When left alone, the squatter removed with minute care any traces which might have revealed to his enemies' sharp eyes the direction in which he had gone; and when he felt certain that nothing would denounce him, he entered the cave in his turn.
The bandits' first care was to inspect their domain, and they found it was immense. The cavern ran for a considerable distance under the mountain; it was divided into several branches and floors, some of which ran up to the top of the mountain, while others buried themselves in the ground; a subterranean lake, the reservoir of some nameless river, extended for an immense distance under a low arch, all black with bats.
The cavern had several issues in diametrically opposite directions; and they were so well hidden, that it was impossible to notice them outside. Only one thing alarmed the adventurers, and that was the chances of procuring food; but to that Red Cedar replied that nothing was easier than to set traps, or even hunt on the mountain.
Ellen had fallen into a broken sleep on a bed of furs her father had hastily prepared for her. The wretched girl had so suffered and endured such fatigue during the last few days, that she literally could not stand on her feet. When the three men had inspected the cave, they returned and sat down by her side; Red Cedar looked at her sleeping with an expression of infinite tenderness; he was too fond of his daughter not to pity her, and think with grief of the fearful destiny that awaited her by his side; unhappily, any remedy was impossible. Fray Ambrosio, whose mind was always busy, drew the squatter from his reverie.
"Well, gossip," he said, "I suppose we are condemned to spend some time here?"
"Until our pursuers, tired of seeking us in vain, at length determine to go off."
"They may be long; hence, for the greater secrecy, I propose one thing."
"What is it?"
"There are blocks of stone here which time has detached from the roof; before we go to sleep, I propose that we roll three or four of the largest into the hole by which we entered."
"Why so?" the squatter asked abruptly.
"In our present position two precautions are better than one; the Indians are such cunning demons, that they are capable of coming down the tree."
"The padre is right, old one," Sutter, who was half asleep, said; "it is no great task to roll the stones; but in that way we shall be easy in our minds."
"Do what you like," the squatter answered, still continuing to gaze on his daughter.
The two men, with their chief's approval, rose to carry out their plan, and half an hour later the hole was so artistically closed up, that no one would have suspected it had he not known it before.
"Now we can sleep, at any rate," said Fray Ambrosio.
In spite of the start White Gazelle had, Don Pablo caught up to her before she had gone two leagues from camp. On hearing a horse galloping behind her, the girl turned, and one glance was sufficient for her to recognise the Mexican. At the sight of him a feverish flush suffused her face, a convulsive tremor fell upon her, and, in short, the emotion she felt was so powerful, that she was compelled to stop. Still, ashamed of letting the man she hopelessly loved see the impression the sight of him produced on her, she made a supreme effort, and managed to assume a look of indifference, while thoughts crowded her brain.
"What is he going to do here? Where is he going? We shall see," she added to herself.
She waited, and Don Pablo soon found her. The young man, suffering from extreme nervous excitement, was in the worst possible mood to act diplomatically. On reaching the White Gazelle he bowed, and continued his journey without speaking to her. White Gazelle shook her head.
"I know how to make him speak," she said.
Hitting her horse sharply with herchicote, she started at a gallop, and kept by Don Pablo's side. The two riders went on thus for some time without exchanging a syllable. Each of them seemed afraid of opening the conversation, feeling in what direction it must turn. Still galloping side by side, they at length reached a spot where two paths forked. White Gazelle checked her horse, and stretched out her arm in a northerly direction. "I am going there," she said.
"So am I," Don Pablo remarked, without hesitation.
The young woman looked at him with a surprise too natural not to be feigned.
"Where are you going, then?" she went on.
"Where you are," he said again.
"But I am going to Bloodson's camp."
"Well, so am I; what is there so amazing in that?"
"Nothing; how does it concern me?" she said with a significant pout.
"You will, therefore, permit me, Niña, to accompany you to your destination."
"I cannot and will not prevent you from following me; the road is free, caballero," she drily replied.
They were silent as if by common agreement, and were absorbed in thought. White Gazelle gave her companion one of those bright womanly glances that read to the bottom of the heart; a smile played round her cherry lips, and she shook her head maliciously. Singular thoughts doubtless fermented in her head.
At about two of thetarde, as they say in Spanish countries, they reached a ford on a small river, on the other side of which the huts of Bloodson's camp could be seen at a distance of about two leagues. White Gazelle halted, and at the moment her companion was about to take to the water, she laid her little hand on his bridle, and checked him, saying, in a soft but firm voice: "Before we go further, a word if you please, caballero."
Don Pablo looked at her in surprise, but made no attempt to remove the obstacle.
"I am listening to you, señorita," he said, with a bow.
"I know why you are going to Bloodson's camp," she continued.
"I doubt it," he said, with a shake of the head.
"Boy! This morning, when I was talking with Don Valentine, you were lying at our feet."
"I was."
"If your eyes were shut, your ears were open."
"What do you mean?"
"That you heard our conversation."
"Suppose I did, what do you conclude from that?"
"You are going to the camp to counteract my plans, and make them fail, if possible."
The young man started and looked disappointed at being so truly judged.
"Señorita," he said, with embarrassment.
"Do not deny it," she said kindly; "it would be useless, for I know all."
"All!"
"Yes, and a great deal more than you know yourself."
The Mexican was amazed.
"Let us play fairly," she continued.
"I ask nothing better," he replied, not knowing what he said.
"You love the squatter's daughter?" she said distinctly.
"Yes."
"You wish to save her?"
"Yes."
"I will help you."
There was a silence; these few words had been interchanged by the speakers with feverish rapidity.
"You are not deceiving me?" Don Pablo asked, timidly.
"No," she answered, frankly, "what good would it do me? You have given her your heart, and a man cannot love really twice; I will help you, I say."
The young man gazed at her with surprise mingled with terror. He remembered what an implacable foe White Gazelle had been to poor Ellen only a few months back, and suspected a snare. She guessed it, and a sorrowful smile played round her lips.
"Love is no longer permitted me," she said; "my heart is not even capacious enough for the hatred that devours it. I live only for vengeance. Believe me, Don Pablo, I will treat you honourably. When you are at length happy, and indebted to me for a small portion of the happiness you enjoy, perhaps you will feel a little friendship and gratitude for me. Alas! It is the only feeling I desire now; I am one of those wretched, condemned creatures, who hurled involuntarily into an abyss, cannot check their downward progress. Pity me, Don Pablo, but dismiss all fear; for, I repeat to you, you have not and never will have a more devoted friend than myself."
The girl pronounced these words with such an accent of sincerity, it was so plain that the heart alone spoke, and that the sacrifice was consummated without any after-thought, that Don Pablo felt affected by such abnegation. By an irresistible impulse, he offered her his hand; she pressed it warmly, wiped away a tear, and then banished every trace of emotion.
"Now," she said, "not a word more: we understand one another, I think?"
"Oh, yes," he answered, gladly.
"Let us cross the stream," she said, with a smile; "in half an hour we shall reach the camp; no one must know what has passed between us."
They soon reached Bloodson's camp, where they were received with shouts of pleasure and welcome; they galloped through it and stopped before the ranger's hut, who had come out, aroused by the shouts, and was awaiting. The reception was cordial, and after the first compliments, White Gazelle explained to her uncle the result of her mission and what had occurred in Unicorn's camp while she was there.
"That Red Cedar is a perfect demon," he answered; "I alone have the means in my hands to capture him."
"In what way?" Don Pablo asked.
"You shall see," he said.
Without further explanation, he raised a silver whistle to his lips, and blew a clear and long note. At this summons, the buffalo-hide curtain of the hut was raised from without, and a man appeared, in whom Don Pablo recognised Andrés Garote. The gambusino bowed with that politeness peculiar to Mexicans, and fixed his small grey and intelligent eyes on Bloodson.
"Master Garote," the latter said, turning to him, "I have called you, because I want to speak seriously with you."
"I am at your Excellency's orders," he answered.
"You doubtless remember," Bloodson went on, "the compact you made when I admitted you into my cuadrilla?"
Andrés bowed his affirmative.
"I remember it," he said.
"Very good. Are you still angry with Red Cedar?"
"Not exactly with Red Cedar, Excellency; personally he never did me much harm."
"That is true; but you still have, I suppose, the desire to avenge yourself on Fray Ambrosio?"
A flash of hatred shot from the gambusino's eye.
"I would give my life to have his."
"Good! I like to find you feel in that way; your desire will soon be satisfied, if you are willing."
"If I am willing, Excellency!" the ranchero exclaimed, hotly. "Canarios, tell me what I must do for that, and, on my soul, I will do it. I assure you I will not hesitate."
Bloodson concealed a smile of satisfaction. "Red Cedar, Fray Ambrosio, and their comrades," he said, "are hidden a few miles from here in the mountains; you will go there."
"I will."
"Wait a minute. You will join them in some way, gain their confidences, and when you have obtained this necessary information, you will return here, so that we may crush this brood of vipers."
The gambusino reflected for a moment: Bloodson fancied he was unwilling.
"What, you hesitate!" he said.
"I hesitate!" the ranchero exclaimed, shaking his head with a peculiar smile. "No, no, Excellency, I was merely reflecting."
"What about?"
"I will tell you: the mission you give me is one of life and death. If I fail, I know what I have to expect: Red Cedar will kill me like a dog."
"Very probably."
"He will be right in doing so, and I shall be unable to reproach him; but, when I am dead, I do not wish that villain to escape."
"Trust to my word."
The gambusino's foxy face assumed an extraordinary expression of cunning. "I do trust to it, Excellency," he said; "but you have very serious business that occupies nearly all your time, and perhaps, without desiring it, you might forget me."
"You need not fear that."
"We can answer for nothing, Excellency; there are very strange circumstances in life."
"What do you want to arrive at? Come, explain yourself frankly."
Andrés Garote lifted his zarapé, and took from under it a little steel box, which he placed on the table near which Bloodson was sitting. "Here, Excellency," he said, in that soft voice which never left him; "take that casket; so soon as I am gone break open the lock, I am certain you will find it contains papers that will interest you."
"What do these words mean?" Bloodson asked anxiously.
"You will see," the gambusino replied, quite unmoved; "in that way, if you forget me, you will not forget yourself, and I shall profit by your vengeance."
"Do you know the contents of these papers, then?"
"Do you suppose, Excellency, that I have had that coffer in my possession for six months, without discovering its contents? No, no, I like to know what I have got. You will find it interesting, Excellency."
"But if that be the case, why did you not give me the papers sooner?"
"Because the hour had not arrived to do so, Excellency; I awaited the opportunity that offers today. The man who wishes to avenge himself must be patient. You know the proverb: 'Vengeance is a fruit that must be eaten ripe.'"
While the gambusino was saying this, Bloodson kept his eyes fixed on the casket. "Are you going?" he asked him, when he ceased speaking.
"Directly, Excellency; but if you permit it, we will make a slight alteration in the instruction you have given me."
"Speak."
"It strikes me that, if I am obliged to return here, we shall lose precious time in coming and going: which time Red Cedar, whose suspicions will be aroused, may profit by to decamp."
"That is true; but what is to be done?"
"Oh, it is very simple. When the moment arrives to spread our nets, I will light a fire on the mountain; which will serve as a signal to you to start at once; still, there would be no harm if someone accompanied me, and remained hidden near the spot where I am going."
"It shall be done as you wish," White Gazelle answered: "two persons will accompany you in lieu of one."
"How so?"
"Don Pablo de Zarate and myself intend to go with you," she continued, giving the young man a glance he understood.
"Then all is for the best," the gambusino said, "and we will start when you like."
"At once, at once," the two young people exclaimed.
"Our horses are not tired, and can easily cover that distance," Don Pablo remarked.
"Make haste, then, for moments are precious," said Bloodson, who burned to be alone.
"I only crave a few moments to saddle my horse."
"Go, we will wait for you here."
The gambusino went out. The three persons remained in silence, all equally perplexed about the casket, on which Bloodson had laid his hand as if afraid of having it torn from him again. Very shortly, a horse was heard galloping outside, and Garote put his head in at the door. "I am ready," he said.
White Gazelle and Don Pablo rose. "Let us go!" they shouted as they ran to the door.
"I wish you luck!" Bloodson said to them.
"Excellency, do not forget the coffer," the gambusino said with a grin; "you will find the contents most interesting to you."
So soon as the ranger was alone, he rose, carefully fastened the door, not to be disturbed in the examination he was about to make, and then sat down again, after selecting from a small deerskin pouch some hooks of different size. He then took the coffer, and carefully examined it all over. There was nothing remarkable about it: it was, as we have said elsewhere, a light casket of carved steel, made with the most exquisite taste—a pretty toy, in a word.
In spite of his desire to know its contents, the ranger hesitated to open it; this pretty little toy caused him an emotion for which he could not account: he fancied he had seen it before, but he racked his brains in vain to try and remember where. "Oh!" he said, speaking to himself in a low hoarse voice; "Can I be approaching the consummation of the object to which I have devoted my life?"
He fell into a profound reverie, and remained for a lengthened period absorbed in a flood of bitter memories, that oppressed his breast. At length he raised his head, shook back his thick hair, and passed his hand over his forehead.
"No more hesitation," he said, hoarsely, "let me know what I have to depend on. Something tells me that my researches will this time be crowned with success."
He then seized one of the hooks with a trembling hand, and put it in the lock; but his emotion was so great that he could not make the instrument act, and he threw it angrily from him. "Am I a child, then?" he said; "I will be calm."
He took the hook up again with a firm hand, and the casket opened. Bloodson looked eagerly into the interior; it only contained two letters, which time had turned yellow. At the sight of them, a livid pallor covered the ranger's face. He evidently recognised the handwriting at the first glance. He uttered a howl of joy, and seized the letters, saying, in a voice that had nothing human about it:— "Here, then, are the proofs I believed to be destroyed!" He unfolded the paper with the most minute precautions, for fear of tearing the creases, and began reading. Ere long, a sigh of relief burst from his overladen bosom.
"Ah!" he uttered, "Heaven has at length delivered you to me, my masters; we will settle our accounts."
He replaced the letters in the casket, closed it again, and carefully hid it in his bosom.
The three adventurers rapidly left Bloodson's camp, and proceeded in the direction of the mountains, galloping silently side by side. They had a foreboding that the finale of this terrible drama was approaching, and involuntarily their thoughts were sad.
Man is so constituted that the feeling which has most power over him is sadness; human organisation is formed for struggling, and joy is only an anomaly; built to resist the hardest trials, the strongest man is frequently the one who yields most easily to great joy; hence, strange to say nothing more resembles happiness than sorrow; the symptoms are so completely the same, that a great joy annihilates the faculties almost as much as a great sorrow does.
At this moment, the three persons we are following were under the weight of an emotion such as we have described. At the instant when they expected the hopes they had so long entertained would be fulfilled, they felt an emotion which completely mastered them, and for which they could not account. They were about to play for a decisive stake. Ever since they had been contending with this rude adversary, they had ever found him standing in the track, returning them trick for trick, and although cruelly wounded, constantly retaining the victory. This time luck had turned; Heaven itself seemed to have interposed to make justice triumph, and the bandit, driven to his last entrenchments, was expecting them to be forced at any moment.
Still they did not conceal from themselves the difficulties of this final struggle, in which the squatter would escape the fate reserved him by death, unless they managed to deceive him by trickery. In such a state of mind, we may easily suppose that they said nothing, and reached the foot of the mountain without exchanging a syllable. Here they stopped.
"Caballeros," the gambusino said, "before going further, we shall not do badly, I fancy, by making some indispensable arrangements."
"What do you mean, my friend?" Don Pablo asked.
"We are going to enter regions," Andrés replied, "where our horses will become more injurious than useful; in the mountains a footman passes anywhere, a horseman nowhere."
"That is true; let us leave our horses here, then; the noble brutes will not stray beyond the spot where they can find provender. When we require them; we shall be sure to find them again, with a little search."
"Is that the señorita's opinion also?" the gambusino asked respectfully.
"Quite," she answered.
"Then let us dismount, remove saddle and bridle, and leave them to their instinct."
They removed everything that could trouble the horses, and then drove them away. The intelligent animals, accustomed to this, only went a few yards, and began quietly nibbling the thick prairie grass.
"That is all right," the gambusino said; "now let us think of ourselves."
"But the harness," White Gazelle remarked; "the moment will come when we shall be glad to have it ready to hand."
"Perfectly true," said Andrés; "so we will put it in a safe place; for instance, this hollow tree will form a famous storeroom."
"Caramba! that is an original idea," Don Pablo said, "and deserves being followed."
The three saddles were placed in the tree, and so covered with dead leaves, that it would be impossible to suspect their presence.
"Now," said White Gazelle, "let us look after a place to bivouac: the nights are cold at this season, especially in the mountains; day is rapidly departing, and we shall soon be in darkness."
Our three scouts had left the camp at a rather late hour: hence, while they were unsaddling their horses, and hiding the harness, the sun had gradually sunk down beneath the horizon: the short period of twilight had begun, during which day finishes, and night begins, in which darkness and light, struggling desperately together, spread over the landscape a mixed haze, through which objects are regarded as through a prism.
They must profit by this moment to look about them, so that they might run no risk of losing themselves so soon as darkness had gained the victory. They did so, therefore: after carefully noting the position of the different peaks, they boldly set out. They walked for nearly an hour up an ascent constantly becoming steeper, and then reached a species of narrow platform, where they halted for a moment; in the first place to take breath, and then to consult about their further operations.
"Suppose we sleep here?" White Gazelle said. "The perpendicular rock behind us offers a famous shelter, from the wind, and, wrapped up in our zarapés and buffalo robes, I feel convinced we should be quite comfortable."
"Patience, Niña," the gambusino said, sententiously, "we must not talk about sleeping at present."
"Why not?" she said, sharply; "for my part, I may tell you I can sleep famously here."
"Possibly so, Niña," Andrés continued; "but we have something else to do at present."
"What then?"
"Look about us."
"Why, you must be mad, my friend. It is as black as in an oven. The demon himself, though so used to darkness, would tread on his tail."
"That is the very reason; let us take advantage of the moon not having yet risen, to explore the neighbourhood."
"I do not understand you."
"See how transparent the atmosphere is; the vacillating and dubious light of the stars is sufficient to let objects be distinguished at an enormous distance. If the men we are pursuing, eat, which is probable, this is just the hour they would select to cook their food."
"Well?" Don Pablo asked, curiously.
"Follow my argument closely; Red Cedar can only expect enemies from the side of the plain."
"That is true."
"Hence his precautions are taken on that side, and not here; he does not suspect us so near him, and, persuaded that no one is spying him, he will let the smoke of his fire rise peacefully to the sky in the shade of night, convinced that nobody will perceive it, which would be perfectly true, if, unfortunately for him, we were not here. Such is the reason why I urged you to enter the mountains, in spite of the advanced hour."
White Gazelle and Don Pablo were struck by the correctness of this reasoning. They began, in consequence, to form a better opinion of their guide, and tacitly recognise in him that superiority which a man who is thoroughly acquainted with a thing, always acquires at a given moment.
"Do as you think proper," Don Pablo said to him.
"We are quite of your opinion," the girl added.
The gambusino displayed no pride or fatuity at this acknowledgement of the justice of his argument; he contented himself with recommending his companions not to leave the spot where they were till his return, and then went off.
When he was alone, instead of walking as he had hitherto done, the gambusino lay down and began crawling slowly along the rocks, stopping every now and then to raise his head, look around him and listen to the thousand sounds of the desert. At the expiration of about two hours he returned.
"Well?" Don Pablo asked him.
"Come!" the gambusino laconically answered.
They followed, and he led them by a most abrupt path, where they were forced to crawl on their hands and knees, to escape falling over the precipices. After a lengthened ascent, made with extraordinary difficulty, the gambusino stood up, making his companions a sign to follow his example. They did not let the invitation be repeated, for they were completely worn out.
They found themselves on a platform like the one they had previously left; this platform, like the other, was commanded by an immense rock, but this rock had an enormous orifice like the entrance of an oven, and, strange enough, at the end of this orifice glittered a light about the size of a star.
"Look!" said the gambusino.
"Oh, oh! What is that?" Don Pablo asked in surprise.
"Can we have found what we are looking for?" White Gazelle exclaimed, as she clasped her hands.
"Silence," Andrés Garote whispered, as he placed his hand on her mouth; "we are at the entrance of a cavern, and these subterraneous passages are excellent sound conductors; Red Cedar has a fine ear, and though he is so far from you at this moment, you must fear his overhearing you."
They gazed for a long time at this flickering light; at times a shadow passed before this star, and its brilliancy was eclipsed for some minutes. The gambusino, when he judged that their curiosity was satisfied, touched them on the arm, and led them gently away.
"Come," he said to them.
They began ascending again. At the end of about half an hour he made them stop a second time, and stretched out his arm. "Look attentively," he said to them.
"Oh," Don Pablo said, at the end of a minute, "smoke."
In fact a slight jet of white smoke seemed to issue from the ground, and rose in a thin and transparent spiral to the sky.
"There is no smoke without fire," the gambusino said, with a grin; "I showed you the fire first, now there is the smoke. Are you convinced? Have we found the tiger's lair?"
"Yes," they said together.
"That is better than sleeping, eh?" he went on, with a slightly triumphant accent.
"What are we to do now?" White Gazelle quickly interrupted him.
"Oh, good gracious! A very simple thing," Andrés replied; "one of you two will immediately return to the camp to announce our discovery, and the master will act as he thinks proper."
"Good!" said the girl; "I will go."
"And you?" the gambusino asked Don Pablo.
"I stay here."
Garote made no objection, and White Gazelle darted down the mountain side with feverish ardour. The gambusino laid his buffalo robe carefully on the ground, wrapped himself in his zarapé, and lay down.
"What are you about?" Don Pablo asked him.
"You see," he replied, "I am preparing to sleep; we have nothing more to do at present, and must wait till tomorrow to act; I advise you to follow my example."
"That is true," the young man said; "you are right."
And, rolling himself in his zarapé, he threw himself on the ground. An hour passed away thus, and the two men slept, or pretended to sleep.
Then Don Pablo rose softly on his elbow, and bent over Andrés Garote, whom he attentively observed; he was sleeping the calmest possible sleep. The young man, reassured by this, rose, examined his weapons, and after giving the sleeper a last glance, descended the mountain.
The moon had risen and cast a light over the landscape scarce sufficient for him to proceed without fear of falling over a precipice. The young man, on reaching the lower platform, on to which the entrance of the cavern opened, stopped for a moment, muttered a fervent prayer, as he raised his eyes to the star-studded sky, and after once more examining his weapons to feel sure they were in good condition, he crossed himself and boldly entered the cavern.
Of a truth, he must have been gifted with ample stock of courage thus to brave a danger which was the more terrible, because it was unknown. With his eye fixed on the fire, which served as his polar star, Don Pablo advanced cautiously with outstretched arms, stopping at intervals to account for the nameless noises which constantly growl in caverns, and ready to defend himself against the invisible foes he suspected in the shadow.
He went on thus for a long time, the fire not appearing to grow larger, when the granite on which he rested his left hand to guide himself suddenly left off, and at the end of a narrow passage, dimly lighted by an expiring torch of candlewood, he perceived Ellen kneeling on the bare ground, and praying fervently.
The young man stopped, struck with admiration at this unexpected sight. The maiden, with her hair untied and floating in long tresses on her shoulders, with pallid face bathed in tears, seemed to be suffering the greatest sorrow. Sobs and heavy sighs were escaping from her burdened bosom.
Don Pablo could not resist the emotion that seized upon him. At this crushing sight, forgetting all prudence, he rushed toward the maiden with open arms, exclaiming, with an accent of supreme love: "Ellen, Ellen, what is the matter?"
At this voice, which smote her ear so unexpectedly, the girl rose, and said, with gestures of great majesty:
"Fly, unhappy man, fly, or you are lost!"
"Ellen," he repeated, as he fell on his knees, and clasped his hands in entreaty, "for mercy's sake hear me!"
"What do you want here?" she continued.
"I have come to save you, or perish in the attempt."
"Save me," she cried, sadly; "no, Don Pablo, my destiny is fixed forever. Leave me—fly—I implore you."
"No. I tell you a terrible danger impends over your father. He is hopelessly lost. Come, fly; there is yet time. Oh, Ellen, I implore you, in the name of our love—so chaste and pure, follow me!"
The maiden shook her head with a movement that set her long, fair tresses waving.
"I am condemned, I tell you, Don Pablo; remaining longer here will be your destruction. You say you love me—well, in the name of your love, or, if you insist, of mine, I implore you to leave me, to shun me forever. Oh, believe me, Don Pablo, my touch brings death. I am an accursed creature."
The young man folded his arms on his chest, and raised his head proudly.
"No," he said resolutely, "I will not go, I do not wish for the devotion to be yours solely. What do I care for life if I may never see you again? Ellen, we will die together."
"Oh, Heavens, how he loves me!" she exclaimed, in despair. "Oh, Lord! Lord! Have I suffered enough? Is the measure now full? Oh, Lord! Give me the strength to accomplish my sacrifice to the end. Listen, Don Pablo," she said to him, as she caught hold of his arm fiercely, "my father is an outlaw, the whole world rejects him; he has only one joy, one happiness in his immense suffering—his daughter. I cannot, I will not abandon him. Whatever love I may feel for you in my heart, Don Pablo, I will never leave my father. No, all is said between us, my love; remaining here longer would be uselessly braving a terrible and inevitable danger. Go, Don Pablo, go—it must be so."
"Remember," the young man said with a groan, "remember, Ellen, that this interview will be the last."
"I know it."
"You still wish me to go?"
"I insist on it."
"Yes, but I do not wish it," a rough voice suddenly said.
They turned in terror, and perceived Red Cedar looking at them with a grin, as he leant on his rifle. Ellen gave her father such a flashing glance, that the old squatter involuntarily looked down without replying. She turned to Don Pablo, and took his hand. "Come," she said to him. She walked resolutely toward her father, who did not stir. "Make way," she said boldly.
"No," the trapper answered.
"Pay attention to me, father," she continued; "I have sacrificed for you my life, my happiness, all my hopes on this earth, but on one condition that his life shall be sacred. Let him go, then; I insist on it."
"No," he said again, "he must die."
Ellen burst into a wild laugh, whose shrill notes made the two men shudder. With a movement swift as thought, she tore a pistol from the squatter's belt, cocked it, and put the muzzle to her forehead. "Make way!" she repeated.
Red Cedar uttered a yell of terror. "Stop!" he shouted, as he rushed toward her.
"For the last time, make way, or I kill myself!"
"Oh!" he said with an expression of rage impossible to endure, "Go, demon, but I shall find you again."
"Farewell, my beloved!" Ellen cried passionately; "farewell for the last time!"
"Ellen," the young man answered, "we shall meet again; I will save you in spite of yourself."
And rushing down the passage, he disappeared.
"And now, father," the maiden said, throwing the pistol far from her, when the sound of her lover's footsteps died away in the distance, "do with me what you please."
"I pardon you, child," Red Cedar replied gnashing his teeth, "but I will kill him."
Don Pablo ran out of the cavern and joined Andrés Garote hastily, who still slept. The young man had some difficulty in waking him, but at length he opened his eyes, sat up, and yawned; but perceiving the stars still shining, he said ill-humouredly: "What fly has stung you? Let me sleep—day is still far off."
"I know that better than you, for I have not lain down."
"Then, you were wrong," the other said, yawning fit to dislocate his jaw; "I am going to sleep, so good night."
And he tried to lie down again, but the young man prevented him. "A pretty time for sleeping," he said as he dragged away the other's zarapé; in which he tried in vain to wrap himself.
"Why, you must be mad to annoy me so," he said furiously; "has anything fresh happened?"
Don Pablo told him what he had done; the gambusino listened with the most profound attention, and when he had finished scratched his head with embarrassment as he said, "Demonios!that is serious—excessively serious; all lovers are madmen. You have spoiled our expedition."
"Do you think so?"
"Canelo! I am sure of it; Red Cedar is an old scoundrel, as cunning as an opossum. Now that he is put on his guard, it will take a clever fellow to catch him."
Don Pablo looked at him in consternation.
"What is to be done?" he said.
"Be off, that is the safest; you can understand that the squatter is now on his guard?"
There was rather a lengthened silence between the two speakers.
"Well!" the gambusino said, suddenly, "I will not be beat. I will play the old demon a trick after my fashion."
"What is your plan?"
"That is my business. If you had placed greater confidence in me, all this would not have happened, and we should have settled matters, to the general satisfaction. Well, what is done cannot be undone, and I will try to repair your fault, so now be off."
"Off—where to?"
"To the foot of the mountain; but do not come up again unless your comrades are with you. You will act as their guide to this spot."
"But you?"
"Don't trouble yourself about me. Good-bye."
"Well," the young man said, "I leave you at liberty to act as you think proper."
"You ought to have formed that resolution sooner. Ah, by the way, just leave me your hat."
"With great pleasure; but you have one."
"Perhaps I want another. Ah! one word more."
"Speak."
"If by any chance you should hear a noise—shots fired, say—as you are going down the mountain, do not alarm yourself, or come up again."
"Good—that is agreed; so good-bye."
After tossing his hat to the gambusino, the young man put his rifle on his shoulder, and began descending the mountain: he speedily disappeared in the countless windings of the path. So soon as Andrés Garote was alone, he picked up Don Pablo's hat and threw it over the precipice, eagerly watching its descent. After turning over and over, the hat touched a peak, rebounded, and at length rested on the mountainside a great distance beneath.
"Good," the gambusino said with satisfaction, "that is all right; now for the rest."
Andrés Garote then sat down on the ground, took his rifle, and discharged it in the air; immediately, drawing one of his pistols from his belt, he stretched out his left arm and pulled the trigger; the ball went right through the fleshy part. "Caramba!" he said, as he fell all his length on the ground, "that pains more than I fancied; but no matter; the great point is to succeed, so now to await the result."
Nearly a quarter of an hour elapsed and nothing disturbed the silence of the desert. Andrés, still stretched at full length, was groaning in a way that would move the heart of the rocks. At length a slight noise was heard a short distance off.
"Halloh!" the gambusino muttered, cunningly watching what had happened, "I fancy there's a bite."
"Who the deuce have we here?" a rough voice said; "Go and see, Sutter."
Andrés Garote opened his eyes and recognised Red Cedar, and his son. "Ah!" he said in a hollow voice, "Is that you, old squatter? Where the deuce do you come from? If I expected anybody, it was certainly not you, though I am delighted with you."
"I know that voice," exclaimed Red Cedar.
"It is Andrés Garote, the gambusino," Sutter replied.
"Yes, it is I, my good Sutter," the Mexican said. "Oh! oh! How I suffer!"
"What's the matter with you, and how did you come here?"
"You're all right, I see," the other replied savagely. "Cuerpo de Cristo! Things have gone with me from bad to worse since I left my rancho to come in this accursed prairie."
"Will you answer yes or no?" Red Cedar said angrily, dashing his rifle butt on the ground, and giving him a suspicious glance.
"Well, I am wounded, that, is easy to see; I have a bullet in my arm, and am all over bruises. Santa Maria, how I suffer! But no matter, the brigand who attacked me will never injure anybody again."
"Have you killed him?" the squatter asked eagerly.
"I did my best; look over the precipice—you will see his body."
Sutter bent over. "I see a hat," he said directly after; "the body cannot be far."
"Unless it has rolled to the bottom of the barranca."
"That is probable," Sutter remarked, "for the rock is almost perpendicular."
"Oh, demonios! Nuestra Señora! How I suffer!" the gambusino groaned.
The squatter had in his turn leant over the precipice; he recognised Don Pablo's hat; he gave a sign of satisfaction, and returned to Andrés.
"Come," he said in a gentle tone, "we cannot stop here all night; can you walk?"
"I do not know, but I will try."
"Try, then, in the demon's name."
The gambusino rose with infinite difficulty and tried to walk a little way, but fell back. "I cannot," he said despondingly.
"Nonsense!" said Sutter; "I will take him on my back, he is not very heavy."
"Look sharp, then."
The young man stooped, took the gambusino in his arms, and laid him across his shoulders as easily as if he had been a child. Ten minutes later Andrés Garote was in the cavern lying before the fire, and Fray Ambrosio was bandaging up his arm.
"Well, gossip," the monk said, "you have been very cleverly wounded."
"Why so?" the Mexican asked in alarm.
"Why, a wound in the left arm will not prevent your firing a shot with us in case of an alarm."
"I will do so, you may be sure," he replied, with a singular accent.
"With all that, you have not told me by what chance you were on the mountain," Red Cedar remarked.
"It was simple; since the destruction and dispersion of our poor cuadrilla, I have been wandering about in every direction like a masterless dog; hunted by the Indians to take my scalp, pursued by the whites to be hanged, as forming part of Red Cedar's band, I did not know where to find shelter. About three days back chance brought me to this sierra; tonight, at the moment I was going to sleep, after eating a mouthful, a fellow whom the darkness prevented me recognising, suddenly threw himself on me; you know the rest—but no matter, I settled his little score."
"Good, good," Red Cedar quickly interrupted him, "keep that to yourself; now, good night, you must need rest; so sleep, if you can."
The gambusino's stratagem was too simple and at the same time too cleverly carried out, not to succeed. No one can suppose that an individual would voluntarily, give himself a serious wound, and any suspicions on Red Cedar's part were entirely dissipated by the sight of Don Pablo's hat. How could he suppose that two men of such different character and position should be working together? Anything was credible but that. Hence the bandits, who recognised in Garote one of themselves, did not at all distrust him.
The worthy ranchero, delighted at having got into the lion's den, almost certain of the success of his scheme, and too accustomed to wounds to care much about the one he had given himself with such praiseworthy dexterity, began again the slumber Don Pablo had so roughly interrupted and slept till daybreak. When he awoke, Fray Ambrosio was by his side, preparing the morning meal.
"Well," the monk asked him, "how do you feel now?"
"Much better than I should have fancied," he answered; "sleep has done me good."
"Let me look at your wound, gossip."
Andrés held out his arm, which the monk bandaged afresh, and the two men went on talking like friends delighted at meeting again after a lengthened separation. All at once Red Cedar hurried up, rifle in hand.
"Look out!" he shouted, "Here is the enemy."
"The enemy!" the gambusino said, "Canelo, where is my rifle? If I cannot stand, I will fire sitting down: it shall not be said that I did not help my friends in their trouble."
Sutter now ran up from the other side, shouting:
"Look out!"
This strange coincidence of two attacks made from opposite sides rendered Red Cedar thoughtful. "We are betrayed," he shouted.
"By whom?" the gambusino impudently asked.
"By you, perhaps," the squatter answered furiously.
Andrés began laughing.
"You are mad, Red Cedar," he said: "danger has made you lose your head. You know very well that I have not stirred from here."
The reasoning was unanswerable.
"And yet, I would swear that one of us has been the traitor," the squatter continued passionately.
"Instead of recriminating as you are doing," Andrés said, with an accent of wounded dignity, perfectly played, "you would do better to fly. You are too old a fox to have only one hole to your earth—all the issues cannot be occupied, hang it all: while you are escaping, I, who cannot walk, will cover the retreat, and you will thus see whether I was the traitor."
"You will do that?"
"I will."
"Then you are a man, and I restore you my friendship."
At this moment the war yell of the Comanches burst forth at one of the entrances, while at the opposite could be heard: "Bloodson! Bloodson!"
"Make haste, make haste!" the gambusino shouted, as he boldly seized the rifle lying at his side.
"Oh, they have not got me yet," Red Cedar replied, as he seized his daughter in his powerful arms, who had run up at the first alarm, and was now pressing timorously to his side. The three bandits then disappeared in the depths of the cave. Andrés leaped up as if worked by a spring, and rushed in pursuit of them, followed by twenty Comanche and Apache warriors who had joined him, at whose head were Unicorn, Black Cat, and Spider.
They soon heard the sound of firing re-echoed by the walls of the cavern: the fight had begun.
Red Cedar had found himself face to face with Valentine and his comrades, while trying to fly by an outlet he did not suppose guarded. He fell back hurriedly, but he had been seen, and the firing immediately begun. A terrible combat was about to take place beneath the gloomy avenues of this vast cavern. These implacable enemies, at last face to face, had no mercy to expect from each other. Still Red Cedar did not despond; while replying vigorously to the shots of their adversaries, he incessantly looked round him to discover a fresh outlet.
The perfect darkness that reigned in the cavern aided the bandits, who, owing to their small numbers, sheltered themselves behind rocks, and thus avoided the bullets, while their shots, fired into the compact mass of enemies pressing round them, scarcely ever missed their mark.
All once the squatter uttered a triumphant yell, and, followed by his comrades, disappeared as if by enchantment. The Indians and rangers then dispersed in pursuit of the bandits, but they had vanished and left no sign.
"We shall never find them in this way," Valentine shouted, "and we run a risk of hitting friends; some of the warriors will be detached to cut us torches, while we guard all the outlets."
"It is unnecessary," Curumilla said, coming up, loaded with candlewood.
In a second, the cavern was brilliantly lit up, and then the side passage by which Red Cedar had escaped became visible to the astonished Comanches, who had passed it twenty times without seeing it. They rushed in with a yell but there came a discharge, and three of them fell mortally wounded. The passage was low, narrow, and ascending; it formed a species of staircase. It was, in truth, a formidable position, for four men could with difficulty advance together.
Ten times the Comanches returned to the charge, ten times they were forced to fall back; the dead and wounded were heaped up in the cave, and the position was becoming critical.
"Halt!" Valentine shouted.
All were motionless, and then the white men and principal chiefs held a council; Curumilla had left the cave with a dozen warriors whom he had made a sign to follow him. As happens unfortunately only too often in precarious circumstances, everybody gave a different opinion, and it was impossible to come to an understanding; at this moment Curumilla appeared, followed by the warriors loaded like himself with leaves and dry wood.
"Wait a moment," Valentine said, pointing to the chief; "Curumilla has had the only sensible idea."
The others did not understand yet.
"Come, my lads," the hunter cried, "a final attack."
The Comanches rushed furiously into the passage, but a fresh discharge compelled them again to retire.
"Enough!" the Trail-hunter commanded, "that is what I wanted to know."
They obeyed, and Valentine then turned to the chief who accompanied him.
"It is plain," he said, "that this passage has no outlet; in the first moment of precipitation Red Cedar did not perceive this, else he would not have entered it; had it an outlet, the bandits, instead of remaining, would have profited by the momentary respite we granted them to escape."
"That is true," the chiefs answered.
"What I tell you at this moment, Curumilla guessed long ago; the proof is that he has discovered the only way to make the demons surrender, smoking them out." Enthusiastic shouts greeted these words.
"Warriors," Valentine went on, "throw into that cave all the wood and leaves you can; when there is a large pile, we will set light to it."
Red Cedar and his comrades probably guessing their enemy's intention, tried to prevent it by keeping up an incessant fire, but the Indians, rendered prudent by experience, placed themselves so as to escape the bullets, which hit nobody. The entrance of the passage was soon almost blocked up with inflammable matter of every description. Valentine seized a lighted torch, but before setting fire to the pile he made a sign to command silence, and addressed the besieged:
"Red Cedar," he shouted, "we are going to smoke you out, will you surrender"?
"Go to the devil, accursed Frenchman," the squatter replied.
And three shots served as peroration to this energetic answer.
"Attention now! For when these demons feel themselves broiling, they will make a desperate effort," Valentine said.
He threw the torch into the pile, the fire at once began crackling, and a dense cloud of smoke and flame formed a curtain before the passage. In the meanwhile, all held in readiness to repulse the sortie of the besieged, for the Indians knew that the collision would be rude. They had not to wait long, ere they saw three devils burst through the flames and rushed headlong upon them.
A frightful medley took place in the narrow corridor, which lasted some minutes. Don Pablo, on perceiving Red Cedar, rushed upon him, and in spite of the bandit's resistance, seized Ellen, and bore her away in his arms. The squatter roared like a tiger, felling all who came within his reach. For their part, Sutter and Fray Ambrosio, fought with the courage and resolution of men who knew that they were about to die.
But this desperate struggle of three against several hundred could not last long; in spite of all their efforts they were at length lassoed, and securely bound.
"Kill me, villains," Red Cedar howled in despair.
Bloodson walked up to him, and touched his shoulder.
"You will be tried by Lynch Law, Red Cedar," he said to him.
At the sight of the ranger the squatter made a terrible effort to burst his bonds, and rush upon him; but he did not succeed, and fell back on the ground, which he bit at wildly, and foaming with rage. When the fight was over, Valentine hurried from the cavern to breathe a little fresh air. Sunbeam was waiting for him. "Koutonepi," she said to him, "Seraphin, the Father of Prayer, has sent me to you—your mother is dying."
"My mother!" the hunter exclaimed in despair. "Oh, God! What shall I do to reach her?"
"Curumilla is warned," she answered; "he is waiting for you at the foot of the mountains, with two horses."
The hunter rushed down the path like a madman.
Before going further, we will explain in a few words what Lynch Law is to which we have several times referred in the course of this narrative, and which plays so great a part, not only in the prairies of North America, but also in certain districts of the United States.
Although we Europeans are rightly surprised that such a monstrosity as Lynch Law can exist in a general society, to be just to the Americans, and although we are bound to disapprove their present system derived from the original, this law was the result of imperious circumstances. When the Pilgrim Fathers landed at Plymouth, Lynch Law was the chastisement imposed by a community deprived of all law, who could only have recourse to their own justice to punish crime.
Now-a-days, in the great centres of the Union, this law, on the contrary, is only the illegal exercise of power by a majority acting in opposition to the laws of the country, as well as the punishments, where the population is sparse, and which, according to the Constitution, must have a certain number of inhabitants to be recognised as districts; up to that recognition, those who have come to seek an existence at these settlements among bandits of every description, against whose attacks they cannot appeal to any legal protection, are obliged to protect themselves, and have recourse to Lynch Law. In the prairies of the Far West, this law is exactly the same as the ancientlextalionisof the Hebrews.
We will not go deeper into the subject of this law, which is so obscure in its origin, that its very name is an unsolved riddle, although some persons assert wrongly, as we think, that Lynch was a governor who first applied this law. The only difficulty there is against the truth of this derivation is that Lynch Law existed, as we have said, in America, from the first day that Europeans landed there. Without attempting to guarantee the authenticity of our assertion, it is evident that Lynch Law did not really begin to be applied in the civilised provinces of the Union till the last years of the eighteenth century; at that period it was much more summary, for a lamp was taken down, and the victim hoisted in its place; hence we believe that the word Lynch is only a corruption of derivation of light. We will now return to our narrative.
Four days after the events we describe in our last chapter, Unicorn's camp afforded a strange sight; not only did it contain Indian warriors belonging to all the allied nations of the Comanches, but also many hunters, trappers, and half-breeds had hurried in from all parts of the prairies to try the prisoners, and punish them by Lynch Law as understood in the Far West.
Father Seraphin, who was at this moment in camp, busied in offering help and consolation to Madame Guillois, whose illness had reached its last and fatal stage, tried to oppose the trial of the prisoners with all his power. In vain did he present to the Indians and white men that there were upright judges in the United states, who would apply the laws and punish the criminals; his efforts had obtained no result, and he had been obliged to withdraw, heart-broken.
Not being able to save the prisoners, he wished to prepare them for death; but here again the missionary failed: he had found scoundrels with hearts bronzed by crime, who would not listen, but derided him. Singularly enough, since these men had fallen into the hands of their enemies, they had not exchanged a word, crouched in a corner of the hut that served as a prison, sullen as wild beasts, they avoided each other as much as the bonds that attached them permitted them to do.
Ellen alone appeared among them like the angel of consolation, lavishing soft words on them, and trying before all to soothe her father's last hours. Red Cedar only lived in and through his daughter—each smile of the poor girl which hid her tears, brought a smile on his face branded and ravaged by passion: if he could have reformed, his paternal love would surely have affected this prodigy; but it was too late, all was dead in this heart, which now only contained one feeling, a paternal affection like that of tigers and panthers.
"Is it for today, my child?" he asked.
"I do not know, father," she timidly replied.
"I understand you, poor darling, you are afraid of grieving me by letting me know the truth; but undeceive yourself, when a man like me has fallen so low as I have done, the only blessing he craves is death, and, stay, I have my answer then," he added with a grin; "Judge Lynch is about to begin his duty."
A great noise was audible at this moment in the camp; three stakes had been put up in the morning, and round them the population were tumultuously electing the judges ordered to avenge public justice.
The judges were seven in number: Valentine, Curumilla, Unicorn, Black Cat, Spider, and two other Comanche chiefs. Care had been taken not to elect any who had accusations to bring against the prisoners.
At midday precisely, a silence of lead fell on the assembly, a band of warriors and trappers had gone to the prison to fetch the prisoners and lead them before the judges.
Although Father Seraphin's attempts to arouse better feelings in the heart of the bandits had failed, he determined to accompany and exhort them to the last moment; he walked on the right of Red Cedar, and Ellen on his left.
When the prisoners were brought before the tribunal, Valentine, who had been nominated president against his will, summoned the accusers, who at once appeared. They were five in number: Don Miguel, Don Pablo Zarate, Andrés Garote, White Gazelle, and Bloodson. Valentine took the word in a loud and firm voice.
"Red Cedar," he said, "you are about to be tried by Lynch Law: you will hear the crimes of which you are accused, and have entire liberty to defend yourself."
The squatter shrugged his shoulders.
"Your Lynch Law is foolish," he said disdainfully; "it can only kill, and the victim has not even time to feel the pain: instead of taking that absurd vengeance, fasten me to the stake of torture for a day, and then you will have some fun, for you shall see how a warrior can look death in the face, and endure pain."
"You are mistaken as to our intentions: we are not avenging ourselves, but punishing you; the stake is reserved for brave and honourable warriors, but criminals are only worthy of the gallows."
"As you please," he replied carelessly; "what I said was through a wish to afford you pleasure."
"Who are the persons who have charges against Red Cedar?" Valentine went on.
"I, Don Miguel de Zarate."
"I, Don Pablo de Zarate."
"I, who am called Bloodson, but who will reveal my real name if Red Cedar desires it."
"It is unnecessary," he said in a hollow voice.
"I, White Gazelle."
"Bring your charges forward."
"I accuse this man of having carried off my daughter, whom he basely assassinated," Don Miguel said; "I also accuse him of having caused the death of my friend, General Ibañez."
"What reply have you to this?"
"None."
"What does the people say?"
"We attest," the audience replied in one voice.
"I accuse this man of the same crimes," Don Pablo said.
"I accuse this man of having burnt the house of my father and mother, assassinated my parents, and handed me over to bandits to be brought up in crime," White Gazelle said.
"I," Bloodson added, "accuse him of the same crimes: this girl's father was my brother."
There was a start of horror on the audience. Valentine consulted with the judges in a low voice, then said—
"Red Cedar, you are unanimously found guilty and condemned to be scalped, and then hung."
Sutter was condemned to be hanged only; the judges had regard for his youth, and the evil examples he had constantly before him. The monk's turn had now arrived.
"One moment," Bloodson said, as he stepped forward; "this man is a wretched adventurer, who has no right to wear the gown he has so long dishonoured. I ask that it be stripped off him, before he is tried."
"Why waste time in accusing me, and making this mockery of justice?" Fray Ambrosio ironically replied. "All you who try us are as criminal as we are. You are assassins; for you usurp, without any right, functions that do not belong to you. This time you act justly, by chance: a thousand other times, awed by the populace that surrounds you, you condemn innocent men. If you wish to know my crimes, I will tell you them. That man is right. I am no monk—never was one. I began by debauchery; I finished in crime. As an accomplice of Red Cedar, I fired farms, whose inhabitants I burned or assassinated, in order to plunder them afterwards. I have been, still with Red Cedar, a scalp hunter. I helped to carry off that girl. What more? I killed that gambusino's brother in order to obtain the secret of a placer. Do you want any more? Imagine the most atrocious and hideous crimes, and I have committed them all. Now pronounce and carry out your sentence, for you will not succeed in making me utter another word. I despise you. You are cowards."
After uttering these odious words with revolting cynicism, the wretch looked impudently round the audience.
"You are sentenced," Valentine said, after a consultation, "to be scalped, hung up by the arms, seasoned with honey, and remain hanging till the flies and birds have devoured you."
On hearing this terrible sentence, the bandit could not repress a start of terror, while the people frenziedly applauded this severe sentence.
"Now the sentence will be carried out," Valentine said.
"One moment," Unicorn exclaimed, as he sprang up, and stood before the judges; "as regards Red Cedar, the law has not been followed: does it not say, 'eye for eye, and tooth for tooth?'"
"Yes, yes!" the Indians and trappers shouted. Struck by an ominous presentiment, Red Cedar trembled.
"Yes," Bloodson said, in a hollow voice, "Red Cedar killed Doña Clara, Don Miguel's daughter—his daughter Ellen must die."
The judges themselves recoiled in horror, and Red Cedar uttered a terrible howl. Ellen alone did not tremble.
"I am ready to die," she said, in a gentle and resigned voice. "Poor girl! Heaven knows how gladly I would have given my life to save hers."
"My daughter!" Red Cedar exclaimed, in despair.
"Don Miguel felt the same when you were assassinating his daughter," Bloodson retorted, cruelly. "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth."
"Oh! What you are doing there, my brothers, is horrible," Father Seraphin exclaimed. "You are shedding innocent blood, and it will fall on your heads. God will punish you. For pity's sake, brothers, do not kill that innocent maiden!"
At a signal from Unicorn, four warriors seized the missionary, and, despite his efforts, while treating him most kindly, carried him to the chiefs lodge, where they guarded him. Valentine and Curumilla tried in vain to oppose this barbarous and blood-thirsty deed, but the Indians and trappers, worked on by Bloodson, loudly claimed the execution of the law, and threatened to take justice into their own hands.
In vain did Don Miguel and his son implore Unicorn and Bloodson; they could obtain nothing. At length, Unicorn, wearied by the young man's prayers, seized Ellen by the hair, plunged his knife into her heart, and threw her into his arms, shouting:
"Her father killed your sister, and you pray for her. You are a coward."
Valentine, at this unjustifiable deed, hid his face in his hands, and fled. Red Cedar writhed in the bonds that held him. On seeing Ellen fall, a revolution took place in him. Henceforth he only uttered one word, in a heart-rending voice:
"My daughter! My daughter!"
Bloodson and White Gazelle were implacable, and sternly watched the execution of the sentence passed upon the prisoners. Red Cedar and his son did not suffer long, although the former was scalped; the madness that had seized on him rendered him insensible to everything.
The man who suffered the most fearful punishment was Fray Ambrosio; the wretch writhed for two-and-twenty hours in unimaginable suffering, ere death put an end to his fearful tortures.
So soon as the culprits had been executed, Bloodson and White Gazelle mounted their horses and galloped away.
They have never been heard of since, and no one knows what has become of them.
It was the eighth day after the fearful application of Lynch Law we have just described, a little before sunset.
All traces of the execution had disappeared. Unicorn's camp was still established at the same spot, for he insisted on his men remaining there, on account of Madame Guillois's illness rendering the most absolute rest necessary for her. The poor old lady felt herself dying by degrees; day by day she grew weaker, and, gifted with that lucidity which Heaven at times grants to the dying, she saw death approach with a smile, while striving to console her son for her loss.
But Valentine, who after so many years only saw his mother again to separate from her for ever, was inconsolable. Deprived of Don Miguel and Don Pablo, who had returned to the Paso del Norte, bearing with them the body of the hapless Trapper's Daughter, the Trail-hunter wept on the bosom of Curumilla, who, to console him, could only weep with him, and say—
"The Great Spirit recalls my brother's mother; it is because that he loves her."
A very long sentence for the worthy chief, and which proved the intensity of his grief.
On the day when we resume our narrative, Madame Guillois was reclining in a hammock in front of her hut, with her face turned to the setting sun. Valentine was standing on her right, Father Seraphin on her left, and Curumilla by his friend's side.