THE SEARCH AFTER TRUTH.
In spite of Don Miguel's firm will to overcome the pain, the horse's
movement occasioned him a degree of suffering which made his features
quiver, and drops of cold perspiration stand on his face, which was
pale as that of a corpse; at times his sight troubled him, he found
everything turning around him, he tottered in his saddle, and held on
convulsively to his horse's mane through fear of falling.
"Stupid matter," he muttered in a hoarse voice, "shall I not succeed in
conquering you?"
Then he redoubled his efforts to seem apathetic, smiled on Brighteye,
and gaily addressed him.
For the first time in his life, the old hunter felt himself nonplussed:
though he ransacked his memory to try and find an analogous
circumstance to this in the course of his varied life, to his great
regret he was forced to confess to himself that he had never witnessed
anything like it. This annoyed him, and he therefore walked with a
dissatisfied air by the young man's side.
Still they advanced. Suddenly, however, they heard the sound of horses
near them on the trail they were following.
"Here is Marksman," Don Miguel said.
"That is probable."
"He will be greatly astonished to meet me coming toward the help he is
bringing."
"That is certain."
"Let us hurry our horses on a little."
Brighteye looked at him. "You have sworn, then, to bring on a
congestion of the brain?" he said to him plainly.
"How so?" the young man asked in surprise.
"By Jove! that is easy to see," the hunter went on, hastily; "for an
hour you have been committing one act of madness after the other; but
do not deceive yourself, Caballero, what you take for strength is only
fever. It is that alone which sustains you, so take care, do not
obstinately continue an impossible struggle, from which, I warn you,
you will not emerge the victor. I let you act as you pleased, because
I saw no harm in doing so up to the present; but, believe me, you have
done enough. You have measured your strength, and know what you are
capable of doing under urgent circumstances. That is all you want; so
now let us stop and wait."
"Thank you," Don Miguel said, cordially squeezing his hand; "you are
really my friend, your rude words prove it to me. Yes, I am a madman;
but what would you? I am in a strange position, when every hour I lose
may entail extreme dangers on myself and other persons, and I am afraid
of succumbing before I have accomplished the task which misfortune has
imposed on me."
"You will succumb much sooner if you will not be reasonable. Four or
five days are soon passed; and, besides, what you cannot do, your
friends will accomplish."
"That is true. You make me blush for myself. I am not only mad, but
also ungrateful."
"Come, do not talk about that any more. The noise is approaching.
They are probably your companions; still they might be enemies, for
everything must be expected in the desert. Let us enter this thicket,
where we shall be perfectly concealed from the eyes of the comers. If
it be Marksman, we will show ourselves; if not, we will keep close."
Don Miguel warmly approved of the idea, for he understood that, in
case of a fight, he should be but slight help to his companion in his
present condition. The two men disappeared in the thicket, which closed
on them, and they awaited, pistol in hand, the arrival of the persons.
Brighteye was not mistaken. It was really Marksman, returning with
some fifteen Gambusinos. When they were only a few paces off, the two
horsemen showed themselves. Marksman could not believe his eyes. He
did not understand how the man he had left deprived of consciousness,
stretched out on the ground like an inert and almost lifeless body, had
possessed the strength to come and meet him, and to sit so upright and
firm in his saddle.
Don Miguel enjoyed for a little while his triumph, and the admiration
he inspired in these men, with whom the sole supremacy is that of
strength, and then bent down with a smile to Marksman.
"You are not the less welcome with the help you bring me," he said in
a low voice; "this help has become, at this moment, very necessary, if
not indispensable; for my resolution alone keeps me in the saddle."
"You must make haste to return to the camp, and, for fear of accident,
lie down on a litter."
"A litter?" Don Miguel objected.
"You must, believe me. It is urgent that you should reassume, as soon
as possible, the command of your Cuadrilla, so do not waste your
strength in useless bravado."
Don Miguel bowed without replying, for he understood the truth of the
hunter's remark. So, after getting off his horse with the aid of the
two Canadians, he himself ordered his companions to make the litter in
which he should be carried to the camp.
Marksman passed his arm through the young man's, and, making a sign to
Brighteye to follow them, led him a few paces from the party, and made
him sit down on the grass.
"Now that you are in a condition to answer me, profit by the time
during which your litter is being made. You have plenty to tell me."
The young man sighed. "Question me," he said.
"Yes, that will be better. How and by whom were you attacked?"
"I cannot tell you. It is a strange history; so confused that it is
impossible for me, in spite of all my efforts, to disentangle it."
"No matter. Tell me what happened to you; perhaps we, who are better
accustomed to the prairies than yourself, will find a thread which will
guide us through this apparently inextricable labyrinth."
Don Miguel then told all the facts that had occurred, in all their
detail. At the name of Addick, Marksman frowned; when the Mexican spoke
of Don Stefano, the hunters exchanged an intelligent glance; but when
the young man reached that singular turn in the combat when, on the
point of succumbing, he had been suddenly surrounded by strangers, who
disappeared as if by enchantment, after disengaging him, the hunters
displayed marks of the greatest surprise.
"Such," Don Miguel concluded, "was the odious ambush into which I fell;
and to which I should have been a victim, if you had not arrived so
opportunely to save me. Now that you know all as well as I do, what is
your opinion?"
"Hum!" the hunter said; "all that is really very extraordinary. There
is at the bottom of the affair a dark machination, carried out with
a diabolical skill and perversity which startles me. I have certain
suspicions which I wish first to clear up; hence, I cannot give you my
opinion at once. Before all, I must investigate certain matters; but
trust to me for that. But these men who came so fortunately to your
help--did you not see them?--did you not speak to them?"
"You forget," Don Miguel said, with a smile, "that they appeared in the
thick of the fight; brought as it were by the hurricane, that raged so
furiously. The time would have been badly chosen for conversation."
"That is true; I did not know what I was saying. But," the hunter
added, striking the ground with the butt of his rifle, "I will not
be beaten. I swear to you that I shall soon have discovered who your
enemies are, whatever care they may take, and precautions employ, to
conceal themselves."
"Oh! I intend to go in pursuit of them, so soon as I have got back my
strength."
"You, Caballero," Marksman remarked drily, "have first to get well. On
reaching your camp, you will have to shut yourself up, as in a citadel,
and not take a step till you have seen me again."
"What! do you intend to leave me, then?"
"Brighteye and myself are going to start directly. We should be of no
use near you, while we may be of service elsewhere."
"What do you intend to do?"
"On our return, you shall know all."
"I cannot remain in such a state of uncertainty. Besides, I do not
understand you."
"Yet it is clear enough. I intend, aided by Brighteye, to tear the mask
from this Don Stefano--a mask which, in my opinion, hides a very ugly
countenance--to know who this man is, and why he is such an obstinate
enemy to you."
"Thanks, Marksman; now I am easy in my mind. Go; do all that seems
proper to you. I am convinced that you will accomplish everything that
can be humanly accomplished. But, before separating, promise me one
thing."
"What is it?"
"Promise me, that so soon as you have obtained all the information
you are going to seek, you will bring it to me, without undertaking
anything against this man, on whom I intend to take personally--you
understand me, Marksman, personally--exemplary vengeance."
"That is your affair. I shall not interfere with you. Every man has his
task in this world; the man is your enemy, and not mine. So soon as I
have succeeded in bringing you face to face, or at least putting you
opposite each other in an equal position, you will do as you please. I
shall wash my hands of it."
"Good, good!" Don Miguel muttered. "If any day I hold that demon in my
clutches, as he held me in his, he shall not escape, I swear!"
"So it is settled, we can start?"
"When you please."
Brighteye had hitherto listened calmly to the conversation; but at this
remark he stepped forward, and laid his hand on Marksman's arm. "One
moment," he said.
"What, more last words?" the hunter answered.
"Only a word; but one which, I fancy, possesses some value in the
present state of affairs."
"Make haste, then!"
"You wish to discover who this Don Stefano is, as he thinks proper to
call himself, and I approve it; but there is another matter, I fancy,
quite as serious, which we ought to try and make out first."
"What is it?"
Brighteye turned his head to the right, and then to the left, bent
his body slightly forward, and lowering his voice so that the
persons he addressed could hardly hear him, he continued in a severe
tone,--"Desert life in no way resembles that in the towns. Down there
people know each other slightly or intimately, either by name or
through personal relations; they are frequently connected by interests
more or less direct; in a word, socialities exist between all the
inhabitants of towns, attaching them one to the other, and forming
them, as it were, into one family. In the desert this is no longer the
case; egotism and personality are the masters; the 'I' is the supreme
law; each man only thinks of himself, only acts for himself, and I will
say, further, only loves himself."
"Cut it short, for goodness sake, Brighteye; cut it short!" Marksman
said impatiently. "What the deuce are you driving at?"
"Patience!" the imperturbable Canadian said; "patience! and you shall
know. In short, then, in the desert, unless a man has lived for years
side by side with another--sharing pain and pleasure, good fortune
and ill, with him--he lives alone, without friends, only counting
indifferent persons as enemies. In the trap to which Don Miguel almost
fell a victim last night, two sorts of people revealed themselves
spontaneously to him. These were, first, inveterate enemies, and then
equally staunch friends. Do not fancy," the hunter continued, growing
warm, "that I have not calculated the range of the words I have just
made use of; you would be greatly mistaken. Does it not seem strange
to you, as it does to me, now that you are cool, and reason in all
the plenitude of your faculties,--does it not seem strange to you, I
repeat, that, at a given moment, without it being possible to know
how or why--these men suddenly emerged, as it were, from the ground,
to lend you a hand; then, when the danger was past, or nearly so,
they disappeared as suddenly as they came, leaving no trace of their
passage, and not breaking the incognito which covered them,--is not
this strange?--answer!"
"In truth," Marksman muttered, "I did not think of that till now; the
conduct of those men is inexplicable."
"That is exactly what must be explained!" Brighteye exclaimed
violently. "The prairie is not so densely populated that, at a given
moment, and amid a frightful hurricane, there should be men ready to
defend you for the mere satisfaction of doing so; those people must
have had secret motives for doing so, and that object it is urgent for
us to discover. Who tells us that they did not form part of the band
which attacked you? that it was not a trick to seize you more easily--a
part of the game, the execution of which our unforeseen presence
destroyed? I repeat to you, we must, before all, find these men, know
who they are, and what they want; in a word, whether they are friends
or enemies."
"It is very late now to undertake such a search," Don Miguel observed.
The two hunters smiled, as they exchanged a significant glance. "Very
late for you, certainly, who do not possess the key of the desert,"
Brighteye replied; "but with us it is different."
"Yes," Marksman supported him: "let us only find a trace of their
passage, however light it may be--a footstep on the damp sand, so as to
hold one end of their trail--that will be enough to reach the other,
and we shall give a good account of these strangers, whose conduct,
as Brighteye observed very truly, is too strange and too fine to be
honest."
"Oh! why cannot I follow you?" Don Miguel exclaimed, regretfully.
"Get well first; then, I am certain, your part will begin; for, before
three days, we shall bring you all the information you want today, and
without which you can effect nothing."
"So you promise me that in three days--"
"Yes, in three days we shall return from our expedition. Trust to our
promise, and nurse yourself, so as to be able to begin the campaign at
once."
"I shall be ready."
"So, now, good-bye! the sun is already high in the heavens; we have not
a moment to lose."
"Good-bye, and good luck!"
The hunters cordially pressed Don Miguel's hand, remounted their
horses, and went off rapidly in the direction of the Rubio ford. The
chief of the Gambusinos, laid on a litter, went quickly back to his
camp, which he reached a little before sunset.