The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West

But his wrist was suddenly seized by a hand of iron, and the bandit tottered back to the wall of the rancho, against which he was forced to lean, lest he should roll on the ground. Curumilla, who had hitherto remained an impassive witness of the scene that took place before him, had thought the moment for interference, had arrived, and had sharply hurled him back. The squatter, with eyes injected with blood, and lips clenched by rage, looked around him with glaring worthy of a wild beast. Fray Ambrosio and the ranchero, held in check by the Indian chief, did not dare to interfere. Don Pablo walked with slow and measured step toward the bandit. When he was ten paces from him he stopped, and looked fixedly at him.

"Red Cedar," he repeated in a calm voice, "give me back my sister."

"Never!" the squatter answered in a voice choked by rage.

In the meanwhile the monk and the ranchero had treacherously approached the young man, watching for the propitious moment to fall on him. The five men assembled in this room offered a strange and sinister scene by the uncertain light that filtered through the windows, as each stood with his hand on his weapon, ready to kill or be killed, and only awaiting the opportunity to rush on his enemy. There was a moment of supreme silence. Assuredly these men were brave. In many circumstances they had seen death under every aspect; and yet their hearts beat as if to burst their breasts, for they knew that the combat about to commence between them was without truce or mercy. At length Don Pablo spoke again.

"Take care, Red Cedar," he said. "I have come to meet you alone and honourably. I have asked you for my sister several times, and you have not answered; so take care."

"I will sell your sister to the Apaches," the squatter howled. "As for you, accursed one, you shall not leave this room alive. May I be eternally condemned if your heart does not serve as a sheath to my knife!"

"The scoundrel is mad!" the young man said contemptuously.

He fell back a pace, and then stopped.

"Listen," he continued. "I will now retire, but we shall meet again; and woe to you then, for I shall be as pitiless to you as you have been to me. Farewell!"

"Oh! you shall not go in that way, my master," replied the squatter, who had regained all his boldness and impudence. "Did I not tell you I would kill you?"

The young man fixed upon him a glance of undefinable expression, and crossed his arms boldly on his chest.

"Try it," he said in a voice rendered harsh by the fury boiling in his heart.

Red Cedar uttered a yell of rage, and bounded on Don Pablo. The latter calmly awaited the attack; but, so soon as the squatter was within reach he suddenly took off his mantle, and threw it over his enemy's head, who, blinded by the folds of the thick garment, rolled about on the ground, unable to free himself from the accursed cloth that held him like a net. With one bound the young man was over the table, and troubling himself no further about Red Cedar, proceeded toward the door.

At this moment Fray Ambrosio rushed upon him, trying to bury his knife in his chest. Feeling not the slightest alarm, Don Pablo seized his assailant's wrist, and with a strength he was far from anticipating, twisted his arm so violently that his fingers opened, and he let the knife fall with a yell of pain. Don Pablo picked it up, and seized the monk by the throat.

"Listen, villain!" he said to him. "I am master of your life. You betrayed my father, who took pity on you, and received you into his house. You dishonour the gown you wear by your connection with criminals, whose ill deeds you share in. I could kill you, and perhaps ought to do so; but it would be robbing the executioner to whom you belong, and cheating the garrote which awaits you. This gown, of which you are unworthy, saves your life; but I will mark you so that you shall never forget me."

And placing the point of the knife on the monk's livid face, he made two gashes in the shape of a cross along the whole length and breadth of his face.

"We shall meet again!" he added in a thundering voice, as he threw the knife away in disgust.

Andrés Garote had not dared to make a move: terror nailed him motionless to the ground beneath the implacable eye of the Indian warrior. Don Pablo and Curumilla then rushed from the room and disappeared, and ere long the hoofs of two horses departing at full speed from the town could be heard clattering over the pavement.

By the aid of the ranchero, Red Cedar presently succeeded in freeing himself from the fold of the cloak that embarrassed him. When the three accomplices found themselves alone again an expression of impotent rage and deadly hatred distorted their faces.

"Oh!" the squatter muttered, grinding his teeth, and raising his fist to heaven, "I will be revenged."

"And I too," said Fray Ambrosio in a hollow voice, as he wiped away the blood that stained his face.

"Hum! I do not care," Andrés Garote said to himself aside. "That family of the Zarates is a fine one; but, caray! it must be confessed that Don Pablo is a rough fellow."

The worthy ranchero was the only one chance had favoured in this meeting by letting him escape safe and sound.

CHAPTER III

THE HUNTERS

At about two leagues from Santa Fe, in a clearing situated on the banks of the stream which borders that town, and on the evening of the same day, a man was seated before a large fire, which he carefully kept up, while actively engaged in making preparations for supper. A frugal meal, at any rate, this supper! It was composed of a buffalo hump, a few potatoes, and maize tortillas baked on the ashes, the whole washed down with pulque.

The night was gloomy. Heavy black clouds coursed athwart the sky, at times intercepting the sickly rays of the moon, which only shed an uncertain light over the landscape, which was itself buried in one of those dense mists that, in equatorial countries, exhale from the ground after a hot day. The wind blew violently through the trees, whose branches came in contact, with plaintive moans: and in the depths of the woods the miawling of the wild cats was mingled with the snarl of the coyotes and the howls of the pumas and jaguars. All at once the sound of galloping horses could be heard in the forest, and two riders burst into the clearing. On seeing them the hunter uttered an exclamation of joy, and hurried to meet them. They were Don Pablo and Curumilla.

"Heaven be praised!" the hunter said. "Here you are at last. I was beginning to grow alarmed at your long absence."

"You see that nothing has happened to me," the young man answered, affectionately pressing the hunter's hands.

Don Pablo had dismounted, and hobbled his own horse and Curumilla's near Valentine, while the Indian chief busied himself in preparing the supper.

"Come, come," the hunter said gaily, "to table. You must be hungry, and I am dying of inanition. You can tell me all that has occurred while we are eating."

The three men went to the table; that is, they seated themselves on the grass in front of the fire, and vigorously assailed their meagre repast. Desert life has this peculiarity – that in whatever position you may find yourself, as the struggles you go through are generally physical rather than moral, nature never resigns her claims: you feel the need of keeping up your strength, so as to be ready for all eventualities. There is no alarm great enough to prevent you from eating and drinking.

"Now," Valentine asked presently, "what have you done? I fancy you remained much longer than was necessary in that accursed town."

"We did, my friend. Certain reasons forced me to remain longer than I had at first intended."

"Proceed in regular order, if you have no objection. I fancy that is the only way of understanding each other."

"Act as you please, my friend."

"Very good: the chief and I will light our Indian pipes while you make your cigarette. We will sit with our backs to the fire, so as to watch the neighbourhood, and in that way can converse without apprehension. What do you say, Pablo?"

"You are always right, my friend. Your inexhaustible gaiety, your honest carelessness, restore me all my courage, and make me quite a different man."

"Hum!" Valentine said, "I am glad to hear you speak so. The position is serious, it is true; but it is far from being desperate. The chief and I have many times been in situations were our lives only depended on a thread: and yet we always emerged from them honourably – did we not, chief?"

"Yes," the Indian answered laconically, drawing in a mouthful of smoke, which he sent forth again from his mouth and nostrils.

"But that is not the question of the moment. I have sworn to save your father and sister, Pablo, and will do so, or my carcass shall be food for the wild beasts of the prairie; so leave me to act. Have you seen Father Seraphin?"

"Yes, I have. Our poor friend is still very weak and pale, and his wound is scarce cicatrised. Still, paying no heed to his sufferings, and deriving strength from his unbounded devotion to humanity, he has done all we agreed on. For the last week he has only left my father to hasten to his judges. He has seen the general, the governor, the bishop – everybody, in short – and has neglected nothing. Unfortunately all his exertions have hitherto been fruitless."

"Patience!" the hunter said with a smile of singular meaning.

"Father Seraphin believes for certain that my father will be placed in the capilla within two days. The governor wishes to have done with it – that is the expression he employed; and Father Seraphin told me that we have not a moment to lose."

"Two days are a long time, my friend; before they have elapsed many things may have occurred."

"That is true; but my father's life is at stake, and I feel timid."

"Good, Don Pablo; I like to hear you speak so. But reassure yourself; all is going on well, I repeat."

"Still, my friend, I believe it would be wise to take certain precautions. Remember it is a question of life or death, and we must make haste. How many times, under similar circumstances, have the best arranged plans failed! Do you think that your measures are well taken? Do you not fear lest an unhappy accident may derange all your plans at the decisive moment?"

"We are playing at this moment the devil's own game, my friend," Valentine answered coldly. "We have chance on our side; that is to say, the greatest power that exists, and which governs the world."

The young man lowered his head, as if but slightly convinced. The hunter regarded him for a moment with a mixture of interest and tender pity, and then continued in a soothing voice, —

"Listen, Don Pablo de Zarate," he said. "I have said that I will save your father, and mean to do so. Still I wish him to leave the prison in which he now is, like a man of his character ought to leave it, in open day, greeted by the applause of the crowd, and not by escaping furtively during the night, like a vile criminal. Hang it all! Do you think it would have been difficult for me to enter the town, and effect your father's escape by filing the bars or bribing the jailer? I would not do it. Don Miguel would not have accepted that cowardly and shameful flight. Your father shall leave his prison, but begged to do so by the governor himself, and all the authorities of Santa Fe. So regain your courage, and no longer doubt a man whose friendship and experience should, on the contrary, restore your confidence."

The young man had listened to these words with even increasing interest. When Valentine ceased speaking he seized his hand.

"Pardon me, my friend," he answered him. "I know how devoted you are to my family; but I suffer, and grief renders me unjust. Forgive me."

"Child, let us forget it all. Was the town quiet today?"

"I cannot tell you, for I was so absorbed in thought that I saw nothing going on around me. Still I fancy there was a certain agitation, which was not natural, on the Plaza Mayor, near the governor's palace."

Valentine indulged once again in that strange smile that had already played round the corners of his delicate lips.

"Good!" he said. "And did you, as I advised, try to gain any information about Red Cedar?"

"Yes," he answered with a start of joy, "I did; and I have positive news."

"Ah, ah! How so?"

"I will tell you."

And Don Pablo described the scene that had taken place in the rancho. The hunter listened to it with the utmost attention, and when it was finished he tossed his head several times with an air of dissatisfaction.

"All young people are so," he muttered; "they always allow their passion to carry them beyond the bounds of reason. You were wrong, extremely wrong, Don Pablo," he then added. "Red Cedar believed you dead, and that might have been of great use to us presently. You do not know the immense power that demon has at his disposal: all the bandits on the frontier are devoted to him. Your outbreak will be most injurious to your sister's safety."

"Still, my friend – "

"You acted like a madman in arousing the slumbering fury of the tiger. Red Cedar will persist in destroying you. I have known the wretch for a long time. But that is not the worst you have done."

"What is it, then?"

"Why, madman as you are, instead of keeping dark, watching your enemies without saying a word – in short, seeing through their game – by an unpardonable act of bravado you have unmasked all your batteries."

"I do not understand you, my friend."

"Fray Ambrosio is a villain of a different stamp from Red Cedar, it is true; but I consider him even a greater scoundrel than the scalp hunter. At any rate, the latter is purely a rogue, and you know what to expect from him: all about him bears the stamp of his hideous soul. Had you stabbed that wild beast, who perspires blood by every pore, and dreams of naught but murder, I might possibly have pardoned you; but you have completely failed, not only in prudence, but in good sense, by acting as you have done with Fray Ambrosio. That man is a hypocrite. He owes all to your family, and is furious at seeing this treachery discovered. Take care, Don Pablo. You have made at one blow two implacable enemies, the more terrible now because they have nothing to guard against."

"It is true," the young man said; "I acted like a fool. But what would you? At the sight of those two men, when I heard from their very lips the crimes they had committed, and those they still meditate against us, I was no longer master of myself. I entered the rancho, and you know the rest."

"Yes, yes, the cuchillada was a fine one. Certainly the bandit deserved it; but I fear lest the cross you so smartly drew on his face will cost you dearly some day."

"Well, let us leave it in the hand of Heaven. You know the proverb, 'It is better to forget what cannot be remedied.' Provided my father escape the fate that menaces him, I shall be happy. I shall take my precautions to defend myself."

"Did you learn nothing further?"

"Yes; Red Cedar's gambusinos are encamped a short distance from us. I know that their chief intends starting tomorrow at the latest."

"Oh, oh! Already? We must make haste and prepare our ambuscade, if we wish to discover the road they mean to follow."

"When shall we start?"

"At once."

The three men made their preparations; the horses were saddled, the small skins the horseman always carries at his saddle-bow in these dry countries were filled with water, and five minutes later the hunters mounted. At the moment they were leaving the clearing a rustling of leaves was heard, the branches parted, and an Indian appeared. It was Unicorn, the great sachem of the Comanches. On seeing him the three men dismounted and waited. Valentine advanced alone to meet the Indian.

"My brother is welcome," he said. "What does he want of me?"

"To see the face of a friend," the chief answered in a gentle voice.

The two men then bowed after the fashion of the prairie. After this ceremony Valentine went on:

"My father must approach the fire, and smoke from the calumet of his white friends."

"I will do so," Unicorn answered.

And drawing near the fire, he crouched down in Indian fashion, took his pipe from his belt, and smoked in silence. The hunters, seeing the turn this unexpected interview was taking, had fastened up their horses, and seated themselves again round the fire. A few minutes passed thus, no one speaking, each waiting till the Indian chief should explain the motive of his coming. At length Unicorn shook the ashes from his calumet, returned it to his belt, and addressed Valentine.

"Is my brother setting out to hunt buffaloes again?" he said. "There are many this year on the prairies of the Rio Gila."

"Yes," the Frenchman replied, "we are going hunting. Does my brother intend to accompany us?"

"No; my heart is sad.

"What means the chief? Has any misfortune happened to him?"

"Does not my brother understand me, or am I really mistaken? It is that my brother only really loves the buffaloes, whose meat he eats, and whose hides he sells at the toldería?"

"Let my brother explain himself more clearly; then I will try to answer him."

There was a moment of silence. The Indian seemed to be reflecting deeply: his nostrils were dilated, and at times his black eye flashed fire. The hunters calmly awaited the issue of this conversation, whose object they had not yet caught. At length Unicorn raised his head, restored all the serenity to his glance, and said in a soft and melodious voice, —

"Why pretend not to understand me, Koutonepi? A warrior must not have a forked tongue. What a man cannot do alone, two can attempt and carry out. Let my brother speak: the ears of a friend are open."

"My brother is right. I will not deceive his expectations. The hunt I wish to make is serious. I am anxious to save a woman of my colour; but what can the will of one man effect?"

"Koutonepi is not alone: I see at his side the best two rifles of the frontier. What does the white hunter tell me? Is he no longer the great warrior I knew? Does he doubt the friendship of his brother Haboutzelze, the great sachem of the Comanches?"

"I never doubted the friendship of my brother. I am an adopted son of his nation. At this very moment is he not seeking to do me a service?"

"That service is only half what I wish to do. Let my brother speak the word, and two hundred Comanche warriors shall join him to deliver the virgin of the palefaces, and take the scalps of her ravishers."

Valentine started with joy at this noble offer.

"Thanks, chief," he said eagerly. "I accept; and I know that your word is sacred."

"Michabou protects us," the Indian said. "My brother can count on me. A chief does not forget a service. I owe obligations to the pale hunter, and will deliver to him the gachupino robbers."

"Here is my hand, chief: my heart has long been yours."

"My brother speaks well. I have done what he requested of me."

And, bowing courteously, the Comanche chief withdrew without adding a word.

"Don Pablo," Valentine exclaimed joyously, "I can now guarantee your father's safety: this night – perhaps tomorrow – he will be free."

The young man fell into the hunter's arms, and hid his head on his honest chest, not having the strength to utter a word. A few minutes later, the hunters left the clearing to go in search of the gambusinos, and prepare their ambuscade.

CHAPTER IV

SUNBEAM

We will now go a little way back, in order to clear up certain portions of the conversation between Valentine and Unicorn, whose meaning the reader can not have caught.

Only a few months after their arrival in Apacheria the Frenchman and Curumilla were hunting the buffalo on the banks of the Rio Gila. It was a splendid day in the month of July. The two hunters, fatigued by a long march under the beams of the parching sun, that fell vertically on their heads, had sheltered themselves under a clump of cedar wood trees, and, carelessly stretched out on the ground, were smoking while waiting till the great heat had passed, and the evening breeze rose to enable them to continue their hunt. A quarter of elk was roasting for their dinner.

"Eh, penni," Valentine said, addressing his comrade, and rising on his elbow, "the dinner seems to be ready; so suppose we feed? The sun is rapidly sinking behind the virgin forest, and we shall soon have to start again."

"Eat," Curumilla answered, sharply.

The meat was laid on a leaf between the two hunters, who began eating with good appetite, and indulging in cakes of hautle. These cakes, which are very good, are certainly curious. They are made of the pounded eggs of a species of water bug, collected by a sort of harvest in the Mexican lakes. They are found on the leaves of the toule (bulrush), and the farina is prepared in various ways. It is an Aztec preparation par excellence, for so long back as 1625 they were sold on the marketplace of the Mexican capital. They form the chief food of the Indians, who consider them as great a dainty as the Chinese do their swallow nests, with which this article of food has a certain resemblance in taste. Valentine had taken a third bite at his hautle cake when he stopped, with his arm raised and his head bent forward, as if an unusual sound had suddenly smitten his ear. Curumilla imitated his friend, and both listened with that deep attention that only results from a lengthened desert life; for on the prairie every sound is suspicious – every meeting is feared, especially with man.

Some time elapsed ere the noise which startled the hunters was repeated. For a moment they fancied themselves deceived, and Valentine took another bite, when he was again checked. This time he had distinctly heard a sound resembling a stifled sigh, but so weak and hollow that it needed the Trail-hunter's practised ear to catch it. Curumilla himself had perceived nothing. He looked at his friend in amazement, not knowing to what he should attribute his state of agitation. Valentine rose hurriedly, seized his rifle, and rushed in the direction of the river, his friend following him in all haste.

It was from the river, in fact, that the sigh heard by Valentine had come, and fortunately it was but a few paces distant. So soon as the hunters had leaped over the intervening bushes they found themselves on the bank, and a fearful sight presented itself to their startled eyes. A long plank was descending the river, turning on its axis, and borne by the current, which ran rather strongly at this point. On this plank was fastened a woman, who held a child in her clasped arms. Each time the plank revolved the unhappy woman plunged with her child into the stream, and at ten yards at the most from it an enormous cayman was swimming vigorously to snap at its two victims.

Valentine raised his rifle. Curumilla at the same moment glided into the water, holding his knife blade between his teeth, and swam toward the plank. Valentine remained for a few seconds motionless, as if changed into a block of marble. All at once he pulled the trigger, and the discharge was re-echoed by the distant mountains. The cayman leaped out of the water, and plunged down again; but it reappeared a moment later, belly upwards. It was dead. Valentine's bullet had passed through its eye.

In the meanwhile Curumilla, had reached the plank with a few strokes, without loss of time he turned it in the opposite direction from what it was following; and while holding it so that it could not revolve, he pushed it onto the sand. In two strokes he cut the bonds that held the hapless woman, seized her in his arms, and ran off with her to the bivouac fire.

The poor woman gave no signs of life, and the two hunters eagerly sought to restore her. She was an Indian, apparently not more than eighteen, and very beautiful. Valentine found great difficulty in loosening her arms and removing the baby; for the frail creature about a year old, by an incomprehensible miracle, had been preserved – thanks, doubtless to its mother's devotion. It smiled pleasantly at the hunter when he laid it on a bed of dry leaves.

Curumilla opened the woman's mouth slightly with his knife blade, placed in it the mouth of his gourd, and made her swallow a few drops of mezcal. A long time elapsed ere she gave the slightest move that indicated an approaching return to life. The hunters, however, would not be foiled by the ill-success of their attentions, but redoubled their efforts. At length a deep sigh burst painfully from the sufferer's oppressed chest, and she opened her eyes, murmuring in a voice weak as a breath!