"The Black Bear is not mistaken," he said; "he smelt the scent of blood: his Apache sons will have a splendid chase. Tomorrow at the endi-tah (sunrise) the warriors will mount. The sachem's lodge is empty. Let us now leave the Big-knives to their fate," he added, raising his eyes to heaven; "Nyang, the genius of evil, will take on himself to bury them beneath the sand. The Master of Life summons the tempest: our task is fulfilled. Let us follow the track of the Yoris, and return to our hunting grounds at full speed. The hurricane will soon howl across the desert. My sons can go to sleep: a chief will watch over them. I have spoken."
The warriors bowed silently, rose one after the other, and went to lie down on the sand a short distance off. Within five minutes they were all in a deep sleep. The Black Bear alone watched. With his head in his hands, and his elbows on his knees, he looked fixedly at the sky. At times his face lost that severe expression, and a transient smile played around his lips. What thoughts thus absorbed the sachem? On what was he meditating?
Don Martial read his thoughts, and felt a shudder of terror. He remained another half-hour motionless in his hiding place lest he might run the risk of discovery. Then he went down again as he had come, employing even greater precautions; for at this moment, when a leaden silence brooded over the desert, the slightest sound would have betrayed his presence to the Indian chief's subtile ear. He feared the discovery now more than ever, after the revelations he had succeeded in overhearing. At length he reached again, all safe and sound, the spot where he had left his horse.
For some time the Tigrero let the bridle hang loosely on his noble animal's neck, went slowly onwards, revolving in his mind all he had heard, and searching for the means he should employ to shield his companions from the frightful danger that menaced them. His perplexity was extreme: he knew not what to decide on. He knew Don Sylva too well to suppose that a personal interest, however powerful it might be, would induce him to abandon his friends in their present peril. But must Doña Anita be sacrificed to this delicacy—to this false notion of honour; above all, for a man in every respect unworthy of the interest the hacendero felt for him?
It was possible to avoid and escape the Apaches by skill and courage; but how to escape the tempest which in a few hours perhaps, would burst on the desert, destroy every trace, and render flight impossible?
The girl must be saved at any risk. This thought incessantly returned to the Tigrero's perplexed mind, and gnawed at his heart like a searing iron: he felt himself affected by a cold rage on considering the material impossibilities that rose so implacably before him. How to save the girl? He constantly asked himself this question, for which he found no answer. For a long time he went on thus with drooping head, seeking in vain a method which would enable him to act on his own inspiration, and escape from the critical position in which he found himself. At length light dawned on his mind; he raised his head haughtily, cast a glance of defiance toward the enemies who appeared so sure of seizing his companions, and digging the spurs into his horse, started at full speed.
When he reached the camp he found every one asleep save the peon who was mounting guard. The night was well on—it was about one o'clock in the morning; the moon spread around a dazzling light, almost as clear as day. The Apaches would not set out before daybreak, and he had, therefore, about four hours left him for action. He resolved to profit by them. Four hours well employed are enormous in a flight.
The Tigrero began by carefully rubbing down his horse to restore the elasticity to its limbs, for he would need all its speed; then, aided by the peons, he loaded the mules and saddled the horses. This last accomplished, he reflected for a moment, and they wrapped round the horse hoofs pieces of sheep-skin filled with sand. This stratagem, he fancied, would foil the Indians, who, no longer recognising the traces they expected, would fancy themselves on a false trail. For greater security he ordered two or three skins of mezcal to be left on the rock. He knew the Apaches' liking for strong liquors, and calculated on their drunken propensities. This done, ho aroused Don Sylva and his daughter.
"To horse! To horse!" he said in a voice that admitted of no reply.
"What's the matter?" the hacendero asked, still half asleep.