THE CONFESSION.
Tranquil attentively listened to the girl's story with drooping head and
frowning brows; when she had finished, he looked at her for a moment
enquiringly.
"Is that all?" he asked her.
"All," she answered timidly.
"And Lanzi, my poor Lanzi, have you no news of him?"
"None. We heard two shots, the furious galloping of several horses, the
war-cry of the Apaches, and then all became silent again."
"What can have become of him?" the tigrero muttered sadly.
"He is resolute, and seems to me conversant with desert life," Loyal
Heart said.
"Yes," Tranquil replied, "but he is alone."
"That is true," said the hunter; "alone against fifty, perhaps."
"Oh, I would give ten years of my life," the Canadian exclaimed, "to
have some news of him."
"Caray, gossip," a merry voice replied; "I have brought you some all
fresh, and shall charge you nothing for them."
The hearers started involuntarily at the sound of this voice, and turned
quickly to the side where they heard it.
The branches parted, and a man appeared.
It was Lanzi.
The half-breed seemed as calm and composed as if nothing extraordinary
had happened to him; but his face, usually so cold, now had an
indescribable expression of cunning joy, his eyes sparkled, and a
mocking smile played about his lips.
"By Jove! Our friend," Tranquil said as he offered him a hand; "you are
a thousand times welcome, for our anxiety about you was great."
"Thank you, gossip; but, luckily for me, the danger was not so imminent
as might be supposed, and I very easily succeeded in getting rid of
those demons of Apaches."
"All the better; no matter how you contrived to escape, here you are
safe and sound, so all is for the best; now that we have met again, they
may come if their heart tells them to do so, and they will find somebody
to talk to them."
"They will not do it; besides, they have something else on hand at this
moment."
"Do you think so?"
"I am sure of it; they perceived the bivouac of Mexican soldiers
escorting a conducta de plata, and are naturally trying to get hold of
it; it was partly to that fortuitous circumstance I owe my safety."
"On my word! All the worse for the Mexicans," the Canadian said
carelessly; "every man for himself: let them settle matters as they
think proper, their affairs do not interest us."
"That is my opinion too."
"We have still three hours of night; let us profit by them to rest, in
order to be ready to start for the hacienda at sunrise."
"The advice is good, and should be followed," said Lanzi, who
immediately lay down with his feet to the fire, wrapped himself in his
zarapé, and closed his eyes.
Loyal Heart, who doubtless shared his opinion, followed his example.
As for Quoniam, after conscientiously flaying the tigers and their cubs,
he lay down in front of the fire, and for the last two hours had been
sleeping with that careless indifference so characteristic of the Black
race.
Tranquil then turned to Carmela. The maiden was seated a few paces from
him; she was gazing into the fire pensively, and tears stood in her
eyes.
"Well, daughter mine," the Canadian said to her softly, "what are you
doing there? You must be exhausted with fatigue, so why not try to get a
few minutes' rest?"
"For what good?" she asked sorrowfully.
"What do you mean?" the tigrero asked sharply, though the girl's accent
made him start; "Why, to regain your strength of course."
"Let me remain awake, father; I could not sleep, however tired I might
feel; sleep will fly my eyelids."
The Canadian examined her for a moment with the greatest attention.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, shaking his head meditatively.
"Nothing, father," she replied, as she tried to force a smile.
"Girl, girl," he muttered, "all this is not quite clear; I am only a
poor hunter, very ignorant of matters of the world, and my mind is
simple; but I love you, child, and my heart tells me you are suffering."
"I?" she exclaimed in denial; but all at once she burst into tears, and
falling on the hunter's manly chest, she hid her face in his bosom, and
murmured in a choking voice--
"Oh, father, father, I am so wretched."
Tranquil, at this exclamation, torn from her by the force of pain,
started as if a serpent had stung him; his eye sparkled, he gave the
girl a look full of paternal love, and compelled her with gentle
constraint to look him in the face.
"Wretched? you, Carmela?" he exclaimed anxiously. "Great Heaven, what
has happened then?"
By a supreme effort, the maiden succeeded in calming herself; her
features reassumed their ordinary tranquillity, she wiped away her
tears, and smiled at the hunter, who anxiously watched her.
"Pardon me, father," she said in an insinuating voice, "I am mad."
"No, no," he replied, shaking his head twice or thrice; "you are not
mad, my child, but are concealing something from me."
"Father!" she said with a blush, and looked down in confusion.
"Be frank with me, child, for am I not your best friend?"
"That is true," she stammered.
"Have I ever refused to satisfy the slightest of your wishes?"
"Oh, never!"
"Have you ever found me severe to you?"
"Oh, no!"
"Well, then, why not confess to me frankly what is troubling you?"
"Because--" she murmured, in hesitation.
"What?" he answered, affectionately.
"I dare not."
"It must be very difficult to say, then?"
"Yes."
"Nonsense! Go on, girl, where will you find a confessor so indulgent as
I am?"
"Nowhere, I know."
"Speak, then."
"I am afraid of vexing you."
"You will vex me a great deal more by obstinately remaining silent."
"But--"
"Listen, Carmela; while telling us a little while back what happened
to-day at the venta, you confessed yourself that you wished to find me,
no matter where I was, this very night; is that so?"
"Yes, father."
"Well, here I am, I am listening to you; besides, if what you have to
say to me is so important as you led me to suppose, you will do well to
make haste."
The maiden started; she gave a glance at the sky, where the gloom was
beginning to be intersected by white stripes; all the hesitation
disappeared from her face.
"You are right, father," she said, in a firm voice; "I hate to speak
with you about an affair of the greatest importance, and perhaps I have
deferred it too long, for it is a question of life and death."
"You startle me."
"Listen to me."
"Speak, child, speak, without fear, and reckon on my affection for you."
"I do so, my kind father, so you shall know all."
"It is well."
Doña Carmela seemed to collect herself for a moment, then, letting her
dainty hand fall into her father's rough and large hand, while her long
silken lashes drooped timidly, to serve as a veil to her eyes, she began
in a weak voice at first, which, however, soon became more firm and
distinct.
"Lanzi told you that meeting with a conducta de plata encamped a short
distance from here, helped him to escape from the pursuit of the pagans.
Father, this conducta spent last night at the venta, and the Captain who
commands the escort is one of the most distinguished officers in the
Mexican army; you have heard him spoken of before now in terms of
praise, and I even think you are personally acquainted with him; his
name is Don Juan Melendez de Gongora."
"Ah!" said Tranquil.
The maiden stopped, all palpitating.
"Go on," the Canadian said, gently.
Carmela gave him a side glance; as the tigrero was smiling, she resolved
to continue.
"Already accident has brought the Captain several times to the venta;
he is a true Caballero--gentle, polite, honourable, and we have never
had the slightest ground of complaint against him, as Lanzi will tell
you."
"I am convinced of it, my child, for Captain Melendez is exactly what
you describe him."
"Is he not?" she quickly asked.
"Yes, he is a true Caballero; unfortunately, there are not many officers
like him in the Mexican army."
"This morning, the conducta set out, escorted by the Captain; two or
three ill-looking fellows, who remained at the venta, watched the
soldiers depart with a cunning smile, then sat down, began drinking and
saying to me things a girl ought not to hear, until at last they even
threatened me."
"Ah!" Tranquil interrupted her, with a frown, "Do you know the
scoundrels?"
"No, father, they are border ruffians, like those of whom there are too
many about here; but, though I have seen them several times, I do not
know their names."
"No matter, I will discover them, you may feel assured.
"Oh, father, you would do wrong to trouble yourself about that."
"Very well, that is my business."
"Fortunately for me, while this was occurring, a horseman arrived, whose
presence was sufficient to impose silence on these men, and force them
to become what they should always have been, that is to say, polite and
respectful to me."
"Of course," the Canadian remarked, laughingly, "this caballero, who
arrived so fortunately, was a friend of yours?"
"Only an acquaintance, father," she said, with a slight blush.
"Ah! very good."
"But he is a great friend of yours--at least, I suppose so."
"Hum! And pray do you know _his_ name, my child?"
"Of course," she replied, quickly.
"And what is it, may I ask, if you have no objection to tell me?"
"None at all; he is called the Jaguar."
"Oh, oh!" the hunter continued, with a frown, "What could he have to do
at the venta?"
"I do not know, father; but he said a few words in a low voice to the
men of whom I have told you, who immediately left the talk, mounted
their horses, and started at a gallop without making the slightest
remark."
"That is strange," the Canadian muttered.
There was a rather lengthened silence; Tranquil was deep in thought, and
was evidently seeking the solution of a problem, which appeared to him
very difficult to solve.
At length he raised his head.
"Is that all you have to tell me?" he asked the girl; "up to the present
I see nothing very extraordinary in all you have told me."
"Wait a while," she said.
"Then you have not finished yet?"
"Not yet."
"Very good--go on."
"Although the Jaguar spoke in a low voice with these men, through some
words I overheard, without wishing to do so, I assure you, father--"
"I am fully persuaded of that. What did you guess from these few words?"
"I mean, I fancied I understood--"
"It is the same thing; go on."
"I fancied I understood, I say, that they were speaking of the
conducta."
"And very naturally of Captain Melendez, eh?"
"I am certain that they mentioned his name."
"That is it. Then you supposed that the Jaguar intended to attack the
conducta, and possibly kill the Captain, eh?"
"I do not say that," the maiden stammered, in extreme embarrassment.
"No, but you fear it."
"Good Heavens, father!" she went on, in a tone of vexation, "Is it not
natural that I should take an interest in a brave officer who--"
"It is most natural, my child, and I do not blame you; even more, I
fancy that your suppositions are very near the truth."
"Do you think so, father?" she exclaimed, as she clasped her hands in
terror.
"It is probable," the Canadian quietly answered; "but reassure yourself,
my child," he added, kindly; "although you have perhaps delayed too long
in speaking to me, I may yet manage to avert the danger which is now
suspended over the head of the man in whom you take such interest."
"Oh do so, father, I implore you."
"I will try, at any rate, my child, that is all I can promise you for
the present; but what do you purpose doing?"
"I?"
"Yes, while my comrades and I are trying to save the Captain?"
"I will follow you, father, if you will let me."
"I think that is the most prudent course; but you must feel a great
affection for the Captain, that you so ardently desire to save him?"
"I, father?" she replied with the most perfect frankness, "Not the
least; it only seems to me terrible that so brave an officer should be
killed, when there is a chance of saving him."
"Then you hate the Jaguar of course?"
"Not at all, father; in spite of his violent character, he seems to me a
noble-hearted man--the more so, because he possesses your esteem, which
is the most powerful reason with me; still it grieves me to see two men
opposed who, I feel convinced, if they knew each other, would become
fast friends, and I do not wish blood to be shed between them."
These words were uttered by the maiden with such simple frankness, that
for some moments the Canadian remained completely stunned; the slight
gleam of light he fancied he had found suddenly deserted him again,
though it was impossible for him to say in what manner it had
disappeared; he neither understood Doña Carmela's behaviour, nor the
motives on which she acted--the more so, because he had no reason to
doubt the good faith in all she had told him.
After looking attentively at the maiden for some minutes, he shook his
head twice or thrice like a man completely at sea, and without adding a
word, proceeded to arouse his comrades.
Tranquil was one of the most experienced wood-rangers in North America;
all the secrets of the desert were known to him, but he was ignorant of
the first word of that mystery which is called a woman's heart. A
mystery the more difficult to fathom, because women themselves are
nearly always ignorant of it; for they only act under the impression of
the moment, under the influence of passion, and without premeditation.
In a few words the Canadian explained his plans to his comrades: the
latter, as he anticipated, did not offer the slightest objection, but
prepared to follow him.
Ten minutes later they mounted and left their bivouac under the guidance
of Lanzi.
At the moment when they disappeared in the forest, the owl uttered its
matutinal cry, the precursor of sunrise.
"Oh, Heavens!" the maiden murmured in agony; "Shall we arrive in time?"