The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West. Gustave Aimard
if this man really possesses such a document, he will not fail to employ it in order to be revenged on me."
"Nothing is lost so long as a man's heart beats in his breast, Don Miguel. The position is critical, I allow, but I have saved myself in situations far more desperate than the one you are now in."
"What is to be done?"
"Red Cedar has been about again for two days. His first care, so soon as he could sit a horse, was to go to Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico, and denounce you to the Governor. That has nothing to surprise you from such a man."
"Then I can only fly as speedily as I can?"
"Wait. Every man has in his heart at least one of the seven deadly sins as a bait for the demon."
"What are you driving at?"
"You will see. Fortunately for us, Red Cedar has them all seven, I believe, in the finest stage of development. Avarice, before all, has reached its acme with him."
"Well?"
"This happened. Our man denounced you to the governor as a conspirator, etc., but was careful not to give up the proofs he possessed in support of the denunciation at the outset. When General Isturitz, the governor, asked him for these proofs, he answered that he was ready to supply them in exchange for the sum of one hundred thousand piastres in gold."
"Ah!" the hacendero said, with a breath of relief, "and what did Isturitz say?"
"The general is one of your most inveterate enemies, I grant, and he would give a good deal for the pleasure of having you shot."
"That is true."
"Yes, but still the sum appeared to him, as it really is, exorbitant, the more so as he would have to pay it all himself, as the government does not recognise transactions of that nature."
"Well, what did Red Cedar do then?"
"He did not allow himself beaten; on the contrary, he told the general he would give him a week to reflect, and quietly left the Cabildo."
"Hum! And on what day was this visit paid?"
"Yesterday morning; so that you have six days still left for action."
"Six days – that is very little."
"Eh?" the Frenchman said, with a shrug of his shoulders impossible to describe. "In my country – "
"Yes, but you are Frenchmen."
"That is true: hence I allow you twice the time we should require. Come, let us put joking aside. You are a man of more than common energy; you really wish the welfare of your country, so do not let yourself be crushed by the first reverse. Who knows but that it may all be for the best?"
"Ah, my friend, I am alone! General Ibañez, who alone could help me in this critical affair, is fifty leagues off. What can I do? Nothing."
"All. I foresaw your objection. Eagle-wing, the Chief of the Coras, has gone from me to warn the general. You know with what speed Indians travel; so he will bring us the general in a few hours, I feel convinced."
Don Miguel regarded the hunter with mingled admiration and respect.
"You have done that, my friend?" he said to him as he warmly pressed his hand.
"By Jove!" Valentine said, gaily, "I have done something else too. When the time arrives I will tell you what it is. But let us not lose an hour. What do you intend to do for the present?"
"Act."
"Good: that is the way I like to hear you talk."
"Yes, but I must first come to an understanding with the general."
"That is true; but it is the least thing," Valentine answered, as he looked skyward, and attentively consulted the position of the stars. "It is now eight o'clock. Eagle-wing and the man he brings must be at midnight at the entrance of the Cañon del Buitre. We have four hours before us, and that is more than we require, as we have only ten leagues to go."
"Let us go, let us go!" Don Miguel exclaimed eagerly.
"Wait a moment; there is no such hurry. Don't be alarmed; we shall arrive in time."
He then turned to Curumilla, and said to him in Araucano a few words which the hacendero did not understand. The Indian rose without replying, and disappeared in the density of the forest.
"You know," Valentine continued, "that I prefer, through habit, travelling on foot; still, as under present circumstances minutes are precious, and we must not lose them, I have provided two horses."
"You think of everything, my friend."
"Yes, when I have to act for those I love," Valentine answered with a retrospective sigh.
There was a moment's silence between the two men, and at the end of scarce a quarter of an hour there was a noise in the shrubs, the branches parted, and Curumilla re-entered the clearing, holding two horses by the bridle. These noble animals, which were nearly untamed mustangs, bore a striking resemblance to the steeds of the Apaches, on whose territory our friends now were. They were literally covered with eagle plumes, beads, and ribbons, while long red and white spots completed their disguise, and rendered it almost impossible to recognise them.
"Mount!" Don Miguel exclaimed so soon as he saw them. "Time is slipping away."
"One word yet," Valentine remarked.
"Speak."
"You still have as chaplain a certain monk by the name of 'Fray Ambrosio.'"
"Yes."
"Take care of that man – he betrays you."
"You believe it?"
"I am sure of it."
"Good! I will remember."
"All right. Now we will be off," Valentine said, as he buried his spurs in his horse's flanks.
And the three horsemen rushed into the darkness with headlong speed.
CHAPTER XII
EL MESON
The day on which our story commences the village of the Paso del Norte presented an extraordinary appearance. The bells were ringing out full peals, for the three hundredth anniversary of its foundation was celebrated. The population of Paso, greatly diminished since the proclamation of Mexican independence, was hurrying to the churches, which flashed with silver and gold. The houses were decorated with rich tapestry, and the streets strewn with flowers.
Toward nightfall the inhabitants, whom the intolerable heat of the tropical sun had kept prisoners in the interior of the houses, flocked out to inhale the sharp perfumes of the desert breeze, and bring back a little fresh air into their parched lungs. The town, which had for several hours appeared deserted, suddenly woke up: shouts and laughter were heard afresh. The walks were invaded by the mob, and in a few minutes the mesóns were thronged with idlers, who began drinking pulque and mezcal, while smoking their cigarettes, and strumming the jarabe and vihuela.
In a house of poor appearance, built like all its neighbours, of earth bricks, and situated at the angle formed by the Plaza Mayor and the Calle de la Merced, some twenty-five fellows, whom it was easy to recognise as adventurers by the feather in their hats, their upturned moustaches, and specially by the long bronzed-hilted sword they wore on the thigh, were drinking torrents of aguardiente and pulque at the gambling tables, while yelling like deaf men, swearing like pagans, and threatening at every moment to unsheathe their weapons.
In a corner of the room occupied by these troublesome guests two men, seated opposite each other at a table, seemed plunged in deep thought, and looked round them absently, not thinking about drinking the contents of their glasses, which had not been emptied for more than half an hour. These two men presented the most striking contrast. They were still young. The first, aged twenty-five at the most, had one of those frank, honest, and energetic faces which call for sympathy, and attract respect. His pallid brow, his face of a delicate hue, surrounded by his long black curls, his straight and flexible nose, his mouth filled with a double row of teeth of dazzling whiteness, and surmounted by a slight brown moustache, gave him a stamp