Читать книгу Gunfights & Revolutions (Texas War Trilogy) - Gustave Aimard - Страница 26

Table of Contents

We must now stop our story for a little while, in order to give the reader certain details about the strange man whom we introduced in our previous chapter, details doubtless very incomplete, but still indispensable to the proper comprehension of facts that have to follow.

If, instead of telling a true story, we were inventing a romance, we should certainly guard ourselves against introducing into our narrative persons like the one we have to deal with now; unhappily, we are constrained to follow the line ready traced before us, and depict our characters as they are, as they existed, and as the majority still exist.

A few years before the period at which the first part of our story begins, a rumour, at first dull, but which soon attained a certain degree of consistency and a great notoriety in the vast deserts of Texas, arose almost suddenly, icing with fear the Indios Bravos, and the adventurers of every description who continually wander about these vast solitudes.

It was stated that a man, apparently white, had been for some time on the desert, pursuing the Redskins, against whom he seemed to have declared an obstinate war. Acts of horrible cruelty and extraordinary boldness were narrated about this man, who was said to be always alone; wherever he met Indians, no matter their number, he attacked them; those who fell into his power were scalped, and their hearts torn out, and in order that it might be known that they had fallen under his blows, he made on their stomach a wide incision, in the shape of a cross. At times this implacable enemy of the red race glided into their villages, fired them during the night, when all were asleep, and then he made a frightful butchery, killing all who came in his way; women, children, and old men, he made no exception.

This gloomy redresser of wrongs, however, did not merely pursue Indians with his implacable hatred—half-breeds, smugglers, pirates, in a word, all the bold border ruffians accustomed to live at the expense of society had a rude account to settle with him; but the latter he did not scalp, but merely contented himself with fastening them securely to trees, where he condemned them to die of hunger, and become the prey of wild beasts.

During the first years, the adventurers and Redskins, drawn together by the feeling of a common danger, had several times banded to put an end to this ferocious enemy, bind him, and inflict the law of retaliation on him; but this man seemed to be protected by a charm, which enabled him to escape all the snares laid for him, and circumvent all the ambuscades formed on his road, It was impossible to catch him; his movements were so rapid and unexpected, that he often appeared at considerable distances from the spot where he was awaited, and where he had been seen shortly before. According to the Indians and adventurers, he was invulnerable; bullets and arrows rebounded from his chest; and soon, through the continual good fortune that accompanied all his enterprises, this man became a subject of universal terror on the prairie; his enemies, convinced that all they might attempt against him would prove useless, gave up a struggle which they regarded as waged against a superior power. The strangest legends were current about him; every one feared him as a maleficent spirit; the Indians named him Kiein-Stomann, or the White Scalper, and the Adventurers designated him among themselves by the epithet of Pitiless.

These two names, as we see, were justly given to this man, with whom murder and carnage seemed the supreme enjoyment, such pleasure did he find in feeling his victims quivering beneath his blood-red hand, and tearing the heart out of their bosom; hence his mere name, uttered in a whisper, filled the bravest with horror.

But who was this man? Whence did he come? What fearful catastrophe had cast him into the fearful mode of life he led?

No one could answer these questions. This individual was a horrifying enigma, which no person could solve.

Was he one of those monstrous organizations, which, beneath the envelope of man, contain a tiger's heart?

Or, else, a soul ulcerated by a frightful misfortune, all whose faculties are directed to one object, vengeance?

Both these hypotheses were equally possible; perhaps both were true.

Still, as every medal has its reverse, and man is not perfect in either good or evil, this individual had at times gleams, not of pity, but perhaps of fatigue, when blood mounted to his gorge, choked him, and rendered him a little less cruel, a little less implacable, almost human, in a word. But these moments were brief, these attacks, as he called them himself, very rare; nature regained the upper hand almost at once, and he became only the more terrible, because he had been so near growing compassionate.

This was all known about this individual at the moment when we brought him on the stage in so singular a fashion. The assistance he had given the monk was so contrary to all his habits, that he must have been suffering at the moment from one of his best attacks, to have consented not only to give such eager attention to one of his fellows, but also to waste so much time in listening to his lamentations and entreaties.

To finish the information we have to give about this person, we will add that no one knew whether he had a permanent abode; he was not known to have any woman to love, or any follower; he had ever been seen alone; and during the ten years he had roamed the desert in every direction, his countenance had undergone no change; he had ever the same appearance of old age and strength, the same long and white beard, and the same wrinkled face.

As we have said, the scalper rushed into the chaparral to discover who had given the signal that startled him; his researches were minute, but they produced no other result than that of enabling him to discover that he was not mistaken, and that a spy hidden in the bushes had really seen all that took place in the clearing, and heard all that was said.

Blue-fox, after summoning his comrades, cautiously retired, convinced that if he fell into the hands of the Scalper, he would be lost in spite of all his courage.

The latter returned thoughtfully to the side of the monk, whose praying still went on, and had assumed such proportions that it threatened to become interminable.

The Scalper looked for a moment at the Fray, an ironical smile playing round his pale lips the while, and then gave him a hearty blow with the butt of his rifle between the shoulders.

"Get up!" he said, roughly.

The monk fell on his hands, and remained motionless. Believing that the other intended to kill him, he resigned himself to his fate, and awaited the death-blow which, in his opinion, he must speedily receive.

"Come, get up, you devil of a monk!" the Scalper went on; "Have you not mumbled paternosters enough?"

Fray Ambrosio gently raised his head; a gleam of hope returned to him.

"Forgive me, Excellency," he replied; "I have finished; I am now at your orders; what do you desire of me?"

And he quickly sprung up, for there was something in the other's eye which told him that disobedience would lead to unpleasant results.

"That is well, scoundrel! You seem to me as fit to pull a trigger as to say a prayer. Load your rifle, for the moment has arrived for you to fight like a man, unless you wish to be killed like a dog."

The monk took a frightened glance around.

"Excellency," he stammered, with great hesitation, "is it necessary that I should fight?"

"Yes, if you wish to keep a whole skin; if you do not, why, you can remain quiet."

"But perhaps there is another mode?"

"What is it?"

"Flight, for instance," he said, insinuatingly.

"Try it," the other replied, with a grin.

The monk, encouraged by this semi-concession, continued, with slightly increased boldness—

"You have a very fine horse."

"Is it not?"

"Magnificent," Fray Antonio went on, enthusiastically.

"Yes, and you would not be vexed if I let you mount it, to fly more rapidly, eh?"

"Oh! do not think that," he said, with a gesture of denial.

"Enough!" the Scalper roughly interrupted; "Think of yourself, for your enemies are coming."

With one bound he was in the saddle, made his horse curvet, and hid himself behind the enormous stem of the mahogany tree.

Fray Antonio, aroused by the approach of danger, quickly seized his rifle, and also got behind the tree.

At the same moment a rather loud rustling was heard in the bushes, which then parted, and several men appeared.

They were about fifteen in number, and Apache warriors; in the midst of them were Blue-fox, John Davis, and his companions.

Blue-fox, though he had never found himself face to face with the White Scalper, had often heard him spoken of, both by Indians and hunters; hence, when he heard him pronounce his name, an indescribable agony contracted his heart, as he thought of all the cruelty to which his brothers had been victims from this man; and the thought of seizing him occurred to him. He hastened to give the signal agreed on with the hunters, and rushing through the chaparral with the velocity characteristic of Indians, went to the spot where his warriors were waiting, and bade them follow him. On his return, he met the two hunters who had heard the signal, and were hurrying to his help.

In a few words Blue-fox explained to them what was occurring. To tell the truth, we must confess that this confidence, far from exciting the warriors and hunters, singularly lowered their ardour, by revealing to them that they were about to expose themselves to a terrible danger, by contending with a man who was the more dangerous because no weapon could strike him; and those who had hitherto dared to assail him, had ever fallen victims to their temerity.

Still, it was too late to recoil, and flight was impossible; the warriors, therefore, determined to push on, though much against the grain.

As for the two hunters, if they did not completely share in the blind credulity of their comrades, and their superstitious fears, this fight was far from pleasing them. Still, restrained by the shame of abandoning men to whom they fancied themselves superior in intelligence, and even in courage, they resolved to follow them.

"Excellency!" the monk exclaimed in a lamentable voice, when he saw the Indians appear, "Do not abandon me."

"No, if you do not abandon yourself, scoundrel!" the Scalper answered.

On reaching the skirt of the clearing, the Apaches, following their usual tactics, sheltered themselves behind trees, so that this confined clearing, in which so many men were on the point of beginning an obstinate struggle, seemed absolutely deserted.

There was a moment of silence and hesitation. The Scalper at length decided on being the first to speak.

"Halloh!" he cried, "What do you want here?"

Blue-fox was going to answer, but John Davis prevented him.

"Leave him to me," he said.

Quitting the trunk of the tree behind which he was sheltered, he then boldly walked a few paces forward, and stopped almost in the centre of the clearing.

"Where are you, you who are speaking?" he asked in a loud and firm voice; "Are you afraid of letting yourself be seen?"

"I fear nothing," the squatter replied.

"Show yourself, then, that I may know you again," John said impudently.

Thus challenged, the Scalper came up within two paces of the hunter.

"Here I am," he said, "What do you want of me?"

Davis let the horse come up without making any movement to avoid it.

"Ah," he said, "I am not sorry to have had a look at you."

"Is that all you have to say to me?" the other asked gruffly.

"Hang it, you are in a tremendous hurry! Give me time to breathe, at any rate."

"A truce to jests, which may cost you dearly; tell me at once what your proposals are—I have no time to lose in idle talk."

"How the deuce do you know that I have proposals to make to you?"

"Would you have come here without?"

"And I presume that you are acquainted with these proposals?"

"It is possible."

"In that case, what answer do you give me?"

"None."

"What, none!"

"I prefer attacking you."

"Oh, oh, you have a tough job before you; there are eighteen of us, do you know that?"

"I do not care for your numbers. If there were a hundred of you, I would attack you all the same."

"By Heaven! For the rarity of the fact, I should be curious to see the combat of one man against twenty."

"You will do so ere long."

And, while saying this, the Scalper pulled his horse back several paces.

"One moment, hang it," the hunter exclaimed sharply; "let me say a word to you."

"Say it."

"Will you surrender?"

"What?"

"I ask you if you will surrender."

"Nonsense," the Scalper exclaimed with a grin; "you are mad. I surrender! It is you who will have to ask mercy ere long."

"I would not believe it, even if you killed me."

"Come, return to your shelter," the Scalper said with a shrug of his shoulders; "I do not wish to kill you defencelessly."

"All the worse for you, then," the hunter said; "I have warned you honourably, now I wash my hands of it; get out of it as you can."

"Thanks," the Scalper answered energetically; "but I am not yet in so bad a state as you fancy."

John Davis contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, and returned slowly to his shelter in the forest, whistling Yankee Doodle.

The Scalper had not imitated him; although he was perfectly well aware that a great number of enemies surrounded him and watched over his movements, he remained firm and motionless in the centre of the clearing.

"Hola!" he shouted in a mocking voice, "You valiant Apaches, who hide yourselves like rabbits in the shrubs, must I come and smoke you out of your holes in order to make you show yourselves? Come on, if you do not wish me to believe you old cowardly and frightened squaws."

These insulting words raised to the highest pitch the exasperation of the Apache warriors, who replied by a prolonged yell of fury.

"Will my brothers allow themselves any longer to be mocked by a single man?" Blue-fox exclaimed; "Our cowardice causes his strength. Let us rush with the speed of the hurricane on this genius of evil; he cannot resist the shock of so many renowned warriors. Forward, brothers, forward! To us be the honour of having crushed the implacable foe of our race."

And uttering his war-cry, which his comrades repeated, the valiant Chief rushed upon the Scalper, resolutely brandishing his rifle over his head; all the warriors followed him.

The Scalper awaited them without stirring; but so soon as he saw them within reach, drawing in the reins, and pressing his knees, he made his noble stud leap into the thick of the Indians. Seizing his rifle by the barrel, and employing it like a club, he began smiting to the right and left with a vigour and rapidity that had something supernatural about them.

Then a frightful medley commenced; the Indians rushed on this man, who, being a skilful horseman, made his steed go through the most unexpected curvets, and by the rapidity of his movements prevented the enemy leaping on his bridle and stopping him.

The two hunters at first remained quiet, convinced that it was impossible for a single man even to resist for a few moments such numerous and brave foes; but they soon perceived, to their great amazement, that they were mistaken; several Indians were already stretched on the ground, their skulls split by the Scalper's terrible club, all whose blows went home.

The hunters then began changing their opinion as to the result of the fight, and wished to help their comrades, but their rifles were useless to them in the continued changes of the scene of action, and their bullets might as easily have struck friend as foe; hence they threw away their rifles, drew their knives, and hurried to the assistance of the Apaches, who were already beginning to give way.

Blue-fox, dangerously wounded, was lying in a state of insensibility. The warriors, still on their legs, were beginning to think of a retreat, and casting anxious glances behind them.

The Scalper still fought with the same fury, mocking and insulting his enemies; his arm rose and fell with the regularity of a pendulum.

"Ah, ah!" he exclaimed, on noticing the hunters; "So you want your share. Come on, come on."

The latter did not allow it to be repeated, but rushed wildly upon him.

But they fared badly; John Davis, struck by the horse's chest, was hurled twenty feet, and fell to the ground; at the same instant his comrade's skull was broken, and he expired without a groan.

This last incident gave the finishing stroke to the Indians, who, unable to overcome the terror with which this extraordinary man inspired them, began flying in all directions with yells of terror.

The Scalper gave a glance of triumph and satisfied hatred at the sanguinary arena, where a dozen bodies lay stretched out, and urging his horse on, he caught up a fugitive, lifted him by the hair, and threw him over his saddle-bow, and disappeared in the forest with a horrible grin.

Once again the Scalper had opened a bloody passage for himself.

As for Fray Antonio, so soon as he saw that the fight had begun, he thought it needless to await its issue; he, therefore, took advantage of the opportunity, and gliding gently from tree to tree, he effected a skilful retreat and got clear off.