EL MAL PASO.
The hunters only spent one hour in going down, though it had cost them
eight to ascend. Their bivouac was formed at the top of a scarped rock,
in an impregnable position.
After their visit to the jacal, they were not long in finding traces of
the fugitives, and followed them during four days. As these traces led
to the Sierra de los Comanches, the hunters bravely entered the obscure
mountain defiles, but all at once the trail disappeared as if by
enchantment, and it was impossible to find it again.
The hunters' incessant search had only produced the disastrous result of
losing themselves in the sierra, and in spite of all their efforts they
could not discover the path leading to the right road. For two days
their provisions had been completely exhausted, and they were beginning
to feel the icy clutch of hunger.
The position was no longer tenable, and they must escape from it at all
risks. Valentine and his companions had, therefore, in spite of their
failing strength, climbed up the peak in order to look for a road. But
this bold attempt had obtained two results instead of one, for Valentine
not only declared he had found what he was seeking, but Curumilla had
also procured food. Hence, the five men joyously returned to that camp,
which they had quitted with death in their hearts.
No one, who has not been in a similar situation, can imagine the feeling
of perfect happiness that seizes on a man when he passes, without any
transition, from the extremest despair to the greatest confidence. So
soon as they reached the encampment, Valentine rekindled the fire, which
they had not lit for two days, as it was useless. Still, as the sight of
the smoke would arouse Red Cedar's suspicions, if he were, as was very
possible, in the vicinity, the hunters roasted their meat in a cavern
opening in the side of the hill on which they encamped. When all was
ready, they began eating.
It was only when their first hunger was appeased that they thought of
thanking the Indian chief for the abundant meal he had procured them by
his skill, and of which they had such pressing need. But then they
perceived that the Araucano had not obtained the provisions they were
eating without incurring serious danger; in fact, Curumilla had on his
face, chest, and shoulders serious wounds, inflicted by the beaks and
talons of the eagles, which must have boldly defended their provisions.
With the Indian stoicism which nothing can equal, Curumilla, perfectly
calm and silent, was staunching the blood that poured from his wounds,
disdaining to complain, but, on the contrary, appearing vexed at the
anxiety his comrades evidenced.
When the meal was at an end, Valentine solemnly lit his pipe, the others
did the same, and ere long they were almost hidden in a cloud.
"Caballeros," Valentine said presently, "God has come to our assistance,
as He always does, when men have a firm faith in His omnipotence. He has
deigned to supply us with the means to restore our strength, so we must
not feel despondent; by this time tomorrow we shall have escaped from
this unlucky trap. When you have finished smoking, lie down on the
ground and sleep. I will awaken you when the time comes, for at the hour
of departure you must feel ready to undertake a long journey. We have
about four hours' daylight left, so profit by them, for I warn you we
shall have plenty to do tonight in every way. Now that you are warned,
you had better follow my advice."
And, adding example to precept, Valentine shook the ash from his pipe,
returned it to his belt, lay down on the ground, and almost immediately
slept. His comrades probably found the advice good, for they followed it
without hesitation, and in ten minutes all were asleep excepting
Curumilla.
How long their sleep had lasted when Valentine awakened them, they could
not say, but the night had set in. The sky, studded with an infinity of
stars, stretched out over their heads its dark blue vault: the moon
appeared to be floating in a sea of mist, and spread over the landscape
a melancholy light, which imparted a fantastic appearance to objects.
"Up with you," Valentine said in a low voice, as he tapped his comrades
in turn on the shoulder.
"Are we off?" General Ibañez asked, as he checked a yawn, and drew
himself up, as if worked by a spasm.
"Yes," was all the hunter answered.
Ere long all were ready to start.
"We must profit by the darkness," Valentine remarked, "our enemies are
doubtless watching round us."
"We are at your orders, my friend," Don Miguel answered.
By a sign, the hunter collected his comrades round him.
"Listen to me carefully," he said, "for, before attempting the bold
enterprise I have conceived, I wish to have your full consent. Our
position is desperate: remaining longer here is death: death by hunger,
cold, thirst, and wretchedness, after enduring intolerable sufferings
for I know not how many days. You are quite convinced of this, I fancy?"
"Yes," they replied unanimously.
"Good," he continued; "trying longer to find the road we have lost would
be a vain attempt, which would have no chance of success."
"Yes," they said again.
The hunter continued--
"Well, then, I am about to make an equally mad attempt at this moment.
If it does not succeed, we shall perish; but at any rate we shall do so
without suffering--almost instantaneously. If we succeed by a
miracle--for it is almost a miracle I expect from the inexhaustible
mercy of Heaven--we are saved. Reflect ere replying; my friends, are you
firmly resolved to follow me, and obey me in all I order, without
hesitation or murmuring? In a word, surrender your own will for a few
hours only to follow me? Answer me."
The hunters exchanged a glance.
"Command, my friend," the hacendero said, answering for his comrades;
"we swear to follow and obey you, whatever may happen."
There was a moment's silence, which Valentine was the first to break.
"Very good," he said, "I have your promise, and must now accomplish
mine."
With a gesture of sublime dignity, the wood ranger took off his hat, and
raised his eyes to Heaven.
"Oh Lord," he murmured, "our life is in thy hands: we confide in thy
justice and mercy." Then, turning to his comrades, he said in a firm
voice--
"Let us go!"
The hunters prepared to leave their camp, and Valentine placed himself
at the head of the little band.
"And now," he added sharply, "the greatest silence."
The hunters advanced in Indian file, Valentine leading, Curumilla last.
In this dark night it was certainly no easy task to proceed through this
inextricable chaos of rocks, whose rude crests rose above immeasurable
abysses, in the bottom of which an invisible stream could be heard
indistinctly murmuring.
One false step was mortal; still, Valentine went on with as much
assurance as if he were walking in the dazzling sunshine along the
finest path of the prairie, turning to the right, then to the left,
clambering up a rock, or gliding along an almost perpendicular wall,
without once hesitating, or turning to his comrades, to whom he merely
said at times in a low voice:
"Courage."
These four men must have been gifted with hearts of bronze, not to
display some slight weakness during this rude journey, in regions which
the eagle itself does not visit without hesitation. They marched thus
for two hours, without exchanging a word; and after a long descent,
during which they had twenty times run a risk of rolling to the bottom
of a precipice, Valentine made his companions a sign to stop.
They then took an anxious glance around them: they found themselves on a
platform of about ten square yards, all around being gloom, and it hung
over an abyss of immeasurable depth. The mountain, cut asunder as if by
Roland's sword, was separated, into two portions, between which was a
yawning gulf about twelve or fifteen yards in width.
"We must pass over this," Valentine said; "you have ten minutes to draw
breath and prepare."
"What, across here?" Don Miguel said in amazement: "why, I only see
precipices on both sides."
"Well," the hunter replied, "we will cross it."
The hacendero shook his head despondingly, and Valentine smiled.
"Do you know where we are?" he asked.
"No," his comrades replied.
"I will tell you," he continued; "this spot is mournfully celebrated
among the redskins and hunters of the prairie; perhaps you have heard
its name mentioned, little suspecting that the day would come for you to
be so near it: it is called El Mal Paso, owing to that enormous cañon
which intersects the mountain, and suddenly intercepts a communication
with the opposite side."
"Well?" Don Miguel asked.
"Well," Valentine went on, "some hours back, when from the top of the
peak I watched the two travellers we saw at a distance on the Santa Fe
road, my eye settled accidentally on the Mal Paso; then I understood
that a chance of salvation was left us, and before confessing ourselves
beaten, we must try to cross it."
"Then," Don Miguel said, with a shudder, "you are resolved to make this
mad attempt?"
"I am."
"It is tempting Heaven."
"No, it is asking for a miracle, that is all. Believe me, my friend, God
never abandons those who fully trust in Him. He will come to our help."
"Still," the hacendero began; but Valentine quickly interrupted him.
"Enough," he said; "you have sworn to obey me. I have sworn to save you;
keep your oath as I shall mine."
His comrades, awed by Valentine, bowed their heads and made no reply.
"Brothers," the hunter said, solemnly, "let us pray that God will not
desert us."
And, giving the example, he fell on his knees on the rock, his comrades
imitating him. At the end of a moment, Valentine rose again.
"Have hope," he said.
The hunter then walked to the extremity of the platform and bent over
the abyss, and his comrades followed his movements without comprehending
them. After remaining motionless for some minutes, the hunter rejoined
his friends.
"All goes well," he said.
He then unfastened his lasso from his belt, and coolly began rolling it
round his right hand. Curumilla smiled; he had comprehended his meaning,
and, according to his wont, without speaking, he unfastened his lasso
and imitated his friend.
"Good," Valentine said to him, with a nod of approval; "it's our turn,
chief."
The two wood rangers put forward their right legs, threw their bodies
back to get a balance, and whirled their lassos round their heads; at an
agreed-on signal, the lassos slipped from their hand and whizzed through
the air. Valentine and Curumilla had held the end of the rope in their
left hand; they pulled at them, but, in spite of all their efforts, the
hunters could not unloose them. Valentine uttered a shout of joy, for he
had succeeded; he connected the two lassos, twisted them round a rock;
and fastened them securely, then he turned to his comrades.
"Here is a bridge," he said.
"Ah!" the Mexicans exclaimed, "now we are saved."
These men, with their hearts of bronze, who feared no danger, and
recognised no obstacle, could speak thus, although the road was most
perilous. Valentine and Curumilla had thrown their lassos round a rock
that stood on the other side of the cañon, and the running knot had
drawn. In this way the communication was established; but the bridge, as
Valentine called it, merely consisted of two leathern cords of the
thickness of a forefinger, stretched over a precipice of unknown depth,
at least fifteen yards in width, and which must be crossed by the
strength of the wrists.
Certainly, before crossing this strange bridge, there was matter for
reflection, even to the bravest man. To go fifteen yards hanging thus by
the arms over an abyss was not tempting this gloomy night, and upon a
rope which might break or become unfastened. The hunters hesitated.
"Well;" Valentine said to them, "shall we be off?"
No one answered.
"That is true," the hunter said with a smile; "you wish to know if the
bridge be firm. Very good."
Then with that calmness usual to him the hunter advanced to the edge of
the barranca. On reaching the lasso, he took it in both hands, and
turned to his comrades.
"Look," he said with that carelessness which he never could put off;
"the sight costs nothing."
And gently, without hurrying, with the coolness of a professor giving a
lesson, he crossed the cañon backwards, in order to show his friends how
they were to manage. On reaching the opposite bank, where he left his
rifle, he quietly returned to his friends--the latter had anxiously
watched him, trembling involuntarily at the danger he had incurred.
"I hope," he said, when he remounted the platform, "that you are now
quite sure the lasso is firm, and you will not hesitate."
Without replying, Curumilla crossed.
"There's one," Valentine said with a laugh; "there is no difficulty
about it. Whose turn next?"
"Mine," Don Pablo answered.
He crossed.
"Now it is my turn," Don Miguel said.
"Go," Valentine replied.
The hacendero soon found himself on the opposite side; only two men
remained, General Ibañez and the hunter.
"Come," Valentine said, "it is your turn, general; I must be the last to
pass."
The general shook his head despondingly.
"I cannot," he said.