"Have you many Mexicans among your companions?"
"Many."
"I should like to obtain some information respecting them."
"There is only one man who could give you any, sir; and, unfortunately, that man is not at this moment here."
"And he is called?"
"Loyal Heart."
"Loyal Heart!" the general replied, warmly; "surely I know that man."
"Yes, you do."
"Good heavens! what a fatality!"
"Perhaps it will be more easy than you suppose to meet with him again, if you really wish to see him."
"I have an immense interest in wishing it."
"Then make your mind easy; you will soon see him."
"How so?"
"Oh! very simply. Loyal Heart lays his traps near me; at the present time I am watching them; but it cannot be long before he returns."
"God grant it may be so!" said the general, with great agitation.
"As soon as he comes I will send you word, if between this and then you have not quitted your camp."
"Do you know where my troop is encamped?"
"We know everything in the desert," the trapper said, with a smile.
"I accept your promise."
"You have my word, sir."
"Thank you."
At that moment Doña Luz came out of the hut; after having made Black Elk a sign to recommend silence, the general hastened to join her.
The travellers remounted their horses, and after thanking the trappers for their cordial hospitality, they again took the road to the camp.
The return was dull, the general was plunged in profound reflections, caused by his conversation with the trapper. Doña Luz was thinking of the warning that had been given her; the guide embarrassed by the two conversations of Black Elk with the general, had a secret presentiment, which told him to keep on his guard. The two lanceros alone rode on carelessly, ignorant of the drama that was being played around them, and thinking but of one thing—the repose which awaited them on regaining the camp.
The Babbler incessantly cast anxious looks around him, appearing to seek for auxiliaries amidst the thickets which the little party passed silently through.
Day was drawing to a close; it would not be long before the sun disappeared, and already the mysterious denizens of the forest at intervals sent forth dull roarings.
"Are we still far from the camp?" the general said, all at once.
"No," the guide replied; "scarcely an hour's ride."
"Let us mend our speed, then; I should not like to be surprised by the night in this woody country."
The troop fell into a quick trot, which, in less than half an hour, brought them to the first barricades of the camp.
Captain Aguilar and the doctor came to receive the travellers on their arrival.
The evening repast was prepared, and had been waiting some time.
They seated themselves at table.
But the sadness which for some time past seemed to have taken possession of the general and his niece increased instead of diminishing. It had its effect upon the repast; all swallowed their food hastily, without exchanging a word. As soon as they had finished, under pretext of the fatigues of the journey, they separated, ostensibly to seek repose, but, in reality, for the sake of being alone, and reflecting upon the events of the day.
On his part, the guide was not more at his ease; a bad conscience, a sage has said, is the most annoying night companion a man can have; the Babbler possessed the worst of all bad consciences, therefore he had no inclination to sleep. He walked about the camp, seeking in vain in his mind, harassed by anxiety and perhaps remorse, for some means of getting out of the scrape in which he found himself. But it was in vain for him to put his imagination to the rack, nothing suggested itself to calm his apprehensions.
In the meantime, night was advancing, the moon had disappeared, and a thick darkness hovered over the silent camp.
Everyone was asleep, or appearing to sleep; the guide alone, who had taken upon himself the first watch, was seated on a bale; with his arms crossed upon his breast, and his eyes fixed upon vacancy, he became more and more absorbed in gloomy reveries.
All at once a hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a voice murmured in his ear the single word,
"Kennedy!"
The guide, with that presence of mind, and that imperturbable phlegm which never abandons the Indian or the half-breed, cast a suspicious glance around him, to assure himself that he was really alone; then he seized the hand which had remained resting upon his shoulder, and dragged the individual who had spoken to him, and who followed him without resistance, to a retired spot, where he thought he was certain of being overheard by nobody.
At the moment when the two men passed by the tent, the curtains opened softly, and a shadow glided silently after them.
When they were concealed amidst the packages, and standing near enough to each other to speak in a voice as low as a breath, the guide muttered:
"God be praised! I have been expecting your visit with impatience, Kennedy."
"Did you know that I was about to come?" the latter remarked suspiciously.
"No, but I hoped you would!"
"Is there anything fresh?"
"Yes, and much!"
"Speak, and make haste!"
"That is what I am going to do. All is lost!"
"Hem! what do you mean by that?"
"What do I mean is, that today the general, guided by me, went——"
"Ah! yes, I know all that. I saw you."
"Maldición! why did you not attack us, then?"
"There were but two of us."
"I should have made the third, the party would then have been equal; the general had but two lanceros."
"That's true; but I did not think of it."
"You were wrong. All would now be ended, instead of which all is now probably lost."
"How so?"
"Eh!caray!It is clear enough. The general and his niece held long conversations with that sneaking hound, Black Elk, and you know he has been acquainted with me a long while. There is no doubt he has made them suspicious of me."
"Why did you lead them to the beaver pond, then?"
"How could I tell I should meet that cursed trapper there?"
"In our trade we must be awake to everything."
"You are right. I have committed an error. At present I believe the evil to be without remedy, for I have a presentiment that Black Elk has completely edified the general with respect to me."
"Hum! that is more than probable. What is to be done, then?"
"Act as soon as possible, without giving them time to put themselves on their guard."
"For my part, I ask no better than that, you know."
"Yes, but where is the captain? Has he returned?"
"He arrived this evening. All our men are concealed in the grotto; there are forty of us.
"Bravo! Why did you not come all together, instead of you by yourself? Only see, what a fine opportunity you have lost? They are all sleeping like dormice. We could have seized them all in less than ten minutes."
"You are right; but one cannot foresee everything; besides, the affair was not so agreed upon with the captain."
"That is true. Why did you come then?"
"To warn you that we are ready, and only await your signal to act."
"Let us consider, then, what is best to be done? Advise me."
"How the devil can you expect me to advise you? Can I tell what is going on here so as to tell you what you must do?"
The guide reflected for a minute, then he raised his head, and surveyed the heavens attentively.
"Listen," he replied, "it is but two o'clock in the morning."
"About that."
"You are going back to the grotto?"
"Immediately!"
"Yes."
"Very well. What next?"
"You will tell the captain that, if he wishes it, I will deliver the girl up to him this night."
"Hum! that appears to me rather difficult."
"You are stupid."
"Very possibly, but I don't see how."
"Attend then. The guarding of the camp is thus distributed:—In the daytime the soldiers guard the intrenchments; but as they are not accustomed to the life of the prairies, and as in the night their assistance would do more harm than good, the other guides and I are charged with the guard whilst the soldiers repose."
"That's cleverly managed," Kennedy said, laughing.
"Is it not?" the Babbler said. "You get on horseback then? when you arrive at the bottom of the hill, six of the bravest of you must come and join me with their aid I undertake to bind, while they sleep, all the soldiers and the general himself."
"There is something in that; that's a good idea."
"Don't you think so?"
"By my faith do I."
"Very well. When once our folks are safely bound, I will whistle, and the captain will come up with the rest of the troop. Then he may arrange his matters with the girl as well as he is able; that is his concern; my task will be accomplished. Now, what do you think of all that?"
"Capital!"
"In this fashion we shall avoid bloodshed and blows, for which I have no great fancy, when I can do without them."
"We know your prudence in that respect."
"Zounds! my dear fellow, when we have affairs like this on hand, which, when they succeed, present great advantages, we should always endeavour so to arrange matters as to have all the chances in our favour.
"Perfectly well reasoned; besides which, your idea pleases me much, and, without delay, I will put it into execution; but, in the first place, let us make things clear, to avoid misunderstandings, which are always disagreeable."
"Very well."
"If, as I believe he will, the captain finds your plan good, and very likely to succeed, as soon as we are at the foot of the hill, I will come up with six resolute fellows, whom I will pick out myself. On which side must we introduce ourselves into the camp?"
"The devil! why on the side you have already entered: you ought to know it."
"And you, where will you be?"
"At the spot where you enter, ready to assist you."
"That's well. Now all is agreed and understood. You have nothing more to say to me?"
"Nothing."
"I am off, then."
"The sooner the better."
"You are always right. Guide me to the place I am to go out at; it is so cursedly dark, that I may lose my way, and tumble over some sleeping soldier, and that would not help our business at all."
"Give me your hand."
"Here it is."
The two men rose, and prepared to proceed to the place where the captain's emissary was to leave the camp; but, at the same moment, a shadow interposed itself between them, and a firm voice said;—
"You are traitors, and shall die!"
In spite of their self-possession, the two men remained for an instant stupefied. Without giving them time to recover their presence of mind, the person who had spoken discharged two pistols, point blank at them.
The miserable wretches uttered a loud cry. One fell, but the other, bounding like a tiger-cat, scrambled over the intrenchments and disappeared before a second shot could be fired at him.
At the double report and the cry uttered by the bandits, the whole camp was roused, and all rushed to the barricades.
The general and Captain Aguilar were the first to arrive at the spot where the scene we have described had taken place.
They found Doña Luz, with two smoking pistols in her hands, whilst, at her feet, a man was writhing in the agonies of death.
"What does all this mean, niece? What has happened, in the name of Heaven! Are you wounded?" the terrified general asked.
"Be at ease, dear uncle, on my account, I am not wounded," the young lady replied. "I have only punished a traitor. Two wretches were plotting in the dark against our common safety; one of them has escaped, but I believe the other is at least seriously wounded."
The general eagerly examined the dying man. By the light of the torch he held in his hand he at once recognized Kennedy, the guide whom the Babbler pretended had been burnt alive in the conflagration of the prairie.
"Oh, oh!" he said, "what does all this mean?"
"It means, uncle," the girl replied, "that if God had not come to my aid, we should have been, this very night, surprised by a troop of bandits, lying in ambush close to us."
"Let us lose no time, then!"
And the general, assisted by Captain Aguilar, hastened to prepare everything for a vigorous resistance, in case an attack should be attempted.
The Babbler had fled, but a large track of blood proved that he was seriously wounded. If it had been light enough, they would have attempted to pursue him, and, perhaps, might have taken him; but, in the midst of darkness, and suspecting that their enemies were in ambush in the neighbourhood, the general was not willing to risk his soldiers out of the camp. He preferred leaving the villain that chance of saving himself.
As to Kennedy, he was dead.
The first moment of excitement past, Doña Luz, no longer sustained by the danger of her situation, began to be sensible she was a woman. Her energy disappeared, her eyes closed, a convulsive trembling shook her whole frame; she fainted, and would have fallen, if the doctor, who was watching her, had not caught her in his arms.
He carried her in that state into the tent, and lavished upon her all the remedies usual in such cases.
The young lady gradually recovered: her spirits were calmed, and order was re-established in her ideas.
The advice given her that very day by Black Elk then naturally recurred to her mind; she deemed the moment was coming for claiming the execution of his promise, and she made a sign to the doctor to approach her.
"My dear doctor," she said, in a sweet but weak voice, "are you willing to render me a great service?"
"Dispose of me as you please, señorita."
"Do you know a trapper named Black Elk?"
"Yes; he has a hut not a great way from us, near a beaver pond."
"That is the person, my good doctor. Well, as soon as it is light, you must go to him from me."
"For what purpose, señorita?"
"Because I ask you," she said, in a calm tone.
"Oh! then you may be at ease; I will go," he replied.
"Thank you, doctor."
"What shall I say to him?"
"You will give him an account of what has taken place here tonight."
"The deuce!"
"And then you will add—retain my exact words, you must repeat them to him to the very letter."
"I listen with all my ears, and will engrave them on my memory."
"Black Elk, the hour is come! You understand that, do you not?"
"Perfectly, señorita."
"You swear to do what I ask of you?"
"I swear it," he said, in a solemn voice. "At sunrise, I will go to the trapper; I will give him an account of the events of the night, and will add—Black Elk, the hour is come. Is that all you desire of me?"
"Yes, all, my kind doctor."
"Well, then, now endeavour to get a little sleep, señorita; I swear to you by my honour, that what you wish shall be done."
"Again, thank you!" the young girl murmured, with a sweet smile, and pressing his hand.
Then, quite broken down by the terrible emotions of the night, she sank back upon her bed, where she soon fell into a calm, refreshing sleep.
At daybreak, in spite of the observations of the general, who in vain endeavoured to prevent his leaving the camp, by presenting to him all the dangers he was needlessly going to expose himself to, the worthy doctor who had shaken his head at all that his friend said to him, persisted, without giving any reason, in his project of going out, and set off down the hill at a sharp trot.
When once in the forest, he put spurs to his horse, and galloped at best speed towards the hut of Black Elk.
Eagle Head was a chief as prudent as he was determined; he knew he had everything to fear from the Americans, if he did not succeed in completely concealing his trail.
Hence, after the surprise he had effected against the new establishment of the whites, upon the banks of the great Canadian river, he neglected nothing to secure his troop from the terrible reprisals which threatened them.
It is scarcely possible to form an idea of the talent displayed by the Indians when the object is to conceal their trail.
Twenty times do they repass the same place, entangling, as it were, the traces of their passage in each other, in such a manner that they end by becoming inextricable; neglecting no accident of the ground, marching in each other's footsteps to conceal their number, following for whole days the course of rivulets, frequently with the water up to their waist, carrying their precautions and patience so far as ever to efface with their hands, and, so to speak, step by step the vestiges which might denounce them to the keen, interested eyes of their enemies.
The tribe of the Serpent, to which the warriors commanded by Eagle Head belonged, had entered the prairies nearly five hundred warriors strong, in order to hunt the buffalo, and give battle to the Pawnees and Sioux, with whom they were continually at war.
It was Eagle Head's object, as soon as his campaign should be over, to join his brothers immediately, in order to place in safety the booty gained by the capture of the village, and to take part in a grand expedition which his tribe was preparing against the white trappers and half-breeds spread over the prairies, whom the Indians, with reason, considered as implacable enemies.
Notwithstanding the extreme precaution displayed by the chief, the detachment had marched rapidly.
On the evening of the sixth day that had passed away since the destruction of the fort, the Comanches halted on the banks of a little river without a name, as is the case sometimes in these wilds, and prepared to encamp for the night.
Nothing is more simple than the encamping of Indians upon the warpath.
The horses are hobbled, that they may not stray away; if the savages do not fear a surprise, they kindle a fire; if the contrary, everyone manages to get a little food and rest as well as he can.
Since their departure from the fort, no indication had given the Comanches reason to think they were pursued or watched, and their scouts had discovered no suspicious track. They were at but a short distance from the camp of their tribe,—their security was complete.
Eagle Head ordered a fire to be lit, and himself posted sentinels to watch over the safety of all.
When he had taken these prudent measures, the chief placed his back against an ebony tree, took his calumet, and ordered the old man and the Spanish woman to be brought before him.
When they appeared, Eagle Head saluted the old man cordially, and offered him his calumet, a mark of kindness which the old man accepted, carefully preparing himself for the questions which the Indian was, doubtless, about to put to him.
As he expected, after a silence of a few moments, the latter spoke.
"Does my brother find himself comfortable with the redskins?" asked he.
"I should be wrong to complain, chief," the Spaniard replied; "since I have been with you I have been treated very kindly."
"My brother is a friend," the Comanche said, emphatically.
The old man bowed.
"We are at length in our own hunting grounds," the chief continued; "my brother, the White Head, is fatigued with a long life; he is better at the counsel fire than on horseback, hunting the elk or the buffalo—what does my brother wish?"
"Chief," the Spaniard replied, "your words are true; there was a time when, like every other child of the prairies, I passed whole days in hunting upon a fiery unbroken mustang; my strength has disappeared, my members have lost their elasticity, and my eye its infallibility; I am worth nothing now in an expedition, however short it may be."
"Good!" the Indian replied, imperturbably, blowing clouds of smoke from his mouth and nostrils; "let my brother tell his friend what he wishes, and it shall be done."
"I thank you, chief, and I will profit by your kindness; I should be happy if you would consent to furnish me with means of gaining, without being disturbed, some establishment of men of my own colour, where I might pass in peace the few days I have yet to live."
"Eh! why should I not do it? Nothing is more easy; as soon as we have rejoined the tribe, since my brother is not willing to dwell with us, his desires shall be satisfied."
There was a moment of silence. The old man, believing the conversation terminated, prepared to retire; with a gesture, the chief ordered him to remain.
After a few instants, the Indian shook the ashes out of his pipe, passed the shank of it through his belt, and fixing upon the Spaniard a glance marked by a strange expression, he said, in a sad voice,—
"My brother is happy, although he has seen many winters, he does not walk alone in the path of life."
"What does the chief mean?" the old man asked; "I do not understand."
"My brother has a family," the Comanche replied.
"Alas! my brother is deceived; I am alone in this world."
"What does my brother say? Has he not his mate?" A sad smile passed over the pale lips of the old man.
"No," he said, after a moment's pause; "I have no mate."
"What is that woman to him, then?" said the chief, with feigned surprise, and pointing to the Spanish woman, who stood pensive and silent by the side of the old man.
"That woman is my mistress."
"Wah! Can it be that my brother is a slave?" said the Comanche, with an ill-omened smile.
"No," the old man replied haughtily! "I am not the slave of that woman, I am her devoted servant."
"Wah!" said the chief, shaking his head, and reflecting deeply upon this reply.
But the words of the Spaniard were unintelligible to the Indian; the distinction was too subtle for him to seize it. At the end of two or three minutes he shook his head, and gave up the endeavour to solve the, to him, incomprehensible problem.
"Good!" he said, darting an ironical glance through his half-closed eyelids; "the woman shall go with my brother."
"That is what I always intended," the Spaniard replied.
The aged woman, who to this moment had preserved a prudent silence, judged it was now time to take part in the conversation.
"I am thankful to the chief," she said; "but since he is good enough to take interest in our welfare, will he permit me to ask him a favour?"
"Let my mother speak; my ears are open."
"I have a son who is a great white hunter; he must at this moment be in the prairie; perhaps, if my brother would consent to keep us a few days longer with him, it would be possible to meet with him; under his protection we should have nothing to fear."
At these imprudent words the Spaniard made a gesture of terror.
"Señorita!" he said sharply in his native language, "take care lest——"
"Silence!" the Indian interrupted in an angry tone; "why does my white brother speak before me in an unknown tongue? Does he fear I should understand his words?"
"Oh, chief!" said the Spaniard, in a tone of denial.
"Let my brother, then, allow my palefaced mother to speak; she is speaking to a chief."
The old man was silent, but a sad presentiment weighed upon his heart.
The Comanche chief knew perfectly well to whom he was speaking; he was playing with the two Spaniards, as a cat does with a mouse; but, allowing none of his impressions to appear, he turned towards the woman, and bowing with that instinctive courtesy which distinguishes the Indians, said in a mild voice, and with a sympathetic smile,—
"Oh! oh! the son of my mother is a great hunter, is he? So much the better."
The heart of the poor woman dilated with joy.
"Yes," she said, with emotion, "he is one of the bravest trappers on the Western prairies."
"Wah!" said the chief, in a still more amiable manner, "this renowned warrior must have a name respected through the prairies?"
The Spaniard suffered a martyrdom; held in awe by the eye of the Comanche, he did not know how to warn his mistress not to pronounce the name of her son.
"His name is well known," said the woman.
"Oh!" the old man cried eagerly, "all women are thus; with them all their sons are heroes: this one, although an excellent young man, is no better than others; certes, his name has never reached my brother."
"How does my brother know that?" said the Indian, with a sardonic smile.
"I suppose so," the old man replied; "or, at least, if by chance my brother has heard it pronounced, it must long ago have escaped his memory, and does not merit being recalled to it. If my brother will permit us, we will retire; the day has been fatiguing; the hour of repose is come."
"In an instant," said the Comanche quietly; and turning to the woman, "What is the name of the warrior of the palefaces?" he asked, in a peremptory tone.
But the old lady, placed upon her guard by the intervention of her servant, with whose prudence and devotion she was well acquainted, made no answer, conscious that she had committed a fault, and not knowing how to remedy it.
"Does not my mother hear me?" said the chief.
"Of what use would it be to repeat to you a name which, according to all probability, is unknown to you, and which cannot interest you? If my brother will permit me, I will retire."
"No; not before my mother has told me the name of her son, the great warrior," said the Comanche, knitting his brow and stamping his foot with ill-restrained anger.
The old Spaniard saw an end must be put to this; his determination was formed in a second.
"My brother is a great chief," he said, "although his hair is still brown, his wisdom is immense. I am his friend, and am sure he would not abuse the chance that has delivered into his hands the mother of his enemy: the name of that woman's son is Loyal Heart."
"Wah!" said Eagle Head, with a sinister smile, "I knew that well enough: why have the palefaces two hearts and two tongues? and why do they always seek to deceive the redskins?"
"We have not sought to deceive you, chief."
"I say you have. Since you have been with us, you have been treated as children of the tribe. I have saved your life!"
"That is true."
"Very well," he resumed, with an ironical smile, "I will prove to you that Indians do not forget, and that they know how to render good for evil. These wounds that you see me bear, who inflicted them? Loyal Heart! We are enemies; his mother is in my power; I could at once tie her to the stake of torture; it is my right to do so."
The two Spaniards hung their heads.
"The law of the prairies is an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Listen to me well, Old Oak. In remembrance of our ancient friendship, I grant you a respite. Tomorrow at sunrise, you shall set out in search of Loyal Heart; if, within four days, he does not come to deliver himself up into my hands, his mother shall perish; my young men shall burn her alive at the stake of blood, and my brothers shall make war whistles of her bones. Begone! I have spoken!"
The old man eagerly implored mercy. He threw himself on his knees before the chief; but the vindictive Indian spurned him with his foot, and turned away.
"Oh! madam," the old man murmured, in despair, "you are lost!"
"But be sure, Eusebio," the mother replied, choking with tears, "be sure not to bring back my son! Of what consequence is my death! Alas! has not my life already been long enough?"
The old servant cast a glance of admiration at his mistress.
"Ever the same!" he said affectionately.
"Does not the life of a mother belong to her child?" she said, with a cry which seemed to come from her very heart.
The old people sank, overwhelmed with grief, at the foot of a tree, and passed the night in praying to God.
Eagle Head did not appear to have an idea of this despair.
The precautions taken by Eagle Head to conceal his march were good as regarded the whites, whose senses, less kept upon the watch than those of partisans and hunters, and little acquainted with Indian stratagems, are almost incapable of directing their course in these vast solitudes without a compass; but for men like Loyal Heart and Belhumeur they were, in every respect, insufficient.
The two bold partisans did not lose the track for an instant.
Accustomed to the zig-zags and devices of the Indian warriors, they did not allow themselves to be deceived by the sudden turns, the counter marches, the false halts, in a word, by any of the obstacles which the Comanches had planted so freely on their route.
And then, there was one thing of which the Indians had not dreamed, and which revealed as clearly the direction of their march as if they had taken the pains to mark it with stakes.
We have said that the hunters had, close to the ruins of a cabin, found a bloodhound fastened to a tree, and that this bloodhound, when set free, after bestowing a few caresses on Belhumeur, had set off; his nose to the wind, to rejoin his master, who was no other than the old Spaniard—in fact, he did rejoin him.
The traces of the bloodhound, which the Indians never dreamed of effacing, for the very simple reason that they did not observe that he was with them, were to be seen all along, and for hunters so skilful as Loyal Heart and Belhumeur, this was an Ariadne's thread which nothing could break.
The hunters therefore rode tranquilly on with their guns across the saddle and accompanied by their rastreros, in the track of the Comanches, who were far from suspecting that they had such a rearguard.
Every evening Loyal Heart stopped at the precise place where Eagle Head had, on the previous day, established his camp, for such was the diligence of the two men that the Indians only preceded them by a few leagues; the trappers could easily have passed them, if it had been their wish to do so; but, for certain reasons, Loyal Heart confined himself to following them for some time longer.
After having passed the night in a quiet glade, on the banks of a clear rivulet, whose soft murmur had lulled them to sleep, the hunters were preparing to resume their journey, their horses were saddled, they were eating a slice of elk, standing, like people in a hurry to depart, when Loyal Heart, who, during the whole morning had not spoken a word, turned towards his companion, and said:
"Let us sit down a minute, there is no occasion to hurry, since Eagle Head has rejoined his tribe."
"Be it so," replied Belhumeur, laying himself down upon the grass. "We can talk a bit."
"I cannot think how it was I did not imagine these cursed Comanches had a war detachment in the neighbourhood! It is impossible for us two to think of taking a camp in which there are five hundred warriors."
"That's true," said Belhumeur, philosophically; "they are a great many, and yet, you know, my dear friend, that if your heart bids you, we can but try; who knows what may happen?"
"Thanks!" said Loyal Heart, smiling; "but I think it useless."
"As you like."
"Stratagem alone can assist us."
"Let us try stratagem, then; I am at your orders."
"We have some traps near here, I believe?"
"Pardieu!" said the Canadian, "within half a mile, at most, there is a large pond of beavers."
"That's true; for the last few days, Belhumeur, I scarcely know what I am thinking about; this captivity of my mother makes me mad; I must deliver her, cost what it may."
"That is my opinion, Loyal Heart, and I will aid you in it with all my soul."
"Tomorrow morning, at daybreak, you will repair to Black Elk, and beg him, in my name, to collect as many white hunters and trappers as he can."
"Very well."
"In the meantime I will go to the camp of the Comanches, to treat for the ransom of my mother; if they will not restore her to me, we will have recourse to arms, and we will see if a score of the best rifles of the frontiers will not give a good account of five hundred of these plunderers of the prairies."
"And if they should make you prisoner?"
"In that case I will send you my bloodhound, who will come to you in the river grotto; on seeing it come alone, you will know what that means, and will act accordingly."
The Canadian shook his head.
"No," said he, "I shall not do so."
"What! you will not do so?" the hunter exclaimed, in great surprise.
"Certainly no, I will not do so, Loyal Heart. Compared with you, who are so brave and so intelligent, I am but little worth, I know; but if I have only one good quality, nothing can deprive me of it, and that quality is my devotedness to you."
"I know it, my friend; you love me like a brother."
"And you would have me leave you, as they say in my country beyond the great lakes, to go cheerfully into the jaws of the wolf; and yet my comparison is humiliating for the wolf, for the Indians are a thousand times more ferocious! No, I repeat, I will not do that; it would be a wicked action, and if any harm happened to you, I should never forgive myself."
"Explain yourself, Belhumeur," said Loyal Heart, with a little impatience; "upon my honour I cannot possibly understand you."
"Oh! that will be easy enough," the Canadian answered; "if I am not very clever, and am not an able speaker, I have good common sense, and can see my way clearly when those I love are concerned; and I love nobody better than you, now my poor father is dead."
"Speak then, my friend," said Loyal Heart, "and pardon the little ill-humour I could not repress."
Belhumeur reflected for a few seconds, and then continued:—
"You know," he said, "that the greatest enemies we have in the prairies are the Comanches; by an inexplicable fatality, whenever we have had a struggle to maintain, it has been against them, and never have they been able to boast of the smallest advantage over us; hence has arisen between them and us an implacable hatred, a hatred which has latterly been increased by our quarrel with Eagle Head, whose arm you had the good chance, or rather the ill chance, of breaking, when it would have been so easy for you to have broken his head; a joke which I am convinced the chief has taken in very bad part, and will never forgive you. Besides, I must confess that in his place I should entertain exactly the same sentiments; I bear him no malice on that account."
"To the purpose! to the purpose!" Loyal Heart interrupted.
"The purpose! Well, this is it," Belhumeur replied, displaying no surprise at his friend's interruption: "Eagle Head is anxious, by any means, to obtain your scalp, and it is evident that if you commit the imprudence of placing yourself in his hands, he will not let the opportunity slip of finally settling his accounts with you."
"But," Loyal Heart replied, "my mother is in his power."
"Yes," said Belhumeur; "but he does not know who she is. You are aware, my friend, that the Indians only treat captured women ill in exceptional cases; generally they behave to them with the greatest respect."
"That is true," said the hunter.
"Therefore, as no one will go and tell Eagle Head that his prisoner is your mother, unless she does so herself, through the uneasiness she may feel on your account, she is as safe among the redskins as if she were on the great square of Quebec. It is useless, then, to commit an imprudence. Let us get together a score of good fellows; I don't ask for more; and let us watch the Indians. On the first opportunity that offers we will fall upon them vigorously, we will kill as many as we can, and deliver your mother. Now that, I think, is the wisest course we can take; what do you think of it?"
"I think, my friend," Loyal Heart replied, pressing his hand, "that you are the best creature in existence; that your advice is good, and I will follow it."
"Bravo!" Belhumeur exclaimed, joyfully; "that is speaking something like."
"And now——" said Loyal Heart, rising.
"Now?" Belhumeur asked.
"We will get on horseback; we will carefully avoid the Indian camp, using all possible caution not to be tracked; and will then go to the hatto of our brave companion Black Elk, who is a man of good counsel, and who will certainly be useful to us in what we purpose doing."
"Be it so, then," said Belhumeur cheerfully, leaping into his saddle.
The hunters quitted the glade they had slept in, and making adétourto avoid the Indian camp, the smoke of which they perceived within a league of them, they directed their course towards the spot where, in all probability, Black Elk was philosophically employed in laying snares for beavers, the interesting animals that Doña Luz had admired so much.
They had been thus riding on for nearly an hour, chatting and laughing, for the reasonings of Belhumeur had succeeded in convincing Loyal Heart, who, thoroughly knowing the manners of the Indians, was persuaded that his mother was in no danger, when his hounds on a sudden showed signs of excitement, and rushed forward, yelping with symptoms of joy.
"What's the matter with our rastreros?" said Loyal Heart; "one would think they smelt a friend."
"Pardieu! they have scented Black Elk, and we shall probably see them come back together."
"That is not unlikely," the hunter said pensively; and they continued their course.
At the expiration of a few minutes they perceived a horseman riding towards them at full speed, surrounded by the dogs, who ran barking by his side.
"It is not Black Elk," Belhumeur cried.
"No," said Loyal Heart, "it is Nô Eusebio; what can this mean? He is alone; can anything have happened to my mother?"
"Let us mend our pace," said Belhumeur, clapping spurs to his horse, which sprang forward with the greatest velocity.
The hunter followed him, a prey to mortal alarm.
The three horsemen were soon together.
"Woe! woe!" the old man cried, in great agitation, as he approached.
"What is the matter, Nô Eusebio? speak, in the name of Heaven."
"Your mother, Don Rafaël! your mother!"
"Well, speak!—oh, speak!" the young man cried frantically.
"Oh, my God!" said the old man, wringing his hands, "it is too late!"
"Speak, then, in the name of Heaven!—you are killing me."
The old man cast on him a look of utter desolation.
"Don Rafaël," he said, "have courage!—be a man!"
"My God! my God! what fearful news are you going to communicate to me, my friend?"
"Your mother is a prisoner to Eagle Head."
"I know she is."
"If this very day, this morning even, you do not deliver yourself up to the chief of the Comanches—"
"Well, well!"
"She will be burnt alive."
"Ah!" the young man exclaimed, with a cry amounting to a shriek.
His friend supported him, otherwise he would have fallen from his saddle.
"But," Belhumeur asked, "is it today—do you say, old man, that she is to be burnt?"
"Yes."
"Is there still time, then?"
"Alas! it was to be at sunrise; and see," he said, with an agonized gesture, pointing to the heavens.
"Oh!" Loyal Heart cried, with a vehemence impossible to be described, "I will save my mother!"
And, bending over the neck of his horse, he set off with frantic rapidity.
The others followed.
He turned round towards Belhumeur.
"Where are you going?" he asked, in a short, sharp tone.
"To help you save your mother, or to die with you."
"Come on, then!" Loyal Heart replied, plunging his spurs into the bleeding sides of his horse.
There was something fearful and terrible in the desperate course of these three men who, formed in line, with pale brows, compressed lips, and fiery looks, cleared torrents and ravines, surmounted all obstacles, incessantly urging their horses, which seemed to devour space, while panting painfully, bounding madly, and dripping with perspiration and blood.
At intervals Loyal Heart shouted one of those cries peculiar to the Mexican jinetes, and the reanimated horses redoubled their exertions.
"My God! my God! save—save my mother!" the hunter kept repeating in a hollow voice, as he rode furiously onward.
Notwithstanding the stormy conversation he had had with Eusebio, Eagle Head had continued to treat the prisoners with the greatest kindness, and that extreme delicacy of proceeding which is innate in the red race, and which we should be far from expecting on the part of men whom, without any plausible reason that I am acquainted with, we brand with the name of savages.
There is one fact worthy of being noticed, and upon which we cannot too strongly dwell, and that is the manner in which Indians generally treat their prisoners. Far from inflicting useless tortures upon them, or tormenting them without cause, as has been too often repeated, they take the greatest care of them, and appear, in some sort, to compassionate their misfortune.
In the circumstance of which we speak, the sanguinary determination of Eagle Head with regard to the mother of Loyal Heart was but an exception, the reason for which was naturally found in the hatred the Indian chief had sworn to the hunter.
The separation of the two prisoners was most painful and agonizing; the old servant set off, despair in his soul, in search of the hunter, whilst the poor mother, with a broken heart, followed the Comanche warriors.
On the second day, Eagle Head arrived at therendez-vousappointed by the great chiefs of the nation; all the tribe was assembled.
Nothing can be more picturesque and singular than the aspect presented by an Indian camp.
When the Indians are on an expedition—whether of war or hunting—on encamping, they confine themselves to erecting, on the spot where they stop, tents of buffalo hides stretched upon poles planted cross-wise. These tents, the bottom parts of which are filled up with mounds of earth, have all a hole at the top, to leave a free issue for the smoke, which, without that precaution, would render them uninhabitable.
The camp presented the most animated picture possible; the squaws passed here and there, loaded with wood and meat, or guided the sledges drawn by dogs, which conveyed their wealth; the warriors, gravely squatted around fires lighted in the open air, on account of the mildness of the temperature, were smoking and chatting together.
And yet it was easy to guess that something extraordinary was about to happen; for notwithstanding the early hour—the sun scarcely appearing above the horizon—the principal chiefs were assembled in the council lodge, where, judging from the grave and reflective expression of their countenances, they were about to discuss some serious question.
This day was the last of those granted by Eagle Head to Eusebio.
The Indian warrior, faithful to his hatred, and in haste to satisfy his vengeance, had convoked the great chiefs in order to obtain their authority for the execution of his abominable project.
We repeat it here, in order that our readers may be perfectly convinced—Indians are not cruel for the pleasure of being so. Necessity is their first law; and never do they order the punishment of a prisoner, particularly a woman, unless the interest of the nation requires it.
As soon as the chiefs were assembled round the fire of council, the pipe bearer entered the circle, holding in his hand the calumet ready lighted; he bowed towards the four cardinal points, murmuring a short prayer, and then presented the calumet to the oldest chief, but retaining the bowl of the pipe in his hand.
When all the chiefs had smoked, one after the other, the pipe bearer emptied the ashes of the pipe into the fire, saying—
"Chiefs of the great Comanche nation, mayNatosh(God) give you wisdom, so that whatever be your determination, it may be conformable to justice."
Then, after bowing respectfully, he retired.
A moment of silence followed, in which everyone seemed meditating seriously upon the words that had just been pronounced.
At length the most aged of the chiefs arose.
He was a venerable old man, whose body was furrowed with the scars of innumerable wounds, and who enjoyed among his people a great reputation for wisdom. He was named Eshis (the Sun).
"My son Eagle Head has," he said, "an important communication to make to the council of the chiefs; let him speak, our ears are open. Eagle Head is a warrior as wise as he is valiant; his words will be listened to by us with respect."
"Thanks!" the warrior replied; "my father is wisdom itself. Natosh conceals nothing from him."
The chiefs bowed, and Eagle Head continued.
"The palefaces, our eternal persecutors, pursue and harass us without intermission, forcing us to abandon to them, one by one, our best hunting grounds, and to seek refuge in the depths of the forest like timid deer; many of them even dare to come into the prairies which serve us as places of refuge, to trap beavers and hunt elks and buffaloes which are our property. These faithless men, the outcasts of their people, rob us and assassinate us when they can do it with impunity. Is it just that we should suffer their rapine without complaining? Shall we allow ourselves to be slaughtered like timid ashahas without seeking to avenge ourselves? Does not the law of the prairies say, 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth?' Let my father reply; let my brothers say if that is just?"
"Vengeance is allowable," said the Sun; "it is the undoubted right of the weak and the oppressed; and yet it ought to be proportioned to the injury received."
"Good! My father has spoken like a wise man; what think you of it, my brothers?"
"The Sun cannot lie; all that he says is right," the chiefs replied.
"Has my brother cause to complain of anyone?" the old man asked.
"Yes," Eagle Head replied; "I have been insulted by a white hunter; he has several times attacked my camp; he has killed some of my young men in ambush; I myself have been wounded, as you may see—the scar is not yet closed. This man, in short, is the most cruel enemy the Comanches have, for he pursues them like wild beasts, that he may enjoy their tortures, and hear their cries of agony."
At these words, pronounced with an imposing expression, a shudder of anger ran through the assembly. The astute chief, perceiving that his cause was gained in the minds of his auditors, continued, without showing the internal joy he experienced—
"I might have been able, if it had only concerned myself," he said, "to pardon these injuries, however serious they may be; but we have now to deal with a public enemy, with a man who has sworn the destruction of our nation. Hence, however painful be the necessity which constrains me, I ought not to hesitate to strike him in that which is dearest to him. His mother is in my hands. I have hesitated to sacrifice her; I have not allowed myself to be carried away by my hatred. I have wished to be just; and though it would have been so easy for me to kill this woman, I have preferred waiting till you, revered chiefs of our nation, should yourselves give me the order to do so. I have done still more: so repugnant was it to me to shed blood uselessly, and punish the innocent for the guilty, that I have granted this woman a respite of four days, in order to give her son the power of saving her, by presenting himself to suffer in her place. A paleface made prisoner by me is gone in search of him; but that man is a rabbit's heart—he has only the courage to assassinate unarmed enemies. He is not come! he will not come! This morning, at sunrise, expires the delay granted by me. Where is this man? He has not appeared! What say my brothers? Is my conduct just? Ought I to be blamed? Or shall this woman be tied to the stake, so that the palefaced robbers, terrified by her death, may acknowledge that the Comanches are formidable warriors, who never leave an insult unpunished? Have I spoken well, men of power?"
After having pronounced this long speech, Eagle Head resumed his seat, and crossing his arms on his breast, he awaited, with his head cast down, the decision of the chiefs.
A tolerably long silence followed this speech. At length the Sun arose.
"My brother has spoken well," he said. "His words are those of a man who does not allow himself to be governed by his passions; all he has said is just; the whites, our ferocious enemies, are eager for our destruction; however painful for us may be the punishment of this woman, it is necessary."
"It is necessary!" the chiefs repeated, bowing their heads.
"Go!" the Sun resumed, "make the preparations; give to this execution the appearance of an expiation, and not that of a vengeance; everybody must be convinced that the Comanches do not torture women for pleasure, but that they know how to punish the guilty. I have spoken."
The chiefs arose, and after respectfully bowing to the old man, they retired.
Eagle Head had succeeded; he was about to avenge himself, without assuming the responsibility of an action of which he comprehended all the hideousness, but in which he had had the heart to implicate all the chiefs of his nation under an appearance of justice, for which, inwardly, he cared but very little.
The preparations for the punishment were hurried on as fast as possible.
The women cut thin splinters of ash to be introduced under the nails, others prepared elder pith to make sulphur matches, whilst the youngest went into the forest to seek for armfuls of green wood destined to burn the condemned woman slowly, while stifling her with the smoke it would produce.
In the meantime, the men had completely stripped the bark off a tree which they had chosen to serve as the stake of torture; they had then rubbed it well with elk fat mixed with red ochre; round its base they had placed the wood of the pyre, and this done, the sorcerer had come to conjure the tree by means of mysterious words, in order to render it fit for the purpose to which they destined it.
These preparations terminated, the condemned was brought to the foot of the stake, and seated, without being tied, upon the pile of wood intended to burn her; and the scalp dance commenced.
The unfortunate woman was, in appearance, impassible. She had made the sacrifice of her life; nothing that passed around her could any longer affect her.
Her eyes, burning with fever and swollen with tears, wandered without purpose, over the vast crowd that enveloped her with the roarings of wild beasts. Her mind watched, nevertheless, as keenly and as lucidly as in her happiest days. The poor mother had a fear which wrung her heart and made her endure a torture, compared with which those which the Indians were preparing to inflict upon her were as nothing; she trembled lest her son, warned of the horrid fate that awaited her, should hasten to save her, and give himself up to his ferocious enemies.
With her ear attentive to the least noise, she seemed to hear every instant the precipitate steps of her son flying to her assistance. Her heart bounded with fear. She prayed God from the very depths of her soul to permit her to die instead of her beloved child.
The scalp dance whirled ferociously around her.
A crowd of warriors, tall, handsome, magnificently dressed, but with their faces blackened, danced, two by two, round the stake, led by seven musicians armed with drums and chicikoués, who were striped with black and red, and wore upon their heads feathers of the screech owl, falling down behind.
The warriors had in their hands guns and clubs, ornamented with black feathers and red cloth, of which they brought the butts to the ground as they danced.
These men formed a vast semicircle around the stake; in face of them, and completing the circle, the women danced.
Eagle Head, who led the warriors, carried a long staff, at the end of which was suspended a human scalp, surmounted by a stuffed pie with its wings out-spread; a little lower on the same stick were a second scalp, the skin of a lynx, and some feathers.
When they had danced thus for an instant, the musicians placed themselves by the side of the condemned, and made a deafening noise, singing, whilst beating the drums with all their force, and shaking the chicikoués.
This dance continued a considerable time, accompanied by atrocious howlings, enough to madden with terror the unfortunate woman to whom they presaged the frightful tortures that awaited her.
At length Eagle Head touched the condemned lightly with his stick. At this signal the tumult ceased as if by enchantment, the ranks were broken, and everyone seized his weapons.
The punishment was about to begin!
As soon as the scalp dance was over, the principal warriors of the tribe ranged themselves before the stake, their arms in hand, whilst the women, particularly the most aged, fell upon the condemned, abusing her, pushing her, pulling her hair, and striking her, without her opposing the least resistance, or seeking to escape the ill-treatment with which they loaded her.
The unfortunate woman only hoped for one thing, and that was to see her punishment begin.
She had watched with feverish impatience the whirlings of the scalp dance, so greatly did she fear to see her beloved son appear and place himself between her and her executioners.
Like the ancient martyrs, she in her heart accused the Indians of losing precious time in useless ceremonies; if she had had the strength, she would have reprimanded them, and rallied them upon their slowness and the hesitation they seemed to display in the sacrifice.
The truth was, that in spite of themselves, and although this execution appeared just, the Comanches had a repugnance to torture a helpless woman, already aged, and who had never injured them, either directly or indirectly.
Eagle Head himself, notwithstanding his hatred, felt something like a secret remorse for the crime he was committing. Far from hastening on the last preparations, he only assisted with an indecision and a disgust that he could not succeed in surmounting.
For intrepid men, accustomed to brave the greatest perils, it is always a degrading action to torture a weak creature, or a woman who has no other defence than her tears. If it had been a man, the agreement would have been general throughout the tribe to tie him to the stake.
Indian prisoners laugh at punishment, they insult their executioners, and, in their death songs, they reproach their conquerors with their cowardice, their inexperience in making their victims suffer; they enumerate their own brave deeds, they count the enemies they scalped before they themselves yielded; in short, by their sarcasms and their contemptuous attitudes, they excite the anger of their executioners, reanimate their hatred, and, to a certain point, justify their ferocity.
But a woman, weak and resigned, presenting herself like a lamb to the shambles, already half dead, what interest could such an execution offer?
There was no glory to be gained, but, on the contrary, a general reprobation to draw upon themselves.
The Comanches comprehended all this, thence their repugnance and hesitation. Nevertheless, the business must be gone through.
Eagle Head approached the prisoner, and delivering her from the harpies who annoyed her, said in a solemn voice—
"Woman, I have kept my promise; your son is not come, you are about to die."
"Thanks," she said, in a tremulous voice, leaning against a tree to avoid falling.
"Are you not afraid of death?" he asked.
"No," she replied, fixing upon him a look of angelic mildness; "it will be most welcome; my life has been nothing but one long agony; death will be to me a blessing."
"But your son?"
"My son will be saved if I die; you have sworn it upon the bones of your fathers."
"I have sworn it."
"Deliver me up to death, then."
"Are the women of your nation, then, like Indian squaws, who view torture without trembling?" the chief asked, with astonishment.
"Yes," she replied with great agitation; "all mothers despise it when the safety of their children is at stake."
"Listen," said the Indian, moved with involuntary pity; "I also have a mother whom I love; if you desire it, I will retard your punishment till sunset."
"What should you do that for?" she replied with terrible simplicity. "No, warrior; if my grief really touches you, there is one favour, one favour alone which you can grant me."
"Name it," he said earnestly.
"Put me to death immediately."
"But if your son arrives?"
"Of what importance is that to you? You require a victim, do you not? Very well, that victim is before you, you may torture her at your pleasure. Why do you hesitate? Put me to death, I say."
"Your desire shall be satisfied," the Comanche replied in a melancholy tone. "Woman, prepare yourself."
She bowed her head upon her breast, and waited. Upon a signal from Eagle Head, two warriors seized the prisoner, and tied her to the stake round the waist.
Then the exercise of the knife began; this is what it consists of:—
Every warrior seizes his scalping knife by the point with the thumb and the first finger of his right hand, and launches it at the victim, so as to inflict only slight wounds.
Indians, in their punishments, endeavour to make the tortures continue as long as possible, and only give their enemy thecoup de grâcewhen they have torn life from him by degrees, and, so to say, piecemeal.
The warriors launched their knives with such marvellous skill, that all of them just grazed the unfortunate woman, inflicting nothing more than scratches.
The blood, however, flowed, she closed her eyes, and, absorbed in herself, prayed fervently for the mortal stroke.
The warriors, to whom her body served as a target, grew warmer by degrees; curiosity, the desire of showing their skill, had taken in their minds the place of the pity they had at first felt. They applauded with loud shouts and laughter the prowess of the most adroit.
In a word, as it always happens, as well among civilized people as among savages, blood intoxicated them; their self-love was brought into play; everyone sought to surpass the man who had preceded him; all other considerations were forgotten.
When all had thrown their knives, a small number of the most skilful marksmen of the tribe took their guns.
This time it was necessary to have a sure eye, for an ill-directed ball might terminate the punishment, and deprive the spectators of the attractive spectacle which promised them so much pleasure.
At every discharge the poor creature shrank within herself, though giving no signs of life beyond a nervous shudder which agitated her whole body.
"Let us have an end of this," said Eagle Head, who felt, in spite of himself, his heart of bronze soften before so much courage and abnegation. "Comanche warriors are not jaguars; this woman has suffered enough; let her die at once."
A few murmurs were heard among the squaws and the children, who were the most eager for the punishment of the prisoner.
But the warriors were of the opinion of their chief; this execution, shorn of the insults that victims generally address to their conquerors, possessed no attraction for them, and, besides, they were ashamed of such inveteracy against a woman.
Hence they spared the unfortunate woman the splinters of wood inserted under the nails, the sulphur matches fastened between the fingers, the mask of honey applied to the face that the bees might come and sting them, together with other tortures too long and hideous to enumerate, and they prepared the funeral pile upon which she was to be burnt.
But before proceeding to the last act of this atrocious tragedy, they untied the poor woman; for a few minutes they allowed her to take breath and recover from the terrible emotions she had undergone.
She sank on the ground almost insensible.
Eagle Head approached her.
"My mother is brave," he said; "many warriors would not have borne the trials with so much courage."
A faint smile passed over her violet lips.
"I have a son," she replied with a look of ineffable sweetness; "it is for him I suffer."
"A warrior is happy in having such a mother."
"Why do you defer my death? It is cruel to act thus; warriors ought not to torment women."
"My mother is right, her tortures are ended."
"Am I going to die at last?" she asked with a sigh of relief.
"Yes, they are preparing the pile."
In spite of herself, the poor woman felt a shudder of horror thrill her whole frame at this fearful intimation.
"Burn me!" she cried with terror; "why burn me?"
"It is the usual custom."
She let her head sink into her hands; but soon recovering, she drew herself up, and raised an inspired glance towards Heaven,—
"My God!" she murmured with resignation, "Thy will be done!"
"Does my mother feel herself sufficiently recovered to be fastened to the stake?" the chief asked in something like a tone of compassion.
"Yes!" she said rising resolutely.
Eagle Head could not repress a gesture of admiration. Indians consider courage as the first of virtues.
"Come, then," he said.
The prisoner followed him with a firm step—all her strength was restored, she was at length going to die!
The chief led her to the stake of blood, to which she was bound a second time; before her they piled up the faggots of green wood, and at a signal from Eagle Head, they were set on fire.
The fire did not for some time take, on account of the moisture of the wood, which discharged clouds of smoke; but, after a few moments, the flame sparkled, extended by degrees, and then acquired great intensity.
The unfortunate woman could not suppress a cry of terror.
At that moment a horseman dashed at full speed into the midst of the camp; at a bound he was on the ground, and before anyone could have opposed him, he tore away the burning wood from the pile, and cut the bonds of the victim.
"Oh! why have you come?" the poor mother murmured, sinking into his arms.