When the guide was thoroughly concealed among the leaves, he remained for a moment motionless; though not in order to regain his breath after having made such an expenditure of strength, for this man was made of iron, and fatigue had no power over him. But he probably wished to look about him, for with his body bent forward, and his eyes fixed on space, he inhaled the breeze, and his glances seemed trying to pierce the gloom.
Before selecting as his resting place the foot of the tree in which he was now concealed, the guide had assured himself that this tree, which was very high and leafy, was joined at about two-thirds of its height by other trees, which gradually rose along the side of the mountain, and formed a wall of verdure.
After a few minutes' hesitation, the guide drew in his belt, placed his knife between his teeth, and with a certainty and lightness of movement which would have done honour to a monkey, he commenced literally hopping from one tree to another, hanging by his arms, and clinging to the creepers, waking up, as he passed, the birds, which flew away in alarm.
This strange journey lasted about three-quarters of an hour. At length the guide stopped, looked attentively around him, and gliding down the trunk of the tree on which he was, reached the ground. The spot where he now found himself was a rather spacious clearing, in the centre of which blazed an enormous fire, serving to warm forty or fifty redskins, completely armed and equipped for war. Still, singular to say, the majority of these Indians, instead of their long lances and the bows they usually employ, carried muskets of American manufacture, which led to the supposition that they were picked warriors and great braves of their nation; and this, too, was further proved by the numerous wolf tails fastened to their heels, an honourable insignia which only renowned warriors have the right to assume.
This detachment of redskins was certainly on the war trail, or at any rate on a serious expedition, for they had with them neither dogs nor squaws. In spite of the slight care with which the Indians are wont to guard themselves at night, the free and deliberate manner in which the guide entered their encampment proved that he was expected by these warriors, who evinced no surprise at seeing him, but, on the contrary, invited him with hospitable gestures to take a seat at their fire. The guide sat down silently, and began smoking the calumet which the chief seated by his side immediately offered him. This chief was still a young man, his marked features displaying the utmost craft and boldness. After a rather lengthened interval, doubtless expressly granted the visitor to let him draw breath and warm himself, the young chief bowed to him and addressed him deferentially.
"My father is welcome among his sons; they were impatiently awaiting his arrival."
The guide responded to this compliment with a grimace, in all probability intended to pass muster for a smile. The chief continued:—
"Our scouts have carefully examined the encampment of the Yoris, and the warriors of the Jester are ready to obey the instructions given them by their great sachem, Eagle-head. Is my father Curumilla satisfied with his red children?"
Curumilla (for the guide was no other than the reader's old acquaintance the Araucano chief) laid his right hand on his chest, and uttered with a guttural accent the exclamation, "Ugh!" which was with him a mark of the greatest joy.
The Jester and his warriors had been too long acquainted with Curumilla for his silence to seem strange to them; hence they yielded without repugnance to his mania, and carefully giving up the hope of getting a syllable out of his closed lips, began with him a conversation in signs.
We have already had occasion, in a previous work, to mention that the redskins have two languages, the written and the sign language. The latter, which has among them attained a high perfection, and which all understand, is usually employed when hunting, or on expeditions, when a word pronounced even in a low voice may reveal the presence of an ambuscade to the enemy, whether men or beasts, whom they are pursuing, and desire to surprise.
It would have been interesting, and even amusing, for any stranger who had been present at this interview to see with what rapidity the gestures and signs were exchanged between these men, so strangely lit up by the ruddy glow of the fire, and who resembled, with their strange movements, their stern faces, and singular attitudes, a council of demons. At times the Jester, with his body bent forward, and emphatic gestures, held a dumb speech, which his comrades followed with the most sustained attention, and which they answered with a rapidity that words themselves could not have surpassed.
At length this silent council terminated. Curumilla raised his hand to heaven, and pointed to the stars, which were beginning to grow dim, and then left the circle. The redskins respectfully followed him to the foot of the tree by the aid of which he had entered their camp. When he reached it, he turned round.
"May the Wacondah protect my father!" the Jester then said. "His sons have thoroughly understood his instructions, and will follow them literally. The great pale hunter will have joined his friends by this hour, and he is doubtless awaiting us. Tomorrow Koutonepi will see his Comanche brothers. At the enditha the camp will be raised."
"It is good," Curumilla answered, and saluting for the last time the warriors, who bowed respectfully before him, the chief seized the creeping plants, and, raising himself by the strength of his wrists, in a second he reached the branches, and disappeared in the foliage.
The journey the Indian had made was very important, and needed to be so for him to run such great risks in order to have an interview at this hour of the night with the redskins; but as the reader will soon learn what were the consequences of this expedition, we deem it unnecessary to translate the sign language employed during the council, or explain the resolutions formed between Curumilla and the Jester.
The chief recommenced his aerial trip with the same lightness and the same good fortune. After a lapse of time comparatively much shorter than that which he had previously employed, he reached the camp of the white men. The same silence prevailed in its interior; the sentinels were still motionless at their post, and the watch fires were beginning to expire.
The chief assured himself that no eye was fixed on him—that no spy was on the watch; and, feeling certain of not being perceived, he slid silently down the tree and resumed the place beneath the buffalo robe which he was supposed not to have left during the night.
At the moment when, after taking a final glance around, the Indian chief disappeared beneath his robe, the capataz, who was lying athwart the entrance of the hut, gently raised his head, and looked with strange fixity of glance at the place occupied by the redskin.
Had a suspicion been aroused in the Mexican's mind? Had he noticed the departure and return of the chief? Presently he let his head fall again, and it would have been impossible to read on his motionless features what were the thoughts that troubled him.
The remainder of the night passed tranquilly and peacefully.
The sun rose; its beams played on the trembling yellow leaves of the trees, and tinged them with a thousand shades of gold and purple. The birds, cozily nestled in the bushes, struck up their matin carol; the awakening of nature was as splendid and imposing as it is in all mountainous countries.
The leader of the caravan left his tent and gave orders to strike the camp. The tent was at once folded up, the mules were loaded, and, so soon as the horses were saddled, the party started without waiting for the morning meal, for they generally breakfasted at the eleven o'clock halt, while resting to let the great heat of the day subside.
The caravan advanced along the road from Santa Fé to the United States, at a speed unusual under such circumstances. A military system was affected which was imposing, and, indeed, indispensable in these regions, infested not merely by numerous bands of predatory Indians, but also traversed by the pirates of the prairie, more dangerous bandits still, who were driven by their enemies beyond the pale of the law, and who, ambushed at the turnings of roads or in broken rocks, attacked the caravans as they passed, and pitilessly massacred the travellers, after plundering them of all they possessed.
About twenty yards ahead of the caravan rode four men, with their rifles on their thigh, preceded by the guide, who formed the extreme vanguard. Next came the main body, composed of six well-armed peons, watching the mules and baggage, under the immediate orders of the chief of the caravan. Lastly, the capataz rode about thirty paces in the rear, having under his orders four resolute men armed to the teeth.
Thus arranged to face any event, the caravan enjoyed a relative security, for it was not very probable that the white or red pillagers, who were doubtless watching it, would dare to attack in open day seventeen resolute and trained men. At night the horse thieves, who glide silently in the darkness during the sleep of the travellers, and carry off horses and baggage, were more formidable.
Still, either through accident, or the prudential measures employed by the chief of the caravan, since they had left Santa Fé, that is to say for more than a month, the Mexicans had not seen an Indian, or been alarmed. They had journeyed—apparently at least—with as much tranquillity as if, instead of being in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, they were moving along the roads in, the interior of Sonora. This security, however, while augmenting their confidence, had not caused their prudential measures to be neglected; and their chief, whom this unusual leniency on the part of the villains who prowl about these countries alarmed, redoubled his vigilance and precautions to avoid a surprise and a collision with the plunderers.
The discovery, made on the previous day by the guide, of an Indian Crow trail—the most determined thieves in these mountains—added to his apprehensions; for he did not hide from himself that, if he were compelled to fight, in spite of the courage and discipline of his peons, the odds would be against him, when fighting men thoroughly acquainted with the country, and who would only attack him with numbers sufficient to crush his band, however desperate the resistance offered might be.
When he left the camp, the chief of the caravan, suffering perhaps from a gloomy foreboding, spurred his horse and joined the Indian, who, as we said, was marching alone in front, examining the bushes, and apparently performing all the duties of an experienced guide. Curumilla, though he heard the hurried paces of the Mexican's horse, did not turn round, but continued trotting along carelessly on the sorry mule allotted to him for this expedition.
When the chief of the caravan joined him and brought his horse alongside the Indian, instead of speaking to him, he attentively examined him for some minutes, trying to pierce the mask of stoicism spread over the guide's features, and to read his thoughts. But, after a rather lengthened period, the Mexican was constrained to recognize the inutility of his efforts, and to confess to himself the impossibility of guessing the intentions of this man, for whom, in spite of the service he had rendered the caravan, he felt an instinctive aversion, and whom he would like to force, at all risks, to make a frank explanation.
"Indian," he said to him in Spanish, "I wish to speak with you for a few moments on an important subject, so be good enough to put off your usual silence for awhile and answer, like an honest man, the questions I propose asking you."
Curumilla bowed respectfully.
"You engaged with me, at Santa Fé, to lead me, for the sum of four ounces, of which you received one half in advance, to lead me, I say, safely to the frontiers of Upper Mexico. Since you have been in my service I must allow that I have only had reason to praise the prudence in which you have performed your duties; but we are at this moment in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, that is to say, we have reached the most dangerous part of our long journey. Two days ago you lifted the trail of Crow Indians, very formidable enemies of caravans, and I want to consult with you as to the means to employ to foil the snares in which these Indians will try to catch us, and to know what measures you intend to employ to avoid a meeting with them; in a word, I want to know your plan of action."
The Indian, without replying, felt in a bag of striped calico thrown over his shoulder, and produced a greasy paper, folded in four, which he opened and offered the Mexican.
"What is this?" the latter asked, as he looked and ran through it. "Oh, yes, certainly; your engagement. Well, what connection has this with the question I asked you?"
Curumilla, still impassive, laid his finger on the paper, at the last paragraph of the engagement.
"Well, what then?" the Mexican exclaimed, ill-humouredly. "It is said there, it is true, that I must trust entirely to you, and leave you at liberty to act as you please for the common welfare, without questioning you."
The Indian nodded his head in assent.
"Well, voto a Brios!" the Mexican shouted, irritated by this studied coolness, in spite of his resolve to curb his temper, and annoyed at the man's obstinate refusal to answer, "what proves to me that you are acting for our common welfare, and that you are not a traitor?"
At this word traitor, so distinctly uttered by the Mexican, Curumilla gave a tiger glance at the speaker, while his whole body was agitated by a convulsive tremor: he uttered two or three incomprehensible guttural exclamations, and ere the Mexican could suspect his intentions, he was seized round the waist, lifted from the saddle, and hurled on the ground, where he lay stunned.
Curumilla leapt from his mule, drew from his belt two gold ounces, hurled them at the Mexican, and then, bounding over the precipice that bordered the road, glided to the bottom with headlong speed and disappeared at once.
What we have described occurred so rapidly that the peons who remained behind, although they hurried up at full speed to their master's assistance, arrived too late on the scene to prevent the Indian's flight.
The Mexican had received no wound; the surprise and violence of the fall had alone caused his momentary stupor; but almost immediately he regained his senses, and comprehending the inutility and folly of pursuit at such a spot with such an adversary, he devoured his shame and passion, and, remounting his horse, which had been stopped, he coolly gave orders to continue the journey, with an internal resolution that, if ever the opportunity offered, he would have an exemplary revenge for the insult he had received.
For the moment he could not think of it, for more serious interests demanded all his attention; it was evident to him that, in branding the guide as a traitor, he had struck home, and that the latter, furious at seeing himself unmasked, had proceeded to such extremities in order to escape punishment, and find means to fly safely.
The situation was becoming most critical for the chief of the caravan; he found himself abandoned and left without a guide, in unknown regions, doubtless watched by hidden foes, and exposed at any moment to an attack, whose result could but be unfavourable to himself and his people; hence he must form a vigorous resolve in order to escape, were it possible, the misfortunes that menaced the caravan.
The Mexican was a man endowed with an energetic organization, brave to rashness, whom no peril, however great it might be, had ever yet had the power to make him blench; in a few seconds he calculated all the favourable chances left him, and his determination was formed. The road he was following at this moment was assuredly the one frequented by the caravans proceeding from the United States to California or Mexico; and there was no other road but this in the mountains. Hence the Mexican resolved to form an entrenched camp, at the spot that might appear to him most favourable, fortify himself there as well as he could, and await the passing of the first caravan, which he would join.
This plan was exceedingly simple, and in addition very easy to execute. As the travellers possessed an ample stock of provisions and ammunition, they had no reason to fear scarcity, while, on the other hand, seven or eight days in all probability would not elapse without the appearance of a fresh caravan; and the Mexican believed himself capable of resisting, behind good entrenchments, with his fifteen peons, any white or red plunderers who dared to attack him.
So soon as this resolution was formed, the Mexican at once prepared to carry it out. After having briefly and in a few words explained to his disheartened peons what his intentions were, and recommending them to redouble their prudence, he left them, and pushed on in order to reconnoitre the ground and select the most suitable spot for the establishment of the camp.
He started his horse at a gallop and soon disappeared in the windings of the road, but, through fear of a sudden attack, he held his gun in his hand, and his glances were constantly directed around him, examining with the utmost care the thick chaparral which bordered the road on the side of the mountain.
The Mexican went on thus for about two hours, noticing that the further he proceeded the narrower and more abrupt the track became. Suddenly it widened out in front of him, and he arrived at an esplanade, across which the road ran, and which was no other than the Fort of the Chichimèques, previously described by us.
The Mexican's practised eye at once seized the advantages of such a position, and, without loss of time in examining it in detail, he turned back to rejoin the caravan. The travellers, though marching much more slowly than their chief, had, however, pushed on, so that he rejoined them about three-quarters of an hour after the discovery of the terrace.
The flight of the guide had nearly demoralized the Mexicans, more accustomed to the ease of tropical regions, and whose courage the snows of the Rocky Mountains had already weakened, if not destroyed. Fortunately for the chief's plans he had over his servants that influence which clever minds know how to impose on ordinary natures, and the peons, on seeing their master gay and careless about the future, began to hope that they would escape better than they had supposed from the unlucky position in which they found themselves so suddenly placed. The march was continued tranquilly; no suspicious sign was discovered, and the Mexicans were justified in believing that, with the exception of the time they would be compelled to lose in awaiting a new guide, the flight of the Indian would entail no disagreeable consequences on them.
Singularly enough, Carnero the capataz seemed rather pleased than annoyed at the sudden disappearance of the guide. Far from complaining or deploring the delay in the continuance of the journey he laughed at what had happened, and made an infinitude of more or less witty jests about it, which in the end considerably annoyed his master, whose joy was merely on the surface, and who, in his heart, cursed the mishap which kept them in the mountains, and exposed him to the insults of the plunderers.
"Pray, what do you find so agreeable in what has happened that you are or affect to be so merry, Ño Carnero?" he at length asked with considerable ill temper.
"Forgive me, mi amo," the capataz answered humbly; "but you know the proverb, 'What can't be cured must be endured,' and consequently I forgot."
"Hum!" said the master, without any other reply.
"And besides," the capataz added, as he stooped down to the chief, and almost whispering, "however bad our position may be, is it not better to pretend to consider it good?"
His master gave him a piercing look, but the other continued imperturbably with an obsequious smile—
"The duty of a devoted servant, mi amo, is to be always of his master's opinion, whatever may happen. The peons were murmuring this morning after your departure, and you know what the character of these brutes is; if they feel alarmed we shall be lost, for it will be impossible for us to get out of our position; hence I thought that I was carrying out your views by attempting to cheer them up, and I feign a gaiety which, be assured, I do not feel, under the supposition that it would be agreeable to you."
The Mexican shook his head dubiously, but the observations of the capataz were so just, the reasons he offered appeared so plausible, that he was constrained to yield and thank him, as he did not care to alienate at this moment a man who by a word could change the temper of his peons, and urge them to revolt instead of adhering to their duty.
"I thank you, Ño Carnero," he said, with a conciliatory air. "You perfectly understood my intentions. I am pleased with your devotion to my person, and the moment will soon arrive, I hope, when it will be in my power to prove to you the value I attach to you."
"The certainty of having done my duty, now as ever, is the sole reward I desire, mi amo," the capataz answered, with a respectful bow.
The Mexican gave him a side glance, but he restrained himself, and it was with a smile that he thanked the capataz for the second time. The latter thought it prudent to break off the interview here, and, stopping his horse, he allowed his master to pass him. The chief of the caravan was one of those unhappily constituted men who after having passed their life in deceiving or trying to deceive those with whom the accidents of an adventurous existence have brought them into contact, had reached that point when he had no confidence in anyone, and sought, behind the most frivolous words, to discover an interested motive, which most frequently did not exist. Although his capataz Carnero had been for a long time in his service, and he granted him a certain amount of familiarity—although he appeared to place great confidence in him, and count on his devotion, still, in his heart, he not only suspected him, but felt almost confident, without any positive proof, it is true, that he was playing a double game with him, and was a secret agent of his deceivers.
What truth there might be in this supposition, which held a firm hold of the Mexican's mind, we are unable to say at present; but the slightest actions of his capataz were watched by him, and he felt certain that he should, sooner or later, attain a confirmation of his doubts; hence, while feigning the greatest satisfaction with him, he constantly kept on his guard, ready to deal a blow, which would be the sharper because it had been so long prepared.
A little before eleven A.M. the caravan reached the terrace, and it was with a feeling of joy, which they did not attempt to conceal, that the peons recognized the strength of the position selected by their master for the encampment.
"We shall stop here for the present," the Mexican said. "Unload the mules, and light the fires. Immediately after breakfast we will begin entrenching ourselves in such a way as to foil all the assaults of marauders."
The peons obeyed with the speed of men who have made a long journey and are beginning to feel hungry; the fires were lighted in an instant, and a few moments later the peons vigorously attacked their maize tortillas, their tocino, and their cecina—those indispensable elements of every Mexican meal. When the hunger of his men was appeased, and they had smoked their cigarettes, the chief rose.
"Now," he said, "to work."
The position which the leader of the caravan fancied he had been the first to discover, and where he had made up his mind to halt, was admirably selected to establish an intrenched camp—strong enough to resist for months the attacks of the Indians and the pirates of the prairies. The immense voladero hovering at a prodigious height above the precipices, and guarded on the right and left by enormous masses of rock, offered such conditions of security that the peons regained all their merry carelessness, and only regarded the mysterious flight of the guide as an accident of no real importance, and which would have no other consequences for them but to make their journey somewhat longer than the time originally arranged.
It was, hence, with well promising ardour that they rose on receiving their chiefs command, and prepared under his directions to dig the trench which was intended to protect them from a surprise. This trench was to be bordered by a line of tall stakes, running across the open space between the rocks, which gave the sole access to the terrace.
The headquarters were first prepared, that is to say, the tent was raised, and the horses hobbled near pickets driven into the ground.
At the moment when the leader proceeded with several peons armed with picks and spades toward the entrance, with the probable intention of marking the exact spot where the trench was to be dug, the capataz approached him obsequiously, and said with a respectful bow—
"Mi amo, I have an important communication to make to you."
His master turned and looked at him with ill-concealed distrust.
"An important communication to make to me?" he repeated.
"Yes, mi amo," the capataz replied with a bow.
"What is it? Speak, but be brief, Carnero, for, as you see, I have no time to lose."
"I hope to gain you time, excellency," the capataz said with a silent smile.
"Ah, ah, what is it?"
"If you will allow me to say two words aside, excellency, you will know at once."
"Diablo! a mystery, Master Carnero?"
"Mi amo, it is my duty to inform no one but your excellency of my discovery."
"Hum! then you have discovered something?"
The other bowed, but made no further answer.
"Very well then," his master continued, "come this way: go on, muchachos," he added, addressing the peons, "I will rejoin you in a moment."
The latter went on, while the leader retired for a few paces, followed by the capataz. When he considered that he had placed a sufficient distance between himself and the ears of his people, he addressed the half-breed again—
"Now, I suppose, Master Carnero," he said, "you will see no inconvenience in explaining yourself?"
"None at all, excellency."
"Speak then, in the fiend's name, and keep me no longer in suspense."
"This is the affair, excellency: I have discovered a grotto."
"What?" his master exclaimed, in surprise, "you have discovered a grotto?"
"Yes, excellency."
"Where?"
"Here."
"Here! that's impossible."
"It's the fact, excellency."
"But where?"
"There," he said, stretching out his arm, "behind that mass of rocks."
A suspicious look flashed from beneath his master's eyelashes.
"Ah!" he muttered, "that is very singular, Master Carnero; may I ask in what manner you discovered this grotto, and what motive was so imperious as to take you among those rocks, when you were aware how indispensable your presence was elsewhere?"
The capataz was not affected by the tone in which these words were uttered; he answered calmly, as if he did not perceive the menace they contained—
"Oh! mi amo, the discovery was quite accidental, I assure you."
"I do not believe in chance," his master answered "but go on."
"When we had finished breakfast," the capataz continued, soothingly, "I perceived, on rising, that several horses, mine among them, had become unfastened, and were straying in different directions."
"That is true," his master muttered, apparently answering his own thoughts rather than the remarks of the capataz.
The latter gave an almost imperceptible smile. "Fearing," he continued, "lest the horses might be lost, I immediately started in pursuit. They were easy to catch, with the exception of one, which rambled among the rocks, and I was obliged to follow it."
"I understand; and so it led you to the mouth of the grotto."
"Exactly, mi amo; I found it standing at the very entrance, and had no difficulty in seizing the bridle."
"That is indeed most singular. And did you enter the grotto, Master Carnero?"
"No, mi amo. I thought it my duty to tell you of it first."
"You were right. Well, we will enter it together. Fetch some torches of ocote wood, and show us the way. By the by, do not forget to bring weapons, for we know not what men or beasts we may find in caverns thus opening on a high road." This he said with a sarcastic air, which caused the capataz to tremble inwardly in spite of his determined indifference.
While he executed his master's orders, the latter selected six of his peons, on whose courage he thought he could most rely, ordered them to take their muskets, and, bidding the others to keep a good watch, but not begin anything till he returned, he made a signal to the capataz that he was ready to follow him. Ño Carnero had followed with an evil eye the arrangements made by his master, but probably did not deem it prudent to risk any remark, for he silently bowed his head, and walked toward the pile of rocks that masked the entrance of the grotto.
These granite blocks, piled one on top of the other, did not appear, however, to have been brought there by accident, but, on the contrary, they appeared to have belonged in some early and remote age to a clumsy but substantial edifice, which was probably connected with the breastwork still visible on the edge of the voladero on the side of the precipice.
The Mexicans crossed the rocks without difficulty, and soon found themselves before the dark and frowning entrance of the cavern. The chief gave his peons a signal to halt.
"It would not be prudent," he said, "to venture without precautions into this cavern. Prepare your arms, muchachos, and keep your eyes open; at the slightest suspicious sound, or the smallest object that appears, fire. Capataz, light the torches."
The latter obeyed without a word; the leader of the caravan assured himself at a glance that his orders had been properly carried out; then taking his pistols from his belt, he cocked them, took one in each hand, and said to Carnero—
"Take the lead," he said, with a mocking accent; "it is only just that you should do the honours of this place which you so unexpectedly discovered. Forward, you others, and be on your guard," he added, turning to the peons.
The eight men then went into the cavern at the heels of the capataz, who raised the torches above his head, doubtless in order to cast a greater light on surrounding objects.
This cavern, like most of those found in these regions, seemed to have been formed through some subterranean convulsion. The walls were lofty, dry, and covered at various spots with an enormous quantity of night birds, which, blinded and startled by the light of the torches, took to flight with hoarse cries, and flew heavily in circles round the Mexicans. The latter drove them back with some difficulty by waving their muskets. But the further they got into the interior of the cavern, the greater the number of these birds became, and seriously encumbered the visitors by flapping them with their long wings, and deafening them with their discordant cries.
They thus reached a rather large hall, into which several passages opened. Although the Mexicans were a considerable distance from the entrance, they found no difficulty in breathing, owing doubtless to imperceptible fissures in the rock, through which the air was received.
"Let us halt here for a moment," the leader said, taking a torch from the capataz; "this hall, if the cavern has several issues as I suppose, will afford us a certain refuge: let us examine the spot where we are."
While speaking he walked round the hall, and convinced himself, by certain still existing traces of man's handiwork, that at a former period the cave had been inhabited. The peons seated themselves idly on the blocks of granite scattered here and there, and with their guns between their legs carelessly followed their master's movements.
The latter felt the suspicions aroused in his mind by the sudden nature of Carnero's discovery gradually dissipated. He felt certain that for many years no human being had entered this gloomy cave, for none of those flying traces which man always leaves in his passage, whatever precaution he may take to hide his presence, had been discovered by him. All, on the contrary, evidenced the most utter abandonment and solitude, and hence the leader of the caravan was not indisposed to retire to this spot, which was so easy of defence, instead of throwing up an intrenched camp, always a long and difficult task, and which had the inconvenience of leaving men and animals exposed to a deadly climate for individuals accustomed to the heat of the Mexican temperature.
"While continuing his explanations, the leader conversed with the capataz in a more friendly manner than he had done for a long time, congratulating him on his discovery, and explaining his views, to which the latter listened with his usual crafty smile. All at once he stopped and listened—the two men were at this moment at the entrance of one of the passages to which we have referred.
"Listen," he said to the capataz, as he laid his hand on his arm to attract his attention, "do you not hear something?"
The latter bent his body slightly forward, and remained motionless for some seconds.
"I do," he said, drawing himself up, "it sounds like distant thunder."
"Is it not? or, perhaps, the rolling of subterranean waters."
"Madre de Dios! mi amo," the capataz exclaimed gleefully. "I can swear that you are right. It would be a piece of luck for us to find water in the cave, for it would add greatly to our security, as we should not be obliged to lead our horses, perhaps, a long distance to drink."
"I will assure myself at once if there is any truth in the supposition. The noise proceeds from that passage, so let us follow it. As for our men they can wait for us here; we have nothing to fear now, for if the pirates or the Indians were ambuscaded to surprise us, they would not have waited so long before doing so, and hence the assistance of our peons is unnecessary."
The capataz shook his head doubtfully.
"Hum," he said, "the Indians are very clever, mi amo; and who knows what diabolical projects those redskins revolve in their minds? I believe it would be more prudent to let the peons accompany us."
"Nonsense," said his master, "it is unnecessary; we are two resolute and well-armed men; we have nothing to fear, I tell you. Besides, if, against all probability, we are attacked, our men will hear the noise of the conflict, will run to our help, and will be at our side in an instant."
"It is not very probable, I grant, that we have any danger to apprehend; still I considered it my duty as a devoted servant, mi amo, to warn you, because in the event of Indians being hidden in these passages, of whose windings we are ignorant, we should be caught like rats in a trap, with no possibility of escape. Two men, however brave they may be, are incapable of resisting twenty or thirty enemies, and you know that Indians never attack white men save when they are almost certain of success."
These words seemed to produce a certain impression on the leader of the caravan. He remained silent for a moment, apparently reflecting seriously on what he had heard, but he soon raised his head, and shook it resolutely.
"Nonsense! I do not believe in the danger you seem to apprehend; after all, if it really exist, it will be welcome. Wait here, my men, and be ready to join us at the first signal," he added, addressing the peons, who answered by rising and collecting in the middle of the hall.
Their master left them a torch to light them during his exploration, took the other, and turning to Carnero, said, "Let us go."
They then entered the passage. It was very narrow, and ran downwards with a steep incline, so that the two men, who were unacquainted with its windings, were obliged to walk with the most serious attention, and carefully examining all the spots they passed.
The further they proceeded, the more distinct the sound of water became; it was evident that at a very short distance from the spot where they were, perhaps but a few steps, there ran one of those subterranean streams so frequently found in natural caverns, and which are generally rivers swallowed up by an earthquake.
All at once, without being warned by the slightest sound, the leader of the caravan felt himself seized round the waist, his torch was snatched roughly from his hand, and extinguished against a rock, and himself thrown down and securely bound, before he was able to attempt the slightest resistance, so sudden and well calculated had the attack been. Carnero had been thrown down at the same time as his master, and bound.
"Cowards, demons!" the Mexican yelled, as he made a superhuman effort to rise and burst his bonds; "show yourself, at least, so that I may know with whom I have to deal."
"Silence! General Don Sebastian Guerrero," a rough voice said to him, whose accent made him start, in spite of all his courage; "resign yourself to your fate, for you have fallen into the power of men who will not liberate you till they have had a thorough explanation with you."
General Guerrero, whom the readers of the "Indian Chief" will doubtless remember, made a movement of impotent rage, but he was silent; he perceived that the originators of the snare of which he was a victim were implacable enemies, as they had not feared to call him by his name, and more formidable than the pirates of the prairies or the redskins, with whom he at first thought he had to deal. Moreover, he thought that the darkness that surrounded him would soon cease, and then he would see his enemies face to face, and recognize them.
But his expectations were deceived. When his conquerors had borne him to the hall, where his peons were disarmed and guarded by peons, he saw, by the light of the torch that faintly illumined the hall, that among the men who surrounded him few wore the Mexican costume, it was true, but had their faces hidden by a piece of black crape, forming a species of mask, and so well fastened round their necks, that it was entirely impossible to recognize them.
"What do these men want with me?" he muttered as he let his head fall on his chest sadly.
"Patience!" said the man who had already spoken, and who overheard the general's remark, "you will soon know."
There was a short delay, during which the conquerors appeared to be consulting together in a low voice; while doing so, an Indian chief, who was no other than the Jester, entered the hall, and uttered a few words in Comanche.
The general and the capataz were again picked up by the redskins, and at a sign from one of the masked men, transported on to the voladero. The appearance of the terrace had entirely changed during the general's short absence, and offered at this moment a most singular and picturesque scene.
One hundred and fifty to two hundred Indians, mostly armed with guns, and ranged in good order round the terrace, the centre of which remained free, faced the cavern, having among them the disarmed Mexicans, the baggage, horses, and mules of the caravan.
The tent still stood solitary in the middle of what Was to have been the encampment; but the curtain Was raised, and a horseman was standing in front of it, as if to defend the entrance, and protect the precious articles it contained from pillage.
At the moment when the party emerged from the cave, and appeared on the terrace, the horsemen drawn up at the entrance of the defile opened out to the right and left, leaving a passage for a small troop of men dressed in hunters' garb, and whom it was easy to recognize as white men, by the colour of their skin, although it was bronzed and freckled by the sun; two ladies, mounted on ambling mules, were in the midst of them.
This troop of strangers was composed of eight persons altogether, leading with them two baggage mules. As the men were disarmed, and walked on foot amid some fifty Indian horsemen, they had, in all probability, been surprised by a party of redskins, and made prisoners in some skilfully-arranged ambuscade.
The two ladies, one of whom was of a certain age while the other appeared scarce eighteen, and who might be supposed closely related, through the resemblance of their features, were treated with an exquisite politeness they were far from expecting by the Indians, and conducted to the tent, which they were requested to enter. The curtain was then lowered, to conceal them from the glances of the Indians, whose expression, although respectful, must necessarily be disagreeable to them.
The new comers, at a signal from their conductors, ranged themselves with the other prisoners; they were powerful men with marked features, whom the Indians had probably not given a chance to fight, otherwise they looked as if they would sooner be killed than yield.
They displayed neither fear nor depression, but their flashing looks and frowning brows showed that though they silently submitted to their fate, they were far from being resigned, and would eagerly seize the first opportunity to regain the liberty of which they had been so treacherously deprived.
Still, in spite of the determination they had doubtless formed to remain indifferent as to what took place around them, they soon felt themselves interested more than they liked in the strange drama which they involuntarily witnessed, and whose gloomy preparations were of a nature to arouse their curiosity to an eminent degree.
At the base of the rocks several blocks of granite had been arranged in a semicircle, thus forming a resemblance to that terrible Vehmic tribunal, which in olden times held its formidable assize on the banks of the Rhine, before which kings and even emperors were at times summoned to appear, and the resemblance was rendered more striking by the care the assailants took in hiding their features.
Two masked men took their seats on the granite blocks, and the Indians who carried the general laid him on the ground in front of this species of tribunal. The person who seemed to be the president of this sinister assembly gave a sign, the prisoner's bonds at once fell off, and he found himself once more able to move his limbs.
The general drew himself up, crossed his hands on his chest, threw his body back haughtily, raised his head and looked at the men who had apparently constituted themselves his judges with a glance of withering contempt.
"What do you want with me, bandits?" he said; "enough of this; these insolent manoeuvres will not alarm me."
"Silence!" the president said coldly, "it is not your place to speak thus."
Then he remarked to the Jester, who was standing a few paces from him—
"Bring up the other prisoners, old and new; everybody must hear what is going to be said to this man."
The Jester gave a signal to the warriors; some of them dismounted, approached the prisoners, and, after loosening the cord that bound the capataz, they led him, as well as the peons and the prisoners of the second caravan, in front of the tribunal, where they ranged themselves in line. Then, at a signal from the Jester, the horsemen closed up round the white men, who were thus hemmed in by Comanche warriors.
The spectacle offered by this assemblage of men, with their marked features and quaint garb, grouped without any apparent regularity on this voladero, which was suspended as if artificially over a terrible gulf, and leant against lofty mountains, with their abrupt flanks and snowy crest, was not without a certain grandeur.
A deadly silence brooded at this moment over the esplanade; all chests were heaving, every heart was oppressed. Redskins, hunters, and Mexicans all understood instinctively that a grand drama was about to be performed; invisible streams could be heard hoarsely murmuring in the cavern, and at times a gust of wind whistled over the heads of the horsemen.
The prisoners, affected by a vague and undefined terror, waited with secret anxiety, not knowing what fate these ferocious victors reserved for them, but certain that, whatever the decision formed about them might be, prayers would be impotent to move them, and that they would have to endure the atrocious torture to which they would doubtless be condemned.
The president looked round the assembly, rose in the midst of a profound silence, stretched out his arm towards the general, who stood cold and passionless before him, and, after darting at him a withering glance through the holes made in the crape that concealed his face, he said in a grave, stern, and impressive voice—
"Caballeros, remember the words you are about to hear, listen to them attentively, so as to understand them, and not to be in error as to our intentions. In the first place, in order to reassure you and restore your entire freedom of mind, learn that you have not fallen into the hands of Indians thirsting for your blood, or of pirates who intend to plunder you first and assassinate you afterwards. No, you need not feel the slightest alarm. When you have acted as impartial witnesses, and are able to render testimony of what you have seen, should it be required, you will be at liberty to continue your journey, without the forfeiture of a single article. The men seated on my right and left, although masked, are brave and honest hunters. The day may perhaps arrive when you will know them; but reasons, whose importance you will speedily recognize, compel them to remain unknown for the present. I was bound to say this, señores, to you, against whom we bear no animosity, before coming to a final settlement with this man."
One of the travellers belonging to the second caravan stepped forward; he was a young man, with elegant and noble features, tall and well built.
"Caballero," he answered, in a distinct and sympathizing voice, "I thank you, in the name of my companions and myself, for the reassuring words you have spoken. I know how implacable the laws of the desert are, and have ever submitted to them without a murmur; but permit me to ask you one question."
"Speak, caballero."
"Is it an act of vengeance or justice you are about to carry out?"
"Neither, señor. It would be an act of folly or weakness if the inspirations of the heart could be blamed or doubted by honourable and loyal men."
"Enough of this, señor," the general said, haughtily; "and if you are, as you assert, an honourable man, show me your face, in order that I may know with whom I have to deal."
The president shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"No, Don Sebastian," he said, "for in that case the game would not be even between us. But be patient, caballero, and soon you will learn, if not who I am, at any rate the motives which have made me your implacable foe."
The general attempted to smile, but in spite of himself the smile died away on his lips, and though his haughty bearing seemed to defy his unknown enemies, a secret apprehension contracted his heart.
There was a silence for some moments, during which no other sound was audible save that of the breeze whistling through the denuded branches and the distant murmur Of the invisible torrents in the quebradas.
The president looked round with flashing eyes, and folding his arms on his chest at the same time, as he raised his head, he began speaking again in a sharp, cutting voice, whose accents caused his hearers to tremble involuntarily. And yet they were brave men, accustomed to the terrible incidents of a desert life, and whom the most serious dangers could not have affected.
"Now listen, señores," he said, "and judge this man impartially; but do not judge him according to prairie law, but in your hearts. General Don Sebastian Guerrero, who is standing so bold and upright before you at this moment, is one of the greatest noblemen of Mexico, a Cristiano viejo of the purest blood, descended in a direct line from the Spanish Conquistadors. His fortune is immense, incalculable, and he himself could not determine its amount. This man, by the mere strength of his will, and the implacable egotism that forms the basis of his character, has always succeeded in everything he has undertaken. Coldly and resolutely ambitious, he has covered with corpses the bloody road he was compelled to follow in order to attain his proposed object, and he has done so without hesitation or remorse; he has looked on with a smiling face, when his dearest friends and his nearest relations fell by his side; for him nothing which men respect exists—faith and honour are with him but empty sounds. He had a daughter, who was the perfection of women, and he coldly lacerated that daughter's heart; he fatally drove her to suicide, and the blood of the poor girl spirted on his forehead, while he was triumphantly witnessing the legal murder of the man she loved, and whose death he resolved on, because he refused to palter with his honour, and aid this man in the infamous treachery he was meditating. This human-faced tiger, this monster with the mocking, sceptical face, you see, señores, has only one thought, one object, one desire—it is, to attain the highest rank, even if, to effect it, he were compelled to clamber over the panting corpses of his relations and friends sacrificed to his ambition; and if he cannot carve out an independent kingdom in this collapsing republic, which is called Mexico, he wishes to seize, at least, on the supreme magistracy, and be elected president. If this man's life merely comprised this egotistic ambition and these infamous schemes to satisfy it, I should content myself with despising, instead of hating him, and not being able to find an excuse for him, I should forget him. But no; this man has done more—he dared to lay hands on a man who was my friend, my brother, the Count de Prébois Crancé, to whom I have already referred, señores, without mentioning his name. Unable to conquer the count loyally, despairing of winning him over to his shameful cause, he at first tried to poison him; but, not having succeeded, and wishing to come to an end, he forgot that his daughter, an angel, the sole creature who loved him, and implored divine mercy for him, was the betrothed wife of the count, and that killing him would be her condemnation to death. In his horrible thirst for revenge, he ordered the judicial murder of my friend, and coldly presided at the execution, not noticing, in the joyous deliverance of his satisfied hatred, that his daughter had killed herself at his side, and that he was trampling her corpse beneath his horse's feet. Such is what this man has done; look at him well, in order to recognize him hereafter; he is General Don Sebastian Guerrero, military governor of Sonora."
"Oh!" the audience said involuntarily, as they instinctively recoiled in horror.
"If this man is the ex-governor of Sonora," the hunter who had already spoken said, in disgust "he is a wild beast, whom his ferocity has placed beyond the pale of society, and it is the duty of honest men to destroy him."
"He must die! he must die!" the newcomers exclaimed.
The general's peons were gloomy and downcast; they hung their heads sadly, for they did not dare attempt to defend their master, and yet did not like to accuse him.
The general was still cool and unmoved; he was apparently calm, but a fearful tempest was raging in his heart. His face was of an earthy and cadaverous pallor; his brows were contracted till they touched, and his violet lips were closed, as if he were making violent efforts not to utter a word, and to restrain his fury from breaking out in insults. His eyes flashed fire, and then his whole body was agitated by convulsive movements, but he managed, through his self-command, to conquer his emotion, and retain the expression of withering contempt, which he had assumed since the beginning of this scene.
Seeing that his accuser was silent, he took a step forward, and stretched out his arm, as if he claimed the right of answering. But his enemy gave him no time to utter a word.
"Wait!" he shouted, "I have not said all yet; now that I have revealed what you have done, I am bound to render the persons here present judges not only of what I have done, but also of what I intend to do in future against you."
The general shrugged his shoulders with a contemptuous smile.
"Nonsense," he said, "you are mad, my fine fellow. I know now who you are; your hatred of me has unconsciously discovered you. Remove that veil which is no longer of any use; I know you, for, as you are aware, hatred is clear-sighted. You are the French hunter whom I have constantly met in my path to impede my projects, or overthrow my plans."
"Add," the hunter interrupted, "and whom you will ever meet."
"Be it so, unless I crush you beneath my heel like a noxious insect."
"Ever so proud and so indomitable, do you not fear lest, exasperated by your insults, I may forget the oath I have taken, and sacrifice you to my vengeance?"
"Nonsense," he replied, with a disdainful toss of his head, "you kill me? that is impossible, for you are too anxious to enjoy your revenge to stab me in a moment of passion."
"That is true, this time you are right, Don Sebastian. I will not kill you, because, however culpable you may be, I do not recognize the right to do so. Blood does not wash out blood, it only increases the stain; and I intend to take a more protracted vengeance on you than a stab or a shot will grant us. Besides this, vengeance has already commenced."
"Indeed!" the general said sarcastically.
"Still," the hunter continued with some emotion, "as the vengeance must be straightforward, I wish to give you, in the presence of all these gentlemen, the proof that I fear you no more today than I did when the struggle commenced between us. This veil which you reproach me for wearing I am going to remove, not because you have recognized me, but because I deem it unworthy of me to conceal my features from you any longer. Brothers," he added, turning to his silent assistants, "my mask alone must fall, retain yours, for it is important for my plans of vengeance that you should remain unknown."
The four men bowed their assent, and the hunter threw away the crape that covered his features.
"Valentine Guillois!" the general exclaimed; "I was sure of it."
On hearing this celebrated name, the hunters of the second caravan made a movement as if to rush forward, impelled either by curiosity or some other motive.
"Stay," the Frenchman shouted, stopping them by a quick wave of the hand, "let me finish with this man first."
They fell back with a bow.
"Now," he continued, "we are really face to face. Well, listen patiently to what still remains for me to tell you; and, perhaps, the assumed calmness spread over your features will melt away before my words, like the snow in the sunshine."
"I will listen to you, because it is impossible for me to do otherwise at this moment; but if you flatter yourself that you will affect me in any way, I am bound to warn you that you will not succeed. The hatred I feel for you is so thoroughly balanced by the contempt you inspire me with, that nothing which emanates from you can move me in the slightest degree."
"Listen then," the hunter coldly continued; "when my unhappy friend fell at Guaymas, in my paroxysm of grief I allow that I intended to kill you; but reflection soon came, and I saw that it would be better to let you live. Thanks to me, one week after the count's death, the Mexican Government, not satisfied with disavowing your conduct publicly, deprived you of your command, without inquiry, and refused, in spite of your remonstrances, to explain to you the motives of their conduct."
"Ah, ah," the general said, in a hissing but suppressed voice, "it was to you, then, that I owe my recall?"
"Yes, general, to me alone."
"I am delighted to hear it."
"You remained, then, in Sonora, without power or influence, hated and despised by all, and marked on your forehead with that indelible brand which God imprinted on Cain, the first murderer; but Mexico is a blessed country, where ambitious men can easily fish in troubled waters, when, like yourself, they are not restrained by any of those bonds of honour, which too often fetter the genius of honest men. You could not remain long bowed beneath the blow that had fallen on you, and you made up your mind in a few days. You resolved to leave Sonora and proceed to Mexico, where, thanks to your colossal fortune, and the influence it would necessarily give you, you could carry on your ambitious projects; by changing the scene, you hoped to cast the scandalous acts of which you had been guilty into oblivion. Your preparations were soon made—listen attentively, general, to this, for I assure you that I have reached the most interesting part of my narration."
"Go on, go on, señor," he replied carelessly, "I am listening to you attentively; do not fear that I shall forget one of your words."
"In spite of your affected indifference, señor, I will go on. As you fancied, for certain reasons which to is unnecessary to remind you of, that your enemies might try to lay some ambush for you, during the long journey you were obliged to perform from Hermosillo to Mexico, you thought it necessary to take the following precautions, the inutility of some of which I presume that you have recognized by this time. While, for the purpose of deceiving your enemies, you started in disguise, and only accompanied by a few men, for California, in order to return to Mexico across the Rocky Mountains; while you gave questioners the fullest details of the road, you pretended to follow, with your men—your real object was quite different. The man in whom you placed your confidence, Don Isidro Vargas, a veteran of your War of Independence, who had known you when a child, and whom you had converted into your tool, took the shortest, and, consequently, most direct route for the capital, having with him not only twelve mules loaded with gold and silver, the fruit of your plunder during the period of your command, but a more precious article still, the body of your unhappy daughter, which you had embalmed, and which the captain had orders to inter with your ancestors at your Hacienda del Palmar, which you left so long ago, and to which you will, in all probability, never return. Your object in acting thus was not only to divert attention from your ill-gotten riches, but also to attract your enemies after yourself. Unfortunately or fortunately, according as we regard the matter, I am an old hunter so difficult to deceive that my comrades gave me long ago the glorious title of the Trail-hunter, and hence, while everybody else was forming speculations about you, I alone was not deceived, and guessed your plan."
"Still, your presence here gives a striking denial to the assertion," the general interrupted him, ironically.
"You think so, señor, and that proves that you are not thoroughly acquainted with me yet; but patience, I hope that you will, ere long, appreciate me better. Moreover you have not reflected on the time that has elapsed since your departure from Hermosillo."
"What do you mean?" the general asked, with a sudden start of apprehension.
"I mean that before attacking you, I resolved to settle matters first with the captain."
"Ah!"
"Well, general, it is my painful duty to inform you that four days after he left Pitic, our brave friend Don Isidro, although an old and experienced soldier, well versed in war stratagems, fell into an ambuscade resembling the one into which you fell today, with this exception——."
"What exception?" the general asked, with greater interest than he would have liked to display, for he was beginning to fear a catastrophe.
"My men were so imprudent," the hunter continued, ironically, "as to leave the captain the means of defending himself. The result was that he died, bravely fighting to save the gold you had intrusted to him, and, before all, the coffin containing your daughter's corpse."
"Well, and I presume you plundered the caravan, and carried off the gold and silver?" he asked, contemptuously.
"You would most probably have acted thus under similar circumstances, Don Sebastian," the hunter answered, giving him back insult for insult; "but I thought it my duty to act differently. What could you expect? I, a coarse, uneducated hunter, do not know how to plunder, for I did not learn it when I had the honour to serve my own country, and I never stood under your orders in Mexico. This is what I did: so soon as the captain and the peons he commanded were killed—for the poor devils, I must do them the justice of saying, offered a desperate resistance—I myself, you understand, friend, I myself conveyed the money to your Hacienda del Palmar, where it now remains in safety, as you can easily assure yourself if you ever return to Palmar."
The general breathed again, and smiled ironically. "Instead of blaming you, señor," he said, "I, on the contrary, owe you thanks for this chivalrous conduct, especially toward an enemy."
"Do not be in such an hurry to thank me, caballero," the hunter answered; "I have not told you all yet."
These words were uttered with such an accent of gratified hatred, that all the hearers, the general included, shuddered involuntarily, for they understood that the hunter was about to make a terrible revelation, and that the calmness he feigned concealed a tempest.
"Ah," Don Sebastian murmured, "speak, I implore you, señor, for I am anxious to know all the obligations I owe you."
"Captain Don Isidro Vargas not only escorted the money I had conveyed to Palmar," he said in a sharp, quick voice, "but there was also a coffin. Well, general, why do you not ask me what has become of that coffin?"
An electric shock ran through the audience on hearing the ironical question so coldly asked by the hunter, whose eye, implacably fixed on the general, seemed to flash fire.
"What!" Don Sebastian exclaimed, "I can hardly think that you have committed sacrilege?"
Valentine burst into a loud and sharp laugh. "Your suppositions ever go beyond the object. I commit sacrilege, oh, no! I loved the poor girl too dearly when alive to outrage her after death. No, no, the betrothed of my friend is sacred to me; but as, in my opinion, the assassin can have no claim to the body of his victim, and you are morally your daughter's murderer, I have robbed you of this body, which you are not worthy to have, and which must rest by the side of him for whom she died."
There was a moment's silence. The general's face, hitherto pale, assumed a greenish hue, and his eyes were suffused with blood. Now and then he made superhuman efforts to speak, which were unsuccessful, but at length he yelled in a hoarse and hissing voice—
"It is not true; you have not done this. You cannot have dared to rob a father of his child's body."
"I have done it, I tell you," the hunter said coldly. "I have taken possession of the body of your victim, and now you understand me; never shall you know where this poor body rests. But this is only the beginning of my vengeance. What I wish to kill in you is the soul and not the body; and now begone, go and forget at Mexico, amid your ambitious intrigues, the scene that has passed between us; but remember that you will find me in your path everywhere and ever. Farewell till we meet again."
"One last word," the general exclaimed, affected by the deepest despair, "restore me my daughter's body; she was the only human creature I ever loved."
The hunter regarded him for a moment with an undefinable expression, and then said in a harsh and coldly-mocking voice, "Never."
Then, turning away, he re-entered the grotto, followed by his assistants. The general tried to rush after him, but the Indians restrained him, and, in spite of his resistance, compelled him to stop.
Don Sebastian, who was the more overwhelmed by the last blow because it was unexpected, stood for a moment like a man struck by lightning, with pendant arms and seared eyes. At last a heartrending sob burst from his bosom, two burning tears sprung from his eyes, and he rolled like a corpse on the ground.
The very Indians, those rough warriors to whom pity is a thing unknown, felt moved by this frightful despair, and several of them turned away not to witness it.
In the meanwhile the Jester had ordered the peons to saddle the horses and load the mules. The general was placed by two servants on a horse, without appearing to notice what was done to him, and a few minutes later the caravan left the Fort of the Chichimèques, and passed unimpeded through the silent ranks of the Indians, who bowed as it passed.
"When the Mexicans had disappeared in the windings of the road, Valentine emerged from the grotto, and walked courteously up to the hunters of the second caravan.
"Forgive me," he said to them, "not the delay I have occasioned you, but the involuntary alarm I caused you; but I was compelled to act as I did. You are going to Mexico, where I shall soon be myself, and it is possible that I may require your testimony some day."
"A testimony which will not be refused, my dear countryman," the hunter who had hitherto spoken gracefully answered.
"What!" the hunter exclaimed in amazement, "are you French?"
"Yes, and all my companions are so, too. We have come from San Francisco, where, thanks to Providence, we have amassed a very considerable fortune, which we hope to double in the Mexican capital. My name is Antoine Rallier, and these are my brothers, Edward and Augustus; the two ladies who accompany us are my mother and sister, and if you know nobody in Mexico, come straight to me, sir, and you will be received, not only as a friend, but as a brother."
The hunter pressed the hand his countryman offered him.
"As this is the case," he said, "I will not let you go alone, for these mountains are infested by bandits of every description, whom you may not escape, but with my protection you can pass anywhere."
"I heartily accept the offer; but why do you not come with us to Mexico?"
"That is impossible for the present," the hunter answered pensively; "but be at your ease. I shall not fail to demand the fulfilment of your promise."
"You will be welcome, friend, for we have been acquainted for a long time, and we know that you have ever honourably represented France in America."
Two hours later the Fort of the Chichimèques had returned to its usual solitude; white men and Indians had abandoned it for ever.