RED CEDAR AT BAY.
The six men rode one after the other, following one of those
inextricable tracks made by the wild beasts, which cross the desert in
every direction. Bloodson served as guide to the little party, followed
immediately by Curumilla. The Indian chief, with the genius peculiar to
his race, advanced silently as usual, but casting right and left peering
glances, which nothing escaped, and which render the redskins peculiar
beings.
All at once Curumilla dismounted, and bent over the ground, uttering an
exclamation of surprise. This was so extraordinary a fact, and so
contrary to the habits of the Ulmen of the Araucanos, that Valentine
hurried up to enquire what had happened.
"What's the matter with you, chief?" he asked, as soon as he came up
with him.
"My brother can look," Curumilla said simply.
Valentine dismounted and stooped to the ground. The Indian showed him a
half-effaced footstep, which still bore, however, the shape of a
horseshoe. The hunter looked at it for some time with the utmost
attention, then began walking cautiously in the direction the hoof marks
seemed to go. Others soon presented themselves to him. His comrades had
stopped, and silently awaited his explanation.
"Well!" Don Miguel at length said.
"There is no doubt possible," Valentine answered, as if speaking to
himself, "Red Cedar has passed along here."
"What," the general observed, "do you believe it?"
"I am sure of it. The chief has just shown me the perfectly formed mark
of his horse's hoof."
"Oh! Oh!" Don Miguel objected, "a horseshoe is a very slight sign; all
are alike."
"Yes, as one tree resembles the other," Valentine answered quickly.
"Listen: the chief has observed that the squatter, I know not by what
accident, is mounted on a horse shod on all four feet, while the men
composing his band have theirs only shod on the front feet; in addition,
this horse in stepping throws back its feet, which causes the mark to be
indistinct."
"In truth," Bloodson remarked, "the observation is correct, and only an
Indian could make it; but Red Cedar is at the head of a numerous party,
which cannot have passed along this way, or we should notice the trail."
"That is true," the general said; "what do you conclude from that?"
"A very simple thing; it is probable that Red Cedar has, for reasons
unknown to us, left his men encamped some miles from here, and has
ridden this way alone."
"I have it," Bloodson said; "not far from the spot where we now are,
there is a nest of pirates, and Red Cedar has probably gone to ask their
assistance in case of need."
"That's it," Valentine added; "the track is quite fresh, so our man
cannot be far from us."
"We must pursue him," Don Pablo quickly said, who had, till this moment,
maintained a gloomy silence.
"What do you say, gentlemen?" Valentine asked, turning to the rest.
"Pursue him," they answered unanimously.
Then, without further deliberation, they began following the trail,
under the guidance of Valentine and Curumilla.
What the hunter stated had really happened. Red Cedar, when he entered
the desert, after installing his band in a strong position, remounted
his horse and set out, warning all his comrades that he should return
within four days at the most, and leaving them temporarily under the
orders of the monk.
Red Cedar did not fancy himself so closely pursued by Valentine, and
hence had taken but slight precautions to conceal his track.
As he proceeded alone, in spite of the trail found by Curumilla, he
would doubtless have escaped pursuit, had not a dog followed him from
camp without his knowledge. The track left by that animal served as a
guide to the pursuers at the moment when they had completely lost his
trail. Valentine and Curumilla had dismounted, and were advancing slowly
and examining the sand and soil over which they passed.
"Take care," the Trail-hunter said to his comrades, who followed him
step by step; "do not come on so quickly; when picking up a trail you
must mind where you put your foot down, and not look on both sides.
Stay," he added, suddenly stooping and stopping Don Pablo; "here are
traces you were just about to efface. Let us have a look at this: they
are the marks of the horseshoe we have lost for some time. Red Cedar's
horse has a peculiar way of putting down its feet, which I guarantee to
recognise at the first glance. Hum, hum," he continued, "now I know
where to find him."
"You are sure of it?" Don Miguel interrupted.
"It is not difficult, as you shall see."
"Forward, forward!" Don Pablo and the general shouted.
"Caballeros," the hunter observed, "be good enough to remember that on
the prairies you must never raise your voice. The branches have eyes and
the leaves ears here. Now, to remount and cross the river."
The six men, combined in a compact body, in order to afford a greater
resistance to the current, which was very powerful at this spot, forced
their horses into the Gila. The passage was executed without any
obstacle, and the horses soon landed on the other bank.
"Now," Valentine said, "open your eyes, for the hunt begins here."
Don Pablo and the general remained on the bank to guard the horses, and
the remainder of the party set out, forming a line of tirailleurs sixty
feet long. Valentine had recommended his companions to concentrate their
researches on a space of one hundred and fifty yards at most, in a
semicircle, so as to reach an almost impenetrable thicket, situated at
the foot of the hill by the riverside.
Each man advanced cautiously, with his gun thrust forward, looking on
all sides at once, and not leaving a bush, a pebble, or a blade of grass
unexamined. Suddenly Curumilla imitated the cry of the jay, the signal
for assembling in the event of any important discovery. All rushed
toward the spot whence the signal came; in the midst of the lofty grass,
the ground was trampled and the lower branches broken.
"Red Cedar's horse was tied up here," Valentine said. "Attention! We are
about to catch the bear in his den. You know with what sort of men we
have to deal; be prudent: if not, there will soon be broken bones and
punctured skins among us."
Without adding a word further, the hunter again took the head of the
file. He carefully parted the bushes, and unhesitatingly entered the
thicket. At this moment the furious barking of a dog could be heard.
"Hilloh!" a rough voice shouted: "What's the matter, Black? Did not the
redskins have a sufficient lesson last night, that they want to try it
again?"
These words were followed by the grating sound of a rifle being cocked.
Valentine made his comrades a sign to stop, and boldly advanced.
"They are not Indians," he said, in a loud and firm voice: "it is I,
Koutonepi, an old acquaintance, who wishes to have a chat with you."
"I have nothing to say to you," Red Cedar, still invisible, answered. "I
know not why you have followed me to this place: we never were such good
friends, I fancy, that you should desire the pleasure of my company."
"That's true," the hunter remarked: "you may be fully assured that we
were always very bad friends: but no matter; call off your dog."
"If your intentions are good, and you are alone, you can advance, and
will be received as a friend."
And he whistled to his dog, which rejoined him.
"As regards my intentions, I can assure you that they are good," the
Trail-hunter replied, as he drew back the branches.
He suddenly found himself in front of Red Cedar, who was standing, rifle
in hand, in the narrow entrance of a grotto. The two men were scarce
fifteen yards apart, examining each other suspiciously. This is,
however, the custom of the prairies, where all meetings are the same:
distrust always holds the first place.
"Stop," the squatter shouted. "For what we have to say to each other, we
need not be ear to ear. What do we care if the birds and serpents hear
our conversation? Come, speak! What have you come here for? Empty your
wallet, and make haste about it; for I have no time to listen to your
stories."
"Hum!" the other answered; "my stories are as good as yours, and perhaps
you would have done better by spending your time in listening to them,
rather than acting as you have done."
"What do you mean?" Red Cedar said, as he struck the ground with the
butt of his rifle: "You know I am not fond of sermons. I am a free
hunter, and act as I think proper."
"Come, come," the huntsman went on in a conciliatory tone, while quietly
drawing nearer; "do not take up that tone: all may be arranged. Hang it,
what is the question, if we come to that? Only about a woman you have
carried off!"
The bandit listened to Valentine without attaching much importance to
his remarks. For some instants his attentive ear appeared to be catching
vague sounds; his eye sounded the depth of the woods; his nostrils
dilated; and all the instincts of the wild beast were revealed. A
presentiment told him that he was incurring some unknown danger.
On his side, the hunter watched the slightest movements of his
adversary: not one of the changes on his face had escaped him, and
though apparently unmoved, he kept on his guard.
"Traitor!" the squatter suddenly shouted, as he raised his rifle to his
shoulder; "You shall die!"
"What a fellow you are!" Valentine retorted, as he dodged behind a tree.
"Not yet, if you please."
"Surrender, Red Cedar!" Don Miguel shouted, as he appeared, followed by
the stranger and Curumilla: "Surrender!"
"What do you say? I surrender! First try and force me to do so. I swear
that I will kill you first," the bandit answered with a terrible accent:
"I hold your life in my hands. Are you aware of that?"
"Come," Valentine retorted, "don't be so rough! There are four of us,
and I suppose you do not intend to kill us all."
"For the last time, will you retire?" the bandit said, with a furious
gesture.
"Come, come," Bloodson shouted in a loud voice, "do not attempt any
useless resistance. Red Cedar, your hour has arrived."
At the sound of this voice, the bandit's face was suddenly covered by a
livid pallor, and a convulsive tremor passed over his limbs.
"Look out, he is going to fire!" Valentine shouted.
Two shots were fired so closely together, that they sounded as one. The
squatter's gun, shattered in his hands, fell to the ground. Valentine,
who wished to capture the bandit alive, could only hit on this way of
turning his bullet, which, in fact, whistled harmlessly past his ear.
"_Con mil demonios!_" the scalp hunter yelled, as he rushed madly into
the grotto, closely followed by his enemies, with the exception of
Curumilla.
There they found him armed with his pistols, like a boar tracked to its
lair. The bandit struggled with all the frenzy of despair, not yet
giving up the hope of escape. His dog, standing by his side, with
bloodshot eyes and open jaws, only awaited a signal from its master to
rush on the assailants. The squatter suddenly fired four shots, but too
hurriedly to wound anybody. He then hurled the useless weapons at his
foemen's heads, and, bounding like a panther, disappeared at the end of
the grotto, shouting with a sinister grin:--
"I am not caught yet!"
During all the incidents of this scene, the bandit had preserved his
coolness; calculating the chances of safety left him, so that he might
profit by them immediately. While occupying his enemies, he remembered
that the grotto had a second outlet.
Suddenly he stopped, uttering a ghastly oath: he had forgotten that the
swollen Gila at the moment inundated this issue. The villain walked
several times round the grotto with the impotent rage of a wild beast
that has fallen into a trap. He heard, in the windings of the cavern,
the footsteps of his pursuers drawing closer. The sands were counted for
him. One minute later, and he was lost.
"Malediction!" he said, "All fails me at once."
He must escape at all risks, and try to reach his horse, which was
fastened up a short distance off on a small islet of sand, which the
water, continually rising, threatened soon to cover. The bandit took a
parting look round, bounded forward, and plunged into the abyss of
waters, which hoarsely closed over him.
Valentine and his comrades almost immediately appeared, bearing torches;
but the bandit had wholly disappeared. All was silent in the grotto.
"The villain has committed suicide," the hacendero said.
The hunter shook his head.
"I doubt it," he said.
"Listen!" the stranger hurriedly interrupted.
A shot echoed through the cave, and the three men rushed forward. This
is what had happened:--
Instead of following his comrades, the Indian chief, certain that the
bandit had not been such a fool as to enter a cave without an outlet,
preferred watching the banks of the river, in case Red Cedar tried to
escape in that way. The chiefs previsions were correct. Red Cedar, as we
have seen, attempted to fly by the second outlet of the grotto. After
swimming for some distance, the squatter landed on a small islet, and
almost immediately disappeared in a dense clump of trees.
Not one of his movements had escaped Curumilla, who was hidden behind a
projecting rock. Red Cedar reappeared on horseback. The Indian chief
took a careful aim at him, and at the moment the animal put its hoof in
the water it fell back, dragging down its rider with it. Curumilla had
put a bullet through the horse's skull. Red Cedar rose with the rapidity
of lightning, and dashed into the water. The hunters looked at each
other for a moment in disappointment.
"Bah!" Valentine said, philosophically. "That bandit is not to be feared
now; we have clipped his nails."
"That is true," said Bloodson; "but they will grow again!"