The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  Carlos had commenced his hunt, and was making rapid progress. In thefirst two days he had slaughtered no less than twenty buffaloes, and hadthem all carried to camp. He and Antonio followed the buffalo and shotthem down, while two of the peons skinned the animals, cut up the meat,and packed it to camp. There, under the hands of the third, itunderwent the further process of being "jerked," that is, cut into thinslices and dried in the sun.

  The hunt promised to be profitable. Carlos would no doubt obtain asmuch "tasajo" as he could carry home, besides a large supply of hides,both of which found ready sale in the towns of New Mexico.

  On the third day, however, the hunters noticed a change in the behaviourof the buffalo. They had suddenly grown wild and wary. Now and thenvast gangs passed them, running at full speed, as if terrified andpursued! It was not Carlos and his companion that had so frighted them.What then had set them a-running?

  Carlos conjectured that some Indian tribe was in the neighbourhoodengaged in hunting them.

  His conjecture proved correct. On ascending a ridge which gave him aview of a beautiful valley beyond, his eye rested upon an Indianencampment.

  It consisted of about fifty lodges, standing like tents along the edgeof the valley, and fronting towards the stream. They were of a conicalform, constructed of a framework of poles set in a circle, drawntogether at their tops, and then covered with skins of the buffalo.

  "Waco lodges!" said the cibolero, the moment his practised eye fell uponthem.

  "Master," inquired Antonio, "how do you tell that?" Antonio'sexperience fell far short of that of his master, who from childhood hadspent his life on the prairies.

  "How!" replied Carlos, "by the lodges themselves."

  "I should have taken it for a Comanche camp," said the half-blood. "Ihave seen just such lodges among the `Buffalo-eaters.'"

  "Not so, Anton," rejoined his master. "In the Comanche lodge the polesmeet at the top, and are covered over with the skins, leaving no outletfor smoke. You observe it is not so with these. They are lodges of theWacoes, who, it is true, are allies of the Comanches."

  Such was in reality the fact. The poles, though bent so as to approacheach other at the top, did not quite meet, and an open hole remained forthe passage of smoke. The lodge, therefore, was not a perfect cone, butthe frustum of one; and in this it differed from the lodge of theComanches.

  "The Wacoes are not hostile," remarked the cibolero. I think we havenothing to fear from them. No doubt they will trade with us. But whereare they? This question was drawn forth by the cibolero observing thatnot a creature was to be seen about the lodges,--neither man, woman,child, nor animal! And yet it could not be a deserted camp. Indianswould not abandon such lodges as these--at least they would not leavebehind the fine robes that covered them! No, the owners must be near:no doubt, among the neighbouring hills, in pursuit of the buffalo.

  The cibolero guessed aright. As he and his companion stood looking downupon the encampment, a loud shouting reached their ears, and the nextmoment a body of several hundred horsemen was seen approaching over aswell of the prairie. They were riding slowly, but their pantingfoaming horses showed that they had just left off harder work.Presently another band, still more numerous, appeared in the rear.These were horses and mules laden with huge brown masses, thebuffalo-meat packed up in the shaggy hides. This train was conducted bythe women and boys, and followed by troops of dogs and screamingchildren.

  As they came toward the encampment from an opposite direction, Carlosand his companion were not for a while seen.

  The Indians, however, had not been long among the lodges before thequick eye of one caught sight of their two heads above the ridge. Awarning cry was uttered, and in a moment every one of the dismountedhunters was back in his saddle and ready for action. One or twogalloped off towards the meat-train, which had not yet come into camp,while others rode to and fro, exhibiting symptoms of alarm.

  No doubt they were under apprehensions that the Panes, their mortalfoes, had stolen a march upon them.

  Carlos soon relieved them from this apprehension. Spurring his horse tothe crest of the ridge, he drew up in full view of the Indians. A fewsigns, which he well knew how to make, and the word "amigo!" shouted atthe top of his voice, restored their confidence; then a young fellow nowrode out in front, and advanced up the hill. When sufficiently near tobe heard, he halted; and a conversation, partly by signs, and partly bymeans of a little Spanish, enabled him and Carlos to understand eachother. The Indian then galloped back, and, after a short interval,returned again, and invited the cibolero and his companion to theencampment.

  Carlos of course accepted the courtesy, and a few minutes after, he andAntonio were eating fresh buffalo-beef, and chatting in perfect amitywith their new hosts.

  The chief, a fine-looking man, and evidently possessing full authority,became particularly friendly with Carlos, and was much pleased athearing that the latter had a stock of goods. He promised to visit hiscamp next morning and allow his tribe to trade. As the cibolero hadconjectured, they were Waco Indians,--a noble race, one of the noblestof the prairie tribes.

  Carlos returned to his camp in high spirits. He would now have hisgoods exchanged for mules,--so the chief promised,--and these were themain objects of his expedition.

  In the morning, according to appointment, the Indians arrived, chief andall; and the little valley where the cibolero had encamped was filledwith men, women, and children. The packs were opened, the goods wereset forth, and the whole day was spent in continuous trading. Thecibolero found his customers perfectly honest; and when night came, andthey took their departure, not a single item of Carlos' stock remainedon his hands. In its place, however, a handsome _mulada_ of no lessthan thirty mules was seen picketed in the bottom of the little valley.These were now the property of Carlos the cibolero. Not a bad outlay ofhis eight onzas!

  Not only would they yield well on his return, but it was his intentionthat each of them should carry back its full load of buffalo-hides, or"tasajo."

  It would be a successful expedition, indeed; and dreams of futurewealth, with the hope of being some day in a condition to advance alegitimate claim to the hand of the fair Catalina, were already passingthrough the mind of Carlos.

  Once a "rico," reflected he, even Don Ambrosio might sanction his suit.On that night soft was the slumber and pleasant the dreams of Carlos thecibolero.