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The Indian Scout: A Story of the Aztec City

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Title: The Indian Scout: A Story of the Aztec City

Author: Gustave Aimard

Translator: Sir Lascelles Wraxall


        
Release date: November 16, 2013 [eBook #44196]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INDIAN SCOUT: A STORY OF THE AZTEC CITY ***
THE INDIAN SCOUT.

A Story of the Aztec City

BY

GUSTAVE AIMARD,

AUTHOR OF "PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES," "TRAPPER'S BRIDE,"

"PRAIRIE FLOWER," ETC.


LONDON:

WARD AND LOCK,

158, FLEET STREET.

MDCCCLXI.





PREFACE.


The following work has been the most successful of all Gustave Aimard
has published in Paris, and it has run through an unparalleled number
of Editions. This is not surprising, however, when we bear in mind that
he describes in it his personal experiences in the Indian Aztec city,
from which no European ever returned prior to him, to tell the tale of
his adventures. From this volume we learn to regard the Indians from a
very different side than the one hitherto taken; for it is evident that
they are something more than savages, and possess their traditions just
as much as any nation of the Old World. At the present moment, when
the Redskins appear destined to play an important part in the American
struggle, I think that such knowledge as our Author is enabled alone to
give us about their manners and customs, will be read with interest.

L. W.




CONTENTS.

       I. THE SURPRISE
      II. THE GUEST
     III. A NIGHT CONFERENCE
      IV. INDIANS AND HUNTERS
       V. MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS
      VI. A DARK HISTORY
     VII. A DARK HISTORY CONTINUED
    VIII. A DARK HISTORY CONCLUDED
      IX. BRIGHTEYE AND MARKSMAN
       X. FRESH CHARACTERS
      XI. THE FORD OF THE RUBIO
     XII. DON STEFANO COHECHO
    XIII. THE AMBUSCADE
     XIV. THE TRAVELLERS
      XV. RECALLED TO LIFE
     XVI. THE SEARCH AFTER TRUTH
    XVII. DON MARIANO
   XVIII. BEFORE THE TRIAL
     XIX. FACE TO FACE
      XX. THE JUDGMENT
     XXI. BRIGHTEYE
    XXII. THE CAMP
   XXIII. FLYING EAGLE
    XXIV. QUIEPAA TANI
     XXV. A TRIO OF VILLAINS
    XXVI. A HUNT ON THE PRAIRIE
   XXVII. A HUNT ON THE PRAIRIE CONCLUDED
  XXVIII. REDSKINS AND WHITE
    XXIX. THE COUNCIL
     XXX. THE SECOND DETACHMENT
    XXXI. THE TLACATEOTZIN
   XXXII. THE FIRST WALK IN THE CITY
  XXXIII. EXPLANATORY
   XXXIV. CONVERSATIONAL
    XXXV. THE INTERVIEW
   XXXVI. A MEETING
  XXXVII. COMPLICATIONS
 XXXVIII. A WALK IN THE DARK
   XXXIX. THE GREAT MEDICINE
      XL. THE FINAL STRUGGLE
          THE EPILOGUE




THE INDIAN SCOUT.




CHAPTER I.

THE SURPRISE.


It was towards the end of May, 1855, in one of the least visited parts
of the immense prairies of the Far West, and at a short distance from
the Rio Colorado del Norte, which the Indian tribes of those districts
call, in their language so full of imagery, "The endless river with the
golden waves."

The night was profoundly dark. The moon, which had proceeded two-thirds
of its course, displayed between the lofty branches of the trees her
pallid face; and the scanty rays of vacillating light scarce brought
out the outlines of the abrupt and stern scenery. There was not a
breath in the air, not a star in the sky. A silence of death brooded
over the desert--a silence only interrupted, at long intervals, by the
sharp barking of the coyotes in search of prey, or the savage miaulings
of the panthers and jaguars at the watering place.

During the darkness, the great American savannahs, on which no human
sound troubles the majesty of night, assume, beneath the eye of heaven,
an imposing splendour, which unconsciously affects the heart of the
strongest man, and imbues him involuntarily with a feeling of religious
respect.

All at once the closely growing branches of a floripondio were
cautiously parted, and in the space thus left appeared the anxious
head of a man, whose eyes, flashing like those of a wild beast, darted
restless glances in every direction. After a few seconds of perfect
immobility, the man of whom we speak left the clump of trees in the
midst of which he was concealed, and leaped out on the plain.

Although his bronzed complexion had assumed almost a brick colour,
still, from his hunting garb, and, above all, the light colour of
his long hair, and his bold, frank, and sharply-marked features, it
was easy to recognise in this man one of those daring Canadian wood
rangers, whose bold race is daily expiring, and will probably disappear
ere long.

He walked a few paces, with the barrel of his rifle thrust forward,
and his finger on the trigger, minutely inspecting the thickets and
numberless bushes that surrounded him; then, probably reassured by the
silence and solitude that--continued to prevail around, he stopped,
rested the butt of his rifle on the ground, bent forward, and imitated,
with rare perfection, the song of the centzontle, the American
nightingale.

Scarce had the last modulation of this song, which was gentle as a love
sigh, died away in the air, when a second person bounded forward from
the same shrub which had already offered passage to the hunter. It was
an Indian; he stationed himself by the Canadian's side, and, after
a few seconds' silence, said, affecting a tranquillity probably not
responded to by his heart,--"Well?"

"All is calm," the hunter answered. "The _Cihuatl_ can come."

The Indian shook his head.

"Since the rising of the moon, Mahchsi Karehde has been separated from
Eglantine; he knows not where she is at this moment."

A kindly smile played round the hunter's lips.

"Eglantine loves my brother," he said, gently. "The little bird that
sings in her heart will have led her on the trail of the Chief. Has
Mahchsi Karehde forgotten the song with which he called her to his love
meetings in the tribe?"

"The Chief has forgotten nothing."

"Let him call her then."

The Indian did not let the invitation be repeated. The cry of the
walkon rose in the silence.

At the same moment a rustling was heard in the branches, and a young
woman, bounding like a startled fawn, fell panting into the warrior's
arms, which were opened to receive her. This pressure was no longer
than a flash of lightning; the Chief, doubtlessly ashamed of the tender
emotion he had yielded to in the presence of a white man, even though
that white man was a friend, coldly repulsed the young female, saying
to her, in a voice in which no trace of feeling was visible, "My sister
is fatigued, without doubt; no danger menaces her at this moment; she
can sleep; the warriors will watch over her."

"Eglantine is a Comanche maid," she answered in a timid voice. "Her
heart is strong; she will obey Mahchsi Karehde (the Flying Eagle).
Under the protection of so terrible a chief she knows herself in
safety."

The Indian bent on her a glance full of indescribable tenderness; but
regaining, almost immediately, that apparent apathy which the Redskins
never depart from, "The warriors wish to hold a council; my sister can
sleep," he said.

The young woman made no reply; she bowed respectfully to the two men,
and withdrawing a few paces, she lay down in the grass, and slept, or
feigned to sleep. The Canadian had contented himself with smiling, on
seeing the result obtained by the advice he had given the warrior, and
listened, with an approving nod of the head, to the few words exchanged
between the Redskins. The Chief, buried in thought, stood for a few
minutes with his eyes fixed, with a strange expression, on the young,
sleeping woman; then he passed his hand several times over his brow, as
if to dissipate the clouds that oppressed his mind, and turned to the
hunter.

"My brother, the Paleface, has need of rest. The Chief will watch," he
said.

"The coyotes have ceased barking, the moon has disappeared, a white
streak is rising on the horizon," the Canadian replied. "Day will
speedily appear; sleep has fled my eyelids; the men must hold a
council."

The Indian bowed, without further remark, and, laying his gun on the
ground, collected a few armfuls of dry wood, which he carried near
the sleeper. The Canadian struck a light; the wood soon caught, and
the flame coloured the trees with its blood red hue. The two men then
squatted by each other's side, filled their calumets with _manachie_,
the sacred tobacco, and commenced smoking silently, with that imposing
gravity which the Indians, under all circumstances, bring to this
symbolic operation.

We will profit by this moment of rest, which accident offers us, to
draw a portrait of these three persons, who are destined to play an
important part in the course of our story.

The Canadian was a man of about forty-five years of age, six feet in
height, long, thin, and dry; his was a nervous nature, composed of
muscle and sinews, perfectly adapted to the rude profession of wood
ranger, which demands a vigour and boldness beyond all expression.
Like all his countrymen, the Canadian offered, in his features, the
Norman type in its thorough purity. His wide forehead; his grey eyes,
full of intelligence; his slightly aquiline nose; his large mouth,
full of magnificent teeth; the long light hair, mingled with a few
silvery threads which escaped from under his otter skin cap, and fell
in enormous ringlets on his shoulders,--all these details gave this man
an open, frank, and honest appearance, which attracted sympathy, and
pleased at the first glance. This worthy, giant, whose real name was
Bonnaire, but who was only known on the prairies by the sobriquet of
Marksman, a sobriquet which he fully justified by the correctness of
his aim, and his skill in detecting the lurking places of wild beasts,
was born in the vicinity of Montreal; but having been taken, while very
young, into the forests of Upper Canada, desert life possessed such
charms for him, that he had given up civilized society, and for nearly
thirty years had traversed the vast solitudes of North America, only
consenting to visit the towns and villages when he wanted to dispose
of the skins of the animals he had killed, or renew his provision of
powder and bullets.

Marksman's companion, Flying Eagle, was one of the most renowned chiefs
of the tribe of the White Buffaloes, the most powerful of all forming
the warlike Comanche race, that untameable and ferocious nation, which,
in its immeasurable pride, haughtily terms itself the Queen of the
Prairies, a title which no other tribe dares to challenge. Flying
Eagle, though still very young, for he was scarcely four-and-twenty,
had already distinguished himself, on several occasions, by deeds of
such unheard-of boldness and temerity, that his mere name inspired the
countless Indian hordes that constantly traverse the desert in every
direction, with invincible terror.

He was tall, well built, and perfectly proportioned; his features were
elegant, and his black eyes acquired, beneath the influence of any
powerful emotion, that strange rigidity which commands respect; his
gestures were noble, and his carriage graceful, and stamped with that
majesty inborn in Indians. The Chief was attired in his war dress, and
that was so singular, as to deserve a detailed description.

Flying Eagle wore the cap which only distinguished warriors, who have
killed many warriors, have the right to assume; it is made of strips
of white ermine, with a large piece of red cloth fastened at the back,
and falling to the thigh, to which is fastened an upright crest of
black and white eagle plumes, which begins at the head, and continues
in close order to the extremity. Above his right ear he had passed
through his hair a wooden knife, painted red, and about the length
of a hand; this knife was the model of one with which he had killed
a Dacotah chief; he wore, in addition, eight small wooden skewers,
painted blue, and adorned at the upper extremity with a gilt nail, to
indicate the number of bullets that had wounded him; over his left ear
he wore a large tuft of yellow owl feathers, with the ends painted
red, as the totem of the Band of Dogs; one half his face was red, and
his body reddish brown, with stripes from which the colour had been
removed by a moistened finger. His arms, starting from the shoulder,
were adorned with twenty-seven yellow stripes, indicating the number
of his exploits, while on his chest he had painted a blue hand, to
announce that he had frequently made prisoners. Round his neck he wore
a magnificent collar of grizzly bear's claws, three inches in length,
and white at the point. His shoulders were covered by a large buffalo
robe, falling almost to the ground, and painted of various colours.
His breeches, composed of two separate parts, one for each leg, were
tightly fastened to his waist belt, and fell almost to his ankles,
embroidered externally with coloured porcupine quills, terminating in a
long tuft that trailed on the ground. Wide stripes of black and white
cloth were rolled round his hips, and fell before and behind in heavy
folds. His slippers, of buffalo hide, were but slightly decorated;
but wolf tails, trailing on the ground behind him, and equalling in
number the enemies he had conquered, were fastened above his ankles.
From his waist belt hung, on one side, his powder flask, ball pouch,
and scalping knife: on the other, a quiver of panther skin filled with
long, sharp arrows, and his tomahawk; his gun was laid on the ground,
within reach of his hand.

This warrior, dressed in such a strange costume, had something imposing
and sinister about him which inspired terror.

For the present we will confine ourselves to saying that Eglantine was
not more than fifteen years of age; that she was very beautiful for an
Indian girl; and wore, in all its elegant simplicity, the sweet costume
adopted by the women of her nation. Ending here this description, which
was perhaps too detailed, but which was necessary in order to know the
men we have introduced in the scene, we will return to our narrative.

For a long time the two men smoked side by side without exchanging a
syllable; at length, the Canadian shook out the ashes of his pipe on
his thumb nail, and addressed his companion.

"Is my brother satisfied?" he said.

"Wah!" the Indian answered, and bowing assent; "my brother has a
friend."

"Good!" the hunter continued; "and what will the Chief do now?"

"Flying Eagle will rejoin his tribe with Eglantine, and then return to
seek the Apache trail."

"For what purpose?"

"Flying Eagle will avenge himself."

"As you please, Chief. I will certainly not try to dissuade you from
projects against enemies who are also mine; still, I do not believe you
look at the matter in the right light."

"What would my brother the Paleface warrior say?"

"I mean that we are far from the lodges of the Comanches, and before
reaching them we shall have doubtlessly more than one turn-up with
the enemies from whom the Chief considers himself freed, perhaps, too
prematurely."

The Indian shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.

"The Apaches are old women, chattering, and cowardly," he said. "Flying
Eagle despises them."

"That is possible," the hunter replied, with a toss of his head;
"still, in my opinion, we should have done better in continuing our
journey till sunrise, in order to put a greater distance between them
and us, instead of halting so imprudently; we are still very near the
camp of our enemies."

"The fire water has stopped the ears and closed the eyes of the Apache
dogs; they are stretched on the ground and sleeping."

"Hum! that is not my opinion; I am, on the contrary, persuaded that
they are watching and looking for us."

At the same instant, as if chance wished to justify the apprehensions
of the prudent hunter, some dozen shots were fired; a horrible war
cry, to which the Canadian and the Comanche responded, with a yell of
defiance, was heard in the forest, and nearly thirty Indians rushed
howling toward the fire, at which our three characters were seated; but
the latter had disappeared, as if by enchantment.

The Apaches stopped with an outburst of passion, not knowing in what
direction to turn, in order to find their crafty foes again. Suddenly
three shots were fired from the interior of the forest, and three
Apaches rolled on the ground, with holes in their chests. The Indians
uttered a yell of fury, and rushed in the direction of the shots. At
the moment they reached the edge of the forest, a man stepped forward,
waving in his right hand a buffalo robe, as a signal of peace. It was
Marksman, the Canadian.

The Apaches stopped with an ill-omened hesitation, but the Canadian,
without seeming to notice the movement, walked resolutely toward them
with the slow and careless step habitual to him; on recognizing him,
the Indians brandished their weapons wrathfully, and wished to rush
upon him, for they had many reasons for hating the hunter; but their
Chief arrested them with a peremptory gesture.

"Let my brothers be patient," he said, with a sinister smile, "they
will lose nothing by waiting."




CHAPTER II.

THE GUEST.


On the same day that our story begins, and about three miles from where
the events narrated in our preceding chapter occurred, a numerous
caravan had halted at sunset, in a vast clearing situated on the skirt
of an immense virgin forest, the last species of which ended on the
banks of the Rio Colorado.

This caravan came from the south-east, that is, from Mexico. It
appeared to have been on the march for a long time, as far as possible
to judge by the state in which the clothes of the men were, as well
as the harness of the horses and mules. In fact, the poor beasts
themselves were reduced to a state of leanness and weakness, which
amply testified to the rude fatigue they must have endured. The
caravan was composed of some thirty-five persons, all attired in
the picturesque and characteristic costume of the half-bred hunters
and Gambusinos, who alone, or in small bands, at the most of four,
incessantly traverse the Far West, which they explore in its most
mysterious depths, for the purpose of hunting, trapping, or discovering
the numberless gold veins it contains in its bosom.

The adventurers halted, dismounted, fastened their horses to picket
ropes, and began immediately, with that skill and quickness only
attained by long habit, making their preparations to bivouac. The grass
was pulled up over a considerable extent of ground; the baggage, piled
up in a circle, formed a breastwork, behind which a sudden attack of
the desert marauders might be resisted; and then fires were lighted in
the shape of a St. Andrew's cross in the interior of the camp.

When all this had been attended to, some of the adventurers put up a
large tent above a palanquin hermetically closed, which was carried by
two mules, one before and one behind. When the tent was pitched, the
mules were taken out of the palanquin, and the curtains, in falling,
covered it so completely, that it was entirely concealed.

This palanquin was a riddle to the adventurers. No one knew what it
contained, though the general curiosity was singularly aroused on the
subject of a mystery so specially incomprehensible in this deserted
country; each kept carefully to himself the opinions he had formed
about it--above all, since the day when, in the midst of a difficult
piece of country, and during the momentary absence of the chief of the
Cuadrilla, who usually never left the palanquin, which he guarded like
a miser does his treasure, a hunter leaned over and slightly opened
one of the curtains; but the man had scarce time to take a furtive
peep through the opening, ere the chief, suddenly coming up, split his
skull open with a blow of his machete, and laid him dead at his feet.
Then he turned to the terrified witnesses, and said calmly,--"Is there
another among you who would like to discover what I think proper to
keep secret?"

These words were uttered in such a tone of implacable raillery and
furious cruelty, that these villains, for the most part without faith
or law, and accustomed to brave, with a laugh, the greatest perils,
felt an internal shudder, and their blood stagnated in their veins.
This lesson had been sufficient. No one tried afterwards to discover
the captain's secret.

The final arrangements had been scarcely made for the encampment, ere
the sound of horses was heard, and two horsemen arrived at a gallop.

"Here is the Captain," the adventurers said to each other.

The newcomers gave their reins to men who ran up to receive them, and
walked hastily toward the tent. On arriving there, the first stopped
and addressed his companion:--"Caballero," he said to him, "you are
welcome among us; although very poor ourselves, we will gladly share
the little we possess with you."

"Thanks," the second said, with a bow, "I will not abuse your gracious
hospitality; tomorrow, at sunrise, I think I shall be sufficiently
rested to continue my journey."

"You will act as you think proper: seat yourself by this fire prepared
for us, while I go for a few moments into that tent. I will soon rejoin
you, and have the honour of keeping you company."

The stranger bowed, and took his place by the fire, lighted a short
distance from the tent, while the captain let the curtain he had lifted
fail behind him, and disappeared from his guest's sight.

The latter was a man of marked features, his stalwart limbs denoting
a far from ordinary strength; the few wrinkles that furrowed his
energetic face served to indicate that he had already passed midlife,
though no trace of decrepitude was visible on his solidly-built body,
and not a white hair silvered his long and thick locks, which were
black as a raven's wing. He wore the costume of the rich Mexican
hacenderos, that is to say, the mança; the zarapé, of many colours;
the velvet calzoneras, open at the knee, and botas vaqueras; his hat,
of vicuna skin, gallooned with gold, was drawn in by a rich toquilla,
fastened with a costly diamond; a sheathless machete hung from his
right hip, merely passed through an iron ring: the barrels of two
six-chambered revolvers shone in his waist belt, and he had thrown on
the grass by his side an American rifle, beautifully damascened with
silver.

When the Captain left him alone, this man, while installing himself
before the fire in the most comfortable way possible, that is to say,
arranging his zarapé and water bottles to serve as a bed, if necessary,
had cast a furtive glance around, whose expression would, doubtless,
have supplied the adventurers with serious matter of thought had they
been able to notice it; but all were busied in getting the bivouac
snug, and preparations for supper; and trusting entirely in the loyalty
of prairie hospitality, they did not at all dream of watching what the
stranger seated at their fire was about.

The unknown, after a few moments' reflection, rose and walked up to a
party of trappers, whose conversation seemed very animated, and who
were gesticulating with that fire natural to southern races.

"Eh!" one of them said, on noticing the stranger, "this señor will set
us right with a word."

The latter, thus directly appealed to, turned toward the speaker.

"What is the matter, caballeros?" he asked.

"Oh, a very simple matter," the adventurer made answer; "your horse, a
noble and handsome animal, I must allow, señor, will not associate with
others; it stamps its feet and bites at the companions we have given
it."

"Oh, that is, indeed, simple enough," a second adventurer remarked,
with a grin; "that horse is a _costeño_, and too proud to associate
with poor _tierras interiores_ like our horses."

At this singular reason, all burst into an Homeric laugh. The stranger
smiled cunningly.

"It may be the reason you state, or perhaps some other," he said
gently; "at any rate, there is a very simple way of settling the
dispute, which I will employ."

"Ah!" the second speaker said, "what is it?"

"This," the stranger replied, with the same air of placidity.

Then, walking up to the horse, which two men had a difficulty in
holding, he said,--"Let go!"

"But if we let go, nobody knows what will happen."

"Let go! I answer for all then," addressing his horse,--"Lillo!" he
said.

At this name, the horse raised its noble head, and fixing its sparkling
eye on the man who had called it, with a sharp and irresistible
movement, it threw off the two men who tried to check it, sent them
rolling on the grass, to the shouts of their comrades, and rubbed its
head against its master's chest with a neigh of pleasure.

"You see," the stranger said, as he patted the noble animal, "it is not
difficult."

"Hum!" the first adventurer who picked himself up said, in an angry
tone, and rubbing his shoulder; "that is a _demonio_ to which I would
not entrust my skin, old and wrinkled as it is at present."

"Do not trouble yourself any further about the horse, I will attend to
it."

"On the faith of Domingo, I have had enough, for my part; 'tis a noble
brute, but it has a fiend inside it."

The stranger shrugged his shoulders without replying, and returned
to the fire, followed by his horse, which paced step by step behind
him, not evincing the slightest wish to indulge further in those
eccentricities which had so greatly astonished the adventurers, who
are, however, all men well versed in the equine art. This horse was
a pure barb of Arab stock, and had probably cost its present owner
an enormous sum, and its pace seemed strange to men accustomed to
American horses. Its master gave it provender, hobbled it near him,
and then sat down again by the fire: at the same instant the Captain
appeared in the entrance of the tent.

"I beg your pardon," he said, with that charming courtesy natural to
the Hispano-Americans; "I beg your pardon, Señor Caballero, for having
neglected you so long, but an imperative duty claimed my presence. Now,
I am quite at your service."

The stranger bowed. "On the contrary," he replied, "I must ask you to
accept my apologies for the cool manner in which I avail myself of your
hospitality."

"Not a word more on this head, if you wish not to annoy me."

The Captain seated himself by his guest's side.

"We will dine," he said. "I can only offer you scanty fare; but one
must put up with it, and I am reduced to tasajo and red beans with
pimento."

"That is delicious, and I should assuredly do honour to it if I felt
the slightest appetite; but, at the present moment, it would be
impossible for me to swallow the smallest mouthful."

"Ah!" the Captain said, looking distrustfully at the stranger.

But he met a face so simply calm, a smile so frank, that he felt
ashamed of his suspicions, and his face, which had grown gloomy, at
once regained all its serenity.

"I am vexed. Still, I will ask permission to dine at once; for,
differently from you, Caballero, I must confess to you that I am
literally dying of hunger."

"I should be in despair at causing you the slightest delay."

"Domingo," the Captain shouted, "my dinner."

The adventurer, whom the stranger's horse had treated so roughly, soon
came up limping, and carrying his chief's supper in a wooden tray; a
few tortillas he held in his hand completed the meal, which was worthy
of an anchorite.

Domingo was an Indian half-bred, with a knowing look, angular features,
and crafty face: he appeared to be about fifty years of age, so far
as it is possible to judge an Indian's age by his looks. Since his
misadventure with the horse, Domingo felt a malice for the stranger.

"_Con su permiso_," the Captain said, as he broke a tortilla.

"I will smoke a cigarette, if that can be called keeping you company,"
the stranger said, with his stereotyped smile.

The other bowed politely, and fell to on his meagre repast with that
eagerness which denotes a lengthened abstinence. We will take advantage
of the opportunity to draw for the reader a portrait of the chief of
the caravan.

Don Miguel Ortega, for such was the name by which he was known to his
comrades, was an elegant and handsome young man, not more than six and
twenty years of age, with a bronzed complexion, delicate features,
haughty and flashing eyes; while his tall stature, well-shaped limbs,
and wide and arched chest, denoted rare vigour. Assuredly, through
the whole extent of the old Spanish colonies, it would have been
difficult--if not impossible--to meet a more seductive cavalier, whom
the picturesque Mexican costume became so well, or combining to the
same extent as he did, those external advantages which charm women and
captivate the populace. Still, for the observer, Don Miguel had too
great a depth in his eye, too rude a frown, and a smile too false and
perfidious, not to conceal, beneath his pleasing exterior, an ulcerated
soul and evil instincts.

A hunter's meal, seasoned by appetite, is never long. The present one
was promptly disposed of.

"There," the Captain said, as he wiped his fingers with a tuft of
grass; "now for a cigarette to help digestion, and then I shall have
the honour to wish you good night. Of course, you do not intend to
leave us before daybreak."

"I can hardly tell you. That will depend, to some extent, on the
weather tonight. I am in a considerable hurry, and you know, Caballero,
that--as our neighbours, the Gringos, so justly remark--time is money."

"You know better than I do, Caballero, what you have to do. Act as you
please; but, before I retire, accept my wishes for a pleasant night's
rest, and the success of your plans."

"I thank you, Caballero."

"One last word, or rather, one last question before separating?"

"Ask it."

"Of course, if this question appears to you indiscreet, you are at
perfect liberty not to answer it."

"It would surprise me, on the part of so accomplished a Caballero.
Hence, be kind enough to explain yourself."

"My name is Don Miguel Ortega."

"And mine, Don Stefano Cohecho."

The Captain bowed.

"Will you allow me, in my turn," the stranger said, "to ask you a
question?"

"I beg you to do so."

"Why this exchange of names?"

"Because, on the prairie it is good to be able to distinguish friends
from foes."

"That is true. And now?"

"Now I am certain that I do not count you among the latter."

"_¿Quién sabe?_" Don Stefano retorted, with a laugh. "There are such
strange accidents."

The two men, after exchanging a few more words in the most friendly
manner, cordially shook hands. Don Miguel went into the tent, and Don
Stefano, after turning his feet towards the fire, slept, or pretended
to do so.

An hour later, the deepest silence reigned in the camp. The fires only
produced a doubtful gleam; and the sentinels, leaning on their rifles,
were themselves yielding to that species of vague somnolency, which
is not quite sleep, but is no longer watching. All at once, an owl,
probably hidden in a neighbouring tree, twice uttered its melancholy
hu-hu.

Don Stefano suddenly opened his eyes, without changing his position; he
assured himself, by an investigating glance, that all was quiet around
him; then, after convincing himself that his machete and revolvers had
not left him, he took up his rifle, and in his turn imitated the cry of
the owl, which was answered by a similar whoop.

The stranger, after arranging his zarapé, so as to imitate a human
body, whispered a few words to his horse while patting it, in order to
calm it; and laying himself at full length on the ground, he crawled
towards one of the outlets from the camp, stopping at intervals to look
around him.

All continued to be tranquil. On reaching the foot of the breastwork
formed by the baggage, he jumped up, leapt over the obstacles with a
tiger's bound, and disappeared in the prairie. At the same instant a
man rose, sprang over the entrenchment, and rushed in pursuit of him.

That man was Domingo.




CHAPTER III.

A NIGHT CONFERENCE.


Don Stefano Cohecho seemed to be thoroughly acquainted with the
desert. So soon as he was on the prairie, and fancied himself safe
from any curious eye, he raised his head haughtily, his step grew more
confident, his eye sparkled with a gloomy fire, and he walked with long
steps towards a clump of palm trees, whose small fans formed but a
scanty protection by day against the burning sunbeams.

Still he neglected no precaution; at times he stopped hurriedly, to
listen to the slightest suspicious sound, or interrogate with searching
glance the gloomy depths of the forest. But after a few seconds,
re-assured by the calm that prevailed around him, he jogged onwards
with that deliberate step he had adopted on leaving the camp.

Domingo walked literally in his steps; spying and watching each of
his movements with that sagacity peculiar to the half-breeds, while
carefully keeping on his guard against any surprise on the part of the
man he was following. Domingo was one of those men of whom only too
many are met with on the frontiers. Gifted with great qualities and
great vices, equally fit for good and evil, capable of accomplishing
extraordinary things in either sense; but who, for the most part, are
only guided by their evil instincts.

He was at this moment following the stranger, without exactly knowing
the motive that made him do so; not, even having decided whether to
be for or against him; awaiting, to make up his mind, a little better
knowledge of the state of affairs, and the chance of weighing the
advantage he should derive from treachery or the performance of his
duty. Hence, he carefully avoided letting his presence be suspected,
for he guessed that the mystery he wished to detect would, if he
succeeded, offer him great advantages, especially if he knew how to
work it.

The two men marched thus for nearly an hour, one behind the other, Don
Stefano not suspecting for a moment that he was so cleverly watched,
and that one of the most knowing scoundrels on the prairie was at his
heels.

After numberless turnings in the tall grass, Don Stefano at length
arrived at the bank of the Rio Colorado, which at this spot was as wide
and placid as a lake, running over a bed of sand, bordered by thick
clumps of cottonwood trees, and tall poplars, whose roots were bathed
in the water. On reaching the river, the stranger stopped, listened
for a moment, and, raising his fingers to his mouth, imitated the bark
of a coyote. Almost immediately, the same signal rose in the midst of
the mangrove trees, and a little birchbark canoe, pulled by two men,
appeared on the bank.

"Eh!" Don Stefano said, in a suppressed voice, "I had given up all
hopes of meeting you."

"Did you not hear our signal?" one of the men in the canoe answered.

"Should I have come without that? Still, it seems to me you could have
come nearer to me."

"It was not possible."

The canoe ran on to the sand; the two men leaped on lightly, and in a
second joined Don Stefano. Both were dressed and armed like prairie
hunters.

"Hum!" Don Stefano continued; "it is a long journey from the camp here,
and I am afraid that my absence may be noticed."

"That is a risk you must run," the first speaker remarked--a man of
tall stature, with a grave and stern face, whose hair, white as snow,
fell in long curls on his shoulders.

"Well, as you are here at last, let us come to an understanding; and
make haste about it, for time is precious. What have you done since we
parted?"

"Not much; we followed you at a distance, that is all, ready to come to
your assistance if needed."

"Thanks; no news?"

"None. Who could have given us any?"

"That is true; and have you not met your friend Marksman?"

"No."

"_¡Cuerpo de Cristo!_ That is annoying; for, if my presentiment do not
deceive me, we shall soon have to play at knives."

"We will do so."

"I know it, Brighteye. I have long been acquainted with your courage;
but you, Ruperto your comrade, and myself, are only three men, after
all."

"What matter?"

"What matter? you say, when we shall have to fight thirty or forty
hardened hunters! On my word, Brighteye, you will drive me mad with
your notions. You doubt about nothing; but remember, that this time
we have not to contend against badly-armed Indians, but white men,
thorough game for the galleys, who will die without yielding an inch,
and to whom we must inevitably succumb."

"That is true; I did not think of that; they are numerous."

"If we fall, what will become of her?"

"Good, good," the hunter said, with a shake of his head. "I repeat to
you that I did not think of that."

"You see, then, that it is indispensable for us to come to an
understanding with Marksman and the men he may have at his disposal."

"Yes; but where are you going to find in the desert the trail of a man
like Marksman? Who knows where he is at this moment? He may be within
gunshot of us, or five hundred miles off."

"It is enough to drive me mad."

"The fact is, that the position is grave. Are you, at least, sure this
time that you are not mistaken, but are in the right trail?"

"I cannot say with certainty, though everything leads me to suppose
that I am not mistaken. However, I shall soon know what I have to
depend on."

"Besides, it is the same trail we have followed ever since leaving
Monterey; the chances are it is they."

"What do we resolve on?"

"Hang it! I do not know what to say!"

"On my word, you are a most heart breaking fellow! What! cannot you
suggest any way?"

"I must have a certainty, and then, as you said yourself, it would be
madness for us thus to try a sudden attack."

"You are right. I will return to the camp; tomorrow night we will meet
again, and I shall be very unlucky if this time I do not discover
what it is so important for us all to know. Do you, in the meanwhile,
ransack the prairie in every direction, and, if possible, bring me news
of Marksman."

"The recommendation is unnecessary. I shall not be idle."

Don Stefano seized the old hunter's hand, and pressed it between his
own.

"Brighteye," he said to him, with considerable emotion,

"I will not speak of our old friendship, nor of the services which I
have been several times so fortunate as to render you; I will only
repeat, and I know it will be sufficient for you, that the happiness of
my whole life depends on the success of our expedition."

"Good, good; have confidence in me, Don José. I am too old to change my
friends; I do not know who is right or wrong in this business; I wish
that justice may be on your side; but that does not affect me. Whatever
may happen, I will be a good and faithful companion to you."

"Thanks, my old friend. Tomorrow night, then."

After uttering these few words, Don Stefano, or, at least, the man who
called himself so, made a move as if to withdraw; but Brighteye stopped
him, with a sudden gesture.

"What is the matter?" the stranger asked.

The hunter laid a forefinger on his mouth, to recommend silence, and
turned to Ruperto, who had remained silent and apathetic during the
interview.

"_Coyote_," he said to him, in a low voice.

Without replying, Ruperto bounded like a jaguar, and disappeared in a
clump of cottonwood trees, which was a short distance off. After a few
moments, the two men who had remained, with their bodies bent forward
in the attitude of listeners, without uttering a syllable, heard a
rustling of leaves, a noise of broken branches, followed by the fall of
a heavy body on the ground, and after that nothing. Almost immediately
the cry of the owl rose in the night air.

"Ruperto calls us," Brighteye then said, "all is over

"What has happened?" Don Stefano asked anxiously.

"Less than nothing," the hunter replied, making him a sign to follow.
"You had a spy at your heels; that is all."

"A spy?"

"By Jove! you shall see."

"Oh, oh! that is serious."

"Less than you suppose, as we have him."

"In that case, though, we must kill the man."

"Who knows? That will probably depend on the explanation we may have
with him. At any rate, there is no great harm in crushing such vipers."

While speaking thus, Brighteye and his companion had entered the
thicket. Domingo, thrown down, and tightly garotted by means of
Ruperto's reata, was vainly struggling to break the bonds that cut
into, his flesh. Ruperto, with his hands resting on the muzzle of his
rifle, was listening with a grin, but no other reply, to the flood of
insults and recriminations which rage drew from the half-breed.

"_¡Dios me ampare!_" the latter shouted, writhing like a viper.
"_¡Verdugo del Demonio!_ Is this the way to behave between _gente de
razón?_ Am I a Redskin, to be tied like a plug of tobacco, and have my
limbs fettered like a calf that is being taken to the shambles? If ever
you fall into my hands, accursed dog! you shall pay for the trick you
have played me."

"Instead of threatening, my good man," Brighteye interposed, "it seems
to me you would do better by frankly allowing that you are in our
power, and acting in accordance."

The bandit sharply turned his head, the only part of his person at
liberty, toward the hunter.

"What right have you to call me good man, and give me advice, old
trapper of muskrats?" he said to him, irritably. "Are you white men or
Indians, to treat a hunter thus?"

"If, instead of hearing what did not concern you, Señor Domingo, for I
believe that is your name," Don Stefano said, with a cunning look, "you
had remained quietly asleep in your camp, the little annoyance of which
you complain would not have occurred."

"I am bound to recognize the justice of your reasoning," the bandit
replied ironically; "but, hang it! what would you have? I have ever
suffered from a mania of trying to find out what people sought to hide
from me."

The stranger looked at him suspiciously.

"And have you had the mania long, my good friend?" he asked him.

"Since my earliest youth," he answered, with effrontery.

"Only think of that! Then you must have learned a good many things?"

"An enormous quantity, worthy sir."

Don Stefano turned to Brighteye.

"My friend," he said to him, "just unloosen this man's bonds a little.
There is much to be gained in his company; I wish to enjoy his
conversation for a little while."

The hunter silently executed the orders he received. The bandit uttered
a sigh of satisfaction at finding himself more at his ease, and sat up.

"_¡Cuerpo de Cristo!_" he exclaimed, with a mocking accent. "The
position is now, at any rate, bearable. We can talk."

"I think so."

"My faith! yes. I am quite at your service, for anything you please,
Excellency."

"I will profit by your complaisance."

"Profit by it! profit by it, Excellency? I can only gain in talking
with you."

"Do you believe so?"

"I am convinced of it."

"Indeed, you may be right; but tell me, beside that noble curiosity,
which you so frankly confessed, have you not, by accident, a few other
defects?"

The bandit appeared to reflect conscientiously for two or three
minutes, and then answered, with an affable grin,--

"My faith! no, Excellency. I cannot find any."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Hum! it may be so, yet I do not believe it."

"Come, you see, you are not sure."

"That is indeed true!" the bandit exclaimed, with pretended candour.
"As you know, Excellency, human nature is so imperfect."

Don Stefano gave a nod of assent.

"If I were to help you," he said, "perhaps--"

"We might find it out, Excellency," Domingo quickly interrupted him.
"Well, help me, help me, I ask for nothing better."

"Hum! for instance--but notice that I affirm nothing; I suppose, that
is all."

"_¡Caray!_ I am well aware of it. Go on, Excellency, do not trouble
yourself."

"Then, I say--have you not a certain weakness for money?"

"For gold, especially."

"That is what I meant to say."

"The fact is, gold is very tempting, Excellency."

"I do not wish to regard it as a crime, my friend. I only mention it;
besides, that passion is so natural--"

"Is it not?"

"That you must be affected by it."

"Well, I confess, Excellency, that you have guessed it."

"Look you! I was sure of it."

"Yes, money gained honestly."

"Of course! Thus, for instance, suppose anyone offered you a thousand
piastres to discover the secret of Don Miguel Ortega's palanquin?"

"Hang it!" the bandit said, fixing a sharp glance on the stranger, who,
for his part, examined him attentively.

"And if that somebody," Don Stefano went on, "gave you in addition,
as earnest penny, a ring like this?" While saying this, he made a
magnificent diamond ring flash in the bandit's eyes.

"I would accept," the latter said, with a greedy accent, "even if I
were compelled, in order to discover that secret, to imperil the share
I hope for in Paradise."

Don Stefano turned to Brighteye. "Unfasten this man," he said, coldly,
"we understand each other."

On feeling himself free, the half-breed gave a bound of joy. "The
ring!" he said.

"There it is," Don Stefano said, as he handed it to him; "all is
arranged."

Domingo laid his right-hand thumb across the left, and raised his head
proudly. "On the Holy Cross of the Redeemer," he said, in a clear and
impressive voice, "I swear to employ all my efforts in discovering
the secret Don Miguel hides so jealously; I swear never to betray the
Caballero with whom I am treating at this moment: this oath I take in
the presence of these three Caballeros, pledging myself, if I break it,
to endure any punishment, even death, which it may please these three
Caballeros to inflict on me."

The oath taken by Domingo is the most terrible a Spanish American can
offer; there is not a single instance of it ever having been broken.
Don Stefano bowed, convinced of the bandit's sincerity.

At this moment, several shots, followed by horrible yells, were heard
at a short distance off. Brighteye started. "Don José," he said to the
stranger, as he laid his hands on his shoulder, "Heaven favours us.
Return to the camp; tomorrow night I shall probably have some news for
you."

"But those shots?"

"Do not trouble yourself about them, but return to the camp, I tell
you, and let me act."

"Well, as you wish it, I will retire."

"Till tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

"And I?" Domingo said. "Caramba, comrades, if you are going to play at
knives, can you not take me with you?"

The old hunter looked at him attentively. "Eh!" he said, at the
expiration of a moment, "your idea is not a bad one; you can come if
you desire it."

"That is capital, for it is a pretext ready made to explain my absence."

Don Stefano smiled, and after reminding Brighteye once again of their
meeting for the following night, he left the thicket, and proceeded
toward the camp. The two hunters and the half-breed were left alone.




CHAPTER IV.

INDIANS AND HUNTERS.


As we have already said, at the spot where the three hunters were
standing, the Rio Colorado formed a wide sheet, whose silvery waters
wound through a superb and picturesque country. At times, on either
bank, the ground rose almost suddenly into bold mountains of grand
appearance; at other places, the river ran through fresh and laughing
prairies, covered with luxuriant vegetation, or graceful and undulating
valleys, in which grew trees of every description.

It was in one of these valleys that Brighteye's canoe had been pulled
in. Sheltered on all sides by lofty forests, which begirt them with a
dense curtain of verdure, the hunters would have escaped, even during
the day, from the investigations of curious or indiscreet persons, who
might have attempted to surprise them at this advanced hour of the
night, by the flickering rays of the moon which only reached them after
being followed through the leafy dome that covered them: they could
consider themselves as being perfectly secure.

Reassured by the strength of his position, Brighteye, so soon as Don
Stefano had left him, formed his plan of action with that lucidity
which can only be obtained from a lengthened knowledge of the desert.

"Comrade," he said to the half-breed, "do you know the desert?"

"Not so well as you, certainly, old hunter," the latter answered,
modestly, "but well enough to be of good service to you in the
expedition you wish to attempt."

"I like that way of answering, for it shows a desire of doing well.
Listen to me attentively; the colour of my hair, and the wrinkles that
furrow my forehead, tell you sufficiently that I must possess a certain
amount of experience; my whole life has been spent in the woods; there
is not a blade of grass I do not know, a sound which I cannot explain,
a footstep which I cannot discover. A few moments back, several shots
were fired not far from us, followed by the Indian war yell; among
those shots I am certain I recognized the rifle of a man for whom I
feel the warmest friendship; that man is in danger at this moment--he
is fighting the Apaches, who have surprised and attacked him during
sleep. The number of shots leads me to suppose that my friend has only
two companions with him; if we do not go to his help, he is lost, for
his adversaries are numerous; the thing I am about to attempt is almost
desperate; we have every chance against us, so reflect before replying.
Are you still resolved to accompany Ruperto and myself; in a word, risk
your scalp in our company?"

"Bah!" the bandit said, carelessly, "a man can only die once; perhaps
I shall never again have so fine an opportunity of dying honestly.
Dispose of me, old trapper--I am yours, body and soul."

"Good; I expected that answer; still, it was my duty to warn you of
the danger that threatened you: now, no more talking, but let us act,
for time presses, and every minute we waste is an age for the man we
wish to save. Walk in my moccasins; keep your eye and ear on the watch;
above all, be prudent, and do nothing without orders."

After having carefully inspected the cap on his rifle, a precaution
imitated by his two companions, Brighteye looked round him for a few
seconds, then, with that hunter's instinct which in them is almost
second sight, he advanced with a rapid though silent step in the
direction of the fighting, while making the men a sign to follow him.

It is impossible to form an idea, even a distant one, of what a night
march is on the prairie, on foot, through the shrubs, the trees which
have grown together, the creepers that twine in every direction.
Walking on a shifting soil, composed of detritus of every nature
accumulated during centuries, at one place forming mounds several feet
high, surrounded by deep ditches, not only is it difficult to find a
path through this inextricable confusion, when walking quietly onward,
with no fear of betraying one's presence, but this becomes almost
impossible when you have to open a passage silently, not letting a
branch spring back, or a leaf rustle; for that sound, though almost
imperceptible, would be enough to place the enemy you wish to surprise
on his guard.

A long residence in the desert can alone enable a man to acquire the
necessary skill to carry out this rude task successfully. This skill
Brighteye possessed in the highest degree; he seemed to guess the
obstacles which rose at each step before him--obstacles the slightest
of which, under such circumstances, would have made the most resolute
man recoil, through his conviction of it being an impossibility to
surmount them.

The two other hunters had only to follow the track so cleverly and
laboriously made by their guide. Fortunately, the adventurers were
only a short distance from the men they were going to help; had it
been otherwise, they would have needed nearly the whole night to join
them. Had Brighteye wished it, he could have skirted the forest and
walked in the long grass--a road incomparably more easy, and especially
less fatiguing; but, with his usual correctness of conception, the
hunter understood that the direction he took was the only one which
would permit him to go straight to the scene of action without being
discovered by the Indians, who, in spite of all their sagacity, would
never suspect that a man would dare to attempt such a route.

After a walk of about twenty minutes, Brighteye stopped--the hunters
had arrived. On lightly moving the branches and brambles aside, they
witnessed the following scene.

Before them, and scarce ten paces off, was a clearing. In the centre of
that clearing three fires were burning, and were surrounded by Apache
warriors, smoking gravely, while their horses, fastened to pickets,
were nibbling the young tree shoots.

Marksman was standing motionless near the chiefs, leaning on his rifle,
and exchanging a few words with them at intervals. Brighteye understood
nothing of what he saw; all these men seemed on the best terms with the
hunter, who, for his part, did not display the slightest uneasiness,
either by his gestures or his face.

We have said that, after the Indians' sudden attack, Marksman advanced
towards them, waving a buffalo robe in sign of peace. The Indians
stopped, with that courteous deference which they display in all their
relations, in order to listen to the hunter's explanations. A chief
even stepped towards him, politely inviting him to say what he wanted.

"My red brother does not know me! Then, is it necessary that I should
tell him my name, that he may know with whom he is speaking?" Marksman
said, angrily.

"That is useless. I know that my brother is a great white warrior. My
ears are open; I await the explanation he will be good enough to give
me."

The hunter shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.

"Have the Apaches become cowardly or plundering coyotes, setting out in
flocks to hunt on the prairies? Why have they attacked me?"

"My brother knows it."

"No, as I ask it. The Antelope Apaches had a chief--a great
warrior--named Red Wolf. That chief was my friend. I had made a treaty
with him. But Red Wolf is, doubtlessly, dead; his scalp adorns the
lodge of a Comanche, as the young men of his tribe have come to attack
me, treacherously, and against the sworn peace, during my sleep."

The Chief frowned, and drew himself up.

"The Paleface, like all his countrymen, has a viper's tongue," he said,
rudely; "a skin covers his heart, and the words his chest exhales are
so many perfidies. Red Wolf is not dead; his scalp does not adorn the
lodge of a Comanche dog; he is still the first chief of the Antelope
Apaches. The hunter knows it well, since he is speaking to him at this
moment."

"I am glad that my brother has made himself known," the hunter replied,
"for I should not have recognized him from his way of acting."

"Yes, there is a traitor between us," the Chief said, drily; "but that
traitor is a Paleface, and not an Indian!"

"I wait till my brother explains himself. I do not understand him;
a mist has spread over my eyes--my mind is veiled. The words of the
Chief, I have no doubt, will dissipate this cloud."

"I hope so! Let the hunter answer with an honest tongue, and no deceit.
His voice is a music which for a long time sounded pleasantly in my
ears, and rejoiced my heart. I should be glad if his explanation
restored me the friend whom I fancied I had lost."

"Let my brother speak. I will answer his questions."

At a sign from Red Wolf, the Apaches had kindled several fires, and
formed a temporary camp. In spite of all his cleverness, doubt had
entered the heart of the Apache chief, and he wished to prove to
the white hunter, whom he feared, that he was acting frankly, and
entertained no ill design against him. The Apaches, seeing the good
understanding that apparently prevailed between their sachem and the
hunter, had hastened to execute the order they received. All traces
of the contest disappeared in a moment, and the clearing offered the
appearance of a bivouac of peaceful hunters receiving the visit of a
friend.

Marksman smiled internally at the success of his plan, and the way
in which he managed, by a few words, to give quite a different turn
to the position of affairs. Still he was not without anxiety about
the explanation the Chief was going to ask of him. He felt he was in
a wasps' nest, from which he did not know how he should contrive to
emerge, without some providential accident. Redskin invited the hunter
to take a seat by his side at the fire, which he declined, however, not
being at all certain how matters would end, and wishing to retain a
chance of escape in the event of the explanation becoming stormy.

"Is the pale hunter ready to reply?" Red Wolf asked him.

"I am awaiting my brother's good pleasure."

"Good! Let my brother open his ears, then. A Chief is about to speak."

"I am listening."

"Red Wolf is a renowned Chief. His name is cared by the Comanches, who
fly before him like timid squaws. One day, at the head of his young
men, Red Wolf entered an altopelt (village) of the Comanches. The
Buffalo Comanches were hunting on the prairies; their warriors and
young men were absent. Red Wolf burned the cabins, and carried off the
women prisoners. Is that true?"

"It is true."

"Among the women was one for whom the heart of the Apache chief spoke.
That woman was the Cihuatl of the sachem of the Buffalo Comanches. Red
Wolf led her to his hut and treated her not as a prisoner, but as a
well-beloved sister."

"What did the pale hunter?"

The Chief broke off and looked steadily at Marksman; but the latter did
not move a feature.

"I wait till my brother answers me, in order to know with what he
reproaches me," he said.

Red Wolf continued, with a certain degree of animation in his voice,--

"The pale hunter, abusing the friendship of the Chief, introduced
himself into his village, under the pretext of visiting his red
brother. As he was known and beloved by all, he traversed the village
as he pleased, sauntered about everywhere, and when he had discovered
Eglantine, he carried her off during a dark night, like a traitor and a
coward."

At this insult, the hunter pressed the barrel of his rifle with a
convulsive movement; but he immediately recovered his coolness.

"The Chief is a great warrior," he said, "he speaks well. The words
reach his lips with an abundance that is charming. Unfortunately, he
lets himself be led astray by passion, and does not describe matters as
they occurred."

"Wah!" the Chief exclaimed, "Red Wolf is an impostor, and his lying
tongue ought to be thrown to the dogs."

"I have listened patiently to the Chief's words, it is his turn to hear
mine."

"Good! Let my brother speak."

At this moment, a whistle, no louder than a sigh, was audible. The
Indians paid no attention to it, but the hunter quivered, his eye
flashed, and a smile played round the corner of his lips.

"I will be brief," he said. "It is true that I introduced myself into
my brother's village, but frankly and loyally to ask of him, in the
name of Mahchsi-Karehde, the great sachem of the Buffalo Comanches, his
wife, whom Red Wolf had carried off. I offered for her a rich ransom,
composed of four guns, six hides of she-buffalos, and two necklaces of
grizzly bears' claws. I acted thus, in the intention of preventing a
war between the Buffalo Comanches and the Antelope Apaches. My brother,
Red Wolf, instead of accepting my friendly proposals, despised them. I
then warned him, that, by will or force, Flying Eagle would recover his
wife, treacherously carried off from his village while he was absent.
Then I withdrew. What reproach can my brother address to me? Under what
circumstances did I behave badly to him? Flying Eagle has got back his
wife; he has acted well--he was in the right. Red Wolf has nothing to
say to that. Under similar circumstances, he would have done the same.
I have spoken. Let my brother answer if his heart proves to him that I
was wrong."

"Good!" the Chief answered. "My brother was here with Eglantine a few
minutes ago; he will tell me where she is hidden, Red Wolf will capture
her again, and there will no longer be a cloud between Red Wolf and his
friend."

"The Chief will forget that woman who does not love him and who cannot
be his. That will be better, especially as Flying Eagle will never
consent to give her up."

"Red Wolf has warriors to support his words," the Indian said, proudly,
"Flying Eagle is alone; how will he oppose the will of the sachem?"

Marksman smiled.

"Flying Eagle has numerous friends," he said, "he is at this moment
sheltered in the camp of the Palefaces, whose fires Red Wolf can see
from here, glistening in the darkness. Let my brother listen. I believe
I hear the sound of footsteps in the forest."

The Indian rose with agitation.

At this moment three men entered the clearing. They were Brighteye,
Ruperto, and Domingo.

At the sight of them, the Apaches, who were thoroughly acquainted with
them, rose tumultuously and uttered a cry of astonishment, almost of
terror, while seizing their weapons. The three hunters continued to
advance calmly, not caring to trouble themselves about these almost
hostile demonstrations.

We will explain in a few words the appearance of the hunters and their
interference, which was probably about to change the aspect of affairs.




CHAPTER V.

MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS.


Brighteye and his two companions, owing to the position they occupied,
not only saw all that occurred in the clearing, but also heard, without
losing a word, the conversation between Marksman and Red Wolf.

For many long years the two Canadian hunters had been on intimate
terms. Many times had they undertaken together some of those daring
expeditions which the wood rangers frequently carry out against the
Indians. These two men had no secrets from each other; all was in
common between them--hatred as well as friendship.

Brighteye was thoroughly acquainted with the events to which Marksman
alluded, and, had not certain reasons, we shall learn presently,
prevented him, he would have probably aided his friend in rescuing
Eglantine from Red Wolf. Still, one point remained obscure on his mind;
that was the presence of Marksman in the middle of the Indians, the
quarrel which had begun in shouts and yells, and had now apparently
terminated with an amicable conversation.

By what strange concourse of events was it that Marksman, the man best
acquainted with Indian tricks, whose reputation for skill and courage
was universal among the hunters and trappers of the Western Prairies,
now found himself in an equivocal position, in the midst of thirty or
forty Apaches, the most scoundrelly treacherous and ferocious of all
the Indians who wander about the desert? This it was that the worthy
hunter could not explain, and which rendered him so thoughtful. At
the risk of whatever might happen, he resolved to reveal his presence
to his friend by means of a signal arranged between them long ago, in
order to warn him that, in case of need, a friend was watching over
him. It was then that he gave the whistle, at the sound of which we saw
the hunter start. But this signal had a result which Brighteye was far
from expecting. The branches of the tree, against the trunk of which
the Canadian was leaning, parted, and a man, hanging by his arms, fell
suddenly to the ground a couple of yards from him, but so lightly, that
his fall did not produce the slightest sound.

At the first glance, Brighteye recognized the man who seemed thus to
fall from the sky. Owing to his self-command, he displayed none of the
amazement this unforeseen appearance produced in him. The hunter rested
the butt of his rifle on the ground, and addressed the Indian politely.

"That is a strange idea of yours, Chief," he said, with a smile, "to
go promenading on the trees at this hour of the night."

"Flying Eagle is watching the Apaches," the Indian answered, with a
guttural accent. "Did not my brother expect to see me?"

"In the prairie we must expect everything, Chief. Still, I confess that
few meetings would be so agreeable to me as yours, especially at this
moment."

"My brother is on the trail of the Antelopes?"

"I declare to you, Chief, that an hour ago I did not expect I was so
near them. Had I not heard your shots, it is probable that at this
moment I should be quietly asleep in my bivouac."

"Yes, my brother heard the rifle of a friend sing, and he has come."

"You have guessed rightly, Chief. But now tell me all about it, for I
know nothing."

"Has not my pale brother heard Red Wolf?"

"Of course; but is there nothing else?"

"Nothing. Flying Eagle rescued his wife; the Apaches pursued him, like
cowardly coyotes, and this night surprised him at his fire."

"Very good. Is Eglantine in safety?"

"Eglantine is a Comanche woman; she knows not fear."

"I am aware of that--she is a good creature; but that is not the
question at this moment. What do you purpose doing?"

"Wait for a favourable moment, then utter my war yell, and fall on
these dogs."

"Hum! your project is rather quick. If you will allow me, I will make a
slight change."

"Wisdom speaks by the mouth of the pale hunter. Flying Eagle is young:
he will obey."

"Good; the more so, because I shall only act for your welfare. But now
let me listen, for the conversation seems to me to be taking a turn
extremely interesting for us."

The Indian bowed, but made no reply, while Brighteye bent forward,
better to hear what was said. After a few minutes the hunter probably
considered that it was time for him to interfere, for he turned to the
Chief and whispered in his ear, as he had done during the whole of the
previous conversation--"Let my brother leave this affair to me; his
presence would be more injurious than useful to us. We cannot attempt
to fight so large a number of enemies, so prudence demands that we
should have recourse to stratagem."

"The Apaches are dogs," the Comanche muttered, angrily.

"I am of your opinion; but, for the present, let us feign not to
consider them such. Believe me, we shall soon take our revenge;
besides, the advantage will be on our side, as we are cheating them."

Flying Eagle let his head drop.

"Will the Chief promise me not to make a move without a signal from
me?" the hunter said, earnestly.

"Flying Eagle is a sachem. He has said that he will obey Greyhead."

"Good. Now look, you will not have long to wait."

After muttering these words, with that mocking accent peculiar to him,
the old hunter resolutely thrust the brambles on one side, and walked
firmly into the clearing, followed by his two companions. We have
already described the emotion produced by this unforeseen arrival.

Flying Eagle returned to his ambush up the tree, from which he had only
come down to speak with the hunter, and give him the information he
required. Brighteye stopped by Markham's side.

"Friend," he then said, in Spanish, a language which most of the
Indians understand, "your order is executed. Flying Eagle and his wife
are at this moment in the camp of the Gambusinos."

"Good," Marksman answered, catching his meaning at once; "who are the
two men who accompany you?"

"Two hunters the Chief of the Gachupinos sent to accompany me, in spite
of my assurances that you were among friends. He will soon arrive
himself at the head of thirty horsemen."

"Return to him, and tell him that he has no longer any occasion
to trouble himself; or, stay, I will go myself, to prevent any
misunderstanding."

These words, spoken without any emphasis, and naturally, by a man
whom each of the Indians present had been frequently in a position to
appreciate, produced on them an effect impossible to describe.

We have already mentioned several times, in our different works, that
the Redskins unite the greatest prudence with the maddest temerity, and
never attempt any enterprise without calculating beforehand all the
chances of success it may offer. So soon as those chances disappear, to
make room for probable ill results, they are not ashamed to recoil, for
the very simple reason that with them honour, as we understand it in
Europe, only holds a secondary place, and success alone is regarded.

Red Wolf was assuredly a brave man; he had given innumerable proofs of
that in many a combat; still, he did not hesitate, in behalf of the
general welfare, to sacrifice his secret desires, and in doing so, as
we believe, he gave a grand proof of that family feeling, and almost
instinctive patriotism, which is one of the strongest points in the
Indian character. Clever as he was, the Apache Chief was completely
deluded by Brighteye, whose imperturbable coolness and unexpected
arrival would have sufficed to lead astray an individual even more
intelligent than the man with whom he had to deal. Red Wolf made up his
mind at once, without any thought of self.

"Greyhead, my brother, is welcome at my fire," he said; "my heart
rejoices at greeting a friend; his companions and himself can take
their places round the council fire; the calumet of a Chief is ready to
be offered them."

"Red Wolf is a great Chief," Brighteye replied; "I am pleased at the
kindly feeling he experiences towards me. I would accept his offer with
the greatest pleasure, did not urgent reasons oblige me to rejoin, as
soon as possible, my brothers the Palefaces, who are waiting for me at
a short distance from the spot where the Antelope Apaches are encamped."

"I hope that no cloud has arisen between Greyhead and his brother,
Red Wolf," the Chief remarked, in a cautious tone: "two warriors must
esteem each other."

"That is my opinion too, Chief, and that is why I have presented myself
so frankly in your camp, when it would have been easy to have had
several warriors of my nation to accompany me."

Brighteye knew perfectly well that the Apaches understood Spanish, and
consequently nothing he had said to Markham escaped them; but it was to
his interest, as well as that of his comrade, to pretend to be ignorant
of the fact, and accept as current coin the insidious propositions of
the Chief.

"His friends, the Palefaces, are encamped not far from here?" the Chief
remarked.

"Yes," Brighteye replied, "at the most from four to five bowshots in a
westerly direction."

"Wah! I am vexed at it," the Indian said, "for I would have accompanied
my brother to their camp."

"And what prevents your coming with us?" the old hunter said,
distinctly. "Would you fear an ill reception by chance?"

"Och! who would dare not to receive Red Wolf with the respect due to
him?" the Apache said, haughtily.

"No one, assuredly."

Red Wolf leaned over to a subaltern chief, and whispered a few words
in his ear; the man rose, and left the clearing. The hunters saw this
movement with anxiety, and exchanged a glance, which said, "Let us keep
on our guard." They also fell back a few paces, as if accidentally,
and drew nearer together, in order to be ready at the first suspicious
sign; for they knew the perfidy of the men among whom they were,
and expected anything from them. The Indian sent off by the Chief
re-entered the clearing at this moment. He had been absent hardly ten
minutes.

"Well?" Red Wolf asked him.

"It is true," the Indian answered, laconically.

The sachem's face was overclouded; he felt certain then that Brighteye
had not deceived him; for the man he had sent out of the camp had
been ordered by him to assure himself whether the fires of a party of
white men could be really seen a short distance off; his emissary's
reply proved to him that no treachery could be possible, that he must
continue to feign kindly feelings, and separate on proper terms from
the troublesome guests, whom he would have liked so much to be rid of
in a very different manner. At his order the horses were unhobbled, and
the warriors mounted.

"Day is approaching," he said; "the moon has again entered the great
mountain. I am about to start with my young men. May the Wacondah
protect my pale brothers!"

"Thank you, Chief," Marksman answered. "But will you not come with us?"

"We are not following the same path," the Chief replied drily, as he
let his horse go.

"That is probable, accursed dog!" Brighteye growled between his teeth.

The whole band started at full speed, and disappeared in the gloom.
Soon the sound of their horses' hoofs could no longer be heard, as they
became mingled in the distance with those thousand sounds, coming from
no apparent cause, which incessantly trouble the majestic silence of
the desert.

The hunters were alone. Like the Augurs of ancient Rome, who could not
look at each other without laughing, little was needed for the hunters
to burst into a loud burst of delight after the hurried departure of
the Apaches. At a signal from Marksman, Flying Eagle and Eglantine
came to join the wood rangers, who had already seated themselves
unceremoniously at the fire of which they had so cleverly dispossessed
their enemies.

"Hum!" Brighteye said, as he charged his pipe, "I shall laugh for a
long time at this trick; it is almost as good as the one I played the
Pawnees in 1827, on the Upper Arkansas. I was very young at that time;
I had been traversing the prairie for only a few years, and was not, as
I now am, accustomed to Indian devilries; I remember that--"

"By what accident did I meet you here, Brighteye?" his friend asked,
hastily interrupting him.

Marksman knew that so soon as Brighteye began a story, no power on
earth would stop him. The worthy man, during the course of a long and
varied career, had seen and done so many extraordinary things, that
the slightest event which occurred to him, or of which he was merely
a witness, immediately became an excuse for one of his interminable
stories. His friends, who knew his weakness, felt no hesitation about
interrupting him; still we must do Brighteye the justice of saying that
he was never angry with his disturbers; for ten minutes later he would
begin another story, which they as mercilessly interrupted in a similar
way.

To Marksman's question, he replied,--"We will talk, and I will tell you
that." Then, turning to Domingo, he said,--"My friend, I thank you for
the assistance you have given us. Return to the camp, and do not forget
your promise. Above all, do not omit to narrate all you have seen,
to--you know who!"

"That is agreed, old hunter. Don't be uneasy. Good-bye."

"Here's luck."

Domingo threw his rifle over his shoulder, lit his pipe, and walked in
the direction of the camp, where he arrived an hour later.

"There," Marksman said, "now I believe nothing will prevent your going
ahead."

"Yes; one thing, my friend."

"What is it?"

"The night is nearly spent; it has been fatiguing to everybody.
I presume that two or three hours' sleep are necessary, if not
indispensable, especially as we are in no hurry."

"Tell me only one thing first, and then I will let you sleep as long as
you please."

"What is it?"

"How you happened so fortunately to come to my aid."

"Confound it! That is exactly what I was afraid of. Your question
obliges me to enter into details far too long for me to be able to
satisfy you at this moment."

"The truth is, my friend, that, in spite of the lively desire I feel to
spend a few days with you, I am compelled to leave you at sunrise."

"Nonsense! It is not possible."

"It is, indeed."

"But what is your hurry?"

"I have engaged myself as scout with a caravan, which I have given the
meeting at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon, at the Del Rubio ford. That
appointment has been made for the last two months. You know that an
engagement is sacred with us hunters, and you would not like to make me
break my word!"

"Not for the hides of all the buffalos killed every year on the
prairie. Towards what part of the Far West will you guide these men?"

"I shall know that tomorrow."

"And with what sort of people have you to do? Are they Spaniards, or
Gringos?"

"On my word, I fancy they are Mexicans. Their chief's name, I think, is
Don Miguel Ortega, or something like it."

"Hallo!" Brighteye exclaimed, with a start of surprise; "what's that
you said?"

"Don Miguel Ortega. I may be mistaken, but I hardly think so."

"That is strange," the old hunter said, as if speaking to himself.

"I do not see anything strange in it; the name appears to me common
enough."

"To you, possibly. And you have made an agreement with him?"

"Signed and sealed."

"As scout?"

"Yes, I say, a thousand times."

"Well, comfort yourself, Marksman; we have many a long day to spend
together."

"Do you belong to his party?"

"Heaven forbid!"

"Then, I don't understand anything."

Brighteye seemed to be reflecting seriously for a few moments; then he
turned to his friend, and said,--

"Listen to me, Marksman! So surely as you are my oldest friend, I do
not wish to see you going to the deuce your own road. I must give you
certain information, which will be indispensable to you in doing your
duty properly. I see that we shall not sleep this night, so listen to
me attentively. What you are about to hear is worth the trouble."

Marksman, startled by the old hunter's solemn accent, looked at him
anxiously. "Speak!" he said to him.

Brighteye collected his thoughts for a moment, and then took the word,
beginning a long history, to which his audience listened with a degree
of interest and attention which increased with every moment; for never,
till that day, had they heard the narrative of events so strange and
extraordinary.

The sun had risen for a long time, but the hunter was still talking.




CHAPTER VI.

A DARK HISTORY.


Freed from all the observations, more or less pertinent, with which
it pleased the prolix hunter to embellish it, the following is the
remarkable story the Canadian told his hearers. This narrative is so
closely connected with our story, that we are compelled to repeat it in
all its details:--

"Few cities offer a more enchanting appearance than Mexico. The
ancient capital of the Aztecs lies stretched out, slothful and idle
as a Creole maid, half veiled by the thick curtain of lofty willows
which border at a distance the canals and roads. Built at exactly
equal distance from two oceans, at about 7,500 feet above their level,
or at the same height as the hospice of St. Bernard, this city,
however, enjoys a delicious tempered climate, between two magnificent
mountains--Popocatepetl, or the burning mountain, and Intaczehuatl, or
the white woman--whose rugged peaks, covered with eternal snows, are
lost in the clouds. The stranger who arrives before Mexico at sunset,
by the eastern road--one of the four great ways that lead to the City
of the Aztecs, and the only one now remaining isolated in the middle
of the waters of Lake Tezcuco, on which it is built--experiences, at
the first sight of this city, a strange emotion, for which he cannot
account. The Moorish architecture of the edifices; the houses painted
of bright colours; the numberless domes of churches and convents which
rise above the azoteas, and cover--if we may use the expression--the
entire capital with their vast yellow, blue, and red parasols, gilded
by the parching rays of the declining sun; the warm and perfumed
evening breeze which comes sporting through the leaf-laden branches;
all this combines to give Mexico a perfectly Eastern air, which
astonishes and seduces at the same time. Mexico, entirely burnt down by
Fernando Cortez, was rebuilt by that conqueror after the original plan;
all the streets intersect at right angles, and lead to the Plaza Mayor
by five principal arteries."

"All Spanish towns in the New World have this in common--that, in
all, the Plaza Mayor is built after the same plan. Thus, at Mexico,
on one side are the Cathedral and the Sagrario; on the second, the
Palace of the President of the Republic, containing the ministerial
offices--four in number, barracks, a prison, &c.; on the third side
is the Ayuntamiento; while the fourth is occupied by two bazaars--the
Parián, and the Portal de los Flores."

"On July 10, 1854, at ten of the night, after a torrid heat, which
compelled the inhabitants to shut themselves up in their houses
the whole day through, the breeze rose and refreshed the air, and
everybody, mounted on the flower-covered azoteas, which make them
resemble hanging gardens, hastened to enjoy that serene placidity
of American evenings, which seems to rain stars from the azure sky.
The streets and square were thronged with promenaders; there was an
inextricable throng of foot passengers, horsemen, men, women, Indians
and their squaws, where the rags, silk and gold were arranged in the
quaintest manner, in the midst of cries, jests, and merry bursts of
laughter. In a word, Mexico, like the enchanted city of the Arabian
Nights, seemed to have been aroused by the bell of Oración from a
centennial sleep--such joy did all faces display, and so happy did all
seem to inhale the fresh air."

"At this moment, a non-commissioned officer, who could be easily
recognised as such by the vine stick he held in his hand, turned out
of the Calle San Francisco, and mingled with the crowd that thronged
the Plaza Mayor, giving himself all the airs peculiar to soldiers
in all parts of the world. He was a young man, of elegant features,
haughty glance, and his slight moustache was coquettishly turned up.
After walking round the square two or three times, ogling maidens and
elbowing the men, he approached, with the same careless air he had
displayed from the beginning, a shop built against one of the portales,
in which an old man with a ferret-face and cunning look was shutting up
in the drawers of a poor table, stained with a countless number of ink
spots, paper, pens, sand, and envelopes--in a word, all the articles
requisite for the profession of a public writer--the trade which the
little old man really carried on, as could be seen from a board hung
over the door of his shop, on which was written, in white letters on a
black ground,--_Juan Battista Leporello, Evangelista_. The sergeant
looked for a few seconds through the panes, which were covered with
specimens of calligraphy, and then, doubtless satisfied with what he
saw, he tapped thrice with his stick on the door."

"A chain was moved in the interior; the soldier heard a key turned in
the lock, then the door opened slightly, and the evangelista thrust his
head out timidly."

"'Ah, 'tis you, Don Annibal! _Dios me ampare_. I did not expect you so
soon,' he said, in that cringing tone which some men employ when they
feel themselves in the hands of a man stronger than themselves."

"'_¡Cuerpo de Cristo!_ play the innocent, old coyote,' the sergeant
replied roughly, 'who but I would dare to set foot in your accursed
den?'"

"The evangelista shrugged his shoulders with a grin, and pushed his
silver spectacles with their round glasses up on his forehead."

"'Eh, eh,' he said, coughing mysteriously, 'many people have recourse
to my good offices, my young Springold.'"

"'It is possible,' the soldier answered, thrusting him rudely back, and
entering the shop. 'I pity them for falling into the hands of an old
bird of prey like you; but it is not that which brings me here.'"

"'Perhaps it would be better for both you and me, if your visits had
another motive from the one that brings you here!' the evangelista
remarked, timidly."

"'Truce to your sermons; shut the door, fasten the shutters, so that no
one can see us from the street, and let us talk, for we have no time to
lose.'"

"The old man made no reply; he at once set about closing the shutters,
which at night protected his shop from the assaults of the rateros,
with a celerity for which no one would have given him credit; then he
sat down by his visitor's side, after carefully bolting the door."

"These two men, seen thus by the light of a smoky candle, offered a
striking contrast; one young, handsome, strong, and daring; the other
old, broken, and hypocritical: both taking side glances at each other,
full of a strange expression, and with an apparent cordiality, which
probably hid a deep hatred, talking in a low voice ear to ear, they
resembled two demons conspiring the ruin of an angel."

"The soldier was the first to speak, in a tone hardly above his breath,
so much did he seem to fear being overheard."

"'Look you, Tío Leporello,' he said, 'let us come to an understanding;
the half hour has just struck at the Sagrario, so speak; what have you
learnt new?'"

"'Hum!' the other said, 'not much that is interesting.'"

"The soldier flashed a suspicious glance at him, and appeared to be
reflecting."

"'That is true,' he said, at the end of a moment, 'I did not think of
that; where could my head be?'"

"He drew from the breast pocket of his uniform a purse tolerably well
filled, through the meshes of which glistened sundry ounces, and then a
long navaja, which he opened and placed on the table near him. The old
man trembled at the sight of the sharpened blade, whose blue steel sent
forth sinister rays; the soldier opened the purse, and poured forth
the pieces in a joyous cascade before him. The evangelista immediately
forgot the knife, only to attend to the gold, attracted involuntarily
by the trinkling of the metal, as by an irresistible magnet."

"The soldier had done all we have just described with the coolness of a
man who knows that he has unfailing arguments in his possession."

"'Then,' he said, 'rake up your memory, old demon, if you do not wish
my navaja to teach you with whom you have to deal, in case you have
forgotten.'"

"The evangelista smiled pleasantly, while looking covetously at the
ounces. 'I know too well what I owe you, Don Annibal,' he said, 'not to
try to satisfy you by all the means in my power.'"

"'A truce to your unnecessary and hypocritical compliments, old ape,
and come to facts. Take this first, it will encourage you to be
sincere.'"

"He placed several ounces in his hand, which the evangelista disposed
of with such sleight of hand, that it was impossible for the soldier to
know where they had gone."

"'You are generous, Don Annibal--that will bring you good fortune.'"

"'Go on; I want facts.'"

"'I am coming to them.'"

"'I am listening.'"

"And the sergeant leaned his elbows on the table, in the position of a
man preparing to listen, while the evangelista coughed, spat, and by
an old habit of prudence, though alone with the sergeant in his shop,
looked round him suspiciously."

"The sounds on the Plaza Mayor had died out one after the other; the
crowd had dispersed in every direction, and returned to their houses,
and the greatest silence prevailed outside; at this moment eleven
o'clock struck slowly from the Cathedral, and the two men started
involuntarily at the mournful sounds of the clock; the serenos chanted
the hour in their drawling, drunken voice; then all was quiet."

"'Will you speak, yes or no?' the soldier suddenly said, with a
menacing accent."

"The evangelista bounded on his butaca, as if aroused from sleep, and
passed his hand several times over his forehead. 'I am beginning,' he
said in a humble voice."

"'That is lucky,' the other remarked, coarsely."

"'You must know, then----but,' he observed, suddenly interrupting
himself, 'must I enter into all the details?'"

"'_Demonios!_' the soldier exclaimed, passionately, 'let us have an
end of this once for all; you know I want to have the most complete
information; _Canarios!_ do not play with me like a cat with a mouse;
old man, I warn you, that game will be dangerous for you.'"

"'Well, this morning, I had just settled myself in my office; I was
arranging my papers and mending my pens, when I heard a discreet tap at
the door; I rose and went to open it; it was a young and lovely lady,
as far as I could judge, for she was _embossed_ in her black mantilla,
so as not to be seen.'"

"'Then it was not the woman who has come to you every day for a month?'
the soldier interrupted."

"'Yes; but as you have doubtlessly remarked, on each of her visits, she
is careful to change her dress, in order to prevent my recognizing her;
but, in spite of these precautions, I have been too long accustomed to
ladies' tricks to allow myself to be deceived, and I recognized her by
the first glance that shot from her black eye.'"

"'Very good: go on.'"

"'She stood for a moment before me in silence, playing with her
fan, with an air of embarrassment. I offered her a chair politely,
pretending not to recognize her, and asking her how I could be of
service to her.' 'Oh,' she answered me, with a petulant voice, 'I want
a very simple matter.' 'Speak, señorita; if it is connected with my
profession, believe me, I shall make a point of obeying you.' 'Should
I have come, had it not been so?' she replied; 'but are you a man who
can be trusted?' and while saying this, she fixed on me a searching
glance. I drew myself up, and replied in my most serious tone, as I
laid my hand on my heart--'An evangelista is a confessor; all secrets
die in his breast.' She then drew a paper from the pocket of her saga,
and turned it about in her fingers, but suddenly began laughing, as
she said, 'How foolish I am, I make a mystery of a trifle; besides, at
this moment you are only a machine, as you will not understand what you
write.' I bowed at all hazards, expecting some diabolical combination,
like those she has brought to me every day for a month.'"

"'A truce to reflections,' the sergeant interrupted."

"'She gave me the paper,' the evangelista continued, 'and, as was
arranged between you and me, I took a sheet of paper, which I laid
upon another prepared beforehand, and blackened on one side, so that
the words I wrote on my papers were reproduced by the black page on
another--the poor Niña not in the least suspecting it. After all,
the letter was not long, only two or three lines; but, may I be sent
to purgatory,' he added, crossing himself piously, 'if I understood
a syllable of the horrible gibberish I copied: it was doubtlessly
Morisco.'"

"'Afterwards?'"

"'I folded up the paper in the shape of a letter, and addressed it.'"

"'Ah, ah!' the soldier said, with interest, 'that is the first time.'"

"'Yes, but the information will not be of much use to you.'"

"'Perhaps:--what was the address?'"

"'Z. p. v. 2, calle S. P. Z.'"

"'Hum!' the soldier said, thoughtfully; 'that is certainly rather
vague. What next?'"

"'Then she went away, after giving me a gold ounce.'"

"'She is generous.'"

"'Pore Niña!' the evangelista said, laying his hooked fingers over his
dry eyes, with an air of tenderness."

"'Enough of that mummery, which I do not believe. Is that all she said
to you?'"

"'Nearly so,' the other said, with hesitation."

"The sergeant looked at him. 'Is there anything else?' he remarked, as
he threw him several gold coins, which the evangelista disposed of at
once."

"'Almost nothing.'"

"'You had better tell me, Tío Leporello, for, as an evangelista, you
know that the reason why letters are written, is generally found in the
postscript.'"

"'On leaving my office, the señorita made a sign to a _providencia_
which was passing. The carriage stopped, and though the niña spoke in
a very low voice, I heard her say to the driver, 'To the convent of the
Bernardines.'"

"The sergeant gave an almost imperceptible start."

"'Hum!' he said, with an indifferent air, perfectly well assumed; 'that
address does not mean much. Now give me the paper.'"

"The evangelista fumbled in his drawer, and drew from it a sheet of
white paper, on which a few almost illegible words were written. So
soon as the soldier had the paper in his hands he eagerly perused it;
it appeared to have a great interest for him, for he turned visibly
pale, and a convulsive tremor passed over his limbs; but he recovered
himself almost immediately."

"'It is well,' he said, as he tore up the paper into imperceptible
fragments; 'here's for you.'"

"And he threw a fresh handful of ounces on the table."

"'Thanks, caballero,' Tío Leporello exclaimed, as he bounded greedily
on the precious metal."

"An ironical smile played round the soldier's lips, and, taking
advantage of the old man's position, as he leant over the table to
collect the gold, he raised his knife, and buried it to the hilt
between the evangelista's shoulders. The blow was dealt so truly,
and with such a firm hand, that the old man fell like a log, without
uttering a sigh or giving a cry. The soldier regarded him for a moment
coldly and apathetically, then, reassured by the immobility of his
victim, whom he believed dead,--"

"'Come,' he muttered, 'that is all the better; at any rate, he will not
speak in that way.'"

"After this philosophical funeral oration, the assassin tranquilly
wiped his knife, picked up the gold, put out the candle, opened the
door, closed it carefully after him, and walked off with the steady,
though somewhat hasty step of a belated traveller hurrying to his home."

"The Plaza Mayor was deserted."




CHAPTER VII.

A DARK HISIORY CONTINUED.


"Ancient Mexico was traversed by canals, like Venice, or, to speak more
correctly, like Dutch towns, for generally in all the streets there
was a path between the canal and the houses. At the present day, when
all the streets are paved, and the canals have disappeared save in one
quarter of the city, it is difficult to understand how Cervantes, in
one of his novels, could compare Venice with Mexico; but if the canals
are no longer visible, they still exist underground; and in certain low
quarters, where they have been converted into drains, they manifest
their presence by the foetid odours which they exhale, or by the heaps
of filth and stagnant water."

"The sergeant, after so skilfully settling accounts with the hapless
evangelista, crossed the Plaza, and entered the Calle de la Monterilla."

"He walked for a long time along the streets with the same quiet step
he had adopted on leaving the evangelista's stall. At length, after
about twenty minutes' walk through deserted streets and gloomy lanes,
whose miserable appearance became with every step more menacing, he
stopped before a house of more than suspicious aspect, above the door
of which a flaring candle burned behind _un retablo de las animas
veneritas;_ the windows of the house were lit up, and on the azotea the
watchdogs were mournfully baying the moon. The sergeant tapped twice
on the door of this sinister abode with his vine stick."

"It was a long time ere he was answered. The shouts and singing
suddenly ceased in the inside: at length the soldier heard a heavy step
approaching; the door was partly opened--for everywhere in Mexico an
iron chain is put up at night--and a drunken voice said harshly,--"

"'_¿Quién es?_ (Who's there?)'"

"'Gente de paz,' the sergeant answered."

"'Hum! it is very late to run about the _tuna_ and enter the vilaio,'
the other remarked, apparently reflecting."

"'I do not wish to enter.'"

"'Then what the deuce do you want?'"

"'_Pan y sal por los Caballeros errantes,'_[1] the sergeant answered,
in a tone of authority, and placing himself so that the moonbeams
should fall on his face."

"The man fell back, uttering an exclamation of surprise."

"'_¡Valga me Dios!_ señor Don Torribio!' he exclaimed, with an accent
of profound respect; 'who could have recognized your Excellency under
that wretched dress? Come in! come in! they are waiting impatiently for
you.'"

"And the man, who had become as obsequious as he had been insolent a
few moments previously, hastened to undo the chain, and threw the door
wide open."

"'It is unnecessary, Pepito,' the soldier continued, 'I repeat to you
that I shall not come in. How many are there?'"

"'Twenty, Excellency.'"

"'Armed?'"

"'Completely.'"

"'Let them come down directly. I will wait for them here. Go, my son,
time presses.'"

"'And you? Excellency,'"

"'You will bring me a hat, an esclavina, my sword and pistols. Come,
make haste!'"

"Pepito did not let the order be repeated. Leaving the door open, he
ran off. A few minutes after, some twenty bandits, armed to the teeth,
rushed into the street, jostling one another. On coming up to the
soldier, they saluted respectfully, and, at a sign from him, remained
motionless and silent."

"Pepito had brought the articles demanded by the man whom the
evangelista called Don Annibal, himself Don Torribio, and who,
probably, had several other names, although we will keep temporarily to
the latter."

"'Are the horses ready?' Don Torribio asked, as he concealed his
uniform under the esclavina, and placed in his girdle a long rapier and
a pair of double-barrelled pistols."

"'Yes, Excellency,' Pepito answered, hat in hand."

"'Good, my son. You will bring them to the spot I told you; but as it
is forbidden to go about the streets on horseback by night, you will
pay attention to the celadores and serenos.'"

"All the bandits burst into a laugh at this singular recommendation."

"'There,' Don Torribio continued, as he put on a broad brimmed hat,
which Pepito had brought him with the other things, 'that is all right;
we can now start. Listen to me attentively, Caballeros!'"

"The leperos and other scoundrels who composed the audience, flattered
by being treated as caballeros, drew nearer to Don Torribio, in order
to hear his instructions. The latter continued,--"

"'Twenty men, marching, in a troop, through the streets of the city
would, doubtless, arouse the susceptibility and suspicions of the
police agents; we must employ the greatest prudence, and, above all,
the utmost secrecy in order to succeed in the expedition for which I
have collected you. You will, therefore, separate, and go one by one
under the walls of the convent of the Bernardines; on arriving there,
you will conceal yourselves as well as you can, and not stir without my
orders. Above all, no disputes, no quarrelling. You have understood me
clearly?'"

"'Yes, Excellency,' the bandits answered, unanimously."

"'Very good. Be off, then, for you must reach the convent in a quarter
of an hour.'"

"The bandits dispersed in every direction with the rapidity of a flock
of buzzards. Two minutes later they had disappeared round the corners
of the nearest streets. Pepito alone remained."

"'And I?' he respectfully asked Don Torribio. 'Do you not wish,
Excellency, for me to accompany you? I should be very bored if I
remained here alone.'"

"'I should be glad enough to take you with me; but who would get the
horses ready if you went with me?'"

"'That is true. I did not think of it.'"

"'But do not be alarmed, Muchacho, if I succeed as I hope, you shall
soon come with me.'"

"Pepito, completely reassured by this promise, bowed respectfully to
the mysterious man, who seemed to be his chief, and re-entered his
house, carefully closing the door after him."

"Don Torribio, when left alone, remained for several seconds plunged
in deep thought. At length he raised his head, drew his hat over his
eyes, carefully wrapped himself in his esclavina, and walked off
hurriedly, muttering, 'Shall I succeed?'"

"A question which no one, not even himself, could have answered."

"The convent of the Bernardines stands in one of the handsomest
quarters of Mexico, not far from the Paseo de Bernardo, the fashionable
promenade. It is a vast edifice, built entirely of hewn stone, which
dates from the rebuilding of the city after the conquest, and was
founded by Fernando Cortez himself. Its general appearance is imposing
and majestic, like all Spanish convents; it is almost a small city
within a large one, for it contains all that can be agreeable and
useful for life--a church, a hospital, a laundry, a large kitchen
garden, and a well-laid out flower garden, which offers pleasant shade,
reserved for the exercise of the nuns. There are wide cloisters,
decorated with grand pictures by good masters, representing scenes in
the life of the Virgin, and of St. Bernard, to whom the convent is
dedicated; these cloisters, bordered by circular galleries, out of
which the cells of the nuns open, enclose sandy courts, adorned with
pieces of water, in which fountains refresh the air at the burning
midday hour. The cells are charming retreats, in which nothing that can
promote comfort is wanting: a bed; two butacas covered with prepared
Cordovan leather, a _prie Dieu_, a small toilet table, in the drawer
of which you are sure to find a looking-glass, and several holy
pictures, occupy the principal space. In a corner of the room may be
seen, between a guitar and a scourge, a statue of the Virgin, of wood
or alabaster, wearing a coronal of white roses, before which a lamp
is continually burning. Such is the furniture which, with but few
exceptions, you are certain to find in the nuns' cells."

"The convent of the Bernardines contained, at the period when our story
is laid, one hundred and fifty nuns, and about sixty novices. In this
country of toleration, it is rare to see nuns cloistered. The sisters
can go into town, pay and receive visits; the regulations are extremely
mild, and, with the exception of the offices, at which they are bound
to be present with great punctuality, the nuns, when they have entered
their cells, are almost at liberty to do as they please, nobody taking
the trouble, or seeming to do so, of watching them."

"We have described the convent cells, which are all alike; but that of
the Mother Superior merits a particular description. Nothing could be
more luxurious, more religious, and yet more worldly, than its general
appearance. It was an immense square room, with large Gothic windows,
with small panes set in lead, upon which sacred subjects were painted
with admirable finish and admirable touch. The walls were covered
with long, stamped, and gilded hangings of Cordovan leather, while
valuable pictures, representing the principal events in the life of
the patron saint of the convent, were arranged with that symmetry and
taste only to be met with in people belonging to the Church. Between
the pictures hung a magnificent Virgin, by Raphael, before which was
an altar. A silver lamp, full of perfumed oil, hung from the ceiling,
and burnt night and day before the altar, which thick damask curtains
hid, when thought proper. The furniture consisted of a large Chinese
screen, concealing the couch of the abbess,--a simple frame of carved
oak, surrounded by white gauze mosquito curtains. A square table, also
of oak, on which were a few books and a desk, occupied the centre of
the room; in a corner a vast library, containing books on religious
subjects, and displaying the rich bindings of rare and precious works
through the glass doors, a few butacas and chairs, with twisted feet,
were arranged against the wall. Lastly, a silver brazier, filled with
olive kernels, stood opposite a superb coffer, the chasing of which was
a masterpiece of the Renaissance."

"During the day, the light, filtered through the coloured glass, spread
but a gentle and mystic radiance around, which caused the visitor to
experience a feeling of respect and devotion, by giving this vast
apartment a stern and almost mournful aspect."

"At the moment when we introduce the reader into this cell, that is
to say, a few moments prior to the scene we have just described, the
abbess was seated in a large straight-backed easy chair, which was
surmounted by an abbatical crown, while the cushion of gilt leather was
adorned with a double fringe of silk and gold."

"The abbess was a little, plump woman, of about sixty years of age,
whose features would have appeared unmeaning, had it not been for the
bright and piercing glance that shot, like a jet of lava, from her grey
eyes, when a violent emotion agitated her. She held in her hand an open
book, and seemed plunged in profound meditation."

"The door of the cell opened gently, and a girl, dressed in the
novice's robe, advanced timidly, scarce grazing the floor with her
light and hesitating foot. She stopped in front of the easy chair, and
waited silently till the abbess raised her eyes to her."

"'Ah! it is you, my child,' the Mother Superior at length said,
noticing the novice's presence; 'come hither.'"

"The latter advanced a few paces nearer."

"'Why did you go out this morning without asking my permission?'"

"On hearing these words, which the maiden, however, must have expected,
she turned pale, and stammered a few unintelligible words."

"The abbess continued, in a stern voice:--"

"'Take care, Niña! although you are still a novice, and will not take
the veil for several months, like all your companions, you are under my
authority--mine alone.'"

"These words were spoken with an intonation which made the maiden
tremble."

"'I Holy mother!' she murmured."

"'You were the intimate friend, almost the sister, of that young fool
whom her resistance to our sovereign will snapped asunder like a reed,
and who died this morning.'"

"'Do you really believe that she is dead, mother?' the girl answered
timidly, and in a voice interrupted by grief."

"'Who doubts it?' the abbess exclaimed, violently, as she half rose in
her chair, and fixed a viper's glance on the poor child."

"'No one, madam, no one,' she said, falling back with terror."

"'Were you not, like the other members of the community,' the abbess
continued, with a terrible accent, 'present at her funeral? Did you not
hear the prayers uttered over her coffin?'"

"'It is true, my mother!'"

"'Did you not see her body lowered into the convent vaults, and the
tombstone laid over it, which the angel of divine justice can alone
raise at the day of judgment? Say, were you not present at this sad
and terrible ceremony? Would you dare to assert that this did not take
place, and that the wretched creature still lives, whom God suddenly
smote in his wrath, that she might serve as a warning to those whom
Satan impels to revolt?'"

"'Pardon, holy mother, pardon! I saw what you say. I was present at
Doña Laura's interment. Alas! doubt is no longer possible; she is
really dead!'"

"While uttering the last words, the maiden could not restrain her
tears, which flowed copiously. The abbess surveyed her with a
suspicious air."

"'It is well,' she said; 'you can retire: but I repeat to you, take
care; I know that a spirit of revolt has seized on your heart as well,
and I shall watch you.'"

"The maiden bowed humbly to the Mother Superior, and moved as if to
obey the order she had received."

"At this moment a terrible disturbance was heard. Cries of terror and
threats reechoed in the corridor, and the hurried steps of a tumultuous
crowd could be heard rapidly approaching."

"'What is the meaning of this?' the abbess asked with terror; 'What is
this noise?'"

"She rose in agitation, and walked with tottering step toward the door
of the cell, on which repeated blows were being struck."

"'Oh, heavens!' the novice murmured, as she turned a suppliant glance
toward the statue of the Virgin, which seemed to smile on her; 'Have
our liberators at length arrived?'"

       *       *       *       *       *

"We will return to Don Torribio, whom we left walking with his
companions toward the convent."

"As tad been arranged between himself and his accomplices, the young
man found all the band collected under the convent walls. Along the
streets the bandits, not to be disturbed by the serenos, had tied and
gagged them and carried them off, as they met them, separately. Thanks
to this skilful manoeuvre, they reached their destination without
hindrance. Twelve serenos were captured in this way: and, on reaching
the convent, Don Torribio gave orders for them to be laid one atop of
the other at the foot of the wall."

"Then, drawing from his pocket a velvet mask, he covered his face with
it (a precaution imitated by his comrades), and, approaching a wretched
hut which stood a short distance off, he stove in the door with his
shoulder. The owner rose up, frightened and half dressed, to inquire
the meaning of this unusual mode of rapping at his door; but the poor
fellow fell back with a cry of terror on perceiving the masked men
assembled before his door. Don Torribio, being in a hurry, commenced
the conversation by going straight to the subject matter:--'_Buenas
noches_ Tío Salado. I am delighted to see you in good health,' he said
to him."

"The other answered, not knowing exactly what he said,--"

"'I thank you, Caballero. You are too kind.'"

"'Make haste! get your cloak, and come with us.'"

"'I?' Salado said, with a start of terror."

"'Yourself.'"

"'But how can I be of service to you?'"

"'I will tell you. I know that you are highly respected at the convent
of the Bernardines--in the first place as a pulquero; and, secondly, as
_hombre de bien y religioso._'"

"'Oh! oh! to a certain extent,' the pulquero answered, evasively."

"'No false modesty. I know you have the power to get the gates of that
house opened when you please; it is for that reason I invite you to
accompany us.'"

"'_¡Maria Purísima!_ What are you thinking of, Caballero' the poor
fellow exclaimed, with terror."

"'No remarks! Make haste! or, by Nuestra señora del Carmen, I will burn
your rookery.'"

"'A hollow groan issued from Salado's chest; but, after taking one
despairing glance at the black masks that surrounded him, he prepared
to obey. From the pulquería to the convent was only a few paces--they
were soon passed, and Don Torribio turned to his prisoner, who was more
dead than alive."

"'There, _compadre_,' he said, distinctly, 'we have arrived. It is now
your place to get the door opened for us.'"

"'In heaven's name,' the pulquero exclaimed, making one last effort at
resistance, 'how do you expect me to set about it? You forget that I
have no means--'"

"'Listen,' Don Torribio said, imperiously; 'you understand that I have
no time for discussion. You will either introduce us into the convent,
and this purse, which contains fifty ounces, is yours; or you refuse,
and in that case,' he added, coldly, as he drew a pistol from his
girdle, 'I blow out your brains with this.'"

"A cold perspiration bedewed the pulquero's temples. He was too well
acquainted with the bandits of his country to insult them for a moment
by doubting their words."

"'Well!' the other asked, as he cocked the pistol, 'have you
reflected?'"

"'_Cáspita_, Caballero! Do not play with that thing. I will try.'"

"'Here is the purse to sharpen your wits,' Don Torribio said."

"The pulquero clutched it with a movement of joy, any idea of which it
is impossible to give; then he walked slowly towards the convent gate,
while cudgelling his brains for some way in which to earn the sum he
had received, without running any risk--a problem, we confess, of which
it was not easy to find the solution."


[1] Literally "Bread and salt for the knight-errants."




CHAPTER VIII.

A DARK HISTORY CONCLUDED.


"The pulquero at length decided on obedience. Suddenly a luminous
thought crossed his brain, and it was with a smile on his lips that
he lifted the knocker. At the moment he was going to let it fall, Don
Torribio caught his arm."

"'What is the matter?' Salado asked."

"'Eleven o'clock struck long ago; everybody must be asleep in the
convent, so perhaps it would be better to try another plan.'"

"'You are mistaken, Caballero,' the pulquero answered; 'the portress is
awake.'"

"'Are you sure of it?'"

"'Caramba!' the other answered, who had formed his plan, and was afraid
he would be obliged to return the money, if his employé changed his
mind. 'The convent of the Bernardines is open day and night to persons
who come for medicines. Leave me to manage it.'"

"'Go on, then,' the chief of the band said, letting loose his arm."

"Salado did not allow the permission to be repeated, through fear
of a fresh objection, and he hastened to let go the knocker, which
resounded on a copper bolt. Don Torribio and his companions were
crouching under the wall."

"In a moment the trapdoor was pushed back, and the wrinkled face of the
portress appeared."

"'Who are you, my brother?' she asked, in a peevish, sleepy voice. 'Why
do you come at this late hour to tap at the gates of the convent?'"

"'_Ave Maria purísima!_' Salado said, in his most nasal tone."

"'_Sin pecado concebida_, my brother,--are you ill?'"

"'I am a poor sinner, you know, sister; my soul is plunged in
affliction.'"

"'Who are you, brother? I really believe that I can recognise your
voice; but the night is so dark, that I am unable to distinguish your
features.'"

"'And I sincerely trust you will not see them,' Salado said, mentally;
then added, in a louder voice, 'I am Señor Templado, and keep a locanda
in the Calle Plateros.'"

"'Ah! I remember you now, brother.'"

"'I fancy that is biting,' the pulquero muttered."

"'What do you desire, brother? Make haste to tell me, in the most holy
name of your Saviour!' she said, crossing herself devotedly, a movement
imitated by Salado; 'for the air is very cold, and I must continue my
orisons, which you have interrupted.'"

"'Vulgo mi Dios! sister; my wife and two children are ill; the Reverend
Pater Guardian, of the Franciscans, urged me to come and ask you for
three bottles of your miraculous water.'"

"We will observe, parenthetically, that every convent manufactures in
Mexico a so-called miraculous water, the receipt of which is carefully
kept secret; this water, we were told, cures all maladies--a miracle
which we were never in a position to test, for our part. We need hardly
say, that this universal panacea is sold at a very high rate, and
produces the best part of the community's revenue."

"'Maria!' the old woman exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with joy at the
pulquero's large order. 'Three bottles!'"

"'Yes, sister. I will also ask your permission to rest myself a little;
for I have come so quick, and the emotion produced by the illness of my
wife and children has so crushed me, that I find it difficult to keep
on my legs.'"

"'Poor man!' the portress said, with pity."

"'Oh! it would really be an act of charity, my sister.'"

"'Señor Templado, please look around you, to make sure there is no one
in the street. We live in such wicked times, that a body cannot take
enough precautions.'"

"'There is no one, my sister,' the pulquero answered, making the
bandits a sign to get ready."

"'Then I will open.'"

"'Heaven will reward you, my sister.'"

"'Amen,' she said, piously."

"The noise of a key turned in a lock could be heard, then the rumbling
of bolts, and the door opened."

"'Come in quickly, brother,' the nun said."

"But Salado had prudently withdrawn, and yielded his place to Don
Torribio. The latter rushed at the portress, not giving her time to
look round, seized her by the throat, and squeezed her windpipe as if
his hand were a vice."

"'One word, sorceress,' he said to her, 'and I will kill you!'"

"Terrified by this sudden attack from a man whose face was covered by a
black mask, the old woman fell back senseless."

"'Devil take the old witch!' Don Torribio exclaimed, passionately; 'Who
will guide us now?'"

"He tried to restore the portress to her senses, but soon perceiving
that he should not succeed, he made a sign to two of his men to tie
and gag her securely; then, after recommending them to stand sentry at
the door, he seized the bunch of keys entrusted to the nun, and began,
followed by his comrades, to find his way into the building inhabited
by the sisters. It was not an easy thing to discover, in this immense
Thebaïd, the cell occupied by the abbess, for it was that lady alone
whom Don Torribio wanted."

"Now, to converse with the abbess, she must first be found, and it was
this that embarrassed the bandits, though masters of the place they had
seized by stratagem. At the moment, however, when they began to lose
all hopes, an incident, produced by their inopportune presence, came to
their aid."

"The bandits had spread, like a torrent that had burst its dykes,
through the courts and cloisters, not troubling themselves in the least
as to the consequences their invasion might have for the convent; and,
shouting and cursing like demons, they appeared to wish to leave no
nook, however secret it might be, unvisited; but it is true that, in
acting thus, they only obeyed the orders of their chief."

"The nuns, accustomed to calmness and silence, were soon aroused by
this disturbance, which they, for a moment, believed occasioned by an
earthquake; they rushed hurriedly from their beds, and, only half
dressed, went, like a flock of frightened doves, to seek shelter in the
cell of the abbess."

"The Mother Superior, sharing the error of her nuns, had succeeded in
opening her door; and, collecting her flock around her, she walked
toward the spot whence the noise came, leaning majestically on her
abbatical cross."

"Suddenly she perceived a band of masked demons, yelling, howling, and
brandishing weapons of every description. But, before she could utter
a cry, Don Torribio rushed toward her. 'No noise!' he said. 'We do not
wish to do you any harm; we have come, on the contrary, to repair that
which you have done.'"

"Dumb with terror at the sight of so many masked men, the women stood
as if petrified."

"'What do you want of me?' the Mother Superior stammered, in a
trembling voice."

"'You shall know,' the Chief answered; and, turning to one of his men,
he said, 'the sulphur matches.'"

"A bandit silently gave him what he asked for."

"'Now listen to me attentively, Señora. Yesterday, a novice belonging
to your convent, who some days back refused to take the veil, died
suddenly.'"

"The abbess looked around her with a commanding air, and then addressed
the man who was speaking to her."

"'I do not know what you mean,' she replied boldly."

"'Very good! I expected that answer. I will go on; this novice,
scarcely sixteen years of age, was Doña Laura de Acevedo del Real del
Monte; she belonged to one of the first families in the Republic. This
morning, her obsequies were performed, with all the ceremony employed
on such occasions, in the church of this convent; her body was then
lowered, with great pomp, into the vaults reserved for the burial of
the nuns.'"

"He stopped, and fixed on the Mother Superior eyes that flashed through
his mask like lightning."

"'I repeat to you that I do not know what you mean,' she replied
coldly."

"'Ah, very good! Then listen to this, señora, and profit by it; for you
have fallen, I swear it, into the hands of men who will show you no
mercy, and will be moved neither by your tears nor your airs of grace,
if you compel them to proceed to extremities.'"

"'You can do as you please,' the Mother Superior answered, still
perfectly collected. 'I am in your hands. I know that for the moment,
at least, I have no help to expect from any one; but Heaven will give
me strength to suffer martyrdom.'"

"'Madam,' Don Torribio said with a grin, 'you are blaspheming, you
are wittingly committing a deadly sin; but no matter, that is your
business: this is mine. You will at once point out to me the entrance
of the vault, and the spot where Doña Laura is reposing. I have sworn
to carry off her body from here, no matter at what cost. I will
fulfil my oath, whatever may happen. If you consent to what I ask, my
companions and myself will retire, taking with us the body of the poor
deceased, but not touching a pin of the immense riches the convent
contains.'"

"'And if I refuse?' she said, angrily."

"'If you refuse,' he replied, laying a stress on each word, as if he
wished the lady addressed fully to understand them, 'the convent will
be sacked, these timid doves will become the prey of the demon.' He
added, with a gesture which made the nuns quiver with terror. 'And I
will apply to you a certain torture, which I do not doubt will loosen
your tongue.'"

"The abbess smiled contemptuously."

"'Begin with me,' she said."

"'That is my intention. Come,' he added, in a rough voice, 'to work.'"

"Two men stepped forward, and seized the Mother Superior; but she
made no attempt to defend herself. She remained motionless, seemingly
apathetic; still an almost imperceptible contraction of her eyebrows
evidenced the internal emotion she endured."

"'Is that your last word, señora?' Don Torribio inquired."

"'Do your duty, villains!' she replied, with disdain. 'Try to conquer
the will of an old woman.'"

"'We are going to do so. Begin!' he ordered."

"The two bandits prepared to obey their chief."

"'Stay, in Heaven's name!' a maiden exclaimed, as she rushed bravely
before the Mother Superior, and repulsed the bandits."

"It was the novice with whom the abbess was speaking at the moment the
convent was invaded. There was a moment of breathless hesitation."

"'Be silent, I command you!' the abbess shrieked. 'Let me suffer. God
sees us!'"

"'It is because He sees us that I will speak,' the maiden answered,
peremptorily; 'it is He who has sent these men I do not know, to
prevent a great crime. Follow me, Caballeros; you have not a moment to
lose; I will lead you to the vaults.'"

"'Wretch!' the abbess cried, writhing furiously in the hands of the men
who held her. 'Wretch! my wrath will fall on you.'"

"'I know it,' the maiden responded, sadly; 'but no personal
consideration will prevent my accomplishing a sacred duty.'"

"'Gag that old wretch. We must finish our work,' the Chief commanded."

"The order was immediately executed. In spite of her desperate
resistance, the Mother Superior was reduced to a state of impotence in
a few moments."

"'One of you will guard her,' Don Torribio continued, 'and at the least
suspicious sign blow out her brains,' Then, changing his tone, he
addressed the novice, 'A thousand thanks, señorita! complete what you
have so well begun, and guide us to these terrible vaults.'"

"'Come, Caballeros,' she answered, placing herself at their head."

"The bandits, who had suddenly become quiet, followed her in silence,
with marks of the most profound respect. At a peremptory order from Don
Torribio, the nuns, now reassured, had dispersed and returned to their
cells."

"While crossing the corridor, Don Torribio went up to the girl, and
whispered in her ear two or three words, which made her start."

"'Fear nothing,' he added. 'I but wished to prove to you that I knew
all. I only desire, señorita, to be your most respectful and devoted
friend.'"

"The maiden sighed, but made no reply."

"'What will become of you afterwards? Alone in this convent, exposed
defencelessly to the hatred of this fury, who regards nothing as
sacred, you will soon take the place of her we are about to deliver. Is
it not better to follow her?'"

"'Alas, poor Laura!' she muttered, hoarsely."

"'Will you, who have done so much for her up to the present, abandon
her at this supreme moment, when your assistance and support will
become more than ever necessary to her? Are you not her foster sister?
her dearest friend? What prevents? You! an orphan from your earliest
youth, all your affections are concentrated on Laura. Answer me, Doña
Luisa, I conjure you!'"

"The maiden gave a start of surprise, almost of terror."

"'You know me!' she said."

"'Have I not already said that I knew all? Come, my child, if not for
your own sake, then for hers, accompany her. Do not compel me to leave
you here in the hands of terrible enemies, who will inflict frightful
tortures on you.'"

"'You wish it?' she stammered sadly."

"'She begs you by my lips.'"

"'Well, be it so; the sacrifice shall be complete. I will follow
you, though I know not whether, in doing so, I am acting rightly or
wrongly; but, although I do not know you, although a mask conceals your
features, I have faith in your words. You seem to have a noble heart,
and may heaven grant that I am not committing an error.'"

"'It is the God of goodness and mercy who inspires you with this
resolution, poor child.'"

"Doña Luisa let her head sink on her breast as she breathed a sigh that
resembled a sob."

"They went onwards, side by side, without exchanging another word. The
party had left the cloisters, and were now crossing some unfinished
buildings, which did not seem to have been inhabited for many a long
year."

"'Where are you leading us, then, Niña?' Don Torribio asked. 'I fancied
that in this convent, as in others, the vaults were under the chapel.'"

"The maiden smiled sadly. 'I am not leading you to the vaults,' she
answered, in a trembling voice."

"'Where to, then?'"

"'To the _in pace!_'"

"Don Torribio stifled an angry oath."

"'Oh!' he muttered."

"'The coffin that was lowered into the vaults this morning in the sight
of all,' Doña Luisa continued, 'really contained the body of my poor
Laura; it was impossible to do otherwise, owing to the custom which
demands that the dead should be buried in their clothes, and with
uncovered faces; but so soon as the crowd had departed, and the doors
of the chapel were closed on the congregation, the Mother Superior
had the tombstone removed again, the body brought up, and transferred
to the deepest _in pace_ of the convent. But here we are,' she said,
as she stopped and pointed to a large stone in the paved floor of the
apartment in which they were."

"The scene had something mournful and striking about it. In the
deserted apartment the masked men were grouped around the maiden
dressed in white, and only illumined by the ruddy glare of the torches
they waved, bore a strange likeness to those mysterious judges who in
old times met in ruins to try kings and emperors."

"'Raise the stone,' Don Torribio said, in a hollow voice."

"After a few efforts the stone was raised, leaving open a dark gulf,
from which poured a blast of hot and foetid air. Don Torribio took a
torch, and bent over the orifice."

"'Why,' he said, at the expiration of a moment, 'this vault is
deserted.'"

"'Yes,' Doña Luisa answered, simply, 'she, whom you seek, is lower.'"

"'What! lower?' he cried, with a movement of terror, which he could not
control."

"'That vault is not deep enough; an accident might cause a discovery;
shrieks could be heard from outside. There are two other vaults like
this, built above each other. When, through any reason, the abbess has
resolved on the disappearance of a nun, and that she shall be cut off
for ever from the number of the living, the victim is let down into the
last cave, called _Hell!_ There all noise dies away; every sob remains
unechoed; every complaint is vain. Oh! the Inquisition managed matters
well; and it is so short a time since its rule ended in Mexico, that
some of its customs have been maintained in the convents. Seek lower,
Caballero, seek lower!'"

"Don Torribio, at these words, felt a cold perspiration beading at the
roots of his hair. He believed himself a prey to a horrible nightmare.
Making a supreme effort to subdue the emotion that overpowered him, he
went down into the vault by means of a light ladder leaning against
one of the walls, and several of his comrades followed him. After some
searching, they discovered a stone like the first. Don Torribio plunged
a torch into the gulf."

"'Empty!' he exclaimed, in horror."

"'Lower, I tell you! Look lower,' Doña Luisa cried, in a gloomy voice,
who had remained on the edge of the topmost vault."

"'What had this adorable creature done to them to endure such
martyrdom?' Don Torribio exclaimed, in his despair."

"'Avarice and hatred are two terrible counsellors,' the maiden
answered; 'but make haste! make haste! every moment that passes is an
age for her who is waiting.'"

"Don Torribio, a prey to incredible fury, began seeking the last vault.
After a few moments, his exertions were crowned with success. The
stone was scarce lifted, ere, paying no attention to the mephitic air
which rushed from the opening and almost extinguished his torch, he
bent over."

"'I see her! I see her!' he said, with a cry more resembling a howl
than a human voice."

"And, waiting no longer, without even calculating the height, he leaped
into the vault. A few moments later he returned to the hall, bearing in
his arms Doña Laura's inanimate body."

"'Away, friends, away!' he exclaimed, addressing his companions; 'let
us not stay an instant longer in this den of wild beasts with human
faces!'"

"At a sign from him, Doña Luisa was lifted in the arms of a sturdy
lepero, and all ran off in the direction of the cloisters. They soon
reached the cell of the Mother Superior. On seeing them, the abbess
made a violent effort to break her bonds, and writhed impotently like a
tiger, while flashing, at the men who had foiled her hideous projects,
glances full of hatred and rage."

"'Wretch!' Don Torribio shouted, as he passed near her, and
disdainfully spurned her with his foot; 'be accursed! your chastisement
commences, for your victim escapes you.'"

"By one of those efforts which only hatred which has reached its
paroxysm can render possible, the abbess succeeded in removing her gag
slightly."

"Perhaps!' she yelled, in a voice which sounded like a knell in Don
Torribio's ears."

"Overcome by this great effort, she fainted."

"Five minutes after, there was no one in the convent beyond its usual
inmates."




CHAPTER IX.

BRIGHTEYE AND MARKSMAN.


At this point in his narrative Brighteye stopped, and began, with a
thoughtful air, filling his Indian pipe with tobacco.

There was a lengthened silence. His auditors, still under the influence
of this extraordinary influence, dared not venture any reflections. At
length Marksman raised his head. "That story is very dramatic and very
gloomy," he said, "but pardon my rude frankness, old and dear comrade,
it seems to me to have no reference to what is going on around us, and
the events in which we shall, probably, be called upon to be interested
spectators, if not actors."

"In truth," Ruperto observed, "what do we wood rangers care for
adventures that happen in Mexico, or any other city of the _Tierras
Adentro_? We are here in the desert to hunt, trap, and thrash the
Redskins. Any other question can affect us but slightly."

Brighteye tossed his head in a significant manner, and laid his pipe
mechanically by his side.

"You are mistaken, comrades," he continued; "do you believe, then, that
I should have made you waste your time in listening to this long story,
if it did not possess an important reality for us?"

"Explain yourself, then, my friend," Marksman observed, "for I honestly
confess that, for my part, I have understood nothing of what you have
been good enough to tell us."

The old Canadian raised his head, and seemed, for a few moments, to be
calculating the sun's height. "It is half past six," he said; "you
have still more than sufficient time to reach the ford of the Rubio,
where the man is to wait, to whom you have engaged yourself as guide.
Listen to me, therefore, for I have not quite finished. Now that I have
told you the mystery, you must learn what has come out to clear it up."

"Speak!" Marksman replied, in the tone of a man who is resolved to
listen through politeness to a story which he knows cannot interest him.

Brighteye, not seeming to remark his friend's apathetic condescension,
went on in the following terms:--"You have remarked that Don Torribio
provided for everything with a degree of prudence which must keep off
any suspicion, and cover this adventure with an impenetrable veil.
Unfortunately for him, the evangelista was not killed. He could not
only speak, but show a copy of each of the letters he daily handed
to the young man--letters which the latter paid so dearly for, and
which, with that prudence innate in the Mexican race, he had previously
guarded, to employ, if needed, as a weapon against Don Torribio; or,
as was more probable, to avenge himself if he fell a victim to any
treachery. This was what happened:--The evangelista, found in a dying
state by an early customer, had strength enough to make a regular
declaration to the Juez de Lettras, and hand him the letters ere he
died. This assassination, taken in connection with the attack on the
serenos by a numerous band, and the invasion of the Convent of the
Bernardines, furnished a clue which the police begun following with
extreme tenacity; especially as the young lady whose body had been
so audaciously carried off had powerful relations, who, for certain
reasons known to themselves, would not let this crime pass unpunished,
and spent their gold profusely. It was soon learned that the bandits,
on leaving the convent, mounted horses brought by their confidants, and
started at full speed in the direction of the Presidios. The police
even succeeded in discovering one of the men who supplied the horses.
This individual, Pepito by name, bought over by the money offered
him, rather than frightened by threats, stated that he had sold to
Don Torribio Carvajal twenty-five post horses, to be delivered at the
Convent of the Bernardines at two o'clock in the morning. As these
horses were paid for in advance, he, Pepito, did not trouble himself
at all about the singularity of the spot, or of the hour. Don Torribio
and his companions had arrived, bearing with them two women, one of
whom appeared to have fainted, and immediately galloped off. The trail
of the ravishers was then followed to the Presidio de Tubar, where Don
Torribio allowed his party to rest for several days. There he purchased
a close palanquin, a field tent, and all the provisions necessary for a
lengthened journey in the desert, and one night suddenly disappeared,
with all his band, which was augmented by all the adventurers he could
pick up at the Presidio, no one being able to say in what direction
he had gone. This information, though vague, was sufficient up to a
certain point, and the relations of the young lady were continuing
their search."

"I fancy I am beginning to see what you want to arrive at," Marksman
interrupted him; "but conclude your story; when you have finished, I
will make sundry observations, whose justice you will recognize, I am
sure."

"I shall be delighted to hear them," Brighteye said, and went on:--"A
man who, twenty years ago, did me a rather important service, whom I
had not seen since, and whom I should assuredly not have recognized,
had he not told me his name--the only thing I had not forgotten--came
to me and my partner Ruperto, while we were at the Presidio de Tubar,
selling a few panther and tiger skins. This man told me what I have
just repeated to you: he added that he was a near relation of the young
lady, reminded me of the service he had rendered me--in a word, he
affected me so greatly, that I agreed to take vengeance on his enemy.
Two days later we took up the trail. For a man like myself, accustomed
to follow Indians' signs, it was child's play and I soon led him almost
into the Spanish caravan commanded by Don Miguel Ortega."

"The other was called Don Torribio Carvajal."

"Could he not have changed his name?"

"For what good in the desert?"

"In the consciousness that he would be pursued."

"Then the relatives had a great interest in this pursuit?"

"Don José told me he was the young lady's uncle, and felt a paternal
tenderness for her."

"But I fancy she is dead, or at least you told me so, if I am not
mistaken."

Brighteye scratched his ear. "That is the awkward part of the affair,"
he said; "it seems she is not dead at all; on the contrary."

"What!" Marksman exclaimed; "she is not dead! That uncle knows it,
then; it was by his consent that the poor creature was buried alive!
But, if that is the case, there must be some odious machination in the
business."

"On my word, if I must confess it, I fear so too," the Canadian said,
in a hesitating voice. "Still, this man rendered me a great service. I
have no proof in support of my suspicions, and----"

Marksman rose, and stood in front of the old hunter. "Brighteye," he
said to him, sternly; "we are fellow countrymen; we love each other
like brothers; for many long years we have slept side by side on the
prairie, sharing good fortune and ill between us, saving each other's
lives a hundred times, either in our struggles with wild beasts, or our
fights with the Indians--is it so?"

"It is true, Marksman, it is true, and anyone who said the contrary
would lie," the hunter replied with emotion.

"My friend, my brother, a great crime has been committed, or is on the
point of being committed. Let us watch--watch carefully; who knows
if we may not be the instruments chosen by Providence to unmask the
guilty, and cause the innocent to triumph? This Don José, you say,
wishes me to join you; well, I accept. Yourself, Ruperto, and I, will
go to the ford of the Rubio, and, believe me, my friend, now that I am
warned, I will discover the guilty party, whoever he may be."

"I prefer things to be so," the hunter answered, simply. "I confess
that the strange position in which I found myself weighed heavily
upon me. I am only a poor hunter, and do not at all understand these
infamies of the cities."

"You are an honest man, whose heart is just and mind upright. But
time is slipping away. Now that we are agreed as to our parts, and
understand one another, I believe we shall do well by starting."

"I will go whenever you please."

"One moment. Can you do without Ruperto for a little while?"

"Yes."

"What's the matter?" the latter asked.

"You can do me a service."

"Speak, Marksman, I am waiting."

"No man can foresee the future. Perhaps, in a few days we shall need
allies on whom we may be able to count. These allies the Chief here
present will give us whenever we ask for them. Accompany him to his
village, Ruperto: and, so soon as he has arrived there, leave him, and
take up our trail--not positively joining us, but managing so that, if
necessary, we should know where to find you."

"I have understood," the hunter said, laconically, as he rose. "All
right."

Marksman turned to Flying Eagle, and explained what he wanted of him.

"My brother saved Eglantine," the Chief answered, nobly; "Flying Eagle
is a sachem of his tribe. Two hundred warriors will follow the warpath
at the first signal from my father. The Comanches are men; the words
they utter come from the heart."

"Thanks, Chief," Marksman answered, warmly pressing the hand the
Redskin extended to him; "may the Wacondah watch over you during your
journey!"

After hastily eating a slice of venison cooked on the ashes, and
drinking a draught of pulque--from which, after the custom of his
nation, the only one which does not drink strong liquors, the Comanche
declined to take a share--the four men separated; Ruperto, Flying
Eagle, and Eglantine going into the prairie in a western direction;
while Brighteye and Marksman, bending slightly to the left, proceeded
in an easterly course, in order to reach the ford of the Rubio, where
the latter was expected.

"Hum!" Brighteye observed, as he threw his rifle on to his left arm,
and starting with that elastic step peculiar to the wood rangers; "we
have some tough work cut out for us."

"Who knows, my friend?" Marksman answered, anxiously. "At any rate, we
must discover the truth."

"That is my opinion, too."

"There is one thing I want to know, above all."

"What is it?"

"What Don Miguel's carefully-closed palanquin contains."

"Why, hang it! a woman, of course."

"Who told you so?"

"Nobody; but I presume so."

"Prejudge nothing, my friend; with time, all will be cleared up."

"God grant it!"

"He sees everything, and knows everything, my friend. Believe me, that
if it hath pleased Him to set those suspicions growing in our hearts
that trouble us now, it is because, as I told you a moment ago, He
wishes to make us the instruments of His justice."

"May His will be done!" Brighteye answered, raising his cap piously. "I
am ready to obey Him in all that He may order me."

After this mutual exchange of thoughts, the hunters, who till
this moment had walked side by side, proceeded in Indian file, in
consequence of the difficult nature of the ground. On reaching the tall
grass, after emerging from the forest, they stopped a moment to look
around.

"It is late," Marksman observed.

"Yes, it is nearly midday. Follow me, we shall soon catch up lost time."

"How so?"

"Instead of walking, would you not be inclined to ride?"

"Yes, if we had horses."

"That is just what I am going to procure."

"You have horses?"

"Last night Ruperto and I left our horses close by here, while going
to the meeting Don José had made with us, and in which I was obliged to
employ a canoe."

"Eh! eh! those brave beasts turn up at a lucky moment. For my part, I
am worn out. I have been walking for many a long day over the prairie,
and my legs are beginning to refuse to carry me."

"Come this way, we shall soon see them."

In fact, the hunters had not walked one hundred yards in the direction
indicated by Brighteye, ere they found the horses quietly engaged in
nibbling the pea vines and young tree shoots. The noble animals, on
hearing a whistle, raised their intelligent heads, and hastened toward
the hunters with a neigh of pleasure. According to the usual fashion in
the prairies, they were saddled, but their _bozal_ was hung round their
necks. The hunters bridled them, leapt on their backs, and started
again.

"Now that we have each a good horse between our legs we are certain of
arriving in time," Marksman observed; "hence, it is useless to hurry
on, and we can talk at our ease. Tell me, Brighteye, have you seen Don
Miguel Ortega yet?"

"Never, I allow."

"Then you do not know him?"

"If I may believe Don José, he is a villain. For my own part, never
having had any relations with him, I should be considerably troubled to
form any opinion, bad or good, about him."

"With me it is different. I know him."

"Ah!"

"Very well indeed."

"For any length of time?"

"Long enough, I believe, at any rate to enable me to form an opinion
about him."

"Ah! Well, what do you think of him?"

"Much good and much bad."

"Hang it? ah!"

"Why are you surprised? Are not all men in the same case?"

"Nearly so, I grant."

"This man is no worse or no better than the rest. This morning, as
I foresaw that you were about to speak to me about him, I wished to
leave you liberty of action by telling you that I was only slightly
acquainted with him; but it is possible that your opinion will soon be
greatly modified, and, perhaps, you will regret the support you have
hitherto given Don José, as you call him."

"Would you like me to speak candidly, Marksman, now that no one, but He
above, can hear us?"

"Do so, my friend. I should not be sorry to know your whole thoughts."

"I am certain that you know a great deal more about the story I told
you last night than you pretend to do."

"Perhaps you are right; but what makes you think so?"

"Many things; and in the first place this."

"Go on."

"You are too sensible a man. You have acquired too great an experience
of the things of this world, to undertake, without serious cause, the
defence of a man who, according to the principles we profess on the
prairie, you ought to regard, if not as an enemy, still as one of those
men whom it is often disagreeable to come in contact, or have any
relations with."

Marksman burst into a laugh. "There is truth in what you say,
Brighteye," he at length remarked.

"Is there not?"

"I will not attempt to play at cunning with you; but I have powerful
reasons for undertaking the defence of this man, but I cannot tell you
them at this moment. It is a secret which does not belong to me, and of
which I am only the depositary. I trust you will soon know all; but,
till then, rely on my old friendship, and leave me to act in any way."

"Very good! At any rate, I am now beginning to see clearly, and,
whatever may happen, you can reckon upon me."

"By Jove! I felt certain we should end by understanding one another;
but, silence, and let nothing be seen. We are at the meeting place.
Hang it! the Mexicans have not kept us waiting. They have already
pitched their camp on the other side of the river."

In fact, a hunter's camp could be seen a short distance off, one side
resting on the river, the other on the forest, and presenting perfectly
fortified outworks, with the front turned to the prairies, and composed
of bales and trees stoutly interlaced.

The two hunters made themselves known to the sentries, and entered
without any difficulty. Don Miguel was absent; but the Gambusinos
expected him at any moment. The hunters dismounted, hobbled their
horses, and sat down quietly by the fire.

Don Stefano Cohecho had left the Gambusinos at daybreak, as he had
announced on the previous evening.




CHAPTER X.

FRESH CHARACTERS.


In order to a right comprehension of ensuing facts, we will take
advantage of our privilege as story tellers, to go back a fortnight,
and allow the reader to be witness of a scene intimately connected with
the most important events of this history, and which took place a few
hundred miles from the spot where accident had collected our principal
characters.

The Cordillera of the Andes, that immense spine of the American
continent, the whole length of which it traverses under different names
from north to south, forms, at various elevations, immense _llanos_, on
which entire people live at a height at which all vegetation ceases in
Europe.

After crossing the Presidio de Tubar, the advanced post of civilization
on the extreme limit of the desert, and advancing into the mediano
region of the _tierra caliente_ for about one hundred and twenty miles,
the traveller finds himself suddenly, and without any transition, in
front of a virgin forest, which is no less than three hundred and
twenty miles deep, by eighty odd miles wide.

The most practised pen is powerless to describe the marvels innumerable
inclosed in that inexhaustible network of vegetation called a virgin
forest, and the sight, at once strange and peculiar, majestic and
imposing, which it offers to the dazzled sight. The most powerful
imagination recoils before this prodigious fecundity of elementary
nature, continually springing up again from its own destruction with
a strength and vigour ever new. The creepers, which run from tree to
tree, from branch to branch, plunge, at one moment, into the earth,
and then rise once more to the sky, and form, by their interlacing
and crossing, an almost insurmountable barrier, as if jealous nature
wished to hide from profane eyes the mysterious secrets of these
forests, beneath whose shade man's footsteps have only reached at long
intervals, and never unpunished. Trees of every age and species grow
without order or symmetry, as if sown by chance, like wheat in the
furrows. Some, tall and slight, count only a few years; the extremities
of their branches are covered by the tall and wide boughs of those
whose haughty heads have seen centuries pass over them. Beneath their
foliage softly murmur pure and limpid streams, which escape from the
fissures of the rocks, and, after a thousand meanderings, are lost in
some lake or unknown river, whose bright waters had never reflected
aught in their clear mirror save the sublime secrets of the solitude.
There may be found, pell-mell and in picturesque confusion, all
the magnificent productions of tropical regions:--The acajou; the
ebony; the palisander; the stunted mahogany; the black oak; the cork;
the maple; the mimosa, with its silvery foliage; and the tamarind,
thrusting in every direction their branches, laden with, flowers,
fruits, and leaves, which form a dome impenetrable to the sunbeams.
From the vast and unexplored depths of these forests emerge, from time
to time, inexplicable noises--furious howls, feline miauls, mocking
yells, mingled with shrill whistling or the joyous and harmonious song
of the birds.

After plunging boldly into the centre of this chaos, and struggling
hand to hand with this uncultivated and wild nature, the traveller
succeeds, with axe in one hand and torch in the other, in gaining, inch
by inch, step by step, a road impossible to describe. At one moment, by
crawling like a reptile over the decaying leaves, dead wood, or guano,
piled up for centuries; or by leaping from branch to branch, at the
tops of the trees, standing, as it were, in the air. But woe to the man
who neglects to have his eye constantly open to all that surrounds
him, and his ear on the watch: for, in addition to the obstacles
caused by nature, he has to fear the venomous stings of the serpents
startled in their lairs, and the furious attacks of the wild beasts.
He must also carefully watch the course of the rivers and streams he
meets with, determine the position of the sun during the day, or guide
himself at night by the Southern Cross; for, once astray in a virgin
forest, it is impossible to get out of it--it is a maze, from which no
Ariadne's web would help to find the issue.

At last the traveller, after he has succeeded in surmounting the
dangers we have describe, and a thousand others no less terrible, which
we have passed over in silence, emerges on an immense plain, in the
centre of which stands an Indian city. That is to say, he finds himself
before one of those mysterious cities into which no European has yet
penetrated, whose exact position even is unknown, and which, since
the conquest, have served as an asylum for the last relics of Aztec
civilization.

The fabulous accounts given by some travellers about the incalculable
wealth buried in these cities, has inflamed the covetousness and
avarice of a great number of adventurers, who, at various periods,
have attempted to find the lost road to these queens of the Mexican
prairies and savannahs. Others again, only impelled by the irresistible
attraction extraordinary enterprises offer to vagabond imaginations,
have also, especially during the last fifty years, set out in search of
these Indian cities, though up to the present time success has never
crowned these various expeditions. Some have returned disenchanted, and
half killed by this journey toward the unknown; a considerable number
have left their bodies at the foot of precipices or in the quebradas,
to serve as food for birds of prey; while others, more unfortunate
still, have disappeared without leaving a trace, and no one has ever
heard what has become of them.

Owing to events, too long to narrate here, but which we shall describe
some day, we have lived, against our will, in one of these impenetrable
cities, though, more fortunate than our predecessors, whose whitened
bones we saw scattered along the road, we succeeded in escaping
from it, through dangers innumerable, all miraculously avoided. The
description we are about to give, then, is scrupulously exact, and
cannot be doubted, for we write from personal observation.

Quiepaa Tani, the city which presents itself to the traveller's sight
after leaving the virgin forest, of which we have given a sketch,
extends from east to west, and forms a parallelogram. A wide stream,
over which several bridges of incredible lightness and elegance are
thrown, runs through its entire length. At each corner of the square an
enormous block of rock cut perpendicularly on the side that faces the
plains, serves as an almost impregnable fortress; these four citadels
are also connected by a wall twenty feet thick, and forty feet high,
which, inside the city, forms a slope sixty feet wide at the base. This
wall is built of native bricks, made of sandy earth and chopped straw;
they are called _adobes_, and are about a yard long. A wide and deep
fosse almost doubles the height of the walls. Two gates alone give
access to the city. These gates are flanked by towers and pepper boxes,
exactly like a mediaeval fortress; and, what adds to the correctness of
our comparison, a small bridge, made of planks, extremely narrow and
light, and so arranged as to be carried away on the slightest alarm, is
the only communication between these gates and the exterior.

The houses are low, and terminate in terraces, connected with each
other; they are slight, and built of wicker and canaverales covered
with cement, in consequence of the earthquakes so frequent in these
regions; but they are large, airy, and pierced with numerous windows.
None of them are more than one story in height, and the fronts are
covered with a varnish of dazzling whiteness.

This strange city, seen from a distance, as it rises in the midst of
the tall prairie grass, offers the most singular and seductive sight.

On a fine evening in the month of October, five travellers, whose
features or dress it would have been impossible to distinguish, owing
to the obscurity, came out of the forest we have described above,
stopped for a moment, with marked indecision, on the extreme edge of
the wood, and began examining the ground. Before them rose a hillock,
which, if no great height, yet cut the horizon at right angles.

After exchanging a few words, two of these persons remained where they
were; the other three lay down on their faces, and, crawling on their
hands and feet, advanced through the rank grass, which they caused to
undulate, and which completely concealed their bodies. On reaching the
top of the mound, which they had found such difficulty in scaling, they
looked out into the country, and remained struck with astonishment and
admiration.

The eminence, at the top of which they were, was perpendicular on the
other side, like all the rest of the ground which extended on either
side. A magnificent plain lay expanded a hundred feet below them, and
in the centre of the plain, at a distance of about a thousand yards
from them, stood, proud and imposing, Quiepaa Tani,[1] the mysterious
city, defended by its massive towers and thick walls. The sight of this
vast city in the midst of the desert produced on the minds of the three
men a feeling of stupor, which they could not explain, and which for
a few moments rendered them dumb with surprise. At length one of them
rose on his elbow, and addressed his comrades.

"Are my brothers satisfied?" he said, with a guttural accent, which,
though he expressed himself in Spanish, proved him to be an Indian.
"Has Addick (the Stag) kept his promise?"

"Addick is one of the first warriors of his tribe; his tongue is
straight, and the blood flows clearly in his veins," one of the men he
addressed, answered.

The Indian smiled silently, without replying;--this smile would have
given his companions much matter for thought, had they seen it.

"It seems to me," the one who had not yet spoken said, "that it is very
late to enter the city."

"Tomorrow, at sunrise, Addick will lead the two Paleface maidens to
Quiepaa Tani," the Indian answered; "the night is too dark."

"The warrior is right," the second speaker remarked, "we must put off
the affair till tomorrow."

"Yes, let us return to our friends, whom a longer absence may alarm."

Joining deeds to words, the first speaker turned round, and, exactly
following the track his body had left in the grass, he soon found
himself, as well as his companions, who imitated all his movements, at
the skirt of the forest, into which, after their departure, the two
persons they left behind had returned.

The silence which reigns beneath these gloomy roofs of foliage and
branches during the day, had been succeeded by the dull sounds of a
wild concert, formed by the shrill cries of the night birds, which
woke, and prepared to attack the loros, humming birds, and cardinals,
belated far from their nests; the roaring of the cougars; the
hypocritical miauling of the jaguars and panthers, and the snappish
barks of the coyotes, which reechoed, with a mournful sound, from the
roofs of the inaccessible caverns and gaping pits which served as
lurking places for these dangerous guests.

Returning on the trail they had traced with their axes, the three men
soon found themselves near a fire of dead wood, burning in the centre
of a small clearing. Two women, or rather girls, were crouching,
pensive and sad, by the fire. They counted scarce thirty years between
them; they were lovely, and of that creole beauty which the divine
pencil of a Raphael has been alone able to reproduce. But at this
moment they were pale, seemed fatigued, and their faces reflected a
gloomy sorrow; At the sound of the approaching steps they raised their
eyes, and a flash of joy illumined their faces like a sunbeam.

The Indian threw some sticks on the fire, which was threatening to
go out, while one of the hunters occupied himself with giving their
provender to the horses, hobbled a short distance off.

"Well, Don Miguel," one of the ladies said, addressing the hunter
who had taken a seat by her side, "shall we soon near the end of our
journey?"

"You have arrived, señorita; tomorrow, under the guidance of our friend
Addick, you will enter the city, that inviolable asylum, where no one
will pursue you."

"Ah!" she continued, looking absently at the Indian's gloomy and
apathetic face; "we shall separate tomorrow."

"We must, señorita; the care for your safety demands it."

"Who would dare to seek me in these unknown districts?"

"Hatred dares everything. I implore you, señorita, to put faith in my
experience; my devotion to you is unbounded. Though still very young,
you have suffered enough, and it is time that a blessed sunbeam should
brighten your dreary brow, and dispel the clouds which thought and
grief have been so long collecting on it."

"Alas!" she said, as she let her head droop, to hide the tears that ran
down her cheeks.

"My sister, my friend, my Laura!" the other maiden said, embracing her
tenderly, "be courageous to the end. Shall I not be with you? Oh, fear
nothing!" she added, with a charming expression. "I will take half your
grief on myself, and your burthen will seem less heavy."

"Poor Luisa!" the maiden murmured, as she returned her caresses.
"You are unhappy through me. How shall I ever be able to repay your
devotion?"

"By loving me, as I love you, cherished angel, and by regaining hope."

"Before a month, I trust," Don Miguel said, "your persecutors will be
prevented from troubling you again. I am playing a terrible game with
them, in which my head is the stake; but I care little, so long as I
save you. On leaving you, permit me to take with me, in my heart, the
hope that you will in no way attempt to leave the refuge I have found
for you, and that you will patiently await my return."

"Alas, Caballero! you are aware that I live only by a miracle; my
relatives, my friends, indeed, all those I loved, have abandoned me,
except my Luisa, my foster sister, whose devotion to me has never
swerved; and you, whom I do not know, whom I never saw, and who
suddenly revealed yourself to me in my tomb, like the angel of divine
justice; since that terrible night, when, thanks to you, I emerged from
my sepulchre, like Lazarus, you have shown me the kindest and most
delicate attentions; you have taken the place of those who betrayed me;
you have been to me more than a father."

"Señorita!" said the young man, at once confused and happy at these
words.

"I say this to you, Don Miguel," she continued, with a certain feverish
animation, "because I am anxious to prove to you that I am not
ungrateful. I know not what God, in His wisdom, may do with me; but I
tell you, that my last thought, my last prayer will be for you. You
wish me to await you; I will obey you. Believe me, I only dispute my
life through a certain feeling of anxiety, like the gambler at his last
stake," she added, with a heartbreaking smile; "but I understand how
much you need liberty of action for the rude game you have undertaken.
Hence, you can go in peace; I have faith in you."

"Thanks, señorita; this promise doubles my strength. Oh, now I am
certain of success!"

A rude jacal of branches had been prepared for the maidens by the other
hunters and the Indian warrior, and they retired to rest.

Although the young man's mind was so full of restless alarms, after a
few moments of deep thought he laid himself down by the side of his
companions, and soon fell asleep. In the desert nature never surrenders
its claims, and the greatest grief rarely succeeds in gaining the
victory over the material claims of the human organization.

Scarce had the first sunbeams begun to tinge the sky of an opal hue,
ere the hunters opened their eyes. The preparations for starting were
soon completed; the moment of separation arrived, and the parting was a
sad one. The two hunters had accompanied the maidens to the edge of the
forest, in order to remain longer with them.

Doña Luisa, taking advantage of an instant when the road became so
narrow that it became almost impossible for two to walk side by side,
drew nearer Don Miguel's hunting companion.

"Do me a service," she whispered, hurriedly.

"Speak," he answered, in the same key.

"That Indian inspires me with but slight confidence."

"You are wrong; I know him."

She shook her head petulantly. "That is possible," she said; "but will
you do me the service I want of you?--if not, I will ask Don Miguel,
though I should have preferred him not knowing it."

"Speak, I tell you."

"Give me a knife and your pistols."

The hunter looked her in the face. "Good!" he said presently. "You are
a brave child. Here is what you ask for." And, without anyone noticing
it, he gave the objects she wished to obtain from him, adding to them
two little pouches, one of gunpowder, the other of bullets.

"No one knows what may happen," he said.

"Thanks," she answered, with a movement of joy she could not master.

This was all that she said; and the weapons disappeared under her
clothes, with a speed and resolution which made the hunter smile. Five
minutes after, they reached the skirt of the virgin forest.

"Addick," the hunter said laconically; "remember that you will answer
to me for these two women."

"Addick has sworn it," the Indian merely replied. They separated; it
was impossible to remain longer at the spot where they were, without
running the risk of being discovered by the Indians. The maidens and
the warrior proceeded toward the city.

"Let us mount the hill," Don Miguel said, "in order to see them for the
last time."

"I was going to propose it," the hunter said, simply.

They went, with similar precautions, to the spot they had occupied for
a few moments on the previous evening.

In the brilliant beams of the sun, which had gloriously risen, the
verdurous landscape had assumed, a truly enchanting aspect. Nature
was aroused from her sleep, and a most varied spectacle had been
substituted for the gloomy and solitary view of the previous night.
From the gates of the city, which were now widely opened, emerged
groups of Indians on horseback and on foot, who dispersed in all
directions with shouts of joy and shriller bursts of laughter. Numerous
canoes traversed the stream, the fields were populated with flocks
of vicunas, and horses led by Indians, armed with long goads, who
were proceeding toward the city. Women quaintly attired, and bearing
on their heads long wicker baskets filled with meat, fruit, and
vegetables, walked along conversing together, and accompanying each
phrase with that continual, sharp, and metallic laugh, of which the
Indian nation possess the secret, and the noise of which resembles very
closely that produced by the full of a quantity of pebbles on a copper
dish.

The maidens and their guide were soon mixed up in this motley crowd, in
the midst of which they disappeared. Don Miguel sighed.

"Let us go," he said in a deep voice.

They returned to the forest. A few moments later, they set out again.

"We must separate," Don Miguel said when they had crossed the forest;
"I shall return to Tubar."

"And I am going to try to render a small service to an Indian chief, a
friend of mine."

"You are always thinking of others, and never of yourself, my worthy
Marksman; you are ever anxious to be of use to someone."

"What would you have, Don Miguel? It seems to be my mission--you know
that every man has one."

"Yes!" the young man answered in a hollow voice. "Good-bye!" he added
presently, "do not forget our meeting."

"All right! In a fortnight, at the ford of the Rubio; that is settled."

"Forgive me my chariness of speech during the few days we have spent
together; the secret is not mine alone, Marksman; I am not at liberty
to divulge it, even to so kind a friend as yourself."

"Keep your secret, my friend; I am in no way curious to know it; still,
it is understood that we do not know one another."

"Yes; that is very important."

"Then, good-bye."

"Good-bye!"

The two horsemen shook hands, one turned to the right, the other to the
left, and they set off at full speed.


[1] Literally, _Quiepaa_, sky, _tani_, mountain, in the Zapothecan
language.




CHAPTER XI.

THE FORD OF THE RUBIO.


The night was gloomy, not a star shone in the sky; the wind blew
violently through the heavy boughs of the virgin forest, with that
sad and monotonous soughing which resembles the sound of great waters
when the tempest menaces; the clouds were low, black, and charged
with electricity; they coursed rapidly through the sky, incessantly
veiling the wan disk of the moon, whose cold rays only rendered the
gloom denser; the atmosphere was oppressive, and those nameless noises,
dashed back by the echoes like the rolling of distant thunder, rose
from the quebradas and unknown barrancas of the prairies; the beasts
howled sadly all the notes of the human register, and the night birds,
troubled in their sleep by this strange uneasiness of nature, uttered
hoarse and discordant cries.

In the camp of the Gambusinos all was calm; the sentries were watching,
leaning on their rifles, and crouching near the expiring fire. In the
centre of the camp two men were smoking their Indian pipes, and talking
in a low voice. They were Brighteye and Marksman.

At length, Brighteye knocked the ashes out of his pipe, thrust it into
his girdle, stifled a yawn, and rose, throwing out his legs and arms to
restore the circulation.

"What are you going to do?" Marksman asked him, turning cautiously
round.

"Sleep," the hunter answered.

"Sleep!"

"Why not? the night is advanced; we are the only persons watching, I
feel convinced; it is more than probable that we shall not see Don
Miguel before sunrise. Hum! the best plan for the moment, at least, is
to sleep, at any rate, if you have not decided otherwise."

Marksman laid his finger on his lip, as if to recommend silence to his
friend.

"The night is advanced," he said, in a low voice; "a terrible storm is
rising. Where can Don Miguel be gone? This prolonged absence alarms me
more than I can express: he is not the man to leave his friends thus,
without some powerful reason, or perhaps--"

The hunter stopped, and shook his head sorrowfully.

"Go on," Brighteye said; "tell me your whole thought."

"Well, I am afraid lest some misfortune has happened to him."

"Oh, oh, do you think so? Still, this Don Miguel, from what I have
heard you say, is a man of well-tried courage and uncommon strength."

"All that is true," Marksman replied, with a preoccupied air.

"Well! do you think that such a man, well armed, and acquainted with
prairie life, is not able to draw himself out of a difficulty, whatever
the danger which threatens him?"

"Yes, if he has to deal with a loyal foe, who stands resolutely before
him, and fights with equal weapons."

"What other danger can he fear?"

"Brighteye, Brighteye!" the hunter continued, sadly, "you have lived
too long among the Missouri fur traders."

"Which means--?" the Canadian asked, somewhat piqued.

"Come, my friend, do not feel vexed at my remarks; but it is evident to
me, that you have, in a great measure, forgotten prairie habits."

"Hum! that is a serious charge against a hunter, Marksman; and in what,
if you please, have I forgotten desert manners?"

"By Jove! in seeming no longer to remember that, in the country where
we now are, every weapon is good to get rid of an enemy."

"Eh! I know that as well as you, my friend; I know, too, that the most
dangerous weapon is that which is concealed."

"That is to say, treachery."

The Canadian started. "Do you fear treachery, then?" he asked.

"What else can I fear?"

"That is true," the hunter said, with a drooping head; "but," he added,
a moment after, "what is to be done?"

"That is the very thing that embarrasses me. Still I cannot remain much
longer in this state; the uncertainty is killing me; at all risks I
must know what has happened."

"But in what way?"

"I know not, Heaven will inspire me."

"Still, you have an idea?"

"Of course, I have."

"What is it?"

"This--and I count on you to help me in carrying it out."

Brighteye affectionately pressed his friend's hand. "You are right," he
said: "now for your idea."

"It is very simple; we will leave the camp directly, and go along the
river side."

"Yes,--I would merely draw your attention to the fact, that the storm
will soon break out, and the rain is already falling in large drops."

"The greater reason to make haste."

"That is true."

"Then you will accompany me?"

"By Jove! did you doubt it, perchance?"

"I am a goose; forgive me, brother, and thank you."

"Why so? on the contrary, I ought to thank you."

"How so?"

"Why, thanks to you, I am going to take a delightful walk."

Marksman did not answer; the hunters saddled and bridled their horses,
and after inspecting their arms with all the care of men who are
convinced that they will soon have occasion to use them, they mounted
and rode toward the gate of the camp. Two sentries were standing
motionless and upright at the gate; they placed themselves before the
wood rangers. The latter had no intention of going out unseen, as they
had no reason for hiding their departure.

"You are going away?" one of the sentries asked.

"No; we are merely going to make a survey of the country."

"At this hour?"

"Why not?"

"Hang it! I think it pleasanter to sleep in such weather, than ride
about the prairie."

"You think wrong, comrade," Marksman answered, in a peremptory tone;
"and, in the first place, bear this in mind, I am not accountable for
my actions to anyone; if I go out at this hour in the storm which is
threatening, I have possibly powerful motives for my conduct; now,
will you or no let us pass? Remember, however, that I shall hold you
responsible for any delay you occasion in the execution of my plans."

The tone employed by the hunter in addressing them struck the two
sentries; they consulted together in a low voice; after which, the man
who had hitherto spoken turned to the two hunters, who were quietly
awaiting the result of this deliberation. "You can pass," he said; "you
are at liberty to go wherever you think proper. I have done my duty in
questioning you, and may Heaven grant you are doing yours in going out
thus."

"You will soon know. One word more."

"I am listening."

"Our absence will probably be short; if not, we shall return by
sunrise; still, pay great attention to this recommendation: should you
hear the cry of the jaguar repeated thrice, at equal intervals, mount
at full speed, and come, not you alone, but followed by a dozen of your
comrades, for, when you hear that cry, a great danger will menace the
Cuadrilla. Now, you understand me?"

"Perfectly."

"And will you do what I advise?"

"I will do so, because you are the friends we expected, and treachery
could not be feared from you."

"Good."

"I wish you luck."

The hunters went on, and the gate was immediately closed after them.

The wood rangers had scarce entered the prairie, ere the hurricane,
which had threatened since sunset, broke out furiously. A brilliant
flash of lightning crossed the sky, followed almost instantaneously by
a startling clap of thunder. The trees bowed beneath the fury of the
blast, and the rain began falling in torrents. The adventurers advanced
with extreme difficulty, amid the chaos of the infuriated elements;
their horses, startled by the howling of the tempest, reared and shied
at every step. The darkness had become so dense, that, although walking
side by side, the two men could scarce see each other. The trees,
twisted by the omnipotent blast, uttered almost human cries, answered
by the mournful howling of the terrified wild beasts, while the stream,
swollen by the rain, rose into waves, whose foaming crests broke with a
crash against the sandy banks.

Brighteye and Marksman, case-hardened against the desert temporales,
shook their heads contemptuously at every effort of the gust, which
passed over them like an ardent simoom, and continued to advance,
searching with the eye the gloom that enveloped them like a heavy
shroud, and listening to the noises which the echoes bandied about.

In this way they reached the ford of the Rubio, without exchanging a
syllable. Then they stopped, as if by mutual agreement.

The Rubio, a lost and unknown affluent of the Great Rio Colorado del
Norte, into which it falls after a winding course of hardly twenty
leagues, is in ordinary times a narrow stream, on which Indian canoes
have a difficulty in floating, and which horses can ford almost
anywhere, with the water scarce up to their girths; but at this hour
the placid stream had suddenly become a mad and impetuous torrent,
noisily rolling along, in its deep and muddy waters, uprooted trees,
and even masses of rock.

To dream of crossing the Rubio at this moment would have been signal
folly; a man so rash as to attempt the enterprise, would have been
carried off in a few seconds by its furious waves, whose yellow surface
grew wider every moment.

The hunters remained for a moment motionless beneath the torrents of
rain that inundated them, regarding with thoughtful eye the water
that still rose and rose, and holding in with great difficulty their
startled horses, which reared with hoarse snorts of fear.

These men, with their hearts of bronze, stood stoically amid the
frightful uproar of the unchained elements, not seeming to notice the
awful tempest that howled around them, and as calm and easy minded as
if they were comfortably seated in some snug cave, near a merry fire
of twigs. They had only one idea, that of assisting the man whom they
suspected of running a terrible danger at this moment.

Suddenly they started, and quickly raised their heads, while looking
fixedly and eagerly in front of them. But the darkness was too thick;
they could distinguish nothing.

In the midst of the thousand sounds of the tempest, a cry had struck
their ear. This cry was a last appeal, a harsh and prolonged cry of
agony, such as the strong man conquered by fatality utters, when he is
forced to confess his impotence, when everything fails him at once,
and he has no other resource than Heaven. The two men leaned forward
quickly, and placing their hands to their mouth funnel wise, uttered in
their turn a shrill and lengthened cry.

Then they listened. At the end of a moment a second cry, more piercing
and desperate than the first, reached their ears.

"Oh!" Marksman shouted, as he rose in his stirrups and closed his fists
in fury, "that man is in danger of death."

"Whoever he is, we must save him," Brighteye answered, boldly.

They had understood each other. But how to save this man? Where was he?
What danger menaced him? Who could answer these questions which they
mentally asked themselves?

At the risk of being carried off by the torrent, the hunters forced
their horses to enter the river, and lying almost on the necks of the
noble animals, they investigated the waters. But, as we have said, the
darkness was too thick, they could see nothing.

"The demon interferes," Marksman said, in despair. "Oh, heavens! shall
we let this man die without going to his aid?"

At this moment a flash of lightning crossed the sky, with a dazzling
zigzag. By its fugitive gleam, the hunters saw a horseman struggling
furiously against the efforts of the waves.

"Courage! courage!" they shouted.

"Help!" the stranger replied, in a shaking voice.

There was no time for hesitation, for every second was an age.

The man and horse struggled courageously against the torrent that bore
them away, and the hunters' resolution was formed in a second. They
silently shook hands, and at the same moment dug their spurs into
their horses' flanks; the animals reared with a shriek of pain, but,
compelled to obey the iron hands that held them, they bounded in terror
into the middle of the stream.

Suddenly two shots were heard; a bullet passed with a whistle between
our two friends, and a cry of pain was heard from the water. The man
they had come to help was wounded. The storm was still increasing; the
flashes succeeded each other with extraordinary rapidity. The hunters
noticed the stranger clinging to his saddle, and letting his horse
carry him where it liked; then, on the other bank, a man with his body
bent forward, and his rifle shouldered, in readiness to fire.

"Each man his own," Marksman said, laconically.

"Good!" Brighteye said, with equal brevity.

The Canadian took the reata hanging at the saddlebow, and swinging it
round his head, awaited the gleam of the next flash. It did not last
long, but though it was so rapid, Brighteye had taken advantage of
the transient gleam to hurl his reata. The leather cord whizzed out,
and the running knot at the end fell on the neck of the horse which
wrestled so bravely with the torrent.

"Courage! courage!" Brighteye shouted; "help, Marksman, help!" And
giving a smart shake to his horse, he made it rise on its hind legs
just as it was losing its footing, and forced it toward the river.

"Here I am," Marksman said, who was watching for the opportunity to
fire: "patience, I am coming."

Suddenly he pulled the trigger, the bullet went forth, and from the
other bank a cry of pain and rage reached the hunters.

"He is hit," Marksman said; "tomorrow I shall know who the scamp is;"
and throwing his rifle behind him, he hurried forward to join Brighteye.

The horse the Canadian had lassoed, feeling itself supported and
dragged toward the bank, seconded, with that intelligence possessed by
these noble animals, the efforts made to save it.

The two hunters held on the reata. The united strength of their steeds,
helped by the lassoed horse, succeeded in breasting the current, and
after a minute's struggle, they at length reached the bank. So soon as
they were comparatively in safety, the Canadians leaped from their
saddles, and rushed toward the stranger's horse.

So soon as it felt _terra firma_ under its feet, the noble animal
had stopped, apparently comprehending that, if it advanced, it would
cast its master against the rocks that covered the ground, for,
although insensible, he still held the bridle firmly clasped in his
clenched hand. The hunters cut the bridle, raised the man they had so
miraculously saved in their arms, and carried him a few paces further
to the foot of a tree, where they gently laid him; then, both eagerly
bending over his body, awaited a flash which would enable them to see
him.

"Oh!" Marksman said, as he drew himself up, with an expression of
grief, mingled with terror, "Don Miguel Ortega!"




CHAPTER XII.

DON STEFANO COHECHO.


As we related a short time back, after leaving Brighteye Don Stefano
had returned to the camp of the Gambusinos, into which he had managed
to enter again unseen.

Once inside the camp, the Mexican had nothing more to fear; he went
back to the fire, near which his horse was picketed, patted the
noble brute, which turned toward him, and pricked up its ears at his
approach, and then lay down calmly, rolled himself in his wraps, and
fell asleep with that placidity peculiar to consciences at rest.

Several hours elapsed, and no sound arose to disturb the calmness that
brooded over the camp. Suddenly Don Stefano opened his eyes, for a hand
had been gently laid on his right shoulder.

The Mexican looked at the man who interrupted his sleep; by the
light of the paling stars he recognized Domingo. Don Stefano rose,
and silently followed the Gambusino. The latter led him to the
entrenchments, probably with the design of speaking without fearing
indiscreet ears.

"Well?" Don Stefano asked him, when the Gambusino had made a sign that
he could speak.

Domingo, obeying the order he had received from Brighteye, concisely
related to him all that had happened in the prairie. On learning that
the Canadian had succeeded in meeting Marksman, Don Stefano gave
a start of joy, and began listening to the Gambusino's story with
increasing interest. When the latter at last finished, or at any rate
remained silent, he asked him--"Is that all?"

"All," the other answered.

Don Stefano drew out his purse, and took from it several gold pieces,
which he handed to Domingo; the latter took them with a gesture of
pleasure.

"Did Brighteye give you no message for me?" the Mexican asked again.

The other seemed to reflect for a moment. "Ah!" he said, "I forgot; the
hunter bade me tell you, Excellency, not to leave the camp."

"Do you know the reason of this recommendation?"

"Certainly; he intends to join the Cuadrilla this evening at the ford
of the Rubio."

The Mexican's brow grew dark. "You are sure of that?" he said.

"That is what he said to me."

There was a few moments' silence. "Good!" he then continued; "the
hunter added nothing further?"

"Nothing."

"Hum!" Don Stefano muttered, "after all, it is of no consequence;"
then, leaning heavily on the Gambusino's shoulder, he looked him
fiercely in the face. "Now," he added, laying a stress upon every word,
"remember this carefully; you do not know me, whatever happens; you
will not breathe a syllable of the way in which we met on the prairie."

"You may be assured of it, Excellency."

"I am assured," the Mexican replied, with an accent which made Domingo
tremble, brave as he was: "remember the oath you took, and the pledge
you gave me."

"I shall remember."

"If you keep your promise, and are faithful to me, it will be mine to
keep you from want for life,--if not, look out."

The Gambusino shook his shoulders with disdain, and answered
ill-temperedly--"It is unnecessary to threaten me, Excellency; what is
said is said; what is promised is promised."

"We shall see."

"If you have nothing else to recommend to me, I believe we had better
separate. The day is beginning to break; my comrades will soon awake,
and I fancy you are no more anxious than I am to be surprised together."

"You are right." They then parted. Don Stefano returned to his place,
while the Gambusino laid himself down where he was, and both slept, or
seemed to do so.

With the first beams of the sun, Don Miguel raised the curtain of the
tent, and walked toward his guest; the latter was soundly asleep. Don
Miguel felt unwilling to trouble this peaceful sleep; he sat down at
the fire, brought together the logs, blew them up, rolled one maize
cigarette, and smoked philosophically, while awaiting his guest's
awakening.

By this time all was movement in the camp; the Gambusinos were
attending to their morning duties, some leading the horses to water,
others lighting the fires, in order to prepare breakfast for the
Cuadrilla; in short, everybody was engaged in his own way on the
general behalf.

At length Don Stefano, on whose face a sunbeam had been playing for
some minutes, thought it advisable to wake; he turned round, stretched
his limbs, and opened his eyes, while yawning several times.

"_Caramba!_" he said, as he drew himself up, "it is day already; how
quickly a night is passed; I feel as if I had been hardly an hour
asleep."

"I see with pleasure that you have slept soundly, Caballero," Don
Miguel said politely to him.

"What! is that you, my host?" Don Stefano exclaimed, with perfectly
well-acted surprise; "the day will be a happy one for me, since the
first face I notice, on opening my eyes, is that of a friend."

"I accept the compliment as politeness on your part."

"On my word, no: I assure you that what I say to you is the sincere
expression of my thought," the Mexican said, simply; "it is impossible
to do the honours of the desert better, or comprehend the holy laws of
hospitality more thoroughly."

"I thank you for the good opinion you are kind enough to have of me.
I trust that you will not leave us yet, but consent to remain several
days with us."

"Would I could, Don Miguel--Heaven is my witness, that I should
be delighted to enjoy your charming company for a short time;
unfortunately, that is utterly impossible."

"Why so?"

"Alas! an imperious duty compels me to leave you this very day; I am
really in despair at this vexatious mischance."

"What motive can be so powerful as to force you to leave us so
suddenly?"

"A very trivial motive, and which will probably make you smile. I am
a merchant of Santa Fé; a few days back, the successive failures of
several houses at Monterey, with which I am extensively connected,
obliged me to leave my house suddenly, in order to try and save, by my
presence, a few waifs from the shipwreck with which I am threatened; I
set out without asking anybody's advice, and here I am."

"But," Don Miguel objected, "you are still along way from Monterey."

"I know it; and it is that which drives me to despair. I have a
frightful fear of arriving too late; the more so, as I have been warned
that the people with whom I have to do are rogues: the sums they owe me
are large, and form, I am sorry to say, the largest part of my fortune."

"_Cáspita!_ if that is the case, I can understand that you are anxious
to get there. I could not suspect that you had so serious a motive for
pressing on."

"You see how it is; so pity me, Don Miguel."

All this conversation was carried on by the two men with a charming
ease, and a simplicity perfectly well assumed on both sides; still
neither was duped: Don Stefano, as so often happens, had committed the
enormous fault of being too clever, and advancing beyond the limits of
prudence, while trying to persuade this man of the sincerity of his
words. This feigned sincerity had aroused Don Miguel's suspicions for
two reasons: in the first place, if Don Stefano were going from Santa
Fé to Monterey, he was not only off the road he ought to have followed,
but was completely turning his back on those two towns--an error which
his ignorance of the topography of the country made him commit without
suspecting it. The second instance was equally premature: no merchant
would have ever attempted, however grave the motive of such a journey,
to cross the desert alone, for fear of the Indian bravos, the pirates,
the wild beasts, and countless other dangers no less great, to which he
would be exposed, without possible hope of escaping them.

Still, Don Miguel pretended to admit, without discussion, the reasons
his guest offered him, and it was with an air of the utmost conviction
that he answered,--"In spite of the earnest desire I may have of
enjoying your agreeable society longer, I will not detain you, friend,
for I understand how urgent it must be for you to hurry on."

Don Stefano bowed with an almost imperceptible smile of triumph.

"In short," Don Miguel added, "I wish that you may succeed in saving
your fortune from the claws of those rogues; but at any rate, I hope,
Caballero, that we shall not separate before breakfasting. I confess
that your refusal to accept a share of my scanty supper last night
pained me."

"Oh," Don Stefano interrupted him, "believe me, Caballero--"

"You gave me a very admirable excuse," Don Miguel continued, "but,"
he added, significantly, "we Gambusinos and adventurers are singular
fellows--we fancy, rightly or wrongly, that the guest who refuses to
eat with us is our enemy, or will become so."

Don Stefano gave a slight start at this unforeseen attack. "How can you
imagine such a thing, Caballero?" he said, evasively.

"It is not I who suppose, but all of us; it is a prejudice, a foolish
superstition; call it as you like, but so it is," he said, with a
smile as sharp as a dagger's point, "and nothing will change our
nature; so that is settled, we will breakfast together, then I will
wish you a prosperous journey, and we shall part."

Don Stefano's face assumed an expression of despair.

"Really, I am the plaything of ill luck," he said, with a toss of the
head.

"How so?"

"Good gracious, I know not how to explain it to you; it is so absurd,
that I really dare not--"

"Pray speak, Caballero; although I am only an illiterate adventurer, I
may possibly manage to understand you."

"The truth is, I shall hurt your feelings."

"Not the least in the world: are you not my guest? a guest is sent by
heaven, that is to say, is sacred."

Don Stefano hesitated.

"Well," Don Miguel said, with a laugh, "I will have breakfast served;
perhaps that will undo your tongue."

"That is the embarrassing point!" the Mexican exclaimed, quickly, with
an accent of chagrin; "the fact is, that, in spite of my great desire
to be agreeable to you, I cannot accept your kind invitation."

The young man frowned. "Ah, ah!" he said, fixing a suspicious glance on
the speaker, "why so?"

"That is the very thing I dare not confess to you."

"You can, Caballero; have I not told you that you had the right to say
anything?"

"Good heavens, you force me to it," he continued, in a voice that grew
even more melancholy; "first imagine, then, that I have made a vow to
Nuestra señora de los Ángeles, never to take food before sunset, so
long as this accursed journey lasts."

"Ah!" Don Miguel said, with an accent of but slight conversion, "but
last evening, when I offered you supper, the sun had set a long time, I
fancy."

"Listen; I have not finished."

"Go on."

"And even then," the Mexican continued, "only to eat one of the maize
tortillas I carry with me in my alforjas, and which I had blessed by
a priest, prior to my departure from Santa Fé; you see, all this must
seem to you very ridiculous, but we are fellow countrymen, we have
Spanish blood in our veins, and instead of laughing at my foolish
superstition, you will pity me."

"_Cáspita!_ the more so, because you have a rude penance to undergo. I
will not attempt to make you give up your superstition, for I too have
mine; I believe that it is best not to return to the subject."

"You are not angry with me, at least?"

"I--why should I be angry?"

"Then we are still good friends?"

"More than ever," Don Miguel remarked, with a laugh. Still, the way
in which these words were pronounced, but slightly reassured the
Mexican--he took a side glance at the speaker, and then rose.

"Are you going?" the young man asked him.

"If you will permit me, I shall start."

"Do so, my guest."

Don Stefano, without further reply, immediately began saddling his
horse.

"You have a noble brute there," Don Miguel observed.

"Yes, he is a purely bred barb."

"That is the first time I ever saw one of that precious race."

"Pray have a good look at him."

"I thank you, but I should be afraid of delaying you;--hola! my
horse," he added, addressing Domingo.

The latter brought up a mustang full of fire, on the back of which Don
Miguel leaped at a bound, while Don Stefano also mounted.

"If you have no objection, I will have the honour of accompanying you a
little way, unless," he added, with a sarcastic smile, "you have made a
vow which prevents it."

"Come," Don Stefano said, reproachfully, "you are angry with me."

"On my faith, no; I swear it."

"Very good: we will start when you please."

"I am at your orders."

They spurred their horses, and went out of the camp. They had scarce
gone twenty yards, ere Don Miguel pulled up his horse and stopped.

"Are you going to leave me already?" Don Stefano asked him.

"I shall not go a step further," the young man answered, and drawing
himself up fiercely and frowning, he said in a haughty tone, "Here you
are no longer my guest; we are out of my camp in the desert; I can,
therefore, explain myself clearly and plainly, and _voto a brios_, I
will do so."

The Mexican regarded him with surprise. "I do not understand you," he
said.

"Perhaps so: I hope it is so, but I do not believe it. So long as you
were my guest, I pretended to believe the falsehoods you told me; but
now that you are to me no more than the first comer, a stranger, I wish
to tell you my thoughts frankly. I do not know by what name to address
you to your livid face, but I am certain that you are my enemy, or, at
any rate, a spy of my enemies."

"Caballero! these words--" Don Stefano exclaimed.

"Do not interrupt me," the young man continued, violently. "I care
little who you are; it is sufficient to have asked you: I thank you
for having entered my camp, at any rate; if ever I meet you again,
I shall recognize you: but let me give you one piece of advice on
parting: shake the dust off your boots on leaving me, and do not come
across me again, for it might bring you misfortune."

"Threats!" the Mexican interrupted, pale with rage.

"Take my words as you please, but remember them in the interest of your
safety; although I am only an adventurer, I give you at this moment
a lesson in honesty you will do well to profit by; nothing would be
easier for me than to acquire proofs of your treachery; I have with me
twenty devoted comrades, who, at a sign, would treat you very scurvily;
and who, by searching your clothes and alforjas, would doubtless find
among your _blessed tortillas_," he said, with a sardonic smile, "the
reasons for the conduct you have employed toward me ever since we met;
but you have been my guest, and that title is your safeguard: go in
peace, but do not cross my path again."

While uttering the last words, he raised his arm and dealt a vigorous
blow with his _chicote_ on the rear of Don Stefano's horse. The barb,
but little used to such treatment, started off like an arrow from a
bow, in spite of all his rider's efforts to hold him in.

Don Miguel looked after him for a moment, and then returned to the
camp, laughing heartily at the way in which he had ended the interview.

"Come, lads," he said to the Gambusinos, "let us be off at once; we
must reach the ford of the Rubio before sunset, where the guide is
awaiting us."

And half an hour later the caravan set out.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE AMBUSCADE.


No incident worthy of description troubled the journey during the day.
The Cuadrilla traversed an undulating country, intersected by streams
of slight depth, on the banks of which grew tall bushes, and clumps of
cottonwood trees, peopled by an infinity of birds, of every description
and variety of plumage: on the horizon a long yellowish line, above
which hung a dense cloud which indicated the Rio Colorado Grande del
Norte.

As Don Miguel had announced, the ford of the Rubio was reached a few
minutes before sunset. We will explain here in a few words the mode in
which caravans camp in the desert; this description is indispensable,
in order that the reader may understand how it is easy to leave or
return to the camp unnoticed.

The Cuadrilla, in addition to the baggage mules, had with it fifteen
waggons, loaded with merchandise. When the spot for camping was
selected, the waggons were arranged in a square, with a distance of
thirty-five feet between each: between the intervals were stationed six
or eight men, who lit a fire, round which they assembled to cook, eat,
smoke, and sleep. The horses were placed in the middle of the square,
not far from the mysterious tent, which occupied exactly the centre.
Each horse had the two off legs hobbled with a cord twenty inches long.
We may remark that, although a horse thus hobbled feels very awkward at
first, it soon accustoms itself to it sufficiently to be able to walk
slowly. Besides, this prudential measure is taken in order that the
horses may not stray, or be carried off by the Indians. Two horses are
also put together, one with its feet tied, and the other only held by
a picket rope, so that, in case of an alarm, it may gallop round its
companion, which thus serves, as it were, as a pivot.

The space left free between the waggons was filled up with fascines,
trees piled up on top of one another, and the mule bales.

Nothing is more singular than the appearance of one of these camps on
the prairie. The fires are surrounded by picturesque groups, seated
or standing; some cooking, others mending their clothes or their
horses' trappings, others furbishing their weapons; at intervals,
bursts of laughter rise from the midst of the groups, which announce
that merry stories are going the rounds, and that they are trying to
forget the fatigues of the day, and preparing for those of the morrow.
Then, to complete the picture, from distance to distance behind the
entrenchments sentinels, calm and motionless, lean on their rifles.

From the description we have given, it is easy to understand that the
waggons form a species of embrasures, by means of which an active man
crawling under the carts can easily go out without being noticed by
the sentries, and return whenever he pleases, without attracting the
attention of his comrades, whose glances, usually directed on the
prairie, have no reason to watch what goes on inside the camp.

So soon as all was in order, and each installed as comfortably as
circumstances permitted, Don Miguel had a fresh horse brought him,
which he mounted, and addressed his comrades collected around him.
"Señores," he said, "business of a pressing nature obliges me to go
out for a few hours. Watch carefully over the camp during my absence;
above all, let no one enter. We are now in regions where the greatest
caution is necessary to guard against the treachery which incessantly
menaces, and assumes every shape in order to deceive those whom
negligence prevents being on their guard. The guide we are expecting so
impatiently will, doubtless, arrive in a few moments. All know him by
repute; perhaps he may come alone, or he may have somebody with him.
This man, in whom we must place the greatest confidence, must, during
my absence, be entirely free in his actions--go and come without the
slightest obstacle being offered him. You have understood me; so follow
my instructions point by point. Besides, I repeat, I shall soon return."

After making a farewell signal to his comrades, Don Miguel left the
camp, and proceeded to the Rubio, the ford of which, being nearly dry
at the moment, he easily crossed.

What the chief of the adventurers had said to his comrades with
reference to Marksman, was an inspiration of Heaven; for, if he had
not peremptorily ordered that the hunter should be allowed to act as
he pleased, it is probable that the sentinels would have barred his
passage; and, in that case, the young man, deprived of the providential
aid of the two backwoodsmen, would have been hopelessly lost.

After crossing the ford, Don Miguel urged his horse at full speed
straight ahead. This furious race lasted nearly two hours, through
thickets, which at every moment grew more closely together, and
gradually were metamorphosed into a forest.

After crossing a deep gorge, whose perpendicular sides were covered
with impenetrable thickets, the young man arrived at a species of
narrow lane, into which the paths of wild beasts opened, and in the
centre of which an Indian, dressed in his war costume, and smoking
gravely, crouched over a fire of _bois de vache_; while his horse,
hobbled a short distance off, was busily browsing on the young tree
shoots. So soon as he saw the Indian, Don Miguel pushed on even at
greater speed. "Good evening, Chief!" he said, as he leaped lightly to
the ground, and amicably pressed the hand the warrior held out to him.

"Wah!" the Chief said to him, "I no longer expected my pale brother."

"Why so, as I had promised to come?"

"Perhaps it would have been better for the Paleface to remain in his
camp. Addick is a warrior; he has discovered a trail."

"Good; but trails are not wanting on the prairie."

"Och! this is wide, and incautiously trodden;

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