j maian uiiei, ' 
 
 
 A_TALE OF LIFE IN MEXICO, 
 
 ~ 
 
 THE 
 
 TRACK. 
 
 BY 
 
 GUSTAVE AJMAM), 
 
 THE 
 
 n' n '" " PIKATE ' S OF THE PRAIRIES," "THK TKAPPEK'S 
 
 GOLD SEEKERS," "THE TIGER SLAYER," 
 
 "THE BORDER RIFLES," "THE FREE- 
 30TBBS," "THK \VHITE SCALPER," -TRAPPERS OF \R- 
 KAHSAWV "THE CHIEF OF TUK - LAST op 
 
 THE KXCAS," '-THE QL'EEN OF THE SAVA.XAUi " 
 "THE ADYENTUKERS," "THE Ti;,\I'i' 
 "THE PEARLS OF THE ANDES,'' "THE 
 SMUGGLES," "STRONGHAND, OR THE 
 K013LE KEVEWGE," ETC., ETC , ; 
 
 m 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 T. B PETERSON AND BROTHERS;" 
 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
 PRICE 50 CENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 BOOK ISSUED I N TH IS SE RT ES 
 
B, PETERSON 
 
 .e Books on this page will ba fjs.nl ta be the very Best and Latest Publications in the worli 
 and are Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia. 
 
 MRS. HENRY WOOD'S BOOKS. 
 
 The Kanaway Mali 
 
 r, 
 
 DISRAELI'S WORKS. 
 
 - 50 
 SO 
 
 The Earl '8 Ilcira, - 
 
 - 
 Th% Lost Bank Note, SO Better fur Worse, 
 
 Above tire each in-one volot/je, pnper cover. Each one 
 it also rtublUhed in one volume, cloth, price i5eei\ts each. 
 The ChftLnings,- - 75 1 Aurora 1'loyd, - 50 
 
 The shore ore each in one Tdanae, paper cover. Each 
 coo is, also puhlisiied in one TO!., cloth, price Out Dollar. 
 A r erner's Pride, - -* 1 00 I The Castle's Heir, - 1 00 
 Squire Trvly's Heir, 1 00 1 Shadow oi Ashlydyat, 1 ( 
 
 The above are each to on* vol tune paper cover. Each 
 one is also published in one volume., cloth, price $1.2j 
 Foeey Night at Ofibrd, 83 I The Lawyer's Secret, 25 
 i Allair, - 25 j 
 
 GUSTAVE AIMARD'S WORKS. 
 
 The Prairie Flower, - 
 The Indian Scout, 
 The Trail Hunter, - 
 
 The Indian Chief, - 
 The Keii Track, 
 
 Pirates of the Prairies, 
 Trapper's Daughter, - 
 The Tigir Slayer, - 
 The Gold Seekers, - 
 The Smuggle-. 
 
 MRS. DANIELS' GREAT BOOKS. 
 
 Marrying for Money, 
 The Poor Cousin, 
 
 ^p^ 
 
 The 
 Tli 
 enei 
 Hide 
 Afte 
 The 
 Sigh 
 
 Th* 
 
 Con) 
 
 W 
 
 The 
 
 At. 
 
 ws> 
 
 3 
 
 el 
 
 50 1 Kate Vf alsingham, - 
 501 
 
 Henrietta Temple, - 
 Vivian Grey, - 
 Vejietia, 
 
 Young Diike, - 
 Miriam Alroy, 
 
 leming, 
 
 FRANK FAIRLEGH'S WORKS. 
 
 Frank Fairlegh, - - 75 I Fortunes of Harry 
 I>ewi Aruudel,- - 75 j Racket Scapegrace, 
 
 ' editions of above are issued hi cloth, at 1 50 each. 
 Barry Coverdale's Court- I Lorrim-er Littlegood, - 1' 
 cloth, lit| or in cloth, - 1 
 
 C. J. PETERSON'S WORKS. 
 
 Old Stone Mansion, - 1 00 ( Kate Aylesford,- - 1 
 The above are each ic one vol ., paper cover. Each o: 
 Js also published in one volume, cloth, price $1.50 each. 
 Cruisrnsr in Last War, 50 I Grace- Ihidley r or Ar- 
 Yalley Farm, - - 25 \ Bold at Saratoga, - 
 
 MAITLAND^S WORKS. 
 
 The Watchman, - 1 00 I IMaryof an Old Doctor 1 
 The Wanderer, - - 1 00 Sartnroe, - - - 1 
 The lawyer's Story 1 80 5 The Three Cousins, - 1 
 Above are each in one vol., paper cover. Each cue 
 *lso- published, in one rol. doth, price ^1.50-each. 
 
 T ATSTttTTAOTCR WTTTT01 
 
 GOOD BOOKS FOKEVJi'liLYJJU 
 
 Tkt Qnaker Sti ffl er, 
 Aitentoen cf \Jmuar- 
 
 High Life 5 New York, 1 (K> 
 P5neip Wcx)3 Ta-rero, 1 OO 
 lAla.AaoDtea life au<3 
 LeeJimi, - - J 00 
 
 makr, - 
 
 - 1 6O 
 
 Life- and Bwaorie* tf 
 
 Fanny Fn>, - -3 
 Seeessi(x>, CDCTCJOB, 
 
 ana CTrt-iJ War. - 3 O> 
 Memeiwo? Tiitoc^ - I CO I 
 
 Yankee- SSr^rtes,- - J CO) Hunxan FalefxAritfge, 1 00 
 iorfy >7uwl ; or tfie Wcodcr af Kksgswood Chase-, 1 0<> 
 
 ThenOoire ore each xo rm> -rolanee*, paoejcover. lach 
 
 Mitjro? .; 
 
 - AiitveQ- 
 
 1TC 
 
 ... rry Coverfali. _ 
 Courtship, cloth, - 1 50 
 Aiaerisaa Jo Miter, 25 
 
 MASTEI 
 
 ithout a 
 ithout a 
 
 _erroan, Spanit 
 . A Master, where 
 n be learned by a 
 of this great bo( 
 isfied in flnej siy 
 'ee, fil.50. 
 
 HUMOR. 
 
 i' Cloth. 
 'oods' Tavern, 
 
 - 1 
 
 ones's Court- 
 and 1 Travels, 
 rated, cloth, - 2 
 Suggs' Adven 
 nd Travels. 
 r*teit, eloth, - 1 
 (ones's Scenes 
 orgia, eloth, - 1 
 
 , theClock- 
 r, tloth, - - 1 
 mors of Falcon- 
 , tloth, - - 1 
 . ank Forrester's 
 Sporting Scenes and 
 Characters, 2 vole., 3 
 
 DOWS PATENT SERMONS 
 
 
 Itow's Paten t Sermon, ' Dow's Patent Sermon,) , 
 
 1st Series, "5c. eloth, 
 
 *S^5rWSSt ^ J^-SSSSSS; , 
 
 HENRY W. HERBERrS BOOKS 
 
 Wkiovr 
 JMSD..' 
 
 erf 
 
 Western Scmss, si 
 
 Iifel 1 j* Prairie, 
 
 f<?, 
 
 Tl'cfcmgsfttxn Tjc&yan 
 ;> arsesie 
 aoxl Et- ,-HJ Orcr, - 
 
 SO \ The Quorsdoa Houud, 
 Sfy Shoot/n? BOJI, - 
 Warwick WofxJlandsv 
 The Bee-i StfcTken-, - 
 Peter Hoddy, - 
 
 rUn Farasgo, - 
 Major O'Began'u Ad- 
 
 ventiires, - 
 So>. Smith's Thestri- 
 
 Sol. s'mith'B Thealri- 
 sat Jonmey-Worii, - 
 trtCT 7i<ict-in 
 
 Ken tuck v, 
 
 50 
 
 , 
 
 3Tew Orleans Sketch 
 Boch. - - - 
 
 I 'OX, - i 
 
 ;, c er, - - 50- ; Quorndor, Hounds, - 
 The Roosan Traitor,! vol., cU #1.50, or2vds..,pftp.,S'l 
 
 ELLEN PICKERING'S WORKS. 
 
 Viece, ~ 
 The Grumbler, - 
 Ellen Wareham, 
 
 hall be- Heir? - 
 Secret Foe, - 
 Expectant^- 
 
 S0>| Frighl- 
 50 ! Qu'. 
 I Nan Darrell, 
 
 Prince and Pedlar, 
 
 Me/chant's Daughter, 
 The Souti> 
 
 DR. HOLLICK'S WORKS 
 
 Dr. IToiricK's great irork on Anatomy and Physi- 
 
 olocy of the ttuiaaa Figure, -with plates, - - - 
 Dr. liolllck's Family Physiciac, - 
 
 USEFUL BOOKS FOR EVERYBOD 
 
 Ptrcivul ^^ay^errv's Ad 
 res HIK! Travels, 
 ' nd 
 
 Yiiii). - 
 
 Atv.frit^tn Joe Miller, 
 ;:.'3 at" Fudge- 
 Fumble, 
 
 Miss I.eslle's Behaviour Book, one Trol.,. eloth,, 
 ; 9f Kuch 
 
 LSffi ' Vi T ) th P ^ 
 
 Knovl- ' l ' r 
 
 'r 
 
 ' irn n ^ d ^ n r i j Ilr 
 ,ml 1- lower (.imlender,. 
 
 Arthur's Receipts for Preservins Fruats, *tc. 
 
THE 
 
 RED TRACK. 
 
 BY 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE TRAIL HUNTER," "THE PRAIRIE FLOWER," "THE INDIAN 
 
 SCOUT," "PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES," "THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER," "THE 
 
 GOLD SEEKERS," "THE TIGER SLAYER," "THE INDIAN CHIEF," "THE 
 
 FREEBOOTERS," " THE BORDER RIFLES," " THE WHITE SCALPER," 
 
 "THE TRAPPERS OF ARKANSAW," "THE CHIEF OF THE AUCAS," 
 
 "THE LAST OF THE INCAS," "THE QUEEN OR. THE 
 
 SAVANNAH," " THE PEARLS OF THE ANDES," " THE 
 
 ADVENTURERS," "THE TRAPPERS," "THE 
 
 SMUGGLER," " STRONGIIAND, OR THE 
 
 NOBLE REVENGE," ETC., ETC., ETC. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
A 
 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE present volume of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works is a continuation of the 
 " Indian Chief," and conclusion of the series comprising that work, the " Gold 
 Seekers," and the " Tiger Slayer." 
 
 At the present moment, while the French are engaged in a war with Mexico, 
 I feel assured that the extraordinary and startling descriptions given in this 
 volume of the social condition and mode of life in the capital of that country 
 will be read with universal gratification ; for I can assert confidently that no pre 
 vious writer has ever produced such a graphic and truthful account of a city with 
 which the illustrated papers are now making us thoroughly acquainted. 
 
 If a further recommendation be needed, it will be found in the fact that the 
 present volume appears in an English garb before being introduced to French 
 readers. GUSTAVE AIMARD is so gratified with the reception his works have 
 found in this country, through my poor assistance, that he has considered he 
 could not supply a better proof of his thankfulness than by permitting his Eng 
 lish readers to enjoy, on this occasion, the first-fruits of his versatile and clever 
 pen. This is a compliment which, I trust, will be duly appreciated; for, as to 
 the merits of the work itself, I have not the slightest doubt. Readers may 
 imagine it impossible for GUSTAVE AIMARD to surpass his previous triumphs in 
 the wildly romantic, or that he could invent any thing equal to the " Prairie 
 Flower," a work which I venture to affirm to be the finest Indian tale ever yet 
 written, in spite of the great authors who have preceded AIMARD; but I ask 
 my reader's special admiration for the "Red Track," because in it our favorite 
 author strikes out a new path, and displays a versatility which puts to the blush 
 those bilious critics, few in number, I grant, among the multitude of encour 
 aging reviewers, who have ventured an opinion that GUSTAVE AIMARD can only 
 write about Indian life, or, in point of fact, that he is merely a hunter describing 
 his own experiences under a transparent disguise. 
 
 "Well, be it so; I accept the assertion. GUSTAVE AIMARD is but a hunter; 
 he has seen nought but uncivilized life ; he has spent years among savages, and 
 has returned to his own country to try and grow Europeanized again. What 
 
 15 
 
13 PREFACE. 
 
 then ? The very objection is a proof of his veracity ; and I am fully of the con 
 viction that every story he has told us is true. It is not reasonable to suppose 
 that a man who has spent the greater part of his life in hunting the wild ani 
 mals of America who has been an adopted sou of the most powerful Indian 
 tribes who has for years never known what the morrow would bring forth, 
 should sit down to invent. The storehouse of his mind is too amply filled with 
 marvels for him to take that needless trouble, and he simply repeats on paper 
 the tales which in olden times he picked up at the camp-fires, or heard during 
 his wanderings with the wood-rangers. 
 
 And it is as such that I wish GUSTAVE AIMARD to be judged by English 
 readers. His eminent quality is truth. He is a man who could not set down 
 a falsehood, no matter what the bribe might be. He has lived through the 
 incidents he describes, and has brought back to Europe the adventures of a 
 chequered life. He does not attempt to fascinate his readers by a complicated 
 plot. He does not possess the marvellous invention of a COOPER, who, after a 
 slight acquaintance with a few powerless Indians, wrote books which all ad 
 mirers of the English language peruse. But GUSTAVE AIMARD possesses a 
 higher quality, in the fact that he only notes down incidents which he has seen, 
 or which he has received on undoubted evidence from his companions. 
 
 The present is the twelfth volume of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works to which I 
 have put my name ; and, with the exception of a few captious criticisms whose 
 motive may be read between the lines, the great body of the British Press has 
 greeted our joint efforts with the heartiest applause. The success of this series 
 has been unparalleled in the annals of cheap literature. Day by day the num 
 ber of readers increases, and the publication of each successive volume creates 
 an excitement which cannot fail to be most gratifying to the publishers. 
 
 To wind up this unusually long Preface, into which honest admiration for the 
 author has alone induced me, I wish to say that it affords me an ever-recurring 
 delight to introduce GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works to English readers, while it 
 causes me an extra pleasure, on this occasion, to be enabled to repeat that the 
 present volume appears on this side of the Channel before it has been intro 
 duced to French readers. And, knowing as I do the number of editions through 
 which AIMARD'S books pass in his own native land, I can appreciate the sacri 
 fice he has made on this occasion at its full value. 
 
 LASCELLES WRAXALL. 
 DRAYTON TERRACE, WEST BROMPTON. 
 London, December, 1863. 
 
FROM "BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY/ 
 
 WHAT may be termed savage litera- j 
 tnre always possesses a great fascination i 
 for the reader, and the few writers who i 
 have devoted themselves to that field i 
 -have always secured ready perusal. 
 Who is there among us who has not j 
 hung with breathless interest over the 
 " Last of the Mohicans ?" or followed > 
 the " Pathfinder" through the series of j 
 works that depict his adventurous ca- j 
 reer ? Next came Ruxton, too soon j 
 taken from ns, alas 1 but the few me- 1 
 mortals he left showed how great a loss i 
 our literature suffered in him. Lastly, we ! 
 have had Mayne Reid, who hashis readers | 
 by tens of thousands, and whose novels ! 
 are full of incident and vitality. Others j 
 have trod this field and have failed : in j 
 charity to them we will omit their j 
 names. 
 
 This literature has, hitherto, been 
 almost indigenous to the Anglo-Ameri 
 cans, for no other nation has come so 
 much in contact with the savages as 
 those who sent forth these daring pio 
 neers from North and South to drive the 
 ludians further and further back from 
 their hunting-grounds. Among Ger- 
 mr.ns, the only persons who have touched 
 on the Indians are Charles Sealsfield, in 
 his " Cabin Book," and Kohl, who gave 
 us his charming monogram of the Ojib- 
 beways in his " Travels Round Lake 
 Superior." The French had a very 
 celebrated representative, Louis de Bel- 
 lamare, better known as Gabriel Ferry, 
 but even his deservedly great reputation, 
 resting on his " Coureur de Bois," has 
 paled before the rising lustre of Gustave 
 Aimard, who is at once the French 
 Mayne Reid and Fennimore Cooper. 
 
 Aimard's Indian tales will be found 
 superior to those of both the above- 
 named authors, and for very simple 
 reasons. Although Cooper possessed a 
 great talent for inventing a story, the 
 misfortune is, that the scene is laid 
 within a very confined space : he deals 
 with only the eastern tribes, those which 
 the Yankee element came most into col 
 lision with ; and these tribes, inexorably 
 driven back before the white man, soon 
 lost those salient points which distin 
 guish the savage of the western prairies. 
 The Tnscaroras and Delawares were not 
 lords of the land after the landing of the 
 first pale faces ; they contended inch by 
 inch of their territory, it is true, but 
 their opponents had the prestige of v'c- 
 tory, and the tribes, decimated by whis 
 key and white diseases, had not the 
 energy left to resist. If they formed a 
 confederation, it was but limited in its 
 extent, and fell to pieces from internal 
 dissension. Cooper was, therefore, vir 
 tually right in calling one of his booka 
 " The Last of the Mohicans," even 
 though the scattered fragments of that 
 race still exist beyond the Missis 
 sippi. 
 
 Mayne Reid, on the other hand, acted 
 
 wisely in laying the scene of his stories 
 
 among the untamable tribes of the 
 
 western prairies the Pawnees, the 
 
 | Apaches, and the Camanches that 
 
 haughty race which calls itself " Queen 
 
 of the Prairies," and defies the white 
 
 ! man. These tribes still lord it in the 
 
 j desert ; they are constantly at war with 
 
 the pale faces, and during the " Mexican 
 
 moon" commit frightful ravages in So- 
 
 nora and along the frontier. The de- 
 
 flT) 
 
18 
 
 GUSTAVE AIMARD S WRITINGS. 
 
 generate descendants of Cortez are 
 unable to resist them, and they spread 
 desolation on their path. Villages, even 
 towns, are burned, the crops are ruth 
 lessly destroyed, and the women led into 
 captivity, to become the slaves of the 
 red-skin warriors. Such men, though 
 they be savages, supply a thrilling sub 
 ject for the romance writer, and Mayne 
 Reid did well in laying the scene of his 
 Indian tales among them. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, when yon 
 have read one of Captain Reid's stories, 
 you have read them all, for a marvellous 
 likeness pervades them. The feeling 
 cannot be overcome that, having ex 
 hausted his stock of personal observa 
 tion in his earlier works, he repeats him 
 self, or is obliged to fall back on reading. 
 Another great defect in these otherwise 
 charming tales is the utter absence of 
 plot : you have incidents piled on inci 
 dents, but the conclusion lies as plainly 
 before you as the town you are traveling 
 to on a Dutch road. It may be that 
 Mayne Reid, having to write fora popu 
 lar periodical, does not display that 
 artistic finish of which we believe him 
 quite capable, and that, under different 
 circumstances, he might produce works 
 in every way satisfactory to his readers ; 
 but there is nothing more injurious, he 
 should remember, to a popular author 
 than the whispered "he is writing him 
 self out," from which some of our best 
 writers are now suffering, simply because, 
 having made a reputation, they do 
 nothing on their side to support it. 
 
 The case is very different, however, 
 with the subject of our paper. Gustave 
 Aimard has written some dozen Indian 
 tales, all interesting and all unlike. The 
 great charm of his stories is, indubita 
 bly, the vitality he manages to throw 
 into them; and he writes with such 
 spirit, that, while reading, you cannot 
 but imagine that he is describing to you 
 scenes of which he was an eye-witness. 
 Arid this was very probably the case, 
 for Aimard's life has been one which we 
 defy the most practised romancer to 
 out-romance. He has lived an age (for 
 such an existence cannot be measured 
 by years) among the savages. As 
 adopted son of one of the most power- 
 
 ul Indian nations, he has fought, hunted, 
 trapped by their side, and is thoroughly 
 acquainted with their every ruse. But 
 this is not all ; and fortunately for his 
 readers, he has gone through every 
 phase of desert life. He has been in 
 iurn squatter, hunter, trapper, and miner, 
 and has seen the mode of life of all the 
 adventurers who traverse the Indian 
 deserts in every direction. Twice he 
 was led to the stake of torture by the 
 Apaches, and only saved by a miracle ; 
 he wandered about alone for upwards 
 of a month on the great Del Norte 
 desert ; he was a slave in one of the 
 sacred cities of the Sun, and is probably 
 the only European who returned alive 
 from those gloomy caverns, where the 
 sacred fire of Montezuma is still kept 
 burning, carefully tended by the Vestals, 
 as in ancient Rome ; he was a prisoner 
 for a lengthened period with the cruel 
 and treacherous Patagonians in a 
 word, there is not a portion of uncivilized 
 America, North or South, which he has 
 not traversed, with his good rifle in hand, 
 in defiance of the wild beasts and the still 
 wilder and more dangerous inhabitants. 
 But even such a life as this would 
 avail a man but little for literary pur 
 suits, unless he possessed the gift of 
 putting it in an attractive form, and thia 
 Gustave Aimard has in an eminent 
 degree. He is endowed with all the 
 qualities of a novelist, and while his 
 works read so truthfully, they are of 
 absorbing interest, owing to the clever 
 way in which the author maintains the 
 surprise, which is the great character 
 istic, even though an unworthy one, 
 perhaps, of the successful novelist. 
 With the first novel he produced on his 
 return, "The Grand Chief of the Aucas," 
 his reputation was established in France, 
 and he has constantly marched to fresh 
 triumphs. Nearly every month a fresh 
 work is produced from his prolific pen ; 
 and yet, though we have read them all 
 with unabated interest, we have not 
 found an instance where he has repeated 
 them, excepting, of course, where he has 
 found it necessary to describe Indian 
 manners and customs, which do not 
 vary. Many of his earlier works have 
 reached the sixth edition, and we may 
 
GUSTAVE AIMARD'S WRITINGS. 
 
 19 
 
 safely say that he has a clientele in 'hundred men, and with no guns, has hard- 
 Paris greater than even Paul de Kock ly been surpassed in the history of modern 
 had in his palmiest days. warfare.* No better hero for a romance 
 
 It is no slight merit for a French could have offered; and while M. Aimard 
 author to achieve, that these works do j has adhered rather closely to facts, he has 
 not contain a single line which an interwoven a web of human interest by 
 English reader would wish away. M. j sundry love passages that take place 
 Aimard is too truly a man to attempt j between the count and the daughter of 
 corrupting the hearts and minds of his , his great enemy, the governor of Sonora. 
 
 readers by high-flown sentiment ; if we 
 find fault with him at all, it is for invest- 
 in s his Indian characters with too much 
 
 Among all that is good, it is difficult 
 to choose the best, but, in our opinion, 
 "The Flower of the Prairie," and its 
 humanity, and endowing them with ! sequel, the " Indian Scout," are the most 
 attributes which are generally the boast | successful of all M. Aimard's Indian 
 of civilization alone. But he is the best stories, possibly because they deal more 
 judge of such matters : he has made the with civilization than the rest of the tales 
 Indian character the study of his life, do. Perhaps our readers will not object 
 and we may safely accept at his hands a ' to a short analysis of the plot, which we 
 picture which we may deem too flatter- ' trust will impel them to seek the book 
 ing, but which, after all, may be ex- '. itself, 
 plained by the many-sided phases human 
 life assumes, to the skin that covers white, 
 red, or black. If Mrs. Stowe 
 allowed to rehabilitate the negro 
 
 " Uncle Tom's Cabin," surely, no fault 
 is to be found with Gustave Aimard 
 because he manfully upholds the men 
 with whom he spent so many years of 
 his life, and whom he learnt to love and 
 admire in spite of their faults, which are, 
 after all, inherent in their nature. 
 
 After the fashion of Fennimore 
 Cooper, Airaard generally selects one 
 hero,, whom he accompanies through 
 several volumes, although they are all 
 
 In consequence of intrigues, Don Real 
 de los Montes is obliged to fly from 
 was j Mexico, leaving his wife and daughter 
 in charge of his brother, Don Estevan. 
 The latter, who had concocted the in 
 
 trigue in the hope of succeeding to his 
 brother's wealth, forces the ladies into a 
 convent, where the mother dies, and the 
 daughter, Dona Luisa, is immured alive 
 in the oubliettes. Fortunately for her, 
 her young lover, Don Leo de Torres, 
 hears of this, breaks into the convent, 
 carries her and a companion, Dona 
 Laura, off, and flies into the desert. So 
 eager, however, is Don Estevan's pursuit 
 
 complete in themselves, and require no j in order to destroy the last witness of his 
 elucidatory remarks. In one series, } crime, that Don Leo is compelled to 
 
 composed of "The Pirates of the 
 Prairies," " The Trapper's Daughter," 
 "The Tiger Slayer," "The Gold 
 Seeker," and "The Indian Chief," his 
 h n ro is the unfortunate Count de Raous- 
 set Boulbon, who fell a victim to Mexi 
 can ill-faith in 1848, and was shot like a 
 dog by the governor of Sonora. His 
 hapless fate created a sensation through 
 out Europe at the time, but faded away 
 in presence of the weird political events 
 that occupied all minds iu that eventful 
 year. Had the count been successful, 
 he would have ranked in history by the 
 side of Cortez and Pizarro, and his ex 
 ploit of taking the fortified town of 
 Hermosello, at the head of scarce three 
 
 entrust the two ladies to Addick, an 
 Apache chief, who conveys them to the 
 City of the Sun, with the intention of 
 never giving them up again. This Addick 
 is a double rogue, and plays with both 
 parties for his own profit. Under these 
 circumstances, Bon-affut, the Eclairenr, 
 or scout, makes his appearance, accom 
 panied by another Canadian hunter, 
 Balle-franche (the hero of a previous 
 tale), and Eagle-head, a celebrated 
 Camanche chief. Don Estevan is cap 
 tured while arranging his villainy, and 
 his brother, Don Mariano, arrives in the 
 desert in time to accuse him before the 
 terrible Court of Lynch Law. He is 
 found guilty, and unceremoniously con- 
 
20 
 
 GUSTAVE AIHARD'S WRITINGS. 
 
 demned to be buried alive, with his right 
 hand free to clutch a pistol when he 
 grows tired of his awful position. 
 
 Don Mariano, however, relents, and 
 gives Balle-franche the hint to liberate 
 him. He does so at the last moment, 
 and receives his reward by being knocked 
 on the head by the ungrateful villain, 
 who makes off with his horse and joins 
 the Apaches, to whom he consents to 
 surrender the two ladies, on condition 
 that none of his enemies leave the desert 
 alive. On hearing the news from Balle- 
 franche that Don Estevan is free, the 
 gambusinos break up their camp at once, 
 and hasten off in the hope of realizing 
 the ladies before Don Estevan reaches 
 the city. 
 
 The description of the march through 
 the virgin forests is unique, and we would 
 gladly quote illustrative passages, did 
 our space permit Suffice it to say that, 
 after countless skirmishes with the In 
 dians, they all arrive in sight of the Sa 
 cred City to discover that the Apaches 
 have reached it before them. At this 
 moment Bon-affut appears as the Deus 
 ex machina. Disguised as a medicine 
 man, and aided by Eagle-head, he man 
 ages to get into the Sacred City (the de 
 tailed description of which, by the way, 
 is admirably done, and evidently by an 
 eye-witness), and by stratagem,, too long 
 to describe, and would be spoiled in 
 shortening, gets the ladies out. The 
 Europeans fly, hotly pursued by the In 
 dians, who are furious to avenge the 
 sacrilege committed on their sacred 
 ground, and the party at length enter 
 Sonora to find the Indians before them, 
 perpetrating the horrors of the Mexican 
 Moon. They are beleaguered, and, 
 after a frightful combat, are about to 
 put an end to their lives, sooner than 
 fall into the hands of their furious foes, 
 when Eagle-head arrives at the head of 
 the Camanches, and puts the Apaches 
 to flight with immense slaughter. 
 
 This outline, naturally bald as it is, 
 will serve to show the strong human in 
 terest of the story, and the powerful way 
 in which it is worked out. But it would 
 be hopeless for us to attempt to furnish 
 any idea of the scenes that fill up the 
 volume, and the countless delicate 
 
 touches the author gives to bring out 
 the Indian character in all its glory. 
 We feel convinced that Eagle-head will 
 find as many admirers as the last chief 
 of the Mohicans, for he is quite as in 
 exorable and chivalrous. The character 
 of his squaw, Fleur d'Eglantine, is also 
 most exquisitely drawn, and altogether 
 the volume produces an effect on the 
 reader which cannot be described but 
 must be felt. "Whoever reads it on our 
 recommendation, will, we feel assured, 
 not be disappointed. 
 
 In a political point of view, these In 
 dian tales possess considerable interest, 
 as coming from one who has carefully 
 studied the question. It is very remark 
 able to find, in the nineteenth century, 
 that the savages, once driven back thou 
 sands of miles from the frontier of civi 
 lization by the Spanish conquistadors, 
 are gradually regaining their ground, 
 and forcing the Mexicans to retire in 
 their turn. Large districts, once co 
 vered by haciendas, have now been re 
 gained to the desert ; the presidios built 
 to keep the invader at bay, have been 
 ruined, and there is nothing to check the 
 advance of the prairie Indians save their 
 own desire to return home, after com 
 pleting a successful raid, and enjoying 
 the spoils. With the Americans ad 
 vancing to the east and south, the sav 
 ages on the west and north, Mexico, must 
 inevitably be swallowed up between 
 them, and the great contest will com 
 mence. 
 
 But, putting this question aside, there 
 is another and more cheerful aspect 
 under which we may regard the great 
 and deserved success of Aimard's Indian 
 tales. It indicates that the reign of 
 frivolity and immorality which has so 
 long weighed down French literature is 
 drawing to an end, and that a taste for 
 healthier reading is being produced. 
 That they are healthy reading we have 
 already said ; that they are deeply inte 
 resting does not admit of a doubt; and 
 that they are decidedly the best of their 
 sort is the opinion we entertain, and 
 which we believe our readers will con 
 firm when they have compared them 
 with other works of the same nature 
 offered them before 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Sierra of the Wind River ,.,.,,,. 23 
 
 II. The Dead Alive 28 
 
 III The Compact 33 
 
 IV. The Travellers 38 
 
 Y. The Fort of the Chichimeques 43 
 
 YL The Surprise ,,,,.. 43 
 
 TIL The Explanation 53 
 
 VIII. A Declaration of War *.... 57 
 
 IX. Mexico 2 
 
 X. The Rancho 08 
 
 XL The Paseo de Bucarelli 73 
 
 XII. A Confidential Conversation 78 
 
 XIIL Don Martial 83 
 
 XIV. The Yelorio 88 
 
 XV. The Convent of the Bernardines 93 
 
 XVI. The Confessor ,.,, 98 
 
 XYIL The Beginning of the Struggle 103 
 
 XVIII. A Visit 108 
 
 XIX. Assistance 112 
 
 XX. El Zaragate 117 
 
 XXL After the Interview 123 
 
 XXIL The Blank Signature ^ 127 
 
 XXIIL On the Road 133 
 
 XXIV. A Skirmish 138 
 
 XXV. Los Regocijos 142 
 
 XXVL The Pronunciamiento ' 147 
 
 XXVII The Capilla 152. 
 
 21 
 
T, B, PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF NEW BOOKS, 
 
 The following are the most entertaining Books published. They are suitable for the 
 Parlor, Library, Sitting Room, Railroad, Steamboat or Soldier's reading, and are written by 
 the best writers in the world. The cheapest placo in the world to buy Books of all kinds, 
 suitable for Soldiers and for the Army, and all other reading, is at the Cheap Publishing 
 and Bookselling House of T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 
 No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 
 Any person wanting any Books at all, in any quantity, from a single Book to a 
 hundred, thousand or larger quantity of Books, had better send on their orders at once to 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, who have the largest stock in the country, 
 and will supply them cheaper than any other house in the world. We have just issued 
 a New Catalogue, which we send gratuitously to all on their sending for one. 
 
 Inclose one, five, ten, twenty, fifty or a hundred dollars, or more to us in a letter, and 
 write what kind of books you wish, and they will be packed and sent to you at once, with 
 circulars, showbills, &c., gratis, just as well assorted and selected, if not better, than it 
 you were on the spot to pick them out yourself. 
 
 Copies of any of the following, or any other Books published, will be sent to any one 
 to any place, free of postage, on remitting us the price of the books wanted in a letter. 
 
 LIST OF NEW POPULAR BOOKS. 
 
 The Life and Public Services of Major-General Grant, 
 the Hero of " Fort Donelson," " Vicksburg," and " Chat 
 tanooga," ii published and for sale this day, complete in 
 one large volume, paper cover, price 23 cents. Agents and 
 Canvassers wan ted everywhere to engage in the sale of this 
 book. 
 
 The Lawyer's Secret. By Miss M. E. Braddon, author 
 of "Aurora Floyd," " Lady Audlcy'e Secret," etc. Price 
 25 cents. 
 
 The Days of Shoddy. A Novel of the Great Rebellion 
 of 1861. By Henry Morford, author of " Shouldei^Straps." 
 Complete in one large volume, paper cover, Railway Edi 
 tion, price One Dollar; or bound in cloth, for #1.50. 
 
 Consuelo. By George Sand. A new and beautiful edi 
 tion. Being the only complete aud unabridged edition 
 ever printed. One volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Countess of Rudolstadt. The Sequel to " Consuclo." 
 A new and beautiful edition. Being the only complete 
 (ind unabridged edition ever printed. Price 50 cents. 
 
 We have also just issued an odition of " Consuelo," and 
 1U sequel, the "Countess of Rudolstadt," in one large 
 octavo volume, bound in cloth. Price #1.50. 
 
 Ernest LInwood. By Airs. Caroline Lee Ilcntz. Price 
 51-00 In paper, or #1.50 in cloth. 
 
 The Runaway Match. By Mrs. Wood. 50 cents. 
 
 The Three Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. 75 cents. 
 
 Twenty Years After. By Alexander Dumas. 75 cents. 
 
 Bragelonne. By Alexander Dumas. 75 cents. 
 
 Widdifleld's New Cook Book. Bound, #1.25. 
 
 Miss Leslie's New Cookery Book, #1.50. 
 
 Mrs. Bale's New Cook Book, #1.25. 
 
 Miss Leslie's New Receipt Book. 1.25. 
 
 Mrs. Hale'e Receipts for the Million. #1.50. 
 
 The Fatal Marriage. By Mrs. Southworth. #1.00. 
 
 The Lost Bank Note. By Mrs. Wood. 60 cents. 
 
 The Rejected Wife. By Mrs. Stephens. 51.00. 
 
 The Shadow o Ashlydyat. By Mrs. Wood. #i.OO. 
 
 Squire Trevlyn's Heir. By Mrs. Wood. 1.00. 
 
 Shoulder Straps, the Great War Novel. #1.00. 
 
 The Castle's Heir. By Mrs. Wood. #1.00 
 
 The Conscript, a Tale of the War. #1.00. 
 
 Verner's Pride. By Mrs. Henry Wood. TI.OO. 
 
 The Gold Seekers. By Aimard. 50 cents. 
 
 Bights A-Foot. By Wilkie Collins. SOcenta. 
 
 The Tiger Slayer. By Aimard. 50 cents. . 
 
 The Trapper's Daughter. By Aimard. SO cents. 
 
 The Guerilla Chief, a Tale of War. 50 cents. 
 
 The Soldier's Wife. By Reynolds. 50 cents. 
 
 The Twin Lieutenants, a War Story. 50 cents. 
 
 Major Jones Courtship. Illustrated. 50 cents. 
 
 Simon Sugg's Adventures and Travels. 50 cents. 
 
 Annette, the Lady of the Pearls. 50 cents. 
 
 Aurora Floyd. By Miss Braddon. 50 cents. 
 
 Foggy Night at Offord. By Mrs. Wood. 25 cents. 
 
 Somebody's Luggage. By Dickens. 25 cents. 
 
 Pirates of the Prairies. By Aimard. 50 cents. 
 
 The Flirt. By Mrs. Grey. 50 cents. 
 
 Love's Labor Won. By Mrs. Southworth. #1.00. 
 
 Two Prima Donnas. By Sala. 25 cents. 
 
 The Stolen Mask. By Wilkie Collins. 25 cents. 
 
 Camille ( or the Fate of a Coquette. By Dumas. #1.00 
 
 The Initials. A Love Story. #1.00. 
 
 All of Charles Dickens' Books. Each one 50 cents. 
 
 Marrying for Money. By Mrs. Daniels. 50 ceutf . 
 
 Count of Monte Cristo. By Alex. Dumas. #1.00. 
 
 The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. #1.00. 
 
 The Mysteries of Paris. By Eugene Sue. #1.00. 
 
 Lady Maud, or the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By 
 Pierce Egan. #1.00. 
 
 The Earl's Heirs. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 50 cents. 
 
 The Mystery. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 50 cents. 
 
 A Life Secret. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 50 cents. 
 
 The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 75 cents. 
 
 For Better for Worse. From " Temple Bar." 50 cents. 
 
 Fashion and Famine. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. #1.00. 
 
 Mary Derwcnt. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. #1.00. 
 
 The Old Homestead. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. #1.00. 
 
 The Heiress. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. #1.00. 
 
 The Dead Secret. By Wilkie Collins. #1.00. 
 
 The Crossed Path. By Wilkie Collins. #1.00. 
 
 Hide and Seek. By Wilkie Collins. SO cents. 
 
 After Dark. By Wilkie Collins. SO cents. 
 
 Sister Rose. By Wiikie Collins. 25 cents. 
 
 The Yellow Mask. Hy Wilkie Collins. 25 cents. 
 
 The Prairie Flower. By Gustave Aimard. 50 cents. 
 
 The Indian Scout. By Gustave Aimard. 50 cents. 
 
 The Trail Hunter. By Gustave Aimard. 50 cents. 
 
 We have also just issued new editions of all of the worki 
 of "Mrs. Southworth," "Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz," 
 "Mrs. Henry Wood," " Mrs. Ann S. Stephens,"" Charles 
 Dickens," "Lever," and all of the other popular au 
 thors. 
 
 Address all orders and letters for any of the above, to the Publishers, 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, 
 And they will receive prompt attention. $& Send for one of our New and Full Catalogues. 
 
BY GU S T A YE All 1 1KB. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SIERRA OF THE WIND RIVER. 
 
 THE Rocky Mountains form an 
 almost impassable barrier between 
 California and the United States, 
 properly so called ; their formidable 
 denies, their rude valleys, and the 
 vast western plains, watered by 
 rapid streams, are even to the pre 
 sent day almost unknown to the 
 American adventurers, and are 
 rarely visited by the intrepid and 
 daring Canadian trappers. 
 
 The majestic mountain range 
 called the Sierra of the Wind River, 
 especially offers a grand and striking 
 picture, as it raises to the skies its 
 white and snow-clad peaks, which 
 extend indefinitely in a north 
 western direction, until they appear 
 on the horizon like a white cloud, 
 although the experienced eye of the 
 trapper recognizes in this cloud the 
 scarped outline of the Yellow-stone 
 Mountains. 
 
 The Sierra of the Wind River is 
 one of the most remarkable of the 
 Rocky Mountain range ; it forms, 
 so to speak, an immense plateau, 
 thirty leagues long, by ten or twelve 
 in width, commanded by scarped 
 peaks, crowned with eternal snows, 
 and having at their base narrow and 
 deep valleys filled with springs, 
 streams, and rock-bound lakes. 
 These magnificent reservoirs giro 
 rise to some of the mighty rivers 
 which, after running for hundreds of 
 miles through a picturesque terri 
 tory, become on one side the afflu 
 ents of the Missouri, on the other of 
 the Columbia, and bear the tribute 
 of their waters to the two oceans. 
 
 In the stories of the wood-rangers 
 and trappers, the Sierra of the Wind 
 River is justly renowned for its 
 frightful gorges, and the wild country 
 in its vicinity frequently serves as 
 a refuge to the pirates of the prairie, 
 and has been, many a ti me and oft, the 
 scene of obstinate struggles between 
 the white men and the Indians. 
 
 23 
 
24 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 Toward the end of June, 1854, a 
 well- mounted traveller, carefully 
 wrapped up in the thick folds of a 
 sarape, raised to his eyes, was fol 
 lowing one of the most precipitous 
 slopes of the Sierra of the Wind 
 River, at no great distance from the 
 source of the Green River, that great 
 western Colorado which pours its 
 waters into the Gulf of California. 
 
 It was about seven in the evening: 
 the traveller rode along, shivering 
 from the effects of an icy wind which 
 whistled mournfully through the 
 canons. All around had assumed 
 a saddening aspect in the vacillating 
 moonbeams. He rode on without 
 hearing the footfall of his horse, as 
 it fell on the winding sheet of snow 
 that covered the landscape ; at times 
 the capricious windings of the track 
 he was following compelled him 
 to pass through thickets, whose 
 branches, bent by the weight of 
 snow, stood out before him like gi 
 gantic skeletons, and struck each 
 other after he had passed with a 
 sullen snap. 
 
 The traveller continued his jour 
 ney, looking anxiously on both sides 
 of him. His horse, fatigued by a 
 long ride, hobbled at every step, and 
 in spiie of the repeated encourage 
 ment of its rider seemed determined 
 to stop short, when, after suddenly- 
 turning an angle in the track, it 
 suddenly entered a large clearing, 
 where the close-growing grass formed 
 a circle about forty yards in diame 
 ter, and the verdure formed a cheery 
 contrast with the whiteness that 
 surrounded it. 
 
 " Heaven be praised !" the travel 
 ler exclaimed in excellent French, 
 and giving a start of pleasure ; " here 
 is a spot at last where I can camp 
 for to-night, without any excessive 
 inconvenience. I almost despaired 
 of finding one." 
 
 While thus congratulating him 
 
 self, the traveller had stopped his 
 horse and dismounted. His first 
 attention was paid to his horse, from 
 which he removed saddle and bridle, 
 and which he covered with his 
 sarape, appearing to attach no im 
 portance to the cold, which wa^, 
 however, extremely severe in these 
 elevated regions. So soon as it was 
 free, the animal, in spite of its fatigue, 
 began browsing heartily on the 
 grass, and thus reassured about his 
 companion, the traveller began 
 thinking about making the best ar 
 rangements possible for the night. 
 
 Tall, thin, active, with a lofty and 
 capacious forehead, an intelligent 
 blue eye, sparkling with boldness, 
 the stranger appeared to have been 
 long accustomed to desert life, and 
 to find nothing extraordinary or pe 
 culiarly disagreeable in the some 
 what precarious position in which 
 he found himself at this moment. 
 
 He was a man who had reached 
 about middle life, on whose brow 
 grief, rather than the fatigue of the 
 adventurous life of the desert, had 
 formed deep wrinkles, and sown 
 numerous silver threads in his thick 
 light hair; his dress was a medium 
 between that of the white trappers 
 and the Mexican gambusinos; but 
 it was easy to recognize, in spite of 
 his complexion, bronzed by the sea 
 sons, that he was a stranger to the 
 ground he trod, and that Europe 
 had witnessed his birth. 
 
 After giving a final glance of 
 satisfaction at his horse, which at 
 intervals interrupted its repast to 
 raise its delicate and intelligent 
 head to him with an expression of 
 pleasure, he carried his weapons and 
 horse-trappings to the foot of a 
 rather lofty rock, which offered him 
 but a poor protection against the 
 gusts of the night breeze, and then 
 began collecting dry wood to light 
 a watch-fire. 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 25 
 
 It was no easy task to find dry 
 firewood at a spot almost denuded 
 of trees, and whose soil, covered 
 with snow, except in the clearing, 
 allowed nothing to be distinguished ; 
 but the traveller was patient: he 
 would not be beaten ; and within an 
 hour he had collected sufficient wood 
 to feed through the night two such 
 fires as he proposed kindling. The 
 branches soon crackled, and a bright 
 flame rose joyously in a long spiral 
 to the sky. 
 
 ''Ah !" said the traveller, who, 
 like all men constrained to live 
 alone, seemed to have contracted 
 the habit of soliloquizing aloud, 
 "the fire will do, so now for sup 
 per." 
 
 Then, fumbling in the aforgas, or 
 double pockets which travellers al 
 ways carry fastened to the saddle, 
 he took from them all the requisite 
 elements of a frugal meal; that is 
 to say, cecina, pemmican, and sev 
 eral varas of tasajo, or meat dried 
 in the sun. At the moment when, 
 after shutting up his allbrgas, the 
 traveller raised his head to lay his 
 meat on the embers to broil, he 
 stopped motionless, with widely- 
 opened mouth, and it was only 
 through a mighty strength of will 
 that he suppressed a cry of surprise 
 and possibly of terror. Although 
 no sound had revealed his presence, 
 a man, leaning on a long rifle, was 
 standing motionless before him, and 
 gazing at him with profound atten 
 tion. 
 
 At once mastering the emotion he 
 felt, the traveller carefully laid the 
 tasajo on the embers, and then, with 
 out removing his eye from this 
 strange visitor, he stretched out his 
 arm to grasp his rifle, while saying, 
 in a tone of the most perfect indif 
 ference 
 
 " Whether friend or foe, you are 
 
 welcome, mate. 'Tis a bitter night, 
 so, if you are cold, warm yourself, 
 and if you are hungry, eat. When 
 your nerves have regained their 
 elasticity, and your body its usual 
 strength, we will have a frank ex 
 planation, such as 'men of honor 
 ought to have." 
 
 The stranger remained silent for 
 some seconds; then, after shaking 
 his head several times, he com 
 menced in a low and melancholy 
 voice, as it were speaking to him 
 self rather than replying to the 
 question asked him 
 
 "Can any human being really ex 
 ist in whose heart a feeling of pity 
 still remains ?" 
 
 " Make the trial, mate," the trav 
 eller answered quickly, " by accept 
 ing, without hesitation, my hearty 
 offer. Two men who meet in the 
 desert must be friends at first sight, 
 unless private reasons make them 
 implacable enemies. Sit down by 
 my side and eat." 
 
 This dialogue had been held in 
 Spanish, a language the stranger 
 spoke with a facility that proved his 
 Mexican origin. He seemed to re 
 flect for a moment, and then in 
 stantly made up his mind. 
 
 "I accept," he said, "for your 
 voice is too sympathizing and your 
 glance too frank to deceive." 
 
 "That is the way to speak," the 
 traveller said, gayly. "Sit down 
 and eat without further delay, for I 
 confess to you that I am dying of 
 hunger." 
 
 The stranger smiled sadly, and 
 sat down on the ground by the 
 traveller's side. The two men, 
 thus strangely brought together by 
 accident, then attacked with no 
 ordinary vigor, which evidenced a 
 long fast, the provisions placed be 
 fore them. Still, while eating, the 
 traveller did not fail to examine his 
 
26 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 singular companion ; and the fol 
 lowing was the result of his ob 
 servations. 
 
 The general appearance of the 
 stranger was most wretched, and 
 his ragged clothes scarce covered 
 his bony, fleshless body ; while his 
 pale and sickly features were ren 
 dered more sad and gloomy by a 
 thick, disordered beard that fell on 
 his chest. His eyes, inflamed by 
 fever, and surrounded by black cir 
 cles, glistened with a sombre fire, 
 and at times emitted flashes of 
 magnetic radiance. His weapons 
 were in as bad a condition as his 
 clothes, and in the event of a fight 
 this man, with the exception of his 
 bodily strength, which must once 
 have been great, but which priva 
 tions of every description, and pro 
 bably endured for a lengthened 
 period, had exhausted, would not 
 have been a formidable adversary for 
 the traveller. Still, beneath this truly 
 wretched appearance could be traced 
 an organization crushed by grief. 
 There was in this man something 
 grand and sympathetic, which ap 
 peared to emanate from his person, 
 and aroused not only pity but also 
 respect for torture so proudly hid 
 den and so nobly endured. This 
 man, in short, ere he fell so low, 
 must have been great, either in 
 virtue or in vice; but assuredly 
 there was nothing common about 
 him, and a mighty heart beat in his 
 bosom. 
 
 Such was the impression the 
 stranger produced on his host, while 
 both, without the interchange of a 
 word, appeased an appetite sharp 
 ened by long hours of abstinence. 
 Hunters' meals are short, and the 
 present one lasted hardly a quarter 
 of an hour. When it was over, the 
 traveller rolled a cigarette, and, 
 handing it to the stranger, said 
 
 " 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 emo 
 tion ; his dull eye flashed, and, seiz 
 ing the cigarette with a nervous 
 tremor, he exclaimed, in a voice 
 choked by an outburst of joy im 
 possible 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 canons 
 seemed to utter notes of complaint. 
 It was a horrible nig.ht. 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 il 
 lumined by the bluish flame, and 
 smoking calmly while suspended 
 above an unfathomable abyss, had 
 something striking and awe-inspir 
 ing 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 be 
 tween us," he said in a friendly voice, 
 " and that we have nearly formed an 
 acquaintance for we have been sit 
 ting 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 nega- 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 27 
 
 tively, at pleasure. The traveller 
 continued, with a good-humored 
 smile, 
 
 "I make not the slightest pre 
 tence to compel you to reveal your 
 secrets, and you are at liberty to 
 maintain your incognito without in 
 any way offending me. Still, what 
 ever 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 Provi 
 dence, 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 
 forever. Towns are hateful to me ; 
 passionately fond of the grand spec 
 tacles 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 ful 
 fil a vow made on the tomb of a 
 friend. When I have done that, I 
 shall fly to the most unknown de 
 serts, in order to end a life hence 
 forth 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 have 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 country 
 
 men, is Valentine Guillois, and among 
 the red-skins, my adopted fathers, 
 Koutenepi 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 I" 
 
 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; rny 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 
 
28 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 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 name." 
 
 "What is that name?" 
 
 " It had acquired a certain celeb 
 rity, 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. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE DEAD ALIVE. 
 
 THE Tigrero had let his head fall 
 on his chest again, and seemed en 
 gaged with gloomy thoughts. The 
 hunter, somewhat embarrassed by 
 the turn the conversation had taken, 
 and anxious to continue it, mechani 
 cally 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 ex 
 pression of deep sympathy. 
 
 "Stay," he said, presently, as he 
 thrust back with his foot a few em 
 bers that had rolled out; "pardon 
 me, sir, any insult which my excla 
 mation may seem to have contained. 
 You have mistaken, I assure you, 
 the meaning of my remarks; al 
 though, as we have never met, we 
 are not such strangers as you sup 
 pose. 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 mur 
 mured; "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 every thing here below ; 
 and if we have been permitted to 
 meet in a manner so strange and un 
 expected in these desolate regions, 
 it is because Providence has designs 
 with us which we cannot yet detect; 
 let us, therefore, not attempt to re 
 sist 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 impossi 
 ble?" 
 
 "I repeat to you, senor," 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, can. 
 
THE RED TKACK. 
 
 not be the effect of unintelligent 
 chance, and that at a moment when, 
 convinced of my impotence to 
 escape from my present frightful* 
 situation, 1 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 un- 
 dersfend each other, and soon, I 
 Ifope, 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, senor, I am listening to 
 you with the most earnest atten 
 tion." 
 
 Valentine reflected for a moment, 
 and then went on as follows : 
 
 "Some months ago, in conse 
 quence of circumstances unneces 
 sary 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 Prebois Crance. Oh ! 
 I shall never be able to discharge 
 the debt of gratitude I have con 
 tracted with him for the services he 
 rendered me." 
 
 A sad smile curled the hunter's 
 lip. " You no longer owe him any 
 thing," he said, with a melancholy 
 shake of the head. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" the Ti 
 grero exclaimed eagerly; "surely 
 the count cannot be dead ?" 
 
 " He is dead, caballero. He was 
 assassinated on the shores of Guay- 
 2 
 
 mas. His murderers laid him in 
 his tomb, and his blood, so treach 
 erously 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 con 
 quer : 
 
 " But let us, for the present, leave 
 tbis 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 catas 
 trophe." 
 
 " Yes, yes," the Tigrero muttered. 
 "It was, indeed, a frightful catas 
 trophe. I would gladly have found 
 death at the bottom of the abyss 
 into which I rolled during my strug 
 gle with Black Bear, could I have 
 saved her I loved ; but Goi> 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 recollec 
 tions crowding upon rne at this mo 
 ment. I feel as if the vail 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 
 4 Trail Hunter,' the name by which 
 
30 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 the white hunters and the Indians 
 of the Far West are accustomed to 
 call me." 
 
 " Yes ; oh, now I remember per 
 fectly, that was indeed the name he 
 gave you. You were right in say 
 ing that we had been long ac 
 quainted, 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 corners," 
 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 battle-field proved to me 
 afterwards that they had a tough 
 fight, and were compelled to fly be 
 fore 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, en- 
 wreathed like two serpents, began a 
 final and decisive struggle: at the 
 moment when I had all but suc 
 ceeded in foiling my enemy's des 
 perate 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 Dona Anita, doubt 
 less 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 engen 
 ders, 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 fall 
 ing, 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 des 
 pair. Forgive me for having de 
 scribed 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 hope 
 lessly lost." 
 
 " Go on, go on ;" the hunter said, 
 "I am listening to you with the 
 greatest attention." 
 
 Don Martial continued : x 
 "The Indian was desperately 
 wounded, and his last effort, in 
 which he had placed all his remain 
 ing strength, cost him his life: it 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 31 
 
 was a corpse that dragged ni3 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- 
 tfrenty feet, and the sides were cov 
 ered 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 de 
 prive me of consciousness. I can 
 not 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 suf 
 fering 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 patient 
 ly : attempting to scale the sides of 
 the pit when my strength was com 
 pletely exhausted would have been 
 madness, and I therefore resigned 
 myself to waiting. I was in com 
 plete darkness, but that did not 
 trouble me greatly, as I had about 
 me every thing 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 bot 
 tom 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 subter 
 ranean 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 as 
 sured myself by the help of my 
 light that the sides of the pit, en 
 tirely covered with creepers, and 
 even sturdy shrubs, rose in a gentle 
 slope, and would not be difficult to 
 escalade when my strength had suf 
 ficiently 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 Ieft4n 
 the cavern, I resolved to wait a few 
 hours before proceeding to save my 
 self. I remained thus for twenty 
 hours at the bottom of the pit, 
 tete-d-tete 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 posi 
 tion 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 suf 
 ficiently 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 desper 
 ate effort I began my ascent. 1 
 will not tell you of the difficulty 1 
 had in conquering the terrible 
 shocks I was obliged to give my 
 aching bones in surmounting almost 
 unsurpassable obstacles; sufficient 
 
32 
 
 THE RET) TRACK. 
 
 for you to know that I reached the 
 mouth of the pit after an hour and 
 a half's struggle, in which I ex- 
 
 <_3O ' 
 
 pended all the energy a man pos 
 sesses 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, pant 
 ing, unable to make the slightest 
 movement, scarce breathing, hear- 
 
 O' 
 
 ing nothing, seeing nothing, not 
 even conscious of the frightful state 
 into which I 'was plunged. Fortu 
 nately for me, this terrible condition 
 (lid &ot last long, the refreshing air 
 from without, reaching me thro-ugh 
 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 red-skins. I sought in 
 vain for the corpses of Dona 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 aorain. This thought restored 
 
 <> O 
 
 my courage, and I felt quite a dif 
 ferent man. I rose without any ex 
 cessive difficulty, and, supporting 
 myself on my rifle, went toward the 
 mouth of the cavern, after remov 
 ing my stock of provision, and 
 taking the 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 river-bank, 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 rny 
 heart, I fell on my knees, and 
 piously clasping my hands, I 
 thanked Him who had saved rne, 
 and who alone could do so. This 
 prayer, and the simple thanks 'ex 
 pressed by a grateful heart, were, 
 I feel convinced, borne upwards to > 
 heaven on the wings of rny guar 
 dian angel. 
 
 " As far as I could make out by 
 the height of the sun, it was about 
 the second hour of the tarde. The 
 deepest silence prevailed around me ; 
 so far as the vision could extend, the 
 prairie was deserted ; Indians and 
 pale faces had disappeared : I was 
 alone, alone with that God who had 
 saved me in so marvellous a fashion, 
 and would not abandon me. Before 
 going further, I took a little nour 
 ishment, which the exhaustion of my 
 strength rendered necessary. When, 
 in the company of Don Sylva de 
 Torres and his daughter, I had sought 
 a refuge in the cavern, our horses 
 had been abandoned with all the re 
 maining forage in an adjacent clear 
 ing, and I was too well acquainted 
 with the instinct of these noble ani 
 mals to apprehend that they had fled. 
 On the contrary, I knew that, if the 
 hunters had not taken them away, I 
 should find them at the very spot- 
 where I had left them. A horse was | 
 indispensable for use, for a dismount 
 ed man is lost in the desert, and 
 hence I resolved to seek them. 
 Bested by the long halt I had made, 
 and feeling that my strength had al 
 most returned, I proceeded without 
 hesitation towards the forest. At 
 my second call I heard a rather loud 
 noise in a clump of trees ; the shrubs 
 parted, and my horse galloped up 
 and gladly rubbed its intelligent 
 head against my shoulder. I amply 
 returned the caresses the faithful 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 33 
 
 companion of my adventures be 
 stowed on me, and then returned to 
 the cavern, where my saddle was. 
 An hour later, mounted on my good 
 horse, I bent my steps towards houses. 
 My journey was a long one, owing 
 to rny state of weakness and pros 
 tration, and when I reached Sonora, 
 the news I heard almost drove me 
 mad. Don Sylva de Torre's had 
 been killed in the fight with the 
 Apaches, as was probably his daugh 
 ter, for no one could tell me any 
 thing about her. For a month I 
 hovered between life and death ; but 
 God in his wisdom, doubtless, had 
 decided that 1 should escape once 
 again. When hardly convalescent, 
 I dragged myself to the house of 
 the only man competent of giving 
 me precise and positive information 
 about what I wanted to learn. This 
 man refused to recognize me, al 
 though I had kept up intimate rela 
 tions with him for many years. 
 When I told him my name he 
 laughed in my face, and when I in 
 sisted, he had me expelled by his 
 peons, telling me that I was mad, 
 that Don Martial was dead, and I an 
 impostor. I went away with rage 
 and despair in my heart. As if they 
 had formed an agreement, all my 
 friends to whom I presented myself 
 refused to recognize me, so thor 
 oughly was the report of my death 
 believed, and it had been accepted by 
 them as a certainty. All the efforts 
 I attempted to dissipate this alarm 
 ing mistake and prove the falsehood 
 of the rumor, were in vain, for too 
 many persons were interested in it 
 being true, on account of the large 
 estates I possessed ; and ajso. I sup 
 pose, through a fear of injuring the 
 man to whom I first applied the 
 only living relation of the Torres 
 family, who, through his high posi 
 tion, has immense influence in So 
 nora. What more need I tell you, 
 
 my friend ? Disgusted in every way, 
 heart-broken with grief, and recog 
 nizing the inutility of the efforts I 
 made against the ingratitude and 
 systematic bad faith of those with 
 whom I had to deal, I left the town, 
 and, mounting my horse, returned to 
 the desert, seeking the most un 
 known spots and desolate regions in 
 which to hide myself, and die when 
 ever God decrees that I have suffered 
 sufficiently, and recalls me to Him." 
 
 After saying this, the Tigrero 
 was silent, and his head sunk gloom 
 ily on his chest. 
 
 "Brother," Valentine said gently 
 to him, slightly touching his shoul 
 der to attract his attention, "you 
 have forgotten to tell me the name of 
 that influential person who had you 
 j turned out of his house, and treated 
 you as an impostor." 
 
 "That is true," Don Martial an 
 swered; "his name is Don Sebastian 
 j Guerrero, and he is military gov 
 ernor of the province of Sonora." 
 
 The hunter quickly started to his 
 feet with an exclamation of joy. 
 
 " Don Martial," he said, "you may 
 thank God for decreeing that we 
 should meet in the desert, in order 
 that the punishment of this man 
 should be complete." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 - 
 
 THE COMPACT. 
 
 Dox MARTIAL gazed at the hun 
 ter in amazement. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he asked 
 him. "I don't understand you." 
 
 " You will soon do so, my friend," 
 Valentine answered. "How long 
 have you been roaming about this 
 ( neighborhood?" 
 
THE RED TRACK:. 
 
 " Nearly two months." 
 
 " In that case you are well ac 
 quainted, I presume, with the moun 
 tains among which we are at this 
 moment?" 
 
 " There is not a tree or a rock 
 whose exact position I cannot tell, 
 nor a wild-beast trail which I have 
 not followed." 
 
 " Good : are we far from a spot 
 called the 'Fort of the Chichim- 
 
 The Tigrero reflected for a mo 
 ment. 
 
 "Do you know by what Indians 
 these mountains are inhabited ?" he 
 at length asked. 
 
 "Yes by poor wretches who 
 call themselves the Root-Eaters, and 
 whom the hunters and trappers 
 designate by the name of the 
 ' Worthy of Pity.' They are, I be 
 lieve, timid, harmless creatures a 
 species of incomplete men, in whom 
 brutal instincts have stifled the in 
 tellect ; however, I only speak of 
 them from hearsay, for I never saw 
 one of the poor devils." 
 
 " You are perfectly well informed 
 about them, and they are what you 
 depict them. I have often had op 
 portunities of meeting them, and 
 have lamented the degree of bru- 
 talization into which this hapless 
 race has fallen." 
 
 "Permit me to remark that I do 
 not see what connection can exist 
 between this unhappy tribe and. the 
 information I ask of you." 
 
 " There is a very great one. Since 
 I have been roaming about these 
 mountains, you are the first man of 
 my color with whom I have con 
 sented to enter into relations. The 
 Eoot Eaters have neither history 
 nor traditions. Their life is re 
 stricted to eating, drinking, and 
 sleeping, and I have not learned 
 from them any of the names given 
 to the majestic peaks that surround 
 
 us. Hence, though I perfectly well 
 know the spot to which you refer, 
 unless you describe it differently, it 
 will be impossible for me to tell you 
 its exact position." 
 
 " That is true ; but what you ask 
 of me is very awkward, for this is 
 the first time I have visited these 
 parts, and it will be rather difficult 
 for me to describe a place I am not 
 acquainted with. Still, I will try. 
 There is, not far from here, I believe, 
 a road which traverses the Rocky 
 Mountains obliquely, and runs from 
 the United States to Santa Fe ; at a 
 certain spot this road must intersect 
 another which leads to California." 
 
 " I am perfectly well acquainted 
 with the roads to which you refer ; 
 and the caravans of emigrants, hun 
 ters, and miners follow them in 
 going to California, or returning 
 thence." 
 
 " Good ! At the spot where these 
 two roads cross they form a species 
 of large square, surrounded on all 
 sides by rocks that rise to a con 
 siderable height. Do you know the 
 place I mean ?" 
 
 " Yes," the Tigrero answered. 
 
 " Well, about two gun-shots from 
 this square is a track winding nearly 
 in an east-south-east course, along 
 the side of the mountains. This 
 track, at first so narrow that a horse 
 even passes with difficulty, gradually 
 widens till it reaches a species of 
 esplanade, or terrace, if you like it 
 better, which commands an exten 
 sive prospect ; while on its edge are 
 the remains of barbarous erections, 
 which can, however, be easily recog 
 nized as an ancient parapet. This 
 terrace is called the 'Fort of the 
 Chichimeques,' though for what rea 
 son I cannot tell you." 
 
 " I know no more than you do 
 on that head, although I can now 
 assure you that I am perfectly ac 
 quainted with the place to which 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 35 
 
 you refer, arid have often camped 
 there on stormy nights, because 
 there is a deep cavern, excavated by 
 human hands, and divided into 
 several passages, every turning of 
 which I know, and which has of 
 fered me a precious shelter during 
 those frightful tempests which, at 
 intervals, overthrow the face of na 
 ture in these regions." 
 
 " I was not aware of the existence 
 of this grotto," the hunter said, with 
 a glad start, "and I thank you for 
 having told me of it ; it will be very 
 useful for the execution of the plans 
 I have formed. Are we any great 
 distance from this terrace ?" 
 
 " In a straight line, not more than 
 five or six miles, and, if it were day, 
 I could show it to you ; but as we 
 must ride round to reach the cara 
 van road, which we are obliged to 
 follow in order to reach the tracks, 
 we have about three hours' ride be 
 fore us." 
 
 " That is a trifle ; for I was afraid 
 I had lost my way in these moun 
 tains, which are strange to. me. I 
 am delighted to find that my old 
 experience has not failed me this 
 time, and that my hunter's instincts 
 have not deceived me." 
 
 While saying this, Valentine had 
 risen to exgipre the clearing. The 
 storm had ceased, the wind had 
 swept away the clouds, the deep- 
 blue sky was studded with brilliant 
 stars, and the moon profusely shed 
 its rays, which imparted a fantastic 
 appearance to the landscape by cast 
 ing the shadows of the lofty trees 
 athwart the snow, whose pallid car 
 pet spread far as eye could see. 
 
 "'Tis a magnificent night," the 
 hunter said, after carefully examin 
 ing the sky for some moments. 
 " It is an hour past midnight, and 
 I do not feel the slightest inclination 
 to sleep. Are you fatigued?" 
 
 " I am never so," the Tigrero an 
 swered, with a smile. 
 
 "All right : in that case you are 
 like myself a thorough wood- 
 ranger. What do you think of a 
 ride in this magnificent moonlight?" 
 
 "I think that, after a good supper 
 and an interesting conversation, 
 nothing so thoroughly restores the 
 balance of a man's thoughts as a 
 night ride in the company of a 
 friend." 
 
 " Bravo ! that is what I call speak 
 ing. Now, as every ride to be rea 
 sonable should have an object, we 
 will go, if you have no objection, 
 as far as the Fort of the Chichim- 
 eques." 
 
 "I was about to propose it; and, 
 as we ride along, you will tell me in 
 your turn what imperious motive 
 compelled you to come to these un 
 known regions, and what the project 
 is to which you alluded." 
 
 "As for that," the hunter said, 
 with a knowing smile, "I cannot 
 satisfy you ; at any rate not for the 
 present, as I wish you to have the 
 pleasure of a surprise. But be easy, 
 I will not put your patience to too 
 long a trial." 
 
 " You will act as you think prop 
 er, for I trust entirely to you. I 
 know not why, but I am persuaded, 
 either through a sentiment or sym 
 pathy, that in doing your own busi 
 ness you will be doing mine at the 
 same time." 
 
 " You are nearer the truth at this 
 moment than you perhaps imagine, 
 so be of good cheer, brother." 
 
 " The happy meeting has already 
 made a different man of me," the 
 Tigrero said, as he rose. 
 
 The hunter laid his hand on his 
 shoulder. "One moment," he said 
 to him; "before leaving this biv 
 ouac, where we met so providen 
 tially, let us clearly agree as to our 
 
86 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 facts, so as to avoid any future mis 
 understanding." 
 
 " Be it so," Don Martial answered. 
 "Let us make a compact in the In 
 dian fashion, and woe to the one 
 who breaks it." 
 
 " Well said, my friend," Valentine 
 remarked, as he drew his knife from 
 his belt. "Here is my navaja, 
 brother ; may it serve you as it has 
 done me to avenge your wrongs and 
 mine." 
 
 "I receive it in the face of that 
 Heaven which I call as witness of 
 the purity of my intentions. Take 
 mine in exchange, and one-half my 
 powder and bullets, brother." 
 
 "I accept it as a thing belonging 
 to me, and here is half my ammuni 
 tion for you ; henceforth we cannot 
 fire at one another, all is in common 
 between us. Your friends will be 
 my friends, and you will point out 
 your enemies to me, so that I may 
 aid you in your vengeance. My 
 horse is yours." 
 
 "Mine belongs to you, and in a 
 few moments I will place it at your 
 service." 
 
 Then the two men, leaning shoul 
 der to shoulder, with clasped hands, 
 eyes fixed on heaven, and out 
 stretched arm, uttered together the 
 following words : 
 
 "I take GOD to witness that of 
 my own free will, and without res 
 ervation, I take as my friend and 
 brother the man whose hand is at 
 this moment pressing mine. I will 
 help him in every thing he asks of 
 me, without hope of reward, ready 
 by day and night to answer his first 
 signal, without hesitation, and with 
 out 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," 
 Yalentine 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 
 
 V 
 
 " Go ; and during that time I will 
 saddle mine, which is henceforth 
 yours." 
 
 Don Martial hurried away, leaving 
 Yalentine alone. 
 
 " This time," he muttered, " I be 
 lieve 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 Belhurneur, 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 las 
 soed his horse, and was busily en 
 gaged 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 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 37 
 
 falsehood when he said that a meta 
 morphosis 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 hag 
 gard, their expression was more 
 frank arid, 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-observ 
 ing Frenchman, and he congratu 
 lated 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 indif 
 ferent topics hunting, trapping, ex 
 peditions against the Indians sub 
 jects always pleasing to wood- 
 rangers, while rapidly advancing 
 towards the spot they wished to 
 reach. 
 
 "By-the-by," Valentine all at 
 once said," "I must warn you, 
 brother, that if you are not mis 
 taken, and we are really following 
 the road to the Fort of the Chichi- 
 meques, 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 mis 
 take." 
 
 "On my word, I confess my in 
 competence, so far as that is con 
 cerned ; this is the first time I have 
 ventured into the Eocky Mountains, 
 where I hope never to come again, 
 and so I deliver myself entirely into 
 your hands." 
 
 "1 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 an 
 swered, " we shall soon know whai 
 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 as 
 sumed in turn every color of the 
 rainbow. In the flashing uncertain 
 light of dawn, objects were invested 
 with a more fugitive appearance, al 
 though, on the other hand, they be 
 came more distinct. 
 
 The adventurers had passed the 
 cross-roads, and turned into a nar 
 row track, whose capricious windings 
 ran along rocks, which were almost 
 suspended over frightful abysses. 
 The riders had given up all at 
 tempts 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 recom 
 mended to travellers under similar 
 circumstances. 
 
 All at once a streak of light^ il 
 lumined the landscape, and the sun 
 rose radiant and splendid; behind 
 
88 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 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 Chichi meques." 
 
 "Look ahead of you over the 
 jagged crest of that hill," the Ti- 
 grero 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 
 canon, an immense esplanade 
 stretched out into space in the shape 
 of a voladero that is to say, in con 
 sequence of one of those earthquakes 
 so common in these regions, the 
 base of the mountain had been un 
 dermined, while the crest remained 
 intact, and hung for a considerable 
 distance above a valley, apparent 
 ly 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 track, which 
 gradually grew steeper; and, after 
 a very zig-zag 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 Ti- 
 
 grero 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 ap 
 peared, though it was impossible to 
 say whence they carne. They were 
 Belhumeur, Black Elk, and Eagle- 
 head. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TRAVELLEES. 
 
 WE must now leave Valentine 
 and his companions on the esplanade 
 of the Fort of the Chichimeques, 
 where we shall join them again 
 however, in order to attend to other 
 persons destined to play an import 
 ant 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 al 
 most at the same moment as the 
 hunter, in a narrow valley com 
 pletely 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 un 
 loaded, a tent raised, fires lighted; 
 and when the animals were hob 
 bled, 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 demeanor, and haughty 
 
THE BED TEACK. 
 
 39 
 
 air, evidenced the man long accus 
 tomed to give his orders without ad 
 mitting 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 man 
 ner, he at times involuntarily be 
 trayed himself, and it was easy to 
 see that the modest garb of a Mexi 
 can Campesino which he wore was 
 only a disguise. Instead of with 
 drawing beneath the tent prepared 
 for him, this person had sat down 
 before the fire with the peons, who 
 eagerly made way for him with evi 
 dent respect. 
 
 Among the peons two men more 
 especially attracted attention. One 
 was a red-skin, 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 No Carnero, and at times gave 
 hirn the title of Capataz. 
 
 No 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 be 
 neath this frivolous appearance a 
 more sunous character and deeper 
 t 1 .. rights than he would have liked 
 to display. 
 
 The red-skin 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 aqui 
 line nose, his wide mouth lined with 
 large teeth as white as almonds, 
 and his thin pinched-up lips, com 
 posed a far from pleasant counte 
 nance, which was rendered still more 
 lugubrious by the ob.stinate silence 
 of this man, who only spoke when 
 absolutely compelled, and then only 
 in monosyllables. Like all the In 
 dians, 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 Fe 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 some 
 times Jose a mocking term em 
 ployed in Mexico to designate the 
 Indios mansos ; but the red-skin 
 appeared as insensible to compli 
 ments as to jokes, and continued 
 coldly to carry out the task he had 
 imposed on himself. When sup 
 per was ended, and each had lit 
 his pipe or cigarette, the master 
 turned to the capataz. 
 
 " Carnero," he said to him, " al 
 though 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 provi 
 dent." 
 
 "I have warned two men, mi 
 amo" the capataz replied; "and, 
 moreover, I intend to make my 
 rounds to-night; eh, Jose," he 
 added, turning to the Indian, " are 
 you certain you are not mistaken, 
 and that you really lifted a trail !" 
 
 The red -skin shrugged his shoul 
 ders disdainfully, and continued his 
 quiet smoke. 
 
40 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 "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 red-skin answered 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "Carai!" the master exclaimed, 
 "if they are Crows, we shall do 
 well to be on our guard, for they 
 are the cleverest plunderers in the 
 Kooky 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 mocas 
 sin 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 move 
 ment he avoided the'desperate attack 
 of the capataz; then drawing him 
 self up, he caught him round the 
 waist, raised htm 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 indiffer 
 ence, and having picked up the 
 mocassin, which he carefully ex 
 amined 
 
 "The Indian is right," he said, 
 coldly, " this mocassin boars 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 red-skin 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 con 
 tinued, 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 ex 
 treme 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 cavaran remained 
 for a few minutes plunged in serious 
 thought ; he then withdrew be 
 neath 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 sera- 
 pes, and fell asleep. 
 
 The Indian then took the pipe- 
 stem from his mouth, looked search- 
 ingly around hirn, 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 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 41 
 
 in his buffalo robe, a measure which 
 the sharp air rendered, if not indis 
 pensable, 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 any thing 
 disturbed the silence that prevailed 
 in the carnp. All at once a singular 
 thing happened. The buffaU) robe, 
 under which the Indian was shel 
 tered, gently rose with an almost 
 imperceptible movement, and the 
 red-skin'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 re 
 sembling those of reptiles, he left the 
 ground, and raised himself to the 
 first branches, among which he dis 
 appeared. 
 
 This ascent was executed with 
 such well-calculated slowness that it 
 had not produced the slightest sound. 
 Moreover, the buffalo robe left at 
 the foot of the tree so well retained 
 its primitive folds, that it was impos 
 sible to discover, without touching 
 it, that the man it had sheltered had 
 left it. 
 
 When the guide was thoroughly 
 concealed among the leaves, he re 
 mained for a moment motionless; 
 though not in order to regain his 
 breath after having made such an 
 expenditure of strength, for this man 
 was made of iron, and fatigue had 
 no power over him. But he proba 
 bly wished to look about him, for 
 with his body bent forward, and his 
 eyes fixed on space, he inhaled the 
 
 breeze, and his glances seemed try 
 ing to pierce the gloom. 
 
 Before selecting- as his resting- 
 place the foot of the tree in which he 
 was now concealed, the guide had 
 assured himself that this tree, which 
 was very high and leafy, was joined 
 at about two-thirds of its height by 
 other trees, which gradually rose 
 along the side of the mountain, and 
 formed a wall of verdure. 
 
 After a few minutes' hesitation, 
 the guide drew in his belt, placed his 
 knife between his teeth, and with a 
 certainty and lightness of movement 
 which would have done honor to a 
 monkey, he commenced literally 
 hopping from one tree to another, 
 hanging by his arms, and clinging 
 to the creepers, waking up, as he 
 passed, the birds, which flew away 
 in alarm. 
 
 This strange journey lasted about 
 three-quarters of an hour. At length 
 the guide stopped, looked attentively 
 around him, and gliding down the 
 trunk of the tree on which he was, 
 reached the ground. The spot where 
 he now found himself was a rather 
 spacious clearing, in the centre of 
 which blazed an enormous fire, serv 
 ing to warm forty or fifty red-skins, 
 completely armed and equipped for 
 war. Still, singular to say, the ma 
 jority of these Indians, instead of 
 their long lances and the bows they 
 usually employ, carried muskets of 
 American manufacture, which led to 
 the supposition that they were picked 
 warriors and great braves of their 
 nation; and this too was further 
 proved by the numerous wolf-tails 
 fastened to their heels, a honorable 
 insignia which only renowned war 
 riors have the right to assume. 
 
 This detachment of red-skins was 
 certainly on the war-trail, or at any 
 rate on a serious expedition, for they 
 had with them neither dogs nor 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 squaws. In spite of the slight care 
 with which the Indians are wont to 
 guard themselves at night, the free 
 and deliberate manner in which the 
 guide entered their encampment 
 proved that he was expected by 
 these warriors, who evinced no sur 
 prise at seeing him, but, on the con 
 trary, invited him with hospitable 
 gestures to take a seat at their fire. 
 The guide sat down silently, and be 
 gan smoking the calumet which the 
 chief seated by his side immediately 
 offered him. This chief was still a 
 young man, his marked features dis 
 playing the utmost craft and bold 
 ness. After a rather lengthened in 
 terval, doubtless expressly granted 
 the visitor to let him draw breath 
 and warm himself, the young chief 
 bowed to him and addressed him 
 deferentially. 
 
 " My father is welcome among his 
 sons ; they were impatiently await 
 ing his arrival." 
 
 The guide responded to this com 
 pliment with a grimace, in all prob 
 ability intended to pass muster for a 
 smile. The chief continued: 
 
 " Our scouts have carefully exam 
 ined the encampment of the Yoris, 
 and the warriors of the Jester are 
 ready to obey the instructions given 
 them by their great sachem, Eagle- 
 head. Is my father, Curumilla, sat 
 isfied with his red children ?" 
 
 Curumilla (for the guide was no 
 other than the reader's old acquaint 
 ance the Araucano chief) laid his 
 right hand on his chest, arid uttered 
 with a guttural accent the exclama 
 tion," Ugh !" which was with him a 
 mark of the greatest joy. 
 
 The Jester and his warriors had 
 been too long acquainted with Cu 
 rumilla for his silence to seem 
 strange to them; hence they yielded 
 without repugnance to his mania, 
 and carefully giving up the hope of 
 getting a syllable out of his closed 
 
 lips, began with him a conversation 
 in signs. 
 
 We have already had occasion, in 
 a previous work, to mention that the 
 red-skins have two languages, the 
 written and the sign language. The 
 latter, which has among them at 
 tained a high perfection, and which 
 all understand, is usually employed 
 when hunting, or on expeditions, 
 when a word pronounced even in a 
 low voice may reveal the presence 
 of an ambuscade to the enerjny, 
 whether men or beasts, whom they 
 are pursuing, and desire to surprise. 
 
 It would have been interesting, 
 and even amusing, for any stranger 
 who had been present at this inter 
 view to see with what rapidity the 
 gestures and signs were exchanged 
 between these men, so strangely lit 
 up by the ruddy glow of the fire, 
 and who resembled, with their 
 strange movements, their stern faces, 
 and singular attitudes, a council of 
 demons. At times the Jester, with 
 his body bent forward, and emphatic 
 gestures, held a dumb speech, which 
 his comrades followed with the most 
 sustained attention, and which they 
 answered with a rapidity that words 
 themselves could not have surpassed. 
 
 At length this silent council ter 
 minated. Curumilla raised his hand 
 to heaven, and pointed to the stars, 
 which were beginning to grow dim, 
 and then left the circle. The red 
 skins respectfully followed him to 
 the foot of the tree by the aid of 
 which he had entered their camp. 
 When he reached it, he turned 
 round. 
 
 " May the Wacondah protect my 
 father!" the Jester then said. ''His 
 sons have thoroughly understood 
 his instructions, and will follow them 
 literally. The great pale ' hunter 
 will have joined his friends by this 
 hour, and he is doubtless awaiting 
 us. To-morrow Koutonepi will see 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 43 
 
 his Comanche brothers. At the en- 
 ditha the camp will be raised.'" 
 
 "It is good," Curumilla answered, 
 and saluting for the last time the 
 warriors, who bowed respectfully 
 before him, the chief seized the 
 creeping plants, and, raising himself 
 by the strength of his wrists, in a 
 second he reached the branches, and 
 disappeared in the foliage. 
 
 The journey the Indian had made 
 was very important, and needed to 
 be so for him to run such great risks 
 in order to have an interview at this 
 hour of the night with the red-skins; 
 but as the reader will soon learn 
 what were the consequences of this 
 expedition, we deem it unnecessary 
 to translate the sign-language em 
 ployed during the council, or ex 
 plain the resolutions formed between 
 Gurumilla and the Jester. 
 
 The chief recommenced his aerial 
 trip with the same lightness and the 
 same good fortune. After a lapse 
 of time comparatively much shorter 
 than that which he had previously 
 employed, he reached the camp of 
 the white men. The same silence 
 prevailed in its interior ; the senti 
 nels were still motionless at their 
 post, and the watch-fires were begin 
 ning to expire. 
 
 The chief assured himself that no 
 eye was fixed on him that no spy 
 was on the watch ; and, feeling cer 
 tain of not being perceived, he slid 
 silently down the tree and resumed 
 the place beneath the buffalo-robe 
 which he was supposed not to have 
 left during the night. 
 
 At the moment when-, after taking 
 a final glance around, the Indian 
 chief disappeared beneath his robe, 
 the capataz, who was lying athwart 
 the entrance of the hut, gently raised 
 his head, and looked with strange 
 fixity of glance at the place occupied 
 by the red-skin. 
 
 Had a suspicion been aroused in 
 
 the Mexican's mind ? Had he no 
 ticed the departure and return of the 
 chief? Presently he let his head 
 fall again, and it would have been 
 impossible to read on his motionless 
 features what were the thoughts that 
 troubled him. 
 
 The remainder of the night passed 
 tranquilly and peacefully. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE FOKT OF THE CHICHIMEQUES. 
 
 THE sun rose ; its beams played 
 on the trembling yellow leaves of 
 the trees, and tinged them with a 
 thousand shades of gold and purple. 
 The birds, cozily nestled in the 
 bushes, struck up their matin carol; 
 the awakening of nature was as 
 splendid and imposing as it is in all 
 mountainous countries. 
 
 The leader of the caravan left his 
 tent and gave orders to strike the 
 camp. The tent was at once folded 
 up ; the mules were loaded, and, so 
 soon as the horses were saddled, the 
 party started without waiting for 
 the morning meal, for they generally 
 breakfasted a.t the eleven o'clock 
 halt, while resting to let the great 
 heat of the day subside. 
 
 The caravan advanced along the 
 road from Santa Fe to the United 
 States, at a speed unusual under 
 such circumstances. A military 
 system was affected, which was im 
 posing, and, indeed, indispensable 
 in these regions, infested not merely 
 by numerous bands of predatory 
 Indians, but also traversed by the 
 pirates of the prairie, more danger 
 ous bandits still, who were driven 
 by their enemies beyond the pale of 
 the law, and who, ambushed at the 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 turnings of roads or in broken 
 rocks, attacked the caravans as they 
 passed, and pitilessly massacred the 
 travellers, after plundering them of 
 all they possessed. 
 
 About twenty yards ahead of the 
 caravan rode four men, with their 
 rifles on their thighs, preceded by 
 the guide, who formed the extreme 
 vanguard. Next came the main 
 body, composed of six well-armed 
 peons, watching the mules and bag 
 gage, under the immediate orders of 
 the chief of the caravan. Lastly, 
 the capataz rode about thirty paces 
 in the rear, having under his orders 
 four resolute men armed to the teeth. 
 
 Thus arranged to face any event, 
 the caravan enjoyed a relative secu- 
 rity, for it was not very probable 
 that the white or red pillagers, who 
 were doubtless watching it, would 
 dare to attack in open day seventeen 
 resolute and trained men. At night 
 the horse-thieves, who glide silently 
 in the darkness during the sleep of 
 the travellers, and carry off horses 
 and baggage, were more formidable. 
 
 Still, either through accident, or 
 the prudential measures employed 
 by the chief of the caravan, since 
 they had left Santa Fe, that is to say 
 for more than a month, the Mexicans 
 had not seen an Indian, or been 
 alarmed. They had journeyed 
 apparently, at least with as much 
 tranquillity as if, instead of being 
 in the heart of the Eocky Moun 
 tains, they were moving along the 
 roads in the interior of Sonora. 
 This security, however, while aug 
 menting their confidence, had not 
 caused their prudential measures to 
 be neglected ; and their chief, whom 
 this unusual leniency on the part of 
 the villains who prowl about these 
 countries alarmed, redoubled his 
 vigilance and precautions to avoid 
 a surprise and a collision with the 
 plunderers. 
 
 The discovery, made on the pre 
 vious day by the guide, of an Indian 
 Crow trail the most determined 
 thieves in these mountains added 
 to his apprehensions; for he did not 
 hide from himself that, if he were 
 compelled to fight, in spite of the 
 courage and discipline of his peons, 
 the odds would be against him, when 
 fighting men thoroughly acquainted 
 with the country, and who would 
 only attack him with numbers suffi 
 cient to crush his band, however 
 desperate the resistance offered 
 might be. 
 
 When he left the camp, the chief 
 of the caravan, suffering perhaps 
 from a gloomy foreboding, spurred 
 his horse and joined the Indian, 
 who, as we said, was marching alone 
 in front, examining the bushes, and 
 apparently performing all the duties 
 of an experienced guide. Curumilla, 
 though he heard the hurried paces 
 of the Mexican's horse, did not turn 
 round, but continued trotting along 
 carelessly on the sorry mule allotted 
 to him for this expedition. 
 
 When the chief of the caravan 
 joined him and brought his horse 
 alongside the Indian, instead of 
 speaking to him, he attentively 
 examined him for some minutes, 
 trying to pierce the mask of stoicism 
 spread over the guide's features, and 
 to read his thoughts. But, after a 
 rather lengthened period, the Mexi 
 can was constrained to recognize the 
 inutility of his efforts, and to confess 
 to himself the impossibility of guess 
 ing the intentions of this man, for 
 whom, in spite of the service he had 
 rendered the caravan, he felt an in 
 stinctive aversion, and whom he 
 would like to force, at all risks, to 
 make a frank explanation. 
 
 " Indian," he said to him in Span 
 ish, " I wish to speak with you for 
 a few moments on an important 
 subject ; so be good enough to put 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 45 
 
 off your usual silence for a while and 
 answer, like an honest man, tKe 
 questions I propose asking you." 
 
 Curumilla bowed respectfully. 
 
 " You engaged with me, at Santa 
 Y6, to lead me, for the sum of four 
 ounces, of which you received one- 
 half in advance to lead me, I say, 
 safely to the frontiers of Upper 
 Mexico. Since you have been id 
 my service I must allow that I have 
 only had reason to praise the pru 
 dence in which you have performed 
 your duties ; but we are at this mo 
 ment in the heart of the Eocky 
 Mountains : that is to say, we have 
 reached the most dangerous part of 
 our long journey. Two days ago 
 you lifted the trail of Crow Indians, 
 very formidable enemies of cara 
 vans, and I want to consult with 
 you as to the means to employ to 
 foil the snares in which these In 
 dians will try to catch us, and to 
 know what measures you intend to 
 employ to avoid a meeting with 
 them; in a word, I want to know 
 your plan of action." 
 
 The Indian, without replying, felt 
 in a bag of striped calico thrown 
 over his shoulder, and> produced a 
 greasy paper, folded in four, which 
 he opened and offered the Mexican. 
 
 " What is this ?" the latter asked, 
 as he looked and ran through it. 
 "Oh, yes, certainly; your engage 
 ment. Well, what connection has 
 this with the question I asked you?" 
 ^ Curumilla, still impassive, laid 
 his finger on the paper, at the last 
 paragraph of the engagement. 
 
 " Well, what then ?" the Mexican 
 exclaimed, ill-humoredly. "It is 
 said there, it is true, that I must 
 trust entirely to you, and leave you 
 at liberty to act as you please for 
 the common welfare, without ques 
 tioning you." 
 
 The Indian nodded his head in 
 assent. 
 3 
 
 "Well, voto d Sriosf" the Mexi 
 can shouted, irritated by this studied 
 coolness, in spite of his resolve to 
 curb his temper, and annoyed at the 
 man's obstinate refusal to answer, 
 "what proves to me that you are 
 acting for our common welfare, and 
 that you are not a traitor?" 
 
 At this word traitor, so distinctly 
 uttered by the Mexican, Curumilla 
 gave a tiger glance at the speaker, 
 while his whole body was agitated 
 by a convulsive tremor : he uttered 
 two or three incomprehensible gut 
 tural exclamations, and ere the 
 Mexican could suspect his inten 
 tions, he was seized round the waist, 
 lifted from the saddle, and hurled 
 on the ground, where he lay stunned. 
 
 Curumilla leaped from his mule,* 
 drew from his belt two gold ounces, 
 hurled them at the Mexican, and 
 then, bounding over the precipice 
 that bordered the road, glided to the 
 bottom with headlong speed and 
 disappeared at once. 
 
 What we have described occurred 
 so rapidly that the peons who re 
 mained behind, although they hur 
 ried up at full speed to their mas 
 ter's assistance, arrived too late on 
 the scene to prevent the Indian's 
 flight. 
 
 The Mexican had received no 
 wound; the surprise and violence 
 of the fall had alone caused his mo 
 mentary stupor; but almost imme 
 diately he regained his senses, and 
 comprehending the inutility and 
 folly of pursuit at such a spot with 
 such an adversary, he devoured his 
 shame and passion, and, remounting 
 his horse, which had been stopped, 
 he coolly gave orders to continue 
 the journey, with an internal reso 
 lution that, if ever the opportunity 
 offered, he would have an exemplary 
 revenge for the insult he had re 
 ceived. 
 
 For the moment he could not 
 
46 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 think of it, for more serious interests 
 demanded all his attention; it was 
 evident to him that, in branding the 
 guide as a traitor, he had struck 
 home, and that the latter, furious at 
 seeing himself unmasked, had pro 
 ceeded to such extremities in order 
 to escape punishment, and find 
 means to fly safely. 
 
 The situation was becoming most 
 critical for the chief of the caravan ; 
 he found himself abandoned and left 
 without a guide, in unknown re 
 gions, doubtless watched by hidden 
 foes, and exposed at any moment to 
 an attack, whose result could but be 
 unfavorable to himself and his peo 
 ple ; hence he must form a vigorous 
 resolve in order to escape, were it 
 possible, the misfortunes that men 
 aced the caravan. 
 
 The Mexican was a man endowed 
 with an energetic organization, 
 brave to rashness, whom no peril, 
 however great it might be, had ever 
 yet had the power to make him 
 blench ; in a few seconds he calcu 
 lated all the favorable chances left 
 him, and his determination was 
 formed. The road he was following 
 at this moment was assuredly the 
 one frequented by the caravans pro 
 ceeding from the United States to 
 California or Mexico; and there 
 \vas no other road but this in the 
 mountains. Hence the Mexican re 
 solved to form an entrenched camp, 
 at the spot that might appear to 
 him most favorable, fortify himself 
 there as well as he could, and await 
 the passing of the first caravan, 
 which he would join. 
 
 This plan was exceedingly sim 
 ple, and in addition very easy to 
 execute. As the travellers pos 
 sessed an ample stock of provisions 
 and ammunition, they had no reason 
 to fear scarcity, while, on the other 
 hand, seven or eight days in all prob 
 ability would not elapse without 
 
 the appearance of a fresh caravan ; 
 and the Mexican believed himself 
 capable of resisting, behind good 
 entrenchments, with his fifteen 
 peons, any white or red plunderers 
 who dared to attack him. 
 
 So soon as this resolution was 
 formed, the Mexican at once pre 
 pared to carry it out. After having 
 briefly and in a few words explained 
 to his disheartened peons what his 
 intentions were, and recommending 
 them to redouble their prudence, he 
 left them, and pushed on in order to 
 reconnoitre the ground and select 
 the most suitable spot for the estab 
 lishment of the camp. 
 
 He started his horse at a gallop 
 and soon disappeared in the wind 
 ings of the road, but, through fear 
 of a sudden attack, he held his gun 
 in his hand, and his glances were 
 constantly directed around him, ex 
 amining with the utmost care the 
 thick chapparal which bordered the 
 road on the side of the mountain. 
 
 The Mexican went on thus for 
 about two hours, noticing that the 
 further he proceeded the narrower 
 and more abrupt the track became. 
 Suddenly it widened out in front of 
 him, and he* arrived at an esplanade, 
 across which the road ran, and 
 which was no other than the Fort 
 of the Chichimeques, previously 
 described by us. 
 
 The Mexican's practised eye at 
 once seized the advantages of such 
 a position, and, without loss of time 
 in examining it in detail, he turned 
 back to rejoin the caravan. The 
 travellers, though marching much 
 more slowly than their chief, had, 
 however, pushed on, so that he re 
 joined them about three-quarters 
 of an hour after the discovery of the 
 terrace. 
 
 The flight of the guide had nearly 
 demoralized the Mexicans, more ac 
 customed to the ease of tropical re- 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 gions, and whose courage the snows 
 of the Eocky Mountains had already 
 weakened, if not destroyed. Fortu 
 nately for the chief's plans he had 
 over his servants that influence 
 which clever minds know how to 
 impose on ordinary natures, and the 
 peons, on seeing their master gay 
 and careless about the future, began 
 to hope that they would escape bet 
 ter than they had supposed from the 
 unlucky position in which they found, 
 themselves so suddenly placed. The 
 march was continued tranquilly ; 
 no suspicious sign was discovered, 
 and the Mexicans were justified in 
 believing that, with the exception 
 of the time they would be com 
 pelled to lose in awaiting a new 
 guide, the flight of the Indian would 
 entail no disagreeable consequences 
 on them. 
 
 Singularly enough, Carnero the 
 capataz seemed rather pleased than 
 annoyed at the sudden disappear 
 ance of the guide. Far from com 
 plaining or deploring the delay in 
 ihe continuance of the journey he 
 laughed at what had happened, and 
 made an infinitude of more or less 
 witty jests about it, which in the 
 end considerably annoyed his mas 
 ter, whose joy was merely on the 
 surface, and who, in his heart, 
 cursed the mishap which kept them 
 in the mountains, and exposed him 
 to the insults of the plunderers. 
 
 "Pray, what do you find so agree 
 able in what has happened that you 
 are or affect to be so merry, No 
 Carnero ?" he at length asked with 
 considerable ill- temper. 
 
 " Forgive me, mi amo," the capa 
 taz answered humbly ; " but you 
 know the proverb, ' What can't be 
 cured must be endured,' and conse 
 quently I forgot." 
 
 "Hum !" said the master, without 
 any other reply. 
 
 "And besides," the capataz added, 
 
 as he stooped down to the chief, and 
 almost whispering, "however bad 
 our position may be, is it not better 
 to pretend to consider it good?" 
 
 His master gave him a -piercing 
 look, but the other continued im- 
 perturbably with an obsequious 
 smile 
 
 " The duty of a devoted servant, 
 mi amo, is to be always of his mas 
 ter's opinion, whatever may happen. 
 The peons were murmuring this 
 morning after your departure, and 
 you know what the character of 
 these brutes is ; if they feel alarmed 
 we shall be lost, for it will be im 
 possible for us to get out of our 
 position; hence I thought that I 
 was carrying out your views by at 
 tempting to cheer them up, and I 
 feign a gayety which, be assured, I 
 do not feel, under the supposition 
 that it would be agreeable to you." 
 
 The Mexican shook his head du 
 biously, but the observations of the 
 capataz were so just, the reasons he 
 offered appeared so plausible, that 
 he was constrained to yield and 
 thank him, as he did not care to 
 alienate at this moment a man who 
 by a word could change the temper 
 of his peons, and urge them to re 
 volt instead of adhering to their 
 duty. 
 
 " I thank you, No Carnero," he 
 said, with a conciliatory air. " You 
 perfectly understood my intentions. 
 I am pleased with your devotion to 
 my person, and the moment will 
 soon arrive, I hope, when it will be 
 in my power to prove to you the 
 value I attach to you." 
 
 "The certainty of having done 
 my duty, now as ever, is the sole 
 reward I desire, mi amo," the capa 
 taz answered, with a respectful bow. 
 
 The Mexican gave him a side 
 glance, but he restrained himself, 
 and it was with a smile that he 
 thanked the capataz for the second 
 
48 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 time. The latter thought it prudent 
 to break off the interview here, and, 
 stopping his horse, he allowed his 
 master to pass him. The chief of 
 the caravan was one of those un 
 happily constituted men who after 
 having passed their life in deceiving 
 or trying to deceive those with whom 
 the accidents of an adventurous ex 
 istence have brought them into con 
 tact, had reached that point when he 
 had no confidence in any one, and 
 sought, behind the most frivolous 
 words, to discover an interested mo 
 tive, which most frequently did not 
 exist. Although his capataz Car- 
 nero had been for a long time in his 
 service, and he granted him a cer 
 tain amount of familiarity al 
 though he appeared to place great 
 confidence in him, and count on 
 his devotion, still in his heart, he 
 not only suspected him, but felt 
 almost confident, without any posi 
 tive proof, it is true, that he was 
 playing a double game with him, 
 and was a secret agent of his de 
 ceivers. 
 
 What truth there might be in 
 this supposition, which held a firm 
 hold of the Mexican's mind, we are 
 unable, to say at present; but the 
 slightest actions of his capataz were 
 watched by him, and he felt certain 
 that he should, sooner or later, 
 attain a confirmation of his doubts ; 
 hence, while feigning the greatest 
 satisfaction with him, he constantly 
 kept on his guard, ready to deal a 
 blow, which would be the sharper 
 because it had been so long pre 
 pared. 
 
 A little before eleven A.M. the 
 caravan reached the terrace, and it 
 was with a feeling of joy, which 
 they did not attempt to conceal, that 
 the peons recognized the strength 
 of the position selected by their 
 master for the encampment. 
 
 " We shall stop here for the 
 
 present," the Mexican said. "Un 
 load the mules, and light the fires. 
 Immediately after breakfast we will 
 begin intrenching ourselves in such 
 a way as to foil all the assaults of 
 marauders." 
 
 The peons obeyed with the speed 
 of men who have made a long 
 journey and are beginning to feel 
 hungry ; the fires were lighted in 
 an instant, and a few moments later 
 the peons vigorously attacked their 
 maize tortillas, their tocina, and 
 their cecina those indispensable 
 elements of every Mexican meal. 
 When the hunger of his men was 
 appeased, and they had smoked 
 their cigarettes, the chief rose. 
 
 " Now," he said, " to work." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SUEPBISE. 
 
 THE position which the leader of 
 the caravan fancied he had been the 
 first to discover, and where he had 
 made up his mind to halt, was ad 
 mirably selected to establish an 
 intrenched camp strong enough to 
 resist for months the attacks of the 
 Indians and the pirates of the 
 prairies. The immense voladero 
 hovering at a prodigious height 
 above the precipices, and guarded 
 on the right and left by enormous 
 masses of rock, offered such condi 
 tions of security that the peons re 
 gained all their merry carelessness, 
 and only regarded the mysterious 
 flight of the guide as an accident of 
 no real importance, and which 
 would have no other consequences 
 for them but to make their journey 
 somewhat longer than the time origi 
 nally arranged. 
 
\ 
 
 THE BED TBACK. 
 
 49 
 
 It was, hence, with well promis 
 ing ardor that they rose ou receiving 
 their chiefs command, and prepared 
 under his directions to dig the trench 
 which was intended to protect them 
 from a surprise. This trench was 
 to be bordered by a line of tall 
 stakes, running across the open 
 space between the rocks, which 
 gave the sole access to the terrace. 
 
 The head-quarters were first pre 
 pared, that is to say, the tent was 
 raised, and the horses hobbled near 
 picquets driven into the ground. 
 
 At the moment when the leader 
 proceeded with several peons armed 
 with picks and spades toward the 
 entrance, with the probable inten 
 tion of marking the exact spot 
 where the trench was to be dug, the 
 capataz approached him obsequi 
 ously, and said with a respectful 
 bow 
 
 "Mi amo, I have an important 
 communication to make to you." 
 
 His master turned and looked at 
 him with ill-concealed distrust. 
 
 " An important communication 
 to make to me ?" he repeated. 
 
 "Yes, mi amo," the capataz re 
 plied with a bow. 
 
 "What is it? Speak, but be 
 brief, Carnero, for, as you see, I 
 have no time to lose." 
 
 "I hope to gain your time, ex 
 cellency," the capataz said with a 
 silent smile. 
 
 " Ah, ah, what is it ?" 
 
 " If you will allow me to say two 
 words aside, excellency, you will 
 know at once." 
 
 "Diablo! a mystery, Master Car 
 nero ?" 
 
 "Mi amo, it is my duty to inform 
 no one but your excellency of my 
 discovery." 
 
 "Hum! then you have discovered 
 something?'' 
 
 The other bowed, but made no 
 further answer. 
 
 " Very well then," his master con 
 tinued, "come this way: go on, 
 muchachos," he added, addressing 
 the peons, "I will rejoin you in a 
 moment." 
 
 The latter went on, while the 
 leader retired for a few paces, fol 
 lowed by the capntaz. When he 
 considered that he had placed a suf 
 ficient distance between himself and 
 the ears of his people, he addressed 
 the half-breed again 
 
 "Now, I suppose, Master Carne 
 ro," he said, "you will see no incon 
 venience in explaining yourself?" 
 
 " None at all, excellency." 
 
 " Speak then, in the fiend's name, 
 and keep me no longer in sus 
 pense." 
 
 " This is the affair, excellency : I 
 have discovered a grotto." 
 
 "What?" his master exclaimed, 
 in surprise, "you have discovered a 
 grotto ?" 
 
 " Yes, excellency." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Here." 
 
 " Here ! that!s impossible." 
 
 " It's the fact, excellency." 
 
 "But where?" 
 
 "There," he said, stretching out 
 his arm, "behind that mass of 
 rocks." 
 
 A suspicious look flashed from 
 beneath his master's eyelashes. 
 
 "Ah I" he muttered, " that is very 
 singular, Master Carnero ; may I ask 
 in what manner you discovered this 
 grotto, and what motive was so im 
 perious as to take you among those 
 rocks, when you were aware how in 
 dispensable your presence was else 
 where?' 
 
 The capataz was not affected by 
 the tone in which these words were 
 uttered ; he answered calmly, as if 
 he did not perceive the menace they 
 contained 
 
 " Oh ! mi amo, the discovery was 
 quite accidental, I assure you." 
 
50 
 
 HE BED TRA C K. 
 
 " I do not believe in chance," his 
 master answered ; " but go on." 
 
 "When we had finished break 
 fast," the capataz continued, sooth 
 ingly, "I perceived, on rising, that 
 several horses, mine among them, 
 had become unfastened, and were 
 straying in different directions." 
 
 "That is true," his master muttered, 
 apparently answering his own 
 thoughts rather than the remarks 
 of the capataz. 
 
 The latter gave an almost imper 
 ceptible smile. "Fearing," he con 
 tinued, "lest the horses might be 
 lost, I immediately started in pur 
 suit. They were easy to catch, with 
 the exception of one, which rambled 
 among the rocks, and I was obliged 
 to follow it." 
 
 " I understand ; and so it led you 
 to the mouth of the grotto." 
 
 "Exactly, mi amo; I found it 
 standing at the very entrance, and 
 had no difficulty in seizing the bri 
 dle." 
 
 "That is indeed most singular. 
 And did you enter the grotto, Mas 
 ter Carnero ?" 
 
 "No, mi amo. I thought it my 
 duty to tell you of it first." 
 
 " You were right. Well, we will 
 enter it together. Fetch us some 
 torches of ocote wood, and show us 
 the way. By the by, do not forget 
 to bring weapons, for we know not 
 what men or beasts we may find in 
 caverns thus opening on a high 
 road." This he said with a sarcas 
 tic air, which caused the capataz to 
 tremble inwardly in spite of his de 
 termined indifference. 
 
 While he executed his master's 
 orders, the latter selected six of his 
 peons, on whose courage he thought 
 he could most rely, ordered them to 
 take their muskets, and bidding the 
 others to keep a good watch, but not 
 begin any thing till he returned, he 
 made a signal to the capataz that he 
 
 was ready to follow him. No Car 
 nero had followed with an evil eye 
 the arrangements made by his mas 
 ter, but probably did not deem it 
 prudent to risk any remark, for he 
 silently bowed his head, and walked 
 towards the pile of rocks that masked 
 the entrance of the grotto. 
 
 These granite blocks, piled one on 
 top of the other, did not appear, 
 however, to have been brought there 
 by accident, but, on the contrary, 
 they appeared to have belonged in 
 some early and remote age to a 
 clumsy but substantial edifice, which 
 was probably connected with the 
 breastwork still visible on the edge 
 of the voladero on the side of the 
 precipice. 
 
 The Mexicans crossed the rocks 
 without difficulty, and soon found 
 themselves before the dark and 
 frowning entrance of the cavern. 
 The chief gave his peons a signal 
 to halt. 
 
 "It would not be prudent," he 
 said, "to venture without precau 
 tions into this cavern. Prepare 
 your arms, muchachos, and keep 
 your eyes open ; at the slightest sus 
 picious sound, or the smallest object 
 that appears, fire. Capataz, light the 
 torches." 
 
 The latter obeyed without a word ; 
 the leader of the caravan assured 
 himself at a glance that his orders 
 had been properly carried out ; then 
 taking his pistols from his belt, he 
 cocked them, took one in each hand, 
 and said to Carnero 
 
 " Take the lead," he said, with a 
 mocking accent ; " it is only just that 
 you should do the honors of this 
 place which you so unexpectedly 
 discovered. Forward, you others, 
 and be on your guard," he added, 
 turning to the peons. 
 
 The eight men then went into the 
 cavern at the heels of the capataz, 
 who raised the torches above his 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 55 
 
 capataz, they led him, as well as the 
 peons and the prisoners of the 
 second caravan, in front of the tri 
 bunal, where they ranged them 
 selves in line. Then, at a signal 
 from the Jester, the horsemen closed 
 up round the white men, who were 
 thus hemmed in by Comanche war 
 riors. 
 
 The spectacle offered by this as 
 semblage of men, with their marked 
 features and quaint garb, grouped 
 without any apparent regularity on 
 this voladero, which was suspended 
 as if artificially over a terrible gulf, 
 and leant against lofty mountains, 
 with their abrupt flanks and snowy 
 crest, was not without a certain 
 grandeur. 
 
 A deadly silence brooded at this 
 moment over the esplanade ; all 
 chests were heaving, every heart 
 was oppressed. Red-skins, hunters, 
 and Mexicans all understood in 
 stinctively that a grand drama was 
 about to be performed; invisible 
 streams could be heard hoarsely 
 murmuring in the cavern, and at 
 times a gust of wind whistled over 
 the heads of the horsemen. 
 
 The prisoners, affected by a 
 vague and undefined terror, waited 
 with secret anxiety, not knowing 
 what fate these ferocious victors re 
 served for them, but certain that, 
 whatever the decision formed about 
 them might be, prayers would be im 
 potent to move them, and that they 
 would have to endure the atrocious 
 torture to which they would doubt 
 less be condemned. 
 
 The president looked around the 
 assembly, rose in the midst of a 
 profound silence, stretched out his 
 arm toward the general, who stood 
 cold and passionless before him, and, 
 after darting at him a withering 
 glance through the holes made in 
 the crape that concealed his face, he 
 
 said in a grave, stern, and impres 
 sive voice 
 
 " Caballeros, remember the words 
 you are about to hear, listen to them 
 attentively, so as to understand them, 
 and not to be in error as to our 
 intentions. In the first place, in 
 order to reassure you and restore 
 your entire freedom of mind, learn 
 that you have not fallen into the 
 hands of Indians thirsting for your 
 blood, or of pirates who intend to 
 plunder you first and assassinate 
 you afterwards. No, you need not 
 feel the slightest alarm. When you 
 have acted as impartial witnesses, 
 and are able to render testimony of 
 what you have seen, should it be 
 required, you will be at liberty to 
 continue your journey, without the 
 forfeiture of a single article. The 
 men seated on my right and left, 
 although masked, are brave and 
 honest hunters. The day may per 
 haps arrive when you will know 
 them; but reasons, whose import 
 ance you will speedily recognize, 
 compel them to remain unknown 
 for the present. I was bound to say 
 this, senores, to you against whom 
 we bear no animosity, before" com 
 ing to a final settlement with this 
 man." 
 
 One of the travellers belonging to 
 the second caravan stepped forward ; 
 he was a young man, with elegant 
 and noble features, tall and well- 
 built. 
 
 "Caballero," he answered, in a 
 distinct and sympathizing voice, 
 "I thank you, in the name of my 
 companions and myself, for the re 
 assuring words you have spoken. 
 I know how implacable the laws of 
 the desert are, and have ever sub 
 mitted to them without a murmur ; 
 but permit me to ask you one ques 
 tion." 
 
 " Speak, caballero." 
 
56 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 " Is it an act of vengeance or jus 
 tice you are about to carry out ?" 
 
 " Neither, senor. It would be an 
 act of folly or weakness if the in 
 spirations of the heart could be 
 blamed or doubted by honorable 
 and loyal men." 
 
 "Enough of this, senor," the 
 general said, haughtily; "and if 
 you are as you assert, an honorable 
 man, show me your face, in order 
 that I may know with whom I have 
 to deal." 
 
 The president shrugged his shoul 
 ders contemptuously. 
 
 "No, Don Sebastian," he said, 
 "for in that case the game would 
 not be even between us. But be 
 patient, caballero, and soon you will 
 learn, if not who I am, at any rate 
 the motives which have made me 
 your implacable foe." 
 
 The general attempted to smile, 
 but in spite of himself the smile 
 died away on his lips, and though 
 his haughty bearing seemed to defy 
 his unknown enemies, a secret ap 
 prehension contracted his heart. 
 
 There was a silence for some mo 
 ments, during which no other sound 
 was audible save that of the breeze 
 whistling through the denuded 
 branches and the distant murmur 
 of the invisible torrents in the 
 guebrades. 
 
 The president looked round with 
 flashing eyes, and folding his arms 
 on his chest at the same time, as he 
 raised his head, he began speaking 
 again in a sharp, cutting voice, 
 whose accents caused his hearers to 
 tremble involuntarily. And yet 
 they were brave men, accustomed to 
 the terrible incidents of a desert- 
 life, and whom the most serious 
 dangers could not have affected. 
 
 "Now listen, senores," he said, 
 "and judge this man impartially; 
 but do not judge him accord 
 ing^ to prairie law, but in your 
 
 hearts. General Don Sebastian Guer 
 rero, who is standing so bold and 
 upright before you at this moment, 
 is one of the greatest noblemen of 
 Mexico, a Christiana viejo of the 
 purest blood, descended in a direct 
 line from the Spanish Conquistadors. 
 His fortune is immense, incalculable, 
 and he himself could not determine 
 its amount. This man, by the mere 
 strength of his will, and the im 
 placable egotism that forms the 
 basis of his character, has always 
 succeeded in every thing he has un 
 dertaken. Coldly and resolutely am 
 bitious, he has covered with corpses 
 the bloody road he was compelled to 
 follow in order to attain his pro 
 posed object, and he has done so 
 without hesitation or remorse; he 
 has looked on with a smiling face, 
 when his dearest friends and his 
 nearest relations fell by his side ; 
 for him nothing which men respect 
 exists faith and honor are with him 
 but empty sounds. He had a 
 daughter, who was the perfection 
 of women, and he coldly lacerated 
 that daughter's heart; he fatally 
 drove her to suicide, and the blood 
 of the poor girl spirted on his fore 
 head, while he was triumphantly 
 witnessing the legal murder of the 
 man she loved, and whose death he 
 resolved on, because he refused to 
 palter with his honor, and aid this 
 man in the infamous treachery he 
 was meditating. This human-faced 
 tiger, this monster with the mocking, 
 sceptical face, you see, senores, has 
 only one thought, one object, one 
 desire it is, to attain the highest 
 rank, even if, to effect it, he were 
 compelled to clarnber over the pant 
 ing corpses of his relations and 
 friends sacrificed to his ambition; 
 and if he cannot carve out an inde 
 pendent kingdom in this collapsing 
 republic, which is called Mexico, he 
 wishes to seize, at least, on the 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 57 
 
 supreme magistracy, and be elected 
 president. If this man's life merely 
 comprised this egotistic ambition 
 and these infamous schemes to satisfy 
 it, I should content myself with 
 despising, instead of hating him, 
 and not being able to find an ex 
 cuse for him, I should forget him. 
 But no ; this man has done more 
 he dared to lay hands on a man who 
 was my friend, my brother, the 
 Count de Pr6bois Crance, to whom 
 I have already referred, senores, 
 without mentioning his name. Un 
 able to conquer the count loyally, 
 despairing of winning him over to 
 his shameful cause, he at first tried 
 to poison him; but, not having 
 succeeded, and wishing to come to 
 an end, he forgot that his daughter, 
 an angel, the sole creature who 
 loved him, and implored divine 
 mercy for him, was the betrothed 
 wife of the count, and that killing 
 him would be her condemnation to 
 death. In his horrible thirst for re 
 venge, he ordered the judicial mur 
 der of my friend, and coldly pre 
 sided at the execution, not noticing, 
 in the joyous deliverance of his 
 satisfied hatred, that his daughter 
 had killed herself at his side, and 
 that he was trampling her corpse 
 beneath his horse's feet. Such is 
 what this man has done; look at 
 him well, in order to recognize him 
 hereafter ; he is General Don Sebas 
 tian Guerrero, military governor 
 of Sornoa." 
 
 " Oh !" the audience said involun 
 tarily, as they instinctively recoiled 
 in horror. 
 
 " If this man is the ex-governor of 
 Sonora," the hunter who had already 
 spoken said, in disgust, " he is a wild 
 beast, whom his ferocity has placed 
 beyond the pale of society, and it is 
 the duty of honest men to destroy 
 him," 
 
 "He must die! he must diel" the 
 new-comers exclaimed. 
 
 The general's peons were gloomy 
 and downcast ; they hung their 
 heads sadly, for they did not dare 
 attempt to defend their master, and 
 yet did not like to accuse him. 
 
 The general was still cool and un 
 moved ; he was apparently calm, but 
 a fearful tempest was raging in his 
 heart. His face was of an earthly 
 and cadaverous pallor ; his brows 
 were contracted till they touched, 
 and his violet lips were closed, as if 
 he were making violent efforts not 
 to utter a word, and to restrain his 
 fury from breaking out in insults. 
 His eyes flashed fire, and then his 
 whole body was agitated by convul 
 sive movements, but he managed, 
 through his self-command, to con 
 quer his emotion, and retain the 
 expression of withering contempt 
 which he had assumed since the be 
 ginning of this scene. 
 
 Seeing that his accuser was silent, 
 he took a step forward, and stretched 
 out his arm, as if he claimed the 
 right of answering. But his enemy 
 gave him no time to utter a word. 
 
 " Wait 1" he shouted, " I have not 
 said all yet; now that I have re 
 vealed what you have done, I am 
 bound to render -the persons here 
 present judges not only of what I 
 have done, but also of what I in 
 tend to do in future against you." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR. 
 
 THE general shrugged his shoul 
 ders with a contemptuous smile. 
 "Nonsense," he said, "you are 
 
58 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 mad, my fine fellow. I know now 
 who you are ; your hatred of me has 
 unconsciously discovered you. Re 
 move that vail which is no longer 
 of any use ; I know you, for, as you 
 are aware, hatred is clear-sighted. 
 You are the French hunter whom I 
 have constantly met in my path to 
 impede my projects, or overthrow 
 my plans." 
 
 "Add," the hunter interrupted, 
 " and whom you will ever meet." 
 
 " Be it so, unless I crush you be 
 neath my heel like a noxious in 
 sect." 
 
 " Ever so proud and so indomita 
 ble, do you not fear lest, exasperated 
 by your insults, I may forget the 
 oath I have taken, and sacrifice you 
 to my vengeance ?" 
 
 "Nonsense," he replied, with a 
 disdainful toss of his head, "you 
 kill me ? that is impossible, for you 
 are too anxious to enjoy your re 
 venge to stab me in a moment of 
 passion." 
 
 " That is true, this time you are 
 right, Don Sebastian. I will not kill 
 yorf, because, however culpable you 
 may be, I do not recognize the right 
 to do so. Blood does not wash out 
 blood, it only increases the stain; 
 and I intend to take a more pro 
 tracted vengeance on you than a 
 stab or a shot will grant us. Be 
 sides this, vengeance has already 
 commenced." 
 
 " Indeed !" the general said sarcas 
 tically. 
 
 " Still," the hunter continued with 
 some emotion, "as the vengeance 
 muft be straightforward, I wish to 
 give you, in the presence of all these 
 gentlemen, the proof that I fear you 
 no more to-day than I did when the 
 struggle commenced between us. 
 This vail which you reproach me 
 for wearing I am going to remove, 
 not because you have recognized 
 me, but because I deem it unworthy 
 
 of me to conceal my features from 
 you any longer. Brothers," he 
 added, turning to his silent assist 
 ants, " my mask alone must fall, re 
 tain yours, for it is important for 
 my plans of vengeance that you 
 should remain unknown." 
 
 The four men bowed their assent, 
 and the hunter threw away the 
 crape that covered his features. 
 
 " Valentine Guillois !" the general 
 exclaimed; "I was sure of it." 
 
 On hearing this celebrated name, 
 the hunters of the second caravan 
 made a movement as if to rush for 
 ward, impelled either by curiosity 
 or some other motive. 
 
 "Stay," the Frenchman shouted, 
 stopping them by a quick wave of 
 the hand, "let me finish with this 
 man first." 
 
 They fell back with a bow. 
 
 ''Now," he continued, "we are 
 really face to face. Well, lister 
 patiently to what still remains for 
 me to tell you; and, perhaps, the 
 assumed calmness spread over your 
 features will melt away before my 
 words, like the snow in the sun 
 shine." 
 
 " I will listen to you, because it 
 is impossible for me to do otherwise 
 at this moment ; but if you flatter 
 yourself that you will affect me in 
 any way, I am bound to warn you 
 that you will not succeed. The 
 hatred I feel for you is so thorough 
 ly balanced by the contempt you in 
 spire me with, that nothing which 
 emanates from you can move me in 
 the slightest degree." 
 
 " Listen then," the hunter coldly 
 continued ; " when my unhappy 
 friend fell at Guaymas, in my 
 paroxysm of grief I allow that I 
 intended to kill you ; but reflection 
 soon came, and I saw that it would 
 be better to let you live. Thanks 
 to me, one week after the count's 
 death, the Mexican Government, 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 59 
 
 not satisfied with disavowing your 
 conduct publicly , deprived you of 
 your command, without inquiry, and 
 refused, in spite of your remon 
 strances, to explain to you the mo 
 tives of their conduct." 
 
 "Ah, ah," the general said, in a 
 hissing but suppressed voice, " it 
 was to you, then, that 1 owe my 
 recall?"" 
 
 " Yes, general, to me alone." 
 " I am delighted to hear it." 
 " You remained, then, in Sonora, 
 without power or influence, hated 
 and despised by all, and marked on 
 your forehead with that indelible 
 brand which God imprinted on 
 Cain, the first murderer ; but Mex 
 ico is a blessed country, where am 
 bitious men can easily fish in trou 
 bled waters, when, like yourself, they 
 are not restrained by any of those 
 bonds of honor, which too often fet 
 ter the genius of honest men. You 
 could not remain long bowed beneath 
 the blow that had fallen on you, and 
 you made up your mind in a few 
 days. You resolved to leave Sonora 
 and proceed to Mexico, where, thanks 
 to your colossal fortune, and the in 
 fluence it would necessarily give 
 you, you could carry on your ambi 
 tious projects ; by changing the 
 scene, you hoped to cast the scan 
 dalous acts of which you had been 
 guilty into oblivion. Your prepa 
 rations were soon made listen at 
 tentively, general, to this, for I as 
 sure you that I have reached the 
 most interesting part of my narra 
 tion." 
 
 " Go on, go on, senor," he replied 
 carelessly, "I am listening to you 
 attentively ; do not fear that I shall 
 forget one of your words." 
 
 " In spite of your affected indiffer 
 ence, senor, I will go on. As you 
 fancied, for certain reasons which it 
 is unnecessary to remind you of, that 
 your enemies might try to lay some 
 
 ambush for you during the long 
 journey you were obliged to perform 
 from Hermosillo to Mexico, you 
 thought it necessary to take the fol 
 lowing precautions, the inutility of 
 some of which I presume that you 
 have recognized by this time. While, 
 for the purpose of deceiving your 
 enemies, you started in disguise, and 
 only accompanied by a few men, for 
 California, in order to return to 
 Mexico across the Rocky Mountains; 
 while you gave questioners the full 
 est details of the road, you pretended 
 to follow, with your men your real 
 object was quite different. The man 
 in whom you placed your confidence, 
 Don Isidro Vargas, a veteran of 
 your War of Independence, who 
 had known you when a child, and 
 whom you had converted into your 
 tool, took the shortest, and, conse 
 quently, most direct route for the 
 capital, having with him not only 
 twelve mules loaded with gold and 
 silver, the fruit of your plunder 
 during the period of your command, 
 but a more precious article still, the 
 body of your unhappy daughter, 
 which you had embalmed, and 
 which the captain had orders to in 
 ter with your ancestors at your 
 Hacienda del Palmar, which you 
 left so long ago, and to which you 
 will, in all probability, never return. 
 Your object in acting thus was not 
 only to divert attention from your 
 ill-gotten riches, but also to attract 
 your enemies after yourself. Unfor 
 tunately or fortunately, according 
 as we regard the matter, I am an 
 old hunter so difficult to deceive 
 that my comrades gave me long ago 
 the glorious title of the Trail-hunter, 
 and hence, while everybody else was 
 forming speculations about you, I 
 alone was not deceived, and guessed 
 your plan." 
 
 " Still, your presence here gives a 
 striking denial to the assertion," 
 
60 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 the general interrupted him, ironi 
 cally. 
 
 "You think so, senor, and that 
 proves that you are not thoroughly 
 acquainted with me yet; but pa 
 tience, I hope that you will, ere 
 long, appreciate me better. More 
 over, you have not reflected on the 
 time that has elapsed since your de 
 parture from Hermosillo." 
 
 "What do you mean?" the 
 general asked, with a sudden start 
 of apprehension. 
 
 "I mean that before attacking 
 yon, I resolved to settle matters first 
 with the captain." 
 
 "Ah !" 
 
 "Well, general, it is my painful 
 duty to inform you that four days 
 after he left Pitic, our brave friend 
 Don Isidro, although an old and 
 experienced soldier, well versed in 
 war stratagems, fell into an ambus 
 cade resembling the one into which 
 you fell to-day, with this excep 
 tion " 
 
 "What exception?" the general 
 asked, with greater interest than he 
 would have liked to display, for he 
 was beginning to fear a catastrophe. 
 
 "My men were so imprudent," 
 the hunter continued, ironically, "as 
 to leave the captain the means of 
 defending himself. The result was 
 that he died, bravely fighting to 
 save the gold you had intrusted to 
 him, and, before all, the coffin con 
 taining your daughter's corpse." 
 
 " Well, and I presume you plun 
 dered the caravan, and carried off 
 the gold and silver?" he asked, con 
 temptuously. 
 
 "You would most probably have 
 acted thus under similar circum 
 stances, Don Sebastian," the hunter 
 answered, giving him back insult 
 for insult; "but I thought it my 
 duty to act differently. What could 
 you expect? I, a coarse, unedu 
 cated hunter, do not know how to 
 
 plunder, for I did not learn it when 
 I had the honor to serve my own 
 country, and I never stood under 
 your orders in Mexico. This is 
 what I did : so soon as the captain 
 and the peons he commanded were 
 killed for the poor devils, I must 
 do them the justice of saying, offered 
 a desperate resistance I myself, you 
 understand, friend, I myself con 
 veyed the money to your Hacienda 
 del Palmar, where it now remains in 
 safety, as you can easily assure 
 yourself if you ever return to Pal 
 mar." 
 
 The general breathed again, and 
 smiled ironically. " Instead of 
 blaming you, senor," he said, " I, on 
 the contrary, owe you thanks for this 
 chivalrous conduct, especially to 
 ward an enemy." 
 
 "Do not be in such a hurry to 
 thank me, caballero," the hunter an 
 swered; "I have not told you all 
 yet." 
 
 These words were uttered with 
 such an accent of gratified hatred, 
 that all the hearers, the general in 
 cluded, shuddered involuntarily, for 
 they understood that the hunter was 
 about to make a terrible revelation, 
 and that the calmness he feigned 
 concealed a tempest. 
 
 "Ah," Don Sebastian murmured, 
 " speak, I implore you, senor, for I 
 am anxious to know all the obliga 
 tions I owe you." 
 
 " Captain Don Isidro Vargas not 
 only escorted the money I had con 
 veyed to Palmar," he said in a sharp, 
 quick voice, " but there was also a 
 coffin. Well, general, why do you 
 not ask me what has become of that 
 coffin?" 
 
 An electric shock ran through the 
 audience on hearing the ironical 
 question so coldly asked by the 
 hunter, whose eye, implacably fixed 
 on the general, seemeu to flash fire. 
 
 "What!" Don Sebastian ex- 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 61 
 
 claimed, "I can hardly think that 
 you have committed sacrilege ?" 
 
 Valentine burst into a loud and 
 sharp laugh. "Your suppositions 
 ever go beyond the object. I com 
 mit sacrilege, oh, no ! I loved the 
 poor girl too dearly when alive to 
 outrage her after death. No, no 
 the betrothed of my friend is sacred 
 to me; but as, in my opinion, the 
 assassin can have no claim to the 
 body of his victim, and you are 
 morally your daughter's murderer, 
 I have robbed you of this body, 
 which you are not worthy to have, 
 and which must rest by the side of 
 him for whom she died." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 The general's face, hitherto pale, 
 assumed a greenish hue, and his 
 eyes were suffused with blood. Now 
 and then he made superhuman ef 
 forts to speak, which were unsuc 
 cessful, but at length he yelled in a 
 hoarse and hissing voice 
 
 "It is not true; you have not 
 done this. You cannot have dared 
 to rob a father of his child's body." 
 
 "I have done it, I tell you," the 
 hunter said coldly. " I have taken 
 possession of the body of your vic 
 tim, and now you understand me; 
 never shall you know where this 
 poor body rests. But this is only 
 the beginning of my vengeance. 
 What I wish to kill in you is the 
 soul and not the body ; and now be 
 gone. Go and forget at Mexico, 
 amid your ambitious intrigues, the 
 scene that has passed between us; 
 but remember that you will find me 
 in your path everywhere and ever. 
 Farewell till we meet again." 
 
 " One last word," the general ex 
 claimed, affected by the deepest de 
 spair, "restore me my daughter's 
 body ; she was the only human crea 
 ture I ever loved." 
 
 The hunter regarded him for a 
 moment with an undefinable expres- 
 4 
 
 sion, and then said in a harsh and 
 coldly-mocking voice, "Never." 
 
 Then, turning away, he re-entered 
 the grotto, followed by his assist 
 ants. The general tried to rush after 
 him, but the Indians restrained him, 
 and, in spite of his resistance, com 
 pelled him to stop. 
 
 Don Sebastian, who was the more 
 overwhelmed by this last blow be 
 cause it was unexpected, stood for a 
 moment like a man struck by light 
 ning, with pendant arms and seared 
 eyes. At last a heart-rending sob 
 burst from his bosom, two burning 
 tears sprung from his eyes, and he 
 rolled like a corpse on the ground. 
 
 The very Indians, those rough 
 warriors to whom pity is a thing un 
 known, felt moved by this frightful 
 despair, and several of them turned 
 away not to witness it. 
 
 In the meanwhile the Jester had 
 ordered the peons to saddle the 
 horses and load the mules. The 
 general was placed by two servants 
 on a horse, without appearing to no 
 tice what was done to him, and a 
 few minutes later the caravan left 
 the Fort of the Chichimeques, and 
 passed unimpeded through the silent 
 ranks of the Indians, who bowed as 
 it passed. 
 
 When the Mexicans had disap 
 peared in the windings of the road. 
 Valentine emerged from the grotto, 
 and walked courteously up to the 
 hunters of the second caravan. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said to them, 
 " not the delay I have occasioned you, 
 but the involuntary alarm I caused 
 you ; but I was compelled to act as 
 I did. You are going to Mexico, 
 where I shall soon be myself, and it 
 is possible that I may require your 
 testimony some day." 
 
 " A testimony which will not be 
 refused, my dear countryman," the 
 hunter who had hitherto spoken 
 gracefully answered. 
 
62 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 " What !" the hunter exclaimed 
 in amazement, "are you French?" 
 
 "Yes, and all my companions are 
 so too. We have come from San 
 Francisco, where, thanks to Provi 
 dence, we have amassed a very con 
 siderable fortune, which we hope to 
 double in the Mexican capital. My 
 name is Antoine Rallier, and these 
 are my brothers, Edward and Au 
 gustus ; the two ladies who accom 
 pany us are my mother and sister, 
 and if you know nobody in Mexico, 
 come straight to me, sir, and you 
 will be received, not only as a friend, 
 but as a brother." 
 
 The hunter pressed the hand his 
 countryman offered him. 
 
 " As this is the case," he said, " I 
 will not let you go alone, for these 
 mountains are infested by bandits 
 of every description, whom you may 
 not escape, but with my protection 
 you can pass anywhere." 
 
 " I heartily accept the offer ; but 
 why do you not come with us to 
 Mexico ?" 
 
 " That is impossible for the pres 
 ent," the hunter answered pensive 
 ly; "but be at your ease. I shall 
 not fail to demand the fulfilment of 
 your promise." 
 
 " You will be welcome, friend, for 
 we have been acquainted for a long 
 time, and we know that you have 
 ever honorably represented France 
 in America." 
 
 Two hours later the Fort of the 
 Chichimeques had returned to its 
 usual solitude; white men and In 
 dians had abandoned it forever. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MEXICO. 
 
 WE will now leap over about two 
 months and, leaving the Kocky 
 Mountains, invite the reader to ac 
 company us to the heart of Mexico 
 
 The Spanish Conquistadors se 
 lected with admirable tact the sites 
 on which they founded the cities 
 destined to insure their power, and 
 become at a later date the centres of 
 their immense trade, and the entre 
 pots of their incalculable wealth. 
 
 Even at the present day, although 
 owing to the negligence of the 
 Creoles and their continual fratrici 
 dal wars combined with the sudden 
 earthquakes, these cities are half 
 ruined, and the life which the power 
 ful Spanish organization caused to 
 circulate in them has died out, these 
 cities are still a subject of surprise 
 to the traveller accustomed to the 
 morbid crowding of old European 
 cities. He regards with awe these 
 vast squares, surrounded by cloister- 
 like arcades ; these broad and regu 
 lar streets through which refreshing 
 waters continually flow; these shady 
 gardens in which thousands of 
 gayly-plumaged birds twitter; these 
 bold bridges ; these majestically 
 simple buildings, whose interiors 
 contain incalculable wealth. And 
 yet, we repeat, the majority of these 
 cities are only the shadow of them 
 selves. They seem dead, and are 
 only aroused by the furious yells 
 of an insurrection, to lead for a few 
 days a feverish existence under the 
 excitement of political passions. 
 But so soon as the corpses are 
 removed, and water has washed 
 away the blood stains, the streets 
 revert to their solitude, the inhabi 
 tants hide themselves in their care 
 fully-closed houses, and all become 
 again gloomy, mournful, and silent, 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 63 
 
 only to be galvanized afresh by the 
 hoarse murmurs of an approaching 
 revolt. 
 
 If we except Lima, the splendid 
 "Ciudad de los Keyes," Mexico is 
 probably the largest and handsomest 
 of all the cities that cover the soil 
 of ancient Spanish America. 
 
 From whatever point we regard 
 it, Mexico affords a magnificent 
 view ; but if you wish to enjoy a 
 really fairy-like sight, ascend at 
 sunset one of the towers of the 
 cathedral, whence you will see the 
 strangest and most picturesque pano 
 rama imaginable unrolled at your 
 feet. 
 
 Mexico certainly existed before 
 the discovery of America, and our 
 readers will probably pardon a 
 digression showing how the founda 
 tion of the city is narrated by old 
 chroniclers. 
 
 In the year of the death of Iluet- 
 zin, King of Tezcuco, that is to say, 
 " the spot where people stop," because 
 it was at this very place that the 
 migration of the Chichimeques ter 
 minated, the Mexicans made an erup 
 tion into the country, and reached 
 the place where Mexico now stands, 
 at the beginning of the year 1140 
 of our era. This place then formed 
 part of the dominions of Aculhua, 
 Lord of Atzcaputzalco. 
 
 According to paintings and the 
 old chronicles, these Indians came 
 from the empires of the province 
 of Xalisco. It appears that they 
 were of the same race as the Tol- 
 tecs, and of the family of the noble 
 lluetzin, who with his children and 
 servants escaped during the destruc 
 tion of the Toltecs, and was residing 
 at that period at Chapultepec, which 
 was also destroyed at a later date. 
 
 It is recorded that he traversed 
 with them the country of Michoacan, 
 and took refuge in the province 
 of Atzlan, where he died, and had 
 
 for his successors Ozolopan, his son, 
 and Aztlal, his grandson, whose 
 heir was Ozolopan II. The latter, 
 remembering the country of his an 
 cestors, resolved to return thither 
 with his entire nation, which was 
 already called Mezetin. After many 
 adventures and combats, they at 
 length reached the banks of a great- 
 lake covered with an infinitude of 
 islands, and as the recollection of 
 their country had been traditionally 
 kept up among them, they at once 
 recognized it, though not one of them 
 had ever seen it before. Too weak 
 to resist the people that surrounded 
 them, or to establish themselves 
 in the open country, they founded 
 on several of the islands, which 
 they connected together, a town, 
 which they called alter themselves, 
 Mexico, and which at a later date 
 was destined to be the capital of a 
 powerful empire. 
 
 Although the Mexicans arrived 
 on the banks of the lake in 1140, 
 it was not till two years later that 
 the American Venice began to 
 emerge from the bosom of the 
 waters. 
 
 We have dwelt on these details 
 in order to correct an error made 
 by a modern author, who attributes 
 to the Aztecs the foundation of this 
 city, to which he gives the name 
 of Tenochtitlan, instead of Temix- 
 tetlan, which is the correct name.* 
 
 * In order to protect themselves from the mis 
 fortunes which had before crushed them, tho 
 Mexicans placed themselves under the safeguard 
 of the King of Azcaputzalco, on whose lan;lg 
 they had established themselves. This prince 
 gave them two of his sons as governors, of 
 whom tho first was Aeamapuhtli, chief of the 
 Tetuic'acHS. On their arrival in Ahanuec, these 
 Indians had found on the summit of a rock a nopal, 
 in which was an eagle devouring a serpent, and 
 they took their name from it. Aeamapuhtli 
 selected this emblem as tho totem of the race he 
 was called upon to govern. During the War of 
 Independence, the insurgents adopted this hiero 
 glyphic as the arms of the Mexican Republic, 
 in memory of the ancient and glorious origin of 
 which it reminded them. 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 Like Venice, its European sister, 
 Mexico was only a collection of 
 cabins, offering a precarious shelter 
 to wretched fishermen, who were 
 incessantly kept in a state of alarm 
 by the attacks of their neighbors. 
 The Mexicans, at first scattered over 
 a great number of small islands, 
 felt the necessity of collecting to 
 gether in order to offer a better 
 resistance. By their patience and 
 courage they succeeded in building 
 houses, raised on piles, and employ 
 ing the mud v of the lagoons, held 
 together by branches of trees, they 
 created the ckinampca, or floating 
 gardens, the most curious in the 
 world, on which they sowed vegeta 
 bles, pimento, and maize, and thus, 
 with the aquatic birds they managed 
 to catch on the lake, they contrived 
 to be entirely independent of their 
 neighbors. 
 
 Almost destroyed during the ob 
 stinate fights between the natives 
 and the Spaniards, Mexico, four 
 years after the conquest, was en 
 tirely rebuilt by Fernando Cortez. 
 But the new city in no way resem 
 bled the old one. Most of the 
 canals were filled up, and paved 
 over; magnificent palaces and sump 
 tuous monasteries rose as if by 
 enchantment, and the city became 
 entirely Spanish. 
 
 Mexico has been so frequently 
 described by more practised pens 
 than ours, and we, in previous works, 
 have had such frequent occasions to 
 allude to it, that we will not attempt 
 any description here, but continue 
 our story without further delay. 
 
 It was October 12th, 1854, two 
 months, day for day, had elapsed 
 since the unfortunate Count de Pre- 
 bois ^Crance, victim of an iniqui 
 tous sentence, had honorably fallen 
 at Guaymas beneath the Mexican 
 bullets.* A thick fog had hung 
 
 * See the "Indian Chief." Same publishers. 
 
 over the city for the whole day, 
 changing at times into a fine drizzle - 
 which after sunset became sharper, 
 although a heavy fog still prevailed. 
 However, at about eight in the 
 evening the rain ceased to fall, and 
 the stagnant waters of the lake be 
 gan to reflect a few particles of 
 brighter sky. The snow-clad sum 
 mit of Iztaczihuatl, or the White 
 Woman, feebly glistened in the 
 pale watery moonbeams, while Popo 
 catepetl remained buried in the 
 clouds.* 
 
 The streets and squares were de 
 serted, although the nisrht was not 
 
 7 O O 
 
 yet far advanced ; for the loungers 
 and promenaders, driven away by 
 the weather, had returned to their 
 homes. A deep silence brooded 
 over the city, whose lights expired 
 one after the other, and only at 
 lengthened intervals could be heard 
 on the greasy pavement the footsteps 
 of the serenos, or watchmen, who 
 performed their melancholy walk, 
 with the indifferent air peculiar to 
 that estimable corporation. At 
 times a few discordant sounds, es 
 caping from the velorios were borne 
 along on the breeze ; but that was 
 all the city seemed asleep. 
 
 Half-past nine was striking by the 
 cathedral clock at the moment when 
 a dull sound resembling the rustling 
 of reeds shaken by the wind, was 
 audible on the gigantic highway 
 joining the city to the main land. 
 This sound soon became more dis 
 tinct, and changed into the tram 
 pling of horses, which was deadened 
 by the damp air and the ground 
 softened by a lengthened rain. A 
 black mass emerged from the fog, 
 and two horsemen wrapped in thick 
 cloaks stood out distinctly in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 These horsemen seemed to have 
 
 * This second volcano, whose uarao indicates 
 " The Smoking Mountain," is near the former. 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 65 
 
 made a long journey ; their steeds, 
 covered with mud, limped at each 
 step, and only advanced with ex 
 treme difficulty. They at length 
 reached a low house, through whose 
 dirty panes a doubtful light issued, 
 which showed that the inhabitants 
 were still awake. 
 
 The horsemen stopped before this 
 house, which was an inn, and with 
 out dismounting, one of them gave 
 the door two or three kicks, and 
 called the host in a loud sharp voice. 
 The latter, doubtless disturbed by 
 this unusual summons at so im 
 proper an hour, was in no hurry to 
 answer, and would have probably 
 left the strangers for some time in 
 the cold, if the man who had kicked, 
 probably tired of waiting, had not 
 thought of an expeditious means of 
 obtaining an answer. 
 
 " Voto d Brios /" he shouted, as he 
 drew a pistol from his holster arid 
 cocked it, "since this dog is resolved 
 not to open, I will send a bullet 
 through his window." 
 
 This menace had been scarce ut 
 tered ere the door opened as if by 
 enchantment, and the landlord ap 
 peared on the threshold. This man 
 resembled landlords in all countries; 
 he had, like them, a sleek and crafty 
 look, but at this moment his obse 
 quiousness badly concealed a pro 
 found terror, evidenced by the 
 earthy pallor of his face. 
 
 "Hola, caballero," he said, with a 
 respectful bow, "have a little pa 
 tience, if you please. Caramba! 
 how quick you are; it is plain to 
 see that you are forasteros, and not 
 acquainted with the custom of our 
 country." 
 
 "No matter who I am," the 
 stranger answered sharply; "are 
 you a landlord yes or no ?" 
 
 "I have that honor, caballero," 
 the host remarked, with a deeper 
 bow than the first. 
 
 1 "If you are so, scoundrel," the 
 stranger exclaimed angrily, " by 
 what right do you, whose duty it is 
 to be at the orders of the public, 
 dare to keep me waiting thus at 
 your door ?" 
 
 The landlord had a strong incli 
 nation to get into a passion, but the 
 resolute tone of the man who ad 
 dressed him, and, above all, the 
 pistol he still held in his hand, urged 
 him to prudence and moderation ; 
 hence he answered with profound 
 humility * 
 
 " Believe me, senor, that if 1 had 
 known what a distinguished cabal 
 lero did me the honor of stopping 
 before my humble dwelling, I should 
 have hastened to open." 
 
 "A truce to such impertinent 
 remarks, and open the door." 
 
 The landlord bowed without re 
 plying this time, and whistled a lad, 
 who came to help him in holding 
 the travellers' horses ; the latter 
 dismounted and entered the inn, 
 while their tired steeds were led to 
 the corral by the boy. 
 
 The room into which the travel 
 lers were introduced, was low, black, 
 and furnished with tables and 
 benches in a filthy state, and mostly 
 broken, while the floor of stamped 
 earth was greasy and uneven. Above 
 the bar was a statuette of the Virgin 
 de la Soledad, before which burned 
 a greasy candle. In short, this inn 
 had nothing attractive or comforta 
 ble about it, and seemed to be a 
 velorio of the lowest class, appa 
 rently used by the most wretched 
 and least honorable ranks of Mexi 
 can society. 
 
 A glance was sufficient for the 
 travellers to understand the place to 
 which accident had led them, still 
 they did not display any of the" dis 
 gust which the sight of this, cut 
 throat den inspired them with. They 
 seated themselves as comfortably as 
 
66 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 they could at a table, and the one 
 \vho had hitherto addressed mine 
 host went on, while his silent com 
 panion leaned against the wall, and 
 drew the folds of his cloak still 
 higher up his face. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "we are 
 literally dying of hunger, patron ; 
 could you not serve us up a morsel 
 of something ? I don't care what it 
 is in the shape of food." 
 
 " Hum !" said the host with an 
 embarrassed air, "it is very late, 
 caballero, and I don't believe I have 
 even a maize tortilla left in the whole 
 house." 
 
 "Nonsense," the traveller replied, 
 "I know all about it, so let us deal 
 frankly with each other; give rne 
 some supper, for I am hungry, and 
 we will not squabble about the 
 price." 
 
 ''Even if you paid me a piastre 
 for every tortilla, excellency, I really 
 could not supply you with two," the 
 landlord replied, with increased con 
 straint. 
 
 The traveller looked at him fix 
 edly for a moment or two, and then 
 laid his hand firmly on his arm. and 
 pulled him toward the table. 
 
 " Now look here, No Lusacho," 
 he said to him curtly, " I intend to 
 pass two hours in your hovel, at all 
 risks ; I know that between this and 
 eleven o'clock you expect a large 
 party, and that all is prepared to re 
 ceive them." 
 
 The landlord attempted to give a 
 denial, but the traveller cut him 
 short. 
 
 " Silence," he continued, " I wish 
 to be present at the meeting of these 
 persons; of course I do not mean 
 them to see me; but I must not only 
 see them, but hear all they say. 
 Put me where you please, that is 
 your* concern ; but as any trouble 
 deserves payment, here are ten 
 ounces for you, and I will give you 
 
 as many more when your visitors 
 are gone, and I assure you that what 
 I ask of you will not in any way 
 compromise you, and that no one 
 will ever know the bargain made 
 between us you understand me, I 
 suppose ? Now I will add, that if 
 you obstinately refuse the arrange 
 ment I offer " 
 
 " Well, suppose I do ?" 
 
 " I will blow out your brains," 
 the traveller said distinctly; "my 
 friend here will put you on his 
 shoulder, throw you into the water, 
 and all will be over. What do you 
 think of my proposal ?" 
 
 "Hang it, excellency," the poor 
 fellow answered with a grimace 
 which attempted to resemble a srnile, 
 and trembling in all his limbs, "I 
 think that I have no choice, and am 
 compelled to accept." 
 
 " Good ! now you are learning 
 reason ; but take these ounces as a 
 consolation." 
 
 The landlord pocketed the money, 
 as he raised his eyes to heaven and 
 gave a deep sigh. 
 
 "Fear nothing, viva DIGS!" the 
 traveller continued, "all will pass 
 off better than you suppose. At 
 what hour do you expect your visit 
 ors ?" 
 
 " At half-past ten, excellency." 
 
 " Good ! it is half-past nine, we 
 have time before us. Where do you 
 propose to hide us ?" 
 
 " In this room, excellency." 
 
 " Here, diabolo ; whereabouts ? 
 
 "Behind the bar; no one will 
 dream of looking for you there, and, 
 besides, I shall serve as a rampart to 
 you." 
 
 "Then you will be present at the 
 meeting?" 
 
 "Oh!" he said with a smile, "I 
 am nobody ; the more so, that if I 
 spoke, my house would be ruined." 
 
 " That is true. Well, then, all is 
 settled ; when the hour arrives, you 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 67 
 
 will place us behind the bar; but 
 can my companion and I sit there 
 with any degree of comfort ?" 
 
 " Oh, you will have plenty of 
 room." 
 
 " I fancy this is not the first time 
 such a thing has occurred, eh ?" 
 
 The landlord smiled, but made no 
 answer : the traveller reflected for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Give us something to eat," he at 
 length said ; " here are two piastres 
 in addition for what you are going 
 to place before us." 
 
 The landlord took the money, and 
 forgetting that he had declared a few 
 moments previously that he had 
 nothing in the house, he instantly 
 covered the table with provisions, 
 which, if not particularly delicate, 
 were, however, sufficiently appetiz 
 ing, especially for men whose appe 
 tite appeared to be powerfully ex 
 cited. 
 
 The two travellers vigorously at 
 tacked this improvised supper, and- 
 for about twenty minutes no other 
 sound was heard but that of their 
 jaws. When their hunger was at 
 length appeased, the traveller who 
 seemed to speak for both, thrust 
 away his plate, and addressed the 
 landlord, who was modestly stand 
 ing behind him hat in hand. 
 
 "And now for another matter," 
 he said ; " how many lads have you 
 to help you?" 
 
 " Two, excellency the one who 
 took your horses to the corral, and 
 another." 
 
 " Very good. I presume you will 
 not require both those lads to wait 
 on your friends to-night ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, excellency ; in 
 deed, for greater security I shall 
 wait on them alone." 
 
 " Better still ; then you see no in 
 convenience in sending one of them 
 into the Ciudad; of course on the 
 
 understanding that he is well paid 
 for the trip ?" 
 
 "No inconvenience at all, excel 
 lency ; what is the business ?" 
 
 " Simply," he said, taking a letter 
 from his bosom, u to convey this 
 letter to Senor Don Antonio Rallier, 
 in the Calle Secunda Monterilla, and 
 bring me back the answer in the 
 shortest possible period to this 
 house." 
 
 "That is easy, excellency; if you 
 will have the kindness to intrust the 
 letter to me." 
 
 " Here it is, and four piastres for 
 the journey." 
 
 The host bowed respectfully, and 
 immediately left the room. 
 
 "I fancy, Curumilla," the travel 
 ler then said to his companion, "that 
 our affairs are going on well." 
 
 The other replied by a silent nod 
 of assent, and within a moment the 
 landlord returned. 
 
 " Well ?" the traveller asked. 
 
 " Your messenger has set off, ex 
 cellency, but he will probably be 
 some time ere he returns." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " Because people are not allowed 
 to ride about the city at night with 
 out a special authority, and he will 
 be obliged to go and return on 
 foot." 
 
 "No consequence, so long as he 
 returns before sunrise." 
 
 " Oh, long before then, excel 
 lency." 
 
 " In that case all is for the best ; 
 but I think the moment is at hand 
 when your friends will arrive." 
 
 " It is, excellency, so have the 
 kindness to follow me." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 The travellers rose; in a twinkling 
 the landlord removed all signs of 
 supper, and then hid his guests be 
 hind the bar. This bar, which was 
 very tall and deep, offered them a 
 
68 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 perfectly secure, if not convenient, 
 hiding-place, in which they crouched 
 down with a pistol in each hand, in 
 order to be ready for any event. 
 They had scarce installed them 
 selves ere several knocks, dealt in 
 a peculiar fashion, were heard on 
 the outer door. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 THE RANCHO. 
 
 Iisr one of our previous works we 
 proved by documentary evidence 
 that, since the declaration of its in 
 dependence, that is to say, in about 
 forty years, Mexico has reached its 
 two hundred and thirtieth revo 
 lution, which gives an average of 
 about five revolutions a year. In 
 our opinion, this is very decent for 
 a country which, if it pleased, regard 
 being had to the retrograde mea 
 sures adopted by the government, 
 would have been justified in having 
 at least one a month. 
 
 The causes of these revolutions 
 are and must be ever the same in a 
 country where the sabre rules with 
 out control, and which counts twenty- 
 four thousand officers for an army 
 of twenty thousand men. These 
 officers, very ignorant generally, and 
 very ambitious individually, incapa 
 ble of executing the slightest man 
 oeuvre, or commanding the most 
 simple movement, find in the gen 
 eral disorder chances of promotion 
 which they would not otherwise 
 have, and many Mexican generals 
 have attained their elevated rank 
 without having once been present at 
 a battle, or even seen any other fire 
 than that of the cigarettes they con 
 
 stantly have in their mouths. The 
 real truth is, they have skilfully pro 
 nounced themselves; each pronun- 
 ciamiento has gained them a step, 
 sometimes two, and with pronuncia- 
 miento after pronunciamieuto, they 
 have acquired the general's scarf, 
 that is to say, the probability, with 
 the aid of luck, of being in their 
 turn proclaimed President of the 
 Republic, which is the dream of all 
 of them, and the constant object of 
 their efforts. 
 
 We have said that the travellers 
 had scarce time to conceal them 
 selves in the bar, ere several knocks 
 on the door warned the landlord that 
 the mysterious guests he expected 
 were beginning to arrive. 
 
 No Lusacho was a fat little man, 
 with constantly-rolling gray eyes, 
 a cunning look, and a prominent 
 stomach the true type of the Mexi 
 can Ranchero, who is more eager 
 for gain than two Jews, and very 
 ready when circumstances demand 
 it that is to say, when his own in 
 terests are concerned to make a 
 bargain with his conscience. lie 
 assured himself by a glance that all 
 was in order in the room, and that 
 there was nothing to cause the 
 presence of strangers to be suspected, 
 and then walked to the door ; but, 
 before opening, with the probable 
 intention of displaying his zeal, he 
 thought it advisable to challenge the 
 arrivals. 
 
 " Quien vive ?" he asked. 
 
 " Gente de paz !" a rough voice 
 answered; "open in the Fiend's 
 name, if you do not wish us to break 
 in your door." 
 
 No Lusacho doubtless recognized 
 the voice, for the somewhat brusque 
 response appeared to him sufficient, 
 and he immediately prepared to 
 draw back the bolts. 
 
 The door was hardly ajar ere 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 69 
 
 several men burst into the inn, 
 thrusting each other aside in their 
 haste, as if afraid of being followed. 
 These men were seven or eight in 
 number; and it was easy to see they 
 were officers, in spite of the precau 
 tion of some among them who had 
 put on civilian attire. 
 
 They laughed and jested loudly, 
 which proved that, if they were con 
 spirators, or, at least, if they were 
 brought to this ill-famed den by 
 any illicit object, that object, what 
 ever it might be, did not spoil their 
 gayety or appear to them of suffi 
 cient importance to render them 
 unwontedly serious. 
 
 They seated themselves at a table, 
 and the landlord who had doubtless 
 long been acquainted with their 
 habits, placed before them a bottle 
 of Catalonian refino and a jug of 
 pulque, which they straightway be- 
 ga'n swallowing while rolling their 
 cigarettes. 
 
 The door of the rancho had been 
 left ajar by the landlord, who prob 
 ably thought it unnecessary to close 
 it; the officers succeeded each other 
 with great rapidity, and their num 
 ber soon became so great, that the 
 room, though very spacious, was 
 completely filled. The new-comers 
 followed the example of those who 
 had preceded them; they seated 
 themselves at a table, and began 
 drinking and smoking, not appear 
 ing to trouble themselves about the 
 earlier comers, to whom they merely 
 bowed as they entered. 
 
 As for No Lusacho, he continually 
 prowled round the tables, watching 
 every thing with a corner of his 
 eyes, and being careful not to serve 
 the slightest article without receiving 
 immediate payment. At length one 
 of the officers rose, and, after rap 
 ping his glass on the table several 
 times to attract attention, he asked: 
 Is Don Sirven here ?" 
 
 "Yes, senor," a young man of 
 twenty at the most answered as he 
 rose. His effeminate features were 
 already worn by precocious debauch 
 ery. 
 
 "Assure yourself that no person 
 is absent." 
 
 The young man bowed, and be 
 gan walking from' one table to the 
 other, exchanging two or three 
 words in a low voice with each of 
 the visitors. When Don Sirven 
 had gone round the room, he went 
 to the person who had addressed 
 him, and said, with a respectful 
 bow 
 
 "Senor coronel, the meeting is 
 complete, and only one person is 
 absent; but as he did not tell us 
 certainly whether he would do us 
 
 the honor of being present to-night, 
 j " 
 
 " That will do, alferez," the colonel 
 interrupted him; "remain outside 
 the house, carefully watch the en 
 virons, and let no one approach 
 without challenging him, but if you 
 know who arrives, introduce him 
 immediately. You have heard me: 
 so execute my orders punctually; 
 you understand the importance of 
 passive obedience for yourself." 
 
 "You can trust to me, coronel," 
 the young man answered; and, after 
 bowing to his superior officer, he 
 left the room and closed the door 
 behind him. 
 
 The officers, then, without getting 
 up, turned round on the benches, 
 and thus found themselves face to 
 face with the colonel, who had sta 
 tioned himself in the middle of the 
 room. The latter waited a few 
 minutes till perfect silence was estab 
 lished, and then, after bowing to the 
 audience, he spoke as follows: 
 
 "Let me, in the first place, thank 
 you, caballeros, for the punctuality 
 with which you have responded to 
 the meeting I had the honor of ar- 
 
70 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 ranging with you. I am delighted 
 at the confidence it has pleased you 
 to display in me, and, believe me, I 
 shall show myself worthy of it; for 
 it proves to me once again that you 
 are really devoted to the interests of 
 our country, and that it may freely 
 reckon on you in the hour of dan- 
 ger." 
 
 This first portion of the colonel's 
 speech was drowned in applause, as 
 was only fitting. This colonel was 
 a man of about forty years of age, 
 of herculean stature, and looking 
 more like a butcher than an honest 
 soldier. His cunning looks did not 
 at all inspire confidence, and every 
 step in his profession had been the 
 reward of an act of treachery. He 
 was a most valuable man in a con 
 spiracy on this account: for being 
 so old a hand at pronunciamientos, 
 people knew that he was too clever 
 to join a losing cause; hence, he in 
 spired his accomplices with unlimit 
 ed confidence. After allowing time 
 for the enthusiasm to calm, he con 
 tinued 
 
 "I am pleased, senors, not at this 
 applause, but at the devotion you so 
 constantly display for the public 
 welfare. You understand as well 
 as I do that we can no longer bow 
 our necks beneath the despotic gov 
 ernment that tyrannizes over us. 
 The man who at this moment holds 
 our destinies in his hands has shown 
 himself unworthy of the mandate 
 we confided to him; by failing in 
 his duties toward us, he has liberated 
 us from the oath of obedience we 
 took to him. Human patience has 
 its limits, and the hour will soon 
 strike for the man who has deceived 
 us to be overthrown." 
 
 The colonel had made a start, and 
 would probably have continued his 
 plausible speech for a long time in an 
 emphatic voice, had not one of his 
 audience, evidently wearied of find 
 
 ing nothing positive or clear in this 
 flood of sounding words, suddenly 
 interrupted him 
 
 "That is all very fine, colonel," 
 he said, "Rayo de jbios ! we are all 
 aware that we are gentlemen de 
 voted, body and soul, to our coun 
 try ; but devotion must be paid for, 
 cuerj)0 de Oristol What shall we 
 get by all this after all? We have 
 not assembled here to compliment 
 each other ; but, on the contrary, to 
 come to a definite understanding. 
 So pray come to the point at once." 
 
 The colonel was at first slightly 
 embarrassed by this warm apostro 
 phe; but he recovered himself at 
 once, and turned with a smile to his 
 interpreter 
 
 "I was coming to it, my dear 
 captain, at the very moment when 
 you cut across my speech." 
 
 " Oh, that is different," the captain 
 answered ; " pray suppose that I had 
 not spoken, and explain the affair in 
 a couple of words." 
 
 "In the first place," the colonel 
 went on, "I have news for you which 
 I feel assured you will heartily wel 
 come. This is the last time we shall 
 meet." 
 
 " Very good," said the practical 
 captain, encouraged by the winks of 
 his companions, "let us hear first 
 what the reward is." 
 
 The colonel saw that he could no 
 longer dally with the matter, for all 
 his hearers openly took part with 
 their comrade, and murmurs of evil 
 augury were beginning to be audi 
 ble. At the moment when he re 
 solved to tell all he knew, the door 
 of the inn was opened, and a man 
 wrapped in a large cloak quickly 
 entered the room, preceded by the 
 alferez Don Sirven, who shouted in 
 a loud voice 
 
 "The general. Caballeros, the 
 general." 
 
 At this announcement silence was 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 71 
 
 re-established as if by enchantment. 
 The person called the general stop 
 ped in the middle of the room, 
 looked around him, and then took 
 off his hat, let his cloak fall from 
 his shoulders, and appeared in the 
 full-dress uniform of a general 
 officer. 
 
 " Long live General Guerrero !" 
 the officers shouted, as they rose en 
 thusiastically. 
 
 " Thanks, gentlemen, thanks," the 
 general responded with numerous 
 bows. "This warm feeling fills me 
 with delight; but pray be silent, 
 that we may properly settle the 
 matter which has brought us here ; 
 moments are precious, and, in spite 
 of the precautions we have taken, 
 our presence at this inn may have 
 been denounced." 
 
 All collected round the general 
 with a movement of interest easy to 
 understand. The latter continued 
 
 "I will come at once to facts," he 
 said, " without entering into idle 
 speculations, which would cause us 
 to waste valuable time. In a word, 
 then, what is it we want ? To over 
 throw the present government and 
 establish another more in conformity 
 with our opinions and, above all, 
 our interests." 
 
 " Yes, yes," the officers exclaimed. 
 
 " In that case we are conspiring 
 against the established authority, 
 and are rebels in the eyes of the 
 law," the general continued coolly 
 and distinctly ; " as such, we stake 
 our head?, and must not attempt any 
 self- k-ocption on this point. If our 
 Juiompt fails, we shall be pitilessly 
 shot by the victor ; but we shall not 
 fail," he hastily added, on noticing 
 the impression these ill-omened 
 words produced on his hearers ; " we 
 shall not fail, because we are reso 
 lutely playing a terrible game, and 
 each of us knows that his fortune 
 depends on winning the game. From 
 
 the alferez up to the brigadier- 
 general each knows that success will 
 gain him two steps of promotion, 
 and such a stake is sufficient to de 
 termine the least resolute to be 
 staunch when the moment arrives 
 to begin the struggle." 
 
 " Yes, yes," the captain, whose ob 
 servations had, previous to the 
 general's arrival, so greatly embar 
 rassed the colonel, said, "all that is 
 very fine. Jumping up two steps is 
 a most agreeable thing ; but we were 
 promised something else in your 
 name, excellency." 
 
 The general smiled, 
 
 " You are right, captain," he re 
 marked ; "and I intend to keep all 
 promises made in my name but 
 not, as you might reasonably sup 
 pose, when our glorious enterprise 
 has succeeded. If I waited till then, 
 you might fear lest I should seek 
 pretexts and excuses to evade their 
 performance." 
 
 " When then, pray ?" the captain 
 asked, curiously. 
 
 "At once, senores," the general 
 exclaimed, in a loud voice, and, ad 
 dressing the whole company, " I 
 wish to prove to you that my con 
 fidence in you is entire, and that I 
 put faith in the word you pledged 
 to me." 
 
 Joy, astonishment, incredulity, 
 perhaps, so paralyzed his hearers, 
 that they were unable to utter a 
 syllable. The general examined 
 them for a moment, and then, turn 
 ing away with a mocking smile, he 
 walked to the front door, which he 
 opened. The officers eagerly watched 
 his movements, with panting chests, 
 and the general, after looking out, 
 coughed twice. 
 
 " Here I am, excellency," a voice 
 said, issuing from the fog. 
 
 "Bring in the bags," Don Sebas 
 tian ordered, and then quietly re 
 turned to the middle of the room. 
 
THE KED TRACK. 
 
 Almost immediately after a man 
 entered, bearing a heavy leather 
 saddle-bag. It was Carnero, the 
 capataz. At a signal from his mas 
 ter, he deposited his bundle and 
 went out ; but returned shortly after 
 with another bag, which he placed 
 by the side of the first one. Then, 
 after bowing to his master, he with 
 drew, and the door closed upon him. 
 
 The general opened the bags, and 
 a flood of gold poured in a trickling 
 cascade on the table; the officers 
 instinctively bent forward, and held 
 out their quivering hands. 
 
 "Now, senores," the general said, 
 still perfectly calm, as he carelessly 
 rested his arm on the pile of gold ; 
 " permit me to remind you of our 
 agreement ; there are thirty-live of 
 us at present, I believe ?" 
 
 "Yes, general, thirty-five," the 
 captain replied, who seemed to have 
 appointed himself speaker in ordi 
 nary for self and partners. 
 
 " Very good ; these thirty-five 
 oaballeros are thus sub-divided : 
 ten alferez, who will each receive 
 twenty-five ounces of silver. Senor 
 Don Jaime Lupo," he said, turning 
 to the colonel, "will you be kind 
 enough to baud twenty-five ounces 
 to each of these gentlemen ?" 
 
 The alferez, or sub-lieutenants, 
 broke through the ranks, and boldly 
 "came up to receive their ounces, 
 which the colonel delivered to each 
 of them ; then they fell back with 
 a delight they did not attempt to 
 conceal. 
 
 "Now," the general continued, 
 " twelve captains, to each of whom 
 I wish you to offer, on my behalf, Don 
 Lupo, fifty ounces." 
 
 The captains pocketed the money 
 with no more ceremony than the 
 alferez had displayed. 
 
 " We have ten tenientes, each of 
 whom is to receive thirty-five 
 ounces I believe?" 
 
 The tenientes, or lieutenants, who 
 had began to frown on seeing the 
 captains paid before them, received 
 their money with a bow. 
 
 " There now remain the colonels, 
 each of whom has a claim to one 
 hundred ounces," the general said ; 
 "be kind enough to pay them, my 
 dear colonel." 
 
 The latter did not let the invita 
 tion be repeated twice. Still the en 
 tire pile of gold was not exhausted, 
 and a considerable sum still re 
 mained on the table. Don Sebastian 
 Guerrero passed his hands several 
 times through the glittering metal, 
 and at length thrust it from him. 
 
 " Senores," he said, with an engag 
 ing smile, "about five hundred ounces 
 remain, which I do not know 
 what to do with ; may I ask you to 
 divide them among you, as subsist 
 ence money while awaiting the sig 
 nal you are to receive from me. 1 ' 
 
 At this truly regal act of munifi 
 cence, the enthusiasm attained its 
 highest pitch ; the cries and pro 
 testations of devotion became fren 
 zied. The general alone remained 
 impassive, and looked coldly at the 
 division made by the colonel. 
 
 When all -the gold had disap 
 peared, and the effervescence was 
 beginning to subside, Don Sebastian, 
 who, like the Angel of Evil, had 
 looked with a profoundly mocking 
 smile at these men so utterly under 
 the influence of cupidity, slightly 
 tapped the table, to request silence. 
 
 " Senores," he said, " I have kept 
 all my promises, and have acquired 
 the right to count on you ; we shall 
 not meet again, but at a future day 
 I will let you know my intentions. 
 Still be ready to act at the first 
 signal ; in ten days is the anniver 
 sary festival of the Proclamation 
 of Independence, and, if nothing 
 deranges my plans, I shall probably 
 choose that day to try, with your 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 73 
 
 assistance, to deliver the country 
 from the tyrants who oppress it. 
 However, I will be careful to have 
 you warned. So now let us sep 
 arate; the night is far advanced, 
 and a longer stay at this spot 
 might compromise the sacred in 
 terests for which we have sworn to 
 die." 
 
 He bowed to the conspirators, but, 
 on reaching the door, turned round 
 again. 
 
 "Farewell, senors," he said, "be 
 faithful to me." 
 
 " We will die for you, general," 
 Colonel Lupo answered, in the 
 name of all. 
 
 The general gave a final bow and 
 went out; almost immediately the 
 hoofs of several horses could be 
 heard echoing on the paved street. 
 
 "As we have nothing more to do 
 here, caballeros," the colonel said, 
 " we had better separate without 
 further delay ; but do not forget the 
 general's parting recommendation." 
 "Oh, no," the captain said, glee 
 fully rattling the gold, with which 
 his pockets were filled. " Don Se 
 bastian Guerrero is too generous 
 for us not to be faithful to him ; be 
 sides, he appears to me at the present 
 moment the only man capable oi 
 saving our unhappy country from 
 the abyss. We are all too deeply 
 attached to our country and too 
 devoted to its real interests, not to 
 sacrifice ourselves for it, when cir 
 cumstances demand it." 
 
 The conspirators laughingly ap 
 plauded this speech of the captain's, 
 and after exchanging courteous 
 bows, they withdrew as they had 
 come ; that is to say, they left the 
 inn one after the other, not to at 
 tract attention. They carefully 
 wrapped themselves in their cloaks, 
 and went off' in parties of three and 
 four, with their hands on their 
 
 weapons, for fear of any unpleasant 
 encounter. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, the 
 room was empty, and the landlord 
 bolted the door for the night. 
 
 "Well, senores," he asked the 
 two strangers, who now left the 
 hiding-place in which they had been 
 crouching for upwards of two hours, 
 " are you satisfied ?" 
 
 " We could not be more so," re 
 plied the one who had been the sole 
 speaker hitherto. 
 
 "Yes, yes," the landlord con 
 tinued, "three or four more pro- 
 nunciamientos, and I believe I shall 
 be able to retire on a decent com 
 petency." 
 
 " That is what I wish you, No 
 Lusacho, and, to begin, a thing 
 promised is a thing done ; here are 
 your ten ounces." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE PASEO DE BUCARELLI. 
 
 MEXICO is a country of extensive 
 prospects and magnificent views ; 
 and the poet Carpio is . right when 
 he says enthusiastically, in the poem 
 in which he sings the praises of his 
 country 
 
 " Que magnificos tienes horisontes I" 
 
 In truth, the prospect is the first 
 and greatest beauty of Mexico. 
 
 The plateau of Mexico is situated 
 exactly in the centre of a circle of 
 mountains. On all sides the land 
 scape is bounded by admirable 
 peaks, whose snowy crests soar 
 above the clouds, and in the golden 
 beams of the setting sun they offer 
 the most sublime pictures of the 
 imposing and grand Alpine nature. 
 
74 
 
 THE EED TRACK. 
 
 In the general description we at 
 tempted of Mexico we omitted to 
 allude to its promenades, of which 
 we intended previously to give a 
 detailed account. 
 
 In Europe, and especially in 
 France, promenades are wanting in 
 the interior of towns ; and it is only 
 during the last few years that Paris 
 has possessed any worthy of a capi 
 tal. In Spain, on the contrary, the 
 smallest market-town has at least 
 one alameda, where, after the torrid 
 heat of the day, the inhabitants 
 breathe the evening breeze, and rest 
 from their labors. Alameda, a soft 
 and graceful word to pronounce, 
 which we might be tempted to take 
 for Arabic, and to which some ill- 
 informed scholars, unacquainted with 
 Spanish, attribute a Latin origin, 
 while it is simply Castilian, and lit 
 erally signifies "a place planted with 
 poplars." 
 
 The Alameda of Mexico is one of 
 the most beautiful in America. It 
 is situated at one of the extremities of 
 the city, and forms a long square with 
 a wall of circumvallation bordered by 
 a deep ditch, whose muddy, fetid 
 waters, owing to the negligence of the 
 government, exhale pestilential mias 
 mas. At each corner of the prome 
 nade a gate offers admission to car 
 riages, riders and pedestrians, who 
 walk silently beneath a thick awn 
 ing of verdure, formed by willows, 
 elms, and poplars that border the 
 principal road. These trees are se 
 lected with great tact, and are al 
 ways green, for although the leaves 
 are renewed, it takes place gradually 
 and imperceptibly, so that the 
 branches are never entirely stripped 
 of their foliage. 
 
 Numerous walks converge to open 
 spots adorned with gushing foun 
 tains, and clumps of jessamine, myr 
 tle and rose-bushes, surrounded by 
 stone benches for the tired prome- 
 
 naders. Statues, unfortunately far 
 below mediocrity in their execution, 
 stand at the entrance of each walk ; 
 but, thanks to the deep shadow, the 
 whistling of the evening breeze in 
 the deep foliage, the buzz of the hum 
 ming-birds flying from flower to 
 flower, and the harmonious strains 
 of the centzontles hidden in the fra 
 grant clumps, you gradually forget 
 those unlucky statues, and fall into 
 a gentle reverie, during which the 
 mind is borne to unknown regions, 
 and seems no longer connected with 
 earth. 
 
 But Mexico is a thorough country 
 of contrasts. At each step barba 
 rism elbows the most advanced civi 
 lization. Hence all the carriages, af 
 ter driving a few times round the Al 
 ameda, take the direction of the Pas- 
 eo de Bucarelli, and the promenaders 
 spread over a walk, in the centre of 
 which there is a large window in the 
 wall, protected by rusty iron bars, 
 and through which come puffs of 
 poisoned air. It is the window of 
 the Dead-house, into which are daily- 
 thrown pellmell the bodies of men, 
 women, and children, assassinated 
 during the previous night, hideous, 
 bloody, and disfigured by death! 
 What a brilliant, what a delicious 
 idea to have placed the Dead-house 
 exactly between the two city walks ! 
 
 The Paseo, or promenade, of Bu 
 carelli so called after the Viceroy 
 who gave it to Mexico resembles 
 the Champs Elysees of Paris. It is, 
 in reality, merely a wide road, with 
 no other ornament than a double 
 row of willow and beech trees, with 
 two circular places, in the centre of 
 which are fountains, adorned with 
 detestable allegorical statues and 
 stone benches for pedestrians. 
 
 At the entrance of the Paseo de 
 Bucarelli has been placed an eques 
 trian statue of Charles IV., which 
 in 1824 adorned the Plaza Mayor 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 75 
 
 of Mexico. "When the Emperor 
 Iturbide fell, this monument was re 
 moved from the square and placed 
 in the University Palace-yard a 
 lesson, we may here remark, given 
 by a comparatively barbarous peo 
 ple to civilized nations, who in rev 
 olutions, as a first trial of liberty, 
 and forgetting that history records 
 every thing in her imperishable an 
 nals, carry their Vandalism so far 
 as to destroy every thing that recalls 
 the government they have over 
 thrown. Owing to the intelligent 
 moderation of the Mexicans, the 
 promenaders can still admire, at the 
 Bucarelli, this really remarkable 
 statue, due to the talent of the 
 Spanish sculptor, Manuel Tolsa, 
 and cast in one piece by Salvador 
 de la Vega. The sight of this mas 
 terpiece ought to induce the Mexi 
 can municipality to remove the 
 pitiable statues which disgrace the 
 two finest promenades in the city. 
 
 From the Paseo de Bucarelli a 
 magnificent prospect is enjoyed of 
 the panorama of mountains bathed 
 in the luminous vapors of night; 
 you perceive through the arches of 
 the gigantic acqueduct the white 
 fronts of the haciendas clinging to 
 the sides of the Sierra, the fields of 
 Indian corn bending softly before 
 the breeze, and the snowy peaks of 
 the volcanoes, crowned with mist, 
 and lost in the sky. 
 
 It is not till night has almost set 
 in that the promenaders, leaving the 
 Alameda, proceed to the Bucarelii, 
 where the carriages take two or 
 three turns, and then equipages, 
 riders, and pedestrians, retire one 
 after the other. The promenade is 
 deserted, the entire crowd, just now 
 so gay and noisy, has disappeared 
 as if by enchantment, and you only 
 see between the trees some belated 
 promenader, who, wrapped in his 
 cloak, and with eye and ear on the 
 
 watch, is hastily returning home, 
 for, after nightfall, the thieves take 
 possession of the promenade, and 
 without the slightest anxiety about 
 the serenos and celadores appointed 
 to watch over the public security, 
 they carry on their trade with a 
 boldness which the certainty of im 
 punity can alone engender. 
 
 It was evening, and, as usual, the 
 Alameda was crowded ; handsome 
 carriages, brilliant riders, and modest 
 pedestrians were moving backwards 
 and forwards, with cries, laughter, 
 and joyous calls, as they sought or 
 chased each other in the walks. 
 Monks, soldiers, officers, men of 
 fashion, and leperos, were mixed 
 together, carelessly smoking their 
 cigars and cigarettes under each 
 other's noses, with the recklessness 
 and negligence peculiar to southern 
 nations. 
 
 Suddenly, the first stroke of the 
 Oracion broke through the air. At 
 the sound of the Angelus-bell, as 
 if the entire crowd had been struck 
 by an enchanter's wand, horses, 
 carriages, and pedestrians stopped, 
 the seated citizens left the benches 
 on which they were resting, and a 
 solemn silence fell on all; every 
 person took off his hat, crossed 
 himself, and for four or five 
 minutes this crowd, an instant be 
 fore so noisy, remained dumb and 
 silent. But the last stroke of the 
 Oracion had scarce died away, ere 
 horses and carriages set out again; 
 the shouts, the songs, and talking, be 
 came louder than before ; each re 
 sumed the sentence at the point 
 where he had broken it oft'. 
 
 By degrees, however, the prom 
 enaders proceeded toward the Bu 
 carelli ; the carriages became scarcer, 
 and by the time night had quite set 
 in, the Alameda was completely 
 deserted. 
 
 A horseman, dressed in a rich 
 
76 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 Campesino costume, and mounted 
 oil a magnificent horse, which he 
 managed with rare skill, then en 
 tered the Alameda, along which he 
 galloped for about twenty minutes, 
 examining the sidewalks, the clumps 
 of trees, and the densest bushes : 
 in. a word, he seemed to be looking 
 for somebody or something. 
 
 However, after a while, whether 
 he had convinced himself that his 
 search would have no result, or for 
 some other motive, he gave the 
 click of the tongue peculiar to the 
 Mexican ginetes, lifted his horse 
 which started at an amble, and pro- 
 ceeded toward the Paseo de Bu- 
 carelli, after bowing sarcastically to 
 some ill-looking horsemen who were 
 beginning to prowl round him, but 
 whom his vigorous appearance and 
 haughty demeanor had hitherto 
 kept at arm's length. 
 
 Although the darkness was too 
 dense at this moment for it to be 
 possible to see the horseman's face 
 distinctly, which was in addition 
 half covered by the brim of his 
 vicuna hat, all about him evidenced 
 strength and youth : he was armed 
 as if for a nocturnal expedition, and 
 had on his saddle, in spite of 
 police regulations, a thin, carefully 
 rolled up rcata. 
 
 We will say, parenthetically, that 
 the reata is considered in Mexico 
 so dangerous a weapon, that it re 
 quires special permission to carry 
 one at the saddle-bow, in the streets 
 of Mexico. 
 
 The salteadors, who occupy the 
 streets after nightfall, and reign 
 with undisputed sway over them, 
 employ no other weapon to stop 
 the persons they wish to plunder. 
 They cast the running knot round 
 their necks, dash for ward at full speed, 
 and the unlucky man half strangled, 
 and dragged from the saddle, falls 
 unresistingly into their hands. 
 
 At the moment when the traveller 
 we are following reached the Bu- 
 carelli, the last carriages were leav 
 ing it, and it was soon as deserted 
 as the Alameda. He galloped up 
 and down tj?6* promenade twice or 
 thrice, looking carefully down the 
 side rides, and at the end of his 
 third turn a horseman, coming from 
 the Alameda, passed on his right 
 hand, giving him in a low voice the 
 Mexican salute, " Santissima noche, 
 caballero 1" 
 
 Although this sentence had noth- 
 .ing peculiar about it, the horseman 
 started, and immediately turning his 
 horse round, he started in pursuit 
 of the person who had thus greeted 
 him. Within a minute the two 
 horsemen were side by side ; the 
 first comer, so soon as he saw that 
 he was followed, checked his horse's 
 pace, as if with the intention of en 
 tering into the most direct com 
 munication with the person he had 
 addressed. 
 
 "A fine night for a ride, senor," 
 the first horseman said, politely 
 raising his hand to his hat. 
 
 "It is," the second answered, 
 " although it is beginning to grow 
 late." 
 
 "The moment is only, the better 
 chosen for certain privat^'conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 The second horseman looked 
 around, and bending over to the 
 speaker, said 
 
 "I almost despaired of meeting 
 you." 
 
 " Did I not let you know that I 
 should come ?" 
 
 " That is. true ; but I feared that 
 some sudden obstacle " 
 
 "Nothing ought to impede an 
 honest man in accomplishing a 
 sacred duty," the first horseman 
 answered, with an emphasis on the 
 words. 
 
 The other bowed with an air of 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 77 
 
 satisfaction. " Then" he said, " I can 
 
 count on you, No ." 
 
 " No names here, senor," the other 
 sharply interrupted him. " Caspita, 
 an old wood-ranger like you, a man 
 who had long been a^J^rero, ought 
 to remember that the trees have ears 
 and the leaves eyes." 
 
 " Yes, you are right. I should 
 and do remember it ; but permit me 
 to remark that if it is not possible 
 for us to talk about business here, I 
 do not know exactly where we can 
 do so." 
 
 " Patience, senor, I wish to serve 
 you, as you know, for you were 
 recommended to me by a man to 
 whom I can refuse nothing. Let 
 yourself, therefore, be guided by me, 
 if you wish us to succeed in this 
 affair, which, I confess to you at 
 once, offers enormous difficulties, 
 and must be managed with the 
 greatest prudence." 
 
 " I ask nothing better ; still you 
 must tell me what I ought to do." 
 
 " For the present very little ; 
 merely follow me at a distance to the 
 place where I purpose taking you." 
 "Are we going far?" 
 "Only a few paces; behind the 
 barracks of the Accordades, in a' 
 small street called the Callejon del 
 Pajaro." t 
 
 " Hum ! and what am I to do in 
 this street ?" 
 
 " What a suspicious man you 
 are ?" the first horseman said with 
 a laugh. " Listen to me then. About 
 the middle of the Callejon I shall 
 stop before a house of rather poor 
 appearance ; a man will come and 
 hold my horse while I enter. A 
 few minutes later you will pull up 
 there; after assuring yourself that 
 you are not followed you will dis 
 mount ; give your horse to the man 
 who is holding mine, and without 
 saying a word to him, or letting him 
 see your face, you will enter the 
 5 
 
 house, and shut the door after you. 
 I shall be in the } r ard, and will lead 
 you to a place where we shall be 
 able to talk in safety. Does that 
 suit you ?" 
 
 " Famously ; although I do not 
 understand why I, who have set foot 
 in Mexico to-day for the first time, 
 should find it necessary to employ 
 such mighty precautions." 
 
 The first horseman laughed sar- 
 castieallv. 
 
 "Do you wish to succeed?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Of course," the other exclaimed 
 energetically, "even if it cost me 
 my life." 
 
 " In that case do as you are rec 
 ommended." 
 
 " Go on, I follow you." 
 
 " Is that settled ? you understand 
 all about it?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 The second horseman then checked 
 his steed to let the first one go on 
 ahead, and both keeping a short dis 
 tance apart, proceeded at a smart 
 trot toward the statue of Charles IV., 
 which, as we have said, stands at the 
 entrance of the Paseo. 
 
 While conversing, the two horse 
 men had forgotten the advanced 
 hour of the night, and the solitude 
 that surrounded them. At the mo 
 ment when the first rider passed the 
 equestrian statue, a slip knot fell on 
 his shoulders, and he was roughly 
 dragged from his saddle. 
 
 " Help !" he shouted in a choking 
 voice. 
 
 The second rider had seen all; 
 quick as thought he whirled his lasso 
 round his head, and galloping at fall 
 speed, hurled it after the Salteador 
 at the moment when he passed 
 twenty yards from him. 
 
 The Salteador was stopped dead, 
 and hurled from his horse ; the wor 
 thy robber had not suspected that 
 another person beside himself could 
 
78 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 have a lasso so handy. The horse 
 man, without checking his speed, 
 cut the reata that was strangling 
 his companion, and turning back, 
 dragged the robber after him. 
 
 The first horseman so providen 
 tially saved, freed himself from the 
 slip knot that choked him, and, 
 hardly recovered from the alarm he 
 had experienced from his heavy fall, 
 lie whistled to his horse, which came 
 up at once, remounted as wfell as he 
 could, and rejoined his liberator, who 
 had stopped a short distance off. 
 
 "Thanks," he said to him, "hence 
 forth we are stanch friends; you 
 have saved my life, and I shall re 
 member it." 
 
 " Nonsense," the other answered, 
 " I only did what you would have 
 done in my place." 
 
 " That is possible, but I shall be 
 grateful to you on the word of a Car- 
 nero," he exclaimed, forgetting in 
 his joy the hint he had given a short 
 time previously, not to make use of 
 names, and revealing his own in 
 cognito ; "is the picaro dead ?" 
 
 " Very nearly so I fancy ; what 
 shall we do with him ?" 
 
 "Make a corpse of him," the capa- 
 taz said bluntly. " We arc only two 
 paces from the Dead-house, and he 
 can be carried there without diffi 
 culty. Though he is an utter scoun 
 drel and tried to assassinate me, the 
 police are so well managed in our 
 unhappy country that if we commit 
 ted the imprudence of letting him 
 live, we should have interminable 
 disputes with the magistrates." 
 
 Then, dismounting, he stooped 
 over the bandit, stretched senseless 
 at his feet, removed his lasso, and 
 coolly dashed out his brains with a 
 blow of his pistol butt. Immedi 
 ately after this summary execution, 
 the two men left the Paseo de Buca- 
 relli, but this time side by side, 
 through fear of a new accident. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION. 
 
 DiRECTLYmi emerging from the 
 Paseo, the mfffnen separated, as had 
 been agreed on between them ; that 
 is to say, the capataz went ahead, 
 followed at a respectful distance by 
 Martial the Tigrcro, whom the reader 
 has doubtless recognized. 
 
 All happened as the capataz had 
 announced. The streets were de 
 serted, the horsemen only met a few 
 half-sleeping serenos leaning against 
 the walls, and were only crossed by 
 a patrol of celadores walking with a 
 hurried step, and who seemed more 
 inclined to avoid them, than to try 
 and discover the motives that caused 
 them thus to ride about the streets 
 of the capital at night in defiance 
 of the law. 
 
 The Tigrero entered the Callejon 
 del Pajaro, and about the middle of 
 the street saw the capataz's horse 
 held by an ill-looking fellow, who 
 gazed curiously at him. Don Mar 
 tial following the instructions given 
 him, pulled his hat over his eyes to 
 foil the mozo's curiosity, stopped be 
 fore the door, dismounted, threw his 
 bridle to the fellow, and without say 
 ing a word to him, resolutely en 
 tered the house and carefully closed 
 the door after him. 
 
 He then found himself in utter 
 darkness, but after groping his way, 
 which was not difficult for him to 
 do, as all Mexican houses are built 
 nearly on the same model, he pushed 
 forward. After crossing the saguan, 
 he entered a square yard on which 
 several doors looked ; one of these 
 doors was open, and a man was 
 standing on the threshold with a ci 
 garette in his mouth. It was Car- 
 nero. 
 
 The tiger-slayer went up to him; 
 the other made room, and he walked 
 
THE RED T R A C K. 
 
 79 
 
 on. The capataz took him by the 
 hand and whispered, '' Come with 
 me." 
 
 In spite of the protestations of de 
 votion previously made by the cap 
 ataz, the Tigrero in his heart was 
 alarmed at the manner in which he 
 was introduced into this mysterious 
 house ; but as he was young, vigor 
 ous, well armed, brave, and resolved, 
 if necessary, to sell his life dearly, 
 he yielded his hand unhesitatingly 
 to Carnero, and allowed him to guide 
 him while seeking to pierce the 
 darkness thtit surrounded him. 
 
 But all the windows were her 
 metically closed with shutters, which 
 allowed no gleam of light to enter 
 from without. 
 
 His guide led him through sev 
 eral rooms, the floors of which were 
 covered with matting that deadened 
 the sound of footsteps; he took him 
 up a flight of stairs, and opening a 
 door with a key he took from his 
 pocket, conducted him into a room 
 faintly lighted by a lamp placed be 
 fore a statue of the Virgin, standing 
 iu one corner of the room, on a 
 species of pedestal attached to the 
 wall, and covered with extremely 
 delicate lace. 
 
 "Now," said Carnero, after closing 
 the door, from which the Tigrero 
 noticed that he removed the key, 
 "draw up a butacca, sit down and 
 let us talk, for we are in safety." Don 
 Martial followed the advice given 
 him, and after carefully installing 
 himself in a butacca, looked anxious 
 ly around him. 
 
 The room in which he found him 
 self was rather spacious, furnished 
 tastefully and richly"; several valu 
 able pictxires hung on the walls, 
 which were covered with embossed 
 leather, while the furniture con 
 sisted of splendidly-carved ebony or 
 mahogany tables, sideboards, cheff- 
 oniers, and butaccas. On the floor 
 
 was an Indian petate, several books 
 were scattered over the tables, and 
 valuable plate was arranged on the 
 sideboard. In short, this room dis 
 played a proper comprehension of 
 comfort, and the two windows, with 
 their Moorish jalousies, gave ad 
 mission to the pure breeze which 
 greatly refreshed the atmosphere. 
 
 The capataz lighted two candles 
 at the Virgin's lamp, placed them 
 on the table, and then fetching two 
 bottles and two silver cups, which 
 he placed before the Tigrero, he 
 drew up a butacca, and seated him 
 self opposite his guest. 
 
 " Here is sherry which I guarantee 
 to be real Xeres de los Caballeros; 
 this other bottle contains chinquirito, 
 and both are at your service," he 
 said, with a laugh; "whether you 
 have a weakness for sugar-cane 
 spirits, or prefer wine." 
 
 "Thanks," Don Martial replied; 
 "but I do not feel inclined to drink." 
 
 "You would not wish to insult 
 me by refusing to hob-nob with 
 me?"' 
 
 "Very well; if you will permit 
 me, I will take a few drops of chin 
 quirito in water, solely to prove to 
 you that I am sensible of your po 
 liteness." 
 
 "All right,'* the capataz con 
 tinued, as he handed him a crystal 
 decanter, covered with curiously- 
 worked silver filagree; "help your 
 self." 
 
 When they had drunk, the capa 
 taz a glass of sherry, which he sipped 
 like a true amateur, and Don Ti 
 grero a few drops of chinquirito 
 drowned in a glass of water, the 
 capataz placed his glass again on 
 the table with a smack of his lips, 
 and said 
 
 "Now, I must give you a few 
 words in explanation of the slightly 
 mysterious way in which I brought 
 you here, in order to dispel any 
 
80 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 doubts which may have involun 
 tarily invaded your mind." 
 
 "I am listening to you," the Ti- 
 *rero answered. 
 
 "Take a cigar first; they are ex 
 cellent." And he lit one, after push 
 ing the bundle over to Don Martial; 
 the latter selected one, and soon the 
 two men were enveloped in a cloud 
 of thin and fragrant smoke. 
 
 "We are in the mansion of Gen 
 eral Don Sebastian Guerrero," the 
 capataz continued. 
 
 " What?" the Tigrero exclaimed, 
 with a start of uneasiness. 
 
 "Keassure yourself, no one saw 
 you enter, and your presence here 
 is quite unknown, for the simple 
 reason that I brought you in by my 
 private entrance." 
 
 " I do not understand you." 
 
 "And yet it is very easy to ex 
 plain; the house I led you through 
 belongs to me. For reasons too 
 long to tell you, and which would 
 interest you but slightly, during 
 Don Sebastian's absence as Governor 
 of Sonora, I had a passage made, 
 and established a communication 
 between my house and this mansion. 
 Everybody save myself is ignorant 
 of the existence of this communica 
 tion, which," he added, with a glow 
 ing smile, "may at a given moment 
 be of great utility to me. The room 
 in which we now are forms part of 
 the suite I occupy in the mansion, 
 in which the general, I am proud to 
 say, has never yet set foot. The 
 man who took your horse is devoted 
 to me, and even were he to betray 
 me, it would be of little consequence 
 to me, for the secret door of the pas 
 sage is so closely concealed that -I 
 have no fear of its being discovered. 
 Hence you see that you have nothing 
 to fear here, where your presence 
 is unknown." 
 
 "But suppose you were to be 
 
 sent for, through the general hap 
 pening to want you suddenly?" 
 
 "Certainly, but I have foreseen 
 that; it is my system never to leave 
 any thing to chance. Although it 
 has never happened yet, no one can 
 enter here without my being in 
 formed soon enough to get rid of 
 any person who may be with me, 
 supposing that, for some reason or 
 another, that person did not desire 
 to be seen." 
 
 "That is capitally arranged, and 
 I am happy to see that you are a 
 man of prudence." 
 
 " Prudence is, as you know, senor, 
 the mother of safety ; and in Mexico, 
 beforeall other countries, the proverb 
 receives its application at every mo 
 ment." 
 
 The Tigrero bowed politely, but 
 in the fashion of a man who con 
 siders that the speaker has dwelt 
 sufficiently long on one subject, and 
 wishes to see him pass to another. 
 The capataz appeared to read this 
 almost imperceptible hint on Don 
 Martial's face, and continued with a 
 smile 
 
 "But enough on that head: so let 
 us pass, if you have no objection, to 
 the real purpose of our interview. 
 A man, whose name it is unneces 
 sary to mention, but to whom, as I 
 have already had the honor of tell 
 ing you, I am devoted body and 
 soul, sent you to me to obtain cer 
 tain information you require, and 
 which he supposes I am in a posi 
 tion to give. I will now add, that 
 what passed between us this evening, 
 and the generous way in which you 
 rushed to my assistance, render it 
 my bounden duty not only to give 
 you this information, but also to help 
 you with all my might in the suc 
 cess of the projects you are medi 
 tating, whatever those projects may 
 be, and the dangers I may incur in 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 81 
 
 aiding you. So, now speak openly 
 with me; conceal nothing from me 
 and you will only have to praise 
 my frankness towards you." 
 
 " Senor," the Tigrero answered, 
 with considerable emotion, "I thank 
 you the more heartily for your 
 generous offer, for you know as 
 well as I do what perils are con 
 nected with the carrying out of 
 these plans, to say nothing of their 
 success." 
 
 " What you are saying is true, 
 but it will be better, I i'ancy, for the 
 present, for me to assume to be 
 ignorant of them, so as to leave you 
 the entire liberty you need for the 
 questions you have to ask me." 
 
 " Yes, yes," he said, shaking his 
 head sadly, " my position is so pre 
 carious, the struggle I am engaged 
 in is so wild, that, although I am 
 supported by sincere friends, I can 
 not be too prudent. Tell me, then, 
 what you know as to the fate of the 
 unfortunate Dona Anita de Torres. 
 Is she really dead, as the report 
 spread alleged ?" 
 
 "Do you know what happened 
 in the cavern after you fell down 
 the precipice ?" 
 
 " Alas ! no ; my ignorance is com 
 plete as to the facts that occurred 
 after I was abandoned as dead." 
 
 Carnero reflected for a moment. 
 "Listen, Don Martial: before I 
 can answer categorically the ques 
 tion you have asked me, I must tell 
 you a long story. Are you ready 
 to hear it? :) 
 
 " Yes," the other answered, with- 
 ont hesitation, "for there are 
 many things I <im ignorant, of, 
 which I ought to know. So speak 
 without further delay, senor, and 
 though some parts of the narrative 
 will be most painful to me, hide 
 nothing from me, I implore you !" 
 
 " You shall be obeyed. Moreover 
 the night is not yet far advanced ; 
 
 time does not press us, and in two 
 hours you will know all." 
 
 " I am impatiently waiting for you 
 to begin." 
 
 The capataz remained for some 
 considerable time plunged in deep 
 and serious reflection. At length 
 he raised his head, leant forward, 
 and setting his left elbow on the 
 table, began as follows : 
 
 "At the time when the facts oc 
 curred I am about to tell you, I was 
 living at the Hacienda del Palmar, of 
 which I was steward. Hence I was 
 only witness to a portion of the 
 facts, and only know the rest from 
 hearsay. When the Comanches ar 
 rived, guided by the white men, 
 Don Sylva de Torres was lying 
 mortally wounded, holding in his 
 stiffened arms his daughter Anita, 
 who had suddenly gone mad on see 
 ing you roll down the precipice in 
 the grasp of the Indian chief. Don 
 Sebastian Guerrero was the only 
 relation left to the helpless young 
 lady, and hence she was taken to 
 his hacienda." 
 
 " What ?" Don Martial exclaimed 
 in surprise. "Don Sebastian is a 
 relation of Dona Anita ?" 
 
 "Did you not know that?" 
 
 " I had not the slightest idea of it ; 
 and yet I had for several years 
 been closely connected with the 
 Torres family, for I was their 
 tigrero." 
 
 "I know it. Well, this is how 
 the relationship exists : Don Se 
 bastian married a niece of Don 
 Sylva's, so you see they were closely 
 connected. Still, for reasons never 
 thoroughly made known, a few 
 years after the general's marriage, a 
 dispute broke out which led to a 
 total suspension of intimacy be 
 tween the two families-. That is 
 probably the reason why you never 
 heard of the connection existing be 
 tween the Sylvas and the Torres." 
 
82 
 
 THE R i: D TRACK 
 
 The Tigrero shook his head. 
 "Go on," he said. "How did the 
 general receive his relation ?" 
 
 " lie was not at the hacienda at 
 the time ; but an express was sent 
 off to him, and I was the man. 
 The general came post haste, seemed 
 greatly moved at the double mis 
 fortune that had befallen the young 
 lady, gave orders for her to be 
 kindly treated, appointed several 
 women to wait on her, and returned 
 to his post at Sonora, where events 
 of the utmost gravity summoned 
 him." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I have heard of the 
 French invasion, and that their 
 leader was shot by the general's 
 orders. I presume you are alluding 
 to that?" 
 
 " Yes. Almost immediately after 
 these events the general returned to 
 the Palmar. He was no longer the 
 same man. The horrible death of 
 his daughter rendered him gloomier 
 and harsher to any person whom 
 chance brought into contact with 
 him. For a whole week he re 
 mained shut up in his apartments, 
 refusing to see any of us; but, at last, 
 one day he sent for me to inquire 
 as to what had happened at the 
 hacienda during his absence. I had 
 but little to tell him, for life was 
 too simple and uniform at this 
 remote dwelling for any thing at all 
 interesting for him to have occurred. 
 Still he listened without interrup 
 tion, with his head in his hands, 
 and apparently taking great interest 
 in what I told him, especially when 
 it referred to poor Dona Anita, 
 whose gentle, interesting madness 
 drew tears from us rough men, 
 when we saw her wandering, pale 
 and white as a spectre, about the 
 huerte, murmuring in a low voice 
 one name, ever the same, which 
 none of us could overhear, and 
 raising to heaven her lovely face, 
 
 bathed in tears. The general let me 
 say all I had to say, and when I 
 ended he, too, remained silent for 
 some time. At length, raising his 
 head, he looked at me for a moment 
 angrily. 
 
 "What are you doing there?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I am waiting," I answered, "for 
 the orders it may please your ex 
 cellency to give me." 
 
 He looked at me for a few more 
 moments as if trying to read my 
 very thoughts, and then laid his 
 hand on my arm. " Carnero," he 
 said to me, "you have been a long 
 time in my service, but take care 
 lest 1 should have to dismiss you. 
 I do not like," he said, with a stress 
 on the words, " servants who are 
 too intelligent and too clearsighted," 
 and when I tried to excuse myself, 
 he added, " Not a word profit by 
 the advice I have given } T OU, and 
 now lead me to Dona Anita's apart 
 ments." 
 
 I obeyed with hanging head ; the 
 general remained an hour with the 
 young lady, and I never knew what 
 was said between them. It is true 
 that now and then I heard the 
 general speaking loudly and angrily, 
 and Dona Anita weeping, and appa 
 rently making some entreaty to him ; 
 but that was all, for prudence warned 
 me to keep at too great a distance to 
 overhear a single word. When the 
 general carne out, he was pale, and 
 sharply ordered me to prepare every 
 thing for his departure. The mor 
 row at day-break we set out for 
 Mexico, and Dona Anita followed 
 us, carried in a palanquin. The 
 journey was a long one, but so long 
 as it lasted the general did not once 
 speak to the young lady, or ap 
 proach the side of her palanquin. 
 So soon as we reached our journey's,, 
 end, Dona Anita was carried to the 
 Convent of the Bernardiues. where 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 83 
 
 she had been educated, and the good 
 sisters received her with tears of 
 sorrowful sympathy. The general, 
 owing to the influence he enjoyed, 
 easily succeeded in getting himself 
 appointed guardian to the young 
 lady, and immediately assumed the 
 management of her estates, which, 
 as you doubtless are aware, are con 
 siderable, even in this country where 
 large fortunes are so common." 
 
 "I know it," said the Tigrero, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 "All these matters settled," the 
 capataz continued, "the general re 
 turned to Sonora to arrange his 
 affairs, and hand over the govern 
 ment to the person appointed to 
 succeed him, and who started for his 
 post some days previously. I will 
 not tell you what happened then, as 
 you know it ; besides, we have only 
 been back in Mexico for a fortnight, 
 and you and your friends followed 
 our track from the Rocky Moun 
 tains." 
 
 The Tigrero raised his head. " Is 
 that really all ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," the cap'ataz answered. 
 
 "On your honor?" Don Martial 
 added, looking fixedly at him. 
 
 Carnero hesitated. "Well, no," 
 he said at last, " there is something 
 else T must tell you." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DON MAETIAL. 
 
 THE capataz rose, opened a door, 
 went out for a moment, returned to 
 his seat opposite the Tigrero, poured 
 himself out a glass of sherry, which 
 he swallowed at a draught, and then 
 letting his head fall in his hands, 
 remained silent. 
 
 Don Martial watched with amaze 
 ment the various movements of the 
 capataz. Seeing at last that he did 
 not seem inclined to make the. con 
 fession he was so impatiently await 
 ing, he went over and touched him 
 slightly. Carnero started as if sud 
 denly branded with a hot iron. 
 
 " What you have to reveal to me 
 must be very terrible," the Tigrero 
 at length said in a low voice. 
 
 " So terrible, my friend," the capa 
 taz answered, with an amount of 
 terror impossible to depict, "that 
 though alone with you in this room, 
 where no spy can be concealed, I 
 fear to tell it you." 
 
 The Tigrero shook his head sadly. 
 "Speak, my friend," he said, in a 
 gentle voice, " I have suffered such 
 agony during the last few months, 
 that all the springs of my soul have 
 been crushed by the fatal pressure 
 of despair. However horrible may 
 be the blow that menaces me, I will 
 endure it without flinching ; alas ! 
 grief has no longer power over me." 
 
 "Yes, you are a man carved in 
 granite. I know that you have 
 struggled triumphantly against lost 
 fortunes ; but, believe me, Don Mar 
 tial, there are sufferings a thousand 
 fold more atrocious than death 
 sufferings which I do not feel the 
 right of inflicting on you." 
 
 " The pity you testify for me is 
 only weakness. I cannot die before 
 I have accomplished the task to 
 which I have devoted the wretched 
 existence heaven left me in its wrath. 
 I have sworn, at the peril of my life, 
 to protect the girl who was betrothed 
 to me in happier times." 
 
 " Carry out your oath, then, Don 
 Martial ; for the poor child was 
 never in greater peril than she is at 
 present." 
 
 "What do you mean? In hea 
 ven's name explain yourself," the 
 Tigrero said passionately. 
 
84 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 " I mean that Don Sebastian 
 covets the incalculable wealth of his 
 ward, which he needs for the success 
 of his ambitious plans ; I mean that 
 remorselessly and shamelessly lay 
 ing aside all human respect, forget 
 ting that the unfortunate girl the 
 law has confided to him is insane, 
 he coldly intends to become her 
 murderer." 
 
 "Go on, go on! what frightful 
 scheme can this man have formed ?" 
 "Oh!" the capataz continued with 
 savage irony; "the plan is simple, 
 honest, and highly praised by some 
 persons, who consider it admirable, 
 even sublime." 
 
 "You will tell me?" 
 " Well, know all, then ; General 
 Don Sebastian Guerrero intends to 
 marry his ward." 
 
 " Marry his ward, he !" Don Mar 
 tial exclaimed with horror, " 'tis im 
 possible." 
 
 "Impossible?" the capataz re 
 peated with a laugh. " Oh, how little 
 you know this man with the impla 
 cable will, this wild beast with a 
 human face, who pitilessly breaks 
 every one who dares to resist him. 
 He is resolved to marry his ward in 
 order to strip her of her fortune, and 
 he will do so, I tell you." 
 "But she is mad!" 
 " I allow she is." 
 
 "What priest would be so un 
 natural as to bless this sacrilegious 
 marriage ?" 
 
 "Nonsense," the capataz said with 
 a shrug of his shoulders, " you forget, 
 my good sir, that the general pos 
 sesses the talisman which renders 
 every thing possible, and purchases 
 every thing men, women, honor, 
 and conscience ; he has gold." 
 
 "That is true, that is true," the 
 Tigrero exclaimed in despair, and 
 burying his face in his hands he 
 remained motionless, as if suddenly 
 struck by lightning. 
 
 There was a lengthened silence, 
 during which nothing was audible 
 but the choking sobs that burst from 
 Don Martial's heaving chest. It was 
 a heart-rending sight to see this 
 strong, brave man so tried by ad 
 versity, now conquered and almost 
 crushed by despair, and weeping 
 like a frightened child. 
 
 The capataz, with his arms crossed 
 on his chest, pale forehead and eye 
 brows contracted almost till they 
 met, looked at him with an expres 
 sion of gentle and sympathizing 
 pity. 
 
 " Don Martial," he at length said, 
 in a sharp and imperative voice. 
 
 " What do you want with me ? Vj 
 the Tigrero asked, looking up with 
 surprise. 
 
 " I want you to listen to me, foi 
 I have not said all yet." 
 
 " What more can you have to tell 
 me ?" the other asked sadly. 
 
 " Arouse yourself like the man 
 you are, instead of remaining any 
 longer crushed beneath the pressure 
 of despair, like a child or a weak 
 woman. Is there no hope left in 
 your heart?" 
 
 ''Did you not tell rne that this 
 man had an implacable will which 
 nothing could resist ?" 
 
 " I did say so, I allow ; but is that 
 a reason for giving up the struggle? 
 do you suppose him invulnerable?" 
 
 " Yes," he exclaimed eagerly, " I 
 can kill him." 
 
 The capataz sh r u gged h is shoul ders 
 contemptuously. 
 
 "Kill him," he repeated, "non 
 sense; that is the vengeance of fools ! 
 Moreover, you will still be able to 
 do that when all other means failed. 
 No you can do something else." 
 
 Don Martial looked at him ear 
 nestly. " You hate him too then, 
 since you do not fear to speak to me 
 as you are doing ?" 
 
 " No matter whether I hate him 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 85 
 
 or not, so long as I am willing to 
 serve you." 
 
 " That is true," the Tigrero mut 
 tered. 
 
 " Besides," the capataz continued, 
 "do you forget who recommended 
 you to me ?" 
 
 "Valentine," said Don Martial. 
 " Valentine ; yes, Valentine, who 
 saved my life as you have done, 
 and to whom I have vowed an eter 
 nal gratitude." 
 
 " Oh," Don Martial said mourn 
 fully, " Valentine himself has given 
 up any further contest with this 
 demon." 
 
 The capataz grinned savagely. 
 "Do you believe that?" he asked 
 ironically. 
 
 "What matter?" the Tigrero 
 muttered. 
 
 " Grief makes you egotistic, Don 
 Martial," the other replied ; " but I 
 forgive you on account of the suf 
 ferings I have most unluckily caused 
 you." 
 
 He broke off, poured out a glass 
 of sherry, swallowed it, and sat 
 down again on his butacca. 
 
 " He would be a bad physician," 
 he continued, " who, having per 
 formed a painful operation, did not 
 know how to apply the proper 
 remedies to cicatrize and cure it." 
 
 "What do you mean?" the Ti 
 grero exclaimed, interested, in spite 
 of himself, by the tone in which 
 those words were uttered. 
 
 "Do you believe," the capataz 
 continued, "do you believe, my 
 friend, that I would have inflicted 
 such great pain on you if I had not 
 possessed the means to cause an im 
 mense joy to succeed it ? Tell me, 
 do you believe that ?" 
 
 "Take care, senor," the Tigrero 
 said in a trembling voice, ''take 
 care what you are about, for I know 
 not why, but I am beginning to re 
 gain hope, and I warn you that if 
 
 this last illusion which you are try 
 ing to produce were to escape me 
 this time, you would kill me as 
 surely as if you stabbed me with a 
 dagger." 
 
 The capataz smiled with ineffable 
 gentleness. " Hope, my friend; hope, 
 I tell you," he said, "that is exactly 
 what I want to bring you to ; for I 
 wish you to have faith in me." 
 
 " Speak, senor," he replied ; " I 
 will listen to you with confidence, 
 for I do not believe you capable of 
 sporting so coldly with agony like 
 mine." 
 
 " Good, we have reached the point 
 I have been aiming at so long. Now 
 listen to me. I told you, I think, 
 that on her arrival in- Mexico, Dona 
 Anita was taken by Don Sebastian 
 to the Convent of the Bernardines?" 
 
 " Yes ! I fancy I can remember 
 your saying so." 
 
 "Very good. Dona Anita was 
 received with open arms by the 
 good nuns who had educated her. 
 The young lady, on finding herself 
 again among the companions of her 
 childhood, treated with kind and 
 intelligent care, wandering unre 
 strained beneath the lofty trees that 
 had sheltered her early years, gradu 
 ally felt calmness returning to her 
 mind; her grief by degrees gave 
 way to a gentle melancholy ; her 
 ideas, overthrown by a frightful 
 catastrophe, regained their balance ; 
 in short, the madness which bad 
 spread its black wings over her 
 brain was driven away by the soft 
 caresses of the nuns, and soon en 
 tirely disappeared." 
 
 "So, then^" Don Martial ex 
 claimed, "slie has regained her 
 reason ?" 
 
 " I will not venture to assert that, 
 for she is still insane in the opinion 
 of everybody." 
 
 "But in that case " the Ti 
 grero said in a panting voice. 
 
86 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 "In that case," the capataz con 
 tinued, purposely laying a stress on 
 every word, while fixing a magnetic 
 glance on the Tigrero, "as all the 
 world believes it, it must be so till 
 the contrary is proved." 
 
 " But how did you learn all these 
 details?" 
 
 " In the most simple manner. My 
 master, Don Sebastian, has sent me 
 several times to the convent with 
 messages, and chance decreed that 
 I recognized in the sister-porter a 
 relation of mine, whom I thought 
 dead long ago. The worthy woman, 
 in her delight, and perhaps, too, to 
 make up for the long silence she is 
 compelled to maintain, tells me 
 whenever she sees me all that is 
 said and done in the convent, and 
 there is a good deal to learn from 
 the conversation of a nun. She 
 takes a good deal of interest in me, 
 and as I am fond of her too, I listen 
 to her with pleasure. Now, do you 
 understand ?" 
 
 " Oh ! go on. Go on !" 
 
 " Well, this time I have nearly 
 finished. It appears, from what my 
 Nrelation tells me, that the nuns, and 
 the Mother Superior before all, are 
 utterly opposed to the general's 
 plans of marriage." 
 
 "Oh, the holy women!" the Ti 
 grero exclaimed with simple joy. 
 
 "Are they not ?" the capataz said 
 with a laugh. "This is probably 
 the reason why they keep so secret 
 the return of their boarder to her 
 senses, for they doubtless hope that, 
 so long as the poor girl is mad, the 
 general will not dare contract the 
 impious union he is meditating; 
 unfortunately, they do not know 
 the man with whom they have to 
 deal, and the ferocious ambition 
 that devours him an ambition for 
 the gratification of which he will 
 recoil from no crime, however 
 atrocious it may be." 
 
 "Alas!" the Tigrero said despair- 
 ingly; "you see, my friend, that I 
 am lost." 
 
 " Wait, wait, my good sir ; your 
 situation, perhaps, is not so desper 
 ate as you imagine it." 
 
 " My heart is on fire." 
 
 "Courage; and listen to me to 
 the end. Yesterday I went to the 
 convent, the Mother Superior, to 
 whom I had the honor of speaking, 
 confided to me, under the seal of 
 secrecy for she knows that, al 
 though I am a servant of Don Se 
 bastian, I take a deep interest in 
 Dona Anita, and would be glad to 
 see her happy that the young lady 
 has expressed an intention to con 
 fess." 
 
 'Ah, for what reason? do you 
 know?". 
 
 " No, I do not 1" 
 
 "But that desire can be easily 
 satisfied, I presume, there are plenty 
 of monks and priests attached to the 
 convent." 
 
 "Your observation is just; still 
 it appears that, for reasons I am 
 equally ignorant of, neither the 
 Mother Superior nor Dona Anita 
 wishes to have one of those monks 
 or priests for confessor, hence " 
 
 "Hence?" Don Martial quickly 
 interrupted him. 
 
 " Well, the Mother Superior asked 
 me to bring her a priest or monk in 
 whom I had confidence." 
 
 "Ah !" 
 
 " You understand, my friend." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Oh, God ! go on !" 
 
 "And to take him to the convent." 
 
 "And," Don Martial asked, in a 
 choking voice, "have you found this 
 confessor?" 
 
 "I believe so," the capataz an 
 swered, with a smile; "and pray, 
 what do you think, Don Martial?" 
 
 "Yes, I do too," he exclaimed, 
 joyfully. "At what time are you to 
 take this confessor to the convent ?" 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 "To-morrow, at the Oracion." 
 
 "Very good, and I presume you 
 have arranged a place to meet him?" 
 
 "Caspita! I should think so; he 
 is to meet me at the Parian, where 
 I shall be at the first stroke of the 
 Oracion." 
 
 "I am certain that he will be 
 punctual !" 
 
 "And so am I; and now, senor, 
 do you consider that you have lost 
 your time in listening to me?" 
 
 "On the contrary," Don Martial 
 replied, as he offered him his hand 
 with a smile, "I consider you a first- 
 rate hand at telling a story." 
 
 "You flatter me." 
 
 "No, indeed, I do not. I con 
 sider, too, that the nuns of St. Ber 
 nard are excellent and holy women." 
 
 "Caspita! I should think so; they 
 have a relation of mine as portress." 
 
 The two men burst into a frank 
 and hearty laugh, whose explosion 
 no one could have anticipated from 
 the way in which their interview 
 began. 
 
 "Now, we must separate," the 
 capataz said, as he rose. 
 
 "What, already?" 
 
 "I have to accompany my master 
 to-night on an excursion outside the 
 city." 
 
 " Some plot, I presume ?" 
 
 "I am afraid so; but what would 
 you have? I am forced to obey." 
 
 "In that case, turn me out of 
 doors." 
 
 " That is what I am going to do; 
 by-the-by, have you seen Don Yal- 
 entine since you arrived?" 
 
 "Not yet. This long delay makes 
 me anxious; and if it were not so 
 late, or if I knew my road, I would 
 go and ask hospitality of Don An 
 tonio Kallier, his fellow-countryman, 
 so as to obtain news of him." 
 
 " That is of no consequence. Do 
 you know Don Antonio's address?" 
 
 "Yes, he lives in the Secunda 
 Monterilla." 
 
 "It is close by; if you wish it, I 
 will have you taken there." 
 
 "I should feel greatly obliged; 
 but by whom?" 
 
 " Caspita ! have you forgotten the 
 man to whom you intrusted your 
 horse? he will act as your guide." 
 
 "A thousand thanks !" 
 
 " It is not worth them. "Will you 
 take a walk to-morrow in the Pa 
 rian ?" 
 
 "I am so anxious to see your 
 confessor that I shall not fail to be 
 there." 
 
 The two men smiled again. 
 
 "Now, give me your hand, and 
 let us be off." 
 
 They went out of the room ; the 
 capataz led the Tigrero by the same 
 passage, walking along in the dark 
 ness as if it were broad day, and 
 they soon found themselves beneath 
 the saguan of the small house. The 
 capataz thrust his head out after 
 opening the door cautiously. The 
 street was deserted, and after look 
 ing up and down it, he whistled in a 
 peculiar way, and in a few minutes 
 footsteps were heard, and the peon 
 appeared holding the Tigrero's horse 
 by the bridle. 
 
 "Good-bye, senor," the capataz 
 said. " I thank you for the delight 
 ful evening you have caused- me to 
 spend. Pilloto, lead this senor, who 
 is a forastero, to the Secunda Mon 
 terilla, and point out to him the 
 house of Senor Don Antonio Hal- 
 lier." 
 
 " Yes, mi amo," the peon answered 
 laconically. 
 
 The two friends exchanged a part 
 ing salutation; the Tigrero mounted, 
 and followed Pilloto, while the capa 
 taz re-entered the house and closed 
 the door after him. After number 
 less turnings and windings, the rider 
 
88 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 and the footman at length entered a 
 street which, from its width, the 
 Tigrero suspected to form part of 
 the fashionable quarter. 
 
 " This is the Secunda Monterilla," 
 said the peon, "and that gentleman," 
 he added, pointing to a horseman 
 who was coming toward them, fol 
 lowed by three footmen also mounted 
 and well-armed, " is the very Don 
 Antonio you are looking for." 
 
 " You are sure of it ?" the Tigrero 
 asked. 
 
 " Carai ! I know him well." 
 
 "If that is the case, accept this 
 piastre, my friend, and go home, for 
 I no longer need your services." 
 
 The peon bowed and retired. 
 During the conversation the new 
 comer had halted in evident alarm. 
 
 "Tis I, Don Antonio," the Ti 
 grero shouted to him. " Come on 
 without fear I am a friend." 
 
 " Oh, oh 1 it is very late to meet a 
 friend in the street," Don Antonio 
 answered, though he advanced with 
 out hesitation, after laying his hand 
 
 i 1 
 
 on his weapon to guard against a 
 
 surprise. 
 
 " I am Martial, the Tigrero." 
 
 " Oh, that is different ; what do 
 you want ? A lodging, eh ? I will 
 have you led to my house by a ser 
 vant, aud there leave you till to 
 morrow, as I am in a hurry." 
 
 "Agreed ; but allow me one 
 word." 
 
 "Speak!" 
 
 " Where is Don Valentine ?" 
 
 " Do you want to see him?" 
 
 " Excessively." 
 
 "Then come with me, for I am 
 . going to him !" 
 
 " Heaven has sent him thus op 
 portunely," the Tigrero exclaimed, 
 as he drew his horse up alongside 
 Don Antonio's. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE VELORIO. 
 
 IT was very late when the con 
 spirators separated, and when the 
 last groups of officers left the rancho, 
 the sound of the Indian horses and 
 mules proceeding to market was 
 audible on the paved highway. Al 
 though the darkness was still thick, 
 the stars were beginning to die out 
 in the heavens ; the cold was becom 
 ing sharper in a word, all foretold 
 that day would soon break. 
 
 The two travellers had seated 
 themselves again at a corner of the 
 table, opposite one another, and 
 were dumb and motionless as 
 statues. The host walked about the 
 room with a busy air, apparently 
 arranging and clearing up, but very 
 anxious in reality, and desirous, in 
 his heart, to be rid as soon as possi 
 ble of these two 'singular customers 
 whose silence and sobriety inspired 
 him with but slight confidence. 
 
 At length the person who had 
 always spoken on his own behalf 
 and that of his companion struck 
 the table twice, and the landlord 
 hurried up at this summons. 
 
 " What do you wish for, excel 
 lency?" he asked, with an obse 
 quious air. 
 
 " I tell you what, landlord," the 
 stranger continued, "it strikes me 
 that your criado is a long time in 
 returning ; he ought to have been 
 back before this." 
 
 "Pardon me, excellency, but it is 
 a long journey from here to the 
 Secunda Monterilla, especially when 
 you are obliged to walk it. Still, 
 I believe the peon will soon be 
 baek." 
 
 " May Heaven hear you ! Give 
 us each a glass of tamarind water." 
 
 At this moment, when the land- 
 
THE REP TRACK. 
 
 89 
 
 lord brought the draught, there 
 was a tap at the door. 
 
 "Perhaps it is our man," the 
 stranger said. 
 
 "That is possible, your excel 
 lency," the landlord answered, as he 
 went to open the door on the chain, 
 which left only a passage of a few 
 inches, much too narrow for the 
 visitor to enter the house against 
 the wish of its owner. This pre 
 cautionary measure, which is at 
 once very prudent and simple, is 
 generally adopted all through 
 Mexico, owing to the slight confi 
 dence with which the police organi 
 zation in this blessed country, which 
 is the refuge of scoundrels of every 
 description, inspires the inhabitants. 
 
 After exchanging a few words in 
 a, low voice with the new arrival, 
 the landlord unhooked the chain 
 and opened the door. 
 
 ''Excellency," he said to the stran 
 ger, who was slowly sipping his 
 tamarind water, " here is your mes 
 senger." 
 
 "At last," the traveller, said, 
 gladly, as he placed his horn mug 
 on the table. 
 
 The peon entered, politely doffed 
 his hat and bowed. 
 
 " Well, my friend," the stranger 
 asked him, "did you find the per 
 son to whom I sent you ?'' 
 
 " Yes, excellency, I had the good 
 fortune to find him at home on his 
 return from a tertulia in the Calle 
 San Agustin." 
 
 " Ah, ah ! and what did he say 
 on receiving my note ?" 
 
 " Well, excellency, he is a cabal- 
 lero, for sure ; for he first gave me 
 a piastre, and then said to me, ' Go 
 back as quick as you can walk, and 
 ' tell the gentleman who sent you that 
 I shall be at the meeting he appoints 
 as soon as yourself.'" 
 
 " So that " 
 
 " He will probably be here in a 
 few minutes." 
 
 "Very good, you are a clever 
 lad," the stranger answered; "here 
 is another piastre for you, and now 
 you can retire." 
 
 "Thanks, your excellency," the 
 peon said, joyfully pocketing his 
 piastre. " Carai ! I should be a rich 
 man with only two nights a month 
 like this. 1 ' 
 
 And after bowing a second time, 
 he left the room to go and sleep, in 
 all probability, in the corral. The 
 peon had told the truth, for he had 
 scarce left the room ten minutes ere 
 a rather loud voice was heard with 
 out : horses stamped, and not only 
 was the door struck, but there were 
 several loud calls. 
 
 " Open the door without fear," the 
 stranger said ; "I know that voice." 
 
 The ranch'ero obeyed, and several 
 persons entered the inn. 
 
 "At last you have returned, my 
 dear Valentine," the new-comer ex 
 claimed in French, as he walked 
 quickly towards the travellers, who, 
 for their part, went to meet him. 
 
 " Thanks for your promptitude in 
 responding to my invitation, my 
 dear Rallier," the hunter answered. 
 
 The ranchero bit his lips on hear 
 ing them talk in a language he did 
 not understand. 
 
 "Hum! they are Ingleses," he 
 muttered spitefully. "I suspected 
 they must be gringos. 
 
 It is a general rule with the lower 
 class Mexicans that all foreigners 
 are English, and consequently hun 
 ters or gringos." 
 
 "Come here, No Lusacho," Val 
 entine said, addressing the landlord, 
 who was turning his hat between 
 his fingers with an air of considera 
 ble embarrassment, "I have to talk 
 on important matters with these 
 gentlemen, and as I do not wish to 
 
90 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 be disturbed by you, I propose that 
 you should give me up this room 
 for an hour." 
 
 " Excellency," he muttered. 
 
 " I understand, you expect to be 
 paid. Very good, I will pay you, 
 but on condition that no one, not 
 even yourself, comes in till I call." 
 
 "Still, your excellency " 
 
 "Listen to me without interrup 
 tion. Day will not break for two 
 hours, so you will not open your 
 rancho till then, and, consequently, 
 you have no customers to expect. 
 I will pay an ounce for each hour ; 
 will that suit you ?" 
 
 " I should think so, your excel 
 lency ; at that price I will sell you 
 the whole day if you wish." 
 
 " That is not necessary," the hun 
 ter said, with a laugh ; "but you 
 understand I want fair play no 
 ears on the listen, or eyes at the 
 slits of the panelling." 
 
 " I am an honest man, your ex 
 cellency." 
 
 " I am ready to believe so ; but I 
 warn you, because in the event of 
 my seeing an eye or an ear lap, I 
 shall immediately fire a bullet at it 
 as a recommendation to prudence, 
 and I have the ill-luck to be a dead 
 shot. Does the bargain suit you 
 with those conditions ?" 
 
 "Perfectly, your excellency. I 
 shall keep a strict watch over my 
 people, so that you shall not be 
 disturbed." 
 
 "You are a splendid .landlord, 
 and I predict that you will make a 
 rapid fortune, for I see that you 
 thoroughly understand your own 
 interests." 
 
 " I try to satisfy the gentry who 
 honor my poor abode with their 
 presence." 
 
 " Excellently reasoned 1 Here are 
 the two promised ounces, and four 
 piastres in the bargain for the re 
 
 freshments you are going to serve 
 us. Have these gentlemen's horses 
 taken to the corral, and have the 
 goodness to leave us." 
 
 The landlord bowed with a 
 grimacing smile, brought, with a 
 speed far from common with people 
 of his calling, the refreshments 
 ordered, and gave the hunter a deep 
 bow. 
 
 "Now," he said, "your excellency 
 is in your own house, and no one 
 shall enter without your orders." 
 
 While Valentine was making this 
 bargain with the ranchero, his 
 friends remained silent, laughing 
 inwardly at the hunter's singular 
 mode of proceeding, and the un 
 answerable arguments he employed 
 to avoid an espionage almost always 
 to be found in such places, when the 
 master does not scruple to betray 
 those who pay him best. 
 
 " Now," said Valentine, so soon 
 as the door closed behind the land 
 lord, " we shall talk at least in 
 safety." 
 
 " Speak Spanish, my friend," said 
 M. Eallier. 
 
 "Why so? It is so delightful 
 to converse in one's own tongue, 
 when, like me, you have so few 
 opportunities for doing so. I assure 
 you that Curumilla will not feel 
 offended." 
 
 "Hum; I did not say this on 
 behalf of the chief, whose friendship 
 for you I am well acquainted with." 
 
 " Who then ?" 
 
 "For Don Martial, who has ac 
 companied me, and has important 
 matters to communicate to you." 
 
 "Oh, oh, that changes the ques 
 tion," said the hunter, at once sub 
 stituting Spanish for the French 
 he had hitherto employed. "Are 
 you there, my dear Don Martial ?" 
 
 "Yes, senor," the Tigrero an 
 swered, emerging from the gloom in 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 91 
 
 which he had remained up to this 
 moment, " and very happy to see 
 you." 
 
 " Who else have you brought 
 with you, Don Antonio ?" 
 
 "Me, my friend," said a third 
 person, as he let the folds of his 
 cloak fall.' "My brother thought 
 that it would be better to have a 
 companion, in the event of an 
 alarm." 
 
 " Your brother was right, my dear 
 Edward, and I thank* him for the 
 good idea, which procures me the 
 pleasure of shaking your hand a few 
 moments sooner. And now, senores, 
 if you are agreeable, we will sit 
 down and talk, for, if I am not 
 mistaken, we have certain things to 
 tell eacli other which are most im 
 portant for us." 
 
 "That is true!" Antonio Rallier 
 answered, as he sat down, in which 
 he was immediately imitated by the 
 rest. 
 
 "If you like," Valentine con 
 tinued, "we will proceed in regular 
 rotation ; that is, I fancy, the way to 
 finish more quickly, for you know 
 that moments are precious." 
 
 " First, and before all else, my 
 friend," said Antonio Rallier, "per 
 mit me to thank you once again, in 
 my own name and that of my 
 family, for the services you rendered 
 me in our journey across the Rocky 
 Mountains. Without you, without 
 your watchful friendship and cour 
 ageous devotion, we should never 
 have emerged from those frightful 
 gorges, but must have perished 
 miserably in them." 
 
 " What good is it, my friend, to 
 recal at this moment " 
 
 "Because," Antonio Rallier con 
 tinued eagerly, ' I wish you to be 
 thoroughly convinced that you can 
 dispose of us all as you please. 
 Our arms, purses, and hearts, all 
 belong to you." 
 
 " I know it, my friend, and you 
 see that I have not hesitated to 
 make use of you, at the risk even 
 of compromising you. So let us 
 leave this subject, and come to facts. 
 What have you done ?" 
 
 " I have literally followed your 
 instructions ; according to your wish, 
 I have hired and furnished for you 
 a house in Tacuba Street." 
 
 "Pardon me, but you know that 
 I am very slightly acquainted with 
 Mexico, for I have visited that 
 city but rarely, and each time with 
 out stopping." 
 
 " The Tacuba is one of the princi 
 pal streets in Mexico ; it faces the 
 palace, and is close to the street in 
 which I reside with my family." 
 
 " That is famous. And in whose 
 name did you take the house ?" 
 
 "In that of Don Serapio de la 
 Ronda. Your servants arrived two 
 days ago." 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 " I mean Belhumeur and Black 
 Elk; the former is your steward 
 and the latter your valet. They 
 have made all the arrangements, and 
 you can arrive when you please." 
 
 " To-day, then." 
 
 "I will act as your guide." 
 
 " Thank you ; what next ?" 
 
 "Next, my brother Edward has 
 taken, in his own name at the San 
 Lazaro gate, a small house, where 
 ten horses, belonging to the purest 
 mustang breed, were at once placed 
 in a magnificent corral." 
 
 "That concerns Curumilla; he 
 will live in that house with your 
 brother." 
 
 "And now one other thing, my 
 friend." 
 
 " Speak !" 
 
 "You will not be angry with 
 me?" 
 
 " With you ? nonsense !" said 
 Valentine, holding out his hand. 
 
 "Not knowing whether you had 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 sufficient funds at your disposal 
 and you will agree with me that you 
 will require a large sum " 
 
 "I know it. Well?" 
 
 "Well, I " 
 
 " I see I must come to your as 
 sistance, my poor Antonio. As you 
 believe me a poor devil of a hunter 
 not possessed of a farthing, and are 
 so delicate-minded yourself, you 
 have placed in a corner of the room, 
 or in some article of furniture, of 
 which you want to give me the key 
 and don't know how, fifty or per 
 haps one hundred thousand piastres, 
 with the reservation to offer me 
 more, should not that sum prove 
 sufficient." 
 
 "Would you be angry with me, 
 had I done so ?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I should be 
 most grateful to you." 
 
 "In, that case I am glad." 
 
 "Glad of what, my dear An 
 tonio ?" 
 
 " That you accept the hundred 
 thousand piastres." 
 
 Valentine smiled. 
 
 "I am delighted to find that you 
 are the man I judged you to be. 
 Still, while thanking you from my 
 heart for the service you wish to 
 render me, I do not accept it." 
 
 "Do you refuse, Valentine?" he 
 said, mournfully. 
 
 "Let us understand each other, 
 my friend. I do not refuse ; I sim 
 ply tell you that I do not want the 
 money, and here is the proof," he 
 added, as he took from his pocket a 
 folded paper, which he handed to 
 his countryman, "you, as a banker, 
 may know the firm of Thornwood, 
 Davidson & Co." 
 
 "It is the richest in San Fran 
 cisco." 
 
 " Then open that paper and read." 
 
 Mr. Rallier obeyed. 
 
 "An unlimited credit opened at 
 
 my house," he exclaimed, in a voice 
 tremulous with joy. 
 
 "Does that displease you?'-' Val 
 entine asked, with a srnile. 
 
 " On the contrary ; but you must 
 be rich in that case." 
 
 A cloud of sadness passed over 
 the hunter's forehead. 
 
 " I have grieved you, my friend." 
 
 ''Alas! as you know, there are 
 certain wounds which never close. 
 Yes, my friend, I am rich ; Curu- 
 milla, Belhumeur, and myself alone, 
 now that my foster-brother is dead, 
 know in Apacheriu the richest placer 
 that exists in the world. It was for 
 the purpose of going to this placer 
 that I did not accompany you to 
 Mexico ; now you understand ; but 
 what do I care for this incalculable 
 fortune, when my heart is dead, and 
 the joy of my life is forever annihi 
 lated !" 
 
 And under the weight of the deep 
 emotion that crushed him, the hunter 
 hung his head down and stifled a 
 sob. Curumilla arose amid the 
 general silence, for no one ventured 
 to offer ordinary consolation for this 
 grief, and laid his hand on Valen 
 tine's shoulder 
 
 "Koutonepi," he said to him in a 
 hollow voice, " remember that you 
 have sworn to avenge our brother." 
 
 The hunter drew himself up as if 
 stung by a serpent, and pressing the 
 hand the Indian offered him, he 
 looked at him for a moment with 
 strange fixedness. 
 
 " Women alone weep for the dead, 
 because they are unable to avenge 
 them," the Indian continued in the 
 same harsh, cutting accent. 
 
 " Yes, you are right," the hunter 
 answered with feverish energy; "1 
 thank you, chief, for having recalled 
 me to myself." 
 
 Curumilla laid h'is friend's hand on 
 his heart, and stood for an instant 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 93 
 
 Sttotionless ; at length he let it fall, 
 sat down again, and wrapping him 
 self in his sarape, he returned to 
 his habitual silence, from which so 
 grave a circumstance alone con id 
 have aroused him. Valentine passed 
 his hand twice over his foreljead, 
 which was bathed in cold pevspira- 
 iion, and attempted a faint srjiile. 
 
 "Forgive me, my friends, for 
 having forgotten, during r, moment, 
 the character I have assumed," he 
 said in a gentle voice. 
 
 Their hands weresile ntly extended 
 to him. 
 
 "Now, 1 ' he exclaimed in a firm 
 voice, in whose n<^tes traces of the 
 past tempest were still audible, " let 
 us speak of that, poor Dona Anita 
 de Torres." 
 
 " Alas !" sai-4 the elder Rallier, " I 
 cannot tell y ou any thing, although 
 tny sister Helena, her companion at 
 the Convert of the Bernardines, to 
 which I P eut her in accordance with 
 your wi^h, has let me know that 
 she woi ild have grand news for us in 
 a few 'Jays." 
 
 " I \vill give you that news, with 
 your/ permission," Don Martial said 
 at 4 jhis moment, suddenly joining in 
 tKe conversation, to which he had 
 hitherto listened with great indif 
 ference. 
 
 "Do you know any thing?" Val 
 entine asked him. 
 
 " Yes, something most important ; 
 that is why I was so anxious to speak 
 with you." 
 
 " Speak then, my friend, speak, we 
 are listening." 
 
 TheTigrero, without further press 
 ing, at once reported, in the fullest 
 details, his interview with Don 
 Sebastian Guerrero's capataz. The 
 three Frenchmen listened with the 
 most serious attention, and when he 
 had finished his story, Valentine 
 rose 
 
 " Let us be o2J senors." he said, 
 6 
 
 " we have no time to lose; perhaps 
 heaven offers us, at this moment, the 
 opportunity we have been so long 
 awaiting." 
 
 The others rose without asking 
 the hunter for any explanation, and 
 a few minutes later Valentine and 
 his comrades were galloping along 
 the highway in the direction of 
 Mexico. 
 
 "I do not know what diabolical 
 plot they are forming," No Lusacho 
 muttered, on seeing them disappear 
 in the distance ; " but they are wor 
 thy gentlemen, and let the ounces 
 slip through their fingers like so 
 much water." 
 
 And he entered the- rancho, the 
 door of which he now left open, for 
 day was breaking. 
 
 CHAPTEK XV. 
 
 THE CONVERT OF THE BEENAB- 
 DUS'ES. 
 
 THE history of colonies is the 
 same every where,, that is to say, that 
 you find the old belief, the forgotten 
 manners and customs of the mother 
 country intact, and almost exagger 
 ated. 
 
 Mexico was to. Spain, what Canada 
 still is to France. In Mexico we 
 therefore find the Spain of the 
 monks, with all the abuses of a de 
 generate monastic life ;; for we are 
 compelled to state that with few r 
 very few exceptions, the monksdpf 
 Mexico are far from leading 
 emplary life. A few years. 
 Papal legate arrived at 
 had been sent to try and i 
 into the monasteries refold Which 
 had become urgent; 
 recognized the i 
 
94 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 oess, and returned as he came. This 
 is the history of yesterday and to 
 day, and in the way things are going 
 on, it will be the history of to-mor 
 row. 
 
 In spite of the innumerable revo 
 lutions, the Mexican naonks are still 
 very rich. Among other uses to 
 which they put their money, the 
 best is, perhaps, lending it out at six 
 per cent., which, let us hasten to add, 
 is a great blessing in a country 
 where the ordinary interest on bor 
 rowed money is sixteen to eighteen 
 per cent. Still, it appears to us, and 
 we trust the remark will not be 
 taken in bad part, but little in har 
 mony with the vocation of the 
 monks and the pure doctrines of 
 religion, which is so opposed to 
 lending money out at interest, for it 
 has ever seen in it disguised usury. 
 
 We will add, at the risk of incur 
 ring the blame of some persons, and 
 of appearing to emit a paradox, that 
 in this collection of Christian reli 
 gious buildings there seems to be 
 kept up the tradition of the great 
 Mexican Teocali, which contained 
 within its walls seventy-eight build 
 ings devoted to the Aztec worship. 
 
 In the first place, what is the reli 
 gion professed in Spanish America? 
 It certainly is not the Catholic faith ; 
 and this we ean affirm with a safe 
 conscience, and supply proof if ne 
 cessary. The Americans of the 
 south, like all southern peoples, are 
 instinctively Pagans, food of war 
 and holidays, making a god of each 
 saint, adoring the Yirgin under a 
 hundred different forms, digging up 
 the old Aztec idols, placing them in 
 all the Mexican churches, and offer 
 ing them worship under the charac 
 teristic denomination of Santes anti- 
 guos, or ancient saints. 
 
 What can be said after this? 
 Simply that the Hispano- Americans 
 never understood the religion they 
 
 were compelled to profess ; that they 
 care but very little for it, and in 
 their hearts cling to their old wor 
 ship in the terrific proportion of the 
 native to the European population, 
 that is to say two-thirds to one. 
 Heace the demoralization of the 
 masses, which is justly complained 
 of, but is the fault of those persons 
 who, at the outset, believed they 
 could establish the religion of Christ 
 in their countries by fire and sword 
 a system, we are bound to add, 
 scrupulously followed by the Span 
 ish clergy, up to the Proclamation 
 of the Independence of the colonies. 
 
 The Convent, of the Bernardines 
 is situated but a short distance from 
 the Paseo de Bucarelli. Not one 
 of the religious communities for 
 women scattered over Mexico is so 
 rich as this one ; for the kings of 
 Spain and nobles of ihehighest rank 
 gave it large endowments, which, in 
 the course of time, have grown into 
 an immense fortune. 
 
 The vast site occupied by the 
 Convent of the Bernardines, the 
 thick walls that surround it, and the 
 numerous domes that crown it, suffi 
 ciently indicate the importance it 
 enjoys at the present day. 
 
 Like all the Mexican convents, 
 and especially that at San Francisco^ 
 to which it bears a distant resem 
 blance, the Convent of the Bernard- 
 iues is defended by thick walls, 
 flanked by massive buttresses, which 
 give it the appearance of a fortress. 
 Still the peaceful belfries, and their 
 cupolas of enamelled porcelain cov 
 ering so many chapels, allow the 
 pious destination of the edifice to be 
 recognized. An immense paved 
 court leads to the principal chapel, 
 which is adorned with a luxury 
 that it would be difficult to form an 
 idea of in our skeptical Europe. 
 
 Behind this first court is the space 
 reserved for the nuns, consisting of 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 95 
 
 cloisters, adorned with pic 
 tures fey old masters, and white 
 jasper basins from which limpid 
 fou.Btsins rise. Next come immense 
 haeptas with umbrageous walks, 
 wideieourt-yards, a rich and valuable 
 library in which the scientific wealth 
 of Mexico lies buried, eight spa 
 cious, comfortable, and airy dormi 
 tories, four hundred cells for the 
 niiEis, and a refectory in which four 
 .hundred guests can sit without 
 ^crowding. 
 
 On the day when we introduce 
 the reader into the Convent of the 
 Bernardines, at about five in the 
 evening, three persons, collected in 
 a leafy arbor, almost at the end of 
 the garden, were talking together 
 with considerable animation. 
 
 Of these persons, one, the eldest, 
 was a nun, while the other two, 
 girls of from sixteen to eighteen 
 years of age, wore the garb of 
 novices. 
 
 The first was the Mother Superior 
 of the convent, a lady of about fifty 
 years of age, with delicate and aris 
 tocratic features, gentle manners, 
 and noble and majestic demeanor, 
 whose face displayed kindness and 
 intelligence. 
 
 The second was Dona Anita; we 
 will not draw her portrait, for the 
 reader has long been acquainted 
 with her.* The poor girl, however, 
 was pale and white as a corpse, her 
 fever- parched eyes were not easy, 
 fixed on any object, and she looked 
 about her hurriedly and desperately. 
 
 The third was Dona Helena Kal- 
 lier, a light-haired, blue-eyed girl, 
 with a saucy look, whose velvety 
 cheeks, and noble and well-defined 
 features, revealed the candor and 
 innocence of youth, combined with 
 the laughing expressions of a boarder 
 spoiled by an indulgent governess. 
 
 * See "Tiger Slayer." Same publishers. 
 
 Dona Helena was standing a little 
 outside the arbor, leaning against a 
 tree, and seemed like a vigilant 
 sentry carefully watching lest the 
 conversation between the Mother 
 Superior and her companion should 
 be disturbed. 
 
 Dona Anita, seated on a stone 
 bench by the side of the Abbess, 
 with her hand in the elder lady's, 
 and her head resting on her shoulder, 
 was speaking to her in a faltering 
 voice and broken sentences which 
 found difficulty in passing her parted 
 lips, while the tears silently ran 
 down her cheeks, which suffering 
 had rendered pale. 
 
 " My kind mother," she said, and 
 her voice was harmonious as the 
 sigh of an ^Eolian harp, "I know 
 not how to thank you for your in 
 exhaustible kindness towards me. 
 Alas ! you are at present my only 
 friend ; why may I not be allowed 
 to remain always by your side? I. 
 should be so glad to take my vows 
 and pass my life in this convent 
 under your benevolent protection." 
 
 "My dear child," the Abbess said 
 gently, " God is great, his power is 
 infinite ; hence, why despair ? Alas ! 
 doubt leads to denial ; you are still 
 almost a child. Who knows what 
 joy and happiness the future may 
 still have in store for you ?" 
 
 The maiden gave a heavy sigh. 
 "Alas!" she murmured, "the future 
 no longer exists for me, my kind 
 mother; a poor orphan, abandoned 
 without protection to the power of 
 an unnatural relation, I must endure 
 fearful tortures, and, under his iron 
 yoke, lead a life of suffering and 
 grief." 
 
 "Child," the Abbess said, with 
 gentle sternness, "do not blaspheme ; 
 you are still ignorant, I repeat, of 
 what the future may have in store 
 for you. You are ungrateful at this 
 moment ungrateful and selfish," 
 
96 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 "I ungrateful! holy mother!" the 
 maiden objected. 
 
 " Yes, you are ungrateful, Anita, 
 to us and to yourself. Do you con 
 sider it nothing, after the frightful 
 misfortune that burst on you, to 
 have returned to this convent in 
 which your childhood was spent, 
 and to have found among us that 
 family which the world refused you? 
 Is it nothing to have near you hearts 
 that pity you, and voices that in 
 cessantly urge you to have courage?" 
 
 " Courage, sister," Dona Helena's 
 sweet voice said at this moment, 
 like a soft echo. 
 
 The maiden hid her lovely tear- 
 bedewed face in the bosom of the 
 Mother Superior. 
 
 "Pardon me, mother," she con 
 tinued, "pardon me, but I am 
 crushed by this struggle, which I 
 have carried on so long without 
 hope. The courage you attempt to 
 give me cannot, in spite of my ef 
 forts, penetrate to my heart; for I 
 have the fatal conviction that, what 
 ever you may do, you will not suc 
 ceed in preventing the frightful 
 misfortune suspended over my head." 
 
 "Let us reason a little, my child, 
 like sensible persons ; up to the 
 present, at least, we have succeeded 
 in .concealing from everybody the 
 happy return of your senses." 
 
 " Happy !" she sighed. 
 
 l< Yes, happy; for with the intellect 
 faith, that is to say, strength returned 
 to you. Well, while your guardian 
 believes you still insane, and is com 
 pelled, in spite of himself, to sus 
 pend his schemes with reference to 
 you, I have been employing ail the 
 influence my high position gives me, 
 and my family connections. I have 
 had -a petition on your behalf pre 
 sented to tfo,e President of the Re 
 public by sure hands; this petition 
 w supported -by the greatest names 
 in Mexico, and I ask in it that the 
 
 marriage with which you are menaced 
 may not be contracted against your 
 will ; in a word I ask that your 
 guardian may be prevented taking 
 aay steps till you are in a proper 
 condition to say yes or no." 
 
 " Have you really done that, my 
 good mother?" the maiden ex 
 claimed, as she threw her arms in 
 
 real delight round the elder lady's 
 
 i J 
 
 neck. 
 
 "Yes, I have done so, my child, 
 and I am expecting every moment 
 a reply, which I hope will be favor 
 able." 
 
 "Oh, mother, my real mother, if 
 that succeeds I shall be saved." 
 
 " Do not go from one extreme to 
 the other, my child ; all is uncertain 
 yet, and heaven alone knows wheth 
 er we shall be successful." 
 
 " Oh, God will not abandon a 
 poor orphan." 
 
 " God, my child, chastens those 
 he loves; have confidence in him, 
 and his right hand will be extended 
 over you to sustain you in adver- 
 ity." ' 
 
 "Sister [Redemption is corning 
 this way, holy mother," Dona Hele 
 na said at this moment. 
 
 At a sign from the Mother Supe 
 rior, Dona Anita withdrew to the 
 other end of the bench on which she 
 was seated, folded her arms on her 
 chest, and let her head droop. 
 
 "Are you looking for our mother, 
 sister?" Dona Helena asked a rather 
 elderly lay sister, who was looking 
 to the right and left as if really seek 
 ing somebody. 
 
 " Yes, sister," the lay sister an 
 swered, "I wish to deliver a mes 
 sage with which I am entrusted for 
 our mother." 
 
 "Then enter this arbor, sister, and 
 you will find her reposing there." 
 
 The lay sister entered the arbor, 
 approached the Mother Superior, 
 stopped modestly three paces from 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 97 
 
 her, folded her arms on her breast, 
 looked down respectfully, and wait 
 ed till she was spoken to. 
 
 " What do you desire, daughter ?" 
 the Mother Superior asked her. t 
 
 "Your blessing, in the first place, 
 holy mother," the lay sister answered. 
 
 "I can give it you, daughter ; and 
 now what message, have you for 
 me?" 
 
 "Holy mother, a gentleman of lofty 
 bearing, called Don Serapio de la 
 Eonda, wishes to speak with you 
 privately ; the sister porter took him 
 into the parlor, where he is waiting 
 for you." 
 
 "I will be with him directly, 
 daughter; tell the sister porter to 
 apologize in my name to the gentle 
 man, if I keep him waiting longer 
 than I like, owing to my advanced 
 age. Go on, I follow you." 
 
 The lay sister bowed respectfully 
 to the abbess, and went away to de 
 liver the message with which she 
 was entrusted. The abbess rose, and 
 the two girls sprang forward to sup 
 port her ; but she stopped them. 
 
 " Remain here till the Oracion, 
 my children," she said to them, 
 " converse together ; but be prudent, 
 and do not let yourselves be sur 
 prized ; after the Oracion, you will 
 come and converse in my cell." 
 
 Then after giving Dona Anita a 
 parting kiss, the Mother Superior 
 went away, sorely troubled in mind 
 at this visit from a man she' did not 
 know, and whose name she now 
 heard for the first time. When she 
 entered the parlor, the abbess ex 
 amined with a hasty glance the per 
 son who asked to see her, and who, 
 on perceiving her, rose from his 
 chair, and bowed to her respectfully. 
 This first glance was favorable to 
 the stranger, in whom the reader has 
 doubtless already recognized Valen 
 tine Guillois. 
 
 " Pray, resume your seat, cabal- 
 
 lero," the abbess said to him, "if 
 your conversation is to last any time, 
 we shall talk more comfortably when 
 sitting." 
 
 Valentine bowed, offered the lady 
 a chair, and then returned to his 
 own. 
 
 " Senor Don Serapio de la Honda 
 was announced to me," the lady con 
 tinued after a short silence. 
 
 "I arn that gentleman, madam," 
 Valentine said courteously. 
 
 " I- am at your orders, caballero, 
 and ready to listen to any commu 
 nication you may have to make." 
 
 " Madam, I have nothing personal 
 to say to you; I am merely com 
 missioned by the Minister of the 
 Home Department to deliver you 
 this letter, to which I have a few 
 words to add." 
 
 While uttering this sentence with 
 exquisite politeness, Valentine of 
 fered the abbess a letter bearing the 
 ministerial arms. 
 
 "Pray open the letter, madam," 
 he added, on seeing that, through 
 politeness, she held it in her hand 
 unopened, "you must render your 
 self acquainted with its contents in 
 order to understand the meaning of 
 the words I have to add." 
 
 The abbess, who in her heart was 
 impatient to know what the minis 
 ter had to say to her, offered no ob 
 jection and broke the seal of the let 
 ter, which she hurriedly perused. 
 On reading it a lively expression of 
 joy lit up her face. 
 
 " Then,'' she exclaimed, " his ex 
 cellency deigns to grant my re 
 quest?" 
 
 "Yes, madam; you remain, until 
 fresh orders, responsible for your 
 young charge. You have only to 
 deal with the minister in the matter ; 
 and," he added, with a purposed 
 stress upon the words, " in the event 
 of General Guerrero, the guardian 
 of Dona Anita, trying to force you 
 
98 
 
 THE' RED TRACK. 
 
 into surrendering her to him, you 
 are authorized to conceal the young 
 lady, who is for so many reasons an 
 object of interest, in any house of 
 the order you please." 
 
 " Oh, senor," she answered, her 
 eyes filling with tears of joy, " pray 
 thank his excellency in my name for 
 the act of justice he has deigned to 
 perform in favor of this unfortunate 
 young lady." 
 
 " I will have that honor, madam," 
 Valentine said, as he arose; "and 
 now that I have delivered my mes 
 sage, permit me to take leave of you, 
 while congratulating myself that I 
 was selected by his Excellency the 
 Minister to be his intermediary 
 with you." 
 
 At the moment when Valentine 
 left the convent, Carnero entered it, 
 accompanied by a monk, whose 
 hood was pulled down over his face. 
 The hunter and the capataz ex 
 changed a side glance, but did not 
 speak. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE CONFESSOR. 
 
 MEXICO, as we have already 
 stated, was. after the conquest, 
 completely rebuilt on the origi 
 nal plan, so that, at the present 
 day, it offers nearly the same sight 
 as struck Cortez when he entered 
 it for the first time. The Plaza 
 Mayor, especially, some years back, 
 before the French innovations, more 
 or less good, were introduced, of 
 fered towards evening a most pic 
 turesque scene. 
 
 This immense square is bounded 
 on one side by the Portales de 
 Mercaderos ; heavy arches supported 
 on one side by immense stones, and 
 
 on the other by pilasters, at the 
 foot of which are the alacenas or 
 shops. 
 
 The ayuntamiento, the president's 
 palace, the cathedral, the sagrario, 
 the portal de las ftores, an immense 
 bazaar for merchandize, and the 
 Parian, also a bazaar, complete, or 
 rather completed, at the period 
 when our history takes place, the 
 fourth side of the square, for recently 
 great changes have taken place, 
 and the Parian., among other build 
 ings, has disappeared. The hand 
 somest streets, such as the Tacuba, 
 Mint, Monterilla, Santo Domingo, 
 etc., debouche on the great square. 
 
 The cathedral stands exactly on 
 the site of the ancient great Mexican 
 Teocali, all the buildings of which 
 it has absorbed ; unfortunately this 
 building, which is externally splen 
 did, does not come up internally 
 to the idea, formed of it, for its 
 ornaments, are in bad taste, poor and 
 paltry. 
 
 Between five and six in the even 
 ing, or -a few minutes before Ora- 
 cion, the appearance of the Plaza 
 Mayor "becomes really fairy-like. 
 The crowd of strollers a strange 
 crowd, were there every one flocks 
 up from all sides at once, composed 
 of horsemen, pedestrians, officers, 
 priests, soldiers, campesinos, leperos, 
 Indian women in red petticoats, 
 ladies of fashion in their sayas, and 
 all the people come, go, cross and 
 jostle each other, mingling their 
 conversation with the cries of chil 
 dren, the vociferations of the leperos, 
 who torment purchasers with their 
 impetuosity, and the shrill appeals 
 of the sellers of tamales and quera- 
 tero, crouching in the shade of the 
 porticos. 
 
 A few minutes before the Oracion, 
 a Franciscan monk, recognizable 
 by his blue gown, and silken cord 
 round his waist, and whose large 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 99 
 
 white felt hat, pulled down over the 
 eyes, almost completely concealed 
 his face, came from the Calb Mon- 
 terilla, and entered the Plaza Mayor. 
 
 This man, who was tall and ap 
 parently powerfully built, walked 
 slowly, with hanging head and arms 
 crossed on his chest, as if plunged 
 iu serious reflection. Instead of en 
 tering the thronged Portales, he 
 crossed the square and proceeded 
 towards the Parian, which was very 
 lively at the moment, for the Parian 
 was a bazaar, resembling the Temple 
 of Paris, and was visited at this 
 period by persons, the leanness of 
 whose purses only allowed them to 
 purchase here their jewellery and 
 smart clothing, which, in any other 
 part of the city would have been 
 much too expensive for them. 
 
 Not attending to the noise or 
 movement around him, the Francis 
 can leant his shoulder against the 
 stall of an evangelista, or public 
 writer, and looked absently and 
 wearily across the square. He did 
 not remain long in this position, 
 however, for just after he had reached 
 the Parian, the Oracion began. At 
 the first peal of the cathedral bells, 
 all the noises ceased in the square ; 
 the crowd stopped, heads were un 
 covered, and each muttered a short 
 prayer in a low voice. 
 
 At the last stroke of the Oracion, 
 a hand was laid on the Franciscan's 
 shoulder, while a voice whispered 
 in his ear 
 
 " You are exact to the rendezvous, 
 Senor Padre." 
 
 "I am performing my duty, my 
 son," the monk at once answered, 
 turning round. 
 
 In the person who addressed him 
 he doubtless recognized a friend, for 
 he offered him his hand by a spon 
 taneous movement. 
 
 "Are you still resolved to attempt 
 
 the adventure?" the first speaker 
 continued. 
 
 " More than ever, senor." 
 
 " Bear in mind that you must not 
 mention my name ; we do not know 
 each other; you are a monk from 
 the San Franciscan monastery, 
 whom I fetched to confess a young 
 novice at the Convent of the Ber- 
 nardines. It is understood that you 
 do not know who I am?" 
 
 " My brother, we poor monks are 
 at the service of the afflicted ; our 
 duty orders us to help them when 
 they claim our support ; as we have 
 no name for society, we are forbidden 
 to ask that of those who summon 
 us." 
 
 "Excellently spoken," the other 
 replied, repressing a smile. "You 
 are a monk according to my own 
 heart. I see that I am not deceived 
 with respect to you ; come, then, my 
 father, we must not keep the person 
 waiting who is expecting us." 
 
 The Franciscan bowed his assent, 
 placed himself on the right of his 
 singular friend, and both went away 
 from the Parian, where the noise 
 had become louder than ever, after 
 the angelos had ceased ringing. 
 The two men passed unnoticed 
 through the crowd, and walked in 
 the direction of the Convent of the 
 Bernardines, going along silently, 
 side by side. 
 
 We have said that at the convent- 
 gate they passed Don Serapio de la 
 Honda, that is to say, Valentine 
 Guillois, and that the thre men ex 
 changed a side glance full of mean 
 ing. The sister-porter made no ob 
 jection to admitting the Franciscan ; 
 and his guide, so soon as he saw hirn 
 inside the convent, took leave of him 
 after exchanging a few common-place 
 compliments with the sister. The 
 latter respectfully led the monk into 
 a parlor, and after begging him to 
 
100 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 wait a moment, went away to in 
 form the Mother Superior of the 
 arrival of the confessor whom the 
 young novice had requested to see. 
 
 We will leave the Franciscan for 
 a little while to his meditations, and 
 return to the two young ladies whom 
 we left in the garden. So soon as 
 the abbess had withdrawn, they 
 drew closer together, Dona Helena 
 taking the seat on the bench pre 
 viously occupied by the abbess. 
 
 "My dear Anita," she said, "let 
 me profit by the few minutes we 
 are left alone to impart to you the 
 contents of a letter I received this 
 morning ; I feared that I should be 
 unable to do so, and yet it seems to 
 me that what I have to tell you is 
 most important." 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear 
 Helena ? Does the letter to which 
 you refer interest me ?" 
 
 "I cannot positively explain to 
 you, but it will be sufficient for you 
 to know that my brothers are very 
 intimate with a countryman of ours 
 who takes the greatest interest in 
 you, and what I have to tell you 
 relates to this Frenchman." 
 
 "That is strange," said Dona 
 Anita, pausing. "I never knew 
 but one Frenchman, and I have 
 told you the sad story which was 
 the cause of all the misfortunes that 
 overwhelmed me. But the French 
 man whom my father wished me to 
 marry died under frightful circum 
 stances; then who can this gentle 
 man be who takes so lively an in 
 terest in me do you know him ?" 
 
 " Very slightly," the young lady 
 answered with a blush, "but suf 
 ficiently to be able to assure you 
 that he possesses a noble heart. He 
 does not know you personally ; 
 but," she added, as she drew a letter 
 from her bosom, and opened it, 
 " this is the passage in my brother's 
 
 letter which refers to you and him. 
 Shall I read it to you ?" 
 
 " Pray read it, my dear Helena, 
 for I know the friendship you and 
 your family entertain for me ; hence, 
 it is with, the greatest pleasure I re 
 ceive news of your brothers." 
 
 "Listen, then," the young lady 
 continued, and she read, after seek 
 ing for the passage 
 
 "'Valentine begs rne, dear sister, 
 to ask you to tell your friend' that 
 is you," she said, breaking off. 
 
 "Go on," Dona Anita answered, 
 whose curiosity had been aroused by 
 the name Helena had pronounced, 
 though it was impossible for her to 
 know who that person was. 
 
 "'To tell your friend,' Dona 
 Helena continued, 'that the con 
 fessor she asked for will come to 
 the convent this very day after the 
 Oracion. Dona Anita must arm 
 herself with courage, which is as 
 necessary to endure joy as grief, for 
 she will learn to-day some news 
 possessing immense importance for 
 the future.' That is underlined," 
 the young lady added, as she bent 
 over to her friend, and pointed to 
 the sentence with the tip of her rosy 
 finger. 
 
 '' That is strange," Dona Anita 
 murmured. "Alas! what news can 
 I learn ?" 
 
 "Who knows?" said her young 
 companion, and then continued 
 "'Before all, Dona Anita must be 
 prudent; and however extraordinary 
 what she hears may appear to her, 
 she must be careful to conceal the 
 effect produced by this revelation, 
 for she must not forget that if she 
 have devoted friends, she is closely 
 watched by all-powerful enemies, 
 and the slightest imprudence would 
 hopelessly neutralize all the efforts 
 that we are making to save her. 
 You cannot, my dear sister, lay suf- 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 101 
 
 ficient stress on this recommenda 
 tion.' The rest," the maiden added, 
 with a smile, "only relates to my 
 self, and it is, therefore, unnecessary 
 for me to read it to you." 
 
 And she refolded the letter, which 
 disappeared in her dress again. 
 
 "And now, my darling, you are 
 warned," she said; "so be prudent." 
 
 " Good heaven ! I do not under 
 stand the letter at all, nor do I know 
 the Valentine to whom it alludes. 
 It was by your advice that I asked 
 for a confessor." 
 
 "That is to say, by my brother's 
 advice, who, as you know, Anita, 
 placed me here, not merely because 
 I love you as a sister, but also to 
 support and encourage you." 
 
 "And I am grateful both to you 
 and him for it, dear Helena; if I 
 had not you near me, in spite of the 
 friendship our worthy and kind 
 mother condescends to grant me, I 
 should long ago have succumbed to 
 my grief." 
 
 " The question is not about me at 
 this moment, my darling, but solely 
 ' about yourself. However obscure . 
 and mysterious my brother's recom 
 mendation may be, I know him to 
 be too earnest and too truly kind for 
 rne to neglect it. Hence I cannot 
 find language strong enough to urge 
 you to prudence." 
 
 "I seek in vain to guess what the 
 news is to which he refers ; and I 
 acknowledge that I feel a secret 
 repugnance to see the confessor he 
 announces to me. Alas! I have 
 every thing to fear, and nothing to 
 hope now." 
 
 " Silence," Dona Helena said, 
 quietly. " I hear the sound of foot 
 steps in the walk leading to this 
 arbor. Some one is coming. So 
 we must not let ourselves be sur 
 prised." 
 
 In fact, almost at the same mo 
 ment the lay sister, who had already 
 
 informed the Mother Superior of the 
 arrival of Don Serapio de la Eonda, 
 appeared at the entrance of the ar 
 bor. 
 
 "Senorita," she said, addressing 
 Dona Helena, "our holy mother 
 abbess wishes to speak to you as 
 well as to Dona Anita without de 
 lay. She is waiting for you in her 
 private cell in the company of a 
 holy Franciscan monk." 
 
 The maidens exchanged a glance, 
 and a transient flush appeared on 
 Dona Anita's pale cheeks. 
 
 "We will follow you, sister," 
 Dona Helena replied. The maidens 
 rose ; Dona Helena passed her arm 
 through her companion's, and stoop 
 ing down, whispered in her ear 
 
 "Courage, Querida." 
 
 They followed the lay sister, who 
 led them to the Mother Superior's 
 cell, and discreetly withdrew on 
 reaching the door. The abbess ap 
 peared to be talking rather excitedly 
 with the Franciscan monk ; but, on 
 seeing the two girls, she ceased 
 speaking, and rose. 
 
 " Come, my child," she said, as 
 she held out her arms to Dona Ani 
 ta, "come and thank God who, in 
 his infinite goodness, has deigned to 
 perform a miracle on your behalf." 
 
 The maiden stopped through in 
 voluntary emotion, and looked wildly 
 around her. At a sign from the 
 abbess the monk rose, and throwing 
 back his hood at the same time as 
 he fell on his knees before the 
 maiden, he said to her in a voice 
 faltering with emotion 
 
 "Anita, do you recognize me ?" 
 
 At the sound of this voice, whose 
 sympathetic notes made all the 
 fibres of her heart vibrate, the 
 maiden suddenly drew herself back, 
 tottered and fell into the arms of 
 Dona Helena, as she shrieked with 
 an accent impossible to describe 
 
 "Martial! oh, Martial?" 
 
102 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 A sob burst from her overcharged 
 bosom, and she burst into tears. 
 She was saved, since the immense 
 joy she so suddenly experienced 
 had not killed her. The Tigrero, 
 as weak as the woman he loved, 
 could only find tears to express all 
 his feelings. 
 
 For some minutes the abbess and 
 Dona Helena trembled lest these 
 two beings, already so tried by mis 
 fortune, would not find within them 
 selves the necessary strength to 
 resist so terrible an emotion ; but a 
 powerful re-action suddenly took 
 place in the tiger-slayer's mind ; he 
 sprang up at one leap, and seized in 
 his arms the maiden, who, on her 
 side, was making efforts to rush to 
 him 
 
 "Anita, dear Anita," he cried, "I 
 have found you again at last; oh, 
 now no human power will be able to 
 separate us !" 
 
 "Never, never!" she murmured, 
 as she let her head fall on the young 
 man's shoulder ; " Martial, my 
 beloved Martial, protect me, save 
 me!" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I will save you ; angel 
 of my life," he exclaimed, looking 
 up defiantly to heaven ; "we will be 
 united, I swear it to you." 
 
 "Is that the prudence you pro 
 mised me? "the abbess said, inter 
 posing; "remember the perils of 
 every description that surround you, 
 and the implacable foes who have 
 sworn your destruction ; lock up in 
 your heart these feelings which, if 
 revealed before one of the countless 
 spies who watch you, would cause 
 your death and that, perhaps, of the 
 poor girl you love." 
 
 "Thank you, madam," the Tig 
 rero replied ; " thank you for having 
 reminded me of the part I must 
 play for a few days longer. If I 
 forgot it for a few seconds, subdued 
 by the passion that devours my 
 
 heart, I will henceforth adhere to it 
 carefully. Do not fear lest I should 
 imperil the happiness that is pre 
 paring for me; no, I will restrain 
 my feelings, and let myself be 
 guided by the counsel of the sincere 
 friends to whom I owe the moments 
 of ineffable happiness I am now en 
 joying-" 
 
 "Oh! I now understand," Dona 
 Anita exclaimed, "the mysterious 
 hints given me. Alas ! misfortune 
 made me suspicious ; so forgive me, 
 heaven, forgive me, holy mother, 
 and you too, Helena, my kind and 
 faithful friend. I did not dare hope, 
 and feared a snare." 
 
 "I forgive you, my poor child," 
 the abbess answered ; " who could 
 blame you ?" 
 
 Dona Helena pressed her friend 
 to her heart without saying a word. 
 
 " Oh, now our misfortunes are at 
 an end, Anita," the Tigrero ex 
 claimed, passionately; "we have 
 friends who will not abandon us in 
 the supreme struggle we are engag 
 ing in with our common enemy. 
 . God, who has hitherto done every 
 thing for us, will not leave his work 
 incomplete ; have faith in Him, my 
 beloved." 
 
 "Martial," the maiden replied 
 with a firmess that astonished her 
 hearers, "I was weak because I was 
 alone, but now that I know you live, 
 and are near me to support me, oh ! 
 if I were to fall dead at the feet of 
 my persecutor, I would not be false 
 to the oath I took to be yours alone. 
 Believing you dead, I remained 
 faithful to your memory ; but now, 
 if persecution assailed me, I should 
 find the strength to endure it." 
 
 This scene would have been pro 
 longed, but prudence urged that the 
 abbess should break it off as soon as 
 possible. Dona Anita, rendered 
 strong merely by the nervous ex 
 citement which possessed her, soon 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 103 
 
 felt faint ; she could scarcely stand, 
 and Don Martial himself felt his 
 energy abandoning him. 
 
 The separation was painful be 
 tween these two beings so miracu 
 lously re-united when they never 
 expected to see each other again; 
 but it was soothed by the hope of 
 soon meeting again under the pro 
 tection of the Mother Superior, who 
 had done so much for them, and 
 whose inexhaustible kindness they 
 had entirely gained for their cause. 
 
 For the first time since she had 
 entered the convent, Dona Anita 
 smiled through her tears, as she 
 offered up to heaven her nightly 
 prayers. Don Martial went off 
 rapidly to tell Valentine of what 
 had taken place at this interview, 
 which he had so long desired. 
 Dona Helena, however, retired pen 
 sively to her cell ; the maiden was 
 dreaming of what? 
 
 No one could have said, and pro 
 bably she herself was ignorant ; 
 but, for some days past, an obtrusive 
 thought unnecessarily occupied her 
 mind, and constantly troubled the 
 calm mirror in which her virgin 
 thoughts were reflected. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE STRUGGLE. 
 
 AMBITION is the most terrible and 
 deceptions of all human passions, in 
 the sense that it completely dries up 
 the heart, and can never be satisfied. 
 
 General Don Sebastian Guerrero 
 was not one of those coldly cruel 
 men, solely governed by the instinct 
 of art, or whom the smell of blood 
 intoxicates; but, with the implacable 
 logic of ambitious persons, he went 
 
 direct to his object, cnrerth rowing, 
 without regret or remorse, all the 
 oba tacles that barred his way to the 
 object he had sworn to reach, even if 
 he -were compelled to wade in blood 
 up to his knees, and trample oaa a 
 pile of corpses. He only regarded 
 men as pawns in the great game of 
 chests he was playing, and! strove- to 
 justify himself, and stifle the warn 
 ings of his terrified conscience,, by 
 the "barbarous axiom employed by 
 the ambitious in all ages- and all 
 countries, that the end justifies the 
 means. 
 
 His secret ambition, which,, o a 
 day of pretended franknesa>. be- had. 
 partly revealed in an interview with.- 
 the Count de Prdbois Craned at 
 Hermosillo, was not to render- him 
 self independent, but simply to be 
 elected, by means of a -well-arracged 
 pronunciarniento, President G the 
 Mexican Republic. 
 
 It was not through hatred! that 
 General Guerrero was so ob&ticaiely 
 bent on destroying the couni.. Am 
 bitious men, who are ever ready to 
 sacrifice their feelings to tae inter 
 ests of their gloomy machinations,, 
 know neither hatred nor frijendahip.. 
 Hence we must seek elsewhejse- the 
 cause of the judicial murdes of the- 
 count which was so implacably car 
 ried out. The general feared the- 
 count, as an adversary wbo> would 
 constantly thwart him in. Sonera,, 
 where the first meshes of the aet he- 
 wished to throw over Mexico- were- 
 spun an adversary ready to oppose- 
 the execution of his plans by claim 
 ing the due performance of the- arti 
 cles of partnership a performance- 
 which, in the probable eveat of an 
 insurrection excited by the general,, 
 would have become impossible, by 
 plunging the country for a length 
 ened period into a state of crisis and 
 general suspension of trade, which 
 would have been most hostile to the 
 
104 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 success of the lofty conceptions of 
 the noble French adventurer.* 
 
 But the count had scarce fallen on 
 the beach of Quay mas ere the gene:ral 
 recognized the falseness of his cal 
 culations, and the fault he had 
 committed in sacrificing him. In 
 fact leaving out of the question the 
 death of his daughter, the only being 
 for whom he retained in some cor 
 ner of his heart a little of that fire 
 which heaven illumes in all parents 
 for their children, he found that he 
 had exchanged a loyal and cautious 
 adversary for an obstinate enemy 
 the more formidable because, caring 
 for nothing, and having no personal 
 ambition, he would sacrifice every 
 thing without hesitation or calcula 
 tion in behalf of the vengeance 
 which he had solemnly vowed to 
 obtain by any means, over the still 
 quivering body of his friend. 
 
 This implacable enemy, whom 
 neither seductioa nor intimidation 
 could arrest or even draw back, was 
 Valentine Guillois. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the 
 general committed a graver fault than 
 his first one a fault which was fated 
 to have incalculable consequences 
 for him. Being very imperfectly 
 acquainted with Valentine Guillois, 
 unaware of his inflexible energy of 
 will, and ranking him in his mind 
 with those wood-rangers, the Pariahs 
 of civilization, who have only cou 
 rage to fire, in a moment of despair, 
 a shot from behind a tree, but whose 
 influence was after all insignificant, 
 he despised him. 
 
 Valentine was careful not to dis 
 sipate, by any imprudent step, his 
 enemy's mistake, or even arouse his 
 suspicions. 
 
 At the time of the Count de PrtJ- 
 bois Cranc^'s first expedition, when 
 all seemed to smile on him, and his 
 
 * See " Goldseekers." Same publishers. 
 
 followers already saw the complete 
 success of their bold undertaking 
 close at hand, Valentine had been 
 entrusted by his friend with various 
 important operations and difficult 
 missions to the rich rancheros and 
 hacienderos of the province. Val 
 entine had performed the duties his 
 friend confided to him with his usual 
 loyalty and uprightness of mind, 
 and had been so thoroughly appre 
 ciated by the persons with whom 
 chance had brought him into connec 
 tion, that all had remained on 
 friendly terms with him and given 
 him unequivocal proofs of the sin- 
 cerest friendship, especially upon the 
 death of the count. 
 It only depended on the hunter's 
 will to be rich, since he knew an al 
 most inexhaustible placer ; and what 
 the wood-ranger would never have . 
 consented to for himself, for the sake * 
 of paltry gain, he did not hesitate to 
 attempt in order to avenge his friend. 
 Followed by Cururnilla, Belhumeur, 
 and Black Elk, and leading a recua 
 of ten mules, he did what two hun 
 dred and fifty men could not have 
 succeeded in doing. He went through 
 Apacheria, crossed the fearful des 
 ert of sand in which the bones of 
 the hapless companions of the Mar 
 quis de Lhorailles were bleaching, 
 and after enduring superhuman fa 
 tigue and braving terrible dangers, 
 he at length reached the placer. But 
 this time he did not come to take an 
 insignificant sum; he wanted to col 
 lect a fortune at one stroke. 
 
 The hunter returned with his ten 
 mules laden with gold. He knew 
 that he was beginning a struggle 
 with a man who was enormously 
 rich, and wished to conquer him 
 with his own weapons. In the new 
 world, as in the old, money is the 
 real sinew of war, and Valentine 
 would not imperil the success of his 
 vengeance. 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 105 
 
 On returning to Guuymns, he re 
 alized his fortune, and found himself, 
 in a single day, not only one of the 
 richest, but the richest private person 
 in Mexico, although it is a country 
 in which fortunes attain to a consid 
 erable amount. Thus the gold of 
 the placer, which, at an earlier pe 
 riod had served to organize the count's 
 expedition, and make him believe 
 for a moment in the realization of 
 his dreams, was about to serve in 
 avenging him, after having indi 
 rectly caused his death. 
 
 Then began between the general 
 and the hunter a secret and unceasing 
 struggle, the more terrible through 
 its hidden nature ; and the general, 
 struck without knowing whence the 
 blows dealt his ambition came, strug 
 gled vainly, like a lion caught in a 
 snare, while it was impossible for 
 him to discover the obstinate enemy 
 who hunted him down. 
 
 This man, who had hitherto suc 
 ceeded in every thing who, during 
 the course of his long and stormy 
 political career, had surmounted the 
 greatest obstacles and forced his very 
 detractors to admire the luck that 
 constantly accompanied his wildest 
 and rashest conceptions suddenly 
 saw Fortune turn her back on him 
 with such rapidity we may even 
 say brutality, that scarce six weeks 
 after the execution of the count, he 
 was obliged to resign his office of 
 Military Governor, and quit, almost 
 like a fugitive, the province of So- 
 nora, where he had so long reigned 
 as a master, and on which his iron 
 yoke had pressed so heavily. 
 
 This first blow, dealt the general 
 in the midst of his ambitious aspi 
 rations, when he had only just began 
 to recover from the grief his daugh 
 ter's death hud caused him, was the 
 more terrible because he did not 
 know to whom he should attribute 
 his downfall. 
 
 Still, he did not long remain in 
 doubt. An hour before his depart 
 ure from Hermosillo he received a 
 letter in which he was informed, in 
 the minutest details, of the oath of 
 vengeance which had been taken 
 against him, and of the steps taken 
 to obtain his recall. This letter was 
 signed " Valentine Guillois." The 
 hunter, despising darkness and mys 
 tery, tore down the vail that covered 
 him, and openly challenged his foe 
 by manfully telling him to be on his 
 guard. 
 
 On receiving this threatening de 
 claration of war, the general fell into 
 an extraordinary passion, the more 
 terrible because it was impotent, and 
 then, when his mind became calm 
 again, and he began reflecting, he 
 felt frightened. In truth the man 
 who stood so boldly before him as 
 :s,n enemy, must be very powerful 
 ;ind certain of success thus to dare 
 : md defy him. 
 
 His departure from Sonora was a 
 ( lisgraceful flight, in which he tried. 
 \ y craft and caution, to throw out 
 his enemy; but the meeting at th 
 Fort of the Chichirneques, a meeting 
 long prepared by the hunter, proved 
 to him that he was unmasked once 
 ag;ain, and conquered by his en 
 emy. 
 
 The contemptuous manner in 
 wl lich Valentine dismissed him after 
 his: stormy explanation with him, 
 had internally filled the general with 
 terror. What sinister projects could 
 the man be meditating, what private 
 vengeance was he arranging, that, 
 when he held him quivering in his 
 grasp, he allowed his foe to escape. 
 and refused to kill him, when that 
 would have been so easy ? what tor 
 ture more terrible than death did he 
 intend to inflict on him? 
 
 The remainder of his journey 
 across the Rocky Mountains, as far 
 as Mexico, was one protracted agony, 
 
106 
 
 THE EE D TE ACK. 
 
 during which, suffering from con 
 stant apprehension, and extreme ner 
 vous excitement, his diseased imag 
 ination inflicted on hirn moral tor 
 ture in the stead of which any phy 
 sical pain would have been wel 
 come, 
 
 The loss of his daughter's corpse, , 
 and above all, the death of his fath- - 
 er's old comrade in arms, the only 
 maa ia whom he put faith, and who 
 possessed his entire confidence, de- 
 stroyed his energy, and for several 
 days he was so overwhelmed by this ; 
 double misfortune, that he longed . 
 for death. 
 
 His punishment was beginning.. 
 But General Guerrero was one of 
 those powerful athletes who do no t 
 allow themselves to be overcome s o 
 easily; they may totter in the struggh ;, 
 and roll on the sand of the arena, bi it 
 they always rise again more terribl ie 
 and menacing than before. His r- 3- 
 volted pride restored his expiring 
 courage; and since an implacable 
 warfare was declared against hii n, 
 he swore that he would fight to fhe 
 end, whatever the consequences i or 
 him might be. 
 
 Moreover two months had elap; jed 
 since his arrival in Mexico, and his 
 enemy had not revealed his prese: ace 
 by one of those terrible blows which 
 burst like a clap of thunder above 
 his head. The general gradually 
 began supposing that the hunter had 
 only wished to force him to abandon 
 Sonora, and that, in despair of csjry- 
 ing out his plans advantageous] y in 
 a city like Mexico, he was prudently 
 keeping aloof, and if he had not 
 completely renounced his vengeance, 
 circumstances at any rate, indepen 
 dent of his will, compelled him to 
 defer it 
 
 The general, so soon as he was 
 settled in the capital of Mexico, or 
 ganized a large band of highly paid 
 spies, who had orders to be con 
 
 stantly on the watch, and inform 
 him of Valentine's arrival in the 
 city. Thus reassured by the reports 
 of his agents he continued with fe 
 verish ardor the execution of his 
 dark designs, for he felt convinced 
 that if he succeeded in attaining his 
 coveted object, the hatred of the man 
 who pursued him would no longer 
 be dangerous. This was the more 
 probable, because, so soon as he held 
 the power in his own hands, he 
 would easily succeed in getting rid 
 of an enemy, whom his position as 
 a foreigner isolated, and rendered an 
 object of dislike to the populace. 
 
 The general, lived in a large house 
 in the Calle de Tacuba; it was built 
 by one of his ancestors, and con 
 sidered one of the handsomest in 
 the capital. We will describe in a 
 few words the architecture of Mex 
 ico, for, as all the houses are built I 
 on the same pattern, or nearly so, by 
 knowing one it is easy to form an 
 idea of what the others must be. 
 
 The Mexican architecture greatly 
 resembles the Arabic, and as for the 
 mode of arranging the rooms, it is 
 still entirely in its infancy; but 
 since the Proclamation of the Inde 
 pendence, foreign architects have 
 succeeded in most of the great towns, 
 in opening side doors in the suites 
 of rooms, which formerly only com 
 municated with one another, and 
 hence compelled you to go through 
 a bed-room to enter a dining-room, 
 or pass through a kitchen to reach 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 The general's house was composed 
 of four buildings, two stories in 
 height, and with terraced roofs. 
 Two courts separated these build 
 ings, and an awning stretched over 
 the four sides of the first yard, ena 
 bling visitors to reach the wide stone 
 steps dry-footed. At the top of this 
 flight, a handsome covered gallery, 
 adorned with vases of flowers and 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 107 
 
 exotic shrubs, led to a vast ante 
 room, which opened into a splendid 
 reception hall ; after this came a con 
 siderable number of apartments, 
 splendidly furnished in the Euro 
 pean style. 
 
 The general only inhabited the first 
 floorof his mansion. Although most 
 of the streets are paved at the pres 
 ent day, and the canals have entirely 
 disappeared, except in the lower dis 
 tricts of the city, water is still found 
 a few inches below the surface, which 
 produces such damp, that the ground- 
 floor, rendered uninhabitable, is given 
 up to stores arid shops in nearly all 
 the houses. The ground-floor of the 
 main building, looking on the Calle 
 de Tacuba, was, therefore, occupied 
 by brilliant shops, which rendered 
 the fagade of the general's house 
 even more striking. 
 
 The paintings and the ornaments 
 carved on the walls, after the Span 
 ish fashion, gave it a peculiar, but 
 not unpleasant appearance, which 
 was completed by the profusion of 
 shrubs that lined the terrace, and 
 converted it into a hanging garden 
 like those of Babylon, some sixty 
 feet above the ground. By-the-by, 
 these gardens, from which the cupo 
 las of the churches seem to emerge, 
 give a really fairy-like aspect to the 
 city, when you survey it, in a glow 
 ing sunset, from the cathedral tow 
 ers. 
 
 Seven or eight days had elapsed 
 since the events we recorded in our 
 last chapter. General Guerrero, after 
 a long conversation with Colonel 
 Don Jaime Lupo, Don Sirven, and 
 two or three others of his most 
 faithful partizans a conversation, 
 in which the final arrangements 
 were made for the pronunciamiento 
 which was to be attempted immedi 
 ately gave audience to two of his 
 spies, who assured him that the per 
 son, whose movements they were 
 
 ordered to watch, bad not yet ar 
 rived in Mexico. 
 
 When the hour for going to the 
 theatre arrived, the general, tem 
 porarily freed from alarm, prepared 
 to be present at an extraordinary 
 performance to be given, that same 
 night, at the Santa Anna theatre ; 
 but at the moment when he was 
 about to give orders for his carriage 
 to be brought up, the door of the 
 room, in which he was sitting, 
 opened, and a footman appeared on 
 the threshold, with a respectful bow. 
 
 " What do you want ?" the general 
 asked, turning round at the sound 
 
 "Excellency," the valet replied, 
 "acaballero desires a few minutes' 
 Conversation with your excellency." 
 
 " At this hour ?" the general said, 
 looking at a clock, "it is impos 
 sible ;" but, suddenly reflecting, he 
 asked, " any one you know, Isidro ?" 
 
 " No, excellency ; it is a caballero 
 whom I have not yet had the honor 
 of seeing in the house." 
 
 " Hum, 1 ' said the general, shaking 
 his head thoughtfully, " is he a gen 
 tleman ?" 
 
 " That I can assure your excellen 
 cy ; and he told me that he had a 
 most important communication to 
 make to you." 
 
 In the general's present position, 
 .as head of a conspiracy on the point 
 of breaking out, no detail must be 
 neglected, no communication des 
 pised, so, after reflecting a little, he 
 continued 
 
 "You ought to have told the 
 gentleman that I could not receive 
 him so late, and that he had better 
 call again to-morrow." 
 
 " I told him so, excellency." 
 
 "And he insisted?" 
 
 " Several times, excellency." 
 
 " Well, do you know his name, at 
 least?" 
 
 " When I asked the cabaliero for 
 it, he said it was useless, as you 
 
IDS 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 would not know it ; but if you 
 wished to learn it, he would him 
 self tell it to your excellency." 
 
 " What a strange person," the 
 general muttered to himself; "very 
 good," he then added aloud, "lead 
 the gentleman to the small mirror 
 room, and I will be with him imme 
 diately." 
 
 The footman bowed respectfully. 
 
 " Who can the man be, and what 
 is the important matter he has to 
 tell me?" the general muttered, as 
 he was alone. "Hum, probably 
 some poor devil mixed up in our 
 conspiracy, who wants a little money. 
 Well, he had better be careful, for I 
 am not the man to be plundered 
 with impunity, and so he will find 
 out, if his communication is not se 
 rious." 
 
 And, throwing on to a chair the 
 plumed hat he held in his hand, he 
 proceeded to the mirror room. 
 
 .* CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A VISIT. 
 
 THE mirror room was an im 
 mense apartment, only separated 
 from the covered gallery by two 
 anterooms. It was furnished with 
 princely luxury, and it was here 
 that the general gave those sump 
 tuous tertulias, which are still talked 
 about in the highest Mexican cir 
 cles, although so many years have 
 elapsed. 
 
 This room, merely lighted by two 
 lamps, standing on a console, was 
 at this moment plunged into a semi- 
 obscurity, when compared with the 
 other apartments in the mansion, 
 which were full of light. 
 
 A gentleman, dressed in full 
 
 black, and with, the red ribbon of 
 the Legion of Honor carelessly knot 
 ted in a button-hole of his coat, 
 was leaning his elbow on the con- 
 ole where the lamps stood, and 
 .eemed so lost in thought, that, 
 when the general entered the room, 
 the sound of his steps, half subdued 
 by the petates, did not reach the 
 visitor's ears, and he did not turn to 
 receive him. 
 
 Don Sebastian, after closing the 
 door behind him, walked towards his 
 visitor, attempting to recognize him, 
 which, however, the stranger's posi 
 tion rendered temporarily impossible. 
 It was not till he came almost near 
 enough to touch him that the stran 
 ger, at length warned of the gen- 
 eral's presence, raised his head ; in 
 spite of all the command Don Se 
 bastian had over himself, he started 
 and fell back a couple of yards on 
 recognizing him. 
 
 "Don Valentine!" he said in a 
 stifled voice, " you here ?" 
 
 "Myself, general," he replied, 
 with an almost imperceptible smile 
 and a profound bow ; " did you not 
 expect a visit from me?" 
 
 The Trail-hunter, according to his 
 habit, at once assumed his position 
 before his adversary. A bitter 
 smile played round the general's pale 
 lips, and mastering his emotion, he 
 replied sarcastically 
 
 "Certainly, caballero, I hoped to 
 receive a visit from you; but not 
 here, and under such conditions, I 
 did not venture, I confess, to antici 
 pate such an honor." 
 
 " I am delighted," he replied, with 
 another bow, "that I have thus 
 anticipated your wishes." 
 
 "I will prove to you, senor," the 
 general said with set teeth, "the value 
 I attach to the visit you have been 
 pleased to pay me." 
 
 While saying this, he stretched 
 out his arm towards a bell. 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 109 
 
 " I beg your pardon, general," the 
 Frenchman said, with imperturbable 
 coolness, "but I believe that you 
 intend to summon some of your 
 people ?" 
 
 " And supposing that was my in 
 tention, seiior?" the general said, 
 haughtily. 
 
 "If it were so,-" he replied, with 
 icy politeness, " I think it would be 
 better for you to do nothing of the 
 sort." 
 
 " Oh, indeed, and for what reason, 
 may I ask ?" 
 
 "For the simple reason, general, 
 that as I have the honor to know 
 you thoroughly, I was not such a 
 fool as to place myself in your 
 power. My carriage is waiting at 
 this moment in front of your door ; 
 in that carriage are two of my friends, 
 and, in all probability, if they do 
 not see me come down the steps 
 again in half an hour, they will not 
 hesitate to ask you what has taken 
 place between us, and what has be 
 come of me." 
 
 The general bit his lips. 
 
 " You are mistaken as to my in 
 tentions, senor," he said. "I fear 
 you no more than you appear to do 
 me. I am a gentleman, and were 
 you ten times more my enemy than 
 you are, I would never attempt 
 to free myself from you by an assas 
 sination." 
 
 "Be it so, general; I should be 
 glad to be mistaken, and in that case 
 I beg you to accept my apologies ; 
 moreover, in coming thus to see you, 
 I give you, I believe, a proof of 
 confidence." 
 
 " For which I thank you, senor ; 
 but as I suppose that reasons of the 
 highest gravity alone induced you 
 to present yourself here, and the 
 interview you ask of me must be 
 long, I wished to give my people 
 orders to take out the horses, and 
 take care that we are not interrupted." 
 t 
 
 Valentine bowed without reply 
 ing, but with an imperceptible smile, 
 and leaning again on the console, he 
 twisted his long, fair, light mous 
 tache, while the general rang the 
 bell. A servant came in. 
 
 "Have the horses taken out," the 
 general said, "and I am not at home 
 to anybody." 
 
 The servant bowed, and prepared 
 to leave the room. 
 
 "Ah!" said the general, suddenly 
 stopping hirn, "on the part of this 
 caballero ask the gentlemen in his 
 carriage to do me the honor of com 
 ing up to my apartments, where 
 they can await more comfortably 
 the end of a conversation which 
 will probably be rather prolonged. 
 You will serve refreshments to these 
 gentlemen in the blue room," he 
 added, looking fixedly at the French 
 man, "the one that follows this 
 room." 
 
 The servant retired. 
 
 "If you still apprehend a trap, 
 senor," he continued, turning to the 
 Frenchman, "your friends will be at 
 hand, if necessary, to come to your 
 help." 
 
 "I knew that you were brave to 
 rashness, general," the Frenchman 
 answered politely, "and I am happy 
 to see that you are no less honor 
 able." 
 
 " And now, senor, be kind enough 
 to sit down," Don Sebastian said, 
 pointing to a chair. "May I ven 
 ture to offer you any refresh 
 ments?" 
 
 " General," Valentine answered, as 
 he seated himself, "permit me, for 
 the present, to decline them. In ray 
 youth I served in Africa, and in 
 that country people are only wont 
 to break their fast with friends. As 
 we are, temporarily at least, ene 
 mies, I must ask you to let me 
 retain my present position toward 
 you." 
 
110 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 "The custom to which you allude, 
 senor, is also met with on our prai 
 ries," the general replied; "still peo 
 ple sometimes depart from it. How 
 ever, act as you think proper. I 
 wait till it may please you to explain 
 the purpose of this visit, at which I 
 Lave a right to feel surprised." 
 
 "I will not abuse your patience 
 any longer, general," he replied with 
 a bow. "I have merely come to 
 propose a bargain." 
 
 "A bargain?" Don Sebastian ex 
 claimed with surprise, "I do not 
 understand you." 
 
 "I will have the honor of ex 
 plaining myself, senor." 
 
 The general bowed and said, "I 
 await your pleasure." 
 
 "You are a diplomatist, general," 
 Valentine continued, "and in that 
 capacity are, doubtless, aware that a 
 bad treaty is better than a good 
 war." 
 
 "In certain cases I allow it is so; 
 but I will take the liberty of re 
 marking that, under present cir 
 cumstances, senor, I must- await 
 your propositions, instead of offer 
 ing any of mine, as the war, to 
 employ your own expression, was 
 not begun by me, but by you.'" 
 
 "I think it will be better not to 
 discuss that point, in which we 
 should find it difficult to agree; still, 
 in order to remove any ambiguity, 
 and lay down the point at issue dis 
 tinctly, I will remind you, in a few 
 words, of the motives which pro 
 duced the hatred that divides us." 
 
 "Those motives, senor, you have 
 already explained to me most fully 
 at the Fort of the Chichimeques. 
 Without discussing their validity 
 with you, I will content myself with 
 saying that hatred, like friendship, 
 being a matter of sympathy, and 
 not the result of reason, it is better 
 to confess frankly that we hate or 
 love each other, without trying to 
 
 account for either of these feelings, 
 which I consider completely beyond 
 the will." 
 
 "You are at liberty to think so, 
 senor, and though I do not agree 
 with you, I will not discuss the 
 point; it is, however, certain that 
 the hatred we bear each other is im 
 placable, and cannot possibly be ex 
 tinguished." 
 
 " Still you spoke only a minute 
 back of a bargain." 
 
 "Certainly ; but bargaining is not 
 forgetting. I can, for certain rea 
 sons, abstain from that hatred with 
 out renouncing it ; and though I 
 may cease to injure you, I do not, 
 on that account, contract the slight 
 est friendship with you." 
 
 "I admit that in principle, senor; 
 let us, therefore, come to facts with 
 out further delay ; be good enough 
 to explain to me the nature of the 
 bargain which you think proper to 
 propose to me to-day." 
 
 "Allow me, in the first place, 
 according to my notions of honor, 
 to explain to you what our position 
 to each other is." 
 
 "Since the beginning of this in-" 
 terview, senor, I must confess that 
 you have been talking enigmas in 
 explicable to me." 
 
 "I will try to be clear, senor, and 
 if I tell you what your plans are, 
 and the means you have employed 
 for their realization, you will under 
 stand, I have no doubt, that I have 
 succeeded in countermining them 
 sufficiently to prevent a favorable 
 issue." 
 
 "Go on, senor," the general re 
 marked, with a smile. 
 
 " In two words, this is your posi 
 tion. In the first, you wish, by a 
 pronunciamiento, to overthrow Gen 
 eral K , and have yourself pro 
 claimed President of the Republic 
 in his place." 
 
 "Ah, ah," said the general, with 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 Ill 
 
 a forced laugh; "you must know, 
 senor, that in our blessed country 
 this ambition is constantly attrib 
 uted to all officers who, either on 
 account of their fortune or personal 
 merit, hold a public position. This 
 accusation, therefore, is not very 
 serious." 
 
 "It would not be so, if you lim 
 ited yourself to mere wishes, possi 
 bly legitimate in the present state 
 of the country ; but, unfortunately, 
 it is not so." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean, general, that you are the 
 head of-a conspiracy ; that this con 
 spiracy, several times already a fail 
 ure in Sonora, you have renewed in 
 Mexico, under almost infallible con 
 ditions of success, and which, in my 
 opinion, would succeed, had I not 
 resolved on causing them to fail. I 
 mean that, only a few days ago, your 
 conspirators assembled in a velorio 
 kept by a certain No Lusacho. 
 Through the agency of Don Jaime 
 Lupo, you divided among them two 
 bags of gold, brought by you for 
 them, and emptied in your presence. 
 I mean that, after this distribution, 
 the final arrangements were made, 
 and the day was almost fixed for the 
 pronunciamiento. Am I deceived, 
 general, or do you now see that I am 
 well informed, and that my spies are 
 quite equal to yours, who were not 
 even able to inform you of my ar 
 rival at the Ciudad, where I have 
 been for more than a week, and you 
 have not known a word about it?" 
 
 While Valentine was speaking 
 thus, in his mocking way, with his 
 elbow carelessly laid on the arm of 
 his chair, and his body slightly bent 
 forward, the general was in a state 
 of passion which he tried in vain to 
 repress, his pale face assumed a 
 cadaverous hue, his eyebrows met, 
 and his clenched teeth found diffi 
 culty in keeping the words back 
 
 which tried each moment to burst 
 forth. When the Frenchman ceased 
 speaking, he made a violent effort 
 to check his rage which was on the 
 point of breaking out, and he an 
 swered in a hollow voice which 
 emotion caused involuntarily, to 
 tremble 
 
 "I will imitate your frankness, 
 senor. Of what use would it be to 
 dissimulate with an enemy so well 
 informed as you pretend to be? 
 What you have said about a con 
 spiracy is perfectly correct. Yes, I 
 intend to make a pronounciamiento, 
 and that shortly. You see that I do 
 not attempt to conceal any thing 
 from you." 
 
 "I presume, because you consider 
 it useless," Valentine answered, sar 
 castically. 
 
 " Perhaps so, senor. Although 
 you are so well informed, you do 
 not know every thing." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 " What is the thing I am ignorant 
 of?" 
 
 "That you will not leave this 
 house again, and that I am going to 
 blow out your brains," the general 
 exclaimed, as he started up and 
 cocked a pistol. 
 
 The Frenchman did not make the 
 slightest movement to prevent the 
 execution of the general's threat ; 
 he contented himself with look 
 ing firmly at him, and saying, 
 coldly 
 
 " I defy you." 
 
 Don Sebastian remained motion 
 less, with haggard eye, pale brow, 
 and trembling hand ; 'then, in a few 
 seconds, he uncocked the pistol, and 
 fell back utterly crushed in his chair. 
 
 " You have gone too far or not 
 far enough, caballero," Valentine 
 went on with perfect calmness. 
 " Every threat should be executed 
 at all risks so soon as it is made. 
 
THE RET) TRACK. 
 
 You have reflected, so let us say no 
 more about it, but resume our con 
 versation." 
 
 In a discussion of this nature all 
 the advantage is on the side of the 
 adversary who retains his coolness. 
 The general, ashamed of the pas 
 sionate impulse to which he had 
 yielded, and crushed by his enemy's 
 sarcastically contemptuous answer, 
 remained dumb ; he at length un 
 derstood that, with a man like the 
 one before him, any contest must 
 turn to his disadvantage, unless he 
 employed treachery, which his pride 
 forbade. 
 
 "Let us, for the present," Valen 
 tine went on, still calmly and coldly, 
 " leave this conspiracy, to which we 
 will revert presently, and pass to a 
 no less interesting subject. If I am 
 correctly informed, Senor Don Se 
 bastian, you have a ward of the 
 name of Dona Anita de Torres ?" 
 
 The general started, but remained 
 silent. 
 
 "Now," continued Valentine, "in 
 consequence of a frightful catas 
 trophe, this young lady became in 
 sane. But that does not prevent 
 you from insisting on marrying her, 
 in contempt of all law, divine and 
 human, for the simple reason that 
 she is enormously rich and you re 
 quire her fortune for the execution 
 of your ambitious plans. It is true 
 that the young lady does not love 
 you, and never did love you ; it is 
 also true that her father intended 
 her for another, and that other you 
 insist on declaring to be dead, al 
 though he is alive; but what do 
 you care for that? Unfortunately, 
 one of my intimate friends, of whom 
 you probably never heard, Senor 
 Don Serapio de la Honda, has heard 
 this affair alluded to. I will tell you 
 confidentially that Don Serapio is 
 greatly respected by certain parties, 
 and has very considerable power. 
 
 Don Serapio, I know not why, takes 
 an interest in Dona Anita, and has 
 made up his mind, whether you 
 like it or not, to marry her to the 
 man she loves, and for whom her 
 father intended her." 
 
 "The villian is dead," the general 
 exclaimed, furiously. 
 
 " You are perfectly well aware of 
 the contrary," Senor Valentine an 
 swered, "and to remove any doubts 
 you may still happen to have, I will 
 give you the proof. Don Martial," 
 he said aloud, "come in, pray, and 
 tell General Guerrero yourself that 
 you are not dead." 
 
 "Oh !" the general muttered furi 
 ously, " this man is a demon." 
 
 At this moment the door opened, 
 and a new personage entered the 
 room. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ASSISTANCE. 
 
 THE man who now entered the 
 hall of mirrors was dressed like the 
 riders who promenade at the Bu- 
 carelli, and gallop at carriage doors 
 that is to say, in trousers with 
 silk stripes down the sides, and a 
 broad-brimmed hat decorated with 
 a double gold string and tassels. 
 
 He walked gracefully up to Don 
 Sebastian, still holding his hat in 
 his right hand, bowed to him with 
 that exquisite grace of which the 
 Mexicans alone seem to have the 
 privilege, and thrusting his hand 
 into his side, he said, with an accent 
 of cutting sarcasm, and in a harsh, 
 metallic voice 
 
 " Do you recognize me, Don Se 
 bastian, and do you believe that I 
 am really alive, and that it is not 
 the ghost of Martial the Tigrero 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 113 
 
 which has come from the grave 
 to address you?" 
 
 At the same moment Belhumeurs 
 clever, knowing face could be seen 
 peering through the doorway. With 
 his eyes obstinately fixed on the 
 general, he seemed to be impatiently 
 expecting an answer, which the lat 
 ter, struggling with several different 
 feelings, evidently hesitated to give. 
 Still, he was compelled to form a 
 resolution, so he rose and looked 
 the Tigrero boldly in the face. 
 
 " Who are you, senor ?" he said, 
 in a firm voice, " and by what right 
 do you question me ?" 
 
 11 Well played," said Valentine, 
 with a laugh; "by heaven, cabal- 
 lero, it is a pleasure to contend with 
 you, for, on my soul, you are a rude 
 adversary." 
 
 "Do you think so?" Don Sebas 
 tian asked, with a hoarse laugh. 
 
 "Certainly," the hunter continued, 
 "and I am delighted to bear my 
 testimony to the fact; hence you 
 had better yield at once, for you are 
 in a dilemma from which you can 
 not escape, not even by a master 
 stroke." 
 
 There was a silence, lasting some 
 minutes. At length the general 
 seemed to make up his mind, for he 
 turned to Belhumeur, who was still 
 listening, and bowed to him with 
 ironical politeness. 
 
 " Why stand half hidden by that 
 door ?" he said to him ; " pray en 
 ter, caballero, for your presence 
 here will be most agreeable to the 
 whole company." 
 
 The Canadian at once entered, and 
 after giving the general a respectful 
 bow he leant over the back of Val 
 entine's chair. The latter eagerly 
 followed all the incidents of the 
 strange scene that was being played 
 before him, and in which he ap 
 peared to be a disinterested spectator 
 rather than an actor. 
 
 I " You see, senores," the general 
 I said, haughtily, " that I imitate your 
 example, ^nd, like you,, play fairly. 
 I believe that you entered my house 
 in order to propose a bargain to me, 
 Don Valentine ? You, senor," he 
 said, turning to the Tigrero, " whom 
 I told that I did not recognize, and 
 whom I have the honor of receiving 
 at my house for the first time, have 
 doubtless come as witness for these 
 caballeros, who are your friends. 
 Well, gentlemen, you shall all three 
 be satisfied. I am awaiting your 
 proposal, Don Valentine. I allow, 
 senor, that you, whose miraculous 
 resuscitation I have hitherto denied, 
 are alive, and are really Don Martial, 
 the ex-lover of Dona Anita do Tor 
 res. As for you, senor, whom I do 
 not know, I authorize you to de 
 clare before any one you like the 
 truth of the words I utter. Are 
 you all three satisfied, gentlemen ? 
 Is there any thing else I can do to 
 afford you pleasure ? if so, speak, 
 and I am ready to satisfy you." 
 
 "A man could not yield to what 
 is inevitable with better grace," Val 
 entine replied, bowing ironically. 
 
 "Thanks for approval, caballero, 
 and be kind enough to let me know, 
 without further delay, the conditions 
 on which you are willing to leave 
 off pursuing me with that terrible 
 hatred with which you incessantly 
 threaten me, and whose result is ra 
 ther long in coming, according to 
 my judgment." 
 
 These words were uttered with a 
 mixture of pride and contempt im 
 possible to express, and which for a 
 moment rendered Valentine dumb, 
 so extraordinary did the sudden 
 change in his adversary's humor ap 
 pear to him. 
 
 " I am waiting," the general add 
 ed, as he fell back in his chair, with 
 an air of weariness. 
 
 " We will bring matters to ail 
 
114 
 
 end," Valentine said, drawing liim- 
 salf up with an air of resolution. 
 
 "That is what I wish," tn"e general 
 interrupted him, as he lit a cigarette, 
 which he began smoking with a 
 most profound coolness. 
 
 " These are my conditions," the 
 hunter said distinctly and harshly, 
 for he was annoyed by this frigid 
 indifference. "You will at once 
 leave Mexico, and give up Don a Anita, 
 to whom you will not only restore 
 her liberty, but also the right of 
 giving her hand and fortune to 
 whomsoever she pleases. You will 
 sell your estates, and retire to the Uni 
 ted States, promising on oath never to 
 return to Mexico. On my side, I 
 pledge myself to restore you your 
 daughter's body, and never attempt 
 to injure you in any way." 
 
 "Have you any thing more to 
 add ?" the general asked, as he coolly 
 watched the blue smoke of his ciga 
 rette as it rose in circles to the ceil 
 ing. 
 
 " Nothing ; but take care, senor, I 
 too have taken an oath, and from 
 what I have told you, you must have 
 seen how far I have detected your 
 secrets. Accept or refuse, but come 
 to a decision ; for this is the last 
 time we shall meet face to face under 
 the like conditions. The game we 
 are playing is a terrible one, and 
 must end in the death of one of us; 
 and I shall show you no pity, as, 
 doubtless, you will show me none. 
 Jleflect seriously before answering 
 yes or no, and I giv,e you half an 
 hour to decide." 
 
 The general burst into a sharp 
 and nervous laugh. "Viva Dios, 
 caballero!" he exclaimed, with a 
 contemptuous toss of his head, "I 
 have listened to you with extreme 
 surprise. You dispose of my will 
 with an incomparable facility. I do 
 not know who gives you the right 
 to speak and act as you are doing ; 
 
 THE R E D TRACK. 
 
 but, by heaven, hatred, however ac 
 tive it may be, can in no case pos 
 sess this privilege. You fancy your- 
 self much more powerful than you 
 really are, I fancy; but, at any rate, 
 whatever may happen, bear this care 
 fully in mind I will not retreat an 
 inch before you. Accepting your im 
 pudent and ridiculous conditions 
 would be to cover myself with shame 
 and my utter ruin. Were you the 
 genius of evil clothed in mortal form, 
 I would not the less persist in the 
 track I have laid down for myself, and 
 in which I will persevere at my own 
 risk and peril ; however terrible may 
 be the obstacles you raise, I will over 
 throw them or succumb bravely, bur 
 ied beneath the ruins of my abortive 
 plans and my destroyed fortunes. 
 Hence consider yourself warned, Don 
 Valentine ; that I despise your men 
 aces, and they will not stop me. 
 And you, Don Martial, since such is 
 your name, that I shall marry my 
 ward, in spite of the efforts you may 
 make to prevent me, and shall do so 
 because 1 wish it, and because no 
 man in the world has ever attempt 
 ed to resist my will without being at 
 once mercilessly crushed. And now, 
 senores, as we have said all we fiave 
 to say to each other, and I think 
 there is no more, and we can have 
 no doubt as to our mutual intentions, 
 permit me to take leave of you, for 
 I wish to go to the Santa Anna thea 
 tre, and it is already very late." 
 
 He rang the bell and a footman 
 came in. 
 
 " Order the carriage," he said to 
 him. 
 
 " Then," Valentine said as he rose, 
 " it is war to the death between us.'' 
 
 " War to the death ! be it so." 
 
 " We shall only meet once again, 
 general," the hunter remarked ; " and 
 that will be on the eve of your 
 death, when you are in Capilla." 
 
 "I accept the meeting, and will 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 115 
 
 bow uncomplainingly before you if 
 you are powerful enough to obtain 
 that result ; but, believe me, I am 
 not there yet." 
 
 "You are nearer your fall than 
 you perhaps suppose.'' 
 
 " That is possible ; but enough of 
 this; any further conversation will 
 be useless. Light these gentlemen 
 down," he said to the servant, who 
 at this moment entered the room. 
 
 The three men rose, exchanged 
 dumb bows with the general, and ac 
 companied by him to the door of the 
 room, they followed the footman, 
 who preceded them with candles. 
 Two carriages were waiting at the 
 foot of the stairs ; Valentine and his 
 friends got into tine of them, the 
 general took his seat in the other, 
 and they heard him give the order 
 in a firm voice to drive to the Santa 
 Anna theatre. The coachmen 
 flogged their horses, which started 
 at a gallop, and the two carriages 
 left the house, the gates of which 
 where closed after them. 
 
 The Santa Anna theatre was 
 built in 1844, by the Spanish ar 
 chitect, Hidalgo. This building has 
 externally nothing remarkable about 
 it, either in regard to frontage or 
 position ; but we are glad to state 
 that the interior is convenient, ele 
 gant, and even grand. 
 
 After passing through the exter 
 nal portico, you enter a yard covered 
 with a glass dome, next come wide 
 stairs with low steps, large and lofty 
 lobbies, a double row of galleries 
 looking on the front yard, and airy 
 crush-rooms for the promenaders. 
 
 The house is well built, well deco 
 rated, and spacious ; it has three 
 rows of boxes, with a lower circle 
 representing the pit boxes, and an 
 other above the third circle for the 
 lower Classes. In the pit, it is 
 worth mentioning, that each visitor 
 has his stall, which he reaches easily 
 
 and comfortably by passages formed 
 down the centre and round the the 
 atre. The boxes nearly all contain 
 ten persons, and are separated from 
 each other by light colonnades and 
 partitions. To each box is attached 
 a room, to which people withdraw 
 between the acts, and, instead of the 
 balconies which in our theatres con 
 ceal a great part of the ladies' toil 
 ets, the boxes have only a ledge a 
 few inches in height, which allows 
 the splendid dresses of the audience 
 to be fully admired. 
 
 We have dwelt, perhaps with a 
 little complacency, on this descrip 
 tion of the Santa Anna theatre, for 
 we thought that, at the moment 
 when it is intended to rebuild the 
 Opera and other Parisian theatres, 
 there can be no harm in displaying 
 the difference that exists between 
 the frightful dens in which the spec 
 tators are thrust together pell-mell 
 every night in a city like Paris, 
 which claims to be the first, not only 
 in Europe, but in the whole world, and 
 the spacious airy theatres of a country 
 like Mexico, which in so many re 
 spects is inferior to us as regards ideas 
 of civilization and comfort. It would, 
 however, be very easy, we fancy, to 
 obtain in Paris the advantageous re 
 sults the Mexicans have enjoyed for 
 twenty years, and that at a slight ex 
 pense. Unfortunately, whatever may 
 be said, the French are the most 
 thorough routine nation in the world, 
 and we greatly fear that, in spite of 
 incessant protests, things will remain 
 for a long time in the same state as 
 they are to-day. 
 
 When the general entered his box, 
 which was in the first circle, and al 
 most facing the stage, the house pre 
 sented a truly fairy-like appearance. 
 The extraordinary performance had 
 brought an immense throng of spec 
 tators and ladies, whose magnificent 
 dresses were covered with diamonds, 
 
116 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 which glittered and flashed beneath 
 the light that played on them. 
 
 Don Sebastian, after bending for 
 ward for a moment to exchange 
 bows with his numerous acquaint 
 ances, and prove his presence, with 
 drew to the back of the box, opened 
 his glasses, and began looking care 
 lessly about him. But though, 
 through a powerful effort of the will, 
 his face was cold, calm, and un 
 moved, a terrible storm was raging 
 in the general's heart. 
 
 The scene that had taken place 
 a few minutes previously at his man 
 sion, had filled him with anxiety 
 and gloomy forebodings, for he un 
 derstood that his adversaries must 
 either believe or feel themselves 
 very strong thus to dare and defy 
 him to the face, and audaciously en 
 ter his very house. In vain he tor 
 tured his mind to find means to get 
 rid of his obstinate enemy ; but time 
 pressed, his situation became at each 
 moment more critical, and unless 
 some bold and desperate stroke 
 proved successful, he felt instinct 
 ively that he was lost without chance 
 of salvation. 
 
 The president's box was occupied 
 by the first magistrate of the Hepub- 
 lic and some of his aides-de-camp. 
 Several times, Don Sebastian fancied 
 that the president's eyes were fixed 
 on him with a strange expression, 
 after which he bent over and whis 
 pered some remarks to the gentle 
 men who accompanied him. Per 
 haps this was not real, and the gen 
 eral's pricked conscience suggested 
 to him suspicions far from, the 
 thoughts of those against whom he 
 had so many reasons to be on his 
 guard ; but whether real or not, 
 these suspicions tortured his heart 
 and proved to Jiim the necessity of 
 coming to an end at all risks. 
 
 Still the performance went on ; 
 the curtain had just fallen before the 
 
 last act, ana tne general, devoured 
 by anxiety, and persuaded that he 
 had remained long enough in the 
 theatre to testify his presence, was 
 preparing to retire, when the door 
 of his box opened, and Colonel Lupo 
 walked in. 
 
 "Ah, is it you, colonel ?" Don Se 
 bastian said to him as he offered his 
 hand and gave him a forced smile. 
 " You are welcome ; I did not hope 
 any longer to have the pleasure of 
 seeing you, and I was just going 
 away." 
 
 "Pray do not let me stop you, 
 general, I have only a few words to 
 say to you." 
 
 "Our business?" 
 
 " Goes on famously." 
 
 "No suspicion ?" 
 
 " Not the shadow." 
 
 The general breathed like a man 
 from whose chest a crushing weight 
 has just been, removed. 
 
 " Can I be of any service to you ?" 
 he said, absently. 
 
 " For the present, I have only 
 come for your sake." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "I was accosted to-day by a. lep- 
 ero, a villain of the worst sort, who 
 says he wishes to avenge himself on 
 a certain Frenchman, whom he de 
 clares you know, and he desires to 
 place himself under your protection, 
 in the event of the blade of his na- 
 vaja accidentally slipping into his 
 enemy's body." 
 
 "Hum! that is serious," the gen 
 eral said with an imperceptible start. 
 " I do not know how far I dare- go 
 in being bail for such a scoundrel." 
 
 "He declares that you have known 
 him for a long time, and that while 
 doing his own business, he will be 
 doing yours." 
 
 " You know that I am no admirer 
 of navajadas, for an assassination al 
 ways injures the character of a poli 
 tician." 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 117 
 
 " That is true ; but you cannot be 
 rendered responsible for the crimes 
 any villain may think proper to 
 commit." 
 
 " Did this worthy gentleman tell 
 you his name, my dear colonel ?" 
 
 "Yes; but I believe it would be 
 better to mention it in the open air, 
 rather than in this place." 
 
 " One word more ; have you clev 
 erly deceived him, and do you thrnk 
 that he really intends to be useful to 
 us?" 
 
 " Useful to you, you mean." 
 
 "As you please." 
 
 "I could almost assert it." 
 
 " Well, we will be off; have you 
 weapons about you ?" 
 
 "I should think so; it would be 
 madness to go about Mexico un 
 armed." 
 
 "I have pistols in my pocket, so 
 I will dismiss my carriage, and we 
 will walk home to my house; does 
 that suit you, my dear colonel ?" 
 
 " Excellently, general, the more 
 so because if you evince any desire 
 to see the scoundrel in question, 
 nothing will be easier than for me 
 to take you to the den he occupies, 
 without attracting attention." 
 
 The general looked at his accom 
 plice fixedly. " You have not told 
 me all, colonel ?" he said. 
 
 "I have not, general, but I am 
 convinced that you understand the 
 motive which at this moment keeps 
 my mouth shut." 
 
 " In that case let us be off." 
 
 He wrapped himself in his cloak 
 and left the box, followed by the 
 colonel. A footman was waiting 
 under the portico for his orders to 
 bring up the carriage. 
 
 " Return to the house," the general 
 said; "it is a fine night and I feel 
 inclined for a walk." 
 
 The footman retired. 
 
 "Come, colonel," Don Sebastian 
 went on. 
 
 They left the theatre and proceed 
 ed slowly towards the Portales de 
 Mercadores, which were entirely de 
 serted at this advanced hour of the 
 night. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 EL ZAEAGATE. 
 
 THE night was clear, mild and 
 starry, a profound calm prevailed 
 in the deserted streets, and it was in 
 fact one of those delicious Mexican 
 nights, so filled with soft emanations, 
 and which dispose the mind to de 
 licious reveries. 
 
 The two gentlemen, carefully 
 wrapped in their cloaks, walked side 
 by side, along the middle of "the 
 street in fear of an ambuscade, ex 
 amining with practised eyes the 
 doorways and the dark corners of 
 side streets. When they were far 
 enough from the theatre no longer 
 to fear indiscreet eyes or ears, the 
 general at length broke the silence. 
 
 "Now, Seuor Don Jaime,", he 
 said, "let us speak frankly, if you 
 please." 
 
 "I wish for nothing better," the 
 colonel replied, with a bow. 
 
 "And to begin," Don Sebastian 
 continued, "tell me who the man is 
 from whom you hinted that I could 
 derive some benefit." 
 
 "Nothing is easier, excellency. 
 This man is a villain of the worst 
 sort, as I already had the honor of 
 telling you; his antecedents are, I 
 suppose, rather dark, and that is all 
 I have been able to discover. This 
 man, who, I believe, belongs to no 
 country, but who, in consequence 
 of his adventurous life, has visited 
 them all and speaks all languages, 
 was at San Francisco when the 
 
118 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 Count de Prdbois Craned organized 
 the cuadrilla of bandits, at the head 
 of which he undertook to dismember 
 our lovely country, and in which, 
 between ourselves, he would proba 
 bly have succeeded had it not been 
 for your skill and courage." 
 
 " We will pass over that, my dear 
 colonel," the general quickly inter 
 rupted him ; " I did my duty in that 
 affair, as I shall always do it when the 
 interest of my country is at stake." 
 
 The colonel bowed. 
 
 "Well," he continued, "the villain 
 I am speaking of could not let such 
 a magnificent opportunity slip; he 
 enlisted in the count's cuadrilla. I 
 believe he was starving at San Fran 
 cisco, and, for certain reasons best 
 known to himself, was not sorry to 
 leave that city but perhaps I weary 
 you by giving you all these de 
 tails." 
 
 " On the contrary, my dear colonel, 
 I wish to be thoroughly acquaint 
 ed with this picaro, in order to 
 judge what reliance may be placed 
 in his protestations." 
 
 "On arriving at Guaymas, our man 
 became almost directly the secret 
 agent of that unhappy Colonel 
 Fleury, who, as you well remember, 
 was so brutally assassinated by the 
 Frenchmen." 
 
 " Alas, yes !" the general said with 
 a sardonic smile. 
 
 "Senor Pavo also employed him 
 several times," Don Jaime contin 
 ued; "but, unfortunately for our in- 
 vidual, Don Valentine, the count's 
 friend, was watching; he discovered, 
 I knew not how, all his little tricks, 
 and insisted on his dismissal from 
 the company, after a quarrel he had 
 with one of the French officers." 
 
 "I think I can remember the af 
 fair being talked about at the time. 
 Was not this villain known by the 
 sobriquet of the Zaragate ?" 
 
 "He was, general; furious at 
 
 what happened to him, and attribut 
 ing it to Don Valentine, he took an 
 oath to kill him whenever he met 
 him, so soon as the opportunity of 
 fered itself." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "It seems that, despite all his 
 good will and his eager desire to 
 get rid of his enemy, the opportu 
 nity has not yet offered, as he has 
 not killed him." 
 
 " That is true ; but how did 
 you come across this scoundrel, 
 colonel ?" 
 
 "Well, general," he answered 
 with some hesitation, " you know 
 that I have been compelled during 
 the last few days, for the sake of 
 our affair, to keep rather bad com 
 pany. This scoundrel came to of 
 fer his services. I cross-questioned 
 him, and knowing your enmity to 
 that Frenchman, I resolved to in 
 form you of this acquisition. If I 
 have done wrong, forgive me, and 
 we will say no more about it. 7 ' 
 
 "On the contrary, colonel," the 
 general said eagerly. "The deuce! 
 not only have I nothing to forgive, but 
 I feel very grateful to you, for your 
 confession has come at a most fortu 
 nate time. You shall judge, how 
 ever, for I wish to be frank with you, 
 the more so because, apart from the 
 high esteem I feel for your charac 
 ter, our common welfare is at stake 
 at this moment." 
 
 " You frighten me, general'." 
 
 "You will be more frightened di 
 rectly; know that this Valentine, 
 this Frenchman, this demon, has, I 
 know not by what means/ discovered 
 our conspiracy, holds all the threads 
 of it, and, more than that, is ac 
 quainted with all the members be 
 ginning with myself." 
 
 "Voto a briosf" the colonel ex 
 claimed, with a start of surprise, 
 and turning pale with terror, "in 
 that case we are lost." 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 119 
 
 " Well, I confess that our chances 
 of success are considerably dimin 
 ished." 
 
 "Pardon me for asking, general," 
 he continued in great agitation, 
 " but in circumstances like the pres 
 ent " 
 
 "Go on, go on, my dear colonel, 
 do not be em harassed ." 
 
 "Are you sure, general, perfectly 
 certain as to the statement you have 
 just made to me?" 
 
 "You shall judge. About an 
 hour before the opening of the the 
 atre, Don Valentine himself you 
 understand me ? came to my house 
 with two friends, doubtless cut 
 throats in his pay, and revealed all 
 to me; what do you say to that?" 
 
 " I say that if this man does not 
 die we are hopelessly lost." 
 
 "That is my opinion, too," the 
 general remarked coldly. 
 
 " How came it that, in spite of 
 this terrible revelation, you ventured 
 to show yourself at the theatre ?" 
 
 Don Sebastian smiled and 
 shrugged his shoulders disdain- 
 fully. 
 
 "Ought I to let even indifferent 
 persons see the anxiety that devoured 
 me? Undeceive yourself, colonel; 
 boldness alone can save us ; do not 
 forget that we are risking our heads 
 at this moment." 
 
 " I am not likely to forget it." 
 
 "As for this man, the Zaragate, I 
 must not and will "not see him ; but 
 do you deal with him as you think 
 proper. You understand that it is 
 of the utmost importance that I 
 should be ignorant of the arrange 
 ments you may make with him, and 
 be able to prove, if necessary, that 
 I had no knowledge of this. More 
 over, as you are aware, I am not 
 one for extreme measures ; the sight 
 of such a villain would be repulsive 
 to me, for I have such a horror of 
 bloodshed. Alas !" he added, with 
 
 a sigh, " I have been forced to shed 
 only too much in the course of my 
 life." 
 
 "I do not know exactly," the 
 colonel muttered. 
 
 "I have entire confidence in you ; 
 you are an intelligent man ; I give 
 you full authority, and whatever 
 you do will be well done. You 
 understand me, I trust?" 
 
 "-Yes, yes, general," the officer 
 grunted ill-temperedly, "I under 
 stand you only too well." 
 
 " I see " 
 
 "What do you see?" the other 
 interrupted him. 
 
 " That, if we succeed, you will be 
 a general and Governor of Sonora. 
 That is rather a pretty prospect, I 
 fancy, and one worth risking some 
 thing for." 
 
 "It is useless to remind me of 
 your promises, general ; you are 
 well aware that I am devoted to 
 you." 
 
 " I know it, of course, and on that 
 account leave you. A longer con 
 versation in the moonlight might 
 arouse suspicions. Good-night, and 
 come and breakfast with me to 
 morrow." 
 
 "I will not fail, general. Good 
 night, and I kiss your excellency's 
 hands." 
 
 The general pulled his hat over 
 his eyes, wrapped himself in his 
 cloak, and went off hastily towards 
 the Calle de Tacuba. On being left 
 alone, the colonel remained for a 
 moment plunged in deep thought; 
 the office with which he was in 
 trusted, for he perfectly caught the 
 meaning of the general's hints, was 
 most serious. He must act vigor 
 ously without compromising his 
 chief, and in the shortest possible 
 period, under the penalty of being 
 himself arrested and shot in four- 
 and-twenty hours if he failed. For 
 the Mexicans, like their old masters 
 
120 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 the Spaniards, do not jest in matters ' 
 connected with revolutions, and 
 boldly cut away the evil at the root, 
 by killing all the leaders of the 
 abortive conspiracy. 
 
 The situation was critical, and he 
 must make up his mind, for the 
 slight delay might ruin all ; but at 
 so late an hour where was he to 
 meet a man like the Zaragate, who 
 had probably no known domicile, 
 and who led no doubt a most irreg 
 ular life. 
 
 Mexico, like all large cities, is 
 amply endowed with suspicious 
 houses, frequented by rogues of all 
 ages, who are continually wandering 
 about in search of adventures, more 
 or less lucrative, under the compla 
 cent protection of the moon. 
 
 Moreover, although the worthy 
 colonel had, in the course of his life, 
 frequented very mixed company, as 
 he himself allowed, he was not at 
 all anxious to venture alone at night 
 into the lower parts of the city, and 
 enter the velorios, thorough cut 
 throat dens, filled with robbers and 
 assassins, in which respectable per 
 sons do not even venture in bright 
 day without a shudder. 
 
 At the moment when the colonel 
 mechanically raised his head and 
 looked despairingly up to heaven, 
 he fancied he saw several suspicious 
 shadows prowling about him in a 
 suggestive manner. But the colonel 
 was brave, and the more so, because 
 he had literally nothing to lose, 
 hence he quietly loosened his sword, 
 opened his cloak, and at the instant 
 when four or five fellows attacked 
 him at once with machetes and long 
 navajas, he was on guard according 
 to all the rules of the art, with his 
 left foot supported a pillar, and his 
 cloak wrapped like a buckler round 
 his arm. 
 
 The attack was a rude one, but 
 the colonel withstood it manfully ; 
 
 besides, all went on in the Mexican 
 way, without a shout or call for help. 
 When you are thus attacked in a 
 Mexican street, you feel so assured 
 of death, that you generally confine 
 yourself to the best possible defence, 
 without losing time in calling for 
 help, which will certainly not ar 
 rive. 
 
 Still, the assailants being armed 
 with short and heavy weapons, had 
 a marked disadvantage against the 
 colonel's long and thin rapier, which 
 twisted like a snake, writhed round 
 their weapons, and had already 
 pricked two of the men sharply 
 enough to make the others reflect, 
 and display greater prudence in 
 their attack. The colonel felt that 
 they were giving ground. 
 
 '' Come on, villians," he exclaimed, 
 as he gave a terrific lunge, and ran 
 one of the bandits right through the 
 body, who rolled on the pavement 
 with a yell of pain. " Let us come 
 to an end of this, in the demon's 
 name !" 
 
 " Stop, stop !" the man who seemed 
 to be the leader of the bandits ex 
 claimed ; " we are mistaken." 
 
 As the bandits asked for nothing 
 better than to stop, they retreated a 
 few steps without hesitation. 
 
 " Yes, Rayo di Dios, you are mis 
 taken, birbones," the exasperated 
 colonel shouted. 
 
 "Can it possibly be you," the first 
 speaker continued, " Senor Colonel 
 Don Jaime Lupo ?" 
 
 " Halloh 1" the colonel said, falling 
 back a step in surprise, " who men 
 tioned my name?" 
 
 " I, excellency ; a friend." 
 
 " A friend ? a strange friend who 
 has been trying to assassinate me for 
 the last ten minutes." 
 
 "Believe me, colonel, that had we 
 known whom we had to deal with, 
 we should never have attacked you. 
 All this is the result of a deplorable 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 121 
 
 misunderstanding, which you will, 
 however, excuse." 
 
 "But who are you, in the demon's 
 name ?" 
 
 " "What, excellency, do you not rec 
 ognize the Zaragate ?'' 
 
 " The Zaragate !" the colonel ex 
 claimed, with glad surprise. "Well, 
 scoundrel, are you aware that yours 
 is a singular trade?" 
 
 "Alas ! excellency, a man must do 
 what he can," the bandit replied, in 
 a sorrowful voice. 
 
 " Hum ! then you have turned rob 
 ber at present ?" 
 
 The scoundrel drew himself up 
 with dignity. 
 
 "No, excellency. I am serving 
 in the company of these honorable 
 caballeros the persons who claim my 
 help." 
 
 The honorable caballeros, seeing 
 that the affair was going to end 
 peacefully, had returned their knives 
 to their belts, and seemed tolerably 
 well satisfied at this unexpected con 
 clusion, with the exception of the 
 man who had received the last thrust, 
 an(t surrendered his felon soul to the 
 fiend; an acquisition, between our 
 selves, of no great value to the spirit 
 of darkness. 
 
 "Can any one have requested your 
 services against me, Senor Zara 
 gate?" the colonel continued, as he 
 returned his sword to its scabbard. 
 
 "Not at all, excellency. I have 
 already had the honor of remarking 
 that it was a mistake; we were 
 waiting here for a young spark, who 
 during the last week has contracted 
 the bad habit of prowling under 
 the window of a senator's mistress, 
 and who asked me as a kindness to 
 free him from this troublesome fel 
 low." 
 
 "Caspita! Senor Zaragate, you 
 have a rather quick way with you ; 
 and your senator appears to me 
 
 somewhat hasty. But as your little 
 matter is probably spoiled for to 
 night " 
 
 " I think, excellency, that the gal 
 lant heard the clash of steel, and took 
 very good care not to come on." 
 
 " If he did so, he acted wisely ; at 
 any rate, if no other motive keeps 
 you here, and you have no objection 
 to accompany me, I shall feel obliged 
 by your doing so, for I have to talk 
 with you on very serious matters, 
 and, in fact, was looking for you." 
 
 "Only see what a thing chance 
 is!" the bandit exclaimed. 
 
 "Hum ! let us hope it will not be 
 quite so brutal next time." 
 
 The Zaragate burst into a laugh. 
 
 "Stay!" the colonel continued, as 
 he laid a gold coin in his hand, " be 
 good enough to give this in my name 
 to these honorable caballeros, and 
 beg them to forgive the rather rough 
 way in which, at the first moment, I 
 received their advances." 
 
 " Oh, they will not owe you a 
 grudge, my dear sir, you may be 
 sure of that." 
 
 The bandits, perfectly reconciled 
 with the colonel by means of the 
 coin, gave him tremendous bows, ac 
 companied by offers of service, and 
 took leave of him, after exchanging 
 a few sentences in a whisper with 
 their chief: then they went off to the 
 right, while the colonel and his 
 companion turned to the left. 
 
 "They seem to be. rather deter 
 mined fellows," the colonel said, in 
 order to broach his subject. 
 
 "Perfect lions, excellency, and 
 obedient as rastreos." 
 
 " Excellent ; and have you many 
 of that sort under your hand ?" 
 
 " Nothing would be easier, in the 
 case of need, than to make up a 
 dozen." 
 
 "All equally true?" 
 
 "All." 
 
 
122 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 " That is really valuable, do you 
 know that, Senor Zaragate; and 
 you are a lucky caballero !" 
 
 " Your excellency flatters me." 
 
 " On my word, no. I am ex 
 pressing my honest opinion, that is 
 all." 
 
 " Pardon me, excellency ; but 
 may I ask where we are going ?" 
 
 " Have you an inclination for 
 one direction more than another?" 
 
 "Not the slightest, excellency; 
 still, I confess that, as a general 
 rule, I like to know where I am 
 going." 
 
 "Every sensible man ought to be 
 of the same way of thinking. Well, 
 we are going to my house ; have 
 you any objection to that?" 
 
 " None at all. I think you said, 
 excellency, that I was a lucky 
 man?" 
 
 " Indeed I did, and I repeat that I 
 consider you very fortunate." 
 
 "Hum, you know the proverb, 
 excellency, 'every one knows where 
 the shoe pinches him.' " 
 
 " That is true, and I suppose the 
 shoe pinches you, eh ?" 
 
 " It does," he replied, with a sigh. 
 
 The colonel looked at him anx 
 iously. " I understand the cause of 
 your grief," he said ; " and it is the 
 worse, because there is no remedy 
 for it." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" 
 
 " Caspita ! I am certain of it." 
 
 "You may be mistaken, excel 
 lency." 
 
 "Nonsense! You who so gra 
 ciously place yourself at the service 
 of those who have an insult to 
 avenge, are forced to renounce your 
 own vengeance." 
 
 " Oh, oh, excellency, what is that 
 you are saying?" 
 
 " I am speaking the truth. You 
 hate the Frenchman whom you 
 mentioned to me to-day, but you are 
 afraid of him." 
 
 " Afraid !" he exclaimed angrily. 
 
 "I believe so," the colonel an 
 swered coolly. 
 
 " Oh ! if I only made up my mind 
 to it " 
 
 " Yes," the colonel remarked, with 
 a laugh, ' but you will not make up 
 your rnind because, I repeat, you are 
 afraid ; and to prove to you the 
 truth of my assertion, although I do 
 not know the man, and only take an 
 interest in the matter for your sake, 
 I will make you a wager if you 
 like." 
 
 "A wager?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " I bet you that you will not dare 
 avenge yourself on your enemy 
 within the next four and twenty 
 hours, not even with the help of 
 your twelve companions." 
 
 " And what will you bet, excel 
 lency?" 
 
 " Well, I am so certain of running 
 no risk, that I will bet you one hun 
 dred ounces. Does that suit you ?" 
 
 " One hundred ounces !" the ban 
 dit exclaimed, his eyes sparkling 
 with greed. "Viva Dios ! I would 
 kill my own brother for such a sum." 
 
 "You arc flattering yourself, I 
 see." 
 
 "Here we are at your door, ex 
 cellency, so it is needless for me to 
 go any further. You said one hun 
 dred ounces, I think ?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " Farewell. The coming day will 
 not end before I am avenged !" 
 
 "Nonsense, nonsense! you will 
 think better of it. Good-night, 
 Senor Zaragate." 
 
 And the colonel entered his house, 
 muttering to himself, in an aside, "I 
 fancy I managed that cleverly. If 
 this accursed Frenchman escapes 
 from the blood-hounds I have let 
 loose on him, he must be the demon 
 the general calls him." 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 J23 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AFTER THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 THE house taken for Valentine by 
 Mr. Rallier was, as we have already 
 stated, situated in the Calle de Ta- 
 cuba, and by a strange accident, in 
 no way premeditated, only a few 
 yards from the mansion belonging 
 to General Don Sebastian Guerrero. 
 The latter had no suspicion of this, 
 for until the moment when the 
 hunter thought it advisable to pay 
 him a visit, he had been completely 
 ignorant of his enemy's presence in 
 Mexico, in spite of the crowd of 
 spies whom he paid to inform him 
 of his arrival in the capital. 
 
 The hunter, therefore, would only 
 have had a few steps to go to reach 
 home after leaving the general. But 
 suspecting that the latter might have 
 given orders to have his carriage 
 followed, he ordered his coachman to 
 drive to the Alameda, and thence to 
 the Paseo de Bucarelli. 
 
 As the night was far advanced, 
 the prornenaders had abandoned the 
 shady walks of the Alameda, which 
 was now completely deserted. This, 
 doubtless, was what the hunter de 
 sired, for, on reaching about the 
 centre of the drive, he ordered the 
 coachman to stop, and got out with 
 his companions. After recommend 
 ing him to watoh carefully over his 
 mules (in Mexico people do not use 
 horses for their carriages), and not 
 let any one approach him, for fear 
 of one of those surprises so frequent 
 at this hour at this place, the three 
 men then disappeared in one of the 
 shady walks, though careful not to 
 go too far, so that they could assist 
 their coachman in case of need. 
 
 Valentine, like all men accus 
 tomed to desert life, that is to vast 
 horizons of verdure, had an instinc 
 tive distrust of stone-walls, behind 
 
 which, in his fancy, a spy was con 
 tinually listening. Hence, when he 
 had an important affair to discuss, 
 or a serious matter to communicate 
 to his friends, he preferred in spite 
 of the care with which his house had 
 been chosen, and the faithful friends 
 who passed as servants there going 
 to the Alameda, the Paseo de Buca 
 relli, the Vega, or somewhere in the 
 environs of Mexico, where, after post 
 ing Curumilla as a sentry, that is to 
 say, the man in whom he had the most 
 perfect faith, and whose scent, if I 
 may be allowed the term, was infal 
 lible, he believed that he could safely 
 confide his closest secrets to the 
 friends he conveyed to these strange 
 open-air councils. 
 
 On reaching a thick clump of 
 trees, the hunter stopped. 
 
 " "We shall be comfortable here," 
 he said, as he sat down on a stone- 
 bench and invited his friends to 
 imitate him, "and shall be able to 
 talk without fear." 
 
 " The trees have eyes, and the 
 leaves ears," Belhumeur answered 
 sententiously ; "I fear nothing so 
 much in the world as these trans 
 parent screens of verdure, which 
 allow every thing to be seen and 
 heard." 
 
 " Yes," Valentine remarked with 
 a smile, " if you do not take the 
 precaution to frighten away spies ;" 
 and at the same moment he imitated 
 the soft cadenced hiss of the coral 
 snake. 
 
 A similar hiss was heard from the 
 centre of the clump and seemed like 
 an echo. 
 
 " That is the chief's signal," the 
 hunter said. " He has been watch 
 ing for us there for nearly an hour. 
 Do you now believe that we are in 
 safety ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; when Curumilla 
 watches over us we have no sur 
 prise to apprehend." 
 
124 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 "Let us talk, then," said Don 
 Martial. 
 
 " One moment," Valentine re 
 marked, "we must first hear the 
 report of a friend, which is most 
 valuable, and will doubtless decide 
 the measured we have to adopt." 
 " Whom are you alluding to ?" 
 "You shall see," Valentine an 
 swered, and clapped his hands thrice 
 softly. 
 
 Immediately a slight sound and a 
 gentle rustling of leaves was heard 
 in a neighboring thicket, and a man 
 suddenly emerged, about four paces 
 from the hunters. It was Carnero, 
 the capataz of General Guerrero. 
 He wore a vicuna skin hat, of which 
 the large brim was bent over his 
 eyes, and he was wrapped up in a 
 spacious cloak. 
 
 "Good-evening, senores," he said, 
 with a polite bow, "I have been 
 awaiting your coming for nearly an 
 hour, and almost despaired of seeing 
 you to-night." 
 
 "We were detained longer than 
 we expected by General Guerrero." 
 " Do } 7 ou come from him ?" 
 "Did I not tell you I should call 
 on him ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I hardly believed that 
 you would have the temerity to 
 venture so imprudently into the 
 lion's den." 
 
 "Nonsense," Valentine said with 
 a disdainful smile, " the lion, as you 
 call him, I assure you, is remarkably 
 tame ; he drew in his claws com 
 pletely, and received us with the 
 most exquisite politeness." 
 
 " In that case take care," the capa 
 taz replied, with a significant shake 
 of the head ; " if he received you, 
 as you say, and I have no reason to 
 doubt it, he is, be assured, prepar 
 ing a terrible countermine against 
 you." 
 
 "I am of the same opinion; the 
 
 question is, whether we shall allow 
 him the time to act." 
 
 " He is very clever, my dear Val 
 entine," the capataz continued, "and 
 seems to possess an intuition of evil. 
 In spite of the oath I took to you 
 when, on your entreaty, I consented 
 to remain in his service, there are 
 days when, although I possess a 
 thorough knowledge of his charac 
 ter, he terrifies even me, and I feel 
 on the point of giving up the rude 
 task which, through devotion to 
 you, I have imposed on myself." 
 
 " Courage, my friend ; persevere 
 but a few days longer, and, believe 
 me, we shall be all avenged." 
 
 " May heaven grant it !" the capa 
 taz said, with a sigh; "but I con 
 fess that I dare not believe it, even 
 though it is you who assure me of 
 the fact." 
 
 "Have you learnt any important 
 news since our last interview?" 
 
 " Only one thing, but I think it 
 is of the utmost gravity for you." 
 
 "Speak, my friend." 
 
 " What I have to tell you is short 
 and gloomy, senores. The general, 
 after a secret conversation with his 
 man of business, ordered me to 
 carry a letter to the Convent of 
 Bernardi nes." 
 
 " To the convent ?" Don Martial 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Silence," said Valentine. "Do 
 you know the contents of this let 
 ter?" 
 
 " Dona Anita gave it me to read. 
 The general informs the abbess that 
 he is resolved to finish the matter; 
 that whether his ward be mad or 
 not, he means to marry her, and 
 that at sunrise on the day after to 
 morrow, a priest sent by him will 
 present himself at the convent to 
 arrange *he ceremony." 
 
 "Great God! what is to be 
 done?'' the Tigrero exclaimed sad- 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 125 
 
 ly ; " bow is the execution of this 
 odious machination to be pre 
 vented ?" 
 
 "Silence," Valentine repeated. 
 "Is that all, Carnero?" 
 
 " No ; the general adds, that he 
 requests the abbess to prepare the 
 young lady for this union, and that 
 he will himself call at the convent 
 to-morrow, in order to explain more 
 fully his inexorable wishes these 
 are the very words of the letter." 
 
 " Very good, my friend, I thank 
 you for this precious information ; 
 it is of the utmost importance that 
 the general should be prevented 
 from going to the convent before 
 three o'clock of the tarde. You un 
 derstand, my friend, this is of vital 
 importance, so you must manage to 
 effect it." 
 
 " Do not be uneasy, my dear Val 
 entine ; the general shall not go to 
 the convent before the hour you 
 indicate, whatever may be the 
 means I am forced to employ to 
 prevent him." 
 
 "I count on your promise, my 
 friend ; and now good-by." 
 
 He offered him his hand, which 
 the capataz pressed forcibly. 
 
 " When shall I see you, again ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I will soon let you know," the 
 hunter answered. 
 
 The capataz bowed and went 
 down a walk ; the sound of his 
 footsteps rapidly decreased, and was 
 quite inaudible within a few min 
 utes. 
 
 " My friends," Valentine then said, 
 lt we have now arrived at the moment 
 for the final struggle, which we have 
 so long boon preparing. We must 
 not let ourselves be led away by 
 hatred, but act like judges, not as 
 men who are avenging themselves. 
 Blood demands blood, it is true, ac 
 cording to the law of the desert ; 
 but, remember, however culpable 
 
 8 
 
 the man whom we have condemned 
 may be, his death would be an in 
 delible spot, a brand of infamy 
 which would sully our honor." 
 
 " But this monster," the Tigrero 
 exclaimed, with a passion the more 
 violent because it was repressed, 
 "is beyond the pale of humanity." 
 
 " He may re-enter it to repent." 
 
 "Are we priests then to practise 
 forgetfulness of insults ?" Don Mar 
 tial asked with a fiendish grin. 
 
 " No, my friend, there are men in 
 the grand and sublime acceptation 
 of the term ; men who have often 
 been faulty themselves, and who, 
 rendered better by the life of strug 
 gling they have led, and the grief 
 which has frequently bowed them 
 beneath its iron yoke, inflict a chas 
 tisement, but despise vengeance, 
 which they leave to weak and pu 
 sillanimous minds. Who of you, 
 my friends, would dare to say that he 
 has suffered more than I ? To him 
 alone will I concede the right of 
 imposing his will on me, and what 
 he bids me do I will do." 
 
 "Forgive me, my friend," the 
 Tigrero answered, "you are ever 
 good, ever great. God, in imposing 
 on you a heavy task, endowed you 
 at the same time with an energetic 
 soul, and a heart which seems to 
 exp.and in your bosom under the 
 blast of adversity, instead of with 
 ering. We, however, are but com 
 mon men, in whom the sanguinary 
 instinct of the savage is constantly 
 revealed in spite of all our efforts, 
 and who know uo other law save 
 that of retaliation. Forget the sense 
 less words my lips uttered, and be as 
 sured that I will ever joyfully obey 
 you, whatever you may command, 
 persuaded as I am, that you can 
 only ask the man who has utterly 
 placed himself in your power to do 
 just actions." 
 
 The hunter, while his friend was 
 
126 
 
 T*EIE RED TRACK. 
 
 speaking thus in a voice broken by 
 emotion, had let his head fall on his 
 hands, and seemed absorbed in 
 gloomy and painful thought. 
 
 "I have nothing to forgive you, 
 my friend," he replied in a gentle, 
 sympathizing voice, "for through 
 my own sufferings I can understand 
 what yours are. I, too, often feel 
 my heart bound with wrath and in 
 dignation ; for, believe me, my 
 friend, I have a constant struggle to 
 wage against myself, not to let my 
 self be led away to make a ven 
 geance of what must only be a pun 
 ishment. But enough on this head ; 
 time presses, and we must arrange 
 our plans, so as not to be foiled by 
 our enemies. I went to-day to the 
 palace, where I had a secret conver 
 sation with the President of the Re 
 public, whom, as you are aware, I 
 have known for many years, and 
 who honors me with a friendship of 
 which I am far from believing my 
 self worthy. At the end of our in 
 terview he handed me a paper, a 
 species of blank signature, by the 
 aid of which I can do what I think 
 advisable for the success of our 
 plans." 
 
 "Did you obtain such a paper?" 
 
 "I have it in my pocket. Now, 
 listen to me. You will go at sunrise 
 to-morrow to the house of Don An 
 tonio Rallier; he will be informed 
 of your coming, and you will follow 
 his instructions." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "Do not be anxious about my 
 movements, good friend, and only 
 think of your own business, for, I 
 repeat, the decisive moment is ap 
 proaching. The day after to-mor 
 row begins the feast of the anniver 
 sary of Mexican Independence ; that 
 is to say, on that day we shall do 
 battle with our enemy, and meet him 
 face to face; and the combat will 
 be a rude one, for this man has a will 
 
 of iron, and a terrible energy. We 
 shall be able to conquer him, but not 
 to subdue him, and if we do not take 
 care he will slip through our hands 
 like a serpent; hence our personal 
 affairs must be finished to-morrow. 
 Though apparently absent, I shall 
 be really near you, that is to say, I 
 will help you with all my power. 
 Still, do not forget that you must 
 act with the most extreme pru 
 dence, arid, above all, the greatest 
 moderation ; a second of forgetful- 
 ness would ruin you, by alarming 
 the innumerable spies scattered 
 round the Convent of the Bernar- 
 dines. I trust that you have heard 
 and understood rne, my friend ?" 
 
 "Yes, Don Valentine." 
 
 "And you will act as I recom 
 mend?" 
 
 "I promise it." 
 
 "Reflect, that you are perhaps 
 risking the loss of your future hap 
 piness." 
 
 " I will not forget your recommen 
 dation, I swear to you ; I am risk 
 ing too great a stake in this game, 
 which must decide my future life, 
 to let myself be induced to commit 
 any act of violence." 
 
 "Good ; I am happy to hear you 
 speak thus; -but have confidence, 
 my friend, I feel certain that we 
 shall succeed." 
 
 " May heaven hear you !" 
 
 " It always hears those who ap 
 peal to it with a pure heart and a 
 lively faith. Hope, I tell you. And 
 now, my dear Don Martial, permit 
 me to say a few words to our wor 
 thy friend, Belli umeur." 
 
 " I will withdraw." 
 
 "What for? have I any secrets 
 from you? You can hear what I 
 am going to say to him." 
 
 " You have nothing to say to me, 
 Valentine," the hunter said with a 
 shake of his head, "nothing but 
 what I know already ; I have no 
 
THE EED TRACK. 
 
 127 
 
 other interest in what is about to 
 take place beyond the deep friend 
 ship that attached me to the count 
 and now to you. You think that 
 the recollection I have preserved of 
 our unhappy friend cannot be suf 
 ficiently engraven on my heart for 
 me to risk my life at your side in 
 avenging him; but you are mistaken, 
 Valentine, that's all. I will not 
 abandon you in the hour of combat ; 
 I will remain at your side even 
 should you order me to leave you. 
 I tell you that I swear, and have 
 taken an oath to that effect, to make 
 a shield of my body to protect you, 
 if it should be necessary. Now, 
 give me your hand, and suppose we 
 say no more about it ?" 
 
 Valentine remained silent for a 
 moment ; a scalding tear ran down 
 his bronzed cheek, and he took the 
 hand of the honest, simple-minded 
 Canadian, and merely uttered the 
 words 
 
 " Thank you ; I accept." 
 
 They then rose, and returned to 
 their carriage, after Valentine had 
 warned his faithful body-guard, 
 Curumilla, by a signal that he could 
 leave his hiding-place, as the inter 
 view was over. A quarter of an 
 hour later the three gentlemen 
 reached the house in the Calle de 
 Tacuba, where Curumilla was al 
 ready awaiting them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PHE BLANK SIGNATURE. 
 
 ON the morrow, Mexico awoke 
 to a holiday ; nothing extraordinary, 
 in a country where the year is a 
 perpetual holiday, and where the 
 most frivolous pretext suffices for 
 
 letting off cohetes, that supreme 
 amusement of the Mexicans. 
 
 This time the affair was serious, 
 for the inhabitants wished to cele 
 brate in a proper manner the anni 
 versary of the Proclamation of In 
 dependence, of which the day to 
 which we allude was the eve. 
 
 At sunrise a formidable bando 
 issued from the government palace, 
 and went through all the streets and 
 squares of the city, announcing with 
 a mighty clamor of bugles and 
 drums, that on the next day there 
 would be a bull-fight with "Jamaica" 
 and " Monte Parnasso" for the lepe- 
 ros, high mass celebrated in all the 
 churches, theatres thrown open 
 gratis, a review of the garrison, and 
 of all the troops quartered sixty 
 miles round, and fireworks and illu 
 minations at night, with open-air 
 balls and feria. 
 
 The government did things nobly, 
 it must be confessed; hence the 
 people issued from their houses, 
 spread feverishly through the streets 
 at an early hour, laughing, shout 
 ing, and letting off squibs, while 
 singing the praises of the President 
 of the Republic, and taking, after 
 their fashion, something on account 
 of the morrow's festival. 
 
 Don Martial, in order to throw 
 out the spies doubtless posted round 
 Valentine's house, had left his friend 
 in the middle of the night, and gone 
 to his lodgings, and a few minutes 
 before day proceeded to the house 
 of Mr. Rallier. 
 
 Although the sun was not yet 
 above the horizon, the French gen 
 tleman was already up and con 
 versing with his brother Edward, 
 while waiting for the Tigrero. Ed 
 ward was ready to start, and his 
 brother was giving him has parting 
 recommendations. 
 
 " You are welcome," the French 
 man said, cordially, on perceiving 
 
128 
 
 THE EED TRACK. 
 
 Don Martial ; " I was busy with our 
 affair. My brother Edward is just 
 off to our q-uinta, whither my mother 
 and my brother Auguste proceeded 
 two days ago, so that we might find 
 all in order on our arrival." 
 
 Although the Tigrero did not en 
 tirely understand what the banker 
 said to him, he considered it un 
 necessary to show it, and hence 
 bowed without answering. 
 
 "All this is settled, then," Mr. 
 Eallier continued, addressing his 
 brother; "get every thing ready, 
 for we shall probably arrive before 
 mid-day that is to sav, in time for 
 lunch." 
 
 "Your country-house is not far 
 from the city ?" the Tigrero asked, 
 for the sake of saying something. 
 
 "Hardly five miles; it is at St. 
 Angel ; but in an excellent position 
 for defence in the event of an attack. 
 You are aware that St. Angel is 
 built on the side of an extinct vol 
 cano, and surrounded by lava and 
 spongy scoria, which renders an ap 
 proach very difficult." 
 
 " I must confess my ignorance of 
 the fact." 
 
 ''In a country like this, where 
 the government is bound to think 
 of its own defence before troubling 
 itself about individuals, it is as well 
 to take one's precautions, and be al 
 ways perfectly on guard. And now 
 be off, my dear Edward; your 
 weapons are all right, and two reso 
 lute peons will accompany you ; be 
 sides, the sun is now rising, and you 
 will have a pleasant ride ; so good- 
 by till we meet again." 
 
 The two brothers shook hands, 
 and the young man, after bowing to 
 Don Martial, left the house, followed 
 by two servants well mounted, and 
 armed like himself. During this 
 conversation the peons had put the 
 horses in a close carriage. 
 
 "Get in," said Mr. Rallier. 
 
 "What!" Don Martial replied, 
 "are we going to drive?" 
 
 "By Jove! do you think I would 
 venture to go to the convent on 
 horseback? why, we could not go 
 along a street before we were recog 
 nized." 
 
 "But this carriage will betray 
 you." 
 
 "I admit it; but no one will know 
 whom it contains when the shutters 
 are drawn up, which I shall be care 
 ful to do before leaving the house. 
 Come, get in." 
 
 The Tigrero placed himself by 
 the Frenchman's side ; the latter 
 pulled up the shutters, and started 
 at a gallop in a direction diametri 
 cally opposed to that which it should 
 have followed, in order to reach the 
 convent. 
 
 "Where are we going?" the Ti 
 grero asked, presently. 
 
 "To the Convent of the Bernard 
 ines." 
 
 "I fancy we are not going the 
 right road." 
 
 "That is possible; but, at any 
 rate, it is the safest." 
 
 ." I humbly confess that I cannot 
 understand it at all." 
 
 Mr. Rallier began laughing. 
 
 "My good fellow," he replied, 
 "you will understand at the right 
 time : so be easy. You need only 
 know, that in acting as I am doing, 
 I am carrying out to the letter the 
 instructions of Valentine, my friend 
 and yours. It was not for nothing 
 that he has so long borne the name 
 of the Trail-hunter ; besides, you re 
 member the prairie adage, which has 
 always appeared to me full of good 
 sense, 'The shortest road from one 
 point to another is a crooked line.' 
 Well, we are following the crooked 
 line that is all. Besides, in all that 
 is about to take place, you must re 
 main completely out of the question, 
 and restrict yourself to being a spec- 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 129 
 
 tator, rather than an actor, and wil 
 ling to obey me in every thing I 
 may order. Does this part displease 
 you?" 
 
 The Frenchman said .this with 
 the merry accent and delightful sim 
 plicity which formed the basis of 
 his character, and which caused 
 everybody to like him whom acci 
 dent brought in contact with him. 
 
 "I have no repugnance to obey 
 you, Senor Don Antonio," the Ti- 
 grero answered. "The confidence 
 our common friend places in you is 
 a sure guarantee to me of your in 
 tentions. Hence dispose of me as 
 you think proper, without fearing 
 the slightest objection on my part." 
 
 "That is the way to talk," the 
 banker said, with a laugh. "Now, 
 to begin, rny dear senor, you will 
 do me the pleasure of changing 
 your dress, for the one you wear is 
 slightly too worldly for the place to 
 which we are going. 
 
 " Change my dress ?" the Tigrero 
 exclaimed. "Diablos! you ought 
 to have told me so at your house." 
 
 "Unnecessary, my dear sir. I 
 have all you require here." 
 
 "Here?" 
 
 "Well, you shall see," he said, 
 as he took from one of the coach 
 pockets a Franciscan's gown, while 
 from the other he drew a pair of 
 sandals and a cord. " Have you not 
 worn this dress before ?" 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Well, you are going to put it on 
 again, and for the following reasons : 
 At the convent, people believe (or 
 pretend to believe, which comes to 
 the same thing) that you are a 
 Franciscan monk, For the sake, 
 then, of persons who are not in the 
 secret, it* is necessary that I should 
 be accompanied by a monk, and 
 more, that they may be able, if re 
 quired, to take their oaths to the 
 fact." 
 
 "I obey you. But will not your 
 coachman be surprised at seeing a 
 Franciscan emerge from the carriage 
 into which he showed a caballero ?" 
 
 "My coachman? Pardon me, 
 but I do not think you looked at 
 him?" 
 
 "Irfdeed, I did not. All these 
 Indians are alike, and equally 
 hideous." 
 
 "That is true; however, look at 
 him." 
 
 Don Martial bent forward, and 
 slightly lowered the shutter. 
 
 " Curumilla !" he cried, in amaze 
 ment, as he drew back. " He, and 
 so well disguised ?" 
 
 " Do you now believe that he will 
 be surprised ?" 
 
 " I was wrong.' 7 
 
 "No, but you do not take the 
 trouble to reflect." 
 
 " Well, I will put on the gown 
 since I must. Still, with your per 
 mission, I will keep my weapons 
 under it." 
 
 " Caspita ! my permission ? On 
 the contrary, I order you to do so. 
 But what are they?" 
 
 "You shall see. A machete, a 
 knife, and a pair of pistols.'' 
 
 " That is first-rate. If necessary, 
 I shall be able to find you a rifle. 
 Trust to me for that." 
 
 While talking thus, the Tigrero 
 had changed his dress ; that is to 
 say, he had simply put the gown 
 over his other clothes, fastened the 
 rope round his bod}', and substi 
 tuted the sandals for his boots. 
 
 "There," the Frenchman con 
 tinued, "you are a perfect monk." 
 
 "No; I want something more, 
 something which is even indis 
 pensable." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " The hat." 
 
 That's true." 
 
 "That part of my costume I 
 hardly know how we shall obtain.'' 
 
130 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 ' Man of little faith !" the French 
 man said with a smile, " see, and be 
 confounded 1" 
 
 While speaking thus he raised 
 the front cushion, opened the box 
 it covered, and pulled out the hat 
 of a rnonk of St. Francis, which he 
 gave the Tigrero. 
 
 " And now do you want any 
 thing else, pray?" he asked, mock- 
 
 "Indeed, no. Why, your car 
 riage is a perfect locomotive shop !" 
 
 " Yes, it contains a little of every 
 thing. But we have arrived," he 
 added, seeing the carriage stop. 
 "You remember that you must in 
 no way make yourself prominent, 
 and simply confine yourself to 
 doing what I tell you. That is 
 settled, I think?" 
 
 The Frenchman opened the door, 
 for the carriage had really stopped 
 in front of the Convent of the 
 Bernardines. Two or three ill-look 
 ing fellows were prowling about: 
 and, in spite of their affected indif 
 ference, it was easy to recognize 
 them for spies. The Frenchman 
 and his companion were not de 
 ceived. They got out with an in 
 difference as well assumed as that 
 of the spies, and approached the 
 door slowly, which was opened at 
 their first knock, and closed again 
 behind them with a speed that proved 
 the slight confidence the sister por 
 ter placed in the individuals left 
 outside. 
 
 "What do you desire, senores ?" 
 she asked, politely, after curtseying 
 to the new-comers with a smile of 
 recognition. 
 
 " My dear sister," the Frenchman 
 answered, " be good enough to in 
 form the holy mother abbess of our 
 visit, and ask her to favor us with 
 an interview for a few moments." 
 
 " It is still very early, brother," 
 the nun answered, "and I do not 
 
 know if holy mother can receive 
 you at this moment." 
 
 " Merely mention my name to her 
 sister, and I feel convinced that she 
 will make no difficulty about re 
 ceiving us." 
 
 ' I doubt it, brother, for, as I said 
 before, it is very early. Still, I am 
 willing to tell her, in order to 
 prove to you my readiness to serve 
 you." 
 
 " I feel deeply grateful to you for 
 the kindness, sister." 
 
 The. sister then left the parlor, 
 after begging the two gentlemen to 
 wait a moment. During her absence 
 the Frenchman and his companion 
 did not exchange a syllable ; how 
 ever, this absence was short, and only 
 lasted a few minutes. 
 
 Without speaking, the sister made 
 the visitors a sign to follow her, and 
 led them to the parlor where we 
 have already taken the reader, and 
 where the abbess was waiting for 
 them. 
 
 The Mother Superior was pale, 
 and seemed anxious and pre-occu- 
 pied. She invited the two gentle 
 men to sit down,, and waited silently 
 till they addressed her. They, on their 
 side, seemed to be waiting for her to 
 inquire into the nature of their visit; 
 but, as she did not do so, and this 
 silence threatened to be prolonged 
 for some time, Mr. Ballier resolved 
 on breaking it. 
 
 "I had the honor, madam," he 
 said, with a respectful bow, " to send 
 you yesterday, by one of my ser 
 vants, a letter, in which I informed 
 you of this morning's visit." 
 
 " Yes, caballero," she at once an 
 swered, " I duly received this letter, 
 and your sister Helena is ready to 
 go away with you, whenever you 
 express the wish. Still permit me 
 to make one request of you." 
 
 ' Speak, madam, and if I can be 
 of any service to you, believe me 
 
THE BED TEACK. 
 
 131 
 
 that I shall eagerly seize the oppor 
 tunity." 
 
 "I know not, caballero, how to 
 explain myself, for what I have to 
 say to you is really so strange that 
 I fear lest it should call up a smile 
 to your lips. Although Dona Hele 
 na has only been a few months in 
 our convent, she has made herself so 
 beloved by all her companions, 
 through her charming character, that 
 her departure is an occasion of 
 mourning for all of us." 
 
 " You render me very happy and 
 very proud by speaking thus of my 
 sister, madam." 
 
 " This praise is only the expres 
 sion of the strictest truth, caballero. 
 "We are all really most grieved to 
 see her leave us thus. Still, I should 
 not have ventured thus to make 
 myself the interpreter of our regrets, 
 were there not a very strong reason 
 that renders it almost a duty to speak 
 to you." 
 
 "I am listening to you, madam, 
 though I can guess beforehand what 
 you are going to say to me." 
 
 She looked at him in surprise. 
 
 "You guess! Oh, it is impossi 
 ble, senor," she exclaimed. 
 
 The Frenchman smiled. 
 
 "My sister, Dona Helena, as is 
 generally the case in convents, has 
 chosen one of her companions, whom 
 she loves more than the others, and 
 made her her intimate friend. Is 
 such the case, madam?" 
 
 "How do you know it?" 
 
 He continued, with a smile 
 
 " Now this ypung lady, so beloved 
 not only by Helena but by you, 
 madam, and all your community, is 
 a gentle, kind, loving girl, who, in 
 consequence of a great misfortune, 
 became insane, but whom your ten 
 der care has restored to reason. 
 Still, you keep the latter fact a pro 
 found secret, before all from her 
 guardian, who, not contented with 
 
 having stripped her of her fortune, 
 now insists on robbing her of her 
 happiness by forcing her to marry 
 him." 
 
 "Senor, senor," the abbess ex 
 claimed, as she rose from her seat, 
 with an astonishment blended with 
 terror, " who are you that you know 
 so many things of which I believed 
 the whole world ignorant?" 
 
 " Who am I, madam ? the brother 
 of Helena, that is to say, a man in 
 whom you can place the most entire 
 confidence. Hence permit me to 
 proceed." 
 
 The abbess, still suffering from 
 extreme agitation, sat down again. 
 
 " Go on, caballero," she said. 
 
 " The guardian of Dona Anita, 
 either that he has suspicion, or for 
 some other motive, wrote to you 
 yesterday, ordering you to prepare 
 her to marry him within twenty-four 
 hours. Since the receipt of this 
 fatal letter, Dona Anita has been 
 plunged in the deepest despair, a 
 despair further heightened by the 
 sudden departure of my sister, the 
 only friend in whose arms she can 
 safely reveal her heart's secrets. 
 But you, madam, who are so holy 
 and good, are aware that GOD can 
 at his pleasure confound the projects 
 of the wicked, and change worm 
 wood into honey. Did you not re 
 ceive a visit yesterday from Don 
 Serapio de la Honda ?" 
 
 " Yes, that gentleman deigned to 
 visit me a few moments before I 
 received the fatal letter to which you 
 have referred." 
 
 "Did not Don Serapio, on leaving 
 you, say these words : ' Be kind 
 enough to inform Dona Anita that 
 a friend is watching over her ; that 
 this friend has already given her 
 unequivocal proofs of the interest 
 he takes in her happiness, and that, 
 on the day when she again sees the 
 Franciscan monk, to whom she con- 
 
132 
 
 THE RED TE ACK. 
 
 fessed once before, all her misfor 
 tunes will be ended ?' ' 
 
 " Yes, Don Serapio did utter those 
 words." 
 
 " Well, madam, I am sent to you, 
 not only by him, but by another 
 person, who is no less than the 
 President of the Republic, not only 
 to take away my sister, but also to 
 ask you to deliver up to me Dona 
 Anita, who will accompany her." 
 
 "Heaven is my witness, senor, 
 that I would be delighted to do 
 what you ask of me. Unhappily, 
 it is not in my power; Dona Anita 
 was entrusted to me by her sole re 
 lation, who is at the same time her 
 guardian, and though he is unworthy 
 of that title, and my heart bleeds in 
 refusing you, it is to him alone that 
 I am bound to deliver her." 
 
 " This objection, madam, the jus 
 tice of which I fully appreciate, has 
 been foreseen by the persons whose 
 representative I am. Hence they 
 consulted on the means to remove 
 the scruples by entirely releasing 
 you from responsibility. Father, 
 give this lady the paper, of which 
 you are the bearer." 
 
 Without uttering a word, Don 
 Martial took from his pocket the 
 blank signature Valentine had en 
 trusted to him, and handed it to the 
 abbess. 
 
 " What is this ?" she asked. 
 
 "Madam," the Frenchman an 
 swered, " that paper is a blank sig 
 nature of the President of the Re 
 public, who orders you to deliver 
 Dona Anita into my hands." 
 
 " I see it," she said sorrowfully ; 
 " unfortunately this blank signature, 
 which would everywhere else have 
 the strength of the law, is powerless 
 here. We only indirectly depend 
 on the temporal power, but are com 
 pletely subjugated to the spiritual 
 power, and we can only receive 
 orders from it." 
 
 The Tigrero took a side glance 
 full of despair, at his companion, 
 whose face was still smiling. 
 
 " What would you require, 
 madam," he continued, " in order to 
 consent to give up this unhappy 
 young lady to me ?" 
 
 "Alas, senor, it is not I who re 
 fuse compliance. Heaven is my 
 witness that it is my greatest desire 
 to see her escape from her perse 
 cutor." 
 
 "I am thoroughly convinced of 
 that, madam ; that is why, feeling 
 persuaded of your good feeling to 
 wards your charge, I ask you to tell 
 me .what authority you require in 
 order to give her up to me." 
 
 " I cannot, senor, allow Dona 
 Anita to quit this convent without 
 a perfectly regular order, signed by 
 Monseigneur the Archbishop of 
 Mexico, who alone has the right to 
 command here, and whom I am 
 compelled to obey." 
 
 " And if I had that order, madam, 
 all your scruples would be re 
 moved ?" 
 
 " Yes, all, senor." 
 
 "You would have no further 
 difficulty in allowing Dona Anita to 
 depart ?" 
 
 " I would deliver her to you at 
 once, senor." 
 
 "Since that is the case, madam, I 
 will ask you to do so, for I have 
 brought you that order." 
 
 " You have it ?" she said, with 
 undisguised delight. 
 
 "Here it is," he answered, as he 
 took a paper from his pocket-book 
 and handed it to her. 
 
 She opened it at once, and eagerly 
 perused it. 
 
 "Oh now," she continued, "Dona 
 Anita is free, and I will " 
 
 "One moment, madam," he in 
 terrupted her, " have you carefully 
 read the order I had the honor of 
 giving you ?" 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 133 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "In that case be kind enough 
 to allow the young ladies to put on 
 secular clothing, and, as their de 
 parture must be kept secret, allow 
 my carriage to enter the front court 
 yard. I fancied I saw some ill- 
 looking fellows prowling about the 
 neighborhood, who looked to me 
 like spies." 
 
 " What must I say, though, to 
 tlie young lady's guardian? lam 
 going to see him to-day." 
 
 " I am aware of that, madam. 
 Gain time ; tell him that his ward is 
 ill; that you have succeeded in 
 gaining her consent to the projected 
 marriage, but, on the condition that 
 it be deferred for eight and forty 
 hours. It is a falsehood I am sug 
 gesting to you, madam, but it is 
 necessary, and I feel convinced that 
 Heaven will pardon it." 
 
 "Oh, do not be anxious about 
 that, senor. I will gladly take on 
 myself the responsibility of this 
 falsehood ; Dona Anita's guardian 
 will not dare to oppose so short a 
 delay, however well inclined he may 
 be to do so: but in forty-eight 
 hours ?" 
 
 "In forty-eight hours, madam," 
 the Frenchman answered in a hollow 
 voice, " General Guerrero will not 
 come to claim the hand of Dona 
 Anita." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ON THE ROAD. 
 
 ALL the scruples of the Mother 
 Superior honorable scruples, let 
 us hasten to add having thus been 
 removed, one after the other, by 
 Mr. Rallier, by means of the double 
 orders he had been careful to pro 
 
 vide himself with, the next thing 
 was to see about getting the two 
 boarders away without further delay. 
 
 The abbess, who understood the 
 importance of a speeely conclusion, 
 left her visitors in the parlor, and 
 in order to avoid any misunder 
 standing, herself undertook to fetch 
 the two young ladies, after giving a 
 lay-sister orders to call the carriage 
 into the first courtyard. 
 
 In a religious community, one of 
 women before all we do not mean 
 this satirically whatever may be 
 done, and whatever precautions 
 may be taken, nothing can long be 
 kept a secret. Hence, the two gen 
 tlemen had scarcely entered the 
 speaking-room of the abbess ere the 
 rumor of the departure of Dona 
 Anita and Dona Helena spread 
 among the nuns with extreme 
 rapidity. Who spread the news 
 no one could have told, and yet 
 everybody spoke about it as a cer 
 tainty. 
 
 The young ladies were naturally 
 the. first informed. At the outset 
 their anxiety was great, and Dona 
 Anita trembled, for she believed 
 that she was fetched by order of her 
 guardian, and that the monk speak 
 ing with the abbess was the one 
 sent by the general to make imme 
 diate preparations for her marriage. 
 Hence, when the abbess entered 
 Dona Helena's cell, she found the 
 pair in each other's arms, and weep 
 ing bitterly. 
 
 Fortunately, the mistake was soon 
 cleared up, and the sorrow converted 
 into joy when the abbess, who, 
 through sympathy, wept as much 
 as her boarders, explained that of 
 the two strangers, whom they feared 
 so greatly, one was the brother of 
 Dona Helena, and the other the 
 Franciscan monk whom Dona Anita 
 had already seen, and that they had 
 come, not to add to her sufferings, 
 
134 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 but to remove her from the tyranny 
 that oppressed her. 
 
 Dona Helena, on hearing that her 
 brother was at the convent, bounded 
 with joy, and removed her friend's 
 last doubts, for, like all unhappy 
 persons, Dona Anita clung greedily 
 to this new hope of salvation, 
 which was thus allowed to ger 
 minate in her heart at a moment 
 when she believed that she had no 
 chance left of escaping her evil 
 destiny. 
 
 The abbess then urged them to 
 complete their preparations for de 
 parture, helped them to change their 
 dress, and, after embracing them 
 several times, conducted them to the 
 parlor. 
 
 In order to avoid any disturbance 
 when the young ladies left the con 
 vent, where everybody adored them, 
 the abbess had the good idea of -send 
 ing the nuns to their cells. It was 
 a very prudent measure, which, by 
 preventing leave-taking, also pre 
 vented any noisy manifestations of 
 cries and tears, the sound of which 
 might have been heard outside, and 
 have fallen on hostile ears. 
 
 The leave-taking was short, for 
 there was no time to lose in vain 
 compliments. The young ladies 
 drew down their vails, and proceeded 
 to the courtyard under the guidance 
 of the abbess. The carriage had 
 been drawn as close as possible to 
 the cloisters, and the court was en 
 tirely deserted only the abbess, the 
 sister porter, and a confidential nun 
 witnessing the departure. 
 
 As the Frenchman opened the 
 door of the carriage, a piece of paper 
 lying on the seat caught his eyes. 
 lie seized it without being seen, and 
 hid it in the hollow of his hand. 
 After kissing the good abbess for 
 the last time, the young ladies took 
 the back seat, and Don Martial the 
 
 front, as did Mr. Rallier, after pre 
 viously whispering to the coach 
 man that is, to Curumilla, two In 
 dian words, to which he replied by 
 a sinister grin. Then, at a signal 
 from the abbess, the convent gates 
 were opened, and the carriage 
 started at full speed, drawn by six 
 powerful mules. 
 
 The crowd silently made room 
 for it to pass, the gates closed again 
 immediately, and the carriage al 
 most immediately disappeared round 
 the corner of the next street. 
 
 It was about seven o'clock in the 
 morning. The fugitives for we 
 can give them no other name gal 
 loped in silence for the first ten or 
 fifteen minutes, when the 'French 
 man gently touched his companion's 
 shoulder, and offered him the paper 
 he had found in the carriage. 
 
 " Eead !" he said. 
 
 The paper only contained two 
 words, hurriedly written in pencil 
 
 "Take care." 
 
 "Oh, oh!" the Tigrero exclaimed, 
 turning pale, "what does this mean?" 
 
 "By Jove," the Frenchman an 
 swered, cautiously, "it means that, 
 in spite of our precautions, or per 
 haps on account of them for in 
 these confounded affairs a man never 
 knows how to act in order to de 
 ceive the persons he fears we are 
 discovered, and probably have spies 
 at our heels." 
 
 "Carai! and what will become of 
 the young ladies in the event of a 
 dispute?" 
 
 "In the event of a fight you 
 mean, for there will be an obstinate 
 one, I foretell. Well, we will de 
 fend them as well as we can." 
 
 "I know that; but suppose we 
 are killed ?" 
 
 "Ah! there is that chance; but I 
 never think of that till after the 
 event." 
 
THE BED TRACK 
 
 135 
 
 "Oh, heaven !" Dona Anita mur 
 mured, as she hid her head in her 
 friend's bosom. 
 
 "Ke-assure yourself, senorita," the 
 Frenchman continued, "and, above 
 all, be silent; for the sound of your 
 voice might be recognized, and 
 change into certainty what may still 
 be only a suspicion. Besides, re 
 member that if you have enemies, 
 you have also friends, since they 
 took the precaution to warn us. 
 Now, in all probability, this un 
 known offerer of advice will not 
 have stopped there, but thought of 
 the means to come to our assist 
 ance in the most effectual manner." 
 
 The carriage went along in the 
 meanwhile at a break-neck pace, 
 and had nearly reached the city 
 gates. We will now tell what had 
 happened, and how the Frenchman 
 was warned of the danger that threat 
 ened him. 
 
 General Don Sebastian Guerrero 
 had organized a band of spies com 
 posed of leperos and scoundrels, 
 who, however, possessed acknowl 
 edged cleverness and skill, and if 
 Valentine had escaped their sur 
 veillance and foiled their machina 
 tions, it was solely through the 
 habits which he had contracted 
 during a lengthened life in the 
 prairies, and which had become an 
 intuition with him, so far did he 
 carry the quality of scenting and 
 unmasking an enemy, whatever 
 might be the countenance he bor 
 rowed. But if he had not been 
 recognized, it was not the same with 
 his friends, and the latter had not 
 been able long to escape the lynx 
 eyes of the general's spies. 
 
 The Convent of the Bernardiues 
 had naturally become for some days 
 past the centre of the surveillance, 
 as it were the spying head-quarters, 
 of Don Sebastian's agents. The ar 
 rival of a carriage with closed blinds 
 
 at the convent at once gave the 
 alarm; and though Mr. Rallier was 
 not personally known, the fact of 
 his being a Frenchman was sufficient 
 to rouse suspicions. 
 
 While the Frenchman and the 
 monk were conversing in the parlor 
 with the abbess, a lepero pretended 
 to hurt himself, and was conveyed 
 by two of his acolytes to the convent- 
 gate, and the good-hearted porter 
 had not refused him admission, but, 
 on the contrary, had eagerly given 
 him all the assistance his condition 
 seemed to require. 
 
 While the lepero was gradually 
 regaining his senses, his comrades 
 asked questions with that cautious 
 skill peculiar to their Mexican na 
 ture. The sister-porter was a worthy 
 woman, endowed with a very small 
 stock of brains, and fond of talking. 
 On finding this opportunity to in 
 dulge in her favorite employment, 
 she was easily led on, and, almost 
 of her own accord, told all she knew, 
 not suspecting the harm she did. 
 Let us hasten to add that this all 
 was very little; but, being under 
 stood and commented on by intelli 
 gent men interested in discovering 
 the truth, it was extremely serious. 
 
 When the three leperos had drawn 
 all they could out of the sister- 
 porter, they hastened to leave the 
 convent. Just as they emerged into 
 the street, they found themselves 
 face to face with No Carnero, the 
 general's capataz, whom his master 
 had sent on a tour of discovery. 
 They ran up to him, and in a few 
 words told him what had happened. 
 
 This was grave, and the capataz 
 trembled inwardly at the revelation, 
 for he understood the terrible danger 
 by which his friends were menaced. 
 But Carnero was a clever man, and 
 at ouce made up his mind to his 
 course of action. 
 
 He greatly praised the leperos for 
 
136 
 
 THE EED TRACK. 
 
 the skill they had displayed in dis 
 covering the secret, put some piastres 
 into their hands, and sent them off 
 to the general, with the recommenda 
 tion, which was most unnecessary, 
 to make all possible speed. Then, 
 in his turn, he began prowling round 
 the convent, and especially the car 
 riage, which Curumilla made no 
 difficulty in letting him approach, 
 for the reader will doubtless have 
 guessed that the animosity the In 
 dian had on several occasions 
 evinced for the capataz was pre 
 tended, and that they were perfectly 
 good friends when nobody could 
 see or hear them. 
 
 The capataz skilfully profited by 
 the confusion created in the crowd 
 by the carriage entering the convent, 
 to throw in, unperceived, the paper 
 Mr. Eallier had found. Certain now 
 that his friends would be on their 
 guard, he went off in his turn, after 
 recommending the spies he left be 
 fore the convent to keep up a good 
 watch, and walked in the direction 
 of the Plaza Mayor smoking a cig 
 arette. 
 
 At the corner of the Calle de 
 Plateros he saw a man standing in 
 front of a pulqueria, engaged in 
 smoking an enormous cigar. The 
 capataz entered the pulqueria, drank 
 a glass of Catalonian refino, but 
 while paying, he clumsily let fall a 
 piastre which rolled to the foot of 
 the man standing in the doorway. 
 The latter stooped, picked up the 
 coin, and restored it to its owner, and 
 the capataz walked out, doubtless 
 satisfied with the quality of the spirit 
 he had imbibed, and cautiously con 
 tinued his way. On reaching the 
 plaza again, the man of the pulque 
 ria, who was probably going the 
 same road as himself, was at his 
 heels. 
 
 "Belhuraeur?" the capataz asked, 
 
 in a low voice, without turning 
 round. 
 
 "Eh?" the, other answered in the 
 same key. 
 
 " The general knows the affair at 
 the convent ; if you do not make 
 haste, Don Martial, Don Antonio, 
 and the two ladies will be attacked 
 on the road while going to the quin- 
 ta ; warn your friend, for there is 
 not a moment to lose. Devil take 
 the cigarette !" he added, throwing it 
 away ; " it has gone out." 
 
 When he turned back, Belhu- 
 meur had disappeared ; the Canadian 
 with his characteristic agility was 
 already running in the direction of 
 Valentine's house. As for the capa 
 taz, as he was in no particular hurry, 
 he quietly walked back to the gen 
 eral's, where he found his master in 
 a furious passion with all his people, 
 and more particularly with himself. 
 
 By an accident, too portentous not 
 to have been arranged beforehand, 
 not one of his horses could be 
 mounted ; three were foundered, 
 four others had been bled, and the 
 last three were without shoes. In 
 the midst of this the capataz arrived 
 with a look of alarm, which only 
 heightened his master's passion. 
 Carnero prudently allowed the gen 
 eral's fury to grow a little calm, and 
 then answered him. 
 
 He proved to him in the first 
 place that he would commit a serious 
 act of imprudence by himself start 
 ing in pursuit of the fugitives in the 
 present state of affairs, and especially 
 on the eve of a pronunciamiento 
 which was about to decide his for 
 tunes. Then he remarked to him 
 that six peons, commanded by a 
 resolute man, would be sufficient to 
 conquer two men probably badly 
 armed, and, in addition, shut up in 
 a carriage with two ladies, whom 
 they would not expose to the risk of 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 137 
 
 being killed. These reasons being 
 good, the general listened and yielded 
 to them. 
 
 "Very good," he said ; " Carnero, 
 you are one of my oldest servants, 
 and to you I entrust the duty of 
 bringing back my niece." 
 
 The capataz made a wry face. 
 
 " There will be probably plenty 
 of blows to receive, and very little 
 profit to derive from such an expe 
 dition." 
 
 " I believed that you were devoted 
 to me," the general remarked bit 
 terly. 
 
 "Your excellency is not mis 
 taken ; I am truly devoted to you, 
 but I have also a fondness for my 
 skin." 
 
 " I will give you twenty -five 
 ounces for every slit it receives ; is 
 that enough ?" 
 
 " Come, I see that your excellency 
 wishes me to be cut into mince 
 meat !" the capataz exclaimed joy 
 ously. 
 
 " Then that is agreed ?" 
 
 " I should think so, excellency; 
 at that price a man would be a fool 
 to refuse." 
 
 "But about horses?" 
 
 " We have at least ten or a dozen 
 in the corral." 
 
 " That is true ; I did not think of 
 that," the general exclaimed, striking 
 his forehead; "have seven lassoed 
 at once." 
 
 "Where must I take the seno- 
 rita?" 
 
 "Bring her to this house, for she 
 shall not set foot in the convent 
 again." 
 
 " Very good ; when shall I start, 
 general'/" 
 
 "At once, if it be possible." 
 
 "In twenty minutes I shall have 
 left the house." 
 
 But the general's impatience was 
 so great that he accompanied his 
 capataz to the corral, watched all the 
 
 preparations for the departure, and 
 did not return to his apartments till 
 he was certain that Carnero had 
 started in pursuit of the fugitives, 
 with the peons he had selected. 
 
 In the meanwhile the carriage 
 dashed along ; it passed at full gal 
 lop through the San Lazaro gate, 
 then turned suddenly to the right, 
 and entered a somewhat narrow 
 street. At about the middle of this 
 street it stopped before a house of 
 rather modest appearance, the gate 
 of which at once opened, and a man 
 came out holding the bridles of two 
 prairie mustangs completely har 
 nessed, and with a rifle at each 
 saddle-bow. The Frenchman got 
 out, and invited his companion to 
 follow his example. 
 
 "Resume your usual dress," he 
 said, as he lead him inside the 
 house. 
 
 The Tigrero obeyed with an eager 
 start of joy. While he doffed his 
 gown, his companion mounted, after 
 saying to the young ladies 
 
 "Whatever happens, not a word 
 not a cry ; keep the shutters up ; 
 we will gallop at the door, and re 
 member your lives are in peril." 
 
 Martial at this moment carne out 
 of the house attired as a caballero. 
 
 " To horse, and let us be off," said 
 Mr. Eallier. 
 
 The Tigrero bounded on to the 
 mustang held in readiness for him, 
 and the carriage, in which the mules 
 had been changed, started again at 
 full speed. The house at which 
 they had stopped was the one hired 
 by Valentine to keep his stud at. 
 
 Half an hour thus passed, and the 
 carriage disappeared in the thick 
 cloud of dust it raised as it dashed 
 along. Don Martial felt new born ; 
 the excitement had restored his old 
 ardor as if by enchantment ; he 
 longed to be face to face with his 
 foe, and at length come to a settle- 
 
138 
 
 THE KED TRACK. 
 
 ment with him. The Frenchman 
 was calmer ; though brave to rash 
 ness, it was with secret anxiety he 
 foresaw the probability of a fight, in 
 which his sister might be wounded ; 
 still he was resolved, in the event of 
 the worst, to confront the clanger, no 
 matter the number of men who ven 
 tured to attack them. 
 
 All at once the Indian uttered a 
 cry. The two men looked back, 
 and saw a body of men coming up 
 at full speed. At this moment the 
 carriage "was following a road 
 bounded on one side by a rather 
 thick chapparal, on the other by a 
 deep ravine. 
 
 At a sign from the Frenchman 
 the carriage was drawn across the 
 road, and the ladies got out and 
 went, under Curumilla's protection, 
 to seek shelter behind the trees. 
 The two men, with their rifles to 
 their shoulders and fingers on the 
 triggers, stood firmly in the middle 
 of the road, awaiting the onset of 
 their adversaries, for, in all prob 
 ability, the new-comers were enemies. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 A SKIRMISH. 
 
 CURUMILLA, after concealing, with 
 that Indian skill he so thoroughly 
 possessed, the young ladies at a spot 
 where they were thoroughly pro 
 tected from bullets, had placed him 
 self, rifle in hand, not by the side of 
 the two riders, but, with charac 
 teristic red-skin prudence, he am 
 buscaded himself behind the car 
 riage, probably reflecting that he 
 represented the entire infantry force, 
 and not caring, through a point of 
 honor, very absurd in his opinion, 
 
 to expose himself to a death not 
 only certain, but useless to those he 
 wished to defend. 
 
 The horsemen, however, on com 
 ing within range of the persons they 
 were pursuing, stopped, and, by their 
 gestures, seemed to evince a hesita 
 tion the fugitives did not at all un 
 derstand, after the fashion in which 
 they had hitherto been pursued. 
 The motive for this hesitation, which 
 the Frenchman and his companions 
 could not know, and which per 
 plexed them so greatly, was very 
 simple. 
 
 Carnero, for it was the general's 
 capataz who was pursuing the car 
 riage, with his peons, all at once 
 perceived, with a secret pleasure, it 
 is true, though he was careful not to 
 let his companions notice it, that 
 while they were pursuing the car 
 riage, other horsemen were pursuing 
 them, and coming up at headlong 
 speed. On seeing this, as we said, 
 the party halted, much disappointed 
 and greatly embarrassed as to what 
 they had better do. 
 
 They were literally placed be 
 tween two fires, and were the at 
 tacked instead of the assailants ; the 
 situation was critical, and deserved 
 serious consideration. Carnero sug 
 gested a retreat, remarking, with a 
 certain amount of reason, that the 
 sides were no longer equal, and that 
 success was highly problematical. 
 The peons, all utter ruffians, and 
 expressly chosen by the general, but 
 who entertained a profound respect 
 for the integrity of their limbs, and 
 were but very slightly inclined to 
 have them inj ured in so disadvantage 
 ous a contest with people who would 
 not recoil, were disposed to follow 
 the advice of the capataz and retire, 
 before a retreat became impossible. 
 
 Unhappily, the Zaragate was 
 among the peons. Believing, from 
 his conversation with the colonel 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 139 
 
 that he knew better than any one 
 the general's intentions, and at 
 tracted by the hope of a rich reward 
 if he succeeded in delivering him of 
 his enemy, that is to say, in killing 
 Valentine ; and, moreover, probably 
 impelled by the personal hatred he 
 entertained for the hunter, he would 
 not listen to any observation, and 
 swore with horrible oaths that he 
 would carry out the general's orders 
 at all hazards, and that, since the 
 persons they were ordered to stop 
 were only a few paces before them, 
 they ought not to retire until they 
 had, at least, attempted to perform 
 their duty ; that if his comrades 
 were such cowards as to desert him, 
 he would go on alone at his own 
 risk, certain that the general would 
 be satisfied with the way in which 
 he behaved. 
 
 After a declaration so distinct and 
 peremptory, any hesitation became 
 impossible, the more so as the horse 
 men were rapidly coming up, and if 
 the capataz hesitated much longer 
 he would be 'attacked in the rear. 
 Thus driven out of his last in- 
 trenchment, and compelled against 
 his will to fight, Carnero gave the 
 signal to push on ahead. 
 
 But the peons had scarce started, 
 ere three shots were fired, and three 
 men rolled in the dust. The new 
 comers, in this way, warned their 
 friends to hold their ground, and 
 that they were bringing help. The 
 dismounted peons were not wounded, 
 though greatly shaken by their fall, 
 and unable to take part in the fight ;- 
 their horses alone were hit, and 
 that so cleverly, that they at once 
 fell. 
 
 " Eh, eh 1" the capataz said, as he 
 galloped on ; " these picaros have 
 a very sure hand. What do you 
 think of it ?" 
 
 " I say that there are still four of 
 us; that is double the number of 
 
 those waiting for us down there, 
 and we are sufficient to master 
 them." 
 
 "Don't be to sure, my good 
 friend, Zaragate," the capataz said 
 with a grin ; " they are men made 
 of iron, who must be killed twice 
 over before they fall." 
 
 The Tigrero and his companions 
 had heard shots and seen the peons 
 bite the dust. 
 
 " There is Valentine," said the 
 Frenchman. 
 
 "I believe so," Don Martial re 
 plied. 
 
 " Shall we charge ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 And digging in their spurs, they 
 dashed at the peons. 
 
 Valentine and his two comrades, 
 Belhumeur and Black Elk (for the 
 Frenchman was not mistaken, it 
 was really the hunter coming up, 
 whom the Canadian had warned) 
 fell on the peons simultaneously 
 with Don Martial and his com 
 panion. 
 
 A terrible, silent, and obstinate 
 struggle went on for some minutes 
 between these nine men; the foes 
 had seized each other round the 
 body, as they were too close to use 
 firearms, and tried to stab each 
 other. Nothing was heard but angry 
 curses and panting, but not a word 
 or cry, for what is the use of insult 
 ing when you can kill ? 
 
 The Zaragate, so soon as he recog 
 nized the hunter, dashed at him. 
 Valentine, although taken off his 
 guard, offered a vigorous resistance ; 
 the two men were entwined like 
 serpents, and, in their efforts to dis 
 mount each other, at last both fell, 
 and rolled beneath the feet of the 
 combatants who, without thinking 
 of them, or perceiving their fall, 
 continued to attack each other 
 furiously. 
 
 The hunter was endowed with 
 
140 
 
 THE BED 'I 1 RACK. 
 
 great muscular strength and un 
 equalled science and agility; but on 
 this occasion he had found an ad 
 versary worthy of him. The Zara- 
 gate, some years younger than 
 Valentine, and possessed of his full 
 bodily strength, while urged on by 
 the love of rich reward, made super 
 human efforts to master his oppo 
 nent and plunge his navaja into his 
 throat. Several times had each of 
 them succeeded in getting the other 
 underneath, but, as so frequently 
 happens in wrestling, a sudden 
 movement of the shoulders or loins 
 had changed the position of the 
 adversaries and brought the one 
 beneath who a moment previously 
 had been on the top. 
 
 Still Valentine felt that his strength 
 was becoming exhausted ; the un 
 expected resistance he met with 
 from an enemy apparently so little 
 worthy of him, exasperated him 
 and made him lose his coolness. 
 Collecting all his remaining vigor 
 to attempt a final and decisive effort, 
 he succeeded in getting his enemy 
 once again under him, and pinned 
 him down ; but at the same moment 
 Valentine uttered a cry of pain 
 and rolled on the ground a horse's 
 kick had broken his left arm. 
 
 The Zaragate sprang up with a 
 tiger's bound, and bursting into a 
 yell of delight, placed his knee on 
 his enemy's chest, at the same 
 time as he prepared to bury his 
 navaja in his heart. Valentine felt 
 that he was lost, and did not attempt 
 to avoid the death that threatened 
 him. 
 
 "Poor Louis," he merely said, 
 looking firmly and intrepidly at the 
 bandit. 
 
 "Ah, ah!" the Zaragate said, 
 with a ferocious grin, " I hold my 
 vengeance at length, accursed Trail- 
 hunter." 
 
 He did not complete the sentence; 
 
 suddenly seized by his long hair, 
 while a knee, thrust between his 
 shoulders, forced him to bend back, 
 he saw, as in a horrible dream, a 
 ferocious face grinning above his 
 head. With a fearful groan he 
 rolled on the ground ; a knife had 
 been buried in his heart, while his 
 scalp, which was suddenly removed, 
 left his denuded skull to inundate 
 with blood the ground around. 
 
 Curu mills raised in his arms the 
 body of his friend, whose life he 
 had just- saved once again, and 
 bore it to the side of the road. 
 Valentine had fainted. 
 
 The chief, so soon as he saw his 
 friends charge the peons, left his 
 ambush, and while careful to remain 
 behind them, followed them to the 
 battle-field. He had watched eagerly 
 the long struggle between the hun 
 ter and the Zaragate , trying vainly 
 to assist his friend, but never able 
 to succeed. The two enemies were 
 so entwined, their movements were 
 so rapid, and they changed their 
 position so suddenly, that the chief 
 was afraid lest he might wound his 
 friend in attempting to help him. 
 Hence he awaited with extreme 
 anxiety an opportunity so long 
 delayed, and which the Zaragate 
 himself offered by losing his time 
 in insulting his enemy instead of 
 killing him at once, when the 
 injury he received left him defence 
 less in the bandit's power. 
 
 The Araucano bounded like a 
 wild beast on the Mexican, and 
 without hesitation scalped and 
 stabbed him with the agility char 
 acteristic of the red-skins, and winch 
 he himself possessed in so high a 
 degree. 
 
 Almost at the same moment the 
 horsemen also finished their fight. 
 The peons had offered a vigorous 
 resistance, but being badly sup 
 ported by the capataz, who was dis 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 abled at the beginning of the 
 skirmish by Don Martial, and seeing 
 the Zaragate dead and three of their 
 friends dismounted and incapable 
 of coming to their assistance, they 
 gave in. 
 
 The capataz had been wounded 
 at liis own request by Don Martial, 
 iu order to save appearances with 
 the general ; he had a wide gash on 
 his right arm, very severe at the 
 first glance, but insignificant in 
 reality. A peon had been almost 
 smashed by Belhumeur, so that the 
 field of battle fairly remained in 
 the hands of -the hunters. 
 
 When their victory was insured 
 they assembled anxiously round 
 Valentine, for they were alarmed at 
 his condition, and most anxious to 
 be reassured. Valentine, whose arm 
 Curumilla had at once set, with the 
 skill and coolness of an old practi 
 tioner, soon reopened his eyes, re 
 assured his friends by a smile, and 
 offered the Indian chief his right 
 hand, which the latter laid on his 
 heart with an expression of inde 
 scribable happiness, as he uttered 
 his favorite exclamation of Ugh ! the 
 only word he permitted himself to 
 use in joy or in sorrow, when he 
 felt himself choking with internal 
 emotion. 
 
 " Senores," the hunter said, " it is 
 only an arm broken ; thanks to the 
 chief, I have had an easy escape. 
 Let us resume bur journey before 
 other enemies come up." 
 
 "And we, senor?" the capataz 
 cried, humbly. 
 
 Valentine rose with the chief's 
 assistance, and took a furious glance 
 at the peons. "As for you, miser 
 able assassins," he said, with a ter 
 rible accent, " return to your master 
 and tell him in what way you were 
 received. But it is not sufficient to 
 have chastised your perfidy: I must 
 have revenge for the odious snare 
 
 into which my friends and I all but 
 fell. I will learn whether, in open 
 day, and some half a dozen miles 
 from Mexico, bandits can thus at 
 tack peaceable travellers with im 
 punity. Begone!" 
 
 Valentine was slightly mistaken, 
 for, although it was really the inten 
 tion of the peons to attack them, the 
 hunters had actually begun the fight 
 by dismounting the three peons. 
 But the fellows, convicted by their 
 conscience, did not notice this deli 
 cate distinction, and were very happy 
 to get off so cheaply, and be enabled 
 to return peaceably, when they 
 feared that their conquerors would 
 hand them over to the police as they 
 had a perfect right to do. 
 
 Thus, far from raising any objec 
 tions, they broke forth into apolo 
 gies and protestations of devotion, 
 and hastened off, not troubling them 
 selves to pick up the body of their 
 defunct comrade, le Zaragate, which 
 they left to the vultures which 
 settled on it, so soon as the highway 
 was clear again. 
 
 The capataz, under the pretext 
 that his wound was very painful, 
 but in reality to give Valentine and 
 his friends the requisite time to se 
 cure themselves temporarily from 
 pursuit, insisted on returning to the 
 city slowly, so that they did not 
 reach the general's mansion till two 
 hours had elapsed. 
 
 So soon as the peons in obedience 
 to the hunter's orders had left the 
 battle-field, he, on his part, gave his 
 companions the signal to start. Don 
 Martial had hurried to reassure the 
 ladies, who were standing more dead 
 than alive at the spot where the 
 chief had concealed them. He made 
 them get into the carriage again, 
 without telling them any thing ex 
 cept that the danger was past, and 
 that the rest ofthe journey would 
 be performed in safety. 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 Valentine's friends tried in vain 
 to induce him to get into the car 
 riage with the ladies. He would 
 not consent, but insisted on mount 
 ing his horse, assuring them, in the 
 far from probable event of their being 
 attacked again, that he could still be 
 of some service to his companions 
 in spite of his broken arm. The 
 latter were too well acquainted with 
 his inflexible will to press him 
 farther: so Curumilla remounted the 
 coach-box, and they started. 
 
 The rest of the journey was per 
 formed without any incident, and 
 they reached the quinta twenty 
 minutes later. The skirmish had 
 taken place scarce two miles from 
 the country house. On reaching 
 the gates, Valentine took leave of 
 his friend without dismounting. 
 
 "What!" the latter said to him, 
 ";are you going, Valentine, without 
 resting for a moment ?" 
 
 " I must, my dear Rallier," he an 
 swered; "you know what imperious 
 reasons claim rny presence in 
 Mexico." 
 
 "But you are wounded." 
 
 "Have I not Curumilla to attend 
 to my hurt? Do not be anxious 
 about me; besides, I intend to see 
 you again soon. This quinta ap 
 pears to me strong enough to resist 
 a surprise. Have you a garrison?" 
 
 "I have a dozen servants and my 
 two brothers." 
 
 "In that case I am easy in my mind ; 
 besides, there is only one night to 
 pass, and I believe that after the 
 lesson his people have received the 
 general will not venture on a second 
 attack, for some days at least. Be 
 sides, he reckons on the success of 
 his pronunciamiento. You will come 
 to me to-morrow at daybreak, will 
 you not?" 
 
 "I shall not fail." 
 
 "In that case I vrtll be off." 
 
 " Will you not say good -by to the 
 ladies?" ' 
 
 "They are not aware of my pres 
 ence, and it will be better for them 
 not to see me; so good-by till to 
 morrow." 
 
 And making a signal to his com 
 rades who, including Curumilla, to 
 whom a horse was given, collected 
 around him, Valentine started at a 
 gallop for Mexico, caring no more 
 for his broken arm than if it were a 
 mere scratch. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 LOS REGOCIJOS. 
 
 ON his return to the mansion, the 
 capataz did not see his master, at 
 which he was extremely pleased, for 
 he desired to delay as long as pos 
 sible an explanation which, in spite 
 of the wound he so complacently 
 displayed, he feared would turn out 
 to his disadvantage, especially when 
 questioned by a man like the gen 
 eral, whose piercing glance would 
 descend to the bottom of his heart 
 to discover the truth, however clev 
 erly hidden it might be behind a 
 network of falsehood. 
 
 As only a few hours had still to 
 elapse before the explosion of the 
 conspiracy, arranged with such care 
 and mystery, the general was com 
 pelled for a while to suspend his 
 schemes for the satisfaction of his 
 love and his hatred, and only attend 
 to those in which his ambition was 
 engaged. The principal conspirators 
 had been summoned to Colonel 
 Lupo's, and there the final arrange 
 ments had been made for the morrow, 
 and the watchword given. 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 143 
 
 Although the government ap 
 peared plunged in the most profound 
 ignorance of what was preparing 
 against it, and evinced complete 
 security, still the President had 
 made certain arrangements for the 
 morrow's ceremonies which did not 
 fail greatly to trouble the rnen in 
 terested in knowing every thing, and 
 to whom the apparently most futile 
 thing naturally created umbrage. 
 
 The general, with the curiosity 
 that distinguished him, was anxious 
 to know exactly the extent of the 
 danger he had to meet, and pro 
 ceeded to the palace, merely accom 
 panied by his two aides-de-camp. 
 The general president received Don 
 Sebastian with a smile on his lips, 
 and offered him the most gracious 
 reception. This reception, so cordial, 
 perhaps too cordial, instead of re 
 assuring the general, had, on the 
 contrary, increased his anxiety, for 
 he was a Mexican and knew the 
 proverb of his country " Lips that 
 smile, and mouths that tell false 
 hoods." 
 
 The general was too calm to let 
 his feelings be seen. lie pretended 
 to be delighted, remained for some 
 time with the President, who ap 
 peared to treat him with a friendly 
 familiarity, complained of the rarity 
 of his visits, and his obstinacy in not 
 asking for a command. In a word, 
 the two men separated apparently 
 highly satisfied with each other. 
 
 Still, the general remarked that 
 all the courts were stuffed with sol 
 diers, who were bivouacking in the 
 open air ; that several guns had 
 been placed, accidentally perhaps, so 
 as to sweep completely the chief en 
 trance gate, and, more serious still, 
 that the troops quartered in the 
 palace were commanded by officers 
 strangers to him, and who had, more 
 over, the reputation of being devoted 
 to the President of the Republic. 
 
 After this daring visit, the general 
 mounted his horse, and, under the 
 pretext of going for a walk, went 
 all over the city. Everywhere the 
 preparations for the coming festival 
 were being carried on with the 
 greatest activity. In the square of 
 Necatitlan, for instance, situated in 
 one of the worst parts of the capital, 
 a circus had been made for the bull 
 fights at which the president intended 
 to be present. 
 
 Numerous wooden erections, 
 raised for the occasion, filled the 
 space usually devoted to tauroma 
 chy, and formed an immense hall of 
 verdure, with pleasant clumps of 
 trees, mysterious walks, and charm 
 ing retreats, prepared with the 
 greatest care, where everybody 
 would go on the morrow to eat and 
 drink the atrocious productions of 
 the Mexican art of cookery, and en 
 joy what is called in that country 
 Jamaica. 
 
 Exactly in the centre of the arena 
 a tree about twenty feet in height 
 was planted, with its branches and 
 leaves entirely covered with colored 
 pocket-handkerchiefs that floated in 
 the breeze. This tree was the Monte 
 Parnasso, intended to serve as a 
 may-pole for the leperos, at the mo 
 ment when the bull fights begin, and 
 a trial -bull, emlallado, that is to say, 
 with its horns terminating in balls, 
 is let into the ring. 
 
 All the pulquerias near the square 
 were thronged with a hideous, rag 
 ged mob, who howled, sang, shouted, 
 and whistled their loudest, while 
 smoking, and, at intervals, exchang 
 ing knife-thrusts, to the great delight 
 of the spectators. 
 
 In all the streets the procession 
 would pass through the houses were 
 decorated ; Mexican flags were 
 hoisted in profusion at every spot 
 where they could be displayed , and 
 yet, by the side of all these holiday 
 
144 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 preparations, there was, we repeat, 
 something gloomy and menacing 
 that struck a chill to the heart. 
 Through all the gates fresh troops 
 continually entered the city, and 
 occupied admirably-chosen strategic 
 points. The Alameda, the Paseo di 
 Bucarelli, and even the Vega, were 
 converted into bivouacs ; and though 
 these troops ostensibly only came 
 to Mexico to be present at the cere 
 mony and be reviewed, they were 
 equipped for the field, and affected 
 an earnestness which caused much 
 thought to those who saw them pass 
 or visited their bivouacs. 
 
 When a serious event is prepar 
 ing, there are in the atmosphere 
 certain signs which never deceive 
 the fosterers of revolutions ; a vague 
 and apparently causeless anxiety 
 seizes on the masses, and uncon 
 sciously converts their joy into a 
 species of feverish excitement, at 
 which they are themselves startled, 
 as they know not to what to attrib 
 ute this change in their humor. 
 
 Hence the population of Mexico, 
 mad, merry, and joyous, as usual 
 wtien a festival is preparing, in the 
 eyes of short-sighted persons, were 
 in reality sternly sad and suffering 
 from great anxfety. The general 
 did not fail to observe these prognos 
 tics ; gloomy presentiments occupied 
 h-is mind, for he understood that a 
 terrible tempest was hidden beneath 
 this fictitious calmness. Valentine's 
 gloomy predictions recurred to him. 
 He trembled to see the hunter's 
 menaces realized ; and, though un 
 able to discover when the danger 
 would come, he foresaw that a great 
 peril was hanging over his head, and 
 that his ambitious projects would 
 soon, perhaps, be drowned in floods 
 of blood. 
 
 Unfortunately it was too late to 
 desist ; he must, whatever might 
 happen, go on to the end, for he had 
 
 not the time to give counter-orders, 
 and urge the conspirators to defer 
 the explosion of the plot till a more 
 favorable moment. Hence, after ripe 
 reflection, the general resolved to 
 push on and trust to accident. Am 
 bitious men, by the way, reckon, far 
 more than is supposed, on hazard, 
 and those magnificent combinations 
 which are admired when success has 
 crowned them, are most frequently 
 merely the unforeseen results of 
 fortuitous circumstances, completely 
 beyond the will of the man whom 
 they have profited. History, modern 
 history especially, is full of these 
 combinations, these results impossi 
 ble to foresee, which sensible men 
 would not have dared to suppose, 
 and which have made the reputation 
 of so-called statesmen of genius, who 
 are very small fry, when regarded 
 through the magnifying-glass, or 
 when actions are sifted. 
 
 The general returned to his house 
 at about six in the evening, despair 
 ing, and already seeing his plans 
 annihilated. The report of his capa- 
 taz added to his discouragement, for 
 it was the drop of wormwood which 
 makes the brimful cup run over. He 
 withdrew to his apartments in a state 
 of dull fury, and in his impotent 
 rage accused himself for having ven 
 tured into this frightful situation, 
 for he felt himself rapidly gliding 
 down a fatal slope, where it would 
 be impossible for him to stop. 
 
 What added to his secret agony 
 was, that he must incessantly send 
 off couriers, receive reports, talk 
 with his confidants, and feign in 
 their presence not merely calmness 
 and gayety, but also encourage them, 
 and impart to them an ardor and 
 hope which he no longer possessed. 
 
 The whole night was spent thus. 
 A terrible night, during which the 
 general endured all the tortures that 
 assail an ambitious man on the eve 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 145 
 
 of a scandalous plot against a gov 
 ernment which he has sworn to de 
 fend. He was agitated by those dull 
 murmurs of the conscience which can 
 never be thoroughly stifled, and 
 Vhich would inspire pity for these 
 unhappy men, were they not care 
 ful, by their own acts, to put them 
 selves beyond the pale of that hu 
 manity of which they have become 
 ival monsters. The most wholesome 
 lesson that could be given to those 
 ambitious manikins, so frequent in 
 the lower strata of society, would 
 be to render them witnesses of the 
 crushing agony that attacks any 
 cabccilla during the night that pre 
 cedes the outbreak of one of its 
 horrible plots. 
 
 Sunrise surprised the general giv 
 ing his final orders. Worn out by 
 the fatigue of a long watch, with 
 pallid brow, and eyes inflamed by 
 fever, he tried to take a few mo 
 ments of restorative rest, which he 
 so greatly needed ; but his efforts 
 were fruitless, for he was suffering 
 from an excitement too intense, at 
 the decisive hour, for sleep to come 
 and close his eyes. 
 
 Already the bells of all the 
 churches were pealing out, and fill 
 ing the air with their joyous notes. 
 In all the streets, and in all the 
 squares, boys and leperos were let 
 ting off crackers, and uttering deaf 
 ening cries, which more resembled 
 bursts of fury than demonstrations 
 of joy. The people, dressed in their 
 holiday clothes, were leaving their 
 houses in masses, and spreading 
 like a torrent over the city. 
 
 The review was arranged for seven 
 o'clock A.M., so that the troops might 
 be spared the great heat of the day. 
 They were massed on the Paseo de 
 Bucarelli and the road connecting 
 that promenade with the Alameda. 
 
 We have already stated that the 
 Mexican army, twenty thousand 
 
 strong, has twenty-four thousand 
 officers. Hence, in the enormous 
 crowd assembled to witness the re 
 view, uniforms were in a majority ; 
 for all the officers living on half- 
 pay in Mexico, for some reason or an 
 other, considered themselves bound 
 to attend the review as amateurs. 
 
 At a quarter to eight o'clock the 
 drums beat, the troops presented 
 arms, a deafening shout was raised 
 by the crowd, and the President of 
 the Eepublic arrived on the Paseo, 
 followed by a large staff, glistening 
 with gold and lace, and with a cloud 
 of feathers waving in their cocked 
 hats. 
 
 The Mexicans, much resembling 
 in this respect another nation we 
 are acquainted Avith, adore feathers, 
 aiguillettes, and, before all, em 
 broidered uniforms. Hence the 
 President was warmly greeted by 
 the enthusiastic crowd, and his ar 
 rival was converted into an ovation. 
 General Guerrero had joined the 
 President's- staff in his full-dress 
 uniform, as Colonel Lupo and other 
 conspirators had also done ; the 
 rest, dispersed among the crowd, 
 and well armed under their cloaks, 
 were giving drink to the already 
 half-intoxicated leperos, and secretly 
 exciting them to begin an insurrec 
 tion. 
 
 In the meanwhile the review went 
 on without any hitch. It is true 
 that the President restricted himself 
 to riding along the front, and then 
 ordering the troops to march past, 
 for he did not dare, owing to the 
 notorious' ignorance of the officers 
 and soldiers, risk the execution of 
 any manoeuvre, for it would not have 
 been understood, and would have 
 broken the charm under which the 
 spectators were fascinated. Then 
 the President, still followed by his 
 staff, proceeded to the cathedral. 
 We will not say any thing about 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 the official receptions, etc., which 
 occupied all the morning. 
 
 The hour for the bull-fight ar 
 rived. Since the review no one 
 troubled himself about the troops^ 
 who seemed to have suddenly dis 
 appeared not a soldier was visible 
 in the streets; but the people did 
 not think of them, for they were 
 letting off fireworks, laughing and 
 shouting, which was quite sufficient 
 to amuse them. It was only noticed 
 that these soldiers, though invisible 
 about the city, had apparently 
 passed the word to each other to be 
 present at the bull-fight. Nearly 
 the whole of the palcos de sol in the 
 circus, that is to say, the parts ex 
 posed to the sun, were thronged 
 with soldiers, grouped pell-mell 
 with the leperos, and offering the 
 most pleasant contrast with these 
 ragged scamps, who were yelling 
 and whistling. 
 
 The President arrived, and the 
 circus was, in a second, invaded by 
 the mob. Since an early hour the 
 Jamaica had begun, that is to say, 
 the framework of verdure raised in 
 the centre of the arena, forming re 
 freshment-rooms, had, since day 
 break, been filled with a countless 
 number of leperos, who ate and 
 drank with cries of ferocious de 
 light. 
 
 Suddenly, at a given signal, the 
 gate of the torril was opened, and a 
 bull, embollado, rushed into the 
 arena. Then began an extraordinary 
 indescribable scene, resembling one 
 of those diabolical meetings so ad 
 mirably designed by Callot. 
 
 The leperos, surprised by the ar 
 rival of the bull, darted, shouting, 
 pushing, and upsetting each other, 
 over the framework, which they 
 threw down and trampled under foot 
 in their terror, while- seeking to 
 escape the pursuit of the embollado, 
 who, also excited by the tumult, 
 
 hunted them vigorously. In a sec 
 ond %the arena was deserted, the re 
 freshment-rooms swept clean, and 
 the performers in the Jamaica sought 
 any shelter they could find on the 
 edge of the palcos or upon the 
 columns, from which they hung in 
 hideous yelling and grimacing clus 
 ters. 
 
 A few leperos, however, bolder 
 than the rest, had darted to the 
 Monte Parnasso, not only to find 
 a shelter there, but also to tear away 
 allthecolored handkerchiefs fastened 
 to the branches. In a twinkling the 
 thick foliage was hidden by the 
 crowd of leperos who invaded it. 
 
 The bull, after amusing itself for 
 some minutes in tossing about the 
 remains of the framework, stopped 
 and looked cunningly around, and 
 soon noticed the tree, the only ob 
 stacle left to remove, in order to 
 completely empty the arena. 
 
 It remained motionless for an 
 instant, as if hesitating ere it formed 
 a resolution ; then it bowed its head, 
 made the sand fly with its fore-feet, 
 lashed its tail violently, and, rush 
 ing at the tree, dealt it repeated and 
 powerful blows. 
 
 The leperos uttered a cry of 
 despair. The tree, which was over 
 laden, and incessantly sapped at its 
 base by the bull, swayed, and at last 
 fell sideways, carrying down in its 
 full the leperos clinging to its 
 branches. The audience clapped 
 their hands and broke into frenzied 
 bravos, which changed into perfect 
 yells of delight when a poor fellow, 
 who was limping away, was sud 
 denly caught up by the bull, and 
 tossed ten feet high in the air. 
 
 All at once, and at the moment 
 when the joy was attaining its par 
 oxysm, several rounds of artillery 
 were heard, followed by a well-sus 
 tained musketry fire. As if by 
 magic the bull was driven back to 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 the torril ; the soldiers scattered 
 about the circus leaped into the 
 ring, and becoming actors instead 
 of spectators, drew up in good order, 
 and levelled their muskets at the oc 
 cupiers of the galleries and boxes, 
 who remained motionless with terror, 
 for they did not understand what 
 was going on. 
 
 A door opened, and twenty bands 
 men, followed by eight officers, and 
 escorted by a dozen soldiers, entered 
 the ring, and began beating the 
 drums. It was a governmental 
 l>ando. So soon as silence was re 
 stored martial law was proclaimed, 
 and sentence of outlawry passed on 
 General Don Sebastian Guerrero and 
 his adherents, who had just raised 
 the standard of revolt, and pro 
 nounced against the established 
 government. 
 
 The crowd listened to the bando 
 in a stupor which was heightened 
 by the fact that with each moment 
 the firing became sharper, find the 
 artillery discharges shook the air at 
 more rapid intervals. 
 
 Mexico was once again the prey 
 of one of those scenes of murder 
 and carnage which, since the Procla 
 mation of Independence, has too 
 often stained her streets and squares 
 with blood. 
 
 The President was on horseback 
 in the centre of the arena, sending 
 off orders, listening to messages, or 
 detaching reinforcements wherever 
 they were wanted. The circus was 
 converted into the head-quarters of 
 the army of order, and the specta 
 tors, although allowed to depart 
 after some arrests had been effected 
 among them, remained trembling in 
 their seats, preferring not to venture 
 into the streets, which had been con 
 verted into real battle-fields. 
 
 Still the pronunciamiento was 
 assuming formidable proportions. 
 General Guerrero had not played 
 
 for so heavy a stake without trying 
 to secure to his side all probable 
 chances of success ; and that success 
 would most ably have crowned his 
 efforts, had he not been betrayed. 
 For, in spite of all the precautions 
 taken by the government, the affair 
 had been begun so warmly and res 
 olutely that, after the contest had 
 continued for three hours, it was 
 impossible to say on which side the 
 advantage would remain. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE PRONUNCIAMIENTO. 
 
 IN any revolution, the insurgents 
 have always an immense advantage 
 over the government they are at 
 tacking, from the fact that, as they 
 hold together, know their numbers, 
 and act in accordance with a long 
 worked-out plan, they are not only 
 cognizant of what they want, but 
 also, whither they are proceeding. 
 The government, on the other hand, 
 however well informed it may be, 
 and however well on its guard, is 
 obliged to remain for a considerable 
 length of time in an attitude of 
 armed expectation, without knowing 
 whence the danger that menaces it 
 will come, or the strength of the 
 rebellion it will have to combat. 
 
 On the other hand, again, as the 
 secret of the discovery of the plot 
 remains with a small band of confi 
 dential agents of the authorities, the 
 latter do not know at first whom to 
 trust, or whom to reckon on. They 
 suspect everybody, even the very 
 troops defending them, whom they 
 fear to see turning against them at 
 any moment, and overthrowing 
 them. This is more especially the 
 
148 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 case in Mexico and all the old Span 
 ish colonies, where the governmental 
 system is essentially military, and is 
 consequently only based on naturally 
 unintelligent and venal troops, who 
 are utterly deficient of patriotic 
 feelings, and whom interest alone, 
 that is to say, pay or promotion, can 
 keep to their duty. 
 
 The history of all the revolutions 
 which, during the last fifty years, 
 have caused torrents of blood to flow 
 in the New World, is entirely con 
 tained in the last passage we have 
 written. 
 
 The President of the Republic had 
 been informed of the designs of the 
 general, as far as that was possible ; he 
 had known for more than a month 
 that a vast plot was being formed; 
 he even was aware of the probable 
 day fixed for, the pronunciamiento, 
 but he did not know a syllable about 
 the plans arranged by Don Sebas 
 tian and his adherents. As the plot 
 was to burst out in Mexico, the 
 President had filled the capital with 
 troops, and called in those on whose 
 fidelity he thought he could reckon 
 with the greatest certainty. 
 
 But his preparations were neces 
 sarily restricted to this, and he had 
 been constrained to wait till the 
 revolution commenced. 
 
 It burst forth with the suddenness 
 of a peal of thunder at twenty places 
 simultaneously, at about the second 
 hour of the tarde. The President, 
 who was at once informed, and who 
 had only come to the circus in order 
 not to be invested in the govern 
 ment palace, instantly took the 
 measures bethought most efficacious. 
 
 The news, however, rapidly ar 
 rived, and became worse and worse, 
 and the insurrection was assuming 
 frightful proportions. The revolters 
 at first tried to instal themselves on 
 the Plaza Mayor in order to seize 
 the government palace; but being 
 
 repulsed with loss, after a very se 
 rious contest, they ambuscaded them 
 selves in Tacuba, Secunda Monter- 
 illa, and San Augustin streets, erected 
 barricades, and exchanged a sharp 
 fire with the faithful troops. 
 
 The cannon roared in the square, 
 and the balls made large gaps in the 
 ranks of the insurgents, who replied 
 with yells of rage and increased 
 firing. 
 
 Colonel Lupo had taken possession 
 of two city gates, which he burned 
 down, and through which fresh re 
 inforcements reached the insurgents, 
 who now proclaimed themselves 
 masters of one-third of the city. 
 -The foreign merchants, established 
 in Mexico, had hoisted their national 
 flags over their houses, in which 
 they remained shut up, and suffering 
 great anxiety. 
 
 The President was still standing 
 motionless in the centre of the circus, 
 frowning at each new message, or 
 angrily"striking the pommel of his 
 saddle with his clenched fist. All 
 at once a man glided secretly be 
 tween his horse's legs, and gently 
 touched his boot. The general 
 turned round quickly. 
 
 "Ah !" he exclaimed, on recog 
 nizing him. "At last ! Well, Curu- 
 rnilla?" 
 
 But the Indian, without answer 
 ing, thrust a folded paper into his 
 hand, and disappeared as rapidly as 
 he had come. The general eagerly 
 scanned the letter, which only con 
 tained these words, written in 
 French "All is going on well. 
 Charge vigorously." 
 
 The general's face grew brighter; 
 he drew himself up haughtily, and 
 brandishing his sword with a mar 
 tial air, shouted in a voice heard by 
 all, "Forward, Muchachos!" 
 
 Then, digging his spurs into his 
 horse's sides, he galloped out of the 
 circus, followed by the greater part 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 149 
 
 of the troops, the remainder receiving 
 orders to hold their present position 
 until further warning. 
 
 "Now," said the .President to the 
 officers who pressed round him, "the 
 game is won; within an hour the 
 insurrection will be conquered." 
 
 In fact matters had greatly al 
 tered. This is what had occurred: 
 
 Valentine, as we said, had taken 
 a house in Tacuba Street, and an 
 other in the vicinity of the San 
 Lazaro gate. During the night that 
 preceded the pronunciamiento, four 
 hundred resolute soldiers, com 
 manded by faithful officers, were 
 introduced into the house in Tacuba 
 Street, where they remained so well 
 hidden that no one suspected their 
 presence. A similar number of 
 troops were stowed away in the 
 house at the San Lazaro gate. 
 
 Don Martial, at the head of a large 
 body of men, slipped into the small 
 house belonging to the capataz, and, 
 being warned by the latter so soon 
 as the general had gone off to at 
 tend the review, he passed into his 
 mansion through the masked door 
 we know, and occupied it without 
 striking a blow. 
 
 The Tigrero straightway set a 
 trap, in which several of the princi 
 pal chiefs of the insurgents were 
 caught, believing that they would 
 find General Guerrero at home, and 
 were at once made prisoners. 
 
 These three points occupied, they 
 waited. Colonel Lupo had attacked 
 the San Lazaro gate so vigorously 
 and unexpectedly, that it was im 
 possible to prevent him burning it. 
 A very obstinate fight at once began, 
 and the colonel, after a brave resist 
 ance, had been at length oompelle'd 
 to retreat and fall back on the main 
 body of the insurgents, who were 
 Btill masters, or nearly so, of the 
 centre of the city. 
 
 We have mentioned that in Mexico 
 
 all the houses are flat-roofed; hence, 
 in any revolution, the scenes in the 
 street are repeated on the terraces 
 of the houses ; for the tactics adopted 
 in such cases are to line these ter 
 races with soldiers. Through u 
 strange fatality the insurgents, while 
 seizing the principal streets, had 
 forgotten, or rather neglected to 
 occupy the houses, as they believed 
 themselves masters of the situation. 
 
 All at once the terraces in Tacuba 
 Street, looking on the Plaza Mayor, 
 were covet^i with sharpshooters, 
 who began a tremendous fire on the 
 insurgents collected beneath them. 
 The same manoeuvre was simulta 
 neously executed in Monterilla and 
 San Augustin Streets, and the ter 
 races of the palace were covered 
 with troops also. 
 
 The artillery men, whohad hitherto 
 fired at long range, now brought up 
 their guns almost within pistol-shot 
 of the streets, and, in spite of the 
 musketry-fire of the insurgents, 
 bravely posted their batteries and 
 began hurling showers of canister 
 among the defenders of the barri 
 cades. 
 
 Almost simultaneously, the troops 
 faithful to the government appeared 
 in the rear of the rebels, and being 
 supported by the sharpshooters on 
 the terraces, charged vigorously to 
 the incessantly repeated cry of 
 "Mejico, Mejico, Independencia !" 
 
 The insurgents felt they were 
 lost, for they were caught between 
 three fires ; still they offered a 
 courageous resistance, for, knowing 
 that if they fell alive into the hands 
 of the conqueror, they would bo 
 mercilessly shot, they allowed them 
 selves to be killed with Indian 
 stoicism, and did not yield an inch 
 of ground. 
 
 The general was in a terrible 
 rage; without a hat, his face 
 blackened with gunpowder, and his 
 
150 
 
 THE RED TRACK. 
 
 uniform torn in several places, he 
 leapt his horse over the corpses, 
 and dashed blindly into the thick 
 of the government troops, followed 
 by a small band of friends, who 
 bravely let themselves be killed at 
 his side. 
 
 The fight was positively de 
 generating into a massacre ; the two 
 parties, as unhappily always hap 
 pens in civil wars, fought with the 
 greater fury and obstinacy because 
 brothers were contending against 
 brothers, and many *8f them, for 
 whom politics were only a pretext, 
 took advantage of the medley to 
 satiate personal hatred and avenge 
 old insults. 
 
 However, this could not go on for 
 long thus, and it was necessary to 
 get out of the situation at all 
 risks. General Guerrero, unaware 
 of the occupation of his house, re 
 solved to fight his way thither, 
 barricade himself, and obtain an 
 honorable capitulation for himself 
 and his comrades. 
 
 No sooner was the plan conceived 
 than the execution was attempted. 
 Don Sebastian collected round him 
 all the fighting men left, and formed 
 them into a small band for the 
 canister and bullets had made 
 frightful ravages in the ranks of 
 the insurgents and placed himself 
 at their head. 
 
 " Forward, forward 1" he shouted 
 as he rushed at the enemy. 
 
 His men followed him with yells 
 of fury. The collision was terrible, 
 the fight fearful ; for four or five 
 minutes a funeral silence brooded 
 over this confused mass of com 
 batants, who attacked' each so 
 savagely. They stabbed each other 
 mercilessly, disdaining to use their 
 firearms, and preferring as a speedier 
 resource, the sharp points of their 
 sabres and bayonets. 
 
 At length the President's troops 
 fell back slightly, the insurgents 
 took advantage of it to redouble 
 their efforts, which were already 
 superhuman, and reached the gen 
 eral's house. The doors were broken 
 open in an instant, and all rushed 
 pell-mell into the courtyard. They 
 were saved ! since they had at last 
 reached the shelter were they hoped 
 to defend themselves. 
 
 At this moment a frightful thing 
 happened ; the gallery commanding 
 the courtyard and the stairs was 
 entirely occupied by soldiers, and 
 so soon as the insurgents appeared, 
 the muskets were pointed down at 
 them, a tornado of fire passed over 
 them like the blast of death; and in 
 a second a mass of corpses covered 
 the ground. 
 
 The insurgents, terrified by this 
 sudden attack, which they were so 
 far from anticipating, hurriedly fell 
 back, instinctively seeking an outlet 
 by which to escape. The tumult 
 then became terrible, and the massa 
 cre assumed the proprotions of an 
 organized butchery. Driven back 
 into the courtyard by the troops 
 who pursued them, and met there by 
 those who had attacked them and 
 now charged at the bayonet point, 
 these wretched men, rendered sense 
 less by terror, did not dream any 
 longer of employing their weapons, 
 but falling on their knees before 
 their executioners, and clasping 
 their trembling hands, they implored 
 the mercy of the troops, who, in 
 toxicated by the smell of blood, and 
 affected by that horrible murder- 
 fever which seizes upon even the 
 coolest man on the battle-field, felled 
 them, like oxen in the shambles, 
 and plunged their sabres and bay 
 onets into their bodies with grins 
 of delight and ferocious laughter, 
 and felt a horrible pleasure in 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 151 
 
 seeing their victims writhe with 
 heart-breaking cries in the last con 
 vulsions of death. 
 
 General Don Sebastian, though 
 wounded, and who seemed to have 
 been protected by a charm through 
 out this scene of carnage, defended 
 himself like a lion against several 
 soldiers, who tried in vain to transfix 
 him with their bayonets. Leaning 
 against a column he whirled his 
 sabre round his head, evidently 
 seeking death, but wishful to sell 
 his life as dearly as possible. 
 
 Suddenly Valentine cleft his way 
 through the combatants, followed 
 by Belhumeur, Black Elk, and 
 Curumilla, who were engaged in 
 warding off the blows the soldiers 
 incessantly made at him, and 
 reached the general. 
 
 " Ah !" the latter said on per 
 ceiving him, "here you are at last, 
 then." 
 
 And he dealt him a terrible blow, 
 but Belhumeur parried it, and 
 Valentine continued to advance. 
 
 " Withdraw," he said to the sol 
 diers who surrounded the general, 
 ''this man belongs to me." 
 
 The soldiers, though they did not 
 know the hunter, intimidated by 
 the accent with which he uttered 
 these words, and recognizing in him 
 one of those rare men who can 
 always impose on common natures, 
 respectfully fell back without mak 
 ing the slightest objection. 
 
 The hunter threw his purse to 
 them. 
 
 "You dare to defy the lion at 
 bay," the general shouted, gnashing 
 his teeth ; " although attacked by 
 dogs, he can still avenge his death." 
 
 "You will not die," the hunter 
 said coldly; "throw away that 
 sabre, which is now useless." 
 
 "Ah, ah!" Don Sebastian said 
 with a grin of rage; "I am not to 
 die ; and why not, pray ?" 
 
 "Because," he answered, in a 
 cutting voice, "death would be a 
 mercy to you, and you must be 
 punished." 
 
 " Oh !" he shrieked, and, blinded 
 by rage, he rushed madly at the 
 hunter. 
 
 The latter, without falling back a 
 step, contented himself with giving 
 a signal. At the same moment a 
 slip-knot fell on the general's shoul 
 ders, and he rolled on the ground 
 with a yell of rage. Curumilla had 
 lassoed him. 
 
 In vain did Don Sebastian at 
 tempt further resistance; after use 
 less efforts he was reduced to" utter 
 impotence, and forced, not only to 
 confess he had been vanquished, but 
 to yield himself to the mercy of 
 his conquerors. The latter, at a 
 sign from Valentine, disarmed him 
 first, and then bound him, so that he 
 could not make the slightest move 
 ment. 
 
 The massacre was ended, the in 
 surrection had been drowned in 
 blood. The few rebels who sur 
 vived the carnage were prisoners; 
 the victors, in the first moment of 
 enthusiasm, had shot several, and it 
 required the most energetic inter 
 ference on the part of the officers to 
 check this rather too summary jus 
 tice. 
 
 At this moment joyous shouts 
 burst forth, and the President of the 
 Republic entered the courtyard at 
 the head of a large staff, glistening 
 with embroidery. 
 
 "Ah, ah !" he said, as he took a 
 contemptuous glance at the general, 
 who had been thrown on the stones, 
 " so this is the man who wished to 
 change the institutions of this coun 
 try?" 
 
 Don Sebastian did not deign to 
 reply ; but he looked at the speaker 
 with such an expression of impla 
 cable hatred, that the President 
 
152 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 could not endure it, and was forced 
 to turn his head away. 
 
 " Did this man surrender ?" he 
 asked one of his officers. 
 
 "No, coward," the general an 
 swered, with clenched teeth, " I will 
 not surrender to hangmen." 
 
 "Take this man to prison with 
 the others," the President continued, 
 " an example must be made ; but 
 take care that they are not insulted 
 by the people." 
 
 " Yes," the general muttered, 
 " ever the same system." 
 
 U A full and entire pardon," the 
 President continued, " will be grant 
 ed to the unhappy men who were led 
 astray, and have recognized their 
 crime. The lesson they have re 
 ceived was rather rough, and I am 
 convinced that it will do ' them 
 good." 
 
 " Clemency after the massacre, 
 that is the usual way," the general 
 said again. 
 
 The President passed without an 
 swering him, and left the courtyard. 
 A few minutes later the prisoners 
 were led away to prison, in spite of 
 the efforts of the exasperated popu 
 lace to massacre them on the road. 
 
 General Don Sebastian Guerrero 
 was one of the first to appear before 
 the tribunal. He disdained any de 
 fence, and during the whole trial 
 preserved a gloomy silence ; he was 
 unceremoniously condemned to be 
 shot, his estates confiscated, and his 
 name was declared infamous. 
 
 So soon as the sentence was re 
 corded, the general was placed in 
 the chapel, where he was to remain 
 three days before execution. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE CAPILLA. 
 
 THE Spanish custom a custom 
 which has been kept up in all the 
 old colonies of that power of plac 
 ing persons condemned to death in 
 a chapel, requires explanation, in 
 order that it may be thoroughly 
 understood and appreciated, as it 
 deserves to be. 
 
 Frenchmen, over wh^rn the great 
 revolution of '93 passed like a hur 
 ricane, and carried off most of their 
 belief in its sanguinary cloak, may 
 smile with pity and regard as a 
 fanatic remainder from another age, 
 this custom of placing the con 
 demned in chapel. Among us, it is 
 true, matters are managed much 
 more simply : a man, when con 
 demned by the law, eats, drinks, 
 and remains alone in his cell. If 
 he desire it, he is visited by the 
 chaplain, whom he is at liberty to 
 converse with, if he likes ; if not, 
 he remains perfectly quiet, and no 
 body pays any attention to him, 
 
 J I 1 1 
 
 during a period more or less long, 
 and determined by the rejection of 
 his appeal. Then, one fine morn 
 ing, when he is least thinking of 
 it, the governor of the prison an 
 nounces to him, when he wakes, as 
 the most simple thing in the world, 
 that he is to be executed that same 
 day, and only an hour is granted 
 him to recommend his soul to the 
 divine clemency. The fatal toilet 
 is made by the executioner and his 
 assistant, the condemned man is 
 placed in a close carriage, conveyed 
 to the place of execution, and in a 
 twinkling launched into eternity, 
 before he has had a moment to look 
 round him. 
 
 Is it right or wrong to act in this 
 way? We dare not answer, yes or 
 no. This question is too difficult to 
 
THE RED TRACK. 
 
 153 
 
 decide, and would lead us the fur 
 ther, because we should begin with 
 asking society by what right it 
 arrogates to itself the power of kill 
 ing one of its members, and thus 
 committing a cold-blooded assassi 
 nation, under the pretext of doing 
 justice ; for we confess that we have 
 ever been among the most deter 
 mined adversaries of punishment by 
 death, as we are persuaded that, in 
 trying to deal a heavy blow, human 
 justice deceives itself, and goes be 
 yond the object, because it avenges 
 when it ought merely to punish. 
 
 We will, therefore, repeat here 
 what we said in a previous work, in 
 explanation of what the Spaniards 
 mean by the phrase " placing in 
 chapel." 
 
 When a m^| is condemned to 
 death, from that moment he is, de 
 facto, cut oft' from that society to 
 which he no longer belongs, through 
 the sentence passed on him ; he is 
 consequently separated from his fel 
 low-men. 
 
 He is shut up in a room, at one , 
 end of which is an altar ; the walls 
 are hung with black drapery, studded 
 with silver tears, and here and there 
 mourning inscriptions, drawn from 
 Holy Writ. Near his bed is placed 
 the coffin in which his body is to be 
 deposited after execution, while two 
 priests, who relieve each other, but 
 of whom one constantly remains in 
 the room, say mass in turn, and ex 
 hort the criminal to repent of his 
 crimes, and implore divine clemency. 
 This custom, which, if carried to an 
 extreme, would appear in our coun 
 try before all, barbarous and cruel, 
 perfectly agrees with Spanish man 
 ners, and the thoroughly believing 
 spirit of this impressionable nation; 
 it is intended to draw the culprit 
 back to pious thought, and rarely 
 fails to produce the desired effect 
 upon him. 
 
 The general was, therefore, placed 
 in capilla, and two monks belong 
 ing to the order of St. "Francis, the 
 most respected, and, in fact, respect 
 able in Mexico, entered it with him. 
 
 The first hours he passed there 
 were terrible; this proud rnind, 
 this powerful organization, revolted 
 against adversity, and would not 
 accept defeat. Gloomy and silent, 
 with frowning brows, and fists 
 clenched on his bosom, the general 
 sought shelter like a wild beast in a 
 corner of the room, recalling his 
 whole life, and seeing with starts of 
 terror the bloody victims scattered 
 along his path, and sacrificed in 
 turn to his devouring ambition, 
 sadly defile before him. 
 
 Then he reverted to his early 
 years. When residing at the Pal 
 mar, his magnificent family hacienda, 
 his life passed away calm, pure, 
 gentle, and tranquil, without re 
 grets, and without desires, among 
 his faithful servants. Then, he was 
 so glad to be nothing, and to wish 
 to be nothing. 
 
 By degrees his thoughts folio ved 
 the bias of his recollections: the 
 present was effaced ; his contracted 
 features grew softer, and two burn 
 ing tears, the first, perhaps, this 
 man of iron had ever shed, slowly 
 coursed down his cheeks, which 
 grief had hallowed. 
 
 The monks, calm and contem 
 plative, had eagerly followed the 
 successive changes on this emi 
 nently expressive face. They com 
 prehended that their mission of 
 consolation was beginning, and ap 
 proached the general softly, and 
 wept with him ; then this man, 
 whom nothing had been able to 
 subdue, felt his soul torn asunder ; 
 the cloud that covered his eyes 
 melted away like the winter snow 
 before the first sunbeam, and ho 
 fell into the arms open to receive 
 
154 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 him, exclaiming, with an expression 
 of desperate grief impossible to 
 render 
 
 " Have mercy, heaven ! have 
 mercy !" 
 
 The struggle had been short but 
 terrible ; faith had conquered doubt, 
 and humanity had regained its 
 rights. 
 
 The general then had with the 
 monks a conversation, protracted 
 far into the night, in whicfh he con 
 fessed all his crimes and sins, and 
 humbly asked pardon of God whom 
 he had outraged, and before whom 
 he was about to appear. 
 
 The next day, a little after sun 
 rise, one of the monks, who had 
 been absent about an hour, returned, 
 bringing with him the general's 
 capataz. It had only been with ex 
 treme reluctance that Carnero had 
 consented to come, for he justly 
 dreaded his old master's reproaches. 
 
 Hence his surprise was extreme 
 at being received with a smile, and 
 kindly, and on finding that the 
 general did not make the slightest 
 allusion to his treachery, which the 
 evidence before the court-rnartial had 
 fully revealed. 
 
 Carnero looked inquiringly at the 
 two monks, for he did not dare put 
 faith in his master's words, and each 
 moment expected to hear him burst 
 out into reproaches. But nothing of 
 the sort took place ; the general con 
 tinued the conversation as he had 
 begun it, speaking to him gently and 
 kindly. 
 
 At the moment when the capataz 
 was about to withdraw, the general 
 stopped him. 
 
 ''One moment," he said to him; 
 "you know Don Valentine, the 
 French hunter, for a time I so long 
 cherished an insensate hatred ?" 
 
 " Yes," Carnero stammered. 
 
 " Be kind enough to ask him to 
 grant me the favor of a short visit ; 
 
 he is a noble-hearted man, and I am 
 convinced that he will not refuse to- 
 come. I should be glad if he con 
 sented to bring with him Don Mar 
 tial, the Tigrero, who has so much 
 cause to complain of me, as well as 
 my niece, Dona Anita de Torres. 
 Will you undertake this commis 
 sion, the last I shall doubtless give 
 you ?" 
 
 "Yes, general," the capataz an 
 swered, affected in spite of himself 
 by such gentleness. 
 
 " Now go ; be happy and pray 
 for me, for we shall never meet 
 again." 
 
 The capataz went out in a very 
 different frame of mind from that in 
 which he had entered the capilla, and 
 hastened off to Valentine. The 
 hunter was not at ffcrne, for he had 
 gone to the presidential palace, but 
 he returned almost immediately. 
 The capataz gave the message which 
 his old master had entrusted him 
 with for him. 
 
 " I will go," the hunter said sim 
 ply, and he dismissed him. 
 
 Curumilla was at once sent off to 
 Mr. E-allier's quinta with a letter, 
 and during his absence Valentine 
 had a long conversation with Belhu- 
 meur and Black Elk. At about five 
 in the evening, a carriage entered 
 the courtyard of Valentine's house 
 at a gallop ; it contained Mr. Rallicr, 
 Anita, and Don Martial. 
 
 "Thanks!" he said, on seeing 
 them. 
 
 " You ordered me to come, so I 
 obeyed as usual," the Tigrero an 
 swered. 
 
 " You were right, my friend." 
 
 "And now what do you want of 
 us?" 
 
 " That you should accompany me 
 to the place whither I am going at 
 this moment." 
 
 "Would it be indiscreet to ask 
 you " 
 
THE BED TRACK. 
 
 155 
 
 " Where ?" the hunter interrupted 
 him with a laugh. '-Not at all; 
 I am going to lead you, Dona Anita, 
 and the persons here present, to the 
 capilla in which General Guerrero is 
 confined." 
 
 "The capilla?" the Tigrero ex 
 claimed in amazement, "for what 
 purpose ?" 
 
 " What does that concern you ? 
 The general has requested to see 
 you, and you cannot refuse the re 
 quest of a man who has but a few 
 hours left to live." 
 
 The Tigrero hung his head with 
 out answering. 
 
 "Oh! I will go!" Dona Anita 
 exclaimed impulsively, as she wiped 
 away the tears that ran down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " You are a woman, senorita, and 
 therefore good 'and indulgent," the 
 ( hunter said ; then turning to the 
 ' Tigrero, he said with a slight accent 
 of reproach, "you have not yet an 
 swered me, Don Martial." 
 
 " Since you insist, Don Valentine, 
 I will go," he at length answered, 
 with an effort. 
 
 " I do not insist, my friend ; I 
 only ask, that is all." 
 
 "Come, Martial, I implore you," 
 Dona Anita said to him gently. 
 
 " Your will be done in this as in 
 all other things," he said. "I am 
 ready to follow you, Don Valentine." 
 
 Valentine, Dona Anita, Mr. Ral- 
 lier, and Don Martial got into the 
 carriage. The two Canadians and 
 the chief followed them on horse 
 back, and they proceeded at a gallop 
 to the chapel where the condemned 
 man was confined. 
 
 All along the road they found 
 marks of the obstinate struggle 
 which had deluged the city with 
 blood a few days previously; the 
 barricades had not been entirely 
 removed, and though the distance 
 was, in reality, very short, they did 
 
 not reach the prison till nightfall, 
 owing to the detours they were 
 forced to make. 
 
 Valentine begged his friends to 
 remain outside, and only entered 
 with Dona Anita and the Tigrero. 
 The general was impatiently expect 
 ing them, and testified a great joy 
 on perceiving them. 
 
 The young lady could not restrain 
 her emotion, and threw herself into 
 her uncle's arms with an outburst of 
 passionate grief. The general pressed 
 her tenderly to his bosom, and kissed 
 her on the forehead. 
 
 "I am the more affected by these 
 marks of affection, my child," he 
 said, with much emotion, "because 
 I have been very harsh to you. 
 Can you ever forgive me the suffer 
 ings I have caused you ?" 
 
 " Oh, uncle, speak not so. Are 
 you not, alas ! the only relation I 
 have remaining?" 
 
 " For a very short time," he said, 
 with a sad smile, " that is the reason 
 why I ought, without further delay, 
 to provide for your future." 
 
 " Do not talk about that at such a 
 moment, uncle," she continued, 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 " On the contrary, my child, it is 
 at this moment, when I am going to 
 leave you, that I am bound to insure 
 you a protector. Don Martial, I 
 have done you great wrong; here is 
 my hand ; accept it as that of a man 
 who has completely recognized his 
 faults, and sincerely repents the evil 
 he has done." 
 
 The Tigrero, more affected than 
 he liked to display, took a step for 
 ward, and cordially pressed the hand 
 offered him. 
 
 "General," he said, in a voice 
 which he tried in vain to render 
 firm, "this moment, which I never 
 dared hope to see, fills me with 
 joy, but at the same time with 
 grief." 
 
156 
 
 THE BED TRACK. 
 
 " Well, you can do something for 
 me by proving to me that you have 
 really forgiven me." 
 
 " Speak, general, and if it is in my 
 power ," he exclaimed warmly. 
 
 "I believe so," Don Sebastian an 
 swered, with his sad smile. " Con 
 sent to accept my niece from my 
 hand, and marry her at once in this 
 chapel." 
 
 "Oh, general !" he began, choking 
 with emotion. 
 
 "Uncle, at this awful moment!" 
 the young lady murmured, timidly. 
 
 "Allow me the supreme consola 
 tion of dying under the knowledge 
 that you are happy. Don Valen 
 tine, you have doubtless brought 
 some of your friends with you ?'' 
 
 "They are awaiting your com 
 mands, general," the hunter an 
 swered. 
 
 " Let them come in, in that case, 
 for time presses." 
 
 One of the monks had prepared 
 every thing beforehand. 
 
 When the hunters and the French 
 banker entered, followed by Curu- 
 millaj and the officer commanding 
 the capilla guard, who had been 
 warned beforehand, the general 
 walked eagerly toward them. 
 
 "Senores," he said, "I would ask 
 you to do me the honor of witness 
 ing the marriage of rny niece, Dona 
 Anita de Torres, with this cabal- 
 lero." 
 
 The new-comers bowed respect 
 fully. At a signal from one of the 
 Franciscans they knelt down and 
 the ceremony began. It lasted 
 hardly twenty minutes, but never 
 had a marriage mass been read or 
 listened to with more pious fervor. 
 When it was ended, the witnesses 
 wished to retire. 
 
 "One moment, senores, if you 
 please," the general said, to them. 
 "I now wish to make you witnesses 
 of a great reparation." 
 
 They stopped, and the general 
 walked up to Valentine. 
 
 "Caballero," he said to him, "I 
 know all the motives of hatred you 
 have against me, and those motives 
 I allow to be just. I am now in the 
 same position in which I placed 
 Count de Prebois Crance, your dear 
 est friend. Like him, I shall be shot 
 to-morrow at daybreak; but with 
 this difference, that he fell as a mar 
 tyr to a holy cause, and innocent of 
 the crimes of which I accused him, 
 while I am guilty, and have de 
 served the sentence passed on me. 
 Don Valentine, I repent from the 
 bottom of my heart the iniquitous 
 murder of your friend. Don Val 
 entine, do you forgive me?" 
 
 "General Don Sebastian Guer 
 rero, I forgive you the murder of 
 my friend," the hunter answered, in 
 a firm voice. "I forgive you the 
 life of grief to which I am hence 
 forth condemned by you." 
 
 "You pardon me unreservedly?" 
 
 " Unreservedly I do." 
 
 "Thanks! We were made to 
 love instead of hate each other. I 
 misunderstood you ; but yours is a 
 great and noble heart. Now, let 
 death come, and I shall accept it 
 gladly; for I feel convinced that 
 God will have pity on me on ac 
 count of my sincere repentance. 
 Be happy, niece, with the husband 
 of your choice. Senores/ all, accept 
 my thanks. Don Valentine, once 
 more I thank you ; and now leave 
 me all, for I no longer belong to 
 the world, so let me think of my 
 salvation." 
 
 " But one word," Valentine said. 
 " General, I have forgiven you, and 
 it is now my turn to ask your par 
 don. I have deceived you." 
 
 " Deceived me !" 
 
 "Yes: take this paper. The 
 President of the Kepublic, employ 
 ing his sovereign right of mercy, 
 
THE KED TRACK. 
 
 157 
 
 has, on my pressing entreaty, re 
 voked the sentence passed on you. 
 You are free." 
 
 His hearers burst into a cry of 
 admiration. 
 
 The general turned pale ; he tot 
 tered, and for a moment it was 
 fancied that he was about to fall. 
 A cold perspiration stood on his 
 temples. Dona Anita sprang for 
 ward to support him, but he re 
 pulsed her gently, and, with a great 
 effort, exclaimed, in a choking 
 voice 
 
 " Don Valentine, Don Valentine, 
 such then is your revenge. Oh, 
 blind, blind that I was to form such 
 an erroneous opinion of you ! You 
 condemn me to live. Well, be it 
 so ; I accept, and will not deceive 
 your expectations. Fathers," he 
 said, turning to the monks, lead 
 me to your monastery. General 
 Guerrero is dead, and henceforth I 
 shall be a monk of your order." 
 
 Don Sebastian's conversion was 
 sincere. Grace had touched him, 
 and he persevered. Two months 
 after professing, he died in the 
 Franciscan Monastery, crushed by 
 remorse and worn out by the cruel 
 penance he inflicted on himself. 
 
 Two days after the scene we have 
 described, Valentine and his com 
 panions left Mexico, and returned 
 to Sonora. - On reaching the fron 
 tier, the hunter, in spite of the. 
 pressing entreaties of his friends, 
 separated from them, and returned 
 to the desert. 
 
 Don Martial and Dona Anita set 
 tled in Mexico, near the Ralliers. 
 A month after Valentine's depart 
 ure, Dona Helena returned to the 
 
 convent, and at the end of a year, 
 in spite of the entreaties of her 
 family, who were surprised at so 
 strange a resolution, which nothing 
 apparently explained, the young 
 lady took the vows. 
 
 When I met Valentine Guillois 
 on the banks of the Rio Joaquin, 
 some time after the events recorded 
 in this long story, he was going 
 with Curumilla to attempt a hazard 
 ous expedition across the Eocky 
 Mountains, from which, he said to 
 me, with that soft, melancholy smile 
 which he generally assumed when 
 speaking to me, he hoped never to 
 
 return. 
 
 ##-## 
 
 I accompanied him for several 
 days, and then we were compelled 
 to separate. He pressed my hand, 
 and, followed by his dumb friend, 
 he entered the mountains. For a 
 long time I looked after him, for I 
 involuntarily felt my heart con 
 tracted by a sad foreboding. He 
 turned round for the last time, waved 
 his hand in farewell, and disappeared 
 round a bend of the track. 
 
 I was fated never to see him again. 
 
 Since then nothing has been heard 
 of him, or of Curumilla. All my 
 endeavors to join them, or even ob 
 tain news of them, were vain. 
 
 Are they still living? no one 
 can say. Darkness has settled down 
 over these two magnificent men, and 
 time itself will, in all probability, 
 never remove the vail that conceals 
 their fate; for all, unhappily, leads 
 me to suppose that they perished in 
 that gloomy expedition from, which 
 Valentine hoped, alas ! never to re 
 turn. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 10 
 
16 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PTJBLICA1IONS. 
 
 NEW AND GOOD BOOKS. 
 
 Price Twenty-Jive cents each. 
 
 Legends of Mexico. Palo Alto, Reaaca de la 
 Pivlma, Monterey, Buena Vista, Camp iu the Wilder 
 ness, etc. By George Lippard, author of "The 
 Quaker City," " Legends of the American Revolu 
 tion," "Blanche of Brandy wine," " The Ladye of 
 Albarone," "The Jesuit's Daughter," etc. 
 
 Madison's Exposition of Odd-Fellow- 
 sliip. Exposition of the Foriu aud Usages of the 
 Lodges of the Independent Order of Odd-Fellowg, 
 
 , -with a full account of the Cereuiouies of Initiation. 
 Full of illustrations, representing a new member 
 going through the various grades of initiation. 
 
 GJiost Stories for the Million ? being Re 
 markable Apparitions and Ghost Stories, or Authen 
 tic History of communications with the Unseen, 
 World ; containing also, accounts of Spiritual Warn 
 ings, Haunted Houses and Places, Prophecies, Vis 
 ions, etc., full of illustrative engravings. 
 
 Rose Warrington j or, the Daguerreotype Mini 
 ature. A true Tale in real life. By A. J. H. Uu- 
 irauue, author of "Mysteries of the Three Cities: 
 Boston, New York, aud Philadelphia." 
 
 The Ladies' Science of Etiquette, to 
 which is added, the Ladies' Hand-Book of 
 the Toilet; a Manual of Elegance and Fashion. 
 By the Countess De Calabrella, with her portrait. 
 
 The Gentleman's Science of Etiquette ; 
 
 ii Guide to the Usages aud Habits of Society, with a 
 glance at Bad Habits. " Manners makes the Man." 
 By Count Alfred D'Orsay, with his portrait. 
 
 Jack Downing's Letters. By Major Jack 
 
 Downing, with portrait of Jack Downing in his study. 
 Diary of a London Physician. Second 
 
 Series. By the author of "Ten. Thousand A- Year." 
 
 Illustrated. 
 Grace Dudley $ or, Arnold at Saratoga. 
 
 By Charles J. Peterson. Illustrated. 
 
 The Valley Farm; or, the Autobiography of an. 
 
 Orphan. By Charles J. Peterson. 
 Bell Brandon. A Tale of the Affections. A $300 
 
 Prize Novel. By P. Hamilton Myers. 
 Ella Stratford; or, the Orphan Child. 
 
 By the Countess of Blessiugtou. 
 
 The Beautiful French Girl ; or, the Daugh 
 ter of Monsieur Foutaubleau. A Thrilling Novel. 
 Josephine ; or, the Edict and the Escape. A Tale 
 
 of 1*V2. By Grace Aguilar. 
 The Emigrant Squire. By P. Hamilton 
 
 Myers, author of " Bell Brandon," etc. 
 Edgar Montrose ; or, the Mysterious 
 
 Penitent. By George W. M. Reynolds. 
 The Oxonians. A Sequel to the "Rone, or the 
 
 Hazards of Women." By Sir E. L. Bulwer. 
 The Roue ; or, the Hazards of Women. 
 
 By Sir E. L. Bulwer. 
 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground. A Christmas and New- 
 Year's Story. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 Philip In Search of a Wife. By a Gentleman 
 Butterfly. A Book for all to read. 
 
 Sybil Grey ; or, the Triumphs of Virtue over Vice, 
 
 A Romance of the Opera. 
 Rollick's Family Physician; or, How to 
 
 Heal the Sick in all Diseases. By Dr. Rollick. 
 
 The Nobleman's Daughter. By Mrs. Norton., 
 Eva St. Clalr. By G. P. R. James. 
 Agnes Grey. By author of "Jane Eyre," 
 Robert Oakland* $ or, the Outcast Or 
 
 plxau. By Leigh Ritchie. 
 
 Abeduego, the Money Lender. By Mrs. Gore. 
 The H tinted House. By Charles Dickens. 
 Falkland. By Sir E. L. Bulwer. 
 The Courtier. By Sir E. L. Bulwer. 
 Christmas Carols. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR'S SERIES. 
 
 Price Twenty-Jive cents each.. 
 The Lady at Home. 
 Year after Marriage. 
 Cecilia Howard. 
 Orphan Children. 
 Love In High Life. 
 
 Debtor's Daughter* 
 Agnes; or, The Possessed. 
 Love iu a Cottage. 
 Mary More ton. 
 
 The Divorced Wife. 
 The Two Brides. 
 Lucy Sandford. 
 The Banker's IV in-. 
 The Two Merchants. 
 Insubordination. 
 
 Trial and Triumph. 
 The Iron Rule. 
 Pride and Prudence. 
 
 LANGUAGES MADE EAST. 
 
 Price Twenty-five cents each. 
 
 French -without a Master. In Six Easy Les 
 sons. By A. H. Monteith, Esq. 
 
 Spanish without a Master. In Four Easy 
 Lessons By A. H. Mouteitb, Esq. 
 
 German without a Master. In Six Easy 
 Lessons. By A. H. Monteith, Esq. 
 
 Latin without a Master. In Six Easy Lesson?. 
 By A. H. Monteith, Esq. 
 
 Italian without a Master. In Five Easy 
 Lessons. 
 
 ETIQ,UETTE AND USEFUL BOOKS. 
 
 Price Twenty-five cents each. 
 
 Lardner's One Thousand and Ten 
 Things Worth Knowing. A Book clearly 
 explaining how to do rightly everything in the Par 
 lor, Kitchen, or Dressing-Room, with information, 
 receipts aud instruction of practical use to all. 
 
 Kuowlson's Complete Farrier, or Horse 
 Doctor ; a Treatise on the Diseases of Horses, 
 written in plain language, which those who can 
 read may easily understand. The whole being the 
 result of seventy years extensive practice of the au 
 thor, John C. Knowlson. Many recipes in this book 
 are worth One Hundred Dollars to any one. 
 
 Knowlson's Complete Cow or Cattte 
 Doctor, a Treatise ou the Diseases of Horned 
 Cattle and Calves, written iu plain language, so all 
 can understand it. By John C. Knowlson. 
 
 The Complete Kitchen and Fruit Gar 
 dener, for popular and general use. , 
 
 The Complete Florist and Flower Gar 
 dener, lor popular and practical use. 
 
 MILITARY BOOKS. 
 
 U. S. Government Infantry and Rifle 
 Tactics, with complete i instructions and sixty-five 
 Illustrated figures of the drill, manoeuvres, and posi 
 tions adopted by the War Department for the use of 
 the Infantry of the United States. 
 
 Ellsworth's " Zouave Drill" and Biog 
 raphy. A Complete Manual of Arms; also the 
 complete Manual of the Sword and Sabre. By Col. 
 E. E. Ellsworth, late Colonel of the Chicago Zouaves. 
 
 United States Light Infantry Drill. 
 A Complete Drill Book of Rtae and Light Infantry 
 Tactics as used iu the U. S. Army at the present day. 
 
 The Soldier's Companion, for the use of all 
 Officers and Soldiers in the sorvice of the United 
 States, in the camp, field, or ou tho march. 
 
 The Soldier's Guide. A Complete Manual and 
 Drill Book, for the use of Soldier- and Volunteers. 
 
 ^w.v.w. 1>J VyUAIICa LMV^BUB. I/Fill I>OOK, IOTLIIO HSU "I DUIdlBr* it It ' I I ' 1 U II ler I 3. 
 
 Booksellers and News Agents, etc., will be supplied with any of above at very Low Kates. 
 
 of the above works will be sent by Mail, free of Postage, to any part of the TTnited 
 States, ou mailing price of ones wanted, in a letter, to T, B. Peterson & Brothers, Philada- 
 
T, B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 THIS CATALOGUE CONTAINS AND 
 
 DESCRIBES THE MOST POPULAR AND BEST SELLING BOOKS IN THE WORLD, 
 
 The Books will also be found to be the Best and Latest Publications by the mostPopular and Cele 
 brated Writers in the World. They are also tho most Eeadablj and Entertaining Books published. 
 
 Suitable for the Parlor, Library, Sitting Room, Railroad, Steamboat, or Soldiers' Reading. 
 
 Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia,' 
 g^ Booksellers and News Agents, etc., will be Supplied at very Low Rates. "g 
 
 Copies of any of Petersons' Publications, or any other work or works Advertised, Published, or 
 Koticadby anyone at all, ia aay place, will ba sent by us, Frea of Postage, on receipt of Price. 
 ! : To those with whom we have no monthly account, Cash with order .""Qa 
 
 CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS. ' 
 The Planter's Northern Bride. Two vols., 
 
 paper cover. Price One Dollar ; or $1.50 iu cloth. 
 Linda. The Young Pilot of the Bell* 
 
 Creole. Price $1.00 iu paper ; or $1.50 iu cloth. 
 Robert Graham. The Sequel to, ami Continua 
 tion of Li uda. Price $1.00 in paper ; or $1.50 iu cloth. 
 The Lost Daughter. Two vols., paper cover. 
 
 Price One Dollar ; or bound in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 Courtship and Marriage. -Two voK, pupor 
 
 cover. Price Oue Dollar ; or iu oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 Rena; or, The Snow Bird. Two vols., paper 
 
 cover. Price Ona Dollar; or oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 Marcus Warland. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price Oue Dollar; or bound ia oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 Love after Marriage. Two vols., paper covf-r. 
 
 Price Oue Dollar; or iu one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 The Planter's Daughter. Two vols., paper 
 
 cover. Price Oue Dollar ; or in oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 Eoliiie; or, Magnolia Vale. Two vols., paper 
 
 cover. Price One Dollar ; or in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 The Banished Son. Two vols., paper cover. 
 
 Price Oue Dollar ; or iu one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 Helen and Arthur. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price Oue Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1 .50. 
 Ernest Linwood. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price Oue Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 DIRS. HENRY WOOD'S WORKS. 
 The Shadow of Ashlydyat. Two vols., papct 
 
 cover. Price Oue Dollar; or in one vol., cloth, $1.2.1 
 Squire Trevlyn's Heir. Two volume*, papot 
 
 cover. Price One Dollar ; or one vol., cloth, for *1 2.1. 
 The Castle's Heir. Two vols , octavo, paper r<w 
 
 ver. Price One Dollar; or in one vol., cloth, for 41. 23. 
 
 MRS. SOUTHWORTH'S WORKS. 
 
 Love's Labor \Voii. Two voU., paper cover. 
 i'i.ce Cue Dollar; or ill one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 TJe Glpy's Prophecy. Complete ia two vols., 
 paper cover. Price $1.00 ; or in oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Mother-ln-Law. Complete in two volumes, pa 
 per cover. Price $1.00 ; or in oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Tlie Haunted Homestead. Two vols., paper 
 cover. Price One Dollar ; or iu one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The Lady of the Isle. Complete in two vols., 
 paper cover. Price $1.00 ; or in oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The Tvro Sisters. Complete in two volumes, pa 
 per cover. Price $1.00; or iu oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The Tlirce Beauties. Complete in two vols., 
 papercover. Price$1.00; or in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Vivla. The Secret of Power. Two vols., pa 
 per cover. Price $1.00; or iu one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 India. The Pearl of Pearl River. Two 
 vols., paper cover. Price $1.00 ; or in cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Wife's Victory. Two vols., paper cover. 
 Price Oue Dollar; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Lost Heiress. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Missing Bride. Two volumes, papet cover. 
 Price Oue Dollar; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Retribution: A Tale of Passion. Two vols., 
 papercover. Price $1.00; or in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The Curse of Clifton. Two vols., paper cover. 
 
 Price Oue Dollar ; or iu one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 The Discarded Daughter. Two vols., paper 
 
 cover. Price Oue Dollar; or in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 The Deserted Wife. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price Oue Dollar; or in oue volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 The Jealous Husband. Two volumes, paper 
 
 cover. Price $1.00; or in oue vol., cloth, for $1.50. 
 Courtship and Matrimony. Two vols., paper 
 
 cover. PriceOue Dollar; oriu one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 Tie Belle of Washington. Two vols., paper 
 
 cover. PriceOue Dollar; or in oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 The Initials. A Love Story. Two vols.. paper 
 
 cover. Price One Dollar ; or in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 Kate Avlesford. Two vols., paper cover. Pric 
 
 One Dollar; or bound in one vol., cloth, for $1.50. 
 The Dead Secret. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price Oue Dollar ; or bound in oue vol.. cloth, $1.50. 
 Hickory Hall. By Mrs. Southworth. Price 50 cts. 
 The Broken Engagement. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MRS. AN.V S. STEPHENS' WORKS. 
 
 T'e Heiress. Two volumes, paper cover. Price 
 
 One Dollar; or In one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 Mary Dertvent. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price One Dollar ; or in one- volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 Kwshlon and Famine. Two volumes, paper 
 
 cover. Price $1 .00 ; or in one vol., cloth, (J1.50. 
 The Old Homestead. Two volumes, paper 
 
 cover. Price One Dollar; or in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Verner's Pride. Two vols., octavo, papercover, 
 
 Price One Dollar; or in oue vol., cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 We also publish a " Kailway Edition" of the above, 
 
 each one in one vol , paper cover. Price Oue D i!ar. 
 
 The Karl's Heirs. One volume, octavo, pappr 
 
 cover. Price Fifty cents ; or oue vol., cloth, 75 CIH. 
 
 The Mystery. One vol., octavo, paper over. 
 
 Fifty cents ; or bound in one vol., cloth, 75 ceuts. 
 A Life's Secret. One vol., octavo, paper cover. 
 
 Price Fifty eeuts ; or in one vol., cloth, 75 cent*. 
 The Channingg. One vol., octavo, paper cover. 
 
 Price 75 cents; or in one vol., cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Aurora Floyd. One vol.. octavo, paper cover, 
 
 Price 50 cents; or a fiuer edition, in cloth, for $1 00 
 
 Better for Worse. One volume. Price 50 cents 
 
 The Foggy Night at Offord. Price 25 cents 
 
 W. H. MAXWELL'S WORKS. 
 Stories of Waterloo. One of the best books H 
 
 the English language. One vol. Price Fifty cents. 
 Brian O'Lynn ; or. Luck is Everything. Com 
 plete in one volume. Price 50 cents. 
 \Vild Sports in the West. Price 50 cents. 
 
 
 Copies of any of the above Works will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on Keceipt of the Price. 
 
 (3) 
 
T B PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 MISS PARDOE'S WORKS. 
 
 Confessions of a Pretty AVoman. By 
 
 AIi.is i'ardoe.. Complete iu oue large octavo volume. 
 
 1'nce Fifty cents. 
 TUe Jealous Wife. By Miss Purdoo. Complete 
 
 iu one lai'ije ocuivo Volume. Price i'my ceuls. 
 The Wife's Trials. By Mi MX Pardt>. Com- 
 
 iin'ti: iu ^ uo 1-irgd ociavo volume. 1'nuo Jj'iiiy ceuis. 
 TJie Rival Beauties. By Miss Panloe. Com 
 plete in one lar^e octavo volume. Price Fifty IVUK. 
 Romance of tUe Harem. By Miss Panloe. 
 
 Complete in oue large octavo vol. Price. ijl;y cents. 
 Miss Pardoe's Complete Works. Tlii* 
 
 comprises the wholt of the iiltooe Five work-i, mid 
 
 are bound in cloth, yilt, in one Itirye octaeu wlumu. 
 
 Price $-2.50. 
 Tlte Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe. Two vols. 
 
 p.iper. Price $1.00 ; or in oue vol., cloth, for SI. JO. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED OCTAVO EDITION. 
 
 Pickwick Papers. Oue vol., cloth, $2.00 
 
 Nicholas Nickleby. One vol., cloth, 2.00 
 
 Great Expectations. One vol., cloth, 2.00 
 
 Lamplighter's Story. One vol., cloth,.... 2.00 
 
 David Copperfleld. One vol., cloth, 2.00 
 
 Oliver Twist. One volume, cloth, 2.00 
 
 Bieak House. Oue vol., cloth 2.00 
 
 Little Dorrlt. One vol., cloth, 2.00 
 
 Dombey ami Son. One vol., cloth 2.00 
 
 Sketches by "Box." One vol., cloth, 2.00 
 
 Barnaby Rudge. Oue vol., cloth 2.00 
 
 Martin Chnzzlewlt. One vol., cloth, 2.00 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop. One vol., cloth, 2.00 
 
 Christmas Stories. Oiie vol., cloth 2.00 
 
 Dickens' New Stories. One vol., cloth,.... 2.00 
 A Tale of Two Cities. One vol., cloth,.... 2.00 
 American Notes and Pic-Nlc Papers. 2.00 
 
 Pri.-o of a set, in Black cloth, in 17 volumes $32.00 
 
 ' " Full Law Library style 4'2 00 
 
 t> Half calf, or Half Turkey 48.00 
 
 " Half calf, marbled edge* :">.(> 
 
 Half calf, antique 60.00 
 
 < Half calf, full gilt backs, etc 60.00 
 
 PEOPLE'S DUODECIMO EDITION. 
 
 Pickwick Papers. One vol, cloth, $1.75 
 
 Nicholas Nlckleby. One vol., cloth, 1.75 
 
 Oreat Expectations. Oue vol., cloth, 1.7.5 
 
 Lamplighter's Story. One vol., cloth,.... 1.73 
 
 David Copperfteld. One vol., cloth, 1.7.1 
 
 Oliver Twist. One vol., cloth 1.73 
 
 Bleak House. One vol., cloth 1.75 
 
 Little Dorrlt. Oue vol., cloth, 1.75 
 
 Dombey and Son. Oue vol., cloth 1.75 
 
 Christmas Stories. Oue vol., cloth, 1.73 
 
 Sketches by " Boz." One vol., cloth, 1.75 
 
 Barnaby Rndge. Oue vol., cloth 1 73 
 
 Martin Chiiizlewit. Oue vol., cloth, 1.7.5 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop. One vol., cloth, 1.75 
 
 A Tale of Two Cities. One vol., cloth,... 1.7.5 
 Dickens' New Stories. Oue vol.. cloth,... 1.50 
 Dickens' Short Stories. Oue vol., cloth, 1.50 
 Message from the Sea. One vol., cloth,... 1.00 
 
 Price of aset, in Bl ick cloth, in 17 volumes $2900 
 
 ' " Full Law Library style 3TOO 
 
 " " Half calf, or Half Turkey 42.00 
 
 ' " Half calf, marbled edges, 41. no 
 
 " " Half calf, antique 50.0') 
 
 " " Half calf, full j;ilt backs, etc .50 On 
 
 " " Full calf, antique 60 no 
 
 " " Full calf, gilt edges, backs, etc.. CO.OO 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS. 
 
 DUODECIMO ILLUSTRATED EDITION. 
 
 Pickwick Papers. Two vols., cloth 3.0t 
 
 A Talc- of Two Cities. Two vols., cloth,.. 3.00 
 
 Nicholas Nic-kleby. Two vols., cloth, .".('0 
 
 Da vid Copperflvld. Two vols., cloth, 3."0 
 
 Oliver Twist. Two volumes, cloth, 3.00 
 
 (' .iris! ma Siories. Two volumes, cloth,.. 3.l<0 
 
 U -alc House. Two volumes, cloth, ' l/cj 
 
 Little Dorrit. Two volumes, cloth 3.00- 
 
 Dombey aid Son. Two volumes, cloth, S.oo 
 
 Sketches by "Boz." Two volumes, cloth, 3.00 
 
 Barnaby Rudge. Two volumes, cloth, :!. -' 
 
 Martin Chiizzlewit. Two vols., cloth, 3.00 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop. Two vols., cloth 3.00 
 
 Great Expectations. Ono vol.. cloth 1.7."> 
 
 Lamplighter's Story. Oue vol., tloth,.... 1.75 
 Dickens' Ne-v Stories. One vol., cloth,... 1.7.1 
 Message from the Sea. One vol., cloth,.. 1.7.5 
 
 Price of a set, iu Thirty volumes, bound in 
 
 Black cloth, h'lk backs $i:,.00 
 
 " " Full Law Library style S5.00 
 
 " " Half calf, antique 9t).0l) 
 
 " " Half calf, full K ilt back 00 <>0 
 
 " Full calf, antique 100.00 
 
 " " Full call', giit edges, bucks, etc. 101' 00 
 
 CHEAP EDITION, PAPEK COVER. 
 This edition is published complete iu Tweuty-f'> 
 large octavo volumes, in paper o*ver, as follows. Pri'1 
 Fifty cents a volume. 
 Pickwick Papers. , 
 Great Expectations. 
 
 A Tale of Two Cities. 
 New Years' Stories. 
 Barnaby Rndgc. 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop. 
 
 Little Dorrlt. 
 David Copperfleld. 
 
 Sketches by " Boz." 
 
 Dickens' Neiv Stories. 
 American Notes. 
 Oliver Twist. 
 
 Lamplighter's Story. 
 Dombey and Sou. 
 Nicholas Nickleby. 
 Holiday Stories. 
 
 Martin Chiizzlewit* 
 Bleak House. 
 
 Dickens' Short Stories. 
 Message from the Sea. 
 Christmas Stories. 
 Pie-Nic Papers. 
 
 LIBRAET OCTAVO EDITION. IX 7 VOLUMES. 
 This edition is in SEVEX very large octavo voluin.-, 
 
 wilh a Portrait on steel of Charles Dickeus.aud bouud 
 
 in the following vari ussiyles. 
 
 Price of a set, in T.lack Cloih. in seven volumes, .$1-1 01 
 
 ^carli-t cl.'tli. cxtni, 150') 
 
 " " Law Library style, 17.. -.> 
 
 " Half Turkey, or half calf, "'" ' 
 
 " ; Hid fcaif, m'ai bled odsjes, 2I.C' 
 
 ' Half rait', :mtiqnp, ""> - 1 
 
 ' Half calf, full gilt backs, etc...... 2J.OO 
 
 DR. HOLLICK'S \VORKS. 
 
 Dr.Hollick's Anatomy and Physiology ; 
 
 with a lariro Dissected Plate of the Unman Figure. 
 Price Oue Dollar and Twenty-Five cents, bound. 
 Dr. Hollick's Family Physician. A Pocket 
 
 Guide for Everybody. Price 25 ceuts. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Vftrks will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on Beceipt of the Price. 
 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS. 
 
 Fine Edition, bound gepurattlu, 
 
 Charles O'Malley, fine edition, cloth, $1.50 
 
 Harry Lorrequer, Hue edition, cloth, 1.30 
 
 Jack Million, fine edition, cloth, 1.50 
 
 lj;i\ t uport Lsiinii, line edition, cloth, 1.50 
 
 Tom Burke of Onrs, flue, edition, cloth 1.50 
 
 Arthnr O'Leary, fine edition, cloth, '1.50 
 
 Con Cregau, fine edition, cloth, 1.30 
 
 Ivnigiit of Gwyiiue, line edition, clotli, 1.30 
 
 Valentine Vox, fine edition, cloth, 1.50 
 
 Ten Thousand a Year, flno edition, one 
 volume, cloth, 1.30 
 
 CHARLES LEVER'S NOVELS. 
 
 All neatly done tip i>i puper covers. 
 
 CHarles O'Malley, Price. 30 cents. 
 
 Harry Lorrequer, 50 " 
 
 Horace Templetoii, 60 " 
 
 Tom Burke of Ours, 60 " 
 
 Artiiur O'Leary, 60 " 
 
 .Tack Iliulon, the Guardsman,.. 50 " 
 
 Tlie Knight of G-wymie, 50 " 
 
 Ivate O'Donoghue, 60 " 
 
 Cou Cregau, the Irish Gil Bias, 50 " 
 
 Davenport Dunn, 30 " 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION. 
 TUTS EDITION* is complete in FIVE large octavo 
 Volumes, containing Charles 0'Malley, Hurry I."rrc- 
 f[iio*-, Horace Tcmpleton, Tom Burke of Ours, Arthur 
 ti' l.i -.try, Jack Hiutoii the Guardsman. Tlie Knight of 
 Gu ynn'e, Kate O'Uoiioghiie. etc., handsomely printed, 
 and bound in various styles, as follows : 
 
 Price of a set in Black clotli $7.50 
 
 " " Scarlet cloth, 8.00 
 
 " " Law Library sheep, 8.75 
 
 " " Half Calf, 12.00 
 
 " " Half Calf, marbled edges, 12.50 
 
 " " Half Calf, anthiiio,....*. lj.00 
 
 SAMUEL C. WARRKX'S KOOICS. 
 Te> Thousand n Year. Complete in iwo vol 
 umes, paper cover, Price, One Dollar; or a finer 
 edition, in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 Eiary of a Medical Student. By author of 
 "Ten Thousand a Year." Price 50 cents. 
 
 EMERSON BENNETT'S WORKS. 
 THe Border Rover. Fine edition bound in cloth, 
 
 f..r*1.5n; or Railroad Edition for One Dollar. 
 Clara Morelaiid. Fine edition bound in cloth, for 
 
 "11.50; or Railroad Edition for One Dollar. 
 Violn. Fine edition bound in cloth, for $1.50; or 
 
 Railroad Edition for One Dollar. 
 The Forged Will. Fine edition bound in cloth, 
 
 f.r $1.50; or Railroad Edition for One Dollar. 
 Kilcii Norhury. Fine edition bound in cloth, for 
 
 $1.50; or Railroad Edition for One Dollar. 
 Bride of tlie Wilderness. Fine edition bound 
 
 in cloth, for $1.50 ; or Railroad Edition for tjil.00. 
 Kate Clarendon. Fine edition bound in cloth, 
 
 fur $1.50; or Railroad Edition for One Dollar. 
 Heiress of Bellefoiite &. Walde-Warren. 
 
 Cheap edition, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 
 IMoneer's Daughter ; and tlie Unknown 
 
 Countess. Cheap edition, paper cover. 60 cents. 
 
 DOKSTICKS' BOOKS. 
 Doestlckb' Letters. Complete in two vols., paper 
 
 c.iver. Price One Dollar; or in one vul., cloth, $1.50. 
 Pl-ri-hus-tah. Complete in two vols., paper 
 
 cover. Price One Dollar ; or iu oue vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 T'.e Elepliant Clnl). Complete in two vi.K, 
 
 TIM |ii-r cover. Price fl. 00; or in one vol., cloth, $1. 50. 
 Witches of New York. Complete in two vols., 
 
 pap.-T cover. Price $1.00 ; or in one vol. .cloth, $1.50. 
 Noll. ing to Say. Illustrated. Prire 50 cents. 
 
 | WILK1E COLLINS' GREAT WORKS. 
 
 Tlie Head Secret. One volume, octavo, p.-. per 
 cover. Price fifty cents; or bound iu one Vul , 
 cloih, for 75 cents; or a fine 12mo. edition, in two 
 vols., pjtpcr cover, iu large type, tor Oue Dollar, or 
 in one vol., cloth, for $1.60. 
 
 Tlie Crossed I'adi; or, Basil. Two volg , 
 paper cover. Price Oue Dollar; or iu one vul , 
 cloih, for (JS1.50. 
 
 Hide and Seek. One vol., octavo, paper cover. 
 . Price fit'iy cents; or bound iu oue vol., lor 76 etuis. 
 After Dark. One vol., octavo, paper cover Price 
 
 lifty ceuu ; or oue vol., bouud iu cloth, lor 75 ceu;s. 
 SigUls Afoot; or Travels Beyond Railways. Oue 
 
 volume, octavo, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 
 THe Stolen Mask. Price 2-3 cents. 
 .Sister Rose. Price 25 cents. 
 Tlie Yellow Mask. Price 25 cents. 
 
 COOK BOOKS. 
 
 Petersons' New Cook Book; or Useful F<*- 
 eeipU for the Housewife and the Uninitiated. Full 
 of valuable receipts, all original aiid never before 
 published, all of which will be found lobe very valu- 
 abio and of daily use. Oue vol., bouud. Price $J 00. 
 
 Miss Leslie's New Cookery Book. Being 
 her last new book. One volume, bound. Price $150. 
 
 Widdifield's New Cook Book; or. Practical 
 Receipts for the Housewife. Cloth. Price $1.25 
 
 Mrs. Hale's New Cook Book. By Mrs. Sarah 
 J. Hale. One volume, bouud. Price $1.25. 
 
 Miss Leslie's New Receipts for Cooking. 
 Complete in one volume, bouud. Price $1.25. 
 
 MRS. HALE'S RECEIPTS. - 
 Mrs. Hale's Receipts for the Million. 
 
 Containing 4515 Receipts. By Mrs. Sarah J. Hale. 
 One vol,, 800 pages, strongly bouud. Price, $1 50. 
 
 MISS LESLIE'S BEHAVIOUR BOOK 
 
 Miss Leslie's Behaviour Book. A complete 
 Guide aud Manual for Ladies. Price $1.50. 
 
 FBANCATELLI'S FRENCH COOK. 
 Prancatelli's Celebrated French Coolc 
 Book. The Modern Cook. A Practical Guide 
 to the Culinary Art, in all its branches : compriMtg, 
 in addition to English Cookery, the most approved 
 and reelierch-' systems of French. Italian, aud German 
 Cookery ; adapted as well I'or the largest establish 
 ments, as for the use of private families. By 
 CHARLKS EM1E FKAKCATELLI, pupil to the cele 
 brated CAKK.MK. and late JIa tre-d'H, tel and Chief 
 Cook to her Majesty, the Qneru of England. With. 
 Sixty-Two Illustrations of various dishes. Reprinted 
 from" the Ninth London Edition, carefully revised and 
 considerably enlarged. Complete iu one large octavo 
 volume of Six Hundred pages, strongly bound, and 
 printed on the finest double super-calendered paper. 
 Price Three Dollars a copy. 
 
 J. A. MAITLAND'S GREAT WORKS. 
 
 The Three Cousin*. By J. A. Maitland. Tw 
 vols., paper. Price #1. 00 : or iu one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The Watchman. Complete in two large vols., 
 paper cover. Price #1.00 ; or in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The \Vnnderer. Complete in two volumes, paper 
 cover. Price $1.00 ; or iu one vol., cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Diary of an Old I>octor. Two vols., pa 
 per cover. Price $1.00; or bound in cloth for $1.50. 
 
 The Lawyer's Story. Two volumes, paper co 
 ver. Price $1.00 ; or bound in cloth for $1.50. 
 
 Sartaroe. A Tale of Norway. Two vols., 
 paper cover. Price $1.00; or iu cloth for $1.50. 
 
 MRS. DANIELS' GREAT "WORKS. 
 
 Marry iiijf for Money. One vol., octavo, paper 
 cover. Price fifty cents ; orone vol., cloth, 75 tiuia. 
 The Poor Cousin. Price 50 cents. 
 Kate AValsiiigham. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Works will be seat by Mail, Free of Postage, on Receipt of the Pritt. 
 
6 T. B. PETEESON & 2KOTHERS' LIST 0? PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 ALEXANDER DUMAS' WORKS. 
 
 Count of Hlonte-Cristo. By AlexauderDumas. 
 Beautifully illustrated. One volume, clotli, $1.50 ; 
 or iu two volumes, paper cover, for One Dollar. 
 
 The Conscript. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 Price Cue Dollar ; or iu one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Cnmille; or the Camelia Lady. The only 
 correct Translation from the Original French. Two 
 volumes, paper, price One Dollar; or iu clotli, $1.50. 
 
 The Three Guardsmen. Price 75 cents, in 
 paper cover, or a finer edition in cloth, for $1.5*). 
 
 Twenty Years After. A Sequel to the " Three 
 Guardsmen." Price 75 cents, in paper cover, or a 
 finer edition, iu one volume, cloth, 1'or $1.50. 
 
 Bragelonne ; the Son of Athos: being the 
 continuation of "Twenty Years After." Price 75 
 cents, iu paper, or a liner edition, iu cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Iron Mask. Being the continuation of the 
 "Three Guardsmen." Two vols., paper cover. Price 
 One Dollar; or in one vol., cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Louise La "Valliere ; or, The Second Series and 
 end of the " Iron Mask." Two volume*, paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar ; or bound in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 THe Memoirs of a Physician. Beautifully 
 Illustrated. Two volumes, paper cover. Price One 
 Dollar ; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Q,ueeii's Necklace. A Sequel to the " Me 
 moirs of a Physician." Two vols , paper cover. 
 Price Oue Dollar ; or in one vol., cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 8lx Years Later ; or, Taking of the Bastile. A Con 
 tinuation of "The Queen's Necklace." Two vols., 
 paper cover. Price One Dollar ; or in one vol., 
 cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Countess of Charny ; or, The Fall of the French 
 Monarchy. Sequel to Six Years Later. Two vols., 
 paper cover. Price One Dollar ; or in one volume, 
 cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Andree de Taverney. A Sequel to and conti 
 nuation of the Countess of Charny. Two volumes, 
 paper. Price $1.00 ; or in one vol., cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Chevalier. A Sequel to, and final end of 
 " Andree De Taverney." One vol. Price 75 cents, 
 
 The Adventures of a Marquis. Two vols., 
 paper cover. Price Oue Dollar; or in one vol., 
 cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Forty-Five Guardsmen. Price 75 cents, 
 or a finer edition in one volume, cloth. Price $1.50. 
 
 The Iron Hand. Price 75 cento, in paper cover, 
 or a finer edition in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Diana of Meridor. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar ; or in one vol., cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Edmond Dantes. Being a Sequel to Dumas' 
 celebrated novel of the "Count of Monte-Cristo." 
 One volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Annette ; or, The Lady of the Pearls. 
 A Companion to " Camille." Price 50 cents. 
 
 The Fallen Angel. A Story of Love and Life 
 in Paris. One volumo. Price 50 cents. 
 
 The Man with Five Wives. Complete in 
 one volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 George ; or, The Planter of the Isle of 
 France. One volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 Genevievej or, The Chevalier of Maison Rouge. 
 One volume. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 The Mohicans of Paris. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Sketches in France. One vol. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Isabel of Bavaria. One vol. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Felina de Chambiire ; or, The Female Fiend. 
 . Price 50 cents. 
 
 The Horrors of Paris. One vol. Price 50ct.. 
 
 The Twin Lieutenants. One vol. Price 50 ct. 
 
 The Corsican Brothers. Price 25 cents. 
 COINS OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Petersons' Complete Coin Book, containing 
 Perfect Fac Similes of all thn various Gold, Silver, 
 and other Metallic Coins, throughout the World, 
 niMr Two Thousand in all, being the most complete 
 Coin Book in the World, tvith the United States Mint 
 Value of each Coin under it. Price $1.00. 
 
 FRANK E. SMEDLEY'S WORKS. 
 
 Harry Coverdale's Courtship and Mar 
 riage. Two vols., paper. Price $1.00; or clotli,$1.50. 
 
 Lorrimer Lit tit-good. By author of "Frank 
 Fairlegh." Two vols., paper. Price $1 ; or cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Frank Fairleigh. One volume, cloth, $1.50 ; or 
 cheap edition iu paper cover, for 70 cents. 
 
 Lewis Arnudel. One vol., cloth. Price $1.50; 
 or cheap edition in paper cover, for 75 cents. 
 
 Fortunes and Misfortunes of Harry 
 Racket. Scwpcgrace. Cloth. Price $1.50 ; or 
 cheap edition iii piiper cover, for iO cents. 
 
 Tom Racquet ; and His Three Maiden Aunts. 
 Full of beautiful illustrations. Price 50 cents. 
 
 MISS BREMER'S NEW WORKS. 
 
 The Father and Daughter. By Fredrika Bre- 
 mer. Two vols., paper. Price $1. 00 ; or cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The Four Sisters. Two vols., paper cover. 
 Price Oue Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The N eighborg. Two vols., paper cover. Price 
 One Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Home. Two volumes, paper cover. Price 
 One Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Life ill the Old World; or, Two Years in 
 Switzerland ;iud Italy. Complete in two large duo 
 decimo volumes, of near 1000 pages. Price $3.00. 
 
 GREEN'S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 
 
 Gambling Exposed. By J. H. Green, the Re 
 formed Gambler. Two vols., paper cover. Price 
 $1.00 ; or in one volume, cloth, gilt, for $1.50. 
 
 The Gambler's Life. Two vols., paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar ; or in one vol., cloth, gilt, for $1.50 
 
 Secret Band of Brothers. Two vols., paper 
 cover. Price One Dollar ; or in cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Reformed Gambler. Two vols., paper. 
 Price One Dollar ; or in one vol., cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 MRS. GREY'S NEW BOOKS. 
 Little Beauty. Two vols., paper cover. Price 
 
 Oue Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 Cousin Harry. Two vols., paper cover. Pric 
 
 One Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 Th.e Flirt. One volume, octavo, paper cover. 
 
 Price Fifty cents ; or in one vol., cloth, for 75 cents. 
 
 MRS. GREY'S POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 Price Twenty-Five Cents each. 
 
 Gipsy's Daughter. Baronet's Daugh- 
 Lena Cameron. ters. 
 
 Belle of the Family. The Young Prima 
 Sybil Lennard. Donna. : 
 
 Duke and Cousin. Alice Seymour. 
 The Little Wife. Hj acinthe. 
 
 The Manoeuvring Passion &, Pritici- 
 
 Mother. pie. 50 cents. 
 
 Old Dower House. Mary Seaham. fiOc. 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES'S NEW BOOKS. 
 
 The Cavalier. An Historical Romance. With a 
 steel portrait of the author. Two vols., paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar ; or in one volume, clotli, for $1.50. 
 
 Lord Montagu's Page. Two volumes, paper 
 cover. Price One Dollar ; or in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The Man in Black. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Arrah Neil. A Novel. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Mary of Burgundy. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Eva St. Clair ; and other Tales. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MISS ELLEN PICKERING'S WORKS. 
 
 Price TJnrty-EigUt Cents each. 
 Who Shall be Heir 1 Ellen Wareham. 
 The Secret Foe. Nan Darrel. 
 
 The Expectant. Prince A, Pedlar. 
 
 The Fright. The Grumbler. 50e 
 
 Quiet Husband. Orphan Niece. 50 c. 
 
 Merchant's Daughter. The Squire. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Works will be sent by Mail, Fr&e of Postage, on receipt of the Price, 
 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 MILITARY NOVELS. 
 lly Lever, Dumas and other Authors. 
 
 With Illuminated Military Covers, in Colors. 
 
 Published aud for bale at wholesale, by the dozen, 
 haadraU, or tb.uu->a.ud, at very low rates. 
 
 Tteir Smites are a-s Followt : 
 
 Charles O'.>Ialley, Tho Irish Dr-igoon, Price 50 
 Jack Ilititmi, the Guardsman ....................... 50 
 
 The Knight of Gwynne ........................... 50 
 
 Harry Lorreqncr ...................................... 50 
 
 Tom Burke of Ours .................................. 50 
 
 Arthur O'Leary ......................................... 50 
 
 Con. Cregan'-t Adventures ...................... 50 
 
 Kate O Donoghue ...................................... 50 
 
 Horace Teniplcton .................................... 60 
 
 Davenport Duttn .............................. . ....... 60 
 
 The Conscript. Two vols., each ................. 60 
 
 Following the Drum .............................. 50 
 
 Valentine Vox. By Harry Cockton ............. 50 
 
 Twin Lieutenants ................................... 50 
 
 Stories of Waterloo ................................. 50 
 
 The Soldier's Wife .................................... 50 
 
 Guerilla Chief ............................................ 50 
 
 The Three Guardsmen ............................ 75 
 
 Twenty Years After ................................. 75 
 
 ISragelonne, the Son of Athos ........................ 75 
 
 Wallace, Hero of Scotland .................... 73 
 
 Forty-five Guardsmen ........................... 75 
 
 The Quaker Soldier. Two vol*., each ...... 50 
 
 Sutlers in the Army, Pedlars and Canvassers, can 
 Srtll thousands of the above works, all of which are 
 publish")! with Illuminated Military covers, in colors, 
 in.iking them the most attractive books ever printed. 
 
 REYNOLDS' GREAT WORKS. 
 steries of the Court of London. 
 
 Complete in one large vol., bound in cloth, for $1.50 ; 
 
 or in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar. 
 Hose Foster; or, "The Second Series of the Myste 
 
 ries of the Court of London." 1 vol., cloth. $2.00; 
 
 or in three volumes, paper cover, price $1.50. 
 Caroline of Brunswick 5 or, the " Third S- 
 
 rie* of the Mysterios of the Court of London." Ci .- 
 
 piete iu one large vol., bound in cloth, for $1.50 >r 
 
 in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar. 
 Venetia Trelawney ; being the "Fourth Series, 
 
 or final conclusion of the Mysteries of tho Court of 
 
 London." Complete in one vol., iu cloth, for $1.50; 
 
 or ia two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar. 
 Loril Saxoudale; or, The Court of Qnoen Victo 
 
 ria. Complete in one large vol., cloth, for $1.50; or 
 
 in two volumes, paper cover, price Oue Dollar. 
 Count Chrlstoval. The "Sequel to Lord Saxon- 
 
 d.ile." Complete in one vol., bound in cloth, for $1.50 ; 
 
 or iu two volumes, paper cover, price Oue Dollar. 
 Rosa Lambert ; or, The Memoirs of an Unfortu 
 
 nate Woman. One vol., bound in cloth, for $1.50 ; or 
 
 iu two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar. 
 Mary Price; or, The Adventures of a Servant-Maid. 
 
 Complete in one vol., bound in cloth, for$1.50; or in 
 
 two volumes, paper cover, price Oue Dollar. 
 Eustace Qiientiii. A "Sequel to Mary Prico.'' 
 
 Complete ia one large vol., bound in cloth, for $1.50 ; 
 
 or in two volumes, paper cover, price Oue Dollar. 
 Joseph Wilmot ; or, The Memoirs of a Man-Ser 
 
 vant. Complete iu one vol., bound in cloth, for $1.60; 
 
 or in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar. 
 The Banker's Daughter. A Sequol to "Jo 
 
 seph Wilraot. " Complete iu one vol., cloth, for $1.50; 
 
 or in two volume.*, paper cover, price One Dollar. 
 Kenneth. A Romance of the Highland*. Complete 
 
 in one large volume, bound in cloth, for $1.50; or in 
 
 two volumes, paper cov-r, price One Dollar. 
 
 The Rye-House Plot; or, Ruth, the Conspira 
 tor's Daughter. Oue volume, bound in cloth, for 
 fl.50; or in two vol*. ,pa;w cover, priceOno Dollar. 
 
 Mys 
 
 REYNOLDS* GREAT WORKS. 
 
 The \tcromaucer. A Komaiu.; 01' tii.j . .:; 
 
 of Henry the Kighth. One vol., bonud In cloth, fuf 
 
 $1.50; or iu two vols., paper cover, prico Oue DjHar. 
 
 The Opera Dancer; or, The Myst-ri'M of 
 
 London Life. Complete in oua vol. Price . W cent*. 
 
 The Kiiined Gamester. With Illustrations. 
 
 Complete in oiie large octavo vol. Price Fifty c,>uts. 
 
 Wallace : the Hero of Scotland. Illu.sJra- 
 
 ted wilh Thirty-eight plates. Price 7.i cents. 
 The Child of Waterloo; or, Tho Hormr^of 
 the Battle Field. Complete in ono vol. Price JO cents. 
 The Countess and the Page. Complete iu 
 
 one largo volume. Price 50 ccuii. 
 Clprina; or, The Secrets of a Picture 
 
 Gallery. Complete iu one vol. Price :JO cculs. 
 Robert Bruce : the Hero King of Scot 
 land, with his Portrait. One vol. Price 50 cents. . 
 Isabella Vincent; or, The Two Orphans. One 
 
 volume, paper cover. Price 50 cents. 
 Vivian Bertram ; or, A Wife's Honor. A Sequel 
 
 to " Isabella Vincent." One vol. Price 50 ceuts. 
 Tlie Countess of Lascelles. The Continuation 
 
 to "Vivian Bertram." Oue vol. Price 50 cents. 
 Diike of Marchmont. Being the Conclusion 
 
 of "The Couutess of Lascolles." Price Fifty cents. 
 Gipsy Chief. Beautifully Illustrated. ComplcW 
 
 in one large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 
 Pickwick Abroad. A Companion to the "Pick 
 wick Papers," by"Boz." One vol. Price 50 ceuss. 
 Queen Joanna; or, the Mysteries of the 
 
 Court of Naples. Price 50 cents. 
 Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots. Complete in 
 
 one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 May Middleton ; or, The History of a Fortnno. 
 
 Price 50 cents. 
 
 The. Loves of the Harem. Price 50 cents. 
 'I' In: Discarded Queen. One vol. 50 cents. 
 Ellen Percy ; or, Memoirs of Actress. Price 50 cts. 
 Massacre of Glencoe. Price 50 coats. 
 Agnes Evelyn ; or, Beauty and Pleasure. 60 cts. 
 The Parricide. Beautifully Illustrated. 50 cts. 
 Life in Paris. Handsomely Illustrated. 50 cts 
 The Soldier's Wife. Illustrated. 50 cents. 
 Clifford and the Actress. Price Fifty cent*. 
 Edgar Montrose. Oua volume. Price 25 cents. 
 T. S. ARTHUR'S BEST WORKS. 
 
 Price Twenty-Five Cents each. 
 The Lady at Home. 
 Year after Marriage. 
 Cecilia Howard. 
 Orphan Children. 
 Love iu High Life. 
 
 Debtor's Daughter. 
 Agnes; or, The Possessed. 
 Love iu a Cottage. 
 Mary Moreton. 
 
 The Divorced Wife. 
 The Two Brides. 
 Lucy Sandford. 
 The Banker's Wife. 
 The Two Merchants. 
 Insubordination. 
 Trial and Triumph. 
 The Iron Rule. 
 
 Pride aud Prudence. 
 
 Lizzie Glenn ; or, The Trials of a Seam 
 stress. By T. S. Arthur. One vol., cloth, gilt. ' 
 Price $1.50, or in two vols., paper cover, for $1.00. 
 
 J. F. SMITH'S WORKS. 
 
 Thomas Balscomne ; or the I" surer'* Vic 
 tim. One volume, octavo. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Adelaide Waldgrave? or the Trials of a Go- 
 Vi"rup<*. Ona volume, octavo. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Copies of any of the above V/orks will be sent by Mail, Free of Pottage, on receipt of the Price. 
 
8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS 1 LIST OP PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 
 T'.ie Waverley Novels. By Sir Walter Scott. 
 With H. magnificent Portrait of Sir Walter Scott, cn- 
 p'aved from the hist Portrait for which ho ever sat, 
 iit Abbottsford, with his Autograph junior it. This 
 edition is complete in Five largo octavo volumes, with 
 handsomely engraved steel Title Pa^es to each vol 
 ume, thu whole being neatly aud handsomely bound 
 in cloth. This is the cheapest anil most complete and 
 perfect edition of the Waverley Novels published in 
 the world, as it contains all the Author's last, addi 
 tions and corrections. Price Ten Dollars a set. 
 
 CHEAP EDITIOX IX PAPER COVER. 
 
 This edition is published in Twenty-Six volumes, 
 
 paper cover, price thirty-eight cents each, or the whole 
 
 twenty-six volumes, will be sold or sent to anyone, 
 
 free of postage, for Eight Dollars. 
 
 The /Mowing are thrir names. 
 Ivanhoe, St. Roiinn's AVcll, 
 
 Rob Roy, R.e-1 Gauntlet, 
 
 Guy Maiinering, The Talisman, 
 
 Tlie Antiquary, tYooistoek, 
 
 Old Mortality, Highland Widow, 
 
 Waverley, Pair Maid Perth, 
 
 Kciillworth, Fortunes of Nigel, 
 
 The Pirate, Peveril of the Peak, 
 
 The Monastery, Q,ueulin Durward, 
 
 The Abbo-', Anne of Geiersteiii, 
 
 Tlic Betrothed, Moreilmt. 50 cts. 
 
 THe Heart of Mid Lothian, 
 Tlie Briilc of Lammcrmoor, 
 Tales of a Grandfather, 
 
 Count Robert of Paris, [ter, 
 
 Castle Dangcrou.--, and Surgeon Daugh- 
 Black Owarf and Legend of Montrosc. 
 Lockhart's Life of Scott, cloth. Price $1.50. 
 
 PROSE AND POETICAL, WORKS. 
 
 We also publish Sir Walter Scott's complete Prose 
 and Poetical Works, in ten large octavo volumes, bound 
 iu cloth. This edition contains every tiling ever writ 
 ten by Sir Walter Scott. Price Twenty Hollars a set. 
 
 C. J. PETERSON'S WORKS. 
 
 Kate Aylesford. A Love Story. Two vols., 
 
 paper. Price $1.00 : or iu one vol., cloth, for $1.5;i. 
 The Old Stone Mansion- By Charles J. Pe- 
 
 tiM->on. Two vols., paper. PriceiJl.OO ; or cloth, $1.00. 
 Cruising ill the Last War. By Charles .T. 
 
 Peterson. Complete in one volume. 1'rice 50 cents. 
 The Valley Farm; or, The Autobiography of no 
 
 Orphan. A Companion to Jane Eyre. Price 2.) cents. 
 Grace Dudley; or, Arnold at Saratoga. 2.) cents. 
 Mabel 5 or, Darkness and Dawn. Two vols., paper 
 
 c >ver. Price $1.00; or iu cloth, $1.50. (In Press.} 
 
 ' EUGENE SUE'S. GREAT NOVELS. 
 
 Illustrated Wandering Jew. With Eighty- 
 seven lar&re Illustrations. Two vols.. paper cover. 
 1'ricu $1.00; or in one vol , cloth, for &J.50. 
 
 Mysteries of Paris; and Gerolstein, tho 
 Sequel to it. Two vols . paper cover. Price 1.00 ; 
 or iu one vol., cloth, for$l.50. 
 
 Riff rt In tlic Foundling. Beautifully Illustra 
 ted. Two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar ; 
 or In one vol., cloth, for $1 50. 
 
 First Love. A Story of the Heart. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Woman's Love. Illustrated. Price 25 cent*. 
 
 T!i- Man-of-War's-Maii. Price 2.) cents. 
 
 The Female* Bluebeard. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Rnoul De Survillc. Price 2,5 cejits. 
 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 
 
 Original Illustrations by Darley and Others, 
 
 Done up in Illuminated Covers. 
 
 Major Jones' Courtship. With Thirteen 
 
 Illustrations, from designs by Darley. Price 50 cts. 
 Drama in Pokerville. By J. M. Field. \VHh 
 
 Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty c<>m^. 
 Louisiana Sivainp Doctor. By author of 
 
 " Cupping ou the Siieruuiu. " Illustrated by Darley. 
 
 Price 50 cents. 
 Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Keal. With 
 
 Illustrations, price 50 cents. 
 
 Yankee Amongst the Mermaids. By W. 
 
 E. Burton. Wiih Illustrations by Darley. 50 cents. 
 
 Misfortunes of Peter Falter. By Joseph C. 
 
 Neal. With Illustrations i>y Darley. Price 50 cents. 
 Major Jones' Sketches of Travel. With 
 
 Illustrations, from designs by Darley. Price 50 cents. 
 Quarter Race in Kentucky. By W. T. 
 
 Porter, Esq. With Illustrations by Darley. 50 cents. 
 Sol. Smith's Theatrical Apprenticeship. 
 
 Illustrated by Darley. Price Fifty Outs. 
 Yankee Yarns and Yankee Letter*. 
 
 By Sstiu Slick, alias Judge Ilaliburtou. Price 50 cw. 
 Life and Adventures of Col. Vander- 
 
 bomb. By author of " Wild Western Scenes," etc. 
 
 Price 50 cents. 
 Big Bear of Arkansas. Eilited by Win. T. 
 
 Porter. With Illustrations by Darley. Fifty cents. 
 Major Jones' Chronicles of Piiicville. 
 
 With Illustrations by Dariey. Price Fifty cents. 
 Life and Adventures of Percival Ma- 
 
 berry. By J. II. Ingralium. Price Fifty cents. 
 Frank Forester's Quorndon Hounds. 
 
 By H. W. Herbert. With Illustrations. Price 5l cts. 
 Pickings from the " Picayune." With 
 
 Illustrations by Inn-ley. Price Fifty cents. 
 Frank Forester's Shooting Box. With 
 
 Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 Peter Ploddy. By author of "Charcoal Sketches." 
 
 With Illustrations by Ihtrley. Price Fifty cents. 
 Western Scenes; or, Life on the Prairie. 
 
 Illustrated. Price Fifty cents. 
 Streaks of Squatter Life. By the author of 
 
 "Major Jones' Courtship." Illustrated by Darley. 
 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 Simon Suggs. Adventures of Captain 
 
 Simon Suggs. Illustrated by Darley. SOceuU. 
 Stray Subjects Arrested and Bound 
 
 Over. With Illustrations by Darley. Fifty cents. 
 Frank Forester's Deer Stalkers. With 
 
 Illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 Adventures of Captain Farrago. Ty 
 
 lion ll.H. Brackeuridge. Illustrated. Price 50 cts. 
 Widow Rugby's Husband. By author of 
 
 " Simon Suggs. ' With Illustrations. Fifty cents. 
 Major O'Rcgan's Adventures. By Hon. H. 
 
 H. Brackenrlage. With Illustrations by Darley. 
 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 Theatrical Journey-Work and Anec- 
 
 dof al Recollections of Sol. Smith, Es<j. 
 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 Polly Peablossom's Wedding. By the 
 
 author of " Major Jones' Courtship. " Fifty cents. 
 Frank Forester's Warwick Woodlands. 
 
 With beautiful Illustrations. Price 50 cents. 
 New Orleans Sketch Book. By "Stalil." 
 
 With Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 The Love Scrapes of Fudge Fumble. 
 
 By author of " Arkansaw Doctor.." Price Fifty cts. 
 
 American Joe Miller. With 100 Illustrations. 
 
 Price Twenty-five cents. 
 Judge Hainan-ton's Yankee Stories. 
 
 Two' v..ls., paper cover. Price #1.00 ; or cloth, 1.50. 
 
 Humors of Fnlconbrldge. Two vols , paper 
 
 cover. Price One Dollar; or in one vol., cloth, jl. 50. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Works will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on receipt of the Price. 
 
T. B. PETERSON" & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 9 
 
 GUSTAVE AIMARD'S WORKS. 
 The Prairie Flower. One volume, octavo, paper 
 
 cover, price 50 ceuts, or bound iu clolU lor 75 cents. 
 The Indian Scout. One volume, octavo, paper 
 
 cover, pi'.c.) iit\v ceuts, or bouml in c.ui'u lor <j t\. 
 The Trail Hunger. One volume, octavo, paper 
 
 cover, price tir'iy cents, or bound ia cloth for 75 els. 
 Tue Pirates oftlie Prairies. Cue vol., paper 
 
 cover, price 00 cents, or in clolli, for "."; ceuts. 
 The Trapper's Daughter. One volume, oc 
 tavo, paper cover, price tiny touts. 
 The Tiger Slayer. One volume, octavo, paper 
 
 cover. .Price. Fifty cents. 
 The Gold. Seekers. Oue volume, octavo, paper 
 
 c >ver. Price fifty coats. 
 
 All of Aimard's other books are i press &y us. 
 
 GEORGE SAND'S WORKS. 
 
 Co'isuelo. By George Sand. Translated from the 
 F,-eiicb, by Fayette Koblusou. CN'iuplele itud uua- 
 b-;db'od. One volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 Countess of Rudolstadt. Tin- Sequel to "Con- 
 fu-.ito." Translated from tue original i'r.-uch. Com 
 plete and unabridged edition. 1'nce 50 cents. 
 
 First and True Love. By author of " Consu- 
 elo," '-Indiaua," etc. illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Tlie Corsair. A Venetian Tale. Price 2") cents. 
 
 Indiana. By author of "Consiielo," etc. A very 
 bowuchiu;,' aud interesting work. Two vols., paper 
 cover. Prica $1.00 ; or in cue vol., cloth, for $1.00. 
 
 J.IKBIG'S WORKS ON CHEMISTRY. 
 
 Agricultural Chemistry. Price 20 ceuts. 
 
 Animal Chemistry. Price '25 ceuts. 
 
 Familiar Letters oil Chemistry. 
 
 The Potalo Disease. 
 
 Chemistry and Physics in relation to Physi 
 ology aud Pathology. 
 The above Five works of Professor Liobig are also 
 
 ?ublished complete in one large octavo volume, bound. 
 'rice $:i.OO. The three last works are only published 
 In tho bouud volume. 
 
 HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 
 High Life in New York. By Jonathan Slick. 
 
 Beautifully Illustrated. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price Oao Dollar; or bound in one vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 Sam Slick, the Clockmakcr. By Judge Ha- 
 
 lib'irtou. Illustrated. One volume, cloth, $1.50; 
 
 or iu two volumes, paper cover, for $1.00. 
 Major Jones' Courtship and Travels. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated. One vol., cloth. Price $1.50. 
 Major .Tones' Scenes in Georgia. Full of 
 
 beautiful illustrations. Oue vol., cloth. Price $1.50. 
 
 YaiiUee Stories. By .Tudije Halihurton. Two 
 V"K, paper cover. Price $1. 00 ; or cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Simon Suggs' Adventures and Travels. 
 
 Illu -crated. One volume, cloth. Price $1.50. 
 
 Humors of Fa1conb=-iflj?p. Two v>K, paper 
 cover. Price Oue Dollar ; or mo no vol., cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Pine/ "Woods Tavern; or, Sam Slick In 
 Texas. Cloth, (I .fit); or '2 vols .. paper cover. $1.00. 
 
 The Swamp Doctor's Adventures in the 
 So ifU-AVest. Co'iMhri: j; th" whole of the Lonis- 
 i-i'vi Swamp Doctor ; Streaks of Squatter I-ifo : and 
 Far- Wn-itei-Li Scenes. With 1 1 lllu^lratious from de- 
 si /rn by Barley. Cloth. Pric? $1 .'A 
 
 Mnjoi- Thorpe's Scenes in Avkansaw: 
 
 Outlining t!ie whMo of the "Quarter Race in Ken 
 tucky," and" B>b Herri n if, tlie Arkansas Bear Hun 
 ter." t.) which is added the "Drama in Pokcrville." 
 Wt'i S'xt'eti illustration-: from Tp-<ii."i V-y Davlcy. 
 Co:u(i'<jt<i iu one volume, cloth. Price $1.50. 
 
 The Hlg Rear's Adventures and Tra 
 vels I oontiiniusr the whole of t!:" Adve-:hires and 
 Tr.ivelsof tlie " Bitr Bear of Arkanaw," and "Stray 
 S-'.'ii -ets ' With Kiirhteen Illustrat'.-vw tV.-im tMfri- 
 li.il De^iirns by Darley. One vol.. bound. Price *] .50. 
 
 Kr.-X;iji Forester's Sporting Scenes mid 
 Ciiaracters. Illustrated. Two vols.. clotii. s:;.i'ii. 
 
 CAPTAIN MARRYATT'S WORKS. 
 
 Price Tioenty-Five Cents each. 
 
 .Tacol* Faithful. Pacha of many 
 
 Phantom Slilp. Tales. 
 
 King's Own. Pirate and Three 
 
 Snarleyow. Cutters. 
 
 Midshipman Easy. Percival Keene. 
 The Xavnl O.'Iicer. Price 50 cents. 
 
 JapUet in Search of PoorJnt-k. 50cents. 
 
 a Father. Sea King. 50 cents. 
 
 Rattlin, the Reefer. Peter Simple. 50 c. 
 Newton Forster. Valci-io. 50 ceuts. 
 
 GEORGE LIPPARD'S \VORKS. 
 .Legends of the American Revolution ; 
 
 or, Washington and his Generals. Two volumes, 
 
 paper cover. Price One Dollar. 
 The Quaker City 5 or, The Monks of JTonk Hall. 
 
 Two volumes, paper cover. Price Oue Dollar. 
 Paul Ardenheim; the Jlouk of Wissahikon. 
 
 Two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar. 
 Blanche of Brandy-wine. A Revolutionary 
 
 Koiuauco. Two volumes, paper cover. Price $1.00. 
 The Lady of Alharone ; or, The Poison Goblet. 
 
 One volume, paper cover. Price 75 cents. 
 The Ufazarcne. One volume. Price 50 cents. 
 Legends of Mexico. One vol. Price 25 cents. 
 
 DOW'S PATENT SERMONS. 
 
 4^*E:ich volnme, or series, is complete in itself, and 
 volumes are sold separately to any one, or in sets. 
 
 Dow's Short Patent Sermons. First Se 
 ries. By Dow, Jr. Containing 128 Sermons. 
 Complete in one vol., bound in ciotli, for $i.OO ; or 
 in oue vol., paper, for 70 ceuts. 
 
 l>ow's Short Patent Sermons. Second 
 Series. By IJow, Jr. Containing 144 Sermons. 
 Complete in one vol., bound in cloth, for $1.00; or 
 iu oue vol , paper, for 75 cents. 
 
 Dow's Short Patent Sermons. Third Se 
 ries. By Cow, Jr. Containing 116 Sermons. 
 Complete in oue vol., bound iu cloth, for $1.00 ; or 
 iu one vol., paper, for 75 cents. 
 
 Dow's Short Patent Sermons. Fourth 
 Series. By Dow, Jr. Containing 152 Sermons. 
 Complete in one vol., bound in clotb, for $1.00 ; or 
 iu one vol., paper, for 75 cents. 
 
 ADVENTURES AND TRAVELS. 
 Harris's Explorations in South Africa. 
 
 By Major CornwaHU Harris. This brink is a rich 
 
 treat. Two vols., paper, $1.00 ; or in cloth. $1.50. 
 Don Qntxotte. Life and Adventures 
 
 of Don Qulxotte ; and las Squire, Saucho 
 
 Panza. Two vols, paper cover. Price $1.00; or in 
 
 one volume, clo;h, tor $1.50. 
 L.ife <fc Adventures of Paul Periwinkle. 
 
 Full of Illustrations. Price 50 cents. 
 Wild Oats Sown Abroad j or, On and Off 
 
 Soundings. 50 cents in paper; or iu cloth, gilt, 75cts. 
 
 MILITARY WORKS. 
 
 The Soldier's Guide. A Complete Manual and 
 Drill Book, for the use of Soldiers and Volunteers. 
 Price '25 ceuts in paper cover, or forty cents in clotb. 
 
 The Soldier's Companion. With valuable 
 information from the "Army Regulations," for the 
 use of all Officers and Volunteer*. Price 25 cents in 
 paper cover, or forty cents iu cloth. 
 
 Ellsworth's " Zouave Drill" and Biogra 
 phy. Price 25 cents in paper, or forty cents in cloth. 
 
 The Volunteers' Text Book. This Work 
 cor.tains the whole of "The Soldier's Guide," as 
 well as "The Soldier's Companion." Price 50 cents 
 in paper cover, or 75 cents iu cloth. 
 
 The United States' Li^ht fnf'iitry Drill. 
 Price 25 cents in paper rover, or forty cents iu cloth. 
 
 U. S. Government Infttn'ry and Rifle 
 Tactics, full of engravings. Price 2o cents. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Works will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on receipt of the Price. 
 
10 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 D'ISRAELI'S POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 With a Portrait of D' Israeli in each volume. 
 
 Vivian Grey. Comploto in ono largo volume, 
 octavo. Trice Fifty c;uts. 
 
 Veiicfin ; or, Lord Byron and his Daughter. Com 
 plete in oue lrgo volume. Price Fifty coats. 
 
 Henrietta Temple. A Love Story. Complete 
 in one large volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 Miriam Alroy. A Romance of the 12th Century. 
 Price 50 cents. 
 
 The Young Duke. Price Fifty corit*. 
 
 Contarini Fleming. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 WORKS BY CELEBRATED AUTHORS 
 
 Price Tioenty-Five Cents each. 
 
 Female Life In New York. Illustrated. 
 
 Mysteries of Bedlam; or, Annals of Mad House. 
 
 Mysteries of a Convent. By a Noted Metho 
 dist Preacher. 
 
 The Monk. By Matthew O. Lewis. 
 
 American Joe Miller. With 100 Illustrations. 
 
 The Mysterious Marriage. 
 
 .Taclc Downtng's Letters. By Major Jack 
 Dow ning. 
 
 Perils of English Prisoners. By Dickens. 
 
 The Two Apprentices. IV Dickons. 
 
 Hose \Varrington. By A. J. II. Dnpaune. 
 
 Beautiful French Girl. An absorbing book. 
 
 Ella Stratford; or, the Orphan Child. 
 By Countess Blessington. 
 
 Ghost Stories. A Wonderful Book. Illustrated. 
 
 Madison's Exposition of Odd Fellow 
 ship. Full of Illustrations. 
 
 Abeduego, the Money Lender. By Mrs. Gore. 
 
 Gliddom's Ancient Egypt, her Monuments, 
 Hieroglyphics, Relics, &c. 
 
 Josephine. By author of " Home Influence." 
 
 Bell Brandon, and the Withered Fig Tree. A 
 $300 prize novel. 
 
 The Emigrant Squire. By author of "Bell 
 Brandon." 
 
 Philip in Search of a Wife. 
 
 Diary of a Physician. Second Series. 
 
 Sybil Grey. A Romance of the Opera. 
 
 Agnes Grey. By author of "Jane Eyre." 
 
 Christmas Carols. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 Jenny Ambrose, or Life in the Eastern States. 
 
 Rody the Rover. A Tale of Ireland. 
 
 The Admiral's Daughter. By Mrs. Marsh. 
 
 The Courtier. By Sir E. L. Bulwer. 
 
 Southern Chivalry. 
 
 A House to Let. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 Hard Times. By Charles Dickon*. 
 
 Seven Poor Travellers. By Dickens. 
 
 Uncommercial Traveller. By ('has. Dickens. 
 
 Captain Jorgan. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 Tales and Stories. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 llipt on Ramsey. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 The Child's Story. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 Hunted Down. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 Our Parish. By Charles Dickeus. 
 
 Dattle of Life. By Charles Dickon*. 
 
 A Christmas Ghost Story. By Dickens. 
 
 Out of Town. By Charles Dickons. 
 
 T2ie Detective Police. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 The Guest. By Churl** Dickon*. 
 
 Th Boarding House. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 I>Inreto;> Hall, or the Spirits of a Haunted House. 
 
 Uncle Tom in England. 
 
 BY VARIOUS GOOD AUTHORS. 
 
 Somebody's Luggage. By Charles Dickens. 
 Price 25 cents. 
 
 The Two Prima Donnas. By George Augus 
 tus Salii. Price -> cents. 
 
 The Haunted House. By Charles Dickens. 
 Price 25 cents. 
 
 The Deformed. By Mr*. Marsh. 25 cents. 
 
 The Iron Cross. By fciylvauus Cobb, Jr. 25 cu. 
 
 The Nobleman's Daughter. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground. Price 2> cents. 
 
 Father Tom and the Pope. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Webster and Hayiie'M Speeches in the 
 United Status Senate, on Mr. Foot's lie-solution of 
 January, 1830. Also, Daniel Webster's Speech in 
 the Senate of the United States, March 7, 1S50, on 
 the Slavery Compromise. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Train's Union Speeches. Complete in two 
 volumes. Price 2,) cents each. 
 
 Robert Oaklands ; or, The Outcast Orphan. By 
 Leigh Ritchie, author of " Kobber of the Rhine," 
 etc. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Rifle Shots at the Great Men. Price 25 cents. 
 AINSWORTH'S BEST AVORKS. 
 
 Life of Jack Shcppard, the most uoted burglar, 
 robber, and jail breaker, that ever lived. Illustrated. 
 Price 50 cents. 
 
 The Tower of London. With over One Hun 
 dred splendid Engravings. Two vols. Price $1.00. 
 
 The Miser's Daughter. Complete in two 
 large volumes. Price Oue Dollar. 
 
 Pictorial Life nnd Adventures of Guy 
 Fawkes. The Bloody Tower, &c. Price 50 cents. 
 
 The Pictorial Old St. Pawl's. A Tale of 
 the Plague and the Fire. Illustrated. Price 50cents. 
 
 Pictorial Newgate Calendar; or, Chronicle* 
 of Crime. Beautifully Illustrated. Price 50 cents. . 
 
 The Star Chamber. Beautifully Illustrated. 
 Price 50 cents. 
 
 Mysteries of the Court of Queen 
 A line. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Mysteries of the Court of the Stuart*. 
 
 Price 50 cunts. 
 
 \Vindsor Castle. Ono volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Life of Hetfry Thomas, the Western Burglar 
 aud Murderer. Full of Plates. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Pictorial Life and Adventures of Dick 
 Turpin, the Burglar, Murderer, etc. 25 cents. 
 
 Life and Adventures of the Despera 
 does of the New "World. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Life of Ninon DC L'Endos. With her Let 
 ters on Love, Courtship, and Marriage. 25 cents. 
 
 Pictorial Life and Adventures of Davy 
 Crockett. One volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Grace O'Malley Her Life and Adven 
 tures. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Life of Arthur Spring. Price 25 cents. 
 
 REV. C. WADSVi'ORTH'S SERMONS. 
 
 America's Mission. A Thanksgiving Discourse. 
 By Rev. Charles Wadsworth. Price 25 cents. 
 
 Thankfulness and Character. Two Dis 
 courses. By Rev. Charles Wadsworth. Price 25 cts. 
 
 Politics in Religion. A Thanksgiving Sermon. 
 By Rer. Charles Wadsworth. Price 12> cents. 
 
 Thanksgiving. A Sermon. By Charles Wads- 
 worth. Price 12) cents. 
 
 HARRY COCKTON'S WORKS. 
 
 Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. One 
 
 yolume, paper cover. Price 50 ceuts ; or a flner edition 
 in cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 Sylvester Sonnd, the Somnambulist. 
 Illustrated. One volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 The Sisters. By Henry Cockton, author of "Val 
 entine Vox, the Ventriloquist." Price 50 cenU. 
 
 The Steward. By Henry Cockton. Price 50 conts. 
 
 Percy Effingham. By Henry Cockton. 60 cts. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Works will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on receipt of the Price. 
 
T. 2. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. it 
 
 HIGHWAYMEN, MURDERERS, etc. 
 
 Price Tioenty-Five Cents each. 
 
 Life of John A. Murrel, the Great Western 
 
 LinJ I'irate. 
 
 LitY and Adventures of Joseph T. Hare. 
 L i f < of Col. Mouro; 1 JLi>I \>iii<ls. lihiAU'attid. 
 Life of Helen Jewett, and Richard P. 
 
 Robinson. 
 
 Life and Adventures of Jack. Kami. 
 KH Clayton. A Sequel to Jack Kami. 
 The Robber'n \V r ife. A Domestic Romance. 
 Mysteries ami Miseries of New Orleans. 
 Obi; or. Three Fingered Jack. 
 Lives of the Felon*. Illustrated. 
 Tom Waters ; or, The Haunted Highwayman. 
 Nat Blake ; or, The Doomed Highwayman. 
 Galloping Gusi ; or, The Purse and the Pistol. 
 Ned Hasting*; or, The Terror of tho Road. 
 Biddy Wood hull, the Beautiful Haymaker. 
 Bill Hurt on; or, The Doomed Highwayman. 
 E veleen Wilson 5 or, Trials of an Orphan Girl. 
 The Diary of a Pawnbroker. Illustrated. 
 Silver and Pewter; or, Life in New York. 
 Sweeny Todd ; or the Ruffian Barbor. 
 Life and Adventures of Jonathan Wild. 
 Life of Jack Ketch, the Mnrderor. 
 Life and Adventures of Mary Batemaii. 
 Life of Mother Browurigg, and Adventures. 
 Life of Uaoiil De Surville. 
 Life and Adventures of Rody the Rover. 
 Life and Adventures of Arthur Spring. 
 Life of Captain Blood, and the Hangman's 
 
 Daughter. 
 
 Captain Blond and the Beagles. 
 Life of Dick Parker, the Mutineer. 
 Life and Adventures of Henry Thomas. 
 Life and Adventures of Dick Tnrpiit. 
 The Desperadoes of the New \Vorld. 
 The Life of Ninon De L'Eiiclos. 
 Life of Galloping Dick, the Highwayman. 
 S3xteen-St ringed Jack and His Pals ; or, 
 
 the Highwayman's Captive. 
 
 Stxteen-Stringed Jack's Fight for Life. 
 The Highwayman's Avenger j or, the Es- 
 
 c.ipa of Sixtemi-Stringad Jack. 
 Life of Frank Smith, the Ghost Murderer. 
 Life and Ad ventures of Dick Patch. 
 Life of Jack Bellingham, the Murderer. 
 Life of Joe Blackburn, the Noted Forger. 
 Life of Bill Corder, executed for Murder. 
 Life of Bill Burk, the Noted Murderer. 
 The Five Pirates. 
 
 Life of Jack Halloway, the Wife Murderer. 
 Life and Adventures of Jack Bishop. 
 Life of James Cook, the Murdorer. 
 Life of Jim Greenacre, tho Murderer. 
 Tom and Jim Berryman, the Noted Burglars. 
 The Banditti of the Prairie. Price 50 cents. 
 Life of Jack Sheppard. Price 50 cents. 
 Life of Davy Crockett. Prico 50 cents. 
 Life of Grace O'Malley. Price 50 cents. 
 Life of Guy Fawkes. Price 50 cents. 
 Adventures of Ned Musgrave. Price 50 cts. 
 Life of Colonel Vanderbomb. Price 50 cents. 
 Life and Adventures of Wilfred Mon- 
 
 tressor. With 87 engravings. 2 vols., price $1.00. 
 Memoirs of Vidocq, Principal Agent of the 
 
 French. Police, two vols., paper, $1.00 ; or cloth, $1.50. 
 
 REVOLUTIONARY TALES. 
 
 Price Twenty-Five Cents each. 
 
 The Seven Brothers of "Wyoming; or, 
 
 Tho Brigands of the American Revolution. 
 The Brigand 5 or, Tho Mountain Chief. 
 The tie tie i liiiiie. A Revolutionary Romance. 
 Ralph Ruitnioit; or, Tho Outlaw's Doom. 
 The Flying Artillerist, or Mexican Treachery. 
 Old Put; or, The Days of '76. A Revolutionary Tale. 
 Wau-itau-gee ; or, The Massacre at Chicago. 
 Legends of Mexico. By George Lippard. 
 Grace Dudley; or Arnold at Saratoga. 
 The Guerilla Chief. A Romance of War. SOcts. 
 Red Sleeve, the Apache Chief. Price 50 cents. 
 The Quaker Soldier. Two vols. Price $1.00. 
 
 SEA AND PIRATICAL TALES. 
 Life and Adventures of Jack Adams, tho 
 
 celebrated Sailor and Mutineer. Prico 50 cents. 
 Life and Adventures of Ben Brace, the 
 
 Sailor. Price 50 cents. 
 The Petrel ; or, Love on the Ocean. A Sea Novel. 
 
 By Admiral Fisher. One volume. Price 50 cents. 
 Jack Ariel ; or, Life on Board an East Indiaman. 
 
 One TO!., octavo. Price Fifty cents. 
 Life and Adventures of Tom Bowling, 
 
 the Sailor. One volume. Price 50 cents. 
 Cruising in the Last War. Price 50 cents. 
 Percy Emiigham. Price 50 cents. 
 Percival Keene. Price 50 cents. 
 The Sea If ing. Price 50 cents. 
 Peter Simple. Price 50 cents. 
 Poor Jack. Price 50 cents. 
 
 SEA TALES, AT 35 CENTS EACH. 
 The Doomed Snip; or, Wreck of Arctic Regions. 
 The Pirate's Son. Illustrated. 
 The Three Pirates ; or, Cruise of the Tornado. 
 The Flying Dutchman. 
 Life of Alexander Tardy, the Pirate. 
 The Flying Yankee. By Harry Hazel. 
 The Yankee Middy ; or, The Two Frigates. 
 The Gold Seekers s or, Crnis* of the Lively Sally. 
 The River Pirates. A Tale of New York. 
 Dark Shades of City Life. 
 Rats of the Seine ; or, River Thieves of Paris. 
 Yankees in Japan ; or, Adventures of a Sailor. 
 Red King ; or, The Corsair Chieftain. 
 Morgan, the Buccaneer ; or, The Freebooters. , 
 Jack Junk ; or, The Tar for all Weathers. 
 Davis, the Pirate; or, Freebooter of the Pacific. 
 Valdez, the Pirate ; His Life and Adventures. 
 Gallant Tom ; or, The Perils of the Ocean. 
 Yankee Jack ; or, The Perils of a Privateersman. 
 Harry Helm ; or, Tho Cruise of the Bloodhound. 
 Harry Tempest ; or, The Pirate's Protege. 
 The King's Cruisers. By Harry Hazel. 
 Charles Ransford ; or, Love on Board a Cruiser. 
 Red AVing ; or, Cruiser of Van Dieman's Land. 
 The Pacha of Many Tales. 
 The Pirate and Three Cutter*. 
 The Man-of-War's-Man. 
 Rebel and the Rover. 
 
 Jacob Faithful. Midshipman Easy. 
 
 Phantom Ship. The Naval Officer. 
 
 King's Own. Newton Forster. 
 
 Snarleyow. Our Mess. 
 
 Wreck of the Golden Mary. 
 Wild Oats Sown Abroad; or, On and Off 
 
 Sounding*. 60 cts. in paper; or in cloth gilt 7.5 cts. 
 
 Copies of any of tho above Works will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on receipt of the Price. 
 
12 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS 1 LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 WORK-TABLE, EMBROIDERY, etc. 
 
 The Lady's Work-Table Rook. Full of 
 l^.ites. lio'uud iu ci'inisou clotU, gilt. 1'rico $1.00. 
 
 T"><- Ladies' Complete Guide to NeeUe- 
 \ ork <fc Embroidery. The best work ou tms 
 subject ever published. Cloth. Price 1.00. 
 
 V.'ORKS BY POPULAR. AUTHORS. 
 
 Lady Maud, the Wonder of Kingswood 
 
 C .;*<. By Pierce Egau. Price 70 cents in paper ; 
 
 01- a finer edition, bound, for $1.00. 
 Mysteries of Three Cliies: Boston, Xew 
 
 1'ork, uud Philadelphia. By A. J. II. Duganmi. One 
 
 volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 lied Indians of Newfoundland. A beauti 
 fully Illustrated Indian Story. By author of "Prairie 
 
 Kin." Price 50 ceuts. 
 Whitehall; or, The Times of Oliver Cromwell. 
 
 Complete in ouo volume. Illustrated. Price 50 cts. 
 Tlxe Greatest Plague of Life ; or, The Adven 
 tures of a Lady iu Search of u Good Servant. By one 
 
 who lias been "almost worried to death." 50 cents. 
 < orinne; or, Italy. By Madame T>e Stael. 
 
 T'.ij poetical pu,>sa 'cs by L. E. L. Pr.co Fifty cuuts_ 
 Iloi-fdun. A Tale of 1210. By Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 Bart., author of " ivanhoc," etc. i'r.co 00 cents. 
 I'lii-.uiioiis ill America; or, High Life in Kew 
 
 Y-.-rk. Complete in one volume. Price 00 cents. 
 Life In tlie South. An Antidote to "Uncle Tom's 
 
 Cabin." With Illustrations by Dariey. Price 00 cents. 
 T.lorente's History of tlie Inquisition iu 
 
 ;*jta i i. Complete in one volume. Price 00 cents. 
 Gciievra. By Miss Fairficld. Price 50 ceuts. 
 Sal.ithicl. By Kev. George Croly. Price 50 cents. 
 Aristocracy;- ; or, Life among the Upper Ten. By 
 
 Joseph A. Auues, Esq. Price 00 cents. 
 Tom Racquet; and His Three Maiden Aunts. 
 
 Full of illustrative engravings. Price 50 cents. 
 The Two Lovers ; or a Sister's Devotion. A Do- 
 
 ini.'.-tic f-tory. By author of Twin Sisters. Price 00 cts. 
 Sketches In Ireland. By W. M. Thackeray, 
 
 author of "Vanity Fair." Price 50 cents. 
 
 Tlic Coquette. By the author of "Miserimus." 
 One of the best books ever written. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Tlie Fortune Hunter. By Mrs. Anna CoraMow- 
 
 att. Price Fifty cents. 
 Ned Musgrave ; or. tho Most Unfortunate Man in 
 
 the World. By Theodore Hook. Price 00 cents. 
 Clifford and tlie Actress; or the Reigning Fa 
 vorite. By Margaret Blount. Price Fifty cents. 
 Tlie .Jesuit's Daughter. By Ked Buutliue. 
 
 One volume, octavo. Price 00 ceuts. 
 Ryan's Mysteries of Marriage. Full of 
 
 Illustrations. Price 50 cents. 
 Tile Orphan Sisters. By Mrs. Marsh, author 
 
 of ' The Deformed." Price 00" rents. 
 Romish Confessional. By M. Michelct. One 
 
 volume. Price 50 ceuts. 
 ATjey of Iiinismoylc. By Grace Kennedy, 
 
 author of " Father Clement. " Price 20 cents. 
 Father Clement. By author of " Dunallen." 
 
 Price 00 cents iu paper, or 70 cents in cloth. 
 'WHfrcd Moutressor; or, the Secret Order of 
 
 th'- Seven. A Komanco of Life in the New York 
 
 Metropolis. Illustrated with ?7 Illustrative Eni.'ra- 
 
 vin-rs. Two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar. 
 Ti.e Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton 
 
 Kandolph. 50 cents in paper ; or in cloth for $1.00. 
 
 T!te Pride of Life. By author of "Henpecked 
 
 H.i-b;:id." Two voluui"s, pajwr. Price $1.00; or 
 
 in one volume, cloth, for $1.30. 
 Henry Clay's Portrait. By Xaglo. Size 22 
 
 by :;o in. Pr'x'e*! .00 a copy. Originally sold at $0.00. 
 The Miser's Heir. By P. IT. Myeix. Price 50 
 
 ceuts in paper cover ; or 70 cents iu cloth, gilt. 
 Vic* 1ms of Amusement*. By Martha Clark. 
 
 Suitable for Sunday Schools. One vol., cloth. .SScts. 
 
 SIR E. L. BULWER'S NOVELS. 
 
 Falkland. A Novel. One vol., octavo. 20 cents. 
 The Roue ; or, The Hazards of Women. 25 cents. 
 The Oxonians. A Sequel to " The Hone." 20cts. 
 Citldci'Oii, tlie Courtier. Byliulwer. l.* cu. 
 LANGUAGES "WITHOUT A MASTER. 
 
 Price Ttcffitty-Fiee <'< nix i.m-li. 
 French trlthout a Master. In Six Easy 
 
 I.rSSODS. 4| 
 
 Kim uisii ^vithout a Master. In Four Easy 
 
 German tvlthout a Master. In Six Easy 
 Lessons. 
 
 Italian without a Master. In Five Ea^y 
 Lessons. 
 
 Latin without a Master. Iu Six Easy Lessons. 
 Tiio whole are also bound in one vol., cloth, for $1.00. 
 
 SMOLLETT'S GREAT WORKS. 
 
 Peregrine Pickle; and His Adventures. Two 
 
 volumes, octavo. Price One Dollar. 
 Humphrey Clinker. Price Fifty cents. 
 Roderick Random. Price Fifty cents. 
 Ferdinand Count Fathom. Price Fifty cents. 
 Sir Launcelot Greaves. Price 25 cents. 
 
 HENRY FIELDING'S "WORKS. 
 Tom Jones. Two volumes. Price One Dollar. 
 Amelia. On volume. Price Fifty ceuts. 
 Joseph Andrews. Price Fifty cents 
 Jonathan Wild. Price 25 cents. 
 CHRISTY & WOOD'S SONG BOOKS. 
 
 No music is so generally esteemed, or songs so fre 
 quently sniiir and listened to with so much delight, as 
 is the music and the songs of the Ethiopian Minstrels. 
 They have commenced a new epoch in Music, and tho 
 best works relating to them are those mentioned below. 
 Each Book contains near Seventy Songs. 
 
 Christy <fc Wood's IVcw SoiigBook. Illus 
 trated. Price 12' cents. 
 
 TJie Melodcoii Song Book. Pi-ice 12V cents. 
 
 The. Plantation Melodies. Price 12!^ cents. 
 
 The Ethiopian Foiig Book. Price 12'^ cents. 
 
 The Sereiindcrs' Song Book. Price 12^ cts. 
 
 Buds\vorth's Songs. Price 12) cents. 
 
 Christy and White's Complete Ethio 
 pian Melodies, containing 291 songs, and beau 
 tifully bound in ouo volume, cloth, gilt. Price$1.00. 
 
 USEFUL BOOKS FOR EVERYBODY. 
 
 Lardiier's One Thousand and Ten 
 Tilings "Worth Knowing; to which is 
 added Employment to All ; or a Hundred Ways to 
 make and keep Money. Price 20 cents. 
 
 Gentlemen's Science of Etiquette; and 
 liiiide to Society. By Count D'Orsay. With his Por 
 trait. Price 20 cents. 
 
 Ladles' Science of Etiquette; and complete 
 Hand Book of tho Toilet. By Countess De Calahieila. 
 Price 20 cents. 
 
 The Complete Kitchen and Fruit Gar 
 dener. A work that all that have a g.udcu should 
 own. Price 20 cents. 
 
 The Complete Florist; or, Flower Gar 
 dener. The best work on the subject ever pub 
 lished. Price 20 cents. 
 
 Kiiowlson's Complete Farrier, or Horse 
 Doctor. All that own a horse should possess this 
 book. Price 20 ceuts. 
 
 Kiiowlson's Complete Cattle, or Cow 
 Doctor. Whoever owns a cow should have this 
 book. Price 20 cents. 
 
 Pocket Library of Useful Knowledge. 
 A work that all should own. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Arthur's Receipts for Putting up Fruits 
 and Vegetables in Summer to Keep. 
 Price 12>i rents. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Y/orks will ba sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on receipt of the Price. 
 
B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 13 
 
 WORKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 WiUlSoutIieruSceii.es. By author of "Wild 
 Western scenes." Two volumes, paper cover. 1'rico 
 One Dollar; or iu oue volume, cloth, tor $1. JO. 
 
 The Physical History of I lie Creation of 
 tlit Earth mul its Inhnbtt aiif s. A < <-m- 
 puiioii to Lyell'a Anlinuiiy of Mau. By Eli Boweu, 
 Ksq , Profe-sor of Oeojogy. Complete iu cue large 
 duodecimo volume. Price, $1. JO. 
 
 The Q,uaker Soldier; or, The EritlsU In 
 Philadelphia. By Col .1. Kichter J .>:ies. . 1 \vo 
 vols., paper cover. Prico $1.00 ; or in cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Currcr Lyle ; or, The Autobiogrnp'iy of 
 an Actress. By Louise Herder. Two volumes, 
 paper cover. Price $1.00; or iu cloth, $1..JO. 
 
 THc Roman Traitor. By II. W. Herbert Two 
 volumes, paper. Price #1.00 ; or in cloth, for 1 .-"'0. 
 
 Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern. Two 
 volumes, paper, price 41.00 ; or iu cloth, for $1.00. 
 
 Woiileltli's Frcncli, German, Spanish, 
 Latin and Italian Languages without 
 a Master. Oue volume, cloth, pnce $1.30. 
 
 Secession, Coercion and Civil War. A Pro 
 phecy of die southern Itebelliou. Oue vol., cloth, $1,.JU. 
 
 Lola Montez' Lectures and Life. Two v]s., 
 paper cover. Price $1.00; or in one vol., cloth, *l.fjO. 
 
 Liebig's Complete \Vorks on Chemistry. 
 One volume, cloth. Price $-.00. 
 
 The Works of Captain Marryatt. Com 
 plete in oue royal octavo volume, bound. Price $3.00. 
 
 The Laws and Practice of the Game of 
 Echr-. By a Professor,, This is the only rer..<.'- 
 ni/.ivl book on' the subject published in tlie world. 
 Complete in oue vol., cloth, price 7.3 cents. 
 
 Dickens' Short Stories. By Charles Dickens. 
 Oue volume. 12nio. Price $1.2-0. 
 
 Message from the Sea. T!y Charles Dickens. 
 One volume, 12mo. Price $l.C. 
 
 Lives of Jack Sheppard and Gny 
 Fawkes. Illustrated. One volume, cloth, $1.3O. 
 
 The Afternoon of Unmarried Tjife. A 
 Charming Novel. Oue vol., cloth. Price Sl.ii. 
 
 Geu. Scot.t's $3.OO Portrait. Price One Hollar. 
 NEW YORK MERCURY STOHIES. 
 
 Each book contains Illustrative Engravings by Darley. 
 Price '25 Cants e/icli. 
 
 Saul Sabberday, Rift and Spray 
 
 Sea \Vaif, Morgan, 
 
 White Wizard, Sworflmaker Santec, 
 
 Man-o'-War-Man's Shell-Hunter, 
 
 Grudge, 
 Stella Delorme, 
 Luona Prescott, 
 Our Mess, 
 Thayendanega, 
 Elfrida, 
 Pathaway, 
 English Tom, 
 Meli>omene Serf, 
 Nightshade, 
 
 Golden Feather, 
 Scot to, the Scout, 
 Death Mystery, 
 The Owlet, 
 Catholina. 
 Conspirators. 
 Hilliare Henderson, 
 Whltelnw, 
 Silver Star ."if>. 
 Sybil Campbell 50. 
 EXCELLENT SHILLING BOOKS. 
 Price 12' $ cmls each, or Ten fur $1.00. 
 
 Throne of Iniquity. By Key. Albert Barnes. 
 
 Woman. By Lucretia Mott, the Quaker Preacher. 
 
 Euchre. Game of Euchre and its Laws. 
 
 Dr. Berg's Answer to Uis!<>]> Hughes. 
 
 Dr. Berg's Lecture on the Jesuits. 
 
 Life of the Rev. John X. Maflit. 
 
 Odd-Fellowship Exposed. Illustrated. 
 
 Exposition of the Sons of Malta. 
 
 Mormoiitsm Exposed. Full of Kau-rivi tiers. 
 
 Train on the Downfall of England, 
 
 and Arclibis'.iop Hughes on tl e War in Aim-lira 
 Train on Slavery and Emaiiei palion. 
 Henry Ward Beeclier on War mid 
 
 Emancipation. 
 
 Rev. Wm. T. Brnntley's Union Sermon. 
 The Sleeping Sentinel. Price Ten cents. 
 
 WORKS IN PRESS BY THE BEST 
 
 AUTHORS. 
 Ernest Lliiwood. By Mrs Caroline Lee Ileniz. 
 
 Complete in two volumes, paper coy. r. Price One 
 
 Doll it r ; or in one volume, chilli, for *l.."jO. 
 Mabel 5 or, Darkness ini'l Dawn. l?y Charles .1. 
 
 I'eiersuu. Complete iu two volumes, paper cove:-, 
 
 Price $1.00 ; or iu cloth, *1 .">0. 
 Life a ml Adventures of Fudge Fumble. 
 
 I'l'icu i\iiy cents. 
 LiTe a- d Adventures of Tom Bo-vvling. 
 
 A Sea Tale. Oue volume. J'rice M cenis. 
 The Tiger Slayer. By Gustave Aimard. Olio 
 
 volume, octavo, paper cover. Price Fifty cents. 
 The Gold Seekers. By Gustavo Aimard. Ona 
 
 volume, octavo, paper cover. Price Fil'ty cents. 
 All of Aiintn-d'iS othtr ltn,l;x are in 'press by us. 
 The Che- alier. By Alexander Dninas. A sequel 
 
 lo and continuation of " Audree De Tavernay. One 
 
 Volume, octavo. Price 7.J ceul.s. 
 The American Pocket-Library of Useful 
 
 K.IIOM leilge. A work that everybody should, 
 
 own. Price Fifty Cents. 
 Whltefriars; or, the Days of Charles tlie Second. 
 
 Illustrated by Chapiu. Price JO cents. 
 Madame Rachel's Travels in tlie New 
 
 'World. Translated from tlie French of Leon Beaii- 
 
 vallel. Two vols , paper, $1.00 ; or iu cloth, $1.2"). 
 The K. N. Pepper Papers 5 and other stri. .-s 
 
 put uj> for general use. By Jacques Maurice. Com 
 plete in two vols, paper. Price $1.00; or iu ouo 
 
 vol., cloth, $1.2.0. 
 The Jesuit's Daughter. By Ned Buntline. 
 
 One volume, octavo. Price JO cents. 
 The Fnllen Angel. By Alexander Duma's. A 
 
 Story of Lile in Paris. One volume. Price 50 cent-. 
 Life and Adventures of Ned Musgravo ; 
 
 or, the Most Unfortunate Man in the World. By 
 
 Theodore Hook. Price uO cants. 
 FOLLOWING ARE TWENTY-FIVK 
 
 CENT BOOKS. 
 
 Moreton Hall; or, the Spirit of a Haunted House. 
 Jenny Ambrose ; or, Life iu the Eastern States. 
 Uncle Tom In England. 
 Life and Adventures of Rody the Rover. 
 The Admiral's Daughter. By Mrs. Blar.-a. 
 The Deformed. By Mrs. Marsh. 
 Life of Galloping Dick, the Highwayman. 
 Sixteen-Stringed Jark and his Pals 5 or, 
 
 the Highwayman's Captive. 
 
 Sixtcen-Striiigcd Jack's Fight for Life. 
 Tlie Highwayman's Avenger 5 or, the Es 
 cape of o'ixteeu-otriuged Jack. 
 
 Life of Frank Smith, the Ghost Murderer 
 Life and Adventures of Dick Patch. 
 Life of Jack Bellingham, the Murderer. 
 Life of Joe Blackburn, the Noted Forger. 
 Life of Bill Corder, executed for Murder. 
 Life of Bill Burk, the Noted Murderer. 
 The Five Pirate?. 
 
 Life of Jack TIalloway, the Wife Murderer. 
 Life and Adventures of Jack Bishop. 
 Life of James Cook, the Murderer. 
 Life of Jim Greenucre, the Murderer. 
 Tom and Jim Berryman, the Noted Burglars. 
 The Old Astrologer. By T. S. Arthur. 
 A House to Let. By Charles Dickeus. 
 Hard Times. By Charles Dickens. 
 Seven Poor Travelers. By Dickens. 
 Uncommercial Traveler. By Chas. Dickens. 
 Cnptnin Jorgaii. By Charles Dickens. 
 Tales and Stories. By Charles Dickens. 
 Ri5>lou Rumsey. By Charles Dickens. 
 The Child's Story. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Works will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on receipt of the Price. 
 
14 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF BOOKS IN PRESS. 
 
 WORKS IN PRESS BY THE BEST 
 
 ALT 11OUS. 
 Wciilock; or, Two "Ways to Marry. A 
 
 i-toiy of .Now York Life. Printed from the Home 
 J.rifiiiil. Two vols., paper. Price $1.00; or ia 
 cloth, $1-25. 
 
 t'nmarried Life. A Companion to " Woman's 
 T . .lights ab.iiu \\'oiiicu," by ili author of "John 
 Halifax, Geutloman." Two Tulumes, paper cover. 
 Price Oue Dollar ; or in ouo volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 Tile Bnchrlor. Aa Autobiography of an OKI 
 Man's History. I5y autlior <if "Joint Drayton." 
 Two vols., paper cover. Price $1.00 ; or iu one vol., 
 cloth, for $1.23. 
 
 The Coquette; or, The History of Eliza 
 WHarton. A novel, founded on fact. By a lady 
 of Massachusetts. With a Historical Preface, and a 
 memoir of the author. Two vols., paper, $1.00; or 
 in one vol., cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 The False Lovers. By (5eorgo Sand, author 
 of "Cousuelo," " Countess of Rudolstadt." etc. Two 
 vols., paper. Price $1.00; or oue vol., cloth, 1.25. 
 
 The OLD VICARAGE. By Mrs. Huhhack, 
 author of " The Wife's Sister," etc. Two vols., paper 
 cover. Price $1.00 ; or iu cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 Saratoga. An Historical novel of American Life 
 and Manners during the Involution. Two vols., 
 puper cover. Price One Dollar ; or in one volume, 
 cloth, $1.2-5. 
 
 The Bohemians in London. By Edward M. 
 
 Whitty, EM[., Member of Parliament. Two volumes, 
 
 paper cover. Price $1.00; or in one vol., cloth, $1.2.5. 
 The Devoted Bride; or, The Rehel Lover. 
 
 A Tale of Bacou's Kebellion. By St. George Tucker. 
 
 Two vols., paper cover. Price$1.00; oriu cloth, $1.2.7. 
 Following the Drum. By Mrs. Brigadier 
 
 Con. Egbert L. Yielc. Oue volume, illustrated cover 
 
 in colors. Pi ice 50 cents. 
 The Orplian's Trials ; or. the Vices of the Age. 
 
 An autobiography. Two vols.. paper cover. Price 
 
 One Dollar ; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 Family Pride. By author of "Pique." Two 
 vols., paper Price $1.00; or in one volume, cloth, 
 for $1.25 
 
 Self-Sacrifice; or, The Devoted Sister. 
 
 By author of " Passages in life of Margaret Mait- 
 land." Two vols., paper, $1 00 ; or cloth, $1.25. 
 
 My First Season in Society. By Beatrice 
 
 Reynolds, author of "Charles Aucliester,' 1 "Coun 
 terparts," etc. Two vols., paper, $1.00 ; or in cloth 
 
 for $1.25. 
 Tlie Carpenter's Daughter. A Companion 
 
 to the " Lamplighter, " " Watchman," etc. By W. 
 
 E. S. Whitman. Two vols., paper, $1.00; or iu 
 
 oue vol., cloth, for $1.25. 
 The Fond Lovers; or, the Lady of the West. 
 
 By John Ballon. Two vols., paper cover. Price 
 
 Oue Dollar ; or in cloth, for $1.25. 
 The King's Daughter ; or the Price of a 
 
 Crown. By Eugene Sue. Two vols., paper. 
 
 Pi-ice $1.00; or in cloth, $1.25. 
 Modern Chivalry. By Judge Brackenridge. 
 
 Two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar ; or 
 
 in one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 Columbia, the Beautiful Blonde. A novel. 
 
 By William North. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 
 Price One Dollar ; or in oue vol., cloth, $1.25. 
 The Four Heiresses. A Tale founded on Fact. 
 
 By Augustiu Kennedy. Two vols., paper. Price 
 
 $1.00; or in cloth, $1 25. 
 The Orphan Girl. By Alice Gray. Two vol*., 
 
 paper. Price $1.00; or in one vol., cloth, for $1.25. 
 The Orphans of Uiiswalden. By -Mrs. Shelley. 
 
 Two vols., paper. Price $1.00 ; or in cloth, for $1.25. 
 Lorrimer Littlegood. By author of "Frank 
 
 Fairleigh." TvTul*., paper. Price $1 ; or cloth $1.25 
 Flirlatioit. A navel. By Catharine Sinclair, au 
 thor of " Beatrice," etc. Two vols., paper cover. 
 
 Price $1.00 ; or in one volume, cloth, $1.25. 
 Mother and Daughter. By Mrs. Percy B 
 
 Shelley. Two vols., paper, $1.00 ; or in cloth, $1.25. 
 
 WORKS 
 
 PRESS BY 
 AUTHORS. 
 
 THE BEST 
 
 The Shadow of Aahtydyat. By Mrs. Henry 
 Wood, author of "tast Lyuue." Two volumes 
 octavo, paper cover. Price Ouo Dollar; or iu 01,0 
 .volume, cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Runaway Match. By Mrs. Henry Wood 
 autlior of A eruer'l Pride," etc. One vol., octavo 
 paper cover. Price 50 cents; or bouud iu oue vol ' 
 cloth, 75 ceuts. 
 
 Love and 3Ioiiey ; or, Aristocracy in the Quaker 
 City. By J. B. Jones, author of "Rival Belles." 
 Two vols., paper, $1.00; or one vol., cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Fifty years in Exile. By Herman Melville, 
 author of "Oiuoo," "Typee," etc. Complete ia 
 two volumes, paper cover, price $1.00; or iu cue 
 volume, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 The Masquerade. By Herman Mellville, au 
 tlior of "Typee,'' ' Omoo," etc. Complete in two 
 volumes, paper cover. Price $1.00; or iu oue vol., 
 cloth, $1.25. 
 
 The Enchanted Isles. By Herman Melville, 
 author of " Ornoo," " Typee," etc. Complete in two 
 volumes, paper cover. Price $1.00; or in one vol., 
 cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Higli Life in Washington. A true portrai 
 ture from life, of real persons and characters. By 
 Mrs. N. P. Lasselle. Two vols., paper cover. Price 
 Oue Dollar ; or in one vol., cloth, $1.25. 
 
 The Pride of Life. A novel. By Lady Scott, 
 author of "The Henpecked Husband." Oue volume, 
 cloth, price $1.25 ; or in two vols., paper cover, $1.00. 
 
 The Telegraph. .^general history of Land and 
 Oceanic Telegraphs, with full descriptions of all 
 kinds of Telegraphic Apparatus, with illustrations 
 of the same. Two vols., paper, $1.00 ; or cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Wilfred Moutressor; or, the Secret Order of 
 the Seven. A Romance of Life in the IS'ew York 
 Metropolis. Illustrated with 87 Illustrative Engra 
 vings. Two volumes, paper cover. Price Oue Dollar. 
 
 Sol. Smith's Adventures and Travels. 
 With beautiful Illustrations from Designs by Darley. 
 Complete iu one volume, cloth. Price $1.50. 
 
 Billy Burton's Humorous Sketches. 
 With beautiful Illustrations by Darley. One volume, 
 cloth. Price Oue Dollar and fifty ceuts. 
 
 Joe Neal's Adventures and Sketches. 
 Eleven Illustrations, from Original Designs by Dar 
 ley. Complete in one volume, cloth. Price $1.50. 
 
 South-Western Sketches of Humor. 
 With Eighteen Illustrations from Original Designs 
 by Darley. Complete in one volume, bouud in 
 cloth. Price $1.50. 
 
 Sam Slick's Yankee Stories and Let 
 ter*. With beautiful Illustrations from Original 
 Designs by Darley. Complete iu one volume, cloth. 
 Price $1.50. 
 
 Major O'Regan's and Captain Farrago's 
 Adventures and Travels. By Judge H. 
 II. Breckenridge. Embellished with beautiful Illus 
 trative Engravings from Original Designs by Darley. 
 Complete iu oue vol., bound in cloth. Price $1.60. 
 
 Adventures of Captain Priest. By author 
 " Piuey Woods Tavern," " Stray Yankee in Texas," 
 etc. Illustrated. Two volumes, paper cover. Price 
 $1.00; or bound in cloth, for $1.50. 
 
 The Rival Belles ; or, Life in Washington. By 
 J. B. Jones, autlior of "Wild Western Scenes." 
 Two volumes, paper. Price $1.00 ; or iu cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Edgar Trevor. A tale of Retribution, founded 
 on facts iu real life. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 Price $1.00 ; or iu cloth, for $1.2.5. 
 
 The Farmer's Guide to Farming and. 
 Gardening. Complete in one vol., cloth, $1.25 
 
 The Two Cousins. By P. Hamilton Myers 
 Oue volume, cloth. Price $1.25. 
 
 Courtenay Hall. A true talo of Virginia Life 
 By Jam. -s T. Randolph, Esq. Oue vol., cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Life and Adventures of Colonel Van- 
 tit- rlxnii h. By J. B. Jones, author of "Wild 
 WoMrrn Scenes," "The Rival Belles," etc. Two 
 volumes, paper, $1.00 ; or cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Copies of any of the above Works will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on receipt of the Price. 
 
14 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 J4URREL, HARE &> TURPIN SERIES. 
 
 Price Twenty -five cents each. 
 
 Life of John A^ Murrel, the Great Western 
 La 
 
 'Lives of the Felon*,"' etc. 
 
 Life of Joseph T. Hare, the Bold Robber and 
 Highwayman, with Sixteen spirited illustrations. 
 By author of " Life of Murrel," " Hare," tc. 
 
 Life of Col. Monroe Edwards, the accom 
 plished Former aud Swindler, with Twenty-two 
 illustrative engravings. By author of " Life of Mar- 
 roll," "Hare," "Helen Jewett," etc. 
 
 Life of Helen Jewett, and Richard P. 
 Robinson, with Thirteen illustrations of the 
 principal scenes in the book. By author of "Life of 
 Murrel," "Hare," " Edwards," " Felons," etc. 
 
 Lives of the Felons ; or the American Crimi 
 nal Calendar. Full of illustrative engravings. By 
 the author of "The Life of Murrel," "Hare," etc. 
 
 Life of Henry Thomas, the Western Burglar 
 and Murderer ; full of illustrations. By author of 
 "The Life of Murrel," "Hare," "Turpin," etc. 
 
 The Life of Mrs. Whipple and Jesse 
 Strang. Full of illustrative engravings. By au 
 thor of " Life of Murrel," " Hare," etc. 
 
 Life and Adventures of Dick: Turpin, 
 the Highwayman, Burglar, Murderer, Bobber, etc., 
 full of illustrative engravings. 
 
 Life and Adventures of the Desperadoes 
 of the New "World $ containing an account of 
 their different modes of Lynching, the Cane Hill 
 murders, the victims, the execution, etc., etc., full 
 of illustrative engraviug*. 
 
 Obi 5 or, Three-Plngered Jack. With a 
 full account of his Life aud Adventures. By author 
 of "The Robber's Wife." 
 
 The Robber's Wife. By author of "Obi; or, 
 Life of Three-Fingered Jack," etc. 
 
 "Wau-Nan-Gee ; or, the Massacre of Chi 
 cago. An Indian Tale of the War Dance, Scalp 
 ing Knife, and most fearful Scenes of the War of 
 1S12. By Major Richardson. 
 
 Life of Captain Biood, the Highway 
 man; and the Hangman's Daughter. 
 
 Captain lilood aud the Beagles ; or, the 
 Highway man's Leap for Life. 
 
 The Highwayman's Avenger 5 or, the 
 Escape of Sixteen-Stringed Jack. 
 
 Sixteen-Stringed Jack's Fight for Life 5 
 or, the Highwaymau of Hampstead Heath, 
 
 Life and Adventures of Arthur Spring, 
 the murderer of Mrs. Lynch and Mrs. Shaw. With 
 illustrations of the scene of the murder, etc. 
 
 The Mysteries and Miseries of New 
 Orleans. By Ned Buntliue. 
 
 Life and Adventures of Rody the Rover j 
 
 the Ribbonman of Ireland. By William Carleton. 
 Life and Adventures of Jonathan \Vild. 
 
 By Camden Pelham. 
 
 THE "NAT BLAKE" SERIES. 
 
 Price Twenty-five cents each. 
 
 Nat Blake; or, the Doomed Highway 
 man. By the author of "Tom Waters, or the 
 Haunted Highwayman," " Ned Hastings, or the 
 Terror of the Road," " Bill Horton, or the Mysterious 
 Highwayman," etc. Full of illustrative engravings. 
 
 Tom Waters; or, the Haunted High 
 wayman. By the author of " Nat Blake," " Ned 
 Hastings," " Bill Horton," etc. Illustrated. 
 
 Jfcd Hastings; or, the Terror of the 
 Road. By author of "Nat Blake," "Tom Wa- 
 
 < ters," " Bill Horton," etc. Illustrated. 
 
 BUI Horton ; or, the Mysterious High, 
 wayman. By the author of " Ned Hastings," 
 "Nat Blake, "" Tom Waters," etc. Illustrated. 
 
 THE "NAT BLAKE" SERIES 
 
 Price Tictnty-five cents each. 
 
 Life of Dick Parker, the Pirate und Mutineer. 
 By Camdeu IVlhaw, Esq., author of "Life of Jack 
 Ketch," " Galloping Dick," " Mother Browurigg," 
 " Mary Bateuiau, " etc. 
 
 Life of Jack Ketch, the Murderer and Public 
 Executioner. By Camden Pelham, Esq. Illustrated, 
 
 Life of Mother Brownrigg, the Female 
 Torturer aud Murderer. By Camdeii Pelhani. 
 Illustrated. 
 
 Life of Galloping Dick, the Noted Highway 
 man. By Camdeu Pelham, Esq. 
 
 Life of Mary 15 at email, the Female Sorceress. 
 By Camdeu Pelham, Esq. 
 
 Life of Raoul De Surville. A Tale of the 
 Empire. By Eugeue Sue. 
 
 HARRY HAZEL'S SERIES. 
 
 Price Twenty-five cents each. 
 The Brigand; or, the Mountain Chief* 
 
 By Harry Hazel, author of "Gallant Tom," "The 
 Three Pirates," " The Flying Artillerist," " Yankee 
 Jack," etc. Full of illustrations. 
 Gallant Tom; or, the Perils of the Ocean. 
 By Harry Hazel, author of "The Brigand," "The 
 Three Pirates," "The Flying Artillerist," etc. 
 The Flying Artillerist ; a Tale of Mexican 
 Treachery. By Harry Hazel, author of " Gallant 
 Torn," "Yankee Jack," etc., illustrated. 
 Yankee Jack; or the Perils of a Priva- 
 teersmaii. A Romance of the War. By Harry 
 Hazel. Full of illustrations. 
 
 The Three Pirates ; or, the Cruise of the 
 Tornado. By Harry Hazel, author of " Gallant 
 Tom," " Yankee Jack." Full of illustrations. 
 The Flying Yankee ; or, the Cruise of the 
 Clippers. ATale of Privateering. By Harry Hazel, 
 author of " Gallant Tom," etc. Full of illustrations. 
 Red King; or, the Corsair Chieftain. A 
 Romance of the Ocean. By Harry Hazel, author of 
 " Flying Yankee," etc. Full of illustrations. 
 
 The King's Cruisers ; or, the Rebel and 
 
 the Rover. By Harry Hazel. 
 Sylvia Seabury; or, the Yankees in Ja 
 pan. The romantic adventures of a Sailor-Boy. 
 
 By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 The Doomed Ship ; or, the Wreck of the Arctic 
 
 Regions. By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 Jack Junk; or, the Tar for all Weathers. By 
 
 Harry Hazel. Illustrated. ^ 
 Harry Helm ; or, the Cruise of the Bloodhound. 
 
 By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 The Rebel and the Rover. A Tale of a 
 
 Piratical Cruiser. By Harry Hazel. 
 Harry Tempest ; or, the Pirate's Protege. A 
 
 Buccaneering Tale. By Harry Hazel. 
 The Flying Dutchman; or, the Wedding 
 
 Guest of Amsterdam. By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 Sweeny Todd; or, the Ruffian Barber. A Tale 
 
 of Terrors of the Seas. By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 The Gold Seekers ; or, the Cruise of the Lively 
 
 Sally. By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 Galloping Gus ; or, the Purse and the 
 
 Pistol. By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 Ralph U unit ion ; or, the Out law's Doom. 
 
 A Tale of the Revolution. By Harry Hazel. 
 Old Put ; or, the Days of Seventy-Six. 
 
 A Revolutionary Story. By Harry Hazel. 
 The Yankee Middy; or, the Two Fri 
 gates. By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 Valdez, the Pirate ; or, Scenes off Long Island, 
 
 the Fire-Island Wreckers, etc. By Harry Hazel. 
 The Rebel Bride. A Revolutionary Romance. 
 
 By Harry Hazel. 
 The Pirate's Son. A Tale of a Privateersman. 
 
 By Harry Hazel. Illustrated. 
 
 Igf Booksellers and News Agents, etc., will be supplied with any of aboue at very Low" Kates. 
 
 tgi" Any of the above works will be sent by Mail, free of Postage, to any part of the United 
 States, on mailing price of ones wanted, in a letter, to T. B. Peterson & Frothers, Pbilada. 
 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 15 
 
 "JACK RANN" SERIES. 
 
 Price Twenty -five cents each: 
 
 Life of Jack Rann; alias Sixteen- 
 Stringed Jack, the notorious Highwayman and 
 Kobber, with a lull history of his adventures. Full 
 of illustrated engravings. By author of " Morgan the 
 Buccaneer," "KitClayton," "Davis, the Pirate,' etc. 
 
 Kit Clayton ; or, the Hero of the Road. A Sequel 
 to "Life of Jack Rann, alias Sixteen-Stringed 
 Jack." By author of " Morgan, the Buccaneer." 
 
 Life of Morgan, the Buccaneer; or, the 
 Freebooters of the Antilles. By author 
 of " Life of Jack Ranu, alias Sixteeu-Striuged Jack," 
 " Life and Adventures of Alexander Tardy," " Life 
 of Davis, the Pirate," "The Seven Brothers of 
 Wyoming," "Silver and Pewter," etc. 
 
 Davis, the Pirate; or, the Freebooters 
 of the Pacinc. By author of " Life of Morguu, 
 the Buccaneer," " Alexander Tardy," etc. 
 
 Life of Alexander Tardy, the Pirato Chief of 
 St. Domingo and the West Indies. Full of illustra 
 tions. By author of "Morgan, the Buccaneer." 
 
 The Seven Brothers of Wyoming $ or 
 the Brigands of the Revolution. By author of 
 " Morgan, the Buccaneer," " Kit Clayton," etc. 
 
 Silver and Pewter. A tale of High Life and 
 Low Life in the City of New York. By author of 
 "The Seven Brothers of Wyoming," etc. 
 
 Life and Adventures of Ninon De L'En- 
 clos, the celebrated Aspasia of France, with her 
 celebrated Letters on Love, Courtship and Marriage; 
 aud the Mysteries of Marriage. Illustrated. 
 
 The River Pirates. A Tale of New York. 
 Taken from the Records of the New York Police 
 Courts. By author of " Dark Shades of City Life." 
 
 Dark Shades of City Life. A Sequel to " The 
 River ..;s," and by the same author. 
 
 Female Life in New York City. Illustrated 
 with Forty-four Female Portraits, taken from real 
 life in the C..y of New York. 
 
 The Mysteries of Bedlam; or, the Inside of 
 this noted London Mad-House exposed. By one who 
 was there for over twenty years. 
 
 Charles Raiisford ; or, Love on Board a 
 Cruiser. \ Romance of the Sea. By Captain 
 Chamier, of the Hoyal Navy. 
 
 The American Joe Miller; or, Punch for the 
 Million. Illustrated with over One hundred engra 
 vings, draw* by Henry Meadows, Cruikshauk, 
 Leach, Quiz, etc., etc. 
 
 The Rats of the Seine 5 or, the River Bandits 
 and Thieves of Patis. Illustrated. 
 
 Eveleen Wilson 5 or, the Trials of an Orphan 
 Girl. Illustrated. 
 
 The Iron Cross ; or, the Countess of Errol. A 
 Tale of High and Low Life. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 
 
 The Diary of a Pawnbroker ; or, the Three 
 Qolden Balls. Full of illustrative engravings. 
 
 Biddy Wooilhull, the Beautiful Hay 
 maker. By J. H. Ingraham, Esq. 
 
 Red "Wing; or, the Wierd Cruiser of Van Die- 
 
 m-.in's Land. By Lieutenant Raymond, U. S. Navy. 
 The Female Bluebeard ; or, the "Woman 
 
 with Many Husbands. By Eugene Sue. 
 The Mysteries of a Convent. This is a book 
 
 that all should read. 
 The Mysterious Marriage. A True Romance 
 
 of Life in the New York Metropolis. 
 The Monk. One of the greatest books ever printed. 
 
 By M. G. Lewis, Esq., M.P. 
 The Man-o'-War's-Man. A Tale of the Sea. 
 
 By Eugene Sue. , 
 
 The Corsair. A Venetian Tale. By Madame 
 
 George Sand. 
 Woman's Love. A True Story of the Heart. By 
 
 Eugene Sue. Illustrated. 
 
 First Love. A Story of the Heart. Price 25 cents. 
 S*3?~Booksellers and News Agents, etc , will be 
 
 "CAPTAIN MARRY ATT'S" SERIES. 
 
 Price Twenty-five cents each. 
 Jacob Faithful. 
 
 The Phantom Ship. 
 The King's Own. 
 Snarleyow 5 or, the Dog Fiend. 
 
 Midshipman Easy. 
 
 Frank Mildmay; or, the Naval Oiliccr. 
 Japhet in Search of a Father. 
 Newton Forster. 
 Pacha of Many Tales. 
 Pirate and Three Cutters. 
 
 'MRS. GREY'S" SERIES. 
 
 Price Twenty-five ents each. 
 The Gipsy's Daughter. 
 Lena Cameron, or the Four Sisters. 
 The Belle of the Family. 
 Sybil Leiiuard. 
 The Duke aud the Cousin. 
 
 The Little Wife. 
 The Manoeuvring M'ot her. 
 The Old Dower House. 
 The Baronet's Daughters. 
 The Young Prima Donna. 
 Alice Seymour, a Tale of Home. 
 Hyacinthe, or the Contrast. 
 
 "JACK SHEPPARD" SERIES. 
 
 Price Fifty cents each. 
 
 Life and Adventures of Jack Sheppard, 
 
 the most noted Burglar, Robber, and Jail Breaker, 
 
 that ever lived. With thirty-nine illustrations. 
 Pictorial Life and Adventures of Guy 
 
 Fawkes. The Chief of the Gunpowder Tieason. 
 
 With Twenty-four illustrations. 
 The Pictorial Old St. Paul's. A Tale of the 
 
 Plague aud the Fire. Full of illustrations. 
 The Star Chamber. Beautifully illustrated. 
 
 By author of " Jack Sheppard," " Guy Fawkes," etc. 
 Mysteries of * he Court of Queen Anne. 
 
 By author of " Jack Sheppard." 
 Mysteries of the Court of the Stuarts. 
 
 By author of " Jack Sheppard." 
 
 "Windsor Castle. By author of "Jack Shep 
 pard." 
 Pictorial Life and Adventures of Davy 
 
 Crockett. Full of illustrations. 
 Life and Adventures of Grace O'Malley. 
 Life & Adventures of Paul Periwinkle. 
 
 Full of illustrative engravings. 
 Life and Adventures of Jack Adams, the 
 
 celebrated Sailor and Mutineer. 
 Life and Adventures of Ben Brace, the 
 
 Sailor. A Nautical Romance. 
 The Petrel ; or, Love on the Ocean. A Sea Novel. 
 
 By Admiral Fisher, of the English Navy. 
 Life and Adventures of Jack Ariel ; or, 
 
 Life on Board an East Indiaman. 
 Life and Adventures of Tom Bowling, 
 
 the Sailor. By Capt. Chamier, of the Royal Navy. 
 Cruising in the Last War. 
 Life of Percy Kffingham. 
 Percival Keene. A Tale of the Sea. 
 The Sea King. A Tale of the Sea. 
 Peter Simple ; or, the Adventures of a Midship 
 man. 
 
 Poor Jack. A Tale of the Sea. 
 Mysteries of Three Cities: Boston, Now 
 
 York, and Philadelphia. By A. J. H. Dugauue. 
 
 supplied with any of above at very Low Kates. 
 
 ny of the above works will be sent by Mail, free of Postage, to any part of the United 
 States, on mailing prices of ones wanted, in a letter, to I. B. Peterson & Brothers, .Pliilad.