In the whole course of his adventurous life, Don Estevan had never been
in such danger. The plain offered him no protection against the rifles
of his enemies--two at least of whom had an infallible eye and steady
aim--and who had also the advantage of an impregnable position, and
turrets of rock behind which to intrench themselves. Don Estevan did
not conceal from himself the extent of his danger; but neither did his
courage give way.
"Let us have done with this trifling," cried the sonorous voice of
Bois-Rose, whose generosity made him averse to profit by his advantages,
and who scrupled always to shed blood if he could avoid it. "You have
heard that we wish no harm to any but your chief, and you must make up
your mind to let us take him. Retire then willingly, if you do not wish
us to treat you as we intend to treat him."
"Never!" cried Diaz, "shall I commit such a cowardice? You are the
first comers; so be it; we will yield the ground to you, but Don Estevan
must be allowed to go with me."
"_We_ refuse," cried Pepe; "we particularly want the man you call Don
Estevan."
"Do not oppose the justice of God," added Fabian; "your cause is only
that of man. We give you five minutes to reflect, after which our
rifles and our good cause shall decide between us."
"You have but two minutes to decide," said Bois-Rose; "listen to me and
avoid needless bloodshed."
Mediana kept silence and preserved his haughty air. Unshakable in his
notions of chivalric honour, Pedro Diaz resolved to die with the chief,
whose life he believed to be so precious to his country. He consulted
Don Estevan by a look.
"Return to the camp," said the latter; "abandon to his fate a man
henceforth useless to your cause, and come back to avenge my death."
Diaz was not to be moved, but gradually drew his horse close to Don
Estevan, and when their knees touched, with his face still turned toward
his enemies, he murmured, with scarcely a movement of his lips:
"Keep steady in your stirrups, have your horse ready, and let me act."
Don Estevan made signs with his hand as though to demand a truce; but he
had taken a desperate determination.
"Bend down, Fabian; he is going to fire," cried Bois-Rose.
"Before my mother's murderer? Never!" cried Fabian. Quick as thought,
the hand of the Canadian giant on his shoulder, forced him down. Don
Estevan vainly sought for an aim for his double-barrelled piece. He
could see nothing but the formidable rifle of Bois-Rose directed towards
him, although in obedience to Fabian's wishes, Bois-Rose would not
finish the combat by striking his foe to the ground.
With as much courage as agility, Diaz now jumped up behind Don Estevan
on his horse, and throwing his arms around him to steady him after the
shock, seized the bridle, turned the animal round, and galloped off,
covering with his body, as with a buckler, the chief whose life he was
willing to save at the expense of his own. While Fabian and Pepe rushed
down the rock, at the risk of breaking their necks, Bois-Rose followed
the movements of the horse glancing along the barrel of his rifle.
The two men appeared to make but one body: the back of the horse and the
shoulders of Diaz were the only objects at which Bois-Rose could aim;
only now and then the head of the animal was visible. To sacrifice Diaz
would be a useless murder; and Don Estevan would still escape. A moment
more and the fugitives would be out of range; but the Canadian was of
that class of marksmen who lodge a ball in the eye of a beaver, that he
may not injure its skin; and it was the horse he wished to aim at. For
a single moment the head of the noble animal showed itself entirely--but
that moment was sufficient; a shot was heard, and the two men and the
death-stricken horse rolled over together on the ground.
Bruised by the violence of their fall, both men rose with difficulty;
while, their poignards in their teeth, and their rifles in their hands,
Fabian and Pepe advanced upon them. Bois-Rose followed with great
gigantic strides, loading his rifle as he went. When he had finished,
he again stopped.
Pedro Diaz, devoted to the last, rushed towards the gun which had fallen
from Don Estevan's hands, picked it up, and returned it to him.
"Let us defend ourselves to the last!" cried he, drawing his long knife.
Don Estevan steadied himself and raised his piece, undecided for a
moment whether to aim at Fabian or at Pepe; but Bois-Rose was watching,
and a bullet from his rifle broke the weapon of the chief in his hands,
just where the barrel joins the stock, and Don Estevan himself, losing
his balance, fell forward on the sand.
"At last, after twenty years!" cried Pepe, rushing towards him, and
placing his knee upon his breast.
Don Estevan vainly tried to resist; his arm, benumbed by the violence of
the blow which had broken his gun, refused its service. In an instant
Pepe had untied the woollen scarf which was wound several times round
his body, and bound with it the limbs of his enemy. Diaz could offer no
assistance, for he had himself to defend against the attacks of Fabian.
Fabian scarcely knew the Indian fighter; he had seen him only for a few
hours at the Hacienda del Venado; but the generosity of his conduct had
awakened in the heart of the young man a warm sympathy, and he wished to
spare his life.
"Surrender, Diaz!" cried he, parrying a dagger blow slimed at him; but
Diaz resolved not to yield, and for the few minutes during which Pepe
was engaged in binding Don Estevan, there was a contest of skill and
ability between him and Fabian. Too generous to use his rifle against a
man who had but a dagger to defend himself with, Fabian tried only to
disarm his adversary; but Diaz, blinded by rage, did not perceive the
generous efforts of the young man, who, holding his rifle by the barrel,
and using it as a club, tried to strike the arm which menaced him. But
Fabian had to deal with an antagonist not less active and vigorous than
himself. Bounding from right to left, Diaz avoided his blows, and just
as Fabian believed he was about to succeed, he found himself striking in
the air, and the knife menacing him afresh. Bois-Rose without waiting
to reload, ran up to put an end to the struggle--in which Fabian's
generosity placed him at a disadvantage--and Pepe, having fast bound his
enemy, advanced also.
Thus menaced by three men, Diaz determined not to die without vengeance.
He drew his arm back, and made a rapid thrust at Fabian; but the latter
had been carefully watching the movement, and his rifle met the
murdering weapon on its way. The dagger fell to the ground; and Pepe,
seizing Diaz round the body just as Fabian struck him, cried, "Fool!
must we kill you, then? If not, what shall we do with you?"
"What you have done to that noble gentleman," replied Diaz, pointing to
Don Estevan.
"Do not ask to share his fate," said Pepe; "that man's days are
numbered."
"Whatever his fate is to be, I wish to share it," cried Diaz, vainly
trying to free himself. "I accept from you neither quarter nor mercy."
"Do not play with our anger!" said Pepe, whose passions were roused; "I
am not in the habit of offering mercy twice."
"I know how to make him accept it," said Fabian, picking up the fallen
knife. "Let him go, Pepe; with a man like Diaz, one can always come to
terms."
Fabian's tone was so firm, that Pepe opened his arms and loosened the
iron grasp in which the Mexican was bound.
"Here, Diaz," said Fabian, "take your weapon, and listen to me."
So saying, Fabian advanced and offered him his knife without any attempt
at guarding himself. Diaz took the weapon, but his adversary had not
presumed too far; at the heroic simplicity of Fabian his anger vanished
on the instant.
"I listen," said he, flinging his knife to the ground.
"I knew it would be so," replied Fabian, with a smile. "You interposed
unknowingly between crime and the just vengeance which pursued it. Do
you know who is the man for whom you wish to expose your life? and who
are those who have spared it? Do you know whether or not we have the
right to demand from him, whom you doubtless know only as Don Estevan, a
terrible account of the past? Reply honestly to the questions that I
shall put to you, and then decide on which side justice lies."
Astonished at these words, Diaz listened in silence, and Fabian went on:
"If you had been born in a privileged class, heir to a great fortune; if
a man had taken from you your fortune and your name, and reduced you to
the rank of those who have to work for their daily bread, should you be
the friend of that man?"
"No, I should be his enemy."
"If that man, to destroy the last souvenir of your birth, had murdered
your mother, what would he deserve from you?"
"Blow for blow--blood for blood."
"If, after a long and difficult pursuit, fate had at last delivered the
spoiler into your hands, what would you do?"
"I should think myself guilty towards God and man if I spared him."
"Well, then, Diaz," cried Fabian, "there is a man who has taken from me
my name, my fortune, and murdered my mother; I have pursued this
murderer and spoiler--fate has delivered him into my hands, and there he
lies!"
A cloud passed over the eyes of Diaz at the sight of the chief whose
doom was thus pronounced, for the sentiment of inexorable justice that
God has implanted in the heart of man told him that Don Estevan merited
his fate, if Fabian spoke truly. He sighed, but offered no reply.
While these events were taking place in the midst of the plain, the
actors of the scene might have observed Cuchillo raise with precaution
the leaves which covered his head, cast an eager glance on the Golden
Valley, and then glide out of the lake. Covered with mud, and his
garments streaming with water, they might have mistaken him for one of
the evil spirits whom the Indians believed to dwell in these solitudes.
But their attention was completely absorbed by what was taking place
among themselves.