A DECLARATION OF WAR.
The general shrugged his shoulders with a contemptuous smile.
"Nonsense," he said, "you are mad, my fine fellow. I know now who you are; your hatred of me has unconsciously discovered you. Remove that veil which is no longer of any use; I know you, for, as you are aware, hatred is clear-sighted. You are the French hunter whom I have constantly met in my path to impede my projects, or overthrow my plans."
"Add," the hunter interrupted, "and whom you will ever meet."
"Be it so, unless I crush you beneath my heel like a noxious insect."
"Ever so proud and so indomitable, do you not fear lest, exasperated by your insults, I may forget the oath I have taken, and sacrifice you to my vengeance?"
"Nonsense," he replied, with a disdainful toss of his head, "you kill me? that is impossible, for you are too anxious to enjoy your revenge to stab me in a moment of passion."
"That is true, this time you are right, Don Sebastian. I will not kill you, because, however culpable you may be, I do not recognize the right to do so. Blood does not wash out blood, it only increases the stain; and I intend to take a more protracted vengeance on you than a stab or a shot will grant us. Besides this, vengeance has already commenced."
"Indeed!" the general said sarcastically.
"Still," the hunter continued with some emotion, "as the vengeance must be straightforward, I wish to give you, in the presence of all these gentlemen, the proof that I fear you no more today than I did when the struggle commenced between us. This veil which you reproach me for wearing I am going to remove, not because you have recognized me, but because I deem it unworthy of me to conceal my features from you any longer. Brothers," he added, turning to his silent assistants, "my mask alone must fall, retain yours, for it is important for my plans of vengeance that you should remain unknown."
The four men bowed their assent, and the hunter threw away the crape that covered his features.
"Valentine Guillois!" the general exclaimed; "I was sure of it."
On hearing this celebrated name, the hunters of the second caravan made a movement as if to rush forward, impelled either by curiosity or some other motive.
"Stay," the Frenchman shouted, stopping them by a quick wave of the hand, "let me finish with this man first."
They fell back with a bow.
"Now," he continued, "we are really face to face. Well, listen patiently to what still remains for me to tell you; and, perhaps, the assumed calmness spread over your features will melt away before my words, like the snow in the sunshine."
"I will listen to you, because it is impossible for me to do otherwise at this moment; but if you flatter yourself that you will affect me in any way, I am bound to warn you that you will not succeed. The hatred I feel for you is so thoroughly balanced by the contempt you inspire me with, that nothing which emanates from you can move me in the slightest degree."
"Listen then," the hunter coldly continued; "when my unhappy friend fell at Guaymas, in my paroxysm of grief I allow that I intended to kill you; but reflection soon came, and I saw that it would be better to let you live. Thanks to me, one week after the count's death, the Mexican Government, not satisfied with disavowing your conduct publicly, deprived you of your command, without inquiry, and refused, in spite of your remonstrances, to explain to you the motives of their conduct."
"Ah, ah," the general said, in a hissing but suppressed voice, "it was to you, then, that I owe my recall?"
"Yes, general, to me alone."
"I am delighted to hear it."
"You remained, then, in Sonora, without power or influence, hated and despised by all, and marked on your forehead with that indelible brand which God imprinted on Cain, the first murderer; but Mexico is a blessed country, where ambitious men can easily fish in troubled waters, when, like yourself, they are not restrained by any of those bonds of honour, which too often fetter the genius of honest men. You could not remain long bowed beneath the blow that had fallen on you, and you made up your mind in a few days. You resolved to leave Sonora and proceed to Mexico, where, thanks to your colossal fortune, and the influence it would necessarily give you, you could carry on your ambitious projects; by changing the scene, you hoped to cast the scandalous acts of which you had been guilty into oblivion. Your preparations were soon made—listen attentively, general, to this, for I assure you that I have reached the most interesting part of my narration."
"Go on, go on, señor," he replied carelessly, "I am listening to you attentively; do not fear that I shall forget one of your words."
"In spite of your affected indifference, señor, I will go on. As you fancied, for certain reasons which to is unnecessary to remind you of, that your enemies might try to lay some ambush for you, during the long journey you were obliged to perform from Hermosillo to Mexico, you thought it necessary to take the following precautions, the inutility of some of which I presume that you have recognized by this time. While, for the purpose of deceiving your enemies, you started in disguise, and only accompanied by a few men, for California, in order to return to Mexico across the Rocky Mountains; while you gave questioners the fullest details of the road, you pretended to follow, with your men—your real object was quite different. The man in whom you placed your confidence, Don Isidro Vargas, a veteran of your War of Independence, who had known you when a child, and whom you had converted into your tool, took the shortest, and, consequently, most direct route for the capital, having with him not only twelve mules loaded with gold and silver, the fruit of your plunder during the period of your command, but a more precious article still, the body of your unhappy daughter, which you had embalmed, and which the captain had orders to inter with your ancestors at your Hacienda del Palmar, which you left so long ago, and to which you will, in all probability, never return. Your object in acting thus was not only to divert attention from your ill-gotten riches, but also to attract your enemies after yourself. Unfortunately or fortunately, according as we regard the matter, I am an old hunter so difficult to deceive that my comrades gave me long ago the glorious title of the Trail-hunter, and hence, while everybody else was forming speculations about you, I alone was not deceived, and guessed your plan."
"Still, your presence here gives a striking denial to the assertion," the general interrupted him, ironically.
"You think so, señor, and that proves that you are not thoroughly acquainted with me yet; but patience, I hope that you will, ere long, appreciate me better. Moreover you have not reflected on the time that has elapsed since your departure from Hermosillo."
"What do you mean?" the general asked, with a sudden start of apprehension.
"I mean that before attacking you, I resolved to settle matters first with the captain."
"Ah!"
"Well, general, it is my painful duty to inform you that four days after he left Pitic, our brave friend Don Isidro, although an old and experienced soldier, well versed in war stratagems, fell into an ambuscade resembling the one into which you fell today, with this exception——."
"What exception?" the general asked, with greater interest than he would have liked to display, for he was beginning to fear a catastrophe.
"My men were so imprudent," the hunter continued, ironically, "as to leave the captain the means of defending himself. The result was that he died, bravely fighting to save the gold you had intrusted to him, and, before all, the coffin containing your daughter's corpse."
"Well, and I presume you plundered the caravan, and carried off the gold and silver?" he asked, contemptuously.
"You would most probably have acted thus under similar circumstances, Don Sebastian," the hunter answered, giving him back insult for insult; "but I thought it my duty to act differently. What could you expect? I, a coarse, uneducated hunter, do not know how to plunder, for I did not learn it when I had the honour to serve my own country, and I never stood under your orders in Mexico. This is what I did: so soon as the captain and the peons he commanded were killed—for the poor devils, I must do them the justice of saying, offered a desperate resistance—I myself, you understand, friend, I myself conveyed the money to your Hacienda del Palmar, where it now remains in safety, as you can easily assure yourself if you ever return to Palmar."
The general breathed again, and smiled ironically. "Instead of blaming you, señor," he said, "I, on the contrary, owe you thanks for this chivalrous conduct, especially toward an enemy."
"Do not be in such an hurry to thank me, caballero," the hunter answered; "I have not told you all yet."
These words were uttered with such an accent of gratified hatred, that all the hearers, the general included, shuddered involuntarily, for they understood that the hunter was about to make a terrible revelation, and that the calmness he feigned concealed a tempest.
"Ah," Don Sebastian murmured, "speak, I implore you, señor, for I am anxious to know all the obligations I owe you."
"Captain Don Isidro Vargas not only escorted the money I had conveyed to Palmar," he said in a sharp, quick voice, "but there was also a coffin. Well, general, why do you not ask me what has become of that coffin?"
An electric shock ran through the audience on hearing the ironical question so coldly asked by the hunter, whose eye, implacably fixed on the general, seemed to flash fire.
"What!" Don Sebastian exclaimed, "I can hardly think that you have committed sacrilege?"
Valentine burst into a loud and sharp laugh. "Your suppositions ever go beyond the object. I commit sacrilege, oh, no! I loved the poor girl too dearly when alive to outrage her after death. No, no, the betrothed of my friend is sacred to me; but as, in my opinion, the assassin can have no claim to the body of his victim, and you are morally your daughter's murderer, I have robbed you of this body, which you are not worthy to have, and which must rest by the side of him for whom she died."
There was a moment's silence. The general's face, hitherto pale, assumed a greenish hue, and his eyes were suffused with blood. Now and then he made superhuman efforts to speak, which were unsuccessful, but at length he yelled in a hoarse and hissing voice—
"It is not true; you have not done this. You cannot have dared to rob a father of his child's body."
"I have done it, I tell you," the hunter said coldly. "I have taken possession of the body of your victim, and now you understand me; never shall you know where this poor body rests. But this is only the beginning of my vengeance. What I wish to kill in you is the soul and not the body; and now begone, go and forget at Mexico, amid your ambitious intrigues, the scene that has passed between us; but remember that you will find me in your path everywhere and ever. Farewell till we meet again."
"One last word," the general exclaimed, affected by the deepest despair, "restore me my daughter's body; she was the only human creature I ever loved."
The hunter regarded him for a moment with an undefinable expression, and then said in a harsh and coldly-mocking voice, "Never."
Then, turning away, he re-entered the grotto, followed by his assistants. The general tried to rush after him, but the Indians restrained him, and, in spite of his resistance, compelled him to stop.
Don Sebastian, who was the more overwhelmed by the last blow because it was unexpected, stood for a moment like a man struck by lightning, with pendant arms and seared eyes. At last a heartrending sob burst from his bosom, two burning tears sprung from his eyes, and he rolled like a corpse on the ground.
The very Indians, those rough warriors to whom pity is a thing unknown, felt moved by this frightful despair, and several of them turned away not to witness it.
In the meanwhile the Jester had ordered the peons to saddle the horses and load the mules. The general was placed by two servants on a horse, without appearing to notice what was done to him, and a few minutes later the caravan left the Fort of the Chichimèques, and passed unimpeded through the silent ranks of the Indians, who bowed as it passed.
"When the Mexicans had disappeared in the windings of the road, Valentine emerged from the grotto, and walked courteously up to the hunters of the second caravan.
"Forgive me," he said to them, "not the delay I have occasioned you, but the involuntary alarm I caused you; but I was compelled to act as I did. You are going to Mexico, where I shall soon be myself, and it is possible that I may require your testimony some day."
"A testimony which will not be refused, my dear countryman," the hunter who had hitherto spoken gracefully answered.
"What!" the hunter exclaimed in amazement, "are you French?"
"Yes, and all my companions are so, too. We have come from San Francisco, where, thanks to Providence, we have amassed a very considerable fortune, which we hope to double in the Mexican capital. My name is Antoine Rallier, and these are my brothers, Edward and Augustus; the two ladies who accompany us are my mother and sister, and if you know nobody in Mexico, come straight to me, sir, and you will be received, not only as a friend, but as a brother."
The hunter pressed the hand his countryman offered him.
"As this is the case," he said, "I will not let you go alone, for these mountains are infested by bandits of every description, whom you may not escape, but with my protection you can pass anywhere."
"I heartily accept the offer; but why do you not come with us to Mexico?"
"That is impossible for the present," the hunter answered pensively; "but be at your ease. I shall not fail to demand the fulfilment of your promise."
"You will be welcome, friend, for we have been acquainted for a long time, and we know that you have ever honourably represented France in America."
Two hours later the Fort of the Chichimèques had returned to its usual solitude; white men and Indians had abandoned it for ever.