The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West

"No," the general quickly interposed, "heaven forbid! I should be glad to settle this matter amicably with you, chief, but honor forbids me subscribing those disgraceful proposals which you did not fear to lay before me."

"Is it really honour that has dictated my father's answer?" the Indian asked, ironically. "He will permit me to doubt it. In short, whatever be the reason that guides him, I can but withdraw; but, before doing so, I will give him news of a friend whom he doubtless impatiently expects."

"What means that word, doubtless?"

"This," the Indian said, sharply. "The warriors whom my father expected to arrive to his aid this day have been dispersed by my young men, as the autumn breeze sweeps away the leaves. They will not come."

A murmur of surprise, almost of terror, ran through the assembly. The sachem let the long folds of his buffalo robe fall back, tore from his girdle the bleeding scalp that hung there, and threw it at the general's feet.

"That," he said, gloomily, "is the scalp of the man who commanded my father's warriors! Does the chief of the palefaces recognise it? This scalp was raised by me from the head of the man who was to arrive, and who, at this hour, has set out for the happy hunting grounds of his nation."

A shudder of terror ran round the room at the sight of the scalp; the general felt the small dose of courage that had still animated him oozing out.

"Chief," he exclaimed, in a trembling voice "is it possible you have done that?"

"I have done it," the sachem answered, coldly. "Now, farewell. I am about to join my young men, who are impatient at my long absence."

With these words the Comanche haughtily turned his back on the governor, and walked toward the door.

"A few moments longer, chief," the general said; "perhaps we are nearer an understanding than you suppose."

The Comanche gave the speaker a glance which made him quiver.

"Here is my last word," he said. "I insist on the two prisoners being handed over to me."

"They shall be."

"Good; but no perfidity, no treachery."

"We will act honourably," the general replied, not dreaming, of resenting the insult conveyed in the Indian's words.

"We shall see. My warriors and myself will remain on the square till my father has performed his promise. If, within an hour, the palefaces are not free, the prisoners I hold will be pitilessly massacred, and the altepetl plundered. I have spoken."

A gloomy silence greeted these terrible threats. The pride of the Mexicans was quelled, and they at length recognised that nothing could save them from the vengeance of the Comanche chief. The general bowed in assent, not having strength to answer otherwise. The sight of the scalp had paralyzed in him all desire to contend longer. Unicorn left the hall, mounted his horse again, and calmly awaited the fulfilment of the promise made to him.

When the Indians had left the council chamber, the Mexicans rose tumultuously, for each feared the execution of the chief's threats. General Ventura was pressed on all sides to make haste, and run no risk of breaking his word. When the governor saw that his officers were as terrified as himself, he re-assumed his coolness, and cleverly profited by this state of mind, in order to throw the responsibility off himself, and appear only to act under the impulse of others.

"Caballeros," he said, "you have heard this man. You understood as well as I did the menaces he dared to offer us. Shall such an insult be left unpunished? Will you allow yourselves to be thus braved in the heart of the town by a handful of scoundrels, and not attempt to inflict on them the chastisement they deserve? To arms, caballeros, and let us die bravely, if it must be so, sooner than suffer this stain on the old Spanish honor our fathers transmitted to us!"

This warm address produced the effect the general anticipated from it; that is to say, it redoubled, were that possible, the terror of the hearers, who had long been acquainted with their chiefs cowardice, and knew how little he could be depended on. This sudden warlike order seemed to them so unusual, and before all so inopportune, that they pressed him to accept without delay the proposals dictated by the sachem.

This was all the governor wanted. He had the minutes of the council at once drawn up, when it was signed by all present, he put it in his pocket.

"As you insist," he said, "and nothing can induce you to offer an honourable resistance, I will myself proceed to the prison, in order to avoid any misunderstanding, and have the doors opened for Don Miguel Zarate and General Ibañez."

"Make haste, pray?" the officers answered.

The general, glad in his heart at having got out of the scrape so well, left the Cabildo, and walked across the square to the prison, which stood on the opposite side. The Comanches were motionless as statues of Florentine bronze, leaning on their weapons, with their eyes fixed on the chief, ready to carry out his orders.

CHAPTER XXIV

FREE

Don Miguel and General Ibañez were completely ignorant of what was going on outside, and the rumours of the town did not reach their ears. Had they deigned to question their jailer, the latter, who was beginning to fear for himself the effects of the ill-treatment he had made the two gentlemen undergo, would doubtless not have hesitated to give them all possible information, for the sake of regaining their favour; but each time this man presented himself before them, and opened his mouth to speak, they turned their backs contemptuously, giving him a sign to withdraw at once, and be silent.

On this day, according to their wont, the two prisoners had risen at sunrise, and then, with incredible coolness, began conversing on indifferent topics. Suddenly a great noise was heard in the prison; a clang of arms reached the prisoners' ears, and hurried footsteps approached the rooms in which they were confined. They listened.

"Oh, oh!" said Ibañez, "I fancy it is for today at last."

"Heaven be praised!" Don Miguel answered; "I am glad they have made up their minds to bring matters to a conclusion."

"On my honour, and so am I," the general said, gaily; "time was beginning to hang heavy in this prison, where a man has not the slightest relaxation. We are going to see again that splendid sun which seems afraid of showing itself in this den. Viva Cristo! I feel delighted at the mere thought, and gladly pardon my judges."

Still the noise drew nearer and nearer, and confused voices were mingled with the echoing steps in the passage, and the rattling of sabres.

"Here they are," said Don Miguel; "we shall see them in a minute."

"They are welcome if they bring us death, that supreme solace of the afflicted."

At this moment a key creaked in the lock, and the door opened. The two prisoners fell back in surprise on seeing the general, who rushed into the cell followed by two or three officers. Assuredly, if the prisoners expected to see anybody, it was not the worthy General Ventura. Ibañez' surprise was so great at this unexpected apparition, that he could not refrain from exclaiming, with that accent of caustic gaiety which formed the basis of his character —

"What the deuce do you want here, Señor Governor? Have you, too, suddenly become a frightful conspirator, such as we are accused of being?"

Before answering, the general fell back into a chair, wiping away the perspiration that trickled down his forehead, such speed had he displayed in coming to the prison. Three or four officers stood motionless on the threshold of the widely open door. The condemned men could not at all understand the affair.

"Have you by any chance, my dear governor," General Ibañez said, gaily, though not believing a word of it, "come to restore us to liberty? That would be a most gallant action, and I should feel deeply indebted to you for it."

General Ventura raised his head, fixed on the prisoners eyes sparkling with joy, and said, in a panting voice —

"Yes, my friends, yes; I would come myself to tell you that you are free; I would not yield to anyone else the pleasure of announcing the good news."

The prisoners fell back in amazement.

"What!" General Ibañez exclaimed, "You are speaking seriously?"

Don Miguel attentively looked at the governor, trying to read in his face the reasons of his conduct.

"Come, come," General Ventura cried, "this hole is frightful; do not remain any longer in it."

"Ah!" Don Miguel remarked, bitterly, "You find it frightful; you have been a long time in discovering the fact; for we have lived in it nearly a month, and the thought never once occurred to you of disturbing our repose."

"Do not be angry with me, Don Miguel," the governor answered eagerly, "it was greatly against my will you were detained so long; had it only depended on me you would have been free; but, thanks to Heaven, all is settled now, and I have succeeded in having justice done you. Come away; do not remain a moment longer in this pestilential den."

"Pardon me, Caballero," Don Miguel said coldly, "but, with your permission, we will remain a few moments longer in it."

"Why so?" General Ventura asked, opening his eyes to their fullest extent.

"I will tell you."

Don Miguel pointed to a chair, and sat down himself. Ibañez following his example. There was a moment of deep silence between these three men as they strove to read each other's real secret thoughts.

"I am waiting your pleasure to explain yourself," the governor at last said, as he was anxious to get away, and time pressed.

"I am about doing so," Don Miguel answered; "you have come to tell us we are free, sir; but you do not say on what conditions."

"What do you mean by conditions?" the general asked, not understanding him.

"Of course," Ibañez went on, supporting his friend; "and these conditions, too, must suit us; you must see, my dear sir, we cannot leave this delightful place without knowing the why or wherefore. Viva Cristo! We are not vagabonds to be got rid of in that way; we must know if we are justified in accepting the proposals you have just made."

"The general is right, sir," the hacendero said in his turn; "the care of our honor does not permit us to accept a liberation which might stain it; hence, we shall not leave this prison until you have given us an explanation."

The governor hardly knew whether he was on his head or his heels; he had never before had to deal with such obstinate prisoners. He racked his brains in vain to discover why it was that men condemned to death could so peremptorily decline their liberty. His ideas were too narrow, his heart was too cowardly for him to comprehend the grandeur and nobility in this determination on the part of two men, who preferred an honourable death to a branded life which they only owed to the pity of their judges. Still, he must induce them to quit the prison, for time was fast slipping away, and their obstinacy might ruin everything. Hence, General Ventura made up his mind like a man.

"Gentlemen," he said, with feigned admiration, "I understand what nobleness there is in your scruples, and am happy to see that I was not mistaken in the greatness of your character. You can leave this prison in full security, and take once more the station that belongs to you in the world. I will lay no conditions on you; you are free, purely and simply. Here are the documents connected with your trial, the proofs produced against you; take them and destroy them, and accept my sincere, apologies for all that has passed."

While saying this, the governor drew from his breast an enormous bundle of papers, which he offered Don Miguel. The latter declined them with an air of disgust; but General Ibañez, less scrupulous or wiser in his generation, eagerly clutched them, looked through them to see that the governor was not deceiving him, and then threw them into the brasero, standing in the middle of the room. In less than four minutes, all this undigested mass was consumed. General Ibañez watched them burning with a certain degree of pleasure, for he began to feel himself really free.

"I am waiting for you, gentlemen," said the governor.

"One word more, by your leave," the hacendero remarked.

"Speak, sir."

"On leaving this prison, where are we to go?"

"Wherever you please, gentlemen. I repeat to you that you are perfectly free, and can act as you think proper. I do not even ask your word of honor to enter into no further conspiracy."

"Good sir," Don Miguel said, holding out his hand to General Ventura, "your conduct affects me – thanks."

The governor blushed.

"Come, come," he said, to hide his embarrassment on receiving this so ill-deserved praise.

The prisoners no longer hesitated to follow him.

In the meanwhile, the news of Don Miguel's deliverance had spread through the town with the rapidity of a train of gunpowder. The inhabitants, reassured by the continence of the Comanches, and knowing that they had only come to save a man, in whose fate the entire population felt interested, had ventured to leave their houses, and at length thronged the streets and squares; the windows and roofs were filled with men, women, and children, whose eyes, fixed on the prison, awaited the moment of Don Miguel's appearance. When he did so, tremendous shouts greeted him.

Unicorn walked up to the governor.

"My father has kept his promise," he said, gravely, "I will keep mine; the white prisoners are free; I now depart."

The governor listened to these words with a blush; the sachem returned to the head of his war party, which rapidly retired, followed by the shouts of a mob intoxicated with joy. Don Miguel, perplexed by the scene which had taken place in his presence, and who began to suspect a mystery in the governor's conduct, turned to him to ask an explanation of the Indian chief's words – an explanation the governor luckily escaped, owing to the eagerness of the people who flocked up to congratulate the prisoners on their release.

On reaching the gate of the Cabildo, General Ventura bowed courteously to the two gentlemen, and hurried into his palace, happy at having escaped so cheaply, and not tearing with his own hands the cloak of generosity which he had paraded in the sight of his prisoners.

"What do you think of all that?" the hacendero asked his friend.

"Hum!" General Ibañez muttered, "The governor's conduct seems to me rather queer; but, no matter, we are free. I confess to you, my friend, that I should have no objection to go a little distance from this place, the air of which, despite General Ventura's protestations, appears to me remarkably unhealthy for us."

At this moment, and ere Don Miguel could answer, the general felt a slight touch on his shoulders; he turned and saw Curumilla before him, with a smiling face. Don Miguel and the general suppressed a cry of joy at the sight of the grave and excellent Indian.

"Come!" he said to them, laconically.

They followed him, with some difficulty, through the crowd that accompanied them with shouts, and whom they were obliged to stop and thank. On reaching a small street near the square, and which was nearly deserted, Curumilla led them to a house before which he stopped.

"It is here," he said, as he tapped twice.

The door opened, and they entered a courtyard, in which were three ready saddled horses, held by a groom, which they at once mounted.

"Thanks, brother," the hacendero said, warmly, as he pressed the chiefs hand; "but how did you learn our deliverance?"

The Araucano smiled pleasantly. "Let us go," he said, making no other answer.

"Where to?" Don Miguel asked.

"To join Koutonepi."

The three men started at full speed. Ten minutes later they were out of the town, and galloping across the plain.

"Oh!" General Ibañez said, gaily, "How pleasant the fresh air is! How good it is to inhale it after remaining for two months stifled between the walls of a prison!"

"Shall we soon arrive? Don Miguel asked.

"In an hour," the chief answered.

And they went on with renewed speed.

CHAPTER XXV

THE MEETING

On reaching a spot where the trail they were following formed a species of fork, Curumilla stopped, and the two gentlemen imitated him.

"That is your road," the Araucano chief said. "At the end of that path you will see Koutonepi's bivouac fire. I must leave you here."

After uttering these words, Curumilla turned his horse and started, after giving them a parting wave of the hand. The Unicorn was not much of a talker naturally; generally, he did more than he said. His friends, convinced that urgent necessity could alone have forced him thus to break through his habits, made no observation, but let him go. When they were alone, they gently relaxed the pace of their horses, and proceeded at a canter.

General Ibañez was radiant. He inhaled the fresh air Of the desert, which dilated his wide chest, revelling in his liberty. He thought of nothing but enjoying the present, regardless of the past, which, with his careless character, he had already forgotten, only to dream of the future, which he gazed on through a prism of brilliant hues. Don Miguel, on the contrary, felt, during the last few moments, a sad melancholy invade his mind. Not able to account for the emotion he experienced, he had a species of secret presentiment that a misfortune was suspended over his head. In vain did he try to dispel these ideas, but they constantly returned more obstinately than ever and it was with a sort of dread that he advanced in the direction where he was to meet Valentine, although he was his best friend, so much did he fear that he would greet his arrival with evil tidings.

The two gentlemen went on thus for nearly half an hour without exchanging a syllable; but, just as they turned a corner in the path, they saw a horseman about thirty paces in front of them, barring the road, and apparently waiting for them. The Mexicans examined him attentively. He was a tall man, well armed, and wearing the garb of the rich hacenderos; but, singularly enough, a black velvet mask prevented them distinguishing his features. By an instinctive movement Don Miguel and his friend moved a hand to their holsters, but they were empty.

"What is to be done?" the hacendero asked the general.

"Go on, of course. We have just escaped too great a peril for us to fear this. Even in the event of the mysterious being planted there before us, like an equestrian statue, trying to play us a trick, which is not impossible."

"Let us trust to Heaven," Don Miguel muttered, and pushed on.

The distance separating them from the stranger was soon cleared. On coming within five yards of him, they stopped.

"Santas tardes, caballeros," said the stranger, in a friendly voice.

"Santas tardes!" the gentlemen answered, in accord.

"I salute you, Don Miguel Zarate, and you, General Ibañez," the stranger then said. "I am happy to see you at length safe and sound out of the claws of that worthy General Ventura, who, if he could, would certainly have played you a trick."

"Caballero," Don Miguel made answer, "I thank you for the kind words you address to me, and which can only come from a friend's lips. I should be pleased if you would take off the mask that conceals your features, so that I may recognise you."

"Gentlemen, if I removed my mask you would be disappointed, for my features are unfamiliar to you. Do not be angry with me for keeping it on; but, be assured that you are not mistaken with regard to me, and I am really your friend."

The two Mexicans bowed courteously to each other, and the stranger went on.

"I knew that so soon as you were free you would hasten to join that worthy hunter Valentine, whom the trappers and gambusinos along the frontier have christened the 'Trail-hunter.' I placed myself here, where you must infallibly pass, in order to make you a communication of the utmost importance, which interests you extremely."

"I am listening, sir," Don Miguel responded with secret alarm; "and I beg you to accept, beforehand, my sincere thanks for the step you have taken on my behalf."

"You will thank me when the proper time comes, Don Miguel. Today I only warn you: at a later date I hope to aid you, and my help will not prove useless."

"Speak, sir! You excite my curiosity to the highest pitch, and I am anxious to learn the news of which you have condescended to be the bearer."

The stranger shook his head sadly, and there was a moment's silence. This meeting of three horsemen, one of whom was masked, in this deserted place, where no sound troubled the imposing silence of solitude, had something strange about it. At length the mask spoke again.

"Two months have elapsed, Don Miguel, since, through the treachery of Red Cedar, you were arrested and made prisoner at the Paso del Norte. Many events of which you are ignorant have occurred since then; but there is one I must inform you of at once. On the very night of your arrest, at the moment you laid down your arms, your daughter was carried off by Red Cedar."

"My daughter!" the hacendero exclaimed; "And Valentine to whom I confided her, and who was responsible for her safety?"

"Valentine attempted impossibilities to save her; but what can one man effect against twenty?"

Don Miguel shook his head mournfully.

"After researches, long, sterile, and extraordinary efforts, a man providentially aided by Father Seraphin, at length succeeded last night in taking Doña Clara from her ravishers; but Red Cedar, advised by some extraordinary chance, entered the house where the maiden had sought shelter, and carried her off again."

"Oh! I will avenge myself on that man!" the hacendero shouted, passionately.

The stranger's eyes flashed with a lurid light though the holes in his mask.

"You will find your son and Father Seraphin with Valentine. Red Cedar intends to start this evening at the head of a band of gambusinos, to go into the deserts of the Rio Gila in search of a placer, which his accomplice, Fray Ambrosio, had indicated to him."

"Fray Ambrosio!" the hacendero repeated, in stupor.

"Yes. Your former chaplain, who served as spy to the squatter, revealed your plans to him, and provided him the means to enter the hacienda and carry off your daughter."

"Good," Don Miguel said, in a hollow voice. "I will remember."

"Red Cedar, I know not with what design, is taking your daughter with him into the desert."

"I will follow him, were it for a thousand leagues," Don Miguel said, resolutely. "Thanks to you for having instructed me so fully. But whence comes the interest you take in me so gratuitously, since, as you say, I do not know you?"

"You shall learn at a later date, Don Miguel. Now, before I leave you, one last word – an earnest warning."

"I listen attentively, caballero."

"Do not tell anyone – not even the French hunter, not even your son – of our meeting. Let this secret be buried in your breast. When you reach the far west, if you see before you, at one of your bivouacs, a piece of mahogany bearing the impress of a horse's shoe, rise at midnight, and leave the camp, not letting anyone see you. When you have gone one hundred paces in the tall grass, whistle thrice; a similar whistle will answer you, and then you will learn many things important for you to know, but which I cannot tell you today."

"Good. Thanks. I will do what you tell me."

"You promised it?"

"I swear it on my word as a gentleman," Don Miguel said, as he took off his hat.

"I accept your oath. Farewell."

"Farewell."

The stranger dug his spurs into his horse's sides and the animal started off as if impelled by a tornado.

The two gentlemen looked after him for a long time, admiring the grace and ease of his movements; at length, when horse and rider had disappeared in the distance, Don Miguel went on again pensively, while saying to the general —

"Who can that man be?"

"I know no more than you do. Viva Cristo!" his friend answered, "but I assure you I will know, even if to do so I have to search all the thickets and caverns in the desert."

"What," Don Miguel exclaimed, "do you intend to come with me?"

"Did you ever doubt it, Don Miguel? If so, you insulted me. You will need all your friends to go in search of your daughter, and inflict on that demon of a gringo squatter the chastisement he deserves. No, no; I will not leave you under such circumstances, for that would be committing a bad action; besides, I shall not be sorry," he added with a smile, "to get out of the sight of the government for a time."