"Poor child!" said he, seeing that I was awake; "she is dreaming, and a
troubled dream it is. I have half a mind to wake her out of it."
"She needs rest," I replied.
"Ay, if that be rest. Listen! again `Dacoma.'"
"It is the name of the captive chief."
"Ay; they were to have been married according to their laws."
"But how did you learn this?"
"From Rube: he heard it while he was a prisoner at the town."
"And did she love him, do you think?"
"No. It appears not. She had been adopted as the daughter of the
medicine chief, and Dacoma claimed her for a wife. On certain
conditions she was to have been given to him; but she feared, not loved
him, as her words now testify. Poor child! a wayward fate has been
hers."
"In two journeys more her sufferings will be over. She will be restored
to her home, to her mother."
"Ah! if she should remain thus it will break the heart of my poor
Adele."
"Fear not, my friend. Time will restore her memory. I think I have
heard of a parallel circumstance among the frontier settlements of the
Mississippi."
"Oh! true, there have been many. We will hope for the best."
"Once in her home the objects that surrounded her in her younger days
may strike a chord in her recollection. She may yet remember all. May
she not?"
"Hope! Hope!"
"At all events, the companionship of her mother and sister will soon win
her from the thoughts of savage life. Fear not! She will be your
daughter again."
I urged these ideas for the purpose of giving consolation. Seguin made
no reply; but I saw that the painful and anxious expression still
remained clouding his features.
My own heart was not without its heaviness. A dark foreboding began to
creep into it from some undefined cause. Were his thoughts in communion
with mine?
"How long," I asked, "before we can reach your house on the Del Norte?"
I scarce knew why I was prompted to put this question. Some fear that
we were still in peril from the pursuing foe?
"The day after to-morrow," he replied, "by the evening. Heaven grant we
may find them safe!"
I started as the words issued from his lips. They had brought pain in
an instant. This was the true cause of my undefined forebodings.
"You have fears?" I inquired, hastily.
"I have."
"Of what? of whom?"
"The Navajoes."
"The Navajoes!"
"Yes. My mind has not been easy since I saw them go eastward from the
Pinon. I cannot understand why they did so, unless they meditated an
attack on some settlements that lie on the old Llanos' trail. If not
that, my fears are that they have made a descent on the valley of El
Paso, perhaps on the town itself. One thing may have prevented them
from attacking the town: the separation of Dacoma's party, which would
leave them too weak for that; but still the more danger to the small
settlements both north and south of it."
The uneasiness I had hitherto felt arose from an expression which Seguin
had dropped at the Pinon spring. My mind had dwelt upon it, from time
to time, during our desert journeyings; but as he did not speak of it
afterwards, I thought that he had not attached so much importance to it.
I had reasoned wrongly.
"It is just probable," continued the chief, "that the Passenos may
defend themselves. They have done so heretofore with more spirit than
any of the other settlements, and hence their long exemption from being
plundered. Partly that, and partly because our band has protected their
neighbourhood for a length of time, which the savages well know. It is
to be hoped that the fear of meeting with us will prevent them from
coming into the Jornada north of the town. If so, ours have escaped."
"God grant," I faltered, "that it may be thus!"
"Let us sleep," added Seguin. "Perhaps our apprehensions are idle, and
they can benefit nothing. To-morrow we shall march forward without
halt, if our animals can bear it. Go to rest, my friend; you have not
much time."
So saying, he laid his head in his saddle, and composed himself to
sleep. In a short while, as if by an act of volition, he appeared to be
in a profound slumber.
With me it was different. Sleep was banished from my eyes, and I tossed
about, with a throbbing pulse and a brain filled with fearful fancies.
The very reaction from the bright dreams in which I had just been
indulging rendered my apprehensions painfully active. I began to
imagine scenes that might be enacting at that very moment: my betrothed
struggling in the arms of some savage; for these southern Indians, I
knew, possessed none of the chivalrous delicacy that characterise the
red men of the "forest."
I fancied her carried into a rude captivity; becoming the squaw of some
brutal brave; and with the agony of the thought I rose to my feet and
rushed out upon the prairie.
Half-frantic, I wandered, not heeding whither I went. I must have
walked for hours, but I took no note of the time.
I strayed back upon the edge of the barranca. The moon was shining
brightly, but the grim chasm, yawning away into the earth at my feet,
lay buried in silence and darkness. My eye could not pierce its
fathomless gloom.
I saw the camp and the caballada far above me on the bank; but my
strength was exhausted, and, giving way to my weariness, I sank down
upon the very brink of the abyss. The keen torture that had hitherto
sustained me was followed by a feeling of utter lassitude. Sleep
conquered agony, and I slept.