"At last!" the adventurer answered, as he looked curiously about him. "¡Caray! I was beginning to fancy that we should never reach our journey's end."

"Here we are; as you insisted on my leading you hither, I have done so."

"And I thank you for doing it, gossip; now that you have honourably performed the far from agreeable task entrusted to you, leave me to my own business, and go and amuse yourself at the fair."

"Hang me if I do anything of the sort," the peon answered; "I am too sorrowful."

"Nonsense! Why bother yourself so? All will finish, I feel convinced, much better than you have supposed."

"That is possible, and I wish it may be so, but I confess that I do not expect it; I will not attempt to dissuade you anymore; a fool cannot be prevented from committing folly."

"Thank you," the adventurer said with a laugh. The other shook his head mournfully.

"I am going to watch for my master," he continued; "he has great influence over the governor, and, if you are not hanged, I hope he will save you."

"I hope too that I shall not be hanged."

"¿Quién sabe?" the peon muttered.

The Canadian, who was not particularly pleased by these ill-omened prognostics, hastened to take leave of his croaking companion. The latter looked after him until he disappeared in the cabildo, after exchanging a few words with the sentry; then he returned very thoughtfully to the mesón, muttering —

"I don't care; I will not start till I know whether he is hung; it is surely the least I can do for a good Catholic like him."

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE INTERVIEW

Oliver Clary had entered the cabildo. From this moment he could not recoil, but must push on. The brave and careless Canadian took a last and sorrowful glance at the square in which a merry crowd, whose cries reached his ears, was assembled; he gave a sigh of regret, and hung his head on his chest for a moment; but almost immediately subduing this sadness, which was unworthy of him, he effaced every trace of emotion from his face, drew himself up proudly, and with a calm step entered a hall in which were standing ushers, easily to be recognized by the silver chain round their neck. So soon as he appeared, one of these ushers left the group, and walked up to him with a slow and solemn step.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked, impudently.

"Who I am?" he answered drily, "That does not concern you, my master. What I want? To speak to His Excellency Don Garcia López de Cárdenas, General commanding the Intendancy."

"Oh, oh!" the usher said, as he looked impudently at the adventurer's modest and more than careless dress; "You come like that, without the slightest ceremony, to demand an audience of his Excellency! Come, my good fellow, follow good advice and begone; the mezcal is disturbing your head; go to sleep, keep your feet warm, and do not trouble yourself any further with such nonsense."

Not letting himself be disconcerted the least in the world by this tolerably coarse apostrophe, the adventurer looked for an instant at the speaker with such an expression that the latter turned his head away in embarrassment; then he seized him by a button of his coat.

"Listen to me, Señor Scamp," he said, in a low and menacing voice; "in any other place but the one where we now are, the words you have just uttered would cost you dearly; but I despise you too much to be insulted by them. I pardon you, but only on one condition – that you will immediately announce to his Excellency, Señor Don Olivero Clary, and hand him at the same time this letter from his seigneury, the Count de Melgosa. Begone!"

He let go the usher's button, and the latter, quite abashed, turned round two or three times, and, without saying a word, quitted the hall. The Canadian folded his arms on his chest, and waited for his return, while looking disdainfully at the other servants, who bent on him curious and almost startled glances. The usher's absence was short. He appeared almost immediately, and throwing both doors wide open, he said, as he bowed ironically to the Canadian —

"His Excellency General Don Garcia López de Cárdenas requests Señor Don Olivero Clary to have the condescension to enter."

The adventurer understood that the critical moment had arrived. Without displaying the slightest hesitation he entered the room, the doors of which had so suddenly been opened to him. But, when he had crossed the threshold, he felt that species of confusion and timidity which attacks the bravest men when they are violently thrown out of the medium in which they are accustomed to live. It is plain that the adventurer would have preferred finding himself face to face with a whole tribe of ferocious redskins, instead of entering this brilliantly gilded room, and a crowd of smart officers, whose eyes he felt, instinctively, were fixed upon him. A feverish flush covered his face, a cold perspiration beaded on his temples, and his heart beat as if it would burst from his chest. It was not fear he felt, it was not shame he experienced, nor was it weakness; but it was a mixture of all those feelings which filled his bosom, and made his temples beat.

Still, through a prodigious effort of his will, he succeeded not only in almost entirely concealing this strange emotion, but also so completely surmounted it that he was able to walk with a firm step toward the general, whom he saw standing at the other end of the saloon, in the midst of a group of field officers; and who, with his hand on his sword belt, bent on him a glance such as rattlesnakes are said to employ in fascinating their victims.

General de Cárdenas was a man not more than forty years of age, of tall and imposing stature; his face was harsh, dark, and cruel; he had a mocking lip and cynical glance; his low forehead, his eyes close to his long hooked nose, and his prominent cheekbones, veined with violet lines, gave him a certain resemblance to the feline race. He was dressed in the splendid uniform of a general, glistening with gold lace. At this moment he was biting his greyish moustache, and clanking the wheels of his spurs on the ground – a sign by which his intimate friends knew that he was suffering from intense passion.

Don López de Cárdenas belonged to the highest Spanish nobility, and was a caballero cubierto; he had gone through, with some distinction, the whole of the Peninsular war; but, in spite of his thorough bravery, and his undeniable talent, he had let himself be led away by his evil nature to behave so ferociously to the enemy during the retreat of the French, that the King of Spain, who did not feel at all secure on a throne which he owed rather to chance than his personal ability, was constrained to dismiss him, as he did not dare to brave the public protest against favours he might have granted such a person. Mexico, which was then in full revolt, seemed to the king the only place to which he could send General de Cárdenas, without appearing to exile him.

The general, aware of the hatred with which he was regarded, was not sorry, temporarily, to quit the scene of his dark deeds. Another reason made him accept, almost joyfully, the post confided to him: his fortune, compromised during the long Peninsular war, was no longer adapted to the demands of his pride and the position to which his birth gave him the right of aspiring. He thought that it would be easy for him, in a country distracted by revolutions, to fish in troubled waters, and get together in a few years a fortune larger than the one he had lost. His beginning in New Mexico did not contradict his past: it was such as might be expected from a man like him, and gave the Mexicans, whom, for their misfortune, he was chosen to govern, an exact measure of the justice they had to expect from him. Hence, he had resided scarce a year in Mexico ere the people, who are rarely mistaken in their appreciation, branded him with the name of the Shark – a characteristic name, were there ever one; for, like the shark, he was rapacious and cruel. Only one person had a precarious and often contested influence over this man: it was Count de Melgosa, to whom he was attached by family ties.

It was face to face with this human-faced tiger that chance placed the adventurer. The situation was not at all pleasant; still he did not let himself be disconcerted. On coming within a few paces of the general he stopped, bowed respectfully and waited till the other should address him, in a posture which, without evidencing the slightest arrogance, showed that he was not the man to let himself be domineered over, and that he would bravely enter on the coming struggle. The general looked at him fixedly for a few moments, and then said, in a hoarse and menacing voice —

"Who are you, in the fiend's name?" he asked.

"The letter I had the honour of delivering to your Excellency must have already informed you," the Canadian answered.

"Do you fancy, scoundrel," the general continued furiously, "that I have nothing better to do than read the absurd letters sent me from all sides?"

These few words, exchanged with the terrible officer, had given the adventurer time to resume all his calm and reckless bravery. He advanced a step, bowed profoundly, and said briefly, although his accent was respectful —

"I have the honour of drawing your Excellency's attention to the fact that I am no scoundrel, but a man of honour; that I have come here, entrusted with an important mission; and that Count de Melgosa, whose reputation for loyalty cannot be doubted, of his own accord became my guarantee to your Excellency. These are two reasons why I have a right to be treated with due consideration."

"You crow very loudly for a young cock; take care lest I should have a fancy to cut that comb which you raise so daringly," the general answered with a mocking smile.

"I do not know what your Excellency means. If you do not think proper to hear what I have to say, I venture to hope that you will allow me to retire."

After uttering these words in the same firm tone he had maintained since the beginning of this singular interview, the adventurer made a move to leave the hall.

"Stop, I order you," the general said suddenly; "you please me – so speak without fear. Who are you? Now don't tell any lies, for, perhaps, I know more about you than you suppose."

"I care very little what your Excellency may have learnt about me. I am an honest wood ranger – a Canadian by birth, and at the present moment colonel in the service of the Mexican patriots, commanded by Father Don Pelagio Sandoval."

"Ah, ah," the general muttered in the same mocking way; "go on, my lad, you have forgotten to tell me your name."

"I have several; my real one is Oliver Clary the redskins have christened me the Sumach, and the white men of the prairie generally call me 'Death in the face.'"

"Death in the face?" the general repeated with a grin, "Perhaps we shall soon see whether you really deserve that name."

"No man should praise himself; still, I believe that there are few dangers I am not capable of confronting," he answered resolutely.

"We shall see, we shall see, gossip. Now give me a report of the mission with which you have been entrusted by the honourable scoundrels of whom you have so foolishly made yourself the scapegoat."

The Canadian shrugged his shoulders.

"It is easy to threaten a defenceless man," he muttered in a voice loud enough to be heard by the general.

"Make haste," the latter continued.

Clary, without any hurry, felt in a pocket of the coat he wore under the zarapé, took out the despatches Father Sandoval had entrusted to him, and presented them to the general with a bow.

"The Mexican patriots," he said, "hope that your Excellency will deign to lay before the governor this humble petition, which contains the enunciation of their grievances, and the concessions they wish to obtain from his justice."

The general took the letter, crumpled it in his hand, and threw it on a table, without reading. There was a moment of mournful silence; the officers, who knew the general's violent and implacable character, awaited a tragical finale, and were especially alarmed by the unusual patience which their chief had displayed. The latter did not leave them long in doubt.

"Now, scoundrel," he continued in a rough voice, "you have said all, I think?"

"Yes, all, Excellency."

"And I have listened to the end without interruption?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"I am accustomed," he continued, "to be patient with people who are about to die."

"What!" the Canadian exclaimed, as he hurriedly fell back a pace.

"Did you suppose that, had it been otherwise, I should so long have listened to your impudent chatter; let him be strung up."

"Take care what you are going to do," the adventurer shouted, seizing the brace of pistols hidden beneath his zarapé, "I will defend my life to the last breath."

"It is your right," the general said with a laugh; "I will make use of it, be assured. Tomorrow you will have to account for my death to Count de Melgosa, whom you will have dishonoured by despising his safe conduct."

These words, uttered somewhat haphazard by the Canadian, and rather in the hope of gaining time than for any other reason, produced greater effect than he had expected on his hearers. The latter, who, up to this moment, had seemed to take very slight interest in the scene, and had gone on talking together in a low voice, suddenly broke off; several of them walked up to the general, to whom they appeared to make representations, which he listened to with a haughty smile.

"I will remark to your Excellency," said an old gray-bearded officer, "that Count de Melgosa is alcade mayor of the town, that his honour is dear to us all, and that it will, perhaps, be as well to await his arrival before hanging this poor man."

"Nonsense, caballero," the general answered ironically, "do you really believe in this safe conduct? Do you suppose that if the count really took an interest in this scoundrel he would not have accompanied him?"

"Your Excellency is doubtless in the right, but it is not long till tomorrow, and, perhaps, it will be as well to wait till then."

"The more so," another added, "because the count will, in all probability, arrive at an early hour."

"Well, as you insist," the general said, with visible repugnance, "be it as you wish. Throw down your pistols, villain," he added, addressing the adventurer, who still stood on the defensive, "no hurt will be done you."

"That is possible," the latter said, shaking his head doubtfully; "but what has happened up to the present gives me no security for the future, and simple though I am, I am not quite so simple as to give up my weapons before I am certain that no trap is being laid for me."

"You will remain in prison till the count's arrival. If you have lied you will be hung; if not, you can go to the deuce. Are you satisfied?"

"Not excessively so. Still, I desire to prove to you of what an honest man is capable. I do not value life, and care precious little about supporting a good cause. There are my weapons," he added, throwing them on the floor, "do you what you please with me; I am now defenceless, and I leave the shame of my death to you."

The general himself seemed touched by this proof of confidence.

"¡Viva Dios!" he exclaimed, "you are really a brave fellow. We will try and save you from the gallows, if it be possible. Lead him away, but do him no harm."

Several officers, who probably would not have ventured to approach the athletic Canadian while he still held his pistols, now stepped forward to seize him.

"No one must lay hands on me," he said, "I have surrendered, and do not intend to resist: go on. I will follow."

"He is right," the general said with a laugh; "do not collar him, but leave him the use of his limbs. He is a thorough fighting cock; he has pledged his word and will keep it."

"Thanks for that remark, Excellency," the adventurer said; "I see that you are a connoisseur in the matter of men; go on, señores, I am ready to follow you."

A party of officers at once surrounded him, and he quitted the room. At the door he perceived the usher, who looked at him impertinently, but he merely shrugged his shoulders in contempt. His escort, without leaving the cabildo, led him through a labyrinth of passages, which would have been puzzling to anyone unacquainted with the gloomy building.

"Where the deuce are you leading me, my masters?" the prisoner asked; "Does this palace also contain cells?"

"Cells and dungeons," one of the officers replied; "it communicates with the Tribunal of the Holy Inquisition."

"Come," the Canadian said, with a laugh, "that is very convenient; in that way his Excellency the General can lay hands on his prisoners whenever he thinks proper."

This sally made the officers laugh. A moment after they informed the prisoner that they had arrived. They halted, and one of them, who bore a large bunch of keys, selected one, and opened a low and apparently very substantial door; a puff of hot foetid air at once issued from the opening. The Canadian gave an involuntary shudder, but his guardians allowed him no time for reflection; they thrust him unceremoniously into the dungeon, bolted the door upon him, and the prisoner suddenly found himself in complete darkness.

"Well," he muttered, so soon as he was alone, "I believe that Diego López was right, and that I acted like an ass in not following his advice."

Unfortunately for him, this sensible reflection came too late.

CHAPTER XIX.
THE DUNGEON

However brave a man may be it is not without a feeling of instinctive terror that he finds himself suddenly cut off from society and shut up far from the company of other men, deprived of light and almost of the vital air necessary for the due play of the lungs. Darkness brings with it sad and despairing thoughts; and however powerfully a man's character may be tempered the first moments he passes in a dungeon, whatever may be the cause that has led him there, are crushing; but, fortunately, hope is the last feeling that breaks down in a man's heart. His thoughts, constantly directed to the future, promptly recall to his heart the courage which had deserted it, and in a few hours, growing accustomed to his dungeon, he shakes off the prostration which had seized upon him, regards the position calmly, and only dreams of the means by which to regain the liberty he has lost, for that is the sole object of his thoughts, desires, and efforts.

The adventurer experienced all the feelings we have attempted to describe; but as he was an energetic man, accustomed for many years to a life of struggle, mixed up with strange episodes, he did not allow himself to be overcome by the horror of his situation, but, on the contrary, regarded it with considerable calmness and philosophy. When he had succeeded in restoring some order in his ideas, which had been upset by such rapidly succeeding events, he prepared to inspect his dungeon, which did not appear so dark as when he entered. In fact, on leaving the daylight his eyes had been at first blinded by the darkness, but they gradually grew accustomed to the obscurity, and now, though he could not see clearly, he was able to distinguish objects sufficiently to walk about without groping his way.

"Well," he said, talking to himself, after the fashion of men accustomed to live alone, "thanks to my good idea of not letting myself be touched, I have not been stripped of anything I possessed, and, spite of throwing the pistols on the ground, I could in case of need defend myself bravely with the weapons which I still possess. Let me reflect a little on what I had better do; and in the first place, according to the Indian fashion, I will smoke a pipe, for there is nothing like tobacco to clear the brain."

The Canadian's position was far from being desperate, and he saw this now that he was cool. In the matter of arms he still possessed a brace of pistols, and a knife with a long, sharp blade, a powder flask, a bullet bag, tobacco, and everything requisite for striking a light, if he wanted it. These different articles, hidden beneath the wide folds of his zarapé, which fell from his shoulders to his knees, had escaped the notice of his guards, who, moreover, acting in conformity with the orders the general had himself given, had not attempted to approach the prisoner.

As he had resolved, the Canadian seated himself as comfortably as he could, with his back against the wall, lit his pipe, and fell into a deep reverie. He smoked thus for a few minutes with all the beatitude of an Indian sachem, when he gave a start of surprise, almost of terror, on hearing a sarcastic voice say, two paces from him —

"Ah, ah! The paleface escaped the redskins, but his own brothers have seized him."

"Is there another prisoner in this dungeon?" the hunter asked.

"Yes," the stranger said, laconically.

"Who may you be, comrade; and why do you seem to rejoice so greatly at my misfortune?"

"Running Water is a chief," the voice answered. "His heart is glad when he sees a paleface suffer."

"Much good may it do you, chief; but I don't exactly see what profit you can derive from my sufferings."

"Running Water is an enemy of the Yoris."

"In the first place, redskin, let us settle facts; I am not a Yori, but a Canadian hunter, which I take some pride in informing you is by no means the same thing."

"Does my brother speak truly? Is he really a great heart of the east?"

"I fancy that you can recognize that fact from my way of speaking Spanish. But where the deuce are you stowed away, chief, for I cannot see you?"

"I am close to my brother, seated on his right hand."

The hunter looked carefully in the direction which the strange speaker indicated, and at length distinguished a human form crouched in a corner of the wall.

"On my word," he continued, "I am not sorry to have someone to talk to, for time passes more quickly. Tell me, chief, what have you done to be here?"

"Are not the Indians hunted like wild beasts by the Yoris?" he answered, bitterly. "Is a pretext wanted to kill a redskin?"

"That is true, chief. You are right. It is unhappily but too true. And have you been a prisoner long?"

"Running Water fell into the trap he set for others. The sun was level with the lowest branches at the moment when his enemies threw him into this hole like an unclean beast."

"That is a sad thing for you, chief; the more so, as in all probability you will only leave it to march to your death."

"It will be welcome," the Indian said in a hollow voice, "since Running Water's vengeance has escaped him."

There was a silence, during which the two men reflected. —

"If you succeeded in getting out of this hole, as you term it so correctly," the Canadian presently continued, "and your liberty were restored you, would you be grateful to the man who did you so great a service?"

"My life would belong to him," the Indian exclaimed eagerly; but quickly recovering himself, he added, "Why should I believe such words? All the palefaces have crooked tongues; moreover, is not my brother a prisoner also?"

"That is true; but I may possibly find means to aid your escape. I have my plan; although my detention ought to be short, I have but very slight confidence in the word of a man who, contrary to the law of nations, put me here; and, perhaps, instead of waiting for a problematical tomorrow, I shall attempt to escape with you tonight. I am not at all anxious to dance at the end of a rope."

The greater part of this explanation was thrown away on the redskin, who did not understand it in spite of the great attention he paid to the hunter.

"Hence," the latter continued, "if you will let me act in my own way, we shall probably go away together, the more so because I have no reason to owe you a grudge, as you never did me any harm."

"Running Water is a chief," the redskin replied emphatically; "he will not lie to save his life."

"Good. I know the principles of you Indians, and that when you believe yourself at death's door you seem to forget your system of dissimulation, so explain yourself. I shall put faith in your words whatever you may say."

"Let my brother listen. He was attacked two nights ago by the redskins."

"True, chief. It would be droll had you been among the Indians who attacked us."

"Running Water was there, but was ignorant of my brother's presence. He only attacked the Yoris."

"What you say seems to me tolerably probable. Still, White Crow came to my camp and I had a rather long interview with him."

"My brother's words are true, but at that time the attack was resolved on."

"In that case, I have nothing more to say. It was all right, for war has its laws. Still, listen to me, chief, your words have caused me to reflect."

"Ah!" the Indian said bitterly, "Has the paleface changed his opinion now?"

"Not positively, chief. Still, I confess frankly to you that, after the avowal you have made, I feel a certain repulsion to joining my fortunes to yours."

"What do the palefaces care for an Indian's life? He is not a man."

"You wrong me, chief; but I know that misfortune makes men unjust, and I forgive you."

"My brother is generous," the chief remarked ironically.

"More so than you imagine; if you will be pleased to listen without interruption you shall have a proof of it."

"My brother can speak, my ears are open."

"I repeat that for certain present reasons I prefer remaining here, and running the risk of what may happen to trying to escape with you; but, for all that, I will not desert you, and, on the contrary, give you the means to attempt a flight."

"Good, what are the means?"

The Canadian drew his knife from the sheath.

"It is probable," he continued, "that a gaoler will soon come to bring us food, for I do not suppose that they intend us to die of hunger. Take this knife; notice, by the by, that it is a most valuable weapon for a prisoner, and that I give up mine for your sake. When the man to whom I refer appears, you will see what you have to do. Still, avoid killing him if you can, for we must never kill even an enemy unnecessarily."

The Indian seized the knife which the Canadian handed him, brandished it round his head with a laugh of savage joy, and then passed it through his belt.

"Thanks, paleface," he said with an accent of profound gratitude. "You have done more for me than I ever could have expected from a man of your colour. To you I shall owe my escape from death, liberty, and the accomplishment of the vengeance I have so long been pursuing. My life belongs to you, henceforth you are the master of it. Remember that you have a brother among the Comanches; the redskins never forget an insult, and always retain the memory of a kindness. Now, I am certain that you are not a Yori. May the Wacondah protect and be ever favourable to you. You have caused my heart a sensation of happiness such as it has not felt for many years."

After uttering these words with all the emphasis natural to his race, the Indian chief crouched down facing the door, and awaited with feverish impatience the arrival of the gaoler. The Canadian laughed inwardly at the trick he was about to play the general. In his opinion, what he had done was quite fair; he had no consideration to maintain for individuals who had disregarded the law of nations in their treatment of him, and after threatening to hang him, cast him like a dog into a filthy dungeon. Besides, he had for the Indians generally that instinctive pity which strong men feel for those whom they believe intellectually inferior to them. And then, was not the Indian a prisoner like himself? He, therefore, regarded him as an ally, and in favouring his flight, he secured himself a valuable friend for the future in the event of his falling into the hands of the redskins.

The two men remained silent, for they had nothing more to say to each other. Several hours elapsed in this way. The redskin, calm, cold, and motionless, was watching for the arrival of the gaoler, as the jaguar of his forests does the prey that nourishes it, and the hunter, careless of what was going on around him, had wrapped himself in his zarapé, and was leaning half asleep against the wall. Probably, in the confusion of the festival, the man ordered to supply the prisoners with food let the hour pass, for the sun had long set, although the denizens of the dungeon could not perceive the fact, and nothing led to the supposition that they would be fed.

"The deuce," the Canadian at length said, shaking himself ill-temperedly, "do these gabachos of Spaniards intend to keep us without supper? I am dying of hunger, caray! And you, chief, do you not feel the want of some food, were it only a lump of hard bread?"

"The redskins are not greedy squaws. They can endure hunger without complaining."

"All that is very fine, but I am not an Indian, and when I have nothing to eat, deuce take me if I do not become ferocious."

"Silence," the Indian said as he listened attentively, "my brother will soon eat. I hear footsteps approaching."

The adventurer held his tongue. For a moment he forgot his hunger to witness the scene that was about to take place. A considerable period of time elapsed ere the noise which had struck the practised ear of the savage was perceptible to the hunter. At length he heard the sound of footsteps, which grew louder and louder. A key turned in the lock, the bolts were drawn, the door swung back on its rusty hinges, and a man entered, holding a lantern in one hand and a basket in the other.

At the moment when this individual appeared in the doorway, the Indian leapt on him with a tiger's bound, threw him down and seized him by the throat; before the poor fellow so unexpectedly attacked had time to utter a cry or make the slightest effort in his defence, he was bound and gagged. The Comanche, leaping over his body, ran down the passage and disappeared with extraordinary rapidity. All this took place so hurriedly, that the hunter guessed rather than saw what had occurred. The gaoler still lay motionless, with half his body inside, the other half outside, the dungeon. When the Indian had disappeared, the hunter rose and went up to the gaoler.