Cuchillo, after reaching the mountains, had halted. He had not
forgotten the appearance of the place, and his heart trembled with fear
and joy. After a few minutes he looked around him more calmly. It was
then dark, and when he arrived at the rock, the damp vapours from the
lake enveloped with a thick veil both the valley and the tomb. The
sound of the waterfall put an end to his uncertainties; he remembered
that it fell into a gulf close by the golden placer.
He had dismounted his horse, and sat down to wait for daylight; but
scarcely had he done so when he bounded up as though bitten by a
serpent. A fatal chance had led him to sit down on the very spot where
he had struck Marcos Arellanos, and quick as lightning, every detail of
the mortal struggle passed through his mind. However this feeling of
terror was of short duration.
In that part of America, superstition has not established its empire as
in the old countries of Europe, where the evening mists give to objects
fantastic aspects, and tend naturally to reflections upon the
supernatural. From this arises the sombre poesy of the north, which has
peopled our land with ghosts and phantoms. In the American solitude
people fear the living more than the dead, and Cuchillo had too much to
fear from men to waste many thoughts upon the ghost of Arellanos, and he
had soon quite banished the thought from his mind.
Although he felt nearly certain that no one had seen him leave the camp,
or had followed him, he resolved to climb the rock and look out over the
desert. The two pines, whose sombre verdure crowned the summit,
appeared marvellously fit to shelter him from the eyes of the Indians
should any be near. As he advanced, however, he could not resist taking
a glance at the valley; for a sudden fear took possession of his mind:
was it still untouched as he had left it?
One glance reassured him. Nothing was changed in the valley; there were
still the heaps of the shining metal.
The traveller, devoured with thirst in the sandy desert, does not more
gladly catch sight of the oasis at whose waters he desires to drink than
did Cuchillo the sight of the gold gleaming through the leaves of the
trees.
Any other man would have hastened to seize as much of it as he could
carry, and make off with his booty. But with Cuchillo, cupidity was a
passion carried to its utmost limits; and before seizing it, the outlaw
wished to feast his eyes on the treasure of which he had dreamed for two
years, and for which he would not hesitate to sacrifice the lives of all
his companions. After some moments of ecstatic contemplation, Cuchillo
led his horse forward by the bridle, and having tied him to a tree, in a
defile where the animal would be hidden from all eyes, he himself
mounted the rock.
Arrived there, he looked around to assure himself that he was alone. He
was soon satisfied, for at that moment neither of the other two parties
were visible. Assured by the silence that reigned around, he looked
towards the cascade. The water, which seemed as it fell to form a curve
of running silver, opened at one place, and displayed a block of gold,
sparkling in the rays of the sun. The most enormous cocoanut that ever
hung on a tree did not surpass this block in size. Continually washed
by the spray of the cascade, this gold appeared in all its brilliance,
as if ready to escape from the silica which held it, and thus perhaps
for centuries this king's ransom had hung menacingly over the abyss!
At the sight of this block, which looked as though it might be seized by
stretching out his hands, a thrill of joy passed through Cuchillo's
heart; and hanging over the precipice with extended arms, he gave
utterance to the cry which had been heard by the three hunters below.
Soon, however, a spectacle, that Cuchillo was far from expecting to
witness, drew from him another cry, but this time of rage. He had seen
a man, possessor like himself of the secret of the valley, treading with
profane foot on the treasure that he had believed wholly his. Bois-Rose
and Fabian were hidden behind the trees; and thinking that Pepe was
alone, Cuchillo had fired at him, without taking time for a proper aim,
and thus Pepe had escaped the ball that whistled past him.
It would be impossible to paint his rage and stupefaction, when hidden
behind the pine trees, he saw two men join Pepe, especially when in one
of them he recognised the terrible hunter whom he had seen engaged with
the tigers at Poza, and in the other, Fabian, who had already twice
escaped his vengeance. A mortal fear chilled his heart; he almost fell
to the ground. Must he again fly from that Golden Valley, from which
fate seemed always to drive him?
Lucky for Cuchillo, the fog had hidden him from his enemies, and by the
time they had reached the top he had descended on the opposite side--
after having just caught a glance of Don Estevan and his companion in
the distance. Here was a fresh subject of fear and surprise for
Cuchillo who, gliding like a serpent along the rocks, hid himself, as we
have seen, amid the leaves of the water lilies, to await the denouement
of this strange adventure. Hidden from all eyes, he held himself in
readiness to profit by the approaching conflict between Don Estevan and
Fabian, and a shudder of diabolical joy mingled with that caused by the
gold; he was like the rapacious bird which awaits the issue of the
battle to seize upon its prey. If the three hunters were victorious he
had little he thought to fear from Fabian, who was still in his eyes
Tiburcio Arellanos. The lower class of Mexicans think little of a blow
with the dagger, and he hoped that the one he had given might be
pardoned, if he were to throw the blame upon Don Estevan. If this last
remained master of the field, he trusted to find some plausible excuse
for his desertion. He decided therefore upon letting them begin the
struggle, and then, at the decisive moment, should come to the
assistance of the strongest.
While Cuchillo was endeavouring to console himself by these reasonings,
Bois-Rose was able to distinguish the complexion of the new-comers.
"They are from the Mexican camp," said he.
"I foresaw," said Fabian, "that we should have the whole troop on our
hands, and be caught like wild horses in a stockade."
"Hush!" said Bois-Rose, "and trust to me to protect you. Nothing yet
shows that there are any others behind, and in any case we could not be
better placed than on this rock; from here we might defy a whole tribe
of savages. Besides, we do not yet know that they will stop here. Both
of you crouch down. I shall watch them."
So saying, he lay flat down, hiding his head behind the stones which
surrounded the top like turrets, but without losing sight of the
horsemen. They began now to hear the sound of the horses' feet on the
plain. The old hunter saw them stop and converse, but could not hear
what they were saying.
"Why this halt, Diaz?" said Don Estevan, impatiently, "we have lost time
enough already."
"Prudence exacts that we should look about us before proceeding. The
knave may be hidden about here, as we have tracked him up to the rock;
he may not be alone, and we have everything to fear from him."
Don Estevan made a gesture of disdain.
"Ah!" said Bois-Rose, in a low voice, "I recognise Don Estevan, or
rather Don Antonio de Mediana, who is at last in our power."
"Don Antonio de Mediana! Is it possible? Are you sure?" cried Fabian.
"It is he, I tell you."
"Ah! now I see that it was the hand of God which brought me here. Shade
of my mother, rejoice!" cried Fabian.
Pepe kept silence, but at the name of Don Antonio, hatred shone also in
his glance. He raised his head, and his eye seemed to measure the
distance between him and the object of his vengeance, but even the long
rifle of Bois-Rose could scarcely reach them at such a range.
"Do not rise up, Pepe!" cautioned the Canadian; "you will be seen."
"Do you observe any others behind?" inquired Fabian.
"No one; from the point where the river divides to this place I see no
living being; if," added he, after an instant's pause, "that black mass
that I see floating on the river be only the trunk of a tree--but at any
rate it is floating away from us."
"Never mind that," said Fabian, "describe to me the man who accompanies
Don Antonio; perhaps I shall recognise him."
"He is tall and straight as a cane; and what a beautiful horse he
rides!"
"A bay horse? and has he gold lace on his hat, and a fine face?"
"Precisely."
"It is Pedro Diaz. Now it would be a cowardice not to show ourselves,
when heaven sends us Don Antonio almost alone."
"Patience," said Pepe; "I am as interested as you are in not letting him
escape, but haste may ruin all. When one has waited for twenty years,
one may easily wait a few minutes longer. Are you sure they are alone,
Bois-Rose?"
"The sand whirls down there, but it is only the wind that is stirring
it. They are alone, and now they stop and look about them."
So saying, Bois-Rose rose slowly, like the eagle who agitates before
completely unfolding his wings--those powerful wings the rapid flight of
which will soon bring him down to the plain.
"Senor Don Estevan," said Pedro Diaz, "I think we should return to the
camp."
Don Antonio hesitated a moment. The counsel was good, but it was too
late to follow it.
From the top of the rock the three hunters watched their every movement.
"It is time," said Bois-Rose.
"I must take Don Antonio alive," said Fabian. "Arrange that, and I care
for nothing else."
Bois-Rose now rose to his fall height, and uttered a cry which struck on
the ears of the new-comers. They uttered an exclamation of surprise,
which surprise was still further increased at sight of the gigantic
Canadian upon the rock.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" cried a voice, which Fabian
recognised as that of Don Antonio.
"I shall tell you," replied the hunter; "it will recall to you a truth--
never contested either in my country or in the desert--that the ground
belongs to the first occupants; we were here before you, and are the
sole masters of this place. We therefore wish one of you to retire with
a good grace, and the other to surrender himself, that we may teach him
a second law of the desert, `blood for blood.'"
"It is some anchorite whose brain is turned by solitude," said Pedro
Diaz; "I shall terminate the conference with a bullet from my rifle."
"No!" cried Don Estevan, stopping him, "let us see first how far this
folly will go. And which of us is it, friend," continued he, with an
ironical air, "to whom you wish to teach this law?"
"To you," cried Fabian, rising.
"What! you here!" cried Don Estevan with mingled rage and surprise.
Fabian bowed.
"And here am I, who have been following you for the last fortnight,"
said Pepe, "and who thanks God for the opportunity of paying off a debt
of twenty years' standing."
"Who are you?" asked Don Estevan, trying to remember who it was, for
years and difference of costume had altered the aspect of the old
coast-guardsman.
"Pepe the Sleeper, who has not forgotten his residence at Ceuta."
At this name, which explained Fabian's words at the bridge of Salto de
Agua, Don Estevan lost his air of contempt. A sudden presentiment
seemed to warn him that his fortunes were waning, and he cast around him
an anxious glance. The high rocks, which on one side shut in the
valley, might protect him from the fire of his enemies; a short space
only separated him from their foot, and prudence counselled him to fly
there, but his pride forbade him.
"Well then!" cried he proudly after a pause, "revenge yourself on an
enemy who disdains to fly."
"Have we not said that we wish to take you alive?" replied Pepe, coldly.