by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER NINE.
LOST IN THE DESERT.
"Well, my friends," proceeded our host, "it was a terrible sight to lookupon--those fierce, gaunt wolves--the mad and foaming mastiffs--the deadmother, and the terrified and screaming child. Of course, the wolvesfled at the approach of myself and Cudjo, and the dogs whimpered withdelight. Well they might, poor brutes! for had we not come to theiraid, they could not have held out much longer against such fearful odds.Although the battle had not been a long one, and commenced most likelyafter we had driven the wolves from the camp, yet the poor mastiffs weretorn and bleeding in many places. As I stooped down to take up thelittle Luisa, she still clung close around the neck of her mother,crying for her `mamma' to awake. I saw that her mamma would never wakeagain. She was lifeless and cold. There was an arrow in her breast.It was plain, that after receiving this wound she had fled into thethicket--no doubt followed by the faithful dogs--and, favoured by thedarkness, had kept on, until she had fallen and died. The position ofher arms showed that she had breathed her last clasping her child to herbosom.
"Leaving Cudjo to guard the body, I carried the child back to my ownwagon. Although so lately terrified with the battle of the wolves anddogs, the little creature cried at being separated from its mother, andstruggled in my arms to be taken back."
Here Rolfe's narrative was again interrupted by the sobs of McKnight,who--although a firm, lion-hearted man--could not restrain himself onlistening to these painfully affecting details. The children of Rolfe,too, repeatedly wept aloud. The "dark sister" herself seemed leastaffected of all. Perhaps that terrible scene, occurring at such anearly period of her life, had impressed her character with the firmnessand composure which afterwards marked it. Every now and then she benttowards the "fair one," throwing her arms around the neck of the latter,and endeavouring to restrain her tears.
"I gave the child to my wife," continued Rolfe, after a pause, "and inthe company of little Mary, then about her own age, she soon ceasedcrying, and fell asleep in my wife's bosom. I took a spade which I hadin my wagon, and going back dug a grave; and, with the help of Cudjo,hastily interred the body. I say _hastily_, for we did not know themoment we might stand in need of some one to do as much for ourselves.It seems that our labour was in vain; yet even had we known this was tobe the case, we should not the less have acted as we did. There wassome satisfaction in performing this last sacred and Christian ceremonyfor our murdered friend; and both Cudjo and I felt it to be nothing morethan our duty.
"We did not remain any longer near the spot, but hastening back to ourwagon, I led the oxen in among some trees, where they might be hiddenfrom view. Commending my wife and little ones to God, I shouldered myrifle, and set out--for the purpose of discovering whether the savageshad left the place, and in what direction they had gone. It was myintention, should I be able to satisfy myself about the road they hadtaken, to go by some other course, yet by one that would bring me backinto the trail, so that I could go on to the country of New Mexico. Iknew very well that at that late season, and with oxen worn-out, as ourswere, I could never get back to Saint Louis--which was nearly eighthundred miles distant.
"After proceeding a mile or two--creeping through bushes, and skulkingbehind rocks--I saw the trail of the Indians striking out into an openplain, in a due westerly direction. They must have formed a large band,and all mounted, as the tracks of their horses testified. Seeing thatthey had moved off westward, I formed the resolution of making two orthree days' journey to the south, and afterwards turning in a westerlydirection. This would most likely secure me from meeting them again,and would bring me, as I guessed, to the eastern ranges of the RockyMountains through which I might pass into the valley of New Mexico. Ihad heard my companions speak of a more southern pass through thesemountains, than that which lies near Santa Fe; and I hoped to be able toreach it, although I believed it to be two hundred miles distant. Withthese plans in my mind, I returned to where I had left my little party.
"It was night when I got back to the wagon, and I found Mary and thechildren in great distress at my delay; but I had brought them goodnews--that the Indians were gone away.
"I first thought of remaining all night where we were; but, not beingyet fully satisfied that the Indians were gone, I changed my intention.Seeing that we were to have a moon, and that a smooth plain stretchedaway towards the south, I concluded that it would be better to make anight journey of it, and put twenty miles, if possible, between us andthe camp. All agreed with this proposal. In fact, we were all equallyanxious to get away from that fearful spot; and had we stayed by it, notone of us could have slept a wink. The apprehension that the savagesmight return, and the excited state of our feelings--to say nothing ofthe terrible howling of the wolves--would have kept us awake; so,resolving to take our departure, we waited for the rising of the moon.
"We did not waste time, my friends. You all know that water is thegreat want in these deserts, both for man and beast. We knew not whereor when we might next find it; so we took the precaution to fill ourvessels at the stream. We filled all we had that would hold water.Alas! these were not enough, as you shall hear.
"The moon rose at length. She seemed to smile upon the horrid picturethat lay below at the deserted camp; but we stayed no longer tocontemplate it. Leading our oxen out of their _cache_, we struck outinto the open plain, in a direction as nearly south as I could guidemyself. I looked northward for the star in the tail of the LittleBear--the polar star--which I soon found by the pointers of the UrsaMajor; and keeping this directly on our backs, we proceeded on.Whenever the inequalities of the ground forced us out of our track, Iwould again turn to this little star, and consult its unfailing index.There it twinkled in the blue heavens like the eye of a friend. It wasthe finger of God pointing us onward.
"And onward we went--here creeping around some gaping fissure, thatopened across our track--there wading over a sandy swell--and anonrolling briskly along the smooth, herbless plain; for the country wewere passing through was a parched and treeless desert.
"We made a good night's journey of it, cheered by the prospect ofescaping from the savages. When day broke, we were twenty miles fromthe camp. The rough hills that surrounded it were completely lost toour view, and we knew from this that we had travelled a long way; forsome of these hills were of great height. We knew that we must havepassed over a considerable arc of the earth's surface before their topscould have sunk below the horizon. Of course, some intervening ridges,such as the sandy swells I have mentioned, helped to hide them from ourview; but, at all events, we had the satisfaction of knowing that thesavages, even had they returned to the camp, could not now see us fromthat point. We only feared the chances of their discovering our tracks,and following us. Urged by this apprehension, we did not halt when theday broke, but kept on until near noontide. Then we drew up--for ouroxen, as well as the horse, were completely tired out, and could go nofarther without rest.
"It was but a poor rest for them--with neither grass nor water--not ablade of anything green except the _artemisia_ plant, the wildwormwood--which, of course, neither horse nor oxen would touch. Thisgrew all around us in low thickets. Its gnarled and twisted bushes,with their white silvery leaves, so far from gladdening the eye, onlyserved to render the scene more dreary and desolate--for we knew thatthis plant denoted the extreme barrenness of the soil. We knew that,wherever it grew, the desert was around it.
"It was, indeed, but a poor rest for our animals--for the hot sunglanced down upon them during the noon hours, making them still morethirsty. We could not afford them a drop of the precious water; for weourselves were oppressed with extreme thirst, and our stock was hourlydiminishing. It was as much as we could to spare a small quantity tothe dogs, Castor and Pollux.
"Long before night, we once more yoked to the oxen, and continued ourjourney, in the hope of reaching some stream or spring. By sunset wehad made ten miles farther to the south, but no landmark as yet appearedin sig
ht--nothing to indicate the presence of water. We could seenothing around us but the sterile plain stretching on all sides to thehorizon--not even a bush, or rock, or the form of a wild animal,relieved the monotonous expanse. We were as much alone, as if we hadbeen in an open boat in the middle of the ocean!
"We began to grow alarmed, and to hesitate. Should we go back? No,that would never do. Even had the prospect at the end of a backwardjourney been more cheering, we felt uncertain whether we might be ableto reach the stream we had just left. We should surely reach water assoon by keeping forward; and with this thought we travelled on throughall the livelong night.
"When morning came, I again surveyed the horizon, but could see noobject along its level line. I was riding gloomily alongside the pooroxen, watching their laborious efforts, when a voice sounded in my ears.It was that of Frank, who was standing in the fore part of the wagon,looking out from under the tilt.
"`Papa! papa!' cried he, `look at the pretty white cloud!'
"I looked up at the boy, to see what he meant. I saw that he waspointing to the south-east, and I turned my eyes in that direction. Iuttered an exclamation of joy, which startled my companions; for I sawthat what Frank had taken for a white cloud was the snowy cap of amountain! I might have seen it before, had my eyes been searching inthat quarter; but they were not, as I was examining the sky more towardsthe south and west.
"Guided by no very extraordinary experience, I knew that where there wassnow there must be water; and, without another word, I directed Cudjo tohead his oxen for the mountain. It was out of the way we wanted to go;but we thought not of that, for the saving of our lives had now come tobe the only question with us.
"The mountain was still twenty miles distant. We could have seen itmuch farther off, but we had been travelling through the night. Thequestion was, would our oxen be able to reach it? They were alreadytottering in their tracks. If they should break down, could we reachit? Our water was all gone, and we were suffering from thirst as thesun rose. A river, thought I, must run from the mountain, fed by themelting of its snows. Perhaps we might come to this river beforearriving at the mountain-foot. But, no;--the plain evidently slopeddown from us to the mountain. Whatever stream ran from it must go theother way. We should find no water before reaching the mountain--perhaps, not then; and, tortured with these doubts, we pushed gloomilyforward.
"By noon the oxen began to give out. One of them fell dead, and we lefthim. The other three could not go much farther. Every article that wasof no present use was thrown from the wagon to lighten it, and leftlying on the plain; but still the poor brutes were scarce able to dragit along. We went at a snail's pace.
"A short rest might recruit the animals, but I could not bring myself tohalt again, as my heart was agonised by the cries of my sufferingchildren. Mary bore up nobly; so, too, did the boys. For myself, Icould not offer a word of consolation, for I knew that we were still tenmiles from the foot of the mountain. I thought of the possibility ofriding on ahead, and bringing back some water in the vessels; but I sawthat my horse could never stand it. He was even now unable to carry me,and I was afoot, leading him. Cudjo also walked by the side of theoxen. Another of these now gave up, and only two remained to drag thevehicle.
"At this terrible moment several objects appeared before us on theplain, that caused me to cry out with delight. They were dark-greenmasses, of different sizes--the largest of them about the size of a beecap. They looked like a number of huge hedge hogs rolled up, andpresenting on all sides their thorny spikes. On seeing them, I droppedmy horse; and, drawing my knife, ran eagerly forward. My companionsthought I had gone mad, not understanding why I should have drawn myknife on such harmless-looking objects, and not knowing what they were.But I knew well what they were: I knew they were the _globe cacti_.
"In a moment's time I had peeled the spikelets from several of them; andas the wondering party came up, and saw the dark-green succulentvegetables, with the crystal water oozing out of their pores, they weresatisfied that I had not gone mad.
"In a short while, we had cut the huge spheroids into slices, which wechewed with avidity. We set some of them also before the horse andoxen, both of which devoured them greedily, sap, fibres, and all; whilethe dogs lapped the cool liquid wherever they were cut.
"It is true, that this did not quench thirst, in the same way that adrink of water would have done; but it greatly relieved us, and would,perhaps, enable us to reach the mountain. We resolved to halt for ashort while, in order to rest the oxen. Unfortunately, the relief hadcome too late for one of them. It had been his last stretch; and whenwe were about to start again, we found that he had lain down and wasunable to rise. We saw that we must leave him; and, taking such harnessas we could find, we put the horse in his place, and moved onward. Wewere in hopes of finding another little garden of cactus plants; butnone appeared, and we toiled on, suffering as before.
"When we had got within about five miles of the mountain-foot, the otherox broke down, and fell--as we supposed--dead. We could take the wagonno farther; but it was no time either to hesitate or halt: we must tryit afoot, or perish where we were.
"I loosed out the horse, and left him to his will--I saw he was nolonger able to carry any of us. I took an axe from the wagon--also atin-pot, and a piece of dry beef that still remained to us. Cudjoshouldered the axe and little Mary; I carried the beef, the pot, Luisa,and my rifle; while my wife, Frank, and Harry, each held something intheir hands. Thus burdened, we bade adieu to the wagon, and struck offtoward the mountain. The dogs followed; and the poor horse, not willingto be left behind, came tottering after.
"There is not much more of that journey to be detailed. We toiledthrough the five miles the best way we could. As we drew nearer to themountain, we could see deep dark ravines running down its sides, and inthe bottom of one we distinguished a silvery thread, which we knew wasthe foam of water as it dashed over the rocks. The sight gave us newenergy, and in another hour we had reached the banks of a crystalstream, and were offering thanks for our deliverance."