"I know it, and you more than anyone else, father—hence I shall be forever grateful to you for the immense service you have rendered me. You know I forget nothing, and when the moment arrives, be assured that I shall pay my debt to you."
"Do not speak about that, friend; I knew the intense desire you had to see your mother again, and the anxiety that tortured you on the subject of that cruel separation; I only acted as anyone else would have done in my place, so dismiss the affair, I beg; I desire no other reward than to see you happy.
"I am so, my friend," the hunter exclaimed, with emotion; "I am more so than I can say, but it is that very happiness which terrifies me. My mother is near me, 'tis true, but, alas! You know the life to which a desert existence, made up of fighting and privation, condemns us; at this moment especially, when following out our implacable revenge, ought I to make my mother, a woman of great age and weak health, share the changes and dangers of that life? Can we, without cruelty, compel her to follow us on the trail of the villain we are pursuing? No, not one of you, I feel convinced, would give me that advice; but what is to be done? My mother cannot remain alone in this cavern abandoned, far from all help, and exposed to numberless privations. We know not whither the duty we have sworn to accomplish may drag us tomorrow. On the other hand, will my mother, so happy at our meeting, consent so promptly to even a temporary separation—a separation which circumstances may indefinitely prolong? I therefore beg you all, my only and true friends, to advise me, for I confess that I know not what resolution to form. Speak, my friends, tell me what I should do."
There was a lengthened silence among the hunters. Each understood Valentine's embarrassment, but the remedy was very difficult to find, as all were in their hearts made rest by the thought of pursuing Red Cedar closely, and not giving him respite until he had been punished for all his crimes. As usual under such circumstances, egotism and private interests took the place of friendship. Father Seraphin, the only disinterested person, saw clearly, hence he was the first to speak.
"My friend," he answered, "all you have said is most just; I undertake to make your mother listen to reason; she will understand, I feel assured, how urgent it is for her to return to civilisation, especially at the present period of the year; still, we must spare her feelings, and lead her back quietly to Mexico, without letting her suspect the separation she fears, and you fear too. During the journey hence to the civilised frontier, we will strive to prepare her for it, so that the blow may not be so rude when the moment for parting arrives. That is the only thing, I believe, you can do under the present circumstances. Come reflect; if you have any plan better than mine, I will be the first to submit."
"That advice is really the best that can be given me," Valentine said, warmly; "hence I eagerly adopt it. You will consent then, father, to accompany us to the frontier?"
"Of course, my friend, and further, were it necessary. Hence, do not let that trouble you; all we have now to decide is our road."
"That is true," said Valentine; "but here lies the difficulty. We must lodge my mother at a clearing near enough for me to see her frequently, and yet sufficiently distant from the desert to guard her against any danger."
"I fancy," Don Miguel remarked, "that my hacienda, at the Paso del Norte, will suit admirably; the more so, as it offers your mother all the guarantees of security and comfort you can require for her."
"In truth," Valentine exclaimed, "she would be most comfortable there, and I thank you cordially for your offer. Unfortunately, I cannot accept it."