The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1891-01-12
A HUMAN sLoopaouNp.
instinct Guides the indian on his
Death Mission.
detroit Free Press

Hist
A SINGLE Indian has been following the
rlgns hand bank of the Rio Pecos river
where 1t trends to the angle of the Chico
mountains, New Mexico.
Fort Sumner is so miles to the south,
Santa Fe 100 to the north. 1t is a 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 powders, the Indian
has found few charred sticks and a
handful of ashes-relics of camp fire.
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
animal has. By and by he carefully
rises into view and steps forward to ex-
anime the ashes
"Ughp
1t rained three days before. The ashes
are dry. The black sticks preserve their
gloss. A twig broken from bush is
still bleeding. A 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 fire was built
Monday noon. The prints of boot heel
are numerous. 1t was white man.
The prints are exactly alike. There was
but one man-scout, hunter or pros
pector. He was heading up the stream.
"Ugh"
ON THE TRAIL.
Everything is clear to the Indian in
five minutes, and he picks up the trail
1t is forty-six hours since that fire was
hghted-at least forty-four since the
white man left it behind. That is an
old trail, but here is a human blood
hound. Nature has made him to endure
heat, cold and fatigue as if he were an
animal. He has the cunning of fox,
the ferocity of a panther and vindic-
tive persistency which nothing but death
can discourage.
There is no trail-nothing which the
keenest dog could follow. But the In
dian glides forward like shadow. look
ing 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 left
over rocks-across rills-up midtown
hin-never tagging, no matter what the
distractions, and at the end of three
hours he turns sharply to the left, pene-
trates the cedars for few yards and
comes to halt before another camp fire.
A branch among the ashes gives out
faint smoke. The ashes are still warm.
The fire was built Monday night, and
over its flame 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 flies 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 camp fire. 1t was built near a
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 8 o'clock this (Wednes-
day. morning. 1t is now o'clock p. IN.
He is only eight hours ahead, and there
are still three hours Of daylight.
THE VICTIM.
Has he travelled fast OF leisurely? Is
he dozen miles away or only three or
four? The question is answered before
the Indian has pursued the trail half
mile. The white man has stopped to
break off piece of rock with his ham,
mer. He is q prospector. He goes up
this ravine half mile and returns. He
leaps this creek to examine the face of
the clif-passes an hour or more in
specting the sand and gravel in the bed
of the creek. 1t is locality of promise.
There is no hurry.
"Ughr'
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 fire has caught his eye.
A man clothed in the coarse garments
of miner sits with his back to rock.
On the fire at his feet his meat is toast
ing and his coffee is boiling. The silence
about him is that of the grave. His sur
roundings are powders, cliffs, lodges,
ravines, trees. 1t is wild, weird spot.
Nature was in vindictive mood when
she made it. One sitting here alone at
high noon would feel a chill Of loneli-
ness. The man looks into the fire. For
a moment his thoughts are elsewhere
OF sudden that mysterious something,
that current which passes between life
and death, electrifes him, and with his
gaze riveted into the darkness beyond
the fire he springs to his feet.
Too latel The Indian is not thirty
feet away, but before he can lay hand
on the body life has departed. When
bullet strikes the human heart life is
measured by seconds and fractions of