BLUE-FOX.
We will now return to Blue-fox and his two comrades, whom, in a previous
chapter, we left at the moment when, after hearing bullets "ping" past
their ears, they instinctively entrenched themselves behind rocks and
trunks of trees.
So soon as they had taken this indispensable precaution against the
invisible assailants, the three men carefully inspected their weapons to
be ready to reply; and then waited with finger on trigger, and looking
searchingly in all directions.
They remained thus for a rather lengthened period, though nothing again
disturbed the silence of the prairie, or the slightest sign revealed to
them that the attack made upon them would be renewed.
Suffering from the deepest anxiety, not knowing to what they should
attribute this attack, or what enemies they had to fear, the three men
knew not what to do, or how to escape with honour from the embarrassing
position into which chance had thrown them. At length Blue-fox resolved
to go reconnoitring.
Still, as the Chief was justly afraid of falling into an ambuscade,
carefully prepared to capture him and his comrades, without striking a
blow, he thought it prudent, ere he started, to take the most minute
precautions.
The Indians are justly renowned for their cleverness; forced, through
the life they lead from their birth, to employ continually the physical
qualities with which Providence has given them, in them hearing, smell,
and, above all, sight have attained such a development, that they can
fairly contend with wild beasts, of whom, after all, they are only
plagiarists; but, as they have at their disposal one advantage over
animals in the intelligence which permits them to combine their actions
and see their probable consequences, they have acquired a cat-like
success, if we may be allowed to employ the expression, which enables
them to accomplish surprising things, of which only those who have seen
them at work can form a correct idea, so greatly does their skill go
beyond the range of possibility.
It is before all when they have to follow a trail, that the cleverness
of the Indians, and the knowledge they possess of the laws of nature,
acquire extraordinary proportions. Whatever care their enemy may have
taken, whatever precautions he may have employed to hide his trail and
render it invisible, they always succeed in discovering it in the end;
from them the desert has retained no secrets, for them this virgin and
majestic nature is a book, every page of which is known to them, and in
which they read fluently, without the slightest--we will not say
mistake, but merely--hesitation.
Blue-fox, though still very young, had already gained a well-deserved
reputation for cleverness and astuteness; hence under the present
circumstances, surrounded in all probability by invisible enemies, whose
eyes, constantly fixed on the spot that served as his refuge, watched
his every movement, he prepared with redoubled prudence to foil their
machinations and countermine their plans.
After arranging with his comrades a signal in the probable event of
their help being required, he took off his buffalo robe, whose wide
folds might have impeded his movements, removed all the ornaments with
which his head, neck, and chest were loaded, and only retained his
_mitasses_, a species of drawers made in two pieces, fastened from
distance to distance with hair, bound round the loins with a strip of
untanned deer-hide, and descending to his ankles.
Thus clothed, he rolled himself several times in the sand, for his body
to assume an earthy colour. Then he passed through his belt his tomahawk
and scalping knife, weapons an Indian never lays aside, seized his rifle
in his right hand, and, after giving a parting nod to his comrades who
attentively watched his different preparations, he lay down on the
ground, and began crawling like a serpent through the tall grass and
detritus of every description.
Although the sun had risen for some time, and was pouring its dazzling
beams over the prairie, Blue-fox's departure was managed with such
circumspection that he was far out on the plain, while his comrades
fancied him close to them; not a blade of grass had been agitated in his
passage, or a pebble slipped under his feet.
From time to time Blue-fox stopped, took a peering glance around, and
then, when he felt assured that all was quiet, and nothing had revealed
his position, he began crawling again on his hands and knees in the
direction of the forest covert, from which he was now but a short
distance.
He then reached a spot entirely devoid of trees, where the grass,
lightly trodden down at various spots, led him to suppose he was
reaching the place where the men who fired must have been ambushed.
The Indian stopped, in order to investigate more closely the trail he
had discovered.
It apparently belonged to only one man; it was clumsy, wide, and made
without caution, and rather the footsteps of a white man ignorant of the
customs of the prairie, than of a hunter or Indian.
The bushes were broken as if the person who passed through them had done
so by force, running along without taking the trouble to part the
brambles; while at several spots the trampled earth was soaked with
blood.
Blue-fox could not at all understand this strange trail, which in no way
resembled those he was accustomed to follow.
Was it a feint employed by his enemies to deceive him more easily by
letting him see a clumsy trail intended to conceal the real one? Or was
it, on the other hand, the trail of a white man wandering about the
desert, of whose habits he was ignorant?
The Indian knew not what opinion to adhere to, and his perplexity was
great. To him it was evident that from this spot the shot was fired
which saluted him at the moment when he was about to begin his speech;
but for what object had the man, whoever he was, that had chosen this
ambush, left such manifest traces of his passage? He must surely have
supposed that his aggression would not remain unpunished, and that the
persons he selected as a target would immediately start in pursuit of
him.
At length, after trying for a long time to solve this problem, and
racking his brains in vain to arrive at a probable conclusion, Blue-fox
adhered to his first one, that this trail was fictitious, and merely
intended to conceal the true one.
The great fault of cunning persons is to suppose that all men are like
themselves, and only employ cunning; hence they frequently deceive
themselves, and the frankness of the means employed by their opponent
completely defeats them, and makes them lose a game which they had every
chance of winning.
Blue-fox soon perceived that his supposition was false, that he had
given his enemy credit for much greater skill and sagacity than he
really possessed, and that what he had regarded as an extremely
complicated scheme intended to deceive him, was, in fact, what he had at
first thought it, namely, the passing of a man.
After hesitating and turning back several times, the Indian at length
resolved on pushing forward, and following what he believed to be a
false trail, under the conviction that he would speedily find the real
one; but, as he was persuaded that he had to do with extremely crafty
fellows, he redoubled his prudence and precautions, only advancing step
by step, carefully exploring the bushes and the chaparral, and not going
on till he was certain he had no cause to apprehend a surprise.
His manoeuvres occupied a long time; he had left his comrades for more
than two hours, when he found himself all at once at the entrance of a
rather large clearing, from which he was only separated by a curtain of
foliage.
The Indian stopped, drew himself up gently, parted the branches, and
looked into the clearing.
The forests of America are full of these clearings, produced either by
the fall of trees crumbling with old age, or of those which have been
struck by lightning, and laid low by the terrible hurricanes which
frequently utterly uproot the forests of the New World. The clearing to
which we allude here was rather large; a wide stream ran through it, and
in the mud of its banks might be seen the deeply-imprinted footprints of
the wild beasts that came here to drink.
A magnificent mahogany tree, whose luxuriant branches overshadowed the
whole clearing, stood nearly in the centre. At the foot of this gigantic
denizen of the forest, two men were visible.
The first, dressed in a monk's gown, was lying on the ground with closed
eyes, and face covered with a deadly pallor; the second, kneeling by his
side, seemed to be paying him the most anxious attention.
Owing to the position occupied by the Redskin, he was enabled to
distinguish the features of this second person, whose face was turned
toward him.
He was a man of lofty stature, but excessively thin; his face, owing to
the changes of weather to which it must have been long exposed, was of a
brick colour, and furrowed by deep wrinkles; a snow-white beard fell on
his chest, mingled with the long curls of his equally white hair, which
fell in disorder on his shoulders. He wore the garb of the American
rangers combined with the Mexican costume; thus a vicuña-skin hat,
ornamented with a gold _golilla_, covered his head; a zarapé served as
his cloak, and his cotton velvet violet trousers were thrust into long
deer-skin gaiters, that came up to his knees.
It was impossible to guess this man's age; although his harsh and marked
features, and his wild eyes, which burned with a concentrated fire and
had a wandering expression, revealed that he had attained old age, still
no trace of decrepitude was visible in any part of his person; his
stature seemed not to have lost an inch of its height, so straight was
he still; his knotted limbs, full of muscles hard as ropes, seemed
endowed with extraordinary strength and suppleness; in a word, he had
all the appearance of a dangerous wood-ranger, whose eye must be as
sure, and arm as ready, as if he were only forty years of age.
In his girdle he carried a pair of long pistols, and a sword with a
straight and wide blade, called a machete, passed through an iron ring
instead of a sheath, hung on his left side. Two rifles, one of which
doubtless belonged to him, were leant against the trunk of the tree, and
a magnificent mustang, picketed a few yards off, was nibbling the young
tree shoots.
What it has taken us so long to describe, the Indian saw at a glance;
but it appeared as if this scene, which he was so far from anticipating,
was not very cheering to him, for he frowned portentously, and could
hardly restrain an exclamation of surprise and disappointment on seeing
the two persons.
By an instinctive movement of prudence he cocked his rifle, and after he
had done this, he went on watching what was doing in the clearing.
At length the man dressed in the monk's gown made a slight movement as
if to rise, and partly opened his eyes; but too weak yet, probably, to
endure the brilliancy of the sunbeams, though they were filtered through
the dense foliage, he closed them again; still, the individual who was
nursing him, saw that he had regained his senses, by the movement of his
lips, which quivered as if he were murmuring a prayer in a low voice.
Considering, therefore, that, for the present at least, his attentions
were no longer needed by his patient, the stranger rose, took his rifle,
leant his crossed hands on the muzzle, and awaited stoically, after
giving a look round the clearing, whose gloomy and hateful expression
caused the Indian Chief to give a start of terror in his leafy hiding
place.
Several minutes elapsed, during which no sound was audible, save the
rustling of the stream over its bed, and the mysterious murmur of the
insects of all descriptions hidden beneath the grass.
At length the man lying on the ground made a second movement, stronger
than the first, and opened his eyes.
After looking wildly around him, his eyes were fastened with a species
of strange fascination on the tall old man, still standing motionless by
his side, and who gazed on him in return with a mingled feeling of
ironical compassion and sombre melancholy.
"Thanks," he at last murmured, in a weak voice.
"Thanks for what?" the stranger asked, harshly.
"Thanks for having saved my life, brother," the sufferer answered.
"I am not your brother, monk," the stranger said, mockingly; "I am a
heretic, a gringo, as you are pleased to call us; look at me, you have
not examined me yet with sufficient attention; have I not horns and
goat's feet?"
These words were uttered with such a sarcastic accent, that the monk was
momentarily confounded.
"Who are you, then?" he at length asked, with secret apprehension.
"What does that concern you?" the other said, with an ill-omened laugh;
"The demon, mayhap."
The monk made a sudden effort to rise, and crossed himself repeatedly.
"May Heaven save me from falling into the hands of the Evil Spirit!" he
added.
"Well, you ass," the other said, as he shrugged his shoulders
contemptuously, "reassure yourself, I am not the demon, but a man like
yourself, perhaps not quite so hypocritical, though, that's the only
difference."
"Do you speak truly? Are you really one of my fellow men, disposed to
serve me?"
"Who can answer for the future?" the stranger replied, with an
enigmatical smile; "Up to the present, at any rate, you have had no
cause of complaint against me.
"No, oh no, I do not think so, although since my fainting fit my ideas
have been quite confused, and I can remember nothing."
"What do I care? That does not concern me, for I ask nothing of you; I
have enough business of my own not to trouble myself with that of
others. Come, do you feel better? Have you recovered sufficiently to
continue your journey?"
"What! continue my journey?" the monk asked timidly; "Do you intend to
abandon me then?"
"Why not? I have already wasted too much time with you, and must attend
to my own affairs."
"What?" the monk objected, "After the interest you have so benevolently
taken in me, you would have the courage to abandon me thus when almost
dead, and not caring what may happen to me after your departure?"
"Why not? I do not know you, and have no occasion to help you.
Accidentally crossing this clearing, I noticed you lying breathless and
pale as a corpse. I gave you that ease which is refused to no one in the
desert; now that you have returned to life, I can no longer be of
service to you, so I am off; what can be more simple or logical?
Goodbye, and may the demon, for whom you took me just now, grant you his
protection!"
After uttering these words in a tone of sarcasm and bitter irony, the
stranger threw his rifle over his shoulder, and walked a few paces
toward his horse.
"Stay, in Heaven's name!" the monk exclaimed, as he rose with greater
haste than with his weakness seemed possible, but fear produced the
strength; "What will become of me alone in this desert?"
"That does not concern me," the stranger answered, as he coolly loosed
the arm of his zarapé, which the monk had seized; "is not the maxim of
the desert, each for himself?"
"Listen," the monk said eagerly; "my name is Fray Antonio, and I am
wealthy: if you protect me, I will reward you handsomely."
The stranger smiled contemptuously.
"What have you to fear? you are young, stout, and well armed; are you
not capable of protecting yourself?"
"No, because I am pursued by implacable enemies. Last night they
inflicted on me horrible and degrading torture, and I only managed with
great difficulty to escape from their clutches. This morning accident
brought me across two of these men. On seeing them a species of raging
madness possessed me; the idea of avenging myself occurred to me; I
aimed at them, and fired, and then fled, not knowing whither I was
going, mad with rage and terror; on reaching this spot I fell, crushed
and exhausted, as much through the sufferings I endured this night, as
through the fatigues caused by a long and headlong race along abominable
roads. These men are doubtless pursuing me; if they find me--and they
will do so, for they are wood-rangers, perfectly acquainted with the
desert--they will kill me without pity; my only hope is in you, so in
the name of what you hold dearest on earth, save me! Save me, and my
gratitude will be unbounded."
The stranger had listened to this long and pathetic pleading without
moving a muscle of his face. When the monk ceased, with breath and
argument equally exhausted, he rested the butt of his rifle on the
ground.
"All that you say may be true," he answered drily, "but I care as little
for it as I do for a flash in the pan; get out of the affair as you
think proper, for your entreaties are useless; if you knew who I am, you
would very soon give up tormenting my ears with your jabbering."
The monk fixed a terrified look on the strange man, not knowing what to
say to him, or the means he should employ to reach his heart.
"Who are you then?" he asked him, rather for the sake of saying
something than in the hope of an answer.
"Who I am?" he said, with an ironical smile, "You would like to know.
Very good, listen in your turn; I have only a few words to say, but they
will ice the blood in your veins with terror; I am the man called the
White Scalper, the Pitiless one!"
The monk tottered back a few paces, and clasped his hands with an
effort.
"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, frenziedly; "I am lost!"
At this moment the hoot of an owl was heard a short distance off. The
hunter started.
"Some one was listening to us!" he exclaimed, and rushed rapidly to the
side whence the signal came, while the monk, half dead with terror, fell
on his knees, and addressed a fervent prayer to Heaven.