Bois-Rose, as already stated, had gone alone in a direction opposite to
that taken by his comrades. His mind full of the danger with which
Fabian was surrounded--Fabian restored to him as if by a miracle--the
Canadian continued to advance with rapid strides. He examined every
opening and aisle of the forest with an eye keenly bent, and an ear
straining to catch the slightest sound.
After making a distance of a hundred yards or so, he stopped in his
tracks, and laying himself flat along the grass, placed his ear to the
ground and listened attentively. In a few seconds' time a dull sound
reached him--the hoof-strokes of a horse that seemed to approach the
spot where he lay.
"Pepe is right," muttered he to himself, as he started to his feet; "the
skunk is coming this way. Good! he has the advantage of me in being
mounted; but I have a rifle that I dare say will make up for the
difference--_enfant de grace_! he is here!"
As this exclamation escaped him, the trapper was seen suddenly to raise
his long rifle to his shoulder. At the same instant a leathern jacket
of yellowish colour appeared at some distance off among the leaves, and
at about the height of a man on horseback.
The sharp crack of a rifle was instantly followed by the disappearance
of the leathern jacket: and, since for marksmen like Bois-Rose to take
aim is to hit, the latter had no doubt that his enemy had fallen to the
ground either dead or wounded. For a moment he thought of reloading;
but the ardour of his vengeance urged him to rush forward and make sure
of his victim. In the event that the assassin should have companions,
the trapper trusted to his great strength to equalise the chances of a
hand-to-hand conflict. Neglecting all further precautions, therefore,
like the hunter rushing upon the wounded stag, he dashed forward through
the trees toward the spot where his enemy had fallen.
As he drew near, he could perceive a horse rearing furiously in front of
him, crushing the underwood as he plunged violently from side to side.
The horse was saddled and bridled, but there was no one in the saddle.
This led Bois-Rose to the belief that his bullet had dismounted the
rider.
All at once a shrill whistle rang through the trees; and the horse
uttered a loud neigh--as if in reply--galloping off in the direction
from which the signal had come. After making several lengths through
the bushes, the horse came to a stop. Bois-Rose ran after, and in a few
bounds was beside the animal. It was still dark under the shadow of the
trees, but the Canadian could make out the form of a man upon the
ground, at that moment struggling in the act of raising himself. Just
then the horse dropped upon his knees, the man grasping the pommel of
the saddle succeeded in crawling into it; a signal started the animal to
his feet again; and before the trapper could come up to the spot, both
horse and man were fast disappearing behind the foliage of the trees.
Bois-Rose launched after them a furious malediction; and reloading his
rifle as rapidly as he could, sent a bullet in the same direction; but
the continued strokes of the horse's feet falling upon his ear told him
that his random shot had been delivered to no purpose.
Without following further, he turned in the opposite direction, and
after imitating three times in succession, the howling of the prairie
wolf--a signal for Pepe--he strode off to the spot where the yellow
jacket had fallen from the saddle.
There he perceived the grass pressed down as if where a man's body had
fallen upon it; and at about the height of a man on horseback, the
branches of the sumac tree were broken, as though the horseman had
caught at them in falling. There were no traces of blood, however--not
a drop could be seen; but a carbine lying upon the ground showed that
the horseman, in his hurry to escape, had left his weapon behind him.
"My poor Fabian!" muttered he, "this will serve for him. In these woods
a knife is not much worth; this will be a better weapon for him."
Somewhat consoled by this reflection, the trapper now turned to go back
in the direction of the camp-fire. He had not made a dozen steps, when
the sharp report of a rifle fell upon his ear.
"It is Pepe's!" he cried. "I know it. God grant he may have made a
better shot than I have done!"
Just then a second report echoed through the woods. It sounded sadly on
the ear of the Canadian--who did not recognise it--and being now the
victim of a terrible uncertainty, he ran with all speed in the direction
whence the sound had come.
Another report that now reached him added to the anguish of his
suspense; for this time, like the last, it was not the well-known crack
of his comrade's rifle.
Almost at the same instant, however, he heard Pepe's voice calling out:
"Come back, Fabian! come back! What is the use of--"
A third detonation seemed to cut short the speech of the
ex-coast-guard--as if he had fallen by the bullet--while no voice of
Fabian was heard to make reply. A profound and frightful silence
followed the last shot, which was broken only by the voice of the
mock-bird, who appeared imperfectly to imitate the words that had been
spoken, and then commenced chanting a plaintive song--as if mourning the
death of those who had fallen by the shots.
The Canadian ran on for some moments, until--unable longer to restrain
himself--he paused, and cried out, at the risk of exposing himself to
some ambushed enemy:
"Hola! Pepe!--where are you?"
"Here!" answered the voice of the ex-carabinier. "We are here, straight
before you--Don Fabian and myself. Come on!"
A cry of joy was all the response the Canadian could give; and the next
moment another joyous shout, as he came upon the ground and perceived
that both his companions were still in safety.
"The skunk ought to be wounded," said he; "my shot caused him to tumble
out of his saddle. You were perhaps more fortunate than I? I heard
your piece speak--have you throwed him, Pepe?"
Pepe shook his head in the negative.
"If you mean the fellow in the yellow jacket," said he, "I fancy the
devil has _him_ under his protection; for I had a fair sight on him--and
yet he's off! He's not alone, however; there are four other horsemen
along with him; and in one of these gentleman I have recognised him whom
they here call Don Estevan de Arechiza, but who is no other than--"
"I have seen only the fellow in the leather jacket," interrupted the
Canadian; "and here is his gun, Fabian, for you. But are you quite
safe?" continued he, in an anxious tone. "You are sure you are not
wounded?"
"No, no--my friend--my father!" cried Fabian, flinging himself into the
trapper's arms, as if they had just met after a long separation.
"Oh, Pepe!" cried the Canadian, his eyes filling with tears, as he
pressed Fabian convulsively against his great bosom, and then held him
at a distance as if to get a better view of him. "Is he not grand? Is
he not beautiful? He--once my little Fabian--oh!"
"Pepe has told me all," said Fabian. "Among these men is the murderer
of my mother."
"Yes," exclaimed Pepe; "and by the Virgin of Atocha let us not delay
here. There is no time for sentiment--the villain must not escape us.
Justice, so long evaded, must now have its due."
"As God wills!" rejoined Fabian.
The three friends now held a rapid council as to what course was best to
be taken. It was concluded by their resolving to follow the horsemen as
rapidly as possible along the road which these had taken--the road to
Tubac.