Our next anxiety was, as to how the note might be delivered. We thought of Archilete; and in the end he might have been employed to convey it to her for whom it was intended. But just at that moment the Mexican was absent. In the performance of his métier as guide, he had entered the corral, and was engaged with the chief men of the caravan—giving them such counsel as might enable them to pursue their route, and no doubt concealing those points that might be prejudicial to our cause. I had no reason to doubt the fidelity of the man. It is true his betrayal of us would have been fatal; though it might afterwards have brought himself to punishment. But it never occurred to me to question his loyalty. His sentiment of hostility for the Mormon “hereticos” had been freely and repeatedly expressed; and I reposed perfect confidence in the honesty of his declarations. On discovering the absence of Archilete, the idea occurred to me, that it might not be necessary to await his return to the tents. Time was too valuable to be wasted. Already had the sun sunk to rest over the grand desert of the Colorado; and the sombre shadows of the Sierra San Juan were projected far into the plain—almost to the edge of the encampment. In these latitudes, the soft eve lingers but a few minutes; and night was already spreading her russet mantle over the earth. The white tilts of the waggons gleamed paler through the grey light; and the red glare of the camp-fires, burning within the corral, now shone upon the canvas—disputing the power to illumine it, with the last touches of the twilight. Another minute—scarcely another minute—and the day would be done.
“Come!” I said to my companion, “we may go together. The guide has proclaimed us sister and brother—prophetic words, I hope. Believing in that relationship, these people will not see anything extraordinary in our taking a stroll together. Outside the camp, we may find the opportunity we are in search of?”
Marian offered no objection; and, issuing together from the tent, we proceeded in the direction of the corralled waggons.
Chapter One Hundred One.
A Caravan Ball.
As if to favour our design, the night descended dusk as the wing of a vulture. The summits of San Juan were no longer visible—their outlines becoming blended with the dark background of sky; while the more sombre slopes of the Sierra Mojada had long since faded from the view. Even light-coloured objects could be but dimly traced through the profound obscurity—such as the white covers of the waggons, our own weather-bleached buffalo-tents, the metallic sheen of the stream, and the speckled oxen browsing along its banks. Between these objects the atmosphere was filled with a uniform and amorphous darkness; and dusky forms like ours could be seen only under the light of the blazing fires. A few of these had been kindled outside the enclosure—near the avenue entrance; but most were inside, surrounded by groups of emigrants—the flames casting their ruddy light upon the bright cheerful faces of women and children, or on the ruder and more careworn countenances of the men. Underneath the waggon-bodies, the red light, broken by the radiating spokes of the wheels, gleamed outward in a thousand jets; and men walking outside, flung gigantic shadows over the plain. Nearer to the line of barricade, only the shadows of their limbs were projected, the upper part of their persons being shrouded from the glare by the tilts and boxing of the waggons. Under this friendly cover we were enabled to approach close up to the vehicles, without much risk of attracting observation. But few persons were straying outside—only the cattle-guards and other routine-officers of the caravan, all equally negligent of their duties. They knew they were in Utah territory, and had no enemy to fear.
It was, moreover, the hour of most interest in the daily routine of a travelling-train: when forms cluster around the bivouac fire, and bright faces shine cheerfully in the blaze; when the song succeeds the supper, the tale is told, and the merry laugh rings on the air; when the pipe sends up its aromatic wreaths of blue curling smoke; and sturdy limbs, already rested from the toils of the day, feel an impulse to spring upward on the “light fantastic toe.” On that eve, such an impulse had inspired the limbs of the Mormon emigrants. Scarcely had the débris of the supper been removed, ere a space was cleared midway between the blazing fires; music swelled upon the air—the sounds of fiddle, horn, and clarionet—and half a score of couples, setting themselves en quadrille, commence treading time to the tune. Sufficiently bizarre was the exhibition—a dance of the true “broad-horn” breed; but we had no thought of criticising an entertainment so opportune to our purpose. The swelling sound of the instruments drowning low conversation—the confusion of many voices—the attraction of the saltatory performance—were all circumstances that had suddenly and unexpectedly arisen in our favour. My companion and I had no longer a fear that our movements would be noted. Indeed, only those who might be in the waggons, and looking through the draw-string aperture in the rear of the tilts, would be likely to see us at all. But most of these apertures were closed, some with curtains of common canvas—others with an old counterpane, a blanket, or such rag as was fitted for the service.
We saw no face looking outwards. All were turned upon the attractive circle of Terpsichoreans, that, under the brilliant light of the fires, were bounding through the mazy figures, of the dance. The waggons forming the sides of the enclosure were in echellon; and their tilts lapping on each other, it was impossible to see between them. With the two, however, that closed the end of the corral, the case was different. These had been drawn up side by side, and parallel to each other; and though their wheels touched, there still remained a space above the tires, through which we could command a view of the ground within the enclosure. At this point we had placed, ourselves. It proved the very vantage-ground we desired. We could view the enclosed ellipse longitudinally, and note nearly every movement made by those inside. Even should we be detected in our espionage, it would pass without suspicion as to our real object. What more natural than that we should desire to witness the spectacle of the dance? The act would be construed as springing from mere savage curiosity?