The Queen of the Savannah: A Story of the Mexican War

This treaty terminated the war; but Father Sandoval did not know how to communicate the fact to General Cárdenas. After the menaces made by that general, and the summary executions that followed them, no one cared to go to him. Don Aníbal, ever ready to sacrifice himself for the common welfare, offered to proceed to the general. The latter, contrary to expectation, let the flag of truce enter the town, and even received him with a certain amount of courtesy, which surprised Don Aníbal himself, especially after the manner in which the first interview he had with him ended.

The hacendero handed the general a copy of the treaty, adding that he hoped this document would put a stop to the bloodshed. The general took the paper, which he read attentively twice, as if weighing all its clauses. While he was perusing it, Don Aníbal tried in vain to follow on his face the effect it produced; but the general's features seemed carved in marble, and no emotion was visible on them.

"My answer will be brief, caballero," he said, in a dry voice, but with an accent of gloomy resolution. "In my opinion, the Viceroy O'Donojú has no power to settle so serious a question as the independence of New Spain. The king, my master and his, delegated him, not to throw away this colony, but to keep it for him at all risks. This deed is therefore null, so long as the King of Spain and the Indies has not ratified it. As for me, caballero, I shall not resign the authority entrusted to me. A royal order alone will make me return my sword to the scabbard from which I have drawn it. Whatever the consequences of this resolution may be to me, I shall wait for that order. Good day."

The general bowed slightly to the flag of truce, and turned away as if to make him understand that his audience was over. Don Aníbal withdrew, and was conducted to the advanced posts with bandaged eyes, although treated with the utmost respect by the soldiers told off as his escort. The chief of the Liberals was most anxiously awaiting the return of his emissary, as he feared, with some show of reason, that the general, despising, as usual, the law of nations, had made him undergo unworthy treatment. Hence it was with extreme pleasure that he saw Don Aníbal return. Unhappily, the reply brought by the hacendero did not leave the slightest hope of peace. Father Sandoval, though recognizing in his heart the wisdom of his enemy's conduct, resolved with a sigh of regret to deal a heavy blow, and made his preparations accordingly.

CHAPTER XXX.
ON THE TRAIL

Oliver Clary left Don Melchior's room in a very thoughtful state; the count followed him, not venturing to address him, as he seemed so preoccupied. On reaching the patio, where peons were holding two horses for them, the adventurer stopped, struck his forehead, and then turning to the count, said —

"You cannot come with me."

"Why not?" the count asked; "Where are you going?"

"How do I know? That young man's calm and resigned grief crushes my heart, and I am going to seek some consolation for him at all hazards."

"You are kind."

"No, I have suffered. I know grief, and pity the unhappy; that is all. Remain here; you will not be of the slightest use to me in what I am about to attempt; your presence, on the contrary, might be injurious to me and to yourself. You had better wait for me here. Watch that young man carefully and show him the greatest kindness. Perhaps, on my return I shall tell you more; I have a doubt on my mind which I am anxious to clear up. Heaven grant that I may meet the man in search of whom I am going. One word more: if I do not return at the hour settled, use your influence over Don Melchior to keep him patient. Farewell, I am about to attempt impossibilities."

And leaving the count amazed, and not at all understanding these mysterious and apparently unconnected remarks, the adventurer leapt on his horse, and galloped down the steep hill at the risk of breaking his neck twenty times. So soon as he had crossed the stream and found himself in the open country, the Canadian checked his horse's pace, turned its head in the direction of the Río Grande del Norte, and put on his considering cap.

The worthy Canadian, with the reckless temerity characteristic of the wood rangers, had formed the plan of setting out in search of a village or encampment of Indios bravos, as he felt convinced, after what had occurred a few days previously, that there must be one in the neighbourhood. By joining the redskins he would have no difficulty, thanks to his thorough knowledge of Indian manners, in obtaining information about the fate of the ladies, which would enable him afterwards to attempt one of those daring strokes to which he was accustomed, and which had so often proved successful.

The idea was good, but the execution offered extraordinary difficulties. A trail is a very awkward thing to follow in a desert or in a savage country, where there are no other tracks but those made by wild beasts. Still, a good wood ranger, when he has once discovered the beginning of a trail, however confused it may be, always succeeds in reaching the other end. But the trail must exist, that is to say, some sign, however fugitive or slight, must warn the hunter in what direction the people he is pursuing have gone. But, under the present circumstances, that was not the Canadian's situation; the trail he proposed to follow he must, to a certain extent, invent, as he was entering the desert without any settled purpose, and entirely trusting to chance, that great performer of miracles.

The adventurer did not conceal from himself the difficulties of his enterprise, hence, he tried, as far as possible, to get chance over to his side. When he had forded the river and found himself on Indian territory, the hunter carefully inspected his weapons, in the probable event of his being obliged to use them; then, after riding for about a mile straight ahead, he threw the bridle on his horse's neck and let it follow its own impulses, and that infallible instinct which animals possess, and which puts human reason to shame. After a few moments' hesitation, the noble animal shook its head several times, stretched out its neck, and suddenly seeming to form a determination, started in a direction exactly opposite to that which its master had hitherto compelled it to follow.

"Good," the Canadian said, "I'll bet two jaguar skins to a muskrat's that we shall soon have some news."

And he let his horse go on, contenting himself with carefully examining the thick scrub he passed and the tall grass through which he rode with great difficulty, in order not to let himself be attacked unawares by an invisible foe. It was about nine in the morning, the hour most pleasant for travelling in these torrid latitudes. For about an hour the Canadian thus advanced haphazard, when suddenly a bullet whizzed past his ear.

"Who is the clumsy scoundrel turning me into a target?" the hunter said, coolly, as he halted and looked around; "Devil take the animal for missing me so stupidly."

A slight smoke, which rose a short distance off, from the grass, soon indicated to him the spot whence the shot was fired; without hesitation, he dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and dashed in that direction, resolved to take a prompt revenge for this unfair attack. But almost immediately a hurried motion commenced in the tall grass; it parted under the pressure of a vigorous hand, and an Indian appeared. It was Running Water, holding in his hand the gun he had just used, the barrel of which was still smoking.

"Hang it, chief," the Canadian said gaily, "it must be confessed that you have a strange way of putting your question."

"My brother must pardon me; it is not my fault," the Indian answered.

"That you missed me," the Canadian interrupted him laughingly. "By Jove, I am convinced of that, for the bullet almost passed through my hair."

"My brother will not understand me. I did not recognize him. Had I done so, I should not have fired on the man to whom I owe my life."

"Nonsense! On the prairie that is of no consequence, chief; but, excepting the rather rough way in which you bade me welcome, I am delighted at having met you."

"My brother is now the friend of a chief; he is in safety on our hunting grounds."

"So it seems," the adventurer replied mockingly.

Running Water's face assumed an expression of sorrow.

"My brother, then, will not pardon an unhappy mistake, at which he sees his friend broken-hearted."

"Come, come, chief, let us say no more about it; there was more noise than hurt. I am glad to see you at liberty again, and, according to appearances, in good case. You have not taken long to procure weapons."

"The chief is on his own territory," the Indian answered, with a flash of pride.

"Very good, I admit that, although I fancy you venture rather close to the Spanish border."

"I am not alone."

"That is probable. I do not wish to know the motives that bring you to these parts; that is your business, although I suspect a hearty Indian revenge behind it."

An evil smile played round the chief's thin lips.

"Vengeance is the virtue of the red men," he answered in a hollow voice; "they never forget kindness and never pardon wrong."

"I am aware of that, chief, and I cannot blame you, for every man acts according to his instincts."

"Is my brother on the hunting trail?"

"I am on no trail, chief, I am rambling about for amusement."

Running Water gave a distrustful look, for Indians never allow that anyone does anything without a motive.

"Then my brother is not going anywhere?" he continued.

"Indeed no, I am letting my horse guide me."

"Wah! My brother is very merry."

"It is the case, I assure you; and the proof is that so soon as I leave you I shall turn back."

The Indian reflected for a moment.

"Will my brother consent to smoke the calumet at the fire of a chief?"

"I do not see any obstacle. Indian hospitality is great; and my ride has given me an appetite which I shall not be sorry to appease."

"Good; my brother will have no cause to complain of his friend. Let him follow, and he will soon be able to satisfy his hunger."

"Go on then, chief, and I will walk in your footsteps."

The Indian turned away, and re-entered the tall grass, where the hunter followed him without hesitation. Their march lasted but a few minutes, and they reached the camp of the Comanches, which was so well concealed among trees and bushes, that the Canadian might have passed close by and not noticed it. The Indians display extraordinary skill in the choice of their temporary encampments on the prairie; the most skilful hunter cannot compete with them in the cleverness with which they hide their presence, however large their numbers may be. Hence the camp which the Canadian now reached was composed of upwards of two hundred Indians, and yet nothing led him to suspect that he was so near them.

A thing that greatly surprised the hunter was, that he noticed a considerable number of women and children in camp. The redskins rarely travel with their families, unless they are going to change their abode. The periods of these migrations is indicated beforehand, and the year was not sufficiently advanced for the Comanches to leave their winter village, or dare to venture so near the Spanish border. Still, as a good diplomatist, the Canadian, in spite of the suspicions that began to spring up in his mind, seemed to attach no importance to this unusual circumstance, and did not make the slightest allusion to a subject which would doubtless arouse the distrust of his suspicious hosts.

The reception which the Comanches gave him was most cordial; Running Water especially, by all sorts of attentions, sought to make Clary forget the rather rough manner in which he had accosted him. The latter met the chief's advances halfway, and the most frank cordiality continued to preside over their chance meeting. When the breakfast, simple, like all Indian meals, and entirely composed of venison, was ended, the guests lit their pipes, and each began talking upon indifferent matters.

Still the Canadian did not let out of sight the motive which had urged him to enter the prairie; and while smoking, he thought over the means of quietly veering the conversation round to the point he desired, although he did not dare ask the chief any direct question, for he was aware of his craft. The pretext which the hunter vainly sought, Running Water very naturally supplied, in the following way. As usually happens between men accustomed to a desert life, the conversation gradually settled upon hunting, an always interesting and inexhaustible subject between Indians and wood rangers.

"My brother knows that the moon of the wild oats will soon begin," said the chief, "and that it is the period when the buffalo chase is most productive."

"I do," the Canadian replied.

"Will my brother hunt the buffalo?"

"I should like to do so, but unluckily I am very slightly acquainted with this country. The buffalo is an animal only found in herds, and a single man could not hunt it advantageously. My companions have left me, and I am alone, hence I shall be obliged to set traps during the coming season."

"A poor trade for a brave man," the chief remarked.

"You are right, but what can I do? No man can be expected to perform impossibilities. I regret more than I can tell you the loss of this season; but I am compelled to put up with it."

"The Comanches are the first hunters of the prairie," the chief said with emphasis; "the tribe of the Red Buffaloes is renowned; their totem is a buffalo."

"I have heard the skill and courage of the warriors of your tribe highly spoken of, chief."

The sachem smiled proudly.

"The buffaloes are our cousins," he said; "when we hunt them they know that it is because we have need of their meat and skins, and they allow us to capture them in order to do us a service."

The Canadian gave a silent nod of assent. He was aware of the redskin superstition, which makes them believe that each of their tribes is descended from some animal, and he considered it unnecessary to open a discussion, which could have no satisfactory result, on the point.

The chief continued —

"Why will not my brother the Sumach hunt in company with the Red Buffaloes?"

The Canadian shook his head, although he felt great pleasure at this unexpected overture, for the Indians are very jealous of their hunting grounds, and the greatest proof of friendship they can give a man is to make him such an offer.

"For several reasons, chief," he answered; "my ammunition is nearly exhausted, I must procure more, and the road is long to the first town where I can obtain good powder. Moreover, you seem to be travelling at this moment. Who knows whether I shall be able to find you on my return?"

"Wah, my brother is a skilful paleface hunter; it is easy for him to follow a friend's trail."

"Yes, if it is not old, and a fresh one has not crossed it."

Running Water reflected for a moment, during which the Canadian anxiously awaited the result of his meditation.

"Let my brother listen," the sachem at last went on, "the hunt will not begin till the ninth sun from this; that is more time than he requires to fetch his powder and return."

"I grant it."

"Good! The Red Buffaloes are not travelling; they are going to a grand assembly of their nations to witness a sacrifice of prisoners."

"Ah!" the hunter said with capitally feigned surprise, "I did not know that the Comanches had made an expedition against the Apache dogs?"

"The Apaches are cowardly knaves," the chief answered; "they have buried the hatchet so deep that they would be unable to find it, and lift it against the Comanches. The prisoners are palefaces."

While uttering these words, the sachem fixed a searching glance on the hunter, but the latter did not blench.

"That is of no concern of mine, chief," he replied carelessly, "especially if the prisoners are Spaniards."

"My brother does not love the Spaniards?"

"I should think not, the chief must remember the place where he met me a short time back."

"That is true; my brother has not a deceitful tongue, he is the friend of the redskins."

"I think I have proved that to you."

"Good! Running Water is one of the first sachems of his nation, his word is good; let my brother go and fetch his ammunition, he will find the chief at the gathering place appointed for the tribe."

"Very good, but where is it?"

"All the hunters know it; it is the teocali of Zoltepec; will my brother come?"

"I will try, chief; but, as you know, men are subject to the will of the master of life. If I missed the appointment you so graciously make with me, you must not be angry."

"The chase will not begin before the eighth sun of the coming moon. The chief will wait for his brother the Sumach until the second sun before the hunt."

"Oh, in that case," the hunter answered, not wishing to press the point further for fear of offending the chief, "you can count on me, I have more time than I require to settle my affairs, and be punctual at the meeting."

Matters thus arranged, the conversation took another turn. The Canadian remained for nearly an hour longer at the Comanche encampment, and then took his leave; the sachem repeated his invitation, and the two men separated, after many protestations of friendship, really well satisfied with each other. Running Water was delighted at having found an opportunity to pay the debt of gratitude he had contracted with the man who saved his life. As for the hunter, he was still better pleased, for he believed that he had obtained positive information as to the spot where the two unhappy captives were and the fate reserved for them. After leaving the Comanches, the Canadian started at a gallop for the hacienda, which he reached an hour before the time he had himself considered as the probable duration of his absence. The count, and especially Don Melchior, were awaiting his return impatiently. Clary, without loss of time, informed them of what he had done, and told them in the fullest details all he had picked up from Running Water.

"Now," he said, in conclusion, "I believe we have no other alternative than to return to our old plan; it is the wisest, and only one that offers a chance of success. Moonshine, with a dozen of his comrades, will get on the trail of the Indians, and – "

"But you?" the count interrupted.

"I have contracted obligations to the chief of the Red Buffaloes, which prevent my doing anything against them."

"That is true," the count remarked.

"So," the hunter added, "remain here, Don Melchior; within two days you will have a reinforcement enabling you to attempt the deliverance of the two most unhappy ladies; by acting otherwise you will only ruin yourself and them."

"Thanks," the young man replied, in a hollow voice, and burying his head in his hands, he took no further part in the conversation. An hour later the count and the hunter mounted, and started in the direction of the Hacienda del Barrio.

"The poor boy is very sad," the count remarked.

"I am afraid he will commit some folly," the hunter replied, with a shake of the head.

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE JACAL

The night was dark; the rain, driven by the wind lashed furiously; the Río Sabina, swollen by the storm, rolled along its yellow, muddy waters, which were filled with trunks of trees and fragments of every description, with a lugubrious murmur. The town and camp were plunged in gloomy silence, only interrupted at long intervals by the mournful cry, "Sentinela, alerta," with which the sentries on the ramparts and in the intrenchments called to each other. At times a vivid flash, immediately followed by a deafening peal of thunder, lit up the horizon with a fantastic and transient gleam; then all fell again into deeper silence and more complete obscurity.

In a miserable jacal, built in the centre of the camp, which every gust threatened to blow away, two men, seated in equipales, in front of a table covered with maps and plans, were conversing by the light of a smoking candle. The jacal was the headquarters of the Mexican army, while the men were Padre Sandoval and Don Aníbal de Saldibar. Outside, two sentries, wrapped up in their zarapés, were walking up and down in front of the door, cursing the wind and rain in a low voice, while several horses, saddled and fastened to pickets, were champing their feet and pawing up the ground impatiently.

"You see, my friend," Don Pelagio was saying at the moment we introduce the reader into the jacal, "everything favours us. Heaven is with us."

"Yes," the hacendero answered; "but, General Cárdenas is an old soldier, accustomed to European warfare. I doubt whether he will let himself be caught in this trap."

"You are a perfect St. Thomas, my friend," Don Pelagio continued, "and doubt is your essence. The ruse I have invented is too simple for the general not to be caught in it. For the last two days my spies have prepared him by clever reports to fall into the trap we are setting for him; and, moreover, I count upon an omnipotent ally."

"An ally?" Don Aníbal asked, curiously. "Who is he?"

"The general's immense pride," the priest replied with a smile. "You cannot imagine how this haughty man suffers at being held at bay like a wild beast in its den by enemies whom he despises; be certain that he will eagerly seize the opportunity to chastise us."

"Hum!" the hacendero said, but slightly convinced.

"Come," the other continued gaily; "there you are again with your monstrous doubt. If pride fails us, my friend, we have ambition."

"What do you mean?"

"The general only came to America to regain his ruined fortunes and compromised reputation. The treaty signed between General Iturbide and the Viceroy – a treaty which, between ourselves, will not be ratified by the cabinet of the Escurial – offers him a splendid chance. A battle would restore hope to the Spaniards; momentarily re-establish the affairs of Ferdinand VII.; will make the king regard General Cárdenas as an indispensable man; will permit him to aspire to the highest dignities, and perhaps succeed O'Donojú. Do you now understand me?"

"Yes, yes. You have thoroughly studied human passions, and nothing escapes your infallible glance; but, perhaps, you have let yourself be carried too far."

"¿Quién sabe?" Don Pelagio said gently; then he suddenly changed the conversation. "You have received no news from Barrio?"

"None; which leads me to hope that all is well; were it otherwise, Don Melchior or Sotavento would have come to warn me."

"You know, my friend, that I have several times remarked to you that you place too great confidence in that man."

"I have ever found him faithful and devoted."

"You think so; but take care. You know that I am rarely deceived in my appreciations. Now, I am convinced this man deceives, and is playing a long studied part."

"My dear friend, several persons have said to me what you are now stating. I have watched the man with the greatest care, and never has anything suspicious in his conduct justified the unjust doubts entertained about him."

"Heaven grant that he may always be so, my friend; and that you may not be aroused, at the moment when you least expect it, from your imprudent slumber by a thunderclap."

At the same instant a dazzling flash shot athwart the sky, and the thunder burst forth furiously. The two men, involuntarily struck by this strange coincidence, remained for a moment dumb and amazed, listening to the alarm cries of the sentries as they challenged each other in the darkness, and feeling their hearts contracted by an undefinable sadness.

"It is, perchance, a warning from heaven," Don Pelagio muttered in a low voice.

"Oh! I cannot believe it," the hacendero replied, as he passed his hand over his damp forehead.

The general rose.

"Come," he said, as he looked out, "that thunderclap is the last effort of the tempest, and the sky seems growing clearer. We shall have a splendid day tomorrow."

"At what hour do you intend starting, General?" the hacendero asked him.

Don Pelagio looked at his watch.

"It is half past ten," he said; "the camp will not be completely evacuated till midnight. We will set out at two o'clock, with the few men I have selected."

"In that case, with your permission, I will retire and sleep till the hour for departure."

"Do so, my friend; but mind and be here again at half past one."

"That is settled, General."

The two gentlemen shook hands affectionately, and Don Aníbal walked towards the door of the jacal. Just as he was going, the noise of several horses could be heard.

"¿Quién vive?" the sentry challenged.

"Méjico e independencia," a voice replied, which Don Aníbal fancied he recognized.

"¿Qué gente?" the soldier continued.

"El Coronel Don Aurelio Gutiérrez."

"Let him come in, let him come in," the general shouted.

"Pase Vd: adelante," the sentry said.

"Stay here," Don Pelagio said to the hacendero. "This unexpected visitor doubtless brings us valuable news."

The horsemen dismounted; their heavy spurs could be heard clanking on the saturated ground, and five men entered the jacal. Four remained at the door, half hidden by the darkness, and the fifth alone walked up to the general. It was Don Aurelio.

"How comes it, Colonel," the general asked him quickly, without leaving him time to speak, "that you are here, instead of remaining at the post I assigned you?"

Don Aurelio bowed respectfully to his chief.

"General," he replied, "I have strictly obeyed the orders you were pleased to give me. The division you placed under my command is at its post; but I thought it my duty myself to lead to you these four persons, who came to my main guard, and requested to be immediately brought into your presence."

"Ah!" the general continued, taking an inquiring glance at the strangers, whom the darkness prevented him from recognizing. "Who are they?"

"They will tell you themselves, General. Now that my task is accomplished, permit me to retire and return to my post."

"Go, señor. Perhaps it would have been better had you not left it."

The colonel made no reply, but bowed and went out. Almost immediately after he could be heard riding away at a gallop. There was a momentary silence, during which Don Pelagio carefully examined the four persons still standing motionless. At length he decided on addressing them.

"Come hither, señores," he said, "and be good enough to tell me who you are."

Only two advanced. When they reached the lighted portion of the jacal, they dropped the corner of the zarapé which covered the lower part of their faces, and at the same moment doffed their vicuña hats, the broad brims of which fell over their eyes.

"The Canadian!" Don Aníbal exclaimed, with a start of surprise.

"Count de Melgosa?" Don Pelagio said, no less astonished.

The newcomers were really Oliver Clary and the count.

"It seems as if you did not expect us, General," the Canadian said gaily.

"On my word I did not," Don Pelagio replied, as he held out his hand to both. "I did not expect either of you; but you are not the less welcome."

"Thanks," said the count.

"Why, I thought you were dead, Señor Clary," the priest continued.

"Well," the Canadian said, "it was touch and go. You simply sent me to a wild beast. But, no matter; I managed to get out of his clutches."

"All the better. But you must require rest. Who are the persons accompanying you?"

"One is a confidential peon of mine; the other a prisoner whom Señor Don Olivero took," the count answered.

"Yes, yes," said the hunter; "we will talk about that scamp presently."

"To what fortunate accident may I attribute your presence here, Señor Conde?"

"A wish to see you, caballero."

"Ah, ah!" the general said, with a piercing glance, "Has grace fallen on you at last? – will you at length consent to join us? It would be a great pleasure to us, Señor Conde."

"You are nearer the truth than you suppose, Señor Padre," the count replied with a smile. "I am not on your side, as you pretend to suppose; but, on the other hand, I am no longer opposed to you; I have sent in my resignation, and, in one word, am neutral for the present."

"That is a bad position, Conde."

"Perhaps so, señor; but, for the present, I wish to keep it. Moreover, to be frank, I will confess that I have come more especially to see Don Aníbal."

"Me?" the hacendero exclaimed, as he stepped forward.

"Yes, my friend; but before I explain to you the cause of my coming, allow Señor Don Olivero to report to your chief the way in which he carried out the mission confided to him."

"Very good," the hacendero answered, as he fell back a step.

"Come, speak, Colonel," Father Sandoval said.

"Am I still a colonel?" the hunter asked.

"Hang it, as you are not dead, I see no reason why you should not be, especially as I am extremely pleased with your lieutenant, Moonshine, and your cuadrilla has done me eminent services."

"In that case, all is well," the hunter said joyfully, as he snapped his fingers, and coquettishly twisted his light moustache.

After this outburst of joy, the hunter began his narrative, to which the general listened with the deepest attention. When he came to the carrying off the papers, Don Pelagio interrupted him.

"Have you those papers with you?" he asked eagerly.

"Here they are," the hunter answered, as he drew them from the pocket into which he had stuffed them, and laid them on the table.

The general seized them, and going up to the candle, carefully perused them.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, with a sudden outburst, "I was not mistaken; all is really as I foresaw; now I have him, and he will not escape me. Colonel, you performed your mission as a man of heart and intellect. I shall remember it at the first opportunity. Now go on," he added, as he carefully placed the papers in his bosom.

"Well," the hunter gaily remarked, "it seems that I made a better haul than I supposed."

"You could not be more lucky."

"All the better then. What you say to me, General, causes me the greater pleasure, because I shall probably have to ask a favour of you ere long."