CHAPTER XVIII.
LOVE!
An hour later, the hunters, on reaching the top of a hill, perceived,about a mile ahead of them, a large village, before which three hundredIndian warriors were ranged in battle array.
At the sight of the whites the warriors advanced at a gallop, makingtheir horses curvet and dance, and discharging their muskets in the air.They uttered their war cry, and unfolded their buffalo robes,performing, in a word, all the usual evolutions in a friendly reception.
Valentine made his companions to imitate the Indians; and the hunters,who asked nothing better than to display their skill, descended the hillat headlong speed, shouting and discharging their rifles, amid the yellsof joy from the redskins, who were delighted at this triumphal arrivalamong them.
After the usual salutations and expressions of welcome, the Comanchesformed a semicircle round the hunters, and Pethonista advanced toValentine, and held out his hand, saying:--
"My brother is an adopted son of the nation. He is at home. TheComanches are happy to see him. The longer he remains among them withthe persons who accompany him, the more pleasure he will cause them. Acalli is prepared for my brother, and a second for the White Lily of theValley; a third for his friends. We have killed many buffaloes; mybrothers will eat their meat with us. When our brother leaves us, ourhearts will be swollen with sorrow. Hence my brother must remain as longas possible with his Comanche friends, if he wishes to see them happy."
Valentine, well versed in Indian customs, replied graciously to thisharangue, and the two bands, smiling, made their entry into the villageto the sound of the chichikouis, conches, and Indian instruments,mingled with the voices of the women and children, and the barking ofthe dogs, which produced the most horrible row imaginable.
On reaching the village square, the chief conducted the guests to thehuts prepared to receive them, which stood side by side, after which heinvited them to rest, with a politeness that a man more civilised thanhim might have envied, after telling them at twelve o'clock they wouldbe summoned to the meal.
Valentine thanked Pethonista for the kind attention he displayed to himand his comrades: then, after installing Dona Clara in a hut withSunbeam, he entered his own, after recommending the hunters to displaythe greatest prudence toward the Comanches, who, like all Indians, arepunctilious, irascible, and susceptible to the highest degree.
Curumilla lay down without saying a word, like a good watchdog, acrossthe door of the lodge inhabited by Dona Clara. So soon as the twofemales were alone, Sunbeam seated herself at the Mexican lady's feet,and, fixing on her a bright glance, full of tenderness, she said, in asoft and caressing voice--
"Is my sister, the White Lily of the Valley, satisfied with me? Have Ifaithfully fulfilled the obligation I contracted toward her?"
"What obligation was that, child?" the girl said, as she passed her handthrough the Indian's long hair which she began plaiting.
"That of saving you, my sister, and conducting you in safety to thecallis of my nation."
"Yes, yes, poor girl," she said, tenderly, "your devotion to me has beenunbounded, and I know not how I can ever requite it."
"Do not speak of that," the Indian said, with a charming pout. "Now thatmy sister has nothing more to fear, I will leave her."
"You would leave me, Sunbeam?" Dona Clara exclaimed anxiously. "Why so?"
"Yes," the young woman answered, as she frowned, and her voice becamestern, "I have a duty to accomplish. I have taken an oath, and my sisterwell knows that is sacred. I must go."
"But where are you going, my poor child? Whence arises this suddenthought of leaving me? What do you intend? Where are you about toproceed?"
"My sister must not ask me. Her questions would only grieve me, for Icannot answer her."
"Then you have secrets from me, Sunbeam. You will not give me yourconfidence? Fool! Do you fancy I do not know what you intend doing?"
"My sister knows my plan!" The Indian interrupted her with flashing eye,while a convulsive tremor passed over her limbs.
"Yes, I do," the other answered with a smile. "Unicorn is a renownedwarrior, and my sister is doubtless anxious to rejoin him?"
The Indian shook her head in denial.
"No," she said, "Sunbeam is following her vengeance."
"Oh, yes, poor child," Dona Clara said, as she pressed the young squawto her heart, "I know from what a fearful catastrophe Don Valentinesaved you."
"Koutonepi is a great warrior. Sunbeam loves him; but Stanapat is a dog,son of an Apache devil."
The two women wept for several minutes, silently mingling their tears,but the Indian, overcoming grief, dried her red eyes with a passionategesture, and tore herself from the arms that held her.
"Why weep?" she said. "Only cowards and weak people groan and lament.Indian squaws do not weep. When they are insulted they avengethemselves," she added, with an accent full of strange resolution. "Mysister must let me depart! I can no longer be useful to her, and othercares claim my attention."
"Go, then, poor girl. Act as your heart orders you. I have no righteither to retain you or prevent you acting as you please."
"Thanks," the Indian said. "My sister is kind. The Wacondah will notdesert her."
"Cannot you tell me what you intend doing?"
"I cannot."
"At any rate, tell me in what direction you are going?"
The girl shook her head with discouragement.
"Does the leaf detached from the tree by a high wind know in whatdirection it will be carried? I am the leaf. So my sister must ask me nomore."
"As you wish it, I will be silent; but before we separate, perhapsforever, let me make you a present, which will recall me to mind when Iam far from you."
Sunbeam laid her hand on her heart with a charming gesture.
"My sister is there," she said, with emotion.
"Listen," the maiden continued: "last night I gave you a bracelet; hereis another. These ornaments are useless to me, and I shall be happy ifthey please you."
She unfastened the bracelet, and fastened it on the Indian's arm. Thelatter allowed her to do it, and, after kissing the pearl several times,she raised her head and held out her hand to the young Mexican.
"Farewell!" she said to her, with a shaking voice. "My sister will prayto her God for me: He is said to be powerful, perhaps He will come to myhelp."
"Hope, poor child!" Dona Clara said, as she held her in her arms.
Sunbeam shook her head sadly, and, making a last sign of farewell to hercompanion, she bounded like a startled fawn, rushed to the door, anddisappeared.
The young Mexican remained for a long time pensive after Sunbeam'sdeparture; the Indian's veiled words and embarrassed countenance hadexcited her curiosity to the highest degree. On the other hand, theinterest she could not forbear taking in this extraordinary woman, whohad rendered her a signal service, or, to speak more correctly, a gloomypresentiment warned her that Sunbeam was leaving her to undertake one ofthose dangerous expeditions which the Indians like to carry out withouthelp of any soul.
About two hours elapsed. The maiden, with her head bowed on her bosom,went over in her mind the strange events which had led her, incident byincident, to the spot where she now was. All at once a stifled sighreached her ear; she raised her head with surprise, and saw a manstanding before her, humbly leaning against a beam of the calli, andgazing on her with a strange meaning in his glance. It was Shaw, RedCedar's son.
Dona Clara blushed and looked down in confusion; Shaw remained silent,with his eyes fixed on her, intoxicating himself with the happiness ofseeing and contemplating her at his ease. The girl, seated alone in thiswretched Indian hut, before the man who so many times had nobly riskedhis life for her, fell into profound and serious thought.
A strange trouble seized upon her--her breast heaved under the pressureof her emotion. She did not at all comprehend the delicious sensationswhich at times made her quiver. Her eye, veiled with a soft languor,rested involuntarily on th
is man, handsome as an ancient Antinous, whowith his haughty glance, his indomitable character, whom a frown fromher made tremble--the wild son of the desert, who had hitherto known nowill but his own!
On seeing him, so handsome and so brave, she felt herself attracted tohim by all the strength of her soul. Though she was ignorant of the wordlove, for some time an unconscious revolution had taken place in hermind: she now began to understand that divine union of two souls, whichare commingled in one, in an eternal communion of thoughts of joy andsuffering.
In a word, she was about to love!
"What do you want with me, Shaw?" she asked, timidly.
"I wish to tell you, senorita," he answered, in a rough voice, marked,however, with extraordinary tenderness, "that, whatever may happen,whenever you have need of a man to die for you, you will have nooccasion to seek him for I will be there."
"Thanks," she answered, smiling, in spite of herself, at the strangenessof the offer and the way in which it was made; "but here we have nothingto fear."
"Perhaps," he went on. "No one knows what the morrow has in store."
Women have a decided taste for taming ferocious animals: like allnatures essentially nervous, woman is a creature of feeling, whosepassion dwells in her head rather than in her heart. Love with a womanis only an affair of pride or a struggle to endure: as she is weak, shealways wishes to conquer, and above all dominates at the outset, inorder to become presently more completely the slave of the man sheloves, when she has proved her strength, by holding him panting at herfeet.
Owing to that eternal law of contrasts which governs the world, a womanwill never love any man but him who, for some reason or another,flatters her pride. At any rate, it is so in the desert. I do notpretend to speak for our charming European ladies, who are a compositeof grace and attraction, and who, like the angels, only belong tohumanity, by the tip of their little wing, which scarce grazes theearth.
Dona Clara was a Mexican. Her exceptional position among Indians, thedangers to which she had been exposed, the weariness that underminedher--all these causes combined must dispose her in favour of the youngsavage, whose ardent passion she divined, with that intuition peculiarto all women.
She yielded so far as to answer him, and encourage him to speak. Was itsport, or did she act in good; faith? No one could say: woman's heart isa book, in which man has never yet been able to construe a word.
One of those long and pleasant conversations now begun between the twoyoung people, during which, though the word "love" is not once uttered,it is expressed at every instant on the lips, and causes the heart topalpitate, which it plunges into those divine ecstacies, forgotten byripe age, but which render those who experience them so happy.
Shaw, placed at his ease by the complacent kindness of Dona Clara, wasno longer the same man. He found in his heart expressions which, inspite of herself made the maiden quiver, and put her into a confusionshe could not understand.
At the hour indicated by Pethonista, a Comanche warrior appeared at thedoor of the calli, and broke off the conversation. He was ordered tolead the strangers to the meal prepared for them in the chief's lodge.Dona Clara went out at once, followed by Shaw, whose heart was ready toburst with joy.
And yet what had Dona Clara said to him? Nothing. But she had let himspeak, and listened to him with interest, and at times smiled at hisremarks. The poor young man asked no more to be happy, and he was so,more than he had ever been before.
Valentine, Don Pablo, and the two Indians were awaiting Dona Clara. Sosoon as she appeared, all proceeded to the calli of the chief, precededby the Comanche warrior, who served as guide.