The Scalp Hunters

by Mayne Reid

For three days we headed towards the south-east. On the evening of the third we descried the Mimbres Mountains towering up on the eastern border of the desert. The peaks of these were well known to the hunters, and became our guides as we journeyed on.

We approached the Mimbres in a diagonal direction, as it was our purpose to pass through the sierra by the route of the old mine, once the prosperous property of our chief. To him every feature of the landscape was a familiar object. I observed that his spirits rose as we proceeded onward.

At sundown we reached the head of the Barranca del Oro, a vast cleft that traversed the plain leading down to the deserted mine. This chasm, like a fissure caused by some terrible earthquake, extended for a distance of twenty miles. On either side was a trail; for on both the table-plain ran in horizontally to the very lips of the abyss. About midway to the mine, on the left brow, the guide knew of a spring, and we proceeded towards this with the intention of camping by the water.

We dragged wearily along. It was near midnight when we arrived at the spring. Our horses were unsaddled and staked on the open plain.

Here Seguin had resolved that we should rest longer than usual. A feeling of security had come over him as he approached these well-remembered scenes.

There was a thicket of young cotton-trees and willows fringing the spring, and in the heart of this a fire was kindled. Another mule was sacrificed to the manes of hunger; and the hunters, after devouring the tough steaks, flung themselves upon the ground and slept. The horse-guard only, out by the caballada, stood leaning upon his rifle, silent and watchful.

Resting my head in the hollow of my saddle, I lay down by the fire. Seguin was near me with his daughter. The Mexican girls and the Indian captives lay clustered over the ground, wrapped in their tilmas and striped blankets. They were all asleep, or seemed so.

I was as wearied as the rest, but my thoughts kept me awake. My mind was busy with the bright future. “Soon,” thought I, “shall I escape from these horrid scenes; soon shall I breathe a purer atmosphere in the sweet companionship of my beloved Zoe. Beautiful Zoe! before two days have passed I shall again be with you, press your impassioned lips, call you my loved: my own! Again shall we wander through the silent garden by the river groves; again shall we sit upon the moss-grown seats in the still evening hours; again shall we utter those wild words that caused our hearts to vibrate with mutual happiness! Zoe, pure and innocent as the angels.” The child-like simplicity of that question, “Enrique, what is to marry?” Ah! sweet Zoe! you shall soon learn. Ere long I shall teach you. Ere long wilt thou be mine; for ever mine!

“Zoe! Zoe! are you awake? Do you lie sleepless on your soft couch? or am I present in your dreams? Do you long for my return, as I to hasten it? Oh, that the night were past! I cannot wait for rest. I could ride on sleepless—tireless—on—on!”

My eye rested upon the features of Adèle, upturned and shining in the blaze of the fire. I traced the outlines of her sister’s face: the high, noble front, the arched eyebrow, and the curving nostril. But the brightness of complexion was not there; the smile of angelic innocence was not there. The hair was dark, the skin browned; and there was a wildness in the expression of the eye, stamped, no doubt, by the experience of many a savage scene. Still was she beautiful, but it was beauty of a far less spiritual order than that of my betrothed.