THE GREAT MEDICINE.
Before going further we will give some indispensable information respecting the Pueblos Indians, who are destined to play a great part in this story, which, we believe, through its novelty, will interest the reader.
These Indians hold the centre between the redskins of North America, and that race of Toltecs, on whom were grafted all the branches whose amalgamation composes the great indigenous nation of Mexico. Though living chiefly by trade and agriculture, they have not resigned all their warlike tastes.
The Pueblos are established all along the northern line of Mexico, the principal tribes being the Navajos, Apaches, Yutas, Caignas, and Comanches. The Apaches differ a little from the redskins properly so called, with whom they have a common character, however; and so do the Comanches.
The latter tribe is the most redoubtable in the desert, and calls itself proudly the Queen of the Prairies. The Comanches alone of all the Indians have managed to shield themselves from a taste for strong liquors, which are so pernicious to the red race. The Comanches possess a haughty and independent character, as the reader will be enabled to judge in the progress of our story. We will only mention here one of their customs, which will be sufficient to let them be appreciated at their full value.
Polygamy is allowed among the Comanches; each chief has six, eight or ten wives; but, among this people a marriage is arranged neither by soft words nor presents; the Comanche warrior reaches a surer and more solemn pledge. This is how he acts:
So soon as he fancies himself beloved by a woman, he kills one of his horses, plucks out its heart, and nails it all bleeding to the door of the girl he is courting. She takes it down, roasts it, and then divides it equally, giving one half to her lover, eating the other herself, and the marriage is concluded.
Up to the present, none have been able to enslave this nation, which is the terror of all the Mexican frontiers. After this explanation, we will go on with our story.
Doña Clara was aroused at an early hour by the sound of the chichikouis and other Indian instruments, with which was incessantly mingled the barking of the countless pack of dogs that always accompanies the redskins. At sunrise Black Cat entered the prisoner's cabin, and, after bowing to her, told her in his honeyed voice, while gazing eagerly at her, that he was about to make the great medicine of the Bah-oh-akan-es, in order to obtain from the Master of Life the surrender of his enemy into his hands; and that if, instead of remaining alone with her grief, she desired to witness the ceremony, she could follow him.
The young Mexican, not wishing the chief to notice the delight she experienced at this proposal, appeared to submit, and not to accept his offer.
The whole population of the village was astir, the women and children running in all directions, uttering deafening yells. Even the warriors and old men seemed to have forgotten the Indian stoicism. In a few minutes the village was deserted, so eager were all to proceed to a vast plain running along the banks of the Gila, where the great medicine talisman was to be accomplished.
Black Cat, cunning as he was, was deceived by the apparent weakness of his prisoner, and her feigned despondency. After giving her a piercing glance to assure himself that she was not playing with him, he made her a sign to leave the hut and mix with the aged women, who, like all the rest, wished to witness the ceremony; and he then retired, without having the slightest suspicion.
Doña Clara placed herself at the foot of a tree, whose tufted branches bent over the river; and there, with palpitating heart, restless mind, and eye and ears on the watch, she impatiently awaited the hour of her deliverance, although feigning to be attracted by all that went on around her.
The Indians had built a small hut, covered externally with buffalo robes, and having a low and narrow door. In order to reach this hut, a path forty feet long and one wide had been traced, crossing the village road at right angles. The grass had been torn up all along this path, and collected at its termination opposite the hut. Forty pair of moccasins had also been placed, one behind the other, in two rows, all the extent of the path.
By the side of the mound of grass burned a fire, in which the flat stones were heated. When they were red hot, they were carried into the hut, and placed on a hearth made for the purpose.
The entire population of the village, with the exception of a few women, whom their age kept apart, were seated along the two sides of the path, with a large number of dishes of Indian corn, broth, grease, and meat before them. The sorcerer was standing on the mound of grass.
At a signal he rose, and proceeded to the sweating lodge, being careful always to place his feet on the moccasins. At the door of the lodge Black Cat was standing, naked to the waist. The sorcerer, after remaining a few minutes in the lodge, came out again, holding a cutlass in his hand. He walked silently towards Black Cat, who, on seeing him, rose and stretched his left hand, saying:
"I gladly give the first joint of the forefinger of this hand to Natosh, if he will surrender my enemy to me, and allow me to lift his scalp."
"Natosh has heard thee: he accepts," the sorcerer replied, laconically.
With a blow of his cutlass he cut off the joint, which he threw over his head, uttering some mysterious words; while Black Cat, apparently insensible to the pain, continued his prayers. This operation terminated, the sorcerer took a rod made of willow branches and fastened by the tail of a prairie wolf: he dipped it in each of the dishes, and scattered the contents in the direction of the four winds, while invoking the Lord of life, fire, water, and air. These dishes, which no one had yet touched, were then divided among the spectators, who devoured them in a twinkling.
After this, the oldest warriors entered the medicine lodge: the women carefully covered them, and threw over the red-hot stones water which they drew from the sacred vessels, with sprigs of wormwood. After this ceremony, all the inhabitants began dancing round the hut, accompanying themselves with their chichikouis. During this time, he had placed on the pile of grass in front of the lodge, a buffalo head with its muzzle to the wind: then, taking a long pole covered with a brand new red blanket, which he offered to the Master of Life, he proceeded, followed by his relations and friends, to plant it before the sweating lodges.
The songs and dances continued. The sounds of the chichikouis became more animated. A species of frenzy seemed to seize on all the Indians, and the old women, who, till this moment, had remained passive spectators of the ceremony, rushed in disorder towards the lodge, uttering loud yells, and mingled with the noisy crowd.
Doña Clara remained alone at the foot of the tree, near the riverbank. No one paid any further attention to her. It seemed as if she had been forgotten in the general excitement. She took an anxious glance around: by a species of intuition she felt that the help she expected would arrive from the direction of the river. Carelessly and slowly, stooping every second to cull one of the charming flowers—something like our violets—which are the last to enamel the prairie, she approached the bank. All at once she felt herself pulled back by the skirt of her dress, and felt terribly alarmed. At the same time as this mysterious hand seized her, a voice whispered the simple words:
"To the right, and stoop."
The maiden guessed, rather than heard the words; but she obeyed without hesitation. Two minutes after, following a small path that opened before her, she found herself sheltered behind an enormous rock, on the riverbank. Two horses, saddled in the Indian fashion, were fastened to a picket near the rock. At a sign from Eagle-wing, Doña Clara leaped on to one of the horses, while the Indian bestrode the other.
"Good," he said, in his sympathising voice; "brave heart!" And letting loose the bridles of both horses, he said:
"Quicker than the storm!"
The half-tamed mustangs started more rapidly than the wind, making the pebbles strike fire under their hoofs. It was broad day, the prairie extended for an enormous distance, flat, naked, and undiversified; and at only a few paces off, the whole population of the village would not fail soon to notice them. The position was most perilous and critical; the two fugitives knew it, and redoubled their ardour, boldly braving danger. All at once a yell of rage vibrated in the air.
"Courage!" the chief said.
"I have it," the girl replied, with clenched teeth, as she urged her horse to increased speed. "They shall never capture me alive."
The Apaches, who had left their village for a religious festival, had not brought their arms with them, and their horses naturally remained in the stables. This was an hour's respite granted the fugitives.
So soon as the Indians had perceived Doña Clara's flight, the ceremony was interrupted, and all rushed tumultuously toward the village, noisily demanding their weapons and horses. Within a few minutes the most active were in the saddle, and galloping in the traces of Doña Clara and Eagle-wing.
The most celebrated European riders can form no idea of what a pursuit is on the prairies. The Indians are the finest horsemen in the world. Riveted to their steeds, which they squeeze and hold up between their nervous knees, they become identified with them, communicating their passions to them, as it were, by an electric fluid, and, like the Centaurs in the fable, they perform prodigies on horseback; rocks, ravines, hedges, currents—nothing stops or checks this furious race which is allied to madness: a living whirlwind, they fly through space with headlong speed, enveloped in a halo of dust.
Two hours passed thus, and the fugitives, bent over their horses' necks, were unable to take a moment's rest. Their half-maddened steeds, with their coats white with foam, and bleeding nostrils, reeled with fatigue and terror; their trembling sinews scarce supported them, and yet, urged on by their riders, they devoured the space, guessing instinctively that the furious band of Indians was pursuing them at a short distance.
Scarce a thousand yards separated the two parties. Black Cat, furious at having been cheated by a woman, was two horses' length in advance, and was followed by seven or eight Indians, whose horses, fresher than those of the others, had forged ahead. Eagle-wing turned round, and saw four warriors a hundred paces from him.
"Forward!" he shouted to the maiden, as he struck her horse's croup with his whip; and it bounded forward, with a supreme effort, uttering a snort of pain.
At the same time the Coras turned back, and rushing like lightning on his enemies, ere they had time to place themselves in a posture of defence, he discharged his rifle at them. An Apache fell dead. The sachem, whose horse was exhausted, felled a second foe with the butt of his gun; then, with extraordinary skill, he leaped onto the steed of the first warrior he had killed, caught the other by the bridle, and went off again, leaving the Apaches astounded by this act of boldness.
Ten minutes later he rejoined Doña Clara, who had seen with a terror, mingled with admiration, the heroic action of her defender. The maiden, beneath her apparent weakness, concealed a thoroughly manly soul. With her cheeks slightly tinged, her eyebrows contracted, her teeth clenched, and animated by the fixed idea of escaping her ravishers, fatigue seemed to have no mastery over her. It was with a feeling of indescribable joy that she mounted the fresh steed the Indian brought her.
Owing to Eagle-wing's bold stroke, the fugitives had a considerable advance on their pursuers; for the Apaches, as they came up to the spot where their two companions had been killed, leaped off their horses, and surrounded their corpses with lamentations.
Eagle-wing understood that this flight could not last, and that sooner or later they must die or yield; he therefore altered his tactics.
At a little distance from the spot where they now were the Gila was contracted; the river, reduced to a width of one hundred and fifty yards at the most, ran between two wooded hills.
"We are lost," he hurriedly said to his companion, "if we continue to fly thus. A desperate resolve can alone save us."
"Let us try it at all risks," the maiden answered, intrepidly, with quivering lip and flashing eye.
"Come!" he continued.
Doña Clara followed him without hesitation to the rugged bank of the river, when the warrior stopped.
"There," he said, hoarsely, as he pointed with a gesture full of nobility to the Apaches coming up at full speed, "slavery, infamy, and death. Here," he continued, as he pointed to the river, "death, perhaps, but liberty."
"Let us be free or die!" she replied.
As we have said, the river ran between two elevated banks, and the fugitives were now standing like two equestrian statues on the top of a hillock twenty or five-and-twenty feet in height, from which they must throw themselves into the river, an enormous leap for the horses which ran a risk of being crushed in falling, and dragging their riders down with them. But any other means of flight had become impossible.
The Apaches, spread all over the plain, had succeeded in surrounding the fugitives.
"Has my sister decided?" the Indian asked.
Doña Clara took a glance around her.
The redskins, headed by Black Cat, were scarce one hundred and fifty yards distant.
"Let us go, in Heaven's name," she said.
"May Natosh protect us!" the Indian said.
They energetically pressed the flanks of their horses, lifting them at the same moment, and the two noble animals leaped into the river, uttering a snort of terror. The Apaches arrived at this moment on the brow of the hill, and could not restrain a yell of disappointment and wrath at the sight of the desperate act.
The waters had closed over the fugitives, sending up to heaven a cloud of spray, but the horses soon reappeared swimming vigorously toward the other bank. The Indians had halted on the hill, insulting by their yells and threats the victims who escaped by such a prodigy of daring. One of them, urged by his fury, and unable to pull up his horse in time, plunged into the Gila; but, having taken his precautions badly, the fall was mortal to the horse.
The Indian slipped off, and began striking out for the bank. Instead of continuing his flight, as he should have done, Eagle-wing, impelled by that spirit of bravado natural to the redskins, re-entered the river without hesitation, and, at the moment when the Apache warrior reappeared on the surface, he bent over, seized him by his long hair, and buried his knife in his throat. Then, turning to his enemies, who watched with a shudder this terrible drama, he drew up the wretch to his saddle-bow, scalped him, and brandishing this sanguinary trophy with an air of triumph, he uttered his war yell.
The Apaches poured a shower of bullets and arrows round the Coras Sachem, who, standing motionless in the middle of the river, still waved his horrible trophy. At length he turned his horse's head, and rejoined his companion, who was awaiting him timorously on the bank.
"Let us go," he said, as he fastened the scalp to his waist belt. "The Apaches are dogs, who can do nought but bark."
"Let us go," she replied, as she turned her head away in horror.
At the moment when they started again without troubling themselves about their enemies, who, scattered along the other bank, were eagerly seeking a ford, Eagle-wing perceived a cloud of dust, which, on dissipating, permitted him to see a party of horsemen galloping up at lightning speed.
"There is no hope left," he muttered.