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STONEHEART
by
GUSTAVE AIMARD
Author of "Bee-Hunters," "Smuggler Chief," etc., etc.
London,
Charles Henry Clarke, 13 Paternoster Row.
1874
CONTENTS.
I. SYMPATHY
II. THE VIRGIN FOREST
III. DON TORRIBIO QUIROGA
IV. LA TERTULIA (THE PARTY)
V. THE AMBUSH
VI. SAN LUCAR
VII. THE ATTACK ON THE PRESIDIO
VIII. DISGRACE
IX. THE PRISONER
X. THE CAMP OF THE REDSKINS
XI. THE RENEGADE
XII. WOMAN'S WILL
XIII. PALEFACE VERSUS REDSKIN
XIV. THE CATASTROPHE
XV. ONE MONTH LATER
XVI. PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE
XVII. THE CHASE
XVIII. EL VOLADERO DE LAS ÁNIMAS
XIX. THE HAND OF GOD
CHAPTER I.
SYMPATHY.
Sympathy is a feeling admitting neither analyzation nor discussion.
It masters us, whether we will or no. Persons we meet unconsciously
attract or repel us at first sight. And why? It is a question
impossible to answer, but the fact is indubitable. An irresistible
magnetic influence draws us towards people whom, if we listened to the
promptings of self-interest, we ought to shun; while, on the other
hand, the same influence compels us to avoid others, in whom this very
interest should induce us to confide.
And it is an extraordinary fact, well worthy of remark, that this
intuition, acting in opposition to our reasoning powers, seldom if ever
misleads us. Sooner or later we are forced to acknowledge as right
what to the prejudiced eyes of the world appeared erroneous, and find
that our sympathy, far from deceiving, has only led us to the truth.
The result of this sympathy and antipathy are so palpable, so many
persons have experienced the effects of this mysterious influence, that
it would be superfluous for us to linger longer over the topic.
Don Estevan and Stoneheart had become acquainted under circumstances
which might have induced enmity between them, or, at all events, made
them indifferent to each other: the reputation of the bee-hunter,
and the singular life he led, were ample reasons why the young
and straightforward _mayor domo_ of Don Pedro de Luna should feel
himself repelled by them; and yet a diametrically opposite effect was
produced without the two young men knowing why, and they suddenly
felt themselves friends, bound together, not by one of those vapid
sentimentalities so common in civilised life in Europe, where the
word "friend" means no more than a mere acquaintance, and is one of
the titles most easily and constantly profaned, but by the strong,
true feeling, admitting neither limit nor reasoning, which shoots up
so strongly in a few hours that it engrosses an immense part of the
existence of those of whom it has taken possession.
They had never seen each other before their casual encounter in the
road to San Lucar, and yet they seemed to have known each other for
ages, and now only to have met again after a long parting.
Singular to say, the same effect was produced on both at the same
moment, without calculation or reservation.
What we have asserted is so true, that Don Estevan, notwithstanding
the innate prudence of his character, had not hesitated to confide to
Stoneheart, on the spur of the moment, the history of his master, or,
to speak more correctly, his benefactor. He had recounted this history
in all its details, without disguising anything, or omitting a title,
induced to act as he did by the secret presentiment which apprised him
that he had found a man worthy of sharing the burden of this important
secret.
The course of this tale will furnish us with still stronger proofs of
the singular confidence these two men had instantly felt for each other.
The sun was setting in a flood of purple and gold behind the snowy
crests of the lofty and jagged mountains of the Sierra Madre, when Don
Estevan ceased speaking.
The landscape assumed that garb of placid melancholy in which it
clothes itself at the approach of eve; the birds came flying in
countless flocks, to nestle, twittering, under the leafy boughs of the
grand old trees. _Vaqueros_ and _peones_, galloping in all directions,
mustered the cattle, and drove them towards the _hacienda_; and in the
distance appeared a camp of _arrieros_, whose watch fires already began
to tinge the rapidly darkening sky with a ruddy glow.
"And now," resumed Don Estevan, "having acquired as intimate a
knowledge as my own of the secrets of the family with whom chance has
brought you into contact, what do you intend to do?"
"First, and before all a single word," answered Stoneheart.
"Say on; you must indeed have many things to confide to me in your
turn."
"Not so many as you think. You already know as much of my life as I do
myself; that is to say, almost nothing. But that is not the question
between us at present."
"What can it be, then?" said Don Estevan, unable to repress his
curiosity.
"I am about to tell you. Surely you have not told me this long and
interesting tale with the sole purpose of satisfying a curiosity I
never exhibited; there must be some other motive in your thoughts,
and I think I have guessed it. Don Estevan Diaz, two bold men, bound
to each other as closely as the ivy and the oak, with thoughts running
in the same channel, with but one will between them,--two such men
are mighty; for the one forms the complement to the other, and what
each alone would not dare to essay, the two will undertake without
hesitation, and be almost certain to succeed, however hazardous and
rash their projects may seem. Are you of the same way of thinking?"
"Most surely, Don Fernando; I am entirely of the same opinion."
A flash of joy illumined the face of the bee-hunter. "Good!" said he,
stretching out his arm; "Here is my hand, Don Estevan; it belongs to a
man who, with his hand, offers you a loyal and honest heart, whatever
may be said to the contrary: will you accept them?"
"_¡Vive Dios!_" eagerly exclaimed the _mayor domo_, heartily pressing
in his own the hand so frankly tendered; "I accept both one and the
other. Thanks, brother! I was on the point of making the same offer to
you; we are now one for life or death. I am yours, as the handle is to
the blade."
"Ah!" said Don Fernando, with a sigh of pleasure, "At last I have a
friend. I shall no longer wander through life alone: joy and sorrow,
grief and happiness,--I shall have one to whom I can confide them all."
"You shall have more than one to sympathise with you, brother; you
shall have a mother too. Mine shall be yours also. Come, let us mount;
it grows late. We have still many things to talk of."
"Let us go," was all the hunter answered.
The horses had not strayed from the neighbourhood of the _rancho_, near
which they found abundant pasturage: the men easily _lassoed_ them, and
five minutes later the friends rode side by side in the direction of
Don Estevan's dwelling.
Ña Manuela was awaiting them at the entrance. She was smiling.
"Make haste!" she cried, as soon as she perceived them; "the _angelus_
has rung an hour ago. It is supper time."
"Which means to say, mother, that we are dying with hunger," replied
her son, dismounting; "so, if you have not prepared an ample meal, you
run great risk of leaving our appetites unappeased."
"No fear of that, Estevan. I thought you would arrive in some such
condition; so I took my precautions."
"Can you forgive me, madam," said the bee-hunter, "for making this
fresh inroad on your hospitality?"
The mistress of the house smiled kindly.
"I am so ready to forgive you, señor," said she, "that, feeling
convinced we should have you a long time with us, I have myself
arranged your _cuarto_ (quarters)."
Don Fernando did not reply at once: a lively blush overspread his
features; he dismounted, and approaching the old lady:
"Señora," said he, much affected, "I know not how to thank you; you
have guessed the dearest wish of my heart. Your son calls me brother:
would you deign to permit me to call you mother? How happy it would
make me!"
Ña Manuela fixed upon him a long and steadfast gaze: her face exhibited
tokens of vivid emotion; two tears coursed slowly down her pallid
cheeks. Then, stretching out her hand to the hunter, she said:
"Be it so! Instead of one, I have now two children. Come, my sons,
supper is waiting."
"My name is Fernando, mother."
"I will not forget it," was her smiling answer. They entered the
dwelling, while some _peones_ led away the horses to the _corral_.
Don Fernando had not deceived his friend; he had in truth given him a
mother.
The meal proceeded with the cheerfulness to be expected from three
persons who, although strangers three days before, had suddenly
understood and appreciated each other: that is to say, it was gay and
cordial. No allusion was made to the impromptu band which had linked
them together so intimately and unexpectedly.
As soon as the _peones_ had retired, and their masters found themselves
alone, they left the table, and betook themselves, as on the previous
day, to an inner room, where, sheltered from prying eyes and ears, they
ran no risk of having their conversation overheard, commented on, and
perhaps reported.
"Shut the door," said Don Estevan to Don Fernando, who was the last to
enter.
"Not so," replied the latter; "we will leave it open: by this means we
shall both see and hear anyone who may come near us. Take this as a
general rule: never close the door when you have secrets to tell."
Don Estevan drew forward some _butacas_ (seats), sat down, lit his
cigarette, and turning to the hunter, said:
"Now for our talk!"
There are certain situations in life where the most insignificant word
becomes of the greatest importance. So, when Don Estevan said, "Now for
our talk!" each of the three felt that the conversation to ensue would
not be confined to the limits of pleasant chat, but would almost assume
the proportions of a congress with closed doors, so extremely grave
were the matters which would be propounded.
It was Don Fernando who first commenced the conversation in the decided
and clear manner which was habitual to him.
"My friend, I have pondered deeply on what you told me today: you would
never have intrusted such an important secret to me, if grave reasons
had not induced you. I think I have divined your reasons; they are
these: the tranquillity which Don Pedro has enjoyed since he lived here
is menaced; you dread evil to Doña Hermosa. Are these your motives, or
am I mistaken?"
"You are not. In fact, I have for some time past been oppressed by
a vague fear, a secret apprehension, I cannot subdue; I feel, as it
were, the approach of some misfortune, without knowing whence or how it
will come. Doubtless you know better than I can tell you, that in all
men's lives certain dark hours occur, in which the brave man trembles
without apparent cause, like a child afraid of its own shadow. All
things alarm, all things excite suspicion. Well, my friend, for the
last two months I have lived these dark hours: an invincible sadness
overpowers me. In a word, I am living in fear, without knowing why;
for all around me takes its usual course: Don Pedro is as calm, Doña
Hermosa as gay, as lively, and as free from care as ever; we live
in this out-of-the-way corner of the world entirely ignorant of its
doings; the rumours of society die without an echo on our threshold.
What have we, then, to fear? Who is the enemy that lies in wait for
us, and whose savage eye watches us night and day? I know not; but I
repeat, I feel him; I see him, as it were, without being really able to
discover him."
"You know your enemy now, as well as I do. It is the Tigercat. The
conversation you overheard last night between him and myself must have
enlightened you as to his intention, if not as to his plans."
"True; but, nevertheless, my mind refuses to admit that this man can
really be our enemy. As there can be no effects without causes, so
there can be no hate without a reason. Since Don Pedro's arrival in
this country, he has never come in contact with this man at home or
abroad, for good or for evil. Why, then, should he wish ill to my
master?"
"Why! Why!" repeated the hunter, with feverish impatience. "Why does
day follow night? Why are there good and bad men? Why rascals and
honest people? The inquiry would lead you too far, my good friend.
I know as well as you that none of you have ever come in contact
with the Tigercat. It is impossible to doubt it; but what does that
signify? This man is a gloomy miscreant, the greater portion of whose
life is spent in doing evil for mere evil's sake. Don Pedro is loved
and honoured by all who know him; Doña Hermosa is respected even by
the Apaches,--the most ferocious redskins of the prairie; hence, most
likely, the hatred he bears to the family of the _hacendero_. In
such a man's eyes, no one has the right to be good and honest with
impunity; it is an obvious necessity that all loyal hearts should be
his natural enemies. A man, however low he may have fallen, can never
forget his frightful downfall, or the position from which his crimes
have hurled him; he cannot forgive the world his own abasement; but as
he cannot avenge himself upon it in the mass, he wages war upon it in
detail, attacking all those within his reach, and taking his revenge
on them for fault she has himself committed. Here lies the sole cause
of Tigercat's hatred of Don Pedro; seek no further reason; no other
exists."
"Yes; you are right," answered Don Estevan uneasily; "it must be as you
say."
"Of course it is! Trust in me, who have known the monster so long, as
it is he who brought me up. But enough of this: what do you intend to
do, now we have clearly ascertained our position?"
"I confess I find myself greatly embarrassed, and know not how to
extricate myself from the dilemma--how to upset plans the aim of which
is beyond my ken; how to thwart projects tending to an unknown end.
There lies the difficulty for me."
"I think it would be by far the best course to leave the family in
complete ignorance of our suspicions," said Ña Manuela.
"Say rather our conviction, señora," replied Don Fernando. "But in
this matter I am quite of your opinion: it will be easy for us to
guard Don Pedro and his daughter so secretly that they shall not dream
of the danger which threatens them. Then, if the position grows too
complicated, we shall not be in want of pretexts to oblige them to keep
watch over their own safety."
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Don Estevan excitedly;
"It is most important that they should entertain no suspicion,
particularly Doña Hermosa, who is so sensitive. Poor child; if our
fears prove true, she will learn to know misfortune too soon. Come,
Fernando, counsel us; you are the only one who can aid us in this
trying emergency."
"I will do all a man can do to save those you love."
"Thanks. But why not save those whom you love yourself? You have
already rendered them an inestimable service."
"Alas, my friend!" said the hunter, with a sigh; "What am I, the
miserable adventurer, that I should lift my thoughts so high? I am
nothing more; and can only play the part of the honest watchdog, who
saves his master and dies at his feet."
He spoke these words in accents of so much sadness and humility, that
Don Estevan and his mother, moved to tears, with one accord seized his
hands, and pressed them affectionately.
"Do not speak thus, brother," exclaimed the _mayor domo_; "you do not
know Doña Hermosa as we do: a more upright heart, a purer or nobler
soul, does not exist: she loves you."
"Ah," said Don Fernando with emotion, "do not utter the word. Doña
Hermosa--love me--me! It is impossible."
"Doña Hermosa is a woman, my good friend; you saved her life. I do not
positively know the nature of her sentiments towards you,--it is very
likely they are inexplicable to herself,--but I am convinced of her
gratitude to you; and in a young girl gratitude soon merges into love."
"Silence, Estevan!" cried the old lady, interrupting him; "Such words
must not be used when speaking of your master's daughter."
"Very true, mother; forgive me; I was wrong. But had you heard Doña
Hermosa speaking of our friend as I did, and exacting from me a promise
to search for and bring him to her,--_¡vive Dios!_ you would not know
what to think."
"Perhaps so; but, at all events, I should not have poured oil upon
the flame, and, for my own sake and that of my friend, should have
prudently locked up my thoughts at the bottom of my heart."
"Do not think me so mad, señora," exclaimed Don Fernando, "as to attach
more importance than they deserve to your son's words. I know too well
what I am--I have too complete a conviction of my inferiority--to dare
to raise my venturous eyes to her whom honour compels me to respect as
one of the angels."
"Well said, Don Fernando, and spoken as a man should speak," broke
in Ña Manuela; "but let us drop the subject, and occupy ourselves in
finding the means of escape from the dilemma we are in."
"I think," replied the hunter, with some hesitation--"I think I can
show you the means, if you cannot contrive something better."
Mother and son eagerly drew their _butacas_ nearer to him, in order to
listen more attentively.
"Speak, brother, speak," cried Don Estevan; "let us have no further
delay. These means, what are they?"
"You must excuse me," resumed Don Fernando, "if the plan I am about to
submit to you should not be exactly compatible with the strict laws of
honour as they are understood in the civilised world; but I entreat you
to recollect that I have been brought up as a redskin; that the man
with whom we are about to enter into mortal strife is more than half
an Indian; and the war he intends to wage with you will be an Apache
war, full of treachery and ambuscades; that, in order to meet him with
advantage, we too, whatever repugnance we may feel, must employ the
same measures,--must turn his own weapons against himself; must repel
treachery by treachery, and knavery by knavery; for if, adhering to
a false idea of honour, we persist in an open and honest warfare, we
shall play the part of fools indeed, and he will outwit us."
"What you say, Fernando," replied the _mayor domo_, "is unfortunately
but too true. The proverb is right, 'Cap a knave with a knave.' I
perfectly understand the bearing and the justice of your reasoning, yet
I confess that it is hard for an honest man, accustomed to look his
enemies in the face, to be forced to wrap himself in a fox's hide, and
condescend to stratagem when his heart leads him to attack openly."
"But what can we do? This is one of the sad necessities of our
position. If we do not act in this wise, we may as well submit to our
foe as attempt to thwart his measures; for we should fail."
"Let it be as you wish, since there is no other method; but now for
your plan."
"It is this: notwithstanding the disagreement between myself and the
Tigercat, he has allowed me to dive too deep into his confidence--too
many of his secrets are known to me--for him to exhibit any rancour
against me, whatever anger he may feel. Accustomed for a number of
years to mould me to his will, and rule over me as he pleased, he
thinks he knows my character thoroughly, and is persuaded that my
dispute with him was only an outbreak of temper, and that nothing would
please me more than to place myself once again under his guidance.
Finally, like all men who have through long years cherished a chimera,
the Tigercat--who, I am convinced, has only fostered me and suffered me
in his presence for the sake of making me useful in one of his infernal
plots--will allow himself, shrewd as he is, to be overreached by me, if
I choose to take the trouble."
"All this sounds plausible enough," observed Don Estevan.
"I think it does. Well, then, listen to my proposal. At daybreak
tomorrow you and I will leave for the _presidio_, where I will put you
into communication with a certain rogue of my acquaintance, who is as
much devoted to me as people of his sort can be. This _pícaro_ will
serve you as an agent: through him we shall learn all the Tigercat is
doing at San Lucar with the _leperos_ he is enrolling for some sinister
purpose. We will then part: you to return quietly to this place; I to
rejoin the Tigercat in the prairies. In this way, whatever happens will
reach our ears. This is my project; what do you think of it?"
"It is capital, Fernando; you have thought of everything."
"But remember three things: first of all, whatever I may do or say,
whatever measures you may see me try, do not take offence at them;
leave me complete master of my actions, and never for a moment suspect
that I intend to betray you."
"Have no uneasiness on that score; I will put no faith in the testimony
of my eyes or ears: my confidence in you shall be unalterable. And now
for your next remark."
"You will instantly comprehend its importance. As soon as we have left
the _presidio_, we must be as strangers; we must know nothing of each
other."
"It is indeed an important piece of advice, and I will take care to
follow it; the consequences of a single mistake would be incalculably
disastrous to us."
"Lastly, be ready to act at the first signal, be it by night or day.
Never mind what you may be doing; leave everything instantly to assume
the offensive the moment the signal is given."
"Good. After tomorrow, on the pretence of having certain urgent work
to be carried out at the _hacienda_, I will quietly enlist a score of
_leperos_,--hairbrained fellows,--who for gold will obey me blindly
and recoil before no danger."
"The very thing! You can easily employ them here in doing nothing till
the time comes for the use of knife and rifle."
"I will be answerable that no one shall make a single inquiry
concerning them. But what sort of token will you send me, and through
whom will you send it?"
"The token will be a white eagle's plume broken into three pieces, and
with the quill painted red. He who brings the plume will only say the
words, 'My two piastres.' You will give them to him without remark, and
send him away again."
"But who is the man, Fernando?"
"He will be a stranger; most likely the first man I happen to meet.
It is requisite that the messenger should not suspect the importance
of the message he conveys, should he chance to fall into the enemy's
hands."
"Well reasoned! Come, come, I think we shall get through this business
successfully."
"As for me, I am sure of it," exclaimed Don Fernando, "if you will only
follow my instructions to the letter."
"Do not be anxious on that score, brother; I will answer for my
accuracy."
Everything having been thus arranged and decided on by our three
personages, they separated and retired to rest, for it was already
late, and the two men were to mount at daybreak to take the road to the
_presidio_ of San Lucar.