JOHN DAVIS.
John Davis, the ex-slave dealer, had too powerful nerves for the scenes
he had witnessed this day, and in which he had even played a very active
and dangerous part, to leave any durable impressions on his mind.
After quitting Blue-fox, he galloped on for some time in the direction
where he expected to find the Jaguar; but gradually he yielded to his
thoughts, and his horse, understanding with that admirable instinct
which distinguishes these noble animals, that its rider was paying no
attention to it, gradually reduced its pace, passing from the gallop to
a trot, and then to a foot-pace, walking with its head down, and
snapping at a few blades of grass as it passed.
John Davis was considerably perplexed by the conduct of one of the
persons with whom accident had brought him in contact on this morning so
fertile in events of every description. The person who had the privilege
of arousing the American's attention to no eminent degree was the White
Scalper.
The heroic struggle sustained by this man alone against a swarm of
obstinate enemies, his herculean strength, the skill with which he
managed his horse--all in this strange man seemed to him to border on
the marvellous.
During bivouac watches on the prairie he had frequently heard the most
extraordinary and exaggerated stories told about this hunter by the
Indians with, a terror, the reason of which he comprehended, now that he
had seen the man; for this individual who laughed at weapons directed
against his chest, and ever emerged safe and sound from the combats he
engaged in, seemed rather a demon than a being appertaining to humanity.
John Davis felt himself shudder involuntarily at this thought, and
congratulated himself in having so miraculously escaped the danger he
had incurred in his encounter with the Scalper.
We will mention, in passing, that no people in the world are more
superstitious than the North Americans. This is easy to understand: this
nation--a perfect harlequin's garb--is an heterogeneous composite of all
the races that people the old world; each of the representatives of
these races arrived in America, bearing in his emigrants' baggage not
only his vices and passions, but also his creed and his superstitions,
which are the wildest, most absurd, and puerile possible. This was the
more easily effected, because the mass of emigrants, who have at various
periods sought a refuge in America, was composed of people for the most
part devoid of all learning, or even of a semblance of education; from
this point of view, the North Americans, we must do them the justice of
saying, have not at all degenerated; they are at the present day at
least as ignorant and brutal as were their ancestors.
It is easy to imagine the strange number of legends about sorcerers and
phantoms which are current in North America. These legends, preserved by
tradition, passing from mouth to mouth, and with time becoming mingled
one with the other, have necessarily been heightened in a country where
the grand aspect of nature renders the mind prone to reverie and
melancholy.
Hence John Davis, though he flattered himself he was a strong-minded
man, did not fail, like all his countrymen, to possess a strong dose of
credulity; and this man, who would not have recoiled at the sight of
several muskets pointed at his breast, felt himself shiver with fear at
the sound of a leaf falling at night on his shoulder.
Moreover, so soon as the idea occurred to John Davis that the White
Scalper was a demon, or, at the very least, a sorcerer, it got hold of
him, and this supposition straightway became an article of belief with
him. Naturally, he found himself at once relieved by this discovery; his
ideas returned to their usual current, and the anxiety that occupied his
mind disappeared as if by enchantment; henceforth his opinion was formed
about this man, and if accident again brought them face to face, he
would know how to behave to him.
Happy at having at length found this solution, he gaily raised his head,
and took a long searching look around him at the landscape he was riding
through.
He was nearly in the centre of a vast rolling prairie, covered with tall
grass, and with a few clumps of mahogany and pine trees scattered here
and there.
Suddenly he rose in his stirrups, placed his hand as a shade over his
eyes, and looked attentively.
About half a mile from the spot where he had halted, and a little to the
right, that is to say, exactly in the direction he intended to follow
himself, he noticed a thin column of smoke, which rose from the middle
of a thicket of aloe and larch trees.
On the desert, smoke seen by the wayside always furnishes ample matter
for reflection.
Smoke generally rises from a fire round which several persons are
seated.
Now man, in this more unfortunate than the wild beasts, fears before all
else on the prairie meeting with his fellow-man, for he may wager a
hundred to one that the man he meets will prove an enemy.
Still John Davis, after ripe consideration, resolved to push on toward
the fire; since morning he had been fasting, hunger was beginning to
prick him, and in addition he felt excessively fatigued; he therefore
inspected his weapons with the most scrupulous attention, so as to be
able to have recourse to them if necessary, and digging the spur into
his horse's flank, he went on boldly toward the smoke, while carefully
watching the neighbourhood for fear of a surprise.
At the end of ten minutes he reached his destination; but when fifty
yards from the clump of trees, he checked the speed of his horse, and
laid his rifle across the saddle-bow; his face lost the anxious
expression which had covered it, and he advanced toward the fire with a
smile on his lips, and the most friendly air imaginable.
In the midst of a thick clump of trees, whose protecting shade offered a
comfortable shelter to a weary traveller, a man dressed in the costume
of a Mexican dragoon was lazily seated in front of a fire, over which
his meat was cooking, while himself smoked a husk cigarette. A long
lance decorated with its guidon leaned against a larch tree close to
him, and a completely harnessed horse, from which the bit had, however,
been removed, was peaceably nibbling the tree shoots and the tender
prairie grass.
This man seemed to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age; his
cunning features were lit up by small sharp eyes, and the copper tinge
of his skin denoted his Indian origin.
He had for a long time seen the horseman coming toward his camp, but he
appeared to attach but slight importance to it, and quietly went on
smoking and watching the cooking of his meal, not taking any further
precaution against the unforeseen visitor than assuring himself that his
sabre came easily out of its scabbard. When he was only a few paces from
the soldier, John Davis stopped and raised his hand to his hat.
"Ave Maria Purísima!" he said.
"Sin pecado concebida!" the dragoon answered, imitating the American's
gesture.
"Santas tardes!" the new comer went on.
"Dios les da a Vm buenas!" the other immediately answered.
These necessary formulas of every meeting exhausted, the ice was broken,
and the acquaintance made.
"Dismount, Caballero," the dragoon said; "the heat is stifling on the
prairie; I have here a famous shade, and in this little pot cecina, with
red harico beans and pimento, which I think you will like, if you do me
the honour to share my repast."
"I readily accept your flattering invitation, Caballero," the American
answered with a smile; "the more readily because I confess to you that I
am literally starving, and, moreover, exhausted with fatigue."
"Caray! In that case I congratulate myself on the fortunate accident
that occasions our meeting, so pray dismount without further delay."
"I am going to do so."
The American at once got off his horse, removed the bit, and the noble
animal immediately joined its companion, while its master fell to the
ground by the dragoon's side, with a sigh of satisfaction.
"You seem to have made a long ride, Caballero?" the soldier said.
"Yes," the American answered, "I have been on horseback for ten hours,
not to mention that I spent the morning in fighting."
"Cristo! You have had hard work of it."
"You may say so without any risk of telling an untruth; for, on the word
of a hunter, I never had such a tough job."
"You are a hunter?"
"At your service."
"A fine profession," the soldier said with a sigh; "I have been one
too."
"And you regret it?"
"Daily."
"I can understand that. Once a man has tasted the joys of desert life,
he always wishes to return to it."
"Alas, that is true."
"Why did you give it up then, since you liked it so much?"
"Ah, why!" the soldier said; "through love."
"What do you mean?"
"Yes, a child with whom I was so foolish as to fall in love, and who
persuaded me to enlist."
"Oh, hang it!"
"Yes, and I had scarce put on my uniform, when she told me she was
mistaken about me: that, thus dressed, I was much uglier than she could
have supposed; in short, she left me in the lurch to run after an
arriero."
The American could not refrain from laughing at this singular story.
"It is sad, is it not?" the soldier continued.
"Very sad," John Davis answered, trying in vain to regain his gravity.
"What would you have?" the soldier added gloomily; "the world is only
one huge deception. But," he added with a sudden change of his tone, "I
fancy our dinner is ready--I smell something which warns me that it is
time to take off the pot."
As John Davis had naturally no objection to offer to this resolution of
the soldier, the latter at once carried it into effect; the pot was
taken off the fire and placed before the two guests, who began such a
vigorous attack, that it was soon empty, in spite of its decent
capacity.
This excellent meal was washed down with a few mouthfuls of Catalonian
refino, with which the soldier appeared amply provided.
All was terminated with the indispensable cigarette, that obligato
complement of every Hispano-American meal, and the two men, revived by
the good food with which they had lined their stomachs, were soon in an
excellent condition to open their hearts to each other.
"You seem to me a man of caution, Caballero," the American remarked, as
he puffed out an immense mouthful of smoke, part of which came from his
mouth, and part from his nostrils.
"It is a reminiscence of my old hunter's trade. Soldiers generally are
not nearly so careful as I am."
"The more I observe you," John Davis went on, "the more extraordinary
does it appear to me that you should have consented to take up a
profession so badly paid as that of a soldier."
"What would you have? It is fatality, and then the impossibility of
sending the uniform to the deuce. However, I hope to be made a _Cabo_
before the year's out."
"That is a fine position, as I have heard; the pay must be good."
"It would not be bad, if we received it."
"What do you mean?"
"It seems that the government is not rich."
"Then, you give it credit?"
"We are obliged to do so."
"Hang it! but forgive me for asking you all these questions, which must
appear to you indiscreet."
"Not at all; we are talking as friends."
"How do you live?"
"Well, we have casualties."
"What may they be?"
"Do you not know?"
"Indeed, I do not."
"I will explain."
"You will cause me pleasure."
"Sometimes our Captain or General entrusts us with a mission."
"Very good."
"This mission is paid for separately; the more dangerous it is, the
larger the amount."
"Still on credit?"
"No, hang it; in advance."
"That is better. And have you many of these missions?"
"Frequently, especially during a pronunciamento."
"Yes, but for nearly a year no General has pronounced."
"Unluckily."
"Then you are quite dry?"
"Not quite."
"You have had missions?"
"I have one at this moment."
"Well paid?"
"Decently."
"Would there be any harm in asking how much?"
"Not at all; I have received twenty-five ounces."
"Cristo! that is a nice sum. The mission must be a dangerous one to be
paid so highly."
"It is not without peril."
"Hum! In that case take care."
"Thank you, but I run no heavy risk; I have only to deliver a letter."
"It is true that a letter--" the American carelessly remarked.
"Oh! this one is more important than you fancy it."
"Nonsense!"
"On my honour it is, for it concerns some millions of dollars."
"What is that you say?" John Davis exclaimed with an involuntary start.
Since his meeting with the soldier, the hunter had quietly worked to get
him to reveal the reason that brought him into these parts, for the
presence of a single dragoon on the desert seemed to him queer, and for
good reason; hence it was with great pleasure that he saw him fall into
the trap set for him.
"Yes," the soldier continued, "General Rubio, whose asistente I am, has
sent me as an express to meet Captain Melendez, who at this moment is
escorting a conducta de plata."
"Do you mean that really?"
"Do I not tell you that I have the letter about me?"
"That is true; but for what purpose does the General write to the
Captain?"
The soldier looked for a moment cunningly at the hunter, and then
suddenly changed his tone.
"Will you play fair?" he asked him, as he looked him full in the face.
The hunter smiled.
"Good," the soldier continued; "I see that we can understand one
another."
"Why not? those are the conditions that suit Caballeros."
"Then, we play fair?"
"That is agreed."
"Confess that you would like to know the contents of this letter."
"Through simple curiosity, I swear to you."
"Of course! I felt assured of that. Well, it only depends on yourself to
know them."
"I will not take long then; let me hear your conditions."
"They are simple."
"Tell me them for all that."
"Look at me carefully; do you not recognize me?"
"On my honour, I do not."
"That proves to me that I have a better memory than you."
"It is possible."
"I recognize you."
"You may have seen me somewhere."
"Very likely, but that is of little consequence; the main point is that
I should know who you are."
"Oh, a simple hunter."
"Yes, and an intimate friend of the Jaguar."
"What!" the hunter exclaimed with a start of surprise.
"Do not be frightened at such a trifle: answer me simply; is it so or
not?"
"It is true; I do not see why I should hide the fact from you."
"You would be wrong if you did. Where is the Jaguar at this moment?"
"I do not know."
"That is to say, you will not tell me."
"You have guessed it."
"Good. Could you tell me, if I wished you to lead me to him?"
"I see no reason to prevent it, if the affair is worth your while."
"Have I not told you that it related to millions?"
"You did, but you did not prove it."
"And you wish me to give you that proof?"
"Nothing else."
"That is rather difficult."
"No, it is not."
"How so?"
"Hang it, I am a good fellow; I only want to cover my responsibility;
show me the letter, I ask no more."
"And that will satisfy you?"
"Yes, because I know the General's handwriting."
"Oh, in that case, it is all right," and drawing a large envelope from
his breast, he said as he showed it to the American, though without
loosing his hold, "Look!"
The latter looked at it closely for some minutes.
"It is really the General's handwriting," the soldier continued.
"Yes,"
"Now, do you consent to lead me to the Jaguar?"
"Whenever you like."
"At once then."
"Very good."
The two men rose by mutual agreement, put the bits in their horses'
mouths, leaped into their saddles, and left at a gallop the spot which
for several hours had afforded them such pleasant shade.