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CHAPTER XXXIX
THE BOAR AT BAY

Don Pablo ran out of the cavern and joined Andrés Garote hastily, who still slept. The young man had some difficulty in waking him, but at length he opened his eyes, sat up, and yawned; but perceiving the stars still shining, he said ill-humouredly: "What fly has stung you? Let me sleep – day is still far off."

"I know that better than you, for I have not lain down."

"Then, you were wrong," the other said, yawning fit to dislocate his jaw; "I am going to sleep, so good night."

And he tried to lie down again, but the young man prevented him. "A pretty time for sleeping," he said as he dragged away the other's zarapé; in which he tried in vain to wrap himself.

"Why, you must be mad to annoy me so," he said furiously; "has anything fresh happened?"

Don Pablo told him what he had done; the gambusino listened with the most profound attention, and when he had finished scratched his head with embarrassment as he said, "Demonios! that is serious – excessively serious; all lovers are madmen. You have spoiled our expedition."

"Do you think so?"

"Canelo! I am sure of it; Red Cedar is an old scoundrel, as cunning as an opossum. Now that he is put on his guard, it will take a clever fellow to catch him."

Don Pablo looked at him in consternation.

"What is to be done?" he said.

"Be off, that is the safest; you can understand that the squatter is now on his guard?"

There was rather a lengthened silence between the two speakers.

"Well!" the gambusino said, suddenly, "I will not be beat. I will play the old demon a trick after my fashion."

"What is your plan?"

"That is my business. If you had placed greater confidence in me, all this would not have happened, and we should have settled matters, to the general satisfaction. Well, what is done cannot be undone, and I will try to repair your fault, so now be off."

"Off – where to?"

"To the foot of the mountain; but do not come up again unless your comrades are with you. You will act as their guide to this spot."

"But you?"

"Don't trouble yourself about me. Good-bye."

"Well," the young man said, "I leave you at liberty to act as you think proper."

"You ought to have formed that resolution sooner. Ah, by the way, just leave me your hat."

"With great pleasure; but you have one."

"Perhaps I want another. Ah! one word more."

"Speak."

"If by any chance you should hear a noise – shots fired, say – as you are going down the mountain, do not alarm yourself, or come up again."

"Good – that is agreed; so good-bye."

After tossing his hat to the gambusino, the young man put his rifle on his shoulder, and began descending the mountain: he speedily disappeared in the countless windings of the path. So soon as Andrés Garote was alone, he picked up Don Pablo's hat and threw it over the precipice, eagerly watching its descent. After turning over and over, the hat touched a peak, rebounded, and at length rested on the mountainside a great distance beneath.

"Good," the gambusino said with satisfaction, "that is all right; now for the rest."

Andrés Garote then sat down on the ground, took his rifle, and discharged it in the air; immediately, drawing one of his pistols from his belt, he stretched out his left arm and pulled the trigger; the ball went right through the fleshy part. "Caramba!" he said, as he fell all his length on the ground, "that pains more than I fancied; but no matter; the great point is to succeed, so now to await the result."

Nearly a quarter of an hour elapsed and nothing disturbed the silence of the desert. Andrés, still stretched at full length, was groaning in a way that would move the heart of the rocks. At length a slight noise was heard a short distance off.

"Halloh!" the gambusino muttered, cunningly watching what had happened, "I fancy there's a bite."

"Who the deuce have we here?" a rough voice said; "Go and see, Sutter."

Andrés Garote opened his eyes and recognised Red Cedar, and his son. "Ah!" he said in a hollow voice, "Is that you, old squatter? Where the deuce do you come from? If I expected anybody, it was certainly not you, though I am delighted with you."

"I know that voice," exclaimed Red Cedar.

"It is Andrés Garote, the gambusino," Sutter replied.

"Yes, it is I, my good Sutter," the Mexican said. "Oh! oh! How I suffer!"

"What's the matter with you, and how did you come here?"

"You're all right, I see," the other replied savagely. "Cuerpo de Cristo! Things have gone with me from bad to worse since I left my rancho to come in this accursed prairie."

"Will you answer yes or no?" Red Cedar said angrily, dashing his rifle butt on the ground, and giving him a suspicious glance.

"Well, I am wounded, that, is easy to see; I have a bullet in my arm, and am all over bruises. Santa Maria, how I suffer! But no matter, the brigand who attacked me will never injure anybody again."

"Have you killed him?" the squatter asked eagerly.

"I did my best; look over the precipice – you will see his body."

Sutter bent over. "I see a hat," he said directly after; "the body cannot be far."

"Unless it has rolled to the bottom of the barranca."

"That is probable," Sutter remarked, "for the rock is almost perpendicular."

"Oh, demonios! Nuestra Señora! How I suffer!" the gambusino groaned.

The squatter had in his turn leant over the precipice; he recognised Don Pablo's hat; he gave a sign of satisfaction, and returned to Andrés.

"Come," he said in a gentle tone, "we cannot stop here all night; can you walk?"

"I do not know, but I will try."

"Try, then, in the demon's name."

The gambusino rose with infinite difficulty and tried to walk a little way, but fell back. "I cannot," he said despondingly.

"Nonsense!" said Sutter; "I will take him on my back, he is not very heavy."

"Look sharp, then."

The young man stooped, took the gambusino in his arms, and laid him across his shoulders as easily as if he had been a child. Ten minutes later Andrés Garote was in the cavern lying before the fire, and Fray Ambrosio was bandaging up his arm.

"Well, gossip," the monk said, "you have been very cleverly wounded."

"Why so?" the Mexican asked in alarm.

"Why, a wound in the left arm will not prevent your firing a shot with us in case of an alarm."

"I will do so, you may be sure," he replied, with a singular accent.

"With all that, you have not told me by what chance you were on the mountain," Red Cedar remarked.

"It was simple; since the destruction and dispersion of our poor cuadrilla, I have been wandering about in every direction like a masterless dog; hunted by the Indians to take my scalp, pursued by the whites to be hanged, as forming part of Red Cedar's band, I did not know where to find shelter. About three days back chance brought me to this sierra; tonight, at the moment I was going to sleep, after eating a mouthful, a fellow whom the darkness prevented me recognising, suddenly threw himself on me; you know the rest – but no matter, I settled his little score."

"Good, good," Red Cedar quickly interrupted him, "keep that to yourself; now, good night, you must need rest; so sleep, if you can."

The gambusino's stratagem was too simple and at the same time too cleverly carried out, not to succeed. No one can suppose that an individual would voluntarily, give himself a serious wound, and any suspicions on Red Cedar's part were entirely dissipated by the sight of Don Pablo's hat. How could he suppose that two men of such different character and position should be working together? Anything was credible but that. Hence the bandits, who recognised in Garote one of themselves, did not at all distrust him.

The worthy ranchero, delighted at having got into the lion's den, almost certain of the success of his scheme, and too accustomed to wounds to care much about the one he had given himself with such praiseworthy dexterity, began again the slumber Don Pablo had so roughly interrupted and slept till daybreak. When he awoke, Fray Ambrosio was by his side, preparing the morning meal.

"Well," the monk asked him, "how do you feel now?"

"Much better than I should have fancied," he answered; "sleep has done me good."

"Let me look at your wound, gossip."

Andrés held out his arm, which the monk bandaged afresh, and the two men went on talking like friends delighted at meeting again after a lengthened separation. All at once Red Cedar hurried up, rifle in hand.

"Look out!" he shouted, "Here is the enemy."

"The enemy!" the gambusino said, "Canelo, where is my rifle? If I cannot stand, I will fire sitting down: it shall not be said that I did not help my friends in their trouble."

Sutter now ran up from the other side, shouting:

"Look out!"

This strange coincidence of two attacks made from opposite sides rendered Red Cedar thoughtful. "We are betrayed," he shouted.

"By whom?" the gambusino impudently asked.

"By you, perhaps," the squatter answered furiously.

Andrés began laughing.

"You are mad, Red Cedar," he said: "danger has made you lose your head. You know very well that I have not stirred from here."

The reasoning was unanswerable.

"And yet, I would swear that one of us has been the traitor," the squatter continued passionately.

"Instead of recriminating as you are doing," Andrés said, with an accent of wounded dignity, perfectly played, "you would do better to fly. You are too old a fox to have only one hole to your earth – all the issues cannot be occupied, hang it all: while you are escaping, I, who cannot walk, will cover the retreat, and you will thus see whether I was the traitor."

"You will do that?"

"I will."

"Then you are a man, and I restore you my friendship."

At this moment the war yell of the Comanches burst forth at one of the entrances, while at the opposite could be heard: "Bloodson! Bloodson!"

"Make haste, make haste!" the gambusino shouted, as he boldly seized the rifle lying at his side.

"Oh, they have not got me yet," Red Cedar replied, as he seized his daughter in his powerful arms, who had run up at the first alarm, and was now pressing timorously to his side. The three bandits then disappeared in the depths of the cave. Andrés leaped up as if worked by a spring, and rushed in pursuit of them, followed by twenty Comanche and Apache warriors who had joined him, at whose head were Unicorn, Black Cat, and Spider.

They soon heard the sound of firing re-echoed by the walls of the cavern: the fight had begun.

Red Cedar had found himself face to face with Valentine and his comrades, while trying to fly by an outlet he did not suppose guarded. He fell back hurriedly, but he had been seen, and the firing immediately begun. A terrible combat was about to take place beneath the gloomy avenues of this vast cavern. These implacable enemies, at last face to face, had no mercy to expect from each other. Still Red Cedar did not despond; while replying vigorously to the shots of their adversaries, he incessantly looked round him to discover a fresh outlet.

The perfect darkness that reigned in the cavern aided the bandits, who, owing to their small numbers, sheltered themselves behind rocks, and thus avoided the bullets, while their shots, fired into the compact mass of enemies pressing round them, scarcely ever missed their mark.

All once the squatter uttered a triumphant yell, and, followed by his comrades, disappeared as if by enchantment. The Indians and rangers then dispersed in pursuit of the bandits, but they had vanished and left no sign.

"We shall never find them in this way," Valentine shouted, "and we run a risk of hitting friends; some of the warriors will be detached to cut us torches, while we guard all the outlets."

"It is unnecessary," Curumilla said, coming up, loaded with candlewood.

In a second, the cavern was brilliantly lit up, and then the side passage by which Red Cedar had escaped became visible to the astonished Comanches, who had passed it twenty times without seeing it. They rushed in with a yell but there came a discharge, and three of them fell mortally wounded. The passage was low, narrow, and ascending; it formed a species of staircase. It was, in truth, a formidable position, for four men could with difficulty advance together.

Ten times the Comanches returned to the charge, ten times they were forced to fall back; the dead and wounded were heaped up in the cave, and the position was becoming critical.

"Halt!" Valentine shouted.

All were motionless, and then the white men and principal chiefs held a council; Curumilla had left the cave with a dozen warriors whom he had made a sign to follow him. As happens unfortunately only too often in precarious circumstances, everybody gave a different opinion, and it was impossible to come to an understanding; at this moment Curumilla appeared, followed by the warriors loaded like himself with leaves and dry wood.

"Wait a moment," Valentine said, pointing to the chief; "Curumilla has had the only sensible idea."

The others did not understand yet.

"Come, my lads," the hunter cried, "a final attack."

The Comanches rushed furiously into the passage, but a fresh discharge compelled them again to retire.

"Enough!" the Trail-hunter commanded, "that is what I wanted to know."

They obeyed, and Valentine then turned to the chief who accompanied him.

"It is plain," he said, "that this passage has no outlet; in the first moment of precipitation Red Cedar did not perceive this, else he would not have entered it; had it an outlet, the bandits, instead of remaining, would have profited by the momentary respite we granted them to escape."

"That is true," the chiefs answered.

"What I tell you at this moment, Curumilla guessed long ago; the proof is that he has discovered the only way to make the demons surrender, smoking them out." Enthusiastic shouts greeted these words.

"Warriors," Valentine went on, "throw into that cave all the wood and leaves you can; when there is a large pile, we will set light to it."

Red Cedar and his comrades probably guessing their enemy's intention, tried to prevent it by keeping up an incessant fire, but the Indians, rendered prudent by experience, placed themselves so as to escape the bullets, which hit nobody. The entrance of the passage was soon almost blocked up with inflammable matter of every description. Valentine seized a lighted torch, but before setting fire to the pile he made a sign to command silence, and addressed the besieged:

"Red Cedar," he shouted, "we are going to smoke you out, will you surrender"?

"Go to the devil, accursed Frenchman," the squatter replied.

And three shots served as peroration to this energetic answer.

"Attention now! For when these demons feel themselves broiling, they will make a desperate effort," Valentine said.

He threw the torch into the pile, the fire at once began crackling, and a dense cloud of smoke and flame formed a curtain before the passage. In the meanwhile, all held in readiness to repulse the sortie of the besieged, for the Indians knew that the collision would be rude. They had not to wait long, ere they saw three devils burst through the flames and rushed headlong upon them.

A frightful medley took place in the narrow corridor, which lasted some minutes. Don Pablo, on perceiving Red Cedar, rushed upon him, and in spite of the bandit's resistance, seized Ellen, and bore her away in his arms. The squatter roared like a tiger, felling all who came within his reach. For their part, Sutter and Fray Ambrosio, fought with the courage and resolution of men who knew that they were about to die.

But this desperate struggle of three against several hundred could not last long; in spite of all their efforts they were at length lassoed, and securely bound.

"Kill me, villains," Red Cedar howled in despair.

Bloodson walked up to him, and touched his shoulder.

"You will be tried by Lynch Law, Red Cedar," he said to him.

At the sight of the ranger the squatter made a terrible effort to burst his bonds, and rush upon him; but he did not succeed, and fell back on the ground, which he bit at wildly, and foaming with rage. When the fight was over, Valentine hurried from the cavern to breathe a little fresh air. Sunbeam was waiting for him. "Koutonepi," she said to him, "Seraphin, the Father of Prayer, has sent me to you – your mother is dying."

"My mother!" the hunter exclaimed in despair. "Oh, God! What shall I do to reach her?"

"Curumilla is warned," she answered; "he is waiting for you at the foot of the mountains, with two horses."

The hunter rushed down the path like a madman.

CHAPTER XL
LYNCH LAW

Before going further, we will explain in a few words what Lynch Law is to which we have several times referred in the course of this narrative, and which plays so great a part, not only in the prairies of North America, but also in certain districts of the United States.

Although we Europeans are rightly surprised that such a monstrosity as Lynch Law can exist in a general society, to be just to the Americans, and although we are bound to disapprove their present system derived from the original, this law was the result of imperious circumstances. When the Pilgrim Fathers landed at Plymouth, Lynch Law was the chastisement imposed by a community deprived of all law, who could only have recourse to their own justice to punish crime.

Now-a-days, in the great centres of the Union, this law, on the contrary, is only the illegal exercise of power by a majority acting in opposition to the laws of the country, as well as the punishments, where the population is sparse, and which, according to the Constitution, must have a certain number of inhabitants to be recognised as districts; up to that recognition, those who have come to seek an existence at these settlements among bandits of every description, against whose attacks they cannot appeal to any legal protection, are obliged to protect themselves, and have recourse to Lynch Law. In the prairies of the Far West, this law is exactly the same as the ancient lextalionis of the Hebrews.

We will not go deeper into the subject of this law, which is so obscure in its origin, that its very name is an unsolved riddle, although some persons assert wrongly, as we think, that Lynch was a governor who first applied this law. The only difficulty there is against the truth of this derivation is that Lynch Law existed, as we have said, in America, from the first day that Europeans landed there. Without attempting to guarantee the authenticity of our assertion, it is evident that Lynch Law did not really begin to be applied in the civilised provinces of the Union till the last years of the eighteenth century; at that period it was much more summary, for a lamp was taken down, and the victim hoisted in its place; hence we believe that the word Lynch is only a corruption of derivation of light. We will now return to our narrative.

Four days after the events we describe in our last chapter, Unicorn's camp afforded a strange sight; not only did it contain Indian warriors belonging to all the allied nations of the Comanches, but also many hunters, trappers, and half-breeds had hurried in from all parts of the prairies to try the prisoners, and punish them by Lynch Law as understood in the Far West.

Father Seraphin, who was at this moment in camp, busied in offering help and consolation to Madame Guillois, whose illness had reached its last and fatal stage, tried to oppose the trial of the prisoners with all his power. In vain did he present to the Indians and white men that there were upright judges in the United states, who would apply the laws and punish the criminals; his efforts had obtained no result, and he had been obliged to withdraw, heart-broken.

Not being able to save the prisoners, he wished to prepare them for death; but here again the missionary failed: he had found scoundrels with hearts bronzed by crime, who would not listen, but derided him. Singularly enough, since these men had fallen into the hands of their enemies, they had not exchanged a word, crouched in a corner of the hut that served as a prison, sullen as wild beasts, they avoided each other as much as the bonds that attached them permitted them to do.

Ellen alone appeared among them like the angel of consolation, lavishing soft words on them, and trying before all to soothe her father's last hours. Red Cedar only lived in and through his daughter – each smile of the poor girl which hid her tears, brought a smile on his face branded and ravaged by passion: if he could have reformed, his paternal love would surely have affected this prodigy; but it was too late, all was dead in this heart, which now only contained one feeling, a paternal affection like that of tigers and panthers.

"Is it for today, my child?" he asked.

"I do not know, father," she timidly replied.

"I understand you, poor darling, you are afraid of grieving me by letting me know the truth; but undeceive yourself, when a man like me has fallen so low as I have done, the only blessing he craves is death, and, stay, I have my answer then," he added with a grin; "Judge Lynch is about to begin his duty."

A great noise was audible at this moment in the camp; three stakes had been put up in the morning, and round them the population were tumultuously electing the judges ordered to avenge public justice.

The judges were seven in number: Valentine, Curumilla, Unicorn, Black Cat, Spider, and two other Comanche chiefs. Care had been taken not to elect any who had accusations to bring against the prisoners.

At midday precisely, a silence of lead fell on the assembly, a band of warriors and trappers had gone to the prison to fetch the prisoners and lead them before the judges.

Although Father Seraphin's attempts to arouse better feelings in the heart of the bandits had failed, he determined to accompany and exhort them to the last moment; he walked on the right of Red Cedar, and Ellen on his left.

When the prisoners were brought before the tribunal, Valentine, who had been nominated president against his will, summoned the accusers, who at once appeared. They were five in number: Don Miguel, Don Pablo Zarate, Andrés Garote, White Gazelle, and Bloodson. Valentine took the word in a loud and firm voice.

"Red Cedar," he said, "you are about to be tried by Lynch Law: you will hear the crimes of which you are accused, and have entire liberty to defend yourself."

The squatter shrugged his shoulders.

"Your Lynch Law is foolish," he said disdainfully; "it can only kill, and the victim has not even time to feel the pain: instead of taking that absurd vengeance, fasten me to the stake of torture for a day, and then you will have some fun, for you shall see how a warrior can look death in the face, and endure pain."

"You are mistaken as to our intentions: we are not avenging ourselves, but punishing you; the stake is reserved for brave and honourable warriors, but criminals are only worthy of the gallows."

"As you please," he replied carelessly; "what I said was through a wish to afford you pleasure."

"Who are the persons who have charges against Red Cedar?" Valentine went on.

"I, Don Miguel de Zarate."

"I, Don Pablo de Zarate."

"I, who am called Bloodson, but who will reveal my real name if Red Cedar desires it."

"It is unnecessary," he said in a hollow voice.

"I, White Gazelle."

"Bring your charges forward."

"I accuse this man of having carried off my daughter, whom he basely assassinated," Don Miguel said; "I also accuse him of having caused the death of my friend, General Ibañez."

"What reply have you to this?"

"None."

"What does the people say?"

"We attest," the audience replied in one voice.

"I accuse this man of the same crimes," Don Pablo said.

"I accuse this man of having burnt the house of my father and mother, assassinated my parents, and handed me over to bandits to be brought up in crime," White Gazelle said.

"I," Bloodson added, "accuse him of the same crimes: this girl's father was my brother."

There was a start of horror on the audience. Valentine consulted with the judges in a low voice, then said —

"Red Cedar, you are unanimously found guilty and condemned to be scalped, and then hung."

Sutter was condemned to be hanged only; the judges had regard for his youth, and the evil examples he had constantly before him. The monk's turn had now arrived.

"One moment," Bloodson said, as he stepped forward; "this man is a wretched adventurer, who has no right to wear the gown he has so long dishonoured. I ask that it be stripped off him, before he is tried."

"Why waste time in accusing me, and making this mockery of justice?" Fray Ambrosio ironically replied. "All you who try us are as criminal as we are. You are assassins; for you usurp, without any right, functions that do not belong to you. This time you act justly, by chance: a thousand other times, awed by the populace that surrounds you, you condemn innocent men. If you wish to know my crimes, I will tell you them. That man is right. I am no monk – never was one. I began by debauchery; I finished in crime. As an accomplice of Red Cedar, I fired farms, whose inhabitants I burned or assassinated, in order to plunder them afterwards. I have been, still with Red Cedar, a scalp hunter. I helped to carry off that girl. What more? I killed that gambusino's brother in order to obtain the secret of a placer. Do you want any more? Imagine the most atrocious and hideous crimes, and I have committed them all. Now pronounce and carry out your sentence, for you will not succeed in making me utter another word. I despise you. You are cowards."

After uttering these odious words with revolting cynicism, the wretch looked impudently round the audience.

"You are sentenced," Valentine said, after a consultation, "to be scalped, hung up by the arms, seasoned with honey, and remain hanging till the flies and birds have devoured you."

On hearing this terrible sentence, the bandit could not repress a start of terror, while the people frenziedly applauded this severe sentence.

"Now the sentence will be carried out," Valentine said.

"One moment," Unicorn exclaimed, as he sprang up, and stood before the judges; "as regards Red Cedar, the law has not been followed: does it not say, 'eye for eye, and tooth for tooth?'"

"Yes, yes!" the Indians and trappers shouted. Struck by an ominous presentiment, Red Cedar trembled.

"Yes," Bloodson said, in a hollow voice, "Red Cedar killed Doña Clara, Don Miguel's daughter – his daughter Ellen must die."

The judges themselves recoiled in horror, and Red Cedar uttered a terrible howl. Ellen alone did not tremble.

"I am ready to die," she said, in a gentle and resigned voice. "Poor girl! Heaven knows how gladly I would have given my life to save hers."

"My daughter!" Red Cedar exclaimed, in despair.

"Don Miguel felt the same when you were assassinating his daughter," Bloodson retorted, cruelly. "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth."

"Oh! What you are doing there, my brothers, is horrible," Father Seraphin exclaimed. "You are shedding innocent blood, and it will fall on your heads. God will punish you. For pity's sake, brothers, do not kill that innocent maiden!"

At a signal from Unicorn, four warriors seized the missionary, and, despite his efforts, while treating him most kindly, carried him to the chiefs lodge, where they guarded him. Valentine and Curumilla tried in vain to oppose this barbarous and blood-thirsty deed, but the Indians and trappers, worked on by Bloodson, loudly claimed the execution of the law, and threatened to take justice into their own hands.

In vain did Don Miguel and his son implore Unicorn and Bloodson; they could obtain nothing. At length, Unicorn, wearied by the young man's prayers, seized Ellen by the hair, plunged his knife into her heart, and threw her into his arms, shouting:

"Her father killed your sister, and you pray for her. You are a coward."

Valentine, at this unjustifiable deed, hid his face in his hands, and fled. Red Cedar writhed in the bonds that held him. On seeing Ellen fall, a revolution took place in him. Henceforth he only uttered one word, in a heart-rending voice:

"My daughter! My daughter!"

Bloodson and White Gazelle were implacable, and sternly watched the execution of the sentence passed upon the prisoners. Red Cedar and his son did not suffer long, although the former was scalped; the madness that had seized on him rendered him insensible to everything.

The man who suffered the most fearful punishment was Fray Ambrosio; the wretch writhed for two-and-twenty hours in unimaginable suffering, ere death put an end to his fearful tortures.

So soon as the culprits had been executed, Bloodson and White Gazelle mounted their horses and galloped away.

They have never been heard of since, and no one knows what has become of them.

It was the eighth day after the fearful application of Lynch Law we have just described, a little before sunset.

All traces of the execution had disappeared. Unicorn's camp was still established at the same spot, for he insisted on his men remaining there, on account of Madame Guillois's illness rendering the most absolute rest necessary for her. The poor old lady felt herself dying by degrees; day by day she grew weaker, and, gifted with that lucidity which Heaven at times grants to the dying, she saw death approach with a smile, while striving to console her son for her loss.

But Valentine, who after so many years only saw his mother again to separate from her for ever, was inconsolable. Deprived of Don Miguel and Don Pablo, who had returned to the Paso del Norte, bearing with them the body of the hapless Trapper's Daughter, the Trail-hunter wept on the bosom of Curumilla, who, to console him, could only weep with him, and say —

"The Great Spirit recalls my brother's mother; it is because that he loves her."

A very long sentence for the worthy chief, and which proved the intensity of his grief.

On the day when we resume our narrative, Madame Guillois was reclining in a hammock in front of her hut, with her face turned to the setting sun. Valentine was standing on her right, Father Seraphin on her left, and Curumilla by his friend's side.