COMPLICATIONS.
While these events were taking place in Quiepaa Tani, others we must
narrate were occurring in the camp of the Gambusinos. Don Miguel,
after parting from Marksman at the outskirts of the forest, returned
thoughtfully to the spot where his comrades awaited him. It was
evident that the bold adventurer, dissatisfied in his heart at the turn
affairs had taken, was meditating some desperate project to get near
the maidens. He had spent several hours on the top of the isolated
mound which commanded the whole plain, and which we have before
visited, and thence carefully studied the position of the city. Clearly
this young man, with his ardent character and impetuous passions,
consented very unwillingly to play a second part in an expedition in
which he had been hitherto the leader; his pride revolted at being
compelled to obey another, even though he were his devoted friend, and
he could count on him as on himself. He reproached himself for allowing
Marksman to expose himself thus alone to terrible dangers for a cause
which was his own. The true reason, however, which he did not dare
confess to himself, that, in short, would have gladly made him brave
the greatest perils, and evidently that instinct which impelled him
to revolt secretly against Marksman's prudence, and to take his place
at all risks, was his love for Doña Laura de Real del Monte. He loved
her with that powerful and invincible love which only chosen natures
are capable of experiencing--a love which grows with obstacles, and
which, when it has once taken possession of the heart of a man like
Don Leo, makes him accomplish the most daring and extraordinary deeds.
This love was the more deeply rooted in the young man's heart, because
he was completely ignorant of its existence, and believed he merely
acted through the affection he felt for the young girls, and the pity
their unhappy position inspired him with. If it were so at the outset,
as is true, for he did not know Doña Laura, matters had completely
changed since. A young man does not travel with impunity side by side
with a maiden for more than a month, seeing her incessantly, talking
with her at every moment of the day, and not fall in love with her.
There is in woman a certain charm, which we do not attempt to account
for, which seems to emanate from their being, to be impregnated in all
that surrounds them, which seduces and subjugates the strongest men
involuntarily. The silky rustling of their dress, the soft and airy
turn of the waist, the intoxicating perfume of their floating tresses,
the pure limpidness of their dreamy glance, which is turned toward
heaven, and tries to guess the secrets of which they are ignorant; all,
in short, in these incomprehensible and voluptuously simple beings
seems to command adoration and appeal to love.
Doña Laura especially possessed that fascinating magnetism of the eye,
that slightly infantile gentleness of smile, which annihilate the
will. When her large blue eyes, veiled by long black lashes, kindly
settled on the young man, and were pensively fixed on him, he felt a
quiver over his body, a chill at his heart, and internally affected by
a sensation of immense and unknown pleasure, he wished to die then at
the feet of her who to him was no longer a creature of the earth, but
an angel. During the irregular course of his life, all the adventurer's
acquaintance with the other sex was what the corrupt society of Mexico
could offer; that is, the hideous and repulsive side. Accident, by
suddenly bringing him in contact with a poor and innocent girl like her
he had saved, produced a complete revolution in his ideas, by making
him understand that, until that day, woman, such as Heaven created her
for man, had remained an utter stranger to him. Hence, without noticing
it, and quite naturally, he yielded to the charm that unconsciously
acted on him, and had learned to love Doña Laura with, all the active
strength of his mind, not attempting to explain the new feeling which
had seized on him; happy in the present, and not wishing to think of
the future, which would probably never exist for him. Disregard of the
future is generally the character of all lovers; they only see, and
cannot see beyond, the present, by which they feel, through which they
suffer, or are happy; in which, in a word, they have their being.
Possibly Don Leo, hidden in the heart of the desert with the girl he
had so miraculously saved, had for a few days caressed in his heart
the hope of eternal happiness with her he loved, far from cities and
their dangerous intoxication; but that thought, if ever he entertained
it, had irrevocably faded away upon the fortuitous appearance of Don
Mariano; the meeting with Doña Laura's father must eternally annihilate
the plans formed by the young man. The blow was a heavy one; still,
thanks to his iron will, he endured it bravely, believing that it would
be easy for him to forget the girl in the vortex of the adventurer's
life to which he was condemned. Unfortunately for Don Leo, he was
obliged to undergo the common lot; that is to say, his love grew in
an inverse ratio to the immovable obstacles that had suddenly arisen;
and it was precisely when he recognized that she could never be his,
owing to reasons of family and fortune, which raised an insurmountable
barrier between them, that he understood it was impossible for him
to live without her. Then, no longer striving to cure the wound in
his heart, he yielded completely to that love which was his life,
and only dreamed of one thing--to die in saving her he loved, so as
to draw a word of gratitude from her in his final hour, and perhaps
leave a soft and sad memory in her soul. We can understand that, under
such feelings, Don Leo absolutely insisted on delivering the maidens
himself; hence, from the moment he parted from his friend, he thought
of nothing but the means to enter the city and see her. It was in this
temper that he returned to the camp. Don Mariano was sad; Brighteye
himself seemed to be in a bad temper; in short, all conspired to
plunge him deeper and deeper in his gloom. Several hours passed and
the adventurers did not interchange a word; but at about two in the
afternoon, the hour of the greatest heat, the sentries signalled the
approach of a party of horsemen. All ran to their arms, but soon saw
that the newcomers were Ruperto and his Cuadrilla, whom Don Mariano's
servants had found and brought with them.
Bermudez, following the injunctions he had received from Marksman, had
wished Ruperto to shut himself up with his men in the iron cavern;
but the hunter would listen to nothing, saying that his comrades had
gone further on the sacred soil of the Redskins than they had ever
done before; that they ran the risk at any moment of being crushed by
numbers, massacred, or made prisoners; that he would not abandon them
in such a critical position without trying to go to their help; and
so, in spite of all the criado's observations, the worthy hunter, who
possessed a tolerably strong share of obstinacy, pushed on, until he
at length found the encampment of his friends. Twice or thrice during
his journey he had come to blows with the Indians; but these slight
skirmishes, far from moderating his ardour, had no other result than to
urge him to haste; for now that the Redskins knew that detachments of
Palefaces were wandering in the vicinity of the city, they would not
fail to assemble in large numbers, in order to deal a great blow, and
free themselves from all their daring enemies at once.
The arrival of the Gambusinos was greeted with shouts; Ruperto
especially was heartily welcomed by Don Miguel, who was delighted at
this reinforcement of resolute men at the moment he least expected it.
The apathy which had fallen on the adventurers gave place to the
greatest activity. When the newcomers had performed their various
duties, groups were formed, and conversation commenced with the
vivacity and loquaciousness peculiar to Southern races.
Ruperto was the more pleased at his happy idea of pushing on, when
he learned that there were not only Redskin encampments in the
vicinity, but that one of their most sacred cities was close at hand.
"_Canarios!_" he said, "we shall have to keep sharp watch, if we do not
wish to lose our scalps ere long. These incarnate demons will not let
us tread their soil in peace."
"Yes," Don Leo remarked, carelessly; "I believe we had better not let
ourselves be surprised."
"Hum!" Brighteye remarked, "it would be a disagreeable surprise that
brought a swarm of Redskins on our backs. You cannot imagine how these
devils fight, when they are in large bodies. I remember that, in 1836,
when I was--"
"And the most exposed of us all is Marksman," Don Leo said, cutting
Brighteye short, who sat open-mouthed. "I am sorry that I let him go
alone."
"He was not alone," the Canadian answered. "You know very well, Don
Miguel, that Flying Eagle and his cihuatl, as they call their wives,
accompanied him."
Don Miguel looked at the hunter. "Do you put great faith in the
Redskins, Brighteye?" he asked him.
"Hum!" the latter remarked, scratching his head; "that is according;
and if I must tell the truth, I will say that I do not trust them at
all."
"You see, then, that he was really alone. Who knows what has happened
to him in that accursed city, in the midst of those incarnate demons? I
confess to you that my alarm is great, and that I am fearfully afraid
of a catastrophe."
"Yet, his disguise was perfect."
"Possibly. Marksman is thoroughly acquainted with Indian manners, and
speaks their language like his mother tongue. But what will that avail
him, if he has been denounced by a traitor?"
"Holloa!" Brighteye said; "a traitor? Whom are you alluding to?"
"Why, to Flying Eagle, caramba, or his wife, for only those two know
him."
"Listen, Don Miguel," Brighteye remarked, seriously; "permit me to tell
you my way of thinking frankly; you do wrong in speaking as you now do."
"I?" the young man exclaimed, sharply. "And why so, if you please?"
"Because you only know very slightly--and what you know of them is
good--the people you are dishonouring by that epithet. I have known
Flying Eagle for many a long year; he was quite a child when I saw him
for the first time, and I have always found in him the staunchest good
faith and honour. All the time he remained in our company, he rendered
us services, or, at any rate, tried to render them to us; and, to
settle matters, all of us generally, and yourself in particular, are
under great obligations to him. It would be more than ingratitude to
forget them."
The worthy hunter uttered this defence of his friend with an ardour and
firm tone which confused Don Miguel. "Pardon me, my old friend," he
said, in a conciliatory voice; "I was wrong, I allow; but, surrounded
by enemies as we are, threatened at each moment with becoming victims
to a traitor,--and Domingo's example is there to corroborate my
statement,--I allowed myself to be carried away by the idea--"
"Any idea attacking the honour of Flying Eagle," Brighteye sharply
interrupted, "is necessarily false. Who knows whether, at this moment,
while we are discussing his good faith, he may not be risking his life
on our behalf?"
These words produced a sensation on the hearers; there was a momentary
silence, which the Canadian soon broke, by continuing:--"But I am not
angry with you. You are young, and, from that very fact, your tongue
often goes faster than your thoughts; but, I entreat you, pay attention
to it, for it might entail dire consequences. But enough on the
subject. I remember a singular adventure which occurred to me in 1851.
I was coming from--"
"Now that I reflect more seriously," Don Miguel interrupted, "I fully
allow that I was in the wrong."
"I am happy that you allow it so frankly. Then we will say no more
about it."
"Very good; and now, returning to the old subject, I confess to you
that I also feel anxious about Marksman."
"There, you see."
"Yes, but for other reasons than those you brought forward."
"Tell me them."
"Oh! they are very simple. Marksman is a brave and honest hunter,
thoroughly up to Indian roguery; but he has no one to back him up.
Flying Eagle would prove of but slight assistance to him; if he were
detected, the brave Chief could only be killed by his side; and he
would do so, I am convinced."
"And I too; but what good would that do them? How, after that
catastrophe, should we succeed in saving the maidens?"
Brighteye shook his head. "Yes," he said, "there is the difficulty;
that is the knot of the matter. Unfortunately, it is by no means easy
to remedy that eventuality, which, I trust, will not present itself."
"We must trust so; but if it did, what should we do?"
"What should we do?"
"Yes."
"Hum! You ask me a question, Don Miguel, which it is by no means easy
to answer."
"Well, supposing it to be so, we must still find means of escaping from
the false position in which we shall find ourselves."
"That is quite certain."
"Well, then?"
"Then, on my word, I do not know what I should do. Look you, I am not
a man who looks so far ahead. When a misfortune occurs, it is time
to remedy it, without bothering your brains so long beforehand. All
that I can say to you, Caballero, is that, for the moment, instead of
remaining here, stupidly planted like a flamingo that has lost a wing,
I would give a good deal to be in that accursed city, in a position to
watch over my old comrade."
"Is that the truth? Are you really the man to attempt such an
enterprise?" Don Miguel exclaimed joyously.
The hunter looked at him in surprise. "Do you doubt it?" he said. "When
did you ever hear me boast of things which I was not capable of doing?"
"Do not be angry, my old friend," Don Miguel answered, quickly; "your
words caused me so much pleasure that, at the first blush, I did not
dare to believe them."
"You must always put faith in my words, young man," Brighteye remarked,
sententiously.
"Do not be afraid," Don Miguel said, with a laugh, "in future I will
not doubt them."
"All right, then."
"Listen to me. If you like, we will attempt the affair together."
"Enter the city?"
"Yes."
"By Jove! that is an idea," Brighteye answered, quite delighted.
"Is it not?"
"Yes; but how shall we manage to get in?"
"Leave that all to me."
"Good. Then I will not trouble myself about it further; but there is
another matter."
"What now?"
"We are not presentable in this state," the hunter said, pointing, with
a laugh, to his attire; "by painting my face and hands, I might pass at
a push; but you cannot."
"That is true. Well, let me alone, I will prepare an Indian dress with
which you can find no fault. During that time, do you disguise yourself
in your way."
"It will soon be done."
"And mine too."
The two men rose, delighted, though probably from different reasons.
Brighteye was happy at going to his friend's assistance, while Don
Miguel only thought of Doña Laura, whom he hoped to see again. At
the moment they rose, Don Mariano stopped them. "Are you speaking
seriously, Caballeros?" he asked them.
"Certainly," they answered, "most seriously."
"Very good, then. I shall go with you."
"What!" Don Miguel exclaimed, falling back in stupefaction. "Are you
mad, Don Mariano? You, who do not know the Indians, and cannot speak a
word of their language, to venture into this wasp's nest. It would be
suicide."
"No!" the old man answered resolutely. "I wish to see my child again."
Don Miguel had not the courage to combat a resolution so clearly
announced, so he let his head sink without answering; but Brighteye did
not regard the matter from that light. Perfectly cool, and consequently
seeing far and correctly, he understood the disastrous consequences Don
Mariano's presence would have for them.
"Pardon me," he said, "but with your permission, Caballero, I fancy you
have not carefully considered the resolution you have just formed."
"Caballeros, a father does not reflect when he wishes to see a child
whom he never hoped to hold to his heart again."
"That is true. Still I would remark that what you propose doing, far
from helping you to see your daughter again, will, on the contrary,
sever her from you for ever."
"What do you mean?"
"A very simple thing. Don Miguel and myself are going to mix among
Indians, whom we shall have great difficulty in discovering, though
we know them. If you accompany us, the following will inevitably
happen:--At the first glance, the Redskins will see you are a white
man, and then, you understand, nothing can save you, or us either. Now,
if you insist, we will be off. I am ready to follow you. A man can only
die once; so as well today as tomorrow."
Don Mariano sighed. "I was mad," he muttered, "I knew not what I said.
Pardon me; but I so longed to see my daughter again."
"Have faith in us, poor father," Don Miguel said, nobly; "by what we
have already done, judge what we are still able to do. We will attempt
impossibilities to restore her who is so dear to you."
Don Mariano, succumbing to the emotion which overpowered him, had
not the strength to reply. With eyes filled with tears, he pressed
the young man's hand, and sat down again. The two adventurers then
prepared for the dangerous expedition they meditated, by disguising
themselves. Owing to their acquaintance with Indian habits, they
succeeded in producing costumes harmonizing with the characters they
wished to assume, and in giving themselves a thorough Indian look. When
all the preparations were completed, Don Miguel confided the command
of the cuadrilla to Ruperto, recommending him to exercise the utmost
vigilance, and telling him the signal agreed on with Marksman. Then,
after a final pressure of Don Mariano's hand, who was still plunged
in the deepest grief, the two daring adventurers took leave of their
comrades, threw their rifles on their shoulders, and set out in the
direction of Quiepaa Tani, accompanied by several Gambusinos and by
Ruperto, who was glad to learn the situation of the city, so as to know
how to post his men so that they could run up at the first signal.