The flash from the pan—the red stream poured forth from the muzzle—the hist of the bullet, were all simultaneous. The report came afterwards; but, before it had reached my ears, I knew that I was untouched. The lead had already whizzed past, at a distance—as I could judge by the sound—of several feet from my body. I heard a scratching behind me; and the instant after, a swarthy face was thrust before my eyes. It was that of the artist, who had painted me for the part I was playing. I had been under the impression that he had gone down to the plain, but I now perceived my error. He had remained near me, concealing his body behind the rock. I saw that he was now enacting a different rôle—that of marker for the marksmen. Running his eye over my body, and perceiving that I was nowhere hit, he telegraphed the intelligence to his comrades upon the plain; and then glided back to his covert.
I was relieved from the terrible anxiety; but only for a short moment—a mere interval of about a dozen seconds’ duration. The Red-Hand, after firing, had resigned his place; but this was instantly occupied by one of his sub-chiefs, who, armed with another musket, in turn stepped up to the line. Again I saw the gleaming barrel brought to the level, with its dark tube pointed upon my body. This marksman was more expeditious; but for all that, it was to me a time of racking torture. Again did the drops bead out upon my brow, and chase one another down my cheeks. Again had I to undergo all the agony of death itself and, as before, without dying, or even losing a drop of my blood! As before, I beheld the puff of smoke, the flash, the blaze of fire projected from the muzzle: but ere the crack reached me, I heard the “thud” of the bullet, as it flattened against the granite on which I stood. This time the marker did not mount up to the platform. He had seen the splinters shivered from the rock; and without further inquiry, for the second time, telegraphed a miss.
A third candidate appeared upon the stand; and my fears returned—as acute as ever. This fellow caused me to suffer nearly a dozen deaths. Either was his gun without a flint, or his powder damp: since after snapping nearly a dozen times, the piece still refused to go off. Had it been designed to give me a new horror, the thing could not have been better planned: for each time that the savage essayed to fire, I had to undergo the agony of a fresh apprehension. The scene ended by another gun being placed in his hands, that did go off; but with no advantage to the clumsy marksman: for his bullet, like that of the Red-Hand, whistled past, far wide of the mark.
A fourth now took the ground. This was a tall, swarthy warrior, one of the tallest of the tribe; and without the insignia of a chief. The cool and deliberate manner in which he went about his work, caused me to anticipate in him a better shot; and my apprehensions were heightened to a degree of painful intensity. I felt my whole frame shiver as his gun blazed forth; and for a time I believed myself hit. The cheer of his companions upon the plain announced the belief in the success of the shot; but he upon the summit soon undeceived them—just as I became myself reassured. The bullet had struck the wood-work of my crucifix—one of the crosspieces to which my arms were attached. It was the shock of the timber that had deceived me into the belief that I had been struck.
A fifth marksman followed; and then another and another—until more than a dozen had tried their hands. The guns were now all emptied; but this caused only a temporary cessation in the cruel sport. They were soon reloaded; and new candidates stepped forward to make trial of their skill.
I had by this time discovered that they were not practising for mere sport. It was a game, and bets were laid, upon it. Apart upon the plain, the stakes were placed, consisting of saddles, robes, weapons, and the plunder of the emigrant waggon. Horses also were picketed near—surplus animals—that were betted against one another: whether in many separate wagers, or all forming a grand “pool,” I could not determine. My own scalp—I was uncertain whether I still wore it—was no doubt the chief object of the contest. It was the “cup,” to be given to him who should place his bullet in that white circle upon my breast, and nearest the red spot in the centre!
The guns being once more reloaded, the firing recommenced, I saw that only one shot was allowed to each; and this only to those who had entered a stake. The condition gave me an opportunity of experiencing my apprehensions in different degrees: since, according to the apparent adroitness or clumsiness of the marksman, my fears of being hit were greater or less. Strange to say, before a dozen shots had been fired, I no longer wished them to miss! The dread ordeal, so oft repeated, was too terrible to be borne. I was sustained by no hope of ultimate escape. I knew that the fiends would continue firing, till some one of them should finish me by a fatal shot; and I cared not how soon it should be sent. Nay, I even desired that it should come quickly. Death was preferable to the agony I was enduring.