CHAPTER XIV
THE MYSTERY
On leaving the Rancho del Coyote, Red Cedar dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and galloped in a south-western direction. So soon as he was out of the town he turned to the left, took a narrow path that ran round the walls, pulled up his horse, and advanced with the utmost caution. Throwing suspicious glances on either side, he went on thus for about three-quarters of an hour, when he reached a house, in one of the windows of which burned three wax tapers.
The lights thus arranged were evidently a signal for the squatter, for so soon as he came to the house he stopped and dismounted, attached his horse to a larch-tree, and prudently concealing himself behind a thicket, imitated thrice at equal intervals the hu-hu of an owl. The lights burning in the window were extinguished, as if by enchantment.
The night was gloomy, only a few stars studded the vault of heaven; a leaden silence brooded over the plain, which appeared quite solitary. At this moment a voice could be heard from the house which Red Cedar was watching so carefully. The squatter listened; the speaker leaned for a second out of the window looked cautiously round, and disappeared muttering loud enough for the American to overhear —
"All is quiet in the neighbourhood."
"Still," the squatter said, without showing himself, "the coyotes prowl about the plain."
"Are you coming or going?" the man at the window continued.
"Both," the squatter answered, still hidden behind his bush.
"You can come on, for you are expected."
"I know it; hence here I am."
While making this answer, the squatter left his hiding place, and placed himself before the door with folded arms, like a man who has nothing to fear.
The door was cautiously opened; a man emerged, carefully wrapped up in, a wide cloak, which only allowed eyes to be seen, that flashed in the gloom like a jackal's. This person walked straight up to Red Cedar.
"Well," he asked, in a low voice, "have you reflected?"
"Yes."
"And what is the result of your reflections?"
"I refuse."
"Still?"
"More than ever."
"Take care."
"I do not care, Don Melchior, for I am not afraid of you."
"No names!" the stranger exclaimed, impatiently.
"We are alone."
"No one is ever alone in the desert."
"That is true," Red Cedar muttered. "Let us return to our business."
"It is simple – give and give."
"Hum! You get to work very fast; unfortunately it cannot be so."
"Why not?"
"Why, because I am growing tired of constantly taking in my nets game by which others profit, and which I ought to keep as a safeguard."
"You call that girl a guarantee?"
"By Heaven! what else do you mean to make of her?"
"Do not compare me with you, scoundrel!"
"Where is the difference between us? I am a scoundrel, I grant; but, by heaven, you are another, my master, however powerful you may be."
"Listen, caballero!" the stranger answered, in a cutting voice. "I will lose no more of my time in discoursing with you. I want that girl, and will have her, whatever you may do to prevent me."
"Good; in that case you declare war against me?" the squatter said, with a certain tinge of alarm, which he tried in vain to conceal.
The stranger shrugged his shoulders.
"We have known one another long enough to be perfectly well acquainted; we can only be friends or foes. Is not that your opinion?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, hand Doña Clara over to me, and I will give you the papers which – "
"Enough!" the squatter said, sharply. "Have you those papers about you?"
The stranger burst into a laugh.
"Do you take me for such a fool?" he said.
"I do not understand you."
"I will not insult you by believing you. No, I have not those papers about me. I am not such an ass as to risk assassination at your hands."
"What would your death profit me?"
"Hang it all! If it were only my scalp you would be sure to receive at least fifty dollars for it."
At this mournful jest the squatter began laughing.
"I did not think of that," he said,
"Listen to me, Red Cedar, and print the words on your memory."
"Speak."
"In a month from today, hour for hour, day for day, wherever you may be, I shall present myself to you."
"For what purpose?' the squatter asked impudently.
"To repeat my demand with reference to the prisoner."
"Then, as now, I shall reply No, my master."
"Perhaps so. Live and learn. Now good-bye, and may the devil, your patron saint, preserve you in good health until our next meeting. You know that I have you tight; so consider yourself warned."
"Good, good! Threats do not frighten me. Demonios, since I have been traversing the desert, I have found myself opposed to enemies quite as dangerous as you, and yet I managed to get quit of them."
"That is possible, Red Cedar; but believe me, meditate carefully on my words."
"I repeat that your threats do not frighten me."
"I do not threaten, I warn you."
"Hum! Well, then, listen in your turn. In the desert, every man armed with a good rifle has nothing to fear from whomsoever."
"What next?" the stranger interrupted him, in a sarcastic voice.
"Well, my rifle is excellent, I have a sure aim, and I say no more."
"Nonsense, you are mad! I defy you to kill me!"
"Hang it, though, what can be your motive for wishing to have this girl in your power?"
"That is no affair of yours. I have no explanations due to you. Enough for you to know that I want her."
"You shall not have her."
"We shall see. Good-bye, Red Cedar."
"Good-bye, Don Melchior, or whatever be the name you please to bear."
The stranger made no reply, but turned his head with a gesture of contempt, and whistled. A man emerged from the house, holding a horse by the bridle; at one bound the stranger reached the saddle, and ordered the servant to withdraw.
"Farewell, Compadre, remember our appointment."
And loosing his reins, the stranger started at a gallop, not condescending even to turn his head. Red Cedar looked after him with an indescribable expression of rage.
"Oh," he muttered in a low voice, "demon! Shall I never free myself from your clutches?"
And with a motion rapid as thought he shouldered his rifle, and aimed at the departing man. All at once the latter turned his horse, and stood right opposite Red Cedar.
"Mind not to miss me!" he cried, with a burst of laughter that caused a cold perspiration to bead on the bandit's forehead.
The latter let his rifle fall, saying in a hollow voice: "He is right, and I am mad! If I only had the papers!"
The stranger waited for a moment calm and motionless; then he started again and soon disappeared in the darkness. Red Cedar stood with his body bowed forward, and his ears on the watch, so long as the horse's hoofs could be heard; then he returned to his own steed, and bounded into the saddle.
"Now to go and warn the dragoons," he said, and pushed on.
The squatter had scarce departed ere several men appeared from either side; they were Valentine, Curumilla, and Don Pablo on the right; Unicorn and Eagle-wing on the left. Valentine and his friends were astonished at meeting the Comanche chief, whom they believed gone back to his camp; but the sachem explained to them, in a few words, how, at the moment he was crossing the spot where they now were, he had heard Red Cedar's voice, and concealed himself in the shrubs in order to overhear the squatter's colloquy with his strange friend. Valentine had done the same; but, unfortunately, the party had been greatly disappointed, for the squatter's conversation remained to them an enigma, of which they sought the key in vain.
"'Tis strange," Valentine remarked, as he passed his hand several times across his forehead. "I do not know where I have seen the man just now talking here with Red Cedar, but I have a vague reminiscence of having met him before, where and under what circumstance I try, though in vain, to recall."
"What shall we do?" Don Pablo asked.
"Hang it, what we agreed on;" and turning to the chief, he said, "Good luck, brother, I believe we shall save our friend."
"I am sure of it," the Indian replied, laconically.
"May heaven hear you, brother," Valentine continued. "Act! While, on your side, you watch the town for fear of treason. We then will ambush ourselves on the road the gambusinos must take, in order to know positively the direction in which they are proceeding. Till tomorrow, chief!"
"Stop!" a panting voice exclaimed, and a man suddenly appeared in the midst of them.
"Father Seraphin!" Valentine said in a surprise. "What chance brings you this way?"
"I was looking for you."
"What do you want with me?"
"To give you some good news."
"Speak! Speak quickly, father! Has Don Miguel left his prison?"
"Alas! Not yet; but his daughter is free!"
"Doña Clara free!" Valentine shouted joyously. "Heaven be blessed! Where is she?"
"She is temporarily in safety, be assured of that; but let me give you a warning, which may perhaps prove useful to you."
"Speak! Speak!"
"By order of the governor, Red Cedar has gone to meet the regiment of dragoons, coming up to reinforce the Santa Fe garrison."
"Caramba," Valentine said, "are you sure of your statement, father?"
"I am: in my presence, the men who carried off Doña Clara spoke about it."
"All is lost if these soldiers arrive."
"Yes," the missionary said; "but, how to prevent it?"
Curumilla lightly touched the leader's arm.
"What do you want, chief!"
"The Comanches are warriors," Curumilla answered, curtly.
"Ah!" Valentine exclaimed, and tapping his forehead with delight, "that is true, chief; you save us."
Curumilla smiled with pleasure.
"While you go in pursuit of the soldiers," said Don Pablo, "as I can be of no service to you, I will accompany Father Seraphin to my poor sister, whom I have not seen so long, and am eager to embrace."
"Do so," Valentine answered. "At daybreak you will bring Doña Clara to the camp, that I may myself deliver her to her father."
"That is agreed."
Valentine, Curumilla, and Unicorn rushed out in the plain, while Father Seraphin and Don Pablo returned to the town. The two gentlemen, anxious to join the girl, did not perceive that they were closely watched by an individual, who followed their every movement, while careful not to be seen by them. It was Nathan, Red Cedar's eldest son.
How was that man there?
CHAPTER XV
THE AMBUSCADE
The nigh breeze had swept the clouds away; the sky, of a deep azure, was studded with an infinity of stars; the night was limpid, the atmosphere so transparent as to allow the slightest varieties of the landscape to be distinguished. About four leagues from Santa Fe, a numerous band of horsemen was following a path scarce traced in the tall grass, which approached the town with countless turns and windings. These horsemen, who marched in rather decent order, were nearly 600 in number, and formed the regiment of dragoons so anxiously expected by General Ventura.
About ten paces ahead rode four or five officers gaily chatting together, among whom was the colonel. The regiment continued its march slowly, advancing cautiously, through fear of losing its way in a perfectly strange country. The colonel and his officers who had always fought in the States bordering the Atlantic, found themselves now for the first time in these savage countries.
"Caballeros," the colonel suddenly remarked, "I confess to you that I am completely ignorant as to our whereabouts. Can any one of you throw a light on the subject? This road is fearful, it seems to lead nowhere, and I am afraid we have lost our way."
"We are all as ignorant as yourself on that head, colonel," an officer answered, "not one of us could say where we are."
"On my word!" the colonel went on, taking a glance of satisfaction around, "We are not in a hurry to reach Santa Fe. I suppose it makes little difference whether we get there today or tomorrow. I believe that the best thing for us to do is to bivouac here for the rest of the night; at sunrise we will start again."
"You are right, colonel," the officer said, whom he seemed to address most particularly, "a few hours' delay is of no consequence, and we run the risk of going out of our course."
"Give the order to halt."
The officer immediately obeyed; the soldiers, wearied with a long night's march, greeted with shouts of joy the order to stop. They dismounted. The horses were unsaddled and picketed, campfires were lighted, in less than an hour the bivouac was arranged.
The colonel, in desiring to camp for the night, had a more serious fear than that of losing his way; it was that of falling in with a party of Indios bravos.
The colonel was brave, and had proved it on many occasions; grown gray in harness, he was an old soldier who feared nothing in the world particularly; but accustomed to warfare in the interior of the Republic, had never seen opposed to him any but civilised foes, he professed for the Indians that instinctive fear which all the Mexicans entertain, and he would not risk a fight with an Apache or Comanche war party in the middle of the night, in a country whose resources he did not know, and run the risk of having his regiment cut to pieces by such Protean enemies. On the other hand, he was unaware that the governor of Santa Fe had such pressing need of his presence, and this authorised him in acting with the utmost precaution. Still, as soon as the bivouac was established, and the sentries posted, the colonel sent off a dozen resolute men under an Alferez, to trot up the country and try to procure a guide.
We will observe, in passing, that in Spanish America, so soon as you leave the capitals, such as Lima, or Mexico, roads, such as we understand them in Europe, no longer exist; you only find paths traced, in nine cases out of ten, by the footprints of wild beasts, and which are so entangled one with the other, that, unless you have been long accustomed to them, it is almost impossible to find your way. The Spaniards, we grant, laid out wide and firm roads, but since the War of Independence, they had been cut up, deteriorated and so abandoned by the neglect of the ephemeral governments that have followed each other in Mexico, that with the exception of the great highways of communication in the interior of the country, the rest had disappeared under the herbage.
The little squad of troopers sent out to beat up the country had started at a gallop, but it soon reduced its pace, and the soldiers and sergeant began laughing and talking, caring little for the important mission with which they were intrusted. The moon rose on the horizon, shedding her fantastic rays over the ground. As we have said, it was one of those lovely nights of the American desert full of strange odours. A majestic silence hovered over the plain, only disturbed at intervals by those sounds, without any known cause, which are heard on the savannahs, and which seem to be the respiration of the sleeping world. Suddenly the mockingbird sung twice, and its plaintive and soft song resounded melodiously through the air.
"Hallo," one of the dragoons said, addressing his comrade, "that's a bird that sings very late."
"An evil omen," the other said with a shake of his head.
"Canarios! What omen are you talking about, comrade?"
"I have always heard say," the second, speaker remarked sententiously, "that when you hear a bird sing on your left at night it predicts misfortune."
"The deuce confound you and your prognostics."
At this moment the song, which appeared previously some distance off, could be heard much more close, and seemed to come from some trees on the side of the path the dragoons were following. The Alferez raised his head and stopped, as if mechanically trying to explain the sound that smote his ears; but all became silent again, so he shook his head and continued his conversation. The detachment had been out more than an hour. During this long stroll, the soldiers had discovered nothing suspicious; as for the guide they sought, it is needless to say that they had not found him, for they had not met a living soul. The Alferez was about to give orders to return to camp, when one of the troopers pointed out to him some heavy, black forms, apparently prowling about unsuspiciously.
"What on earth can that be?" the officer asked, after carefully examining what was pointed out to him.
"Caspita," one of the dragoons exclaimed, "that is easy to see; they are browsing deer!"
"Deer!" said the Alferez, in whom the hunter's instinct was suddenly aroused, "there are at least thirty; suppose we try to catch some."
"It is difficult."
"Pshaw!" another soldier shouted, "It is light enough for each of us to send them a bullet."
"You must by no means use your carbines," the Alferez interposed sharply; "if our shots, re-echoed through the mountains, caught the ears of the Indians, who are probably ambushed in the thickets, we should be ruined."
"What is to be done, then?"
"Lasso them, caspita, as you wish to try and catch them."
"That is true; I did not think of that."
The dragoons, delighted at the opportunity of indulging in their favourite sport, dismounted, fastened their horses to the roadside trees and seized their lassos. They then advanced cautiously toward the deer, which continued grazing tranquilly, without appearing to suspect that enemies were so near them. On arriving at a short distance from the game, the dragoons separated in order to have room for whirling their lassos, and making a covering of each tree, they managed to approach within fifteen paces of the animals. Then they stopped, exchanged glances, carefully calculated the distance, and, at a signal from their leader, sent their lassos whizzing through the air.
A strange thing happened at this moment, however. All the deer hides fell simultaneously to the ground, displaying Valentine, Curumilla, and a dozen Comanche warriors, who, profiting by the stupor of the troopers at their extraordinary metamorphosis, hunted the hunters by throwing lassos over their shoulders and hurled them to the ground. The ten dragoons and their leader were prisoners.
"Well, my friends," Valentine said with a grin, "how do you like that sort of fun?"
The startled dragoons made no reply, but allowed themselves to be bound; one alone muttered between his teeth: —
"I was quite sure that villain of a mockingbird would bring us ill luck; it sang on our left. That never deceives, Canarios!"
Valentine smiled at this sally. He then placed two fingers in his mouth and imitated the cry of the mockingbird with such perfection, that the soldier looked up at the trees. He had scarce ended, when a rustling was heard among the bushes, and a man leaped between the hunters and their prisoners. It was Eagle-wing, the sachem of the Coras.
CHAPTER XVI
A FRIENDLY DISCUSSION
After leaving his enemy (for the mysterious man with whom he had so stormy a discussion could be nothing else), Red Cedar set out to join the regiment, and hasten its arrival according to the orders he had received. In spite of himself, the squatter was suffering from extraordinary nervousness, and involuntarily he went over the various points of the conversation with the person who took such precautions in communicating with him. The threats he had proffered recurred to his mind. It appeared as if the bandit, who feared nothing in the world, had good reason, however, for trembling in the presence of the man who, for more than an hour, had crushed him with his irony. What reason could be so powerful as to produce so startling a change in this indomitable being? No one could have said; for the squatter was master of his secret, and would have mercilessly killed anybody he suspected of having read even a portion of it.
The reason was, at any rate, very powerful; for after a few minutes of deep thought, his hand let go the reins and his head fell on his breast: the horse, no longer feeling the curb, stopped and began nibbling the young tree shoots. The squatter did not notice this halt; he was thinking, and hoarse exclamations now and then came from his chest, like the growling of a wild beast. At length he raised his head.
"No," he shouted, as he directed a savage glance at the starlit sky, "any struggle with that demon is impossible. I must fly, so soon as possible, to the prairies of the far west. I will leave this implacable foe; I will fly from him, as the lion does, carrying off my prey in my claws. I have not a moment to lose. What do I care for the Spaniards and their paltry disputes? General Ventura will seek another emissary, for more important matters claim my attention. I must go to the Rancho del Coyote, for there alone I shall find my revenge. Fray Ambrosio and his prisoner can supply me with the weapons I need for the terrible contest I am compelled to wage against that demon who comes straight from hell, and whom I will send back there."
After having uttered these words in a low voice, in the fashion of men wont to live in solitude, Red Cedar appeared to regain all his boldness and energy. He looked savagely around, and, burying his spurs in his horse's flanks, he started with the speed of an arrow in the direction of the rancho, which he had left but a few hours previously, and where his two accomplices still remained.
The monk and the gambusino, delighted at the unforeseen termination of the scene we recently narrated, delighted above all at having got rid of Doña Clara without being immediately mixed up in her escape, tranquilly resumed their game of monte, and played with that mental satisfaction produced by the certainty of having nothing to reproach themselves with, disputing with the utmost obstinacy for the few reals they still happened to have in their pockets. In the midst of a most interesting game, they heard the furious gallop of a horse up the paved street. Instinctively they stopped and listened; a secret foreboding seemed to warn them that this horse was coming to the rancho, and that its rider wanted them.
In truth, neither Fray Ambrosio nor Andrés Garote had a quiet conscience, even supposing, which was very doubtful, that either had a conscience at all, for they felt they were responsible to Red Cedar for Doña Clara. Now that the maiden had escaped like, a bird flying from its cage, their position with their terrible ally appeared to them in all its desperate gravity. They did not conceal from themselves that the squatter would demand a severe account of their conduct, and despite their cunning and roguishness, they knew not how they should get out of it. The sharp gallop of the approaching horse heightened their perplexity. They dared not communicate their fears to each other, but they sat with heads bent forward, foreseeing that they would soon have to sustain a very firm attack.
The horse stopped short before the rancho; a man dismounted, and the door shook beneath the tremendous blows of his fists.
"Hum!" the gambusino whispered, as he blew out the solitary candle that illumined the room. "Who the deuce can come at this advanced hour of the night! I have a great mind not to open."
Strange to say, Fray Ambrosio had apparently regained all his serenity. With a smiling face, crossed arms, and back leaned against the wall, he seemed to be a perfect stranger to what perplexed his mate so furiously. At Garote's remark an ironical smile played round his pale lips for a second, and he replied with the most perfect indifference —
"You are at liberty to act as you please, gossip; still I think it my duty to warn you of one thing?"
"What is it?"
"That, if you do not open your door, the man, whoever he may be, now battering it, is very capable of breaking it in, which would be a decided nuisance for you."
"You speak very much at your ease, señor Padre," the gambusino answered, ill-temperedly. "Suppose it be Red Cedar?"
"The greater reason to open the door. If you hesitate, he will begin to suspect you; and then take care, for he is a man capable of killing you like a dog."
"That is possible; but do you think that, in such a case, you will escape with clean hands?"
Fray Ambrosio looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, but made no further answer.
"Will you open, demonios?" a rough voice shouted.
"Red Cedar!" both men whispered.
"I am coming," Andrés replied, in a voice which terror caused to tremble.
He rose unwillingly, and walked slowly towards the door, which the squatter threatened to tear from its hinges.
"A little patience, caballero," the gambusino said, in that honeyed voice peculiar to Mexicans when they meditate some roguery. "Coming, coming."
And he began unbarring the door.
"Make haste!" the squatter howled, "For I am in a hurry."
"Hum! It is surely he!" the gambusino thought. "Who are you?" he asked.
"What! Who am I?" Red Cedar exclaimed, bounding with wrath. "Did you not recognise me, or are you having a game with me?"
"I never have a game with anyone," Andrés replied, imperturbably: "but I warn you that, although I fancy I recognise your voice, I shall not open till you mention your name. The night is too far advanced for me to risk receiving a suspicious person into my house."
"I will break the door down."
"Try it," the gambusino shouted boldly, "and by our Lady of Pilar I will send a bullet through your head."
At this threat the squatter rushed against the door in incredible fury, with the evident intention of breaking it in; but, contrary to his expectations, though it creaked and groaned on its hinges, it did not give way. Andrés Garote had indulged in a line of reasoning which was far from being illogical, and revealed a profound knowledge of the human heart. He had said to himself, that, as he must face Red Cedar's anger, it would be better to let it reach its paroxysm at once so as to have only the decreasing period to endure. He smiled at the American's sterile attempts, then, and repeated his request.
"Well, then," the other said, furiously, "I am Red Cedar. Do you recognise me now, you devil's own Gachupino?"
"Of course; I see that I can open without danger to your Excellency."
And the gambusino hurriedly drew back the bolts.
Red Cedar rushed into the room with a yell of fury, but Andrés had put out the light. The squatter stopped, surprised by the gloom which prevented him distinguishing any object.
"Hallo!" he said. "What is the meaning of this darkness? I can see nothing."
"Caspita!" Andrés replied, impudently, "Do you think I amuse myself o' nights by watching the moon? I was asleep, compadre, when you came to arouse me with your infernal hammerings."
"That is possible," the squatter remarked; "but that was no reason for keeping me so long at your door."
"Prudence is the mother of security. We must not let every comer enter the rancho."
"Certainly not; I approve of that. Still, you must have recognised my voice."
"True. Still I might be mistaken; it is difficult to know anyone through the thickness of a door; that is why I wished you to give your name."
"Very good, then," Red Cedar said, as if tired of combating arguments which did not convince him. "And where is Fray Ambrosio?"
"Here, I suppose."
"He has not left the rancho?"
"No; unless he took advantage of your arrival to do so."
"Why should he do that?"
"I don't know; you question, and I answer; that's all."
"Why does he not speak, if he is here?"
"He is possibly asleep."
"After the row I made, that is highly improbable."
"Hang it, he may be a hard sleeper."
"Hum!" the squatter snorted, suspiciously; "Light the candle."
Andrés struck a match, and Red Cedar looked eagerly round the room Fray Ambrosio had disappeared.
"Where is the monk?" the American asked.
"I do not know: probably gone."
The squatter shook his head.
"All this is not clear," he muttered; "there is treachery behind it."
"That is possible," the gambusino answered, calmly.
Red Cedar bent on Andrés eyes that flashed with fury, and roughly seized him by the throat.
"Answer, scoundrel?" he shouted. "What has become of Doña Clara?"
The gambusino struggled, though in vain, to escape from the clutch of the squatter, whose fingers entered his flesh, and pressed him as in a vice.
"Let me loose," he panted, "you are choking me!"
"Where is Doña Clara?"
"I do not know."
The squatter squeezed more tightly.
"You do not know!" he yelled.
"Aie!" Andrés whined, "I tell you I do not know."
"Malediction!" Red Cedar went on. "I will kill you, picaro, if you are obstinate."
"Let that man go, and I will tell you all you wish to know," was said in a firm voice by a hunter, who at this moment appeared on the threshold.
The two men turned in amazement.
"Nathan!" Red Cedar shouted on recognising his son. "What are you doing here?"
"I will tell you, father," the young man said, as he entered the room.