CHAPTER XXI
THE SURPRISE
So soon as the emotion caused by Don Pablo's prowess was calmed they began thinking about returning. The sun was rapidly descending in the horizon: the whole day had been spent with the exciting incidents of the chase. The Hacienda de la Noria was nearly ten leagues distant: it was, therefore, urgent to start as speedily as possible, unless the party wished to run the risk of bivouacking in the open air.
The men would easily have put up with this slight annoyance, which, in a climate like that of New Mexico, and at this season of the year, has nothing painful about it; but they had ladies with them. Left one or two leagues in the rear, they must feel alarmed by the absence of the hunters – an absence which, as so frequently happens when out hunting, had been protracted far beyond all expectation.
Don Miguel gave the vaqueros orders to brand the captured horses with his cipher; and the whole party then returned, laughing and singing, in the direction of the tents where the ladies had been left. The vaqueros who had served as beaters during the day remained behind to guard the horses.
In these countries, where there is scarce any twilight, night succeeds the day almost without transition. As soon as the sun had set the hunters found themselves in complete darkness; for, as the sun descended on the horizon, the shade invaded the sky in equal proportions, and, at the moment when the day planet disappeared, the night was complete. The desert, hitherto silent, seemed to wake up all at once: the birds, stupefied by the heat, commenced a formidable concert, in which joined at intervals, from the inaccessible depths of the forest, the snapping of the carcajous and the barking of the coyotes mingled with the hoarse howling of the wild beasts that had left their dens to come down and drink in the river.
Then gradually the cries, the songs, and the howling ceased, and nothing was audible save the hurried footfalls of the hunters' horses on the pebbles of the road. A solemn silence seemed to brood over this abrupt and primitive scenery. At intervals the green tufts of the trees and the tall grass bowed slowly with a prolonged rustling of leaves and branches, as if a mysterious breath passed over them, and compelled them to bend their heads. There was something at once striking and terrible in the imposing appearance offered by the prairie at this hour of the night, beneath this sky studded with brilliant stars, which sparkled like emeralds, in the presence of this sublime immensity, which only suffered one voice to be heard – that of Deity.
The young and enthusiastic man to whom it is given to be present at such a spectacle feels a thrill run over all his body: he experiences an undefinable feeling of happiness and extraordinary pleasure on looking round him at the desert, whose unexplored depths conceal from him so many secrets, and display to him Divine Majesty in all its grandeur and omnipotence. Many a time during our adventurous journeys on the American continent, when marching at hazard during these lovely nights so full of charms, which nothing can make those comprehend who have not experienced them, we have yielded to the soft emotions that overcame us. Isolating and absorbing ourselves within ourselves, we, have fallen into a state of beatitude, from which nothing had the power of drawing us.
The hunters so gay and talkative at the start, had yielded to this omnipotent influence of the desert, and advanced rapidly and silently, only exchanging a few syllables at lengthened intervals. The profoundest calm still continued to reign over the desert; and while, owing to the astonishing transparency of the atmosphere, the eye could embrace a horizon, nothing suspicious was visible.
The fireflies buzzed carelessly round the top of the grass, and the flickering fires burning before the tents to which the hunters were bound could be already seen about half a league ahead. At a signal from Don Miguel the party, which had, up to the present, only trotted, set out at a long canter; for each felt anxious to leave a scene which, in the darkness, had assumed a sinister aspect.
They thus arrived within a hundred yards of the fires, whose ruddy glow was reflected on the distant trees, when suddenly a fearful yell crossed the air, and from behind every bush out started an Indian horseman brandishing his weapons, and making his horse curvet round the white men, while uttering his war cry. The Mexicans, taken unawares, were surrounded ere they sufficiently recovered from their stupor to think about employing their weapons. At a glance Don Miguel judged the position: it was a critical one. The hunters were at the most but twenty: the number of Comanche warriors surrounding them was at least three hundred.
The Comanches and Apaches are the most implacable foes of the white race. In their periodical invasions of the frontiers they hardly ever make any prisoners: they mercilessly kill all who fall into their hands. Still the Mexicans rallied. Certain of the fate that awaited them, they were resolved to sell their lives dearly. There was a moment of supreme expectation before the commencement of the deadly combat, when suddenly an Indian galloped out of the ranks of the warriors, and rode within three paces of the little band of Mexicans. On arriving there he stopped, and waved his buffalo robe in sign of peace. The governor of the provinces prepared to speak.
"Let me carry on the negotiations," Don Miguel said. "I know the Indians better than you do, and perhaps I shall succeed in getting out of this awkward position."
"Do so," the governor answered.
General Ibañez was the only one who had remained calm and impassive since the surprise: he did not make a move to seize his weapons; on the contrary, he crossed his arms carelessly on his chest, and took a mocking glance at his comrades as he hummed a seguidilla between his teeth. Don Pablo had placed himself by his father's side, ready to defend him at the peril of his life. The Indian chief took the word.
"Let the palefaces listen," he said; "an Indian sachem is about to speak."
"We have no time to spare in listening to the insidious words which you are preparing to say to us," Don Miguel replied in a haughty voice. "Withdraw, and do not obstinately bar our passage, or there will be blood spilt."
"The palefaces will have brought it on themselves," the Comanche answered in a gentle voice. "The Indians mean no harm to the pale warriors."
"Why, then, this sudden attack? The chief is mad. We do not let ourselves be so easily deceived as he seems to suppose: we know very well that he wants our scalps."
"No; Unicorn wishes to make a bargain with the palefaces."
"Come, chief, explain yourself; perhaps your intentions are as you describe them. I do not wish to reproach myself with having refused to listen to you."
The Indian smiled.
"Good!" he said. "The great white chief is becoming reasonable. Let him listen, then, to the words Unicorn will pronounce."
"Go on, chief; my comrades and myself are listening."
"The palefaces are thieving dogs," the chief said in a rough voice; "they carry on a continual war with the redskins, and buy their scalps as if they were peltry; but the Comanches are magnanimous warriors, who disdain to avenge themselves. The squaws of the white men are in their power: they will restore them."
At these words a shudder of terror ran along the ranks of the hunters; their courage failed them; they had only one desire left – that of saving those who had so wretchedly fallen into the hands of these bloodthirsty men.
"On what conditions will the Comanches restore their prisoners?" Don Miguel asked, whose heart was contracted at the thought of his daughter, who was also a prisoner. He secretly cursed Valentine, whose fatal advice was the sole cause of the frightful evil that assailed him at this moment.
"The palefaces," the chief continued, "will dismount and arrange themselves in a line. Unicorn will choose from among his enemies those whom he thinks proper to carry off as prisoners; the rest will be free, and all the women restored."
"Those conditions are harsh, chief. Can you not modify them?"
"A chief has only one word. Do the palefaces consent?"
"Let us consult together for a few moments at any rate."
"Good! Let the white men consult. Unicorn grants them ten minutes," the chief made answer.
And turning his horse, he went back to his men. Don Miguel then addressed his friends.
"Well; what do you think of what has occurred?"
The Mexicans were terrified: still they were compelled to allow that the conduct of the Indians was extraordinary, and that they had never before evinced such lenity. Now that reflection had followed on the first feeling of excitement, they understood that a struggle against enemies so numerous was insensate, and could only result in rendering their position worse than it was before, and that the chiefs conditions, harsh as they were, offered at least some chance of safety for a portion of them, and the ladies would be saved.
This last and all powerful consideration decided them. Don Miguel had no occasion to convince them of the necessity of submission. Whatever struggle it cost them, they dismounted and arranged themselves in a line, as the chief had demanded, Don Miguel and his son placing themselves at the head.
Unicorn, with that cool courage characteristic of the Indians, then advanced alone toward the Mexicans, who still held their weapons, and who, impelled by their despair, and at the risk of being all massacred, would have sacrificed him to their vengeance. The chief had also dismounted. With his hands crossed on his back, and frowning brow, he now commenced his inspection.
Many a heart contracted at his approach, for a question of life and death was being decided for these hapless men: only the perspective of the atrocious tortures which menaced the ladies could have made them consent to this humiliating and degrading condition. The Unicorn, however, was generous: he only selected eight of the Mexicans, and the rest received permission to mount their horses, and leave the fatal circle that begirt them. Still, by a strange accident, or a premeditation of which the reason escaped them, these, eight prisoners – among whom were the governor, General Isturitz, and the criminal judge, Don Luciano Pérez – were the most important personages in the party, and the members of the Provincial Government.
It was not without surprise that Don Miguel observed this; the Comanches, however, faithfully fulfilled their compact, and the ladies were at once set at liberty. They had been treated with the greatest respect by the Indians, who had surprised their camp, and seized them almost in the same way as they had done the hunters – that is to say, the camp was invaded simultaneously on all sides. It was a matter worthy of remark in an Indian ambuscade that not a drop of blood had been spilt.
After the moments given up to the happiness of seeing his daughter again safe and sound, Don Miguel resolved to make a last attempt with Unicorn in favour of the unhappy men who remained in his hands. The chief listened with deference, and let him speak without interruption; then he replied with a smile whose expression the hacendero tried in vain to explain, —
"My father has Indian blood in his veins; the redskins love him: never will they do him the slightest injury. Unicorn would like to restore him immediately the prisoners, for whom he cares very little; but that is impossible. My father himself would speedily regret Unicorn's obedience to his Wish; but, in order to prove to my father how much the chief desires to do a thing that will be agreeable to him, the prisoners will not be ill-treated, and will be let off with a few days' annoyance. Unicorn consents to accept a ransom for them, instead of making them slaves. My father can himself tell them this good news."
"Thanks, chief," Don Miguel answered. "The nobility of your character touches my heart: I shall not forget it. Be persuaded that, under all circumstances, I shall be happy to prove to you how grateful I am."
The chief bowed gracefully and withdrew, in order to give the hacendero liberty to communicate with his companions. The latter were seated sadly on the ground, gloomy and downcast. Don Miguel repeated to them the conversation he had held with Unicorn, and the promise he had made with respect to them. This restored them all their courage; and, with the most affectionate words and marks of the liveliest joy, they thanked the hacendero for the attempt he had made in their favour.
In fact, thanks to the promise of liberating them for a ransom at the end of a week, and treating them well during the period of their captivity, there was nothing so very terrifying about the prospect; and it was one of those thousand annoyances to which men are exposed by accident, but whose proportions had been so reduced in their eyes, that, with the carelessness which forms the staple of the national character, they were the first to laugh at their mishap.
Don Miguel, however, was anxious to retire; so he took leave of his companions, and rejoined the chief. The latter repeated his assurances that the prisoners should be free within a week, if they consented each to pay a ransom of one thousand piastres, which was a trifle. He assured the hacendero that he was at liberty to withdraw whenever he pleased, and he should not oppose his departure.
Don Miguel did not allow the invitation to be repeated. His friends and himself immediately mounted their horses, together with the ladies, who were placed in the centre of the detachment; and after taking leave of Unicorn, the Mexicans dug their spurs into their horses, and started at a gallop, glad to have got off so cheaply. The campfires were soon left far behind them, and General Ibañez then approached his friend, and bending down to his ear, whispered, —
"Don Miguel, can the Comanches be our allies? I fancy that they have this night given a bold push to the success of our enterprise."
This thought, like a ray of light, had already crossed the hacendero's brain several times.
"I do not know," he said with a clever smile; "but at any rate, my dear general, they are very adroit foes."
The little band continued to advance rapidly toward the hacienda, which was now no great distance, and which they hoped to reach before sunrise. The events we have described had occurred in less than an hour.
CHAPTER XXII
THE MEETING
"By Jove!" General Ibañez said, "it must be confessed that these red devils have done us an immense service without suspecting it. It might be said, deuce take me, that they acted under a knowledge of facts. This Unicorn, as the chief is called, is a precious man in certain circumstances. I am anxious to cultivate his acquaintance, for no one knows what may happen. It is often good to have so intelligent a friend as him at hand."
"You are always jesting, general. When will you be serious for once?" Don Miguel said with a smile.
"What would you have, my friend? We are at this moment staking our heads in a desperate game, so let us at any rate keep our gaiety. If we are conquered, it will be time enough then to be sad, and make bitter reflections about the instability of human affairs."
"Yes, your philosophy is not without a certain dose of fatalism, which renders it more valuable to me. I am happy to see you in this good temper, especially at a moment when we are preparing to play our last card."
"All is not desperate yet, and I have a secret foreboding, on the contrary, that all is for the best. Our friend the Trail-hunter, I feel convinced, has something to do, if not all, with what has happened to us."
"Do you believe it?" Don Miguel asked quickly.
"I am certain of it. You know as well as I do these Indios Bravos, and the implacable hatred they have vowed against us. The war they wage with us is atrocious; and for them to be suddenly changed from wolves into lambs requires some powerful motive to make them act thus. People do not lay aside in a moment a hatred which has endured for ages. The Comanches, by the choice they made, know the importance of the prisoners they have seized. How is it that they consent so easily to give them up for a trifling ransom? There is some inexplicable mystery in all this."
"Which is very easy to explain though," a laughing voice interrupted from behind the shrubs.
The two Mexicans started, and checked their horses. A man leaped from a thicket, and suddenly appeared in the centre of the track the little band of hunters was following. The latter, believing in a fresh attack and treachery on the part of the Comanches, seized their weapons.
"Stop!" Don Miguel said sharply, "the man is alone. Let me speak with him."
Each waited with his hand on his weapon.
"Hold!" Don Miguel continued, addressing the stranger, who stood motionless, carelessly resting on his gun. "Who are you, my master?"
"Do you not recognise me, Don Miguel? and must I really tell you my name?" the stranger answered with a laugh.
"The Trail-hunter!" Don Miguel exclaimed.
"Himself," Valentine continued. "Hang it all! You take a long time to recognise your friends."
"You will forgive us when you know all that has happened to us, and how much we must keep on our guard."
"Confound it!" Valentine said laughingly, as he regulated his pace by the trot of the horses, "do you fancy you are going to tell me any news? Did you not really suspect from what quarter the blow came?"
"What!" Don Miguel exclaimed in surprise, "did you – "
"Who else but I? Do you think the Spaniards are such friends of the Indians that the latter would treat them so kindly when meeting them face to face in the desert?"
"I was sure of it," General Ibañez affirmed. "I guessed it at the first moment."
"Good heavens! Nothing was more simple. Your position, through Red Cedar's treachery, was most critical. I wished to give you the time to turn round by removing, for a few days, the obstacles that prevented the success of your plans. I have succeeded, I fancy."
"You could not have managed better," exclaimed the general.
"Oh!" Don Miguel said with a reproachful accent, "why did you hide it from me?"
"For a very simple reason, my friend. I wished that in these circumstances your will and conscience should be free."
"But – "
"Let me finish. Had I told you of my plan, it is certain that you would have opposed it. You are a man of honor, Don Miguel: your heart is most loyal."
"My friend – "
"Answer me. Had I explained to you the plan I formed, what would you have done?"
"Well – "
"Answer frankly."
"I should have refused."
"I was sure of it. Why would you have done so? Because you would never have consented to violate the laws of hospitality, and betray enemies you sheltered beneath your roof, though you knew all the while that these men, on leaving you, would have considered it their duty to seize you, and that they watched your every movement while sitting by your side, and eating at your table. Is it not so?"
"It is true; my honor as a gentleman would have revolted. I could not have suffered such horrible treachery to be carried out under my very eyes."
"There! You see that I acted wisely in saying nothing to you. In that way your honor is protected, your conscience easy, and I have in the most simple fashion freed you for some days from your enemies."
"That is true; still – "
"What? Have the prisoners to complain of the way in which they have been treated?"
"Not at all; on the contrary, the Comanches, and Unicorn in particular, treated them most kindly."
"All is for the best, then. You must congratulate yourself on the unexpected success you have achieved, and must now profit by it without delay."
"I intend to do so."
"You must act at once."
"I ask nothing better. All is ready. Our men are warned, and they will rise at the first signal."
"It must be given immediately."
"I only ask the time to leave my daughter at the hacienda; then accompanied by my friends, I will march on Paso, while General Ibañez, at the head of a second band, seizes Santa Fe."
"The plan is well conceived. Can you count on the persons who follow you?"
"Yes; they are all my relatives or friends."
"All for the best. Let us not go further. We are here at the place where the roads part; let your horses breathe awhile, and I will tell you a plan I have formed, and which, I think, will please you."
The small party halted. The horsemen dismounted, and lay down on the grass. As all knew of the conspiracy formed by Don Miguel, and were his accomplices in different degrees, this halt did not surprise them, for they suspected that the moment for action was not far off, and that their chief doubtless wished to take his final measures before throwing off the mask, and proclaiming the independence of New Mexico. On inviting them to hunt the wild horses, Don Miguel had not concealed from them Red Cedar's treachery, and the necessity in which he found himself of dealing a great blow, if he did not wish all to be hopelessly lost.
Valentine led the hacendero and the general a short distance apart. When they were out of ear-shot the hunter carefully examined the neighbourhood; then within a few minutes rejoined his friends, whom his way of acting considerably perplexed.
"Caballeros," he said to them, "what do you intend doing? In our position minutes are ages. Are you ready to make your pronunciamento?"
"Yes," they answered.
"This is what I propose. You, Don Miguel, will proceed direct on Paso. At about half a league from that town you will find Curumilla, with twenty of the best rifles on the frontier. These men, in whom you can trust, are Canadian and Indian hunters devoted to me. They will form the nucleus of a band sufficient for you to seize on Paso without striking a blow, as it is only defended by a garrison of forty soldiers. Does that plan suit you?"
"Yes; I will set about it at once. But my daughter?"
"I will take charge of her. You will also leave me your son, and I will convey them both to the hacienda. As for the other ladies, on reaching the town, they will merely go to their homes, which I fancy, presents no difficulty."
"None."
"Good! Then that is settled?"
"Perfectly."
"As for you, general, your men have been échelonned by my care in parties of ten and twenty along the Santa Fe road, up to two leagues of the city, so that you will only have to pick them up. In this way you will find yourself, within three hours, at the head of five hundred resolute and well-armed men."
"Why, Valentine, my friend," the general said laughingly, "do you know there is the stuff in you to make a partisan chief, and that I am almost jealous of you."
"Oh! that would be wrong, general: I assure you I am most disinterested in the affair."
"Well, my friend, I know it: you are a free desert hunter, caring very little for our paltry schemes."
"That is true; but I have vowed to Don Miguel and his family a friendship which will terminate with my life. I tremble for him and his children when I think of the numberless dangers that surround him, and I try to aid him as far as my experience and activity permit me. That is the secret of my conduct."
"This profession of faith was at least useless, my friend. I have known you too intimately and too long to doubt your intentions. Hence, you see, I place such confidence in you, that I accept your ideas without discussion, so convinced am I of the purity of your intentions."
"Thanks, Don Miguel; you have judged me correctly. Come, gentlemen, to horse, and start. We must separate here – you, Don Miguel, to proceed by the right-hand track to Paso; you, general, by the left hand one to Santa Fe; while I, with Don Pablo and his sister proceed straight on till we reach the Hacienda de la Noria."
"To horse, then!" the hacendero shouted resolutely; "And may God defend the right!"
"Yes," the general added; "for from this moment the revolution is commenced."
The three men returned to their friends. Don Miguel said a few words to his children, and in an instant the whole party were in the saddle.
"The die is cast!" Valentine exclaimed. "May Heaven keep you, gentlemen!"
"Forward!" Don Miguel commanded.
"Forward!" General Ibañez shouted, as he rushed in the opposite direction.
Valentine looked after his departing friends. Their black outlines were soon blended with the darkness, and then the footfalls of their horses died out in the night. Valentine gave a sigh and raised his head.
"God will protect them," he murmured; then turning to the two young people, "Come on, children," he said.
They started, and for some minutes kept silence. Valentine was too busy in thought to address his companions; and yet Doña Clara and Don Pablo, whose curiosity was excited to the highest pitch, were burning to question him. At length the girl, by whose side the hunter marched with that quick step which easily keeps up with a horse, bent down to him.
"My friend," she said to him in her soft voice, "what is taking place? Why has my father left us, instead of coming to his house?"
"Yes," Don Pablo added, "he seemed agitated when he parted from us. His voice was stern, his words sharp. What is happening, my friend? Why did not my father consent to my accompanying him?"
Valentine hesitated to answer.
"I implore you, my friend," Doña Clara continued, "do not leave us in this mortal anxiety. The announcement of a misfortune would certainly cause us less pain than the perplexity in which we are."
"Why force me to speak, my children?" the hunter answered in a saddened voice. "The secret you ask of me is not mine. If your father did not impart his plans to you, it was doubtless because weighty reasons oppose it. Do not force me to render you more sorrowful by telling you things you ought not to know."
"But I am not a child," Don Pablo exclaimed. "It seems tome that my father ought not to have thus held his confidence from me."
"Do not accuse your father, my friend," Valentine answered gravely: "probably he could not have acted otherwise."
"Valentine, Valentine! I will not accept those poor reasons," the young man urged. "In the name of our friendship I insist on your explaining yourself."
"Silence!" the hunter suddenly interrupted him. "I hear suspicious sounds around us."
The three travellers stopped and listened, but all was quiet. The hacienda was about five hundred yards at the most from the spot where they halted. Don Pablo and Doña Clara heard nothing, but Valentine made them a sign to remain quiet; then he dismounted and placed his ear to the ground.
"Follow me," he said. "Something is happening here which I cannot make out; but it alarms me."
The young people obeyed without hesitation; but they had only gone a few paces when Valentine stopped again.
"Are your weapons loaded?" he sharply asked Don Pablo.
"Yes."
"Good! Perhaps you will have to make use of them."
All at once the gallop of a horse urged to its utmost speed was audible.
"Attention!" Valentine muttered.
Still the horseman, whoever he might be, rapidly advanced in the direction of the travellers, and soon came up to them. Suddenly Valentine bounded like a panther, seized the horse by the bridle and stopped it dead.
"Who are you, and where are you going?" he shouted, as he put a pistol barrel against the stranger's chest.
"Heaven be praised!" the latter said, not replying to the question. "Perhaps I shall be able to save you. Fly, fly, in all haste!"
"Father Seraphin!" Valentine said with stupor, as he lowered his pistol. "What has happened?"
"Fly, fly!" the missionary repeated, who seemed a prey to the most profound terror.