Mayne Reid

“ In neither is the maiden yet subdued into the matron—though each beholds her own type reflected in more than one bright face smiling by her side; while more than one little voice lisps sweetly in her ear that word of fond endearment—the first that falls from human lips. Ah! beloved Lilian! thine is not a beauty born to blush but for an hour. In my eyes, it can never fade; but, like the blossom of the citron, seems only the fairer, by the side of its own fruit! I leave it to other lips to symbol the praises of thy sister—
The Wild Huntress. ”

“ Glance into the forest-glade! It is an opening in the woods—a clearing, not made by the labour of human hands, but a work of Nature herself: a spot of earth where the great timber grows not, but in its place shrubs and tender grass, plants and perfumed flowers.
About a mile distant from the cabin of Hickman Holt just such an opening is found—in superficial extent about equal to the squatter’s corn-patch. It lies in the midst of a forest of tall trees—among which are conspicuous the tulip-tree, the white magnolia, cotton-woods, and giant oaks. ”

“ Por Dios! a terrible fate for a young creature innocent and virtuous like her!”
“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. ”

“ I know and recognise the voices: they are human. I know the chaunted measure: it is the death-song of the Indian! The sounds are suggestive. I am not dreaming—I am not dead. I am awake, and on the earth.
Memory comes to my aid. By little and little, I begin to realise my situation. I remember the siege—the smoke—the confused conflict—all that preceded it, but nothing after. I thought I had been killed. But no—I live—I am a captive. My comrades—are they alive? Not likely. Better for them, if they be not. The consciousness of life need be no comfort to me. ”

“ And yet the maiden is by no means ill-looking. In her gleaming oblique eyes there is a certain sweetness of expression; and a tinge of purple-red, bursting through the bronze of her cheeks, lends to her countenance a peculiar charm. Add to this, luxuriant black hair, with a bosom of bold outlines—which the sparse savage costume but half conceals—and you have a portrait something more than pretty. Many a time and oft, in the history of backwoods life, has the heart of the proud pale-face offered sacrifice at such a shrine. ”

“ When almost within head-reach of the fastenings by which the mules are held, one of the latter slews suddenly round, and sends her heels in a well-directed fling against the head of the foremost horse! The steed instantly wheels, and the other coming behind follows the same movement, exposing both the riders to our aim. They make an effort to throw themselves to the other side of their animals; but the opportunity is lost. Our rifles are too quick for them. Two of us fire at the same instant; and as the smoke clears away, the red robbers are seen sprawling upon the plain. ”

“ Although there is nothing masculine in this young girl’s beauty, a single glance at her features impresses you with the idea of a character of no ordinary kind—a nature more resolute than tender—a heart endowed with courage equalling that of a man. The idea is strengthened by observing that in her hand she carries a light rifle; while a horn and bullet-pouch, suspended from her left shoulder, hang under the right arm. She is not the only backwoods’ maiden who may be seen thus armed and accoutred: many are even skilled in the use of the deadly weapon! ”

“ As Marian galloped up, and gazed in the eyes of the handsome hunter—now entirely her own—her ardent glance told that Wingrove was the proud possessor of that magnificent maiden.
In volunteering to be one of our party Marian was submitting herself to a fearful risk. That of the rest of us was trifling in comparison. In reality we risked nothing, further than the failure of our plans; and a certain punishment if taken in the act of abduction. But even for this the Saints would scarcely demand our lives—unless in hot blood we should be slain upon the instant. Her position was entirely different. ”

“ And where am I in this stringent attitude? I am conscious that I am a captive and bound—a captive to Indians—to Arapahoes. Memory helps me to this knowledge; and furthermore, that I should be, if I have not been carried elsewhere, in the valley of the Huerfano—by the Orphan Butte. Ha! why should I not be upon the butte—on its summit? I remember going down to the plain; and there being struck senseless to the earth. For all that, I may have been brought up again. The savages may have borne me back to satisfy some whim? They often act in such strange fashion with, their vanquished victims. ”

“ Wingrove had learnt from the wretched Chicasaw that there were a hundred men with the Mormon train. It was idle, therefore, to think of carrying her off by force. That would have been sheer quixotism—only to end fatally for all of us.
And was it not equally idle to dream of an abduction by stealth? Verily, it seemed so. How were we to approach this Mormon host? How enter their camp, guarded as it would be by the jealous vigilance of lynx-eyed villains? By day, it would be impossible; by night, hazardous, and equally impracticable would be our purpose. ”

“ Certainly the spectacle was enough to excite the suspicions of a less jealous lover—if not to justify them. Both the equestrians had halted at a distant part of the plain. They were not so distant, but that their attitudes could be observed. They still remained on horseback; but the horses were side by side, and so near each other, that the bodies of their riders appeared almost touching. The head of the chief was bent forward and downward; while his hand appeared extended outward, as if holding that of the huntress! It was a fearful tableau for a lover to contemplate—even at a distance ”

“ It is the town of Swampville—a name perhaps more appropriate than euphonious. Upon this path, where it debouches from the forest, the eye of Frank Wingrove becomes fixed—not in the direction of Swampville, but towards the clearing of the squatter. From this, it would appear probable that he expects some one; and that the person expected should come from that side. A good while passes, and yet no one answers his inquiring glance. He begins to manifest signs of impatience. As if to kill time, he repeatedly rises, and again reseats himself. ”

“ Human blood cannot bear the proximity of those pretty lips; and the kindness of the Indian maiden must be recompensed by a kiss. She makes no resistance. She utters no cry. Their lips meet; but the kiss is interrupted ere it can be achieved. The bark of a dog—followed by a half-suppressed scream in a female voice—causes the interruption. The hunter starts back, looking aghast. The Indian exhibits only surprise. Both together glance across the glade. Marian Holt is standing upon its opposite edge!
Wingrove’s cheek has turned red. Fear and shame are depicted upon his face. ”

“ A coon-skin cap sits high upon his head slightly slouched to the right. With the visage of the animal turned to the front, and the full plume-like tail, with its alternate rings, drooping to the shoulder, it forms a head-dress that is far from ungraceful. A belt around the waist—a short hunting-knife in its sheath—a large powder-horn hanging below the arm-pit—a bullet-pouch underneath, and voilà tout! No, not all, there remains to be mentioned the rifle—the arm par excellence of the American hunter. The portrait of Frank Wingrove—a dashing young backwoodsman, whose calling is the chase. ”

“ The Danites at sight of our animals, and ourselves too—for they could not fail to see our faces over the rocks—drew up; not suddenly, but one after the other—as if irresolute whether to advance, or remain where they were. Even Stebbins, though moving on after the squatter, did so with evident reluctance. He saw the barrels of our rifles gleaming above the boulders; and, when within about fifty paces of our position, he too reined in—keeping the body of Holt between himself and our guns. The squatter continued to advance, without the slightest show of fear. ”

“ The little maize patch, scarcely an acre in extent, is now a splendid plantation, of many fields—in which wave the golden tassels of the Indian corn, the broad leaves of another indigenous vegetable—the aromatic “Indian weed,” and the gossamer-like florets of the precious cotton-plant. Even the squatter himself you would scarcely recognise, in the respectable old gentleman, who, mounted upon his cob, with a long rifle over his shoulder, rides around, looking after the affairs of the plantation, and picking off the squirrels, who threaten the young corn with their destructive depredations. ”

“ The log on which the young hunter had seated himself is some paces distant from the path. He has a slight knowledge of this Indian family, and simply nods to them as they pass. He does not speak, lest a word should bring on a conversation—for the avoidance of which he has a powerful motive.
The Indian makes no halt, but strides silently onward, followed by his pannier-laden squaw. The girl, however, pauses in her steps—as if struck by some sudden thought. The action quickly follows the thought; and, turning out of the path, she approaches the spot where the hunter is seated. ”

“ My love for Lilian Holt was a passion too profound to be otherwise than perpetual. It was in my bosom—in its innermost recesses, all-pervading—all-absorbing. There would it cling till death. Even in those dread hours when death seemed hovering above my head, the thought of Lilian was uppermost—even then did my mind dwell upon the perils that encompassed her path. And now that I was myself delivered from danger, had I reason to regard the future of my beloved with apprehensions less acute? No. ”

“ Uttering a peal of demoniac laughter, the Indian held the point of the knife close to my forehead—as if about to drive the blade into my eyes! It was but a feint to produce terror—a spectacle which this monster was said to enjoy.
Wingrove was still alive: the wretch Su-wa-nee must be near?
“Carajo!” again yelled the savage. “What promised you the Red-Hand? To cut the living flesh from your bones? But no—that would be merciful. The Arapahoes have contrived a sweeter vengeance—one that will appease the spirits of our slain warriors. ”

“ As we parted from the tents, we could see a number of dark forms rushing out from the avenue. In the red glare their shadows were projected far over the plain—even in advance of our horses. They were the shadows of men afoot; and we soon galloped beyond them. The music had suddenly ceased; and the murmuring hum of the dancers had given place to shouts and loud cries, that betokened a stampede in the camp. We could distinguish the voices of men calling to the horse-guards; and, soon after, the quick trampling of hoofs, as the animals were hurried up to the enclosure. ”