The Tiger-Slayer: A Tale of the Indian Desert

"Wah!" he at length said in a guttural voice, with an accent of bitter reproach. "Have the Comanches become timid antelopes that they fly like Apache dogs before the bullets of the palefaces?"

"Eagle-head! Eagle-head!" the warriors shouted with joy mingled with shame, looking down before the chiefs flashing glance.

"Why have my sons left the hunting grounds of the Del Norte without the order of a sachem? Are they now the rastreros (bloodhounds) of the Apaches?"

A suppressed murmur ran through the ranks at this cruel reproach.

"A sachem has spoken," Eagle-head continued sharply. "Is there no one to answer him? Have the Comanches of the Lakes no chiefs left to command them?"

A warrior then broke through the ranks of the Comanches, approached Eagle-head, and bowed his head respectfully down to his horse's neck.

"The Jester is a chief," he said in a gentle and harmonious voice.

Eagle-head's face was unwrinkled – his features instantaneously lost their expression of fury. He turned on the warrior who had addressed him a glance full of tenderness, and, offering him his right hand, palm upwards, —

"Och! My heart is joyous at seeing my son, the Jester. The warriors will camp here while the two sachems hold a council."

And making an imperious sign to the chief, he withdrew with him, followed by the eyes of the redskins, who hastened to obey the order he had so peremptorily given. Eagle-head and the Jester had gone so far that their conversation could not be overheard.

"Let us hold a council," the chief said, as he sat down on a stone, and signed to the Jester to take a place by his side. The latter obeyed without reply. There was a long silence, during which the two Indians examined each other attentively, in spite of the indifference they affected. At length Eagle-head spoke in a slow and accentuated voice.

"Eagle-head is a warrior renowned in his nation," he said; "he is the first sachem of the Comanches of the Lakes; his totem shelters beneath its mighty and protecting shadow the innumerable sons of the great sacred tortoise, Chemiin-Antou, whose glistening shell has supported the world since the Wacondah hurled into space the first man and the first woman after their fault. The words which come from the breast of Eagle-head are those of a sagamore; his tongue is not forked – a falsehood never sullied his lips. Eagle-head acted as a father to the Jester; he taught him how to tame a horse, pierce with his arrows the rapid antelope, or to stifle in his arms the mighty boar. Eagle-head loves the Jester, who is the son of his third wife's sister. Eagle-head gave a place at the council fire to the Jester; he made a chief of him; and when he went away from the villages of his nation he said to him, 'My son will command my warriors: he will lead them to hunt, to fish and to war.' Are these words true? Does Eagle-head speak falsely?"

"My father's words are true," the chief answered with a bow: "wisdom speaks through his lips."

"Why, then, has my son allied himself with the enemies of his nation to fight the friends of his father, the sachem?"

The chief let his head fall in confusion.

"Why, without consulting the man who has ever aided and supported him by his counsel, has he undertaken an unjust war?"

"An unjust war?" the chief remarked with a certain degree of animation.

"Yes, as it is carried on in concert with the enemies of our nation."

"The Apaches are redskins."

"The Apaches are cowardly and thievish dogs, whose deceitful tongues I will pluck out."

"But the palefaces are the enemies of the Indians."

"Those whom my son attacked last night are not Yoris; they are the friends of Eagle-head."

"My father will pardon the warrior: he did not know it."

"If the Jester really was ignorant of it, is he ready to repair the fault he has committed?"

"The Jester has three hundred warriors beneath his totem. Eagle-head has come: they are his."

"Good! I see that the Jester is still my well-beloved son. With what chief has he made alliance? It cannot be with the Black Bear, the implacable enemy of the Comanches, the man who but four moons past burned two villages of my nation?"

"A cloud had passed over the mind of the Jester: his hatred for the white men blinded him; wisdom deserted him; he has allied himself with the Black Bear."

"Wah! Eagle-head did right to return toward the villages of his fathers. Will my son obey the sachem?"

"Whatever he orders I will do."

"Good! Let my son follow me."

The two chiefs rose. Eagle-head proceeded towards the isthmus, waving his buffalo robe in his right hand as a sign of peace. The Jester followed a few paces behind. The Comanches beheld with amazement their sachems asking an interview with the Yoris; but accustomed to obey their leaders without discussing the orders they were pleased to give, they evinced no anger at this step, whose object, however, they did not understand. The sentries posted behind the isthmus battery easily distinguished in the moon's rays the pacific movements of the Indians, and allowed them to come as far as the trench.

"A sachem wishes an interview with the chief of the palefaces," Eagle-head then said.

"Good!" a voice replied in Spanish from the inside. "Wait a moment – I will send for him."

The two Comanche warriors bowed, crossed their hands on their breast, and waited.

Don Louis and Belhumeur had had a long conversation with Don Sylva and the count, in which they revealed to them in what way they had learnt that the Indians meant to attack them; the name of the man who had informed them so correctly; and his singular conduct, in that, after having in a measure compelled them to mix themselves up in a dangerous affair which did not at all concern them, he had suddenly abandoned them without any valid reason, under the futile pretext of returning to Guaymas, where he said that important business claimed his presence with the least possible delay.

This news had a lively effect on the two hearers: Don Sylva especially, could not repress a movement of anger on hearing that the man was no other than Don Martial. He guessed at once the Tigrero's object – that he hoped to carry off Doña Anita during the confusion. Still Don Sylva would not impart his suspicions to his future son-in-law, intending to tell him, were it absolutely necessary, at the last moment, but resolved to watch his daughter closely, for this sudden departure of Don Martial seemed to him to conceal a snare.

Belhumeur then explained to the count the position in which he had placed the capataz and his peons, and the mission Eagle-head had undertaken, the result of which he would probably soon come to the hacienda to tell. The count warmly thanked the two men who, without knowing him, rendered him such eminent services; he offered them all the refreshments they might need and then went to give his lieutenant orders to warn him so soon as an Indian presented himself for a parley.

On his side, Don Sylva retired with the ostensible object of reassuring his daughter, but in reality to inspect the sentries stationed at the rear of the hacienda. When the Comanches attacked the isthmus, the French, put on their guard, received them so warmly that in the very first attack the Indians recognised the futility of their attempt, and retired in disorder.

Monsieur de Lhorailles was talking with the two visitors about the incidents of the fight, and was astonished at the prolonged absence of Don Sylva, who had disappeared during the last hour without leaving a trace, when Lieutenant Leroux entered the room where the three men were conversing.

"What do you want?" the count asked him.

"Captain," he answered, "two Indians are waiting at the trench for permission to enter."

"Two?" Belhumeur asked.

"Yes, two."

"That is strange," the Canadian continued.

"What shall we do?" the count said.

"Go and have a look at them."

They proceeded to the battery.

"Well?" the count said.

"Well, sir, one of these men is certainly Eagle-head; but I do not know the other."

"And your advice is – "

"To let them come in. As this Indian, who is apparently a chief, comes in the company of Eagle-head, he can only be a friend."

"Be it so, then."

The count gave a signal; the drawbridge was lowered, and the two chiefs entered. The Indian sachems saluted all present with that native dignity that distinguishes them, and then Eagle-head, on Belhumeur's invitation, gave an account of his mission. The Frenchmen listened to him with an attention mingled with admiration, not only for the skill he had displayed, but also the courage of which he had given proof.

"And now," the chief continued on ending his report, "the Jester has understood the error into which a hatred threw him; he breaks the alliance he formed with the Apaches, and is resolved to obey in all respects his father Eagle-head, in order to repent his fault. Eagle-head is a sachem – his word is granite. He places three hundred Comanche warriors at the disposition of his brothers the palefaces."

The count looked hesitatingly at the Canadian: knowing the trickery of the Indians, he felt a repugnance to trust them. Belhumeur shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly.

"The great pale chief thanks my brother Eagle-head: he accepts his offer with joy. His hand will ever be open, and his heart pure, for the Comanches. The war detachment of my brother will be divided into two parts: one, under the command of the Jester, will be concealed on the other side of the river, to cut off the retreat of the Apaches; the other will enter the hacienda with Eagle-head, in order to support the palefaces. The Yori warriors are hidden in the isle, two bow-shots from the great lodge; they will accompany the Jester."

"Good!" Eagle-head replied; "all shall be done as my brother desires."

The two chiefs took leave and withdrew. Belhumeur then explained to the count the arrangements he had made with the Comanche sachem.

"Hang it!" De Lhorailles said, "I confess that I have not the slightest confidence in the Indians. You know that treachery is their favourite weapon."

"You do not know the Comanches; and, above all, you do not know Eagle-head. I take on myself all the responsibility."

"Act, then, as you please. I am too much indebted to you to thwart your projects, especially when you are acting for my good."

Belhumeur went himself to advise the capataz of the change effected in the defensive measures. The Jester and one hundred and fifty warriors, accompanied by the forty peons, at once crossed the river, and ambushed themselves on the opposite bank in a clump of mangroves, ready to appear at the first signal. The Frenchmen, with Eagle-head and a second troop of Indians, were left to defend the isthmus, a point where they were almost certain of not being attacked. All the other colonists concealed themselves in the dense thickets that masked the rear of the hacienda, with strict orders to remain invisible till the word was given to fire. Then, when all the arrangements were made, the count and his comrades awaited with a beating heart the Indians' attack. They had not long to wait; and we have seen in what fashion the Black Bear was received.

The Apache chief was brave as a lion; his warriors were picked men. The collision was terrible; the redskins did not give way an inch. Incessantly repulsed, incessantly they returned to the charge, fighting hand to hand with the French, who, in spite of their bravery, their discipline, and superiority of weapons, could not rout them. The combat had degenerated into a horrible carnage, in which the fighters clutched each other, stabbing and mangling, without loosing hold. Belhumeur saw that he must attempt a decisive blow to finish with these demons, who seemed invincible and invulnerable. He stooped down to Louis, who was fighting by his side, and whispered a few words in his ear. The Frenchman disembarrassed himself of the foe with whom he was fighting, and ran off.

A few minutes later the war cry of the Comanches was heard, strident and terrible; and the redskin warriors bounded like jaguars on the Apaches, swinging their clubs and long lances. At first the Black Bear fancied assistance had arrived for him, and that the colony was in the power of the allies but this hope did not endure a second. Then demoralisation seized on the Apaches; they hesitated, and suddenly turned their backs, rushing into the river, and leaving on the battlefield more than two-thirds of their comrades.

The colonists contented themselves with firing a few rounds of canister at the fugitives, feeling certain they woould not escape the ambuscade prepared for them. In fact, the musket shots of the peons could soon be heard mingled with the war-cry of the Comanches. In this unfortunate expedition the Black Bear lost in an hour the most renowed warriors of his nation. The chief, covered with wounds, and only accompanied by a dozen men, escaped with great difficulty from the carnage. The victory of the French was complete. For a lont time the colony, through his glorious achievement, was protected from the attacks of the redskins.

When the combat was ended, people sought in vain in every direction for Don Sylva and his daughter: both had disappeared, and no one knew how. This mysterious and inexplicable event struck the inhabitants of the colony with consternation, and changed the joy of the triumph into mourning, for the same idea suddenly occurred to all: —

"Don Sylva and his daughter have been carried off by the Black Bear!"

When the count, after repeated researches, was compelled to allow that the hacendero and his daughter had really disappeared without leaving the slightest trace, he gave way to all the violence of his character, vowed a terrible hatred against the Apaches, and swore to pursue them, without truce or mercy, until he found her whom he considered his wife, and whose loss destroyed at one blow the brilliant future he had dreamed of.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CASA GRANDE OF MOCTECUHZOMA

At the remote period when the Aztecs, guided by the finger of God, marched forth, without knowing it, to conquer the plateau of Ahanuac, of which they eventually made the powerful kingdom of Mexico, although their eyes were constantly turned toward this unknown land, the permanent object of their greed, they frequently stopped their during migration, as if fatigue had suddenly overpowered them, and the hope of ever arriving had failed them.

In such cases, instead of simply camping on the spot where this hesitation had affected them, they installed themselves as if they never intended to go further, and built towns. After so many centuries have passed away, when their founders have eternally disappeared from the surface of the globe, the imposing ruins of these cities, scattered over a space of more than a thousand leagues, still excite the admiration, of travellers bold enough to confront countless dangers in order to contemplate them.

The most singular of these ruins is indubitably that known by the name of the Casa Grande of Moctecuhzoma, which rises about two miles from the muddy banks of the Rio Gila, in an uncultivated and uninhabited plain, on the skirt of the terrible sand desert known as the Del Norte. The site on which this house is built is flat on all sides. The ruins which once formed a city extend for more than three miles in a southern direction: and also in the other directions all the ground is covered with potsherds of every description. Many of these fragments are painted of various colours – white or blue, red or yellow – which, by the by, is an evident sign not only that this was an important city, but also that it was inhabited by Indians differing from those now prowling about this country, as the latter are completely ignorant of the art of making this pottery.

The house is a perfect square, turned to the four cardinal points. All around are walls, indicating an enceinte inclosing not only a house, but other buildings, traces of which are perfectly distinct; for a little to the rear is a building having a floor above, and divided into several parts. The edifice is built of earth, and, as far as can be seen, with mud walls; it had the stories above the ground, but the internal carpentry has long ago disappeared. The rooms, five in number on each floor, were only lighted, so far as we can judge from the remains, by the doors, and round holes made in the walls facing to the north and south. Through these openings the man Amer (el hombre Amargo, as the Indians call the Aztec sovereign) looked at the sun, on its rising and setting, to salute it.

A canal, now nearly dry, ran from the river and served to supply the city with water.

At the present day these ruins are gloomy and desolate: they are slowly crumbling away beneath the incessant efforts of the sun, whose burning rays calcine them, and they serve as a refuge to the hideous vultures and the urubus which have selected it as their domicile. The Indians carefully avoid these sinister stations, from which a superstitious terror, for which they cannot account, keeps them aloof.

Thus the Comanche, Sioux, Apache, or Pawnee warrior, whom the accidents of the chase, or any other fortuitous cause, had brought to the vicinity of this dangerous ruin on the night of the fourth or fifth day of the cherry moon —champasciasoni– that is to say, about a month after the events we described in the last chapter – would have fled at the top speed of his horse, a prey to the wildest terror, at the strange spectacle which would have presented itself to his awe-stricken gaze.

The old palace of the Aztec kings threw out its gigantic outline on the azure sky, studded with a brilliant belt of stars. From all the openings – round or square – formed by human agency or by time in its dilapidated walls poured floods of reddish light; while songs, shouts, and laughter incessantly rose from the ruined apartments, and troubled in their dens the wild beasts, surprised by these sounds, which disturbed in so unusual a manner the silence of the desert. In the ruins, beneath the pallid rays of the moon, might be distinguished the shadows of men and horses grouped round enormous braseros, while a dozen horsemen, well armed, and leaning on spears, stood motionless as bronze equestrian statues at the entrance of the house.

If within the ruins all was noise and light, outside all was shadow and silence.

The night slipped away: the moon had already traversed two thirds of her course; the badly tended braseros went out one after another; the old mansion alone continued to gleam through the darkness like an ill-omened lighthouse.

At this moment the sharp and regular sound of a horse trotting on the sand re-echoed in the distance. The sentinels stationed at the entrance of the house with difficulty raised their heads, oppressed by sleep and the vivid cold of the first morning hours, and looked in the direction whence the noise of footsteps was audible.

A horseman appeared at the corner of the road leading to the ruins. The stranger, paying but little heed to what he saw, continued to advance boldly toward the house. He passed the ruined wall, and on arriving within ten paces of the sentries, dismounted, threw the bridle on his horse's neck, and walked with a firm step toward the sentries, who awaited him silent and motionless. But when he was about two swords' lengths from the party all the lances were suddenly levelled at his breast, a hoarse voice shouted, "Halt!"

The stranger stopped without a remark.

"Who are you? What do you want?" asked a horseman.

"I am a costeño. I have taken a long journey to see your captain, with whom I wish to speak," the stranger said.

By the pale and flickering rays of the moon the sentry tried in vain to distinguish the stranger's features; but that was impossible, so carefully was he wrapped up in his cloak.

"What is your name?" he asked, in an ill-tempered tone, when he saw that all his efforts were useless.

"What need of that? Your chief does not know me, and my name will tell him nothing."

"Possibly so, but that concerns yourself. Keep your incognito if you think proper; still, you must not be angry with me if I do not let you disturb the captain. He is at this moment supping with his officers, and certainly would not put himself out in the middle of the night to speak with a stranger."

The man could not conceal a sharp movement of annoyance.

"Possibly so, I will say in my turn," he remarked an instant later. "Listen. You are an old soldier, I think?"

"I am one still," the trooper said, drawing himself up proudly.

"Although you speak Spanish magnificently, I believe I can recognise the Frenchman in you."

"I have that honour."

The stranger chuckled inwardly. He had caught his man: he had found out his weak point.

"I am alone," he went on. "You have I know not how many comrades. Allow me to speak with your captain. What do you fear?"

"Nothing; but my orders are strict – I dare not break through them."

"We are in the heart of the desert, more than a hundred leagues from every civilised abode," the stranger said, pressingly. "You can understand that very powerful reasons were requisite to make me brave the numberless dangers of the long journey I have made to speak for a few moments with the Count de Lhorailles. Would you shipwreck me in sight of port, when it only requires a little kindness on your part for me to obtain what I want?"

The trooper hesitated; the reasons urged by the stranger had half convinced him. Still, after a few minutes' reflection, he said with a toss of his head, —

"No, it is impossible; the captain is stern, and I do not care to lose my corporal's stripes. All I can do for you is to allow you to bivouac here with our men in the open air. Tomorrow it will be day; the captain will come out; you will speak to him, and arrange matters as you please, for it will not affect me."

"Hem!" the stranger said thoughtfully, "it is a long time to wait."

"Bah!" said the soldier gaily, "a night is soon passed. Besides, it is your own fault; you are so confoundedly mysterious. A man needn't be ashamed of his name."

"But I repeat that your captain never heard mine."

"What matter if he hasn't? A name is always a name."

"Ah!" the stranger suddenly said, "I believe I have found a way to settle everything."

"Let's hear it: if it is good I will avail myself of it."

"'Tis excellent."

"All the better. I am listening."

"Go and tell the captain that the man who fired a pistol at him a month back at the Rancho of Guaymas is here, and wishes to speak to him."

"Eh?"

"Do you not understand me?"

"Oh, perfectly."

"Well, in that case – "

"Between ourselves, the recommendation seems to me rather scurvy."

"You think so?"

"Parbleu! He was all but assassinated by you. What, was it you?"

"Yes, I and another."

"I compliment you on it."

"Thanks. Well, are you not going?"

"I confess to a certain amount of hesitation."

"You are wrong. The Count de Lhorailles is a brave man; no one doubts his courage. He must have retained our chance meeting in pleasant memory."

"After all, that's possible; and, besides you are a stranger. I cannot bear the thought of refusing you so slight a service. I will go. Wait here, and do not be impatient, for I do not promise you success."

"I am certain of it."

The old soldier dismounted with a shrug of his shoulders, and entered the house. The stranger did not appear to doubt the success of the corporal's embassy; for, as soon as he had disappeared, he walked up to the door. In a few moments the corporal returned.

"Well," the stranger asked, "what answer did the captain give you?"

"He began laughing and ordered me to bring you in."

"You see I was right."

"That's true; but, for all that, an attempted assassination is a droll recommendation."

"A meeting," the stranger remarked.

"I don't know if you call it by that name here; but in France we call it waylaying. Come on."

The stranger made no reply; he merely shrugged his shoulders, and followed the worthy trooper.

In an immense hall, whose dilapidated walls threatened to collapse, and to which the star-spangled sky served as roof, four men of stern features and flashing eyes were seated round a table, served with the most delicate luxury and the most sensual idea of comfort. They were the count and the officers forming his staff, namely, Lieutenants Diégo Léon and Martin Leroux, and Don Sylva's old capataz, Blas Vasquez.