[1]See Trail-Hunter, same publishers.
[1]See Trail-Hunter, same publishers.
Ruperto was not mistaken: at this moment the most exquisite little creature imaginable came bounding up like a fawn. It was a girl of twelve years of age at the most, fresh, smiling, and beautifully formed. Her long black hair, her rosy-lipped mouth, with its pearly teeth, her magnificent black hair floating into immense curls down to her knee, her eccentric costume, rather masculine than feminine, all concurred to give an imprint of strangeness, and render her fantastic, extraordinary, almost angelic, so striking a contrast did her lovely head appear to the vulgar and hideous bandits who surrounded her. So soon as the girl perceived the Captain, a flash of delight shot from her eye, and with one bound she was in his arms, pressed to his large and powerful chest lovingly.
"Ah," he said, as he kissed her silken curls, and in a voice which he tried in vain to soften, "here you are at last, my darling Gazelle,[1]you have been long in coming."
"Father," she answered, as she repaid his caresses, and in a deliciously modulated voice, "I was not aware of your return. It was late, I did not hope to see you tonight, so I was about to sleep."
"Well, Niña," he said, as he put her on the ground again and gave her a final kiss, "you must not remain here any longer. I have seen you, I have kissed you, and my stock of happiness is laid in till tomorrow. Go and sleep. I am not egotistic, I do not wish you to lose your healthy cheeks."
"Oh," she said, with a little shake of her charming head, "I no longer feel inclined for sleep; I can remain a few minutes longer with you, father."
White Scalper gazed with growing astonishment on this admirable child, so gay, so laughing, so loving, and who appeared so beloved. He could not account for her presence among the pirates, or the affection their Captain testified for her.
"You love this child very dearly," he said, as he drew her gently towards him, and kissed her on the forehead.
She looked at him with widely opened eyes, but did not evince the slightest fear, or try to avoid his caresses.
"You ask if I love her," the pirate answered; "that child is the joy and happiness of our house. Do you think, then," he added, with some bitterness, "that because we are outlawed bandits we have stifled every generous feeling in our hearts? Undeceive yourself. The jaguar and panther love their cubs, the grizzly bear cherishes its whelps; should we be more ferocious than these animals, which are regarded as the most cruel in creation? Yes, yes, we love our White Gazelle! She is our good genius, our guardian angel; so long as she remains among us we shall succeed in everything, for good fortune accompanies her."
"Oh, in that case, father," she said eagerly, "you will always be fortunate, for I shall never leave you."
"Who can answer for the future?" he muttered in a choking voice, while a cloud of sorrow spread over his manly face.
"You are a happy father," the Scalper said, with a profound sigh.
"Yes, am I not? White Gazelle is not mine alone, she belongs to us all; she is our adopted daughter."
"Ah!" said the Scalper, without adding anything more, and letting his head drop sadly.
"Go, child," Sandoval exclaimed, "go and sleep, for night is drawing on."
The child withdrew, after saluting the three men with a soft glance, and soon disappeared in the depths of a side gallery. The Captain looked after her so long as he could perceive her, then turning to his guests, who, like himself, had remained under the spell of this touching scene, he said—
"Follow me, Señores; it is growing late, you must be hungry, and need rest. The hospitality I am enabled to offer you will be modest, but frank and cordial."
The two men bowed and followed him into a gallery, on each side of which were cells enclosed by large mats fastened to the walls in the shape of curtains; at regular distances torches of ocote wood, fixed in iron rings, spread a reddish and smoky light, sufficient, however to guide them. After walking for about ten minutes, and traversing several passages communicating with each other and forming a regular labyrinth, in which anyone else must inevitably have lost his way, the Captain stopped before a cell, and raising the curtains that formed the doorway, made his companions a sign to enter. Sandoval followed them, and let the mat fall again behind him.
The cell into which the Captain introduced his guests was vast; the walls were rather lofty, and allowed the air to penetrate through invisible fissures, which rendered it pleasant, while wooden partitions divided it into several chambers. A golden censer, probably stolen from a church, and hanging from the roof, contained a lamp of fragrant oil, which spread a brilliant light through the cavern. Unfortunately, the rest of the furniture did not at all harmonize with this princely specimen, but was, on the contrary, most modest. It was composed of a large table of black oak, clumsily shaped, six equipals, and two butacas, a sort of easy chair with sloping back, and which alone had any pretensions to comfort. The walls were decorated with antlers of elks and bighorns, buffalo horns, and grizzly bear claws, the spolia opima of animals killed by the pirates during their chase on the desert.
The only thing that attracted attention was a magnificent rack, containing all the weapons used in America, from the lance, arrow, and sagaie, up to the sword, the machete, the double-barrelled gun, and the holster pistol. It was evident that the pirate had given orders for the reception of his guests, for wooden plates, glasses, and silver dishes were arranged on the table among large pots of red clay containing, some water, and others mezcal and pulque, those two favourite beverages of the Mexicans. Orson, with his savage face and ordinary, sulky look, was ready to wait on the guests.
"To table, Señores," Sandoval said gravely, as he drew up an equipal and sat down on it.
The others followed his example, and each drawing his knife from his belt, began a general and vigorous attack on a magnificent venison pasty. The appetite of the guests, sharpened by a long day's fasting, needed such a comforter. However, we are bound to do the Chief of the pirates the justice of saying that his larder appeared amply supplied, and that he did the honours of the table admirably.
The first moments of the meal were passed in silence, as the Mexicans thought only of eating. But when the sharpest hunger was appeased, and, according to the Anglo-American fashion generally admitted on the prairies, the bottle circulated, the apparent coldness that had prevailed among the company suddenly disappeared, and each began conversing with his next neighbour; then the voices were gradually raised, and ere long everybody was talking at the same time.
During the repast which threatened to degenerate into an orgy, two men alone had moderately applied themselves to the bottle; they were Sandoval and White Scalper. The Chief of the pirates, while exciting his guests to drink, was very careful to retain his sobriety and coolness. He examined with some anxiety the singular man whom chance had given him as a guest; this gloomy face caused him a feeling of discomfort for which he could not account. Still he did not dare question him, for the law of the desert prohibits the slightest inquiry being made of a stranger, so long as he thinks proper to maintain his incognito.
Fortunately for Sandoval, whose impatience and curiosity momentarily increased, Ruperto had an equal desire to explain the object of his visit to the prairies. At the moment, therefore, when the private conversations, growing more and more animated, had become general, and each seemed to be trying which could shout the loudest, the Texan smote the table several times loudly with the pommel of his dagger to demand silence. The shouts stopped instantaneously, and all heads were turned towards him.
"What do you want, Ruperto?" Sandoval asked him.
"What do I want?" the other answered, whose tongue was growing dull under the influence of the numerous and copious draughts he had taken; "I want to speak."
"Silence!" the Captain shouted in a stentorian voice; "now, go on, Ruperto! No one will interrupt you, even if you spoke till sunrise."
"Demonios!" the Texan said, with a laugh, "I have no pretence to abuse your patience so long."
"Act as you please, gossip: you are my guest, and more than that, an old acquaintance, which gives you the right to do whatever you please here."
"Thanks for your gallantry, Captain; I must, in the first place, in my own name and in that of the persons who accompany me, offer you sincere thanks for your splendid hospitality."
"Go on, go on," the Captain said, carelessly:
"No, no; on the contrary, Caramba! A table so well served as yours is not to be found every day on the prairie. A man must be as ungrateful as a monk not to feel thankful."
"Halloh!" the Captain said, laughingly, "Did you not tell me, when I met you this evening, that you were sent to me by Fray Antonio?"
"I did, Captain."
"A worthy monk," Sandoval observed; "he reminds one of the Rev. John Zimmers, a protestant minister, who was hung about ten years back at Baton Rouge, for bigamy. He was a very holy man! I remember that at the foot of the gallows he made the crowd an edifying speech, which drew tears from most of his hearers. But let us return to Fray Antonio; I hope that no accident has happened to him, and that he still enjoys good health."
"When I left him his health was excellent. Still it is possible that he may be dangerously ill at this moment, or even dead."
"Rayo de Dios! You alarm me, gossip. Explain yourself."
"It is very simple: Texas, wearied with the incessantly renewed exactions of Mexico, has revolted to gain its liberty."
"Very good; I know it."
"You know too, of course, that all the men of talent have arrayed themselves beneath the flag of Independence. Naturally Fray Antonio raised a cuadrilla, and offered his services to the insurgents."
"That is very ingenious," the Captain said, with a smile.
"Is it not? Oh! Fray Antonio is a clever politician."
"Yes, yes, and proof of it is that at the beginning of the insurrection it often happened that he did not know himself to which party he belonged."
"What would you have?" Ruperto said, carelessly, "it is so difficult to find one's way in a general upset; but now it is no longer the case."
"Ah! It seems that he is fixed?"
"Completely; he forms part of the Army of Liberation. Now, on the very day of my departure the insurgents were marching towards the Mexican forces to offer them battle. That is why I said to you it was possible that Fray Antonio might be seriously indisposed, and perhaps even dead."
"I hope that misfortune has not happened."
"And so do I. A few minutes before setting out, Fray Antonio, who takes a great interest, as it seems, in the wounded Caballero who accompanies me, not wishing to abandon him alone and helpless in the power of the Mexicans, should the Liberating Army unfortunately be conquered, ordered me to lead him to you, for he felt certain you would take great care of his friend, and treat him well, in consideration of old friendship."
"He did right to count on me; I will not deceive his confidence. Caballero," he added, turning to the old man, who during the whole of this conversation had remained cold and apathetic, "you know us by this time, and are aware that we are pirates. We offer you the hospitality of the desert, a frank and unbounded hospitality, and offer it without either asking who you are or what you have done before setting foot on our territory."
"On what conditions do you offer me all these advantages?" the old man asked, as he bowed, with cold politeness, to the Chief of the bandits.
"On none, señor," he answered; "we ask nothing of you, not even your name; we are proscribed and banished men; hence, every proscript, whatever be the motives that bring him here, has a right to a place by our fire. And now," he added, as he seized a bottle and poured out a bumper, "here is to your fortunate arrival among us, señor! Pledge me!"
"One moment, señor. Before replying to your toast I have, if you will permit me, a few words to say to you."
"We are listening to you, señor."
The old man rose, drew himself up to his full height, and looked silently at the company. A deep silence prevailed; suffering from lively anxiety, all impatiently waited for the Scalper to speak. At length he did so, while his face, which had hitherto been cold and stern, was animated by an expression of gentleness of which it would not have been thought capable.
"Señores," he said, "your frankness challenges mine; the generosity and grandeur of your reception compels me to make myself known. When a man comes to claim the support of men like yourselves he must keep nothing hidden from them. Yes, I am proscribed! Yes, I am banished! But I am so by my own will. I could return tomorrow, if I pleased, to the bosom of society, which has never repelled me, I make here neither allusions nor applications. I remain in the desert to accomplish a duty I have imposed on myself; I pursue a vengeance, an implacable vengeance, which nothing can completely satiate, not even the death of the last of my enemies! A vengeance which is only a wild dream, a horrible nightmare, but which I pursue, and shall pursue, at all hazards, until the supreme hour when, on the point of giving my last sigh, I shall die with regret at not having sufficiently avenged myself. Such is the object of my life, the cause which made me abandon the life of civilized men to take up with that of wild beasts—VENGEANCE! Now you know what I am; when I have told you my name you will be well acquainted with me."
The old man's voice, at first calm and low, had gradually mounted to the diapason of the passions that agitated him, and had become sonorous and harsh. His hearers, involuntarily overpowered by his impassioned accents, listened with panting chests and, as it were hanging on his lips, to this strange man, who, by revealing the secret of his life, had stirred up their hearts, and caused the only sensitive fibre that still existed there to vibrate painfully. For they, too, had but one object left, a sole desire—vengeance on that society which had expelled them like impure scum. These men could comprehend such a powerful and vindictive nature, admire it, and even feel jealous of it, for it was more complete and more vigorously tempered than their own.
When the Scalper had ceased speaking, all rose as if by common accord, and, leaning their quivering hands on the table, bent over to him, awaiting, with feverish impatience, the revelation of his name. But, by a strange revolution, the wounded man seemed to have forgotten what was taking place around him, and no longer to remember either where he was or what he had said. His head was bowed on his chest; with his forehead resting on his right hand and his eyes fixed on the ground, he tried in vain to overcome the flood of bitter recollections, the ever-bleeding wound which in a moment of excitement he had so imprudently revived.
Sandoval regarded him for a moment with an expression of sadness and pity, and laid his hand on his shoulder. At this touch the old man, roughly recalled to a feeling of external things, drew himself up as if he had received an electric shock, and gazed wildly round him.
"What do you want with me?" he asked, in a hoarse voice.
"To tell you your name," the pirate answered, slowly.
"Ah!" he said, "Then you know it?"
"Ten minutes back I was ignorant of it."
"While now——?"
"Now I have guessed it."
An ironical smile curled the old man's pale lips.
"Do you think so?" he said.
"I am sure of it; there are not two men of your stamp in the desert; you are the genius of evil if you are not White Scalper."
At this name an electric quiver traversed the limbs of the hearers. The old man raised his head haughtily.
"Yes," he said, in a sharp voice, "I am White Scalper."
During this long conversation a number of pirates, brought up either by idleness or curiosity, had entered the dining room one after the other. On hearing this name uttered which they had been accustomed so long to admire, on seeing at length this man for whom they felt a secret terror, they burst into a formidable shout, which the resounding echoes repeated indefinitely, and which caused the roof to tremble as if agitated by an earthquake. The White Scalper made a signal to ask silence.
"Señores," he said, "I am very grateful for the friendly demonstrations of which I am the object. Up to the present I have refused every species of alliance; I obstinately resolved to live alone and accomplish, without help, the work of destruction to which I have devoted myself. But, after what has passed here, I must break the promise I made myself; he who receives is bound to give! Henceforth I am one of yourselves, if you deem me worthy to form part of your cuadrilla."
At this proposal the huzzas and shouts of joy were redoubled with extreme frenzy. Sandoval frowned; he understood that his precarious power was menaced. But, too skilful and crafty to let the secret fears that agitated him be guessed, he resolved to outflank the difficulty, and regain, by a masterstroke, the power which he felt instinctively was slipping from his grasp. Raising the glass he held in his hand, he shouted in a thundering voice:
"Muchachos! I drink to White Scalper!"
"To White Scalper," the bandits joined in enthusiastically.
Sandoval allowed the first effervescence time to calm down. Himself exciting this enthusiasm, he at length requested silence at the moment when this enthusiasm had attained its paroxysm. For a few minutes his efforts were in vain, for heads were beginning to grow hot under the influence of copious and incessant libations of mezcal, pulque, and Catalonian refino. By degrees, however, and like the sea after a storm, the cries died out, a calm was re-established, and nothing was audible save a dull and confused murmur of whispered words. Sandoval hastened to profit by this transient moment of silence to speak again.
"Señores," he said, "I have a proposal to make, which, I believe, will suit you."
"Speak, speak," the pirates shouted.
"Our association," Sandoval continued, "is founded on the most entire equality of its members, who freely elect the man they consider most worthy to command them."
"Yes, yes," they exclaimed.
"Long live Sandoval!" some said.
"Let him speak, do not interrupt him," the majority vociferated.
Sandoval, negligently leaning on the table, followed with an apparently indifferent glance these various manifestations, though he was suffering from lively anxiety, and his heart beat ready to burst his chest. He was playing for a heavy stake; he knew it, for he had, with the infallible glance of all ambitious men, calculated all the chances for and against. Hence, it was only by the strength of his will that he succeeded in giving his face a marble rigidity which did not permit the supreme agony he was suffering internally to be divined. When silence was nearly re-established, and he might hope to be heard, he continued, in a firm voice:
"You did me the honour to appoint me your Chief, and I believe that hitherto I have rendered myself worthy of that honour."
He paused as if to await a reply. A murmur of assent gently tickled his ear.
"What is he driving at?" Orson asked in a rough voice.
"You shall know," said Sandoval, who overheard him. And he continued: "In the common interest, I consider it my duty this night to hand you back the authority with which you entrusted me. You have at present among you a man more capable than myself of commanding you, a man whose mere name will inspire terror in the heart of your enemies. In a word, I offer you my resignation, proposing that you should elect on the spot White Scalper as your Chief!"
It was only then that Sandoval really knew the feeling of his comrades toward him. Of two hundred pirates assembled at this moment in the dining hall, two thirds pronounced immediately for him, energetically refusing the resignation he offered apparently with so much self-denial; one half the remaining third gave no sign of approval or disapproval. Thirty or forty of the bandits alone received the proposal with shouts of joy.
Still, as happens nearly always under similar circumstances, these thirty or forty individuals, by their shouts and yells, would soon have led away others, and would probably have become ere long an imposing majority, had not White Scalper himself thought it high time to interfere. The old adventurer did not at all desire the disgraceful honour of being elected the Chief of this band of ruffians, whom he despised in his heart, and whom the force of circumstances alone compelled him to accept as companions. He was, on the contrary, resolved to part with them so soon as his wounds were closed, and he felt capable of recommencing his wandering life. Hence, at the moment when the shouts and oaths crossed each other in the air with an intensity that grew more and more menacing, when already some of the pirates, their arguments being exhausted, were beginning to lay hands on their knives and pistols, and a frightful battle was about to begin between these men, among whom a moral feeling did not exist, and who were consequently restrained by no sentiment of honour or affection; he rose, and speaking amid the vociferations of these turbulent men, he protested energetically against the proposal made by Sandoval, not wishing, as he said, to accept anything but the honour of fighting by their side, and sharing their dangers, for he felt an incompetence to command.
In the face of such an energetic refusal, all opposition necessarily ceased. A reaction in the contrary sense set in, and the pirates implored Sandoval to retain the command, while protesting their devotion to him. Sandoval, after letting himself be a long time entreated, in order to convince them thoroughly of the frankness of his conduct, at length allowed himself to be persuaded, and consented to retain that power which he had felt for a moment such fear of losing.
Peace was thus restored as if by enchantment, and while the pirates drank floods of mezcal to celebrate the happy conclusion of this affair, the Captain led his guests to a compartment separate from the grotto, where they were at liberty at last to rest themselves. Still Sandoval, who, rightly or wrong, had for a moment found his power threatened by White Scalper, felt a malice for him in his heart, and promised to avenge himself on the first opportunity.
[1]See Pirates of the Prairies, same publishers.
[1]See Pirates of the Prairies, same publishers.
Tranquil and Loyal Heart, as we have seen, withdrew immediately the opportunity appeared favourable to them, and returned to the hunter's rancho, where No Eusebio had made all preparations to give them a hearty reception. Loyal Heart was too sad by nature, the Canadian too preoccupied by a fixed idea which he had hitherto; kept in his heart, for these two men to take the slightest interest in the coarse festivities of the Indians. All this noise and disturbance wearied them; they felt a desire to rest themselves.
Doña Garillas received them with that calm and radiant smile which seemed to pass over her pale and sad face like a sunbeam passing between two clouds. Attentive to satisfy their slightest desires, she seemed to be thankful to them for their return, and tried, by those thousand little attentions of which women alone possess the secret, to keep them as long as possible by her side.
The hunter's house, so peaceful and comfortable, although in the prejudiced sight of a European it would have seemed hardly above the most wretched labourer's cabin in this country, formed a contrast which was not without grandeur with the leather callis of the Redskins, those receptacles of vermin, where the most utter neglect and complete forgetfulness, not only of comfort, but of the most simple enjoyments of life, were visible.
Loyal Heart, after respectfully kissing his mother's forehead, shaking hands with No Eusebio, and patting his dogs, which leapt up at him with joyous whines, sat down to table, making Tranquil a sign to follow his example. Since the previous night a singular change had taken place in the manner, and even countenance of the old hunter. He whose movements were generally so frank and steady, seemed embarrassed; his eye had lost the fire which illumined it and gave it so noble an expression; his eyebrows continually met under the effect of some secret thought; his very speech was sharper than usual.
The young man watched pensively, and with a melancholy smile, the hunter's movements. When the meal was over, and the pipes were lit, after making his mother and No Eusebio a sign to withdraw, he turned to the Canadian—
"My guest," he said affectionately, "we are old friends, are we not? Although we have known each other but a short time."
"Certainly! Loyal Heart, in the desert friendships and hatreds grow rapidly, and we have been together under circumstances when two men, side by side, can appreciate each other in a few minutes."
"Will you let me ask you a question?"
"Of course," the hunter answered.
"Stay," the young man continued; "do we understand each other? Will you promise to answer me this question?"
"Why not?" Tranquil said quietly.
"Who knows—¿quién sabe?as we Spanish Americans say," the young man replied with a smile.
"Nonsense," the Canadian replied carelessly; "ask your question, mine host; I cannot foresee the possibility of my being unable to answer you."
"But, supposing it were so?"
"I do not suppose it; you are a man of too upright sense, and too great intelligence, to fall into that error. So speak without fear."
"I will do so, as you authorise me; for you do so, I think."
"Understood."
"In that ease, listen to me. I know you too well, or, at least, I fancy I know you too well to suppose that you have come here merely to pay me a visit, as you knew you could meet me any day on the prairie. You have, therefore, undertaken this journey with some definite object; a most serious motive impelled you to wish to see me."
Tranquil gave a silent nod of assent. Loyal Heart went on after a moment's silence, during which he seemed to be awaiting a reply, which did not come.
"You have been here now two days. You have already had several opportunities for a frank explanation, an explanation, by the way, which I desire with my whole heart, for I foresee that it will contain a service I can render you, and I shall be happy to prove to you the esteem I entertain for your character. Still, that explanation does not come; you seem, on the contrary, to fear it; your manner toward me has completely changed; since yesterday, in a word, you are no longer the man I knew, the man who never hesitates, and always utters his thoughts loudly and boldly, whatever might be the consequences at a later date. Am I mistaken? Answer, old hunter."
For some minutes the Canadian seemed considerably embarrassed; this point-blank question troubled him singularly. At length he boldly made up his mind, and raised his head—
"On my word," he answered, looking his questioner firmly in the face, "I cannot contradict it; Loyal Heart, you are right—all you have said is perfectly correct."
"Ah!" the young man said with a smile of satisfaction, "I was not mistaken, then; I am pleased to know what I have to depend on."
The Canadian shrugged his shoulders philosophically, like a man who does not at all understand, but who yet experiences a certain degree of pleasure at seeing his questioner satisfied, though he is completely ignorant why. Loyal Heart continued—
"Now, I demand in the name of that friendship that binds us—I demand, I say, that you should be frank with me, and without reservation or circumlocution, confess to me the motives which urged you to act as you have done."
"These motives are only honourable, be assured, Loyal Heart."
"I am convinced of it, my friend; but I repeat to you, I wish to know them."
"After all," the old hunter continued with the accent of a man who has formed a resolution, "why should I have secrets from you when I have come to claim your assistance? You shall know all. I am only a coarse adventurer, who received all the education he has on the desert; I adore God, and am mad for liberty; I have always tried to benefit my neighbour, and requite good for evil as far as lay in my power; such, in two words, is my profession of faith."
"It is rigorously true," Loyal Heart said, with an air of conviction.
"Thanks, and frankly I believe it. But, with the exception of that, I know nothing. Desert life has only developed in me the instincts of the brute, without giving me any of those refinements which the civilisation of towns causes to be developed in the most savage natures."
"I confess that I do not see at all what you are driving at."
"You will soon comprehend me. From the first moment I saw you, with the first word you uttered, by a species of intuition, by one of those sympathies what are independent of the will, I felt myself attracted towards you. You were my friend during the few days we lived together, sharing the same couch under the vault of Heaven, running the same dangers, experiencing the same joys and sorrows. I believed that I appreciated you at your true value, and my friendship only increased in consequence. Hence, when I needed a sure and devoted friend, I thought of you at once, and, without further reflection, started to go in quest of you."
"You did well."
"I know it," said Tranquil, with simple enthusiasm; "still, on entering this modest rancho, my ideas were completely modified; a doubt occurred to me—not about you, for that was impossible—but about your position, and the mysterious life you lead. I asked myself by what concourse of circumstances a man like you had confined himself to an Indian village and accepted all the wretchedness of a Redskin life, a wretchedness often so cruel and opposed to our manners. On seeing your mother so lovely and so kind, your old servant so devoted, and the way in which you behave within these walls, I thought, without prejudging anything, that a great misfortune had suddenly burst on you and forced you for a time into a hard exile. But I understood that I was not your equal, that between you and me there was a distinctly traced line of demarcation; then I felt oppressed in your company, for you are no longer the free hunter, having no other roof but the verdurous dome of our virgin forests, or other fortune than his rifle; in a word, you are no longer the comrade, the friend with whom I was so happy to share everything in the desert I no longer recognise the right to treat as an equal a man whom a passing misfortune has accidentally brought near me, and who would, doubtless, at a later date, regret this intimacy which has sprung from accident; while continuing to love and esteem you, I resume the place that belongs to me."
"All of which means?" Loyal Heart said, distinctly.
"That, being no longer able to be your comrade, and not wishing to be your servant, I shall retire."
"You are mad, Tranquil," the young man exclaimed, with an outburst of impatient grief. "What you say, I tell you, has not common sense, and the conclusions yon draw from it are absurd."
"Still——?" the Canadian hazarded.
"Oh!" the other continued, with considerable animation, "I have allowed you to speak, have I not? I listened to whatever you had to say without interruption, and it is now your turn. Without wishing it, you have caused me the greatest pain it is possible for me to suffer; you have caused an ever-living wound to bleed, by reminding me of things which I try in vain to forget, and which will cause the wretchedness of my whole life."
"I—I?" the hunter exclaimed, with a start of terror.
"Yes, you! But what matter? Besides, you were walking blindly, not knowing where you were going; hence, I have no right to be angry with you, and am not so. But there is one thing I value above all, which; I esteem more than life, and that is your friendship. I cannot consent to lose it. Confidence for confidence! You shall know who I am and what motive brought me to the desert, where I am condemned to live and die."
"No," Tranquil answered, clearly, "I have no claim to your confidence. You say that I have unintentionally caused you great suffering; that suffering would only be increased by the confession you wish to make me. I swear to you, Loyal Heart, that I will not listen to you."
"You must, my friend, both for your sake and my own, for in that way we shall learn to understand one another. Besides," he added, with a melancholy smile, "this secret which crushed me, and which I have hitherto kept in my own bosom, it will be a great consolation to me, be assured, to confide to a real friend. And then, you must know this: I have no one to complain of; the terrible misfortune which suddenly fell upon me, or chastisement, if you like that term better, was just, though perhaps severe; I have, therefore, no one to reproach but myself. My life is only one long expiation; unhappily I tremble lest the present and the future will not suffice to expiate the past."
"You forget God, my son," a voice said, with an accent of supreme majesty, "God, who cannot fail you and will judge you. When the expiation you have imposed on yourself is completed, that God will cause it to terminate."
And Doña Garillas, who had for some moments been listening to the conversation of the two men, crossed the room with a majestic step, and laid her white and delicate hand on the shoulder of her son, while giving him a glance full of that powerful love which mothers alone possess.
"Oh! I am a wretched ingrate!" the young man exclaimed, sorrowfully; "in my hideous egotism I for a moment forgot you, my mother, who gave up everything for me."
"Raphael, you are my first-born. What I did nine years ago I would do again today. But now, let what you are about to hear be a consolation to you. I am proud of you, my son; whatever pain you once caused me, the same amount of joy and pride you cause me today. All the Indian tribes that traverse the vast solitudes of the prairie have the greatest respect and deepest veneration for you; has not the name these primitive men have given you become the synonym of honour? Are you not, in a word, Loyal Heart, that is to say, the man whose decisions have the strength of law, whom all, friends and enemies, love and esteem? What more do you want?"
The young man shook his head sadly.
"Alas, mother," he said, in a hollow voice, "can I ever forget that I have been a gambler, assassin, and incendiary?"
Tranquil could not restrain a start of terror.
"Oh, it is impossible!" he muttered.
The young man heard him, and turning to him, said—?
"Yes, my friend, I have been a gambler, assassin, and incendiary. Well, now," he added, with an accent of sad and bitter raillery, "do you still fancy yourself unworthy of my friendship? Do you still consider you are not my equal?"
The Canadian rose while the young man bent on him a searching glance; he went up to Doña Garillas, and bowed to her with a respect mingled with admiration.
"Señora," he said, "whatever crimes a man may have committed in a moment of irresistible passion, that man must be absolved by all when, in spite of his fault, he inspires a devotion so glorious, so perfect, and so noble as yours. You are a holy woman, madam! Hope, as you said yourself a moment back, hope. GOD, who is omnipotent, will, when the moment arrives, dry your tears and make you forget your sorrow in immense joy. I am but a poor man, without talent or learning, but my instinct has never deceived me. I am convinced that if your son were ever guilty, he is now pardoned, even by the man who condemned him under the influence of an exaggerated feeling of honour, which he regretted at a later date."
"Thanks, my friend," Loyal Heart answered; "thanks for words which I feel convinced are the expression of your innermost thoughts; thanks in my mother's name and my own! Yours is a frank and upright nature. You have restored me the courage which at times abandons me, and have raised me in my own sight; but this expiation to which I condemned myself, would not be complete unless I told you, in their fullest details, all the events of my life. No refusal," he added, with a sign to the hunter, "it must be so! Believe me, Tranquil, this story bears its own instruction. Just as the traveller, after a long and painful journey, halts by the wayside, and looks with a certain degree of satisfaction at the distance he has covered, I shall feel a mournful pleasure in returning to the early and terrible events of my life."
"Yes," said his mother, "you are right, my son. A man must have courage to look back, in order to acquire the strength to walk worthily forward. It is only by reverting to the past that you can understand the present and have hope in the future. Speak, speak, my son, and if in the course of your narrative your memory or your courage fail you, your mother will be here at your side, as I have ever been, and what you dare not or cannot say, I will say."
Tranquil regarded with admiration this strange woman, whose gestures and words harmonized so well with her majestic bearing; this mother, whose sweet face reflected so well her noble sentiments; he felt himself very small and wretched in the presence of this chosen nature, who, of all the passions, knew only one, maternal love.
"Loyal Heart," he said, with an emotion he could not master, "since you insist, I will listen to the narrative of the events which brought you to the desert; but be assured of this, whatever I may hear, since you are willing still to give me the title of friend, here is my hand, take it, I will never fail you. Now, whether you speak or keep your secret, is of no consequence. Remember one thing, however, that I belong to you, body and soul, before and against all, today or tomorrow, tomorrow or ten years hence, and that," he added with a certain degree of solemnity, "I swear to you from my deepest soul, by the memory of my beloved mother, whose ashes now rest in Quebec cemetery. Now go on, I am ready to listen to you."
Loyal Heart warmly returned the pressure of the hunter's hand, and made him sit down on his right hand, while Doña Garillas took her place on his left.
"Now, listen to me," he said.
At this moment the door opened, and No Eusebio appeared.
"Mi amo," he said, "the Indian Chief, called Black-deer, wishes to speak to you."
"What, Black-deer?" the hunter said with surprise; "Impossible! He must be engaged with his marriage festivities."
"Pardon me," Tranquil observed; "you forget, Loyal Heart, that when we left the feast the Chief came up to us, saying in a low voice that he had a serious communication to make to us."
"That is true; in fact, I did forget it. Let him enter, No Eusebio. My friend," he added, addressing Tranquil, "it is impossible for me at this moment to begin a story which would be interrupted almost at the first sentence; but soon, I hope, you shall know it."
"I will leave you to settle your Indian affairs," Doña Garillas said with a smile, and rising, she quitted the room.
Tranquil, we are bound to confess, was in his heart delighted at an interruption which saved him from listening to the narrative of painful events. The worthy hunter possessed the precious quality of not being at all curious to know the history of men he liked, for his native integrity led him to fear seeing them break down in his esteem. Hence, he easily accepted the unexpected delay in Loyal Heart's confession, and was grateful to Black-deer for arriving so opportunely.
At the moment when Doña Garillas entered the room No Eusebio introduced the Indian Chief by another door. Forgetful of that assumed stoicism so habitual to Indians, Black-deer seemed suffering from a lively anxiety. The warrior's gloomy air, his frowns—nothing, in a word, recalled in him the man who had just contracted a union he had long desired, and which, fulfilled all his wishes; his countenance, on the contrary, was so grave and stern, that the two hunters noticed it at the first glance, and could not refrain from remarking on it to him.
"Wah!" Loyal Heart said good-humouredly, "You have a preciously sad face. Did you, on entering the village, perceive five crows on your right, or did your scalping knife stick in the ground thrice in succession, which, as everybody knows, is a very evil omen?"
The Chief, before replying, bent a piercing glance around.
"No," he at length said, in a low and suppressed voice, "Black-deer has not seen five crows on his right; he saw a fox on his left, and a flight of owls in the bushes."
"You know, Chief, that I do not at all understand you," Loyal Heart said, laughing.
"Nor do I, on my honour," Tranquil observed with a crafty smile.
The Chief bravely endured this double volley of sarcasm. Not a muscle of his face stirred; on the contrary, his features seemed to grow more gloomy.
"My brothers can laugh," he said, "they are Palefaces; they care little whether good or evil happens to the Indians."
"Pardon, Chief," Loyal Heart answered, suddenly becoming serious; "my friend and myself had no intention of insulting you."
"I am aware of it," the Chief replied, "my brothers cannot suppose that on a day like this I should be sad."
"That is true, but now our ears are open: my brother will speak, and we listen with all the attention his words deserve."
The Indian seemed to hesitate, but in a moment he walked up to Loyal Heart and Tranquil, seated by his side, and bent over them, so that his head touched theirs.
"The situation is grave," he said, "and I have only a few minutes to spare, so my brothers will listen seriously. I must return to the calli of Blackbird, where my friends and relatives await me. Are my brothers listening?"
"We are listening," the two men answered with one voice.
Ere going on, Black-deer walked round the room, inspecting the walls and opening the doors, as if fearing listeners. Then, probably re-assured by this inspection that no one could hear him, he returned to the two white men, who curiously followed these singular operations, and said to them in a low voice, as an additional precaution:
"A great danger menaces the Antelope Comanches."
"How so, Chief?"
"The Apaches are watching the neighbourhood of the village."
"How do you know that?"
The Chief looked around him, and then continued in the same low and suppressed voice:
"I have seen them."
"My brother has seen the Apaches?"
The Chief smiled proudly.
"Yes," he said, "Black-deer is a great brave, he has the fine scent of my brother's rastreros, he has smelt the enemy; smelling is seeing, with a warrior."
"Yes, but my brother must take care! Passion is an evil counsellor," Loyal Heart answered; "perhaps he is mistaken."
Black-deer shrugged his shoulders with disdain.
"This night there was not a breath of air in the forest, yet the leaves of the trees moved, and the tall grass was agitated."
"Wah! That is astonishing," said Loyal Heart; "An envoy of the Buffalo Apaches is in the village at this moment, we must be threatened by fearful trickery."
"Blue-fox is a traitor who has sold his people," the Indian continued with some animation; "what can be hoped from such a man? He has come here to count the braves, and send the warriors to sleep."
"Yes," said Loyal Heart thoughtfully, "that is possible. But what is to be done? Has my brother warned the Chiefs?"
"Yes, while Blue-fox requested the hachesto to assemble the council, Black-deer spoke with Bounding Panther, Lynx, and Blackbird."
"Very good, what have they resolved?"
"Blue-fox will be retained as a hostage, under various pretexts. At sunset two hundred picked warriors, under the orders of Loyal Heart, and guided by Black-deer, will go and surprise the enemy, who, knowing their emissary to be in the village, will have no suspicion, but fall into the trap they intended to set for us."
Loyal heart remained silent for a moment and reflected.
"Let my brother hear me," he said presently; "I am ready to obey the orders of the Sovereign Council of the Sachems of the tribe, but I will not let the warriors entrusted to me be massacred. The Buffalo Apaches are old chattering and crying squaws, without courage, to whom we will give petticoats, each time they find themselves face to face with us in the prairies. But here such is not the case; they are ambushed at a spot selected beforehand, and are acquainted with all its resources. However well my young men may be guided by my brothers, the Apaches will come on their trail, so that will not do."
"What does my brother propose?" Black-deer asked with some anxiety.
"The sun has run two-thirds of its course, Black-deer will warn the warriors to proceed each by himself, to the mountain of the Blackbear, one hour after sunset. In this way they will seem to be going hunting separately, and excite no suspicion. No one will see them depart, and if the enemy, as is probable, have spies in the camp, they cannot suppose that these hunters, starting one after the other, are sent off to surprise them. When the sun has disappeared on the horizon, in the sacred cavern of the Red Mountain, my brother the Pale hunter and myself will mount our horses and join the Redskins. Have I spoken well? Does what I have said please my brother?"
While Loyal Heart was thus explaining the plan he had instantaneously conceived, the Indian Chief gave marks of the greatest joy, and the most lively admiration.
"My brother has spoken well," he answered; "the Wacondah is with him; his medicine is very powerful, though his hair is black; the wisdom of the Master of Life resides in him. It shall be done as he desires; Black-deer will obey him; he will follow out exactly the wise instructions of his brother, Loyal Heart."
"Good; but my brother will take care: Blue-fox is very clever!"
"Blue-fox is an Apache dog, whose ears Black-deer will crop. My brother the hunter need not feel alarmed; all will happen as he desires."
After exchanging a few more sentences to come to a full understanding, and make their final arrangements, Black-deer withdrew.
"You will come with me, I suppose, Tranquil?" the young man asked the Canadian so soon as they were alone.
"Of course!" the other replied; "Did you doubt it? What the deuce should I do here during your absence? I prefer accompanying you, especially as, if I am not mistaken, there will be a jolly row."
"You are not mistaken. It is evident to me that the Apaches would not have ventured so near the village, unless they were in considerable force."
"Well, in that case, two hundred men are as nothing; you should have asked for more."
"Why so? In a surprise the man who attacks is always the stronger; we will try to get the first blow, that is all."
"That is true, by Jove! I am delighted at the affair; I have not smelt powder for some time, and feel myself beginning to rust; that will restore me."
At this outburst, Loyal Heart began laughing, Tranquil formed the chorus, and they spoke about something else.
In the high American latitudes, night comes on almost suddenly, and without sensible transition; there is no twilight, and when the sun has disappeared on the horizon, it is perfect night; now, at the period of the year when the events occurred which we have undertaken to describe, the sun set at seven o'clock. Half an hour later, Tranquil and Loyal Heart, mounted on excellent mustangs, left the rancho, followed by No Eusebio, who insisted on joining them, and whom no entreaties or exhortations could keep back. They had only gone a few yards across the square, however, when the Canadian laid his hand on the young man's bridle.
"What do you want?" the latter asked.
"Shall we not take our comrades with us?"
"Do you think it necessary?"
"Well, with the exception of the monk, who, I fear, is not worth much, they are stout fellows, whose rifles might prove very useful to us."
"That is true; warn them in a few words, and rejoin me here."
"Do you not think the departure of so large a party may arouse the suspicions of Blue-fox, who is doubtless prowling about the neighbourhood?"
"Not at all, they are white men; if he saw Indian warriors departing thus, I am sure his doubts would be aroused; but he will never suppose that hunters have discovered his treachery."
"You may be right, but in any case it is better to run the risk; wait for me, I shall be back in ten minutes."
"All right, go along."
Tranquil went off rapidly, while Loyal Heart and No Eusebio halted a few yards further on. The adventurers gleefully accepted the proposal Tranquil made them; for such men, a battle is a festival, especially when they have Indians to fight; ten minutes scarce elapsed, therefore, ere the Canadian rejoined the young man. The little band set out, and silently left the village.
Loyal Heart was mistaken in supposing that Blue-fox would not be alarmed on seeing the white hunters leave the atepetl. The Redskin, like all men who meditate treachery, had his eyes constantly open to the movements of the inhabitants of the village, and his watchful mind took umbrage at the most insignificant matters. Although the Comanche Chiefs had acted with the greatest prudence, the Apache Sachem speedily perceived that he was watched, and that, though honourably treated, and apparently free, he was in reality a prisoner. He pretended not to suspect what was going on, but redoubled his attention. During the past day, he had seen several warriors mount their horses one after the other, and set out in groups of two, three, and even four, to bury themselves in the forest.
Not one of these warriors having re-entered the atepetl by sunset, this circumstance caused the Redskin Chief deep thought, and he even came to the conclusion that his plans were discovered, and that the Comanches were attempting a countermine, that is to say, were trying to surprise the persons who desired to lay a trap for them, and the departure of the white hunters would have removed the Chief's final doubts, had any such remained. The situation was growing not only very critical, but most perilous for him; his scalp was extremely compromised; it was plain that the Comanche warriors on their return would perform the scalp dance, and the finest ornament of the feast would be the Apache Chief who had tried to lead them into a cleverly-prepared trap.
Blue-fox was a warrior renowned as much for his wisdom in council as for his bravery in fight; instances of extraordinary audacity and temerity, were narrated about him, but the courage with which the Chief was gifted was calm, reasoning, and ever subordinate to events; that is to say, Blue-fox, like a true Redskin, would never hesitate, when circumstances demanded it, to substitute craft and trickery for courage, considering it highly absurd, and very useless, to expose his life without any hope of profit.
Blue-fox was sitting in front of the entrance of the calli of honour the Comanches had given him during the period of his stay with them, calmly smoking his pipe, when the white hunters passed before him. He displayed neither surprise nor curiosity at the sight of them, but by an almost imperceptible movement of his head and shoulders, he looked after them with a flashing glance till they disappeared in the darkness. We have said that the night was dark, the village already appeared completely deserted, the Indians had withdrawn to the interior of their callis, while at lengthened intervals an isolated Redskin hastily crossed the square, hurrying homewards.
Blue-fox still sat before his calli smoking; gradually the arm that supported the calumet fell on his knees, his head bowed on his chest, and the Apache Sachem seemed, as so often happens to the Indians, to have yielded to the narcotic influence of the morichee; and a long time elapsed ere he made the slightest movement. Was the Chief really asleep? No one could have answered the question. His calm and regular breathing, and his careless attitude, led to the supposition that he had been overcome by sleep; but, if any sound suddenly smote his ear, an almost imperceptible tremor ran over his limbs, and his eyelash rose, probably through that instinct of personal prudence peculiar to the Indians, but more probably through a desire of investigation, as we think, and as anyone else would have thought who was in a position to see the piercing glances he at such moments darted into the obscurity. All at once the curtain of the calli was raised, and a hand was roughly laid on the sleeper's shoulder. The Chief started at this touch, which he did not at all expect, and sprang up as if a serpent had stung him.
"The nights are cold," said an ironical voice, which smote unpleasantly on the ear of Blue-fox; "the dew is profuse, and ices the blood; my brother is wrong to sleep thus in the open air, when he has a spacious and convenient calli."
Blue-fox, by a powerful effort, extinguished the fire of his glance, composed his features, and answered in the gentle voice of a man who is really waking—
"I thank my brother for his affectionate observation; in truth, the nights are very cold, and it is better to sleep in a calli than in the open air."
He rose without further discussion, and re-entered the hut with the calm step of a man delighted with the warning he has received. A great fire was kindled in the interior of the calli, which, besides, was illumined by a torch of ocote wood stuck in the ground, whose ruddy and vacillating glare imparted a blood-red hue to surrounding objects. The man whose charitable advice surprised Blue-fox, let the curtain fall behind him, and entered after the chief. This man was Black-deer, without uttering a syllable, he sat down before the fire, and began arranging the logs with a certain degree of symmetry. Blue-fox gazed on him for a moment with am undefinable expression, and then walked up and stood by his side.
"My brothers, the Antelope Comanches," he said, with an almost imperceptible tinge of irony in his voice, "are great warriors; they understand the laws of hospitality better than any other nation."
"The Antelope Comanches," Black-deer answered, peaceably, "know that Blue-fox is a renowned Chief, and one of the great braves of the Buffalo Apaches; they are anxious to do him honour."
The Chief bowed.
"Does this honour go so far as to compel so great a warrior as my brother to watch over my sleep?"
"My brother is the guest of the Antelopes, and in that quality has a claim to all possible attention."
Like two experienced duellists the Chiefs had crossed swords; having felt their blades, they perceived that they were of equal strength, and each fell back a step to continue the engagement on new ground.
"Then," Blue-fox continued, "my brother will remain in the calli with me."
The Chief gave a nod of assent.
"Wah! I know for what reason the Comanche Sachems treat me thus: they are aware that Black-deer and Blue-fox, though each adopted by a different tribe, are yet brothers of the great and powerful nation of the Snake Pawnees; hence they suppose that the two Chiefs would be pleased to converse together and recall their early years. My brother will thank the Sachems of his nation for Blue-fox; I was far from expecting so great a proof of courtesy on their part."
"My brother is rightly called the Fox," the Comanche replied, briefly, with a bitter accent; "his craft is great."
"What does my brother mean?" the Apache went on with the greatest air of surprise he could assume.
"I speak the truth, and my brother is well aware of it," Black-deer answered; "why should we thus try to deceive each other? We have been too long acquainted. Let my brother listen to me: the Antelope Comanches are not, as the Apaches suppose them, inexperienced children, they know for what purpose my brother has come to their winter atepetl."
"Ohé!" the Chief said, "I hear a mocking-bird singing in my ears, but I do not at all understand what it means."
"Perhaps so, but to remove my brother's doubt I will speak to him frankly."
"Can my brother do so?" the Apache continued, ironically.
"The Chief shall judge:—For some moons past the Buffalo Apaches have been trying to take a brilliant revenge on the Comanches for a defeat the warriors of my nation inflicted on them, but the Apaches are chattering old women who possess no craft; the Comanches will give them petticoats and send them to cut wood for them in the forests."
The Chief's eyebrows were almost meeting at this crushing insult; a flash of fury burst from his eyes, but still he managed to overpower his feelings. He drew himself up with supreme majesty and folded himself in his buffalo robe.
"My brother, Black-deer, forgets to whom he is speaking," he said; "Blue-fox is the envoy of his nation to the Comanches, he has sought shelter under the totem of the Antelopes and smoked their sacred calumet; his person must be respected."
"The Apache Chief is mistaken," Black-deer replied, with a disdainful smile; "he is not the envoy of a brave nation, but only the spy of a pack of savage dogs. While Blue-fox tries to deceive the Comanche Sachems, and lull them to sleep in a treacherous serenity, the Apache dogs are hidden like moles in the tall grass, awaiting the signal which will surrender their defenceless enemies into their hands."
Blue-fox looked round the calli, and bounding like a jaguar, rushed on his foeman, brandishing his knife.
"Die, dog!" he shouted.
Since the beginning of their singular conversation Black-deer had not stirred, he had remained tranquilly crouching over the fire, but his eyes had not lost one of the Apache's movements, and when the latter rushed madly at him he started aside, and springing up with extreme rapidity, seized the Chief in his nervous arms and both rolled on the ground, intertwined like serpents. In their fall they fell on the torch, which was extinguished; hence, the terrible and silent conflict went on between the two men by the uncertain gleam of the fire, each striving to stab his enemy. They were both of nearly the same age, their strength and skill were equal, and an implacable hatred animated them; in this horrible duel, which must evidently terminate in the death of one of them, they disdained the usual tricks employed in such fights, as they cared little about death so long as their enemy received the mortal blow simultaneously.
Still, Blue-fox had a great advantage over his adversary, who, blinded by fury, and not calculating any of his movements, could not long sustain this deadly contest without himself becoming a victim to the insensate rage which had urged him to attack the Comanche. The latter, on the contrary, completely master of himself, acted with the greatest prudence, and by the way he had seized his enemy had pinned his arms and rendered it impossible for him to employ his weapons; all the efforts of Black-deer tended to roll the Apache into the fire burning in the centre of the calli.
They had been wrestling thus for a long time, foot against foot, chest to chest, and it was as yet impossible to guess which would gain the upper hand, when suddenly the curtain of the hut was raised, and a brilliant light inundated the interior. Several men entered; they were Comanche warriors. They arrived later than they should have done, for all that took place at this moment had been arranged beforehand between them and Black-deer, but they had been delayed by circumstances beyond their control. Five minutes later their interference would have been useless, as they would probably have found one of the two combatants killed by the other, or perhaps raised two corpses, such fury and vindictiveness were displayed in this atrocious struggle.
When Blue-fox saw the help that arrived for his enemy he judged the position at a glance, and felt that he was lost; still, the cunning and coolness innate with Indians did not abandon him at this supreme moment; for Redskins, whatever may be the hatred they feel, do not kill an enemy who openly allows that he is conquered. The Apache Chief, so soon as he perceived the Comanches, ceased his efforts, and removed the arms which had hitherto held Black-deer as in a vice; then, throwing back his head and closing his eyes, he stood motionless.
Blue-fox was aware that he would be regarded as a prisoner and kept for the stake of torture; but until the hour marked for his punishment arrived he retained the hope of escaping, with whatever care he might be guarded. This chance was the last left him, so he did not wish to lose it.
Black-deer rose, greatly shaken by the rude embrace; but, instead of striking his enemy, who lay disarmed at his feet, he returned his knife to his belt. The Apache's calculations were correct: until the hour of punishment arrived he had nothing to fear from his enemy.
"Blue-fox is a great brave, he fought like a courageous warrior," said Black-deer; "as he must be fatigued he will rise, and the Comanche Chief will show him all the consideration he deserves."
And he offered his hand to help him in rising. The Apache made no movement to pick up his weapons, but frankly accepted the offered hand and rose.
"The Comanche dogs will see a warrior die," he said, with an ironical smile; "Blue-fox laughs at their tortures; they are not capable of making one of his muscles quiver."
"Good! My brother will see," and turning to the Sachems, who stood motionless and silent a few paces off, the Chief added; "when will this warrior die?"
"Tomorrow at sunset," the most aged of the Indians laconically answered.
"My brother has heard," Black-deer continued; "has he any remark to make?"
"Only one."
"My brother can speak, our ears are open."
"Blue-fox does not fear death, but ere he goes to hunt on the happy hunting grounds, beneath the powerful eye of the Wacondah, he has several important matters to settle on this earth."
The Comanches bowed in assent.
"Blue-fox," the Apache Chief continued, "has a necessity to return among the warriors of his nation."
"How long will the Chief remain absent?"
"One whole moon."
"Good! What will the Chief do to insure his word, and that the Comanche Sachems may put faith in what he says?"
"Blue-fox will leave a hostage."
"The Sachem of the Buffalo Apaches is a great brave; what warrior of his nation can die in his stead, if he forget to liberate his pledge?"
"I will give the flesh of my flesh, the blood of my blood, the bone of my bone. My son will take my place."
The Comanches exchanged a very meaning glance. There was a rather lengthened silence, during which the Apache, haughtily folded in his buffalo robe, stoically waited, and it was impossible to read in his motionless features one of the emotions that agitated him. At length Black-deer spoke again.
"My brother has recalled to my memory," he said, "the years of our youth, when we were both children of the Snake Pawnees, and hunted in company the elk and the asshata in the prairies of the Upper Missouri. The early years are the sweetest; the words of my brother made my heart tremble with joy. I will be kind to him; his son snail be my substitute, though he is still very young; but he knows how to crawl like the serpent and fly like the eagle, and his arm is strong in fight. But Blue-fox will reflect before pledging his word. If on the evening of the twenty-eighth sun my brother has not returned to take his place at the foot of the stake of torture, his son will die."
"I thank my brother," the Apache replied in a firm voice, "on the twenty-eighth sun I shall return: here is my open hand."
"And here is mine."
The two enemies clasped in cordial pressure the two hands which, a few minutes before, had been seeking so eagerly to take each other's life; then Blue-fox unfastened the cascabel skin that attached his long hair in the form of a cap on the top of his head, and removed the white eagle plume fixed above his right ear.
"My brother will lend me his knife," he said.
"My brother's knife is at his feet," the Comanche answered cautiously; "so great a warrior must not remain unarmed. He can pick it up."
The Chief stooped, picked up his knife, and thrust it in his girdle.
"Here is the plume of a Chief," he said as he gave it to Black-deer, cutting off a tress of the long hair, which, being no longer fastened, fell in disorder on his shoulders; he added, "My brother will keep this lock, it forms part of the scalp that belongs to him: the Chief will come to ask it back on the appointed day and hour."
"Good!" the Comanche answered, taking the hair and the plume, "My brother will follow me."
The Comanches, unmoved spectators of this scene, shook their torches to revive the flame, and all the Indians leaving the calli, proceeded in the direction of the Medicine Lodge, which stood, as we have seen, in the centre of the square between the ark of the first man and the stake of torture. It was toward the latter that the Chiefs proceeded with that slow and solemn step they employ in serious matters. As they passed in front of the callis, the curtains were raised, the inhabitants came out, holding torches, and followed the procession. When the Chiefs reached the stake, an immense crowd filled the square, but it was silent and reflecting.
There was something strange and striking in the scenes offered at this moment by the square, under the light of the torches, whose flame the wind blew in all directions. The Chiefs halted at the foot of the stake and formed a semicircle, in the centre of which Blue-fox stationed himself.
"Now that my brother has given his pledge, he can summon his son," said Black-deer; "the lad is not far off, I dare say."
The Apache smiled cunningly.
"The young of the eagle always follows the powerful flight of its parent," he replied; "the warriors will part to the right and left to grant him a passage."
At a silent sign from Black-deer there was a movement in the crowd, which fell back and left a passage through the centre; Blue-fox then thrust his fingers in his mouth, and imitated thrice the call of the hawk. In a few minutes a similar but very faint cry answered him. The Chief renewed his summons, and this time the answer was shriller and more distinct. For the third time the Apache repeated his signal, which was answered close at hand; the rapid gallop of a horse became audible, and almost immediately an Indian warrior dashed up at full speed. This warrior crossed the entire square without evidencing the slightest surprise. He stopped short at the foot of the stake, dismounted, and placed himself by the side of Blue-fox, to whom he merely said—
"Here I am."
This warrior was the son of the Apache Chief, a tall and nobly-built lad of sixteen to seventeen. His features were handsome, his glance was haughty, his demeanour simple, and noble without boasting.
"This boy is my son," Blue-fox said to the Comanche Chiefs.
"Good!" they replied, bowing courteously.
"Does my son consent to remain as a hostage in the place of his father?" Black-deer asked him.
The young man bowed his head in assent.
"My son knows that if his father does not come to liberate his pledge, he will die in his place?"
A smile of contempt played round the boy's lips.
"I know it," he said,
"And my son accepts?"