CHAPTER XVII
EL CAÑON DEL BUITRE
We will now return to the hacendero, who, accompanied by his two friends, is galloping at full speed in the direction of Valentine's jacal. The road the three men followed led them further and further from the Paso del Norte. Around them nature grew more abrupt, the scenery sterner. They had left the forest, and were galloping over a wide and arid plain. On each side of the way the trees, becoming rarer, defiled like a legion of phantoms. They crossed several tributary streams of the Del Norte, in which their horses were immersed up to the chest.
At length they entered a ravine deeply imbedded between two wooded hills, the soil of which, composed of large flat stones and rounded pebbles, proved that this spot was one of those desaguaderos which serve to carry off the waters in the rainy season. They had reached the Cañon del Buitre, so named on account of the numerous vultures constantly perched on the tops of the surrounding hills.
The defile was deserted, and Valentine had his cabin not far from this spot. So soon as the three men had dismounted, Curumilla took the horses and led them to the jacal.
"Follow me," Valentine said to Don Miguel.
The latter obeyed, and the two men began then climbing the escarped flanks of the right hand hill. The climb was rude, for no road was traced; but the two hunters, long accustomed to force a passage through the most impracticable places, seemed hardly to perceive the difficulty of the ascent, which would have been impossible for men less used to a desert life.
"This spot is really delicious," Valentine said with the complacent simplicity of a landowner who boasts of his estate. "If it were day, Don Miguel, you would enjoy from this spot a magnificent view. A few hundred yards from the place where we are, down there on that hill to the right, are the ruins of an ancient Aztec camp in a very fine state of preservation. Just imagine that this hill, carved by human hands, though you cannot see it in the darkness, is of the shape of a pyramidal cone: its base is triangular, the sides are covered with masonry, and it is divided into several terraces. The platform is about ninety yards long by seventy-five in width, and is surrounded on three sides by a platform, and flanked by a bastion on the north. You see that it is a perfect fortress, constructed according to all the rules of military art. On the platform are the remains of a species of small teocali, about twenty feet high, composed of large stones covered with hieroglyphics sculptured in relief, representing weapons, monsters, rabbits, crocodiles, and all sorts of things; for instance, men seated in the oriental fashion, and wearing spectacles. Is not that really curious? This little monument, which has no staircase, doubtless served as the last refuge to the besieged when they were too closely beleaguered by the enemy."
"It is astonishing," Don Miguel answered, "that I never heard of these ruins."
"Who knows them? Nobody. However, they bear a considerable likeness to those found at Jochicalco."
"Where are you leading me, my friend? Are you aware that the road is not one of the pleasantest, and I am beginning to feel tired?"
"A little patience: in ten minutes we shall arrive. I am leading you to a natural grotto which I discovered a short time back. It is admirable. It is probable that the Spaniards were unacquainted with it, although the Indians, to my knowledge, have visited it from time immemorial. The Apaches imagine it serves as a palace to the genius of the mountain. At any rate, I was so struck by its beauty that I abandoned my jacal, and converted it into my residence. Its extent is immense. I am certain, though I never tried to convince myself, that it goes for more than ten leagues under ground. I will not allude to the stalactites that hang from the roof, and form the quaintest and most curious designs; but the thing that struck me is this: this grotto is divided into an infinite number of chambers, some of them containing pools in which swim immense numbers of blind fish."
"Blind fish! You are jesting, my friend," Don Miguel exclaimed, and stopped.
"I am wrong: blind is not the word I should have employed, for these fish have no eyes."
"What! No eyes?"
"None at all; but that does not prevent them being very dainty food."
"That is strange."
"Is it not? But stay – we have arrived."
In fact, they found themselves in front of a gloomy, gaping orifice, about ten feet high by eight wide.
"Let me do the honours of my mansion," Valentine said.
"Do so, my friend."
The two men entered the grotto: the hunter struck a match, and lit a torch of candlewood. The fairy picture which suddenly rose before Don Miguel drew from him a cry of admiration. There was an indescribable confusion: here a gothic chapel, with its graceful soaring pillars; further on, obelisks, cones, trunks of trees covered with moss and acanthus leaves, hollow stalactites of a cylindrical form, drawn together and ranged side by side like the pipes of an organ, and yielding to the slightest touch varied metallic sounds which completed the illusion. Then, in the immeasurable depths of these cavernous halls, at times formidable sounds arose, which, returned by the echoes, rolled along the sides of the grotto like peals of thunder.
"Oh, it is grand, it is grand!" Don Miguel exclaimed, struck with fear and respect at the sight.
"Does not man," Valentine answered, "feel very small and miserable before these sublime creations of nature, which God has scattered here as if in sport? Oh, my friend! It is only in the desert that we understand the grandeur and infinite omnipotence of the Supreme Being; for at every step man finds himself face to face with Him who placed him on this earth, and traces the mark of His mighty finger engraved in an indelible manner on everything that presents itself to his sight."
"Yes," Don Miguel said, who had suddenly become thoughtful, "it is only in the desert that a man learns to know, love, and fear God, for He is everywhere."
"Come," said Valentine.
He led his friend to a hall of not more than twenty square feet, the vault of which, however, was more than a hundred yards above them. In this hall a fire was lighted. The two men sat down on the ground and waited, while thinking deeply. After a few moments the sound of footsteps was audible, and the Mexican quickly raised his head. Valentine did not stir, for he had recognised his friend's tread. In fact, within a moment the Indian chief appeared.
"Well?" Valentine asked him.
"Nothing yet," Curumilla laconically answered.
"They are late, I fancy," Don Miguel observed.
"No," the chief continued, "it is hardly half past eleven: we are before our time."
"But will they find us here?"
"They know we shall await them in this hall."
After these few words each fell back into his thoughts. The silence was only troubled by the mysterious sounds of the grotto, which re-echoed nearly at equal intervals with an horrific din. A long period elapsed. All at once, ere any sensible noise had warned Don Miguel, Valentine raised his head with a hurried movement.
"Here they are," he said.
"You are mistaken, my friend," Don Miguel observed; "I heard nothing."
The hunter smiled.
"If you had spent," he said, "like we have, ten years in the desert, interrogating the mysterious voices of the night, your ear would be habituated to the vague rumours and sighs of nature which have no meaning to you at this moment, but which have all a significance for me, and, so to speak, a voice every note of which I understand, and you would not say I was mistaken. Ask the chief: you will hear his answer."
"Two men are climbing the hill at this moment," Curumilla answered sententiously. "They are an Indian and a white man."
"How can you recognise the distinction?"
"Very easily," Valentine responded with a smile. "The Indian wears moccasins, which touch the ground without producing any other sound than a species of friction: the step is sure and unhesitating, as taken by a man accustomed to walk in the desert, and only put down his foot firmly: the white man wears high-heeled boots, which at each step produce a distinct and loud sound; the spurs fastened to his boots give out a continuous metallic clink; the step is awkward and timid; at each moment a stone or crumble of earth rolls away under the foot, which is only put down hesitatingly. It is easy to see that the man thus walking is accustomed to a horse, and does not know the use of his feet. Stay! They are now entering the grotto: you will soon hear the signal."
At this moment the bark of the coyote was raised thrice at equal intervals. Valentine answered by a similar cry.
"Well, was I mistaken?" he said.
"I know not what to think, my friend. What astonishes me most is that you heard them so long before they arrived."
"The ground of this cave is an excellent conductor of sound," the hunter answered simply: "that is all the mystery."
"The devil!" Don Miguel could not refrain from saying; "You neglect nothing, I fancy."
"If a man wants to live in the desert he must neglect nothing: the smallest things have their importance, and an observation carefully made may often save a man's life."
While these few words were being exchanged between the two friends the noise of footsteps was heard drawing nearer and nearer. Two men appeared: one was Eagle-wing, the Chief of the Coras; the second, General Ibañez.
The general was a man of about thirty-five, tall and well-built, with a delicate and intelligent face. His manners were graceful and noble. He bowed cordially to the hacendero and Valentine, squeezed Curumilla's hand, and fell down in a sitting posture by the fire.
"Ouf!" he said, "I am done, gentlemen. I have just ridden an awful distance. My poor horse is foundered, and to recover myself I made an ascent, during which I thought twenty times I must break down; and that would have infallibly happened, had not friend Eagle-wing charitably come to my aid. I must confess that these Indians climb like real cats: we gente de razón3 are worth nothing for that trade."
"At length you have arrived, my friend," Don Miguel answered. "Heaven be praised! I was anxious to see you."
"For my part I confess that my impatience was equally lively, especially since I learned the treachery of that scoundrelly Red Cedar. That humbug of a Wood sent him to me with so warm a recommendation that, in spite of all my prudence, I let myself be taken in, and nearly told him all our secrets. Unfortunately, the little I did let him know is sufficient to have us shot a hundred times like vulgar conspirators of no consequence."
"Do not feel alarmed, my friend. After what. Valentine told me today, we have, perchance, a way of foiling the tricks of the infamous spy who has denounced us."
"May Heaven grant it! But nothing will remove my impression that Wood has something to do with what has happened to us. I always doubted that American, who is cold as an iceberg, sour as a glass of lemonade, and methodical as a Quaker. What good is to be expected from these men, who covet the possession of our territory, and who, unable to take it from us at one lump, tear it away in parcels?"
"Who knows, my friend? Perhaps you are right. Unfortunately, what is done cannot be helped, and our retrospective recriminations will do us no good."
"That is true; but, as you know, man is the same everywhere. When he has committed a folly he is happy to find a scapegoat on which he can lay the iniquities with which he reproaches himself. That is slightly my case at this moment."
"Do not take more blame on yourself, my friend, than you deserve; I guarantee your integrity and the loyalty of your sentiments. Whatever may happen, be persuaded that I will always do you justice, and, if needed, defend you against all."
"Thanks, Don Miguel. What you say causes me pleasure and reconciles me with myself. I needed the assurance you give me in order to regain some slight courage, and not let myself be completely crushed by the unforeseen blow which threatens to overthrow our hopes at the very moment when we expected to find them realised."
"Come, come, gentlemen," Valentine said, "the time is slipping away, and we have none to waste. Let us seek to find the means by which to repair the check we have suffered. If you permit me I will submit to your approval a plan which, I believe, combines all the desirable chances of success, and will turn in our favour the very treachery to which we have fallen victims."
"Speak, speak, my friend!" the two men exclaimed, as they prepared to listen.
Valentine took the word.
Literally, "men of reason" – a graceful expression the whites employ to distinguish themselves from the Indians, whom they affect to consider brute beasts, and to whom they do not even grant a soul.
CHAPTER XVIII
FATHER SERAPHIN
"Gentlemen," said Valentine, "this is what I propose. The treachery of Red Cedar, in surrendering to the Government the secret of your conspiracy, places you in a critical position, from which you cannot escape save by violent measures. You are between life and death. You have no alternative save victory or defeat. The powder is fired, the ground is mined under your feet, and an explosion is imminent. Well, then, pick up the glove treachery throws to you – accept frankly the position offered you. Do not wait till you are attacked, but commence the contest. Remember the vulgar adage, which is perfectly true in politics, and specially in revolution – that 'the first blow is half the battle.' Your enemies will be terrified by your boldness – dashed by this uprising which they are far from expecting, especially now, when they imagine they hold in their hands all the threads of the conspiracy – an error which makes them put faith in the revelations of a common spy, and will ruin them if you act with skill – above all, with promptitude. All depends on the first blow. It must be terrible, and terrify them: if not, you are lost."
"All that is true; but we lack time," General Ibañez observed.
"Time is never lacking when a man knows how to employ it properly," Valentine answered peremptorily. "I repeat, you must be beforehand with your adversaries."
At this moment the sound of footsteps was heard under the vault of the cave. The most extreme silence at once reigned in the chamber where the five conspirators were assembled. Mechanically each sought his weapons. The steps rapidly approached, and a man appeared in the entrance of the hall. On seeing him all present uttered a cry of joy and rose respectfully, repeating, "Father Seraphin!"
The man advanced smiling, bowed gracefully, and answered in a gentle and melodious voice, which went straight to the soul, —
"Take your places again, gentlemen, I beg of you. I should be truly vexed if I caused you any disturbance. Permit me only to sit down for a few moments by your side."
They hastened to make room for him. Let us say in a few words who this person was, whose unexpected arrival caused so much pleasure to the people assembled in the grotto.
Father Seraphin was a man of twenty-four at the most, although the fatigues he supported, the harsh labours he had imposed on himself, and which he fulfilled with more than apostolic abnegation, had left numerous traces on his face, with its delicate features, its gentle and firm expression, imprinted with a sublime melancholy, rendered even more touching by the beam of ineffable goodness which escaped from his large, blue and thoughtful eyes. His whole person, however, exhaled a perfume of youth and health which disguised his age, as to which a superficial observer might have been easily deceived.
Father Seraphin was a Frenchman, and belonged to the order of the Lazarists. For five years he had been traversing as an indefatigable missionary, with no other weapon than his staff, the unexplored solitudes of Texas and New Mexico, preaching the gospel to the Indians, while caring nothing for the terrible privations and nameless sufferings he incessantly endured, and the death constantly suspended over his head.
Father Seraphin was one of those numerous soldiers, ignored martyrs of the army of faith, who, making a shield of the Gospel, spread at the peril of their lives the word of God in those barbarous countries, and die heroically, falling bravely on their battlefield, worn out by the painful exigencies of their sublime mission, aged at thirty, but having gained over a few souls to the truth, and shed light among the ignorant masses.
The abnegation and devotion of these modest men, yet so great in heart, are too much despised in France, where however, the greater number of these martyrs are recruited. Their sacrifices pass unnoticed; for, owing to the false knowledge possessed of beyond-sea countries, people are far from suspecting the continual struggles they have to sustain against a deadly climate. And who would credit it? The most obstinate adversaries they meet with in the accomplishment of their mission are not among the Indians, who always nearly welcome them with respect, if not joy, but among the men whom their labours benefit, and who ought to aid and protect them with all their might. There is no vexation or humiliation which they do not endure from the agents of Mexico and the American Union, to try and disgust and compel them to abandon the arena in which they combat so nobly.
Father Seraphin had gained the friendship and respect of all those with whom accident had brought him into contact. Charmed with meeting a fellow countryman in the midst of those vast solitudes so distant from that France he never hoped to see again, he had attached himself closely to Valentine, to whom he vowed a deep and sincere affection. For the same motives, the hunter, who admired the greatness of character of this priest so full of true religion, felt himself drawn to him by an irresistible liking. They had frequently taken long journeys together, the hunter guiding his friend to the Indian tribes across the desolate regions of Apacheria.
So soon as Father Seraphin had taken his place near the fire, Eagle-wing and Curumilla hastened to offer him all those slight services which they fancied might be agreeable to him, and offered him a few lumps of roast venison with maize tortillas. The missionary gladly gratified the two chiefs, and accepted their offerings.
"It is a long time since we saw you, father," the hacendero said. "You neglect us. My daughter asked me about you only two days ago, for she is anxious to see you."
"Doña Clara is an angel who does not require me," the missionary replied gently. "I have spent nearly two months with the Comanche tribe of the Tortoise. Those poor Indians claim all my care. They are thirsting for the Divine Word."
"Are you satisfied with your journey?"
"Sufficiently so, for these men are not such as they are represented to us. Their instincts are noble, and, as their primitive nature is not adulterated by contact with the vicious civilization that surrounds them, they easily understood what is explained to them."
"Do you reckon on staying long among us?"
"Yes; this last journey has fatigued me extremely. My health is in a deplorable state, and I absolutely need a few days' rest in order to regain the requisite strength to continue my ministry."
"Well, father, come with me to the hacienda; you will remain with us, and make us all truly happy."
"I am going to make that request to you, Don Miguel. I am delighted that you have thus met my wishes. If I accept your obliging offer, it is because I know I shall not incommode you."
"On the contrary, we shall be delighted to have you among us."
"Ah! I know the goodness of your heart."
"Do not make me better than I am, father: there is a spice of egotism in what I am doing."
"How so?"
"Hang it! By labouring at the education of the Indians you render an immense service to the race I have the honor of belonging to; for I, too, am an Indian."
"That is true," the priest answered with a laugh. "Come, I absolve you from the sin of egotism, in favour of the intention which makes you commit it."
"Father," Valentine then said, "is the game plentiful in the desert just at present?"
"Yes, there is a great deal: the buffaloes have come down from the mountains in herds – the elks, the deer, and the antelopes swarm."
Valentine rubbed his hands.
"It will be a good season," he said.
"Yes, for you. As for myself, I have no cause of complaint, for the Indians have been most attentive to me."
"All the better. I ever tremble when I know you are among those red devils. I do not say that of the Comanches, who are warriors I esteem, and have always displayed the sincerest affection for you; but I have a terrible fear lest those villains of Apaches may play you a wicked trick some fine day."
"Why entertain such ideas, my friend?"
"They are correct. You cannot imagine what treacherous and cruel cowards those Apache thieves are. I know them, and carry their marks; but do not frighten yourself. If ever they ventured on any extremities against you, I know the road to their villages: there is not a nook in the desert which I have not thoroughly explored. It is not for nothing I have received the name of the 'Trail-hunter.' I swear to you I will not leave them a scalp."
"Valentine, you know I do not like to hear you speak so. The Indians are poor ignorant men, who know not what they do, and must be pardoned for the evil they commit."
"All right – all right!" the hunter growled. "You have your ideas on that score, and I mine."
"Yes," the missionary replied with a smile, "but I believe mine be better."
"It is possible. You know I do not discuss that subject with you; for I do not know how you do it, but you always succeed in proving to me that I am wrong."
Everybody laughed at this sally.
"And what are the Indians doing at this moment?" Valentine continued. "Are they still fighting?"
"No; I succeeded in bringing Unicorn, the principal chief of the Comanches, and Stanapat (the Handful of Blood), the Apache sachem, to an interview, at which peace was sworn."
"Hum!" Valentine said incredulously, "that peace will not last long, for Unicorn has too many reasons to owe the Apaches a grudge."
"Nothing leads to the supposition, at present, that your forebodings will be speedily realised."
"Why so?"
"Because, when I left Unicorn, he was preparing for a grand buffalo hunt, in which five hundred picked warriors were to take part."
"Ah, ah! and where do you think the hunt will take place, father?"
"I know for a certainty, because, when I left Unicorn, he begged me to invite you to it, as he knew I should see you shortly."
"I willingly accept, for a buffalo hunt always had great attractions for me."
"You will not have far to go to find Unicorn, for he is scarce ten leagues from this place."
"The hunt will take place, then, in the neighbourhood?"
"The meeting-place is Yellowstone Plain."
"I shall not fail to be there, father. Ah! I am delighted, more than you can suppose, at the happy news you have brought me."
"All the better, my friend. Now, gentlemen, I will ask you to excuse me; for I feel so broken with fatigue that, with your permission, I will go and take a few hours' rest."
"I was a fool not to think of it before," Valentine exclaimed with vexation as he struck his forehead. "Pardon me, father."
"I thought for my brother," said Curumilla. "If my father will follow me all is ready."
The missionary thanked him with a smile and rose, bowed to all present, and supported by Eagle-wing, he followed Curumilla into another chamber of the grotto. Father Seraphin found a bed of dry leaves covered with bear skins, and a fire so arranged as to burn all night. The two Indians retired after bowing respectfully to the father, and assuring themselves that he needed nothing more.
After kneeling on the ground of the grotto Father Seraphin laid himself on his bed of leaves, crossed his arms on his chest, and fell into that childlike sleep which only the just enjoy. After his departure Valentine bent over to his two friends.
"All is saved," he said in a low voice.
"How? Explain yourself," they eagerly answered.
"Listen to me. You will spend the night here; at daybreak you will start for the Hacienda de la Noria, accompanied by Father Seraphin."
"Good! What next?"
"General Ibañez will proceed, as from you, to the governor, and invite him to a grand hunt of wild horses, to take place in three days."
"I do not understand what you are driving at."
"That is not necessary at this moment. Let me guide you; but, above all, arrange it so that all the authorities of the town accept your invitation and are present at the hunt."
"That I take on myself."
"Very good. You, general, will collect all the men you can, so that they can support you on a given signal, but hide themselves so that no one can suspect their presence."
"Very good," Don Miguel answered; "all shall be done as you recommend. But where will you be all this while?"'
"You know very well," he answered with a smile of undefinable meaning. "I shall be hunting the buffalo with my friend Unicorn, the great chief of the Comanches."
Hastily breaking off the interview, the hunter wrapped himself in his buffalo robe, stretched himself before the fire, closed his eyes, and slept, or feigned to sleep. After a few minutes' hesitation his friend imitated his example, and the grotto became calm and silent as on the day of the creation.