"Do you smoke?"
On this apparently so simple question being asked, a strange thing happened which will only be understood by smokers who, long accustomed to the weed, have for some reason or other been deprived of it for a lengthened period. The stranger's face was suddenly lit up by the effect of some internal emotion; his dull eye flashed, and, seizing the cigarette with a nervous tremor, he exclaimed, in a voice choked by an outburst of joy impossible to render
"Yes, yes; I used to smoke."
There was a rather long silence, during which the two men slowly inhaled the smoke of their cigarettes, and indulged in thought. The wind howled fiercely Over their heads, the eddying snow was piling up around them, and the echoes of the canyons seemed to utter notes of complaint. It was a horrible night. Beyond the circle of light produced by the flickering flame of the watch fire all was buried in dense gloom. The picture presented by these two men, seated in the desert, strangely illumined by the bluish flame, fend smoking calmly while suspended above an unfathomable abyss, had something striking and awe-inspiring about it. When the traveller had finished his cigarette, he rolled another, and laid his tobacco-pouch between himself and his guest.
"Now that the ice is broken between us," he said in a friendly voice, "and that we have nearly formed an acquaintance for we have been sitting at the same fire, and have eaten and smoked together the moment has arrived, I fancy, for us to become thoroughly acquainted."
The stranger nodded his head silently. It was a gesture that could be interpreted affirmatively or negatively, at pleasure. The traveller continued, with a good-humoured smile
"I make not the slightest pretence to compel you to reveal your secrets, and you are at liberty to maintain your incognito without in any way offending me. Still, whatever may be the result, let me give you an example of frankness by telling you who I am. My story will not be long, and only consists of a very few words. France is my country, and I was born at Paris which city, doubtless," he remarked, with a stifled sigh, "I shall never see again. Reasons too lengthy to trouble you with, and which would interest you but very slightly, led me to America. Chance, or Providence, perhaps, by guiding me to the desert, and arousing my instincts and aspirations for liberty, wished to make a wood ranger of me, and I obeyed. For twenty years I have been traversing the prairies and great savannahs in every direction, and I shall probably continue to do so, till an Indian bullet comes from some thicket to stop my wanderings for ever. Towns are hateful to me; passionately fond of the grand spectacles of nature, which elevate the thought, and draw the creature nearer to his Creator, I shall only mix myself up once again in the chaos of civilization in order to fulfil a vow made on the tomb of a friend. When I have done that, I shall fly to the most, unknown deserts, in order to end a life henceforth useless, far from those men whose paltry passions and base and ignoble hatred have robbed me of the small amount of happiness to which I fancied I had a claim. And now, mate, you know me as well as I do myself. I will merely add, in conclusion, that my name among the white men, my countrymen, is Valentine Guillois, and among the redskins, my adopted fathers, Koutonepi that is to say, 'The Valiant One.' I believe myself to be as honest and as brave as a man is permitted to be with his imperfect organization. I never did harm with the intention of doing so, and I have done services to my fellow men as often as I had it in my power, without expecting from them thanks or gratitude."
The speech, which the hunter had commenced in that clear voice and with that careless accent habitual to him, terminated involuntarily, under the pressure of the flood of saddened memories that rose from his heart to his lips, in a low and inarticulate voice, and when he concluded, he let his head fall sadly on his chest, with a sigh that resembled a sob. The stranger regarded him for a moment with an expression of gentle commiseration.
"You have suffered," he said; "suffered in your love, suffered in your friendship. Your history is that of all men in this world: who of us, but at a given hour, has felt his courage yield beneath the weight of grief? You are alone, friendless, abandoned by all, a voluntary exile, far from the men who only inspire you with hatred and contempt; you prefer the society of wild beasts, less ferocious than they; but, at any rate, you live, while I am a dead man!"
The hunter started, and looked in amazement at the speaker.
"I suppose you think me mad?" he continued, with a melancholy smile; "reassure yourself, it is not so. I am in full possession of my senses, my head is cool, and my thoughts are clear and lucid. For all that though, I repeat to you, I am dead, dead in the sight of my relations and friends, dead to the whole world in fine, and condemned to lead this wretched existence for an indefinite period. Mine is a strange story, and that you would recognize through one word, were you a Mexican, or had you travelled in certain regions of Mexico."
"Did I not tell you that, for twenty years, I have been travelling over every part of America?" the traveller replied, his curiosity being aroused to the highest pitch. "What is the word? Can you tell it me?"
"Why not? I am alluding to the name I bore while I was still a living man."
"What is that name?"
"It had acquired a certain celebrity, but I doubt whether, even if you have heard it mentioned, it has remained in your memory."
"Who knows? Perhaps you are mistaken."
"Well, since you insist, learn, then, that I was called Martial el Tigrero."
"You?" the hunter exclaimed, under the influence of the uttermost surprise; "why that is impossible!"
"Of course so, since I am dead," the stranger answered, bitterly.
CHAPTER II.
THE DEAD ALIVE
The Tigrero had let his head fall on his chest again, and seemed engaged with gloomy thoughts. The hunter, somewhat embarrassed by the turn the conversation had taken, and anxious to continue it, mechanically stirred up the fire with the blade of his navaja, while his eyes wandered around, and were at times fixed on his companion with an expression of deep sympathy.
"Stay," he said, presently, as he thrust back with his foot a few embers that had rolled out; "pardon me, sir, any insult which my exclamation may seem to have contained. You have mistaken, I assure you, the meaning of my remarks; although, as we have never met, we are not such strangers as you suppose. I have known you for a long time."
The Tigrero raised his head, and looked at the hunter incredulously.
"You?" he muttered.
"Yes, I, caballero, and it will not be difficult to prove it to you."
"What good will it do?" he murmured; "what interest can I have in the fact of your knowing me?"
"My dear sir," the Frenchman continued, with several shakes of his head, "nothing happens in this world by the effect of chance. Above us, an intellect superior to ours directs everything here below; and if we have been permitted to meet in a manner so strange and unexpected in these desolate regions, it is because Providence has designs with us which we cannot yet detect; let us, therefore, not attempt to resist God's will, for what He has resolved will happen: who knows whether I may not be unconsciously sent across your path to bring you a supreme consolation, or to supply you with the means to accomplish a long meditated vengeance, which you have hitherto deemed impossible?"
"I repeat to you, señor," the Tigrero replied, "that your words are those of a stout-hearted and brave man, and I feel involuntarily attracted towards you. I think with you, that this accidental meeting, after so many days of solitude and grief, with a man of your stamp, cannot be the effect of unintelligent chance, and that at a moment when, convinced of my impotence to escape from my present frightful situation, I was reduced to despair and almost resolved on suicide, the loyal hand you offer me can only be that of a friend. Question me, then, without hesitation, and I will answer with the utmost frankness."
"Thanks for that speech," the hunter said, with emotion, "for it proves that we are beginning to understand each other, and soon, I hope, we shall have no secrets; but I must, before all else, tell you how it is that I have known you for a long time, although you were not aware of the fact."
"Speak, señor, I am listening to you with the most earnest attention."
Valentine reflected for a moment, and then went on as follows:
"Some months ago, in consequence of circumstances unnecessary to remind you of, but which you doubtless bear in mind, you met at the colony of Guetzalli a Frenchman and a Canadian hunter, with whom you eventually stood on most intimate terms."
"It is true," the Tigrero replied, with a nervous start, "and the Frenchman to whom you allude, is the Count de Prébois Crancé. Oh! I shall never be able to discharge the debt of gratitude I have contracted with him for the services he rendered me."
A sad smile curled the hunter's lip. "You no longer owe him anything," he said, with a melancholy shake of the head.
"What do you mean?" the Tigrero exclaimed, eagerly; "surely the count cannot be dead!"
"He is dead, caballero. He was assassinated on the shores of Guaymas. His murderers laid him in his tomb, and his blood, so treacherously shed, cries to Heaven for vengeance: but patience, Heaven will not permit this horrible crime to remain unpunished."
The hunter hurriedly wiped away the tears he had been unable to repress while speaking of the count, and went on, in a voice choked by the internal emotion which he strove in vain to conquer:
"But let us, for the present, leave this sad reminiscence to slumber in our hearts. The count was my friend, my dearest friend, more than a brother to me: he often spoke about you to me, and several times told me your gloomy history, which terminated in a frightful catastrophe."
"Yes, yes," the Tigrero muttered; "it was, indeed, a frightful catastrophe. I would gladly have found death at the bottom of the abyss into which I rolled during my struggle with Black Bear, could I have saved her I loved; but God decreed it otherwise, and may his holy name be blessed and praised."
"Amen!" the hunter said, sadly turning his head away.
"Oh!" Don Martial continued a moment later, "I feel my recollections crowding upon me at this moment. I feel as if the veil that covers my memory is torn asunder, in order to recall events, already so distant, but which have left so deep an impression on my mind. I, too, recognize you now; you are the famous hunter whom the count was trying to find in the desert; but he did not call you by any of the names you have mentioned."
"I dare say," Valentine answered, "that he alluded to me as the 'Trail Hunter,' the name by which the white hunters and the Indians of the Far West are accustomed to call me."
"Yes; oh, now I remember perfectly, that was indeed the name he gave you. You were right in saying that we had been long acquainted, though we had never met."
"And now that we meet in this desert," the hunter said, offering his hand, "connected as we are by the memory of our deceased friend, shall we be friends?"
"No, not friends," the Tigrero exclaimed, as he heartily pressed the hunter's honest hand; "not friends, but brothers."
"Well, then, brothers, and each for the other against all comers," the hunter answered. "And now that you are convinced that curiosity plays no part in my eager desire to know what has befallen you since the moment when you so hurriedly left your friends, speak, Don Martial, and then I will tell you, in my turn, what are the motives that directed my steps to these desolate regions."
The Tigrero, in a few moments, began his narrative as follows:
"My friends must have fancied me dead, hence I cannot blame them for having abandoned me, although they were, perhaps, too quick in doing so without an attempt either to recover my corpse, or assure themselves at least that I was really dead, and that assistance would be thrown away; but though I am ignorant of what happened in the cavern after my fall, the bodies left on the battlefield proved to me afterwards that they had a tough fight, and were compelled to fly before the Indians; hence, I say again that I do not blame them. You are aware that I was attacked by Black Bear at the moment when I believed that I had succeeded in saving those whom I had sworn to protect. It was on the very verge of the pit that Black Bear and myself, enwreathed like two serpents, began a final and decisive struggle: at the moment when I had all but succeeded in foiling my enemy's desperate efforts, and was raising my arm to cut his throat, the war yell of the Comanches suddenly burst forth at the entrance of the cavern. By a supreme effort the Apache chief succeeded in escaping from my clutch, bounded on his feet, and rushed towards Doña Anita, doubtless with the intention of carrying her off, as the unforeseen assistance arriving for us would prevent the accomplishment of his vengeance. But the maiden repulsed him with that strength which despair engenders, and sought refuge behind her father. Already severely wounded by two shots, the chief tottered back to the edge of the pit, where he lost his balance. Feeling that he was falling, by an instinctive gesture, or, perhaps, through a last sentiment of fury, he stretched out his arms as if to save himself, caught hold of me as I rose, half-stunned by my recent contest, and we both rolled down the pit, he with a triumphant laugh, and I with a shriek of despair. Forgive me for having described thus minutely the last incidents of this fight, but I was obliged to enter into these details to make you thoroughly understand by what providential chance I was saved, when I fancied myself hopelessly lost."
"Go on, go on;" the hunter said, "I am listening to you with the greatest attention."
Don Martial continued:
"The Indian was desperately wounded, and his last effort, in which he had placed all his remaining strength, cost him his life: it was a corpse that dragged me down, for during the few seconds our fall lasted he did not make a movement. The pit was not so deep as I fancied, not more than twenty or five-and-twenty feet, and the sides were covered with plants and grass, which, although they bent beneath our weight, prevented us from falling perpendicularly. The chief was the first to reach the bottom of the abyss, and I fell upon his body, which deadened my fall, though it was serious enough entirely to deprive me of consciousness. I cannot say how long I remained in this state, but, from a calculation I made afterwards, my faint must have lasted two hours. I was aroused by a cold sensation which suddenly affected me. I opened my eyes again, and found myself in utter darkness. At the first moment it was impossible for me to account for the situation in which I found myself, or what events had placed me in it; but my memory gradually returned, my thoughts became more lucid, and I only desired to emerge as speedily as possible from the pit into which I had fallen. I was suffering fearfully, although I was not actually wounded. I had received numerous contusions in my fall, and the slightest movement caused me an atrocious pain, for I was so bruised and shaken. In my present state I must endure the evil patiently: attempting to scale the sides of the pit when my strength was completely exhausted would have been madness, and I therefore resigned myself to waiting. I was in complete darkness, but that did not trouble me greatly, as I had about me everything necessary to light a fire. Within a few moments I had a light, and was enabled to look about me. I was lying at the bottom of a species of funnel, for the pit grew narrower in its descent, which had greatly helped to deaden my fall; my feet and legs almost to the knee were bathed in a subterranean stream, while the upper part of my body leant against the corpse of the Indian chief. The spot where I found myself was thirty feet in circumference at the most, and I assured myself by the help of my light that the sides of the pit, entirely covered with creepers, and even sturdy shrubs, rose in a gentle slope, and would not be difficult to escalade when my strength had sufficiently returned. At this moment I could not dream of attempting the ascent, so I bravely made up my mind, and although my anxiety was great about the friends I had left in, the cavern, I resolved to wait a few hours before proceeding to save myself. I remained thus for twenty hours at the bottom of the pit, tête-à-tête with my enemy's corpse. Many times during my excursions in the desert I had found myself in almost desperate situations, but never, I call heaven to witness, had I felt so completely abandoned and left in the hands of Providence. Still, however deplorable my position might be, I did not despair; in spite of the frightful pain I suffered, I had convinced myself that my limbs were in a satisfactory state, and that all I needed was patience. When I fancied my strength sufficiently restored, I lighted two torches, which I fixed in the ground, in order to see more clearly. I threw my rifle on my back, placed my navaja between my teeth, and clinging to the shrubs, by a desperate effort I began my ascent. I will not tell you of the difficulty I had in conquering the terrible shocks I was obliged to give my aching bones in surmounting almost unsurpassable obstacles; sufficient for you to know that I reached the mouth of the pit after an hour and a half's struggle, in which I expended all the energy a man possesses who hopes to save himself. When I reached the floor of the cavern, I lay for more than half an hour on the sand, exhausted, panting, unable to make the slightest movement, scarce breathing, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, not even conscious of the frightful state into which I was plunged. Fortunately for me, this terrible condition did not last long, the refreshing air from without, reaching me through the passages of the cavern, recovered me, and restored the entire use of my mental faculties. The ground around me was covered with dead bodies, and there had, doubtless, been a terrible struggle between the white men and the redskins. I sought in vain for the corpses of Doña Anita and her father. I breathed again, and hope re-entered my heart, for my sacrifice had not been fruitless. Those for whom I had given my life were saved, and I should see them again. This thought restored my courage, and I felt quite a different man. I rose without any excessive difficulty, and, supporting myself on my rifle, went toward the mouth of the cavern, after removing my stock of provision, and taking two powder horns from the stores I had previously cached, and which my friends in their flight had not thought of removing. No words can describe the emotion I felt when, after a painful walk through the grotto, I at length reached the riverbank, and saw the sun once more: a man must have been in a similar desperate situation to understand the cry, or rather howl of joy which escaped from my surcharged bosom when I felt again the blessed sunbeams, and inhaled the odorous breath of the savannah. By an unreflecting movement, though it was suggested by my heart, I fell on my knees, and piously clasping my hands, I thanked Him who had saved me, and who alone could do so. This prayer, and the simple thanks expressed by a grateful heart, were, I feel convinced, borne upwards to heaven on the wings of my guardian angel.