CHAPTER XI.
IN THE FOREST.
Red Cedar, carried a long distance from the battlefield by the furiousgalloping of his steed, which he had no longer the strength to control,went on straight ahead, not knowing what direction he was following. Inthis man, hitherto so firm, and who possessed so energetic a will, thethoughts were overclouded as if by enchantment: the loss of blood, therepeated jolts his horse gave him, had plunged him into a state ofinsensibility. Had he not been so securely fastened to his saddle, hewould have fallen from it twenty times.
He went on with hanging arms, body bent over his horse's neck, and eyeshalf closed, hardly conscious of what happened to him, or trying todiscover. Shaken to the right, shaken to the left, he watched withunmeaning eye the trees and rocks fly past on either side: no longerthinking, but living in a horrible dream, a prey to the strangest andwildest hallucinations. Night succeeded to day: his horse continued itsjourney, bounding like a frightened jaguar over the obstacles thatopposed it, followed by a pack of howling coyotes, and seeking in vainto get rid of the inert weight that oppressed it.
At length the horse stumbled in the darkness, and fell to the ground,uttering a plaintive neigh. Up to this moment Red Cedar hadpreserved--we will not say a complete and clear knowledge of theposition in which he was--but at any rate a certain consciousness of thelife that still dwelt in him. When his exhausted horse fell, the banditfelt a sharp pain in his head, and that was all; he fainted away whilestammering an imprecation, the last protest of the villain, who, to thelast moment, denied the existence of that God who smote him.
When he re-opened his eyes, under the impression of an indefinablefeeling of comfort, the sun was shining through the tufted branches ofthe forest trees, and the birds, concealed beneath the green foliage,were singing their joyous concerts. Red Cedar gave vent to a sigh ofrelief, and looked languidly around him; his horse was lying dead a fewpaces from him. He was seated against the trunk of a tree, while Ellen,kneeling by his side, was anxiously following the progress of his returnto life.
"Oh, oh," the bandit muttered hoarsely, "I am still alive then."
"Yes, thanks to God, father," Ellen answered softly.
The bandit looked at her.
"God!" he said, as if speaking to himself; "God!" he added with anironical smile.
"He it was who saved you, father," the girl said.
"Child!" Red Cedar muttered, as he passed his left hand over hisforehead; "God is only a word, never utter it again."
Ellen drooped her head; but with the feeling of life pain returned.
"Oh! How I suffer," he said.
"You are dangerously wounded, father. Alas! I have done what I can torelieve you; but I am only a poor ignorant girl, and perhaps what I haveattempted was not the right treatment."
Red Cedar turned to her, and an expression of tenderness flashed in hiseyes.
"You love me, then?" he said.
"Is it not my duty to do so, father?"
The bandit made no reply; the smile we know played round his Violetlips.
"Alas! I have been seeking you a long time, father; this night chanceenabled me to find you again."
"Yes, you are a good girl, Ellen. I have only you left now. I know notwhat has become of my sons. Oh," he said with a start of fury, "thatwretch Ambrosio is the cause of all; had it not been for him, I shouldstill be at the Paso del Norte, in the forests of which I had mademyself master."
"Think no more of that, father; your condition demands the greatestcalmness; try and sleep for some hours--that will do you good."
"Sleep," the bandit said, "can I sleep? No," he added with a movement ofrepulsion, "I would sooner keep awake; when my eyes are closed, Isee.... No, no, I must not sleep."
He did not finish his sentence. Ellen gazed on him with pity, mingledwith terror. The bandit, weakened by the loss of blood and the feverproduced by his wounds, felt something to which he had hitherto been astranger--it was fear. Perhaps his conscience evoked the gnawing remorseof his crimes.
There was a lengthened silence. Ellen attentively followed the bandit'smovements, whom the fever plunged into a species of somnolency, and whoat times started with inarticulate cries, and looking around him interror. Toward evening, he opened his eyes, and seemed to grow stronger:his eyes were less haggard, his words more connected.
"Thanks, child," he said, "you are a good creature; where are we?"
"I do not know, father; this forest is immense. I tell you, again, itwas God who guided me to you."
"No, you are mistaken, Ellen," he replied with that sarcastic smilepeculiar to him; "it was not God who brought you here, but the demon,who feared the loss of so good a friend as I am."
"Speak not so, father," the girl said sadly; "the night is rapidlysetting in darkness will soon surround us; let me on the contrary, prayto Heaven to keep far from us the perils that threaten us during thenight."
"Child! Does a night in the woods frighten you so, when your whole lifehas been spent in the desert? Light a fire of dry wood to keep the wildbeasts at bay, and place my pistols near me, these precautions will bebetter, believe me, than your useless prayers."
"Do not blaspheme," the girl said hurriedly; "you are wounded, almostdying; I am weak, and incapable of helping you effectually. Our life isin the hands of Him whose power you deny in vain. He alone, if He will,can save us."
The bandit burst into a dry and snapping laugh.
"Let Him do so then, in the demon's name, and I will believe in Him."
"Father, in Heaven's name, speak not so," the maiden murmured in sorrow.
"Do what I tell you, you little fool," the squatter interrupted herbrutally, "and leave me in peace."
Ellen turned to wipe away the tears this harsh language forced from her,and rose sorrowfully to obey Red Cedar, who looked after her.
"Come, you goose," he said to her again, "I did not intend to hurt yourfeelings."
The girl then collected all the dry branches she could find, which shemade into a pile and kindled. The wood soon began cracking, and a longand bright flame rose to the sky. She then took from his holsters thesquatter's still loaded pistols, placed them within reach of his arm,and then seated herself again by his side. Red Cedar smiled hissatisfaction.
"There," he said, "now we have nothing more to fear; if the wild beastspay us a visit, we will receive them; we will pass the night quietly. Asfor the morrow, well, we shall see."
Ellen, without replying, wrapped him up as well as she could in theblankets and hides that were on the horse, in order to protect him fromthe cold. So much attention and self-denial affected the bandit.
"And you, Ellen," he asked her; "will you not keep a few of these skinsfor yourself?"
"Why should I, father? The fire will be enough for me," she said gently.
"But, at any rate, eat something, you must be hungry; for, if I am notmistaken, you have had nothing the whole day."
"That is true, father, but I am not hungry."
"No matter," he said, pressing her, "too long a fast may be injurious toyou; I insist on your eating."
"It is useless, father," she said with some hesitation.
"Eat, I say," he went on, "if not for your sake, for mine; eat amouthful to restore your strength, for we know what awaits us in thenext few hours."
"Alas! I would readily obey you," she said, letting her eyes sink; "butit is impossible."
"And why so, pray? When I tell you that I insist."
"Because I have nothing to eat."
These words crushed the bandit like the blow of a club.
"Oh, it is frightful," he muttered; "poor girl, pardon me Ellen, I am avillain, unworthy of such devotion as yours."
"Calm yourself, father, I implore you; I am not hungry, a night is soonpassed, and tomorrow, as you said, we shall see; but before then, I amconvinced God will come to our aid."
"God!" the squatter exclaimed, gnashing his teeth.
"God, ever God, father," the girl answered, with spark
ling eye andtrembling lip; "God, ever; for, however unworthy we may be of His pity;He is merciful, and perhaps will not abandon us."
"Build then on him, fool as you are, and you will be dead in two days."
"No," she exclaimed, joyfully, "for He has heard me, and sends us help."
The bandit looked and fell back on the ground, closing his eyes, andmuttering in a hollow voice the words which for some time past hadconstantly risen from his heart to his lips, and involuntarily masteredhim.
"God! Can He exist?"
A terrible question which he incessantly asked himself, and to which hisobstinate conscience was beginning to respond, for the granite coatingof his heart was beginning to crumble away beneath the repeated blows ofremorse. But Ellen did not notice Red Cedar's state of prostration, shehad risen and rushed forward, with outstretched arms, crying as loudlyas her voice permitted her--"Help, help!"
The young girl had fancied she heard, for some minutes past, a peculiarrustling in the foliage. This noise, at first remote and almostunnoticeable, had rapidly approached; soon lights had glistened throughthe trees, and the footsteps of a numerous party had distinctly smittenher ear. In fact, she had scarce gone a dozen yards, ere she foundherself in the presence of a dozen mounted Indians, holding torches, andescorting two persons wrapped in long cloaks.
"Help! Help!" Ellen repeated, as she fell on her knees, withoutstretched arms.
The horsemen stopped; one of them dismounted, and ran to the girl, whomhe took by the hands, and forced to rise.
"Help for whom, my poor girl?" he asked her in a soft voice.
On hearing the stranger's accent so full of tenderness, she felt hopereturning to her heart.
"Oh!" she murmured with joy; "my father is saved."
"Our life is in the hands of God," the stranger said, with emotion;"but lead me to your father, and all a man can do to help him, I will."
"It is God who sends you, bless you, my father!" the maiden said, as shekissed his hand.
In the movement he had made to raise her, the stranger's cloak flewopen, and the girl had recognised a priest.
"Let us go," he said.
"Come!"
The girl ran joyously forward, and the little party followed her.
"Father, father," she exclaimed, as she came near the wounded man, "Iwas certain that Heaven would not abandon us; I bring you succour."
At this moment the strangers entered the clearing where the bandit lay.The Indians and the other travellers remained some paces in the rear,while the priest, quickly approached Red Cedar, over whom he bent. Athis daughter's words the bandit opened his eyes, and turned his headwith an effort in the direction whence this unexpected help arrived.Suddenly his face, before so pale, was covered with a cadaverous tinge;his eyes were enlarged and became haggard, a convulsive quiver agitatedhis limbs, and he fell heavily back, muttering with terror--
"Oh! Father Seraphin!"
It was really the missionary; without appearing to remark the squatter'semotion, he seized his arm in order to feel his pulse. Red Cedar hadfainted, but Ellen had heard the words he uttered, and though she couldnot understand their meaning, she guessed that a terrible drama wasconcealed beneath this revelation.
"My father!" she exclaimed mournfully, as she fell at the priest'sknees, "My father, have pity on him, do not desert him!"
The missionary smiled with an expression of ineffable goodness.
"Daughter," he answered gently, "I am a minister of God, and the dress Iwear commands me to forget insults. Priests have no enemies, all men aretheir brothers; reassure yourself, your father has not only his body tobe saved, but also, his soul. I will undertake this cure, and God, whopermitted me to take this road, will give me the necessary strength tosucceed."
"Oh, thanks, thanks, holy father," the girl murmured, as she burst intotears.
"Do not thank me, poor girl; address your thanks to God, for He alonehas done all. Now leave me to attend to this unhappy man, who issuffering, and whose miserable state claims all my care."
And gently removing the maiden, Father Seraphin opened his medicine box,which he took from the pommel of his saddle, and prepared to dress hispatient's wounds. In the meanwhile the Indians had gradually approached,and seeing the state of affairs, they dismounted to prepare theencampment, for they foresaw that, with Red Cedar in his presentcondition, the missionary would pass the night at this spot.
The person who accompanied Father Seraphin was a female of very advancedage, but whose features, ennobled by years, had a far from commonexpression of kindness and grandeur. When she saw that the missionarywas preparing to dress the wounds, she went up to him and said in a softvoice--
"Can I not help you in any way, holy father? You know that I am anxiousto begin my apprenticeship in nursing."
These words were uttered with an accent of indescribable goodness. Thepriest looked at her with a sublime expression, and, taking her hand, hemade her stoop over the wounded man.
"Heaven has decreed that what now happens should take place," he said toher; "you have hardly landed in this country, and entered the desert toseek your son, when the Omnipotent imposes on you a task which mustrejoice your heart by bringing you face to face with this man."
"What do you mean, father?" she said with amazement.
"Mother of Valentine Guillois," he continued, with an accent full ofsupreme majesty, "look at this man well, so as to be able to recognisehim hereafter; it is Red Cedar, the wretch of whom I have so oftenspoken to you, the implacable foe of your son."
At this terrible revelation the poor woman gave a start of fear; butsurmounting with a superhuman effort the feeling of revulsion she had atfirst experienced, she answered in a calm voice--
"No matter, father, the man suffers, and I will nurse him."
"Good, Madam," the priest said, with emotion; "Heaven will give youcredit for this evangelic abnegation."