EXPLANATORY.
We are compelled to retrograde a short distance in our story, in order to explain to the reader the arrival of that help which in an instant altered the face of the fight, and saved Valentine and his friends from captivity, probably from death.
Unicorn carefully watched the movements of Red Cedar and his band; since the Pirate's arrival on the desert he had not once let him out of sight. Hidden in the chaparral on the riverbank, he had been an unseen spectator of the bandit's fight with the hunters; but, with that caution which forms the basis of the Indian character, he had left his friends perfect liberty to act as they thought proper, with the design of interfering when necessary.
When he saw the Pirates disarmed, and reduced to his last shifts, he considered it useless to follow him longer, and proceeded in the direction of his village, to assemble his warriors, and go at their head to attack the camp of the scalp hunters.
The Comanche chief was alone with his squaw, from whom he scarcely ever separated; they were both galloping along the bank of the Gila, being careful to hide themselves among the brushwood, when suddenly deafening cries, mingled with shots, and the hasty gallop of a horse, struck his ears.
Unicorn made his companion a signal to halt, and dismounted; then, cautiously crawling among the trees, he glided like a serpent through the tall grass to the skirt of the chaparral which sheltered him. On reaching this point he cautiously rose on his knees and looked out.
A man, bearing a fainting woman across his saddle-bow, was coming up at full speed; in the distance several Indian warriors, doubtless wearied of an useless pursuit, were slowly retiring, while the fugitive rapidly drew nearer Unicorn.
The chief perceived at the first glance that he was a white. On arriving within a short distance of the spot where he lay in ambush, the newcomer looked round several times nervously; then he dismounted, took the female in his arms, laid her tenderly on the grass, and ran to the river to fill his hat with water. It was Harry, the Canadian hunter, and the female was Ellen.
So soon as he had gone off, Unicorn started from his hiding place, giving his wife a sign to follow him, and both approached the maiden, who was lying senseless on the ground. Sunbeam knelt by the side of the American girl, gently raised her head, and began paying her those delicate attentions of which women alone possess the secret. Almost immediately after, Harry ran up; but at the sight of the Indian he hurriedly dropped his hat, and drew a pistol from his girdle.
"Wah!" Unicorn said quickly, "My pale brother need not pull out his weapons—I am a friend."
"A friend?" Harry replied, ill-humouredly; "Can a redskin warrior be the friend of a white man?"
The chief crossed his arms on his broad chest, and boldly walked up to the hunter.
"I was hidden ten paces from you," he said; "had I been an enemy, the paleface would have been dead ere now."
The Canadian shook his head.
"That is possible," he said; "may heaven grant that you speak frankly, for the struggle I have gone through in saving this poor girl has so exhausted me that I could not defend her against you."
"Good!" the Indian continued, "She has nothing to fear; Unicorn is chief of his nation, when he gives his word he must be believed."
And he honestly offered his hand to the hunter. The latter hesitated for a moment, then suddenly forming a resolution, he cordially pressed the hand, saying—
"I believe you, chief; your name is known to me; you have the reputation of a wise man and brave warrior, so I trust to you; but I implore you to help me in recovering this unhappy girl."
Sunbeam gently raised her head, and gave the hunter a glance of tender sympathy, as she said in her harmonious voice—
"The pale virgin runs no danger, in a few minutes she will come to herself again; my brother may be at his ease."
"Thanks, thanks, young woman," the Canadian said, warmly; "the hope you give me fills me with joy; I can now think about avenging my poor Dick."
"What does my brother mean?" the chief asked, surprised at the flash of fury from the hunter's dark eye.
The latter, reassured as to the state of his companion, and attracted by the open and honest reception the Indian gave him, did not hesitate to confide to him not only what had occurred to himself, but also the causes which had brought him into this deserted country.
"Now," he said in the close, "I have only one desire—to place this girl in security, and then avenge my friend."
The Indian has listened unmoved and without interruption to the hunter's long story. When he had finished he seemed to reflect for some minutes, and then answered the Canadian, as he laid his hand on his shoulder—
"Then my brother wishes to take vengeance on the Apaches?"
"Yes!" the hunter exclaimed; "So soon as this girl is in a safe place I will go on their trail."
"Ah!" the Indian said, as he shook his head, "One man cannot fight with fifty."
"I do not care for the number of my enemies so long as I can come up with them."
Unicorn gave the daring young man an admiring glance.
"Good!" he said, "My brother is brave—I will help him to his vengeance."
At this moment Ellen partly opened her eyes.
"Where am I?" she murmured.
"Reassure yourself, Ellen," the hunter replied; "for the moment at least you have nothing to fear as you are surrounded by friends."
"Where is Doña Clara? I do not see her," she continued, in a weak voice.
"I will tell you presently, Ellen, what has happened to her," the hunter remarked.
Ellen sighed and was silent; she understood that Harry would not tell her fresh misfortune in her present state of weakness. Owing to Sunbeam's increasing attentions she, however, soon completely regained her senses.
"Does my sister feel her strength returned?" the squaw asked her anxiously.
"Oh," she said, "I am quite well now."
Unicorn looked fixedly at her.
"Yes," he said, "my sister is at present in a condition to travel. It is time to start, our road is long; Sunbeam will give her horse to the pale virgin, that she may be able to follow us."
"Where do you intend taking us, chief?" the hunter asked, with badly-veiled anxiety.
"Did not my brother say that he wished to avenge himself?"
"Yes, I did."
"Well, he can follow me, and I will lead him to those who will help him."
"Hum!" the Canadian muttered, "I require nobody for that."
"My brother is mistaken; he requires allies, for the enemy he will have to fight is powerful."
"That is possible. But I should like to know these allies, at any rate; I am not inclined to league myself with the villainous bandits, who flock to the desert and dishonour our colour. I am a frank and honest hunter, for my part."
"My brother has spoken well," the chief answered, with a smile; "he can be at rest, and place entire confidence in those to whom I am about to lead him."
"Who are they, then?"
"One is the father of the maiden the Apaches have carried off, the others—"
"Stay, chief," the hunter quickly exclaimed, "that is sufficient, I do not want to know the rest. We will start when you please, and I will follow you anywhere."
"Good; my brother will get the horses ready, while I give some indispensable orders to my squaw."
Harry bowed in sign of acquiescence, and deftly accomplished the task, while the Comanche took his wife aside, and conversed with her in a whisper.
"Now we will go," the Comanche said, as he returned to the hunter.
"Does not Sunbeam accompany us?" Ellen asked.
"No," the chief answered laconically.
The young Indian woman smiled pleasantly on the squatter's daughter and gliding swiftly among the trees, disappeared almost instantaneously. The others mounted and started at a gallop in the opposite direction.
The Comanche warrior fancied he knew where to find Valentine and his comrades, and hence went in a direct line to the Teocali.
After the Trail-hunter's departure, Don Miguel and the other characters of our story, who remained in Bloodson's fortress, continued to sleep peaceably for several hours, and when they awoke the sun was already high on the horizon. The hacendero and the general, fatigued by the emotions of the preceding day, and but little accustomed to desert life, had yielded to sleep like men who require to regain their strength; when they opened their eyes, a plentiful meal awaited them.
Several days passed without any incident. The stranger, in spite of the cordiality of his reception, maintained a certain degree of reserve with his guests, only speaking to them when it was absolutely necessary, but never seeking to begin with them one of those conversations in which people gradually forget themselves, and insensibly glide into confidential talk. There was something frigid about the manner of this strange man, which could not be explained, but which prevented any friendly relations.
One evening, at the moment when Don Miguel and the general were preparing to lie down on the skins of wild beasts, which served as their bed, their host approached them. Through the day the two gentlemen had noticed a certain agitation among the denizens in the Teocali. An unusual excitement had prevailed, and it was plain that Bloodson was about to attempt one of those daring expeditions to which he was accustomed.
Although the two Mexicans eagerly desired to know their host's projects, they were too much men of the world to question him, and restrained their curiosity while patiently awaiting an explanation which he would not fail soon to give them.
"Good news, caballeros," he said, as he joined them.
"Oh, oh!" the general muttered, "That's novel fruit here."
Don Miguel awaited their host's explanation.
"One of my friends," Bloodson continued, "arrived here this morning, accompanied by a Canadian hunter and Red Cedar's daughter."
At this unexpected good news the Mexicans started with joy and surprise.
"Ah," Don Miguel said, "she will be a precious hostage for us."
"That is what I thought," Bloodson continued; "however, the poor child is perfectly innocent of her father's crimes; and if she is at this moment in our power, it is only because she wished to save your daughter, Don Miguel."
"What do you mean?" the hacendero asked, with an internal tremor.
"You shall understand it," Bloodson answered.
And without any further preamble, he told his listeners all the details connected with the flight of the girls, which the reader already knows.
When he had finished his narrative there was a moment's silence.
"The position is a serious one," the general said, shaking his head.
"We must save our friends, at all risks," Don Miguel exclaimed, impetuously.
"That is my intention," said Bloodson; "at present the position of affairs is improved."
"How so?" the hacendero asked.
"Because it is better for Doña Clara to be a prisoner with the Apaches than with Red Cedar."
"That is true," Don Miguel observed.
"How can we get her out of their clutches?" asked the general.
"That does not embarrass me," Bloodson said; "tomorrow, at daybreak, we will start with all our people, and go to Unicorn's village, who will join his warriors to ours, and then we will attack the Apaches in their village."
"Very good; but shall we be sure of finding my daughter at the village?"
"In the desert everything is seen and known. Do you fancy that Don Valentine has remained inactive since he left us? You may feel assured that he has long been on the trail of the young lady, if he has not already liberated her."
"May heaven grant it," the father remarked with a mournful sigh; "but who will advise us of what he has done?"
"Himself, you may be convinced of that. Still, as we are a very long distance from the village where your daughter is probably confined, we must hasten to get nearer to her; hence, my guests, get up your strength, for tomorrow will be a tiring day, I warn you. Now, permit me to wish you good night, and leave you, in order to give my final orders."
"One word more, I beg of you."
"Speak."
"What do you intend doing with the girl whom a strange accident has thrown into your power?"
"I do not know; events will decide her fate; I shall regulate my conduct by that of our common enemy."
"You said yourself," Don Miguel continued, "that the girl is innocent of her father's crimes."
Bloodson gave him a peculiar glance
"Do you not know, Don Miguel," he answered, in a hollow voice, "that in this world the innocent always suffer for the guilty?"
And, not adding a word further, he gave the Mexicans a profound bow, and slowly retired.
The two gentlemen looked after him, as he gradually disappeared in the gloom of the Teocali; then they fell back on their beds despondingly, not daring to impart to each other the sorrowful thoughts that oppressed them.