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THE INDIAN CHIEF
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD,
AUTHOR OF "PRAIRIE FLOWER," THE "TIGER-SLAYER," ETC.
LONDON
WARD AND LOCK,
158, FLEET STREET.
MDCCCLXI.
PREFACE.
With this volume terminates the series in which Gustave Aimard hasdescribed the sad fate of the Count de Raousset-Boulbon, who fell avictim to Mexican treachery. In the next volume to be published, underthe title of the "Trail Hunter," will be found the earlier history ofsome of the characters whose acquaintance the reader has formed, I trustwith pleasure, in the present series.
L.W.
CONTENTS.
I. THE INTERVIEW II. THE MISSION III. THE SPY IV. THE EXPLOSION V. THE FIRST POWDER BURNT VI. REPRISALS VII. GUETZALLI VIII. THE ENVOY IX. DONA ANGELA X. THE AMBASSADORS XI. THE PLAN OF THE CAMPAIGN XII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER XIII. LA MAGDALENA XIV. THE COCK-FIGHT XV. THE INTERVIEW XVI. FATHER SERAPHIN XVII. THE QUEBRADA DEL COYOTE XVIII. THE SURPRISE XIX. THE FORWARD MARCH XX. BEFORE THE ATTACK XXI. THE CAPTURE OF HERMOSILLO XXII. AFTER THE VICTORY XXIII. THE HACIENDA DEL MILAGRO XXIV. THE BOAR AT BAY XXV. THE BEGINNING OF THE END XXVI. THE CATASTROPHE
CHAPTER I.
THE INTERVIEW.
The Jesuits founded in Mexico missions round which, with the patiencethat constantly distinguished them, an unbounded charity, and aperseverance which nothing could discourage, they succeeded incollecting a large number of Indians, whom they instructed in theprincipal and most touching dogmas of their faith--whom they baptized,instructed, and induced to till the soil.
These missions, at first insignificant and a great distance apart,insensibly increased. The Indians, attracted by the gentle amenity ofthe good fathers, placed themselves under their protection; and thereis no doubt that if the Jesuits, victims to the jealousy of the Spanishviceroys, had not been shamefully plundered and expelled from Mexico,they would have brought around them the majority of the fiercest _IndiosBravos_, have civilised them, and made them give up their nomadic life.
It is to one of these missions we purpose conducting the reader, a monthafter the events we have narrated in a preceding work.[1]
The mission of Nuestra Senora de los Angeles was built on the rightbank of the Rio San Pedro, about sixty leagues from Pitic. Nothing canequal the grandeur and originality of its position. Nothing can compare,in wild grandeur and imposing severity, with the majestically terriblelandscape which presents itself to the vision, and fills the heart withterror and a melancholy joy, at the sight of the frightful and gloomyrocks which tower over the river like colossal walls and giganticparapets, apparently formed by some convulsion of nature; while in themidst of this chaos, at the foot of these astounding precipices, pastwhich the river rushes in impetuous cascades, and in a delicious valleycovered with verdure, stands the house, commanded on three sides byimmense mountains, which raise their distant peaks almost to the heavens.
Alas! this house, formerly so smiling, so animated, so gay andhappy--this remote corner of the world, which seemed a counterpart ofEden, where, morning and night, hymns of gratitude, mingling with thecascade, rose to the Omnipotent--this mission is now dead and desolate,the houses are deserted and in ruins, the church roof has fallen in,the grass has invaded the choir. The terrified members of this simpleand innocent community, scattered by persecution, sought refuge in thedesert, and returned to that savage life from which they were rescuedwith so much difficulty. Wild beasts dwell in the house of God, andnothing is heard save the voice of solitude murmuring unceasinglythrough the deserted houses and crumbling walls, which parasitic plantsare rapidly invading, and will soon level with the ground, covering themwith a winding sheet of verdure.
It was evening. The wind roared hoarsely through the trees. The sky,like a dome of diamond, flashed with those millions of stars which arealso worlds; the moon spread around a vague and mysterious light; andthe atmosphere, refreshed by a gusty breeze, was embalmed with thosedesert odours which it is so healthy to respire.
Still the night was somewhat fresh, and three travellers, crouchinground a large _brasero_ kindled amid the ruins, seemed to appreciate itskindly warmth. These travellers, on whose hard features the changingflashes of light were reflected, would have supplied a splendid subjectfor an artist, with their strange costumes, as they were encamped therein the midst of the wild and startling landscape.
A little distance behind the principal group four hobbled horses weremunching their provender, while their riders, for their part, wereconcluding a scanty meal, composed of a slice of venison, a few piecesof _tasajo_, and maize tortillas, the whole washed down with waterslightly dashed with refino to take off its hardness.
These three men were Count Louis, Valentine, and Don Cornelio. Althoughthey ate like true hunters--that is to say, with good appetite, and notlosing a mouthful--it was easy to guess that our friends were engagedwith serious matters for thought. Their eyes wandered incessantlyaround, consulting the shadows, and striving to pierce the darkness.At times the hand stopped half way to the mouth--the lump of tasajoremained in suspense: with their left hand they instinctively soughtthe rifle that lay on the ground near them. They stretched forth theirnecks, and listened attentively, analysing those thousand namelessnoises of the great American deserts, which all have a cause, and are aninfallible warning to the man who knows how to understand them.
Still the meal drew to an end. Don Cornelio had seized his _jarana_; butat a sign from Don Louis he laid it again by his side, wrapped himselfin his _zarape_, and stretched himself out on the ground. Valentine wasin deep reflection. Louis had risen, and, leaning against a wall, lookedcautiously out into the desert. A long period elapsed ere a word wasexchanged, until Louis seated himself again by the hunter's side.
"'Tis strange," he said.
"What?" Valentine replied abstractedly.
"Curumilla's prolonged absence. He has left us for nearly three hourswithout telling us the reason, and has not returned yet."
"Have you any suspicion of him?" the hunter said with a certain degreeof bitterness.
"Brother," Louis replied, "you are unjust at this moment. I do notsuspect; I am restless, that is all. Like yourself, I feel a too livelyand sincere friendship for the chief not to fear some accident."
"Curumilla is prudent; no one is so well acquainted as he with Indiantricks. If he has not returned, there are important reasons for it, beassured."
"I am convinced of it; but the delay his absence causes us may proveinjurious."
"How do you know, brother? Perhaps our safety depends on this veryabsence. Believe me, Louis, I know Curumilla much better than you do.I have slept too long side by side with him not to place the utmostconfidence in him. Thus, you see, I patiently await his return."
"But supposing he has fallen into a snare, or has been killed?"
Valentine regarded his foster brother with a most peculiar look; then hereplied, with a shrug of his shoulders, and an air of supreme contempt,--
"He fallen into a snare! Curumilla dead! Nonsense, brother, you must bejesting! You know perfectly well that is impossible."
Louis had no objection to offer to this simple profession of faith.
"At any rate," he continued presently, "you must allow that he has keptus waiting a long time."
"Why so? What do we want of him at this moment? You do not intend toleave this bivouac, I fancy? Well, what consequence is it if he returnan hour sooner or later?"
Louis made a sign of impatience, wrapped himself up in his zarape, andlay down by Don Cornelio's side, after growling,--
"Good night."
"Good night, brother," Valentine answered with a smile.
Ten minutes later, Don Louis, despite his ill temper, overcome byfatigue, slept as if he were never to wake up again. Valentine alloweda quarter of an hour to elapse ere he made a move; then he rose gently,crept up to his foster brother, bent over him, and examined himattentively for two or three minutes.
"At length," he said, drawing himself up. "I was afraid he would insiston sitting up and keeping me company."
The hunter thrust into his girdle the pistols he had laid on the ground,threw his rifle over his shoulder, and stepping carefully across thestones and rubbish that burdened the soil, rapidly but noiselesslyretired, and speedily disappeared in the darkness. He walked in this wayfor about ten minutes, when he reached a dense thicket. Then he crouchedbehind a shrub, and, after taking a cautious survey of the surroundingcountry, whistled gently thrice, being careful to leave an equal spaceof time between each signal. At the expiration of two or three minutesthe cry of the moorhen was heard twice from the midst of the trees thatbordered the river's bank only a few paces from the spot where thehunter was standing.
"Good!" the latter muttered. "Our friend is punctual; but, as thewisdom of nations says somewhere that prudence is the mother of surety,let us be prudent: that can do no harm when dealing with such scamps."
And the worthy hunter set the hammer of his rifle. After taking thisprecaution he left the thicket in which he had been concealed, andadvanced with apparent resolution, but still without neglecting anyprecaution to avoid a surprise, toward the spot whence the reply to hissignal had come. When he had covered about half the distance four orfive persons came forward to meet him.
"Oh, oh!" the hunter said; "these people appear very eager to speak withme. Attention!"
Hereupon he stopped, raised his rifle to his shoulder, and aimed at thenearest man.
"Halt," he said, "or I fire!"
"_Capo de Dios!_ you are quick, caballero," an ironical voice answered."You do not allow yourself to be easily approached; but uncock yourrifle--you see that we are unarmed."
"Apparently so, I grant; but who guarantees me that you have not armsconcealed about your person?"
"My honour, sir," the first speaker answered haughtily. "Would youventure to doubt it?"
The hunter laughed.
"I doubt everything at night, when I am alone in the desert, and seebefore me four men whom I have every reason for believing are not myfriends."
"Come, come, sir, a little more politeness, if you please."
"I wish nothing more. Still, you requested this interview; hence you arebound to accept my conditions, and not I yours."
"As you please, Don Valentine: you shall arrange matters as you will.Still, the first time we had a conference together, I found you muchmore facile."
"I do not deny it. Come alone, and we will talk."
The stranger gave his companions a sign to stop where they were, andadvanced alone.
"That will do," the hunter said as he uncocked his rifle, and rested thebutt on the ground, crossing his hands over the muzzle.
The man to whom Valentine displayed so little confidence, or, to speakmore clearly, whom he doubted so greatly, was no other than General DonSebastian Guerrero.
"There, now you must be satisfied. I think I have given you a greatproof of my condescension," the general said as he joined him.
"You have probably your reasons for it," the hunter replied, with acunning look.
"Sir!" the general haughtily objected.
"Let us be brief and clear, like men who appreciate one anothercorrectly," Valentine said dryly. "I am neither a fool nor a maninfatuated with his own merits; hence frankness, reciprocal frankness,can alone bring us to any understanding, if that be possible, though Idoubt it."
"What do you suppose, then, sir?"
"I suppose nothing, general. I am certain of what I assert, that isall. What probability is there that a great personage like you, general,Governor of Sonora, and Lord knows what else, would lower yourself tosolicit from a poor fellow of a hunter like myself an interview atnight, in the heart of the desert, unless he hoped to obtain a greatadvantage from that interview? A man must be mad or a fool not to seethat at the first glance; and Heaven be thanked, I am neither one northe other."
"Suppose that things are as you state?"
"Suppose it, then; I have no objection. Now come to facts."
"Hum! that does not appear to me so easy with you."
"Why so? Our first relations, as you reminded me just now, ought to haveproved to you that I am easy enough in business matters."
"That is true. Still the transaction I have to propose to you is ofrather a peculiar nature, and I am afraid----"
"What of? That I shall refuse? Hang it! you understand there is a riskto be incurred."
"No; I am afraid that you will not exactly catch the spirit of theaffair, and feel annoyed."
"Do you think so? After all, that is possible. Would you like me to saveyou the trouble of an explanation?"
"How so?"
"Listen to me."
The two men were standing just two paces apart, looking in each other'seyes. Still Valentine, ever on his guard, was carefully watching,though not appearing to do so, the four men left behind.
"Speak!" the general said.
"General, you wish simply to propose to me that I should sell my friend."
Don Sebastian, at these words, pronounced with a cutting accent,involuntarily gave a sign of surprise, and fell back a pace.
"Sir!"
"Is it true--yes or no?"
"You employ terms----" the general stammered.
"Terms have nothing to do with the matter. Now that you have discoveredDon Louis is not the accomplice you hoped to find, who would raise youto the president's chair, and as you despair of changing his views, youwish to get rid of him--that is natural."
"Sir!"
"Let me continue. For that purpose you can hit on nothing better thanbuying him. Indeed, you are used to such transactions. I have in myhands the proofs of several which do you a great deal of honour."
The general was livid with terror and rage. He clenched his fists andstamped, while uttering unconnected words. The hunter seemed not tonotice this agitation, and continued imperturbably,--
"Still you are mistaken in applying to me. I am no Dog-face, a fellowwith whom you made a famous bargain some years ago. I have dealt incattle, but never in human flesh. Each man has his speciality, and Ileave that to you."
"Stay, sir!" the general exclaimed in a paroxysm of fury. "What doyou want to come to? Did you accept this interview for the purpose ofinsulting me?"
Valentine shrugged his shoulders.
"You do not believe it," he said: "that would be too childish. I want topropose a business transaction."
"What!"
"Or a bargain, if you prefer that term."
"What is its nature?"
"I can tell you in two words. I have in my possession various papers,which, if they saw light, and were, handed to certain persons, mightcost you not only your fortune, but possibly your life."
"Papers!" Don Sebastian stammered.
"Yes, general; your correspondence with a certain North Americandiplomatist, to whom you offered to deliver Sonora and one or two otherprovinces, if the United Sates supplied you with the means to seize thepresidency of the Mexican Republic."
"And you have those papers?" the general said with ill-restrainedanxiety.
"I have the letters, with your correspondent's answers."
"Here?"
"Of course," Valentine said with a laugh.
"Then you will die!" the general yelled
, bounding like a panther on thehunter.
But the latter was on his guard. By a movement as quick as hisadversary's, he seized the general by the throat, threw himself uponhim, and laid his foot on his chest.
"One step further," he said coldly to the general's companions, who wererunning up at full speed to his aid, "one step, and he is a dead man."
Certainly the general was a brave man. Many times he had suppliedunequivocal proofs of a courage carried almost to temerity: still hesaw such resolution flashing in the hunter's tawny eye, that he felt ashudder pass through all his limbs--he was lost, he was afraid.
"Stop, stop!" he cried in a choking voice to his friends.
The latter obeyed.
"I could kill you," Valentine said; "you are really in my power; butwhat do I care for your life or death? I hold both in my hands. Rise!Now, one word--take care that you do nothing against the count."
The general had profited by the hunter's permission to rise; but sosoon as he felt himself free, and his feet were firmly attached to theground, a revolution was effected in him, and he felt his courage return.
"Listen in your turn," he said. "I will be as frank and brutal with youas you were with me. It is now a war to the death between us, withoutpity and without mercy. If I have to carry my head to the scaffold, thecount shall die; for I hate him, and I require his death to satisfy myvengeance."
"Good!" Valentine coldly answered.
"Yes," the general said sarcastically. "Come, I do not fear you! I donot care if you employ the papers with which you threatened me, for I aminvulnerable."
"You think so?" the hunter said slowly.
"I despise you; you are only adventurers: You can never touch me."
Valentine bent toward him.
"Perhaps not," he said; "but your daughter?"
And, taking advantage of the general's stupefaction, the hunter uttereda hoarse laugh and rushed into the thicket, where it was impossible tofollow him.
"Oh!" the general muttered, at the expiration of a moment, as he passedhis hand over his damp forehead, "the demon! My daughter!" he yelled,"my daughter!"
And he rejoined his companions, and went off with them, not respondingto one of the questions they asked him.
[1] See "Gold-Seekers." Same publishers.