"Well," the chief continued, "what will my brother do?"
"My faith!" Cucharés said, suddenly making up his mind, "I have done for Don Martial all it was humanly possible to do. Now that he is warned, each for himself. I must save my skin. Stay, chief; follow the direction of my finger. You see those mangroves on the projecting point?"
"I see them."
"Well, behind those mangroves you will find the man you call the Great Buffalo."
"Good! The Black Bear is a chief; he has only one word; the paleface shall be free."
"Thanks."
The conversation was hurriedly broken off, more especially as the Apaches were rapidly approaching the banks. They had let go of the most of the trees to which they had hitherto been clinging, and were collected in small groups of ten or twelve on the larger trees.
The hacienda was silent; not a light burned there; all was calm; it looked like a deserted habitation. This profound tranquility excited the suspicions of the Black Bear; it seemed to forebode an impending storm. Before risking a landing he wished to assure himself positively of what he had to expect. He uttered the cry of the iguana, and swam towards the bank. The Apaches comprehended their chiefs intention, and stopped. At the end of a few moments they saw him crawling along the sand. The Black Bear walked a few paces along; he saw nothing, heard nothing; then, completely reassured, he returned to the water's edge, and gave the signal for landing.
The Apaches quitted the trees and began swimming. Cucharés profited by the moment of disorder to disappear, which was an easy matter, as no one was thinking of him. Still the Apaches formed in a single line, and swam vigorously; in a few minutes they reached the bank, and landed; then they rushed at full speed towards the hacienda.
"Fire!" a stentorian voice suddenly commanded. A loud and frightful discharge instantaneously followed. The Apaches responded by howlings of rage, and themselves surprised by the men they had hoped to surprise, rushed upon them, brandishing their weapons.
We will now return to the hunters, whom we have too long neglected, for during the events we have been narrating they had not remained entirely inactive.
After the departure of the two Mexicans, Belhumeur and his friends remained silent for an instant. The Canadian played with the charcoal that had fallen from the brazier on to the ground; in fact, he was lost in thought. Don Louis, with his chin resting on the palm of his hand, was watching with distraught air the sparkles which crackled, glistened, and went out. Eagle-head, alone of the party, wrapped up in his buffalo robe, smoked his calumet with that stoicism and calm appearance which belong exclusively to his race.
"However it may be," the Canadian suddenly said, replying to the ideas which bothered him, and thinking aloud rather than intending to renew the conversation, "the conduct of those two men seems to me extraordinary, not to say something else."
"Would you suspect any treachery?" Don Louis asked, looking up.
"In the desert you must always suspect treachery," Belhumeur said peremptorily, "especially from chance companions."
"Still this Tigrero, this Don Martial—that is his name I think—has a very honest eye, my friend, to be a traitor."
"That is true; still you will agree that ever since we first met him his conduct has been remarkably queer."
"I grant it; but you know as well as I how much passion blinds a man. I believe him to be in love."
"So do I. Still notice, pray, that in all this affair which regards him specially, and in which we have only mixed ourselves to do him a service, while neglecting our own occupations, he has always kept in the background, as if afraid to show himself."
At this moment Blas Vasquez, after stationing the peons a short distance off, so as to remain unseen, came up and took his seat by the fire.
"There!" he said, "All is ready: the Apaches can come and attack us whenever they think proper."
"One word, capataz," Belhumeur said.
"Two if you like."
"Do you know the man to whom you delivered a letter just now?"
"Why do you ask?"
"To gain some information about him."
"Personally I know very little of him. All I can tell you is that he enjoys an excellent reputation through the whole province, and is generally regarded as a caballero and gallant man."
"That is something," the Canadian muttered, shaking his head; "but, for all that, I do not know why, but his sudden departure makes me very restless."
"Wah!" Eagle-head suddenly said, withdrawing from his lips the tube of his calumet, and bending forward, while bidding his comrades to silence. All remained motionless, with their eyes fixed on the Indian.
"What is it?" Belhumeur at length asked.
"Fire," the other replied slowly. "The Apaches are coming: they are burning the prairie before them."
"What?" Belhumeur exclaimed, rising and looking all around. "I see no trace of fire."
"No, not yet; but the fire is coming—I can smell it."
"Hum! If the chief says so, it must be true; he is too experienced a warrior to be deceived. What is to be done?"
"We have nothing to fear from fire here," the capataz observed.
"We have not," Don Louis quickly exclaimed; "but the inhabitants of the hacienda?"
"Not more than we," Belhumeur replied. "See all the trees have been cut down, and rooted up to too great a distance from the colony for the fire to reach it; it is only a stratagem employed by the Indians to arrive without being counted."
"Still I am of this caballero's opinion," the capataz said; "we should do well to warn the hacienda."
"There is something even more urgent to do," Don Louis said, "and that is to send off a clever scout to learn positively with whom we have to deal, who our enemies are, if they are numerous."
"One does not prevent the other," Belhumeur remarked. "In a case like the present, two precautions are worth more than one. This is my advice. Eagle-head will reconnoitre the foe, while we proceed to the hacienda."
"All of us?" the capataz observed.
"No; your position here is secure, and you will be able, in the event of an attack, to render important service. Don Louis and I will proceed alone to the colony. Remember that you must not show yourselves under any pretext. Whatever may happen, await the order for acting. Is that agreed to?"
"Go, caballeros; I will not betray your confidence."
"Good! Now to work, I have no advice to offer you, chief: you will find us at the hacienda if you learn anything of importance."
Upon this these men, so long accustomed to act without losing precious time in useless words, separated; Don Louis and Belhumeur returning to the mainland on the side of the hacienda, while the chief rode off in the opposite direction. Blas Vasquez remained alone with his peons; but as he had been for many years accustomed to Indian warfare, and understood the responsibility he took on himself from this moment, he felt that he must redouble his vigilance. Hence he posted sentinels at every point, recommended them the utmost attention, came back to the brazier, wrapped himself in his fresada, and went quietly to sleep, certain that his men would carefully watch all that took place on the mainland.
We will, for a moment, leave Don Louis and his friend, to follow Eagle-head.
The mission the chief had undertaken was anything rather than easy; but Eagle-head was a man of experience thoroughly versed in Indian tricks, and endowed with that unalterable phlegm which is a great ingredient of success in certain circumstances of life. After leaving his companions he walked quietly down to the water's edge, and when he reached the spot where he intended to cross the river his plan was all arranged in his head.
The chief, instead of passing to that side of the river by which the enemy would come, preceded by the conflagration, crossed to the other. So soon as he reached the bank he allowed his horse a few moments for breathing; then leaping at a bound onto the panther skin that served as his saddle, he galloped at full speed in the direction of the enemy's camp. This furious race lasted two hours. Night had long succeeded the day; the pale gleams of the conflagration served as a beacon to the chief and showed him in the darkness the road he should follow. At the end of these two hours the chief found himself just opposite the most advanced point of the island, where the Apaches were at this moment engaged in collecting the driftwood they meant to use in the surprise of the colony. Eagle-head stopped. On his right, far behind him, the conflagration raged in the horizon; around him all was silence and obscurity. For a long time the Indian attentively watched the island: a secret presentiment warned him that there was the danger for him.
Still, after careful reflection, the chief resolved to advance a few paces further, and recross the river at the point opposite this island, which seemed to him more suspicious because it was so tranquil. However, before carrying out this plan, a sudden inspiration flashed across his mind. He dismounted, hid his horse in a thicket, laid aside his rifle and buffalo robe; then, after attempting to pierce the surrounding gloom, he stretched himself on the ground, and crawled to the river's bank. He gently entered the water, and swimming and diving in turn, proceeded to the island, which he presently reached.
But at the instant he landed, and was about to rise, an almost imperceptible sound smote his ear; he fancied he could notice an extraordinary commotion in the water all around him. Eagle-head plunged again, and retired from the bank on which he had been on the point of landing. Suddenly, at the moment he rose to the surface to take in a fresh supply of air, he saw two burning eyes flashing before him; he received a violent blow on the chest, and felt a powerful hand clutch his throat as in a vice. Eagle-head saw that, unless he made a desperate effort, he would be lost, and he attempted it. Seizing in his turn his unknown foe who held him by the throat, he clung round him with the vigour of despair.
Then a horrible and silent struggle commenced in the river—a sinister struggle, in which he sought to kill his adversary, without thinking to repel his attacks. The water, troubled by the efforts of the two combatants, bubbled as if alligators were engaged. At length a bloody and disfigured body rose inertly to the surface, and floated. A few seconds later, and a head appeared above the water, casting startled glances around.
At the sight of his enemy's corpse the victor indulged in a diabolical smile; he seized him by his warlock, and swimming with one hand, dragged the body, not to the island, but to the mainland.
Eagle-head had conquered the Apache who attacked him in so unforeseen a manner. The chief reached the bank, but did not leave the corpse, which he dragged along till it was completely out of the water; then he lifted the scalp, placed the hideous trophy in his belt, and remounted his horse.
The Indian had divined the Apaches' tactics; the attack of which he had been so nearly the victim revealed to him the stratagem they designed. It was unnecessary for him to push his investigations on the island further. Still, had he abandoned to the current his enemy's corpse, it would have infallibly floated down among his brothers, and revealed the presence of a spy; so he had been careful to convey it to the bank, where no one, save by some extraordinary accident, could discover it before sunrise.
The few minutes' rest he had granted his horse would have been sufficient to restore all its vigour. The chief might have returned to his friends, for what he had discovered was of immense importance to them; but Belhumeur had specially recommended him to discover the strength and nature of the war detachment which was marching on the colony. Eagle-head was anxious to accomplish his mission; and besides, the struggle he has undergone, and from which he had emerged as victor by a miracle, had produced a certain amount of excitement, urging him to carry out the adventure to the end.
He plucked a few leaves to stop the blood from a slight wound he had received in his left arm, fastened them on with a piece of bark, and rode his horse once more into the river. But, as he had nothing to examine, and did not wish to be discovered, he took care to pass at a considerable distance from the island. On the other bank, owing to the care taken by the Indians to burn everything, the trail was wide and perfectly visible. In spite of the darkness the chief found no difficulty in following it.
The fire kindled by the Indians had not caused such ravages as might be supposed. All that part of the prairie, with the exception of a few scattered clumps of poplars at great distances apart, was covered with long grass, already half burned up by the torrid beams of a summer sun. This grass had burned rapidly, producing what the incendiaries desired—a large quantity of smoke, but scarcely heating the ground, which had allowed the redskins to march rapidly on the colony.
Owing to his headlong speed, and the few hours those who preceded him had been compelled to lose, the chief arrived almost simultaneously with them before the hacienda; that is to say, he came up with them at the moment when, after making a futile assault on the isthmus battery they fled pursued by a shower of grape, which decimated their ranks; for, having burnt everything, they had no trees to shelter them. Still the majority managed to escape, owing to the speed of their horses.
Eagle-head found himself unexpectedly in the very midst of the fugitives. At first each man was too anxious about his own safety to have time to notice him, and the chief profited by it to turn aside and step behind a rock. But then a strange thing happened. The chief had scarce escaped from the fugitives, and examined them for a moment, ere a strange smile played on his lips; he spurred his horse, and bounded into the very midst of the Indians, uttering twice a shrill, peculiar cry. At this cry the Indians stopped in their flight, and rushing from all sides toward the man who uttered it, they ranged themselves tumultuously round—the chief with an expression of superstitious fear, and passive and respectful obedience.
The Eagle-head looked haughtily on the crowd that surrounded him, for he was taller by a head than any man present.
"Wah!" he at length said in a guttural voice, with an accent of bitter reproach. "Have the Comanches become timid antelopes that they fly like Apache dogs before the bullets of the palefaces?"
"Eagle-head! Eagle-head!" the warriors shouted with joy mingled with shame, looking down before the chiefs flashing glance.
"Why have my sons left the hunting grounds of the Del Norte without the order of a sachem? Are they now the rastreros (bloodhounds) of the Apaches?"
A suppressed murmur ran through the ranks at this cruel reproach.
"A sachem has spoken," Eagle-head continued sharply. "Is there no one to answer him? Have the Comanches of the Lakes no chiefs left to command them?"
A warrior then broke through the ranks of the Comanches, approached Eagle-head, and bowed his head respectfully down to his horse's neck.
"The Jester is a chief," he said in a gentle and harmonious voice.
Eagle-head's face was unwrinkled—his features instantaneously lost their expression of fury. He turned on the warrior who had addressed him a glance full of tenderness, and, offering him his right hand, palm upwards,—
"Och! My heart is joyous at seeing my son, the Jester. The warriors will camp here while the two sachems hold a council."
And making an imperious sign to the chief, he withdrew with him, followed by the eyes of the redskins, who hastened to obey the order he had so peremptorily given. Eagle-head and the Jester had gone so far that their conversation could not be overheard.
"Let us hold a council," the chief said, as he sat down on a stone, and signed to the Jester to take a place by his side. The latter obeyed without reply. There was a long silence, during which the two Indians examined each other attentively, in spite of the indifference they affected. At length Eagle-head spoke in a slow and accentuated voice.
"Eagle-head is a warrior renowned in his nation," he said; "he is the first sachem of the Comanches of the Lakes; his totem shelters beneath its mighty and protecting shadow the innumerable sons of the great sacred tortoise, Chemiin-Antou, whose glistening shell has supported the world since the Wacondah hurled into space the first man and the first woman after their fault. The words which come from the breast of Eagle-head are those of a sagamore; his tongue is not forked—a falsehood never sullied his lips. Eagle-head acted as a father to the Jester; he taught him how to tame a horse, pierce with his arrows the rapid antelope, or to stifle in his arms the mighty boar. Eagle-head loves the Jester, who is the son of his third wife's sister. Eagle-head gave a place at the council fire to the Jester; he made a chief of him; and when he went away from the villages of his nation he said to him, 'My son will command my warriors: he will lead them to hunt, to fish and to war.' Are these words true? Does Eagle-head speak falsely?"
"My father's words are true," the chief answered with a bow: "wisdom speaks through his lips."
"Why, then, has my son allied himself with the enemies of his nation to fight the friends of his father, the sachem?"
The chief let his head fall in confusion.
"Why, without consulting the man who has ever aided and supported him by his counsel, has he undertaken an unjust war?"
"An unjust war?" the chief remarked with a certain degree of animation.
"Yes, as it is carried on in concert with the enemies of our nation."
"The Apaches are redskins."
"The Apaches are cowardly and thievish dogs, whose deceitful tongues I will pluck out."
"But the palefaces are the enemies of the Indians."
"Those whom my son attacked last night are not Yoris; they are the friends of Eagle-head."
"My father will pardon the warrior: he did not know it."
"If the Jester really was ignorant of it, is he ready to repair the fault he has committed?"
"The Jester has three hundred warriors beneath his totem. Eagle-head has come: they are his."
"Good! I see that the Jester is still my well-beloved son. With what chief has he made alliance? It cannot be with the Black Bear, the implacable enemy of the Comanches, the man who but four moons past burned two villages of my nation?"
"A cloud had passed over the mind of the Jester: his hatred for the white men blinded him; wisdom deserted him; he has allied himself with the Black Bear."
"Wah! Eagle-head did right to return toward the villages of his fathers. Will my son obey the sachem?"
"Whatever he orders I will do."
"Good! Let my son follow me."
The two chiefs rose. Eagle-head proceeded towards the isthmus, waving his buffalo robe in his right hand as a sign of peace. The Jester followed a few paces behind. The Comanches beheld with amazement their sachems asking an interview with the Yoris; but accustomed to obey their leaders without discussing the orders they were pleased to give, they evinced no anger at this step, whose object, however, they did not understand. The sentries posted behind the isthmus battery easily distinguished in the moon's rays the pacific movements of the Indians, and allowed them to come as far as the trench.
"A sachem wishes an interview with the chief of the palefaces," Eagle-head then said.
"Good!" a voice replied in Spanish from the inside. "Wait a moment—I will send for him."
The two Comanche warriors bowed, crossed their hands on their breast, and waited.
Don Louis and Belhumeur had had a long conversation with Don Sylva and the count, in which they revealed to them in what way they had learnt that the Indians meant to attack them; the name of the man who had informed them so correctly; and his singular conduct, in that, after having in a measure compelled them to mix themselves up in a dangerous affair which did not at all concern them, he had suddenly abandoned them without any valid reason, under the futile pretext of returning to Guaymas, where he said that important business claimed his presence with the least possible delay.
This news had a lively effect on the two hearers: Don Sylva especially, could not repress a movement of anger on hearing that the man was no other than Don Martial. He guessed at once the Tigrero's object—that he hoped to carry off Doña Anita during the confusion. Still Don Sylva would not impart his suspicions to his future son-in-law, intending to tell him, were it absolutely necessary, at the last moment, but resolved to watch his daughter closely, for this sudden departure of Don Martial seemed to him to conceal a snare.
Belhumeur then explained to the count the position in which he had placed the capataz and his peons, and the mission Eagle-head had undertaken, the result of which he would probably soon come to the hacienda to tell. The count warmly thanked the two men who, without knowing him, rendered him such eminent services; he offered them all the refreshments they might need and then went to give his lieutenant orders to warn him so soon as an Indian presented himself for a parley.
On his side, Don Sylva retired with the ostensible object of reassuring his daughter, but in reality to inspect the sentries stationed at the rear of the hacienda. When the Comanches attacked the isthmus, the French, put on their guard, received them so warmly that in the very first attack the Indians recognised the futility of their attempt, and retired in disorder.
Monsieur de Lhorailles was talking with the two visitors about the incidents of the fight, and was astonished at the prolonged absence of Don Sylva, who had disappeared during the last hour without leaving a trace, when Lieutenant Leroux entered the room where the three men were conversing.
"What do you want?" the count asked him.
"Captain," he answered, "two Indians are waiting at the trench for permission to enter."
"Two?" Belhumeur asked.
"Yes, two."
"That is strange," the Canadian continued.
"What shall we do?" the count said.
"Go and have a look at them."
They proceeded to the battery.
"Well?" the count said.
"Well, sir, one of these men is certainly Eagle-head; but I do not know the other."
"And your advice is—"
"To let them come in. As this Indian, who is apparently a chief, comes in the company of Eagle-head, he can only be a friend."
"Be it so, then."
The count gave a signal; the drawbridge was lowered, and the two chiefs entered. The Indian sachems saluted all present with that native dignity that distinguishes them, and then Eagle-head, on Belhumeur's invitation, gave an account of his mission. The Frenchmen listened to him with an attention mingled with admiration, not only for the skill he had displayed, but also the courage of which he had given proof.
"And now," the chief continued on ending his report, "the Jester has understood the error into which a hatred threw him; he breaks the alliance he formed with the Apaches, and is resolved to obey in all respects his father Eagle-head, in order to repent his fault. Eagle-head is a sachem—his word is granite. He places three hundred Comanche warriors at the disposition of his brothers the palefaces."
The count looked hesitatingly at the Canadian: knowing the trickery of the Indians, he felt a repugnance to trust them. Belhumeur shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly.
"The great pale chief thanks my brother Eagle-head: he accepts his offer with joy. His hand will ever be open, and his heart pure, for the Comanches. The war detachment of my brother will be divided into two parts: one, under the command of the Jester, will be concealed on the other side of the river, to cut off the retreat of the Apaches; the other will enter the hacienda with Eagle-head, in order to support the palefaces. The Yori warriors are hidden in the isle, two bow-shots from the great lodge; they will accompany the Jester."
"Good!" Eagle-head replied; "all shall be done as my brother desires."
The two chiefs took leave and withdrew. Belhumeur then explained to the count the arrangements he had made with the Comanche sachem.
"Hang it!" De Lhorailles said, "I confess that I have not the slightest confidence in the Indians. You know that treachery is their favourite weapon."
"You do not know the Comanches; and, above all, you do not know Eagle-head. I take on myself all the responsibility."
"Act, then, as you please. I am too much indebted to you to thwart your projects, especially when you are acting for my good."
Belhumeur went himself to advise the capataz of the change effected in the defensive measures. The Jester and one hundred and fifty warriors, accompanied by the forty peons, at once crossed the river, and ambushed themselves on the opposite bank in a clump of mangroves, ready to appear at the first signal. The Frenchmen, with Eagle-head and a second troop of Indians, were left to defend the isthmus, a point where they were almost certain of not being attacked. All the other colonists concealed themselves in the dense thickets that masked the rear of the hacienda, with strict orders to remain invisible till the word was given to fire. Then, when all the arrangements were made, the count and his comrades awaited with a beating heart the Indians' attack. They had not long to wait; and we have seen in what fashion the Black Bear was received.
The Apache chief was brave as a lion; his warriors were picked men. The collision was terrible; the redskins did not give way an inch. Incessantly repulsed, incessantly they returned to the charge, fighting hand to hand with the French, who, in spite of their bravery, their discipline, and superiority of weapons, could not rout them. The combat had degenerated into a horrible carnage, in which the fighters clutched each other, stabbing and mangling, without loosing hold. Belhumeur saw that he must attempt a decisive blow to finish with these demons, who seemed invincible and invulnerable. He stooped down to Louis, who was fighting by his side, and whispered a few words in his ear. The Frenchman disembarrassed himself of the foe with whom he was fighting, and ran off.
A few minutes later the war cry of the Comanches was heard, strident and terrible; and the redskin warriors bounded like jaguars on the Apaches, swinging their clubs and long lances. At first the Black Bear fancied assistance had arrived for him, and that the colony was in the power of the allies but this hope did not endure a second. Then demoralisation seized on the Apaches; they hesitated, and suddenly turned their backs, rushing into the river, and leaving on the battlefield more than two-thirds of their comrades.
The colonists contented themselves with firing a few rounds of canister at the fugitives, feeling certain they woould not escape the ambuscade prepared for them. In fact, the musket shots of the peons could soon be heard mingled with the war-cry of the Comanches. In this unfortunate expedition the Black Bear lost in an hour the most renowed warriors of his nation. The chief, covered with wounds, and only accompanied by a dozen men, escaped with great difficulty from the carnage. The victory of the French was complete. For a lont time the colony, through his glorious achievement, was protected from the attacks of the redskins.
When the combat was ended, people sought in vain in every direction for Don Sylva and his daughter: both had disappeared, and no one knew how. This mysterious and inexplicable event struck the inhabitants of the colony with consternation, and changed the joy of the triumph into mourning, for the same idea suddenly occurred to all:—
"Don Sylva and his daughter have been carried off by the Black Bear!"
When the count, after repeated researches, was compelled to allow that the hacendero and his daughter had really disappeared without leaving the slightest trace, he gave way to all the violence of his character, vowed a terrible hatred against the Apaches, and swore to pursue them, without truce or mercy, until he found her whom he considered his wife, and whose loss destroyed at one blow the brilliant future he had dreamed of.
At the remote period when the Aztecs, guided by the finger of God, marched forth, without knowing it, to conquer the plateau of Ahanuac, of which they eventually made the powerful kingdom of Mexico, although their eyes were constantly turned toward this unknown land, the permanent object of their greed, they frequently stopped their during migration, as if fatigue had suddenly overpowered them, and the hope of ever arriving had failed them.
In such cases, instead of simply camping on the spot where this hesitation had affected them, they installed themselves as if they never intended to go further, and built towns. After so many centuries have passed away, when their founders have eternally disappeared from the surface of the globe, the imposing ruins of these cities, scattered over a space of more than a thousand leagues, still excite the admiration, of travellers bold enough to confront countless dangers in order to contemplate them.
The most singular of these ruins is indubitably that known by the name of the Casa Grande of Moctecuhzoma, which rises about two miles from the muddy banks of the Rio Gila, in an uncultivated and uninhabited plain, on the skirt of the terrible sand desert known as the Del Norte. The site on which this house is built is flat on all sides. The ruins which once formed a city extend for more than three miles in a southern direction: and also in the other directions all the ground is covered with potsherds of every description. Many of these fragments are painted of various colours—white or blue, red or yellow—which, by the by, is an evident sign not only that this was an important city, but also that it was inhabited by Indians differing from those now prowling about this country, as the latter are completely ignorant of the art of making this pottery.
The house is a perfect square, turned to the four cardinal points. All around are walls, indicating an enceinte inclosing not only a house, but other buildings, traces of which are perfectly distinct; for a little to the rear is a building having a floor above, and divided into several parts. The edifice is built of earth, and, as far as can be seen, with mud walls; it had the stories above the ground, but the internal carpentry has long ago disappeared. The rooms, five in number on each floor, were only lighted, so far as we can judge from the remains, by the doors, and round holes made in the walls facing to the north and south. Through these openings the man Amer (el hombre Amargo, as the Indians call the Aztec sovereign) looked at the sun, on its rising and setting, to salute it.
A canal, now nearly dry, ran from the river and served to supply the city with water.
At the present day these ruins are gloomy and desolate: they are slowly crumbling away beneath the incessant efforts of the sun, whose burning rays calcine them, and they serve as a refuge to the hideous vultures and the urubus which have selected it as their domicile. The Indians carefully avoid these sinister stations, from which a superstitious terror, for which they cannot account, keeps them aloof.
Thus the Comanche, Sioux, Apache, or Pawnee warrior, whom the accidents of the chase, or any other fortuitous cause, had brought to the vicinity of this dangerous ruin on the night of the fourth or fifth day of the cherry moon—champasciasoni—that is to say, about a month after the events we described in the last chapter—would have fled at the top speed of his horse, a prey to the wildest terror, at the strange spectacle which would have presented itself to his awe-stricken gaze.
The old palace of the Aztec kings threw out its gigantic outline on the azure sky, studded with a brilliant belt of stars. From all the openings—round or square—formed by human agency or by time in its dilapidated walls poured floods of reddish light; while songs, shouts, and laughter incessantly rose from the ruined apartments, and troubled in their dens the wild beasts, surprised by these sounds, which disturbed in so unusual a manner the silence of the desert. In the ruins, beneath the pallid rays of the moon, might be distinguished the shadows of men and horses grouped round enormous braseros, while a dozen horsemen, well armed, and leaning on spears, stood motionless as bronze equestrian statues at the entrance of the house.
If within the ruins all was noise and light, outside all was shadow and silence.
The night slipped away: the moon had already traversed two thirds of her course; the badly tended braseros went out one after another; the old mansion alone continued to gleam through the darkness like an ill-omened lighthouse.
At this moment the sharp and regular sound of a horse trotting on the sand re-echoed in the distance. The sentinels stationed at the entrance of the house with difficulty raised their heads, oppressed by sleep and the vivid cold of the first morning hours, and looked in the direction whence the noise of footsteps was audible.
A horseman appeared at the corner of the road leading to the ruins. The stranger, paying but little heed to what he saw, continued to advance boldly toward the house. He passed the ruined wall, and on arriving within ten paces of the sentries, dismounted, threw the bridle on his horse's neck, and walked with a firm step toward the sentries, who awaited him silent and motionless. But when he was about two swords' lengths from the party all the lances were suddenly levelled at his breast, a hoarse voice shouted, "Halt!"
The stranger stopped without a remark.
"Who are you? What do you want?" asked a horseman.
"I am a costeño. I have taken a long journey to see your captain, with whom I wish to speak," the stranger said.
By the pale and flickering rays of the moon the sentry tried in vain to distinguish the stranger's features; but that was impossible, so carefully was he wrapped up in his cloak.
"What is your name?" he asked, in an ill-tempered tone, when he saw that all his efforts were useless.
"What need of that? Your chief does not know me, and my name will tell him nothing."
"Possibly so, but that concerns yourself. Keep your incognito if you think proper; still, you must not be angry with me if I do not let you disturb the captain. He is at this moment supping with his officers, and certainly would not put himself out in the middle of the night to speak with a stranger."
The man could not conceal a sharp movement of annoyance.
"Possibly so, I will say in my turn," he remarked an instant later. "Listen. You are an old soldier, I think?"
"I am one still," the trooper said, drawing himself up proudly.
"Although you speak Spanish magnificently, I believe I can recognise the Frenchman in you."
"I have that honour."
The stranger chuckled inwardly. He had caught his man: he had found out his weak point.
"I am alone," he went on. "You have I know not how many comrades. Allow me to speak with your captain. What do you fear?"
"Nothing; but my orders are strict—I dare not break through them."
"We are in the heart of the desert, more than a hundred leagues from every civilised abode," the stranger said, pressingly. "You can understand that very powerful reasons were requisite to make me brave the numberless dangers of the long journey I have made to speak for a few moments with the Count de Lhorailles. Would you shipwreck me in sight of port, when it only requires a little kindness on your part for me to obtain what I want?"
The trooper hesitated; the reasons urged by the stranger had half convinced him. Still, after a few minutes' reflection, he said with a toss of his head,—
"No, it is impossible; the captain is stern, and I do not care to lose my corporal's stripes. All I can do for you is to allow you to bivouac here with our men in the open air. Tomorrow it will be day; the captain will come out; you will speak to him, and arrange matters as you please, for it will not affect me."
"Hem!" the stranger said thoughtfully, "it is a long time to wait."
"Bah!" said the soldier gaily, "a night is soon passed. Besides, it is your own fault; you are so confoundedly mysterious. A man needn't be ashamed of his name."
"But I repeat that your captain never heard mine."
"What matter if he hasn't? A name is always a name."
"Ah!" the stranger suddenly said, "I believe I have found a way to settle everything."
"Let's hear it: if it is good I will avail myself of it."
"'Tis excellent."
"All the better. I am listening."
"Go and tell the captain that the man who fired a pistol at him a month back at the Rancho of Guaymas is here, and wishes to speak to him."
"Eh?"
"Do you not understand me?"
"Oh, perfectly."
"Well, in that case—"
"Between ourselves, the recommendation seems to me rather scurvy."
"You think so?"
"Parbleu! He was all but assassinated by you. What, was it you?"
"Yes, I and another."
"I compliment you on it."
"Thanks. Well, are you not going?"
"I confess to a certain amount of hesitation."
"You are wrong. The Count de Lhorailles is a brave man; no one doubts his courage. He must have retained our chance meeting in pleasant memory."
"After all, that's possible; and, besides you are a stranger. I cannot bear the thought of refusing you so slight a service. I will go. Wait here, and do not be impatient, for I do not promise you success."
"I am certain of it."
The old soldier dismounted with a shrug of his shoulders, and entered the house. The stranger did not appear to doubt the success of the corporal's embassy; for, as soon as he had disappeared, he walked up to the door. In a few moments the corporal returned.
"Well," the stranger asked, "what answer did the captain give you?"
"He began laughing and ordered me to bring you in."
"You see I was right."
"That's true; but, for all that, an attempted assassination is a droll recommendation."
"A meeting," the stranger remarked.
"I don't know if you call it by that name here; but in France we call it waylaying. Come on."
The stranger made no reply; he merely shrugged his shoulders, and followed the worthy trooper.
In an immense hall, whose dilapidated walls threatened to collapse, and to which the star-spangled sky served as roof, four men of stern features and flashing eyes were seated round a table, served with the most delicate luxury and the most sensual idea of comfort. They were the count and the officers forming his staff, namely, Lieutenants Diégo Léon and Martin Leroux, and Don Sylva's old capataz, Blas Vasquez.
The count had been encamped with his free company for the last five days in the Casa Grande of Moctecuhzoma. After the attack on the colony by the Apaches, the count, in the hope of finding again his betrothed, who had disappeared in so mysterious a way during the action, and most probably had been carried off by the Indians, immediately formed the resolution of executing the orders government had given him long previously, and which he had hitherto delayed obeying, with pretexts more or less plausible; but in reality because he did not care, brave as he was, to have a fight with the redskins, who were so resolute and difficult to overcome, especially when attacked on their own territory. The count drew one hundred and twenty Frenchmen from the colony, to whom the capataz, who burned to recover and deliver his master and young mistress, added thirty resolute peons, so that the strength of the little troop amounted to one hundred and fifty well-armed and experienced horsemen.
The count had asked the hunters, whose help had also been so precious to him, to accompany him. He would have been happy to have not only companions so intrepid, but also guides so sure as they to lead him on the trail of the Indians, whom he was determined to follow up and exterminate. But Count Louis and his two friends, without giving any further excuse than the necessity of continuing their journey at once, took leave of Lhorailles, peremptorily refusing the brilliant offers he made them.
The count was compelled to put up with the capataz and his peons. Unfortunately these men were costeños or inhabitants of the seaboard, perfectly well acquainted with the coast, but entirely ignorant of all relating to the tierra adentro or interior countries. It was, therefore, under this inexperienced guidance that the count left Guetzalli and marched into Apacheria.
The expedition began under favourable auspices: twice were the redskins surprised by the French at an interval of a few days, and mercilessly massacred. The count wished to make no prisoners, in the hope of imprinting terror on the hearts of these barbarous savages. All the Indians who fell alive into the hands of the French were shot, and then hung on the trees, head downwards.
Still, after these two encounters, so disastrous for them, the Indians appeared to have taken the hint; and, in spite of all the count's efforts, he found it impossible to catch them again. The summary justice exercised by the count appeared not only to have attained, but even outstripped the object he designed; for the Indians suddenly became invisible. For about three weeks the count sought their trail, but was unable to discover it. At length, on the eve of the day on which we take up our story again, some seven or eight hundred horses, apparently free (for according to the Indian custom, their riders lying on their flanks, were nearly invisible), entered the ruins about midday, and rushed on the Casa Grande at a frightful pace.
A discharge of musketry from behind the hastily erected barricades hurled disorder in their ranks, though it did not check the impetus of their attack, and they fell like lightning on the French. The Apaches had plucked up a spirit. Half naked, with their heads laden with plumes, their long buffalo robes fluttering in the wind, steering their horses with their knees, the Indian warriors had a warlike aspect capable of inspiring the most resolute men with terror. The French received them boldly, however, although deafened by the horrible yells their enemies uttered, and blinded by the long barbed arrows which rained around them like hail.
But the Apaches, as much as the French, wished for no mere skirmish. By a common accord they rushed on each other in a hand-to-hand fight. In the midst of the Indian warriors, the Black Bear could be easily recognised by his long plume and the eagle feathers planted in his war-tuft. The chief urged his men on to avenge their preceding defeats by seizing the Casa Grande. Then one of those fearful frontier actions began, in which no prisoners are made, and which render any description impossible through the ferocity both parties display, and the cruelties of which they are guilty. The bolas perdidas, bayonet, and lance were the only weapons employed. This fight, during which the Indians were incessantly reinforced, lasted more than two hours, and the defenders of the barricades allowed themselves to be killed sooner than yield an inch of ground.
Beginning to hope that the Indians must be wearied by so long a struggle and such an obstinate defence, the French redoubled their efforts, when suddenly the cry of "Treason! Treason!" was heard in their rear. The count and the capataz, who fought in the first ranks of the volunteers and peons, turned round. The position was critical. The French were really caught between two fires. The Little Panther, at the head of the fifty warriors, had turned the position, and taken the barricades in reverse. The Indians, mad with joy at such perfect success, cut down all they came across, uttering the wild yells of triumph.
The count took a long glance at the battlefield, and his determination was at once formed. He said a couple of words to the capataz, who returned to the head of his combatants, warned them what to do, and watched for the favourable moment to carry out his chiefs instructions. For his part the count had lost no time. Seizing a barrel of powder, he put into it a piece of lighted candle, and hurled it into the densest ranks of the Indians, where it burst almost immediately, causing irreparable injury. The terrified Apaches fell into disorder, and fled in every direction to avoid being struck by the fragments of this novel shell. Profiting cleverly by the respite produced by the barrel among the assailants, the adventurers led by the capataz turned and rushed on the Little Panther's band, which was only a few paces off by this time. The spot was not favourable for the Indians, who, collected in a narrow entry, could not manoeuvre their horses. The Little Panther and the Apaches rushed forward with yells. The French, as brave and as skillful as their adversaries, boldly awaited with levelled bayonets the shock of the tremendous avalanche, which fell upon them with blinding speed. The redskins were driven back. The rout commenced, and the Apaches began flying in every direction. The count sent several peons after them, who returned toward nightfall, stating that the Apaches, after reforming, had entered the desert.
The count, although satisfied with the victory he had gained (for the enemy's loss was tremendous), did not consider it decisive, as the Black Bear had escaped, and he had been unable to recover the person he had sworn to save. He gave orders to his cuadrilla to prepare for a forward march in the desert, and on the next day the French would definitely leave the Casa Grande.
The count fêted with his officers the victory gained on the previous day, and urged them to drink to the success of the expedition they were going to attempt on the morrow. Flushed by the numerous potations he had made, by the repeated toasts he had drunk, as well as by the hope of complete success ere long, the count was in the best possible temper to hear the singular message the old corporal delivered so much against the grain.
"And what sort of fellow is he?" he asked, when the other had performed his task.
"On my word, captain," the corporal answered, "so far as I could see, he is stout, well-built young fellow, and gifted with a sufficient stock of assurance, not to speak more strongly."
The count reflected for a moment.
"Shall I have him shot?" the soldier asked, taking this silence for a condemnation.
"Plague take it, what a hurry you are in, Boiland!" the count said laughing and looking up. "No, no; this scamp's arrival is a piece of good luck for us. On the contrary, bring him here with the utmost politeness."
The soldier bowed and retired.
"Gentlemen," the count continued, "you remember the trap to which I almost fell a victim: a certain amount of mystery, which I have never been able to fathom, has since surrounded this affair. The man who asks speech of me has come, I feel a presentiment, in order to give me the key to many things which have hitherto been incomprehensible."
"Señor conde," the capataz observed, "pray take care. You do not yet know the character of our people; this man may come to draw you into a snare."
"For what purpose?"
"¿Quién sabe?" Blas Vasquez answered, employing that phrase which in Spanish is so meaning, and which it is difficult to translate into our tongue.
"Bah, bah!" the count said. "Trust in me, Don Blas, to unmask this scamp, if he be a spy, as I do not suppose."
The capataz contented himself with an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. The count was one of those men whose lofty and arrogant mind rendered any discussion impossible. The Europeans, and, before all, the French in America, display towards the natives—white, half-breed, or redskins—a contempt which breaks out in their language and actions, persuaded they stand intellectually far above the inhabitants of the country in which they happen to be, they display towards them an insulting pity, and amuse themselves with continually turning them into ridicule, by mocking either their habits or their belief, and in their hearts grant them an amount of instinct not greatly superior to that of the brute.
This opinion is not only unjust, but it is also entirely false. The American Hispanos, it is true, are very far behindhand as regards civilisation, trade, mechanical arts, &c.: progress with them is slow, because perpetually impeded by the superstitions that form the basis of their faith; but we ought not to make these people responsible for a state of things from which they are eager to emerge, and for which the Spaniards are alone culpable, owing to the system of brutalising oppression and crushing abjectness in which they kept them. The grinding tyranny which for several centuries weighed Indians down, by rendering them the utter slaves of haughty and implacable masters, has given them the characteristics of slaves—cunning and cowardice.
With a few honourable exceptions, the mass of the Indian population especially—for the whites have advanced with giant steps in the path of progress during the past few years—is scampish, cunning, cowardly, and depraved. Thus it ever happens that when a European and a half-breed come into collision, the white man, instead of the intelligence he boasts, is duped by the Indian. It is so well recognised as an article of faith in Spanish America, that the half-breeds and Indians are poor irrational creatures, gifted at the most with enough intelligence to live from hand to mouth that the whites proudly call themselves gente de razón.
We are bound to add that, after a few years' residence in America, the opinions of the Europeans with regard to the half-breeds are greatly modified, because a little acquaintance with the country enables them to take a more healthy view of the people with whom they are mixed up. But the Count de Lhorailles had not reached that stage: he only saw in the Indian or half-breed a being all but lacking reason, and dealt with him on that erroneous principle. This belief was destined, at a later date, to bear most terrible consequences.
The count had noticed the shrug of the shoulders the capataz gave, and was about to reply to him, when the corporal reappeared, followed by the stranger, on whom all eyes were at once fixed. The stranger bore without flinching the cross fire of glances, and, while remaining completely wrapped up in the folds of his large cloak, saluted the company with unparalleled ease. The appearance of this man in the banqueting hall infected the guests with a feeling of uneasiness they would have been unable to explain, but which suddenly rendered them dumb.
The silence began to grow embarrassing to all, and the count speedily noticed this. As a thorough gentleman, accustomed to command immediately the most exceptional and difficult positions, he rose, walked toward the stranger with outstretched hand, and turning to his officers,—
"Gentlemen," he said, with a peculiar inflection of voice, and bowing courteously, "allow me to present to you this caballero, whose name I am not yet acquainted with, but who, from what he has himself said, is one of my most intimate enemies."
"Oh, señor conde!" the unknown said, in a stifled voice.
"I am delighted at it," the count said quickly. "Pray do not contradict me, my dear enemy, but be good enough to take a seat by my side."
"I never was your enemy; the proof is that I have ridden two hundred leagues to ask a service of you."
"It is granted ere mentioned; so put off serious matters till tomorrow. Take a glass of champagne."
The unknown bowed, seized the glass, and said, bowing to the company,—
"Gentlemen, I drink to the fortunate issue of your expedition."
And lifting the glass to his lips, he emptied it at a draught.
"You are a famous companion, sir. I thank you for your toast; it is of good omen to us."
"Commandant, pray be kind enough," Lieutenant Martin said, "to tell us as speedily as possible your amusing relations with this caballero."
"I would do so with pleasure, señores; but I should first like to ask this caballero, who states he has ridden so far to see me, to break an incognito which has lasted too long already, and to inform us of his name, so that we may know whom we have the honour of greeting."
The stranger began laughing, and, allowing the fold of his cloak, which had hitherto concealed his face, to fall, replied:—
"With the greatest pleasure, caballeros; but I fancy that my name, like my face, will teach you nothing. We only met once, señor conde, and during that interview the night was too dark, and the conversation between yourself and my comrade too animated, for my features to have deeply imprinted on your memory, even had you seen them."
"It is true, señor," the count replied, after attentively examining his features. "I am free to confess that I do not remember ever having seen you before."
"I was sure of it."
"Then," the count exclaimed hotly, "why do you so obstinately hide your face?"
"Come, sir count, I probably had my reasons for doing so. Who knows if you may not some day have cause to regret making me break an incognito which I probably had reasons for maintaining?"
These words were pronounced in a sarcastic voice, mingled with a menace, which each could read in spite of the stranger's apparent coolness.
"It is of little consequence, señor," the count said haughtily. "I am one of those men whose sword supports his words; so now have the goodness to give me your name without further excuses or vacillation."
"Which will you have, caballero—my nom de guerre, or any other of my aliases?"
"Any one you please," the count said furiously, "so long as you give us one."
The stranger rose, and, turning a haughty glance on all present, said in a firm voice,—
"I told you on entering this room, caballero, that I had ridden two hundred leagues to ask a service of you. I deceived you. I expect nothing of you, neither service nor favour; on the contrary, I wish to be useful to you. I have come for that purpose, and no other. What need of your knowing who I am, or what my name is, as I shall not be your obligé, but you mine?"
"The greater reason, caballero, for you to unmask. I will respect the quality of guest you claim here, and not make you do by force what I ask of you; but remember this, I am resolved, whatever may happen, to listen to nothing, and beg you to withdraw immediately, if you refuse any longer to satisfy my wishes."
"You will repent of it, señor conde," the stranger replied, with a sardonic smile. "One word more, and a last one. I consent to make myself known to you privately, the more so as what I have to tell you must only be heard by yourself."
"By Bacchus!" Lieutenant Martin exclaimed, "this surpasses all belief, and such persistency is extraordinary."
"I know not if I am mistaken," the capataz exclaimed meaningly; "but I am certain I hold a great place in the mystery with which this caballero surrounds himself, and that if he fears anybody here it is I."
"You are quite correct, señor Don Blas," the stranger said with a bow. "You see that I know you. You know me too, if not by face, fortunately for me at this moment, by name and repute. Well, rightly or wrongly, I am convinced that were I to pronounce that name before you, you would induce your friend not to listen to me."
"And what would happen then?" the capataz interrupted him.
"A great misfortune probably," the stranger said in a firm voice. "You see that I act frankly with you, whatever your opinion may be. I only ask of the count ten minutes' conversation; after that he can do whatever he pleases with the secret I intrust to him, and the news I bring him."
There was a moment's silence. The count examined the stranger's calm face while reflecting profoundly. At length the unknown rose, and, bowing to the count, said,—
"Which am I to do, señor—stay or go?"
The count turned a piercing glance upon him, which the other endured without betraying the slightest emotion.
"Stay!" he said.
"Good!" the unknown remarked, and seated himself again on the butaca.
"Gentlemen," continued the count, addressing his guests, "you have heard, be kind enough to excuse me for a few moments."
The officers rose and withdrew without any reply. The capataz was the last to go, after bending on the unknown one of those glances which ransack the depths of a man's heart. But this glance, like the count's, produced no effect on the stranger's cold, impassive face.
"Now, señor," said the count to the stranger, as soon as they were alone, "I am awaiting the fulfilment of your promise."
"I am ready to satisfy you."
"What is your name? Who are you?"
"Pardon me, sir," the stranger replied with easy raillery, "if we go on thus it will take a long time, and you will learn nothing, or very little."
The count repressed with difficulty a gesture of impatience.
"Proceed as you think proper," he said.
"Good! In that way we shall soon understand each other."
"I am listening."
"You are strange, señor, in this country. Having arrived a few months back only, you do not yet know the habits and customs of the inhabitants. Relying on the knowledge you attained in your own country, you fancied, on arriving among us, that you could do exactly as you pleased, because your intelligence was so superior to ours, and you have acted accordingly."
"To your story, señor!" interrupted the count passionately.
"I am coming to it, señor. Owing to powerful protectors, you found yourself at once placed in an exceptional position. You have founded a magnificent colony in the richest province of Mexico, on the desert frontier. You then asked and obtained from government the rank of captain, with the right to raise a free corps composed exclusively of your own countrymen, specially intended to hunt the Apaches, Comanches, &c. That is easy to understand for we Mexicans are such cowards."
"Señor, señor! I would remind you that all you are now saying is at least useless," the count angrily exclaimed.
"Not so much as you suppose," the other said, still perfectly calm; "but set your mind at ease. I have finished, and now reach the point which specially interests you. I only wished to let you see that if you did not know me, I, on the other hand, know more of you than you imagined."
The count struck the table with his fist and stamped his foot as an outlet for his passion.
"I will go on," the unknown continued. "Certainly, on landing in Mexico, however great your ambition might be, you did not expect to gain such a brilliant position in so short a time. Facile fortune is a bad adviser. The too much of yesterday becomes the not enough of today. When you saw that you succeeded in everything, you wished to crown your work by a masterstroke, and shelter yourself for ever from the freaks of that fortune which is today your slave, but might suddenly turn its back on you tomorrow. I do not blame you. You acted like a clever gambler; and, being afflicted with that vice myself, I can appreciate in others a quality I do not myself possess.
"Oh," the count said.
"Patience! I am there now. You looked around you, and your eyes were naturally fixed on Don Sylva de Torrés. That caballero combined all the qualities you sought in a father-in-law, for what you wished was to contract a rich marriage. Ah! You no longer interrupt me. It seems that the account I am giving of your own history is becoming interesting. Don Sylva is kind-hearted and credulous; moreover, he has a colossal fortune, even for this country, where fortunes are so large; and Doña Anita is a charming girl. In short, you introduced yourself to Don Sylva. You asked his daughter's hand, which he promised you, and the marriage should have come off a month ago. And now, caballero, be good enough to redouble your attention, for I am entering on the most interesting part of my narrative."
"Continue, señor; you see that I am listening with all necessary patience."
"You shall be rewarded for your complaisance, caballero, be at rest," the unknown said with a tinge of mockery.
"I am anxious to hear the end of your story, señor."
"Here you have it. Unfortunately for your schemes, Doña Anita was not consulted by her father in the choice of a husband: for a long time she had secretly loved a young man who had done her important service."
"And you know the man's name?"
"Yes, señor."
"Tell it me."
"Not yet. This man returned her love. The two young people met without Don Sylva's knowledge, and swore an eternal love. When Doña Anita was constrained by her father to regard you as her husband she feigned submission, for she did not dare openly to resist her father; but she warned the man she loved, and the couple, after renewing their love vows, thought on a way to break off this fatal marriage."
The count had risen several moments back, and was now pacing the room. At the last words he stopped before the stranger.
"Then," he said in a gloomy voice, "the attempted assassination at the Rancho—"
"Was a means employed by the lover to get rid of you? Yes, señor," the stranger calmly said.
"This man, then, is only a dastardly assassin!" he said contemptuously.
"You are wrong, caballero; he only wished to compel you to retire. The proof is that your life was in his hands and he did not take it."
"To the point, then!" the count exclaimed. "Assassin or not, you will tell me his name, for you have finished now, I suppose?"
"Not yet. After the meeting at the Rancho you proceeded to your hacienda, accompanied by your future father-in-law and wife. Even then, without leaving you a moment's rest, the hatred of Doña Anita's lover pursued you: the Apaches attacked you.
"Well?"
"Well, need I give you further explanation? Cannot you understand that this man was in league with the redskins?"
"And Doña Anita knew it?"
"I will not affirm that positively, but it is probable."
"Oh!"
"Was not the game well played?"
The count bit his lips till the blood began to flow.
"And you know who carried Doña Anita off?"
"I do."
"It was not the redskins?"
"No."
"That man, then?"
"Yes."
"But her father was carried off to?"
"I know it; but it was not at all with his will, I assure you."
"Where is Don Sylva now?"
"Quietly at home at Guaymas."
"Is his daughter with him?"
"No."
"She is with that man, I suppose?"
"You are a perfect sorcerer."
"And you know where they are?"
"I do."
Quick as lightning the count bounded on the stranger, seized him by the collar with his left hand, and, placing a pistol against his breast, shouted in a hoarse voice,—
"Now, villain, you will tell me where they are!"
"Is that the game we are playing?" the stranger said. "Well, as you please, caballero."
Then throwing back his cloak quickly, he aimed at the count two pistols which he held in either hand. The stranger's movement had been so rapid that the count was unable to prevent it. Besides, a sudden idea occurred to him at the moment. Lowering his pistol, and thrusting it back in his girdle, he muttered,—
"I was mad: pardon that angry movement."
"Most heartily," the unknown replied, laying his pistols on the table within reach.
"Pardon me again. Now that I reflect on what you have just told me, I see that your object was to be of service to me."
The stranger made a gesture of affirmation.
"But there is one thing I cannot explain."
"What is that?"
"The manner in which you have told me all these details."
"Oh! That is simple enough."
"I shall feel obliged by your explanation."
"With pleasure, caballero. Two men attacked you at the Rancho."
"Yes."
"I am he who pulled you off your horse."
"Oh!" the count said, with a singular intonation in his voice.
"In a word, my name is Cucharés! I am a lepero; that is to say, I like the sun better than the shade, rest than work, and would sooner stab a man, when properly paid for it, than do a good action which brings in nothing. You comprehend me?"
"Perfectly."
"Then we can come to an understanding?"
"I think so."
"Well, so do I, and that is the reason I have come to you."
"One question more."
"Ask it."
"At this moment you are betraying your friends?"
"I? Who?"
"The persons you have hitherto served."
"A man like myself, caballero, has no friends, only customers."
"Friends or customers, you are betraying them."
"Pooh! We have settled our accounts. They owe me nothing, nor I them. We are quits. Look ye, caballero: in every business there are two sides, which a skilful man can work equally well. I have drawn all I could from the first, so I am going to try the other now."
The count heard the lepero develope this strange theory with an amazement mingled with terror. A cynicism so ripe and shameless terrified him and yet the count was not excessively thin-skinned.
"We will agree, then, that you have come to do me a service."
The lepero smiled.
"Let us understand one another," continued he. "I say so not to startle the consciences of the gentlemen who were present on my entrance; but between ourselves, I will be more frank."
"Which means?"
"That I have come to sell it to you."
"Be it so!"
"I shall want a long price."
"Good!"
"A very long price."
"No matter, if it is worth it."
"Come," the lepero exclaimed joyfully, "you are just the man I expected to find you. Well, you can trust in me."
"I must do so, I suppose."
"What would you? It is the way of the world. Today my turn, tomorrow yours. Bah! You will have no cause to regret a few thousand piastres."