BRIGHTEYE AND MARKSMAN.
At this point in his narrative Brighteye stopped, and began, with a
thoughtful air, filling his Indian pipe with tobacco.
There was a lengthened silence. His auditors, still under the influence
of this extraordinary influence, dared not venture any reflections. At
length Marksman raised his head. "That story is very dramatic and very
gloomy," he said, "but pardon my rude frankness, old and dear comrade,
it seems to me to have no reference to what is going on around us, and
the events in which we shall, probably, be called upon to be interested
spectators, if not actors."
"In truth," Ruperto observed, "what do we wood rangers care for
adventures that happen in Mexico, or any other city of the _Tierras
Adentro_? We are here in the desert to hunt, trap, and thrash the
Redskins. Any other question can affect us but slightly."
Brighteye tossed his head in a significant manner, and laid his pipe
mechanically by his side.
"You are mistaken, comrades," he continued; "do you believe, then, that
I should have made you waste your time in listening to this long story,
if it did not possess an important reality for us?"
"Explain yourself, then, my friend," Marksman observed, "for I honestly
confess that, for my part, I have understood nothing of what you have
been good enough to tell us."
The old Canadian raised his head, and seemed, for a few moments, to be
calculating the sun's height. "It is half past six," he said; "you
have still more than sufficient time to reach the ford of the Rubio,
where the man is to wait, to whom you have engaged yourself as guide.
Listen to me, therefore, for I have not quite finished. Now that I have
told you the mystery, you must learn what has come out to clear it up."
"Speak!" Marksman replied, in the tone of a man who is resolved to
listen through politeness to a story which he knows cannot interest him.
Brighteye, not seeming to remark his friend's apathetic condescension,
went on in the following terms:--"You have remarked that Don Torribio
provided for everything with a degree of prudence which must keep off
any suspicion, and cover this adventure with an impenetrable veil.
Unfortunately for him, the evangelista was not killed. He could not
only speak, but show a copy of each of the letters he daily handed
to the young man--letters which the latter paid so dearly for, and
which, with that prudence innate in the Mexican race, he had previously
guarded, to employ, if needed, as a weapon against Don Torribio; or,
as was more probable, to avenge himself if he fell a victim to any
treachery. This was what happened:--The evangelista, found in a dying
state by an early customer, had strength enough to make a regular
declaration to the Juez de Lettras, and hand him the letters ere he
died. This assassination, taken in connection with the attack on the
serenos by a numerous band, and the invasion of the Convent of the
Bernardines, furnished a clue which the police begun following with
extreme tenacity; especially as the young lady whose body had been
so audaciously carried off had powerful relations, who, for certain
reasons known to themselves, would not let this crime pass unpunished,
and spent their gold profusely. It was soon learned that the bandits,
on leaving the convent, mounted horses brought by their confidants, and
started at full speed in the direction of the Presidios. The police
even succeeded in discovering one of the men who supplied the horses.
This individual, Pepito by name, bought over by the money offered
him, rather than frightened by threats, stated that he had sold to
Don Torribio Carvajal twenty-five post horses, to be delivered at the
Convent of the Bernardines at two o'clock in the morning. As these
horses were paid for in advance, he, Pepito, did not trouble himself
at all about the singularity of the spot, or of the hour. Don Torribio
and his companions had arrived, bearing with them two women, one of
whom appeared to have fainted, and immediately galloped off. The trail
of the ravishers was then followed to the Presidio de Tubar, where Don
Torribio allowed his party to rest for several days. There he purchased
a close palanquin, a field tent, and all the provisions necessary for a
lengthened journey in the desert, and one night suddenly disappeared,
with all his band, which was augmented by all the adventurers he could
pick up at the Presidio, no one being able to say in what direction
he had gone. This information, though vague, was sufficient up to a
certain point, and the relations of the young lady were continuing
their search."
"I fancy I am beginning to see what you want to arrive at," Marksman
interrupted him; "but conclude your story; when you have finished, I
will make sundry observations, whose justice you will recognize, I am
sure."
"I shall be delighted to hear them," Brighteye said, and went on:--"A
man who, twenty years ago, did me a rather important service, whom I
had not seen since, and whom I should assuredly not have recognized,
had he not told me his name--the only thing I had not forgotten--came
to me and my partner Ruperto, while we were at the Presidio de Tubar,
selling a few panther and tiger skins. This man told me what I have
just repeated to you: he added that he was a near relation of the young
lady, reminded me of the service he had rendered me--in a word, he
affected me so greatly, that I agreed to take vengeance on his enemy.
Two days later we took up the trail. For a man like myself, accustomed
to follow Indians' signs, it was child's play and I soon led him almost
into the Spanish caravan commanded by Don Miguel Ortega."
"The other was called Don Torribio Carvajal."
"Could he not have changed his name?"
"For what good in the desert?"
"In the consciousness that he would be pursued."
"Then the relatives had a great interest in this pursuit?"
"Don José told me he was the young lady's uncle, and felt a paternal
tenderness for her."
"But I fancy she is dead, or at least you told me so, if I am not
mistaken."
Brighteye scratched his ear. "That is the awkward part of the affair,"
he said; "it seems she is not dead at all; on the contrary."
"What!" Marksman exclaimed; "she is not dead! That uncle knows it,
then; it was by his consent that the poor creature was buried alive!
But, if that is the case, there must be some odious machination in the
business."
"On my word, if I must confess it, I fear so too," the Canadian said,
in a hesitating voice. "Still, this man rendered me a great service. I
have no proof in support of my suspicions, and----"
Marksman rose, and stood in front of the old hunter. "Brighteye," he
said to him, sternly; "we are fellow countrymen; we love each other
like brothers; for many long years we have slept side by side on the
prairie, sharing good fortune and ill between us, saving each other's
lives a hundred times, either in our struggles with wild beasts, or our
fights with the Indians--is it so?"
"It is true, Marksman, it is true, and anyone who said the contrary
would lie," the hunter replied with emotion.
"My friend, my brother, a great crime has been committed, or is on the
point of being committed. Let us watch--watch carefully; who knows
if we may not be the instruments chosen by Providence to unmask the
guilty, and cause the innocent to triumph? This Don José, you say,
wishes me to join you; well, I accept. Yourself, Ruperto, and I, will
go to the ford of the Rubio, and, believe me, my friend, now that I am
warned, I will discover the guilty party, whoever he may be."
"I prefer things to be so," the hunter answered, simply. "I confess
that the strange position in which I found myself weighed heavily
upon me. I am only a poor hunter, and do not at all understand these
infamies of the cities."
"You are an honest man, whose heart is just and mind upright. But
time is slipping away. Now that we are agreed as to our parts, and
understand one another, I believe we shall do well by starting."
"I will go whenever you please."
"One moment. Can you do without Ruperto for a little while?"
"Yes."
"What's the matter?" the latter asked.
"You can do me a service."
"Speak, Marksman, I am waiting."
"No man can foresee the future. Perhaps, in a few days we shall need
allies on whom we may be able to count. These allies the Chief here
present will give us whenever we ask for them. Accompany him to his
village, Ruperto: and, so soon as he has arrived there, leave him, and
take up our trail--not positively joining us, but managing so that, if
necessary, we should know where to find you."
"I have understood," the hunter said, laconically, as he rose. "All
right."
Marksman turned to Flying Eagle, and explained what he wanted of him.
"My brother saved Eglantine," the Chief answered, nobly; "Flying Eagle
is a sachem of his tribe. Two hundred warriors will follow the warpath
at the first signal from my father. The Comanches are men; the words
they utter come from the heart."
"Thanks, Chief," Marksman answered, warmly pressing the hand the
Redskin extended to him; "may the Wacondah watch over you during your
journey!"
After hastily eating a slice of venison cooked on the ashes, and
drinking a draught of pulque--from which, after the custom of his
nation, the only one which does not drink strong liquors, the Comanche
declined to take a share--the four men separated; Ruperto, Flying
Eagle, and Eglantine going into the prairie in a western direction;
while Brighteye and Marksman, bending slightly to the left, proceeded
in an easterly course, in order to reach the ford of the Rubio, where
the latter was expected.
"Hum!" Brighteye observed, as he threw his rifle on to his left arm,
and starting with that elastic step peculiar to the wood rangers; "we
have some tough work cut out for us."
"Who knows, my friend?" Marksman answered, anxiously. "At any rate, we
must discover the truth."
"That is my opinion, too."
"There is one thing I want to know, above all."
"What is it?"
"What Don Miguel's carefully-closed palanquin contains."
"Why, hang it! a woman, of course."
"Who told you so?"
"Nobody; but I presume so."
"Prejudge nothing, my friend; with time, all will be cleared up."
"God grant it!"
"He sees everything, and knows everything, my friend. Believe me, that
if it hath pleased Him to set those suspicions growing in our hearts
that trouble us now, it is because, as I told you a moment ago, He
wishes to make us the instruments of His justice."
"May His will be done!" Brighteye answered, raising his cap piously. "I
am ready to obey Him in all that He may order me."
After this mutual exchange of thoughts, the hunters, who till
this moment had walked side by side, proceeded in Indian file, in
consequence of the difficult nature of the ground. On reaching the tall
grass, after emerging from the forest, they stopped a moment to look
around.
"It is late," Marksman observed.
"Yes, it is nearly midday. Follow me, we shall soon catch up lost time."
"How so?"
"Instead of walking, would you not be inclined to ride?"
"Yes, if we had horses."
"That is just what I am going to procure."
"You have horses?"
"Last night Ruperto and I left our horses close by here, while going
to the meeting Don José had made with us, and in which I was obliged to
employ a canoe."
"Eh! eh! those brave beasts turn up at a lucky moment. For my part, I
am worn out. I have been walking for many a long day over the prairie,
and my legs are beginning to refuse to carry me."
"Come this way, we shall soon see them."
In fact, the hunters had not walked one hundred yards in the direction
indicated by Brighteye, ere they found the horses quietly engaged in
nibbling the pea vines and young tree shoots. The noble animals, on
hearing a whistle, raised their intelligent heads, and hastened toward
the hunters with a neigh of pleasure. According to the usual fashion in
the prairies, they were saddled, but their _bozal_ was hung round their
necks. The hunters bridled them, leapt on their backs, and started
again.
"Now that we have each a good horse between our legs we are certain of
arriving in time," Marksman observed; "hence, it is useless to hurry
on, and we can talk at our ease. Tell me, Brighteye, have you seen Don
Miguel Ortega yet?"
"Never, I allow."
"Then you do not know him?"
"If I may believe Don José, he is a villain. For my own part, never
having had any relations with him, I should be considerably troubled to
form any opinion, bad or good, about him."
"With me it is different. I know him."
"Ah!"
"Very well indeed."
"For any length of time?"
"Long enough, I believe, at any rate to enable me to form an opinion
about him."
"Ah! Well, what do you think of him?"
"Much good and much bad."
"Hang it? ah!"
"Why are you surprised? Are not all men in the same case?"
"Nearly so, I grant."
"This man is no worse or no better than the rest. This morning, as
I foresaw that you were about to speak to me about him, I wished to
leave you liberty of action by telling you that I was only slightly
acquainted with him; but it is possible that your opinion will soon be
greatly modified, and, perhaps, you will regret the support you have
hitherto given Don José, as you call him."
"Would you like me to speak candidly, Marksman, now that no one, but He
above, can hear us?"
"Do so, my friend. I should not be sorry to know your whole thoughts."
"I am certain that you know a great deal more about the story I told
you last night than you pretend to do."
"Perhaps you are right; but what makes you think so?"
"Many things; and in the first place this."
"Go on."
"You are too sensible a man. You have acquired too great an experience
of the things of this world, to undertake, without serious cause, the
defence of a man who, according to the principles we profess on the
prairie, you ought to regard, if not as an enemy, still as one of those
men whom it is often disagreeable to come in contact, or have any
relations with."
Marksman burst into a laugh. "There is truth in what you say,
Brighteye," he at length remarked.
"Is there not?"
"I will not attempt to play at cunning with you; but I have powerful
reasons for undertaking the defence of this man, but I cannot tell you
them at this moment. It is a secret which does not belong to me, and of
which I am only the depositary. I trust you will soon know all; but,
till then, rely on my old friendship, and leave me to act in any way."
"Very good! At any rate, I am now beginning to see clearly, and,
whatever may happen, you can reckon upon me."
"By Jove! I felt certain we should end by understanding one another;
but, silence, and let nothing be seen. We are at the meeting place.
Hang it! the Mexicans have not kept us waiting. They have already
pitched their camp on the other side of the river."
In fact, a hunter's camp could be seen a short distance off, one side
resting on the river, the other on the forest, and presenting perfectly
fortified outworks, with the front turned to the prairies, and composed
of bales and trees stoutly interlaced.
The two hunters made themselves known to the sentries, and entered
without any difficulty. Don Miguel was absent; but the Gambusinos
expected him at any moment. The hunters dismounted, hobbled their
horses, and sat down quietly by the fire.
Don Stefano Cohecho had left the Gambusinos at daybreak, as he had
announced on the previous evening.