The Indian Chief: The Story of a Revolution. Aimard Gustave
knew perfectly well the nature of the Mexican character.
Then the count withdrew with the hunter, and the two foster brothers held a conversation, which, to judge by its length, and, above all, Don Louis' thoughtful air when it was ended, must have been very important. In fact, Valentine, accomplishing his pledge to Doña Angela, informed the count of the events of the past night, not only telling him all that had passed between him and the young lady, but also the details of his interview with the general on the river bank.
"You see, then," he said in conclusion, "that the situation is growing more and more critical, and they mean war."
"Yes, it is war; but so long as the least hope is left me, be assured, brother, that I shall not give them the satisfaction of supplying a pretext for a rupture."
"You must play more cautiously than ever, brother. However, unless I am greatly mistaken, we shall speedily know what we have to expect."
"That is my opinion too."
At this moment Don Cornelio appeared, accompanied by Curumilla.
"I beg your pardon," he said to the hunter; "but I should feel obliged by your putting matters right with the chief, who persists in telling me that we are at this moment closely watched by an Indian war party."
"What!" Valentine said, frowning. "What is that you say, Don Cornelio?"
"Look here. While walking in the neighbourhood of the mission with the chief, I picked up this – "
"Let me see," Valentine said.
Don Cornelio handed him a moccasin, which the hunter examined attentively for several minutes.
"Hum!" he then said, "this is serious. Where did you find it?"
"On the river bank."
"What do you think of it, chief?" Valentine said, turning to the Araucano.
"The moccasin is new – it has been lost. Curumilla has seen numerous trails."
"Listen," Don Louis said quickly. "Tell no one about this discovery: we must distrust everything, for treachery is hovering around us, and threatens us from all sides at once. While I strengthen our intrenchments under pretext of a longer stay here, you, brother, will go out to reconnoitre with the chief, and assure yourself of what we have really to fear from the Indians."
"Be quiet, brother: on your side, keep a good watch."
CHAPTER III
THE SPY
It was about eight in the morning when Valentine and Curumilla left Don Louis. The hunter had passed the whole night without closing an eye. He felt fatigued: his eyelids, weighed down with sleep, closed involuntarily. Still he prepared to make the researches his foster brother had intrusted to him, when Curumilla, noticing his condition, invited him to take a few hours' rest, remarking that he did not absolutely want him in following up the trail he had noticed in the morning, and that he would give him a good account of all he did.
Valentine placed the most entire confidence in Curumilla. Many times, during the course of their common existence, he had been in a position to appreciate the sagacity, cleverness, and experience of the chief; hence he needed but little pressing to consent to his proposition of going out alone, and after giving him the warmest recommendations, he wrapped himself up in his cloak, and fell off to sleep at once.
He had enjoyed for about two hours a peaceful and refreshing nap when he felt a hand gently laid on his shoulder. So light as the touch was, it was sufficient to arouse the hunter, who, like all men habituated to prairie life, maintained, if we may use the expression, a sense of external things even during sleep. He opened his eyes, and looked fixedly at the man who had come to disturb the rest he was enjoying, while mentally consigning him to the deuce.
"Well," he said, with the harsh accent of a man aroused at the pleasantest moment of a dream, "what do you want of me, Don Cornelio? Could you not select a more favourable moment to talk with me, for I suppose what you have to say to me is not extremely important?"
Don Cornelio (for it was really that gentleman who awoke Valentine) laid his finger on his mouth, while looking suspiciously around, as if to recommend caution to the hunter; then he leant over his ear.
"Pardon me, Don Valentine," he said; "but I believe that the communication I have to make to you is of the utmost importance."
Valentine sprang up as if moved by a spring, and looked the Spaniard in the face.
"What is the matter, then?" he asked in a low and concentrated voice, which, however, had something imperious about it.
"I will tell you in two words. Colonel Florés (whose face, by the way, does not at all please me) has been doing nothing but prowl round the mission since the morning, inquiring what has been done and left undone, gossiping with one or the other, and trying, above all, to discover the opinion of our men as regards the chief. There was not much harm in that, perhaps, but, so soon as he saw you were asleep, he learnt that the count, who was engaged with his correspondence, had given orders that he should not be disturbed for some hours. Upon this he pretended, to retire to a half-ruined cabin situated at the outskirts of the mission; but a few minutes after, when he supposed that no one was thinking about him, instead of taking a siesta as he had given out, he slipped away from the hut among the trees like a man afraid of being surprised, and disappeared in the forest."
"Ah, ah!" Valentine said thoughtfully, "what interest can that man have in absenting himself so secretly?" Then he added, "Has he been gone long?"
"Hardly ten minutes."
Valentine rose.
"Remain here," he said. "In case the colonel returns during my absence, watch him carefully; but do not let him suspect anything. I thank you for not having hesitated to wake me. The matter is serious."
Then, breaking off the conversation, the hunter quitted Don Cornelio, and gliding along under the shadow of the ruins, so as to attract no attention, entered the forest. In the meanwhile, Colonel Florés, believing Valentine to be asleep, and knowing that the count was writing, felt no apprehension about being followed. He walked rapidly toward the river, not taking any trouble to hide his footsteps – an imprudence by which the hunter profited, and which placed him at once on the track of the man he was watching.
The colonel soon arrived at the river. The most complete calm prevailed around; the alligators were wallowing in the mud; the flamingoes were fishing negligently: all, in a word, evidenced the absence of man. Still, the colonel had scarce appeared on the bank ere an individual, hanging by his arms from the branch of a tree, descended to the ground scarce a couple of paces from him. At this unexpected apparition the colonel recoiled, stifling a cry of surprise and alarm; but he had not the time to recover from his emotion ere a second individual leaped in the same fashion on the sand. Mechanically Don Francisco raised his eyes to the tree.
"Oh, oh!" the first arrival said with a coarse laugh, "you need not take the trouble to look up there, Garrucholo; no one is left there."
At the name of Garrucholo the colonel shuddered, and attentively examined the two men who had presented themselves in so strange a manner, as they stood motionless before him, and looked at him derisively. The first of the two was a white man, as could be easily recognised at the first glance, in spite of his bronzed complexion, which was almost of the colour of brick. The clothes he wore were exactly like those of the Indians. This interesting personage was armed to the teeth, and held a long rifle in his hand. His comrade was a redskin, painted and armed for war.
"Eh?" the first speaker continued. "I fancy you do not recognise me, boy. By God, you have a short memory!"
This oath, and, above all, the strong accent with which the man expressed himself in Spanish, although he spoke that language fluently, were a ray of light for the colonel.
"El Buitre!" he exclaimed, striking his forehead.
"Come," the other said with a laugh, "I felt certain that you had not forgotten me, compañero."
This, unexpected meeting was anything but agreeable to the colonel; still he considered it prudent not to let it be seen.
"By what accident