“Coureurs des bois, wood-rangers,” answered the Canadian. “That is to say, we pass our time in ranging the woods, with no other object than to avoid being shut up in towns. Alas! it is a profession likely soon to come to an end; and when we two are gone, the race of wood-rangers will run out in America, since neither of us has any sons to carry on the business of their father.”
There was a tone of melancholy in the last words of the trapper’s speech that contrasted strangely with his rude manner: something that seemed to evince a certain degree of regret. Don Estevan, noticing this, now entered into the conversation.
“I fear it is a poor business you follow, my brave fellows! But if you feel inclined to leave it off for a while, and take a part in an expedition that we are about to set on foot, I can promise to fill your caps with gold dust. What say you?”
“No!” brusquely responded the younger of the trappers.
“Each to his own business,” added the Canadian. “We are not gold-seekers. We love to range freely where we please, without leader, and without being controlled by any one—in a word, free as the sun or the prairie breeze.”
These answers were given in a tone so firm and peremptory that the Spaniard saw it would be of no use combating a resolution which was evidently not to be shaken, and therefore he declined to make any further offers.
Supper was soon over, and each of the travellers set about making himself as comfortable as possible for the remainder of the night.
In a short time all, with the exception of Tiburcio, were asleep. But Tiburcio was yet a mere youth, an orphan, who had lately lost a mother for whom he had a profound affection; and above all, Tiburcio was in love—three reasons why he could not sleep. A deep sadness had possession of his spirits. He felt himself in an exceptional situation—his past was equally mysterious with his future.
“Oh, my mother! my mother!” murmured he, despairingly, to himself, “why did you not tell me who I am!”
And as he said this he appeared to listen—as if the breeze, sighing through the leaves, would give a response to his interrogation. Little thought he at the moment that one of those men, lying near him under the light of the moon, could have given the desired answer—could have told him the name which he ought to hear.