The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1890-12-14
THE HUMAN BLOODHOUND.
Instinct That Guides the Indian on His
Mission of Death.
Detroit Free Press.

"Hist?'
A single Indian has been following the
right-hand bank of the Rio Pecos river,
where it trends to the angle Of the Chico
mountains, New Mexico.
Fort Sumner is fifty miles to the south,
Santa Fe 100 miles to the north. 1t is
wild, weird country, with the Staked
plains sweeping right up to the water of
the Pecos from the east, and the country
to the west is forest, ravine, valley and
desolation.
In dip of the earth, and still further
shielded by great houlders the Indian has
found a few charred sticks and handful
of ashes-relics of campfire. He springs
to the cover of a rock and for quarter OF
an hour nothing is seen or heard of him.
Instinct taught him that-the same instinct
that any wild beast has. BY and by he
carefully rises into view and steps forward
to examine the ashes.
"Ugh!"
1t rained three days before. The ashes
are dry. The black sticks preserve their
gloss A twig broken from a bush is still
bleeding. bone in the ashes is broken
to get at the marrow. This is Wednesday,
and the hour is 10 o'clock in the forenoon.
That tire was built Monday noon. The
prints Of a boot heel are numerous. 1t was
a white man. The prints are exactly alike.
There was but one man-scout, hunter, or
prospector. Hewas heading up the stream.
"UghP'
Everything is clear to the Indian in five
minutes, and he picks up the trail. 1t is
forty-six hours since that fire was lighted
lat least forty-four since the white man
left it behind. That is an old trail, but
here is human bloodhound. Nature has
made him to endure heat, cold and fatigue
as if he were an animal. He has the cum
ming of fox, the ferocity of panther
and vindictive persistency which nothing
but death can discourage.
There is no trail-nothing which the
keenest dog could follow But the Indian
glides forward like shadow, looking only
at the lay of the ground. A man who
travels without fear takes the easiest road.
A man who is not pursued travels slowly.
To the right--to the leftover rocks
across rills--up midtown hill-never
tagging, no matter what the distractions,
and at the end of three hours he turns
sharply to the left, penetrates the cedars
for a few yards, and comes to halt before
another camp TIRE. A branch among the
ashes gives out faint smoke. The ashes
are still warm. The fire was built Monday
night, and over its hame the white man
cooked his Tuesday breakfast. This is
Wednesday at o'clock. The white man
has been moving slowly.
Half an hour for rest and bite to eat,
and the Indian moves forward again. Here
and there as he lilies along he sees a broken
branch-the moss torn from a rock-the
leaves disturbed-plenty of signs that some
one has passed that way. The scent is too
old for bloodhound; neither panther nor
wolf could read the signs. In three hours
he has reached another campfire. 1t was
built near spring bubbling out of the
rocks, and water was thrown on the flames
to quench them. 1t was not thoroughly
done, however. Fire clings to several
sticks, and the earth under the ashes is
warm. The fire was built Tuesday night.
The white man left it about O'Clock this
"wednesday morning. lt is now o. clock
p. M. He is only eight hours ahead, and
there are still three hours of daylight.
Has he..traveled fast or leisurely? Is he
a dozen miles away or only three or four ?
The question is answered before the In
dian has pursued the trail half mile.
| The white man has stopped to break off a
piece of rock with his hammer. He is a
| prospeetor. He goes up this ravine half a
mile and returns. He leaps this creek to
| examine the face of the cliff-passes an
| hour or more inspecting the sand and
| gravel in the bed of the creek. 1t is a To-
cality of promise. There is no hurry.
1t is twilight in the forest-night in the
| canyons and gorges. The Indian has no
| trail TO follow, but there is an instinct
| which leads him on. He knows he is close
| on the quarry. He moves swiftly but
| stealthily. There are rocks, and
| bushes, and limbs, and vines and pitfalls,
but he seems to see them in the darkness
as well as in the light. The flame of a
camp hre has caught his eye.
A man clothed in the coarse garments
| of n miner sits with his back TO rock.
| On the fire 1T his feet his meat is toasting
and his coffee is boiling. The silence
about him is that of the grave His sur
| roundings are boulders, cliffs, lodges, ra-
| vines, trees. 1t is wild. weird spot. Ma
| ture was in a vindictive mood when she
| made it. One sitting here alone at high
| noon would feel n chill of loneliness. The
man looks into the nre. For a moment
his thoughts are elsewhere. OF a sudden
that mysterious something-that curren;
which passes between life and death. elec.
trines him, and with his gaze riveted
into the darkness beyond the ire he
springs 10 his feet.
Too latel The Indian is not thirty feet
away, but before he can lay hand on the
body life has departed. When a ballet
strikes the human heart life is measured