CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE PURSUIT.
It was about two p.m. on the day after the battle. Twenty men wereencamped in a clearing some ten or twelve miles at the most from theRio Grande del Norte; with the exception of three or four of them, whowere attired like Mexican campesinos, the rest appeared to be huntersor wood rangers. The majority were lying asleep on the grass at thefoot of the trees, with their heads in the shade and their feet in thesun. Their horses, hobbled and ready to be mounted, were eating theirration of Indian corn spread on woollen blankets, laid on the ground infront of them. Several sentries, leaning on their rifles, watched overthe common safety.
A little apart was a group composed of four or five persons, seatedon buffalo skins. These persons, whom our readers are well acquaintedwith, were the Count de Melgosa, Don Anibal de Saldibar, Don AurelioGutierrez, and Moonshine. Don Anibal, with his elbows on his kneesand his head in his hands, seemed suffering from profound sorrow.The count was looking at him sadly. The Canadian was philosophicallysmoking his Indian pipe, while at times taking a commiserating look atthe hacendero. As for Don Aurelio, he was yawning as if going to puthis jaw out, with his back carelessly resting against a tree, his armsfolded, and his legs stretched out.
We will now explain to the reader why these persons were collected atthis spot. To do so we will go back a little way, and return to thecanyon in which the fate of Mexico was decided. The first momentsfollowing a victory are always devoted by the victors to joy anddelirium, order and discipline no longer exist. Men congratulate eachother and run backwards and forwards, singing, laughing, and forgettingall the perils and agony of the struggle. But when minds began to calm,and reason regains its sway, reflection comes, and the sanguinarydetails of the battle appear in all their horror.
General Don Pelagio Sandoval after giving quarter to the conqueredimmediately disarmed them, and employed them in removing the woundedand burying the dead. Of all the Spanish soldiers who entered thedefile, not a single man had succeeded in escaping to bear to Coahuilathe news of this awful defeat. The Mexicans had comparatively lost veryfew men, although their loss for all that was considerable. The Mexicangeneral resolved to encamp on the battlefield, and his troops wereencamped on the plain in front of the mouth of the canyon.
It was about nine in the evening. The bivouac fires formed a brilliantcircle round the camp, the soldiers were singing and laughing whilenarrating to each other the exciting incidents of the battle. Thegeneral, who had retired to a jacal of branches built for him, whichhis troops had lined inside with the flags captured from the enemy, wasconversing with Oliver Clary. The Canadian had just finished a storywhich must have powerfully affected his hearer, for his face was pale,and a burning tear trembled at the end of his lashes.
"Poor Don Anibal," he said, passing his hand over his eyes, "what afrightful misfortune. This last blow is the most terrible of all. Hewill not get over it."
"Immediately after the battle," the hunter continued, "Count deMelgosa, who as you know took no part in the action, but constantlyremained with the rearguard, came to join the hacendero at thebarricade which you ordered him to defend, and at which he fought sobravely."
"I know it, he killed General Cardenas with his own hand. It is betterthat it should be so. That man had excited such hatred against himself,that had he lived I should probably have been powerless to protect himin spite of my eager desire to do so."
"The moment was well selected for a confession of the nature whichthe count had to make to Don Anibal. The latter, overexcited by thefighting, and intoxicated by the smell of powder, endured this newmisfortune with more strength than we had ventured to expect. Still theblow was terrible, and fears were entertained for his life during amoment. He rolled on the ground like an oak uprooted by the hurricane,and for some minutes was a prey to frightful convulsions and a deliriumwhich threatened to change into insanity. Fortunately, the veryintensity of the crisis saved him. He recovered, thanked the count andmyself for the sympathy we had shown him, sat down on a gun carriage,and after a few nervous spasms managed to weep. Now he is calmer, andyou will see him soon, for he means at once to start in pursuit of theIndians."
"Alas, I fear that his search will be unsuccessful. The villain whobetrayed him has escaped. Does he know it?"
"Not yet."
"What is to be done? Unluckily, I can only offer him sterileconsolation. But I have it," he said, striking his forehead, "that isthe very thing. iViva Cristo! if Don Anibal does not succeed in savinghis hapless wife and daughter, he will at any rate be able to catch thescoundrels who carried them off, and sacrifice them to his righteouswrath."
"Ah," said the Canadian, "in what way? I do not know, General,especially as I fear lest the misfortune is greater than you imagine."
"How so; what do you mean, Don Oliver?"
The Canadian reflected for a moment. A strange emotion agitated thisbrave man, and an expression of vexation, repentance, and timidityappeared on his frank and manly face. The general examined him withsurprise.
"Come," he said to him, "speak. I know not why, but I fancy I havestill the most frightful part of this frightful story to hear."
"You may be right, General," the Canadian said in a low and almostunintelligible voice.
"Speak; in heaven's name tell me all."
"Nonsense," the adventurer said, "my repentance has been quite enoughfor me to open my heart to you. General, I have committed one badaction in my life."
"You, my friend?" Don Pelagio exclaimed quickly, "That is impossible."
"Thanks for that remark, General. The opinion you have of me, restoresme the courage to complete my confession. Yes, I repeat, I havecommitted one bad action, the memory of which has incessantly pursuedme and filled me with remorse. One day I was a coward."
"Go on," the general interrupted him, with a shake of his head.
"You know," the adventurer continued, with a certain degree ofhesitation, and looking down to the ground, "that nearly my wholelife has been spent, in traversing the woods, either alone, or in thecompany of the Indians."
"I know it; go on."
"You lived on this border for a long time; you will doubtless rememberthe frightful catastrophe in which the Count de Melgosa's brother wasassassinated?"
"Wretch! Were you mixed up in that frightful affair?" the generalexclaimed.
"No," the Canadian answered with a start of horror, "and yet I wasguilty. The count's son was carried off: do you remember it?"
"Alas! The count has never recovered from the effects of thatabduction."
"When the redskins returned from that sanguinary expedition, bringingthe poor lad with them, there was a grand discussion among them todecide the fate of the weak creature. The majority wished him to bekilled, while others asserted, on the other hand, that the child oughtto be preserved, in order to be converted into a hostage at a laterdate. I was present at this discussion; the poor boy cried; I felt aninvoluntary interest in him, and implored the Indians to give him tome. I succeeded in convincing them by my intreaties, and they grantedmy request."
"Well?" the general asked anxiously.
"A few weeks later," the Canadian continued, "the Mexican hacenderostook a brilliant revenge. The redskins, surprised in their turn, weremassacred without pity. Nothing would have been easier for me at thetime than to restore to the heart-broken father the boy who had beenso treacherously carried off; but I had sworn not to do so; it was onthat condition he was intrusted to me. I did not dare break my promise;still, taking advantage of the confusion, I tried to evade it. I placedthe boy in the hands of a servant of Don Anibal, begging him to deliverhim to his master, as I felt convinced that he would be taken care of,and that at a later date I might perhaps be able to restore him aliveto the parent who bewailed his death. Years passed, and various eventskept me away from these parts, to which I had only accidentally come.Still the memory of this boy incessantly pursued me; my consciencecried to me that I had acted badly. In a word, my remorse became so
great that I resolved to return to this country in order to discoverthe fate of the poor boy I had abandoned, and repair, were it in mypower, the evil I had done."
"Good, my friend--good," the general exclaimed, warmly, "now Irecognize you. Still, has your search been successful, and have youfound the count's son again?"
"Yes," he answered, in a hollow voice; "yes, General, I have a moralcertainty that the boy is no other than Don Melchior Diaz."
"Melchior! Thank heaven! Who would not be proud and happy of such ason?"
"As the rapidity of events has not yet allowed me to confirm mysuspicions, and convert them into a certainty, I have preserved thegreatest silence to everybody, and the count before all."
"You acted prudently."
"Yes," he continued, sorrowfully; "but unhappily Diego Lopez has toldme that Don Melchior has left the Hacienda del Rio, where he was, inorder to start on the track of the redskins."
"Alone?" the general said, with a start of terror. "That is the verything that terrifies me, General. The poor young man burns with adesire to save Dona Emilia and her daughter; he is ignorant of Indianhabits, and I feel convinced that he will allow his ardour to carry himaway, and become a victim to his devotion."
"That is only too probable."
"The more so, because the redskins are implacable, and will nothesitate to sacrifice him to their hatred of the Mexicans. Fortunatelythe count is still ignorant that this young man is his son, as the newswould have infallibly killed him."
The general let his head fall on his chest, and sighed. At this momentthe door of the jacal was opened, and the count and Don Anibal entered.In a few hours the hacendero had aged ten years; his pale, wornfeatures, his eyes hollowed by fever, and his wild looks were pitiableto behold.
"General," he said in a faint voice, "Sotavento has escaped; did youknow it?"
"I did, my friend," the general said, taking his hand affectionately;"I know it, and am glad of it." His hearers gave a start of surprise.
"This man," the general continued gently, "is a villain of the worstspecies. The horrible crime of which he has been guilty he must havelong been meditating; all his measures were taken so as to throw outyour pursuit, the confidence you placed in him only favoured him toothoroughly in the execution of his odious plots."
The hacendero sighed.
"This man would have died sooner than reveal anything to you. You knowthe Indians. You are aware to what a point they carry their obstinacy;his living and his flight are of more use to you now than his presenceor his death would be. Clary, my friend, has the provost marshal toldyou at what spot the villain escaped?"
"He has, Excellency."
"It is well. This man, however crafty he may be, cannot havedisappeared without leaving a trail, and that trail must be lifted:Be assured that it will lead you to the den where this monster hasconcealed his victims."
"Yes," Don Anibal observed; "but who will find this trail?"
"Here is the man," the general said, stretching out his arm to theCanadian. "Did you never hear tell of the skill of the Canadians infollowing a trail?"
"This time, General, my skill would be thrown out," the hunter replied."Water does not retain a trail."
"Clary," the general said to him, sternly, "why this hesitation? Wouldyou refuse to do what I ask of you?"
"I do not refuse, General," he said sharply, "I only call attention toan impossibility."
"Nothing is impossible when a man has a firm will. Moreover, anydiscussion is useless," he added, laying a marked stress on his words,"_the hour has arrived, and the master awaits_ for you to answerdistinctly."
The hunter started at these words, and said, with a respectful bow--
"Very good, I will obey, since you insist, Excellency. You know thatyou can do anything with me; but on one condition."
"I will have no conditions."
"Pray listen to one remark."
"Be brief, for time presses."
"I claim the right to choose my companions. We are going to undertake acampaign in which we shall leave our scalps, if not our carcases; andas I am greatly attached to mine, I must be sure of the men I take withme."
"What you ask is quite fair, my friend, and if you have no othercondition to make--"
"No other, General."
"Then I grant it."
"Very good; with your leave, I will set to work at once. Two words,however, before I leave you."
"Speak, my friend."
"The desert has its laws, which no one cares to infringe. Personally Ihave no animosity against the Indians; on the contrary, I have alwayslived on good terms with them, and only a few days ago a Comanche chiefwelcomed me to his camp as a friend."
"What conclusion do you draw from that?"
"None at all; still, as I must break these pleasant relations, Irequest, once again, that the whole management of this affair may beleft in my hands. Before mounting, I will come to an understanding withmy friend, Moonshine."
"Very good."
"Don Anibal, you will let yourself be guided by me; for I presume thatyou intend to accompany us?"
"Can you doubt it, senor?"
"Well, it would, perhaps, be better for you to remain with the general."
"No, no, I will go on this expedition; for no one is more interestedthan myself in its success."
"That is true. Well, as you please."
"I, too, will accompany you, Don Oliver," said the count.
"Very well, caballero."
"But there is another person who would not forgive you for leaving himbehind. Don Melchior Diaz; you will not forget to warn him, I trust,senor, for you know that we promised it to him."
The general and the hunter exchanged a meaning glance.
"That is my business," the former remarked, "so do not troubleyourself, Senor Conde."
"Now, I will be off," the Canadian continued; "however long my absencemay be, do not feel anxious about it. When I rejoin you, I shall beperfectly sure of the road we have to follow."
"Can you not tell us, at least, who the people are you mean to takewith you?"
"Nothing is easier; they are men like myself, hunters and adventurersbelonging to my cuadrilla, accustomed to a desert life and Indiantricks. Soldiers would do us more harm than good. In this expedition,courage takes the second place; skill and craftiness alone can ensureour success. Good-bye, good-bye, all is arranged; I shall be back soon."
"Go, my friend, and luck be with you," the general said, affectionately.
"All that it is possible to attempt, General, I will do. Good-bye."
The hunter went out.
"That is all the assistance I can offer you, Don Anibal; I wish that Icould do more. Place the most perfect confidence in this adventurer; heis a man of heart, thoroughly devoted and intelligent."
"I have been able to appreciate him under critical circumstances," thecount said, "and I have the best opinion of him."
"Heaven grant that his help may prove effectual," Don Anibal murmured,with a sigh.
"Hope, my friend, hope. God will not abandon you."
Don Anibal only answered with a sigh more profound than the first, and,after taking leave of the general, he and the count proceeded to thespot where the cuadrilla of the adventurers was encamped.
"Poor man!" the general muttered, as he saw the hacendero retire. "Willhe succeed in saving the two unhappy captives? Alas!"
He shook his head doubtfully, and fell back into his meditations.
"Are you ready to start?" Moonshine asked the two gentlemen on seeingthem.
"At once?" the count asked.
"Well, that will be better for what we have to do."
"Have we the time to go and fetch our horses?"
"Your peon has brought them."
Fifteen adventurers, already mounted, were waiting, motionless andsilent. They were men with bold features and a resolute air, whosebronzed faces testified to the fatigue they had endured in their roughprofession. A few minutes later the little band q
uitted the camp at agallop, and went out into the plain under the guidance of Moonshine.It was a cold night, as most American nights are. The men wrappedthemselves carefully in their cloaks, to escape being saturated bythe chilling dew, which fell upon them in an abundance unknown in ourclimate; and they rode sharply till sunrise without exchanging a word.At about four in the morning they halted to give their horses a rest.
"Are we going to stop?" Don Anibal asked. These were the first words hehad spoken since they started.
"Only for two hours," the hunter said.
"Very well."
And he fell back into his silence, from which the count did not deemit necessary to draw him. As Moonshine had said, within two hours thehorses were resaddled, and they set out again, after eating a biscuitand a strip of tasajo, and drinking a draught of spirits. The countcould only succeed in making his friend swallow a few mouthfuls, byrepresenting to him that he must keep up his strength. His grief wasintensely gloomy. This time they rode a long distance, and only haltedat one o'clock p.m. in a clearing.
"We will wait for Oliver here," the hunter said, as he dismounted.
Don Anibal raised his head.
"Will he come soon?" he asked, with considerable eagerness.
"I do not know. That will depend on the information he may have pickedup."
"Nonsense," said Don Aurelio Gutierrez, who had joined the partythrough his warm affection for the hacendero, "he will not be long."
"My hacienda is not very far from here, senor," the count said. "Therewould be time to send someone to fetch Don Melchior."
Moonshine made a sign to Diego Lopez, gave him an order in a low voice,and the latter at once went off.
"Where are we?" Don Aurelio asked. "I do not know at all. What is thatriver running down there between the cottonwood trees?"
"We are on the Indian border, senor, and that river you can see fromhere is the Rio Bravo del Norte, which serves as a limit between Mexicoand the great Indian prairies."
"May I ask," the count then said, joining in the conversation, "why youhave made us take this road sooner than another?"
"For a very simple reason, senor. The man who carried off the twoladies whom we wish to deliver is an Indian--not a civilized Indian,but one of those to whom you give the name of Bravos, or untameable, ishe not?"
"You are quite correct."
"Very well. That being so, there are heavy odds that this man, aftercarrying off the ladies, tried to rejoin his tribe and shelter himselffrom pursuit by entering the desert. On the other hand, Oliver andyou, count, were attacked a little time ago by a party of Comanchemarauders. It was on the same night that Dona Emilia and her daughter,after saving you by their unforeseen presence, disappeared--in allprobability captured by the same men who attacked you, or anotherdetachment of the tribe. You see, then, everything leads to the beliefthat the ravishers must have retired into the desert, where they arecertain of meeting friends, instead of remaining in a hostile country,where it would be impossible for them to remain any length of timewithout running a risk of discovery."
"Yes, you are right. We were attacked by Comanches, and most assuredlyshould have been massacred, had it not been for the providentialintervention of Dona Emilia," he added, in a low voice, not to be heardby Don Anibal.
Time slipped away; the hacendero now and then raised his head, lookedanxiously around him, and then fell back into his gloomy reverie. Atlength, at about five in the evening, the noise of horses could beheard, and the sentries signalled two riders coming up at a gallop.They were Don Melchior Diaz and Diego Lopez. Moonshine was greatlypuzzled by the young gentleman's arrival, for, having been warned byOliver of the occurrences at the Hacienda del Rio, he had told DiegoLopez to remain absent for a time, and then return, saying that GeneralSandoval had told Don Melchior to come to him alone, and that thelatter had at once left the hacienda in obedience to this order.
Diego Lopez, consequently, rode about haphazard, and resolved to employthe time granted him in making a reconnoissance of the banks of the Riodel Norte. Great was his surprise on recognizing in a horseman fordingthe river, the man he was supposed to have gone to fetch. In two words,Don Melchior explained what he had attempted on behalf of the captives.On his side, the peon informed him of the expedition organized toproceed to their assistance. The young man's heart bounded with delighton hearing this, and, after agreeing with Diego that they should besilent, they proceeded to the encampment in all haste.
By extraordinary good fortune. Don Melchior had succeeded in foilingthe ever active vigilance of the Indians, and, after his interview withthe ladies, left the teocali undisturbed; he had found his clothes andhorse again at the spot where he stopped to disguise himself, afterkilling the sentinel; and then, mad with despair and grief, he dashedacross the prairie for the purpose of joining Oliver and persuadinghim to fly with him to the rescue of the prisoners. At this moment itwas that he met the peon.
So soon as he entered the bivouac, the young gentleman leapt from hishorse, pressed the counts hand, and then rushed toward Don Anibal,while Diego Lopez told Moonshine, in a low voice, all about this chanceinterview. The hacendero had risen on perceiving Don Melchior; theyfell into each other's arms, and remained embraced for a long time,mingling their tears but not speaking, for great sorrows are dumb.
"Courage!" Don Melchior at length murmured, "Courage, we shall findthem again."
"Do you think so?" Don Anibal exclaimed eagerly. "Oh! could I butbelieve it. Oh, heaven! Have I not suffered enough?"
He let his head droop on his chest again, and burst into tears. Therewas something affecting in the sight of this strong man, who was soutterly crushed by grief and cried like a child. His friends regardedhim with the most earnest compassion; they did not dare offer himconsolations whose inutility they recognized; but the sadness displayedon their features sufficiently proved the sympathy they felt with him.
The sun had set a long time but the hunter did not appear, and theanxiety became general. No one spoke, but each mentally calculated thehours that had elapsed, and began to think that the Canadian's absencethreatened to become indefinitely prolonged. Moonshine alone did notseem to feel any anxiety or surprise, because he alone of the personswho surrounded him knew what difficulties the hunter would have tosurmount in procuring positive information, and discovering on the sandor in the grass the flying traces of a man who, with the diabolicalprudence of his race, had doubtless tried to efface every mark of hispassage.
At about ten o'clock, at the moment when the moon, disappearingbetween two clouds, plunged the clearing into complete darkness for afew minutes, Moonshine, who, as an attentive sentry, had undertakento watch over the safety of all his comrades, suddenly heard thecry of the whippoorwill rise softly and plaintively in the silence.The Canadian listened; the same cry was repeated thrice at regularintervals.
"It is he," the Canadian muttered, as he returned the same signal.
Almost immediately a man entered the clearing, leading his horse by thebridle--it was Oliver Clary. He walked to the hacendero, and laid hishand on his shoulder.
"Up, Don Anibal," he said to him, "within twenty-four hours we shallhave recovered those whom you thought lost."
"At last!" the hacendero shouted wildly as he leapt to his feet.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
RUNNING WATER.
Although the Indians, if judged by the standard of our advancedcivilization, are still plunged in the deepest barbarism, they arefar from being so ferocious at the present day as they were fifty orsixty years ago. In spite of themselves, their continued contact withthe white men has gradually modified their manners, and their nativecruelty is beginning to yield to gentler feelings and less cruelcustoms. The usage of torturing the enemies whom fate has thrown intotheir hands is beginning to die out, and it is only under exceptionalcircumstances that prisoners are still attached to the stake.
The honour of this progress is entirely due to the missionaries, thosesublime pioneers of civilization who, at the
peril of their life,disdaining fatigue and danger to win over a soul to our holy religion,constantly traverse the desert in all directions, preaching to theIndians and gradually initiating them in the comforts of civilization.The Comanches especially, that indomitable and haughty race, theundegenerated descendants of the first owners of the soil, no longertorture their prisoners, save under extraordinary circumstances.
The tribe of the Red Buffaloes had, at a certain period, tried toenter the great family of civilized nations; and certainly, if it fellback into barbarism, the blame cannot be fairly laid on the redskins.The sachems and aged men remembered, with sighs of regret, the longand quiet years they had passed on the Mexican territory, tilling thesoil, breeding cattle, and protected from insults and depredations.Hence they kept up an implacable hatred of the man who had ruined theirlodges, burnt their crops, killed their horses, and forced them toresume their nomadic life by driving them back like wild beasts intothe desert. The most persistent feeling in the heart of the Indians ishatred; they only live in the hope of vengeance.
After long years of expectation the Red Buffaloes at length saw theirdesires satisfied. The wife and daughter of the man who was the causeof all their woes had fallen into their hands, and frightful reprisalswere preparing, the more so, because one of these ladies was thatterrible Queen of the Savannah before whom they had so long trembled.On the morning of the day appointed for the holiday--for such the deathof the captives was to the Indians--the sun rose radiantly in a goldenmist. The whole tribe had been assembled to witness the punishment ofthe Queen of the Savannah. On the plain, about a musket shot from theteocali, and in a spacious forest clearing, two stakes had been plantedin the ground, and round them was piled up the wood destined to burnmother and daughter alive. The wood had been chosen in a green state inorder that it might burn with difficulty and produce a dense smoke. Itwas an ingenious mode of making the torture last longer by rendering itmore atrocious.
The women and children, more ferocious than the warriors, had been busysince daybreak in cutting small pointed splints of larch wood, whichwere to be thrust under the nails of the victims. Scalping knives wereground, and the points of the lances sharpened. Warriors were preparingsulphur matches, while others were heating iron nails, to be thrustinto the bleeding wounds inflicted by their comrades. In a word, all,men, women, and children, were expending their ingenuity in inventinginstruments of torture, and rendering the frightful punishment morecruel still.
The two ladies had spent the night in prayer. They only hoped now inGod, in whom they placed entire confidence. Calm and resigned theyawaited their executioners. The glad shouts of the Indians and thenoise of their horrible preparations reached their ears. At timesthey shuddered; but mother and daughter then exchanged a look fullof tenderness, and their clasped hands were furtively pressed. Thecaptives passed the whole morning in a state of moral agony impossibleto describe. Their torture had already begun. The Indians, with arefinement of cruelty perfectly in accordance with their manners, tooka delight in thus heightening their suffering by a continued successionof fears and apprehensions.
The chiefs had decided that the punishment should not begin till thegreat heat of the day had passed. At length, about one o'clock, asound of footsteps was heard, and the majordomo entered the prison ofhis captives. His manner was rough and abrupt, and his hollow eyesseemed to flash fire. He tried in vain to hide a terrible emotion whichoverpowered him.
"I have come for your answer," he said in a metallic voice.
"We are ready to die," they replied impetuously; and they rose andwalked towards him.
"You are mad," he exclaimed with a bitter laugh. "Who says anythingabout death, you weak creatures? Impelled by a nervous excitement whichwill soon abandon you, you try in vain to deceive me by deceivingyourselves. Death is nothing, but suffering is everything."
"Heaven will give us the necessary strength to support it," Dona Emiliaanswered.
"Unhappy woman! Even supposing you can endure a slow death of severalhours, will you expose your daughter to it?"
The Indian had hit the mark. Dona Emilia felt all her courage abandonher. She hid her face in her hands, and burst into tears.
"Villain!" the young lady exclaimed passionately, "Even if my mother,blinded by her tenderness for me, were so weak as to consent to theodious compact which you proposed to us, I would prefer death, andwould kill myself with my own hand, sooner than belong to you."
The Indian burst into the yell of a wild beast. "It is too much, proudSpanish girl!" he shouted furiously. "Your fate is decided. Follow me!"
"Show me the way," the noble maiden said proudly. "The hangman shouldgo before his victims. Come, mother, lean on my arm. I am strong, for Ialready feel as if I no longer belonged to this world. Dry your tearsand raise your head, mother. Do not let these monsters suppose thatyour courage fails you."
"Alas!" Dona Emilia answered, as she mechanically passed her armthrough her daughter's, "Poor child, I am the cause of your death. Ohforgive me! Forgive me!"
"Forgive you, mother? What? That I am about to die with you? Oh, couldI ever hope for greater happiness!"
"I implore you, daughter, not to let your filial affection deceive you.I see it now. I was mad, and did wrong in exhorting you to die. Deathis horrible at your age, my child, when you have scarce entered uponlife and all still appears smiling."
"All the better, mother," the maiden answered, kissing her forehead."I have only known the sweets of life; does not that make me thehappier?"
"Oh, oh, woe is me!" Dona Emilia exclaimed, as she twined her armsdesperately; "I have killed my daughter."
The Indian listened gloomy and pensive; a poignant remorse was silentlygnawing his heart.
"Mother," Dona Diana said, kneeling piously before her, as she waswont to do each night in happier times; "mother, you are a holy woman;mother, bless your child."
"Oh, bless you, bless you; may God hear the prayer I offer up, andwithdraw from you this frightful cup, to offer it to me alone."
The maiden rose. Her face shone with a pure and holy joy; never had herfeatures reflected such a sublime expression; she was lovely, with thebeauty of Virgin and Martyr.
"Let us go," she said, in a tone of authority which overpowered hermother's grief, "we should not keep our murderers waiting."
And with a sovereign gesture she showed the Indian chief the door.The latter, involuntarily overcome by this omnipotent will, went outwith hanging head, and the two ladies followed him. They walked downthe staircase of the teocali with a firm step, followed and precededby a number of old squaws and children, who overwhelmed with insultsand hurled mud in their faces. Dona Diana smiled; for a moment shefelt her mother's arm tremble upon hers; fancying that the latter wasgiving way, she leant gently over to her and said with an ineffableexpression--
"Courage, my kind mother, each step brings us nearer to heaven."
They at length reached the plain; on the last step they looked roundinstinctively to take a farewell glance at the wretched spot inwhich they had suffered so greatly. The Indian warriors, squaws, andchildren greeted the arrival of the captives on the plain with a yellof ferocious joy. The Stag had called up several braves, who, by hisorders, ranged themselves round the prisoners, in order to protect themfrom the insults of the hideous women, who, at each step, rushed towardthem as if to tear them with their long nails, which were bent like theclaws of a panther.
"The paleface women must not be wounded before they are fastened tothe stake," the chief said; "they would not have the strength left toendure the torture."
This reason appeared just, and the squaws restricted themselves tohurling at them the most disgusting insults they could imagine,resolved soon to take their revenge for the constraint imposed on themat this moment. Perhaps, in speaking as he had done, the majordomodisguised his thoughts, and this cruel insinuation was, in reality,hidden protection.
The distance to the place of torture was rather long; the two ladies,but little accustomed
to walk through brambles and thorns, advancedslowly to their Calvary; still, they approached, and at length enteredthe clearing. The sachems of the tribe, gravely seated in a semicirclein front of the stakes of torture, were stoically smoking theircalumets. The sinister procession stopped before them, and the Stagadvanced.
"Here are the two white captives!" he said in a a voice which, despiteall his efforts, trembled slightly.
Running Water raised his head and fixed his dull glance on theprisoners, while a cruel smile curled his thin lips, and displayed histeeth, white as those of a jaguar.
"Well," he asked, "what do they resolve? Do they accept the conditionsthe council offered them, or do they prefer death?"
The Stag turned to the captives with an expression of indescribableagony. They looked away from him disdainfully.
"They prefer death," he said.
"Wah!" the chief remarked, "the paleface squaws are like the red wolvesof the prairie; they had a deal of boasting and little courage. Letthem die, as they wish it; their cries of pain will rejoice the heartsof the Red Buffaloes."
A yell of joy greeted this finale, and the two ladies were led to theposts.
"There is still time," the Stag whispered in a hollow voice in themaiden's ear; "save yourself; save your mother! One word, but one, andyou will escape the horrible punishment that threatens you."
"No," she answered in a firm voice, "I will not save myself by acowardly deed; my fate is in the hands of God, and He can deliver me ifHe wills it."
"Summon thy God to thy help, then, proud fool, but make haste, for in asecond it will be too late."
Suddenly, as if God wished to confound the blasphemer, a discharge ofmusketry burst forth like a thunderclap, and thirty horsemen dashedinto the clearing, uttering cries of defiance and felling all whoopposed their passage with sabre cuts and blows with their gun stocks.The Indians, who fancied themselves safe in their den, were terrifiedby this sudden attack, for which they were the less prepared, becausethe majority of them, supposing that they were going to celebratea festival, had thrown their weapons pell-mell in a corner of theclearing. At the first moment the medley was frightful; the Indiansfell like ripe corn beneath the strokes of the hunters. The women, halfmad with terror, escaped in all directions, uttering fearful shrieks.Some warriors, however, had succeeded in recovering their lances, andprepared for a regular resistance.
"Ah!" the majordomo shouted, as he seized Dona Diana in his arms, "Deador alive, you shall not escape me."
And lifting the maiden as if she were an infant, he started for theteocali.
"Mother; help, help!" the maiden shrieked in terror.
Dona Emilia leapt on the Indian and clung to him like a lioness; itwas in vain that the latter tried to free himself; maternal love hadincreased her strength a hundredfold.
"Hold on, hold on!" Oliver shouted, as he made his horse leap over thecorpses.
The Stag heard him, and he understood that his victim would escape him.
"Ah!" he shouted wildly, "Die then!"
And raising his scalping knife, he tried to stab her to the heart; but,with a movement swift as thought, Dona Emilia threw herself before theknife which completely disappeared in her throat.
"Thank you, my God!" she exclaimed, as she clung to the arm of theComanche with a last supreme effort.
At the same moment Clary's sabre descended on the head of the chief,who rolled on the ground with cloven skull, dragging down with himthe two females, one of whom was in the death agony, while the otherhad fainted, but was saved by her mother's heroic devotion. With theassistance of some of his comrades, Oliver raised the captives from theground.
The battle was at an end; the Comanches had fled, leaving the clearingencumbered with corpses and a number of wounded, whom the implacablewarriors set to work dispatching with the cold cruelty of menaccustomed to such a task.
"Stay," said Oliver, noticing Running Water lying a few paces from himcovered with wounds, "do not kill that man, he is an old acquaintanceof mine."
The hunter had placed Dona Diana in her father's arms. Don Anibal,delighted at seeing his daughter saved, but rendered desperate by thedeath of his wife, whose agony had already begun, was striving, by allthe means in his power, to recall her to life.
"Good-bye," Dona Emilia murmured in a dying voice, as she gentlypressed the hands of her daughter and her husband; "our daughter willconsole you for the loss of me. I die happy, because I died in savingher."
And gently laying her head on her husband's shoulder, she gave back hersoul, still trying to smile on those whom she was leaving for ever.
It was after confiding Dona Diana to her father that Clary noticedRunning Water. Count de Melgosa was lying by the side of the oldsachem, with a lance thrust through his thigh. The hunters werepreparing to remove the count to a more convenient spot, but thesachem, who had hitherto remained motionless, with his eyes closed asif he were already dead, gave a sudden start, and raised his head.
"One moment," he said, rising on his elbow with a great effort, "let mesay a couple of words to this man."
The count ordered the hunters to withdraw.
"Chief, I am grieved to see you in this state," the Canadian saidcompassionately, for he remembered the sachem's kind reception; "let mebind up your wounds, and then you can speak at your ease."
"What good!" the chief answered bitterly; "I feel death approaching;its black wings are already spread out over my eyes; do not torment me."
"Let him speak," the count interrupted, "perhaps what he has to say tome may be more important than we suspect."
"Yes, yes," the chief continued with a groan, "much more than youbelieve."
And with a supreme effort he placed his face close to the count's,exclaiming with an expression of deadly hatred--
"Do you recognize me?"
"No," the count answered, after gazing fixedly at him.
The features of the old chief, already nearly decomposed by the adventof death, assumed a sinister expression.
"You do not recognize me," he said in a hollow voice, "and yet youare my enemy. My hand has fallen heavily upon you. You remember yourbrother's horrible death? Well, it was I who killed him. Oh! A portionof my vengeance has escaped me today, it is true, but my soul will notfly away alone to our happy hunting grounds. This woman, the Queen ofthe Savannah, and her daughter are dead. I have, therefore, gained myobject."
"You are mistaken, chief," honest Clary interrupted him, scandalizedby the Indian's language at such a moment; "although the Queen of theSavannah, as you call Dona Emilia, is dead, I was so fortunate as tosave her daughter."
A convulsive quivering ran over the Indian's body; he gave the hunteran angry look, but almost immediately resumed, with a triumphant look--
"I have also sacrificed another victim to my hatred, the boy I carriedoff and entrusted to the Sumach."
"Well?" the Canadian said, with a cunning look, with the evidentintention of drawing the redskin into a thorough confession.
"Yes, yes," the chief continued bitterly, "I know that all thepalefaces are cowards, and that this one betrayed me."
The adventurer gave a start of passion, which was at once checked.
"That boy," the sachem exclaimed with cruel delight, "Don Anibaleducated as if he were his own son. Ah, ah! That handsome Don MelchiorDiaz!"
"Well?" the count said, with feverish impatience.
"He was your son; but he is dead--crushed at the foot of a precipice."
Oliver leant over the chief, and gently touched his shoulder.
"Look, scoundrel!" he said, pointing to the young man who was runningup to help the count, "Look, and die in despair, for there is the manwhom you believe dead."
Running Water raised himself as if sustained by unknown strength; hiseyes, dilated by horror and disappointed rage, were fixed on the youngman with a terrible expression.
"Oh!" he exclaimed in a thundering voice, "All, all saved! the God ofthe palefaces has conquered!"
And
he fell back without an effort to prevent it; ere he touched theground he was dead.
* * * * *
Don Melchior Diaz was recognized without any difficulty as the count'sson, and a year after the events we have narrated married Dona Diana.Don Anibal de Saldibar, inconsolable at his wife's death, withdrew toa monastery in Mexico; after giving all property to his son-in-law anddaughter, he took the vows, but grief had destroyed all his energy.Don Anibal survived but a short time the death of the woman he had sodearly loved, and, in accordance with his request, was buried by herside.
Oliver Clary and his friend Moonshine, in spite of the young Count deMelgosa's earnest entreaties that they would remain with him, madebut a short stay at the hacienda. Carried away by the irresistibleattractions of a desert life, they resumed their adventurousexcursions in the savannah, at the head of their bold cuadrilla,joyously recommencing the happy existence of wood rangers, and carryingwith them Diego Lopez, who had always a sneaking affection for theprairie.
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