A CONVERSATION.
Tranquil and Loyal Heart, as we have seen, withdrew immediately the
opportunity appeared favourable to them, and returned to the hunter's
rancho, where No Eusebio had made all preparations to give them a hearty
reception. Loyal Heart was too sad by nature, the Canadian too
preoccupied by a fixed idea which he had hitherto; kept in his heart,
for these two men to take the slightest interest in the coarse
festivities of the Indians. All this noise and disturbance wearied them;
they felt a desire to rest themselves.
Doña Garillas received them with that calm and radiant smile which
seemed to pass over her pale and sad face like a sunbeam passing between
two clouds. Attentive to satisfy their slightest desires, she seemed to
be thankful to them for their return, and tried, by those thousand
little attentions of which women alone possess the secret, to keep them
as long as possible by her side.
The hunter's house, so peaceful and comfortable, although in the
prejudiced sight of a European it would have seemed hardly above the
most wretched labourer's cabin in this country, formed a contrast which
was not without grandeur with the leather callis of the Redskins, those
receptacles of vermin, where the most utter neglect and complete
forgetfulness, not only of comfort, but of the most simple enjoyments of
life, were visible.
Loyal Heart, after respectfully kissing his mother's forehead, shaking
hands with No Eusebio, and patting his dogs, which leapt up at him with
joyous whines, sat down to table, making Tranquil a sign to follow his
example. Since the previous night a singular change had taken place in
the manner, and even countenance of the old hunter. He whose movements
were generally so frank and steady, seemed embarrassed; his eye had lost
the fire which illumined it and gave it so noble an expression; his
eyebrows continually met under the effect of some secret thought; his
very speech was sharper than usual.
The young man watched pensively, and with a melancholy smile, the
hunter's movements. When the meal was over, and the pipes were lit,
after making his mother and No Eusebio a sign to withdraw, he turned to
the Canadian--
"My guest," he said affectionately, "we are old friends, are we not?
Although we have known each other but a short time."
"Certainly! Loyal Heart, in the desert friendships and hatreds grow
rapidly, and we have been together under circumstances when two men,
side by side, can appreciate each other in a few minutes."
"Will you let me ask you a question?"
"Of course," the hunter answered.
"Stay," the young man continued; "do we understand each other? Will you
promise to answer me this question?"
"Why not?" Tranquil said quietly.
"Who knows--_¿quién sabe?_ as we Spanish Americans say," the young man
replied with a smile.
"Nonsense," the Canadian replied carelessly; "ask your question, mine
host; I cannot foresee the possibility of my being unable to answer
you."
"But, supposing it were so?"
"I do not suppose it; you are a man of too upright sense, and too great
intelligence, to fall into that error. So speak without fear."
"I will do so, as you authorise me; for you do so, I think."
"Understood."
"In that ease, listen to me. I know you too well, or, at least, I fancy
I know you too well to suppose that you have come here merely to pay me
a visit, as you knew you could meet me any day on the prairie. You have,
therefore, undertaken this journey with some definite object; a most
serious motive impelled you to wish to see me."
Tranquil gave a silent nod of assent. Loyal Heart went on after a
moment's silence, during which he seemed to be awaiting a reply, which
did not come.
"You have been here now two days. You have already had several
opportunities for a frank explanation, an explanation, by the way, which
I desire with my whole heart, for I foresee that it will contain a
service I can render you, and I shall be happy to prove to you the
esteem I entertain for your character. Still, that explanation does not
come; you seem, on the contrary, to fear it; your manner toward me has
completely changed; since yesterday, in a word, you are no longer the
man I knew, the man who never hesitates, and always utters his thoughts
loudly and boldly, whatever might be the consequences at a later date.
Am I mistaken? Answer, old hunter."
For some minutes the Canadian seemed considerably embarrassed; this
point-blank question troubled him singularly. At length he boldly made
up his mind, and raised his head--
"On my word," he answered, looking his questioner firmly in the face,
"I cannot contradict it; Loyal Heart, you are right--all you have said
is perfectly correct."
"Ah!" the young man said with a smile of satisfaction, "I was not
mistaken, then; I am pleased to know what I have to depend on."
The Canadian shrugged his shoulders philosophically, like a man who does
not at all understand, but who yet experiences a certain degree of
pleasure at seeing his questioner satisfied, though he is completely
ignorant why. Loyal Heart continued--
"Now, I demand in the name of that friendship that binds us--I demand, I
say, that you should be frank with me, and without reservation or
circumlocution, confess to me the motives which urged you to act as you
have done."
"These motives are only honourable, be assured, Loyal Heart."
"I am convinced of it, my friend; but I repeat to you, I wish to know
them."
"After all," the old hunter continued with the accent of a man who has
formed a resolution, "why should I have secrets from you when I have
come to claim your assistance? You shall know all. I am only a coarse
adventurer, who received all the education he has on the desert; I adore
God, and am mad for liberty; I have always tried to benefit my
neighbour, and requite good for evil as far as lay in my power; such, in
two words, is my profession of faith."
"It is rigorously true," Loyal Heart said, with an air of conviction.
"Thanks, and frankly I believe it. But, with the exception of that, I
know nothing. Desert life has only developed in me the instincts of the
brute, without giving me any of those refinements which the
civilisation of towns causes to be developed in the most savage
natures."
"I confess that I do not see at all what you are driving at."
"You will soon comprehend me. From the first moment I saw you, with the
first word you uttered, by a species of intuition, by one of those
sympathies what are independent of the will, I felt myself attracted
towards you. You were my friend during the few days we lived together,
sharing the same couch under the vault of Heaven, running the same
dangers, experiencing the same joys and sorrows. I believed that I
appreciated you at your true value, and my friendship only increased in
consequence. Hence, when I needed a sure and devoted friend, I thought
of you at once, and, without further reflection, started to go in quest
of you."
"You did well."
"I know it," said Tranquil, with simple enthusiasm; "still, on entering
this modest rancho, my ideas were completely modified; a doubt occurred
to me--not about you, for that was impossible--but about your position,
and the mysterious life you lead. I asked myself by what concourse of
circumstances a man like you had confined himself to an Indian village
and accepted all the wretchedness of a Redskin life, a wretchedness
often so cruel and opposed to our manners. On seeing your mother so
lovely and so kind, your old servant so devoted, and the way in which
you behave within these walls, I thought, without prejudging anything,
that a great misfortune had suddenly burst on you and forced you for a
time into a hard exile. But I understood that I was not your equal, that
between you and me there was a distinctly traced line of demarcation;
then I felt oppressed in your company, for you are no longer the free
hunter, having no other roof but the verdurous dome of our virgin
forests, or other fortune than his rifle; in a word, you are no longer
the comrade, the friend with whom I was so happy to share everything in
the desert I no longer recognise the right to treat as an equal a man
whom a passing misfortune has accidentally brought near me, and who
would, doubtless, at a later date, regret this intimacy which has sprung
from accident; while continuing to love and esteem you, I resume the
place that belongs to me."
"All of which means?" Loyal Heart said, distinctly.
"That, being no longer able to be your comrade, and not wishing to be
your servant, I shall retire."
"You are mad, Tranquil," the young man exclaimed, with an outburst of
impatient grief. "What you say, I tell you, has not common sense, and
the conclusions yon draw from it are absurd."
"Still----?" the Canadian hazarded.
"Oh!" the other continued, with considerable animation, "I have allowed
you to speak, have I not? I listened to whatever you had to say without
interruption, and it is now your turn. Without wishing it, you have
caused me the greatest pain it is possible for me to suffer; you have
caused an ever-living wound to bleed, by reminding me of things which I
try in vain to forget, and which will cause the wretchedness of my whole
life."
"I--I?" the hunter exclaimed, with a start of terror.
"Yes, you! But what matter? Besides, you were walking blindly, not
knowing where you were going; hence, I have no right to be angry with
you, and am not so. But there is one thing I value above all, which; I
esteem more than life, and that is your friendship. I cannot consent to
lose it. Confidence for confidence! You shall know who I am and what
motive brought me to the desert, where I am condemned to live and die."
"No," Tranquil answered, clearly, "I have no claim to your confidence.
You say that I have unintentionally caused you great suffering; that
suffering would only be increased by the confession you wish to make me.
I swear to you, Loyal Heart, that I will not listen to you."
"You must, my friend, both for your sake and my own, for in that way we
shall learn to understand one another. Besides," he added, with a
melancholy smile, "this secret which crushed me, and which I have
hitherto kept in my own bosom, it will be a great consolation to me, be
assured, to confide to a real friend. And then, you must know this: I
have no one to complain of; the terrible misfortune which suddenly fell
upon me, or chastisement, if you like that term better, was just, though
perhaps severe; I have, therefore, no one to reproach but myself. My
life is only one long expiation; unhappily I tremble lest the present
and the future will not suffice to expiate the past."
"You forget God, my son," a voice said, with an accent of supreme
majesty, "God, who cannot fail you and will judge you. When the
expiation you have imposed on yourself is completed, that God will cause
it to terminate."
And Doña Garillas, who had for some moments been listening to the
conversation of the two men, crossed the room with a majestic step, and
laid her white and delicate hand on the shoulder of her son, while
giving him a glance full of that powerful love which mothers alone
possess.
"Oh! I am a wretched ingrate!" the young man exclaimed, sorrowfully; "in
my hideous egotism I for a moment forgot you, my mother, who gave up
everything for me."
"Raphael, you are my first-born. What I did nine years ago I would do
again today. But now, let what you are about to hear be a consolation to
you. I am proud of you, my son; whatever pain you once caused me, the
same amount of joy and pride you cause me today. All the Indian tribes
that traverse the vast solitudes of the prairie have the greatest
respect and deepest veneration for you; has not the name these primitive
men have given you become the synonym of honour? Are you not, in a word,
Loyal Heart, that is to say, the man whose decisions have the strength
of law, whom all, friends and enemies, love and esteem? What more do you
want?"
The young man shook his head sadly.
"Alas, mother," he said, in a hollow voice, "can I ever forget that I
have been a gambler, assassin, and incendiary?"
Tranquil could not restrain a start of terror.
"Oh, it is impossible!" he muttered.
The young man heard him, and turning to him, said--?
"Yes, my friend, I have been a gambler, assassin, and incendiary. Well,
now," he added, with an accent of sad and bitter raillery, "do you still
fancy yourself unworthy of my friendship? Do you still consider you are
not my equal?"
The Canadian rose while the young man bent on him a searching glance; he
went up to Doña Garillas, and bowed to her with a respect mingled with
admiration.
"Señora," he said, "whatever crimes a man may have committed in a moment
of irresistible passion, that man must be absolved by all when, in spite
of his fault, he inspires a devotion so glorious, so perfect, and so
noble as yours. You are a holy woman, madam! Hope, as you said yourself
a moment back, hope. GOD, who is omnipotent, will, when the moment
arrives, dry your tears and make you forget your sorrow in immense joy.
I am but a poor man, without talent or learning, but my instinct has
never deceived me. I am convinced that if your son were ever guilty, he
is now pardoned, even by the man who condemned him under the influence
of an exaggerated feeling of honour, which he regretted at a later
date."
"Thanks, my friend," Loyal Heart answered; "thanks for words which I
feel convinced are the expression of your innermost thoughts; thanks in
my mother's name and my own! Yours is a frank and upright nature. You
have restored me the courage which at times abandons me, and have raised
me in my own sight; but this expiation to which I condemned myself,
would not be complete unless I told you, in their fullest details, all
the events of my life. No refusal," he added, with a sign to the hunter,
"it must be so! Believe me, Tranquil, this story bears its own
instruction. Just as the traveller, after a long and painful journey,
halts by the wayside, and looks with a certain degree of satisfaction at
the distance he has covered, I shall feel a mournful pleasure in
returning to the early and terrible events of my life."
"Yes," said his mother, "you are right, my son. A man must have courage
to look back, in order to acquire the strength to walk worthily forward.
It is only by reverting to the past that you can understand the present
and have hope in the future. Speak, speak, my son, and if in the course
of your narrative your memory or your courage fail you, your mother will
be here at your side, as I have ever been, and what you dare not or
cannot say, I will say."
Tranquil regarded with admiration this strange woman, whose gestures and
words harmonized so well with her majestic bearing; this mother, whose
sweet face reflected so well her noble sentiments; he felt himself very
small and wretched in the presence of this chosen nature, who, of all
the passions, knew only one, maternal love.
"Loyal Heart," he said, with an emotion he could not master, "since you
insist, I will listen to the narrative of the events which brought you
to the desert; but be assured of this, whatever I may hear, since you
are willing still to give me the title of friend, here is my hand, take
it, I will never fail you. Now, whether you speak or keep your secret,
is of no consequence. Remember one thing, however, that I belong to you,
body and soul, before and against all, today or tomorrow, tomorrow or
ten years hence, and that," he added with a certain degree of solemnity,
"I swear to you from my deepest soul, by the memory of my beloved
mother, whose ashes now rest in Quebec cemetery. Now go on, I am ready
to listen to you."
Loyal Heart warmly returned the pressure of the hunter's hand, and made
him sit down on his right hand, while Doña Garillas took her place on
his left.
"Now, listen to me," he said.
At this moment the door opened, and No Eusebio appeared.
"_Mi amo_," he said, "the Indian Chief, called Black-deer, wishes to
speak to you."
"What, Black-deer?" the hunter said with surprise; "Impossible! He must
be engaged with his marriage festivities."
"Pardon me," Tranquil observed; "you forget, Loyal Heart, that when we
left the feast the Chief came up to us, saying in a low voice that he
had a serious communication to make to us."
"That is true; in fact, I did forget it. Let him enter, No Eusebio. My
friend," he added, addressing Tranquil, "it is impossible for me at this
moment to begin a story which would be interrupted almost at the first
sentence; but soon, I hope, you shall know it."
"I will leave you to settle your Indian affairs," Doña Garillas said
with a smile, and rising, she quitted the room.
Tranquil, we are bound to confess, was in his heart delighted at an
interruption which saved him from listening to the narrative of painful
events. The worthy hunter possessed the precious quality of not being at
all curious to know the history of men he liked, for his native
integrity led him to fear seeing them break down in his esteem. Hence,
he easily accepted the unexpected delay in Loyal Heart's confession, and
was grateful to Black-deer for arriving so opportunely.
At the moment when Doña Garillas entered the room No Eusebio introduced
the Indian Chief by another door. Forgetful of that assumed stoicism so
habitual to Indians, Black-deer seemed suffering from a lively anxiety.
The warrior's gloomy air, his frowns--nothing, in a word, recalled in
him the man who had just contracted a union he had long desired, and
which, fulfilled all his wishes; his countenance, on the contrary, was
so grave and stern, that the two hunters noticed it at the first glance,
and could not refrain from remarking on it to him.
"Wah!" Loyal Heart said good-humouredly, "You have a preciously sad
face. Did you, on entering the village, perceive five crows on your
right, or did your scalping knife stick in the ground thrice in
succession, which, as everybody knows, is a very evil omen?"
The Chief, before replying, bent a piercing glance around.
"No," he at length said, in a low and suppressed voice, "Black-deer has
not seen five crows on his right; he saw a fox on his left, and a flight
of owls in the bushes."
"You know, Chief, that I do not at all understand you," Loyal Heart
said, laughing.
"Nor do I, on my honour," Tranquil observed with a crafty smile.
The Chief bravely endured this double volley of sarcasm. Not a muscle of
his face stirred; on the contrary, his features seemed to grow more
gloomy.
"My brothers can laugh," he said, "they are Palefaces; they care little
whether good or evil happens to the Indians."
"Pardon, Chief," Loyal Heart answered, suddenly becoming serious; "my
friend and myself had no intention of insulting you."
"I am aware of it," the Chief replied, "my brothers cannot suppose that
on a day like this I should be sad."
"That is true, but now our ears are open: my brother will speak, and we
listen with all the attention his words deserve."
The Indian seemed to hesitate, but in a moment he walked up to Loyal
Heart and Tranquil, seated by his side, and bent over them, so that his
head touched theirs.
"The situation is grave," he said, "and I have only a few minutes to
spare, so my brothers will listen seriously. I must return to the calli
of Blackbird, where my friends and relatives await me. Are my brothers
listening?"
"We are listening," the two men answered with one voice.
Ere going on, Black-deer walked round the room, inspecting the walls and
opening the doors, as if fearing listeners. Then, probably re-assured by
this inspection that no one could hear him, he returned to the two white
men, who curiously followed these singular operations, and said to them
in a low voice, as an additional precaution:
"A great danger menaces the Antelope Comanches."
"How so, Chief?"
"The Apaches are watching the neighbourhood of the village."
"How do you know that?"
The Chief looked around him, and then continued in the same low and
suppressed voice:
"I have seen them."
"My brother has seen the Apaches?"
The Chief smiled proudly.
"Yes," he said, "Black-deer is a great brave, he has the fine scent of
my brother's rastreros, he has smelt the enemy; smelling is seeing, with
a warrior."
"Yes, but my brother must take care! Passion is an evil counsellor,"
Loyal Heart answered; "perhaps he is mistaken."
Black-deer shrugged his shoulders with disdain.
"This night there was not a breath of air in the forest, yet the leaves
of the trees moved, and the tall grass was agitated."
"Wah! That is astonishing," said Loyal Heart; "An envoy of the Buffalo
Apaches is in the village at this moment, we must be threatened by
fearful trickery."
"Blue-fox is a traitor who has sold his people," the Indian continued
with some animation; "what can be hoped from such a man? He has come
here to count the braves, and send the warriors to sleep."
"Yes," said Loyal Heart thoughtfully, "that is possible. But what is to
be done? Has my brother warned the Chiefs?"
"Yes, while Blue-fox requested the hachesto to assemble the council,
Black-deer spoke with Bounding Panther, Lynx, and Blackbird."
"Very good, what have they resolved?"
"Blue-fox will be retained as a hostage, under various pretexts. At
sunset two hundred picked warriors, under the orders of Loyal Heart, and
guided by Black-deer, will go and surprise the enemy, who, knowing their
emissary to be in the village, will have no suspicion, but fall into the
trap they intended to set for us."
Loyal heart remained silent for a moment and reflected.
"Let my brother hear me," he said presently; "I am ready to obey the
orders of the Sovereign Council of the Sachems of the tribe, but I will
not let the warriors entrusted to me be massacred. The Buffalo Apaches
are old chattering and crying squaws, without courage, to whom we will
give petticoats, each time they find themselves face to face with us in
the prairies. But here such is not the case; they are ambushed at a spot
selected beforehand, and are acquainted with all its resources. However
well my young men may be guided by my brothers, the Apaches will come on
their trail, so that will not do."
"What does my brother propose?" Black-deer asked with some anxiety.
"The sun has run two-thirds of its course, Black-deer will warn the
warriors to proceed each by himself, to the mountain of the Blackbear,
one hour after sunset. In this way they will seem to be going hunting
separately, and excite no suspicion. No one will see them depart, and if
the enemy, as is probable, have spies in the camp, they cannot suppose
that these hunters, starting one after the other, are sent off to
surprise them. When the sun has disappeared on the horizon, in the
sacred cavern of the Red Mountain, my brother the Pale hunter and myself
will mount our horses and join the Redskins. Have I spoken well? Does
what I have said please my brother?"
While Loyal Heart was thus explaining the plan he had instantaneously
conceived, the Indian Chief gave marks of the greatest joy, and the most
lively admiration.
"My brother has spoken well," he answered; "the Wacondah is with him;
his medicine is very powerful, though his hair is black; the wisdom of
the Master of Life resides in him. It shall be done as he desires;
Black-deer will obey him; he will follow out exactly the wise
instructions of his brother, Loyal Heart."
"Good; but my brother will take care: Blue-fox is very clever!"
"Blue-fox is an Apache dog, whose ears Black-deer will crop. My brother
the hunter need not feel alarmed; all will happen as he desires."
After exchanging a few more sentences to come to a full understanding,
and make their final arrangements, Black-deer withdrew.
"You will come with me, I suppose, Tranquil?" the young man asked the
Canadian so soon as they were alone.
"Of course!" the other replied; "Did you doubt it? What the deuce should
I do here during your absence? I prefer accompanying you, especially as,
if I am not mistaken, there will be a jolly row."
"You are not mistaken. It is evident to me that the Apaches would not
have ventured so near the village, unless they were in considerable
force."
"Well, in that case, two hundred men are as nothing; you should have
asked for more."
"Why so? In a surprise the man who attacks is always the stronger; we
will try to get the first blow, that is all."
"That is true, by Jove! I am delighted at the affair; I have not smelt
powder for some time, and feel myself beginning to rust; that will
restore me."
At this outburst, Loyal Heart began laughing, Tranquil formed the
chorus, and they spoke about something else.