HOSPITALITY.
We have said that night had fallen for some time past, and it was quite
dark under covert. In the black sky a chaos of clouds, laden with the
electric fluid, rolled heavily along. Not a star glistened in the vault
of heaven; an autumnal breeze whistled gustily through the trees, and at
each blast covered the ground with a shower of dead leaves.
In the distance could be heard the dull and mournful appeals of the wild
beasts proceeding to the drinking place, and the snapping bark of the
coyotes, whose ardent eyes at intervals gleamed like incandescent coals
amid the shrubs. At times lights flashed in the forest and ran along the
fine marsh grass like will-o'-the-wisps. Large dried up sumach trees
stood at the corners of the clearing, in which the bivouac was
established, and in the fantastic gleams of the fire waved like phantoms
their winding sheets of moss and lianas. A thousand sounds passed
through the air; nameless cries escaped from invisible lairs, hollowed
beneath the roots of the aged trees; stifled cries descended from the
crests of the quebradas, and our adventurers felt an unknown world
living around them, whose proximity froze the soul with a secret terror.
Nature was sad and melancholy, as when she is in travail with one of
those terrible overthrows so frequent in these regions. In spite of
themselves, the hunters underwent the influence of this discomfort of
the desert. There are black hours in life, in which, either through the
action of external objects, or the common and mysterious disposition of
the inner being, that _me_ which cannot be defined, the strongest men
feel unconsciously mastered by a strange contagion of sadness which they
seem to breathe in the air, and which overpowers them without power of
defence. The news brought by Quoniam had further augmented this tendency
of the hunters to melancholy; hence the conversation round the fire,
ordinarily gay and careless, was sad and short. Everyone yielded to the
flood of gloomy thoughts that contracted his heart, and the few words
exchanged at lengthened intervals between the hunters generally remained
unanswered.
Carmela alone, lively as a nightingale, continued in a low voice her
conversation with Singing-bird, while warming herself, for the night was
cold, and not noticing the anxious sideglances which the Canadian at
times gave her. At the moment when Lanzi and Quoniam were preparing to
go to sleep, a slight crackling was heard in the shrubs. The hunters,
suddenly torn from their secret thoughts, raised their heads quickly.
The horses had stopped eating, and with their heads turned to the
thicket, and ears laid back, appeared to be listening.
In the desert, everything has a reason; the wood rangers, accustomed to
analyse all the rumours of the prairie, know and explain them without
ever making a mistake; the rustling of the branch on which the hand
rests, the noise of the leaf falling on the ground, the murmur of the
water over the pebbles--nothing escapes the marvellous sagacity of these
men, whose senses have acquired an extraordinary delicacy.
"Someone is prowling round us," Loyal Heart muttered in a voice not
above a breath.
"A spy, of course," said Lanzi.
"Spy or no, the man who is approaching is certainly a white," said
Tranquil, as he stretched out his arm to clutch the rifle lying by his
side.
"Stay, father," Carmela said eagerly, as she seized his arm; "perhaps it
is a poor wretch lost in the desert, who needs help."
"It may be so," Tranquil replied after a moment's reflection; "at any
rate, we shall soon know."
"What do you intend doing?" the girl exclaimed, terrified at seeing him
rise.
"Go and meet the man, and ask him what he wants, that is all."
"Take care, father."
"Of what, my child?"
"Suppose this man were one of the bandits who traverse the desert?"
"Well, what then?"
"And he were to kill you?"
The Canadian shrugged his shoulders.
"Kill me, girl, nonsense! Reassure yourself, my child, whoever the man
may be, he will not see me unless I deem it necessary. So let me alone."
The maiden tried once more to prevent his departure, but the Canadian
would listen to nothing. Freeing himself gently from Carmela's
affectionate clutch, he picked up his rifle and disappeared in the
chaparral with so light and well-measured a step, that he seemed rather
to be gliding on a cloud, than walking on the grass of the clearing.
So soon as he reached the centre of the thicket, from which the
ill-omened sound he had heard came, the hunter, ignorant as he was as to
how many enemies he had to deal with, redoubled his prudence and
precautions: after a hesitation which lasted only a few seconds, he lay
down on the ground, and began gently crawling through the grass, without
producing the slightest rustling sound.
We will now return to the monk, whom we left proceeding toward the
hunters' bivouac, accompanied by Blue-fox. The Apache Chief, after
giving him the instructions he thought best adapted to inspire him with
a wholesome terror, and compel him to serve his plans, left him alone,
and disappeared so suddenly, that the monk could not guess in what
direction he had gone. When he was alone, Fray Antonio took a timid
glance around him; his mind was perplexed, for he could not conceal from
himself how delicate and difficult of accomplishment was the mission
with which the Chief had entrusted him, especially when dealing with a
man so clever and well versed in Indian tricks as the tiger killer.
More than once the monk cursed the malignity of his planet which led him
into such traps, and seemed to take a delight in accumulating on his
head all the annoyances and tribulations possible. For a moment, he
thought of flight, but he reflected that he was doubtless carefully
watched, and that at the slightest suspicious movement he attempted, the
invisible guardians who were watching him would suddenly appear before
him, and compel him to carry out the adventure to the end.
Fortunately for himself, the monk belonged to that privileged class of
men whom even the greatest annoyances but slightly affect, and who,
after feeling wretched for a few moments, frankly make up their minds,
saying to themselves that when the moment arrives in which they run a
risk, an accident will perhaps draw them from their trouble, and turn
matters to their advantage, in lieu of crushing them.
This reasoning, false though it be, is employed more frequently than may
be supposed by a number of people, who, after saying to themselves "when
it comes, we shall see," push boldly onwards, and, extraordinary to say,
generally succeed in getting out of the hobble, without the loss of too
many feathers, and without themselves knowing what they did to have so
lucky an escape.
The monk, therefore, resolutely entered the covert, guiding himself by
the light of the fire as a beacon. For some minutes he went on at a
tolerable pace, but gradually as he approached, his alarm returned; he
remembered the rough correction Captain Melendez had administered to
him, and this time he feared even worse.
Still, he was now so near the bivouac that any backsliding would be
useless. For the purpose of granting himself a few minutes' further
respite, he dismounted, and fastened his horse to a tree with extreme
slowness: then, having no further plausible pretext to offer himself for
delaying his arrival among the hunters, he decided on starting again,
employing the most minute precautions not to be perceived too soon,
through fear of receiving a bullet in his chest, before he had time to
have an explanation with the persons he visited at so awkward an hour.
But Fray Antonio, unluckily for himself, was extremely obese; he walked
heavily, and like a man accustomed to tread the pavement of a town;
moreover, the night was extremely dark, which prevented him seeing two
yards ahead, and he could only progress with outstretched hands,
tottering at each step, and running against every obstacle that came
across his path.
Hence he did not go far, ere he aroused the persons he desired so much
to surprise, and whose practised ear, constantly on the watch, had at
once noticed the unusual sound which he had himself not noticed. Fray
Antonio, extremely satisfied with his manner of progression, and
congratulating himself in his heart at having succeeded so well in
concealing himself, grew bolder and bolder, and began to feel almost
entirely reassured, when suddenly he uttered a slight cry of terror, and
stopped as if his feet had been rooted in the ground. He had felt a
heavy hand laid on his shoulder.
The monk began trembling all over, though not daring to turn his head to
the right or left, for he was persuaded in his heart that his last hour
had arrived.
"Hilloh, Señor Padre, what are you doing in the forest at such an hour?"
a hoarse voice then said to him.
But Fray Antonio was unable to answer; terror had rendered him deaf and
blind.
"Are you dumb?" the voice went on a minute after in a friendly voice.
"Come, come, it is not wise to traverse the desert at so late an hour."
The monk did not reply.
"Deuce take me," the other exclaimed, "if terror has not rendered him
idiotic. Come, bestir yourself, canarios."
And he began shaking him vigorously.
"Eh, what?" the monk said, in whom a species of reaction was beginning
to take place.
"Come, there is some progress, you speak, hence you are not dead,"
Tranquil went on joyously, for it was he who had so cruelly frightened
the monk; "follow me, you must be frozen, don't let us remain here."
And passing his arm through the monk's, he led him away; the latter
followed him passively and mechanically, not able yet to understand what
was happening to him, but still beginning to regain a small amount of
courage. In a few minutes, they reached the clearing.
"Ah!" Carmela exclaimed in surprise; "Fray Antonio! By what accident is
he here, when he started with the conducta de plata?"
This remark made the hunter prick his ears; he examined the monk
attentively, and then compelled him to sit down by the fire.
"I trust that the good father will explain to us what has happened to
him," he muttered.
Everything, however, has an end in this world; and the monk for some
time past had seemed destined to pass, with the greatest rapidity and
almost without transition, from the extremest terror to the most
complete security. When he was a little warmed, the confusion produced
in his ideas by the sudden meeting with the hunter gradually yielded to
the cordial reception given him; and Carmela's gentle voice breaking
pleasantly on his ear, completely re-established the balance of his
mind, and dismissed the mournful apprehensions that tormented him.
"Do you feel better, holy Father?" Carmela asked him, with much
sympathy.
"Yes," he said, "I thank you, I am now quite comfortable."
"All the better. Will you eat? Would you like to take any refreshment?"
"Nothing at all, I thank you, for I have not the least appetite."
"Perhaps you are thirsty, Fray Antonio; if so, here is a bota of
refino," said Lanzi, as he offered him a skin more than half full of the
comforting liquid.
The monk permitted himself to be persuaded sufficiently to prove that he
was no lover of ardent spirits; then he allowed himself to be convinced,
and seizing the bota, drank a hearty draught of the generous fluid. This
libation restored him all his coolness and presence of mind.
"Then," he said, as he turned the bota to the half-breed, and gave vent
to a sigh of relief, "Heaven preserve me; were the Evil One to come now
in person, I feel capable of holding my own against him."
"Ah, ah!" said Tranquil, "It seems, my good father, as if you were now
completely restored to the possession of your intellectual faculties."
"Yes, and I will give you the proof whenever you like."
"Hang it! You challenge me. I did not dare cross-question you before;
but, as it is so, I will no longer hesitate."
"What do you wish to know?"
"A very simple matter: how it is that a monk finds himself at such an
hour alone in the heart of the desert?"
"Nonsense," Fray Antonio said, gaily. "Who told you that I was alone?"
"Nobody; but I suppose so."
"Do not make any suppositions, brother, for you would be mistaken."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, as I have the honour of telling you."
"Still, when I met you, you were alone."
"Granted."
"Well?"
"The others were further off, that's all."
"What others?"
"The persons who accompanied me."
"Ah! And who are they?"
"That is the question----Nonsense," he said, a minute after, as if
holding a conversation with himself, "the most disadvantageous reports
are current about me. I am accused of a number of bad actions; suppose I
were to try and do a good one, that might change my luck. Who knows
whether I may not be rewarded at a later date? At any rate, here goes."
Tranquil and his comrades listened in extreme surprise to the monologue
of the monk, not knowing exactly what to think of this man, and half
inclined to deem him mad. The latter perceived the impression he
produced on his hearers.
"Listen," he said, in a stern voice, and with a slight frown, "form what
opinion of me you like, that is a matter of indifference to me; still I
do not wish it to be said, that I requited your cordial hospitality by
odious treachery."
"What do you mean?" Tranquil exclaimed.
"Listen to me. I uttered the word treachery, and perhaps I was wrong,
for nothing proves to me that it is so; still, all sorts of reasons lead
me to suppose that it is nothing else persons tried to force me into
committing for your injury."
"Explain yourself, in Heaven's name; you speak in enigmas, and it is
impossible to understand you."
"You are right, so I will be clear: which of you gentlemen bears the
name of Tranquil?"
"It is I."
"Very good. Owing to certain circumstances, the recital of which would
not at all interest you, I unluckily fell into the hands of the
Apaches."
"Apaches!" Tranquil exclaimed, in surprise.
"Good Lord, yes," the monk continued; "and I assure you that when I
found myself in their power, I did not feel at all comfortable. Still, I
was wrong to be alarmed; far from inventing for me one of those
atrocious tortures which they mercilessly inflict on the whites who are
so unhappy as to become their prisoners, they treated me, on the
contrary, with extreme gentleness."
Tranquil fixed a scrutinising glance on the monk's placid face.
"For what purpose did they that?" he asked, with a suspicious accent.
"Ah," Fray Antonio went on, "that I could not comprehend, though I am
perhaps beginning to suspect it."
The hearers bent toward the speaker with an expression of impatient
curiosity.
"This evening," the monk went on, "the Chief of the Redskins himself
accompanied me to within a short distance of your bivouac; on coming in
sight of your fire he pointed it out to me, saying, 'Go and sit down at
that brasero. You will tell the great Pale hunter that one of his oldest
and dearest friends desires to see him.' Then he left me, after making
the most horrible threats if I did not obey him at once. You know the
rest."
Tranquil and his comrades regarded each other in amazement, but without
exchanging a word. There was a rather long silence; but Tranquil at
length took on himself to express aloud the thought each had in his
heart.
"'Tis a trap," he said.
"Yes," Loyal Heart remarked; "but for what purpose?"
"How do I know?" the Canadian muttered.
"You said, Fray Antonio," the young man continued, addressing the monk,
"that you suspected the motives of the Apaches' extraordinary treatment
of you?"
"I did say so," he replied.
"Let us know that suspicion."
"It was suggested to me by the conduct of the pagans, and by the clumsy
snare they laid for you; it is evident to me that the Apache Chief
hopes, if you consent to grant the interview he asks, to profit by your
absence to carry off Doña Carmela."
"Carry me off!" the maiden exclaimed, with a start of horror, surprised
and alarmed at once by this conclusion, which she was far from
anticipating.
"The Redskins are very fond of white women," the monk continued, coolly;
"most of the incursions they make into our territory are undertaken for
the purpose of carrying off captives of that colour."
"Oh!" Carmela exclaimed, with an accent of indomitable resolution, "I
would sooner die than become the slave of one of those ferocious
demons."
Tranquil shook his head sadly. "The monk's supposition appears to me
correct," he said.
"The more so," Fray Antonio confirmed him, "because the Apaches who made
me prisoner are the same that attacked the Venta del Potrero."
"Oh, oh," said Lanzi, "in that case I know their Chief, and his name; he
is one of the most implacable enemies of the white men. It is very
unlucky that I did not succeed in burying him under the ruins of the
venta, for Heaven is my witness that such was my intention."
"What is the fellow's name?" the hunter asked, sharply, evidently
annoyed at his verbiage.
"Blue-fox!" said Lanzi.
"Ah," Tranquil said, ironically and with a dark frown, "I have known
Blue-fox for many years, and you, Chief?" he added, turning to
Black-deer.
The name of the Apache Sachem had produced such an impression on the
Pawnee, that the hunter was startled by it. The Indians retain under all
circumstances an apathetic mask, which they consider it an honour not to
remove, whatever may happen; but the mere name of Blue-fox, pronounced
as if by accident, was sufficient to melt that indifference, and cause
Black-deer to forget Indian etiquette.
"Blue-fox is a dog, the son of a coyote," he said, as he spat on the
ground disdainfully; "the gypaètes would refuse to devour his unclean
carcase."
"These two men must have a mortal hatred for each other," the Canadian
muttered, as he took a sideglance at the inflamed features and sparkling
eyes of the Indian Chief.
"Will my brother kill Blue-fox?" the Pawnee asked.
"It is probable," Tranquil answered; "but in the first place, let us try
to play this master rogue a trick, who fancies us stupid enough to be
caught in the clumsy snares he lays in our path. Be frank, monk, have
you told us the truth?"
"On my honour."
"I should prefer any other oath," the Canadian said ironically, in a low
voice. "Can you be trusted?"
"Yes."
"Is what you said to us about your return to honest courses sincere?"
"Put me on my trial."
"That is what I intend to do; but reflect ere answering. Do you really
intend to be of service to us?"
"I do."
"Whatever may happen?"
"Whatever may happen, and whatever the consequence may be of what you
ask of me."
"That will do. I warn you that, in all probability, you will be exposed
to serious perils."
"I have told you that my resolution is formed; speak, therefore, without
further hesitation."
"Listen to me, then."
"I am doing so. Have no fear of finding me recoil, so cut it short."
"I will try to do so."