RECALLED TO LIFE.
With the first gleam of day, the terrible hurricane, which had raged so
cruelly through nearly the whole night, gradually calmed; the wind had
swept the sky, and borne far away the gloomy clouds which studded the
blue heavens with black spots; the sun rose majestically in floods of
light; the trees, refreshed by the tempests, had reassumed that pale
green hue, sullied on the previous day by the dusty sand of the desert;
and the birds, hid in countless myriads beneath the dense foliage,
poured forth that harmonious concert which they offer every morning
at sunrise to the All High--a sublime and grand hymn, a ravishing
hymn, whose rhythm, full of simple melodies, causes the man buried
in this ocean of verdure to indulge in sweet dreams, and plunges him
unconsciously into a melancholy reverie of the hope, whose realization
is in heaven.
As we have said, Don Miguel Ortega, saved by the tried courage and
presence of mind of the two wood rangers, was carried by them to the
foot of a tree, beneath which they laid him.
The young man had fainted. The hunters' first care was to examine his
wounds: he had two, one on the right arm, the other on the head, but
neither of them was dangerous. The wound in the arm bled profusely, a
bullet had torn the flesh, but had produced no fracture of the bone, or
any grave accident; as for the wound in the head, evidently produced by
a sharp instrument, the hair had already matted over it, and checked
the haemorrhage.
Don Miguel's faintness was produced by the loss of blood in the first
place, and next by the nervous excitement of a long and obstinate
struggle, and the immense amount of strength he had been compelled to
expend to resist the numerous enemies who had treacherously attacked
him.
The wood rangers, owing to the life they led, and the innumerable
accidents to which they are constantly exposed, are obliged to possess
some practical knowledge of medicine, and particularly of surgery.
Pupils of the Redskins, simples play a great part in their medical
system. Brighteye and Marksman were masters of the art of treating
wounds summarily, after the Indian fashion. After carefully washing
the wounds, and removing the hair from that on the head, they plucked
_oregano_ leaves, formed them into a species of cataplasm, by slightly
moistening them with spirits diluted in water, and applied this
primitive remedy to the wounds, fastening it on with leaves of the
_abanigo_, cut into strips, round which they wound aloe threads. Then,
with the blade of a knife, they slightly opened the wounded man's
tightly closed jaws, and poured a few drops of spirits into his mouth.
In a few moments Don Miguel half opened his eyes, and a fugitive glow
coloured his pallid cheeks.
The hunters, with their hands crossed on the muzzles of their rifles,
carefully inspected the wounded man's face, trying to read on his
features the probable results of the means they had thought it
necessary to employ, in order to relieve him.
The man who recovers from a deep fainting fit is not at the first
moment conscious of external objects, nor does he remember what has
happened: the equilibrium of his faculties, suddenly interrupted by the
successive blows they have experienced, is only re-established slowly
and gradually, in proportion as the eye grows brighter, the memory
clearer. Don Miguel looked around him with a glance that contained no
warmth or expression, and almost immediately closed his eyes again, as
if already wearied by the effort he had been forced to make in opening
them.
"In a few hours his strength will be restored, and before three days
there will not be a trace of it," Brighteye said, tossing his head
sententiously. "By Jove! he is one of those sturdy fellows I like."
"Is he not?" Marksman answered,--"so young and so valiant? What a rude
attack he sustained."
"Yes, and bravely, we must say; still, for all that, if we had not been
there, he would have found it difficult to get out of the scrape."
"He would have perished, there is not the least doubt of it, and that
would have been unfortunate."
"Very unfortunate! however, he is well out of it. By the way, what are
we going to do with him now? We cannot stay here for ever; on the other
hand, he is unable to make a movement; but we must take him back to
the camp, his men will feel alarmed at his absence, and who knows what
would happen if it were prolonged?"
"That is true; we cannot think of putting him on his horse, so we must
hit on some other expedient."
"By Jove! that will not trouble us; the torpor into which he has fallen
will last about two hours; in the meantime, he will be hardly capable
of uttering a few words, and vaguely recalling what has happened to
him; it is not, therefore, necessary for both of us to remain by him,
one will be enough--say myself: you will go to the camp, state what has
occurred, tell the Gambusinos in what condition their Chief is, ask for
help, and bring it here as speedily as possible."
"You are right, Brighteye, on my word; your advice is excellent, and I
will set about it at once. I shall not be gone more than two hours, so
keep good watch, for we do not know who may be prowling round us, and
spying our movements."
"Don't be frightened, Marksman, I am not one of those men who let
themselves be surprised;--stay, I remember an adventure that occurred
to me in every respect similar to this. It was a long time ago, in
1824, I was very young, and--"
But Marksman, who heard with secret terror his comrade beginning one
of his interminable stories, hastily interrupted him without ceremony,
saying--"By Jove! I have been acquainted with you for a long time,
Brighteye, and know what manner of man you are, so I go perfectly easy
in mind."
"No matter," the hunter replied, "if you would let me explain--"
"Useless, useless, my friend; explanations are uncalled for from a man
of your stamp and experience," Marksman said, as he leaped into his
saddle, and started at full speed.
Brighteye looked after him for a long time. "Hum!" he said,
thoughtfully; "the Lord is my witness that that man is one of the most
excellent creatures in existence; I love him as a brother, and regret
that I can never make him understand how useful and precious it is to
keep up a recollection of past events, so as not to feel embarrassed
when any of those difficulties so common in desert life suddenly spring
up:--well, I cannot help it." And he began once more examining the
wounded man, with that intelligent attention he had not once ceased
testifying toward him.
Don Miguel had not made a movement; more than an hour had elapsed,
and when the effects of the fainting fit wore off, he instantaneously
fell into that heavy, agitated sleep, from which nothing could arouse
him for a long time. Brighteye, seated by his side, with his rifle
betwixt his legs, philosophically smoked his Indian pipe, waiting, with
the patience peculiar to hunters, till some symptom told him that the
wounded man had succeeded in shaking off that torpor of evil augury
which had seized upon him.
The old Canadian would have desired, even at the risk of an intense
fever setting in, that a sudden commotion should recall the young man
roughly to life; he built on the arrival of the Gambusinos to obtain
this result, and he frequently consulted the desert with anxiety to try
and perceive them, but he saw and heard nothing: all was silent around
him.
"Come," he muttered at times, bending a dissatisfied glance at Don
Miguel, who lay stretched at his feet, "the shock has been too rude,
and nothing _will_ happen to restore him to a consciousness of life; on
my soul, I am most unlucky."
At the moment when, perhaps for the hundredth time, he repeated this
sentence with ever-increasing annoyance, he heard at a short distance
off a rather loud rustling, and the breaking of some dead branches.
"Eh, eh!" the hunter said, "what is the meaning of this?"
He raised his head smartly, and looked carefully around; suddenly he
broke into a concentrated burst of laughter, and his eyes sparkled with
joy.
"By Jove!" he said, gaily, "this is exactly what I want. Heaven has
sent that young gentleman to draw me from my dilemma, and he is right
welcome."
At about twenty paces from the hunter, a magnificent jaguar, crouching
on the largest branch of an enormous cochineal tree, fixed a glaring
look upon him, while at intervals passing one of its fore claws over
its ears, with the airs and purring sound peculiar to the feline race.
This wild beast, probably terrified by the hurricane of the past night,
had not been able to regain its den, toward which it was proceeding,
when it found the two men in its path.
The jaguar, or American tiger, far from attacking men, carefully avoids
a meeting with them, and only accepts a combat when compelled and
driven to bay, but then it becomes terrible, and a contest with it is
frequently mortal, unless its opponent is accustomed to the numerous
tricks it employs to insure the victory. At the moment the tiger
perceived the hunter, the latter saw the tiger, hence the combat was
imminent. The two enemies remained for several minutes in an attitude
of observation; their glances crossed like sword blades.
"Come, make up your mind, sluggard," Brighteye muttered.
The jaguar uttered a hoarse yell, sharpened its formidable claws for
a few seconds on the branch which served it for a pedestal, and then,
drawing itself up, bounded on the hunter. The latter did not stir; with
his rifle to his shoulder, his feet well apart and firmly fixed, and
his body bent slightly forward, he followed with a careful eye all the
movements of the wild beast; at the moment the latter made its spring,
the hunter pulled the trigger.
The tiger turned a somersault with a ferocious yell, and fell at
Brighteye's feet. The Canadian bent down to it, but the jaguar was
dead; the hunter's bullet had entered its brain through the right eye,
and killed it on the spot. At the howl of the brute, and the sound
of Brighteye's rifle, Don Miguel opened his eyes and suddenly raised
himself on his elbow, with a terrified look, and features contracted by
a strange and terrible emotion, which reddened his face.
"Help! help!" he shouted in a thundering voice.
"Here I am!" Brighteye exclaimed, as he rose up, and forced him to lie
down again.
Don Miguel looked at him.
"Who are you?" he said, at the expiration of a minute; "what do you
want with me? I do not know you."
"That is true," the hunter said, imperturbably, and addressing him like
a child, "but you will soon know me: do not be alarmed; for the moment,
it is enough for you to know that I am a friend."
"A friend!" the wounded man repeated, trying to restore order to his
ideas, which were still confused, "what friend?"
"By Jove!" the hunter said, "you do not count them by thousands, I
suppose; I have been your friend for some hours past. I saved you at
the moment when you were dying."
"But all that tells me nothing--teaches me nothing. How am I here? how
are you here?"
"Those are a good many questions all at once, and it is impossible
for me to answer them: you are wounded, and your state forbids any
conversation. Will you drink?"
"Yes," Don Miguel answered, mechanically. Brighteye held his gourd to
him.
"Still," he continued, after a moment, "I have not been dreaming."
"Who knows?"
"Those shots, the shouts I heard?"
"Quite a trifle;--a jaguar I killed, and which you can see a few yards
off."
There was silence for a few minutes: Don Miguel was thinking deeply;
light was beginning to dawn on his mind, his memory was returning.
The hunter anxiously followed on the young man's face the incessant
progress of returning thought. At length a flash of intelligence lit up
the young man's eye, and fixing his feverish glance on the old hunter,
he asked him,--"How long is it since you saved me?"
"Scarce three hours."
"Then, since the events that brought me here--there has only passed--?"
"One night."
"Yes!" the young man continued in a deep voice, a terrible voice, "I
fancied I was dead."
"You only escaped by a miracle."
"Thanks."
"I was not alone."
"Who else came to my assistance? tell me his name, that I may preserve
it preciously in my memory."
"Marksman."
"Marksman!" the wounded man exclaimed, tenderly, "always he. Oh! I
ought to have expected that name, for he loves me."
"Yes."
"And what is your name?"
"Brighteye."
The young man trembled, and held out his arm. "Your hand," he said;
"you were right just now in saying you were a friend, you have been so
for a long time, Marksman has often spoken to me about you."
"We have been connected for thirty years."
"I know it: but where is he, that I do not see him?"
"He went, about two hours back, to the camp of the Cuadrilla to bring
help."
"He thinks of everything."
"I remained here to watch over and take care of you during his absence;
but he will soon return."
"Do you believe that I shall be long helpless?"
"No; your wounds are not serious. What floors you at this moment is the
moral shock you received, and chiefly the blood you lost when you fell
in a fainting state into the Rubio."
"Then that river--"
"Is the Rubio."
"I am, then, on the spot where the struggle ended?"
"Yes."
"How many days do you think I shall remain in this state?"
"Four or five at the most."
There was silence for several minutes.
"You told me that it is the weakness of my senses, produced by the
moral shock I received, which overpowers me, I think?" Don Miguel began
again.
"Yes, I said so."
"Do you believe that a firm and powerful will could produce a
favourable reaction?"
"I do."
"Give me your hand."
"There it is."
"Good: now help me."
"What are you going to do?"
"Get up."
"By Jove! I was right in saying you were a man. Come, I consent: have a
try."
After a few minutes spent in fruitless efforts, Don Miguel at length
succeeded in standing upright.
"At last!" he said, triumphantly.
At the first step he took, he lost his balance, and rolled on the
ground. Brighteye rushed toward him.
"Leave me," he shouted to him, "leave me; I wish to get up by myself."
He succeeded: this time he took his precautions better, and succeeded
in walking a few steps. Brighteye regarded him with admiration.
"Oh! the will must subdue the matter," Don Miguel continued, with
frowning brow and swollen veins, "I will succeed."
"You will kill yourself."
"No, for I must live; give me something to drink."
For the second time Brighteye handed him the gourd; the young man
eagerly raised it to his lips. "Now!" he exclaimed, with a feverish
accent, as he returned the gourd to the hunter, "to horse."
"What, to horse?" Brighteye said, with stupefaction.
"Yes; I must be moving."
"Why, that is madness."
"Let me alone, I tell you, I will hold on; but as the wound in the left
arm prevents my getting into the saddle, I must claim your assistance."
"You wish it."
"I insist on it."
"Be it so; and may God be merciful to us."
"He will protect us, be assured."
Brighteye helped the young man into the saddle; against the hunter's
previsions, he kept firm and upright. "Now," he said, "take up your
jaguar's skin, and let us be off."
"Where are we going?"
"To the camp; Marksman will be greatly astonished to see me, when he
believes me to be half dead."
Brighteye silently followed the young man; he gave up any further
attempts to understand this strange character.