THE INTERVIEW.
At daybreak the next morning Curumilla started for Unicorn's village. At sunset he returned to the cavern, accompanied by the Comanche chief. The sachem entertained the most profound respect for Father Seraphin, whose noble character he could appreciate, and felt pained at the state in which he found him.
"Father," he said to him as he kissed his hand. "Who are the villains who thus wounded you, to whom the Master of Life has imparted the secret to make us happy? Whoever they may be, these men shall die."
"My son," the priest answered gently, "I will not pronounce before you the name of the unhappy man who, in a moment of madness, raised his hand against me. My God is a God of peace; He is merciful, and recommends His creatures to forget injuries, and requite good for evil."
The Indian looked at him in amazement. He did not understand the soft and touching sublimity of these precepts of love. Educated in the sanguinary principles of his race—persuaded, like all redskins, that a warrior's first duty is revenge—he only admitted that atrocious law of the prairies which commands, "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth"—a terrible law, which we do not venture, however, utterly to condemn in these countries, where ambushes are permanent, and implacable death stands at every corner of the road.
"My son," Father Seraphin continued, "you are a great warrior. Many a time you have braved the atrocious tortures of the stake of blood, a thousand fold more terrible than death itself. Often have you, with a pleasure I excuse (for it is in your nature), thrown down your enemy, and planted your knee on his chest. Have you never pardoned anybody in fight?"
"Never!" the Indian answered, his eye sparkling with satisfied pride. "Unicorn has sent many Apache dogs to the happy hunting grounds: their scalps are drying at the door of his cabin."
"Well," the missionary said gently, "try clemency once, only once, and you will know one of the greatest pleasures God has granted to man on earth—that of pardoning."
The chief shook his head.
"No," he said; "a dead enemy is no longer to be feared. Better to kill than leave him means to avenge himself at a later date."
"My son, you love me, I believe?"
"Yes. My father is good; he has behaved well to the Comanches, and they are grateful. Let my father command, and his son will obey."
"I have no right to give you an order, my son. I can only ask a favour of you."
"Good! My father can explain himself. Unicorn will do what he desires."
"Well, then," said the missionary with a lively feeling of joy, "promise me to pardon the first unhappy man, whoever he may be, who falls into; your hands, and you will render me happy."
The chief frowned, and an expression of dissatisfaction appeared on his features. Father Seraphin anxiously followed on the Comanche's intelligent countenance the different shadows reflected on it as in a mirror. At length the Indian regained his stoicism, and his face grew serene again.
"Does my father demand it?" he asked in a gentle voice.
"I desire it."
"Be it so: my father shall be satisfied. I promise him to pardon the first enemy whom the Manitou causes to fall beneath the point of my lance."
"Thanks, chief," the missionary exclaimed joyfully, "thanks! Heaven will reward you for this good idea."
The Indian bowed silently and turned to Valentine, who had been listening to the conversation.
"My brother called me, and I came. What does he want of Unicorn?"
"My brother will take his seat at the council fire, and smoke the calumet with his friend. Chiefs do not speak without reflecting on the words they are about to utter."
"My brother speaks well, and I will take my seat at his fire."
Curumilla had lighted a large fire in the first grotto of the cavern. The four men left Father Seraphin to take a few moments' rest, and seated themselves round the fire, when the calumet passed from hand to hand. The Indians never undertake anything important, or commence a discussion, without first smoking the calumet in council, whatever may be the circumstances in which they are placed. When the calumet had gone the round Valentine rose.
"Every day," he said, bowing to the chief, "I appreciate more and more the honor the Comanches did me in adopting me as a son. My brother's nation is powerful; its hunting grounds cover the whole surface of the earth. The Apaches fly before the Comanche warriors like cowardly coyotes before courageous men. My brother has already several times done me a service with that greatness of soul which distinguishes him, and can only belong to a warrior so celebrated as he is. Today I have again a service to ask of my brother, and will he do it me? I presume so; for I know his heart, and that the Great Spirit of the Master of Life dwells in him."
"Let my brother explain," Unicorn answered. "He is speaking to a chief; he must remove the skin from his heart and let his blood flow red and bright before a friend. The great white hunter is a portion of myself. I should have to be prevented by an arrant impossibility if I refused any request emanating from him."
"Thanks, brother," Valentine said with emotion. "Your words have passed from your lips into my breast, which they have rejoiced. I am not mistaken. I see that I can ever count on your well-tried friendship and honest aid. Acumapicthzin de Zarate, the descendant of the Mexican kings, the friend of the redskins, whom he has ever protected, is a prisoner to the gachupinos. They have carried him to Santa Fe in order to put him to death, and deprive the Indians of the last friend left them."
"And what does my brother want?"
"I wish to save my friend."
"Good!" the chief answered. "My brother claims my help to succeed in that project, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"Good! The descendant of the Tlatoanis shall be saved. My brother can feel reassured."
"I can count, then, on my brother's aid?" Valentine asked quickly.
The chief smiled.
"Unicorn holds in his hands Spaniards who will answer for the life of the prisoner."
"That is true!" Valentine exclaimed as he struck his forehead. "Your idea is a good one, chief."
"My brother will leave me to act. I answer for success on my head."
"Caramba! Act as you please, chief. Still, were it only form's sake, I should not be sorry to know what you intend doing."
"My brother has a white skin, but his heart is Indian. Let him trust to the prudence of a chief; Unicorn knows how to treat with the gachupinos."
"Doubtless."
"Unicorn will go to Santa Fe to speak with the chief of the white men."
Valentine looked at him in amazement. The chief smiled.
"Have I not hostages?" he said.
"That is true," Valentine remarked.
The chief went on:—
"The Spaniards are like chattering old women, prodigal of seductive words, but Unicorn knows them. How many times already has he trodden the warpath on their territory at the head of his warriors! They will not dare to deceive him. Ere the sun has twice accomplished its revolution round the tortoise whose immense shell supports the world, the chief of the Comanches will carry the bloody arrows to the whites, and propose to them peace or war. Is my brother satisfied?"
"I am. My heart is full of gratitude toward my red brother."
"Good! What is that to Unicorn? Less than nothing. Has my brother anything else to ask of me?"
"One thing more."
"Let my brother explain himself as quickly as possible, that no cloud may remain between him and his red brother."
"I will do so. Men without fear of the Great Spirit, urged by some mad desire, have carried off Doña Clara, the daughter of the white chief whom my brother pledged to save."
"Who are these? Does my brother know them?"
"Yes, I know them only too well. They are bandits, at the head of whom is a monster with a human face, called Red Cedar."
At this name the Indian started slightly, his eye flashed fire, and a deep wrinkle hollowed his forehead.
"Red Cedar is a ferocious jaguar," he said with concentrated passion. "He has made himself the scourge of the Indians, whose scalps he desires. This man has no pity either for women or children, but he possesses no courage: he only attacks his enemies in the dark, twenty against one, and when he is sure of meeting with no resistance."
"My brother knows this man, I see."
"And this man has carried off the white gazelle?'
"Yes."
"Good! My brother wishes to know what Red Cedar has done with his prisoner?"
"I do wish it."
The Indian rose.
"Time is slipping away," he said. "Unicorn will return to his friends. My brother the hunter need not feel alarmed: a chief is watching."
After uttering these few words the chief went down into the cavern, mounted his horse, and disappeared in direction of the desert. Valentine had every reason to be satisfied with his interview with the Comanche chief; but Father Seraphin was less pleased than the hunter. The worthy priest, both through his nature and his vocation, was not disposed to employ violent measures, which were repugnant to him: he would have liked, were it possible, to settle everything by gentleness, and without running the risk of bloodshed.
Three weeks elapsed, however, ere Unicorn appeared to be effectually carrying out the plan he had explained to Valentine, who only learnt indirectly that a strong party of Comanche warriors had invaded the Mexican frontiers. Father Seraphin, though not yet completely cured, had insisted on proceeding to Santa Fe to take some steps to save Don Miguel, whose trial had gone on rapidly, who was on the point of being executed. For his part Don Pablo, half mad with uneasiness, also insisted, in spite of Valentine's entreaties and remarks, on entering Santa Fe furtively, and trying to see his father.
The night on which we found Valentine in the clearing Unicorn visited him for the first time in a month: he came to inform him of the success of the measures he had taken. Valentine, used to Indian habits, understood half a word: hence he had not hesitated to announce to Don Pablo as a positive fact that his father would soon be free.