CHAPTER XXIV.
THE CAMP IN THE MOUNTAINS.
On leaving the jacal, Red Cedar proceeded towards the mountains. Thesquatter was one of those old hands to whom all the tracks of the desertare known. From the few words uttered by Father Seraphin, and the hastehe had shown in coming to warn him, Red Cedar understood that this timethe final contest was about to begin, without truce or pity, in whichhis enemies would employ all their knowledge and skill to finish withhim once for all.
He had been fortunate enough to reach the Sierra de los Comanches soonenough to be able, to efface his trail. During a month he and Valentinehad carried on one of those incredible campaigns of skill and boldnessin which each employed every scheme his fertile mind suggested todeceive his adversary.
As frequently happens under such circumstances, Red Cedar, who at theoutset only accepted unwillingly the struggle into which he was forced,had gradually felt his old wood ranger instincts aroused. His pride hadbeen excited, for he knew he had to deal with Valentine, that is to say,the cleverest hunter on the prairie, and he had consequently displayed adegree of skill that surprised himself, in order to prove to histerrible adversary that he was not unworthy of him.
For a whole month the two had been unsuccessfully manoeuvring within acircle of less than ten leagues, constantly turning round one another,and often only separated by a screen of foliage, or a ravine. But thiscontest must have an end sooner or later, Red Cedar felt, and being nolonger sustained by the same passions which formerly served as themotive of all his actions, despondency was beginning to seize upon him,the more so, because physical pain had been recently joined to his moralsufferings, and threatened to deal him the final blow. Let us see inwhat condition Red Cedar was at the moment when the exigencies of ourstory compel us to return to him.
It was about eight o'clock in the evening; three men and a girl,assembled round a scanty fire of _bois de vache_, were warmingthemselves, and, at times, casting a dull glance at the gloomy gorges ofthe surrounding mountains. These four persons were Nathan, Sutter, FrayAmbrosio, and Ellen.
The spot where they found themselves was one of those narrow ravines,the bed of dried torrents, so many of which are met with in the Sierrade los Comanches. On the flanks of the ravine was a thick chaparral, thecommencement of a gloomy virgin forest, from the mysterious depths ofwhich could be heard at intervals the lengthened howling and roar ofwild beasts.
The situation of the fugitives was most critical, and even desperate.Shut up for a month amid these arid mountains, tracked on all sides,they had hitherto only escaped their persecutors through the immensesacrifices and the prodigious craft displayed by Red Cedar. The pursuithad been so active, that, being constantly on the point of beingsurprised by their enemies, they did not dare kill the few head of gamethey came across. A shot, by revealing the direction in which they were,would have been sufficient to betray them.
In the meanwhile, the scanty stock of food they had brought with themfrom the jacal, in spite of their saving, had been consumed, and hunger,but before all, thirst, was beginning to be felt. Of all the scourgesthat afflict hapless travellers, thirst is indubitably the mostterrible. Hunger may be endured during a certain length of time, withoutexcessive suffering, especially at the end of a few days; but thirstoccasions atrocious pain, which, after a while, produces a species offurious madness; the palate is parched, the throat is on fire, the eyesare suffused with blood, and the wretched man, a prey to a horribledelirium, which makes him see the desired water everywhere, at lengthdies in atrocious agony, which nothing can calm.
When their provisions were exhausted, they were compelled to procureothers; but in the mountains that was almost impossible, as thefugitives were deprived of their freedom of action. For a few days theycontinued to support life on roots, and small birds caught in a snare;but unfortunately, the cold became daily sharper, and the birds withdrewto warmer regions; hence they were deprived of this resource.
The little water remaining was by common agreement reserved for Ellen.The maiden declined to accept this sacrifice, but thirst grew upon herwith every moment, and, overcome by the entreaties of her companions,she eventually accepted it. The others found no other way of quenchingthe thirst that devoured them, than slitting the ears of their horsesand drinking the blood as it ran. Next, they killed a horse, for thepoor brutes found no more food than did their masters. The roasted fleshof this horse enabled them to pass a few days: in short, all four horseswere eaten one after the other.
Now, nothing was left the adventurers, and for two days they had nothingto eat. Hence they maintained a mournful silence, exchanging sternglances, and plunging deeper and deeper into sinister reflections.
They felt their senses gradually leaving them and madness seizing onthem; they felt the moment approaching when they would be no longermasters of their reason, and become the prey of the fearful calenture,which already pressed their temples as in a vice, and made the moststartling images glitter before their fever-dried eyes.
It was a heart-breaking sight to see these three men, round the expiringfire, in this stern desert, lying without strength and almost withoutcourage by the side of the maiden, who, with clasped hands and downcasteyes, prayed in a low voice.
Time passed; the wind howled mournfully in the quebradas; the moon, halfveiled by a mass of vapour, only emitted at intervals its pallid rays,which fantastically illumined the scene of desolation, whose sinistersilence was only disturbed by a suppressed oath or a groan drawn forthby pain. Ellen raised her head, and looked compassionately at hercompanions.
"Courage," she murmured in her gentle voice, "courage, brothers! Godcannot abandon us thus."
A nervous groan was the only reply she obtained.
"Alas!" she continued, "Instead of, then yielding to despair, why notpray, brothers? It gives strength and restores hope."
"Will it quench the thirst that parches my throat?" the monk asked,brutally, as he rose with an effort on his elbow and gave her a furiousglance.
"Silence! You foolish child, if you have no other help than your sillywords to give us."
"Silence, villain!" Sutter interrupted him with a groan, "Do not insultmy sister; she alone may perchance save us; for if God have pity on us,it will be for her sake."
"Ah!" the monk said, with a hideous grin, "Now you believe in God, mymaster. You must fancy yourself very near death to be so frightened?God! You poor fool, rejoice that there is none, instead of calling onHim for help; for if He really existed, He would have crushed you longago."
"Well said, monk," Nathan remarked. "Come, let us have peace. If we areto die here like the dogs we are, let us die, at any rate, pleasantly.That is not asking too much I suppose?"
"Oh, how I suffer!" Sutter muttered, as he rolled wildly on the ground.
Ellen got up, gently approached her; brother, and putting to his lipsthe mouth of the skin, in which a little water yet remained, she badehim drink. The young man made a movement as if to seize the skin; but atthe same instant he repulsed it, shaking his head in refusal.
"No," he replied, mournfully, "keep that, sister; you would give me yourlife."
"Drink, I insist," she said, authoritatively.
"No," he answered firmly, "that would be cowardly. I am a man, sister; Ican suffer."
Ellen understood that her entreaties would be useless, for she knew thesuperstitious affection her brothers bore her; hence she returned to thefire. She sat down, took three buffalo-horn cups, which she filled withwater, and placed before her; then she took a sharp pointed knife, andturning to the three men, who were anxiously watching her, she said--
"Here is water, drink. I swear that if you do not instantly obey me, Iwill slit the skin in which the little stock of water is left; all willthen be lost, and I shall suffer the same pains as you do."
The men made no answer, but looked at each other.
"For the last time, will you drink or not?" she cried, as she placed thepoint of the knife on the skin.
"Stay
," the monk shouted, as he rose and rushed towards her. "Demonios!She would do as she said."
And seizing a cup, he emptied it at a draught, his companions followinghis example. This mouthful of water--for the cups were verysmall--sufficed, however to calm their irritation--the fire that burnedthem was extinguished, they breathed more easily, and gave vent to agrunt of satisfaction, as they fell back on the ground. An angelic smilelit up the maiden's radiant face.
"You see," she said, "all is not lost yet."
"Come, come, Nina," the monk remarked, tranquilly, "why lull us withfoolish hopes? The drop of water you have given us can only check oursufferings for a little while; within an hour our thirst will be moreardent and terrible than ever."
"Do you know what Heaven may reserve for you between this and then?" sheasked, softly. "A respite, however short it may be, is in your positioneverything; all depends for you, not on the present moment, but on thecoming one."
"Good, good! We'll not dispute after the service you have rendered us,Nina; still, everything seems to prove you wrong."
"How so?"
"Why, Caspita, what I say is very easy to understand; without goingfurther, your father, who pledged his word never to desert us--"
"Well?"
"Where is he? Since daybreak he has left us to go--the deuce alone knowswhere? Night has long set in, and, and as you see, he has not returned."
"What does that prove?"
"_Canarios!_ That he has gone away, that is all."
"Do you believe it, senor?"
"I am sure of it, Nina."
Ellen gave a contemptuous look.
"Senor," she haughtily answered, "you do not know my father if youconsider him capable of such cowardice."
"Hum! In our position he would almost have an excuse for doing so."
"He might have done so, perhaps," she went on, quickly, "if he had noother comrade but yourself, caballero; but he would leave his childrenhere, and he is not the man to abandon them when in danger."
"That is true," the monk said, with humility; "I did not think of that,so forgive me. Still, you will permit me to remark that it is anextraordinary thing your father has not yet returned?"
"Well, senor," the maiden said, warmly, "although you are so ready toaccuse a friend, who has constantly offered you the most unequivocalproofs of his unknown devotion, how do you know that he is not delayedby his desire to save us?"
"Well spoken, by Heaven!" a rough voice said; "Thank you, my daughter."
The adventurers turned with an involuntary start; at this moment thebushes were parted by a firm hand, a heavy step sounded on the pebbles,and Red Cedar appeared, bearing a doe on his shoulder. On reaching thelight of the fire he stopped, threw his burden the ground, and lookedsarcastically around him.
"Oh, oh," he said, with a grin, "it seems that I have arrived just intime, senor Padre. _Viva Dios!_ you were giving me a fine character inmy absence; is that the way in which you understand Christian charity,gossip? Cristo! I do not compliment you on it, if that be the case."
The monk, startled by the sudden appearance and rough address, found noanswer, so Red Cedar went on:
"By Jove! I am a better fellow than yourself, for I bring you food, andit was not without difficulty that I succeeded in killing thatconfounded animal, I can tell you. But now look sharp and roast ajoint."
Sutter and Nathan had not waited for their father's orders, but hadalready begun skinning the doe.
"Hilloh!" Nathan remarked, "to roast this meat, we must enlarge ourfire; and how about our pursuers?"
"It is a risk to run," Red Cedar replied; "settle among ourselves if youwill incur it."
"What is your opinion?" the monk asked.
"It is a matter of perfect indifference to me; but I wish you tounderstand one thing, once for all, as I am intimately convinced that weshall fall into the hands of our pursuers, I care very little whether ithappen today or in a week's time."
"Confusion! You are not at all encouraging, gossip," Fray Ambrosioexclaimed. "Have you lost your courage too, or discovered any suspicioustrail?"
"My courage never fails me; I know very well the fate reserved for me,and hence my mind is made up. As for suspicious signs, as you say, a manmust be blind not to see them."
"Then there is no hope," the three men said, with ill-disguised terror.
"On my honour I do not think there is; but," he added, with a mockingaccent, "why do you not roast the meat? You must be almost dead ofhunger."
"That is true; but what you tell us has taken away our appetite," FrayAmbrosio remarked, sadly.
Ellen rose, approached the squatter, and laying her hand softly on hisshoulder, placed her charming face close to his. Red Cedar smiled.
"What do you want, my girl?" he asked her.
"I wish, father," she said, in a coaxing voice, "that you should saveus."
"Save you, poor child," he said, as he shook his head gravely, "I amafraid that is impossible."
"Then," she continued, "you will let us fall into the hands of ourenemies?"
The squatter shuddered.
"Oh! Do not say that, Ellen," he replied, hoarsely.
"Still, my father, as you cannot help us to escape--"
Red Cedar passed the back of his hard hand over his dark forehead.
"Listen," he said presently, "there is perhaps one way--"
"What is it?" the three men said, eagerly, as they collected round him.
"It is very precarious, dangerous, and probably will not succeed."
"Tell it us for all that," the monk pressed him.
"Yes, yes--speak father," Ellen urged him.
"You desire it?"
"Yes, yes."
"Very well, then, listen to me attentively, for the means I am about topropose, strange as they may at first appear to you, offer a chance ofsuccess, which, in our desperate situation, must not be despised."
"Speak, pray speak!" the monk said impatiently.
Red Cedar looked at him with a grin.
"You are in a precious hurry," he said; "perhaps you will not be sopresently."