THE ABDUCTION.
Red Cedar and Fray Ambrosio had not remained inactive since their last
interview up to the day when Don Miguel set out to hunt the wild horses.
These two fellows, so suited to understand each other, had manoeuvred
with extreme skill. Fray Ambrosio, all whose avaricious instincts had
been aroused since he had so artfully stolen from poor Joaquin the
secret of his placer, had assembled a formidable collection of the
bandits who always swarm on the Indian frontiers. In a few days he found
himself at the head of one hundred and twenty adventurers, all men who
had cheated the gallows, and of whom he felt the more sure as the secret
of the expedition was concealed from them, and they fancied they formed
a war party engaged to go scalp hunting.
These men, who all knew Red Cedar by reputation, burnt to set out, so
convinced were they of carrying out a successful expedition under such a
leader. Only two men formed an exception to this band of scoundrels, the
smallest culprit of whom had at least three or four murders on his
conscience. They were Harry, and Dick, who, for reasons the reader has
doubtless guessed, found themselves, to their great regret, mixed up
with these bandits. Still we must say, in justice to Fray Ambrosio's
soldiers, that they were all bold hunters, accustomed for many a year to
desert life, who knew all its perils, and feared none of its dangers.
Fray Ambrosio; apprehending the effects of mezcal and pulque on his men,
had made them bivouac at the entrance of the desert, at a sufficiently
great distance from the Paso del Norte to prevent them easily going
there. The adventurers spent their time joyously in playing, not for
money, as they had none, but for the scalps they intended presently to
lift from the Indians, each of which represented a very decent sum.
Still Fray Ambrosio, so soon as his expedition was completely organised,
had only one desire--to start as speedily as possible; but for two days
Red Cedar was not to be found. At length Fray Ambrosio succeeded in
catching him just as he was entering his jacal.
"What has become of you?" he asked him.
"What does that concern you?" the squatter answered brutally. "Have I to
answer for my conduct to you?"
"I do not say so: still, connected as we are at this moment, it would be
as well for me to know where to find you when I want you."
"I have been attending to my business, as you have to yours."
"Well, are you satisfied?"
"Very much so," he answered with a sinister smile. "You will soon learn
the result of my journey."
"All the better. If you are satisfied, I am so too."
"Ah, ah!"
"Yes, all is ready for departure."
"Let us be off--tomorrow if you like."
"On this very night."
"Very good. You are like me, and don't care to travel by day on account
of the heat of the sun."
The two accomplices smiled at this delicate jest.
"But before starting," the squatter continued, becoming serious again,
"we have something left to do here."
"What is it?" Fray Ambrosio asked with candor.
"It is wonderful what a short memory you have. Take care: that failing
may play an awkward trick some day."
"Thanks! I will try to correct it."
"Yes, and the sooner the better: in the meanwhile I will refresh your
memory."
"I shall feel obliged to you."
"And Doña Clara, do you fancy we are going to leave her behind?"
"Hum! Then you still think of that?"
"By Jove! More than ever."
"The fact is it will not be easy to carry her off at this moment."
"Why not?"
"In the first place, she is not at the hacienda."
"That is certainly a reason."
"Is it not?"
"Yes; but she must be somewhere, I suppose?" the squatter said with a
coarse laugh.
"She has gone with her father to a hunt of wild horses."
"The hunt is over and they are on their return."
"You are well informed."
"It is my trade. Come, do you still mean serving me?"
"I must."
"That is how I like you. There cannot be many people at the hacienda?"
"A dozen at the most."
"Better still. Listen to me: it is now four in the afternoon. I have a
ride to take. Return to the hacienda, and I will come there this evening
at nine, with twenty resolute men. You will open the little gate of the
corral, and leave me to act. I'll answer for all."
"If you wish it it must be so," Fray Ambrosio said with a sigh.
"Are you going to begin again?" the squatter asked in a meaning voice as
he rose.
"No, no, it is unnecessary," the monk exclaimed. "I shall expect you."
"Good: till this evening."
"Very well."
On which the two accomplices separated. All happened as had been
arranged between them. At nine o'clock Red Cedar reached the little
gate, which was opened for him by Fray Ambrosio, and the squatter
entered the hacienda at the head of his three sons and a party of
bandits. The peons, surprised in their sleep, were bound before they
even knew what was taking place.
"Now," Red Cedar said, "we are masters of the place, the girl can come
as soon as she likes."
"Eh?" the monk went on. "All is not finished yet. Don Miguel is a
resolute man, and is well accompanied: he will not let his daughter be
carried off under his eyes without defending her."
"Don Miguel will not come," the squatter said with a sardonic grin.
"How do you know?"
"That is not your business."
"We shall see."
But the bandits had forgotten Father Seraphin. The missionary, aroused
by the unusual noise he heard in the hacienda, had hastily risen. He had
heard the few words exchanged between the accomplices, and they were
sufficient to make him guess the fearful treachery they meditated. Only
listening to his heart, the missionary glided out into the corral,
saddled a horse, and opening a door, of which he had a key, so that he
could enter or leave the hacienda as his duties required, he started at
full speed in the direction which he supposed the hunters must follow in
returning to the hacienda. Unfortunately, Father Seraphin had been
unable to effect his flight unheard by the squatter's practised ear.
"Malediction!" Red Cedar shouted, as he rushed, rifle in hand, toward a
window, which he dashed out with his fist, "We are betrayed."
The bandits rushed in disorder into the corral where their horses were
tied up, and leaped into their saddles. At this moment a shadow flitted
across the plain in front of the squatter, who rapidly shouldered his
rifle and fired. Then he went out: a stifled cry reached his ear, but
the person the bandit had fired at still went on.
"No matter," the squatter muttered; "that fine bird has lead in its
wing. Sharp, sharp, my men, on the trail!"
And all the bandits rushed off in pursuit of the fugitive.
Father Seraphin had fallen in a fainting condition at Valentine's feet.
"Good heavens!" the hunter exclaimed in despair, "what can have
happened?"
And he gently carried the missionary into a ditch that ran by the side
of the road. Father Seraphin had his shoulder fractured, and the blood
poured in a stream from the wound. The hunter looked around him; but at
this moment a confused sound could be heard like the rolling of distant
thunder.
"We must fall like brave men, Don Pablo, that is all," he said sharply.
"Be at your ease," the young man answered coldly.
Doña Clara was pale and trembling.
"Come," Valentine said.
And, with a movement rapid as thought, he bounded on to the missionary's
horse. The three fugitives started at full speed. The flight lasted a
quarter of an hour, and then Valentine stopped. He dismounted, gave the
young people a signal to wait, lay down on the ground, and began
crawling on his hands and knees, gliding like a serpent through the long
grass that concealed him, and stopping at intervals to look around him,
and listen attentively to the sounds of the desert. Suddenly he rushed
towards his companions, seized the horses by the bridle, and dragged
them behind a mound, where they remained concealed, breathless and
unable to speak.
A formidable noise of horses was audible. Some twenty black shadows
passed like a tornado within ten paces of their hiding place, not seeing
them in consequence of the darkness.
Valentine drew a deep breath.
"All hope is not lost," he muttered.
He waited anxiously for five minutes: their pursuers were going further
away. Presently the sound of their horses' hoofs ceased to disturb the
silence of the night.
"To horse!" Valentine said.
They leaped into their saddles and started again, not in the direction
of the hacienda, but in that of the Paso.
"Loosen your bridles," the hunter said: "more still--we are not moving."
Suddenly a loud neigh was borne on the breeze to the ears of the
fugitives.
"We are lost!" Valentine muttered. "They have found our trail."
Red Cedar was too old a hand on the prairie to be long thrown out: he
soon perceived that he was mistaken, and was now turning back, quite
certain this time of holding the trail. Then began one of those fabulous
races which only the dwellers on the prairie can witness--races which
intoxicate and cause a giddiness, and which no obstacle is powerful
enough to stop or check, for the object is success or death. The
bandits' half wild horses, apparently identifying themselves with the
ferocious passions of their riders, glided through the night with the
rapidity of the phantom steed in the German ballad, bounded over
precipices, and rushed with prodigious speed.
At times a horseman rolled with his steed from the top of a rock, and
fell into an abyss, uttering a yell of distress; but his comrades passed
over his body, borne along like a whirlwind, and responding to this cry
of agony, the final appeal of a brother, by a formidable howl of rage.
This pursuit had already lasted two hours, and the fugitives had not
lost an inch of ground: their horses, white with foam, uttered hoarse
cries of fatigue and exhaustion as a dense smoke came out of their
nostrils. Doña Clara, with her hair untied and floating in the breeze,
with sparkling eye and closely pressed lips, constantly urged her horse
on with voice and hand.
"All is over!" the hunter suddenly said. "Save yourselves! I will let
myself be killed here, so that you may go on for ten minutes longer, and
be saved. I will hold out for that time, so go on."
"No," Don Pablo answered nobly; "we will be all saved or perish
together."
"Yes," the maiden remarked.
Valentine shrugged his shoulders.
"You are mad," he said.
All at once he started, for their pursuers were rapidly approaching.
"Listen," he said. "Do you two let yourselves be captured; they will not
follow me, as they owe me no grudge. I swear to you that if I remain at
liberty I will deliver you, even if they hide you in the bowels of the
earth."
Without replying Don Pablo dismounted, and Valentine leaped on to his
horse.
"Hope for the best!" he shouted hoarsely, and disappeared.
Don Pablo, so soon as he was alone with his sister, made her dismount,
seated her at the foot of a tree, and stood before her with a pistol in
either hand. He had not to wait long, for almost immediately he was
surrounded by the bandits.
"Surrender!" Red Cedar shouted in a panting voice.
Don Pablo smiled disdainfully.
"Here is my answer," he said.
And with two pistol shots he laid two bandits low; then he threw away
his useless weapons, and crossing his arms on his breast said,--
"Do what you please now; I am avenged."
Red Cedar bounded with fury.
"Kill that dog!" he shouted.
Shaw rushed toward the young man, threw his nervous arms around him, and
whispered in his ear,--
"Do not resist, but fall as if dead."
Don Pablo mechanically followed his advice.
"It is all over," said Shaw. "Poor devil! He did not cling to life."
He returned his knife to his belt, threw the supposed corpse on his
shoulders, and dragged it into a ditch. At the sight of her brother's
body, whom she supposed to be dead, Doña Clara uttered a shriek of
despair and fainted. Red Cedar laid the maiden across his saddle-bow,
and the whole band, starting at a gallop was soon lost in the darkness.
Don Pablo then rose slowly, and took a sorrowful glance around.
"My poor sister!" he murmured.
Then he perceived her horse near him.
"Valentine alone can save her," he said.
He mounted the horse, and proceeded toward the Paso, asking himself this
question, which he found it impossible to answer:--
"But why did not that man kill me?"
A few paces from the village he perceived two men halting on the road,
and conversing with the greatest animation. They hurriedly advanced
toward him, and the young man uttered a cry of surprise on recognising
them. They were Valentine and Curumilla.