THE SECOND DETACHMENT.
As we have said in our previous chapter, Flying Eagle started on the
trail of the horsemen whose footsteps had been perceived by Marksman.
The Indian was really one of the finest sleuth-hounds of his nation;
for, although night fell rapidly, and soon prevented him from
distinguishing the traces which served to guide him in his search, he
continued not a bit the less to advance with a sure and certain step.
About ten minutes after leaving his companions, the Chief rose to his
feet, and not appearing to attach great importance to the marks on the
ground, he continued his search, satisfying himself with looking, from
time to time, peeringly at the trees and shrubs that surrounded him.
Flying Eagle continued walking thus for an hour without hesitation or
checking his speed. On reaching a spot where the trees fell back on
both sides, thus forming an open space into which several wild beast
tracks opened, the Chief stopped for a moment, cast an investigating
and suspicious glance around, clutched his rifle, which he had hitherto
carried on his back, inspected the priming carefully, and bending his
body to a level with the tall grass, he advanced with measured steps
toward a thicket, the branches of which he drew aside, and in which
he speedily disappeared. So soon as he was completely concealed, the
Comanche knelt down, gradually opened the leafy curtain that hid him,
and looked out. Suddenly Flying Eagle rose, uncocked his rifle, which
he threw back again on his shoulder, and stepped forth with head erect,
and a smile on his lips.
In the centre of a large clearing, illumined by three or four fires,
some twenty men were encamped, picturesquely grouped round the fires,
and joyously preparing their evening meal, while their horses grazed
a short distance off. These horsemen, whom Flying Eagle recognized at
the first glance, were Don Leo de Torres, Brighteye, and the Gambusinos
detached in pursuit of Don Estevan. The Indian approached the fire near
which Don Leo and the hunters were seated, and stopped in front of
them.
"May the Wacondah watch over my brothers!" he said, in salutation; "a
friend has come to visit them."
"He is welcome," Don Leo answered gracefully, as he held out his hand.
"Yes," Brighteye went on, "a thousand times welcome; though there's
reason that his presence should surprise us."
The Chief bowed, and took his place between the two whites.
"How is it we meet you here?" the hunter asked.
"The question my brother asks me at this moment is exactly what I was
preparing to ask myself."
"How so?" Don Miguel asked.
"Does not my brother, the Paleface, know where he is at this moment?"
"Not at all. Since our separation, we have constantly followed the
trail of an enemy, though we could not catch him up; that trail has led
us to parts strange to Brighteye himself."
"I am bound to confess it. This is the second time such a thing has
occurred to me, and under exactly similar circumstances. The first
time, I remember, it was in 1843. I was on the--"
"But if the hunter does not know these regions," Flying Eagle
interrupted him unceremoniously, "my brother, the warrior knows them."
"I?" Don Leo said. "Not the least in the world, Chief. I assure you it
is the first time I have come this way."
"My brother is mistaken, he has been here already; but, like all the
Palefaces, my brother's memory is short, he has forgotten."
"No, Chief. I am too well acquainted with the desert not to recognize,
at the first glance, any spot which I have once visited."
The Indian smiled at this pretension, which was so poorly justified.
"Yes, that has happened to my brother today," he said, "though only
three moons, at the most, have passed since he visited these parts in
company with the Pale hunter, to whom he gave the name of Marksman."
The adventurer started, and a lively emotion could be seen on his face.
"What do you mean, Redskin, in Heaven's name?" he said quickly.
"I mean that Quiepaa Tani is there," the Indian answered, stretching
out his arm in a south-western direction; "that we are but a half day's
journey distant from it at the most."
"Can it be possible?"
"Oh!" the young man exclaimed, energetically, as he suddenly rose;
"thanks for these good news, Chief!"
"What are you going to do?" Brighteye asked him.
"What am I going to do? Cannot you guess it? Those we wish to save are
only a few leagues from us, and you ask me that question!"
"I ask it of you because I fear, through your impetuosity and
imprudence, lest you might compromise the success of our expedition."
"Your words are harsh, old hunter; but I pardon them, because you
cannot understand my feelings."
"Perhaps I can, perhaps I cannot, Don Miguel; but, believe me, in an
expedition like ours, stratagem alone can lead to success."
"Deuce take stratagem, and he who recommends it," the young man
exclaimed passionately. "I wish to deliver the girls whom, through my
mad confidence, I led into this snare."
"And whom you lose for ever by another act of madness. Trust in the
experience of a man who has lived in the desert more years than you
count months in your life. Since we have been following Don Estevan's
trail, you have seen that a strong party of Indian horsemen has joined
him, I think? At two paces from a holy city, whose population is
immense, do you intend to contend with your fifteen Gambusinos against
several thousand brave and experienced Redskin warriors? That would be
committing suicide with your eyes open. If Don Estevan is proceeding
in this direction, it is because he also knows that the maidens are in
Quiepaa Tani. Do not let us hurry, but watch our enemy's movements,
without revealing our presence, or letting him suspect we are so near
him. In that way I answer for our success on my head."
The young man had listened to these remarks with the greatest
attention. When Brighteye ceased, he pressed his hand affectionately,
and sat down at once by his side. "Thanks, my old friend," he said,
"thanks for the rough way in which you have spoken to me. You have
brought me back to my senses. I was mad. But," he added a moment after,
"what is to be done? How to save these unhappy maidens?"
Flying Eagle, during the preceding conversation, had remained calm and
silent, apathetically smoking his Indian calumet; on hearing Don Leo
speak thus, he understood it was time for him to interfere. "The Pale
warrior can regain his courage," he said; "Eglantine is in Quiepaa
Tani; tomorrow at sunrise we shall have news of the pale virgins."
"Oh! oh!" the young man said joyously. "So soon as your wife returns
from that nest of demons, I promise her, Chief, the handsomest pair of
bracelets, and the prettiest earrings an Indian cihuatl ever yet wore."
"Eglantine needs no reward for serving her friends."
"I know it, Chief; but you will not refuse me the satisfaction of
giving her this slight token of my gratitude, Chief?"
"My brother is at liberty to do so."
"Halloh!" Brighteye suddenly remarked, "by what chance did you come to
our camp this night?"
"Have you not understood?"
"On my word, no. We were far from suspecting you to be so near us."
"That is true," Don Miguel remarked: "but now that I know where we are,
all is explained."
"Yes; but that does not tell us why the Chief came to find us here."
"Because," Flying Eagle replied, "we discovered your footsteps crossing
the trail we followed."
"That is true; and you came to reconnoitre."
The Chief nodded an assent.
"Have our friends stopped far from here?"
"No," the Indian said, "I am going to rejoin them, in order to tell
them who are the men I have seen. My absence has been long; the
Palefaces are soon alarmed. I am going."
"One moment," Brighteye observed. "As chance has brought us together
again, perhaps it will be better not to separate again; we shall,
possibly, need one another."
"What is your advice, Chief? Will it be better for us to accompany you
to your bivouac, or will you join us?"
"We will come hither."
"Make haste, then; for I am curious to know what has happened to you
since our separation at the ford of the Rubio."
"Flying Eagle is a good runner," the Chief answered, "but he has only
the feet of a man."
"By the way, why did you not come on horseback"
"Our horses were left at the camp of the great river. A trail is better
followed afoot."
"That is easily remedied. How many are you?"
"Four."
"What, four? I fancied you were more."
"Yes, but the Pale hunter will explain to you why two of our comrades
have left us."
"Good. I will accompany you."
Don Leo immediately gave orders to have four horses got ready, and
recommended Brighteye to watch over the camp during his absence, then,
mounting his horse, in which he was imitated by the Chief, the two set
off, leading the horses intended for the men they were going to find.
The two men only took twenty minutes in covering the ground which
Flying Eagle had spent more than an hour in crossing, owing to the
precautions he was compelled to take when following an unknown trail,
which might belong to enemies. They found Marksman and Don Mariano
with loaded rifles, and keeping good watch. While awaiting Flying
Eagle's return, they had fallen asleep; but the steps of the horses
awoke them, and they stood on their defence in case of the worst. On
their awakening, however, a very disagreeable surprise awaited them.
They found only two instead of three. Domingo, the Gambusino, had
disappeared. So soon as he recognized Don Miguel, the Canadian said,
with extreme agitation--"Dismount, dismount, Caballero! We must all go
beating."
"What humbug at this hour, Marksman!" Don Miguel answered. "Why, you
must be mad!"
"I am not mad," the Canadian said, hurriedly; "but I repeat, dismount
and hunt; we are betrayed!"
"Betrayed!" Don Miguel exclaimed, starting with surprise; "by whom? in
Heaven's name!"
"By Domingo! The traitor has fled during our sleep! Oh! I was right to
distrust his coppery face!"
"Domingo fled!--a traitor! You are mistaken!"
"I am not. Hunt after him, I tell you, in the name of those you have
sworn to save."
No more was needed to exasperate the young man; he bounded from his
steed, and seized his rifle. "What is to be done?" he asked.
"Scatter over the ground," the hunter rapidly answered. "Each go a
different way; and may Heaven bless our search! We have lost too much
time already."
Without any further exchange of words, the four men buried themselves
in the forest in four different directions. But the darkness was dense.
Beneath the cover, where, even by day, the sunbeams penetrated with
difficulty, on this black and moonless night they could distinguish
nothing two steps ahead of them; and if, instead of flying, the
Gambusino had contented himself with hiding in the vicinity, the
hunters would evidently have passed without noticing him. The search
lasted a long time, for the hunters comprehended the importance of
finding the fugitive again; but, in spite of all their skill, they
could discover nothing. Marksman, Don Mariano, and Don Miguel had been
back by the fire several minutes; they were communicating to each
other the closeness of their pursuit, when, suddenly, a dazzling flash
crossed the forest, and a shot was heard, almost immediately followed
by a second. "Let us run up," Marksman shouted. "Flying Eagle has found
the vermin. Never was a better sleuth-hound after game."
The three men ran at full speed in the direction of the shots they had
heard. On approaching, they found that an obstinate contest was going
on. The war yell of the Comanches, uttered in Flying Eagle's powerful
voice, permitted them no doubt on that head. At length, they debouched
on the scene of action. Flying Eagle, with his foot on the chest of a
man thrown down before him, and who writhed like a serpent to escape
the fearful pressure, leant his back against a black oak, and, tomahawk
in hand, was defending himself like a lion against half a dozen Indians
who attacked him together. The three white men clubbed their rifles,
and rushed into the medley with a terrible cry of defiance. The effect
of this diversion was instantaneous. The Redskins dispersed in all
directions, and fled like a legion of phantoms.
"After them!" Don Miguel howled, as he rushed forward.
"Stop!" Marksman shouted, as he seized him by the arm; "you might as
well pursue the cloud carried off by the wind. Let the scoundrels
escape, we shall find them again, I warrant."
The adventurer perceived that a pursuit in the dark would be giving an
enormous advantage to his enemy, who was better acquainted with the
country, and probably very numerous; hence he stopped with a sigh of
regret. The Chief was then surrounded, and complimented on his glorious
resistance. The Sachem received the remarks with his habitual modesty.
"Wah!" he merely answered, "the Apaches are cowardly old women. One
Comanche warrior is sufficient to kill six times ten of them, and
twenty more."
By a miraculous hazard, the brave Indian had only received a few
insignificant wounds, to which, in spite of his friend's earnest
entreaties, he paid no further attention than washing them with cold
water.
"But," Marksman suddenly said, stooping down, "whom have we here? Eh!
if I am not mistaken, it is our fugitive!"
It was really Domingo. The poor wretch had his thigh broken;
doubtlessly foreseeing the fate that awaited him, he howled with pain,
but would give no other answer.
"It would be a good deed," Don Mariano said, "to dash out this poor
fellow's brains, to terminate his sufferings."
"Let us be in no hurry," the implacable hunter remarked. "Everything
will have its season. Let Flying Eagle explain to us how he found him."
"Yes, that is important," Don Miguel said.
"It is the Wacondah who delivered this man into my hands," the Chief
answered, sententiously. "I had ransacked the forest with as much care
as the darkness permitted me, and was returning to you, wearied with
nearly two hours' fruitless search, when, at the moment I least thought
of it, I was attacked by more than ten Apaches, who rushed on me from
all sides at once. This man was at the head of the assailants. He fired
his gun at me, but did not hit me. I answered in the same way; but more
successfully, for he fell. I immediately set my foot on his chest, for
fear he should escape me, and defended myself to my best against my
enemies, in order to give you time to come to my assistance. I have
spoken."
"By heavens, Chief!" the hunter exclaimed, enthusiastically, "you
are a brave warrior! What you have done is grand. This villain, on
leaving us, found a party of these birds of prey, and was, doubtlessly,
returning with the intention of attacking us during our sleep."
"Well!" Don Mariano remarked, "he is found again; so all is for the
best."
The wounded man made a great effort, and, leaning on his right hand,
he drew himself up and gave a ghastly grim "Yes, yes," he answered, "I
know I am about to die; but it will not be without vengeance."
"What do you say, villain?" Don Mariano exclaimed.
"I say that your brother knows all, my fine gentleman, and will succeed
in foiling your plans."
"Viper! what have I done to make you act thus towards me?"
"You did nothing," he replied, with a demoniac grin; "but," he added,
pointing to Don Miguel, "I have hated that man for a long time."
"Die, then, villain!" the exasperated young man shouted, as he set the
cold muzzle of his rifle on his forehead.
Flying Eagle turned the weapon aside.
"This man is mine, brother," he said.
Don Miguel slowly removed his rifle, and turned to the Chief. "I
consent; but on condition that he dies."
A sinister smile played for a second round the Indian's thin lips.
"Yes," he said, "and by an Apache, death." Then, unfastening the bow
he wore by the side of his panther skin quiver, he placed the string
round the Gambusino's skull, and, forming a tourniquet, by means of an
arrow passed through the string, while, with his knee buried between
the wretch's shoulders, he seized his hair in his right hand, and
drew it to him. He scalped in this manner, inflicting on him the most
abominable torture that can be imagined, since, instead of cutting
the skin with his knife, he literally tore it off by means of the
string. The bandit, with his face inundated with blood, and disfigured
features, clasped his hands by a supreme effort, exclaiming, with an
expression impossible to describe--"Kill me! oh, for pity's sake, kill
me!"
The Comanche placed his furious face close to the bandit's. "Traitors
are not killed," he said, in a hollow voice. And then, seizing him by
the neck, he thrust the blade of his knife between the clenched teeth,
forced the mouth open, and tore out his tongue, which he threw from him
in disgust. "Die like a dog!" he yelled; "thy lying tongue shall betray
never more."
Domingo uttered a cry of pain so horrible that the hearers started with
terror, and rolled senseless on the ground.[1]
Flying Eagle contemptuously kicked the bandit's body aside, and turned
to his companions. "Let us go," he said.
They followed him in silence, terrified by the scene of which they had
been witnesses. An hour later, they found Brighteye at the bivouac.
At sunrise, Flying Eagle approached Marksman and gently touched him on
the shoulder. "What do you want?" the hunter asked, as he woke.
"The Sachem is going to meet Eglantine," the Chief answered, simply.
And he went away.
"There is something human in those savage fellows after all," the
hunter muttered, as he watched him depart.
[1] The author saw this punishment inflicted on a North American by an
Apache.