THE TRAVELLERS.
We must now leave Valentine and his companions on the esplanade of the
Fort of the Chichimèques, where we shall join them again however, in
order to attend to other persons destined to play an important part in
the narrative we have undertaken to tell the reader.
About five or six leagues at the most from the spot where Valentine and
the Tigrero met, a caravan, composed of some ten persons, had halted on
the same night, and almost at the same moment as the hunter, in a narrow
valley completely sheltered from the wind by dense clumps of trees.
The caravan was comfortably lodged on the bank of a running stream, the
mules had been unloaded, a tent raised, fires lighted; and when the
animals were hobbled, the travellers began to make preparations for
their supper.
These travellers, or at any rate one of them, appeared to belong to the
highest class, for the rest were only servants or Indian peons. Still
the dress of this person was most simple, but his stiff manner, his
imposing demeanour, and haughty air, evidenced the man long accustomed
to give his orders without admitting refusal or even the slightest
hesitation.
He had passed his fiftieth year; he was tall, well-built, and his
movements were extremely elegant. His broad forehead, his black eyes
large and flashing, his long gray moustaches and his short hair gave him
a military appearance, which his harsh, quick way of speaking did not
contradict. Although he affected a certain affability of manner, he at
times involuntarily betrayed himself, and it was easy to see that the
modest garb of a Mexican Campesino which he wore was only a disguise.
Instead of withdrawing beneath the tent prepared for him, this person
had sat down before the fire with the peons, who eagerly made way for
him with evident respect.
Among the peons two men more especially attracted attention. One was a
redskin, the other a half-breed, with a crafty, leering manner, who, for
some reason or another, stood on more familiar terms with his master;
his comrades called him Ño Carnero, and at times gave him the title of
Capataz.
Ño Carnero was the wit of the caravan, the funny fellow--ever ready to
laugh and joke, smoking an eternal cigar, and desperately strumming
an insupportable guitar. Perhaps, though, he concealed beneath this
frivolous appearance a more serious character and deeper thoughts than
he would have liked to display.
The redskin formed the most complete contrast with the capataz; he was
a tall, thin, dry man, with angular features and gloomy and sad face,
illumined by two black eyes deeply set in their orbit, but constantly
in motion, and having an undefinable expression; his aquiline nose, his
wide mouth lined with large teeth as white as almonds, and his thin
pinched up lips, composed a far from pleasant countenance, which was
rendered still more lugubrious by the obstinate silence of this man, who
only spoke when absolutely compelled, and then only in monosyllables.
Like all the Indians, it was impossible to form any opinion as to his
age, for his hair was black as the raven's wing, and his parchment skin
had not a single wrinkle; at any rate he seemed gifted with no ordinary
strength.
He had engaged at Santa Fé to act as guide to the caravan, and, with
the exception of his obstinate silence, there was every reason to be
satisfied with the way in which he performed his duty. The peons called
him The Indian, or sometimes José--a mocking term employed in Mexico to
designate the Indios mansos; but the redskin appeared as insensible to
compliments as to jokes, and continued coldly to carry out the task he
had imposed on himself. When supper was ended, and each had lit his pipe
or cigarette, the master turned to the capataz.
"Carnero," he said to him, "although in such frightful weather, and in
these remote regions, we have but little to fear from horse thieves,
still do not fail to place sentries, for we cannot be too provident."
"I have warned two men, _mi amo_," the capataz replied; "and, moreover,
I intend to make my rounds tonight; eh, José," he added, turning to
the Indian, "are you certain you are not mistaken, and that you really
lifted a trail?"
The redskin shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and continued his quiet
smoke.
"Do you know to what nation the sign you discovered belongs?" the master
asked him.
The Indian gave a nod of assent.
"Is it a formidable nation?"
"Crow," the redskin answered hoarsely.
"Caray!" the master exclaimed, "if they are Crows, we shall do well to
be on our guard, for they are the cleverest plunderers in the Rocky
Mountains."
"Nonsense!" Carnero remarked with a grin of derision, "do not believe
what that man tells you; the mezcal has got into his head, and he is
trying to make himself of importance; Indians tell as many lies as old
women."
The Indian's eye flashed; without deigning to reply he drew a moccasin
from his breast, and threw it so adroitly at the capataz as to strike
him across the face. Furious at the insult so suddenly offered him by a
man whom he always considered inoffensive, the half-breed uttered a yell
of rage, and rushed knife in hand on the Indian.
But the latter had not taken his eye off him, and by a slight movement
he avoided the desperate attack of the capataz; then, drawing himself
up, he caught him round the waist, raised him from the ground as easy
as he would have done a child, and hurled him into the fire, where he
writhed for a moment with cries of pain and impotent passion. When he
at length got out of the fire, half scorched, he did not think of
renewing the attack, but sat down growling and directing savage glances
at his adversary, like a turnspit punished by a mastiff. The master
had witnessed this aggression with the utmost indifference, and having
picked up the moccasin, which he carefully examined--
"The Indian is right," he said, coldly, "this moccasin bears the mark of
the Crow nation. My poor Carnero, you must put up with it, for though
the punishment you received was severe, I am forced to allow that it was
deserved."
The redskin had begun smoking again as quietly as if nothing had
occurred.
"The dog will pay me for it with his traitor face," the capataz growled,
on hearing his master's warning. "I am no man if I do not leave his body
as food for the crows he discovers so cleverly."
"My poor lad," his master continued, with a jeer, "you had better forget
this affair, which I allow might be disagreeable to your self-esteem;
for I fancy you would not be the gainer by recommencing the quarrel."
The capataz did not answer; he looked round at the spectators to select
one on whom he could vent his spite, without incurring any extreme risk;
but the peons were on their guard, and offered him no chance. He then,
with an air of vexation, made a signal to two men to follow him, and
left the circle grumbling.
The head of the caravan remained for a few minutes plunged in serious
thought; he then withdrew beneath his tent, the curtain of which fell
behind him; and the peons lay down on the ground, one after the other,
with their feet to the fire, and carefully wrapped up in their serapes,
and fell asleep.
The Indian then took the pipe stem from his mouth, looked searchingly
around him, shook out the ashes, passed the pipe through his belt,
and, rising negligently, went slowly to crouch at the foot of a tree,
though not before he had taken the precaution of wrapping himself
in his buffalo robe, a measure which the sharp air rendered, if not
indispensable, at any rate necessary.
Ere long, with the exception of the sentries leaning on their guns and
motionless as statues, all the travellers were plunged in deep sleep,
for the capataz himself, in spite of the promise he had made his master,
had laid himself across the entrance of the tent.
An hour elapsed ere anything disturbed the silence that prevailed in the
camp. All at once a singular thing happened. The buffalo robe, under
which the Indian was sheltered, gently rose with an almost imperceptible
movement, and the redskin's face appeared, darting glances of fire into
the gloom. In a moment the guide raised himself slowly along the trunk
of the tree against which he had been lying, embraced it with his feet
and hands, and with undulating movements resembling those of reptiles,
he left the ground, and raised himself to the first branches, among
which he disappeared.
This ascent was executed with such well-calculated slowness that it had
not produced the slightest sound. Moreover, the buffalo robe left at
the foot of the tree so well retained its primitive folds, that it was
impossible to discover, without touching it, that the man it sheltered
had left it.
When the guide was thoroughly concealed among the leaves, he remained
for a moment motionless; though not in order to regain his breath after
having made such an expenditure of strength, for this man was made of
iron, and fatigue had no power over him. But he probably wished to look
about him, for with his body bent forward, and his eyes fixed on space,
he inhaled the breeze, and his glances seemed trying to pierce the gloom.
Before selecting as his resting place the foot of the tree in which he
was now concealed, the guide had assured himself that this tree, which
was very high and leafy, was joined at about two-thirds of its height by
other trees, which gradually rose along the side of the mountain, and
formed a wall of verdure.
After a few minutes' hesitation, the guide drew in his belt, placed his
knife between his teeth, and with a certainty and lightness of movement
which would have done honour to a monkey, he commenced literally hopping
from one tree to another, hanging by his arms, and clinging to the
creepers, waking up, as he passed, the birds, which flew away in alarm.
This strange journey lasted about three-quarters of an hour. At length
the guide stopped, looked attentively around him, and gliding down the
trunk of the tree on which he was, reached the ground. The spot where
he now found himself was a rather spacious clearing, in the centre of
which blazed an enormous fire, serving to warm forty or fifty redskins,
completely armed and equipped for war. Still, singular to say, the
majority of these Indians, instead of their long lances and the bows
they usually employ, carried muskets of American manufacture, which
led to the supposition that they were picked warriors and great braves
of their nation; and this, too, was further proved by the numerous
wolf tails fastened to their heels, an honourable insignia which only
renowned warriors have the right to assume.
This detachment of redskins was certainly on the war trail, or at any
rate on a serious expedition, for they had with them neither dogs nor
squaws. In spite of the slight care with which the Indians are wont to
guard themselves at night, the free and deliberate manner in which the
guide entered their encampment proved that he was expected by these
warriors, who evinced no surprise at seeing him, but, on the contrary,
invited him with hospitable gestures to take a seat at their fire. The
guide sat down silently, and began smoking the calumet which the chief
seated by his side immediately offered him. This chief was still a young
man, his marked features displaying the utmost craft and boldness. After
a rather lengthened interval, doubtless expressly granted the visitor to
let him draw breath and warm himself, the young chief bowed to him and
addressed him deferentially.
"My father is welcome among his sons; they were impatiently awaiting his
arrival."
The guide responded to this compliment with a grimace, in all
probability intended to pass muster for a smile. The chief continued:--
"Our scouts have carefully examined the encampment of the Yoris, and the
warriors of the Jester are ready to obey the instructions given them by
their great sachem, Eagle-head. Is my father Curumilla satisfied with
his red children?"
Curumilla (for the guide was no other than the reader's old acquaintance
the Araucano chief) laid his right hand on his chest, and uttered with a
guttural accent the exclamation, "Ugh!" which was with him a mark of the
greatest joy.
The Jester and his warriors had been too long acquainted with Curumilla
for his silence to seem strange to them; hence they yielded without
repugnance to his mania, and carefully giving up the hope of getting a
syllable out of his closed lips, began with him a conversation in signs.
We have already had occasion, in a previous work, to mention that the
redskins have two languages, the written and the sign language. The
latter, which has among them attained a high perfection, and which all
understand, is usually employed when hunting, or on expeditions, when
a word pronounced even in a low voice may reveal the presence of an
ambuscade to the enemy, whether men or beasts, whom they are pursuing,
and desire to surprise.
It would have been interesting, and even amusing, for any stranger
who had been present at this interview to see with what rapidity the
gestures and signs were exchanged between these men, so strangely lit
up by the ruddy glow of the fire, and who resembled, with their strange
movements, their stern faces, and singular attitudes, a council of
demons. At times the Jester, with his body bent forward, and emphatic
gestures, held a dumb speech, which his comrades followed with the most
sustained attention, and which they answered with a rapidity that words
themselves could not have surpassed.
At length this silent council terminated. Curumilla raised his hand to
heaven, and pointed to the stars, which were beginning to grow dim, and
then left the circle. The redskins respectfully followed him to the
foot of the tree by the aid of which he had entered their camp. When he
reached it, he turned round.
"May the Wacondah protect my father!" the Jester then said. "His sons
have thoroughly understood his instructions, and will follow them
literally. The great pale hunter will have joined his friends by this
hour, and he is doubtless awaiting us. Tomorrow Koutonepi will see his
Comanche brothers. At the _enditha_ the camp will be raised."
"It is good," Curumilla answered, and saluting for the last time the
warriors, who bowed respectfully before him, the chief seized the
creeping plants, and, raising himself by the strength of his wrists, in
a second he reached the branches, and disappeared in the foliage.
The journey the Indian had made was very important, and needed to be so
for him to run such great risks in order to have an interview at this
hour of the night with the redskins; but as the reader will soon learn
what were the consequences of this expedition, we deem it unnecessary to
translate the sign language employed during the council, or explain the
resolutions formed between Curumilla and the Jester.
The chief recommenced his aerial trip with the same lightness and the
same good fortune. After a lapse of time comparatively much shorter than
that which he had previously employed, he reached the camp of the white
men. The same silence prevailed in its interior; the sentinels were
still motionless at their post, and the watch fires were beginning to
expire.
The chief assured himself that no eye was fixed on him--that no spy
was on the watch; and, feeling certain of not being perceived, he slid
silently down the tree and resumed the place beneath the buffalo robe
which he was supposed not to have left during the night.
At the moment when, after taking a final glance around, the Indian chief
disappeared beneath his robe, the capataz, who was lying athwart the
entrance of the hut, gently raised his head, and looked with strange
fixity of glance at the place occupied by the redskin.
Had a suspicion been aroused in the Mexican's mind? Had he noticed the
departure and return of the chief? Presently he let his head fall again,
and it would have been impossible to read on his motionless features
what were the thoughts that troubled him.
The remainder of the night passed tranquilly and peacefully.