The Scalp Hunters Part 5

I knew that, having once seen me, he would not stop until he had pressed his nose against my cheek, for this was his usual custom. Holding out my hands, I again uttered the magic words.

Now glancing downward, he perceived me, and stretching himself, sprang out into the channel. The next moment I held him by the bridle.

There was no time to be lost. I was still going down; and my armpits were fast nearing the surface of the quicksand.

I caught the lariat, and, pa.s.sing it under the saddle-girths, fastened it in a tight, firm knot. I then looped the trailing end, making it secure around my body. I had left enough of the rope, between the bit-ring and the girths, to enable me to check and guide the animal, in case the drag upon my body should be too painful.

All this while the dumb brute seemed to comprehend what I was about. He knew, too, the nature of the ground on which he stood, for during the operation he kept lifting his feet alternately to prevent himself from sinking.

My arrangements were at length completed; and with a feeling of terrible anxiety I gave my horse the signal to move forward. Instead of going off with a start, the intelligent animal stepped away slowly, as though he understood my situation. The lariat tightened, I felt my body moving, and the next moment experienced a wild delight, a feeling I cannot describe, as I found myself dragged out of the sand!

I sprang to my feet with a shout of joy. I rushed up to my steed, and throwing my arms around his neck, kissed him. He answered my embrace with a low whimper, that told me I was understood.

I looked for my rifle. Fortunately, it had not sunk deeply, and I soon found it. My boots were behind me, but I stayed not to look for them, being smitten with a wholesome dread of the place where I had left them.

It was sundown before I reached camp, where I was met by the inquiries of my wondering companions. "Did you come across the 'goats'?"

"Where's your boots?" "Whether have you been hunting or fis.h.i.+ng?"

I answered all these questions by relating my adventures; and that night I was again the hero of the camp-fire.

CHAPTER SIX.

SANTA FE.

After a week's climbing through the Rocky Mountains, we descended into the Valley of the Del Norte, and arrived at the capital of New Mexico, the far-famed Santa Fe. Next day the caravan itself came in, for we had lost time on the southern route; and the waggons, travelling by the Raton Pa.s.s, had made a good journey of it.

We had no difficulty about their entrance into the country, with the proviso that we paid five hundred dollars of "Alcavala" tax upon each waggon. This was a greater extortion than usual; but the traders were compelled to accept the impost.

Santa Fe is the entrepot of the province, and the chief seat of its trade. On reaching it we halted, camping without the walls.

Saint Vrain, several other _proprietaires_, and myself, took up our quarters at the Fonda, where we endeavoured, by means of the sparkling vintage of El Paso, to make ourselves oblivious of the hards.h.i.+ps we had endured in the pa.s.sage of the plains.

The night of our arrival was given to feasting and making merry.

Next morning I was awakened by the voice of my man G.o.de, who appeared to be in high spirits, singing a s.n.a.t.c.h of a Canadian boat-song.

"Ah, monsieur!" cried he, seeing me awake, "to-night--aujourd'hui--une grande fonction--one bal--vat le Mexicain he call fandango. Tres bien, monsieur. You vill sure have grand plaisir to see un fandango Mexicain?"

"Not I, G.o.de. My countrymen are not so fond of dancing as yours."

"C'est vrai, monsieur; but von fandango is tres curieux. You sall see ver many sort of de pas. Bolero, et valse, wis de c.o.o.na, and ver many more pas, all mix up in von puchero. Allons! monsieur, you vill see ver many pretty girl, avec les yeux tres noir, and ver short--ah! ver short--vat you call em in Americaine?"

"I do not know what you allude to."

"Cela! Zis, monsieur," holding out the skirt of his hunting-s.h.i.+rt; "par Dieu! now I have him--petticoes; ver short petticoes. Ah! you sall see vat you sall see en un fandango Mexicaine.

"'Las ninas de Durango Commigo bailandas, Al cielo saltandas, En el fandango--en el fan-dang--o.'

"Ah! here comes Monsieur Saint Vrain. Ecoutez! He never go to fandango. Sacre! how monsieur dance! like un maitre de ballet. Mais he be de sangre--blood Francais. Ecoutez!

"'Al cielo saltandas, En el fandango--en el fan-dang--.'"

"Ha! G.o.de!"

"Monsieur?"

"Trot over to the cantina, and beg, borrow, buy, or steal, a bottle of the best Paso."

"Sall I try steal 'im, Monsieur Saint Vrain?" inquired G.o.de, with a knowing grin.

"No, you old Canadian thief! Pay for it. There's the money. Best Paso, do you hear?--cool and sparkling. Now, voya! Bon jour, my bold rider of buffalo bulls I still abed, I see."

"My head aches as if it would split."

"Ha, ha, ha! so does mine; but G.o.de's gone for medicine. Hair of the dog good for the bite. Come, jump up!"

"Wait till I get a dose of your medicine."

"True; you will feel better then. I say, city life don't agree with us, eh?"

"You call this a city, do you?"

"Ay, so it is styled in these parts: 'la ciudad de Santa Fe;' the famous city of Santa Fe; the capital of Nuevo Mexico; the metropolis of all prairiedom; the paradise of traders, trappers, and thieves!"

"And this is the progress of three hundred years! Why, these people have hardly pa.s.sed the first stages of civilisation."

"Rather say they are pa.s.sing the last stages of it. Here, on this fair oasis, you will find painting, poetry, dancing, theatres, and music, fetes and fireworks, with all the little amorous arts that characterise a nation's decline. You will meet with numerous Don Quixotes, _soi-disant_ knights-errant, Romeos without the heart, and ruffians without the courage. You will meet with many things before you encounter either virtue or honesty. Hola! muchacho!"

"Que es, senor?"

"Hay cafe?"

"Si, senor."

"Bring us a couple of tazas, then--dos tazas, do you hear? and quick-- aprisa! aprisa!"

"Si, senor."

"Ah! here comes le voyageur Canadien. So, old Nor'-west! you've brought the wine?"

"Vin delicieux, Monsieur Saint Vrain! equal to ze vintage Francais."

"He is right, Haller! Tsap--tsap! delicious you may say, good G.o.de.

Tsap--tsap! Come, drink! it'll make you feel as strong as a buffalo.

See! it seethes like a soda spring! like 'Fontaine-qui-bouille'; eh, G.o.de?"