BEFORE THE TRIAL.
When Brighteye went off, Marksman, the Indian, and Ruperto approached
the wounded man, who was still plunged in the same state of lethargy,
and collected around him, in order to await his recovery.
Don Mariano, whose scruples were now extinguished, and who was anxious
to know all the windings of his brother's dark machinations, in order
to have solid arguments for the accusations he was about to bring
against him before that supreme tribunal he had so unexpectedly found,
withdrew from his servants into a dense coppice, where, free from all
glances, he opened the portfolio with feverish impatience, and began
reading the papers it contained, with a horror that increased with
every fresh letter he unfolded.
Don Mariano did not wish his brother to be aware of his presence before
being confronted with his judges, for he counted on his unexpected
apparition to foil his perspicacity and presence of mind, by making
him lose his coolness. Hence he concealed himself in a spot invisible
to the most searching glance, reserving the right of appearing at the
decisive moment.
More than an hour elapsed, ere Don Stefano, in spite of Eglantine's
incessant care, made a movement indicating his return to life. Still
the three men, crouched silently round him, did not for a moment relax
in their watchfulness; they understood the full extent of the act they
were about to accomplish, and desired, with that intuitive mistrusting
possessed by loyal souls, that the man they were about to try should be
sufficiently collected, and so far in possession of his faculties, as
to defend his life bravely.
At the moment when the sun, rapidly declining on the horizon,
lengthened the shadows of the trees, and only appeared through the
lower branches like a huge ball of fire, the evening breeze passed like
a fresh breath over the pale brow of the wounded man, who uttered a
deep sigh at the feeling of comfort this beneficial freshness caused
him to experience, after the stifling heat of the day.
"He is going to open his eyes," Marksman muttered.
Flying Eagle laid his finger on his lips as he pointed to the wounded
man.
Low as the hunter had spoken, Don Stefano had heard him; though not,
perhaps, understanding the meaning of the words that had struck his
ears, but sufficiently so to recall him to a sense of existence.
Don Stefano was no common man, and a worthy son of the bastard race
of Mexico. Cunning was the most prominent point in his eminently
dissimulating character; accustomed ever to judge men and things badly,
distrust seemed innate in his heart. Marksman's words warned him to
keep on his guard, without stirring, without opening his eyes, lest he
should reveal his return to life; he made a supreme effort to recall
the events that preceded his accident, so as to arrive, from deduction
to deduction, at the position in which he now was, and guess, if that
were possible, into whose hands chance, or his ill fortune, had made
him fall.
The task Don Stefano imposed on himself was not easy, for, by the force
of circumstances, he was deprived of his most potent auxiliary, sight,
which would have enabled him to recognize the persons who surrounded
him, or, at any rate, perceive were they friends or enemies. Thus,
though he listened with the utmost attention, in order to catch a word
or a phrase to guide him in his suppositions, and show him how to base
his calculations on probable, if not positive, data, as the hunters,
warned by the Chief, and suspecting a trick, abstained for their part
from making a gesture or uttering a word, all his previsions were
foiled, and he remained in the most utter ignorance.
This prolonged silence further heightened Don Stefano's anxiety, and
presently threw him into such a state of alarm that he resolved, at all
risks, on removing his doubts. Putting his plans almost at once into
execution, he made a movement as if to rise, and suddenly opened his
eyes, and took an inquiring and searching glance around.
"How do you feel?" Marksman asked, as he bent over him.
"Very weak," Don Stefano answered, in a suffering voice. "I feel a
general heaviness, and frightful buzzing in my ears."
"Good," the hunter continued, "that is not dangerous. It is always so
after a fall."
"I have had a fall, then?" the wounded man continued, whom the sight
of Ruperto, an old acquaintance, began to reassure.
"Hang it! it is probable, as we found you lying on the banks of the
Rubio."
"Ah, you found me, then?"
"Yes, about three hours back."
"Thanks for the aid you gave me; had it not been for that, I should
probably be dead."
"Very possibly; but do not be in a hurry to thank us."
"Why not?" Don Stefano suddenly said, as he cocked his ears at this
ambiguous answer, which seemed to him a disguised threat.
"Eh, who knows?" Marksman retorted, simply; "No one can answer for the
future."
Don Stefano, whose strength was rapidly returning, and who had already
regained all his lucidity of mind, rose quickly, and fixed on the
Canadian a glance which seemed meant to read his most intricate
thoughts. "I am not your prisoner, though?"
"Hum!" was all the hunter replied.
This interjection made the wounded man thoughtful, and disturbed him
more than a long phrase. "Let us speak frankly," he said, after a few
moments' reflection.
"I wish for nothing better."
"Of you, then, there is one I know," he continued, pointing to Ruperto,
who gave a silent nod of assent. "I never, to my knowledge, injured
that man; on the contrary--"
"That is true," Ruperto answered.
"I never saw you, so you can have no feelings of animosity against me."
"That is correct. This is the first time Providence has brought us face
to face."
"There remains this Indian warrior, who, like yourself, is a perfect
stranger to me."
"All that is correct."
"For what reason, then, can I be your prisoner? Unless, as I cannot
believe, you belong to those birds of prey, called pirates, who swarm
in the desert?"
"We are not pirates, but frank and honest hunters."
"A further reason why I should address my question to you again, and
ask you if I am your prisoner or no?"
"The question is not so simple as you suppose, although we have no
reproaches to bring against you personally. Have you not insulted or
offended other persons since you have been on the prairie?"
"I?"
"Who else but you? Did you not try, no later than last night, to
assassinate a man in an ambuscade you laid for him?"
"Yes; but that man is my enemy."
"Well! Suppose, for a moment, we are friends of that man!"
"But it is not so. It cannot be."
"Why not? What makes you suppose so?"
Don Stefano shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"You must think me very foolish," he said, "if you would try to make me
believe that quibble."
"It is not so much one as you imagine."
"Nonsense! If I had fallen into the hands of that man, he would have
had me conveyed to his camp, in order to revenge himself on me in
the presence of the bandits he commands, and to whom the sight of my
punishment would, doubtlessly, have been too agreeable for him to have
tried to deprive them of the delightful sight."
The old hunter, whose language had hitherto been ironical and face
malicious, suddenly changed his tone, and became as serious and stern
as he had previously been sarcastic. "Listen," he said, "and profit
by what you are going to hear. We are not the dupes of your feigned
weakness. We know very well that your strength has nearly returned. The
advice I give you is frank, and intended to guard you against yourself;
you are not our prisoner, it is true, and yet you are not free."
"I do not understand you," Don Stefano interrupted him, the last words
clouding over his face, which had suddenly grown brighter.
"Not one of the persons present," Marksman continued, "has any charge
to bring against you. We do not know who you are; and before today, I,
at least, was entirely ignorant of your existence; but there is a man
who asserts that he has against you--not feelings of hatred, for that
would be a matter to settle between yourselves in a fair fight--but
motives of complaint sufficiently great to justify your immediate
trial."
"My trial!" Don Stefano repeated, in the utmost astonishment; "but
before what tribunal does that man intend to try me? We are here in the
desert."
"Yes; and you seem to forget it. In the desert, where the laws of
cities are powerless to punish the guilty, there is a terrible,
summary, implacable legislature, to which, in the common welfare, every
aggrieved person has a right to appeal, when suspicious circumstances
demand it."
"And what is this law?" Don Stefano asked, whose pale face had already
assumed a cadaverous hue.--
"It is Lynch law."
"Lynch law?"
"Yes; and in the name of that law we, who, as you say, you do not know,
have been assembled to try you."
"Try me! But that is impossible. What crime have I committed? Who is
the man that accuses me?"
"I cannot answer these questions. I do not know the crime of which you
are accused, nor the name of your accuser; but believe me, we have no
hatred or prejudice against you, and we shall, therefore, be impartial.
Prepare your defence during the few moments left you, and when the
moment arrives, try to prove your innocence, by confounding your
accuser--a thing which I ardently desire."
Don Stefano let his head fall in his hands with an expression of
despair. "But how would you have me prepare my defence, when I am
ignorant of the nature of the crimes imputed to me? Give me a light
through the darkness, a flash, however slight, that I may be able to
guide myself, and know where I am."
"In speaking as I did, Caballero, I obeyed my conscience, which
ordered me to warn you of the danger that threatened you. It would be
impossible for me to tell you more, for I am as ignorant as yourself."
"Oh! it is enough to drive a man mad," Don Stefano exclaimed.
At a sign from Marksman, Ruperto and Flying Eagle rose. The hunter
nodded to Eglantine to imitate their example. All four withdrew, and
Don Stefano was left alone.
The Mexican rolled on the ground with the insensate fury of a man
before whom an insurmountable obstacle suddenly rises, and who, driven
into a desperate position, is forced to confess himself vanquished.
A prey to the deepest anxiety, ignorant whither to turn in order
to dispel the tempest growling over his head, he sought in vain in
his mind for the means to escape from the hands that held him. His
inventive genius, so fertile in schemes of every description, furnished
him with no subterfuge, no stratagem, that would aid him advantageously
in supporting this supreme contest with the unknown. In vain he racked
his brains: he found nothing. Suddenly he drew himself up, and by a
movement rapid as thought, thrust his hand into his chest. "Ah!" he
exclaimed, sorrowfully, and let his hand fall again by his side, "what
has become of my portfolio?" He searched eagerly around him, but found
nothing. "I am lost," he added, "if those men have found it. What shall
I do? What will become of me?"
A sound of horses was heard in the distance, gradually approaching
the spot where the hunters were encamped. The sound soon became more
distinct, and it was easy to recognize the advent of a numerous party
of horsemen. In fact, within a quarter of an hour, some thirty mounted
men, led by Brighteye, entered the clearing. "Brighteye among these
bandits!" Don Stefano muttered. "What can be the meaning of it?"
His uncertainty did not last long. The new arrivals escorted a man whom
Don Stefano recognized at once. "Don Miguel Ortega! oh, oh!" Then he
added, with one of those cunning smiles habitual to him, "Now I know
my accuser. Come, come," he said to himself, "the position is not so
desperate as I supposed. It is evident these men know nothing, and my
precious papers have not fallen into their hands. Hum! I fancy that
this terrible Lynch law will be wrong this time, and I shall escape
from this peril, as I have done from so many others."
Don Miguel had passed without seeing Don Stefano, or perhaps, as was
more likely, without appearing to notice him. As for the prisoner,
interested as he was in observing everything, and not allowing the
slightest detail to escape his notice, he followed with watchful eye,
while feigning the most indifferent behaviour, all the movements
of the hunters. After gently depositing the litter at the side of
the clearing opposite to that where Don Stefano lay, the Gambusinos,
instead of dismounting, formed a large circle, and remained motionless,
rifle on thigh, thus rendering any attempt at flight impossible.
Buffalo skulls, intended to act as seats, were arranged in a semicircle
round a fire of dry branches. On these skulls, five in number, five men
immediately took their seats, arranged in the following order:--Don
Miguel Ortega, performing the duties of president, in the centre,
having on his right Marksman, on his left Brighteye, and then the
Indian Chief and a Gambusino. This tribunal in the open air, in the
heart of the virgin forest, surrounded by these horsemen, in their
strange costume, motionless as bronze statues, produced an effect
at once imposing and striking. These five men, with stern looks and
frowning eyebrows, calm and apathetic, bore a marvellous resemblance to
that Holy Vehm, which in old times, on the banks of the Rhine, took the
place of legal justice, no longer able to repress crime, and gave its
judgments in the open air, to the hoarse growling of the winds, and the
mysterious murmurs of the waters.
In spite of his daring, Don Stefano felt a shudder of terror all over
him, as he looked round the clearing, and saw all eyes fatally fixed
upon him, with the implacable rigidity of desert force and justice.
"Hum!" he muttered to himself, "I believe I shall have a difficulty to
get out of the scrape, and was too hasty in claiming victory."
At this moment, two hunters, at a sign from Don Miguel, quitted the
ranks, dismounted, and approached the wounded man. The latter made an
effort, and succeeded in gaining his feet. The hunters took him by
the arms, and led him before the tribunal. Don Stefano drew himself
up, crossed his arms on his chest, and bent a sardonic glance on the
men before whom he was led. "Oh, oh!" he said, with a mocking accent,
addressing Don Miguel, "it is you, then, Caballero, who are my accuser?"
The captain shrugged his shoulders slightly. "No," he replied; "I am
not your accuser, but your judge."