[1]See Border Rifles, same Publishers.
[1]See Border Rifles, same Publishers.
In the great work of creation, God indubitably most profoundly set the seal of his omnipotence in the heart of forests. The ocean, despite its immense extent, offers sailors only a despairing monotony, or sudden upheavals, which fill the mind with a secret and invincible terror. The mountains which stud the globe, and elevate to immense heights their serrated peaks, covered with eternal snow, only inspire terror, and represent to the astonished eyes of the tourist a terrific maze of chaos and travailing nature.
But when you reach the verge of one of those splendid oases of verdure which are called virgin forests, you undergo involuntarily an impression of religious contemplation and gentle melancholy at the sight of these thousand arches of foliage, intertwined like the ceiling of an old Gothic church, in which the moss-clad trunks of centennial oaks represent the clustered columns, rising at one spot only a few feet from the ground, at others soaring to the skies.
Then, animated by the purer air, breathing with the full power of the lungs, attracted and fascinated by the mobile and infinite perspectives that open out on all sides—feeling the movement easier on the soft carpet of soil and dust accumulated by departed ages, the traveller's step grows freer, his glance more piercing, and his hand more firm, and he begins sighing for the hazardous and masculine life of the desert. The further he proceeds beneath these shifting shadows, while life is as noisy all around as a rising tide, the more does the freshness which circulates through the foliage purify the blood, and strengthen the limbs; and he comprehends more and more the irresistible attractions of the forest, and the religious love the wood rangers have for it.
Men habituated to a desert life are never willing to quit it again; for they understand all its voices, have sounded all its mysteries, and to them the forest is a world which they love much as the sailor does the sea. When a glowing sun enlivens the wild and picturesque landscape, when the glistening snow on the far-off peaks stands out like a silver ribbon above the masses of verdure, when the birds twitter among the leaves, the insects buzz on the grass, and the wild beasts in their unknown lairs, add their solemn sounds to the concert;—at such a moment all invites reverie and contemplation, and the wood rangers feel themselves the nearer to God, because they are the further from man.
These bold explorers of the desert are picked men, and powerfully built, kept constantly in movement, and forced each second into a contest with the obstacles that incessantly arise before them. No danger terrifies them, no difficulty arrests them; perils they brave, difficulties they surmount as if in sport; for, hurled by the divine will beyond the pale of common law, their existence is only a succession of strange incidents and feverish adventures, which cause them to live a century in a few moments.
The hesitation of the Border Rifles was short; for these half-savage men, an obstacle to be overcome could only prove a stimulus for their minds, so fertile in resources.
The two wounded men, securely fastened on cross pieces of wood by reatas, were let down in turn to the bottom of the precipice, and laid on the bank of a small stream, which ran noiselessly through this plain, forming the most capricious windings. John Davis, fearing some outbreak on the part of his angry comrades, himself undertook to let the Captain down, in order to be certain that no accident would happen to him.
When the wounded men had been removed from the eagle's nest, which had so miraculously saved them, the adventurers glided along the cliff with singular address and rapidity, and the whole band was soon collected on the bank of the stream. As is frequently the case in a mountainous country, the bottom of the barranca was a rather wide prairie, sheltered between two lofty hills, which enclosed it on the right and left, thus forming a species of gorge, which, at the spot where the fight took place, was really a gulf of great depth.
John Davis, without losing a moment, lavished on the Jaguar all the attention his state demanded; while Ruperto, though much against the grain, did the same for the Mexican Captain, by the American's peremptory orders.
During the various events we have described, the whole night had slipped away, and the sun rose at the moment the adventurers completed their perilous descent. The country then resumed its real aspect, and what had appeared by the flickering light of the torches a desolate and arid desert, became a charming and smiling landscape.
The sun has enormous power over the human organisation: it not only dispels those sombre phantoms which are produced by the darkness, but also revives the mind and restores to the body its elasticity and vigour, which have been neutralised by the piercing cold of night. With day, hope and joy returned to the heart of the adventurers; a joy rendered more lively still by the sight of the cases hurled over the previous night by the Mexicans, and which, though crushed by their fall, had lost none of their precious contents. Hence, the heroic courage and devotion of the Mexicans had no other result than allowing them to die bravely at their posts, for their sacrifice had not obtained the anticipated result.
The prairie soon assumed a lively aspect, to which it certainly was not accustomed; the adventurers lit fires, erected jacals, and the camp was formed in a few minutes. For a very lengthened period Davis' efforts to bring his friend to life remained sterile; still, the Jaguar had received no wound; he did not seem to have a limb broken; his syncope resulted solely from the moral effect of his horrible fall.
For all that, the American, far from giving in, redoubled his care and attention, and at length, saw his efforts crowned with success. The Jaguar made a weak movement, his lips parted as if he were about to speak, he raised his hand to his brow, gave a deep sigh, and partly opened his eyes, but closed them instantly, probably dazzled by the brilliant sunlight.
"At length he is saved!" the American exclaimed, joyously.
The adventurers surrounded their Chief, anxiously watching his every movement. The young man soon opened his eyes again, and, helped by Davis, managed to sit up. A slight patch of red was visible on his cheekbones, but the rest of his face retained an ashen and cadaverous hue. He looked slowly round him, and the absent expression of his glance gradually changed into a gleam of intelligence. "Drink!" he muttered in a hollow and inarticulate voice.
John Davis uncorked his flask, bent over the wounded man, and placed it to his lips. The latter drank eagerly for two or three minutes, and then stopped with a sigh of relief.
"I fancied I was dead," he said.
"By Heaven!" John Davis remarked, "It was a close shave."
"Is Captain Melendez still alive?"
"Yes."
"What state is he in?"
"No worse than your own."
"All the better."
"Shall we hang him?" Ruperto remarked, still adhering to his notion.
The Jaguar started, frowned, and then shouted with greater strength than he might be supposed to possess—
"On your life, not a hair of his head must fall; you answer for him to me body for body."
And he added in a low voice, unintelligible by the hearers, "I swore it—"
"'Tis a pity," Ruperto went on. "I am certain that hanging a Mexican Captain would have produced an excellent effect through the country."
The Jaguar made a sign.
"All right, all right," the adventurer continued; "if it is not pleasant to you, we will say no more about it. No matter, that is a funny notion of yours."
"Enough," the young man said; "I have given my orders."
So soon as he was alone. Captain Melendez let his head fall on his hands, and tried to re-establish the balance in his mind and arrange his ideas, which the shock he had received had utterly disordered. Still he gradually yielded to a species of lethargy, the natural result of his fall, and soon fell into a deep sleep.
He slept peacefully for several hours, nothing happening to disturb his repose; and when he awoke he found himself quite a new man; the restorative sleep he had enjoyed had completely rested his nervous system, his strength had returned, and it was with an indescribable feeling of joy that he rose and walked a few steps on the prairie. With calmness of mind courage returned, and he was ready to recommence the contest. He noticed, too, with a certain degree of pleasure, that the adventurers left him at perfect liberty, and did not appear to pay any attention to him.
Ruperto returned, but this time he had put off his mocking air, and carried some provisions in a basket. The adventurer offered them to the Captain with rough politeness, in which, however, the desire to be agreeable was perceptible. The Captain readily accepted the food, and ate with an appetite that surprised himself after so serious a fall.
"Well," Ruperto remarked, "did I not tell you that you would be soon cured? It is just the same with the Captain—he is as fresh as a floripondio, and was never better in his life."
"Tell me, my friend," Don Juan answered, "may I be allowed to speak with the Chief?"
"Very easily—the more so, as it seems that he has something to say to you."
"Indeed."
"Yes, and he even ordered me to ask you if you would allow him an interview after dinner."
"Most heartily; I am entirely at his orders; especially," the Captain added, with a smile, "since I am his prisoner."
"That is true; well, eat quietly, and while you are doing so I will convey your message."
Hereupon Ruperto left the Captain, who did not require the invitation to be repeated, but vigorously attacked the provisions placed before him. His meal was soon over, and he had been walking up and down for some time, when he saw the Jaguar approach. The two men bowed ceremoniously, and examined each other for some moments with the greatest attention.
Up to this moment they had hardly seen one another; their interview of the previous evening had taken place in the darkness, and then fought obstinately; but they had found no time to form mutual opinions as they now did with the infallible glance of men who are accustomed to judge in a second, persons with whom they have dealings. The Jaguar was the first to break the silence.
"You will excuse, Caballero," he said, "the rusticity of my reception: banished men have no other palace save the dome of the forests that shelter them."
The Captain bowed.
"I was far from expecting," he said, "so much courtesy from—"
He stopped, not daring to utter the word that rose to his lips, through fear of offending the other.
"From bandits, I suppose, Captain?" the Jaguar replied, with a smile. "Oh, no denial, I know what we are called at Mexico. Yes, Caballero, at the present day we are outlaws, border ruffians, freebooters; tomorrow, perhaps, we shall be heroes and saviours of a people; but so the world goes; but let us leave that. You wished to speak to me, I heard."
"Did you not also evince a desire, Caballero, to have an interview with me?"
"I did, Captain; I have only one question to ask you, though—will you promise me to answer it?"
"On my honour, if it be possible."
The Jaguar reflected for a moment, and then continued—
"You hate me, I suppose?"
"What makes you imagine that?"
"How do I know?" the Jaguar replied, with embarrassment; "a thousand reasons, as, for instance, the obstinacy with which you sought to take my life a few hours agone."
The Captain drew himself up, and his face assumed a stern expression which it had not worn hitherto.
"I pledge you my word to be frank with you, Caballero," he said.
"I thank you beforehand."
"Between yourself and me, personally, no hatred can exist—at any rate, not on my side; I do not know you, I only saw you yesterday for the first time; never, to my cognizance, have you come across my path before, hence I have no reason to hate you. But beside the man there is the soldier; as an officer in the Mexican army—"
"Enough, Captain," the young man sharply interrupted him; "you have told me all I desired to know; political hatreds, however terrible they may be, are not eternal. You do your duty as I believe I do mine—that is to say, as well as you possibly can, and to that I have no objection. Unfortunately, instead of fighting side by side, we are in opposite camps; fatality decrees it so; perhaps, some day these unhappy dissensions will cease, and then, who knows whether we may not be friends?"
"We are so already, Caballero," the Captain said, warmly, as he held out his hand to the Jaguar.
The latter pressed it vigorously.
"Let us each follow the road traced for us," he said; "but if we defend a different cause, let us maintain, when the contest is raging, that esteem and friendship which two loyal enemies ought to feel, who have measured their swords and found them of equal length."
"Agreed," said the Captain.
"One word more," the Jaguar continued. "I must respond to your frankness by equal frankness."
"Speak."
"I presume that the question I asked surprised you?"
"I confess it."
"Well, I will tell you why I asked it."
"What good will that do?"
"I must; between us two henceforth there must be nothing hidden. In spite of the hatred I ought to feel for you, I feel myself attracted to you by a secret sympathy, which I cannot explain, but which urges me to reveal to you a secret on which the happiness of my life depends."
"I do not understand you, Caballero; the language seems strange to me. Explain yourself, in Heaven's name."
A feverish flush suddenly covered the Jaguar's face.
"Listen, Captain, if you only know me today for the first time, your name has been ringing in my ears for many months past."
The officer fixed an inquiring glance on the young man.
"Yes, yes," the latter continued, with increasing animation, "she ever has your name on her lips—she only speaks of you. Only a few days back—but why recall that? Suffice it for you to know that I love her to distraction."
"Carmela?" the Captain muttered.
"Yes," the Jaguar exclaimed, "you love her too!"
"I do," the Captain replied, simply, as he looked on the ground with an air of embarrassment.
There was a lengthened silence between the two men. It was easy to discover that each of them was having an internal fight; at length the Jaguar managed to quell the storm that growled in his heart, and went on, in a firm voice—
"Thanks for your loyal answer, Captain; in loving Carmela you take advantage of your good right, just as I do; let this love, instead of separating, form a stronger link between us. Carmela is worthy of the love of an honourable man; let us each love her, and carry on an open warfare, without treachery or trickery; all the better for the man she may prefer. She alone must be judge between us; let her follow her heart, for she is too pure and good to deceive herself and make a bad choice."
"Good!" the Captain exclaimed, enthusiastically; "You are a man after my own heart, Jaguar, and whatever may happen, I shall always think with gladness that I have pressed your honest hand, and am worthy of being counted among your friends. Yes, I have a deep and sincere love for Carmela; for a smile from her rosy lips I would joyfully lay down my life; but I swear that I will follow the noble example you give me, and the struggle shall be as honourable on my side as on yours."
"Viva Cristo!" the young man said with frank and simple delight, "I was sure we should end by coming to an understanding."
"To produce that," the Captain remarked, with a smile, "we only needed the opportunity for an explanation."
"Canarios, I trust that it will not be repeated under similar conditions, for it is a perfect miracle that we are still alive."
"I am not at all anxious to repeat the experiment."
"Nor I either, I swear to you. But the sun is rapidly declining on the horizon: I need not tell you that you are free, and at liberty to go wherever you please, if it is not your intention to remain any length of time with us: I have had a horse got ready which you will permit me to offer you."
"I gladly accept it: I do not wish to have any false pride with you, and afoot in these regions, which are quite strange to me, I should feel greatly embarrassed."
"That need not trouble you, for I will give you a guide to accompany you, till you get in the right road."
"A thousand thanks."
"Where do you propose going? Of course, if my question be indiscreet, I do not expect you to answer it."
"I have nothing to hide from you; I intend joining General Rubio as quickly as possible, to whom I must report the accident that has happened to the conducta de plata, and the terrible catastrophe of which I have been the victim."
"It is the fortune of war, Captain."
"I do not reproach you; I merely say it was an unfortunate affair."
"Had it been possible to save the conducta by courage and devotion, you would have doubtless done it, for you performed your duty worthily."
"I thank you for this praise."
"It will be easy for you to reach General Rubio's camp before sunset."
"Do you think so?"
"I am sure of it, for you are only three leagues at the most from it."
"So near as that? Had I but known it," the Captain said in a tone of regret.
"Yes, but you were ignorant of the fact. But, nonsense, what good is it returning to that, you will take your revenge some day or the other."
"You are right; what is done cannot be undone, so I will be off."
"Already?"
"I must."
"That is true."
The Jaguar made a signal to a borderer standing a short distance off.
"The Captain's horse," he said.
Five minutes later, this borderer, who was no other than Ruperto, reappeared, leading two horses, one of which was a magnificent mustang, with delicate limbs, and flashing eye. The Captain reached the saddle at one leap, and Ruperto was already mounted. The two enemies, henceforth friends, shook hands for the last time, and after an affectionate parting, the Captain let his horse go.
"Mind, no tricks, Ruperto!" the Jaguar said in a peremptory voice to the adventurer.
"All right, all right!" the latter growled in reply.
The horsemen left the prairie. The Jaguar looked after them as long as he could see them, and then returned thoughtfully to the jacal, which served as his tent.
As the opportunity offers itself, let us say a few words about the military organization of the United States of Mexico, an organization as singular as all the rest of the machinery by means of which the strange government of this eccentric Republic does its work.
A military uniform generally pleases the masses; a soldier's life has something in it so independent of ordinary life, that all nations more or less allow themselves to be carried away and seduced by the glitter of embroidery and epaulettes, the rolling of drums, and the shrill notes of the bugles. Young nations, especially, like to play at soldiering, to make standards flutter, horses curvet, and mighty sabres flash.
The struggle of Mexico with Spain lasted ten years, constant, feverish, and obstinate: it was fertile in terrible events and striking incidents. The Mexicans, held by their oppressors in the most complete subjection, were as simple at the beginning of the revolution as at the period of the conquest: the majority did not know how to load a gun, and none of them had ever had firearms in their hands. Still, excited by the ardent desire for liberty which boiled in their hearts, their progress in military tactics was rapid, and the Spaniards soon learned at their own expense that these wretched guerillas, commanded by priests and curates, who at the outset were only armed with lances and arrows, became at length capable of responding to their platoon fire, dying bravely without yielding an inch, and inflicting terrible defeats upon them. The enthusiasm and hatred of the oppressors had made soldiers of all the men capable of bearing arms.
When the independence was proclaimed and the war ended, the part played by the army was at an end in a country which, without immediate neighbours, had no foreign intervention to apprehend in its internal affairs and had no invasion to fear. The army, therefore, ought to have laid down the arms which had so valiantly achieved the liberty of the country, and returned peaceably home. Such was its duty, and such was expected; but this was a great mistake. The army felt itself strong and feared; hence it wished to keep the place it had assumed, and, impose conditions in its turn.
Having no longer enemies to combat, the Mexican army constituted itself, or its private authority, the arbiter of the destinies of the country it had been called out to defend: in order to secure promotion among the officers, the army made revolutions. Then commenced that era of pronunciamentos, in which Mexico is fatally ensnared, and which is leading it irresistibly to that gulf in which its independence, so dearly acquired, and even its nationality, will be finally wrecked.
From the sub-lieutenant to the general of division, each officer made a stepping stone of a pronunciamento to gain a step—the lieutenant to become captain; the captain, colonel; the colonel, general; and the general, president of the Mexican Republic. There are generally three to four presidents at once; often enough there are five, or even six; a single president would be regarded as an extraordinary phenomenon—arara avis.We believe that since the proclamation of Independence no single president has governed the country for six consecutive months. The result of this state of things is, that the army has fallen into extreme discredit; and while the profession of arms was honourable at the period of the struggle against the Spaniards, it is exactly the reverse now. The army is, therefore, necessarily recruited from the lowest classes of society, that is to say, from bandits, leperos, and even the villains condemned for robbery or assassination.
All these men, on reaching certain grades, merely change their uniform, while retaining in the new rank where accident places them their vices and low habits; hence young men of good family are not at all inclined to accept an epaulette, and despise a profession regarded with so little honour by the respectable classes of society. In a corps so badly organised, where discipline does not exist, and military education is a nullity, anyesprit de corpsmust be unknown, and that is the case. And yet this army has been good, and it counts magnificent exploits on its books; its soldiers and officers displayed great bravery in the critical phases of the War of Independence.
But at the present day everything is dead, the feeling of duty is despised, and honour—that powerful stimulus to the soldier—is trampled under foot. Duelling, that necessary evil to a certain point to make the soldier respect the cloth he wears, is forbidden under the severest penalties; and if you horsewhip a Mexican officer, or call him a coward or a scoundrel, the only risk you run is of being treacherously assassinated.
It needs a lengthened apprenticeship to become a soldier and obtain the proper spirit; it is only after long and serious study, when he has suffered great privations, and looked death several times in the face, that a man acquires that knowledge and coolness which enable him to sacrifice his life without calculation, and fulfil the duties of a true soldier.
Most of the Mexican generals would blush at their ignorance if they found themselves face to face with the lowest non-commissioned officer of our army; for they know absolutely nothing, and have not the least idea of their art. With Mexican officers all is reduced to this: changing the scarf. The colonel wears a red one, the brigadier-general's is green, and that of the general of division white. It is for the purpose of obtaining the last colour that all the pronunciamentos are made.
Badly clothed, badly fed, and badly paid, the Mexican troops are a scourge to the civilian population, whom they shamelessly and pitilessly squeeze upon the slightest pretext. From what we have written, it is easy to see how an armed corps thus disorganised must be dangerous to everybody, for it knows no restraint, and lives beyond the law which it despises. The present state of Mexico proves the incontestable truth of our assertions.
We have not wished to enter into personalities, but treated the question generally, seeking to show what it is really. There are, we allow, some officers of merit—a few truly honourable men—in this unhappy army; but they are pearls lost in the mud, and the number is so limited, that if we quoted all their names, we should not reach a hundred. This is the more sad, because the further Mexico goes, the nearer it approaches the catastrophe; and, ere long, the evil that undermines this fair country will be incurable, and it will sink for ever—not under the blows of strangers, but assassinated by its own children.
General Don José Maria Rubio was in no way distinguished from the herd of Mexican officers, but he possessed over those who surrounded him the immense advantage of being a soldier of the war of Independence, and in him experience amply compensated for his lack of education. His history was simple, and may be told in a few words.
Son of an evangelista or public writer at Tampico, he had with great difficulty learned a little reading and writing under the auspices of his father; this pretence at education, slight as it was, was destined to be of great utility to him at a later date. The great uprising, of which the celebrated Fray Hidalgo was the promoter, and which inaugurated the revolution, found young José Maria wandering about the neighbourhood of Tampico, where he gained a livelihood by the most heterogeneous trades. The young man—a little bit of a muleteer, a little bit of a fisherman, and a good deal of a smuggler—intoxicated by the smell of gunpowder, and fascinated by the omnipotent influence Hidalgo exercised over all those who approached him, threw his gun over his shoulder, mounted the first horse he came across, and gaily followed the revolutionary band. From that moment his life was only one long succession of combats.
He became in a short time, thanks to his courage, energy, and presence of mind, one of the guerillas most feared by the Spaniards; always the first in attack, the last to retreat. Chief of a cuadrilla composed of picked men, to whom the most daring and wild expeditions appeared but child's play, and favoured by constant good luck, for fortune ever loves the rash, José Maria soon became a terror to the Spaniards, and his mere name inspired them with indescribable terror. After serving in turn under all the heroes of the Mexican war of Independence, and fighting bravely by their side, peace found him a brigadier-general.
General Rubio was not ambitious; he was a brave and honest soldier, who loved his profession passionately, and who needed to render him happy the roll of the drum, the lustre of arms, and military life in its fullest extent. When he fought, the idea never occurred to him that the war would end some day or other; and hence he was quite surprised and perfectly demoralised when peace was made and independence proclaimed.
The worthy General looked round him. Everybody was preparing to retire to the bosom of his family, and enjoy a repose do dearly purchased. Don José Maria might perhaps have desired nothing better than to follow the example; but his family was the army, and he had, or at least was acquainted with, no other. During the ten years' fighting which had just elapsed, the General had completely lost out of sight all the relations he possessed. His father, whose death he learned accidentally, was the sole person whose influence might have brought him to abandon a military career, but the paternal hearth was cold. Nothing attracted him to the province, and he therefore remained under the banner, though not through ambition. We repeat that the worthy soldier did himself justice, and recognised the fact that he had attained a position far superior to any he might ever have dared to desire; but he could not live alone or abandon old friends with whom he had so long suffered, combated—in a word, shared good and evil fortune.
The different Chiefs, who immediately began coveting power, and succeeded each other in the presidential chair, far from fearing the general, whose simple and honest character was known to them, on the contrary sought his friendship, and lavished on him proofs of the most frank and real protection; for they felt convinced that he would never abuse their confidence in him.
At the period when the Texans began agitating and claiming their independence, the Mexican Government, deceived at the outset by the agents appointed to watch that state, sent insufficient forces to re-establish order, and crush the insurgents: but the movement soon assumed such a distinctly revolutionary character, that the President found it urgent to make an effective demonstration. Unfortunately it was too late; the dissatisfaction had spread: it was no longer a question of suppressing a revolt, but stifling a revolution, which is not at all the same thing.
The President of the Mexican Republic then learned at his own cost that, in every human question, there is something more powerful than the brute force of bayonets: it is the idea whose time has come and hour struck. The troops sent to Texas were beaten and driven back on all sides; in short, they were compelled to treat with the insurgents, and withdraw ignominiously.
The government could not, and would not, accept such a dishonouring check inflicted by badly-armed and undisciplined bands, and they resolved to make a last and decisive effort. Numerous troops were massed on the Texan frontiers; and to terrify the insurgents, and finish with them at one blow, a grand military demonstration was made.
But the war then changed its character: the Texans, nearly all North Americans, skilful hunters, indefatigable marchers, and marksmen of proverbial reputation, broke up into small bands, and instead of offering the Mexican troops a front, which would have enabled them to outmanoeuvre and crush them, they began a hedge war, full of tricks and ambushes, after the manner of the Vendeans, the first result of which was to enormously fatigue the soldiers by compelling them to make continual marches and counter-marches, and produced among them discouragement and demoralization, by compelling to fight against a shifting foe, whom they knew to be everywhere, and yet could never seize.
The position became more and more critical. These outlaws, branded with the epithets of bandits, border ruffians, and freebooters, whom they affected to confound with the villains who congregate in these countries, and whom they obstinately treated as such by granting them no quarter, and shooting them without trial wherever they were captured: these men, now disciplined, hardened, and strong in the moral support of their fellow citizens, who applauded their successes, and put up vows for them, had boldly raised the flag of Texan independence, and after several engagements, in which they decimated the troops sent against them, compelled the latter to recognize them as the avowed defenders of an honourable cause.
Among the numerous generals of the republic, the president at length chose the only man capable of repairing the successive disasters undergone by the government. General Don José Maria Rubio was invested with the supreme command of the troops detached to act against Texas. This choice was most lucky; the general, an honest man and brave soldier, was incapable of selling himself, however great the price offered. Hence there was no reason to fear treachery from him, from which others, less susceptible or more avaricious than he was, had not recoiled. As an old soldier of the war of Independence, and ex-guerilla, Don José Maria was thoroughly conversant with all the tricks, and was the very man to fight with advantage against the foes that awaited him.
Unfortunately, this selection was made very late. Still, the General, while perfectly comprehending the immense responsibility he assumed, accepted without a murmur the rude task imposed on him. Certain men have the incontestable privilege of being born for the positions they occupy; their intellect seems to grow with the situation; made for great things, they ever remain on a level with events, whatever the nature of the latter may be. The General possessed this precious faculty; at the first glance he judged his enemies with that coolness which renders old soldiers so strong, and his plan was formed in a few minutes.
He immediately changed the tactics employed by his predecessors, and adopted a system diametrically opposite. Instead of fatiguing his troops by purposeless marches which had no result, he seized on the strongest positions, scattered his troops through cantonments, where they supported each other, and in case of need could all he assembled under his orders within four-and-twenty hours.
When these precautions were taken, still keeping his forces in hand, he prudently remained on the defensive, and instead of marching forward, watched with indefatigable patience for the opportunity to fall on the enemy suddenly and crush him.
The Texan Chiefs soon comprehended all the danger of these new and skilful tactics. In fact, they had changed parts; instead of being attacked, the insurgents were obliged to become the assailants, which made them lose all the advantages of their position, by compelling them to concentrate their troops, and make a demonstration of strength, contrary to their usual habits of fighting.
To the young officers who murmured at the plan adopted by the general, and made sarcastic remarks on his prudence, the latter replied with a smile that there was no hurry, that war was a game of skill in which the cleverest man won; and that he must not, for the sake of little lustre, let himself be led away to compromise the success of an enterprise which, with a little patience, must lead to certain success. The result proved that the general reasoned correctly, and that his plan was good.
The insurgents, reduced to inactivity by the system the new Chief of the Mexican army adopted, tried several times to attack his entrenchments, and draw him out; but the general contented himself with killing as many of them as he could, and would not move a step forward.
The conducta de plata intrusted to Captain Melendez had an immense importance in the eyes of the needy government at the capital; the dollars must at all hazards reach Mexico in safety; the more so, because for some time past the arrival of coin from Texas had become desperately irregular, and threatened to leave off altogether ere long.
General Rubio found himself reluctantly compelled to modify temporarily the line he had traced; he did not doubt that the insurgents, advised of the passage of the conducta, would make the greatest efforts to intercept and seize it, for they also suffered from a great want of money, and the millions sent to Mexico were of the utmost importance to them. Hence their plans must be foiled, and the conducta saved. For this purpose the General collected a large body of troops, placed himself at their head, and advanced by forced marches to the entrance of the defile, where, from the reports of his spies, he knew that the insurgents were ambuscaded; then, as we have seen, he sent off a sure man (or whom he supposed to be) to Captain Melendez, to warn him of his approach, and put him on his guard.
We have narrated in the "Border Rifles" what took place, and how truly worthy the General's express was of the confidence placed in him.
The Mexican camp stood in the centre of a beautiful plain, facing the defile through which the conducta must pass, according to the General's instructions. It was evening, and the sun had set for about an hour. Don José Maria, rendered anxious by the Captain's delay, and beginning to suspect a mishap, had sent off scouts in different directions to bring him news, and a prey to an agitation, which each moment that passed augmented, was walking anxiously about his tent, cursing and swearing in a low voice, frowning and stopping every now and then to listen to those thousand noises which arise at night without apparent cause, and pass as if borne on the wings of the Djinns.
General Don José Maria Rubio was still a young man; he was about forty-two, though he seemed older, through the fatigues of a military life, which had left rude marks on his martial and open countenance; he was tall and well-built; his muscular limbs, his wide and projecting chest denoted great vigour; and though his close-shaven hair was beginning to turn grey, his black eye had a brilliancy full of youth and intelligence.
Contrary to the habits of Mexican general officers, who, under all circumstances, make a great display of embroidery, and are gilded and plumed like charlatans, his uniform had a simplicity and severity which added to his military appearance, and gave him that aspect of reflection and majesty which is so befitting the chief of an army.
A sabre and a pair of holster pistols were carelessly thrown across a map on the table in the centre of the room, over which the General frequently bent in his agitated walk. The gallop of a horse, at first distant, but which rapidly drew nearer, was heard. The sentinel outside the tent challenged, "Who goes there?"
The horseman stopped, leapt to the ground, and a moment later the curtain of the tent was thrust aside, and a man appeared.
It was Captain Don Juan Melendez.
"Here you are, at last!" the General exclaimed, as his countenance grew brighter.
But on noticing the impression of sorrow spread over the officer's features, the General, who had walked two steps toward him, stopped, and his face again assumed an anxious look.
"Oh, oh!" he said, "What can have happened? Captain, has any mishap occurred to the conducta?"
The officer bowed his head.
"What is the meaning of this, Caballero?" the General continued, angrily; "Have you suddenly grown dumb?"
The Captain made an effort. "No, General," he answered.
"The conducta! Where is the conducta?" he went on, violently.
"Captured!" Don Juan replied, in a hollow voice.
"Viva Dios!" the General shouted, as he gave him a terrible glance, and stamped his foot: "The conducta captured, and yourself alive to bring me the news?"
"I could not get myself killed."
"I really believe, Heaven pardon me!" the General said, ironically, "that you have not even received a scratch."
"It is true."
The General walked up and down the tent in the utmost agitation. "And your soldiers, Caballero," he went on, a minute later, stopping before the officer, "I suppose they fled at the first shot?"
"My soldiers are dead, General."
"What do you say?"
"I say, General, that my soldiers fell to the last man defending the trust confided to their honour."
"Hum, hum!" the General remarked, "Are they all dead?"
"Yes, General, all lie in a bloody grave; I am the only survivor of fifty brave and devoted men."
There was a second silence. The General knew the Captain too well to doubt his courage and honour. He began to suspect a mystery.
"But I sent you a guide," he at length said.
"Yes, General, and it was that guide who led us into the trap laid by the insurgents."
"A thousand demons! If the scoundrel——"
"He is dead," the Captain interrupted him, "I killed him."
"Good. But there is something about the affair I cannot understand."
"General," the young man exclaimed, with some animation, "though the conducta is lost, the fight was glorious for the Mexican name. Our honour has not suffered; we were crushed by numbers."
"Come, Captain, you are one of those men above suspicion, whom not the slightest stain can affect. If necessary, I would give bail for your loyalty and bravery before the world. Report to me frankly, and without any beating round the bush, all that has happened, and I will believe you; give me the fullest details about this action, in order that I may know whether I have to pity or punish you."
"Listen, then, General. But I swear to you that if after my report the slightest doubt remains in your heart as to my honour and the devotion of my soldiers, I will blow out my brains in your presence."
"Speak first, Caballero, we will see afterwards what your best course should be."
The Captain bowed, and began an exact report of what had taken place.
We will now return to Tranquil, whom we have too long neglected. The Canadian had left his friends two musket shots from the Texan encampment, intending, were it required, to call in Carmela: but that was not necessary; the young man, though unwillingly, had consented to all the Canadian asked of him, with which the latter was delighted, for without knowing exactly why, he would have been sorry to facilitate an interview between the young people.
Immediately after his conversation with the leader of the Freebooters, the hunter rose, and, in spite of the Jaguar's efforts to retain him, left the camp. He then remounted his horse, and, only half satisfied by his conversation with the Jaguar, returned thoughtfully to the spot where his friends were camping. The latter were awaiting him anxiously, and Carmela especially was suffering from a terrible uneasiness.
It was a strange fact, which women alone can explain, that the maiden, perhaps unconsciously, entertained toward the Jaguar and Captain Melendez feelings which she was afraid to analyze, but which led her to take an equal interest in the fate of those two men, and fear a collision between them, whatever the result might have proved. But for all that, it is certain that if she had been obliged to explain the reason which impelled her to act thus, she would have been unable to answer; and had anybody told her that she loved one or the other, she would have energetically protested; under the honest conviction that she spoke the truth.
Still, she felt herself, perhaps from different motives, irresistibly attracted toward them. She started at their approach; the sound of their voices caused her an internal thrill of happiness; if she remained long without news of them, she grew sad, pensive, and anxious; their presence restored her all her gaiety and birdlike freedom.
Was it friendship, or was it love? Who can answer?
Tranquil found his friends comfortably located in a narrow clearing, near a fire, over which their next meal was cooking. Carmela, a little apart, questioned with an impatient glance the path by which she knew the hunter must arrive. So soon as she perceived him, she uttered a suppressed cry of delight, and made a movement to run and meet him; but she checked herself with a flush, let her head droop, and concealed herself timidly behind a clump of floripondios.
Tranquil peacefully dismounted, took the bridle off his horse, which he sent with a friendly slap on the croup to join its comrades, and then sat down by the side of Loyal Heart.
"Ouf!" he said, "Here I am, back again, and not without difficulty."
"Did you run any dangers?" Loyal Heart asked, eagerly.
"Not at all; on the contrary, the Jaguar received me, as he was bound to do, that is, as a friend; and I have only to complain of his courtesy; besides, we have known each other too long for it to be otherwise."
Carmela had softly come up to the hunter; she suddenly bent her graceful head down to him, and offered him her forehead to kiss.
"Good day, father," she said, demurely, "you have already returned?"
"Already!" Tranquil answered, as he kissed her and laughed, "Hang it, girl, it seems as if my absence did not appear to you long."
"Pardon me, father, I did not mean that," she said, in great confusion.
"What did you mean, then, my child?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Yes you did, you little rogue! But you cannot deceive me, with all your tricks; I am too old a fox to be taken in by a girl."
"You are unkind, father," she answered, with a pout, "you always give a false meaning to what I say."
"Only think of that, señorita! Well, do not be in a passion, I have brought you good news."
"Do you mean it?" she said, clasping her hands joyfully.
"Would you doubt my word?"
"Oh, no, father."
"Very good, so now sit down by my side and listen."
"Speak, speak, father," she exclaimed eagerly, as she took the seat allotted her.
"You seem to take great interest in Captain Melendez, my child?"
"I, father!" she exclaimed with a start of surprise.
"Hang it! I fancy a young lady must feel a lively interest in a person, to take such a step for his sake as you have done."
The maiden became serious.
"Father," she said a moment later with that little, resolute tone spoilt children know so well how to assume; "I could not tell you why I acted as I did; I swear that it was against my will, I was mad; the thought that the Captain and the Jaguar were about to engage in a mortal combat, made me chill at heart; and yet I assure you, now that I am cool, I question myself in vain to discover the reason which urged me to intercede with you to prevent that combat."
The hunter shook his head.
"All that is not clear, Niña," he replied; "I do not at all understand your arguments. Hang it! I am only a poor woodranger, possessing no more learning than I have drawn from the great scenes of nature I constantly have before my eyes, and a woman's heart is to me a closed book, in which I could not decipher a line. Still, girl, believe me, take care, and do not play imprudently with weapons whose strength and mechanism you are ignorant of; though the antelope be so light and active when it is leaping from rock to rock on the verge of precipices, the moment arrives when it grows giddy, its head turns, and it rolls into the abyss—I have often seen similar catastrophes in the forests. Take care, my girl, take care, and believe in the old hunter's experience."
Carmela pensively leant her blushing brow on the Canadian's shoulder, and lifted to him her large blue eyes full of tears.
"I am suffering, father," she murmured sadly.
"Good Heavens! My child, you are suffering, and did not tell me—are you ill?" he exclaimed anxiously; "How imprudent it was of you to be out in the desert by night."
"You are mistaken, father," she replied with a faint smile; "I am not ill, it is not that."
"What is it then?"
"I do not know, but my heart is contracted, my bosom is oppressed. Oh, I am very unhappy!"
And hiding her head in her hands, she burst into tears. Tranquil looked at her for a moment with an astonishment mingled with terror.
"You, unhappy!" he at length exclaimed as he smote his head passionately. "Oh, whatever has been done to her, that she should weep thus!"
There was a silence of some minutes' duration, when the conversation seemed to take a confidential turn. Loyal Heart and Lanzi rose quietly, and soon disappeared in the chaparral. Tranquil and the maiden were hence alone. The hunter was suffering from one of those cold fits of passion which are so terrible because so concentrated; adoring the girl, he fancied in his simple ignorance that it was he who, without suspecting it, through the coarseness and frivolity of his manner, rendered her unhappy, and he accused himself in his heart for not having secured her that calm and pleasant life he had dreamed for her.
"Forgive me, my child," he said to her with emotion; "forgive me for being the involuntary cause of your suffering. You must not be angry with me, for really it is no fault of mine, I have always lived alone in the desert, and never learned how to treat natures so frail as those of women; but henceforth I will watch myself. You will have no reason to reproach me again. I promise you I will do all you wish, my darling child—well, does that satisfy you?"
By a sudden reaction, the maiden wiped away her tears, and bursting into a joyous laugh, threw her arms round the hunter's neck, and kissed him repeatedly.
"It is you who should pardon me, father," she said in her wheedling voice, "for I seem to take pleasure in tormenting you, who are so kind to me; I did not know what I was saying just now; I am not unhappy, I do not suffer, I am quite happy, and love you dearly, my good father; I only love you."
Tranquil looked at her in alarm; he could not understand these sudden changes of humour, whose cause escaped him.
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands in terror; "My daughter is mad!"
At this exclamation, the laughing girl's gaiety was augmented. The silvery sound of her laugh would have made a nightingale die of envy.
"I am not mad, father," she said, "I was so just now when I spoke to you in the way I did, but now the crisis has past; forgive me, and think no more about it."
"Hum!" the hunter muttered, as he raised his eyes to Heaven in great embarrassment; "I desire nothing more, Niña; but I am no further on than I was before, and on my word I understand nothing of what is passing through your mind."
"What matter, so long as I love you, father? All girls are so, and no importance must be attached to their caprices."
"Good, good, it must be so since you say it, little one. But for all that, I suffered terribly, your words rent my heart."
Carmela lovingly kissed him.
"And the Jaguar?" she asked.
"All is arranged; the Captain has nothing to fear from him."
"Oh, the Jaguar has a noble heart; if he has pledged his word, he may be trusted."
"He has given it to me."
"Thanks, father. Well, now that all is arranged according to our wishes—"
"Your wishes?" the hunter interrupted.
"Mine or yours, father—is that not the same thing?"
"That is true, I was wrong—go on."
"Well, I say, call your friends, who are walking about close by, I suppose, and let me eat, for I am dying of hunger."
"Are you?" he said eagerly.
"Indeed, I am; but I was ashamed to tell you."
"In that case you will not have long to wait."
The Canadian whistled; and the two men, who probably only awaited this signal, made their appearance at once. The venison was removed from the fire, laid on a leaf, and all seated themselves comfortably.
"Hilloh!" Tranquil said all at once, "Why, where is Quoniam?"
"He left us shortly after your departure," Loyal Heart made answer "to go to the Larch-tree hacienda, as he told us."
"All right, I did not think of that; I am not anxious about my old comrade, for he will manage to find us again."
Each then began eating with good appetite, and troubled themselves no further about the Negro's absence. It is a noteworthy fact, that men whom the life they lead compels to a continual employment of their physical faculties, whatever may be the circumstances in which they are, or the dangers that surround them—always eat with a good appetite, and sleep soundly, so indispensable for them is the satisfaction of these two material wants, in order that they may successfully resist the incessant incidents of their existence, which is so varied, and full of accidents of every description.
During the hunter's meal, the sun had set, and night invaded the forest. Carmela, exhausted by the various events of this day, retired almost immediately to a light jacal of leaves which Loyal Heart had built for her. The maiden needed to restore order in her ideas, and take a few hours' rest, the privation from which had over-excited her nervous system, and caused the crisis which had fallen on her a few hours previously.
When they were alone, the hunters laid in a stock of dead wood, which would keep the fire in all night then, after throwing on some handfuls of dry branches, they sat down in Indian fashion, that is to say, with their back to the flame, so that their eyes might not be dazzled by the light, and they could distinguish in the gloom the arrival of any unwelcome guest, man or wild beast. When this precaution had been taken, and the rifles laid within hand reach, they lit their pipes and smoked silently.
It is specially at night, when the sounds of day die out to make room for the mysterious rumours of the darkness, that the desert assumes a grand and imposing appearance, which affects the mind, and leads it into those gentle and melancholy reveries which are so full of charm. The purer night air refreshed by the breeze which passes through the branches and gently agitates them; the murmuring of the water among the lilies; the confused buzz of myriads of invisible insects; the silence of the desert interrupted by the melodious and animated sounds; and that busy hum of the great flood of life which comes from God and passes away incessantly to be constantly renewed—all these things plunge the strong-hearted man involuntarily into a religious contemplation, which those to whom the grand scenes of nature are unknown, cannot imagine.
The night was cold and clear; a profusion of light flashed from the millions of stars that studded the dark olive sky, and the moon poured on the earth her silvery rays which imparted a fantastic appearance to objects.—The atmosphere was so pure and transparent that the eye could distinguish, as in bright day, the surrounding landscape. Several hours passed thus, and one of the three men, seduced as they were by the splendour of the night, thought of taking that rest which, however, was so necessary after the fatigues of the day.
"Who will keep watch tonight?" Lanzi at length asked, as he passed the stem of his pipe through his belt; "We are surrounded by people amongst whom it is wise to take precautions."
"That is true," said Loyal Heart; "do you sleep, and I will watch for all."
"One moment," the Canadian said; "if sleep does not too greatly overpower you. Lanzi, we will profit by Carmela's absence to hold a council. The situation in which we are is intolerable for a girl, and we must make up our minds to some course at once. Unluckily, I know not what to do, and your ideas will hardly suffice, I fear, to get me out of my embarrassment."
"I am at your orders, Tranquil," Lanzi answered; "let us hold a council, and I will make up for it by sleeping faster."
"Speak, my friend," said Loyal Heart.
The hunter reflected for a moment, and then continued—
"Life is rough in the desert for delicate natures: we men, accustomed to fatigue, and hardened to privations, not only support it without thinking of it, but even find delight in it."
"That is true," Loyal Heart observed; "but the dangers that men such as we can bear, it would be unjust and cruel to inflict on a woman,—a maiden who has hardly emerged from childhood, and whose life has hitherto passed exempt from care, privations, or fatigue of any description."
"Yes," Lanzi supported him.
"That is the very point," Tranquil continued; "though it will cost me a pang to part with her, Carmela can no longer remain with us."
"It would kill her," said Loyal Heart.
"It would not take long, poor little darling," Lanzi pouted.
"Yes: but to whom can I trust her now that the venta is destroyed?"
"It is a difficult point," Lanzi observed.
"Stay," said Loyal Heart, "are you not tigrero to the Larch-tree hacienda?"
"I am."
"There you have it," the Half-breed exclaimed. "That is a good idea. It would not have occurred to me."
"What idea?" the Canadian asked.
"The master of the hacienda," Loyal Heart continued, "will not refuse to receive Carmela in his house."
The hunter shook his head in denial. "No, no," he said, "if I once asked the favour of him, I feel certain he would consent; but it cannot be."
"Why?"
"Because the owner of the Larch-tree is not the man we need to protect a girl."
"Hum!" Loyal Heart said, "Our situation is growing more complicated, for I know nobody else who would take charge of her."
"Nor I either, and that is what vexes me. Listen!" Loyal Heart suddenly exclaimed, "I do not know. Heaven pardon me, where my head was that I did not think of it at once. Do not be alarmed: I know somebody."
"Speak, speak."
"Come," the half-breed said aside, "this Loyal Heart is really a capital fellow, for he is full of good ideas."
"For reasons too long to tell you at this moment, but which I will confide to you some day," the young man continued, "I am not alone in the desert, for my mother and an old servant of my family live about three hundred miles from where we now are with a tribe of Comanches, whose Chief adopted me a few years back. My mother is kind, she loves me madly, and will be delighted to treat your charming child as a daughter. She will watch over her, and give her those maternal attentions which only a woman can offer, especially when that woman is really a mother, and constantly trembles for the safety of a son to whom she has sacrificed everything. Every month, on the same day, I abandon the chase, mount my mustang, and, traversing the desert with the speed of an arrow, I go and see my mother, with whom I remain for some time among the tribe. This is about the period when I am wont to proceed to the village; so, will you let me guide you there? Coming with me, the Indians will receive you kindly, and my mother will thank you for confiding your daughter to her."
"Loyal Heart," the Canadian answered, with emotion, "your offer is that of an honest, upright man. I accept it as frankly as you make it; by the side of your mother my daughter will be happy, and she will have nothing to fear. Thanks."
"Loyal Heart," the half-breed said, eagerly, "I know not who gave you the name you bear; but, canarios, he was well acquainted with you, I declare."
The two men smiled at Lanzi's outbreak.
"Now, that is settled," he continued, "you want me no longer, I suppose? If so, good night; my eyelids prick as if they were full of thorns."
He wrapped himself carefully in his zarapé, stretched himself on the ground, and a minute later was fast asleep. It is probable that the worthy man wished to make up for lost time, for he saw plainly that he had been of no use in the council.
"When do we start?" the Canadian asked.
"The road is a long one," Loyal Heart answered. "We have more than three hundred miles to ride; Carmela is exhausted by the fatigue she has endured for some time past, and perhaps we should do well to grant her a day or two of rest to regain the requisite strength to endure the new fatigues that await her during the long journey we are about to undertake."
"Yes, you are right; this journey, which would be as nothing to us, is enormous for a girl; let us remain here a couple of days—the camp is good, and the spot well selected. There is nothing to hurry us; it is better to act prudently, in order that we may not have at a later date to regret precipitation, which may prove fatal to her whom we desire so greatly to protect."
"During the time we spend here our horses will regain their fire and vigour, and we can profit by the rest to get some provisions together."
"Well said, brother; that is settled; in two days we will set out, and I hope that Heaven will be so merciful as to permit us to reach our journey's end safe and sound."
"Heaven will not turn against us, brother, you may be sure."
"I am well aware of that," the Canadian answered, with that simple faith which characterised him; "hence you see me quite happy. You cannot imagine how anxious I feel, and what an immense service you have just rendered me."
"Do not speak about that, for are we not sworn friends?"
"No matter, I must thank you once more, my heart is so full that it must overflow; but now that we understand each other thoroughly, go and sleep, my friend; night is drawing on apace, and you must need rest."
"On the contrary, you must lie down, my friend, for do you not remember I said I would keep watch?"
"No, no."
"But you must be tired to death, my friend."
"I? Nonsense; I have a body of iron and nerves of steel; weariness has no effect on me."
"Still, my friend, human strength, however great it may be, has its limits, beyond which it cannot go."
"That is possible, my friend. I will not discuss that question with you, but merely limit myself to saying that joy has robbed me of sleep. I am as wide awake as an opossum, and in vain should I try to close my eyes. No, I require to reflect a little on all this, and I propose doing so, while you, who are naturally calmer, will sleep."
"As you insist on it, I will give way."
"Very good; you are becoming reasonable," Tranquil said, with a smile. "Good night, brother."
"Good night!" Loyal Heart answered.
The young man, in the face of the resolve so clearly made by the Canadian, thought it useless longer to resist, the more so, as he was beginning to feel great inclination for sleep. He, therefore, lay down, and was soon sound asleep. Tranquil had spoken the truth; he required to isolate himself for some hours, in order to go over the events which during the last few days had fallen upon him so unexpectedly, and broken up that placidity of life to which he had grown gently accustomed for some years past.
The hours passed away one after the other, but the hunter, plunged in his reflections, felt no desire for sleep. The stars were beginning to go out, the horizon was crossed by pale bands, the breeze grew sharper and colder; all foreboded, in fact, the approach of dawn, when suddenly a slight noise, resembling that produced by the fracture of a withered branch, smote on the hunter's practised ear, and caused him to start. The Canadian, without stirring, raised his head and listened, while softly placing his hand on the rifle that lay by his side.
Tranquil was too old and too crafty a wood ranger to let himself be surprised. With his eyes obstinately fixed on the spot whence the sound that had aroused him came, he tried to pierce the darkness, and distinguish any movement in the chaparral which would permit him to form probable conjectures as to the visitors who were arriving.
For a long period the noise he had heard was not repeated, and the desert had fallen back into silence. But the Canadian did not deceive himself. Up to all Indian tricks, and knowing the unbounded patience of the Redskins, he continued to keep on his guard; still, as he suspected that in the darkness searching glances were fixed on him and spying his slightest movements, Tranquil yawned twice or thrice, as if overcome by sleep, drew back the hand he had laid on his rifle barrel, and pretending to be unable to resist sleep any longer, he let his head sink on his chest with a natural movement.
Nothing stirred. An hour elapsed ere the slightest rumour disturbed the silence of the forest. Still, Tranquil felt confident that he had not deceived himself. The sky grew gradually brighter, the last star had disappeared, the horizon was assuming those fiery red tints which immediately precede the appearance of the sun: the Canadian, weary of this long watching, and not knowing to what he should attribute this inaction on the part of the Redskins, resolved at last to obtain the solution of the enigma. He therefore started suddenly to his feet and took up his rifle.
At the moment he prepared to go on the discovery, a noise of footsteps near him, mingled with the rustling of leaves, and the breaking of dry branches, smote his ear.
"Ah, ah!" the Canadian muttered, "It seems they have made up their mind at last; let us see who these troublesome neighbours are."
At the same instant, a clear feminine voice rose harmoniously and sonorously in the silence. Tranquil stopped with a start of surprise. This voice was singing an Indian melody, of which this was the first verse—
"I confide my heart to thee in the name of the Omnipotent.I am unhappy, and no one takes pity on me;Still God is great in my eyes."
"Oh!" the hunter muttered, with a nervous quivering, "I know that song, it is that of the betrothed of the Snake-Pawnees. How is it that these words strike my ear so far from their hunting grounds? Can a detachment of Pawnees be wandering in the neighbourhood? Oh, no! That is impossible. I will see who this singer is who has awaked with the sun."
Without further hesitation, the hunter walked hurriedly toward the thicket, from the centre of which the melody had been audible. But at the moment he was about to enter it, the shrubs were quickly parted, and two Redskins entered the clearing, to the amazement of the Canadian.
On coming within ten paces of the hunter the Indians stopped, and stretched their arms out in front of them, with fingers parted in sign of peace; then, crossing their arms on their chest, they waited. At this manifestation of the peaceful sentiments of the newcomers, the Canadian rested the butt of his rifle on the ground, and examined the Indians with rapid glance.
The first was a man of lofty stature, with intelligent features and open countenance; as far as it was possible to judge the age of an Indian, this man seemed to have passed the middle stage of life. He was dressed in his full warpaint, and the condor plume, fastened above his right ear, indicated that he held the rank of a Sachem in his tribe.
The other Redskin was not a man, but a woman, twenty years of age at the most; she was slim, active, and elegant, and her dress was decorated in accordance with the rules of Indian coquetry: still, her worn features, on which only the fugitive traces of a prematurely vanished beauty were visible, shewed that, like all Indian squaws, she had been pitilessly compelled to do all those rude household tasks, the whole weight of which the men lay on them, regarding it as beneath their dignity to interfere.
At the sight of these two persons, the hunter involuntarily felt an emotion, for which he could not account; the more he regarded the warrior standing before him, the more he seemed to find again in this martial countenance the distant memory of the features of a man he had formerly known, though it was impossible for him to recall how or where this intimacy had existed; but overcoming his feelings, and comprehending that his lengthened silence must appear extraordinary to the persons who had been waiting so long for him to address to them the compliments of welcome, which Indian etiquette demands, he at length decided on speaking.
"The Sachem can approach without fear and take his seat by the fire of a friend," he said.
"The voice of the Pale hunter rejoices the heart of the Chief," the warrior answered; "his invitation pleases him; he will smoke the calumet of friendship with the Pale hunter."
The Canadian bowed politely; the Sachem gave his squaw a sign to follow him, and he crouched on his heels in front of the fire, where Loyal Heart and Lanzi were still asleep. Tranquil and the warrior then began smoking silently, while the young Indian squaw was busily engaged with the household duties and preparing the morning meal. The two men allowed her to do so, not noticing apparently the trouble she took.