Tranquil attentively listened to the girl's story with drooping head and frowning brows; when she had finished, he looked at her for a moment enquiringly.
"Is that all?" he asked her.
"All," she answered timidly.
"And Lanzi, my poor Lanzi, have you no news of him?"
"None. We heard two shots, the furious galloping of several horses, the war-cry of the Apaches, and then all became silent again."
"What can have become of him?" the tigrero muttered sadly.
"He is resolute, and seems to me conversant with desert life," Loyal Heart said.
"Yes," Tranquil replied, "but he is alone."
"That is true," said the hunter; "alone against fifty, perhaps."
"Oh, I would give ten years of my life," the Canadian exclaimed, "to have some news of him."
"Caray, gossip," a merry voice replied; "I have brought you some all fresh, and shall charge you nothing for them."
The hearers started involuntarily at the sound of this voice, and turned quickly to the side where they heard it.
The branches parted, and a man appeared.
It was Lanzi.
The half-breed seemed as calm and composed as if nothing extraordinary had happened to him; but his face, usually so cold, now had an indescribable expression of cunning joy, his eyes sparkled, and a mocking smile played about his lips.
"By Jove! Our friend," Tranquil said as he offered him a hand; "you are a thousand times welcome, for our anxiety about you was great."
"Thank you, gossip; but, luckily for me, the danger was not so imminent as might be supposed, and I very easily succeeded in getting rid of those demons of Apaches."
"All the better; no matter how you contrived to escape, here you are safe and sound, so all is for the best; now that we have met again, they may come if their heart tells them to do so, and they will find somebody to talk to them."
"They will not do it; besides, they have something else on hand at this moment."
"Do you think so?"
"I am sure of it; they perceived the bivouac of Mexican soldiers escorting a conducta de plata, and are naturally trying to get hold of it; it was partly to that fortuitous circumstance I owe my safety."
"On my word! All the worse for the Mexicans," the Canadian said carelessly; "every man for himself: let them settle matters as they think proper, their affairs do not interest us."
"That is my opinion too."
"We have still three hours of night; let us profit by them to rest, in order to be ready to start for the hacienda at sunrise."
"The advice is good, and should be followed," said Lanzi, who immediately lay down with his feet to the fire, wrapped himself in his zarapé, and closed his eyes.
Loyal Heart, who doubtless shared his opinion, followed his example.
As for Quoniam, after conscientiously flaying the tigers and their cubs, he lay down in front of the fire, and for the last two hours had been sleeping with that careless indifference so characteristic of the Black race.
Tranquil then turned to Carmela. The maiden was seated a few paces from him; she was gazing into the fire pensively, and tears stood in her eyes.
"Well, daughter mine," the Canadian said to her softly, "what are you doing there? You must be exhausted with fatigue, so why not try to get a few minutes' rest?"
"For what good?" she asked sorrowfully.
"What do you mean?" the tigrero asked sharply, though the girl's accent made him start; "Why, to regain your strength of course."
"Let me remain awake, father; I could not sleep, however tired I might feel; sleep will fly my eyelids."
The Canadian examined her for a moment with the greatest attention.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, shaking his head meditatively.
"Nothing, father," she replied, as she tried to force a smile.
"Girl, girl," he muttered, "all this is not quite clear; I am only a poor hunter, very ignorant of matters of the world, and my mind is simple; but I love you, child, and my heart tells me you are suffering."
"I?" she exclaimed in denial; but all at once she burst into tears, and falling on the hunter's manly chest, she hid her face in his bosom, and murmured in a choking voice—
"Oh, father, father, I am so wretched."
Tranquil, at this exclamation, torn from her by the force of pain, started as if a serpent had stung him; his eye sparkled, he gave the girl a look full of paternal love, and compelled her with gentle constraint to look him in the face.
"Wretched? you, Carmela?" he exclaimed anxiously. "Great Heaven, what has happened then?"
By a supreme effort, the maiden succeeded in calming herself; her features reassumed their ordinary tranquillity, she wiped away her tears, and smiled at the hunter, who anxiously watched her.
"Pardon me, father," she said in an insinuating voice, "I am mad."
"No, no," he replied, shaking his head twice or thrice; "you are not mad, my child, but are concealing something from me."
"Father!" she said with a blush, and looked down in confusion.
"Be frank with me, child, for am I not your best friend?"
"That is true," she stammered.
"Have I ever refused to satisfy the slightest of your wishes?"
"Oh, never!"
"Have you ever found me severe to you?"
"Oh, no!"
"Well, then, why not confess to me frankly what is troubling you?"
"Because—" she murmured, in hesitation.
"What?" he answered, affectionately.
"I dare not."
"It must be very difficult to say, then?"
"Yes."
"Nonsense! Go on, girl, where will you find a confessor so indulgent as I am?"
"Nowhere, I know."
"Speak, then."
"I am afraid of vexing you."
"You will vex me a great deal more by obstinately remaining silent."
"But—"
"Listen, Carmela; while telling us a little while back what happened to-day at the venta, you confessed yourself that you wished to find me, no matter where I was, this very night; is that so?"
"Yes, father."
"Well, here I am, I am listening to you; besides, if what you have to say to me is so important as you led me to suppose, you will do well to make haste."
The maiden started; she gave a glance at the sky, where the gloom was beginning to be intersected by white stripes; all the hesitation disappeared from her face.
"You are right, father," she said, in a firm voice; "I hate to speak with you about an affair of the greatest importance, and perhaps I have deferred it too long, for it is a question of life and death."
"You startle me."
"Listen to me."
"Speak, child, speak, without fear, and reckon on my affection for you."
"I do so, my kind father, so you shall know all."
"It is well."
Doña Carmela seemed to collect herself for a moment, then, letting her dainty hand fall into her father's rough and large hand, while her long silken lashes drooped timidly, to serve as a veil to her eyes, she began in a weak voice at first, which, however, soon became more firm and distinct.
"Lanzi told you that meeting with a conducta de plata encamped a short distance from here, helped him to escape from the pursuit of the pagans. Father, this conducta spent last night at the venta, and the Captain who commands the escort is one of the most distinguished officers in the Mexican army; you have heard him spoken of before now in terms of praise, and I even think you are personally acquainted with him; his name is Don Juan Melendez de Gongora."
"Ah!" said Tranquil.
The maiden stopped, all palpitating.
"Go on," the Canadian said, gently.
Carmela gave him a side glance; as the tigrero was smiling, she resolved to continue.
"Already accident has brought the Captain several times to the venta; he is a true Caballero—gentle, polite, honourable, and we have never had the slightest ground of complaint against him, as Lanzi will tell you."
"I am convinced of it, my child, for Captain Melendez is exactly what you describe him."
"Is he not?" she quickly asked.
"Yes, he is a true Caballero; unfortunately, there are not many officers like him in the Mexican army."
"This morning, the conducta set out, escorted by the Captain; two or three ill-looking fellows, who remained at the venta, watched the soldiers depart with a cunning smile, then sat down, began drinking and saying to me things a girl ought not to hear, until at last they even threatened me."
"Ah!" Tranquil interrupted her, with a frown, "Do you know the scoundrels?"
"No, father, they are border ruffians, like those of whom there are too many about here; but, though I have seen them several times, I do not know their names."
"No matter, I will discover them, you may feel assured.
"Oh, father, you would do wrong to trouble yourself about that."
"Very well, that is my business."
"Fortunately for me, while this was occurring, a horseman arrived, whose presence was sufficient to impose silence on these men, and force them to become what they should always have been, that is to say, polite and respectful to me."
"Of course," the Canadian remarked, laughingly, "this caballero, who arrived so fortunately, was a friend of yours?"
"Only an acquaintance, father," she said, with a slight blush.
"Ah! very good."
"But he is a great friend of yours—at least, I suppose so."
"Hum! And pray do you knowhisname, my child?"
"Of course," she replied, quickly.
"And what is it, may I ask, if you have no objection to tell me?"
"None at all; he is called the Jaguar."
"Oh, oh!" the hunter continued, with a frown, "What could he have to do at the venta?"
"I do not know, father; but he said a few words in a low voice to the men of whom I have told you, who immediately left the talk, mounted their horses, and started at a gallop without making the slightest remark."
"That is strange," the Canadian muttered.
There was a rather lengthened silence; Tranquil was deep in thought, and was evidently seeking the solution of a problem, which appeared to him very difficult to solve.
At length he raised his head.
"Is that all you have to tell me?" he asked the girl; "up to the present I see nothing very extraordinary in all you have told me."
"Wait a while," she said.
"Then you have not finished yet?"
"Not yet."
"Very good—go on."
"Although the Jaguar spoke in a low voice with these men, through some words I overheard, without wishing to do so, I assure you, father—"
"I am fully persuaded of that. What did you guess from these few words?"
"I mean, I fancied I understood—"
"It is the same thing; go on."
"I fancied I understood, I say, that they were speaking of the conducta."
"And very naturally of Captain Melendez, eh?"
"I am certain that they mentioned his name."
"That is it. Then you supposed that the Jaguar intended to attack the conducta, and possibly kill the Captain, eh?"
"I do not say that," the maiden stammered, in extreme embarrassment.
"No, but you fear it."
"Good Heavens, father!" she went on, in a tone of vexation, "Is it not natural that I should take an interest in a brave officer who—"
"It is most natural, my child, and I do not blame you; even more, I fancy that your suppositions are very near the truth."
"Do you think so, father?" she exclaimed, as she clasped her hands in terror.
"It is probable," the Canadian quietly answered; "but reassure yourself, my child," he added, kindly; "although you have perhaps delayed too long in speaking to me, I may yet manage to avert the danger which is now suspended over the head of the man in whom you take such interest."
"Oh do so, father, I implore you."
"I will try, at any rate, my child, that is all I can promise you for the present; but what do you purpose doing?"
"I?"
"Yes, while my comrades and I are trying to save the Captain?"
"I will follow you, father, if you will let me."
"I think that is the most prudent course; but you must feel a great affection for the Captain, that you so ardently desire to save him?"
"I, father?" she replied with the most perfect frankness, "Not the least; it only seems to me terrible that so brave an officer should be killed, when there is a chance of saving him."
"Then you hate the Jaguar of course?"
"Not at all, father; in spite of his violent character, he seems to me a noble-hearted man—the more so, because he possesses your esteem, which is the most powerful reason with me; still it grieves me to see two men opposed who, I feel convinced, if they knew each other, would become fast friends, and I do not wish blood to be shed between them."
These words were uttered by the maiden with such simple frankness, that for some moments the Canadian remained completely stunned; the slight gleam of light he fancied he had found suddenly deserted him again, though it was impossible for him to say in what manner it had disappeared; he neither understood Doña Carmela's behaviour, nor the motives on which she acted—the more so, because he had no reason to doubt the good faith in all she had told him.
After looking attentively at the maiden for some minutes, he shook his head twice or thrice like a man completely at sea, and without adding a word, proceeded to arouse his comrades.
Tranquil was one of the most experienced wood-rangers in North America; all the secrets of the desert were known to him, but he was ignorant of the first word of that mystery which is called a woman's heart. A mystery the more difficult to fathom, because women themselves are nearly always ignorant of it; for they only act under the impression of the moment, under the influence of passion, and without premeditation.
In a few words the Canadian explained his plans to his comrades: the latter, as he anticipated, did not offer the slightest objection, but prepared to follow him.
Ten minutes later they mounted and left their bivouac under the guidance of Lanzi.
At the moment when they disappeared in the forest, the owl uttered its matutinal cry, the precursor of sunrise.
"Oh, Heavens!" the maiden murmured in agony; "Shall we arrive in time?"
The Jaguar, when he left the Venta del Potrero, was suffering from extreme agitation, the maiden's words buzzed in his ears, with a mocking and ironical accent; the last look she had given him pursued him like a remorse. The young man was angry with himself for having so hastily broken off the interview with Doña Carmela, and dissatisfied with the way in which he had responded to her entreaties; in short, he was in the best possible temper to commit one of those acts of cruelty into which the violence of his character only too often led him, which had inflicted a disgraceful stigma on his reputation, and which he always bitterly regretted having committed, when it was too late.
He rode at full speed across the prairie, lacerating the sides of his horse, which reared in pain, uttering stifled maledictions, and casting around the ferocious glances of a wild beast in search of prey.
For a moment he entertained the idea of returning to the venta, throwing himself at the maiden's feet, and repairing the fault which his growing jealousy had forced him to commit, by abjuring all his hopes, and placing himself at Doña Carmela's service, to do whatever she might please to order.
But, like most good resolutions, this one lasted no longer than a lightning flash. The Jaguar reflected, and with reflection doubt and jealousy returned. The natural consequences of which was fresh fury, wilder and more insane than the first.
The young man galloped on thus for a long time, apparently following no settled direction; still at long intervals he stopped, rose in his stirrups, explored the plain with an eagle-glance, and then started again at full speed.
At about three in the afternoon he passed the conducta de Plata, but as he perceived it a long way off, it was easy for him to avoid it by swerving slightly to the right, and entering a thick wood of pine trees, which rendered him invisible long enough for him not to fear discovery from the scouts sent on ahead.
About an hour before sunset, the young man, who had perhaps stopped a hundred times to explore the neighbourhood, uttered a suppressed cry of joy; he had at length come up to the persons he was so anxious to join.
Not five hundred yards from the spot where the Jaguar had halted, a band of thirty to five and thirty horsemen was following the track complimented with the name of road, that led across the prairie.
This band, entirely composed of white men, as could be easily seen from their costume, appeared to assume something of a military air, and all were fully equipped with arms of every description.
At the beginning of this story we mentioned some horsemen just disappearing on the horizon; these were the men the Jaguar had just perceived.
The young man placed his open hands to his mouth in the shape of a speaking trumpet, and twice gave a sharp, shrill, and prolonged cry.
Although the troop was some distance off at the moment, still at this signal the riders stopped as if the feet of their horses had suddenly become embedded in the ground.
The Jaguar then bent over his saddle, leaped his horse over the bushes, and in a few minutes joined the men who had stopped for him.
The Jaguar was hailed with shouts of joy, and all pressed round him with marks of the deepest interest.
"Thanks, my friends," he said, "thanks for the proofs of sympathy you give me; but I must ask you to give me a moment's attention, for time presses."
Silence was re-established, as if by enchantment, but the flashing glances fixed on the young man said clearly that sympathy, though dumb, was not the less vivid.
"You were not mistaken, Master John," the Jaguar said, addressing one of the persons nearest to him; "the conducta is just behind us; we are not more than three or four hours' march ahead of it; as you warned me, it is escorted, and in proof that great importance is attached to its safety, the escort is commanded by Captain Melendez."
His audience gave a start of disappointment at these news.
"Patience," the Jaguar went on, with a sarcastic smile; "when force is not sufficient, stratagem remains; Captain Melendez is brave and experienced, I grant you, but are we not also brave men? Is not the cause we defend grand enough to excite us to carry out our enterprise at all hazards?"
"Yes, yes, hurrah, hurrah!" all the hearers shouted, as they brandished their weapons enthusiastically.
"Master John, you have already entered into relations with the Captain; he knows you, so you will remain here with another of our friends. Allow yourselves to be arrested. I entrust to you the duty of removing the suspicions that may exist in the Captain's mind."
"I will do it, you may be certain."
"Very good, but play close with him; for you have a strong opponent."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes. Do you know who accompanies him?"
"On my word, no."
"El Padre Antonio."
"What's that you say? by Jove, you did right to warn me."
"I thought so."
"Oh, oh! Does that accursed monk wish to poach on our manor?"
"I fear it. This man, as you know, is affiliated with all the scamps, no matter of what colour, who prowl about the desert: he is even reported to be one of their Chiefs; the idea of seizing the conducta may easily have occurred to him."
"By Heaven, I will watch him; trust to me, I know him too thoroughly and too long for him to care to oppose me; if he dared to attempt it, I could reduce him to impotence."
"That is all right. When you have obtained all the information we require to act, lose not a moment in informing us, for we shall count the minutes while waiting for you."
"That is settled. I suppose we meet at the Barranca del Gigante."
"Yes."
"One word more."
"Make haste."
"What about Blue-fox?"
"Hang it! I forgot all about him."
"Shall I wait for him?"
"Certainly."
"Shall I treat with him? You know but little reliance is to be placed in the word of an Apache."
"That is true," the young man answered, thoughtfully; "still, our position is at this moment most difficult. We are left to our own resources; our friends hesitate, and dare not yet decide in our favour; while, on the other hand, our enemies are raising their heads, regaining courage, and preparing to attack us vigorously. Although my heart heaves against such an alliance, it is still evident to me, that if the Apaches consent frankly to help us, their assistance will be very useful to us."
"You are right. In our present situation, outlawed by society, and tracked like wild beasts, it would, perhaps, be imprudent to reject the alliance of the Redskins."
"Well, my friend, I give you full liberty, and events must guide you. I trust entirely to your intelligence and devotion."
"I shall not deceive your expectations."
"Let us part now; and luck be with you."
"Goodbye, till we meet again."
"Goodbye, till to-morrow."
The Jaguar gave a parting nod to his friend or accomplice, whichever the reader pleases to call him, placed himself at the head of the band, and started at a gallop.
This John was no other than John Davis, the slave-dealer, whom the reader probably remembers to have come across in the earlier chapters of this story. How it is we find him again in Texas, forming part of a band of outlaws, and become the pursued instead of the pursuer, would be too long to explain at this moment. Let us purpose eventually to give the reader full satisfaction on the point.
John and his comrades let themselves be apprehended by Captain Melendez's scouts, without offering the slightest opposition. We have already described how they behaved in the Mexican camp; so we will follow the Jaguar at present.
The young man seemed to be, and really was, the chief of the horsemen at whose head he rode.
These individuals all belonged to the Anglo-Saxon race, and to a man were North Americans.
What trade were they carrying on? Surely a very simple one.
For the moment they were insurgents; most of them came to Texas at the period when the Mexican government authorized American immigration. They had settled in the country, colonized it, and cleared it; in a word, they ended by regarding it as a new country.
When the Mexican government inaugurated that system of vexations, which it never gave up again, these worthy fellows laid down the pick and the spade to take up the Kentucky rifle, mounted their horses, and broke out in overt insurrection against an oppressor who wished to ruin and dispossess them.
Several bands of insurgents were thus hastily formed on various points of the Texan territory, fighting bravely against the Mexicans wherever they met with them. Unfortunately for them, however, these bands were isolated; no tie existed among them to form a compact and dangerous whole; they obeyed chiefs, independent one of the other, who all wished to command, without bowing their own will to a supreme and single will, which would have been the only way of obtaining tangible results, and conquering that independence, which, owing to this hapless dissension, was still regarded as a Utopia by the most enlightened men in the country.
The horsemen we have brought on the stage were placed under the orders of the Jaguar, whose reputation for courage, skill, and prudence was too firmly established in the country for his name not to inspire terror in the enemies whom chance might bring him across.
The sequel will prove that, in choosing their chiefs, the colonists had made no mistake about him.
The Jaguar was just the chief these men required. He was young, handsome, and gifted with that fascination which improvises kingdoms; he spoke little, but each of his words left a reminiscence.
He understood what his comrades expected of him, and had achieved prodigies; for, as ever happens with a man born for great things, who rises proportionately and ever remains on a level with events, his position, by extending, had, as it were, enlarged his intellect; his glance had become infallible, his will of iron; he identified himself so thoroughly with his new position, that he no longer allowed himself to be mastered by any human feeling. His face seemed of marble, both in joy and sorrow. The enthusiasm of his comrades could produce neither flame nor smile on his countenance.
The Jaguar was not an ordinary ambitious man; he was grieved by the disagreement among the insurgents; he most heartily desired a fusion, which had become indispensable, and laboured with all his might to effect it; in a word, the young man had faith; he believed; for, in spite of the innumerable faults committed since the beginning of the insurrection by the Texans, he found such vitality in the work of liberty hitherto so badly managed, that he learned at length that in every human question there is something more powerful than force, than courage, even than genius, and that this something is the idea whose time has come, whose hour has struck by the clock of Deity. Hence he forgot all his annoyances in hoping for a certain future.
In order to neutralize, as far as possible, the isolation in which his band was left, the Jaguar had inaugurated certain tactics which had hitherto proved successful. What he wanted was to gain time, and perpetuate the war, even though waging an unequal contest. For this purpose he was obliged to envelop his weakness in mystery, show himself everywhere, stop nowhere, enclose the foe in a network of invisible adversaries, force him to stand constantly on guard, with his eyes vainly fixed on all points of the horizon, and incessantly harassed, though never really and seriously attacked by respectable forces. Such was the plan the Jaguar inaugurated against the Mexicans, whom he enervated thus by this fever of expectation and the unknown, the most terrible of all maladies for the strong.
Hence the Jaguar and the fifty or sixty horsemen he commanded were more feared by the Mexican government than all the other insurgents put together.
An extraordinary prestige attached to the terrible chief of these unsiegeable men; a superstitious fear preceded them, and their mere approach produced disorder among the troops sent to fight them.
The Jaguar cleverly profited by his advantages to attempt the most hazardous enterprises and the most daring strokes. The one he meditated at this moment was one of the boldest he had hitherto conceived, for it was nothing less than to carry off the conducta de plata and make a prisoner of Captain Melendez, an officer whom he justly considered one of his most dangerous adversaries, and with whom he, for that very reason, longed to measure himself, for he foresaw the light such a victory would shed over the insurrection, and the partisans it would immediately attract to him.
After leaving John Davis behind him, the Jaguar rapidly advanced toward a thick forest, whose dark outline stood out on the horizon, and in which he prepared to bivouac for the night, as he could not reach the Barranca del Gigante till late the following day. Moreover, he wished to remain near the two men he had detached as scouts, in order the sooner to learn the result of their operations.
A little after sunset, the insurgents reached the forest, and instantaneously disappeared under covert.
On reaching the top of a small hill which commanded the landscape, the Jaguar halted, and ordered his men to dismount and prepare to camp.
A bivouac is soon organized in the desert.
A sufficient space is cleared with axes, fires are lighted at regular distances to keep off wild beasts; the horses are picketed, and sentries placed to watch over the common safety, and then everybody lies down before the fire, rolls himself in his blanket, and that is all. These rough men, accustomed to brave the fury of the seasons, sleep as profoundly under the canopy of the sky, as the denizens of towns in their sumptuous mansions.
The young man, when everybody had lain down to rest, went the rounds to assure himself that all was in order, and then returned to the fire, when he fell into earnest thought.
The whole night passed and he did not make the slightest movement; but he did not sleep, his eyes were open and fixed on the slowly expiring embers.
What were the thoughts that contracted his forehead and made his eyebrows meet?
It would be impossible to say.
Perhaps he was travelling in the country of fancy, dreaming wide awake one of those glorious dreams we have at the age of twenty, which are so intoxicating and so deceitful!
Suddenly he started and sprung up as if worked by a spring.
At this moment the sun appeared in the horizon, and began slowly dispersing the gloom.
The young man bent forward and listened.
The sharp snap of a gun being cocked was heard a short distance off, and a sentry concealed in the shrubs shouted in a harsh, sharp voice:—
"Who goes there?"
"A friend," was the reply from the bushes. The Jaguar started.
"Tranquil here!" he muttered to himself; "For what reason can he seek me?"
And he rushed in the direction where he expected to find the Panther-killer.
We will now return to Blue-fox and his two comrades, whom, in a previous chapter, we left at the moment when, after hearing bullets "ping" past their ears, they instinctively entrenched themselves behind rocks and trunks of trees.
So soon as they had taken this indispensable precaution against the invisible assailants, the three men carefully inspected their weapons to be ready to reply; and then waited with finger on trigger, and looking searchingly in all directions.
They remained thus for a rather lengthened period, though nothing again disturbed the silence of the prairie, or the slightest sign revealed to them that the attack made upon them would be renewed.
Suffering from the deepest anxiety, not knowing to what they should attribute this attack, or what enemies they had to fear, the three men knew not what to do, or how to escape with honour from the embarrassing position into which chance had thrown them. At length Blue-fox resolved to go reconnoitring.
Still, as the Chief was justly afraid of falling into an ambuscade, carefully prepared to capture him and his comrades, without striking a blow, he thought it prudent, ere he started, to take the most minute precautions.
The Indians are justly renowned for their cleverness; forced, through the life they lead from their birth, to employ continually the physical qualities with which Providence has given them, in them hearing, smell, and, above all, sight have attained such a development, that they can fairly contend with wild beasts, of whom, after all, they are only plagiarists; but, as they have at their disposal one advantage over animals in the intelligence which permits them to combine their actions and see their probable consequences, they have acquired a cat-like success, if we may be allowed to employ the expression, which enables them to accomplish surprising things, of which only those who have seen them at work can form a correct idea, so greatly does their skill go beyond the range of possibility.
It is before all when they have to follow a trail, that the cleverness of the Indians, and the knowledge they possess of the laws of nature, acquire extraordinary proportions. Whatever care their enemy may have taken, whatever precautions he may have employed to hide his trail and render it invisible, they always succeed in discovering it in the end; from them the desert has retained no secrets, for them this virgin and majestic nature is a book, every page of which is known to them, and in which they read fluently, without the slightest—we will not say mistake, but merely—hesitation.
Blue-fox, though still very young, had already gained a well-deserved reputation for cleverness and astuteness; hence under the present circumstances, surrounded in all probability by invisible enemies, whose eyes, constantly fixed on the spot that served as his refuge, watched his every movement, he prepared with redoubled prudence to foil their machinations and countermine their plans.
After arranging with his comrades a signal in the probable event of their help being required, he took off his buffalo robe, whose wide folds might have impeded his movements, removed all the ornaments with which his head, neck, and chest were loaded, and only retained hismitasses, a species of drawers made in two pieces, fastened from distance to distance with hair, bound round the loins with a strip of untanned deer-hide, and descending to his ankles.
Thus clothed, he rolled himself several times in the sand, for his body to assume an earthy colour. Then he passed through his belt his tomahawk and scalping knife, weapons an Indian never lays aside, seized his rifle in his right hand, and, after giving a parting nod to his comrades who attentively watched his different preparations, he lay down on the ground, and began crawling like a serpent through the tall grass and detritus of every description.
Although the sun had risen for some time, and was pouring its dazzling beams over the prairie, Blue-fox's departure was managed with such circumspection that he was far out on the plain, while his comrades fancied him close to them; not a blade of grass had been agitated in his passage, or a pebble slipped under his feet.
From time to time Blue-fox stopped, took a peering glance around, and then, when he felt assured that all was quiet, and nothing had revealed his position, he began crawling again on his hands and knees in the direction of the forest covert, from which he was now but a short distance.
He then reached a spot entirely devoid of trees, where the grass, lightly trodden down at various spots, led him to suppose he was reaching the place where the men who fired must have been ambushed.
The Indian stopped, in order to investigate more closely the trail he had discovered.
It apparently belonged to only one man; it was clumsy, wide, and made without caution, and rather the footsteps of a white man ignorant of the customs of the prairie, than of a hunter or Indian.
The bushes were broken as if the person who passed through them had done so by force, running along without taking the trouble to part the brambles; while at several spots the trampled earth was soaked with blood.
Blue-fox could not at all understand this strange trail, which in no way resembled those he was accustomed to follow.
Was it a feint employed by his enemies to deceive him more easily by letting him see a clumsy trail intended to conceal the real one? Or was it, on the other hand, the trail of a white man wandering about the desert, of whose habits he was ignorant?
The Indian knew not what opinion to adhere to, and his perplexity was great. To him it was evident that from this spot the shot was fired which saluted him at the moment when he was about to begin his speech; but for what object had the man, whoever he was, that had chosen this ambush, left such manifest traces of his passage? He must surely have supposed that his aggression would not remain unpunished, and that the persons he selected as a target would immediately start in pursuit of him.
At length, after trying for a long time to solve this problem, and racking his brains in vain to arrive at a probable conclusion, Blue-fox adhered to his first one, that this trail was fictitious, and merely intended to conceal the true one.
The great fault of cunning persons is to suppose that all men are like themselves, and only employ cunning; hence they frequently deceive themselves, and the frankness of the means employed by their opponent completely defeats them, and makes them lose a game which they had every chance of winning.
Blue-fox soon perceived that his supposition was false, that he had given his enemy credit for much greater skill and sagacity than he really possessed, and that what he had regarded as an extremely complicated scheme intended to deceive him, was, in fact, what he had at first thought it, namely, the passing of a man.
After hesitating and turning back several times, the Indian at length resolved on pushing forward, and following what he believed to be a false trail, under the conviction that he would speedily find the real one; but, as he was persuaded that he had to do with extremely crafty fellows, he redoubled his prudence and precautions, only advancing step by step, carefully exploring the bushes and the chaparral, and not going on till he was certain he had no cause to apprehend a surprise.
His manoeuvres occupied a long time; he had left his comrades for more than two hours, when he found himself all at once at the entrance of a rather large clearing, from which he was only separated by a curtain of foliage.
The Indian stopped, drew himself up gently, parted the branches, and looked into the clearing.
The forests of America are full of these clearings, produced either by the fall of trees crumbling with old age, or of those which have been struck by lightning, and laid low by the terrible hurricanes which frequently utterly uproot the forests of the New World. The clearing to which we allude here was rather large; a wide stream ran through it, and in the mud of its banks might be seen the deeply-imprinted footprints of the wild beasts that came here to drink.
A magnificent mahogany tree, whose luxuriant branches overshadowed the whole clearing, stood nearly in the centre. At the foot of this gigantic denizen of the forest, two men were visible.
The first, dressed in a monk's gown, was lying on the ground with closed eyes, and face covered with a deadly pallor; the second, kneeling by his side, seemed to be paying him the most anxious attention.
Owing to the position occupied by the Redskin, he was enabled to distinguish the features of this second person, whose face was turned toward him.
He was a man of lofty stature, but excessively thin; his face, owing to the changes of weather to which it must have been long exposed, was of a brick colour, and furrowed by deep wrinkles; a snow-white beard fell on his chest, mingled with the long curls of his equally white hair, which fell in disorder on his shoulders. He wore the garb of the American rangers combined with the Mexican costume; thus a vicuña-skin hat, ornamented with a goldgolilla, covered his head; a zarapé served as his cloak, and his cotton velvet violet trousers were thrust into long deer-skin gaiters, that came up to his knees.
It was impossible to guess this man's age; although his harsh and marked features, and his wild eyes, which burned with a concentrated fire and had a wandering expression, revealed that he had attained old age, still no trace of decrepitude was visible in any part of his person; his stature seemed not to have lost an inch of its height, so straight was he still; his knotted limbs, full of muscles hard as ropes, seemed endowed with extraordinary strength and suppleness; in a word, he had all the appearance of a dangerous wood-ranger, whose eye must be as sure, and arm as ready, as if he were only forty years of age.
In his girdle he carried a pair of long pistols, and a sword with a straight and wide blade, called a machete, passed through an iron ring instead of a sheath, hung on his left side. Two rifles, one of which doubtless belonged to him, were leant against the trunk of the tree, and a magnificent mustang, picketed a few yards off, was nibbling the young tree shoots.
What it has taken us so long to describe, the Indian saw at a glance; but it appeared as if this scene, which he was so far from anticipating, was not very cheering to him, for he frowned portentously, and could hardly restrain an exclamation of surprise and disappointment on seeing the two persons.
By an instinctive movement of prudence he cocked his rifle, and after he had done this, he went on watching what was doing in the clearing.
At length the man dressed in the monk's gown made a slight movement as if to rise, and partly opened his eyes; but too weak yet, probably, to endure the brilliancy of the sunbeams, though they were filtered through the dense foliage, he closed them again; still, the individual who was nursing him, saw that he had regained his senses, by the movement of his lips, which quivered as if he were murmuring a prayer in a low voice.
Considering, therefore, that, for the present at least, his attentions were no longer needed by his patient, the stranger rose, took his rifle, leant his crossed hands on the muzzle, and awaited stoically, after giving a look round the clearing, whose gloomy and hateful expression caused the Indian Chief to give a start of terror in his leafy hiding place.
Several minutes elapsed, during which no sound was audible, save the rustling of the stream over its bed, and the mysterious murmur of the insects of all descriptions hidden beneath the grass.
At length the man lying on the ground made a second movement, stronger than the first, and opened his eyes.
After looking wildly around him, his eyes were fastened with a species of strange fascination on the tall old man, still standing motionless by his side, and who gazed on him in return with a mingled feeling of ironical compassion and sombre melancholy.
"Thanks," he at last murmured, in a weak voice.
"Thanks for what?" the stranger asked, harshly.
"Thanks for having saved my life, brother," the sufferer answered.
"I am not your brother, monk," the stranger said, mockingly; "I am a heretic, a gringo, as you are pleased to call us; look at me, you have not examined me yet with sufficient attention; have I not horns and goat's feet?"
These words were uttered with such a sarcastic accent, that the monk was momentarily confounded.
"Who are you, then?" he at length asked, with secret apprehension.
"What does that concern you?" the other said, with an ill-omened laugh; "The demon, mayhap."
The monk made a sudden effort to rise, and crossed himself repeatedly.
"May Heaven save me from falling into the hands of the Evil Spirit!" he added.
"Well, you ass," the other said, as he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, "reassure yourself, I am not the demon, but a man like yourself, perhaps not quite so hypocritical, though, that's the only difference."
"Do you speak truly? Are you really one of my fellow men, disposed to serve me?"
"Who can answer for the future?" the stranger replied, with an enigmatical smile; "Up to the present, at any rate, you have had no cause of complaint against me.
"No, oh no, I do not think so, although since my fainting fit my ideas have been quite confused, and I can remember nothing."
"What do I care? That does not concern me, for I ask nothing of you; I have enough business of my own not to trouble myself with that of others. Come, do you feel better? Have you recovered sufficiently to continue your journey?"
"What! continue my journey?" the monk asked timidly; "Do you intend to abandon me then?"
"Why not? I have already wasted too much time with you, and must attend to my own affairs."
"What?" the monk objected, "After the interest you have so benevolently taken in me, you would have the courage to abandon me thus when almost dead, and not caring what may happen to me after your departure?"
"Why not? I do not know you, and have no occasion to help you. Accidentally crossing this clearing, I noticed you lying breathless and pale as a corpse. I gave you that ease which is refused to no one in the desert; now that you have returned to life, I can no longer be of service to you, so I am off; what can be more simple or logical? Goodbye, and may the demon, for whom you took me just now, grant you his protection!"
After uttering these words in a tone of sarcasm and bitter irony, the stranger threw his rifle over his shoulder, and walked a few paces toward his horse.
"Stay, in Heaven's name!" the monk exclaimed, as he rose with greater haste than with his weakness seemed possible, but fear produced the strength; "What will become of me alone in this desert?"
"That does not concern me," the stranger answered, as he coolly loosed the arm of his zarapé, which the monk had seized; "is not the maxim of the desert, each for himself?"
"Listen," the monk said eagerly; "my name is Fray Antonio, and I am wealthy: if you protect me, I will reward you handsomely."
The stranger smiled contemptuously.
"What have you to fear? you are young, stout, and well armed; are you not capable of protecting yourself?"
"No, because I am pursued by implacable enemies. Last night they inflicted on me horrible and degrading torture, and I only managed with great difficulty to escape from their clutches. This morning accident brought me across two of these men. On seeing them a species of raging madness possessed me; the idea of avenging myself occurred to me; I aimed at them, and fired, and then fled, not knowing whither I was going, mad with rage and terror; on reaching this spot I fell, crushed and exhausted, as much through the sufferings I endured this night, as through the fatigues caused by a long and headlong race along abominable roads. These men are doubtless pursuing me; if they find me—and they will do so, for they are wood-rangers, perfectly acquainted with the desert—they will kill me without pity; my only hope is in you, so in the name of what you hold dearest on earth, save me! Save me, and my gratitude will be unbounded."
The stranger had listened to this long and pathetic pleading without moving a muscle of his face. When the monk ceased, with breath and argument equally exhausted, he rested the butt of his rifle on the ground.
"All that you say may be true," he answered drily, "but I care as little for it as I do for a flash in the pan; get out of the affair as you think proper, for your entreaties are useless; if you knew who I am, you would very soon give up tormenting my ears with your jabbering."
The monk fixed a terrified look on the strange man, not knowing what to say to him, or the means he should employ to reach his heart.
"Who are you then?" he asked him, rather for the sake of saying something than in the hope of an answer.
"Who I am?" he said, with an ironical smile, "You would like to know. Very good, listen in your turn; I have only a few words to say, but they will ice the blood in your veins with terror; I am the man called the White Scalper, the Pitiless one!"
The monk tottered back a few paces, and clasped his hands with an effort.
"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, frenziedly; "I am lost!"
At this moment the hoot of an owl was heard a short distance off. The hunter started.
"Some one was listening to us!" he exclaimed, and rushed rapidly to the side whence the signal came, while the monk, half dead with terror, fell on his knees, and addressed a fervent prayer to Heaven.
We must now stop our story for a little while, in order to give the reader certain details about the strange man whom we introduced in our previous chapter, details doubtless very incomplete, but still indispensable to the proper comprehension of facts that have to follow.
If, instead of telling a true story, we were inventing a romance, we should certainly guard ourselves against introducing into our narrative persons like the one we have to deal with now; unhappily, we are constrained to follow the line ready traced before us, and depict our characters as they are, as they existed, and as the majority still exist.
A few years before the period at which the first part of our story begins, a rumour, at first dull, but which soon attained a certain degree of consistency and a great notoriety in the vast deserts of Texas, arose almost suddenly, icing with fear the Indios Bravos, and the adventurers of every description who continually wander about these vast solitudes.
It was stated that a man, apparently white, had been for some time on the desert, pursuing the Redskins, against whom he seemed to have declared an obstinate war. Acts of horrible cruelty and extraordinary boldness were narrated about this man, who was said to be always alone; wherever he met Indians, no matter their number, he attacked them; those who fell into his power were scalped, and their hearts torn out, and in order that it might be known that they had fallen under his blows, he made on their stomach a wide incision, in the shape of a cross. At times this implacable enemy of the red race glided into their villages, fired them during the night, when all were asleep, and then he made a frightful butchery, killing all who came in his way; women, children, and old men, he made no exception.
This gloomy redresser of wrongs, however, did not merely pursue Indians with his implacable hatred—half-breeds, smugglers, pirates, in a word, all the bold border ruffians accustomed to live at the expense of society had a rude account to settle with him; but the latter he did not scalp, but merely contented himself with fastening them securely to trees, where he condemned them to die of hunger, and become the prey of wild beasts.
During the first years, the adventurers and Redskins, drawn together by the feeling of a common danger, had several times banded to put an end to this ferocious enemy, bind him, and inflict the law of retaliation on him; but this man seemed to be protected by a charm, which enabled him to escape all the snares laid for him, and circumvent all the ambuscades formed on his road, It was impossible to catch him; his movements were so rapid and unexpected, that he often appeared at considerable distances from the spot where he was awaited, and where he had been seen shortly before. According to the Indians and adventurers, he was invulnerable; bullets and arrows rebounded from his chest; and soon, through the continual good fortune that accompanied all his enterprises, this man became a subject of universal terror on the prairie; his enemies, convinced that all they might attempt against him would prove useless, gave up a struggle which they regarded as waged against a superior power. The strangest legends were current about him; every one feared him as a maleficent spirit; the Indians named himKiein-Stomann, or the White Scalper, and the Adventurers designated him among themselves by the epithet of Pitiless.
These two names, as we see, were justly given to this man, with whom murder and carnage seemed the supreme enjoyment, such pleasure did he find in feeling his victims quivering beneath his blood-red hand, and tearing the heart out of their bosom; hence his mere name, uttered in a whisper, filled the bravest with horror.
But who was this man? Whence did he come? What fearful catastrophe had cast him into the fearful mode of life he led?
No one could answer these questions. This individual was a horrifying enigma, which no person could solve.
Was he one of those monstrous organizations, which, beneath the envelope of man, contain a tiger's heart?
Or, else, a soul ulcerated by a frightful misfortune, all whose faculties are directed to one object, vengeance?
Both these hypotheses were equally possible; perhaps both were true.
Still, as every medal has its reverse, and man is not perfect in either good or evil, this individual had at times gleams, not of pity, but perhaps of fatigue, when blood mounted to his gorge, choked him, and rendered him a little less cruel, a little less implacable, almost human, in a word. But these moments were brief, these attacks, as he called them himself, very rare; nature regained the upper hand almost at once, and he became only the more terrible, because he had been so near growing compassionate.
This was all known about this individual at the moment when we brought him on the stage in so singular a fashion. The assistance he had given the monk was so contrary to all his habits, that he must have been suffering at the moment from one of his best attacks, to have consented not only to give such eager attention to one of his fellows, but also to waste so much time in listening to his lamentations and entreaties.
To finish the information we have to give about this person, we will add that no one knew whether he had a permanent abode; he was not known to have any woman to love, or any follower; he had ever been seen alone; and during the ten years he had roamed the desert in every direction, his countenance had undergone no change; he had ever the same appearance of old age and strength, the same long and white beard, and the same wrinkled face.
As we have said, the scalper rushed into the chaparral to discover who had given the signal that startled him; his researches were minute, but they produced no other result than that of enabling him to discover that he was not mistaken, and that a spy hidden in the bushes had really seen all that took place in the clearing, and heard all that was said.
Blue-fox, after summoning his comrades, cautiously retired, convinced that if he fell into the hands of the Scalper, he would be lost in spite of all his courage.
The latter returned thoughtfully to the side of the monk, whose praying still went on, and had assumed such proportions that it threatened to become interminable.
The Scalper looked for a moment at the Fray, an ironical smile playing round his pale lips the while, and then gave him a hearty blow with the butt of his rifle between the shoulders.
"Get up!" he said, roughly.
The monk fell on his hands, and remained motionless. Believing that the other intended to kill him, he resigned himself to his fate, and awaited the death-blow which, in his opinion, he must speedily receive.
"Come, get up, you devil of a monk!" the Scalper went on; "Have you not mumbled paternosters enough?"
Fray Ambrosio gently raised his head; a gleam of hope returned to him.
"Forgive me, Excellency," he replied; "I have finished; I am now at your orders; what do you desire of me?"
And he quickly sprung up, for there was something in the other's eye which told him that disobedience would lead to unpleasant results.
"That is well, scoundrel! You seem to me as fit to pull a trigger as to say a prayer. Load your rifle, for the moment has arrived for you to fight like a man, unless you wish to be killed like a dog."
The monk took a frightened glance around.
"Excellency," he stammered, with great hesitation, "is it necessary that I should fight?"
"Yes, if you wish to keep a whole skin; if you do not, why, you can remain quiet."
"But perhaps there is another mode?"
"What is it?"
"Flight, for instance," he said, insinuatingly.
"Try it," the other replied, with a grin.
The monk, encouraged by this semi-concession, continued, with slightly increased boldness—
"You have a very fine horse."
"Is it not?"
"Magnificent," Fray Antonio went on, enthusiastically.
"Yes, and you would not be vexed if I let you mount it, to fly more rapidly, eh?"
"Oh! do not think that," he said, with a gesture of denial.
"Enough!" the Scalper roughly interrupted; "Think of yourself, for your enemies are coming."
With one bound he was in the saddle, made his horse curvet, and hid himself behind the enormous stem of the mahogany tree.
Fray Antonio, aroused by the approach of danger, quickly seized his rifle, and also got behind the tree.
At the same moment a rather loud rustling was heard in the bushes, which then parted, and several men appeared.
They were about fifteen in number, and Apache warriors; in the midst of them were Blue-fox, John Davis, and his companions.
Blue-fox, though he had never found himself face to face with the White Scalper, had often heard him spoken of, both by Indians and hunters; hence, when he heard him pronounce his name, an indescribable agony contracted his heart, as he thought of all the cruelty to which his brothers had been victims from this man; and the thought of seizing him occurred to him. He hastened to give the signal agreed on with the hunters, and rushing through the chaparral with the velocity characteristic of Indians, went to the spot where his warriors were waiting, and bade them follow him. On his return, he met the two hunters who had heard the signal, and were hurrying to his help.
In a few words Blue-fox explained to them what was occurring. To tell the truth, we must confess that this confidence, far from exciting the warriors and hunters, singularly lowered their ardour, by revealing to them that they were about to expose themselves to a terrible danger, by contending with a man who was the more dangerous because no weapon could strike him; and those who had hitherto dared to assail him, had ever fallen victims to their temerity.
Still, it was too late to recoil, and flight was impossible; the warriors, therefore, determined to push on, though much against the grain.
As for the two hunters, if they did not completely share in the blind credulity of their comrades, and their superstitious fears, this fight was far from pleasing them. Still, restrained by the shame of abandoning men to whom they fancied themselves superior in intelligence, and even in courage, they resolved to follow them.
"Excellency!" the monk exclaimed in a lamentable voice, when he saw the Indians appear, "Do not abandon me."
"No, if you do not abandon yourself, scoundrel!" the Scalper answered.
On reaching the skirt of the clearing, the Apaches, following their usual tactics, sheltered themselves behind trees, so that this confined clearing, in which so many men were on the point of beginning an obstinate struggle, seemed absolutely deserted.
There was a moment of silence and hesitation. The Scalper at length decided on being the first to speak.
"Halloh!" he cried, "What do you want here?"
Blue-fox was going to answer, but John Davis prevented him.
"Leave him to me," he said.
Quitting the trunk of the tree behind which he was sheltered, he then boldly walked a few paces forward, and stopped almost in the centre of the clearing.
"Where are you, you who are speaking?" he asked in a loud and firm voice; "Are you afraid of letting yourself be seen?"
"I fear nothing," the squatter replied.
"Show yourself, then, that I may know you again," John said impudently.
Thus challenged, the Scalper came up within two paces of the hunter.
"Here I am," he said, "What do you want of me?"
Davis let the horse come up without making any movement to avoid it.
"Ah," he said, "I am not sorry to have had a look at you."
"Is that all you have to say to me?" the other asked gruffly.
"Hang it, you are in a tremendous hurry! Give me time to breathe, at any rate."
"A truce to jests, which may cost you dearly; tell me at once what your proposals are—I have no time to lose in idle talk."
"How the deuce do you know that I have proposals to make to you?"
"Would you have come here without?"
"And I presume that you are acquainted with these proposals?"
"It is possible."
"In that case, what answer do you give me?"
"None."
"What, none!"
"I prefer attacking you."
"Oh, oh, you have a tough job before you; there are eighteen of us, do you know that?"
"I do not care for your numbers. If there were a hundred of you, I would attack you all the same."
"By Heaven! For the rarity of the fact, I should be curious to see the combat of one man against twenty."
"You will do so ere long."
And, while saying this, the Scalper pulled his horse back several paces.
"One moment, hang it," the hunter exclaimed sharply; "let me say a word to you."
"Say it."
"Will you surrender?"
"What?"
"I ask you if you will surrender."
"Nonsense," the Scalper exclaimed with a grin; "you are mad. I surrender! It is you who will have to ask mercy ere long."
"I would not believe it, even if you killed me."
"Come, return to your shelter," the Scalper said with a shrug of his shoulders; "I do not wish to kill you defencelessly."
"All the worse for you, then," the hunter said; "I have warned you honourably, now I wash my hands of it; get out of it as you can."
"Thanks," the Scalper answered energetically; "but I am not yet in so bad a state as you fancy."
John Davis contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, and returned slowly to his shelter in the forest, whistling Yankee Doodle.
The Scalper had not imitated him; although he was perfectly well aware that a great number of enemies surrounded him and watched over his movements, he remained firm and motionless in the centre of the clearing.
"Hola!" he shouted in a mocking voice, "You valiant Apaches, who hide yourselves like rabbits in the shrubs, must I come and smoke you out of your holes in order to make you show yourselves? Come on, if you do not wish me to believe you old cowardly and frightened squaws."
These insulting words raised to the highest pitch the exasperation of the Apache warriors, who replied by a prolonged yell of fury.
"Will my brothers allow themselves any longer to be mocked by a single man?" Blue-fox exclaimed; "Our cowardice causes his strength. Let us rush with the speed of the hurricane on this genius of evil; he cannot resist the shock of so many renowned warriors. Forward, brothers, forward! To us be the honour of having crushed the implacable foe of our race."
And uttering his war-cry, which his comrades repeated, the valiant Chief rushed upon the Scalper, resolutely brandishing his rifle over his head; all the warriors followed him.
The Scalper awaited them without stirring; but so soon as he saw them within reach, drawing in the reins, and pressing his knees, he made his noble stud leap into the thick of the Indians. Seizing his rifle by the barrel, and employing it like a club, he began smiting to the right and left with a vigour and rapidity that had something supernatural about them.
Then a frightful medley commenced; the Indians rushed on this man, who, being a skilful horseman, made his steed go through the most unexpected curvets, and by the rapidity of his movements prevented the enemy leaping on his bridle and stopping him.
The two hunters at first remained quiet, convinced that it was impossible for a single man even to resist for a few moments such numerous and brave foes; but they soon perceived, to their great amazement, that they were mistaken; several Indians were already stretched on the ground, their skulls split by the Scalper's terrible club, all whose blows went home.
The hunters then began changing their opinion as to the result of the fight, and wished to help their comrades, but their rifles were useless to them in the continued changes of the scene of action, and their bullets might as easily have struck friend as foe; hence they threw away their rifles, drew their knives, and hurried to the assistance of the Apaches, who were already beginning to give way.
Blue-fox, dangerously wounded, was lying in a state of insensibility. The warriors, still on their legs, were beginning to think of a retreat, and casting anxious glances behind them.
The Scalper still fought with the same fury, mocking and insulting his enemies; his arm rose and fell with the regularity of a pendulum.
"Ah, ah!" he exclaimed, on noticing the hunters; "So you want your share. Come on, come on."
The latter did not allow it to be repeated, but rushed wildly upon him.
But they fared badly; John Davis, struck by the horse's chest, was hurled twenty feet, and fell to the ground; at the same instant his comrade's skull was broken, and he expired without a groan.
This last incident gave the finishing stroke to the Indians, who, unable to overcome the terror with which this extraordinary man inspired them, began flying in all directions with yells of terror.
The Scalper gave a glance of triumph and satisfied hatred at the sanguinary arena, where a dozen bodies lay stretched out, and urging his horse on, he caught up a fugitive, lifted him by the hair, and threw him over his saddle-bow, and disappeared in the forest with a horrible grin.
Once again the Scalper had opened a bloody passage for himself.
As for Fray Antonio, so soon as he saw that the fight had begun, he thought it needless to await its issue; he, therefore, took advantage of the opportunity, and gliding gently from tree to tree, he effected a skilful retreat and got clear off.