THE TIGER-SLAYER.
A TALE OF THE INDIAN DESERT.
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD,
AUTHOR OF "THE PRAIRIE FLOWER," ETC.
LONDON
WARD AND LOCK
MDCCCLX.
CONTENTS
PREFACE.
I. LA FERIA DE PLATA
II. DON SYLVA DE TORRÉS
III. THE TWO HUNTERS
IV. COUNT MAXIM GAËTAN DE LHORAILLES
V. THE DAUPH'YEERS
VI. BY THE WINDOW
VII. A DUEL
VIII. THE DEPARTURE
IX. A MEETING IN THE DESERT
X. BEFORE THE ATTACK
XI. THE MEXICAN MOON
XII. A WOMAN'S STRATAGEM
XIII. A NIGHT JOURNEY
XIV. AN INDIAN TRICK
XV. SET A CHIEF TO CATCH A CHIEF
XVI. THE CASA GRANDE OF MOCTECUHZOMA
XVII. CUCHARÉS
XVIII. IN WHICH THE STORY GOES BACK
XIX. IN THE PRAIRIE
XX. BOOT AND SADDLE
XXI. THE CONFESSION
XXII. THE MAN HUNT
XXIII. THE APACHES
XXIV. THE WOOD RANGERS
XXV. EL AHUEHUELT
PREFACE.
It is hardly necessary to say anything on behalf of the new aspirant for
public favour whom I am now introducing to the reader. He has achieved a
continental reputation, and the French regard him proudly as their
Fenimore Cooper. It will be found, I trust, on perusal, that the
position he has so rapidly assumed in the literature of his country is
justified by the reality of his descriptions, and the truthfulness which
appears in every page. Gustave Aimard has the rare advantage of having
lived for many years as an Indian among the Indians. He is acquainted
with their language, and has gone through all the extraordinary phases
of a nomadic life in the prairie. Had he chosen to write his life, it
would have been one of the most marvellous romances of the age: but he
has preferred to weave into his stories the extraordinary events of
which he has been witness during his chequered life. Believing that his
works only require to be known in order to secure him as favourable a
reception in this country as he has elsewhere, it has afforded me much
satisfaction to have it in my power to place them in this garb. Some
slight modifications have been effected here and there; but in other
respects I have presented a faithful rendering.
LASCELLES WRAXALL.
CHAPTER I.
LA FERIA DE PLATA.
From the earliest days of the discovery of America, its distant shores
became the refuge and rendezvous of adventurers of every description,
whose daring genius, stifled by the trammels of the old European
civilisation, sought fresh scope for action.
Some asked from the New World liberty of conscience--the right of
praying to God in their own fashion; others, breaking their sword blades
to convert them into daggers, assassinated entire nations to rob their
gold, and enrich themselves with their spoils; others, lastly, men of
indomitable temperament, with lions' hearts contained in bodies of iron,
recognising no bridle, accepting no laws, and confounding liberty with
license, formed, almost unconsciously, that formidable association of
the "Brethren of the Coast," which for a season made Spain tremble for
her possessions, and with which Louis XIV., the Sun King, did not
disdain to treat.
The descendants of these extraordinary men still exist in America; and
whenever any revolutionary crisis heaves up, after a short struggle, the
dregs of the population, they instinctively range themselves round the
grandsons of the great adventurers, in the hope of achieving mighty
things in their turn under the leadership of heroes.
At the period when we were in America chance allowed us to witness one
of the boldest enterprises ever conceived and carried out by these
daring adventurers. This _coup de main_ created such excitement that for
some months it occupied the press, and aroused the curiosity and
sympathy of the whole world.
Reasons, which our readers will doubtless appreciate, have induced us to
alter the names of the persons who played the principal parts in this
strange drama, though we adhere to the utmost exactness as regards the
facts.
About ten years back the discovery of the rich Californian plains
awakened suddenly the adventurous instincts of thousands of young and
intelligent men, who, leaving country and family, rushed, full of
enthusiasm, towards the new Eldorado, where the majority only met with
misery and death, after sufferings and vexations innumerable.
The road from Europe to California is a long one. Many persons stopped
half way; some at Valparaiso; others, again, at Mazatlan or San Blas,
though the majority reached San Francisco.
It is not within the scope of our story to give the details, too well
known at present, of all the deceptions by which the luckless emigrants
were assailed with the first step they took on this land, where they
imagined they needed only to stoop and pick up handfuls of gold.
We must ask our readers to accompany us to Guaymas six months after the
discovery of the placers.
In a previous work we have spoken of Sonora; but as the history we
purpose to narrate passes entirely in that distant province of Mexico,
we must give a more detailed account of it here.
Mexico is indubitably the fairest country in the world, and every
variety, of climate is found there. But while its territory is immense,
the population unfortunately, instead of being in a fair ratio with it,
only amounts to seven million, of whom nearly five million belong to the
Indian or mixed races.
The Mexican Confederation comprises the federal district of Mexico,
twenty-one states, and three territories or provinces, possessing no
internal independent administration.
We will say nothing of the government, from the simple reason that up to
the present the normal condition of that magnificent and unhappy country
has ever been anarchy.
Still, Mexico appears to be a federative republic, at least nominally,
although the only recognised power is the sabre.
The first of the seven states, situated on the Atlantic, is Sonora. It
extends from north to south, between the Rio Gila and the Rio Mayo. It
is separated on the east from the State of Chihuahua by the Sierra
Verde, and on the west is bathed by the Vermilion Sea, or Sea of Cortez,
as most Spanish maps still insist on calling it.
The State of Sonora is one of the richest in Mexico, owing to the
numerous gold mines by which its soil is veined. Unfortunately, or
fortunately, according to the point of view from which we like to regard
it, Sonora is incessantly traversed by innumerable Indian tribes,
against which the inhabitants wage a constant war. Thus the continual
engagements with these savage hordes, the contempt of life, and the
habit of shedding human blood on the slightest pretext, have given the
Sonorians a haughty and decided bearing, and imprinted on them a stamp
of nobility and grandeur, which separates them entirely from the other
states, and causes them to be recognised at the first glance.
In spite of its great extent of territory and lengthened seaboard,
Mexico possesses in reality only two ports on the Pacific--Guaymas and
Acapulco. The rest are only roadsteads, in which vessels are afraid to
seek shelter, especially when the impetuous _cordonazo_ blows from the
south-west and upheaves the Gulf of California.
We shall only speak here of Guaymas. This town, founded but a few years
back on the mouth of the San José, seems destined to become, ere long,
one of the chief Pacific ports. Its military position is admirable. Like
all the Spanish American towns, the houses are low, whitewashed, and
flat-roofed. The fort, situated on the summit of a rock, in which some
cannon rust on carriages peeling away beneath the sun, is of a yellow
hue, harmonising with the ochre tinge of the beach. Behind the town rise
lofty, scarped mountains, their sides furrowed with ravines hollowed out
by the rainy season, and their brown peaks lost in the clouds.
Unhappily, we are compelled to avow that this port, despite of its
ambitious title of town, is still a miserable village, without church or
hotel. We do not say there are no drinking-shops; on the contrary, as
may be imagined in a port so near San Francisco, they swarm.
The aspect of Guaymas is sorrowful; you feel that, in spite of the
efforts of Europeans and adventurers to galvanise this population, the
Spanish tyranny which has weighed upon it for three centuries has
plunged it into a state of moral degradation and inferiority, from which
it will require years to raise it.
The day on which our story commences, at about two in the afternoon, in
spite of the red-hot sun which poured its beams on the town, Guaymas,
generally so quiet at that hour, when the inhabitants, overcome by the
heat, are asleep indoors, presented an animated appearance, which would
have surprised the stranger whom accident had taken there at that
moment, and would have caused him to suppose, most assuredly, that he
was about to witness one of those thousand _pronunciamientos_ which
annually break out in this wretched province. Still, it was nothing of
the sort. The military authority, represented by General San Benito,
Governor of Guaymas, was, or seemed to be, satisfied with the
government. The smugglers, leperos, and hiaquis continued in a tolerably
satisfactory state, without complaining too much of the powers that
were. Whence, then, the extraordinary agitation that prevailed in the
town? What reason was strong enough to keep this indolent population
awake, and make it forget its siesta?
For three days the town had been a prey to the gold fever. The governor,
yielding to the supplications of several considerable merchants, had
authorised for five days a _feria de plata_, or, literally, a silver
fair.
Gambling tables, held by persons of distinction, were publicly open in
the principal houses; but the fact which gave this festival a
strangeness impossible to find elsewhere was, that monte tables were
displayed in every street in the open air, on which gold tinkled, and
where everybody possessed of a real had the right to risk it, without
distinction of caste or colour.
In Mexico everything is done differently from other countries. The
inhabitants of this country, having no reminiscences of the past which
they wish to forget, no faith in the future in which they do not
believe, only live for the present, and exist with that feverish energy
peculiar to races which feel their end approaching.
The Mexicans have two marked tastes which govern them entirely, play and
love. We say tastes, and not passions, for the Mexicans are not capable
of those great emotions which conquer the will, and overthrow the human
economy by developing an energetic power of action.
The groups round the monte tables were numerous and animated. Still,
everything went on with an order and tranquility which nothing troubled,
although no agent of the government was walking about the streets to
maintain a good intelligence and watch the gamblers.
About halfway up the Calle de la Merced, one of the widest in Guaymas,
and opposite a house of goodly appearance, there stood a table covered
with a green baize and piled up with gold ounces, behind which a man of
about thirty, with a crafty face, was stationed, who, with a pack of
cards in his hand, and a smile on his lips, invited by the most
insinuating remarks the numerous spectators who surrounded him to tempt
fortune.
"Come, caballeros," he said in a honeyed tone, while turning a
provocative glance upon the wretched men, haughtily draped in their
rags, who regarded him with extreme indifference, "I cannot always win;
luck is going to turn, I am sure. Here are one hundred ounces: who will
cover them?"
No one answered.
The banker, not allowing himself to be defeated, let a tinkling cascade
of ounces glide through his fingers, whose tawny reflection was capable
of turning the most resolute head.
"It is a nice sum, caballeros, one hundred ounces: with them the ugliest
man is certain of gaining the smiles of beauty. Come, who will cover
them?"
"Bah," a lepero said, with a disdainful air, "what are one hundred
ounces? Had you not won my last _tlaco_, Tío Lucas, I would cover them,
that I would."
"I am in despair, Señor Cucharés," the banker replied with a bow, "that
luck was so much against you, and I should feel delighted if you would
allow me to lend you an ounce."
"You are jesting," the lepero said, drawing himself up haughtily. "Keep
your gold, Tío Lucas; I know the way to procure as much as I want,
whenever I think proper; but," he added, bowing with the most exquisite
politeness, "I am not the less grateful to you for your generous offer."
And he offered the banker, across the table, his hand, which the latter
pressed with great cordiality.
The lepero profited by the occasion to pick up with his free hand a pile
of twenty ounces that was in his reach.
Tío Lucas had great difficulty in restraining himself, but he feigned
not to have seen anything.
After this interchange of good offices there was a moment's silence. The
spectators had seen everything that occurred, and therefore awaited with
some curiosity the _dénouement_ of this scene. Señor Cucharés was the
first to renew the conversation.
"Oh!" he suddenly shouted, striking his forehead, "I believe, by Nuestra
Señora de la Merced, that I am losing my head."
"Why so, caballero?" Tío Lucas asked, visibly disturbed by this
exclamation.
"Caray! It's very simple," the other went on. "Did I not tell you just
now that you had won all my money?"
"You certainly said so, and these caballeros heard it with me: to your
last ochavo--those were your very words."
"I remember it perfectly, and it is that which makes me so mad."
"What!" the banker exclaimed with feigned astonishment, "You are mad
because I won from you?"
"Oh, no, it's not that."
"What is it, then?"
"Caramba! It is because I made a mistake, and I have some ounces still
left."
"Impossible!"
"Just see, then."
The lepero put his hand in his pocket, and, with unparalleled
effrontery, displayed to the banker the gold he had just stolen from
him. But the latter did not wince.
"It is incredible," said he.
"Eh?" the lepero interjected, fixing a flashing eye on the other.
"Yes, it is incredible that you, Señor Cucharés, should have made such a
slip of memory."
"Well, as I have remembered it, all can be set right now; we can
continue our game."
"Very good: one hundred ounces is the stake."
"Oh no! I haven't that amount."
"Nonsense! Feel in your pockets again."
"It is useless; I know I haven't got it."
"That is really most annoying."
"How so?"
"Because I have vowed not to play for less."
"Then you won't cover twenty ounces?"
"I cannot; I would not cover one short of a hundred."
"H'm!" the lepero went on, knitting his brows, "is that meant for an
insult, Tío Lucas?"
The banker had no time to reply; for a man of about thirty, mounted on a
magnificent black horse, had stopped for a few seconds before the table,
and, while carelessly smoking his cigar, listened to the discussion
between the banker and the lepero.
"Done for one hundred ounces," he said, as he cleared a way by means of
his horse's chest up to the table, on which he dropped a purse full of
gold.
The two speakers suddenly raised their heads.
"Here are the cards, caballero," the banker hastened to say, glad of an
incident which temporarily freed him from a dangerous opponent. Cucharés
shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and looked at the newcomer.
"Oh!" he muttered to himself, "the Tigrero! Has he come for Anita? I
must know that."
And he gently drew nearer the stranger, and presently stood by his side.
He was a tall man, with an olive complexion, a piercing glance, and an
open and resolute face. His dress, of the greatest richness, glistened
with gold and diamonds. He wore, slightly inclined over his left ear, a
broad brimmed sombrero, surrounded by a golilla of fine gold: his
spencer of blue cloth, embroidered with silver, allowed a dazzling white
shirt to be seen, under the collar of which passed a cravat of China
crape, fastened with a diamond ring; his calzoneras, drawn up round the
hips by a red silk scarf with gold fringed ends and two rows of diamond
buttons, were open at the side, and allowed his _calzón_ to float
beneath; he wore _botas vaqueras_ (or herdsmen) boots of figured
leather, richly embroidered, attached below the knee by a garter of
silver tissue; while his _manga_, glistening with gold, hung tastefully
from his right shoulder.
His horse, with a small head and legs fine as spindles, was splendidly
accoutred: _las armas de agua_ and the _zarapé_ fastened to the croup,
and the magnificent _anquera_ adorned with steel chains, completed a
caparison of which we can form no idea in Europe.
Like all Mexicans of a certain class when travelling, the stranger was
armed from head to foot; that is to say, in addition to the lasso
fastened to the saddle, and the rifle laid across the saddle-bow, he had
also by his side a long sword, and a pair of pistols in his girdle,
without reckoning the knife whose silver inlaid hilt could be seen
peeping out of one of his boots.
Such as we have described him, this man was the perfect type of a
Mexican of Sonora--ever ready for peace or war, fearing the one no more
than he despised the other. After bowing politely to Tío Lucas he took
the cards the latter offered him, and shuffled them while looking around
him.
"Ah!" he said, casting a friendly glance to the lepero, "you're here,
gossip Cucharés?"
"At your service, Don Martial," the other replied, lifting his hand to
the ragged brim of his beaver.
The stranger smiled.
"Be good enough to cut for me while I light my pajillo."
"With pleasure," the lepero exclaimed.
El Tigrero, or Don Martial, whichever the reader may please to call him,
took a gold _mechero_ from his pocket, and carelessly struck a light
while the lepero cut the cards.
"Señor," the latter said in a piteous voice.
"Well?"
"You have lost."
"Good. Tío Lucas, take a hundred ounces from my purse."
"I have them, your excellency," the banker replied. "Would you please to
play again?"
"Certainly, but not for such trifles. I should like to feel interested
in the game."
"I will cover any stake your excellency may like to name," the banker
said, whose practised eye had discovered in the stranger's purse, amid a
decent number of ounces, some forty diamonds of the purest water.
"H'm! Are you really ready to cover any stake I name?"
"Yes."
The stranger looked at him sharply.
"Even if I played for a thousand gold ounces?"
"I would cover double that if your excellency dares to stake it," the
baker said imperturbably.
A contemptuous smile played for the second time on the horseman's
haughty lips.
"I do dare it," he said.
"Two thousand ounces, then?"
"Agreed."
"Shall I cut?" Cucharés asked timidly.
"Why not?" the other answered lightly.
The lepero seized the cards with a hand trembling from emotion. There
was a hum of expectation from the gamblers who surrounded the table. At
this moment a window opened in the house before which Tío Lucas had
established his monte table, and a charming girl leant carelessly over
the balcony, looking down into the street.
The stranger turned to the balcony, and rising in his stirrups,--
"I salute the lovely Anita," he said, as he doffed his hat and bowed
profoundly.
The girl blushed, bent on him an expressive glance from beneath her long
velvety eyelashes, but made no reply.
"You have lost, excellency," Tío Lucas said with a joyous accent, which
he could not completely conceal.
"Very good," the stranger replied, without even looking at him, so
fascinated was he by the charming apparition on the balcony.
"You play no more?"
"On the contrary, I double."
"What!" exclaimed the banker, falling back a step in spite of himself at
this proposition.
"No, I am wrong; I have something else to propose."
"What is it, excellency?"
"How; much have you there?" he said, pointing to the table with a
disdainful gesture.
"Why, at least seven thousand ounces."
"Not more? That's very little."
The spectators regarded with a stupor, mingled with terror, this
extraordinary man, who played for ounces and diamonds as others did for
ochavos. The girl became pale. She turned a supplicating glance to the
stranger.
"Play no more," she murmured in a trembling voice.
"Thanks," he exclaimed, "thanks, Señorita; your beautiful eyes will
bring me a fortune. I would give all the gold on the table for the
súchil flower you hold in your hand, and which your lips have touched."
"Do not play, Don Martial," the girl repeated, as she retired and closed
the window. But, through accident or some other reason, her hand let
loose the flower. The horseman made his steed bound forward, caught it
in its flight, and buried it in his bosom, after having kissed it
several times.
"Cucharés," he then said to the lepero, "turn up a card."
The latter obeyed. "Seis de copas!" he said.
"Voto a brios!" the stranger exclaimed, "the colour of the heart we
shall win. Tío Lucas, I will back this card against all the gold you
have on your table."
The banker turned pale and hesitated; the spectators had their eyes
fixed upon him.
"Bah!" he thought after a minute's reflection, "It is impossible for him
to win. I accept, excellency," he then added aloud.
"Count the sum you have."
"That is unnecessary, Señor; there are nine thousand four hundred and
fifty gold ounces."[1]
At the statement of this formidable amount the spectators gave vent to a
mingled shout of admiration and covetousness.
"I fancied you richer," the stranger said ironically. "Well, so be it
then."
"Will you cut this time, excellency?"
"No, I am thoroughly convinced you are going to lose, Tío Lucas, and I
wish you to be quite convinced that I have won fairly. In consequence,
do me the pleasure of cutting, yourself. You will then be the artisan of
your own ruin, and be unable to reproach anybody."
The spectators quivered with pleasure on seeing the chivalrous way in
which the stranger behaved. At this moment the street was thronged with
people whom the rumour of this remarkable stake had collected from every
part of the town. A deadly silence prevailed through the crowd, so great
was the interest that each felt in the _dénouement_ of this grand and
hitherto unexampled match. The banker wiped the perspiration that beaded
on his livid brow, and seized the first card with a trembling hand. He
balanced it for a few seconds between finger and thumb with manifest
hesitation.
"Make haste," Cucharés cried to him with a grin.
Tío Lucas mechanically let the card fall as he turned his head away.
"Seis de copas!" the lepero shouted in a hoarse voice.
The banker uttered a yell of pain.
"I have lost!" he muttered.
"I was sure of it," the horseman said, still impassible. "Cucharés," he
added, "carry that table and the gold upon it to Doña Anita. I shall
expect you tonight you know where."
The lepero bowed respectfully. Assisted by two sturdy fellows, he
executed the order he had just received, and entered the house, while
the stranger started off at a gallop; and Tío Lucas, slightly recovered
from the stunning blow he had received, philosophically twisted a cigar,
repeating to those who forced their consolations upon him,--
"I have lost, it is true, but against a very fair player, and for a good
stake. Bah! I shall have my revenge some day."
Then, so soon as the cigarette was made, the poor cleaned-out banker
lighted it and walked off very calmly. The crowd, having no further
excuse for remaining, also disappeared in its turn.
[1] About £31,500 Fact.