This family had built a shanty in the forest, a few miles from Paso, and lived alone in the desert, without having entered into any relations with the inhabitants of the village; or the trappers and wood rangers, its neighbours. The mysterious conduct of these strangers had given rise to numerous comments; but all had remained without reply or solution, and after two years they remained as perfect strangers as on the day of their arrival.
Still, mournful and sad stories were in circulation on their account: they inspired an instinctive hatred and involuntary terror in the Mexicans. Some said in a whisper that old Red Cedar and his three sons were nothing less than "scalp hunters;" that is to say, in the public esteem, people placed beneath the pirates of the prairies, that unclean breed of birds of prey which everybody fears and despises.
The entry of Red Cedar was significant; the otherwise unscrupulous men who filled the venta hurriedly retired on his approach, and made room for him with a zeal mingled with disgust. The old partisan crossed the room with head erect; a smile of haughty disdain played round his thin lips at the sight of the effect his presence produced, and he went up to the monk and his two companions. On reaching them he roughly placed the butt of his rifle on the ground, leaned his two crossed hands upon the barrel, and after bending a cunning glance on the persons before him, said to the monk in a hoarse voice,—
"The deuce take you, señor padre! Here I am: what do you want with me?"
Far from being vexed at this brutal address, the latter smiled on the colossus, and held out his hand to him, as he graciously made answer,—
"You are welcome, Red Cedar; we were expecting you impatiently. Sit down by my side on this butaca, and we will talk while drinking a glass of pulque."
"The deuce twist your neck, and may your accursed pulque choke you! Do you take me for a wretched abortion of your sort?" the other answered as he fell into the seat offered him. "Order me some brandy, and that of the strongest. I am not a babe, I suppose."
Without making the slightest observation, the monk rose, went to speak with the host, and presently returned with a bottle, from which he poured a bumper for the old hunter. The latter emptied the glass at a draught, put it back on the table with a sonorous "hum!" and turned to the monk with a grimacing smile.
"Come, the devil is not always so black as he looks, señor padre," he said, as he passed his hand over his mouth to wipe his moustache. "I see that we can come to an understanding."
"It will only depend on you, Red Cedar. Here are two worthy Canadian hunters who will do nothing without your support."