Two shots were fired so closely together, that they sounded as one. The squatter's gun, shattered in his hands, fell to the ground. Valentine, who wished to capture the bandit alive, could only hit on this way of turning his bullet, which, in fact, whistled harmlessly past his ear.

"Con mil demonios!" the scalp hunter yelled, as he rushed madly into the grotto, closely followed by his enemies, with the exception of Curumilla.

There they found him armed with his pistols, like a boar tracked to its lair. The bandit struggled with all the frenzy of despair, not yet giving up the hope of escape. His dog, standing by his side, with bloodshot eyes and open jaws, only awaited a signal from its master to rush on the assailants. The squatter suddenly fired four shots, but too hurriedly to wound anybody. He then hurled the useless weapons at his foemen's heads, and, bounding like a panther, disappeared at the end of the grotto, shouting with a sinister grin: —

"I am not caught yet!"

During all the incidents of this scene, the bandit had preserved his coolness; calculating the chances of safety left him, so that he might profit by them immediately. While occupying his enemies, he remembered that the grotto had a second outlet.

Suddenly he stopped, uttering a ghastly oath: he had forgotten that the swollen Gila at the moment inundated this issue. The villain walked several times round the grotto with the impotent rage of a wild beast that has fallen into a trap. He heard, in the windings of the cavern, the footsteps of his pursuers drawing closer. The sands were counted for him. One minute later, and he was lost.

"Malediction!" he said, "All fails me at once."

He must escape at all risks, and try to reach his horse, which was fastened up a short distance off on a small islet of sand, which the water, continually rising, threatened soon to cover. The bandit took a parting look round, bounded forward, and plunged into the abyss of waters, which hoarsely closed over him.

Valentine and his comrades almost immediately appeared, bearing torches; but the bandit had wholly disappeared. All was silent in the grotto.

"The villain has committed suicide," the hacendero said.

The hunter shook his head.

"I doubt it," he said.

"Listen!" the stranger hurriedly interrupted.

A shot echoed through the cave, and the three men rushed forward. This is what had happened: —

Instead of following his comrades, the Indian chief, certain that the bandit had not been such a fool as to enter a cave without an outlet, preferred watching the banks of the river, in case Red Cedar tried to escape in that way. The chiefs previsions were correct. Red Cedar, as we have seen, attempted to fly by the second outlet of the grotto. After swimming for some distance, the squatter landed on a small islet, and almost immediately disappeared in a dense clump of trees.

Not one of his movements had escaped Curumilla, who was hidden behind a projecting rock. Red Cedar reappeared on horseback. The Indian chief took a careful aim at him, and at the moment the animal put its hoof in the water it fell back, dragging down its rider with it. Curumilla had put a bullet through the horse's skull. Red Cedar rose with the rapidity of lightning, and dashed into the water. The hunters looked at each other for a moment in disappointment.

"Bah!" Valentine said, philosophically. "That bandit is not to be feared now; we have clipped his nails."

"That is true," said Bloodson; "but they will grow again!"

CHAPTER V
THE GROTTO

We will now resume our narrative at the point where we left it at the end of our first chapter, and rejoin Red Cedar, who thanks to the weapons found in the cache, had regained all his ferocity and was already dreaming of revenge.

The bandit's position, however, was still very perplexing, and would have terrified any man whose mind was not so strong as his own. However large the desert may be – however perfect a man's knowledge may be of the prairie refuges – it is impossible for him, if alone, to escape for any length of time the search of persons who have an interest in catching him.

This had just been proved to Red Cedar in a peremptory way: he did not conceal from himself the numberless difficulties that surrounded him, and could not dream of regaining his encampment. The enemies on his track would not fail to catch him, and this time they would not allow him to escape so easily.

This position was intolerable, and it must be put an end to at all risks. But Red Cedar was not the man to remain crushed by the blow that had struck him: he drew himself together again, in order to prepare his vengeance promptly. Like all evil natures, Red Cedar regarded as an insult all attempts persons made to escape from his perfidity. At this moment he had a rude account to settle with whites and redskins. Alone as he was, he could not think of rejoining his comrades and attacking the enemies, who would have crushed him under their heel like a venomous serpent: he needed allies.

His hesitation was but short, and his plan was formed in a few minutes. He resolved to carry out the project for which he had left his comrades, and proceeded toward an Apache village, situate a short distance off.

Still, he did not intend to go there, for the present at least, for, after a rapid walk of more than three hours, he suddenly turned to his right, and retiring from the banks of the Gila, which he had hitherto followed, he left the road to the village, and entered a mountainous region, differing entirely in its character from the plains he had hitherto traversed.

The ground rose perceptibly, and was intersected by streams that ran down to the Gila. Clumps of the ferns, drawing closer together, served as the advanced guard of a gloomy virgin forest on the horizon. The landscape gradually assumed a more savage and abrupt aspect, and spurs of the imposing Sierra Madre displayed here and there their desolate peaks.

Red Cedar walked along with that light and springy step peculiar to men accustomed to cover long distances on foot, looking neither to the right nor left, and apparently following a direction he was perfectly acquainted with. Smiling at his thoughts, he did not seem to notice that the sun had almost entirely disappeared behind the imposing mass of the virgin forest, and that night was falling with extreme rapidity.

The howling of the wild beasts could be heard echoing in the depths of the ravines, mingled with the miauwling of the carcajous and the barking of the prairie wolves – bands of which were already prowling at a short distance from the bandit. But he, apparently insensible to all these hints about getting a resting place for the night, continued his advance in the mountains, among which he had entered some time previously.

On reaching a species of crossroad, if such a term can be employed in speaking of a country where no roads exist, he stopped and looked all around him. After a few moments' hesitation, he buried himself in a narrow path running between two hills, and boldly climbed up a very steep ascent. At length, after a fatiguing climb, that lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour, he reached a spot where the path, suddenly interrupted, only presented a gulf, in the bottom of which the murmurs of invisible waters could be just heard.

The precipice was about twenty yards in width, and over it lay an enormous log, serving as a bridge. At the end of this was the entrance of a natural grotto, in which the flames of a fire flashed up at intervals. Red Cedar stopped – a smile of satisfaction curled his thin lips at the sight of the flames reflected on the walls of the grotto.

"They are there," he said, in a low voice, and as if speaking to himself.

He then put his fingers in his mouth, and imitated with rare skill the soft and cadenced note of the maukawis. An instant after, a similar cry was heard from the grotto; and Red Cedar clapped his hands thrice.

The gigantic shadow of a man, reflected by the light of the fire, appeared in the entrance of the grotto, and a rude and powerful voice shouted in the purest Castilian —

"Who goes there?"

"A friend," the bandit answered.

"Your name, caray," the stranger continued; "there are no friends in the desert at this hour of the night."

"Oh, oh!" Red Cedar continued; bursting into a hoarse laugh, "I see that Don Pedro Sandoval is as prudent as ever."

"Man or demon, as you know me so well," the stranger said, in a somewhat softer tone, "tell me what your name is, I say once again, or, by heaven, I'll lodge a couple of slugs in your skull. So do not let me run the risk of killing a friend."

"Come, come, calm yourself, hidalgo; did you not recognise my voice, and have you so short a memory that you have already forgotten Red Cedar."

"Red Cedar!" the Spaniard repeated in surprise, "then you are not hung yet, my worthy friend?"

"Not yet; to my knowledge, gossip. I hope to prove it to you ere long."

"Come across, in the devil's name; do not let us go on talking at this distance."

The stranger left the bridgehead, where he had stationed himself, probably to dispute the passage in case of necessity, and drew off, uncocking his rifle. Not waiting for a second invitation, Red Cedar bounded on to the tree and crossed it in a few seconds; he affectionately shook the Spaniard's hand, and then they entered the grotto together.

This grotto or cavern, whichever you please to call it, was wide and lofty, divided into several compartments by large frames of reeds, rising to a height of at least eight feet, and forming ten rooms or cells, five on either side the grotto, beginning at about twenty paces from the entrance – a space left free to act as kitchen and dining room. The entrance to each cell was formed by a zarapé, which descended to the ground after the fashion of a curtain door.

At the extremity of the passage that ran between the two rows of cells was another compartment, serving as storehouses; and beyond this a natural passage ran through the mountain, and terminated almost a league off, in an almost inaccessible ravine.

All proved that this grotto was not a bivouac chosen for a night or two, but an abode adopted for many years past, in which all the comfort had been collected which it is possible to procure in these regions remote from any centre of population.

Round the fire, over which an enormous quarter of elk meat was roasting, nine men, armed to the teeth, were sitting and smoking in silence. On Red Cedar's entrance, they rose and came up to shake his hand eagerly, and with a species of respect. These men wore the garb of hunters or wood rangers: their marked features, their ferocious and crafty faces, on which the traces of the most disgraceful and ignoble passions were marked in indelible characters, strongly lighted up by the fantastic flashes of the fire, had something strange and gloomy about them, which inspired terror and revulsion.

It could be guessed at the first glance that these men, the unclean scum of adventurers of all nations, lost in sin and compelled to fly to the desert to escape the iron hand of justice, had declared an obstinate war against those who had placed them beyond the pale of the common law of nations, and were, in a word, what are called, by common consent, pirates of the prairies.

Pitiless men, a hundredfold more ruffianly than the most ferocious redskins, who conceal a soul of mud and a tiger's heart under a human appearance, and who, having adopted the savage life of the Far West, have assumed all the vices of the white and red races, without retaining one of their qualities. Villains, in a word, who only know murder and robbery, and for a little gold are capable of the greatest crimes. Such was the company Red Cedar had come so far to seek.

We are bound to add, and the reader will easily believe it, that he was not out of his place, and that his antecedents, on the contrary, gained him a certain degree of consideration from these bandits, with whom he had been long acquainted.

"Caballeros," Sandoval said, bowing with exquisite politeness to the brigands, his comrades, "our friend, Red Cedar, has returned among us; let us greet him like a jolly companion whom we have missed too long, and whom we are delighted to see again."

"Señores," Red Cedar answered, as he took a seat by the fire, "I thank you for your cordial reception, and hope soon to prove to you that I am not ungrateful."

"Well!" one of the bandits said, "Has our friend any good news to impart to us? It would be welcome, deuce take me! For a whole month we have had to scheme a living."

"Are you really in that state?" the squatter asked, with interest.

"Quite so," Sandoval confirmed him; "and Perico has only spoken the exact truth."

"Hang it all!" Red Cedar went on, "I have come at the right moment, then."

"Eh?" the bandits said, pricking up their ears.

"And yet I fancy that, for some time past, caravans have been becoming more numerous in the desert: there is no lack of white or red trappers, who every now and then can be saved the trouble of carrying their beaver skins. I have even heard speak of several parties of gambusinos."

"The gambusinos are as badly off as ourselves," Sandoval replied; "and as for trappers, they are the very men who injure us. Ah! My friend, the desert is not worth a hang now; the white men are drawing too close together, they are gradually invading the territory of the redskins, and who knows whether, in ten years from this time, we shall not have towns all round the spot where we now are?"

"There is some truth in your remark," Red Cedar observed, as he shook his head thoughtfully.

"Yes," Perico said; "and, unfortunately, the remedy is difficult, if not impossible to find."

"Perhaps so," Red Cedar went on, tossing his head in a way which caused the Pirates to wonder what he was driving at. "In the meanwhile," he added, "as I have made a long journey, feel very tired, and have a tremendous appetite, I will feed, with your permission, especially as it is late, and the meal is admirably cooked."

Without further ceremony, Red Cedar cut a large slice of elk, which he placed before him, and began incontinently devouring. The pirates followed his example, and for some time the conversation was naturally suspended. A hunter's meal is never long; the present one was soon over, owing to the impatience of the band, whose curiosity was aroused to the highest degree by the few words dropped by the squatter.

"Well," Sandoval began again, as he lit a cigarette, "now that supper is over, suppose we have a chat. Are you agreeable, comrade?"

"Willingly," Red Cedar replied, as he settled himself comfortably, and filled his pipe.

"You were saying then – " Sandoval remarked.

"Pardon me," the squatter interrupted him; "I was saying nothing. You were complaining, I believe, about the whites destroying your trade by coming closer and closer to your abode."

"Yes, that was what I was saying."

"You added, if my memory serves me right, that the remedy was impossible to find?"

"To which you answered, perhaps."

"I said so, and repeat it."

"Explain yourself, then."

"The affair I have come to propose to you is extremely simple: For some years past the whites have been gradually invading the desert, which, in a given time which is not remote, will end by disappearing before the incessant efforts of civilisation."

"It is true."

"Well, if you like, within a month you shall be rich men."

"We will, caray," the bandits exclaimed in a formidable voice.

"I will tell you the affair in two words: I have discovered a placer of incalculable wealth; twenty leagues from here, I have left one hundred men devoted to my fortunes. Will you imitate them and follow me? I promise each of you more gold than he ever saw in his life or ever dreamed of possessing."

"Hum!" said Sandoval; "It is tempting."

"I thought of you, my old comrades," Red Cedar continued with hypocritical simplicity, "and have come. Now, you know my plan; reflect on what I have said to you; tomorrow, at sunrise, you will give me your answer."

And, without mingling further in the conversation, Red Cedar rolled himself up in a zarapé, and fell asleep, leaving the bandits to discuss among themselves the chance of success his magnificent proposal offered.

CHAPTER VI
THE PROPOSITION

Red Cedar, immediately that he entered the Far West, had, with the experience of old wood rangers which he possessed in the highest degree, chosen a suitable site for his band to encamp. He did not wish to enter the desert without ensuring allies on whom he could count, in the event of his being attacked.

The Pawnee ambuscade, prepared with the skill characteristic of the savages, which had been on the point of succeeding, and from which he had only escaped by accident, was a warning to him of the snares that would be laid for him, and the dangers that would menace him at every step daring the long journey he was about to undertake across the prairies.

Red Cedar was one of those men who make it a principle to neglect nothing that can insure the success of their plans; he, therefore, resolved to protect himself from any attack as speedily as possible. His first care was to choose a spot where he could encamp his band, so as to be protected from all Indian marauders, and offer an advantageous resistance, in the case of a serious attack.

The Rio Gila forms a multitude of wooded islets, some of which rising in a conical form, are very difficult of access owing to the escarpment of their banks, and especially through the rapidity of the current. It was on one of these islands that Red Cedar bivouacked his men. Peru trees, mezquites, and cottonwood trees, which grew abundantly on this island, mingled with creepers that twined round their stems in inextricable confusion, formed an impenetrable thicket, behind which they could boldly sustain a siege, while offering the immense advantage of forming a wall of verdure, through whose openings it was easy to watch both banks of the river, and any suspicious movements on the prairie.

So soon as the gambusinos had landed on the island, they glided like serpents into the interior, dragging their horses after them, and being careful to do nothing that might reveal their encampment to the sharp-sighted Indians. So soon as the camp was established, and Red Cedar believed that, temporarily at least, his band was in safety, he assembled the principal leaders, in order to communicate his intentions to them.

They were, first, Fray Ambrosio, then Andrés Garote, Harry and Dick, the two Canadian hunters, and, lastly, the squatter's two sons, Nathan and Sutter, and the Chief of the Coras. Several trees had been felled to form a suitable site for the fires and the tents of the women, and Red Cedar, mounted on his steed, was soon in the centre of the chiefs collected around him.

"Señores," he said to them, "we have at length entered the Far West: our expedition now really commences, and I count on your courage, and, above all, your experience, to carry it out successfully; but prudence demands that on the prairies, where we run the risk of being attacked by enemies of every description at any moment, we should secure allies who, in case of need, could protect us efficiently. The ambuscade we escaped, scarce eight and forty hours ago, renders it a duty to redouble our vigilance, and, above all, hasten to enter into communication with the friends we possess in the desert."

"Yes," said the monk; "but I do not know these friends."

"But I know them, and that is enough," Red Cedar replied.

"Very good," Fray Ambrosio went on; "but where are they to be found?"

"I know where to find them. You are here in an excellent position, where you can hold your own for a long time, without any fear of it being carried. This is what I have resolved on."

"Come, gossip, explain yourself; I am anxious to know your plans," said the monk.

"You shall be satisfied: I am going to start at once in search of my friends, whom I am certain of finding within a few hours: you will not stir from here till my return."

"Hum! And will you be long absent?"

"Two days, then, at the most."

"That is a long time," Garote remarked.

"During that period you will conceal your presence as far as possible. Let no one suspect you are encamped here. I will bring you the ten best rifles in the Far West, and with their protection, and that of Stanapat, the great Apache Chief of the Buffalo tribe, whom I expect to see also, we can traverse the desert in perfect safety."

"But who will command the band in your absence?" Fray Ambrosio asked.

"You, and these caballeros. But remember this: you will under no pretext leave the island."

"'Tis enough, Red Cedar, you can start; we shall not stir till you return."

After a few more words of slight importance, Red Cedar left the clearing, swam his horse over the river, and on reaching firm ground, buried himself in the tall grass, where he soon disappeared.

It was about six in the evening, when the squatter left his comrades, to go in search of the men whom he hoped to make his allies. The gambusinos had paid but slight attention to the departure of their chief, the cause of which they were ignorant of, and which they supposed would not last long. The night had completely fallen. The gambusinos, wearied by a long journey, were sleeping, wrapped in their zarapés, round the fire, while two sentries alone watched over the common safety. They were Dick and Harry, the two Canadian hunters, whom chance had so untowardly brought among these bandits.

Three men leaning against the trunk of an enormous ungquito were conversing in a low voice. They were Andrés Garote, Fray Ambrosio, and Eagle-wing. A few paces from them was the leafy cabin, beneath whose precarious shelter reposed the squatter's wife, her daughter Ellen, and Doña Clara.

The three men, absorbed in the conversation, did not notice a white shadow emerge from the cabin, glide silently along, and lean against the very tree, at the foot of which they were.

Eagle-wing, with that penetration which distinguishes the Indians, had read the hatred which existed between Fray Ambrosio and Red Cedar; but the Coras had kept this discovery in his heart, intending to take advantage of it when the opportunity presented itself.

"Chief," the monk said, "do you suspect who the allies are Red Cedar has gone to seek?"

"No," the other replied, "how should I know?"

"Still it must interest you, for you are not so great a friend of the Gringo as you would like to appear."

"The Indians have a very dense mind; let my father explain himself so that I may understand him, and be able to answer him."

"Listen," the monk continued, in a dry voice and with a sharp accent, "I know who you are: your disguise, clever and exact though it be, was not sufficient to deceive me: at the first glance I recognised you. Do you believe that if I had said to Red Cedar, this man is a spy or a traitor; he has crept among us to make us tall into a trap prepared long beforehand: in a word, this man is no other than Moukapec, the principal Cacique of the Coras? Do you believe, I say, that Red Cedar would have hesitated to blow out your brains, eh, chief? Answer."

During these words whose significance was terrible to him, the Coras had remained unmoved; not a muscle of his face had quivered. When the monk ceased speaking, he smiled disdainfully, and contented himself with replying in a haughty voice, while looking at him fixedly:

"Why did not my father tell this to the scalp hunter? He was wrong."

The monk was discountenanced by this reply, which he was far from expecting; he understood that he had before him one of those energetic natures over which threats have no power. Still he had advanced too far to draw back: he resolved to go on to the end, whatever might happen.

"Perhaps," he said, with an evil smile, "at any rate, I have it in my power to warn our chief in his return."

"My father will act as he thinks proper," the chief replied drily, "Moukapec is a renowned warrior, the barking of the coyotes never terrified him."

"Come, come, Indian, you are wrong," Garote interposed, "you are mistaken as to the Padre's intentions with respect to you; I am perfectly convinced that he does not wish to injure you in any way."

"Moukapec is not an old woman who can be cheated with words," the Coras said; "he cares little for the present intentions of the man, who, during the burning of his village, and the massacre of his brothers, excited his enemies to murder and arson. The chief follows his vengeance alone, he will know how to attain it without allying himself to one of his foes to get it. I have spoken."

After uttering these words, the Indian chief rose, dressed himself in his buffalo robe, and withdrew, leaving the two Mexicans disconcerted by this resistance which they were far from anticipating. Both looked after him for a while with admiration mingled with anger.

"Hum!" the monk at length muttered; "Dog of a savage, Indian, brute, beast, he shall pay me for it."

"Take care, señor Padre," the Gambusino said, "we are not in luck at this moment. Let us leave this man with whom we can effect nothing, and seek something else. Every man reaches his point who knows how to wait, and the moment will arrive to avenge ourselves on him; till then, let us dissimulate – that is the best thing, I believe, for us to do."

"Did you notice that, on leaving us, Red Cedar did not say a syllable about his prisoner?"

"For what good? He knows she is in perfect safety here, any flight from this island is impossible."

"That is true; but why did he carry off this woman?"

"Who knows? Red Cedar is one of those men whose thoughts it is always dangerous to sound. Up to the present, we cannot read his conduct clearly enough; let him return, perhaps then the object he has in view will be unfolded to us."

"That woman annoys me here," the monk said in a hollow voice.

"What's to be done? Down there at Santa Fe I did not hesitate to serve you in trying to get rid of her; but now it is too late – it would be madness to dream of it. What matter to us, after all, whether she be with us, or not? Believe me, make up your mind to it, and speak no more about it. Bah! She will not prevent us reaching the placer."

The monk shook his head with a dissatisfied air, but made no reply. The Gambusino wrapped himself in his zarapé, lay down on the ground, and fell asleep. Fray Ambrosio, for his part, remained plunged in gloomy thoughts. What was he thinking of? Some treachery, doubtless.

When the woman who had been leaning against the tree, perceived that the conversation was at an end, she glided softly away, and re-entered the cabin.