THE CAMP OF THE REDSKINS.
The extreme care of Don Pedro and his daughter soon restored Don Estevan to perfect health.
His first care was to reveal to the hacendero, in accordance with his threat to Don Torribio, the name of the man who had originated the dastardly attack on Don Fernando, and into whose hands he had fallen.
After that communication, Don Torribio was a lost man in the estimation of Don Pedro and his daughter.
Having accomplished this piece of revenge, the mayor domo undertook the duty of discovering tidings of his friend. Chance favoured him by throwing El Zapote in his way. The worthy and conscientious vaquero was just then in the best humour for giving all the information required, in consequence of having that very morning, by a ruinous run of ill luck which fastened upon him been utterly cleaned out at monte, and left without an ochavo (a farthing). By the help of a few ounces of gold, the mayor domo contrived to learn, in the minutest detail, all that had passed, and the place where Don Fernando was concealed.
As soon as he had learned all he wanted, Don Estevan left the vaquero, and hastened his return to the hacienda.
Doña Hermosa was no ordinary woman. She was gifted with much energy, and, moreover, loved Don Fernando. She resolved to set him free; but held her tongue, in the fear of making Don Pedro uneasy. She merely expressed a wish to spend a day or two at the hacienda of Las Norias; to which Don Pedro consented, on condition of her taking with her a strong escort of resolute and well-armed peones.
Instead of going to the hacienda, the girl went to the presidio, into which she managed to find her way unnoticed by the Indians.
Once in the presidio, she revealed her project to Don Estevan.
The mayor domo was astounded at her coolness as she detailed the plan she had conceived—a plan in which not only herself, but also Don Estevan's mother, was to act a part.
All his efforts to make her renounce her project were futile; willing or unwilling, he was forced to obey.
When they could no longer see the boat with Don Fernando, her foster brother turned to Doña Hermosa.
"Now, señorita, what are you going to do next?"
She answered succinctly:
"I am going to visit the camp of the Apaches and see Don Torribio."
The mayor domo shuddered.
"Dishonour and death await you there," said he in a hoarse, low voice.
"No," she replied firmly; "only revenge."
"You wish for revenge?"
"I demand it."
"Very well," he replied; "I will obey you. Go and get ready; I myself will escort you to the camp of the redskins."
The three returned to Don Pedro's house without exchanging a syllable.
Night had now fairly set in. The streets were deserted: a deathlike silence pervaded the town, which for two days the Indians had been sacking; and their diabolical figures could be perceived, as they passed and repassed among the still flaming ruins.
When they arrived at the house, Don Estevan stopped short in the court.
"Ponder well what you are about to do, señorita," said he. "Why must you avenge yourself? Have you not secured the safety of him you love?"
"Yes; but he has barely escaped death. The first atrocious attempt has failed; the second may succeed. Don Torribio has wounded me in my most cherished affections. My resolve is taken; he shall feel a woman's vengeance."
"Can nothing change your resolve?"
"Nothing," said she, coldly.
"Then make your preparations, señorita; I will wait for you here."
The two women entered the house together, while Don Estevan seated himself on one of the steps of the porch.
His watching was not long: in ten minutes they returned.
Both were clothed in the Apache dress; the paint smeared upon their faces completed the illusion, and secured them from recognition. The transformation was so perfect, that Don Estevan could not repress his admiration.
"Nothing could be better," he exclaimed; "you are Indian women indeed."
"Do you think," said Doña Hermosa bitterly, "that Don Torribio has the sole right of deception and assuming any character at his pleasure?"
"Who can strive against a woman?" said the mayor domo, with a shrug. "And now, what are your orders?"
"Very simple; your escort as far as the first Indian lines."
"And after that?"
"The rest of the affair is our work."
"But are you really dreaming of remaining alone in the midst of these pagans?"
"It is no dream; it is my immovable resolve to stay there."
"And you, mother?" said her son sadly; "Are you, too, determined to throw yourself into the hands of the savages?"
"Be comforted, my son," replied the dame; "I run no danger."
"And yet—"
"Estevan," said Doña Hermosa, interrupting him, "I will answer for your mother's safety."
The mayor domo was thoroughly discouraged.
"Then," said he, "I can only commend you to Heaven."
"Let us go," said Doña Hermosa, wrapping the folds of her cloak around her.
Don Estevan led the way.
The night was dark. Here and there the dying watch fires in the presidio, round which the besieged were sleeping, threw a pale and uncertain glimmer over the surrounding objects, without affording sufficient light to guide them through the increasing obscurity.
A mournful silence brooded over the town, interrupted at intervals by the hoarse cries of the vultures, urubus, and prairie wolves, quarrelling over the corpses of the slain, and dragging hither and thither morsels of bleeding flesh.
The three pushed resolutely forward amidst the ruins, stumbling over fragments of fallen walls, striding over dead bodies, and disturbing the horrid feast of the birds of prey, that flew off uttering screams of anger.
Thus they traversed the whole length of the town, and arrived at last, with desperate difficulty, and after making many circuits, at one of the barriers opposite the camp of the redskins, from which numberless fires were glancing, and shouts and songs were heard.
The sentries, after exchanging a few words with their guide, allowed the three to pass, a few paces farther on, Don Estevan halted, and stopped his companions.
"Look, Doña Hermosa," said he in a whisper; "there is the camp of the redskins before you. If I went farther with you, my escort would prove fatal. I must stop here: only a few steps separate you from your object."
"Thanks!" said the girl, stretching out her hand. Don Estevan retained it between his own.
"Señorita, one word more."
"Speak, dear friend."
"I conjure you, in the name of all you hold dear in the world, to renounce your project. Trust to my experience while it is yet time: return to the Hacienda del Cormillo; you know not the danger to which you expose yourself."
"Estevan," replied the girl firmly, "whatever be the danger, I will brave it: nothing can change my resolve. Farewell! I shall soon see you again."
"Farewell!" repeated the mayor domo.
Doña Hermosa turned away in the direction of the Indian camp. Ña Manuela hesitated a moment, and then threw herself into the arms of her son.
"Alas!" cried he, excited by the emotions terrible to witness in such a man; "Stay with me, mother, I implore you!"
"What!" said the noble woman, pointing to Doña Hermosa, "Shall I leave her to sacrifice herself alone?"
Don Estevan was unable to reply.
Manuela embraced him once more, then tore herself with a violent effort from the arms of her son, who vainly strove to restrain her, and hurried to join Hermosa.
The mayor domo followed them with his eyes as long as he could distinguish them in the obscurity; than, uttering a heart-felt sigh, he retraced his steps, muttering as he went:
"If I can only get there in time—if it has only not yet reached Don José de Kalbris!"
Just as Don Estevan arrived at the fort, the governor was leaving it, in company with Don Torribio Quiroga. But the Mexican, absorbed in the ideas which were harassing his brain, did not notice them, although they passed so close to him that he might have touched them.
This fatal accident was the cause of irreparable misfortune.
Having left Don Estevan, the two women wandered about at a venture, directing their steps towards the fires in front of them.
On getting within a certain distance, they, stopped to recruit their spirits, and to calm the throbbing of their hearts, which beat almost to bursting.
They were now within a few paces of the Indian toldos (huts); the rash and hazardous nature of their undertaking presented itself in all its force, and the poor women felt their courage gradually oozing away, in spite of the resolution which had animated them. Their hearts turned to stone at the thought of the horrible drama in which they were going to act the principal characters.
Strange to say, it was Manuela who restored her companion to the firmness which was abandoning her.
"Señorita," she said to her, "it is now my turn to act as guide; if you will only consent to follow my council, I hope to be able to avoid all the danger with which we are threatened."
"Speak, nurse; let me hear what you propose."
"We must first drop these cloaks, which hide our dress, and betray that we are whites."
In saying this she threw off her mantle, and cast it away. Doña Hermosa followed her example.
"Now walk by my side; show no fear, whatever may happen; and, above all, do not utter a single word, unless we are hopelessly lost."
"I obey you," said Hermosa.
"We are to be two Indian women," continued Manuela, "who have made a vow to Wacondah for the recovery of their wounded father; and once again, no words from your mouth."
"Let us go on. May God protect us!"
"Amen!" said Manuela, devoutly crossing herself.
They continued their journey, and, five minutes afterwards, entered the camp of the redskins.
The Indians, intoxicated with the easy triumph they had gained over the Mexicans, were giving vent to their joy. There were nothing but singing and dancing everywhere. Some casks of aguardiente, discovered in the old presidio and in the pillaged haciendas, had been dragged into camp, and staved.
On this account, unexampled disorder and a nameless hubbub prevailed among the Indians, whom drunkenness makes raving mad, and excites to the most hideous excesses.
The power of the sachems was disowned: moreover, the greater number of them were in the same state as the warriors; and there can be no doubt that, if the inhabitants of San Lucar had been in sufficient force to attempt a surprise, they might have made a frightful massacre of the savages, brutalised as they were by strong liquors, and incapable of defending themselves.
Profiting by the disorder, the two women climbed over the ramparts of the camp without being observed. Then, their hearts palpitating with terror, and with shivering limbs, they glided like serpents between the knots of Indians, passing unnoticed through the midst of the drinkers; seeking at haphazard, and trusting to Providence or their good angel to find among the scattered toldos the hovel which served as a habitation to the great paleface.
They had already been some time roaming about in this manner, without lighting on any unpleasant adventure. Emboldened by success, their fears nearly dissipated, they were exchanging looks of encouragement, when suddenly an Indian of athletic stature seized Doña Hermosa round the waist, and, lifting her from the ground, gave her a boisterous kiss on the neck.
At this unexpected insult, she uttered a shriek of terror, and making a superhuman effort, freed herself from his arms, pushing him from her with all her strength. The savage staggered backwards, and, too drunk to keep his legs, dropped to the ground, giving vent to a cry of rage; but, springing up in an instant, he rushed like a jaguar on Hermosa.
Ña Manuela threw herself hastily before her.
"Back!" said she, resolutely placing her hand on the Indian's chest; "This girl is my sister."
"El Zopilote is a brave who never puts up with an insult," replied the savage, frowning, and unsheathing his knife.
"Will you kill her?" exclaimed Manuela in terror.
"Yes, I will kill her, unless she consents to follow me to my toldo. She shall be the wife of a chief."
"You are mad," said Manuela. "Your toldo is full, and there is no room for another fire."
"There is room for two," replied the Indian, grinning. "Since you are her sister, you shall go with her."
The noise collected a crowd of Indians round the two women, who were thus the centre of a circle it would have been impossible to break through.
Manuela instantly comprehended the danger of their situation; she saw they were all but lost.
"Well," continued El Zopilote, seizing in his left hand Hermosa's hair, and twisting it round his wrist, at the same time brandishing his scalp knife, "will you and your sister follow me to my toldo?"
The poor girl cowered down; half recumbent upon the ground, she awaited the mortal blow.
Manuela drew herself up to her full height; her eyes flashed fire; she arrested the arm of El Zopilote, and addressed him thus:
"Since thou wilt have it so, dog, let thy destiny be fulfilled! Behold, the Wacondah allows not his servants to be insulted with impunity."
Hitherto Manuela had contrived to keep herself in such a position that her face was shaded as much as possible, and no one had remarked her features; now she turned her head towards the full light of the fires. On seeing the fantastic lines of paint, the Indians gave utterance to a cry of surprise, and recoiled in terror.
Manuela smiled at her triumph: she resolved to complete it.
"The power of the Wacondah is boundless," she cried; "woe to him who would oppose his schemes: he it is who sends me. Back, all!"
Grasping the arm of Doña Hermosa, who had scarcely recovered from her terrible emotion, she advanced to the edge of the circle. The Indians hesitated. Manuela extended her arm in an attitude of supreme command; the outwitted savages opened to right and left, and gave them passage.
"I shall die," faintly whispered Doña Hermosa.
"Courage!" replied Manuela, "We are saved."
"Wagh!" said a jeering voice; "What is passing here?"
And a man placed himself before the two women.
"The amantzin!" muttered the Indians; and taking fresh courage, they again crowded round their prisoners.
Manuela shuddered, overcome with despair at seeing her hopes annihilated; still the resolute woman determined to make one more effort.
"The Wacondah loves the Indians," she said; "it is he who sends me the amantzin of the Apache braves."
"Indeed!" said the sorcerer, with a sneer; "And what does he want with me?"
"None but yourself may hear."
"Wagh!" said the amantzin, placing his hand on her shoulder, and looking at her attentively; "What proof can you give me of the mission with which the all-powerful Spirit has charged you?"
"Will you save me?" said Manuela, whispering rapidly in his ear.
"That depends on her," answered the sorcerer, fixing his glittering eyes on the girl.
"See!" said Manuela, presenting to him the rich bracelets of gold and pearls she took from her arms.
"Wagh!" replied the sorcerer, hiding them in his bosom; "They are beautiful! What does my mother require?"
"First of all, to be freed from these men."
"And afterwards?"
"Deliver us first."
"It shall be as you will."
The Indians had remained motionless, impassive spectators of the scene. They had heard nothing of this short conversation. The amantzin turned towards them, exhibiting a countenance distorted with fear.
"Fly!" said he in terrible accents; "This woman brings misfortune! The Wacondah is angry! Fly, all; fly!"
The Indians, who had only been restored to confidence by the advent of their sorcerer, seeing him a prey to a terror they could not comprehend, first crowded together, and then dispersed, without asking further questions.
As soon as they had disappeared behind the toldos, the sorcerer turned to the two women.
"Am I able to protect you?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Manuela; "and I thank my father, who is as powerful as he is wise."
A smile of gratified pride just formed itself on the lips of the cautious Indian.
"I am powerful to avenge myself on those who deceive me," said he.
"Therefore I shall not attempt to deceive my father."
"Whence comes my white daughter," he asked.
"From the ark of the first man," replied Manuela, looking him steadily in the face.
The amantzin blushed.
"My daughter has the forked tongue of the congouar," he said. "Does she take me for a lizard, that one can entrap like an old woman?"
"Here is a necklace," she replied, offering a rich string of pearls to the Indian; "the Wacondah gave it me for the wise man of the Apaches."
"Wagh!" said the amantzin; "My mother cannot lie; she is wise. What more can I do for her?" And he slipped the necklace into the same receptacle with the bracelets.
"My father must lead me to the toldo of the great white chief who fights in the ranks of the Apache warriors."
"My daughter would speak to the white chief?"
"I would."
"The white chief is a wise man; will he admit women?"
"Let not that trouble my father; tonight I must speak with the white chief."
"Good; my mother shall speak to him. But this woman?" And he pointed to Doña Hermosa.
"That woman," answered Manuela, "is a friend of the Tigercat. She too is charged with a mission to the sachem."
The sorcerer shook his head.
"The warriors must spin the vicuña wool," said he, "since women make war, and sit at the council fire."
"My father errs; the sachem loves my sister."
"No," replied the Indian.
"Let us see if my father will refuse to lead me to the toldo of the great chief," said Manuela, impatient at the tergiversations of the amantzin, and dreading the return of her persecutors. "Let him beware, the great chief expects us."
The sorcerer cast a piercing look at her, which Manuela bore without casting down her eyes.
"Good," said he; "my mother does not lie. Follow me."
Grasping each of the women by a wrist, he placed himself between them, and began to guide them through the labyrinthine confusion of the camp.
The Indians they met on their road avoided them with unequivocal signs of terror.
The amantzin was by no means displeased with what had happened: he was radiant with joy; for, besides the profit derived from meeting the women, the incident which occurred in consequence had tended to confirm his power in the eyes of the credulous and superstitious Indians, who believed him to be really inspired by the Wacondah.
A quarter of an hour's difficult walking brought them to the toldo, in front of which the totem (standard) of the assembled tribes was planted, surrounded by lances fringed with scarlet, and guarded by four warriors.
"This is the place," said the sorcerer to Manuela.
"Good; let my father give orders that we enter alone."
"Am I to leave you?"
"Yes; my father can wait for us outside,"
"I will wait," briefly replied he, casting a suspicious look on them.
At a sign from the amantzin, the sentries placed before the toldo made way for the women. They entered with trepidation: the dwelling was unoccupied.
They were unable to repress a sigh of satisfaction. The absence of Don Torribio gave them time to prepare for the interview Doña Hermosa so greatly desired.
The amantzin remained standing at the entrance to the toldo. This man, lately raised to the dignity through the influence of the Tigercat, was his tool, and acted as his spy.