“Her fate? Quick—tell me! for what had the villain destined her?”
“Virgen Santa! for the harem of the Mormon prophet!”
“Mira!” exclaimed the Mexican, almost in the same breath—“Mira! the signal-smoke of Wa-ka-ra! To horse! to horse! mueran los Arapahoes!”
It was not the signal that called from my lips a convulsive exclamation. It was wrung from my agony, ere the smoke had been descried. It was drowned amidst the shouts of the savage warriors, as they crowded forward out of the chasm. Leaping down from the ledge, and flinging myself on the back of my horse, I mingled in the mêlée.
As we swept from the gorge, I cast a glance behind. The sound of female voices caused me to look back. The Utah women, mounted on mules and horses, were coming down the cañon, with the white huntress at their head! I wished a word with her; but it was too late. I dared neither pause nor go back. My Utah allies would have branded me as a coward—a traitor to my own cause! I did not hesitate a moment; but, joining in the “Ugh-aloo,” I dashed into the midst of the dusky host, and galloped onward to the charge.
Chapter Seventy Seven.
The Surprise.
The white cloud—a puff of powder-smoke—had scarcely scattered in the air, when a dark mass appeared upon the plain, emerging from the sulphureous vapour. It was a troop of horsemen—the warriors of Wa-ka-ra. On giving the signal they had issued forth from the lower cañon, and were coming up the valley at a gallop. They were too distant for us to heat their charging cheer; but from right and left proceeded a double shout—a war-cry answering to our own; and, the moment after, a stream of dusky forms was seen pouring down each bluff, through the sloping gorges that led to the plain.