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CHAPTER XXV
THE MEETING
On reaching a spot where the trail they were following formed a species of fork, Curumilla stopped, and the two gentlemen imitated him.
"That is your road," the Araucano chief said. "At the end of that path you will see Koutonepi's bivouac fire. I must leave you here."
After uttering these words, Curumilla turned his horse and started, after giving them a parting wave of the hand. The Unicorn was not much of a talker naturally; generally, he did more than he said. His friends, convinced that urgent necessity could alone have forced him thus to break through his habits, made no observation, but let him go. When they were alone, they gently relaxed the pace of their horses, and proceeded at a canter.
General Ibañez was radiant. He inhaled the fresh air Of the desert, which dilated his wide chest, revelling in his liberty. He thought of nothing but enjoying the present, regardless of the past, which, with his careless character, he had already forgotten, only to dream of the future, which he gazed on through a prism of brilliant hues. Don Miguel, on the contrary, felt, during the last few moments, a sad melancholy invade his mind. Not able to account for the emotion he experienced, he had a species of secret presentiment that a misfortune was suspended over his head. In vain did he try to dispel these ideas, but they constantly returned more obstinately than ever and it was with a sort of dread that he advanced in the direction where he was to meet Valentine, although he was his best friend, so much did he fear that he would greet his arrival with evil tidings.
The two gentlemen went on thus for nearly half an hour without exchanging a syllable; but, just as they turned a corner in the path, they saw a horseman about thirty paces in front of them, barring the road, and apparently waiting for them. The Mexicans examined him attentively. He was a tall man, well armed, and wearing the garb of the rich hacenderos; but, singularly enough, a black velvet mask prevented them distinguishing his features. By an instinctive movement Don Miguel and his friend moved a hand to their holsters, but they were empty.
"What is to be done?" the hacendero asked the general.
"Go on, of course. We have just escaped too great a peril for us to fear this. Even in the event of the mysterious being planted there before us, like an equestrian statue, trying to play us a trick, which is not impossible."
"Let us trust to Heaven," Don Miguel muttered, and pushed on.
The distance separating them from the stranger was soon cleared. On coming within five yards of him, they stopped.
"Santas tardes, caballeros," said the stranger, in a friendly voice.
"Santas tardes!" the gentlemen answered, in accord.
"I salute you, Don Miguel Zarate, and you, General Ibañez," the stranger then said. "I am happy to see you at length safe and sound out of the claws of that worthy General Ventura, who, if he could, would certainly have played you a trick."
"Caballero," Don Miguel made answer, "I thank you for the kind words you address to me, and which can only come from a friend's lips. I should be pleased if you would take off the mask that conceals your features, so that I may recognise you."
"Gentlemen, if I removed my mask you would be disappointed, for my features are unfamiliar to you. Do not be angry with me for keeping it on; but, be assured that you are not mistaken with regard to me, and I am really your friend."
The two Mexicans bowed courteously to each other, and the stranger went on.
"I knew that so soon as you were free you would hasten to join that worthy hunter Valentine, whom the trappers and gambusinos along the frontier have christened the 'Trail-hunter.' I placed myself here, where you must infallibly pass, in order to make you a communication of the utmost importance, which interests you extremely."
"I am listening, sir," Don Miguel responded with secret alarm; "and I beg you to accept, beforehand, my sincere thanks for the step you have taken on my behalf."
"You will thank me when the proper time comes, Don Miguel. Today I only warn you: at a later date I hope to aid you, and my help will not prove useless."
"Speak, sir! You excite my curiosity to the highest pitch, and I am anxious to learn the news of which you have condescended to be the bearer."
The stranger shook his head sadly, and there was a moment's silence. This meeting of three horsemen, one of whom was masked, in this deserted place, where no sound troubled the imposing silence of solitude, had something strange about it. At length the mask spoke again.
"Two months have elapsed, Don Miguel, since, through the treachery of Red Cedar, you were arrested and made prisoner at the Paso del Norte. Many events of which you are ignorant have occurred since then; but there is one I must inform you of at once. On the very night of your arrest, at the moment you laid down your arms, your daughter was carried off by Red Cedar."
"My daughter!" the hacendero exclaimed; "And Valentine to whom I confided her, and who was responsible for her safety?"
"Valentine attempted impossibilities to save her; but what can one man effect against twenty?"
Don Miguel shook his head mournfully.
"After researches, long, sterile, and extraordinary efforts, a man providentially aided by Father Seraphin, at length succeeded last night in taking Doña Clara from her ravishers; but Red Cedar, advised by some extraordinary chance, entered the house where the maiden had sought shelter, and carried her off again."
"Oh! I will avenge myself on that man!" the hacendero shouted, passionately.
The stranger's eyes flashed with a lurid light though the holes in his mask.
"You will find your son and Father Seraphin with Valentine. Red Cedar intends to start this evening at the head of a band of gambusinos, to go into the deserts of the Rio Gila in search of a placer, which his accomplice, Fray Ambrosio, had indicated to him."
"Fray Ambrosio!" the hacendero repeated, in stupor.
"Yes. Your former chaplain, who served as spy to the squatter, revealed your plans to him, and provided him the means to enter the hacienda and carry off your daughter."
"Good," Don Miguel said, in a hollow voice. "I will remember."
"Red Cedar, I know not with what design, is taking your daughter with him into the desert."
"I will follow him, were it for a thousand leagues," Don Miguel said, resolutely. "Thanks to you for having instructed me so fully. But whence comes the interest you take in me so gratuitously, since, as you say, I do not know you?"
"You shall learn at a later date, Don Miguel. Now, before I leave you, one last word – an earnest warning."
"I listen attentively, caballero."
"Do not tell anyone – not even the French hunter, not even your son – of our meeting. Let this secret be buried in your breast. When you reach the far west, if you see before you, at one of your bivouacs, a piece of mahogany bearing the impress of a horse's shoe, rise at midnight, and leave the camp, not letting anyone see you. When you have gone one hundred paces in the tall grass, whistle thrice; a similar whistle will answer you, and then you will learn many things important for you to know, but which I cannot tell you today."
"Good. Thanks. I will do what you tell me."
"You promised it?"
"I swear it on my word as a gentleman," Don Miguel said, as he took off his hat.
"I accept your oath. Farewell."
"Farewell."
The stranger dug his spurs into his horse's sides and the animal started off as if impelled by a tornado.
The two gentlemen looked after him for a long time, admiring the grace and ease of his movements; at length, when horse and rider had disappeared in the distance, Don Miguel went on again pensively, while saying to the general —
"Who can that man be?"
"I know no more than you do. Viva Cristo!" his friend answered, "but I assure you I will know, even if to do so I have to search all the thickets and caverns in the desert."
"What," Don Miguel exclaimed, "do you intend to come with me?"
"Did you ever doubt it, Don Miguel? If so, you insulted me. You will need all your friends to go in search of your daughter, and inflict on that demon of a gringo squatter the chastisement he deserves. No, no; I will not leave you under such circumstances, for that would be committing a bad action; besides, I shall not be sorry," he added with a smile, "to get out of the sight of the government for a time."
"My friend, I thank you," the hacendero said, as he took his hand. "I have long known that you were entirely devoted to me; I am pleased to receive this new proof of your friendship."
"And you accept it?" the general asked gaily.
"Most heartily; the help of an iron arm like yours must be most useful to me under the painful circumstances in which I am placed."
"That is settled, then; we will start together, Mil rayas! and I swear we will deliver Doña Clara."
"May Heaven grant it," the hacendero said, sadly.
The conversation then dropped, and the two friends proceeded in silence. A quarter of an hour later they reached the Trail-hunter's bivouac.
CHAPTER XXVI
DOÑA CLARA
Valentine had been warned, nearly an hour previously, by Unicorn of the result of the negotiations with the governor of Santa Fe, and the immediate liberation of the prisoners; he was, therefore, expecting them. Though they were ignorant where to find him, Valentine presumed that the chief would leave some Indian to direct them, and, therefore, did not feel at all surprised at seeing them. So soon as he noticed their approach he walked to meet them, followed by Don Pablo and the missionary, while the hacendero and his comrade on their side pricked on to join them sooner.
A few hours were spent, after the first greetings were over, in a conference, of which the poor child so audaciously carried off was the sole subject. Valentine drew up with his friends the plan of the campaign against Red Cedar, which was so daring that it would have made a European nervous; but the free adventurers who were about to carry it out in no way feared the mysterious dangers of the desert which they were going to confront. We say, free, because Father Seraphin had taken leave of his friends and found Unicorn, with whom he wished to go to the Comanche villages, in the hope of spreading the light of the Gospel there. Still, he did not despair about, meeting his friends in the prairies, whither he was himself proceeding. Toward evening, Curumilla arrived. The Araucano was covered with dust, and his face damp with perspiration; Not uttering a word, he sat down by the fire, took his calumet from his girdle, and began smoking. Valentine let him do so without asking a question, but so soon as he saw him absorbed in his pipe, he laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Well?" he said to him.
"Curumilla has seen them."
"Good; are they numerous?"
"Ten times the number of fingers on my two hands, and one more."
"Caramba!" Valentine exclaimed, "Are they so many as that? We shall have a tough job in that case."
"They are bold hunters," the chief added.
"Hum! Do you know when they will start?"
"This evening, when the new moon rises."
"Ah, ah! I read their plan," the hunter said. "They intend crossing the ford of the Toro before day."
Curumilla bowed his head in affirmation.
"That is true," Valentine remarked; "once the ford is passed they will be in the desert, and have comparatively nothing to fear, or at least they suppose so. I must confess," he added, addressing his friends, "that Red Cedar is a remarkably clever scoundrel; nothing, escapes him, but this time he has a' tough adversary. I have my revenge to take on him, and, with the help of Heaven, it shall be exemplary."
"What shall we do?" Don Miguel asked.
"Sleep," Valentine answered, "we have still several hours before us, so let us profit by them; in the new life we are beginning, we must neglect nothing, the body and mind must repose, so that we may act vigorously."
Curumilla had slipped away but now returned, bringing with him two rifles, pistols, and knives.
"My brothers had no weapons," he said, as he laid his load before the Mexicans.
The latter thanked him heartily; for, owing to the foresight of Curumilla, who thought of everything, they could now enter the desert boldly. Two minutes later the five men were fast asleep, and we will take advantage of their slumber to return to Red Cedar, whom we left on the point of climbing through Doña Clara's window, while Fray Ambrosio and Andrés Garote were watching at either end of the street.
At one bound the bandit was in the room, after breaking open the window with a blow of his fist. Doña Clara, suddenly aroused, leaped from the bed, uttering fearful cries at the sight of the terrible apparition before her.
"Silence," Red Cedar said to her, in a threatening voice, as he placed the point of his knife on her chest, "one cry more, and I kill you like a dog."
The maiden, trembling with fright, looked pitifully at the bandit; but Red Cedar's face wore such an expression of cruelty, that she understood how little she had to hope from this man. She addressed a silent prayer to Heaven, and resigned herself to her fate. The bandit gagged the poor child with the rebozo that lay on the bed, threw her over his shoulder, and clambered out of the window again. So soon as he put foot on the ground, he whistled lightly for his comrades to rejoin him, which they did immediately, and, still carrying his burthen, he proceeded with them in the direction of the Rancho del Coyote.
During the walk, which was not a long one, the bandits did not meet a soul. Andrés opened the door and lit a candle; the ruffians entered, and the door was carefully bolted again. Thus, after only a few hours of liberty, the wretched girl had fallen once more into the hands of her ravishers, and placed again by them in the wretched room where she had spent so many days in prayer and weeping. Red Cedar carried Doña Clara, who was in a half-fainting state, to her room, removed the rebozo, and then returned to the bar.
"There;" he said, with satisfaction, "that is all right; the sheep has returned to the fold. What do you say, reverend father? This time let us hope she will not escape us."
The monk smiled.
"We shall do well in not remaining here long," he said.
"Why so?"
"Because this hiding place is known and will soon be visited."
The squatter shrugged his shoulders.
"Listen! Fray Ambrosio," he said, with a sinister grimace, which he intended for a smile. "I predict that, rogue as you are, you run a great chance of dying in a fool's skin, if you are not flayed beforehand, which may easily be the case."
The monk shuddered. Red Cedar's gaiety had the peculiarity of being even more fearful than his anger. The squatter sat down on a bench, and turned to the gambusino.
"Drink!" he said roughly.
Garote fetched a jar of mezcal, which he placed before his terrible accomplice. The latter, not taking the trouble to pour the liquor into a glass, raised the jar to his lips, and drank till breath failed him.
"Hum!" he said, with a click of his tongue, "That's pleasant tipple when you're thirsty. Listen to my orders, my dear children, and try to carry them out to the letter; or, if not, your roguish hides will bear the blame."
The three men bowed silently.
"You, Nathan," he went on, "will come with me, for you are not wanted here, but your presence is necessary at. Cerro Prieto, where our comrades are encamped."
"I will follow you," the young man replied, laconically.
"Good! Now, you others, bear this carefully in mind: – Our enemies will never suppose that I have made such a mistake as to bring my prisoner back here; for that is so absurd, that the idea will never enter their heads; so you can be at ease, and no one will trouble your peace of mind. Tomorrow, so soon as the moon rises, you will make the girl put on an Indian dress, mount her, and come to me at Cerro Prieto. Immediately after your arrival we shall start."
"Good!" Fray Ambrosio answered. "We will take care."
"I expect so; for, if you do not, I wouldn't give a cuartillo for your accursed hide, my reverend friend."
After uttering these friendly words, the squatter seized the jar of mezcal, emptied it at a draught, and sent it flying across the room, where it broke to pieces.
"Good bye till tomorrow," he then said, "come, Nathan."
"Till tomorrow," they answered.
The squatter and his son left the rancho, and walked on silently side by side, plunged in gloomy reflections produced by the events of the night. They soon left the town. The night was gloomy, but darkness did not exist for squatters accustomed to find their way anywhere, and never dreaming of going astray. They walked thus for a long time, with slung rifle, not exchanging a word, but listening to the slightest noise and sounding, the darkness with their tiger-cat eyes. All at once they heard the firm footfall of a man coming towards them. They cocked their rifles, ready for any emergency. A voice was then heard, though the person to whom it belonged was invisible.
"My brothers must not fire; they would kill a friend."
The words were Apache – a language well known to the squatters.
"Tis an Indian," said Nathan.
"Do you think I did not recognise him?" Red Cedar replied, brutally; "then," he added, in the same dialect, "there are no friends in the shadow of the desert. My brother must get out of my path, or I will kill him like a coyote."
"Is it thus," the Indian continued, "that the 'maneater' receives the guide whom Stanapat, the Great Chief of the Apaches, sends him? In that case, good-bye. I will retire."
"One moment," the squatter said, sharply, as he lowered his rifle, and made his son a sign to follow his example. "I could not guess who you were. Advance without fear and be welcome, brother, for I was anxiously expecting you."
The Indian stepped forward. He wore the costume and characteristic paint of the Apache warriors; in a word, he was so well disguised, that Valentine himself could not, have recognised in him his friend, Eagle-wing the Chief of the Coras, though it was he.
Red Cedar, delighted at the arrival of his guide, received him in the most affable manner. He had long been acquainted with Stanapat, the most ferocious warrior of all the Indian nations that traverse the immense regions of the Rio Gila, and whom we shall presently visit. After several questions, which Eagle-wing answered without hesitation or once tripping, Red Cedar, convinced that he was really the man the Apache chief had promised to send him, dismissed all doubt, and conversed with him in the most friendly spirit, inquiring after certain warriors he had formerly known.
"What is my brother's name?" he asked, in conclusion.
"The Heart of Stone!" Eagle-wing replied.
"Good!" the squatter said, "My brother has a grand name. He must be a renowned warrior in his tribe."
A short time after, the three men reached the camp of the gambusinos, established in a formidable position on the top of a rock called the Cerro Prieto (Black Mountain). The miners greeted Red Cedar's arrival with the most lively joy, for his presence announced a speedy departure; and all these semi-savages, the greater part of whose life had been spent in the prairies, were anxious to quit civilization to re-assume their adventurous career, which was so full of charms and strange incidents.
CHAPTER XXVII
EL VADO DEL TORO
Red Cedar reasoned correctly when he told Fray Ambrosio and Garote that Doña Clara was in safety at the rancho, and no one would dream of seeking her there. In truth, Valentine knew the squatter's cunning too well to suppose that he would commit the impudence of bringing his prisoner back to the very spot where she was discovered.
The squatter's two accomplices passed the day quietly in playing, on credit, at monte; each cheating with a dexterity which did honor to their knowledge of that noble game. No one came to disturb them, or cast an indiscreet glance into this famous den, which, in the bright sunshine, had an air of respectability pleasant to look on, and amply sufficient to dispel all suspicions. About nine in the evening, the moon, though new, rose magnificently on a deep blue sky, studded with brilliant stars.
"I fancy it is time to get ready, gossip," Fray Ambrosio said, "the moon is peering through the trees in your neighbour's garden."
"You are right, señor Padre, we will be off; but let me, I implore you, first finish this deal; it is one of the most magnificent I ever witnessed. Caspita! I will bet a nugget as big as my thumb on the seven of clubs."
"I'll back the two of spades. Something tells me it will turn up first, especially if you pull up the sleeves of your jacket, which must be horribly in the way when dealing."
"Oh dear, no, I assure you; but stay, what did I tell you? There is the seven of clubs."
"That is really extraordinary," Fray Ambrosio replied, with feigned surprise, for he was not duped by the gambusino's trickery; "but I fancy we had better make haste."
"Decidedly," said Andrés, as he hid his greasy cards in his vaquera boots, and proceeded to the room in which Doña Clara was confined. She followed him out, weeping bitterly.
"Come, come," the gambusino said to her, "dry your tears, señorita; we do not mean you any harm. Hang it all! Who knows but this may end perhaps better than you expect; ask that holy monk what he thinks."
Fray Ambrosio bowed an assent, but the maiden made no response to the gambusino's consolation; she allowed herself to be disguised unresistingly, but still continued to weep.
"In truth, it is absurd," the worthy Andrés muttered, in an aside to himself, while attiring his prisoner and looking covetously at the pearls with which she was adorned, "to waste gold and pearls in this fashion; would it not be much better to use them in buying something serviceable? What she has on her is worth at least three thousand piastres – what a splendid game of monte a fellow could have with that sum – and if that demon of a Red Cedar had only been willing – well, we shall see presently."
While making these judicious reflections, the gambusino had completed the maiden's Indian toilet. He perfected the disguise by throwing a zarapé over her shoulders; then giving a parting glance round his domicile, he put in his pocket a pack of cards accidentally left on the table, drank a large glass of spirits, and left the room, followed by Doña Clara and the monk, who, in spite of the varying incidents of the last few days had regained all his good humour, doubtless owing to the good company in which he was, and the game of monte – that inveterate passion in every Mexican.
Doña Clara was placed on a horse; Andrés and the monk also mounted, and leaving the house to the problemical care of Providence, the gambusino gave the signal for departure. He made a wide circuit, to avoid passing through the Presidio, and then started at a gallop in the direction of the Cerro Prieto.
Red Cedar had lost no time, and all was ready for departure. The newcomers did not even dismount, but so soon as they were sighted, the caravan, composed, as we have stated of some hundred and twenty resolute men, after forming in Indian file, started in the direction of the prairies, having first prudently detached two scouts to watch the neighbourhood.
Nothing is so mournful as a night march in an unknown country, covered with snares of every description, when you fear least the ever-watchful enemy may pounce on you from every bush. Thus, the gambusinos, restless, and starting at the slightest rustling of the leaves, advanced silently and gloomily, with their eyes fixed on the clumps that grew along the wayside, rifle in hand, ready to fire at the slightest suspicious movement. They marched, however, for upwards of three hours, and nothing happened to justify their fears; a solemn calmness continued to prevail around them. Gradually these apprehensions were dissipated; they began talking in a suppressed voice, and laughing at their past terrors, when they reached, on the banks of the Del Norte, the vado, or Ford del Toro.
In the interior of Southern America, and specially in New Mexico, a country still almost entirely unknown, the means of communication are nil, and consequently bridges may be looked for in vain. There are only two methods of crossing even the widest rivers – looking for a ford, or, if you are in a great hurry, forcing your horse into the oft-times rapid current, and trying to reach the other bank by swimming.
The squatter had selected the first method, and in a few minutes the whole party was in the water. Although the ground of the ford was uneven, and at times the horses were up to their chests, and compelled to swim, the gambusinos managed to get across safely. The only persons left on the bank were Red Cedar, Eagle-wing, the guide, Doña Clara, and Andrés Garote.
"It is our turn now, Heart of Stone," the squatter said, addressing Eagle-wing; "you see that our men are in safety, and only await us to set out again."
"The squaw first," the Indian replied, laconically.
"That is true, chief," the squatter said, and, turning to the prisoner, "Go across," he said to her, coarsely.
The maiden, not deigning to answer, boldly made her horse enter the river, and the three men followed. The night was dark, the sky covered with clouds, and the moon, constantly veiled, only shone forth at lengthened intervals, which rendered the passage difficult and even dangerous, as it did not allow objects to be distinguished, even at a distance. Still, after a few seconds, Red Cedar fancied he saw that Doña Clara's horse was not following the line traced by the ford, but was turning to the left, as if carried away by the current. He pushed his horse forward, to assure himself of the reality of the fact; but suddenly a vigorous hand seized his right leg, and before he could even think of resisting, he was hurled back into the water, and his throat seized by an Indian. Andrés Garote hurried to his assistance.
During this time, Doña Clara's horse, probably obeying a hidden impulse, was proceeding still further from the spot where the gambusinos had landed. Some of them, at the head of whom were Dick, Harry, and the squatter's three sons, perceiving what was going on, returned to the water, to proceed to their chiefs help, while the others, guided by Fray Ambrosio, galloped down the river bank, in order to cut off retreat, when Doña Clara's horse landed.
Andrés Garote, after several fruitless efforts, succeeded in catching Red Cedar's horse, which he brought to him at the moment when the latter had scalped his enemy. The American got into his saddle again, reached the bank, and tried to restore some order among his band, while actually watching the incidents of the silent drama being played in the river between Eagle-wing and the young Spanish girl.
The Coras sachem had urged his steed in pursuit of Doña Clara's, and both were following almost the same line down the stream, the former striving to catch up the latter, who, for her part, was doing her utmost to widen the distance between them. Suddenly the Coras horse gave a leap, while uttering a snort of pain, and began madly beating the water with its forelegs, while the river was tinged with blood around it. The chief, perceiving that his horse was mortally wounded, leaped from the saddle, and leant over the side, ready to leap off. At this moment, a hideous face appeared flush with water, and a hand was stretched out to grasp him. With that imperturbable coolness that never deserts the Indians, even under the most critical circumstances, the Coras seized his tomahawk, split his enemy's skull open, and glided into the river.
A formidable war yell was, at this moment, heard from the forest, and some fifty shots were fired from both banks at once, illumining the scene with their fugitive flashes. A multitude of redskins rushed on the gambusinos, and a terrible fight commenced. The Mexicans, taken unawares, defended themselves at first poorly, giving ground and seeking shelter behind trees; but, obeying the thundering voice of the squatter, who performed prodigies of valor while exciting his comrades to sell their lives dearly, they regained courage, formed in close column, and charged the Indians furiously, beating them down with the butts of their muskets, or slashing them with their machetes.
The combat was short; the redskins, who were only a party of marauding Pawnees, seeing the ill-result of their surprise, grew discouraged, and disappeared as rapidly as they had come. Two minutes later calmness and silence were so perfectly re-established, that had it not been for a few wounded gambusinos, and several Indians stretched dead on the battlefield, the strange scene would have appeared as a dream.
So soon as the Indians were routed, Red Cedar bent an eager glance up the river; on that side the struggle was also over, and Eagle-wing, mounted behind the young lady, was guiding her horse to the bank, which it soon reached.
"Well?" the squatter asked.
"The Pawnees are cowardly coyotes," the Coras answered, pointing to two human scalps that hung all bloody from his girdle; "they fly like old women, so soon as they see the war plume of a warrior of my nation."
"Good!" the squatter said, gleefully, "My brother is a great warrior; he has a friend."
The Coras bowed with a smile of indescribable meaning. His object was gained; he had acquired the confidence of the man he meant to destroy. Doña Clara, Ellen, and the squatter's wife were placed in the centre of the caravan, and the band started again.
An hour later, a second party of horsemen also crossed the Vado del Toro. It was much less numerous than the first, as it consisted of only five men, but they were Valentine, Curumilla, Don Miguel, his son, and General Ibañez. The real struggle was about to commence: behind them they left the civilised world, to find themselves face to face on the desert with their enemies.
(Those of our readers who take an interest in the Trail-hunter, we must ask to follow his adventures through a second volume, to be called – THE PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES.)
