[1] Cherished one of my heart.
The persons collected in Don Miguel's tent could not repress a movement of surprise, almost of terror, at the sudden appearance of Brighteye, pale, bleeding, and with disordered garments. The hunter had stopped in the entrance of the tent, tottering, and looking around with haggard eyes, while his face gradually assumed an expression of sorrow and profound discouragement. All these men, accustomed to the incessantly changing life of the desert, whose courage, incessantly put to the rudest trials, was surprised at nothing, felt themselves, however, shudder, and a foreboding of misfortune.
Brighteye still remained motionless and dumb. Don Miguel was the first to recall his presence of mind, and succeeded in regaining sufficient mastery over himself to address the newcomer. "What is the matter, Brighteye?" he asked him in a voice which he tried in vain to render firm; "of what sad news are you the bearer?"
The Canadian passed his hand several times over his damp forehead, and, after casting a last suspicious glance around him, he at length found courage to reply in a low and inarticulate voice—"I have terrible news to announce."
The adventurer's heart beat audibly; still, he mastered his emotion, and said in a calm voice, with a sigh of resignation—"It will be welcome, for we can hear nothing from you which is not so. Speak, then, my friend, we are listening to you."
Brighteye hesitated, a feverish flush mounted over his face; but, making a supreme effort, he said, "I have betrayed you—betrayed you like a coward."
"You!" they all exclaimed, unanimously, in denial, and shrugging their shoulders.
"Yes, I!"
These two words were uttered in the tone of a man whose resolution is definitely formed, and who loyally accepts the responsibility of an act which he recognises in his heart as culpable.
His hearers regarded him in stupor. "Hum!" Marksman muttered, shaking his head sorrowfully; "there is something incomprehensible in all this. Leave it to me to find it out," he continued, addressing Don Miguel, who seemed preparing to address fresh questions to the hunter. "I know how to make him speak."
The adventurer consented with a mute sign, and then fell back on his bed, while bending an interrogatory glance on the Canadian.
Marksman quitted the spot he had hitherto occupied, and walking up to Brighteye, laid his hand on his shoulder. The Canadian quivered at this friendly touch, and looked sorrowfully at the old hunter. "By Jove!" the latter said, with a smile, "deuce take me if our ears were not tingling just now! Come, Brighteye, old comrade, what is the matter? Why this terrified look, as if the sky was on the point of falling on our heads! What means this pretended treachery of which you accuse yourself, and whose flagrant impossibility I guarantee; I, who have known you these forty years?"
"Do not pledge yourself so for me, brother," Brighteye answered, in a hollow voice; "I have broken the law of the prairies. I have betrayed you, I tell you."
"But, in the devil's name, explain yourself! You cannot have bargained to our injury with those Apache dogs, our enemies? Such a supposition would be ridiculous."
"I have done worse."
"Oh! oh! What, then?"
"I have—" Brighteye hesitated.
"What?"
Don Mariano suddenly interposed. "Silence!" he said, in a firm voice, "I guess what you have done, and thank you for it. To me it belongs to justify you in the sight of our friends, so let me do so."
All eyes were curiously turned on the gentleman.
"Caballeros," he continued, "this worthy man accuses himself of treachery towards you, because he consented to do me an immense service. In a word, he has saved my brother."
"Can it be possible?" Don Miguel passionately exclaimed.
Brighteye bowed in affirmation.
"Oh!" the adventurer said, "wretched man, what have you done?"
"I would not be a fratricide," Don Mariano nobly answered.
This word burst like a bombshell amid these lion-hearted men. They let their heads sink instinctively, and quivered involuntarily.
"Do not reproach this honest hunter," Don Mariano continued, "with having saved that wretch. Has he not been sufficiently punished? The lesson has been too rude for him not to profit by it. Forced to allow his defeat, bowed beneath shame and remorse, he is now wandering alone and without help beneath the omnipotent eye of God, who, when his hour arrives, will inflict on him the chastisement for his crimes. Now, Don Estevan is no longer an object of alarm to us; we shall never meet him again on our path."
"Stop!" Brighteye shouted, vehemently; "were it as you state, I should not reproach myself so greatly for having consented to obey you. No, no, Don Mariano, I ought to have refused. When the serpent is dead, the venom is dead also! Do you know what this man did? So soon as he was free, thanks to me, immediately forgetting that I was his saviour, he treacherously tried to deprive me of the life I had just restored him. Look at the gaping wound on my skull," he added, suddenly raising the bandage that surrounded his head, "here is the proof of his gratitude he left me on separating from me."
All present uttered an exclamation of horror.
Brighteye then narrated, in their fullest detail, the events which had occurred. The hunters listened attentively. When his story was ended, there was a moment of silence.
"What is to be done?" Don Miguel muttered, sorrowfully. "All must be begun afresh. There is no lack of villains on the prairie with whom this man can come to an understanding."
Don Mariano, overwhelmed by what he had just heard, remained gloomy and silent, taking no part in the discussion, recognizing in his heart the fault he had committed, but not feeling the courage to avow it, and thus assume the immense responsibility of the sentence passed by the wood rangers.
"We must come to an end of this," Marksman said, "moments are precious. Who knows what that villain is doing while we are consulting? Let us raise the camp as speedily as possible, and proceed to those maidens, for they must be saved in the first place. As for ourselves, we shall be able to foil the scoundrel's machinations, when aimed directly at ourselves."
"Yes," Don Miguel exclaimed, "let us start. Heaven grant that we arrive in time."
And forgetting his weakness and wounds, the adventurer rose boldly. Brighteye stopped him. The old hunter, freed from the burthen that weighed so heavily on his conscience, had regained all his boldness and freedom of mind.
"Permit me," he said, "to have to deal with a powerful foe. Let us not act lightly, or let ourselves be deceived this time. Hear what I propose."
"Speak," Don Leo answered.
"From what I know of this unhappy story, you, Don Miguel, aided by my old companion, Marksman, have hidden these young girls in a place where you suppose them safe from the attack of your enemy."
"Yes," the adventurer answered, "except by treachery."
"We must always suspect treachery as possible in the desert," the hunter went on, roughly; "you have a proof of it before you; hence redouble your prudence. Don Miguel and his Cuadrilla will, guided by us, set out immediately in pursuit of Don Stefano. Believe me, the most important thing for us is to secure the person of our enemy, and, by heavens, I swear to do all humanly possible to catch him. I have a terrible account to settle with him now," he added, with an expression of concentrated hatred which no one misunderstood.
"But the young ladies?" Don Leo exclaimed.
"Patience! Don Miguel; if you possessed as much strength as good will, I should have reserved for you the honour of going to seek them in the asylum you so judiciously selected for them; but that task will be too rude for you; leave to Marksman, then, the care of carrying it out, and be assured he will give you a good account of it."
Don Leo de Torres remained for a moment gloomy and thoughtful. Marksman took his hand, and pressed it warmly. "Brighteye's advice is good," he said; "under the present circumstances, it is the only plan we can follow; we must play a game of trickery with our adversaries, in order to foil their villainy. Leave that to me; I have not been christened 'The Scout' in vain. I swear to you, on my life, that I will bring the two maidens back to you."
The adventurer breathed a sigh. "Do as you think proper," he said, in a sorrowful voice, "as I am quite powerless."
"Good, Don Leo!" Don Mariano exclaimed; "I perceive that your intentions are truly honourable, and I thank you for your self-denial. As for you, my worthy friend," he said, turning to Marksman, "though I am old, and but little accustomed to desert life, I will accompany you."
"Your desire is just, señor, and I have no right to oppose it, as it is your daughter I am going to try and save; the fatigue you will endure, and the perils you incur during this expedition, will add to the happiness you experience in embracing your daughter, when I have succeeded in restoring her to you."
"Now," Brighteye said, "do you, Marksman, who know the direction you are about to follow, give us a place of meeting, where we can assemble again when each of us has accomplished his allotted task."
"That is important," the Canadian answered; "it would be even as well if a detachment from Don Miguel's Cuadrilla were to proceed directly to the meeting place we select, in order that, in the event of a mishap, each band can find succour or support there."
"Fifteen of my most resolute men shall go at once to encamp at the spot you select, Marksman," Don Miguel said, "in order to be ready to go wherever their presence is necessary."
"We are carrying on regular warfare; do not forget that; hence we must neglect no precaution. Ruperto, who is an old buffalo hunter, will, with your permission, Don Miguel, take the command of this party, and proceed to Amaxtlan."[1]
"Oh, I know the spot well," Ruperto interrupted; "I have often hunted beaver and otter there."
"That is all right," Marksman continued. "Now, whatever happens, we must all be at the appointed place this day month, except through a grave impediment, and, in that case, the detachment missing will send a scout to Ruperto, in order to inform him of the cause of its delay. Is that agreed?"
"Yes," his auditors answered.
"But," Don Miguel added, "I suppose that you will not go alone with Don Mariano?"
"No; I shall also take Domingo, who, for certain reasons known to myself, I shall not be sorry to have constantly under my hand. Don Mariano's two servants will also follow me; they are brave and devoted. I need no more people."
"They are very few," Don Leo remarked.
The old hunter smiled in a peculiar way. "The less We are, the better it will be," he said, "for the dangerous enterprise we meditate; our little band will pass invisible, where a larger party would be stopped; trust to me for that."
"I have one more word to add."
"Say it."
"Succeed!"
The Canadian smiled again, but this time with an expression of tender pity. "I shall succeed," he answered, simply, as he forcibly pressed the hand his friend offered him.
The two men understood one another. Don Leo then left the tent.
Soon all was bustle in the camp. The Gambusinos were busily engaged in destroying the entrenchments, loading the waggons, and saddling the horses; in short, everybody made preparations for a hurried departure.
"Did you not tell me, Marksman," asked Brighteye, "that you were picked up by Flying Eagle?"
"Yes," the other answered.
"Did the Chief leave you at once, then?"
"No; he followed me to the camp, and so did Eglantine."
"Heaven be praised! He will accompany me on my expedition; he is a brave and experienced warrior; his help, I believe, will be very necessary to the success of my plans. Where is he?"
"A few steps off; let us go and find him, for I have also something to say to him."
The two hunters left the camp together. They soon perceived Flying Eagle, squatting by a fire, and calmly smoking his Indian calumet; his wife sat motionless by his side, anxious to satisfy his slightest wish. On seeing the hunters, the Chief took the pipe from his mouth, and saluted them courteously.
Brighteye knew that the Comanche had taken several measurements of the footsteps left by Don Estevan on his flight, and he wished to ask the Chief for them, as he hoped to employ them in following his enemy's trail. The Indian gave them to him without the slightest hesitation. The hunter placed them carefully in his bosom, with a nod of satisfaction. "Eh!" he muttered to himself. "This will enable me to find one end of the trail; with the help of heaven, I hope that I shall soon hold the other."
In the meanwhile, Marksman had seated himself by Flying Eagle's side.
"Does my red brother still intend to return to his tribe?" he asked him.
"The Sachem has been absent for a long time," the Indian answered; "his sons are anxious to see him."
"Good!" the hunter said; "it should be so. Flying Eagle is a renowned Chief; his sons have need of him."
"The Comanches are too wise to notice the absence of a warrior."
"My brother is modest; but his heart flies toward the village of his fathers."
"Are not all men the same?"
"That is true; the feeling of one's country is innate in the heart of man."
"The Palefaces are raising their camp."
"Yes."
"Are they returning to the side of the great Salt Lake, into their stone villages?"
"No; they are starting for a great buffalo hunt in the prairies, down by the endless river with the golden waves."
"Wah!" the Chief said, with a certain degree of emotion; "then many moons will pass ere I see my brother again."
"Why so, Chief?"
"Does not the great Pale hunter accompany his brothers?"
"No!" Marksman answered, laconically.
"Och! my brother must be laughing. What will the Palefaces do, if he does not accompany them?"
"I am going in the direction of the sun!"
The Indian started, and fixed a piercing glance on the speaker. "The direction of the sun," he said, as if speaking to himself.
"Yes," Marksman continued; "to the evergreen prairies of the country of Acatlan,[2] on the banks of the fair streams of Atonatiah."[3]
The Chief started violently. Marksman remained calm, and apparently indifferent, although he attentively followed the various emotions which contracted the Chief's features, in spite of the mask he tried to draw over them. "My brother is wrong," he said, presently.
"Why so?"
"My brother is ignorant that this land of which he speaks is sacred. Never has the foot of a white man trodden it with impunity."
"I know it," the hunter answered, carelessly.
"My brother knows it, and persists in going there?"
"Yes."
There was a silence of several moments' duration between the two men, the Indian hastily puffing the smoke from his calumet, a prey to an emotion he could not master. At length he spoke again. "Every man has his destiny," he said, in that sententious tone peculiar to the Indians. "My brother doubtless attaches a great importance to this journey."
"An immense importance, Chief; I am going to that country, though perfectly aware of the perils that await us, for interests of value, and impelled by a will more powerful than my own."
"Good! I do not ask my brother's secrets. The heart of a man is his own; he alone must read in it. Flying Eagle is a powerful Sachem; he also follows that road; he will protect his Pale brother, if the hunter's intentions are pure."
"They are so."
"Wah! my brother has the word of a Chief; I have spoken." After uttering these words, the Indian took up his calumet again, and began smoking silently. Marksman was too conversant with the Indian manners to press him further. He rose, with joy in his heart at having succeeded in obtaining an ally so powerful as the Comanche Chief, and he went in all haste to make the preparations for departure.
For their part, during the conversation we have reported, the Gambusinos had not remained inactive. Don Miguel or Don Leo, whichever it pleases the reader to call him, had so urged on his men, that everything was ready,—waggons loaded and horsed, and the riders mounted, with rifle on thigh, only awaited the signal for setting out. Don Miguel selected from his band fifteen old Gambusinos, practised in Indian tricks, and in whom he believed he could trust. He said a few words to them, explanatory of his intentions, and placed them under Ruperto's command, with orders to obey him as they would himself. The Gambusinos swore to do so. This duty accomplished, he summoned Domingo. The Gambusino came up to his Chief with that cunningly indolent manner familiar to him, and waited respectfully for his orders. When Domingo learned what was expected from him, he was in no way flattered by the confidential commission his Chief gave him, especially as he was not at all anxious to be under the immediate supervision of Marksman, whose peering glance incessantly occasioned him a nervous tremor, and whose assiduous watchfulness was most disagreeable to him. Still, as it was impossible openly to disobey Don Miguel, the worthy Gambusino made up his mind for the worst, making himself a secret promise to keep on his guard, and double his prudence.
When Don Miguel had completed all the duties of a wise and intelligent Chief, he mounted his horse, though with difficulty, owing to the weakness occasioned by his wounds. He placed himself at the head of his band, to the right of Brighteye, and after giving a parting salutation to Don Mariano and Marksman, he ordered his men to start. The two parties set out immediately, that led by Ruperto turning to the left, and proceeding toward the mountains, and Brighteye, with his men, temporarily following the course of the Rubio. All now left in the deserted camp were Marksman, Don Mariano, Flying Eagle, Eglantine, the two servants, and Domingo, who followed with a look of envy his gradually disappearing comrades. The old hunter, for reasons he kept secret, did not wish to set out before sunset. Scarcely had that planet disappeared on the horizon, amid floods of vapours, ere the night set in, and the landscape was almost immediately plunged in dense gloom. We have already several times remarked that, in high American latitudes, there is no twilight, or, at least, it is so weak, that night arrives almost without any transition.
Marksman, since the departure of the two first detachments, had not uttered a syllable, or made a movement; his comrades, doubtless for motives resembling his own, respected their Chief's silence; but night had scarcely set in, ere the hunter rose sharply. "Start!" he said, in a quick voice.
All rose. Marksman took an inquiring glance around. "Leave the horses," he said; "they are useless to us. We are not going to begin a journey, but a manhunt. We must be unimpeded in our movements, for the trail we shall follow is difficult. Juanito, you will remain here with the animals, until you hear from us."
The creole made a sign of discontent. "I should have preferred to follow you, and not quit my master," he said.
"I understand that, but I want a courageous and resolute man to guard our horses, and I cannot select a better one than you; besides, I trust that you will not remain alone long. Still, as we do not know what route we shall have to follow, or what obstacles may arise, build yourself a tent. Hunt, do what you think proper, but remember that you must not stir from this place without my orders."
"That is agreed, compadre," Juanito answered; "you can start when you please. If your journey were to last six months, you will be certain to find me here on your return."
"Good," Marksman said; "I reckon on you."
Then he whistled his mustang, which ran up at the summons, and laid its intelligent head on its master's shoulder. It was a noble animal, rather tall, with a small head, but its eyes flashed with ardour; its wide chest, its firm and nervous legs, all denoted the blood horse. Marksman seized the reata which hung from a ring fixed to the saddle, unfastened it, rolled it round his body, and then, giving the mustang a light tap on the croup, watched it depart with a sigh of regret.
The hunter's comrades were provided with their arms and provisions, consisting of pemmican, or buffalo meat, dried and pounded, and maize tortillas.
"Come, let us start," the Canadian said, throwing his rifle over his shoulder.
"A pleasant journey, and happy return," Juanito said, unable to prevent himself accompanying that adieu by a sigh, in which it could be easily read how vexed he felt at being thus left behind.
"Thanks," the adventurers answered.
So soon as they left the camp, they walked in Indian file, that is to say, one behind the other, the second placing his foot exactly in the steps of the first, and the third in those of the second, and so on to the last. The latter, however, as closing the march, was careful to efface, as far as was possible, the traces left by himself and those who preceded him.
Juanito, after looking after them for some minutes, as they descended the mound, at the top of which the camp was, cautiously returned, and seated himself by the fire. "Hum!" he muttered, "I shall not have much fun here, but what must be must be." And with this philosophical reflection, the worthy Mexican lit his cigarette, and began smoking peacefully, while following with interest the blue wreaths fantastically entwined by the evening breeze that rose from the smoke of his Havanah tobacco, whose perfume he inhaled with all the methodic phlegm of a true Indian Sagamore.
[1] The spot where a river divides into several branches.
[2] The country of reeds.
[3] Sun of the water.
In the new world, when people are travelling in Indian regions, and do not desire to be tracked by the Redskins, they must be careful to go to the east, if their business lies in the west, and vice versa; in a word, imitate the manoeuvres of a ship, which, if surprised by a contrary wind, is obliged to tack, and thus gradually approaches the point it wishes to reach. Marksman was too conversant with the cleverness and craft of the Indians not to act in a similar fashion. Although the presence of Flying Eagle was, to a certain point, a guarantee of security, still, not knowing with what Indian tribe accident might bring him in contact, Marksman resolved not to be discovered by anybody, were that possible.
Fenimore Cooper, the immortal historian of the North American Indians, has, in his excellent works, initiated us into the tricks employed by the Tuscaroras, Mohicans, and Hurons, when they wish to foil the researches of their enemies; but, no offence to the numerous admirers of the sagacity of young Uncas, a magnificent type of the Delaware nation (of which he was not, however, the last hero, for it still exists, though sadly, diminished), the Indians of the United States are only children, when compared with the Comanches, Apaches, Pawnees, and other nations of the great western prairies, who may justly be regarded as their masters in every respect. The reason is very simple, and easy of comprehension. The northern tribes never existed in the condition of political powers. Each of them governs itself, separately, and, to some extent, according to its fancy. The Indians composing them rarely ally themselves with their neighbours, and have, from time immemorial, constantly led a nomadic life. Hence they have only possessed the instincts (though highly developed, we grant) of men constantly inhabiting the forests; that is to say, a marvellous agility, a great fineness of hearing, and a miraculous length of sight—qualities, by the way, which may be also found in the Arabs, and generally in all wandering tribes, whatever be the nook of earth that shelters them. As for their sagacity and skill, the wild beasts taught them, and they only had the trouble of imitating them.
The Mexican Indians join to the advantages we have mentioned the remains of an advanced civilization—a civilization which, since the Conquest, has taken refuge in inaccessible lurking places, but, for all that, no less exists. The families, or tribes, regard themselves as the members of one great whole—the nation. Now, the American nations, continually fighting with the Spaniards on one side, and the North Americans on the other, have felt the necessity of doubling their strength, in order to triumph over the two formidable enemies who incessantly harass them, and their descendants have gradually modified what was injurious in their manners, to appropriate those of their oppressors, and combat them with their own weapons. They have carried these tactics so far—which have hitherto saved them, not only from serfdom, but also from extermination—that they are perfect masters in trickery and cunning; their ideas have grown larger, their intelligence has been developed, and they have ended by surpassing their enemies in craft and diplomacy, if we may employ the expression. And this is so true, that for the last three hundred years the latter have not only failed in subduing, but in preventing their periodical incursions, which the Comanches proudly call the Mexican Moon, and during which they destroy everything they come across with impunity.
Can we really regard as savages these men, who, formerly driven back by the dread of fire arms, and the sight of horses, animals of whose existence they were ignorant, and compelled to conceal themselves in inaccessible ravines, have yet defended their territory inch by inch, and, in certain districts, have actually reconquered a portion of their old estates? Better than anyone, we know that there are savages in America, savages in the fullest sense of the term; but they have proved a cheap conquest, and they daily disappear from the earth, for they possess neither the necessary intelligence to understand, nor the energy to defend themselves. These savages to whom we allude, before being subject to the Spaniards or Anglo-Americans, were so to the Mexicans, the Peruvians, and the Araucanos of Chili, owing to their intellectual organization, which scarce elevates them above the brutes. We must not confound this race of helots, who are an exception in the genus, with the great untamed nations whose manners, necessarily alluring, we are attempting to portray here; for in spite of the efforts they make to withdraw themselves from its influence, that European civilization they despise rather through the hereditary hatred of their conquerors and the whole race generally, than from any other motive, surrounds, crushes, and invades them on all sides. Perhaps, before a hundred years are past, the emancipated Indians, who smile with pity at the paltry contests going on between the phantom republic that surrounds them, and the colossal pigmy of the United States which menaces them, will take their rank again in the world, and raise their heads proudly; and that will be just, for they are heroic natures, richly endowed, and capable, under good direction, of undertaking or carrying out great things. In Mexico itself, since the period when that country proclaimed its so-called independence, all the eminent men who have risen either in arts, diplomacy, or war, belong to the pure Indian race. In support of our statement, we will cite a fact of immense significance:—The best history of southern America, published up to this day, was written by an Inca, Garcillasso de la Vega. Is not this conclusive? is it not time to condemn all those systematically absurd theories which insist on representing the red family as a bastard race, incapable of amelioration, and fatally destined to disappear?
Ending here this digression, which is perhaps, too lengthy, but is indispensable for the due comprehension of the facts that follow, we will take up our narrative again, at the point where we broke it off.
After a march of three hours, rendered fatiguing and difficult by the lofty grass, the adventurers reached the skirt of the forest. About midnight, Marksman, after allowing his comrades two hours' rest, started again. At sunrise they reached a species of canyon, or narrow gorge, formed by two walls of perpendicular rocks, and were constrained to march for four hours in the bed of a half dried-up torrent, in which their footsteps fortunately left no mark. During several days their journey over abrupt and desolate mountains was effected with great toil, but did not offer any incident worthy of narration. At length they found themselves again in the region of the tierras calientes; the verdure reappeared, and the heat became sensible. Hence the adventurers, who had suffered extremely from the cold in the lofty regions of the Serranía, experienced a feeling of marked comfort on inhaling the gentle and perfumed atmosphere, in contemplating the azure sky and dazzling sun which had now taken the place of a grey and leaden sky, and the limited, fog-laden horizon, which they had left behind them. Toward the end of the fourth day after leaving the mountains, Marksman uttered a shout of satisfaction, on noticing the skirt of the immense virgin forest, toward which he was marching, rise in the distant azure of the prairie. "Courage, my friends!" he said; "we shall soon obtain the shadow and freshness lacking here."
The adventurers, without replying, hurried their steps, like men who perfectly appreciated the value of the promise made them. Night had completely set in, when they reached the banks of a rather high river, whose vicinity the tall grass had concealed from them, although for some minutes they had heard the continued rustling of the water over the pebbles. Marksman resolved to wait till the next day, and look for a ford. The party camped, but the fire was prudently not lighted. The adventurers wrapped themselves in their zarapés, after taking a scanty meal, and soon fell asleep. Marksman alone watched. Gradually the moon sunk on the horizon: the stars began to dim and go out in the depths of the sky. The hunter, whose eyes fatigue closed against his will, was about to yield to sleep, when suddenly a strange and unexpected sound made him start. He drew himself up, as if he had received an electric shock, and listened. A slight rustling agitated the reeds that bordered the river, whose calm and motionless waters resembled a long silvery ribbon. There was not a breath of air. The hunter laid his hand on Flying Eagle's shoulder; the latter opened his eyes, and gazed at him. "The Indians," Marksman muttered in the Chief's ear. Then, crawling on his hands and knees, he glided down the slope, and entered the water. Then he looked around him. The moon shed sufficient light to let him survey the country for a long distance, but, in spite of the attention he devoted, he could see nothing. All was calm; but he waited with eye fixed, and ear on the watch. Half an hour passed, and the sound which had aroused him was not repeated. However closely he listened, no sound arose to disturb the silence of night. Still Marksman felt certain he was not mistaken. In the desert all sounds have a cause, a reason; the hunters know them, and can distinguish them, being never deceived as to their nature. The hunter was immersed, however, in the water up to his waist belt. In America, if the heat of the day is stifling, the nights, to make up for it, are excessively fresh, and Marksman felt an icy coldness invading his whole body. Tired of waiting, and believing that he was deceived, he was at length preparing to return to the bank, when, at the moment he was preparing to carry out his design, a hard body struck his chest.
He looked down, and instinctively thrust out his hands. He stifled a cry of surprise; what had touched him was the side of a canoe, gliding noiselessly through the reeds, which it parted in its passage. This canoe, like all the Indian boats in these parts, was made of birch bark, detached from the tree by means of boiling water. Marksman examined the canoe, which seemed to be moving without the assistance of any human being, and rather drifting with the current than proceeding in a straight line. Still one thing astonished the Canadian: the canoe was moving without the slightest oscillation. Evidently an invisible being, probably an Indian, was directing it, but where was he? Was he alone? This it was impossible to guess. The Canadian's anxiety was extreme; he did not dare make the slightest move, through fear of imprudently revealing his presence. And yet the canoe was moving on. Resolved to know how it was, Marksman gently drew his knife, and, holding his breath, bent down in the river, and only let the top of his face emerge from the water. What he expected happened: in a moment he saw the eyes of an Indian, who was swimming behind the canoe, and pushing it with his arm, sparkle in the gloom like two live coals. The Redskin held his face on a level with the water, and was looking searchingly around him. The Canadian recognized an Apache. Suddenly the stranger's eyes were fixed on the hunter. The latter; judged that the time had arrived, and bounding with the suppleness and speed of a jaguar, he seized his enemy by the throat; giving him no time to utter a cry of alarm, he buried his knife in his heart. The Apache's face turned black; his eyes were dilated; he struck the water for a moment with his legs and arms; but soon his limbs stiffened, a convulsion passed over his body, and the current bore him away, leaving behind a slight reddish trace. He was dead. The Canadian, without the loss of a moment, clambered into the canoe, and, holding on to the reeds, looked across to the spot where he had left his comrades. The latter, warned by Flying Eagle, had cautiously come up, bringing with them the rifle left by the hunter on the bank.
So soon as they were together again, they freed the canoe from the reeds that barred its passage, and, by Marksman's advice, after embarking, and turning the canoe into the current, they lay down in the bottom. For some time they had been gliding along gently, believing themselves hidden from the invisible enemies they supposed to be concealed around them, when suddenly a terrible clamour broke out, like a thunderclap. The body of the Apache killed by Marksman, after following the current for some distance, had stopped in some grass and dead leaves, exactly opposite an Indian camp, near which the adventurers had passed a few hours previously, not suspecting its presence. At the sight of their brother's corpse, the Redskins uttered the formidable howl of grief we mentioned, and rushed tumultuously toward the bank, pointing to the canoe.
Marksman, seeing himself discovered, seized the paddles, and, aided by Flying Eagle and Domingo, he was in a few minutes out of range. The Apaches, furious at this flight, and not knowing with whom they had to deal, overwhelmed their enemies with all the insults the Indian tongue could supply, calling them hares, ducks, dogs, owls, and other epithets, borrowed from the nomenclature of the animals they hate or despise. The hunter and his companions did not trouble themselves about these impotent insults; they began paddling vigorously, which soon restored the circulation in their limbs.
The Indians then changed their tactics; several long-barbed arrows were shot at the canoe, and several shots were even discharged; but the distance was too great, and the water was only dashed up by the bullets.
Thus the night passed.
The adventurers paddled eagerly; for they had noticed that the river, owing to its countless bends, was visibly drawing nearer to the forest they had so much interest in reaching. Still, believing that they no longer had anything to fear from their enemies, they laid down the paddles for a few moments, to rest, and take a little food.
The day rose while they were thus engaged, and a magnificent landscape was unfolded before the dazzled eyes of the adventurers. "Oh!" Flying Eagle exclaimed, with an expression of surprise.
"What is the matter?" Marksman answered at once, who understood that the Chief had noticed something out of the common.
"Look!" the Comanche said, emphatically, holding his arm out in the direction they had come during the night.
"Virtudieu!" the Canadian shouted. "Two canoes in pursuit of us. Oh, oh! we must make a fight of it."
"Cuerpo del Cristo!" Domingo said, in his turn, with a bound, which almost upset the frail boat.
"What is the matter now?"
"Look!"
"A thousand demons!" the hunter exclaimed. "We are beset."
In fact, two canoes were rapidly coming up in the rear of the adventurers, while two others, starting from, the opposite sides of the river, were pulling ahead of them, with the evident intention of barring their passage, and cutting off their retreat.
"Voto a Dios! these Redskins want to make us dance a singular jaleo" Domingo muttered. "What do you say, old hunter?"
"Good, good!" Marksman replied gaily; "we'll find the music. Attention, comrades, and redouble your energy."
At a sign from him, all the men took up paddles, and gave such an impetus to their canoe, that it seemed to fly over the water. The situation was becoming critical for the whites. Marksman, upright, and leaning on his rifle, coldly calculated the chances of this inevitable rencontre. He did not fear the boats in pursuit, for they were at too great a distance behind, to hope to catch him; all his attention was concentrated on those in front, between which he must pass. Each stroke of the paddle diminished the distance which separated the white men from the Redskins. The hostile canoes, as far as could be judged from a distance, seemed overloaded, and only advanced with some difficulty. Marksman had judged the situation with an infallible glance, and formed one of those daring resolutions, to which he owed the reputation he enjoyed, and which resolution could alone save him and his friends, in these critical circumstances.
Marksman, as we have said, had formed a final resolution. Instead of trying to escape by passing between the two canoes, which would have entailed a risk of being run down, he turned slightly to the left, and paddled straight toward the canoe nearest his own.
The Indians, who did not at first comprehend the meaning of this manoeuvre, greeted him with shouts of joy and triumph. The adventurers kept silence, but they redoubled their efforts, and continued to advance. A sarcastic smile played round the lips of the Canadian hunter. As his canoe drew nearer to that of the Apaches, he noticed that the left bank of the river was indented, and at this moment perceived that this was caused by an islet very near the land, but leaving a sufficient passage for his boat, which would thus avoid a bend again on the pursuing foe. The main point was in reaching the point of the islet before the Indians in the first canoe did so. The latter had at length begun to suspect, if they did not completely guess, the intentions of their intrepid adversary; hence they, for their part, changed their tactics, and altered their steering. Instead of going to meet the Whites, as they had done up to this moment, they suddenly tacked, and paddled vigorously in the direction of the island.
Marksman understood that he must stop their progress at all risks. Till then, not a shot or an arrow had been fired on either side. The Apaches were so persuaded that they would succeed in capturing the adventurers, that they thought it useless to proceed to those extremities. The Whites, on their part, who also felt the necessity of saving their powder in a hostile country, where it would be impossible to renew their stock, had hitherto imitated them through prudence, however much they might have desired to come to blows. Still, the Indian canoe was now not more than fifty yards from the isle. The hunter, after taking a final glance around, bent down to his comrades, and said a few words in a low voice. They immediately laid down their paddles, and, seizing their rifles, rested them on the gunwales of the boat, after putting in a second bullet. Marksman had done the same. "Are you ready?" he asked, a moment after.
"Yes!" the adventurers answered.
"Fire, then, and aim low."
The five shots sounded like one.
"Now to your paddles, and quick!" the hunter said, giving the example, as usual.
Eight arms took up the paddles again, and the light canoe began bounding once more over the water. The hunter alone reloaded his rifle, and waited on his knee, ready to fire.
The effect of the volley was soon visible,—the five shots, all aimed at the same spot, had opened an enormous breach in the side of the Indian boat, just on a level with the water line. Cries of terror and pain rose from the group of Apaches, who leapt into the water one after the other, swimming in every direction. As for the canoe, left to itself, it floated a little way, gradually filled with water, and at length sunk.
The adventurers, believing themselves freed from their enemies, relaxed their efforts for a moment. Suddenly, Flying Eagle raised his paddle, while Marksman clubbed his rifle. Two Apaches, with athletic limbs and ferocious glances, were trying to fasten on the canoe and upset it. But they soon fell back with fractured skulls, and floated down the stream. A few moments later the hunters reached the passage.
Several Apaches, however, had managed to swim to the island: so soon as they emerged from the water, they set out in pursuit of the whites, running along the bank; for want of better instruments, they hurled stones at them, for they could not use their damp rifles, and they had lost their bows and arrows through their sudden plunge in the river.
Though the weapons employed by the Apaches for the moment were so primitive, Marksman recommended his companions to redouble their efforts, in order to escape as soon as possible from these immense projectiles, which, from behind every tuft of grass and elevation of the ground, fell sharp as hail round the canoe,—for the Redskins, according to their habit, took care not to let themselves be seen, through fear of bullets. Still, this situation was growing unbearable, and they must emerge from it. The hunter, who was eagerly watching an opportunity to give his obstinate foes a severe lesson, at length fancied he had found it. He saw, a few yards from him, a tuft of floripondios moving slightly; quickly shouldering his rifle, he aimed, and pulled the trigger.
A terrible yell burst from the medley of floripondios, canaverales, creepers, and aquatic plants which formed this hedge, and an Apache, bounding like a wounded tiger, rushed forward with the intention of seeking shelter behind the tree that grew a short distance from him in the centre of the islet. Marksman, who had reloaded his rifle, pointed it at the fugitive, but raised it again directly. The Apache fell on the ground, and was rolling in the last convulsions. At the same instant a dozen Indians rushed from behind the shrubs, raised the corpse in their arms, and disappeared with the speed of a legion of phantoms.
A sudden calm, an extraordinary tranquillity, succeeded the extreme agitation and irregular cries which had aroused the echoes a few moments previously.
"Poor wretch!" Marksman muttered, as he laid his rifle again in the bottom of the canoe, and seized a pair of paddles; "I am vexed at what has happened to him. I believe they have enough; now that they know the range of my rifle, they will leave us in peace."
The hunter had calculated correctly: in truth, the Redskins gave no further signs of life.
What we say here must not in any way surprise the reader: every Indian understands honour in its own fashion. The Indians hold it as a principle never to expose themselves uselessly to any danger. With them success alone can justify their actions; hence, when they no longer consider themselves the stronger, they renounce, without shame, projects they have conceived and prepared for many weeks.
The adventurers at length doubled the point of the island. The second canoe was already a very long way behind them, as for those they had just perceived behind them, they only looked like dots on the horizon. When the Redskins in the second canoe saw that the adventurers had gained a start which it was impossible for them to pick up, and that they were escaping, they made a general discharge of their weapons,—a powerless demonstration, which injured nobody, for the bullets and arrows fell a considerable distance short of the White men; then they turned back to join their comrades, who had sought shelter on the island.
Marksman and his companions were saved. After paddling for about an hour longer, in order to place sufficient distance between themselves and their enemies they took a moment's rest, and washed the contusions they had received from several stones that had struck them with fresh water. In the ardour of the engagement, they had not noticed the blows, but now that the danger was past, they were beginning to suffer from them. The forest which, in the morning, owing to the constant meanderings of the river, was so far from them, was now much nearer, and they hoped to reach it before night, after a short interruption. They, therefore, took to their paddles again with renewed ardour, and continued their voyage. At sunset, the canoe disappeared beneath an immense dome of foliage belonging to the virgin forest, which the river crossed at an angle. So soon as the darkness began to fall, the desert woke up, and the howling of wild beasts proceeding to the watering places were heard hoarsely echoing in the unexplored depths of the forest. Marksman did not consider it prudent at this hour to enter a strange country, which doubtless contained dangers of every description. Consequently, after pulling for some time, to find a suitable landing place, the hunter gave the order to pull into a point of rock, which jutted out in the water, and formed a species of promontory, on which it was easy to land.
So soon as he stepped ashore, the Canadian walked round the rock, in order to look at the vicinity, and know in what part of the forest they were. This time chance had served them better than they could have dared to hope. After removing, with great pains and minute precautions, the creepers and brambles that choked the path, the hunter suddenly found himself at the entrance of a natural path, probably formed by one of those volcanic convulsions so frequent in this country. On seeing it, he stopped, and lighting an ocote branch, with which he had been careful to provide himself, he boldly, entered the grotto, followed by his companions. The sudden appearance of the light startled a swarm of night birds and bats, which began flying heavily, and escaping in every direction. Marksman continued his progress, not troubling himself about these gloomy hosts, whose lugubrious sports he interrupted so unexpectedly. This grotto was high, spacious, and airy. It was, under the present circumstances, a precious discovery for the adventurers; for it offered them an almost secure shelter for the night against the researches of the Apaches, who assuredly had not given up the pursuit. The adventurers, after exploring the cavern on all sides, and assuring themselves that it had two exits, which secured the means of flight, if they were attacked by too numerous enemies, returned to their boat, drew it from the water, and carried it on their shoulders to the extremity of the grotto. Then, with that patience of which Indians and wood rangers are alone capable, they effaced the least traces, the slightest imprints, which might have allowed their place of debarkation to be discovered, or the retreat they had chosen guessed. The bent blades of grass were raised, the creepers and brambles they had moved drawn together, and after the task was accomplished, no one could have suspected that several persons had passed through them. After this, collecting an ample stock of dead wood and ocote branches, for torches, they reentered the grotto, with the manifest intention of at last taking a little of that rest they needed so greatly. All these preparations took time; hence, the night was already far advanced when the adventurers, after swallowing a hasty meal, at length wrapped themselves in their zarapés, and lay down, with their feet to the fire, and their rifles in their hands. Nothing disturbed their sleep, which was continuing when the first sunbeams purpled the horizon with their joyous tints. It was Marksman who aroused his companions.
Flying Eagle was not in the grotto. This absence in no way alarmed the hunter; he was too well acquainted with the Comanche sachem to fear any treachery on his part.
"Up!" he cried to the sleepers. "The sun has risen; we have rested enough; it is time to think of our business."
In an instant all were afoot.
The hunter was not mistaken: the fire was scarce kindled, ere Flying Eagle made his appearance. The Chief bore on his shoulders a magnificent elk, which he threw silently on the ground, and then seated himself by Eglantine's side.
"On my word, Chief," Marksman said, gaily, "you are a man of precaution; your hunt is welcome; our provisions were beginning to diminish furiously."
The Comanche smiled with pleasure at this remark, but he made no other reply: like all his fellows, the Indian only spoke when it was absolutely necessary.
At a sign from the Canadian, Domingo, who was a first-rate hunter, immediately set to work breaking up the elk. The pemmican, queso, and Indian corn remained in the adventurer's alforjas, thanks to the succulent steaks cut adroitly from the animal by Domingo, and which, roasted on the ashes, procured them a delicious breakfast; the festival was crowned with a few drops of pulque, from which the two Comanches abstained, according to the custom of their nation. Pipes and cigarettes were then lighted, and each began smoking silently.
Marksman reflected on the steps he must take, while Domingo and Bermudez prepared everything for departure; at length, he decided on speaking. "Caballeros," he said, "we have arrived at the spot where our journey really commences; it is time for me to tell you where we are going. So soon as we have crossed this forest, which will not take long, we shall have before us an immense plain, in the midst of which stands a city; this city is called by the Indians Quiepaa Tani; it is one of those mysterious cities in which, since the conquest, the Mexican civilization of the Incas has taken refuge; to that city we are proceeding, for the maidens we wish to save have sought shelter there. That city is sacred; woe to the European or white man who is discovered in its vicinity! I confess to you that the perils we have hitherto incurred are as nothing to be compared with those that probably await us, ere we gain the end we have proposed to ourselves. It is impossible for all of us to dream of entering that city; the attempt would be madness, and only result in our being massacred for no good. On the other hand, we might find it necessary to meet there those devoted companions, who, in the hour of danger, would come to our aid. I have, therefore, resolved on this: Bermudez will proceed to the spot where we left Juanito; then both, leading the horses with them, will join Brighteye's and Ruperto's detachments at the agreed on spot, and guide them here. What is your opinion, Caballeros? Do you approve my plan?"
"In every point," Don Mariano answered, with a bow.
"And you, Chief?"
"My brother is prudent; what he does is well."
"What? I am going to leave you!" poor Bermudez muttered, addressing his master.
"It must be, my friend," the latter answered; "but not for long, I hope."
"Try to remember the road we have followed, so as not to make a mistake in returning," the hunter remarked.
"I will try."
"Eh, old hunter?" Domingo said with a grin. "Why the deuce do you not send me, who am a wood ranger, and have the desert at my fingers' ends, instead of this poor man, who, I feel sure, will leave his bones on the way?"
Marksman gave the Gambusino a piercing glance, which made him blush and look down. "Because," he answered, laying a stress on each word, "friend Domingo, I feel such a powerful inclination toward you, that I cannot consent to let you out of my sight for a moment! You understand me, I suppose?"
"Perfectly, perfectly," the Gambusino stammered; "you need not get in a passion, old hunter. I will stay. What I said was in your behalf; that was all."
"I appreciate your offer, as it deserves," the Canadian answered, sarcastically; "so let us say no more about it." Then he continued, addressing Bermudez, "As we may possibly soon require help, try, on your return, to take a shorter and more direct road. You hear?"
"And understand; be at rest. I am too satisfied of the recommendations you give me, to neglect them."
"A last word. I have told you that it was absolutely necessary, for the success of the difficult expedition we are attempting, that we should find here, in case of need, a strong detachment of resolute men; warn Ruperto to be doubly prudent, and avoid, as far as possible, any meeting, and, of course, any quarrel with the Indians."
"I will tell him."
"Now put the canoe in the water; and good luck."
"Heaven grant you may succeed in saving my poor Niña," the old servant said, with an emotion he could not overcome. "I would joyfully give my life for her."
"Go in peace, my friend," Marksman answered, affectionately. "You have already sacrificed much."
The adventurers then left the grotto, not without first looking round to see there was no danger. A profound silence prevailed beneath the impenetrable forest covert. They then raised on their shoulders the canoe, in which they had placed provisions for the comrade who was about to leave them, and it soon floated lightly on the water. Bermudez took his parting farewell, and then turning away, with an effort, leaped into the canoe, seized the paddles, and went off.
"We shall meet again soon," Don Mariano said, with emotion.
"Soon, if Heaven decree it!" Bermudez answered.
"Amen!" the adventurers piously murmured.
Marksman followed, for a long time, the course of the canoe, and then turned hastily to his comrades. "His is a devoted heart," he muttered, as if speaking to himself. "Will he get there?"
"God will protect him!" Don Mariano answered.
"That is true," the hunter said, passing his hand over his forehead. "I am mad, on my word, to have such thoughts, and, what is more, ungrateful to Providence, which has hitherto watched over us with such, solicitude."
"Well spoken, my friend," Don Mariano remarked. "I feel a presentiment that we shall succeed."
"Well, would you have me speak frankly to you?" the hunter said, gaily. "I feel the same presentiment; so forwards!"
Flying Eagle at this moment laid his hand on the hunter's shoulder. "Before starting, I should like to hold a council with my brother," he said; "the case is grave."
"You are right, Chief; let us return to the grotto; our movements must be combined with the utmost prudence, so that when the moment arrives, we may not commit an irreparable mistake which would hopelessly compromise the success of our expedition."
The Comanche made a sign of assent, and preceding his friends, returned to the cavern. The fire was not yet completely out, but smouldered in the ashes; in a second it blazed up again, and the four men seated themselves gravely round it. The Chief then took his calumet from his girdle, filled it with sacred tobacco, lit it, and after slowly drawing two or three mouthfuls of smoke, passed it to Marksman. The calumet then passed round, without a word being uttered, until the tobacco contained in the bowl was consumed. When nothing remained but the ash, the Chief shook it out in the fire, returned the calumet to his girdle, and addressed Marksman. "A Chief would speak," he said.
"My brother can speak," the hunter answered, with a bow: "our ears are open."
The Sachem, after making his wife a sign to retire out of range of voice, which, according to the Indian custom, Eglantine did immediately, bowed reverently to the members of the council, spoke, as follows.
Flying Eagle, since the commencement of the expedition, in which he had consented to take a share, had constantly played a passive part, accepting, without discussion, the combinations proposed by Marksman, executing frankly and faithfully the orders he received from the hunter; in a word, entirely performing the part of a warrior subordinate to a chief whose duty it is to think for him: hence the new attitude suddenly assumed by the Sachem filled the Canadian with surprise, for he had no notion on what subject the debate was about to turn, and he feared in his heart lest, in the critical situation he was in at the moment, the Comanche intended to leave him to his own resources, or, perhaps, raise obstacles to the execution of his plans. Hence he impatiently awaited the explanation of his ally's strange conduct.
The Chief, still apathetic, rose, and bowing once again, began to speak:—"Palefaces, my brothers," he said, in his guttural and sympathetic voice, "for more than a moon we have been together on the same path, sharing the same fatigue, sleeping side by side, eating the produce of the same chase; but the chief you admitted to share your labour and perils has not, till this day, been allowed to advance so far in your confidence as a friend should do. Your heart has even remained to him closed and covered with a thick cloud. Your projects are as unknown to him as on the first day. The words your chest breathes are and remain to him inexplicable riddles. Is this right? is it just? No! Why did you summon me? Why did you beg me to accompany you, if I am ever to remain a stranger to you? Up to the present I have shut up in my heart the bitterness which your suspicious conduct caused me. Not a complaint rose from my heart to my lips, on seeing myself treated in a manner so ill suited to my rank and the relations I have maintained with you. Even at this moment I would continue to maintain silence if my friendship for you was not stronger than the resentment caused by your ungenerous conduct toward me. We are on the holy land of the Indians; the ground we tread on is sacred; perils surround us, numberless snares are laid for our steps on all sides. Why should I teach you to avoid them, if your plans are not at length revealed to me, and unless I know whether the path we are following is that of war or of hunting? Speak with frankness—take the skin from your heart, as I have done from mine. Enlighten me as to the conduct you intend to pursue, and the object you propose, so that I may aid you by my counsels should that be necessary, and that, being your ally, I should no longer be kept aloof from your deliberations, which is a disgrace to the nation of which I have the honour to be a member, and unworthy of a warrior like myself. I have spoken, brothers. I await your answer, which I am convinced will be such as warriors so wise and experienced as yourselves ought to give."
During the long speech of the Comanche Chief, Marksman had repeatedly given signs of impatience, and, had he not feared making a breach in the rules of Indian etiquette by interrupting him, he would certainly have done so; it was with great difficulty he succeeded in restraining himself and maintaining that apathetic appearance absolutely demanded in such circumstances. So soon as the Chief took his place again, the hunter rose, and after bowing to the audience, he spoke in a firm voice, with these words:—"The Wacondah is great. He holds in his right hand the hearts of all men, whatever their colour may be. He alone can know their intentions and read their souls. The reproaches you address to me, Chief, have an appearance of justice which I will not discuss with you. You may have supposed, from the conduct which circumstances have hitherto constrained me to hold toward you, that I did not grant you all the confidence you so justly desired; but it is not so; I waited till the hour for speaking arrived, not only to explain to you my intentions, but also to claim your assistance and intervention. As you wish me to explain myself at once, I will do so; but, perhaps, it would have been better for you to wait till the forest in which we now are was traversed."
"I will remark to my brother that I demand nothing of him. I thought it my duty to make certain observations to him; if he does not find them just, his heart is good. He will pardon me when he remembers that I am only a poor Indian, whose intellect is obscured by a cloud, and that I had no intention to wound him."
"No, no, Chief," the hunter said quickly; "as we are on this question, it is better to clear it up at once, in order not to have to return to it again, and that nothing may arise between us for the future."
"I am at my brother's orders, ready to hear, if it pleases him, and willing still to wait, if he considers it necessary."
"I thank you, Chief; but I adhere to my first resolution. I prefer to tell you all."
The Comanche smiled cunningly. "Is my brother really resolved to speak?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Then my brother has nothing to add. All that he has to say to me I know. He can tell me nothing more than I have guessed myself."
The hunter could not repress a start of surprise. "Oh, oh," he muttered, "what is the meaning of that, Chief? Why, then, the reproaches you addressed to me?"
"Because I wished to make my brother understand that a friend must hold nothing concealed from another, especially when that friend has been proved for long years, when his fidelity is staunch, and he can be depended on like a second self."
The hunter smiled slightly, but at once regained his gravity. "Thanks for the lesson you give me, Chief," he said, holding out his hand cordially. "I deserve it, for I really failed in my confidence to you. The service I expect from you is so important for us that I put off daily asking it of you, and, in spite of myself, I confess I should probably not have made up my mind till the very last moment."
"I know it," the Comanche said, his good temper entirely restored.
"Still," the hunter continued, "in spite of the assurance that you know my plans, it would be, perhaps, as well for me to enter into certain details of which you are ignorant."
"I repeat to my brother that I know all. Flying Eagle is one of the first Chiefs of his nation; he has a quick ear and a piercing sight. For nearly two moons he has not left the great Pale warrior; during that period many events have happened, many words have been spoken before him. The Chief has seen, he has heard, and all is as clear in his mind as if these things had been drawn for him on one of those collars which the white men know so well how to make, and some of which he has seen in the hands of the Chief of the Prayer."
"However great your penetration may be, Chief," the hunter objected, "I can scarcely imagine you are so well acquainted with my intentions as you suppose."
"Not only do I know my brother's intentions, but I am also aware of the service he expects from me."
"By Jove! Chief, you will cause me enormous pleasure by telling it to me; not that I doubt your penetration, for the red men are renowned for their cleverness. Still, all this seems to me so extraordinary that I should like to be convinced, were it only for my personal satisfaction, and to prove to the persons who hear us how wrong we white men are in imagining that we are so superior in intellect, when, on the contrary, you Indians leave us far behind."
"Hum!" Domingo muttered, "what you say there is rather strong, old hunter. It is notorious that the Indians are brute beasts."
"That is not my opinion," Don Mariano remarked, "though I know very little of the Redskins, with whom I never entered into any connection before this occasion. Still, since my arrival in these regions, I have seen them accomplish acts so astonishing, that I should not feel at all surprised if this Chief had completely read our plans, as he assures us."
"I think so too," the hunter added. "However, we shall judge. Speak, Chief, that we may know as soon as possible what opinion to form of the penetration you flatter yourself with possessing."
"Flying Eagle is not a chattering old woman, who boasts rightly and wrongly; he is a Sachem, whose deeds and words are ripely meditated. He does not pretend to know more than his brothers, the Palefaces; still, the experience he has acquired serves him in the place of wisdom, and helps him to explain what he sees and hears."
"That is well, Chief. I know that you are a valiant and renowned warrior. Our ears are open; we are listening to you with all the attention you deserve."
"My brother, the great hunter, wishes to enter Quiepaa Tani, where the two white maidens are sheltered, one of whom is the daughter of the Chief with the grey beard. These two women were confided to an Apache Sachem, called Addick. My brother, the hunter, is anxious to arrive at Quiepaa Tani, because he fears treachery from the Apache Chief, whom he suspects of having allied himself with the white man who was hired by the Palefaces to carry off the two women, and make them disappear. I have spoken. Have I truly understood the intentions of my brother, or am I deceived?"
His auditors regarded each other with amazement. The Chief enjoyed his triumph for a moment, and then continued—"Now, this is the service the hunter wishes to ask of the Comanche Sachem—"
"By heavens, Chief!" Marksman exclaimed, "I must confess that all you have said is true. How did you learn it? I know not how to explain it, although I grant we have said enough on the subject in your presence to enable you to guess it; but as for the service I expect from you, if you can tell me that, I will allow you to be the greatest—"
"Let my brother not be rash," the Chief interrupted him, with a proud smile, "lest he should soon take me for an adept of the great medicine."
"Hum!" the hunter said, gravely, "I should not like to swear you are not."
"Och! my brother shall judge. No Paleface has, till this day, succeeded in entering Quiepaa Tani; still my brother wishes, at all hazards, to visit the city, in order to obtain certain information about the two pale virgins. Unfortunately, my brother does not know how to set about his plan, nor how he would succeed in saving the maidens, if he found them in danger. That is why he thought of Flying Eagle. He said to himself that his red brother was a Chief, and must have friends or relations in Quiepaa Tani; that the entrance to the city, forbidden him through his colour, was not so to the Chief, and that Flying Eagle would obtain for him the information he could not obtain himself."
"Yes, that is what I thought, Chief. Why should I conceal it? Am I mistaken? Will you not do that for me?"
"I will do better," the Indian answered. "Let my brother listen. Eglantine is a woman; no one will notice her; she will enter the city unperceived, and obtain the information the hunter needs better than the Chief can. When the moment for action arrives, Flying Eagle will help the hunter."
"By Jove! you are right, Sachem; your idea is better than mine. It is preferable in every respect that Eglantine should go on the discovery. A woman cannot inspire suspicions, and she can learn news better than anyone. Let us start, then, without any further delay. So soon as we have crossed the forest, we will send her to the Tzinco."
Flying Eagle shook his head, and kept his hold of the hunter's arm, who had already risen to set out. "My brother is quick," he said; "let me say one word more."
"Let us see."
"Eglantine will go ahead; my brother will have news sooner."
Don Mariano rose, and pressed the Comanche's hand with emotion. "Thanks for the good thought that has occurred to you, Chief," he said to him. "You have delicate feelings; your heart is noble; it can sympathize with a father's sorrow. Once again I thank you."
The Indian turned away, to conceal the trace of agitation on his face, which, in his idea, was unworthy a Chief, who, under all circumstances, must remain stoical.
"In truth," Marksman said, "the Chief's proposal will make us gain precious time; his idea is excellent."
Flying Eagle made Eglantine a sign to approach him, which she at once obeyed. The Chief then explained to her in his tongue what she was to do, to which she listened with charming grace, standing timidly before him. When Flying Eagle had given her his instructions most fully, and she perfectly understood what was wanted of her, she turned gracefully to Don Mariano and Marksman, and said, with a smile almost prophetic —"Eglantine will learn."
These two words filled the poor father's heart with joy and hope. "Bless you, young woman!" he said; "bless you, for the kindness you show me at this moment, and that you intend to show me."