AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF THE READER.
On this unforeseen attack the Apaches uttered a yell of terror; but,
before they could pull up their horses, a second discharge made four
fresh victims in their ranks. A mad terror then seized on the Indians,
and they turned and fled in every direction; ten minutes later they had
disappeared. The hunters did not dream for a moment of pursuing them;
but Curumilla had dismounted, and crawling out to the scene of action,
conscientiously finished and scalped the Apaches who had fallen under
his comrades' bullets. At the same time he lassoed a riderless horse
which passed a few paces from him, and then rejoined his friends.
"To what tribe do those dogs belong?" Valentine asked him.
"The Buffalo," Curumilla made answer.
"Oh, oh," the hunter went on; "we were in luck's way then. Stanapat, I
believe, is the chief of the Buffalo tribe."
Curumilla nodded an assent; and after hobbling the horse he had lassoed
by the side of the others, quietly seated himself on the river bank.
The stranger had been quite as much surprised as the Apaches by the
unforeseen help that had so providentially arrived at the moment when he
believed himself hopelessly lost. At the sound of the firing he checked
his horse, and, after a moment's hesitation, slowly turned back.
Valentine watched all his movements. The stranger, on reaching the
thicket, dismounted, pulled back with a firm hand the brambles that
barred his way, and boldly proceeded to the clearing where the hunters
were ambushed. This man, whom the reader already knows, was no other
than the person Red Cedar called Don Melchior, and of whom he seemed so
terribly afraid.
When he found himself in the presence of the Mexicans, Don Melchior took
off his hat and bowed courteously; the others politely returned his
salute.
"_Viva Dios!_" he exclaimed. "I do not know who you are, caballeros; but
I thank you sincerely for your interference just now. I owe my life to
you."
"In the Far West," Valentine answered nobly, "an invisible bond connects
all the individuals of one colour, who only form a single family."
"Yes," the stranger said, with a thoughtful accent, "it should be so;
but unfortunately," he added, shaking his head in denial, "the worthy
principles you enunciate, caballero, are but very slightly put in
practice: but I ought not at this moment to complain of them being
neglected, as it is to your generous intervention that I owe my being
among the living."
The listeners bowed, and the stranger went on:
"Be kind enough to tell me who you are, gentlemen, that I may retain in
my heart names which will ever be dear to me."
Valentine fixed on the man who thus spoke a piercing glance, that seemed
to be trying to read his most secret thoughts. The stranger smiled sadly.
"Pardon," he then said, "any apparent bitterness in my words: I have
suffered much, and, in spite of myself, gloomy thoughts often rise from
my heart to my lips."
"Man is sent on the earth to suffer," Valentine gravely replied. "Each
of us has his cross to bear here: Don Miguel de Zarate, his son and
General Ibañez are a proof of my assertion."
At the name of Don Miguel, a vivid blush purpled the stranger's cheeks,
and his eye flashed, despite all his efforts to remain unmoved.
"I have often heard of Don Miguel de Zarate," he said, with a bow. "I
have been informed of the dangers he has incurred--dangers from which he
only escaped by the aid of a man--an honest hunter."
"That hunter is before you," Don Miguel said. "Alas! We have other and
greater dangers still to incur."
The stranger looked at him attentively for an instant--then stepped
forward, and crossed his arms on his chest.
"Listen!" he said, in a deep voice. "It was truly Heaven that inspired
you to come to my help--for from this moment I devote myself, body and
soul, to your service; and I belong to you as the haft does to the
blade. I know the reason that compelled you to break up all old habits
to visit the frightful solitudes of the Far West."
"You know it?" the hunter exclaimed, in surprise.
"Everything," the stranger firmly answered. "I know the treachery which
cast you into the power of your enemies. I know, too, that your daughter
has been carried off by Red Cedar."
"Who are you, then, to be so well informed?" Valentine asked.
A sad smile played for a second round the stranger's lips.
"Who am I?" he said in a melancholy voice. "What matters, since I wish
to serve you?"
"Still, as we answered your questions, we have a right to expect the
same from you."
"That is just," the stranger said, "and you shall be satisfied. I am the
man with the hundred names: in Mexico I am called Don Luis Arroyal,
partner in the firm of Simpson, Carvalho, and Company--in the northern
provinces of Mexico, where I have long rendered myself popular by
foolish squandering, El Gambusino--on the coasts of the United States,
and in the Gulf of Mexico, where I sometimes command a cutter, and chase
the slavers, I am called the Unknown--among the North Americans, the Son
of Blood--but my real name, and the one men give me who know the little
about me I think proper to tell them--it is la Venganza (Vengeance). Are
you satisfied now, gentlemen?"
No one replied. The hunters had all heard of this extraordinary man,
about whom the strangest rumours were rife in Mexico, the United States,
and even on the prairie. By the side of heroic deeds, and acts of
kindness deserving all praise, he was branded with crimes of unheard-of
cruelty and unexampled ferocity. He inspired a mysterious terror in the
whites and redskins, who equally feared to come in contact with him,
though no proof had ever yet been brought forward of the contradictory
stories told about him.
Valentine and his comrades had frequently heard talk of Bloodson; but
this was the first time they had found themselves face to face with him;
and, in spite of themselves, they were surprised to see so noble and
handsome a man. Valentine was the first to regain his coolness.
"For a long time," he said, "your name has been familiar to me. I was
anxious to know you. The opportunity offers, and I am pleased with it,
as I shall be at length able to judge you, which was hitherto
impossible, through the exaggerated stories told about you. You say that
you can be useful to us in the enterprise we are meditating, and we
accept your offer as frankly as you make it. On an expedition like this,
the help of a brave man must not be despised--the more so, as the man we
wish to force in his lair is dangerous."
"More than you imagine," the stranger interrupted him in a gloomy voice.
"I have been struggling with Red Cedar for twenty years, and have not
yet managed to crush him. Ah! He is a rough adversary! I know it, for I
am his most implacable enemy, and have in vain tried all the means at my
command to take an exemplary vengeance on him."
While uttering these words, the stranger's face had assumed a livid
tint; his features were contracted, and he seemed to be suffering from
an extraordinary emotion. Valentine looked at him for an instant with a
mingled feeling of pity and sympathy. The hunter, who had suffered so
much, knew, like all wounded souls, how to feel for the grief of men
who, like himself, bore their adversity worthily.
"We will help you," he said, as he cordially offered him his hand,
"Instead of five, we shall be six, to fight him."
The stranger's eye flashed forth a strange gleam. He squeezed the
offered hand, and answered in a dull voice, but with an expression
impossible to render:
"We shall be fifty; for I have comrades in the desert."
Valentine bent a joyous glance on his companions at this news, which
announced to him a valuable support, that he was far from anticipating.
"But fifty men are not sufficient to contend against this demon, who is
associated with the Pirates of the Prairies, and allied with the most
dangerous Indians."
"Do not trouble yourself about that," Valentine observed. "We will also
ally ourselves with Indian tribes. But I swear to you that I shall not
quit the prairie till I have seen the last drop of that villain's blood
run out."
"May heaven hear you!" the stranger muttered. "If my horse were not so
tired, I would ask you to follow me; for we have not a moment to lose if
we wish to force the wild beast. Unfortunately, we are compelled to wait
some hours."
Curumilla stepped forward. "Here is a horse for my pale brother," he
said, as he pointed to the animal he had lassoed a few minutes
previously.
The stranger uttered a cry of joy.
"To horse!" he loudly exclaimed, "To horse!"
"Where are you taking us?" Valentine asked.
"To join my comrades in the hiding place I have selected for them. Then
we will arrange the means we must employ to destroy our common enemy."
"Good," Valentine remarked, "that is excellent reasoning. Are we far
from the place?"
"No, twenty to twenty-five miles at the most; we shall be there by
sunset."
"We will start then," Valentine added.
The gentlemen leaped into their saddles, and started at a gallop in the
direction of the mountains. A few minutes later, the spot had returned
to its usual calmness and silence. Nothing was left to prove that man
had passed that way, save a few mutilated corpses over which the
vultures were already beginning to circle with hoarse croaking before
they settled upon them.