"Mine belongs to you, and in a few moments I will place it at your service."
Then the two men, leaning shoulder to shoulder, with clasped hands, eyes fixed on heaven, and outstretched arm, uttered together the following words:
"I take God to witness that of my own free will, and without reservation, I take as my friend and brother the man whose hand is at this moment pressing mine. I will help him in everything he asks of me, without hope of reward, ready by day and night to answer his first signal, without hesitation, and without reproach, even if he asked me for my life. I take this oath in the presence of God, who sees and hears me and may He come to my help in all I undertake, and punish me if I ever break my oath."
There was something grand and solemn in this simple act, performed by these two powerful men, beneath the pallid moonbeams, and in the heart of the desert, alone, far from all human society, face to face with God, confiding in each, and seeming thus to defy the whole world. After repeating the words of the oath, they kissed each other's lips in turn, then embraced, and finally shook hands again.
"Now let us be off, brother," Valentine said; "I confide in you as in myself; we shall succeed in triumphing over our enemies, and repaying them all the misery they have caused us."
"Wait for me ten minutes, brother; my horse is hidden close by."
"Go; and during that time I will saddle mine, which is henceforth yours."
Don Martial hurried away, leaving Valentine alone.
"This time," he muttered, "I believe that I have at length met the man I have been looking for so long, and whom I despaired to find; with him, Curumilla, and Belhumeur, I can begin the struggle, for I am certain I shall not be abandoned or treacherously surrendered to the enemy I wish to combat."
While indulging after his wont in this soliloquy, the hunter had lassoed his horse, and was busily engaged in saddling it. He had just put the bit in its mouth, when the Tigrero re-entered the clearing, mounted on a magnificent black steed.
Don Martial dismounted.
"This is your horse, my friend," he said.
"And this is yours."
The exchange thus effected, the two men mounted, and left the clearing in which they had met so strangely. The Tigrero had told no falsehood when he said that a metamorphosis had taken place in him, and that he felt a different man. His features had lost their marble-like rigidity; his eyes were animated, and no longer burned with a sombre and concentrated fire. Even though his glances were still somewhat haggard, their expression was more frank and, before all, kinder; he sat firm and upright in the saddle, and, in a word, seemed ten years younger.
This unexpected change had not escaped the notice of the all-observing Frenchman, and he congratulated himself for having effected this moral cure, and saved a man of such promise from the despair which he had allowed to overpower him.
We have already said that it was a magnificent night. For men like our characters, accustomed to cross the desert in all weathers, the ride in the darkness was a relaxation rather than a fatigue. They rode along side by side, talking on indifferent topics hunting, trapping, expeditions against the Indians subjects always pleasing to wood rangers, while rapidly advancing towards the spot they wished to reach.
"By-the-bye," Valentine all at once said, "I must warn you, brother, that if you are not mistaken, and we are really following the road to the Fort of the Chichimèques, we shall probably meet several persons there; they are friends of mine, with whom I have an appointment, and I will introduce them to you; for reasons you will speedily learn, these friends followed a different road from mine, and must have been waiting for some time at the place of meeting."
"I do not care who the persons are we meet, as they are friends of yours," the Tigrero answered; "the main point is that we make no mistake."
"On my word, I confess my incompetence, so far as that is concerned; this is the first time I have ventured into the Rocky Mountains, where I hope never to come again, and so I deliver myself entirely into your hands."
"I will do my best, although I do not promise positively to lead you to the place you want to reach."
"Nonsense!" the hunter said with a smile; "two places like the one I have described to you can hardly be found in these parts, picturesque and diversified though they be, and it would be almost impossible to lose our way."
"At any rate," the Tigrero answered, "we shall soon know what we have to depend on, for we shall be there within half an hour."
The sky was beginning to grow paler; the horizon was belted by wide, pellucid bands, which assumed in turn every colour of the rainbow. In the flashing uncertain light of dawn, objects were invested with a more fugitive appearance, although, on the other hand, they became more distinct.
The adventurers had passed the crossroads, and turned into a narrow track, whose capricious windings ran along rocks, which were almost suspended over frightful abysses. The riders had given up all attempts to guide their horses, and trusted to their instinct; they had laid their bridles on their necks, leaving them at liberty to go where they pleased a prudent precaution, which cannot be sufficiently recommended to travellers under similar circumstances.
All at once a streak of light illumined the landscape, and the sun rose radiant and splendid; behind them the travellers still had the shadows of night, while before them the snowy peaks of the mountains were glistening in the sun.
"Well," the hunter exclaimed, "we can now see clearly, and I hope that we shall soon perceive the Fort of the Chichimèques."
"Look ahead of you over the jagged crest of that hill," the Tigrero answered, stretching out his arm; "that is the terrace to which I am leading you."
The hunter stopped, for he felt giddy, and almost ready to fall off his horse. About two miles from him, but separated from the spot where he stood by an impassable canyon, an immense esplanade stretched out into space in the shape of a voladero; that is to say, in consequence of one of those earthquakes so common in these regions, the base of the mountain had been undermined, while the crest remained intact, and hung for a considerable distance above a valley, apparently about to fall at any moment; the spectacle was at once imposing and terrific.
"Heaven forgive me!" the hunter muttered, "but I really believe I was frightened; I felt all my muscles tremble involuntarily. Oh! I will not look at it again; let us get along, my friend."
They set out again, still following the windings of the tract, which gradually grew steeper; and, after a very zigzag course, reached the terrace half an hour later.
"This is certainly the place," the hunter exclaimed, as he pointed to the decaying embers of a watch fire.
"But your friends ?" the Tigrero asked.
"Did you not tell me there was a grotto close by?"
"I did."
"Well, they doubtless concealed themselves in the grotto when they heard us approaching."
"That is possible."
"It is true: look."
The hunter discharged his gun, and at the sound three men appeared, though it was impossible to say whence they came. They were Belhumeur, Black Elk, and Eagle-head.
CHAPTER IV.
THE TRAVELLERS
We must now leave Valentine and his companions on the esplanade of the Fort of the Chichimèques, where we shall join them again however, in order to attend to other persons destined to play an important part in the narrative we have undertaken to tell the reader.
About five or six leagues at the most from the spot where Valentine and the Tigrero met, a caravan, composed of some ten persons, had halted on the same night, and almost at the same moment as the hunter, in a narrow valley completely sheltered from the wind by dense clumps of trees.
About five or six leagues at the most from the spot where Valentine and the Tigrero met, a caravan, composed of some ten persons, had halted on the same night, and almost at the same moment as the hunter, in a narrow valley completely sheltered from the wind by dense clumps of trees.
The caravan was comfortably lodged on the bank of a running stream, the mules had been unloaded, a tent raised, fires lighted; and when the animals were hobbled, the travellers began to make preparations for their supper.
These travellers, or at any rate one of them, appeared to belong to the highest class, for the rest were only servants or Indian peons. Still the dress of this person was most simple, but his stiff manner, his imposing demeanour, and haughty air, evidenced the man long accustomed to give his orders without admitting refusal or even the slightest hesitation.
He had passed his fiftieth year; he was tall, well-built, and his movements were extremely elegant. His broad forehead, his black eyes large and flashing, his long gray moustaches and his short hair gave him a military appearance, which his harsh, quick way of speaking did not contradict. Although he affected a certain affability of manner, he at times involuntarily betrayed himself, and it was easy to see that the modest garb of a Mexican Campesino which he wore was only a disguise. Instead of withdrawing beneath the tent prepared for him, this person had sat down before the fire with the peons, who eagerly made way for him with evident respect.
Among the peons two men more especially attracted attention. One was a redskin, the other a half-breed, with a crafty, leering manner, who, for some reason or another, stood on more familiar terms with his master; his comrades called him Ño Carnero, and at times gave him the title of Capataz.
Ño Carnero was the wit of the caravan, the funny fellow ever ready to laugh and joke, smoking an eternal cigar, and desperately strumming an insupportable guitar. Perhaps, though, he concealed beneath this frivolous appearance a more serious character and deeper thoughts than he would have liked to display.
The redskin formed the most complete contrast with the capataz; he was a tall, thin, dry man, with angular features and gloomy and sad face, illumined by two black eyes deeply set in their orbit, but constantly in motion, and having an undefinable expression; his aquiline nose, his wide mouth lined with large teeth as white as almonds, and his thin pinched up lips, composed a far from pleasant countenance, which was rendered still more lugubrious by the obstinate silence of this man, who only spoke when absolutely compelled, and then only in monosyllables. Like all the Indians, it was impossible to form any opinion as to his age, for his hair was black as the raven's wing, and his parchment skin had not a single wrinkle; at any rate he seemed gifted with no ordinary strength.
He had engaged at Santa Fé to act as guide to the caravan, and, with the exception of his obstinate silence, there was every reason to be satisfied with the way in which he performed his duty. The peons called him The Indian, or sometimes José a mocking term employed in Mexico to designate the Indios mansos; but the redskin appeared as insensible to compliments as to jokes, and continued coldly to carry out the task he had imposed on himself. When supper was ended, and each had lit his pipe or cigarette, the master turned to the capataz.
"Carnero," he said to him, "although in such frightful weather, and in these remote regions, we have but little to fear from horse thieves, still do not fail to place sentries, for we cannot be too provident."
"I have warned two men, mi amo," the capataz replied; "and, moreover, I intend to make my rounds tonight; eh, José," he added, turning to the Indian, "are you certain you are not mistaken, and that you really lifted a trail?"
The redskin shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and continued his quiet smoke.
"Do you know to what nation the sign you discovered belongs?" the master asked him.
The Indian gave a nod of assent.
"Is it a formidable nation?"
"Crow," the redskin answered hoarsely.
"Caray!" the master exclaimed, "if they are Crows, we shall do well to be on our guard, for they are the cleverest plunderers in the Rocky Mountains."
"Nonsense!" Carnero remarked with a grin of derision, "do not believe what that man tells you; the mezcal has got into his head, and he is trying to make himself of importance; Indians tell as many lies as old women."
The Indian's eye flashed; without deigning to reply he drew a moccasin from his breast, and threw it so adroitly at the capataz as to strike him across the face. Furious at the insult so suddenly offered him by a man whom he always considered inoffensive, the half-breed uttered a yell of rage, and rushed knife in hand on the Indian.
But the latter had not taken his eye off him, and by a slight movement he avoided the desperate attack of the capataz; then, drawing himself up, he caught him round the waist, raised him from the ground as easy as he would have done a child, and hurled him into the fire, where he writhed for a moment with cries of pain and impotent passion. When he at length got out of the fire, half scorched, he did not think of renewing the attack, but sat down growling and directing savage glances at his adversary, like a turnspit punished by a mastiff. The master had witnessed this aggression with the utmost indifference, and having picked up the moccasin, which he carefully examined
"The Indian is right," he said, coldly, "this moccasin bears the mark of the Crow nation. My poor Carnero, you must put up with it, for though the punishment you received was severe, I am forced to allow that it was deserved."
The redskin had begun smoking again as quietly as if nothing had occurred.
"The dog will pay me for it with his traitor face," the capataz growled, on hearing his master's warning. "I am no man if I do not leave his body as food for the crows he discovers so cleverly."
"My poor lad," his master continued, with a jeer, "you had better forget this affair, which I allow might be disagreeable to your self-esteem; for I fancy you would not be the gainer by recommencing the quarrel."
The capataz did not answer; he looked round at the spectators to select one on whom he could vent his spite, without incurring any extreme risk; but the peons were on their guard, and offered him no chance. He then, with an air of vexation, made a signal to two men to follow him, and left the circle grumbling.
The head of the caravan remained for a few minutes plunged in serious thought; he then withdrew beneath his tent, the curtain of which fell behind him; and the peons lay down on the ground, one after the other, with their feet to the fire, and carefully wrapped up in their serapes, and fell asleep.
The Indian then took the pipe stem from his mouth, looked searchingly around him, shook out the ashes, passed the pipe through his belt, and, rising negligently, went slowly to crouch at the foot of a tree, though not before he had taken the precaution of wrapping himself in his buffalo robe, a measure which the sharp air rendered, if not indispensable, at any rate necessary.
Ere long, with the exception of the sentries leaning on their guns and motionless as statues, all the travellers were plunged in deep sleep, for the capataz himself, in spite of the promise he had made his master, had laid himself across the entrance of the tent.
An hour elapsed ere anything disturbed the silence that prevailed in the camp. All at once a singular thing happened. The buffalo robe, under which the Indian was sheltered, gently rose with an almost imperceptible movement, and the redskin's face appeared, darting glances of fire into the gloom. In a moment the guide raised himself slowly along the trunk of the tree against which he had been lying, embraced it with his feet and hands, and with undulating movements resembling those of reptiles, he left the ground, and raised himself to the first branches, among which he disappeared.