A HUNT ON THE PRAIRIE.
The persons collected in Don Miguel's tent could not repress a movement
of surprise, almost of terror, at the sudden appearance of Brighteye,
pale, bleeding, and with disordered garments. The hunter had stopped in
the entrance of the tent, tottering, and looking around with haggard
eyes, while his face gradually assumed an expression of sorrow and
profound discouragement. All these men, accustomed to the incessantly
changing life of the desert, whose courage, incessantly put to the
rudest trials, was surprised at nothing, felt themselves, however,
shudder, and a foreboding of misfortune.
Brighteye still remained motionless and dumb. Don Miguel was the first
to recall his presence of mind, and succeeded in regaining sufficient
mastery over himself to address the newcomer. "What is the matter,
Brighteye?" he asked him in a voice which he tried in vain to render
firm; "of what sad news are you the bearer?"
The Canadian passed his hand several times over his damp forehead, and,
after casting a last suspicious glance around him, he at length found
courage to reply in a low and inarticulate voice--"I have terrible news
to announce."
The adventurer's heart beat audibly; still, he mastered his emotion,
and said in a calm voice, with a sigh of resignation--"It will be
welcome, for we can hear nothing from you which is not so. Speak, then,
my friend, we are listening to you."
Brighteye hesitated, a feverish flush mounted over his face; but,
making a supreme effort, he said, "I have betrayed you--betrayed you
like a coward."
"You!" they all exclaimed, unanimously, in denial, and shrugging their
shoulders.
"Yes, I!"
These two words were uttered in the tone of a man whose resolution is
definitely formed, and who loyally accepts the responsibility of an act
which he recognises in his heart as culpable.
His hearers regarded him in stupor. "Hum!" Marksman muttered, shaking
his head sorrowfully; "there is something incomprehensible in all this.
Leave it to me to find it out," he continued, addressing Don Miguel,
who seemed preparing to address fresh questions to the hunter. "I know
how to make him speak."
The adventurer consented with a mute sign, and then fell back on his
bed, while bending an interrogatory glance on the Canadian.
Marksman quitted the spot he had hitherto occupied, and walking up to
Brighteye, laid his hand on his shoulder. The Canadian quivered at this
friendly touch, and looked sorrowfully at the old hunter. "By Jove!"
the latter said, with a smile, "deuce take me if our ears were not
tingling just now! Come, Brighteye, old comrade, what is the matter?
Why this terrified look, as if the sky was on the point of falling on
our heads! What means this pretended treachery of which you accuse
yourself, and whose flagrant impossibility I guarantee; I, who have
known you these forty years?"
"Do not pledge yourself so for me, brother," Brighteye answered, in a
hollow voice; "I have broken the law of the prairies. I have betrayed
you, I tell you."
"But, in the devil's name, explain yourself! You cannot have bargained
to our injury with those Apache dogs, our enemies? Such a supposition
would be ridiculous."
"I have done worse."
"Oh! oh! What, then?"
"I have--" Brighteye hesitated.
"What?"
Don Mariano suddenly interposed. "Silence!" he said, in a firm voice,
"I guess what you have done, and thank you for it. To me it belongs to
justify you in the sight of our friends, so let me do so."
All eyes were curiously turned on the gentleman.
"Caballeros," he continued, "this worthy man accuses himself of
treachery towards you, because he consented to do me an immense
service. In a word, he has saved my brother."
"Can it be possible?" Don Miguel passionately exclaimed.
Brighteye bowed in affirmation.
"Oh!" the adventurer said, "wretched man, what have you done?"
"I would not be a fratricide," Don Mariano nobly answered.
This word burst like a bombshell amid these lion-hearted men. They let
their heads sink instinctively, and quivered involuntarily.
"Do not reproach this honest hunter," Don Mariano continued, "with
having saved that wretch. Has he not been sufficiently punished? The
lesson has been too rude for him not to profit by it. Forced to allow
his defeat, bowed beneath shame and remorse, he is now wandering alone
and without help beneath the omnipotent eye of God, who, when his hour
arrives, will inflict on him the chastisement for his crimes. Now, Don
Estevan is no longer an object of alarm to us; we shall never meet him
again on our path."
"Stop!" Brighteye shouted, vehemently; "were it as you state, I should
not reproach myself so greatly for having consented to obey you. No,
no, Don Mariano, I ought to have refused. When the serpent is dead, the
venom is dead also! Do you know what this man did? So soon as he was
free, thanks to me, immediately forgetting that I was his saviour, he
treacherously tried to deprive me of the life I had just restored him.
Look at the gaping wound on my skull," he added, suddenly raising the
bandage that surrounded his head, "here is the proof of his gratitude
he left me on separating from me."
All present uttered an exclamation of horror.
Brighteye then narrated, in their fullest detail, the events which had
occurred. The hunters listened attentively. When his story was ended,
there was a moment of silence.
"What is to be done?" Don Miguel muttered, sorrowfully. "All must be
begun afresh. There is no lack of villains on the prairie with whom
this man can come to an understanding."
Don Mariano, overwhelmed by what he had just heard, remained gloomy and
silent, taking no part in the discussion, recognizing in his heart the
fault he had committed, but not feeling the courage to avow it, and
thus assume the immense responsibility of the sentence passed by the
wood rangers.
"We must come to an end of this," Marksman said, "moments are precious.
Who knows what that villain is doing while we are consulting? Let us
raise the camp as speedily as possible, and proceed to those maidens,
for they must be saved in the first place. As for ourselves, we shall
be able to foil the scoundrel's machinations, when aimed directly at
ourselves."
"Yes," Don Miguel exclaimed, "let us start. Heaven grant that we arrive
in time."
And forgetting his weakness and wounds, the adventurer rose boldly.
Brighteye stopped him. The old hunter, freed from the burthen that
weighed so heavily on his conscience, had regained all his boldness and
freedom of mind.
"Permit me," he said, "to have to deal with a powerful foe. Let us
not act lightly, or let ourselves be deceived this time. Hear what I
propose."
"Speak," Don Leo answered.
"From what I know of this unhappy story, you, Don Miguel, aided by my
old companion, Marksman, have hidden these young girls in a place where
you suppose them safe from the attack of your enemy."
"Yes," the adventurer answered, "except by treachery."
"We must always suspect treachery as possible in the desert," the
hunter went on, roughly; "you have a proof of it before you; hence
redouble your prudence. Don Miguel and his Cuadrilla will, guided by
us, set out immediately in pursuit of Don Stefano. Believe me, the
most important thing for us is to secure the person of our enemy, and,
by heavens, I swear to do all humanly possible to catch him. I have a
terrible account to settle with him now," he added, with an expression
of concentrated hatred which no one misunderstood.
"But the young ladies?" Don Leo exclaimed.
"Patience! Don Miguel; if you possessed as much strength as good will,
I should have reserved for you the honour of going to seek them in the
asylum you so judiciously selected for them; but that task will be too
rude for you; leave to Marksman, then, the care of carrying it out, and
be assured he will give you a good account of it."
Don Leo de Torres remained for a moment gloomy and thoughtful. Marksman
took his hand, and pressed it warmly. "Brighteye's advice is good,"
he said; "under the present circumstances, it is the only plan we can
follow; we must play a game of trickery with our adversaries, in order
to foil their villainy. Leave that to me; I have not been christened
'The Scout' in vain. I swear to you, on my life, that I will bring the
two maidens back to you."
The adventurer breathed a sigh. "Do as you think proper," he said, in
a sorrowful voice, "as I am quite powerless."
"Good, Don Leo!" Don Mariano exclaimed; "I perceive that your
intentions are truly honourable, and I thank you for your self-denial.
As for you, my worthy friend," he said, turning to Marksman, "though I
am old, and but little accustomed to desert life, I will accompany you."
"Your desire is just, señor, and I have no right to oppose it, as it
is your daughter I am going to try and save; the fatigue you will
endure, and the perils you incur during this expedition, will add to
the happiness you experience in embracing your daughter, when I have
succeeded in restoring her to you."
"Now," Brighteye said, "do you, Marksman, who know the direction you
are about to follow, give us a place of meeting, where we can assemble
again when each of us has accomplished his allotted task."
"That is important," the Canadian answered; "it would be even as well
if a detachment from Don Miguel's Cuadrilla were to proceed directly to
the meeting place we select, in order that, in the event of a mishap,
each band can find succour or support there."
"Fifteen of my most resolute men shall go at once to encamp at the spot
you select, Marksman," Don Miguel said, "in order to be ready to go
wherever their presence is necessary."
"We are carrying on regular warfare; do not forget that; hence we must
neglect no precaution. Ruperto, who is an old buffalo hunter, will,
with your permission, Don Miguel, take the command of this party, and
proceed to Amaxtlan."[1]
"Oh, I know the spot well," Ruperto interrupted; "I have often hunted
beaver and otter there."
"That is all right," Marksman continued. "Now, whatever happens, we
must all be at the appointed place this day month, except through a
grave impediment, and, in that case, the detachment missing will send a
scout to Ruperto, in order to inform him of the cause of its delay. Is
that agreed?"
"Yes," his auditors answered.
"But," Don Miguel added, "I suppose that you will not go alone with Don
Mariano?"
"No; I shall also take Domingo, who, for certain reasons known to
myself, I shall not be sorry to have constantly under my hand. Don
Mariano's two servants will also follow me; they are brave and devoted.
I need no more people."
"They are very few," Don Leo remarked.
The old hunter smiled in a peculiar way. "The less We are, the better
it will be," he said, "for the dangerous enterprise we meditate; our
little band will pass invisible, where a larger party would be stopped;
trust to me for that."
"I have one more word to add."
"Say it."
"Succeed!"
The Canadian smiled again, but this time with an expression of tender
pity. "I shall succeed," he answered, simply, as he forcibly pressed
the hand his friend offered him.
The two men understood one another. Don Leo then left the tent.
Soon all was bustle in the camp. The Gambusinos were busily engaged in
destroying the entrenchments, loading the waggons, and saddling the
horses; in short, everybody made preparations for a hurried departure.
"Did you not tell me, Marksman," asked Brighteye, "that you were picked
up by Flying Eagle?"
"Yes," the other answered.
"Did the Chief leave you at once, then?"
"No; he followed me to the camp, and so did Eglantine."
"Heaven be praised! He will accompany me on my expedition; he is a
brave and experienced warrior; his help, I believe, will be very
necessary to the success of my plans. Where is he?"
"A few steps off; let us go and find him, for I have also something to
say to him."
The two hunters left the camp together. They soon perceived Flying
Eagle, squatting by a fire, and calmly smoking his Indian calumet; his
wife sat motionless by his side, anxious to satisfy his slightest wish.
On seeing the hunters, the Chief took the pipe from his mouth, and
saluted them courteously.
Brighteye knew that the Comanche had taken several measurements of
the footsteps left by Don Estevan on his flight, and he wished to
ask the Chief for them, as he hoped to employ them in following his
enemy's trail. The Indian gave them to him without the slightest
hesitation. The hunter placed them carefully in his bosom, with a nod
of satisfaction. "Eh!" he muttered to himself. "This will enable me to
find one end of the trail; with the help of heaven, I hope that I shall
soon hold the other."
In the meanwhile, Marksman had seated himself by Flying Eagle's side.
"Does my red brother still intend to return to his tribe?" he asked
him.
"The Sachem has been absent for a long time," the Indian answered; "his
sons are anxious to see him."
"Good!" the hunter said; "it should be so. Flying Eagle is a renowned
Chief; his sons have need of him."
"The Comanches are too wise to notice the absence of a warrior."
"My brother is modest; but his heart flies toward the village of his
fathers."
"Are not all men the same?"
"That is true; the feeling of one's country is innate in the heart of
man."
"The Palefaces are raising their camp."
"Yes."
"Are they returning to the side of the great Salt Lake, into their
stone villages?"
"No; they are starting for a great buffalo hunt in the prairies, down
by the endless river with the golden waves."
"Wah!" the Chief said, with a certain degree of emotion; "then many
moons will pass ere I see my brother again."
"Why so, Chief?"
"Does not the great Pale hunter accompany his brothers?"
"No!" Marksman answered, laconically.
"Och! my brother must be laughing. What will the Palefaces do, if he
does not accompany them?"
"I am going in the direction of the sun!"
The Indian started, and fixed a piercing glance on the speaker. "The
direction of the sun," he said, as if speaking to himself.
"Yes," Marksman continued; "to the evergreen prairies of the country
of Acatlan,[2] on the banks of the fair streams of Atonatiah."[3]
The Chief started violently. Marksman remained calm, and apparently
indifferent, although he attentively followed the various emotions
which contracted the Chief's features, in spite of the mask he tried to
draw over them. "My brother is wrong," he said, presently.
"Why so?"
"My brother is ignorant that this land of which he speaks is sacred.
Never has the foot of a white man trodden it with impunity."
"I know it," the hunter answered, carelessly.
"My brother knows it, and persists in going there?"
"Yes."
There was a silence of several moments' duration between the two men,
the Indian hastily puffing the smoke from his calumet, a prey to an
emotion he could not master. At length he spoke again. "Every man
has his destiny," he said, in that sententious tone peculiar to the
Indians. "My brother doubtless attaches a great importance to this
journey."
"An immense importance, Chief; I am going to that country, though
perfectly aware of the perils that await us, for interests of value,
and impelled by a will more powerful than my own."
"Good! I do not ask my brother's secrets. The heart of a man is his
own; he alone must read in it. Flying Eagle is a powerful Sachem;
he also follows that road; he will protect his Pale brother, if the
hunter's intentions are pure."
"They are so."
"Wah! my brother has the word of a Chief; I have spoken." After
uttering these words, the Indian took up his calumet again, and
began smoking silently. Marksman was too conversant with the Indian
manners to press him further. He rose, with joy in his heart at having
succeeded in obtaining an ally so powerful as the Comanche Chief, and
he went in all haste to make the preparations for departure.
For their part, during the conversation we have reported, the
Gambusinos had not remained inactive. Don Miguel or Don Leo, whichever
it pleases the reader to call him, had so urged on his men, that
everything was ready,--waggons loaded and horsed, and the riders
mounted, with rifle on thigh, only awaited the signal for setting out.
Don Miguel selected from his band fifteen old Gambusinos, practised in
Indian tricks, and in whom he believed he could trust. He said a few
words to them, explanatory of his intentions, and placed them under
Ruperto's command, with orders to obey him as they would himself. The
Gambusinos swore to do so. This duty accomplished, he summoned Domingo.
The Gambusino came up to his Chief with that cunningly indolent manner
familiar to him, and waited respectfully for his orders. When Domingo
learned what was expected from him, he was in no way flattered by the
confidential commission his Chief gave him, especially as he was not at
all anxious to be under the immediate supervision of Marksman, whose
peering glance incessantly occasioned him a nervous tremor, and whose
assiduous watchfulness was most disagreeable to him. Still, as it was
impossible openly to disobey Don Miguel, the worthy Gambusino made up
his mind for the worst, making himself a secret promise to keep on his
guard, and double his prudence.
When Don Miguel had completed all the duties of a wise and intelligent
Chief, he mounted his horse, though with difficulty, owing to the
weakness occasioned by his wounds. He placed himself at the head
of his band, to the right of Brighteye, and after giving a parting
salutation to Don Mariano and Marksman, he ordered his men to start.
The two parties set out immediately, that led by Ruperto turning to
the left, and proceeding toward the mountains, and Brighteye, with his
men, temporarily following the course of the Rubio. All now left in
the deserted camp were Marksman, Don Mariano, Flying Eagle, Eglantine,
the two servants, and Domingo, who followed with a look of envy his
gradually disappearing comrades. The old hunter, for reasons he kept
secret, did not wish to set out before sunset. Scarcely had that planet
disappeared on the horizon, amid floods of vapours, ere the night set
in, and the landscape was almost immediately plunged in dense gloom. We
have already several times remarked that, in high American latitudes,
there is no twilight, or, at least, it is so weak, that night arrives
almost without any transition.
Marksman, since the departure of the two first detachments, had not
uttered a syllable, or made a movement; his comrades, doubtless for
motives resembling his own, respected their Chief's silence; but night
had scarcely set in, ere the hunter rose sharply. "Start!" he said, in
a quick voice.
All rose. Marksman took an inquiring glance around. "Leave the horses,"
he said; "they are useless to us. We are not going to begin a journey,
but a manhunt. We must be unimpeded in our movements, for the trail
we shall follow is difficult. Juanito, you will remain here with the
animals, until you hear from us."
The creole made a sign of discontent. "I should have preferred to
follow you, and not quit my master," he said.
"I understand that, but I want a courageous and resolute man to guard
our horses, and I cannot select a better one than you; besides, I
trust that you will not remain alone long. Still, as we do not know
what route we shall have to follow, or what obstacles may arise, build
yourself a tent. Hunt, do what you think proper, but remember that you
must not stir from this place without my orders."
"That is agreed, compadre," Juanito answered; "you can start when you
please. If your journey were to last six months, you will be certain to
find me here on your return."
"Good," Marksman said; "I reckon on you."
Then he whistled his mustang, which ran up at the summons, and laid
its intelligent head on its master's shoulder. It was a noble animal,
rather tall, with a small head, but its eyes flashed with ardour; its
wide chest, its firm and nervous legs, all denoted the blood horse.
Marksman seized the reata which hung from a ring fixed to the saddle,
unfastened it, rolled it round his body, and then, giving the mustang a
light tap on the croup, watched it depart with a sigh of regret.
The hunter's comrades were provided with their arms and provisions,
consisting of pemmican, or buffalo meat, dried and pounded, and maize
tortillas.
"Come, let us start," the Canadian said, throwing his rifle over his
shoulder.
"A pleasant journey, and happy return," Juanito said, unable to prevent
himself accompanying that adieu by a sigh, in which it could be easily
read how vexed he felt at being thus left behind.
"Thanks," the adventurers answered.
So soon as they left the camp, they walked in Indian file, that is to
say, one behind the other, the second placing his foot exactly in the
steps of the first, and the third in those of the second, and so on to
the last. The latter, however, as closing the march, was careful to
efface, as far as was possible, the traces left by himself and those
who preceded him.
Juanito, after looking after them for some minutes, as they descended
the mound, at the top of which the camp was, cautiously returned, and
seated himself by the fire. "Hum!" he muttered, "I shall not have
much fun here, but what must be must be." And with this philosophical
reflection, the worthy Mexican lit his cigarette, and began
smoking peacefully, while following with interest the blue wreaths
fantastically entwined by the evening breeze that rose from the smoke
of his Havanah tobacco, whose perfume he inhaled with all the methodic
phlegm of a true Indian Sagamore.
[1] The spot where a river divides into several branches.
[2] The country of reeds.
[3] Sun of the water.