THE AMBUSCADE.
If the lightning had struck the ground at the Spanish girl's feet, it
would not have caused her greater terror than this revelation, which she
was far from expecting, made in a dear, dry, and unmoved voice.
Her features were contracted--the blood mounted to her head--she
tottered on her horse, and would have fallen off, had not Valentine held
her. But overcoming by the strength of her will the terrible emotion
that troubled her, she repulsed the young man, saying in a firm voice,
and with an implacable accent:
"You are well informed, sir; such is my intention."
Valentine felt momentarily stupefied. He regarded this woman, who had
hardly emerged from childhood, whose lovely features, distorted by the
passions that agitated them, had become almost hideous: he recalled, as
in a dream, another woman nearly as cruel whom he had once known. An
indescribable feeling of sorrow pervaded his heart at the terrible
reminiscence thus suddenly evoked. So much perfidity seemed to him to go
beyond the limits of human wickedness; and for an instant he almost
fancied himself in the presence of a demon.
"And you dare confess it to me?" he at length said, with badly concealed
terror.
"And why not? What can you do to me? Kill me! A glorious revenge for a
brave man! And, besides, what do I care for life? Who knows? perhaps,
without wishing it, and fancying you are punishing me, you would do me
an uncommon service by killing me."
"Kill you? Nonsense," the hunter said, with a smile of contempt.
"Creatures of your kind are not killed. In the first flush of passion we
crush them under our boot heel, like venomous reptiles: but, on
reflection, we prefer plucking out their teeth. That is what I have
done, viper? Now bite if you dare!"
A fearful rage took possession of the Spanish girl; she raised her whip,
and with a movement more rapid than thought struck Valentine across the
face, merely hissing the word:
"Coward!"
At this insult the hunter lost his coolness. He drew a pistol and fired
it point blank at this woman, who sat before him motionless, and
smiling. But she had not lost one of the Frenchman's movements out of
sight. She made her horse leap on one side, and the bullet whistled
inoffensively past her ear.
At the sound of the firing, the hunters felt alarmed, and they galloped
up to the spot, to inquire what had occurred. The shot had been scarce
fired ere Pedro Sandoval, who had hitherto listened with apparent
indifference to the conversation, dashed at Valentine, brandishing a
long knife which he had managed to conceal.
The hunter, who had regained his presence of mind, awaited him firmly;
and as the pirate came up to him, he stopped him short with a bullet
through his body. The villain rolled on the ground with a yell of
disappointed rage.
The Spanish girl looked around her disdainfully, made her horse bound,
and started at an incredible pace amidst the bullets that whizzed round
her from all sides, crying in a hoarse voice:--
"We shall meet again, soon, Valentine. Till then, farewell."
The hunter would not allow her to be pursued, and she soon disappeared
in the tall grass.
"Oh, oh, this scamp seems to me very ill," the general said, after
dismounting. "What the deuce shall we do with him?"
"Hang him!" Valentine observed, drily.
"Well," the general continued, "that is not such a bad idea. In that
way, we shall get rid of one of the villains, and, on reflection, that
will prevent him feeling the pain of his wound."
"Let us finish with him," Don Miguel interrupted.
"_Caspita!_ what a hurry you are in, my friend," the general answered.
"Hum! I am certain he is not in such haste--are you, my good fellow?"
"Come," Valentine said, with that mocking expression he had through his
Parisian birth, and which broke out at intervals--"our friend is in
luck. He has fallen at the foot of a splendid tree, which will form an
observatory whence he can admire the landscape at his ease. Curumilla,
my worthy fellow, climb up the tree, and bend down that branch as much
as you can."
Curumilla, according to his laudable habit, executed immediately the
order given him, though without uttering a word.
"Now, my good fellow," the hunter continued, addressing the wounded man,
"if you are not a thorough Pagan, and can recollect any prayer, I should
recommend you to repeat it, for it will do you more good than ever it
did."
And, raising Sandoval in his arms, who maintained a gloomy silence, he
passed the cord round his neck.
"One moment," Curumilla remarked, as he seized with his left hand the
bandit's thick hair.
"That is true," said the hunter. "It is your right, chief, so make use
of it."
The Indian did not wait for this to be repeated. In a second he had
scalped the Spaniard, who looked at him with flashing eyes, and coldly
placed the dripping scalp in his girdle. Valentine turned away his head
in disgust at this hideous sight, but the Spaniard did not give vent to
a groan.
As soon as he had placed the running noose round the bandit's neck,
Valentine threw the cord to Curumilla, who attached it firmly to the
branch, and then came down again.
"Now that justice is done, let us go," said Valentine.
The witnesses of the execution remounted. The branch which had been held
down flew back, bearing with it the body of the pirate.
Pedro Sandoval remained alone, quivering in the last convulsions of
death.
So soon as Valentine and his comrades were out of sight, several
Apaches, at the head of whom were Red Cedar and the White Gazelle,
started out of a thicket. An Indian climbed up the tree, cut the rope,
and the body of the Spaniard was gently laid on the ground. He did not
give a sign of existence.
The girl and Red Cedar hastened to give him help, in order to recall
life, were it possible, to this poor and fearfully mutilated body; but
all their efforts seemed futile. Pedro Sandoval remained cold and inert
in the arms of his friends. In vain had they removed the slip knot
which pressed his throat--his swollen and blue veins would not diminish
in size, or his blood circulate. All seemed over.
As a last chance, an Apache took a skinful of water, and poured the
contents on the bare and bleeding skull of the Spaniard. At the contact
of this cold shower, his whole body trembled, a deep sigh burst with an
effort from his oppressed chest, and the dying man painfully opened his
eyes, fixing a sad and languishing glance on those who surrounded him.
"Heaven be praised!" said the girl; "He is not dead."
The bandit looked at the girl with that glassy and wandering stare which
is the infallible sign of a speedy death; a smile played round his
violet lips, and he muttered in a low and inarticulate voice:
"No, I am not dead, but I shall soon be so."
Then he closed his eyes again, and fell back, apparently in his former
state of insensibility. The spectators anxiously followed the progress
of this frightful agony: White Gazelle frowned, and, bending over the
dying man, put her mouth to his ear.
"Do you hear me, Sandoval?" she said to him.
The bandit suddenly quivered, as if he had received an electric shock.
He turned toward the speaker, and partially opened his eyes.
"Who is near me?" he asked.
"I, Pedro. Do you not recognise me, old comrade?" Red Cedar said.
"Yes," the Pirate said, peevishly, "I recognise you; but it was not you
I wished to see."
"Whom do you mean?"
"The Niña. Has she abandoned me too--she, for whom I am dying!"
"No, I have not abandoned you," the girl quickly interrupted him; "your
reproach is unjust--for it was I who succoured you. Here I am, father."
"Ah," he said, with a sigh of satisfaction, "you are there, Niña; all
the better. God, if there be a God, will reward you for what you have
done."
"Do not speak of that, but tell me why you asked for me, father."
"Do not give me that name," the bandit said violently; "I am not your
father!"
There was a moment's silence; at length the Pirate continued, in an
almost indistinct voice, and as if speaking to himself--
"The hand of God is in this--it was He who decreed that at the last
moment the daughter of the victim should see one of the principal
assassins die."
He shook his head piteously, sighed and added, mournfully--
"That is the hand of God."
His hearers looked at each other silently; an instinctive fear, a
species of superstitious terror had seized upon them, and they did not
dare question this man. A few minutes elapsed.
"Oh, how I suffer!" he suddenly muttered; "my head is a red-hot
furnace--give me drink."
Water was quickly brought him, but he repulsed it, saying--
"No, not water--I want to regain my strength."
"What will you have, then?" Red Cedar asked him.
"Give me aguardiente."
"Oh!" the girl said imploringly; "do not drink spirits--they will kill
you."
The bandit grinned horribly.
"Kill me?" he said, "Why, am I not a dead man already, poor fool?"
The White Gazelle gave Red Cedar a glance.
"Let us do what he wishes," the latter whispered; "he is a lost man."
"Aguardiente," the sufferer said again; "make haste, if you do not wish
me to die ere I have spoken."
Red Cedar seized his gourd, and in spite of the girl's entreaties,
thrust the neck between the pirate's lips. Sandoval drank deeply.
"Ah!" he said, with a sigh of satisfaction; "at present I feel strong. I
did not believe that it was so difficult to die. Well, if there be a
God, may His will be done. Red Cedar, give me one of your pistols, and
leave me your gourd."
The squatter did as his comrade requested.
"Very good," he went on; "now, retire all of you; I have to speak with
the Niña."
Red Cedar could not conceal his dissatisfaction.
"Why weary yourself?" he said; "it would be better for you to let us pay
you that attention your condition demands."
"Oh!" the bandit said, with a grin, "I understand you; you would sooner
see me die like a dog, without uttering a syllable, for you suspect what
I am about to say--well, I feel sorry for you, gossip, but I must and
will speak."
The squatter shrugged his shoulders.
"What do I care for your wanderings?" he said; "It is only the interest
I feel in you that--"
"Enough!" Sandoval interrupted him, sharply. "Silence! I will speak! no
human power can force me in my dying hours to keep the secret longer; it
has been rankling in my bosom too long already."
"My good father--" the girl murmured.
"Peace," the bandit went on authoritatively, "do not oppose my will,
Niña. You must learn from me certain things before I render my accounts
to Him who sees everything."
Red Cedar fixed a burning glance on the dying man, as he convulsively
clutched the butt of a pistol; but he suddenly loosed his hold, and
smiled ironically.
"What do I care?" he said; "It is too late now."
Sandoval heard him.
"Perhaps so," he replied; "Heaven alone knows."
"We shall see," the squatter retorted, sarcastically.
He made a signal; the Apaches retired silently with him, and the girl
remained alone near the dying man.
White Gazelle was a prey to an extraordinary emotion, for which she
could not account; she experienced a curiosity mingled with terror, that
caused her a strange oppression and trouble. She regarded the man lying
half dead at her feet, and who while writhing in atrocious pain, fixed
on her a glance full of indescribable pity and irony.
She feared, and yet desired that the bandit should make to her the
gloomy confession she expected. Something told her that on this man her
life and future fortune depended. But he remained gloomy and dumb.