THE EARTHQUAKE.
A frightful change had suddenly taken place in Nature. The heavenly
vault had assumed the appearance of a vast globe of yellow copper: the
pallid moon emitted no beams; and the atmosphere was so transparent,
that the most distant objects were visible. A stifling heat weighed on
the earth, and there was not a breath in the air to stir the leaves. The
Gila had ceased to flow.
The hoarse roar which had been heard before was repeated with tenfold
force: the river, lifted bodily, as if by a powerful and invisible hand,
rose to an enormous height, and suddenly descended on the plain, over
which it poured with incredible rapidity: the mountains oscillated on
their base, hurling on to the prairie enormous blocks of rock, which
fell with a frightful crash: the earth, opening on all sides, filled up
valleys, levelled hills, poured from its bosom torrents of sulphurous
water, which threw up stones and burning mud, and then began to heave
with a slow and continuous movement.
"_Terremoto!_ (earthquake)," the hunters and gambusinos exclaimed, as
they crossed themselves and recited all the prayers that recurred to
their mind.
It was, in truth, an earthquake--the most fearful scourge of these
regions. The ground seemed to boil, if we may employ the
expression--rising and falling incessantly, like the waves of the sea
during a tempest. The bed of the rivers and streams changed at each
instant, and gulfs of unfathomable depth opened beneath the feet of the
terrified men.
The wild beasts, driven from their lairs and repulsed by the river,
whose waters constantly rose, came, mad with terror, to join the men.
Countless herds of buffaloes traversed the plain, uttering hoarse
lowings, dashing against each other, turning back suddenly to avoid the
abysses that opened at their feet, and threatening in their furious
course to trample under everything that offered an obstacle.
The jaguars, panthers, cougars, grizzly bears, and coyotes, pell-mell
with the deer, antelopes, elks, and asshatas, uttered howls and
plaintive yells, not thinking of attacking each other, so thoroughly had
fear paralysed their bloodthirsty instincts.
The birds whirled round, with wild croakings in the air impregnated with
sulphur and bitumen, or fell heavily to the ground, stunned by fear,
with their wings outstretched, and feathers standing on end.
A second scourge joined the former, and added, were it possible, to the
horror of this scene. The fire lit in the gambusino camp by the Indians
gradually gained the tall prairie grass; suddenly it was revealed in its
majestic and terrible splendour, kindling all in its sparks with a
whizzing sound.
A person must have seen a fire on the prairies of the Far West to form
an idea of the splendid horror of such a sight. Virgin forests are burnt
to the ground, their aged trees writhing, and uttering complaints and
cries like human beings. The incandescent mountains resemble ill-omened
light-houses, whose immense flames rise as spirals to the sky, which
they colour for a wide distance with their blood-red hue.
The earth continued at intervals to suffer violent shocks; to the
northwest the waters of the Gila were bounding madly forward; in the
south-west, the fire was hurrying on with sharp and rapid leaps.
The unhappy redskins, the hunters, and the pirates their enemies, saw
with indescribable terror the space around them growing momentarily
smaller, and every chance of safety cut off in turn.
In this supreme moment, when every feeling of hatred should have been
extinguished in their hearts, Red Cedar and the hunters, only thinking
of their vengeance, continued their rapid hunt, racing like demons
across the prairie, which would soon doubtless serve as their sepulchre.
In the meanwhile, the two scourges marched towards one another, and the
whites and redskins could already calculate with certainty how many
minutes were left them, in their last refuge, ere they were buried
beneath the waters, or devoured by the flames. At this terrible moment
the Apaches all turned to Valentine as the only man who could save them;
and at this supreme appeal, the hunter gave up for a few seconds his
pursuit of Red Cedar.
"What do my brothers ask?" he said.
"That the great Hunter of the palefaces should save them," Black Cat
said without hesitation.
Valentine smiled mournfully, as he took a look at all these men who
awaited their safety from him.
"God alone can save you," he said, "for He is omnipotent; His hand has
weighed heavily on us. What can I, a poor creature, do?"
"The pale hunter must save us," the Apache chief repeated.
The hunter gave a sigh.
"I will try," he said.
The Indians eagerly collected around him. The simple men considered that
this hunter, whom they were accustomed to admire, and whom they had seen
do so many surprising deeds, had a superhuman power at his command: they
placed a superstitious faith in him.
"My brothers will listen;" Valentine went on: "only one chance of safety
is left them--a very weak one, but it is at present the only one they
can attempt. Let each take his arms, and without loss of time kill the
buffaloes madly running about the prairie; their skins will serve as
canoes to fly the fire that threatens to devour everything."
The Indians gave vent to a shout of joy and hope, and without further
hesitation attacked the buffaloes, which, half mad with terror, let
themselves be killed without offering the slightest resistance.
So soon as Valentine saw that his allies were following his advice, and
were busily engaged in making their canoes, he thought once more of the
pirates, who, for their part, had not remained idle. Directed by Red
Cedar, they had collected some uprooted trees, attached them together
with their lassos, and after this, forming a raft which would bear them
all, they thrust it into the water, and entrusted themselves to the
current.
Don Pablo, seeing his enemy on the point of escaping him a second time,
did not hesitate to cover him with his rifle. But Andrés Garote had a
spite on the Mexican, and taking advantage of the opportunity he quickly
raised his rifle, and fired. The bullet, disturbed by the oscillation of
the raft, did not hit the young man, but hit his rifle in his hands, at
the moment he was pulling the trigger.
The pirates uttered a shout of triumph which was suddenly changed into a
cry of anger. Señor Andrés Garote fell into their arms with a bullet
through his chest, presented to him by Curumilla.
Just at this moment the sun rose gloriously on the horizon, lighting up
the magnificent picture of travailing nature, and restoring a little
courage to the men.
The redskins, after making, with their peculiar quickness and skill,
some twenty canoes, were already beginning to launch them. The hunters
tried to lasso the raft, and draw it to them, while the pirates on the
other hand, employed the utmost efforts to keep it in the current.
Curumilla had succeeded in throwing his lasso so as to entangle it in
the trees, but Red Cedar cut it twice with his knife.
"We must finish with that bandit," Valentine said, "kill him at all
risks."
"One moment, I implore you," Don Miguel entreated, "let me first speak
to him, perhaps I may move his heart."
"Humph!" the hunter muttered, as he rested his rifle on the ground, "it
would be easier to move a tiger."
Don Miguel walked a few paces forward. "Red Cedar," he exclaimed, "have
pity on me--give me back my daughter."
The pirate grinned, but gave no answer.
"Red Cedar," Don Miguel went on, "have pity on me, I implore you, I will
pay any ransom you ask; but in the name of what there is most sacred on
earth, restore me my daughter; remember that you owe your life to me."
"I owe you nothing," the squatter said brutally; "the life you saved you
tried to take from me again; we are quits."
"My daughter! Give me my daughter."
"Where is mine? Where is Ellen? restore her to me; perhaps, after that,
I will consent to give you your daughter."
"She is not with us, Red Cedar, I swear it to you; she went away to join
you."
"A lie!" the Pirate yelled, "A lie!"
At this moment, Doña Clara, whose movements nobody was watching, boldly
leaped into the water. But, at the sound of the dive, Red Cedar turned
and plunged in after her. The hunters began firing again on the Pirate,
who, as if he had a charmed life, shook his head with a sarcastic laugh
at every bullet that struck the water near him.
"Help!" the maiden cried in a panting voice; "Valentine, my father, help
me!"
"I come," Don Miguel answered: "courage, my child, courage!"
And, only listening to paternal love, Don Miguel bounded forward, but,
at a sign from Valentine, Curumilla and Eagle-wing stopped him, in spite
of all his efforts to tear himself from their grasp. The hunter took his
knife in his teeth and leaped into the river.
"Come, father!" Doña Clara repeated--"Where are you? Where are you?"
"Here I am!" Don Miguel shrieked.
"Courage! Courage!" Valentine shouted.
The hunter made a tremendous effort to reach the maiden, and the two
enemies found themselves face to face in the agitated waters of the
Gila. Forgetting all feeling of self preservation they rushed on each
other knife in hand.
At this moment a formidable sound, resembling the discharge of a park of
artillery, burst from the entrails of the earth, a terrible shock
agitated the ground, and the river was forced back into its bed with
irresistible force. Red Cedar and Valentine, seized by the colossal wave
produced by this tremendous clash, turned round and round for some
moments, but were then hastily separated, and an impassible gulf opened
between them. At the same instant a cry of horrible pain echoed through
the air.
"There!" Red Cedar yelled, "I told you I would only give you your
daughter dead--come and take her!"
And with a demoniac laugh, he buried his knife in Doña Clara's bosom.
The poor girl fell on her knees, clasped her hands, and expired, crying
for the last time--
"Father! Father!"
"Oh!" Don Miguel shrieked--"Woe! Woe!" and he fell unconscious on the
ground.
At the sight of this cowardly act, Valentine, rendered powerless,
writhed his hands in despair. Curumilla raised his rifle, and ere Red
Cedar could start his horse at a gallop, fired; but the bullet, badly
aimed, did not strike the bandit, who uttered a yell of triumph, and
started at full speed.
"Oh!" Valentine shouted, "I swear by Heaven I will have that monster's
life!"
The shock we just alluded to was the last effort of the earthquake,
though there were a few more scarcely felt oscillations, as if the earth
were seeking to regain its balance, which it had momentarily lost.
The Apaches, carried away in their canoes, had already gained a
considerable distance; the fire was expiring for want of nourishment on
the ground, which had been inundated by the waters of the river.
In spite of the help lavished on him by his friends, Don Miguel did not
return to life for a long time. The general approached the hunter, who
was leaning, gloomy and pensive, on his rifle, with his eyes fixed on
space.
"What are we doing here?" he said to him; "Why do we not resume our
pursuit of that villain?"
"Because," Valentine replied, in a mournful voice, "We must pay the last
duties to his victim."
The general bowed, and an hour later the hunters placed Doña Clara's
body in the ground. Don Miguel, supported by the general and his son,
wept over the grave which contained his child.
When the Indian Chief had filled up the hole, and rolled onto it rocks,
lest it might be profaned by wild beasts, Valentine seized his friend's
hand, and pressed it forcibly.
"Don Miguel," he said to him, "women weep, men avenge themselves."
"Oh, yes!" the hacendero cried, with savage energy; "Vengeance!
Vengeance!"
But, alas! This cry, uttered over a scarce-closed tomb, died out without
an echo. Red Cedar and his companions had disappeared in the
inextricable windings of the desert. Many days must yet elapse before
the so greatly desired hour of vengeance arrived, for God, whose designs
are inscrutable, had not yet said Enough!
[The further adventures of the hunters and the fate of Red Cedar have
yet to be described, in the last volume of this series, entitled "THE
TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER," which will speedily appear.]
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Pirates of the Prairies, by Gustave Aimard