Many persons imagine that all Indians are alike, and that the men acquainted with the manners of one tribe knows them all. This is a serious error, which it is important to dissipate. Among the Indians, properly so called—that is to say, the aborigines of America—will be found as many differences in language, dialect, &c., as among the nations of the Old Continent, if not more. The number of dialects spoken by the Indians is infinite; the manners of one nation form a complete contrast with those of another living only a few leagues away; and any person who, after travelling for some time in the Far West, asserted that he was thoroughly acquainted with the character of the Indians and their mode of life, would be quite deceived; and more serious still, would deceive those whom he pretended to instruct.
The Indians are divided into two great families: the cultivating Indians—that is to say, those who are sedentary and attached to the soil they till; and hunter or nomadic Indians, who have a great resemblance to the Touaricks of Africa and the Tartars of Asia. The hunting Indians, known asIndios Bravos, inhabit leathern huts, easy of transport from one place to another, and only remain stationary so long as the country supplies them with the necessary forage for their horses, and the game indispensable for the men. The tame Indians, orIndios Mansos, on the other hand, are permanently established at a carefully selected spot; they have built actual houses, in which they shelter themselves and keep their winter provisions. These Indians, though they follow the customs of their fathers, recognise the Mexican laws, obey them ostensibly, are apparent Christians, though they secretly practise all the rites of their old faith; and their chief assumes the title of Alcalde. In a word, they are nearly as much civilized as the majority of the creoles.
The confederation of the Papazos was composed of several nations, combining both Indios Mansos and Indios Bravos. The latter, though harmless, and consequently nomadic, had, in the heart of unexplored forests or the gorges of the Sierra Madre, their winter villages—a collection of huts made of branches, and covered with mud, where, in the event of war, their squaws found refuge, and which served them, after an expedition, to hide the plunder they had made.
The Gilenos, whose powerful nation was composed of one hundred and eighteen distinct tribes, each of which had its private totem or standard, formed the principal branch of the Confederation of the Papazos. The Gilenos are essentially agricultural. At a period which it would be impossible to state with certainty, because the Indians do not write anything down, but trust to tradition, the Comanche nation, which proudly calls itself the "Queen of the Prairies," and asserts, perhaps justly, that it is descended in a straight line from the Chichimeques, the first conquerors of Mexico, was divided into two parts after a council held by the chiefs, for the sake of terminating a dispute that threatened to degenerate into a civil war. One half the nation continued to wander in the immense prairies of the Far West, and retained the name of Comanche. The other tribes settled on the banks of the Rio Gila, gave up hunting for agriculture, while retaining their independence, and only nominally obeying the Spaniards and Mexicans. Eventually they received the name of Gilenos, from the river on whose banks they originally settled. But, although separated, the two divisions of the Comanche nations continued to maintain friendly relations, recognised each other as springing from the same stem, and helping one another whenever circumstances demanded it.
The Gilenos piously preserved the faith of their fathers, maintained their customs; among others that of never drinking spirituous liquors: and never permitted the Mexican Government to establish among them that system of annoyance and rapine under which it mercilessly bows the other Indian Mansos. The Gileno villages are distinguished from all the others by their singular construction, which admirably displays the character of this people. We will attempt to convey an idea of them to the reader.
Stronghand had pointed out to the majordomo clusters of storied houses, suspended as it were from the flank of the hill. But these houses were only built temporarily, and in case of an attack on the village would be immediately destroyed. The hill, doubtless in consequence of one of those natural convulsions so common in these regions, was separated into two parts by a quebrada of enormous depth, which served as the bed of an impetuous torrent. On either side of this quebrada the Indians had built an enormous construction, of pyramidal shape, upwards of two hundred and fifty feet in height. These two towers contained the lodgings of the inhabitants, their granaries and storehouses. More than eight hundred beings, men, women, and children, resided in these singular buildings, which were connected together at the top by a bridge of lianas, boldly thrown across the abyss. These towers could only be entered by a ladder, which was drawn up each night; for as a last and essential precaution, the doors were sixty feet from the ground, in order to guard against surprise.
Nothing could be more curious or picturesque than the appearance offered at a distance by this strange village, with its two massive towers, having ladders for stairs, up and down which people were constantly moving. A few days previously, for greater safety, and to guard the village from a surprise, the chiefs had a trench dug, and a palisade erected, composed of stakes fastened together by lianas. The Indians had taken this precaution, to prevent their horses, on which they especially calculated for the success of the meditated expedition, being carried off by surprise, as so frequently happens on the border.
The travellers were conducted with great ceremony by the chiefs, who had come to receive them at the entrance of the village, to the square, on one side of which stood the "Ark of the First Man;" on the other, "The Great Medicine Lodge, or Council Hut." During the ride the majordomo fancied he saw among the crowd several individuals belonging to the white race, and mentioned it to his comrade.
"You are not mistaken," the latter replied; "several Mexicans reside in the village and trade with the Indians; but that must not surprise you, for you are aware that the Gilenos are mansos. Stay, here is a monk."
In fact, at this moment a stout, rubicund monk crossed the square, distributing blessings right and left, of which the Indians seemed to take but little notice.
"These worthy Frayles," the hunter continued, "lead here a rather monastic life, but in spite of the trouble they take, they cannot succeed in making proselytes. The Comanches are too attached to their religion to accept another; still, as they are too savage to be intolerant," he added, ironically, "they allow these poor monks entire liberty, on the express condition that they do not interfere with them. They have even permitted them to build a chapel, a very poor and simple edifice, in which a few passing adventurers offer up their prayers; for the inhabitants of the village never set foot in it."
"I will go to it," said Paredes.
"And you will act rightly. However, I will do this justice to the four monks who, through a love of proselytism, have confined themselves to this forgotten nook, of stating that they bear an excellent reputation, do all the good they can, and are generally beloved and respected by the population. This praise is the more valuable, because the Mexican clergy do not enjoy a great reputation for sanctity."
"But now that war is declared, what will become of these monks?"
"What do you think? They will remain peacefully, without fearing insult or annoyance. However savage the Indians may be, they are not so savage, be assured, as to make the innocent suffer for the crimes of the guilty."
"Forgive me, Stronghand, if I remark that I notice, with sorrow, in your mode of expressing yourself, a certain bitterness which seems to me unjust. The secret sympathies of an honest man ought not, in any case, to render him partial."
"I allow that I am wrong, my friend. When you know me better, you will be indulgent, I doubt not, to this bitterness which I frequently unconsciously display in my language. But here we are at the square, and other more urgent matters claim all our attention."
The plaza, which the travellers now reached, formed a parallelogram, and rose with a gentle ascent to the foot of the tower on the left of the village. Several streets opened into it, and the houses built on either side of it had an appearance of cleanliness and comfort which is but rarely found in Indian villages; and if this pueblo had been inhabited by white creoles, it would certainly have obtained the title ofciudad. In front of the council lodge stood three men, whom it was easy to recognise as the principal chiefs of the village by their hats of raccoon skin, surrounded by a gold golilla, and the silver mounted cane, like that of our beadles, which they held in their right hand. The Mexicans, among other customs they took from the Spaniards, have retained that of investing the Indian chiefs with authority. This investiture, generally performed by a delegate of the governor of the province, consists in giving them the hat and stick to which we have referred. These three chiefs, therefore, ostensibly held their power from the Mexican government, but in reality the latter had only obeyed the feudal claims of the tribes assembled at this village, by conferring the authority on these men whom their countrymen had long previously recognised as chiefs.
The procession halted before the alcaldes, or, to use the Indian term, the sachems. The latter were men of a ripe age, with a haughty and imposing mien. The eldest of them, who stood in the centre, had in his look and the expression of his features something indescribably majestic. He appeared about sixty years of age; a long white beard fell in snowy flakes on his chest; his tall form, his broad forehead, his black eyes, and his slightly aquiline nose, rendered him a very remarkable man. He did not wear the Indian costume, but that adopted by the hunters and wood rangers; a blue cotton shirt, fastened round his hips by a leather girdle, which held his arms and ammunition, widecalzonerasof deer hide buckled below the knee, and heavy boots, whose heels were armed with formidable spurs, the wheel of which was as large as a saucer.
In conclusion, the personage we have attempted to describe did not belong to the Indian race, as could be seen at the first glance; but in addition, the fine, elegant, nervous type of the pure Spanish race could be noticed in him. The majordomo could not check a start of surprise at the sight of this man, whose presence seemed to him incomprehensible at such a place and among such people. He leant over to Stronghand, and asked him, in a low voice, choked by involuntary emotion,—"Who is that man?"
"You can see," the hunter replied, drily, "he is the Alcalde Mayor of the pueblo. But silence! The persons surrounding us are surprised to see us conversing in whispers."
Paredes held his tongue, though his eyes were obstinately fixed on the man to whom the hunter had ironically given the title of Alcalde Mayor. A little to the rear of the chiefs, a warrior was holding a totem of the tribe, representing a condor, the sacred bird of the Incas. A crowd of Indians of both sexes, nearly all armed, filled the square, and pressed forward to witness a scene which was not without a certain grandeur. So soon as the procession halted, Sparrowhawk dismounted and walked up to the sachems.
"Fathers of my nation," he said, "the Great Bear of our tribe has returned, bringing with him a paleface, his friend."
"He is welcome," the three chiefs answered, unanimously, "as well as his friend, whoever he may be; so long as he pleases to remain among us he will be regarded as a brother."
The hunter then advanced, and bowed respectfully to the sachems.
"Thanks for myself and friend," he said; "the journey we have made was long, and we are worn with fatigue. May we be permitted to take a few hours' rest?"
The Indians were astonished to hear the hunter, a man of iron power, whose reputation for vigour was well established among them, speak of the fatigue he felt. But understanding that he had secret reasons for asking this, no one made a remark.
"Stronghand and his friend are at liberty to proceed to the calli prepared for them," one of the chiefs answered: "Sparrowhawk will guide them."
The two adventurers bowed respectfully, and, preceded by Sparrowhawk, passed through the crowd, which opened before them, and proceeded to the calli appointed for them. Let us state at once that this calli was the property of Stronghand, who inhabited it whenever business or accident brought him to the village. By the order of the chiefs, however, it had been prepared for the reception of two persons. So soon as the travellers reached the calli, Sparrowhawk retired, after whispering a few words in the ear of the hunter. The latter replied by a sign of assent, and then turned to the majordomo, who was already engaged in unsaddling his horse.
"You are at home, comrade," he said to him; "use this house as you think proper. I have to see a person to whom I will introduce you presently. I will, therefore, leave you for the present, but I shall not be absent long."
And without awaiting an answer, the hunter turned his horse, and started at a gallop.
"Hum!" the Mexican muttered, so soon as he was alone, "all this is not clear; did I do wrong in trusting to this man? I will be on my guard."
After installing the majordomo in the calli, Stronghand proceeded through the village, taking an apparently careless glance around, but in reality not letting anything unusual escape his notice. The Indians whom the hunter met addressed him as an old acquaintance; the very women and children tried to attract his attention by their hearty bursts of laughter and their greetings of welcome. For all and for each the hunter had a pleasant remark, and thus satisfied the frequently indiscreet claims of those who pressed around him. Thus occupied, he went right through the village, and, on reaching the foot of the left-hand pyramid, dismounted, threw his horse's bridle to a boy, bidding him lead the horse to his calli, and forced his way with some difficulty through the crowd, whose curiosity seemed to increase instead of diminishing. He walked up to the ladder, and after waving his hand to the Indians, hurried up it, and disappeared inside the pyramid.
This strange building, which was almost shapeless outside, was internally arranged with the utmost care and most perfect intelligence. The hunter, who was doubtless anxious to reach his destination, only took a hurried glance at the rooms he passed through; he went up an internal staircase, and soon reached the top of the pyramid. Sparrowhawk was standing motionless before a cougar's skin hung up in lieu of a door, and on seeing the hunter he bowed courteously.
"My father has not delayed," he said, with a good-tempered smile.
"Has the council begun yet?" Stronghand asked.
"For four suns the elders of the nation have remained without taking rest round the council fire; the arrival of my father was alone able to make them suspend their labours for an hour."
The hunter frowned.
"Cannot I speak to the great sachem for a moment?"
"I cannot give my father any information on that point."
"Good!" the hunter continued, apparently forming a determination. "Has Sparrowhawk no instructions for me?"
"None, but to await Stronghand, and announce his arrival."
"Wah! here I am; my brother's instructions are fulfilled."
Without replying, Sparrowhawk raised the curtain, and allowed the hunter to pass into the council hall.
In a large room, which was entirely destitute of furniture—unless that name can be given to dried buffalo skulls employed as seats—some twenty persons were gravely seated in a circle, smoking a calumet silently, whose mouthpiece constantly passed from hand to hand. In the centre of the circle was a golden brasier, in which burned the sacred fire of Motecuhzoma, a fire which must never go out. According to tradition, the last Emperor of Mexico shared it among his dearest partisans on the eve of his death; and this fire, it is also said, derives its origin from the sun itself.
The presence of this fire in the room, which was generally kept in a subterraneous vault, inaccessible to the sight of the common herd, and which is only shown to the people on grand occasions, proved the gravity of the matters the council had to discuss. Moreover, the appearance of the chiefs assembled in the room had about it something stern and imposing that inspired respect. Contrary to Indian habits, they were all unarmed. This precaution, which was owing to the advice of the principal sachem of the nation, was justified not only by the considerable number of chiefs present, but also by their belonging to various nations. Each tribe of the grand confederation of the Papazos had its representative in this assembly, where were also the sachems of nations ordinarily at war with it, but who, in the hope of a general revolt against the whites, the implacable enemies of the red race, had forgotten their hatred for a season. Here could be seen Yaquis, Mayos, Seris, and even free hunters and trappers, white and half-bred, in their grand war paint, with their heels adorned with wolves' tails, an honorary distinction to which only the great braves have a right.
Thunderbolt, the old man whose portrait we have just drawn, presided over the assembly. On the entrance of Stronghand, all the warriors rose, turned to him, and after bowing gracefully, invited him to take a seat among them. The hunter, flattered in his heart by the honour done him, bowed gravely to the members of the council, and seated himself on the right of Thunderbolt, after handing his weapons to Sparrowhawk, who carried them into an adjoining room. There was a rather long silence, during which the hunter smoked the calumet which had been eagerly offered him. At length Thunderbolt began speaking.
"My son could not arrive at a better moment," he said, addressing Stronghand; "his return was eagerly desired by his brothers. He has come from the country inhabited by our enemies; without doubt he will give us news."
The hunter rose, looked round the meeting, and replied—"I have been among the Gachupinos, I have entered their towns, I have seen their pueblos, presidios, and posts; like ourselves, they are preparing for war; they understand the extent of the danger that threatens them, and are trying to neutralize it by all means."
"The news is not very explicit; we hoped that Stronghand would give us more serious information about the movements of the enemy," Thunderbolt remarked, with a reproachful accent.
"Perhaps I could do so," the hunter remarked, calmly.
"Then why are you silent?"
The young man hesitated for a moment beneath the glances fixed on him.
"The white men have a proverb," he said, at length, "whose justice I specially recognise at this moment."
"What is it?"
"Words are silver, but silence is gold."
"Which means?" Thunderbolt continued, eagerly.
"The most formidable weapon of the white man is treachery," the hunter continued, not appearing to heed the interruption; "they have even conquered by treachery the Redskins, whom they did not dare meet face to face. Questions so interesting as those we have to settle, such serious interests as we have to discuss, must not be treated in so large an assembly ere it is quite certain that a traitor has not glided in among us. So long as merely general questions are discussed this is of slight consequence; but so soon as we discuss the means to be employed in carrying on the war, it is urgent that the enemy should not be warned of the result of our deliberations."
"We cannot act otherwise than we are doing. Yes, and that is why the whites are cleverer than we: so soon as war is declared, they appoint a commission, composed of three members, or five at the most, who have to draw up the plan of the campaign. Why do we not do the same? Nothing is more simple, it seems to me: choose, among the chiefs assembled here, a certain number of wise men accustomed to command; these men will assemble in secret, and decide on the means to be employed in conquering our enemy: in this way, if the Spaniards are informed of our movements, the traitor cannot escape us for long. The other chiefs, and the deputies of the friendly natives and other confederated tribes, will settle in the Grand Council the common interests of the Indian natives, and the terms to be established among them, in order to stifle for ever those germs of discord which frequently spring up from a misunderstanding, and almost always degenerate into sanguinary and interminable quarrels. I have spoken: my brothers will determine whether my words deserve being taken into consideration."
After bowing to the audience, the hunter sat down again, and seemed to be plunged into deep thought. One of the instinctive qualities of the Indian race is good sense. The chiefs, in spite of the circumlocution in which the hunter had thought it necessary to envelop his remarks, had perfectly understood him: they had caught the justice of his reasoning, and the advantage of a speedy decision on a subject so interesting to the entire confederation: they guessed, under the hunter's reticence, a name which, for secret reasons of his own, he did not wish to utter, and hence his speech was greeted with a buzz of satisfaction, which is always flattering to the ears of an orator, no matter the nature of his hearers. Thunderbolt questioned the members of the council by a glance; all replied with an affirmative shake of their heads.
"Your plan is adopted," the chief said; "we recognise the necessity of carrying it out. But this time again we must apply to you to choose the members of the council whom we have to elect."
"Chance alone must decide the solution. All the sachems collected in this hall are great braves of their tribes, and the picked warriors of their nations. No matter on whom the lot falls, the members will behave honourably in the new council."
"Stronghand has spoken well, as he always does, when he is called upon to give his opinion in the council of the chiefs; now let him finish what he has so well begun, by instructing us of the way in which we are to consult chance."
"Be it so: I will obey my father."
The hunter rose and left the hall, but his absence lasted only a few minutes. During this interval the chiefs remained motionless and silent. Stronghand soon returned, followed by Sparrowhawk, who, as he had been ordered by the sachems to keep the door, had not taken part in the deliberations, though he had a right to do so. This chief carried a blanket tied up so as to form a bag.
"In this blanket," the hunter then said, "I have placed a number of bullets equal to that of the chiefs assembled in council: I have taken these bullets from the ammunition bag of every one of the chiefs. I have noticed that our guns are of different bores, and hence some of the bullets are larger, others smaller. Each of us will draw a bullet haphazard; when all have one, they will be examined; and the three chiefs, if you fix on that number, or the five, if you prefer that number, to whom chance has given the largest bullets, will compose the new council."
"That is a simple way, and will prevent any annoyance," Thunderbolt said; "I believe that we shall do well by adopting it."
The chiefs bowed their assent.
"But," the sachem continued, "before we begin drawing, let us first settle of how many members the council shall consist; shall there be three or five?"
A white trapper rose and asked leave to speak. It was a man of about forty years of age, with frank and energetic features and muscular limbs, well known all over the western prairies by the singular name of the Whistler.
"If I may be allowed," he said, "to offer my opinion on such a matter before wise men and renowned warriors—for I am only a poor rogue of a hunter—I would call your attention to the fact that, with a committee whose duties are so serious, three men are not sufficient to discuss a question advantageously, because it is so easy to obtain a majority. On the other hand, five men mutually enlighten each other, by exchanging their ideas and starting objections: hence, I am of opinion that the council ought to be composed of five members. I will add one word: Will the white and half-breed hunters and trappers here present take part in the election?"
"Do they not fight with us?" Thunderbolt asked.
"This is true," the Whistler continued; "still it would be, perhaps, better for you to settle the matter among yourselves; we are, in reality, only your allies."
"You are our brothers and friends; in the name of the chiefs of the confederation. I thank you, Whistler, for the delicate proposal you have made; but we do not accept your offer, for all must be in common between you and us."
"You will do as you please. I spoke for your good; and it does not suit you, say no more about it."
While these remarks were exchanged between the trapper and Thunderbolt, the chiefs had decided that the military commission should be composed of five members. The drawing at once began; each warrior went, in his turn, to draw a bullet from the bag held by Sparrowhawk; then the verification was begun with that good faith and impartiality which the Indians display in all their actions when dealing with one another. On this occasion chance was intelligent, as happens more frequently than is supposed, when it is left free to act: the chiefs chosen to form the committee were exactly those who, if another mode of election had been employed, would have gained all the votes through their talent, experience, and wisdom. Hence, the sachems frankly applauded the decision of fate, and in their superstition, derived from this caprice of accident a favourable augury for the result of the war. The committee was composed as follows Thunderbolt, Sparrowhawk, Stronghand, the Whistler, and a renowned Apache chief, whose name was the Peccary.
When the election was over, just as the chiefs were returning to their seats, Stronghand approached a trapper, who, ever since his entrance, had seemed to shun his eye, and conceal himself, as far as possible, behind the other chiefs. Tapping him on the shoulder, he said in a low but imperative voice—"Master Kidd, two words, if you please."
The adventurer, for it was really he, started at the touch, but immediately recovering himself, he turned his smiling face to the hunter's, and said, with a respectful bow—"I am quite at your service, caballero; can I be so happy as to be able to help you in anything?"
"Yes," the hunter answered, drily.
"Speak, caballero, speak; and as far as lies in my power—"
"A truce to these hypocritical protestations," Stronghand rudely interrupted him, "and let us come to facts."
"I am listening to you," the other said, trying to hide his anxiety.
"This is the point—rightly or wrongly, your presence here offends me."
"What can I do to prevent that, my dear Señor?"
"A very simple thing."
"What is it, if you please?"
"Leave the tower at once, mount your horse, and be off."
"Oh!" the bandit said, with a forced laugh, "Allow me to remark, my dear señor, that the idea seems to me a singular one."
"Do you think so?" the hunter remarked, coldly; "Well, opinions differ. For my part, I consider it quite natural."
"Of course you are jesting."
"Do you fancy me capable of jesting—before all, with a man like you? I think not. Well, I repeat, be off; be off as quickly as possible. I advise you for your own good."
"I must have an excuse for such a flight. What will the Indian chiefs who did me the honour of summoning me to their grand council, and my friends the hunters suppose, on seeing me thus abandon them without any apparent motive, at the very moment when the war is about to begin?"
"That does not concern me; I want you to be off at once; if not—"
"Well?"
"I shall blow out your brains in the presence of all as a traitor and a spy. You understand me now, my master, I think?"
The bandit started violently; his face became livid, and for some minutes he fixed his viper eye on the hunter, who examined him ironically; then bending down to his ear, he said, in a voice choked with rage and shame, "Stronghand, you are the stronger, and any resistance on my part would be mad; I shall go, therefore; but remember this, I shall be avenged."
Stronghand shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "Do so," he said, "if you can; but, in the meanwhile, be off if you do not wish me to carry out my threat!" and he turned his back on the bandit. Kidd gave him a parting look of fury, and without adding a word, left the hall. Ten minutes later he was galloping on the road to the Real de Minas, revolving the most sinister schemes.
Although the chiefs had guessed from Stronghand's gestures what was going on between him and the American bandit, not one of them made the slightest allusion to Kidd's departure, or even seemed to notice it. The Canadian trapper, named Whistler, alone went up to the hunter, and pressing his hand, said, with a coarse laugh—
"By heavens! Comrade, you did not miss your game, but brought it down at the first shot. Receive my sincere congratulations for having freed us of that skunk, who is neither fish nor flesh, and whose roguish face did not at all please me."
"It would please you much less, my good fellow, if you knew him," the hunter replied, with a smile.
"I beg you to believe that I have no desire to form a closer acquaintance with that pícaro; only too many like him may be met on the prairies."
The chiefs had resumed their seats, and the council which had been momentarily interrupted, was re-opened by Thunderbolt. The Indians, though people think proper to regard them as savages, could give lessons in urbanity and good breeding to the members of parliamentary assemblies in old Europe. Among them a speaker is never interrupted by those coarse and inopportune noises for which some M.P.'s seem to possess a privilege. Each speaks in his turn. The speakers, who are listened to with a religious silence, have the liberty of expressing their ideas without fearing personalities, which are frequently offensive. When the debate is closed, the speaker—that is to say, the oldest chief, or the one of the highest position either through bravery or wisdom—sums up the discussion in a few words, takes the opinion of the other chiefs, who vote by nodding their heads, and the minority always accepts, without complaint or recrimination of any sort, the resolution of the majority.
Before going further, we will explain, in a few words, the cause of the dissatisfaction which had induced the Indians to revolt once again against the whites. At the period of the Spanish conquests, the Indians, in spite of the obstinate assertions to the contrary, were happy, or at any rate were, through the intelligent care of the Government, placed in a situation which insured their existence under very satisfactory conditions. It is indubitable that if Spain had retained her colonies for fifty or sixty years longer, she would have gradually succeeded in converting the aborigines of her vast territories, attaching them to the cultivation of the soil, and making them give up a nomadic existence, and adopt the far preferable life in villages.
All Spanish America, both North and South, was covered with missions; that is to say, agricultural colonies, established on a large scale; where monks, in every way respectable, through their complete abnegation of the enjoyments of the world, and their inexhaustible charity, taught the Indians not only the paternal precepts of the Gospel, and their duty to their neighbour, but preaching by example, they became weavers, labourers, cobblers, and blacksmiths, in order to make their docile apprentices more easily understand the way to set to work. These missions contained, at the time of the War of Independence, several hundred thousand Indians, who had given up their nomadic life of hunting, and patiently assumed the yoke of civilization. This magnificent result, obtained by courage and perseverance, and which would have speedily resulted in the solution of a problem declared to be insoluble—the emancipation of the red race, and its aptitude to assume the sedentary condition of a town life, was unhappily not carried further.
When the Mexicans had proclaimed their independence, their first care was to destroy all that the Spaniards had raised, and utterly overthrow the internal governmental system established by them. Naturally, the missions were not exempted from this general overthrow; they were perhaps more kindly treated than the institutions created by the old oppressors. The philosophic spirit of the eighteenth century, when it forced its way into Mexico, was naturally misunderstood and ill appreciated by men who were plunged into the grossest ignorance, and who believed that they displayed the independence and nobility of their character by deadly hatred of the clergy, and abolishing their prerogatives at one stroke. It is true that, by an inevitable reaction, the Mexicans, whose revolution was almost entirely effected by priests, and who, at the outset, displayed themselves as such daring skeptics, ere long fell again, through their superstition, beneath the power of the same clergy, and became more devoted slaves to them than ever.
Unfortunately, the death blow had been dealt to the missions or agricultural colonies, although the Government recognized its mistake, and sought by all means to palliate it. They never recovered, only languished, and eventually the majority of them fell into ruin, and were utterly abandoned by the Indians, who returned to that desert life from which they had been drawn with such difficulty. Nothing is so heart-rending as the sight now offered by these missions, which were once so rich, so full of life, and so flourishing; only a few Indians can be seen, wandering about like ghosts in the deserted cloisters, led by an old, white-haired monk, whom they would not leave, and who had vowed to die among his children.
The Mexican Government did not stop here. Returning to the old errors of the conquistadors, it grew accustomed to regard the Indians as slaves; imposing on them exorbitant tariffs for articles of primary necessity, which it sold to them through special agents, bowing them to any Draconian law, and carrying their injustice so far as to deny them intellect, and brand them with the name ofGente sin razón, or people without reason. The consequences of such a system can be easily comprehended. The Indians, who, at the outset, contented themselves with passively withdrawing, and seeking in the desert the liberty that was refused them, on finding themselves so unjustly treated, and urged to desperation by such insults, thought about avenging themselves, and requiting evil for evil.
Then recommenced those periodical invasions of the Indian borders which the Spaniards had repressed with such difficulty and such bloodshed. Murder and pillage were organized on a grand scale, and with such success, that the Comanches and Apaches, to vex the whites, gave the ironical name of the "Mexican moon" to the month they selected to commit their periodical depredations. The subjected Indians—that is to say, those who, in spite of the constant vexations to which they were victims, remained attached to their villages—revolted several times, and on each occasion the Mexican government succeeded in making them return to their duty by promises and concessions, which were violated and forgotten so soon as the Redskins had laid down their arms. The war, consequently, became generalized and permanent in the Border states of the confederation.
But with the exception of a few invasions more serious than others, the Indians had almost entirely confined themselves to keeping the whites on the alert, when the great insurrection of 1827 broke out, which all but succeeded in depriving Mexico of her richest provinces. This insurrection was the more terrible, because on this occasion the Indians, guided by experienced chiefs, possessing firearms, and carrying out tactics entirely different from those they had hitherto employed, waged a serious war, and insisted on retaining the provinces they had seized. The Redskins elected an emperor and established a government; they displayed a settled intention of definitively regaining their independence and reconstituting their nationality.
The Mexicans, justly terrified by these manifestations, made the greatest sacrifices in order to quell this formidable revolt, and succeeded, though rather owing to the treachery and disunion they managed to sow among the chiefs than by the power of their arms. But this uprising had caused them to reflect, and they saw that it was high time to come to an arrangement with these men, whom they had hitherto been accustomed to regard as irrational beings. Peace was concluded on conditions very advantageous to the Indians and their forces; and the Mexicans, owing to the fright they had endured, were compelled to keep their promises, or, to speak more correctly, pretended to do so.
For several years the Indians, satisfied with this apparent amelioration in the relations between them and the whites, remained peacefully in their villages, and the Mexicans had only to defend their borders against the attacks of the wild or unsubjected Indians. This was a task, we are bound to confess, in which they were not very successful; for the Indians eventually passed the limits the Spaniards had imposed on them, permanently established themselves on the ruins of the old Creole villages, and by degrees, and gaining ground each year, they reduced the territory of the Mexican Government in an extraordinary way.
Still, when the remembrance of the great Indian insurrection seemed to have died out, and the Indios Mansos had apparently accepted the sovereignty of Mexico, the annoyances recommenced. Though at first slight, they gradually became more and more frequent, owing to the apathetic resignation of the Indians, and the patience with which they uncomplainingly endured the unjust aggressions of which they were made the systematic victims. The concessions granted under the pressure of fear were brutally withdrawn, and matters returned to the same state as before the insurrection. The Indians continued to suffer, apparently resigned to endure all the insults it might please their oppressors to make them undergo: but this calm concealed a terrific storm, and the Mexicans would shortly be aroused by a thunderclap.
The Redskins behaved, under the circumstances, with rare prudence and circumspection, in order not to alarm the persons they wished to surprise. They would certainly have succeeded in deceiving the Mexicans as to their plans, had it not been for the treachery of the agents of the Mexican Government, continually kept in their villages to watch them, among whom was Kidd, whom Stronghand had so suddenly unmasked and contemptuously turned out. Still these agents, in spite of their lively desire to make themselves of importance by magnifying facts, had only been able to give very vague details about the conspiracy the Indians were secretly forming. They knew that an emperor had been elected, and that he was a white man, but they did not know who he was or his name. They also knew that the Confederation of the Papazos had placed itself at the head of the movement, and intended to deal the first blow, but no one was aware when or how hostilities would commence.
This information, however, incomplete though it was, appeared to the Mexicans, on whose minds at once rushed the sanguinary memories of the last revolution, sufficiently serious for them to place themselves in a position to resist the first attack of the Redskins, which is always so terrible, and to place their frontiers in such a state as would prevent a surprise—a thing they had never yet succeeded in effecting. The Mexican Government, warned of what was going on by the commandants of the States of Sonora and Sinaloa, the two most menaced of the Confederation, and recognising the gravity of the case, resolved to send troops from the capital to reinforce the border garrisons. This plan, unfortunately, could not be carried out, and was the cause of fresh and very dangerous complications.
It is only in the old Spanish colonies, which are in the deepest state of neglect and disorganization, that such acts are possible. The troops told off to proceed to Sonora, so soon as they learned that they were intended to oppose the Indians, peremptorily refused to march, alleging as the reason, that they were not at all desirous of fighting savages who did not respect the law of nations, and had no scruples about scalping their prisoners. The President of the republic, strong in his right and the danger the country ran, tried to insist and force them to set out. Then a thing that might be easily foreseen occurred: not only did the troops obstinately remain in revolt, but set the seal on it by making a pronunciamiento in favour of the general chosen to command the expedition, and who, we may do him the justice of saying, had been the first to declare against the departure of the troops from the capital.
This pronunciamiento was the spark that fired the powder train. In a few days the whole of Mexico was a prey to the horrors of civil war; so that the governors of the two States, being reduced to their own forces, and not knowing whether they would retain their posts under the new president, were more embarrassed than ever, did not dare take any initiative, and contented themselves with throwing up such intrenchments as they could, though they had quite enough to do in keeping their troops to their duty, and keeping them from deserting. Such was the state of things at the moment we have now reached. This information, upon which we have purposely laid a stress, in order to make the reader understand certain facts which, without this precaution, would seem to belong rather to the regions of fancy than to that of history, as they are so strange and incredible, was reported by Stronghand to the council of the sachems, and listened to in a religious silence.
"Now," he added, in conclusion, "I believe that the moment has arrived to strike the grand blow for which we have so long been preparing. Our enemies hesitate; they are demoralized; their soldiers tremble; and I am convinced they will not withstand the attack of our and the great Beaver's warriors. This is what I wished to say to the council. Still it was not advisable that such important news should reach the ears of our enemies. The sachems will judge whether I have acted well, or if my zeal carried me too far in dismissing from the council a paleface who, I am convinced, is a traitor sold to the Mexicans. I have spoken."
A flattering murmur greeted the concluding remarks of the young man, who sat down, blushing.
"It appears to me," Whistler then said, "that the debate need not be a long one. As war is decided on, the council of the Confederation has only to seek allies among the other Indian nations, in order to augment the number of our warriors, if that be possible. As regards the operations, and the period when the Mexican territory is to be invaded, that will devolve on the military committee, who pledge themselves to the profoundest secrecy about their discussions, until the hour for action arrives. I have spoken."
Thunderbolt rose.
"Chiefs and sachems of the Confederation of the Papazos," he said in his sympathetic and sonorous voice, "and you, warriors, our allies, the moment for dissolving your council has at length arrived. Henceforth the committee of the five chiefs will alone sit. Each of you will return to his tribe, arm his warriors, and order the scalp dance to be performed round the war post; but the eighth sun must see you here again at the head of your warriors, in order that all may be ready to act when the invasion is decided on. I have spoken. Have I said well, powerful men?"
The chiefs rose in silence, resumed their weapons, and immediately left the village, starting in different directions at a gallop. Thunderbolt and Stronghand were left alone.
"My son," the old man then said, "have you nothing to tell me?"
"Yes, father," the young man respectfully answered; "I have very serious news for you."
Before describing the conversation between Thunderbolt and Stronghand, we are obliged to go back, and tell the reader certain facts which had occurred at the Hacienda del Toro, a few days before the majordomo set out for Hermosillo. Mexican girls, born and bred on the Indian border, enjoy a liberty which the want of society renders indispensable. Always on horseback upon these immense estates, which extend for twenty or five-and-twenty leagues, their life is spent in riding over hill and dale, visiting the wretched huts of the vaqueros and peons, relieving their wants, and rendering themselves beloved by their simple graces and affecting goodness of heart.
Doña Mariana, who had been exiled for several years at a convent, so soon as she returned home, eagerly renewed her long rides through forests and prairies, to see again the persons in her father's employ, with whom she had sported as a child, and of whom she had such a pleasant recollection. At times followed by a servant, specially attached to her, but more usually alone, the maiden had therefore recommenced her rides, going to visit one and the other, enjoying her gallop, careless as a bird, pleased with everything—the flowers she culled as she passed, the reviving breeze she inhaled, and smiling gaily at the sun which bronzed her complexion; in a word, she revealed the voluptuous and egotistic apathy of a child in whom the woman is not yet revealed, and who is ignorant that she possesses a heart.
Most usually Doña Marianna guided her horse to a rancho situated about three leagues from the hacienda, in the midst of a majestic forest of evergreen oaks and larches. This rancho, which was built of adobes, and whitewashed, stood on the bank of a stream, in the centre of a field sufficiently cleared to grow the grain required for the support of the poor inhabitants of the hovel. In the rear of the rancho was an enclosure, serving as a corral, and containing two cows and four or five horses, the sole fortune of the master of this rancho, which, however, internally was not so poverty stricken as the exterior seemed to forebode. It was divided into three parts, two of which served as bedrooms, and the third as sitting room, saloon, kitchen, &c. In the latter, the fowls impudently came to pick up grain and pieces of tortillas which bad been allowed to fall.
On the right was a sort of low fireplace, evidently for culinary purposes; the middle of the room was occupied by a large oak table with twisted legs; at the end, two doors opened into the bedrooms, and the walls were covered with those hideous coloured plates which Parisian trade inundates the New World with, and under which intelligent hawkers print the names of saints, to render the sale more easy. Among these engravings was one representing Napoleon crossing the St. Bernard, accompanied by a guide, holding his horse. It bore the rather too fanciful title, "The great St. Martin dividing his cloak with a beggar." A fact which imparts incomparable meaning to this humorous motto is, that the general, far from wishing to give his cloak to the guide, who does not want it, seems to be shivering with cold, and wrapping himself up with extreme care. Lastly, a fewbutacasandequipalescompleted the furniture, which, for many reasons, might be considered elegant in a country where the science of comfort is completely ignored, and the wants of material life are reduced to their simplest expression.
This rancho had been for many years inhabited by the same family, who were the last relics of the Indians dwelling here when the country was discovered by the Spaniards. These Indians, who were mansos, and long converted to Christianity, had been old and faithful servants of the Marquises de Moguer, who were always attached to them, and made it a point of honour to heighten their comforts, and give them their protection under all circumstances. Hence the devotion of these worthy people to the Moguer family was affecting, through its simple self-denial. They had forgotten their Indian name, and were only known by that of Sanchez.
At the moment when we introduce this family to the reader, it consisted of three persons: the father, a blind old man, but upright and hale, who, in spite of his infirmity, still traversed all the forest tracks without hesitation or risk of losing himself, merely accompanied by his dog Bouchaley; the mother, a woman about forty years of age, tall, robust, and possessing marked features, which, when she was younger, must have been very handsome; and the son, a young man of about twenty, well built, and a daring hunter, who held the post of tigrero at the hacienda.
Luisa Sanchez had been nurse to Doña Marianna, and the young lady, deprived at an early age of her mistress, had retained for her not merely that friendship which children generally have for their nurse, and which at times renders the mother jealous, but that craving for affection, so natural in young hearts, and which Doña Marianna, restrained by her father's apparent sternness, could not indulge. The maiden's return to the hacienda caused great joy at the rancho; father, mother, and son at once mounted and proceeded to the Toro to embrace their child, as they simply called her. Halfway they met Doña Marianna, who, in her impatience to see them again, was galloping like a mad girl, followed by her brother, who was teasing her about this love for her nurse.
Since then, not a day passed on which the young lady did not carry the sunshine of her presence to the rancho, and shared the breakfast of the family—a frugal meal, composed of light cakes, roasted on an iron plate, boiled beef seasoned with chile Colorado, milk, andquesadillas, or cheesecakes, hard and green and leathery, which the young lady, however, declared to be excellent, and heartily enjoyed. Bouchaley, like everybody else at the rancho, entertained a feeling of adoration for Doña Marianna. He was a long-haired black and white mastiff, about ten years old, and spiteful and noisy as all his congeners. In reality, the dog possessed but one good quality—its well-tried fidelity to its master, whom it never took its eyes off, and constantly crouched at his feet. Since the young lady's return, the heart of the worthy quadruped had opened to a new affection; each morning it took its post on the road by which Doña Marianna came, and as soon as it saw her, saluted her by leaps and deafening barks.
Mariano Sanchez, the tigrero, had for his foster sister an affection heightened by the similarity of name—a similarity which in Spanish America gives a right to a sort of spiritual relationship. This touching custom, whose origin is entirely Indian, is intended to draw closer the relations betweentocayoandtocaya, and they are almost brother and sister. Hence the tigrero, in order to be present each morning at his tocaya's breakfast, often rode eight or ten leagues in the morning, and found his reward in a smile from the young lady. As for Father Sanchez, since the return of his child, as he called her, he only felt one regret. It was that he could not see her and admire her beauty; but he consoled himself by embracing her.
It was about eleven o'clock in the morning; the sun illumined the hut; the birds were singing merrily in the forest. Father Sanchez had taken up the hand mill, and was grinding the wheat, while his wife, after sifting the wheat, pounded it, and formed it into light cakes, called tortillas, which, after being griddled, would form the solid portion of the breakfast.
Bouchaley was at his post on the road, watching for the arrival of the young lady.
"How is it," the old man asked, "that Mariano is not here yet? I generally hear the sound of his horse earlier than this."
"Poor lad! Who knows where he is at this moment?" the mother answered. "He has for some days been watching a band of jaguars that have bitten several horses at the hacienda. He is certainly ambushed in some thicket. I only trust he will not be devoured some day by the terrible animals."
"Nonsense, wife," the old man continued, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Maternal love renders you foolish. Mariano devoured by the tigers!"
"Well, I see nothing impossible in that."
"You might just as well say that Bouchaley is capable of chasing a peccary; one thing is as possible as the other. Besides, you forget that our son never goes out without his dog Bigote, a cross between a wolf and a Newfoundland dog, as big as a six months' old colt, and who is capable of breaking the loins of a coyote at one snap."
"I do not say no, father; I do not say no," she continued, with a shake of her head; "that does not prevent his being a dangerous trade, which may one day or another, cost him his life."
"Stuff! Mariano is too clever a hunter for that; besides, the trade is lucrative; each jaguar skin brings him in fourteen piastres—a sum we cannot afford to despise, since my infirmity has prevented me from working. It would be better for my old carcass to return to the earth, as I am no longer good for anything."
"Do not speak so, father; especially before our daughter, for she would not forgive you: for what you are saying is unjust; you have worked enough in your time to rest now, and your son take your place."
"Well, tell me, wife," the old man said, laughingly, "was I devoured by the jaguar? And yet I was a tigrero for more than forty years, and the jaguars were not nearly so polite in my time as they are now."
"That is all very well; it is true that you have not been devoured, but your father and your grandfather were. What answer have you to that?"
"Hem!" the old man went on, in some embarrassment; "I will answer—I will answer—"
"Nothing, and that will be the best," she continued; "for you could not say anything satisfactory."
"Nonsense! What do you take me for, mother? If my father and grandfather were devoured, and that is true, it was—"
"Well, what? I am anxious to hear."
"Because they were treacherously attacked by the jaguars," he at length said, with a triumphant air; "the wretches knew whom they had to deal with, and so played cunning. Otherwise they would never have got the best of two such clever hunters as my father and grandfather."
The ranchera shrugged her shoulders with a smile, but she considered it unnecessary to answer, as she was well aware she would not succeed in making her husband change his opinion as to her son's dangerous trade. The old man, satisfied with having reduced his wife to silence, as he fancied, did not abuse his victory; with a crafty smile he rolled and lit a cigarette, while Na Luisa laid the table, arranged and dusted everything in the rancho, and listened anxiously to assure herself that the footfall of her son's horse was not mingled with the sounds that incessantly rose from the forest.
All at once Bouchaley was heard barking furiously. The old man drew himself up in his butaca, while Na Sanchez rushed to the doorway, in which Doña Marianna appeared, fresh and smiling.
"Good morning, father! Good morning, mother!" she exclaimed in her silvery voice, and kissed the forehead of the old man, who tenderly pressed her to his heart. "Come, Bouchaley, come, be quiet!" she added, patting the dog, which still gamboled round her. "Mother, ask my tocayo to put Negro in the corral, for the good animal has earned its alfalfa."
"I will go, Querida," the old man said; "for today I take Mariano's place." And he left the rancho without awaiting an answer.
"Mother," the young lady continued, with a shade of anxiety, "where is my foster brother? I do not see him."
"Has not arrived yet, niña."
"What! Not arrived?"
"Oh, I trust he will soon be here," she said, while stifling a sigh.
The maiden looked at her for a moment sympathetically.
"What is the matter, mother?" she at length said, as she seized the poor woman's hand; "Can any accident have happened?"
"The Lord guard us from it, Querida," Luisa said, clasping her hands.
"Still, you are anxious, mother. You are hiding something from me. Tell me at once what it is."
"Nothing, my child; forgive me. Nothing extraordinary has occurred, and I am hiding nothing from you; but—"
"But what?" Doña Marianna interrupted her.
"Well, since you insist, Querida, I confess to you that I am alarmed. You know that Mariano is tigrero to the hacienda?"
"Yes; what then?"
"I am always frightened lest he should meet with an accident, for that happens so easily."
"Come, come, mother; do not have such thoughts as these. Mariano is an intrepid hunter, and possesses far from common skill and tact."
"Ah, hija, you are of the same opinion as my old man. Alas! If I lost my son, what would become of you?"
"Oh, mother, why talk in that way? Mariano, I hope, runs no danger. The delay that alarms you means nothing; you will soon see him again."
"May you be saying the truth, dear child!"
"I am so convinced of it, mamita, that I will not sit down to table till he arrives."
"Well, you will not have to wait long, hijita," the old man said, as he re-entered the rancho.
"Is he coming?" the mother joyously exclaimed, as she furtively wiped away a tear.
"I knew it," the maiden remarked.
"There, do you hear his horse?" the old man said. In fact, the furious gallop of a horse echoed in the forest, and approached with the rapidity of a hurricane. The two females darted to the door. At this moment a horseman appeared on the skirt of the clearing, riding at full speed, with his hair floating in the breeze, and his face animated by the speed at which he rode. This horseman, who was powerfully and yet gracefully built, and had a manly, energetic face, was Mariano, the tigrero. His dog, a black and white Newfoundland, with powerful chest and enormous head, was running by the side of the horse, and looking up intelligently every moment.
"¡Viva Dios! ¡Querida tocaya!" the young man exclaimed, as he leaped from his horse. "I am glad to see you, for I was afraid that I should arrive too late. Bigote," he added, addressing his dog and throwing the bridle to it, which the animal seized with its mouth, "lead Moreno to the corral."
The dog immediately proceeded thither, followed by the horse, while Mariano and the two females returned to the rancho. The young man kissed his father's forehead, and took his hand, saying, "Good morning, papa!" and then returned to his mother, whom he embraced several times.
"Cruel child," she said to him, "why did you delay so long?"
"Pay no attention to what your mother says, muchacho," the old man remarked; "she is foolish."
"Fie! You must not say that!" the young lady exclaimed; "You would do better in scolding Mariano, for I, too, felt alarmed."
"Do not be angry with me," the young man replied; "I have been for some days on the track of a family of jaguars, which is prowling about the neighbourhood, and I could not possibly come sooner."
"Are they about here?"
"No; they are prowlers brought here by the drought; and are the more dangerous because, as they do not belong to these parts, they rest where they please—sometimes at one place, sometimes at another, and it becomes very difficult to follow their trail."
"I only hope they will not think of coming here," the mother said, anxiously.
"I do not believe they will, for wild beasts shun the vicinity of man. Still, Doña Marianna had better, for some days to come, restrict her rides, and not venture too far into the forest."
"What can I have to fear?"
"Nothing, I hope; still it is better to act prudently. Wild beasts are animals whose habits it is very difficult to discover, especially when they are in unknown parts, as these are."
"Nonsense!" the young lady said, with a laugh; "You are trying to frighten me, tocayo."
"Do not believe that; I will accompany you with Bigote to the hacienda."
The dog, which had returned to its master's side after performing its duties, wagged its tail, and looked up in her face.
"I will not allow that, tocayo," the young lady replied, as she passed her hand through the dog's silky coat, and pulled its ears; "let Bigote have a rest. I came alone, and will return alone; and mounted on Negro, I defy the tigers to catch me up, unless they are ambuscaded on my road."
"Still, niña—" Mariano objected.
"Not a word more on the subject, tocayo, I beg; let us breakfast, for I am literally dying of hunger; and were the tigers here," she added, with a laugh, "they might frighten me, but not deprive me of my appetite."
They sat down to table; but the meal, in spite of Doña Marianna's efforts to enliven it, suffered from the anxiety which two of the party felt, and tried in vain to conceal. The tigrero was vexed with his foster sister for not letting him accompany her, for he had not liked to express his fears, lest the young lady on her return to the hacienda might meet the ferocious animals he had been pursuing for some days past, without being able to shoot them.
The jaguar, which, is very little known in Europe, is one of the scourges of Mexico, and would figure advantageously in zoological gardens. There is only one in the Parisian Jardin des Plantes, and that is a very small specimen. Let us describe this animal, which is more feared by the Indians and white men of North America, than is the lion by the Arabs. The jaguar(Felis onca, or onza)is, next to the tiger and lion, the largest of the animals of its genus; it is the great wild cat of Cuvier, and is called indiscriminately "the American tiger," and the "panther of the furriers." It is a quadruped of the feline race; its total length is about nine feet, and its height about twenty-seven inches. Its skin is handsome, and in great request; while of a bright tawny hue on the back, it is marked on the head, neck, and along the flanks with black spots: the lower part of the body is white, with irregular black spots.
But few animals escape the pursuit of the jaguar: it obstinately hunts horses, bulls, and buffaloes; it does not hesitate to leap into rivers to catch certain fish it is fond of, fights the alligator, devours otters and picas, and wages a cruel warfare with the monkeys, owing to its agility, which enables it to mount to the top of trees, even when they are devoid of branches, and upwards of eighty feet high. Although, like all the carnivora of the New World, it shuns the proximity of man, it does not hesitate to attack him when urged by hunger or tracked by hunters; in such cases it fights with the utmost bravery, and does not dream of flight.
Such were the animals the tigrero had been pursuing for the last few days, and had not been able to catch up. According to the sign he had found, the jaguars were four in number—the male, female, and two cubs. We can now understand what the young man's terror must be on thinking of the terrible dangers to which his foster sister ran a risk of being exposed on her return to the hacienda: but he knew Doña Marianna too well to hope he could make her recall her decision. Hence, he did not try to bring the conversation back to the subject, but resolved to follow her at a distance, in order to come to her aid if circumstances required it.
As always happens under such circumstances, Doña Marianna, seeing that no one referred again to the jaguars, was the first to talk about them, asking her foster brother the details of their appearance in the country, and the mischief they had done, in what way he meant to surprise them, and a multitude of other questions; to which the young man replied most politely, but limiting himself to brief answers, and without launching into details, which are generally so agreeable to a hunter. The tigrero displayed such laconism in the information he gave the young lady, that the latter, vexed in spite of herself at seeing him so cold upon a subject to which he had seemed to attach such importance a few moments before, began jeering him, and ended by saying, with a mocking look, that she was convinced he had only said what he did to frighten her, and that the jaguars had only existed in his imagination. Mariano gaily endured the raillery, confessed that he had perhaps displayed more anxiety than the affair deserved, and taking down a jarabe that hung on the wall, he began strumming a fandango with the back of his hand, in order to turn the conversation.
Several hours passed in laughing, talking, and singing. When the moment for departure at length arrived, Mariano went to the corral to fetch the young lady's horse, saddled it with the utmost care, and led it to the door of the rancho, after saddling his own horse, so that he might start so soon as Doña Marianna was out of sight of the rancho.
"You remained a long time in the corral, tocayo," she said with a laugh; "pray, have you discovered any suspicious sign?"
"No, Niña; but as I am also going to leave the rancho, after saddling your horse, I saddled mine."
"Of course you are going to hunt your strange jaguars again?"
"Oh, of course," he answered.
"Well," she said, with feigned terror, "if you do meet them, pray do not miss them."
"I will do all in my power to avoid that, because I desire to make you a present of their skins, in order to prove to you that they really existed."
"I thank you for your gallantry, Tocayo," she replied with a laugh; "but you know the proverb—'A hunter must not sell the skin of a—jaguar, before—'"
"Well, well, we shall soon know who is right, and who wrong," he interrupted her.
The maiden, still laughing, embraced the ranchero and his wife, lightly bounded into the saddle, and bending down gracefully offered her hand to Mariano.
"We part friends, tocayo," she said to him. "Are you coming my way?"
"I ought to do so."
"Then why not accompany me?"
"Because you would suppose, Niña, that I wished to escort you."
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" the young lady said, merrily; "I had forgotten your proposal of this morning. Well, I hope you will be successful in your bunt; and so, good-bye till tomorrow. Come, Negro."
After uttering these words, she gave a parting wave of the hand to her nurse, and started at a gallop. The young man, after watching her for a while, to be certain of the road she followed, then re-entered the rancho, took his gun, and loaded it with all the care which hunters display in this operation, when they believe that life depends on the accuracy of their aim.
"Are you really about to start at once?" his mother asked him, anxiously.
"At once, mother."
"Where are you going?"
"To follow my foster sister to the hacienda, without her seeing me."
"That is a good idea. Do you fear any danger for her?"
"Not the slightest. But it is a long distance from here to the hacienda; the Indians are moving, it is said. We are no great distance from the border, and, as no one can foresee the future, I do not wish my sister to be exposed to any chance encounter."
"Excellently reasoned, muchacho. The niña is wrong in thus crossing the forest alone."
"Poor child!" the ranchero said; "An accident happens so easily; lose no time, muchacho, but be off. On reflection, I think you ought to have insisted on accompanying her."
"You know, father, she would not have consented."
"That is true; it is better that it should be as it is, for she will be protected without knowing it. The first time I see Don Ruiz, I will recommend him not to let his sister go out thus alone, for times are not good."
But the young man was no longer listening to his father: so soon as his gun was loaded, he left the rancho, followed by his dog. Two minutes later he was in the saddle, and riding at full speed in the direction taken by Doña Marianna.
So soon as the young lady found herself at a sufficient distance from the rancho, she had checked her horse's pace, which was now proceeding at an amble. It was about five in the afternoon; the evening breeze was rising, and gently waving the tufted crests of the trees; the sun, now almost level with the ground, only appeared on the horizon in the shape of a reddish globe; the atmosphere, refreshed by the breeze, was perfumed by the gentle emanations from the flowers and herbs; the birds, aroused from the heavy lethargy produced by the heat, were singing beneath all the branches, and filling the air with their joyous songs.
Doña Marianna, whose mind was impressionable, and open to all sensations, gently yielded to the impressions of this scene, which was so full of ineffable harmony, and gradually forgetting where she was and surrounding objects, had fallen into a voluptuous reverie. What was she meditating? She certainly could not have said; she was yielding unconsciously to the influence of this lovely evening, and travelling into that glorious country of fancy of which life is but too often the nightmare. Doña Marianna was too young, too simple, and too pure yet to possess any memory either sad or sweet; her life had hitherto been an uninterrupted succession of sunshiny days; but she was a woman, and listened for the beatings of her heart, which she was surprised at not hearing. With that curiosity which is innate in her sex, the maiden tried with a timid hand to raise a corner of the veil that covered the future, and to divine mysteries which are incomprehensible, so long as love has not revealed them by sufferings, joy, or grief.
Doña Marianna had rather a long ride through the forest before reaching the plain; but she had so often ridden the road at all hours of the day, she was so thoroughly persuaded that no danger menaced her, that she let the bridle hang on her horse's neck, while she plunged deeper and deeper into the delicious reverie which had seized on her. In the meanwhile, the shades grew deeper; the birds had concealed themselves in the foliage, and ceased their songs; the sun had disappeared, and the hot red beams it had left on the horizon were beginning to die out; the wind blew with greater force through the branches, which uttered long murmurs; the sky was assuming deeper tints, and night was rapidly approaching. Already the shrill cries of the coyotes rose in the quebradas and in the unexplored depths of the forest; hoarse yells disturbed the silence, and announced the awakening of the savage denizens of the forest.