THE APACHES.
Nothing is so mournful as a night march through the desert, especially
under such circumstances as hurried our party on. Night is the mother of
phantoms; in the darkness, the gayest landscapes become
sinister--everything assumes a form to startle the traveller. The moon,
however brilliant the light it diffuses may be, imparts to objects a
fantastic appearance and mournful hues which cause the bravest to
tremble.
This sepulchral calmness of the desert--this solitude that surrounds
you, torments you from every side, and peoples the scenery with
spectres--this obscurity which enfolds you like a leaden shroud--all
combine to trouble the brain, and arouse a species of febrile terror,
which the vivifying sunbeams are alone powerful enough to dissipate.
In spite of themselves our friends suffered from this feeling. They
galloped through the night, not able to explain to themselves their
motive for doing so, not knowing whither they were going. With heavy
heads and weighed down eyelids, they had only one thought--of sleep.
Borne along by their horses at headlong speed; the trees and rocks
danced around them. They therefore secured themselves in their saddles,
closed their eyes, and yielded to the sleep which overwhelmed them, and
which they no longer felt the strength to resist.
Sleep is perhaps the most tyrannical and imperious necessity of man: it
makes him despise and forget all else. The man overpowered by sleep will
give way to it, no matter where he is, or what danger menaces him.
Hunger and thirst may be subdued for a while by strength of will and
courage, but sleep cannot. It is impossible to contend against it. It
strangles you in its iron claws, and in a few moments hurls you down
panting and conquered.
With the exception of Don Martial, whose eye was sharp and mind clear,
the other members of the party resembled somnambulists. Hanging to their
horses as well as they could, with eyes shut and thoughts wandering,
they hurried on unconsciously, a prey to that horrible nightmare which
is neither sleeping nor waking, but only the torpor of the senses and
the oblivion of the mind.
This lasted the whole night. They had travelled ten leagues, and were
utterly exhausted. Still at sunrise, beneath the influence of the warm
rays, they gradually shook off their heaviness, opened their eyes,
looked curiously around them, and an infinity of questions rose from the
heart to the lips, as generally happens in such a case.
The party had reached the banks of the Rio Gila, whose muddy waters
form, on this side, the desert frontier. Don Martial, after carefully
examining the spot where he was, stopped on the bank. The bags of sand
were removed from the horses' feet, and they were supplied with food. As
for the men, they must temporarily put up with a mouthful of _refino_ to
restore their strength.
The appearance of the country had changed. On the other bank of the
river a thick, strong grass covered the ground, and immense virgin
forests grew on the horizon.
"Ouf!" Don Sylva said, rolling on the ground with an expression of great
satisfaction, "What a journey! I am worn out. If that were to last but
one day, _voto a brios!_ I could not stand it any longer. I am neither
hungry nor thirsty. I will go to sleep."
While saying this the hacendero had arranged himself in the posture most
agreeable for a nap.
"Not yet, Don Sylva," the Tigrero said sharply, and shaking him by the
arm. "Do you want to leave your bones here?"
"Go to the deuce! I want to sleep, I tell you."
"Very good," Don Martial made answer coldly; "but if you and Doña Anita
fall into the hands of the Apaches you will not make me responsible for
it?"
"Eh?" the hacendero said, jumping up, and looking him in the face, "What
are you saying about Apaches?"
"I tell you again that the Apaches are in pursuit of us. We are only a
few hours ahead of them, and if we do not make haste we are lost."
"_Canarios!_ We must fly," Don Sylva exclaimed, now thoroughly awake.
"My daughter must not fall into the hands of those demons."
As for Doña Anita, little troubled her at this moment. She was fast
asleep.
"Let the horses eat, and then we will start. We have a long way to go,
and they must be able to bear us. These few moments of rest will allow
Doña Anita to regain her strength."
"Poor child!" the hacendero muttered, "I am the cause of what has
happened. My unlucky obstinacy brought us here."
"What use is recrimination, Don Sylva? We are all to blame. Let us
forget the past, only to think of the present."
"Yes, you are right. What need discussing things that are done? Now that
I am perfectly awake, tell me what you did during the night, and why you
forced us to start so suddenly."
"My story will be short, Don Sylva; but you, I believe, will find it
very interesting. But you shall judge for yourself. After leaving you
last night, as you remember, to find out--"
"Yes, you wished to examine a fire that seemed to you suspicious."
"That was it. Well, I was not mistaken: that fire, as I supposed, was a
snare laid by the Apaches. I managed to crawl up to them unnoticed, and
hear their conversation. Do you know what they said?"
"By my faith, I have little notion what such idiots as those talk
about."
"Not such idiots as you fancy somewhat lightly, Don Sylva. One of their
runners was telling the sachem the result of a mission entrusted to him.
Among other things he mentioned that he had discovered a paleface trail,
and that among the palefaces was a woman."
"_Caspita!_" the hacendero exclaimed in terror, "Are you quite sure of
that, Don Martial?"
"The more so because I heard the chief make this reply. Be attentive,
Don Sylva--"
"I am listening, my friend: go on."
"'At sunrise we will set out in pursuit of the palefaces. The chief's
lodge is empty: he wants a white woman to occupy it.'"
"Caramba!"
"Yes. Then finding I had learnt sufficient of the expedition the
redskins were undertaking, I slipped away and regained our camp as soon
as possible. You know the--"
"Yes, I know the rest, Don Martial," the hacendero said almost
affectionately; "and I thank you most sincerely, not only for the
intelligence you have displayed on this occasion, but also for the
devotion with which you compelled us to follow you, instead of being
disgusted by our mad sloth."
"I have done nothing but what I should do, Don Sylva. Have I not sworn
to devote my life to you?"
"Yes, my friend, and you keep your vow nobly."
Since the hacendero had known Don Martial this was the first time he
spoke openly with him, and gave him the title of friend. The Tigrero was
touched by this expression; and if he had hitherto felt some slight
prejudice against Don Sylva, it was suddenly dissipated, and only left
in his heart a feeling of profound gratitude.
Doña Anita awoke during this conversation, and it was with an
indescribable joy that she heard them talking thus amicably together.
When her father told her the cause of the hasty journey she had been
compelled to undertake in the middle of the night, she warmly thanked
Don Martial, and rewarded him for all his sufferings by one of those
glances, the secret of which only women in love possess, and into which
they throw their whole soul. The Tigrero, delighted at seeing his
devotion appreciated as it deserved served to be, forgot all his
fatigues, and had only one desire--that of terminating happily what he
had so well begun. So soon as the horses were saddled they mounted
again.
"I leave myself in your hands, Don Martial," the hacendero said: "you
alone; can save us."
"With the help of Heaven I shall succeed," the Tigrero replied
passionately.
They entered the river, which was rather wide at this spot. Instead of
crossing it at right angles, Don Martial, in order to throw the savages
off the scent, followed the course of the river for some distance, and
made repeated curves. At length, on reaching a point where the river was
inclosed by two calcareous banks, where it was impossible for the
horses' hoofs to leave any marks, he landed. The party had left the
desert. Before them stretched those immense prairies, whose undulating
soil gradually, rises to the slopes of the _Sierra Madre_ and the
_Sierra de los Comanches_. They are no longer sterile and desolate
plains, denuded of wood and water, but a luxuriant nature, with an
extraordinary productive force--trees, flowers, grass; countless birds
singing joyously beneath the foliage; animals of every description
running, browsing and sporting in the midst of these natural prairies.
The travellers yielded instinctively to the feeling of comfort produced
by the sight of this splendid prairie, when compared with the desolate
desert they had just quitted, and in which they had wandered about so
long haphazard. This contrast was full of charm for them: they felt,
their courage rekindled, and hope returning to their hearts. About
eleven o'clock the horses were so fatigued that the travellers were
compelled to encamp, in order to give them a few hours' rest, and thus
pass the great heats of the day. Don Martial chose the top of a wooded
hill, whence the prairie could be surveyed, while they remained
completely concealed among the trees.
The Tigrero would not permit them, however, to light a fire to cook food
as the smoke would have caused their retreat to be discovered; and in
their present position they could not exercise too great prudence, as it
was evident that the Apaches would have started in pursuit at sunrise.
Those crafty bloodhounds must be thrown off the scent. In spite of all
the precautions he had taken, the Tigrero could not flatter himself with
the hope of having foiled them; for the redskins are so clever in
discovering a trail. After eating a few hasty mouthfuls he allowed his
companions to enjoy a rest they needed so greatly, and rose to go on the
watch.
This man appeared made of iron--fatigue took no hold on him; his will
was so firm that he resisted everything, and the desire to save the
woman he loved endowed him with a supernatural strength. He slowly
descended the hill, examining each shrub, only advancing with extreme
prudence, and with his ear open to every sound, however slight. So soon
as he reached the plain, certain that his presence would be concealed by
the tall grass, in which he entirely disappeared, he hastened at full
speed towards a sombre and primeval forest, whose trees approached
almost close to the hill. This forest was really what it appeared to
be--a virgin forest. The trees and leaves intertwined formed an
inextricable curtain, through which a hatchet would have been required
to cut a passage. Had he been alone, the Tigrero would not have been
greatly embarrassed by this apparently insurmountable obstacle. Skilful
and powerful as he was, he would have travelled 'twixt earth and sky, by
passing from branch to branch, as he had often done before. But what a
man so desolate as himself could do was not to be expected from a frail
and weak woman.
For an instant the Tigrero felt his heart fail him, and his courage give
way. But this despair was only momentary. Don Martial drew himself up
proudly and suddenly regained all his energy. He continued to advance
toward the forest, looking around like a wild beast on the watch for
prey. All of a sudden he uttered a stifled cry of joy. He had found what
he had been seeking without any hope of finding it.
Before him, beneath a thick dome of verdure, ran one of those narrow
paths formed by wild beasts in going to water, which it required the
Tigrero's practised eye to detect. He resolutely turned aside into this
path. Like all such it took innumerable turnings, incessantly coming
back on itself. After following it for a length of time, the Tigrero
went back and re-ascended the hill.
His companions, anxious at his prolonged absence, were impatiently
expecting him. Each welcomed his return with delight. He told them what
he had been doing, and the track he had discovered. While Don Martial
had been on the search, one of his peons, however, had made, on the side
of this very hill, a discovery most valuable at such a moment to our
travellers. This man, while wandering about the neighbourhood to kill
time, had found the entrance to a cave which he had not dared to
explore, not knowing whether he might not unexpectedly find himself face
to face with a wild beast.
Don Martial quivered with joy at this news. He seized an _ocote_ torch
and ordered the peon to lead him to the cavern. It was only a few paces
distant, and on that side of the hill which faced the river. The
entrance was so obstructed by shrubs and parasitic plants, that it was
evident no living being had ever penetrated it for many a long year. The
Tigrero moved the shrubs with the greatest care, in order not to injure
them, and glided into the cavern. The entrance was tolerably lofty,
though rather narrow. Before going in Don Martial struck a light and
kindled the torch.
This cavern was one of those natural grottos, so many of which are to be
found in these regions. The walls were lofty and dry, the ground covered
with fine sand. It evidently received air from imperceptible fissures,
as no mephitic exhalation escaped from it, and breathing was quite easy;
in a word, although it was rather gloomy, it was habitable. It grew
gradually lower to a species of hall, in the centre of which was a gulf,
the bottom of which Don Martial could not see, though he held down his
torch. He looked around him, saw a lump of rock, probably detached from
the roof and threw it into the abyss.
For a long time he heard the stone dashing against the sides, and then
the noise of a body falling into water. Don Martial knew all he
wanted to know. He stepped past the gulf, and advanced along a narrow
shelving passage. After walking for about ten minutes along it, he saw
light a considerable distance ahead. The grotto had two outlets. Don
Martial returned at full speed.
"We are saved!" he said to his companions. "Follow me: we have not an
instant to lose in reaching the refuge Providence so generously offers
us."
They followed him.
"What shall we do, though," Don Sylva asked, "with the horses?"
"Do not trouble yourselves about them; I will conceal them. Place in the
grotto our provisions, for it is probable we shall be forced to remain
here some time; also keep by you the saddles and bridles, which I do not
know what to do with. As for the horses, they are my business."
Each set to work with that feverish ardour produced by the hope of
escaping a danger; and at the end of an hour at most, the baggage,
provisions, and men had all disappeared in the cavern. Don Martial drew
the bushes over the entrance, to hide the traces of his companions'
passage, and breathed with that delight caused by the success of a
daring project; then he returned to the crest of the hill.
He fastened the horses and mules together with his reata, and descending
to the plain, he proceeded toward the forest, and entered the path he
had previously discovered. It was very narrow, and the horses could only
proceed in single file, and with extreme difficulty. At length he
reached a species of clearing, where be abandoned the poor animals,
leaving them all the forage, which he had taken care to pack on the
mules. Don Martial was well aware that the horses would stray but a
short distance from the spot where he left them, and that when they were
wanted it would be easy to find them.
These various occupations had consumed a good deal of time, and the day
was considerably advanced when the Tigrero finally quitted the forest.
The sun, very low on the horizon, appeared like a ball of fire, nearly
on a level with the ground. The shadow of the trees was
disproportionately elongated. The evening breeze was beginning to rise.
A few hoarse cries, issuing at intervals from the depths of the forest,
announced the speedy re-awakening of the wild beasts, those denizens of
the desert which, during the night, are its absolute king.
On reaching the crest of the hill, and before entering the grotto, Don
Martial surveyed the horizon by the last rays of the expiring sun.
Suddenly he turned pale; a nervous shudder passed through his frame; his
eyes, dilated by terror, were obstinately fixed on the river; and he
muttered in a low voice, stamping with fury,--
"Already? The demons!"
What the Tigrero had seen was really startling. A band of Indian
horsemen was traversing the river at the precise spot where he and his
companions had crossed it a few hours previously. Don Martial followed
their movements with growing alarm. On arriving at the river bank,
without any hesitation or delay, they took up his trail. Doubt was no
longer possible; the Apaches had not been deceived by the hunter's
schemes, but had come in a straight line behind the party, exercising
great diligence. In less than an hour they could reach the hill; and
then, with that diabolical science they possessed to discover the best
hidden trail, who knew what would happen?
The Tigrero felt his heart breaking, and half mad with grief, rushed
into the grotto. On seeing him enter thus with livid features, the
hacendero and his daughter hurried to meet him.
"What is the matter?" They asked.
"We are lost!" he exclaimed with despair. "Here are the Apaches!"
"The Apaches!" they muttered with terror.
"O heavens save me!" Doña Anita said, falling on her knees and fervently
clasping her hands.
The Tigrero bent over the fair girl, took her in his arms with a
strength rendered tenfold by grief, and turning to the hacendero,--
"Come," he shouted, "follow me. Perhaps one chance of salvation is still
left us."
And he hurried toward the extremity of the grotto, all eagerly following
him. They hurried on for some time in this way. Doña Anita, almost
fainting, leaned her lovely head on the Tigrero's shoulders. He still
ran on.
"Come, come," he said, "we shall soon be saved."
His companions uttered a shout of joy: they had perceived a gleam of
daylight before them. Suddenly, at the moment Don Martial reached the
entrance, and was about to rush forth, a man appeared. It was the Black
Bear.
The Tigrero leaped back with the howl of a wild beast.
"Wah!" the Apache said, with a mocking voice, "my brother knows that I
love this woman, and to please me hastens to bring her to me."
"You have not got her yet, demon!" Don Martial shouted, boldly placing
himself before Doña Anita, with a pistol in each hand. "Come and take
her."
Rapidly approaching footsteps were heard in the depths of the cavern.
The Mexicans were caught between two fires. The Black Bear, with his eye
fixed on the Tigrero, watched his every movement. Suddenly he bounded
forward like a tiger cat, uttering his war yell. The Tigrero fired both
pistols at him and seized him round the waist. The two men rolled on the
ground, intertwined like two serpents, while Don Sylva and the peons
fought desperately with the other Indians.