Back Aa

Wild Huntress

Close

<h3>Chapter Seventy Six.</h3> <h4>The History of the Huntress.</h4> I had just made these observations as the Mexican clambered up the rock, and took stand by my side. “Hijo de Dios!” exclaimed he, as his eyes fell upon the cross, “la crucifixion! What a conception for savages! Mira!” he continued, as another white cloud puffed out from behind the sloping side of the mound, and the report of a musket came booming up the valley, “Santissima! they are firing at the unfortunate!” “Yes,” said I; “they are playing with one of my comrades, as they did yesterday with myself.” “Ah, mio amigo! that is an old game of the Arapahoes. They used to practise it with their arrows, and for mere sport. Now that they have taken to guns, I suppose they combine instruction with amusement, as the books say. Carrambo! what cruel brutes they are! They have no more humanity than a grizzly bear. God help the poor wretch that falls into their clutches! Their captive women they treat with a barbarity unknown among other tribes. Even beauty, that would soften a savage of any other sort, is not regarded by these brutal Arapahoes. Only think of it! They were about to treat in this very fashion the beautiful Americana—the only difference being that they had strapped her to a tree instead of a crucifix. Carrai-i!” “The beautiful Americana?” “Yes—she who brought you to the camp.” “What! She in the hands of the Arapahoes?” “Sin duda; it was from them she was taken.” “When, and where? How, and by whom?” “Hola! hombre—four questions at once! Muy bien! I can answer them, if you give me time. To the first, I should say about six months ago. To the second, near the Big Timbers, on the Arkansas. My reply to the third will require more words; and before giving it, I shall answer the fourth by saying that the girl was taken from the Rapahoes by Don José.” “Don José—who is Don José?” “Oh! perhaps you would know him by his American name—Oaquer?” “Walker, the celebrated trapper? Joe Walker?” “The same, amigo. Oaquara, the Utahs pronounce it. As you perceive, their young chief is named so, and after him. The trapper and he were sworn friends—brothers—or more like father and son: since Don José was much the older.” “Were friends. Are they not so still?” “Valga me dios! No. That is no longer possible. Don José has gone under—was rubbed out more than three months ago, and by these very Rapahoes! That is why your fair conpaisana is now with the Utahs. The old trapper left her to his namesake Oaquara—under whose protection she has been ever since.” “He has been true to his trust? He has protected her?” Under the influence of singular emotions did these questions escape me. “Seguramente, amigo!” replied the Mexican, with an ingenuousness calculated to allay my unpleasant fancies, “the Utah chief is a noble fellow—un hombre de bien—besides, he would have done anything for his old friend—whose death greatly grieved him. That is just why you see him here in such haste. It was not to avenge your wrongs that they danced their war-measure—but the death of Don José. All the same to you, however: since your compañeros are likely to have the advantage of it. As for the Americana,” continued he, before I had time to make rejoinder, “Virgen santissima! such a maiden was never seen in these parts. Such a shot! Not a marksman in the mountains could match with her, except Don José himself, who taught her; and as for hunting—la linda cazadora! she can steal upon the game like a couguar. Ah! she can protect herself. She has done so. But for her spirit and rifle, the Red-Hand would have ruined her.” “But how? you have not told me—” “True, cavallero! I have yet to answer number three. Bueno! As I said, it was near the Big Timbers, where she got into the hands of the Arapahoes. There was only a small band of the robbers, with Red-Hand at their head. He wanted to play the brute with her. She kept him off with her rifle, and a big dog you have seen. Red-Hand became angry, and had her strapped to a tree—where the monsters threatened to shoot their arrows into her body. Whether they intended to kill her, or only to terrify the poor girl, is not known; but if the former was their design, they were hindered from putting it into execution. Just at that moment, Don José came upon the ground with a party of trappers from the rendezvous on Cuerno Verde. They were strong enough to beat off the red-skinned ravishers and save the Americana. That is how she was taken from the Rapahoes.” “A brave deed! But how did she chance to be there? Since Bent’s Port was abandoned, there is no white settlement near the Big Timbers.” “Ah! señor! that is the strangest part of the whole story. It was told me by Don José himself, while we were compañeros on a trapping expedition—just after he had saved the girl. Carrambo!—a strange tale!” “Have you any objection to tell it to me? I feel a singular interest in this young girl.” “Sin duda! Of many a mountain-man, the same might be said; and many an Indian too. Hum! cavallero! you would not be flesh and blood, if you didn’t.” “Not that, I assure you. My interest in her springs from a different source. I have other reasons for inquiring into her history.” “You shall have it, then, cavallero—at least so much as I know of it myself: for it is reasonable to suppose that Don José did not tell me all he knew. This much: the niña was with a caravan that had come from one of your western states. It was a caravan of Mormons. You have heard of the Mormons, I suppose—those hereticos who have made settlements here beyond?” “I have.” “Well—one of these Mormons was the husband of the girl, or rather ought to have been—since they were married just at starting. It appears that the young woman was against the marriage—for she loved some one more to her choice—but her father had forced her to it; and some quarrel happening just at the time with the favourite lover, she had consented—from pique, sin duda—to accept the Mormon.” “She did accept him?” “Yes—but now comes the strange part of the story. All I have told you is but a common tale, and the like occurs every day in the year.” “Go on!” “When she married the Mormon, she did not know he was a Mormon; and it appears that these hereticos have a name among your people worse than the very Judios. It was only after the caravan had got out into the plains, that the girl made this discovery. Another circumstance equally unpleasant soon came to her knowledge; and that was: that the man who pretended to be her husband was after all no husband—that he did not act to her as a husband should do—in short, that the marriage had been a sham—the ceremony having been performed by some Mormon brother, in the disguise of a clerico!” “Was the girl’s father aware of this deception!” “Don José could not tell. He may have known that the man was a Mormon; but Don José was of opinion that the father himself was betrayed by the false marriage—though he was present at it, and actually bestowed the bride!” “Strange!” “Perhaps, cavallero! the strangest is yet to come. For what purpose, do you suppose, was this deception practised upon the poor girl?” “I cannot guess—go on!” “Carrai! it was a hellish purpose; but you shall hear it. These Mormons have at their head a great chief priest—una propheta, as they call him. He is a polygamist—a perfect Turco—and keeps a harem of beautiful niñas, who pass under the name of ‘spiritual wives.’ It was only after the young Americana had got far out upon the plains—indeed, to the Big Timbers, where she escaped from him—that she found out the terrible fate for which her false husband had designed her. She learnt it from the other women who accompanied the caravan; and who, base wretches that they were! rather envied her the honour by which she was to be distinguished! Por Dios! a terrible fate for a young creature innocent and virtuous like her!” “Her fate? Quick—tell me! for what had the villain destined her?” “Virgen Santa! for the harem of the Mormon prophet!” “Mira!” exclaimed the Mexican, almost in the same breath—“Mira! the signal-smoke of Wa-ka-ra! To horse! to horse! mueran los Arapahoes!” It was not the signal that called from my lips a convulsive exclamation. It was wrung from my agony, ere the smoke had been descried. It was drowned amidst the shouts of the savage warriors, as they crowded forward out of the chasm. Leaping down from the ledge, and flinging myself on the back of my horse, I mingled in the mêlée. As we swept from the gorge, I cast a glance behind. The sound of female voices caused me to look back. The Utah women, mounted on mules and horses, were coming down the cañon, with the white huntress at their head! I wished a word with her; but it was too late. I dared neither pause nor go back. My Utah allies would have branded me as a coward—a traitor to my own cause! I did not hesitate a moment; but, joining in the “Ugh-aloo,” I dashed into the midst of the dusky host, and galloped onward to the charge. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2