THE PIRATES.
It was evening, at a distance nearly equal from the camp of the Mexicans, and that of the Comanches.
Concealed in a ravine, deeply enclosed between two hills, about forty men were assembled around several fires, dispersed in such a manner that the light of the flames could not betray their presence.
The strange appearance offered by this assemblage of adventurers, with gloomy features, ferocious glances, and strange and mean attire, offered a feature worthy of the crayon of Callot, or the pencil of Salvator Rosa.
These men, a heterogeneous mixture of all the nationalities that people the two worlds, from Russia to China, were the most complete collection of scoundrels that can be imagined; thorough food for the gallows, without faith or law, fire or home, the true outcasts of society, which had rejected them from its bosom, obliged to seek a refuge in the depths of the prairies of the west; even in these deserts they formed a band apart, fighting sometimes against the hunters, sometimes against the Indians, excelling both in cruelty and roguery.
These men were, in a word, what people have agreed to call, the pirates of the prairies.
A denomination which suits them in every way, since, like their brothers of the ocean, hoisting all colours, or rather tramping them all underfoot, they fall upon every traveller who ventures to cross the prairies alone, attack and plunder caravans, and when all other prey escapes them, they hide themselves traitorously in the high grass to entrap the Indians, whom they assassinate in order to gain the premium which the paternal government of the United States gives for every aboriginal scalp, as in France they pay for the head of a wolf.
This troop was commanded by Captain Waktehno, whom we have already had occasion to bring on the scene.
There prevailed at this moment among these bandits an agitation that presaged some mysterious expedition.
Some were cleaning and loading their arms, others mending their clothes; some were smoking and drinking mezcal, others were asleep, folded in their ragged cloaks.
The horses, all saddled and ready for mounting, were fastened to pickets.
At stated distances, sentinels, leaning on their long rifles, silent and motionless as statues of bronze, watched over the safety of all.
The dying flashes of the fires, which were expiring by degrees, threw a reddish reflection upon this picture that gave the pirates a still fiercer aspect.
The captain appeared a prey to extreme anxiety; he walked with long strides among his subordinates, stamping his foot with anger, and stopping at intervals to listen to the sound of the prairies.
The night became darker and darker, the moon had disappeared, the wind moaned hoarsely among the hills, and the pirates had eventually fallen asleep one after another.
The captain alone still watched.
All at once he fancied that he heard at a distance the report of firearms, then a second, and all again was silent.
"What does this mean?" the captain murmured, angrily; "have my rascals allowed themselves to be surprised?"
Then, folding himself carefully in his cloak, he hastily directed his course to the side whence the reports appeared to come.
The darkness was intense; and, notwithstanding his knowledge of the country, the captain could only advance with difficulty through brambles, thistles, and briars, which, at every step, impeded his progress. He was several times obliged to stop and look about him to be sure of his route, from which the turnings and windings necessitated by blocks of rock and thickets, continually diverted him.
During one of these halts, he fancied he could perceive, at a small distance from him, the rustling of leaves and boughs, like that which is produced by the passage of a man or a wild beast through underwood.
The captain concealed himself behind the trunk of a gigantic acajou, drew his pistols, and cocked them, in order to be prepared for whatever might happen; then, bending his head forward, he listened.
All was calm around him; it was that mysterious time of night when Nature seems to sleep, and when all the nameless sounds of the solitude are quieted down, so that, as the Indians express it, nothing is to be heard but silence.
"I must have been deceived," the pirate muttered; and he began to retrace his steps. But, at that moment, the noise was repeated, nearer and more distinctly, and was immediately followed by a stifled groan.
"The devil!" said the captain; "this begins to be interesting: I must clear this up."
After a hasty movement forward of a few steps, he saw, gliding along, at a short distance from him, the scarcely distinguishable shadow of a man. This person, whoever he was, seemed to walk with difficulty; he staggered at every step, and stopped at intervals, as if to recover strength. He frequently allowed a smothered complaint to escape him. The captain sprang forward, to bar his passage. When the unknown perceived him, he uttered a cry of terror, and fell on his knees, murmuring in a voice broken by terror—
"Pardon! pardon! do not kill me!"
"Why!" exclaimed the astonished captain, "it is the Babbler! Who the devil has treated him in this fashion?"
And he bent over him.
It was indeed the guide.
He had fainted.
"Plague stifle the fool!" the captain muttered, with vexation. "What's the use of asking him anything now?"
But the pirate was a man of resources; he replaced his pistols in his belt, and raising the wounded man, he threw him over his shoulders.
Loaded with his burden, which scarcely seemed to lessen his speed, he hastily returned to the camp by the way he had left it.
He deposited the guide close to a half-extinguished brazier, into which he threw an armful of dry wood to revive it. A clear blaze soon enabled him to examine the man who lay senseless at his feet.
The features of the Babbler were livid, a cold perspiration stood in drops upon his temples, and the blood flowed in abundance from a wound in his breast.
"Cascaras!" the captain muttered; "here is a poor devil who has got his business done! I hope before he departs he will, however, tell me who has done him this favour, and what has become of Kennedy!"
Like all the wood rangers, the captain possessed a small practical knowledge of medicine; it was nothing new to him to dress a shot wound.
Thanks to the attentions he lavished on the bandit, the latter was not long in coming to himself. He breathed a heavy sigh, opened his haggard eyes, but remained for some time unable to speak; after several fruitless efforts, however, aided by the captain, he succeeded in sitting up, and shaking his head repeatedly, he murmured in a low, broken voice:
"All is lost, captain! Our plan has failed!"
"A thousand thunders!" the captain cried, stamping his feet with rage. "How has this happened?"
"The girl is a demon!" the guide replied, whose difficult respiration and gradually weaker voice showed that he had but a few minutes to live.
"If you can manage, anyhow," said the captain, who had understood nothing by the exclamation of the wounded man, "tell me how things have gone on, and who is your assassin, that I may avenge you."
A sinister smile painfully crossed the violet lips of the guide.
"The name of my assassin?" he said, in an ironical tone.
"Yes."
"Well, her name is Doña Luz."
"Doña Luz!" the captain cried, starting with surprise, "impossible!"
"Listen," the guide resumed; "my moments are numbered; I shall soon be a dead man. In my position people don't lie. Let me speak without interrupting me. I don't know whether I shall have time to tell you all, before I go to render my account to Him who knows everything."
"Speak!" said the captain.
And, as the voice of the wounded man became weaker and weaker, he went down upon his knees close to him, in order to lose none of his words.
The guide closed his eyes, collected himself for a few seconds, and then, with great effort, said,—
"Give me some brandy?"
"You must be mad! brandy will kill you!"
The wounded man shook his head.
"It will give me the necessary strength to enable me to tell you all I have to say. Am I not already half dead!"
"That's true," muttered the captain.
"Do not hesitate, then," the wounded man replied, who had heard him; "time presses; I have important things to inform you of."
"If it must be so, it must," said the captain, after a moment's hesitation; and taking his gourd, he applied it to the lips of the guide.
The latter drank eagerly and copiously; a feverish flush coloured his hollow cheeks, his almost extinguished eyes flashed and gleamed with an unnatural fire.
"Now," he said, in a firm and pretty loud voice, "do not interrupt me: when you see me become weak, let me drink again. I, perhaps, shall have time to tell you all."
The captain made a sign of assent, and the Babbler began.
His recital was rendered long by the repeated weakness with which he was seized; when it was terminated, he added,—
"You see, that this woman is, as I have told you, a demon; she has killed both Kennedy and me. Renounce the capture of her, captain; she is game you cannot bring down; you will never get possession of her."
"Hum!" said the captain, knitting his brows; "do you imagine that I give up my projects in that fashion?"
"I wish you luck, then," the guide murmured; "as for me, my business is done—my account is settled. Adieu, captain!" he added, with a strange sort of smile, "I am going to all the devils—we shall meet again yonder."
And he sank back.
The captain endeavoured to raise him again; but he was dead.
"A good journey to you!" he muttered, carelessly. He took the corpse upon his shoulders, carried it into a thicket, in the middle of which he made a hole, and placed it in it; then, this operation being achieved in a few minutes, he returned to the fire, wrapped himself in his cloak, stretched himself on the sod, with his feet towards the brazier, and fell asleep, saying,—
"In a few hours it will be light, and we will than see what we have to do."
Bandits do not sleep late. At sunrise all were on the alert in the camp of the pirates; everyone was preparing for departure.
The captain, far from renouncing his projects, had, on the contrary, determined to hasten the execution of them, so as not to allow the Mexicans time to find among the white trappers of the prairies auxiliaries who might render success impossible.
As soon as he was certain that the orders he had issued were understood, the captain gave the signal for departure. The troop set off in the Indian fashion, that is to say, literally turning their backs towards the point to which they directed their course. When they arrived at a spot which appeared to present to them the security they desired, the pirates dismounted; the horses were confided to a few determined men, and the rest, crawling along upon the ground like a swarm of vipers, or jumping from branch to branch, and from tree to tree, advanced, with all the customary precautions, towards the camp of the Mexicans.