The Adventurers

"Ah!" cried the Linda in a hoarse voice, and with an expression impossible to be described, "may not the love of this wretch avenge me better than all the tortures I could have invented!"

In a few minutes the chief returned precipitately, his features distorted by fury and disappointment.

"She has fled!" he shouted. It was true. Rosario and the Indian to whose charge the Linda had given her had both disappeared. No one knew what had become of them. Antinahuel immediately dispatched his mosotones in all directions in search of them. The Linda was left in the toldo a prey to indescribable rage; she was cheated of her vengeance! She felt crushed under the weight of the helplessness to which she was reduced.

CHAPTER XLIV

THE RETURN TO VALDIVIA

Night was come; bending over the pillow of his friend, who was still buried in that lethargic sleep which generally follows great loss of blood, Valentine watched with anxious tenderness the changes which at times darkened his pale countenance.

"Oh!" he said, in a suppressed voice, clenching his hands with anger, "be thy assassins who they may, brother, they shall pay for their crime dearly."

The curtain of the tent was slowly raised, and a hand was laid upon the young man's shoulder. He turned quickly round; Trangoil-Lanec was before him. The face of the Ulmen was dark as night, and he appeared a prey to strong emotion.

"What is the matter, chief?" asked Valentine, terrified at his manner; "what has happened, in the name of Heaven? Have you any fresh misfortune to announce?"

"Misfortune incessantly watches over man," the chief remarked sententiously; "he should be ready to receive it at all hours, like an expected guest."

"Speak then!" the young man asked, in a firm voice; "whatever may happen, I will not falter."

"Good, my brother is strong, he is a great warrior, he will not suffer himself to be cast down. Let my brother hasten; we must be gone!"

"Be gone!" cried Valentine, with a nervous start; "and my friend?"

"Our brother Louis will accompany us."

"Is it possible to move him?"

"It must be," the Indian said peremptorily; "the war hatchet is dug up against the palefaces, the Aucas chiefs have drunk firewater, the genius of evil is master of their hearts; we must depart before they think of us; in an hour it will be too late."

"Let us depart then," the young man replied, sorrowfully, convinced that Trangoil-Lanec knew more than he was willing to tell, and that some great danger threatened them, since the chief, who was a man of tried courage, had let fall that mask of stoicism which scarcely ever abandons the Indian.

Preparations for departure were made in all haste, and were soon terminated. The hammock in which Louis reposed was solidly fastened to two long cross pieces of wood, and then, as it was, harnessed upon two mules without awakening him. The little band set out, employing the greatest precautions. They proceeded thus for more than an hour, without exchanging a word; the campfires of the Indians became every minute more faint in the distance, and they were, at least for the present, out of danger. Valentine approached Trangoil-Lanec, who rode at the head of the convoy.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To Valdivia," the chief replied; "it is there alone that Don Louis will be able to recover in safety."

"You are right," said Valentine; "but shall we remain inactive?"

"I will do what my brother the paleface wishes; am I not his penni? where he goes I will go – his will shall be mine!"

"Thank you, chief," the Frenchman replied, with emotion; "you have a brave and worthy heart."

"My brother saved my life," said the Ulmen earnestly; "that life is no longer mine, it belongs to him."

Whether it was that the Araucano chiefs did not perceive the departure of the strangers, or that, as is more probable, they did not think it worthwhile to pursue them, the little troop was not interrupted in its flight – for what other name could be given to this night march amidst the desert? They advanced slowly, on account of the wounded man, who could not, in his state of weakness and prostration, have supported the shaking of a more rapid pace.

Towards three o'clock in the morning, a few fugitive and uncertain lights, which flitted across the horizon, and with difficulty pierced through the fog, which at that hour of the night envelopes the earth like a winding sheet, announced to the party that they were approaching the city, and should soon be there. At the end of three quarters of an hour, they reached the gardens which envelope Valdivia like an immense bouquet of flowers, from the centre of which it seems to spring up. The party made a short halt, in order not to attract observation on entering the city, through the state of the horses and mules. From that time they had nothing to fear from the Indians.

"Is my brother acquainted with the city?" Trangoil-Lanec asked.

"Why do you ask that question?"

"For a very simple reason. In the desert, by night or by day, I can serve as a guide to my brother; but here, in this toldería of the whites, my eyes close – I am blind; my brother must conduct us."

"The devil!" said Valentine, quite disconcerted; "in that sense I am as blind as you, chief; it was only yesterday that I entered the city for the first time: and," he added, laughingly, "the bullets then whistled round in such a merry fashion, I had scarcely time to look about me, or to ask my way."

"Don't let that disturb you, señor," said one of the peons, who had heard the few words pronounced by the two men; "only tell me where you want to go, and I will undertake to conduct you."

"Hum!" Valentine replied; "where I want to go to? Caspeta! I cannot exactly say; all places are alike to me, provided my friend be in safety."

"Pardon me, señor," the arriero replied, "if I dare – "

"Oh, dare! dare! there's a good fellow! your idea is probably excellent; for myself, I confess at this moment my mind is as empty as a drum."

"Why, señor, should you not go to the residence of Don Tadeo de Leon, my master?"

"Pardieu!" cried Valentine, vexed at his own want of thought. "On my word, you are something like a guide! I do not go to Don Tadeo, because, simply, I don't know how to find the place, that's all."

"I know, señor; Don Tadeo is most likely at the cabildo."

"By Jove! that's true again; my powers of thought seem to have been driven out of my head; but which is the way to the cabildo?"

"I will show you, señor."

"That's well! this is an intelligent lad. Let us be moving, my friend."

"Forward, then!" cried the arriero. "Ea! arrea mula!" he shouted to his beasts.

In a few minutes they debouched upon the Plaza Mayor, opposite the cabildo. The city was still and silent; here and there traces of the sanguinary contest of the preceding day, heaps of broken furniture, or large trenches cut in the ground, gave evidence of the ravages caused by the insurrection. A soldier was marching with slow steps in front of the cabildo. At sight of the little party, he stopped, and cocked his musket.

"Who goes there?" he shouted sharply.

"La Patria!" Valentine replied.

"Go on, then!" said the soldier.

"Hum!" the young man murmured; "it appears not to be such an easy matter to obtain entrance; never mind," he added, "let us try. My friend," he said, in an insinuating voice, to the sentinel, who stood motionless before him; "we have business in the palace."

"Have you the password?"

"Santiago! no," Valentine answered, frankly.

"Then you cannot enter."

"And yet I wish very much to enter."

"Very possibly; but as you have not the password, I advise you to go on your way; for I swear, if you were the devil in person, I would not afford you a passage."

"My friend," said the Parisian, in a jeering tone, "you do not talk logically; if I were the devil, I should stand in no need of the password – I should get in in spite of you."

"Take care, señor," whispered the arriero; "that soldier is not unlikely to fire at you."

"Pardieu! that's what I reckon upon," said Valentine, laughing.

The peon looked at him in astonishment; he thought he was mad. The soldier, annoyed by this long conversation, and believing it of no use to stand wrangling with these jokers, presented his musket, crying angrily, —

"For the last time, go on, or I will fire!"

"I am determined I will go in!" Valentine replied, resolutely.

"To arms!" the soldier cried, and fired. Valentine, who had watched attentively all the soldier's movements, had slipped quickly from his horse, and the bullet whistled harmlessly over his head. At the cry of the soldier and the report of his piece, several armed soldiers, followed by an officer with a lighted lantern in his hand, rushed tumultuously out of the palace.

"What is going on here?" the officer asked, in a loud voice.

"Ah!" Valentine cried, to whom the voice was not unknown, "is that you, Don Gregorio?"

"Who calls me?" said the latter; for, in fact, it was he.

"I, Valentine!"

"What! is it you, my friend, who are making all this disturbance?" replied Don Gregorio, advancing; "I thought it was nothing less than an attack."

"What the devil was I to do?" said the young man, laughing; "I had not the password, and I wanted to get in."

"Hum! none but a Frenchman would have such an idea as that."

"Is it not original?"

"Yes, but you risked being killed."

"Bah! we are always risking being killed, and yet we are not," said Valentine, carelessly; "I recommend my plan to you, under similar circumstances."

"Much obliged! but I do not think I shall ever try it."

"Ah! there you are wrong."

"Well, then, come in! come in!"

"That is all I want; particularly as I must see Don Tadeo instantly."

"I believe he is asleep."

"He must be awakened."

"Do you bring interesting news, then?"

"Yes," Valentine replied, becoming suddenly serious; "terrible news!"

Don Gregorio, struck with the tone in which the Frenchman had pronounced these words, had a presentiment of some misfortune, and asked no further. The arrieros bore the hammock, with Don Louis still asleep, into the cabildo. By the care of Don Gregorio he was carried to a bedchamber, and placed in a bed hastily provided.

"What does all this mean?" Don Gregorio said, in astonishment; "is Don Louis wounded?"

"Yes," Valentine replied, in a husky voice; "he has received two dagger wounds."

"But how did it all happen?"

"You will soon learn; but pray conduct me instantly to Don Tadeo."

"In heaven's name, come, then! your reserve alarms me."

And, followed by Valentine and Trangoil-Lanec, Don Gregorio plunged into the labyrinth formed by the numerous corridors of the palace, with which he seemed well acquainted.

CHAPTER XLV

THE FATHER REVEALS HIMSELF

Don Tadeo had passed the greater part of the night in giving orders for the clearing away of the hideous traces left by the combat. He had named the magistrates charged with the police of the city. After having assured, as far as possible, the tranquillity and safety of the citizens, and sent several couriers to Santiago, and other centres of population, to inform them of what had taken place, worn out with fatigue, sinking with sleep, he had thrown himself, clothed as he was, upon a camp bed, to take a little repose. He had slept scarcely an hour that agitated sleep which is the lot of men upon whom the destinies of empires rest, when the door of the chamber was pushed violently open, a strong light gleamed in his eyes, and several men surrounded him. Don Tadeo awoke suddenly.

"Who is there?" he cried, endeavouring to recognise, in spite of the light which dazzled his eyes, the persons who so inopportunely disturbed his repose.

"It is I," replied Don Gregorio.

"Well, but you do not seem to be alone?"

"No, Don Valentine accompanies me."

"Don Valentine!" cried Don Tadeo, starting up, and passing his hand over his brow, to drive away the clouds which still obscured his ideas; "why, I did not expect Don Valentine before morning, at soonest; what serious reason can have induced him to travel by night?"

"A powerful reason, Don Tadeo," the young man remarked, in a melancholy voice.

"In Heaven's name! speak, then!" cried Don Tadeo.

"Be a man! be firm! collect all your courage to bear worthily the blow you are about to receive."

Don Tadeo walked two or three times round the room, with his head cast down, and his brow contracted; then stopped suddenly in front of Valentine with a pale brow, but with a stoical countenance. This man of iron had subdued nature within him; as if aware of the rudeness of the shock he was about to receive, he had ordered his heart not to break – his muscles not to quiver.

"Speak!" he said, "I am ready to hear you."

While uttering these words his voice was firm, his features calm. Valentine, though well acquainted with his courage, was struck with admiration.

"Is the misfortune you are about to announce to me personal?" said Don Tadeo.

"Yes," the young man replied, in a tremulous voice.

"God be praised! Go on, then; I listen to you."

Valentine perceived that he must not put the soul of this man to too hard a trial; he determined to speak.

"Doña Rosario has disappeared," he said; "she has been carried off during our absence; Louis, my foster brother, in endeavouring to defend her, has fallen, pierced by two sword thrusts."

The King of Darkness appeared a statue of marble; no emotion was perceptible upon his austere countenance.

"Is Don Louis dead?" he asked, earnestly.

"No," Valentine answered, more and more astonished; "I even hope that in a few days he will be cured."

"So much the better," said Don Tadeo, feelingly; "I am indeed glad to hear that."

And, crossing his arms upon his broad chest, he resumed his hasty walk about the room. The three men looked at each other, surprised at this stoicism, which to them was unintelligible.

"Will you then abandon Doña Rosario to her ravishers?" Don Gregorio asked, in a reproachful tone.

Don Tadeo darted at him a look charged with such bitter irony, that Don Gregorio quailed beneath it.

"Were the ravishers concealed in the entrails of the earth, I would discover them, be they who they may!" Don Tadeo replied.

"A man is on their track," said Trangoil-Lanec, advancing; "that man is Curumilla. He will discover them."

A flash of joy for a moment shot from the eye of the King of Darkness.

"Oh!" he murmured, with clenched teeth, "beware, Doña Maria, beware!"

He at once had divined the author of the abduction of Rosario.

"What do you intend to do?" said Don Gregorio.

"Nothing, till the return of our scout," he replied, coldly; and then turning towards Valentine, added – "Well, my friend, have you nothing else to announce to me?"

"What leads you to suppose I have not told you all?" said the young man.

"Ah!" Don Tadeo replied, with a melancholy smile, "you know, my friend, that we Spanish Americans, however civilized we may appear, are still semi-barbarians, and, as such, horribly superstitious."

"Well?"

"Well, then, among other follies of the same kind, we place faith in proverbs; and is there not one which somewhere says, that a misfortune never comes singly?"

"Good Heavens! do you take me for a bird of ill omen, Don Tadeo?"

"God forbid, my friend! only search in your memory, I am sure I am not mistaken, and that you have still something else to inform me of."

"Well, you are right, I have other news to announce to you; whether good or bad, I leave you to judge."

"I knew there was something more behind," said Don Tadeo, with a sad smile; "go on, my friend, let us hear this news, I am listening to you."

"Yesterday, as you know, General Bustamente renewed the treaties of peace with the Araucano chiefs."

"He did."

"I cannot tell what fugitive or what scout gave them information of what had taken place here; but by evening they had learnt the defeat and capture of the General."

"I can understand that; go on."

"A kind of furious madness immediately seemed to possess them, and they held a great war council."

"In which, I suppose, they decided upon breaking the treaties; is not that it?"

"Exactly."

"And most likely determined upon war with us?"

"I suppose so; the four toquis cast the hatchet into the fire, and a supreme toqui was elected in their place."

"Ah! ah!" said Don Tadeo, "and do you know the name of this supreme toqui?"

"Yes; Antinahuel."

"I suspected as much," Don Tadeo cried, angrily; "that man has deceived us. He is a scoundrel only living by cunning, and whose devouring ambition leads him to sacrifice, when occasion offers, the dearest interests, and falsify the most sacred oaths. He has been playing a double game; he feigned to be the partisan of General Bustamente, as he appeared to be ours, building upon our mutual ruin his own fortunes and his future elevation. But he has thrown off the mask too hastily. By heaven! I will inflict a chastisement upon him, of which his compatriots shall preserve the remembrance, and which a century hence shall make them tremble with fear."

"Beware of the ears that, listen to you," said Don Gregorio, directing his attention by a look to the Ulmen, who stood quietly before him.

"Eh! what care I?" Don Tadeo replied, warmly; "if I speak thus, it is because I wish to be heard. I am a Spanish noble, and what my heart thinks my lips give utterance to; the Ulmen is welcome, if it seems good to him, to repeat my words to his chief."

"The Great Eagle of the Whites is unjust towards his son," replied Trangoil-Lanec, in a serious tone; "all Araucanos have not the same heart; Antinahuel is only responsible for his own acts. Trangoil-Lanec is an Ulmen in his tribe; he knows how to be present at a council of chiefs: what his eyes see, what his ears hear, his heart forgets, his mouth repeats it not: why should my father address such unkind words to me, who am ready to devote myself to restore to him her he has lost?"

"That is true; I am unjust, chief, I was wrong in speaking so; your heart is true, your tongue is unacquainted with falsehood. Pardon me, and let me clasp your loyal hand in mine."

Trangoil-Lanec pressed warmly the hand Don Tadeo held out to him.

"My father is good," he said; "his heart is at this moment darkened by the great misfortune that has fallen upon him; but let my father be comforted, Trangoil-Lanec will restore the blue-eyed maiden to him."

"Thanks, chief! I accept your offer, you may depend upon my gratitude."

"Trangoil-Lanec does not sell his services, he is repaid when his friends are happy."

"Caramba!" cried Valentine, shaking the hand of the chief with all his might, "you are a worthy man, Trangoil-Lanec – I am proud of being your friend."

Then, turning towards Don Tadeo, he said – "I must bid you farewell, for a time. I confide my brother Louis to your care."

"Why do you leave me?" Don Tadeo asked, warmly.

"I must. I see your heart is breaking, in spite of the incredible efforts you make to appear impassive. I know not the nature of the tie which binds you to the unfortunate girl who has been the victim of an odious crime; but I can see the loss of her is killing you – now, with the assistance of Heaven, I will restore her to you, Don Tadeo; I will, or I will die in the endeavour."

"Don Valentine!" the gentleman exclaimed, strongly moved, "what do you propose to do? your project is wild; I cannot accept such devotion."

"Leave it to me. Caramba! I am a Parisian – that is to say, as obstinate as a mule; and when once an idea, good or bad, has entered into my brain, it has no chance of getting out, I swear to you. I shall only take the time to embrace my poor brother, and set off immediately. Come, chief, let us set ourselves upon the track of the ravishers."

"Let us be gone," said the Ulmen.

Don Tadeo remained for a moment motionless, his eyes fixed upon the young man with a strange expression; a violent conflict appeared to be going on within him; at length nature prevailed, he burst into tears; and, throwing himself into the arms of the Frenchman, he murmured, in a voice choked by grief —

"Valentine! Valentine! restore me my daughter!"

The father had at length revealed himself; the stoicism of the statesman had sunk before paternal love! – But human nature has its limits, beyond which it cannot go; the moral shock which Don Tadeo had received, the immense efforts he had made to conceal it, had completely exhausted his strength, and he sank upon the slabs of the floor like a proud oak struck by thunder. He had fainted. Valentine contemplated him for a moment with pity and grief.

"Poor father!" he said, "take courage, thy child shall be restored to thee!"

And he left the room with hasty steps, followed by Trangoil-Lanec, whilst Don Gregorio, kneeling by his friend, gave him the most earnest and kind attentions for the recovery of his senses.

CHAPTER XLVI

CURUMILLA

In order to explain to the reader the miraculous disappearance of Rosario, we are obliged to make a few retrograde steps, and return to Curumilla, at the moment when the Ulmen, after his conversation with Trangoil-Lanec, had thrown himself, like a staunch bloodhound, upon the track of the young girl. Curumilla was a warrior as renowned for his prudence and wisdom in council, as for his bravery in fight. Having crossed the river, he left his horse in the care of a peon who had accompanied him, as it would not only be useless to him, but, still further, because it might even be injurious by betraying his presence by the clatter of its hoofs upon the ground. Indians are expert horsemen, but they are indefatigable walkers. Nature has endowed them with incredible strength of muscles of the legs and hams; and they possess in the highest degree the knowledge of that rising and sinking gymnastic step, which, for some years past, has been introduced into Europe, particularly into France, in the marching of troops. They accomplish with incredible swiftness journeys which horses could hardly perform, always directing their course in a straight line, or as the bird flies, without regard to the difficulties that may arise in their way, no obstacle being sufficient to turn them from their course. This quality renders them particularly formidable to the Spanish Americans, who cannot obtain this facility of locomotion, and who, in time of war, find the redskins always before them at the moment they least expect them, and that almost always at considerable distances from the spots where, logically, they ought to be.

Curumilla, after having carefully studied the prints made by the ravishers, at once divined the route they had taken, and the place they were bound to. He did not amuse himself with following them, for that would have been losing precious time; on the contrary, he resolved to cut across country, and wait for them at an elbow of the road he was acquainted with, where, at all events, he could ascertain their numbers, and, perhaps, save the young girl. This being determined, the Ulmen set off. He walked for several hours without rest, eye and ear on the watch, trying to penetrate the darkness, and listening patiently to the various noises of the desert. These noises, which are to us white men a dead letter, have for the Indians, who are accustomed to interrogate them, a special signification, in which they are never deceived; they analyse them, they decompose them, and often learn by this means things which their enemies have the greatest interest in concealing from them. However inexplicable this fact may at first appear, it is very simple. There exists no noise in the desert without a cause. The flight of birds, the passage of wild beasts, the rustling of leaves, the rolling of a stone down a ravine, the undulation of high grass, the friction of branches in the woods, are for the Indian valuable indications.

At a certain point with which he was acquainted, Curumilla laid himself down flat on his face, behind a block of rock, and remained motionless among the grass and bushes that bordered the route. He remained thus for more than an hour, without making the least movement. Whoever might have perceived him would have taken him for a dead body. The practised ear of the Indian, ever on the watch, at length caught in the distance the dull sound of the feet of horses and mules upon the dry and sonorous road. This noise grew rapidly nearer, and soon, from his hiding place, he perceived about twenty horsemen passing slowly along in the dark, within two lance lengths of him. The ravishers, emboldened by their numbers, and believing themselves secure from all danger, rode along in perfect security. The Indian raised his head softly, and leaning on his hands, followed them with his anxious eyes, and waited. They passed without seeing him. At some paces behind the troop, a horseman came along, leaving himself carelessly to the measured pace of his horse. His head occasionally sank upon his breast, and his hands had but a feeble hold of the reins. It was evident that this man was asleep in his saddle.