The Pirates of the Prairies: Adventures in the American Desert

"Where is Doña Clara? I do not see her," she continued, in a weak voice.

"I will tell you presently, Ellen, what has happened to her," the hunter remarked.

Ellen sighed and was silent; she understood that Harry would not tell her fresh misfortune in her present state of weakness. Owing to Sunbeam's increasing attentions she, however, soon completely regained her senses.

"Does my sister feel her strength returned?" the squaw asked her anxiously.

"Oh," she said, "I am quite well now."

Unicorn looked fixedly at her.

"Yes," he said, "my sister is at present in a condition to travel. It is time to start, our road is long; Sunbeam will give her horse to the pale virgin, that she may be able to follow us."

"Where do you intend taking us, chief?" the hunter asked, with badly-veiled anxiety.

"Did not my brother say that he wished to avenge himself?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, he can follow me, and I will lead him to those who will help him."

"Hum!" the Canadian muttered, "I require nobody for that."

"My brother is mistaken; he requires allies, for the enemy he will have to fight is powerful."

"That is possible. But I should like to know these allies, at any rate; I am not inclined to league myself with the villainous bandits, who flock to the desert and dishonour our colour. I am a frank and honest hunter, for my part."

"My brother has spoken well," the chief answered, with a smile; "he can be at rest, and place entire confidence in those to whom I am about to lead him."

"Who are they, then?"

"One is the father of the maiden the Apaches have carried off, the others – "

"Stay, chief," the hunter quickly exclaimed, "that is sufficient, I do not want to know the rest. We will start when you please, and I will follow you anywhere."

"Good; my brother will get the horses ready, while I give some indispensable orders to my squaw."

Harry bowed in sign of acquiescence, and deftly accomplished the task, while the Comanche took his wife aside, and conversed with her in a whisper.

"Now we will go," the Comanche said, as he returned to the hunter.

"Does not Sunbeam accompany us?" Ellen asked.

"No," the chief answered laconically.

The young Indian woman smiled pleasantly on the squatter's daughter and gliding swiftly among the trees, disappeared almost instantaneously. The others mounted and started at a gallop in the opposite direction.

The Comanche warrior fancied he knew where to find Valentine and his comrades, and hence went in a direct line to the Teocali.

After the Trail-hunter's departure, Don Miguel and the other characters of our story, who remained in Bloodson's fortress, continued to sleep peaceably for several hours, and when they awoke the sun was already high on the horizon. The hacendero and the general, fatigued by the emotions of the preceding day, and but little accustomed to desert life, had yielded to sleep like men who require to regain their strength; when they opened their eyes, a plentiful meal awaited them.

Several days passed without any incident. The stranger, in spite of the cordiality of his reception, maintained a certain degree of reserve with his guests, only speaking to them when it was absolutely necessary, but never seeking to begin with them one of those conversations in which people gradually forget themselves, and insensibly glide into confidential talk. There was something frigid about the manner of this strange man, which could not be explained, but which prevented any friendly relations.

One evening, at the moment when Don Miguel and the general were preparing to lie down on the skins of wild beasts, which served as their bed, their host approached them. Through the day the two gentlemen had noticed a certain agitation among the denizens in the Teocali. An unusual excitement had prevailed, and it was plain that Bloodson was about to attempt one of those daring expeditions to which he was accustomed.

Although the two Mexicans eagerly desired to know their host's projects, they were too much men of the world to question him, and restrained their curiosity while patiently awaiting an explanation which he would not fail soon to give them.

"Good news, caballeros," he said, as he joined them.

"Oh, oh!" the general muttered, "That's novel fruit here."

Don Miguel awaited their host's explanation.

"One of my friends," Bloodson continued, "arrived here this morning, accompanied by a Canadian hunter and Red Cedar's daughter."

At this unexpected good news the Mexicans started with joy and surprise.

"Ah," Don Miguel said, "she will be a precious hostage for us."

"That is what I thought," Bloodson continued; "however, the poor child is perfectly innocent of her father's crimes; and if she is at this moment in our power, it is only because she wished to save your daughter, Don Miguel."

"What do you mean?" the hacendero asked, with an internal tremor.

"You shall understand it," Bloodson answered.

And without any further preamble, he told his listeners all the details connected with the flight of the girls, which the reader already knows.

When he had finished his narrative there was a moment's silence.

"The position is a serious one," the general said, shaking his head.

"We must save our friends, at all risks," Don Miguel exclaimed, impetuously.

"That is my intention," said Bloodson; "at present the position of affairs is improved."

"How so?" the hacendero asked.

"Because it is better for Doña Clara to be a prisoner with the Apaches than with Red Cedar."

"That is true," Don Miguel observed.

"How can we get her out of their clutches?" asked the general.

"That does not embarrass me," Bloodson said; "tomorrow, at daybreak, we will start with all our people, and go to Unicorn's village, who will join his warriors to ours, and then we will attack the Apaches in their village."

"Very good; but shall we be sure of finding my daughter at the village?"

"In the desert everything is seen and known. Do you fancy that Don Valentine has remained inactive since he left us? You may feel assured that he has long been on the trail of the young lady, if he has not already liberated her."

"May heaven grant it," the father remarked with a mournful sigh; "but who will advise us of what he has done?"

"Himself, you may be convinced of that. Still, as we are a very long distance from the village where your daughter is probably confined, we must hasten to get nearer to her; hence, my guests, get up your strength, for tomorrow will be a tiring day, I warn you. Now, permit me to wish you good night, and leave you, in order to give my final orders."

"One word more, I beg of you."

"Speak."

"What do you intend doing with the girl whom a strange accident has thrown into your power?"

"I do not know; events will decide her fate; I shall regulate my conduct by that of our common enemy."

"You said yourself," Don Miguel continued, "that the girl is innocent of her father's crimes."

Bloodson gave him a peculiar glance

"Do you not know, Don Miguel," he answered, in a hollow voice, "that in this world the innocent always suffer for the guilty?"

And, not adding a word further, he gave the Mexicans a profound bow, and slowly retired.

The two gentlemen looked after him, as he gradually disappeared in the gloom of the Teocali; then they fell back on their beds despondingly, not daring to impart to each other the sorrowful thoughts that oppressed them.

CHAPTER XXIII

APACHES AND COMANCHES

At daybreak some forty horsemen, at whose head rode Bloodson, Don Miguel Zarate, and General Ibañez, started in the direction of the Comanche village, guided by Unicorn. In the midst of the band rode Ellen, closely watched, and Harry, who would not leave her for a moment, galloped by her side.

The maiden had guessed, in spite of the attentions offered her, or perhaps through them, that she was regarded rather as a prisoner than a friend by the men who surrounded her. Hence, on leaving the Teocali, she had given Harry a suppliant glance to remain by her side. The hunter had understood this glance, and, in spite of all that Bloodson urged to induce him to ride with him at the head of the party, he obstinately remained by Ellen's side.

By a strange coincidence, at the very moment when the partisans, guided by Unicorn, were leaving the Teocali to go in search of news of their friends at the Comanche village, the latter were executing their miraculous flight, had left the islet on which they had defended themselves so bravely, and, after boldly crossing the Apache camp, were also proceeding, though by a different route, to the same village.

The march of a numerous party in the desert is generally less rapid than that of a few men, and it is easy of explanation. Two or three men proceeding together pass without difficulty anywhere, gliding through the chaparral, and following the track of wild beasts; but some forty persons compelled to adopt the Indian file, that is to say, march one after the other, along these problematical paths, scarce wide enough for one horseman, are constrained to cheek their pace, and advance with extreme precaution, especially on an expedition of the sort the partisans were now undertaking.

Hence, in spite of all the diligence they displayed, they advanced but slowly. The ruddy disc of the sun was rapidly descending on the horizon, the shadow of the lofty trees was lengthening more and more, the evening breeze was beginning to sough through the virgin forest, which extended for an enormous distance on the right of the travellers, while on the riverbank the alligators were clumsily leaving the bed of mud in which they had been slothfully wallowing, and were regaining the deep waters of the Gila.

The horses and riders, harassed by the fatigues of a long journey, were slowly dragging along, when Unicorn, who was about one hundred yards ahead, suddenly turned back and rejoined his comrades, who at once halted.

"What is the matter?" Bloodson asked, so soon as the chief found him; "Has my brother seen anything that alarms him?"

"Yes," the Indian laconically replied.

"I am waiting for my brother to explain."

"The desert is not quiet," the chief went on in a grave voice; "the vultures and white-headed eagles are flying in long circles, the deer and buffaloes are restless, the asshatas are bounding in every direction, and the antelopes flying with all the speed of their limbs northward."

Bloodson frowned and waited a moment ere he replied. The Mexicans examined him anxiously, but at length he raised his head.

"What do you conclude from these signs?"

"This: the Apaches are crossing the prairie; they are numerous, for the desert is disturbed for a very considerable extent."

"Why the Apaches sooner than others?" Bloodson answered. "Cannot wood rangers have produced the excitement you have noticed, as well as the Indians?"

The Comanche warrior shook his head in contradiction.

"They are Apaches," he said, peremptorily. "This is not the season of the great hunts, the animals are not troubled by man at this period of the year. They know it, and do not desperately fly from him, as they are certain of not being pursued. The wood rangers march alone, or only three or four together, employing precautions not to startle the game. But the Apaches are ignorant dogs, who, like the coyotes they resemble, continually assemble in large parties, and, instead of marching like men or warriors, pass like a hurricane over the prairie, burning, destroying, and devastating everything in their passage."

"That is true," Bloodson muttered; "your sagacity has not deceived you, chief; only the Apaches can be near here."

"Good; and what will my brother do?" the Comanche asked.

The stranger's eye flashed fire.

"We will fight them," he said.

The Indian gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.

"No," he said; "that is no good; we must not fight at this moment."

"Speak then, in the devil's name," the stranger exclaimed, impatiently, "and explain your plan to us."

The Indian smiled.

"My brother is quick," he said.

Bloodson, ashamed of having given way to his temper, had already regained his coolness.

"Pardon me, chief; I was wrong."

And he held out his hand, which Unicorn took and pressed warmly.

"My brother is wise," he replied; "I know that he did not wish to insult a friend."

"Speak, chief; time is slipping away; explain your plan to me."

"Behind that hill is Unicorn's village; the warriors will remain here while he advances alone, in order to know what is going on."

"Good; my brother can go; we will wait."

In the desert, long conversations are not the fashion; moments are too precious to be lost in words. The Indian set spurs to his horse and went off, and he soon disappeared from their sight.

"What do you think of what the chief has just told us?" the general asked.

"It is very serious," the stranger answered. "The Indians have an extraordinary skill for discovering what goes on in the desert – they have an infallible instinct which never deceives them. This man is one of the most intelligent I know. I am only acquainted with two men in the world capable of contending with him – that frightful scoundrel, Red Cedar, and Don Valentine, that French hunter whom the Indians themselves have surnamed the Trail-Hunter."

"Ah!" Don Miguel said, "Then your opinion is – "

"That we must await the result of the step Unicorn is taking at this moment; his village is only an hour's march at the most from the spot where we now are."

"But, in that case, why stop us?"

"An Indian never returns home till he has assured himself that all is in order. Who can foresee what has happened during his absence?"

"That is true; let us wait, then," the hacendero said, stifling a sigh.

Nearly an hour passed thus. All the partisans seated on their horses, with their finger on the trigger of their rifle, remained motionless as bronze statues. In the meanwhile the sun had set in a mist of vapour, the shadow spread gradually over the desert like a thick winding sheet, and the stars were slowly lit up in the dark blue sky. Still Unicorn did not return.

The hunters did not exchange a word; each, persuaded in his heart that the position was a serious one, was reflecting deeply. Not a sound was audible, save the hoarse and continuous rustling of the Rio Gila over the pebbles and rocks that border its banks.

Suddenly, Bloodson, whose eye had been obstinately fixed in the direction where the Comanche Chief had disappeared, gave a slight start and whispered in Don Miguel's ear:

"Here he is."

In fact, the gallop of a horse was heard gradually drawing nearer till the chief reappeared.

"Well?" the stranger shouted to him.

"Koutonepi and the pale virgin are in the village," he said; "the hunter has delivered the maiden."

"May Heaven be praised!" Don Miguel said, fervently.

Unicorn looked at him sadly.

"The Apaches are pursuing them," he added; "at this moment the village is being attacked, but our friends defend themselves bravely."

"Let us fly to their help," the Mexicans shouted.

Bloodson turned to them.

"Patience," he said; "let the chief explain."

"My pale brother," the Comanche continued, "with one-half of the warriors, will turn the hill and enter the village by the north, while I, with the other half, will enter by the south."

"Good," said Bloodson; "but we are far off yet; perhaps our friends will be unable to hold out till our arrival."

Unicorn smiled scornfully.

"The Apaches are cowardly dogs," he said. "The Comanches will defend themselves: they know not flight."

Without replying, the partisan divided his band, taking the command of one party, and entrusting the other to the Comanche warrior. All these men were Indians, long habituated to a war of ambushes and surprises: this bold stroke was a Godsend to them: with flashing eyes and quivering lips, though apparently unmoved, they impatiently awaited the signal for departure.

"Let us go," Bloodson vociferated, brandishing his rifle over his head.

All bent over their horses manes and started forward. On reaching the foot of the hill one band went to the right, the other to the left, Ellen remaining behind, under the guard of a few warriors and the Canadian hunter, who would not leave her. This little band moved forward gently as a rearguard.

In the meanwhile, the partisans reached the village at headlong speed; and it was high time for them to arrive, for the huts, enveloped in flames, resembled a volcano. By the gleam of the fire, shadows could be seen darting hither and thither; and shouts of pain and rage, mingled with the discharge of firearms, incessantly rose from this burning mass.

The partisans rushed into this horrible furnace, uttering their war yell and brandishing their arms, and the medley became frightful. The Apaches, thus attacked on two sides simultaneously, underwent a momentary stupor, which soon changed into a panic and utter rout, at the sight of these new opponents, who seemed to rise from the ground to crush them, and change their triumph into a defeat.

But flight was not easy. The entire population of the village was under arms: women and children, electrified by their example, and joining the warriors, rushed madly on the Apaches, who, seeing their surprise foiled, only tried to reach the open country again.

For a quarter of an hour the massacre was fearful. At length the Apaches, led by Stanapat and Black Cat, who vainly performed prodigies of valour in order to restore the chances of the fight, succeeded in clearing a gap through their enemies, and rushed in every direction, closely followed by the Comanches, who felled them with their war clubs and pitilessly scalped them.

Only one band still resisted.

Leaning against the palisades, which they had not yet found time to cross, the pirates, bearing in their midst the body of their beloved Gazelle, had recoiled inch by inch before the enemies who enveloped them on all sides, dashing forward every now and then, and compelling their foes to give ground in their turn.

But the struggle was too unequal, and a long resistance soon became impossible. The pirates, skilfully profiting by a moment of disorder, started to fly each in a different direction, hoping to escape more easily in this way. Sandoval had taken on his robust shoulders the body of the girl, and with an extraordinary effort, which despair alone made successful, had leaped out on the plain, where he hoped to conceal himself in the grass.

He would have probably succeeded in this, but he had to do with four men, who seemed to have made up their minds to hunt him down. At the moment he drew himself up after his leap, Valentine and his comrades threw themselves upon him, without giving him time to defend himself, and, in spite of his desperate resistance and furious yells, tied him securely.

The old pirate, on finding himself a prisoner, let his head sink on his chest, and giving a sad glance at the girl he had been unable to save, he gave vent to a deep sigh, and a burning tear silently coursed down his furrowed cheeks. At the same moment Ellen entered the village, in the middle of her escort: on seeing her, Valentine started.

"Oh!" he muttered; "Where is Doña Clara?"

"My daughter, my daughter!" the hacendero exclaimed, suddenly appearing before the hunter, with his clothes disordered and his brow pale with fear. The unhappy father, since he had entered the village, had only attended to one thing – seeking his daughter.

Followed step by step by the general, he entered the thickest of the fight, asking after his daughter of all those he met, thrusting aside the weapons that menaced him, and not thinking of the death which at every moment rose before him, under every shape. Protected, as it were, by an invisible talisman, he had traversed the whole village and entered every hut the fire had spared, Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, having only one object – that of finding his child. Alas! His search had been in vain.

Doña Clara had disappeared: although Valentine had intrusted her to Shaw, no one knew what had become of her. The hacendero fell into his friend's arms, and burst into heartrending sobs.

"My daughter," he groaned. "Valentine, restore my daughter to me!"

The hunter pressed him to his manly breast.

"Courage, poor father," he said to him. "Courage!"

But the hacendero no longer heard him; grief had at length overpowered him, and he fainted away.

"Oh!" Valentine said, "Red Cedar, you viper, shall I never succeed in putting my heel on your chest!"

Aided by the general and Don Pablo, he carried Don Miguel to the medicine lodge, which the flames had not reached, and laid him a bed of dry leaves.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SCALP-DANCE

When the combat was at an end, the Comanches busied themselves in repairing the ravages caused by the Apache attack. Though their losses were great, they were not so serious as might be supposed; because, as the season was already far advanced, they had sent the larger portion of their property to the winter village. This accidental circumstance saved the greater part of their wealth.

On the other hand, the Apaches had been in such haste, and the defence had been so promptly organised and obstinate, that they had found no time to plunder. Although all the callis were reduced to ashes, that damage was trifling, and could be repaired in a few days.

The most serious part of the affair was the loss of some twenty warriors, who had courageously fallen in the defence of their homes. Several women and children had also fallen; but the Apaches had suffered a far more considerable loss. Without counting more than eighty warriors killed during the rout, Black Cat and six other Apache warriors had fallen alive into the power of their adversaries, and a terrible fate awaited them.

"What does my brother intend to do with his prisoners?" Unicorn asked Valentine.

"My brother need not feel anxious about them," the latter answered; "they are whites, and I intend disposing of them as I think proper."

"It shall be done as my brother desires."

"Thanks, chief; I should feel obliged, however, by your lending me two or three warriors to guard them."

"It is unnecessary," Sandoval interrupted. "I pledge my word of honour and that of my comrade not to try and escape for the next twenty-four hours."

Valentine fixed on him a glance that seemed trying to read his most secret thoughts.

"It is well," he said presently. "I accept your parole."

"Are you going to leave this poor creature without help?"

"You love him?"

"As my son; had it not been so, you would not have captured me."

"Very good. We will try to save him; but, perhaps, it would be better for him to die at once."

"Perhaps so," the old Pirate said, shaking his head, and speaking, as it seemed, to himself.

"In a few moments the scalp dance will begin; will my brothers be present at it?" Unicorn asked.

"I will," Valentine replied, who, although caring very little for this ceremony, understood that it would be impolitic not to appear at it.

We have already said that Ellen had reached the village by this time. On seeing her, Don Pablo felt his heart quiver with emotion, and he trembled in all his limbs. Ellen, whose glance was idly wandering around, let her eyes settle accidentally on him; she suddenly blushed, and let her eyelashes droop to hide her look of pleasure.

Instinctively she felt reassured on finding she had near her this young man, whom, however, she hardly knew, and who had only addressed her once or twice. A cry of joy died away on her lips. Don Pablo walked up to her. He had already learned by what a concourse of singular events she had fallen into the hands of the partisans.

"You are free, señorita," he said to her; "henceforth you have nothing more to fear here, for you are under my protection."

"And mine," Harry said, roughly, as he hastily surveyed Don Pablo. "I alone am sufficient to defend Miss Ellen from any insult."

The two young men exchanged a very significant glance: at the first word, each recognised in the other a rival.

"I have no desire to withdraw Miss Ellen from your protection, caballero," the Mexican said coldly. "Still, as you are a stranger in this village, where I am among devoted friends, I fancy that my support will not be useless to her, and offer it – that is all."