught the feather end in both his hands and snapped it at the lapping. He then took hold of the barb and drew it gently out of the wound. "'Let it bleed,' said he, till I have examined the point. It does not look like a warshaft, but the Navajos use a very subtle poison. Fortunately I possess the means of detecting it as well as its antidote.' As he said this he took from his pouch a tuft of raw cotton. With this he rubbed the blood lightly from the blade. He then drew forth a small stone vial, and, pouring a few drops of liquid upon the metal, watched the result. I waited with no slight feeling of uneasiness. Seguin, too, appeared anxious, and as I knew that he must have oftentimes witnessed the effect of a poisoned arrow, I did not feel very comfortable seeing him watch the assaying process with so much apparent anxiety. I knew there was danger where he dreaded it. "'Mr. Haller,' said El Sol at length, "'you are in luck this time. I think I may call it luck, for your antagonist has surely summoned his quiver, not quite so harmless as this one.' "'Let me see,' he added, and stepping up to the Navajo he drew another arrow from the quiver that still remained slung upon the Indian's back. After subjecting the blade to a similar test, he exclaimed, "'I told you so. Look at this. Green as a plantain. He fired, too. Where is the other? Comrades, help me to find it. Such a tell tale as that must not be left behind us.' Several of the men leaped from their horses, and searched for the shaft that had been shot first. I pointed out the direction and probable distance as near as I could. And in a few moments it was picked up. El Sol took it and poured a few drops of his liquid on the blade. It turned green like the other. "'You may thank your saints,' Mr. Haller,' said the Coco. "'It was not this one made that hole in your arm. Else it would have taken all the skill of Dr. Richter and myself to have saved you. But what's this? Another wound. Ha! He touched you as he made his right point. Let me look at it.' "'I think it is only a scratch.' "'This is a strange climate, Mr. Haller. I have seen scratches become mortal wounds when not sufficiently valued. Luna, some cotton, sis. I shall endeavour to dress yours so that you need not fear that result. You deserve that much at my hands.' "'But for you, sir, he would have escaped me.' "'But for you, sir, he would have killed me.' "'Well,' replied the Coco with a smile, it is possible you would not have come off so well. Your weapon played you false. It is hardly just to expect a man to parry a lance-point with a clubbed rifle, though it was beautifully done. I do not wonder that you pulled the trigger in the second joust. I intended doing so myself, had the lasso failed me again. But we are in luck both ways. You must sling this arm for a day or two. Luna, that scarf of yours.' "'No,' said I, as the girl proceeded to unfashion a beautiful scarf which she wore around her waist. You shall not. I will find something else.' "'Here, Mr., if this will do,' interposed the young trapper Gary, you are hardly welcome to it. As Gary said this he pulled a colored handkerchief out of the breast of his hunting-shirt and held it forth. "'You are very kind, thank you,' I replied, although I knew on whose account the kerchief was given. You will be pleased to accept this in return, and I offered him one of my small revolvers, a weapon that, at that time and in that place, was worth its weight in pearls.' The mountain man knew this, and very gratefully accepted the proffered gift. But much as he might have prized it I saw that he was still more gratified with a simple smile that he received from another quarter, and I felt certain that the scarf would soon change owners at any rate. I watched the countenance of El Sol to see if he had noticed or approved of this little by-play. I could perceive no unusual emotion upon it. He was busy with my wounds, which he dressed in a manner that would have done credit to a member of the R.C.S. Now said he, when he had finished, you will be ready for as much more fighting in a couple of days at the furthest. You have a bad bright alarm, Mr. Heiler, but the best horse I ever saw. I do not wonder at your refusing to sell him. Most of the conversation had been carried on in English, and it was spoken by the Coco Chief with an accent and emphasis to my ear as good as I had ever heard. He spoke French, too, like a Parisian, and it was in this language that he usually conversed with Seguin. I wondered at all this. The men had remounted, with the intention of returning to the camp. Extreme hunger was now prompting us, and we commenced riding back to partake of the repast so unceremoniously interrupted. At a short distance from the camp we dismounted, and picketing our horses upon the grass walked forward to search for the stray stakes and ribs we had lately seen in plenty. A new chagrin awaited us. Not a morsel of flesh remained. The coyotes had taken advantage of our absence, and we could see nothing around us but naked bones. The thighs and ribs of the buffaloes had been polished as if scraped with a knife. Even the hideous carcass of the digger had become a shining skeleton. Why, exclaimed one of the hunters, wolf now or nothing, here goes, and the man leveled his rifle. What, exclaimed Seguin, singing in the act. Are you mad, sir? I reckon not, Captain," replied the hunter, doggedly bringing down his piece. "'We must eat, I suppose. I see nothing but them about. And how are we going to get them without shooting?' Seguin made no reply, except by pointing to the bow which El Sol was making ready. "'Oh,' added the hunter, "'You're right, Captain. I ask pardon. I had forgot that piece of bone.' The cocoa took an arrow from the quiver and tried the head with the assaying liquid. It proved to be a hunting-shaft, and adjusting it to the string he sent it through the body of a white wolf, killing it instantly. He took up the shaft again, and wiping the feathers shot another and another, until the bodies of five or six of these animals lay stretched upon the ground. "'Kill a coyote when you're about it,' shouted one of the hunters. "'Gentlemen like we are to have, least wise, two courses to our dinner.' The men laughed at this rough sally, and El Sol, smiling, again picked up the arrow, and sent it whizzing through the body of one of the coyotes. "'I think that will be enough for one meal at all events,' said El Sol, recovering the arrow, and putting it back into the quiver. "'I,' replied the wit. "'If we want more, we can go back to the larder again. It's a kind of meat that eats better fresh anyhow.' "'Well, it is, Hoss. Wah! I'm in for a griskin of the bite. Here goes.' The hunters, laughing at the humor of their comrades, drew their shining knives and set about skinning the wolves. The adroitness with which this operation was performed showed that it was by no means new to them. In a short time the animals were stripped of their hides and quarters, and each man taking his quarter commenced roasting it over the fire. "'Fellers, what do you call this anyhow? Beef or mutton?' asked one as they began to eat. "'Wolf mutton,' I reckon, was the reply. "'It's dog-gone-good-eaten,' I say, peels off as tender as squirrel. "'It's somewhat like goat, ain't it?' "'Mine tastes more like dog to me. It ain't bad at all, better than poor bull any day. I'd like it a heap better if I were sure the thing hadn't been up to young varmint on the rocks, and the man who said this pointed to the skeleton of the digger. The idea was horrible, and under other circumstances would have acted as a sufficient emetic. "'Wah!' exclaimed a hunter. "'You've most taken away my stomach. I was a-going to try the coyote before you spoke. I won't now, for I see them smelling about him before we rid off.' "'I say, old Case. You don't mind it, do you?' This was addressed to Rube, who was busy on his rib and made no reply. "'He?' "'Not he,' said another, answering for him. "'Rube's ate a heap of queried tit-bits in his time. "'Ain't ye, Rube?' "'Aye, and if for your as long in the mountains as this child, ye'll be glad to get your teeth or waschons than wolf-meat. See if ye don't, young feller.' "'Man-meat, I reckon?' "'Aye, that's what Rube means.' "'Boy's,' said Rube, not heeding the remark, and apparently in good humor, now that he was satisfying his appetite. "'What's the nastiest thing, leaving out man-meat? "'N-A-E-S-I-V-R-C-A-D.' "'Women-meat, I reckon.' "'Eat chuckle-headed fool, ye needn't be so pri-up now, showing ye're smartness when taint called for know-how.' "'Well, leaving out man-meat, as ye say,' remarked one of the hunters, in answer to Rube's question, a must-rats, the meanest thing I ever set teeth on. "'I've charred sage-hair, raw at that,' said a second, "'and I don't want to eat anything that's bitterer.' "'Owl's no great eatin,' added a third. "'I've ate skunk,' continued a fourth, and I've ate sweeter meat in my time.' "'Carajo,' exclaimed a Mexican, "'what do you think of monkey? I have dined upon that down south many's the time. While I guess monkey's but tough chauns, but I've sharpened my teeth on dry, bufler-hide, and it want as tender as it mount a bin.' "'This child,' said Rube, after the rest had given in their experience. "'Leavin' monkey to the beside, have ate all them critters as has been named yet. Maybe he ain't, bein' as there's none of them in these parts. It may be tough or it mayant, it may be bitter and it mayant, for what I knows to the contrary wise. But once, on a time, this nigger chod a varment that won't much sweeter if it were as sweet. What was it, Rube?' "'What was it?' asked several in a breath, curious to know what the old trapper could have eaten more unpalatable than the vions already named. "'Twer' turkey-buzzert, then. That's what it were.' "'Turkey-buzzert,' echoed every one, "'twant anything else. Why? That was a stinkin' pill and no mistake. That beats me all hollow. And when did you eat the buzzard, old boy?' asked one, suspecting that there might be a story connected with his feet of the earless trapper. "'I, tell us that, Rube, tell us,' cried several. "'Well,' commenced Rube, after a moment's silence, "'to where about six years ago I was set afoot on the Arkansas by the Rappahos, least wise, two hundred miles below the big Timmer. The cussed skunks took Kos, Beaver, and all. He, he, he, continued the speaker with a chuckle, he, he, the amount had did as well and let old Rube alone. "'I reckon that, too,' remarked a hunter, taint like they made much out of that speculation. "'Well, about the buzzard. "'You see, I were cleaned out, and left with just a pair of legans, better than two hundred miles from anywhere. Bents were the nearest, and I took up the river in that direction. I never see'd varmina all kinds as shy. They wouldn't have been if I'd had my traps, but there weren't a critter from the minners in the waters to the bufflers on the perrera that didn't look like they know'd how this nigger were fixed. I could get nothing for two days but lizard, and scarce at that." "'Lizzards, but poor eaten,' remarked one. "'You may say that. This here thigh-joints, fat cow to it. It are.' And Rube, as he said, made a fresh attack upon the wolf mutton. I chowed up the old legans till I were as naked as chimney-rock. Gollies, was it winter? No. To a calf-time, and warm enough for that matter. I didn't mind the want of the buckskin that way, but I could eat more of it." The third day I struck a town of sand-rats. This nigger's hire were longer than it are now. I made snares of it, and trapped a lot of the rats, but they grew shy too, cuss'em. And I had to quit that speculation. This were the third day from the time I'd been set down, and I were getting nasty weak on it. I gained to think that the time were come for this child to go under. To a little ardour sun-up. And I was sitting on the bank when I see'd something query floating down the river. When I came closer I see'd it were the carcage of a bufler, calf at that, and a couple of buzzards flopping about on the thing, picking its peepers out. It were far out. And the water deep, but I'd made up my mind to fetch it ashore. I want long and strip, and I reckon. Here the hunters interrupted Rube's story with a laugh. I took the water and swam out. I could smell the thing before I were half way, and when I got near it the birds mizzled. I was soon close stuff, and see'd at a glimp that the calf were as rotten as punk. What a pity, exclaimed one of the hunters. I went to Gwine to have my swim for nothing, so I took the tail in my teeth and swam back for the shore. I hadn't made three strokes till the tail pulled out. I then swum round, a-hint the carcage, and pushed it afore me till I got it landed high and dry upon a sandbar. It were like to fall to pieces when I pulled it out of the water. Unbeatable know-how. Here Rube took a fresh mouthful of the wolf mutton, and remained silent until he had masticated it. The men had become interested in the story and waited with impatience. At length he proceeded. I see'd the buzzards, still flying about, and fresh ones a-common. I took an idea that I might get my claws upon some item, so I lay down, closed up again the calf, and played possum. I went long that away when the birds begun to light on the sandbar, and a big cock came flopping up to the carcage. Before he could flop up—again, I grubbed him by the legs. Hurrah! Well done, by gollies! The cusset thing were nearly as stinking as the other, but it were die-dog, buzzard or calf, so I skinned the buzzard. "'And ate it?' inquired the impatient listener. "'No,' slowly drawled Rube, apparently miffed at being thus interrupted. "'It ate me.' The laugh that followed this retort restored the old trapper to good humor again. "'Did you go at raw, Rube?' asked one of the hunters. "'How could he do otherwise? He had in a spark a fire and nothing to make one out of.' "'You're an eternal fool,' exclaimed Rube, turning savagely on the last speaker. I could make a fire if there weren't a spark anywhere.' A yell of laughter followed this speech, and it was some minutes before the trapper recovered his temper sufficiently to resume his narration. The rest of the birds continued he at length, seeing the old cock rubbed out, grew shy, and kept away on the other side of the river. There weren't no use trying that dodge over again. Just then I spied a coyote, come and lopened down the bank and another follower ran upon his heels and two or three more on the same trail. I know it would be no joke grubbing one of them by the leg, but I made up my mind to try it, and I lay down just as a four close up to the calf, toward no go. The cun and things cede the float stick and kept clear of the carcage. I were going to catch her up some bush that were by, and I began to carry it up when all of a sudden I took a fresh idea in my head. I cede there were driftwood, aplenty, on the bank, so I fetched it up and built a pen-trap round about the calf. In the twinkling of a goat's eye I had six varmints in the trap. "'Hara! You were safe then, old Hoss.' I took a lot of stones and then clomped up on the pen and killed the whole kit in them. Lord Boyes, you never see such a snapping and snarling and jumping and yalting as when I peppered them donuts down on them. Hee-hee-hee! Ho-ho-ho!' And the smoky old sinner chuckled with delight at the remembrance of his adventure. "'You reached Vence, then, safe enough, I reckon.' "'Yes. I skinned the critters with a sharp stone and made me a sort of shirt and leggings. This nigger had no mind coming in naked to give them their joke at the fort. I packed enough of the wolf meat to last me up, and I got there in less than a week. Bill were there himself, and he all know Bill bent. He knowed me. I went in the fort a half an hour till I was spick-span and new buck-skins with a new rifle, and that rifle were targets. Now a-for-ya.' "'Hah! You got tear-guts there, then?' "'I got tear-guts there, then. And a gun sheer.' Hee-hee-hee! Twint long after I got her till I tried her. Hee-hee-hee! Ho-ho-ho!' And the old trapper went off into another fit of chuckling. "'What are you laughing at now, Rube?' asked one of his comrades. "'He-hee-hee! What am I laughing at?' "'That are the crisps of the joke. Hee-hee-hee! What am I laughing at?' "'Yes, tell us, man.' "'It are this that I'm laughing at,' replied Rube, sobering down a little. I want it bent three days. When who do you think should come to the fort? Who? Maybe the Rappahos? Them same engines. And the very niggers have set me afoot. They come to the fort to trade with Bill, and there I seize both my old mar and rifle. You got them back, then? That were likely. There were a sight of mountainy men there at the time. That want the fellers to see this child put down on the parrower for nothing. Yander's the critter. And Rube pointed to the old mare. The rifle ligend to Bill, and kept targets instead seeing she were a better gun. So you got square with the Rappahos? That young fellow just rests on what you call square. Do you see these nicks, them standin' separate? And the trapper pointed to a row of small notches cut in the stock of his rifle. I cried several men in reply. There's five of them, ain't there? One, two, three, yes, five. Them's Rappahos. Rube's story was ended. End of Chapter 29. CHAPTER 30 OF THE SCALP HUNTERS. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Dionne Jines, Salt Lake City, Utah. The Scalp Hunters by Thomas Main Reid. CHAPTER 30 BLINDING THE PERSUER. By this time the men had finished eating and now began to gather around Seguin for the purpose of deliberating on what course we should pursue. One had already been sent up to the Rocks to act as a vedette, and warn us in case any of the Indians should be described upon the prairie. We all felt that we were still in a dilemma. The Navajo was our captive, and his men would come to seek for him. He was too important a personage, second chief of the nation, to be abandoned without a search, and his own followers, nearly half of the tribe, would certainly be back to the spring. Not finding him there, should they not discover our tracks, they would return upon the war-trail to their country. This, we all saw, would render our expedition impracticable, as De Coma's band alone outnumbered us, and should we meet them in their mountain fastnesses, we should have no chance of escape. For sometimes Seguin remained silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground. He was evidently tracing out in his mind some plan of action. None of the hunters chose to interrupt him. Comrades said he at length. This is an unfortunate coup, but it could not be avoided. It is well it is no worse. As it is, we must alter our plans. They will be sure to return on his track, and follow their own trail back to the Navajo towns. What then? Our band cannot either come on to the pinion, or cross the war- trail at any point. They would discover our tracks to a certainty. Why can't we go straight up to where the rest cashed, and then take round by the old mine? That won't interfere with the war-trail, no how. This was proposed by one of the hunters. Vaya rejoined a Mexican. We should meet the Navajos just when we had got to their town. Caray, that would never do, amigo. There wouldn't many of us get back again. Santísima, no. We ain't a bleach to meet them, argued the first speaker. They're not a going to stop at their town when they find the nigger ain't been back. It is true, said Seguin, they will not remain there. They will doubtless return on the war-trail again. But I know the country by the mine. So do I, so do I, cried several voices. There is no games, continued Seguin. We have no provisions. It is therefore impossible for us to go that way. We couldn't go it, no how. We should starve before we had got through the membrays. There's no water that way. No, by gosh, not enough to make a drink for a sand-rat. We must take our chances, then, said Seguin. Here he paused thoughtfully, and with a gloomy expression of countenance. We must cross the trail, he continued, and go by the Prieto, or abandon the expedition. The word Prieto, in opposition to the phrase, abandon the expedition, put the hunters to their wits' end for invention, and plan after plan was proposed. All, however, ending in the probability, in fact, certainty, that, if adopted, our trail would be discovered by the enemy, and followed up before we could escape back to the Del Norte. They were therefore, one after another, rejected. During all this discussion, Old Rube had not said a word. The earless trapper was sitting upon a prairie, squat on his hams, tracing out some lines with his bow, and apparently laying out the plan of a fortification. What are ye doing, old Haas? inquired one of his comrades. My herein ain't as good as Twerb before, I came to this Cust country, but I thought I heard some of these say, just now, we couldn't cross the Pash Trail without being followed in two days. That's a dead-rodded lie, it are. How are you going to prove it, Haas? Shoot, man, your tongue wags like a beaver's tail in flood-time. Can you suggest any way in which it can be done, Rube? I confess I see none. As Sigwen made this appeal, all eyes were turned upon the trapper. Like Cap, I can suggest my own notion of the thing. It may be right, and it may not be right. But if it were fallered out, there'd be neither Pash nor Novo. That'll smell where we go for a week. If they dids, he may cut my ears off. This was a favorite joke with Rube, and the hunters only laughed. Sigwen himself could not restrain a smile as he requested the speaker to proceed. First and foe most, then, said Rube, they're not a Gwyn to come out of that nigger in less than two days. How can you tell that? This way. E.C. he's only Second Chief, and they can go on well enough thow'd him. But that ain't it. The Injun forgot his bow, white at that. Now we all knows, as well as this child, that that's a big disgrace in the eyes of Injuns. You're right about that, Haas, remarked one. Well, so the old Kuhn thinks, now, E.C., it's as plain as Pike's Peak. That he came a way back without telling any of the rest a syllable about it. He'd not let him know if he'd could help it. That is not improbable, said Sigwen. Proceed, Rube. More in that, continued the trapper. I'll stake high that he ordered them not to follow him, afeard that some of them might see what he came for. If he'd a thought they knew or suspected, he'd a sent some other and not come himself. That's what he'd a done. This was all probable enough, and with the knowledge which the scalp-hunters possessed of the Navajo character, they won and all believed it to be so. I'm certain they'll come back, continued Rube, that are his half of the tribe anyways, but it'll be three days, clur, and, well, up till another, before they drink pinyin water. But they would strike our trail the day after. If we were green fools enough to let them, they would. How can we prevent that, asked Sigwen? E.C. has fallen off a log. How, how, inquired several at once, by putting them on another sent, do you see? Yes. But in what way can we affect that, inquired Sigwen? Why, Cap, your tumble has surely dumbfounded thee. I would think less of these other dummies, not seein' at a glimp how we can do it. I confess, Rube, replied Sigwen, with a smile. I do not perceive how we can mislead them. While then, continued the trapper, with a chuckle of satisfaction at his own superior prairie-craft, this child's a Gwynne to tell thee how we can put him on a different track. Hurrah for you, old Haas! E.C., a quiver on that engine's back? Aye, aye, cried several voices. It's full of arrows, or pretty near it, I reckon. It is. Well? While then, let some of us ride the engine's Mustang, any other critter that's got the same track'll do, away down the Pash trail, and stick them things point and southert, and if the Nava don't travel that way till they comes up with the Pashes, ye may have this child's hair for a plug of the worst Kentucky tobacco. Viva, he's right, he's right! Hurrah for old Rube! And various exclamations were uttered by the hunters. Taint needs Cesare, for them to know why he should a-talk that track, they'll know his arrows, that's enough. By the time they gets back, with their fingers in their meat-traps, we'll have start enough to carry us to Havensack. Aye, that we will! By gollies! The band-continued Rube, needn't come to the Penian spring, know how some ever, they can cross the war-trail, hire up to rest the Healy, and meet us on to other side of the mountain, where there's a grist, a game, both cattle and buffler, a plenty of both on the old Mission Lands, I'll be down. He'd have to go through any ways, there's no hopes of meeting the buffler this side, after the slurry them engines has given them. That is true enough, said Seguin, we must go round the mountain before we can expect to fall in with the buffalo. The Indian hunt has chased them clean off from the Laños. Come then, let us set about our work at once. We have yet two hours before sunset. What would you do first, Rube? You have given the plan. I will trust to you for the details. Why in my opinion, Cap, the first thing, be dead, are to send a man, as straight as he can gallop, to wear the bands cashed. Let him fudge them across the trail. Where should they cross, do you think? About twenty miles north of here, there's a dry ridge and a good grist of loose donnecks. If they cross as they otter, they needn't make much sign. I could take a train of bent wagons over that had puzzled the F. Smith to follow him, I could. I will send a man off instantly. Here, Sanchez, you have a good horse and know the ground. It is not over twenty miles to where they are cashed. Bring them along the ridge and with caution, as you have heard. You will find us around the north point of the mountain. You can travel all night and be up with us early in the morning—away. The Torero, without making any answer, drew his horse from the picket, leaped into the saddle, and rode off at a gallop towards the north-west. It is fortunate, said Seguin, looking after him for some moments, that they have trampled the ground about here, else the tracks made in our last encounter would have certainly have told tales upon us. There's no danger about that, rejoined Rube, but when we rides from here, Cap'n, we must follow their trail. They'd soon sight our back tracks. We had best keep up yonder among the loose donnecks. Rube pointed to the shingle that stretched north and south along the foot of the mountain. Yes, that shall be our course. We can leave this without leaving any tracks. What next? The next idea? To get rid, a yawn piece of machinery, said the trapper, as he spoke, nodded in the direction of the skeleton. True, I had forgotten it. What shall we do with it? Harriet advised one. Wa! No! Burn it! cried another. I! That's best! said a third. The latter suggestion was adopted. The skeleton was brought down. The stains of the blood were carefully rubbed from the rocks. The skull was shivered with a tomahawk, and the joints were broken in pieces. The whole mass was then flung upon the fire, and pounded down among numerous bones of the buffalo, already simmering in the cinders. An anatomist only could have detected the presence of a human skeleton. Now rub, the arrows. If you'll leave that to me and Bill Gary, I think them two niggers can fix them, so as to bamfoozle any engines there is in these parts. We'll have to go three mile or there about, but we'll get back by the time ye have filled your gourds and got your traps ready for Skeeten. Very well, take the arrows. Or as gobs for us, said Rube, taking that number from the quiver, keep the rest, he'll want more wolf-meat before we start. There's not a tale of anything else till we get clear round the mountain yonder. Billy, throw your ugly props over that Navar Mustang. Putty horse, too, but I wouldn't give my old mar for a whole cavillard a hymn. Gee's a sprig of the black feather. Here the old trapper drew one of the ostrich feathers out of the helmet of the Navajo chief, and continued, Boys, take care of the old mar till I come back, and don't let her stampede, do ye hear? I want some blanket. Don't all speak at once it. Here, Rube, hearer, cried several, holding out their blankets. Here, one, ill do. We need three. Bills and mine and another and— Hurry, Billy! Take these afore ye. Now ride down the Pash trail three hundred yards, or thereabouts, and then pull up. Don't take the beaten pad, but keep alongside, and make big tracks—Gallop. The young hunter laid his quirk to the flanks of the Mustang, and started at full Gallop along the Apache trail. When he had ridden a distance of three hundred yards or so, he halted to wait for further directions from his comrade. Old Rube, at the same time, took an arrow, and fastening a piece of ostrich feather to the barb, adjusted it on one of the upright poles, which the Indians had left standing on the campground. It was placed in such a manner that the head pointed southward in the direction of the Apache trail, and was so conspicuous, with the black feather, that no one coming in, from the Laños, would fail to see it. This done he followed his companion on foot, keeping wide out from the trail, and making his tracks with great caution, on coming up with Gary, he stuck a second arrow in the ground, its point also inclined to the south, and so that it could be seen from the former one. Gary then galloped forward, keeping on the trail, while Rube struck out again to the open prairie, and advanced in a line parallel to it. Having ridden a distance of two or three miles, Gary slackened his pace, and put the Mustang to a slow walk. A little further on he again halted, and held his horse at rest, in the beaten path. Rube now came up, and spread the three blankets lengthwise along the ground, and leading westward from the trail. Gary dismounted, and led the animal gently on the blankets. As its feet rested on two at a time, each, as it became the rearmost, was taken up, and spread again in front, and this was repeated till they had got the Mustang some fifty lengths of himself out into the prairie. The movement was executed with an adroitness equal to that which characterized the feet of Sir Walter Raleigh. Gary now took up the blankets, and, remounting, commenced riding slowly back by the foot of the mountain. While Rube returned to the trail, and placed a third arrow at the point where the Mustang had parted from it. He then proceeded south as before. One more was yet needed to make doubly sure. When he had gone about half a mile, we saw him stoop over the trail, rise up again, cross toward the mountain foot, and follow the path taken by his companion. The work was done. The finger posts were set. The ruse was complete. El Sol, meanwhile, had been busy. Several wolves were killed and skinned, and the meat was packed in their skins. The gourds were filled, our captive was tied on a mule, and we stood waiting their return of the trappers. The Gwyn had resolved to leave two men at the spring as vedettes. They were to keep their horses by the rocks, and supply them with the mule bucket, so as to make no fresh tracks at the water. One was to remain constantly on an eminence, and watch the prairie with the glass. They could thus describe the returning Navajos in time to escape unobserved themselves along the foot of the mountain. They were then to halt at a place ten miles to the north, where they could still have a view of the plain. There they were to remain until they had ascertained what direction the Indians should take after leaving the spring, when they were to hurry forward and join the band with their tidings. All these arrangements having been completed, as Rube and Gary came up, we mounted our horses and rode by a circuitous route for the mountain foot. When close in we found the path strewed with loose cut rock, on which the hooves of our animals left no track. Over this we rode forward heading to the north, and keeping in a line nearly parallel to the war-trail. CHAPTER 31 A Buffalo Surround A march of twenty miles brought us to the place where we expected to be joined by the band. We found a small stream heading, in the pinion range, and running westward to the San Pedro. It was fringed with cotton trees and willows, and with grass in abundance for our horses. Here we encamped, kindling a fire in the thicket, cooked our wolf mutton, ate it, and went to sleep. The band came up in the morning, having travelled all night. Their provisions were spent as well as ours. And instead of resting our wearied animals, we pushed on through a pass in the Sierra, in hopes of finding game on the other side. About noon we debouched through the mountain pass into a country of openings, small prairies, bounded by jungly forests, and interspersed with timber islands. These prairies were covered with tall grass, and buffalo signs appeared as we rode into them. We saw their roads, chips, and wallows. We saw, moreover, the bois de vache of the wild cattle. We would soon meet with one or the other. We were still on the stream by which we had camped the night before, and we made a noon halt to refresh our animals. The full-grown forms of the cacti were around us, bearing red and yellow fruit in abundance. We plucked the pears of the pitahaya, and ate them greedily. We found service-berries, yampo, and roots of the palm blanche. We dined on fruits and vegetables of various sorts, indigenous only to this wild region. But the stomachs of the hunters longed for their favorite food, the hump-ribbs and budins of the buffalo, and after a halt of two hours we moved forward through the openings. We had ridden about an hour among Chaperal, when Rube, who was some paces in advance, acting as guide, turned in his saddle and pointed downward. What's there, Rube, asked Seguin in a low voice? Fresh track, Cap'n, Buffler. What number can you guess? A gang of fifty are there about. They've took through the thicket, yonder away. I can sight the sky. There's clear ground not fur from us, and I'd stake a plur through in it. I think it's a small pararia, Cap. Halt here, men, said Seguin. Halt and keep silent. Guide forward, Rube. Come, Miss Soar-Huller, you're fond of hunting. Come along with us. I followed the guide and Seguin through the bushes, like them, riding slowly and silently. In a few minutes we reached the edge of a prairie covered with long grass, peering cautiously through the leaves of the prosopis we had a full view of the open ground. The buffaloes were on the plain. It was as Rube had rightly conjectured, a small prairie about a mile and a half in width, closed in on all sides by a thick chaparral. Near the centre was a moat of heavy timber, growing up from a leafy underwood. A spur of willows running out from the timber indicated the presence of water. There's a spring yonder, muttered Rube. They've just been a coolant, their nose is at it. This was evident enough, for some of the animals were at the moment walking out of the willows, and we could see the wet clay glistening upon their flanks, and the saliva glancing down their jaws. How will we get at them, Rube? asked Seguin. Can we approach them, do you think? I doubt not, Cap. The grass had hardly civer us, and there are Gwyn out a range of the bushes. How then? We cannot run them, there's not room. They would be into the thicket at the first dash, we would lose every hoof of them. What is to be done? This nigger sees but one other plan as can be used just up this time. What is it? Surround. Right, if we can do that, how is the wind? Dead is an engine with his head cut off, replied the trapper, taking a small feather out of his cap and tossing it in the air. See, Cap, it falls plump. It does, truly. We can easily get round them bufflers before they wind us, and we have men enough to make a picket fence about them. We can hardly, set about it too soon, Cap. They're a movin' towards the edge, yonder. Let us divide the men then, said Seguin, turning his horse. You can guide one half of them to their stands, I will go with the other. Mr. Haller, you had better remain where you are. It is as good a stand as you can get. Have patience, it may be an hour before all are placed. When you hear the bugle, you may gallop forward and do your best. If we succeed, you shall have sport and a good supper, which I suppose you feel the need of by this time. So saying, Seguin left me and rode back to the men, followed by old Rube, it was their purpose to separate the band into two parties, each taking an opposite direction, and to drop men here and there at regular intervals around the prairie. They would keep in the thicket while on the march, and only discover themselves at a given signal. In this way, should the buffaloes allow time for the execution of the movement, we should be almost certain of securing the whole gang. As soon as Seguin had left me, I looked to my rifle and pistols, putting on a fresh set of caps. After that, having nothing else to occupy me, I remained seated in my saddle, eyeing the animals as they fed unconscious of danger. I was full of anxiety, lest some clumsy fellow might discover himself too soon, and thus spoil our anticipated sport. After a while I could see the birds flying up from the thicket and the screaming of the blue jay indicated to me the progress of the surround. Now and then an old bull on the skirts of the herd would toss up his shaggy mane, snuff the wind, and strike the ground fiercely with his hoof, evidently laboring under a suspicion that all was not right. The others did not seem to heed these demonstrations, but kept on quietly cropping the luxuriant grama. I was thinking how nicely we were going to have them in the trap when an object caught my eye, just emerging from the moat. It was a buffalo calf, and I saw that it was proceeding to join the gang. I thought it somewhat strange that it should be separated from the rest, for the calves trained by their mothers to know the wolf usually keep up with the herd. It has stayed behind at the spring, thought I. Perhaps the others pushed it from the water, and it could not drink until they were gone. I fancied that it moved clumsily, as if wounded, but it was passing through the long grass and I could not get a good view of it. There was a pack of coyotes, there always is, sneaking after the herd. Disperseving the calf, as it came out of the timber, made an instant and simultaneous attack upon it. I could see them skipping around it, and fancied I could hear their fierce snarling. But the calf appeared to fight its way through the thick of them, and after a short while I sighed close into its companions, where I lost sight of it among the others. A game-young bull, soliloquized I, and again I ran my eye around the skirting of the chaparral to watch how the hunters were getting forward with the surround. I could perceive the flashing of brilliant wings over the bramble and hear the shrill cries of the jaybirds. Judging by these I concluded that the men were moving slowly enough. It was half an hour since the Gwyn had left me, and I could perceive that they were not half way round as yet. I began to make calculations as to how long I would have to wait, soliloquizing as follows. Diameter of the prairie, a mile and a half. It is a circle three times that. Four miles and a half. Phew! I shall not hear the signal in much less than an hour. I must be patient, then. And what? The brutes are lying down. Good! There is no danger now, if they are making off. We shall have rare sport. One, two, three, six of them down. It must be the heat and the water. They have drunk too much. There goes another. Lucky devils. They have nothing else to do but eat and sleep. While I—no, ate down. Well, I suppose soon to eat, too. What an odd way they have of coming to the ground. How different from anything of the bovine tribe I have yet observed. I have never seen buffaloes quieting down before. One would think they were falling as if shot. Two more alongside the rest. They will soon be all upon the turf. So much the better. We can gallop up before they get to their feet again. Oh, that I could hear that horn. And thus I went on rambling from thought to thought, and listening for the signal, although I knew that it could not be given for some time yet. The buffaloes kept moving slowly onward, browsing as they went, and continuing to lie down one after another. I thought it strange—they're stretching themselves thus successively—but I had observed farm cattle do the same, and I was at that time, but little acquainted with the habits of the buffalo. Some of them appeared to toss about on the ground and kick violently. I had heard of a peculiarity of these animals termed wallowing. They are at it, thought I. I wished much to have a clearer view of this curious exercise, but the high grass prevented me. I could only see their shaggy shoulders, and occasionally their hooves kicking up over the suede. I watched their movements with great interest, now feeling secure that the surround would be complete before they would think of rising. At length the last one of the gang followed the example of his companions and dropped over. They were all now upon their sides, half buried in the bunch grass. I thought I noticed the calf still upon its feet, but at that moment the bugle sounded, and a simultaneous cheer broke from all sides of the prairie. I pressed the spur to my horse's flank and dashed out into the open plain. Fifty others had done the same, yelling as they shot out of the thicket. With my reins resting on my left fingers, and my rifle thrown crosswise I galloped forward, filled with the wild excitement that such an adventure imparts. I was cocked and ready, resolved upon having the first shot. It was but a short distance from where I had started to the nearest buffalo. I was soon within range, my horse flying like an arrow. Is the animal asleep? I am within ten paces of him, and still he stirs not. I will fire at him as he lies. I raised my rifle, leveled it, and was about to pull the trigger when something red gleamed before my eyes. It was blood. I lowered the piece with a feeling of terror and commenced dragging upon the rain. But before I could pull up, I was carried into the miss of the prostrate herd. Here my horse suddenly stopped, and I sat in my saddle as if spellbound. I was under the influence of a superstitious awe. Blood was before me and around me. Turned which way I would, my eye rested upon blood. My comrades closed in, yelling as they came, but their yelling suddenly ceased, and one by one reigned up as I had done with looks of consternation and wonder. It was not strange at such a sight. Before us lay the bodies of the buffaloes. They were all dead, or quivering in the last throes. Each had a wound above the brisket, and from this the red stream girled out and trickled down their still panting sides. Blood welled from their mouths and out of their nostrils. Pulls of it were filtering through the prairie turf, and clotted goutes, flung out by the struggling hoof, sprinkled the grass around them. Oh, heavens! What could it mean? Wa Santissima Sacredoo! Were the exclamations of the hunters, surely no mortal hand has done this. It want not than else, cried a well-known voice. If you're call an engine immortal, twer a red skin, and this child, lucky! I heard the click of a rifle, along with this abrupt exclamation. I turned suddenly. Rube was in the act of leveling his peace. My eye involuntarily followed the direction of the barrel. There was an object moving in the long grass. A buffalo that still kicks, thought I, as I saw the mass of dark brown hair. He is going to finish him. It is the calf. I had scarcely made the observation, when the animal reared up on its hind legs, uttering a wild human scream. The shaggy hide was flung off, and a naked savage appeared, holding out his arms in an attitude of supplication. I could not have saved him. The rifle had cracked, the ball had sped. I saw it piercing his brown breast, as a drop of sleet strikes upon the pane of glass. The red spout gushed forth, and the victim fell forward upon the body of one of the animals. Wa! Rube! exclaimed one of the men. Why didn't you give him time to skin the meat? He mout as well a done, that when he wore about it, and the men laughed at his savage jest. Looky here, boys! said Rube, pointing to the moat. If ye look sharp, your moat scare up another calf yonder away. I'm a-guined to see after this engine's hair I am. The hunters at the suggestion galloped off to surround the moat. I felt a degree of irresolution, and discussed at this cool shedding of blood. I drew my reign almost involuntarily, and moved forward to the spot where the savage had fallen. He lay back uppermost. He was naked to the breech clout. There was the debature of a bullet below the left shoulder. And the black red stream was trickling down his ribs. The limb still quivered, but it was in the last spasms of parting life. The hide in which he had disguised himself lay piled up where it had been flung. Beside it were a bow and several arrows. The latter were crimson to the notch, and the feathers steeped in blood and clinging to the shafts. They had pierced the huge bodies of the animals, passing through and through. Each arrow had taken many lives. The old trapper rode up to the corpse and leisurely dismounted from his mare. "'Fifty dollar a plough,' he muttered, unsheathing his knife and stooping over the body. It's more than I got for my own. It beats beaver all hollow. Cuss beaver, say this child, plough a plug, ain't worth trapping if the varmint were as thick as grass-jumpers in calf-time.' "'E up, nigger,' he continued, grasping the long hair of the savage and holding the face upward. "'Let's get a squint of your fizzog,' hurrah, coyote, pash, hurrah!' And a gleam of triumph lit up the countenance of the old man as he uttered these wild exclamations. "'A pash,' is he,' asked one of the hunters, who had remained near the spot. "'That he are, coyote, pash. The very niggers that Bob tailed this child's ears. I can swear to their ugly pictures anywhere. I get my peepers upon him. Oh, whoa, old wolfie! Got he at last, hazy, you're a beauty and no mistake.' So saying he gathered the long crown-locks in his left hand, and with two slashes of his knife, held quart and tears, he cut a circle around the top of the head, as perfect as if it had been traced by compasses. He then took a turn of the hair over his wrist, giving it a quick jerk outward. At the same instant the keen blade passed under the skin and the scalp was taken. Count six he continued, muttering to himself, while he placed the scalp in his belt. Six at fifty, three hundred shiners, for pash-har. Cuss beaver-trap and says, I. Having secured the bleeding trophy he wiped his knife upon the hair of one of the buffaloes and proceeded to cut a small notch in the woodwork of his gun, alongside five others that had been carved there already. These six notches stood for apaches only. For as my eye wandered along the outlines of the peace, I saw that there were many other columns in that terrible register. CHAPTER XXXII A shot ringing in my ears caused me to withdraw my attention from the proceedings of the earless trapper. As I turned I saw a blue cloud floating away over the prairie, but I could not tell at what the shot had been fired. Thirty or forty of the hunters had surrounded the mot and halted were sitting in their saddles in a kind of irregular circle. They were still at some distance from the timber as if keeping out of arrow range. They held their guns crosswise and were shouting to one another. It was improbable that the savage was alone, doubtless there were some of his companions in the thicket. There could not be many, however, for the underwood was not large enough to conceal more than a dozen bodies, and the keen eyes of the hunters were piercing it in every direction. They reminded me of so many huntsmen in a gorse waiting for the game to be sprung, but here the game was human. It was a terrible spectacle. I looked towards Seguin, thinking that he might interfere to prevent the barbarous battle. He noticed my inquiring glance and turned his face from me. I fancied that he felt ashamed of the work in which his followers were engaged. But the killing or capture of whatever Indians might be in the mot had now become a necessary measure, and I knew that any remonstrance of mine would be disregarded. As for the men themselves, they would have laughed at it. This was their pastime, their profession, and I am certain that at that moment their feelings were not very different from those which would have actuated them had they been driving a bear from his den. They were perhaps a trifle more intense, certainly not more inclined towards mercy. I reigned up my horse and awaited with painful emotions the day newment of this savage drama. Vaya, herlandes, what did you see? inquired one of the Mexicans, appealing to Barney. I saw by this that it was the Irishmen who had fired the shot. I rid skin by japers, replied the latter. Weren't it your own shatter you sighted in the water? I tried a hunter, jeeringly. Maybe it was the devil, Barney. In trath, friends, I saw a something that looked mighty like him, and I killed it, too. Ha-ha! Barney has killed the devil. Ha-ha! Wa! exclaimed the trapper, spurring his horse toward the thicket. The fool saw nothing. I'll chance it anyhow. Stop, comrade, cried the hunter Gary. Let's take a safer plan. Redhead's right. His engines and then bushes, whether he's seen it or not, that skunk weren't by himself, I reckon. Try this away. The young trapper dismounted and turned his horse broadside to the bushes. Keeping on the outside he commenced walking the animal in a spiral ring that gradually closed in upon the clump. In this way his body was screened, and his head only could be seen above the pommel of his saddle, over which he rested his rifle, cocked, and ready. All others observing this movement on the part of Gary dismounted and followed his example. A deep silence prevailed as they narrowed the diameters of their circling courses. In a short time they were close in to the mot, yet still no arrow whizzed out. Was there no one there? So it seemed, and the men pushed fearlessly into the thicket. I watched all this with excited feelings. I began to hope there was no one in the bushes. I listened to every sound. I heard the snapping of the twigs and the muttering of the men. There was a moment's silence as they pushed eagerly forward. Then I heard a sudden exclamation, and a voice calling out, "'Dead Redskin! Hurrah for Barney!' Barney's bullet threw him by the hollies, cried another. "'Hullo, old blue sky! Come here, and see what you've done!' The rest of the hunters, along with the sea devout soldier, now rode forward to the copes. I moved slowly after. On coming up I saw them dragging the body of an Indian into the open ground. A naked savage, like the other. He was dead, and they were preparing to scalp him. "'Come now, Barney!' cried one of the men in a joking manner. "'The hires yarn. Why don't you off with it, man?' "'It's moine, do you say?' asked Barney, appealing to the speaker. "'Sartanly, you killed him. It's yarn by right. And it is rarely worth fifty dollars? Good as wheat for that. Would you be so friendly, then, as to cut it off for me?' "'Oh, certainly. Would all the pleasure of life,' replied the hunter, imitating Barney's accent, at the same time severing the scalp and handing it to him. Barney took the hideous trophy, and I fancy that he did not feel very proud of it. Poor Kelt, he may have been guilty of many a breach in the laws of garrison discipline, but it was evident that this was his first lesson in the letting of human blood. The hunters now dismounted, and commenced trampling the thicket through and through. The search was most minute, for there was still a mystery. An extra bow, that is to say a third, had been found with its quiver of arrows. Where was the owner? Could he have escaped from the thicket while the men were engaged around the fallen buffaloes? He might, though it was barely probable. But the hunters knew that these savages run more like wild animals, like hares than human beings, and he might have escaped to the Chaparral. "'If that engine has got clear,' said Gary, we've no time to lose in skin and them bufflers. There's plenty of his tribe not twenty miles from here, I calculate.' "'Look down among the willows there,' cried the voice of the chief. Close down to the water.' There was a pool. It was turbid and trampled around the edges with buffalo tracks. On one side it was deep. Here willows dropped over and hung into the water. Several men pressed into this side, and commenced sounding the bottom with their lances and the butts of their rifles. Old Rube had come up among the rest, and was drawing the stopper of his powder horn with his teeth, apparently with the intention of reloading. His small dark eyes were scintillating every way at once, above, around him, and into the water. A sudden thought seemed to enter his head. I saw him push back the plug, grasp the Irishman who was nearest him, by the arm, and mutter, in a low and hurried voice, patty. "'Barnie, is your gun—quick, man, quick!' Barney at this earnest solicitation immediately surrendered his peace, taking the empty rifle that was thrust into his hand by the trapper. Rube eagerly grasped the musket, and stood for a moment as if he was about to fire at some object in the pond. Suddenly he jerked his body round, and, poising the gun upward, entered into the thick foliage. A shrill scream followed. A heavy body came crashing through the branches, and struck the ground at my feet. Warm drops sparkled into my eyes, causing me to wince. It was blood. I was blinded with it. I rubbed my eyes to clear them. I heard men rushing from all parts of the thicket. When I could see again, a naked savage was just disappearing through the leaves. "'Mist him!' cried the trapper. "'Away with your soldier-gun,' he added, flinging down the musket, and rushing after the savage with his drawn knife. I followed among the rest. I heard several shots as we scrambled through the brushwood. When I had got to the outer edge I could see the Indians still on his feet, and running with the speed of an antelope. He did not keep in a direct line but zigzag leaping from side to side in order to baffle the aim of his pursuers, whose rifles were all the time ringing behind him, as yet none of their bullets had taken effect. At least so as to cripple him. There was a streak of blood visible on his brown body, but the wound, wherever it was, did not seem to hinder him in his flight. I thought there could be no chance of escape, and I had no intention of emptying my gun at such a mark. I remained, therefore, among the bushes, screening myself behind the leaves and watching the chase. Some of the hunters continued to follow him on foot while the more cunning ones rushed back for their horses. These happened to be all on the opposite side of the thicket, with one exception, and that was the mare of the trapper Rube. She was browsing where Rube had dismounted, out among the slaughtered buffaloes, and directly in the line of the chase. As the savage approached her, a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and diverging slightly from his course he plucked up the picket pin, coiled the lasso with the dexterity of a goucho, and sprang upon the animal's back. It was a well-conceived idea, but unfortunate for the Indian. He had scarcely touched the saddle. When a peculiar shout was heard above all other sounds, it was a call uttered in the voice of the earless trapper. The Mustang recognized it, and instead of running forward obedient to the guidance of the rider, she wheeled suddenly and came galloping back. At this moment a shot fired at the savage, scorched her hip, and setting back her ears she commenced, squealing and kicking so violently that all her feet seemed to be in the air at the same time. The Indian now endeavored to fling himself from the saddle, but the alternate plunging of the fore and hind quarters kept him for some moments tossing in a sort of balance. He was at length pitched outward and fell to the ground upon his back. Before he could recover himself a Mexican had ridden up, and with his long lance pinned him to the earth. A scene followed in which Rube played the principal character, in fact had the stage to himself. Soldier guns were sent to perdition, and as the old trapper was angry about the wound which his mare had received, crooked green horns came in for a share of his anathemas. The Mustang, however, had sustained no serious damage, and after this was ascertained the emphatic ebullitions of her master's anger subsided into a low growling and then ceased altogether. As there appeared no sign that there were other savages in the neighborhood the next concern of the hunters was to satisfy their anger. Fires were soon kindled and a plentious repast of buffalo meat produced the desired effect. After the meal was ended a consultation was held. It was agreed that we should move forward to the old mission, which was known to be not over ten miles distant. We could there defend ourselves in case of an attack from the tribe of Coyoteros, to which the three savages belonged. It was feared by all that these might strike our trail and come up with us before we could take our departure from the ruin. The buffaloes were speedily skinned and packed, and taking a westerly course we journeyed on to the mission. CHAPTER 33 A Bitter Trap We reached the ruin a little after sunset, frightened the owls and the wolf, and made our bibwack among the crumbling walls. Our horses were picketed upon the deserted lawns, and in the long neglected orchards where the ripe fruit was raining down its un-gathered showers, fires were kindled, lighting the gray pile with their cheerful blazing, and joints of meat were taken out of the hide-packs and roasted for supper. There was water in abundance, a branch of the San Pedro swept past the walls of the mission. There were yams in the spoilated gardens, there were grapes and pomegranates, and quinces and melons and pears and peaches and apples, and with all these was our rapace garnished. It was soon over, and the vedettes were thrown out to the tracks that led to the ruin. The men were weak and worried with their last fasting, and a short while stretched themselves by their saddles and slept. So much for our first night at the mission of San Pedro. We were to remain there for three days, or until the buffalo meat should be dried for packing. They were irksome days to me, idleness displayed the bad qualities of my half-sabbage associates, the rybal jest and fearful oath rang continually in my ears, until I was feigned to wander off to the woods with the old botanist, who, during these three days, rebelled in the happy excitement of discovery. I found companionship also in Maricopa. The strange man had studied silence deeply, conversed with almost every noted author. He was reserved only when I wished him to talk of himself. Singlin, during these days, was taciturn and lonely. He took but little heed of what was going on around him. He seemed to be suffering from impatience. As every now and then, he paid a visit at a tassaho. The past many hours upon the adjacent heights, looking anxiously toward the east, that point whence our spies would come in from the pinion. There was an azote on the ruin. I was in the habit of seeking this place at evening after the sun had grown less fervent. It afforded a fine prospect to the valley. But its chief attraction to me lay in the retirement I could dare obtain. The hunters rarely climbed up it, and their wild and licensed converse was unheard for the time. I used to spread my blanket among the crumbling parapets and stretch upon it, delivering myself up to the sweet retrospect or to sweeter dreams that my fancy outlined upon the future. There was one object on my memory. Upon that object only did my hopes dwell. I did not make this declaration, at least to those who will have truly loved, in the program placed before me by singlin. I had not bargained for such wanton cruelties. And as I was now compelled to witness, it was not the time to look back, but forward, and perhaps over other scenes of blood and brutality. Through that happier hour when I should have redeemed my promise and won the prize of beautiful Zoe. My rurory was interrupted. I heard voices and footsteps. They were approaching the spot where I lay. I could see that there were too many engaged in earnest conversation. They did not notice me, and I was behind some fragments of the broken parapet. And in the shadows they drew nearer. I recognized the pateau of my Canadian fellow, and that of his companion was not to be mistaken. The brogue was Barney's beyond a doubt. These worthy, I had later noticed, had become as sick as two thieves, and were much in each other's company. Some act of kindness had endeared the infantry to his more astute and experienced associate, who had taken him under his patronage in protection. I was vexed at the intrusion, but prompted by some impulsive curiosity, I lay still and listened. Barney was speaking as they approached. In truth, Mr. Gowdy, it's me self I go far this blessed knife for a drop of the crater. I noticed a little keg before, but Devil saved me now. I thought it was a barrel of cold water. Only think of the old Dutch center bringing a whole keg, and keeping it all to himself is our sure now it's the stuff we we see liquor, aguard diente. Do you know we, Mr. Barney, I have him smell very many time. It is strong, good. Oh, I couldn't just steal it yourself. You know exactly where the doctor keeps it, and you might get it a lot handier than I can. For quiet, Barney, because one of me, I help pack his things of the Mr. La Doctor. Oh, do he would suspect me. I don't see the raisey and clear. He may suspect you at all events, I'll thinkin'. And then I shall make one grand swear, no. I shall have very clear conscience then. Be the powers, we must get the liquor anyhow. And if you won't, Mr. Gowdy, I will. That said, isn't it? Oh, it's right bein'. Well then, now or never is the time, the old fellow just walked out, for I saw him myself. This is a great place to drink it in. Come, show me where he keeps it. Hi, St. Patrick, I'm your man to hook it. Trayvion de L'Anse, Monsieur Barney, Trayvion de L'Anse. Let's go. Unintelligible, as this conversation may appear. I understood every word of it. Among his pack, a small keg of mescal spirits, with the purpose of preserving any new species of visitors, naked tribe he should chance to fall in with. What I heard then was neither more or less than a plot to steal the keg and its contents. My first impulse was to leap up and stop them in their design, as well as administer a solitary rebuke to my voyager and his red-haired companion. But a moment's reflection convinced me that they could be better punished in another way. I would leave them to punish themselves. I remember that some day previous to our reach in the Oho de Vaca, the doctor had captured a snake of the Adarkine, two or three species of lizards, and a hideous-looking animal called in hunter-phraseology the horned frog, a gamma cornuta of Texas and Mexico. These he had immersed in the spirits for preservation. I had observed him do so. And it was evident that neither my Frenchman nor the Irishman had any idea of this. I adopted the resolution therefore to let them drink a full bumper of the pickle before I should interfere, knowing that they would soon return. I remained where I was. I had not longed to wait upon them. In a few minutes they came up, Barney carrying what I knew to be the devoted keg. They sat down close to where I lay and, prising out the bong, filled the liquor into their tin cups and commenced in bibling. Drought a pair of mortals could not have been found anywhere, and at the first draught, each emptied his cup to the bottom. It has a quark taste, doesn't it, said Mr. Barney, after you'd taken the vessel from his lips. What do you think it is? You know, say, quark. It smells like one, one. It's a fish, I mean. Wee, like a feast. On bank with three bizarre fructo. I suppose it's something that Mexicans have dropped in to give the aguente a flavor. It might be strong anyhow. Nothing worse than that, but it ought to be. Sorry, drinking alongside an eight dim gin of Irish patine. Oh, it's Mother of Moses, but that's the rail, beverage. Here the Irishman shook his head to express with more emphasis and admiration of the native whiskey. Well, Mr. Gowdy continued he, whiskey's whiskey at any rate, and we can get the butter. It's no reason we should refuse the bread. I'll thank you for another small trifle out of the cake. And the speaker held out his tin vessel to be replenished. Gowdy lifted the cake and emptied more of its contents in their cups. Oh, and you, what is this in my goops? Explains them after a drop. What is it? Let me see that, that's a queer looking critter anyhow. Secularly blue, it's a one Texan, one frog that is feast with smell. Oh, wow. Oh, holy mother. If it isn't another in mine by jobbers, it's a scorpion lizard. Oh my God, secularly blue, secularly blue. Our nation, the old doctor has, well, blessed virgin he put in poison and the brace of the rubbler's went staggering over the azota delivering their stomachs and ejaculating extreme terror as the thought struck them that there might be poison in the pickle. I had to rise to my feet and was enjoying the joke and loud laughter. This and the exclamation of the men brought a crowd of hunters up to the roof who as soon as they perceived what had happened joined in and made the ruin ring with their wild peels. The doctor had come along with the rest with not so well satisfied with the occurrence. After a short search, however, the lizards were found and returned to the cake was still contained enough of the spirit for its purpose. It was not likely to be disturbed again, even by the thirstiest hunter in the band. End of chapter 33, recording by Kenneth Sergeant Gagan. Chapter 34 of the Scalp Hunters. This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org recording by Kenneth Sergeant Gagan. The Scalp Hunters by Thomas Main Reed. Chapter 34, The Phantom City. On the morning of the fourth day, our spies came in and reported that the Navajo had taken the southern trail. They had returned to the spring on the second day after our leaving it. And thence had followed the guiding of the arrows. It was Tacoma's band and all about 300 warriors. Nothing remained for us but to pack up as quickly as possible and pursue our march to the north. In an hour, we were in our saddles and following the rocky banks of the San Pedro. Long day's journey brought us to the desolate valley of the Gila upon whose waters we encamped for the night. We felt the unsylebrated ruins, the second resting place of the migrating Aztecs. With the exception of the botanists, the Cocochi myself and perhaps Sanguin, no one in the band seemed to trouble himself about these interesting antiques. The sign of grizzly bears that was discovered upon the mud bottom gave the hunters far more concern than the broken pottery in its painted hieroglyphics. Two of these animals were discovered near the camp and a fierce battle ensued in which one of the Mexicans nearly lost his life, escaping only after most of the skin had been clawed from his head and neck. The bears themselves were killed and made part of our suffers. Our next day's march lay up the Gila to the mouth of the San Carlos River where we again halted for the night. The San Carlos runs in from the north and Sanguin had resolved to travel up this stream for a hundred miles or so and afterwards strike eastward to the country of the Navajos. When the determination was made known, a spirit of discontent showed itself among the men and mutinous whisperings were heard on all sides shortly after we halted. However, several of them strayed up the banks of the stream and gathered some grains of gold out of its bed. Indications of the precious metal, the cuiza known among the Mexicans as the gold mother were also found among the rocks. There were miners in the band who knew it well and this served to satisfy them. There was no more talk of keeping on to the Prieto. Perhaps the San Carlos might prove equally rich. Rumor had it also given it the title of the Golden River. At all events, the expedition must cross the headwaters of the Prieto and its journey eastward. This prospect had the effect of quieting the mutineers at least for the time. It was another influence, the character of Sanguin. There was no single individual in the band who would care to cross him on a slight grounds. They knew him too well for that. Though few of these men set high values on their lives, when they believed themselves, according to mountain law in the right, yet they knew that to delay the expedition for the purpose of gathering gold was neither according to their compact with him nor agreeable to his wishes. Not a few of the band, moreover, were actuated by motives similar to those felt by Sanguin himself. And these were equally desirous of pushing on to the Navajo towns. Still another consideration had its influence upon the majority. The party of the decomma would be on our tracks as soon as they had returned from the Apache trail. We had, therefore, no time to waste in gold hunting and the simplest of the scalp hunters knew this. By daybreak we were again on the march and riding up the banks of the San Carlos. We had now entered the great desert which stretches north from the Gila away to the headwaters of the Colorado. We entered it without a guide or not one of the band had ever transfer these unknown regions. Even Ruby knew nothing about this part of the country. We were without compass too, but this we heeded not. There were few in the band who could not point to the north or the south within the variation of a degree. Few of them but could, night or day, tell by the heavens within 10 minutes the true time. Give them but a clear sky with the signs of their trees and rocks and they needed neither compass nor chronometer. Life spent beneath the blue heavens of the prairie uplands and the mountain peaks where a roof rarely obstructed their view of the Azure Falls had made astronomers of these reckless rovers. Of such accomplishments was their education drawn from many a perilous experience. To me, their knowledge of such things seemed instinct, but we had a guide as to our direction on airing as the magnetic needle. We were transversing the region of the polar plant, the plains of whose leaves at almost every step pointed out our meridian. I grew upon our track and was crushed under the hooves of our horses as we rode onward. We traveled northward through the country of the strange-looking mountains, whose tops shot heavenly and fantastic forms and groupings. One time we saw semi-gubbular shapes like domes of churches and another gothic turrets rose before us. And the next opening brought in view sharp needle-pointed peak shooting upward into the blue sky. We saw the column form supporting others that lay horizontally. Fast boulders of trap rock suggesting the idea of some endoluvian ruin, some temple of gigantic droids. Along with a singularity of formation, there was most brilliant coloring. There were stratified rocks, red, white, green, and yellow, as vivid in their hues as if freshly touched from the palette of the painter. No smoke had tarnished them since they had been flung up from their subterranean beds. No clouds draped their naked outlines. It was not a land of clouds, or as we journeyed amongst them, we saw not a speck in the heavens. Nothing above us but the blue and limitless ether. I remembered the remarks of Sanguine. There was something inspiring in the sight of these bright mountains, something lifelike that prevented us from feeling the extreme and real desolation by which we were surrounded. At times we could not help fancying that we were in a thickly populated country. A country of vast wealth and civilization has appeared from its architectural grandeur. Yet in reality, we were journeying through the wildest of earth's domains. Where no human foot ever trod, excepting such as where the moccasin, the region of the wolf Apache and the wretched Amparico. We traveled up the banks of the river, here and there, at our halting places, searching for the shiny metal. It could only be found in small quantities when the hunters began to talk loudly of the preto. There, according to them, the yellow gold lay in lumps. On the fourth day after leaving the Gila, we came to a place where the San Carlos Canon threw a high sierra. Here we halted for the night. When morning came, we found we could follow the river no further without climbing over the mountain. And Sanguin announced his intention of leaving it and striking eastward. A hunter responded to this declaration with a joyous hurrah. The golden vision was again before them. We remained at the San Carlos until after the noon heat, recruiting our horses by the stream, then mounting, we rode forward into the plain. It was our intention to travel all night or until we reached water. As we knew that without this, halting would be useless. We had not ridden far until we saw that a fearful hornata was before us. When those dreaded stretches without grass, wood or water, ahead of us we could see a low range of mountains trending from north to south. Beyond these, another range still higher than the first. On the further range there were snowy summits. We saw that they were distinct change and the more distant was of great elevation. This we knew from the appearance upon its peaks of the eternal snow. We knew moreover that at the foot of the snowy range we should find water, perhaps the river we were in search of. But the distance was immense. We did not find it at near Sierra. We should have been a venture, a danger of perishing from thirst. Such was the prospect. We rode on over the arid soil, over plains of lava and cut rock that wounded the hoofs of the horses, blaming many. There was no vegetation around us except the sickly green of the artemisia or the feted foliage of the creosote plant. There was no living thing to be seen save the browned and hideous lizards, the rattlesnake and the desert crickets that crawled in myriads along the parts ground and were crunched under the hooves of our animals. Water was a word that began to be uttered in several languages. Water, tried the choking trapper. Liu ejaculated the Canadian. Agua-Agua shouted the Mexican. We were not 20 miles from the St. Carlos before our gourd containers were as dry as a shingle and the dust of the plains and the hot atmosphere had created unusual thirst and we had soon emptied them. We started late in the afternoon. At sundown, the mountains ahead of us did not seem a single mile nearer. We traveled all night and when the sun rose again we were still a good distance from them. That's as the illusionary character of the elevated and crystal atmosphere. Men mumbled as they talked. They held in their mouths leadin' bullets and pebbles of obsidian which they chewed with a desperate fierceness. There was some time after sunrise when our arrived at the mountain foot. Without consternation, no water could be found. The mountains were a range of dry rock so parts like in barren that even the creosote bush could not find nourishment along their sides. They were as naked of vegetation as when the volcano fires first heaved them into the light. Parties scattered in all directions went up the ravines but after a long while spent in fruitless wandering we abandoned the search and despair. There was a pass that appeared to lead through the range and entering this we rode forward in silence and with gloomy thoughts. We soon debutsh'd on the when a sing of singular character burst upon our view a plain lay before us hemmed in on all sides by high mountains on its further edge was a snowy ridge and with stupendous cliffs rising vertically from the plain towering thousands of feet in the air dry rock being piled upon each other higher and higher until they became buried under robes of the spotless snow. But that which appeared most singular was the surface of the plain. It was covered with a mantle of virgin weightness apparently of snow and yet the more elevated spot from which we viewed it was naked with a hot sun shining upon it. What we saw in the valley then could not be snow. As they gazed over the monotonous surface of this plain and then looked upon the chaotic mountains that walled it in my mind became impressed with the ideas of coldness and desolation. It seemed as if everything was dead around us nature was laid out in her winding sheets. I saw that my companions experience similar feelings but no one spoke and we commenced riding down the path that led into the singular valley. As far as we could see there was no prospect of water on the plain. But what else could we do then cross it on its most distant borders along the base of the snowy mountains we thought we could distinguish a black line like that of timber and for this point we directed our march. On reaching the plain we had appeared like snow proved to be soda a deep encrustation of this lay upon the ground enough to satisfy the wants of the whole human race. Yet there lay and no hands ever stooped to gather it in. Three or four rocky buttes were in our way near the debaucher of the pass as we rounded them gathering further out into the plain a wide gap began to unfold itself opening through the mountains beyond. Through this gap the sun's rays were streaming in throwing a band of yellow light across wind into the valley and this the crystal of soda stirred up by the breeze appeared floating in myriads. As we descended I observed that objects began to assume a very different aspect from what they exhibited from above as if by enchantment the cold snowy surface all at once disappeared. Green fields lay before us tall trees sprang up covered with a thick and vernet frontage. Cottonwoods cried under as his eyes rested on these still distant groves. Tall saplings of that ejaculated another. What is our fellas I reckon remarked a third. Yes, hurry, you don't see sprouts as them growing out of dry parry. Look, hello, my golly yonder's a house, a house. One, two, three, a house. There's a whole town, there's a whole shanty. Jim, look yonder. I was riding in front with Senglin. The rest of the band strung out behind us. I had been for some time grazing upon the ground in sort of an abstraction looking at the snow white of Ethla Rensons and listening to the crunch of my horse's hooves through its icy incrustation. These exclamatory phrases caused me to raise my eyes. The sight that met them was one that made me rain up with a sudden jerk. Senglin had done the same and I saw the whole band at halted with a similar impulse. We had just cleared one of the buttes that had here to obstructed our view of the great gap. This is now directly in front of us along its base on the southern side rose the walls and battlements of a city, vast city. Judging from its distance and the colossal appearance of its architecture, we could trace the columns of temples and doors and gate and windows and balconies and parapets and spires. There were many towers rising high over the roofs and in the middle was a temple-like structure with its massive dome towering far above all others. I looked upon this sudden apparition with a feeling of incredulity. Was a dream and imagination a mirage? Ha, it was a mirage. No, the mirage could not affect such a complete picture. There were roofs and chimneys and walls and windows. There were a parapets of fortified houses with their regular notches and frayers. Who is reality? It was a city. Was this the symbol of the Spanish Padre? Was it the city of the golden gates and burnish towers? After all, was the story of the wandering freestrue? Who had proved it a fable? Who had ever penetrated this region? The very country and with the ecclesiastic represented the golden city of Ceablo to the exist. I thought that Sangun was puzzled, just made as well as myself. He knew nothing of this land, yet never witnessed a mirage like that. Sometime we sat in our saddles, influenced by strange emotions. Shall we go forward? Yes, we much reached water. We are dying of thirst and impelled by this we spurred onward. We had ridden only a few paces further when the hunters uttered a sudden and simultaneous cry. A new object, an object of terror, was before us. Along the mountain foot appeared a string of dark quirms. They were mounted men. We dragged our horses to their haunches, our whole line halting as one man. Engines was the exclamation of several. Indians they must be, muttered Sangun. There are no others here. Indians know they never were such as them see. They're not men, look, they're huge horses. They're long guns, they're giants by heaven, continuity, after a moment's pause. They are bodyless, they are phantoms. There were egg-climations of terror from the hunters behind. Were these the inhabitants of the city? There was a striking proportion in the colossal size of the horses and the horsemen. For a moment I was awestruck like the rest. Only a moment. A sudden memory flashed upon me. I thought of the herds, mountains, and their demons. I knew that the phenomenon before us could be no other. An optical illusion, a creation of the mirage. I raised my hand above my head. The foremost of the giants imitated the motion. I put spurs to my horse and gallop forward, so to tea, as if to meet me. And after a few springs I had passed a reflecting angle, and like thought the shadowed giants vanished into the air. The men had ridden forward after me and having also passed the angle of reflection and saw no more of the phantom host. The city too had disappeared, but we could trace the outlines of many a singular formation in the trap rock strata that transversed the edge of the valley. The tall groves were no longer to be seen, but a low bells of green willows, real willows, could be distinguished along the roof of the mountain with a gap. Under their foliage there was something that sparkled in the sun like sheets of silver. It was water. It was a branch of the Prieta. A horse is knaved at the side. Shortly after, we alighted upon its bank and we were kneeling before the sweet beard of the stream. Em did chapter 34, recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan. Chapter 35 of the Scalp Hunters. This is a lever box recording. All the lever box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org, recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan. The Scalp Hunters by Thomas Main Reed. Chapter 35, The Mountain of Gold. After so fatiguing a march, it was necessary to make a longer halt than usual. We stayed by the Arroia all that day and the following night, but the hunter is long to drink from the Prieta itself. And the next morning we drew our pickets and rode in the directions of that river. By noon we were upon its banks. A singular stream it was running through a region of bleak, barren, and desolate mountains. Through these, the stream had forged its way by numerous canyons and rushed along a channel at most places inaccessible. There was a black and gloomy river. Where were its sands of gold? After riding for some distance along its banks, we halted at a point where its bed could be reached. The hunter, disregarding all else, climbered eagerly over the steep bluffs and sent it to the water. They hardly stayed to drink. They crawled through narrow intercesses between detached masses of rock that had fallen from above. They lifted the mud in their hands and washed it in their cups. They hammered the quartz rock with their tomahawks, pounded it between great stones. Not a particle, the precious muddle could be found. They must either have struck the river too high up or else the El Dorado, they stole further to the north. Wet, weary, angry, uttering oaths and expressions of disappointment, they obeyed the signal to march forward. We rode up the stream, halting for the night in another place where the water was accessible to our animals. Here the hunters again searched for gold and again found it not. Mutantist murmurs were now spoken aloud. The gold country lay below them. They had no doubt of it. The chief took them by the sand collars and on purpose to disappoint them. He knew this would prevent delay. He cared not for them. His own ends were all he wanted to accomplish. They may go back as poor as they had come for ought he cared. They would never have such a good chance again. Such were their mutterings, embellished with many an oath. Think when either heard not or did not heed them. He was one of those characters who could patiently bear it until a proper cue for action may offer itself. He was fiery by nature, like all creoles. But time and trials that had tempered him to that calmness and coolness that refitted the leader of such a band. When aroused to action, he became what is styled in Western phraseology as a dangerous man. And the scalp hunters knew it. He heeded not their murmurings. Long before daybreak, we were once more in our saddles and moving forward till up the preto. We had observed fires at a distance during the night and we knew that we were at the villages of the club Apache. We wished to pass their country without being seen. And it was our intention when daylight appeared to catch her among the rocks until the following night. As dawn advanced, we halted in a concealed ravine while several of us climbed the hill to reconnoiter. We could see the smoke rising over the distant villages but we had passed them in the darkness and instead of remaining in the cache, we continued on through a wide plain covered with sage and cactus plants. Mountains towered up on every side of us as we advanced. They rose directly from the plains exhibiting the fantastic shapes which was characterized them in this region. Their stupendous precipice overlooking the bleak barren tables frowning upon them in the sublime silence. The plains themselves ran into very bases of these cliffs. Water had surely washed them. The plateau had once been the bed of an ancient ocean. I remember Sangman's theory of the inland seas. Shortly after sunrise, a trail we were following led us to an Indian crossing. Here, we've warded the stream with the intention of leaving it and heading eastward. We halted our horses in the water permitting them to drink freely. Some of the hunters moving ahead of the rest. I climbed the high banks. We were attracted by their unusual exclamations and looking upward. We perceived several of them standing on the top of a hill and pointing to the north in earnest and excited manner. Could it be Indians? What is it? shouted Sangman as we pushed forward. A gold mountain, a gold mountain was a reply. We spurred our horses hurriedly up the hill on reaching its top. A strange sight meant our gaze. Away to the north as far as the eye could see, an object glistened in the sun. It was a mountain and along its sides, from face to summit, the rocks glided with the bright semblance of gold. A thousand jets danced in the sunbeams, dazzling the eye as it looked upon them. Was it a mountain of gold? The men were in a frenzy of delight. This was the mountain so often discussed over the big black fires. Who of them had not heard of it? Whether credulous or not, there it was before them and all its burning splendor. I turned to look at Sangman, his brow was bent. There was expression of anxiety on his countenance. He understood the illusion, so did the Maricopa. So did Richter, I knew it too. At a glance, I had recognized the sparkling scales of the solentite. Sangwin saw that there was a difficulty before us. The dazzling hallucination lay far out of our course, but it was evident that neither commands nor persuasions would be heeded now. The men were resolved upon reaching it. Some of them had already turned their horses' heads and were moving in that direction. Sangwin ordered them back. A stormy altercation ensued. In short, a mutiny. Sangwin urged the necessity of our hastening forward to the town in vain. He represented the danger we were in of being overtaken by Tacoma's party, who by this time were upon our trail. In vain, the cocoa chief, the doctor and myself, assured our uneducated companions, but what they saw was the glancing surface of a worthless rock. Men were obstinate. Sight, operating upon their long cherished hopes, hadn't intoxicated them. They had lost all reason. They were mad. Oh, then cried Sangwin, making a desperate effort to restrain this passion. On men, men, then satisfy yourselves. Our lives may answer for your folly. And so saying, he turned his horse and headed him for the shining beacon. The men rode after, uttering loud and joyful exclamations. By end of a long day's ride, we reached the base of the mountain. A hundred leaped from their horses and clamoring up the glittering rocks. They reached them. They broke them with their tomahawks and pistol butts, puffed them with their knives. They tore off the plates of mica and glassy selenite. Then flung them at their feet, abashed and mortified. Then, one after another, came back to the plain with licks of disappointment and chagrin. Not one of them said a word. They climbed into their saddles and rode sullenly after the chief. We had lost a day by this journey, but our consolation lay in the belief that our Indian pursuers, following upon our trail, would make the same detour. Of course, now late to the Southwest, but finding a spring not far from the foot of the mountain, we remained by it for the night. After another day's march in the southeasterly course, we recognized the profiles of the mountains. We were nearing the great town of the Navajos. That night, we encamped on the running water, a branch of the preto that headed to the eastward. A vast chasm between the two cliffs marked the course of the stream above us. The guide pointed into the gap. We rode forward to our halting place. What is it, Ruby? Quiet singlin'. You see that clearly ahead of us? Yes, what of it? The Town Star. End of Chapter 35, recording by Kenneth Sergeant Gagan. Chapter 36 of the Scalp Hunters. This is a lever box recording. All lever box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org. Recording by Kenneth Sergeant Gagan. The Scalp Hunters by Thomas Main Reed. Chapter 36, Navajo. It was near evening of the next day when we arrived at the foot of this year. At the taboocher of the canyon, we could not follow the stream any further, as there was no path by the channel. It would be necessary to pass over the ridge that formed the southern jaw of the chasm. There was a plain trail amongst grubby pines, and following our guide, we commenced riding up the mountain. After ascending for an hour or so by a fearful road along the very brink of the precipice, we climbed the crest of the ridge and looked eastward. We had reached the gold of our journey. The town of the Navajos was before us. Voila, mi repablo, there's the town. Hurrah, were the exclamations that broke from the hunters. Oh, God, at last it is, mermid singlin', with a singular expression of countenance. Oh, God, be praised, halt, comrades, halt. Our reins were tightened, and we sat on our weary horses, looking over the plain, a magnificent panorama, magnificent under any circumstances lay before us, but its interest was heightened by the peculiar circumstances under which we viewed it. We were looking at the western extremity of an oblong valley, looking up at lengthwise. Not a valley, though, so-called in the language of Spanish America, but a plain walled in on all sides by mountains. It's elliptical in form, the diameter of a foci, the 10 or 12 miles in length, at shortest distances, five or six miles. It has the surface of a green meadow, and its perfectly level is unbroken by break, bush, or hillock. It looks like some quiet lake transformed into an emerald. It's bisected by a line of silvery brightness that curves gracefully through its whole extent, marking the windings of a crystal stream. But the mountains, but wild-looking mountains, particularly those on the north side of the valley, they're granite upheaves. Nature must've been worried at the birth of these. The very sight of them suggests the throes of a troubled planet. Huge rocks hang over, only half resting upon fearful precipice. Last boulders that sheen as though the touch of a feather would cause them to toggle down. Grimm chasms opened into deep, dark defiles that lie silent and solemn and frowning. Here and there, stunted trees, the cedar and the pinion, hang horizontally out, clinging along the cliffs. The unsightly limbs of the cactus and the gloomy foliage of the crease-hote bush grew together in seams on the rocks, heightened their character of ruggedness and gloom, such as the southern barrier of the valley. Look upon the northern Sierra. Here is a contrast, a new geology. Not a rock of granite meets the eye, but there are other piles as high and glistening with the whiteness of snow. These are mountains of milky quartz, the exhibit of a variety of peaks, naked and shiny, cracks that hang over deep, treeless ravines, and needle-sharp summits aspiring to the sky. They too have their vegetation, a vegetation that suggests the ideas of the desert and desolation. The two Siaras appear to converge at the eastern end of the valley. We are on the transverse ridge that shuts in upon the west, and from this point we view the picture. Where the valley ends eastwardly, we perceive a dark background lying against the mountains. We know it is a pine forest, but we are at too great a distance to distinguish the trees out of this forest the stream appears to issue. In a pounded spank near the border of the woods, we perceive a collection of strange pyramidal structures. Their houses, it's the town of the Navajo. Our eyes were directed upon it with eager gaze. We could trace the outlines of the houses, though they stood nearly 10 miles distance. They suggested images of a strange architecture. There were some standing apart from the rest with tourist roofs, and we could see they were banners waving over them. One larger than the rest presented the appearance of a temple. It was out in the open plain, and by the glass we could detect numerous forms clustered upon its top, the forms of human beings. There were others upon the roofs and parapets of the smaller houses, and many more moving up the plains near us, driving before them blocks of animals, mules, and mustangs. Some were down upon the banks of the river, and others we could see plunging about in the water. Double droves of horses whose muddled flanks show their breed were quietly browsing on the open prairie. Blocks of wild swans, geese, and winged their way up and down the mirandering currents of the stream. The sun was setting, the mountains were tinged with an amber-colored light, and the quartz-drose crystals sparkled on the peaks of the southern Sierra. It was a scene of silent beauty. How long, thought I, aered silence would be broken by the sounds of ravage and ruin. We remained for some time gazing upon the valley, without anyone uttering his thoughts. It was the silence that precedes resolve. In the minds of my comrades, there were varied emotions at play, varied in kind as they differed in intensity. Some were holy men, sat straining their eyes over the long reach of the meadow, thinking or fancying that in the distance they might distinguish a love-object, a wife, a sister, a daughter, or perhaps the object of a still-dearer and deeper affection. No, the last could not be. None could have been more deeply affected than he who was seeking for his child, a father's love with the strongest passion there. Alas, there were other emotions in the bosoms of those around me. Passions dark and sinful, fierce looks were bent upon the town. Some of these betokened, fierce feelings of revenge. Others indicated the desire of plunder and others still spoke fiend-like of murder. There have been mutterings of this from day to day as we journeyed. Men, disappointed in their golden dreams, had been heard to talk about the price of scalps. By a command from Sanguin, the hunters drew back among the trees and entered into a hurried council. How was the town to be taken? We could not approach it in the open light. The inhabitants would see us before we could ride up and make their escape to the forest beyond. This would defeat the whole purpose of our expedition. Could not a party get around to the eastern end of the valley and prevent this? Not through the plain itself with the mountains rested upon its surface without either foothills or paths along their side. In some places, vast cliffs rose to the height of a thousand feet, stepping directly upon the level plain. This idea was given up. Could we not earn the southern Sierra and come in through the forest itself? This would bring us closer to the houses under cover. The guide was questioned and answered in the affirmative, that could only be accomplished by making a detour of nearly fifty miles. There was no time for such a journey. The thought was abandoned. The town then must be approached at night. This was the only plan practical, at least, the most likely to succeed. It was adopted. It was not Sanguin's intention to make a night attack, but only to surround the buildings, keeping at some distance out, and remain in ambush until the morning. All retreat would be thus cut off, and we should make sure of taking our captives under the light of day. The men threw themselves to the ground, and, holding their bridles, waited, the going down of the sun. End of chapter thirty-six, recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan.