THE SORCERER.
Although Spider was a Comanche warrior in the fullest meaning of the
term, that is to say rash, cunning, brutal and cruel, the laws of
gallantry were not entirely unknown to him, and he had eagerly accepted
Sunbeam's proposition. The Indian, who, like most of his countrymen, was
under great obligations to Valentine, was delighted at the opportunity
to do him a kindness.
If Spider had only travelled with his warriors the journey would have
been accomplished, to use a Comanche expression, between two sunsets;
but having with him two women, one of whom was not only old, but a
European, that is to say, quite unused to desert life, he understood,
without anyone making the remark--for Madame Guillois would have died
sooner than complain, and she alone could have spoken--that he must
completely modify his mode of travelling, and he did so.
The women, mounted on powerful horses (Madame Guillois being comfortably
seated on a cushion made of seven or eight panthers' skins) were, for
fear of any accident, placed in the middle of the band, which did not
take Indian file, owing to its numerical strength.
They trotted on thus during the whole day, and at sunset Spider gave
orders to camp. He was one of the first to dismount, and cut with his
knife a number of branches, of which he formed, as if by enchantment, a
hut to protect the two females from the dew. The fires were lighted,
supper prepared, and immediately after the meal, all prepared to sleep
except the sentries.
Madame Guillois alone did not sleep, for fever and impatience kept her
awake; she therefore spent the whole night crouched in a corner of the
hut, reflecting. At sunrise they started again; as they were approaching
the mountains the wind grew cold, and a dense fog covered the prairie.
All wrapped themselves up carefully in their furs until the sun gained
sufficient strength to render this precaution unnecessary.
In some parts of America the climate has this disagreeable peculiarity,
that in the morning the frost is strong enough to split stones, at
midday the heat is stifling, and in the evening the thermometer falls
again below zero.
The day passed without any incident worth recording. Toward evening, at
about an hour before the halt, Spider, who was galloping as scout about
one hundred yards ahead of the band, discovered footsteps. They were
clear, fresh, regular, deep, and seemed to be made by a young, powerful
man accustomed to walking.
Spider rejoined his party without imparting his discovery to anyone; but
Sunbeam, by whose side he was riding, suddenly tapped him on the
shoulder, to attract his attention.
"Look there, warrior," she said, pointing a little to the left "does
that look like a man marching?"
The Indian stopped, put his hand over his eyes as a shade, to
concentrate his attention, and examined for a long time the point the
chief's squaw pointed out. At length he set out again, shaking his head
repeatedly.
"Well, what does my brother think?" Sunbeam asked.
"It is a man," he answered; "from here it appears an Indian, and yet I
either saw badly, or am mistaken."
"How so?"
"Listen: you are the wife of the first chief of the tribe, and so I can
tell you this, there is something strange about the affair. A few
minutes back I discovered footprints; by the direction they follow it is
plain they were made by that man--the more so, as they are fresh, as if
made a little while ago."
"Well?"
"These are not the footprints of a redskin, but of a white."
"That is really strange," the squaw muttered and became serious; "but
are you quite sure of what you assert?"
The Indian smiled contemptuously.
"Spider is a warrior," he said; "a child of eight years could have seen
it as well as I; the feet are turned out, while the Indians turn them
in; the great toe is close to the others, while ours grow out
considerably. With such signs, I ask my sister can a man be deceived?"
"That is true," she said; "I cannot understand it."
"And stay," he continued; "now we are nearer the man, just watch his
behaviour, it is plain he is trying to hide himself; he fancies we have
not yet remarked him, and is acting in accordance. He is stooping down
behind that mastic: now he reappears. See, he stops, he is reflecting;
he fears lest we have seen him, and his walking may appear suspicious to
us. Now he is sitting down to await us."
"We must be on our guard," said Sunbeam.
"I am watching," Spider replied, with an ill-omened smile.
In the meanwhile all Spider had described had taken place, point by
point. The stranger, after trying several times to hide himself behind
the bushes or disappear in the mountains, calculated that if he fled the
persons he saw could soon catch him up, as he was dismounted. Then,
making up his mind to risk it, he sat down with his back against a
tamarind tree, and quietly smoked while awaiting the arrival of the
horsemen, who were quickly coming up.
The nearer the Comanches came to this man, the more like an Indian he
looked. When they were only a few paces from him, all doubts were at an
end; he was, or seemed to be, one of those countless vagabond sorcerers
who go from tribe to tribe in the Far West to cure the sick and practice
their enchantment. In fact, the sorcerer was no other than Nathan, as
the reader has doubtless guessed.
After so nobly recompensing the service rendered him by the poor
juggler, whose science had not placed him on his guard against such
abominable treachery, Nathan went off at full speed, resolved on
crossing the enemy's lines, thanks to the disguise he wore with rare
perfection.
When he perceived the horsemen, he attempted to fly; but unfortunately
for him he was tired, and in a part so open and denuded of chaparral,
that he soon saw, if he attempted to bolt, he should inevitably ruin
himself by arousing the suspicions of these men, who, on the other hand,
as they did not know him, would probably pass him with a bow. He also
calculated on the superstitious character of the Indians and his own
remarkable stock of impudence and boldness to deceive them.
These reflections Nathan made with that speed and certainty which
distinguish men of action; he made up his mind in a moment, and sitting
down at the foot of a tree, coolly awaited the arrival of the strangers.
Moreover, we may remark, that Nathan was gifted with daring and
indomitable spirit; the critical position in which chance suddenly
placed him, instead of frightening pleased him, and caused him a feeling
which was not without its charm with a man of his stamp. He boldly
assumed the borrowed character, and when the Indians stopped in front
of him, he was the first to speak.
"My sons are welcome to my bivouac," he said, with that marked guttural
accent that belongs to the red race alone, and which the white men have
such difficulty in imitating; "as the Wacondah has brought them here, I
will strive to fulfil his intentions by receiving them as well as I
possibly can."
"Thanks," Spider replied, giving him a scrutinising glance; "we accept
our brother's offer as freely as it is made. My young men will camp with
him."
He gave his orders, which were immediately carried out. As on the
previous evening. Spider built a hut for the females, to which they
immediately withdrew. The sorcerer had given them a glance which made
them shudder all over.
After supper; Spider lit his pipe and sat down near the sorcerer; he
wished to converse with him and clear up, not his suspicions, but the
doubts he entertained about him. The Indian, however, felt for this man
an invincible repulsion for which he could not account. Nathan, although
smoking with all the gravity the redskins display in this operation, and
wrapping himself up in a dense cloud of smoke, which issued from his
mouth and nostrils, closely watched all the Indian's movements, while
not appearing to trouble himself about him.
"My father is travelling?" Spider asked.
"Yes," the pretended sorcerer laconically replied.
"Has he done so long?"
"For eight moons."
"Wah!" the Indian said in surprise; "Where does my father come from,
then?"
Nathan took, his pipe from his lips, assumed a mysterious air, and
answered gravely and reservedly--
"The Wacondah is omnipotent, those to whom the Master of Life speaks,
keep his words in their heart."
"That is just," Spider, who did not understand him, answered, with a
bow.
"My son is a warrior of the terrible queen of the prairies?" the
sorcerer went on.
"I am indeed, a Comanche warrior."
"Is my son on the hunting path?"
"No, I am at this moment on the war trail."
"Wah! Does my son hope to deceive a great medicine man, that he utters
such word before him?"
"My words are true, my blood runs pure as water in my veins, a lie never
sullied my lips, my heart only breathes the truth," Spider answered,
with a certain haughtiness, internally wounded by the sorcerer's
suspicions.
"Good, I am willing to believe him," the latter went on; "but when did
the Comanches begin to take their squaws with them on the war path?"
"The Comanches are masters of their actions; no one has a right to
control them."
Nathan felt that he was on a wrong track, and that if the conversation
went on in this way, he should offend a man whom he had such an interest
in conciliating. He therefore altered his tactics.
"I do not claim any right," he said quietly, "to control the acts of
warriors for am I not a man of peace?"
Spider smiled contemptuously.
"In truth," he said, in a good-humoured tone, "great medicine men such
as my father are like women, they live a long time; the Wacondah
protects them."
The sorcerer refrained from noticing the bitter sarcasm the speaker
displayed in his remark.
"Is my son returning to his village?" he asked him.
"No," the other answered, "I am going to join the great chief of my
tribe, who is on an expedition, with his most celebrated warriors."
"To what tribe does my son belong, then?"
"To that of Unicorn."
Nathan trembled inwardly, though his face remained unmoved.
"Wah!" he said, "Unicorn is a great chief; his renown is spread over the
whole earth. What warrior could contend with him on the prairie?"
"Does my father know him?"
"I have not the honour, though I have often desired it; never to this
day have I been able to meet the celebrated chief."
"If my father desires it, I will introduce him."
"It would be happiness for me; but the mission the Wacondah has confided
to me claims my presence far from here. Time presses; and, in spite of
my desire, I cannot leave my road."
"Good! Unicorn is hardly three hours march from the spot where we now
are; we shall reach his camp at an early hour tomorrow."
"How is it that my son, who seems to me a prudent warrior, should have
halted here, when so near his chief?"
All suspicion had been removed from the Indian's mind, so he answered
frankly this time, without trying to disguise the truth, and laying all
reticence aside.
"My father is right. I would certainly have continued my journey to the
chief's camp, and reached it this evening before the shriek of the owl,
but the two squaws with me delayed me and compelled me to act as I have
done."
"My son is young," Nathan answered, with an insinuating smile.
"My father is mistaken; the squaws are sacred to me; I love and respect
them. The one is Unicorn's own wife, who is returning to her husband;
the other is a paleface, her hair is white as the snow that passes over
our heads driven by the evening breeze, and her body is bowed beneath
the weight of winters; she is the mother of a great hunter of the
palefaces, the adopted son of our tribe, whose name has doubtless
reached our father's ears."
"How is he called?"
"Koutonepi."
At this name, which he might have expected, however, Nathan
involuntarily gave such a start that Spider perceived it.
"Can Koutonepi be an enemy of my father?" he asked, with astonishment.
"On the contrary," Nathan hastened to reply; "the men protected by the
Wacondah have no enemies, as my son knows. The joy I felt on hearing his
name uttered caused the emotion my son noticed."
"My father must have powerful reasons for displaying such surprise."
"I have, indeed, very powerful," the sorcerer replied with feigned
delight; "Koutonepi saved my mother's life."
This falsehood was uttered with such magnificent coolness, and such a
well-assumed air of truth, that the Indian was convinced and bowed
respectfully to the pretended sorcerer.
"In that case," he said, "I am certain that my father will not mind
leaving his road a little to see the man to whom he is attached by such
strong ties of gratitude; for it is very probable that we shall meet
Koutonepi at Unicorn's camp."
Nathan made a grimace; as usually happens to rogues, who try to prove
too much, in dissipating suspicions at all hazards, he had caught
himself. Now he understood that, unless he wished to become again
suspected, he must undergo the consequences of his falsehood and go with
Spider to his destination. The American did not hesitate; he trusted to
his star to get him out of the scrape. Chance is, before all, the deity
of bandits; they count on it, and we are forced to concede that they are
rarely deceived.
"I will accompany my son to Unicorn's camp," he said.
The conversation went on for some time, and when the night had quite set
in, Spider took leave of the sorcerer, and following his custom since
the beginning of the journey, lay down across the door of the hut in
which the two females reposed and speedily fell asleep.
Left alone by the fire, Nathan took a searching glance around; the
sentinels, motionless as statues of bronze, were watching as they leant
on their long lances. Any flight was impossible. The American gave a
sigh of regret, wrapped himself in his buffalo robe, and lay down,
muttering--
"Bah! Tomorrow it will be day. Since I have succeeded in deceiving this
man, why should I not do the same with the others?"
And he fell asleep.