The weekly messenger. [volume] (St. Martinsville [i.e. St. Martinville] La.) 1886-1948, 1891-03-07
THE HUMAN BLOODHOUND.
The Instinct That Guides the Indian
on His Mission of Death.

on His Mission of Death.
"Hist?"
Asingle 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 to the north. l. is avid
weird country. with the StakCd Plains
sweeping right up TO the waite. 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 10y great bouldcrs, the Indian
has found a few charrel sticks and o
handful of ashes-relics of a campfire.
He springs to the cover OF rock, and
for IA 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 examine
the ashes.
"Ughw
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 L.
broken to get at the marrow This ls
Wednesday and the hour is 10 O'Clock
in the forenoon. The 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, prospector. He
was heading up the stream.
Ugh"
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-at least forty-four since the
white man left it behind. That is an old
trail, but here is a human bloodhound.
Nature has made him to endure heal,
cold and fatigue as if he were an animal.
He has the cunning of n fox, the feroclty
of panther, and a vindictive persist.
ency which nothing but death can dis
courage.
! There is no trail-nothing which the
keenest dog could follow. But the In
dams glides forward like a shadow, look
ing only at the lay of the ground. A
! man who is not pursued travels slowly.
, To the right-to the leftover rocks
across rills-up hill-down hill-never
I tagging, no matter what the obstr,ic-
tions, and at the end OF three hours he
turns sharply to the left. penetrates the
cedars for few yards, and comes to q
halt before another camp ire, n branch
among the ashes gives out 1Aint 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 one
O'Clock, The white man has been NOV
ing slowly.
Half an hour for rest and bite to cat,
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 oil
signs that some one has passed that way.
The scent is too old for q bloodhound
neither panther nor wolf could read the
signs. In three hours he has reached
another camp fire. 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 tine ashes is warm.
The fire was built Tuesday night. The
this wednesday, morning. 1t is now
four o'clock p. IN. He is only eight hour
ahead. and there are still three hours OF
daylight
Has he travelled fast or leisurely2 Il
he dozen miles away or only three o,
four! The question is answered before
the Indian has pursued the tran
half mile The white man has stopped
to break off piece of rock with hi;
hammer. He Is prospector. He goes
up the 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 locality Of
promise. There is no hurry.
Ugh"
1t is twilight in the forest-night II
the canons and gorges. The Indian ha:
which leads HIM on. He knows he il
close on the quarry. He moves swiftly
but stealthily. There are rocks anc
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 &
camp fire has caught his eye.
A man clothed in the coarse garment.
of miner sits with his back to q rock.
On the fire at his feet his meat is toastine
and his coffee is boiling. The silenc'
about him is that of the grave. His sur
roundings are boulders, cliffs, lodges
ravines, trees. 1t is wild, weird spot
Nature was in vindictive mood wher
she made it. One sitting here alone a
high noon would feel chill of loneli
ness. The man looks into the fire. Fol