In the meanwhile the news Don Louis had carried to the colony had turned everything topsy-turvy. Although, since the first foundation of the hacienda, the Indians had constantly tried to harass the French, the various attempts they made had been unimportant, and this was really the first time they would have a serious contest with their ferocious enemies.
The Count de Lhorailles had with him about two hundred Dauph'yeers, who had come from Valparaiso, Guyaquil, Callao, and the other Pacific ports, which are always crowded with adventurers of every description. These worthy people were a singular mixture of all the nationalities peopling the two hemispheres, although the French supplied the largest factor. Half bandits, half soldiers, these men put the utmost faith in the chief they had freely chosen.
The news of the attack premeditated by the Apaches was received by the garrison with shouts of joy and enthusiasm. It was an amusement for these adventurers to exchange shots, or rub the rust off a little, as they naïvely said in their picturesque language. They desired before all to prove to the Apaches the difference existing between the Creole colonists, whom they had been in the habit of killing and plundering from time immemorial, and Europeans whom they did not yet know.
The count, therefore, had no need to recommend firmness to them; he was on the contrary, obliged to repress their ardour, and beg them to be prudent, by promising that they should soon have an opportunity of meeting the redskins in the open field.
As soon as the defensive preparations were made the count left the details to his two lieutenants, two old soldiers, on whom he believed he could count; then he thought of Blas Vasquez and his peons. In the probable event that the Indians had left spies round the colony, they must be persuaded that this band had really retired. For that purpose several mules were laden with provisions, as if for a long journey; then the capataz, well instructed, put himself at the head of the squadron, and left the colony, rifle on thigh.
The count, Don Sylva, and the other inhabitants followed the party with an interest easy to comprehend, ready to help them if attacked. But nothing stirred in the prairie; the calm and silence continued to prevail, and the Mexicans soon disappeared in the tall grass.
"I cannot at all understand the Indian tactics," Don Sylva muttered thoughtfully. "As they have allowed that party to pass so quietly, they must be planning some trick which offers a good prospect of success."
"We shall soon know what we are to expect," the count replied; "besides, we are ready to receive them. I am only sorry that Doña Anita should be here; not that she runs the slightest risk, but the sound of the contest may terrify her."
"No, señor conde," the lady said, who came from the house at the moment; "fear nothing of that nature for me. I am a true Mexican, and not one of your European dames, whom the slightest thing causes to faint. Often, in circumstances graver than these, I have heard the Apache war yell echo in my ears, without, however, feeling that intense alarm you seem to apprehend from me today."
After uttering these words with that haughty and profoundly contemptuous accent women know so well to employ to a man they do not love, Doña Anita passed before the count without deigning him a glance, and took her father's arm.