EL RASTREADOR.
Valentine fancied he had misunderstood him.
"What!" he said, as he leaned over to the general.
"I can never pass," he answered.
The hunter looked at him in astonishment. He had known the general in
too many critical circumstances, to doubt his courage.
"Why so?" he asked him.
The general rose, seized his arm, and almost placing his mouth to his
ear, whispered in a low voice as he looked timidly around:
"Because I am afraid."
At this expression, which he was so far from expecting, Valentine gave a
start of surprise, and examining his friend with the utmost attention,
so monstrous did what he had just heard appear to him from the mouth of
such a man, answered--
"You must be joking."
"No," he said, sadly, "I am afraid. Yes, I understand," he added a
moment later with a sigh, "it seems strange to you, does it not, that I
should say so; I, whom you have seen brave the greatest dangers with a
laugh, and whom, up to the present, nothing has surprised. What would
you have? My friend, it is so, I am afraid. I know not why, but the idea
of crossing that barranca, holding on by my hands to that cord, which
may break, causes me a ridiculous, invincible terror for which I cannot
account, and which makes me shudder with terror. That death seems to me
hideous, and I could not run the risk of it."
While the general spoke, the hunter examined him with the closest
attention. He was no longer the same man; his forehead was livid, a cold
perspiration inundated his face, a convulsive tremor agitated all his
limbs, and his voice was hollow.
"Nonsense!" Valentine said, attempting to smile, "it is nothing; a
little resolution, and you will overcome this terror, which is nothing
but dizziness."
"I know not what it is, I cannot say; I can only assure you that I have
done all it is morally possible to do, in order to conquer this feeling
which overpowers me."
"Well."
"All has been useless: even now, I believe that my terror increases with
my efforts to overcome it."
"What! You who are so brave!"
"My friend," the general answered with a sad smile, "courage is an
affair of the nerves; it is no more possible for a man to be constantly
brave than to be continually a coward; there are days when the matter
overcomes the intellect, and physical feelings gain the upper hand over
the moral. On those days the most intrepid man is afraid; and this is
one of those days with me, that is all."
"Come, my friend," Valentine answered, "reflect a little; hang it all;
you cannot remain here--returning is impossible; make a virtue of
necessity."
"All you say to me," the general interrupted him, "I have said to
myself; and I repeat to you, that, sooner than venture by that cord, I
would blow out my brains."
"Why, that is madness," the hunter shouted; "there is no common sense in
it."
"Call it what you like; I understand as well as you do how ridiculous I
am, but it is stronger than I am."
Valentine stamped his foot angrily as he looked across at his comrades,
who, collected on the other side of the barranca, knew not to what to
attribute this incomprehensible delay.
"Listen, general," he said, after a moment's delay. "I will not desert
you thus, whatever may happen; too many reasons connect us for me to
leave you to perish of hunger on this rock; you do not live nearly a
year with a man in the desert, sharing with him dangers, cold and heat,
hunger and thirst, to separate in this way. If it be really impossible
for you to cross the cañon as your comrades have done, and will leave
me to act, I will find other means."
"Thanks, my friend," the general sadly replied, as he pressed his hand;
"but believe me, do not trouble yourself about me, but leave me here:
your comrades are growing impatient, so pray be off at once."
"I will not go," the hunter said resolutely; "I swear that you shall
come with me."
"No, I tell you, I cannot."
"Try."
"It is useless; I feel that my heart fails me. Good-bye, my friend."
Valentine made no answer--he was thinking. After an instant he raised
his head, and his face was radiant.
"By Jove!" he said, gaily, "I was certain I should discover a way before
long. Leave me alone, I answer for everything. You shall cross as if in
a carriage."
The general smiled.
"Brave heart!" he muttered.
"Wait for me," Valentine went on; "in a few minutes I will return, only
grant me the time to prepare what I want."
The hunter seized the rope and passed, but as soon as the general saw
him on the other side, he unfastened the lasso and threw it across.
"What are you doing?--Stop!" the hunters shouted in stupor, mingled with
horror.
The general bent over the barranca, holding on to a rock with his left
hand.
"Red Cedar must not discover your trail," he said; "that is why I
unfastened the lasso. Good-bye, brother, and may the Almighty aid you."
An explosion was heard, echoed in the distance by the mountains, and the
general's corpse rolled into the abyss, bounding from rock to rock with
a dull sound. General Ibañez had blown out his brains.[1]
At this unexpected dénouement the hunters were petrified. They could not
understand how, through the fear of killing himself in crossing the
cañon, the general had preferred blowing out his brains. Still, the
action was logical in itself; it was not death, but only the mode of
death that terrified him; and as he fancied it an impossibility to
follow his comrades, he had preferred sudden death. Still, in dying, the
brave general had rendered them a final and immense service. Thanks to
him, their trail had so entirely disappeared, that it would be
impossible for Red Cedar to find it again.
The hunters, although they had succeeded in escaping from the fatal
circle in which the pirate had thrust them, owing to Valentine's daring
resolve, still found themselves in a most critical situation: they must
get down into the plain as speedily as possible, in order to find some
road, and, as always, happens in the desert under such circumstances,
every sympathy must promptly yield to the necessity that held them in
its iron arms; the common danger suddenly aroused in them that feeling
of self-preservation which never does more than sleep.
Valentine was the first to overcome his grief and regain his
self-mastery. Since he had been crossing the desert, the hunter had
witnessed so many strange scenes, had been an actor in so many mournful
tragedies, that, his tender feelings were considerably blunted, and the
most terrible events affected him but slightly.
Still, Valentine felt a deep friendship for the general; in many
circumstances he had appreciated all that was really grand and noble in
his character, hence the fearful catastrophe which had, without any
preparation, broken the ties between them, produced a great impression
on him.
"Come, come," he said, shaking his head as if to get rid of painful
thoughts, "what can't be cured must be endured. Our friend has left us
for a better world,--perhaps it is for the best so. God does everything
well; our grief will not restore our dear friend's life, so let us think
of ourselves, my friends, for we are not lying on roses, and if we do
not make haste, we may run a risk of speedily joining him. Come, let us
be men."
Don Miguel Zarate looked at him sadly.
"That is true," he said; "he is happy now; let us attend to ourselves.
Speak then, Valentine: what is to be done? We are ready."
"Good," said Valentine; "it is time for our courage to return, for the
hardest part of our task is not yet done; it is nothing to have crossed
that barranca if our trail can be found here, and that I wish to avoid."
"Hum!" Don Pablo remarked; "that is very difficult, not to say
impossible."
"Nothing is impossible with strength, courage, and skill. Listen
attentively to what I am about to say to you."
"We will."
"The barranca, on this side of the mountain, is not peaked as it is on
the side we have just left."
"That is true," said Don Miguel.
"About twenty yards below us you perceive a platform, close to which
begins an inextricable forest, descending to the end of the precipice."
"Yes."
"That is our road."
"What, our road, my friend!" Don Miguel objected; "but how shall we
reach the platform to which you allude?"
"In the easiest way: I will let you down with my lasso."
"That is true; it is easy for us, but how will you join us?"
"That need not trouble you."
"Very good," Don Miguel remarked; "but now permit me to make a remark."
"Do so."
"Before us," the hacendero said, stretching out his hand, "is a readily
traced road, most convenient to follow, I fancy."
"In truth," Valentine coldly answered, "what you say is most correct;
but two reasons prohibit my taking that road, as you call it."
"And those two reasons are?"
"First, that ready traced road is so easy to follow that I am certain
Red Cedar's suspicions will be directed to it at once, if the demon
allows him to come here."
"And the second?" Don Miguel interrupted.
"Is this," Valentine went on: "in addition to the incontestable
advantages the road I propose offers, I do not wish, and I feel sure you
are of the same opinion, that the body of my poor comrade, who has
rolled to the foot of the precipice, should remain unburied and become
the prey of wild beasts. That is my second reason, Don Miguel; what do
you think of it?"
The hacendero felt his heart dilate at these noble words; the tears
sprung from his eyes and rolled silently down his cheeks. He seized the
hunter's hand, and pressed it forcibly.
"Valentine," he said, in a broken, voice, "you are better, than all of
us; your noble heart is filled with every great and generous feeling;
thanks for your good idea, my friend."
"It is agreed, then," the hunter simply said in response; "we will go."
"Whenever you please."
"Good; but as the night is dark, and the road rather dangerous,
Curumilla, who has long been used to the desert, will go first to show
you the way. Come, chief, are you ready?"
The Ulmen nodded his assent. Valentine leant his whole weight against a
rock, twisted the lasso twice round his body, and let the end fall into
the chasm; then, he made the chief, a sign to go down. The latter did
not let the invitation be repeated; he seized the rope in both hands;
and placing his feet in crevices in the rocks, he gradually descended
till he reached the platform.
The hacendero and his son attentively followed the Indian's movements.
When they saw him safe on the rock, they gave a sigh of relief, and
prepared to follow him, which they did without accident.
Valentine remained alone; consequently, no one could hold the lasso and
render him the service he had done his comrades; but he was not
embarrassed by so trivial a circumstance. He passed the rope round a
rock, so that both ends were even, then slowly descended in his turn,
and safely rejoined his comrades, who were startled and frightened at
such a daring descent. Then he let go the end of the lasso, drew it to
him, rolled it up, and fastened it to his girdle.
"I believe," he said with a smile, "that if we go on thus, Red Cedar
will have some difficulty in finding our trail, while we, on the
contrary, may find his. Come let us now take a look at our domain, and
see a little where we are."
And he at once began walking round the platform. It was much larger than
the one they had just left, and at its extremity began the virgin,
forest, which descended with a gentle incline to the bottom of the
barranca. When Valentine had examined the place, he returned to his
comrades, shaking his head.
"What is the matter?" Don Pablo asked; "Have you seen anything
suspicious?"
"Hum!" Valentine answered; "I am greatly mistaken, or the lair of a wild
beast is somewhere close by."
"A wild beast!" Don Miguel exclaimed; "What, at this elevation?"
"Yes, and it is that very fact which makes me anxious; the traces are
wide and deep. Look for yourself, Curumilla," he added, turning to the
Indian, and pointing at the spot where he should proceed. Without
replying, the Ulmen stooped down, and attentively examined the
footprints.
"What animal do you think we have to deal with?" Don Miguel asked.
"A grizzly," Valentine answered.
The grizzly bear is the most terrible and justly feared animal in
America. The Mexicans could not repress a start of terror on hearing the
name of this terrible adversary pronounced.
"But here's the chief returning," Valentine added. "All our doubts will
be cleared up. Well, chief, to what does that sign belong?"
"Grizzly," Curumilla laconically answered.
"I was sure of it," said Valentine; "and what is t more, the animal is
large."
"Very large; the footmarks are eight inches wide."
"Oh, oh," Don Miguel said, "we have a rough companion in that case. But
in what state is the sign, chief?"
"Quite fresh; the animal passed scarce an hour ago."
"By Jove!" Valentine suddenly shouted, "here is its lair."
And he pointed to a large yawning hole in the mountain side. The hunters
gave a start.
"Gentlemen," Valentine went on, "you are no more anxious than myself to
measure your strength with a grizzly, I suppose."
"Certainly not," the Mexican exclaimed.
"If you will follow my advice we will not remain any longer here; the
animal, I suspect, has gone down to drink, and will speedily return; let
us not wait for it, but profit by its absence to be off."
The three men enthusiastically applauded the hunter's proposal; for,
although of tried bravery, the contest appeared to them so
disproportionate with this redoubtable adversary, that they did not at
all desire to come face to face with it.
"Let us be off," they eagerly shouted.
Suddenly the sound of breaking branches was audible in the forest, and a
formidable growling troubled the silence of night.
"It is too late," Valentine said; "here is the enemy, the fight will be
a tough one."
The hunters leaned against the wall of rock, side by side, and in a few
moments the hideous head of the grizzly appeared among the trees on a
level with the platform.
"We are lost," Don Miguel muttered as he cocked his rifle; "for any
flight from this rock is impossible."
"Who knows?" Valentine answered. "Heaven has done so much for us up to
the present, that we should be ungrateful to suppose that we shall be
abandoned in this new peril."
[Footnote 1: This episode, incredible as it may appear, is rigorously
true.--G.A.]