The battle of Cerro Pardo was one of those sanguinary days, whose memory a nation retains for ages as an ill-omened date. In order to explain to the reader thoroughly how the events happened which we are about to narrate, we must give a detailed account of the ground on which they took place.
The spot selected by the Mexicans to effect their landing after leaving Galveston, had been very cleverly chosen by General Rubio. The stream, which, for some distance, is enclosed by high banks, runs at that spot through an extensive plain, covered with tall grass and clumps of trees, the last relics of a virgin forest, which the claims of trade have almost destroyed. This plain is closed by a species ofcañón, or very narrow gorge, enclosed between two lofty Mils, whose scarped flanks are carpeted at all seasons with plants and flowers. These two hills are the Cerro Pardo and the Cerro Prieto,—that is to say, the Red Mountain and the Black Mountain.
At the canyon begins a road, or, to speak more correctly, a rather wide track, bordered by bogs and morasses, and running to the cross we have before visited. This road is the only one that can be followed in going from the interior to the seashore. A little in advance of the two hills, whose summit is covered with dense wood and scrub, extend marshes, which are the more dangerous, because their surface is perfidiously covered with close green grass, which completely conceals from the traveller the terrible danger to which he is exposed if he venture on to this moving abyss. The Cerro Pardo, which is much higher than the other hill, not only commands the latter, but also the surrounding country, as well as the sea.
After what we have said, the reader will easily perceive that the enterprise attempted by the Texans was only possible in the event of the coast being entirely undefended; but under the present circumstances, the inconceivable obstinacy of the Commander-in-Chief was the more incomprehensible, because he was not only thoroughly acquainted with the country, but at the moment when the army was about to begin its forward movements, several spies came in in succession, bringing news which entirely coincided with the positive reports already made by John Davis.
Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first blind. This wise and thoughtful man, who had ever acted with extreme prudence, and whose conceptions up to this day had been remarkable for their lucidity, was deaf to all remonstrances, and the order was given to march. The army at once set out; Don Felix Paz went on ahead with his guerillas, while the Jaguar's cuadrilla, on the contrary, remained in the rear. Tranquil, in spite of the wounds he had received, would not remain in the fort; he came along lying in a cart, having at his side Carmela and Quoniam, who paid him the utmost attention; while Lanzi, at the head of a dozen picked Freebooters given him by the Jaguar, escorted the cart, in the event of the army being disturbed during the march.
The Jaguar was sorrowful, a gloomy presentiment seemed to warn him of a misfortune. This daring man, who carried out as if in sport the maddest and most venturesome deeds, now advanced reluctantly, hesitating and constantly looking about him suspiciously, and almost timidly. Assuredly, he feared no personal danger; what did he care for an attack? What alarm did he feel about dying? Peril was his element; the heated atmosphere of battle, the odour of powder intoxicated him, and made him feel strange delight; but at this moment Carmela was near him; Carmela, whom he had so miraculously found again, and whom he feared to lose again. This strong man felt his heart soften at the thought, hence he insisted on taking the rear guard, in order to watch more closely over the maiden, and be in a position to help her if necessary.
The superior Commander had not dared to refuse the bold partisan this post, which he asked for as a favour. This condescension on the part of the Chief had terrible consequences, and was partly the cause of the events that happened a few hours later.
The Texan troops, in spite of the various element of which they were composed, advanced, however, with an order and discipline that would have done honour to regulars. Don Felix Paz had thrown out to the right and left of the road flankers ordered to investigate the chaparral, and guarantee the safety of the route; but in spite of these precautions, whether the Mexicans were really ambushed in inaccessible places, or for some other reason, the flankers did not discover them, and the vanguard advanced at a pace which heightened the security of the main body, and gradually induced the Chiefs to relax their previous watchfulness.
The vanguard reached the cross, and nothing had as yet happened in any way to trouble the march of the army. Don Felix, after allowing his cuadrilla to halt for twenty minutes, resolutely entered the road that led to the spot where the Mexicans had landed. From the cross to the Rio Trinidad was no great distance, and could be covered in less than two hours by troops marching at the ordinary pace. The road, however, after passing the cross, insensibly becomes narrower, and soon changes into a very confined track, in which three persons can scarce walk abreast.
We have said that trembling prairies extend on either side of this road. We will explain, in a few sentences, what these trembling prairies are, which are met with in several parts of America, but principally in Texas and Louisiana. These prairies, if we may trust to the frequently false theories of science, have a similar organ to that of Artesian springs, for the earth does in one case what water does in the other. Through the action of geological dynamics, the earthy matter which constitutes the trembling prairies ascends to the surface of lakes and ponds, while in Artesian wells the water rushes up from the depths through the pressure of the strata by which it was held down.
Nothing is more dangerous than those trembling prairies, covered with a perfidious vegetation that deceives the eye. The Rio Trinidad flows at a few hundred yards from the prairie we have just described, conveying into the Gulf of Mexico the sedimentary deposits which would consolidate this shifting soil. Nature has already traced canals intersecting the prairie, and which run between banks formed by mysterious forces. The wild beasts, whose admirable instinct never deceives them, have for ages past formed tracks across these dangerous zones, and the path followed by the Texan army was no other than one of those trails trodden by the wild beasts when they go down at night to water.
I know not whether, since Texas has gained its liberty and been incorporated with the United States, any attempt has been made to drain these prairies. And yet, I believe that it would require but a very slight effort to complete the work so intelligently sketched out by nature. It would be sufficient to dig a series ofcolmates, or aqueducts, which would introduce into the trembling prairie the turbid waters of the river, and convey to it the sedimentary matter; and, before all, the vegetation growing on the prairie should not be burnt, as is the unfortunate custom. With these two conditions, a firm, rich, and fertile soil would soon be attained in the line of these slimy and pestilential marshes that poison the air, produce contagious diseases, and cause the death of so many unfortunate travellers, deceived by the luxuriant appearance of these prairies, and who perish miserably, by being swallowed up in their fetid mud.
But in America it is not so much land that is wanting as men. Probably, the trembling prairies will remain for a long time what they are at the present day, for no one has a really personal interest in draining and getting rid of them.
We will now take up our story at the point where we broke it off, begging the reader to forgive us the long digression in which we indulged, but which has its value, we think, in a work intended to make known a country which is destined ere long to assume an important part in the trade of the world.
The Texan Vanguard passed the cross at about nine A.M. It had halted for about twenty minutes and then resumed its march. Still, without any apparent motive, after crossing without obstacle the defile of the Cerro Pardo, instead of advancing in the direction of the river, on the bank of which the stranded boats could already be seen, Don Felix ordered his cuadrilla to wheel at about two hundred yards from the defile, and formed a front of fifty horses by ten deep. After commanding a halt, he dug his spurs in and returned to the gorge, but on this occasion alone.
While galloping, the partisan looked searchingly around him. As far as the eye could see, the road was entirely deserted. Don Felix halted and bent over his horse's neck, as if wishing to arrange some buckle, but while patting his noble animal he twice repeated the croak of a rook. At once the harsh cry of the puffin rose from the bushes that bordered the right hand side of the road; the branches were then parted—a man appeared—it was Colonel Don Juan Melendez de Gongora. Don Felix did not appear at all surprised at seeing him; on the contrary, he advanced hurriedly towards him.
"Return to your ambush, Colonel," he said, "you know that there is an eye in every leaf. If I am seen alone on the road my presence will arouse no suspicions; but you, Cuerpo de Cristo! You must not be seen. We can converse equally well at a distance, as the ears able to overhear us are those of friends."
"You are always prudent, Don Felix."
"I, not at all; I merely wish to avenge myself on those bandits who have plundered so many magnificent haciendas, and hatred renders a man prudent."
"Whatever be the motive that impels you, it gives you good inspirations, that is the main point. But let us return to our business: what do you want with me?"
"Merely to know two things."
"What are they?"
"Whether General Rubio is really satisfied with the plan I submitted to him?"
"You have a proof of it before you; if he were not so, should I be here?"
"That is true."
"Now for the second."
"That is of an extremely delicate nature."
"Ah, ah! You pique my curiosity," the Colonel said, laughingly.
Don Felix frowned and lowered his voice, as it were involuntarily.
"It is very serious, Don Juan," he continued; "I wish, before the battle, to know if you have retained towards me that esteem and friendship with which you deigned to honour me at the Larch-tree hacienda?"
The Colonel turned away in embarrassment.
"Why ask that question at this moment?" he remarked.
Don Felix turned pale and fixed a flashing glance upon him.
"Answer me, I implore yon, Don Juan," he said, pressingly. "Whatever you may think, whatever opinion you may have of me, I wish to know it; it must be so."
"Do not press me, I beg, Don Felix. What can you care for any opinion I may have, which is isolated and unimportant?"
"What can I care, do you ask?" he exclaimed, hotly; "but it is, indeed, useless to press you farther, for I know all I wish to know. Thank you, Don Juan, I ask no more. When a man of so noble a character and such a loyal heart as yours condemns the conduct of another man, it is because that conduct is really blameable."
"Well, be it so; since you absolutely insist, I will explain my views, Don Felix. Yes, I blame but do not condemn you, for I cannot and will not be your judge. Don Felix, I am internally convinced in my soul and conscience that the man who makes himself, no matter the motive that impels him, the agent of treachery, commits worse than a crime, for he is guilty of an act of cowardice! Such a man I can pity, but no longer esteem."
The ex-Mayor-domo listened to these harsh words with a forehead dripping with perspiration, but with head erect and eye sparkling with a gloomy fire. When the officer stopped he bowed coldly and took the hand which Don Juan did not attempt to draw from his grasp.
"It is well," he said; "your words are rude, but they are true. I thank you for your frankness, Don Juan; I know now what remains for me to do."
The Colonel, who had involuntarily allowed his feelings of the moment to carry him away, fancied that he had gone too far, and was alarmed at the consequences of his imprudence.
"Don Felix," he added, "forgive me; I spoke to you like a madman."
"Come, come, Don Juan," he replied, with a bitter smile, "do not attempt to recall your words, you were but the echo of my conscience; what you have said aloud my heart has often whispered to me. Fear not that I shall let myself be overcome by a passing feeling of passion. No! I am one of those men who, when they have once entered a path, persevere in it at all hazards. But enough of this; I notice a dust, which probably announces our friends," he added, with a poignant irony. "Farewell, Don Juan, farewell."
And, not waiting for the answer Don Juan was preparing to give him, Don Felix spurred his horse, turned hastily round, and went off as rapidly as he had come. The Colonel looked after him for a moment thoughtfully.
"Alas!" he muttered, "that man is now more unhappy than culpable, or I am greatly mistaken; if he be not killed today it will not be for want of seeking death."
He then buried himself again in the chaparral with a melancholy shake of his head. In the meanwhile, the Texan army rapidly advanced; like the Mexicans, each mounted man had a foot soldier behind him. At about a gunshot from the cross roads, the Texans came upon the edge of the trembling prairie; they were consequently obliged to halt in order to call in their flankers, scattered on the right and left, which naturally produced a momentary disorder, promptly repaired, however, by the activity of the chief, then they started again.
The order of march was necessarily altered, the path grew narrower at every step, and the cavalry were unable to keep their ranks any longer. However, from the moment of the start, the vanguard had not announced any danger. The army, trusting in the experience of the officer detached to clear the way, marched in perfect security, which was augmented by the hope of speedily reaching the mouth of the Rio Trinidad, and at once embarking for Galveston.
The Jaguar alone did not share the general confidence: accustomed for a long period to a war of ambushes, the ground he now trod seemed to him so suitable in every way for a surprise, that he could not persuade himself that they would reach the seashore without an attack. In a word, the young Chief had an intuition of approaching danger. He guessed it, felt it, so to speak, though he could not tell from what quarter it would come, and suddenly burst on his comrades and himself.
There is nothing so terrible as such a situation, where a man is obliged to stand on his defence against space. The desert tranquilly surrounds him on all sides, in vain does he interrogate the air and earth, to find a clue which constantly escapes him, and yet he has in his heart a certainty for which he finds it impossible to account! He can only answer questions with the enigmatical, though strictly logical phrase, "I do not know, and yet I am sure of it."
The Jaguar resolved, whatever the consequences might be, to avoid personally a surprise, whose results would be disastrous to those he had vowed to protect and defend, that is to say, to Tranquil and Carmela. Gradually slackening the pace of his detachment, he succeeded in leaving a sufficiently wide distance between himself and the main body, to regain almost entirely his liberty of action. His first care was to collect round the cart the men in whom he placed most confidence. Then selecting those of his comrades whom he supposed most conversant with Indian tricks, he placed them under the command of John Davis, with orders to force their way, as well as they could, through the chaparral that skirted both sides of the track, and enclosed it so completely, that it was impossible to see anything beyond.
It could not enter the Jaguar's mind that the Mexicans would not profit by the opportunity offered them by the imprudence of the Texans, to try and take their revenge for the defeats they had suffered. In this view he was entirely supported by Davis, who, it will be remembered, had urgently, though vainly, begged the Commander-in-Chief to give up his plan. The two men, who had been so long acquainted, understood each other at the first word, and John Davis immediately spread out his men, as a forlorn hope, on either side of the road. The Jaguar proceeded to the cart after this, and addressed the hunter.
"Well, Tranquil," he said to him, "how do you find yourself?"
"Better," the other answered; "I hope within a few days to be sufficiently recovered to give up this wearisome position."
"And your strength?"
"Is rapidly returning."
"All the better. Would you be capable of firing in your own defence, without leaving the cart?"
"I think so. But do you fear any trap? The spot where we now are, appears most favourable for it."
"Does it not! Well, you have spoken the truth, I fear an ambuscade. Here is a rifle, and if needs must, make use of it."
"Trust to me. Thanks," he added, as he clutched the weapon with a delight he did not attempt to conceal.
The Jaguar then placed himself at the head of his troop, and gave orders to set out again. Long before this, the main body of the army had passed the cross, the heads of the columns were already entering the defile, a movement which, owing to the narrowness, produced some disorder the leaders were trying to repress, when suddenly a shower of canister burst from the Cerro Pardo, and made wide gaps in the crowded ranks of the Texans. At the same instant a terrible, shout was heard from the other end of the gorge, and Don Felix Paz' cuadrilla appeared galloping at full speed toward the main body.
At the first moment the Texans had to make way for these horsemen, whom they supposed to be closely pursued by a still invisible enemy; but their surprise changed into terror and stupor when they saw this vanguard dash at them and mercilessly sabre them with shouts of "Mejico! Mejico! Federación!"
The Texans were betrayed! Suffering from a terror that almost attained to madness, unable to form in this limited spot, decimated by the canister incessantly discharged at them, and sabred by Don Felix' cuadrilla, they had but one thought—that of flight. But at the moment when they tried to turn, the terrible cry of "Mejico! Mejico! mueran los rebeldes!" resounded like a funeral knell in their rear, and Colonel Melendez, at the head of his five hundred horses, dashed at the Texans, who were thus caught between two fires.
The medley then assumed the fearful proportions of one of those mediæval butcheries in which man, having attained the paroxysm of fury, intoxicated by the sharp smell of blood, the powder, smoke, and the din of battle, kills for the sake of killing with the pleasure of a wild beast, growing excited by the massacre of every victim that falls, and far from satiating his hatred, finds it increase in proportion to the corpses piled up on the blood-stained ground.
Flight was impossible, and resistance seemed the same. At this supreme hour, when all appeared lost and the cause of liberty was about to be eternally buried under the pile of corpses, an irresistible movement suddenly took place in the terrified crowd, which opened like a ripe fruit through the bloody track thus made by main force. The Jaguar now dashed forward, splendid in his wrath and despair, brandishing his machete above his head, and followed by his brave cuadrilla. A cry of delight saluted the arrival of the daring freebooter, who had been obliged to cut his way through Colonel Melendez' Mexicans, as they vainly strove to stop his passage.
"My lads!" the Jaguar shouted, in a voice that rose above the din of battle, "We are surrounded by the enemy, and have been betrayed and led into a trap by a coward. Let us show these Mexicans, who believe us already conquered, and are congratulating themselves on their easy victory, what men like ourselves are capable of. Follow me—forward! Forward!"
"Forward!" the Texans vociferated, electrified by these daring words.
The Jaguar made his horse bound, and dashed at the side of the mountain. His military instinct had not deserted him, for that was, in fact, the key of the battle. The Texans rushed after him, brandishing their weapons and uttering yells of fury. But at this moment the troops of General Rubio made their appearance, who had hitherto remained ambushed behind the trees and bushes; they crowned the heights, lined the sides of the road, and the fight began again more terrible and obstinate than before. The efforts were useless; the Texans returned eight times to the assault of the Cerro Pardo, and eight times were driven back in disorder to the foot of the mountain, which they were unable to scale.
In vain did the Jaguar, Davis, Fray Antonio, El Alferez, and the other Chiefs perform prodigies of valour; the Mexican bullets decimated their soldiers, who at length growing discouraged, refused any longer to continue an impossible contest. The Commander-in-Chief of the army, who by his imprudence had caused this grave disaster, resolved to make a final and supreme effort. Collecting around him all the willing men who still attempted resistance, he formed them into a column of attack, and dashed like a whirlwind at the Mexican guns, the artillerymen of which were cut down without yielding an inch. Surprised by this sudden and furious charge, the Mexicans broke and abandoned the battery; this audacious attempt might change the issue of the battle. Already the Texans, who were almost masters of the plateau, were preparing to take advantage of this fortuitous and unhoped-for success; but unfortunately, the revolutionary army, nearly entirely demoralized, did not support with the necessary vigour the heroic effort of these few chosen braves; the Mexicans had time to recover from their surprise and compare their strength with that of their foes. Ashamed at the check they had suffered, they rushed upon the enemy, and after a frightful hand-to-hand fight, they succeeded in driving the Texans from the plateau at the moment when the latter formed hopes of holding it.
Colonel Melendez and Don Felix Paz had at length effected their junction; the Texans had not even the possibility of flight left them, but the Jaguar did not yet despair; still, since he could no longer conquer, he would at least save Carmela. But between her and him stood a human wall, through which he must clear a road. The young man did not hesitate; turning like a wounded lion, he bounded into the midst of the enemy's ranks, summoning his comrades, and waving round his head the terrible machete he had employed so well during the action. A man boldly rushed to meet him with uplifted sabre.
"Ah! the traitor Don Felix!" the Jaguar shouted, on recognising him, and split his skull open.
Then he rushed like an avalanche down the mountain side, overthrowing every one he came across; and followed by a few of his most devoted companions, the ranks of the Mexicans opened to let them pass.
"Thanks, brother," the Jaguar shouted with considerable emotion to Colonel Melendez, who had given his soldiers a sign to let him pass.
The Colonel turned away and made no answer. The carnage lasted a long time yet, as the Texans would not accept quarter. Six hundred Texans fell into the hands of the victors, while eight hundred found death on the field of battle.
The same evening General Rubio re-entered Galveston at the head of his victorious army; the insurrectionists fled in terror in all directions, without hope of ever again collecting. The cause of Texan liberty seemed lost for a long time, if not for ever.
The Jaguar, on reaching the cross roads, found the cart smashed, and most of its defenders lying dead on the ground. Singular to say, they had all been scalped. Tranquil, Quoniam, Carmela, and Lanzi had disappeared. What terrible drama could have been performed at this spot?
Texas is intersected by two lines of continuous forests, which run from the north, near the sources of the Rio Trinidad to the Arkansas river. These forests are called the "Cross Timbers;" behind them commence the immense prairies of Apacheria, on which countless herds of buffaloes and wild horses wander about at liberty.
In the centre of a narrow valley, enclosed on three sides by the denuded and serrated crests of the mountains—and on the banks of the Rio Sabina, a little above its confluence with the Vermejo, where it still flows wide and transparent between undulating banks, bordered by clumps of cotton-wood trees and dwarf palms—an Indian village was deliciously scattered among the trees. The latter formed a dense dome of foliage over the callis, which they sheltered from the hot beams of the southern sun, and protected from the cold gusts which at times descend from the mountains in the winter season. This village was a winter atepetl of the Comanche Indians, belonging to the Antelope tribe. We will describe in a few words this village, where several important scenes connected with our narrative will take place.
Although, built to the fancy of the Redskins, the callis affected a certain regularity of construction, as they all converged on a common point, which formed a species of grand square in the heart of the village. In the centre of this square could be seen a large unhooped barrel, deeply buried in the ground, and covered with lichens and stonecrop. It was the "ark of the first man." It was here that the war stake was planted before the great medicine lodge; and here, under grave circumstances, the Sachems lit the council fire, and smoked the sacred calumet ordinarily placed before the entrance of the calli of the chief Sachem, and supported on two forked sticks, as it must never touch the ground.
The Indian callis are generally constructed in a spherical shape, built on piles covered with mud, over which buffalo hides sewn together, and displaying numerous pictures of animals painted in vermilion, are thrown. On a scaffolding standing in front of the calli, Indian corn, forage for the horses, and the winter provisions of each inhabitant were stored. At intervals could be seen tall poles, from which waved, at the slightest breath of air, blankets, harness, and fragments of stuffs of every description, the homage raised by the superstitious Redskins to the Master of Life, a species ofex vototorn from them by their fears, and named the "Medicine of Hope."
The village, excepting on the side turned to the Sabina river, was surrounded by a strong palisade about fifteen feet high, made of enormous trunks of trees, fastened together with strips of bark and wooden cramp hooks. At about five or, six hundred yards from the atepetl was the cemetery, the exhalations from which, by disagreeably affecting the traveller's sense of smell, advised him that he was approaching an Indian tribe. The natives of America, like most of those in Polynesia, have a very singular mode of burial. As a general rule, they do not inter their dead, but suspend them between earth and sky. After wrapping them carefully in blankets and buffalo robes, they place them on platforms supported on four poles some fifty feet high, and leave them exposed to the rain and sun to decompose gradually. The birds of prey incessantly hover over these strange tombs, uttering shrill and discordant cries, while making a disgusting meal on the putrefying flesh.
Two months after the battle of the Cerro Pardo, on the day when we resume our narrative, and about an hour before sunset, on a delicious afternoon of September,—which the Indians call the Moon of the Wild Oats—several riders, mounted on fiery mustangs, harnessed in the desert fashion, that is to say, painted of several colours, and adorned with plumes and bells, were following, while conversing together rather eagerly, a winding path, which runs for several leagues along the winding course of the Rio Sabina, and terminates at the winter atepetl of the Antelope Comanches, which we described at the beginning of this chapter.
These horsemen, five in number, were armed with rifles, tomahawks, and machetes. They wore the cotton hunting shirt of the wood rangers fastened round the waist,mitasses, or trousers, in two pieces tied at the ankles, fur caps, and Indian mocassins. Still, although this costume was almost identical with that worn by the majority of the Indian tribes, in whom constant contact with the Americans has produced a sort of bastard civilization, it was easy to recognise these riders as white men, not only through the ease of their manners, but also through the clearness of their complexion, which the hot sunbeams had been impotent to render so dusky as that of the aboriginals.
About two hundred yards behind the horsemen, came a sixth, mounted and dressed like them, but who was assuredly a Redskin. His head, instead of being covered by a fur cap, was bare; his hair, pulled up at the top of his head, and stained with red ochre, was fastened with strips of snakeskin; a falcon feather stuck in above his right ear, near his war-scalp lock, indicated his claim to high rank among his countrymen, while the numerous wolf tails fastened to his heels, proved that he was a renowned warrior; in his right hand he held a fan made of the entire wing of an eagle, and in his left he waved the short-handled and long-lashed whip, peculiar to the Comanche and Sioux Indians.
These riders employed none of the precautions usual on the prairie to avoid surprises, or foil the enemies generally ambushed in the track of hunters. From the way in which they conversed together, and the absent glances they at times took across the country, rather through habit than any prudential motive, it might easily be guessed that these men were reaching a spot perfectly well known to them, and where they felt certain of not falling into a trap. Still, had they not been absorbed in their conversation, and could their glances have pierced the dense curtain of verdure that formed a fragrant wall on their right, they would have seen amid the shrubs and lower branches of the trees an agitation not at all natural, and doubtless produced by the passage of a wild beast; at times, too, they might have noticed two eyes flashing among the leaves, which were fixed upon them with a savage expression of passion and hatred.
But, we repeat, these men, who, however, were wood rangers, renowned in these parts for their almost miraculous sagacity and skill, were so completely absorbed in their conversation; they felt so sure of having no snare to apprehend, their eyes and ears were so thoroughly closed, that they appeared blind and deaf, although ordinarily not the slightest noise, or the most futile object escaped their notice, but was analyzed with the searching and investigating spirit of individuals whose life may hang on a false step or a badly calculated movement.
On coming within pistol shot of the village, the horsemen stopped to give the Indian behind them time to rejoin them. So soon as the latter perceived this halt, he whipped his horse, and almost immediately ranged up alongside his comrades. He stopped his horse, and waited silently and calmly till he should be addressed.
"What are we to do now, Chief?" one of the travellers asked. "So soon as we have passed that projecting point we shall be at the valley."
"Our Pale brothers are brave; the Antelope Comanches will be happy to receive them and burn powder in their honour. A Chief will go alone to the village to announce their arrival to the Sachems."
"Go then, Chief, we will await you here."
"Wah! My brother has spoken well."
The Indian vigorously lashed his horse, which bounded ahead and speedily disappeared behind the peak to which the hunter had pointed. The horsemen drew up in line and waited motionless with their hands on their weapons. In a very few minutes a noise was heard resembling the rolling of thunder, and suddenly a crowd of mounted Indians appeared, coming up at full speed, brandishing their weapons, discharging their guns, howling and whistling in the longiskochéttasmade of human thigh bones, which they wore hanging from their necks.
On their side, the hunters, at a sign from the man who appeared to be their leader, made their horses curvet, and discharged their weapons with repeated shouts and demonstrations of joy. For half an hour there was a deafening noise, augmented by the yells of the squaws and children who flocked up, blowing shells and rattlingchichikouès, and the barking of the thousands of savage and half-tamed dogs which the Indians constantly take about with them. It was plain that the strangers to whom the Redskins, generally so haughty and retiring, offered so warm and friendly a reception, were great friends of the tribe; for, had it been otherwise, a deputation of Chiefs would have met them at the entrance of the village to do them the honours of the atepetl, but the brave and renowned warriors would not have thought it requisite to get under arms.
All at once the noise ceased as if by enchantment, and the Indian horsemen ranged themselves in a semicircle in front of the white hunters. A few paces before the line, four principal Chiefs, mounted on magnificent mustangs, formed a separate group. These warriors, completely armed and painted for war, wore the great cap of feathers which only renowned warriors who have raised many scalps are entitled to assume; their shoulders were decked with superb necklaces of grizzly bears' claws, five inches long and white at the tips; behind them floated the wide white buffalo robe, painted red inside, and on which their exploits were designed; in one hand they held their guns, in the other a fan made of the wing of a white-headed eagle. These Indian warriors, clothed in such a magnificent costume, had something majestic and imposing about them that inspired respect.
For some ten minutes the Indians and hunters stood thus, motionless and silent, in presence of each other, when suddenly a fresh horseman appeared, coming at full speed from the village. He was evidently a white man; he was dressed in the garb of a wood ranger, and two magnificentrastreros, or greyhounds, leaped up playfully on either side of his horse. At the appearance of the newcomer the Indians burst into yells of joy, and shouted—
"The great brave of the Antelope Comanches! Loyal Heart, Loyal Heart!"
The warrior was really the Mexican hunter, who has already made his appearance several times during the course of our narrative. He saluted the warriors by a wave of the hand, and took his place among the Chiefs, who respectfully made way for him.
"My brother Black-deer has informed me of the arrival of great friends of our nation," he said, "and I have hurried up in all haste to witness their reception and bid them welcome."
"Why has not the Black-deer accompanied our brother the great Brave of the tribe?" one of the Chiefs asked.
"The Sachem wished to remain in the village and watch the preparation of the medicine lodge."
The Chief bowed, but said nothing further. Loyal Heart then put his horse at a gallop and advanced toward the hunters, who, on their sides, made a move to meet him.
"You are welcome here, Tranquil," Loyal Heart said; "yourself and your comrades were impatiently expected."
"Thank you," Tranquil answered, pressing the hand the hunter offered him; "many events have happened since our separation, and it certainly did not depend on us that we did not arrive sooner."
The five white hunters were all old acquaintances—Tranquil, Lanzi, Quoniam, John Davis, and Fray Antonio. How was it that the American and the Monk had joined the three wood rangers! We shall explain that to the reader in the proper place. Loyal Heart took Tranquil's right hand, and both advanced at an amble towards the Chiefs.
"Sachems of the Antelope tribe," he said, "this Pale hunter is my brother; his heart is good, his arm strong, and his tongue is not forked; he loves the red men; he is renowned as a great brave in his nation, he is wise at the council fire; love him, for the Master of Life sustains him and has removed the skin from his heart, in order that his blood may be pure and the words he utters such as a wise warrior ought to pronounce."
"Wah!" one of the Sachems answered, with a graceful bow to the hunter; "the Comanches are great warriors; who can tell the extent of the hunting grounds the great spirit has given them? They are the masters of the red man because they are all great braves, whose heels are adorned with numerous wolf tails. My Pale brother and his warriors will enter the atepetl; they will receive callis, horses, and squaws to clean their arms and prepare their food, and the tribe of Antelope Comanches will count five braves more. I have spoken; have I said right, powerful Chiefs?"
"Chief," Tranquil replied, "I thank you for the hearty reception you are pleased to offer me. My brother, Loyal Heart, has told you the truth about my feelings towards your nation. I love the Red men, and especially the Comanches, who, of all the nations dwelling on the prairies, are the noblest and most courageous, and rightly call themselves the Queen Nation of the prairies, because their war horses and braves traverse it in all directions, and no one dares to oppose them. In my own name and that of my comrades I accept your frank and cordial hospitality, and we shall requite so great a favour by our wise and moderate conduct."
The principal Sachem then took off his buffalo robe, with a gesture full of dignity, and placed it on the shoulders of the hunter, while the other Chiefs did the same to his comrades.
"Warriors and braves of the powerful Antelope tribe," he said, turning to the Indians, who were still motionless and silent, "these Palefaces are henceforth our brothers. Woe to the man who insults them!"
At these words the shouts and yells recommenced with fresh vigour, and the Indians displayed signs of the liveliest joy. Possibly this joy was not so real as it appeared, and was not equally shared by all present. But those who might feel annoyed at the admission of the wood rangers into the tribe, carefully concealed their displeasure, and were, perhaps, the very men whose demonstrations of delight were the most vociferous.
Indian policy, very logical in this as in many other things, orders the natives to seek at any price an alliance with the whites, whose recognized skill in the management of arms, and profound knowledge of the manners of their countrymen, may at a given moment be of great service to the Indians, either in the interminable wars they wage against each other, or to defend them against the soldiers,civicos, and armed colonists, whom the civilized governments surrounding them frequently send to take vengeance for incursions on the territories of the White men, incursions in which the Indians indulge only too frequently, and during which they are guilty of deeds of unheard-of cruelty, and cause irreparable misfortunes.
After the final ceremony we have described, the Indian Sachems took the White hunters in their midst, and placing themselves at the head of their warriors, started at a gallop for the village, which they reached in less than a quarter of an hour. At the entrance Black-deer was waiting for them, surrounded by the most important and wisest Sachems of the tribe. Without uttering a syllable, he took the head of the column and led it to the centre of the village, near the Ark of the first man. On reaching it the Indians suddenly halted, as if the feet of their horses were imbedded in the ground. Black-deer then stationed himself at the doorway of the medicine lodge, between the hachesto, who held in his hand the totem of the tribe, and the pipe bearer, who supported the sacred calumet.
"Who are the Pale men who thus enter as friends the atepetl of the Antelope Comanches?" he asked, addressing Loyal Heart.
"They are brothers, who ask leave to sit by the hearth of the Red men," the latter answered.
"It is well," Black-deer continued; "these men are our brothers. The Council fire is lighted; they will enter with us the lodge of the Great Medicine, sit down by the fire and smokemoricheefrom the sacred calumet with the Sachems of the nation."
"Let it be as my brother has decided," Loyal Heart responded.
Black-deer gave a wave of the hand, upon which the hachesto raised the curtained door of the lodge, and the Chiefs entered, followed by the hunters. The medicine lodge, much larger than the other callis of the village, was also built with greater care. The buffalo skins that covered it entirely were painted red with a profusion of black designs, a species of sacred hieroglyphics, only understood by the medicine men and the most renowned Sachems of the tribe, who possessed the scent of the war trail. The interior of the lodge was perfectly empty. In the centre was a round hole dug in the earth to a depth of about two feet; in this hole the requisite wood and charcoal were prepared.
When all the Chiefs had entered the lodge, the hachesto let the curtain fall again that formed the entrance. A band of picked warriors immediately surrounded the lodge to keep off the curious, and insure the secrecy of the deliberations. The Indians are excessively strict about the laws of etiquette; with them everything is regulated with a minuteness we should be far from expecting among a semi-barbarous nation; and each is bound by the severest penalties to conform to the ceremonial. In order to make our readers thoroughly understand their strange manners, we thought it best to give them in their fullest detail.
Thus Black-deer was perfectly well aware who the Palefaces were that reached the village, since he had acted as their guide. But etiquette demanded that he should receive them as he had done, for otherwise the other Chiefs might have been scandalized by such a breach of custom, and the strangers would, in all probability, have questions to discuss. In the first place, it was proposed to organise a great expedition against the Buffalo Apaches, a plundering tribe, who had several times stolen horses from the very villages of the Comanches, and on whom the Sachems desired to take exemplary revenge. Secondly, Tranquil, through the medium of Loyal Heart, whose influence was great with the tribe, requested that a band of picked braves, amounting to fifty, and placed under the command of Loyal Heart, should be entrusted to him for an expedition, the object of which he could not divulge at the moment, but its success would benefit his allies as much as himself.
The first question was, after several speeches, unanimously resolved in the affirmative. The council was proceeding to discuss the second, when a loud noise was heard outside, the curtain of the medicine lodge was raised, and the hachesto walked in. Let us shortly explain what the hachesto of an Indian village is, and the nature of his duties. The hachesto is a man who must be gifted with a loud and powerful voice. He represents among the Redskins the town crier, and his duty is to make news public, and convene the Chiefs to council. When he made his appearance in the lodge, Black-deer gave him an angry glance.
"When the Chiefs are assembled in the Medicine lodge, they must not be disturbed," he said to him.
"My father, Wah-Rush-a-Menec, speaks well," the Indian answered with a respectful bow; "his son knows it."
"Then, why has my son entered without the orders of the Sachems?"
"Because five warriors of the Buffalo Apaches have arrived at the village."
"Wah! And who is the brave that has made them prisoners? Why has he not taken their scalps? Does he prefer fastening them to the stake of torture?"
The hachesto shook his head.
"My father is mistaken," he said; "these warriors have not been made prisoners by any of our braves, they are free."
"Ooehst!" said Black-deer with a degree of surprise he could not entirely conceal; "How then did they enter the village?"
"Openly, in the sight of all; they call themselves ambassadors."
"Ambassadors! And who is the Chief that marches at their head?"
"Blue-fox."
"Blue-fox is a great brave. He is a terrible warrior in fight; his arm has raised many scalps belonging to my sons; his hand has robbed them of many horses. But his presence is disagreeable to the Comanches. What does he want?"
"To enter the Medicine lodge, and explain to the Sachems the mission with which he is entrusted."
"It is well," said Black-deer, giving an enquiring glance to the members of the council.
The latter replied by a nod of assent. Loyal Heart rose—
"My Pale brothers, I must not be present at the deliberation that is about to take place," he remarked; "will the Chief permit me to retire?"
"Loyal Heart is a son of the Comanches," Black-deer answered; "his place is among us, for, if he be young in years, his experience and wisdom are great. But he can do as he pleases—the Pale hunters can retire. If the Chiefs require Loyal Heart, they will request his return."
The young man bowed ceremoniously, and withdrew, followed by the hunters, who, we must confess, were delighted at getting away from the Medicine lodge, for they felt the need of rest after the fatigue they had undergone in making a long journey by almost impracticable roads.
We have said that some callis had been got ready for the hunters. These callis, built like those of the Indians, were, however, comfortable enough for men who, accustomed to desert life, despise the superfluities of towns, and are contented with what is strictly necessary. On quitting the Medicine lodge, Loyal Heart led the travellers to two callis communicating with each other; then, making Tranquil a sign to follow him, he left the four hunters to make themselves as jolly as they could.
"As for you, my friend," he said to Tigrero, "I hope you will accept the hospitality my modest abode permits me to offer you."
"Why put yourself to trouble for me?" the Canadian replied, "the slightest thing suffices me. I assure you that I should be all right with my comrades."
"I do not put myself out at all; on the contrary, I feel a real pleasure in giving you a place at my fireside."
"As it is so, I no longer insist: do what you please with me."
"Thanks! Come on then."
Without further remark, they crossed the village square, which was almost deserted at this moment, for night had fallen some time previously, and most of the Indians had retired to their wigwams. Still, from the interior of the callis, songs and laughter could be heard, proving that if the inhabitants had shut themselves up, they were not the less awake for all that. We will remark in passing, that many travellers who have only seen Indians, and have not been in a position to study their character, represent them as gloomy, mournful men, speaking but little, and never laughing. This is a grave error; the Redskins, on the contrary, are generally very jovial when together, and are specially fond of telling stories. But with the strangers, whose language they do not understand, and who do not understand theirs, they maintain a reserve, and only speak when absolutely compelled, because, as they are extremely susceptible, they fear giving their listeners an opportunity of ridiculing them.
Loyal Heart, after walking for some minutes through the streets, stopped before a calli of sufficiently singular appearance to surprise Tranquil, although he was not easily astonished. This calli, which anywhere else would have been quite commonplace, justly appeared strange in an Indian village. It was a rather large rancho, built in the Mexican fashion, of planks painted of a dazzling whiteness. It formed a parallelogram, the roof was flat, and in front of the door was a porch formed of six enormous trees fastened together, and covered with an azotea. On either side the door, three windows were pierced in the frontage, and these windows had glass panes, a most singular thing at a spot so remote from all towns.
A man of about fifty years of age, tall and thin, and dressed in the Mexican garb, was smoking a cigarette as he sat on an equipal in the porch. This man, whose hair was turning grey, had the placid though resolute look of men who have suffered greatly. On seeing him, the rastreros, which hitherto had not left Loyal Heart a yard, rushed toward him with a joyous bark, and leaped up at him caressingly.
"Ah," the man said, as he rose and bowed respectfully to the hunter, "it is you, mi amo! You return home very late."
These words were uttered in that affectionate tone which is so pleasing in the mouth of an old and faithful servant.
"That is true, No Eusebio," the young man answered with a smile, as he squeezed the hand of the old man, whom those of our readers who have perused the "Trappers of Arkansas" have doubtless recognised, "I bring a friend."
"He is welcome," No Eusebio answered; "we will try to give him as hearty a welcome as he deserves, to the best of our ability."
"Oh, oh, gossip!" Tranquil remarked, gaily; "I am no troublesome guest, I shall not put you out of your way much."
"Come in, my friend," said Loyal Heart; "I should not like to keep my mother waiting any longer."
"The Señora is so restless when you are out late."
"Announce us; No Eusebio, we follow you."
The servant turned to obey, but the rastreros had long ago announced the hunter's return to his mother, by rushing madly into the house, hence the lady appeared in the doorway at the moment when the three men prepared to enter. At the moment when we meet Doña Garillas again, she was no longer the young and charming woman, with such pure and soft beauty, whom we saw in the prologue of the "Trappers;" eight years had pasted over her; eight long years of agony, alarm, and grief. She was still young and lovely, it is true, but this beauty had ripened beneath the burning blast of adversity. Her pale forehead and calm features won that expression of crushing resignation which the old sculptor succeeded in rendering on the admirable bust of Melancholy. When she saw her son her eyes sparkled, but that was all.
"Caballero," she said, in a gentle and melodious voice as she smiled on the Canadian, "enter this modest abode, where you have been impatiently expected for a long time. Although our hearth be small, we always keep a nook for a friend."
"Señora," the hunter replied with a bow, "your reception overcomes me with joy. I trust I shall prove deserving of the kindness you show me."
They entered the rancho, whose interior corresponded exactly with the exterior. A candil, suspended from a beam, illumined a rather large room, the furniture of which consisted merely of a few equipals, two butacas, and a chiffonier, all clumsily made with the hatchet. On the white-washed walls hung four of those coloured engravings with which Parisian commerce inundates both hemispheres. The first represented Napoleon at the St. Bernard; the second, Iturbide, that Mexican general who was for six months emperor, and died, like Murat, shot by his own subjects; the third, our Saviour on the cross between the two thieves; and the fourth, Nuestra-Señora-de-los-Dolores. Before the last two hung lamps that burned night and day.
During our lengthened wanderings we have been enabled to discover a singular fact; it is, that in Asia, America, Africa, and the heart of Polynesia, among the most savage tribes the name of Napoleon the First has not only penetrated, but is venerated like a god; and I even found his portrait among the Botocudos, that untameable horde hidden in the forests of Brazil. What is the magic influence exerted on humanity by this extraordinary man? It is vain to seek the solution of this problem, vain to try to discover by what remarkable concourse of events the name of the great Emperor penetrated beneath the grand domes of foliage, where all the rumours of civilization expire without an echo.
A European rarely visits an Indian tribe in which the Chiefs do not ask him news of Napoleon, and beg him to tell anecdotes about his reign; and strangely enough, their primitive natures will not allow that the great man is dead. When told so, the Chiefs content themselves with smiling cunningly. One day, after a lengthened hunt in Apacheria, I demanded hospitality of a party of Opata Indians. The Chief, on hearing that I was a Frenchman, did not fail to speak to me about the Emperor. After a long conversation, I concluded by describing, in a way that the men who surrounded and listened to me with the most profound attention could understand, the death of the great man after long and painful sufferings. The Chief, an old man of venerable appearance, interrupted me, and laying his left hand on my arm to attract my attention, while with the right he pointed to the sun, whose fiery disc was sinking in the horizon in clouds of vapour, asked me with a most significant smile—
"Is the sun about to die?"
"Certainly not," I answered, not knowing what the Redskin was driving at.
"Wah!" he continued, "If the sun never dies, how can the great pale Chief be dead, who is the son of that planet?"
The Indians applauded this conclusion; I tried to alter their opinion in vain, and at length grew so tired, that I allowed them to be right. All my efforts had only produced the result of convincing them still more of the immortality of the hero whom they are accustomed to regard as a divinity. However, I believe that if a person would take the trouble to seek carefully, he would find in France peasants whose opinion is precisely similar. Asking the reader's pardon for this long digression, we will resume our narrative at the point where we interrupted it.
By the care of Doña Garillas and No Eusebio, a frugal meal was prepared for the travellers, who now sate down to table. Tranquil, especially, who had made a long journey, experienced that feeling of internal comfort which is produced after long fatigue, by finding, during a desert halt, a fugitive reflex of civilisation.
The meal was most simple; it consisted of pigoles with pimento, a lump of venison, and maize tortillas, the whole washed down with smilax water and a few mouthfuls of pulque, a wonderful luxury in these regions, and among the Comanches, the only Indians who never drink strong liquors. No Eusebio sate down with the hunter. The lady waited on them, and did the honours of her house with that kindly and graceful attention so rarely met with in our civilized countries, where everything is so expensive, even a kind reception. When the meal was ended, which was not long first, the three men rose from table and seated themselves round a copper brasero full of hot ashes, when they began smoking. The dogs, like vigilant sentries, had lain down across the door, with outstretched heads and pricked-up ears.
The greatest silence prevailed in the village; the songs and laughter had gradually died out; the Indians were asleep or appeared to be so. Doña Garillas had made in the corner of the room a bed of furs, which would seem delicious to a man accustomed, during the course of his adventurous life, to sleep most nights on the bare ground, and she was about to invite the hunter to rest his weary limbs, when the dogs raised their heads sharply and began growling; at the same instant, two slight taps were given on the door of the rancho.
"Tis a friend," Loyal Heart said; "open, no Eusebio."
The old servant obeyed, and an Indian stalked in; it was Black-deer. The Chiefs face was gloomy; he bowed slightly to the company, and, without saying a syllable, sat down on an equipal placed for him near the brasero. The hunters were too conversant with the Indian character to question the Chief, so long as he was pleased to keep silence. Tranquil, however, drew his pipe from his lips, and handed it to Black-deer, who began smoking, after thanking him with one of those emphatic gestures usual with the Redskins. There was a long silence, but at last the Chief raised his head.
"The Chiefs have left the Council lodge," he said.
"Ah!" Loyal Heart replied, for the sake of saying something.
"No determination was formed, no answer given the Envoy?"
"The Sachems are prudent, they wished to reflect."
The Sachem nodded in affirmation,
"Does my brother Loyal Heart wish to learn what happened at the Council after his departure?" he asked.
"My brother is thoughtful, his heart is sad; let him speak, the ears of a friend are open."
"The Chief will eat first," Doña Garillas remarked, "he remained late at the Council; the squaws have not prepared his evening meal."
"My mother is good," he replied with a smile, "Black-deer will eat; he is here in the wigwam of the brother of his heart: the warriors have exchanged horses and weapons."
Who taught the Indians this affecting custom, which makes them select a friend, with whom they exchange arms and horses, and who, from that moment, is dearer to them than if blood ties attached them? Black-deer and Loyal Heart had really made the exchange referred to by the Sachem.
"My mother will retire to sleep," said Loyal Heart. "I will wait on my brother."
"Be it so," the Redskin answered; "my mother needs rest—the night is advanced."
Doña Garillas understood that the three men had to talk about secret affairs, so, after bidding her guests good-night, she withdrew without offering any objection. As for No Eusebio, considering his presence unnecessary, he went to bed after the Indian's arrival, that is to say, lay down on a hammock, suspended in the porch of the house, with the two rastreros at his feet, so that no one could enter or leave the house without awakening him. After hurriedly eating a few mouthfuls, rather through politeness than want, Black-deer spoke again.
"My brother Loyal Heart is young," he said, "but his wisdom is great; the Chiefs have confidence in him, and would not decide anything till they had heard his opinion."
"My brothers know that I am devoted to them. If my brother will explain, I will answer him."
"Blue Fox arrived at the village today."
"I saw him."
"Good; he came on the part of the Chiefs of his nation; Blue-fox has put on the skin of the timid asshatas, his words are gentle and his mouth distils honey; but the buffalo cannot leap like the elk, or the hawk imitate the dove. The Chiefs did not put faith in his words."
"Then they answered him in the negative?"
"No, they wished first to consult my brother."
"Wah! On what subject?"
"My brother will listen. The Palefaces on the other side of the Meche-chebe dug up the war hatchet against each other some moons ago, as my brother is aware."
"I know it, Chief and so do you. But how does it concern us? A quarrel among the whites cannot affect us in any way. So long as they do not invade our hunting grounds, do not steal our horses or burn our villages, we can only congratulate ourselves at seeing them destroy each other."
"My brother speaks like a wise man; the Sachems are of the same opinion."
"Good; I cannot understand, then, what reason can have determined the Chiefs to discuss such a subject."
"Wah! My brother can speedily understand if he will listen."
"Chief, you Redskins have an unhappy knack of wrapping up your thoughts in so many words, that it is impossible to guess the point you are aiming at."
Black-deer broke into that silent laugh peculiar to Indians.
"My brother knows how to discover a trail better than anyone," he said.
"Certainly; but to do so I must be shown a footstep or trace, however feeble it may be."
"And my brother has discovered the trail, which I merely indicated to him?"
"Yes."
"Oh! I should be curious to know my brother's thoughts."
"Then, listen to me in your turn, Black-deer—I shall be brief. Blue Fox was sent by the Buffalo Apaches to the Antelope Comanches to propose to them an offensive and defensive alliance against one of the two nations of the Palefaces which have dug up the hatchet against each other."
In spite of all the phlegm which nature and Indian training had endowed him with, the Chief could not conceal the amazement he experienced on hearing these words.
"It is well," he said; "my brother is not only a great, brave, and daring warrior, but is also a man inspired by the Wacondah. His medicine is irresistible, he knows everything. Blue Fox made this proposition to the Sachems."
"And have they accepted it?"
"No; I repeat to my brother that they would not give any answer till they heard his opinion."
"Very good, then. This is my opinion, and the Chiefs can follow it or not, as they please. The Comanches nation are the Queen of the Prairies; the most invincible warriors assemble beneath its totem; its hunting ground extends over the whole earth; the Comanches alone are indomitable. Why should they ally themselves with the Apache thieves? Are they desirous of exchanging their lances and guns for weavers' shuttles? Are they tired of being redoubtable warriors? Do they wish to put on women's petticoats? Why should they league with their most obstinate enemies against men who are fighting to obtain their liberty? Blue Fox is a renegade from the Snake-Pawnees; my brother knows him, since he is his personal enemy. Any peace proposed by such an ambassador must conceal a trap; sooner war than such an alliance."
There was a rather lengthened silence, during which the Chief reflected deeply on what he had just heard.
"My brother is right," he said at last; "wisdom resides in him, his tongue is not forked, the words he utters are inspired by the Wacondah! The Comanches will not treat with the plundering Apaches. The council has asked for three suns to reflect on this grave question; in three suns Blue Fox will return with a categorical refusal to those who sent him. The Comanches will dig up the war hatchet sooner than ally themselves with their enemies."
"My brothers, if they do that, will act like wise men."
"They will do it. I have now to speak to my brother on a matter that interests me personally."
"Good. Sleep does not yet weigh down my eyelids, so I will listen to my brother.
"Loyal Heart is a friend of Blackbird," the Chief continued, with some hesitation.
The hunter smiled knowingly.
"Blackbird is one of the most renowned braves of the tribe," he answered; "his daughter, Bounding Fawn, will count fourteen autumns at the fall of the leaves."
"Black-deer loves Bounding Fawn."
"I know it; my brother has already confessed to me that the virgin of the first love placed, during his sleep, a four-leaved shamrock under his head. But has the Chief assured himself as to Bounding Fawn's feelings?"
"The young virgin smiles when the Chief returns from an expedition with scalps hanging from his girdle; she trembles when he departs; she feeds his horse in secret, and her greatest pleasure is to clean his weapons. When the maidens of the tribe dance at night to the sound of the drum and chichikouè, Bounding Fawn gazes thoughtfully in the direction of Black-deer's calli, and forgets to dance with her companions."
"Good! And does the maiden recognise the sound of my brother's war whistle, and run joyfully to the meeting the Chief grants her? Tonight, for instance, were the Chief to call her, would she rise from her bed to obey his summons?"
"She would rise," the Chief answered, laconically.
"Good! Now, what does the Chief wish to ask of me? Blackbird is rich."
"Black-deer will give six mares which have never felt a bit, two guns, and four hides of the white she-buffalo; tomorrow the Chief's mother will give them to my brother."
"Good. And does my brother intend to carry off the woman he loves this night?"
"Black-deer suffers from being so long separated from her; since the death of his well-beloved wife, Singing-bird, the Chief's calli is solitary. Bounding Fawn will prepare the venison for the Chief; what does my brother think of it?"
"My horse is ready; if my brother say yes, I will accompany him, if it be that he desires, as I suppose."
"Loyal Heart knows everything; nothing escapes his discernment."
"Let us go without loss of time. Will you accompany us, Tranquil? Two witnesses are required, as you are aware."
"I wish for nothing better, if my presence be not disagreeable to the Chief."
"On the contrary; the Pale hunter is a great brave. I shall be pleased to know that he is by my side."
The three men rose and quitted the house. No Eusebio raised his head.
"We shall return in an hour," Loyal Heart said, as he passed.
The old servant made no objection, and fell back in his hammock. The Chief's horse was tied up near the rancho; he leaped into the saddle and waited for the two hunters, who had gone to fetch theirs from the corral. In a few minutes they arrived. The three men slowly traversed the village, whose streets were completely deserted at this late hour of the night. At times, however, dogs got up as they passed, and barked furiously after their horses' heels. Like all the winter villages, this one was carefully guarded. Numerous sentries, placed at different points, watched over the common safety; but, either that they recognised the three horsemen, or for some other motive, they did not challenge, but allowed them to pass apparently unnoticed.
After leaving the village, Black-deer, who rode in front, made a sharp turn to the right, and the horsemen almost immediately disappeared in a thick chaparral, where men and horses concealed themselves with the utmost care. The night was magnificent, the sky studded with a profusion of glistening stars; the moon shed a pale and soft light, which, owing to the purity of the atmosphere, allowed objects to be distinguished for a great distance. A solemn silence brooded over the forest, and a gentle breeze sighed through the treetops.
Black-deer advanced to the edge of the covert, and, raising his fingers to his lips, imitated the cry of the raven thrice with such perfection, that the two hunters concealed in the rear looked up mechanically to discover the bird that uttered the note. A few minutes after, the cry of the Blue-jay, borne on the breeze expressed like a plaintive sigh on the ears of the attentive hunters. Black-deer repeated his signal. This time the note of the sparrowhawk was mingled almost instantaneously with that of the jay. The Indian started, and looked in the direction where his friends were concealed.
"Is my brother ready?" he said.
"I am," Loyal Heart simply answered.
Almost immediately, four riders could be seen leaving the village at a gallop, and advancing rapidly toward the spot where the Chief stood motionless. The rider who galloped at the head of the band was a woman; she made her horse bound with feverish impatience, and compelled it to gallop in a straight line, clearing all the obstacles that were in its way. The three other riders were about a bow-shot behind her. This race had something fantastic about it in the night, amidst this grand scenery. Bounding Fawn, for it was she, fell panting into Black-deer's arms.
"Here I am! Here I am!" she cried in a joyous voice, choked, however, by emotion.
The Indian pressed her lovingly to his wide chest, and lifting her from the ground with that irresistible strength that passion produces, he leaped with her on to his horse, into whose flank he dug his spurs, and started at full speed in the direction of the desert. At the same moment, the horsemen arrived, uttering yells of anger, and brandishing their weapons; but they found before them the two hunters, who resolutely barred their passage.
"Stay, Blackbird," Loyal Heart shouted; "your daughter belongs to my brother. Black-deer is a great Chief, his calli is lined with scalps—he is rich in horses, arms, and furs; Bounding Fawn will be thecihuatlof a great brave, whose medicine is powerful."
"Does Black-deer mean, then, to carry off my daughter?" Blackbird asked.
"He does mean it, and we his friends will defend him. Your daughter pleases him, and he will have her. In defiance of you, and all who may attempt to oppose it, he will take her as his wife."
"Wah!" the Indian said, turning to the horsemen who accompanied him, "My brothers have heard: what do they say?"
"We have heard," the Redskins answered; "we say that Black-deer is truly a great Chief, and since he is powerful enough to seize the woman he loves in spite of her father and relatives, he ought to keep her."
"My brothers have spoken well," Loyal Heart remarked. "Tomorrow I will come to Blackbird's calli and pay him the purchase money for the maiden the Chief has robbed him of."
"Good! Tomorrow I shall expect Loyal Heart and his friend, the other Paleface warrior," Blackbird said with a bow.
After these remarks, the three Indian, warriors returned to the village, closely followed by the two hunters. As for Black-deer, he had buried himself with his booty in the thickest part of the forest, where no one attempted to disturb him. The preliminaries of a Comanche marriage had been strictly carried out on both sides.
A strange nation this Comanche, whose warriors love like wild beasts, and who think themselves obliged to carry off the woman they love, instead of obtaining her by the voluntary consent of her family! Is there not something grand and noble in their haughty and indomitable character?
As Loyal Heart told No Eusebio, he was hardly an hour absent.