The Indian Chief: The Story of a Revolution. Aimard Gustave
life or death? I hold both in my hands. Rise! Now, one word – take care that you do nothing against the count."
The general had profited by the hunter's permission to rise; but so soon as he felt himself free, and his feet were firmly attached to the ground, a revolution was effected in him, and he felt his courage return.
"Listen in your turn," he said. "I will be as frank and brutal with you as you were with me. It is now a war to the death between us, without pity and without mercy. If I have to carry my head to the scaffold, the count shall die; for I hate him, and I require his death to satisfy my vengeance."
"Good!" Valentine coldly answered.
"Yes," the general said sarcastically. "Come, I do not fear you! I do not care if you employ the papers with which you threatened me, for I am invulnerable."
"You think so?" the hunter said slowly.
"I despise you; you are only adventurers: You can never touch me."
Valentine bent toward him.
"Perhaps not," he said; "but your daughter?"
And, taking advantage of the general's stupefaction, the hunter uttered a hoarse laugh and rushed into the thicket, where it was impossible to follow him.
"Oh!" the general muttered, at the expiration of a moment, as he passed his hand over his damp forehead, "the demon! My daughter!" he yelled, "my daughter!"
And he rejoined his companions, and went off with them, not responding to one of the questions they asked him.
CHAPTER II
THE MISSION
Valentine, after suddenly parting from the general as we narrated, did not appear at all alarmed about pursuit; and if he hurried on at first, he soon relaxed his speed. On arriving about a hundred yards from the spot where his interview with Don Sebastian had taken place, he stopped, raised his eyes to the sky, and seemed to consult his position. Then he went on; but, instead of proceeding toward the mission, he turned his back completely on it, and returned to the bank of the river, whence he had before been retrograding.
Although the hunter was walking at a quick pace, he seemed greatly preoccupied, and looked mechanically around him. At times he stopped, not to listen to any strange sound, but through the thoughts which oppressed him, and robbed him of all sense of external things. Evidently Valentine was seeking the solution of a problem that troubled him.
At length, after about a quarter of an hour, he saw a faint light a few paces ahead of him. It glistened through the trees, and seemed to indicate an encampment. Valentine stopped and whistled softly. At the same moment the branches of a shrub, about five yards from him, parted, and a man appeared. It was Curumilla.
"Well," Valentine asked, "has she come?" The Araucano bowed his head in reply. The hunter made an angry gesture.
"Where is she?" he asked.
The Indian pointed to the fire the hunter had noticed.
"Deuce take the women!" the hunter growled; "they are the least logical beings in existence. As they let themselves ever be guided by passion, they overthrow unconsciously the surest combinations."
Then he added in a louder voice, —
"Have you not executed my commission, then?"
This time the Indian spoke.
"She will listen to nothing," he said; "she will see."
"I knew it!" the hunter exclaimed. "They are all alike – silly heads, only fit for mule bells; and yet she is one of the better sort. Well, lead me to her. I will try to convince her."
The Indian smiled maliciously, but made no reply. He turned away and led the hunter to the fire. In a few seconds Valentine found himself on the skirt of a vast clearing, in the centre of which, by a good fire of dead wood, Doña Angela and her camarista, Violanta, were seated on piles of furze. Ten paces behind the females, several peons, armed to the teeth, leant on their long lances, awaiting the pleasure of their mistress. Doña Angela raised her head at the sound caused by the hunter's approach, and uttered a slight cry of joy.
"There you are at last!" she exclaimed. "I almost despaired of your coming."
"Perhaps it would have been better had I not done so," he answered with a stifled sigh.
The young lady overheard, or pretended not to hear, the hunter's reply.
"Is your encampment far from here?" she continued.
"Before proceeding there," the hunter said, "we must have a little conversation together, señora."
"What have you to say to me that is so interesting, or rather, so urgent?"
"You shall judge for yourself."
The young lady made a gesture signifying her readiness to hear something which she knew beforehand would be disagreeable.
"Speak!" she said.
The hunter did not allow the invitation to be repeated.
"Where did Curumilla meet you?"
"At the hacienda, just as I was mounting to start. I only awaited him to begin my journey."
"He tried to dissuade you from this step?"
"He did; but I insisted on coming, and compelled him to guide me here."
"You were wrong, niña."
"For what reason?"
"For a thousand."
"That is no answer. Mention one."
"Your father, in the first place."
"He has not yet arrived at the hacienda. I shall have got back before he comes. I have nothing to fear on that side."
"You are mistaken. Your father has arrived: I have seen him – spoken with him."
"You! Where? When?"
"Here, scarce half an hour ago."
"That is impossible," she said.
"It is the fact. I will add that he wanted to kill me."
"He!"
"Yes."
The young lady remained thoughtful for a moment; then she raised her head, and shook it several times.
"All the worse," she said resolutely. "Whatever happens, I will carry it out to the end."
"What do you hope from this interview, niña? Do you not know that your father is our most inveterate foe?"
"What you say is too late now. You ought to have urged these objections when I sent my request to you."
"That is true; but at that time I still had hopes, which I can no longer entertain. Believe me, niña, do not insist on seeing Don Louis. Return as speedily as possible to the hacienda. What will your father think if he does not see you on his arrival?"
"I repeat to you that I will have a most important conversation with Don Louis. It must be, for his sake and for mine."
"Think of the consequences of such a step."
"I think of nothing. I warn you that, if you still refuse to perform your promise to me, I will go alone to find the conde."
The hunter regarded her for an instant with a singular expression. He shook his head sorrowfully, and took her hand, which he pressed affectionately.
"Your will be done," he replied gently. "No one can alter his destiny. Come, then, as you insist on it. God grant that your obstinacy does not entail frightful disaster!"
"You are a bird of ill omen," she said with a laugh. "Come, let us start. You will see all end better than you anticipate."
"I consent; but trust yourself to me, and leave your escort here."
"I ask nothing better. I will only take Violanta with me."
"As you please."
At a sign from her mistress the camarista went up to the peons, who were still motionless, and gave them orders not to leave the clearing under any pretext before her