In the calm which succeeded to the noise of the combat, a single man
rose slowly up, and by the light of a torch which he held, examined all
the corpses lying at his feet, as if seeking to identify the livid or
bloody faces of the dead. Sometimes the light fell on the strange paint
of an Indian face, and the pale one of a white man, lying side by side
in an eternal sleep; occasionally a deep groan proceeded from some one
who was wounded, but the seeker did not appear to find what he sought.
All at once, amidst the silence, a weak voice attracted his attention,
and he tried in the half-light to discover whence the sound proceeded.
The feeble movement of a hand guided him, and he approached the dying
man--in whom he immediately recognised Benito.
"Ah! it is you, my poor Benito?" said he, with a look of profound pity.
"Yes," replied the old shepherd, "it is old Benito, dying in the desert
where he has nearly always lived. As for me--I know not who you are; my
eyes are dim. Is Baraja living?"
"I trust so; he is now pursuing the Indians, and will return in time, I
hope, to bid you a last adieu."
"I doubt it," replied Benito; "I wished to teach him a verse of the hymn
for the dying. I can no longer remember it now. Do you not know
something?"
"Not a word."
"Ah! I must do without it," said Benito, whose accustomed stoicism did
not forsake him even at that moment. Then, in a still more feeble
voice, he added, "I have bequeathed to Baraja an old companion--an old
friend; whoever you may be, recommend him to observe my last request, to
love him as I did."
"A brother doubtless."
"Better than that; my horse."
"I shall remind him--do not fear."
"Thank you," said the old man. "As for myself, I have finished my
travels. The Indians did not kill me when they took me prisoner in my
youth--now they have killed me in my old age without taking me prisoner.
That--" he stopped, and then added some words in so low a tone that
they did not reach the ear of the listener. He spoke no more; those
were his last words, for death had abruptly ended his speech.
"He was a brave man--peace be with him!" said the speaker, who then
continued his search, until at last, fatigued by its uselessness, he
returned with an anxious look to his place, and after he had gone the
silence of death seemed to pervade the camp.
Before long, however, a confused noise of voices and horses' feet
indicated the return of the adventurers who had started in pursuit of
the Indians, and by the doubtful light of the half extinct fires, they
entered the camp.
The same man who had been recently inspecting the dead, went out to meet
them. While some of them were dismounting to open a passage through the
barricades, Pedro Diaz advanced towards him, a stream of blood flowing
from a wound in his forehead.
"Senor Don Estevan," said he, "we have not been lucky in our pursuit.
We have but wounded one or two of the Indians, and have lost one of our
own men. However I bring you a prisoner; do you wish to interrogate
him?"
So saying, Diaz detached his lasso from the saddle-bow, and pointed to a
mass held in its noose. It was an Indian, who, pitilessly dragged along
over the sand and stones, had left behind at every step pieces of flesh,
and now scarcely retained any vestige of humanity.
"He was alive when I took him, however," cried Diaz, "but it is just
like these dogs of Indians, he must have died in order not to tell
anything."
Without replying to this ferocious jest, Don Estevan signed to Diaz to
accompany him to a place where they might converse without being
overheard. When the new-comers had lain down and silence reigned anew,
Don Estevan began:
"Diaz," said he, "we are close on the end of our expedition: to-morrow,
as I told you, we shall encamp at the foot of those mountains; but in
order that success may crown our efforts, treason must not throw
obstacles in our way. It is on this subject that I wish to consult you
to-night. You have known Cuchillo long, but not so long as I have; and
certainly, not as thoroughly. From his earliest youth he has always
betrayed those to whom he appeared most devoted. I know not which of
all the vices with which he is endowed has the ascendant; but in a word,
the sinister look of his face is but a feeble reflection of the
blackness of his soul. It was he who sold to me the secret of the rich
and mysterious placer to which I am leading you--and of this secret he
had made himself the sole master by murdering the friend who had freely
confided it to him, and who thought to find him a faithful companion in
his dangers.
"I have ever, therefore, kept a watchful eye over him. His
disappearance for the last two days alarmed me, but it might have been
the result of an accident common in these deserts. The attack, however,
from which we have so narrowly escaped has confirmed my suspicions. He
has advanced under our protection, until we have reached the place where
he would, be able to seize a part of these immense treasures. He had
need of auxiliaries in order to murder our sixty men, and the Indians
who have attacked us were but his instruments."
"Indeed," replied Diaz, "his report seemed to me suspicious. But the
simplest method will be to hold a court-martial, interrogate him, and if
he be convicted of treason, let us shoot him at once."
"At the commencement of the attack, I assigned him a post near me, in
order to watch him more easily. I saw him totter and then fall
apparently mortally wounded, and I was glad to be rid of a traitor and a
coward. But I have just turned over and examined all the dead, and
Cuchillo is not amongst them. It is therefore urgent that without loss
of time we should follow him; he cannot be far off. You are accustomed
to this sort of expedition; we must, without delay, set off in pursuit
of him, and execute prompt justice on a villain whose life must pay for
his treachery."
Diaz appeared to reflect for a moment, and then said, "To trace him can
neither be tedious nor difficult. Cuchillo must have gone towards the
Golden Valley--therefore in that direction we must seek him."
"Go rest for an hour, for you must be worn out," said the chief. "Ah!
Diaz, if all these men were like you, how easy our path would be--gold
in one hand, and the sword in the other."
"I have only done my duty," said Diaz, simply.
"Say to our men that it is necessary for us to reconnoitre the environs
of the camp, and tell the sentinels to keep strict watch until our
return, and then we shall proceed towards the valley."
"Cuchillo must certainly be there, and we shall catch him either going
or returning."
"We shall find him in the valley," said Don Estevan. "When you have
seen it, you will find it a place that a man like Cuchillo could not
make up his mind to leave."
Diaz departed to execute his orders, and Don Estevan caused his tent to
be pitched again, that even in his absence his starry banner might float
over the camp as a sign of his protective authority. This done, he
threw himself on his couch, and slept the sleep of a soldier after a day
of fighting and fatigue.
Little more than an hour after, Diaz stood before him, "Senor Don
Estevan," said he, "all is prepared for starting."
The chief rose and found his horse awaiting him ready saddled.
"Diaz," said he, "ask the sentinels if Gayferos has returned."
Diaz questioned one of the men, who replied, "The poor fellow will
probably never return. The Indians must have surprised and killed him
before attacking us, and that probably was the cause of the firing that
we heard in the afternoon."
"I fear it is but too certain that he has been murdered," replied Diaz;
"but as for the firing that we heard, I believe that had a different
origin."
Don Estevan now mounted his horse, and the two set off in, the direction
of the mountains.