A NIGHT JOURNEY.
Events have so multiplied during the course of this night, that to keep headway with the incidents, we are compelled to pass incessantly from one person to another.
Don Martial was rich—very rich—eager for excitement, and endowed with warlike instincts. He had only embraced the profession of Tigrero in order to have a plausible excuse for his constant travels in the desert, which he had passed his whole life in travelling in every direction.
The Tigreros are generally wood rangers or old hunters, who, for a certain salary and a premium on each hide, engage with a hacendero to kill the wild beasts that decimate his herds. What others did for money, he performed simply for pleasure; hence he was greatly liked on the frontiers, and especially welcomed by all the hacenderos, who found in him not only the clever and daring hunter, but also the boon companion and the caballero.
Don Martial saw Doña Anita for the first time when the chances of his adventurous life had led him to a hacienda belonging to Don Sylva, where, within the space of a month, he killed some dozen wild beasts. As the Tigrero constantly watched the young girl, whom he could not see without falling madly in love with, it happened that one day, when Anita's horse ran away, he was near enough to save her at the peril of his own life. It was through this event that the girl first noticed and spoke to him. We know the rest.
Cucharés was not at all pleased with the sudden departure from the island. He inwardly cursed the folly which made him attach himself to a man like him he now followed, who might expose him at any moment to the chances of getting an arrow through his body, without any profit or available excuse. Still Cucharés was not the man to feel long angry with the Tigrero. He knew that grave reasons alone could have induced him to leave a shelter at that hour of the night, resign the aid of the hunters, and go wandering about the desert without any apparent object. He burned to know the reasons; but he knew that Don Martial was no great talker, and had a great objection to having his secrets spied out; and as, in spite of all his bounce, he entertained a great respect for the Tigrero, mingled with a decent amount of fear, he deferred to a more favourable moment the numerous questions he longed to ask him.
The two men, then, marched on side by side silently, allowing the reins to hang on their horses' heads, and each indulging in his own reflections. Still Cucharés remarked that Don Martial, instead of seeking the cover of the forest, obstinately followed the river bank, and kept his horse as close to it as possible.
The darkness grew rapidly denser around them; distant objects began to be lost in the masses of shadow on the horizon, and they soon found themselves in complete obscurity. For some time the lepero tried, by coughing or uttering exclamations, to attract his comrade's attention, though unsuccessfully; but when he saw that the night had completely set in, while the Tigrero marched on without appearing to notice the fact, he at length mustered up courage to address him.
"Don Martial," he said.
"Well," the latter replied carelessly.
"Do you not think it is time for us to stop a little?"
"What for?"
"What for?" the lepero replied, with a bound of surprise.
"Yes; we have not arrived yet."
"Then we are going somewhere?"
"Why else should we have left our friends?"
"That's true. Where are we going, though? That is what I should like to know."
"You will soon do so."
"I confess that I should be glad of it."
There was again silence, during which they continued to advance. They had left the hill of Guetzalli about two musket shots behind them, and reached a sort of creek, which through the windings of the river, was almost parallel with the back of the hacienda, whose gloomy and imposing mass rose before them. Don Martial stopped.
"We have arrived," he said.
"At last!" the lepero muttered with a sigh of satisfaction.
"I mean to say," the Tigrero went on, "that the easiest part of our expedition is ended."
"We are making an expedition then?"
"By Jove! Do you fancy, then, my good fellow, that I am marching along the banks of the Gila merely for amusement?"
"That surprised me, too."
"Now our expedition will speedily commence in reality."
"Good!"
"I must warn you, however, that it is rather dangerous; however, I counted on you."
"Thanks," Cucharés answered, making a grimace which had some pretensions to resemble a smile. The truth is, the lepero would have preferred that his friend had not given him this proof of confidence. Don Martial continued,—
"We are going there;" and he extended his arm in the direction of the river.
"Where then? To the hacienda?"
"Yes."
"You wish us to be cut in pieces."
"How so?"
"Do you believe we shall reach the hacienda without being discovered?"
"We will try it at any rate."
"Yes; and as we shall not succeed, those demons of Frenchmen, who are on the watch, will take us for savages, and be safe to shoot at us."
"It is a risk to run."
"Thanks! I prefer remaining here, for I confess I am not yet mad enough to put myself in the wolf's jaws for mere sport. Go where you please, but I stay here."
The Tigrero could not suppress a smile.
"The danger is not so great as you suppose," he said. "We are expected at the hacienda by someone who will doubtlessly have moved the sentinels from the spot where we shall land."
"That is possible, but I do not care to try the experiment, for a bullet never pardons; besides, those Frenchmen are tremendous marksmen."
The Tigrero made no reply; he did not seem even to have heard his companion's remark. His mind was elsewhere. With his body bent forward, he was listening. During the last few minutes the desert had assumed a singular appearance. It woke up. All sorts of noises were heard from the depths of the thickets and clearings. Animals of every description rushed from the covert, and madly passed the two men without noticing them. The birds startled from their first sleep, rose uttering shrill cries, and circled in the air. In the river might be seen the outlines of wild beasts swimming vigorously to reach the other bank. In a word, something extraordinary was taking place.
At intervals dry crackling sounds and hoarse murmurs, like those of rising water, broke the silence, and became with each moment more intense. On the extreme verge of the horizon a large band of bright red, growing wider from minute to minute, spread over the scene a purple and gold glare, which gave it a fantastic appearance. Already, on two different occasions, enormous clouds of smoke spangled with sparks had whirled over the heads of the two men.
"Halloh! What is happening now?" the lepero suddenly exclaimed. "Look at our horses, Don Martial."
In fact, the noble beasts, with neck outstretched and ears laid back, were breathing heavily, stamping on the ground, and trying to escape their riders.
"Caspita!" the Tigrero said calmly, "They smell the fire, that is all."
"What fire? Do you think the prairie is on fire?"
"Of course. You can see it as well as I if you like."
"Hem! What Is the meaning of that?"
"Not much. It is one of the ordinary Indian tricks. We are in the Comanche moon: are you not aware of that?"
"I beg your pardon, I am not a wood ranger. I confess to you that all this alarms me greatly, and that I would willingly give a trifle to be out of it."
"You are a child," Don Martial answered him laughingly. "It is evident that the Indians have fired the prairie to conceal their numbers: they are coming up behind the fire. You will soon hear their war cry sounding amid the clouds of smoke and fire which are approaching, and will soon surround us. By remaining here you run three risks—of being roasted, scalped, or killed: three most unpleasant things, I grant, and which I do not think will suit you. You had better come with me. If you are killed, well, what then? It is a risk to run. Come, dismount; the fire is gaining on us: soon we shall not have the chance. What will you do?"
"I will follow you," the lepero replied in a mournful voice. "I must. I was mad—deuce take me!—to leave Guaymas, where I was so happy—where I lived without working—to come and thrust my head into such wasps' nests. I assure you that if I escape he will be a sharp fellow who catches me here a second time.
"Bah, bah! People always say that. Make haste; we have no time to lose."
In fact, the desert for a distance of several leagues burned like the crater of an immense volcano; the flames undulated and shot along like the waves of the sea, twisting and felling the largest trees like wisps of straw. From the thick curtain of copper-coloured smoke which preceded the flames there escaped, at each moment, bands of coyotes, buffaloes, and jaguars, which, maddened with terror, rushed into the river, uttering yells and deafening cries.
Don Martial and the lepero entered the water; and their noble animals, impelled by their instinct, hurried in the direction of the other bank.
This part of the desert formed a strange contrast to that which the men were leaving. The latter appeared an immense furnace, from which issued vague rumours, cries of distress, agony and terror; a sea of fire, with its billows and majestic waves, whose devouring activity swallowed up everything on their passage, crossing valleys, escalading mountains, and reducing to impalpable ashes the products of the vegetable and animal kingdoms.
The Gila, at this period of the year swollen by the rains which had fallen in the sierra, had a width double of what it was in summer. At that period its current becomes strong, and frequently dangerous through its rapidity; but, at the moment our adventurers crossed it, the numerous animals which sought to cross it simultaneously in a dense body had so broken its force, that they reached the other bank in a comparatively short period.
"Eh!" Cucharés observed at the moment the horses struck land and began ascending the bank, "Did you not tell me, Don Martial, that we were going to the hacienda? We are not taking the road, I fancy."
"You fancy wrong, comrade. Remember this—in the desert a man must always appear to turn his back on the object he wishes to reach, or he will never arrive."
"Which means?"
"That we are going to hobble our horses under this tuft of mesquites and cedar-wood trees, where they will be in perfect safety, and then go straight to the hacienda."
The Tigrero immediately dismounted, led his horse under the shelter of the great trees, took off its bridle in order that it might graze, hobbled it carefully, and returned to the bank.
Cucharés, with that resolution of despair which, under certain circumstances, bears a striking resemblance to courage, imitated his companion's movements point for point. The worthy lepero had at length formed an heroic resolve. Persuaded that he was lost, he yielded himself to the guidance of his lucky or unlucky star with that half timid fanaticism which can only be compared with that found among the Easterns.
As we have said, this side of the river was plunged in shade and silence, and the adventurers were temporarily protected from any danger.
"Stay," the lepero again remarked; "it is a good distance from this place to the hacienda; I can never swim it."
"Patience. We shall find, I am certain, if we take the trouble to look, means to shorten it. Ah, look?" he said, a moment later. "What did I say to you?"
The Tigrero pointed out to the lepero a small canoe fastened to a stake in a small creek.
"The colonists often come here to fish," he continued: "they have several canoes concealed like this at various spots. We will take this one, and in a few moments we shall reach our destination. Do you know how to manage a paddle?"
"Yes, when I am not afraid."
Don Martial looked at him for a few seconds, then laying his hand roughly on his shoulder, said in a sharp voice:—
"Listen, Cucharés, my friend. I have no time to discuss the matter with you; I have extremely serious reasons for acting as I am now doing. I want on your part hearty co-operation, so take warning in time. You know me: at the first suspicious movement I will blow out your brains as I would a coyote's. Now help me to launch the canoe and start."
The lepero understood—resigned himself. In a few minutes the canoe was ready and the two men in it. The passage they had to make to reach the back of the hacienda was not long, but bristled with dangers. In the first place, through the strength of the current which bore with it a large quantity of dead trees, most of them still having their branches, and which, floating half submerged in the water, threatened at each pull to pierce the frail boat. Next, the animals which continued to shun the fire, crossed the river in compact bands; and if the canoe were entangled in one of these manadas mad with terror, it must be crushed with its passengers. The lightest danger the adventurers ran was the receipt of a bullet from the sentinels hidden in the bushes which defended the approach to the colony on the river side. But this danger was as nothing compared with the others to which we have alluded. There was every reason for assuming that the French, aroused by the flames, would direct all their attention to the land side. Besides, Don Martial believed he had nothing to fear from the sentries, who would probably have been withdrawn.
At a signal from Don Martial, Cucharés took up the paddles, and they started. The fire was rapidly retiring in a western direction while continuing its ravages. The canoe advanced slowly and cautiously through the innumerable objects which each moment checked its progress.
Cucharés, pale as a corpse, with hair standing on end, and eyes enlarged by terror, rowed on frenziedly, while recommending his soul fervently to all the numberless saints of the Spanish calendar, for he was more than ever convinced that he would never emerge in safety from the enterprise on which he had so foolishly entered.
In fact, the position was a grave one, and it required all the resolution with which the Tigrero was endowed, as well as the excitement caused by the object he hoped to attain, to keep him from sharing the terror which had seized on his comrade. The further they advanced the greater the obstacles grew. Obliged to make continued turns, in consequence of the trees that barred their passage, they only turned on their own axis, as it were, forced to pass the same spot a dozen times, and watch on all sides at once, not to be sunk by the objects, either visible or invisible, which incessantly rose before them.
For about two hours they continued this wearying navigation; but they insensibly approached the hacienda, whose sombre mass stood out from the starlit sky. Suddenly a terrible cry, raised by a considerable number of voices, filled the air, and a discharge of artillery and musketry roared like thunder.
"Holy Virgin!" Cucharés exclaimed, letting go the paddles and clasping his hands, "We are lost!"
"On the contrary," the Tigrero said, "we are saved. The Indians are attacking the colony; all the French are at the entrenchments, and no one will dream of watching us. Bold, my good boy! One more good pull, and all will be over."
"May God hear you!" the lepero muttered, beginning to paddle again with a trembling hand.
"Ah! The attack is serious, it appears. All the better. The harder they fight over there, the less attention will be paid us. Let us go on."
The two adventurers, hidden in the shade, paddled on silently, and gradually approached the hacienda. Don Martial looked searchingly around: all was silent in this part of the river, which was half a pistol shot distant from the building. There was no reason for supposing that they had been seen. The Tigrero bent over his companion.
"That will do," he whispered; "we have arrived."
"What! Arrived?" the lepero repeated with a frightened air. "We are still a long way off."
"No; at the spot where we now are, whatever may happen, you have nothing to fear. Remain in the canoe, fasten it to one of the stumps that surround you, and wait for me."
"What! Are you going away?"
"Yes; I shall leave you for an hour or two. Keep a good watch. If you notice anything new you will imitate the cry of the waterhen twice: you understand?"
"Perfectly; but if a serious danger threatened us what ought I to do?"
The Tigrero reflected for an instant.
"What danger can threaten you here?" he said.
"I do not know; but the Indians are fiends incarnate: with them you must be prepared for anything."
"You are right. Well, in case of any serious danger threatening us—but only in that case, you understand—after giving your signal, you will put across to that point. Mangroves grow there, under the shelter of which you will be perfectly safe, and I will join you immediately."
"Very good: but how shall I know where to find you?"
"I will imitate twice the bark of the prairie dog. Now, be prudent."
"You may be sure of that."
The Tigrero took off all the articles of clothing that might embarrass him, such as his zarapé and botas vaqueras, only keeping on his trousers and vest, put his knife in his belt, made up his pistols, rifle, and cartouche box in a packet, and imitated the song of the maukawis. Presently a similar sound rose from the bank. The Tigrero then held his weapons over his head, and glided gently into the water. The lepero soon perceived him swimming silently and vigorously in the direction of the hacienda; but the Tigrero was gradually lost in the distance.
So soon as he was alone Cucharés began to inspect his weapons carefully, changing the caps so as to be ready for anything, and run no risk of being taken unawares; then, reassured by the calmness that prevailed around, he lay down in the bottom of the canoe in spite of the Tigrero's recommendations, and got ready for a nap.
The noise of the combat had gradually died away—neither shouts nor shots could be heard. The Indians, repulsed by the colonists, had given up their attack. The flames of the fire became less and less bright. The desert appeared to have fallen back into its ordinary silence and solitude.
The lepero, lying on his back at the bottom of the canoe, gazed at the brilliant stars, glittering in the azure sky. Gently cradled by the rippling, his eyes closed. At length he reached that point which is neither sleeping nor waking, and would probably soon have fallen asleep. At the moment, however, when he was going to yield to his feelings, he cast a parting sleepy glance over the river. He shuddered, repressed with difficulty a cry of terror, and started up so violently that he almost upset the canoe.
Cucharés had had a fearful vision: he rubbed his eyes vigorously to assure himself that he was really awake, and looked again. What he had taken for a vision was only too real; he had seen correctly.
We have said that the river carried with it a large number of stumps and dead trees still laden with their branches. During the last hour an enormous quantity of these trees had collected round the canoe, the lepero being quite unable to account for the fact, the more so because these trees, which by the natural laws should have followed the current and descended with it, cut it in every direction, and, instead of keeping to the centre of the river, drew constantly nearer to the bank on which stood the hacienda.
More extraordinary still, the progress of this floating wood was so carefully regulated that all converged on one point—the extremity of the isthmus at the back of the hacienda. Another alarming fact was, that Cucharés saw eyes flashing and frightful faces peering out from amidst this raft of interlaced branches, stumps and trees.
There was no room for doubt: each tree carried at least one Apache. The Indians, having failed in their attempt on one side, hoped to surprise the colony from the river, and were swimming up concealed by the trees, in the midst of which they had collected. The lepero's position was perplexing. Up to this moment the Indians, busied with their plans, had paid no attention to the canoe; or, if they had noticed it, thought that it belonged to one of their party; but the error might be detected at any moment, and the lepero knew that, in such a case, he would be hopelessly lost.
Already, more than once, hands had been laid for a few seconds on the sides of a frail boat; but, by some providential chance, the owners of those hands had not thought of looking into the interior of the canoe.
All these reflections, and many others, Cucharés indulged in while lying apparently most comfortably at the bottom of the canoe, gently balanced by the ripple, and watching the brilliant stars defile above his head. With his features distorted by terror, his face blanched, and holding a pistol butt convulsively clutched in either hand, while mentally recommending himself to his patron saint, he awaited the catastrophe which every passing minute rendered more imminent.
He had not long to wait.