[1]This mode of taming horses is well known to the Indians, and we submit the fact to our readers without comment.
[1]This mode of taming horses is well known to the Indians, and we submit the fact to our readers without comment.
So soon as the emotion caused by Don Pablo's prowess was calmed they began thinking about returning. The sun was rapidly descending in the horizon: the whole day had been spent with the exciting incidents of the chase. The Hacienda de la Noria was nearly ten leagues distant: it was, therefore, urgent to start as speedily as possible, unless the party wished to run the risk of bivouacking in the open air.
The men would easily have put up with this slight annoyance, which, in a climate like that of New Mexico, and at this season of the year, has nothing painful about it; but they had ladies with them. Left one or two leagues in the rear, they must feel alarmed by the absence of the hunters—an absence which, as so frequently happens when out hunting, had been protracted far beyond all expectation.
Don Miguel gave the vaqueros orders to brand the captured horses with his cipher; and the whole party then returned, laughing and singing, in the direction of the tents where the ladies had been left. The vaqueros who had served as beaters during the day remained behind to guard the horses.
In these countries, where there is scarce any twilight, night succeeds the day almost without transition. As soon as the sun had set the hunters found themselves in complete darkness; for, as the sun descended on the horizon, the shade invaded the sky in equal proportions, and, at the moment when the day planet disappeared, the night was complete. The desert, hitherto silent, seemed to wake up all at once: the birds, stupefied by the heat, commenced a formidable concert, in which joined at intervals, from the inaccessible depths of the forest, the snapping of thecarcajousand the barking of the coyotes mingled with the hoarse howling of the wild beasts that had left their dens to come down and drink in the river.
Then gradually the cries, the songs, and the howling ceased, and nothing was audible save the hurried footfalls of the hunters' horses on the pebbles of the road. A solemn silence seemed to brood over this abrupt and primitive scenery. At intervals the green tufts of the trees and the tall grass bowed slowly with a prolonged rustling of leaves and branches, as if a mysterious breath passed over them, and compelled them to bend their heads. There was something at once striking and terrible in the imposing appearance offered by the prairie at this hour of the night, beneath this sky studded with brilliant stars, which sparkled like emeralds, in the presence of this sublime immensity, which only suffered one voice to be heard—that of Deity.
The young and enthusiastic man to whom it is given to be present at such a spectacle feels a thrill run over all his body: he experiences an undefinable feeling of happiness and extraordinary pleasure on looking round him at the desert, whose unexplored depths conceal from him so many secrets, and display to him Divine Majesty in all its grandeur and omnipotence. Many a time during our adventurous journeys on the American continent, when marching at hazard during these lovely nights so full of charms, which nothing can make those comprehend who have not experienced them, we have yielded to the soft emotions that overcame us. Isolating and absorbing ourselves within ourselves, we, have fallen into a state of beatitude, from which nothing had the power of drawing us.
The hunters so gay and talkative at the start, had yielded to this omnipotent influence of the desert, and advanced rapidly and silently, only exchanging a few syllables at lengthened intervals. The profoundest calm still continued to reign over the desert; and while, owing to the astonishing transparency of the atmosphere, the eye could embrace a horizon, nothing suspicious was visible.
The fireflies buzzed carelessly round the top of the grass, and the flickering fires burning before the tents to which the hunters were bound could be already seen about half a league ahead. At a signal from Don Miguel the party, which had, up to the present, only trotted, set out at a long canter; for each felt anxious to leave a scene which, in the darkness, had assumed a sinister aspect.
They thus arrived within a hundred yards of the fires, whose ruddy glow was reflected on the distant trees, when suddenly a fearful yell crossed the air, and from behind every bush out started an Indian horseman brandishing his weapons, and making his horse curvet round the white men, while uttering his war cry. The Mexicans, taken unawares, were surrounded ere they sufficiently recovered from their stupor to think about employing their weapons. At a glance Don Miguel judged the position: it was a critical one. The hunters were at the most but twenty: the number of Comanche warriors surrounding them was at least three hundred.
The Comanches and Apaches are the most implacable foes of the white race. In their periodical invasions of the frontiers they hardly ever make any prisoners: they mercilessly kill all who fall into their hands. Still the Mexicans rallied. Certain of the fate that awaited them, they were resolved to sell their lives dearly. There was a moment of supreme expectation before the commencement of the deadly combat, when suddenly an Indian galloped out of the ranks of the warriors, and rode within three paces of the little band of Mexicans. On arriving there he stopped, and waved his buffalo robe in sign of peace. The governor of the provinces prepared to speak.
"Let me carry on the negotiations," Don Miguel said. "I know the Indians better than you do, and perhaps I shall succeed in getting out of this awkward position."
"Do so," the governor answered.
General Ibañez was the only one who had remained calm and impassive since the surprise: he did not make a move to seize his weapons; on the contrary, he crossed his arms carelessly on his chest, and took a mocking glance at his comrades as he hummed a seguidilla between his teeth. Don Pablo had placed himself by his father's side, ready to defend him at the peril of his life. The Indian chief took the word.
"Let the palefaces listen," he said; "an Indian sachem is about to speak."
"We have no time to spare in listening to the insidious words which you are preparing to say to us," Don Miguel replied in a haughty voice. "Withdraw, and do not obstinately bar our passage, or there will be blood spilt."
"The palefaces will have brought it on themselves," the Comanche answered in a gentle voice. "The Indians mean no harm to the pale warriors."
"Why, then, this sudden attack? The chief is mad. We do not let ourselves be so easily deceived as he seems to suppose: we know very well that he wants our scalps."
"No; Unicorn wishes to make a bargain with the palefaces."
"Come, chief, explain yourself; perhaps your intentions are as you describe them. I do not wish to reproach myself with having refused to listen to you."
The Indian smiled.
"Good!" he said. "The great white chief is becoming reasonable. Let him listen, then, to the words Unicorn will pronounce."
"Go on, chief; my comrades and myself are listening."
"The palefaces are thieving dogs," the chief said in a rough voice; "they carry on a continual war with the redskins, and buy their scalps as if they were peltry; but the Comanches are magnanimous warriors, who disdain to avenge themselves. The squaws of the white men are in their power: they will restore them."
At these words a shudder of terror ran along the ranks of the hunters; their courage failed them; they had only one desire left—that of saving those who had so wretchedly fallen into the hands of these bloodthirsty men.
"On what conditions will the Comanches restore their prisoners?" Don Miguel asked, whose heart was contracted at the thought of his daughter, who was also a prisoner. He secretly cursed Valentine, whose fatal advice was the sole cause of the frightful evil that assailed him at this moment.
"The palefaces," the chief continued, "will dismount and arrange themselves in a line. Unicorn will choose from among his enemies those whom he thinks proper to carry off as prisoners; the rest will be free, and all the women restored."
"Those conditions are harsh, chief. Can you not modify them?"
"A chief has only one word. Do the palefaces consent?"
"Let us consult together for a few moments at any rate."
"Good! Let the white men consult. Unicorn grants them ten minutes," the chief made answer.
And turning his horse, he went back to his men. Don Miguel then addressed his friends.
"Well; what do you think of what has occurred?"
The Mexicans were terrified: still they were compelled to allow that the conduct of the Indians was extraordinary, and that they had never before evinced such lenity. Now that reflection had followed on the first feeling of excitement, they understood that a struggle against enemies so numerous was insensate, and could only result in rendering their position worse than it was before, and that the chiefs conditions, harsh as they were, offered at least some chance of safety for a portion of them, and the ladies would be saved.
This last and all powerful consideration decided them. Don Miguel had no occasion to convince them of the necessity of submission. Whatever struggle it cost them, they dismounted and arranged themselves in a line, as the chief had demanded, Don Miguel and his son placing themselves at the head.
Unicorn, with that cool courage characteristic of the Indians, then advanced alone toward the Mexicans, who still held their weapons, and who, impelled by their despair, and at the risk of being all massacred, would have sacrificed him to their vengeance. The chief had also dismounted. With his hands crossed on his back, and frowning brow, he now commenced his inspection.
Many a heart contracted at his approach, for a question of life and death was being decided for these hapless men: only the perspective of the atrocious tortures which menaced the ladies could have made them consent to this humiliating and degrading condition. The Unicorn, however, was generous: he only selected eight of the Mexicans, and the rest received permission to mount their horses, and leave the fatal circle that begirt them. Still, by a strange accident, or a premeditation of which the reason escaped them, these, eight prisoners—among whom were the governor, General Isturitz, and the criminal judge, Don Luciano Pérez—were the most important personages in the party, and the members of the Provincial Government.
It was not without surprise that Don Miguel observed this; the Comanches, however, faithfully fulfilled their compact, and the ladies were at once set at liberty. They had been treated with the greatest respect by the Indians, who had surprised their camp, and seized them almost in the same way as they had done the hunters—that is to say, the camp was invaded simultaneously on all sides. It was a matter worthy of remark in an Indian ambuscade that not a drop of blood had been spilt.
After the moments given up to the happiness of seeing his daughter again safe and sound, Don Miguel resolved to make a last attempt with Unicorn in favour of the unhappy men who remained in his hands. The chief listened with deference, and let him speak without interruption; then he replied with a smile whose expression the hacendero tried in vain to explain,—
"My father has Indian blood in his veins; the redskins love him: never will they do him the slightest injury. Unicorn would like to restore him immediately the prisoners, for whom he cares very little; but that is impossible. My father himself would speedily regret Unicorn's obedience to his Wish; but, in order to prove to my father how much the chief desires to do a thing that will be agreeable to him, the prisoners will not be ill-treated, and will be let off with a few days' annoyance. Unicorn consents to accept a ransom for them, instead of making them slaves. My father can himself tell them this good news."
"Thanks, chief," Don Miguel answered. "The nobility of your character touches my heart: I shall not forget it. Be persuaded that, under all circumstances, I shall be happy to prove to you how grateful I am."
The chief bowed gracefully and withdrew, in order to give the hacendero liberty to communicate with his companions. The latter were seated sadly on the ground, gloomy and downcast. Don Miguel repeated to them the conversation he had held with Unicorn, and the promise he had made with respect to them. This restored them all their courage; and, with the most affectionate words and marks of the liveliest joy, they thanked the hacendero for the attempt he had made in their favour.
In fact, thanks to the promise of liberating them for a ransom at the end of a week, and treating them well during the period of their captivity, there was nothing so very terrifying about the prospect; and it was one of those thousand annoyances to which men are exposed by accident, but whose proportions had been so reduced in their eyes, that, with the carelessness which forms the staple of the national character, they were the first to laugh at their mishap.
Don Miguel, however, was anxious to retire; so he took leave of his companions, and rejoined the chief. The latter repeated his assurances that the prisoners should be free within a week, if they consented each to pay a ransom of one thousand piastres, which was a trifle. He assured the hacendero that he was at liberty to withdraw whenever he pleased, and he should not oppose his departure.
Don Miguel did not allow the invitation to be repeated. His friends and himself immediately mounted their horses, together with the ladies, who were placed in the centre of the detachment; and after taking leave of Unicorn, the Mexicans dug their spurs into their horses, and started at a gallop, glad to have got off so cheaply. The campfires were soon left far behind them, and General Ibañez then approached his friend, and bending down to his ear, whispered,—
"Don Miguel, can the Comanches be our allies? I fancy that they have this night given a bold push to the success of our enterprise."
This thought, like a ray of light, had already crossed the hacendero's brain several times.
"I do not know," he said with a clever smile; "but at any rate, my dear general, they are very adroit foes."
The little band continued to advance rapidly toward the hacienda, which was now no great distance, and which they hoped to reach before sunrise. The events we have described had occurred in less than an hour.
"By Jove!" General Ibañez said, "it must be confessed that these red devils have done us an immense service without suspecting it. It might be said, deuce take me, that they acted under a knowledge of facts. This Unicorn, as the chief is called, is a precious man in certain circumstances. I am anxious to cultivate his acquaintance, for no one knows what may happen. It is often good to have so intelligent a friend as him at hand."
"You are always jesting, general. When will you be serious for once?" Don Miguel said with a smile.
"What would you have, my friend? We are at this moment staking our heads in a desperate game, so let us at any rate keep our gaiety. If we are conquered, it will be time enough then to be sad, and make bitter reflections about the instability of human affairs."
"Yes, your philosophy is not without a certain dose of fatalism, which renders it more valuable to me. I am happy to see you in this good temper, especially at a moment when we are preparing to play our last card."
"All is not desperate yet, and I have a secret foreboding, on the contrary, that all is for the best. Our friend the Trail-hunter, I feel convinced, has something to do, if not all, with what has happened to us."
"Do you believe it?" Don Miguel asked quickly.
"I am certain of it. You know as well as I do these Indios Bravos, and the implacable hatred they have vowed against us. The war they wage with us is atrocious; and for them to be suddenly changed from wolves into lambs requires some powerful motive to make them act thus. People do not lay aside in a moment a hatred which has endured for ages. The Comanches, by the choice they made, know the importance of the prisoners they have seized. How is it that they consent so easily to give them up for a trifling ransom? There is some inexplicable mystery in all this."
"Which is very easy to explain though," a laughing voice interrupted from behind the shrubs.
The two Mexicans started, and checked their horses. A man leaped from a thicket, and suddenly appeared in the centre of the track the little band of hunters was following. The latter, believing in a fresh attack and treachery on the part of the Comanches, seized their weapons.
"Stop!" Don Miguel said sharply, "the man is alone. Let me speak with him."
Each waited with his hand on his weapon.
"Hold!" Don Miguel continued, addressing the stranger, who stood motionless, carelessly resting on his gun. "Who are you, my master?"
"Do you not recognise me, Don Miguel? and must I really tell you my name?" the stranger answered with a laugh.
"The Trail-hunter!" Don Miguel exclaimed.
"Himself," Valentine continued. "Hang it all! You take a long time to recognise your friends."
"You will forgive us when you know all that has happened to us, and how much we must keep on our guard."
"Confound it!" Valentine said laughingly, as he regulated his pace by the trot of the horses, "do you fancy you are going to tell me any news? Did you not really suspect from what quarter the blow came?"
"What!" Don Miguel exclaimed in surprise, "did you—"
"Who else but I? Do you think the Spaniards are such friends of the Indians that the latter would treat them so kindly when meeting them face to face in the desert?"
"I was sure of it," General Ibañez affirmed. "I guessed it at the first moment."
"Good heavens! Nothing was more simple. Your position, through Red Cedar's treachery, was most critical. I wished to give you the time to turn round by removing, for a few days, the obstacles that prevented the success of your plans. I have succeeded, I fancy."
"You could not have managed better," exclaimed the general.
"Oh!" Don Miguel said with a reproachful accent, "why did you hide it from me?"
"For a very simple reason, my friend. I wished that in these circumstances your will and conscience should be free."
"But—"
"Let me finish. Had I told you of my plan, it is certain that you would have opposed it. You are a man of honor, Don Miguel: your heart is most loyal."
"My friend—"
"Answer me. Had I explained to you the plan I formed, what would you have done?"
"Well—"
"Answer frankly."
"I should have refused."
"I was sure of it. Why would you have done so? Because you would never have consented to violate the laws of hospitality, and betray enemies you sheltered beneath your roof, though you knew all the while that these men, on leaving you, would have considered it their duty to seize you, and that they watched your every movement while sitting by your side, and eating at your table. Is it not so?"
"It is true; my honor as a gentleman would have revolted. I could not have suffered such horrible treachery to be carried out under my very eyes."
"There! You see that I acted wisely in saying nothing to you. In that way your honor is protected, your conscience easy, and I have in the most simple fashion freed you for some days from your enemies."
"That is true; still—"
"What? Have the prisoners to complain of the way in which they have been treated?"
"Not at all; on the contrary, the Comanches, and Unicorn in particular, treated them most kindly."
"All is for the best, then. You must congratulate yourself on the unexpected success you have achieved, and must now profit by it without delay."
"I intend to do so."
"You must act at once."
"I ask nothing better. All is ready. Our men are warned, and they will rise at the first signal."
"It must be given immediately."
"I only ask the time to leave my daughter at the hacienda; then accompanied by my friends, I will march on Paso, while General Ibañez, at the head of a second band, seizes Santa Fe."
"The plan is well conceived. Can you count on the persons who follow you?"
"Yes; they are all my relatives or friends."
"All for the best. Let us not go further. We are here at the place where the roads part; let your horses breathe awhile, and I will tell you a plan I have formed, and which, I think, will please you."
The small party halted. The horsemen dismounted, and lay down on the grass. As all knew of the conspiracy formed by Don Miguel, and were his accomplices in different degrees, this halt did not surprise them, for they suspected that the moment for action was not far off, and that their chief doubtless wished to take his final measures before throwing off the mask, and proclaiming the independence of New Mexico. On inviting them to hunt the wild horses, Don Miguel had not concealed from them Red Cedar's treachery, and the necessity in which he found himself of dealing a great blow, if he did not wish all to be hopelessly lost.
Valentine led the hacendero and the general a short distance apart. When they were out of ear-shot the hunter carefully examined the neighbourhood; then within a few minutes rejoined his friends, whom his way of acting considerably perplexed.
"Caballeros," he said to them, "what do you intend doing? In our position minutes are ages. Are you ready to make your pronunciamento?"
"Yes," they answered.
"This is what I propose. You, Don Miguel, will proceed direct on Paso. At about half a league from that town you will find Curumilla, with twenty of the best rifles on the frontier. These men, in whom you can trust, are Canadian and Indian hunters devoted to me. They will form the nucleus of a band sufficient for you to seize on Paso without striking a blow, as it is only defended by a garrison of forty soldiers. Does that plan suit you?"
"Yes; I will set about it at once. But my daughter?"
"I will take charge of her. You will also leave me your son, and I will convey them both to the hacienda. As for the other ladies, on reaching the town, they will merely go to their homes, which I fancy, presents no difficulty."
"None."
"Good! Then that is settled?"
"Perfectly."
"As for you, general, your men have been échelonned by my care in parties of ten and twenty along the Santa Fe road, up to two leagues of the city, so that you will only have to pick them up. In this way you will find yourself, within three hours, at the head of five hundred resolute and well-armed men."
"Why, Valentine, my friend," the general said laughingly, "do you know there is the stuff in you to make a partisan chief, and that I am almost jealous of you."
"Oh! that would be wrong, general: I assure you I am most disinterested in the affair."
"Well, my friend, I know it: you are a free desert hunter, caring very little for our paltry schemes."
"That is true; but I have vowed to Don Miguel and his family a friendship which will terminate with my life. I tremble for him and his children when I think of the numberless dangers that surround him, and I try to aid him as far as my experience and activity permit me. That is the secret of my conduct."
"This profession of faith was at least useless, my friend. I have known you too intimately and too long to doubt your intentions. Hence, you see, I place such confidence in you, that I accept your ideas without discussion, so convinced am I of the purity of your intentions."
"Thanks, Don Miguel; you have judged me correctly. Come, gentlemen, to horse, and start. We must separate here—you, Don Miguel, to proceed by the right-hand track to Paso; you, general, by the left hand one to Santa Fe; while I, with Don Pablo and his sister proceed straight on till we reach the Hacienda de la Noria."
"To horse, then!" the hacendero shouted resolutely; "And may God defend the right!"
"Yes," the general added; "for from this moment the revolution is commenced."
The three men returned to their friends. Don Miguel said a few words to his children, and in an instant the whole party were in the saddle.
"The die is cast!" Valentine exclaimed. "May Heaven keep you, gentlemen!"
"Forward!" Don Miguel commanded.
"Forward!" General Ibañez shouted, as he rushed in the opposite direction.
Valentine looked after his departing friends. Their black outlines were soon blended with the darkness, and then the footfalls of their horses died out in the night. Valentine gave a sigh and raised his head.
"God will protect them," he murmured; then turning to the two young people, "Come on, children," he said.
They started, and for some minutes kept silence. Valentine was too busy in thought to address his companions; and yet Doña Clara and Don Pablo, whose curiosity was excited to the highest pitch, were burning to question him. At length the girl, by whose side the hunter marched with that quick step which easily keeps up with a horse, bent down to him.
"My friend," she said to him in her soft voice, "what is taking place? Why has my father left us, instead of coming to his house?"
"Yes," Don Pablo added, "he seemed agitated when he parted from us. His voice was stern, his words sharp. What is happening, my friend? Why did not my father consent to my accompanying him?"
Valentine hesitated to answer.
"I implore you, my friend," Doña Clara continued, "do not leave us in this mortal anxiety. The announcement of a misfortune would certainly cause us less pain than the perplexity in which we are."
"Why force me to speak, my children?" the hunter answered in a saddened voice. "The secret you ask of me is not mine. If your father did not impart his plans to you, it was doubtless because weighty reasons oppose it. Do not force me to render you more sorrowful by telling you things you ought not to know."
"But I am not a child," Don Pablo exclaimed. "It seems tome that my father ought not to have thus held his confidence from me."
"Do not accuse your father, my friend," Valentine answered gravely: "probably he could not have acted otherwise."
"Valentine, Valentine! I will not accept those poor reasons," the young man urged. "In the name of our friendship I insist on your explaining yourself."
"Silence!" the hunter suddenly interrupted him. "I hear suspicious sounds around us."
The three travellers stopped and listened, but all was quiet. The hacienda was about five hundred yards at the most from the spot where they halted. Don Pablo and Doña Clara heard nothing, but Valentine made them a sign to remain quiet; then he dismounted and placed his ear to the ground.
"Follow me," he said. "Something is happening here which I cannot make out; but it alarms me."
The young people obeyed without hesitation; but they had only gone a few paces when Valentine stopped again.
"Are your weapons loaded?" he sharply asked Don Pablo.
"Yes."
"Good! Perhaps you will have to make use of them."
All at once the gallop of a horse urged to its utmost speed was audible.
"Attention!" Valentine muttered.
Still the horseman, whoever he might be, rapidly advanced in the direction of the travellers, and soon came up to them. Suddenly Valentine bounded like a panther, seized the horse by the bridle and stopped it dead.
"Who are you, and where are you going?" he shouted, as he put a pistol barrel against the stranger's chest.
"Heaven be praised!" the latter said, not replying to the question. "Perhaps I shall be able to save you. Fly, fly, in all haste!"
"Father Seraphin!" Valentine said with stupor, as he lowered his pistol. "What has happened?"
"Fly, fly!" the missionary repeated, who seemed a prey to the most profound terror.
Red Cedar and Fray Ambrosio had not remained inactive since their last interview up to the day when Don Miguel set out to hunt the wild horses. These two fellows, so suited to understand each other, had manoeuvred with extreme skill. Fray Ambrosio, all whose avaricious instincts had been aroused since he had so artfully stolen from poor Joaquin the secret of his placer, had assembled a formidable collection of the bandits who always swarm on the Indian frontiers. In a few days he found himself at the head of one hundred and twenty adventurers, all men who had cheated the gallows, and of whom he felt the more sure as the secret of the expedition was concealed from them, and they fancied they formed a war party engaged to go scalp hunting.
These men, who all knew Red Cedar by reputation, burnt to set out, so convinced were they of carrying out a successful expedition under such a leader. Only two men formed an exception to this band of scoundrels, the smallest culprit of whom had at least three or four murders on his conscience. They were Harry, and Dick, who, for reasons the reader has doubtless guessed, found themselves, to their great regret, mixed up with these bandits. Still we must say, in justice to Fray Ambrosio's soldiers, that they were all bold hunters, accustomed for many a year to desert life, who knew all its perils, and feared none of its dangers.
Fray Ambrosio; apprehending the effects of mezcal and pulque on his men, had made them bivouac at the entrance of the desert, at a sufficiently great distance from the Paso del Norte to prevent them easily going there. The adventurers spent their time joyously in playing, not for money, as they had none, but for the scalps they intended presently to lift from the Indians, each of which represented a very decent sum. Still Fray Ambrosio, so soon as his expedition was completely organised, had only one desire—to start as speedily as possible; but for two days Red Cedar was not to be found. At length Fray Ambrosio succeeded in catching him just as he was entering his jacal.
"What has become of you?" he asked him.
"What does that concern you?" the squatter answered brutally. "Have I to answer for my conduct to you?"
"I do not say so: still, connected as we are at this moment, it would be as well for me to know where to find you when I want you."
"I have been attending to my business, as you have to yours."
"Well, are you satisfied?"
"Very much so," he answered with a sinister smile. "You will soon learn the result of my journey."
"All the better. If you are satisfied, I am so too."
"Ah, ah!"
"Yes, all is ready for departure."
"Let us be off—tomorrow if you like."
"On this very night."
"Very good. You are like me, and don't care to travel by day on account of the heat of the sun."
The two accomplices smiled at this delicate jest.
"But before starting," the squatter continued, becoming serious again, "we have something left to do here."
"What is it?" Fray Ambrosio asked with candor.
"It is wonderful what a short memory you have. Take care: that failing may play an awkward trick some day."
"Thanks! I will try to correct it."
"Yes, and the sooner the better: in the meanwhile I will refresh your memory."
"I shall feel obliged to you."
"And Doña Clara, do you fancy we are going to leave her behind?"
"Hum! Then you still think of that?"
"By Jove! More than ever."
"The fact is it will not be easy to carry her off at this moment."
"Why not?"
"In the first place, she is not at the hacienda."
"That is certainly a reason."
"Is it not?"
"Yes; but she must be somewhere, I suppose?" the squatter said with a coarse laugh.
"She has gone with her father to a hunt of wild horses."
"The hunt is over and they are on their return."
"You are well informed."
"It is my trade. Come, do you still mean serving me?"
"I must."
"That is how I like you. There cannot be many people at the hacienda?"
"A dozen at the most."
"Better still. Listen to me: it is now four in the afternoon. I have a ride to take. Return to the hacienda, and I will come there this evening at nine, with twenty resolute men. You will open the little gate of the corral, and leave me to act. I'll answer for all."
"If you wish it it must be so," Fray Ambrosio said with a sigh.
"Are you going to begin again?" the squatter asked in a meaning voice as he rose.
"No, no, it is unnecessary," the monk exclaimed. "I shall expect you."
"Good: till this evening."
"Very well."
On which the two accomplices separated. All happened as had been arranged between them. At nine o'clock Red Cedar reached the little gate, which was opened for him by Fray Ambrosio, and the squatter entered the hacienda at the head of his three sons and a party of bandits. The peons, surprised in their sleep, were bound before they even knew what was taking place.
"Now," Red Cedar said, "we are masters of the place, the girl can come as soon as she likes."
"Eh?" the monk went on. "All is not finished yet. Don Miguel is a resolute man, and is well accompanied: he will not let his daughter be carried off under his eyes without defending her."
"Don Miguel will not come," the squatter said with a sardonic grin.
"How do you know?"
"That is not your business."
"We shall see."
But the bandits had forgotten Father Seraphin. The missionary, aroused by the unusual noise he heard in the hacienda, had hastily risen. He had heard the few words exchanged between the accomplices, and they were sufficient to make him guess the fearful treachery they meditated. Only listening to his heart, the missionary glided out into the corral, saddled a horse, and opening a door, of which he had a key, so that he could enter or leave the hacienda as his duties required, he started at full speed in the direction which he supposed the hunters must follow in returning to the hacienda. Unfortunately, Father Seraphin had been unable to effect his flight unheard by the squatter's practised ear.
"Malediction!" Red Cedar shouted, as he rushed, rifle in hand, toward a window, which he dashed out with his fist, "We are betrayed."
The bandits rushed in disorder into the corral where their horses were tied up, and leaped into their saddles. At this moment a shadow flitted across the plain in front of the squatter, who rapidly shouldered his rifle and fired. Then he went out: a stifled cry reached his ear, but the person the bandit had fired at still went on.
"No matter," the squatter muttered; "that fine bird has lead in its wing. Sharp, sharp, my men, on the trail!"
And all the bandits rushed off in pursuit of the fugitive.
Father Seraphin had fallen in a fainting condition at Valentine's feet.
"Good heavens!" the hunter exclaimed in despair, "what can have happened?"
And he gently carried the missionary into a ditch that ran by the side of the road. Father Seraphin had his shoulder fractured, and the blood poured in a stream from the wound. The hunter looked around him; but at this moment a confused sound could be heard like the rolling of distant thunder.
"We must fall like brave men, Don Pablo, that is all," he said sharply.
"Be at your ease," the young man answered coldly.
Doña Clara was pale and trembling.
"Come," Valentine said.
And, with a movement rapid as thought, he bounded on to the missionary's horse. The three fugitives started at full speed. The flight lasted a quarter of an hour, and then Valentine stopped. He dismounted, gave the young people a signal to wait, lay down on the ground, and began crawling on his hands and knees, gliding like a serpent through the long grass that concealed him, and stopping at intervals to look around him, and listen attentively to the sounds of the desert. Suddenly he rushed towards his companions, seized the horses by the bridle, and dragged them behind a mound, where they remained concealed, breathless and unable to speak.
A formidable noise of horses was audible. Some twenty black shadows passed like a tornado within ten paces of their hiding place, not seeing them in consequence of the darkness.
Valentine drew a deep breath.
"All hope is not lost," he muttered.
He waited anxiously for five minutes: their pursuers were going further away. Presently the sound of their horses' hoofs ceased to disturb the silence of the night.
"To horse!" Valentine said.
They leaped into their saddles and started again, not in the direction of the hacienda, but in that of the Paso.
"Loosen your bridles," the hunter said: "more still—we are not moving."
Suddenly a loud neigh was borne on the breeze to the ears of the fugitives.
"We are lost!" Valentine muttered. "They have found our trail."
Red Cedar was too old a hand on the prairie to be long thrown out: he soon perceived that he was mistaken, and was now turning back, quite certain this time of holding the trail. Then began one of those fabulous races which only the dwellers on the prairie can witness—races which intoxicate and cause a giddiness, and which no obstacle is powerful enough to stop or check, for the object is success or death. The bandits' half wild horses, apparently identifying themselves with the ferocious passions of their riders, glided through the night with the rapidity of the phantom steed in the German ballad, bounded over precipices, and rushed with prodigious speed.
At times a horseman rolled with his steed from the top of a rock, and fell into an abyss, uttering a yell of distress; but his comrades passed over his body, borne along like a whirlwind, and responding to this cry of agony, the final appeal of a brother, by a formidable howl of rage. This pursuit had already lasted two hours, and the fugitives had not lost an inch of ground: their horses, white with foam, uttered hoarse cries of fatigue and exhaustion as a dense smoke came out of their nostrils. Doña Clara, with her hair untied and floating in the breeze, with sparkling eye and closely pressed lips, constantly urged her horse on with voice and hand.
"All is over!" the hunter suddenly said. "Save yourselves! I will let myself be killed here, so that you may go on for ten minutes longer, and be saved. I will hold out for that time, so go on."
"No," Don Pablo answered nobly; "we will be all saved or perish together."
"Yes," the maiden remarked.
Valentine shrugged his shoulders.
"You are mad," he said.
All at once he started, for their pursuers were rapidly approaching.
"Listen," he said. "Do you two let yourselves be captured; they will not follow me, as they owe me no grudge. I swear to you that if I remain at liberty I will deliver you, even if they hide you in the bowels of the earth."
Without replying Don Pablo dismounted, and Valentine leaped on to his horse.
"Hope for the best!" he shouted hoarsely, and disappeared.
Don Pablo, so soon as he was alone with his sister, made her dismount, seated her at the foot of a tree, and stood before her with a pistol in either hand. He had not to wait long, for almost immediately he was surrounded by the bandits.
"Surrender!" Red Cedar shouted in a panting voice.
Don Pablo smiled disdainfully.
"Here is my answer," he said.
And with two pistol shots he laid two bandits low; then he threw away his useless weapons, and crossing his arms on his breast said,—
"Do what you please now; I am avenged."
Red Cedar bounded with fury.
"Kill that dog!" he shouted.
Shaw rushed toward the young man, threw his nervous arms around him, and whispered in his ear,—
"Do not resist, but fall as if dead."
Don Pablo mechanically followed his advice.
"It is all over," said Shaw. "Poor devil! He did not cling to life."
He returned his knife to his belt, threw the supposed corpse on his shoulders, and dragged it into a ditch. At the sight of her brother's body, whom she supposed to be dead, Doña Clara uttered a shriek of despair and fainted. Red Cedar laid the maiden across his saddle-bow, and the whole band, starting at a gallop was soon lost in the darkness. Don Pablo then rose slowly, and took a sorrowful glance around.
"My poor sister!" he murmured.
Then he perceived her horse near him.
"Valentine alone can save her," he said.
He mounted the horse, and proceeded toward the Paso, asking himself this question, which he found it impossible to answer:—
"But why did not that man kill me?"
A few paces from the village he perceived two men halting on the road, and conversing with the greatest animation. They hurriedly advanced toward him, and the young man uttered a cry of surprise on recognising them. They were Valentine and Curumilla.
Don Miguel Zarate had marched rapidly on the Paso, and an hour after leaving Valentine he saw flashing in the distance the lights that shone in the village windows. The greatest calmness prevailed in the vicinity; only at times could be heard the barking of the dogs baying at the moon, or the savage miawling of the wild cats hidden in the shrubs. At about one hundred yards from the village a man suddenly rose before the small party.
"Who goes there?" he shouted.
"Méjico e independencia!" the hacendero answered.
"¿Qué gente?" the stranger continued.
"Don Miguel Zarate."
At these words twenty men hidden in the brushwood rose suddenly, and throwing their rifles on their shoulders, advanced to meet the horsemen. They were the hunters commanded by Curumilla, who, by Valentine's orders, were awaiting the hacendero's arrival to join him.
"Well," Don Miguel asked the chief, "is there anything new?"
Curumilla shook his head.
"Then we can advance?"
"Yes."
"What is the matter, chief? Have you seen anything alarming?"
"No; and yet I have a feeling of treachery."
"How so?"
"I cannot tell you. Apparently everything is as usual: still there is something which is not so. Look you, it is scarce ten o'clock: generally at that hour all the mesones are full, the ventas are crammed with gamblers and drinkers, the streets flocked with promenaders. This night there is nothing of the sort: all is closed—the town seems abandoned. This tranquillity is factitious. I am alarmed, forI hear the silence. Take care."
Don Miguel was involuntarily struck by the chief's remarks. He had known Curumilla for a long time. He had often seen him display in the most dangerous circumstances a coolness and contempt for death beyond all praise: hence some importance must be attached to the apprehensions and anxiety of such a man. The hacendero ordered his party to halt, assembled his friends, and held a council. All were of opinion that, before venturing to advance further, they should send as scout a clever man to traverse the town, and see for himself if the fears of the Indian chief were well founded.
One of the hunters offered himself. The conspirators concealed themselves on either side the road, and awaited, lying in the shrubs, the return of their messenger. He was a half-breed, Simon Muñez by name, to whom the Indians had given the soubriquet of "Dog-face," owing to his extraordinary likeness to that animal. This name had stuck to the hunter, who,nolens volens, had been compelled to accept it. He was short and clumsy, but endowed with marvellous strength; and we may say at once that he was an emissary of Red Cedar, and had only joined the hunters in order to betray them.
When he left the conspirators he proceeded toward the village whistling. He had scarce taken a dozen steps into the first street ere a door opened, and a man appeared. This man stepped forward and addressed the hunter.
"You whistle very late, my friend."
"A whistle to wake those who are asleep," the half breed made answer.
"Come in," the man continued.
Dog-face went in, and the door closed upon him. He remained in the house half an hour, then went out, and hurried back along the road he had traversed.
Red Cedar, who wished before all to avenge himself on Don Miguel Zarate, had discovered, through Fray Ambrosio, the conspirators' new plan. Without loss of time he had taken his measures in consequence, and had managed so well that, although the general, the governor, and the criminal judge were prisoners, Don Miguel must succumb in the contest he was preparing to provoke. Fray Ambrosio, to his other qualities, joined that of being a listener at doors. In spite of the distrust which his patron was beginning to display toward him on Valentine's recommendation, he had surprised a conversation between Don Miguel and General Ibañez. This conversation, immediately reported to Red Cedar, who, according to his usual custom, had appeared to attach no importance to it, had been sufficient, however, to make the squatter prepare his batteries and countermine the conspiracy.
Dog-face rejoined his companions after an hour's absence.
"Well?" Don Miguel asked him.
"All is quiet," the half-breed answered; "the inhabitants have retired to their houses, and everybody is asleep."
"You noticed nothing of a suspicious nature?"
"I went through the town from one end to the other, and saw nothing."
"We can advance, then?"
"In all security: it will only be a promenade."
On this assurance the conspirators regained their courage, Curumilla was treated as a visionary, and the order was given to advance. Still Dog-face's report, far from dissipating the Indian chief's doubts, had produced the contrary effect, and considerably augmented them. Saying nothing, he placed himself by the hunter's side, with the secret intention of watching him closely.
The plan of the conspirators was very simple. They would march directly on the Cabildo (Town hall), seize it, and proclaim a Provisional Government. Under present circumstances nothing appeared to be easier. Don Miguel and his band entered the Paso, and nothing occurred to arouse their suspicions. It resembled that town in the "Arabian Nights," in which all the inhabitants, struck by the wand of the wicked enchanter, sleep an eternal sleep. The conspirators advanced into the town with their rifle barrels thrust forward, with eye and ear on the watch, and ready to fire at the slightest alarm; but nothing stirred. As Curumilla had observed, the town was too quiet. This tranquillity hid something extraordinary, and must conceal the tempest. In spite of himself Don Miguel felt a secret apprehension which he could not master.
To our European eyes Don Miguel will perhaps appear a poor conspirator, without foresight or any great connection in his ideas. From our point of view that is possible; but in a country like Mexico, which counts its revolutions by hundreds, and wherepronunciamentostake place, in most cases, without sense or reason because a colonel wishes to become a general, or a lieutenant a captain, things are not regarded so closely; and the hacendero, on the contrary, had evidenced tact, prudence, and talent in carrying out a conspiracy which, during the several years it had been preparing, had only come across one traitor. And now it was too late to turn back: the alarm had been given, and the Government was on its guard. They must go onwards, even if they succumbed in the struggle.
All these considerations had been fully weighed by Don Miguel; and he had not given the signal till he was driven into his last intrenchments, and convinced that there was no way of escape left him. Was it not a thousand fold better to die bravely with arms in their hands, in support of a just cause, than wait to be arrested without having made an attempt to succeed? Don Miguel had sacrificed his life, and no more could be expected of him.
In the meanwhile the conspirators advanced. They had nearly reached the heart of the town; they were at this moment in a little, dirty, and narrow street, called the Calle de San Isidro, which opens out on the Plaza Mayor, when suddenly a dazzling light illumined the darkness; torches flashed from all the windows; and Don Miguel saw that the two ends of the street in which he was were guarded by strong detachments of cavalry.
"Treachery!" the conspirators shouted in terror.
Curumilla bounded on Dog-face, and buried his knife between his shoulders. The half-breed fell in a lump, quite dead, and not uttering a cry. Don Miguel judged the position at the first glance: he saw that he and his party were lost.
"Let us die!" he said.
"We will!" the conspirators resolutely responded.
Curumilla with the butt of his rifle beat in the door of the nearest house, and rushed in, the conspirators following him. They were soon intrenched on the roof. In Mexico all the houses have flat roofs, formed like terraces. Thanks to the Indian chief's idea, the rebels found themselves in possession of an improvised fortress, where they could defend themselves for a long time, and sell their lives dearly.
The troops advanced from each end of the street, while the roofs of all the houses were occupied by soldiers. The battle was about to begin between earth and heaven, and promised to be terrible. At this moment General Guerrero, who commanded the troops, bade them halt, and advanced alone to the house on the top of which the conspirators were intrenched. Don Miguel beat up the guns of his comrades, who aimed at the officer.
"Wait," he said to them; and, addressing the general, "What do you want?" he shouted.
"To offer you propositions."
"Speak."
The general came a few paces nearer, so that those he addressed could not miss one of his words.
"I offer you life and liberty if you consent to surrender your leader," he said.
"Never!" the conspirators shouted in one voice.
"It is my place to answer," Don Miguel said; and then turning to the general, "What assurance do you give me that these conditions will be honourably carried out?"
"My word of honor as a soldier," the general answered.
"Very good," Don Miguel went on; "I accept. All the men who accompany me will leave the town one after the other."
"No, we will not!" the conspirators shouted as they brandished their weapons; "we would sooner die."
"Silence!" the hacendero said in a loud voice. "I alone have the right to speak here, for I am your chief. The life of brave men like you must not be needlessly sacrificed. Go, I say; I order you—I implore it of you," he added with tears in his voice. "Perhaps you will soon take your revenge."
The conspirators hung their heads mournfully.
"Well?" the general asked.
"My friends, accept. I will remain alone here. If you break your word I will kill myself."
"I repeat that you hold my word," the general answered.
The conspirators came one after the other to embrace Don Miguel, and then went down into the street without being in any way interfered with. Things happen thus in this country, where conspiracies and revolutions are on the order of the day, as it were. The defeated are spared as far as possible, from the simple reason that the victors may find themselves tomorrow fighting side by side with them for the same cause. Curumilla was the last to depart.
"All is not ended yet," he said to Don Miguel. "Koutonepi will save you, father."
The hacendero shook his head sadly.
"Chief," he said in a deeply moved voice, "I leave my daughter to Valentine, Father Seraphin, and yourself. Watch over her: the poor child will soon have no father."
Curumilla embraced Don Miguel silently and retired; he had soon disappeared in the crowd, the general having honourably kept his word.
Don Miguel threw down his weapons and descended.
"I am your prisoner," he said.
General Guerrero bowed, and made him a sign to mount the horse a soldier had brought up.
"Where are we going?" the hacendero said.
"To Santa Fe," the general answered, "where you will be tried with General Ibañez, who will doubtless soon be a prisoner like yourself."
"Oh!" Don Miguel muttered thoughtfully, "who betrayed us this time?"
"It was still Red Cedar," the general answered.
The hacendero let his head sink on his chest, and remained silent. A quarter of an hour later the prisoner left the Paso del Norte, escorted by a regiment of dragoons. When the last trooper had disappeared in the windings of the road three men left the shrubs that concealed them, and stood like three phantoms in the midst of the desolate plain.
"O heavens!" Don Pablo cried in a heart-rending voice, "my father, my sister—who will restore them to me?"
"I!" Valentine said in a grave voice, as he laid his hand on his shoulder. "Am I not the TRAIL-HUNTER?"
About a month after the events we have described in the first part of this veracious history, two horsemen, well mounted, and carefully enwrapped in their cloaks, entered at a smart trot the town of Santa Fe between three and four o'clock in the afternoon.
Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico, is a pretty town, built in the midst of a laughing and fertile plain. One of its sides occupies the angle formed by a small stream: it is surrounded by theadobewalls of the houses by which it is bordered. The entrance of each street is closed by stakes in the form of palisades; and like the majority of towns in Spanish America, the houses, built only one story high in consequence of the earthquakes, are covered with terraces of well-beaten earth, calledazoteas,which are a sufficient protection in this glorious climate, where the sky is constantly pure.
In the time of the Castilian rule Santa Fe enjoyed a certain importance, owing to its strategic position, which allowed an easy defence against the incursions of the Indians; but since the emancipation of Mexico this city, like all the other centres of population in his unhappy country, has seen its splendour vanish forever, and despite the fertility of its soil and the magnificence of its climate, it has entered into such a state of decadence that the day is at hand when it will be only an uninhabited ruin. In a word, this city, which fifty years back contained more than ten thousand inhabitants, has now scarcely three thousand, eaten up by fevers and the utmost wretchedness.
Still during the last few weeks Santa Fe had appeared to emerge, as if by magic from the lethargy into which it is ordinarily plunged; a certain degree of animation prevailed in its usually deserted streets; in short, a new life circulated in the veins of this population, to whom, however, all must appear a matter of indifference. The fact was that an event of immense importance had recently taken place in this town. The two leaders of the conspiracy lately attempted had been transferred to safe keeping at Santa Fe.
The Mexicans, ordinarily so slow when justice has to be dealt, are the most expeditious people in the world when a conspiracy has to be punished. Don Miguel and General Ibañez had not pined long in prison. A court martial, hurriedly convened, had assembled under the presidency of the governor, and the two conspirators were unanimously condemned to be shot.
The hacendero, through his name and his position, and especially on account of his fortune, had numerous partisans in the province: hence the announcement of the verdict had caused a profound stupor, which almost immediately changed into anger, among the rich land owners and the Indians of New Mexico. A dull agitation prevailed throughout the country; and the governor, who felt too weak to hold head against the storm that threatened him, and regretted that he had carried matters so far, was temporising, and trying to evade the peril of his position until a regiment of dragoons he had asked of the Government arrived, and gave strength to the law. The condemned men, whom the governor had not yet dared to place incapilla, were still provisionally detained in the prison.
The two men of whom we have spoken, rode without stopping through the streets of the town, deserted at this hour, when everybody is at home enjoying his siesta, and proceeded toward an unpretending rancho, built on the banks of the stream, at the opposite end of the town from that by which they entered.
"Well," one of the horsemen said, addressing his comrade, "was I not right? You see everyone is asleep: there is nobody to watch us. We have arrived at a capital moment."
"Bah!" the other answered in a rough voice, "Do you believe that? In towns there is always somebody watching to see what does not concern him, and report it after his fashion."
"That is possible," the first said, shrugging his shoulders disdainfully. "I care about it as little as I do for a stringhalt horse."
"And I, too," the other said sharply. "Do you imagine that I care more than you do for the gossips? But stay; I fancy we have reached the rancho of Andrés Garote. This must be the filthy tenement, unless I am mistaken."
"It is the house. I only hope the scamp has not forgotten, the meeting I gave him. Wait a minute, señor padre; I will give the agreed-on signal."
"It is not worth while, Red Cedar. You know that I am always at your excellency's orders when you may please to give them," a mocking voice said from inside the rancho, the door of which immediately opened to give admission to the newcomers, and allowed a glimpse of the tall figure and intelligent face of Andrés Garote himself.
"Ave Maria purísima!" the travellers said, as they dismounted and entered the rancho.
"Sin pecado concebida!" Andrés replied, as he took the bridles of the horses and led them to the corral, where he unsaddled them and gave each a truss of alfalfa.
The travellers, fatigued by a long journey, sat down on butacas arranged against the wall, and awaited the host's return, while wiping their dank foreheads and twisting a maize cigarette between their fingers. The room in which they were had nothing extremely attractive about it. It was a large chamber with two windows, protected by iron bars, the greasy panes allowing but a doubtful light to pass. The naked and smoky walls were covered with clumsily-painted pictures, representing various holy objects. The furniture only consisted of three or four halting tables, the same number of benches, and a few butacas, the torn and harsh leather of which evinced lengthened use. As for the floor, it was merely of beaten earth, but rendered uneven by the mud incessantly brought in upon the feet of visitors. A door carefully closed led to an inner room, in which the ranchero slept. Another door was opposite to it, and through this Andrés speedily entered after giving the horses their provender.
"I did not expect you yet," he said as he entered; "but you are welcome. Is there anything new?"
"My faith, I know nothing but the affair that brings us. It is rather serious, I fancy, and prevents us attending to anything else," Red Cedar remarked.
"Caspita! what vivacity, compadre!" Andrés exclaimed. "But, before talking, I hope you will take some refreshment at any rate. There is nothing like a cup of mezcal or pulque to clear the brain."
"Not to forget," Fray Ambrosio said, "that it is infernally hot, and my tongue is glued to my palate, as I have swallowed so much dust."
"Cuerpo de Dios!" Andrés said as he went to look for a bottle among several others arranged on a sort of bar, and placed it before the travellers. "Pay attention to that, señor padre; for it is serious, and you run a risk of death,caray!"
"Give me the remedy, then, chatterer," the monk replied as he held out his glass.
The mezcal, liberally poured out, was swallowed at a draught by the three men, who put back their glasses on the table with a "hum" of satisfaction, and that clinking of the tongue peculiar to topers when they are swallowing anything that tickles the throat.
"And now suppose we talk seriously," Red Cedar said.
"At your orders, señores caballeros," Andrés replied. "Still, if you prefer a hand at monte, you know that I have cards at your service."
"Presently, señor Andrés, presently. Everything will have its turn. Let us first settle our little business," Fray Ambrosio judiciously observed.
Andrés Garote bowed his head in resignation, while thrusting back into his pocket the pack of cards he had already half drawn out. The three men made themselves as comfortable as they could, and Red Cedar, after casting a suspicious glance around him, at length took the word.
"You know, caballeros," he said, "how, when we thought we had nothing to do but proceed straight to Apacheria, the sudden desertion of nearly all our gambusinos checked us. The position was most critical for us, and the abduction of Doña Clara compelled us to take the utmost precautions."
"That is true," Andrés Garote observed with an air of conviction.
"Although certain influential persons protect us under the rose," Red Cedar continued, "we are compelled to keep in the shade as far as we can. I therefore sought to remedy the gravest points in the business. In the first place, the girl was hidden in an inaccessible retreat, and then I began looking for comrades to take the place of those who abandoned us so suddenly."
"Well?" the two men interrupted him sharply.
"At this moment," Red Cedar calmly continued, "when the placers of California call away all the men belonging to the profession, it was certainly no easy task to collect one hundred men of the sort we want, the more so as we shall have to fight the Indios Bravos in our expedition. I did not care to enlist novices, who at the sight of the first Apache or Comanche savages, would bolt in terror, and leave us in the lurch on the prairies. What I wanted were resolute men, whom no fatigue would disgust, and who, once attached to our enterprise, would follow it out to the end. I have, therefore, during the past month, been running about to all the frontier presidios; and the devil has come to my help tolerably well, for the evil is now repaired, and the band complete."
"I hope, Red Cedar," Fray Ambrosio asked, "that you have not spoken about the placer to your men?"
"Do you take me for a fool! No, padre," the squatter answered sharply, "no, no. A hundred thousand reasons urge us to be prudent, and keep the expedition secret. In the first place, I do not wish to make the fortune of the Government while making our own. An indiscretion would ruin us now, when the whole world only dreams of mines and placers, and Europe sends us a mob of lean and starving vagabonds, greedy to grow fat at our expense."
"Famously reasoned," said Andrés.
"No, no, trust to me. I have assembled the finest collection of picaros ever brought together for an expedition, all food for the gallows, ruined by monte, who do not care for hard blows, and on whom I can fully count, while being very careful not to drop a word that can enlighten them as to the spot whither we propose leading them; for, in that case, I know as well as you do that they would abandon us without the slightest scruples, or, as is even more probable, assassinate us to gain possession of the immense treasures we covet."
"Nothing can be more just," Fray Ambrosio answered. "I am quite of your opinion, Red Cedar. Now what have you resolved on?"
"We have not an instant to lose," the squatter continued. "This very evening, or tomorrow at the latest, we must set out. Who knows whether we have not already delayed our start too long? Perhaps one of those European vagabonds may have discovered our placer, for those scoundrels have a peculiar scent for gold."
Fray Ambrosio cast a suspicious glance at his partner.
"Hum!" he muttered, "that would be very unlucky, for hitherto the business has been well managed."
"For that reason," Red Cedar hastened to add, "I only suggest a doubt —nothing more."
"Come, Red Cedar," the monk said, "you have yourself narrated all the embarrassments of our position, and the countless difficulties we shall have to surmount before reaching our object. Why, then, complicate the gravity of our situation still more, and create fresh enemies needlessly?"
"I do not understand you, señor padre. Be good enough to explain yourself more clearly."
"I allude to the young girl you carried off."
"Ah, ah!" Red Cedar said with a grin, "Is that where the shoe pinches you, comrade? I am vexed at it; but I will not answer your question. If I carried off that woman, it was because I had pressing reasons to do so. These reasons still exist; that is all I can tell you. All the better if these explanations are sufficient for you; if not, you must put up with them, for you will get no others."
"Still it appears to me that, regarding the terms on which we stand to each other—"
"What can there be in common between the abduction of Doña Clara and the discovery of a placer in the heart of Apacheria? Come, you are mad, Fray Ambrosio; the mezcal is getting to your head."
"Still—" the monk insisted.
"Enough of that!" Red Cedar shouted as he roughly smote the table with his clenched fist. "I will not hear another word on the subject."