THE FINAL STRUGGLE.
Marksman was not mistaken. Two parties of Redskins, one led by Addick
and Don Estevan, the other by Atoyac, were pursuing the Gambusinos.
We will explain to the reader, in a few words, this apparent alliance
between Addick and Atoyac. In the last chapter we stated that Marksman
surprised the Amantzin, listening at the door, and though the High
Priest did not understand a word of Spanish, and consequently could
not follow the conversation, still he evidenced a certain degree of
animation which appeared to him suspicious. Still, as he did not dare
openly to oppose the ceremony of the great medicine, which was to
take place in the same evening, he imparted his suspicions to Atoyac.
The latter, already badly disposed towards the two men, feigned,
however, to be astonished at the sudden doubts of the Amantzin, and
treated them as visionary. But at length, as the old man pressed him,
and seemed strongly persuaded that there was some machination hidden
behind the jugglery of the self-called medicine men, he consented
to watch what occurred on the hillock, and be ready to hurry to the
Amantzin's assistance, should he be the dupe of any trickery. This
being properly arranged, so soon as the procession with the captives
left Quiepaa Tani, Atoyac followed it with a band of warriors picked
from his relatives and friends, and, on arriving at the foot of the
mound, he clambered up it through the grass, prepared to see and hear
all that occurred. On hearing the prayers of the few men, the Chief
was on the point of regretting his coming. The noise of voices soon
ceased, and Atoyac, supposing that muttered prayers were now going
on, waited. Still, as the silence was prolonged, Atoyac determined to
climb to the top of the mound, and was utterly astounded at finding
only the Amantzin and the warriors lying on the ground. At first he
believed they were dead, and summoned his comrades, who had remained at
the bottom of the hill. The latter ran up at full speed, and lifted up
the sleepers, whom they shook violently, without being able to arouse
them. Atoyac then guessed a portion of the truth; he called to mind
the signal he had heard, and not doubting that the fugitives had gone
towards the forest, he rushed after them with a yell. Atoyac was the
first to perceive the party, and he it was who fired the shot which
killed the Gambusino. But the position of the whites was becoming
critical; for, on arriving at the edge of the forest, they found
themselves suddenly stopped by Addick's party, which charged furiously.
The ladies were in the centre of the Gambusinos, protected by Don
Mariano and Brighteye, and hence were in comparative safety. While
Marksman and Ruperto wheeled round to repulse the attack of Atoyac's
warriors, and cover the retreat, Don Miguel, wielding a club, which he
took from a wounded Apache, rushed into the thick of the fight with the
leap of a tiger at bay. The combatants, who were too close together
to employ their firearms, murdered each other with knives and lances,
or with fearful blows of clubs and rifle butts. The fearful carnage
lasted twenty minutes, excited by the savage yells of the Indians, and
the no less savage shouts of the Gambusinos, At length, by a desperate
effort, Don Miguel succeeded in bursting the human dyke that barred his
progress, and rushed, followed by his comrades, through the wide and
bloody gap he had opened, at the loss of ten of his most resolute men,
leaving Marksman to oppose the last efforts of the Redskins. Don Miguel
collected his men around him, and all hurried into the depths of the
forest, when they speedily disappeared.
At sunrise, the adventurers reached the grotto where they had once
before sought shelter, and Don Miguel gave the order to halt. It was
time. The horses, panting with fatigue, could scarce stand; besides,
whatever diligence the Apaches might display, the adventurers were a
whole night in advance of them, hence they could take a few hours of
indispensable rest.
Marksman, who soon arrived with the rearguard, confirmed Don Miguel's
views. The Redskins, according to his report, had suddenly returned
towards the city. These news redoubled the serenity of the adventurers.
While the Gambusinos, in different groups, were preparing a meal, and
attending to their wounds, and the maidens, who had retired into the
grotto, were sleeping on a pile of furs and zarapés, Don Miguel and the
two Canadians were bathing, in order to remove the traces of Indian
paint, and, after dressing in their proper clothes, they went to get
a few minutes' necessary rest. Don Miguel alone entered the grotto.
Eglantine, seated at the feet of the sleeping girls, lulled them gently
with the plaintive melody of an Indian song. Don Mariano was asleep not
far from his daughter. The young man thanked the Chief's wife with a
grateful smile, lay down across the entrance of the grotto, and fell
asleep too, after assuring himself that sentries were watching the
common safety.
The first words of the maidens on awaking, were to thank their
liberators. Don Mariano was never wearied of caressing his daughter,
who was at length restored to him; and he knew not how to express his
gratitude to Don Miguel. Doña Laura, with all the _naïve_ frankness
of a young heart, to which evasion is unknown, could not find words
sufficiently strong to express to Don Miguel the happiness with which
her heart overflowed. Doña Luisa alone remained gloomy and thoughtful.
On seeing with what devotion and readiness Don Miguel, with no other
interest than that of serving them, had so frequently risked his life,
the maiden discovered the greatness and nobility of the adventurer's
character; hence love entered her heart, the more violent because
the object yet did not seem to perceive it. Love renders persons
clear-sighted. Doña Luisa soon understood why her companion continually
boasted to her of the young man's generous qualities, and she guessed
the secret passion they felt for each other. A cruel pang gnawed her
heart at this discovery; in vain did she struggle against the horrible
tortures of an unbridled jealousy, for she felt that Don Miguel would
never love her. Still, the young girl yielded hopelessly to the chance
of seeing and hearing the man for whom she would have gladly laid down
her life. As for Don Miguel, he heard nothing, saw nothing; he was
intoxicated with joy, and indulged in the voluptuous felicity with
which Doña Laura's presence inundated him, as she sat, lovely and
careless, between himself and her father. Fortunately, Marksman was not
in love, and he saw clearly the dangers of the position. He summoned a
council, in which it was resolved that they should proceed in all haste
toward the nearest Mexican frontier, in order to place the ladies in
safety, and escape from any pursuit on the part of the Indians. They
must hasten, however, for, owing to an unlucky coincidence, it was
that period of the year called by the Redskins the "Moon of Mexico,"
and which they had selected for their periodical depredations on the
frontiers of that hapless country. Marksman promised to reach the
clearings in four days, by roads known to himself alone.
They set out. The adventurers were not disturbed in their rapid
flight, and, as Marksman had announced, on the afternoon of the fourth
day the party crossed a ford of the Rio Gila and entered Sonora. As
they advanced, however, on the Mexican territory, the hunter's brow
grew gloomier, and the glances he turned in every direction denoted
an anxious mind. The fact was, that the country, which should have
appeared at this season so luxuriant in vegetation, looked so strange
and desolate as to chill the heart. The fields turned up and trampled
by horses' hoofs; the ruins of burnt jacales, scattered here and
there; ashes piled up at places where mills must once have stood,
evidenced that war had passed along the road, with all the horrors
that march after it. About two leagues off, the houses of a fortified
pueblo an old presidio, could be seen glistening in the last beams
of the sun. All was calm in the vicinity; but the calmness was that
of death. Not a human being was visible; no _manada_ appeared on the
desolated prairie; the _recuas_ of the mules, the calls of the _nena_,
could neither be seen nor heard. On all sides, a leaden silence, a
mournful tranquillity, brooded over the scene, and imparted to it,
in the gay light of the sun, a crushing aspect. Suddenly Brighteye,
who rode a little ahead of the party, pulled up his horse, which had
shied so violently as nearly to throw him, and looked down with a cry
of surprise. Don Miguel and Marksman hurried up to him. A frightful
spectacle offered itself to the three men. At the bottom of a ditch
that ran along the road, a pile of Spanish corpses lay pell-mell,
horribly disfigured and stripped of their scalps. Don Miguel ordered
a halt, not knowing whether to advance or retire; it was permissible
to doubt under such circumstances. If they pushed on to the presidio,
it was probably deserted, or perhaps the Redskins had seized on it.
Still some determination must be formed within an hour. Don Miguel
at length noticed a ruined hacienda about five miles to their right;
though precarious, the shelter it afforded was better than bivouacking
on the plain. The adventurers pushed on, and soon reached the farm.
The hacienda bore traces of fire and devastation; the cracked walls
were blackened with smoke, the windows and doors broken in, and several
male and female bodies, half consumed, were piled up in the patio. Don
Miguel led the trembling girls to a room, after the ruins choking the
entrance had been removed; then, after urging them not to leave it, he
joined his companions, who, under Brighteye's directions, were settling
themselves as well as they could in the hacienda. Marksman had gone
out scouting with Ruperto. Don Mariano, excited by paternal love, had
turned engineer, and with the help of a dozen adventurers, was putting
the house in the best state of defence possible.
Like all Mexican frontier haciendas, this one was surrounded by a tall
crenelated wall. Don Miguel had the gate blocked up; then, returning
to the house, he ordered the doors and windows to be put in, had
loopholes pierced, and placed sentries round the wall and on the
azotea. After this, he gave Brighteye the command of twelve resolute
men, and ordered them to ambush behind a wood covered mound, which rose
about two hundred yards from the hacienda. He then counted his forces;
including Don Mariano and his two servants, he had but twenty-one men
with him; but they were adventurers, determined to die to the last man
rather than surrender. Don Miguel did not lose all hope, and when these
precautions were taken, he waited. Ruperto soon arrived, and his report
was not reassuring.
The Redskins had seized the presidio by surprise. The town had been
plundered, then abandoned; it was completely deserted. Numerous parties
of Apaches were visible in all directions, and it seemed certain that
the adventurers could not proceed a league from the hacienda without
falling into an ambuscade.
Marksman at length arrived. He brought with him forty Mexican soldiers
and peasants, who had been wandering about at hazard for two days, at
the risk of being surprised by the Redskins, who pitilessly massacred
every white man who fell into their hands. Don Miguel gladly received
this unexpected help--a reinforcement of forty men was not to be
despised, especially as they were all armed, and capable of doing good
service. Marksman, as a good forager, also brought with him several
mules laden with provisions. The worthy Canadian thought of everything,
and nothing escaped him. When the men had been stationed at the spots
most exposed to a surprise, Don Miguel and Marksman ascended the
azotea, to have a look at the neighbourhood.
Nothing had changed; the plain was still deserted. The calm was of
evil augury. The sun set in a mass of red vapour; the light suddenly
lessened, and night arrived, with its darkness and its mysteries. Don
Miguel, leaving the Canadian alone, went down to the apartment which
served as a refuge to the three females. The ladies were seated, sad
and silent.
Eglantine walked up to him.
"What does my sister want?" the young man asked.
"Eglantine wishes to go," she answered, in her soft voice.
"What, go!" he exclaimed, in surprise; "it is impossible. The night is
dark; my sister would run too much danger on the plain; the calcis of
her tribe are far away on the prairie."
Eglantine assumed her usual pout as she shook her head. "Eglantine will
go," she said, impatiently. "My brother will give her a horse; she must
join Flying Eagle."
"Alas! my poor girl, Flying Eagle is far away at this moment, I am
afraid; you will not find him."
The girl raised her head quickly. "Flying Eagle does not desert his
friends," she said; "he is a great chief. Eglantine is proud to be his
squaw. Let my brother suffer her to go. Eglantine has in her heart a
little bird, that sings softly, and tells her where the Sachem is."
Don Miguel suffered from considerable perplexity; he could not consent
to what the Indian girl asked him; he felt a repugnance to abandon the
woman who had given them so many proofs of devotion since she had been
among them. At this moment he felt a tap on his shoulder; he turned,
and saw Marksman. "Let her go," he said; "she knows better than we do
why she acts thus. The Redskins never do anything without a reason.
Come, dear child, I will accompany you to the gate, and give you a
horse."
"Go, then," Don Miguel said; "but remember that you leave us against my
wish."
Eglantine smiled, and kissed the two ladies, merely whispering one word
to them--"Courage!"
Then she followed Marksman.
"Poor, good creature!" Don Miguel muttered; "she wants to try and be
of use to us again, I feel convinced." Then he turned to the ladies.
"Niñas," he said to them, "regain your courage. We are numerous.
Tomorrow, at sunrise, we shall start again, with no fear of being
disturbed by the Indian marauders."
"Don Miguel," Doña Laura answered, with a sad smile, "you will try in
vain to reassure us. We heard what the men said to each other: they are
expecting an attack."
"Why not be frank with us, Don Miguel?" Doña Luisa added. "It is better
to tell us openly in what position we are, and to what we are exposed."
"Good heavens! do I know it myself?" he replied. "I have taken all the
necessary precautions to defend the hacienda to the last extremity, but
I trust that our trail will not be discovered."
"You are deceiving us again," Doña Laura said, in a reproachful voice,
so gentle that it went straight to the young man's heart.
"Besides," the adventurer continued, not wishing to answer the
interruption, "be certain, señoritas, that, in case of an attack, we
shall all die, my comrades and myself, ere an Apache can cross the
threshold of this door."
"The Apaches!" the maidens exclaimed, for the recollection of their
captivity was still quivering in their heart, and they trembled at the
mere thought of falling into their hands again. Still, this movement of
terror did not last an instant. Doña Laura's face immediately assumed
the angelic expression habitual to it, and she answered Don Miguel with
the softest possible intonation in her voice.
"We have faith in you; we know that you will do all that is humanly
possible to save us. We thank you for your devotion; we know that our
fate is in the hands of God, and we place confidence in Him. Act like a
man, Don Miguel. Do not trouble about us further, but, I implore you,
watch over my father."
"Yes," Doña Luisa added, "do your duty bravely; for our part, we will
do ours."
Don Miguel looked without understanding her. She smiled and blushed,
but said no more. The young man seemed desirous to say a few words,
but, after a moment's hesitation, he bowed respectfully and left the
room. Laura and Luisa then threw themselves in each other's arms, and
embraced tenderly.
When Don Miguel entered the patio, Marksman walked up to him, and
pointed to several rows of black dots, apparently crawling in the
direction of the hacienda. "Look!" he said, drily.
"They are Redskins!" Don Miguel exclaimed.
"I have seen them for the last ten minutes," the hunter continued; "but
we have time yet to prepare for their reception. They will not be here
for an hour."
In truth, an hour passed away in this state of horrible expectation.
Suddenly the hideous head of an Apache appeared over the door of the
court, and looked furiously down into the patio.
"No one can form an idea how impudent these Indians are," Marksman
said, with a grin; and, raising his axe, the body of the Apache rolled
outside, while his head fell, with grinning teeth, almost at Don
Miguel's feet.
Several attempts of the same nature, made at various spots, were
repulsed with equal success. Then the Apaches, who had flattered
themselves with the idea of finding the whites asleep, seeing, on the
contrary, how badly they were received, uttered their war yell, and
rising tumultuously from the ground, where they had been hitherto
crawling, rushed toward the wall, which they tried to escalade on all
sides at once.
A ball of fire flashed from the hacienda, and a shower of bullets
greeted them. Many fell; but the impetus of the charge was not felt.
A fresh discharge at point-blank range was impotent to repulse them,
although it caused them enormous losses. The attackers and attacked
were soon fighting hand to hand. It was an atrocious medley, a horrible
carnage, in which the hands were only unclutched by death, and in which
the conquered, after dragging his conqueror down with him, strangled
him in a last convulsion. For more than half an hour it was impossible
to recognize each other; the rifles, the lances, the arrows, and
machete strokes were interchanged with prodigious rapidity. At length
the Indians fell back; the wall was not yet escaladed. It was but a
short time; the Redskins returned almost immediately to the charge,
and the struggle recommenced with heightened fury. This time, in spite
of the prodigies of valour performed by the adventurers, they were
driven in by the mass of enemies that surrounded them, and compelled to
fall back on the house, contending every inch of ground; but now the
resistance could not last long.
All at once shouts were heard in the rear of the Indians, and
Brighteye poured on them like an avalanche at the head of his party.
The Redskins, surprised and alarmed at this unforeseen attack, gave
way in disorder, and dispersed over the plain. Don Miguel rushed
forward, at the head of twenty men, to support Brighteye, and complete
the defeat of the Indians. The adventurers pursued the Apaches, whom
they furiously massacred; but all at once Don Miguel uttered a cry
of surprise and rage. While he had been led away in pursuit of the
Apaches, other Indians, suddenly springing up in the space left free,
rushed at the hacienda. The Gambusinos turned their horses round, and
retraced their steps at full gallop. It was too late. The hacienda
was invaded. The combat then became a horrible carnage--a nameless
butchery. In the midst of the Apaches, Atoyac, Addick, and Don Estevan
seemed to be multiplied, so rapid were their blows, so aroused was
their fury. On the highest step of the flight leading into the interior
of the house, Don Mariano and some Gambusinos he had rallied were
desperately resisting the repeated attacks of a swarm of Indians.
Suddenly a bloody veil was spread before Don Miguel's eyes; a cold
perspiration poured down his face; the Apaches had forced the entrance,
and were inundating the house.
"Forward! Forward!" Don Leo howled, throwing himself headlong into the
medley.
"Forward!" Brighteye and Marksman repeated.
At this moment the two maidens appeared at the windows, closely
pursued by the Redskins, who seized them in their arms, and carried
them off, in spite of their shrieks and resistance. All was lost! At
this supreme moment, the war cry of the Comanches burst on the air,
and a cloud of warriors, at the head of whom Flying Eagle galloped,
fell like a thunderbolt on the Apaches, who believed themselves the
victors, Surrounded on all sides at once, after a heroic resistance,
the latter were compelled to give ground, and seek safety in flight.
The adventurers were saved at the moment when they believed nothing
was left them but to die, not to fall alive into the hands of their
ferocious enemies.
THE EPILOGUE.
Two hours later, the sun as it rose shone on a touching scene in that
hacienda which had been the scene of so obstinate a contest.
The adventurers and the Comanche warriors, who arrived so fortunately
for them, hastily removed, as far as was possible, the traces of the
combat. The bodies of those who had fallen were piled up in a retired
corner of the patio, and covered with straw. Comanche sentries guarded
some twenty Apache prisoners, and the adventurers were busy, some
bandaging their wounds, others digging wide trenches to inter the dead.
Under the saguon of the horses, two men and a woman had been laid on
trusses of straw, covered with zarapés. The woman was dead; it was
Doña Luisa. The poor child, whose life had only been one long self
denial and continued devotion, was killed by Don Estevan, at the moment
she blew out the brains of Addick, who was carrying off Doña Laura.
The two men were Don Mariano and Brighteye. Don Miguel and Laura were
standing on either side of the old gentleman, anxiously watching for
the moment when he should open his eyes.
Marksman, sad, and with a pale brow, was bending over his old comrade,
who was on the point of death.
"Courage!" he said to him; "courage, brother, it is nothing."
The Canadian tried to smile. "Hum! I know what it is," he said in a
broken voice; "I have ten minutes left at the most, and after that--"
He was silent for a moment, and seemed to be reflecting. "Tell me,
Marksman," he went on, "do you believe God will pardon me?"
"Yes, my worthy friend; for you were a brave and good creature."
"I have always acted in accordance with my heart. Well, it is said that
the mercy of God is infinite; I put my trust in Him."
"Hope, my friend, hope!"
"No matter. I was sure the Indians would never kill me; it was Don
Estevan, look ye, who wounded me, but I split his skull open. The
villain! I ought to have let him die in his pit, like a trapped wolf."
His voice grew momentarily weaker; his eye was more glassy; his life
was ebbing fast.
"Pardon him! Now he is dead, he is no longer dangerous."
"Heaven be praised, I crushed the viper at last! Good-bye, Marksman,
my old comrade. We shall never again hunt buffalo and elk together on
the prairie; we shall no longer sound our war cry against the Apaches.
Where is Flying Eagle?"
"Pursuing the Redskins."
"Oh, he is a fine fellow. He was very young when I first knew him;
it was in 1845. I remember that I was returning from--" He stopped.
Marksman, who had bent as close as possible over him, to hear the words
he uttered in a voice that grew momentarily weaker, looked at him. He
was dead. The worthy hunter had surrendered his soul to God, without
feeling the cruel agonies of death. His friend piously closed his eyes,
knelt down by his side, and binding his pale forehead, prayed fervently
for his old comrade.
Don Mariano, in the meanwhile, had remained in the same state of
apparent insensibility. Don Miguel and Doña Laura each held a hand, and
anxiously questioned his pulse. His two old servants were kneeling in a
corner of the room, and weeping silently.
Suddenly Don Mariano uttered a deep sigh, a bright flush covered his
face, his eyes opened, and for some minutes he seemed trying to recall
his ideas, troubled by the approach of death. At length he made a
supreme effort, sat up, and looking by turns with an expression of
ineffable gentleness at the young people who had fallen on their knees,
he drew their hands towards him and forced them on his heart.
"Don Miguel," he said, in a powerful voice, "guard her! Laura, you
love him, so be happy! My children, I bless you. Oh, God! In thy mercy
pardon the wretched man who is the cause of all our misfortunes. Lord,
receive me into Thy bosom! My children, my children, we shall meet
again!" His body was suddenly agitated by a convulsive tremor, his
features were contracted, and he fell back breathing his last sigh. He
was dead!
After performing the last duties to his old comrade, Marksman followed
Flying Eagle and his warriors. From that moment he was never heard of
again; the death of Brighteye had broken all the energy and will in
this powerful man. Perhaps he is still dragging out the last days of a
wretched existence among those Indians with whom he formed the resolve
of living.
The minute researches made by Don Leo de Torres, after his marriage
with Doña Laura de Real del Monte, led to no result; hence the young
man, to his great regret, was compelled to resign all hopes of ever
paying this simple and yet great-hearted man the debt of gratitude he
owed him.
THE END.