The lanceros posted behind the entrenchments had received the pirates warmly.
The general, exasperated by the death of Captain Aguilar, and perceiving that with such enemies there was no quarter to be expected, had resolved to resist to the last, and to kill himself rather than fall into their hands.
The Mexicans, reckoning the peons and guides, in whom they scarcely dared to trust, amounted to only seventeen, men and women included.
The pirates were at least thirty.
The numerical disproportion was then great between the besiegers and the besieged; but thanks to the strong position of the camp, situated on the summit of a chaos of rocks, this disproportion partly disappeared, and the forces were nearly equal.
Captain Waktehno had not for an instant deceived himself with regard to the difficulties of the attack he meditated—difficulties almost insurmountable in an open assault; therefore he had depended upon a surprise, and more particularly upon the treachery of the Babbler. It was only from having been carried away by circumstances, and being furious at the loss Captain Aguilar had caused him, that he had ventured upon an assault.
But the first moment of effervescence over, when he saw his men falling around him like ripe fruit, unrevenged, and without gaining an inch of ground, he resolved not to retreat, but to change the siege into a blockade, hoping to be more fortunate during the night by some boldcoup de main, or, in the end, certain of reducing the besieged sooner or later by famine.
He believed himself certain that they would find it impossible to obtain succour in the prairies, where there were none but Indians, hostile to the whites, whoever they might be, or trappers and hunters, who cared very little to intermeddle in affairs that did not at all concern them.
His resolution once taken, the captain put it in execution immediately.
He cast an anxious look around him; his situation was still the same; notwithstanding their almost superhuman efforts to climb the abrupt ascent which led to the entrenchments, the pirates had not gained a single step. The moment a man showed himself openly, a ball from a Mexican carbine sent him rolling down the precipice.
The captain gave the signal for retreat; that is to say, he imitated the cry of the prairie dogs.
The combat ceased instantly.
The spot, which an instant before was animated by the cries of combatants and the continued report of firearms, sank suddenly into the completest silence.
Only, as soon as the men had paused in their work of destruction, the condors, the vultures, and urubus commenced theirs.
After pirates, birds of prey! that is according to the order of things.
Swarms of condors, vultures, and urubus came hovering over the dead bodies, upon which they fell uttering sharp cries, and made a horrible carnage of human flesh, in sight of the Mexicans, who did not dare to leave their entrenchments, and were forced to remain spectators of this hideous banquet of the wild creatures.
The pirates rallied in a ravine, out of reach of the fire, and counted their numbers.
Their losses were enormous; out of forty, nineteen only remained.
In less than an hour they had had twenty-one killed, more than half of their whole band.
The Mexicans, with the exception of Captain Aguilar, had neither killed nor wounded.
The loss the pirates had sustained made them reflect seriously upon the affair.
The greater number were of opinion it would be best to retire, and give up an expedition which presented so many dangers and so few hopes of success.
The captain was even more discouraged than his companions.
Certes, if it had only been to gain gold or diamonds, he would, without hesitation, have resigned his projects; but a feeling more strong than the desire of wealth influenced his actions, and excited him to carry the adventure through, whatever might be the consequences to him.
The treasure he coveted—a treasure of incalculable price—was Doña Luz, the girl whom he had, in Mexico, rescued from the hands of his own bandits, and for whom he entertained a violent, boundless, characteristic passion.
From Mexico he had followed her step by step, watching, like a wild beast, for an opportunity of carrying off his prey, for the possession of which no sacrifice was too great, no difficulty insuperable, and no danger worthy of consideration.
Therefore did he bring into play upon his bandits all the resources that speech gives to a man influenced by passion, to keep them with him, to raise their courage, and to induce them to attempt one more attack before retiring and definitely renouncing the expedition.
He had much trouble in persuading them; as generally happens in such cases, the bravest had been killed, and the survivors did not feel themselves at all inclined to expose themselves to a similar fate. By dint, however, of persuasions and menaces, the captain succeeded in getting from the bandits the promise of remaining till the next day, and of attempting a decisive blow during the night.
This being agreed upon between the pirates and their chief, Waktehno ordered his men to conceal themselves as well as they could, but, above all, not to stir without his orders, whatever they might see the Mexicans do.
The captain hoped, by remaining invisible, to persuade the besieged that, discouraged by the enormous difficulties they had met with, the pirates had resolved to retreat, and had, in fact, done so.
This plan was not at all unskilful, and it, in fact, produced almost all the results which its author expected.
The glowing fires of the setting sun gilded with their last rays the summits of the rocks and the trees; the evening breeze, which was rising, refreshed the air; the great luminary was about to disappear on the horizon, in a bed of purple vapours.
Silence was only disturbed by the deafening cries of the birds of prey, that continued their cannibal banquet, quarrelling with ferocious inveteracy over the fragments of flesh which they tore from the dead bodies.
The general, with a heart deeply moved by this spectacle, when he reflected that Captain Aguilar, a man whose heroic devotion had saved them all, was exposed to this horrible profanation, resolved not to abandon his body, and, cost what it might, to go and bring it in, in order to give it sepulture,—a last homage due to the young man who had not hesitated to sacrifice himself for him.
Doña Luz, to whom he communicated his intention, although perfectly sensible of the danger, had not the heart to oppose it.
The general selected four resolute men, and scaling the entrenchments, he advanced at their head towards the spot where the body of the unfortunate captain lay.
The lanceros left in the camp kept a watchful eye upon the plain, ready to protect their bold companions with energy, if they were interrupted in their pious task.
The pirates concealed in the clefts of the rocks did not lose one of their movements, but were most careful not to betray their presence.
The general was able, therefore, to accomplish unmolested the duty he had imposed upon himself.
He had no difficulty in finding the body of the young man.
He lay half prostrate at the foot of a tree, holding a pistol in one hand and his machete in the other, his head elevated, his look fixed, and a smile upon his lips, as if even after death he still defied those who had killed him.
His body was literally covered with wounds; but, by a strange chance, which the general remarked with joy, up to that moment the birds of prey had respected it.
The lanceros placed the body upon their crossed guns, and returned to the camp at quick march.
The general followed at a short distance from them, observing and watching every bush and thicket.
But nothing stirred; the greatest tranquillity prevailed everywhere; the pirates had disappeared, without leaving any other traces but their dead, whom they appeared to have abandoned.
The general began to hope that his enemies were really gone, and he breathed a sigh, as if relieved from an oppression of the heart.
Night came on with its habitual rapidity; all eyes were fixed upon the lanceros, who bore back their dead officer, but no one remarked a score of phantoms who glided silently over the rocks, drawing, by degrees, nearer to the camp, close to which they concealed themselves, keeping their ferocious looks fixed upon its defenders.
The general caused the body to be placed upon a bed prepared in haste, and taking a spade, he insisted upon himself digging the grave in which the young man was to be deposited. All the lanceros ranged themselves around him, leaning on their arms. The general took off his hat, and from a prayer book read with a loud voice the Service of the Dead, to which his niece and all present responded.
There was something grand and impressive in this simple ceremony, in the midst of the desert, whose thousand mysterious voices appeared likewise to modulate a prayer, in face of that sublime nature upon which the finger of God is traced in so visible a manner.
This white-headed old man, piously reading the office of the dead over the body of a young man, little more than a boy, full of life but a few hours before, having around him that young girl, and these sad, pensive soldiers, whom the same fate, perhaps, threatened soon to overtake, but who, calm and resigned, prayed with fervour for him who was no more; this noble prayer, rising in the night, accompanied by the moanings and the breezes of evening, which passed quivering through the branches of the trees, recalled the early times of Christianity, when, persecuted and forced to hide itself, it took refuge in the desert, to be nearer to God.
Nothing occurred to disturb the accomplishment of this last duty.
After every person present had once again taken a melancholy farewell of the dead, he was lowered into the grave, enveloped in his cloak; his arms were placed by his side, and the grave was filled up.
A slight elevation of the sod, which would soon disappear, alone marked the place where reposed for ever the body of a man whose unfamed heroism had saved by a sublime devotedness those who had confided to him the care of their safety.
The mourners separated, swearing to avenge the dead, or that failing, to do as he had done.
Darkness was now spread over all.
The general, after having made a last round, to satisfy himself that the sentinels were steady at their posts, wished his niece a good night, and laid himself down across the entrance of her tent, on the outside.
Three hours passed away in perfect quiet.
All at once, like a legion of demons, a score of men silently scaled the entrenchments, and before the sentinels, surprised by this sudden attack, could attempt the least resistance, they were seized and slaughtered.
The camp of the Mexicans was invaded by the pirates, and in their train entered murder and pillage!
The pirates bounded into the camp like jackals, howling and brandishing their weapons.
As soon as the camp was invaded, the captain left his people to pillage and kill at their pleasure. Without concerning himself any more about them, he rushed towards the tent.
But there his passage was barred. The general had rallied seven or eight men round him, and awaited the bandit firmly, resolved to die rather than allow one of those wretches to touch his niece.
At the sight of the old soldier, with his flashing eye, his pistol in one hand and his sword in the other, the captain paused.
But this pause did not last longer than a flash of lightning; he got together a half-score of pirates by a shout for help.
"Give way!" he said, brandishing his machete.
"Come on!" the general said, biting his moustache with fury.
The two men rushed upon each other, their people imitated them, and themêléebecame general.
Then followed a terrible and merciless struggle between men who, on both sides, knew they had no pity to expect.
Everyone endeavoured to make his blows mortal, without taking the trouble to parry those dealt upon himself, satisfied with falling, provided that in his fall he could drag down his adversary.
The wounded endeavoured to rise, for the purpose of burying their poniards in the bodies of those who were fighting around them.
This fierce contest could not last long; all the lanceros were massacred; the general fell in his turn, struck down by the captain, who threw himself upon him and bound him tightly with his belt, in order to prevent the possibility of his resisting any further.
The general had only received slight wounds, which had scarcely penetrated to the flesh; for the captain, for reasons best known to himself, had carefully protected him during the combat, parrying with his machete the blows which the bandits tried to inflict upon him.
He wished to take his enemy alive, and he had succeeded.
All the Mexicans had fallen, it is true, but the victory had cost the pirates dear; more than half of them were killed.
The general's Negro, armed with an enormous club, which he had made of the trunk of a young tree, for a long time resisted all who attempted to take him, crushing without mercy all who imprudently came within reach of the weapon which he handled with such uncommon dexterity.
His enemies at length succeeded in lassoing him, and casting him half-strangled to the ground; the captain, however, came to his rescue at the moment when a pirate was raising his arm to put an end to him.
As soon as the captain found the general incapable of moving, he uttered a cry of joy, and without stopping to stanch the blood of two wounds he had received he bounded like a tiger over the body of his enemy, who was writhing powerless at his feet, and penetrated into the tent.
It was empty!
Doña Luz had disappeared.
The captain was thunderstruck!
What could have become of the girl?
The tent was small, almost void of furniture, it was impossible she could be concealed in it.
A disordered bed proved that at the moment of the surprise, Doña Luz had been sleeping peaceably.
She had vanished like a sylph, without leaving any trace of her flight.
A flight perfectly incomprehensible to the pirate, as the camp had been invaded on all sides at once.
How was it possible for a young girl, awakened suddenly, to have had courage and presence of mind enough to fly so quickly, and pass unperceived amidst conquerors whose first care had been to guard all the issues?
The captain sought in vain the solution of this enigma. He stamped with anger, and plunged his poniard into the packages that might serve as temporary places of refuge for the fugitive; but all without success.
Convinced at length that all his researches in the tent were in vain, he rushed out, prowling about like a wild beast, persuaded that if by a miracle she had succeeded in escaping, alone in the night, half dressed, wandering in the desert, he should easily find her again.
In the meantime, the pillage went on with a celerity and an order in its disorder, which did honour to the practical knowledge of the pirates.
The conquerors, fatigued with killing and robbing, plunged their poniards into the skins filled with mezcal, and an orgie soon succeeded theft and murder.
All at once a loud and fierce cry resounded at a little distance, and a shower of bullets came pattering full upon the bandits.
Surprised in their turn, they flew to their arms, and endeavoured to rally.
At the same instant, a mass of Indians appeared, bounding like jaguars among the packages, closely followed by a troop of hunters, at the head of whom were Loyal Heart, Belhumeur, and Black Elk.
The position became critical for the pirates.
The captain, recalled to himself by the peril his people ran, left with regret the fruitless search he was engaged in, and grouping his men around him, he carried off the only two prisoners he had made, that is to say, the general and his black servant, and taking skilful advantage of the tumult inseparable from an eruption like that of the allies, he ordered his men to disperse in all directions, in order to escape more easily the blows of their adversaries.
After one sharp fire, which caused a slight pause among the Indians, the pirates flew away like a cloud of unclean birds of prey, and disappeared in the darkness. But, whilst flying, the captain, left last to support the retreat, did not cease, as he glided along the rocks, still to seek, as much as was possible in the precipitation of his night, for traces of the young girl; but he could discover nothing.
The disappointed captain retired with rage in his heart, revolving in his head the most sinister projects.
Loyal Heart, warned by the Indian scout, and more particularly by the recital of the doctor, of the proposed attack upon the camp, had marched immediately, in order to bring succour to the Mexicans as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, in spite of the celerity of their march, the trappers and the Comanches arrived too late to save the caravan.
When the leaders of the expedition became assured of the flight of the pirates, Eagle Head and his warriors set off on their track.
Left master of the camp, Loyal Heart ordered a general battue in the neighbouring thickets and high grass, which the bandits had not had time to explore in detail, for they had scarcely obtained possession of the camp before they were driven out of it again.
This battue brought to light Phoebe, the young servant of Doña Luz, and two lanceros, who had taken refuge in the trunk of a tree, and who arrived more dead than alive, conducted by Black Elk and some hunters, who tried in vain to re-assure them, and revive their courage.
The poor devils still believed themselves in the hands of the pirates, and Loyal Heart had great difficulty in persuading them that the people they saw were friends who had come too late to succour them, but who would not do them any harm.
As soon as they were sufficiently restored to speak collectedly, Loyal Heart went with them into the tent, and required of them a succinct account of all that had taken place.
The young quadroon, when she saw with whom she had to do, all at once, regained her wonted assurance; and besides, haying recognized Loyal Heart, she did not require much coaxing to set her tongue going, and in a few minutes made the hunter acquainted with all the terrible events of which she had been a spectatress.
"So," he asked, "Captain Aguilar was killed, was he?"
"Alas! yes!" the young girl replied, with a sigh of regret for the poor young officer.
"And the general?" said the hunter.
"Oh! as to the general," said the girl briskly, "he defended himself like a lion, and only fell after a heroic resistance."
"Is he dead, then?" Loyal Heart asked, with great emotion.
"Oh! no!" she said almost cheerfully, "he is only wounded. I saw the bandits pass as they carried him away; I even believe that his wounds are slight, so much did the ladrones spare him during the combat."
"I am glad to hear it!" said the hunter; and he hung his head with a pensive air: then, after a pause of an instant, he added, hesitatingly, and with a slight tremor in his voice, "your young mistress, what has become of her?"
"My mistress, Doña Luz?"
"Yes, Doña Luz—for so I believe she is called; I would give much to know where she is, and to be certain she is in safety."
"She is so, since she is near you," said a harmonious voice.
And Doña, Luz appeared, still pale from the poignant emotions she had undergone, but calm; she had a smile on her lips, and her eyes sparkled brilliantly.
No one present could repress a movement of extreme surprise at the unexpected apparition of the young lady.
"Oh! God be praised!" the hunter cried; "our succour has not, then, been completely useless."
"No," replied she, kindly; but she shortly added with sadness, whilst a shade of melancholy clouded her features, "now that I have lost him who was to me as a father, I come to ask your protection, Caballero."
"It is yours, madam," he replied with warmth. "And as to your uncle, oh! depend upon me; I will restore him to you, if the enterprise costs me my life. You know," he added, "that before today I have proved my devotion to you and him."
The first emotion over, it became a question how the young girl had succeeded in escaping the researches of the pirates.
Doña Luz gave as simple an account as possible of what had passed.
The young lady had thrown herself, with all her clothes on, upon the bed; but anxiety kept her awake, a secret presentiment warned her to be on her guard.
At the cry uttered by the pirates, she started from her bed in terror and amazement, and at once perceived that flight was impossible.
Whilst casting a terrified look around her, she perceived some clothes thrown in a disorderly manner into a hammock, and hanging over the sides of it.
An idea, which appeared to come to her from Heaven, shot across her brain like a luminous flash.
She glided under these clothes, and curling herself up into as little space as possible, she crouched at the bottom of the hammock, without altering the disordered state of the things.
God had ordained it that the chief of the bandits, while searching, as he thought, everywhere, never dreamt of plunging his hand into what seemed an empty hammock.
Saved by this chance, she remained thus huddled up for full an hour, a prey to fears of the most appalling nature.
The arrival of the hunters, together with the voice of Loyal Heart, which she soon recognized, restored her to hope; she left the place of her concealment, and had impatiently waited for a favourable moment to present herself.
The hunters were wonderstruck at a recital at once so simple and so affecting; they cordially congratulated the young lady upon her courage and presence of mind, which alone had saved her.
When a little order was re-established in the camp Loyal Heart waited upon Doña Luz.
"Señora," he said, "it will not be long before day appears; when you have taken a few hours' repose, I will conduct you to my mother, who is a pious, good woman; when she knows you, I feel certain she will love you as a daughter. And then, as soon as you are in safety, I will set earnestly about restoring your uncle to you."
Without waiting for the thanks of the young lady, he bowed respectfully, and left the tent.
When he had disappeared, Doña Luz sighed, and sank pensively down upon a seat.
Ten days had passed away since the events related in our last chapter.
We will conduct the reader, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, into the grotto discovered by Belhumeur, of which Loyal Heart had made his chosen habitation.
The interior of the cavern, lighted by numerous torches of that wood which the Indians call candlewood, which burned, fixed at distances on the projections of the rock, presented the aspect of a halt of gipsies, or of an encampment of bandits, whichever the stranger might fancy, who should chance to be admitted to visit it.
Forty trappers and Comanche warriors were dispersed about here and there; some were sleeping, others smoking, other cleaning their arms or repairing their clothes; a few, crouching before two or three fires, over which were suspended cauldrons, and where enormous joints of venison were roasting, were preparing the repast for their companions.
At each place of issue two sentinels, motionless, but with eyes and ears on the watch, silently provided for the common safety.
In a compartment separated naturally from the larger one by a block of projecting rock, two women and a man, upon seats rudely cut with the hatchet, were conversing in a low voice.
The two women were Doña Luz and the mother of Loyal Heart; the man who looked at them, while smoking his husk cigarette, and mingled occasionally in the conversation by an interjection drawn from him by surprise, admiration, or joy, was Eusebio, the old Spanish servant, of whom we have often spoken in the course of our narrative.
At the entrance of this compartment, which formed a kind of separate chamber in the cavern, another man was walking backwards and forwards, with his hands behind his back, whistling between his teeth an air which he probably composed as his thoughts dictated.
This man was Black Elk.
Loyal Heart, Eagle Head, and Belhumeur were absent.
The conversation of the two women appeared to interest them greatly. The mother of the hunter often exchanged significant looks with her old servant, who had allowed his cigarette to go out, but who kept on smoking it mechanically, without perceiving it.
"Oh!" said the old lady, clasping her hands with fervour, and raising her eyes toward heaven, "the finger of the Almighty is in all this!"
"Yes," Eusebio replied, with profound conviction; "it is He who has done it!"
"Tell me, my darling; during the two months of your journey, did your uncle, the general, never give you a glimpse, by his words, his actions, or his proceedings, of the object of this expedition?"
"Never!" Doña Luz replied.
"That is strange!" the old lady murmured.
"Strange, indeed," Eusebio repeated, who still persisted in endeavouring to draw smoke from his extinguished cigarette.
"But tell me," the mother of Loyal Heart resumed, "when you arrived in the prairies, how did your uncle employ his time? Pardon me, my child, these questions which must surprise you, but which are not at all dictated by curiosity; hereafter you will understand me, and you will then acknowledge that the lively interest I take in you alone leads me to interrogate you."
"I do not at all doubt it, señora," Doña Luz replied, with a charming smile; "therefore I have no difficulty in replying to you. My uncle, after our arrival in the prairies, became dull and preoccupied; he sought for the society of men accustomed to the life of the desert, and when he met with one, he would converse with him and interrogate him for hours together."
"And about what did he interrogate him, my child? Do you recollect?"
"Good heavens! señora, I must confess to my shame," the young girl replied, blushing slightly, "that I did not give great attention to this conversation, which I thought at least could interest me but little. I, a poor child, whose life up to that period had glided away sadly and monotonously, and who had seen nothing of the world but through the gratings of my convent, admired the magnificent nature which had, as if by enchantment, risen before me; I had only eyes enough to contemplate these wonders; and I adored the Creator whose infinite power had been revealed to me thus suddenly."
"That is true, dear child; pardon me these questions, which fatigue you, and whose object you cannot perceive," said the good lady, imprinting a kiss upon her brow; "if you wish it, we will speak of something else."
"As you please, señora," the young girl answered, returning her kiss. "I am most happy to talk with you, and whatever subject you choose, I am sure I shall always take great interest in it."
"But we are talking idly, and forgetting my poor son, who has been absent since morning, and who, according to what he told me, ought to have returned by this time."
"Oh! I hope nothing can have happened to him," cried Doña Luz.
"You take great interest in him, then?" the old lady remarked, with a smile.
"Ah! señora," she replied, with emotion, whilst a vivid blush rose to her cheeks, "can I do otherwise, after the services he has rendered us, and will continue to render us, I am sure?"
"My son has promised to deliver your uncle; be assured that he will fulfil his promise."
"Oh! I do not at all doubt it, señora. What a noble, grand character!" she cried with warmth; "how justly is he named Loyal Heart!"
The old lady and Eusebio looked at her and smiled; they were delighted with the enthusiasm of the young girl.
Doña Luz perceived the attention with which they were looking at her. She stopped short in confusion, hung down her head, and blushed more than ever.
"Oh!" said the old lady, taking her hand, "you may go on, my child; I am pleased to hear you speak thus of my son. Yes," she added, in a melancholy tone, and as if talking to herself, "yes; his is a grand and noble character. Like all exalted natures, he is misunderstood: but patience! God is trying him, and the day will come when justice will be rendered him in the face of all men."
"Can he, then, be unhappy?" the young girl ventured to ask, timidly.
"I do not say he is, my child," the good mother answered, with a stifled sigh. "In this world who can flatter himself with being happy? Everyone has his troubles, which he must bear; the Almighty measures the burden according to the strength of every man."
A movement was heard in the grotto; several men entered.
"Here is your son, señora," said Black Elk.
"Thank you, my friend," she replied.
"Oh! I am so glad!" said Doña Luz, springing up joyfully.
But ashamed of this inconsiderate movement, the girl sank back, confused and blushing, into her seat again.
It was, in fact Loyal Heart, but he was not alone. Belhumeur and Eagle Head accompanied him, as did several other trappers.
As soon as he was in the grotto, the young man directed his steps hastily towards his mother's retreat; he kissed her, and then turning towards Doña Luz, he bowed to her with a degree of embarrassment that was not natural to him, and which the old lady could not but remark.
The young lady returned him a salutation not less confused than his own.
"Well," he said, with a cheerful smile, "you must have been very tired of waiting for me, my noble prisoners. Time must travel slowly in this horrible grotto. Pardon me for having confined you to such a hideous dwelling, Doña Luz—you are made to inhabit splendid palaces. Alas! this is the most magnificent of my habitations."
"With the mother of him who has saved my life, señor," the girl replied, nobly, "I think myself lodged like a queen, whatever be the place I inhabit."
"You are a thousand times too good, señora," the hunter stammered; "you really make me confused."
"Well, my son," the old lady interrupted, with the evident intention of giving another turn to the conversation, which began to be embarrassing for the two young people, "what have you done today? Have you any good news to give us? Doña Luz is very uneasy about her uncle; she longs to see him again."
"I can quite understand the señora's anxiety," the hunter replied, "which I hope soon to be able to put an end to. We have not done much today; we have found it impossible to get upon the track of the bandits. It is enough to drive a man wild with vexation. Fortunately, as we returned, at a few paces from the grotto, we met with the doctor, who, according to his praiseworthy custom, was seeking herbs in the clefts of the rocks, and he told us that he has seen a man of suspicious appearance prowling about the neighbourhood. We immediately went upon the hunt, and were not long in discovering an individual whom we took prisoner, and have brought hither with us."
"You see, señor," said Doña Luz, with a playful air, "that it is sometimes of use to be seeking simples. Our dear doctor has, according to all appearance, rendered you a great service."
"Without his will being concerned in the matter," said Loyal Heart, laughing.
"I do not say the contrary," the young girl rejoined, banteringly, "but it exists none the less; it is to the herbs you owe it."
"Seeking for herbs may have a good purpose, I agree; but everything in its proper time; without unjustly reproaching him, the doctor has not always known when to choose it."
Notwithstanding the seriousness of the facts to which these words referred, the hearers could not repress a smile at the expense of the unlucky savant.
"Come! come!" said Doña Luz, "I will not have my poor doctor attacked; he has been sufficiently punished for his forgetfulness by the grief to which he has been a prey since that inauspicious day."
"You are right, señora, and I will say no more about it. Now I must beg your permission to leave you; my companions are literally dying of hunger, and the brave fellows wait for me to take their repast."
"But," Eusebio asked, "the man you have taken—what do you mean to do with him?"
"I do not know yet; as soon as our meal is over, I mean to interrogate him; his replies will most likely dictate my conduct with regard to him."
The cauldrons were taken off the fire, the quarters of venison were cut into slices, and the trappers and Indians sat down fraternally near each other, and ate their repast with a good appetite.
The ladies were served apart in their retreat by Nô Eusebio, who performed the delicate functions of house steward with a care and a seriousness worthy of a more suitable scene.
The man who had been arrested near the grotto had been placed under the guard of two stout trappers, armed to the teeth, who never took their eyes off him; but he seemed to entertain no wish to escape; on the contrary, he did honour vigorously to the food that was placed before him.
As soon as the meal was over, the chiefs drew together apart, and conversed for a few minutes among themselves in a low voice. Then, upon the order of Loyal Heart, the prisoner was brought forward, and they prepared to interrogate him.
This man, at whom they had scarcely looked, was recognized the moment he was face to face with the chiefs, who could not repress an expression of surprise.
"Captain Waktehno!" said Loyal Heart, in perfect astonishment.
"Himself, gentlemen!" the pirate replied, with haughty irony; "what have you to ask of him? He is here ready to answer you."
It was an unheard-of piece of audacity in the captain, after what had taken place, to come thus and deliver himself up, without the slightest resistance, into the hands of men who would not hesitate to inflict upon him a severe vengeance.
The hunters were consequently astonished at the proceeding of the pirate, and began to suspect a snare; their surprise increased in proportion as they reflected upon his apparent madness.
They perfectly understood that if they had taken him, it was because he was willing that it should be so; that he had probably some powerful motive for acting thus, particularly after all the pains he had taken to conceal his track from all eyes, and find a retreat so impenetrable that the Indians themselves, those cunning bloodhounds whom nothing generally could throw off the scent, had given up searching for him.
What did he want amidst his most implacable enemies? What reason sufficiently strong had been able to induce him to commit the imprudence of delivering himself up?
This is what the trappers asked each other, whilst looking at him with that curiosity and that interest which, in spite of ourselves, we are forced to accord to the intrepid man who accomplishes a bold action, whatever otherwise may be his moral character.
"Sir," said Loyal Heart, after the pause of a few minutes, "as you have thought proper to place yourself in our hands, you certainly will not refuse to reply to the questions we may think proper to put to you?"
A smile of an undefinable expression passed over the thin, pale lips of the pirate.
"Not only," he replied, in a calm, clear voice, "will I not refuse to reply to you, gentlemen, but still further, if you will permit, I will forestall your questions by telling you myself spontaneously all that has passed, which will enlighten you, I am sure, with regard to the facts which have appeared obscure, and which you have in vain endeavoured to make out."
A murmur of stupefaction pervaded the ranks of the trappers, who had drawn near by degrees, and listened attentively.
The scene assumed strange proportions, and promised to become extremely interesting.
Loyal Heart reflected for a moment, and then addressed the pirate.
"Do so, sir," he said; "we listen to you."
The Captain bowed, and, with a jeering tone, commenced his recital; when he arrived at the taking of the camp, he continued thus:—
"It was cleverly played, was it not, gentlemen? Certes, I can look for nothing but compliments from you who are past masters in such matters; but there is one thing of which you are ignorant, and which I will tell you. The capture of the Mexican general's wealth was but of secondary importance to me, I had another aim, and that aim I will make you acquainted with—I wished to obtain possession of Doña Luz. From Mexico I followed the caravan, step by step; I had corrupted the principal guide, the Babbler, an old friend of mine; abandoning to my companions the gold and jewels, I desired nothing but the young girl."
"Well, but it seems you missed your aim," Belhumeur interrupted him, with a sardonic smile.
"Do you think so?" the other replied, with imperturbable assurance. "Well, you appear to be in the right; I have, for this time, missed my aim, but all is not yet said, and I may not always miss."
"You speak here, amidst a hundred and fifty of the best rifles of the prairies about this odious project, with as much confidence as if you were in safety, surrounded by your own bandits, and concealed in the depths of one of your most secret dens, captain. This is either an act of great imprudence or a still more rare piece of insolence," Loyal Heart said, sternly.
"Bah! the peril is not so great for me as you would make me believe; you know I am not a man easily intimidated, therefore a truce to threats, if you please, and let us reason like serious men."
"We hunters, trappers, and Indian warriors, assembled in this grotto, have the right, acting in the name of our common safety, to apply to you the laws of the frontiers, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, as attainted and convicted, even by your own confession, of robbery, murder, and an attempt at abduction. This law we mean to apply to you immediately. What have you to say in your defence?"
"Everything in its turn, Loyal Heart; we will talk about that presently; but, in the first place, let us terminate, if you please, what I had to say to you. Be satisfied, it is but the delay of a few minutes; I will myself revert to that question which you seem to have so much at heart, as you instal yourself, by your own private authority, judge in the desert."
"That law is as ancient as the world, it emanates from God himself; it is the duty of all honest people to run down a wild beast when they meet with one in their passage."
"The comparison is not flattering," the pirate replied, perfectly unmoved, "but I am not at all susceptible; I do not easily take offence. Will you, once for all, allow me to speak?"
"Speak, then, and let us have an end of this."
"That is exactly what I ask; listen to me, then. In this world, every one comprehends life after his own fashion, some widely, others in a narrow way; for me, my dream is to retire, a few years hence, to the depths of one of our beautiful Mexican provinces with a moderate competency—you see I am not ambitious. A few months back, at the termination of several tolerably lucrative affairs which I had happily effected in the prairies by means of courage and address, I found myself master of a pretty round sum, which, according to my custom, I resolved to invest, in order to procure me hereafter the moderate competency of which I was speaking to you. I went to Mexico to place my money in the hands of an honourable French banker established in that city, who answered all my expectations, and whom I recommend to you, if you have occasion for such a person."
"What is all this verbiage to us?" Loyal Heart interrupted, hotly. "You are laughing at us, captain."
"Not the least in the world. I will go on. In Mexico, chance afforded me an opportunity of rendering Doña Luz a rather important service."
"You?" said Loyal Heart, angrily.
"Why not?" the other replied. "The affair is very simple. I delivered her from the hands of four bandits, who were plundering her. I saw her, and became madly in love with her."
"Man! man!" said the hunter, colouring with vexation; "this exceeds all bounds. Doña Luz is a young lady who ought never to be spoken of without the greatest respect. I will not allow her to be insulted in my presence."
"We are exactly of the same opinion," the other continued, jeeringly; "but it is none the less true that I fell in love with her. I skilfully obtained information concerning her; I learnt who she was, the journey she was about to take; I played successfully, as you see. Then my plan was laid, which, as you just now said, has completely failed; but which, nevertheless, I have not yet given up."
"We will endeavour to settle that once for all."
"And you will do well, if you can."
"Now, I suppose, you have finished?"
"Not yet, if you please; but at this point what remains for me to say renders the presence of Doña Luz indispensable. Upon her alone depends the success of my mission to you."
"I do not understand you."
"It would be useless for you to understand me at this moment; but rest satisfied, Loyal Heart, you shall soon have the key to the enigma."
During the whole of this long discussion, the pirate had not for a moment lost that self-possession, that sneering smile, that bantering tone, and that freedom of manner, that confounded the hunters.
He bore much more the resemblance to a gentleman on a visit at the house of a country neighbour, than to a prisoner on the point of being shot. He did not appear to care the least in the world about the danger he was running. As soon as he had finished speaking, whilst the trappers were consulting in a low voice, he employed himself in rolling a husk cigarette, which he lit and smoked quietly.
"Doña Luz," Loyal Heart resumed, with ill-disguised impatience, "has nothing to do with these debates; her presence is not necessary."
"You are entirely mistaken, my dear sir," the pirate coolly replied, puffing out a volume of smoke; "she is indispensable, and for this reason:—You understand perfectly, do you not, that I am too cunning a fox to give myself up thus voluntarily into your hands, if I had not behind me someone whose life would answer for mine. That someone is the uncle of the young lady. If I am not at midnight in my den, as you do me the honour to call it, with my brave companions, at precisely ten minutes after midnight the honourable gentleman will be shot without fail or pity."
A shudder of anger ran along the ranks of the hunters.
"I know very well," the pirate continued, "that you, personally, care very little for the life of the general, and would generously sacrifice it in exchange for mine; but, fortunately for me, Doña Luz, I am convinced, is not of your opinion, and attaches great value to the existence of her uncle; be good enough, therefore, to beg her to come here, in order that she may hear the proposal I have to make her. Time presses, the way to my encampment is long; if I arrive too late, you alone will be responsible for the misfortunes that may be caused by my involuntary delay."
"I am here, sir," said Doña Luz, coming forward. Concealed amidst the crowd of hunters, she had heard all that had been said.
The pirate threw away his half-consumed cigarette, bowed courteously to the young lady, and saluted her with respect.
"I am proud of the honour, señora, that you deign to do me."
"A truce to ironical compliments, if you please. I am listening to you; what have you to say to me?"
"You judge me wrongly, señora," the pirate replied; "but I hope to reinstate myself in your good opinion hereafter. Do you not recognise me? I thought I had left a better remembrance in your mind."
"It is possible, sir, that during a certain time I retained a favourable remembrance of you," the young lady answered, with some degree of emotion; "but, after what has taken place within these few days, I can only see in you a robber and a murderer!"
"The terms are harsh, señora."
"Pardon them, if they wound you, sir; but I have not yet recovered from the terrors you have caused me—terrors which your proceedings of today augment instead of diminishing. Be pleased, then, without further delay, to let me know your intentions."
"I am in despair at being thus ill-understood by you, señora. Attribute, I implore you, all that has happened solely to the violence of the passion I feel for you, and believe——"
"Sir! you insult me," the young lady interrupted, drawing herself up haughtily: "what can there be in common between me and the leader of bandits?"
At this cutting reproof a flush passed over the face of the pirate: he bit his moustache with anger; but, making a strong effort, he kept down in the depths of his heart the feelings which agitated him, and replied in a calm, respectful tone,—
"So be it, señora; crush me—I have deserved it."
"Is it for the purpose of uttering these commonplaces that you have required my presence here, sir? In that case you will please to allow me to retire; a lady of my rank is not accustomed to such manners, nor to listen to such language."
She made a movement as if to rejoin the mother of Loyal Heart, who, on her side, advanced towards her.
"One instant, señora," the pirate cried, savagely; "since you despise my prayers, listen to my orders!"
"Your orders!" the hunter shouted, springing close to his side. "Have you forgotten where you are, miserable scoundrel?"
"Come, come! a truce to threats and abuse, my masters!" the pirate replied, in a commanding voice, as he crossed his arms upon his breast, threw up his head, and darted a look of supreme disdain upon all present. "You know very well you dare do nothing against me—that not a single hair of my head will fall."
"This is too much!" the hunter ejaculated.
"Stop! Loyal Heart," said Doña Luz, placing herself before him; "this man is unworthy of your anger. I prefer seeing him thus he is best in his part of a bandit—he at least plays that without a mask."
"Yes! I have thrown off the mask," the pirate shouted, furiously: "and now, listen to me, silly girl. In three days I will return—you see I keep my word," he added, with a sinister smile. "I give you time to reflect. If you do not then consent to follow me, your uncle shall be given up to the most atrocious tortures; and, as a last remembrance of me, I will send you his head."
"Monster!" the poor girl exclaimed, in an accent of despair.
"Ah! you see," said he, shrugging his shoulders, and with the grin of a demon, "everyone makes love after his own fashion. I have sworn that you shall be my wife!"
But Doña Luz could hear no more. Overcome by grief as well as other feelings, she sank senseless into the arms of the mother of the hunter, who with Nô Eusebio, bore her out of the larger apartment.
"Enough!" said Loyal Heart, with a stern accent, as he laid his hand upon his shoulder, "be thankful to God, who allows you to go safe and sound from our hands."
"In three days, at the same hour, you will see me again, my masters," he said, disdainfully.
"Between this and then luck may turn," said Belhumeur.
The pirate made no reply, but by a grin and a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders; and left the cavern with a step as firm and free as if nothing extraordinary had happened, without even deigning to turn round, so certain was he of the profound feeling he had caused—of the effect he had produced.
He had scarcely disappeared, when, from the other outlets of the grotto, Belhumeur, Black Elk, and Eagle Head rushed upon his track.
Loyal Heart remained thoughtful for an instant, and then went, with a pale face and a pensive brow to inquire after Doña Luz.
Doña Luz and Loyal Heart were placed with regard to each other, in a singular position.
Both young, both handsome, they loved without daring to confess it to themselves, almost without suspecting it.
Both, although their lives had been spent in conditions diametrically opposite, possessed equal freshness of feeling, equal ingenuousness of heart.
The childhood of the maiden had passed away, pale and colourless, amidst the extravagant religious practices of a country where the religion of Christ is rather a paganism than the pure, noble, and simple faith of Europe.
She had never felt a beating of the heart. She was as ignorant of love as she was of sorrow.
She lived thus like the birds of heaven, forgetting the days gone by, careless of the morrow.
The journey she had undertaken had completely changed the colour of her existence.
At the sight of the immense horizons which spread out before her in the prairie, of the majestic rivers which she crossed, of the grand mountains round whose feet she was often obliged to travel, and whose hoary heads seemed to touch heaven, her ideas had become enlarged, a bandage was, so to say, removed from her eyes, and she had learnt that God had created her for something else than to drag out a useless existence in a convent.
The appearance of Loyal Heart, under the extraordinary circumstances in which he had presented himself to her, had won upon her mind, which was at that time particularly open to all sensations, and ready to retain all the strong impressions it might receive.
In presence of the exalted nature of the hunter, of that man in wild costume, but possessing a manly countenance, handsome features and noble bearing, she had felt agitated without comprehending the reason.
The fact was, that unknown to herself, by the force of the secret sympathies which exist between all the beings of the great human family, her heart had met the heart she sought for.
Delicate and frail, she stood in need of this energetic man, with the fascinating glance, the leonine courage, and an iron will, to support her through life, and defend her with his omnipotent protection.
Thus had she, therefore, from the first moment, yielded with a feeling of undefinable happiness, to the inclination which drew her towards Loyal Heart; and love had installed himself as master in her heart, before she was aware of it, or had even thought of resisting.
Recent events had awakened with intense force the passion which had been slumbering at the bottom of her heart. Now that she was near him, that she heard, at every instant, his praises from the mouth of his mother, or from those of his companions, she had come to consider her love as forming part of her existence, she could not comprehend how she could have lived so long without loving this man, whom it appeared she must have known from her very birth.
She no longer lived but for him and by him; happy at a look or a smile, joyful when she saw him, sad when he remained long absent from her.
Loyal Heart had arrived at the same result by a very different route.
Brought up, so to say, in the prairies, face to face with the Divinity, he was accustomed to adore in the great works he had constantly before his eyes, the sublime spectacles of nature; the incessant struggles he had to sustain, whether against Indians or wild beasts, had developed him, morally and physically, in immense proportions. As, by his muscular strength and his skill with his weapons, he had overcome all obstacles that had been opposed to him; so, by the grandeur of his ideas and the delicacy of his sentiments, he was capable of comprehending all things. Nothing that was good and nothing that was great seemed to be unknown to him. As it always happens with superior organisations early placed at war with adversity, and given up without other defences than themselves to the terrible chances of life, his mind had developed itself in gigantic proportions, still remaining in strange unconsciousness of certain sensations, which were unknown to him, and would always have remained so, but for a providential chance.
The daily wants of the agitated and precarious life he led, had stifled within him the germ of the passions; his solitary habits had, unknown to himself, led him to a taste for a contemplative life.
Knowing no other woman but his mother, for the Indians, by their manners, inspired him with nothing but disgust, he had reached the age of six-and-thirty without thinking of love, without knowing what it was, and, what is more, without ever having heard pronounced that word which contains so many things in its four letters, and which, in this world, is the source of so many sublime devotions and so many horrible crimes.
After a long day's hunting through woods and ravines, or after having been engaged fifteen or sixteen hours in trapping beavers, when, in the evening, they met in the prairie at their bivouac fire, the conversation of Loyal Heart and his friend Belhumeur, who was as ignorant as himself in this respect, could not possibly turn upon anything but the events of the day.
Weeks, months, years passed away without bringing any change in his existence, except a vague uneasiness, whose cause was unknown, but which weighed upon his mind, and for which he could not account. Nature has her imprescriptible rights, and every man must submit to them, in whatever condition he may chance to be placed.
Thus, therefore, when accident brought Doña Luz before him, by the same sentiment of instinctive and irresistible sympathy which acted upon the young girl, his heart flew towards her.
The hunter, astonished at the sudden interest he felt for a stranger, whom, according to all appearances, he might never see again, was almost angry with her on account of that sentiment which was awakening within him, and gave to his intercourse with her an asperity which was unnatural to him.
Like all exalted minds, who have been accustomed to see everything bend before them without resistance, he felt himself irritated at being subdued by a girl, at yielding to an influence from which he no longer could extricate himself.
But when, after the fire in the prairie, he quitted the Mexican camp, notwithstanding the precipitation of his departure, he carried away the remembrance of the fair stranger with him.
And this remembrance increased with absence.
He always fancied he heard the soft and melodious notes of the young girl's voice sounding in his ears, however strong the efforts he made to forget her; in hours of watching or of sleep, she was always there, smiling upon him, and fixing her enchanting looks upon him.
The struggle was severe. Loyal Heart, notwithstanding the passion that devoured him, knew what an insuperable distance separated him from Doña Luz, and how senseless and unrealizable this love was. All the objections possibly to be made in such cases, he made, in order to prove he was mad.
Then, when he had convinced himself that an abyss separated him from her he loved, overcome by the terrible conflict he had maintained against himself, supported perhaps by that hope which never abandons energetic men, far from frankly acknowledging his defeat, but yielding to the passion which was from that time to constitute his sole joy, his sole happiness, he continued doggedly to struggle against it, despising himself for a thousand little weaknesses which his love was continually making him commit.
He shunned, with an obstinacy that ought to have offended the maiden, all opportunities of meeting her. When by chance they happened to be together, he became taciturn and sullen, only answering with difficulty the questions she put to him, and, with that awkwardness peculiar to unpractised lovers, seizing the first opportunity for leaving her.
The young lady looked after him sadly, sighed quietly but deeply, and sometimes a liquid pearl flowed silently down her rosy cheeks at seeing this departure, which she took for indifference, and which was in reality love.
But during the few days that had passed since the taking of the camp the young people had progressed without suspecting it, and this was greatly assisted by the mother of Loyal Heart, who, with that second sight with which all mothers worthy of the name are endowed, had divined this passion, and the honourable combats of her son, and had constituted herself the secret confidante of their love, assisting it unknown to them, and protecting it with all her power, whilst both lovers were persuaded that their secret was buried in the depths of their own hearts.
Such was the state of things two days after the proposal made by the captain to Doña Luz.
Loyal Heart appeared more sad and more preoccupied than usual; he walked about the grotto with hasty strides, showing signs of the greatest impatience, and at intervals casting uneasy glances around him.
At length, leaning against one of the projections of the grotto, he let his head sink on his chest, and remained plunged in profound meditation.
He had stood thus for some time, when a soft voice murmured in his ear—
"What is the matter, my son? Why are your features clouded with such sadness? Have you received any bad news?"
Loyal Heart raised his head, like a man suddenly awakened from sleep.
His mother and Doña Luz were standing before him, their arms interlaced, and leaning upon each other.
He cast upon them a melancholy glance, and replied with a stifled sigh,—
"Alas! mother, tomorrow is the last day. I have as yet been able to imagine nothing that can save Doña Luz, and restore her uncle to her."
The two women started.
"Tomorrow!" Doña Luz murmured; "that is true; it is tomorrow that that man is to come!"
"What will you do, my son?"
"How can I tell, mother?" he replied impatiently. "Oh! this man is stronger than I am. He has defeated all my plans. Up to the present moment we have not possibly been able to discover his retreat. All our researches have proved useless."
"Loyal Heart," the young lady said, softly, "will you then abandon me to the mercy of this bandit? Why, then, did you save me?"
"Oh!" the young man cried, "that reproach kills me."
"I am not reproaching you, Loyal Heart," she said warmly; "but I am very unhappy. If I remain, I cause the death of the only relative I have in the world; if I depart, I am dishonoured!"
"Oh, to be able to do nothing!" he cried, with great excitement. "To see you weep, to know that you are unhappy, and to be able to do nothing! Oh!" he added, "to spare you the least anxiety I would sacrifice my life with joy. God alone knows what I suffer from this want of power."
"Hope, my son, hope!" the old lady said, with an encouraging accent. "God is good. He will not abandon you."
"Hope! how can you tell me to do so, mother? During the last two days my friends and I have attempted things that would appear impossible—and yet without result. Hope! and in a few hours this miserable wretch will come to claim the prey he covets! Better to die than see such a crime consummated."
Doña Luz cast upon him a glance of a peculiar expression, a melancholy smile for a moment passed over her lips, and then she gently laid her delicate little hand upon his shoulder,—
"Loyal Heart," she said, with her melodious, clear voice, "do you love me?"
The young man started; a tremor pervaded every limb.
"Why that question?" he said, in a deeply agitated tone.
"Answer me," she replied, "without hesitation, as I put the question to you; the hour is a solemn one; I have a favour to ask of you."
"Oh! name it, señora; you know I can refuse you nothing!"
"Answer me, then," she said, trembling with emotion; "do you love me?"
"If it be love to desire to sacrifice my life for you—if it be love to suffer martyrdom at witnessing the flowing of a tear which I would purchase with my whole blood—if it be love to have the courage to see you accomplish the sacrifice that will be required from you tomorrow in order to save your uncle—oh! yes, señora, I love you with all my soul! Therefore, speak without fear: whatever you ask of me I will perform with joy."
"That is well, my dear friend," she said, "I depend upon your word; tomorrow I will remind you of it when that man presents himself; but, in the first place, my uncle must be saved, if it were to cost me my life. Alas! he has been a father to me: he loves me as his daughter. It was on my account that he fell into the hands of the bandits. Oh! swear to me, Loyal Heart, that you will deliver him," she added, with an expression of anguish impossible to be described.
Loyal Heart was about to reply when Belhumeur and Black Elk entered the grotto.
"At last!" he cried, springing towards them.
The three men talked for a few minutes together in a low voice: then the hunter returned hastily towards the two women.
His face was glowing with animation.
"You were right, my dear mother," he exclaimed, in a cheerful tone, "God is good: He will not abandon those who place their confidence in Him. Now it is my turn to say, Hope, Doña Luz, I will soon restore your uncle to you."
"Oh!" she cried, joyfully, "can it be possible?"
"Hope! I repeat! Adieu, mother! Implore God to second me; I am about, more than ever, to stand in need of His help!"
Without saying more the young man rushed out of the grotto, followed by the greater part of his companions.
"What did he mean by what he said?" Doña Luz asked, anxiously.
"Come with me, my daughter," the old lady replied, sorrowfully; "come, let us pray for him."
She drew her softly towards the retired part of the grotto which they inhabited.
There only remained about half a score men charged with the defence of the two women.