Curumilla fumbled in his medicine bag, and produced an old worn moccasin.
"Oh!" Valentine said eagerly; "that is better still: let us be off at once."
They broke up the conference.
"My friends," the hunter said to the Mexicans, "this is what we have resolved on: you three, alone, will be mounted. Each of you will lead one of our horses, so that we may mount at the first signal. The two chiefs and myself will march on foot, in order to let no sign escape us. You will keep two hundred yards, behind us: and as I noticed that there are at this moment a great many trumpeter swans in the river, that will be our rallying cry. All this is arranged?"
"Yes," the three gentlemen answered unanimously.
"Good! now to set out, and try never to let us out of sight."
"Be at your ease, my friend, about that," the general said; "we have too great an interest in not quitting you.Canarios!what would become of us alone, lost in this confounded desert?"
"Come, come, something tells me that we shall succeed," Valentine said gaily, "so we will have courage."
"May heaven grant you are not mistaken, my friend," Don Miguel said sadly. "My poor child!"
"We will deliver her. I have followed a more difficult trail before now."
With these consolatory words, the two Indians and the hunter set out. Instead of taking Indian file, as ordinarily adopted on the prairie, and marching one after the other, they spread like a fan, in order to have a greater space to explore, and not lose the slightest indication. So soon as the scouts were at the arranged distance, the Mexicans mounted and followed them, being careful not to let them out of sight, as far as was possible.
When Valentine told Don Miguel that he had followed more difficult trails, he was either boasting, or, as is more probable, judging from his frank character, he wished to restore hope to his friend.
In order to follow a trail, it must exist. Red Cedar was too old a wood ranger to neglect the slightest precaution, for he knew too well that, however large the desert may be, a man habituated to cross it always Succeeds in finding the man he is pursuing.
He knew, too, that he was followed by the most experienced hunter of the Far West, whom, by common accord, white and half-breed trappers, and the redskins themselves, had surnamed "The Trail-hunter." Hence he surpassed himself, and nothing was to be seen.
Although Valentine and his two comrades might interrogate the desert, it remained dumb and indecipherable as a closed book. For five hours they had been walking, and nothing had given an embodiment to their suspicions, or proved to them that they were on the right track.
Still, with that patience which characterises men accustomed to prairie life, and whose tenacity no word can express, the three men marched on, advancing, step by step, with their bodies bent, their eyes fixed on the ground, never yielding to the insurmountable difficulties that opposed them, but, on the contrary, excited by these very difficulties, which proved that they had an adversary worthy of them.
Valentine walked in the centre, with Curumilla on his right and Eagle-wing on his left. They were crossing at this moment a level plain, where a considerable view could be enjoyed; on one side stood the outposts of the virgin forest, on the other was the Gila, running over a sand bed. On reaching the bank of a small stream, obstructed with shrubs, Valentine noticed all at once that two or three small branches were broken a few inches from the ground.
The hunter stopped, and in order to examine more closely, lay down on the ground, carefully regarding the fracture of the wood, as he thrust his head into the copse. Suddenly he started up on his knees, uttering a cry of joy: his comrades ran up to him.
"Ah, by Heaven," Valentine exclaimed; "now I have him. Look, look!"
And he showed the Indians a few horse's hairs he held in his hand. Curumilla examined them attentively, while Eagle-wing, without saying a word, formed with earth and stones a dyke across the bed of the stream, which was only a few yards in width.
"Well, what do you say to that, chief?" Valentine asked. "Have I guessed it?"
"Wah," the Indian replied, "Koutonepi has good eyes; these hairs come from Red Cedar's horse."
"I noticed that the horse he rode was iron grey."
"Yes; but it halts."
"I know it, with the off foreleg."
At this moment the Coras summoned them: he had turned the course of the stream, and the traces of a horse's hoofs could be distinctly traced in the sand.
"Do you see?" said Valentine.
"Yes," Curumilla remarked; "but he is alone."
"Hang it, so he is."
The two warriors looked at him in amazement.
"Listen," Valentine said, after a moment's reflection, "this is a false trail. On reaching this stream, where it was impossible for him not to leave signs, Red Cedar, supposing that we should look for them in the water, crossed the stream alone, although it would be easy for men less accustomed to the desert than ourselves to suppose that a party had crossed here. Look down there on the other side, at a horse's marks. Red Cedar wanted to be too clever; showing us a trail at all has ruined him. The rest of the band, which he joined again presently, instead of crossing, descended the bed of the stream to the Gila, where they embarked and passed to the other side of the river."
The two Indians, on hearing this clear explanation, could not repress a cry of admiration. Valentine burst the dyke, and with their help formed another one hundred yards below, a short distance from the Gila. The bed of the stream was hardly dry, ere the two Indians clapped their hands, while uttering exclamations of delight.
Valentine had guessed aright: this time they had discovered the real trail, for the bed of the stream had been trampled by a large band of horses.
"Oh, oh," Valentine said; "I fancy we are on the right road."
He then imitated the cry of a swan, and the Mexicans, who had been puzzled by the movements of the hunters, and were anxious to hear the news, galloped up.
"Well?" Don Miguel shouted.
"Good news," said Valentine.
"You have the trail?" the general asked, hurriedly.
"I think so," the hunter modestly replied.
"Oh!" said Don Pablo, joyously; "In that case we shall soon catch the villain."
"I hope so. We must now cross the river; but let us three go first."
The three hunters leaped on their horses and crossed the river, followed at a distance by the others. On reaching the other side of the Gila, instead of ascending the bank, they followed the current for some distance, carefully examining the ground.
"Ah!" Valentine suddenly exclaimed, as he stopped his horse. "I think the men we are pursuing landed here."
"That is the place," said Curumilla, with a nod.
"Yes," Moukapec confirmed him; "it is easy to see."
In fact, the spot was admirably adapted for landing without leaving any signs. The bank was bordered for nearly one hundred yards with large flat rocks, shaped like tombstones, where the horses could rest their hoofs without any fear of leaving a mark. These atones extended for a considerable distance into the plain, and thus formed a species of natural highway, nearly half a mile in width.
Still, a thing had happened which no one could have foreseen, and which would have passed unnoticed, save for Valentine's watchful eye. One of the horses, in climbing on to the rock, had miscalculated its distance and slipped, so that an almost imperceptible graze, left by its hoof on the stone, showed the quick-sighted hunter where the party struck the bank.
The hunters followed the same road; but, so soon as they had landed, the trail disappeared anew. Although the scouts looked around with the most minute attention, they found nothing that would indicate to them the road followed by the enemy on leaving the water.
Valentine, with his hands resting on the muzzle of his rifle, was thinking deeply, at one moment looking on the ground, at another raising his eyes to the sky, like a man busied with the solution of a problem which seems to him impossible, when suddenly he perceived a white headed eagle soaring in long circles over a mass of rocks, situated a little to the right of the spot where he was standing.
"Hum," the hunter said to himself, as he watched the eagle, whose circles were growing gradually smaller, "what is the matter with that bird? I am curious to know."
Summoning his two comrades, he threw his rifle on his back, and hurried toward the spot above which the bird of prey still continued to hover. Valentine imparted to the Indians the suspicions that had sprung up in his mind, and the three men began painfully climbing up the mass of rocks strangely piled up one on the other, and which rose like a small hill in the middle of the prairie.
On reaching the top the hunters stopped to pant; the eagle, startled by their unexpected appearance, had flown reluctantly away. They found themselves on a species of platform, which must infallibly have once served as a sepulchre to some renowned Indian warrior, for several shapeless fragments lay here and there, near a rather wide cavity, some ten yards in width.
Valentine bent over the edge of this hole, but the obscurity was so dense, owing to the shape of the cavity, that he could perceive nothing, though his sense of smell was most disagreeably assailed by a fetid odour of decaying flesh.
"Hilloah! what is this?" he asked.
Without speaking, Curumilla had lit a candle wood torch which he handed the hunter. Valentine bent over again and looked in.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "Red Cedar's horse—I have you now, my fine fellow! but how the deuce did he manage to get the animal up here without leaving any trail?" After a moment he added: "Oh, what a goose I am! The horse was not dead, he led it up here, and then forced it into the hole. By Jove! It is a good trick: I must confess that Red Cedar is a very remarkable rogue, and had it not been for the eagle, I should not have discovered the road he took—but now I have him! Were he ten times as cunning he would not escape me."
And, all delighted, Valentine rejoined the Mexicans, who were anxiously awaiting the result of his researches.
"Then," Don Miguel asked the hunter, "you believe, my friend, that we are on the right track, and that the villain cannot escape us."
"I am convinced," Valentine replied, "that we have followed his trail up to the present. As for assuring you that he will not escape us, I am unable to say that; I can only assert that I shall discover him."
"That is what I meant," the hacendero remarked, with a sigh.
They started once more. The prairie became more broken, here and there clumps of trees diversified the landscape, and in the distance rose hills, the first spires of the Sierra Madre, which jagged the blue horizon, and undulated the soil. The hunters reached at about an hour before sunset the first trees of an immense virgin forest, which stretched out like a curtain of verdure, and completely hid the prairie from their sight.
"Wah!" said Curumilla, suddenly stooping and picking up an object which he handed Valentine.
"Hilloah!" the latter exclaimed, "if I am not mistaken, it is Doña Clara's cross."
"Give it me, my friend," Don Miguel said, hurriedly advancing.
He seized the article the hunter handed him; it was, in truth, a small diamond cross, which the maiden constantly wore. The hacendero raised it to his lips, with a joy mingled with sorrow.
"Oh, heavens!" he exclaimed, "What has happened to my poor girl?"
"Nothing," Valentine replied; "reassure yourself, my friend. The chain has probably broken, and Doña Clara lost it—that is all."
Don Miguel sighed, two tears burst from his eyes, but he did not utter a word; at the entrance of the forest Valentine halted.
"It is not prudent," he said, "to go among these large trees by night; perhaps those we seek may be waiting here to attack us under covert. If you will listen to me, we will bivouac here."
No one objected to this proposal, and consequently the encampment was formed. Night had completely set in, and the hunters, after eating their super, had rolled themselves up in their blankets, and were sleeping. Valentine, Curumilla, and Eagle-wing, gravely seated around the fire, were conversing in a low voice, while watching the neighbourhood.
All at once Valentine sharply seized the Ulmen by the collar, and pulled him to the ground; at the same moment a shot was fired, and a bullet struck the logs, producing myriads of sparks. The Mexicans, startled by the shot, sprung up and seized their arms, but the hunters had disappeared.
"What is the meaning of this?" Don Miguel asked, looking round vainly in the darkness.
"I am greatly mistaken," said the general, "if we are not attacked."
"Attacked!" the hacendero continued; "By whom?"
"By enemies, probably," the general remarked; "but who those enemies are I cannot tell you."
"Where are our friends?" Don Pablo asked.
"Hunting, I suppose," the general replied.
"Stay, here they come," said Don Miguel.
The hunters returned; but not alone; they had a prisoner with them, and the prisoner was Orson, the pirate. So soon as he had him in the bivouac, Valentine bound him securely, and then examined him for some minutes with profound attention. The bandit endured this examination with a feigned carelessness, which, well played though it was, did not quite deceive the Frenchman.
"Hum!" the latter said to himself, "this seems to me a cunning scamp; let me see if I am wrong—who are you, ruffian?" he roughly asked him.
"I?" the other said with a silly air.
"Yes, you."
"A hunter."
"A scalp hunter, I suppose?" Valentine went on.
"Why so?" the other asked.
"I suppose you did not take us for wild beasts?"
"I do not understand you," the bandit said, with a stupid look.
"That is possible," said Valentine, "what is your name?"
"Orson."
"A pretty name enough. And why were you prowling round our bivouac?"
"The night is dark, and I took you for Apaches."
"Is that why you fired at us?"
"Yes."
"I suppose you did not expect to kill us all six?"
"I did not try to kill you."
"Ah, ah! You wished to give us a salute, I suppose?" the hunter remarked, with a laugh.
"No, but I wished to attract your attention."
"Well, you succeeded; in that case, why did you bolt?"
"I did not do so—I let you catch me."
"Hum," Valentine said again; "well, no matter, we have got you and you'll be very clever if you escape."
"Who knows?" the pirate muttered.
"Where were you going?"
"To join my friends on the other bank of the river."
"What friends?"
"Friends of mine."
"I suppose so."
"The man is an idiot," Don Miguel said, with a shrug of his shoulders.
Valentine gave him a significant look.
"Do you think so?" he said.
As the hacendero made no reply, Valentine continued his cross-questioning.
"Who are the friends you were going to join?"
"I told you—hunters."
"Very well—but those hunters have a name."
"Have you not one, too?"
"Listen, scamp," Valentine said, whom the Pirate's evasions were beginning to make angry, "I warn you that, if you do not answer my questions simply, I shall be forced to blow out your brains."
Orson started back.
"Blow out my brains!" he exclaimed. "Nonsense, you would not dare."
"Why not, mate?"
"Because Red Cedar would avenge me."
"Ah ah, you know Red Cedar?"
"Of course I do, as I was going to join him."
"Hilloh!" Valentine said distrustfully. "Where, then?"
"Wherever he may be."
"That is true—then you know where Red Cedar is?"
"Yes."
"In that case you will guide us to him."
"I shall be delighted," the Pirate said quickly.
Valentine turned to his friend.
"This man is a traitor," he said. "He was sent to draw us into a snare, in which we will not let ourselves be caught. Curumilla, fasten a rope to a branch of that oak tree."
"What for?" Don Miguel asked.
"To hang this scamp, who fancies we are fools."
Orson trembled.
"One moment," he said.
"What for?" the hunter asked.
"Why, I do not wish to be hanged."
"And yet, it will happen to you within ten minutes, my good fellow—so you had better make up your mind to it."
"Not at all, since I offer to lead you to Red Cedar."
"Very good—but I prefer going alone."
"As you please. In that case, let me go."
"That is not possible, unfortunately."
"Why not?"
"I will tell you: because, if you were set at liberty, you would go straight and tell the man who sent you what you have seen, and I do not wish that. Besides, I know at present as well as you do, where Red Cedar is."
"Red Cedar does not hide himself, and can always be found."
"Very good. You have five minutes to recommend your soul to Heaven, and that is more than you deserve."
Orson understood from the hunter's accent that he was lost. Hence he made up his mind bravely.
"Bravo!" he said, "well-played."
Valentine looked at him.
"You are a plucky fellow," he said to him, "and I will do something for you. Curumilla, unfasten his arms."
The Indian obeyed.
"Look here," said Valentine, offering him a pistol. "Blow out your brains, it will be sooner over, and you will suffer less."
The bandit seized the weapon with a diabolical grin, and, with a movement swift as thought, fired at the hunter. But Curumilla was watching him, and cleft his skull with his tomahawk. The bullet whistled harmlessly past Valentine's ear.
"Thanks," said the bandit, as he rolled on the ground.
"What men!" Don Miguel exclaimed.
"Canarios, my friend," the general said, "you had a narrow escape."
The three men dug a hole into which they threw the bandit's body. The rest of the night passed without incident, and at daybreak the hunt recommenced. About midday, the hunters found themselves again on the river bank, and saw two Indian canoes drifting down with the current.
"Back, back!" Valentine suddenly shouted.
All lay down on the grass, and at the same instant bullets ricochetted from the rocks, and arrows whizzed through the leaves, but no one was wounded. Valentine disdained to reply.
"They are Apaches," he said. "Let us not waste our powder; besides, they are out of range."
They set out again. Gradually, the forest grew clearer, the trees became rare, and they at length entered a vast prairie.
"Stop," said Valentine, "we must be approaching. I believe we shall do well, now that we have an expanse before us, to examine the horizon."
He stood upright in his saddle, and began looking carefully around. Presently, he got down.
"Nothing," he said.
At this moment, he saw something glistening in the grass, on the river bank.
"What is that?" he asked himself, and bent down. But, instead of rising again, he bent lower still, and in a second turned to Curumilla.
"The moccasin," he said, sharply.
The Indian handed it to him.
"Look!" the hunter said.
At this spot the sand was damp, and, under a pile of leaves, there appeared clearly and distinctly the trace of a man's foot, with the toes in the water.
"They are only two hours ahead of us," said Valentine. "One of them lost a horse bell here."
"They have crossed the river," said Eagle-wing.
"That is easy to see," the general remarked.
Valentine smiled, and looked at Curumilla, who shook his head.
"No," the hunter said. "It is a trick, but they shall not catch me."
Making his comrades a signal not to stir, Valentine turned his back to the river, and walked rapidly toward a tree covered hill a short distance off.
"Come!" he shouted, so soon as he reached the top. Several dead trees lay scattered in an open space. Aided by Curumilla, Valentine began removing them. The Mexicans, whose curiosity was aroused to an eminent degree, also lent a hand.
In a few minutes, several trees were rolled on one side. Valentine then removed the leaves, and discovered the remains of a fire, with the ashes still warm.
"Come, come," he said, "Red Cedar is not so clever as I thought."
Don Miguel, his son, and the general were astounded, but the hunter only smiled.
"It is nothing," he said. "But the shadow of the sun is already lengthening on the horizon, within three hours, it will be night; so remain here. When the gloom is thick, we will start again."
They bivouacked.
"Now, sleep," Valentine bade them. "I will awake you when necessary, for you will have smart work tonight."
And joining example to precept, Valentine lay down on the ground, closed his eyes, and slept. At about an hour after sunset, he woke again; he looked around, his comrades were still asleep, but one was absent—Curumilla.
"Good," Valentine thought; "the chief has seen something, and gone to reconnoitre."
He had scarce finished this aside, when he noticed two shadows standing out vaguely in the night; the hunter darted behind a tree, and cocked his rifle. At the same instant, the cry of the swan was audible a short distance off.
"Halloh!" said Valentine, as he withdrew his rifle, "Can Curumilla have made another prisoner? Let me have a look."
A few minutes later, Curumilla arrived, closely followed by an Indian warrior, who was no other than Black Cat. On seeing him, Valentine repressed with difficulty a cry of surprise.
"My brother is welcome," he said.
"I was expecting my brother," the Apache chief said, simply.
"How so?"
"My brother is on the trail of Red Cedar?"
"Yes."
"Red Cedar is there," said Black Cat, pointing in the direction of the river.
"Far?"
"About half an hour."
"Good. How does my red brother know it?" the hunter asked, with ill-concealed suspicion.
"The great pale warrior is the brother of Black Cat; he saved his life. The redskins have a long memory. Black Cat assembled his young men, and followed Red Cedar to deliver him to his brother Koutonepi."
Valentine did not for an instant doubt the good faith of the Apache Chief; he knew how religiously the Indians keep their oaths. Black Cat had formed an alliance with him, and he could place implicit confidence in his words.
"Good," he said, "I will wake the pale warriors; my brother will guide us."
The Indian bowed and folded his arms on his chest. A quarter of an hour later, the hunters reached the encampment of the redskins, when they found that Black Cat had spoken the truth, for he had one hundred picked warriors with him, so cleverly concealed in the grass that ten paces off it was impossible to perceive them.
Black Cat drew Valentine aside, and led him a short distance from the bivouac.
"Let my brother look," he said.
The hunter then saw, a little way off, the fires of the gambusinos. Red Cedar had placed his camp against a hillside, which prevented the hunters seeing it. The squatter fancied he had thrown Valentine out, and this night, for the first time since he knew he was pursued, he allowed his people to light a fire.
Red Cedar's camp was plunged in silence; all were asleep, save three or four gambusinos who watched over the safety of their comrades, and two persons who, carelessly reclining before a tent erected in the centre of the camp, were conversing in a low voice. They were Red Cedar and Fray Ambrosio.
The squatter seemed suffering from considerable anxiety; with his eye fixed on space, he seemed to be sounding the darkness and guessing the secrets which the night that surrounded him bore in its bosom.
"Gossip," the monk said, "do you believe that we have succeeded in hiding our trail from the white hunters?"
"Those villains are dogs at whom I laugh; my wife would suffice to drive them away with a whip," Red Cedar replied, disdainfully; "I know all the windings of the prairie, and have acted for the best."
"Then, we are at length freed from our enemies," the monk said, with a sigh of relief.
"Yes, gossip," the squatter remarked with a grin; "now you can sleep calmly."
"Ah," said the monk, "all the better."
At this moment, a bullet whistled over the Spaniard's head, and flattened against one of the tent poles.
"Malediction!" the squatter yelled, as he sprang up; "those mad wolves again. To arms, lads; here are the redskins."
Within a few seconds, all the gambusinos were alert and ambuscaded behind the bales that formed the wall of the camp. At the same moment, fearful yells, followed by a terrible discharge, burst forth from the prairie.
The squatter's band comprised about twenty resolute men, with the pirates he had enlisted. The gambusinos did not let themselves be terrified; they replied by a point-blank discharge at a numerous band of horsemen galloping at full speed on the camp. The Indians rode in every direction, uttering ferocious yells, and brandishing burning torches which they constantly hurled into the camp.
The Indians, as a general rule, only attack their enemies by surprise; when they have no other object in view but pillage, as soon as they are discovered and meet with a vigorous resistance, they cease a combat which has become objectless to them. But on this occasion the redskins seemed to have given up their ordinary tactics, so obstinately did they assail the gambusino intrenchments; frequently repulsed, they returned with renewed ardour, fighting in the open and trying to crush their enemies by their numbers.
Red Cedar, terrified by the duration of a combat in which his bravest comrades had perished, resolved to attempt a final effort, and conquer the Indians by daring and temerity. By a signal he collected his three sons around him, with Andrés Garote and Fray Ambrosio; but the Indians did not leave them the time to carry out the plan they had formed; they returned to the charge with incredible fury, and a cloud of incendiary arrows and lighted torches fell on the camp from all sides at once.
The fire added its horrors to those of the combat, and ere long the camp was a burning fiery furnace. The redskins, cleverly profiting by the disorder the fire caused among the gambusinos, escaladed the bales, invaded the camp, rushed on the whites, and a hand-to-hand fight commenced. In spite of their courage and skill in the use of arms, the gambusinos were overwhelmed by the masses of their enemies; a few minutes longer, and all would be over with Red Cedar's band.
The squatter resolved to make a supreme effort to save the few men still left him; taking Fray Ambrosio aside, who, since the beginning the action, had constantly fought by his side, he explained his intentions to him; and when he felt that the monk would certainly carry out his plans, he rushed with incredible fury into the thickest of the fight, and felling or stabbing the redskins who stood in his way, succeeded in entering the tent.
Doña Clara, with her head stretched forward, seemed to be anxiously listening to the noises outside. Two paces from her, the squatter's wife was dying; a bullet had passed through her skull. On seeing Red Cedar, the maiden folded her arms on her bosom, and wailed.
"Voto a Dios!" the brigand exclaimed. "She is still here. Follow me, señora, we must be off."
"No," the Spaniard answered, resolutely. "I will not go."
"Come, child, obey; do not oblige me to employ violence; time is precious."
"I will not go, I tell you," the maiden repeated.
"For the last time, will you follow me—yes or no?"
Doña Clara shrugged her shoulders. The squatter saw that any discussion was useless, and he must settle the question by force; so, leaping over the corpse of his wife, he tried to seize the girl. But the latter, who had watched all his movements, bounded like a startled fawn, drew a dagger from her breast, and with flashing eye, quivering nostrils, and trembling lips, she prepared to go through a desperate struggle.
There must be an end of this, so the squatter raised his sabre, and with the flat dealt such a terrible blow on the girl's delicate arm, that she let the dagger fall, and uttered a shriek of pain. But the unhappy girl stooped at once to pick up her weapon with her left hand; Red Cedar took advantage of this movement, bounded upon her, and made her a girdle of his powerful arms. The maiden, who had hitherto resisted in silence, shrieked with all the energy of despair—
"Help, Shaw, help!"
"Ah!" Red Cedar howled; "he, then, was the traitor! Let him come, if he dare."
And, raising the girl in his arms, he ran toward the entrance of the hut, but he fell back suddenly, with a ghastly oath: a man barred his passage, and that man was Valentine.
"Ah, ah!" the hunter said, with a sarcastic smile; "There you are again, Red Cedar.Caray, my master, you seem in a hurry."
"Let me pass," the squatter yelled, as he cocked a pistol.
"Pass?" Valentine repeated, with a laugh, while carefully watching the bandit's movements. "You are in a great haste to leave our company. Come, no threats, or I kill you like a dog."
"I shall kill you, villain," Red Cedar exclaimed, pulling with a convulsive movement the trigger of the pistol.
But, although the squatter had been so quick, Valentine was not less so; he stooped smartly to escape the bullet, which did not strike him, and raised his rifle, but did not dare fire, for Red Cedar had fallen back to the end of the tent, and employed the maiden as a buckler. At the sound of the shot Valentine's comrades hurried up to the tent, which was simultaneously invaded by the Indians.
The few gambusinos who survived their companions, about seven or eight, whom Fray Ambrosio had collected by the squatter's orders, guessing what was occurring, and desiring to aid their chief, crept stealthily up, and seizing the tent ropes, cut them all at once.
The mass of canvas, no longer supported, fell in, burying and dragging down with it all who were beneath it. There was a moment of terrible confusion among the Indians and hunters, which Red Cedar cleverly employed to step out of the tent and mount a horse Fray Ambrosio held in readiness for him. But, at the moment he was going to dash off, Shaw barred his passage.
"Stop, father," he shouted, as he boldly seized the bridle, "give me that girl."
"Back, villain, back," the squatter howled, grinding his teeth; "back!"
"You shall not pass," Shaw continued. "Give me Doña Clara!"
Red Cedar felt that he was lost: Valentine, Don Miguel, and their comrades, at length freed from the tent, were hurrying up at full speed.
"Wretch!" he exclaimed.
And, making his horse bound, he cut his son down with his sabre. The witnesses uttered a cry of horror, while the gambusinos, starting at full speed, passed like a whirlwind through the dense mass of foes.
"Oh!" Don Miguel shrieked, "I will save my daughter."
And leaping on a horse, he rushed in pursuit of the bandits; the hunters and Indians, leaving the burning camp to a few plunderers, also started after them. But suddenly an incomprehensible thing occurred: a terrible, superhuman noise was heard; the horses, going at full speed, stopped, neighing with terror; and the pirates, hunters, and redskins, instinctively raising their eyes to Heaven, could not restrain a cry of horror.
"Oh!" Red Cedar shouted, with an accent of rage impossible to render; "I will escape in spite of Heaven and Hell!"
And he buried his spurs in his horse's flanks; the animal gave vent to a snort of agony, but remained motionless.
"My daughter, my daughter!" Don Miguel shouted, striving in vain to reach the Pirate.
"Come and take her, dog," the bandit yelled; "I will only give her to you dead."
A frightful change had suddenly taken place in Nature. The heavenly vault had assumed the appearance of a vast globe of yellow copper: the pallid moon emitted no beams; and the atmosphere was so transparent, that the most distant objects were visible. A stifling heat weighed on the earth, and there was not a breath in the air to stir the leaves. The Gila had ceased to flow.
The hoarse roar which had been heard before was repeated with tenfold force: the river, lifted bodily, as if by a powerful and invisible hand, rose to an enormous height, and suddenly descended on the plain, over which it poured with incredible rapidity: the mountains oscillated on their base, hurling on to the prairie enormous blocks of rock, which fell with a frightful crash: the earth, opening on all sides, filled up valleys, levelled hills, poured from its bosom torrents of sulphurous water, which threw up stones and burning mud, and then began to heave with a slow and continuous movement.
"Terremoto!(earthquake)," the hunters and gambusinos exclaimed, as they crossed themselves and recited all the prayers that recurred to their mind.
It was, in truth, an earthquake—the most fearful scourge of these regions. The ground seemed to boil, if we may employ the expression—rising and falling incessantly, like the waves of the sea during a tempest. The bed of the rivers and streams changed at each instant, and gulfs of unfathomable depth opened beneath the feet of the terrified men.
The wild beasts, driven from their lairs and repulsed by the river, whose waters constantly rose, came, mad with terror, to join the men. Countless herds of buffaloes traversed the plain, uttering hoarse lowings, dashing against each other, turning back suddenly to avoid the abysses that opened at their feet, and threatening in their furious course to trample under everything that offered an obstacle.
The jaguars, panthers, cougars, grizzly bears, and coyotes, pell-mell with the deer, antelopes, elks, and asshatas, uttered howls and plaintive yells, not thinking of attacking each other, so thoroughly had fear paralysed their bloodthirsty instincts.
The birds whirled round, with wild croakings in the air impregnated with sulphur and bitumen, or fell heavily to the ground, stunned by fear, with their wings outstretched, and feathers standing on end.
A second scourge joined the former, and added, were it possible, to the horror of this scene. The fire lit in the gambusino camp by the Indians gradually gained the tall prairie grass; suddenly it was revealed in its majestic and terrible splendour, kindling all in its sparks with a whizzing sound.
A person must have seen a fire on the prairies of the Far West to form an idea of the splendid horror of such a sight. Virgin forests are burnt to the ground, their aged trees writhing, and uttering complaints and cries like human beings. The incandescent mountains resemble ill-omened light-houses, whose immense flames rise as spirals to the sky, which they colour for a wide distance with their blood-red hue.
The earth continued at intervals to suffer violent shocks; to the northwest the waters of the Gila were bounding madly forward; in the south-west, the fire was hurrying on with sharp and rapid leaps. The unhappy redskins, the hunters, and the pirates their enemies, saw with indescribable terror the space around them growing momentarily smaller, and every chance of safety cut off in turn.
In this supreme moment, when every feeling of hatred should have been extinguished in their hearts, Red Cedar and the hunters, only thinking of their vengeance, continued their rapid hunt, racing like demons across the prairie, which would soon doubtless serve as their sepulchre.
In the meanwhile, the two scourges marched towards one another, and the whites and redskins could already calculate with certainty how many minutes were left them, in their last refuge, ere they were buried beneath the waters, or devoured by the flames. At this terrible moment the Apaches all turned to Valentine as the only man who could save them; and at this supreme appeal, the hunter gave up for a few seconds his pursuit of Red Cedar.
"What do my brothers ask?" he said.
"That the great Hunter of the palefaces should save them," Black Cat said without hesitation.
Valentine smiled mournfully, as he took a look at all these men who awaited their safety from him.
"God alone can save you," he said, "for He is omnipotent; His hand has weighed heavily on us. What can I, a poor creature, do?"
"The pale hunter must save us," the Apache chief repeated.
The hunter gave a sigh.
"I will try," he said.
The Indians eagerly collected around him. The simple men considered that this hunter, whom they were accustomed to admire, and whom they had seen do so many surprising deeds, had a superhuman power at his command: they placed a superstitious faith in him.
"My brothers will listen;" Valentine went on: "only one chance of safety is left them—a very weak one, but it is at present the only one they can attempt. Let each take his arms, and without loss of time kill the buffaloes madly running about the prairie; their skins will serve as canoes to fly the fire that threatens to devour everything."
The Indians gave vent to a shout of joy and hope, and without further hesitation attacked the buffaloes, which, half mad with terror, let themselves be killed without offering the slightest resistance.
So soon as Valentine saw that his allies were following his advice, and were busily engaged in making their canoes, he thought once more of the pirates, who, for their part, had not remained idle. Directed by Red Cedar, they had collected some uprooted trees, attached them together with their lassos, and after this, forming a raft which would bear them all, they thrust it into the water, and entrusted themselves to the current.
Don Pablo, seeing his enemy on the point of escaping him a second time, did not hesitate to cover him with his rifle. But Andrés Garote had a spite on the Mexican, and taking advantage of the opportunity he quickly raised his rifle, and fired. The bullet, disturbed by the oscillation of the raft, did not hit the young man, but hit his rifle in his hands, at the moment he was pulling the trigger.
The pirates uttered a shout of triumph which was suddenly changed into a cry of anger. Señor Andrés Garote fell into their arms with a bullet through his chest, presented to him by Curumilla.
Just at this moment the sun rose gloriously on the horizon, lighting up the magnificent picture of travailing nature, and restoring a little courage to the men.
The redskins, after making, with their peculiar quickness and skill, some twenty canoes, were already beginning to launch them. The hunters tried to lasso the raft, and draw it to them, while the pirates on the other hand, employed the utmost efforts to keep it in the current. Curumilla had succeeded in throwing his lasso so as to entangle it in the trees, but Red Cedar cut it twice with his knife.
"We must finish with that bandit," Valentine said, "kill him at all risks."
"One moment, I implore you," Don Miguel entreated, "let me first speak to him, perhaps I may move his heart."
"Humph!" the hunter muttered, as he rested his rifle on the ground, "it would be easier to move a tiger."
Don Miguel walked a few paces forward. "Red Cedar," he exclaimed, "have pity on me—give me back my daughter."
The pirate grinned, but gave no answer.
"Red Cedar," Don Miguel went on, "have pity on me, I implore you, I will pay any ransom you ask; but in the name of what there is most sacred on earth, restore me my daughter; remember that you owe your life to me."
"I owe you nothing," the squatter said brutally; "the life you saved you tried to take from me again; we are quits."
"My daughter! Give me my daughter."
"Where is mine? Where is Ellen? restore her to me; perhaps, after that, I will consent to give you your daughter."
"She is not with us, Red Cedar, I swear it to you; she went away to join you."
"A lie!" the Pirate yelled, "A lie!"
At this moment, Doña Clara, whose movements nobody was watching, boldly leaped into the water. But, at the sound of the dive, Red Cedar turned and plunged in after her. The hunters began firing again on the Pirate, who, as if he had a charmed life, shook his head with a sarcastic laugh at every bullet that struck the water near him.
"Help!" the maiden cried in a panting voice; "Valentine, my father, help me!"
"I come," Don Miguel answered: "courage, my child, courage!"
And, only listening to paternal love, Don Miguel bounded forward, but, at a sign from Valentine, Curumilla and Eagle-wing stopped him, in spite of all his efforts to tear himself from their grasp. The hunter took his knife in his teeth and leaped into the river.
"Come, father!" Doña Clara repeated—"Where are you? Where are you?"
"Here I am!" Don Miguel shrieked.
"Courage! Courage!" Valentine shouted.
The hunter made a tremendous effort to reach the maiden, and the two enemies found themselves face to face in the agitated waters of the Gila. Forgetting all feeling of self preservation they rushed on each other knife in hand.
At this moment a formidable sound, resembling the discharge of a park of artillery, burst from the entrails of the earth, a terrible shock agitated the ground, and the river was forced back into its bed with irresistible force. Red Cedar and Valentine, seized by the colossal wave produced by this tremendous clash, turned round and round for some moments, but were then hastily separated, and an impassible gulf opened between them. At the same instant a cry of horrible pain echoed through the air.
"There!" Red Cedar yelled, "I told you I would only give you your daughter dead—come and take her!"
And with a demoniac laugh, he buried his knife in Doña Clara's bosom. The poor girl fell on her knees, clasped her hands, and expired, crying for the last time—
"Father! Father!"
"Oh!" Don Miguel shrieked—"Woe! Woe!" and he fell unconscious on the ground.
At the sight of this cowardly act, Valentine, rendered powerless, writhed his hands in despair. Curumilla raised his rifle, and ere Red Cedar could start his horse at a gallop, fired; but the bullet, badly aimed, did not strike the bandit, who uttered a yell of triumph, and started at full speed.
"Oh!" Valentine shouted, "I swear by Heaven I will have that monster's life!"
The shock we just alluded to was the last effort of the earthquake, though there were a few more scarcely felt oscillations, as if the earth were seeking to regain its balance, which it had momentarily lost.
The Apaches, carried away in their canoes, had already gained a considerable distance; the fire was expiring for want of nourishment on the ground, which had been inundated by the waters of the river.
In spite of the help lavished on him by his friends, Don Miguel did not return to life for a long time. The general approached the hunter, who was leaning, gloomy and pensive, on his rifle, with his eyes fixed on space.
"What are we doing here?" he said to him; "Why do we not resume our pursuit of that villain?"
"Because," Valentine replied, in a mournful voice, "We must pay the last duties to his victim."
The general bowed, and an hour later the hunters placed Doña Clara's body in the ground. Don Miguel, supported by the general and his son, wept over the grave which contained his child.
When the Indian Chief had filled up the hole, and rolled onto it rocks, lest it might be profaned by wild beasts, Valentine seized his friend's hand, and pressed it forcibly.
"Don Miguel," he said to him, "women weep, men avenge themselves."
"Oh, yes!" the hacendero cried, with savage energy; "Vengeance! Vengeance!"
But, alas! This cry, uttered over a scarce-closed tomb, died out without an echo. Red Cedar and his companions had disappeared in the inextricable windings of the desert. Many days must yet elapse before the so greatly desired hour of vengeance arrived, for God, whose designs are inscrutable, had not yet said Enough!
[The further adventures of the hunters and the fate of Red Cedar have yet to be described, in the last volume of this series, entitled "THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER," which will speedily appear.]