THE WOUNDED MAN.
Let us return to the Count de Prébois Crancé. When the abduction was committed, that part of the plain where Don Tadeo had pitched his camp was deserted. The crowd, attracted by curiosity, had all gone to the side where the renewal of the treaties was taking place. Besides, the measures of the ravishers had been so judiciously taken, all had passed so quickly, without resistance, without cries or tumult, that no alarm had been given, and no one could suspect what was going on. The cries of "murder!" uttered by the wounded young man were too faint to be heard, and the pistol shots he had fired were confounded with the other noises of the festival.
Louis remained for a considerable time lying senseless in front of the tent, the blood flowing from two wounds. By a singular chance, the peons, the arrieros, and even the two Indian chiefs, who could not think there was anything to be dreaded, had all gone, as we have said, to be present at the ceremony. When the cross had been planted, and the toqui and the General had gone, arm in arm, to the tent of the latter, the crowd began to separate into little groups, and soon dispersed, each returning to the spot where he had established his temporary camp.
The Indian chiefs were the first to quit the scene; now that their curiosity was satisfied, they reproached themselves for having been so long absent from their friend. On approaching the little camp, they were surprised at not seeing Louis, and a certain appearance of disorder in the baggage filled them with uneasiness. They quickened their pace, and the nearer they drew the more evident this disorder became in their eyes, accustomed to remark those thousands of signs which escape the eyes of the white man. In fact, the passage left free in the inclosure formed by the bales, seemed to have been the scene of a struggle; the footmarks of several horses were strongly imprinted in the moist earth, and some bales had even been removed, as if to widen the entrance, and lay scattered about. All these indications were more than sufficient for the chiefs; they exchanged an anxious glance, and rushed into the camp.
Louis was still lying where the assassins had left him, stretched across the entrance of the tent, his discharged pistols in his hands, his head thrown back, his mouth half open, and his teeth clenched. The blood had ceased to flow. The two men looked at him for a moment with a feeling of stupor. His countenance was of a livid paleness.
"He is dead!" said Curumilla, in a voice stifled by emotion.
"He seems so," Trangoil-Lanec replied as he knelt down by the body.
He raised the young man's senseless head, untied his cravat, and opened his vest; then they perceived the two gaping wounds.
"This is a revenge!" he murmured.
"What is to be done?" said Curumilla, shaking his head discouragingly.
"Let us try to recover him—I hope he is not dead."
And then, with infinite address and incredible celerity, the two Indians bestowed upon the wounded man the most intelligent and most effective cares. For a long time all were useless. At length a sigh, faint as a breath, exhaled painfully from the oppressed breast of the young man; a slight flush tinted his cheeks, and, after several efforts, he opened his eyes. Curumilla, after having washed the wounds with clean cold water, applied a cataplasm to them of bruised oregano leaves.
"Loss of blood alone has made him faint," he said; "the wounds are wide, but not deep, and not at all dangerous."
"But what has been going on here?" Trangoil-Lanec asked.
"Hush!" said Curumilla, laying his hand upon his comrade's arm; "he speaks."
Indeed, the young man's lips did move silently; but, at length, he pronounced with a great effort, and in a voice so low that the Indians scarcely heard it—that single word which for him contained everything—
"Rosario!"
Then he sank back again.
"Ah!" cried Curumilla, as if a sudden light had broken upon him, "where is the young palefaced maiden?" and he sprang into the tent, "I understand it all now!" he said, returning quickly to his friend.
The Indians lifted up the wounded man gently in their arms, and carried him into the tent, where they placed him in Rosario's empty hammock. Louis recovered his senses, but almost immediately was overcome by a profound drowsiness. After having made him as comfortable as they could, the two Indians left the tent, and began, with the instinct of their race, to seek on the ground for indications they could ask of no witness, but which would show them traces they could understand. Now that the murder and the abduction had taken place, it became necessary to get upon the track of the ravishers, and endeavour, if possible, to save the young girl. After minute researches, which did not last less than two hours, the Indians returned to the front of the tent; they sat down, face to face, and smoked for a few minutes in silence.
The peons and arrieros had returned from the ceremony, and expressed the greatest terror on learning what had taken place during their absence. The poor people did not know what to do; they trembled when they reflected upon the responsibility which rested upon them, and upon the terrible account Don Tadeo would require of them. After the two chiefs had smoked a few minutes, they extinguished their pipes, and Trangoil-Lanec began:
"My brother is a wise chief, let him say what he has seen."
"I will speak, since my brother desires it," Curumilla replied, bowing his head; "the pale maiden with the blue eyes has been carried off by five horsemen."
To this Trangoil-Lanec made a sign of assent.
"These five horsemen came from the other side of the river; their footmarks are strongly imprinted on the ground, which was wetted in the places where the horses trod with their dripping hoofs; four of these horsemen are Huiliches, the fifth is a paleface; when they reached the entrance of the camp, they stopped and consulted an instant, then four of them dismounted; the trace of their footsteps is visible."
"Good!" said Trangoil-Lanec, "my brother has the eyes of a Quanaco; nothing escapes him."
"Of the four horsemen who dismounted, three are Indians, as is easily perceived by the impression of their naked feet, the great toe of which, accustomed to the stirrup, is very wide apart from the other toes; but the fourth is a Muruche, for the rowels of his spurs have left deep marks all around. The three first have crept up to the tent, where Don Louis was talking with the young blue-eyed maiden, and, consequently, with his back towards those who came towards him; he was attacked unexpectedly, and fell without having time to defend himself: then the fourth horseman sprang forward like a puma, seized the maiden in his arms, and after jumping a second time over the body of Don Louis, went straight to his horse, followed by the three Indians. But Don Louis got up, first on his knees, and then on his feet; he fired his pistols at the ravishers, and one of them fell mortally wounded. It was the paleface, for a pool of blood marks the place of his fall, and, in his agony, he pulled up the grass with his clenched hands; then his companions dismounted again, took him up, and fled. Don Louis, after discharging his pistols, had a faintness come over him, and fell down again: that is what I have learnt."
"Good!" Trangoil-Lanec replied, "my brother knows everything; after taking up the body of their comrade, the ravishers crossed the river, and went in the direction of the mountains. Now, what will my brother do?"
"Trangoil-Lanec is an experienced chief, he will wait for Don Valentine; Curumilla is younger, he will go upon the track of the ravishers."
"My brother has spoken well; he is wise and prudent; he will find them."
"Yes, Curumilla will find them," the chief replied, laconically.
After saying these words, he arose, saddled his horse, and left the camp; Trangoil-Lanec soon lost sight of him. He then returned and took his place by the wounded man. The day passed away thus. The Spaniards had all left the plain; the Indians, for the most part, had followed their example; there only remained a few tardy Araucanos; but these, also, were preparing to depart. Towards evening, Louis found himself much better; he was able, in a few words, to relate to the Indian what had passed; but he told him nothing new, he had divined it all.
"Oh!" said the young man, as he ended, "Rosario! poor Rosario is lost!"
"My brother must not be depressed with grief," Trangoil-Lanec replied softly; "Curumilla is upon the track of the ravishers; the young pale maiden will be saved!"
"Do you seriously tell me that, chief? Is Curumilla really in pursuit of them?" the young man asked, fixing his anxious eyes upon the Indian; "can I indeed hope that?"
"Trangoil-Lanec is an Ulmen," the Araucano replied proudly: "no lie has ever soiled his lips, his tongue is not forked; I repeat that Curumilla is in pursuit of the ravishers. Let my brother hope; he will see again the little bird which sings such sweet songs in his heart."
A sudden flush crossed the young man's face at these words; a sad smile curled his pale lips; he gently pressed the hand of the chief, and closing his eyes, he sank gently back in the hammock. All at once the furious galloping of a horse was heard from without.
"Good!" Trangoil-Lanec murmured, looking at the wounded man, whose regular breathing proclaimed that he was sleeping peacefully: "what will Don Valentine say to all this?"
And he strode out hastily to meet the Parisian, whose face was the picture of anxiety.
"Chief!" he cried, in a tremulous voice, "can what the peons say be true?"
"Yes!" the chief replied coolly.
The young man sank down, as if thunder-struck. The Indian seated him gently upon a bale, and placing himself beside him, pressed his hand, saying in a soothing tone:
"My brother has much courage."
"Alas!" the young man exclaimed, in an agonized voice, "Louis, my poor Louis, dead, assassinated! Oh!" he added, with a terrible gesture, "I will avenge him! I will solely live to accomplish that sacred duty!"
The chief looked at him for an instant attentively.
"What does my brother mean?" he asked; "his friend is not dead."
"Oh! why do you seek to deceive me, chief?"
"I speak the truth; Don Louis is not dead," the Ulmen replied, in such an imposing voice that it carried conviction to the wounded heart of the young man.
"Oh!" he cried, impetuously, and springing up, "he lives!—is that possible?"
"He has received two wounds."
"Two wounds!"
"Yes, but my brother can be comforted, they are not dangerous; in a week, at latest, they will be cured."
Valentine remained for an instant stupefied by this good news, after the catastrophe which the peons and arrieros had announced to him.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, throwing himself into the arms of the chief, whom he pressed with a kind of frenzy to his breast, "it is true, is it not?—his life is not in danger?"
"No, no, my brother can reassure himself; loss of blood alone reduced him to the state of torpor into which he fell. I will answer for his recovery."
"Thanks! thanks, chief! I can see him, may I not?"
"He is asleep."
"Oh! I will not wake him, be assured of that; I only wish to see him."
"See him, then," Trangoil-Lanec replied, smiling.
Valentine went in. He looked at his friend, peacefully sleeping; he leant softly over him, and impressing a kiss upon his brow, whispered—
"Sleep, dear brother, I will watch."
The lips of the wounded man moved; he murmured—
"Valentine, save her!"
The Parisian knitted his brow, and drew himself up again.
"Come here, chief," he said to Trangoil-Lanec, "and tell me the details of what has passed, that I may know how to avenge my brother, and save her he loves."
The two men quitted the tent.