University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
REJOIN MY FRIEND.

The more I saw of my new acquaintance, the better
I liked him; and, all things being taken into consideration,
I looked upon the event as fortunate which
had brought us together. If my gallant steed had
not borne me to a throne, as did the steed of Mazeppa,
he had at least assisted me in the accomplishment of
one great object I had in view, by placing me in a position
to come in contact with one who could and
would materially aid me, and for this I humbly and
sincerely thanked Providence.

Juan El Doliente was a man of somewhat remarkable
parts. Learned in books, in the study of nature
and art, and the ways of mankind—a gentleman, a
scholar, and a traveler who had visited almost every
portion of the habitable globe—he could converse on
every subject with an ease and freedom that was truly
fascinating; while his reflective, philosophical, satirical,
and humorous modes of expression—sometimes
all commingling, as it were, in a single sentence—
gave continual zest to everything that passed his lips,
and rendered him, without exception, the most delightful
and brilliant conversationalist I have ever
seen.

We spent the day in company, removing our camp
to the point where the Santa Fe Trail crossed the
Pawnee Fork, so as to intercept the military train,
which we expected would make its appearance before
night. Botter came in about noon, bringing the most
delicious portions of an antelope which he had shot;
and on this we had a regular feast—El Doliente furnishing
salt, and Cato making us a cake of corn meal,
which had been brought from below to be used on
special occasions. The Spaniard had six mules—two
for himself and servant to ride, and the others to
carry his baggage, camp utensils, and whatever else
he might find necessary or convenient on his journey
—and therefore he had taken a certain amount of provisions,
to serve him during a scarcity of game, or to
vary the regular hunters' fare of meat alone.

I was in hopes El Doliente would feel in the mood
to give me a sketch of his life during the day—for I
was quite curious to learn something of his history—
but he made no further allusion to the subject; and I,
not wishing to be thought inquisitive, made no inquiry.
He talked much of Adele, and asked a
hundred questions concerning her, many of which I
could not answer, and seemed much distressed at her
hard fortune—more so, I thought, than could naturally
result from mere sympathy for the sufferings of one
never seen, and supposed to be an unknown, or unheard
of stranger. He inquired about her height, her
size, her tout ensemble, the color of her hair and eyes,
the peculiarity of her features, and even the expression

of her countenance, when in repose and when
animated. At last, recurring to his excited manner,
while telling him the history of the girl, and taking
all his questions into consideration, I inquired:

“Have you fallen in love with this Adele, from
my description of her? or do you fancy you really
know who she is?”

“Perhaps neither,” he replied, evasively; “at least
I shall not be your rival for her hand.”

“Why, you must not suppose me her suitor,” I
replied, with a laugh.

“Do you not love her?” he asked, quickly.

“Really, I have had so little experience in matters
of the heart, that I cannot decide in my own mind
whether I do or not. But grant I do love her, it does
not follow I shall wish to marry her, even if I succeed
in restoring her to life and liberty.”

“You would attempt nothing dishonorable?” he
quickly demanded, a dark shade of suspicion, or distrust,
passing quickly, over his features.

“Being a stranger,” returned I, rather coolly, “I
shall permit you to ask that question, without taking
mortal offence thereat; but had you known me for
years, instead of hours, doubtless you would have
thought twice before putting it in such a serious
mood.”

“Forgive me!” he rejoined, grasping my hand;
“I do know you. I have already penetrated into
your very soul; and I am chagrined that I allowed

my lips to speak without proper reflection! Pray
forget the hasty words!”

“They are forgotten,” said I, cordially returning
the pressure of his hand.

It continued to rain till toward night, and then
cleared up, with a chilling breeze from the west—a
breeze that seemed to have passed over icy mountains
on its journey. The extremes of heat and cold, in
midsummer, are not among the least remarkable
features of the Grand Prairies. You may retire at
night, almost panting, as you inhale and exhale the
close, sultry air, and, in less than six hours, require
thick blankets and a fire to render you comfortable.
The cause of these changes is easily explained. The
high mountain peaks to the westward are perpetually
covered with snow and ice; and when the current of
air sets in from this direction, it takes a wintry coldness
to the plains below; while a breeze from the
south brings the breath of the tropics; and without
either of these currents, a summer sun, pouring down
upon a flat, sandy surface, generates a heat that is
almost unbearable, and which only a mountain wind
can dissipate.

Before night, I was delighted to perceive the command
of Lieutenant Parker arrive on the opposite
bank of the stream; but the creek was too high and
turbulent to admit of any one crossing; though so
anxious was I to see Varney, and assure him of my
safety, that I think I should have attempted to swim

it, had not El Doliente and Botter interfered to prevent
me.

“I insist you do not make the trial!” said the
Spaniard, in a positive tone; “for I will not stand idly
by and see you throw your life away.”

“But I am a good swimmer,” I replied, “and I
think I could reach the opposite shore without much
difficulty.”

“You've got the nine lives to the cat,” said Sam;
“and hyer's what's said it afore; but ef you'd got
fifty more, you'd want 'em all into that thar drink, or
else I'm a — old woodchuck—chaw me! Augh!”

I did not make the attempt—nor did any one else
that night—and so Varney and I still remained apart,
though not more than three hundred yards divided
us. On the following morning, the stream not having
subsided any during the night, Lieutenant Parker
ordered a raft to be constructed; but it was not till
late in the afternoon that it was considered launched
and ready for a cargo; and as there was now only
sufficient daylight for one passage back and forth, it
was resolved to defer the transportation to another
day. As a matter of course, my friend and I remained
another night apart, and I keenly felt the dis-appointment
of not seeing one who was all this time
mourning me as dead.

On the second morning, the transportation began
about sunrise; and when the raft returned, after
taking over the first freight, I returned with it, to the
astonishment of all who saw me. Before I reached

Varney, some one informed him that I was alive, and
well, and had returned; and he came running forward
to meet me, almost doubting his senses. The next
minute, with the exclamation, “Great God! it is
true!” he threw himself upon my neck, and fainted
in my arms.

I pass over the congratulations which I received
from all parties, who looked upon me as one from the
dead—nor did their astonishment cease when they
heard the story of my thrilling adventures. From
that moment I became a sort of lion among men who
might, in one sense, be said to have hair-breadth
escapes for a pastime; but besides the startling facts
in my case, there was a wild, romantic interest attached
to them, which bore off the palm.

Two men had been killed in the fight, and one or
two others slightly wounded; but it was supposed the
Indians had lost some fifteen or twenty of their party
—though the number could not be accurately ascertained,
as they took care to bear off their dead and
wounded, with only a few exceptions. Our party had
also lost several horses—but Varney's and mine were
safe.

Considering the stormy weather, and his grief at
my supposed death, Varney had suffered less in
health, during my absence, than might have been
expected; and my return so raised his spirits, that for
several days he seemed to forget his physical ailments
altogether; but after that his system took a sudden
reaction, and he began to decline so rapidly that I

feared he would not reach Bent's Fort alive. From
being able to ride his horse for six or eight hours at
a time, he soon became so weak and prostrated that
he could not sit up without support, and was obliged
to keep to his rude bed in the jolting wagon. His
cough grew more and more troublesome, keeping him
awake the greater part of the night, exhausting all
his vital forces, and leaving him too weak to speak
aloud till after sleep. I did all I could to render his
situation, not comfortable, but bearable; and looking
to death as his only relief, I almost wished for the
hour when he would be at rest.

After passing Pawnee Fork, our route lay along the
valley of the Arkansas. Millions of buffaloes now
surrounded us; and often, as far as the eye could
reach, we saw nothing else. Occasionally we espied
small bands of wild horses—but they never suffered
us to approach very near them. The deer, the elk,
and the antelope, sometimes diversified the scene;
but the buffalo seemed lord of the domain—attended
by his enemy, the wolf—which, though apparently
on friendly terms, never failed to take advantage of
the misfortunes of his good-natured, indulgent neighbor.
There is a species of wolf that always accompanies
the buffalo, to prey upon the disabled and young;
but the nobler animal, so far as I could discover, has
no fear of his sneaking, insiduous, blood-thirsty foe,
and no suspicion of his design, till too late to save
himself from his cruel fangs.

The remainder of our journey was not without incidents,

but none of sufficient interest to deserve special
notice. Several of the men fell sick on the route—
two died, and were buried on the way—and I at one
time suffered severely from an attack of bilious colic;
but my disease yielded to medical treatment, and I
was confined only one day to the wagon, which bore
along the wasted form of my suffering friend. El
Doliente, his servant, and Botter accompanied the
military train; and on the last day of June, 18—, our
eyes were greeted with the waving of the stars and
stripes above the walls of that wilderness stronghold
known as Bent's Fort.