The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West. Gustave Aimard
half-dead branches, had warmed the seeds they had let fall, and offered, in the young shoots they contained, some compensation for the loss of their father tree.
In the prairies, nature, ever provident, seems to have been desirous to shelter from the insults of time certain old trees, patriarchs of the forest which are crushed beneath the weight of ages, by forming them a cloak of greyish moss, which hangs in festoons from the highest branches to the ground, assuming the wildest and most fantastic shapes.
The stranger, lying on his back, with his head resting on his two crossed hands, was smoking with that beatitude, full of ease and sloth, which is peculiar to the Hispano-Americans. He only interrupted this gentle occupation to roll a fresh cigarette and cast a glance around, while muttering:
"Hum! He keeps me waiting a long time."
He emitted a puff of bluish smoke, and resumed his first position. Several hours passed thus. Suddenly, a rather loud rustling was heard in the thicket, some distance behind the stranger.
"Ah, ah!" he said, "I fancy my man is coming at last."
In the meanwhile, the sound became louder, and rapidly approached.
"Come on, hang it!" the horseman shouted, as he rose. "By our Lady of Pilar! You have surely been keeping me waiting long enough."
Nothing appeared: the clearing was still deserted, although the sound had attained a certain degree of intensity. The stranger, surprised at the obstinate silence of the man he was addressing, and specially by his continuing not to show himself, at length rose to see for himself the reason. At this moment, his horse pricked up its ears, snorted violently, and made a sudden effort to free itself from the lasso that held it; but our new acquaintance rushed toward it and patted it. The horse trembled all over, and made prodigious bounds in order to escape. The stranger, more and more surprised, looked round for an explanation of these extraordinary movements, and was soon satisfied.
Scarce twenty yards from him a magnificent jaguar, with a splendidly-spotted hide, was crouched on the main branch of an enormous cypress, and fixed on him two ferocious eyes, as it passed its blood-red, rugged tongue over its lips with a feline pleasure.
"Ah, ah!" the stranger said to himself in a low voice, but displaying no further excitement, "I did not expect you; but no matter, you are welcome, comrade. Caray! We shall have a fight for it."
Without taking his eye off the jaguar, he convinced himself that his machete quitted its scabbard readily, picked up his rifle, and, after these precautions were taken, he advanced resolutely toward the ferocious brute, which saw him coming without changing its position. On arriving within ten yards of the jaguar, the stranger threw away the cigarette he had till now held between his lips, shouldered his rifle, and put his finger on the trigger. The jaguar drew itself together and prepared to leap forward. At the same moment a hoarse yell was heard from the opposite side of the clearing.
"Wait a minute," the stranger said to himself with a smile; "it seems there are two of them, and I fancied I had to do with a bachelor jaguar. This is beginning to grow interesting."
And he threw a glance on one side. He had not deceived himself: a second jaguar, rather larger than the first, had fixed its flashing eyes upon him.
CHAPTER II
THE CONTEST
The dwellers on the Mexican frontiers are accustomed to fight continually with wild animals, both men and brutes, that continually attack them. Hence the stranger was but slightly affected by the unexpected visit of the two jaguars. Although his position between his two ferocious enemies was somewhat precarious, and he did not at all conceal from himself the danger he ran alone against two, he did not the less resolve to confront them bravely. Not taking his eye off the jaguar he had first seen, he went back a few steps obliquely, so as to have his foes nearly opposite him, instead of standing between them. This manoeuvre, which demanded some little time, succeeded beyond his hopes. The jaguars watched him, licking their lips, and passing their paws behind their ears with those graceful movements peculiar to the feline race. The two wild beasts, certain of their prey, seemed to be playing with it and not over eager to pounce on it.
While keeping his eye on the watch, the Mexican did not yield to any treacherous feeling of security: he knew that the struggle he was about to undertake was a supreme one, and he took his precautions. Jaguars never attack a man unless forced by necessity; and the latter tried, before all, to seize the horse. The noble animal, securely fastened by its master, exhausted itself in efforts to break the bonds that held it, and escape. It trembled with terror on scenting its ferocious enemies.
The stranger, when his precautions were completely taken, shouldered his rifle for the second time. At this moment the jaguars raised their heads, while laying back their ears and snuffing anxiously. An almost imperceptible sound was audible in the bushes.
"Who goes there?" the Mexican asked in a loud voice.
"A friend, Don Miguel Zarate," was the reply.
"Ah! It is Don Valentine," the Mexican continued. "You have arrived just in time to see some fine sport."
"Ah, ah!" the man who had already spoken went on. "Can I help you?"
"It is useless; but make haste if you want to see."
The branches were sharply drawn aside, and two men appeared in the clearing. At the sight of the jaguars they stopped, not through alarm, for they quietly placed the butts of their rifles on the ground, but in order to give the hunter every facility to emerge victoriously from his rash combat.
The jaguars seemed to comprehend that the moment for action had arrived. As if by one accord, they drew themselves up and bounded on their enemy. The first, struck in its leap by a bullet which passed through its right eye, rolled on the ground, where it remained motionless. The second was received on the point of the hunter's machete, who after discharging his rifle, had fallen on his knee, with his left arm folded in his blanket in front, and the machete in the other hand. The man and the tiger writhed together in a deadly embrace, and after a few seconds only one of the adversaries rose: it was the man. The tiger was dead: the hunter's machete, guided by a firm hand, had passed right through its heart.
During this rapid fight the newcomers had not made a sign, but remained stoical spectators of all that was taking place. The Mexican rose, thrust his machete in the grass to clean the blade, and turning coldly to the strangers, said:
"What do you say to that?"
"Splendidly played," the first answered; "it is one of the best double strokes I ever saw in my life."
The two men threw their rifles on their shoulders, and walked up to the Mexican, who reloaded his piece with as much coolness and tranquillity as if he had not just escaped from a terrible danger by a miracle of skill.
The sun was sinking on the horizon, the shadow of the trees assumed a prodigious length, and the luminary appeared like a ball of fire amid the limpid azure of the heavens. The night would soon arrive, and the desert was awaking. On all sides could be heard, in the gloomy and mysterious depths of the virgin forest, the hoarse howling of the coyotes and the other wild beasts, mingled with the song of the birds perched on all the branches. The desert, silent and gloomy during the oppressive heat of the day, emerged from its unhealthy torpor on the approach of dark, and was preparing to resume its nocturnal sports.
The three men in the clearing collected dried branches, made a pile of them and set fire to it. They doubtlessly intended to camp for a portion of the night at this spot. So soon as the flames rose joyously, skyward in long spirals, the two strangers produced from their game bags maize tortillas, jerked meat, and a gourd of pulque. These various comestibles were complacently spread out on the grass, and the three men began a hunter's meal. When the gourd had gone the round several times, and the tortillas had disappeared, the newcomers lit their Indian pipes, and the Mexican rolled a papelito.
Although this meal had been short, it lasted, however, long enough for night to have completely set in ere it was ended. Perfect darkness brooded over the clearing, the ruddy reflections of the fire played on the energetic faces of the three men, and gave them a fantastic appearance.
"And now," the Mexican said, after