THE DEPARTURE.
On the day after the battle, at sunrise, there was a busy scene in the Comanche village. The criers or hachestos mounted on the piles of ruins, summoned the warriors, who arrived one after the other, still fatigued by the dances and combats of the previous night. The war whistles, the shells, the drums and chichikouis, made an infernal disturbance, and hence the entire population was speedily assembled.
Unicorn was a chief of great prudence. Being on the point of undertaking an expedition which might separate him for a long time from his friends, he did not wish to leave the women and children exposed defencelessly to an attack like that of the previous evening. As the season was advanced, he resolved to abandon the village definitively, and escort those who were not selected to accompany him, to the winter village of the nation, situated at no great distance off, in a virgin forest, and in an impregnable position.
The appearance of the village was most picturesque; the warriors, painted and armed for war, formed two companies of one hundred men each, collected on the square, having on each flank a squadron of twenty-five horsemen. Between the two detachments the women, children, and old men placed themselves, with the dogs fastened to the sledges, which bore all their valuable property, such as furniture, furs, &c.
Unicorn, surrounded by his staff, composed of the subordinate chiefs of the tribe, held in his hands the totem, and gave his orders with a word or a gesture, which were immediately executed with an intelligence and dexterity that would have done honour to the most civilised nation.
Valentine was also on the public square, with his comrades and prisoners. The two maidens, calm and smiling, were side by side, conversing together, while Curumilla was holding his head down, and frowning.
Bloodson had gone off at daybreak, with his band, to try and surprise, in his turn, the Apache village, which was no great distance off. It was a strange fact, but the hunters and Mexicans felt an extraordinary pleasure at the departure of this man, who had, however, rendered them an immense service. Certainly, it would have been impossible for them to explain this feeling, which all experienced. Still, when he was no longer among them, their chests expanded, and they breathed with greater ease; in a word, it seemed as if an immense weight had been suddenly removed.
And yet, we repeat, the hunters and Mexicans had only terms of praise in which to allude to this man's treatment of them. Whence came this instinctive repulsion with which he inspired them?—the truth was, that Bloodson had something about him which caused those to whom accident brought into contact with him to feel disgust mingled with fear.
A great noise was suddenly heard in the square, and two or three Indians came up to speak to the chief. Unicorn uttered an exclamation of anger and feigned the greatest disappointment.
"What is the matter, chief?" Valentine asked, with the most indifferent air he could assume.
"Our most valuable Apache prisoner," Unicorn said, "has found means to escape, I do not know how."
"That is a misfortune," Valentine said: "still, it may not be irreparable."
"How so?"
"Who knows? Perhaps he may have escaped very recently; if you were to send couriers in every direction, it is possible that he may be recaptured. Besides, if that measure did not produce the anticipated result," he added, as he gave the young Spaniard a cold and stern glance, which made her start, "it would, at any rate, tell us what has become of our Apache enemies, and if they have not left round the village spies ordered to watch our movements."
The sachem smiled at this proposal; he made a sign, and a dozen horsemen galloped out in the plain. While awaiting the return of the scouts, the final preparations for departure were made.
After overhearing the conversation between the Gazelle and the Pirates, Curumilla repeated it to Valentine. The latter thanked him, and begged him to watch the movements of the girl and Pedro Sandoval. The advice Valentine gave the chief, and which he readily followed was intended to unmask the Apaches, compel them to retire, and hence deprive the Pirate of the assistance he expected in effecting his escape.
In fact the Apaches on seeing their enemies spread all over the plain, not knowing their intentions, but fearing lest they should be surprised by them, fell back, and that so rapidly, that the scouts returned to the village without seeing anything, after a two hours' ride.
On the report they delivered of all being quiet in the neighbourhood and the road quite clear, Unicorn gave the signal for departure: the immense caravan slowly set out to the sound of musical instruments, mingled with the yells of the warriors and the barking of the dogs. Valentine, for greater security, placed the two females at the head of the column, in the group of horsemen formed by the subordinate chiefs.
The day had opened with a pure sky and dazzling sun; the atmosphere, perfumed by the exhalations from the prairie flowers, pleasantly dilated the lungs, and caused the hunters to feel in the highest spirits. The caravan was unfolded like an immense serpent on the prairie, advancing in good order through an enchanting landscape.
The hunters were crossing at this moment the spot called the Bad Lands, a continuation of the Black Coast, which the Gila intersects. The prairie extended along the river, then gradually ascended in rollers toward the mountains, and was covered with blocks of greyish-brown granite, displaying various strata. All around rose a marvellous chain of tall greyish and barren mountains, with extraordinarily shaped summits, and spotted with dark patches of conifera.
The Rio Gila, which was rather narrow found its way with difficulty through the lofty crests of schist, granite, and clay, and the nude and dead scenery that surrounded it was but slightly animated on the banks by the poplars and pine bushes that bordered it.
To the right was a village of prairie dogs: these pretty little animals, which are not at all savage, were seated on the flattened roofs of their house, watching the caravan, as they shook their tails rapidly and uttered their shrill cry, which is not a perfect bark; then they disappeared in the ground.
The caravan rapidly advanced toward a virgin forest, whose gloomy spurs stretched out nearly to the river's bank, and which they reached after two hours' march. On reaching the first trees, the caravan halted for a while, in order to make the final arrangements, before burying itself beneath the gloomy dome which would serve as its shelter for several months.
Before leaving his friends, the white hunters, the Comanche Chief had the neighbourhood beaten up, but no trail was visible; the Apaches seemed to have definitely declined further fighting, and gone off. In fact, it would have been signal folly for them to try and attack the Comanches, thrice as strong as themselves, rendered haughty by their last victory, and who, before entering the forest, would have liked nothing better than to have a parting fight with their implacable enemies. But nothing disturbed the calmness of the prairie.
"My brother can continue his journey," Unicorn said to Valentine; "the Apache dogs have fled with the feet of antelopes."
"Oh, we do not fear them," the hunter replied, disdainfully.
"Before the eighth sun, my brother will see me again," the chief continued.
"Good."
"Farewell."
And they separated. The Comanche warriors entered the forest; for a while the sound of their footsteps and the tinkling of the bells fastened to their dogs' necks re-echoed under the gloomy arcades of the forest; then silence was gradually re-established, and the hunters found themselves alone. They were six resolute and well-armed men, who feared no danger; they could continue their journey in perfect safety.
"Are we still far from the island where Red Cedar's band is encamped?" Valentine asked the Sachem of the Coras.
"Scarce four leagues," Eagle-wing answered. "Were it not for the countless turnings we shall have to take, we should reach it in an hour; but we shall not arrive till the last song of the maukawis."
"Good; you and Don Pablo will go on ahead with the squarer's daughter."
"Do you fear anything?" Don Pablo asked.
"Nothing; but I wish to speak a few minutes with the Spanish girl."
"All right."
The two men pushed on with the maiden, and Valentine took his place on the right of the Gazelle, who was riding thoughtfully, without paying any attention to her horse.
The revelations made by Curumilla had the more struck Valentine, because he did not at all comprehend the Gazelle's hatred of Ellen. Every feeling must have its reason, every hatred a cause; and both these escaped him. In vain did he seek in his memory a fact which might account for, if not excuse, the strange conduct of White Gazelle; he found nothing that would put him on the right track.
He recalled to mind that he had seen the girl several times in the vicinity of Don Miguel de Zarate's hacienda, at the Paso del Norte; he also remembered that Don Pablo had done her a slight service, when she craved his help, but her relations with the hacendero's son had terminated there.
He believed it certain that, although Red Cedar's daughter lived near the hacienda, the Gazelle had never seen her before they met at the Indian village. Still, as he knew Don Pablo's love for Ellen, a love of which the young man had never spoken to him, but which he had long seen; as, too, the position was grave, and Ellen might at any moment fall into danger, which must be avoided at any cost, Valentine resolved to have a conversation with the Spanish girl, and try to read clearly in her heart, were that possible.
But if gentle means failed, he would show her no indulgence, or let a gentle and unoffending creature be exposed to the perfidy of a cruel woman, whom no consideration seemed to arrest in her sinister plans.
Valentine looked round. Ellen was about two hundred yards ahead, between Eagle-wing and Don Pablo. Temporarily reassured, he turned to the Spanish girl, who at this moment was talking eagerly, and in a loud voice, with Pedro Sandoval. The girl blushed, and ceased speaking. Valentine, not appearing to notice the confusion his presence caused the speakers, bowed slightly to the Spaniard, and addressed her in a calm voice:—
"I beg your pardon," he said, "if I interrupt a doubtless interesting conversation; but I wish to have a few words with you."
The girl blushed still more deeply. Her black eye flashed fire under the long lash that veiled it, but she answered in a trembling voice, as she stopped her horse—
"I am ready to listen to you, señor caballero."
"Do not stop, I beg, señora," Valentine said. "This worthy man, who doubtless shares all your secrets," he added, with an ironical smile, "can hear our conversation, which, indeed, will relate to him."
"In truth," the girl answered, in a firmer voice, as she let her horse proceed, "I have nothing hidden from this worthy man, as you do him the honour of calling him."
"Very good, señora," the hunter continued with equal coldness. "Now, be good enough not to take in ill part what I am about to say to you, and answer a question I shall take the liberty of asking you."
"I presume you intend me to undergo an interrogation?"
"That is not my intention, at least at this moment; it will depend on you, madam, that we do not pass the limits of a friendly conversation."
"Speak, sir. If the question you ask me is one of those a woman may answer, I will satisfy you."
"Be good enough to tell me, madam, whether you found us cruel enemies last night?"
"Why this question?"
"Be so kind as to answer it first."
"I can only speak in terms of praise of your conduct."
"I thank you. And how did Miss Ellen treat you?"
"Admirably."
"Good. You are not ignorant, I think, that through your yesterday's aggression, an aggression which may be regarded as attempted murder and robbery, since, as you are not at war with the Indians, and as, belonging to our race, should regard us as friends—you are not ignorant, I say, that you have rendered yourself amenable to the prairie law, which says, 'an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.'"
"What do you wish to arrive at?"
"Pardon me. You are not ignorant, I assume, that, instead of treating you as I did, with the most perfect respect, I should have been quite justified in passing a rope round your neck, and hanging you, with your worthy friend, to the branches of the first tree: and there are some magnificent specimens in these parts!"
"Sir!" the girl exclaimed, as she drew herself up, and became livid with fury.
"Pardon me," Valentine continued impressively. "I am alluding here to an incontestable right, which you cannot deny: do not get in a passion, but answer me categorically, yes, or no."
"Well, sir, yes; you had that right, and you still have it. What checks you? Why do you not use it?" she added, as she gave him a defiant look.
"Because it does not suit me to do so at this moment," Valentine said, coldly and drily.
These stern words suddenly checked the passion that was boiling in the girl's heart: she let her eyes fall, and replied:—
"Is that all you have to say to me?"
"No, it is not all; and I have a final question to ask you."
"Speak, sir, as I am condemned to listen to you."
"I will not occupy much of your time."
"Oh, sir," she answered ironically, "my time cannot be employed better than in conversing with so polished a gentleman as yourself."
"I thank you for the good opinion you are kind enough to have of a poor hunter like myself," he replied, with a tinge of sarcasm; "and I now reach the second question I wished to ask you."
"In truth, it seems, sir, that like the juces de letras, your accomplices," she added bitterly, "you have classified in your head the questions that compose my examination: for, in spite of what you did me the honour of telling me, I persist in seeing only an examination in what it pleases you to call our conversation."
"As you please, madam," Valentine replied with imperturbable coolness. "Will you explain to me how it is, that, after having been treated, according to your own statement, by us so kindly, you laid aside all gratitude and feelings of honour last night, to join two villains in a plot for carrying off a girl to whom you owe your life, and handing her over as a slave to the most ferocious Indians on the prairies—the Sioux?"