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The Freebooters: A Story of the Texan War

by Gustave Aimard · English · Gutenberg #40602 · 602,599 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Freebooters: A Story of the Texan War

Author: Gustave Aimard

Translator: Sir Lascelles Wraxall


        
Release date: August 28, 2012 [eBook #40602]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40602

Credits: Produced by Camille Bernard & Marc D'Hooghe


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FREEBOOTERS: A STORY OF THE TEXAN WAR ***
THE FREEBOOTERS.

A Story of the Texan War.

BY

GUSTAVE AIMARD,

AUTHOR OF "BORDER RIFLES," "THE INDIAN SCOUT," ETC.

LONDON:

WARD AND LOCK,

158, FLEET STREET.

MDCCCLXI.




PREFACE.


Apart from the thrilling interest of Aimard's new story, which I
herewith offer to English readers, I think it will be accepted with
greater satisfaction, as being an historical record of the last great
contest in which the North Americans were engaged. As at the present
moment everything is eagerly devoured that may tend to throw light on
the impending struggle between North and South, I believe that the story
of "THE FREEBOOTERS," which is rigorously true in its details, will
enable my readers to form a correct opinion of the character of the
Southerners.

The series, of which this volume forms a second link, will be completed
in a third volume, to be called "THE WHITE SCALPER," which contains an
elaborate account of the liberation of Texas, and the memorable battle
of San Jacinto, together with personal adventures of the most
extraordinary character.

L.W.

7, DRAYTON TERRACE,

WEST BROMPTON.




CONTENTS.


     I. FRAY ANTONIO
     II. INDIAN DIPLOMACY
     III. DOWN THE PRECIPICE
     IV. TWO ENEMIES
     V. GENERAL RUBIO
     VI. THE HUNTER'S COUNCIL
     VII. AN OLD FRIEND
     VIII. QUONIAM'S RETURN
     IX. HOSPITALITY
     X. THE LARCH-TREE HACIENDA
     XI. A METAMORPHOSIS
     XII. THE SUMMONS
     XIII. THE SIEGE
     XIV. THE PROPOSAL
     XV. A THUNDERBOLT
     XVI. THE CONSPIRATORS
     XVII. THE SPY
     XVIII. THE PULQUERIA
     XIX. AT SEA
     XX. THE PRIZE
     XXI. A STRANGE LEGEND
     XXII. THE SURPRISE
     XXIII. EL SALTO DEL FRAYLE
     XXIV. THE LANDING
     XXV. FORWARD!




CHAPTER I.

FRAY ANTONIO.


All the wood rangers have noticed, with reference to the immense virgin
forests which still cover a considerable extent of the soil of the New
World, that, to the man who attempts to penetrate into one of these
mysterious retreats which the hand of man has not yet deformed, and
which preserve intact the sublime stamp which Deity has imprinted on
them, the first steps offer almost insurmountable difficulties, which
are gradually smoothed down more and more, and after a little while
almost entirely disappear. It is as if Nature had desired to defend by a
belt of thorns and spikes the mysterious shades of these aged forests,
in which her most secret arcana are carried out.

Many times, during our wanderings in America, we were in a position to
appreciate the correctness of the remark we have just made: this
singular arrangement of the forests, surrounded, as it were, by a
rampart of parasitic plants entangled one in the other, and thrusting in
every direction their shoots full of incredible sap, seemed a problem
which offered a certain degree of interest from various points of view,
and especially from that of science.

It is evident to us that the circulation of the air favours the
development of vegetation. The air which circulates freely round a large
extent of ground covered with lofty trees, and is driven by the various
breezes that agitate the atmosphere, penetrates to a certain depth into
the clumps of trees it surrounds, and consequently supplies nourishment
to all the parasitical shrubs vegetation presents to it. But, on
reaching a certain depth under the covert, the air, less frequently
renewed, no longer supplies carbonic acid to all the vegetation that
covers the soil, and which, through the absence of that aliment, pines
away and dies.

This is so true, that those accidents of soil which permit the air a
more active circulation in certain spots, such as the bed of a torrent
or a gorge between two eminences, the entrance of which is open to the
prevailing wind, favour the development of a more luxuriant vegetation
than in flat places.

It is more than probable that Fray Antonio[1] made none of the
reflections with which we begin this chapter, while he stepped silently
and quietly through the trees, leaving the man who had helped him, and
probably saved his life, to struggle as he could with the crowd of
Redskins who attacked him, and against whom he would indubitably have
great difficulty in defending him.

Fray Antonio was no coward; far from it: in several critical
circumstances he had displayed true bravery; but he was a man to whom
the existence he led offered enormous advantages and incalculable
delights. Life seemed to him good, and he did all in his power to spend
it jolly and free from care. Hence, through respect for himself, he was
extremely prudent, only facing danger when it was absolutely necessary;
but at such times, like all men driven into a corner, he became terrible
and really dangerous to those who, in one way or the other, had provoked
in him this explosion of passion.

In Mexico, and generally throughout Spanish America, as the clergy are
only recruited from the poorest class of the population, their ranks
contain men of gross ignorance, and for the most part of more than
doubtful morality. The religious orders, which form nearly one-third of
the population, living nearly independent of all subjection and control,
receive among them people of all sorts, for whom the religious dress
they don is a cloak behind which they give way with perfect liberty to
their vices, of which the most venial are indubitably indolence, luxury,
and intoxication.

Enjoying a great credit with the civilized Indian population, and
greatly respected by them, the monks impudently abuse that halo of
sanctity which surrounds them, in order to shamefully plunder these poor
people under the slightest excuses.

Indeed, blackguardism and demoralisation have attained such a pitch in
these unhappy countries, which are old and decrepit without ever having
been young, that the conduct of the monks, offensive it may seem in the
sight of Europeans, has nothing at all extraordinary for those among
whom they live.

Far from us the thought of leading it to be supposed that among the
Mexican clergy, and even the monks we have so decried, there are not men
worthy of the gown they wear, and convinced of the sanctity of their
mission; we have, indeed, known many of that character; but
unfortunately they form so insignificant a minority, that they must be
regarded as the exception.

Fray Antonio was assuredly no better or worse than the other monks whose
gown he wore; but, unluckily for him, for some time past fatality
appeared to have vented its spite on him, and mixed him up, despite his
firm will, in events, not only opposed to his character but to his
habits, which led him into a multitude of tribulations each more
disagreeable than the other, and which were beginning to make him
consider that life extremely bitter, which he had hitherto found so
pleasant.

The atrocious mystification of which John Davis had rendered the poor
monk a victim, had especially spread a gloomy haze over his hitherto so
gay mind; a sad despondency had seized upon him; and it was with a heavy
and uncertain step that he fled through the forest, although, excited by
the sounds of combat that still reached his ear, he made haste to get
off, through fear of falling into the hands of the Redskins, if they
proved the victors.

Night surprised poor Fray Antonio ere he had reached the skirt of this
forest, which seemed to him interminable. Naturally anything but
hard-working, and not at all used to desert life, the monk found himself
greatly embarrassed when he saw the sun disappear on the horizon in a
mist of purple and gold, and the darkness almost instantaneously cover
the earth. Unarmed, without means of lighting a fire, half-dead with
hunger and alarm, the monk took a long glance of despair around him, and
fell to the ground, giving vent to a dull groan: he literally did not
know to what saint he should appeal.

Still, after a few moments, the instinct of self-preservation gained the
mastery over discouragement, and the monk, whose teeth chattered with
terror on hearing re-echoed through the forest the lugubrious roaring of
the wild beasts, which were beginning to awaken, and greeted in their
fashion the longed-for return of gloom--rose with a feverish energy,
and suffering from that feverish over-excitement which fear raised to a
certain pitch produces, resolved to profit by the fugitive rays that
still crossed the glade, to secure himself a shelter for the night.

Opposite to him grew a majestic mahogany tree, whose interlaced branches
and dense foliage seemed to offer him a secure retreat against the
probable attack of the gloomy denizens of the forest.

Assuredly, under any other circumstances than those in which he found
himself, the bare idea of escalading this immense forest would have
appeared to the monk the height of folly and mental aberration, owing
first to his paunch, and next to his awkwardness, of which he felt
intimately convinced.

But it was a critical point: at each instant the situation grew more
dangerous; the howling came nearer in a most alarming manner; there was
no time to hesitate; and Fray Antonio did not do so. After walking once
or twice round the tree, in order to discover the spot which offered him
the greatest facility for his ascent, he gave vent to a sigh, embraced
the enormous and rugged trunk with his arms and knees, and painfully
commenced his attempted climb.

But it was no easy matter, especially for a plump monk, to mount the
tree, and Fray Antonio soon perceived this fact at his own expense; for
each time that, after extraordinary efforts, he managed to raise himself
a few inches from the ground, his strength suddenly failed him, and he
fell back on the ground with lacerated hands and torn clothes.

Ten times already had he renewed his efforts, with the desperation
produced by despair, without seeing them crowned with success; the
perspiration poured down his face; his chest panted; he was in a state
to produce pity even in his most obstinate enemy.

"I shall never succeed in mounting it," he muttered sadly; "and if I
remain here, I am a lost man, for within an hour I shall be infallibly
devoured by some tiger in search of its supper."

This final reflection, which was incontestably true, restored a fresh
ardour to the monk, who resolved to make a new and supreme attempt But
this time he wished to take all his precautions; consequently, he began
collecting the dead wood round him and piling it at the foot of the
tree, so as to form a scaffolding high enough for him to reach, without
any great difficulty, a branch sufficiently low for him, while careful
to remain awake, to hope to spend the night without fear of being
devoured--an alternative for which the worthy monk did not feel the
slightest inclination.

Soon, thanks to the vivacity of his movements, Fray Antonio had a
considerable heap of wood piled up around him. A smile of satisfaction
lit up his wide face, and he breathed again, while wiping away the
perspiration that poured down his face.

"This time," he muttered, calculating with a glance the space he had to
cover, "if I do not succeed, I shall be preciously clumsy."

In the meanwhile the last gleams of twilight, so useful to the monk, had
entirely disappeared; the absence of the stars, which had not yet shown
themselves, left a profound obscurity in the sky, which was even more
obscure under the covert; all was beginning to be blotted out, only
allowing here and there a few clumps of trees to be distinguished, as
they designed their gloomy masses in the night, or a few patches of
water, the result of the last storm, which studded the forest with paler
spots. The evening breeze had risen, and could be heard soughing through
the foliage with a sad and melancholy plaintiveness.

The dangerous denizens of the forest had quitted their lurking places,
and crushed the dead wood, as they eagerly came on, amid a deafening
current of catlike howls. The monk had not an instant to lose, if he did
not wish to be attacked on all sides at once by the wild beasts, whom a
lengthened fast rendered more terrible still.

After taking a searching glance around him in order to assure himself
that no pressing danger threatened him, the monk devotedly crossed
himself, fervently recommended himself to Heaven with a sincerity he had
probably never evinced before, and then, suddenly making up his mind,
began resolutely climbing up the pile of wood. After several
unsuccessful attempts, he at last reached the top of this fictitious
mount.

He then stopped for a minute to draw breath; indeed, thanks to his
ingenious ideas, Fray Antonio was now nearly ten feet from the ground.
It is true that any animal could easily have overthrown this obstacle;
but for all that, this beginning of success revived the monk's courage,
the more so because, on raising his eyes he saw a few paces above him,
the blessed branch toward which he had so long extended his arms in
vain.

"Come!" he said, hopefully.

He embraced the tree once more, and recommenced his fatiguing
clambering. Either through skill or accident Fray Antonio at length
managed to seize the branch with both hands, and clung to it with all
his strength. The rest was as nothing. The monk assembled by a supreme
effort all the vigour his previous attempts had left him, and raising
himself by his arms, tried to get astride on the branch. Owing to his
energetic perseverances, he had raised his head and shoulders above the
branch, when all at once he felt a hand or a claw fasten round his right
leg, and squeeze it as in a vice. A shudder of terror ran over the
monk's body: his blood stood still in his veins; an icy perspiration
beaded on his temples, and his teeth chattered fit to break.

"Mercy!" he exclaimed in a choking voice, "I am dead. Holy virgin, have
pity on me."

His strength, paralyzed by terror, deserted him, his hands let loose the
protecting branch, and he fell in a lump at the foot of the tree.
Fortunately for Fray Antonio, the care he had taken in piling up the
dead wood to a considerable extent broke his fall, otherwise it would
probably have been mortal: but the shock he experienced was so great
that he completely lost his senses. The monk's fainting fit was long:
when he returned to life and opened his eyes again, he took a frightened
glance around, and fancied he must be suffering from a horrible
nightmare.

He had not stirred from the spot, so to speak: he still found himself
by the tree, which he had tried so long to climb up in vain, but he was
lying close to an enormous fire, over which half a deer was roasting,
and around him were some twenty Indians, crouching on their heels,
silently smoking their pipes, while their horses, picketed a few yards
off, and ready to mount, were eating their provender.

Fray Antonio had seen Indians several times before, and had stood on
such intimate terms, indeed, with them, as to be able to recognize them.
His new friends were clothed in their war garb, and from their hair
drawn off their foreheads, and their long barbed lances, it was easy to
recognize them as Apaches.

The monk's blood ran cold, for the Apaches are notorious for their
cruelty and roguery. Poor Fray Antonio had fallen from Charybdis into
Scylla; he had only escaped from the jaws of the wild beasts in order to
be in all probability martyred by the Redskins. It was a sad prospect
which furnished the unlucky monk with ample material for thoughts, each
more gloomy than the other, for he had often listened with a shudder to
the hunters' stories about the atrocious tortures the Apaches take a
delight in inflicting on their prisoners with unexampled barbarity.

Still, the Indians went on smoking silently, and did not appear to
perceive that their captive had regained his senses. For his part, the
monk hermetically closed his eyes, and anxiously preserved the most
perfect tranquillity, in order to leave his dangerous companions, so
long as he could, in ignorance of the state in which he was.

At length the Indians left off smoking, and after shaking the ash out of
their calumets, passed them again through their girdle; a Redskin
removed from the fire the half deer which was perfectly roasted, laid it
in abanijo leaves in front of his comrades, and each drawing his
scalping knife, prepared for a vigorous attack on the venison, which
exhaled an appetizing odour, especially for the nostrils of a man who,
during the whole past day, had been condemned to an absolute fast.

At this moment the monk felt a heavy hand laid on his chest, while a
voice said to him with a guttural accent, which, however, had nothing
menacing about it.

"The father of prayer can open his eyes now, for the venison is smoking,
and his share is cut off."

The monk, perceiving that his stratagem was discovered, and excited by
the smell of the meat, having made up his mind, opened his eyes, and sat
up.

"Och!" the man who had before spoken said, "My father can eat; he must
be hungry, and has slept enough."

The monk attempted to smile, but only made a frightful grimace, so
alarmed did he feel. As however, he was really hungry as a wolf, he
followed the example offered him by the Indians, who had already
commenced their meal, and set to work eating the lump of venison which
they had the politeness to set before him. The meal did not take long;
still it lasted long enough to restore a little courage to the monk, and
make him regard his position from a less gloomy side than he had
hitherto done.

In truth, the behaviour of the Apaches toward him had nothing hostile
about it; on the contrary, they were most attentive in serving him with
what he needed, giving him more food so soon as they perceived that he
had nothing before him: they had even carried their politeness so far
as to give him a few mouthfuls of spirit, an extremely precious liquid,
of which they are most greedy, even for their own use, owing to the
difficulty they experience in obtaining it.

When he had ended his meal, the monk, who was almost fully reassured as
to the amicable temper of his new friends, on seeing them light their
pipes, took from his pocket tobacco and an Indian corn leaf, and after
rolling a _pajillo_ with the skill which the men of Spanish race
possess, he conscientiously enjoyed the bluish smoke of his excellent
Havana tobacco, _costa abajo_.

A considerable space of time elapsed thus, and not a syllable was
exchanged among them. By degrees the ranks of the Redskins thinned: one
after the other, at short intervals, rolled themselves in their
blankets, lay down with their feet to the fire, and went to sleep almost
immediately. Fray Antonio, crushed by the poignant emotions of the day,
and the enormous fatigue he had experienced, would gladly have imitated
the Indians, had he dared, for he felt his eyes close involuntarily, and
found immense difficulty in contending against the sleep that
overpowered him. At last the Indian who hitherto had alone spoken,
perceiving his state of somnolency, took pity on him. He rose, fetched a
horsecloth, and brought it to the monk.

"My father will wrap himself in this fressada,[2]" he said, employing
the bad Spanish in which he had hitherto spoken; "the nights are cold,
and my father needs sleep greatly, he will, therefore, feel warmed with
this. Tomorrow, a Chief will smoke the calumet with my father in
council. Blue-fox desires to have a serious conversation with the father
of prayer of the Palefaces."

Fray Antonio gratefully accepted the horsecloth so graciously offered by
the Chief, and without attempting to prolong the conversation, he
wrapped himself up carefully, and lay down by the fire so as to absorb
the largest amount of caloric possible. Still the Indian's words did not
fail to cause the monk a certain degree of anxiety.

"Hum!" he muttered to himself, "That is the reverse of the medal. What
can this Pagan have to say to me? He does not mean to ask me to christen
him, I suppose? especially as his name appears to be Blue-fox, a nice
savage name, that. Well, heaven will not abandon me, and it will be day
tomorrow. So now for a snooze."

And with this consolatory reflection the monk closed his eyes: two
minutes later he slept as if never going to wake again.

Blue-fox, for it was really into the hands of that Chief the monk had so
unexpectedly fallen, remained crouched over the fire the whole night,
plunged in gloomy thought, and watching, alone of his comrades, over the
common safety: at times, his eyes were fixed with a strange expression
on the monk who was fast asleep, and far from suspecting that the Apache
Chief was so obstinately engaged with him.

At sunrise Blue-fox was still awake: he had remained the whole night
without once changing his position, and sleep had not once weighed down
his eyelids.


[1] See "Border Rifles," same publishers.

[2] "frazada."




CHAPTER II

INDIAN DIPLOMACY.


The night passed calm and peaceful. At the moment when the sun appeared
on the horizon, saluted by the deafening concert of the birds, hidden
beneath the foliage, Blue-fox, who had hitherto remained motionless,
extended his right arm in the direction of the monk, who was lying by
his side, and gently touched him with his hand. This touch, slight as it
was, sufficed, however, to arouse Fray Antonio.

There are moments in life when, although the body reposes, the mind
retains all its delicate perceptions and vigilance; the monk was in a
similar situation. The gentleness the Apaches displayed towards him on
the previous night was so extraordinary, and opposed to their usual
habit of treating white men, their inveterate foes, that the monk,
despite the coolness which formed the basis of his character, understood
that the strange conduct of the men into whose power he had fallen must
result from very powerful motives, and that, in spite of the pretended
friendship they showed him, he would do well to keep on his guard, in
order to be able to make head against the storm, from whatever quarter
it might come.

In consequence of this reasoning, while taking advantage of the friendly
feeling of the Indians, he craftily watched their movements, only
yielded to sleep with great circumspection, and then slept with one eye
open, to employ the vulgar expression. Hence at the first signal he was
ready to respond to the Indian's summons with a vivacity that brought an
equivocal smile upon the latter's stern features. The Redskins are
physiognomists by nature; and, in spite of the tranquillity the monk
affected, Blue-fox had, from certain signs that never deceive, guessed
the secret alarm that internally devoured him.

"Has my brother slept well?" the Indian asked in his hoarse voice; "The
Wacondah loves him, has watched over his sleep, and kept Nyang, the
genius of evil, away from his dreams."

"I have, indeed, slept well, Chief, and I thank you for the cordial
hospitality you have been pleased to grant me."

A smile played round the Indian's lips, as he continued:--

"My father is one of the Chiefs of prayer of his nation, the God of the
Palefaces is powerful, He protects those who devote themselves to His
service."

As this remark required no answer, the monk contented himself by bowing
in the affirmative. Still, his anxiety increased; beneath the Chiefs
gentle words he fancied he could hear the hoarse voice of the tiger,
which licks its lips ere devouring the booty it holds gasping in its
terrible claws.

Fray Antonio had not even the resource of pretending not to understand
the dangerous speaker, for the Chief expressed himself in bad Spanish, a
language all the Indian tribes understand, and which, despite their
repugnance to use it, they still employ in their dealings with the white
men.

The morning was magnificent; the trees, with their dew-laden leaves,
seemed greener than usual; a slight mist, impregnated with the soft
matutinal odours, rose from the ground, and was sucked up by the
sunbeams, which with each moment grew warmer. The whole camp was still
sunk in sleep; the Chief and the monk were alone awake. After a moment's
silence, Blue-fox continued:--

"My father will listen," he said; "a Chief is about to speak; Blue-fox
is a Sachem, his tongue is not forked, the words his chest breathes are
inspired by the Great Spirit."

"I am listening," Fray Antonio replied.

"Blue-fox is not an Apache, although he wears their costumes, and leads
one of their most powerful tribes on the war trail; Blue-fox is a Snake
Pawnee, his nation is as numerous as the grains of sand on the borders
of the great lake. Many moons ago, Blue-fox left the hunting grounds of
his nation, never to return to them, and became an adopted son of the
Apaches; why did Blue-fox act thus?"

The Chief interrupted himself. The monk was on the point of answering
that he did not know the fact, and cared very little about learning it,
but a moment's reflection made him understand the danger of such an
answer to a man so irritable as the one he was now talking with.

"The brothers of the Chief were ungrateful to him," he replied with
feigned interest, "and the Sachem left them; after shaking off his
moccasins at the entrance of their village."

The Chief shook his head in negation.

"No," he answered, "the brothers of Blue-fox loved him, they still weep
for his absence; but the Chief was sad, a friend had abandoned him, and
took away his heart."

"Ah!" said the monk, not at all understanding.

"Yes," the Indian continued; "Blue-fox could not endure the absence of
his friend, and left his brothers to go in search of him."

"Of course you have found the person again, Chief, to whom you devoted
yourself?"

"For a long time Blue-fox sought, but did not succeed in obtaining any
news of him; but one day he at length saw him again."

"Good, and now you are re-united?"

"My father does not understand," the Indian answered drily.

This was perfectly correct. The monk did not understand a syllable of
what it pleased the Chief to tell him--the more so, as this obscure
narrative interested him but very slightly; and while the Apache was
speaking, he was cudgelling his brains to discover the motives for this
confidence. The consequence was that most of the words uttered by the
Chief struck his ear, but only produced an empty sound, whose meaning
did not reach his mind; but the peremptory accent with which Blue-fox
uttered the last sentence, aroused him, and while recalling him to a
feeling of his present position, made him comprehend the danger of not
seeming to take an interest in the conversation.

"Pardon me, Chief," he eagerly answered; "on the contrary, I perfectly
understand; but I am subject to a certain absence of mind completely
independent of my will, which I hope you will not feel offended at, for
I assure you it is no fault of mine."

"Good, my father is like all the Chiefs of Prayer of the Palefaces, his
thoughts are constantly directed to the Wacondah."

"So it is, Chief," the monk exclaimed, delighted at the way in which his
apology was accepted; "continue your narrative, I beg, for I am now
most anxious to listen to it."

"Wah! My father constantly traverses the prairies of the Palefaces."

"Yes, for the duties of my office oblige me to--"

Blue-fox quickly interrupted him.

"My father knows the pale hunters of these prairies?"

"Nearly all."

"Very good; one of these hunters is the friend so deeply regretted by
Blue-fox."

"Who is he?" the monk asked.

The Indian did not seem to hear the question, for he went on--

"Very often the Redskin warrior has been led a short distance from his
friend by the incidents of the chase, but never near enough to make
himself known."

"That is unfortunate."

"The Chief would like to see his friend, and smoke the calumet of peace
with him at the council fire, while conversing about old times, and the
period when, as children of the same tribe, they traversed together the
hunting grounds of the Sachem's terrible nation."

"Then the hunter is an Indian?"

"No, he is a Paleface; but if his skin is white, the Great Spirit has
placed an Indian heart in his bosom."

"But why does not the Chief frankly go and join his friend, if he knows
where he is? He would be probably delighted to see him again."

At this insinuation, which he was far from anticipating, the Chief
frowned, and a cloud momentarily crossed his face; but the monk was too
little of an observer to remark this emotion: he had asked the question,
as he would have done any other, unmeaningly, and simply to show the
Chief by replying that he was an attentive listener. After a few
seconds, the Indian reassumed that apathy which the Redskins rarely put
off, and only when taken by surprise, and continued--

"Blue-fox does not go to meet his friend, because the latter is not
alone, and has with him enemies of your Chief."

"That is different, and I can understand your prudence."

"Good," the Indian added, with a sardonic smile, "wisdom speaks by the
mouth of my rather; he is certainly a Chief of prayer, and his lips
distil the purest honey."

Fray Antonio drew himself up, and his alarm was beginning to be
dissipated; he saw vaguely that the Redskin wished to ask something of
him--in short, that he wanted his help. This thought restored his
courage, and he tried to complete the effect he fancied he had produced
on his Machiavellian questioner.

"What my brother is unable to do, I can undertake," he said, in an
insinuating voice.

The Apache gave him a piercing glance.

"Wah!" he replied, "Then my father knows where to find the Chiefs
friend?"

"How should I know it?" the monk objected; "You have not told me his
name yet."

"That is true; my father is good, he will forgive me. So he does not yet
know who the Pale hunter is?"

"I know him, perhaps, but up to the present I am ignorant whom the Chief
alludes to."

"Blue-fox is rich; he has numerous horses; he can assemble round his
totem one hundred warriors, and ten times, twenty times more. If my
father is willing to serve the Sachem, he will find him grateful."

"I ask nothing better than to be agreeable to you. Chief, if it lies in
my power; but you must explain: clearly what I have to do, in order that
I may make no mistake."

"Good; the Sachem will explain everything to his father."

"In that way, nothing will be easier."

"Does my father believe so?"

"Well, I do not see what can prevent it."

"Then my father will listen. Among all the Pale hunters, whose moccasins
trample the prairie grass in all directions, there is one who is braver
and more terrible than the rest; the tigers and jaguars fly at his
approach, and the Indian warriors themselves are afraid to cope with
him. This hunter is no effeminate Yori; the blood of the Gachupinos does
not flow in his veins; he is the son of a colder land, and his ancestors
fought for a lengthened period with the Long Knives of the East."

"Good," the monk said; "from what the Chief tells me, I see that this
man is a Canadian."

"That is the name given, I think, to the nation of my friend."

"But among all the hunters I am acquainted with, there is only one who
is a Canadian."

"Wah!" said the Chief, "Only one?"

"Yes; his name is Tranquil, I think, and he is attached to the
Larch-tree hacienda."

"Wah! That is the very man. Does my father know him?"

"Not much, I confess, but still sufficiently to present myself to him."

"Very good."

"Still, I warn you, Chief, that this man, like all his fellows, leads an
extremely vagabond life, being here today and gone tomorrow; so that I
am in great doubt as to where I should seek him."

"Wah! my father need not trouble himself about that; the Sachem will
lead him to the camp of the Tiger killer."

"In that case, very good; I will undertake the rest."

"My father must carefully retain in his heart the words of Blue-fox. The
warriors are awaking; they must know nothing. When the hour arrives, the
Chief will tell my father what he wants of him."

"As you please, Chief."

The conversation broke off here. The warriors were really awaking, and
the camp, so quiet a few moments previously, had now the aspect of a
hive, when the bees prepare at sunrise to go in search of their daily
crop. At a sign from the Chief, the hachesto, or public crier, mounted a
fallen tree, and twice uttered a shrill cry. At this appeal all the
warriors, even those still lying on the ground, hastened to range
themselves behind the Chief. A deep silence then prevailed for several
minutes; all the Indians, with their arms folded on their chest, and
their faces turned to the rising sun, awaited what the Sachem was about
to do.

The latter took a calabash full of water, which the hachesto handed him,
and in which was a spray of wormwood. Then raising his voice, he
sprinkled toward the four cardinal points, saying--

"Wacondah, Wacondah! Thou unknown and omnipotent spirit, whose universe
is the temple, Master of the life of man, protect thy children!"

"Master of the life of man, protect thy children!" the Apaches repeated
in chorus, respectfully bowing.

"Creator of the great sacred Tortoise, whose skill supports the world,
keep far from us Nyang, the genius of evil! Deliver our enemies to us,
and give us their scalps. Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!"

"Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!" the warriors repeated.

The Sachem then bowed to the sun, and then towards the contents of the
calabash, saying--

"And thou, sublime star, visible representative of the omnipotent and
invincible Creator, continue to pour thy vivifying heat on the hunting
grounds of thy Red Sons, and intercede for them with the Master of life.
May this clear water I offer thee be grateful. Wacondah! Wacondah!
Protect thy children!"

"Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!" the Apaches repeated, and
followed their Chief's example by kneeling reverently. The latter then
took a medicine rod from the hachesto, and waved it several times over
his head, while shouting in a loud voice--

"Nyang, spirit of evil, rebel against the Master of life; we brave and
despise thy power, for the Wacondah protects us!"

All the congregation uttered a loud yell, and rose. When the morning
prayer had been said, and the rites performed, each man began attending
to his daily duties.

Fray Antonio had witnessed with extreme astonishment this sacred and
affecting ceremony, whose details, however, escaped his notice, for the
words uttered by the Chief had been in the dialect of his nation, and
consequently incomprehensible to the monk. Still, he experienced a
certain delight on seeing that these men, whom he regarded as
barbarians, were not entirely devoid of better feelings, and religious
faith.

The expiring campfires were rekindled, in order to prepare the morning
meal, while scouts started in every direction, to assure themselves that
the road was free, and no enemy on the watch. The monk, being now
completely reassured, and beginning to grow accustomed to his new
position, ate with good appetite the provisions offered him, and made no
objection to mount the horse the Chief indicated to him, when they
prepared to set out on the termination of the meal.

Fray Antonio was beginning to find that the savages, who had been
represented to him in such gloomy colours, were not so wicked as they
were said to be, and he was almost inclined to believe that they had
been calumniated. In truth, their hospitality had never once been in
default; on the contrary, they had apparently studied to please him.

They rode on for several hours along tracks marked by the wild beasts,
forced, through the narrowness of the paths, to go in Indian file, that
is to say, one behind the other; and although the monk perceived that
the Sachem constantly kept by his side, he did not feel at all alarmed
by it, remembering the conversation they had in the morning.

A little before midday the band halted on the bank of a small stream,
shadowed by lofty trees, where they intended to wait till the great heat
had passed over. The monk was not at all vexed at this delay, which
enabled him to rest in the cool. During the halt Blue-fox did not once
address him, and the monk made no attempt to bring on a conversation, as
he much preferred enjoying a siesta.

At about four P.M. the band mounted, and set out again; but this time,
instead of going at a walking pace, they galloped. The Indians, by the
way, only recognize these two paces; they consider trotting an
absurdity, and we confess that we are somewhat of their opinion. The
ride was long; the sun had set for more than two hours, and still the
Indians galloped. At length, at a signal from their Chief, they halted.
Blue-fox then went up to the monk, and drew him a little aside.

"We shall separate here," he said; "it would not be prudent for the
Apaches to go further: my father will continue his journey alone."

"I?" the monk said, in surprise; "You are jesting, Chief--I prefer
remaining with you."

"That cannot be," the Indian said, in a peremptory voice.

"Where the deuce would you have me go at this hour, and in this
darkness?"

"My father will look," the Chief continued, stretching out his arm to
the south-west, "does he see that reddish light scarce rising above the
horizon?"

Fray Antonio looked attentively in the direction indicated. "Yes," he
said, presently, "I do see it."

"Very good; that flame is produced by a campfire of the Palefaces."

"Oh, oh! are you sure of that?"

"Yes; but my father must listen; the Palefaces will receive my father
kindly."

"I understand; then I will tell Tranquil that his friend Blue-fox
desires to speak with him, point out where he is, and--"

"The magpie is a chattering and brainless bird, which gabbles like an
old squaw," the Chief roughly interrupted him; "my father will say
nothing."

"Oh!" the monk said, in confusion.

"My father will be careful to do what I order him, if he does not wish
his scalp to dry on the lance of a Chief."

Fray Antonio shuddered at this menace.

"I swear it, Chief," he said.

"A man does not swear," the Chief remarked, brutally; "he says yes or
no. When my father reaches the camp of the Palefaces, he will not allude
to the Apaches; but when the Pale hunters are asleep, my father will
leave the camp and come to warn Blue-fox."

"But where shall I find you?" the monk asked, piteously, beginning to
perceive that he was destined to act as the spy of the savages in one of
their diabolical machinations.

"My father need not trouble himself about that, for I shall manage to
find him."

"Very good."

"If my father is faithful, Blue-fox will give him a buffalo skin full of
gold dust; if not, he must not hope to escape the Chief; the Apaches are
crafty, the scalp of a Chief of prayer will adorn the lance of a Chief;
I have spoken."

"You have no further orders to give me?"

"No."

"Good-bye, then."

"Till we meet again," the Apache said, with a grin.

Fray Antonio made no reply, but uttered a deep sigh, and pushed on in
the direction of the camp. The nearer he drew to it, the more difficult
did it appear to him to accomplish the sinister mission with which the
Apache Chief had intrusted him; twice or thrice the idea of flight
crossed his mind, but whither could he go? And then it was probable that
the Indians placed but slight confidence in him, and carefully watched
him in the gloom.

At length the camp appeared before the monk's startled eyes, as he could
not draw back, for the hunters had doubtless perceived him already; he
decided on pushing forward, while desperately muttering--

"The Lord have mercy upon me!"




CHAPTER III.

DOWN THE PRECIPICE.


The romancer has an incontestable advantage over the historian. Not
being obliged to restrict himself to historical documents, he bases his
work chiefly on tradition, and revels in those incidents of private life
disdained by cold and severe history, which is constrained to describe
only great events, and is not permitted to descend to the frequently
trivial causes which not only prepared, but actually brought them about.

Frequently, after a long journey, the traveller, fatigued by the vast
horizons incessantly unrolled before him, and rendered giddy by the
sharp air of the elevations along which he has been riding, looks down
on the plain, and his eye rests with indescribable pleasure on those
modest points in the landscape which at the outset he despised. In the
same way the romancer halts at the familiar episodes of the great poem,
and listens to the simple stories told him by those who were actors in
the scenes merely indicated by history. Such stories complete the dry
and stern narrative of great wars, but historians dare not transcribe
them.

It is true that in these stories ignorance is nearly always perceptible,
and prejudice very frequently; but life is found in them, for if the
narrators tell inexactly what happened, they at any rate say frankly how
they felt, what they heard and saw themselves, and the errors they
sometimes involuntarily make are not falsehoods, but relative truths,
which it is the duty of the romancer to classify and put in their proper
place.

We have several times visited the narrow defile where the Border Rifles
and the Mexicans fought the action we described in a previous volume.[1]
Bending over the precipice, with our eyes fixed on the yawning abyss
beneath us, we heard the narrative of the strange incidents of that
battle of giants, and if we had not been certain of the veracity of the
narrator, we should certainly have not only doubted but completely
denied the possibility of certain facts which are, however, rigorously
true, and which we are now about to impart to the reader.

The Border Rifles saw with a shriek of horror the two men, intertwined
like serpents, roll together over the precipice; the flashes of the
fire, which was beginning to die out for want of nourishment, after
devastating the crests of the hills, threw at intervals a lurid light
over this scene, and gave it a striking aspect.

The first moment of stupor past, John Davis, mastering with difficulty
the emotion that agitated him, sought to restore courage, if not hope,
to all these men who were crushed by the terrible catastrophe. John
Davis enjoyed, and justly so, a great reputation among the Borderers.
All know the close friendship which attached the Americans to their
chief: in several serious affairs he had displayed a coolness and
intelligence which gained him the respect and admiration of these men:
hence they immediately responded to his appeal, by grouping silently
round him, for they understood intuitively that there was only one man
among them worthy of succeeding the Jaguar, and that he was the North
American.

John Davis had guessed the feelings that agitated them, but did not
allow it to be seen: his face was pale, his appearance sad: he bent a
thoughtful glance on the rude, determined men who, leaning on their
rifles, gazed at him mournfully, and seemed already tacitly to recognize
the authority with which he was, probably, about to invest himself.

Their expectations were deceived, at least, temporarily. Davis, at this
moment, had no intention of making the Borderers elect him as their
chief: the fate of his friend entirely absorbed him, and all other
considerations disappeared in the presence of the one idea.

"Caballeros," he said, in a melancholy tone, "a terrible misfortune has
struck us. Under such circumstances, we must summon up all our courage
and resignation, for women weep, but men revenge themselves. The death
of the Jaguar is not only an immense loss for ourselves, but also for
the cause we have sworn to defend, and to which he has already given
such great proof of devotion. But, before bewailing our chief, so worthy
in every respect of the sorrow which we shall feel for him, we have one
duty to accomplish--a duty which, if we neglect it, will cause us
piercing remorse at a later date."

"Speak, speak, John Davis, we are ready to do anything you order us,"
the Borderers exclaimed unanimously.

"I thank you," the American continued, "for the enthusiasm with which
you have replied to me: I cannot believe that an intellect so vast, a
heart so noble, as that of our beloved Chief can be thus destroyed. God,
I feel convinced, would not thus have broken a cause for which we have
so long been struggling with such devotion and self-denial. Heaven will
have performed a miracle in favour of our Chief, and we shall see him
reappear among us safe and sound! But whatsoever may happen, should this
last hope be denied us, at any rate, we must not abandon like cowards,
without attempting to save him, the man who twenty times braved death
for each of us. For my part, I swear by all that is most sacred in the
world, that I will not leave this spot till I have assured myself
whether the Jaguar be dead or alive."

At these words a buzz of assent ran along his hearers, and John Davis
continued, "Who knows whether our unhappy Chief is not lying crushed,
but still breathing, at the foot of this accursed abyss, and reproaching
us for our cowardly desertion of him?"

The Border Rifles declared, with the most energetic oaths, that they
would find their Chief again, dead or alive.

"Good, my friends," the American exclaimed; "if he be unhappily dead, we
will place his body in the ground and protect his remains, so dear to us
on many accounts, from the insults of wild beasts: but, I repeat to you,
one of those presentiments which never deceive, because they come from
God, tells me that he is still alive."

"May Heaven hear you, John Davis," the Borderers shouted, "and restore
us our Chief."

"I am going to descend the precipice," the American said; "I will
inspect its most secret recesses, and before sunrise we shall know what
we have to hope or fear."

This proposal of John Davis' was greeted as it deserved, by enthusiastic
shouts. When the excitement of the hearers had slightly calmed, the
American prepared to carry out his design.

"Permit me a remark," said an old wood ranger.

"Speak, Ruperto, what is it?" Davis answered.

"I have known the spot where we now are for a long time, and have often
hunted deer and antelopes here."

"Come to facts, my friend."

"You can act as you please, John Davis, on the information I am about to
give you; by turning to the right, after marching for about three miles,
you get round the hills, and what appears to us from here a precipice,
is, in fact, only a plain, very enclosed, I allow, but easy to traverse
on horseback."

"Ah, ah," John said thoughtfully, "and what do you conclude from that,
Ruperto?"

"That it would be, perhaps, better to mount and skirt the hills."

"Yes, yes, that is a good idea, and we will take advantage of it; take
twenty men with you, Ruperto, and proceed at full speed to the plain you
allude to, for we must not throw away any chance; the rest of the band
will remain here to watch the environs, while I effect the descent of
the barranca."

"You still adhere to your idea, then?"

"More than ever."

"As you please, John Davis, as you please, though you risk your bones on
such a black night as this."

"I trust in Heaven, and I hope it will protect me."

"I hope so too for your sake; but I must be off--here's luck."

"Thanks, the same to you."

Red Ruperto then went off, followed by twenty borderers, who
spontaneously offered to accompany him, and soon disappeared in the
darkness. The descent John Davis was preparing to make, was anything but
easy. The American was too experienced a wood ranger not to know, and
hence took all proper precautions. He placed in his belt next his knife
a wide and strong axe, and fastened round his waist a rope formed of
several _reatas_. Three men seized the end of the rope, which they
turned round the stem of a tree, so as to let it out without a shock,
whenever the American desired it. As a final precaution, he lit a branch
of ocote wood, which was to serve as his guide during his perilous
descent, for the sky was perfectly black, which rendered the gloom so
thick that it was impossible to see anything two paces away. His last
measures taken with the coolness that distinguishes men of his race, the
North American pressed the hands held out to him, tried once again to
restore hope to his comrades by a few hearty words, and kneeling on the
brink of the abyss, began slowly descending.

John Davis was a man of tried courage, his life had been one continued
struggle, in which he had only triumphed through his strength of will
and energy; still, when he began descending into the barranca, he felt
chilled to the heart, and could not repress a slight start of terror,
which ran over all his limbs like an electric flash. Still, he fought
against this emotion, which is nothing but that instinct of
self-preservation which duty has placed in the heart of every man, the
bravest as the most cowardly, and continued his descent.

Although he was fastened round the waist, it was no easy task to go down
this almost perpendicular wall, to which he was compelled to cling like
a reptile, clutching at every tuft of grass or shrub he came across, or
else he had been carried away by the wind, which blew furiously, and
would have crushed him like a nutshell against the sides of the abyss.

The first minutes were the most terrible to the bold adventurer; the
feet and hands must grow accustomed to the rude task imposed on them,
and they only gradually learn to find, as it were instinctively, their
resting places; and this remark, which may appear erroneous to certain
persons, who, fortunately for themselves, have never been obliged to try
the experiment, will be recognized as rigorously true by all travellers
who have been compelled to ascend or descend mountains. After a few
minutes, when the mind remains at liberty, the body assumes of its own
accord the necessary equilibrium, the feet find secure resting places,
and the hands settle unhesitatingly on the grass or roots which offer
them the indispensable degree of resistance.

John Davis had hardly gone ten yards down, ere he found himself on a
wide ledge covered with thick shrubs; hitherto the descent had been
extremely rapid. Lighting himself by the torch, the American traversed
in every direction this species of esplanade, which was about a dozen
paces in circumference; and, on carefully examining the thick shrubs
which covered it, the adventurer perceived that the tops had been broken
as if they had received a tremendous blow.

Davis looked around him. He soon concluded that this enormous gap could
only have been made by the fall of two bodies: this remark gave him good
hope, for at so slight a distance from the mouth of the abyss, the two
enemies must have been full of life; the rapidity of their fall must
have naturally been arrested by the shrubs; they might have met at
various distances similar obstacles, and consequently have undergone
several comparatively harmless falls. This hypothesis, erroneous though
it was, still might be true.

John Davis continued his descent; the slope became constantly less
abrupt, and the adventurer met within his passage, not merely shrubs,
but clumps of trees, grouped here and there. Still, as John Davis found
no further traces, a fear fell upon him, and painfully contracted his
heart; he was afraid lest the shrubs, through their elasticity, might
have hurled the two unhappy men into space, instead of letting them
follow the slope of the precipice. This thought so powerfully occupied
the American's mind, that a deep discouragement seized upon him, and for
some moments he remained without strength or will, crouching sadly on
the ground.

But Davis was a man of too stern a character, and endowed with such an
energetic will, to give way for any length of time to despair: he soon
raised his head, and looked boldly around him.

"I must go on," he said in a firm voice. But, at the moment when he
prepared to continue his descent, he suddenly gave a start of surprise,
and uttered a cry as he rushed quickly toward a black mass, to which he
had hitherto paid but slight attention.

We once again ask our readers' pardon for the improbability of the
following detail; but we repeat that we are not explaining, but
narrating, confining ourselves to telling the truth, without pretending
to discuss the greater or less possibility of facts, which, however
extraordinary they may appear, are exactly true.

The white-headed eagle, the most powerful and the best provided of the
birds, ordinarily builds its nest on the sides of barrancas, at the top
of the loftiest trees, and chiefly those denuded of branches to a
considerable height, but they are never found on rocks. This nest,
strongly built, is composed of sticks from three to five feet in length,
fastened together and covered with Spanish braid, a species of
cryptogamic plant of the lichen family, wild grass, and large patches of
turf. When the nest is completed, it ordinarily measures from six to
seven feet in diameter, and at times the accumulation of materials there
is so considerable--for the same nest is frequently occupied for a
number of years, and receives augmentations each season--that its depth
equals its diameter. As the nest of the white-headed eagle is very
heavy, it is generally placed in the centre of a fork formed by the
fortuitous meeting of several large branches.

John Davis, by the help of his torch, had just discovered a few yards
from him, and almost on a level with the spot where he was standing, an
eagle's nest, built on the top of an immense tree, whose trunk descended
for a considerable depth in the precipice.

Two human bodies were lying stretched across this nest, and the American
only required one glance to assure himself that they were those of the
Jaguar and the Mexican Captain. They were perfectly motionless, and
still fast locked in each other's arms.

It was not at all an easy undertaking to reach this nest, which was
nearly ten yards from the sides of the precipice; but John Davis did not
give in on that account; now that he had found the body of his Chief
again, he was determined to learn, at all risks, whether he were alive
or dead. But what means was he to employ to acquire this certainty? How
reach the tree, which oscillated violently with every gust? After ripe
reflection, the American recognized the fact that he could never climb
the tree alone; he therefore placed his hands funnel-wise to his month,
and gave the shout agreed on with his comrades. The latter drew up the
reata, and after half an hour of unheard of fatigue, Davis found himself
again among his comrades.

The Border Rifles crowded round him eagerly to ask the details of his
expedition, which he hastened to give them, and which were received with
shouts of joy by all. Then happened a thing which proves how great was
the affection all these men bore their Chief; without exchanging a word,
or coming to any agreement, all procured torches, and, as if obeying the
same impulse, began descending the abyss.

Through the multiplicity of torches, which spread abroad sufficient
light, and, before all, the skill of these men, accustomed since
childhood to run about the forests, and clamber up rocks and precipices
in sport, this descent was effected without any further misfortunes to
deplore, and the whole band was soon assembled at the spot whence the
American had first discovered the nest of the white-headed eagle.

All was in the same state as Davis left it: the two bodies were still
motionless, and still intertwined. Were they dead, or only in a faint?
Such was the question all persons asked themselves, and no one could
answer it. All at once a loud noise was heard, and the bottom of the
barranca was illumined by a number of torches. Ruperto's party had
arrived. Guided by the flashes they saw running along the sides of the
precipice, the latter soon discovered the nest, and the truth was
revealed to them.

The arrival of Ruperto and his comrades was a great comfort to the
Americans, for now nothing would be more easy than to reach the nest.
Four powerful adventurers, armed with axes, glided along the side of the
precipice to the foot of the tree, which they began felling with hurried
strokes, while John Davis, and the men with him, threw their reatas
round the top branches of the tree, and gradually drew it towards them.
The tree began gracefully bending, and at length lay on the side of the
barranca, without receiving any very serious shock.

John Davis immediately entered the nest, and drawing his knife from his
belt, bent over the body of the Jaguar, and put the blade to the young
man's lips. There was a moment of profound anxiety for these men; their
silence was so complete, that the beating of their hearts might be
heard. They stood with their eyes obstinately fixed on the American,
daring scarcely to breathe, and, as it were, hanging on his lips. At
length John rose, and placed the knife near a torch; the blade was
slightly tarnished.

"He lives, brothers, he lives!" he shouted.

At these news the Border Rifles broke out into such a howl of joy and
happiness, that the nightbirds, startled in their gloomy hiding places,
rose on all sides, and began flying heavily backwards and forwards,
while uttering discordant and deafening cries. But this was not all: the
next point was to get the Jaguar out of the precipice, and let him down
into the gorge. We have said that the two bodies were closely
intertwined. The adventurers felt but slender sympathy for Captain
Melendez, the primary cause of the catastrophe, which had so nearly
proved fatal to the Jaguar; hence they were not at all eager to assure
themselves whether he were dead or alive; and when the moment arrived to
find means for conveying the body of their Chief into the barranca, a
very serious and stormy discussion arose on the subject of the Mexican
officer. The majority of the adventurers were of opinion that the
easiest way of separating the two bodies was by cutting off the
Captain's arms, and throwing his body into the abyss, to serve as food
for wild beasts. Those who were more excited talked about stabbing him
at once, so as to make quite sure that he did not recover. Some even had
seized their knives and machetes to carry out this resolution, but John
Davis suddenly interfered.

"Stop!" he shouted, eagerly, "the Jaguar lives; he is still your Chief,
so leave him to treat this man as he thinks proper. Who knows whether
the life of this officer may not be more valuable to us than his death?"

The adventurers were not easily induced to spare the Captain, and
adhered for a while to their proposal of stabbing him, after cutting off
his arms. Still, owing to the influence he enjoyed with the band, Davis
succeeded in making them listen to reason, and they began arranging how
to get the bodies down.


[1] See Border Rifles, same Publishers.




CHAPTER IV.

TWO ENEMIES.


In the great work of creation, God indubitably most profoundly set the
seal of his omnipotence in the heart of forests. The ocean, despite its
immense extent, offers sailors only a despairing monotony, or sudden
upheavals, which fill the mind with a secret and invincible terror. The
mountains which stud the globe, and elevate to immense heights their
serrated peaks, covered with eternal snow, only inspire terror, and
represent to the astonished eyes of the tourist a terrific maze of chaos
and travailing nature.

But when you reach the verge of one of those splendid oases of verdure
which are called virgin forests, you undergo involuntarily an impression
of religious contemplation and gentle melancholy at the sight of these
thousand arches of foliage, intertwined like the ceiling of an old
Gothic church, in which the moss-clad trunks of centennial oaks
represent the clustered columns, rising at one spot only a few feet from
the ground, at others soaring to the skies.

Then, animated by the purer air, breathing with the full power of the
lungs, attracted and fascinated by the mobile and infinite perspectives
that open out on all sides--feeling the movement easier on the soft
carpet of soil and dust accumulated by departed ages, the traveller's
step grows freer, his glance more piercing, and his hand more firm, and
he begins sighing for the hazardous and masculine life of the desert.
The further he proceeds beneath these shifting shadows, while life is
as noisy all around as a rising tide, the more does the freshness which
circulates through the foliage purify the blood, and strengthen the
limbs; and he comprehends more and more the irresistible attractions of
the forest, and the religious love the wood rangers have for it.

Men habituated to a desert life are never willing to quit it again; for
they understand all its voices, have sounded all its mysteries, and to
them the forest is a world which they love much as the sailor does the
sea. When a glowing sun enlivens the wild and picturesque landscape,
when the glistening snow on the far-off peaks stands out like a silver
ribbon above the masses of verdure, when the birds twitter among the
leaves, the insects buzz on the grass, and the wild beasts in their
unknown lairs, add their solemn sounds to the concert;--at such a moment
all invites reverie and contemplation, and the wood rangers feel
themselves the nearer to God, because they are the further from man.

These bold explorers of the desert are picked men, and powerfully built,
kept constantly in movement, and forced each second into a contest with
the obstacles that incessantly arise before them. No danger terrifies
them, no difficulty arrests them; perils they brave, difficulties they
surmount as if in sport; for, hurled by the divine will beyond the pale
of common law, their existence is only a succession of strange incidents
and feverish adventures, which cause them to live a century in a few
moments.

The hesitation of the Border Rifles was short; for these half-savage
men, an obstacle to be overcome could only prove a stimulus for their
minds, so fertile in resources.

The two wounded men, securely fastened on cross pieces of wood by
reatas, were let down in turn to the bottom of the precipice, and laid
on the bank of a small stream, which ran noiselessly through this plain,
forming the most capricious windings. John Davis, fearing some outbreak
on the part of his angry comrades, himself undertook to let the Captain
down, in order to be certain that no accident would happen to him.

When the wounded men had been removed from the eagle's nest, which had
so miraculously saved them, the adventurers glided along the cliff with
singular address and rapidity, and the whole band was soon collected on
the bank of the stream. As is frequently the case in a mountainous
country, the bottom of the barranca was a rather wide prairie, sheltered
between two lofty hills, which enclosed it on the right and left, thus
forming a species of gorge, which, at the spot where the fight took
place, was really a gulf of great depth.

John Davis, without losing a moment, lavished on the Jaguar all the
attention his state demanded; while Ruperto, though much against the
grain, did the same for the Mexican Captain, by the American's
peremptory orders.

During the various events we have described, the whole night had slipped
away, and the sun rose at the moment the adventurers completed their
perilous descent. The country then resumed its real aspect, and what had
appeared by the flickering light of the torches a desolate and arid
desert, became a charming and smiling landscape.

The sun has enormous power over the human organisation: it not only
dispels those sombre phantoms which are produced by the darkness, but
also revives the mind and restores to the body its elasticity and
vigour, which have been neutralised by the piercing cold of night. With
day, hope and joy returned to the heart of the adventurers; a joy
rendered more lively still by the sight of the cases hurled over the
previous night by the Mexicans, and which, though crushed by their fall,
had lost none of their precious contents. Hence, the heroic courage and
devotion of the Mexicans had no other result than allowing them to die
bravely at their posts, for their sacrifice had not obtained the
anticipated result.

The prairie soon assumed a lively aspect, to which it certainly was not
accustomed; the adventurers lit fires, erected jacals, and the camp was
formed in a few minutes. For a very lengthened period Davis' efforts to
bring his friend to life remained sterile; still, the Jaguar had
received no wound; he did not seem to have a limb broken; his syncope
resulted solely from the moral effect of his horrible fall.

For all that, the American, far from giving in, redoubled his care and
attention, and at length, saw his efforts crowned with success. The
Jaguar made a weak movement, his lips parted as if he were about to
speak, he raised his hand to his brow, gave a deep sigh, and partly
opened his eyes, but closed them instantly, probably dazzled by the
brilliant sunlight.

"At length he is saved!" the American exclaimed, joyously.

The adventurers surrounded their Chief, anxiously watching his every
movement. The young man soon opened his eyes again, and, helped by
Davis, managed to sit up. A slight patch of red was visible on his
cheekbones, but the rest of his face retained an ashen and cadaverous
hue. He looked slowly round him, and the absent expression of his glance
gradually changed into a gleam of intelligence. "Drink!" he muttered in
a hollow and inarticulate voice.

John Davis uncorked his flask, bent over the wounded man, and placed it
to his lips. The latter drank eagerly for two or three minutes, and then
stopped with a sigh of relief.

"I fancied I was dead," he said.

"By Heaven!" John Davis remarked, "It was a close shave."

"Is Captain Melendez still alive?"

"Yes."

"What state is he in?"

"No worse than your own."

"All the better."

"Shall we hang him?" Ruperto remarked, still adhering to his notion.

The Jaguar started, frowned, and then shouted with greater strength than
he might be supposed to possess--

"On your life, not a hair of his head must fall; you answer for him to
me body for body."

And he added in a low voice, unintelligible by the hearers, "I swore
it--"

"'Tis a pity," Ruperto went on. "I am certain that hanging a Mexican
Captain would have produced an excellent effect through the country."

The Jaguar made a sign.

"All right, all right," the adventurer continued; "if it is not pleasant
to you, we will say no more about it. No matter, that is a funny notion
of yours."

"Enough," the young man said; "I have given my orders."

So soon as he was alone. Captain Melendez let his head fall on his
hands, and tried to re-establish the balance in his mind and arrange his
ideas, which the shock he had received had utterly disordered. Still he
gradually yielded to a species of lethargy, the natural result of his
fall, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

He slept peacefully for several hours, nothing happening to disturb his
repose; and when he awoke he found himself quite a new man; the
restorative sleep he had enjoyed had completely rested his nervous
system, his strength had returned, and it was with an indescribable
feeling of joy that he rose and walked a few steps on the prairie. With
calmness of mind courage returned, and he was ready to recommence the
contest. He noticed, too, with a certain degree of pleasure, that the
adventurers left him at perfect liberty, and did not appear to pay any
attention to him.

Ruperto returned, but this time he had put off his mocking air, and
carried some provisions in a basket. The adventurer offered them to the
Captain with rough politeness, in which, however, the desire to be
agreeable was perceptible. The Captain readily accepted the food, and
ate with an appetite that surprised himself after so serious a fall.

"Well," Ruperto remarked, "did I not tell you that you would be soon
cured? It is just the same with the Captain--he is as fresh as a
floripondio, and was never better in his life."

"Tell me, my friend," Don Juan answered, "may I be allowed to speak with
the Chief?"

"Very easily--the more so, as it seems that he has something to say to
you."

"Indeed."

"Yes, and he even ordered me to ask you if you would allow him an
interview after dinner."

"Most heartily; I am entirely at his orders; especially," the Captain
added, with a smile, "since I am his prisoner."

"That is true; well, eat quietly, and while you are doing so I will
convey your message."

Hereupon Ruperto left the Captain, who did not require the invitation to
be repeated, but vigorously attacked the provisions placed before him.
His meal was soon over, and he had been walking up and down for some
time, when he saw the Jaguar approach. The two men bowed ceremoniously,
and examined each other for some moments with the greatest attention.

Up to this moment they had hardly seen one another; their interview of
the previous evening had taken place in the darkness, and then fought
obstinately; but they had found no time to form mutual opinions as they
now did with the infallible glance of men who are accustomed to judge in
a second, persons with whom they have dealings. The Jaguar was the first
to break the silence.

"You will excuse, Caballero," he said, "the rusticity of my reception:
banished men have no other palace save the dome of the forests that
shelter them."

The Captain bowed.

"I was far from expecting," he said, "so much courtesy from--"

He stopped, not daring to utter the word that rose to his lips, through
fear of offending the other.

"From bandits, I suppose, Captain?" the Jaguar replied, with a smile.
"Oh, no denial, I know what we are called at Mexico. Yes, Caballero, at
the present day we are outlaws, border ruffians, freebooters; tomorrow,
perhaps, we shall be heroes and saviours of a people; but so the world
goes; but let us leave that. You wished to speak to me, I heard."

"Did you not also evince a desire, Caballero, to have an interview with
me?"

"I did, Captain; I have only one question to ask you, though--will you
promise me to answer it?"

"On my honour, if it be possible."

The Jaguar reflected for a moment, and then continued--

"You hate me, I suppose?"

"What makes you imagine that?"

"How do I know?" the Jaguar replied, with embarrassment; "a thousand
reasons, as, for instance, the obstinacy with which you sought to take
my life a few hours agone."

The Captain drew himself up, and his face assumed a stern expression
which it had not worn hitherto.

"I pledge you my word to be frank with you, Caballero," he said.

"I thank you beforehand."

"Between yourself and me, personally, no hatred can exist--at any rate,
not on my side; I do not know you, I only saw you yesterday for the
first time; never, to my cognizance, have you come across my path
before, hence I have no reason to hate you. But beside the man there is
the soldier; as an officer in the Mexican army--"

"Enough, Captain," the young man sharply interrupted him; "you have told
me all I desired to know; political hatreds, however terrible they may
be, are not eternal. You do your duty as I believe I do mine--that is
to say, as well as you possibly can, and to that I have no objection.
Unfortunately, instead of fighting side by side, we are in opposite
camps; fatality decrees it so; perhaps, some day these unhappy
dissensions will cease, and then, who knows whether we may not be
friends?"

"We are so already, Caballero," the Captain said, warmly, as he held out
his hand to the Jaguar.

The latter pressed it vigorously.

"Let us each follow the road traced for us," he said; "but if we defend
a different cause, let us maintain, when the contest is raging, that
esteem and friendship which two loyal enemies ought to feel, who have
measured their swords and found them of equal length."

"Agreed," said the Captain.

"One word more," the Jaguar continued. "I must respond to your frankness
by equal frankness."

"Speak."

"I presume that the question I asked surprised you?"

"I confess it."

"Well, I will tell you why I asked it."

"What good will that do?"

"I must; between us two henceforth there must be nothing hidden. In
spite of the hatred I ought to feel for you, I feel myself attracted to
you by a secret sympathy, which I cannot explain, but which urges me to
reveal to you a secret on which the happiness of my life depends."

"I do not understand you, Caballero; the language seems strange to me.
Explain yourself, in Heaven's name."

A feverish flush suddenly covered the Jaguar's face.

"Listen, Captain, if you only know me today for the first time, your
name has been ringing in my ears for many months past."

The officer fixed an inquiring glance on the young man.

"Yes, yes," the latter continued, with increasing animation, "she ever
has your name on her lips--she only speaks of you. Only a few days
back--but why recall that? Suffice it for you to know that I love her to
distraction."

"Carmela?" the Captain muttered.

"Yes," the Jaguar exclaimed, "you love her too!"

"I do," the Captain replied, simply, as he looked on the ground with an
air of embarrassment.

There was a lengthened silence between the two men. It was easy to
discover that each of them was having an internal fight; at length the
Jaguar managed to quell the storm that growled in his heart, and went
on, in a firm voice--

"Thanks for your loyal answer, Captain; in loving Carmela you take
advantage of your good right, just as I do; let this love, instead of
separating, form a stronger link between us. Carmela is worthy of the
love of an honourable man; let us each love her, and carry on an open
warfare, without treachery or trickery; all the better for the man she
may prefer. She alone must be judge between us; let her follow her
heart, for she is too pure and good to deceive herself and make a bad
choice."

"Good!" the Captain exclaimed, enthusiastically; "You are a man after my
own heart, Jaguar, and whatever may happen, I shall always think with
gladness that I have pressed your honest hand, and am worthy of being
counted among your friends. Yes, I have a deep and sincere love for
Carmela; for a smile from her rosy lips I would joyfully lay down my
life; but I swear that I will follow the noble example you give me, and
the struggle shall be as honourable on my side as on yours."

"Viva Cristo!" the young man said with frank and simple delight, "I was
sure we should end by coming to an understanding."

"To produce that," the Captain remarked, with a smile, "we only needed
the opportunity for an explanation."

"Canarios, I trust that it will not be repeated under similar
conditions, for it is a perfect miracle that we are still alive."

"I am not at all anxious to repeat the experiment."

"Nor I either, I swear to you. But the sun is rapidly declining on the
horizon: I need not tell you that you are free, and at liberty to go
wherever you please, if it is not your intention to remain any length of
time with us: I have had a horse got ready which you will permit me to
offer you."

"I gladly accept it: I do not wish to have any false pride with you, and
afoot in these regions, which are quite strange to me, I should feel
greatly embarrassed."

"That need not trouble you, for I will give you a guide to accompany
you, till you get in the right road."

"A thousand thanks."

"Where do you propose going? Of course, if my question be indiscreet, I
do not expect you to answer it."

"I have nothing to hide from you; I intend joining General Rubio as
quickly as possible, to whom I must report the accident that has
happened to the conducta de plata, and the terrible catastrophe of which
I have been the victim."

"It is the fortune of war, Captain."

"I do not reproach you; I merely say it was an unfortunate affair."

"Had it been possible to save the conducta by courage and devotion, you
would have doubtless done it, for you performed your duty worthily."

"I thank you for this praise."

"It will be easy for you to reach General Rubio's camp before sunset."

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure of it, for you are only three leagues at the most from it."

"So near as that? Had I but known it," the Captain said in a tone of
regret.

"Yes, but you were ignorant of the fact. But, nonsense, what good is it
returning to that, you will take your revenge some day or the other."

"You are right; what is done cannot be undone, so I will be off."

"Already?"

"I must."

"That is true."

The Jaguar made a signal to a borderer standing a short distance off.

"The Captain's horse," he said.

Five minutes later, this borderer, who was no other than Ruperto,
reappeared, leading two horses, one of which was a magnificent mustang,
with delicate limbs, and flashing eye. The Captain reached the saddle at
one leap, and Ruperto was already mounted. The two enemies, henceforth
friends, shook hands for the last time, and after an affectionate
parting, the Captain let his horse go.

"Mind, no tricks, Ruperto!" the Jaguar said in a peremptory voice to the
adventurer.

"All right, all right!" the latter growled in reply.

The horsemen left the prairie. The Jaguar looked after them as long as
he could see them, and then returned thoughtfully to the jacal, which
served as his tent.




CHAPTER V.

GENERAL RUBIO.


As the opportunity offers itself, let us say a few words about the
military organization of the United States of Mexico, an organization as
singular as all the rest of the machinery by means of which the strange
government of this eccentric Republic does its work.

A military uniform generally pleases the masses; a soldier's life has
something in it so independent of ordinary life, that all nations more
or less allow themselves to be carried away and seduced by the glitter
of embroidery and epaulettes, the rolling of drums, and the shrill notes
of the bugles. Young nations, especially, like to play at soldiering, to
make standards flutter, horses curvet, and mighty sabres flash.

The struggle of Mexico with Spain lasted ten years, constant, feverish,
and obstinate: it was fertile in terrible events and striking incidents.
The Mexicans, held by their oppressors in the most complete subjection,
were as simple at the beginning of the revolution as at the period of
the conquest: the majority did not know how to load a gun, and none of
them had ever had firearms in their hands. Still, excited by the ardent
desire for liberty which boiled in their hearts, their progress in
military tactics was rapid, and the Spaniards soon learned at their own
expense that these wretched guerillas, commanded by priests and curates,
who at the outset were only armed with lances and arrows, became at
length capable of responding to their platoon fire, dying bravely
without yielding an inch, and inflicting terrible defeats upon them. The
enthusiasm and hatred of the oppressors had made soldiers of all the men
capable of bearing arms.

When the independence was proclaimed and the war ended, the part played
by the army was at an end in a country which, without immediate
neighbours, had no foreign intervention to apprehend in its internal
affairs and had no invasion to fear. The army, therefore, ought to have
laid down the arms which had so valiantly achieved the liberty of the
country, and returned peaceably home. Such was its duty, and such was
expected; but this was a great mistake. The army felt itself strong and
feared; hence it wished to keep the place it had assumed, and, impose
conditions in its turn.

Having no longer enemies to combat, the Mexican army constituted itself,
or its private authority, the arbiter of the destinies of the country it
had been called out to defend: in order to secure promotion among the
officers, the army made revolutions. Then commenced that era of
pronunciamentos, in which Mexico is fatally ensnared, and which is
leading it irresistibly to that gulf in which its independence, so
dearly acquired, and even its nationality, will be finally wrecked.

From the sub-lieutenant to the general of division, each officer made a
stepping stone of a pronunciamento to gain a step--the lieutenant to
become captain; the captain, colonel; the colonel, general; and the
general, president of the Mexican Republic. There are generally three to
four presidents at once; often enough there are five, or even six; a
single president would be regarded as an extraordinary phenomenon--a
_rara avis._ We believe that since the proclamation of Independence no
single president has governed the country for six consecutive months.
The result of this state of things is, that the army has fallen into
extreme discredit; and while the profession of arms was honourable at
the period of the struggle against the Spaniards, it is exactly the
reverse now. The army is, therefore, necessarily recruited from the
lowest classes of society, that is to say, from bandits, leperos, and
even the villains condemned for robbery or assassination.

All these men, on reaching certain grades, merely change their uniform,
while retaining in the new rank where accident places them their vices
and low habits; hence young men of good family are not at all inclined
to accept an epaulette, and despise a profession regarded with so little
honour by the respectable classes of society. In a corps so badly
organised, where discipline does not exist, and military education is a
nullity, any _esprit de corps_ must be unknown, and that is the case.
And yet this army has been good, and it counts magnificent exploits on
its books; its soldiers and officers displayed great bravery in the
critical phases of the War of Independence.

But at the present day everything is dead, the feeling of duty is
despised, and honour--that powerful stimulus to the soldier--is
trampled under foot. Duelling, that necessary evil to a certain point to
make the soldier respect the cloth he wears, is forbidden under the
severest penalties; and if you horsewhip a Mexican officer, or call him
a coward or a scoundrel, the only risk you run is of being treacherously
assassinated.

It needs a lengthened apprenticeship to become a soldier and obtain the
proper spirit; it is only after long and serious study, when he has
suffered great privations, and looked death several times in the face,
that a man acquires that knowledge and coolness which enable him to
sacrifice his life without calculation, and fulfil the duties of a true
soldier.

Most of the Mexican generals would blush at their ignorance if they
found themselves face to face with the lowest non-commissioned officer
of our army; for they know absolutely nothing, and have not the least
idea of their art. With Mexican officers all is reduced to this:
changing the scarf. The colonel wears a red one, the brigadier-general's
is green, and that of the general of division white. It is for the
purpose of obtaining the last colour that all the pronunciamentos are
made.

Badly clothed, badly fed, and badly paid, the Mexican troops are a
scourge to the civilian population, whom they shamelessly and pitilessly
squeeze upon the slightest pretext. From what we have written, it is
easy to see how an armed corps thus disorganised must be dangerous to
everybody, for it knows no restraint, and lives beyond the law which it
despises. The present state of Mexico proves the incontestable truth of
our assertions.

We have not wished to enter into personalities, but treated the question
generally, seeking to show what it is really. There are, we allow, some
officers of merit--a few truly honourable men--in this unhappy army; but
they are pearls lost in the mud, and the number is so limited, that if
we quoted all their names, we should not reach a hundred. This is the
more sad, because the further Mexico goes, the nearer it approaches the
catastrophe; and, ere long, the evil that undermines this fair country
will be incurable, and it will sink for ever--not under the blows of
strangers, but assassinated by its own children.

General Don José Maria Rubio was in no way distinguished from the herd
of Mexican officers, but he possessed over those who surrounded him the
immense advantage of being a soldier of the war of Independence, and in
him experience amply compensated for his lack of education. His history
was simple, and may be told in a few words.

Son of an evangelista or public writer at Tampico, he had with great
difficulty learned a little reading and writing under the auspices of
his father; this pretence at education, slight as it was, was destined
to be of great utility to him at a later date. The great uprising, of
which the celebrated Fray Hidalgo was the promoter, and which
inaugurated the revolution, found young José Maria wandering about the
neighbourhood of Tampico, where he gained a livelihood by the most
heterogeneous trades. The young man--a little bit of a muleteer, a
little bit of a fisherman, and a good deal of a smuggler--intoxicated
by the smell of gunpowder, and fascinated by the omnipotent influence
Hidalgo exercised over all those who approached him, threw his gun over
his shoulder, mounted the first horse he came across, and gaily followed
the revolutionary band. From that moment his life was only one long
succession of combats.

He became in a short time, thanks to his courage, energy, and presence
of mind, one of the guerillas most feared by the Spaniards; always the
first in attack, the last to retreat. Chief of a cuadrilla composed of
picked men, to whom the most daring and wild expeditions appeared but
child's play, and favoured by constant good luck, for fortune ever loves
the rash, José Maria soon became a terror to the Spaniards, and his mere
name inspired them with indescribable terror. After serving in turn
under all the heroes of the Mexican war of Independence, and fighting
bravely by their side, peace found him a brigadier-general.

General Rubio was not ambitious; he was a brave and honest soldier, who
loved his profession passionately, and who needed to render him happy
the roll of the drum, the lustre of arms, and military life in its
fullest extent. When he fought, the idea never occurred to him that the
war would end some day or other; and hence he was quite surprised and
perfectly demoralised when peace was made and independence proclaimed.

The worthy General looked round him. Everybody was preparing to retire
to the bosom of his family, and enjoy a repose do dearly purchased. Don
José Maria might perhaps have desired nothing better than to follow the
example; but his family was the army, and he had, or at least was
acquainted with, no other. During the ten years' fighting which had just
elapsed, the General had completely lost out of sight all the relations
he possessed. His father, whose death he learned accidentally, was the
sole person whose influence might have brought him to abandon a
military career, but the paternal hearth was cold. Nothing attracted him
to the province, and he therefore remained under the banner, though not
through ambition. We repeat that the worthy soldier did himself justice,
and recognised the fact that he had attained a position far superior to
any he might ever have dared to desire; but he could not live alone or
abandon old friends with whom he had so long suffered, combated--in a
word, shared good and evil fortune.

The different Chiefs, who immediately began coveting power, and
succeeded each other in the presidential chair, far from fearing the
general, whose simple and honest character was known to them, on the
contrary sought his friendship, and lavished on him proofs of the most
frank and real protection; for they felt convinced that he would never
abuse their confidence in him.

At the period when the Texans began agitating and claiming their
independence, the Mexican Government, deceived at the outset by the
agents appointed to watch that state, sent insufficient forces to
re-establish order, and crush the insurgents: but the movement soon
assumed such a distinctly revolutionary character, that the President
found it urgent to make an effective demonstration. Unfortunately it was
too late; the dissatisfaction had spread: it was no longer a question of
suppressing a revolt, but stifling a revolution, which is not at all the
same thing.

The President of the Mexican Republic then learned at his own cost that,
in every human question, there is something more powerful than the brute
force of bayonets: it is the idea whose time has come and hour struck.
The troops sent to Texas were beaten and driven back on all sides; in
short, they were compelled to treat with the insurgents, and withdraw
ignominiously.

The government could not, and would not, accept such a dishonouring
check inflicted by badly-armed and undisciplined bands, and they
resolved to make a last and decisive effort. Numerous troops were massed
on the Texan frontiers; and to terrify the insurgents, and finish with
them at one blow, a grand military demonstration was made.

But the war then changed its character: the Texans, nearly all North
Americans, skilful hunters, indefatigable marchers, and marksmen of
proverbial reputation, broke up into small bands, and instead of
offering the Mexican troops a front, which would have enabled them to
outmanoeuvre and crush them, they began a hedge war, full of tricks and
ambushes, after the manner of the Vendeans, the first result of which
was to enormously fatigue the soldiers by compelling them to make
continual marches and counter-marches, and produced among them
discouragement and demoralization, by compelling to fight against a
shifting foe, whom they knew to be everywhere, and yet could never
seize.

The position became more and more critical. These outlaws, branded with
the epithets of bandits, border ruffians, and freebooters, whom they
affected to confound with the villains who congregate in these
countries, and whom they obstinately treated as such by granting them no
quarter, and shooting them without trial wherever they were captured:
these men, now disciplined, hardened, and strong in the moral support of
their fellow citizens, who applauded their successes, and put up vows
for them, had boldly raised the flag of Texan independence, and after
several engagements, in which they decimated the troops sent against
them, compelled the latter to recognize them as the avowed defenders of
an honourable cause.

Among the numerous generals of the republic, the president at length
chose the only man capable of repairing the successive disasters
undergone by the government. General Don José Maria Rubio was invested
with the supreme command of the troops detached to act against Texas.
This choice was most lucky; the general, an honest man and brave
soldier, was incapable of selling himself, however great the price
offered. Hence there was no reason to fear treachery from him, from
which others, less susceptible or more avaricious than he was, had not
recoiled. As an old soldier of the war of Independence, and ex-guerilla,
Don José Maria was thoroughly conversant with all the tricks, and was
the very man to fight with advantage against the foes that awaited him.

Unfortunately, this selection was made very late. Still, the General,
while perfectly comprehending the immense responsibility he assumed,
accepted without a murmur the rude task imposed on him. Certain men have
the incontestable privilege of being born for the positions they occupy;
their intellect seems to grow with the situation; made for great things,
they ever remain on a level with events, whatever the nature of the
latter may be. The General possessed this precious faculty; at the first
glance he judged his enemies with that coolness which renders old
soldiers so strong, and his plan was formed in a few minutes.

He immediately changed the tactics employed by his predecessors, and
adopted a system diametrically opposite. Instead of fatiguing his troops
by purposeless marches which had no result, he seized on the strongest
positions, scattered his troops through cantonments, where they
supported each other, and in case of need could all he assembled under
his orders within four-and-twenty hours.

When these precautions were taken, still keeping his forces in hand, he
prudently remained on the defensive, and instead of marching forward,
watched with indefatigable patience for the opportunity to fall on the
enemy suddenly and crush him.

The Texan Chiefs soon comprehended all the danger of these new and
skilful tactics. In fact, they had changed parts; instead of being
attacked, the insurgents were obliged to become the assailants, which
made them lose all the advantages of their position, by compelling them
to concentrate their troops, and make a demonstration of strength,
contrary to their usual habits of fighting.

To the young officers who murmured at the plan adopted by the general,
and made sarcastic remarks on his prudence, the latter replied with a
smile that there was no hurry, that war was a game of skill in which the
cleverest man won; and that he must not, for the sake of little lustre,
let himself be led away to compromise the success of an enterprise
which, with a little patience, must lead to certain success. The result
proved that the general reasoned correctly, and that his plan was good.

The insurgents, reduced to inactivity by the system the new Chief of the
Mexican army adopted, tried several times to attack his entrenchments,
and draw him out; but the general contented himself with killing as many
of them as he could, and would not move a step forward.

The conducta de plata intrusted to Captain Melendez had an immense
importance in the eyes of the needy government at the capital; the
dollars must at all hazards reach Mexico in safety; the more so, because
for some time past the arrival of coin from Texas had become desperately
irregular, and threatened to leave off altogether ere long.

General Rubio found himself reluctantly compelled to modify temporarily
the line he had traced; he did not doubt that the insurgents, advised of
the passage of the conducta, would make the greatest efforts to
intercept and seize it, for they also suffered from a great want of
money, and the millions sent to Mexico were of the utmost importance to
them. Hence their plans must be foiled, and the conducta saved. For this
purpose the General collected a large body of troops, placed himself at
their head, and advanced by forced marches to the entrance of the
defile, where, from the reports of his spies, he knew that the
insurgents were ambuscaded; then, as we have seen, he sent off a sure
man (or whom he supposed to be) to Captain Melendez, to warn him of his
approach, and put him on his guard.

We have narrated in the "Border Rifles" what took place, and how truly
worthy the General's express was of the confidence placed in him.

The Mexican camp stood in the centre of a beautiful plain, facing the
defile through which the conducta must pass, according to the General's
instructions. It was evening, and the sun had set for about an hour. Don
José Maria, rendered anxious by the Captain's delay, and beginning to
suspect a mishap, had sent off scouts in different directions to bring
him news, and a prey to an agitation, which each moment that passed
augmented, was walking anxiously about his tent, cursing and swearing in
a low voice, frowning and stopping every now and then to listen to those
thousand noises which arise at night without apparent cause, and pass as
if borne on the wings of the Djinns.

General Don José Maria Rubio was still a young man; he was about
forty-two, though he seemed older, through the fatigues of a military
life, which had left rude marks on his martial and open countenance; he
was tall and well-built; his muscular limbs, his wide and projecting
chest denoted great vigour; and though his close-shaven hair was
beginning to turn grey, his black eye had a brilliancy full of youth and
intelligence.

Contrary to the habits of Mexican general officers, who, under all
circumstances, make a great display of embroidery, and are gilded and
plumed like charlatans, his uniform had a simplicity and severity which
added to his military appearance, and gave him that aspect of reflection
and majesty which is so befitting the chief of an army.

A sabre and a pair of holster pistols were carelessly thrown across a
map on the table in the centre of the room, over which the General
frequently bent in his agitated walk. The gallop of a horse, at first
distant, but which rapidly drew nearer, was heard. The sentinel outside
the tent challenged, "Who goes there?"

The horseman stopped, leapt to the ground, and a moment later the
curtain of the tent was thrust aside, and a man appeared.

It was Captain Don Juan Melendez.

"Here you are, at last!" the General exclaimed, as his countenance grew
brighter.

But on noticing the impression of sorrow spread over the officer's
features, the General, who had walked two steps toward him, stopped, and
his face again assumed an anxious look.

"Oh, oh!" he said, "What can have happened? Captain, has any mishap
occurred to the conducta?"

The officer bowed his head.

"What is the meaning of this, Caballero?" the General continued,
angrily; "Have you suddenly grown dumb?"

The Captain made an effort. "No, General," he answered.

"The conducta! Where is the conducta?" he went on, violently.

"Captured!" Don Juan replied, in a hollow voice.

"Viva Dios!" the General shouted, as he gave him a terrible glance, and
stamped his foot: "The conducta captured, and yourself alive to bring me
the news?"

"I could not get myself killed."

"I really believe, Heaven pardon me!" the General said, ironically,
"that you have not even received a scratch."

"It is true."

The General walked up and down the tent in the utmost agitation. "And
your soldiers, Caballero," he went on, a minute later, stopping before
the officer, "I suppose they fled at the first shot?"

"My soldiers are dead, General."

"What do you say?"

"I say, General, that my soldiers fell to the last man defending the
trust confided to their honour."

"Hum, hum!" the General remarked, "Are they all dead?"

"Yes, General, all lie in a bloody grave; I am the only survivor of
fifty brave and devoted men."

There was a second silence. The General knew the Captain too well to
doubt his courage and honour. He began to suspect a mystery.

"But I sent you a guide," he at length said.

"Yes, General, and it was that guide who led us into the trap laid by
the insurgents."

"A thousand demons! If the scoundrel----"

"He is dead," the Captain interrupted him, "I killed him."

"Good. But there is something about the affair I cannot understand."

"General," the young man exclaimed, with some animation, "though the
conducta is lost, the fight was glorious for the Mexican name. Our
honour has not suffered; we were crushed by numbers."

"Come, Captain, you are one of those men above suspicion, whom not the
slightest stain can affect. If necessary, I would give bail for your
loyalty and bravery before the world. Report to me frankly, and without
any beating round the bush, all that has happened, and I will believe
you; give me the fullest details about this action, in order that I may
know whether I have to pity or punish you."

"Listen, then, General. But I swear to you that if after my report the
slightest doubt remains in your heart as to my honour and the devotion
of my soldiers, I will blow out my brains in your presence."

"Speak first, Caballero, we will see afterwards what your best course
should be."

The Captain bowed, and began an exact report of what had taken place.




CHAPTER VI.

THE HUNTER'S COUNCIL.


We will now return to Tranquil, whom we have too long neglected. The
Canadian had left his friends two musket shots from the Texan
encampment, intending, were it required, to call in Carmela: but that
was not necessary; the young man, though unwillingly, had consented to
all the Canadian asked of him, with which the latter was delighted, for
without knowing exactly why, he would have been sorry to facilitate an
interview between the young people.

Immediately after his conversation with the leader of the Freebooters,
the hunter rose, and, in spite of the Jaguar's efforts to retain him,
left the camp. He then remounted his horse, and, only half satisfied by
his conversation with the Jaguar, returned thoughtfully to the spot
where his friends were camping. The latter were awaiting him anxiously,
and Carmela especially was suffering from a terrible uneasiness.

It was a strange fact, which women alone can explain, that the maiden,
perhaps unconsciously, entertained toward the Jaguar and Captain
Melendez feelings which she was afraid to analyze, but which led her to
take an equal interest in the fate of those two men, and fear a
collision between them, whatever the result might have proved. But for
all that, it is certain that if she had been obliged to explain the
reason which impelled her to act thus, she would have been unable to
answer; and had anybody told her that she loved one or the other, she
would have energetically protested; under the honest conviction that she
spoke the truth.

Still, she felt herself, perhaps from different motives, irresistibly
attracted toward them. She started at their approach; the sound of their
voices caused her an internal thrill of happiness; if she remained long
without news of them, she grew sad, pensive, and anxious; their presence
restored her all her gaiety and birdlike freedom.

Was it friendship, or was it love? Who can answer?

Tranquil found his friends comfortably located in a narrow clearing,
near a fire, over which their next meal was cooking. Carmela, a little
apart, questioned with an impatient glance the path by which she knew
the hunter must arrive. So soon as she perceived him, she uttered a
suppressed cry of delight, and made a movement to run and meet him; but
she checked herself with a flush, let her head droop, and concealed
herself timidly behind a clump of floripondios.

Tranquil peacefully dismounted, took the bridle off his horse, which he
sent with a friendly slap on the croup to join its comrades, and then
sat down by the side of Loyal Heart.

"Ouf!" he said, "Here I am, back again, and not without difficulty."

"Did you run any dangers?" Loyal Heart asked, eagerly.

"Not at all; on the contrary, the Jaguar received me, as he was bound to
do, that is, as a friend; and I have only to complain of his courtesy;
besides, we have known each other too long for it to be otherwise."

Carmela had softly come up to the hunter; she suddenly bent her graceful
head down to him, and offered him her forehead to kiss.

"Good day, father," she said, demurely, "you have already returned?"

"Already!" Tranquil answered, as he kissed her and laughed, "Hang it,
girl, it seems as if my absence did not appear to you long."

"Pardon me, father, I did not mean that," she said, in great confusion.

"What did you mean, then, my child?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Yes you did, you little rogue! But you cannot deceive me, with all your
tricks; I am too old a fox to be taken in by a girl."

"You are unkind, father," she answered, with a pout, "you always give a
false meaning to what I say."

"Only think of that, señorita! Well, do not be in a passion, I have
brought you good news."

"Do you mean it?" she said, clasping her hands joyfully.

"Would you doubt my word?"

"Oh, no, father."

"Very good, so now sit down by my side and listen."

"Speak, speak, father," she exclaimed eagerly, as she took the seat
allotted her.

"You seem to take great interest in Captain Melendez, my child?"

"I, father!" she exclaimed with a start of surprise.

"Hang it! I fancy a young lady must feel a lively interest in a person,
to take such a step for his sake as you have done."

The maiden became serious.

"Father," she said a moment later with that little, resolute tone spoilt
children know so well how to assume; "I could not tell you why I acted
as I did; I swear that it was against my will, I was mad; the thought
that the Captain and the Jaguar were about to engage in a mortal combat,
made me chill at heart; and yet I assure you, now that I am cool, I
question myself in vain to discover the reason which urged me to
intercede with you to prevent that combat."

The hunter shook his head.

"All that is not clear, Niña," he replied; "I do not at all understand
your arguments. Hang it! I am only a poor woodranger, possessing no more
learning than I have drawn from the great scenes of nature I constantly
have before my eyes, and a woman's heart is to me a closed book, in
which I could not decipher a line. Still, girl, believe me, take care,
and do not play imprudently with weapons whose strength and mechanism
you are ignorant of; though the antelope be so light and active when it
is leaping from rock to rock on the verge of precipices, the moment
arrives when it grows giddy, its head turns, and it rolls into the
abyss--I have often seen similar catastrophes in the forests. Take care,
my girl, take care, and believe in the old hunter's experience."

Carmela pensively leant her blushing brow on the Canadian's shoulder,
and lifted to him her large blue eyes full of tears.

"I am suffering, father," she murmured sadly.

"Good Heavens! My child, you are suffering, and did not tell me--are you
ill?" he exclaimed anxiously; "How imprudent it was of you to be out in
the desert by night."

"You are mistaken, father," she replied with a faint smile; "I am not
ill, it is not that."

"What is it then?"

"I do not know, but my heart is contracted, my bosom is oppressed. Oh, I
am very unhappy!"

And hiding her head in her hands, she burst into tears. Tranquil looked
at her for a moment with an astonishment mingled with terror.

"You, unhappy!" he at length exclaimed as he smote his head
passionately. "Oh, whatever has been done to her, that she should weep
thus!"

There was a silence of some minutes' duration, when the conversation
seemed to take a confidential turn. Loyal Heart and Lanzi rose quietly,
and soon disappeared in the chaparral. Tranquil and the maiden were
hence alone. The hunter was suffering from one of those cold fits of
passion which are so terrible because so concentrated; adoring the girl,
he fancied in his simple ignorance that it was he who, without
suspecting it, through the coarseness and frivolity of his manner,
rendered her unhappy, and he accused himself in his heart for not having
secured her that calm and pleasant life he had dreamed for her.

"Forgive me, my child," he said to her with emotion; "forgive me for
being the involuntary cause of your suffering. You must not be angry
with me, for really it is no fault of mine, I have always lived alone in
the desert, and never learned how to treat natures so frail as those of
women; but henceforth I will watch myself. You will have no reason to
reproach me again. I promise you I will do all you wish, my darling
child--well, does that satisfy you?"

By a sudden reaction, the maiden wiped away her tears, and bursting into
a joyous laugh, threw her arms round the hunter's neck, and kissed him
repeatedly.

"It is you who should pardon me, father," she said in her wheedling
voice, "for I seem to take pleasure in tormenting you, who are so kind
to me; I did not know what I was saying just now; I am not unhappy, I do
not suffer, I am quite happy, and love you dearly, my good father; I
only love you."

Tranquil looked at her in alarm; he could not understand these sudden
changes of humour, whose cause escaped him.

"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands in terror; "My daughter
is mad!"

At this exclamation, the laughing girl's gaiety was augmented. The
silvery sound of her laugh would have made a nightingale die of envy.

"I am not mad, father," she said, "I was so just now when I spoke to you
in the way I did, but now the crisis has past; forgive me, and think no
more about it."

"Hum!" the hunter muttered, as he raised his eyes to Heaven in great
embarrassment; "I desire nothing more, Niña; but I am no further on than
I was before, and on my word I understand nothing of what is passing
through your mind."

"What matter, so long as I love you, father? All girls are so, and no
importance must be attached to their caprices."

"Good, good, it must be so since you say it, little one. But for all
that, I suffered terribly, your words rent my heart."

Carmela lovingly kissed him.

"And the Jaguar?" she asked.

"All is arranged; the Captain has nothing to fear from him."

"Oh, the Jaguar has a noble heart; if he has pledged his word, he may be
trusted."

"He has given it to me."

"Thanks, father. Well, now that all is arranged according to our
wishes--"

"Your wishes?" the hunter interrupted.

"Mine or yours, father--is that not the same thing?"

"That is true, I was wrong--go on."

"Well, I say, call your friends, who are walking about close by, I
suppose, and let me eat, for I am dying of hunger."

"Are you?" he said eagerly.

"Indeed, I am; but I was ashamed to tell you."

"In that case you will not have long to wait."

The Canadian whistled; and the two men, who probably only awaited this
signal, made their appearance at once. The venison was removed from the
fire, laid on a leaf, and all seated themselves comfortably.

"Hilloh!" Tranquil said all at once, "Why, where is Quoniam?"

"He left us shortly after your departure," Loyal Heart made answer "to
go to the Larch-tree hacienda, as he told us."

"All right, I did not think of that; I am not anxious about my old
comrade, for he will manage to find us again."

Each then began eating with good appetite, and troubled themselves no
further about the Negro's absence. It is a noteworthy fact, that men
whom the life they lead compels to a continual employment of their
physical faculties, whatever may be the circumstances in which they are,
or the dangers that surround them--always eat with a good appetite, and
sleep soundly, so indispensable for them is the satisfaction of these
two material wants, in order that they may successfully resist the
incessant incidents of their existence, which is so varied, and full of
accidents of every description.

During the hunter's meal, the sun had set, and night invaded the forest.
Carmela, exhausted by the various events of this day, retired almost
immediately to a light jacal of leaves which Loyal Heart had built for
her. The maiden needed to restore order in her ideas, and take a few
hours' rest, the privation from which had over-excited her nervous
system, and caused the crisis which had fallen on her a few hours
previously.

When they were alone, the hunters laid in a stock of dead wood, which
would keep the fire in all night then, after throwing on some handfuls
of dry branches, they sat down in Indian fashion, that is to say, with
their back to the flame, so that their eyes might not be dazzled by the
light, and they could distinguish in the gloom the arrival of any
unwelcome guest, man or wild beast. When this precaution had been taken,
and the rifles laid within hand reach, they lit their pipes and smoked
silently.

It is specially at night, when the sounds of day die out to make room
for the mysterious rumours of the darkness, that the desert assumes a
grand and imposing appearance, which affects the mind, and leads it into
those gentle and melancholy reveries which are so full of charm. The
purer night air refreshed by the breeze which passes through the
branches and gently agitates them; the murmuring of the water among the
lilies; the confused buzz of myriads of invisible insects; the silence
of the desert interrupted by the melodious and animated sounds; and that
busy hum of the great flood of life which comes from God and passes away
incessantly to be constantly renewed--all these things plunge the
strong-hearted man involuntarily into a religious contemplation, which
those to whom the grand scenes of nature are unknown, cannot imagine.

The night was cold and clear; a profusion of light flashed from the
millions of stars that studded the dark olive sky, and the moon poured
on the earth her silvery rays which imparted a fantastic appearance to
objects.--The atmosphere was so pure and transparent that the eye could
distinguish, as in bright day, the surrounding landscape. Several hours
passed thus, and one of the three men, seduced as they were by the
splendour of the night, thought of taking that rest which, however, was
so necessary after the fatigues of the day.

"Who will keep watch tonight?" Lanzi at length asked, as he passed the
stem of his pipe through his belt; "We are surrounded by people amongst
whom it is wise to take precautions."

"That is true," said Loyal Heart; "do you sleep, and I will watch for
all."

"One moment," the Canadian said; "if sleep does not too greatly
overpower you. Lanzi, we will profit by Carmela's absence to hold a
council. The situation in which we are is intolerable for a girl, and we
must make up our minds to some course at once. Unluckily, I know not
what to do, and your ideas will hardly suffice, I fear, to get me out of
my embarrassment."

"I am at your orders, Tranquil," Lanzi answered; "let us hold a council,
and I will make up for it by sleeping faster."

"Speak, my friend," said Loyal Heart.

The hunter reflected for a moment, and then continued--

"Life is rough in the desert for delicate natures: we men, accustomed
to fatigue, and hardened to privations, not only support it without
thinking of it, but even find delight in it."

"That is true," Loyal Heart observed; "but the dangers that men such as
we can bear, it would be unjust and cruel to inflict on a woman,--a
maiden who has hardly emerged from childhood, and whose life has
hitherto passed exempt from care, privations, or fatigue of any
description."

"Yes," Lanzi supported him.

"That is the very point," Tranquil continued; "though it will cost me a
pang to part with her, Carmela can no longer remain with us."

"It would kill her," said Loyal Heart.

"It would not take long, poor little darling," Lanzi pouted.

"Yes: but to whom can I trust her now that the venta is destroyed?"

"It is a difficult point," Lanzi observed.

"Stay," said Loyal Heart, "are you not tigrero to the Larch-tree
hacienda?"

"I am."

"There you have it," the Half-breed exclaimed. "That is a good idea. It
would not have occurred to me."

"What idea?" the Canadian asked.

"The master of the hacienda," Loyal Heart continued, "will not refuse to
receive Carmela in his house."

The hunter shook his head in denial. "No, no," he said, "if I once asked
the favour of him, I feel certain he would consent; but it cannot be."

"Why?"

"Because the owner of the Larch-tree is not the man we need to protect a
girl."

"Hum!" Loyal Heart said, "Our situation is growing more complicated, for
I know nobody else who would take charge of her."

"Nor I either, and that is what vexes me. Listen!" Loyal Heart suddenly
exclaimed, "I do not know. Heaven pardon me, where my head was that I
did not think of it at once. Do not be alarmed: I know somebody."

"Speak, speak."

"Come," the half-breed said aside, "this Loyal Heart is really a capital
fellow, for he is full of good ideas."

"For reasons too long to tell you at this moment, but which I will
confide to you some day," the young man continued, "I am not alone in
the desert, for my mother and an old servant of my family live about
three hundred miles from where we now are with a tribe of Comanches,
whose Chief adopted me a few years back. My mother is kind, she loves me
madly, and will be delighted to treat your charming child as a daughter.
She will watch over her, and give her those maternal attentions which
only a woman can offer, especially when that woman is really a mother,
and constantly trembles for the safety of a son to whom she has
sacrificed everything. Every month, on the same day, I abandon the
chase, mount my mustang, and, traversing the desert with the speed of an
arrow, I go and see my mother, with whom I remain for some time among
the tribe. This is about the period when I am wont to proceed to the
village; so, will you let me guide you there? Coming with me, the
Indians will receive you kindly, and my mother will thank you for
confiding your daughter to her."

"Loyal Heart," the Canadian answered, with emotion, "your offer is that
of an honest, upright man. I accept it as frankly as you make it; by the
side of your mother my daughter will be happy, and she will have nothing
to fear. Thanks."

"Loyal Heart," the half-breed said, eagerly, "I know not who gave you
the name you bear; but, canarios, he was well acquainted with you, I
declare."

The two men smiled at Lanzi's outbreak.

"Now, that is settled," he continued, "you want me no longer, I suppose?
If so, good night; my eyelids prick as if they were full of thorns."

He wrapped himself carefully in his zarapé, stretched himself on the
ground, and a minute later was fast asleep. It is probable that the
worthy man wished to make up for lost time, for he saw plainly that he
had been of no use in the council.

"When do we start?" the Canadian asked.

"The road is a long one," Loyal Heart answered. "We have more than three
hundred miles to ride; Carmela is exhausted by the fatigue she has
endured for some time past, and perhaps we should do well to grant her a
day or two of rest to regain the requisite strength to endure the new
fatigues that await her during the long journey we are about to
undertake."

"Yes, you are right; this journey, which would be as nothing to us, is
enormous for a girl; let us remain here a couple of days--the camp is
good, and the spot well selected. There is nothing to hurry us; it is
better to act prudently, in order that we may not have at a later date
to regret precipitation, which may prove fatal to her whom we desire so
greatly to protect."

"During the time we spend here our horses will regain their fire and
vigour, and we can profit by the rest to get some provisions together."

"Well said, brother; that is settled; in two days we will set out, and I
hope that Heaven will be so merciful as to permit us to reach our
journey's end safe and sound."

"Heaven will not turn against us, brother, you may be sure."

"I am well aware of that," the Canadian answered, with that simple faith
which characterised him; "hence you see me quite happy. You cannot
imagine how anxious I feel, and what an immense service you have just
rendered me."

"Do not speak about that, for are we not sworn friends?"

"No matter, I must thank you once more, my heart is so full that it must
overflow; but now that we understand each other thoroughly, go and
sleep, my friend; night is drawing on apace, and you must need rest."

"On the contrary, you must lie down, my friend, for do you not remember
I said I would keep watch?"

"No, no."

"But you must be tired to death, my friend."

"I? Nonsense; I have a body of iron and nerves of steel; weariness has
no effect on me."

"Still, my friend, human strength, however great it may be, has its
limits, beyond which it cannot go."

"That is possible, my friend. I will not discuss that question with you,
but merely limit myself to saying that joy has robbed me of sleep. I am
as wide awake as an opossum, and in vain should I try to close my eyes.
No, I require to reflect a little on all this, and I propose doing so,
while you, who are naturally calmer, will sleep."

"As you insist on it, I will give way."

"Very good; you are becoming reasonable," Tranquil said, with a smile.
"Good night, brother."

"Good night!" Loyal Heart answered.

The young man, in the face of the resolve so clearly made by the
Canadian, thought it useless longer to resist, the more so, as he was
beginning to feel great inclination for sleep. He, therefore, lay down,
and was soon sound asleep. Tranquil had spoken the truth; he required to
isolate himself for some hours, in order to go over the events which
during the last few days had fallen upon him so unexpectedly, and broken
up that placidity of life to which he had grown gently accustomed for
some years past.

The hours passed away one after the other, but the hunter, plunged in
his reflections, felt no desire for sleep. The stars were beginning to
go out, the horizon was crossed by pale bands, the breeze grew sharper
and colder; all foreboded, in fact, the approach of dawn, when suddenly
a slight noise, resembling that produced by the fracture of a withered
branch, smote on the hunter's practised ear, and caused him to start.
The Canadian, without stirring, raised his head and listened, while
softly placing his hand on the rifle that lay by his side.




CHAPTER VII.

AN OLD FRIEND.


Tranquil was too old and too crafty a wood ranger to let himself be
surprised. With his eyes obstinately fixed on the spot whence the sound
that had aroused him came, he tried to pierce the darkness, and
distinguish any movement in the chaparral which would permit him to
form probable conjectures as to the visitors who were arriving.

For a long period the noise he had heard was not repeated, and the
desert had fallen back into silence. But the Canadian did not deceive
himself. Up to all Indian tricks, and knowing the unbounded patience of
the Redskins, he continued to keep on his guard; still, as he suspected
that in the darkness searching glances were fixed on him and spying his
slightest movements, Tranquil yawned twice or thrice, as if overcome by
sleep, drew back the hand he had laid on his rifle barrel, and
pretending to be unable to resist sleep any longer, he let his head sink
on his chest with a natural movement.

Nothing stirred. An hour elapsed ere the slightest rumour disturbed the
silence of the forest. Still, Tranquil felt confident that he had not
deceived himself. The sky grew gradually brighter, the last star had
disappeared, the horizon was assuming those fiery red tints which
immediately precede the appearance of the sun: the Canadian, weary of
this long watching, and not knowing to what he should attribute this
inaction on the part of the Redskins, resolved at last to obtain the
solution of the enigma. He therefore started suddenly to his feet and
took up his rifle.

At the moment he prepared to go on the discovery, a noise of footsteps
near him, mingled with the rustling of leaves, and the breaking of dry
branches, smote his ear.

"Ah, ah!" the Canadian muttered, "It seems they have made up their mind
at last; let us see who these troublesome neighbours are."

At the same instant, a clear feminine voice rose harmoniously and
sonorously in the silence. Tranquil stopped with a start of surprise.
This voice was singing an Indian melody, of which this was the first
verse--

"I confide my heart to thee in the name of the Omnipotent.
I am unhappy, and no one takes pity on me;
Still God is great in my eyes."

"Oh!" the hunter muttered, with a nervous quivering, "I know that song,
it is that of the betrothed of the Snake-Pawnees. How is it that these
words strike my ear so far from their hunting grounds? Can a detachment
of Pawnees be wandering in the neighbourhood? Oh, no! That is
impossible. I will see who this singer is who has awaked with the sun."

Without further hesitation, the hunter walked hurriedly toward the
thicket, from the centre of which the melody had been audible. But at
the moment he was about to enter it, the shrubs were quickly parted, and
two Redskins entered the clearing, to the amazement of the Canadian.

On coming within ten paces of the hunter the Indians stopped, and
stretched their arms out in front of them, with fingers parted in sign
of peace; then, crossing their arms on their chest, they waited. At this
manifestation of the peaceful sentiments of the newcomers, the Canadian
rested the butt of his rifle on the ground, and examined the Indians
with rapid glance.

The first was a man of lofty stature, with intelligent features and open
countenance; as far as it was possible to judge the age of an Indian,
this man seemed to have passed the middle stage of life. He was dressed
in his full warpaint, and the condor plume, fastened above his right
ear, indicated that he held the rank of a Sachem in his tribe.

The other Redskin was not a man, but a woman, twenty years of age at the
most; she was slim, active, and elegant, and her dress was decorated in
accordance with the rules of Indian coquetry: still, her worn features,
on which only the fugitive traces of a prematurely vanished beauty were
visible, shewed that, like all Indian squaws, she had been pitilessly
compelled to do all those rude household tasks, the whole weight of
which the men lay on them, regarding it as beneath their dignity to
interfere.

At the sight of these two persons, the hunter involuntarily felt an
emotion, for which he could not account; the more he regarded the
warrior standing before him, the more he seemed to find again in this
martial countenance the distant memory of the features of a man he had
formerly known, though it was impossible for him to recall how or where
this intimacy had existed; but overcoming his feelings, and
comprehending that his lengthened silence must appear extraordinary to
the persons who had been waiting so long for him to address to them the
compliments of welcome, which Indian etiquette demands, he at length
decided on speaking.

"The Sachem can approach without fear and take his seat by the fire of a
friend," he said.

"The voice of the Pale hunter rejoices the heart of the Chief," the
warrior answered; "his invitation pleases him; he will smoke the calumet
of friendship with the Pale hunter."

The Canadian bowed politely; the Sachem gave his squaw a sign to follow
him, and he crouched on his heels in front of the fire, where Loyal
Heart and Lanzi were still asleep. Tranquil and the warrior then began
smoking silently, while the young Indian squaw was busily engaged with
the household duties and preparing the morning meal. The two men allowed
her to do so, not noticing apparently the trouble she took.

There was a lengthened silence. The hunter was reflecting, while the
Indian was apparently completely absorbed by his pipe. At last he shook
the ash out of the calumet, thrust the stem through his belt, and turned
to his host--

"The Walkon and the Maukawis," he said, "always sing the same song; the
man who has heard them during the moons of spring recognizes them in the
moons of winter, it is not the same with man; he forgets quickly; his
heart does not bound at the recollection of a friend; and if he meet him
again after many moons, his eyes do not see him."

"What does the Chief mean?" the Canadian asked, astonished at these
words, which seemed to convey a reproach.

"The Wacondah is powerful," the Indian continued; "it is he who dictates
the words my breast breathes; the sturdy oak forgets that he has been a
frail sapling."

"Explain yourself, Chief," the hunter said, with great agitation; "the
sound of your voice causes me singular emotion; your features are not
unknown to me; speak, who are you?"

"Singing-bird," the Indian said, addressing the young woman, "you are
the _cihuatl_ of a Sachem; ask the great Pale hunter why he has
forgotten his friend--the man who, in happier times, was his brother?"

"I will obey," she answered, in a melodious voice; "but the Chief is
deceived; the great Pale hunter has not forgotten the Wah-rush-a-menec
of the Snake Pawnees."

"Oh!" Tranquil exclaimed, warmly, "Are you really Black-deer, my
brother? My heart warned me secretly of your presence, and though your
features had almost faded from my memory, I expected to find a friend
again."

"Wah! is the Paleface speaking the truth?" the Chief said, with an
emotion he could not quite conceal; "Has he really retained the memory
of his brother, Black-deer?"

"Ah, Chief," the hunter said, sadly; "to doubt any longer would be an
insult to me; how could I suppose I should ever meet you here, at so
considerable a distance from the wigwams of your nation?"

"That is true?" the Indian remarked, thoughtfully; "my brother will
forgive me."

"What!" Tranquil exclaimed, "Is that charming squaw I see there, the
Singing-bird, that frail child whom I so often tossed on my knee?"

"Singing-bird is the wife of a Chief," the Indian answered, flattered by
the compliment; "at the next fall of the leaves forty-five moons will
have passed since Black-deer bought her of her father for two mustangs
and a panther skin quiver."

Singing-bird smiled gracefully at the hunter, and went on with her
duties.

"Will the Chief permit me to ask him a question?" Tranquil went on.

"My brother can speak, the ears of a friend are open."

"How did the Sachem learn that he would find me here?"

"Black-deer was ignorant of it: he was not seeking the great Pale
hunter; the Wacondah has permitted him to find a friend again, and he is
grateful."

Tranquil looked at the warrior in surprise. He smiled.

"Black-deer has no secret from his brother," he said, softly; "the Pale
hunter will wait; soon he shall know all."

"My brother is free to speak or be silent; I will wait."

The conversation ceased here. The Sachem had wrapped himself in his
buffalo robe, and did not appear disposed, to give any further
explanation at present. Tranquil, restrained by the duties of
hospitality, which in the desert prohibit any interrogation of a guest;
imitated the Chiefs reserve; but the silence had lasted but a few
minutes, when the hunter felt a light hand laid on his shoulder, while a
soft and affectionate voice murmured in his ear:--"Good morning,
father."

And a kiss completed the silence.

"Good-morning, little one," the hunter replied, with a smile; "did you
sleep well?"

"Splendidly, father."

"And you have rested?"

"I no longer feel fatigued."

"Good; that is how I like to see you, my darling girl."

"Father," the inquisitive maiden said, as she looked around, "have
visitors arrived?"

"As you see."

"Strangers?"

"No, old friends, who, I hope, will soon be yours."

"Redskins?" she asked with an instinctive start of terror.

"All of them are not wicked," he answered with a smile: "these are
kind." Then, turning to the Indian woman, who had fixed her black velvet
looking eyes on Carmela with simple admiration, he called out,
"Singing-bird!"

The squaw bounded up like a young antelope. "What does my father want?"
she asked, bowing gently.

"Singing-bird," the hunter continued, "this girl is my daughter,
Carmela," and taking in his bony hand those of the two women, he clasped
them together, adding with emotion, "Love one another like sisters."

"Singing-bird will feel very happy to be loved by the White lily," the
Indian squaw replied; "for her heart has already flown towards me."

Carmela, charmed at the name which the squaw with her simple poesy had
given her, bent down affectionately to her and kissed her forehead.

"I love you already, sister," she said to her, and holding her by the
hand, they went off together twittering like two nightingales. Tranquil
looked after them with a tender glance. Black-deer had witnessed this
little scene with that Indian phlegm which nothing even disturbs: still,
when he found himself alone with the hunter, he bent over to him, and
said in a slightly shaking voice,--

"Wah! my brother has not changed: the moons of winter have scattered
snow over his scalp, but his heart has remained as good as when it was
young."

At this moment the sleeper awoke.

"Hilloh!" Loyal Heart said gaily, as he looked up at the sun, "I have
had a long sleep."

"To tell you the truth," Lanzi observed, "I am not an early bird either:
but nonsense! I will make up for it. The poor beasts of horses must be
thirsty, so I will give them water."

"Very good!" said Tranquil; "By the time you have done that, breakfast
will be ready."

Lanzi rose, leaped on his horse, and seizing the lasso of the others,
went off in the direction of the stream without asking questions
relative to the strangers. On the prairie it is so: a priest is an envoy
of God, whose presence must arouse no curiosity. In the meanwhile Loyal
Heart had also risen: suddenly his glance fell on the Indian Chief,
whose cold eye was fixed on him: the young man suddenly turned pale as a
corpse, and hurriedly approached the Chief.

"My mother!" he exclaimed in a voice quivering with emotion, "my
mother--"

He could say no more. The Pawnee bowed peacefully to him.

"My brother's mother is still the cherished child of the Wacondah," he
answered in a gentle voice; "her heart only suffers from the absence of
her son."

"Thanks, Chief," the young man said with a sigh of relief; "forgive this
start of terror which I could not overcome, but on perceiving you I
feared lest some misfortune bad happened."

"A son must love his mother: my brother's feeling is natural; it comes
from the Wacondah. When I left the Village of Flowers, the old greyhead,
the companion of my brother's mother, wished to start with me."

"Poor ño Eusabio," the young man muttered, "he is so devoted to us."

"The Sachems would not consent; greyhead is necessary to my brother's
mother."

"They were right, Chief; I thank them for retaining him. Have you
followed my trail from the village?"

"I did."

"Why did you not awake me on your arrival?"

"Loyal Heart was asleep. Black-deer did not wish to trouble his sleep:
he waited."

"Good! my brother is a Chief; he acted as he thought advisable."

"Black-deer is intrusted with a message from the Sachems to Loyal Heart.
He wishes to smoke the calumet in council with him."

"Are the reasons that have brought my brother here urgent?"

"They are."

"Good! my brother can speak, I am listening."

Tranquil rose, and threw his rifle over his shoulder.

"Where is the hunter going?" the Indian asked.

"While you tell Loyal Heart the message I will take a stroll in the
forest."

"The white hunter will remain; the heart of Black-deer has nothing
hidden from him. The wisdom of my brother is great; he was brought up by
the Redskins; his place is marked out at the council fire."

"But perhaps you have things to tell Loyal Heart which only concern
yourselves."

"I have nothing to say which my brother should not hear; my brother will
disoblige me by withdrawing."

"I will remain, then, Chief, since such is the case."

While saying these words, the hunter resumed his seat, and said: "Speak,
Chief, I am listening."

The methodical Indian drew out his calumet, and, to display the
importance of the commission with which he was entrusted, instead of
filling it with ordinary tobacco, he placed in it _morhichee_, or sacred
tobacco, which he produced from a little parchment bag he took from the
pouch all Indians wear when travelling, and which contains their
medicine bag, and the few articles indispensable for a long journey.
When the calumet was filled, he lit it from a coal he moved from the
fire by the aid of a medicine rod, decorated with feathers and bills.

These extraordinary preparations led the hunters to suppose that
Black-deer was really the bearer of important news, and they prepared to
listen to him with all proper gravity. The Sachem inhaled two or three
whiffs of smoke, then passed the calumet to Tranquil, who, after
performing the same operation, handed it to Loyal Heart. The calumet
went the round thus, until all the tobacco was consumed.

During this ceremony, which is indispensable at every Indian council,
the three men remained silent. When the pipe was out, the Chief emptied
the ash into the fire, while muttering a few unintelligible words,
which, however, were probably an invocation to the Great Spirit; he then
thrust the pipe in his girdle, and after reflecting for some moments,
rose and began speaking.

"Loyal Heart," he said, "you left the Village of Flowers to follow the
hunting path at daybreak of the third sun of the moon of the falling
leaves; thirty suns have passed since that period, and we are hardly at
the beginning of the moon of the passing game. Well, during so short a
period many things have occurred, which demand your immediate presence,
in the tribe of which you are one of the adopted sons. The war hatchet,
so deeply buried for ten moons between the prairie Comanches and the
Buffalo Apaches, has suddenly been dug up in full council, and the
Apaches are preparing to follow the war trail, under the orders of the
wisest and most experienced Chiefs of the nation. Shall I tell you the
new insults the Apaches have dared to offer your Comanche fathers? What
good would it be? Your heart is strong, you will obey the orders of your
fathers, and fight for them."

Loyal Heart bowed his head in assent.

"No one doubted you," the Chief continued; "still, for a war against the
Apaches, the Sachems would not have claimed your help; the Apaches are
chattering old women, whom Comanche children can drive off with their
dog-whips; but the situation has all at once become complicated, and it
is more your presence at the council of the nation than the aid of your
arm, though you are a terrible warrior, which your fathers desire. The
Long knives of the East and the Yoris have also dug up the hatchet, and
both have offered to treat with the Comanches. An alliance with the
Palefaces is not very agreeable to Redskins; still, their anxiety is
great, as they do not know which side to take, or which party to
protect."

Black-deer was silent.

"The situation is, indeed, grave," Loyal Heart answered; "it is even
critical."

"The Chiefs, divided in opinion, and not knowing which is the better,"
Black-deer continued, "sent me off in all haste to find my brother,
whose wisdom they are aware of, and promise to follow his advice."

"I am very young," Loyal Heart answered, "to venture to give my advice
in such a matter, and settle so arduous a question. The Comanche nation
is the queen of the prairies; its Chiefs are all experienced warriors;
they will know better than I how to form a decision which will at once
protect the interests and honour of the nation."

"My brother is young, but wisdom speaks by his mouth. The Wacondah
breathes in his heart the words his lips utter; all the Chiefs feel for
him the respect he deserves."

The young man shook his head, as if protesting against such a mark of
deference. "Since you insist," he said, "I will speak; but I will not
give my opinion till I have heard that of this hunter, who is better
acquainted with the desert than I am."

"Wah!" said Black-deer, "the Pale hunter is wise; his advice must be
good; a Chief is listening to him."

Thus compelled to explain his views, Tranquil had involuntarily to take
part in the discussion; but he did not feel at all inclined to take on
himself the responsibility of the heavy burden which Loyal Heart tried
to throw off his own shoulders. Still, he was too thoroughly a man of
the desert to refuse giving his opinion in council, especially upon so
important a question. After reflecting for some moments, he therefore at
length decided on speaking.

"The Comanches are the most terrible warriors of the prairie," he said,
"no one must try to invade their hunting grounds; if they make war with
the Apaches, who are vagabond and cowardly thieves, they are in the
right to do so; but for what good object would they interfere in the
quarrels of the Palefaces? Whether Yoris or Long knives, the Whites have
ever been, at all times, and under all circumstances, the obstinate
enemies of the Redskins, killing them wherever they may find them,
under the most futile pretexts, and for the most time simply because
they are Indians. When the coyotes are tearing each other asunder on the
prairie, do the Indians try to separate them? No. They say, let them
fight it out--the more that fall, the fewer thieves and plunderers will
there be in the desert. To the Redskins the Palefaces are coyotes
thirsting for blood. The Comanches should leave them to devour each
other; whichever party triumph, those who have been killed will be so
many enemies the fewer for the Indians. This war between the Palefaces
has been going on for two years, implacably and obstinately. Up to the
present the Comanches have remained neutral; why should they interfere
now? However great the advantages offered them may be, they will not be
equivalent to a neutrality, which will render them stronger and more
dangerous in the sight of the Whites. I have spoken."

"Yes," Loyal Heart said, "you have spoken well, Tranquil. The opinion
you have offered is the only one the Comanches ought to follow, an
interference on their part would be an act of deplorable folly, which
the Sachems would soon regret having committed."

Black-deer had carefully listened to the Canadian's speech, and it
appeared to have produced a certain impression on him; he listened in
the same way to Loyal Heart, and when the latter had ceased speaking,
the Chief remained thoughtful for a while, and then replied--

"I am pleased with the words of my brothers, for they prove to me that I
regarded the situation correctly. I gave the council of the Chiefs the
same advice my brothers just offered. My brothers have spoken like wise
men, I thank them."

"I am ready to support in council," Loyal Heart remarked, "the opinions
the white hunter has offered, for they are the only ones which should
prevail."

"I think so too. Loyal Heart will accompany the Chief to the callis of
the nation?"

"It is my intention to start on my return tomorrow; if my brother can
wait till then, we will start together."

"I will wait."

"Good; tomorrow at daybreak we will follow the return trail in company."

The council was over, yet Tranquil tried vainly to explain to himself
how it was that Black-deer, whom he had left among the Snake Pawnees,
could now be an influential Chief of the Comanche nation; and the
connection between Loyal Heart and the Chief perplexed him not a bit
less. All these ideas troubled the hunter's head, and he promised
himself on the first opportunity to ask Black-deer for the history of
his life since their separation.

As soon as Lanzi returned with the horses, the hunters and Carmela sat
down to breakfast, waited on by Singing-bird, who performed her duties
with extreme grace.




CHAPTER VIII.

QUONIAM'S RETURN.


The meal did not take long; each of the guests, busied with secret
thoughts, ate quietly and silently. Tranquil, though he did not dare ask
any questions of Black-deer or Loyal Heart, for all that, burned to
learn by what concourse of extraordinary events these two men, who had
started from diametrically opposite points, had eventually grown into
such close intimacy.

Nor did he understand any better how a white man of a pure race, young,
and who appeared to have received a certain education, had so completely
given up relations with men of his ideas, to adopt, as Loyal Heart had
done, the mode of life of the Redskins, and become, as it were, a part
of one of these nations.

But the tiger killer was too well acquainted with prairie manners to try
and lead the conversation to a topic which might perhaps have displeased
his comrades, and which, at any rate, would have displayed a curiosity
on his part unworthy of an old wood ranger; he therefore contented
himself with cudgelling his brains to try and strike a spark which might
guide him to the discovery of the truth, without permitting himself the
slightest allusion to a subject which he longed to know all about.

Carmela felt a great friendship for Singing-bird, and so soon as the
meal was ended, led her off to the jacal, where both began chattering.
In accordance with the arrangements the hunters had made, Loyal Heart
and Tranquil took their rifles, and entered the forest on opposite
sides, to go in quest of game. Black-deer and Lanzi remained behind to
protect the women in the slightly probable event of an attack.

The two men, lying on the ground side by side, slept or smoked with that
apathy and careless indolence peculiar to men who despise talking for
the sake of talking, and thus expending energy which they may require at
any moment. Several hours passed away thus, nothing occurring to trouble
the calmness and silence that reigned over the bivouac, except at
intervals the joyous laughter of the two young women, which vibrated
harmoniously on the ears of the hunters, and brought a slight smile to
their lips.

A little before sunset the hunters returned, almost simultaneously,
bending beneath the weight of the game they had killed. Loyal Heart,
moreover, had lassoed a horse, which he brought in for Black-deer, who
had not one. The sight of this animal caused the adventurers some alarm,
and numerous conjectures. It was not at all wild; it had allowed Loyal
Heart to approach it without difficulty, who made a prisoner of it
almost without opposition. Moreover, and this increased the restlessness
of its new owners, it was completely equipped in the Mexican fashion.

Tranquil concluded from this, after reflecting for a moment, that the
freebooters had attacked the conducta de plata, and the animal, whose
rider had probably been killed, had escaped during the action. But which
side had gained the day, no one was able to conjecture.

After a rather lengthy discussion, it was at last agreed that so soon as
night had completely set in, Black-deer should go reconnoitring, while
those who remained in the camp redoubled their vigilance, through fear
of a surprise, either from the border ruffians or the Mexican soldiers;
for although the adventurers were known to both parties, they justly
feared the excesses to which they might give way in the intoxication of
victory.

This fear, correct perchance as far as the troops were concerned, was
not at all so with the men commanded by the Jaguar, and merely proved
that the worst, and at the same time most erroneous opinion was
entertained of them.

The sun was just disappearing behind the dense mass of lofty mountains
that marked the horizon, when the hurried paces of a horse were heard a
short distance off. The hunters seized their weapons, and posted
themselves behind the enormous boles of the sumach trees that surrounded
them, in order to be ready for any event. At this moment the cry of the
blue jay was repeated twice.

"Take your places again at the fire," Tranquil said, "'tis a friend."

In fact, a few moments later, the branches cracked, the shrubs were
smartly thrust aside, and Quoniam made his appearance. After nodding to
the company, he dismounted, and sat down by the side of the
Panther-killer.

"Well, gossip," the latter asked him at once; "what news have you?"

"Plenty," he answered.

"Then, I suppose, you have been reconnoitring?"

"I did not have the trouble to ask questions; I only required to listen
in order to learn in an hour more news than I could have discovered in a
year."

"Oh, oh," the Canadian said, "eat something, compadre, and when your
appetite is satisfied, you will tell us all you have learnt."

"I wish for nothing better, especially as there are sundry matters it is
as well for you to know."

"Eat then without further delay, that you may be able to talk to us all
the sooner."

The Negro did not let the invitation be repeated, and began vigorously
attacking the provisions which Tranquil had put aside, and which Loyal
Heart now spread on the ground. The hunters were eager to hear the news
of which Quoniam stated himself to be the bearer; after all they had
been able to see during the past few days, they must possess
considerable importance. Still, however great their curiosity might be,
they succeeded in hiding it, and patiently waited till the Negro had
finished his meal. The latter, who suspected what thoughts were crossing
their minds, did not put their patience to a long trial; he ate with the
proverbial rapidity of hunters, and had finished in a twinkling.

"Now I am quite at your service," he said, as he wiped his mouth on the
skirt of his hunting shirt, "and ready to answer all your questions."

"We have none to ask you," Tranquil said; "we wish you, gossip, to give
us a short narrative of all that has happened to you."

"Yes, I fancy that will be the best; in that way it will be clearer and
more easy for you to show the conclusions you think the most suitable."

"Excellently reasoned, my friend; we are listening to you."

"Do you know why I left you?" Quoniam began.

"Yes, I was told, and approved of it highly."

"All the better, because I fancied for a moment that I did wrong in
going without informing you, and I was on the point of returning."

"You would have done wrong."

"At present I am convinced of that, and congratulate myself on having
pushed forward. It is not a long ride from here to the Larch-tree
hacienda in a straight line; my horse is good; I went straight ahead,
and covered the distance in eight hours."

"That was good riding."

"Was it not? But I was in a hurry to join you again, and most anxious
not to lose any time on the road. When I reached the Larch-tree, there
was a great confusion at the hacienda. The peons and vaqueros collected
in the patio were talking and shouting all together, while the Capataz,
the Major-domo, and even the Signor Haciendero himself, pale and
alarmed, were distributing arms, raising barricades before the gates,
placing cannon on their carriages--in short, taking all the precautions
of men who expect an attack at any moment. It was impossible for me to
make myself heard at first, for everybody was speaking at once--women
crying, children screaming, and men swearing. I might have fancied
myself in a madhouse, so noisy and terrified did I find everybody; at
length, however, by going from one to the other, questioning this man,
and bullying that one, I learned the following, which enabled me to
comprehend the general terror; the affair, I swear to you, was worth the
trouble."

"Out with it, friend," Loyal Heart exclaimed, with ill-restrained
impatience.

Quoniam had never during life raised any pretensions to be an orator.
The worthy Negro, who was naturally very modest, even experienced a
certain difficulty in speaking at all. The hunter's unexpected
interruption troubled him so that he stopped short, and was unable to
find a single word. Tranquil, who had so long known his comrade, hastily
interposed.

"Let him tell his story in his own way," he said to Loyal Heart; "if
not, it will be impossible for him to reach the end. Quoniam has a way
of telling things peculiar to himself; if interrupted, he loses the
thread of his ideas, and then he grows confused."

"That is true," said the Negro; "I do not know whence it comes, but it
is stronger than I: when I am stopped, it is all up with me, and I get
in such a tangle that I cannot find my way out."

"That arises from your modesty, my friend."

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure of it, so do not alarm yourself any more, but go on in the
full confidence that you will meet with no further interruption."

"I am most ready to go on, but I have forgotten where I left off."

"At the information you had succeeded in obtaining," Tranquil said,
giving Loyal Heart a look which the latter understood.

"That is true: this, then, is what I learned:--The conducta de plata,
escorted by Captain Melendez, was attacked by the Border Rifles, or the
Freebooters as they are now called, and after a desperate fight, all the
Mexicans were killed."

"Ah!" Tranquil exclaimed, in stupor.

"All," Quoniam repeated; "not one escaped; it must have been a frightful
butchery."

"Speak lower, my friend," the hunter remarked, as he looked in the
direction of the jacal, "Carmela might hear you."

The Negro gave a nod of assent.

"But," he continued, in a lower key, "this victory was not very
productive to the Borderers, for the Mexicans had been careful to hurl
the gold they carried into a barranca, whence it was impossible to get
it out."

"Well played, by Heaven!" the Canadian exclaimed; "The Captain is a
brave fellow."

"Was so, you mean," said Quoniam.

"That is true," the Canadian remarked, sadly; "but go on, my friend."

"This victory fired the mine; the whole of Texas has risen; the towns
and pueblos are in full revolt, and the Mexicans are pursued like wild
beasts."

"Is it so serious as that?"

"Much more than you suppose. The Jaguar is at this moment at the head of
a real army; he has hoisted the flag of Texan independence, and sworn
that he will not lay down arms till he has restored liberty to his
country, and driven the last Mexican beyond the frontier."

There was a moment of stupor among his audience.

"Is that all?" Tranquil at length asked.

"Not yet," Quoniam made answer.

"Have you further bad news to tell us?"

"You shall judge for yourself, my friend, when I have told you all I
know."

"Speak, then, in heaven's name!"

"This is the information I have picked up. Considering that you would
not be sorry to hear these important news as speedily as possible, I
hastened to finish my business with the Capataz. I had some difficulty
in finding him, as he was so busy; so soon as I got hold of him, instead
of giving me the money I asked him for, he answered me that I must be
off at once, and tell you to come to the hacienda as soon as you could,
for, under the circumstances, your presence there was indispensable."

"Hum!" said Tranquil, without any further explanation of his thoughts.

"Seeing," Quoniam went on, "that there was nothing more to expect of the
Capataz, I took leave of him and remounted my horse; but just as I was
leaving, a great noise was heard outside, and everybody rushed to the
gates, uttering shouts of joy. It seems that General Don José Maria
Rubio, who commands the province, considers that the position of the
hacienda is a very important point to defend."

"Of course," Tranquil said; "the Larch-tree commands the entrance of the
valley, and as long as it remains in the power of the Mexicans, insures
the entry of their troops into the state."

"That is it, though I do not remember the term they employed."

"Was it, strategetical position?"

"The very thing."

"Yes, the hacienda, built at the period of the conquest, is a perfect
fortress; its thick, battlemented walls, its situation on an elevation
which cannot be commanded, and which on one side holds under its guns
the mountain passes, and on the other the valley de los Almendrales,
render it a point of the utmost importance, which can only be carried by
a regular seige."

"That is what everybody said down there; it seems, too, that such is
General Rubio's opinion, for the cause of all the disturbance I heard
was the arrival of a large body of troops commanded by a Lieutenant
Colonel, who had orders to shut himself up in the hacienda, and defend
it to the last extremity."

"In that case war is declared?"

"Of course."

"Civil war," Tranquil continued, mournfully, "that is to say, the most
odious and horrible of all; a war in which fathers fight against sons,
brothers against brothers, in which friend and foe speak the same
tongue, issue from the same stem, have the same blood in their veins,
and through that very reason are the more inveterate and rend each other
with greater animosity and rage; civil war, the most horrible scourge
that can crush a people! May God grant in his mercy that it be short;
but, since divine patience is at length wearied, and the Omnipotent has
permitted this fratricidal struggle, let us hope that right and justice
may remain victorious, and that the oppressors, who are the cause of all
these misfortunes, may be for ever expelled from a territory which they
have too long sullied by their unworthy and odious presence."

"May God grant it!" his hearers replied, in a deep voice.

"But how did you succeed in escaping from the hacienda after the arrival
of the troops, Quoniam?" Tranquil continued.

"I saw that, if I amused myself by admiring the uniform and fine
appearance of the troops, when order was slightly restored, the gates
would be closed, and my hopes of escaping foiled for a long time.
Without saying a word, I dismounted, and leading my horse by the bridle,
glided through the mob so cleverly, that I at length found myself
outside. I then leaped into the saddle, and pushed straight ahead. I was
only just in time, I declare, for five minutes later all the gates were
closed."

"And then you came straight here?"

Quoniam smiled cunningly. "Do you think so?" he said.

"Hang it! I suppose so, at least."

"Well, you are mistaken, gossip; I did not return straight here: and yet
it was not my inclination that prevented it, I assure you."

"What happened, then?"

"You will see, for I have not finished yet."

"Go on, then; but be brief, if that is possible."

"Every man does what he can, and you have no right to ask more of him."

"That is true, speak as you think proper."

"Never," the Negro continued, "did I gallop in such good spirits; my
horse stretched out, so that it was a pleasure to see; and it seemed as
if the poor brute understood my impatience to get away from the
hacienda, so fast did it race. This ride lasted thus, without
interruption, for nearly five hours; at the end of that period I thought
it advisable to grant my horse a few minutes' rest, that it might regain
its breath, for animals are like men precisely--if you overwork them,
they break down all at once; and that would have happened to me had I
not been careful to stop in time. I therefore allowed my horse to rest
for two hours; then, after rubbing it down, I started again, but had not
yet reached the end of my adventures. I had scarce galloped an hour
longer ere I fell into a large party of horsemen, armed to the teeth,
who suddenly emerged from a ravine, and surrounded me ere I had even
time enough to notice them. The meeting was anything but agreeable--the
more so, as they did not appear at all well disposed toward me; and I do
not exactly know how I should have got out of the hobble, had not one of
the men thought proper to recognize me, though I do not remember ever to
have met him before, and burst out, 'Why, it is a friend; 'tis Quoniam,
Tranquil's comrade!' I confess that this exclamation pleased me; a man
may be brave, but there are circumstances in which he feels frightened,
and this is what happened to me at that moment."

The hunters smiled at the Negro's simple frankness, but were careful
not to interrupt him, as they felt instinctively that he had reached the
most interesting point of his long and prolix narration.

"At once," the latter continued, "the manner of these men changed
entirely; they became most polite and attentive, in proportion as they
had been, previously brutal. 'Lead him to the commandant,' said one of
them the others approved, and I gave in, because resistance would have
been folly. I followed without any remark, the man who led me to their
Chief, though inwardly cursing the wasps' nest into which I had fallen.
Fortunately I had not far to go. Can you guess, Tranquil, who this Chief
was to whom I was led?"

"The Jaguar," the hunter answered.

"What!" the Negro exclaimed, in amazement, "Have you guessed it? Well! I
swear to you that I did not suspect it in the least, and was greatly
surprised at seeing him. But I must do him the justice of saying that he
received me very well; he questioned me about a good many matters, which
I answered as well as I could--where I came from, what was doing at the
hacienda, where I was going, and so on. In short, he conversed with me
for more than an hour; then, doubtless, satisfied with the information I
had given him, he left me free to continue my journey, and began his
own. It seems that he is going straight to the Larch-tree hacienda."

"Does he intend to lay siege to it?"

"That is his intention, I believe; but, although he is at the head of
nearly twelve hundred determined bandits, I do not think his nails, and
those of his comrades, will be hard enough to dig a hole in such stout
walls."

"That is in God's hands. Have you finished your narrative?"

"Very soon."

"Go on, then."

"Before restoring me to liberty, the Jaguar inquired after you and Doña
Carmela with considerable interest. Then he wrote a few words on a piece
of paper, which he handed me, with a recommendation to be sure and give
it you so soon as I rejoined you."

"Good Heaven!" Tranquil exclaimed, in agitation, "And you have delayed
so long in executing your commission!"

"Was I not obliged to tell you first what had happened to me? But there
is no time lost, for here is the paper."

While saying this, Quoniam drew a paper from his pocket, and offered it
to Tranquil, who almost tore it out of his hands. The Negro, convinced
that he had carried out his commission excellently, did not at all
comprehend the hunter's impatience; he looked at him for a moment with
an air of amazement, then shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly,
filled his pipe, and began smoking, not troubling himself further about
what was going on around him.

The hunter quickly unfolded the paper; he turned it over and over in his
hands with an air of embarrassment, taking a side glance every now and
then at Loyal Heart, who had drawn a burning log from the fire, and now
held it within reading distance, for night had completely set in. This
went on for some minutes; at length, Loyal Heart, understanding the
reason of the hunter's hesitation, resolved on speaking to him.

"Well," he said, with a smile, "what does your friend Jaguar write?"

"Hum!" said the hunter.

"Perhaps," the other continued, "it is so badly written that you cannot
make out his scrawl. If you permit me, I will try."

The Canadian looked at him. The young man's face was calm; nothing
evidenced that he had a thought of making fun of the hunter. The latter
shook his head several times, and then burst into a hearty laugh.

"Deuce take all false shame!" he said, as he gave him the letter. "Why
should I not confess that I cannot read? A man whose life has been spent
in the desert ought not to fear confessing an ignorance which can have
nothing dishonouring for him. Read, read, my lad, and let us know What
our doubtful friend wishes."

And he took the log from the young man's hands.

Loyal Heart took a rapid glance at the paper. "The letter is laconic,"
he said, "but explicit. Listen:

"'The Jaguar has kept his word. Of all the Mexicans who accompanied the
conducta, only one is alive free and unwounded--Captain Don Juan
Melendez de Gongora. Will the friends of the Jaguar have a better
opinion of him?'"

"Is that all?" Tranquil asked.

"Yes."

"Well," the hunter exclaimed, "people may say as they please, but, by
Heavens! The Jaguar is a fine fellow."

"Is he not, father?" a gentle voice murmured in his ear.

Tranquil started at this remark, and turned sharply round. Carmela was
by his side, calm and smiling.




CHAPTER IX.

HOSPITALITY.


We have said that night had fallen for some time past, and it was quite
dark under covert. In the black sky a chaos of clouds, laden with the
electric fluid, rolled heavily along. Not a star glistened in the vault
of heaven; an autumnal breeze whistled gustily through the trees, and at
each blast covered the ground with a shower of dead leaves.

In the distance could be heard the dull and mournful appeals of the wild
beasts proceeding to the drinking place, and the snapping bark of the
coyotes, whose ardent eyes at intervals gleamed like incandescent coals
amid the shrubs. At times lights flashed in the forest and ran along the
fine marsh grass like will-o'-the-wisps. Large dried up sumach trees
stood at the corners of the clearing, in which the bivouac was
established, and in the fantastic gleams of the fire waved like phantoms
their winding sheets of moss and lianas. A thousand sounds passed
through the air; nameless cries escaped from invisible lairs, hollowed
beneath the roots of the aged trees; stifled cries descended from the
crests of the quebradas, and our adventurers felt an unknown world
living around them, whose proximity froze the soul with a secret terror.

Nature was sad and melancholy, as when she is in travail with one of
those terrible overthrows so frequent in these regions. In spite of
themselves, the hunters underwent the influence of this discomfort of
the desert. There are black hours in life, in which, either through the
action of external objects, or the common and mysterious disposition of
the inner being, that _me_ which cannot be defined, the strongest men
feel unconsciously mastered by a strange contagion of sadness which they
seem to breathe in the air, and which overpowers them without power of
defence. The news brought by Quoniam had further augmented this tendency
of the hunters to melancholy; hence the conversation round the fire,
ordinarily gay and careless, was sad and short. Everyone yielded to the
flood of gloomy thoughts that contracted his heart, and the few words
exchanged at lengthened intervals between the hunters generally remained
unanswered.

Carmela alone, lively as a nightingale, continued in a low voice her
conversation with Singing-bird, while warming herself, for the night was
cold, and not noticing the anxious sideglances which the Canadian at
times gave her. At the moment when Lanzi and Quoniam were preparing to
go to sleep, a slight crackling was heard in the shrubs. The hunters,
suddenly torn from their secret thoughts, raised their heads quickly.
The horses had stopped eating, and with their heads turned to the
thicket, and ears laid back, appeared to be listening.

In the desert, everything has a reason; the wood rangers, accustomed to
analyse all the rumours of the prairie, know and explain them without
ever making a mistake; the rustling of the branch on which the hand
rests, the noise of the leaf falling on the ground, the murmur of the
water over the pebbles--nothing escapes the marvellous sagacity of these
men, whose senses have acquired an extraordinary delicacy.

"Someone is prowling round us," Loyal Heart muttered in a voice not
above a breath.

"A spy, of course," said Lanzi.

"Spy or no, the man who is approaching is certainly a white," said
Tranquil, as he stretched out his arm to clutch the rifle lying by his
side.

"Stay, father," Carmela said eagerly, as she seized his arm; "perhaps it
is a poor wretch lost in the desert, who needs help."

"It may be so," Tranquil replied after a moment's reflection; "at any
rate, we shall soon know."

"What do you intend doing?" the girl exclaimed, terrified at seeing him
rise.

"Go and meet the man, and ask him what he wants, that is all."

"Take care, father."

"Of what, my child?"

"Suppose this man were one of the bandits who traverse the desert?"

"Well, what then?"

"And he were to kill you?"

The Canadian shrugged his shoulders.

"Kill me, girl, nonsense! Reassure yourself, my child, whoever the man
may be, he will not see me unless I deem it necessary. So let me alone."

The maiden tried once more to prevent his departure, but the Canadian
would listen to nothing. Freeing himself gently from Carmela's
affectionate clutch, he picked up his rifle and disappeared in the
chaparral with so light and well-measured a step, that he seemed rather
to be gliding on a cloud, than walking on the grass of the clearing.

So soon as he reached the centre of the thicket, from which the
ill-omened sound he had heard came, the hunter, ignorant as he was as to
how many enemies he had to deal with, redoubled his prudence and
precautions: after a hesitation which lasted only a few seconds, he lay
down on the ground, and began gently crawling through the grass, without
producing the slightest rustling sound.

We will now return to the monk, whom we left proceeding toward the
hunters' bivouac, accompanied by Blue-fox. The Apache Chief, after
giving him the instructions he thought best adapted to inspire him with
a wholesome terror, and compel him to serve his plans, left him alone,
and disappeared so suddenly, that the monk could not guess in what
direction he had gone. When he was alone, Fray Antonio took a timid
glance around him; his mind was perplexed, for he could not conceal from
himself how delicate and difficult of accomplishment was the mission
with which the Chief had entrusted him, especially when dealing with a
man so clever and well versed in Indian tricks as the tiger killer.

More than once the monk cursed the malignity of his planet which led him
into such traps, and seemed to take a delight in accumulating on his
head all the annoyances and tribulations possible. For a moment, he
thought of flight, but he reflected that he was doubtless carefully
watched, and that at the slightest suspicious movement he attempted, the
invisible guardians who were watching him would suddenly appear before
him, and compel him to carry out the adventure to the end.

Fortunately for himself, the monk belonged to that privileged class of
men whom even the greatest annoyances but slightly affect, and who,
after feeling wretched for a few moments, frankly make up their minds,
saying to themselves that when the moment arrives in which they run a
risk, an accident will perhaps draw them from their trouble, and turn
matters to their advantage, in lieu of crushing them.

This reasoning, false though it be, is employed more frequently than may
be supposed by a number of people, who, after saying to themselves "when
it comes, we shall see," push boldly onwards, and, extraordinary to say,
generally succeed in getting out of the hobble, without the loss of too
many feathers, and without themselves knowing what they did to have so
lucky an escape.

The monk, therefore, resolutely entered the covert, guiding himself by
the light of the fire as a beacon. For some minutes he went on at a
tolerable pace, but gradually as he approached, his alarm returned; he
remembered the rough correction Captain Melendez had administered to
him, and this time he feared even worse.

Still, he was now so near the bivouac that any backsliding would be
useless. For the purpose of granting himself a few minutes' further
respite, he dismounted, and fastened his horse to a tree with extreme
slowness: then, having no further plausible pretext to offer himself for
delaying his arrival among the hunters, he decided on starting again,
employing the most minute precautions not to be perceived too soon,
through fear of receiving a bullet in his chest, before he had time to
have an explanation with the persons he visited at so awkward an hour.

But Fray Antonio, unluckily for himself, was extremely obese; he walked
heavily, and like a man accustomed to tread the pavement of a town;
moreover, the night was extremely dark, which prevented him seeing two
yards ahead, and he could only progress with outstretched hands,
tottering at each step, and running against every obstacle that came
across his path.

Hence he did not go far, ere he aroused the persons he desired so much
to surprise, and whose practised ear, constantly on the watch, had at
once noticed the unusual sound which he had himself not noticed. Fray
Antonio, extremely satisfied with his manner of progression, and
congratulating himself in his heart at having succeeded so well in
concealing himself, grew bolder and bolder, and began to feel almost
entirely reassured, when suddenly he uttered a slight cry of terror, and
stopped as if his feet had been rooted in the ground. He had felt a
heavy hand laid on his shoulder.

The monk began trembling all over, though not daring to turn his head to
the right or left, for he was persuaded in his heart that his last hour
had arrived.

"Hilloh, Señor Padre, what are you doing in the forest at such an hour?"
a hoarse voice then said to him.

But Fray Antonio was unable to answer; terror had rendered him deaf and
blind.

"Are you dumb?" the voice went on a minute after in a friendly voice.
"Come, come, it is not wise to traverse the desert at so late an hour."

The monk did not reply.

"Deuce take me," the other exclaimed, "if terror has not rendered him
idiotic. Come, bestir yourself, canarios."

And he began shaking him vigorously.

"Eh, what?" the monk said, in whom a species of reaction was beginning
to take place.

"Come, there is some progress, you speak, hence you are not dead,"
Tranquil went on joyously, for it was he who had so cruelly frightened
the monk; "follow me, you must be frozen, don't let us remain here."

And passing his arm through the monk's, he led him away; the latter
followed him passively and mechanically, not able yet to understand what
was happening to him, but still beginning to regain a small amount of
courage. In a few minutes, they reached the clearing.

"Ah!" Carmela exclaimed in surprise; "Fray Antonio! By what accident is
he here, when he started with the conducta de plata?"

This remark made the hunter prick his ears; he examined the monk
attentively, and then compelled him to sit down by the fire.

"I trust that the good father will explain to us what has happened to
him," he muttered.

Everything, however, has an end in this world; and the monk for some
time past had seemed destined to pass, with the greatest rapidity and
almost without transition, from the extremest terror to the most
complete security. When he was a little warmed, the confusion produced
in his ideas by the sudden meeting with the hunter gradually yielded to
the cordial reception given him; and Carmela's gentle voice breaking
pleasantly on his ear, completely re-established the balance of his
mind, and dismissed the mournful apprehensions that tormented him.

"Do you feel better, holy Father?" Carmela asked him, with much
sympathy.

"Yes," he said, "I thank you, I am now quite comfortable."

"All the better. Will you eat? Would you like to take any refreshment?"

"Nothing at all, I thank you, for I have not the least appetite."

"Perhaps you are thirsty, Fray Antonio; if so, here is a bota of
refino," said Lanzi, as he offered him a skin more than half full of the
comforting liquid.

The monk permitted himself to be persuaded sufficiently to prove that he
was no lover of ardent spirits; then he allowed himself to be convinced,
and seizing the bota, drank a hearty draught of the generous fluid. This
libation restored him all his coolness and presence of mind.

"Then," he said, as he turned the bota to the half-breed, and gave vent
to a sigh of relief, "Heaven preserve me; were the Evil One to come now
in person, I feel capable of holding my own against him."

"Ah, ah!" said Tranquil, "It seems, my good father, as if you were now
completely restored to the possession of your intellectual faculties."

"Yes, and I will give you the proof whenever you like."

"Hang it! You challenge me. I did not dare cross-question you before;
but, as it is so, I will no longer hesitate."

"What do you wish to know?"

"A very simple matter: how it is that a monk finds himself at such an
hour alone in the heart of the desert?"

"Nonsense," Fray Antonio said, gaily. "Who told you that I was alone?"

"Nobody; but I suppose so."

"Do not make any suppositions, brother, for you would be mistaken."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, as I have the honour of telling you."

"Still, when I met you, you were alone."

"Granted."

"Well?"

"The others were further off, that's all."

"What others?"

"The persons who accompanied me."

"Ah! And who are they?"

"That is the question----Nonsense," he said, a minute after, as if
holding a conversation with himself, "the most disadvantageous reports
are current about me. I am accused of a number of bad actions; suppose I
were to try and do a good one, that might change my luck. Who knows
whether I may not be rewarded at a later date? At any rate, here goes."

Tranquil and his comrades listened in extreme surprise to the monologue
of the monk, not knowing exactly what to think of this man, and half
inclined to deem him mad. The latter perceived the impression he
produced on his hearers.

"Listen," he said, in a stern voice, and with a slight frown, "form what
opinion of me you like, that is a matter of indifference to me; still I
do not wish it to be said, that I requited your cordial hospitality by
odious treachery."

"What do you mean?" Tranquil exclaimed.

"Listen to me. I uttered the word treachery, and perhaps I was wrong,
for nothing proves to me that it is so; still, all sorts of reasons lead
me to suppose that it is nothing else persons tried to force me into
committing for your injury."

"Explain yourself, in Heaven's name; you speak in enigmas, and it is
impossible to understand you."

"You are right, so I will be clear: which of you gentlemen bears the
name of Tranquil?"

"It is I."

"Very good. Owing to certain circumstances, the recital of which would
not at all interest you, I unluckily fell into the hands of the
Apaches."

"Apaches!" Tranquil exclaimed, in surprise.

"Good Lord, yes," the monk continued; "and I assure you that when I
found myself in their power, I did not feel at all comfortable. Still, I
was wrong to be alarmed; far from inventing for me one of those
atrocious tortures which they mercilessly inflict on the whites who are
so unhappy as to become their prisoners, they treated me, on the
contrary, with extreme gentleness."

Tranquil fixed a scrutinising glance on the monk's placid face.

"For what purpose did they that?" he asked, with a suspicious accent.

"Ah," Fray Antonio went on, "that I could not comprehend, though I am
perhaps beginning to suspect it."

The hearers bent toward the speaker with an expression of impatient
curiosity.

"This evening," the monk went on, "the Chief of the Redskins himself
accompanied me to within a short distance of your bivouac; on coming in
sight of your fire he pointed it out to me, saying, 'Go and sit down at
that brasero. You will tell the great Pale hunter that one of his oldest
and dearest friends desires to see him.' Then he left me, after making
the most horrible threats if I did not obey him at once. You know the
rest."

Tranquil and his comrades regarded each other in amazement, but without
exchanging a word. There was a rather long silence; but Tranquil at
length took on himself to express aloud the thought each had in his
heart.

"'Tis a trap," he said.

"Yes," Loyal Heart remarked; "but for what purpose?"

"How do I know?" the Canadian muttered.

"You said, Fray Antonio," the young man continued, addressing the monk,
"that you suspected the motives of the Apaches' extraordinary treatment
of you?"

"I did say so," he replied.

"Let us know that suspicion."

"It was suggested to me by the conduct of the pagans, and by the clumsy
snare they laid for you; it is evident to me that the Apache Chief
hopes, if you consent to grant the interview he asks, to profit by your
absence to carry off Doña Carmela."

"Carry me off!" the maiden exclaimed, with a start of horror, surprised
and alarmed at once by this conclusion, which she was far from
anticipating.

"The Redskins are very fond of white women," the monk continued, coolly;
"most of the incursions they make into our territory are undertaken for
the purpose of carrying off captives of that colour."

"Oh!" Carmela exclaimed, with an accent of indomitable resolution, "I
would sooner die than become the slave of one of those ferocious
demons."

Tranquil shook his head sadly. "The monk's supposition appears to me
correct," he said.

"The more so," Fray Antonio confirmed him, "because the Apaches who made
me prisoner are the same that attacked the Venta del Potrero."

"Oh, oh," said Lanzi, "in that case I know their Chief, and his name; he
is one of the most implacable enemies of the white men. It is very
unlucky that I did not succeed in burying him under the ruins of the
venta, for Heaven is my witness that such was my intention."

"What is the fellow's name?" the hunter asked, sharply, evidently
annoyed at his verbiage.

"Blue-fox!" said Lanzi.

"Ah," Tranquil said, ironically and with a dark frown, "I have known
Blue-fox for many years, and you, Chief?" he added, turning to
Black-deer.

The name of the Apache Sachem had produced such an impression on the
Pawnee, that the hunter was startled by it. The Indians retain under all
circumstances an apathetic mask, which they consider it an honour not to
remove, whatever may happen; but the mere name of Blue-fox, pronounced
as if by accident, was sufficient to melt that indifference, and cause
Black-deer to forget Indian etiquette.

"Blue-fox is a dog, the son of a coyote," he said, as he spat on the
ground disdainfully; "the gypaètes would refuse to devour his unclean
carcase."

"These two men must have a mortal hatred for each other," the Canadian
muttered, as he took a sideglance at the inflamed features and sparkling
eyes of the Indian Chief.

"Will my brother kill Blue-fox?" the Pawnee asked.

"It is probable," Tranquil answered; "but in the first place, let us try
to play this master rogue a trick, who fancies us stupid enough to be
caught in the clumsy snares he lays in our path. Be frank, monk, have
you told us the truth?"

"On my honour."

"I should prefer any other oath," the Canadian said ironically, in a low
voice. "Can you be trusted?"

"Yes."

"Is what you said to us about your return to honest courses sincere?"

"Put me on my trial."

"That is what I intend to do; but reflect ere answering. Do you really
intend to be of service to us?"

"I do."

"Whatever may happen?"

"Whatever may happen, and whatever the consequence may be of what you
ask of me."

"That will do. I warn you that, in all probability, you will be exposed
to serious perils."

"I have told you that my resolution is formed; speak, therefore, without
further hesitation."

"Listen to me, then."

"I am doing so. Have no fear of finding me recoil, so cut it short."

"I will try to do so."




CHAPTER X.

THE LARCH-TREE HACIENDA.


Though the report made by Quoniam was in every respect true, the Negro
was ignorant of certain details of which we will now inform the reader,
because these events are closely connected with our story, and clearness
renders it indispensable that they should be made known. We will,
therefore, return to the Larch-tree hacienda.

But, in the first place, let us explain the meaning of this word
"hacienda," which we have employed several times in the course of this
narrative, and which several authors have employed before us, without
understanding its significance.

In Sonora, Texas, and all the old Spanish colonies generally, where the
land is, as it were, left to anyone who likes to take possession of it
and cultivate it, there may be found at immense distances, and broadcast
like almost imperceptible dots over the waste lands, vast agricultural
establishments, each as large as one of our counties. These
establishments are called haciendas, a word we improperly translate by
farm, which has not at all the same meaning.

Immediately after the conquest, the Cortez, Pizarros, Almagros, and
other leaders of adventurers hastened to repay their comrades by
dividing among them the lands of the conquered, following, perhaps
without suspecting it, the example which had been given them a few
centuries previously by the leaders of the Barbarians, after the
break-up and dismemberment of the Roman Empire.

The conquerors were few in number, the shares were large; and the
majority of these ragged conquerors, who in their own country had not
even a roof to shelter their heads, found themselves all at once masters
of immense domains, which they immediately set to work turning to
account, laying down the sword without regret to take the pick, that is
to say, compelling the Indians who had become their slaves to clear for
them the land they had stolen.

The first care of the new possessors of the soil was to erect, in
positions easy to defend, houses, whose lofty, thick, and embattled
walls rendered them thorough fortresses, behind which they could easily
defy any attempted revolt on the part of their slaves. The inhabitants
had been allotted like the ground; each Spanish soldier received a
considerable number as his share; arms cost nothing. There was no lack
of stone, and hence the buildings were constructed of vast proportions,
and of such extreme strength, that even at the present day, after the
lapse of several centuries, these haciendas are an object of admiration
to the traveller.

Slaves alone, for whom the measure of time no longer exists, and whose
only hope is death, can undertake and complete these Cyclopean
buildings, of which we, men of another age, cannot understand the
existence on the globe, where they stand at various spots, like dumb and
touching protests.

At the haciendas, in addition to agriculture, which, especially at the
present day, has greatly fallen off, owing to the incessant invasions of
the Indian bravos, the breeding of cattle and horses is carried on to a
considerable extent. Hence, each of these farms contains an infinity of
servants of all descriptions, peons, vaqueros, etc., and resembles a
small town.

The owners of these establishments are consequently men belonging to the
highest society, and the richest and most intelligent class in the
country. The majority prefer residing in the cities, and visit only at
long intervals their haciendas, the management of which they entrust to
the major-domo and capataz, who are themselves semi-savages, whose life
is spent in riding constantly from one end to the other of the hacienda.

The Larch-tree hacienda, but a short distance from the mountains whose
passes it commanded, was therefore of great strategetical value to both
the parties now disputing the possession of Texas. The insurgent chiefs
understood this as well as the Mexican generals did.

After the total destruction of the detachment commanded by Captain
Melendez, General Rubio hastened to throw a powerful garrison into the
Larch-tree. As an old soldier of the Independence, accustomed to the
incessant struggles of a people that desires to be free, he had divined
the revolution behind the insurrection, on seeing that for ten years
past these insurgents, though incessantly conquered, seemed to grow from
their ashes again to return more obstinate and powerful than before, and
expose their chests to the pitiless bullets of their oppressors.

He was aware that the inhabitants only awaited the announcement of a
success, even though problematical, to rise to a man, and make common
cause with the daring partisans, branded by their enemies with the name
of Border ruffians, but who in reality were only the forlorn hope of a
revolution, and apostles acting under a holy and noble idea. Far from
offering Captain Melendez reproaches, which he knew that the latter did
not deserve, the General pitied and consoled him.

"You have your revenge to take, Colonel," he said to him, for this
grade, long deserved by the young officer, had just been given him by
the President of the Republic; "your new epaulettes have not yet smelt
powder. I propose giving you a splendid opportunity for christening
them."

"You will fulfil my wishes, General," the young officer replied, "by
entrusting me with a perilous enterprise, my success in which will
serve to wipe out the shame of my defeat."

"There is no shame, Colonel," the General replied, kindly, "in being
conquered as you were. War is only a game like any other, in which
chance often declares for the weaker side; let us not despond at an
insignificant check, but try, on the contrary, to cut the comb of these
cocks who, pluming themselves on their ephemeral triumph, doubtless
imagine that we are terrified and demoralised by their victory."

"Be assured, General, that I will help you to the best of my ability.
Whatever be the post you confide to me, I will die at it before
surrendering."

"An officer, my friend, must put off that impetuosity which so well
becomes the soldier, but it is a grave fault in a Chief trusted with the
lives of his fellow men. Do not forget that you are a head, and not an
arm."

"I will be prudent, General, as far as the care for my honour will
permit me."

"That will do, Colonel--I ask no more."

Don Juan merely bowed in response.

"By-the-bye," said the General, presently, "have these partisans any
capable men at their head?"

"Very capable, General; thoroughly acquainted with guerilla fighting,
and possessing a bravery and coolness beyond all praise."

"All the better, for in that case we shall reap more glory in conquering
them. Unfortunately, they are said to wage war like perfect savages,
pitilessly massacring the soldiers that fall into their hands; indeed,
what has happened to you is a proof of it."

"You are mistaken, General. Whatever these men may be, and the cause for
which they fight, it is my duty to enlighten and disabuse you, for they
have been strangely calumniated; it was only after my repeated refusals
to surrender that the action began. Their Chief even offered me my life
at the moment when I hurled myself with him into the yawning abyss at
our feet. When I became their prisoner they restored me my sword, gave
me a horse and a guide, who brought me within musket shot of your
outposts: is that the conduct of cruel men?"

"Certainly not, and I am pleased to see you thus do justice to your
enemies."

"I merely declare a fact."

"Yes, and an unlucky one for us; these men must consider themselves very
strong to act thus. This clemency of theirs will attract a great number
of partisans to their ranks."

"I fear it."

"And I too. No matter, the moment has arrived to act with vigour; for,
if we do not take care, within a week the very stones of this country,
of which we are still the masters, will rise to expel us, and the ground
will grow so hot under our feet, that we shall be compelled to fly
before these undisciplined masses of badly armed _guasos_, who harass us
like swarms of mosquitoes."

"I await your orders, General."

"Do you feel strong enough to mount again?"

"Perfectly."

"Very good, then. I have prepared three hundred men, cavalry and
infantry; the latter will mount behind the horsemen, in order not to
delay the march, which must be rapid, for my object is that you should
reach the hacienda before the insurgents; and fortify yourself there."

"I will reach it."

"I count on you. Two mountain guns will follow your detachment, and will
prove sufficient; for, if I am rightly informed, the hacienda has six in
good condition. Still, as ammunition may run short, you will take
sufficient with you to last for a fortnight. At all risks, the hacienda
must hold out for that period against all the attacks the insurgents may
make."

"It shall hold out, I swear it to you, General."

"I trust entirely to you."

The General walked to the entrance of the tent and raised the curtain.

"Summon the officers told off for the expedition," he said.

Five minutes later the officers appeared; nine in number--two captains
of cavalry, two of infantry, two lieutenants, and two alferez or second
lieutenants, and a captain, lieutenant, and alferez of artillery. The
General looked for a moment searchingly at these men, who stood serious
and motionless before him.

"Caballeros," he at length said, "I have carefully chosen you from the
officers of my army, because I know that you are brave and experienced;
you are about to carry out, under Colonel Don Juan Melendez de Gongora,
a confidential mission, which I would not have given to others whose
devotion to their country was less known to me. This mission is most
perilous. I hope that you will accomplish it like brave men, and return
here with glory."

The officers bowed their thanks.

"Do not forget," the General continued, "that you owe your soldiers an
example of subordination and discipline; obey the Colonel as myself in
all he may order for the good of the service and the success of your
enterprise."

"We cannot desire a better Chief than the one your Excellency has
selected to lead us," one of the Captains answered; "under his orders we
are certain of performing prodigies."

The General smiled graciously.

"I count on your zeal and bravery. Now, to horse without further delay,
for you must have left the camp within ten minutes."

The officers bowed and retired. Don Juan prepared to follow them.

"Stay," the General said to him; "I have one final recommendation to
give you."

The young man walked up to him.

"Shut yourself up carefully in the place," the General went on. "If you
are invested, do not attempt any of those sallies, which often
compromise the fate of a garrison, without positive advantage. Content
yourself with vigorously repulsing attacks, sparing the blood of your
soldiers, and not expending your ammunition needlessly. So soon as my
final arrangements are made, I will march in person to your help; but
you _must_ resist till then, at any cost."

"I have already told you I will do so, General."

"I know that you will. Now, my friend, to horse, and may you be
fortunate."

"Thanks, General."

The Colonel bowed, and immediately withdrew to place himself at the head
of the small band, which, collected a short distance off, only awaited
his arrival to start. The General was standing in the doorway of his
tent to witness their departure. Don Juan mounted, drew his sabre, and
turned toward the motionless detachment.

"Forward!" he commanded.

The squadrons at once started, and began drawing out in the darkness
like the black folds of an ill-omened serpent. The General remained in
the doorway of his tent for some time, and when the last sound had died
away in the night, he pensively re-entered the tent, and let the curtain
fall behind him, muttering in a low and sad voice--

"I have sent them to death, for Heaven fights on the side of our
adversaries."

And, after shaking his head several times with an air of discouragement,
the old soldier of the war of Independence fell into an equipal, hid his
face in his hands, and plunged into serious reflections.

In the meanwhile, the detachment rapidly continued its march. Thanks to
the Mexican fashion of mounting infantry _en croupe_, the troops carried
out their movements with a rapidity that seemed almost prodigious, the
more so as American horses go very quickly, and endure great fatigue
without injury.

The Americans of the South are generally very harsh to their horses, to
which they pay no attention. Never in the interior does a horse pass the
night, whatever the weather may be, otherwise than in the open air.
Every morning it receives its ration for the whole day, marching
frequently fourteen, or even sixteen hours, without stopping or
drinking; when evening arrives, the harness is removed, and it is left
to find its food where it can. On the Indian border, where there is much
to fear from the Redskins, who are great admirers of horses, and display
admirable skill in stealing them, certain precautions are used at
night; the horses are picquetted in the interior of the bivouac, and
feed on the pea vines, the young tree shoots, and a few measures of
maize or other corn, which is given with extreme parsimony. Still, in
spite of the careless way in which they are treated, we repeat that
these horses are very handsome, vigorous, remarkably docile, and of
great speed.

Colonel Melendez arrived at an early hour in sight of the hacienda, for
his troops had made a forced march through the night. With a rapid
glance the experienced Chief of the Mexicans examined the neighbourhood,
but the plain was deserted.

The Larch-tree hacienda stood like an eagle's nest on the top of a
hillock, whose abrupt sides had never been smoothed, as the steepness of
their ascent was regarded as a means of defence in the event of an
attack. Thick walls turned yellow by time, at each angle of which could
be seen the threatening muzzles of two guns peering out, gave this
strongly-built house the appearance of a real fortress.

The Mexicans increased their already rapid pace, in order to reach the
hacienda before the gates were opened, and the ganado let out. The scene
presented by this magnificent plain at sunrise, had something imposing
about it. The hacienda, whose roof was still veiled in mist; the gloomy
forests in the distance, which ran with almost imperceptible undulations
along the spurs of the sierra; the silvery thread of a small stream,
which wound with capricious meanderings through the plain, and whose
waters sparkled in the hot sunbeams; the dumps of larches, sumachs, and
Peru trees, which rose here and there from amid the tall grass, and
agreeably broke the monotony of the plain, while from the thickets rose
the joyous song of the birds saluting the return of day--in a word, all
seemed to breathe repose and happiness in this abode momentarily so
tranquil.

The Mexicans reached the hacienda, whose gates were not opened till the
inhabitants were well assured that the newcomers were really friends.
They had already heard of the general insurrection occasioned by the
surprise of the conducta de plata, and hence the Major-domo, who
commanded in the absence of Don Felipe de Valreal, proprietor of the
hacienda, kept on his guard.

This Major-domo, whose name was Don Felix Paz, was a man of about
five-and-forty at the most, tall, well-built, and powerful; he had, in
truth, the appearance of a perfect _hombre de a caballo_, an essential
condition for fulfilling his onerous duties. This Major-domo came in
person to receive the Mexican detachment at the gate of the hacienda.
After congratulating the Colonel, he informed him that so soon as he
received the news of the general revolt of the province, he had brought
all his cattle in, armed the servants, and rendered the guns on the
platform serviceable.

The Colonel complimented him on his diligence, established his troops in
the outhouses destined for the peons and vaqueros, took military
possession of all the posts, and, accompanied by the Major-domo, made a
strict inspection of the interior of the fortress. Don Juan Melendez,
being well acquainted with the carelessness and sloth of his fellow
countrymen, expected to find the hacienda in a wretched state, but was
agreeably deceived. This large estate, situated on the limits of the
desert, as it were between civilisation and barbarism, was too exposed
to the unforeseen attacks of Redskins and bandits of every description
who congregate on the border, for its owner not to watch with the
utmost care over its defence. This wise foresight was at this moment of
a great utility for the siege which, in all probability, they would have
to withstand ere long.

The Colonel found but very little to alter in the arrangements made by
the Major-domo; he contented himself with cutting down several clumps of
trees which, being situated too near the hacienda, might shelter
sharpshooters, who could annoy their artillery men. At each entrance of
the hacienda barricades were erected by his orders, composed of branches
interlaced, and outside the walls the arms of all the healthy men were
called into requisition, to dig a deep and wide trench, the earth from
which, thrown up on the side of the hacienda, form

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