The Indian uttered these words in a sad and melancholy voice, which caused the Captain some mental anxiety.
"Is that a regret you are giving vent to, Chief?" he asked him. "If so, it seems to me very unsuitable from your lips, since it was you who sold me the territory I occupy."
"That is true," the Indian said with a shake of his head. "Monkey-face has no right to complain, for it was he who sold to the Palefaces of the West the ground where his fathers repose, and where he and his brothers so often hunted the elk and the jaguar."
"Hum, Chief, I find you very sad to-day; what is the matter with you? Did you, on waking this morning find yourself lying on your left side?" he said, alluding to one of the most accredited superstitions among the Indians.
"No," he continued, "the sleep of Monkey-face was exempt from evil omens, nothing arrived to alter the calmness of his mind."
"I congratulate you, Chief."
"My father will give tobacco to his son, in order that he may smoke the calumet of friendship on his return."
"Perhaps so, but first I have a question to ask of you."
"My father can speak, his son's ears are open."
"It is now a long time, Chief," the Captain continued, "since we have been established here."
"Yes, the fourth moon is beginning."
"Since our arrival, you have left us a great many times without warning us."
"Why should I do so? Air and space do not belong to the Palefaces, I suppose; the Pawnee warrior is at liberty to go where he thinks proper; he was a renowned Chief in his tribe."
"All that may be true, Chief, and I do not care about it; but what I do care about is the safety of my family and the men who accompanied me here."
"Well," the Redskin said, "in what way can Monkey-face injure that safety?'
"I will tell you, Chief; listen to me attentively, for what you have to hear is serious."
"Monkey-face is only a poor Indian," the Redskin answered, ironically; "the Great Spirit has not given him the clear and subtle mind of the Palefaces, still he will try to understand my father."
"You are not so simple as you choose to appear at this moment, Chief; I am certain you will perfectly understand me, if you only take the trouble."
"The Chief will try."
The Captain repressed a movement of impatience.
"We are not here in one of the great cities of the American Union, where the law protects the citizens and guarantees their safety; we are, on the contrary, on the Redskin territory, far from any other protection than our own; we have no help to expect from anyone, and are surrounded by vigilant enemies watching a favourable moment to attack us and massacre us if they can; it is therefore our duty to watch over our own safety with the utmost vigilance, for the slightest imprudence would gravely compromise us. Do you understand me, Chief?"
"Yes, my father has spoken well; his head is grey; his wisdom is great."
"I must therefore carefully watch," the Captain continued, "the movements of all the persons who belong nearly or remotely to the colony; and when their movements appear to me suspicious, to ask those explanations which they have no right to refuse me. Now, I am compelled to confess to you, Chief, with extreme regret, that the life you have been leading for some time past seems to me more than suspicious. It has, therefore, attracted my attention, and I expect a satisfactory answer from you."
The Redskin had stood unmoved; not a muscle of his face moved; and the Captain, who watched him closely, could not notice the slightest trace of emotion on his features. The Indian had expected the question asked him, and was prepared to answer it.
"Monkey-face led my father and his children from the great stone villages of the Long-knives of the West to the spot. Has my father had any cause to reproach the Chief?"
"None, I am bound to allow," the Captain answered, frankly; "you did your duty honestly."
"Why, then, does a skin now cover my father's heart? and why has suspicion crept into his mind about a man against whom, as he says himself, he has not the slightest reproach to bring? Is that the justice of the Palefaces?"
"Let us not drift from the question, Chief, or change it, if you please. I could not follow you through all your Indian circumlocution; I will, therefore, confine myself to saying that, unless you consent to tell me frankly the cause of your repeated absences, and give me assured proof of your innocence, I will have you turned out of the colony, and you shall never set foot again on the territory I occupy."
A gleam of hatred flashed from the Redskin's eye; but, immediately recalling it, he replied, in his softest voice—
"Monkey-face is a poor Indian; his brothers have rejected him on account of his friendship with the Palefaces. He hoped to find among the Long-knives of the west, in the absence of friendship, gratitude for service rendered. He is mistaken."
"That is not the question," the Captain continued impatiently; "will you answer Yes or No?"
The Indian drew himself in, and walked up to the speaker close enough to touch him.
"And if I refuse?" he said, as he gave him a glance of defiance and fury.
"If you refuse, scoundrel! I forbid you ever appearing again before me; and if you disobey me, I will chastise you with my dog-whip!"
The Captain had hardly uttered these insulting words ere he repented of them. He was alone, and unarmed, with a man whom he had mortally insulted; hence he tried to arrange matters.
"But Monkey-face," he went on, "is a chief; he is wise; he will answer me—for he knows that I love him."
"You lie, dog of the Palefaces!" the Indian yelled, as he ground his teeth in fury; "you hate me almost as much as I hate you!"
The Captain, in his exasperation, raised the switch he carried in his hand; but, at the same moment, the Indian, with a panther-leap, bounded on to his horse's croup, dragged the Captain out of his stirrups, and rudely hurled him to the ground.
"The Palefaces are cowardly old women," he said; "the Pawnee warriors despise them, and will send them petticoats."
After uttering these words with a sarcastic accent impossible to describe, the Indian bent over the horse's neck, let loose the rein, uttered a fierce yell, and started at full speed, not troubling himself further about the Captain, whom he left severely bruised by his fall.
James Watt was not the man to endure such treatment without trying to revenge himself; he got up as quickly as he could, and shouted, in order to get together the hunters and wood-cutters scattered over the plain.
Some of them had seen what had happened, and started at full speed to help their Captain; but before they reached him, and he could give them his orders to pursue the fugitive, the latter had disappeared in the heart of the forest, toward which he had directed his rapid course.
The hunters, however, at the head of them being Sergeant Bothrel, rushed in pursuit of the Indian, swearing they would bring him in either dead or alive.
The Captain looked after them till he saw them disappear one after the other in the forest, and then returned slowly to the colony, reflecting on what had taken place between himself and the Redskin, and his heart contracted by a gloomy presentiment.
Something whispered to him that, for Monkey-face, generally so prudent and circumspect, to have acted as he had done, he must have fancied himself very strong, and quite certain of impunity.
There is an incomprehensible fact, which we were many times in a position to appreciate, during the adventurous course of our lengthened wanderings in America—that a man will at times feel the approach of a misfortune, though unable to account for the feeling he suffers from; he knows that he is menaced, though unable to tell when the peril will come, or in what way it will arrive; the day seems to grow more gloomy, the sunbeams lose their brilliancy, external objects assume a mournful appearance; there are strange murmurs in the air; all, in a word, seems to feel the impression of a vague and undefined restlessness.
Though nothing occurred to justify the Captain's fears after his altercation with the Pawnee, not only he, but the whole population of the colony felt under the weight of dull terror on the evening of this day.
At six o'clock, as usual, the bell was rung to recall the wood-cutters and herds; all had returned, the beasts were shut up in their respective stalls, and, apparently, at any rate nothing out of the common troubled the calm existence of the colonists.
Sergeant Bothrel and his comrades, who had pursued Monkey-face for several hours, had only found the horse the Indian so audaciously carried off, and which he probably abandoned, in order to hide his trail more effectually.
Although no Indian sign was visible in the vicinity of the colony, the Captain, more anxious than he wished to appear, had doubled the sentries intended to watch over the common safety, and ordered the Sergeant to patrol round the entrenchments every two hours.
When all these precautions had been taken, the family and servants assembled on the ground floor of the tower to spend the evening, as had been their wont ever since the beginning of the settlement.
The Captain, sitting in an easy chair by the fire, for the nights were beginning to become fresh, was reading an old work on Military Tactics, while Mrs. Watt, with the servants, was engaged in mending the household linen.
This evening, however, the Captain, instead of reading, seemed to be thinking profoundly, with his arms crossed on his chest, and his eyes fixed on the fire.
At last he raised his head, and turned to his wife—
"Do you not hear the children crying?" he said.
"I really do not know what is the matter with them to-day," she answered, "for we cannot quiet them; Betsy has been with them for more than an hour, and has not been able to get them to sleep."
"You should go yourself, my dear, that would be more proper than leaving these things to the care of a servant."
Mrs. Watt went out without answering, and her voice could soon be heard on the upper floor, where was the children's room.
"So, Sergeant," the Captain went on, addressing the old soldier, who was busy in a corner mending a yoke, "you found it impossible to catch up that accursed heathen, who threw me so roughly this morning?"
"We could not even see him, Captain," the Sergeant replied: "these Indians are like lizards, they slip through anywhere. Luckily I found Boston again; the poor brute seemed delighted at seeing me again."
"Yes, yes. Boston is a noble brute, I should have been vexed to lose him. The heathen has not wounded him, I hope, for you know that these demons are accustomed to treat horses badly."
"There is nothing the matter with him as far as I can see; the Indian was probably compelled to leap off his back in a hurry upon finding us so close at his heels."
"It must be so, Sergeant. Have you examined the neighbourhood carefully?"
"With the greatest attention, Captain, but I noticed nothing suspicious. The Redskins will look twice before attacking us: we gave them too rude a shaking for them to forget it."
"I am not of your opinion, Sergeant; the pagans are vindictive; I am convinced that they would like to avenge themselves on us, and that some day, before long perhaps, we shall hear them utter their war-yell in the valley."
"I do not desire it, it is true; but I believe, if they attempted it, they would sing small."
"I think so too; but they would give us a sorrowful surprise, especially now that, through our labours and our care, we are on the point of receiving the price of our fatigues, and beginning to see the end of our troubles."
"That is true, it would be vexatious, for the losses an attack from these bandits would entail on us are incalculable."
"Unluckily, we can only keep on our guard, and it will be impossible for us to foil the plans which these Red demons are doubtless ruminating against us. Have you placed the sentinels as I recommended, Sergeant?"
"Yes, Captain, and I ordered them to display the utmost watchfulness; I do not believe that the Pawnees can surprise us, however clever they may be."
"We cannot take our oath of anything, Sergeant," the Captain answered, as he shook his head with a doubtful air.
At this moment, and as if accident wished to confirm his views, the bell hung outside, and which was used to tell the colonists someone desired to come in, was rung violently.
"What does that mean?" the Captain exclaimed, as he looked at a clock on the wall in front of him; "it is nearly eight o'clock, who can come so late? Have not all our men returned?"
"All, Captain, there is no one outside the palisades." James Watt rose, seized his rifle, and making the Sergeant a sign to follow him, prepared to go out.
"Where are you going, my love?" a gentle, anxious voice asked him.
The Captain turned; his wife had re-entered the keeping room unnoticed by him.
"Did you not hear the bell?" he asked her; "someone wishes to come in."
"Yes, I heard it, dear," she replied; "but do you intend to open the gate at this hour?"
"I am the head of this colony, madam," the Captain answered, coldly but firmly; "and at such an hour as this it is my duty to open the gate, for there may be danger in doing it, and I must give to all an example of courage and accomplishment of duty."
At this moment the bell pealed a second time.
"Let us go," the Captain added, turning to the Sergeant.
His wife made no reply. She fell into a chair, pale and trembling with anxiety.
In the meanwhile the Captain had gone out, followed by Bothrel and four hunters, all armed with rifles.
The night was dark. There was not a star in the heavens, which were black as ink. Two paces ahead it was impossible to distinguish objects, and a cold breeze whistled fitfully. Bothrel had taken down a lanthorn to guide him through the room.
"How is it," the Captain said, "that the sentry at the drawbridge has not challenged?"
"Perhaps he is afraid of giving an alarm, knowing, as he did, that we should hear the bell from the tower."
"Hum!" the Captain muttered between his teeth.
They walked onward. Presently they heard a sound of voices, to which they listened. It was the sentry speaking.
"Patience!" he said. "Someone is coming. I see a lanthorn shining. You will only have a few moments longer to wait, though for your own sake I recommend you not to stir, or I shall put a bullet into you."
"Hang it!" a sarcastic voice replied outside, "you have a curious idea of hospitality in there. No matter, I will wait; so you can raise your barrel, for I have no idea of carrying your works by myself."
The Captain reached the intrenchments at this moment.
"What is it, Bob?" he asked the sentry.
"I really don't know, Captain," he answered. "There is a man on the edge of the ditch who insists on coming in."
"Who are you? What do you want?" the Captain shouted.
"And pray who may you be?" the stranger replied.
"I am Captain James Watt, and I warn you that unknown vagabonds are not allowed to enter here at such an hour. Return at sunrise, and then I may possibly allow you to come in."
"Take care what you are about," the stranger said. "Your obstinacy in causing me to shiver on the brink of this ditch may cost you dearly."
"Take care yourself," the Captain answered, impatiently. "I am not in the mood to listen to threats."
"I do not threaten: I warn you. You have already committed a grave fault to-day. Do not commit a grave one to-night, by obstinately refusing to let me come in."
This answer struck the Captain, and made him reflect.
"Supposing," he said presently, "I allow you to enter, who guarantees that you will not betray me? The night is dark, and you may have a large band with you, which I am unable to see."
"I have only one companion with me, for whom I answer with my head."
"Hum!" the Captain remarked, more undecided than ever, "and who will answer for you?"
"Myself."
"Who are you, as you speak our language with such correctness that you might almost be taken for one of our countrymen?"
"Well, I am nearly one; for I am a Canadian, and my name is Tranquil."
"Tranquil!" the Captain exclaimed. "Are you, then, the celebrated wood-ranger, surnamed the Panther-killer?"
"I do not know whether I am celebrated, Captain. All I am certain of is, that I am the man you refer to."
"If you are really Tranquil, I will allow you to enter; but who is the man that accompanies you, and for whom you answer?"
"Black-deer, the first Sachem of the Snake Pawnees."
"Oh! Oh!" the Captain muttered, "What does he want here?"
"Let us in, and you will know,"
"Well, be it so," the Captain shouted; "but I warn you that, at the slightest appearance of treachery, you and your comrade will be mercilessly killed."
"And you will be justified in doing it, if I break my word."
The Captain, after recommending his hunters to hold themselves in readiness for any event, ordered the drawbridge to be lowered.
Tranquil and Black-deer entered.
Both were unarmed, or, at any rate, seemed so. In the presence of such a proof of confidence, the Captain felt ashamed of his suspicions; and after the bridge had been raised again, he dismissed his escort, and only kept Bothrel with him.
"Follow me," he said to the strangers.
The latter bowed without further reply, and walked at his side.
They reached the tower without exchanging a syllable.
The Captain introduced them into the keeper's room, where Mrs. Watt was alone, a prey to the most lively anxiety.
By a sign her husband ordered her to retire. She gave him a suppliant glance, which he understood, for he did not insist, and she remained silent in her chair.
Tranquil had the same calm and open countenance as of yore. Nothing in his manner seemed to evidence that he had any hostile intentions towards the colonists.
Black-deer, on the contrary, was gloomy and stern. The Captain offered his guests seats by the fire.
"Be seated, gentlemen," he said. "You must feel the need of warmth. Have you come to me as friends or foes?"
"It is more easy to ask that question than answer it," the hunter said, honestly; "up to the present our intentions are kindly; you will decide yourself, Captain, as to the terms on which we shall leave you."
"In any case, you will not refuse some slight refreshment?"
"For the present, I must ask you to excuse us," Tranquil replied, who appeared to be spokesman for himself and friend; "it is better, I think, to settle at once the point that brings us here."
"Hum!" the Captain muttered, annoyed in his heart at this refusal, which foreboded nothing good; "in that case speak, and an amicable interview will not depend on me."
"I, wish it with all my heart, Captain; the more so, because if I am here it is with the object of avoiding the consequences either of a mistake or a moment of passion."
The Captain bowed his thanks, and the Canadian went on.
"You are an old soldier, sir," he said, "and the shorter the speech the better you will like it; in two words, then, this is what brings us: the Snake Pawnees accuse you of having seized their village by treachery, and massacred the greater part of their relations and friends. Is that true?"
"It is true that I seized their village, but I had the right to do so, since the Redskins refused to surrender it to me; but I deny that I acted treacherously: on the contrary, the Pawnees behaved in that way to me."
"Oh!" Black-deer exclaimed, as he rose quickly, "the Paleface has a lying tongue in his mouth."
"Peace!" Tranquil cried, as he forced him to take his seat again, "leave me to disentangle this skein, which seems to me very troublesome. Forgive me for insisting," he went on, addressing the Captain, "but the question is a grave one, and the truth must out. Were you not received, on your arrival, by the Chiefs of the tribe, in the light of a friend?"
"Yes; our first relations were amicable."
"Why, then, did they become hostile?"
"I have told you; because, contrary to sworn faith and pledged word, they refused to give up the land."
"What do you say?"
"Certainly, because they had sold me the territory they occupied."
"Oh, oh, Captain! This requires an explanation."
"It is very easy to give, and to prove my good faith in the matter, I will show you the deed of sale."
The hunter and the Chief exchanged a glance of surprise.
"I am quite out of my reckoning," said Tranquil.
"Wait a moment," the Captain went on, "I will fetch the deed and show it to you."
And he went out.
"Oh, sir!" the young lady exclaimed, as she clasped her hands entreatingly, "try to prevent a quarrel."
"Alas, madam!" the hunter said sadly, "that will be very difficult, after the turn matters have taken."
"Here, look," the Captain said, as he came in and showed them the deed.
The two men required but a glance to detect the trick.
"That deed is false," said Tranquil.
"False! That is impossible!" the Captain went on in stupor; "If it be, I am odiously deceived."
"Unfortunately that has happened."
"What is to be done?" the Captain muttered, mechanically.
Black-deer rose.
"Let the Palefaces listen," he said, majestically; "a Sachem is about to speak."
The Canadian tried to interpose, but the Chief sternly imposed silence on him.
"My father has been deceived; he is a just warrior, his head is grey; the Wacondah has given him wisdom; the Snake Pawnees are also just; they wish to live in peace with my father, because he is innocent of the fault with which he is reproached, and for which another must be rendered responsible."
The commencement of this speech greatly surprised the Chief's hearers; the young mother especially, on hearing the words, felt her anxiety disappear, and joy well up in her heart again.
"The Snake Pawnees," the Sachem continued, "will restore to my father all the merchandize he extorted from him; he, for his part, will pledge himself to abandon the hunting-grounds of the Pawnees, and retire with the Palefaces who came with him; the Pawnees will give up the vengeance they wished to take for the murder of their brothers, and the war hatchet will be buried between the Redskins and the Palefaces of the West. I have spoken."
After these words there was a silence.
His hearers were struck with stupor: if the conditions were unacceptable, war became inevitable.
"What does my father answer?" the Chief asked presently.
"Unhappily, Chief," the Captain answered sadly, "I cannot consent to such conditions, that is impossible; all I can do is to double the price I paid previously."
The Chief shrugged his shoulders in contempt.
"Black-deer was mistaken," he said, with a crushing smile of sarcasm; "the Palefaces have really a forked tongue."
It was impossible to make the Sachem understand the real state of the case; with that blind obstinacy characteristic of his race, he would listen to nothing; the more they tried to prove to him that he was wrong, the more convinced he felt he was right.
At a late hour of the night the Canadian and Black-deer withdrew, accompanied, as far as the entrenchments, by the Captain.
So soon as they had gone, James Watt returned thoughtfully to the tower; on the threshold he stumbled against a rather large object, and stooped down to see what it was.
"Oh!" he exclaimed as he rose again, "then they really mean fighting! By Heaven! They shall have it to their heart's content!"
The object against which the Captain had stumbled was a bundle of arrows fastened by a serpent skin; the two ends of this skin and the points of the arrows were blood stained.
Black-deer, on retiring, had let the declaration of war fall behind him.
All hope of peace had vanished, and preparation for fighting must be made.
After the first moment of stupor the Captain regained his coolness; and although day had not yet broken, he aroused the colonists and assembled them in front of the town, to hold a council and consult as to the means for neutralizing the peril that menaced them.
We will now clear up a few points in this story which may appear obscure to the reader.
The Redskins, however great their other faults may be, have a fanatic love for the country where they are born, and nothing can take its place.
Monkey-face did not speak falsely when he told Captain Watt that he was one of the principal Chiefs of his tribe; but he had been careful not to reveal for what reason he had been expelled from his tribe.
This reason the time has now arrived for us to make known.
Monkey-face was not only a man of unbridled ambition, but also, an extraordinary thing for an Indian, he had no religious faith, and was completely exempt from those weaknesses and that superstitious credulity to which his fellows are so amenable: in addition, he was faithless, dishonourable, and of more than depraved manners.
Having been taken, when young, to the towns of the American Union, he had been in a position to see closely the eccentric civilization of the United States. Unable to comprehend the good and bad sides of this civilization, and steer between them, he had, as generally happens in such cases, been seduced by that which most flattered his tastes and instincts, and had only taken from the customs of the whites whatever completed and furnished his precocious depravity.
Hence, when he returned to his tribe, his language and manners were so discordant with what was done and said around him, that he speedily excited the contempt and hatred of his countrymen.
His most violent enemies were naturally the priests, or, at least, the sorcerers, whom he had tried several times to turn into ridicule.
So soon as Monkey-face had put on his back the omnipotent party of the sorcerers, it was all over with his ambitious plans: all his manoeuvres failed, a dull opposition constantly overthrew his schemes at the very moment when he expected to see them succeed.
For a long time, the Chief, not knowing how to act, kept prudently on the defensive, while actively watching the movements of his enemies; awaiting, with that feline patience which formed the basis of his character, for chance to reveal to him the name of the man on whom his vengeance should fall. As all his measures were taken, he soon discovered that the man to whom he owed his continual checks was no other than the principal sorcerer of the tribe.
This was an aged man, respected and beloved by all on account of his wisdom and goodness. Monkey-face hid his hatred for a season; but one day, in full council, after a lively discussion, he allowed his rage to carry him away, and, rushing on the unhappy old man, he stabbed him in the sight of all the elders of the tribe, before those present could prevent the execution of his design.
The murder of the sorcerer put the climax on the horror this villain inspired. On the spot, the Chief drove him from the territory of the nation, refusing him fire and water, and threatening him with the heaviest punishment if he dared to appear before them again.
Monkey-face, too weak to resist the execution of this sentence, retired with rage in his heart, and uttering the most horrible threats.
We have seen in what way he revenged himself by selling the territory of his tribe to the Americans, and thus causing the ruin of those who banished him. But he had scarce obtained the vengeance he had so long pursued, when a strange revolution took place in this man's heart. The sight of the land where he was born, and where the ashes of his father reposed, aroused in him with extreme force that love of his country which he thought dead, but was only asleep in his heart.
The shame at the odious action he had committed by surrendering to the enemies of his race the hunting grounds which he had himself so long freely traversed, the obstinacy with which the Americans set to work changing the face of the country, and destroying their aged trees, whose shadows had so long protected the councils of his nation—all these causes combined had caused him to reflect, and, rendered desperate by the sacrilege which hatred impelled him to commit, he tried to rejoin his comrades, in order to assist them in recovering what they had lost through his fault.
That is to say, he resolved to betray his new friends to the profit of his old friends.
This man was unhappily engaged in a fatal path where each step he took must be marked for a crime.
It was easier than he at first supposed for him to rejoin his countrymen, for they were scattered and wandering in despair through the forests round the colony.
Monkey-face presented himself boldly to them, and was very careful not to tell them that he alone was the cause of the misfortunes that overwhelmed them. On the other hand, he made a secret of his return, telling them that the news of the calamities which had suddenly fallen on them was the sole cause of his coming; that, had they continued to be happy, they would never have seen him again; but that, in the presence of such a frightful catastrophe as that which had crushed them, every feeling of hatred must disappear before the common vengeance to be taken on the Pale-faces, those eternal and implacable enemies of the Red race.
In a word, he displayed such noble sentiments, and put the step he was taking in such a brilliant light, that he completely succeeded in deceiving the Indians, and persuading them of the purity of his intentions, and his good faith.
After this, with the diabolical intelligence he possessed, he formed a vast plot against the Americans, a plot into which he had the cleverness to draw the other Indian people allied to his tribe; and, while ostensibly remaining the friend of the colonists, he silently prepared and organized their utter ruin.
The influence he succeeded in obtaining over his tribe within a short time was immense: three men alone entertained an instinctive distrust of him, and carefully watched his movements; they were Tranquil, the Canadian hunter, Black-deer, and Blue-fox.
Tranquil could not understand the conduct of the Chief; it seemed to him extraordinary that this man had thus become a friend of the Americans. Several times he asked him explanations on this head, but Monkey-face had always answered in an ambiguous way, or evaded his questions.
Tranquil, whose suspicions daily grew, and who was determined to know positively what opinion to have of a man whose manoeuvres appeared to him daily more suspicious, succeeded in getting himself chosen with Black-deer, by the Great Council of the Nation, to bear the declaration of war to Captain Watt.
Monkey-face was vexed at the choice of the envoys whom he knew to be secretly his enemies; but he concealed his resentment; the more so, because matters were too far advanced to withdraw, and everything was in readiness for the expedition.
Tranquil and Black-deer consequently set out with orders to declare war on the Palefaces.
"If I am not greatly mistaken," the Canadian said to his friend as they rode along, "we are going to hear something about Monkey-face."
"Do you think so?"
"I would wager it. I am convinced the scamp is playing a double game, and cheats us all to his own profit."
"I have no great confidence in him, still I cannot believe that he could carry his effrontery so far."
"We shall soon see what we have to depend on; at any rate, though, promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"That I be the first to speak. I know better than you how to deal with the Palefaces of the West."
"Be it so," Black-deer replied, "act as you think proper."
Five minutes after, they reached the colony. We related in the previous chapter how they were received, and what passed between them and Captain Watt.
This custom of the Indians of declaring war against their enemies may appear extraordinary to Europeans, who are accustomed to regard them as stupid savages, but we must make no mistake; the Redskins have an eminently chivalrous character, and never, except in the case of a horse robbery or such matter, will they attack an enemy before warning him that he may be on his guard.
In fact, it is by cleverly working on this chivalrous character, of which the North Americans, we regret to say, do not possess a particle, that the Whites have gained the majority of their victories over the Redskins.
When a few yards from the colony, the two men found again their horses which they had hobbled; they mounted, and went off at a rapid rate.
"Well," Tranquil asked the Chief, "what do you think of all this?"
"My brother was right, Monkey-face has constantly cheated us; it is evident that this deed emanates from him alone."
"What do you intend doing?"
"I do not know yet; perhaps it would be dangerous to unmask him at this moment."
"I am not of your opinion, Chief; the presence of this traitor among us can only injure our cause."
"Let us have a look at him first."
"Be it so! But permit me a remark."
"I am listening, my brother.'
"How is it that after recognizing the falseness of that deed of sale, you insisted on declaring war against this Long knife of the West, since he has proved to you that he was deceived by Monkey-face?"
The Chief smiled cunningly. "The Paleface was only deceived," he said, "because it suited him to be so."
"I do not understand you, Chief."
"I will explain myself. Does my brother know how a sale of land is effected?"
"No, I do not; and I confess to you, that, never having got to buy or sell, I have not troubled myself about it."
"Wah! In that case I will tell my brother."
"You will cause me pleasure, for I always like to gain information, and this may be useful to me at some time," the Canadian said with a grin.
"When a Paleface wishes to buy the hunting-ground of a tribe he goes to the principal Sachems of the nation, and after smoking the calumet of peace in council, he explains his meaning; the conditions are discussed; if the two contracting parties agree, a plan of the territory is drawn up by the principal sorcerer, the Paleface gives his goods, all the Chiefs place their sign manual at the foot of the plan, the trees are blazed with a tomahawk, the borders marked, and the purchaser takes immediate possession."
"Hum," Tranquil remarked, "that seems simple enough."
"In what council has the grey-head Chief smoked the calumet? Where are the sachems who have treated with him? Let him show me the trees that were marked."
"In truth, I fancy he would find that difficult."
"The Grey-head," the Chief continued, "knew that Monkey-face was cheating him; but the territory suited him, and he calculated on the strength of his arms to hold his own."
"That is probable."
"Conquered by evidence, and recognizing too late that he acted inconsiderately, he fancied he could recover all difficulties by offering us a few more bales of merchandize. Whenever did the Palefaces have a straight and honest tongue?"
"Thank you," the hunter said, laughingly.
"I do not speak of my brother's nation; I never had to complain of them, and I only refer to the Long knives of the West. Does my brother still think that I was wrong in throwing down the bloody arrows?"
"Perhaps, in that circumstance, Chief, you were a little too quick, and allowed your passion to carry you away, but you have so many reasons for hating the Americans that I dare not blame you."
"Then, I can still count on my brother's assistance?"
"Why should I refuse it to you, Chief? Your cause is still as it was, that is to say, just; it is my duty to help you, and I will do so, whatever may happen."
"Och! I thank my brother; his rifle will be useful to us."
"Here we are; it is time to form a determination with reference to Monkey-face."
"It is formed," the Chief answered, laconically.
At this moment, they entered a vast clearing, in the centre of which several fires were burning.
Five hundred Indian warriors, painted and armed for war, were lying about in the grass, while their horses, all harnessed, and ready for mounting, were hobbled, and eating their provender of climbing peas.
Round the principal fire several Chiefs were crouching and smoking silently.
The newcomers dismounted, and proceeded rapidly toward this fire, before which Monkey-face was walking up and down in considerable agitation.
The two men took their places by the side of the other Chiefs, and lit their calumets; although every one expected their arrival impatiently, no one addressed a word to them, Indian etiquette prohibiting a Chief from speaking, before the calumet was completely smoked out.
When Black-deer had finished his calumet, he shook out the ashes, passed it through his belt, and said:—
"The orders of the Sachems are accomplished; the bloody arrows have been delivered to the Palefaces."
The Chiefs bowed their heads in sign of satisfaction at these news.
Monkey-face walked up.
"Has my brother Black-deer seen Grey-head?" he asked.
"Yes," the Chief answered, drily.
"What does my brother think?" Monkey-face pressed him.
Black-deer gave him an equivocal glance.
"What matters the thought of a Chief at this moment," he answered, "since the Council of the Sachems has resolved on war?"
"The nights are long," Blue-fox then said, "will my brothers remain here smoking?"
Tranquil remarked in his turn—
"The Long knives are on their guard, they are watching at this moment, my brothers will remount their horses, and withdraw, for the hour is not propitious."
The Chiefs gave a sign of assent.
"I will go on the discovery," Monkey-face said.
"Good," Black-deer answered, with a stern smile; "my brother is skilful, he sees many things, he will inform us."
Monkey-face prepared to leap on a horse which a warrior led him up, but suddenly Black-deer rose, rushed toward him, and laying his hand roughly on his shoulder, compelled him to fall on his knees.
The warriors, surprised at this sudden aggression, the motive of which they did not divine, exchanged glances of surprise, though they did not make the slightest movement to interpose between the two Chiefs.
Monkey-face quickly raised his head.
"Does the Spirit of evil trouble my brother's brain?" he said, as he tried to free himself from the iron grip that nailed him to the ground.
Black-deer gave a sarcastic smile, and drew his scalping knife.
"Monkey-face is a traitor," he said in a sullen voice "he has sold his brothers to the Palefaces; he is about to die."
Black-deer was not only a renowned warrior, but his wisdom and honour were held in just repute by the tribe; hence no one protested against the accusation he had made, the more so, because, unfortunately for him, Monkey-face had been long known.
Black-deer raised his knife, whose bluish blade flashed in the fire-light, but by a supreme effort Monkey-face succeeded in freeing himself, bounded like a wild beast, and disappeared in the bushes with a hoarse laugh.
The knife had slipped, and only cut the flesh, without inflicting a serious wound on the clever Indian.
There was a moment of stupor, but then all rose simultaneously to rush in pursuit of the fugitive.
"Stay," Tranquil shouted in a loud voice, "it is now too late. Make haste to attack the Palefaces before that villain has warned them, for he is doubtless meditating fresh treachery."
The Chiefs recognized the justice of this, advice, and the Indians prepared for the combat.
In the meanwhile, as is stated a little while ago, Captain Watt had assembled all the members of the colony in front of the town.
The number of combatants amounted to sixty-two, including the females.
European ladies may think it singular that we count the females among the combatants: in truth, in the old world the days of Bradamante and Joan d'Arc have happily passed away for ever, and the fair sex, owing to the constant progress of civilization, is no longer reduced to the necessity of fighting side by side with men.
In North America, at the period of which we write, and even at the present day, on the prairies and the clearings, it is not so; when the war-yell of the Indians suddenly echoes on the ears of the pioneers, the women are constrained to give up the labour of their sex, to take a rifle in their delicate hands, and fight boldly in defence of the community.
We could, if necessary, cite several of these heroines with soft eyes and angelic countenances who, on occasion, have valiantly done their duty as soldiers and fought like perfect demons against the Indians.
Mrs. Watt was anything rather than a heroine, but she was the daughter and the wife of a soldier; she was born and brought up on the Indian borders; she had already smelt powder several times and seen blood flow, but, before all, she was a mother. As her children had to be defended, all her feminine timidity had disappeared and made way for a cold and energetic resolution.
Her example electrified all the other women of the colony, and all had armed, resolved to fight by the side of their husbands and fathers.
We repeat here that, what with men and women, the Captain had sixty-two combatants around him.
He tried to dissuade his wife from taking part in the fight, but the gentle creature whom he had seen hitherto so timid and obedient, plainly refused to give up her project, and the Captain was compelled to let her do as she pleased.
He therefore made his arrangements for defence. Twenty-four men were placed in the entrenchments under the orders of Bothrel. The Captain himself took the command of a second party of twenty-four hunters, intended to act anywhere and everywhere. The females, under the orders of Mrs. Watt, were left in charge of the tower, in which the children and the invalids were shut up, and the arrival of the Indians was then awaited.
It was about one in the morning when the Canadian hunter and the Pawnee Chief left the colony; by about half-past two all was ready for the defence.
The Captain made a last round of the entrenchment in order to ensure himself that all was in order, then, after ordering all the fires to be extinguished, he secretly left the colony by a concealed door in the palisades, of whose existence only himself and Sergeant Bothrel were cognizant.
A plank was placed across the ditch, and the Captain crossed, only followed by Bothrel and a Kentuckian of the name of Bob, a daring and broad-shouldered fellow, to whom we have already had occasion to refer.
The plank was carefully hidden so as to serve for their return, and the three men glided through the darkness like phantoms.
When they had gone about one hundred yards from the colony, the Captain halted.
"Gentlemen," he then said in a voice so faint that they were obliged to stoop down to hear him; "I have chosen you because the expedition we are about to attempt is dangerous, and I wanted resolute men with me."
"What is to be done?" Bothrel asked.
"The night is so dark that those accursed Pagans could if they liked reach the very edge of the ditch, and it would be impossible for us to notice them; I have, therefore, resolved to set fire to the piles of planks and roots. A man must know how to make sacrifices when needed; these fires which will burn a long while will spread a brilliant light, enabling us to see our enemies for a long distance and fire at them with certainty."
"The idea is excellent," Bothrel answered.
"Yes," the Captain continued, "still, we must not hide from ourselves that it is extremely perilous; it is plain that Indian scouts are already scattered over the prairies, perhaps very close to us, and when two or three fires have been lighted, if we see them, they will not fail to see us too. Each of us will take the necessary objects, and we will try by the rapidity of our movements to foil the tricks of these demons; remember that we shall act separately, and each of us will have four or five fires to light, so we cannot count on one another. To work!"
The combustibles and inflammable matters were shared between the three men and they separated.
Five minutes later a spark glistened, then a second, then a third; at the end of a quarter of an hour ten tires were lighted.
Weak at first, they seemed to hesitate for a while, but gradually the flame increased, gained consistency, and soon the whole plain was lit up by the blood-red glare of these immense torches.
The Captain and his comrades had been more fortunate than they anticipated in their expedition, for they had succeeded in lighting the piles of wood scattered over the valley, without attracting the attention of the Indians; and they hurried back to the entrenchments at full speed. It was high time, for suddenly a terrible war-yell burst forth behind them, and a large band of Indian warriors appeared on the skirt of the forest, galloping at full speed, and brandishing their weapons like a legend of demons.
But they came up too late to catch the Whites, who had crossed the ditch and were sheltered from their missiles.
A discharge of musketry greeted the arrival of the Indians, several fell from their horses, and the others turned and fled with great precipitation.
The fight had commenced, but the Captain cared little about that; thanks to his lucky expedient, a surprise was impossible, and they could see as well as in the daylight.
There was a moment's respite, by which the Americans profited to reload their rifles.
The colonists had felt anxious on seeing the immense fires lit up one after the other on the prairie; they believed in an Indian device, but were soon disabused, by the Captain's return, and congratulated themselves, on the contrary, upon this happy expedient, which enabled them to fire almost with certainty.
The Pawnees, however, had not given up their project of attack; in all probability they had only retired in order to deliberate.
The Captain, with his shoulder leant against the palisade, was attentively examining the deserted plain, when he fancied he perceived an unusual motion in a rather large field of Indian corn, about two rifle shots from the colony.
"Look out!" he said, "the enemy is approaching."
Every one put his finger on his trigger. All at once a great noise was heard, and the furthest pile of wood fell in, emitting myriads of sparks.
"By heaven!" the Captain shouted, "There is some Indian devilry behind that, for it is impossible for that enormous pile to be consumed."
At the same instant another fell in, followed immediately by a third, and then by a fourth.
There could no longer be a doubt as to the cause of these successive falls. The Indians, whose movements were neutralized by the light these monster beacons shed, had taken the very simple method of extinguishing them, which they were enabled to do in perfect safety, for they were out of rifle range.
No sooner was the wood down than it was scattered in every direction, and easily put out.
This expedient enabled the Indians to get very near to the palisades unnoticed.
Still, all the piles were not overthrown, and those that remained were near enough to the fort to be defended by its fire.
For all that, the Pawnees attempted to put them out. But the firing then recommenced, and the bullets fell in a hailstorm on the besiegers, who, after holding out for some minutes, were at last compelled to take to flight, for we cannot give the name of a retreat to the precipitation with which they withdrew.
The Americans began laughing and hooting at the fugitives.
"I think," Bothrel said facetiously, "that those fine fellows find our soup too hot, and regret having put their fingers in it."
"In truth," the Captain remarked, "they do not appear inclined to return this time."
He was mistaken; for, at the same instant, the Indians came back at a gallop.
Nothing could check them, and, in spite of the fusillade, to which they disdained to reply, they reached the very brink of the ditch.
It is true, that once there, they turned back, and retired as rapidly as they had come, though not without leaving on the way a great number of their comrades, whom the American bullets pitilessly laid low.
But the plan of the Pawnees had been successful, and the Whites soon perceived, to their great disappointment, that they had been too hasty in congratulating themselves on their facile victory.
Each Pawnee horseman carried on his croup a warrior, who, on reaching the ditch, dismounted, and profiting by the disorder and smoke, which prevented their being seen, sheltered themselves behind the trunks of trees and elevations of the soil so cleverly, that when the Americans leaned over the palisade to discover the results of the evening's charge, they were in their turn greeted by a discharge of bullets and long barbed arrows, which stretched fifteen on the ground.
There was a movement of blind terror among the Whites after this attack made by invisible enemies.
Fifteen men at one round was a fearful loss for the colonists; the combat was assuming serious proportions, which threatened to degenerate into a defeat; for the Indians had never before displayed so much energy and obstinacy in an attack.
No hesitation was possible; the daring force must be dislodged at any cost from the post where they had so rashly ambushed themselves.
The Captain formed his resolve.
Collecting some twenty resolute men, while the others guarded the palisades, he had the drawbridge lowered, and rushed out.
The enemies then met face to face.
The medley became terrible; the White men and Redskins intertwined like serpents, drunk with rage and blinded by hatred, only thought of killing each other.
All at once an immense glare illumined the scene of carnage, and cries of terror rose from the colony.
The Captain turned his head, and uttered a shriek of despair at the horrible sight that met his terror-stricken gaze.
The tower and principal buildings were on fire; in the light of the flames the Indians could be seen bounding like demons in pursuit of the defenders of the colony, who, grouped here and there, were attempting a resistance which had now become impossible.
This is what had occurred:—
While Black-deer, Blue-fox, and the other principal Pawnee Chiefs attempted an attack on the front of the colony, Tranquil, followed by Quoniam, and fifty warriors, on whom he could depend, had got into the buffalo-hide canoes, silently descended the river, and landed in the colony itself, before the alarm was given, for the very simple reason that the Americans did not at all apprehend an attack from the side of the Missouri.
Still, we must do the Captain the justice of saying that he had not left this side undefended; sentries had been posted there; but, unfortunately, in the disorder occasioned by the Indians' last charge, the sentries, thinking nothing was to be feared from the river, deserted their post to go whither they imagined the danger greatest, and help their comrades in repulsing the Indians.
This unpardonable fault ruined the defenders of the colony.
Tranquil disembarked his party without firing a shot.
The Pawnees, when they had once entered the fort, threw incendiary torches on the wooden buildings, and, uttering their war-yell, rushed on the Americans, whom they placed between two fires.
Tranquil, Quoniam, and some warriors who did not leave them, hurried up to the town.
Mrs. Watt, although taken by surprise, prepared, however, to defend the post confided to her.
The Canadian approached with hands upraised in sign of peace.
"Surrender, in Heaven's name!" he cried, "or you are lost; the colony is captured!"
"No!" she answered, boldly, "I will never surrender to a coward, who betrays his brothers to take the part of the Pagans!"
"You are unjust to me," the hunter answered, sadly— "I have come to save you."
"I will not be saved by you!"
"Unhappy woman! if not for your own sake, surrender on behalf of your children. See, the tower is on fire!"
The lady raised her eyes, uttered a thrilling shriek, and rushed wildly into the interior of the building.
The other females, trusting in the hunter's words, attempted no resistance, but laid down their arms.
Tranquil entrusted the guard of these poor women to Quoniam, with whom he left a few warriors, and then hurried off to put a stop to the carnage which was going on in all parts of the colony.
Quoniam entered the tower when he found Mrs. Watt half stifled and holding her children pressed to her heart with extraordinary strength. The worthy Negro threw the young lady across his shoulder, carried her out, and collecting all the females and children, led them to the banks of the Missouri to get them out of range of the fire, and await the end of the fight, without exposing the prisoners to the fury of the victors.
It was now no longer a combat but a butchery, rendered more atrocious still by the barbarous refinements of the Indians, who attacked their unhappy enemies with indescribable fury.
The Captain, Bothrel, Bob, and some twenty Americans, the only colonists still alive, were collected in the centre of the esplanade defending themselves with the energy of despair against a cloud of Indians, and resolved to die sooner than fall into the hands of their ferocious enemies.
Tranquil, however, succeeded, by repeated entreaties and braving a thousand perils, in inducing them to lay down their arms and thus put an end to the carnage.
All at once cries, groans, and entreaties were heard from the riverside.
The hunter dashed off; agitated by a gloomy presentiment.
Black-deer and his warriors followed him. When they reached the spot where Quoniam had collected the women, a fearful sight presented itself to them.
Mrs. Watt and three other females lay motionless on the ground in a pool of blood, Quoniam lay extended in front of them with two wounds, one on his head, the other in his chest.
It was impossible to obtain any information from the other females as to what had occurred, for they were half mad with terror.
The Captain's children had disappeared.
End of Prologue.
Using now our privilege as romancer, we will transfer the scene of our narrative to Texas, and resume our story about sixteen years after the events recorded in the prologue.
Dawn was beginning to tinge the clouds with its opaline rays, the stars went out one after the other in the gloomy depths of the sky, and on the extreme blue line of the horizon a bright red reflection, precursor of sunrise, showed that day would ere long appear. Thousands of invisible birds, hidden beneath the foliage, suddenly woke up, and melodiously began their morning concert, while the yells of the wild beasts quitting the watering places, and returning slowly to their unexplored lairs, became gradually more dull and indistinct.
At this moment the breeze rose, burst into the dense cloud of steam which at sunrise exhales from the earth in these intertropical regions, whirled it round for an instant, then rent it asunder, and scattered it in space; thus displaying, without any apparent transition, the most delicious landscape the dreaming mind of poet or painter could imagine.
It is, before all, in America that Providence appears to have taken a pleasure in lavishing the most striking landscape effects, and in infinitely varying the contrasts and harmonies of that puissant nature which can only be found there.
Through the centre of an immense plain, circled on all sides by the tall foliage of a virgin forest, there ran in capricious windings a sandy road, whose golden colour contrasted harmoniously with the deep green of the grass and the silvery whiteness of a narrow stream which the first beams of the sun caused to sparkle like a casket of jewels. Not far from the stream, and at about the middle of the plain, rose a white house with a verandah running round it, and a roof of red tiles. This house, prettily covered with creepers that almost hid its walls, was a Venta, or hostelry, built on the top of a small mount. It was reached by an imperceptible ascent, and, owing to its position, commanded the immense and grand landscape.
Before the door of the venta several dragoons, picturesquely grouped, and about twenty in number, were saddling their horses while the arrieros were actively engaged in loading seven or eight mules.
Along the road and some paces from the venta, several horsemen, resembling black dots, could be seen just entering the forest to which we alluded, a forest which rose gradually, and was commanded by a girdle of lofty mountains, whose rugged and bare crests were almost confounded with the azure of the sky.
The door of the venta opened, and a young officer came out singing, accompanied by a stout and jolly-looking monk; after them, a charming maiden of eighteen or nineteen, fair-haired and fragile, with blue eyes and golden hair, appeared on the threshold.
"Come, come," the Captain said, for the young officer wore the marks of that grade, "we have lost too much time already, so to horse."
"Hum!" the monk growled, "we have had hardly time to breakfast; why the deuce are you in such a hurry, Captain?"
"Holy man," the officer went on with a laugh, "if you prefer remaining, you are at liberty to do so."
"No, no, I will go with you," the monk exclaimed, with a look of terror; "caspita! I want to take advantage of your escort."
"Then make haste, for I shall give orders to start within five minutes."
The officer, after looking round the plain, gave his asistente orders to bring up his horse, and mounted with that grace peculiar to Mexican riders. The monk stifled a sigh of regret, probably thinking of the savoury hospitality he was leaving, to run the risk of a long journey, and, aided by the arrieros, he contrived to lift himself on to a mule, whose loins gave way beneath the enormous load.
"Ouf!" he muttered, "Here I am."
"To horse!" the officer commanded.
The dragoons obeyed at once, and for a few seconds the clash of steel could be heard.
The maiden, to whom we have alluded, had hitherto stood silent and motionless in the doorway, apparently suffering from some secret agitation, and looking now and then anxiously at two or three Campesinos, who, leaning negligently against the wall of the venta, listlessly followed the movements of the party; but at the moment when the Captain was about to give the order to start, she resolutely went up to him and offered him a mechero.
"Your cigarette is not lighted, sir," she said, in a soft and melodious voice.
"On my honour, 'tis true," he replied, and bending gallantly down to her, he returned her the mechero, saying, "thanks, my pretty child."
The girl profited by this movement, which brought his face close to hers, to whisper hurriedly—
"Take care!"
"What?" he said, as he looked fixedly at her. Without replying, she laid her finger on her rosy lips, and turning quickly away, ran back into the venta.
The Captain drew himself up, frowned savagely, and bent a threatening glance on the two or three fellows leaning against the wall, but he soon shook his head.
"Bah!" he muttered, disdainfully, "they would not dare."
He then drew his sabre, whose blade glistened dazzlingly in the sunbeams, and placed himself at the head of the troop.
"Forward!" he shouted.
They started at once.
The mules followed the bell of the Néna, and the dragoons collected round the recua enclosed it in their midst.
For a few minutes the Campesinos, who had been watching the departure of the troop, looked after it along the winding road, then re-entered the venta one by one.
The girl was seated alone on an equipal, apparently busily engaged in sewing; still, through the almost imperceptible tremor that agitated her body, the flush on her brow, and the timid look she shot through her long eyelashes on the entrance of the Campesinos, it was easy to read that the calmness she affected was far from her heart, and that, on the contrary, a secret fear tormented her.
These Campesinos were three in number; they were men in the full vigour of life, with harshly marked features, firm glances, and brusque and brutal manners. They wore the Mexican border costume, and were well armed.
They sat down on a bench placed before a clumsily planed table, and one of them striking it sharply with his fist, turned to the girl and said roughly—
"Drink here."
She started, and raised her head quickly.
"What do you wish for, Caballeros?" she said.
"Mezcal."
She rose and hastened to serve them; the man who had spoken caught her by the dress at the moment she passed.
"An instant, Carmela," he said.
"Let go my dress, Ruperto," she replied, with a slight pout of ill-humour, "you will tear it for me."
"Nonsense!" he replied, with a coarse laugh, "you must fancy me very awkward."
"No, but your manner does not please me."
"Oh! oh! you are not always so wild, my charming bird."
"What do you mean?" she continued, with a blush.
"No matter, I understand it; but that is not the question just at present."
"What is it, then?" she asked with feigned surprise; "Have I not brought you the mezcal you ordered?"
"Yes, yes; but I have something to say to you."
"Well, say it quickly, and let me go."
"You are in a great hurry to escape from me; are you afraid lest your lover may surprise you in conversation with me?"
Ruperto's comrades began laughing, and the maiden stood quite abashed.
"I have no lover, Ruperto, and you know it very well," she answered with tears in her eyes; "it is cruel of you to insult a defenceless girl."
"Nonsense! I am not insulting you, Carmela; what harm is there in a pretty girl like you having a lover, if not two?"
"Let me go," she cried, as she made an angry movement to free herself.
"Not before you have answered my question."
"Ask it then, and let us have an end of this."
"Well, my wild little maid, be good enough to repeat to me what you whispered just now to that springald of a captain."
"I?" she replied in embarrassment; "what do you suppose I said to him?"
"That is the very point. Niña, I do not suppose what you said to him, I merely wish you to tell me what it was."
"Leave me alone, Ruperto, you only take a delight in tormenting me."
The Mexican looked at her searchingly.
"Do not turn the conversation, my beauty," he said drily, "for the question I ask you is serious."
"That is possible; but I have no answer to give you."
"Because you know you have done wrong."
"I do not understand you."
"Of course not! Well, I will explain myself; at the moment the officer was about to start, you said to him, 'Take care,' Would you venture to deny it?"
The girl turned pale.
"Since you heard me," she said, attempting to jest, "why do you ask me?"
The Campesinos had frowned on hearing Ruperto's accusation; the position was growing serious.