Back Aa

Scalp Hunters

Close

<h3>Chapter Twenty Seven.</h3> <h4>The Diggers.</h4> Our first impulse was to rush down the ravine, satisfy our thirst at the spring, and our hunger on the half-polished bones that were strewed over the prairie. Prudence, however, restrained us. “Wait till they’re clar gone,” said Garey. “They’ll be out o’ sight in three skips o’ a goat.” “Yes! stay where we are a bit,” added another; “some of them may ride back; something may be forgotten.” This was not improbable; and in spite of the promptings of our appetites, we resolved to remain a while longer in the defile. We descended straightway into the thicket to make preparations for moving—to saddle our horses and take off their mufflings, which by this time had nearly blinded them. Poor brutes! they seemed to know that relief was at hand. While we were engaged in these operations, our vidette was kept at the top of the hill to watch both bands, and warn us when their heads should sink to the prairie level. “I wonder why the Navajoes have gone by the Ojo de Vaca,” remarked our chief, with an apparent anxiety in his manner. “It is well our comrades did not remain there.” “They’ll be tired o’ waitin’ on us, whar they are,” rejoined Garey, “unless blacktails is plentier among them Musquites than I think for.” “Vaya!” exclaimed Sanchez; “they may thank the Santisima they were not in our company! I’m spent to a skeleton. Mira! carrai!” Our horses were at length bridled and saddled, and our lassoes coiled up. Still the vidette had not warned us. We grew every moment more impatient. “Come!” cried one; “hang it! they’re far enough now. They’re not a-goin’ to be gapin’ back all the way. They’re looking ahead, I’m bound. Golly! thar’s fine shines afore them.” We could resist no longer. We called out to the vidette. He could just see the heads of the hindmost. “That will do,” cried Seguin; “come, take your horses!” The men obeyed with alacrity, and we all moved down the ravine, leading our animals. We pressed forward to the opening. A young man, the pueblo servant of Seguin, was ahead of the rest. He was impatient to reach the water. He had gained the mouth of the defile, when we saw him fall back with frightening looks, dragging at his horse and exclaiming— “Mi amo! mi amo! to davia son!” (Master, master! they are here yet!) “Who?” inquired Seguin, running forward in haste. “The Indians, master; the Indians!” “You are mad! Where did you see them?” “In the camp, master. Look yonder!” I pressed forward with Seguin to the rocks that lay along the entrance of the defile. We looked cautiously over. A singular sight met our eyes. The camp-ground was lying as the Indians had left it. The stakes were still standing; the shaggy hides of the buffaloes, and pile of their bones, were strewn upon the plain; hundreds of coyotes were loping back and forward, snarling at one another, or pursuing one of their number which had picked up a nicer morsel than his companions. The fires were still smouldering, and the wolves galloped through the ashes, raising them in yellow clouds. But there was a sight stranger than all this, a startling sight to me. Five or six forms, almost human, were moving about among the fires, collecting the débris of skins and bones, and quarrelling with the wolves that barked round them in troops. Five or six others, similar forms were seated around a pile of burning wood, silently gnawing at half roasted ribs. Can they be—yes, they are human beings! I was for a moment awe-struck as I gazed at the shrivelled and dwarfish bodies, the long, ape-like arms, and huge disproportioned heads, from which fell their hair in snaky tangles, black and matted. But one or two appeared to have any article of dress, and that was a ragged breech-clout. The others were naked as the wild beasts around them, naked from head to foot! It was a horrid sight to look upon these fiend-like dwarfs squatted around the fires, holding up half-naked bones in their long, wrinkled arms, and tearing off the flesh with their glistening teeth. It was a horrid sight, indeed; and it was some moments before I could recover sufficiently from my amazement to inquire who or what they were. I did so at length. “Los Yamparicos,” answered the cibolero. “Who?” I asked again. “Los Indios Yamparicos, señor.” “The Diggers, the Diggers,” said a hunter, thinking that would better explain the strange apparitions. “Yes, they are Digger Indians,” added Seguin. “Come on; we have nothing to fear from them.” “But we have somethin’ to git from them,” rejoined one of the hunters, with a significant look. “Digger plew good as any other; worth jest as much as ’Pash chief.” “No one must fire,” said Seguin, in a firm tone. “It is too soon yet; look yonder!” and he pointed over the plain, where two or three glancing objects, the helmets of the retreating warriors, could still be seen above the grass. “How are we goin’ to get them, then, captain?” inquired the hunter. “They’ll beat us to the rocks; they kin run like scared dogs.” “Better let them go, poor devils!” said Seguin, seemingly unwilling that blood should be spilled so wantonly. “No, captain,” rejoined the same speaker, “we won’t fire, but we’ll git them, if we kin, ’ithout it. Boys, follow me down this way.” And the man was about guiding his horse in among the loose rocks, so as to pass unperceived between the dwarfs and the mountain. But the brutal fellow was frustrated in his design; for at that moment El Sol and his sister appeared in the opening, and their brilliant habiliments caught the eyes of the Diggers. Like startled deer they sprang to their feet, and ran, or rather flew, toward the foot of the mountain. The hunters galloped to intercept them, but they were too late. Before they could come up, the Diggers had dived into the crevices of the rocks, or were seen climbing like chamois along the cliffs, far out of reach. One of the hunters only—Sanchez—succeeded in making a capture. His victim had reached a high ledge, and was scrambling along it, when the lasso of the bull-fighter settled round his neck. The next moment he was plucked out into the air, and fell with a “cranch” upon the rocks! I rode forward to look at him. He was dead. He had been crushed by the fall; in fact, mangled to a shapeless mass, and exhibited a most loathsome and hideous sight. The unfeeling hunter recked not of this. With a coarse jest he stooped over the body; and severing the scalp, stuck it, reeking and bloody, behind the waist of his calzoneros! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2