The Queen of the Savannah: A Story of the Mexican War

"I see that I must do so. I should have liked to avoid it, because I shall now appear to be compelling you to carry out a promise, by asking of you what I wished to obtain solely from your honour and good heart."

"My worthy father, you are becoming most mysterious, and I really do not know how all this will end."

"One word will give you the clue."

"Say it, then, at once, for deuce take me if I am not as curious as an old woman at this moment."

"Have you forgotten the Beaver pond and the sumach to which the Pawnee Indians fastened you, after smearing you with honey?"

The adventurer smote his forehead violently, and, hurriedly rising, seized the priest's hand.

"¡Viva Dios!" he exclaimed warmly. "Where could my brains be, that I should forget the features of the Christian who so generously saved me from a horrible death? My good father, forgive me; my eyes alone were guilty, for I have ever remembered you from the moment when you rendered me this immense service at the risk of your life."

Father Sandoval cordially returned the adventurer's squeeze, but he remained silent for a moment, with his eyes obstinately fixed on him, as if trying to read his most secret thoughts.

"What!" the Canadian said hotly, "Could you doubt me? I am only a poor devil of an adventurer, it is true, but I consider myself a man. We wood rangers, if we are rather quick at the use of the knife and in shooting an enemy, know better than town folk, perhaps, how to retain the recollection of an act of kindness. Speak, father, speak without fear. Whatever you bid me I will do. I belong to you, body and soul. I repeat that I am entirely yours; hence, do not be afraid about explaining yourself frankly, for I shall catch your meaning at a word."

"Indeed!" the priest at length answered. "Why should I doubt you? You have given me no cause to suspect your loyalty. Moreover, what I wish to ask of you, Don Oliver, is only conditional. I merely desire to make sure of your assistance in case of need, that is all."

"Speak, speak; have I not told you that you can count on me?"

"Well, so be it. This is what I expect of you. You are going to start in the morning. The mission I have intrusted to you is a dangerous one, though I have strong reasons for believing that you will get out of it safe and sound; but that is not the point at the present moment. You are about to start, I repeat; no one knows how long you may remain absent. For my part, I shall probably be obliged to push forward. Give me your word that, on whatever day or hour I need you, whatever you may be doing, when you receive a message from me summoning you, give me your word to abandon everything instantly, and run to my help, to aid me to the utmost of your power in the accomplishment of what I have resolved on, and without asking me for an explanation, however grave or terrible the matter in which I ask your support may be. Do you promise me this? Do not answer hastily; reflect before pledging your word, for the engagement you are going to make is serious, and may entail consequences which it is impossible to foresee."

The Canadian listened to these words with visible impatience. When Father Sandoval ended, he shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"Why so much beating about the bush?" he said. "I am yours. You ask for my word, and I give it. Now, may heaven grant me the opportunity of fulfilling my pledge."

"Thanks! I trust, I repeat, that I may not be constrained to have recourse to you. Still, we are bound to take our precautions. In case of my being forced to send a messenger to you, take half this ring. The apparently most faithful man may, at a given moment, become a traitor; and I have learned the truth of that by sad experience. You will only follow the man who hands you the other half of this ring, and says, 'The hour is come – the master waits.' You will ask this man no questions, for he will be unable to answer you, as he will know nothing. Have you thoroughly understood me? Is this arranged?"

"All right. I understand you," the Canadian replied, as he carefully stowed away the half ring the priest gave him. "Have you any further recommendations to give me?"

"No. We must part now. Follow me."

They rose and left the room. After some time the Canadian found himself again at the spot where Moonshine was lying. Father Sandoval gave the adventurer a parting sign to be discreet, and went away.

"Hum!" the Sumach said, as he examined the sky, "I have not much time to lose, if I want a little rest before starting."

After this reflection, he lay down again by the side of his comrade, who still slept, and almost directly fell himself into deep slumber.

CHAPTER XII.

ON THE ROAD

The brilliant gleams of dawn were already colouring the crests of the distant mountains; the warm beams of the rising sun, issuing from a mass of golden and purple clouds, dissipated the fog; the vapour rose like a curtain and revealed in all its majestic grandeur the splendid landscape of which the Hacienda del Barrio formed the centre. On the right extended the verdant valley through which the Río Grande del Norte forced its capricious windings. On the left, in the midst of a profusion of clumps of trees, rocks and hills, girt with a garland of verdure, extended a great lake, whose surface, slightly ruffled by the pure and refreshing morning breeze, sparkled in the sunbeams. Lofty mountains, scarped rocks, and banks, on which grew sumachs, mahoganies, and cork trees, framed in this magnificent sheet of water, and the harmonious rustling of the dew-laden leaves seemed to impart a sort of life to this calm scenery which the hand of man had not yet deformed, and which rose radiant beneath the powerful breath of the Creator.

The coming dawn had scarce begun to disperse the gloom ere all was in motion at the hacienda. The peons fetched the animals from the corrals while the cavaliers led their horses to the watering place, or went in search of dry wood to rekindle the bivouac fires and prepare the morning repast. Don Aníbal's numerous visitors gave their followers orders to load the mules and saddle the horses, so as to be ready to start at the first signal.

The Count de Melgosa quitted the apartment in which he had passed the night, and accompanied by the hacendero, who insisted on seeing him off, he proceeded to the first patio, where his people were already waiting, as was the Canadian adventurer, who, at the first beam of day, left without much regret the hard bed on which he had slumbered for only two or three hours.

"What!" Don Aníbal said with surprise, on seeing the count's small escort, "Did you venture to come here so weakly escorted in this time of trouble and disorder?"

"Why not?" the count said, carelessly; "The six men you see are devoted to me; they are old soldiers, accustomed to fire. Moreover, what have I to fear?" he added with an ironical smile. "Are we not at peace?"

"Yes, for the present at any rate; but the long wars we have had to endure have, as you know, ruined and reduced many people to desperation; the country is infested with marauders, and this frontier especially, exposed to the continual incursions of the Indians, is anything but safe. I repeat, Señor Conde, that you committed a serious act of imprudence in bringing so few people with you, and, with your permission, I will give you an escort to protect you from all danger."

"Do nothing of the sort, my friend," the count answered, quickly; "although I sincerely thank you for the solicitude you display, I am convinced that your fears are exaggerated."

"Still – " the hacendero continued.

"Not a word more on the subject, I beg; you would seriously annoy me by pressing it further. Moreover," he said with a laugh, as he pointed to the Canadian, "my escort is augmented by an ally who, in case of need, I am persuaded, would not hesitate to come to my help. So, say no more about it, and good-bye. Excuse my leaving you so suddenly, but we have a long ride before us along roads which, you know as well as I do, are very bad, and it is time for me to start."

"Since you insist, count, I can only wish you a prosperous journey, and take my leave of you."

"Good-bye, my friend," he said, as he affectionately pressed Don Aníbal's hand. "I trust that we shall soon meet again, under circumstances more agreeable to you and me."

"Whatever may happen, or whatever fate destiny reserves for us, be assured that nothing can alter the friendship I feel for you."

"I know it, and thank you," the count said, as he got into the saddle. "Are you ready to accompany me, señor?" he asked the Canadian.

"I have been waiting some time for you, señor," the latter answered, in his usual rough way.

The count examined him for a moment, smiled slightly, shrugged his shoulders, but made no remark. After exchanging a few more affectionate remarks with the hacendero, he slightly raised his hat, gave the order to depart, and the little band left the hacienda at a sharp trot. The horsemen, splendidly armed, and rifle on thigh, traversed in good order the camp formed outside the hacienda, without replying to the sarcasms or jests of the Mexicans, who collected as they passed, and showered on them witticisms, which were at times offensive. The count rode gravely at the head of the little party, looking neither to the right nor left, apparently indifferent to the coarse jokes levelled upon him.

About a horse's length behind him, the Canadian, whose indifference was not at all feigned, for all he heard concerned him very slightly, was reflecting on the way in which he should perform the singular commission so strangely entrusted to him, and though he was as yet only at the outset of the expedition, he was already beginning to feel a lively desire to be freed from the company in which he found himself, and for which he felt no sympathy.

The other travellers, six in number, were, as the count had said to Don Aníbal, old soldiers, regardless of danger, entirely devoted to their master, and who, at a sign from him, would let themselves be bravely killed, without taking the trouble to discover the motive for the order given them. However, all these men, their master included, seemed to possess a considerable amount of gravity and pride, which did not conduce to confidence, and prevented any familiarity. The adventurer had judged his companions at the first glance, and bravely put up with the annoyance which they would cause him during the journey; hence he resolved to imitate them, and be equally reserved.

After traversing the camp, the small party turned to the left, and proceeded to the lake, whose umbrageous banks they intended to follow for several miles. As we have stated, the morning was magnificent, all nature was laughing, a multitude of birds of every description and colour, hidden beneath the foliage, were singing merrily; squirrels leapt from branch to branch, and splendid elks, terrified by the approach of the travellers, bounded away a few yards from them, while hideous alligators wallowed in the mud pell-mell with enormous frogs which uttered frightful croaks.

Our travellers rode thus for some two hours, and not a word had been spoken since the start, each seeming to be buried in thought, when suddenly a great movement was heard beneath the trees and shrubs around them. The birds suddenly became silent, and, leaving their nests, went to the foot of the trees, where they timidly concealed themselves in the grass, while the frogs croaking on the nymphæas dashed into the water. At the same moment the shadow of two mighty wings was visible on the sand; the Canadian mechanically raised his eyes, and he perceived a white-headed eagle soaring in the blue sky.

The eagle, after hovering in wide circles for some minutes almost over the head of the travellers, dropped with lightning speed into a copse, whence it emerged almost immediately, holding in its powerful claws a luckless parrot, which uttered pitiable cries of distress, and struggled vainly to escape from the deadly grasp of its implacable foe. The eagle rose with extraordinary rapidity, and soon attained an enormous elevation. The Canadian had anxiously followed the incidents of this drama, and perhaps instinctively cocked his rifle.

"All the worse," he muttered, at the moment when the eagle, which only appeared like a black dot in the air, was about to become invisible. "I will save it."

With a movement swift as thought he raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. The Spaniards halted, and looked in amazement at the adventurer; but the latter, whose eyes were obstinately fixed on the sky, did not seem to notice the attention of which he was the object. The eagle, suddenly arrested in its flight, fell with headlong speed, turning in space. Suddenly its claws relaxed, and the delivered victim, half wild with terror, though unwounded, fell perpendicularly for some seconds with its enemy; but, suddenly opening its wings, the poor parrot soared, and then resumed its flight with a long cry of delight, while the eagle writhed in its death throe at the hunter's feet. The Canadian's bullet had passed right through its body.

"Ah!" the wood ranger said, gladly; "Though a powder charge is precious in the desert, I do not repent this one."

The Spaniards could not restrain a cry of admiration at this miraculous display of skill. The Canadian dismounted, and seizing his rifle by the barrel, advanced upon the eagle, which, with body thrown back and wings extended, looked undauntedly at him. With one blow of the butt, dealt with no ordinary strength, the adventurer settled the bird, which did not make the slightest effort to avoid the blow.

"Will you sell me that bird?" the count said, at the moment when the hunter stooped to pick up the royal bird.

"I will give it you if you like to accept it," the Canadian replied.

"Very good," the count said, making one of his men a sign to pick the bird up and place it on his horse.

The Canadian remounted, and they continued their silent march. At the end of an hour they reached the spot where the count proposed to stop and breakfast, and allow the great heat to pass before he started again. It was a rather large clearing, in the midst of which glistened a pool of water so clear and limpid that the sky was reflected in it, with all its lights and shadows. This pool discharged its overflow into the lake by means of a shallow stream, which ran murmuring over a bed of pebbles, half hidden by the numerous tufts of nymphæas which bordered it. Singular to say, not a bird, not an insect, peopled this solitude.

When the count had given orders to halt, all dismounted. Two men stationed themselves as sentries at either end of the path which ran through the clearing; two others took the horses by the bridle, and led them to drink from the lake, which was only one hundred yards distant; while the last two lit the fire and got breakfast ready, employing the water they carried in their leathern bottles to boil the frijoles, as they would sooner reduce their stock than take water from this pool – which, however, was so inviting, especially for men wearied by a long ride in the burning beams of a tropical sun, and whose throats were parched by thirst.

The fact was that this pond, apparently so inoffensive and pure, contained death in its waters – a frightful, inexorable, almost instantaneous death. In a word, this water, though no one was able to explain the cause, contained a violent poison, whose effects were so terrible, that the very animals, whose admirable instinct never deceives them, did not dare drink it, but shunned its vicinity as if it were impregnated with the poison it contained. This was the cause of the utter solitude which reigned in this clearing, which travellers, however, brought to these parts by accident, sought for its delicious coolness, and the security they enjoyed against the attacks of wild beasts.

The adventurer, after carefully rubbing his horse down, hobbling it, and giving it its ration of maize on his zarapé, lay down on the grass, and fumbling in his alforjas, produced a ship biscuit and a piece of goat's milk cheese, which he was preparing to eat with good appetite, when the count, who had curiously watched the arrangements of this frugal meal, walked up and bowed courteously to him.

"Caballero," he said, "will you do me the honour of sharing my breakfast?"

The Canadian raised his head, and looked at the speaker in surprise.

"Why do you make me this offer, señor?" he asked.

"Because," the count answered frankly, "I wish to break the ice, and remove the coolness prevailing between us. What I have seen you do today," he added, pointing to the eagle's body, "proves to me that you are a man of heart. People of your stamp are rare, and I wish to have your esteem, if not your friendship."

"What I did to save a wretched bird, caballero, I would not hesitate, under any circumstances, to do for a man; but permit me to remark that I see nothing in it but what is perfectly natural."

"Perhaps so; but, unhappily, few men comprehend their duties in the same way."

"I pity them, caballero, though I dare not blame them, for each man acts according to the instincts which God has implanted in his heart."

"Do you accept the modest breakfast which I have had the honour of offering you?"

"Although I am naturally very sober, and usually content myself with the smallest thing, I should think I was offering you an insult by declining, señor. Hence, I gratefully accept your invitation."

The two men sat down side by side, and a peon placed before them a few dishes, which, though far from delicate, were of a quality superior to the Canadian's repast. The count felt, perhaps unconsciously, an interest in the Canadian, the cause of which he could not have explained, and was attracted by this blunt but frank man, with his short but always honest remarks. He divined beneath this rough husk a good nature and a strong heart, which aroused his sympathy and were a relief after the roguery and cowardly adulation of the men with whom he usually came in contact. While eating (the adventurer heartily, and the count scarce touching what was served up), they talked without the slightest restraint. Oliver related, without any boasting or pride, the incidents of his life as a wood ranger, his hunts and fights with the Indians, his adventurous excursions at the head of his bold comrades, who had unanimously elected him their chief, and the incessant joys and sorrows of this varied existence. The count listened with ever increasing interest. When the adventurer came to his enrolment among the Mexican insurgents, his hearer interrupted him —

"This time," he said, "I think you have not acted consistently with your principles."

"How so?" Oliver asked in surprise.

"Why," the count continued, "it appears to me that you let yourself be led away by the pride of rank and hope of gain."

"You are mistaken, señor, nothing would have induced me to join the Mexicans if I had not been convinced in my heart that their cause was a good one. This reason alone decided me, and besides," he added in a low voice, as he took a sly glance at the other, "I had a personal motive."

The count shook his head dubiously, but made no answer, and the conversation stopped at this point.

Four hours later, the Spaniards started again in the hope of reaching their journey's end at eight in the evening. But the count and the adventurer now rode side by side conversing amicably together.

CHAPTER XIII.

AN ALARM

The journey, begun under rather gloomy auspices, was continued more gaily, in spite of the pride and taciturnity of the Spanish soldiers. The latter, who took a pride in behaving exactly like their master, on seeing the count talking in a friendly way with the adventurer, broke, in their turn, the silence to which they had obstinately condemned themselves since the morning, and interchanged a few remarks, though extremely careful not to raise their voices above an indistinct murmur.

Several hours passed, and nothing interrupted the monotony of the journey. The Spaniards had left the banks of the lake and entered a country whose gloomy and desolate appearance was rendered even more sad by the approach of night. There were no lofty trees, no smiling savannahs. On all sides rose overthrown rocks, piled in a disorderly manner on each other, some covered with a velvety moss, others scarce allowing their black hue to be guessed beneath a cloak of brambles and cherfoil. In some spots, the water forced its way through crevices in the rock, and rolled through green strata, glistening with mica. A nameless stream with difficulty found a passage through the midst of this chaos, and occupied two-thirds of the canyon which the travellers were constrained to follow; at rare intervals, stunted trees were visible: still, as nature ever has her harmony, the breeze ever and anon entered the canyon. Then, as if by enchantment, the mysterious dialogues between the leaves and the wind, the nymphæas and the water, filled this desolate solitude with ineffable choruses.

The travellers yielded involuntarily to the depressing influences of the scenery they passed through, the conversation suddenly ceased, and each rode with his hand on his weapon, looking anxiously around and ready to fire at the slightest suspicious movement in the chaparral. The Sumach halted, and thoughtfully examined the gloomy landscape spread out in front of him.

"What is the matter?" the count asked him; "What are you thinking about at this moment, caballero?"

"I am thinking, señor," the adventurer said, seriously, "that Don Aníbal spoke most sensibly to you this morning, and that you acted very wrong in neglecting his advice and refusing his offer."

"Oh, oh," the count replied with a forced smile; "this country has not a very encouraging look, I allow, still I dare not believe that you are afraid."

The adventurer looked at him.

"And even if I were afraid," he said a moment later, "do you think I should do my duty worse on that account, in a case of need? Fear is nothing but the instinct of self-preservation, a nervous movement independent of our will, which causes us to forebode danger, and thus helps us to conquer it by suggesting the means of avoiding it. Fear is nothing dishonouring; every man has been afraid several times in his life, and he who denies it is a brute. I never see a gun barrel pointed at my chest without feeling a sensation of internal cold which is simply fear."

"The man who speaks so frankly of a feeling which everybody tries to hide must be brave," said the count; "but let us break off this discussion for the present, which we will resume at a more favourable moment, and pray explain your ideas to me."

"It will not take long, señor; my opinion is that no spot could be better chosen than this for an ambuscade."

"Which means?"

"That, if we are to be attacked, it will be inevitably here."

"The spot, it is true, has a bad reputation; but it is long since any attack of the sort has been heard of in the country, and nothing leads to the supposition that we have one to apprehend."

The Canadian shook his head with a preoccupied air which alarmed the count.

"Come," he said, "my friend, speak clearly; I am a man. Have we, yes or no, anything to fear?"

"Yes," Oliver replied bluntly.

"Do you think so?"

"No; I am sure of it."

"Still, up to the present, we have perceived nothing."

"You, doubtless," the adventurer interrupted, "whose senses have been blunted by a long residence in towns, have perceived nothing; but I, accustomed to desert life, have during the last ten minutes picked up proofs which do not permit me the least doubt on this head. I repeat that we shall be attacked within an hour perhaps, but assuredly at sunset."

"Tell me what signs you have discovered."

"What good will that do, señor? It is better to profit by the time left us to prepare to resist the attack that threatens us."

"I wish to have the proof, not because I doubt your words or your sagacity, but because there is in all this something extraordinary which I wish to unravel."

"Be satisfied, then," the hunter said; "stoop down."

The adventurer removed a few leaves, and displayed a footstep perfectly imprinted on the damp ground.

"What is this?" the count said, with a surprise mingled with terror.