ONE MONTH LATER.
It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. The rays of the sun,
falling more and more obliquely, were gradually lengthening the shadows
of the trees; the birds were flying to their roosts, and nestling as
they could under the foliage, with deafening cries and pipings. A
few bands of prairie wolves were showing themselves here and there,
snuffing the breeze, and preparing for their nocturnal chase among the
tall grasses. At intervals, the lofty antlers of elks and antelopes
were suddenly rising from amidst the herbage, the animals quickly
throwing back their heads, and commencing a giddy flight into the
distance. The sun, close on the verge of the horizon, looked like a
globe of red fire behind the trunks of the stately trees. Everything
announced the rapid approach of night.
In the virgin forest, about two hundred miles from the _presidio_ of
San Lucar, where the last terrible episodes of our story occurred, and
in the centre of a vast clearing, two men, habited like the Mexican
_gambucinos_, were sitting on buffalo skulls, beside a clear fire which
gave forth no smoke. They were Don Estevan Diaz the _mayor domo_, and
Luciano Pedralva the _capataz_. They held their rifles across their
knees, ready for an emergency, and smoked their maize _pajillos_ in
silence. Several _peones_ and _arrieros_ were lying about a few paces
off, and baggage mules were greedily munching the rations of Indian
corn laid on mats before them. Eight or ten horses were tethered, to
prevent their straying, close to a _jacal_ (hut) of branches, the
entrance to which was closed with a _zarapé_. A _peon_, standing
motionless with cocked rifle on the borders of a little brook which
meandered round the extremity of the clearing, watched over the common
safety.
It was easy to perceive, from the fragments of all sorts which littered
the ground, whence every vestige of grass had disappeared, and from
the quarters of venison suspended from the boughs of a mahogany tree,
that the encampment we have described was not one of those temporary
resting places which the backwoodsmen choose for a night and quit at
sunrise, but one of those more substantial camps which the hunters
often establish as places of rendezvous for the trapping season.
The _zarapé_ at the entrance to the _jacal_ was lifted, and Don
Pedro made his appearance on the scene. His features were pale, his
expression was sad and pensive. He looked carefully around, went up to
the two men seated by the fire, and spoke: "No news as yet?"
"None whatever," replied Don Estevan.
"This absence is incomprehensible; Don Fernando has never before stayed
away from us so long."
"True," said the _capataz;_ "it is more than thirty hours since he left
us. Pray God, no misfortune may have happened."
"No," answered Don Estevan; "Don Fernando is too well acquainted with
the desert to incur much danger."
"But think whereabouts we are," put in Don Pedro; "the country round
about is infested by the most dangerous serpents; wild beasts swarm in
every place."
"What does that matter, Don Pedro?" boldly answered Don Estevan; "You
forget that Don Fernando and Stoneheart are one and the same; that in
this region the greater part of his life was spent; that it is here,
for long years, he was a bee-hunter, and gathered the cascarilla bark."
"But how do you explain his protracted absence?"
"You recollect, Don Pedro, with what disinterestedness our friend
offered us his cooperation when, in despair at the sudden disappearance
of Doña Hermosa, mad with grief, and impotent to act, we knew not
what step to take to recover the lost one. We have been led from the
_presidio_ to this spot, following a trail invisible to all eyes save
Don Fernando's, who, accustomed to reap the sublime lines of the
wilderness, recognised it with singular ease and exactitude. The trail
has suddenly vanished here--vanished in spite of the most minute and
patient research. We have been eight days encamped in this place; and
every morning, at sunrise, Don Fernando--whom obstacles seem to excite,
rather than subdue--mounts and begins his search afresh. Hitherto his
labour has been in vain. Yesterday he left us, as usual, at daybreak.
Well, suppose the reason of his protracted absence, which makes you so
restless, should be the finding, at some spot leagues away perchance,
the signs we have sought for so long and unavailing?"
"God grant it, my good friend! Your idea glads my heart. But what
traces could we find, after the painful exertions we have already made?"
"You forget, Don Pedro, that we have to deal with the Apaches, the most
astute savages in the wilderness, the most acute of all the redskins
in hiding their trail."
"Holloa!" exclaimed the _capataz;_ "I hear the tread of a horse."
"Is it possible?" said Don Pedro joyfully.
"Yes," said Don Estevan; "I, too, hear a noise, but it is not the sound
of one horse; there are two or three."
"Yet Don Fernando left the camp alone."
"He has probably encountered someone on the road," replied Don Estevan,
laughing.
"You are wrong to joke with us in our circumstances; it is almost an
insult to my sorrow."
"Heaven preserve me from such an intention, Don Pedro! The sound is
coming nearer. We shall soon see what we have to do. I should not be at
all surprised if Don Fernando has laid hands upon some Indian marauder,
at the very moment when, concealed by the underwood, he was watching
our camp, and spying out our movements."
"_¡Canarios!_ It is he himself!" cried the _capataz_.
In fact, the clear and sonorous voice of Don Fernando replied to the
challenge of the sentry, and two horsemen pushed through the thick
underwood which surrounded the clearing and formed a kind of natural
rampart.
Don Fernando brought with him a man whom he had firmly bound to a
horse to prevent his escape. As to the prisoner, he seemed to bear his
capture lightly. He swayed himself comfortably in his saddle, comported
himself with an air of assurance, and looked altogether as impudent as
possible. On reaching the fire, where our personages were assembled, he
saluted them with a grimace, unabashed by the looks of the standers-by.
He was no other than our friend Tonillo el Zapote, whom we have
presented to our readers on several occasions.
Don Fernando was very warmly and heartily greeted. His friends burnt
with impatience to question him; and their curiosity was the more
excited, as the frank and almost joyful expression of his features
led them to suppose he was the bearer of good news. Don Fernando
dismounted, embraced his friends, and unbuckled the girth which
strapped the prisoner's legs under the belly of his horse, thus giving
him the use of his limbs.
"Good," said the _vaquero_, "many thanks, Don Fernando. I have had
quite enough of it. My legs are tingling as if a million of pins were
stuck in them." He sprang to the ground; but he had spoken truly; his
benumbed limbs could not support the weight of his body, and he fell
heavily. The _capataz_ hastened to raise him. "It is a mere nothing,"
said the _vaquero_, honouring him with a gracious smile; "yet I thank
you, caballero. In five minutes the circulation will be restored, and
no harm done. But if it is the same to you, Don Fernando, pray do not
pull the buckle so tight another time."
"It will depend upon yourself, Zapote. Swear you will make no attempt
at escape, and I will set you free."
"If that is all," cried the _vaquero_, gaily, "we shall soon strike a
bargain. I swear, by all my hopes of Paradise, not to slip away."
"Enough! I will trust you."
"An honest man sticks to his word," answered El Zapote; "you will have
no cause of complaint against me. I am the bond-slave of my word."
"It will be all the better for you if that is the truth. But I am
doubtful about it, particularly after your late conduct towards me, in
spite of the protestations and offers of service you made me."
The _vaquero_ showed no signs of embarrassment at this straightforward
thrust. "Men endowed with certain good qualities are sure to be
misunderstood," he replied in a wheedling tone; "I never broke the
promise I made you."
"Not when, after introducing Indians and other rascals of your own kind
into the _presidio_, you laid an infamous snare for me, and led me into
an ambuscade?"
"Yes, Señor Don Fernando; I was faithful even under the circumstances
you mention."
"_¡Rayo de Dios!_" impatiently exclaimed the latter; "I should be glad
to learn how you can prove your fidelity there."
"Good Heavens, señor! I was faithful after my own fashion."
This answer was so extraordinary and unexpected, that the bystanders
could not refrain from laughing. El Zapote bowed gravely, with the
proud humility common to men of doubtful talent, who in their inmost
soul consider themselves unappreciated geniuses.
"After all," said Don Fernando, carelessly shrugging his shoulders, "we
shall soon see. I know pretty well the extent of this elastic fidelity."
El Zapote returned no answer; he merely raised his eyes to heaven, as
if to invoke it as a witness of the injustice done to him, and crossed
his arms on his breast.
"Before telling you anything, let me have something to eat," said Don
Fernando, "I am fainting from inanition; I have neither eaten or drank
since I left the camp."
Don Estevan hastened to place provisions before him, to which he
and his prisoner did great honour. However, the meal was short. Don
Fernando's appetite was soon appeased; he gave a sigh of satisfaction,
after slaking his thirst in the limpid brook, came and sat down beside
the others, and, without putting their curiosity to further torture,
began to explain the causes of his prolonged absence in all their
details. Don Estevan had judged correctly; Don Fernando had really
discovered the trail so long fruitlessly sought for. The trail took a
south-west direction, towards the most unexplored regions of the Far
West. He had followed it with a trapper's indomitable patience for
several hours, in order to be well assured that it was the true trail,
and not an Indian artifice to turn his steps astray.
The redskins, when they fear pursuit, and cannot hide their trail,
entangle so skilfully the many tracks they purposely make, and throw
them all into such hopeless confusion, that it is generally impossible
to distinguish the right one. On this occasion they had used a similar
artifice with such dexterity and success, that they would have managed
to outwit and lead astray any hunter less adroit than Stoneheart. But
he, accustomed from childhood to their wiles, did not suffer himself
to be hoodwinked, particularly as he thought he had recognised some
peculiar signs, which would have escaped the observation of a less
experienced woodman. Don Fernando, delighted with his discovery, had
rapidly commenced his return to the camp, without neglecting any of the
prudential measures requisite in a country where every bush may conceal
a foe, when it struck him that the grass in a certain spot was waving
in a manner not wholly natural. He dropped quietly from his horse, and,
without other arms than the knife he carried in an iron ring at his
girdle, and a pistol, crept towards the suspected spot, crawling on
hands and knees with the speed and silence of a snake gliding through
grass.
After a quarter of an hour's work, he reached the place, and with
difficulty repressed a cry of joy on seeing El Zapote comfortably
seated on the ground, the bridle of his horse passed over his left arm,
and finishing a copious meal.
Don Fernando drew a few paces nearer, in order to be sure of his man;
then, having carefully measured the distance, with a spring like a
jaguar he seized the _vaquero_ by the throat, and had him bound beyond
the possibility of resistance before El Zapote had recovered from his
astonishment. "Aha!" said he, seating himself beside his prisoner,
"what a singular chance! How are you, Zapote?"
"You are very kind, caballero; I cough a little." And he put his hand
to his threat.
"Poor fellow! I hope it is of no consequence."
"I hope, too, that no evil consequences may ensue, señor; nevertheless,
I am not quite easy about it."
"Pooh! Cast aside your anxiety. I will cure you."
"Do you know a remedy, caballero?"
"Yes; an excellent one, which I propose to apply to you."
"A thousand thanks, señor! But perhaps that would give you too much
trouble?"
"None in the world. Judge for yourself. I propose to knock out your
brains with the butt end of a pistol."
The _vaquero_ shuddered when the words were uttered; but he would not
give in. "You really think that remedy would cure me?" said he.
"Radically, I am convinced."
"It may seem very odd, caballero; but, with all due deference, I am
obliged to observe, that I am of a totally different opinion."
"You are wrong," replied Don Fernando, coolly cocking a pistol; "you
will soon find how efficacious it is."
"And you really think, señor, there is no other remedy?"
"By my faith, I see no other."
"But it seems to me a little too violent."
"You only think so. I tell you again, you are Wrong."
"Possibly so. I would not take the liberty of contradicting you,
caballero. Have you any great wish to administer the remedy on this
particular spot?"
"I? Not at all! Do you know any more fitting place?"
"I think I do, señor."
"And whereabouts is the place, comrade?"
"Good heavens! caballero, I may be mistaken; but still, I think it
would be a pity so marvellous a secret as this remedy should be lost,
for want of an eyewitness to its efficacy. Consequently, I wish you to
take me where we can find one."
"Very well! I suppose you know of such a place, not very far hence?"
"Yes, caballero; I even fancy you would be charmed to see those to whom
I wish to present you."
"That depends upon who they are."
"You know them very well, señor: one of them is the Tigercat--a most
amiable caballero."
"And you will undertake to lead me to him?"
"Whenever you please: this very instant if you like."
Don Fernando replaced the pistol in his belt. "Not directly. No," he
said; "we must first report ourselves at the camp, where my friends
expect me. I find you are not quite so ill as I thought; and I need not
administer my remedy just now. We can always fall back upon it some
other time, if it is necessary."
"I can assure you, there is no hurry at all," replied the _vaquero_,
trying an engaging smile.
Thus the business was concluded between the two men, who, knowing each
other for a long time were perfectly aware of what each could expect
from the other. Don Fernando put no faith in Tonillo; so he took
good care to remove all temptation to stray from his side, by leaving
him bound as he was--a proceeding against which the _vaquero_ did not
remonstrate.
But as night had fallen while they were talking, they made such
arrangements as they could for sleeping where they were, giving up all
idea of rejoining the camp until the morrow. Two or three times in the
course of the night the _vaquero_ surreptitiously tried to free himself
from the bonds in which he lay; but each time he endeavoured to put his
project into execution, he saw the large blue eyes of the hunter fixed
steadfastly upon him.
"Do you still feel indisposed?" he asked, the last time the prisoner
made his attempt.
"Not at all!" replied the _vaquero_ hastily; "Not at all."
"I am glad to hear it; but," added he slowly, and emphatically, "your
inability to sleep made me anxious about you."
The _vaquero_ took the hint, shut his eyes without another word, and
did not open them again till daylight.
Don Fernando was already alert, and had saddled the horses. "Aha! Awake
at last?" said he.
"Have you slept well?"
"Capitally; only I feel a little numb. Gentle exercise would soon
restore the circulation."
"The effects of the dew," said the hunter imperturbably; "the nights
are cold."
"The devil!" said the _vaquero_, grinning. "I hope I shall not catch
the rheumatism."
"I think not. The ride will do you good."
While he said this, Don Fernando had hoisted his companion on his
shoulders, and thrown him across one of the horses. But on second
thoughts, he freed his legs, and set him upright in the saddle;
reflecting that useless cruelty would only harden the man against
him, who could give such precious information when the proper moment
arrived. The _vaquero_, who feared he was about to make the journey
slung over the horse like a bale of merchandise, felt grateful for the
half-liberty allowed him, and made no objection when Don Fernando took
the precaution of buckling his legs together under his horse's belly.
In this manner the two men rode to the camp, talking on different
matters, and apparently the best friends in the world.