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CHAPTER XXIII
NEGOTIATIONS

When Unicorn entered the council chamber, preceded by Captain Lopez, and followed by the three Indian chiefs, the deepest silence prevailed among the Spanish officers assembled to meet him. The governor, seated in a chair placed in the centre of the hall, was looking nervously round him, while tapping on the arm of the chair with the fingers of his right hand. Still, his countenance was tolerably composed; nothing externally revealed the terror that devoured him. He answered by a nod the ceremonious bow of the Comanches, and drew himself up as if intending to address them; but if such were his desire, Unicorn did not grant him time to do so. The sachem draped himself in his buffalo robe with that majestic grace possessed by all those untamed sons of the desert, drew his head up proudly, and walked toward General Ventura, who watched him approach with an anxious eye. On coming within four paces of the governor, Unicorn stopped, crossed his arms on his chest, and took the word.

"I salute my father!" he said, in a loud and fierce voice. "I have come, as was agreed on yesterday, to fetch the answer he owes me."

The general hesitated for an instant.

"I am waiting!" the Indian went on, with a frown that augured ill.

The general, forced almost into his last entrenchments, saw that the hour for surrender had at length arrived, and that no way of escape was left him.

"Chief," he answered, in anything but a firm voice, "your behavior naturally surprises me. To my knowledge the Spaniards are not at war with your nation; the whites have not done anything of which you have a right to complain. For what reason do you come, then, against the sworn faith, and when nothing authorises you, to invade a defenceless town, and interfere in matters that only concern ourselves?"

The sachem understood that the Spaniard was trying to shift the question on to other ground; he saw the snare offered him, and was not to be caught.

"My father does not answer my request," he said. "Still, in order to have finished at once with the recriminations he brings up, I will answer his questions peremptorily, separating them one from the other. In the first place, my father knows very well that the palefaces and redskins have been in a constant state of warfare since the arrival of white men in America. This war may have slightly relaxed at intervals, but has never really ceased. Our two races are hostile; the struggle will not end between them until one of the two families, whether white or red, has given place to the other by its general extinction. Secondly, my father said that nothing has been done of which we had a right to complain. My father is mistaken, we have a cause, the imprisonment of Don Miguel Zarate, who, himself an Indian, has never belied his origin. Hence my father must no longer ask by what right I am here, for that is perfectly established; it is that which every honest man possesses of defending an innocent person who is oppressed. Now that fact is cleared up, let us pass to another. When I came here yesterday, my father gave me to understand that my propositions would be accepted, and the exchange of prisoners carried out."

"It is possible, chief," the general replied; "but things are so in this world, no one knows today what he will do tomorrow. With night reflection has come, and, in short, your propositions have appeared to me unacceptable."

"Wah!" the Indian said, though not testifying his surprise otherwise.

"Yes," the general continued, growing animated, "I should be ashamed to grant them, for I should have the appearance of only yielding to threats. No, it cannot be. The two gentlemen you claim are guilty, and shall die; and if you venture to oppose the execution of the just sentence of the court, we will defend ourselves, and God will protect the good cause."

The Mexican officers warmly applauded this haughty response, which they were far from expecting. They felt their courage rekindled, and did not despair of obtaining better conditions. A smile of disdain played round the chiefs haughty lips.

"Good," he said; "my father speaks very loudly. The coyotes are bold when they hunt the buffalo in packs. My father has carefully reflected, and is determined to accept the consequences of his answer. He wishes for war, then?"

"No," the general quickly interposed, "heaven forbid! I should be glad to settle this matter amicably with you, chief, but honor forbids me subscribing those disgraceful proposals which you did not fear to lay before me."

"Is it really honour that has dictated my father's answer?" the Indian asked, ironically. "He will permit me to doubt it. In short, whatever be the reason that guides him, I can but withdraw; but, before doing so, I will give him news of a friend whom he doubtless impatiently expects."

"What means that word, doubtless?"

"This," the Indian said, sharply. "The warriors whom my father expected to arrive to his aid this day have been dispersed by my young men, as the autumn breeze sweeps away the leaves. They will not come."

A murmur of surprise, almost of terror, ran through the assembly. The sachem let the long folds of his buffalo robe fall back, tore from his girdle the bleeding scalp that hung there, and threw it at the general's feet.

"That," he said, gloomily, "is the scalp of the man who commanded my father's warriors! Does the chief of the palefaces recognise it? This scalp was raised by me from the head of the man who was to arrive, and who, at this hour, has set out for the happy hunting grounds of his nation."

A shudder of terror ran round the room at the sight of the scalp; the general felt the small dose of courage that had still animated him oozing out.

"Chief," he exclaimed, in a trembling voice "is it possible you have done that?"

"I have done it," the sachem answered, coldly. "Now, farewell. I am about to join my young men, who are impatient at my long absence."

With these words the Comanche haughtily turned his back on the governor, and walked toward the door.

"A few moments longer, chief," the general said; "perhaps we are nearer an understanding than you suppose."

The Comanche gave the speaker a glance which made him quiver.

"Here is my last word," he said. "I insist on the two prisoners being handed over to me."

"They shall be."

"Good; but no perfidity, no treachery."

"We will act honourably," the general replied, not dreaming, of resenting the insult conveyed in the Indian's words.

"We shall see. My warriors and myself will remain on the square till my father has performed his promise. If, within an hour, the palefaces are not free, the prisoners I hold will be pitilessly massacred, and the altepetl plundered. I have spoken."

A gloomy silence greeted these terrible threats. The pride of the Mexicans was quelled, and they at length recognised that nothing could save them from the vengeance of the Comanche chief. The general bowed in assent, not having strength to answer otherwise. The sight of the scalp had paralyzed in him all desire to contend longer. Unicorn left the hall, mounted his horse again, and calmly awaited the fulfilment of the promise made to him.

When the Indians had left the council chamber, the Mexicans rose tumultuously, for each feared the execution of the chief's threats. General Ventura was pressed on all sides to make haste, and run no risk of breaking his word. When the governor saw that his officers were as terrified as himself, he re-assumed his coolness, and cleverly profited by this state of mind, in order to throw the responsibility off himself, and appear only to act under the impulse of others.

"Caballeros," he said, "you have heard this man. You understood as well as I did the menaces he dared to offer us. Shall such an insult be left unpunished? Will you allow yourselves to be thus braved in the heart of the town by a handful of scoundrels, and not attempt to inflict on them the chastisement they deserve? To arms, caballeros, and let us die bravely, if it must be so, sooner than suffer this stain on the old Spanish honor our fathers transmitted to us!"

This warm address produced the effect the general anticipated from it; that is to say, it redoubled, were that possible, the terror of the hearers, who had long been acquainted with their chiefs cowardice, and knew how little he could be depended on. This sudden warlike order seemed to them so unusual, and before all so inopportune, that they pressed him to accept without delay the proposals dictated by the sachem.

This was all the governor wanted. He had the minutes of the council at once drawn up, when it was signed by all present, he put it in his pocket.

"As you insist," he said, "and nothing can induce you to offer an honourable resistance, I will myself proceed to the prison, in order to avoid any misunderstanding, and have the doors opened for Don Miguel Zarate and General Ibañez."

"Make haste, pray?" the officers answered.

The general, glad in his heart at having got out of the scrape so well, left the Cabildo, and walked across the square to the prison, which stood on the opposite side. The Comanches were motionless as statues of Florentine bronze, leaning on their weapons, with their eyes fixed on the chief, ready to carry out his orders.

CHAPTER XXIV
FREE

Don Miguel and General Ibañez were completely ignorant of what was going on outside, and the rumours of the town did not reach their ears. Had they deigned to question their jailer, the latter, who was beginning to fear for himself the effects of the ill-treatment he had made the two gentlemen undergo, would doubtless not have hesitated to give them all possible information, for the sake of regaining their favour; but each time this man presented himself before them, and opened his mouth to speak, they turned their backs contemptuously, giving him a sign to withdraw at once, and be silent.

On this day, according to their wont, the two prisoners had risen at sunrise, and then, with incredible coolness, began conversing on indifferent topics. Suddenly a great noise was heard in the prison; a clang of arms reached the prisoners' ears, and hurried footsteps approached the rooms in which they were confined. They listened.

"Oh, oh!" said Ibañez, "I fancy it is for today at last."

"Heaven be praised!" Don Miguel answered; "I am glad they have made up their minds to bring matters to a conclusion."

"On my honour, and so am I," the general said, gaily; "time was beginning to hang heavy in this prison, where a man has not the slightest relaxation. We are going to see again that splendid sun which seems afraid of showing itself in this den. Viva Cristo! I feel delighted at the mere thought, and gladly pardon my judges."

Still the noise drew nearer and nearer, and confused voices were mingled with the echoing steps in the passage, and the rattling of sabres.

"Here they are," said Don Miguel; "we shall see them in a minute."

"They are welcome if they bring us death, that supreme solace of the afflicted."

At this moment a key creaked in the lock, and the door opened. The two prisoners fell back in surprise on seeing the general, who rushed into the cell followed by two or three officers. Assuredly, if the prisoners expected to see anybody, it was not the worthy General Ventura. Ibañez' surprise was so great at this unexpected apparition, that he could not refrain from exclaiming, with that accent of caustic gaiety which formed the basis of his character —

"What the deuce do you want here, Señor Governor? Have you, too, suddenly become a frightful conspirator, such as we are accused of being?"

Before answering, the general fell back into a chair, wiping away the perspiration that trickled down his forehead, such speed had he displayed in coming to the prison. Three or four officers stood motionless on the threshold of the widely open door. The condemned men could not at all understand the affair.

"Have you by any chance, my dear governor," General Ibañez said, gaily, though not believing a word of it, "come to restore us to liberty? That would be a most gallant action, and I should feel deeply indebted to you for it."

General Ventura raised his head, fixed on the prisoners eyes sparkling with joy, and said, in a panting voice —

"Yes, my friends, yes; I would come myself to tell you that you are free; I would not yield to anyone else the pleasure of announcing the good news."

The prisoners fell back in amazement.

"What!" General Ibañez exclaimed, "You are speaking seriously?"

Don Miguel attentively looked at the governor, trying to read in his face the reasons of his conduct.

"Come, come," General Ventura cried, "this hole is frightful; do not remain any longer in it."

"Ah!" Don Miguel remarked, bitterly, "You find it frightful; you have been a long time in discovering the fact; for we have lived in it nearly a month, and the thought never once occurred to you of disturbing our repose."

"Do not be angry with me, Don Miguel," the governor answered eagerly, "it was greatly against my will you were detained so long; had it only depended on me you would have been free; but, thanks to Heaven, all is settled now, and I have succeeded in having justice done you. Come away; do not remain a moment longer in this pestilential den."

"Pardon me, Caballero," Don Miguel said coldly, "but, with your permission, we will remain a few moments longer in it."

"Why so?" General Ventura asked, opening his eyes to their fullest extent.

"I will tell you."

Don Miguel pointed to a chair, and sat down himself. Ibañez following his example. There was a moment of deep silence between these three men as they strove to read each other's real secret thoughts.

"I am waiting your pleasure to explain yourself," the governor at last said, as he was anxious to get away, and time pressed.

"I am about doing so," Don Miguel answered; "you have come to tell us we are free, sir; but you do not say on what conditions."

"What do you mean by conditions?" the general asked, not understanding him.

"Of course," Ibañez went on, supporting his friend; "and these conditions, too, must suit us; you must see, my dear sir, we cannot leave this delightful place without knowing the why or wherefore. Viva Cristo! We are not vagabonds to be got rid of in that way; we must know if we are justified in accepting the proposals you have just made."

"The general is right, sir," the hacendero said in his turn; "the care of our honor does not permit us to accept a liberation which might stain it; hence, we shall not leave this prison until you have given us an explanation."

The governor hardly knew whether he was on his head or his heels; he had never before had to deal with such obstinate prisoners. He racked his brains in vain to discover why it was that men condemned to death could so peremptorily decline their liberty. His ideas were too narrow, his heart was too cowardly for him to comprehend the grandeur and nobility in this determination on the part of two men, who preferred an honourable death to a branded life which they only owed to the pity of their judges. Still, he must induce them to quit the prison, for time was fast slipping away, and their obstinacy might ruin everything. Hence, General Ventura made up his mind like a man.

"Gentlemen," he said, with feigned admiration, "I understand what nobleness there is in your scruples, and am happy to see that I was not mistaken in the greatness of your character. You can leave this prison in full security, and take once more the station that belongs to you in the world. I will lay no conditions on you; you are free, purely and simply. Here are the documents connected with your trial, the proofs produced against you; take them and destroy them, and accept my sincere, apologies for all that has passed."

While saying this, the governor drew from his breast an enormous bundle of papers, which he offered Don Miguel. The latter declined them with an air of disgust; but General Ibañez, less scrupulous or wiser in his generation, eagerly clutched them, looked through them to see that the governor was not deceiving him, and then threw them into the brasero, standing in the middle of the room. In less than four minutes, all this undigested mass was consumed. General Ibañez watched them burning with a certain degree of pleasure, for he began to feel himself really free.

"I am waiting for you, gentlemen," said the governor.

"One word more, by your leave," the hacendero remarked.

"Speak, sir."

"On leaving this prison, where are we to go?"

"Wherever you please, gentlemen. I repeat to you that you are perfectly free, and can act as you think proper. I do not even ask your word of honor to enter into no further conspiracy."

"Good sir," Don Miguel said, holding out his hand to General Ventura, "your conduct affects me – thanks."

The governor blushed.

"Come, come," he said, to hide his embarrassment on receiving this so ill-deserved praise.

The prisoners no longer hesitated to follow him.

In the meanwhile, the news of Don Miguel's deliverance had spread through the town with the rapidity of a train of gunpowder. The inhabitants, reassured by the continence of the Comanches, and knowing that they had only come to save a man, in whose fate the entire population felt interested, had ventured to leave their houses, and at length thronged the streets and squares; the windows and roofs were filled with men, women, and children, whose eyes, fixed on the prison, awaited the moment of Don Miguel's appearance. When he did so, tremendous shouts greeted him.

Unicorn walked up to the governor.

"My father has kept his promise," he said, gravely, "I will keep mine; the white prisoners are free; I now depart."

The governor listened to these words with a blush; the sachem returned to the head of his war party, which rapidly retired, followed by the shouts of a mob intoxicated with joy. Don Miguel, perplexed by the scene which had taken place in his presence, and who began to suspect a mystery in the governor's conduct, turned to him to ask an explanation of the Indian chief's words – an explanation the governor luckily escaped, owing to the eagerness of the people who flocked up to congratulate the prisoners on their release.

On reaching the gate of the Cabildo, General Ventura bowed courteously to the two gentlemen, and hurried into his palace, happy at having escaped so cheaply, and not tearing with his own hands the cloak of generosity which he had paraded in the sight of his prisoners.

"What do you think of all that?" the hacendero asked his friend.

"Hum!" General Ibañez muttered, "The governor's conduct seems to me rather queer; but, no matter, we are free. I confess to you, my friend, that I should have no objection to go a little distance from this place, the air of which, despite General Ventura's protestations, appears to me remarkably unhealthy for us."

At this moment, and ere Don Miguel could answer, the general felt a slight touch on his shoulders; he turned and saw Curumilla before him, with a smiling face. Don Miguel and the general suppressed a cry of joy at the sight of the grave and excellent Indian.

"Come!" he said to them, laconically.

They followed him, with some difficulty, through the crowd that accompanied them with shouts, and whom they were obliged to stop and thank. On reaching a small street near the square, and which was nearly deserted, Curumilla led them to a house before which he stopped.

"It is here," he said, as he tapped twice.

The door opened, and they entered a courtyard, in which were three ready saddled horses, held by a groom, which they at once mounted.

"Thanks, brother," the hacendero said, warmly, as he pressed the chiefs hand; "but how did you learn our deliverance?"

The Araucano smiled pleasantly. "Let us go," he said, making no other answer.

"Where to?" Don Miguel asked.

"To join Koutonepi."

The three men started at full speed. Ten minutes later they were out of the town, and galloping across the plain.

"Oh!" General Ibañez said, gaily, "How pleasant the fresh air is! How good it is to inhale it after remaining for two months stifled between the walls of a prison!"

"Shall we soon arrive? Don Miguel asked.

"In an hour," the chief answered.

And they went on with renewed speed.