University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
THE EXPEDITION.

It wanted more than an hour of day, when I
arose, from an unrefreshing sleep, and found my way
into the corral. All was quiet—no one was yet
stirring. The night was clear and serene, and the
moon, now near its full, and far toward the west, threw
its silvery light against the walls of the fortress, and a
portion of its rays just kissed the ground on the
eastern side of the court. In the blue concave above,
a few bright stars were visible; and fixing my eyes
upon these, I stood and wondered if either would be
my home, when my spirit should part from its mortal

tenement and wing its flight into the realms of
eternity.

And when would that event occur? Would it be
soon? or had I many years of earthly pilgrimage,
earthly joys and sorrows, before me? Who should
say? What of that mysterious future, which now
lay before me as a wall of darkness, into which no
human sight might penetrate? I was about to set
out on an expedition of peril, to rescue one sweet
being who occupied my thoughts by night and by
day. Yes—disguise the matter as I might, even
almost to the deceiving of myself—my mind continually
evoked the image of the sweet, lovely Adele
as I had seen her; and her voice of silvery sweetness
was ever ringing in my soul in sad and plaintive
tones. She seemed to conjure me, by all that is
sacred and holy in human sympathy, to come to her
aid. And I was going—was even now on the point
of departure. I had already bidden my bosom friend
farewell, and experienced a painful separation, that I
might fly to her rescue. Yes, I was going. But
whither? and to what end? I was going—but
should I ever return? Should I find and save her,
and return happy in the knowledge that to me she
owed her deliverance? Or should painful disappointments
greet me, and perils end in death, and my
body lie lonely in an unknown grave, afar from my
native land, my kindred, and my friends? The
future held all; the result was in the future; but
who, save Him who is past, present, and to come,

could look beyond the veil, and say what destiny was
there marked out for Roland Rivers?

While I stood lost in thought, a hand lightly
touched my shoulder. I turned, and encountered
Juan El Doliente.

“You are up betimes, my friend,” he said.

“I could not sleep,” I replied. “I last night took a
solemn leave of Alfred Varney, and the parting was
not without its effect upon my nervous system. And
add to this, my fancy would perforce run before me
into the future, and endeavor to reveal the result of
this expedition.”

“And with what success?”

“None to rely on. Hope says we may succeed—
Fear says we may fail.”

“I have had a singular dream on this very subject,”
said El Doliente, thoughtfully; “a dream, bright,
beautiful, ecstatic, glorious! I am not a credulous
believer in dreams as omens; but there was something
about this resembling rather a prophet's vision
than a wandering fancy, and it made me so very,
very happy. It is possible for it to be fulfilled,
exactly as I beheld it; and God grant it may be fulfilled,
even though it now seems as if its realization
would drive me mad with joy.”

“May I know the dream?”

“If it be fulfilled, yes—but not now.”

“Hello, boys!” exclaimed the voice of Sam at this
moment. “I thought as how old One-Eyed war the
fust nigger up; but I sees I aint—chaw me! Wall,

Cap'en, (a title bestowed upon the Spaniard, as the
leader of the expedition,) I spose we're off in a jiffy,
hey?”

“It is my wish to be on the way by daylight,” replied
El Doliente.

“Them's 'em!” said Botter, taking his way to the
stables, whither we followed, to see that our animals
were properly cared for.

In a few minutes, one after another of our party
assembled in the corral, and then we all become busy
with our preparations for an early start. The mules
were brought out and packed by a Mexican who was
to have charge of them during the expedition; and as
the process of mule packing may be interesting to the
uninitiated, I will give a brief description of it in this
place.

It is well known that the mule is the most stubborn
of all animals; and to manage him well, requires no
little art and experience, to say nothing of a vast
amount of patience. True, Varney and I had had no
difficulty with ours; but this was rather the exception
than the rule, and those of the trappers were exceptions
also; but we had witnessed some rather trying
and ludicrous scenes, and, in western parlance, had
heard some “pretty tall swearing,” occasioned by the
freaks of this intractable quadruped. But wilful,
wayward, and stubborn as this animal is, it can be
mastered and brought under due subjection; the
means, however, become almost a science, which none
better understand than your true Mexican muleteer—

who, in catching, packing, driving, and unpacking,
flourishes in the full glory of his ambition. If the
mule, from high feed and idleness, takes it into his
head to become refractory, on being required to resume
his labors, as was the case with one of El Doliente's,
the lasso of the muleteer immediately tightens
around his neck, and he is instantly brought to the
ground, and chocked into the belief that he is no longer
his own master. The moment he is subdued, he is
permitted to rise; and if about to be packed, a blind
is thrown over his eyes; and then the saddle-cloth,
with a thick pad of stuffed leather, in shape like an
open book, is placed upon his back, and strapped
down by a broad belt, which is drawn so tight, with
the strength of two men, one on either side of the
animal, as to cause the latter to bellow with pain;
and to one who sees it done for the first time, it appears
as if the beast were about to be cut in two. This,
however, is a necessary proceeding—for it prevents
chafing, and causes the mule to travel with more ease.
On this saddle is placed the pack, containing the
articles to be transported, weighing anywhere between
fifty and four hundred pounds; and this is lashed on
by a rope, passing tightly around the beast, and is
covered by a square oil-cloth, or matting, to protect
the whole from the rain.

Our mulada consisted of three of these animals—
one packed with provisions, camp utensils, and sundries,
and the two others with blankets, knives, ammunition,
and trinkets for Indian trade. Neither of

the three were heavily laden—for it was our design to
travel with some speed—and each man, well armed
and equipped, was mounted on a strong, fleet horse.

As daylight fairly absorbed the silvery rays of the
declining moon, we rode through the gate at Bent's
Fort, a picturesque looking party of fourteen, with a
crowd of spectators, among whom was Lieutenant
Parker, wishing us God speed and a happy termination
to our hazardous undertaking. Our party consisted
of El Doliente and his servant Cato, two Mexicans,
two Indians, three American mountaineers, three
French voyageurs, Botter, and myself; and though we
were of mixed races, care had been taken to get men
of experience and undoubted courage.

We shaped our course to the northward, and by
noon we had, to the best of our judgment, put some
fifteen or twenty miles between us and Bent's, notwithstanding
the mules had several times proved refractory,
one of them kicking and plunging till he
relieved himself of his pack, which had to be again
put on, the whole causing at least an hour's delay.

We were now once more on the broad prairie, but
not on the buffalo range of the present season, for not
one of these animals was in sight. We saw a few
antelopes; but they were too wild to come within
rifle range; and so we made our noonday meal of
dried meat, and a small allowance of dry corn-bread,
which we had brought with us, washing the whole
down with some brackish water, which we procured
from a slimy pool—the first water, in fact, we had seen

since within five miles of the station. We had no
shade, for there was not a tree in sight, and the bright
sun poured down upon us its piercing rays of heat, with
scarcely a ruffle of the air to relieve us. Our animals
appeared to suffer as much as ourselves; and having
drank in turn, and drained the pool of its unwholesome
contents, without their thirst being quenched,
and some of them showing little disposition to feed,
we thought it best to remount and push on till we
could find a suitable place for our night's encampment.

The view before us was now monotonous in the extreme.
A flat, sandy, arid plain stretched away to the
horizon, in almost every direction, bearing only a few
sage bushes, and the short, brown, crisped-looking
buffalo grass, so sparsely planted as to give nothing
of an ordinary turf-like appearance to the soil. Not
a tree, not a bush, not a stream was in sight—the
earth seemed parched—and the hot rays of the sun,
descending and reflecting, almost scorched and stifled
us.

We advanced about ten miles further, shaping our
course more to the eastward, when we came upon
several holes containing water, and fearing we might
fare worse, if we sought anything better, we encamped
here for the night. Soon after turning our animals
loose, Botter espied some three or four antelopes, far
in the distance; and being the first to discover them,
he said he should claim them as his meat; by which
he meant, that no other hunter of the party—which

was already divided into three or four messes—should
go in quest of them; but if they wanted game for
their supper, they must seek it elsewhere for themselves.

“Freshwater,” he said to me, “you're some to deer,
you is, and this hyer old coon got a good wet on't to
Bent's; but what d'ye think of them thar skeery
critters yonder, hey? D'ye think you could fotch
one, boy—hey?”

“If I could get near enough, perhaps I might.”

“If they'd only stand till you got up to 'em,
hey?”

“A hundred yards might do, Sam, bad shot as you
think me.”

“Wall, I'd like to knock over two; and so 'spose
you kim along, and twig old one-eyed coax 'em up to
shooting distance.”

I assented, and we set off at once—though I did not
understand what he meant by coaxing so wild and
timid an animal as the antelope. We made a circuit,
so as to get to the leeward of them, that the slight
breeze now stirring might not betray us by our scent;
for so acute is the sense of smell in nearly all wild
animals, that it is almost impossible to approach the
more timid to the windward within rifle range. Having
got the breeze in our faces, we advanced slowly and
cautiously, till we reached a thick cluster of sage
bushes, distant from where the animals were feeding
some three hundred yards.

“Now,” said Sam, “ef everything goes right, we'll

hev decent meat inside of us to sleep on, ooy—you
kin gamble on to that! Lay down, and keep yourself
quiet as a nigger stealing corn.”

“But we cannot shoot them from here?”

“Yes, we kin, hoss!”

“Well, if you can, blaze away; but as for myself, I
fancy I have too much good sense to waste my powder
upon an antelope at three hundred yards.”

“I'll tell you what, Freshwater,” pursued Botter,
“old One-Eyed Sam 'll gamble on to it—chaw me!
This hyer nigger 'll jest bet you a pound of 'bacca that
he'll throw one of them critters from this hyer cache
afore sundown.”

“Done!” said I—“fire away!”

“Not yet—nary once—not so green. I'll hev to
fotch 'em up nigher. But a bet's a bet, you know—
else what makes parsimmons pucker? Augh!”

“Certainly, a bet is a bet; and you must shoot one
of those antelopes from here, or lose.”

“Expect.”

“I shall be happy to see you do it.”

“Lay low then, and twig this hyer old beaver.”

As he spoke, Sam produced a strip of a red blanket,
which he proceeded to fasten to the end of his wiping-stick,
and then elevate above his head and wave to
and fro. It was almost instantly perceived by the
antelopes—which, to my surprise, instead of running
away, took a long, steady look at it, and then began
to approach us, slowly and cautiously.

“Them thar antes,” said Botter, as he lay on his

back, chuckling at the success of his stratagem and
my surprise, “has got more curiosity nor any other
critter I knows on, 'cept 'tis a woman; and she beats
the hind sights off o' the d—l; ef she don't, why does
dogs bark? Augh! Lay low thar; they musn't see
you, or they'll quit to once; for no matter how nice
you look to your gal, you're no beauty to them—chaw
me! Yes! ye see, they twig this hyer old rag, and
they don't know what to make on't, and so they're a
kimming to see; and when they has seed, I 'spect one
on 'em to stay to meat; and ef you kin shoot to sixty
yard, plum center, may be two on 'em won't travel
no furder. Augh!”

“And they are really approaching us from curiosity?”
said I.

“They aint doing nothing else, Freshwater.”

The whole proceeding was full of novelty to me, for
it was my first acquaintance with the hunter's stratagem
for luring the timid antelope to his destruction.
Slowly the animals approached us, stopping occasionally
to consider the danger of advancing toward an
object which had so strong a hold upon their curiosity,
but always ending their cogitations with a fresh resolve
to make a closer inspection. Meantime Botter had
stuck one end of the wiping-stick into the ground,
and brought his rifle into range, so that he could sight
and fire at a moment's notice.

“Fix your shooting iron, Freshwater,” he said,
“and see what you kin do fur your living. You is
good to a hundred yard, you say, and they aint much

furder off nor that; but as long as they don't git
skeered, we'll let 'em kim up powerful nigh. D'ye
see that chap with a white spot over his nose?”

“I think I do.”

“Wall, he's the fattest, and he's my meat, you kin
gamble on to that.”

“I have, you know—do not forget the pound of
tobacco.”

“Me forgit?—nary once—chaw me. 'Spect you'll
be more likely to do that nor this hyer coon; but ef
you does, I'll ax you for't—don't be afeard.”

“You talk as if you had already won.”

“Thar—hush now—keep quiet; pick out your
critter, but don't take mine. They ain't more'n
seventy-five yard, and this hyer old beaver is gitting
a desperate hanker for some of thar meat. Got your
sight plum center?”

“One moment! There—I am ready.”

“Let her rip, hoss.”

We fired together, and had the pleasure of seeing
two of the animals fall. I was for springing up and
rushing forward, to make assurance doubly sure—but
Sam restrained me.

“Hold on a bit, and lay low, Freshwater—the fun
aint over yit. You done well for a greenhorn—chaw
me; but thar's a smart chance left—don't you see?
Them fellers as fell can't run away, and you see the
others is looking on and wondering what it's all about.
Load up, boy—load up—and we'll throw a couple
more, and that'll gin the whole camp some'at to chaw.”

What Sam said, to my surprise, I saw was true.
We had killed, or mortally wounded, two of the
animals; and the others, some five or six in number,
instead of running away, as I had supposed they
instantly would, had gathered around their fallen
companions, and were evidently wondering at the
cause of their prostration. We reloaded our rifles,
keeping our horizontal position on the ground, and,
at a given signal, fired together again, and killed two
more. The others now took fright, and disappeared
with the fleetness of the grey-hound.

“This hyer one-eyed old nigger ain't a-gwine to
forgit the bacca, Freshwater!” said Sam, as we returned
to camp. “No, I ain't—chaw me—wagh!
hagh! wagh!”