The Comanches had arrived too late. Of the seven persons composing the little band, five had been killed; a peon seriously wounded, and Doña Anita alone survived. The young girl had been saved by Belhumeur. When she opened her eyes again she smiled gently, and in a childlike voice, melodious as a bird's carol, began singing a Mexican seguedilla. The hunters recoiled with a cry of horror. Doña Anita was mad!
[CHAPTER XXV.]
EL AHUEHUELT.
The count de Lhorailles entered the great Del Norte desert under the guidance of Cucharés. During the first day all went on famously; the weather was magnificent—the provisions more than plentiful. With their innate carelessness the Frenchmen forgot their past fears, and laughed at the alarm which the Mexican peons did not cease manifesting; for, better informed, they did not conceal the terror which the prolonged stay of the company in this terrible region caused them.
The days were spent in the desert in wandering purposelessly in search of the Apaches, who had at length become invisible. At times they perceived an Indian horseman in the distance, apparently mocking them, who presently came up close to their lines. Boot and saddle was sounded; everybody mounted, and pursued this phantom horseman, who, after allowing them to follow him for a long time, suddenly disappeared like a vision.
This mode of life, however, through its very monotony, began to grow insipid and insupportable. To see nothing but grey sand, ever sand—not a bird or a wild beast—tawny, weather-worn rocks—a few lofty ahuehuelts—a species of cedar, with long bare branches, covered with a greyish moss, hanging in heavy festoons—had nothing very amusing about it. The troop began to grow dispirited. The reflection of the sun on the sand caused ophthalmia; the water, decomposed by the heat, was no longer drinkable; the provisions were spoiling; and scurvy had commenced its ravages among the soldiers. This state of things was growing intolerable: measures must be taken to get out of it as rapidly as possible.
The count formed his officers into a council; and it was composed of Lieutenants Martin Leroux and Diégo Léon, Sergeant Boileau, Blas Vasquez, and Cucharés. These five persons, presided over by the count, took their seats on bales, while a short distance off, the soldiers, reclining on the ground, tried to shelter themselves beneath the shadow of their picketed horses.
It was urgent to assemble the council, for the company was rapidly demoralising; there was revolt in the air, and complaints had already been openly uttered. The execution at the Casa Grande was completely forgotten; and, if a remedy were not soon found, no one knew what terrible consequences this general dissatisfaction might not entail.
"Gentlemen," the Count de Lhorailles said, "I have assembled you in order to consult with you on the means to put a stop to the despondency which has fallen on our company during the last few days. The circumstances are so serious that I shall feel obliged by your giving me your frank opinion. The general welfare is at stake, and in such a state of things each has a right to express his opinion without fear of wounding the self-love of anyone. Speak; I am listening to you. You first, Sergeant Boileau: as the lowest in rank, you must take the word first."