THE HUNT.
"Then," Don Miguel asked the hunter, "you believe, my friend, that we are on the right track, and that the villain cannot escape us."
"I am convinced," Valentine replied, "that we have followed his trail up to the present. As for assuring you that he will not escape us, I am unable to say that; I can only assert that I shall discover him."
"That is what I meant," the hacendero remarked, with a sigh.
They started once more. The prairie became more broken, here and there clumps of trees diversified the landscape, and in the distance rose hills, the first spires of the Sierra Madre, which jagged the blue horizon, and undulated the soil. The hunters reached at about an hour before sunset the first trees of an immense virgin forest, which stretched out like a curtain of verdure, and completely hid the prairie from their sight.
"Wah!" said Curumilla, suddenly stooping and picking up an object which he handed Valentine.
"Hilloah!" the latter exclaimed, "if I am not mistaken, it is Doña Clara's cross."
"Give it me, my friend," Don Miguel said, hurriedly advancing.
He seized the article the hunter handed him; it was, in truth, a small diamond cross, which the maiden constantly wore. The hacendero raised it to his lips, with a joy mingled with sorrow.
"Oh, heavens!" he exclaimed, "What has happened to my poor girl?"
"Nothing," Valentine replied; "reassure yourself, my friend. The chain has probably broken, and Doña Clara lost it—that is all."
Don Miguel sighed, two tears burst from his eyes, but he did not utter a word; at the entrance of the forest Valentine halted.
"It is not prudent," he said, "to go among these large trees by night; perhaps those we seek may be waiting here to attack us under covert. If you will listen to me, we will bivouac here."
No one objected to this proposal, and consequently the encampment was formed. Night had completely set in, and the hunters, after eating their super, had rolled themselves up in their blankets, and were sleeping. Valentine, Curumilla, and Eagle-wing, gravely seated around the fire, were conversing in a low voice, while watching the neighbourhood.
All at once Valentine sharply seized the Ulmen by the collar, and pulled him to the ground; at the same moment a shot was fired, and a bullet struck the logs, producing myriads of sparks. The Mexicans, startled by the shot, sprung up and seized their arms, but the hunters had disappeared.
"What is the meaning of this?" Don Miguel asked, looking round vainly in the darkness.
"I am greatly mistaken," said the general, "if we are not attacked."
"Attacked!" the hacendero continued; "By whom?"
"By enemies, probably," the general remarked; "but who those enemies are I cannot tell you."
"Where are our friends?" Don Pablo asked.
"Hunting, I suppose," the general replied.
"Stay, here they come," said Don Miguel.
The hunters returned; but not alone; they had a prisoner with them, and the prisoner was Orson, the pirate. So soon as he had him in the bivouac, Valentine bound him securely, and then examined him for some minutes with profound attention. The bandit endured this examination with a feigned carelessness, which, well played though it was, did not quite deceive the Frenchman.
"Hum!" the latter said to himself, "this seems to me a cunning scamp; let me see if I am wrong—who are you, ruffian?" he roughly asked him.
"I?" the other said with a silly air.
"Yes, you."
"A hunter."
"A scalp hunter, I suppose?" Valentine went on.
"Why so?" the other asked.
"I suppose you did not take us for wild beasts?"
"I do not understand you," the bandit said, with a stupid look.
"That is possible," said Valentine, "what is your name?"
"Orson."
"A pretty name enough. And why were you prowling round our bivouac?"
"The night is dark, and I took you for Apaches."
"Is that why you fired at us?"
"Yes."
"I suppose you did not expect to kill us all six?"
"I did not try to kill you."
"Ah, ah! You wished to give us a salute, I suppose?" the hunter remarked, with a laugh.
"No, but I wished to attract your attention."
"Well, you succeeded; in that case, why did you bolt?"
"I did not do so—I let you catch me."
"Hum," Valentine said again; "well, no matter, we have got you and you'll be very clever if you escape."
"Who knows?" the pirate muttered.
"Where were you going?"
"To join my friends on the other bank of the river."
"What friends?"
"Friends of mine."
"I suppose so."
"The man is an idiot," Don Miguel said, with a shrug of his shoulders.
Valentine gave him a significant look.
"Do you think so?" he said.
As the hacendero made no reply, Valentine continued his cross-questioning.
"Who are the friends you were going to join?"
"I told you—hunters."
"Very well—but those hunters have a name."
"Have you not one, too?"
"Listen, scamp," Valentine said, whom the Pirate's evasions were beginning to make angry, "I warn you that, if you do not answer my questions simply, I shall be forced to blow out your brains."
Orson started back.
"Blow out my brains!" he exclaimed. "Nonsense, you would not dare."
"Why not, mate?"
"Because Red Cedar would avenge me."
"Ah ah, you know Red Cedar?"
"Of course I do, as I was going to join him."
"Hilloh!" Valentine said distrustfully. "Where, then?"
"Wherever he may be."
"That is true—then you know where Red Cedar is?"
"Yes."
"In that case you will guide us to him."
"I shall be delighted," the Pirate said quickly.
Valentine turned to his friend.
"This man is a traitor," he said. "He was sent to draw us into a snare, in which we will not let ourselves be caught. Curumilla, fasten a rope to a branch of that oak tree."
"What for?" Don Miguel asked.
"To hang this scamp, who fancies we are fools."
Orson trembled.
"One moment," he said.
"What for?" the hunter asked.
"Why, I do not wish to be hanged."
"And yet, it will happen to you within ten minutes, my good fellow—so you had better make up your mind to it."
"Not at all, since I offer to lead you to Red Cedar."
"Very good—but I prefer going alone."
"As you please. In that case, let me go."
"That is not possible, unfortunately."
"Why not?"
"I will tell you: because, if you were set at liberty, you would go straight and tell the man who sent you what you have seen, and I do not wish that. Besides, I know at present as well as you do, where Red Cedar is."
"Red Cedar does not hide himself, and can always be found."
"Very good. You have five minutes to recommend your soul to Heaven, and that is more than you deserve."
Orson understood from the hunter's accent that he was lost. Hence he made up his mind bravely.
"Bravo!" he said, "well-played."
Valentine looked at him.
"You are a plucky fellow," he said to him, "and I will do something for you. Curumilla, unfasten his arms."
The Indian obeyed.
"Look here," said Valentine, offering him a pistol. "Blow out your brains, it will be sooner over, and you will suffer less."
The bandit seized the weapon with a diabolical grin, and, with a movement swift as thought, fired at the hunter. But Curumilla was watching him, and cleft his skull with his tomahawk. The bullet whistled harmlessly past Valentine's ear.
"Thanks," said the bandit, as he rolled on the ground.
"What men!" Don Miguel exclaimed.
"Canarios, my friend," the general said, "you had a narrow escape."
The three men dug a hole into which they threw the bandit's body. The rest of the night passed without incident, and at daybreak the hunt recommenced. About midday, the hunters found themselves again on the river bank, and saw two Indian canoes drifting down with the current.
"Back, back!" Valentine suddenly shouted.
All lay down on the grass, and at the same instant bullets ricochetted from the rocks, and arrows whizzed through the leaves, but no one was wounded. Valentine disdained to reply.
"They are Apaches," he said. "Let us not waste our powder; besides, they are out of range."
They set out again. Gradually, the forest grew clearer, the trees became rare, and they at length entered a vast prairie.
"Stop," said Valentine, "we must be approaching. I believe we shall do well, now that we have an expanse before us, to examine the horizon."
He stood upright in his saddle, and began looking carefully around. Presently, he got down.
"Nothing," he said.
At this moment, he saw something glistening in the grass, on the river bank.
"What is that?" he asked himself, and bent down. But, instead of rising again, he bent lower still, and in a second turned to Curumilla.
"The moccasin," he said, sharply.
The Indian handed it to him.
"Look!" the hunter said.
At this spot the sand was damp, and, under a pile of leaves, there appeared clearly and distinctly the trace of a man's foot, with the toes in the water.
"They are only two hours ahead of us," said Valentine. "One of them lost a horse bell here."
"They have crossed the river," said Eagle-wing.
"That is easy to see," the general remarked.
Valentine smiled, and looked at Curumilla, who shook his head.
"No," the hunter said. "It is a trick, but they shall not catch me."
Making his comrades a signal not to stir, Valentine turned his back to the river, and walked rapidly toward a tree covered hill a short distance off.
"Come!" he shouted, so soon as he reached the top. Several dead trees lay scattered in an open space. Aided by Curumilla, Valentine began removing them. The Mexicans, whose curiosity was aroused to an eminent degree, also lent a hand.
In a few minutes, several trees were rolled on one side. Valentine then removed the leaves, and discovered the remains of a fire, with the ashes still warm.
"Come, come," he said, "Red Cedar is not so clever as I thought."
Don Miguel, his son, and the general were astounded, but the hunter only smiled.
"It is nothing," he said. "But the shadow of the sun is already lengthening on the horizon, within three hours, it will be night; so remain here. When the gloom is thick, we will start again."
They bivouacked.
"Now, sleep," Valentine bade them. "I will awake you when necessary, for you will have smart work tonight."
And joining example to precept, Valentine lay down on the ground, closed his eyes, and slept. At about an hour after sunset, he woke again; he looked around, his comrades were still asleep, but one was absent—Curumilla.
"Good," Valentine thought; "the chief has seen something, and gone to reconnoitre."
He had scarce finished this aside, when he noticed two shadows standing out vaguely in the night; the hunter darted behind a tree, and cocked his rifle. At the same instant, the cry of the swan was audible a short distance off.
"Halloh!" said Valentine, as he withdrew his rifle, "Can Curumilla have made another prisoner? Let me have a look."
A few minutes later, Curumilla arrived, closely followed by an Indian warrior, who was no other than Black Cat. On seeing him, Valentine repressed with difficulty a cry of surprise.
"My brother is welcome," he said.
"I was expecting my brother," the Apache chief said, simply.
"How so?"
"My brother is on the trail of Red Cedar?"
"Yes."
"Red Cedar is there," said Black Cat, pointing in the direction of the river.
"Far?"
"About half an hour."
"Good. How does my red brother know it?" the hunter asked, with ill-concealed suspicion.
"The great pale warrior is the brother of Black Cat; he saved his life. The redskins have a long memory. Black Cat assembled his young men, and followed Red Cedar to deliver him to his brother Koutonepi."
Valentine did not for an instant doubt the good faith of the Apache Chief; he knew how religiously the Indians keep their oaths. Black Cat had formed an alliance with him, and he could place implicit confidence in his words.
"Good," he said, "I will wake the pale warriors; my brother will guide us."
The Indian bowed and folded his arms on his chest. A quarter of an hour later, the hunters reached the encampment of the redskins, when they found that Black Cat had spoken the truth, for he had one hundred picked warriors with him, so cleverly concealed in the grass that ten paces off it was impossible to perceive them.
Black Cat drew Valentine aside, and led him a short distance from the bivouac.
"Let my brother look," he said.
The hunter then saw, a little way off, the fires of the gambusinos. Red Cedar had placed his camp against a hillside, which prevented the hunters seeing it. The squatter fancied he had thrown Valentine out, and this night, for the first time since he knew he was pursued, he allowed his people to light a fire.