Chapter Twenty Seven.The Lone Fire in the Forest.The motive for this hasty departure from the hacienda was unknown only to Benito and the other domestics. The cavalier adventurers were aware of its object though two of them, Baraja and Oroche, had no very clear understanding upon the matter. The fumes of the mezcal were still in their heads, and it was with difficulty they could balance themselves in the saddle. They were sensible of their situation, and did their best to conceal it from the eyes of the chief.“Am I straight in my stirrups?” whispered Oroche addressing himself to Baraja.“Straight as a bamboo!” replied the other. “Do I appear firm?” inquired he in turn.“Firm as a rock,” was the response.Thanks to the efforts they were making to keep themselves upright, Don Estevan, as he glanced over the ranks of his followers, did not observe anything amiss. Cuchillo, however, knowing that they were not in a fit state for inspection regarded them with an anxious glance.As Don Estevan was about to mount, the outlaw rode up to him, and pointing to the others with an expressive gesture, said, “If your honour desires me to act as guide, and give the order of march, I am ready to enter upon my duties.”“Very well,” replied Don Estevan, springing into the saddle, “commence at any moment, but let us be gone as soon as possible.”“Benito!” shouted the newly appointed guide, “take theremudaandrecuain advance; you will wait for us at the bridge of theSalto de Agua.”Benito, with the other attendants, obeyed the order in silence; and the moment after were moving with their respective charges along the road leading to Tubac. A little later the cavalcade rode out of the court-yard of the hacienda, and turning round the wall of the enclosure, guided by Cuchillo, proceeded toward the breach through which Tiburcio had passed. The guide was riding by the side of Don Estevan.“We have found his traces,” said he to the chief, as they moved forward; “he is down in the forest.”“Where?”“Do you see a light yonder shining through the trees?”The mysterious light was gleaming, just as Tiburcio had first seen it from his window. It was to this that Cuchillo directed the attention of the chief.“Yes,” replied the latter, “what of it?”“It is the camp-fire of some travellers; and in all probability the fellow will be found there. So,” continued he, with a hideous smile, “we are going to give chase to a wild colt—which will be better than hunting Don Augustin’s wild horses—and here are the three hunters.”As the outlaw said this, he pointed with his whip, first to himself, and then to his two comrades, Oroche and Baraja.“They have both espoused our quarrel,” he added.“From what motive?” inquired the Spaniard.“That motive which the hound has in taking the part of the hunter against the stag,” answered the outlaw, with a significant smile; “they only follow their instincts, and they are two animals with formidable teeth.”At this moment the moon shone out, and gleaming upon the carbines and knives of the two adventurers, seemed to confirm the assertion of Cuchillo. But the light proved disadvantageous to Baraja and Oroche, for it enabled Don Estevan to perceive that they were far from steady in their seats.“Why, these fellows are drunk!” cried he, turning upon the guide a look of furious reproach. “Are these the assistants you count upon?”“True, your honour,” replied Cuchillo, “they are not exactly sober; but I hope soon to cure them. I know of a remedy that will set them all right in five minutes. It is the fruit of thejocuistle, which grows abundantly in these parts. I shall find it as soon as we have reached the woods.”Don Estevan was forced to swallow his chagrin in silence. It was not the time for vain recriminations; and above all, Tiburcio had first to be found, before the services of either of the inebriated gentlemen would be called into requisition.In a few seconds’ time the party had reached the breach in the wall. Cuchillo dismounted, and striking a light, pointed out to the others the traces left by Tiburcio. There could be seen some fragments freshly fallen from the wall, evidently detached by the feet of one passing over; but what was of more consequence, they were stained with drops of blood. This must have been Tiburcio’s.“You see,” said the outlaw to Don Estevan, “that he must have passed this way. Ah! if I had only given him another inch or two. After all,” added he, speaking to himself, “it is better I didn’t. I shall be twenty onzas the richer that I didn’t settle with him then. Now,” continued he, once more raising his voice, “where can he have gone, unless to yonder fire in the woods?”A little farther on in the direction of the forest, other spots of fresh blood were discovered upon the dry calcareous surface of the soil. This appeared to confirm the conjecture of the guide—that Tiburcio had proceeded towards the camp-fire.“If your honour,” resumed Cuchillo, addressing himself to his chief, “will go forward in company with the Señor Diaz, you will reach a stream running upon your left. By following down its bank for some distance, you will come to a bridge constructed with three or four trunks of trees. It is the bridge of theSalto de Agua. Just before reaching it, your honour will see a thick wood on the right. Under cover of that you can remain, until we three have finished our affair and rejoin you. Afterwards we can overtake the domestics. I have ordered them forward, for the reason that such people should not be privy either to our designs or actions.”In this arrangement Cuchillo exhibited the consummate skill of the practiced bandit. Don Estevan, without offering any opposition to his plan, rode off as directed, in company with Diaz; while the outlaw, with his two chosen acolytes turned their horses’ heads in the direction of the fire.“The fire betokens a halt of travellers, beyond doubt,” remarked Diaz to Don Estevan; “but who these travellers can be is a thing that puzzles me.”“Travellers like any others, I suppose,” rejoined the Spaniard, with an air of abstraction.“No, that is not likely. Don Augustin Peña is known for his generous hospitality for twenty leagues around. It is not probable that these travellers should have halted so near his hacienda without knowing it. They must be strangers to the country I fancy, or if not, they have no good purpose in camping where they are.”Pedro Diaz was making almost the same observations that had occurred to Tiburcio at an earlier hour of the night.Meanwhile, Cuchillo, with his two comrades, advanced towards the edge of the forest. As soon as they had reached it the guide dismounted from his horse.“Stay here,” said he, “while I go fetch something to cure you of your ill-timed drunkenness.”So saying he glided in among the trees, and in a few seconds came out again, carrying with him several oblong yellow-coloured fruits that resembled ripe bananas. They were the fruits of thejocuistle, a species ofasimina, whose juice is an infallible remedy against the effects of intoxication. The two inebriates ate of the fruit according to Cuchillo’s direction; and in a minute or two their heads were cleared of the fumes of the mezcal as if by enchantment.“Now to business!” cried Cuchillo, without listening to the apologies his comrades were disposed to make—“to business! You will dismount and lead your horses forward by the bridle, until you can see the fire; and when you hear the report of my gun, be ready, for I shall then fall back upon you.”“All right,” responded Oroche, “we are both ready—the Señor Baraja and myself—to sacrifice all private interests to the common good.”Cuchillo now parted with the two, leading his horse ahead of them. A little farther on he tied the animal to the branch of a tree, and then stooping downward he advanced on foot. Still farther on he dropped upon his hands and knees, and crept through the underwood like a jaguar stealing upon its prey.Now and then he paused and listened. He could hear the distant lowing of the wild bulls, and the crowing of the cocks at the hacienda, mingled with the lugubrious notes of the great wood owl, perched near him upon a branch. He could hear the distant sound of water—the cataract of theSalto de Agua—and, in the same direction, the continuous howling of the jackals.Again the assassin advanced—still creeping as before. Presently he saw before him the open glade, lit up by the flame of the camp-fire. On the edge nearest him, stood a huge button-wood tree, from whose base extended a number of flat ridge-like processes, resembling the bastions of a fortification. He perceived that, behind these he would be concealed from the light of the fire; while he himself could command a view of every object within the glade.In another moment he was crouching under the trunk of the button-wood. His eyes gleamed with a fierce joy, as he gazed in the direction of the fire, around which he could distinguish the forms of three men—two of them seated, the other stretched along the ground, and apparently asleep.
The motive for this hasty departure from the hacienda was unknown only to Benito and the other domestics. The cavalier adventurers were aware of its object though two of them, Baraja and Oroche, had no very clear understanding upon the matter. The fumes of the mezcal were still in their heads, and it was with difficulty they could balance themselves in the saddle. They were sensible of their situation, and did their best to conceal it from the eyes of the chief.
“Am I straight in my stirrups?” whispered Oroche addressing himself to Baraja.
“Straight as a bamboo!” replied the other. “Do I appear firm?” inquired he in turn.
“Firm as a rock,” was the response.
Thanks to the efforts they were making to keep themselves upright, Don Estevan, as he glanced over the ranks of his followers, did not observe anything amiss. Cuchillo, however, knowing that they were not in a fit state for inspection regarded them with an anxious glance.
As Don Estevan was about to mount, the outlaw rode up to him, and pointing to the others with an expressive gesture, said, “If your honour desires me to act as guide, and give the order of march, I am ready to enter upon my duties.”
“Very well,” replied Don Estevan, springing into the saddle, “commence at any moment, but let us be gone as soon as possible.”
“Benito!” shouted the newly appointed guide, “take theremudaandrecuain advance; you will wait for us at the bridge of theSalto de Agua.”
Benito, with the other attendants, obeyed the order in silence; and the moment after were moving with their respective charges along the road leading to Tubac. A little later the cavalcade rode out of the court-yard of the hacienda, and turning round the wall of the enclosure, guided by Cuchillo, proceeded toward the breach through which Tiburcio had passed. The guide was riding by the side of Don Estevan.
“We have found his traces,” said he to the chief, as they moved forward; “he is down in the forest.”
“Where?”
“Do you see a light yonder shining through the trees?”
The mysterious light was gleaming, just as Tiburcio had first seen it from his window. It was to this that Cuchillo directed the attention of the chief.
“Yes,” replied the latter, “what of it?”
“It is the camp-fire of some travellers; and in all probability the fellow will be found there. So,” continued he, with a hideous smile, “we are going to give chase to a wild colt—which will be better than hunting Don Augustin’s wild horses—and here are the three hunters.”
As the outlaw said this, he pointed with his whip, first to himself, and then to his two comrades, Oroche and Baraja.
“They have both espoused our quarrel,” he added.
“From what motive?” inquired the Spaniard.
“That motive which the hound has in taking the part of the hunter against the stag,” answered the outlaw, with a significant smile; “they only follow their instincts, and they are two animals with formidable teeth.”
At this moment the moon shone out, and gleaming upon the carbines and knives of the two adventurers, seemed to confirm the assertion of Cuchillo. But the light proved disadvantageous to Baraja and Oroche, for it enabled Don Estevan to perceive that they were far from steady in their seats.
“Why, these fellows are drunk!” cried he, turning upon the guide a look of furious reproach. “Are these the assistants you count upon?”
“True, your honour,” replied Cuchillo, “they are not exactly sober; but I hope soon to cure them. I know of a remedy that will set them all right in five minutes. It is the fruit of thejocuistle, which grows abundantly in these parts. I shall find it as soon as we have reached the woods.”
Don Estevan was forced to swallow his chagrin in silence. It was not the time for vain recriminations; and above all, Tiburcio had first to be found, before the services of either of the inebriated gentlemen would be called into requisition.
In a few seconds’ time the party had reached the breach in the wall. Cuchillo dismounted, and striking a light, pointed out to the others the traces left by Tiburcio. There could be seen some fragments freshly fallen from the wall, evidently detached by the feet of one passing over; but what was of more consequence, they were stained with drops of blood. This must have been Tiburcio’s.
“You see,” said the outlaw to Don Estevan, “that he must have passed this way. Ah! if I had only given him another inch or two. After all,” added he, speaking to himself, “it is better I didn’t. I shall be twenty onzas the richer that I didn’t settle with him then. Now,” continued he, once more raising his voice, “where can he have gone, unless to yonder fire in the woods?”
A little farther on in the direction of the forest, other spots of fresh blood were discovered upon the dry calcareous surface of the soil. This appeared to confirm the conjecture of the guide—that Tiburcio had proceeded towards the camp-fire.
“If your honour,” resumed Cuchillo, addressing himself to his chief, “will go forward in company with the Señor Diaz, you will reach a stream running upon your left. By following down its bank for some distance, you will come to a bridge constructed with three or four trunks of trees. It is the bridge of theSalto de Agua. Just before reaching it, your honour will see a thick wood on the right. Under cover of that you can remain, until we three have finished our affair and rejoin you. Afterwards we can overtake the domestics. I have ordered them forward, for the reason that such people should not be privy either to our designs or actions.”
In this arrangement Cuchillo exhibited the consummate skill of the practiced bandit. Don Estevan, without offering any opposition to his plan, rode off as directed, in company with Diaz; while the outlaw, with his two chosen acolytes turned their horses’ heads in the direction of the fire.
“The fire betokens a halt of travellers, beyond doubt,” remarked Diaz to Don Estevan; “but who these travellers can be is a thing that puzzles me.”
“Travellers like any others, I suppose,” rejoined the Spaniard, with an air of abstraction.
“No, that is not likely. Don Augustin Peña is known for his generous hospitality for twenty leagues around. It is not probable that these travellers should have halted so near his hacienda without knowing it. They must be strangers to the country I fancy, or if not, they have no good purpose in camping where they are.”
Pedro Diaz was making almost the same observations that had occurred to Tiburcio at an earlier hour of the night.
Meanwhile, Cuchillo, with his two comrades, advanced towards the edge of the forest. As soon as they had reached it the guide dismounted from his horse.
“Stay here,” said he, “while I go fetch something to cure you of your ill-timed drunkenness.”
So saying he glided in among the trees, and in a few seconds came out again, carrying with him several oblong yellow-coloured fruits that resembled ripe bananas. They were the fruits of thejocuistle, a species ofasimina, whose juice is an infallible remedy against the effects of intoxication. The two inebriates ate of the fruit according to Cuchillo’s direction; and in a minute or two their heads were cleared of the fumes of the mezcal as if by enchantment.
“Now to business!” cried Cuchillo, without listening to the apologies his comrades were disposed to make—“to business! You will dismount and lead your horses forward by the bridle, until you can see the fire; and when you hear the report of my gun, be ready, for I shall then fall back upon you.”
“All right,” responded Oroche, “we are both ready—the Señor Baraja and myself—to sacrifice all private interests to the common good.”
Cuchillo now parted with the two, leading his horse ahead of them. A little farther on he tied the animal to the branch of a tree, and then stooping downward he advanced on foot. Still farther on he dropped upon his hands and knees, and crept through the underwood like a jaguar stealing upon its prey.
Now and then he paused and listened. He could hear the distant lowing of the wild bulls, and the crowing of the cocks at the hacienda, mingled with the lugubrious notes of the great wood owl, perched near him upon a branch. He could hear the distant sound of water—the cataract of theSalto de Agua—and, in the same direction, the continuous howling of the jackals.
Again the assassin advanced—still creeping as before. Presently he saw before him the open glade, lit up by the flame of the camp-fire. On the edge nearest him, stood a huge button-wood tree, from whose base extended a number of flat ridge-like processes, resembling the bastions of a fortification. He perceived that, behind these he would be concealed from the light of the fire; while he himself could command a view of every object within the glade.
In another moment he was crouching under the trunk of the button-wood. His eyes gleamed with a fierce joy, as he gazed in the direction of the fire, around which he could distinguish the forms of three men—two of them seated, the other stretched along the ground, and apparently asleep.
Chapter Twenty Eight.The Wood-Rangers.Behind the Hacienda del Venado—that is, to the northward of it—the surface of the country was still in a state of nature; as we have already said, the edge of the forest lay almost within gun-shot of the walls; and this vast tract of woods extended for many leagues to the north, till it ended in the great deserts of Tubac.The only road that trended in a northerly direction, was that leading to the Presidio of Tubac—though in reality it was not a road, but simply an Indian trail. At a short distance beyond the hacienda, it was crossed by a turbulent and rapid stream—the same that passed near the house—augmented by several tributaries that joined it in the woods. Where the road crossed it, and for a long distance above and below, this stream partook rather of the nature of a torrent, running in a deep bed, between rocky banks—acañon. Over this cañon the crossing was effected by means of a rude bridge consisting simply of the trunks of two or three trees, laid side by side, and reaching from bank to bank. About half-way between the hacienda and this bridge, and but a short distance from the side of the road, was the fire which had already attracted so much attention.This fire had been kindled near the centre of a little glade, but its flame cast a red glare upon the trees at a distance, until the grey bark of the button-wood, the pale foliage of the acacias, and the scarlet leaves of the sumac, all appeared of one colour: while the darker llianas, stretching from tree to tree, encircled the little glade with a series of festoons.At the hour when Tiburcio was about leaving the hacienda, two persons were seated by this fire, in the attitude of men who were resting after a day of fatigue. These persons were the trappers, who had already made their appearance at La Poza.There was nothing remarkable in two men having made their camp-fire in the woods; it was their proximity to a hacienda—and that, too, the Hacienda del Venado—that rendered the fact significant. The trappers knew well enough that the hacienda was close at hand; it followed, then, that they had some reasons of their own for not availing themselves of its hospitality. A large pile of fagots lay near the fire, evidently collected to feed it, and this proved that the men who had kindled it intended to pass the night on the spot.The appearance of these two men would have been striking, even in the light of day; but under that of the fire it was picturesque—almost fantastic. The older of the two was habited in a costume half Indian, half Canadian; on his head was a sort of bonnet, shaped like a truncated cone, and made out of the skin of a fox; a blue striped cotton shirt covered his shoulders, and beside him upon the ground lay a sort of woollen surtout—thecapoteof the Canadians. His legs were encased in leathern leggins, reaching from the thigh downward to the ankle; but instead of moccasins he wore upon his feet a pair of strong iron-bound shoes, capable of lasting him for a couple of years at the least. A large buffalo-horn, suspended from the shoulder, contained his powder; and upon his right side hung a leathern pouch, well filled with bullets. In fine, a long rifle, with a barrel nearly six feet in length, rested near his hand; and this, with a large hunting-knife stuck in his belt, completed his equipment. His hair already showed symptoms of turning grey and a long scar which crossed his temples, and appeared to run all round his head, showed that if his scalp was still there he had some time or other run the risk of having itraised. His bronzed complexion denoted a long exposure to sun, wind, and rain; but for all this, his countenance shone with an expression of good-humour. This was in conformity with his herculean strength—for nature usually bestows upon these colossal men a large share of kind-heartedness.The other trapper appeared to be some five or six years younger; and although by no means a man of small stature, he was but a pigmy alongside his gigantic companion. His countenance also lacked the serenity which distinguished that of the other—his black eyes gave out an expression of boldness approaching to effrontery; and the play of his features indicated a man whose passions, fiery by nature, once aroused, would lead him into acts of violence—even of cruelty. Everything about him bespoke the second trapper to be a man of different race from his companion—a man in whose veins ran the hot blood of the south. Although his style of dress did not differ very much from that of his comrade, there were some points in it that denoted him to be more of a horseman. Nevertheless, his well-worn shoes bore witness to his having made more than one long journey on foot.The Canadian, half reclining upon the grass, was watching with especial interest a large piece of mutton, which, supported upon a spit of iron-wood, was frizzling and sputtering in the blaze of the fire. He appeared to enjoy the savoury odour that proceeded from the joint; and so much was his attention taken up by his gastronomic zeal, that he scarce listened to what his companion was saying.“Well, I have often told you,” said the latter, “that when one is on the trace of an enemy, whether it be an Indian or a white, one is pretty sure of coming on his tracks somewhere.”“Yes,” rejoined the Canadian; “but you forgot that we shall just have time to reach Arispe, to receive the pay for our two years’ campaign; besides, by our not going to the hacienda, we lose the bounty upon these three skins, and miss selling them besides.”“I never forget my interests,” replied the other; “no more than I do the vows which I make: and the best proof of it is, that twenty years ago I made one which I believe I shall now be able to accomplish. We can always force them to pay us what is due at Arispe, and we shall find many an opportunity of getting rid of the skins: but the chance which has turned up in the middle of these deserts, of bringing me in contact with the man against whom I have sworn vengeance may not offer again during my whole lifetime.”“Bah!” exclaimed the Canadian, “vengeance is like many other kinds of fruit, sweet till you have tasted it, and afterwards bitter as gall.”“For all that, Señor Bois-Rose, you do not appear to practise your own doctrine with the Apaches, Sioux, Crows, and other Indians with whom you are at enmity! Your rifle has cracked many a skull—to say nothing of the warriors you have ripped open with your knife!”“Oh! that is different, Pepé. Some of these would have robbed me of my peltries—others would have taken my scalp, and came very near doing so, as you see—besides, it is blessed bread to clear the prairies of these red vermin; but I have never sought to revenge myself against one of my own race and colour. I never hated one of my own kind sufficiently to kill him.”“Ah! Bois-Rose; it is just those of one’s own race we hate most—that is when they have given us the reason for doing so—and this man has furnished me with such motives to hate him as can never be forgotten. Twenty years have not blunted my desire for vengeance; though, on account of the great distance that separated us, I supposed I should never find an opportunity of fulfilling my vow. Strange it is that two men, with relations like ours, should turn up together in the middle of these desert plains. Well! strange though it be, I do not intend to let the chance escape me.”Pepé appeared to have fixed his resolution upon this matter, and so firmly that his companion saw the folly of attempting to dissuade him by any further advice. The Canadian, moreover, was of an easy disposition, and readily yielded to the arguments of a friend.“After all,” said he, “perhaps, if I fully understood your motives, I might entirely approve of the resolution you have made.”“I can give them in two words,” rejoined he whom the Canadian was addressing as Pepé. “It is just twenty years, as I have already told you, since I was a carabinier in the service of her Catholic majesty. I should have been content with my position and the amount of pay, had it only beenpaidwhich unfortunately it was not. We were obliged to do the duty of coast-guard as well, and this would have done well enough had there been any smuggling, with the capture of which we might have indemnified ourselves; but there was none. What a fool a smuggler would have been to have ventured on a coast, guarded by two hundred fellows at their wits’ end with hunger! Well, then I reasoned that if any smuggler was to land it could only be with the concurrence of our captain, and I suspected that the captain would make no objection to such an arrangement—for he himself was, like the rest of us, a creditor of the government. In such case he would cast around among us for the man in whom hecould mostconfide, and that would be he who was noted as being most careless upon his post. I resolved, therefore, to become the captain’s confidential sentry.“To arrive at this object I pretended to be all the day asleep; and, notwithstanding the reprimands I received, I managed also to be found asleep upon my post at all hours of the night. I succeeded in my design. The captain soon learnt all about my somnolent habits, and chose me for his favourite sentinel.”At this moment the Canadian detached the mutton from the spit, and having cut a large “hunk” from it with his knife passed the joint to his comrade.This interrupted the narrative, for both narrator and listener were hungry. The two now sat face to face, their legs forming a sort of an ellipse, with the roast mutton in the centre, and for several minutes a formidable gritting of teeth, as huge pieces of the mutton passed through them, were the only sounds that broke the stillness of the night.
Behind the Hacienda del Venado—that is, to the northward of it—the surface of the country was still in a state of nature; as we have already said, the edge of the forest lay almost within gun-shot of the walls; and this vast tract of woods extended for many leagues to the north, till it ended in the great deserts of Tubac.
The only road that trended in a northerly direction, was that leading to the Presidio of Tubac—though in reality it was not a road, but simply an Indian trail. At a short distance beyond the hacienda, it was crossed by a turbulent and rapid stream—the same that passed near the house—augmented by several tributaries that joined it in the woods. Where the road crossed it, and for a long distance above and below, this stream partook rather of the nature of a torrent, running in a deep bed, between rocky banks—acañon. Over this cañon the crossing was effected by means of a rude bridge consisting simply of the trunks of two or three trees, laid side by side, and reaching from bank to bank. About half-way between the hacienda and this bridge, and but a short distance from the side of the road, was the fire which had already attracted so much attention.
This fire had been kindled near the centre of a little glade, but its flame cast a red glare upon the trees at a distance, until the grey bark of the button-wood, the pale foliage of the acacias, and the scarlet leaves of the sumac, all appeared of one colour: while the darker llianas, stretching from tree to tree, encircled the little glade with a series of festoons.
At the hour when Tiburcio was about leaving the hacienda, two persons were seated by this fire, in the attitude of men who were resting after a day of fatigue. These persons were the trappers, who had already made their appearance at La Poza.
There was nothing remarkable in two men having made their camp-fire in the woods; it was their proximity to a hacienda—and that, too, the Hacienda del Venado—that rendered the fact significant. The trappers knew well enough that the hacienda was close at hand; it followed, then, that they had some reasons of their own for not availing themselves of its hospitality. A large pile of fagots lay near the fire, evidently collected to feed it, and this proved that the men who had kindled it intended to pass the night on the spot.
The appearance of these two men would have been striking, even in the light of day; but under that of the fire it was picturesque—almost fantastic. The older of the two was habited in a costume half Indian, half Canadian; on his head was a sort of bonnet, shaped like a truncated cone, and made out of the skin of a fox; a blue striped cotton shirt covered his shoulders, and beside him upon the ground lay a sort of woollen surtout—thecapoteof the Canadians. His legs were encased in leathern leggins, reaching from the thigh downward to the ankle; but instead of moccasins he wore upon his feet a pair of strong iron-bound shoes, capable of lasting him for a couple of years at the least. A large buffalo-horn, suspended from the shoulder, contained his powder; and upon his right side hung a leathern pouch, well filled with bullets. In fine, a long rifle, with a barrel nearly six feet in length, rested near his hand; and this, with a large hunting-knife stuck in his belt, completed his equipment. His hair already showed symptoms of turning grey and a long scar which crossed his temples, and appeared to run all round his head, showed that if his scalp was still there he had some time or other run the risk of having itraised. His bronzed complexion denoted a long exposure to sun, wind, and rain; but for all this, his countenance shone with an expression of good-humour. This was in conformity with his herculean strength—for nature usually bestows upon these colossal men a large share of kind-heartedness.
The other trapper appeared to be some five or six years younger; and although by no means a man of small stature, he was but a pigmy alongside his gigantic companion. His countenance also lacked the serenity which distinguished that of the other—his black eyes gave out an expression of boldness approaching to effrontery; and the play of his features indicated a man whose passions, fiery by nature, once aroused, would lead him into acts of violence—even of cruelty. Everything about him bespoke the second trapper to be a man of different race from his companion—a man in whose veins ran the hot blood of the south. Although his style of dress did not differ very much from that of his comrade, there were some points in it that denoted him to be more of a horseman. Nevertheless, his well-worn shoes bore witness to his having made more than one long journey on foot.
The Canadian, half reclining upon the grass, was watching with especial interest a large piece of mutton, which, supported upon a spit of iron-wood, was frizzling and sputtering in the blaze of the fire. He appeared to enjoy the savoury odour that proceeded from the joint; and so much was his attention taken up by his gastronomic zeal, that he scarce listened to what his companion was saying.
“Well, I have often told you,” said the latter, “that when one is on the trace of an enemy, whether it be an Indian or a white, one is pretty sure of coming on his tracks somewhere.”
“Yes,” rejoined the Canadian; “but you forgot that we shall just have time to reach Arispe, to receive the pay for our two years’ campaign; besides, by our not going to the hacienda, we lose the bounty upon these three skins, and miss selling them besides.”
“I never forget my interests,” replied the other; “no more than I do the vows which I make: and the best proof of it is, that twenty years ago I made one which I believe I shall now be able to accomplish. We can always force them to pay us what is due at Arispe, and we shall find many an opportunity of getting rid of the skins: but the chance which has turned up in the middle of these deserts, of bringing me in contact with the man against whom I have sworn vengeance may not offer again during my whole lifetime.”
“Bah!” exclaimed the Canadian, “vengeance is like many other kinds of fruit, sweet till you have tasted it, and afterwards bitter as gall.”
“For all that, Señor Bois-Rose, you do not appear to practise your own doctrine with the Apaches, Sioux, Crows, and other Indians with whom you are at enmity! Your rifle has cracked many a skull—to say nothing of the warriors you have ripped open with your knife!”
“Oh! that is different, Pepé. Some of these would have robbed me of my peltries—others would have taken my scalp, and came very near doing so, as you see—besides, it is blessed bread to clear the prairies of these red vermin; but I have never sought to revenge myself against one of my own race and colour. I never hated one of my own kind sufficiently to kill him.”
“Ah! Bois-Rose; it is just those of one’s own race we hate most—that is when they have given us the reason for doing so—and this man has furnished me with such motives to hate him as can never be forgotten. Twenty years have not blunted my desire for vengeance; though, on account of the great distance that separated us, I supposed I should never find an opportunity of fulfilling my vow. Strange it is that two men, with relations like ours, should turn up together in the middle of these desert plains. Well! strange though it be, I do not intend to let the chance escape me.”
Pepé appeared to have fixed his resolution upon this matter, and so firmly that his companion saw the folly of attempting to dissuade him by any further advice. The Canadian, moreover, was of an easy disposition, and readily yielded to the arguments of a friend.
“After all,” said he, “perhaps, if I fully understood your motives, I might entirely approve of the resolution you have made.”
“I can give them in two words,” rejoined he whom the Canadian was addressing as Pepé. “It is just twenty years, as I have already told you, since I was a carabinier in the service of her Catholic majesty. I should have been content with my position and the amount of pay, had it only beenpaidwhich unfortunately it was not. We were obliged to do the duty of coast-guard as well, and this would have done well enough had there been any smuggling, with the capture of which we might have indemnified ourselves; but there was none. What a fool a smuggler would have been to have ventured on a coast, guarded by two hundred fellows at their wits’ end with hunger! Well, then I reasoned that if any smuggler was to land it could only be with the concurrence of our captain, and I suspected that the captain would make no objection to such an arrangement—for he himself was, like the rest of us, a creditor of the government. In such case he would cast around among us for the man in whom hecould mostconfide, and that would be he who was noted as being most careless upon his post. I resolved, therefore, to become the captain’s confidential sentry.
“To arrive at this object I pretended to be all the day asleep; and, notwithstanding the reprimands I received, I managed also to be found asleep upon my post at all hours of the night. I succeeded in my design. The captain soon learnt all about my somnolent habits, and chose me for his favourite sentinel.”
At this moment the Canadian detached the mutton from the spit, and having cut a large “hunk” from it with his knife passed the joint to his comrade.
This interrupted the narrative, for both narrator and listener were hungry. The two now sat face to face, their legs forming a sort of an ellipse, with the roast mutton in the centre, and for several minutes a formidable gritting of teeth, as huge pieces of the mutton passed through them, were the only sounds that broke the stillness of the night.
Chapter Twenty Nine.Old Souvenirs.“I have said then,” resumed Pepé, after a time, “that I pretended to be always asleep. Therusesucceeded equal to my best expectations, and one night the captain sent for me. Good! said I to myself, there’s an eel under the stone—the captain is going to confide a post to me. Just as I had anticipated he sent me to sleep—at least he thought so—on a most important post; but for all that I did not sleep a wink during the whole of that night.”Here Pepé paused for a moment, in order to swallow an enormous mouthful of the roast mutton, that hindered the free use of the tongue.“To be brief, then,” resumed he, “a boat arrived with men, and I permitted it to land. It was only afterwards that I learnt that it was no smuggling business these men were bent upon, but an affair of blood—of murder; and the thought that I was instrumental in aiding the assassins causes me to this hour a feeling of remorse. I did not conceal what I knew. Afterwards I denounced the murderer, by way of atoning for my fault. A trial took place, but as in Spain justice goes to the highest bidder, the assassin was set free, and I became a victim. I was drummed out of my regiment, and transported to the fisheries of Ceuta, on the unhealthy coast of Africa. There I was compelled to remain for many years, till at last having made my escape, after a thousand perilous adventures, I found myself on the prairies of America.”“It was a rich man then—some powerful person—whom you denounced?”“Yes; a grand señor. It was the old story of the pot of clay broken against the pot of iron. But the desert here has no distinctions; and, by the Virgin of Atocha! I shall prove that before many suns have gone over my head. Ah! if I only had here a certain alcalde of the name of Don Ramon Cohecho, and his damned friend, one Señor Cagatinta, I fancy I should make them pass an uncomfortable quarter of an hour.”“Very well, then,” said Bois-Rose, seeing the other had finished his narrative; “very well. I quite approve of your intentions—let the journey to Arispe stand over.”“It is an old story,” said Pepé, in conclusion; “and if for ten years you have been teaching me to handle a rifle, after many more spent in the usage of a carbine in the service of her Catholic majesty, surely I should be able to manage it now. I think I would scarcely miss an object as large as him whom you have seen at the head of those horsemen journeying towards the hacienda.”“Yes—yes,” replied the Canadian, with a laugh; “but I remember the time, Pepé, when you missed many a buffalo twice as big as he. Nevertheless, I fancy I have made a passable shot of you at last, although you still persist in mistaking the ear of an otter for his eye, which always depreciates the value of the skin. Well, you know that I myself was not brought up on the prairies. I was a sailor for many long years; and perhaps I should have continued one but for—a sad event—a melancholy affair—but what good is there in speaking of that which is no more. Let the past be past! I find the life of the desert something like that on the ocean—once a man has got used to it he cannot easily quit it.”“Yes,” rejoined Pepé; “the life of the forest and prairie has its charms, and for my part—”“Hush!” whispered the Canadian, interrupting the speech of his comrade and placing himself in an attitude to listen. “I heard a rustle among the branches. Other ears than mine may be listening to you.”Pepé cast a glance in the direction whence the sounds had been heard. The dark form of a man was perceived among the trees coming from the direction of the hacienda.It was evident that the man was not trying to approach by stealth, for his form was erect and he made no attempt to conceal himself behind the branches.This would have freed the mind of Pepé from all suspicion, but for the circumstance that the stranger appeared to be coming direct from the hacienda.“Who goes there?” he hailed in a loud tone, as the dark shadow was seen entering the glade.“One who seeks an asylum by your fire,” was the ready reply, delivered in rather a feeble voice.“Shall we allow him to come on? or beg him to continue his journey?” muttered Pepé to the Canadian.“God forbid we should deny him! Perhaps they have refused him a lodging up at the house; and that voice, which I think I have heard before, plainly denotes that he is fatigued—perhaps ill.”“Come on, Señor!” called out Pepé, without hesitating farther; “you are welcome to our fire and our mess; come on!”At this invitation the stranger advanced. It is needless to say that it was Tiburcio Arellanos, whose cheeks as he came within the light of the fire betrayed by their paleness the traces of some violent emotion, or else of some terrible malady. This pallor, however, was partly caused by the blood which he had lost in the conflict with Cuchillo.As soon as the features of Tiburcio came fairly under the light, the trappers recognised him as the young man they had met at La Poza; but the ex-carabinier was struck with some idea which caused him to make an involuntary gesture. The Canadian, on the other hand, regarded the new-comer with that expression of condescending kindness which age often bestows upon youth.“Have you parted with the gentlemen in whose company we saw you?” asked Pepé of Tiburcio.“Yes.”“Perhaps you are not aware that there is a house close by. I do not know the owner, but I fancy he would not refuse you a night’s lodging, and he could entertain you better than we. Perhaps,” continued he, observing that Tiburcio made no reply, “you have been up to the house already?”“I have,” answered Tiburcio. “I have no reproach to make against its owner, Don Augustin Peña; he has not refused me hospitality; but there are other guests under his roof with whom my life is not safe.”“Oh, that!” exclaimed Pepé, appearing to become more interested; “has anything happened to you?”Tiburcio lifted his serapé, exhibiting the wound in his right arm from which the blood was yet oozing.Both Pepé and the Canadian rose hastily to their feet and stepped forward to examine the wound. Having done so, they immediately set about dressing it, which they effected with as much dexterity and despatch as might have been shown by practised surgeons; at the same time the rude physiognomy of each was marked by an expression of interest almost amounting to tenderness. While the Canadian kept bathing the wound with water from his canteen, Pepé proceeded into the woods in search of a peculiar plant noted for its healing properties. This plant was theoregano. Presently he returned, bringing with him several slices which he had cut from the succulent stem of the plant; the pulp of these, mashed between two stones, was placed over the wound, and then secured by Tiburcio’s own scarf of China crape wound several times around the arm; nothing more could be done than await the effect of the application.“Now,” said the Canadian, “you will soon feel better. There is no danger of inflammation—nothing beats the oregano for preventing that, and you need not be afraid of fever. Meanwhile, if you feel inclined, there’s a bit of roast mutton and a glass ofeau de vieat your service; after which you had best lie down by the fire and take some sleep—for I can see that you’re weary.”“In truth,” replied Tiburcio, “I am fatigued. I thank you for your offer, but I do not feel inclined either to eat or drink; I have more need of sleep, and with your permission shall try and get some. One request I would make of you: that you will not permit me to sleep too long; there are reasons why I should soon be awake again.”“Very well,” said Pepé; “we don’t want your reasons. If you wish us to watch the hacienda, I beg you will only say so, and you shall have two pair of good eyes at your service; therefore make your mind easy, and sleep without fear of any enemy coming upon you unawares.”Tiburcio stretched himself upon the grass, and overcome by fatigue and the many violent emotions he had that day experienced, soon fell into a lethargic slumber.For some time Bois-Rose sat regarding the sleeper in silence, but with an air of strange interest.“What age do you think he is?” he at length inquired of his comrade.“Twenty-four, I should fancy,” replied the ex-coast-guard.“Just what I was thinking,” said the Canadian, speaking in a tone of half soliloquy, while a melancholy expression appeared to tone down his rude physiognomy. “Yes, just the age he ought to be if still alive.”“He! who are you talking of?” brusquely interrupted his companion, in whose heart the words of the Canadian seemed to find an echo.“No matter,” said Bois-Rose, still speaking in a tone of melancholy; “the past is past; and when it has not been as one would have wished it, it is better forgotten. But come! let us have done with idle regrets and finish our supper—such souvenirs always spoil my appetite.”“The same with me,” agreed Pepé, as he seized hold of a large mutton-bone, and commenced an attack upon it in a fashion that proved that his appetite was not yet quite gone.After a while Pepé again broke the silence.“If I had the pleasure,” said he, “of a personal acquaintance with this Don Augustin Peña, who appears to be the proprietor here, I would compliment him upon the fine quality of his mutton; and if I thought his horses were of as good a sort, I think I should be tempted to borrow one—one horse would never be missed out of the great herds we have seen galloping about, no more than a sheep out of his vast flocks; and to me a good horse would be a treasure.”“Very well,” said the Canadian. “If you feel inclined for a horse, you had better have one; it will be no great loss to the owner, and may be useful to us. If you go in search of one, I can keep watch over this young fellow, who sleeps as if he hadn’t had a wink for the last month.”“Most probably no one will come after him; nevertheless, Bois-Rose, keep your eye open till I return. If anything happens, three howls of the coyote will put me on my guard.”As he said this, Pepé took up a lazo that lay near, and turning his face in the direction in which he was most likely to find a drove of horses, he walked off into the woods.Bois-Rose was left alone. Having thrown some dry branches upon the fire, in order to produce a more vivid light, he commenced regarding anew the young man who was asleep; but after a while spent in this way he stretched himself alongside the prostrate body, and appeared also to slumber.The night-breeze caused the foliage to rustle over the heads of these two men, as they lay side by side. Neither had the least suspicion that they were here re-united by strange and providential circumstances—that twenty years before, they had lain side by side—then lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, just as now by the whispering murmurs of the forest.
“I have said then,” resumed Pepé, after a time, “that I pretended to be always asleep. Therusesucceeded equal to my best expectations, and one night the captain sent for me. Good! said I to myself, there’s an eel under the stone—the captain is going to confide a post to me. Just as I had anticipated he sent me to sleep—at least he thought so—on a most important post; but for all that I did not sleep a wink during the whole of that night.”
Here Pepé paused for a moment, in order to swallow an enormous mouthful of the roast mutton, that hindered the free use of the tongue.
“To be brief, then,” resumed he, “a boat arrived with men, and I permitted it to land. It was only afterwards that I learnt that it was no smuggling business these men were bent upon, but an affair of blood—of murder; and the thought that I was instrumental in aiding the assassins causes me to this hour a feeling of remorse. I did not conceal what I knew. Afterwards I denounced the murderer, by way of atoning for my fault. A trial took place, but as in Spain justice goes to the highest bidder, the assassin was set free, and I became a victim. I was drummed out of my regiment, and transported to the fisheries of Ceuta, on the unhealthy coast of Africa. There I was compelled to remain for many years, till at last having made my escape, after a thousand perilous adventures, I found myself on the prairies of America.”
“It was a rich man then—some powerful person—whom you denounced?”
“Yes; a grand señor. It was the old story of the pot of clay broken against the pot of iron. But the desert here has no distinctions; and, by the Virgin of Atocha! I shall prove that before many suns have gone over my head. Ah! if I only had here a certain alcalde of the name of Don Ramon Cohecho, and his damned friend, one Señor Cagatinta, I fancy I should make them pass an uncomfortable quarter of an hour.”
“Very well, then,” said Bois-Rose, seeing the other had finished his narrative; “very well. I quite approve of your intentions—let the journey to Arispe stand over.”
“It is an old story,” said Pepé, in conclusion; “and if for ten years you have been teaching me to handle a rifle, after many more spent in the usage of a carbine in the service of her Catholic majesty, surely I should be able to manage it now. I think I would scarcely miss an object as large as him whom you have seen at the head of those horsemen journeying towards the hacienda.”
“Yes—yes,” replied the Canadian, with a laugh; “but I remember the time, Pepé, when you missed many a buffalo twice as big as he. Nevertheless, I fancy I have made a passable shot of you at last, although you still persist in mistaking the ear of an otter for his eye, which always depreciates the value of the skin. Well, you know that I myself was not brought up on the prairies. I was a sailor for many long years; and perhaps I should have continued one but for—a sad event—a melancholy affair—but what good is there in speaking of that which is no more. Let the past be past! I find the life of the desert something like that on the ocean—once a man has got used to it he cannot easily quit it.”
“Yes,” rejoined Pepé; “the life of the forest and prairie has its charms, and for my part—”
“Hush!” whispered the Canadian, interrupting the speech of his comrade and placing himself in an attitude to listen. “I heard a rustle among the branches. Other ears than mine may be listening to you.”
Pepé cast a glance in the direction whence the sounds had been heard. The dark form of a man was perceived among the trees coming from the direction of the hacienda.
It was evident that the man was not trying to approach by stealth, for his form was erect and he made no attempt to conceal himself behind the branches.
This would have freed the mind of Pepé from all suspicion, but for the circumstance that the stranger appeared to be coming direct from the hacienda.
“Who goes there?” he hailed in a loud tone, as the dark shadow was seen entering the glade.
“One who seeks an asylum by your fire,” was the ready reply, delivered in rather a feeble voice.
“Shall we allow him to come on? or beg him to continue his journey?” muttered Pepé to the Canadian.
“God forbid we should deny him! Perhaps they have refused him a lodging up at the house; and that voice, which I think I have heard before, plainly denotes that he is fatigued—perhaps ill.”
“Come on, Señor!” called out Pepé, without hesitating farther; “you are welcome to our fire and our mess; come on!”
At this invitation the stranger advanced. It is needless to say that it was Tiburcio Arellanos, whose cheeks as he came within the light of the fire betrayed by their paleness the traces of some violent emotion, or else of some terrible malady. This pallor, however, was partly caused by the blood which he had lost in the conflict with Cuchillo.
As soon as the features of Tiburcio came fairly under the light, the trappers recognised him as the young man they had met at La Poza; but the ex-carabinier was struck with some idea which caused him to make an involuntary gesture. The Canadian, on the other hand, regarded the new-comer with that expression of condescending kindness which age often bestows upon youth.
“Have you parted with the gentlemen in whose company we saw you?” asked Pepé of Tiburcio.
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you are not aware that there is a house close by. I do not know the owner, but I fancy he would not refuse you a night’s lodging, and he could entertain you better than we. Perhaps,” continued he, observing that Tiburcio made no reply, “you have been up to the house already?”
“I have,” answered Tiburcio. “I have no reproach to make against its owner, Don Augustin Peña; he has not refused me hospitality; but there are other guests under his roof with whom my life is not safe.”
“Oh, that!” exclaimed Pepé, appearing to become more interested; “has anything happened to you?”
Tiburcio lifted his serapé, exhibiting the wound in his right arm from which the blood was yet oozing.
Both Pepé and the Canadian rose hastily to their feet and stepped forward to examine the wound. Having done so, they immediately set about dressing it, which they effected with as much dexterity and despatch as might have been shown by practised surgeons; at the same time the rude physiognomy of each was marked by an expression of interest almost amounting to tenderness. While the Canadian kept bathing the wound with water from his canteen, Pepé proceeded into the woods in search of a peculiar plant noted for its healing properties. This plant was theoregano. Presently he returned, bringing with him several slices which he had cut from the succulent stem of the plant; the pulp of these, mashed between two stones, was placed over the wound, and then secured by Tiburcio’s own scarf of China crape wound several times around the arm; nothing more could be done than await the effect of the application.
“Now,” said the Canadian, “you will soon feel better. There is no danger of inflammation—nothing beats the oregano for preventing that, and you need not be afraid of fever. Meanwhile, if you feel inclined, there’s a bit of roast mutton and a glass ofeau de vieat your service; after which you had best lie down by the fire and take some sleep—for I can see that you’re weary.”
“In truth,” replied Tiburcio, “I am fatigued. I thank you for your offer, but I do not feel inclined either to eat or drink; I have more need of sleep, and with your permission shall try and get some. One request I would make of you: that you will not permit me to sleep too long; there are reasons why I should soon be awake again.”
“Very well,” said Pepé; “we don’t want your reasons. If you wish us to watch the hacienda, I beg you will only say so, and you shall have two pair of good eyes at your service; therefore make your mind easy, and sleep without fear of any enemy coming upon you unawares.”
Tiburcio stretched himself upon the grass, and overcome by fatigue and the many violent emotions he had that day experienced, soon fell into a lethargic slumber.
For some time Bois-Rose sat regarding the sleeper in silence, but with an air of strange interest.
“What age do you think he is?” he at length inquired of his comrade.
“Twenty-four, I should fancy,” replied the ex-coast-guard.
“Just what I was thinking,” said the Canadian, speaking in a tone of half soliloquy, while a melancholy expression appeared to tone down his rude physiognomy. “Yes, just the age he ought to be if still alive.”
“He! who are you talking of?” brusquely interrupted his companion, in whose heart the words of the Canadian seemed to find an echo.
“No matter,” said Bois-Rose, still speaking in a tone of melancholy; “the past is past; and when it has not been as one would have wished it, it is better forgotten. But come! let us have done with idle regrets and finish our supper—such souvenirs always spoil my appetite.”
“The same with me,” agreed Pepé, as he seized hold of a large mutton-bone, and commenced an attack upon it in a fashion that proved that his appetite was not yet quite gone.
After a while Pepé again broke the silence.
“If I had the pleasure,” said he, “of a personal acquaintance with this Don Augustin Peña, who appears to be the proprietor here, I would compliment him upon the fine quality of his mutton; and if I thought his horses were of as good a sort, I think I should be tempted to borrow one—one horse would never be missed out of the great herds we have seen galloping about, no more than a sheep out of his vast flocks; and to me a good horse would be a treasure.”
“Very well,” said the Canadian. “If you feel inclined for a horse, you had better have one; it will be no great loss to the owner, and may be useful to us. If you go in search of one, I can keep watch over this young fellow, who sleeps as if he hadn’t had a wink for the last month.”
“Most probably no one will come after him; nevertheless, Bois-Rose, keep your eye open till I return. If anything happens, three howls of the coyote will put me on my guard.”
As he said this, Pepé took up a lazo that lay near, and turning his face in the direction in which he was most likely to find a drove of horses, he walked off into the woods.
Bois-Rose was left alone. Having thrown some dry branches upon the fire, in order to produce a more vivid light, he commenced regarding anew the young man who was asleep; but after a while spent in this way he stretched himself alongside the prostrate body, and appeared also to slumber.
The night-breeze caused the foliage to rustle over the heads of these two men, as they lay side by side. Neither had the least suspicion that they were here re-united by strange and providential circumstances—that twenty years before, they had lain side by side—then lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, just as now by the whispering murmurs of the forest.
Chapter Thirty.Bois-Rose and Fabian.For twenty years the murderer of the Countess de Mediana had gone unpunished. For twenty years the justice of heaven had remained suspended; but the time of its accomplishment was not far off. Soon was it to open its solemn assizes; soon would it call together accuser and criminal, witness and judge—not from one part of a country to another, but from opposite sides of the globe; and, as if led by some invisible hand, all would have to obey the terrible summons.Fabian de Mediana and the Canadian sailor lay side by side—just as they had done twenty years ago, at three thousand leagues distance from Sonora. And yet they had no suspicion of ever having met before, though a single chance word might at that moment have brought either to the memory of the other.It was just about this time that Don Estevan and his party rode off from the hacienda.The Canadian, according to the counsel of his comrade Pepé, slept with one eye open. At short intervals he contrived to awake himself, and raising his head slightly, cast around him a scrutinising glance. But on each of these occasions, the light of the fire showed him Tiburcio still tranquilly asleep; and this appearing to satisfy him, he would again compose himself as before.About an hour had passed, when the sound of heavy footsteps awakened him once more, and listening a moment, he distinguished them as the hoof-strokes of a horse.A few moments after, Pepé made his appearance within the circle of the blaze, leading a horse at the end of his lazo—a magnificent animal, that snorted and started back at sight of the fire. Pepé, however, had already given him more than one lesson, and his obedience was nearly complete; so that, after a short conflict, the trapper succeeded in bringing him nearer and attaching him to the trunk of a tree.“Well,” said Pepé, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an old ragged handkerchief, “I’ve had a tough struggle with him; but he’s worth it, I fancy. What think you, Bois-Rose? Isn’t he the most splendid quadruped that ever galloped through these woods?”In truth it was a beautiful creature, rendered more beautiful by the terror which he was exhibiting at the moment, as he stood with his fine limbs stretched, his head thrown high in the air, his mane tossed over his wild savage eyes, and his nostrils spread and frothy. Strange enough that fear, which renders vile and degraded the lord of the creation, should have an opposite effect on most of the lower animals—especially on the horse. This beautiful creature under its impulse only appears more beautiful!Little as Bois-Rose delighted in horse-flesh, he could not withhold his approval of the capture which his comrade had made.“He looks well enough,” was his sober reply; “but he’ll be a rough mount, I reckon.”“No doubt of that,” assented Pepé. “I know he’ll be rough at first; but the main thing was to get hold of him. I had a lucky hand to hook him as I did.”“I hope your neck will prove as lucky as your hand. For my part, I’d rather walk ten leagues than be on his back for ten minutes. But see, comrade!” continued the big trapper, pointing to the stars, “they’re gone down yonder! you’ll need some sleep before morning. Lie down while I take my turn of the watch.”“I’ll take your advice,” replied Pepé, at the same time stretching himself out upon his back, with his feet to the fire—in which attitude he was soon asleep.The Canadian rose to his feet, took several turns round the fire—as if to drive away any remains of sleep that might be lurking in his eyes—then sat down again, with his back resting against the stump of a tree.He had not been long seated before he got up once more, and, approaching with caution, stood over Tiburcio. For several minutes he remained in this attitude, attentively examining the features of the young man: he then returned to his seat by the stump.“Just abouthisage, if he is still living,” muttered he to himself. “But what chance have I to recognise in a grown man the features of an infant scarce four years old?”A smile of disdain played for an instant on his lips, as if he were chiding himself for the silliness of his conjectures.“And yet,” he continued, his countenance changing its expression, “I have seen and taken part in too many strange events—I have been too long face to face with Nature—to doubt the power of Providence. Why should I consider this a miracle? It was not one when I chanced upon the boat adrift that carried that poor infant and its murdered mother! No, it was the hand of God. Why might not the same hand restore him to me in the midst of the desert? The ways of Providence are inscrutable.”As if this reflection had given birth to new hopes, the Canadian again rose to his feet, and approaching, stooped once more over the prostrate form of Tiburcio.“How often,” said he, “have I thus gazed on my little Fabian as he slept! Well, whoever you are, young man,” continued he, “you have not come to my fire without finding a friend. May God do for my poor Fabian what I am disposed to do for you!”Saying this, he once again returned to his seat, and remained for a long time reflecting upon incidents that had transpired twenty years before in the Bay of Biscay.It should here be stated that up to this hour Bois-Rose and Pepé had not the slightest suspicion that they had ever met, before their chance encounter upon the prairies of America. In reality they had never met—farther than that they had been within musket-range of each other. But up to this hour Pepé knew not that his trapping comrade was the gigantic smuggler he had fired at from the beach of Ensenada; and Bois-Rose was equally ignorant that Pepé was the coast-guard whose “obstinacy and clumsiness” he had spoken of to his lieutenant.The cause of this mutual ignorance of each other’s past was that neither of them had ever mentioned the word Elanchovi in the hearing of the other. The Canadian had never thought of communicating the incidents of that night to his prairie comrade; and Pepé, on his side, would have given much to have blotted them altogether from the pages of his memory.The night became more chilly as the hours passed on, and a damp dew now fell upon the grass and the foliage of the trees. It did not wake the sleepers, however, both of whom required a long rest.All at once the silence was broken by the horse of Pepé, that neighed loudly and galloped in a circle at the end of his lazo: evidently something had affrighted him. Bois-Rose suddenly started from his reverie, and crept silently forward, both ear and eye set keenly to reconnoitre. But nothing could be heard or seen that was unusual; and after a while he glided back to his seat.The noise had awakened Tiburcio, who, raising himself into a sitting posture, inquired its cause.“Nothing,” answered the trapper, whose denial, however, was scarce sincere. “Something indeed,” continued he, “has frightened the horse. A jaguar, I fancy, that scents the skins of his companions, or, more likely, the remains of our roast mutton. By the way, you can eat a bit now; I have kept a couple of pieces for you.”And as he said this he handed two goodly-sized pieces of mutton to Tiburcio.This time the young man accepted the invitation to eat. Rest had given him an appetite; and after swallowing a few mouthfuls of the cold mutton, warmed up by a glass of the brandy already mentioned, he felt both his strength and spirits restored at the same time. His features, too, seemed to have suddenly changed their hue, and now appeared more bright and smiling.The presence of the hunter also added to the pleasure thus newly arisen within his breast. He remembered the solicitude which the Canadian had exhibited in dressing his wound—which he now extended even to giving him nourishment—and the thought occurred to him that in this man he might find a friend as redoubtable for his herculean strength as for his dexterity and courage. He no longer felt so lone in the world—so abandoned.On the other hand, Bois-Rose sat looking at hisprotégéand apparently delighted to see him enjoy his repast. The heart of the trapper was fast warming into a strong friendship for this young man.“Stranger!” said he, after a considerable interval of silence, “it is the custom of the Indians never to inquire the name or quality of a guest until after he has eaten of their bread. I have followed their example in regard to you; and now may I ask you who you are, and what happened at the hacienda to drive you forth from it?”“I shall willingly tell you,” answered Tiburcio. “For reasons that would have no interest for you, I left my hut and started on a journey to the Hacienda del Venado. My horse, overcome by thirst and fatigue, broke down on the way. It was his dead body, as you already know, that attracted the jaguars, so adroitly destroyed by you and your brave comrade.”“Hum!” interrupted the Canadian, with a smile; “a poor feat that—but go on. I long to hear what motive any one could have for hostility to a mere youth scarce twenty years old, I should fancy.”“Twenty-four,” answered Tiburcio, and then proceeded with his narrative. “I came very near sharing the fate of my poor horse; and when, about two hours after, you saw me at La Poza, I had just arrived there—having been saved by the party in whose company you found me. But what motive those gentlemen could have, first to rescue me from death, and then afterwards attempt to take my life, is what I am unable to comprehend.”“Perhaps some rivalry in love?” suggested the Canadian, with a smile; “it is usually the history of young men.”“I acknowledge,” rejoined Tiburcio, with an air of embarrassment, “there is something of that; but there is also another motive, I believe. Possibly it is to secure to themselves the sole possession of an important secret which I share with them. Certain it is, that there are three men whom my life appears to discommode; there is one of them against whom I have myself sworn vengeance, and although I am but one against three I must accomplish the vow which I made at the death-bed of a person who was very dear to me.”The three men whom Tiburcio meant—and whose names he repeated to Bois-Rose—were Cuchillo, who had attempted to assassinate him; the Senator, his rival: and Don Estevan, whom Tiburcio now believed to be the murderer of Marcos Arellanos.Bois-Rose tacitly applauded this exhibition of youthful ardour and reckless courage.“But you have not yet told me your name?” said he, interrogatively, after a moment’s hesitation.“Tiburcio Arellanos,” was the reply.At the mention of the name the Canadian could not restrain a gesture that expressed disappointment. There was nothing in the name to recall the slightest souvenir. He had never heard it before.The young man, however, observed the gesture.“You have heard the name before?” he asked abruptly. “Perhaps you knew my father, Marcos Arellanos? He has often been through the wildest parts of the country where you may have met him. He was the most celebrated gambusino in the province.”Instead of calling Marcos Arellanos his father, had Tiburcio said hisadopted father, his explanation might have elicited a different response from the Canadian. As it was, he only said in reply:“It is the first time I have heard the name. It was your face that recalled to me some memories of events that happened—long, long ago—”Without finishing what he meant to have said, the Canadian relapsed into silence.Tiburcio, too, ceased speaking for a while; he was reflecting on some hopes that had suddenly sprung up within him. His meeting with the two trappers appeared to him not so much a mere chance as a providential circumstance. The secret which he possessed, almost useless to him alone, might be rendered available with the assistance of two auxiliaries such as they—it might become the key to the favour of Don Augustin. It was not without repugnance that he reflected on this means of winning the heart of Rosarita—or rather of purchasing it at the price of gold—for Tiburcio believed that it was closed against any more tender appeal. He had mentally resolved never to return to the hacienda; but notwithstanding this vow he still indulged in a slight remnant of hope—perhaps the echo of his own profound passion. This hope overcame his repugnance; and he resolved to make known his design to the trappers, and endeavour to obtain assistance in carrying it out.With this view he again opened the conversation.“You are a hunter by profession—I think I have heard you say?”“Yes; that is the vocation both of my comrade and myself.”“It is not a very profitable one, and yet attended with many dangers.”“Ah! it is a noble calling, my boy! My fathers followed it before my time, and I, after a few years of interruption, have resumed the profession of my fathers. Unfortunately I have no son to succeed me; and I can say, without boasting, that when I am gone a brave and strong race perishes with me.”“I, too,” said Tiburcio, “follow the profession of my father—who, as I have told you, was a gambusino.”“Ah! you are one of a race whom God has also created—in order that the gold which He has given to the world should not be lost to the use of man.”“My father,” continued Tiburcio, “has left me a grand legacy—the knowledge of a deposit of gold, not far from the frontier; and if two men, such as you and your comrade, would join me in obtaining it, I could promise to make you richer than ever you dreamt of becoming.”Tiburcio awaited the reply of the trapper, feeling almost certain of his adhesion, notwithstanding the refusal the latter had made in his presence to the proposal of Don Estevan. His astonishment, therefore, was great when the Canadian, with a negative shake of the head, replied as follows:“Your proposal, young man, might be seductive to many—there was a time when it would have been so to myself—but now it is no longer so. What would gold be to me? I have no one to whom either to give it or leave it. I have no longer a country. The woods and prairies are my home, and gold would be of no service to me there. I thank you, young friend, for your offer, but I must decline to accept it.”And as he said this, the Canadian covered his face with his huge hand, as if to shut out from his eyes the seductive prospect which had been offered to his view.“Surely this is not your final answer?” said Tiburcio, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise. “A man does not so readily refuse a treasure that he has only to pick up from the ground?”“Nevertheless,” responded the trapper, “it is my resolution, fixed and firm. I have other objects to follow. I have given myself, body and soul, to aid my comrade there in an enterprise—my comrade of ten years’ standing.”During this conversation the wordsgoldandtreasure, frequently pronounced, appeared to produce their magic influence on Pepé. Every now and then he turned himself, as if about to protest against the refusal of Bois-Rose, so definitively given. It was evident he was not sleeping very soundly while the talk was going on.“This Don Estevan de Arechiza, of whom you speak,” resumed the Canadian; “he is the same we saw at La Poza is he not—the chief of the expedition?”“The same.”“Ha! is that the name he goes by here?” cried Pepé, suddenly rousing himself from his apparent sleep.“You know him, then?” said Tiburcio, interrogatively.“Yes—yes,” replied Pepé; “he is an old acquaintance, with whom I have some back debts to settle—and that is why you see me in this part of the country. But if you desire to have the whole story—and from what has happened I fancy you will—I promise to tell it to you by-and-bye. I begin to fancy that our cause is a common one; and if so, I shall be able to lend you a hand. But there’s a time for everything; and now, the most important thing for me is to get some sleep, so as to be ready for whatever turns up.”As Pepé said this, he made a movement to return to the horizontal position from which he had temporarily raised himself.“Stay! Pepé!” interrupted the Canadian, with an air of good-humour; “one instant before you fall asleep, or I shall say that you deserved the name of Pepé the Sleeper. Hear me! This young man has made us an offer. He wishes us to accompany him to aplacerhe knows of, where you have only to stoop down and gather the gold in handfuls.”“Carramba!” exclaimed Pepé; “you have accepted the offer, of course?”“On the contrary, I have refused it.”“Then you’ve done wrong, Bois-Rose! That’s a thing that deserves consideration; but we can talk it over by-and-bye—I must have some sleep first.” And as he uttered the last words he lay down again; and the instant after a loud snore announced that he was soundly asleep!
For twenty years the murderer of the Countess de Mediana had gone unpunished. For twenty years the justice of heaven had remained suspended; but the time of its accomplishment was not far off. Soon was it to open its solemn assizes; soon would it call together accuser and criminal, witness and judge—not from one part of a country to another, but from opposite sides of the globe; and, as if led by some invisible hand, all would have to obey the terrible summons.
Fabian de Mediana and the Canadian sailor lay side by side—just as they had done twenty years ago, at three thousand leagues distance from Sonora. And yet they had no suspicion of ever having met before, though a single chance word might at that moment have brought either to the memory of the other.
It was just about this time that Don Estevan and his party rode off from the hacienda.
The Canadian, according to the counsel of his comrade Pepé, slept with one eye open. At short intervals he contrived to awake himself, and raising his head slightly, cast around him a scrutinising glance. But on each of these occasions, the light of the fire showed him Tiburcio still tranquilly asleep; and this appearing to satisfy him, he would again compose himself as before.
About an hour had passed, when the sound of heavy footsteps awakened him once more, and listening a moment, he distinguished them as the hoof-strokes of a horse.
A few moments after, Pepé made his appearance within the circle of the blaze, leading a horse at the end of his lazo—a magnificent animal, that snorted and started back at sight of the fire. Pepé, however, had already given him more than one lesson, and his obedience was nearly complete; so that, after a short conflict, the trapper succeeded in bringing him nearer and attaching him to the trunk of a tree.
“Well,” said Pepé, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an old ragged handkerchief, “I’ve had a tough struggle with him; but he’s worth it, I fancy. What think you, Bois-Rose? Isn’t he the most splendid quadruped that ever galloped through these woods?”
In truth it was a beautiful creature, rendered more beautiful by the terror which he was exhibiting at the moment, as he stood with his fine limbs stretched, his head thrown high in the air, his mane tossed over his wild savage eyes, and his nostrils spread and frothy. Strange enough that fear, which renders vile and degraded the lord of the creation, should have an opposite effect on most of the lower animals—especially on the horse. This beautiful creature under its impulse only appears more beautiful!
Little as Bois-Rose delighted in horse-flesh, he could not withhold his approval of the capture which his comrade had made.
“He looks well enough,” was his sober reply; “but he’ll be a rough mount, I reckon.”
“No doubt of that,” assented Pepé. “I know he’ll be rough at first; but the main thing was to get hold of him. I had a lucky hand to hook him as I did.”
“I hope your neck will prove as lucky as your hand. For my part, I’d rather walk ten leagues than be on his back for ten minutes. But see, comrade!” continued the big trapper, pointing to the stars, “they’re gone down yonder! you’ll need some sleep before morning. Lie down while I take my turn of the watch.”
“I’ll take your advice,” replied Pepé, at the same time stretching himself out upon his back, with his feet to the fire—in which attitude he was soon asleep.
The Canadian rose to his feet, took several turns round the fire—as if to drive away any remains of sleep that might be lurking in his eyes—then sat down again, with his back resting against the stump of a tree.
He had not been long seated before he got up once more, and, approaching with caution, stood over Tiburcio. For several minutes he remained in this attitude, attentively examining the features of the young man: he then returned to his seat by the stump.
“Just abouthisage, if he is still living,” muttered he to himself. “But what chance have I to recognise in a grown man the features of an infant scarce four years old?”
A smile of disdain played for an instant on his lips, as if he were chiding himself for the silliness of his conjectures.
“And yet,” he continued, his countenance changing its expression, “I have seen and taken part in too many strange events—I have been too long face to face with Nature—to doubt the power of Providence. Why should I consider this a miracle? It was not one when I chanced upon the boat adrift that carried that poor infant and its murdered mother! No, it was the hand of God. Why might not the same hand restore him to me in the midst of the desert? The ways of Providence are inscrutable.”
As if this reflection had given birth to new hopes, the Canadian again rose to his feet, and approaching, stooped once more over the prostrate form of Tiburcio.
“How often,” said he, “have I thus gazed on my little Fabian as he slept! Well, whoever you are, young man,” continued he, “you have not come to my fire without finding a friend. May God do for my poor Fabian what I am disposed to do for you!”
Saying this, he once again returned to his seat, and remained for a long time reflecting upon incidents that had transpired twenty years before in the Bay of Biscay.
It should here be stated that up to this hour Bois-Rose and Pepé had not the slightest suspicion that they had ever met, before their chance encounter upon the prairies of America. In reality they had never met—farther than that they had been within musket-range of each other. But up to this hour Pepé knew not that his trapping comrade was the gigantic smuggler he had fired at from the beach of Ensenada; and Bois-Rose was equally ignorant that Pepé was the coast-guard whose “obstinacy and clumsiness” he had spoken of to his lieutenant.
The cause of this mutual ignorance of each other’s past was that neither of them had ever mentioned the word Elanchovi in the hearing of the other. The Canadian had never thought of communicating the incidents of that night to his prairie comrade; and Pepé, on his side, would have given much to have blotted them altogether from the pages of his memory.
The night became more chilly as the hours passed on, and a damp dew now fell upon the grass and the foliage of the trees. It did not wake the sleepers, however, both of whom required a long rest.
All at once the silence was broken by the horse of Pepé, that neighed loudly and galloped in a circle at the end of his lazo: evidently something had affrighted him. Bois-Rose suddenly started from his reverie, and crept silently forward, both ear and eye set keenly to reconnoitre. But nothing could be heard or seen that was unusual; and after a while he glided back to his seat.
The noise had awakened Tiburcio, who, raising himself into a sitting posture, inquired its cause.
“Nothing,” answered the trapper, whose denial, however, was scarce sincere. “Something indeed,” continued he, “has frightened the horse. A jaguar, I fancy, that scents the skins of his companions, or, more likely, the remains of our roast mutton. By the way, you can eat a bit now; I have kept a couple of pieces for you.”
And as he said this he handed two goodly-sized pieces of mutton to Tiburcio.
This time the young man accepted the invitation to eat. Rest had given him an appetite; and after swallowing a few mouthfuls of the cold mutton, warmed up by a glass of the brandy already mentioned, he felt both his strength and spirits restored at the same time. His features, too, seemed to have suddenly changed their hue, and now appeared more bright and smiling.
The presence of the hunter also added to the pleasure thus newly arisen within his breast. He remembered the solicitude which the Canadian had exhibited in dressing his wound—which he now extended even to giving him nourishment—and the thought occurred to him that in this man he might find a friend as redoubtable for his herculean strength as for his dexterity and courage. He no longer felt so lone in the world—so abandoned.
On the other hand, Bois-Rose sat looking at hisprotégéand apparently delighted to see him enjoy his repast. The heart of the trapper was fast warming into a strong friendship for this young man.
“Stranger!” said he, after a considerable interval of silence, “it is the custom of the Indians never to inquire the name or quality of a guest until after he has eaten of their bread. I have followed their example in regard to you; and now may I ask you who you are, and what happened at the hacienda to drive you forth from it?”
“I shall willingly tell you,” answered Tiburcio. “For reasons that would have no interest for you, I left my hut and started on a journey to the Hacienda del Venado. My horse, overcome by thirst and fatigue, broke down on the way. It was his dead body, as you already know, that attracted the jaguars, so adroitly destroyed by you and your brave comrade.”
“Hum!” interrupted the Canadian, with a smile; “a poor feat that—but go on. I long to hear what motive any one could have for hostility to a mere youth scarce twenty years old, I should fancy.”
“Twenty-four,” answered Tiburcio, and then proceeded with his narrative. “I came very near sharing the fate of my poor horse; and when, about two hours after, you saw me at La Poza, I had just arrived there—having been saved by the party in whose company you found me. But what motive those gentlemen could have, first to rescue me from death, and then afterwards attempt to take my life, is what I am unable to comprehend.”
“Perhaps some rivalry in love?” suggested the Canadian, with a smile; “it is usually the history of young men.”
“I acknowledge,” rejoined Tiburcio, with an air of embarrassment, “there is something of that; but there is also another motive, I believe. Possibly it is to secure to themselves the sole possession of an important secret which I share with them. Certain it is, that there are three men whom my life appears to discommode; there is one of them against whom I have myself sworn vengeance, and although I am but one against three I must accomplish the vow which I made at the death-bed of a person who was very dear to me.”
The three men whom Tiburcio meant—and whose names he repeated to Bois-Rose—were Cuchillo, who had attempted to assassinate him; the Senator, his rival: and Don Estevan, whom Tiburcio now believed to be the murderer of Marcos Arellanos.
Bois-Rose tacitly applauded this exhibition of youthful ardour and reckless courage.
“But you have not yet told me your name?” said he, interrogatively, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Tiburcio Arellanos,” was the reply.
At the mention of the name the Canadian could not restrain a gesture that expressed disappointment. There was nothing in the name to recall the slightest souvenir. He had never heard it before.
The young man, however, observed the gesture.
“You have heard the name before?” he asked abruptly. “Perhaps you knew my father, Marcos Arellanos? He has often been through the wildest parts of the country where you may have met him. He was the most celebrated gambusino in the province.”
Instead of calling Marcos Arellanos his father, had Tiburcio said hisadopted father, his explanation might have elicited a different response from the Canadian. As it was, he only said in reply:
“It is the first time I have heard the name. It was your face that recalled to me some memories of events that happened—long, long ago—”
Without finishing what he meant to have said, the Canadian relapsed into silence.
Tiburcio, too, ceased speaking for a while; he was reflecting on some hopes that had suddenly sprung up within him. His meeting with the two trappers appeared to him not so much a mere chance as a providential circumstance. The secret which he possessed, almost useless to him alone, might be rendered available with the assistance of two auxiliaries such as they—it might become the key to the favour of Don Augustin. It was not without repugnance that he reflected on this means of winning the heart of Rosarita—or rather of purchasing it at the price of gold—for Tiburcio believed that it was closed against any more tender appeal. He had mentally resolved never to return to the hacienda; but notwithstanding this vow he still indulged in a slight remnant of hope—perhaps the echo of his own profound passion. This hope overcame his repugnance; and he resolved to make known his design to the trappers, and endeavour to obtain assistance in carrying it out.
With this view he again opened the conversation.
“You are a hunter by profession—I think I have heard you say?”
“Yes; that is the vocation both of my comrade and myself.”
“It is not a very profitable one, and yet attended with many dangers.”
“Ah! it is a noble calling, my boy! My fathers followed it before my time, and I, after a few years of interruption, have resumed the profession of my fathers. Unfortunately I have no son to succeed me; and I can say, without boasting, that when I am gone a brave and strong race perishes with me.”
“I, too,” said Tiburcio, “follow the profession of my father—who, as I have told you, was a gambusino.”
“Ah! you are one of a race whom God has also created—in order that the gold which He has given to the world should not be lost to the use of man.”
“My father,” continued Tiburcio, “has left me a grand legacy—the knowledge of a deposit of gold, not far from the frontier; and if two men, such as you and your comrade, would join me in obtaining it, I could promise to make you richer than ever you dreamt of becoming.”
Tiburcio awaited the reply of the trapper, feeling almost certain of his adhesion, notwithstanding the refusal the latter had made in his presence to the proposal of Don Estevan. His astonishment, therefore, was great when the Canadian, with a negative shake of the head, replied as follows:
“Your proposal, young man, might be seductive to many—there was a time when it would have been so to myself—but now it is no longer so. What would gold be to me? I have no one to whom either to give it or leave it. I have no longer a country. The woods and prairies are my home, and gold would be of no service to me there. I thank you, young friend, for your offer, but I must decline to accept it.”
And as he said this, the Canadian covered his face with his huge hand, as if to shut out from his eyes the seductive prospect which had been offered to his view.
“Surely this is not your final answer?” said Tiburcio, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise. “A man does not so readily refuse a treasure that he has only to pick up from the ground?”
“Nevertheless,” responded the trapper, “it is my resolution, fixed and firm. I have other objects to follow. I have given myself, body and soul, to aid my comrade there in an enterprise—my comrade of ten years’ standing.”
During this conversation the wordsgoldandtreasure, frequently pronounced, appeared to produce their magic influence on Pepé. Every now and then he turned himself, as if about to protest against the refusal of Bois-Rose, so definitively given. It was evident he was not sleeping very soundly while the talk was going on.
“This Don Estevan de Arechiza, of whom you speak,” resumed the Canadian; “he is the same we saw at La Poza is he not—the chief of the expedition?”
“The same.”
“Ha! is that the name he goes by here?” cried Pepé, suddenly rousing himself from his apparent sleep.
“You know him, then?” said Tiburcio, interrogatively.
“Yes—yes,” replied Pepé; “he is an old acquaintance, with whom I have some back debts to settle—and that is why you see me in this part of the country. But if you desire to have the whole story—and from what has happened I fancy you will—I promise to tell it to you by-and-bye. I begin to fancy that our cause is a common one; and if so, I shall be able to lend you a hand. But there’s a time for everything; and now, the most important thing for me is to get some sleep, so as to be ready for whatever turns up.”
As Pepé said this, he made a movement to return to the horizontal position from which he had temporarily raised himself.
“Stay! Pepé!” interrupted the Canadian, with an air of good-humour; “one instant before you fall asleep, or I shall say that you deserved the name of Pepé the Sleeper. Hear me! This young man has made us an offer. He wishes us to accompany him to aplacerhe knows of, where you have only to stoop down and gather the gold in handfuls.”
“Carramba!” exclaimed Pepé; “you have accepted the offer, of course?”
“On the contrary, I have refused it.”
“Then you’ve done wrong, Bois-Rose! That’s a thing that deserves consideration; but we can talk it over by-and-bye—I must have some sleep first.” And as he uttered the last words he lay down again; and the instant after a loud snore announced that he was soundly asleep!
Chapter Thirty One.The Recognition.The conversation, for a moment interrupted, was resumed by Bois-Rose.“So you shall find,” said he, “in my comrade Pepé, a man ready to join you against this Don Estevan; and, as Pepé’s enemies are mine, I shall be equally your partisan. We shall be able to offer you a brace of good rifles that never miss their aim. There is one, at all events, I think I can answer for.”As the trapper said this, he pointed to the long piece that rested by his side.Tiburcio cast his eyes upon the gun, and for a moment regarded it with some surprise. He appeared to look more particularly at the wood-work of the stock, which was notched and carved in a somewhat fantastic manner. Here there was a row of simple notches, and there another row of marks resembling crosses. Then there were rows of double crosses; and also one of triple crosses; and finally a series of stars. All these hieroglyphics appeared to have been cut with the blade of a knife; but their purpose was a puzzle to Tiburcio.Bois-Rose, noticing an interrogative expression upon the face of the young man, at once entered upon an explanation.“These marks,” said he, “are the scores I keep of the savages that have fallen by my rifle. They themselves keep count by the number of scalps; but this, you see, is more Christian and decent. That row of crosses stands for Apache—there is a dozen in all. The double crosses are for Sioux—seven of them. Those with the triple branch are Pawnees—eight of them I have sent to the land of spirits. The stars are Crows—and number only four, that my rifle has caused to utter their death-yell. You see nine parallel notches?—well, these are nine Flatheads that, thanks to me, will rob no longer in this world; and finally, those marks of a roundish shape, which I needn’t count, are so many Blackfeet, who have gone to their happy hunting-grounds. Now,” added the trapper, “I think I can promise you a rifle that is not likely to miss fire, and the hand of a friend that will not fail you.”And as he said this, he stretched forth his huge hand, and grasping that of Tiburcio, pressed it frankly and firmly.The young man accepted the offer with a profusion of thanks.“I had a presentiment,” said he, “when I saw the light of your fire, that I should find friends around it.”“You are not deceived,” warmly responded Bois-Rose; “you have found friends;—but, pardon me when I ask you, have you no relatives or connections with whom you could find a home?”For a moment the colour mounted to the cheeks of Tiburcio; but after a slight hesitation, he replied:“Why should I not be frank with you?—I shall! Know then, brave trappers, that surrounded as I am by enemies who seek my life; disdained by the woman I have loved, and still love—I am alone in the world: I have neither father, nor mother, nor any relative that I know of?”“Your father and mother—are they dead?” inquired Bois-Rose, with an air of interest.“I never knew either of them,” answered the young man in a sad voice.“You have never known them!” cried the Canadian, rising suddenly, and laying hold of a blazing fagot, which he held up to the face of Tiburcio.This fagot, light as it was, appeared as if a hundredweight in the hand of the giant, that trembled like an aspen, under the convulsive emotions that were agitating his bosom. He held the flame closed to the countenance of the young man, and scanned his features with eager anxiety.“But surely,” said he, “you at least know in what country you were born?”“I do not,” answered Tiburcio. “But why do you ask me? What interest—”“Fabian! Fabian!” interrupted Bois-Rose, in a soft, appealing tone, as if he was speaking to an infant—“what has become of you?”“Fabian!” repeated the young man; “I do not know the name.”“Oh, my God!” exclaimed the Canadian, as if speaking to himself, “since this name recalls nothing to him, it is not he! Why did I indulge in such a foolish hope? And yet his features are just as Fabian’s should be at his age. Pardon me,” he continued, addressing himself to Tiburcio—“pardon me, young friend. I am a fool! I have lost my senses!”And throwing the fagot back upon the fire, he returned to his seat, placing himself with his back to the light, so that his countenance was concealed from the eyes of his companion.Both were for some minutes silent. Tiburcio was endeavouring to penetrate the past, and recall some vague reminiscences of infancy, that still lingered in his memory. The widow of Arellanos had told him all she knew of his early history—of the gigantic sailor who had nursed him; but it never occurred to Tiburcio that the great trapper by his side, acoureur de boisof the American wilderness—could ever have been a seaman—much less that one of whom he had heard and read, and who was believed to have been his father. The strange interest which the trapper had exhibited and the questions he had asked were attributed by him to mere benevolence. He had no idea that the latter referred to any one whom he had formerly known, and who was now lost to him; for Bois-Rose had as yet told him nothing of his own history.As Tiburcio continued to direct his thoughts upon the past, certain vague souvenirs began to shape themselves in his memory. They were only dim shadows, resembling the retrospect of a dream, and yet he was impressed with the belief that they had once been realities. He was the more confirmed in this idea, because such visions had occurred to him before—especially upon the night when he sat by the death-bed of his adopted mother—the widow of Arellanos. The revelations which she made to him before dying had revived in some mysterious way these shadowy souvenirs.After a while the young man made known his thoughts to his companion by the camp-fire, whose interest appeared to be forcibly re-awakened, and who listened with eager attention to every word.“I fancy I can remember,” said Tiburcio—“that is, if it be not a dream I have sometimes dreamt—a terrible scene. I was in the arms of a woman who held me closely to her breast—that I was rudely snatched from her embrace by a wicked man—that she screamed and cried, but then all at once became silent; but after that I remember no more.”These words appeared to produce an effect upon the Canadian; and his interest visibly increased as he listened.“You can remember no more?” he inquired, in an eager tone. “Can you not remember what sort of place it was in? Was it in a house? or do you not remember whether the sea was around you? That is a thing one is not likely to forget.”“No,” answered Tiburcio, “I saw the great ocean for the first time at Guaymas—that was four years ago—and yet from what has been told me I should have also seen it when I was a child.”“But, when you saw it four years ago, did it not recall anything to your memory?”“No, nothing.”“Nothing?” repeated the Canadian, interrogatively, and in a despairing tone.“Nothing more than this same dream, which I have mistaken no doubt for reality.”Bois-Rose again resumed his attitude of melancholy, and remained silent.After a pause Tiburcio continued:“One figure appears to me in these visions that is different from the rest.”“What sort of figure?” inquired the Canadian, with renewed interest.“That of a man of a hale rude countenance, but notwithstanding one of kindly expression. This man loved me, for I now have his face before me more clearly than I ever had; and I can trace that expression upon it.”“And did you love him? can you remember that?” inquired the Canadian, while his heart beat with anxiety, as he awaited the answer.“I am sure I did, he was so kind to me. I can remember he was kind to me.”A tear stole over the bronzed cheek of the trapper as he listened to these words; and then turning his face once more so that it was hidden from the view of Tiburcio, he murmured to himself—“Alas, poor Fabian! he too loved me—I know he did.”Then once more facing round to the fire, he hazarded a last question:“Do you not remember one circumstance above all? Do you not remember that this man was suddenly separated from you in the midst of a terrible affray—?”The emotion under which Bois-Rose was suffering hindered him from finishing his interrogatory. His head fell between his knees, and he awaited in trembling the response which Tiburcio might make.The latter was silent for some seconds, as if endeavouring to arrange the confused thoughts that had suddenly sprung up in his mind.“Hear me!” said he at length, “you who appear to be a beacon guiding my memories of the past—hear what I can remember at this moment. There was one day of terror and confusion; I saw much blood around me. The ground appeared to tremble—there was thunder or the noise of cannon. I was in great fear within a dark chamber where I had been shut up—a man came to me; it was the big man who loved me—”Tiburcio paused for an instant, as if to grapple freshly with the vague reminiscences that were endeavouring to escape from him, while the Canadian appeared like one suffering the agony of suspense.“Yes,” resumed Tiburcio, “this man came to me—he lifted me up in his arms and carried me into the light—there he caused me to kneel down—oh! I now remember what he said—‘kneel!’ said he, ‘kneel, my child! and pray for your mother!’ That is all I can remember.”The Canadian, who was still seated, appeared to tremble convulsively, as he listened to these last words; but when Tiburcio had finished speaking, he rose suddenly to his feet; and rushing forward threw his arms wildly around the young man, while at the same time he cried out in a broken voice:“Your mother whom I found dead beside you. Oh! my God! Once more in need of a father, hast thou sent him to me. Oh! Fabian! Fabian! Come to my heart! It was I who caused you to kneel—I am that man! who in the bay of Elanchovi—”At this moment the report of a carbine echoed in the woods; and a bullet whistling through the air, passed close to the head of Tiburcio, striking a tree that stood behind him.This unexpected intruder at once put an end to the dialogue; suddenly changing the tableaux of figures around the fire. Pepé, who had heard the shot, sprang instantaneously to his feet, and all three stood grasping their weapons, ready to receive the enemy who had committed the dastardly attempt.
The conversation, for a moment interrupted, was resumed by Bois-Rose.
“So you shall find,” said he, “in my comrade Pepé, a man ready to join you against this Don Estevan; and, as Pepé’s enemies are mine, I shall be equally your partisan. We shall be able to offer you a brace of good rifles that never miss their aim. There is one, at all events, I think I can answer for.”
As the trapper said this, he pointed to the long piece that rested by his side.
Tiburcio cast his eyes upon the gun, and for a moment regarded it with some surprise. He appeared to look more particularly at the wood-work of the stock, which was notched and carved in a somewhat fantastic manner. Here there was a row of simple notches, and there another row of marks resembling crosses. Then there were rows of double crosses; and also one of triple crosses; and finally a series of stars. All these hieroglyphics appeared to have been cut with the blade of a knife; but their purpose was a puzzle to Tiburcio.
Bois-Rose, noticing an interrogative expression upon the face of the young man, at once entered upon an explanation.
“These marks,” said he, “are the scores I keep of the savages that have fallen by my rifle. They themselves keep count by the number of scalps; but this, you see, is more Christian and decent. That row of crosses stands for Apache—there is a dozen in all. The double crosses are for Sioux—seven of them. Those with the triple branch are Pawnees—eight of them I have sent to the land of spirits. The stars are Crows—and number only four, that my rifle has caused to utter their death-yell. You see nine parallel notches?—well, these are nine Flatheads that, thanks to me, will rob no longer in this world; and finally, those marks of a roundish shape, which I needn’t count, are so many Blackfeet, who have gone to their happy hunting-grounds. Now,” added the trapper, “I think I can promise you a rifle that is not likely to miss fire, and the hand of a friend that will not fail you.”
And as he said this, he stretched forth his huge hand, and grasping that of Tiburcio, pressed it frankly and firmly.
The young man accepted the offer with a profusion of thanks.
“I had a presentiment,” said he, “when I saw the light of your fire, that I should find friends around it.”
“You are not deceived,” warmly responded Bois-Rose; “you have found friends;—but, pardon me when I ask you, have you no relatives or connections with whom you could find a home?”
For a moment the colour mounted to the cheeks of Tiburcio; but after a slight hesitation, he replied:
“Why should I not be frank with you?—I shall! Know then, brave trappers, that surrounded as I am by enemies who seek my life; disdained by the woman I have loved, and still love—I am alone in the world: I have neither father, nor mother, nor any relative that I know of?”
“Your father and mother—are they dead?” inquired Bois-Rose, with an air of interest.
“I never knew either of them,” answered the young man in a sad voice.
“You have never known them!” cried the Canadian, rising suddenly, and laying hold of a blazing fagot, which he held up to the face of Tiburcio.
This fagot, light as it was, appeared as if a hundredweight in the hand of the giant, that trembled like an aspen, under the convulsive emotions that were agitating his bosom. He held the flame closed to the countenance of the young man, and scanned his features with eager anxiety.
“But surely,” said he, “you at least know in what country you were born?”
“I do not,” answered Tiburcio. “But why do you ask me? What interest—”
“Fabian! Fabian!” interrupted Bois-Rose, in a soft, appealing tone, as if he was speaking to an infant—“what has become of you?”
“Fabian!” repeated the young man; “I do not know the name.”
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed the Canadian, as if speaking to himself, “since this name recalls nothing to him, it is not he! Why did I indulge in such a foolish hope? And yet his features are just as Fabian’s should be at his age. Pardon me,” he continued, addressing himself to Tiburcio—“pardon me, young friend. I am a fool! I have lost my senses!”
And throwing the fagot back upon the fire, he returned to his seat, placing himself with his back to the light, so that his countenance was concealed from the eyes of his companion.
Both were for some minutes silent. Tiburcio was endeavouring to penetrate the past, and recall some vague reminiscences of infancy, that still lingered in his memory. The widow of Arellanos had told him all she knew of his early history—of the gigantic sailor who had nursed him; but it never occurred to Tiburcio that the great trapper by his side, acoureur de boisof the American wilderness—could ever have been a seaman—much less that one of whom he had heard and read, and who was believed to have been his father. The strange interest which the trapper had exhibited and the questions he had asked were attributed by him to mere benevolence. He had no idea that the latter referred to any one whom he had formerly known, and who was now lost to him; for Bois-Rose had as yet told him nothing of his own history.
As Tiburcio continued to direct his thoughts upon the past, certain vague souvenirs began to shape themselves in his memory. They were only dim shadows, resembling the retrospect of a dream, and yet he was impressed with the belief that they had once been realities. He was the more confirmed in this idea, because such visions had occurred to him before—especially upon the night when he sat by the death-bed of his adopted mother—the widow of Arellanos. The revelations which she made to him before dying had revived in some mysterious way these shadowy souvenirs.
After a while the young man made known his thoughts to his companion by the camp-fire, whose interest appeared to be forcibly re-awakened, and who listened with eager attention to every word.
“I fancy I can remember,” said Tiburcio—“that is, if it be not a dream I have sometimes dreamt—a terrible scene. I was in the arms of a woman who held me closely to her breast—that I was rudely snatched from her embrace by a wicked man—that she screamed and cried, but then all at once became silent; but after that I remember no more.”
These words appeared to produce an effect upon the Canadian; and his interest visibly increased as he listened.
“You can remember no more?” he inquired, in an eager tone. “Can you not remember what sort of place it was in? Was it in a house? or do you not remember whether the sea was around you? That is a thing one is not likely to forget.”
“No,” answered Tiburcio, “I saw the great ocean for the first time at Guaymas—that was four years ago—and yet from what has been told me I should have also seen it when I was a child.”
“But, when you saw it four years ago, did it not recall anything to your memory?”
“No, nothing.”
“Nothing?” repeated the Canadian, interrogatively, and in a despairing tone.
“Nothing more than this same dream, which I have mistaken no doubt for reality.”
Bois-Rose again resumed his attitude of melancholy, and remained silent.
After a pause Tiburcio continued:
“One figure appears to me in these visions that is different from the rest.”
“What sort of figure?” inquired the Canadian, with renewed interest.
“That of a man of a hale rude countenance, but notwithstanding one of kindly expression. This man loved me, for I now have his face before me more clearly than I ever had; and I can trace that expression upon it.”
“And did you love him? can you remember that?” inquired the Canadian, while his heart beat with anxiety, as he awaited the answer.
“I am sure I did, he was so kind to me. I can remember he was kind to me.”
A tear stole over the bronzed cheek of the trapper as he listened to these words; and then turning his face once more so that it was hidden from the view of Tiburcio, he murmured to himself—
“Alas, poor Fabian! he too loved me—I know he did.”
Then once more facing round to the fire, he hazarded a last question:
“Do you not remember one circumstance above all? Do you not remember that this man was suddenly separated from you in the midst of a terrible affray—?”
The emotion under which Bois-Rose was suffering hindered him from finishing his interrogatory. His head fell between his knees, and he awaited in trembling the response which Tiburcio might make.
The latter was silent for some seconds, as if endeavouring to arrange the confused thoughts that had suddenly sprung up in his mind.
“Hear me!” said he at length, “you who appear to be a beacon guiding my memories of the past—hear what I can remember at this moment. There was one day of terror and confusion; I saw much blood around me. The ground appeared to tremble—there was thunder or the noise of cannon. I was in great fear within a dark chamber where I had been shut up—a man came to me; it was the big man who loved me—”
Tiburcio paused for an instant, as if to grapple freshly with the vague reminiscences that were endeavouring to escape from him, while the Canadian appeared like one suffering the agony of suspense.
“Yes,” resumed Tiburcio, “this man came to me—he lifted me up in his arms and carried me into the light—there he caused me to kneel down—oh! I now remember what he said—‘kneel!’ said he, ‘kneel, my child! and pray for your mother!’ That is all I can remember.”
The Canadian, who was still seated, appeared to tremble convulsively, as he listened to these last words; but when Tiburcio had finished speaking, he rose suddenly to his feet; and rushing forward threw his arms wildly around the young man, while at the same time he cried out in a broken voice:
“Your mother whom I found dead beside you. Oh! my God! Once more in need of a father, hast thou sent him to me. Oh! Fabian! Fabian! Come to my heart! It was I who caused you to kneel—I am that man! who in the bay of Elanchovi—”
At this moment the report of a carbine echoed in the woods; and a bullet whistling through the air, passed close to the head of Tiburcio, striking a tree that stood behind him.
This unexpected intruder at once put an end to the dialogue; suddenly changing the tableaux of figures around the fire. Pepé, who had heard the shot, sprang instantaneously to his feet, and all three stood grasping their weapons, ready to receive the enemy who had committed the dastardly attempt.