THE SPY.
It was about eight in the morning when Valentine and Curumilla left
Don Louis. The hunter had passed the whole night without closing an
eye. He felt fatigued: his eyelids, weighed down with sleep, closed
involuntarily. Still he prepared to make the researches his foster
brother had intrusted to him, when Curumilla, noticing his condition,
invited him to take a few hours' rest, remarking that he did not
absolutely want him in following up the trail he had noticed in the
morning, and that he would give him a good account of all he did.
Valentine placed the most entire confidence in Curumilla. Many times,
during the course of their common existence, he had been in a position
to appreciate the sagacity, cleverness, and experience of the chief;
hence he needed but little pressing to consent to his proposition of
going out alone, and after giving him the warmest recommendations, he
wrapped himself up in his cloak, and fell off to sleep at once.
He had enjoyed for about two hours a peaceful and refreshing nap when
he felt a hand gently laid on his shoulder. So light as the touch was,
it was sufficient to arouse the hunter, who, like all men habituated
to prairie life, maintained, if we may use the expression, a sense
of external things even during sleep. He opened his eyes, and looked
fixedly at the man who had come to disturb the rest he was enjoying,
while mentally consigning him to the deuce.
"Well," he said, with the harsh accent of a man aroused at the
pleasantest moment of a dream, "what do you want of me, Don Cornelio?
Could you not select a more favourable moment to talk with me, for I
suppose what you have to say to me is not extremely important?"
Don Cornelio (for it was really that gentleman who awoke Valentine) laid
his finger on his mouth, while looking suspiciously around, as if to
recommend caution to the hunter; then he leant over his ear.
"Pardon me, Don Valentine," he said; "but I believe that the
communication I have to make to you is of the utmost importance."
Valentine sprang up as if moved by a spring, and looked the Spaniard in
the face.
"What is the matter, then?" he asked in a low and concentrated voice,
which, however, had something imperious about it.
"I will tell you in two words. Colonel Florés (whose face, by the way,
does not at all please me) has been doing nothing but prowl round the
mission since the morning, inquiring what has been done and left undone,
gossiping with one or the other, and trying, above all, to discover
the opinion of our men as regards the chief. There was not much harm
in that, perhaps, but, so soon as he saw you were asleep, he learnt
that the count, who was engaged with his correspondence, had given
orders that he should not be disturbed for some hours. Upon this he
pretended, to retire to a half-ruined cabin situated at the outskirts
of the mission; but a few minutes after, when he supposed that no one
was thinking about him, instead of taking a siesta as he had given out,
he slipped away from the hut among the trees like a man afraid of being
surprised, and disappeared in the forest."
"Ah, ah!" Valentine said thoughtfully, "what interest can that man have
in absenting himself so secretly?" Then he added, "Has he been gone
long?"
"Hardly ten minutes."
Valentine rose.
"Remain here," he said. "In case the colonel returns during my absence,
watch him carefully; but do not let him suspect anything. I thank you
for not having hesitated to wake me. The matter is serious."
Then, breaking off the conversation, the hunter quitted Don Cornelio,
and gliding along under the shadow of the ruins, so as to attract
no attention, entered the forest. In the meanwhile, Colonel Florés,
believing Valentine to be asleep, and knowing that the count was
writing, felt no apprehension about being followed. He walked rapidly
toward the river, not taking any trouble to hide his footsteps--an
imprudence by which the hunter profited, and which placed him at once on
the track of the man he was watching.
The colonel soon arrived at the river. The most complete calm prevailed
around; the alligators were wallowing in the mud; the flamingoes were
fishing negligently: all, in a word, evidenced the absence of man.
Still, the colonel had scarce appeared on the bank ere an individual,
hanging by his arms from the branch of a tree, descended to the ground
scarce a couple of paces from him. At this unexpected apparition the
colonel recoiled, stifling a cry of surprise and alarm; but he had not
the time to recover from his emotion ere a second individual leaped in
the same fashion on the sand. Mechanically Don Francisco raised his eyes
to the tree.
"Oh, oh!" the first arrival said with a coarse laugh, "you need not
take the trouble to look up there, Garrucholo; no one is left there."
At the name of Garrucholo the colonel shuddered, and attentively
examined the two men who had presented themselves in so strange
a manner, as they stood motionless before him, and looked at him
derisively. The first of the two was a white man, as could be easily
recognised at the first glance, in spite of his bronzed complexion,
which was almost of the colour of brick. The clothes he wore were
exactly like those of the Indians. This interesting personage was armed
to the teeth, and held a long rifle in his hand. His comrade was a
redskin, painted and armed for war.
"Eh?" the first speaker continued. "I fancy you do not recognise me,
boy. By God, you have a short memory!"
This oath, and, above all, the strong accent with which the man
expressed himself in Spanish, although he spoke that language fluently,
were a ray of light for the colonel.
"El Buitre!" he exclaimed, striking his forehead.
"Come," the other said with a laugh, "I felt certain that you had not
forgotten me, compañero."
This, unexpected meeting was anything but agreeable to the colonel;
still he considered it prudent not to let it be seen.
"By what accident are you here, then?" he asked.
"And you?" the other answered boldly.
"I! My presence is perfectly natural, and easily to be explained."
"And mine too."
"Ah!"
"Hang it! I am here because you are so."
"Hum!" the colonel said, maintaining a reserve. "Explain that to me,
will you?"
"I am quite ready to do so, but the spot is badly selected for talking
Come with me."
"I beg your pardon, Buitre, my friend. We are, as you said yourself, old
acquaintances."
"Which means?"
"That I doubt you excessively."
The bandit began laughing.
"A confidence that honours me," he said, "and of which I am deserving.
Did you find in the mission church the hilt of a dagger with an S
engraved on the pommel?"
"Yes."
"Very good. That hilt signified, I think, that you were to take a walk
in this quarter?"
"It did."
"Well, the persons with whom you must converse are before you. Do you
now understand?"
"Perfectly."
"Then let us have a talk; but as what we have to say only concerns
ourselves, and it is unnecessary to mix up in our business people who
have no concern with it, we will proceed to a spot where we shall have
nothing to fear from indiscreet ears."
"Who the deuce do you expect will surprise you here?"
"No one, probably; but, my esteemed friend, as prudence is the mother of
safety, I have become, since our last parting, extraordinarily prudent."
"I'll go wherever you please."
"Come on."
The three men re-entered the forest.
Valentine followed them pace by pace. They did not go far. On arriving a
certain distance from the river they stopped at the entrance of a large
clearing, in the centre of which rose an enormous block of green rock.
The three men clambered up, and, on reaching the top, lay down at their
ease on a species of platform.
"There!" El Buitre said, "I believe we can talk here in perfect surety."
Valentine was for an instant rather disappointed at this precaution
on the part of the bandits. Still he did not give in. The hunter was
accustomed to see material impossibilities arise before him of the same
nature as in the present case. After a few seconds' reflection he looked
around him with a malicious glance.
"Now to see who is the most cunning," he muttered.
He lay down on the ground. The grass grew tall, green, and close in
the clearing; and Valentine began crawling, with a slow and almost
imperceptible motion, in the direction of the rocks, passing through the
grass without imparting the slightest oscillation to it. After about a
quarter of an hour of this manoeuvre the hunter saw his efforts crowned
with success; for he reached a spot where it was possible for him to
rise, and whence he was enabled to overhear perfectly all that was said
on the platform, while himself remaining invisible.
Unfortunately the time he had employed in gaining his observatory
prevented him hearing what were probably very important matters. At the
moment he began listening El Buitre was the speaker.
"Bah, bah!" he said with that mocking accent peculiar to him, "I answer
for success. Even if the French are devils, each of them is not equal to
two men. Hang it all, let me alone!"
"_Canarios!_ may I be hanged if I interfere at all in this affair! I
have done too much already," the colonel made answer.
"You are always a trembler. How do you expect that men half demoralised,
fatigued by a long journey, can resist the combined and well-directed
attack of my brother's, this Apache chief's, band, supported as they
will be by the eighty scoundrels the Mexican Government has placed at my
disposal for this expedition?"
"I do not know what the French will do; but you will, perhaps, learn
that they are stout fellows."
"All the better--we shall have the more fun."
"Take care not to have too much," El Garrucholo said with a grin.
"Go to the deuce with your observations! Besides, I have a grudge
against their chief, as you know."
"Bah! how can a man like you have a grudge against anyone in particular?
He only has a grudge against riches. Who are your men?"
"_Cívicos_--real bandits--regular game for the gallows. My dear fellow,
they will perform miracles."
"What! cívicos? The idea is glorious--the men whom the hacenderos pay
and support for the purpose of fighting the redskins."
"Good Lord, yes, that is the way of the world. This time they will fight
by the side of the redskins against the whites. The idea is original,
is it not, especially as, for this affair, they will be disguised as
Indians?"
"Better still. And the chief, how many warriors has he with him?"
"I do not know; he will tell you himself."
The chief had remained gloomy and silent during this conversation, and
the colonel now turned toward him with an inquiring glance.
"Mixcoatzin is a powerful chief," the redskin said in his guttural
voice: "two hundred Apache warriors follow his war plume."
El Garrucholo gave a significant whistle.
"Well," he continued, "I maintain what I said."
"What?"
"You will receive an awful thrashing."
El Buitre repressed with difficulty a gesture of ill-temper.
"Enough," he said; "you do not know the Indians. This chief is one of
the bravest sachems of his tribe. His reputation is immense in the
prairies. The warriors placed under his orders are all picked men."
"Very good. Do what you please: I wash my hands of it."
"Can we at least reckon on you?"
"I will execute punctually the orders I received from the general."
"I ask no more."
"Then nothing is changed?"
"Nothing. Always the same hour and the same signal."
"In that case it is useless for us to remain longer together. I will
return to the mission, for I must try to avoid any suspicion."
"Go, and may the demon continue his protection to you!"
"Thanks."
The colonel left the platform. Valentine hesitated a moment, thinking
whether he should follow him; but, after due reflection, he felt
persuaded that all was not finished yet, and that he should probably
still obtain some precious information. El Buitre shrugged his
shoulders, and turning to the Indian chief, who was still impassive,
said,--
"Pride has ruined that man. He was a jolly comrade a few years back."
"What will my brother do now?"
"Not much. I shall remain in hiding here until the sun has run
two-thirds of its course, and then go and rejoin my comrades."
"The chief will retire. His warriors are still far off."
"Very good. Then we shall not meet again till the appointed moment?"
"No. The paleface will attack on the side of the forest, while the
Apaches advance by the river."
"All right! But let us be prudent, for a misunderstanding might prove
fatal. I will draw as near as possible to the mission; but I warn you
that I shall not budge till I hear your signal."
"Wah! my brother will open his ears, and the miawling of the tiger-cat
will warn him that the Apaches have arrived."
"I understand perfectly. One parting remark, chief."
"I listen to the paleface."
"It is clearly understood that the booty will be shared equally between
us?"
The Indian gave a wicked smile.
"Yes," he said.
"No treachery between us, redskin, or, by God! I warn you that I will
flay you alive like a mad dog."
"The palefaces have too long a tongue."
"That is possible; but if you do not wish misfortune to fall on you,
profit by my words."
The Indian only replied by a gesture of contempt: he wrapped himself in
his buffalo robe, and retired slowly.
The bandit looked after him for a moment.
"Miserable dog!" he muttered, "so soon as I can do without you I will
settle your account, be assured."
The Indian had disappeared.
"Hum! what shall I be after now?" El Buitre continued.
Suddenly a man bounded like a jaguar, and, before the bandit could even
understand what was happening, he was firmly garotted, and reduced to a
state of complete powerlessness.
"You do not know what to be after? Well, I will tell you," Valentine
remarked, as he sat down quietly by his side.
The first moment of surprise past, the bandit regained all his coolness
and audacity, and looked impudently at the hunter.
"By God! I do not know you, comrade," he said; "but I must confess you
managed that cleverly."
"You are a connoisseur."
"Slightly so."
"Yes, I am aware of it."
"But you have tied me a little too tightly. Your confounded reata cuts
into my flesh."
"Bah! you will grow used to it."
"Hum!" the bandit remarked. "Did you hear all we said?"
"Nearly all."
"Deuce take me if people can now talk in the desert without having
listeners!"
"What would you? It is a melancholy fact."
"Well, I must put up with it, I suppose. You were saying----"
"I! I did not say a word."
"Ah! I beg your pardon in that case; but I fancied you were
cross-questioning me. You probably did not tie me up like a plug of
tobacco for the mere fun of the thing."
"There is some truth in your observation. I had, I allow, another
object."
"What is it?"
"To enjoy your conversation for a moment."
"You are a thousand times too kind."
"Opportunities for conversing are so rare in the desert."
"That is true."
"So you are on an expedition?"
"Yes, I am: a man must be doing something."
"That is true also. Be good enough to give me a few details."
"About what?"
"Why, this expedition."
"Ah, ah! I should like to do so, but unfortunately that is impossible."
"Only think of that! Why so?"
"I know very little."
"Ah!"
"Yes; and then I am of a very crooked temper. A person need only ask me
to do a thing for me to refuse."
Valentine smiled, and drew his knife, whose dazzling blade emitted a
bluish flash.
"Even if convincing reasons are offered you?"
"I do not know any," the bandit answered with a grin.
"Oh, oh!" Valentine remarked. "Still I hope I shall alter your opinion."
"Try it. Stay!" he added, suddenly changing his tone. "Enough of that
sort of farce. I am in your power--nothing can save me. Kill me--no
matter, I shall not say a word."
The two men exchanged glances of strange expressiveness.
"You are an idiot," Valentine answered coldly; "you understand nothing."
"I understand that you want to know the secrets of the expedition."
"You are a fool, my dear friend. Did I not tell you that I knew all?"
The bandit seemed to reflect for a minute.
"What do you want, then?" he said.
"Merely to buy you."
"Hum! that will be dear."
"You do not say no?"
"I never say no to anything."
"I see you are becoming reasonable."
"Who knows?"
"At how much do you estimate your share of this night's booty?"
El Buitre looked at him as if wishful to read the thoughts in his heart.
"Hang it! that will mount high."
"Yes, especially if you are hung!"
"Oh!"
"Everything must be foreseen in such a business."
"You are right."
"The more so as, if you refuse the bargain I offer you, I will kill you
like a dog."
"That's a chance."
"It is very probable. So take my word, let us bargain. Give me your
figure."
"Fifteen thousand piastres," the bandit exclaimed; "not an ochavo less."
"Pooh!" Valentine said, "that is little."
"Eh?" he remarked in amazement.
"I will give you twenty thousand."
In spite of the bonds that held him the bandit gave a start.
"Done!" he exclaimed; but in a moment added, "Where is the sum?"
"Do you fancy me such a fool as to pay you beforehand?"
"Hang it! I fancy----"
"Nonsense! You are mad, compadre. Now that we understand one another,
let me undo you--that will freshen up your ideas."
He took off the reata. El Buitre rose at once, stamped his foot to
restore the circulation, and then turning to the hunter, who stood
watching him laughingly, with his hands crossed on the muzzle of his
rifle, said,--
"At least you have some security to give me?"
"Yes, and an excellent one."
"What?"
"The word of an honest man."
The bandit made a gesture; but Valentine continued, not seeming to
notice it,--
"I am the man whom the whites and Indians have surnamed the
'Trail-hunter.' My name is Valentine Guillois."
"What!" El Buitre exclaimed with strange emotion, "are you really the
Trail-hunter?"
"I am," Valentine answered simply.
El Buitre walked up and down the platform hastily, muttering in a
low voice broken sentences, and evidently a prey to intense emotion.
Suddenly he stopped before the hunter.
"I accept," he said hurriedly.
"Tomorrow you shall receive your money."
"I will none of it."
"What do you mean?"
"Valentine, allow me to remain master of my secret for a few days; I
will then explain my conduct to you. Though I am a bandit, every feeling
is not yet dead in my heart; there is one which has remained pure, and
that is gratitude. Trust to me. Henceforth you will not have a more
devoted slave, either for good or evil."
"Your accent is not that of a man who has the intention of deceiving. I
trust to you, asking no explanation of your sudden change of feeling."
"At a later date you shall know all, I tell you; and now that we are
alone, explain to me your plan in all its details, in order that I may
help you effectively."
"Yes," Valentine said, "time presses."
The two men remained alone for about two hours discussing the hunter's
plan, and when all was settled they separated--Valentine to return to
the mission, and El Buitre to rejoin his companions, who were concealed
a short distance off.