CHAPTER EIGHTY THREE.

MY PLAN.

The savage did not yield himself up without resistance. Resistance with an Indian is instinctive, as with a wild animal. He flung himself from his horse, and drawing his knife, with a single cut severed the thong that bound him.

In another instant, he would have been off among the bushes; but before he could move from the spot, half-a-dozen strong arms were around him; and in spite of his struggles, and the dangerous thrusts of his long Spanish knife, he was "choked" down and held fast.

My followers were for making short work with him. More than one had bared their blades to finish him upon the spot, and would have done so, had I not interfered. I was averse to spilling his blood; and by my intercession, his life was spared.

To prevent him from giving us further trouble, however, we tied him to a tree in such a manner that he could not possibly free himself.

The mode of securing him was suggested by Stanfield, the backwoodsman: it was simple and safe. A tree was chosen, whose trunk was large enough to fill the embrace of the Indian, so that the ends of his fingers just met when his arms were drawn to their full stretch around it. Upon his wrists, thongs of raw hide were firmly looped, and then knotted together. His ankles were also bound by similar cords--the ends of which were staked, so as to hinder him from worming around the tree, and perchance wearing off his thongs, or chafing them, so that they might break.

The ligature was perfect; the most expert jail-breaker could not have freed himself from such a fastening.

It was our intention to leave him thus, and _perhaps_ set him free upon our return, if we should return by that way--a doubtful hypothesis.

I thought not at the time of the cruelty we were committing. We had spared the Indian's life--a mercy at the moment--and I was too much concerned about the future of others, to waste reflection on his.

We had taken the precaution to leave him at some distance from the place of his capture; others of his party might come after, and discover him, soon enough to interfere with our plans. His prison had been chosen far off in the depth of the woods; even his shouts could not have been heard by any one passing along the trail.

He was not to be left entirely alone: a horse was to be his companion-- not his own--for one of the rangers had fancied an exchange.

Stanfield--not well mounted--had proposed a "swop," as he jocosely termed it, to which the savage had no alternative but consent; and the Kentuckian, having "hitched" his worn-out nag to a tree, led off the skew-bald mustang in triumph, declaring that he was now "squar wi' the Indyens." Stanfield would have liked it better had the "swop" been made with the renegade who had robbed him.

We were about to leave the place and move on, when a bright idea suddenly came into my head: it occurred to me that I too might effect a profitable exchange with our new-made captive--a swop, not of horses, but of men--in short, an exchange of persons--of identities! In truth, a bright idea it was, and one that promised well.

I have said that I had already conceived a plan for the rescue of my betrothed: I had done so during the night; and all along the route, in my mind I had been maturing it. The incident that had just transpired had given rise to a host of new ideas--one, above all, that promised to aid me in facilitating the execution of my design. The capture of the savage, which had at first given me uneasiness, I now regarded in a very different light--as a fortunate circumstance. I could not help thinking that I recognised in it the finger of Providence, and the thought inspired me with hope. I felt that I was not forsaken.

The plan I had proposed to myself was simple enough; it would require more of courage than stratagem; but to the former I was sufficiently nerved by the desperate circumstances in which we had become involved.

I proposed to enter the Indian camp in the night--of course, by stealth and under cover of the darkness--to find the captive, if possible--set her limbs free--and then trust to chance for the escape of both of us.

If once inside the encampment, and within reach of her, a sudden _coup_ might accomplish all this: success was not beyond possibility, nor probability neither; and the circumstances admitted of no plan that promised so fairly.

To have attempted fight with my few followers against such a host--to have attacked the Indian camp, even under the advantage of an alarm-- would have been sheer madness. It must have resulted not only in our immediate defeat, but would have destroyed our last chance of rescuing the captive. The savages, once alarmed and warned, could never be approached again. Isolina would be lost for ever.

My followers agreed with me upon the imprudence of an attack. Folly they termed it--and not from any motives of fear: they were willing to risk all; and had I so ordered, would have charged with me, rifle in hand, into the very midst of the enemy's lines. I knew they would, every man of them. Even the voyageur--the least brave of the party-- would not have flinched; for, in the midst of brave men, cowards cease to be.

But such a course would indeed have been folly--madness. We thought not of adopting it; all approved of the plan I had formed, and which I had already laid before them as we tarried by the noon halting-place.

Several had volunteered to be my companions--to venture along with me into the camp of the savage; to share with me the extreme of the danger; but for several reasons I was determined to go alone. Should even one of them be along with me, I saw it would double the risk of detection.

In this matter, stratagem, not strength, was needed, and speed in the last moments would be worth both.

Of course, I did not think to get the captive clear without being observed and pursued--such an expectation would have been preposterous; she would be too well watched by the savages--not only by her jailers, but by the jealous eyes of those rival claimants of her body.

No; on the contrary, I anticipated pursuit--close and eager. It might be strife; but I trusted to my own swiftness of foot, and to hers--for well knew I her bold heart and free limb: it was no helpless burden I should have to bring away.

I trusted to my being able to baffle their pursuit--to keep them back while she ran forward. For that purpose, I should take with me my knife and revolvers--I trusted to these, and much to chance, or, perhaps, I should rather say, to God. My cause was good--my heart firm and hopeful.

Other precautions I intended to take: horses ready as near as they might be brought; men also ready in their saddles, rifle in hand--ready for fight, or flight.

Such was the enterprise upon which I was resolved. Success or death was staked upon the issue. If not successful, I cared not to survive it.

CHAPTER EIGHTY FOUR.

"PAINTING INJUN."

Withal, I was not reckless. If not sanguine, I was far from despondent; and as I continued to dwell upon it, the prospect seemed to brighten, and success to appear less problematical.

One of the chief difficulties I should have to encounter would be _getting into_ the camp. Once inside the lines--that is, among the camp-fires and tents, if there should be any--I should be comparatively safe. This I knew from experience; for it would not be my first visit to an encampment of prairie-Indians. Even in their midst, mingling with the savages themselves, and under the light of their glaring fires, I should be less exposed to the danger of detection than while attempting to cross their lines. First, I should have to pass the outlying pickets: then within these the horse-guards; and within these, again, the horses themselves!

You may smile when I assert that the last was to me a source of apprehension as great as either of the others. An Indian horse is a sentinel not to be despised. He is as much the enemy of the white man as his master; and partly from fear, and partly from actual antipathy, he will not permit the former to approach him. The human watcher may be negligent--may sleep upon his post--the horse never. The scent of a white man, or the sight of a skulking form, will cause him to snort and neigh; so that a whole camp will either be _stampeded_ or put upon the alert in a few minutes. Many a well-planned attack has been defeated by the warning-snort of the sentinel mustang.

It is not that the prairie-horse feels any peculiar attachment for the Indian; strange if he did--since tyrant more cruel to the equine race does not exist; no driver more severe, no rider more hard, than a horse-Indian.

It is simply the faithfulness which the noble animal exhibits for his companion and master, with the instinct which tells him when that master is menaced by danger. He will do the same service for a white as for a red man; and often does the weary trapper take his lone rest, with full confidence that the vigil will be faithfully kept by his horse.

Had there been dogs in the Indian camp, my apprehensions would have been still more acute--the danger would have been more than doubled. Within the lines, these cunning brutes would have known me as an enemy: the disguise of garments would not have availed me by the scent, an Indian dog can at once tell the white from the red man; and they appear to hold a real antipathy against the race of the Celt or Saxon. Even in time of truce, a white man entering an Indian camp can scarcely be protected from the wolfish pack.

I knew there were no dogs--we saw tracks of none. The Indians had been upon the war-trail; and when they proceed on these grand expeditions, their dogs, like their women, are left "at home." I had reason to be thankful that such was their custom.

Of course it was my intention to go disguised; it would have been madness to have gone otherwise. In the darkest night, my uniform would have betrayed me; but necessarily, in my search for the captive, I should be led within the light of the fires.

It was my design, therefore, to counterfeit the Indian costume; and how to do this had been for some time the subject of my reflections. I had been congratulating myself on the possession of the buffalo-robe. That would go far towards the disguise; but other articles were wanting to complete my costume. The leggings and moccasins--the plumed head-dress and neck ornaments--the long elfin locks--the bronze complexion of arms and breast--the piebald face of chalk, charcoal, and vermilion--where were all these to be obtained? There was no _costumerie_ in the desert.

In the moment of excitement that succeeded the capture of the savage, I had been thinking of other things. It was only when we were about to part from him that the idea jumped into my mind--that bright idea--that _he_ could _furnish_ me--the very man.

I turned back to reconnoitre his person.

Dismounting, I scanned him from head to foot. With delight my eyes rested upon his buckskin-leggings, his bead-embroidered moccasins, his pendent collar of javali-tusks, his eagle-plumes stained red, and the ample robe of jaguar-skins that draped his back--all pleased me much.

But that we were bent on an errand of peril, the last-mentioned article would not have been left there. My followers had eyed it with avidity, and more than one of them had been desirous of removing it; but the prospect of proximate peril had damped the ardour for spoil; and the splendid robe had been permitted to remain, where so gracefully it hung, upon the shoulders of the savage.

It soon replaced the buffalo robe upon mine; my boots were cast aside, and my legs encased in the scalp-fringed leggings; my hips were swathed in the leathern "breech-clout;" and my feet thrust into the foot-gear of the Comanche, which, by good fortune, fitted to a hair.

There was yet much required to make me an Indian. Comanches upon the war-trail go naked from the waist upward--the tunic-shirt is only worn by them, when hunting, or on ordinary occasions. How was I to counterfeit the copper skin--the bronzed arms and shoulders?--the mottled breast--the face of red, and white, and black? Paint only could aid me; and where was paint to be procured? The black we could imitate with gunpowder, but--

"Wagh!" ejaculated Rube, who was seen holding in his hands a wolf-skin, prettily trimmed and garnished with quills and beads--the medicine-bag of the Indian. "Wagh! I thort we'd find the mateeruls in the niggur's possible-sack--hyur they be!"

Rube had dived his hand to the bottom of the embroidered bag; and, while speaking, drew it triumphantly forth. Several little leathern packets appeared between his fingers, which, from their stained outsides, evidently contained pigments of various colours; whilst a small shining object in their midst proved, on closer inspection, to be a looking-glass!

Neither the trappers nor myself were astonished at finding these odd "notions" in such a place; on the contrary, it was natural we should have looked for them there. Seldom in peace, but never in time of war, does the Indian ride abroad without his rouge and his mirror!

The colours were of the right sort, and corresponded exactly with those that glittered upon the skin of the captive warrior.