A NIGHT CONFERENCE.
Don Stefano Cohecho seemed to be thoroughly acquainted with the
desert. So soon as he was on the prairie, and fancied himself safe
from any curious eye, he raised his head haughtily, his step grew more
confident, his eye sparkled with a gloomy fire, and he walked with long
steps towards a clump of palm trees, whose small fans formed but a
scanty protection by day against the burning sunbeams.
Still he neglected no precaution; at times he stopped hurriedly, to
listen to the slightest suspicious sound, or interrogate with searching
glance the gloomy depths of the forest. But after a few seconds,
re-assured by the calm that prevailed around him, he jogged onwards
with that deliberate step he had adopted on leaving the camp.
Domingo walked literally in his steps; spying and watching each of
his movements with that sagacity peculiar to the half-breeds, while
carefully keeping on his guard against any surprise on the part of the
man he was following. Domingo was one of those men of whom only too
many are met with on the frontiers. Gifted with great qualities and
great vices, equally fit for good and evil, capable of accomplishing
extraordinary things in either sense; but who, for the most part, are
only guided by their evil instincts.
He was at this moment following the stranger, without exactly knowing
the motive that made him do so; not, even having decided whether to
be for or against him; awaiting, to make up his mind, a little better
knowledge of the state of affairs, and the chance of weighing the
advantage he should derive from treachery or the performance of his
duty. Hence, he carefully avoided letting his presence be suspected,
for he guessed that the mystery he wished to detect would, if he
succeeded, offer him great advantages, especially if he knew how to
work it.
The two men marched thus for nearly an hour, one behind the other, Don
Stefano not suspecting for a moment that he was so cleverly watched,
and that one of the most knowing scoundrels on the prairie was at his
heels.
After numberless turnings in the tall grass, Don Stefano at length
arrived at the bank of the Rio Colorado, which at this spot was as wide
and placid as a lake, running over a bed of sand, bordered by thick
clumps of cottonwood trees, and tall poplars, whose roots were bathed
in the water. On reaching the river, the stranger stopped, listened
for a moment, and, raising his fingers to his mouth, imitated the bark
of a coyote. Almost immediately, the same signal rose in the midst of
the mangrove trees, and a little birchbark canoe, pulled by two men,
appeared on the bank.
"Eh!" Don Stefano said, in a suppressed voice, "I had given up all
hopes of meeting you."
"Did you not hear our signal?" one of the men in the canoe answered.
"Should I have come without that? Still, it seems to me you could have
come nearer to me."
"It was not possible."
The canoe ran on to the sand; the two men leaped on lightly, and in a
second joined Don Stefano. Both were dressed and armed like prairie
hunters.
"Hum!" Don Stefano continued; "it is a long journey from the camp here,
and I am afraid that my absence may be noticed."
"That is a risk you must run," the first speaker remarked--a man of
tall stature, with a grave and stern face, whose hair, white as snow,
fell in long curls on his shoulders.
"Well, as you are here at last, let us come to an understanding; and
make haste about it, for time is precious. What have you done since we
parted?"
"Not much; we followed you at a distance, that is all, ready to come to
your assistance if needed."
"Thanks; no news?"
"None. Who could have given us any?"
"That is true; and have you not met your friend Marksman?"
"No."
"_¡Cuerpo de Cristo!_ That is annoying; for, if my presentiment do not
deceive me, we shall soon have to play at knives."
"We will do so."
"I know it, Brighteye. I have long been acquainted with your courage;
but you, Ruperto your comrade, and myself, are only three men, after
all."
"What matter?"
"What matter? you say, when we shall have to fight thirty or forty
hardened hunters! On my word, Brighteye, you will drive me mad with
your notions. You doubt about nothing; but remember, that this time
we have not to contend against badly-armed Indians, but white men,
thorough game for the galleys, who will die without yielding an inch,
and to whom we must inevitably succumb."
"That is true; I did not think of that; they are numerous."
"If we fall, what will become of her?"
"Good, good," the hunter said, with a shake of his head. "I repeat to
you that I did not think of that."
"You see, then, that it is indispensable for us to come to an
understanding with Marksman and the men he may have at his disposal."
"Yes; but where are you going to find in the desert the trail of a man
like Marksman? Who knows where he is at this moment? He may be within
gunshot of us, or five hundred miles off."
"It is enough to drive me mad."
"The fact is, that the position is grave. Are you, at least, sure this
time that you are not mistaken, but are in the right trail?"
"I cannot say with certainty, though everything leads me to suppose
that I am not mistaken. However, I shall soon know what I have to
depend on."
"Besides, it is the same trail we have followed ever since leaving
Monterey; the chances are it is they."
"What do we resolve on?"
"Hang it! I do not know what to say!"
"On my word, you are a most heart breaking fellow! What! cannot you
suggest any way?"
"I must have a certainty, and then, as you said yourself, it would be
madness for us thus to try a sudden attack."
"You are right. I will return to the camp; tomorrow night we will meet
again, and I shall be very unlucky if this time I do not discover
what it is so important for us all to know. Do you, in the meanwhile,
ransack the prairie in every direction, and, if possible, bring me news
of Marksman."
"The recommendation is unnecessary. I shall not be idle."
Don Stefano seized the old hunter's hand, and pressed it between his
own.
"Brighteye," he said to him, with considerable emotion,
"I will not speak of our old friendship, nor of the services which I
have been several times so fortunate as to render you; I will only
repeat, and I know it will be sufficient for you, that the happiness of
my whole life depends on the success of our expedition."
"Good, good; have confidence in me, Don José. I am too old to change my
friends; I do not know who is right or wrong in this business; I wish
that justice may be on your side; but that does not affect me. Whatever
may happen, I will be a good and faithful companion to you."
"Thanks, my old friend. Tomorrow night, then."
After uttering these few words, Don Stefano, or, at least, the man who
called himself so, made a move as if to withdraw; but Brighteye stopped
him, with a sudden gesture.
"What is the matter?" the stranger asked.
The hunter laid a forefinger on his mouth, to recommend silence, and
turned to Ruperto, who had remained silent and apathetic during the
interview.
"_Coyote_," he said to him, in a low voice.
Without replying, Ruperto bounded like a jaguar, and disappeared in a
clump of cottonwood trees, which was a short distance off. After a few
moments, the two men who had remained, with their bodies bent forward
in the attitude of listeners, without uttering a syllable, heard a
rustling of leaves, a noise of broken branches, followed by the fall of
a heavy body on the ground, and after that nothing. Almost immediately
the cry of the owl rose in the night air.
"Ruperto calls us," Brighteye then said, "all is over
"What has happened?" Don Stefano asked anxiously.
"Less than nothing," the hunter replied, making him a sign to follow.
"You had a spy at your heels; that is all."
"A spy?"
"By Jove! you shall see."
"Oh, oh! that is serious."
"Less than you suppose, as we have him."
"In that case, though, we must kill the man."
"Who knows? That will probably depend on the explanation we may have
with him. At any rate, there is no great harm in crushing such vipers."
While speaking thus, Brighteye and his companion had entered the
thicket. Domingo, thrown down, and tightly garotted by means of
Ruperto's reata, was vainly struggling to break the bonds that cut
into, his flesh. Ruperto, with his hands resting on the muzzle of his
rifle, was listening with a grin, but no other reply, to the flood of
insults and recriminations which rage drew from the half-breed.
"_¡Dios me ampare!_" the latter shouted, writhing like a viper.
"_¡Verdugo del Demonio!_ Is this the way to behave between _gente de
razón?_ Am I a Redskin, to be tied like a plug of tobacco, and have my
limbs fettered like a calf that is being taken to the shambles? If ever
you fall into my hands, accursed dog! you shall pay for the trick you
have played me."
"Instead of threatening, my good man," Brighteye interposed, "it seems
to me you would do better by frankly allowing that you are in our
power, and acting in accordance."
The bandit sharply turned his head, the only part of his person at
liberty, toward the hunter.
"What right have you to call me good man, and give me advice, old
trapper of muskrats?" he said to him, irritably. "Are you white men or
Indians, to treat a hunter thus?"
"If, instead of hearing what did not concern you, Señor Domingo, for I
believe that is your name," Don Stefano said, with a cunning look, "you
had remained quietly asleep in your camp, the little annoyance of which
you complain would not have occurred."
"I am bound to recognize the justice of your reasoning," the bandit
replied ironically; "but, hang it! what would you have? I have ever
suffered from a mania of trying to find out what people sought to hide
from me."
The stranger looked at him suspiciously.
"And have you had the mania long, my good friend?" he asked him.
"Since my earliest youth," he answered, with effrontery.
"Only think of that! Then you must have learned a good many things?"
"An enormous quantity, worthy sir."
Don Stefano turned to Brighteye.
"My friend," he said to him, "just unloosen this man's bonds a little.
There is much to be gained in his company; I wish to enjoy his
conversation for a little while."
The hunter silently executed the orders he received. The bandit uttered
a sigh of satisfaction at finding himself more at his ease, and sat up.
"_¡Cuerpo de Cristo!_" he exclaimed, with a mocking accent. "The
position is now, at any rate, bearable. We can talk."
"I think so."
"My faith! yes. I am quite at your service, for anything you please,
Excellency."
"I will profit by your complaisance."
"Profit by it! profit by it, Excellency? I can only gain in talking
with you."
"Do you believe so?"
"I am convinced of it."
"Indeed, you may be right; but tell me, beside that noble curiosity,
which you so frankly confessed, have you not, by accident, a few other
defects?"
The bandit appeared to reflect conscientiously for two or three
minutes, and then answered, with an affable grin,--
"My faith! no, Excellency. I cannot find any."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Hum! it may be so, yet I do not believe it."
"Come, you see, you are not sure."
"That is indeed true!" the bandit exclaimed, with pretended candour.
"As you know, Excellency, human nature is so imperfect."
Don Stefano gave a nod of assent.
"If I were to help you," he said, "perhaps--"
"We might find it out, Excellency," Domingo quickly interrupted him.
"Well, help me, help me, I ask for nothing better."
"Hum! for instance--but notice that I affirm nothing; I suppose, that
is all."
"_¡Caray!_ I am well aware of it. Go on, Excellency, do not trouble
yourself."
"Then, I say--have you not a certain weakness for money?"
"For gold, especially."
"That is what I meant to say."
"The fact is, gold is very tempting, Excellency."
"I do not wish to regard it as a crime, my friend. I only mention it;
besides, that passion is so natural--"
"Is it not?"
"That you must be affected by it."
"Well, I confess, Excellency, that you have guessed it."
"Look you! I was sure of it."
"Yes, money gained honestly."
"Of course! Thus, for instance, suppose anyone offered you a thousand
piastres to discover the secret of Don Miguel Ortega's palanquin?"
"Hang it!" the bandit said, fixing a sharp glance on the stranger, who,
for his part, examined him attentively.
"And if that somebody," Don Stefano went on, "gave you in addition,
as earnest penny, a ring like this?" While saying this, he made a
magnificent diamond ring flash in the bandit's eyes.
"I would accept," the latter said, with a greedy accent, "even if I
were compelled, in order to discover that secret, to imperil the share
I hope for in Paradise."
Don Stefano turned to Brighteye. "Unfasten this man," he said, coldly,
"we understand each other."
On feeling himself free, the half-breed gave a bound of joy. "The
ring!" he said.
"There it is," Don Stefano said, as he handed it to him; "all is
arranged."
Domingo laid his right-hand thumb across the left, and raised his head
proudly. "On the Holy Cross of the Redeemer," he said, in a clear and
impressive voice, "I swear to employ all my efforts in discovering
the secret Don Miguel hides so jealously; I swear never to betray the
Caballero with whom I am treating at this moment: this oath I take in
the presence of these three Caballeros, pledging myself, if I break it,
to endure any punishment, even death, which it may please these three
Caballeros to inflict on me."
The oath taken by Domingo is the most terrible a Spanish American can
offer; there is not a single instance of it ever having been broken.
Don Stefano bowed, convinced of the bandit's sincerity.
At this moment, several shots, followed by horrible yells, were heard
at a short distance off. Brighteye started. "Don José," he said to the
stranger, as he laid his hands on his shoulder, "Heaven favours us.
Return to the camp; tomorrow night I shall probably have some news for
you."
"But those shots?"
"Do not trouble yourself about them, but return to the camp, I tell
you, and let me act."
"Well, as you wish it, I will retire."
"Till tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
"And I?" Domingo said. "Caramba, comrades, if you are going to play at
knives, can you not take me with you?"
The old hunter looked at him attentively. "Eh!" he said, at the
expiration of a moment, "your idea is not a bad one; you can come if
you desire it."
"That is capital, for it is a pretext ready made to explain my absence."
Don Stefano smiled, and after reminding Brighteye once again of their
meeting for the following night, he left the thicket, and proceeded
toward the camp. The two hunters and the half-breed were left alone.