EL CAÑON DEL BUITRE.
We will now return to the hacendero, who, accompanied by his two friends, is galloping at full speed in the direction of Valentine's jacal. The road the three men followed led them further and further from the Paso del Norte. Around them nature grew more abrupt, the scenery sterner. They had left the forest, and were galloping over a wide and arid plain. On each side of the way the trees, becoming rarer, defiled like a legion of phantoms. They crossed several tributary streams of the Del Norte, in which their horses were immersed up to the chest.
At length they entered a ravine deeply imbedded between two wooded hills, the soil of which, composed of large flat stones and rounded pebbles, proved that this spot was one of those desaguaderos which serve to carry off the waters in the rainy season. They had reached the Cañon del Buitre, so named on account of the numerous vultures constantly perched on the tops of the surrounding hills.
The defile was deserted, and Valentine had his cabin not far from this spot. So soon as the three men had dismounted, Curumilla took the horses and led them to the jacal.
"Follow me," Valentine said to Don Miguel.
The latter obeyed, and the two men began then climbing the escarped flanks of the right hand hill. The climb was rude, for no road was traced; but the two hunters, long accustomed to force a passage through the most impracticable places, seemed hardly to perceive the difficulty of the ascent, which would have been impossible for men less used to a desert life.
"This spot is really delicious," Valentine said with the complacent simplicity of a landowner who boasts of his estate. "If it were day, Don Miguel, you would enjoy from this spot a magnificent view. A few hundred yards from the place where we are, down there on that hill to the right, are the ruins of an ancient Aztec camp in a very fine state of preservation. Just imagine that this hill, carved by human hands, though you cannot see it in the darkness, is of the shape of a pyramidal cone: its base is triangular, the sides are covered with masonry, and it is divided into several terraces. The platform is about ninety yards long by seventy-five in width, and is surrounded on three sides by a platform, and flanked by a bastion on the north. You see that it is a perfect fortress, constructed according to all the rules of military art. On the platform are the remains of a species of small teocali, about twenty feet high, composed of large stones covered with hieroglyphics sculptured in relief, representing weapons, monsters, rabbits, crocodiles, and all sorts of things; for instance, men seated in the oriental fashion, and wearing spectacles. Is not that really curious? This little monument, which has no staircase, doubtless served as the last refuge to the besieged when they were too closely beleaguered by the enemy."
"It is astonishing," Don Miguel answered, "that I never heard of these ruins."
"Who knows them? Nobody. However, they bear a considerable likeness to those found at Jochicalco."
"Where are you leading me, my friend? Are you aware that the road is not one of the pleasantest, and I am beginning to feel tired?"
"A little patience: in ten minutes we shall arrive. I am leading you to a natural grotto which I discovered a short time back. It is admirable. It is probable that the Spaniards were unacquainted with it, although the Indians, to my knowledge, have visited it from time immemorial. The Apaches imagine it serves as a palace to the genius of the mountain. At any rate, I was so struck by its beauty that I abandoned my jacal, and converted it into my residence. Its extent is immense. I am certain, though I never tried to convince myself, that it goes for more than ten leagues under ground. I will not allude to the stalactites that hang from the roof, and form the quaintest and most curious designs; but the thing that struck me is this: this grotto is divided into an infinite number of chambers, some of them containing pools in which swim immense numbers of blind fish."
"Blind fish! You are jesting, my friend," Don Miguel exclaimed, and stopped.
"I am wrong: blind is not the word I should have employed, for these fish have no eyes."
"What! No eyes?"
"None at all; but that does not prevent them being very dainty food."
"That is strange."
"Is it not? But stay—we have arrived."
In fact, they found themselves in front of a gloomy, gaping orifice, about ten feet high by eight wide.
"Let me do the honours of my mansion," Valentine said.
"Do so, my friend."
The two men entered the grotto: the hunter struck a match, and lit a torch of candlewood. The fairy picture which suddenly rose before Don Miguel drew from him a cry of admiration. There was an indescribable confusion: here a gothic chapel, with its graceful soaring pillars; further on, obelisks, cones, trunks of trees covered with moss and acanthus leaves, hollow stalactites of a cylindrical form, drawn together and ranged side by side like the pipes of an organ, and yielding to the slightest touch varied metallic sounds which completed the illusion. Then, in the immeasurable depths of these cavernous halls, at times formidable sounds arose, which, returned by the echoes, rolled along the sides of the grotto like peals of thunder.
"Oh, it is grand, it is grand!" Don Miguel exclaimed, struck with fear and respect at the sight.
"Does not man," Valentine answered, "feel very small and miserable before these sublime creations of nature, which God has scattered here as if in sport? Oh, my friend! It is only in the desert that we understand the grandeur and infinite omnipotence of the Supreme Being; for at every step man finds himself face to face with Him who placed him on this earth, and traces the mark of His mighty finger engraved in an indelible manner on everything that presents itself to his sight."
"Yes," Don Miguel said, who had suddenly become thoughtful, "it is only in the desert that a man learns to know, love, and fear God, for He is everywhere."
"Come," said Valentine.
He led his friend to a hall of not more than twenty square feet, the vault of which, however, was more than a hundred yards above them. In this hall a fire was lighted. The two men sat down on the ground and waited, while thinking deeply. After a few moments the sound of footsteps was audible, and the Mexican quickly raised his head. Valentine did not stir, for he had recognised his friend's tread. In fact, within a moment the Indian chief appeared.
"Well?" Valentine asked him.
"Nothing yet," Curumilla laconically answered.
"They are late, I fancy," Don Miguel observed.
"No," the chief continued, "it is hardly half past eleven: we are before our time."
"But will they find us here?"
"They know we shall await them in this hall."
After these few words each fell back into his thoughts. The silence was only troubled by the mysterious sounds of the grotto, which re-echoed nearly at equal intervals with an horrific din. A long period elapsed. All at once, ere any sensible noise had warned Don Miguel, Valentine raised his head with a hurried movement.
"Here they are," he said.
"You are mistaken, my friend," Don Miguel observed; "I heard nothing."
The hunter smiled.
"If you had spent," he said, "like we have, ten years in the desert, interrogating the mysterious voices of the night, your ear would be habituated to the vague rumours and sighs of nature which have no meaning to you at this moment, but which have all a significance for me, and, so to speak, a voice every note of which I understand, and you would not say I was mistaken. Ask the chief: you will hear his answer."
"Two men are climbing the hill at this moment," Curumilla answered sententiously. "They are an Indian and a white man."
"How can you recognise the distinction?"
"Very easily," Valentine responded with a smile. "The Indian wears moccasins, which touch the ground without producing any other sound than a species of friction: the step is sure and unhesitating, as taken by a man accustomed to walk in the desert, and only put down his foot firmly: the white man wears high-heeled boots, which at each step produce a distinct and loud sound; the spurs fastened to his boots give out a continuous metallic clink; the step is awkward and timid; at each moment a stone or crumble of earth rolls away under the foot, which is only put down hesitatingly. It is easy to see that the man thus walking is accustomed to a horse, and does not know the use of his feet. Stay! They are now entering the grotto: you will soon hear the signal."
At this moment the bark of the coyote was raised thrice at equal intervals. Valentine answered by a similar cry.
"Well, was I mistaken?" he said.
"I know not what to think, my friend. What astonishes me most is that you heard them so long before they arrived."
"The ground of this cave is an excellent conductor of sound," the hunter answered simply: "that is all the mystery."
"The devil!" Don Miguel could not refrain from saying; "You neglect nothing, I fancy."
"If a man wants to live in the desert he must neglect nothing: the smallest things have their importance, and an observation carefully made may often save a man's life."
While these few words were being exchanged between the two friends the noise of footsteps was heard drawing nearer and nearer. Two men appeared: one was Eagle-wing, the Chief of the Coras; the second, General Ibañez.
The general was a man of about thirty-five, tall and well-built, with a delicate and intelligent face. His manners were graceful and noble. He bowed cordially to the hacendero and Valentine, squeezed Curumilla's hand, and fell down in a sitting posture by the fire.
"Ouf!" he said, "I am done, gentlemen. I have just ridden an awful distance. My poor horse is foundered, and to recover myself I made an ascent, during which I thought twenty times I must break down; and that would have infallibly happened, had not friend Eagle-wing charitably come to my aid. I must confess that these Indians climb like real cats: we gente de razón[1] are worth nothing for that trade."
"At length you have arrived, my friend," Don Miguel answered. "Heaven be praised! I was anxious to see you."
"For my part I confess that my impatience was equally lively, especially since I learned the treachery of that scoundrelly Red Cedar. That humbug of a Wood sent him to me with so warm a recommendation that, in spite of all my prudence, I let myself be taken in, and nearly told him all our secrets. Unfortunately, the little I did let him know is sufficient to have us shot a hundred times like vulgar conspirators of no consequence."
"Do not feel alarmed, my friend. After what. Valentine told me today, we have, perchance, a way of foiling the tricks of the infamous spy who has denounced us."
"May Heaven grant it! But nothing will remove my impression that Wood has something to do with what has happened to us. I always doubted that American, who is cold as an iceberg, sour as a glass of lemonade, and methodical as a Quaker. What good is to be expected from these men, who covet the possession of our territory, and who, unable to take it from us at one lump, tear it away in parcels?"
"Who knows, my friend? Perhaps you are right. Unfortunately, what is done cannot be helped, and our retrospective recriminations will do us no good."
"That is true; but, as you know, man is the same everywhere. When he has committed a folly he is happy to find a scapegoat on which he can lay the iniquities with which he reproaches himself. That is slightly my case at this moment."
"Do not take more blame on yourself, my friend, than you deserve; I guarantee your integrity and the loyalty of your sentiments. Whatever may happen, be persuaded that I will always do you justice, and, if needed, defend you against all."
"Thanks, Don Miguel. What you say causes me pleasure and reconciles me with myself. I needed the assurance you give me in order to regain some slight courage, and not let myself be completely crushed by the unforeseen blow which threatens to overthrow our hopes at the very moment when we expected to find them realised."
"Come, come, gentlemen," Valentine said, "the time is slipping away, and we have none to waste. Let us seek to find the means by which to repair the check we have suffered. If you permit me I will submit to your approval a plan which, I believe, combines all the desirable chances of success, and will turn in our favour the very treachery to which we have fallen victims."
"Speak, speak, my friend!" the two men exclaimed, as they prepared to listen.
Valentine took the word.
[1] Literally, "men of reason"—a graceful expression the whites employ to distinguish themselves from the Indians, whom they affect to consider brute beasts, and to whom they do not even grant a soul.