THE ENTRENCHED CAMP.
We will leave the hunters following the track of the redskins, and return to the general.
A few minutes after the two men had quitted the camp of the Mexicans, the general left his tent, and whilst casting an investigating look around him, and inhaling the fresh air of the morning, he began to walk about in a preoccupied manner.
The events of the night had produced a lively impression upon the old soldier.
For the first time, perhaps, since he had undertaken this expedition, he began to see it in its true light. He asked himself if he had really the right to associate with him in this life of continual perils and ambushes, a girl of the age of his niece, whose existence up to that time had been an uninterrupted series of mild and peaceful emotions; and who probably would not be able to accustom herself to the incessant dangers and agitations of a life in the prairies, which, in a short time, would break down the energies of the strongest minds.
His perplexity was great. He adored his niece; she was his only object of love, his only consolation. For her he would, without regret or hesitation, a thousand times sacrifice all he possessed; but, on the other side, the reasons which had obliged him to undertake this perilous journey were of such importance that he trembled, and felt a cold perspiration bedew his forehead, at the thought of renouncing it.
"What is to be done?" he said to himself. "What is to be done?"
Doña Luz, who was in her turn leaving her tent, perceived her uncle, whose reflective walk still continued, and, running towards him, threw her arms affectionately round his neck.
"Good day, uncle," she said, kissing him.
"Good day, my daughter," the general replied. He was accustomed to call her so. "Eh! eh! my child, you are very gay this morning."
And he returned with interest the caresses she had lavished upon him.
"Why should I not be gay, uncle? Thanks to God? we have just escaped a great peril; everything in nature seems to smile, the birds are singing upon every branch, the sun inundates us with warm rays; we should be ungrateful towards the Creator if we remained insensible to these manifestations of His goodness."
"Then the perils of last night have left no distressing impression upon your mind, my dear child?"
"None at all, uncle, except a deep sense of gratitude for the benefits God has favoured us with."
"That is well, my daughter," the general replied joyfully, "I am happy to hear you speak thus."
"All the better, if it please you, uncle."
"Then," the general continued, following up the idea of his preoccupation, "the life we are now leading is not fatiguing to you?"
"Oh, not at all; on the contrary, I find it very agreeable, and, above all, full of incidents," she said with a smile.
"Yes," the general continued, partaking her gaiety; "but," he added, becoming serious again, "I think we are too forgetful of our liberators."
"They are gone," Doña Luz replied.
"Gone?" the general said, with great surprise.
"Full an hour ago."
"How do you know that, my child?"
"Very simply, uncle, they bade me adieu before they left us."
"That is not right," the general murmured in a tone of vexation; "a service is as binding upon those who bestow it as upon those who receive it; they should not have left us thus without bidding me farewell, without telling us whether we should ever see them again, and leaving us even unacquainted with their names."
"I know them."
"You know them, my daughter?" the general said, with astonishment.
"Yes, uncle; before they went, they told me."
"And—what are they?" the general asked, eagerly.
"The younger is named Belhumeur."
"And the elder?"
"Loyal Heart."
"Oh! I must find these two men again," the general said, with an emotion he could not account for.
"Who knows," the young girl replied, thoughtfully, "perhaps in the very first danger that threatens us they will make their appearance as our benevolent genii."
"God grant we may not owe their return among us to a similar cause."
The captain came up to pay the compliments of the morning.
"Well, captain," said the general, with a smile, "have you recovered from the effects of their alarm?"
"Perfectly, general," the young man replied, "and are quite ready to proceed, whenever you please to give the order."
"After breakfast we will strike tents; have the goodness to give the necessary orders to the lancers, and send the Babbler to me."
The captain bowed and retired.
"On your part, niece," the general continued, addressing Doña Luz, "superintend the preparations for breakfast, if you please, whilst I talk to our guide."
The young lady tripped away, and the Babbler almost immediately entered.
His air was dull, and his manner more reserved than usual.
The general took no notice of this.
"You remember," he said, "that you yesterday manifested an intention of finding a spot where we might conveniently encamp for a few days?"
"Yes, general."
"You told me you were acquainted with a situation that would perfectly suit our purpose?"
"Yes, general."
"Are you prepared to conduct us thither?"
"When you please."
"What time will it require to gain this spot?"
"Two days."
"Very well. We will set out, then, immediately after breakfast."
The Babbler bowed without reply.
"By the way," the general said, with feigned indifference, "one of your men seems to be missing."
"Yes."
"What is become of him?"
"I do not know."
"How! you do not know?" said the general, with a scrutinizing glance.
"No: as soon as he saw the fire, terror seized him, and he escaped."
"Very well!"
"He is most probably the victim of his cowardice."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The fire, most likely, has devoured him."
"Poor devil!"
A sardonic smile curled the lips of the guide.
"Have you anything more to say to me, general?"
"No;—but stop."
"I attend your orders."
"Do you know the two hunters who rendered us such timely service?"
"We all know each other in the prairie."
"What are those men?"
"Hunters and trappers."
"That is not what I ask you."
"What then?"
"I mean as to their character."
"Oh!" said the guide, with an appearance of displeasure.
"Yes, their moral character."
"I don't know anything much about them."
"What are their names?"
"Belhumeur and Loyal Heart."
"And you know nothing of their lives?"
"Nothing."
"That will do—you may retire."
The guide bowed, and with tardy steps rejoined his companions, who were preparing for departure.
"Hum!" the general murmured, as he looked after him, "I must keep a watch upon that fellow; there is something sinister in his manner."
After this aside, the general entered his tent, where the doctor, the captain, and Doña Luz were waiting breakfast for him.
Half an hour later, at most, the tent was folded up again, the packages were placed upon the mules, and the caravan was pursuing its journey under the direction of the Babbler, who rode about twenty paces in advance of the troop.
The aspect of the prairie was much changed since the preceding evening.
The black, burnt earth, was covered in places with heaps of smoking ashes; here and there charred trees, still standing, displayed their saddening skeletons; the fire still roared at a distance, and clouds of coppery smoke obscured the horizon.
The horses advanced with precaution over this uneven ground, where they constantly stumbled over the bones of animals that had fallen victims to the terrible embraces of the flames.
A melancholy sadness, much increased by the sight of the prospect unfolded before them, had taken possession of the travellers; they journeyed on, close to each other, without speaking, buried in their own reflections.
The road the caravan was pursuing wound along a narrow ravine, the dried bed of some torrent, deeply enclosed between two hills.
The ground trodden by the horses was composed of round pebbles, which slipped from under their hoofs, and augmented the difficulties of the march, which was rendered still more toilsome by the burning rays of the sun, that fell directly down upon the travellers, leaving no chance of escaping them, for the country over which they were travelling had completely assumed the appearance of one of those vast deserts which are met with in the interior of Africa.
The day passed away thus, and excepting the fatigue which oppressed them, the monotony of the journey was not broken by any incident.
In the evening they encamped in a plain absolutely bare, but in the horizon they could perceive an appearance of verdure, which afforded them great consolation;—they were about, at last, to enter a zone spared by the conflagration.
The next morning, two hours before sunrise, the Babbler gave orders to prepare for departure.
The day proved more fatiguing than the last; the travellers were literally worn out when they encamped.
The Babbler had not deceived the general. The site was admirably chosen to repel an attack of the Indians. We need not describe it; the reader is already acquainted with it. It was the spot on which we met with the hunters, when they appeared on the scene for the first time.
The general, after casting around him the infallible glance of the experienced soldier, could not help manifesting his satisfaction.
"Bravo!" he said to the guide; "if we have had almost insurmountable difficulties to encounter in getting here, we could at least, if things should so fall out, sustain a siege on this spot."
The guide made no reply; he bowed with an equivocal smile, and retired.
"It is surprising," the general murmured to himself, "that although that man's conduct may be in appearance loyal, and however impossible it may be to approach him with the least thing,—in spite of all that, I cannot divest myself of the presentiment that he is deceiving us, and that he is contriving some diabolical project against us."
The general was an old soldier of considerable experience, who would never leave anything to chance, that deus ex machinâ, which in a second destroys the best contrived plans.
Notwithstanding the fatigue of his people, he would not lose a moment; aided by the captain, he had an enormous number of trees cut down, to form a solid intrenchment, protected by chevaux de frise. Behind this intrenchment the lancers dug a wide ditch, of which they threw out the earth on the side of the camp; and then, behind this second intrenchment, the baggage was piled up, to make a third and last enclosure.
The tent was pitched in the centre of the camp, the sentinels were posted, and everyone else went to seek that repose of which they stood so much in need.
The general, who intended sojourning on this spot for some time, wished, as far as it could be possible, to assure the safety of his companions, and, thanks to his minute precautions, he believed he had succeeded.
For two days the travellers had been marching along execrable roads, almost without sleep, only stopping to snatch a morsel of food; as we have said, they were quite worn out with fatigue. Notwithstanding, then, their desire to keep awake, the sentinels could not resist the sleep which overpowered them and they were not long in sinking into as complete a forgetfulness as their companions.
Towards midnight, at the moment when everyone in the camp was plunged in sleep, a man rose softly, and creeping along in the shade, with the quickness of a reptile, but with extreme precaution, he glided out of the barricades and intrenchments.
He then went down upon the ground, and by degrees, in a manner almost insensibly, directed his course, upon his hands and knees, through the high grass towards a forest which covered the first ascent of the hill, and extended some way into the prairie. When he had gone a certain distance, and was safe from discovery, he rose up.
A moonbeam, passing between two clouds, threw a light upon his countenance.
That man was the Babbler.
He looked round anxiously, listened attentively, and then with incredible perfection imitated the cry of the prairie dog.
Almost instantly the same cry was repeated, and a man rose up, within at most ten paces of the Babbler.
This man was the guide who, three days before, had escaped from the camp on the first appearance of the conflagration.