"As a matter of course. When Black Athol and Goliath go out, I know you are bent on mischief. What absence?"
"Three days at most," replied the captain; "and during that time never leave the island."
"And you go alone?" asked Camotte, anxiously.
"With the gentleman, as I have already said."
"I think you should take Tête de Plume," said Camotte.
"Will you tell me why?" asked the captain, smiling.
"No one ever knows on an expedition what may happen," drily replied the lieutenant, "and two are better than one."
"But I have told you, we are two already."
"Very good," he continued, "but you would be three."
"I tell you what it is, Camotte," said the captain, laughing, "you do just as you like with me. Let him come."
"I thank you heartily," cried the delighted lieutenant.
"Above all, whatever happens, keep my absence a secret," said Tom Mitchell; "that is above all essential."
"Your orders shall be obeyed in all things."
"And now bring in the prisoner," continued Tom. "By the way, have you said anything to her?"
"Captain, you know I am no babbler," observed Camotte.
"Very true," said Tom, and then turning to Pierre, he added, laughing, "that fellow does not put too much confidence in me."
"His manner is strange. Perhaps he distrusts me."
"No; Camotte is a bulldog for fidelity and discretion; but, like bulldogs, he is both suspicious and jealous," replied Tom.
"I bear him no malice for his jealousy," said Pierre; "besides, I myself always like those kind of men."
"Yes, they are indeed very precious," continued Tom; "unfortunately, you have to give way to them a little."
"Well, when it is from pure devotion, nothing can be said."
At this moment the door opened, and a young girl entered the room, effectually checking the conversation.
This young girl was Angela, or Evening Dew, whichever it may please the reader to call her.
She gave a graceful curtsy, and then remained with downcast eyes before the outlaw chief.
The two men rose from their seats and bowed respectfully.
"My sister is welcome," said the outlaw, smiling, and speaking in the Indian tongue; "be seated."
"Evening Dew is a slave, and presumes not to sit down in the presence of her master," responded the young girl, in a voice as melodious as the song of a bird, but the tone of which was firm and distinct. "I have said."
Evening Dew was a delicious child of seventeen at most, in whom the two races, white and red, of both which she was the issue, seemed to have vied which should produce the most wondrous chef d'oeuvre.
Her elegant and slight form, slightly bent forward with that serpentine undulation which belongs to American women, her long hair, black as the raven's wing, fell almost to her feet, and when loosened, might have served her as a cloak. Her complexion had the golden tint of the daughters of the sun; her great blue and dreamy eyes were fringed by long velvet lashes; her mouth, revealing her vermilion lips, and a row of dazzling white teeth, gave to her physiognomy that rare expression scarcely ever found except in some virgin of Titian.
The sailor was dazzled at the really marvellous beauty of the young girl. He had no idea that the whole continent of America could have produced such a fairy.
The captain smiled at her reply.
"Evening Dew has no master here. She is with friends who will protect her," he said, heartily.
"Friends!" she cried, clasping her hands together, while the pearly tears went down her cheeks; "Is it possible?"
"I swear to you, young girl," he continued, "that what I say is true. I have sent for you to apologise for what has happened, to demand forgiveness for your cruel abduction."
"Oh, sir," she cried, in excellent French, "oh, sir, can I really believe my ears! Is it true?"
"You would insult me by disbelieving," he replied, in the same language; "tomorrow you will be with your friends."
"Thank you, sir, from my soul," she sobbed forth.
And before the captain could prevent her—before he suspected her intention, the was on her knees kissing his hand.
Tom Mitchell respectfully raised her from the ground and led her to the chair she had once refused.
"Then you are very unhappy here?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," she cried, "I have indeed been very unhappy; how, in fact, could I be otherwise?"
"And yet," said the captain, with a frown, "I have given the most strict orders with regard to your treatment."
"I beg most earnestly to acknowledge, sir, that I have been treated in the most honourable fashion, that I have been surrounded by the most delicate attentions. But oh, sir, I was a prisoner, alas! Far away from those I love, and whom my absence plunges, like myself, in utter despair."
"Pardon me, miss," said the chief, "my wrong towards you will soon be repaired, I promise you."
"Then you are good indeed!"
"Tomorrow," he added, with considerable emotion, "you shall be restored to the bosom of your family."
"Do that, sir," she cried, "and I will love you. Ever after you shall be as a brother to me."
"I will endeavour to merit the title, Miss Angela," he said, softly; "henceforth you will no longer curse me."
"Curse you who give me back to those I love! No, I will bless you from the bottom of my heart," she cried, earnestly, "and, believe me, God will amply reward you."
"I have a strong conviction that way myself," he said, smiling; "even heaven could scarcely be deaf to your prayer."
The girl coloured deeply at these words, which were uttered with such earnest conviction as caused her to bow her head.
The captain simply smiled softly.
"Are you tolerably strong, miss?" he asked.
"Why do you ask me this question?" she said.
"Because," he answered, "we have a very long journey to go before we find your friends."
"What matters about fatigue, sir? I am already strong. The very idea has restored my vigour."
"We shall have to undertake a long night journey," he continued, "through the prairies, by very rough ways."
She clapped her pretty hands together joyously; a charming smile lightened up her physiognomy, and then she cried out in a delighted and proud accent—
"I have Indian blood in my veins, sir," she cried; "I am the daughter of a brave Canadian hunter. Fear nothing for me. I am not a woman of the towns, who, I am told, can neither walk nor run."
"They are very much like it," growled Pierre.
"Try me, put me to any proof, and you will see of what I am capable to get back to my friends."
"Come, I see, at all events, that you are as brave and noble a woman as you are beautiful. Come, it is time."
"Do we go directly?" she cried.
"Yes," was his smiling answer.
"One moment," she said; "give me time to thank God for having touched your heart. Let me pray."
"Do as you wish," he replied, respectfully.
The young girl folded her arms across her breast, raised her looks heavenward with an inspired air for some minutes. One could see by her thoughtful brow, from the compression of her coraline lips, that she was praying. Her face was radiant, her eyes were full of tears. She seemed transfigurated.
The two men, despite their rude aspect and rough natures, stood respectfully beside her, utterly cowed, overcome, crushed under the weight of her purity and innocence. They stood before her hat in hand.
When her short and ardent prayer was over, the girl turned to them with an ineffable smile.
"Now, gentlemen," she said, bowing to the two men who she saw were henceforth her slaves, "I am quite ready."
The outlaw and his companion bowed and followed behind as she led the way outside.
Camotte was there, as was also the valorous Tête de Plume, holding the horses.
Tom Mitchell led Miss Angela to the mare Lara, which he had ordered to be saddled, and held the stirrup respectfully.
"Mount," he said, just as if he had been speaking to a princess in her own right.
Then, as soon as the outlaw had given some last whispered directions to Camotte, they started, Tom Mitchell riding at the head of the little band.
By the time the ford was passed over in safety the moon had risen in the sky above the trees.
The four travellers were now safe on terra firma.
"Now, Miss Angela," said Tom Mitchell, gallantly, "place yourself between this gentleman and myself. Good. And now, Tête de Plume, my boy, take the rearguard, and, whatever you do, look out."
The four cavaliers dashed off at a hand gallop, and soon disappeared in the windings of the defile.
CHAPTER XIX.
IN WHICH TOM MITCHELL DISCOVERS THAT HONESTY IS A GOOD SPECULATION.
We now direct our steps to one of the most savage and abrupt sites in all the desert, before the rising of the sun.
Five men are crossing a narrow gorge in the mountains, the tops of which are rocky and bare or covered with snow. Just now they are rendered almost invisible by the dense fog which the sun's rays cannot dissipate.
These five travellers came from the interior of the mornes, as the hilly plains are called, and were bound for the plains, which they began to make out a short distance before them, traversed, or rather cut in two, by the extensive stream of the Missouri, the sandy waters of which were half concealed by high grass, willow, and the cottonwood trees that lined its shores.
The five wayfarers of whom we have spoken walked painfully over the flints that paved the gorge, the dried-up bed of a torrent, which itself had suddenly disappeared during one of the cataclysms so common in that region.
Having reached the extremity of the gorge, they stopped, looked around, and gave a sigh of satisfaction.
Their task had been a rude one. For far more than three hours they had been stumbling in the midst of a whirlpool, nothing else, of flint stones, which, at every step they took, slid under their feet like mountain shingle.
Four of these men were whites, wearing the costume of hunters of the prairies; the fifth was an Indian.
They were George Clinton, Oliver, Bright-eye, Keen-hand, and Numank-Charake, the chief.
Now, then, let us ask how it came about that these five men should be there at that early hour in a place so far from their home—a hundred miles, in fact, from the regions they were in the habit of frequenting, and why were George Clinton and Keen-hand members of this singular and perhaps fortuitous group.
Of course we shall as soon as possible satisfy the legitimate curiosity of our friend the reader.
"Oh!" said Keen-hand, "It is my opinion, friends and companions, that the wisest thing to be done is to stop here."
"Why stop here?" cried Bright-eye, in far from a pleasant tone of voice; "Explain yourself."
"For a hundred reasons, every one of which is better than the other," resumed Keen-hand.
"I should like to know the first," said the Canadian.
"Well, it is a very excellent one, I think. You and I and the chief are used to these diabolical roads, which is far from being the case with our companions, which you ought to have observed without telling a very long time ago."
Both Oliver and Clinton tried to protest.
"No! No!" cried Bright-eye, in his frankest manner. "I am a brute. So say no more about it, as I proclaim it myself. Let us camp at once."
"Here is an excellent place," cried Keen-hand.
The hunters had halted under a grove of gigantic gumtrees. A fire was lighted, and each one, resting himself, prepared for the morning meal.
"Well, to tell the truth," said Oliver, gaily, "I will now confess that I needed repose; I was simply done up."
"I could scarcely put one foot before the other," observed George Clinton, who was stretched out on the grass.
"There!" cried Keen-hand; "Was I not right?"
"Well, considering that I have owned I was a brute," growled Bright-eye, "are you not satisfied?"
"Perfectly!" said the guide.
Numank-Charake had in the meantime undertaken the office of cook, an office he filled effectively.
A few minutes later all were eagerly devouring slices cut from a quarter of venison which had been broiled upon the hot embers.
Then the gourds were opened and passed joyously from hand to hand.
These brave young men had walked all night through impracticable paths which only hunters could overcome. They were literally famished.
But now they entered into the spirit of the thing rarely. Soon everything had disappeared. All was eaten.
When the last mouthful had been washed down, and the very last drop of brandy absorbed, each man in his turn gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"Now, then," remarked Bright-eye, looking obliquely at his companions, "I think we may talk."
"Well, I am of opinion," said Keen-hand, gaily, "that after a hearty meal, two things are agreeable—a pipe and talk."
This declaration, the justice and opportuneness of which everybody at once recognised, was like a signal; instantly, pipes in red clay, with cherry tree tubes, were drawn from their belts, stuffed, lighted, and soon a cloud of blue smoke surrounded the head of every guest like a glory.
"Now, then, Bright-eye," said Oliver, gaily, between two puffs, "fire away as soon as you like."
"Messieurs, my friends," replied Bright-eye, "my heart is very sad. Despite all I can do, I feel a kind of presentiment that this man, in whom we have so trusted, is deceiving us."
Numank-Charake lifted up his head.
"I know the paleface chief," he said, in his guttural tones, shaking his head in a way to give more emphasis to his words; "he is a man whose tongue is not forked. His word is as gold—and my brother, Bright-eye, is wrong."
"In the name of heaven, is it you who speak in that way, chief?" asked the astonished hunter; "You, of all men in the world, so deeply interested."
"Numank-Charake is a chief in his nation," quickly interrupted the redskin, his words, which swelled his bosom, coming directly from his heart; "the man who despises his enemies is not a brave warrior, but exposes himself to the reproach of only vanquishing cowards."
"Well spoken, chief," said Keen-hand.
"The Grey Bear, the paleface chief, is ferocious, cruel, and a thief, but he is brave and truthful."
Oliver and Clinton stared.
"What he has said he will do, he will do. What he has offered he will give. Did we go openly to him? No! We hunted him like a wild beast Wounded, dying, we wished to kill him. He escaped; thanks not to cunning, but to audacity. He is a great chief."
The whites exchanged glances.
"Nothing would have been more easy for him than to laugh at our menaces and to conceal himself from us. Instead of that, he has sent us a collar—letter—in which he invites us to an interview, for the purpose of ending the troubles which divide us."
"This may be a trick," said Oliver.
"No! It is neither the act of a false nor of a double-faced man. No! It is the act of a brave and loyal warrior. That is my opinion. Whatever may happen during the next few hours, I am convinced that if we have confidence in him I shall be found right. I have said."
The chief relighted his pipe, which had gone out during his speech, and from that moment he appeared to take no further part in the conversation. Still he listened to what the others said.
"As far as I am concerned," observed Oliver, "I think the chief has spoken well. I agree with him on every point. As far as I can judge, this pirate or this outlaw, whichever you choose to call him, is not a man like other men. There is something in him which is not at all ordinary. In one word, he may, it is true, be a brigand, but, certainly, his is a very lofty nature. Until further events, I, for one, shall believe in his word."
"All this is very possible," observed Bright-eye, shaking his head doubtingly, "but no one can deny that he is the captain of a monstrous set of brigands."
"What does that prove?" said Oliver.
"Nothing that I know of. Still I am decidedly of opinion that his word is not to be trusted."
"Then allow me to observe," said George Clinton, drily, "why are we here?"
"Why, because one always lives in hope, despite our better reason. Still we ought to be prudent."
"Though I am not quite of the opinion of Bright-eye," said Charbonneau, "I think we should be wise not to rush headlong into a possible trap which the bandits may be preparing for us. He is right as to the wisdom of prudence."
"I, too, am an advocate for prudence," said George Clinton; "nothing can be more wise than to take all proper precautions. That I fully agree with. But do not act in such a way as to cause our loyalty to be suspected, or our confidence in the man's word."
"That can be easily arranged, my friends," said Charbonneau, with a cunning smile "let me alone, and, believe me, all will go well."
"My worthy friend, act just as you think proper. You, perhaps, more than anyone, have experience of the desert, and nobody objects to your taking every precaution."
"The best precaution," said the Indian chief, again speaking, "when you deal with a loyal enemy is to have every faith in his word; to have no suspicion of any kind in your mind."
"Very good, chief. It is very likely after all that you are right. I will not discuss the matter with you, though I repeat I am very much surprised to hear you speak thus. I only ask of you one thing—that is, to remain neutral in this affair until the actual moment of action has come."
"Numank-Charake loves Bright-eye; he is his brother. He will do whatever the hunter wishes; still regretting that he is constrained to act against his wishes," he answered.
"I take all the blame on myself," said Bright-eye; "and shall be the first to own my error, if indeed I am found to be in error. A man can say no more, even if he were speaking to his father."
The Indian said no more, but bowed his head in token of acquiescence. But he smiled with such a keen and subtle irony that the hunter was so deeply moved as to blush.
"I fear nothing for myself," he cried.
"Eh, what!" exclaimed Charbonneau, stretching out his arm towards the river, "What is going on?"
Every eye was fixed upon the spot indicated by the hunter's sudden exclamation.
"It is a canoe," said George Clinton.
"Manned by two men," observed Charbonneau.
"And those two men," said the chief, after one glance from his eagle eye, "are two palefaces. He knows them well. One is the old hunter called Sharpear, the other the son of my nation—Leave-no-trail."
"My father and my grandfather!" cried Bright-eye, in utter surprise. "Surely, chief, you must be mistaken. Why should they come here?"
"Very likely," observed Oliver, gently, "the same motive leads them here that has led us."
Meanwhile the canoe, impelled by vigorous arms, approached with extreme rapidity, and soon was at no very great distance from the camp of the hunters. Then it turned rapidly towards the shore, and its bow was soon stuck in the sand.
Two men landed.
Numank-Charake had been right. These two men were indeed the father and grandfather of the young hunter. They were coming to the encampment.
The five adventurers all leaped up, and eagerly rushed to meet the two old men.
After the first compliments had passed and welcomes had been exchanged with effusion between the newcomers and their friends, the Canadians seated themselves by the fire, and, upon the invitation given, ate some mouthfuls of fresh-cooked venison and drank some brandy.
"We have been to see our relative, Lagrenay, the squatter of the Wind River," said the old man. "It appears he had received a very pressing message from Tom Mitchell, the outlaw."
"Yes," said Bright-eye, "we were there when it was delivered. We know all about it. But, as far as I am concerned, I am afraid—"
"Of what are you afraid, my son?" asked François Berger, in a rather imperious tone of voice.
"That all this pretended facility and frankness on the part of the pirate chief hides a snare."
The two old hunters exchanged a smile.
"Child, you are very much mistaken," said the grandfather. "Tom Mitchell means exactly what he says. He has no intention, no motive for laying any unworthy trap."
"I am certain of it," added the son.
Bright-eye had nothing to say to so positive an assertion. He silently bowed his head.
"We have done all in our power to come here quickly, knowing we should meet you," went on François Berger; "we are only too happy to be in time."
"In time to do what?" asked Oliver.
"We will explain," said the elder of the two men; "when Tom Mitchell comes we shall receive him."
"But that is our business?" cried Bright-eye.
"I know the message was addressed to you," said his father; "I am well aware of it that it is our business, and, in fact, it is more proper it should be so. At all events we have decided that it is to be so, so that you will keep out of sight until the affair is finished."
"But," said Bright-eye, with considerable hesitation, "supposing there was treachery?"
"My son," sententiously observed the old man, "prudence is wise, but suspicion in certain cases is an insult. Think of that. Believe me when I say that your father and I know better what we are about than you do."
"We shall certainly obey you," said Oliver, in the name of all. "We shall remain at a distance during the interview, and only interfere when called upon."
"I thank you cordially," said the old man; "everything will go rightly, I promise you."
And he waved his hand as if to dismiss them.
The five young men rose, bowed respectfully to the two old men, and watched them as they walked slowly down to the banks of the river.
About two gunshots distance from the camp, or thereabouts, was a rather thick wood, composed of oaks and gumtrees. The hunters entered the wood, and soon afterwards disappeared under the forest.
Remaining alone, the old hunters lifted their Indian calumets and began to smoke, without exchanging one single word.
This went on for about three-quarters of an hour—incessant smoking. Suddenly, François Berger let fall his pipe, fell flat on his face, put his ear to the ground, and listened.
"They come," he said, rising.
"I have heard them coming for some time," quietly replied the old grandfather. "How many?"
"Not more than four."
"Just as I expected. He has acted in perfect good faith," said the old man.
"Then you are quite determined?"
"Yes. The Indians are not in want of it, and I should not like to see the Yankees or English profit by it."
"You are the master. You are the one to whom it belongs to a certain extent," said the son.
"Yes; it is today my property. Besides, it should be kept up for the support of a great cause. Tom Mitchell is a very different man from what he appears," added the old man, gravely.
"That, of course, I know."
"Besides, I have another very strong motive for acting as I do, and that is the establishment, on the very spot I allude to, of the Yankee squatter."
"Yes. And, between you and me, father, these Yankees have very sharp noses. They will find it out before long."
"Exactly so, my son. For my part, I prefer that Frenchmen should derive the advantage."
At this moment a distant gunshot was heard.
"Here they come," said François Berger.
He then rose, placed his hand over his mouth like a funnel, and twice imitated, with marvellous dexterity and perfection, the cry of the water hawk.
A similar cry came in response, and almost immediately afterwards four cavaliers, well mounted, appeared galloping through the high grass and trees, and coming directly towards them.
The Canadians held their rifles in their hands, while the newcomers showed no apparent arms. They had left their pistols in the holsters, their sabres were in their scabbards, their rifles by their sides.
On coming within a short distance of the two old men the strangers exchanged a few words in a low tone of voice, two of them slackened their pace, while the others rushed forward with the rapidity of the gazelle.
In another instant Angela, for it was herself, was in the arms of the friends, answering by cries of joy and tears of happiness the sweet caresses of her relatives and friends.
Tom Mitchell and his companions stood apart discreetly, and then, when they saw that the first transports were over or becoming calmer, approached.
"Welcome," said the old man, "welcome, gentlemen," holding out his two hands.
"Have I kept my promise?" asked Tom Mitchell.
"Nobly; I solemnly declare it, and I thank you," cried Berger, with deep emotion.
"You have worthily made up for the act you had done. Let us forget the past," said the old man; "what can we do for you?"
"Nothing," he said, quietly.
"You exact no ransom whatever?"
"Why should I exaggerate, old hunter? I was drawn into committing a bad action by a man whose name I will not mention. Though a pirate, I am not so bad as I am painted. I have therefore sought to condone the evil."
"Admirably spoken," said François Berger, again embracing his daughter. "Go, darling, to your brother yonder."
"Allow me first to thank Captain Mitchell," she said, "for his extreme kindness during my captivity."
"You bear me no malice?"
"None whatever," she said, "but eternal gratitude. You deserve it and you have it."
Then with a gesture of adieu and a sweet smile on her adorable lips she ran off in the direction of the forest.
The men waited until she was out of sight.
"I will now take my leave," said the outlaw.
"One moment," replied the old man; "the recompense which you refuse I must force upon you."
He pulled forth a large folded parchment.
"This is the ransom of my daughter," he said: "it is a regular deed of gift of the Valley of the Deer."
"What!" cried the outlaw, with singular emotion.
"Yes, and here on the map is a red mark, indicating the spot where what you know of is concealed."
"Accept without scruple, captain," said François Berger; "it is ours and ours alone to give."
"Since you wish it, gentlemen. I should show but ill grace to refuse, the more that I value your gift highly."
"I only ask one thing in return," said the old man.
"I shall be ready to promise anything."
"You will use what I have given you only with an honourable—" he said, with some hesitation.
"It shall be so, I promise you."
"And so we part friends; captain, your hand."
"Friends, yes," said the pirate; "and I hope the day may come when you may try my friendship."
"Who knows? The day may come sooner than we expect."
"I shall be ready to shed the very last drop of my blood to defend or avenge you or yours."
CHAPTER XX.
A STRANGE CHASE.
We know that Joshua Dickson had taken his departure from the valley, leaving it in charge to Harry.
Harry was a fine young man, strong and intelligent, in whom his father had every confidence.
He was the complete juvenile type of the American squatter and pioneer, up to Indian devilries, riding like a centaur, and able to put a ball in the eye of a panther at a hundred yards. His great passion was life in the open air, and the pleasures of the chase in the forest or field.
One fine morning Harry, soon after the rising of the sun, galloped off into the forest. He was bent on a journey to see a fine cutting that was going to create meadows, and make room for sawmills on the banks of the great Missouri.
He had nearly reached the spot, when he was startled by a whistle of a peculiar kind, at no great distance.
At the same moment a horseman came in sight—a man of fifty, tall, thin and gaunt, with parchment skin.
The horse was as bony as his master.
The man was dressed after the fashion of the ordinary American farmer, and apparently carried no arms.
"Eh, eh," cried he, "you are out early. Were you looking for me?"
"No, M. Lagrenay; I was not even thinking of you."
"That is not polite. Why did you stop when I whistled?"
"Because I thought it the whistle of a serpent," he retorted. "But no nonsense, I was looking for you."
"I was certain of it."
"Yes, I wanted to see you. I made your acquaintance I know not how. You talk to me of things which do not please me, because they suggest evil thoughts. I have come to say that henceforth we are strangers. Never speak to me again."
"I suppose you will give me a reason for this odd decision."
"Think what you please. I have said my say."
"Then I assume that you reject my offers."
"Think and assume what you like," cried the young man, angrily; "only keep out of my path."
"Then you have no passion for gold?" sighed the other.
"You take me for a ninny, old squatter. Gold does not grow in the fields like mushrooms. Besides, you would have found it long ago if real."
"I tell you the map indicating the exact spot," cried the old man, "was stolen from me by the outlaws."
"You want to persuade me that you have known of this vast treasure for years, and yet require a stranger to help you."
"I knew nothing of your having camped on the spot, and only offer you a share in consequence."
"Go to the devil with your offers."
"Yes, you have my secret, and can use it yourself."
"Old man," cried the young giant, with rage in his eye, "beware how you try my patience too much."
"Well, well, let us end this conversation. You will not listen to me. Well and good. Only, before we part, remember this, when it is too late, my friend," he added, with a sinister laugh, "you will repent. That is all I say."
And turning round, he rode off.
"He is a pretty rascal," said the young man, as he rode off; "I believe he has some villainy in hand."
At this moment a strong hollow grunting was heard, followed by another at no great distance.
"There are jaguars about," said the American, in a low tone, stroking his horse's ears to keep him quiet.
At that moment there was a fearful, a horrible cry, that rent the air, a desperate shriek for assistance.
"The old squatter, and he is without arms," he cried; "the tigers have doubtless attacked him."
And he set spurs to his horse, which, neighing and smarting with pain, dashed in the desired direction.
In the centre of a clearing crossed by a narrow stream the squatter knelt behind his horse, haggard with terror.
Close to him, on the branch of a gigantic gumtree, was a mighty jaguar, licking his tongue before leaping.
"Save me," shrieked the agonised squatter.
"I will try," said Harry, dismounting, letting his horse loose, and then going close up to the trembling wretch.
The tiger had not moved. He was watching his victim with a feline glance.
"A noble beast," said the young man, with a smile; "I hope not to spoil his beautiful skin."
Suddenly a further grunting was heard in the thicket. The jaguar, without turning his head, responded in the same tone.
"By heavens! There are two of them. It seems almost a pity to part so loving a couple," he said.
At the same moment the tiger leaped. As he did so he turned a somersault. He was dead, shot in the eye.
"One," said the young man, drawing out his bowie knife.
At the same moment the second jaguar burst out, and with one bound seized on the flanks of the horse.
Harry flew at her, knife in hand. The two rolled for a moment on the ground. Then the man stood erect.
"That job's over," said the young man; "what a couple of noble beasts! Get up. Heavens! He's fainted."
Then he took him in his arms, and carried him to the stream, where he bathed his face until he recovered.
But he was then so ill, and his horse so lean, that it seemed impossible he should ever reach home.
In this strait Harry acted with his usual generosity. He took the man up behind him, and carried him home.
He then turned to go without a word.
"Young man," cried the squatter, "wait one moment. You have been my friend. Now take my advice, keep good watch. I dare say no more, but be ever on your guard."
Harry moved pensively away, but soon forgot the hint.
CHAPTER XXI.
CAPTAIN TOM MITCHELL, THE AVENGER.
The marriage of Evening Dew with Numank-Charake was to be celebrated with unusual splendour. Invitations had been sent in all directions, and, two days before the ceremony was to take place, numerous deputations from all the tribes were collected around, and were received with the splendid hospitality essential in such a case.
At least five hundred strange warriors had come.
Some hours later a new troop appeared on the verge of the plain; it was very numerous, three hundred men at least, in the picturesque costume of Mexican rancheros, all armed to the teeth, and admirably mounted.
Four cavaliers rode in front; these were Tom Mitchell, Pierre Durand Camotte, and Tête de Plume. It was the full force of the outlaws. On nearing the village two other men were seen; these were Clinton and Charbonneau.
Nothing was omitted to give éclat to such a reception. The most renowned of the sachems, with the three Canadians, Bright-eye, and Oliver, advanced to meet them, and give them a most cordial and sincere welcome.
Captain Pierre Durand, who had given up his disguise, kept a little in the background.
Having exchanged compliments, Tom ordered his men to camp outside, and entered the village with the others.
As soon as all were collected in the hut of the Canadians, Tom Mitchell closed the door carefully.
"Gentlemen," he said, in a low and solemn tone, "I owe you no explanation for coming, but for coming in such force."
"You owe no explanation. You are welcome."
"Listen. Not a moment is to be lost. Spies are on all hands. You are surrounded by treachery and traitors. You are all to be made the victims of an execrable plot concocted by two wretches, Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah."
All were stupefied. While the other spoke, Pierre Durand slipped into Bright-eye's own room to rest.
"Yes. Tubash-Shah hates Numank; but that is not all. He loves your gentle daughter, Evening Dew."
"Horrible!" cried the old man.
"The capture of Miss Angela was a thing arranged between Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah, who thought to get her from me."
"Thanks to you, the plot is exploded."
"He still hopes to kill his rival, steal his wife, become possessor of the treasure you know of," cried Tom Mitchell, "and become chief of the tribe. With these schemes in their heads, Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah are allies."
"It is a horrible plot. How did you discover it?"
"No matter; my spies have served me well. I knew the plan of the conspirators, and hence have come in such force. I shall be able to thwart them. Do you now attend to the immediate safety of the chiefs of this nation and people."
"I will take measures at once."
"Above all, be cautious. You have to deal with desperate and cunning rascals," urged Tom Mitchell.
The three Canadians, grandfather, father, and son, went out, leaving behind only George Clinton and his friend.
"Now, Mr. Clinton," said the outlaw, "though we met under unpleasant circumstances, we are friends."
"I see no reason why we should not be," he replied.
"I am happy to hear it," continued Tom Mitchell; "but before we go any farther, allow me to say a word to this young Frenchman. In that room you will find a friend."
"A friend!" cried Oliver; "Impossible! You know I have only recently reached this country."
"Take my advice," said the outlaw, with a smile.
Oliver shrugged his shoulders, as if yielding to a foolish whim, and went in to find himself face to face with Durand.
"Now," said the outlaw, "I have not told all; I have left out certain matters which personally concern yourself. One moment, and you shall judge for yourself. Excuse me if I have to touch upon a very tender topic—that of love."
"Captain!" cried George.
"Pardon me. You love a charming girl, whom you have followed into the desert with as much devotion as men show in the search of gold. To this I have only to add that the girl is as beautiful and as good as an angel."
George bowed his head to hide his confusion.
"Her father is against you, I know. But the important fact is that a terrible calamity threatens her and you."
"Pray explain yourself," George cried.
"Do you think the redskins are blind? You forget them in your calculation of future happiness."
"Explain yourself," continued the young man.
"I cannot at present. You are young in the desert, but you have clever and devoted friends. Above all, you have Bright-eye, honest, devoted, intelligent. Tell him all I have said, and to work. You have not a moment to lose to save her."
At this moment the three Canadians came in at one door, Oliver and Captain Durand at the other. Before anyone else could speak, Oliver rushed forward.
"Captain," he said to the outlaw, "I can never thank you enough. I know all. Command me in every way."
"I shall remind you of your promise."
"And my wretched persecutor—you will bring him to me?"
"Yes; and place in your hands papers to confound him," cried the outlaw; "papers which prove your rank."
The conversation now became general. The two Canadians had been at work, and warned all the sachems.
But everything had been done without exciting suspicion. All went on just as usual in the village.
The preparations for the marriage continued.
The Canadians entertained their friends at a great banquet that night, at which Numank was present, grave and proud, seated beside Angela, who was charming, though blushing with downcast eyes, and never speaking a word.
The formal ceremony of betrothal had taken place in the morning, so that this was rather a friendly meeting than anything else.
There was, however, a magnificent exchange of presents.
Next day, just before the final ceremony, Tom Mitchell went off with a hundred of his most resolute men.
Camotte remained in command of the others.
According to invariable Indian custom, the man who takes a wife takes her seemingly by force; he snatches her up, puts her behind him, darts off, and two days later comes back, slays a mare that has never foaled, and all is over.
Numank, of course, would do the same.
At night the hut was surrounded by a party of Indians, and Angela carried off, after a feeble resistance.
Then some shots were fired, and away sped Numank with his wife surrounded by a powerful Indian escort.
This escort was almost wholly composed of strangers with Tubash.
The abductors had scarcely departed when Bright-eye came out of the hut and whistled. He was at once surrounded by warriors.
"On," he said, in a menacing voice; "there is no time to lose."
And they darted away like a whirlwind, riding for some hours in the direction taken by the bridal party.
Suddenly they were startled by flashes of light, followed by the report of guns. A terrible combat was going on.
With a tremendous war cry the troop led by Bright-eye dashed in the direction of the fight. It was time.
Numank-Charake, holding his wife on one arm, was fighting, surrounded by the few warriors faithful to him.
Ten only of these could stand, and must have succumbed in five minutes but for the unlooked-for succour.
The carnage was fearful. All fought desperately in silence. At last every one of the treacherous escort was dead.
Tubash Shah escaped in the confusion.
Numank-Charake was more like a corpse than a live man, and had to be carried on a litter.
They reached the village next day, from which all the rival tribes had departed, leaving behind a bundle of arrows dipped in blood. It was a formal declaration of war.
We turn elsewhere for a time.
It was night at the hut of the squatter Lagrenay. Everybody slept except himself. Seated by the dying fire in a cane chair, his head in his two hands, his elbows on the table, the squatter appeared at least to be reading.
His huge and savage dog lay at his feet, listening for the faintest sound from without.
Every now and then the old man looked at a clock, and then appeared to read again until a sharp whistle was heard.
The dog and man leaped up, but suddenly Lagrenay bade the animal be quiet, and went himself to open the door. He started back as two men entered, strangers.
"I am Joshua Dickson," said the first, "and this is my brother Samuel. You sent for my son; we have come in his place."
The old man professed to be glad to see his neighbours, and bade them be seated. After some time wasted in circumlocution, he began to speak of real business.
"You have established yourselves in the Valley of the Moose Deer," he said, "a magnificent settlement."
"Well, what then?"
"That valley belongs to one of the most powerful tribes on the whole of the Missouri," continued Lagrenay.
"No matter. Virgin soil belongs to the first comer."
"Perhaps. But that is not the question. This tribe have other lands of which they take no account," went on the squatter, "and will probably never claim, but they have special reasons for keeping the Valley of the Deer sacred."
"Explain yourself," cried both.
"In that valley is buried the treasure of the nation."
"What treasure? Old shooter of muskrats!" cried Joshua; "There is no treasure like mother earth."
"I mean a real treasure—gold, ingots, diamonds," said the old man, "to the extent of many millions."
"So much the better," replied Joshua; "it is mine."
"Take care! The struggle will be terrible. Your adversaries are many and brave; they have allied themselves with the outlaws of the desert, and, moreover, have taken as their chief a fellow countryman, who dearly covets your possessions."
"May I ask the name of my countryman?" inquired Samuel, in a bantering tone of voice.
"His name is George Clinton," said Lagrenay.
"George Clinton!" exclaimed Joshua, amazed.
"You lie, miserable wretch!" said Samuel Dickson, rising; "George Clinton is an honourable man, not a—"
"I have spoken the truth. Do as you please."
Then the door was burst open, and two men entered pushing forward a third with blows of musket butts.
"Miserable wretch!" said one, seizing him by the throat, "I am George Clinton, and you lie in your teeth."
Rock attempted to fly at the assailants, but Charbonneau brained him with the butt end of his gun.
Lagrenay rose rifle in hand, but the two Americans disarmed him, and forced him to reseat himself.
The prisoner brought in was Tubash-Shah. Behind the three men appeared the dogs Nadeje and Drack.
"Gentlemen, we arrive in time. Thank heaven, we have brought with us this wretch, who now will tell the truth."
And he looked at the Indian with a glance that made him shudder to the marrow of his bones.
The two Americans were exceedingly surprised, while Lagrenay thought in vain of some new subterfuge.
Roused by the noise made on the entrance of the three men, the wife of Lagrenay had risen in haste, and, without waiting to dress, had rushed into the room. She entered without being seen, and tremblingly ensconced herself behind her husband.
Inside there was silence, but without the sound of many men.
None spoke for some time; everyone's breathing seemed oppressed. Lagrenay, his teeth chattering, at last spoke.
"Will you explain this outrage?" he began.
"Silence!" cried George Clinton, in a terrible voice; "Speak only when called upon for your defence. All I hope is that when you have heard of what you are accused you may be able to give a satisfactory reply to the charge."
"Accused—defend myself!" cried the old man.
"Yes, before Judge Lynch, who will decide between us," said Clinton, coldly. "Listen, here come your judges."
As he spoke several men entered. Lagrenay felt himself lost. He was in the hands of implacable foes.
Tubash-Shah, erect against the wall, appeared utterly indifferent. But his every thought was intent on escape.
The sudden appearance of George Clinton had very much surprised Joshua Dickson. All his rage was revived, and he was prepared to treat him with severity and hatred. The idea of treason still rankled in his mind.
Two men had now seized upon the squatter, and, despite the cries of his wife, were trying to carry him out.
At that moment Louis and François Berger entered.
"My cousins!" cried Lagrenay, "They would murder me!"
"Save my old man!" said the wife, pitifully.
"My friends and brothers," said Louis Berger, raising his hand, "this man is my relative. Give him to me. Justice shall be done."
The squatter was released, and hid himself behind his two Canadian cousins, trembling, nearly dead.
"Sirs," said Louis to the Americans, "you are the new squatters established in the Moose Deer Valley?"
"We are," replied Joshua, rather doggedly.
"Then I have business with you. In the first place, by what right have you squatted in that place?"
"Really, except that you have force on your side, I should not answer so singular a question. Because I found it."
"I beg to inform you that it is private property. You are by no means the first occupier."
"And who may he be?" asked Joshua, furiously.
"Myself. It was given me by the chiefs of the Huron tribe. A deed, perfectly legal, exists."
"Can a man find no free land on earth?" he cried, "On the face of the earth? You claim it, then?"
At this moment, when all were busy, Tubash saw his opportunity, and ran. Two or three pursued, but the rest remained.
"Then," said Joshua, presently, "there is some truth in the story of the gold treasure in the valley?"
"Yes, and I have recently ceded all my rights to Tom Mitchell, chief of the outlaws."
"Then all I have to do is to go?" urged Joshua.
"I think the matter might be arranged," observed Louis. "Here is a young man who loves your child. George Clinton, is it not so?"
"It is useless my persuading Joshua Dickson."
"By heavens!" cried Samuel, "But you shall. Here is a noble, young, rich, brave—"
"But," cried Joshua, "what has that to do with it?"
"Sole owner of the Valley of the Deer," continued Louis Berger, drily; "he bought it this morning."
"But—" still hesitated Joshua.
"To arms!" cried Tom Mitchell, rushing in, "To arms! Pardieu! You have fallen into the trap."
"What is the matter?" cried the brothers.
"While you are wasting your time here, your plantation is attacked by Indians," he responded, "who are burning and destroying all. Soon there will be only ruins and ashes."
This terrible revelation fell like a thunderbolt upon all present in that room.
Tom Mitchell—his dress torn, his face covered by powder and blood, holding a smoking gun—summoned them.
George Clinton, without waiting a minute, darted away, followed by Charbonneau and his dogs.
Above all, he would save her he loved from the fearful peril she was in of falling into the hands of redskins.
"What is to be done?" cried Joshua.
"Never despair," said the outlaw. "Your sons and servants are fighting like lions. We must join them."
"Come along," cried Samuel.
"Oh! Oh!" said Joshua, brandishing his rifle, "The rascally redskins shall pay for this."
"Come, in the name of God!" cried the outlaw; "I have with me a party ready for any amount of redskins."
At these words everybody mounted, and dashed through the darkness like a legion of phantoms.
Four persons only remained in the silent and deserted hut—the two old Canadians, Lagrenay, and his wife.
The old squatter had, during these exciting scenes, recovered his equanimity. He believed himself saved.
As soon as they were alone, he and his wife began to place refreshments on the table for their guests.
The two Canadians remained standing, leaning on their rifles, and not noticing even the preparations.
"My dear relations," said Lagrenay, in an insinuating voice, "will you honour me by accepting refreshments?"
"What does the man say?" asked François Berger.
"You have a long journey to go," continued Lagrenay, "you must be extremely tired and want rest."
"What matter?" said the old man.
"Will you not empty a cup of whisky?" began the woman.
"Silence!" cried the hunter, striking the butt of his rifle on the ground, "And listen."
The old man shuddered.
"Lagrenay," he went on, in a hollow voice, "I dragged you from the hands of Judge Lynch, because I did not wish to see my cousin hanged; you have dishonoured not only the name you bear, but the family to which you belong; that family, poor as it has always been, has known how to preserve its honour intact. That honour you have soiled, from the base love of gold. Prepare to die."
"To die!" he murmured.
"My cousins, my dear cousins, you will not have the heart to kill my poor old man," said his wife, clasping her hands and weeping; "thirty years we have lived together. What shall I do when he is gone? Who will support my miserable existence? Have mercy, in the name of the Lord. If you kill him, I shall die."
"You shall not die," said François Berger; "my cousin will take care of you for life."
"I," she said, with a gesture of horror, "accept the protection of the murderers of my husband, eat the bread of assassins! I should choke myself at the first mouthful. Have mercy, then, and shoot us together."
Louis Berger turned away his head. Even the inflexible old judge of the reign of terror was moved.
Then he made a sign to his son, and both cocked their rifles.
"Stop!" said Lagrenay, in a firm and solemn voice; "I know your inflexible will too well to ask my life of you. You have decided on my death. Good. But I will not die at your hands. You say the honour of the family requires that justice should be done. Well, it shall be done. Still I could not die like a dog. Give me ten minutes to pray. You will not refuse this?"
"Heaven forbid!" said the old man, "And may heaven have mercy on you for all your sins."
"Thanks, cousins and friends," cried the squatter, "and now, wife, on your knees. Let us beg forgiveness of our sins."
The two old men went out, tears in their eyes, and almost inclined to be merciful. Stern will prevailed.
Five minutes later, a double shot was heard. They rushed in. Both lay dead upon the floor.
Justice was done.
The two hunters kneeled down beside the bodies, and said a silent prayer over them.
Then, in the room itself, they dug a grave, and, after some little time, interred the husband and wife.
Then, dragging away by main force the wounded dog, they collected a lot of brushwood and other fuel.
This they piled against the house and then fired. In a few minutes the whole was in flames.
The dog got away, and plunged into the burning pile.
When all was over and nought remained but cinders and ashes, the two men wiped away a tear and retired.
CHAPTER XXII.
A DESPERATE STRUGGLE.
Tom Mitchell had told the truth. The plantation of Joshua Dickson had been attacked by a numerous party.
This is how it had come about.
Tubash-Shah and the squatter, Lagrenay, excited by a common hatred, had come to an understanding.
The old wretch, whose whole thoughts were bent on the vast treasure concealed in the valley, had promised the Indian, not only his share of the gold, but the possession of a beautiful white girl, at least as beautiful as Evening Dew.
He further suggested that as Numank-Charake would be sure to join Clinton, he could kill him too.
He would then have the two most beautiful wives on the prairie.
The Indian was easily seduced by this radiant project, which the old squatter fluttered before his eyes.
An alliance defensive and offensive was struck up.
It was Tubash-Shah who suggested the treacherous visit of the redskins on the occasion of the great marriage.
In order to facilitate the attack on the settlement, old Lagrenay sent a secret message to the squatters, who fell into the trap prepared for them. Tubash-Shah was outside, waiting to take them, when he himself was made prisoner.
This nearly spoiled all. But, after only half an hour's detention, Tubash escaped.
He joined his expectant companions, and the plantation was at once attacked on all sides by Indians.
But the Americans were on the watch, and received the redskins in a way that rather surprised them.
Tom Mitchell, warned by his spies, had given them sufficient hints, while himself preparing.
One hundred and fifty outlaws, under the orders of Tête de Plume, had been secretly sent into the fort by George Clinton.
He had then, with Charbonneau, gone and concealed himself near Lagrenay's hut.
Camotte had been sent to the village of the Huron Bisons to Numank-Charake, and Bright-eye, to ask for the assistance of all the warriors of the tribe who could be spared.
On the other hand, Tom Mitchell, at the head of his most daring companions, had placed himself in a position to be at hand at anytime. But if the defence had been well arranged, the attack was most fierce and desperate; the redskins fought like demons; brave, well armed, and counting on the vast superiority of their numbers, the Indians rushed to the charge against the intrenchments with a ferocity quite unusual.
These intrenchments had been hastily thrown up, and could not long resist such an attack.
Tubash-Shah, at the head of a picked band of warriors, did wonders. He was a host in himself.
The struggle became at one time so desperate that Tom Mitchell himself began to despair; then it was that he dashed off to the hut of Lagrenay, and called to arms all who were collected together in deliberation.
Then he started again at the head of the reinforcement, like a storm cloud on the wing.
Again the combat seemed desperate.
The war cry of the American Indians and the hurrahs of the whites were mixed with the fusillade.
Then a rush of horse was heard, an awful war whoop, and three hundred warriors, led by Numank-Charake, Bright-eye, and Camotte, appeared on the scene.
Tom Mitchell gave a cry of joy.
He divided his terrible cavaliers into three detachments, one commanded by Numank and Bright-eye, gave half his outlaws to Oliver, and took the rest under his own immediate orders.
Then at a given signal, the three troops rushed, with horrible yells and cries, upon the astonished assailants.
Though taken aback, the brave redskins fronted both ways, and made a most terrible defence.
Samuel Dickson and his brother meantime contrived to enter the settlement, amid joyous acclamations.
It was time; the palisades and intrenchments were giving way, and the Indians were rushing in.
The combat became now gigantic in its proportions. The redskins, led by Tubash-Shah, fought with desperate valour.
He kept the élite of his men together, and worked his way towards the interior of the settlement.
Presently he drew forth his human thighbone whistle and darted for the house. He had seen Diana.
The young girl, seeing the demon covered by blood and powder, brandishing his hatchet, and forcing, with a hideous cry, his horse towards the women, gave a desperate shriek of agonised terror.
"Ah, ah!" cried Tubash-Shah, in triumph; "The paleface girl. At last she is mine."
He urged forward his horse, which reared with abject terror, and threw his master heavily.
Dardar, the faithful dog, always in attendance on Diana, had seized the warhorse by the nostrils.
He then let him go, and caught the Indian himself by the throat.
"Good dog," shouted George Clinton, as he ran up with Charbonneau, Drack, and Nadeje.
The battle was over. The few Indians who were left threw down their arms in despair.
"My daughter, oh, my daughter!" cried Joshua, who came rushing from the inside of the house.
"She is here, sir," said Clinton.
"And her abductor?" he continued.
"Is dead," he answered, pointing to the corpse, which the dog was worrying as he would have done a rat.
"My son, I thank you," said Joshua; "what do I not owe to you? Take her."
Two days after M. Hebrard returned to the fort a wiser man. Oliver proved his rank, name, and right to fortune, to the satisfaction of everybody.
"Tell my relatives," he said, "that as long as they leave me alone, I shall be quiet. Go, and let us never meet again."
A week later, after the marriage of George and Diana, Tom Mitchell, Bright-eye, Oliver, and Captain Durand, started on the dangerous expedition undertaken by the outlaw, and of which, probably, we shall give some account at a future time.
[For further adventures of Bright-eye, see the "Prairie Flower," and the "Indian Scout," same publishers.]