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<h3>Chapter Thirty Nine.</h3> <h4>The White Scalp.</h4> We repassed the horrid chamber, and emerged upon the lowermost terrace of the temple. As I walked forward to the parapet, there was a scene below that filled me with apprehension. A cloud seemed to fall over my heart. In front of the temple were the women of the village—girls, women, and children; in all, about two hundred. They were variously attired: some were wrapped in their striped blankets; some wore tilmas, and tunics of embroidered fawn-skin, plumed and painted with dyes of vivid colour; some were dressed in the garb of civilised life—in rich satins, that had been worn by the dames of the Del Norte; in flounces that had fluttered in the dance around the ankles of some gay maja. Not a few in the crowd were entirely nude. They were all Indians, but of lighter and darker shades; differing in colour as in expression of face. Some were old, wrinkled, and coarse; but there were many of them young, noble-like, and altogether beautiful. They were grouped together in various attitudes. They had ceased their screaming, but murmured among themselves in low and plaintive exclamations. As I looked, I saw blood running from their ears! It had dappled their throats and spurted over their garments. A glance satisfied me as to the cause of this. They had been rudely robbed of their golden hangings. Near and around them stood the scalp-hunters, in groups and afoot. They were talking in whispers and low mutterings. There were objects about their persons that attracted my eye. Curious articles of ornament or use peeped out from their pouches and haversacks—bead-strings and pieces of shining metal—gold it was—hung around their necks and over their breasts. These were the plundered bijouterie of the savage maidens. There were other objects upon which my eye rested with feelings of deeper pain. Stuck behind the belts of many were scalps, fresh and reeking. Their knife-hilts and fingers were red; there was blood upon their hands; there was gloom in their glances. The picture was appalling; and, adding to its awful impression, black clouds were at the moment rolling over the valley, and swathing the mountains in their opaque masses. The lightning jetted from peak to peak, followed by short claps of close and deafening thunder. “Bring up the atajo!” shouted Seguin, as he descended the ladder with his daughter. A signal was given; and shortly after the mules, in charge of the arrieros, came stringing across the plain. “Collect all the dry meat that can be found. Let it be packed as speedily as possible.” In front of most of the houses there were strings of tasajo hanging against the walls. There were also dried fruits and vegetables, chile, roots of the kamas, and skin-bags filled with pinons and choke-berries. The meat was soon brought together, and several of the men assisted the arrieros in packing it. “There will be barely enough,” said Seguin. “Here, Rube,” continued he, calling to the old trapper; “pick out your prisoners. Twenty will be as many as we can take. You know them: chose those most likely to tempt an exchange.” So saying, the chief turned off towards the atajo, leading his daughter with the intention of mounting her on one of the mules. Rube proceeded to obey the orders given him. In a short time he had collected a number of unresisting captives, and had put them aside from the rest. They were principally girls and young lads, whose dress and features bespoke them of the noblesse of the nation, the children of chiefs and warriors. This movement was not regarded in silence. The men had drawn together, and commenced talking in loud and mutinous language. “Wagh!” exclaimed Kirker, a fellow of brutal aspect; “thar are wives apiece, boys: why not every man help himself? Why not?” “Kirker’s right,” Rejoined another; “and I’ve made up my mind to have one, or bust.” “But how are ye goin’ to feed ’em on the road? We ha’n’t meat if we take one apiece.” “Meat be hanged!” ejaculated the second speaker; “we kin reach the Del Norte in four days or less. What do we want with so much meat?” “There’s meat a-plenty,” rejoined Kirker. “That’s all the captain’s palaver. If it runs out we kin drop the weemen, and take what o’ them’s handiest to carry.” This was said with a significant gesture, and a ferocity of expression revolting to behold. “Now, boys! what say ye?” “I freeze to Kirker.” “And I.” “And I.” “I’m not goin’ to advise anybody,” added the brute. “Ye may all do as ye please about it; but this niggur’s not a-goin’ to starve in the midst o’ plenty.” “Right, comrade! right, I say.” “Wal. First spoke first pick, I reckin. That’s mountain law; so, old gal, I cottons to you. Come along, will yer?” Saying this, he seized one of the Indians, a large, fine-looking woman, roughly by the wrist, and commenced dragging her towards the atajo. The woman screamed and resisted, frightened, not at what had been said, for she did not understand it, but terrified by the ruffian expression that was plainly legible in the countenance of the man. “Shut up yer meat-trap, will ye?” cried he, still pulling her towards the mules; “I’m not goin’ to eat ye. Wagh! Don’t be so skeert. Come! mount hyar. Gee yup!” And with this exclamation he lifted the woman upon one of the mules. “If ye don’t sit still, I’ll tie ye; mind that!” and he held up the lasso, making signs of his determination. A horrid scene now ensued. A number of the scalp-hunters followed the example of their ruffian comrade. Each one chose the girl or woman he had fancied, and commenced hurrying her off to the atajo. The women shrieked. The men shouted and swore. Several scrambled for the same prize—a girl more beautiful than her companions. A quarrel was the consequence. Oaths and ejaculations rang out; knives were drawn and pistols cocked. “Toss up for her!” cried one. “Ay, that’s fair; toss up! toss up!” shouted several. The hint was adopted; the lots were cast; and the savage belle became the property of the winner. In the space of a few minutes nearly every mule in the atajo carried an Indian damsel. Some of the hunters had taken no part in this Sabine proceeding. Some disapproved of it (for all were not bad) from motives of humanity. Others did not care for being “hampered with a squaw,” but stood apart, savagely laughing at the scene. During all this time Seguin was on the other side of the building with his daughter. He had mounted her upon one of the mules, and covered her shoulders with his serape. He was making such preparations for her journey as the tender solicitudes of the father suggested. The noise at length attracted him; and, leaving her in charge of his servants, he hurried round to the front. “Comrades!” cried he, glancing at the mounted captives, and comprehending all that had occurred, “there are too many here. Are these whom you have chosen?” This question was directed to the trapper Rube. “No,” replied the latter, “them’s ’em,” and he pointed to the party he had picked out. “Dismount these, then, and place those you have selected upon the mules. We have a desert to cross, and it will be as much as we can do to pass it with that number.” And without appearing to notice the scowling looks of his followers, he proceeded, in company with Rube and several others, to execute the command he had given. The indignation of the hunters now showed itself in open mutiny. Fierce looks were exchanged, and threats uttered aloud. “By Heaven!” cried one, “I’ll have my gal along, or her scalp.” “Vaya!” exclaimed another, in Spanish; “why take any of them? They’re not worth the trouble, after all. There’s not one of them worth the price of her own hair.” “Take the har then, and leave the niggurs!” suggested a third. “I say so too.” “And I.” “I vote with you, hoss.” “Comrades!” said Seguin, turning to the mutineers, and speaking in a tone of extreme mildness, “remember your promise. Count the prisoners, as we agreed. I will answer for the payment of all.” “Can ye pay for them now?” asked a voice. “You know that that would be impossible.” “Pay for them now! Pay for them now!” shouted several. “Cash or scalps, says I.” “Carrajo! where is the captain to get the money when we reach El Paso more than here? He’s neither a Jew nor a banker; and it’s news to me if he’s grown so rich. Where, then, is all the money to some from?” “Not from the Cabildo, unless the scalps are forthcoming; I’ll warrant that.” “True, José! They’ll give no money to him, more than to us; and we can get it ourselves if we show the skins for it. That we can.” “Wagh! what cares he for us, now that he has got what he wanted?” “Not a niggur’s scalp. He wouldn’t let us go by the Prieto, when we kud ’a gathered the shining stuff in chunks.” “Now he wants us to throw away this chance too. We’d be green fools to do it, I say.” It struck me at this moment that I might interfere, with success. Money seemed to be what the mutineers wanted; at least it was their alleged grievance; and rather than witness the fearful drama which appeared to be on the eve of enactment, I would have sacrificed my fortune. “Men!” cried I, speaking so that I could be heard above the din, “if you deem my word worth listening to, it is this: I have sent a cargo to Chihuahua with the last caravan. By the time we get back to El Paso the traders will have returned, and I shall be placed in possession of funds double what you demand. If you will accept my promise, I shall see that you be paid.” “Wagh! that talk’s all very well, but what do we know of you or yer cargo?” “Vaya! A bird in the hand’s worth two in the bush.” “He’s a trader. Who’s goin’ to take his word?” “Rot his cargo! Scalps or cash, cash or scalps! that’s this niggur’s advice; an’ if ye don’t take it, boys, ye may leave it! but it’s all the pay ye’ll ever crook yer claws on.” The men had tasted blood, and like the tiger, they thirsted for more. There were glaring eyes on all sides, and the countenances of some exhibited an animal ferociousness hideous to look upon. The half-robber discipline that hitherto ruled in the band seemed to have completely departed, and the authority of the chief to be set at defiance. On the other side stood the females, clinging and huddling together. They could not understand the mutinous language, but they saw threatening attitudes and angry faces. They saw knives drawn, and heard the cocking of guns and pistols. They knew there was danger, and they crouched together, whimpering with fear. Up to this moment Seguin had stood giving directions for the mounting of his captives. His manner was strangely abstracted, as it had been ever since the scene of meeting with his daughter. That greater care, gnawing at his heart, seemed to render him insensible to what was passing. He was not so. As Kirker ended (for he was the last speaker) a change came over Sequin’s manner, quick as a flash of lightning. Suddenly rousing himself from his attitude of indifference, he stepped forward in front of the mutineers. “Dare!” shouted he, in a voice of thunder, “dare to dishonour your oaths! By heavens! the first man who raises knife or rifle shall die on the instant!” There was a pause, and a moment of deep silence. “I had made a vow,” continued he, “that should it please God to restore me my child, this hand should be stained with no more blood. Let any man force me to break that vow, and, by Heaven, his blood shall be the first to stain it!” A vengeful murmur ran through the crowd, but no one replied. “You are but a cowardly brute, with all your bluster,” he continued, turning round to Kirker, and looking him in the eye. “Up with that knife! quick! or I will send this bullet through your ruffian heart!” Seguin had drawn his pistol, and stood in an attitude that told he would execute the threat. His form seemed to have grown larger; his eye dilated, flashing as it rolled, and the man shrank before its glance. He saw death in it if he disobeyed, and with a surly murmur he fumbled mechanically at his belt, and thrust the blade back into its sheath. But the mutiny was not yet quelled. These were men not so easily conquered. Fierce exclamations still continued, and the mutineers again began to encourage one another with shouts. I had thrown myself alongside the chief, with my revolvers cocked and ready, resolved to stand by him to the death. Several others had done the same, among whom were Rube, Garey, Sanchez the bull-fighter, and the Maricopa. The opposing parties were nearly equal, and a fearful conflict would have followed had we fought; but at this moment an object appeared that stifled the resentment of all. It was the common enemy! Away on the western border of the valley we could see dark objects, hundreds of them, coming over the plain. They were still at a great distance, but the practised eyes of the hunters knew them at a glance. They were horsemen; they were Indians; they were our pursuers, the Navajoes! They were riding at full gallop, and strung over the prairie like hounds upon a run. In a twinkling they would be on us. “Yonder!” cried Seguin, “yonder are scalps enough to satisfy you; but let us see to our own. Come! to your horses! On with the atajo! I will keep my word with you at the pass. Mount! my brave fellows, mount!” The last speech was uttered in a tone of reconciliation; but it needed not that to quicken the movements of the hunters. They knew too well their own danger. They could have sustained the attack among the houses, but it would only have been until the return of the main tribe, when they knew that every life would be taken. To make a stand at the town would be madness, and was not thought of. In a moment we were in our saddles; and the atajo, strung out with the captives and provisions, was hurrying off toward the woods. We purposed passing the defile that opened eastward, as our retreat by the other route was now cut off by the advancing horsemen. Seguin had thrown himself at the head, leading the mule upon which his daughter was mounted. The rest followed, straggling over the plain without rank or order. I was among the last to leave the town. I had lingered behind purposely, fearing some outrage, and determined, if possible, to prevent it. “At length,” thought I, “they have all gone!” and putting spurs to my horse, I galloped after. When I had ridden about a hundred yards from the walls, a loud yell rang behind me; and, reining in my horse, I turned in the saddle and looked back. Another yell, wild and savage, directed me to the point whence the former had come. On the highest roof of the temple two men were struggling. I knew them at a glance; and I knew, too, it was a death-struggle. One was the medicine chief, as I could tell by the flowing, white hair. The scanty skirt and leggings, the naked ankles, the close-fitting skull-cap, enabled me easily to distinguish his antagonist. It was the earless trapper! The conflict was a short one. I had not seen the beginning of it, but I soon witnessed the dénouement. As I turned, the trapper had forced his adversary against the parapet, and with his long, muscular arm was bending him over its edge. In the other hand, uplifted, he brandished his knife! I saw a quick flash as the blade was plunged; a red gush spurted over the garments of the Indian; his arms dropped, his body doubled over the wall, balanced a moment, and then fell with a dull, sodden sound upon the terrace below! The same wild whoop again rang in my ears, and the hunter disappeared from the root. I turned to ride on. I knew it was the settling of some old account, the winding up of some terrible revenge. The clattering of hoofs sounded behind me, and a horseman rode up alongside. I knew, without turning my head, that it was the trapper. “Fair swop, they say, ain’t no stealin’. Putty har, too, it ur. Wagh! It won’t neyther match nor patch mine; but it makes one’s feelin’s easier.” Puzzled at this speech, I turned to ascertain its meaning. I was answered by the sight that met my eye. An object was hanging from the old man’s belt, like a streak of snow-white flax. But it was not that. It was hair. It was a scalp! There were drops of blood struggling down the silvery strands as they shook, and across them, near the middle, was a broad red band. It was the track of the trapper’s knife where he had wiped it! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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