CONVERSATION.
Valentine Guillois, whom we have already introduced to the reader in
previous works[1], had inhabited, or, to speak more correctly, traversed
the vast solitudes of Mexico and Texas during the past five or six
years. We saw him just now accompanied by the Araucano chief. These two
men were the boldest hunters on the frontier. At times, when they had
collected an ample harvest of furs, they went to sell them in the
villages, renewed their stock of powder and ball, purchased a few
indispensable articles, and then returned to the desert.
Now and then they engaged themselves for a week, or even a fortnight,
with the proprietors of the haciendas, to free them from the wild beasts
that desolated their herds; but so soon as the ferocious animals were
destroyed, and the reward obtained, no matter the brilliancy of the
offers made them by the landowners, the two men threw their rifles on
their shoulders and went off.
No one knew who they were, or whence they came. Valentine and his friend
maintained the most complete silence as to the events of their life
which had preceded their appearance in these parts. Only one thing had
betrayed the nationality of Valentine, whom his comrade called
Koutonepi, a word belonging to the language of the Aucas, and signifying
"The Valiant." On his chest the hunter wore the cross of the Legion of
Honor. The deeds of every description performed by these hunters were
incalculable, and their stories were the delight of the frontier
dwellers during the winter night. The number of tigers they had killed
was no longer counted.
Chance had one day made them acquainted with Don Miguel Zarate under
strange circumstances, and since then an uninterrupted friendship had
been maintained between them. Don Miguel, during a tempestuous night,
namely, had only owed his life to the accuracy of Valentine's aim, who
sent a bullet through the head of the Mexican's horse at the moment
when, mad with terror, and no longer obeying the bridle, it was on the
point of leaping into an abyss with its master. Don Miguel had sworn
eternal gratitude to his saviour.
Valentine and Curumilla had made themselves the tutors of the
hacendero's children, who, for their part, felt a deep friendship for
the hunters. Don Pablo had frequently made long hunting parties in the
desert with them; and it was to them he owed the certainty of his aim,
his skill in handling weapons, and his knack in taming horses.
No secrets existed between Don Miguel and the hunters: they read in his
mind as in an ever open book. They were the disinterested confidants of
his plans; for these rude wood rangers esteemed him, and only required
for themselves one thing--the liberty of the desert. Still, despite the
sympathy and friendship which so closely connected these different
persons, and the confidence which formed the basis of that friendship,
Don Miguel and his children had never been able to obtain from the
hunters information as to the events that had passed prior to their
arrival in this country.
Frequently Don Miguel, impelled, not by curiosity, but merely by the
interest he felt in them, had tried, by words cleverly thrown into the
conversation, to give them an opening for confidence; but Valentine had
always repelled those hints, though cleverly enough for Don Miguel not
to feel offended by this want of confidence. With Curumilla they had
been even more simple. Wrapped in his Indian stoicism, intrenched in his
habitual sullenness, he was wont to answer all questions by a shake of
the head, but nothing further.
At length, weary of the attempt, the hacendero and his family had given
up trying to read those secrets which their friends seemed obstinately
determined to keep from them. Still the friendship subsisting between
them had not grown cold in consequence, and it was always with equal
pleasure that Don Miguel met the hunters again after a lengthened ramble
in the prairies, which kept them away from his house for whole months at
a time.
The hunter and the Mexican were seated by the fire, while Curumilla,
armed with his scalping knife, was busy flaying the two jaguars so
skillfully killed by Don Miguel, and which were magnificent brutes.
"Eh, _compadre!_" Don Miguel said with a laugh; "I was beginning to lose
patience, and fancy you had forgotten the meeting you had yourself given
me."
"I never forgot anything, as you know," Valentine answered seriously;
"and if I did not arrive sooner, it was because the road is long from my
jacal to this clearing."
"Heaven forbid that I should reproach you, my friend! Still I confess to
you that the prospect of passing the night alone in this forest only
slightly pleased me, and I should have been off had you not arrived
before sunset."
"You would have done wrong, Don Miguel: what I have to tell you is of
the utmost importance to you. Who knows what the result might have been
had I not been able to warn you?"
"You alarm me, my friend."
"I will explain. In the first place let me tell you that you committed,
a few days back, a grave imprudence, whose consequences threaten to be
most serious for you."
"What is it?"
"I said one, but ought to have said two."
"I am waiting till you think proper to express yourself more clearly,"
Don Miguel said with a slight tinge of impatience, "before I answer."
"You have quarrelled with a North American bandit."
"Red Cedar."
"Yes; and when you had him in your power you let him escape, instead of
killing him out and out."
"That is true, and I was wrong. What would you? The villain has as tough
a life as an alligator. But be at ease. If ever he fall into my hands
again, I swear that I will not miss him."
"In the meanwhile you did do so--that is the evil."
"Why so?"
"You will understand me. This man is one of those villains, the scum of
the United States, too many of whom have lived on the frontier during
the last few years. I do not know how he contrived to deceive your New
York agent; but he gained his confidence so cleverly that the latter
told him all the secrets he knew about your enterprise."
"He told me so himself."
"Very good. It was then, I suppose, that you stabbed him?"
"Yes, and at the same time I plucked out his claws; that is to say, I
seized the letters he held, and which might compromise me."
"A mistake. This man is too thorough-paced a scoundrel not to foresee
all the chances of his treason. He had a last letter, the most important
of all; and that you did not take from him."
"I took three."
"Yes, but there were four. As the last, however, in itself was worth as
much as the other three, he always wore it about him in a leathern bag
hung round his neck by a steel chain; you did not dream of looking for
that."
"But what importance can this letter, I do not even remember writing,
possess, that you should attach such weight to it?"
"It is merely the agreement drawn up between yourself, General Ibañez,
and Mr. Wood, and bearing your three signatures."
"_Con mil demonios!_" the hacendero exclaimed in terror. "In that case
I am lost; for if this man really possesses such a document, he will not
fail to employ it in order to be revenged on me."
"Nothing is lost so long as a man's heart beats in his breast, Don
Miguel. The position is critical, I allow, but I have saved myself in
situations far more desperate than the one you are now in."
"What is to be done?"
"Red Cedar has been about again for two days. His first care, so soon as
he could sit a horse, was to go to Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico,
and denounce you to the Governor. That has nothing to surprise you from
such a man."
"Then I can only fly as speedily as I can?"
"Wait. Every man has in his heart at least one of the seven deadly sins
as a bait for the demon."
"What are you driving at?"
"You will see. Fortunately for us, Red Cedar has them all seven, I
believe, in the finest stage of development. Avarice, before all, has
reached its acme with him."
"Well?"
"This happened. Our man denounced you to the governor as a conspirator,
etc., but was careful not to give up the proofs he possessed in support
of the denunciation at the outset. When General Isturitz, the governor,
asked him for these proofs, he answered that he was ready to supply them
in exchange for the sum of one hundred thousand piastres in gold."
"Ah!" the hacendero said, with a breath of relief, "and what did
Isturitz say?"
"The general is one of your most inveterate enemies, I grant, and he
would give a good deal for the pleasure of having you shot."
"That is true."
"Yes, but still the sum appeared to him, as it really is, exorbitant,
the more so as he would have to pay it all himself, as the government
does not recognise transactions of that nature."
"Well, what did Red Cedar do then?"
"He did not allow himself beaten; on the contrary, he told the general
he would give him a week to reflect, and quietly left the Cabildo."
"Hum! And on what day was this visit paid?"
"Yesterday morning; so that you have six days still left for action."
"Six days--that is very little."
"Eh?" the Frenchman said, with a shrug of his shoulders impossible to
describe. "In my country--"
"Yes, but you are Frenchmen."
"That is true: hence I allow you twice the time we should require. Come,
let us put joking aside. You are a man of more than common energy; you
really wish the welfare of your country, so do not let yourself be
crushed by the first reverse. Who knows but that it may all be for the
best?"
"Ah, my friend, I am alone! General Ibañez, who alone could help me in
this critical affair, is fifty leagues off. What can I do? Nothing."
"All. I foresaw your objection. Eagle-wing, the Chief of the Coras, has
gone from me to warn the general. You know with what speed Indians
travel; so he will bring us the general in a few hours, I feel
convinced."
Don Miguel regarded the hunter with mingled admiration and respect.
"You have done that, my friend?" he said to him as he warmly pressed his
hand.
"By Jove!" Valentine said, gaily, "I have done something else too. When
the time arrives I will tell you what it is. But let us not lose an
hour. What do you intend to do for the present?"
"Act."
"Good: that is the way I like to hear you talk."
"Yes, but I must first come to an understanding with the general."
"That is true; but it is the least thing," Valentine answered, as he
looked skyward, and attentively consulted the position of the stars. "It
is now eight o'clock. Eagle-wing and the man he brings must be at
midnight at the entrance of the _Cañon del Buitre_. We have four hours
before us, and that is more than we require, as we have only ten leagues
to go."
"Let us go, let us go!" Don Miguel exclaimed eagerly.
"Wait a moment; there is no such hurry. Don't be alarmed; we shall
arrive in time."
He then turned to Curumilla, and said to him in Araucano a few words
which the hacendero did not understand. The Indian rose without
replying, and disappeared in the density of the forest.
"You know," Valentine continued, "that I prefer, through habit,
travelling on foot; still, as under present circumstances minutes are
precious, and we must not lose them, I have provided two horses."
"You think of everything, my friend."
"Yes, when I have to act for those I love," Valentine answered with a
retrospective sigh.
There was a moment's silence between the two men, and at the end of
scarce a quarter of an hour there was a noise in the shrubs, the
branches parted, and Curumilla re-entered the clearing, holding two
horses by the bridle. These noble animals, which were nearly untamed
_mustangs_, bore a striking resemblance to the steeds of the Apaches, on
whose territory our friends now were. They were literally covered with
eagle plumes, beads, and ribbons, while long red and white spots
completed their disguise, and rendered it almost impossible to recognise
them.
"Mount!" Don Miguel exclaimed so soon as he saw them. "Time is slipping
away."
"One word yet," Valentine remarked.
"Speak."
"You still have as chaplain a certain monk by the name of 'Fray
Ambrosio.'"
"Yes."
"Take care of that man--he betrays you."
"You believe it?"
"I am sure of it."
"Good! I will remember."
"All right. Now we will be off," Valentine said, as he buried his spurs
in his horse's flanks.
And the three horsemen rushed into the darkness with headlong speed.
[1] "Tiger-Slayer," etc. Same publishers.