"Ah! Ah! There we have it."
The pirate smiled in reply.
"Let us hear them," the young man continued.
"In order not to compromise myself unnecessarily, you will carry off the girl during the first battle, when I come over to your side. Do not be frightened, it will not be long first, if I may believe certain forebodings."
"Good, that is granted. Now for the second."
"The second is, that you swear to free me from the White Scalper, and kill him, no matter in what way."
"Done again—I swear it. But now permit me one question."
"Out with it."
"How is it that as you hate this man so deeply, you have not killed him yourself, as there could have been no lack of opportunity?"
"Certainly not, I could have done it a hundred times."
"Well, why did you not do it?"
"Are you desirous of knowing?"
"Yes."
"Well, it was because the man has been my guest and slept under my roof by my side, eaten and drank at my table; but what it is not permitted me to do, others can do in my place. But now good bye, Señores, when will you give me a definite answer?"
"This very evening; I shall have seen the General in a few hours."
"This evening, then."
And bowing politely to the two men, he quietly left the jacal, mounted his horse, and set out at a gallop, leaving the two men terrified at his imperturbable effrontery and profound perversity.
[1]About £10,000.
[1]About £10,000.
After the scene of torture we described a few chapters back, Loyal Heart returned to his rancho with his friends, Tranquil, Lanzi, and the faithful Quoniam. Fray Antonio had left the village the same morning to convey to the Jaguar the news of the good reception given his companions by the Comanches. The Whites sat down sorrowfully on equipals, and remained silent for some minutes. The horrible tortures inflicted on Running-elk had affected them more than they liked to say. In fact, it was a frightful and repulsive spectacle for men accustomed to fight their enemies bravely, and, when the battle was over, help the wounded without distinction of victors or vanquished.
"Hum!" Quoniam muttered, "the Red race is a brutal race."
"All races are the same," Tranquil answered "when abandoned without restraint to the violence of their passions."
"The Whites are men more cruel than the Redskins," Loyal Heart observed, "because they act with discernment."
"That is true," John Davis struck in, "but that does not prevent the scene we have just witnessed being a horrible one."
"Yes," said Tranquil, "horrible is the word."
"Come," Loyal Heart remarked, for the purpose of changing the conversation, "did you not tell me, my friend, that you were entrusted with a message for me? I fancy the moment has arrived for an explanation."
"In truth, I have delayed too long in delivering it; besides, if my presentiments do not greatly deceive me, my return must be anxiously expected."
"Good! Speak, nobody will disturb you; we have all the time necessary before us."
"Oh, what I have to say to you will not take long; I only wish to ask you to lay a final hand to a work for which you have already striven?"
"What is it?"
"I wish to claim your help in the war of Texas against Mexico."
The young hunter frowned, and for some minutes remained silent.
"Will you refuse?" Tranquil asked, anxiously.
Loyal Heart shook his head.
"No," he said; "I merely feel a repugnance to mingle again with white men, and—shall I confess it? to fight against my countrymen."
"Your countrymen?"
"Yes, I am a Mexican, a native of Sonora."
"Oh!" the hunter said with an air of disappointment.
"Listen to me," Loyal Heart said, resolutely, "after all, it is better I should speak frankly to you; when you have heard me, you will judge and tell me what I ought to do."
"Good! Speak, my friend."
"You have, I think, been several times surprised at seeing a white man, like myself, dwelling with his mother and an old servant among an Indian tribe; you have asked yourself what reason could be powerful enough, or what crime was sufficiently great, to compel a man like myself, of gentle manners, gifted with a pleasant exterior, and possessing some degree of education, to seek a refuge among savages? This appeared to you extraordinary. Well, my friend, the cause of my exile to these remote regions was a crime I committed: on the self-same day I became an incendiary and an assassin."
"Oh!" Tranquil exclaimed, while the other hearers gave an incredulous glance; "you an incendiary and assassin, Loyal Heart! it is simply impossible."
"I was not Loyal Heart then," the hunter continued with a melancholy smile; "but it is true that I was only a lad, just fourteen years of age. My father was a Spaniard of the old race, with whom honour was a sacred inheritance, which he ever kept intact. He succeeded in saving me from the hands of the Juez de Letras, who had come to arrest me; and when the magistrate had left the house, my father assembled his tenants, formed a court, of which he constituted himself president, and tried me. My crime was evident, the proofs overwhelming, and my father himself uttered my sentence in a firm voice: I was condemned to death."
"To death?" his hearers exclaimed, with a start of horror.
"To death!" Loyal Heart repeated. "The sentence was a just one. Neither the supplications of his servants, nor the tears nor entreaties of my mother, succeeded in obtaining a commutation of my punishment. My father was inexorable, his resolution was formed, and he immediately proceeded to execute the sentence. The death my father reserved for me was not that vulgar death, whose sufferings endure a few seconds; no, he had said that he had determined to punish me, and designed a long and cruel agony for me. Tearing me from the arms of mother, who was half fainting with grief, he threw me across his saddle-bow, and started at a gallop in the direction of the desert.
"It was a long journey, for it lasted many hours ere my father checked the speed of his horse or uttered a syllable. I felt the trembling sinews of the wearied horse give way under me; but still it went on at the same rapid and dizzy speed. At length it stopped; my father dismounted, took me in his arms, and threw me on the ground. Within a moment, he removed the bandage that covered my eyes; I looked anxiously around me, but it was night, and so dark that I could see nothing. My father regarded me for a moment with an indefinable expression, and then spoke. Although many long years have elapsed since that terrible night, all the words of that address are still imprinted on my mind.
"'See,' he said to me in a quick voice, 'you are here more than twenty leagues from my hacienda, in which you will never set foot again, under penalty of death. From this moment you are alone—you have neither father, mother, nor family. As you are a wild beast, I condemn you to live with the wild beasts. My resolution is irrevocable, your entreaties cannot alter it, so spare me them.'
"Perhaps in the last sentence a hope was concealed; but I was no longer in a condition to see the road left open for me, for irritation and suffering had exasperated me.
"'I do not implore you,' I replied; 'we do not offer entreaties to a hangman.'
"At this insulting outrage, my father started; but almost immediately after every trace of emotion disappeared from his face, and he continued:
"'In this bag,' he said, to a rather large pouch thrown down by my side, 'are provisions for two days; I leave you this rifle, which in my hands never missed its mark; I give you also these pistols, this machete, knife, and axe, and gunpowder and bullets in these buffalo horns. You will find in the provision bag a flint and steel, and everything necessary for lighting a fire; I have also placed in it a Bible that belonged to your mother. You are dead to society, where you must never return; the desert is before, and it belongs to you: for my part, I have no longer a son—farewell! May the Lord have mercy on you! All is finished between us on this earth; you are left alone and without family; you have a second existence to begin, and to provide for your wants. Providence never abandons those who place their trust in it: henceforth it will watch over you.'
"After uttering these words coldly and distinctly, to which I listened with deep attention, my father cut with his knife the bonds that held my limbs captive, and leaping info the saddle, started at a gallop without once turning his head. I was alone, abandoned in the desert in the midst of the darkness, without hope or help from anywhere. A strange revolution then took place in me, and I felt the full extent of the crime I had committed; my heart broke at the thought of the solitude to which I was condemned; I got up on my knees, watching the fatal outline that was constantly getting further from me, and listening to the hurried gallop of the horse with feverish anxiety. And then, when I could hear no more, when all noise had died out in the distance, I felt a furious grief wither my heart; my courage all at once abandoned me, and I was afraid; then, clasping my hands with an effort, I exclaimed twice in a chocking voice:
"Oh, my mother—my mother!"
"Succumbing to terror and despair, I fell back on the sand and fainted."
There was a moment's silence. These men, though accustomed to the affecting incidents of their rough life, felt moved to pity at this simple and yet so striking recital. The hunter's mother and his old servant had silently joined the hearers, while the dogs, lying at his feet licked his hands. The young man had let his head sink on his chest, and hid his face in his hands, for he was suffering from terrible emotion. No one dared to risk a word of consolation, and a mournful silence prevailed in the rancho; at length Loyal Heart raised his head again.
"How long I thus remained unconscious," he continued in a broken voice, "I never knew; a feeling of coolness I suddenly experienced, made me open my eyes; the abundant morning dew, by inundating my face, had recalled me to life. As I was frozen, my first care was to collect some dry branches, and light a fire to warm me; then I began reflecting.
"When a great suffering does not kill on the spot, a reaction immediately takes place; courage and will resume their empire, and the heart is strengthened. In a few moments I regarded my position as less desperate. I was alone in the desert, it was true; but though still very young, as I was hardly fourteen, I was tall and strong, gifted with a firm character like my father, extremely tenacious in my ideas and will; I had weapons, ammunition, and provisions, and my position was, therefore, far from being desperate; frequently when I had been still living at my father's hacienda, I had gone hunting with the tigrero and vaqueros of the house, and during these hunts had slept under the open air in the woods; I was now about to begin a fresh hunt, though this time it would be much longer, and last for life. For a moment I had the thought of returning to the hacienda, and throwing myself at my father's knees; but I knew his inflexible character, and feared being ignominiously expelled a second time. My pride revolted, and I repulsed this thought, which was, perhaps, a divine inspiration.
"Still, being slightly comforted by the reflections I had just made, and crushed by the poignant emotions of the last few hours, I at length yielded to sleep, that imperious need of lads of my age, and fell off, after throwing wood on the fire to make it last as long as possible. The night passed without any incident, and at daybreak I awoke. It was the first time I saw the sun rise in the desert, and the majestic and grand spectacle I now had before me filled me with admiration.
"This desert, which seemed to me so gloomy and desolate in the darkness, assumed an enchanting aspect in the dazzling sunbeams: the night had taken with it all its gloomy fancies. The morning breeze, and the sharp odours exhaled from the ground inflated my chest, and made me feel wondrously comforted; I fell on my knees, and with eyes and hands raised to heaven, offered up an ardent prayer.
"This duty accomplished, I felt stronger, and rose with an infinite sense of confidence and hope in the future. I was young and strong; around me the birds twittered gaily, the deer and the antelopes bounded carelessly across the savannah: that God, who protected these innocent and weak creatures, would not abandon me, I felt, if by a sincere repentance I rendered myself worthy of His protection, whose goodness is infinite. After making a light meal, I put my weapons in my belt, threw my bag on one shoulder, my rifle on the other, and after looking back for the last time with a sigh of regret, I set out, murmuring the name of my mother—that name which would henceforth be my sole talisman, and serve me in good as in evil fortune.
"My first march was long; for I proceeded toward a forest which I saw glistening in the horizon, and wished to reach before sunset. Nothing hurried me, but I wished at once to discover my strength, and know of what I was capable. Two hours before nightfall I reached the spurs of the forest, and was soon lost in the ocean of the verdure. My father's tigrero, an old wood ranger, who had left his footmarks in every American desert, had told me during the long hunting nights we have spent together, many of his adventures on the prairies, thus giving me, though neither of us suspected it at the time, lessons which the moment had now arrived for me to profit by.
"I formed my bivouac on the top of a hill, lit a large fire, and after supping with good appetite, said my prayer, and fell asleep. All at once I woke up with a start: two rastreros were licking my hands with whines of joy, while my mother and my old Eusebio were bending over and carefully examining me, not knowing whether I were asleep or in a fainting fit.
"'Heaven be praised!' my mother exclaimed, 'he is not dead.'
"I could not express the happiness that suddenly flooded my soul at the sight of my mother, whom I never hoped to see again in this world, at my pressing to her heart, and hanging round her neck, as if afraid she would escape me again. I gave way to a feeling of immense joy; when our transports were somewhat calmed, my mother said to me—
"'And now, what do you intend doing? We shall return to the hacienda, shall we not? Oh! If you but knew how I suffered through your absence!'
"'Return to the hacienda?' I repeated.
"'Yes; your father, I am certain, will pardon you, if he has not done so already in his heart.' And while saying this, my mother looked at me anxiously, and redoubled her caresses.
"I remained silent.
"'Why do you not answer me, my child?' she said to me.
"I made a violent effort over myself. 'Mother,' I at length answered, 'the mere thought of a separation fills my heart with sorrow and bitterness. But before I inform you of my resolution, answer me frankly one thing.'
"'Speak, my child.'
"'Has my father sent you to me?'
"'No,' she answered, sorrowfully.
"'But, at any rate, you believe that he approves the step you are now taking?'
"'I do not believe—' she said, with even greater sorrow than before, for she foresaw what was about to happen.
"'Well, my mother,' I answered, 'God will judge me. My father has denied me, he has abandoned me in the desert. I no longer exist for him, as he himself told me—and I am dead to all the world. I will never set foot in the hacienda again, unless God and my father forgive my crime—and I am able to forgive myself. A new existence commences for me from today. Who can say whether the Deity, in permitting this great expiation, may not have secret designs with me? His will be done,—my resolution is immoveable.'
"My mother looked at me fixedly for a moment; she knew that once I had categorically expressed my will, I never recalled my words. Two tears silently coursed down her pale cheeks. 'The will of God be done,' she said; 'we will remain, then, in the desert.'
"'What!' I exclaimed, with joyous surprise, 'Do you consent to remain with me?'
"'Am I not thy mother?' she said, with an accent of ineffable kindness, as she pressed me madly to her heart."
Outside the rancho the yells of the Comanches still went on. After a momentary silence, Loyal Heart continued his narrative, which emotion had compelled him to interrupt.
"It was in vain," he said, "that I implored my mother to leave me to the care of Heaven, and return to the hacienda with No Eusebio. Her resolution was formed—she was inflexible.
"'Ever since I married your father,' she said to me, 'however unjust or extraordinary his demands might be, he found in me rather a submissive and devoted slave than a wife, whose rights were equal to his. A complaint has never passed my lips; I have never attempted to oppose one of his wishes. But today the measure is full; by exiling you as he has done coldly repulsing my prayers, and despising my tears, he has at length allowed me to read his heart, and the little egotism and cruel pride by which he allows himself to be governed. This man, who coldly and deliberately had the barbarity to do what he has done to the firstborn of his children, possesses not a spark of good feeling. The condemnation he pronounced against you I pronounce, in my turn, against him. It is the law of retaliation, the law of the desert in which we are going henceforth to live. Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.'
"Like all timid natures, accustomed to bow their heads timidly beneath the yoke, my mother, when the spirit of revolt entered her heart, assumed an obstinacy at the least equal to her ordinary docility. The way in which she uttered those words proved to me that all my prayers would be useless, and that it was better to yield to her determination. I therefore turned to No Eusebio; but at the first word I addressed to him the worthy man laughed in my face, saying distinctly and peremptorily that he had seen me born, and meant to see me die.
"As there was nothing to be gained on this side, I gave up the contest. I merely observed to my mother that, so soon as my father noticed her departure, he would probably start, at the head of all his tenants, in pursuit of her, and that we should be inevitably discovered, if we did not start at once. My mother and No Eusebio had come on horseback, but unhappily one of the animals had foundered, and was incapable of following us; saddle and bridle were removed, and we left it to its fate; my mother mounted the other horse, No Eusebio and myself following on foot, while the rastreros cleared the way.
"We knew not whither we were going, and did not trouble ourselves at all about it; plains succeeded forests, streams rivers, and we continued our forward march, hunting to support life, and camping wherever night surprised us, without regret for the past or anxiety for the future. We advanced thus straight ahead for nearly a month, avoiding, as far as possible, any encounter with the wild beasts, or the savages, whom we believed to be as ferocious as them.
"One day—a Sunday—the march was interrupted, and we spent it in pious conversation, and my mother read the Bible and explained it to No Eusebio and myself. About three in the afternoon, when the great heat of the day was beginning to yield, I rose and took my gun, with the intention of killing a little game, as our provisions were nearly exhausted, and I was absolutely compelled to renew them. My mother made no objection, though, as I have stated, Sundays were generally consecrated to rest: and I went off with the two rastreros. I went on for a long distance without seeing anything deserving powder and shot, and was thinking of turning back, when my two dogs, which were running on ahead, according to their wont, came to halt, while evidencing unusual signs of terror and restlessness.
"Although I was still a novice in the wood ranger's art, I judged it necessary to act with prudence, as I did not know what enemy I might find before me. I therefore advanced step by step, watching the neighbourhood closely, and listening to the slightest noise. My uncertainty did not last long, for terrible cries soon reached my ear. My first impulse was flight, but my curiosity restrained me, and, cocking my rifle, so as to be ready for all events, I continued to advance in the direction whence the cries came, now louder and more desperate than before.
"Ere long all was revealed to me; I perceived through the trees, in a rather spacious clearing, five or six Indian warriors, fighting with the fury of despair, against a threefold number of enemies. These Indians had doubtless been surprised in their camp, for their horses were hobbled, their fire was just going out, and several corpses, already robbed of their scalps, lay on the ground. These warriors, in spite of the numerical superiority of their foes, fought with desperate courage, not yielding an inch, and boldly replying with their war yell to that of their opponents.
"The Indian who appeared the Chief of the weaker party, was a tall young man, of twenty, at the most, powerfully built, with a leonine face, and who, while dealing terrible blows, did not cease exciting his men to resist to the death. Neither of the parties had firearms, they were fighting with axes and long barbed lances. All at once, several men rushed simultaneously on the young Chief, and, despite his desperate efforts, succeeded in throwing him down, then a hand seized his long scalp lock, and I saw a knife raised above his head.
"I know not what I felt on seeing this, or what dizziness seized upon me, but, by a mechanical movement, I raised my rifle and fired; then, rushing into the clearing with loud cries, I discharged my pistols at the men nearest me. An extraordinary thing occurred, which I was far from expecting, and certainly had not foreseen. The Indians, terrified by my three shots, followed by my sudden apparition, believed that help was arriving to their adversaries, and without dreaming of resisting, they began flying with that intuitive rapidity peculiar to Indians, at the first repulse they meet with.
"I thus found myself alone with those I came to deliver. It was the first time I had been engaged in a fight, if such a name can be given to the share I took in the struggle, hence I felt that emotion inseparable from a first event of this nature; I neither saw nor heard anything. I was standing in the centre of the clearing, like a statue, not knowing whether to advance or retire, flanked by my two bloodhounds, which had not left me, but showed their teeth with hoarse growls of anger.
"I know not who was the first to say that ingratitude was a white vice, and gratitude an Indian virtue; but, whoever he was, he spoke the truth. The Chief I had so miraculously saved, and his comrades, pressed around me, and began overwhelming me with marks of respect and gratitude. I let them do so, mechanically replying as well as I could, in Spanish, to the compliments the Indians lavished on me in their sonorous language, of which I did not understand a syllable. When a little while had elapsed, and their joy was beginning to grow more sedate, the Chief, who had been slightly wounded in the fight, made me sit down by the fire; while his comrades conscientiously raised the scalps of their enemy who had fallen, and he began questioning me in Spanish, which language he spoke clearly.
"After warmly thanking me, and repeating several times that I was a great brave, he told me that his name was Nocobotha, that is to say, the Tempest; that he belonged to the great and powerful nation of the Comanches, surnamed the Queen of the Prairies, and was related to a renowned Sachem called Black-deer. Having set out with a few warriors to chase antelopes, he had been surprised by a detachment of Apaches, the sworn enemies of his nation, and if the Master of Life had not brought me to their help, he and his comrades would infallibly have succumbed, an opinion the justice of which I was compelled to recognise. The Chief then asked me who I was, saying to me that he should henceforth regard me as his brother, that he wished to conduct me to his tribe, and that he would never consent to separate from the man who had saved his life.
"Nocobotha's words suggested an idea to me; I was greatly alarmed about the existence I led, not for myself, for this free and unrestrained life charmed me to the highest degree, but for my poor mother, who, accustomed to all the comforts of civilization, would not, I feared, endure for long the fatigues she undertook through her affection for me. I immediately resolved to profit by the gratitude and goodwill of my new acquaintance, to obtain my mother an asylum, where, if she did not find the comfort she had lost, she would run no risk of dying of want. I therefore frankly told Nocobotha the situation I was placed in, and by what accident I had providentially arrived just in time to save his scalp. The Chief listened to me with the most earnest attention.
"'Good,' he said with a smile, when I had ended, and squeezed my hand. 'Nocobotha is the brother of Loyal Heart. (Such was the name he gave me, and I have retained ever since.) Loyal Heart's mother will have two sons.'
"I thanked the Chief, as I was bound to do, and remarked to him that, as I had now left my mother for some time, I was afraid she might feel alarmed at my lengthened absence, and that, if he permitted me, I would return to her side to reassure her, and tell her all that had happened; but the Comanche shook his head.
"'Nocobotha will accompany his brother,' he said; 'he does not wish to leave him.'
"I accepted the proposition, and we at once started to return to my encampment. We did not take long in going, for we were mounted; but on seeing me arrive with six or seven Indians, my poor mother was terribly alarmed, for she fancied me a prisoner, and menaced with the most frightful punishment, I soon succeeded, however, in reassuring her, and her terror was converted into joy on hearing the good tidings I brought her. Moreover, Nocobotha, with that graceful politeness innate in Indians, soon entirely comforted, and managed to gain her good graces. Such, my dear Tranquil, is the manner in which I became a wood ranger, trapper, and hunter.
"On reaching the tribe, the Indians received me as a friend, a brother. These simple and kind men knew not how to prove their friendship. For my part, on growing to know them better, I began to love them as if they had been my brothers. I was adopted by the Sachems collected round the council fire, and from that moment regarded as a child of the nation. From this time I did not leave the Comanches again. All longed to instal me into the secrets of desert life. My progress was rapid, and I was soon renowned as one of the best and bravest hunters of the tribes. In several meetings with the enemy, I had opportunities to render them signal service. My influence increased; and now I am not only a warrior but a Sachem, respected and beloved by all. Nocobotha, that noble lad, whom his courage ever bore to the front, at length fell in an ambuscade formed by the Apaches. After an obstinate struggle, I managed to bear him home, though covered with wounds. I was myself dangerously wounded. On reaching the village, I fell senseless with my precious burden. In spite of the most devoted and assiduous care my mother lavished on my poor brother, she was unable to save him, and he died thanking me for not having left him in the hands of his foes, and having kept his scalp from being raised, which is the greatest disgrace for a Comanche warrior.
"In spite of the marks of friendship and sympathy the Sachems did not cease to bestow on me for the manner in which I had defended my brother. I was for a long time inconsolable at his loss; and even now, though so long a period has elapsed since that frightful catastrophe, I cannot speak of him without tears coming into my eyes. Poor Nocobotha! Kind and simple soul! Noble and devoted heart! Shall I ever find again a friend so certain and so devoted?"
"Now, my dear Tranquil, you know my life as well as I do myself. My kind and revered mother, honoured by the Indians, to whom she is a visible Providence, is happy, or at least seems to be so. I have completely forgotten my colour, to live the life of the Redskins, who, when my brethren spurned me, received me as a son, and their friendship has never failed me. I only remember my origin when I have to assist any unhappy man of my own complexion. The white trappers and hunters of these regions affect, I know not why, to regard me as their Chief, and eagerly seize the opportunity to show me their respect, whenever it offers. I am therefore in a position relatively enviable; and yet, the more years slip away, the more lively does the memory of the events that brought me to the desert recur to my mind, and the more I fear never to obtain the pardon of my crimes."
He was silent. The hunters looked at each other with a mingled feeling of admiration and respect for this man, who confessed so simply a crime which so many others would have regarded at the utmost as a pecadillo, and who repented of it so sincerely.
"By Jove!" Tranquil exclaimed all at once, "Heaven will be careful not to pardon you if it has not been done so long ago. Men like you are somewhat rare in the desert, comrade!"
Loyal Heart smiled gently at this simple outburst of the hunter.
"Come, my friend, now that you know me thoroughly, give me your advice frankly; whatever it may be, I promise you to follow it."
"Well, my advice is very simple; it is that you should come with us."
"But I tell you I am a Mexican."
The Canadian burst into a laugh.
"Eh, eh," he said; "I fancied you stronger than that, on my honour."
"What do you mean?"
"Hang it, it is as clear as day."
"I am convinced, my friend, that you can only offer me honourable advice, so I am listening to you with the most serious attention."
"Well, you shall judge; I shall not take long to convince you."
"I ask nothing better."
"Well, let us proceed regularly. What is Mexico?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well; is it a kingdom or an empire?"
"It is a Confederation."
"Very good; that is to say, Mexico is a republic, formed of several Confederated States."
"Yes," Loyal Heart said, with a smile.
"Better still; then Sonora and Texas, for instance, are free States, and able to separate from the Confederation, if they think proper?"
"Ah, ah," said Loyal Heart, "I did not expect that."
"I thought you did not. Well, you see, my friend, that the Mexico of today, which is neither that of Motecuhzoma nor that of the Spaniards, since the first merely comprised the plateau of Mexico, and the second, under the name of New Spain, a part of central America, is only indirectly your country, since you were born neither in Mexico nor Veracruz, but in Sonora. You said so yourself. Hence, if you, a Sonorian, assist the Texans, you only follow the general example, and are no traitor to your country. What have you to answer to that?"
"Nothing; save that your reasoning, though specious, is not without a certain amount of logic."
"Which means that you are convinced?"
"Not the least in the world. Still, I accept your proposition, and will do what you wish."
"That is a conclusion I was far from expecting, after the beginning of your sentence."
"Because, under the Texan idea, there is another, and it is that I wish to help you in carrying out."
"Ah!" the Canadian remarked, in surprise.
Loyal Heart bent over to him.
"Have you not a certain affair to settle with the White Scalper, or have you forgotten it?"
The hunter started, and warmly pressed the young man's hand.
"Thanks," he said.
At this moment Black-deer entered the rancho.
"I wish to speak with my brother," he said to Loyal Heart.
"Is my brother willing to speak before my friends the pale hunters?"
"The pale hunters are the guests of the Comanches; Black-deer will speak before them," the Chief answered.
The news Black-deer brought must be very important, for, in spite of that stoicism which the Indians regard as a law, the Chief's face was imprinted with the most lively anxiety. After sitting down at an equipal to which Loyal Heart pointed, instead of speaking, as he had been invited to do, he remained gloomy and silent The hunters looked at him curiously, waiting with impatience till he thought proper to explain. At length Loyal Heart, seeing that he obstinately remained silent, resolved to address him.
"What is the matter, Chief?" he asked him. "Whence comes the anxiety I see on your features? What new misfortune have you to announce?"
"An enormous misfortune," he answered, in a hollow voice; "the prisoner has escaped."
"What prisoner?"
"The son of Blue-fox."
The hunters gave a start of surprise.
"It is impossible," Loyal Heart said; "did he not surrender himself as a hostage? Did he not pledge his word? And an Indian warrior never breaks that; only white men do so," he added, bitterly.
Black-deer looked down in embarrassment.
"Come," Loyal Heart went on, "let us be frank, Chief; tell us clearly what things happened."
"The prisoner was bound and placed in the great medicine lodge."
"What!" Loyal Heart exclaimed, in indignation; "A hostage bound and imprisoned! You are mistaken, Chief, the Sachems have not done such a thing, or thus insulted a young man protected by the law of nations."
"I relate things exactly as they happened, Loyal Heart."
"And who gave the order?"
"I," the Chief muttered.
"The hatred you feel for Blue-fox led you astray, Black-deer; you committed a great fault in despising the word pledged by this young man; by treating him as a prisoner you gave him the right to escape; the opportunity offered itself, he profited by it, and acted rightly."
"My young men are on his trail," the Chief said, with a hateful smile.
"Your young men will not capture him, for he has fled with the feet of the gazelle."
"Is the misfortune irreparable, then?"
"Perhaps not. Listen to me: one way is left us of capturing our enemy again. The Pale hunters, my brothers, have asked my help in the war the Whites are carrying on at this moment against each other; ask of the council of the Chiefs one hundred picked warriors, whom I will command, and you can accompany me; tomorrow at sunset we will set out; the Apaches are burning to take their revenge for the defeat we inflicted on them, so be assured that ere we join our brothers the Palefaces, we shall see our road barred by Blue-fox and his warriors. This is the only chance left us to finish with this implacable enemy—do you accept it?"
"I do accept it, Loyal Heart; your medicine is good, it has never deceived you, the words your chest utters are inspired by the Wacondah!" the Chief said, eagerly, as he rose. "I am going to the council of the Chiefs, will you accompany me?"
"What to do? It is better that the proposition should come from you, Black-deer, for I am only an adopted son of the tribe."
"Good, I will do what my brother desires; I will return shortly."
"You see, my friend," Loyal Heart said to Tranquil, when the Chief had left, "that I have not delayed in fulfilling my promises; perhaps, of the hundred warriors we take with us one half will remain on the way, but the survivors will not be the less of great assistance to you."
"Thanks, my friend," Tranquil answered; "you know that I have faith in you."
As Loyal Heart had foreseen, the Indian warriors sent in pursuit of the prisoner returned to the village without him; they had beaten up the country in vain, the whole night through, without discovering any trace of his passage. The young man had disappeared from the medicine lodge, and it was impossible to find out what means he had employed to effect his escape. The only remark the Comanches made—but it had considerable importance—was that, at a spot in the forest exactly opposite to that where the battle with the Apaches had taken place, the soil was trampled and the bark of the trees nibbled, as if several horses had been standing there for some time, but there was no mark of human feet.
The warriors, consequently, returned completely disappointed, and thus augmented the anger of their countrymen. The moment was well selected for the request Black-deer wished to make of the Council of Sachems. He requested the expedition projected by Loyal Heart, not as an intervention in favour of the Whites, for that was only secondary, but as an experiment he desired to attempt, not merely to recapture the fugitive, but his father, who, doubtless, would be posted in ambush at a little distance from the village. As the question thus brought before them was acceptable, the Sachems authorised Black-deer to select one hundred of the most renowned warriors of the nation, who would make the expedition under his orders and those of Loyal Heart.
Black-deer spoke to the hachesto, who mounted on the roof of a calli and immediately convened the members of the tribe. When the braves knew that an expedition was meditated, under the command of two such renowned Chiefs, they eagerly offered to join the war party, so that the Chief really had a difficulty in selection. Shortly before sunset one hundred horsemen, armed with lances, guns, axes, and knives, wearing their war moccasins, from the heel of which hung numerous coyote tails, and having round their neck their long ilchochetas, or war whistles, made of a human thigh bone, formed one imposing squadron, drawn up in the finest order on the village square, in front of the ark of the first man. These savage warriors, with their symbolic paint and quaint dresses, offered a strange and terrific appearance.
When the white hunters ranged themselves by their side they were greeted with shouts of joy and unanimous applause. Loyal Heart and Black-deer placed themselves at the head of the band, the oldest Sachems advanced and saluted the departing warriors, and at a signal from Loyal Heart the troop defiled at a walking pace before the members of the council and quitted the village.
At the moment when they entered the plain the sun was setting in a mass of purple and golden clouds. Once on the war trail the detachment fell into Indian file, the deepest silence prevailed in the ranks, and they advanced rapidly in the direction of the forest. The Indians, when they start on a dangerous expedition, always throw out as flankers intelligent men, ordered to discover the enemy and protect the detachment from any surprise. These spies are changed every day, and, though afoot, they always keep a great distance ahead and on the flanks of the body they have undertaken to lead. Indian warfare in no way resembles ours; it is composed of a series of tricks and surprises, and Indians must be forced by imperious circumstances to fight in the open; attacking or resisting without a complete certainty of victory is considered by them an act of madness. War, in their sight, being only an opportunity for acquiring plunder, they see no dishonour in flight when they have only blows to gain by resisting, reserving to themselves the right of taking a brilliant revenge whenever the chance may offer.
During the first fortnight the march of the Comanches was in no way disquieted, and the scouts, since they left the village, had discovered no human trail. The only individuals they met were peaceful hunters, travelling with their squaws, dogs, and children, and returning to their village; all agreed with the statement that they had seen no suspicious trail. Two days after, the Comanches entered on Texan territory.
This apparent tranquillity greatly perturbed the two Chiefs of the detachment; they fancied themselves too well acquainted with the vindictive character of the Apaches to suppose that they would let them travel thus peacefully without attempting to check them. Tranquil, too, who had long known Blue-fox, completely shared their opinion. One evening the Comanches, after making a long day's march, bivouacked on the banks of a small stream upon the top of a wooded hill which commanded the course of the river and the surrounding country. As usual, the scouts had returned with the assertion that they had discovered no sign; when supper was over, Loyal Heart himself stationed the sentries, and each prepared to enjoy, during a few hours, a repose which the fatigues of the day rendered not only agreeable, but necessary.
Still, Tranquil, agitated by a secret presentiment, felt a feverish and apparently causeless anxiety which robbed him of sleep; in vain did he close his eyes with the firm intention of sleeping, they opened again in spite of his will; wearied with this sleeplessness, for which he could find no plausible reason, the hunter rose, resolved to keep awake and take a turn in the neighbourhood. The movement he made in picking up his rifle woke Loyal Heart.
"What is the matter?" he asked at once.
"Nothing, nothing," the hunter answered, "go to sleep."
"Then why do you get up?"
"Because I cannot sleep, that's all, and intend to profit by my wakefulness to take a walk round the camp."
These words completely aroused Loyal Heart, for Tranquil was not the man to do anything without powerful reasons.
"Come my friend," he said to him, "there is something, tell me.
"I know nothing," the hunter answered, "but I am sad and restless; in a word, I know not what I fancy, but I cannot help thinking an approaching danger menaces us; what it is I cannot say, but I noticed today two flocks of flamingoes flying against the wind, several antelopes, deers, and other animals running madly in the same direction; the whole day through I have not heard a single bird sing, and as all that is not natural, I am alarmed."
"Alarmed?" Loyal Heart said with a laugh.
"Alarmed of a snare, and that is why I wish to make a round; I suppose I shall discover nothing, I believe and hope it, but no matter, I shall at any rate be certain that we have nothing to fear."
Loyal Heart, without saying a word, wrapped himself in his zarapé and seized his rifle.
"Let us go," he said.
"What do you mean?" the hunter asked.
"I am going with you."
"What nonsense, my undertaking is only the fancy of a sick brain; do you remain here and rest yourself."
"No, no," Loyal Heart answered with a shake of his head, "I think exactly the same as you have just told me; I also feel anxious, I know not why, and wish to be certain."
"In that case come along; perhaps, after all, it will be the better course."
The two men quitted the bivouac. The night was fresh and light, the atmosphere extremely transparent, the sky studded with stars, the moon seemed floating in æther, and its light, combined with that of the stars, was so great, that objects were as visible as in open day. A profound calm brooded over the landscape, which the hunters could perfectly survey from the elevation on which they were standing; at times a mysterious breath passed over the leafy tops of the trees, which it bent with a hoarse murmur. Tranquil and Loyal Heart carefully examined the plain which stretched an enormous distance before them. Suddenly the Canadian seized his friend's arms, and by a sharp and irresistible movement, drew him behind the trunk of an enormous larch tree.
"What is it?" the hunter asked eagerly.
"Look!" his comrade answered laconically, as he stretched out his arm in the direction of the plain.
"Oh, oh, what does that mean?" the young man muttered a moment later.
"It means that I was not mistaken, and that we shall have a fight, but fortunately this time again it will be diamond cut diamond; warn John Davis, and let him take the villains in the rear, while we face them."
"There is not a moment to be lost," Loyal Heart muttered, and he bounded toward the camp.
The two experienced hunters had noticed a thing which would certainly have been passed over by the eyes of men less habituated to Indian customs. We have said that at intervals a capricious breeze passed over the tops of the trees; this breeze blew from the South West over the plain for a distance of some few hundred yards, and yet the same breeze ran along the tall grass, incessantly approaching the hill where the Comanches were encamped, but, extraordinary to say, it blew from the North East, or a direction diametrically opposed to the former. This was all the hunters had perceived, and yet it sufficed them to guess the stratagem of their foes, and foil it.
Five minutes later, sixty Comanches, commanded by Tranquil and Loyal Heart, crawled like serpents down the sides of the hill, and on reaching the plain stood motionless, as if converted into statues. John Davis, with the rest of the band, turned the hill. All at once a terrible cry was heard—the Comanches rose like a legion of demons, and rushed headlong on their enemies. The latter, once again surprised when they hoped to surprise, hesitated for a moment, and then, terrified by this sudden attack, they were seized by a panic terror, and turned to fly, but behind them rose suddenly the American's band.
They must fight, or surrender to the mercy of an implacable foe; hence the Apaches closed up shoulder to shoulder, and the butchery commenced. It was horrible, and lasted till day. These deadly enemies fought without uttering a cry, and fell without giving way to a sigh. As the Apaches fell, their comrades drew closer together, while the Comanches contracted the circle of steel in which they were enclosed.
The sun, on rising, illuminated a horrible scene of carnage; forty Comanches had fallen, while of the Apaches ten men, all more or less severely wounded, alone stood upright. Loyal Heart turned away in sorrow from this fearful sight, for it would have been useless for him to interfere to save the last victims. The Comanches, intoxicated by the smell of blood and powder, furious at the resistance their enemies had offered, did not listen to his orders, and the remaining Apaches were killed and scalped.
"Ah!" Black-deer exclaimed, pointing with a gesture of triumph to a mutilated and almost unrecognizable corpse, "the Sachems will be pleased, for Blue-fox is dead at last."
In truth, the formidable Chief lay on a pile of Comanche corpses; his body was literally covered with wounds, and his son, a poor lad scarce adolescent yet, was lying at his feet. Curiously enough, for the Indians only take the scalps of their enemies usually, a fresh cut-off head was fastened to the Chiefs girdle—it was that of Fray Antonio. The poor Monk, who had quitted the village a few days before Tranquil, had doubtless been surprised and massacred by the Apaches.
So soon as the carnage, for we cannot call it a battle, was over, the Indians prepared to pay the last rites to those of their friends who had found death in this sanguinary struggle. Deep graves were dug, and the bodies were thrown in without the usual funeral ceremonies, which circumstances prevented, still they were careful to bury their arms with them, and then stones were piled on the graves to defend them from wild beasts. As for the Apaches, they were left at the spot where they had fallen. After this, the war party, diminished by nearly one-half, started again sadly for Texas.
The victory of the Comanches was complete, it is true, but too dearly bought for the Indians to think of rejoicing at it. The massacre of the Apaches was far from compensating them for the death of forty Comanche warriors, without counting those who, in all probability, would perish on the journey from the wounds they had received.
Now that we are approaching the last pages of our book, we cannot repress a feeling of regret on thinking of the scenes of blood and murder which, in order to be truthful, we were compelled to unfold before our readers. If this narrative had been a fable, and we had been able to arrange our subject at our pleasure, most assuredly many scenes would have been cut down and altered. Unhappily, we have been obliged to narrate facts just as they happened, although we have frequently been careful to tone down certain details whose naked truth would have scandalized the reader.
Were we to be reproached with the continual combats in which our heroes are engaged, we should reply; we describe the manners of a race which is daily diminishing in the convulsive grasp of the civilization against which it struggles in vain; this race is called upon by the fatal decree of fate to disappear ere long eternally from the face of the globe; its manners and customs will then pass into the condition of a legend and being preserved by tradition, will not fail to be falsified and become incomprehensible. It is therefore our duty, who have become the unworthy historian of this unhappy race, to make it known as it was, as it is still, for acting otherwise would have been a felonious deed on our part, of which our readers would have been justified in complaining.
Finishing this parenthesis, which is already too long, but which we believe to be not merely necessary but indispensable, we will resume our narrative at the point where we left it.
We will now lead the reader to the extreme outposts of the Mexican army. This army, six thousand strong on its entrance into Texas, now amounted to no more than fifteen hundred, including a reinforcement of five hundred men, which General Cos had just brought up. The successive victories gained by Santa Anna over the Texans had therefore cost him just five thousand men. This negative triumph caused the President of the Mexican Republic considerable reflection. He began to understand the extraordinary difficulties of this war against an exasperated people, and he speculated with terror on the terrible consequences a defeat would have for him, if those intractable enemies he had been pursuing so long resolved at last to wait for him and succeeded in defeating him. Unluckily, whatever Santa Anna's apprehensions might be, it was too late to withdraw, and he must try his fortune to the end.
A space of five leagues at the most separated the two belligerent armies, and that space was diminished nearly one-half by the position of their videttes. The vanguard of the Mexican army, composed of two hundred regulars, was commanded by Colonel Melendez, but a league further ahead was encamped a forlorn hope, which had to clear the way for the movements of the army. These were simply the pirates of the prairies, commanded by our old acquaintance Sandoval, whom we saw a short time back introduce himself to the Jaguar, and make so singular a bargain with him.
In spite of the extremely slight esteem in which the Mexican army held the honesty of the said Sandoval and his myrmidons, General Santa Anna found himself constrained to place a certain amount of confidence in these thorough-paced scoundrels, owing to their incontestable capability as guides, and above all, as flankers. The General, consequently, found himself obliged almost to close his eyes to the crimes they committed nearly daily, and to let them act as they pleased. Let us add, that the pirates conscientiously abused the liberty conceded them, and did not hesitate to indulge in the most extraordinary caprices, which we had better pass over in silence.
These worthy men, then, were bivouacked, as we have said, about a league in advance of the Mexican army, and as they liked to take their ease whenever the opportunity offered, they had found nothing better than quartering themselves in a pueblo, whose inhabitants had naturally fled at their approach, and the houses of which the pirates pulled down, in order to procure wood for their campfires. Still, either by accident or some other reason, one house, or rather hut, had escaped the general ruin, and alone remained standing. It was not only untouched, but shut up, and a sentry was stationed before the door. This sentry, however, did not appear to trouble himself much about the orders given him; for being probably annoyed by the sun, whose beams fell vertically on his head, he was lying cozily in the shade of a stall luckily standing opposite the house, and with his musket within reach, was smoking, sleeping, and dreaming, while waiting till his term of duty was over, and a comrade came to take his place.
As this house served at this moment as the abode of Doña Carmela, we will ask the reader to enter it with us. The maiden, sad and pensive, was reclining in a hammock suspended before a window, open, in spite of the heat of the day, and her eyes, red with weeping, were invariably fixed on the desolate plain, which the sun parched, and whose sand flashed like diamonds. Of what was the poor girl thinking, while the tears she did not dream of wiping away, coursed down her pallid cheeks, where they traced a furrow?
Perhaps at this age, when recollections do not go back beyond yesterday, she remembered in bitterness of spirit the happy days of the Venta del Potrero, where with Tranquil and Lanzi, those two devoted hearts to protect her, all smiled upon her, and the future appeared to her so gentle and calm. Perhaps, too, she thought of the Jaguar, for whom she felt such friendship, or of Colonel Melendez, whose respectful and profound love had made her so often dream involuntarily, in the way maidens dream.
But, alas! all this had now faded away; farewell to the exquisite dreams! Where were Tranquil and Lanzi, the Jaguar and Colonel Melendez? She was alone, unfriended, and defenceless, in the power of a man the mere sight of whom filled her with terror. And yet, let us add, the man whom we have represented under such gloomy colours, this White Scalper, seemed to have become completely metamorphosed. The tiger had become a lamb in the presence of the maiden, he offered her the most delicate attentions, and did everything she wished—not that she ever expressed a desire, for the poor girl would not have dared to have done so, but he strove to divine what might please her, and then did it with unexampled eagerness. At times he would stand for hours before her, leaning against a wall, with his eyes fixed on her with an undefinable expression, without uttering a word. Then he would withdraw with a shake of the head, stifle a sigh, and murmur—"Good God! If it were she!" There was something touching in the timid and humble grief of this terrible man, who made all tremble around him, and yet himself trembled before a girl; although Doña Carmela, unaffected by the egotism of suffering persons, did not seem to perceive the influence she exercised over this powerful and stern nature.
The door opened, and White Scalper entered. He was still dressed in the same garb, he was still as upright, but his face no longer wore that expression of haughty and implacable ferocity which we have seen on it. A cloud of sorrow was spread over his features, and his deep sunken eyes had lost that fire which had given his glance so strange and magnetic a fixity. The maiden did not turn at the sound of the Scalper's footsteps: the latter halted, and for a long time remained motionless, waiting, doubtless, till she would notice his presence. But the girl did not stir, and hence he resolved to speak.
"Doña Carmela!" he said in a voice whose roughness he tried to smooth.
She made no reply, but continued to gaze out on the plain. The Scalper sighed, and then said in a louder key:
"Doña Carmela!"
This time the maiden heard him, for a nervous tremor agitated her, and she turned quickly round.
"What do you want with me?" she asked.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, on perceiving her face bathed in tears, "you are weeping."
The maiden blushed and passed her handkerchief over her face with a feverish gesture.
"What matter?" she muttered, and then, striving to recover herself, she asked, "What do you want with me, señor? Heavens, since I am condemned to be your slave, could you not at any rate allow me the free enjoyment of this room?"
"I thought I should cause you pleasure," he said, "by announcing to you the visit of an acquaintance."
A bitter smile contracted the maiden's lips.
"Who cares for me?" she said with a sigh.
"Pardon me, Señorita, my intention was kind. Frequently, while you sit pensively as you are doing today, unconnected words and names have passed your lips."
"Ah! That is true," she answered; "not only is my person captive, but you will also like to enchain my thoughts."
This sentence was uttered with such an accent of concentrated anger and bitterness, that the old man started, and a livid pallor suddenly covered his face.
"It is well, Señor," the girl continued, "for the future I will be on my guard."
"I believed, I repeat," he replied with an accent of concentrated scorn, "that I should render you happy by bringing to you Colonel Melendez; but since I am mistaken, you shall not see him, Señorita."
"What!" she exclaimed, bounding up like a lioness; "What did you say, Señor? What name did you pronounce?"
"That of Colonel Melendez."
"Have you summoned him?"
"Yes."
"Is he here?"
"He is awaiting your permission to enter."
The maiden gazed at him for a moment with an indescribable expression of amazement.
"Why, you must love me!" she at length burst forth.
"She asks that question!" the old man murmured sadly. "Will you see the Colonel?"
"One moment, oh, one moment; I want to know you, to understand you, and learn what I ought to think of you."
"Alas, I repeat to you, señorita, that I love you, love you to adoration; oh! Do not feel alarmed; that love has nothing of an insulting nature: what I love in you is an extraordinary, supernatural likeness to a woman who died, alas! On the same day that when my daughter was torn from me by the Indians. The daughter I lost, whom I shall never see again, would be your age, señorita: such is the secret of my love for you, of my repeated attempts to seize your person. Oh, let me love you, and deceive myself; in looking at you I fancy I see my poor dear child, and that error renders me so happy. Oh señorita! If you only knew what I have suffered, what I still suffer, from this miserable wound which burns my heart—oh! You would have pity on me."
While the old man spoke with an impassioned accent, his face was almost transfigured; it had assumed such an expression of tenderness and sorrow, that the maiden felt affected, and by an involuntary impulse offered him her hand.
"Poor father!" she said to him in a gentle and pitiful voice.
"Thanks for that word," he replied in a voice choking with emotion, while his face was inundated with tears; "thanks, señorita, I feel less unhappy now."
Then, after a moment's silence, he wiped away his tears.
"Do you wish him to come in?" he asked softly.
She smiled: the old man rushed to the door and threw it wide open. The Colonel entered and ran up to the maiden. White Scalper went out and closed the door after him.
"At last," the Colonel exclaimed joyously, "I have found you again, dear Carmela!"
"Alas!" she said.
"Yes," he exclaimed with animation, "I understand you, but now you have nothing more to fear; I will free you from the odious yoke that oppresses you, and tear you from your ravisher."
The maiden softly laid her hand on his arm, and shook her head with an admirable expression of melancholy.
"I am not a prisoner," she said.
"What?" he exclaimed with the utmost surprise, "Did not this man carry you off?"
"I do not say that, my friend. I merely say that I am not a prisoner."
"I do not understand you," he remarked.
"Alas, I do not understand myself."
"Then, you think that if you wished to leave this house and follow me to the camp, this man would not attempt to prevent you?"
"I am convinced of it."
"Then we will start at once, Doña Carmela; I will manage to obtain you respectable shelter till your father is restored to you."
"No, my friend, I shall not go, I cannot follow you."
"Why, what prevents you?"
"Did I not tell you that I do not understand myself; an hour agone I would have followed you gladly, but now I cannot."
"What has happened, then, during that period?"
"Listen, Don Juan, I will be frank with you. I love you, as you know, and shall be happy to be your wife; but if my happiness depended on my leaving this room, I would not do it."
"Pardon what I am going to say, Doña Carmela, but this is madness."
"No it is not, I cannot explain it to you, as I do not understand it myself; but I feel that if I left this place against the wishes of the man who retains me here, I should commit a bad action."
The Colonel's amazement at these strange words attained such a height that he could not find a word to reply, but he looked wildly at the maiden. The man who loves is never mistaken as to the feelings of the woman he loves. The young man felt instinctively that Carmela was directed by her heart in the resolution she had formed. At this moment the door opened, and White Scalper appeared. His appearance was a great relief to the pair, for they were frightfully embarrassed, and the young man especially understood that this unexpected arrival would be of great help to him. There was in the demeanour and manner of the old man a dignity which Carmela had never before remarked.
"Pardon me disturbing you," he said, with a kindly accent, that made his hearers start.
"Oh," he continued, pretending to be mistaken as to the impression he produced; "excuse me, Colonel, for speaking in this way, but I love Doña Carmela so dearly that I love all she loves; though old men are egotistic, as you are aware, I have been busy on your behalf during my absence."
Carmela and the Colonel looked their amazement. The old man smiled.
"You shall judge for yourselves," he said. "I have just heard, from a scout who has come in, that a reinforcement of Indians has turned our lines, and joined the enemy, among them being a wood ranger, called Tranquil."
"My father!" Carmela exclaimed, in delight.
"Yes," the Scalper said, suppressing a sigh.
"Oh, pardon me!" the maiden said, as she offered him her hand.
"Poor child! How could I feel angry with you? Must not your heart fly straight to your father?"
The Colonel was utterly astounded.
"This is what I thought," the old man continued. "Señor Melendez will ask General Santa Anna's authority to go under a flag of truce to the enemy. He will see Doña Carmela's father, and, after reassuring him about her safety, if he desire that his daughter should be restored to him I will take her to him myself."
"But that is impossible!" the maiden quickly exclaimed.
"Why so?"
"Are you not my father's enemy?"
"I was the enemy of the hunter, dear child, but never your father's enemy."
"Señor," the Colonel said, walking a step toward the old man, "forgive me; up to the present I have misunderstood you, or rather, did not know you; you are a man of heart."
"No," he answered; "I am a father who has lost his daughter, and who consoles himself by a sweet error;" and he uttered a deep sigh, and added, "time presses; begone, Colonel, so that you may return all the sooner."
"You are right," the young man said. "Farewell, Carmela, for the present."
And, without waiting for the maiden's reply, he rushed out. But when the Colonel joined his men again, he learned that the order for the forward march had arrived. He was obliged to obey, and defer his visit to the General for the present.
The news told White Scalper by the scout was true; Tranquil and his comrades, after turning the Mexican lines with that craft characteristic of the Indians, had effected their junction with the Texan army; that is to say, with the vanguard, commanded by the Jaguar. Unfortunately, they only found John Davis, who told them that the Jaguar had gone to make an important communication to General Houston.
If the American had spoken to Tranquil about his daughter, and given him news of her, he would have been forced to reveal the bargain proposed by the Chief of the Pirates, and he did not feel justified in divulging a secret of that importance which was not his own. The Canadian consequently remained ignorant of what was going on, and was far from suspecting that his daughter was so near him; besides, the moment was a bad one for questioning; the march had begun again; and during a retreat the officers who command the rearguard have something else to do than talk.
At sunset the Jaguar rejoined his cuadrilla. He was delighted at the arrival of the Comanches, and warmly pressed Tranquil's hand; but as the order had been given to advance by forced marches, and the enemy was at hand, the young man had no time either to tell his old friend anything.
The General had combined his movement with great cleverness, in order to draw the enemy after him by constantly refusing to fight. The Mexicans, puffed up by their early successes, and burning with the desire to crush what they called a revolt, did not require to be excited to pursue their unseizable enemy.
The retreat and pursuit continued thus for three days, when the Texans suddenly wheeled, and advanced resolutely to meet the Mexicans. The latter, surprised by this sudden return, which they were far from expecting, halted with some hesitation, and formed their line of battle.
It was the twenty-first of August, 1836, a day ever memorable in the annals of Texas. The two armies were at length face to face on the plains of San Jacinto, and were commanded in person by the chiefs of their respective republics, Generals Santa Anna and Houston. The Mexicans numbered seventeen hundred well armed, veteran soldiers; the Texans amounted to only seven hundred and eighty-three, of whom sixty-one were cavalry.
General Houston had been compelled, on the previous evening, to detach the Jaguar's cuadrilla, which the Comanches and the hunters had joined; for, contrary to Sandoval's expectations, his men had refused to ratify the bargain he had made in their names with the Jaguar. Not that they were actuated by any patriotic feeling, we are bound to state, but merely because they had come across a hacienda, which seemed to offer them the prospect of splendid plunder. Hence, without caring for either party, they had shut themselves up in the hacienda, and refused to quit it, in spite of the entreaties and threats of the Chief, who, seeing that they had made up their minds, at length followed their example. The Jaguar was therefore detached by the General to dislodge these dangerous visitors, and the young man obeyed, though, unwillingly, for he foresaw that he should miss the battle.
General Houston gave Colonel Lamar, who was at a later date President of Texas, the command of the sixty horsemen left him, and resolutely prepared for action, in spite of the numerical disproportion of his forces. The two armies, whose struggle would decide the fate of a country, were hardly as numerous as a French regiment. At sunrise the battle commenced with extreme fury. The Texans, formed in square, advanced silently, within musket shot of the enemy.
"Boys!" General Houston suddenly shouted, as he drew his sword, "Boys! REMEMBER THE ALAMO!"
A terrible fire answered him, and the Texans rushed on the enemy, who were already wavering. The battle lasted eighteen minutes! At the expiration of that time, the Mexicans were broken, and in full flight; their flags, their camp, with arms, baggage, provisions, and equipage, fell into the hands of the victors. Considering the limited number of combatants, the carnage was immense, for six hundred Mexicans, including a General and four Colonels, were killed, two hundred and eighty-three wounded, and seven hundred made prisoners; only sixty men, among them being Santa Anna, succeeded in effecting their escape.
As for the Texans, owing to the impetuosity of their attack, they had only two men killed and twenty-three wounded, though six of these died afterwards—an insignificant loss, which proves once again, the superiority of resolution over hesitation, for most of the Mexicans were killed during the rout.