ON THE TRAIL.
Oliver Clary left Don Melchior's room in a very thoughtful state; the
count followed him, not venturing to address him, as he seemed so
preoccupied. On reaching the patio, where peons were holding two horses
for them, the adventurer stopped, struck his forehead, and then turning
to the count, said--
"You cannot come with me."
"Why not?" the count asked; "Where are you going?"
"How do I know? That young man's calm and resigned grief crushes my
heart, and I am going to seek some consolation for him at all hazards."
"You are kind."
"No, I have suffered. I know grief, and pity the unhappy; that is all.
Remain here; you will not be of the slightest use to me in what I am
about to attempt; your presence, on the contrary, might be injurious to
me and to yourself. You had better wait for me here. Watch that young
man carefully and show him the greatest kindness. Perhaps, on my return
I shall tell you more; I have a doubt on my mind which I am anxious to
clear up. Heaven grant that I may meet the man in search of whom I am
going. One word more: if I do not return at the hour settled, use your
influence over Don Melchior to keep him patient. Farewell, I am about
to attempt impossibilities."
And leaving the count amazed, and not at all understanding these
mysterious and apparently unconnected remarks, the adventurer leapt on
his horse, and galloped down the steep hill at the risk of breaking
his neck twenty times. So soon as he had crossed the stream and found
himself in the open country, the Canadian checked his horse's pace,
turned its head in the direction of the Río Grande del Norte, and put
on his considering cap.
The worthy Canadian, with the reckless temerity characteristic of
the wood rangers, had formed the plan of setting out in search of a
village or encampment of Indios bravos, as he felt convinced, after
what had occurred a few days previously, that there must be one in the
neighbourhood. By joining the redskins he would have no difficulty,
thanks to his thorough knowledge of Indian manners, in obtaining
information about the fate of the ladies, which would enable him
afterwards to attempt one of those daring strokes to which he was
accustomed, and which had so often proved successful.
The idea was good, but the execution offered extraordinary
difficulties. A trail is a very awkward thing to follow in a desert or
in a savage country, where there are no other tracks but those made by
wild beasts. Still, a good wood ranger, when he has once discovered
the beginning of a trail, however confused it may be, always succeeds
in reaching the other end. But the trail must exist, that is to say,
some sign, however fugitive or slight, must warn the hunter in what
direction the people he is pursuing have gone. But, under the present
circumstances, that was not the Canadian's situation; the trail he
proposed to follow he must, to a certain extent, invent, as he was
entering the desert without any settled purpose, and entirely trusting
to chance, that great performer of miracles.
The adventurer did not conceal from himself the difficulties of his
enterprise, hence, he tried, as far as possible, to get chance over
to his side. When he had forded the river and found himself on Indian
territory, the hunter carefully inspected his weapons, in the probable
event of his being obliged to use them; then, after riding for about a
mile straight ahead, he threw the bridle on his horse's neck and let
it follow its own impulses, and that infallible instinct which animals
possess, and which puts human reason to shame. After a few moments'
hesitation, the noble animal shook its head several times, stretched
out its neck, and suddenly seeming to form a determination, started
in a direction exactly opposite to that which its master had hitherto
compelled it to follow.
"Good," the Canadian said, "I'll bet two jaguar skins to a muskrat's
that we shall soon have some news."
And he let his horse go on, contenting himself with carefully
examining the thick scrub he passed and the tall grass through which
he rode with great difficulty, in order not to let himself be attacked
unawares by an invisible foe. It was about nine in the morning, the
hour most pleasant for travelling in these torrid latitudes. For about
an hour the Canadian thus advanced haphazard, when suddenly a bullet
whizzed past his ear.
"Who is the clumsy scoundrel turning me into a target?" the hunter
said, coolly, as he halted and looked around; "Devil take the animal
for missing me so stupidly."
A slight smoke, which rose a short distance off, from the grass,
soon indicated to him the spot whence the shot was fired; without
hesitation, he dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and dashed in
that direction, resolved to take a prompt revenge for this unfair
attack. But almost immediately a hurried motion commenced in the tall
grass; it parted under the pressure of a vigorous hand, and an Indian
appeared. It was Running Water, holding in his hand the gun he had just
used, the barrel of which was still smoking.
"Hang it, chief," the Canadian said gaily, "it must be confessed that
you have a strange way of putting your question."
"My brother must pardon me; it is not my fault," the Indian answered.
"That you missed me," the Canadian interrupted him laughingly. "By
Jove, I am convinced of that, for the bullet almost passed through my
hair."
"My brother will not understand me. I did not recognize him. Had I done
so, I should not have fired on the man to whom I owe my life."
"Nonsense! On the prairie that is of no consequence, chief; but,
excepting the rather rough way in which you bade me welcome, I am
delighted at having met you."
"My brother is now the friend of a chief; he is in safety on our
hunting grounds."
"So it seems," the adventurer replied mockingly.
Running Water's face assumed an expression of sorrow.
"My brother, then, will not pardon an unhappy mistake, at which he sees
his friend broken-hearted."
"Come, come, chief, let us say no more about it; there was more noise
than hurt. I am glad to see you at liberty again, and, according to
appearances, in good case. You have not taken long to procure weapons."
"The chief is on his own territory," the Indian answered, with a flash
of pride.
"Very good, I admit that, although I fancy you venture rather close to
the Spanish border."
"I am not alone."
"That is probable. I do not wish to know the motives that bring you to
these parts; that is your business, although I suspect a hearty Indian
revenge behind it."
An evil smile played round the chief's thin lips.
"Vengeance is the virtue of the red men," he answered in a hollow
voice; "they never forget kindness and never pardon wrong."
"I am aware of that, chief, and I cannot blame you, for every man acts
according to his instincts."
"Is my brother on the hunting trail?"
"I am on no trail, chief, I am rambling about for amusement."
Running Water gave a distrustful look, for Indians never allow that
anyone does anything without a motive.
"Then my brother is not going anywhere?" he continued.
"Indeed no, I am letting my horse guide me."
"Wah! My brother is very merry."
"It is the case, I assure you; and the proof is that so soon as I leave
you I shall turn back."
The Indian reflected for a moment.
"Will my brother consent to smoke the calumet at the fire of a chief?"
"I do not see any obstacle. Indian hospitality is great; and my ride
has given me an appetite which I shall not be sorry to appease."
"Good; my brother will have no cause to complain of his friend. Let him
follow, and he will soon be able to satisfy his hunger."
"Go on then, chief, and I will walk in your footsteps."
The Indian turned away, and re-entered the tall grass, where the hunter
followed him without hesitation. Their march lasted but a few minutes,
and they reached the camp of the Comanches, which was so well concealed
among trees and bushes, that the Canadian might have passed close by
and not noticed it. The Indians display extraordinary skill in the
choice of their temporary encampments on the prairie; the most skilful
hunter cannot compete with them in the cleverness with which they hide
their presence, however large their numbers may be. Hence the camp
which the Canadian now reached was composed of upwards of two hundred
Indians, and yet nothing led him to suspect that he was so near them.
A thing that greatly surprised the hunter was, that he noticed a
considerable number of women and children in camp. The redskins rarely
travel with their families, unless they are going to change their
abode. The periods of these migrations is indicated beforehand, and the
year was not sufficiently advanced for the Comanches to leave their
winter village, or dare to venture so near the Spanish border. Still,
as a good diplomatist, the Canadian, in spite of the suspicions that
began to spring up in his mind, seemed to attach no importance to this
unusual circumstance, and did not make the slightest allusion to a
subject which would doubtless arouse the distrust of his suspicious
hosts.
The reception which the Comanches gave him was most cordial; Running
Water especially, by all sorts of attentions, sought to make Clary
forget the rather rough manner in which he had accosted him. The
latter met the chief's advances halfway, and the most frank cordiality
continued to preside over their chance meeting. When the breakfast,
simple, like all Indian meals, and entirely composed of venison,
was ended, the guests lit their pipes, and each began talking upon
indifferent matters.
Still the Canadian did not let out of sight the motive which had urged
him to enter the prairie; and while smoking, he thought over the means
of quietly veering the conversation round to the point he desired,
although he did not dare ask the chief any direct question, for he was
aware of his craft. The pretext which the hunter vainly sought, Running
Water very naturally supplied, in the following way. As usually happens
between men accustomed to a desert life, the conversation gradually
settled upon hunting, an always interesting and inexhaustible subject
between Indians and wood rangers.
"My brother knows that the moon of the wild oats will soon begin," said
the chief, "and that it is the period when the buffalo chase is most
productive."
"I do," the Canadian replied.
"Will my brother hunt the buffalo?"
"I should like to do so, but unluckily I am very slightly acquainted
with this country. The buffalo is an animal only found in herds, and a
single man could not hunt it advantageously. My companions have left
me, and I am alone, hence I shall be obliged to set traps during the
coming season."
"A poor trade for a brave man," the chief remarked.
"You are right, but what can I do? No man can be expected to perform
impossibilities. I regret more than I can tell you the loss of this
season; but I am compelled to put up with it."
"The Comanches are the first hunters of the prairie," the chief said
with emphasis; "the tribe of the Red Buffaloes is renowned; their totem
is a buffalo."
"I have heard the skill and courage of the warriors of your tribe
highly spoken of, chief."
The sachem smiled proudly.
"The buffaloes are our cousins," he said; "when we hunt them they know
that it is because we have need of their meat and skins, and they allow
us to capture them in order to do us a service."
The Canadian gave a silent nod of assent. He was aware of the redskin
superstition, which makes them believe that each of their tribes is
descended from some animal, and he considered it unnecessary to open a
discussion, which could have no satisfactory result, on the point.
The chief continued--
"Why will not my brother the Sumach hunt in company with the Red
Buffaloes?"
The Canadian shook his head, although he felt great pleasure at this
unexpected overture, for the Indians are very jealous of their hunting
grounds, and the greatest proof of friendship they can give a man is to
make him such an offer.
"For several reasons, chief," he answered; "my ammunition is nearly
exhausted, I must procure more, and the road is long to the first town
where I can obtain good powder. Moreover, you seem to be travelling
at this moment. Who knows whether I shall be able to find you on my
return?"
"Wah, my brother is a skilful paleface hunter; it is easy for him to
follow a friend's trail."
"Yes, if it is not old, and a fresh one has not crossed it."
Running Water reflected for a moment, during which the Canadian
anxiously awaited the result of his meditation.
"Let my brother listen," the sachem at last went on, "the hunt will not
begin till the ninth sun from this; that is more time than he requires
to fetch his powder and return."
"I grant it."
"Good! The Red Buffaloes are not travelling; they are going to a grand
assembly of their nations to witness a sacrifice of prisoners."
"Ah!" the hunter said with capitally feigned surprise, "I did not know
that the Comanches had made an expedition against the Apache dogs?"
"The Apaches are cowardly knaves," the chief answered; "they have
buried the hatchet so deep that they would be unable to find it, and
lift it against the Comanches. The prisoners are palefaces."
While uttering these words, the sachem fixed a searching glance on the
hunter, but the latter did not blench.
"That is of no concern of mine, chief," he replied carelessly,
"especially if the prisoners are Spaniards."
"My brother does not love the Spaniards?"
"I should think not, the chief must remember the place where he met me
a short time back."
"That is true; my brother has not a deceitful tongue, he is the friend
of the redskins."
"I think I have proved that to you."
"Good! Running Water is one of the first sachems of his nation, his
word is good; let my brother go and fetch his ammunition, he will find
the chief at the gathering place appointed for the tribe."
"Very good, but where is it?"
"All the hunters know it; it is the teocali of Zoltepec; will my
brother come?"
"I will try, chief; but, as you know, men are subject to the will of
the master of life. If I missed the appointment you so graciously make
with me, you must not be angry."
"The chase will not begin before the eighth sun of the coming moon. The
chief will wait for his brother the Sumach until the second sun before
the hunt."
"Oh, in that case," the hunter answered, not wishing to press the point
further for fear of offending the chief, "you can count on me, I have
more time than I require to settle my affairs, and be punctual at the
meeting."
Matters thus arranged, the conversation took another turn. The Canadian
remained for nearly an hour longer at the Comanche encampment, and
then took his leave; the sachem repeated his invitation, and the two
men separated, after many protestations of friendship, really well
satisfied with each other. Running Water was delighted at having found
an opportunity to pay the debt of gratitude he had contracted with the
man who saved his life. As for the hunter, he was still better pleased,
for he believed that he had obtained positive information as to the
spot where the two unhappy captives were and the fate reserved for
them. After leaving the Comanches, the Canadian started at a gallop for
the hacienda, which he reached an hour before the time he had himself
considered as the probable duration of his absence. The count, and
especially Don Melchior, were awaiting his return impatiently. Clary,
without loss of time, informed them of what he had done, and told them
in the fullest details all he had picked up from Running Water.
"Now," he said, in conclusion, "I believe we have no other alternative
than to return to our old plan; it is the wisest, and only one that
offers a chance of success. Moonshine, with a dozen of his comrades,
will get on the trail of the Indians, and--"
"But you?" the count interrupted.
"I have contracted obligations to the chief of the Red Buffaloes, which
prevent my doing anything against them."
"That is true," the count remarked.
"So," the hunter added, "remain here, Don Melchior; within two days
you will have a reinforcement enabling you to attempt the deliverance
of the two most unhappy ladies; by acting otherwise you will only ruin
yourself and them."
"Thanks," the young man replied, in a hollow voice, and burying his
head in his hands, he took no further part in the conversation. An hour
later the count and the hunter mounted, and started in the direction of
the Hacienda del Barrio.
"The poor boy is very sad," the count remarked.
"I am afraid he will commit some folly," the hunter replied, with a
shake of the head.