BANCROFT LIBRARY By author of the "Prairie Flower," ^^^7^^^^^"= LIFlTlN THE FAR^WEST, t|i m THE mm i^gm _ i *!-' -^#mm f*. s it* TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER, AUTHOR OF "THE PRAIRIE FLOWEU.""" 1 " THE INDIAN SCOUT," ."THE TRAIL HUNTER,'' "PIRATES OF THE PRAIB1> "THE TIGEll SLAYEK," "GOLD SEEKERS," "THE INDIAN CHIEF," "BORDER RIFLES," "FREEBOOTERS," " WHITE SCALPER," "TRAPPERS OF THE ARKAN "THE CHIEF OF THE AUCAS," "THE RED TRACK," "THE LAST OF THE INCAS," "THE QUEEN OF THE SAVANNAH," ETC. STORY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, BY PHILADELPHIA: PETERSON AND BROTHERS; S06 CHESTNUT STREET. PRICE 50 CENTS. UIIIIR n S EVERY WOHK ISSUED IN THIS SERIEIS (yomnletp, in itself, and Unahrifetl. ? r KUTHtRS' PUBLICATIONS. so the most readable and entertaining Books issued, and are printed for the -'Million" at very cheap rates, and copies of all or any of them will be sent by Mail, free of postage, to any person, on their remit ting the price of the Books they may wish to the Publishers, T. B. 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George, - - - SO Felina de Chambure, 50 Genevieve, - - - 50 The Horrors of Paris, 50 Isabel of Bavaria, - 60 Mohicans of Paris, - 50 Man with Five Wives, fiO Twin Lieutenants, - 50 Gambling Exposed, - 1 Oft 1 The Reformed Gambler 1 00 The Gambler's Life,- 1 00 | Secret Band Brothers, 1 00 The above are each In two vols., paper covr. Each one is also published in one volume, cloth, price 51.50 each. g&~ 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 & Brothers, Philada. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER, STORY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. BY GUSTAYE AIMARD. AUTHOR OP "THE TRAIL HUNTER," "THE PRAIRIE FLOWER," "THE INDIAN SCOUT," "PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES," "THE TIGER SLAYER," "THE GOLD SEEKERS," "THE INDIAN CHIEF," "THE BORDER RIFLES," ' "THE FREEBOOTERS," "THE WHITE SCALPER," "THE TRAPPERS OF THE ARKANSAS," " THE CHIEF OF THE AUCAS," " THE RED TRACK," "THE LAST OF THE INCAS," " THE QUEEN OF THE SAVANNAH," ETC., ETC. COMPLETE AND UNABRIDGED EDITION, .T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 306 GH-EST-NUT STREET. CONTENTS. PAOl L The Jacal 21 II. Inside the Cabin 24 III. A Conversation 28 IV. A Backward Glance 32 Y. The Hacienda Quemada 35 VI. The Apaches 39 VII. The Hill of the Mad Buffalo 43 VIII. Black Cat and Unicorn 47 IX. The Meeting 51 X. A War Stratagem 55 XI. In the Forest 59 XII. The Missionary 63 XIII. Return to Life 66 XIV. An Old Acquaintance of the Reader 70 XV. Convalescence 74 XVI. An Accomplice 77 XVII. Mother and Son 81 XVIII. The Consultation , 85 XIX. Bloodson 89 XX. Red Cedar 93 XXI. Curumilla 98 XXII. El Mai Paso 101 XXIII. El Rastreador 105 XXIV. The Camp in the Mountains 108 XXV. A Game at Hazard 112 XXVI. Nathan Paints Himself. ,... 116 XXVIL A Trail in the Air 120 XXVIII. The Fight with the Grizzly 123 XXIX. A Mother's Love 127 XXX. The Sorcerer 131 XXXI. White Gazelle 135 XXXII. The Escape 139 XXXIII. Plot and Counterplot 143 XXXIV. Cousin Bruin HT XXXV. The Hunt Continued 151 XXXVI. The Last Refuge 155 XXXVIL The Casket 159 XXXVIII. Smoke in the Mountains 103 XXXIX. The Boar at Bay , 167 XL. Lynch Law 112 (19) THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. BY GU STAVE AIMARD. CHAPTER I. THE JACAL. ABOUT three in the afternoon, a horse man, dressed in the Mexican costume, was galloping along the banks of a stream, an affluent of the Gila, whose capricious windings compelled him to make countless detours. This man, while constantly keeping his hand on his weapons, and watching for every evert, urged his horse on by shouts and spur, as if anxious to reach his journey's eud. The wind blew fiercely, the heat was oppressive, the grasshoppers uttered their discordant cries under the herb age that sheltered them ; the birds slowly described wide circles in the air, uttering shrill notes at intervals : coppery clouds were incessantly pass ing athwart the sun, whose pale, sickly beams possessed no strength ; in short, all presaged a terrible storm. The traveller seemed to notice nought of this ; bowed over his horse's neck, with his eyes fixed ahead, he increased his speed, without noticing the heavy drops of rain that already fell, and the hoarse rolling of distant thunder which began to be heard. Still this man, had he wished it, could easily have sheltered himself under the thick shade of the aged trees in the vir gin forest which he had been skirting for more than an hour, and thus let the heaviest part of the storm pass ; but a weightier interest, doubtless, urged him on, for, while increasing his speed, he did not think of drawing his zarape over his shoulders to protect him from the rain, but contented himself, as each gust of wind howled past him, with, drawing his hat a little tighter on his head, while repeating to his horse, in a sharp tone : " Forward ! forward !" In the meanwhile, the stream, whose banks the traveler was following, grew gradually narrower, and at a certain spot the bank was completely obstruct ed by an undergrowth of shrubs and in terlaced creepers, which completely prevented any approach. On reaching this point the traveler stopped ; he dis mounted, carefully inspected the vicin ity, took his horse by the bridle, and led it into a copse, where he concealed it,' attaching it with his lasso to the trunk of a large tree, after removing the bossal to let it browse at liberty. " Rest here, Negro," he said, as he softly patted it ; " do not neigh, for the enemy is at hand I shall soon re turn." The intelligent animal seemed to comprehend the words its master ad dressed to it, for it stretched out his head and rubbed it against his chest. " Good, good, Negro ! wait awhile !" The stranger then took from his hol sters a brace of pistols, which he placed in his girdle, threw his rifle on his shoulder, and started hurriedly in the direction of the river. He buried him- (21) 22 THE TRAPPER'S LAUGHTER. self without hesitation in the shrubs that bordered the stream, carefully sep arating the branches which at each step barred his progress. On reaching the edge of the water he stopped for a mo ment, bent forward, seemed to be list ening, and then drew himself up, mut tering : " There is no one ; all is safe." He then stepped on a mass of inter twined lianas, which extended from one bank to the other, and formed a natural bridge. This bridge, apparently so slight, was firm, and though it oscillat ed under the traveler's footsteps, he crossed it in a few seconds. He had scarce reached the other bank, when a girl emerged from a clump of trees which concealed her. " At last !" she said, as she ran up to him : " oh ! I was afraid you would not come, Don Pablo." "Ellen," the young man answered, with his whole soul in his glance, " death alone would keep me away." The traveler was Don Pablo Zaratc ; the girl, Ellen, Red Cedar's daughter.* " Come," she said. The Mexican followed her, and they walked on for some time without ex changing a word. When they had passed the chapparel which bordered the river, they saw a short distance be fore them a wretched jacal, which leant solitary and silent against a rock. " There is my home," the maiden said, with a sad smile. Don Pablo sighed, but made no re ply, and they continued to walk in the direction of the jacal, which they soon reached. "Sit down, Don "Pablo," the maiden went on, as she offered her comrade a stool, on which he sank. " I am alone ; my father and two brothers went off this morning at sunrise." " Are you not afraid," Don Pablo answered, "of remaining thus alone in the desert, exposed to innumerable dangers, so far from all help ?" " What can I do ? has not this life been ever mine ?" " Does your father go away often ?" " Only during the last few days. I know not what lie feni-s, but he and my * See tlie Trail lluiUer and Pirates of the Prairies. brothers seem sad and preoccupied , they go long journeys, and when they return quite worn out, the words they address to me are harsh and snappish." " Poor child !" said Don Pablo, " I can tell you the cause of these long journeys." " Do you fancy I have not guessed it ?" she replied ; " no, no, the horizon is too gloomy around us for me not to perceive the gathering storm which will soon burst over us ; but," she added, with an effort, "let us speak of our selves, the moments are precioas ; what have you done?" " Nothing," the young man said, mournfully ; " all my researches have been in vain." "That is strange," Ellen muttered; "and yet the coffer cannot be lost." "I am as convinced of that as you are; but into whose hands has it fall en ? that is what I cannot say." The maiden reflected. " When did you notice its disappear ance?" Don Pablo went on a moment after. " Only a few minutes after Harry's death ; frightened by the sounds of the fight and the fearful uproar of the earthquake, I was half mad. Still, I can remember a circumstance which will doubtless put us on the right track." " Speak, Ellen, speak, and whatever is to be done I will do." The girl looked at him for a moment with an indefinable expression. She bent over to him, laid her hand on his arm, and said, in a voice soft as a bird's song : " Don Pablo, a frank and loyal ex planation between us is indispensable." " I do not understand you," the young man stammered, as he let his eyes fall. " Yes you do," she replied, with a sad smile; "you understand me, Don Pablo ; but no matter, as you pretend to be ignorant of what I wish to say to you, I will explain myself in such a way that any further misconception will be impossible." " Speak ! Ellen ; though I do not suspect your meaning, I have a fore- bodin t the watch fall, and, putting his heel on it, reduced it to powder. The rest ot the supper passed off without incident : the three men ate greedily, not speak ing to each other, and waited on bv Ellen. When the pipes were lit, tin maiden wished to retire to the compart ment which served as her bedroom. "Stay, my child," Bed Cedar saul. " I have to speak with you." Ellen sat down in a corner of the j.-ical and waited. The three men wen; on smoking silently for some tk. > j , while outside the storm still continue'.!. At length, the young men shook the ashes out of their pipes, and rose. "Then," said Nathan, "all is ar ranged." " It is," replied Red Cedar. " At what hour will they come to fetch us ?" Sutter asked. " At an hour before sunrise." " Very good." The brothers lay down on the ground, rolled themselves in their furs, and soon fell asleep. Red Cedar remained for some time plunged in thought, while Ellen did not stir. At length he raiset'. his head. "Come hither, child," he said. She came up and stood before him. " Sit down by my side." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 27 " For wTiat good, father ? Speak, I am listening," she answered. The squatter was visibly embarrass ed ; he knew not how to commence the conversation, but, after some moments' hesitation, he said : " You are ill, Ellen." The maiden smiled sadly. " Did you not notice it before to day, father?" she replied. " No, my child ; I have noticed your sadness for a long time past. You are not suited for a desert lite." " That is true," was all she said. " We are about to leave the prairie," Red Cedar went on. Ellen gave an almost imperceptible start. "Soon?" she asked. " This very day ; in a few hours we shall be on the road.'' The girl looked at him. "Then," she said, "we will draw nearer to the civilized frontier ?" "Yes," he answered, with conside rable emotion. Ellen smiled mournfully. " Why deceive me, father ?" she asked. " What do you mean ?" he exclaimed; "I do not understand you." ,"On the contrary, you understand me thoroughly, and it would be better to explain your thoughts to me frankly than try to deceive me for a purpose I cannot divine. Alas!" she continued, with a sigh, "am 1 not your d-iughter, and must undergo the consequences of the life you have chosen ?" The squatter frowned. " I believe that your words contain a reproach," he replied. " Life is scarce opening for you; then how do you dare to judge the actions of a man ?" " I judge nothing, father. As you say, life is scarce opening for me ; still, however short my existence may have been, it has been one long suffering." " That is true, poor girl," the s'quat- ter said, gently ; "pardon me, I should be so glad to see you happy. Alas ! heaven has not blessed my efforts, though all I have done has been for your sake." " Do not say that, father," she quick ly exclaimed j " do not thus make me morally your accomplice, or render me responsible for your crimes, which I execrate, else you would impel me to desire death." " Ellen, Ellen ! you misunderstood what I said to you ; I never had the in tention," he said, much embarrassed. " No more of this," she went on ; "we are going, you said, I think, father ? Our retreat is discovered, we must fly ; that is what you wish to tell me ?" " Yes," he said, " it is that, though I cannot imagine how you have learned it." " No matter, father. And in what direction shall we proceed?" " Temporarily we shall conceal our selves in the Sierra de los Comanches.' " In order that our pursuers may lose our trail ?" " Yes, for that reason, and for an other," he added, in a low voice. But, however low he spoke, Ellen heard him. "What other?" " It does not concern you, child, but, myself alone." " You are mistaken, father," she said, with considerable resolution; " fron. the moment that I am your accomplice, I must know all. Perhaps," she added, with a sad smile, " I may be able to give you good advice." " I will do without it." " One word more. You have nume rous enemies, father." " Alas ! yes," he said, carelessly. " Who are those who compel you to fly to-day ?" " The most implacable of all, Don Miguel Zarate." " The man whose daughter you assas sinated in so cowardly a way." Red Cedar struck the table passion- atelv. ""Ellen !" he shouted. " Do you know any other appellation more correct than that ?" she asked, coldly. The bandit looked down. "Then," she continued, "you are about to fly fly forever?" " What is to be done?" he muttered. Ellen bent over him, laid her white band on his arm, and regarded him fixedly. 28 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " Who are the men about to join yo in a few hours?" she asked. "Fray Arnbrosio, Andres Garote our old friends, in short." "That is just," the girl murmurec with a gesture of disgust, "a coinmoi danger brings you together. Well, m; father, you and your friends are al cowards." At this violent insult which his daugh ter coldly hurled in his teeth, the squat ter turned pale, and rose suddenly. " Silence !" he shouted, furiously. " The tiger, when attacked in its lair turns on the hunters," the girl went on without displaying any emotion; "why do you not follow their example?" A sinister smile played round the corners of the bandit's mouth. " I have something better in my pocket," he said, with an accent impos sible to describe. The maiden looked at him for a mo ment. " Take care," she at length said to him iua deep voice; "take care! the hand of GOD is on you, and His venge ance will be terrible." After uttering these words, she slow ly withdrew and entered the room set apart for her. The bandit stood for a moment, crushed by this anathema ; but he soon' threw up his head, shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and lay down by the side of his sons, muttering in a hoarse and ironical voice : " GOD ! does he exist ?" Soon, no other sound was audible in the jacal saving that produced by the breathing of the three men. Ellen was praying fervently, while the storm re doubled its fury outside. CHAPTER III. A CONVERSATION. ON leaving the cabin, Don Pablo re- crossed the river, and found his way back to the thicket where he had tied his horse up. The poor animal, terri fied by the lightning and the hoarse rol ling of the thunder, uttered a snort of pleasure at seeing its master again. Without loss of a moment, the young man leaped into the saddle and started at a gallop. The rain fell in torrents, the wind whistle! violently, the young man fear ed at each moment losing his way, and groped through the immense solitude which stretched out before him, and which the darkness prevented him from sounding. Like all well-gifted men habituated to an adventurous life, Don Pablo de Zarate was well fitted for struggling. His will grew in propor tion to the difficulties that rose before him, and instead of discouraging him, obstacles only confirmed him in his re solution. So soon as he had chosen au object, he reached it in spite of ail. His love for Ellen, born, as it were, through a thunder-clap as, in fact, most true loves spring into life, where the unexpected always plays the chief part this love, we say, for which he was in no way prepared, and which surprised him at the moment which he least dreamed of it, had assumed, with out his will, gigantic proportions, which all the reasons which should have ren dered it impossible, only augmented. Although he bore the deepest hatred for Red Cedar, and, had the opportunity presented itself, would have killed him without hesitation like a dog, his love for Ellen had became a worship, an ad oration about which he no longer rea soned, but which he endured with that intoxication and that delight felt in for- jidden things. This girl, who hud re- nained so pure and chaste amid this amily of bandits, possessed an irresis tible attraction for him. He had said n his conversation with her he was in- .itnately convinced that she could not >e Red Cedar's daughter. It would lave been impossible for him to give us reasons ; but with that tenacity of )urpose which only some few men pos- ess he necessarily sought the proofs of his conviction which nothing support- d, and, even more, he sought these roofs with the certainty of finding hem. For a month past, he had discovered, >y an inexplicable chance, Red Cedar's etreat, which Valentine, the skilful 'rail-huuter, had been unable to detect. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 29 Don Pablo had immediately profitec by his good fortune to see again the girl he had believed lost for ever. Thi unexpected success appeared to him a good omen ; and every morning, with out saying anything to his friends, he mounted his horse upon the first excuse that offered, and rode thirty miles to speak with her he loved for a moment. Every consideration was silent in presence of his love : he allowed his friends to exhaust themselves in vain researches, preciously keeping his secret in order to be happy, at least, for a few days ; for he perfectly foresaw that the moment must arrive when Red Cedar would be discovered. But, in the meanwhile, he enjoyed the present. With all those who love in this way, the future is nothing, the present is all in all. Don Pablo galloped on by the glare of the flashes, feeling neither the rain that inundated him, nor the wind that howled round his head. Absorbed in his love, he thought of the conversation he had held with Ellen, aud pleased himself with recalling all the words that had been exchanged during the hour, which slipped away almost too rapidly. All at once, his horse, to which he paid no attention, neighed, and Don Pablo raised his head intuitively. Ten paces ahead of him, a horseman was standing motionless across his path. "Ah, ah!" said Don Pablo, as he drew himself up on the 'saddle, and cocked his pistols ; " you are very late on the road, comrade. Let me pass, if you please." " I am no later than yourself, Don Pablo," was the immediate response, " since I meet you." " Halloh !" the young man shouted, as he uncocked his pistols, and returned them to his holsters ; " what the deuce are you doing here, Don Valentine?" " As you see, I am waiting." "Whom can you be waiting for at this advanced hour?" " For yourself, Don Pablo." " For me !" the Mexican said in sur prise ; " that is strange." " Not so much as you suppose. I desire to have a conversation with you, which no one must overhear ; and as that was impossible in camp, I came to wait for you as you passed : that is simple enough, I fancy." ".It is; but what is less so, is the hour and spot you have selected my friend." " Why so?" " Hang it, a terrible storm is let loose over our heads ; we have no place here to shelter us ; and I repeat, it is nearer morning than night." " That is true ; but time pressed, and I could not select the hour to my fancy." " You alarm me, my friend ; has anything new occurred?" " Nothing that I know of, up to the present ; but ere long we shall see something, you may feel assured." The young man stifled a sigh, but made no reply. While exchanging these hurried sentences, the Trail-huH- ter and the Mexican had joined, and now rode side by side. Valentine con tinued " Follow me for a few moments. I will lead you to a spot where we can converse at ease, without fear of being disturbed." " What you have to say to me must be very important?" " You shall soon judge of that." " And are you going to lead me far ?" " Only a few paces ; to a grotto which I noticed in the flashes." " Let us go then." The two men spurred their horses, and galloped silently side by side ; they went on thus for hardly a quarter of an hour in the direction of a thick happaral which skirted the river. " We have arrived," said Valentine, as he checked his horse and dismount- ;d. " You had better let me gojirst, or it may happen that the cave we are about to enter may have an occupier not at all disposed to move for us, and t is as well to act prudently." " What do you mean ? to what oc- jupier do you allude ?" " Hang it, I do not know," the Frenchman replied carelessly ; " in any case, it is as well to be on one's guard." While saying this, Valentine produc- THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. ed from under his zarape two candle- wood torches, which he lighted ; he gave one to Don Pablo, and the two men, after hobbling their horses, open ed the bushes and advanced boldly to ward the cave, After walking a few steps, they suddenly found themselves at the entrance of one of those magni ficent natural grottos formed by the volcanic convulsions so frequent in these parts. " Attention !" Valentine muttered in a low voice to his comrade. The sudden appearance of the two men startled a cloud of night birds and bats, which flew away heavily in all directions, uttering shrill cries. Valen tine went on, not troubling himself about these funereal guests, whose sports he so unexpectedly noticed. All at once, a hoarse and prolonged growl came from a distant corner of the cave. The two men stopped as if rooted to the ground. They found themselves face to face with a magnificent black bear, whose usual residence this cavern doubtless was, and which, standing on its hind legs with open mouth, showed the troublesome persons who came to trouble it so inopportunely in its lair, a tongue red as blood, and glistening claws of a remarkable length. It bal anced itself clumsily, according to the fashion of its congeners, and its round and dazzled eyes were fixed on the ad venturers in a manner that would cause reflection. Fortunately, they were not the men to let themselves be intimidat ed for long. " Hum !" said Valentine, surveying the animal, " I was sure of it ; there 1$ a young fellow who seems inclined to sup with us." " My rifle, on the contrary, will make us sup with him," Don Pablo said with a laugh. " For Heaven's sake do not fire," the hunter said quickly, as he checked the young man who had already shouldered his rifle ; " a shot fired at this spot will produce a fearful row : we do not know what sort of people may be prowling around us ; so we must not compro mise ourselves." " That is true," Don Pablo remark- cd ; " but what is to be done ?" " That is my business," Valentine re- plied ; " take my torch, and hold your self in readiness to help me." Then, resting his rifle against the side of the cave, he went out, while the Mexican remained alone, facing the bear, which, dazzled and perplexed by the light, did not venture to stir. In a few minutes Valentine returned ; he had been to fetch his lasso, fastened to the saddle bow. " Now, stick your torches in the ground, to be ready for any accident." Don Pablo obeyed ; the hunter care fully prepared the lasso and whirled it round his head, while whistling in a peculiar way. At this unexpected appeal the bear moved heavily two or three paces for ward, but that was its ruin. The lasso started from the hunter's hands, the slip-knot fell on the animal's shoulders, and the two men slipped back, tugging at it with all their strength. The poor quadruped, thus strangled and stretch ing out a tongue a foot long, tottered and fell, striving in vain to remove with its huge paws the unlucky collar that compressed its throat. But the hunters were not conquered by their enemy's tremendous efforts ; they redoubled their strength, and did not loose the lasso till the bear had given its last sigh. " NO--V," said Valentine, after he had assured himself that Bruin was really dead, " bring the horses in here, Don Pablo, while 1 cut off our enemy's paws, to roast them in the ashes while we are talking." When the young man re-entered the grotto, leading the horses, he found Valentine, who had lighted a large fire., busied in flaying the bear, whose paws were gently roasting in the embers, as he had said. Don Pablo gave the horses their food, and then sat down before the fire near Valentine. " Well," said the latter with a smile, " do you fancy this a comfortable place for a gossip ?" " Yes, it is," the young man care lessly replied, as he rolled between his fingers a husk cigarette with the dex terity apparently peculiar to the Spanish race ; " we are all right here : I THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. am ready fur your explanation, my I'nend." ' ' I will give it you," the hunter said, who had finished skinning the bear, and quietly returned his knife to his boot, after carefully wiping the blade; " how long have you known Red Cedar's hiding place ?" At this point-blank question, which he was far from expecting, the young man started ; a feverish flush covered his face, and he did not know what to answer. " Why ?" he stammered. "About a month, I think 1 ?" Valen tine continued, not appearing to notice his friend's confusion. " Yes, about," the other replied, not knowing what he said. " And for a month," Valentine con tinued, imperturbably, "you have left vuur father's side each night to go and make love to the daughter of the man who murdered your sister?" "Mv friend," Don Pablo said, pain fully. ' ' Would you assert that it is not true?" the hunter wei>t on hastily, as he bent on him a glance which made him look down : " explain yourself, Pablo 1 am waiting for your justifica tion. 1 am curious to know how you will manage to prove to me that you have acted rightly." The young man, while his friend was speaking, had time to regain, at any rate, a portion, if not all, of his cjolness and presence of mind. " You are severe," he said ; ; ' before accusing me, it would be, perhaps, worth while to listen to the reasons 1 have to offer you." " Stay, my friend." Valentine said, quickly, " let us not turn from the question, but be frank ; do not take the trouble to describe your love to me, for I know it as well as you do I saw it born and grow ; still, permit me to tell you certainly I thought that af ter the assassination of Dona Clara, this love, which had hitherto resisted everything, would die out. It is im possible to love those we despise. Red Cedar's daughter can only appear to you through a blood-stained cloud." " Don Valentine," the young man exclaimed, in grief, " would you render that an<;el responsible for the crimes of a villain ?" " I will not discuss with you the fa mous theory which lays down that faults and crimes are personal ; faults may be so, but in desert life the whole family must be responsible for the crimes of its chief; were it not so, no security would be possible for honest people." " Oh, how can you speak thus !" " Very good let us change the ground, as that is disagreeable to you. You possess the noblest and most hon orable nature of any man I know, Don Pablo. I presume you never had a thought of making Ellen your mis tress ?" " No !" the young man savagely protested. " Would you m;ike her your wife, then ?'' Valentine said, with a cutting accent, as he looked him fixedly in the face. Don Pablo bowed his head in de spair. " I am accursed !" he exclaimed. " No," Valentine said, as he swized ^ him sharply by the arm, " you are mad. Like all young men, passion sways and overpowers you you listen to that alone ; you despise the voice of reason, and hence commit faults which may speedily become, in spite of yourself, crimes." " Do not speak thus, my friend." " You have only reached faults as yet," Valentine said, imperturbably ; ' but take care." " Oh, it is you who are mad, my friend, to say such things to me. Be lieve me, however great my love for Ellen may be, I shall never forget the duties imposed on me by the strange position in which fate has placed me." " And yet for a month you have known the hiding-place of the most im placable enemy of your family, and have kept it a profound secret, in order to satisfy the claims of a passion which can only have a disgraceful result for you ! You see us vainly employing all the means in our power to discover the traces of our enemy, and you betray us coldly, deliberately, for the sake of 32 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. a few love phrases which you find means to exchange daily with a girl, while making us believe that, like our selves, you are engaged in fruitless re searches. What name will you give to your conduct save that of a traitor?" " Valentine, you insult me, the friend ship you have for me does not authorize you to act thus j take care, for patience has its limits." The hunter interrupted him by a coarse laugh. " You see it, boy," he said sternly, " already you threaten me." The young man rolled on the ground in despair. " Oh !" he exclaimed, " 1 have suffer ed enough." Valentine looked at him for a mo ment with tender pity, then bent over him, and touching his shoulder : " Listen to me, Don Pablo," he said in a gentle voice. CHAPTER IV. A BACKWARD GLANCE. WE will now take up our narrative at the point where we left it at the con clusion of the " Pirates of the Prai ries." During the six months which had elapsed since the mournful death of Dona Clara, certain events have taken place, which it is indispensable for the reader to know, in order properly to understand the following story. He will probably remember that White Gazelle was picked up in a faint ing condition by Bloodson, while at the side of the old pirate, Sandoval. He threw the girl across his horse's neek, and started at full speed in the direction of the teocali, which served him as a refuge and fortress. We will follow these two important persons, whom we reproach ourselves with having too long neglected. Bloodson's mad course was frightfui to look on. In the shadow of the night the horse bounded forward, trampling beneath its nervous hoofs everything they met, while its outstretched head cleft the air. Us ears were thrown back, and from its widely opened nos trils issued jets of steam which traced long white furrows iu the gloom. It dashed forward, uttering snorts of pain, and biting between its clenched teeth the bossal which it covered with foam, while its flanks, torn by the spurs of its impatient rider, dripped with blood and perspiration. But the faster it went, the more did Bloodson torment it, and seek to increase its speed. The trees and rocks disappeared with marvellous rapidity on either side the road, and White Gazelle was presently restored to life by the violent shocks the movements of the horse gave to her body. Her long hair trailed in the dust, her eyes, raised to Heaven, were bathed in tears of despair, grief, and impotence. At the risking of fractur ing her skull against the stones, she made useless efforts to escape from the arms of her ravisher, but the latter fixed on her a glance whose passion re vealed a ferocious joy, and did not ap pear to notice the terror he caused the girl, or rather seemed to derive from it an unspeakable pleasure. His com pressed lips remained silent, only al lowing passage at. intervals to a shrill whistle intended to increase the ardor of his horse, which, exasperated by the pressure of its rider, seemed no longer to touch the ground, and devoured the space like the fantastic steed in the bal lad of Lenore. Tne girl uttered a cry, but it was lost in the gloomy echoes, drowned in the sound of this mad chase. And the horse still galloped on. Suddenly White Gazelle collected all her strength, and bounded forward with such vivacity, that her feet already touched the ground ; but Bloodson was on his guard, and ere she had regained her balance, he stooped down without checking his steed, and seizing the girl by her long tresses, lifted her up, and placed her again before him. A sob burst from the Gazelle's chest, and she fainted once again. " Ah, you shall not escape me," Bloodson yelled ; " no one in the world can tear you from my grasp." In the meanwhile darkness had been succeeded by day ; the sun rose iu all THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 33 its splendor. Myriads of birds saluted the return of light by their joyous strains; nature hud awakened gaily, and the sky, of a diaphanous azure, promised one of those lovely days, which the blessed climate of these countries has alone the privilege of of- offering. A fertile landscape, exquisitely di versified, stretched out on either side the road, and blended with the distant horizon. The girl's body hung down the side of the horse, following unresist ingly all the movements imparted to it; with her face covered with a livid pale ness, half opened lips, clenched teeth, uncovered bosom and panting chest, she palpitated under BJoodson's hand, which pressed heavily upon her. At length, they reached a cavern, where were encamped some forty In dians, armed for war; these were Blood- son's companions. He made them a sign, and a horse was brought to him ; it was high time, for the one he rode had scarce stopped ere it fell, pouring furth black blood from its nostrils, mouth, and ears. Bloodson mounted, took the girl before him, and started again. "To the Hacienda Quemada (the burnt farm)," he shouted. The Indians, who doubtless were only awaiting their chief's arrival, followed his example, and soon the whole band, with ihe stranger at their head, galloped along, hidden by the dense cloud of dust they raised. After five hours' ride, whose speed surpasses all descrip tion, the Indians saw the tall steeples of a town standing out in the azure of the horizon, beneath a mass of smoke and vapor. Bloodson and his band had left the Far West. The Indians turned slightly to the left, galloping across fields, and tramp ling under their horses' hoofs, with wicked iiiry, the rich crops that covered them. At the expiration of about half an hour, they reached the base of a lofty hill, which rose solitary in the plain. " Wait for me here," said Bloodson, as he checked his horse; "whatever happens, do not stir till my return." The Indians bowed in obedience, and Bloodson, burying his spurs in his 3 horse's flanks, started again at full speed. But this ride was not long. When Bloodson had disappeared from his comrades' sight, he stopped his horse and dismounted. After removing the bridle to let the animal browze freely on the thick and tall grass of the plain, the stranger raised in his arms the girl whom he had laid on the ground, where she remained senseless, and be gan slowly scaling the hill side. It was the hour when the birds salute with their parting strains the sun, whose disc, already beneath the horizon, shed around only oblique and torpid beams. The shadow was rapidly invading the sky ; the wind was rising with moment arily increasing violence, the heat was oppressive, large blackish clouds, fring ed with grey and borne by the breeze, chased heavily athwart the sky, drawing nearer and nearer to the earth. In a word, all foreboded one of those hurri canes such as are only seen in these countries, and which make the most in trepid men turn pale with terror. Bloodson still ascended, bearing the girl in his arms, whose lifeless head hung over his shoulder. 4 Drops of luke warm rain, large as dollars, had begun to fall at intervals, and spotted the earth, which immediately drank them up ; a sharp and penetrating odor ex haled from the ground and impregnated the atmosphere. But Bloodson still went up with the same firm step, his head drooping and eyebrows contracted. At length he reached the top of the hill, when he stopped and bent a searching glance around. At this moment, a dazzling flash shot athwart the sky, illuminating the landscape with a bluish tint, and the thunder burst forth furiously. " Oh !" Bloodson muttered with a sinister accent, and as if answering aloud an internal thought, " nature is harmon ising with the scene about to take place here ; but the storm of heaven is not so terrible as the one growling in my heart. Come, come ! I only needed this fearful melody. I am the avenger, and am about to accomplish the demo niacal task which I imposed on myself during a night of delirium." After uttering these ill-omened words, 34 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. he continued his progress, proceeding toward a pile of half-calcined stones, whose black points stood out of the tall grass a short distance off. The top of the hill where Bloodson was, offered a scene of inexpressible savageness. Through the tufts of grass might be noticed ruins blackened by fire, pieces of wall, and vaults half broken in. Here and there were fruit trees, dahlias, cedars, and a noria or well, whose long pole still bore at one end the remains of the leathern bucket once employed to draw water. In the centre of the ruins stood a large wooden cross, marking the site of a tomb ; at the foot of this cross were piled up, with ghastly symmetry, some twenty grinning skulls, to which the rain, wind, and sun had given the lustre and yellowish tinge of ivory. Round the tomb, snakes and lizards, those guests of sepulchres, silently glided through the grass, watching with their round and startled eyes the stranger who dared to disturb their solitude. Not far from the tomb, a species of bhed, made of interlaced reeds, was I all- ing to ruin, but still offered a scanty shelter to travelers surprised by a storm. It was toward this shed that Bloodson proceeded. In a few minutes he reached it, and was thus sheltered from the rain, wliich a* this moment fell in torrents. The storm had reached the height of its fury the flushes succeeded each other un interruptedly ; the thunder rolled furi ously, and the wind violently lashed the trees. It was, in a word, one of those awful nights on which deeds with out a name, which the sun will not illu mine with its brilliant beams, are ac complished. Bloodson laid the girl on a pile of dry leaves in one of the corners of the shed, and after gazing on her attentive ly for some seconds, he folded his arms on his chest, frowned, and began walk ing up and down, muttering unconnected sentences. Each time he passed before the maiden, he stopped, bent on her a glance of undefinable meaning, and re- burned his walk with a shake of his head. " Come," he said hoarsely, " I must finish it! What! that girl, so strong and robust, lies there, pale, worn out, half dead. Why is it not lied Cedar that I hold thus beneath my heel ? but patience, his turn will come, and then !" ' A sardonic smile played round his lips, and he bent over the girl. lie gently raised her head, and was about to rrfake her smell a bottle he had taken from her girdle, when he suddenly lek her fall on her bed of leaves, and rush ed away, uttering a cry of terror. "No," he said, "it is not possi ble : I am mistaken, it is an illusion, a dream." After a moments' hesitation, he re turned to the girl, and bent over her again. But this time his manner had completely changed : though he had been rough and brutal previously, he was now full of attention to her. Dur ing the various events to which White Gazelle had been the victim, some of the diamond buttons which fastened her vest had been torn off, and exposed her bosom. Bloodson had noticed a black velvet scapulary, on which two interlaced let ters were embroidered in silver, sus pended round her neck by a thin gold chain. It was the sight of this rnys- sterious cypher which caused Bloodson the violent emotion from which he was now suffering. He seized the scapulary with a hand trembling with impatience, broke the chain, and waited till a flash enabled him to see the cypher a second time, and assure himself that he was not de ceived. He had not long to wait : within a few seconds a dazzling flash illumined the hill. Bloodson looked, and was convinced : the cypher was really the one he fancied he had seen. He fell to the ground, buried his head in his hands, and reflected profoundly. Half an hour passed ere this man em erged from his statue-like immobility ; when he raised his head, tears were coursing down his bronzed cheeks. "Oil! this doubt is frightful!" he exclaimed ; " at nil risks I will remove it : 1 must know what I have to hope." And drawing himself up haughtily to his full height, he walked with a firm THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 35 and steady step toward the girl, who still lay motionless. Then, as we saw him once before with Shaw, he employ ed the same method which had been so successful with the young man, in order to recal White Gazelle to life. But the poor girl had been subjected to such rude trials during the last two days, that she was quite exhausted. In spite of Bloodson's eager care, she still re tained her terrible corpse-like rigidity : all remedies were powerless. The stranger was in despair at the unsatis factory results of his attempts to recal the girl to life. " Oh !" he exclaimed at each instant, " she cannot be dead: Heaven .will not permit it. 1 ' And he began again employing the measures whose futility had been prov ed to him. All at once he smote his forehead violently. " [ must be mad," he exclaimed. And searching in his pocket, he drew from it a crystal flask, filled with a blood-red liquor; he opened with his dagger the girl's teeth, and let two drops of the fluid fall into her mouth. The effect was instantaneous : White Gazelle's features relaxed, a pinky hue covered her face ; she faintly opened her eyes, and murmured in a weak voice ; " Good Heaven ! where am I ?" "She is saved?" Bloodson exclaimed with a sigh of joy, as he wiped away the perspiration that ran down his fore head. In the meanwhile the storm had attained its utmost fury ; the wind furi ously shook the wretched shed, the rain fell in torrents, and the thunder burst forth with a terrible din. " A fine night for a recognition !" Bloodsou muttered. CHAPTER V. THE HACIENDA. QUEMADA. IT was a strange group formed by this charming creature and this rough woodranger, at the top of this devastat ed hill, troubled by the thunder, and il lumined by the corruscating lightning. White Gazelle had fallen back again, pale and inanimate. Bloodson gazed out into the night, and re-assured by the silence, bent a second time over the girl. Pallid as an exquisite lily laid prostrate by the tempest, the poor child seemed scarce to breathe. Blood- son raised her in his nervous arms, and bore her to a piece of broken wall, at the foot of which he laid his zarape, and placed her on this softer couch. The girl's head hung senseless on his shoul der. Then he gazed at her for a long time: grief and pity were painted on Bioodson's face. He, whose life had hitherto been but one long tragedy, who had no belief in his heart, who was ignorant of softer feelings and sweet sympathies; he, the avenger and slayer of the Indians, was affected, and felt something new stirring within him. Tears ran down his cheeks. " Oh, my God !" he exclaimed anxi ously, " can she be dead 1 Yes," he ad ded, " I was cowardly and cruel toward this poor creature, and God punishes me." The name, which he only used to blaspheme, he now pronounced almost with respect ; it was a species of prayer, a cry from his heart. This in domitable man was at length conquer ed, he believed. " How to help her 1" he asked him self. The rain that continued to fall in tor rents, and inundated the girl, at length recalled her to life ; she partly opened her eyes, and muttered softly : " Where am 11 what has happened] oh, I fancied I was dying." " She speaks, she lives, she is saved," Bloodson exclaimed. " Who is that ?" she asked, as she raised herself with difficulty. At the sight of the hunter's bronzed THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. face, she was frightened, closed her eyes again, and fell back. She was begin ning to remember. " Take courage, my child," Bloodson said softening his rough voice, " I am your friend." " You my friend !" she exclaimed, " what means that word on your lips ?" " Oh, pardon me, I was mad, I knew not what I did." " Pardon you, why ? am I not born to sorrow ?" " What must she have endured ?" Bloodson muttered. " Oh, yes," she continued, speaking as in a dream. "I have suffered great ly. My life, though I am still very young, has, up to the present, been one long suffering ; still, I can remember having been happy once long, long ago. But the worst pain in this world is the remembrance of happiness in misfortune." A sigh escaped from her overladen chest, she let her head fall in her hands, and wept. Bloodson listened to and gazed on her ; this voice, these features, all he saw and heard augmented the suspicions in his heart, and gradually converted them into certainty. " Oh, speak speak again !" he con tinued, tenderly ; " what do you re member of your youthful years ?" The girl looked at him, and a bitter smile curled her lips. " Why, in misery, think of past joys'?" she said, shaking her head mournfully ; " why should I tell you of these things you, above all, who are my direst enemy ? do you wish to inflict fresh tortures on me ?" " Oh !" he said, with horror, " can you have such thoughts ? Alas ! 1 have been very guilty toward you, I al low it, but pardon me pardon me, j conjure you ! I would lay down my life to spare you any pain." White Gazelle regarded with amaze ment, mingled with terror, this rough man, almost prostrate before her, and whose face was bathed in tears. She did not understand his remarks after the way in which he had hitherto act- . ed towards her. " Alas !" she murmured, " my life is that of all unfortunate beings : there was a time when, like other chil dren, I had the songs of birds to lull me to sleep, and flowers that smiled on me when I awoke ; I had, too, a sister who shared in my sports, and a mother, who loved and embraced me. All that has fled forever." Bloodson put up two poles, on which he suspended sking to shelter the girl from the storm, which was gradually clearing off. She watched him as he did so. "1 do not know," she said, sadly, " why I feel a necessity to tell you all this, when you have done me so much harm ; whence comes the feeling whi the sight of you produces in me ? I ought to hate you." She did not complete the sentence, but hid her face in her hands, sobbing violently. " It is Heaven which permits it to be so, poor child," Bloodson replied, as he raised his eyes upward, and fervently made the sign of the cross. " Perhaps so," she said, softly ; " well, listen ; whatever may happen, I wish to relieve my heart. One day I was playing on my mother's knees, my father was near us with my sister ; all at once a terrible yell was heard at the gate of our hacienda; the Apache Indians were attacking us. My father was a resolute man, he seized his weapons, and rushed to the walls. What hap pened then ? I cannot tell you. 1 was hardly four years of age at this time, and the terrible scene 1 witnessed is en veloped within my mind in a blood stained cloud. 1 can only remember how my mother, who wept as she em braced us both, suddenly fell upon us, covering us with blood ; in vain did I try to recal her to life by my caresses she was dead." There was a silence. Bloodson lis tened eagerly to this story with pallid face, frowning brow, convulsively press ing the barrel of his rifle, and wiping away at intervals the perspiration that poured down his face. " Go on, child," he muttered. "1 remember nothing further; men resembling demons rushed iiito the hacienda, seized my sister and myself, and set out at the full speed of their THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 37 horses. Alas, since that period I have never again seen my mother's sweet face, or my father's kindly smile ; henceforth I was alone among the ban dits who carried me off." " But your sister, girl, your sister, what became of her ?'' " I do not know ; a violent quarrel broke out among our ravishers, and blood was shed. After this quarrel they separated. My sister was taken in one direction, I in another, I never saw her again." Bloodson seemed to make an effort over himself, then fixing his tear-laden eyes on her, he exclaimed, fervently : " Mercedes ! Mercedes ! it is really you ? do I find, you again after so many years ?" White Gazelle raised her head quickly. " Mercedes," she repeated, " that is the name my mother gave me." " It is 1, I, Stefano, your uncle ! your father's brother !" Bloodson said, as he pressed her, almost mad with joy, to his breast. " Stefano ! my uncle ! Yes, yes, I remember I know." She fell lifeless in Bloodson's arms. " Wretch that I am, I have killed her Mercedes, my beloved child, come to yourself!" The girl opened her eyes again, and threw herself on Bloodson's neck, weeping with joy. " Oh, my uncle ! my uncle ! I have a family at last, then. Thank God !" The hunter's face became grave. " You are right, child," he said, " thank God, for it is He who has done everything, and who decreed that I should find you again on the tomb of those whom we have both been lament ing for so many years." " What do you mean, uncle ?" she asked, in surprise. " Follow me, girl," the wood-ranger replied ; " follow me, and you shall know." The girl rose with difficulty, leant on his arm, and followed him. By the accent of Don Stefano's voice, Mer cedes understood that her uncle had an important revelation to make her. They found some difficulty in walking through the ruins, obstructed with grass and creepers, but at length reach ed the cross, where Bloodson stopped. " On your knees, Mercedes," he said in a mournful voice ; "on this spot your father and mother were buried by me fifteen years ago, on such a night as this." The girl fell on her knees without re plying, and Don Stefano imitated her. Both prayed for a long time with tears and sobs, and then they rose again. Bloodson made his niece a sign to sit down at the foot of the cross, placed himself by her, and after passing his hand over his forehead as if to collect his thoughts, he spoke in a dull voice, with an accent which, in spite of all his resolution, sorrow caused to trem ble. " Listen to me, child," he s:iid, " for what you are about to hear will per haps help us to find the murderers of your parents, if they still live." " Speak, uncle," she said in a firm voice ; " yes, you are right : Heaven willed it that our meeting should take place thus. Be assured that the mur derers will not be suffered to go much longer unpunished." " So be it," said Don Stefano ; " for fifteen years I have been awaiting the hour of vengeance. Heaven will sus tain me, I hope, till the moment when, it strikes. Your father and I resided at the spot where we now are. This hill was occupied by a vast hacienda, which we built ; the surrounding fields belonging to us, and were cleared by two hundred persons in our pay. Hea ven blessed our labor, which prospered ; everybody loved and respected us around, for our abode was always open, to those whom misfortune struck. But if our countrymen esteemed us and ap plauded our efforts, the owners of an. adjoining hacienda had vowed us an im placable hatred. For what reason? that I never succeeded in discovering. Was it jealousy or base envy ? In any case these men hated us. There were three of them, and they did not belong to the Spanish race ; they were North Americans, or, at any rate, I can for certainty say one of them, of the name of Wiikes, was so. Slill, although the 38 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. hatred that kept us apart was fierce, it was dull, and nothing led to the suppo sition that it would ever burst into life. About this time, important business compelled me to take a journey of sev eral days. Your father, poor child, and myself, could not separate, for a secret presentiment seemed to warn us. When I returned, the hacienda was ut terly destroyed, and only a few pieces of the walls still smoked. My brother and our whole family, as well as the servants, had been murdered." Bloodson stopped. " Terminate this sad story, uncle," the girl said, hastily, "I must know all, in order to take my share of the ven geance." "That is true," Don Stefano replied ; " but I have little more to say, and will be brief. During a whole night I traversed these smoky ruins, seeking the corpses of those I loved ; and when, after infinite difficulty, I succeeded in finding them, I interred them piously, and took an oath to avenge them over their tomb. This oath I have religious ly kept during fifteen years; unhappily, though I have punished many culprits, up to the present the leaders have es caped me by some extraordinary fatal ity. Your father, whom I found dying, expired in my arms ere he was able to tell me his assassins ; and though 1 have strong grounds for accusing Wilkes and his companions, no proof has yet corroborated my suspicions, and the names of the villains are unknown to me. It was only the day before yester day, when the scoundrel Sandoval fell, that I fancied I had discovered one of them at last." " You were not mistaken, uncle ; that man was really one of our ravishers," Mercedes replied, in a firm voice. "And the others'?" Don Stefano quickly asked. " I know them, uncle." At this revelation, Don Stefano ut tered a cry that resembled the howl of a wild beast. " At last !" he exclaimed, with such an outburst of fury, that the girl was almost terrified. " And now, dear uncle," she went on, "permit me to ask you one question, after which I will answer yours, if you have any to ask." " Speak, child." " Why did you seize me and bring me here ?" " Because I fancied you the daughter of that Sandoval, and wished to immo late you on the tomb of his victims," Bloodson answered, in a trembling voice. " Did you not hear, then, what the man said to me ?" " No ; seeing you bent over him, I thought you were watching him die. Your fainting-fit, which I attributed to sorrow, only augmented my certainty ; that is why I rushed on you so soon as I saw you fall." " But the letter you took from me would have revealed all to you." "Do you think, then, child, I took the trouble to read it? No, I only re cognized you by the scapulary hung round your neck." " The finger of God is in all this," the girl said, with an accent of convic tion ; " it was really, He who directed it all." " Now it is your turn, Mercedes ; tell me who the assassins are." " Give me the letter first, uncle." " Here it is," he said, handing it to her. The girl snatched it and tore it into the minutest fragments. Bloodson saw her do it without understanding her motive ; when the last piece of paper was borne away by the breeze, the girl turned to her uncle. " You wish to know the names of the assassins of my father, you say, uncle ?" " Yes." " You are determined that the venge ance you have been pursuing so long shall not escape you, now that, you are on the point of obtaining it, and you wish to carry out your oath 1^,0 the end ?" " Yes ; but why all these questions ?" he asked, impatiently. "I will tell you, uncle," she replied, as she drew herself up with strange re solution ; " I, too, have also taken an oath, and do not wish to break it." " What is its nature ?" " To avenge my father and mother , THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 39 but to accomplish it I must be free to act as I think proper, and hence I will not repeal those means to you till tlie time arrives ; to-day I cannot do it." Such resolution flashed in the girl's jet-black eye, that Bloodson did not at tempt to induce her to do what he desired ; he understood that any press ing on his part would be useless. " Very good," he answered, " be it so ; but you swore to me " " That you shall know all when the moment arrives," she said, as she stretched out her right hand to the cross. " Your word is enough ; but may I at least know what you intend doing 1 ?" " Up to a certain point you may." " Go on." " You have a horse ?" "At the foot of the hill." " Bring it to me, uncle, and let me start ; before all, let uo one know the ties that unite us." "I will be dumb." " If ever you see or hear anything c nnected with me, believe nothing, feel surprised at nothing ; say to your self that 1 am acting on behalf of our common vengeance, for that alone will be true." Don Stefano shook his head, and said : " You are very young, child, for so rude a task." " Heaven will help me, uncle," she replied, with a flashing glance ; " the task is just and holy, for 1 desire to punish my father's assassins." " Well," he continued, " your will be done : as you have said, it is a holy task, and 1 have no right to prevent you accomplishing it." " Thanks, uncle," the girl said, feel ingly ; " and now, while 1 pray at my father's tomb, do you fetch me your horse, that I may set out without de lay."' Bloodson retired without answering, and the girl fell on her knees at the foot of the cross. Half an hour later, after tenderly embracing Don. Ste fano,. she mounted the horse, and started at a gallop in the direction of the Far \Ve3t. Bloodson followed her as long as it was possible for him to see her in the darkness, and, when she had disappeared, he fell on the tomb on his knees, mutter ing in a hollow voice : " Will she succeed ? who knows V' he added with an accent impossible to describe. " He prayed till day, but with the first beams of the sun he joined his comrades, and returned with them to the Far West. CHAPTER VI. THE APACHES. AT the shot fired by Pedro Sando- val, after the fashion of a peroration to his too lengthened story, as we have seen, the Apaches, who had hither to kept out of earshot, ran up at full speed. Red Cedar hurried in pursuit of Bloodson, but uselessly ; he could not catch up to him, and was compelled to rejoin his comrades. The latter were already making preparations to bury the old pirate, whose body they could not leave to be devoured by the wild beasts and birds of prey. Sando- val was a great favorite of the Apa ches, with whom he had lived a long time, and they had on many occa sions, been able to appreciate his cour age and marauding talents. Stanapat had assembled his band, and was at the head of a certain number of resolute warriors, whom he divided into two parties, and then approached Red Cedar. " Will my brother listen to the words of a friend ?" he said. " My father can speak ; although my heart is very sad, my ears are open," the squatter answered. " Good," the chief continued ; " my brother will take a party of my young men, and put himself on the trail of the pale-faces, while I pay the white warrior the duties proper for him." " Can I thus leave a friend, before his body is placed in the ground ]" " My brother knows what he ought to do, but the pale-faces are rapidly re tiring." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. "You are right, chief; I go, but I leave you rny warriors my comrades will be sufficient for me. Where shall 1 find you again ?" " At Bloodson's teocali." " Good ; will my brother soon be there ?" " In two days." " The second sun will find me with all my warriors by the side of the sachem." Stanapat bowed in reply : Red Cedar approached the corpse of Sandoval, bent down, and seized his frigid hand. " Farewell, brother," he said, " par don me for not being present at your funeral, but an important duty claims me ; I am going to avenge you. Fare well, my old comrade, rest in peace, your enemies will not live many days farewell !" After this funeral oration, the squat ter gave his comrades a signal, bowed once again to Stanapat, and started at a gallop, followed by the other pirates. When their allies were out of sight, the Apaches begun the funeral ceremony, \vhich had been interrupted by the con versation between their chief and the pirate. Stanapat ordered the corpse to be washed, the face painted of various colors, while the other Indians sur rounded it, bewailing. Some, whose grief was more powerful or exaggerat ed, made incisions in their arms, or chopped off a joint of one of the left hand fingers, in sign of morning. When ail was ready, the sachem placed himself by tl^e head of the corpse, and addressing the company, said : " Why do you weep? why do you lament ? See, 1 do not weep ; I, his oldest and most devoted friend. He has gone to the other land, the Wacon- dah has recalled him; but if we cannot bring him back among us, our duty is to avenge him. The pale-faces have killed him, we will kill as many pale faces as we can, in order that they may accompany him, and wait on him, and that he may enter the presence of the Wacondah as a great warrior should appear. Death to the pale-faces !" " Death to the pule-fac^s !" the In dians shouted, brandishing their wea pons. The chief turned his head away, and a smile of contempt curled his thin lips at this enthusiastic explosion, B,ut this smile lasted no longer than a lightning flash. Reassuming at once, the Indian stoicism, Stanapat, with all the decorum customary on such occasions, clothed the body in the richest robes to be found, and the handsomest blankets. The corpse was then placed in a sitting posture, in the grave dug for it, whose bottom and sides had been lined with wood ; a whip, weapons, and some other articles were added, then the earth was thrown in, and the whole covered with heavy stones so that the coyotes could not pull out the body. This duty accomplished, at a signal from their chief the Apaches remounted their horses, and started at a gallop on the road leading to Blcodson's teocali, thinking no more of the comrade from whom they had separated for ever, than if he had never existed. The Apaches marched for three days ; at the evening of the fourth, af ter a fatiguing day across the sands, they halted at about a league from the Rio Gila, in a thick wood, where they hid themselves. So soon as the en campment was formed, Stanapat sent off scouts in various directions, to dis cover whether the other war parties of the allied nations were near, and to try and discover at the same time Red Ce dar's trail. When the sentinels were posted, for several warlike tribes of the Far West guard themselves with great care when on the war trail, Stanapat visited all the posts, and prepared to listen to the reports of the scouts, several of whom had already returned. The three first Indians whom he questioned, announced but little of importance ; they had dis covered nothing. "Good," said the chief; "the night is dark, my young men have moles' eyes ; to-morrow, at sunrise, they will see more clearly ; they can sleep this night. At daybreak, they will start again, and perhaps discover some thing." He made a signal with his hand to dismiss the scouts, who bowed respect fully to the chief, and retired iu silence. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 41 Only one remained impassive and mo tionless, as if the words had not been addressed to him as well as to the oth ers. Stanapat turned and looked at him for some seconds. "My son, the. Swift Elk, did not hear me doubtless," he said ; " he ean rejoin his comrades." " The Elk heard his father," the In dian replied, coolly. "Then why does he remain?" "Because he has not told what he saw, and what he saw is important to the chief." " Wah !" said Stanapat, " and what has my son seen which his brothers did not discover ?" " The warriors were seeking in anoth er direction, that is why they did not perceive the trail." " And my son has found one ?'' Swift Elk bowed his head in affirma tion. " I await my son's explanation," the chief went on. "The pale-faces are two bowshot lengths from my father's camp," the Indian answered laconically. " Oh ! oh !" the chief said doubtful ly ; " that seems to me too much." " Will my father see V " I will see," Stanapat said as he rose. " If my father will follow me, he will soon see." " Let us go." The two Indians started. Swift Elk led the sachem through the wood, and on reaching the river bank, he showed him a short distance off a rock, whose black outline rose silent and gloomy over the Gila. " They are there," he said, stretching out his arm in the direction of the rock. " My son has seen them J" " I have seen them." " Ttiat is the Rock of Mad Buffalo, if I am not mistaken." " Yes," the Indian answered. " The position will be difficult to car ry," the sachem muttered, as he care fully examined the rock. This place was called the Rock or Hill of Mad Buffalo, which name it indeed still bears, for the following reasons. The Comanches had, some fifty years ago, a famous chief who rendered his tribe the most warlike and redoubtable of all in the Far West. This chief, who was called the Mad Buffalo, was not only a great warrior, but also a great politician. By the aid of sundry poisons, but especially of arsenic, which he purchased of the white tra ders for furs, he had succeeded, by kil ling all those who opposed him, in in spiring all his subj -cts with an un bounded superstitious terror. When he felt that death was at hand, and un derstood that his last hour had arrived, he indicated the spot he had selected for his sepulchre. It was a pyramidal column of granite and sand about four hundred and fifty feet in height. This pillar commands for a long distance the course of the river which washes its base and which, after making numberless windings in the plain, comes back close to it again. Mad Buffalo ordered that his tomb should be erected on the top of this hill, where he had been accustomed to go and sit. His last wishes were car-,' ried out with that fidelity the Indians display in such matters. His body was placed at the top of the hill, mounted on his finest steed, and over both a mound was formed. A pole stuck in the tomb bore the banner of the chief and the numerous scalps which he had raised from his enemies in action. Hence the mountain of Mad Buffalo is an object of veneration for the In dians, and when a red-skin is going to follow the war trail for the first time, he strengthens his courage by (Dazing on the enchanted hill which* contains the skeleton of the Indian warrior and his steed. The chief carefully examined the hill: it was, in truth, a formidable po sition. The whites had rendered it even stronger, as far as was possible, by cutting down the tallest trees they found, and forming thick palisades lined with pointed stakes and defended by a ditch eighteen feet in width. Thus pro tected, the hill had been converted into a real impregnable fortress, unless reg ularly besieged. Stanapat re-entered the wood, fol lowed by his comrade, and went back to the bivouac. 12 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " Is the chief satisfied with his son 1 ?" the Indian asked ere he retired. " My son has the eyes of a tapir ; nothing escapes him." Swift Elk smiled proudly as he bowed. " Does my son," the chief continued, in an insinuating voice, " know the pale faces who are entrenched on the Hill of Mad Buffalo?" "Swift Elk knows them." " Wah !" said the sachem ; " my son is not mistaken j he has recognized the trail r "Swift Elk is never mistaken," the Indian answered in a firm voice ; " he is a renowned warrior." " My brother is right ; he can speak." " The pale chief who occupies the Rock of Mad Buffalo is the great white hunter whom the Cornanches have adopted, and who is called Koutonepi." Stanapat could not check a move ment of surprise. "Wah!" he exclaimed ; "can it be possible ? my son is positively sure that Koutont>pi is entrenched on the top of the hill T " Sure/' the Indian said without hes itation. The chief made Swift Elk a sign to retire, and, letting his head fall in his hands, he reflected profoundly. The Apache had seen correctly ; Valentine and his comrades were really on the rock. After the death of Dona Clara, the hunter and his friends started in pursuit of Red Cedar, not waiting, in their thirst for vengeance, till the earthquake was quite ended, and nature had resumed its ordinary course. Val entine, with that experience of the des ert which he possessed so thorougly, had, on the previous evening, discover ed an Apache trail ; and, not caring to fight them in the open, owing to the numerical weakness of his party, had scaled the hill, resolved to defend him self against any who dared to attack him in his impregnable retreat. In one of his numerous journeys across the desert, Valentine had noticed this rock, whose position was so strong that it was easy to hold it against an enemy of even considerable force, and he determined to take advantage of this spot if circumstances compelled him at any time to seek a formidable shelter. Without loss of time the hunters for tified themselves. So soon as the en trenchments were completed, Valentine mounted on the top of Mad Buffalo's tomb, and looked attentively out on the plain. It was then about mid-day : from the elevation where Valentine was, he surveyed an immense extent of country. The prairie and the river were deserted : nothing appeared on the horizon except here and there a few herds of buffaloes, some nibbling the thick grass, others carelessly reclining. The hunter experienced a feeling of relief and indescribable joy on fancy ing that his trail was lost by the Apaches, and that he had time to make all preparations for a vigorous defence. He first occupied himself with stocking the camp with provisions, not to be overcome by famine if he were, as he supposed, soon attacked. His com rades and himself, therefore, had a grand buffalo hunt : as they killed them, their flesh was cut in very thin strips, which were stretched on cords to dry in the sun, and make what is called in the pampas charque. The kitchen was placed in a natural grotto, which was in the interior* of the en trenchments. It was easy to make a fire there with no fear of discovery, for the smoke disappeared through an in finite number of fissures, which render ed it imperceptible. The hunters spent the night in making water bottles with buffalo hides : they rubbed fat into the seams to prevent them leaking, and they had time to lay in a considerable stock of water. At sunrise Valentine returned to his look-out, and took a long glance over the plain to assure himself that the desert remained calm and silent. " Why have you made us perch on this rock like squirrels ?" General Iba- nez suddenly asked him. Valentine stretched out his arm. " Look," he said ; " what do you see down there ?" " Not much ; a little dust, I fancy," the general said cautiously. " Ah !" Valentine continued, " very good, my friend. And do you knovr what causes that dust ?" THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 43 I really do not." "Well, I will tell you; it is the Apaches." " Caramba, you are not mistaken ?" "You will soon see." "Soon!" the general objected; "do you think they are coining in this direc tion V' "They will be here at sunset. " " Hum ! you did well in taking your precautions, well, comrade. Guerpo de Cristo ! we shall have our work cut out with all these red demons." " That is probable," Valentine said with a smile. And he descended from the top of the tomb where he had hitherto been standing. As the reader has already learned, Valertllne was not mistaken. The Apaches had really arrived on that night at a short distance from the hill, and the scout found the trail of the whites. According to all probability, a terrible collision was imminent be tween them and the redskins; those two races whom a mortal hatred di vides, and who never meet on the prairie without trying to destroy each other. Valentine noticed the Apache scout when he came to reconnoitre the hill; he then went down to the gener al, and said with that tone of mockery habitual to him " Well, ray dear friend, do you still fancy I am mistaken ? ' " 1 never said so," the general ex claimed quickly ; " Heaven keep me from it! Still, I frankly confess that 1 should have preferred your being mis taken. As you see, 1 display no self-es teem; but what wculd you have? I am like that, I would sooner fight ten of my countrymen than one of these accursed Indians." " Unfortunately," Valentine said with a smile, "at this moment you have no choice, my fru-nd." " Tuat is true, but do not be alarm ed ; however annoyed I may feel, 1 shall do my duty as a soldier.'' V Oh ! who doubts it, mv dear gen eral r " Caspita, nobody, I know : but no matter, you shall see." " Well, good night ; try to get a little rest, for I warn you that we shall be attacked to-morrow at sunrise." "On my word," said the general with a yawn that threatened to dislo cate his jaw, " I ask nothing better than to finish once for all with these bandits." An hour later, with the exception of Curiunilla, who was sentry, the hunters were asleep; the Indians, on their side, were doim; the same thing. CHAPTER VII. THE HILL OF THE MAD BUFFALO. ABOUT an hour before sunrise, Stana- pat aroused his warriors, and gave them orders to march. The Apaches seized their weapons, formed in Indian file, and at a signal from their chief, entered the chapparal that separated them from the rock held by the white hunters. Al though the distance was only two leagues, the march of the Apaches las ted more than an hour; but it was car ried out with so much prudence, that the hunters, despite the watch they kept up, in no way suspected that their ene mies were so near them. The Apaches halted at the foot of the rock, and Stan- apat ordered the camp to be formed at once. The Indians, when they like, can draw up their lines very fairly. This time, as they intended to carry on a regular siege, they neglected no precau tions. The hill was surrounded by a ditch three yards wide and four deep, the earth of waich, thrown up, formed a breastwork, behind which the Apach- s were perfectly sheltered, and could fire without showing themselves. In the centre of the camp, two huts or callis were erected, one for the chiefs, the other intended for the council lodge. Before the entrance of the lat ter, the totem or emblem of the tribe, and the sacred calumet were hung up, We will explain here what these two emblems are, which several writers have mentioned, though not described, but which it is very important to know, if a desire is felt to study Indian man- 44 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. ners. The totem, or kukevium, is the national standard, the distinctive mark of each tribe. It is supposed to repre sent the patron animal of the tribe; coyote, jaguar, buffalo, etc., each tribe having its own ; in this instance it was a white buffalo. The totem is a long staff, decorated with feathers of various colors, which are fastened perpendicu larly from top to bottom. This stan dard is only carried by the principal Chief of the tribe. The calumet is a pipe, whose tube is lour, six, even ten feet long ; the latter is sometimes round, but more frequent ly flat. It is adorned with painted animals, hair, porcupine quills, or birds of brilliant colors. The bowl is usual- Jy of red or white marble ; when the stone is of dark color, it is painted white before using. The calumet is sa cred : it was given to the Indians by the sun, and for that reason must never be polluted by contact with the ground. In bivouacs, it is suspended between two cross poles fixed in the earth. The pipe-bearer is regarded as heralds were formerly among ourselves : his person is inviolable. He is generally a re nowned warrior of the tribe, whom a wound received in action has rendered incapable of further fighting. The sun rose at the moment when the Apaches completed their entrench ments. The whites, in spite of their bravery, felt a shudder of terror run over their bodies when they found themselves thus invested on all sides. ' The more so, as by the dim light of breaking day they could see on the dis tant horizon several bands of warriors advancing from different points. ." Hum !" said Valentine, with a toss of his head, " it will be a sharp fight." " Do you consider our situation a bad one ?" the general asked him. " Detestable." " Canarios /" said General Ibanez : " we are lost in that case." "Yes," the hunter answered, "un less a miracle occur." " Caspita, what you say is not at all reassuring, my good fellow. Then, in your opinion, there is no hope ?" " Yes," Valentine answered, " one chance is left us." " What is it ?" the general asked quickly. " That the man who is being hanged feels the rope may break." The general shrugged his shoulders. " lie-assure yourself," the hunter said, still in a sarcastic tone ; " it will not break, I warrant you." " That is the fine consolation you of fer me," the general said in a tone, half of joke, half of annoyance. " Hang it, what would you have? it is all 1 can offer you at this moment ; but," he added, suddenly changing his accent, " all this does not prohibit our breakfasting, I suppose." "On the contrary," the general an swered, " for 1 declare I have a fero cious appetite, which, I assure you, has not been the case for a long time." "To table, then," Valentine exclaim ed with a laugh ; " we have not a mo ment to lose if we wish to breakfast in peace." " Are you sure of the fact ]" "Never mind, what can't be cured must be endured ; and so to breakfast with what appetite you may." The three men then proceeded to a leaf hut built up against Mad Buffalo's tomb, and, as they had said, made a hearty breakfast ; perhaps, as the gen eral asserted, it was because the sight of the Apaches had put them in a good temper. In the meanwhile, Stanapat, who had already formed his camp, has tened to send couriers in every direc tion, to have news of his allies as speedy as possible. The latter soon appeared, accompanied by the players of chichi- Itoues and drummers. These warriors were at least five hundred in number, all handsome and well built, clothed in rich dresses, splendidly armed, and offering to prejudiced eyes the most frightful sight imaginable. Tne chief who arrived with this large party was Black Cat. We will explain in a few words the arrival of this chief with his tribe among the Apache brothers an arrival which may seem extraordinary, after the part he had played in the attack on the squatter's camp. Red Cedar had been surprised by the hunters at midnight) and his camp was at once fired by the THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. assailants. The earthquake had so thoroughly complicated the situation, that none of the gambusinos perceived Black Cat's treachery, who, for his part, so soon as he had pointed out the position of the gambusinos, confined himself to sending his warriors ahead, while himself remaining with the rear guard, so as not to compromise him self, and be able to play the part that suited him best at the right moment. His trick was most perfectly successful ; the gambusinos, attacked on all sides simultaneously, had only dreamed of defending themselves as well as they could, having no time to perceive if deserters from their allies were in the ranks of their enemies. Hence Black Cat was heartily welcomed by Slana- pat, who was delighted at the help that reached him. During the course of the day other bands entered the camp in turn, so that at sunset nearly fifteen hundred redskin warriors were collected at the foot of the rock, and the hunters were com pletely invested. The movements of the Indians soon made them compre hend that they did not intend to retire till they had reduced them. The Indians are the shortest-sighted men in the world ; and at the end of two days, as the state of things must be remedied, a grand buffalo hunt was organized. At daybreak, thirty-five hunters, under the orders of Black Cat, left the camp, crossed the wood, and entered the prairie. After a rapid ride of two hours, they forded the Little Tur tle River, on the banks of which they halted to let their horses breathe. During this halt they lit a bois de vache fire, at which they cooked their break fast, and then set out again. At mid day they examined the plain stretching out at their feet, from the top of a hill ; they saw, at a considerable distance, several small herds of buffalo, each consisting of four or six male buffaloes, peaceably grazing. The hunters cocked their guns, went down into the plain, and made a regular charge against these clumsy animals, which can run, however, very fast. Each soon started in pursuit of the buffalo nearest to him. The buffaloes at times assume the offensive, and pursue in their turn the hunters for twenty to five-and-twenty yards ; but it is easy to avoid them ; so soon as they perceive the futility of pursuit, they fly in their turn. The In dians and half-breeds are so accustomed to this chase on horseback, that they rarely require more than one shot to kill a buffalo. When they fire they do not shoulder the piece, but, on the con trary, stretch out both arms to their full extent ; so soon as they are about ten paces from the animal, they fire in, this position, then reload with incredi ble speed, for they do not ram the ball home with wadding, but let it full directly on the powder to which it ad heres, as they have previously held it in their mouths, and fire again at once. Through this uncommon speed, the Indians produced in a short time a per fect massacre among the buffaloes ; sixty-eight of these animals were killed in less than two hours, Black Cat having brought down eleven as his share. The buffaloes were cut up and loaded on horses brought for the purpose, then the hunters returned gaily to camp, con versing about all the singular or drama tic incidents of the hunt, with all the Indian vivacity. Thanks to this expe dition, the Apaches were provisioned for a long time. A short distance from the camp, the Indians perceived a rider coming to- ward them at full speed. Black Cat or dered a halt, and waited ; it was evi dent that the person arriving thus could only be a friend, and any doubts were speedily dispelled. The Apaches recog* nized White Gazelle. We have said elsewhere that the Indians were much attached to this girl ; they received her very graciously, and led her to Black Cat, who remained motionless till she joined him. The chief examined her for a- moment attentively. " My daughter is welcome," he said ; " does she ask hospitality of the Apa ches r "No, chief; I have come to join them against the pale-faces, as I have done before," she replied, boldly ; " be sides, you know it as well as 1 do," she added. 46 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. "Good!" the chief continued ; "we thank my daughter ; her friends are ab sent, but we expect to see wilhin a few hours Red Cedar and the Long-knive of the East." A shade of dissatisfaction covered the girl's forehead ; but she at once re covered, and ranged her horse by the side of the chief's, saying carelessly "Red Cedar can come when he likes it does not concern me. Am 1 not a friend of the Apaches ?" " That is true," the Indian said, with a bow ; " will my sister set out?" " Whenever you please, chief." The hunters started again at a gal lop ; an hour later, they entered the camp, where they were received with shouts of joy from the Apache war riors. Black Cat ordered a calli to be prepared for the girl ; then, after visit ing the sentries, and listening to the re ports of the scouts, he sat down near the tree, at the foot of which White Gazelle had thrown herself, to reflect on the new duties imposed on her by the engagements into which she had entered with Bloodson. " My daughter is sad," the old chief said, as he lit his pipe by the aid of a long wand, adorned with feathers, and painted of different colors ; for, with that superstition natural to some In dians, he felt persuaded that if he once touched fire with his hands he would die on the spot. " Yes," the girl answered, " my heart is gloomy ; a cloud has spread over my mind." " My sister must console herself: he whom she has lost will be avenged." " The pale-faces are strong," she said, looking at him fixedly. " Yes," the chief replied, the whites have the strength of a grizzly bear, but the Indians have the craft of the beaver ; my sister can feel reassur ed, her enemies will not escape her." " Does my father know it?" " Black Cat is one of the great sa chems of his ft-ibe, nothing is hidden from him. At this moment all the pirates of the prairie, joined by the half-breeds, are advancing to surround the rock which serves as a refuge to the great pale warrior ; to-morrow, per haps, six thousand redskin warriors will be here. My sister can, therefore, see that her vengeance is assured ; un less the pale-faces fly through the air, or plunge into the waters, which can not happen they are lost." The young girl made no reply ; not thinking of the chief, whose piercing eye was fixed on her, she rose and be gan walking up and down in great agi tation. " Oh Heavens !" she said in a low voice, " they are lost ! Oh, why am I but a woman, and can do nothing for them ? How can they be saved ?" " What does my sister say ? has the Wacondah troubled her mind ?" the chief asked her, as he stood before her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. The Spaniard looked at him for a moment, then let her head fall in her hands, muttering in a choking voice, " Oh, Heavens ! I am mad." Black Cat took a searching glance around, and then bent down to the girl's ear. " My sister must follow me," he said, in a firm and significant voice. White Gazelle raised her head, and looked at him; the chief laid a finger on his lip, as if to recommend silence to her, and, turning his back, entered the wood. The girl followed him anx iously, and they walked on thus lor some minutes. At length they reached the top of a mound denuded of trees, where the eye could survey all around. Black Cat stopped and made the girl a sign to approach him. " Here we can talk ; let my sister speak ; my ears are open." " What can I say that my father does not know ?"the girl replied, suspiciously. " My sister wishes to save the pale faces, is it not so ?" " Well, yes," she said, with exalta tion ; " for reasons I cannot tell you, :hese men, who, a few days back, were lateful to me, have become dear to me ; to-day I would save them at the peril of my life." " Yes," the old man said, as if speak- ng to himself, " women are so ; like the leaves the wind carries off, their mind changes its direction with the slightest breath of passion." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 47 " Now you know my secret," she continued boldly, " I do not care about having discovered it to you ; act as you think proper, but no longer count on me." " On the contrary," the Apache re plied with his sardonic smile, " I count on you more than ever." " What do you mean?" " Well," Black Cat continued, after taking a searching glance around, and letting his voice drop, " I wish to save them too." " You ?" " I. Did not the pale chief enable me to escape the death that awaited me in the Comanche village ? did he not share with me as a brother the fire water of his gourd, to give me strength to sit my horse, and rejoin the warriors of my tribe ? Black Cat is a great chief. Ingratitude is a white vice ; gratitude is a red virtue. Black Cat will save his brother.'' " Thanks, chief," said the girl, as she pressed the old man's rough hands in hers; " thanks for your kindness. But, alas, time is slipping away rapidly, dawn will be here in a few hours, and perhaps we shall not succeed." " Black Cat is prudent," the chief re plied, " my sister must listen ; but, in the first place, she may be glad to warn her friends that she is watching over them." White Gazelle smiled in response ; the Indian whistled in a peculiar fashion, and Sunbeam made her appear ance. CHAPTER VIII. BLACK CAT AND UNICORN. BLACK CAT had retained a profound gratitude to Valentine through the generosity with which the latter had saved his life. The chief sought by any means possible to pay the debt after the attack on the gambusino camp, during which he had so vigorous ly supported the hunter. All the time he was being carried down the swollen Gila in the buffalo-hide canoes, Black Cat reflected seriously on the events taking place in his sight. He knew, like all the Indian chiefs of the Far West, the causes of the ha tred that separated the whites ; more over, he had been on several occasions enabled to appreciate the moral differ ence existing between the American squatter and the French hunter. Be sides, the question was now settled in his mind ; all his sympathies were at tracted to Valentine. Still, it would be as well that his help, to be useful, should be freely accepted by his friends, so as to prevent any misunder standing. When the earth had regained its equilibrium, and all had returned to the order laid down at the commence ment of the universe, Black Cat gave a signal, and the canoes ran a shore. The chief ordered his men to bivouac where they were, and await him ; then notic ing a short distance off, a herd of wild horses, he lassoed one, tamed it in a few minutes, leaped on its back, and started at a gallop. At this moment the sun rose splendidly on the horizon. The Apache chief journeyed the whole day without stopping, except a few moments to let his horse breathe, and at sunset he found himself a bow shot from Unicorn's village. After re maining in thought for a few minutes, the Indian appeared to make up his mind ; he urged on his horse, and bold ly entered the village, which, however, was deserted. Black Cat traversed it in every direction, finding at every step traces of the fearful fight of which it had been the scene a few days previous ly ; but he did not see a soul, not even a dog. When an Indian is following a trail, he is never discouraged, but goes on until he finds it. Black Cat left the vil lage at the opposite end, looked about for a minute, and then started unhesita tingly straight a-head. His admirable knowledge of the prairie had not de ceived him ; four hours later he reach ed the skirt of the virgin forest, under whose green arches we have seen Uni corn's Cornanches disappear. Black Cat also entered the forest by the same road as the village population had fol- THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. lowed, and within an hour saw the fires flashing through the trees. The Apache stopped for a moment, looked around him, and then went on. Though apparently alone BlackCat felt that he was watched ; he knew that since his first step in the forest, he was followed by invisible eyes. As he had not come however, in any warlike in tention, he did not in any way attempt to conceal his trail. These tactics were comprehended by the Comanche sen tries, who let him pass without reveal ing their presence, but still communi cated the arrival of an Apache chief on their territory to each other, so that Black Cat's coming was known at the village, while he was still a long way from it. The chief entered a large clearing, in the midst of which stood several huts. Several chiefs were silently seated round a fire, burning in front of a calli, which Black Cat recognised as the medi cine lodge. Contrary to the custom generally adopted in such cases, no one seemed to notice the approach of the chief, or rose to do him honor, and give him welcome. Black Cat understood that something extraordinary was oc curring 1 in the village, and that he was about to witness a strange scene. He was in no way affected by the cold reception accorded to him ; he dis mounted, threw his bridle over his horse's neck, and, walking to the fire, sat down opposite Unicorn, between two chiefs, who fell back to make room for him. Then, drawing the calumet from his girdle, he filled and lit it, and began smoking, after bowing to the company. The latter replied by the same gesture, but did not interrupt the silence. At length Unicorn took the calumet from his lips, and turned to Black Cat. " My brother is a great warrior," he said ; " he is welcome, his arrival is a happy ome for my young men, at a moment when a terrible chief is about to leave us, and proceed to the happy hunting grounds." " The Master of Life protected me,in permitting me to arrive so opportune ly ; who is the chief about to die ?" " The Panther is weary of life," Uni corn replied, in a mournful voice ; " he counts many winters, his tired arm can no longer fell the buffalo or the elk, his clouded eye only distinguishes with difficulty the nearest objects." " The Panther is no longer useful to his brothers, but has become a burden to them ; he must die," Black Cat re marked, sententiously. "That is what the chief himself thought ; he has this day communicated his intentions to the council assembled here round the fire, and I, his son, have undertaken to open for him the gates of another world." " Panther is a wise chief; what can a man do with life when he grows a bur den to others ? the Wacondah has been kind to the red-skins in giving them the necessary discernment to get rid of the aged and weak, and send them to an other world, where they will be born again, and after this short trial, hunt with all the vigor of youth." " Aly brother has spoken well," Uni corn answered, with a bow. At this moment a movement took place in the crowd assembled round the sweating lodge, in which the old chief was. The door opened, and Panther appeared. He was an old man of ma jestic height in opposition to the ma jority of Indians, who retain for a long time the appearance of youth his hair and beard, which fell in disorder on his shoulders and chest, were of a dazzling whiteness. On his face, whose features were imprinted with unconquerable en ergy, could be seen all the marks of a decrepitude which had attained its last limits. He was clothed in his hand somest costume, and painted and armed for war. So soon as he appeared in the door way of the hut all the chiefs rose. Unicorn walked up to him and respect fully offered his right arm, on which he leant. The old man, supported by his son, tottered up to the fire, before which he squatted. The other chiefs took their place by his side, and the warriors formed a wide circle round them. The great calumet of peace was brought in by the pipe-bearer, who presented it to the old man, and when it had gone round the circle, Panther THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 49 took the word. His voice was low and faint, but, owing to the deep silence that prevailed, it was heard by all. " My sons," he said, " I am about to depart for another country ; I shall soon be near the Master of Life. I will tell the warriors of our nation whom I meet on the road that the Co- manches are still invincible, and their nation is the queen of the prairies." A murmur of satisfaction, soon sup pressed, however, greeted these words; in a moment the old man continued : " Continue to be brave as your an cestors ; be implacable to the pale-faces, those devouring wolves, covered with an elk-skin ; let them ever assume the feet of the antelope, to fly more speed ily before you, and may they never see the wolf-tails you fasten to your heels. Never taste the fire- water, that poison, by the help of which the pale-faces enervate us, render us weak as women, and incapable of avenging insults. When you are assembling round the war or hunting fire in your camp, think sometimes of Panther, the chief, whose renown was formerly great, and who, seeing that the Wacondah forgot him on earth, preferred to die sooner than be longer a burthen to his nation. Tell the young warriors who tread the path for the first time, the exploits of your chief, Bounding Panther, who was so long the terror of the foes of the Co- manches." While uttering these words the old chiefs eye had become animated, and his voice trembled with emotion. The Indians assembled round him listened to him respectfully. "But what use is it to speak thus 1 ?" he went on, suppressing a sigh ; " I know that rny memory will not die out among you, for my son Unicorn is here to succeed me, and guide you in his turn on the path where I so long led you. Bring my last meal, so that we may soon strike up ' the song of the Great Remedy.' " Immediately the Indians brought up pots filled with boiled dogs-flesh, and at a sign from Panther, the meal com menced. When it was ended the old man lit his calumet, and smoked, while the warriors danced round him, with Unicorn at their head. Presently the old man made a sign, and the warriors stopped. " What does my father desire?" Uni corn asked. " I wish you to sing the song of the Great Remedy." " Good," Unicorn replied, " my father shall be obeyed." Then he struck up that strange chant, of which the following is a. translation, the Indians joining in chorus and continuing to dance : " Master of Life, thou givesfe us courage ! It is true that redskins know that thou lovest them. We send thee our father this day. See how old and decrepit he is ! the Bounding Pan ther has been changed into a clumsy bear ! Grant that he may find himself young in another world, and able to hunt as in former times." And the round danced on, the old man smoking his pipe stoically the while. At length, when the calumet was empty, he shook out the ashes on his thumb-nail, laid the pipe before him, and looked up to heaven. At this mo ment the first signs of twilight tinged the extreme line' of the horizon with an opaline hue, the old man drew him self up, his eye became animated, and flashed. " The hour has come," he said, in a loud and firm voice ; " the Wacondah summons me. Farewell, Comanehe warriors ; my son, you have to send me to the Master of Life." Unicorn drew out the tomahawk hanging from his belt, brandished it over his head, and without hesitation, and with a movement swift as thought, cleft the skull of the old man, whose smiling face was turned to him, and who fell without a sigh. He was dead ! The dance began again more rapid and irregularly, and the warriors shout ed in chorus : " Wacondah ! Wacondah ! receive this warrior ! See, he did not fear death ! he knew there was no such thing, as he was to be born again in thy bosom ! " Wacondah ! Wacondah ! receive this warrior. He was just ! the blood THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. flowed red and pure in his heart ! the | words his chest uttered were wise ! " Wacondah ! Wacondah ! receive this warrior ! He was the greatest and most celebrated of thy Comanche chil dren ! " Wacondah ! Wacondah ! receive this warrior. See how many scalps he wears at his girdle. " Wacondah ! Wacondah ! receive this warrior !" The song and dancing lasted till day break, when, at a signal from Unicorn, they ceased. " Our father has gone," he said ; " his soul has left his body, which it inhabit ed too long, to choose another abode. Let us give him a burial suited to so great a warrior." The preparations were not lengthy ; the body of the Bounding Panther was carefully washed, then interred in a sit ing posture, with his war weapons ; the last horse he had ridden and his dogs were placed by his side, after having their throats cut; and then a bark hut was erected over the tomb to preserve it from the profanation of wild beasts ; on the top of the hut a pole was plant ed, surmounted by the scalps the old warrior had taken at a period when he, still young and full of strength, led the Comanches in action. Black Cat witnessed all the affecting incidents of this mournful tragedy re spectfully, and with religious devotion. When the funeral rites were e"nded, Unicorn came up to him. " I thank my brother," the Coman che said, " for having helped us to pay the last duties to an illustrous warrior. Now I am quite at my brother's ser vice, he can speak without fear ; the ears of a friend are open, and his heart will treasure up the words addressed to it." " Unicorn is the first warrior of his nation," Black Cat replied, with a bow ; "justice and honor dwell in him: a cloud has passed over my mind and rendered it sad." " Let my brother open his heart to me, I know that he is one of the most celebrated chiefs of his nation. Black Cut no longer counts the scalps he has taken from his enemies what is the reason that renders him sad ?" The Apache chief smiled proudly at Unicorn's remarks. " The friend of my brother, the great pale hunter, adopted by his tribe," he s;ud sharply, " is running a terrible danger at this moment." " Wah !" the chief said ; " can that be true 1 Koutonepi is the flesh of my bones ; who touches him wounds me. My brother will explain." Black Cat then narrated to Unicorn the way in which Valentine had saved his life, the leagues formed by the Apaches and other nations of the Far West against him, and the critical position in which the hunter now was, owing to the influence of Red Cedar with the In dians, and the forces he had at his com mand at this moment. Unicorn shook his head over the story. " Koutonepi is wise and intrepid," he said ; " loyalty dwells in his heart, but he cannot resist how to help him ? A man, however brave he may be, is not equal to one hundred." " Valentine is my brother," tha Apache answered ; " I have sworn to save him. But what can 1 do alone ?" Suddenly a woman rushed between the two chiefs : it was Sunbeam. " If my master permits," she said with a suppliant look at Unicorn, " I will help you: a woman can do many things." There was a silence, during which the chief regarded the squaw, who stood modest and motionless before them. " My sister is brave," Black Cat at length said ; " but a woman is a weak creature, whose help is of but very slight weight under such grave circum stances." " Perhaps so," she said boldly. " Wife," Unicorn said, as he laid his hand on her shoulder, "go whither your heart calls you ; save iny brother and pay the debt you have contracted with him : my eye will follow you, and at the first signal I will run up." "Thanks," the young woman said, joyfully, and kneeling before the chief, she affectionately kissed his hand. Unicorn went on : THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 51 " I confide this woman to my broth er I know that his heart is great : I am at my ease ; farewell." And after a parting signal he dis missed his guest; the chief entered his Culli without looking back, and let the buffalo-hide curtain fall behind him. Sunbeam looked after him ; when he had disappeared, she turned to Black Cat. " Let us go," she said, " to save our friend." A few hours later, the Apache chief, followed by a young woman, rejoined his tribe on the banks of the Gila, and on the next day but one Black Cat ar rived with his entire forces at the Hill of Mad Buffalo. CHAPTER IX. THE MEETING. THE preceding explanations given, we will resume our story at the point where we left it at the end of ch.-ipter seven. Sunbeam, without speaking, offered the Spanish girl a piece of pa per, a species of wooden skewer, and a shell filled with blue paint. The Ga zelle gave a start of joy. " Oh, I understand," she said. The chief smiled. " The whites have a great deal of knowledge," he said, " nothing escapes them ; my daughter will draw a collar for the pale chief." " Yes," she murmered, " but will he believe me 1 ?" " My daughter will put htr heart in that paper, and the white hunter will re cognise it." The girl heaved a sigh. " Let us try," she said. With a feverish movement she took the paperfrorn Sunbeam's hand, hastily wrote a few words, and returned it to the young Indian, who stood motionless and stoicul before her. Sunbeam roll ed up the p'per, and carefully fastened it rou.id ar irrow. " Within an hour it will be deliv ered," she said, and she disappeared in tRe wood with the lightness of a star- 3 tied fawn. This little affair took her less time to perform than we have been employed in describing it. When the Indian girl, taught long before by Black C it the part she had to play, had gone off to delivo her message, the chief said : "You see that, though we may not save them all, those who are dear to us will at any rate escape." " May Heaven grant that you are not mistaken, father," the girl said. " Wacondah is great : His power is unbounded : He can do every thing : my daughter can hope." After this a long conversation took place between ttie couple, at the end of which, White Gazelle glided unnoticed among the trees, and proceeded to a hill a short distance from the post occu pied by the whites, called Elk Hill, where she had given Don Pablo the meeting. At the thought of seeing the Mexican again, the girl had been invol untarily attacked by an undefinable emotion ; she felt her heart contracted, and all her limbs trembled. The recol lection of what had passed between her and him so short a time back still troubled her ideas, and rendered the task she had imposed on herself even more difficult. At this moment she was no longer the rude amazon we have represented her to our readers, who, hardened since her childhood to the terrible scenes of prairie life, braved the greatest perils. She felt herself a woman ; all the man liness in her had disappeared, only leaving a timid, trembling girl, who shuddered to find herself face to face with the man whom she reproached her self with having so cruelly outraged, and who, perhaps, on seeing her, would not condescend to enter into any expla nation, but turn his back on her. All these thoughts and many others whirled about in her brain while she proceeded with a furtive step to the place of meeting. The nearer she drew the more lively her fears became, for her mind retraced with greater force the indignity of her previous conduct. At length she arrived, and found the top of the hill still deserted. A sigh of relief escaped from her oppressed chest, 52 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. and she icturned thanks to Heaven for granting her a few moments' respite to prepare herself for the solemn inter view she had craved. But the first moment passed, another anxiety troubled her; she feared lest Don Pablo would not accept her invita tion, but despise the chance of safety offered him. Then, with her head thrust forward, her eyes fixed on space, and striving to sound the depths of the gloom, she waited anxiously, counting the seconds. No one has yet been able to calculate how many centuries each moment is composed of to a per son who is waiting. The girl was begin ning to doubt Don Pablo's arrival ; a gloomy despair seized upon her, and she cursed the material responsibility which nailed her inactively to the spot. Let us describe in a few words what was happening at this moment on the Hill of Mad Buffalo. Valentine, Guru inilla and Don Pablo, seated on the crest of the hill, were silently smoking, each thinking apart of the means to be employed to escape from the painful position in which they were, when a shrill whistle was heard, and a long ar row, passing rapidly between the three men, buried itself deeply in the sods of the grassy mount, at the foot of which they were seated. " What is that?" Valentine, the first to regain his coolness, exclaimed. " By heavens ! can the red-skins be beginning the attack already ?" " Let us wake our friends," said Don Pablo. " A friend !" grunted Guru mil la, who had pulled the arrow out and examined it attentively. " What do you mean, chief?" the hunter asked. " Look !" the Indian replied laconi cally, as he gave him the arrow, and pointed to the paper rolled round it. " So it is," Valentine said, as he un fastened the paper, while Curumilla picked up a burning log and held it to him as a candle. " Hum !" Don Pablo muttered, " this mode of corresponding appears to me rather strange." " We will see what it all means/' the hunter answered. He unfolded the paper, on which a 'ew lines were written in Spanish, and read the following ; " The palefaces are lost ; the Indian tribes, assembled from all parts and helped by the Pirates of the Prairies, surround them. The white men have no help to expect from anybody. Uni- ;orn is too far off, Bloodson too much en gaged in defending himself to have time to think of them. Don Pablo de Zarate can, if he likes, escape the death that menaces him, and save those who are dear to him. His fate is in his own hands. So soon as he has received this, let him leave his camp and proceed alone to Elk Hill, where he will meet a person prepared to supply him with the means he must seek in vain elsesvhere ; this person will await Don Pablo till sunrise. lie is implored not to neglect this warning ; to-morrow will be too late to save him, for he would infallibly succumb in a mad struggle. " A FRIEND." On reading this strange missive, the young man let his head sink on his chest, and remained for a long time plunged in deep thought. " What is to be done?" he muttered. " Why go, hang it all !" Valentine answered ; " who knows whether this scrap of paper may not contain the salvation of all of us ?" " But suppose it is treachery ?' " Treachery ! nonsense, my friend, you must be joking. The Indians are thorough rogues and traitors, 1 grant ; but they have a fearful terror of any thing written, which they believe ema nates from the genius of evil. No, this letter does not come from the Indians. As for the pirates, they can use a rifle very well, but are completely ignorant of a goose-quill ; and I declare, from here to Monterey on one side and to New York on the other, you will not find one who knows how to write. This letter, therefore, emanates from a friend; but who that friend is, is more difficult to guess." " Then your opinion is to grant the meeting ?" " Why not? taking, of course, all the precautions usual in such a case." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 53 " Must I go alone ?" "Canarios! people always go alone to such meetings: that is settled," Val entine said with a grin ; "still, they are accompanied, and would be fools were they not." " Assuming that I am willing to fol low your advice, I cannot leave my father alone here." " Your father is safe for the present ; besides, he has with him the general and Curumilla, who, I answer for it, will not let him be surprised in our ab sence. However, that is your affair ; still, I would observe, that under cir cumstances so critical as ours, all se condary considerations ought to be laid aside. Canarios, friend ! think that the safety of all of us may be the reward of the venture." " You are right, brother," the young man said boldly ; " who knows whether I might not have to reproach myself with your death and my father's if I neglected this hint? I go." " Good," the hunter said, " do so ; for my part, I know what is left me to do. Be at your ease," he added with his ironical smile ; " you will go alone to the meeting, but if you need help, I shall not be long in making my appear ance." " Very good ; but the chief point is to leave this place and reach Elk Hill unnoticed by the thousand tiger-cat eyes the Apaches are probably fixing on us at this moment." "Trust to me for that," the hunter answered. In fact, a few minutes later, Don Pablo, guided by Valentine, was climb ing up Elk Hill, unnoticed by the Apaches. In the meanwhile, White Gazelle was still waiting, her body bent for ward, and listening for the slightest sound that would reveal the presence of the man she had so earnestly begged to come. Suddenly a rough hand was laid on her shoulder, and a mockin- voice muttered in her ear : "Hilloh, Nina, what are you doing so far from the carnp ? are you afraid Jest your enemies should escape?'' The Spaniard turned with an ill-dis guised movement of disgust, and saw Nathan, Red Cedar's eldest son. "Yes, it is I," the bandit went on; "does that astonish you, Nina? We arrived an hour ago with the finest col lection of vultures that can be ima gined." " But what are you doing here ?" she said, scarce knowing why she asked the question. " Oh !" he continued, " I have also come to revenge myself; I left my father and the others down there, and have come to explore the country a little. But," he added, with a sinister laugh, " that is not the question at this moment. What the deuce sets you roaming about at this time of night, at the risk of having an unpleasant en counter ?" " What have I to fear am I not armed ?" " That is true," the pirate replied with a grin ; " but you are pretty, and devil take me if I don't know fellows who, in my place, would laugh at the playthings you have in your girdle. Yes, you are very pretty, Nina, don't you know it ? Hang me, as no one has yet told you so, I feel very much inclined to do so ; what's your opinion, eh ?" " The wretch is mad with drink," the girl muttered, as she saw the brigand's flushed face, and his staggering legs. ' Leave me," she said to him, " the hour is badly chosen for jesting, we have more important matters to ar range." " Stuff, we are all mortal, anJ hang me if I care what may happen to-mor row ! On the contrary, I find the hour splendidly chosen ; we are alone, no one can over hear us ; what prevents us, then, from expressing our adoration of one another ?" " No one, were it true," the girl an swered resolutely ; " but 1 am not in the humor to listen to your chatterin^ so be good enough to withdraw. I am awaiting here the war party of the Buffalo Apaches, who will soon arrive and take up their position on this hill instead of losing precious time, you would do better to join Bed Cedar and Stanapat, with whom you must settle 54 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. all the details of the enemy's attack." " That is true," the bandit answered, the words having slightly sobered him. " You are right, Nina, I will go ; but what is put off is not lost; I hope on some other day to find you not so wild, my dear. Good t bye !" And, carelessly turning, the bandit threw his rifle on his shoulder, and went down the hill in the direction of the Apache camp. The young Spaniard, left alone, congratulated herself on es caping the danger that had momentarily threatened her, for she had trembled lest Don Pablo might arrive while Nathan was with her. Still, the news of Red Cedar's position heightened White Gazelle's apprehensions and re doubled her alarm about those whom she had resolved to save at all hazards. At the moment when she no longer hoped to see the young man, and was looking out for him more to satisfy her conscience than in the chance of seeing him, she saw, a little distance off, a man hurriedly walking towards her, and guessed, more than recognised, that it was Don Pablo. " At last !" she exclaimed joyfully, as she rushed to meet him. The young man was soon by her side, but on perceiving who it was, he fell back a pace. "You," he said; "did you write to ask me fyere ?" " Yes," she answered, in a trembling voice, " I did." " What can there be in common be tween us ?" Don Pablo said, contemp tuously. " Oh ! do not crush me ; I now can understand how culpable and unworthy my conduct was : pardon a madness which I deplore. Listen to me ; in Heaven's name do not despise the ad vice I am about to give you, for your life and that of those you love are at stake." " Thank Heaven, madam," the young rnan replied coldly ; " during the few hours we were together, I learnt to know you sufficiently to place no faith in any of your protestations ; I have only one regret at this moment, and that is, in having allowed myself to enter the snare you have laid for.rne." " I lay a snare for you !" she ex claimed indignantly, " when I would gladly shed the last drop of my blood to save you." " Save me nonsense ! ruin me, you mean," Don Pablo continued, with a smile of contempt; "do you fancy me so foolish? Be frank, at least; your project has succeeded, and I am in your hands ; produce your accomplices, who are doubtless hidden behind those trees, and I will not do them the honor of dis puting my life with them." " Oh, Heaven !" the girl exclaimed, as she writhed her hands in despair, "am I not sufficiently punished, Don Pablo 1 Listen to me, for mercy's sake ! in a few minutes it will be too late ; 1 wish to save you, I say." " You lie impudently," Valentine ex claimed, as he leaped from a thicket ; " only a moment ago, at that very spot, you told Nathan, the worthy son of your accomplice, Red Cedar, of the ar rival of an Apache war party ; deny it, if you dare." This revelation was a thunderbolt for the girl ; she felt that it would be im possible for her to disabuse the man she loved, and convince him of her in nocence, in the face of this apparently so evident proof of her treachery. She fell crushed at the young man's feet. " Oh," he said with disgust, " this wretched woman is my evil genius." He made a movement to retire. "A moment," Valentine exclaimed, as he stopped him ; " matters must not end thus : let us destroy this creature ere she causes us to be massacred." He coldly placed the muzzle of a pis tol on the girl's temple, and she did not flinch to escape the fate that threatened her. But Don Pablo hastily seized his arm. " Valentine," he said, " what are you about, my friend ?" " It is true," the hunter replied ; " when so near death, I will not dishonor myself by killing this wretch." "Well done, brother," Don Pablo said, as he gave a glance of scorn to the Gazelle, who implored him in vain ; ' ! men like us do not assassinate wo men. Let us leave her and sell our lives dearly." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 55 " Nonsense ; death, perhaps, :s not so near as you may fancy ; for my part, I do not despair about getting out of this wasps' nest." They took an anxious glance into the valley to reconnoitre their position ; the darkness was almost dissipated ; the sun, though still invisible, tinged the sky with those reddish gleams which precedes its appearance by a few mo ments. As far as the eye could reach, the plain was covered by powerful In dian detachments. The two men saw that they had but a very slight chance of regaining their fortress ; still, accustomed as they were to attempt impossibilities daily, they were not discouraged in the presence of the imminent danger that menaced them. After silently shaking hands, these two brave men raised their heads proudly, and with calm brow and flash ing eye prepared to confront the hor rible death that awaited them, if they were discovered. " Stay, in Heaven's name," the maid en exclaimed, as she dragged herself on her knees to Don Pablo's feet. " Back, viper," the latter answered, " let us die bravely." " But I will not have you die," she replied, with a piercing cry ; " I repeat that I will save you, if you consent." " Save us ! GOD alone can do that," the young man said mournfully ; " be glad that we will not sully our hands with your perfidious blood, and do not trouble us further." " Oh- ! nothing will convince you then !" she said, with despair. "Nothing," the Mexican answered coldly. " Oh !" she exclaimed, her eye beam ing with joy, " I have found it. Fol low me, and you shall join your friends again." Don Pablo, who had already gone some yards, turned back with hesita tion. "What do you fear?" she said; "you will still be able to kill me if I deceive you. Oh," she added madly, " what do I care for death, so that I save you !" " Strange creature," the hunter said, as he wiped his eyes with the back of his rough hand ; " she is quite capable of doing what she says." " Perhaps so," Don Pablo replied, shaking his head gloomily : " but our position is truly desperate, my friend." " A man can only die once, after all," the hunter remarked philosophically, as he threw his rifle over his shoulder ; "I am most curious to know how all this will end." CHAPTER X. A WAR STRATAGEM. THE two men followed her, and the three began crawling through the tall grass and silently descending the hill. This painful march was necessarily slow, owing to the innumerable precau tions the fugitives were obliged to take so as not to be seen or tracked by the scouts the Indians had scattered all around to watch the movements of the white men, and of any relief which might come to them. White Gazelle walked actively in front of the hunters, looking cautiously around, stopping to listen anxiously to the slightest sound in the bushes ; and when her fears were calmed, she went on giving the men she guided a smile of encouragement. " Sold !" Valentine said, with a laugh all at once, as he rested his rifle on the ground ; " come, come, the little wench is cleverer than I fancied." The two men were surrounded by a numerous party of Apache Indians. Don Pablo did not utter a word ; he only looked at the girl, who continued to smile. " Bah !" the Frenchman muttered philosophically in an aside ; " I shall kill my seven or eight of them, and af ter that, we shall see." Completely reassured by this consol ing reflection, the hunter at once re gained all his clearness of mind, and looked curiously around him. They we're in the midst of Black Cat's war party, and that chief now walked up to the hunter. 56 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " My brother is welcome among the Buffalo Apaches," he snid, nobly. "Why jest, chief?" Valentine re marked ; " I am your prisoner, do with nie what you think proper." "Black Cat does not jest ; the great pale-hunter is not his prisoner, but his friend ; he has but to command and Black Cat will execute his orders." "What mean these words?" the Frenchman said, with astonishment ; " are you not here, like all the mem bers of your nation, to seize my friends and myself?" " Such was my intention, I allow, when I left my village some days back, but my heart has changed since my brother saved my life, and he may have perceived it already. If I have come here it is not to fight, but to save him and his friends ; my brother can, there fore, place confidence in my words my tribe will obey him as myself.'"' Valentine reflected for a moment, then he said, as he looked searchingly at the chief: " And what does Black Cat ask in re turn for the help he offers me ?" " Nothing ; the pale hunter is my brother ; if we succeed he will do as he pleases." " Come, come, all is for the best," Valentine said, as he turned to the girl ; " I was mistaken, so I will ask you to forgive me." White Gazelle blushed with delight at these words. " Then," Valentine continued, ad dressing the Indian chief, "I can en tirely dispose of your young men ?" "Entirely. " They will be devoted to me?" " I have said so, as to myself." " Good !" said the hunter, as his face brightened ; " how many warriors have you?" Black Cat held up ten times the fin gers of his opened hands. " One hundred ?" Valentine asked. "Yes,'' the chief replied, "and eight more." " But the other tribes are far more numerous than yours ?" "They form a band of warriors twenty-two times and seven times more numerous than mine." "Hum! that is a tidy lot, without counting the pirates." " Wan ! there are thrice the number of the fingers of my two hands of the Long-knives of the East.'' " I fear," Don Pablo observed, "that we shall be crushed by the number of our enemies." "Perhaps so," Valentine, who was reflecting, answered; "where is Bed Cedar?" " Red Cedar is with his brothers, the prairie half-breeds; he has joined Stan- apat's party." At this moment the Apache war-cry- burst forth on the plain, a tremendous discharge was heard, and the Hill of the Mad Buffalo seemed begirt by a halo of smoke and flashing lightning. The battle had began.. The Indians bravely mounted to the assault. They marched toward the hill, continually discharging their muskets, and firing arrows at their invisible enemies. At the spot where the chain of hills touches the Gila, fresh parties of Apa ches could be seen incessantly arriving. They came up at a gallop, by troops of three to twenty men at a time. Their horses were covered with foam, leading to the presumption that they had made a loug journey. The Apaches were in their war paint, covered with all sorts of orna ments and arms, with their bow and quiver on their back, and their musket in their hands. Their heads were crown ed with feathers, among them being several magnificent black and white eagle plumes, with the large falling crest. Seated on handsome saddle-cloths of panther skin, lined with red, all had the lower part of the body naked, with the exception of a long strip of wolf skin passed over the shoulder. Their shields were ornamented with feathers, and par ty-coloured cloth. These men, thus ac coutred, had something grand and majes tic about them which affected the ima gination and inspired terror. Many of them at once climbed the heights, lashing their wearied horses, so to arrive sooner at the battlefield, while singing and uttering their war-cry. The contest seemed most obstinate in the neighbourhood of the palisades ; THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 57 the two Mexicans and Curumilla, pro tected behind their entrenchments, re plied to the Apaches with a deadly fire, bravely exciting each other to die wea pons in hand. Several corpses already lay on the plain ; riderless horses gal loped in every direction, and the crie of the wounded were mingled with the yells of defiance of the assailants. What we have described in so many words, Valentine and Don Pablo per ceived in a few seconds, with the infalli ble glance of men long accustomed to prairie life. " Come, chief," the hunter said, quick ly, " we must rejoin our friends ; help us; if not, they are lost." " Good," Black Cat answered ; t: the pale hunter will place himself, with his friend, in the midst of my detachment ; in a few minutes he will be on the hill. Above all, the pale chief must leave me to act." " Do so ; I trust entirely to you." Black Cat said a few words in a low voice to the warriors who accompanied him; they at once collected round the two hunters, who entirely disappeared in their midst. " Oh, oh," Don Pablo said, anxiously, "just look at this, my friend." Valentine smiled as he took his arm. " 1 have read the chiefs intention," he said, " he is employing the only way possible. Do not be alarmed, all is for the best." Black Cat placed himself at the head of his detachment, and gave a signal. A fearful yell burst through the air the Buffalo tribe had sounded its war-cry. The Apaches, carrying the two men with them, rushed furiously toward the hill, and ere Valentine and Don Pablo knew what was happening, they had rejoined their friends, and Black" Cat's warriors fled in every direction, as if a fearful panic had seized on them. Still the fight was not over ; Stana- pat's Indians rushed like tigers on the palisades, and let themselves be killed without recoiling an inch. The fight, if prolonged, must end fatally to the whites, whose strength was becoming exhausted. Stanapat and Red Cedar un derstood this, and hence redoubled their efforts) to crush the enemy. Suddenly, at the moment when tha Apaches rushed furiously against the whites to attempt a final assault, the war-cry of the Coras was heard, mingled with the discharge of fire-arms. The Apaches were surprised, and hesitated ; Red Cedar looked around, and uttered a curse; the war-cry of the Comanches rose behind the camp. " Forward ! forward at all risks !" the squatter howled, as, followed by his sons and some of his men, he rush- by toward the hill. But the scene had changed as if by enchantment. Black Cat, on seeing the help that had arrived for his friends, ef fected a junction with Unicorn ; the uni ted bands attacked the Apaches on the flank, while Moukapec, at the head of two hundred picked warriors of his na tion, rushed on their rear. The flight began, and soon changed into a rout ; Red Cedar, and a small party of pirates collected around him, alone offered any resistance. From as sailants they had become assailed, and there must be an end to it, or in a few minutes all would be over, as their re treat would be cut off". "Hurrah !" Red Cedar shouted, as he waved his rifle over his head like a mace ; " down with the dogs ! take their scalps !" " Take their scalps !" his companions exclaimed, imitating his movements, and massacreing all that opposed their passage. They had managed to clear a bloody way, and were slowly moving toward the river, when a man boldly threw himself before Red Cedar it was Mouk apec. " I bring you my scalp, dog of the pale- faces !" he shouted, as he dealt a blow at him with his tomahwk. "Thanks," the bandit answered, as he parried the blow. Eagle-wing bounded forward like a hyena, and before his enemy could pre vent it, buried his knife in his thigh. Red Cedar uttered a yell of rage on feeling himself wounded, and drew his knife with one hand, while with the other he seized the Indian by the throat. The latter felt that he was lost j the THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. blade flashed above his head, and was buried to the hilt in his chest. "Ah ! ah !" Red Cedar grinned, as he let down his enemy who rolled on the ground, " I fancy our accounts are set tled this time." " Not yet," the Coras said, with a triumphant smile, and with a dying ef fort he fired his rifle at the squatter. 4 The latter let go his reins, and fell by the side of the Indian. " I die avenged," Eagle-wing said, as he writhed in a last convulsion. " Oh, I am not dead yet," lied Cedar replied, as he rose on one knee and cleft the Indian's skull ; " I shall escape, never fear." Red Cedar's shoulder was broken, still, thanks to the help of his comrades, who did not give ground an inch, he was able to get on his horse again, and Sut- ter and Nathan fastened him to the sad dle. " Back ! back !" he shouted, " else we are lost ! each man for himself!" The. pirates obeyed him, and began flying in various directions, closely fol lowed by the Comanches and Coras. Still they managed some to reach the virgin forest, where they disappeared, others the river, which they swam, Red Cedar being one of the former. Valentine and his friends, as soon as they saw the issue of the fight, hasten ed to leave the hill of the Mad Buffalo, and went down into the plain with the intention of capturing Red Cedar; un fortunately they only arrived in time to see him disappear in the distance ; still, the unexpected result of the fight had done them an immense service, not only by rescuing them from the false position in which they were, but also by breaking up the league of the Indian tribes, who, startled by the immense losses they had suffered, would doubtless retire and leave the white men to settle their disputes without interfering fur ther in the quarrel. As for Red Cedar, his band was an nihilated or dispersed, while himself, seriously wounded, was no longer to be feared. The capture of this man, forced to wander like a wild beast over the prairie, only became a question of time. Stanapat had also escaped with a few warriors, no one knowing in what direction he had gone. Tiie three united parties camped on the battle-field, according to their cus tom. The Indians first occupied them selves with scalping the corpses of their of their enemies. Singular to say, the victors had made no prisoners ; the fight had been so obstinate, that every man had only thought of killing his enemy, instead of seizing him. Mouk- apec's body was raised respectfully, and interred on the Hill of Mad Buffalo, by the side of the terrible chief who had first chosen the sepulchre. The sun set at the moment when the last duties had been paid to the fallen war rior, and the council fires were lighted. When all had taken their seats, and the calumet had gone the round, Valentine rose. " Chiefs," he said, " my friends and I thank you for your generous efforts in trying to deliver the prairies of the Far West from the bandit who has so long desolated them ; we are not merely pursuing an idle vengeance, but a work of humanity ; this villain dishonors the name of man, and the race to which he belongs. At the present moment, of the numerous bandits who accompanied him, few are left him. The band of the malefactors, which was the terror of the prairies, no longer exists ; and their chief, I feel convinced, will soon fall into our power. Be ready, when necessary, to help us, as you have done to-day ; until then, return to your vil lages, and believe that, far or near, we shall retain the recollection of the ser vices you have rendered us, and that, in case of need, you can count on us as we have ever done on you." After uttering these words which the Indians applauded, Valentine sat down again. There was a lengthened silence, employed by the Indians in conscien tiously smoking their calumets. Black Cat was the first to break the silence. " Let my brothers listen," he said ; " the words I utter are inspired by the Master of Life ; the cloud that obscured my mind has passed away since my Co ras and Cornanche brothers,' those two brave nations, have restored me the THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 59 place, to which I had a right, tit their council fires. Unicorn is a wise chief, his friendship is precious to me.- I hope that the Waconduh will never allow between him and me, or between my youn toxicating maelstrom that surrounds them, to despise those riches which flash around them, and go under the impulse of Christian Charity, the holiest and least rewarded of all the. virtues, to bury themselves among savages, amid hordes most hostile to every good and honorable feeling, in the most deadly countries such men, we say, who, im pelled solely by a divine feeling, aban don all earthly enjoyments, are chosen vessels, and in every respect deserve well of humanity. Their number is much larger than might be supposed at the first blush, and that is very logical ; the passion for devotion must go side by side with the thirst for gold, in order that the eternal balance of good and' evil which governs the world should remain in THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 67 those equal proportions which are con ditions of its vitality and prosperity. Red Cedar's condition was serious the moral commotion he underwent ii recognizing the man whom he hac once attempted to assassinate, hac brought on a frightful attack of deli rium. The wretch, a prey to the most gnawing remorse, was tortured by the hideous phantoms of his victim, evokec by his diseased imagination, and which stalked round his bed like a legion of demons. The night he passed was ter rible. Father Seraphin, Ell^n, and Valen tine's mother did not leave him for a second, watching over him anxiously, and frequently compelled to struggle with him in order to prevent him dash ing his head against the trees, in the paroxysms of the crisis that tortured him. Strange coincidence ! the bandit had a similar wound in his shoulder to the one he had formerly dealt the mission ary, which had compelled the latter to go and seek a cure in Europe, a voyage from which lie had only returned a few days, when Providence permitted him to find the man who wished to assas sinate him, lying almost dead at tiie foot of a tree. Towards day the crisis grew calmer, and the squatter fell into a species of slumber, which deprived him of the fa culties of feeling and perception. No one else slept during this long and mournful night, spent in the heart of the forest; and when Father Seraphin saw that Red Cedar was calmer, he or dered the Indians to prepare a litter to receive him. They were much disin clined to the task ; they had known the squatter for a lengthened period, and these primitive men could not under stand why, instead of killing him when chance threw him into his power, the missionary lavished his assistance on such a villain, who had committed so many crimes, and whose death would have been a blessing to the prairie. It required all the devotion they had vow ed to Father Seraphin for them to con sent to do, very unwillingly we allow, what he ordered them. When the litter was ready, dry leaves and grass were spread over it, and the squatter was laid on this couch in an almost complete state of insensi bility. Before leaving the forest the missionary, who knew how necessary it was to re-kindle the drooping faith of the redskins, for the sake of the pa tient, resolved to offer the holy sacri fice of mass. An altar was improvised on a grassy mound, covered with a rag of white cloth, and the mass was read, served by one of the Indians, who offer ed his services spontaneously. Assuredly, in the large European ca thedrals, beneath the splendid arches of stone, blackened by time, to the im posing murmur of the organ re-echoing through the aisles, the ceremonies of the faith are performed with greater pomp ; but I doubt whether they be so with more magnificent simplicity, or are listened to with greater fervor than this mass, said in the heart of a forest, accompanied by the striking melodies of the desert, by the pale-browed priest, whose eyes glistened with a holy en thusiasm, and who prayed for his as sassin groaning at his feet. When mass was over, Father Sera- )hin gave a signal, four Indians raised he litter on their shoulders, and the >arty set out, Ellen being mounted on -he horse of one of the bearers. The ourney was long ; the missionary had eft Galveston to go in search of Val- iiitine, but a hunter accustomed to tra verse great distances, and whose life is nade up of incessant excursions, is rery difficult to discover in the desert; he missionary, therefore, decided on roing to the winter village of the Co- nanches, where he was certain to ob- ain precise information about the man ic wished to see. But his meeting with Red Cedar pre sented him from carrying out this plan; Jnicorn and Valentine were too invet- rate against the squatter for the mis- ionary to hope that they would con- ent to resign their vengeance. The ionjuncture was difficult; Red Cedar vas a prescript in the fullest sense of he term ; one of those outlaws, whose lumber is fortunately very limited, THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. who have the whole human race for their foe, and to whom every country is hostile. And yet this man must be saved ; and after ripe reflection, Father Seraph- in's resolution was formed. He pro ceeded, followed by his whole party, to the grotto where we have met him before, a grotto which often served as the Trail-hunter's abode, but where, in all probability, he would not be at this moment. Through an extraordinary chance, the missionary passed unseen within a pistol shot of the spot where Valentine and his friends were en camped. At sunset they prepared for passing the night; Father Seraphin removed the bandage he had placed on lied Ce dar's wounds, and dressed them : the latter allowed it to be done, not seem ing to notice that any attention was be ing paid him ; his prostration was ex treme. The wounds were all healthy ; that on the shoulder was the worst, but all foreboded a speedy recovery. When supper was over, prayers said, and the Indians, wrapped in their blank ets, were lying on the grass to rest from the fatigues of the day, the mis sionary, after assuring himself' that Red Cedar was quietly sleeping, made a sign to the two women to come and sit by his side, near the fire lit to keep off wild beasts. Father Seraphin was slightly acquainted with Ellen ; he re membered to have frequently met the girl, and even conversed with her in the forest, at the period when her fa ther had so audaciously installed him self on Don Miguel Za rate's estates. Ellen's character had pleased him ; he had found in her such simplicity of heart and innate honor, that he fre quently asked himself how so charm ing a creature could be the daughter of so hardened a villain as Red Cedar: this seemed to him the more incompre hensible, because the girl must have needed a powerful character to resist the influence of the evil examples she constantly had before her. Hence he had taken a lively interest in her, and urged her to persevere in her good sentiments. He had let her see that one day God would reward her by re moving her from cne perverse medium in which fate had cast her, to restore her to that great human family of which she was ignorant. When the two women were seated at his side, the missionary gave them, in his gentle sympathising way, a paternal admonition to support with patience and resignation the tribulations Heaven sent on them ; then he begged Ellen to tell him in detail all that had occurred in the prairie since his departure for France. The girl's narrative was long and sad, and frequently interrupted by tears which she could not repress. Val entine's mother shuddered on hearing things so extraordinary to her de scribed ; heavy tears ran down her wrinkled cheek, and she crossed herself, muttering compassionately : " Poor child ! what a horrible life." For, in truth Ellen was describing her life ; she had witnessed and suffer ed from all these terrors, all these atro cities, whose sinister and bloody images she unrolled before her hearers. When the story was ended she buried her face in her hands and wept silently, crushed by the revival of such poignant sor rows and the re-opening of still bleed ing wounds. The missionary gave her a long look, stamped with gentle pity. He took her hand, pressed it, and bend ing over her, said with an accent of kindness which went straight to her heart : " Weep, poor girl, for you have suf fered terribly; weep, but be strong; God, who tries you, doubtless reserves for you other blows more terrible than those which have fallen on you ; do not try to repulse the cup which is brought to your lips ; the more you suffer in this life, the more happy and glorified you will be in another. If God chasteneth you, a poor stainless lamb, it is because He loves you ; happy those whom He thus chastises ! Derive your strength from prayer, for that elevates the soul, and renders it better; do not yield to despair, for that is a suggestion of the demon who ren ders man rebellious to the teaching of Providence. Think of your divine Master, remember all He suffered for usj thus you will recognise how little THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 69 Smr sorrows are when compared with is, and you will hope; for Providence is not blind ; when it weighs heavily on a creature, it is preparing to reward her a hundredfold for past sufferings." " Alas, father," Ellen replied, sorrow fully, "I am only a miserable child, without strength or courage ; the bur den laid on me is very heavy; still, if it be the will of the Lord that it should be so, may His holy name be blessed ! I will try to stifle the feelings of revolt which are at times a wound in my heart, and struggle withoutcomplaining against the fate that overwhelms me." "Good, my sister, good," the priest said ; " the great God, who searches all hearts, will have pity on you." He then made her rise, and led her a short distance to a spot where a bed of dry leaves had been prepared by his care. " Try and sleep, my child,'' he said ; " fatigue is crushing you ; a few hours' rest is indispensable for you." " I will strive to obey you, father." " May the angels watch over your slumbers, my child," the priest replied ; " and may the Almighty bless you, as I do." Then he returned slowly and thought fully to Valentine's mother. There was a long silence, during which the mission ary reflected deeply ; at length he said " Madam, you have heard this poor girl's narrative ; her father was wound ed when fighting with your son. Valen tine, I feel assured, is not far from us ; still, the man we have saved claims all our care, and we must watch that he does not fall into the hands of his ene- mes, I therefore ask you to delay awhile in rejoining your son, for Red Cedar must be placed in safety. Above all, 1 implore you to maintain the deep est silence as to the events of which you have been and will be a witness. Forgive me, but I implore you to delay the time of your meeting." " Father," she said, spontaneously, " for ten years, without despairing for a day or a moment, I have been patient ly awaiting the hour which will rejoin me to my beloved son. Now that I am certain of seeing him again, that no doubt as to his existence dwells in my heart, I can wait a few days longer. I should be ungrateful to God and to you, who have done so much for me, if I in sisted on the contrary course. Act as your charity and your devotion impel you to do ; fulfil your duty without troubling yourself about me ; God has willed it that we should come across this man. The ways of Providence are often incomprehensible ; obey it by sav ing him, however unworthy he may be of pardon." " I expected your answer : still, I am pleased to see that you confirm me in what I intend to do." The next morning, at daybreak, they started again, after saying prayers to- gether,according to the custom establish ed by the missionary. Red Cedar was still in the same state of prostration, and the two following days passed with out any incident worthy of recording. At the evening of the third day they entered the defile, in the centre of which, on one of the mountain sides facing it, the cavern was. Red Cedar was carri ed up to it cautiously, and placed in one of the distant compartments, far from all external sounds, and so as to be concealed from the sight of any strangers whom accident miglit lead to the cavern while he was in it. It was with a feeling of indescribable joy that Valentine's mother entered the grotto which served as an abode to that son whom she had been so long afraid she should never see again, and her emotion was extreme on finding a few valueless articles used by Valentine. The worthy woman, "so truly a mother, shut herself up alone in the compart ment which the hunter had made his sleeping-room, and there, face to face with her reminiscences, she remained for several hours absorbed in herself. The missionary pointed to each the room they would occupy; he left his comrades to their repose, and sat down by the side of the wounded man, where Ellen already was installed as nurse. " Why do you not sleep, my child ?" he asked her. Ellen pointed to the sufferer with a gesture full of nobility. " Let me watch over him," she said ; " he is my father." 70 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. The missionary smiled softly and withdrew. At daybreak he returned. Red Cedar, on hearing him come, gave vent to a sigh, and rose with difficulty on his bed. " How are you, brother ?" the mis sionary asked, in his gentle voice. A febrile flush covered the bandit's face, a cold perspiration beaded on his temples, his eyes flashed, and he said in a low voice, broken by the extreme emotion that oppressed him : " Father, I am a wretch unworthy of your pity." " My son," the priest answered gent ly, "you are a poor straying creature, on whom I doubt not God will have pity, if your repentance be sincere." lied Cedar let his eyes sink ; a con vulsive movement agitated his limbs. " Father," he muttered, " would you teach me how to make the sign of the cross ?" At this strange request in the mouth of such a man, Father Seraphin clasped his hands fervently, and raised his eyes to Heaven with an expression of sub lime gratitude. Was ttie evil angel de feated ? or was it a farce played by this perverse man to deceive his saviour, and by these means escape the nume rous enemies that sought his death] Alas ! man is so extraordinary a com posite of good and evil, that perhaps at this moment, and in spite of himself, Red Cedar was acting in good faith. CHAPTER XIV. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF THE READER. AFTER the fight, when Black Cat's Apaches had retired on one side, and "Unicorn's Comanches on the other, each detachment proceeding in the direction of the village, and the hunters were alone on the prairie, Valentine perceived White Gazelle leaning pensively against a tree, and absently holding the bridle of her horse, which was nibbling the grass. The hunter understood that he and his comrades owed a reparation to this girl, whose incomprehensible devo tion had been so useful to them during the moving incidents of the tragedy which had just ended. He therefore went up to her, and bowing courteous ly, said in a gentle voice : "Why remain thus aloof? your place is by our side ; hobble your horse with ours, and come to our fireside." White Gazelle blushed with pleas ure at Valentine's words, but after a moment's reflection, she shook her head, and gave him a sorrowful look, as she said : " Thanks, caballero, for the offer you deign to make me, but 1 cannot accept it ; if you and your friends are gen erous enough to forget all that there was reprehensible in my conduct to wards you, my memory is less com plaisant ; 1 must, I will requite by other services more effectual than those 1 have rendered you to-day, the faults I have committed." "Madam," the hunter replied, "the feelings you express do you only more harm in our eyes ; hence do not refuse our invitation. As you know, we have no right to be very strict on the prai rie ; it is rare to meet persons who re pair so nobly as you have done any error they may commit." " Do not press me, caballero, for my resolve is unchangeable," she said with an effort, as she looked in the direction of Don Pablo. " 1 must depart, leave you at once, so permit me to do so." Valentine bowed. "Your wish is to me an order," he said ; " you are free ; I only desired to express my gratitude to you." " Alas ! we have done nothing as yet, since our most cruel enemy, Red Cedar, has escaped." "What?" the hunter asked in as tonishment; "is Red Cedar your enemy ?" "A mortal one," she said, with an expression of terrible hatred. " Oh ! I can understand thajb you, who have hitherto seen me aid him in his designs, cannot conceive such a change. Lis ten : at the period when I tried to serve that villain, I only believed him to be one of the bandits so common in the Far West." " While now T " Now," she went on, " I know some- L CAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 71 thing I was ignorant of then, and have a terrible account to settle with him." " Far from rne be any wish to pry into your secrets; still, permit me to make one observation." " Pray do so." " Red Cedar is no common enemy one of those men who can be easily overcome. You know that as well as I do, I think?" " Yes, what then ?" " Would you hope to succeed in what men like myself and my friends, and aided by numerous warriors, could not achieve ?" White Gazelle smiled. " Perhaps so," she said ; " I too have allies, and 1 will tell you who they are, if you wish to know, cabal- lero." " Pray tell me, for really your calm ness and confidence startle me." "Thanks, caballero, for the interest you feel for me; the n'rst ally on whom I build is yourself." "That is true," the hunter said with a bow ; " if my feelings toward you did not promote the alliance, rny duty and self-interest would command it. And can you tell me the name of the otter?" " Certainly, the more so as you know him : the other is Bloodson." Valentine gave a start of surprise, which he immediately checked. " Pardon me," he said politely ; " but you really have the privilege of surprising me inordinately." " How so, caballero ?" " Because I fancied that Bloodson was one of your most bitter enemies." " He was so," she said, with a smile. "And now?" " Now, he is my dearest friend." " This goes beyond me. And when was this extraordinary change effected ? ! ' " Since the day," the girl cleverly re plied, " when Red Cedar, instead of be ing my friend, suddenly became my enemy." Valentine let his arms fall, like a man who gives up in despair attempting to solve a riddle. I do not understand you," he said. " You will soon do so," she answered. She bounded into her saddle, and leaning over to Valentine said: " Good bye, caballero ; I am going to join Bloodson ; we shall meet again soon." She dug her spurs into her horse's flanks, waved her hand once again, and soon disappeared in a cloud of dust. Valentine thoughtfully rejoined his friends. " Well ?" Don Miguel said. " Well !" he replied, " that woman is the most extraordinary creature 1 ever met." On getting out of sight of the hunters, White Gazelle checked her horse, and let it assume a pace better suited for those precautions every traveller must take on the prairie. The girl was hap py at this moment ; she had succeeded not only in saving the man she loved from a terrible danger, but had also re stored hAr character in Valentine's sight. Red Cedar, it was true, had escaped ; but this time the lesson had been rude, and the bandit, everywhere tracked like a wild beast, must speedily fall into the hands of those who had an interest in killing him. She rode along carelessly, admiring the calmness of the prairie and the play of the sunshine on the foliage. Never had the desert appeared to her so glori ous never had greater tranquillity reigned in her mind. The sun, now de clining, exaggerated the shadow thrown by the tall trees; the birds, hidden be neath the dense verdure, were singing their evening hymn to the Almighty, when she fancied she saw a man half re clining on the slope of one of those numberless ditches dug by the heavy winter rain. This man, by whose side a horse was standing, was apparently absorbed in an occupation which the girl could not understand, but which puzzled her ex tremely. Although she rode up quick ly, the individual did not put himself out of the way, but calmly continued his incomprehensible task. At length she was opposite him, and could not restrain a cry of astonishment as she stopped to look at him. The man was playing alone at inonte (the 72 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. Mexican lansquenet) with a pack of greasy cards. This appeared to her so extraordinary that she burst into a loud laugh, and at the sound the man raised O * his head. "Aha !" he said, not appearing at all surprised, " I felt certain some one would arrive; that is infallible in this blessed land." " Nonsense," the girl said, with a laugh ; " do you believe it ?" " Canarios ! I am sure of it," the other answered; "and you are a proof of it, since here, you are." " Explain yourself, my master, I beg, for I confess that I do not understand you the least in the world." " I thought so," the stranger said, with a toss of his head. " But for all that, I stick to my assertion." " Very well ; but be good enough to explain yourself more clearly." " Nothing is easier, Senor Caballero. I come from Jalapa, a town you must know." " Yes, through the medicinal produc tions that owe their name to it." " Very good," the other said, with a laugh ; " but that does not prevent Jalapa being a very nice town." " On the contrary ; but go on." "I will. You will be aware then that we ha*ve a proverb at Jahipa." " May be so ; in fact, there is nothing surprising about the fact." " True again ; but you do not know the proverb, eh ?" " No, I am waiting for you to quote it." " Here it is ; 'If you wish for your company, deal the cards.' " "I do not understand." " Why, nothing is easier, as you shall see." " 1 wish for nothing better," the girl said, who was extraordinary amused by this conversation. The stranger rose, placed the cards in his pocket with the respect every pro fessional gambler shews to this opera tion, and, carelessly leaning on the neck of the girl's horse, he said : " Owing to reasons too long to nar rate, I find myself alone, lost in this immense prairie which I do not know, I an honest inhabitant of towns, not at all conversant with the manners and habits of the desert, and consequently exposed to die of hunger." " Pardon me for interrupting you ; I would merely observe that as we are some three hundred miles from the nearest town, you, the civilized man, must have been wandering about the desert for a considerable length of time." "That is true: what you say could not be more correct, comrade, but that results from what I mentioned just now, and which would take too long to tell you." " Very good ; go on." " Well, finding myself lost, I remem bered the proverb of my country, and taking the cards from my afforjas, though I was alone, I began playing, feeling certain that an adversary would soon arrive, not to take a hand, but to get me out of my trouble." White Gazelle suddenly reassumed her seriousness, and drew herself up in her saddle. " You have won the game," she said ; " for, as you see, Don Andres Garote, I have come." On hearing his name pronounced, the ranchero, for it was really our old ac quaintance, suddenly raised his head, and looked the speaker in the face. " Who are you, then," he said, " who know me so well, and yet 1 do not re member ever having met you ?" " Come, come," the girl said with a laugh, " your memory is short, master : what, do you not remember White Gazelle ?" At this name the ranchero started back. " Oh, I am a fool : it is true ; but I was so far from supposing pardon me, senorita." " How is it," White Gazelle inter rupted him, " that you have thus des erted Red Cedar ?" " Caramba !" the ranchero exclaim ed ; " say that Red Cedar has deserted me ; but it is not that which troubles 3 ; I have an old grudge against an other of my comrades." "Ah?" " Yes, and I should like to avenge myself, the more so, because I believe THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. that I have the means In my hands at this moment." " And who is that friend ?" " You know him as well as I do, Se- norita ?" " That is possible ; but, unless his name be a secret " " Oh, no," the rauchero quickly in terrupted her, " the man I mean is Fray Ambrosio." The girl, at this name, began to take a great interest in the conversation. " Fray Ambrosio!" she said, " what charge have you to bring against that worthy man ?" The rauchero looked the girl in the face to see if she were speaking se riously ; but White Gazelle's face was cold and stern ; he tossed his head. " It is an account between him and me," he said, " which heaven will de cide." "Very good ; I ask for no explana tion, but, as your affairs interest me very slightly, and I have important matters of my own to attend to, you will permit me to retire." "Why so?" the ranchero asked quickly; "we are comfortable toge ther, then why should we separate ?" "Because, in all probality, we are not going the same road." " Who knows, Nina, whether we are not destined to travel in company since I have met you?" " I am not of that opinion. I am about to join a man whom I fancy you would not at all like to meet face to face." " I don't know, Nina," the ranchero answered, with considerable animation ; " I want to revenge myself on that ac cursed monk called Fray Ambrosio; 1 am too weak to do so by myself, or, to speak more correctly, too great a cow ard." " Very good," the girl exclaimed, with a smile; "then how will you manage that your vengeance does not slip from you ?" " Oh, very simply ; I know a man in the desert who detests him mortally, and would give a great deal to have sufficient proofs against him, for, unfor tunately, that man has the failing of being honest." " Indeed." ' Yes, what would you have ? no man is perfect." " And who is this man t" " Oh, you never heard of him, Nina." " How do you know ? at any rate you can tell pie his name." " As you please ; he is called Blood- sen." " Bloodson ?" she exclaimed, with a start of surprise. " Yes do you know him ?" "Slightly ; but go on." " That is all ; I am looking for this man." " And you have, you say, in your possession the means of destroying Fray Ambrosio ?" " I believe so." " What makes you suppose it ?" The ranchero shrugged his shoulders significantly ; White Gazelle gave him. one of those profound glances which read the heart. " Listen," she said to him, as she laid her hand on his shoulder ; " I can help you to find the man you seek." " Bloodson ?'' ' " Yes." " Are you speaking seriously ?'' the gambusino asked, with a start of sur prise. "I could not be more serious ; still, I must be sure that your statement is true." Andres Garote looked at her. " Do you also owe Fray Ambrosio a grudge ?" he asked her. " That does not concern you," she an swered ; " we are not talking of myself, but of you. Have you these proofa? Yes, or no." " I have them." " Truly ?" " On my honor." " Follow me, then, and within two hours you shall see Bloodson." The ranchero quivered, and a smile of joy lit up his bronzed countenance as he leaped on his horse. " Let us be off," he said. In the meanwhile, day had surrender ed to night, the sun had long been set, and an immense number of stars stud ded the heavenly vault ; the travelers rode on silently side by side. 74 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " Shall we soon arrive ?" Andres Garote asked. White Gazelle stretched out her arm in the direction they were following, and pointed at a light flashing a short distance off through the trees. " There it is," she said. CHAPTER XV. CONVALESCENCE. RED CEDAR recovered but slowly in spite of the constant attention shown him by Father Seraphin, Ellen, and the hunter's mother. The moral shock the bandit had received on finding himself face to face with the missionary had been too powerful not to have a serious effect on his constitution. Still, the squatter had not relapsed since the day when, on returning to life, he had hum bly bowed before the man of God. Whether it was true repentance, or a part he played, he had persevered on this path, to the edification of the mis sionary and the two women, who never ceased to thank Heaven from their hearts for this change. So soon as he could rise and take a few steps in the cavern, Father Sera phin, who constantly feared Valentine's arrival, asked him what his intentions were for the future, and what mode of life he proposed adopting. " Father," the squatter answered, "henceforth I belong to you : whatever yon counsel me, I will do ; still, 1 would remind you that I am a species of savage, whose whole life has been spent in the desert. Of what use should I be in a town among people whose Habits or characters 1 should not understand ?" " Tha't is true," the priest said ; " and then, without resources as you are, old and ignorant of any other labor than that of a wood-ranger, you would only lead a miserable existence." " That would prove no obstacle, fath er, were it an expiation for me ; but I have too deeply offended ever to return among them ; I must live and die in the desert, striving to requite, by an old age exempt from blame, the faults and crimes of a youth which I hold in hor ror." "I approve your design, for it is good ; grant me a few days for reflec tion, and I will find you the means to live as you propose." The conversation broke off here, and a month elapsed ere the missionary made any further allusion to it. The squatter had always shown Ellen a cer tain coarse and rough friendship, per fectly harmonizing with the coarseness and brutality of his character ; but since he had been able to appreciate the girl's utter devotion and the self-denial she had displayed for his sake, a species of revolution had taken place in him ; a new feeling was awakened in his heart, and he began loving this charming crea ture with all the strength of his soul. This brutal man suddenly grew softer at the sight of the girl ; a flash of joy shot from his savage eyes, and his mouth, habituated to curses, opened gladly to utter gentle words. Fre quently, when seated on the mounted slope, near the cavern, he talked with her for hours, taking an infinite delight in hearing the melodious sound of that voice whose charms he had hitherto been ignorant of. Ellen, hiding her sorrows, feigned a delight which was far from her mind, not to sadden the man she regarded as her father, and who seemed so happy at seeing her by his side. Certainly, if any one at this moment had an ascen dency over the old pirate's mind, and could bring him back to the right path, it was Ellen. She knew it, and, used the power she had acquired cleverly, to try and convert this man, who had only been a species of evil genius to human ity. One morning, when Red Cedar, al most entirely cured of his wounds, was taking his accustomed walk, leaning on Ellen's arm, Father Seraphin, who had been absent for two days, stood before him. " Ah, it is you, father," the squatter said on seeing him ; " I was alarmed at your absence, and am glad to see you back." " How are you ?" the missionary asked. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 75 " I should be quite well if I had en tirely recovered my strength, but that will soon return." "All the better; for if my absence was long, you were to some extent the cause of it." " How so V the squatter asked, curi ously. "You remember you expressed a desire some time back to live in the prairie ?" " I did." " It appears to me very prudent on vour part, and will enable you to es- ctipe the pursuit of your enemies." " Believe me, father," Red Cedar said, gravely, " that I have no desire to escape those I have offended. If my death could recal the crimes of which I have been guilty, I would not hesitate to sacrifice my life to public justice." " I am happy, my friend, to find you imbued with these good sentiments ; but I believe that God, who in no case desires the death of a sinner, will be more satisfied to see you repair, by an exemplary life,as far as in your power, all the evil you have done." " I belong to you, father ; whatever you advise me will be an order to rne, and I will obey it gladly. Since Pro vidence has permitted me to meet you, I have understood the enormity of my crimes. Alas ! I am not alone respon sible for them : never having had any but evil examples before me, I did not know the difference between good and evil. I believed that all men were wicked, and only acted as I did because I considered I was legitimately defend ing myself." " Now that your ear is open to the truth, your mind is beginning to under stand the sublime precepts of the gos pel. Your road is ready traced ; hence forth you will only have to preserve in the path on which you have so freely entered." " Alas !" the squatter muttered, with a sigh, " I am a creature so unworthy of pardon, that I fear the Almighty will not take pity on me." " Those words are an insult to Deity," the priest said, severely ; " how ever culpable a sinner may be, he must never despair of the divine clemency ; does not the gospel say, there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that re- pentt th, than over ten just men who have persevered ?" " Forgive me, father." " Come," the missionary said, chang ing his tone, '* let us return to the mat ter which brings me to you. 1 have had built for you, a few leagues from here, in a delicious situation, a jacal, in which you can live, with your daugh ter." " How kind you are, father," the squatter said, warmly ; " how much gratitude I owe you." "Do not speak of that ; I shall be sufficiently recompensed if I see you persevere in your repentance." " Oh, father, believe that I detest and hold in horror my past life." " I trust that it may ever be so. This jacal, to which I will take you so soon as you please, is situated in a po sition which renders it almost impossi ble to discover. I have supplied it with the articles requisite for your life; you will find there food to last several days, arms and gunpowder to defend you, if attacked by wild beasts, and to go hunting with ; I have added nets, beaver-traps in a word, eyery thing re quired by a hunter and trapper." " Oh, how kind you are, father," El len said with tears of joy in her eyes. " Nonsense, say nothing about that," the missionary remarked, gaily ; " I have only done my duty. As a further security, and to avoid any possible in discretion, I have not told the secret of your retreat to any one : the jacal was built by my own hands, without the as sistance of a stranger. You can, there- tore, feel certain that no one will trou ble you in the hermitage." " And when can I go to it, father?" "Whenever you please; all is ready." " Ah, if I did not fear appearing un grateful, I would say I will go at once." " Do you think you are strong en ough to undertake a journey of fifteen leagues?" " I feel extraordinary strong at this moment, fatner." " Come, then ; for had you not made the proposition, I intended to do so." 76 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " In that case, father, all is for the best ; and you are not vexed to see me so anxious to leave you, father." " Not at all, be assured. 1 ' While talking thus, the three persons had descended the mountain side, and reached the ravine, where horses were awaiting them, held by an Indian. "In the desert," the missionary said, " it is almost impossible to do without horses, owing to the great distance one has to go ; you will therefore oblige me by keeping these." " It is too much, father, you really overwhelm me with kindness." Father Seraphin shook his head. " Understand me, Red Cedar," he said ; " in all I do for you there is far more calculation than you suppose." " Oh !" Red Odar said. " Calculation in a good action !" Ellen exclaimed, incredulously; "you must be jesting, father." " No, my child, 1 speak seriously, and you will understand ; I have tried to regulate your father's life so well, place him so thoroughly in a condition to be come a brave and honest hunter, that it will be impossible for him to find the slightest pretext for returning to his old errors, and all the fault will attach to him if he does not persevere in the re solution he has formed of amendment." " That is true," Red Cedar answered; " well, father, I thank you for this cal culation, which makes me the happiest of men, and proves to me that you have confidence in me." " Come, come, to horse !" They started. Red Cedar inhaled the air deliciously ; he felt born again, he was once more free. The missionary examined him curiously, analysing the feelings which the squatter experienced, and trying to form some opinion of the future from what he saw. Red Cedar understood instinctively that he was watched by his comrade ; hence, to deceive him as to his feelings, he burst out into a loud expression of his gratitude, part of which was certainly true, but which was too noisy not to be exaggerated. The missionary pretended to be taken in by this device, and talked pleasantly throughout the ride. About six hours after leaving the cave, they reached the jacal. It was a pretty little hut of interlaced reeds, divided into several rooms, with a cor ral behind for the horses. Nothing was wanting; hidden in the bottom of a val ley, very difficult to approach, it stood on the bank of a small stream that flow ed into the Gila. In a word, the posi tion of this wild abode was delightful, and nothing was more easy than to be perfectly happy in it. When the travellers had dismounted, and led their horses into this corral, Father Seraphin went over the jacal with his two proteges. All was as he had stated ; and if there was not much to increase comfort, at any rate every thing strictly necessary had been pro vided. Ellen was delighted, and her father pretended, perhaps, to be more so than he really was. After spending an hour with them Father Seraphin took leave of the squatter and his daughter. " Will you leave us, already, father?" Ellen said. " I must, my child ; you know that my time is not my own," he answered, as he leaped on his horse, which the squatter brought him. " I hope," Red Cedar said, " that your absence will not be long, and that you will remember this jacal, where two persons live who owe their all to you." " 1 wish to leave you at liberty. If I visited you too frequently, you might see in that a species of inquisi tion, and that impression would annoy you ; still 1 will come, do not doubt it." " You can never come too often, fath er," they both said, as they kissed his hands. " Farewell, be happy," the missionary said, tenderly; "you know where to find me, if you have need of corfsolation or help. Come to me, and I shall be ever ready to help you to the extent of my ability : little though I can do, God, 1 feel convinced, will bless my efforts. Farewell." After uttering these words, the mis sionary set spurs to his horse, and trot ted away. Red. Cedar and his daughter looked THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. after him so long as they could see him, and when he disappeared in the chap- paral, on the other side of the stream, they gave vent to a sigh, and entered the jacal. " Worthy and holy man !" the squat ter muttered, as he tell into a butacca. " Oh ! I will not crush the hopes he has built on my conversion !" CHAPTER XVI. AN ACCOMPLICE. ivtD CEDAR accustomed himself more easily than his daughter thought possi ble, to the life prepared for him. Af ter all, no change had taken place in his existence ; with the exception of the mode of procedure, it was still the same labour, that is to say, a desert life in all its splendid liberty ; hunting and fishing, while Ellen remained at home to attend to household duties. At night, however, before retiring to rest, the girl read her father a chapter from a Bible Father Ser;iphin had given her. The squatter, with his elbow on the table, and a pipe in his mouth, listened to her with an at tention that surprised himself, and which each day only increased. It was an exquisite picture presented in this obscure nook of the great American desert, amid this grand scenery, in this wretched hut, which the slightest breath of wind caused to tremble, by this athletic old man, with his energetic and stern features, listening to this pale-fa ced and delicate girl, whose fine features and shadowy outline formed so strong a contrast with those, of her hearer. It was the same life every day ; the squatter was happy, or, at least, fancied himself so ; like all men whose life has been but one long drama, and who are made for action, recollections held but little place in him ; he forgot, and fan cied himself forgotten. Ellen suffered, for she was unhappy;this existence, with no outlet and no future, was full of disenchantment for her, as it condemned her to renounce for ever that supreme blessing of every human creature, hope. Still, through fear of afflicting her father, she carefully shut up in her heart her sorrow, and only displayed a smiling face in his presence. Red Cedar yielded more and more to the charms of a life which was pleasant to him. If, at times, the recollection of his sons troubled the repose in which he lived, he looked at his daughter, and the sight of the angel he possessed, and who had devoted herself to his happi ness, drove any other thoughts far away. In the meanwhile, Father Seraphin visited the tenants of the jacal several times; and if satisfied with the resigna tion with which the squatter accepted his new position, the dull sorrow that undermined the maiden had not escap ed his clear-sighted glance. His expe rience of the world told him that a girl of Ellen's age could not thus spend her fairest years in solitude, without contact with society. Unfortunately, a remedy was difficult, if not impossible, to find ; the good missionary did not deceive himself on this point, and understood that all the consolations he lavished on the maiden, were thrown away, and that nothing could effectually combat the listlessness into which she had fallen. As always happens in such cases, Red Cedar did not in the slightest degree suspect his daughter's grief; she was gentle, affectionate, attentive to him ; he profited by it all, finding himself per fectly happy, and in his egotism, not seeing further. The days slipped away, each resembling the other ; in the meanwhile, the winter came on, game became rarer, and Red Cedar's absences from home grew longer. Around the tops of the mountains were collected the grayish clouds, which daily descend ed lower, and would eventually burst over the prairie in the shape of rain and snow. Winter is a terrible season in the Far West : all scourges combine to as sail the unhappy man whom his evil destiny has cast into these disinherited countries without the means to brave their frightful climate, and, victim to his want of foresight, he presently dies of hunger and misery, after enduring inconceivable tortures. Red Cedar knew the Far West too long and too 78 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. thoroughly not to perceive the ar rival of this season with a species of terror ; hence he sought, by all possible means, to procure the necessary pro visions and indispensable furs. Rising at daybreak, he galloped over the prairie, exploring it in every direc tion, and not returning home till night compelled him to give up the chase. But, as we have said, game was becom ing more and more rare, and conse quently his journeys longer. One morning Red Cedar rose earlier than usual, left the jacal noiselessly for fear of waking his daughter, saddled his horse, and started at a gallop. lie had found, on the previous evening, the trail of a magnificent black bear, which he had followed to within a short dis tance of the cave to which it retired, and he intended to attack it in its lair. To do that, he must make haste, for the bear is not like other wild beasts : it seeks its food during the day, and gen erally leaves its abode at an early hour. The squatter, perfectly acquaint ed with the animal's habits, had there fore taken up the trail as soon as he could. The sun had not yet risen ; the *ky of a dark blue, was only just begin ning to assume on the extreme verge of the horizon those opaline tints w : hich presently turn into pink, and are the precursors of sun-rise. The day promised to be splendid : a light breeze slightly bowed the leafy sum mits of the trees, and scarce wrinkled the little stream whose bank the squat ter was following. A light fog rose from the ground, impregnated with those sharp odours which expand the chest so gloriously. The birds woke one after the other beneath the leaves, and softly produced the melodious con cert they perform each morning to sa lute the re-awakening of nature. By degrees the darkness was effaced, the sun rose brilliantly on the horizon, and the day broke splendidly. Red Cedar, on reaching the entrance of a narrow gorge, at the end of which was the bear's den, in the midst of a chaos of rocks, stopped a few minutes to regain breath, and make his final preparations. He dismounted, hob bled his horse, and gave it its forage , then, after assuring himself that his knife played easily in the sheath, and his rifle was in good order, he entered the defile. The squatter walked in with out stretched neck, and eye and ear on the watch, when suddenly a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a hoarse laugh smote his ear. He turned with sur prise, but this surprise was converted into terror at the sight of the man who, standing before him with arms folded on his chest, was regarding him with a look of mockery. "Fray Ambrosio!" he exclaimed, as he fell back a step. " Ilalloah, gossip," the latter said ; " on my soul, you must be hard of hearing : I called you a dozen times, and you did not deign to answer me. Satanas ! 1 was obliged to touch you before you would see that somebody wanted you." " What is your business with me ?" the squatter asked in an icy tone. " What I want, gossip 1 that's a strange question : don't you know it as well as I do?" " I do not understand yon," Red Cedar said, still perfectly calm ; "so explain yourself, if you please." " I will do so, my master," the monk answered, with a mocking smile. " But make haste, for I warn you that I arn in a hurry." " Can it be possible ! well, I have plenty of time, so you must find some to listen to me." The squatter gave a passionate start, which he, however, immediately checked. "Yes, it is so," the monk said coolly ; " I have been looking for you a long time." ' Come, a truce to talking! Here I am, explain yourself in two words. I say again, I am in a hurry." " And I repeat that I do not care if you are. Oh ! you may frown, gossip, but you must listen to me." Red Cedar stamped his foot angrily , taking one step to the monk, he laid his hand on his shoulder, and looked fiercely in his face. " Why, master," he said in a short, THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. harsh voice, " I fancy, on my side, that we are changing parts, and that you treat me very curtly ; take care, I am not patient, as you know, and if you do not mind, my pa tience might soon fail me." "That is possible," the monk an swered impudently ; " but if we have changed our parts, whose fault is it, pray, mine or yours? Your sons are right in saying that you have turned monk, and are no longer fit for any thing." " Villain !" the squatter shouted, and raising his hand. " That will do ! insults now ! don't be bashful : 1 like you better that way, at least 1 recognize you. Hum ! what a change! i must confess that those French missionaries are real sorcerers: what a misfortune that since the inde pendence the inquisition no longer exists !" Red Cedar looked at the monk, who fixed on him his fierce eye with a dia bolical expression ; the squatter was suffering from one of those bursts of cold passion, which are the more terri ble, because they are concentrated. He felt an extraordinary itching to crush the scoundrel who was mocking him, and made impotent efforts to repress the anger which was beginning to get the mastery of him. The monk WHS not so much at his ease as he pretend ed to be. He saw tiie squatter's frown grow deeper, his face become livid ; all this foreboded a storm which he was not anxious to see burst to his presence. " Come," he said, in a softer key, " why should old friends quarrel ? Con mil denwnios I am only here with a good intent, and to do you a service." The squatter laughed contempt uously. " You do not believe me," the monk continued, with an air of beatitude; " that does not surprise me, it is al ways so. Good intentions are misun derstood, and a man believes his ene mies in preference to his friends." "A truce to your nonsense," the squatter said, impatiently ; " I have listened to you too long already ; let me pass, and you can go to the devil." "Thanks for the proposition you make me," the monk said with a laugh ; " but if you have no objection, I will not take advantage of it, at least for the present. But, jesting apart, there are two persons close by anxious to see you, and whom I am sure you will be delighted to meet." " Whom do you mean ? I suppose they are rogues of your own sort." "Probably," the monk said; "how- ever you shall judge for yourself, gos sip." And, not waiting for the squatter's answer, the monk imitated thrice the hiss of the coral-snake. At the third time a slight movement took place in the shrubs a short distance off, and two men leaped into the defile. The squat ter uttered a cry of surprise, almost of terror, on seeing them : he had recog nised his two sons, Nathan and Sutter. The young men walked up quickly to their father, whom they saluted with a respect mingled with irony, which did not escape his notice. " Ah, there you are, father," Sutter said, roughly, as he banged the butt of his rifle on the ground, and rested his hands on the muzzle; "a man has a hard run before he can catch you up." " It seems that since our separation father has turned Quaker ; hi.-> new re ligion, probably, orders him not to fre quent such bad company as ours." "Silence, you villains !" the squatter shouted, stamping his foot ; " 1 do what 1 please, and no one that 1 know of ha.s a right to interfere." " You are mistaken, father," Sutter said drily ; " 1, for instance, consider your conduct unworthy of a man." "Not mentioning," the monk sup ported him, " that you place your con federates in a fix, which is not right." " That is not the question," Nathan said; "if father likes to turn Puritan, that is his business, and 1 will not find fault with him ; but there is a time for everything, To my mind, when a man is surrounded by enemies and tracked Ike a wild beast, he ought not to put on a bheepskin, and pretend to be harmless." "What do you mean?" the squatter 80 TUB TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. asked impatiently ; "explain yourself, once for all, and let us make an end of this." " I will do so," Nathan went on ; " while you are sleeping in a deceitful security, your enemies are watching and constantly weaving the web in which they have hopes of enfolding you shortly. Do you fancy that we have not known your retreat for a long time? who can hope to escape discovery in the desert] We did not wish, however, to disturb your repose till the moment arrived fur doing so, and that is why you did not see us be fore to-day." " Yes," the monk remarked ; " but at present time presses : while you trust to the fine words of the French missionary, who cured you and luils you to sleep, in order always to keep you under his thumb, your enemies are silently preparing to attack you, and finish with you once for all." The squatter gave a start of amaze ment. " Why, that man saved my life," he said. The three men burst into a laugh. " What use is experience ?" the monk said, turning to the young men with a significant shrug of his shoulders. " Here is your father, a man whose whole life has been spent in the desert, who forgets at once its most sacred law, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, and will not understand that this man, who, he says, saved his life, merely cured him to torture him at a later date, and have the pleasure of depriving him of that life when he is in rude health, instead of the miserable amount left him when they met." " Oh, no," the squatter shouted, " you lie ! that is impossible !" " That is impossible !" the monk re plied, with pity ; " oh, how blind men are ! Come, reflect, gossip ; had not this priest an insult to avenge ?" " It is true," Red Cedar muttered with a sigh ; " but he forgave me." "Forgave you ! do you ever forgive anybody ? Nonsense, you are mad, gossip! I see there is nothing to be got out of you. Do what you like we leave you." " Yes," said the squatter, " leave me; there is nothing I wish more." The monk and his comrades went away a few paces, but Fray Ambrosio suddenly returned. Red Cedar was still standing at the same spot with hanging head and frown ing brow. The monk saw the squatter was shaken, and the moment had arrived to deal the great blow. "Gossip," he said, "a parting word, or, if you prefer, a last piece of advice." "What is there now?" Red Cedar said, nervously. " Watch over Ellen !" " What !" the squatter yelled, as he bounded like a panther and seized Fray Ambrosio by the arm, " what did you say, monk?" " I said," the other replied, in a firm and marked voice, "that your enemies wish to punish you through Ellen, and that if that accursed monk has hitherto appeared to protect you, it was because he feared lest the victim he covets might escape him." At these fearful words, a horrible change took place in Red Cedar ; a livid pallor covered his face, his body was agitated by a convulsive quivering. " Oh !" he shouted with the roar of a tiger, " let them come, then !" The monk gave his comrades a tri umphant glance ; he had succeeded, and held his palpitating prey in his hands. "Come," Red Cedar continued, "do not desert me ; we will crush this herd of vipers. Ah, they fancy they have me," he added, with a nervous laugh that almost choked him, " but I will show them that the old lion is not con quered yet. I can count on you, my lads, and on you, Fray Ambrosio ?" " We are your only friends," the monk replied, " as you know perfectly well." "That is true," he went on ; " forgive me for having forgotten it for a moment. Ah, you shall see." Two hours later the three men reach ed the jacal, and on seeing them enter, Ellen felt a shudder of terror run over her ; a secret foreboding warned her of misfortune. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 81 CHAPTER XVII. MOTHER AND SON. So soon as Father Seraphin had in stalled Red Cedar and Ellen in the jacal, and assured himself that the new life he had procured them was support able, he thought about keeping his pro mise to Valentine's mother. The worthy female, in spite of all her courage and resignation, felt her strength daily growing less; she said nothing, she did not complain ; but the certainty of being so near her son and yet unable to see him, to press him in her arms after such a lengthened separation, such cruel alternations of cheated hopes and frightful deceptions plunged her into a gloomy melancholy from which nothing could draw her; she felt herself dying by inches, and had arrived at the terri ble point of believing that she would never see her son again, for he was dead, and that the missionary, through fear of dealing her a terrible blow, de ceived her with a hope which could never be realized. Maternal love does not reason. All that Father Seraphin had told her to cause her to be patient had only lull ed her grief for a while, till it broke out again in redoubled impatience and anx iety. All she had seen and heard since her landing in America had only in creased her anxiety, by showing her how life in this country often only hangs by a thread. Hence, when the mis sionary informed jher that in a week at the latest she should embrace her son, her joy and anxiety were so great that she almost fainted. At first, she did not believe in such happiness. Through hoping against hope so long, she had reached such a state of distrust that she supposed that the good priest only told her this to make her patient for a while longer, and that he promised this meeting just as hopeless sick people are promised things which can never be realized. In the meanwhile, Father Seraphin, though certain that Valentine was at this moment on the prairie, did not know where to lay his hand on him. So soon as he reached the grotto he in habited provisionally, he sent off the In dians in four different directions to ob tain information and bring him positive news of the hunter. Valentine's mother was present when the missionary de spatched these couriers ; she heard tho instructions he gave them, saw them start, and then began counting the mi nutes till their return, calculating in her mind the time they would employ in finding her son and in returning, the in cidents that might delay them in short, making those countless supposi tions to which people give way who are impatiently awaiting anything they eagerly desire. Two days elapsed, and none of the couriers returned ; the poor mother, seated on a rock, with her eyes fixed on the plain, awaited them, motionless and indefatigable. At the close of the third day, she perceived, at a great distance, a black point, rapidly approaching the spot where she was; gradually, it be came more distinct, and she recognized a horseman galloping at full speed up the valley. The mother's heart beat as if ready to burst. It was evidently one of the missionary's messengers; but what news did he bring? At length, the Indian dismounted, and began scaling the hill side ; the old woman seemed to regain her youthful limbs, so rapidly did she go to meet him, and cleared in a few minutes the space that separated them. Bat when they were face to face, an other obstacle rose before her : the red skin did not understand a word of French ; she, for her part, could not speak Indian. But mothers have a spe cies of language, a freemasonry of the heart, which is understood in all coun tries. The Comanche warrior stopped be fore her, folded his arms on his chest, and bowed with a gentle smile, merely uttering the word : " Koutonepi !" Valentine's mother knew that the In dians were accustomed to call her son thus ; and she suddenly felt reassured by the man's smile, and the way in which he had spoken her son's name. She took the warrior by the arm, and dragged him to the grotto, at the en TUB TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. trance of which Father Seraphiri was reading his breviary. "Well!" he asked on seeing her, " what views?" " This man could tell me nothing," she replied, " for I do not understand his language ; but something assures me he brings good news." " With your leave, I will question him." " Do so, for I am anxious to know what I have to expect." The missionary turned to the Indian, who stood motionless a few yards off, and had listened to the few words spoken. " The brow of my brother, the Spider, is damp," he said ; " let him take a place by my side and rest : he has had a long journey." The Indian smiled gravely, and bow ed respectfully to the missionary. "The Spider is a chief in his tribe," he said in his guttural and yet melo dious voice; "he can bound like the jaguar, and crawl like the serpent: nothing fatigues him." " I know that my brother is a great warrior," the missionary answered : "his exploits are numerous, and the Apaches fly on seeing him. Has my brother met the young men of his tribe r " Spider has met them : they are hunting the buffalo on the Gila." " \Vas their great chief Unicorn with them i" " Unicorn was with his warriors." " Good ! my brother has the eye of a tiger-cat : nothing escapes him. Did he meet the great pale-face hunter ?" "Spider smoked the calumet with Koutonepi ar.d several warriors, friends of the pale hunter, assembled round his *ire." " Did my brother speak with Kou tonepi ?" the priest asked. " Yes, Koutonepi is glad at the re turn of the father of prayer, whom he did not hope to see again. When the walkon has sung for the second time, Koutonepi will be near my lather with his comrades." " My brother is a wise and skillful warrior : 1 thank him for the way in which he has carried out the mission with which he was entrusted, a mission which no other warrior would have per formed with so much prudence' and tact." At this well-dressed compliment, a smile of joy and pride played round the Indian's lips, who withdrew after respectfully kissing the missionary's hand. Father Seraphin then turned to Madame Guillois, who anxiously await ed the result of this conversation, try ing to read in the priest's looks what she had to hope or fear. lie took her hand, pressed it gently, and said to her with that sympathetic accent which he possessed in the highest degree : " Your son is coining, you will soon see him : he will be here this night, within two hours at the most." " Oh !" she said with an accent im possible to render j "Goo! be bless ed!" And, kneeling on the ground, she burst into tears. The missionary watch ed her anxiously, ready to help her if her extreme emotion caused her to break down. After a few moments she rose smiling through her tears, and took her place again by the priest's side. " Oh !" she said eagerly, " he is my son, the only being I ever loved ; the child I nursed at my breast, and I am going to see him again ! Alas ! we have been seperated for ten years for ten years the mark of my kisses has been effaced from his forehead. You cannot understand what I feel, father it can not be explained ; to a mother her child is everything." " Do not let your emotion over power you." "Then, he is conning?" she repeated eagerly. " In two hours at the most." " What a long time two hours are !' she said with a sigh. " Oh ! all human creatures are like that," the missionary exclaimed. "You, who waited so many years without complaining, now find two hours too long/' " But I am waiting for my son, my beloved child ; 1 cannot see him soon enough." " Come, calm yourself, you are quite in a fever." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " Oh ! fear nothing, father, joy never kills. The sight of my son will restore my health, I feel sure." " Poor mother !" the priest could not refrain from saying. "Am 1 not?" she said. "Oh, it is a terrible thing, if you but knew it, to live in these continued horrors, to have only a son who is your joy, your de light, and not to know where he is, or what he is doing, whether he is dead or alive. The most cruel torture for a mother is this continual uncertainty of good and evil, of hope and disappoint ment. You do not understand this, you can never understand it, you men ; it is a sense wanting in you, and which we mothers alone possess love of our children." There was a short silence, then she went on : " Good heaven ! how slowly time passes. Will not the sun soon set? Which way do you think my son will come, father ? I should like to see him arrive, though I have not seen him for a longtime. I feel certain that I shall recognize him at once ; a mother is not mistaken, look you, for she does not see her ch'ld with her eyes, but feels him in her eyes." The missionary led her to the en trance of the cave, made her sit down, placed himself by her side, and said, as he stretched out his arm in a south western direction : " Look over there, he must come that way." "Thanks !" she said, eagerly. " Oh, you are as kind as you are virtuous. You are good as a saint, father. God will reward you, but I can only offer you my thanks." The missionary smiled softly. " I am happy," he said, simply. They looked out, the sun was rapidly sinking in the horizon ; gloom gradual ly covered the ground ; objects were confused, and it was impossible to dis tinguish anything, even at a short dis tance. " Let us go in," Father Seraphin said, " the night chill might strike you." " Nonsense," she said, "I feel noth ing." " Besides," he went on, " the gloom is so dense that you cannot see him." "That is true," she said, fervently, " but I shall hear him." There was no reply possible to thte. Father Seraphiu took his seat again by her side. " Forgive me, father," she said, " but joy renders me mad." " You have suffered enough, poor mother," he answered, kindly, " to have the right of enjoying unmingled happiness this day. Do what you please, thr-n, and have no fear of caus ing me pain." About an hour elapsed ere another word was uttered by them : they were listening; the night was becoming more gloomy, the desert sounds more impos ing, the evening breeze had risen, and groaned hoarsely through the quebrada*, \v\th a melancholy and prolonged sound. Suddenly Madame Guillois sprang up with flashing eye, and seized the mis sionary's hand. " Here he is," she said, hoarsely. Father Seraphin raised his head. " I hear nothing," he replied. " Ah !" the mother said, with an ac cent that came from her heart, " 1 am not mistaken it is he ! listen, listen again." Father Seraphin listened with greater attention, and, in fact, a scarcely per ceptible sound could be heard on the prairie, resembling the prolonging roar ing of distant thunder. The noise be came gradually louder, and it was pre sently easy to distinguish the gallop of several horses coming 1 up at full speed. " Well," she exclaimed, " was it fancy ? Oh ! a mother's heart is never mistaken." " You are right, madam ; in a few- minutes he will be by your side." " Yes," she muttered, in a panting voice. That w r as all she could say joy was stifling her. " In Heaven's name," the missionary- exclaimed, in alarm, " take care ! this emotion is too great for you ; you are killing yourself.' 1 She shook her head with a careless gesture, full of inexpressible happiness. 84 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. "What matter]" she said; "I am happy oh, very happy at this mo ment." The horsemen entered the defile, and the gallop of their horses grew very loud. " Dismount, gentlemen," a powerful voice shouted, " we have arrived." " 'Tis he ! 'tis he !" she said, with a movement as if going to rush forward ; " it was he who spoke I recognized his voice." The missionary held her in his arms. " What are you about?" he exclaim ed, "you will kill yourself!" " Pardon me, father, pardon me ! but on hearing him speak, I know not what emotion I felt; I was no longer mis tress of myself, but rushed forward." "A little patience, he is coming up ; in five minutes he will be in your arms." She started back hurriedly. " No," she said, " not so, not so, the recognition would be too hurried; let me enjoy my happiness without losing a morsel. I wish him to find me out as 1 did him." And she hurriedly dragged Father Seraphin into the grotto. " It is Heaven that inspires you," he said; " yes, this recognition would be too abrupt it would kill you both." " I was right, father, was I not ? oh, you will see you will see. Hide me at some spot where I can see and hear everything unnoticed ; make haste, here he is." The cavern, as we have said, was divided into a number of cells, each communicating with the other; Fath er Seraphin concealed Madame Guil lois in one of these, whose walls were formed of stalactites, that had assum ed the strangest forms. After hob bling their horse, the hunters climbed the mountain. While coming up, they could be heard talking together; the sound of their voices distinctly reached the inhabitants of the grotto, who listened greedily to the words they uttered. " That poor Father Seraphin," Val entine said ; " I do not know if you are like myself, caballero.s, but I am delighted at seeing him again. I fear ed lest he had left us forever." " It is a great consolation for me in my grief," said Don Miguel, " to know him so near us ; that man is a true apostle." "What is the matter, Valentine?" General Ibanez suddenly asked ; " why do you stop ?" " I do not know," the latter replied, in a hesitating voice, "something is taking place in me which I cannot ex plain. When Spider told me to-day of the father's arrival, I felt a strangd contraction of the heart; now it is af fecting me again, though I cannot say for what reason." " My friend, it is the joy you feel at seeing Father Seraphin again, that is all." The hunter shook his head. " No," he said, " it is not that, but something else ; what I feel is not na tural : my chest is oppressed, I am choking, what can be happening ?" His friends anxiously collected round him. " Let me go on," he said, rescRitely ; " if 1 have bad news to hear, it is bet ter to do so at once." And, in spite of the exhortations of his friends, who were alarmed at seeing him in this state, he began running up the mountain side. He soon reached the platform, when he stopped to take breath. " Come on !" he said. He boldly entered the cavern, fol lowed by his friends, but at the mo ment he went in, he heard his name called ; at the sound of this voice the hunter started ; he turned pale and trembled, and a cold perspiration cov ered his face. " Oh," he murmured, " who calls me thus ?" " Valentine ! Valentine !" the soft voice repeated. The hunter hesitated and bent his body forward, his face assumed an in describable look of joy and alarm. " Again ! again !" he said, in an in distinct voice, as he laid his hand on his heart to check its beating. " Valentine !'' the voice repeated. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. This time Valentine bounded forward like a lion. " My mother !" he cried ; " my mother, here I am !" " Ah, I felt certain he would recog nize me," she exclaimed, as she rushed into his arms. The hunter pressed her to his bosom with a sort of frenzy ; the poor wo man lavished her caresses on him, cry ing and half mad with joy and terror at seeing him in this state. She repeated the experiment she had made. He kissed her face, with her white locks, unable to utter a word. At length a hoarse groan burst from his chest, he breathed faintly, and he melted into tears, saying, in an accent of indescrib able tenderness : " My mother ! oh, my mother !" These were the only words he could find. Valentine laughed and wept at once ; as he sat on a rock, holding his mother on his knees, he embraced her with de lirious joy, and was never wearied of kissing her white hair, her pale cheeks, and her eyes, which had shed so many tears. The spectators of the scene, affected by this true and simple affection, wept silently round the mother and son. Curumilla, crouched in a corner of the cave, was looking fixedly at the hunter, while two tears slowly glided down his bronzed cheeks. When the first emotion was slightly calmed, Father Seraphin, who had till then kept aloof, not to trouble the glo rious outpourings of this interview, stepped forward, and said in a gently imperious voice, as he held up the sim ple copper crucifix in his right hand : " My children, let us return thanks to the Saviour for His infinite good ness." The backwoodsmen knelt down and prayed. CHAPTER, XVIII. THE CONSULTATION. A MAN must have lived a long time apart from beings he loves, separated from them by immeasurable distances, without hope of ever seeing them again, in order to understand the sweet and yet painful emotions Valentine expe rienced on seeing his mother again. We, the greater part of whose life has been spent in the deserts of the New- World, amid the savage hordes that occupy them, speaking languages hav ing no affinity with our own, forced in to habits not at all agreeing with those of our country we can remember the tender feelings that assailed us when ever a straying traveller uttered in our presence that sacred name of France so dear to our heart. Exile is worse than death ; it is an ever bleeding wound, which time, in lieu of c catrising, only increases every hour, every minute, and changes at length into such a craving to breathe one's native air, were it only for a day, that exile contracts that terrible and in curable disease to which physicians give the name of nostalgia. The moment comes when a man, remote from his country, feels an invincible desire to see his country again, and hear his language again ; neither fortune nor honors can contend against the feeling. Valentine, during the many years he had spent in traversing the desert, had always had this memory of his country present to his mind. During his con versations with Father Seraphin he had spoken to him of his mother, that good and holy woman whom he never hoped to see again, for he had given up all thoughts of returning home for a long time past. The feverish existence of the desert had so seduced him, that k every other consideration yielded to it, especially after the misfortunes of his early youth and the wounds of his only love. When, therefore, he saw him self reunited to his mother, and under stood they would never separate again, an immense joy occupied his mind. The entire night passed away like an hour in delicious conversation ; the hunters collected round the fire, listen ed to mother and son describing with that accent that comes from the heart the various incidents of their life during ;he long conversation. A few minutes before sunrise, Valentine insisted on his mother taking rest ; he feared lest, at 86 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. her advanced age, after the piercing emotions of such a day, such a length ened absence of sleep might injure her health. After various objections, Ma dame Guillois at length yielded to her son's wishes, and retired to a remote compartment of the grotto. When Valentine supposed his moth er asleep, he made his friends a sign to sit down near him ; the latter, suspect ing that he had a serious communication to make to them, silently obeyed. Val entine walked up and down the cavern with his hands behind his back and frowning brow. " Caballeros," he said, in a stern voice, " day is about to break, it is too late for any of us to think about sleep, so be good enough to aid me with your counsels." " Speak, my friend," Father Seraphin replied, " you know that we are devot ed to you." " I know it, and you more than any one else, father hence I shall be for ever grateful to you for the immense service you have rendered me. You know I forget nothing, and when the moment arrives, be assured that 1 shall pay my debt to you." " Do not speak about that, friend ; I knew the intense desire you had to see your mother again, and the anxiety that tortured you on the subject of that cruel seperation ; I only acted as any one else would have done in my place, so dismiss the affair, I beg ; I desire no other reward than to see you hap- P y. " I am so, my friend," the hunter ex claimed, with emotion ; " I am more so than I can say, but it is that very hap piness which terrifies me. My mother is near me, 'tis true, but, alas ! you know the life to which a desert exis tence, made up of fighting and priva tion, condemns us ; at this moment especially, when following out our im placable revenge, ought 1 to make my mother, a woman of great age and weak health, share the changes and dan gers of that life? Can we, without cruelty, compel her to follow us on the trail of the villain we are pursuing? No, not one of you, I feel convinced, would give me that advice ; but what is to be done ? My mother cannot re main alone in this cavern abandoned, far from all help, and exposed to num berless privations. We know not whither the duty we have sworn to ac complish may drag us to-morrow. On the other hand, will my mother, so hap py at our meeting, consent so prompt ly to even a temporary seperation a seperation which circumstances may indefinitely prolong? I therefore beg you all, my only and true friends, to advise me, for I confess that I know not what resolution to form. Speak, my friends, tell me what 1 should do." There was a lengthened silence among the hunters. Each understood Valen tine's embarrassment, but the remedy was very difficult to find, as all were in their hearts made rest by the thought of pursuing Red Cedar closely, and not giving him respite until he had been pun ished for all his crimes. As usual un der such circumstances, egotism and private interests took the place of friendship. Father Seraphin, the only disinterested person, saw clearly, hence he was the first to speak. " My friend," he answered, " all you have said is most just ; I undertake to make your mother listen to reason ; she will understand, I feel assured, how ur gent it is for her to return to civilization, especially at the present period of the year; still, we must spare her feelings, and lead her back quietly to Mexico, without letting her suspect the sepera tion she fears, and you fear too. Dur ing the journey hence to the civilized frontier, we will strive to prepare her for it, so that the blow may not be so rude when the moment for parting ar rives. That is the only thing, I believe, you can do under the present circum stances. Come reflect ; if you have any plan better than mine, I will be the first to submit." " That advice is really the best that can be given me," Valentine said, warmly ; " hence I eagerly adopt it. You will consent then, father, to accom pany us to the frontier?" " Of course, my friend, and further, were it necessary. Hence, do not let that trouble you ; all we have now to decide is our road " TI1E TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. "That is true," said Valentine ; " but here lies the difficulty. We must lodge my mother at a clearing near enough for me to see her frequently, and yet sufficiently distant from the desert to guard her against any danger." "I fancy," Don Miguel remarked, " that my hacienda, at the Paso del Norte, will suit admirably ; the more so, as it offers your mother all the guar antees of security and comfort you can require for her." " In truth," Valentine exclaimed, " she would be most comfortable there, and I thank you cordially for your ofter. Unfortunately, I cannot accept it." " Why not ?" " For a reason you will appreciate as well as I do ; it is much too far off." "Do you think so?" Don Miguel asked. Valentine could not repress a smile at this question. " My friend," he said quietly to him, " since you have been in the desert, cir cumstances have forced you to take so many turns and twists, that you have completely lost all idea of distances, and do not suspect, I feel assured, how many miles we are from the Paso." " 1 confess I do not," Don Miguel said in surprise. " Still, I fancy we cannot be very far." " Make a guess." " Well, one hundred and fifty miles, at the most." " My poor friend," Valentine remark ed, with a shrug of his shoulders, " you are out of your reckoning ; we are more than seven hundred miles from the Pa so del Norte, which is the extreme lim it of the civilized settlements." " The deuce!" the haciendero exclaim ed, " I did not fancy we had gone so far." " And," Valentine went on, " from that town to your hacienda is a dis tance of about fifty miles." " Yes, about that." " You see, then, that, to my great re gret, it is impossible for me to accept your generous offer." " What is to be done T General Ibanez asked. " It is awkward," Valentine replied, " for time presses." " And your mother cannot possibly remain here; that is quite decided," Don Miguel objected. Curuiuilla had hitherto listened to the talk in his usual way, not saying a word. Seeing that the hunters could not agree, he turned to Valentine. " A friend would speak," he said. All looked at him, for the hunters knew that Cururnilla never spoke save to give advice, which was generally fol lowed. Valentine gave a nod of assent. " Our ears are open, chief," he said. Cururnilla rose. "Koutonepi forgets," he quietly re marked. " What do I forget ?" the hunter asked. " Koutonepi is the brother of Uni corn, the great Comanche Sachem." Valentine struck his forehead in his delight. " That is true," he exclaimed ; " what was I thinking about? On my honor, chief, you are our Providence : nothing escapes you." " Is my brother satisfied ?" the chief asked joyously. Valentine pressed his hand warmly. " Chief," he exclaimed, " you are the best fellow I know ; I thank you from my heart: however, we understand each other, I think, and need say noth ing about that." The Araucano Ulmen warmly return ed his friend's pressure, and sat down, merely muttering one word, which con tained all his impressions : " Good." The other persons, however, had not understood this little scene. Although they had been living for a long time in the company of the Aucas, they had not yet grown accustomed to his silence or learned to translate it ; they there- bre anxiously waited till Valentine jave them the explanation of the few sentences he had exchanged with his "riend. " The chief," Valentine said quickly, ' has found at once what we have been racking our brains in vain to discover." " How so ? explain," Don Miguel asked. " What, you do not understand ?" " On my honor I do not." 88 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. "Yet it is very simple ; I have been for a long time an adopted son of the Comanches ; I belong to Unicorn's tribe; that chief will not refuse, 1 feel sure, to shelter my mother at his vil lage. The redskins love me ; Unicorn is devoted to me ; my mother will be nursed and kindly treated by the In dians, while, on the other hand, it will be easy for me to see her whenever I hare a moment to spare." " Canarios /" General Ibanez ex claimed, " on my honor, chief," he ad ded, as he gaily tapped the Araucani- an's shoulder, " I must allow that we are all asses, and that you have more sense in your little finger than we have in our whole body." This discussion had lasted some time, and the sun had risen for nearly an hour, when it terminated. Madame Guillois, entirely recovered from the emotions of the night, appeared in the grotto and kissed her son. When breakfast was over, the horses were sad dled, and they set out. " Where are you taking me to, my son T' the mother asked the hunter ; " you know that henceforth I belong entirely to you, and you alone have the right to watch over me." "Be at your ease, mother," Valen tine answered ; " although we are in the desert, I have found you a retreat in which you will not only be protect ed from every danger, but where it will be possible for me to see you at least once a week." Valentine, like all men endowed with a firm and resolute character, instead of turning the difficulty, had preferred to attack it in front, persuaded that the harder the blow he dealt was, the short er time its effect would last, and he should be enabled to lessen its conse quences more easily. The old lady stopped her horse instinctively and looked at her son with tear-laden eyes. "What do you say, Valentine?" she asked in a trembling voice ; "are you going to leave me ?'' " You do not quite understand me, mother," he replied ; " after so long a separation I could not consent to keep away from you." " Alas !" she murmured. " Still, my dear mother," he contin ued stoically, "you will have to con vince yourself of one fact, that desert life is very different from civilized life." " 1 know it, already," she said sighing. " Very good," he continued ; " this life has claims which it would take too long to explain to" yon, and necessitate constant marches and counter inarches, going at one. moment here, at another there, without apparent reason, living from hand to mouth, and eternally on horseback." " Come, my boy, do not make me suffer longer, but tell me at once what you wish to arrive at." " At this, mother, that this life of unending fatigue and danger may be very agreeable to a young man like myself, endowed with an iron constitu tion, and long accustomed to its inci dents ; but that it is materially impos sible for you, at your age, weak and sickly as you are : now you are my en.- ly comfort and treasure, mother; I have found you again by a miracle, and am determined to keep you as long as possible. For that reason I must not expose you through an improper weak ness, to fatigues and privations which would kill you in a week." " Well, then V asked the mother tim idly, involuntarily conquered by her son's peremptory accent. " Tin's is what 1 have resolved," said he insinuatingly, "as I do not wish you to suffer ; we must be together as much as we can, if not always." " Oh, yes," she said ; " I only ask to see you ever, my child ; what do I care for aught else, provided 1 am near you, can console you in sorrow, and rejoice in your joy !" "Mother," the hunter said, "I be lieve 1 have arranged matters as well as possible. Father Seraphin will tell you any other plan would be futile." " Let me hear it," she murmured. " 1 am taking you to the village of the Comanches, whose adopted son I am ; their chief loves me as a brother; the village is only a few leagues off, and you will be there among friends, who will respect you and pay you the great est attention." " But you, my child ?" THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 9 '' I will visit you as often as I can and, believe me, few days will pas without my seeing you." " Alas ! my poor child, why insist or leading this life of danger and fatigue ' If you liked, we could be so happy in { little village at home. Have you for gotten France entirely, Valentine?" The hunter sighed. " No, mother," he said, with an effort, " since I have seen you again, al" the memories of my youth have re vired ; I know now the desire 1 had to see France again some day ; the sight of you has made me understand that a man cannot voluntarily resign those home-joys, whose char-m he can only truly understand when unable to enjoy them. Hence 1 soon intend to remove you from this country disinherited by Heaven, and return to our native land.' " Alas !" she said, with an accent of soft reproach, " we should be so happy there ; why not return at once ?" " Because it cannot be, mother ; ] have a sacred duty to accomplish here ; but I pledge you my word of honor that when I have fulfilled the duty I have imposed on myself and am free, we will not remain an hour longer here. S( have patience, mother ; perhaps we may start for France within two months." " May Heaven grant it, my child," the old lady said, sadly ; " well, your will be done, I am prepared to wait." "Thanks, mother; your kindness renders me happier than I can describe to you." The old lady sighed, but gave no an swer, and the little party marched si lently in the direction of the Comanche village, the outskirts of which they reached at about three in the afternoon. " Mother," Valentine said, " you are not yet used to Indian fashions; do not be frightened at anything you may see or hear." " Am I not near you ?" she said " what can I feel afraid of?" "Oh!" he said, joyfully, "you area true mother." " Alas !" she answered, with a stifled sigh, "you are mistaken, child, I am only a poor old woman, who loves her sou, that is all." CHAPTER XIX, BLOODSON. WHITE GAZELLE had rejoined Blood- son, who was encamped with his band on the top of a hill, where the prairie could be surveyed for a long distance. It was night, the fires were already lit, and the rangers, assembled around the brazeros, were supping gaily. Bloodson was delighted at seeing his niece again ; both had a long conversa tion, at the end of which the Avenger, as he called himself, ordered the ran- chero to approach. Despite of all his impudence, it was not without a feeling of terror that worthy Andres Garote found himself face to face with this man, whose glances seemed trying to read his inmost thoughts. Bioodson's reputation had been so long established on the prairies that the ranchero must feel uff cted in his presence. Bloodson was seated in front of a fire, smoking an Indian pipe, with White Gazelle by his side; and for a moment the ranchero almost re pented the step he had taken. But the feeling did not last an instant ; hatred immediately regained the upper hand, and every trace of emotion disappeared from his face. " Come here, scoundrel," Bloodson said to him. " From what the senora has just said to me, you fancy you have in your hands the means of destroying Red Cedar 1 ?" "Did I say Red Cedar?" the ran- herp answered ; " I do not think so, excellency." " Whom did you allude to, then?" "To Fray Ambrosio." " What do I care for that scurvy monk ?" Bloodson remarked, with a shrug of his shoulders; "his affairs do not concern me, and I will not rouble myself witli thorn; other and more- important duties claim my care." "That is possible, Excellency," the ranchero answered, with more as surance than might have been assumed ; ' but 1 have only to deal with Fray Ambrosio." " In that case you can go to the 90 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. deuce, for I shall certainly not help you iu your plans." Andres Garote, thus brutally receiv ed, was not discouraged, however ; he shrugged his shoulders with a cunning look, and assumed his most insinuating tone. " There is no knowing, Excellency," he said. " Hum ! that seems to me difficult." " Less so than you fancy, Excel lency/' " How so 1" " You bear a grudge against' Red Cedar, I think V " How does that concern you, scoun drel T' Bloodson asked, roughly. " Not at all ; the more so as I owe him nothing ; still, it is a different af fair with you, Excellency." " How do you know ?" "I presume so^ Excellency ; hence I intend to offer you a bargain." " A bargain !" Bloodson repeated, disdainfully. "Yes, Excellency," the ranchero said, boldly ; " and a bargain advan tageous to yourself, I venture to say." " And for you ?" " For me too, naturally." Bloodson began laughing. " The man is mad," he said, with a shrug of his shoulders, and, turning to his men, added : " where the deuce was your head when you brought him to me ?" " Nonsense," White Gazelle said, " you had better listen to him ; that will do you no harm." " The senora is right," the ranchero eagerly replied ; " listen to me, Excel lency, that pledges you to nothing ; besides, you will be always able to de cline if what I propose does not suit you." "That is true," Bloodson replied, contemptuously " Speak then, pica- ro, and be brief." " Oh, I am not in the habit of mak ing long speeches." " Come to the point." " It is this," the ranchero said, bold ly ; " you wish, I do not know why, and do not care, to revenge yourself on Red Cedar ; for certain reasons, un necessary for me to tell you, 1 wish to avenge myself on Ambrosio ; that is clear, I fancy ?" " Perfectly so go on." " Very well. Now this is what I propose to you aid me to avenge my self on the monk, and I will help you with the bandit." " I do not need you for that." " Perhaps you do, Excellency ; and if I did not fear appearing impudent to you, I would even say " " What?" "That I am indispensable to you." " Voto a Dios /' Bloodson said, with an outburst of laughter, " this is be yond a joke ; the scoundrel is abso lutely making fun of me." Andres Garote stood unmoved before the ranger. " Come, come," the latter continued, " this is far more amusing than 1 at first fancied ; and how are you indispensa ble to me ?" " Oh, Excellency, that is very sim ple ; you do not know what has be come of Red Cedar ?" " That is true ; I have been seeking him in vain for a long time." "I defy you to find him, unless I help you." " Then you know where he is ?" Bloodson exclaimed, suddenly raising his head. " Ah ! that interests you now, Excel lency,'' the ranchero said, with a crafty look. " Answer, yes or no," the ranger said, roughly ; " do you know where he is?" " If I did not, should I have come to you r Bloodson reflected for a moment. "Tell me where he is." " Our bargain holds good ?" " It does." " You swear it "?" " On my honor." " Good !" the other said joyfully ; " now listen to me." " Go on." " Of course you are aware that Red Cedar and the Trail-hunter had a fight?" " I am go on." " After the battle, all bolted in dif ferent directions ; Red Cedar was wound ed, hence he did *not go far, but soon THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 91 fell in a fainting fit at the foot of a tree. The Frenchman and his friends sought him on all sides, and I believe they would have made him spend a very unpleasant quarter of an hour if they had laid hands on him. Fortu nately for him, his horse had carried him into the middle of the virgin forest, where no one dreamed of pursuing him. Chance, or rather my good fortune, 1 now believe, led me to the spot where he was; his daughter Ellen was near him, and paying him the most touching attention ; it really almost affected me. I cannot tell you how she got there, but there she was. On see ing Red Cedar, I thought for a moment about going to find the French hunter, and telling him of my discovery." " Hum ! and why did you not carry out that idea, scoundrel ?" " For a very simple, though conclu sive reason." " Let us hear it," said Bloodson, who had begun to listen with extreme in terest to the ranchero's wandering state ment. " This is it," he went on. <; Don Valentine is a rough fellow ; I am not in the odor of sanctity with him ; be sides, he was with a crowd of Apaches and Comanches, each a bigger scamp than the other ; in a word, 1 was fright ened for my scalp, and held off, as I might have plucked the chestnuts from the fire fur another man's profit." " Not badly reasoned." " Was it now, Excellency ? hence, while I was reflecting on what 1 had better do, a band of some ten horsemen came, I know not whence, to the spot where that poor devil of a Red Cedar was lying half dead." " lie was really wounded ?" " Oh, yes, and dangerously, I under take to say ; the leader of the party was a French missionary you must know." " Father Seraphin ?" " The very man," "What did he?" " What I should certainly not have done in his place he carried Red Cedar away with him." " In that I recognize him," Bloodson could iiot refrain from saying. "And where did he take the wounded man ?" " To a cavern, where I will lead you whenever you like." "You are not lying?" "Oh, no, excellency." " Very good, go and sleep ; you can count on my promise, if you are faith ful to me." " Thanks, excellency ; be at your ease, self-interest urges me not to de ceive you." " That is true." The ranchero withdrew, and an hour later was sleeping as every honest man should do who feels conscious of having performed his duty. The next morning at daybreak JjJloodson's band set out. But in the desert it is often very diffi cult to find those you seek, owing to the nomadic life everybody is obliged to lead in order to gain his livelihood ; and Bloodson, who wished first to con sult with Valentine and his friends, lost much time before learning the exact spot where they were. At length, one of the scouts told him thai the French man was at Unicorn's winter village, and he proceeded there at once. ' In the interim, Bloodson ordered An dres Garote to watch Red Cedar's move ments, as he did not like to take a deci sive step till he had acquired a certainty. Nothing would have been easier than to go to Father Seraphin, and demand the surrender of the wounded man ; but he felt a repugnance to this. Bloodson shared in tlie respect the holy mission ary inspired all with in the Far West ; and he would not have dared to sum mon him to surrender his guest, certain as he was beforehand that the other would peremptorily refuse ; at the same time he did not like to employ violence to wrest his prey from a man whose character he admired. He must, there fore, await until Red Cedar, cured of his wounds, quitted his protection; and this Bloodson did, though having his movements watched. At length Andres Garote appeared, all joyous, in Bloodson's camp; he was the bearer of excellent news : Father Seraphin, after curing Red Cedar, had installed him in a jacal, where he and his daughter lived like two anchorites. Bloodsou uttered a shout of joy at this 92 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. news. Without even taking time to reflect, he leaped on his horse, leaving the temporary command of the band to his men, and started off at full speed for Unicorn's village. The distance was not great, and the ranger covered it in less than two hours. Bloodson was beloved by the Coman- ches, to whom he had frequent oppor tunities of being useful ; hence he was received by them with all the honors and ceremonies employed in such cases. Unicorn, accompanied by some -of the principal chiefs of the tribe, came to re ceive him a short distance from the village, yelling, firing their muskets, and making their horses curret. Bloodson gladly yielded to the chief's wishes, and galloped along by his side. The Comanches are excessively dis creet; they never take the liberty of asking questions of their guests before the latter authorize them. So soon as Bloodson had taken his seat by the fire of the council lodge, and smoked the great calumet of peace, Unicorn bowed to him gravely, and took the word. " My pale-face brother is welcome among his red friends," he said ; " has my brother had a good hunt?" " The buffaloes are numerous near the mountains," Bloodson answered ; " my young men have killed many." "All the better; my brother will not suffer from famine." The ranger bowed his thanks. " Will my brother remain some days with his red friends ?" the chief again 11 asked ; " they would be happy to have him among them for a season." " My hours are counted," Bloodson answered. '" I merely intended paying a visit to rny brothers to ask after their fare, as I passed their village." At this moment Valentine appeared in the doorway. " Here is my brother, Koutonepi," Unicorn said. " He is welcome," the ranger said ; " I wished to see him." " What accident has brought you here?" the hunter asked him. "To tell you where Red Cedar is hidden at this moment," Bloodson an swered, distinctly. Valentine started, and bent on him a piercing glance. " Oh, oh," he said, " that is great news you give rne." " I do not give it, but sell it to you." " What? explain yourself, pray." "I will be brief. There is not a man on the prairies who has not a terrible account to settle with that vile bandit?" " That is true." " The monster has burdened the earth too long he must disappear." Bloodson uttered these words with such an accent of hatred, that all pre sent, although they were men endowed with nerves of steel, felt a shudder course through their veins. Valentine looked sternly at the ran ger. " You owe this man a heavy- grudge ?" he said. " Greater than I can express." " Good, go on." At this moment Father Seraphin en tered the lodge, but was not noticed, so greatly was the attention of the audi ence concentrated on Bloodson. The missionary stood motionless in the darkest corner, and listened. " This is what I propose," Bloodson went on. " I will reveal to you where the villain is lurking ; we will spread so as to envelope him in an impassable circle, and if you or the chiefs here pre sent are luckier than I, and seize him, you will deliver him into my hands." " What to do with him?" " To take an exemplary vengeance on him." " I cannot promise that," Valentine said slowly. " For what reason ?" "You have just given it: there is not a man on the prairie but has a ter rible account to settle with this vil lain." " Well ?" " The man he has most outraged is, in my opinion, Don Miguel de Zurate, whose daughter he so basely murdered. Don Miguel alone has the right to deal with him as he thinks proper." Bloodson gave a start of disappoint ment. " Oh, were he here !" he exclaimed. " Here I am, sir," the haciendero re plied as he stepped forward ; "I too have vengeance to take on lied Cedar; THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. but I wish it to be great and noble, in the light of the sun, and the presence of all : I do not wish to assassinate, but to punish him." " Good," Bloodson exclaimed, sti fling a cry of joy ; " our thoughts are the same, cabaliero ; for what I de sire is to d- al with Red Cedar, accord ing to Lynch Law, in its entire rigor, | on the very spot where he committed ' his first crime, and in the sight of the population he has horrified. In the Far West, I am not only called the Son of Blood, but also the Avenger and the judge." After these words, spoken with fe verish energy, there was a gloomy si lence which lasted some time. " Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," a voice said, which made the | hearers start. All turned round ; Father Seraphin, with his crucifix in his hand, and head \ erect, seemed to command them all by j the grandeur of his evangelic mission, j " By what right do you make your- \ selves the instruments of divine jus- ' tice ?" he continued. " If this man was guilty, who tells that repentance , has not come at this hour to wash the stains from his soul ?" " Eye for eye, tooth for tooth," Bloodson muttered in a hoarse voice. These words broke the charm that enchained the audience. " Eye for efe, tooth for tooth," they exclaimed wrathfully. Father Seraphin saw he was con quered : he understood that all reason ing would fail with these blood-thirsty men, to whom the life of their fellow- men is nothing, and who rank ven geance as a virtue. "Farewell," he said in mournful voice ; " farewell, poor misguided men. I dare not curse you, I can only pity you ; but I warn you that I will do all in my power to save the victim you wish to immolate to your odious passions." And he went out of the lodge. When the emotion caused by the priest's wo.-ds had calmed down, Don Miguel walked up to Bloodson, and laid his hand on the one the ranger offered to him. " I accept Lynch Law," be said. " Yes," all present shouted, " Lynch Law." A few hours later, Bloodson regained his camp, and it was after this inter view that Valentine had the conversa tion with Don Pablo, as he returned from Red Cedar's jacal, which we de scribed at the beginning of the volume. CHAPTER XX. RED CEDAR. Now that we have explained the in cidents that took place during the six months that had elapsed between Dona Clara's death and the conversation in the cavern during the storm, we will resume our narrative where we left it at the end of chapter three. Only a few minutes after the hacien- dero's son had left, the door of the jacal was roughly opened four men entered. They were Red Cedar, Fray Ambrosia, Sutler, and Nathan. They appeared sad and gloomy, and the water poured down from their clothes as if they had come out of the river. "Halloh," the monk said; "what! no fire or light, and nothing in the calli to greet us. You do not care much for us, I fancy." Red Cedar kissed his daughter on the forehead, and turning to Fray Am- brosio, to whom he gave a passionate glance, he said roughly : " You are in my house, my master : do not oblige me to remind you of that fact; so begin by being civil to my daughter, if you do not wish me to give you a lesson." " Hum !" the monk remarked with a growl ; " is this young woman so sacred, that you should fire up at the slightest word addressed to her?" " 1 do not fire up," the squatter re plied, sharply, as he struck the table with his fist ; " but your way of speak ing does not please me, I tell you ; so do not oblige me to repeat it." Fray Ambrosio made no answer ; he understood that Red Cedar was in a state of mind unfavorable for a discus- 04 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. sion ; he therefore prudently refrained from any remark that might lead to a quarrel, which he seemed as anxious to avoid as the squatter to pick it. Dur ing the exchange of these few sentences, Ellen, helped by her brothers, had lit a torch of candle-wood, rekindled the fire, the absence of which was felt, and placed on the table a meal, sufficient, if not luxurious. " Caballeros," she said in her gentle voice, " you are served." The four men sat round the table with the eagerness of hungry persons who are desirous of breaking a long fast. Before raising the first morsel to his lips, the squatter, however, turned to his daughter. " Ellen," he said to her kindly, " will you not sit down with us ?" "Thank you, father, but I am not hungry ; it would be really impossible for me to swallow the least morsel." The squatter sighed, but raising no objection, he began to serve his guests, while Ellen retired into the darkest corner of the shanty. The meal was sad ; the four men seemed busy in thought, and ate quickly and silently. When their hunger was appeased, they lit their pipes. "Father," Nathan suddenly said to Red Cedar, who was sorrowfully watch ing the smoke ascend in spirals to the roof; " I have found a trail." " So have I," the monk remarked. " And I, too," the squatter said ; " what of that ?" " What of that ?" Fray Ambros'o shouted. " Canarios, gossip, you take things very lightly. A trail in the de sert always reveals an enemy." "What do I care for that 1 ?" Red Cedar replied, with a shrug of his shoul ders. "What?" the monk shouted, as he sprang up ; " that is very fine, on my word ; to hear you, one might fancy you were an entire stranger to the ques tion, and that your life is not at stake like ours." " Who tells you that I wish to defend it?" the squatter replied, giving him a look which made his eyes fall. " Hum !" the monk remarked, after a moment's silence j " I can understand that you do not cling to life; you have gone through so much, that you would not regret death ; but there is one thing you forget, gossip, not referring to my self, though I have a right to reproach you." The squatter carelessly shook the ashes out of his pipe, filled it again, and went on smoking as if not paying the slightest attention to the monk's re marks. The latter frowned and clench ed his fists, but recovering his temper almost immediately, he continued, with feigned indifference, while playing with his knife : " Yes, you forget one thing, gossip, which however, is worth remembering." "What is it?" " Your children, cospita !" The squatter gave him an ironical glance. " Oh, por Dios santo !" the monk went on ; " I do not refer to your sons, for they are strong and resolute men, who can always get out of a scrape ; I do not trouble myself about them at all." " About whom, then ?" the squatter asked, looking at him sharply. " Why, for your daughter Ellen, can- arios ! what will become of her, if you die?" the monk said, with that bold ness peculiar to timid persons, who wish to know at once if the mine they have fired will crush them. The squatter shook his head sadly. " That is true," he said, with a glance at his daughter. The monk smiled the blow had tol J, so he went on. " In destroying yourself, you destroy her," he said ; " yonr obstinacy may cause her death, so take care." " What is to be done?" the squatter asked. " Take our precautions, voto de Dios I believe me, we are watched ; remain ing longer here would be the utmost imprudence." The squatter's sons nodded their as sent. " It is evident," Sutler observed, " that our enemies have discovered our trail." " And that they will soon be here," Nathan added. TEE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " You hear ?" the monk went en. " Once again I ask, what is to be done ?" Red Cedar asked. " Caspita, be off as speedily as possi ble." " Where can we go at this advanced season of the year 1 the snow will soon cover the ground, and interrupt all com munication ; if we leave the jacal, we run a risk of dying of hunger." " Yes, if we remain in the desert," the monk observed, in an insinuating voice. " Where do you propose going then?" the squatter asked. " What do I know ? There is no lack of towns, I suppose, on the Indian border ; we might, if absolutely neces sary, return to the Paso del Norte, where we have friends, and are certain of a kind reception." Red Cedar looked him full in the face, and s;iid ironically : " Out with your whole thought, Senor Padre ; you have an object in wishing to return to the Paso, so let me know it." " Cat-pita, you are as clever as I am," the monk exclaimed, blushing the while ; ' what need have we to humbug one an other ?" The squatter rose, and kicked back his stool. " You are right," he said passionately, " let us deal openly with one another. I wish nothing better, and to give you an example, listen to me. You have never lost out of sight the reason that made you 'enter the desert ; you have only one object, one desire, to reach the rich placer, the situation of which you learned by assassinating a man. Neither the fatigue you have endured, nor the peril you have incurred, has made you renounce your scheme ; the hope ot a rich crop of gold blinds you, and makes you mad. Is it so or not ?" " It is true," the monk coolly replied, " what next ?" " When our band was destroyed, and completely dispersed, this was the rea soning you employed a reasoning," he added, with a b tter smile, " which does honour to your sagacity and firm ness of character ; ' Red Cedar all but knows the site of the placer. 1 must induce him to return with me to the Paso, to form another band, because if I leave him alone in the desert, so soon as my back is turned, he will go in search of the treasures, and carelessly discover it.' Have 1 not guessed aright, gossip?" " Nearly so," the monk answered, furious at seeing his plans so clearly read through. " I thought so," Red Cedar conti nued ; " but, like all bad men, gan grened to the heart, you went beyond your object, by attributing to me the same sordid instincts you possess ; and you thought that because I am an as sassin, I may be a thief: that is the er ror in which you fell, gossip. Under stand me," he said, stamping his foot violently ; " were the coveted treasure at this moment beneath my heel, I would not stoop down to pick up a nugget. Gold is nothing to me, I de spise it. When I consented to guide you to the placer you naturally as sumed that avarice led me to do so ; but you are mistaken ; I had a more powerful and nobler motive revenge. Now, do not trouble me more about your accursed placer, for which I care as little as 1 do for a nut. And with that, good night, gossip ; I am going bo sleep, or try to do so, and recommend the same to you." And, without awaiting the monk's reply, the squatter turned his back and stalked into an inner room. For some time past, Ellen hud been asleep, and so the monk remained alone with the squatter's sons. For some minutes they remained in silence. " Bah," the monk at length said cautiously, "however much he may struggle, it must happen." Sutter shook his head dubiously. "No," he said, "you do not know the old one ; once he has said no, he sticks to it." " Hum !" Nathan added, " he has greatly changed lately ; of all his old character, he seems only to have kept his obstinacy ; I am afraid you will fail, Senor Padre." " Live and learn," the latter said 96 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. gaily ; " to-morrow has to come ; in the meanwhile, gentlemen, let us follow his advice, and go to sleep." Ten minutes later all slept, or seem ed to sleep, in the jacal : the storm lasted the night through, howling fu riously. At daybreak, the squatter rose, and went out to see what sort of weather it was. The day promised well ; the sky was pure, and the sun rose radiantly. Red Cedar, therefore, started for the corral to saddle his horse, and those of his comrades. Before leaving the household, however, he looked around, and suddenly uttered an exclamation of surprise as he started back. He had noticed a horseman coming up at full speed. " Father Seraphin !" he muttered in astonishment; "what serious reason can bring him here, at such an hour and in such haste ?" At this moment the other entered the keeping-room, and the squatter heard the sound of the footsteps be hind him. He turned quickly. " Hide yourselves," he said hoarsely. "What's the matter?" the monk asked furiously, as he stepped forward. With one blow of his list, the squat ter hurled him to the middle of the room. " Did you not hear me ?" he said passionately. But, although Red Cedar's blow had been so powerful, he could not prevent the monk recognizing Father Seraphin. "Ah, ah," he said, with an ugly smile, " Father Seraphin ! if our friend wished to confess, was not I enough 1 he need not only have told me, instead of sending for that European magpie." Red Cedar here turned as if a viper had stung him, and gave the three men such a glance of ferocity, that they in voluntarily recoiled. " Villain," he said, in a hollow voice, and a terrible gesture, " I know not what prevents me killing you, like .the dog you are. If one of you dare utter a syllable against this holy man, by Heaven, I will flay him alive. Hide yourselves, I insist." Subjugated by the squatter's accent, the three men left the room without re plying, and ten minutes later Fa ther Seraphin checked his horse, and dismounted in front of the jacal. Red Cedar and his daughter hurried for ward to meet the father, who walked into the hut, wiping the perspiration that stood on his forehead. Red Cedar offered him a butacca. "Sit down, father," he said to him, "you are very hot; will you take some refreshment?'' " Thanks," the missionary answered, " but we have not a moment to lose, so listen to me." "What has happened, father? why have you come in such haste ?" " Alas !" he went on, " because you are menaced by a terrible misfortune." The squatter turned pale. " It is but just," he muttered, with a frown ; " the expiation is beginning." "Courage, my children," the mis sionary said, affectionately, " your ene mies have discovered your retreat, I know not how ; they will be here to morrow perhaps to-day you must fly fly at once." " For what good ?" the squatter re marked ; " the hand of GOD is in this no man can escape his destiny; bet ter to wait." Father Seraphin assumed a serious air, and said in a stern voice " God wishes to try you ; it would be cowardice, suicide, to surrender yourself to those who desire your death, and Heaven would not pardon you for doing so. Every living creature must defend life when attacked. Fly I bid you 1 order you." " The squatter made no reply. " Besides," Father Seraphin continu ed, in a tone he strove to render gay, " the storm may blow over ; your ene mies, not finding yon here, will doubt less abandon the pursuit; in a few days you will be able to return." " No," the squatter said disconsolate ly, "they desire my death. As you order me to fly, father, I will obey you, but, before all, grant me one favor." " Speak, my son." " I," the squatter went on, with ill- concealed emotion, " am a man ; I can, THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 97 without succumbing, support the mos excessive fatigue, brave the greates dangers ; but " " I understand you," the missionary quickly interrupted him ; " I intend to keep your daughter with me. Be a your ease, she shall want for nothing.' " Oh, thanks, thanks, father !" he ex claimed, with an accent such a man might have been thought incapable of Ellen had hitherto listened to the conversation in silence, but now she stepped forward, and placing herself between the two men, said with sublime dignity: " I arn most grateful to both of you for your intentions with regard to me, but I cannot abandon my father ; I will follow him wherever he goes, to console him and aid him in suffering the retri butions Heaven sends on him, as a Christian should do." The two men prepared to interrupt her. " Stay !" she said, warmly ; " hither to I have suffered through my father's conduct, for it was gui ty ; but now that repentance fills his soul, I pity and love him. My resolution is unchange able." Father Seraphin gazed at her in ad miration. " It is well, my child," he said ; " Heaven will remember such pure and noble devotion." The squatter pressed his daughter to his heart, but had not the strength to utter a word he had never felt such sweet emotion before. The missionary rose. " Farewell," he said, " and take cour age ; put your trust in God, who will not abandon you. I will watch over you at a distance. Farewell, my chil dren, and bless you. Go, go, without delay." Then, tearing himself by an effort from Red Cedar's arms, Father Sera phin remounted, dug his spurs, into his horse's flanks, and started at full speed, after giving his proteges a parting wave of the hand. " Oh !" Red Cedar muttered, " that could not last, for I was almost happy." " Courage, father," Ellen said to him softly. They re-entered the jacal, where the men were awaiting them. " Go and saddle the horses," the squatter said, " we are going away." " Ah !" the monk whispered Sutter, " did I not tell you the demon was on our side ? Canarios ! he would not for get us, as we have done so much for him." The preparations for quitting the jacal were not long, and au hour later, the five persons started. " In what direction do we go ?" the monk asked. " Let us go in the mountains," the squatter answered, laconically, as he took a melancholy glance at this wretch ed hut, in which he had perhaps hoped to end his days, and which fate com pelled him to leave forever. The fugitives had scarce disappeared behind a clump of trees, when a cloud of dust rose on the horizon, and five horsemen soon appeared, coming 1 up at full speed. They were Valentine and his friends. The hunter must have obtained pre cise information from Bloodson as to the situation of the jacal, for he did not hesitate a moment, but rode straight in. Don Pablo's heart beat, as if to burst his chest, though he apparently remain- sd unmoved. " Hum !" Valentine said, when about a dozen yards from the jacal, " every thing is very silent here." " The squatter is no doubt out hunt- ng," Don Miguel observed, ' we shall only find his daughter." Valentine began laughing. " Do you think so ?" he said. " No, no, Don Miguel, remember Father Seraphiu's words." General Ibanez, who was the first to reach the jacal, dismounted and opened he door. "Nobody !" he said, in surprise. " By Jove !" Valentine said, " 1 sus- )ected that the bird had flown ; but this ime he will be very cunning if he es- apes us. Forward, forward ! they can- aot be far ahead." They started again. Curumilla re named behind for a second, and threw a lighted torch into the shanty, which was soon burned down. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. "The fox is unearthed," the Indian muttered to himself, while rejoining his comrades. CHAPTER XXI. CURT/MILL A. ABOUT a month after the events we have just described, in the early part of December, which the Comanches call, in their picturesque language, " the Moon of the roebuck ^hat sheds its horns," and a few minutes after sunrise, a party, consisting of five or six men, whom, by their garb, it was easy to re cognize as wood rangers from the Far West, climbed one of the highest peaks of the Sierra de los Comanches, the eastern chain of the Rocky Mountains, running down into Texas, where it ter minates in the Gaudaloupe mountains. The weather was cold, and a dense layer of snow covered the sides of the mountains. The slope which these bold adventurers were following, was so rugged that, although accustomed to travel in these regions, they were often compelled to bend their backs and creep along on their hands and knees. But no difficulty baffled them, no ob stacle was great enough to make them turn back. At times, worn out with fatigue, and bathed in perspiration, they stopped to take breath, lay down on the snow, and picked up some handfuls to allay the ardent thirst that devoured them ; then, after resting a little while, they cour ageously set out again, and clambered up the eternal ice, wh >se gigantic masses became with each moment more abrupt. W ere these men in search of a prac ticable road in this frghtful labyrinth of mountains, whose peaks rose around them, at an immense height, in the icy regions of the sky ? Perhaps, how ever, they wished, for reasons known tj themselves alone, to gain a spot whence they could have an extensive prospect. If such were their hopp, it was not deceived. When, after incessant toil [ they all at last reached the summit of the peak they were scaling, they suddenly had before them a landscape, whose grand appearance amazed and startled them through its sublime im mensity. In whatever direction they looked, they were confounded by the majesty of the panorama unfolded at their feet. In truth, the Rocky Mountains are unique in the world, bearing no re semblance with the Pyrenees, Alps, and Apennines, and those magnificent chains of mountains which here and there stride across the old world, and seem with their barren crest to protest against the pride of creatures, in the name of the Creator. The hunters were hanging, as it were, over a world. Beneath them was the Sierra de los Comanches, an immense mountain broken up into snowy p^aks, displaying all their gloomy caverns, deep and awe-inspiring valleys, their brilliant lakes, their dark defiles and their foaming torrents, which bounded noisily downward ; then, far beyond these savage limits, the eye was lost in an unbounded landscape, bathed in a hazy distance, like the surface of the sea in calm weather. Owing to the purity and transparency of the atmosphere, the adventurers dis tinguished the smallest objects at a sur prising distance. However, in all probabily, these men had not under taken so perilous an ascent through motives of curiosity. The mode in which they examined the country and analysed the immense panorama un rolled before them, proved, on the con trary, that very serious reasons had urged them to br.ive the almost insur mountable difficulties they had over come, in order to reach the point where they were. The group formed by these men with their bronzed faces, energetic features and picturesque garb, as they leant on their rifles, with eyes fixed on space and frowning brow, had something grand about it; at this extraordinary eleva tion, at the summit of the p"ak cover ed with eternal snow, which served them as a pedestal in the midst of the chaos that surrounded them. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. For a long time they remained there without speaking, trying to distinguish in the windings of the quebradas the slightest break of the ground, denf to the mournful growling of the torrents that leaped at their feet, and the sinister rolling of the avalanches, which glided down the mountain side, and fell with a crash into the valleys, dragging trees and rocks with them. At length the man who appeared the leader of the party passed his hand over his brow, damp with exertion, though the cold was intense in these re gions, and turned to his companions to say, " My friends, we are now twenty thousand feet above the level of the plain, that is to say, we have reached the spot where the Indian warrior sees for the first time after death the count ry of souls, and contemplates the hap py hunting grounds, the brilliant abode of just, free, and generous warriors. The eagle alone could rise higher than ourselves." ' Yes," one of his comrades replied, with a shake of head ; " but, though I keep looking around, I see no possibility of getting out." " Hilloh, general !" the first speaker interposed, " what is that you are say ing ? we might fancy, which Heaven forbid, that you were despairing." " Well," the other, who was Gene ral Ibanes, replied, " that supposition would not be without a certain degree of correctness ; listen to me, Don Va lentine ; for ten days we have beeu lost on these confounded mountains, sur rounded by ice and snow, and with nothing to eat, under the pretext of find ing the hiding place of that old villain Red Cedar, and I do not mind confess ing to you, that 1 am beginning, not to despair, but to believe" that, "unless a miracle happen, it will be impossible for us to get out of this inextricable chaos in which we are enclosed." Valentine shook his head several times. The five men standing on the peak were really the Trail-hunter and his friends. " No matter," General Ibanex con tinued, "you will agree with me that : our position, far from improving, is j growing with each moment nvre diffi ! cult ; for two days we have been com- pletely out of provisions, and I do no' j see how we shall procure any in thes** ; icy regions. Red Cedar has tricked us with that diabolical cunning which never fails him, he has led us into a trap WP cannot get out of, and where we shall find death." There was a mournful silence. The despair of these energetic men, cold Iv I calculating, amid the steep, northerlv country that surrounded them, the few hours of existence still left them, ha,i something crushing about it. Scarce aWe I to stand, more like corpses than men, i with haggard features and eves reddeo- ! ed with fever, they stood calm and re- | signed, gazing on the magnificent plains I stretching out at their feet, on whicii i thousands of animals sported,and cover- i ed everywhere with trees, whose frujt would so quickly have checked their hunger. But between them and these plain* stood an insurmountable barrier, which neither strength nor cunning could carry : all that was humanly possible, these men had done during the last two days to save themselves. All their plans had been foiled by a strange fa tality, which made them constant! jr go round in a circle among thee moun tains, which are so like each other, and all their attempts had broken down. " Pardon me. my friends," Don Mi guel de Zarate said, with a crushing ac cent of sorrow, " pardon me, for 1 alone am the cause of your death." " Speak not so, Don Miguel," Valen tine quickly exclaimed, "ail u yet/' A heart-rending smile played round the haciendero's lips. " Yon are ever the same, Don Valen tine,'' he said ; " good, and generous, forgetting yourself for your friends. Alas ! hid we followed your advice, we should not be dying of famine and misery in these desolate mountains. ' 'That will do," the hunter said, gruffly ; " what is done canuot be un done ; perhaps it would have been bt-t- ter had you listened to me some days 100 THE TRAPi'ER'S DAuulITER. back, I grant; but of what use is re crimination now ? Let us rather seek the means to get out of this." "It is impossible," Don Miguel con tinued, disconsolately, and letting his head fall in his hands, he gave way to sad reflections. " Carai !" the hunter exclaimed, ener getically, " impossible is a word we Frenchmen have erased from our dic tionary. Hang it ! as long as the heart beats, there is hope. Were Red Cedar more cunning than he is, which would be most difficult, I swear you that we shall find him, and get out of this hob ble." " But how ?'' Don Pablo eagerly ask ed. " I do not know ; still I am certain we shall escape." " Ah, if we were only by the side of those two horsemen," the general said, vith a sigh, " we should be saved." " What horsemen do you allude to, general ? where do you see them ?" the hunter asked. "There," he replied, " near the clump of cork trees. Do you see them ?" " Oh," said Valentine, " they are rid ing quietly, like men who know they are on the right road, and have nothing to fear." " They are very lucky," the general muttered. " Bah ! who knows what awaits them on turning from the road they are now following so peacefully ?" the hunter remarked, with a smile ; "no one can answer for the next minute ; they are on the road from Independence to Santa Fe." " Hum ! I should like to be there too," the general growled between his teeth. Valentine, who first looked carelessly at the horsemen, now followed them with interest, almost with anxiety ; but they soon disappeared in a bend of a road. For a long time, however, the hunter remained with his eyes fixed on the spot where he had first seen them ; gradually he began frowning, a deep wrinkle was hollowed on his forehead, and he leaned on his rifle, motionless and dumb, but seeming to be suffering from great agitation. Involuntarily, his comrades followed with growin" in terest the current of his thoughts, which j could be read, as it were, on their com- ' panion's brow. He remained for some ' time thus absorbed, but at length he raised his head, and looked around with a bright and intrepid glance. " My friends," he said, joyously, as he struck the butt of his rifle on the ground, " regain courage, I believe I have found the way of getting safe and sound out of the wasp-nest into which we have thrust our heads." His comrades gave vent to a sigh of relief, almost of joy. They knew the J hunter, they were aware how fertile the mind of this brave and devoted man was in expedients, and how inaccessi- i ble to despondency ; they put entire | faith in him. Valentine told them he I believed he could save them ; they did not suspect what means he would em ploy, but that was his business, not theirs. Now they were calm, for they had his word, winch he had never been known to break ; they had only to wait patiently till the hour for their deliver ance arrived. " Bah !" the general answered, gaily, " I was sure we should get out of this, my friend." " When shall we start ?" Don Pablo asked. "As soon as it is night," Valentine replied ; "but where is Curumilla ?" " On my word I do not know. I saw him about half-an-hour ago, gliding along the mountain side, as if he had suddenly gone mad ; but I have not seen him since." " Curumilla does nothing without a reason," the hunter said with a shake of the head; "you will soon see him re turn." Indeed, the hunter had scarce finished speaking, when the Indian Chief shewed his head level with the platform, and with one leap he rejoined his friends. His zarape, knotted ;it the four corners, hung behind his back. " What have you there, chief?" Va lentine asked, with a smile ; " can it be food ?" " Cuerpo de Cristo !" the general ex claimed, " it would be welcome, for 1 have a wolf's appetite." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 101 " Wln>re could provisions be found in this fearful region ?" Don Pablo ex claimed, in a hollow voice. " My brothers will see," the chief simply answered. And he threw his zarape on the snow, where Valentine undone the knots. The hunters uttered a cry of joy, for it contained a hare, a young peccari, and several birds. These prorisions, arriv ing so opportunely, when the hunters had been fasting for nearly forty-eight hours, seemed to them the result of magic. To understand the emotion the four men experienced at the sight of the much-desired food, a man must have himself gone through ail the agony of hunger, without any hope of stilling it it was almost frenzy. When the first impression was slightly calmed, Valentine turned to the chief, and press ed his hand tenderly, as a tear rolled down his cheek. " My brother is a great sorcerer," he said to him. The Ulmen smiled softly, and stretch ed out his arm to an eagle flying a short distance from the spot where the hun ters stood. " We shared," he said. Valentine could not restrain a cry of admiration, for all was explained to him. The Araucano, whom nothing es caped, hud seen the eagle, guessed that it had a brood, and clambered up to its nest to procure a portion of their food, while on the summit of the peak his comrades were all but yielding to their despair. " Oh !" Valentine said joyfully, " we are saved, since we shall regain that strength we so much need to carry out the plan we have formed. Follow me, j we will return to the camp, gaily eat the dinner the eagles have supplied us with, and start this evening." Comforted by 'these words, the hun- ; ters followed him, and the little party went lightly down the mountain, up ! which they had clambered in the morn ing with such difficulty and despair in their hearts. CHAPTER XXII. EL MAL PASO. THE hunters only spent one hour in going down, though it had cost them eight to ascend. Their bivouac was formed at the top of a scarped rock, in an impregnable position. After their visit to the jacal, they were not long in finding traces of the fugitives, and followed them during four days. As these traces led to the Sierre de los Comanches, the hunters bravely entered the obscure mountain defiles, but all at once the trail disap> peared as if by enchantment, and it was impossible to find it again. The hunters' incessant search had only produced the disastrous result of losing themselves in the sierra, and in spite of all their efforts they could not discover the path leading to the right road. For two days their provisions had been com pletely exhausted, and they were begin ning to feel the icy clutch of hunger. The position was no longer tenable, and they must escape from it at all risks. Valentine and his companions had, therefore, in spite of their failing strength, climbed up the peak in order to look for a road. But this bold at tempt had obtained two results instead of one, for Valentine not only declared he had found what he was seeking, but Curumilla had also procured food. Hence, the five men joyously returned to that camp, which they had quitted with death in their hearts. No one, who has not been in a simi lar situation, can imagine the feeling of perfect happiness that seizes on a man when he passes, without any transition, from the extremes! despair to the great est confidence. So soon as they reached the encamp ment, Valentine rekindled the fire, which they had not lit for two days, as it was useless. Still, as the sight of tht> smoke would arouse Red Cedar's suspi cions, if he were, as was very possible, in the vicinity, the hunters roasted their meat in a cavern opening in the side of the hill on which they encamped. When all was ready, they began eating. It was only when their first hunger 102 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. was appeased that they thought of thank ing the Indian chief for the abundant meal he had procured them by his skill, and of which they had such press ing need. But then they perceived that the Araucano had not obtained the pro visions they were eating without incur ring serious danger ; in fact, Curumilla had on his face, chest, and shoulders serious wounds, inflicted by the beaks and talons of the eagles, which must have boldly defended their provisions. With the Indian stoicism which noth ing can equal, Curumilla, perfectly calm and silent, was staunching the blood that poured from his wounds, disdaining to complain, but, on the contrary, appearing vexed at the anxie ty his comrades evidenced. When the meal was at an end, Val entine solemnly lit his pipe, the others did the same, and ere long they were almost hidden in a cloud. " Caballeros," Valentine said pres ently, " God has come to our assist ance, as He always does, when men have a firm faith in His omnipotence. He has deigned to supply us with the means to restore our strength, so we must not feel despondent; by this time to-morrow we shall have escaped from this unlucky trap. When you have finished smoking, lie down on the ground and sleep. I will awaken you when the time comes, for at the hour of departure you must feel ready to undertake a long journey. We have about four hours' daylight left, so profit by them, for I warn you we shall have plenty to do to-night in every way. Now that you are warned, you had better follow my advice." And, adding example to precept, Valentine shook the ash from his pipe, returned it to his belt, lay down on the ground, and almost immediately slept. His comrades probably found the advice good, for they followed it without hesitation, and in ten min utes all were asleep excepting Curu milla. How long their sleep had lasted when Valentine awakened them, they could not say, but the night had set in. The sky, studded with an infinity of stars, stretched out over their heads its dark blue vault: the moon ap peared to be floating in a sea of mist, and spread over the landscape a me lancholy light, which imparted a fan tastic appearance to objects. " Up with you," Valentine said in a low voice, as tapped his comrades in turn on the shoulder. " Are we off ?" General Ibanez ask ed, as he checked a yawn, and drew himself up, as if worked by a spasm. " Yes," was all the hunter answered. Ere long all were ready to start. " We must profit by the darkness," Valentine remarked, " our enemies are doubtless watching round us." " We are at your orders, my friend," Don Miguel answered. By a sign, the hunter collected his comrades round him. " Listen to me carefully," he said, " for, before attempting the bold enter- prize I have conceived, I wish to have your full consent. Our position is desperate : remaining longer here is death : death by hunger, cold, thirst, and wretchedness, after enduring intole rable sufferings for 1 know not how many days. You are quite convinced of this, I fancy ?" " Yes," they replied unanimously. " Good," he continued ; " trying lon ger to find the road we have lost would be a vain attempt, which would have no chance of success." " Yes," they said again. The hunter continued : " Well, then, I am about to make an equally mad attempt at this moment. If it does not succeed, we shall perish ; but at any rate we shall do so without suffering almost instantaneously. If we succeed by a miracle for it is almost a miracle 1 expect from the in exhaustible mercy of Heaven we are saved. Reflect ere replying; my friends, are you firmly resolved to fol low me, and obey me in all I order, without hesitation or murmuring ? In a word, surrender your own will for a few hours only to follow me? Answer me." The hunters exchanged a glance. " Command, my friend," the hacien- dero said, answering for his com rades ; " we swear to follow and obey you, whatever may happen.'' THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 103 There was a moment's silence, which Valentine was the first to break. " Very good," he said, " I have your promise, and must now accomplish mine." With a gesture of sublime dignity, the wood- ranger took off his hat, and raised his eyes to Heaven. " Oh Lord," he murmured, "our life is in thy hands: we confide in thy jus tice and mercy." Then, turning to his comrades, he said in a firm voice : " Let us go !" The hunters prepared to leave their camp, and Valentine placed himself at the head of the little band. " And now," he added sharply, " the greatest silence." The hunters advanced in Indian file, Valentine leading, Curumilla last. In this dark night it was certainly no easy task to proceed through this inextri cable chaos of rocks, whose rude crests rose above immeasurable abysses, in the bottom of which an invisible stream could be heard indistinctly murmuring. One false step was mortal ; still, Val- 1 entine went on with as much assurance j as if he were walking in the dazzling sunshine along the finest path of the prairie, turning to the right, then to the t left, clambering up a rock, or gliding along an almost perpendicular wall, j without once hesitating, or turning to j his comrades, to whom he merely said at times in a low voice : " Courage." These four men must have been gift ed with hearts of bronze, not to dis play some slight weakness during this rude journey, in regions which the eagle itself does not visit without hesi tation. They marched thus for two hours, without exchanging a word ; and after a long descent, during which they had twenty times run a risk of rolling to the bottom of a precipice, Valentine made his companions a sign to stop. They then took an anxious glance around them : they found themselves on a platform of about ten square yards, all around being gloom, and it hung over an abyss of immeasurable depth. The mountain, cut asunder as if by Roland's sword, was separated into two portion?, between which was a yawning gulf about twelve or fifteen yards in width. " We must pass over this," Valen tine said ; " you have ten minutes to draw breath and prepare." "What, across here?" Don Miguel said in amazement : " why, I only see precipices on both sides." " Well," the hunter replied, " we will cross it." The haciendero shook his head des pond ingly, and Valentine smiled. " Do you know where we are ?" he asked. " No," his comrades replied. " I will tell you," he continued ; " this spot is mournfully celebrated among the redskins and hunters of the prairie ; perhaps you have heard its name mentioned, little suspecting that the day would come for you to be so near it: it is called El Mai Paso, osving to that enormous canon which intersects the mountain, and suddenly intercepts ji communication with the opposite side." " Well ?" Don Miguel asked. " Well," Valentine went on, " some hours back, when from the top of the peak I watched the two travellers we saw at a distance on the Santa Fe road, my eye settled accidentally on the Mai Paso ; then I understood that a chance of salvation was left us, and before con fessing ourselves beaten, we must try to cross it." " Then," Don Miguel said, with a shudder, " you are resolved to make this mad attempt ?" " I am." " It is tempting Heaven." " No, it is asking for a miracle, that is all. Believe me, my friend, God never abandons those who fully trust hi Him. He will come to our help." " Still," the haciendero began ; but Valentine quickly interrupted him. "Enough," he said; "you have sworn to obey me. I have sworn to save you ; keep your oath as I shall mine." His comrades, awed by Valentine, bowed their heads and made no reply. " Brothers," the hunter said, solemn ly, " let us pray that God will not de sert us." 104 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. And, giving the example, he fell on his knees on the ruck, his comrades imitating him. At the end of a mo ment, Valentine rose again. " Have hope," he said. The hunter then walked to the ex tremity of the platform and bent over the abyss, and his comrades followed his movements without comprehending them. After remaining motionless for some minutes, the hunter rejoined his friends. "All goes well," he said. He then unfastened his* lasso from his belt, and coolly began rolling it round .his right hand. Curumilla smiled ; he had compre hended his meaning, and, according to his wont, without speaking, he unfasten ed his lasso and imitated his friend. " Good," Valentine said to him, with a nod of approval; "it's our turn, chief." The two wood-rangers put forward their right legs, threw their bodies back to get a balance, and whirled their las sos round their heads ; at an agreed-on signal, the lassos slipped from their hand and whizzed through the air. Valentine and Curumilla had held the end of the rope in their left hand ; they pulled at them, but, in spite of all their efforts, the hunters could not unloose them. Valentine uttered a shout of joy, for he had succeeded ; he connected the two lassos, twisted them round a rock, and fastened them securely, then he turned to his comrades. " Here is a bridge," he said. " Ah !" the Mexicans exclaimed, " now we are saved." These men, with their hearts of bronze, who feared no danger, and re cognized no obstacle, could speak thus, although the road was most perilous. Valentine and Curumilla had thrown their lassos round a rock that stood on the other side of the canon, and the running-knot had drawn. In this way the communication was established ; but the bridge, as Valentine called it, merely consisted of two leathern cords of the thickness of a fore-finger, stretched over a precipice of unknown depth, at least fifteen yards in width, and which must be crossed by the strength of the wrists. Certainly, before crossing this strange bridge, there was matter for reflection, even to the bravest man. To go lit'teeu yards hanging thus by the arms over an abyss was nut tempting this gloomy night, and upon a rope which might break or become unfastened. The hun ters hesitated. "Well," Valentine said to them, " shall we be off?" No one answered. " That is true," the hunter said with a smile ; " you wish to know if the bridge be firm. Very good." Then, with that calmness usual to him the hunter advanced to the edge of the barranca. On reaching the lasso, he took it in both hands, and turned to his comrades. " Look," he said with that careless ness which he never could put off; "the sight costs nothing." And gently, without hurrying, with the coolness of a professor giving a les son, lie crossed the canon backwards, in order to show his friends how they were to manage. On reaching the op posite bank, where he left his rifle, he quietly returned to his friends the lat ter had anxiously watched him, trem bling involuntarily at the danger he had incurred. " I hope," he said, when he remount ed the platform, " that you are now quite sure the lasso is firm, and you will not hesitate." Without replying, Curumilla cross ed. "There's one," Valentine said with a laugh ; s " there is no difficulty about it. Whose turn next ?" " Mine," Don Pablo answered. He crossed. " Now it is my turn," Don Miguel said. " Go," Valentine replied. The haciendero soon found himself on the opposite side ; only two men re mained, General Ibanez and the hunter. " Come," Valentine said, " it is your turn, general ; I must be the last to pass." The general shook his head despond- ingiy. " 1 cannot," he said, T11E TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 105 CHAPTER XXIII. EL RASTREAUOR. VALKNTINB fancied he hud misunder stood him. " What!" he said, as he leaned over to the general. " I can never pass," he answered. The hunter looked at him in astonish ment. He had known thegeneral in too many critical circumstances, to doubt his courage. " Why so?" he asked him. The general rose, seized his arm, and almost placing his mouth to his ear, whispered in a low voice as he looked timidly around : ** Because I am afraid." At this expression, which he was so far from expecting, Valentine gave a start of surprise, and examining his friend with the utmost attention, so monstrous did what he had just heard appear to him from the mouth of such a man, answered : " You must be joking." " No," he said, sadly, " I am afraid. Yes, I understand," he added a moment later with a sigh, " it seems strange to you, does it not, that I should say so ; I, whom you have seen brave the greatest dangers with a laugh, and whom, up to the present, nothing has surprised. What would you have ? ray friend, it is so, 1 am afraid. I know not why, but the idea of crossing that barranca, hold ing on by my hands to that cord, which may break, causes me a ridiculous, in vincible terror for which I cannot ac count, and which makes me shudder with terror. That death seems to me hideous, and I could not run the risk of it." While the general spoke, the hunter examined him with the closest atten tion. He was no longer the same man ; his forehead was livid, a cold perspiration inundated his face, a con vulsive tremor agitated all his limbs, and his voice was hollow. " Nonsense !" Valentine said, at tempting to smile, "it is nothing; a little resolution, and you will overcome this terror, which is nothing but dizzi ness." " I know not what it is, 1 cannot say ; I can only assure you that I have done all it is morally possible to do, in order to conquer this feeling which over powers me. 1 ' " Well." " All has been useless : even now, I believe that my terror increases with my efforts to overcome it." " What ! you who are so brave !" " My friend,'' the general answered with a sad smile, " courage is an affair of the nerves; it is no more possible for a man to be constantly brave than to be continually a coward ; there are days when the matter overcomes the intellect, and physical feelings gain the upper hand over the moral. On those days the most intrepid man is afraid ; and this is one of those days with me, that is all." " Come, my friend," Valentine an swered, "reflect a little; hang it all; you cannot remain here returning is impossible ; make a virtue of neces sity." " All you say to me," the general in terrupted him, "I have said to myself; and I repeat to you, that, sooner than venture by that cord, I would blow out my brains." " Why, that is madness," the hunter shouted ; " there is no common sense in it." " Call it what you like ; I understand as well as you do how ridiculous I am, but it is stronger than I am." Valentine stamped his foot angrily as he looked across at his comrades, who, collected on the other side of the bar ranca, knew not to what to attribute this incomprehensible delay. " Listen, general," he said, after a moment's delay. " I will not desert you thus, whatever may happen ; too many reasons connect us for me to leave you to perish of hunger on this rock ; you do not live nearly a year with a man in the desert, sharing with him dangers, cold and heat, hunger ard thirst, to separate in this way. It' it be really impossible for you to' cross the canon as your comrades have done, and will leave me to act, I will find other means." "Thanks, my friend," the general 106 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. sadly replied, as he pressed his hand ; " but believe me, do not trouble your self about me, but leave me here : your comrades are growing impatient, so pray be off at once." " I will not go,' <; the hunter said re solutely ; " I swear that you shall come with me." " No, I tell you, I cannot." "Try." " It is useless ; I feel that my heart fails me. Good-bye, my friend." Valentine made no answer he was thinking. After an instant he raised his head, and his face was radiant. " By Jove !" he said, gaily, " 1 was certain I should discover a way before long. Leave me alone, I answer for everything. You shall cross as if in a carriage." The general smiled. " Brave heart !" he muttered. " Wait for me," Valentine went on ; " in a few minutes I will return, only grant me the time to prepare what 1 want." The hunter seized the rope and pass ed, but as soon as the general saw him on the other side, he unfastened the lasso and threw it across. " What are you doing? Stop !" the hunters shouted in stupor, mingled with horror. The general bent over the barranca, holding on to a rock with his left hand. " Red Cedar must not discover your t*uil," he said ; " that is why I unf'as- ed the lasso. Good-bye, brother, and may the Almighty aid you." An explosion was heard, echoed in the distance by the mountains, and the general's corpse rolled into the abyss, bounding from rock to rock with a dull sound. General Ibanez had blown out his brains. (This episode, incredible as it may appear, is rigorously true. G. A.) At this unexpected denouement the hunters were petrified. They could not understand how, through the fear of killing himself in crossing the canon, the general had preferred blowing out his brains. Still, the action was logical in itself; it was not death, but only the mode of death that terrified him ; and as he fancied it an impossibility to fol low his comrades, he had preferred sud den death. Still, in dying, the brave general had rendered them a final and immense service. Thanks to him, their trail had so entirely disappeared, that it would be impossible for Red Cedar to find it again. The hunters, although they had suc ceeded in escaping from the fat.-il circle in which the pirate had thrust them, owing to Valentine's daring resolve, still found themselves in a most critical situation : they must get down into the plain as speedily as possible, in or der to find some road, and, as always happens in the desert under such cir cumstances, every sympathy must promptly yield to the necessity that held them in its iron arms; the com mon danger suddenly aroused in them that feeling of self-preservation which never does more than sleep. Valentine was the first to overcome his grief and regain his self-mastery. Since he had been crossing the desert, the hunter had witnessed so many strange scenes, had been an actor in so many mournful tragedies, that, his ten der feelings were considerably blunted, and the most terrible events affected him but slightly. Still, Valentine felt a deep friendship for the general ; in many circumstan ces he had appreciated all that was really grand and noble in his character, hence the fearful catastrophe which had, without any preparation, broken the ties between them, produced a great impression on him. " Come, come," he said, shaking his head as if to get rid of painful thoughts, " what can't be cured must be endured. Our friend has left us for a better world, perhaps it is for the best so. God does everything well ; our grief will not restore our dear friend's life, so let us think of ourselves, my friends, for we are not lying on roses, and if we do not make haste, we may run a risk of speedily joining him. Come, let us be men." Don Miguel Zarate looked at him sadly. " That is true," he said ; " he is hap py now; let us attend to ourselves. Speak then, Valentine: what is to be done 1 we are ready." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 107 "Good," said Valentine; " it is tim for our courage to return, for the hare est part of our task is not yet done ; i is nothing to have crossed that barranc if our trail can be found here, and tha I wish to avoid." " Hum !" Don Pablo remarked " that is very difficult, not to say im possible." "Nothing is impossible with strength courage, and skill. Listen attentively to whut 1 am about to say to you." " We will." "The barranca, on this side of the mountain, is not peaked as it is on th side we have just left." " That is true," said Don Miguel. "About twenty yards below us you perceive a platform, close to which be gins an inextricable forest, descending to the end of the precipice." " Yes." " That is our road." " What, our road, my friend !" Dor Miguel objected ; " but how shall we reach the platform to which you al lude ?" " In the easiest way : I will let you down with my lasso." " That is true ; it is easy for us, but bow will you join us ?" " That need not trouble you." "Very good," Don Miguel remarked ; " but now permit me to make a re mark." " Do so." " Before us," the haciendero said, stretching out his hand, " is a readily traced road, most convenient to follow, I fancy." " In truth," Valentine coldly answer ed, " what you say is most correct ; but two reasons prohibit my taking that road, as you call it." " And those two reasons are 1" " First, that ready traced road is so easy to follow that I am certain Red Cedar's suspicions will be directed to it at once, if the demon allows him to come here." " And the second ?" Don Miguel in terrupted. " Is this," Valentine went on : " in addition to the incontestible advantages the road I propose offers, I do not wish, and I feel sure you are of the same opi nion, that the body of my poor com rade, who has rolled to ttoe foot of the precipice, should remain unburied and become the prey of wild beasts. That is my second reason, Don Miguel ; what do you think of it?" The haciendero felt his heart dilate at these noble words ; the tears- sprung^ from his eyes and rolled silently down his cheeks. He seized the hunter's hand, and pressed it forcibly. " Valentine," he said, in a broken voice, " you are better than all of us ; your noble heart is filled with every great and generous feeling ; thanks for your good idea, my friend." " It is agreed, then," the hunter sim ply said in response ; " we will go." u Whenever you please." " Good ; but as the night is dark, and the road rather dangerous, Curu- milla, who has long been used to the desert, will go first to ^show you the way. Come, chief, are you ready ?" The Ulmen nodded his assent. Valentine leant his whole weight against a rock, twisted the lasso twice round his body, and let the end fall in to the chasm ; then, he made the chief a sign to go down. The latter did not let the invitation be repeated ; he seized the rope in both, bands ; and placing his feet in crevices in tiie rocks, he gradually descended till le reached the platform. The haciendero and his sou attentive- y followed the Indian's movements. When they saw him safe on the rock, they gave a sigh of relief, and prepared to follow him, which they did without accident. Valentine remained alone ; conse quently, no one could hald the lasso and render him the service he had done lis comrades ; but he was not embar rassed by so trivial a circumstance. le passed the rope round a rock, so hat both ends were even, then slowly lescended in his turn, and safely rejoin- . d his comrades, who were startled and tihtened at such a daring descent. n he let go the end of the lasso, drew t to him, rolled it up, and fastened it o his girdle. " I believe," he said with a smile, that if we go on thus, Red Cedar will 108 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. have some difficulty in finding our trail, while we, on the contrary, may find his. Come let us now take a look at our do main, and see a little where we are." And he at once began walking round the platform. It was much larger than the one they had just left, and at its extremity began the virgin forest, which descended with a gentle incline to the bottom of the barranca. When Valentine hud examined the place, he returned to his comrades, shaking his head. "What is the matter?" Don Pablo asked; "have you seen anything sus picious ?" " Hum !" Valentine answered ; " I am greatly mistaken, or the lair of a ^wild beast is somewhere close by." " A wild beast !" Don Miguel ex claimed; " what, at this elevation ?" " Yes, and it is that very fact which makes me anxious ; the traces are wide and deep. Look for yourself, Curumil- la," he added, tucuing to the Indian, and pointing at the spot where he should proceed. Without replying, the Ulmen stoop ed down, and attentively examined the foot-prints. " What animal do you think we have to deal with?" Don Miguel asked. "A grizzly," Valentine answered. The grizzly bear is the most terri ble and justly-feared animal in America* The Mexicans could not repress a start of terror on hearing the name of this terrible adversary pronounced. " But here's the chief returning," Valentine added. " All our doubts will be cleared up. Well, chief, to what does that sign belong ?" " Grizzly," Curumilla laconically an swered. "I was sure of it," said Valentine; " and what is more, the animal is large." " Very large ; the footmarks are eight inches wide." " Oh, oh," Don Miguel said, " we have a rough companion in that case. But in what state is the sign, chief ?" " Quite fresh ; the animal passed scarce an hour ago." " By Jove!" Valentine suddenly shouted, " here is its lair." And he pointed to a large yawning hole in the mountain side. The hunters gave a start. " Gentlemen," Valentine went on, "you are no more anxious than myself to measure your strength with a grizzly, I suppose." "Certainly not," the Mexican ex claimed. " If you will follow my advice we will not remain any longer here ; the animal, I suspect, has gone down to drink, and will speedily return ; let us not wait for it, but profit by its absence to be off." The three men enthusiastically ap plauded the hunter's proposal ; for, al though of tried bravery, the contest ap peared to them so disproportionate with this redoubtable adversary, that they did not at all desire to come face to face with it. " Let us be off," they eagerly shout ed. Suddenly the sound of breaking branches was audible in the forest, and a formidable growling troubled the si lence of night. " It is, too late," Valentine said j " here is the enemy, the fight will be a tough one." The hunters leaned against the wall of rock, side by side, and in a few mo ments the hideous head of the grizzly appeared among the trees on a level with the platform. " We are lost," Don Miguel mutter ed as he cocked his rifle ; " for any flight from this rock is impossible." " Who knows?" Valentine answered. " Heaven has done so much for us up to the present, that we should be un grateful to suppose that we shall be abandoned in this new peril." CHAPTER XXIV. THE CAMP IN THE MOUNTAINS. ON leaving the jacal, Red Cedar pro ceeded towards the mountains. The squatter was one of those old hands to whom all the tracks of the desert are known. From the few words uttered TI1E TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. by Father Seraphin, and the haste he had shown in coining to warn him, Red Cedar understood that this time the final contest was about to begin, with out truce or pity, in which his enemies would employ all their knowledge and skill to finish .with him once for all. He had been fortunate enough to reach the Sierra de los Cornanches soon enough to be able to efface his trail. During a month he and Valentine had carried on one of those incredible cam paigns of skill and boldness in which each employed every scheme his fertile mind suggested to deceive his adver sary. As frequently happens under such circumstances, Red Cedar, who at the outset only accepted unwillingly the struggle into which he was forced, had gradually felt his old woodranger in stincts aroused. His pride had been excited, for he knew he had to deal with Valentine, that is to say, the cleverest hunter on the prairie, and he had consequently displayed a degree of skill that surprized himself, in order to prove to his terrible adversary that he was not unworthy of him. For a whole month the two had been unsuccessfully manoeuvring within a circle of less than ten leagues, constant ly turning round one another, and often only separated by a screen of foliage, or a ravine. But this contest must have an end sooner or later, Red Cedar felt, and being no longer sustained by the same passions which formerly serv ed as the motive of all his actions, despondency was beginning to seize upon him, the more so, because physi cal pain had been recently joined to his moral sufferings, and threatened to deal him the final blow. Let us see in what condition Red Cedar was at the moment when the ex igencies of our story compel us to re turn to him. It was about eight o'clock in the evening; three men and a girl, assem bled round a scanty fire of bois de vache, were warming themselves, and, at times, casting a dull glance at the gloomy gorges of the surrounding mountains. These four persons were Nathan, Sutler, Fray Ambrosio, and EJen. The spot where they found them selves was one of those narrow ravines, the bed of dried torrents, so many of which are met with in the Sieriv de los Comanches. On the flanks of the ra vine was a thick chapparal, the com mencement of a gloomy virgin forest, from the mysterious depths of which could be heard at intervals the length ened howling and roar of wild beasts. The situation of the fugitives was most critical, and even desperate. Shut up for a month amid these arid moun tains, tracked on all sides, they had hitherto only escaped their persecutors through the immense sacrifices and the prodigious craft displayed by Red Cedar. The pursuit had been so ac tive, that, being constantly on the point of being surprised by their enemies, they did not dare kill the few head of game they came across. A shot, by revealing the direction in which they were, would have been sufficient to be tray them. In the meanwhile, the scanty stock of food they had brought with them from the jacal, in spite of their saving, had been consumed, and hunger, but before all, thirst, was beginning to be felt. Of all the scourges that afflict hap less travelers, thirst is indubitably the most terrible. Hunger may be endur ed during a certain length of time, without excessive suffering, especially at the end of a few days ; but thirst occasions atrocious pain, which, after a while, produces a species of furious madness; the palate is parched, the throat is on fire, the eyes are suffused with blood, and the wretched man, a prey to a horrible delirium, which makes him see the desired water every where, at length dies in atrocious agony, which nothing can calm. When their provisions were exhaust ed, they were compelled to procure others ; but in the mountains that was almost impossible, as the fugitives were deprived of their freedom of action. For a few days they continued to sup port life on roots, and small birds 110 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. caught in a snare ; but unfortunately, the cold became daily sharper, and the birds withdrew to warmer regions ; hence they were deprived of this re source. The little water remaining was by common agreement reserved Tor Ellen. The maiden declined to accept this sa crifice, but thirst grew upon her with every moment, and, overcome by the entreaties of her companions, she eventually accepted it. The others found no other way of quenching the thirst that . devoured them, than slitting the ears of their horses and drinking the blood as it ran. Nexi, they killed a horse, for the poor brutes found no more food than did their masters. The roasted flesh of this horse enabled them to pass a few days : in short, all four horses were eaten one after the other. Now, nothing was left the adven turers, and for two days they had noth ing to eat. Hence they maintained a mournful silence, exchanging stern glances, and plunging deeper and deeper into sinis ter reflections. They felt their senses gradually leav ing them and madness seizing on them ; they felt the moment approaching when they would be no longer masters of their reason, and become the prey of the fearful calenture, which already pressed their temples as in a vice, and made the most startling images glitter before their fever-dried eyes. It was a heart-breaking sight to see these three men, round the expiring fire, in this stern desert, lying without strength and almost without courage by the side of the maiden, who, with clasp ed hands and downcast eyes, prayed in a low voice. Time passed ; the wind howled mournfully in the quebradas ; the moon, half veiled by a mass of vapor, only emitted at intervals its pallid rays, which fantastically illumined the scene of desolation, whose sinister silence was only disturbed by a suppressed oath or a groan drawn forth by pain. Ellen raised her head, and looked compassionately at her companions. "Courage," she murmured in her gentle voice, " courage, brothers ! God cannot abandon us thus." A nervous groan was the only reply she obtained. " Alas !" she continued, " instead of, then yielding to despair, why not pray, brothers? it gives strength and restores hope." " Will it quench the thirst that parches my throat ?" the monk asked, brutally, as he rose with an eftbrt on his elbow and gave her a furious glance. " Silence ! you foolish child, if you have no other help than your silly words to give us." " Silence, villain !" Sutler interrupted him with a groan, " do not insult my sister ; she alone may perchance save us ; for if God have pity on us, it will be for her sake." "Ah!" the monk said, with a hide ous grin, " now you believe in God, my master. You must fancy yourself very near death to be so frightened ? (rod~! you poor fool, rejoice that there is none, instead of calling on Him for help ; for if He really existed, He would have crushed you long ago." " Well said, monk," Nathan remark ed. " Come, let us have peace. If we are to die here like the dogs we are, let us die, at any rate, pleasantly. That is not asking too much I suppose?" " Oh, how I suffer !" Sutler muttered, as he rolled wildly on the ground. Eilen got up, gently approached her brother, and putting to his lips the mouth of the skin, in which a little water yet remained, she bade him drink. The young man made a movement as if to seize the skin ; l>ut at the same in stant he repulsed it, shaking his head in refusal. "No," he replied, mournfully, "keep that, sister: you would give me your life." " Drink, I insist," she said, authori- tively. " No," he answered firmly, " that would be cowardly. I am a man, sis ter ; I can suffer." Ellen understood that her entreaties would be useless, for she knew the su perstitious affection her brothers bore her ; hence she returned to the fire, She sat down, took three bufFalo-horu THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. Ill cups, which she filled with water, and placed before her; then she took a sharp pointed knife, and turning to the three men, who were anxiously watch ing her, she said : " Here is water, drink. I swear that if you do not instantly obey me, I will slit the skin in which the little stock of water is left ; all will then be lost, and I shall suffer the same pains as you do." The men made no answer, but look ed at each other. " For the last time, will you drink or not ?" she cried, as she placed the point of the knife on the skin. " Stay," the monk shouted, as he rose and rushed towards her. " De- raouios ! she would do as she said." And seizing a cup, he emptied it at a draught, his companions following his example. This mouthful of water for the cups were very small sufficed, however to calm their irritation the fire that burned them was extinguished, they breathed more easily, and gave vent to a grunt of satisfaction, as they fell back on the ground. An angelic smile lit up the maiden's radiant face. " You see," she said, " all is not lost yet." " Come, come, Nina," the monk re marked, tranquilly, " why lull us with foolish hopes ? the drop of water you have given us can only check our suf ferings for a little while ; within an hour our thirst will be more ardent and terrible than ever." " Do you know what Heaven may re serve for you between this and then ]" she asked, softly. " A respite, however short it may be, is in your position everything ; all depends for you, not on the present moment, but on the coming one." " Good, good ! we'll not dispute after the service you have rendered us, Nina ; still, everything seems to prove you wrong." " How so r " Why, Caspita, what I say is very easy to understand ; without going fur ther, your father, who pledged his word never to desert us " " Well ?" " Where is he? Since daybreak he has left us to go the deuce alone knows where ? night has long set in, and, and as you see, he has not return ed. " What does that prove ?" " Canarios ! that he has gone away, that is all." " Do you believe it, Senor ?" "1 am sure of it, Nina." Ellen gave a contemptuous look. " Senor," she haughtily answered, "you do not know my father if you consider him capable of such coward ice." " Hum ! in our position he would al most have an excuse for doing so." " He might have done so, perhaps," she went on, quickly, " if he had no other comrade but yourself, cabal lero ; but he would leave his children here, and he is not the man to abandon them when in danger." " That is true," the monk said, with humility; "1 did not think of that, so forgive me. Still, you will permit me to remark that it is an extraordinary thing your father has not yet return ed?" " Well, Senor," the maiden said, warmly, " although you are so ready to accuse a friend, who has constantly offered you the most unequivocal proofs of his unknown devotion, how do you know that he is not delayed by his desire to save us ?" " Well spoken, by Heaven !" a rough voice said; "thank you, my daughter." The adventurers turned with an in voluntary start ; at this moment the bushes were parted by a firm hand, :i heavy step sounded on the pebbles, and Red Cedar appeared, bearing a doe on his shoulder. On reaching the light of the fire he stopped, threw his burden the ground, and looked sarcastically around him. " Oh, oh," he said, with a grin, " it seems that 1 have arrived just in time, Senor Padre. Viva Dios ! you were giving me a fine character in my ab sence ; is that the way in which you un derstand Christian chanty, gossip? Cristo ! I do not compliment you on it, if that be the case." 112 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. The monk, startled by the sudden appearance and rough address, found no answer, so Red Cedar went on : " By Jove ! I am a better fellow than yourself, for I bring you food, and it was not without difficulty that I succeed ed in killing that confounded animal, can tell you. But now look sharp and roast a joint." Sutler and. Nathan had not waited for her father's orders, but had already be gun skinning the doe. " Hilloh !" Nathan remarked, " to roast this meat, we must enlarge our fire ; and how about our pursuers ?" " It is a risk to run," Red Cedar re plied ; " settle among ourselves if you will incur it." " What is your opinion?" the monk asked. " It is a matter of perfect indifference to me ; but I wish you to understand one thing, once for all, as I am intima tely convinced that we shall fall into the hands of our pursuers, I care very little whether it happen to-day or in a week's time." " Confusion ! You are not at all en couraging, gossip," Fray Arnbrossio exclaimed. " Have you lost your courage too, or discovered any suspi cious trail ?" " My courage never fails me ; I know very well the fate reserved for me, and hence my mind is made up. As for suspicious signs, as you say, a man must be blind not to see them." " Then there is no hope," the three men said, with ill-disguised terror. " On my honor I do not think there is ; but," he added, with a mocking ac cent, " why do you not roast the meat ? You must be almost dead of hunger." 'That is true ; but what you tell us has taken away our appetite," Fray Am- brosio remarked, sadly. Ellen rose, approached the squatter, and laying her hand softly on his shoul der, placed her charming face close to his. Red Cedar smiled. " What do you want, my girl ?" he asked her. " I wish, father," she said, in a coax ing voice, " that you should save us." " Save you, poor child," he said, as he shook his h ad gravely, " 1 am afraid that is impossible.' "Then," she continued, "you will let us fall into the hands of our ene mies ?" The squatter shuddered. " Oh ! do not say that, Ellen," he replied, hoarsely. " Still, my father, as you cannot help us to escape " Red Cedar passed the back of his "hard hand over his dark forehead. "Listen," he said presently, "there is perhaps one way " " What is it?" the three men said, eagerly, as they collected round hirn. " It is very precarious, dangerous, and probably will not succeed." "Tell it us for all that," the monk pressed him. "Yes, yes, speak father," Ellen urged him. "You desire it?" " Yes, yes." " Very well, then, listen to me atten tively, for the means I am about to pro pose, strange as they may at first ap pear to you, offer a chance of success, which, in our desperate situation, must not be despised." " Speak, pray speak !" the monk said impatiently. Red Cedar looked at him with a grin. " You are in a precious hurry," he said ; " perhaps you will not be so pre sently." CHAPTER XXV. A GAME AT HAZARD. " BEFORE explaining my plan to you," Red Cedar went on, " I must tell you what our position really is, so that when [ have described the means I wish to mploy, you can decide with a full knowledge of the facts." His hearers gave a nod of assent, but no one made an answer. The squatter continued : " We are surrounded on three sides : irstly, by the Comanches, next by Bloodsi m's rangers, and lastly by the French hunter and his friends. \Veak- ned as we are by the terrible priva tions we have suffered since we came THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 113 into the mountains, any contest is im possible ; we must, therefore, give up all hope of opening a passage by force." "What is to be done, then?" the monk asked ; " it is plain that we must escape, and each second that slips away renders our prospects worse." "lam as fully convinced of that as you can be. My absence to-day had a double object ; the first was to obtain provisions, in which, as you see, I suc ceeded " "That is true." " Secondly, to reconnoitre carefully the positions held by our enemies." " Well ?" they asked anxiously. " 1 have succeeded. I advanced un noticed close to their camps ; they keep a good watch, and it would be madness to try and pass through them ; they form a wide circle around us, of which we are the centre ; this circle is being daily contracted, so that in two or three days, perhaps before, we shall find our selves so pressed that it will be impos sible to hide ourselves, and we must fall into their hands." " Demonios !" Fray Ambrosio ex claimed, " that is anything but a plea sant prospect; we have no mercy to expect from these villains, who will, on the contrary, find a pleasure in tortur ing us in every way possible. Hum! the mere thought of falling into their hands makes my flesh creep ; I know what the Indians are capable of in tor turing, for I have seen them at work often enough." " Very good ; I will not press that point then." " It would be perfectly useless. You will do better to explain to us the plan you have formed, and which, as you say, can save us." " Pardon me ! I did not offer you any certainty ; I merely said that" it had some chances of success." " We are not in a position to quibble about words ; let us have your scheme." " It is this " The three men listened with the deep est attention. " It is evident," Red Cedar went on, " that if we remain together, and try to fly in one direction, we shall be infalli bly lost, supposing, as is certain, that i 8 our trail is discovered by our pur suers." " Very well,'' the monk growled ; "go ahead ; I do not exactly understand what you want to come at." " I have, therefore, reflected on this inconvenience, and I have formed the following scheme. " " Out with it." "It is very simple j we will make a double trail." " Hum ! 1 suppose you mean a false and a true one. The plan seems to me defective." "Why so?" Red Cedar asked with a smile. " Because there must be a point where the false trail runs into the real one, and " " You are mistaken, gossip," Red Ce dar sharply interrupted him ; " both trails will be true, otherwise the idea would be absurd." " In that case, I do not understand you." " You soon will, if you will allow me to speak. One of us will devote him self to save the others ; while we fly in one direction, he will go on another, try ing to draw the enemy on his trail. In this way, he wiil open us a passage, through which we shall pass, without being discovered. Do you understand me now ?" " Caspita ! I should think I did the idea is magnificent," the monk exclaim ed enthusiastically. " All now wanted is to carry it out.'' " Yes, without any delay." " Very good ! who will sacrifice him self to save his comrades ?" No one answered. " What," Red Cedar went on, "are you all silent ? Come, Fray Ambrosio, you are a priest, so give us an exam ple." "Thank you, gossip, but I never felt any call to martyrdom. I am not at all ambitious." " Still, we must get out of this scrape." " Caramba ! I wish for nothing bet ter ; still, 1 am not desirous that it should be at the expense of my scalp." Red Cedar reflected for an instant. The adventurers looked at him aux- THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. iously, waiting till he had found the so lution of this difficult problem. All at once the squatter raised his head. " Hum !" he said, " any discussion would be useless, for you are not the men to be led by your feelings." They nodded their assent. " This is what we will do ; we will draw lots who shall devote himself; the one on whom it devolves will obey without a murmur. Does that suit you ?" " As we must bring matters to an end," said Nathan, " why, the sooner the better ; that way is as good as an other, so I do not object." " Nor I," Sutter remarked. " Nonsense !" the monk exclaimed ; " 1 was always lucky at games of chance." " It is settled then ; you swear that the man on whom the lot falls, will obey without hesitation, and accomplish his task honourably ?" " We swear it," they said with one voice ; " come, Red Cedar, let us have it over." " Yes ; but in what way shall we consult chance T' Red Cedar observed. " That need not trouble you, gossip," Fray Ambrosio said with a laugh ; " I am a man of caution." While speaking thus, the monk fum bled in his vaquera boots, and produced a greasy pack of cards. " These will do the trick," he went on with a triumphant air. " This pret ty child," he added, turning to Ellen, " will shuffle the cards ; one of us will cut them, and then she will deal the cards one by one, and the man who has the two of spades will have to make the double trail. Does that suit you ?" " Admirably," they replied. Ellen took the cards from the monk and shuffled them, while a zarape was laid on the ground by the fire, so that the color of the cards might be distin guished by the flame. " Cut," she said, placing the pack on the zarape. Fray Ambrosio thrust out his hand ; but Red Cedar laughingly caught hold of his arm. " A moment," he said ; " those cards are yours, gossip, and I know your talent : permit me to cut." 11 As you please," the monk said with a grimace of disappointment. The squatter cut, and Ellen began dealing the cards. There was something most strange about the scene. On a gloomy night, in the heart of this desolate gorge, with the wind moaning through the trees, these four men bending forward, anxiously watch- ihg the pale-browed girl, who, by the capricious and changing glare of the fire, seemed performing a cabalistic work, and the sinister looks of these men, staking their lives at this moment on a card assuredly, a stranger who could have watched the extniordinary spectacle, himself unseen, would have fancied it an hallucination of the brain. With frowning brows, pale faces, and heaving chests, they followed with a feverish glance each card as it fell, wip ing away at intervals the cold perspira tion that beaded on their temples. The cards still fell, but the two of spades had not yet appeared ; Ellen had not more than ten cards left in her hand. " Ouf !" the monk said, " it is a long job." " Bah !" Red Cedar said with a grin ; " perhaps you will find it too short." " It is I," Nathan said in a choking ! voice. In fact, the two of spades fell to him, and all breathed freely again. " Well," the monk said, as he tapped him on the shoulder, " 1 congratulate you, my friend Nathan: you have a glorious mission." " Will you undertake it in my stead ?" the other remarked with a grin. " I would not deprive you of the honor of saving us," Fray Ambrosio said with magnificent coolness. Nathan gave him a look of pity, shrugged his shoulders, and turned his back on him. Fray Ambrosio collected the cards, and replaced them in his boot with evi dent satisfaction. " Hum !" he muttered, " they may still be of service ; we cannot tell in what circumstances chance may place us." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 115 After this philosophic reflection, the monk, cheered up by the certainty of not being obliged to sacrifice himself for his friends, quietly sat down again by the fire. In the meanwhile, Red Cedar, who did not let out of sight the execution of his plan, had placed some lumps of meat on the fire, that his com panions might acquire the necessary strength for the fatigues they would have to endure. As usually happens under similar circumstances, the meal was silent; each, absorbed in his thoughts, ate rapidly without thinking of keeping up idle conversation. It was about five in the morning, and the sky was beginning to assume those opaline tints which summoned daybreak. Red Cedar rose, and the rest imitated him. " Come, lad," he said to Nathan, " are you ready ? The hour has ar rived." " I will start whenever you please, father," the young man answered, re solutely. " 1 am only awaiting your final instructions, that I may know the directions I have to follow, and at what place I shall find you again, if, as is not very likely, I have the luck to escape safe and sound." " My instructions will not be lengthy, my lad. You must go north west, as that is the shortest road to leave these accursed mountains. If you can reach the high read to Indepen dence, you are saved ; thence it will be easy fur you to reach in a short time the cavern of our old comrades, where you will hide yourself while waiting for us. I recommend you specially to hide your trail as well as you can. We have to deal with the craftiest men on the prairie ; an easy trail would arouse their suspicions, and our design would be entirely foiled. You under stand me, I think ?" " Perfectly." " For the rest, I trust to you ; you know desert life too well to be hum bugged ; you have a good rifle, powder, and bullets. I wish you luck, lad ! but do not forget that you have to draw our enemies after you." 1 " Do not be frightened," Nathan re plied, roughly, " 1 am no fool." "That is true; take a lump of meat, and good-bye." " Good-bye, and the devil take you ; but watch over my sister ; I c;ire pre cious little for your old carcass, so long as the girl runs no danger." " All right," the squatter said, " we will do what is needful to prot -ct yonr sister, so do not trouble yourself about her ; come, be off." Nathan embraced Ellen, who affec tionately pressed his hand, as she wiped away her tears. " Don't cry, Ellen," he said hoarsely ; " a man's life is nothing after all ; don't bother yourself about me the devil will look after his friends." After uttering the words in a tone which he tried in vain to render cure less, the young savage threw his rifle on his back, hung a piece of meat to his girdle, and went off hurriedly, not turning round once. Five minutes later, he disappeared in the ch;ipparal. "Poor brother!" Ellen murmured, " he is going to a certain death." "Well," Red Cedar said, with a shrug of his shoulders, " we are all go ing to death, and each step unconsci ously brings us nearer to it : what use is it feeling sorry about the fate that threatens him ; do we know what awaits ourselves? we are not lying on a bed of roses. My child, I warn you, that we shall require all our skill and sagacity to get out of it, for I cannot calculate on a miracle occurring.'' "That is far more prudent," Fray Ambrosio said, cunningly ; "besides, it is written somewhere, I forget where, ' Help yourself, and heaven will help you.' " " Yes," the squatter replied, with a grin, "and there never was a finer op- O ' portunity for putting the pivcept in practice." " I think so, and am waiting for you to explain to us what we have to do." Without answering the monk, Red Cedar turned to his daughter. " Ellen, my child,' 1 he asked her, in an affectionate voice, " do you feel strong enough to follow us?" 116 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " Do not trouble yourself about me, father," she replied ; " wherever you pass, I will pass : you know that I have been accustomed to the desert from my childhood." " That is true," Red Cedar remarked doubtfully : " but this is the first time you have tried the mode of traveling we shall be obliged to adopt." " What do you mean ? People travel on foot, horseback, or in a boat. We have moved about in one of those fashions twenty times before." " You are right ; but now we are constrained by circumstances to modi fy our mode of marching. We have no horses, no river, and our enemies hold the ground." " In that case," the monk exclaimed \vith a griti, " we will imitate the birds, and fly All rough the air." Red Cedar looked at him earnestly. " You have nearly guessed it," he said. " What ?" the monk remarked, " you are making fun of us, Red Cedar. Do you think this the proper moment for jesting ?" " I am not naturally inclined to jest ing," the squatter coldly replied, "and at this moment less than ever. We shall not, fly like the birds, because we have no wings; but for all that, we will make our journey in the air, in this way. Look around you ; on the sides of the mountains extend immense virgin forests, in which our enemies are concealed. They are coming on quiet ly, carefully picking out every sign of our passing they can discover." Well ?" the monk asked. " While they are seeking our trail on the ground, we will slip through their hands like serpents, passing from tree to tree, from branch to branch, thirty yards above their heads, and they not dreaming of looking up, which would, indeed, be useless, for the foliage is too dense, the creepers too close for them to discover us. And then, again, this chance of safety, though very slight, is the only one left us. Have you the courage to try it ?" " There was a momentary silence." At length the monk took the squatter's hand, and shook it heartily. " Canarios ! gossip," he said to him, with a species of respect, " you are a great man. Forgive my suspicions." " You -accept, then ?" " Caspita! you need not ask that. Eagerly, and 1 swear it, that never squirrel leaped as I will do." CIIAPTEll XXVI. NATHAN PAINTS HIMSELF. So soon as he had got out of sight of his comrades, Nathan halted. He was neither so careless nor con fident as he wished to appear. When he was alone and away from those who might ridicule, he gave way to his ill- temper, and cursed the chance that placed him in such a precarious and dangerous position. Nathan, we think we have already said, was a species of Hercules, gifted with uncommon energy and ferocity. Accustomed from his childhood to a desert life and its sanguinary tragedies, he was not the man to despond and despair easily. Pitiless to himself as to others, he perfectly accepted the con sequences of the, situation in which he found himself at times placed, and, in case of necessity, was resolved to fight to the death in defence of his scalp. At this moment, however, it was not his position in itself that rendered him anxious. He had been a hundred times beset by equal danger in crossing the prairie ; but hitherto, when he had perilled his life, he had done it with ail object he knew perfectly well, with the prospect, near or remote, of some profit ; but this time he regarded him self as obeying a will he was ignorant of, for a purpose he did not understand, and for interests that were not his own. Hence, he cursed his father, Fray Ambrosio, and himself for having thus got into a trap, whence he did not know how to escape. Red Cedar's last recommendation was necessary. Nathan was not at all anxious to have his trail discovered. He employ ed all the means his intelligence sag- THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. gested to him to hide it from the keen est glance, only taking a step after con vincing himself that the trace of the previous one had disappeared. After ripe reflection, he had arrived at the following conclusion : " It's all the worse for them, but each for himself! If I lose my scalp they will not give it me back. I will, therefore, defend it as well as I can. They must do what they can, but for my part I must do my best to get out of the scrape." After these words, uttered in a loud voice, in the way of men accustomed to live alone, Nathan gave that almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, which in all countries signifies " let what will happen." And, after care fully examining his rifle, he started afresh. Europeans, accustomed to the hori zons of the old world, to macadamized roads, bordered by pleasant houses and traversed in every direction, cannot form, even approximately, a correct idea of the position of a man alone in that ocean of verdure called the Far West, who feels himself watched by invisible eyes, and knows he is tracked like a wild beast. A man, however brave he may be, and accustomed to the adventurous life of the desert, shudders and feels very weak when he turns an enquiring glance around him, and sees himself, so little in the immensity that surrounds him. In the desert, if you wish to go north, you must march to the south ; be at tentive not to crush the leaves on which you walk, break the branches that bar the way, and, above all, not to make the pebbles on which you step grate against each other. All the sounds of the desert are known to, explained, and commented on by the redskins. After listening for a few seconds, they can tell you if the animal whose footfall is heard in the distance, is a horse, a bear, a buffa lo, an elk, or an antelope. A pebble rolling down the side of a ravine suf fices to denounce a prowler. A few drops of water spilt on the edge of a ford, clearly reveal the passing of sev eral travelers. An unusual movement in the tall grass, betrays a watching spy. Everything, in short, from the down trodden blade of grass to the buffalo that suddenly cocks its e.irs while browzing, or the asshata bounding in alarm without cause all in the desert serves as a book, in which the Indian reads the passage of friend or foe, and puts him on his trail, even though they be one hundred miles apart. The men who live in these countries, where material life is everything, ac quire a perfection of certain organs which, seems incredible ; sight and hearing especially are enormously de veloped in them ; and this, combined with extreme agility, dauntless courage, and sustained by muscles of remark able vigor, renders them dangerous ad versaries. In addition to this, we have that cun ning and treachery which are never apart, and are the two great means which the Indians employ to seize their foes, whom they never attack face to face, but always by surprise. Necessity is the supreme law of the Indian, and he sacrifices everything to it, and, like all incomplete or badly-deve loped natures, he only admits physical qualities, caring nothing for virtues he does not want, but, on the contrary, would injure him in the life he leads. Nathan was himself almost a redskin: only at rare intervals had he visited, for a few days at a time, the towns of the American Union. Hence all he knew of life he had learued in the desert ; and that education is as good as another when the instincts of the man who re ceives it are good ; because he is able to make a choice, and take what is no ble and generous, laying aside what is bad. Unfortunately, Nathan had never any other teacher of morality but his father. From an early age he had been accustomed to regard things in the same way as the squatter did, and that was the worst of all. Hence with years thu teaching be received had fructified so fully that he had become the true type of the civilized man who has turned savage ; the most hideous transforma tion of species that can be imagined. Nathan loved nothing, believed in 118 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. nothing, and respected nothing. Only one person had any influence over him, and that was Ellen ; but at this moment she was no longer by his side. The young man marched on for a long time without perceiving anything that revealed the approach of danger; still this factitious security did not make him neglect his precautions. While walking on, with rifle thrust out before him, his body bent forward, and eye and ear on the watch, he thought, and the further he went, the more gloomy his thoughts became. The reason was simple ; he knew that he was surrounded by implaceble foes, watched by numerous spies, and yet nothing disturbed the quiet of the prai rie. All appeared to be in its ordinary state ; it was impossible to notice the least suspicious movement in the grass or shrubs. This calmness was too pro found to be natural, and Nathan was not deceived by it. ' " Humph !" he said to himself, " I shall have a row presently, I feel certain; deuce take those brutes of redskins for not giving a sign of life. I am walking blindly, not knowing where I am going, 1 am convinced 1 shall fall into some trap laid for me by these villains, and which it will be impossible for me to get out of." Nathan went on walking till about ten in the morning. At that hour, as he felt hungry, and his legs were rather stiff, he resolved at all hazards to take a few moments' rest and some mouth- fuls of meat. He mechanically looked round him to seek a suitable spot, but he suddenly gave a start of surprise as he raised his rifle, and hid himself be hind an enormous tree. He had notic ed, scarce fifty yards from him, an In dian, sitting carelessly on the ground and quietly eating a little pemmican. After the first emotion had worn off, Nathan attentively examined the Indian. He was a man of thirty at the most ; he did not wear the garb of a warrior, and two screech-owl feathers fixed in his thick hair, over his right ear, ren dered it easy to recognize a Nez-perce Indian. The adventurer looked at him a lung time ere he could make up his iuiud what to do ; at length he ttirew his rifle on his shoulder, left his hiding place, and walked up to the Indian. The latter probably saw him, though he displayed no alarm, and quietly went on eating. When about two paces from the Nez- perce the American stopped. " 1 salute my brother," he said, rais ing his voice, and unfolding his zarape in sign of peace ; " may tlie Wacon- dah grant him a great hunt.'' "I thank my fairface brother," the Indian replied, as he looked up ; " he is welcome, 1 have two handsful of pemmi can left, and there is a place for him at my fire." Nathan approached, and, without fur ther ceremony, sat down by the side of his new friend, who paternally shared his food with him, but asked him no questions. After feeding, the Nez-perce lit an In dian pipe, in which his companion at once imitated him. The two men remained there, silently puffing the smoke in each other's face. When the Nez-perce had finished his calumet, he shook out the ash on his thumb, placed the pipe in his belt, and and then resting his elbows on his knees, and his face in the palm of his huuds,he plunged into that state of ecstatic beati tude which the Italians call the dolce far niente, the Turks keff, and which has no equivalent in English. Nathan filled his pipe a second time, and then turned to his comrade. " Is my brother a chief ?'' he asked him. The Indian raised his head. " No," he answered, with a proud smile, " I am one of the masters of the great medicine." Nathan bowed respectfully. " I understand," he said, " my broth- ed is one of the wise men, whom, the redskins call allanus" " I am also a sorcerer," the Nez-perce said. " Oh, oh ! what, is my brother one of the Ministers of the Great Turtle ?" " Yes," he answered, " we command the caciques and warriors ; they only act on our orders." " I know it ; my father has great learning, his power extends over the whole earth." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 119 The Nez-perce smiled condescending ly at this praise, and holding 1 up a small staff decorated with gay feathers and bells which he held in his right hand, he said : " This mulbache is a more tremendous weapon than the thunder of the pale faces ; everywhere it makes me feared and respected." A sinister smile for the second time curled the American's lips. " Is my brother returning to his na tion 1" he asked. " No," the Indian said with a shake of the hand ; " 1 am expected at the vil lage of the Buffalo Apaches, who require my counsel and my medicine, in order to undertake, under favourable auspi ces, a great expedition they are meditat ing at this moment. My brother will therefore forgive my leaving him, for I must reach the end of my journey this night." " I will not leave my red brother," Na than answered ; "if he will permit me, I will walk in his moccasins, for my footsteps have the same direction as my brother's." " I gladly accept my brother's pro position ; let us start then." " I am ready." After rising and adjusting his dress, the Indian stooped to pick up a small bundle, which probably contained his scanty property. Nathan profited by the movement ; swift as thought he drew his knife, and buried it to the hilt between the In dian's shoulders. The unhappy man uttered a stifled cry, stretched out his arms, and fell dead. The American phlegmatically drew his knife from the horrible wound, wiped it in the grass, and returned it to his girdle. " Plum !" he said, with a grin ; " there's a poor devil of a sorcerer, whose skill could not save him : I will try whether I cannot succeed better." While talking with the redskin, whom he had at first no intention of killing, and whom he only wished t<> make a protector, a sudden idea cross ed his mind. This idea, which at the first blush will seem extraordinary, suited the bandit, owing to the boldness and dar ing it required to carry it out success fully. He made up his mind to assume the sorcerer's clothes, and pass for him among the redskins. Long conversant with Indian habits and customs, Nathan felt sure he should play this difficult part with all the per fection necessary to deceive even sharp er eyes than those of the savages. After assuring himself that his vic tim gave no sign of life, Nathan began removing his garments, which he put on instead of his own. When this first change was effected, he rifled the sor cerer's bag, took out a mirror, bladders filled with vermilion, and a black pig ment, and with small pieces of wood painted on his face the strange figures that were on the sorcerer's. The imita tion was perfect ; from the face he pass ed to the body ; then he fastened on his hair, and stuck in it the two screech- owl feathers. Nathan had frequently disguised him self as an Indian, when going scalp- hunting with his father, hence the meta morphosis in a few seconds. " This carrion must not be found," he said. Taking the body on his back, he hurl ed it to the bottom of a precipice. " Well, that is settled," he continued, with a laugh ; " if the Apaches are not satisfied with the great medicine man who is corning to them, they will be difficult to please." As he did not wish to lose his clothes, he hid them in the Indian's bundle, which he passed over his rifle barrel ; he then took the poor sorcerer's staff, and gai^y set out, muttering to himself with an impudent smile " We shall soon see whether this mulbache really possesses the magic powers that are attributed to it." 120 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. CHAPTER XXVII. A TRAIL IN THE AIR. TRAVELERS and tourists who have only seen European forests, cannot imagine the grand, rmijestic, and sublime view offered by a virgin forest in the New World. There are none of those glades four or five yards wide, stretch ing out before you, straight and stiff for miles, but everything is abrupt and savage. There is no prospect, for the eye cannot see more than thirty or forty paces at the most in any direction. The primitive soil has disappeared beneath the detritus of trees dead from old age, and which time, rain, and sunshine have reduced to dust. The trees grow very freely, envelop ed by thick lianas, which twine around the stems and branches in the strangest curves, dashing in every direction, plun ging into the ground to reappear again a yard further on, and chaining the trees together for enormous distances. The wood varies but slightly in cer tain districts, and hence, one tree serves the repetition of all. Then again, a grass, close and thick like the straw of a wheat field, grows to a height of five and often six feet. Suddenly immense pits open beneath the feet of the imprudent traveler, or bogs covered by a crust scarce an inch in thickness, which swallow up in their fetid mud the man who ventures to put a foot on them ; further on, a stream runs silent and unvisited, forming rapids, and forcing a path with difficulty through the heaps of earth and dead trees which it collects and deposits on the banks. From this short description it may be understood that it is not so difficult as might be supposed to pass from one tree to another for a long distance. In order, however, to explain this thoroughly to the reader, we will tell him what he is probably ignorant of : that in certain parts of the prairie this mode of traveling is employed, not, as might be supposed, to escape the ob stinate pursuit of an enemy, but simply to get on the more rapidly, not to be obliged to cut a path with the axe, and run no risk of falling down a precipice, the more so as most of the trees are enormous, and their solid branches so intertwined, that they thus form a con venient flooring, at eighty feet above the ground. Hence Red Cedar's proposition had nothing extraordinary in itself, when made to men who had probably tried this mode of locomotion before. But what would have been an easy and simple thing for the adventurers, became serious and almost impossible for a girl like Ellen, who, though strong and skillful, could not take a step with out running a risk of breaking her neck, owing to her dress catching in every branch. A remedy for this must be found, and the three men reflected on it for an hour, but discovered nothing which of fered the necessary security. It was Ellen again who came to their help, and relieved them from the trouble. " Well," she asked her father, " what are we doing here 1 why do we not start 1 did you not say we had not a moment to lose?" Red Cedar shook his head. " I said so, and it is true ; each mo ment we lose robs us of a day of life." " Let us be off, then." "It is not possible yet, my child, till I have found what I am seeking." " What is it, father ? tell, me, per haps 1 can help you." " Bah ?" Red Cedar said, suddenly making up his mind, " why should I make a secret of what concerns you as much as myself?" " What is it, then, father ?" " Hang it all, your confounded gown, which renders it impossible for you to leap from one branch to another as we shall do." " Is that all that troubles you ?" " Yes, nothing else." " Well then, you were wrong not to . speak to me sooner, for the evil would have been repaired, and we on the road." " Is it true ?" the squatter exalaimed joyfully. " You shall see how quickly it will be done." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 121 The girl rose, and disappeared behind a clump. In ten minutes she returned ; her gown was so arranged that while allowing her the free use of her limbs, it no longer floated, and consequently ran no risk of being entangled in the trees. " Here I am," she said, with a laugh ; " how do you find me ?" "Admirable." " Well, then, we will start when you please." " At once." Red Cedar made his final prepara tions ; these were not long, for he had but to remove all traces of his encamp ment. More difficult still, none of the pur suers, if they happened to pa^s that way, should be able to discover the road taken by the adventurers. In consequence, Red Cedar took his daughter on his muscular shoulders, and heading the party in Indian file he fol lowed for about an hour the road taken by Nathan. Then, he and his comrades returning, marching backwards, gradually effacing the footprints, not so carefully that they could not be discovered, but sufficiently so for those who found them not to suppose they had been left expressly. After two hours of this fatiguing march, during which the adventurers had not exchanged a syllable, they reached a granite plateau, where they were enabled to rest for a few moments without any fear of leaving a trail, for the rock was too hard to take their foot-prints. " Ouf !" Fray Ambrosio muttered, " 1 am not sorry to take breath, for this is the devil's own work." " What, are you tired already, Senor Padre?" Sutter replied with a grin ; " you are beginning early ; but wait awhile; what you have done is nothing compared with what you have to do." "I doubt whether the road we shall now follow can present so many diffi culties ; if so, we had better give it up." " Well, if you prefer making a pre sent of your scalp to those, demons of Comanches, it is the easiest thing in the world ; you need only remain quietly where you are, and you may be certain they will soon pay you a visit. You know that the redskins are like vul tures ; fresh meat attracts them, and they scent it for a long distance." " Canaries ! I would sooner be roast ed at a slow fire than fall into the hands of those accursed pagans." " Come, come," Red Cedar interpos ed, " all that talking is ot no use what is written is written no one can escape his destiny ; hence, troubling oneself about what is going to happen is folly, take my word for it." " Well said, Red Cedar ; you have spoken like a man of great good sense, and I arn completely of your opinion. Well, what have you to say to us?" " I believe that, thanks to the ma noeuvre we have employed, we have managed to hide our trail so cleverly, that the demon himself could not guesa the direction we have taken. The first part of our task has been accomplished without an obstacle ; now let us not be tray ourselves by imprudence or ex treme precipitation. I have brought you here, because, as you see, the vir gin forest begins at the end of this platform. The most difficult task is to climb the first tree without leaving a trail; as for the rest, it is merely u question of skill. Leave me to act as I think proper, and 1 warrant you will have no cause to repent it." " I know it ; so, for my part, I as sure you that you are quite at liberty to act as you please." " Very good ; that is what we will do ; you see that enormous branch jut ting out about thirty feet above our heads ?" " 1 see it what next ?" " 1 will seize its end with my lasso, and we will pull it down till it touches the ground ; we will hold it so while daughter mounts and reaches the higher branches ; you will pass next, then Sutter, and myself last ; in that way we shall leave no sign of our ascent." " Your idea is very ingenious, I ap prove of it highly, especially as that way of mounting will be easy for your daughter and myself, while Sut ter will not have much trouble. Still one thing bothers me." 122 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " Out with it." " So long as any one is here to hold the branch, of course it will remain bent ; but when we are up and you re main alone, how will you follow us? That I do not understand, and I confess I should not be sorry to learn it." Red Cedar burst into a laugh. " That need not bother you, Senor Padre ; I am too much used to the desert not to calculate my slightest ac tions." " As it is so, we will say no more it. What I said was through the in terest I take in you." The squatter looked him in the face. " Listen, Fray Ambrosio," he said as he laid his hand lightly on his should er, " we have known one another for a long while, so let us have no falsehoods; we shall never manage to divine each other, so let us remain as we are. Is that agreed, eh 1 ?" The monk was upset by this harsh address ; he lost countenance, and stam mered a few words. Red Cedar had taken his lasso, and Bow whirled it round his head. He had measured so exactly, that the run ning knot caught the end of the branch. " Help, all !" the squatter shouted. Under their united efforts the branch gradually bent down to the level of the platform, as Red Cedar had foreseen. " Make haste, Ellen, make haste, my child ?" he shouted to the maiden. The latter did not need any repetition of the invitation ; she ran lightly along the branch, and in a twinkling was lean ing against the stem. By her father's request she mounted to the upper branches, among which she disappeared. "It is your turn, Fray Ambrosio," the squatter said. The monk disappeared in the same way. " It is yours, lad," the squatter said. Sutter rejoined the other two. When left alone, Red Cedar put forth all his strength to hold the branch down, while he clung to its lower sur face with his hand and feet. So soon as the branch was no longer held down, it rose with a shrill whistle and a rapi dity enough to make him giddy. The tree trembled to its roots. Ellen uttered a cry of terror and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw her father astride on the end of the tree engaged in un fastening the running knot of his lasso, after which the squatter rose with per fect calmness, and while rolling the las so round his loins, joined his compan ions. " Well," he said to them, " you see it is finished ; now we must continue our journey ; are you ready V " Quite," they all said. We repeat our assertion, that with the exception of the strangeness of the road, this way of traveling had nothing dangerous or even inconvenient about it, owing to the immense net-work of % lianas that twined capriciously round the trees and the interlaced branches. The party proceeded, almost witi.out perceiving it, from one tree to the other, constantly suspended over an abyss of sixty, even eighty, feet in depth. Beneath them they at times perceiv ed the wild beasts which they troubled in their mysterious lairs, and which, with outstretched necks and flashing eyes, watched them pass in surprise, not understanding what they saw. They marched thus the whole day, stopping for a moment to take breath, and starting again immediately. They had crossed, still on their float ing bridge, a rather wide stream, and would soon find themselves in the low lands. It was about five in the evening ; the beams of the setting sun lengthened the shadows of the trees ; the owls, at tracted by the startled flight of the beetles, of which they are excessively fond, were already flying about; a dense vapor rose from the ground, and formed a mist, in which the four ppr,- sons almost disappeared: ah, in u word, announced that night would soon set in. Red Cedar had taken the lead of the little party for fear lest his companions might take a wrong direction in the in extricable labyrinth of the virgin forest ; for at the height where they were the outlines of the ground entirely disap- THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 123 peared, and only an immense chaos of tufted branches and interlaced creepers could be seen. " Hilloa, gossip !" Fray Ambrosio said, who, little accustomed to long \valks, and weakened by the lengthened privations he had gone through, had walked for some time with extreme difficulty, "shall we soon stop? 1 warn you that I can go no further." The squatter turned sharply and laid his large hand on the monk's mouth. "Silence!" he hissed; "silence, if you value your scalp !" "Cristo, if I value it!" the other muttered, with a movement of terror; " but what is happening fresh?" Red Cedar cautiously moved a mass of leaves, and made a sign to his com rades to imitate him. " Look," he said. In a second the monk drew himself back with features convulsed with ter ror. " Oh," he said, " this time we are lost !" He tottered, and would have fallen, had not the squatter seized him by the arm. " What is to be done ?" he said. " Wait," Red Cedar coldly answer ed : "our position for the present is liot so desperate ; you see them, but they do not see us." Fray Ambrosio shook his head sadly. " You have led us to our ruin," he ,id, reproachfully. " You are an ass," Red Cedar an swered with contempt ; " do I not risk as much as you ? Did I not warn you that we were surrounded ? Leave me to act, I tell you." CHAPTER XXVIII. THE FIGHT WITH THE GRIZZLY. THE NEW World has no reason to envy the Old in the matter of ferocious animals of every description and every species. The family of the planti grades has obtained an enormous deve lopment in America, and possesses races of a ferocitv before which all the wild beasts of our continent turn pale. We will speak here of the animal endowed with a prodigious strength, blind courage, and unbounded cruelty, which the learned call ursus cinereus, and the Americans the grizzly bear. Most travelers draw a terrific feature of this animal, saying that it combines with the stupidity of the Polar bear the ferocity and courage of the great carnivora. Though a traveler myself, I am forced humbly to confess that the stories of these gentry must be ac cepted with some reserve, who, often placed in perilous situations, or ill- disposed mentally and bodily, have seen badly, and, in spite of them selves, yielding to the influence of the moment, have unconsciously indulged in exaggerations, which have gradual ly become articles of faith, and are now accepted as such. I have no intention to rehabilitate the grizzly bear in the minds of my readers; still, I will ask them not to be more unjust to it than they are to other animals sent into the world by the Creator. Hence, laying aside all exaggerations, and confining our selves to the strictest truth, we will, in a few words, describe the grizzly bear and its habits. During our long stay in America, we saw enough of these animals, and in sufficient proximity to be accepted as a credible witness. My readers will see from the portrait of tin's animal, correct, if not nattering though it be, that it is na turally ugly enough, both morally and physically, not to require to be rendered more hideous and converted into a monster. The grizzly, when it has reached its full growth, is about ten feet in length ; its coat is woolly, very thick, and per fectly grey, excepting round the ears, where it is brown. Its face is terri ble ; it is the most ferocious and dan gerous of all the American carnivora. In spite of its clumsy shape and heavy appearauce, its agility is extreme. It is the more to be feared, because its in domitable courage emanates from the consciousness of its prodigious strength, 124 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. and is always akin to fury. The grizzly attacks all animals, but chiefly the larger rumin mts, such as buffaloes, oxen, &c. What has probably given rise to the exaggerated stories of trav elers, is the fact that the grizzly bear does not hybernate, and as during win ter it starves among the snow-covered mountains, it descends to the plains to find food. The red-skins carry on a deadly war fare with it, in order to obtain its long sharp claws, of which they form col lars, to which they set great value. It was with one of these formidable animals that Valentijie suddenly found himself face to face. The rencontre was most disagreeable; still when the first emotion had passed off, the hunters boldly made up their minds. " It is a combat to death," Valentine said laconically ; " you know the griz zly never draws back." " What shall we do ?" Don Miguel asked. " See what he does first," the hunter continued. "It is evident that this animal has fed, else it would not return to its lair. You know that bears go out but little ; if we are lucky enough to deal with a bear that has had a good dinner, it will be an immense advantage for ufc." " Why so ?" " For the simple reason," Valentine said with a laugh, " that, like all peo ple whose meal hours are irregular,when * bears sit down to dinner, they eat with extreme gluttony, which renders them heavy, sleepy, and deprives them, in a word, of one half their faculties." " Hum !" Don Miguel observed ; " I fancy what is left them is quite enough." " And so do I ; but, quiet, I fancy the beast has made up his mind." " That is to say," Don Pablo remark ed, " that it is making its arrangements to attack us." " That is what I meant to say," Val entine replied. !l Well, we will not let it make the first demonstration." " Oh, don't be frightened, Don Mi guel, I am used to bear-hunting ; this one certainly does not expect what I am preparing for it." "Providing you do not miss your shot : in that case we should be lost," Don Miguel observed. " By Jove ! I know that : so I shall take my measures in accordance." Curumilla, stoical as ever, had cut a piece of candle-wood, and concealed himself in the shrubs only a few paces from the wild beast. The bear, after a moment's hesita tion, during which it looked round with an eye flashing with gloomy fire, as if counting the number of foes it had to fight, uttered a second growl, as it passed a tongue as red as blood over its lips. "That is it," Valentine said with a laugh ; " lick your chops, my fine fel low ; still, I warn you that your mouth is watering too soon you have not got us yet." The bear seemed to notice the brava do, for it made an effort, and its mon strous head entirely appeared above the level of the platform. " Did I not tell you it had eaten too much 1 ?" the hunter went on. " See what difficulty it finds in moving. Come, sluggard," he said, addressing the terrible animal, " shake yourself up a little." " Take care," Don Miguel shouted. " The brute is going to leap on you," Don Pablo said in agony. In fact, the bear, by a movement swift as lightning, had escaladed the platform with a gigantic bound, and was now scarce twenty yards from the intrepid hunter. Valentine did not move, not one of his muscles shook: he merely clenched his teeth as if going to break them, and a white foam appeared at the corner of his lips. The beast, surprised by the intrepidity of the man, cowed by the electric fluid that flashed from the hun ter's haughty eye, fell back a step. For a moment it remained motionless, with hanging head ; but it soon began tearing up the ground with its formida ble claws, as if encouraging itself to begin the attack. Suddenly it turned round. Curumilla profited by the movement, THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 125 of the torch he held in readiness for the purpose, and at a signal from Valen tine, made the light flash before the bear. The animal, dazzled by the brilliant glare of the torch, which suddenly dis sipated the darkness that surrounded it, savagely rose on its hind legs, and turn ing toward the Indian, tried to clutch the torch with one of its fore paws, probably in order to put it out. Valentine cocked his rifle, stood firm ly on his legs, aimed carefully, and be gan whistling softly. So soon as the sound reached the bear's ears, it stop ped, and remained thus for some se conds as if trying to account for this unusual noise. The hunter still whistled. The witnesses of the scene held their breath, so interested were they in the strange incidents of this duel between intellect and brute strength. Still they kept their hands on their weapons, ready to hurry to their friend's help, should he be in danger. Valentine was calm, gently whistling to the bear, which gradually turned its head toward him. Curumilla, with the lighted torch in his hand, attentively watched all the ani mal's movements. The bear at length faced the hunter ; it was only a few paces from him, and Valentine felt its hot and fetid breath. The man and the brute gazed on each other ; the bear's bloodshot eye seemed riveted on that of the Frenchman, who looked at it intrepidly while continu ing to whistle softly. There was a moment, an age of su preme anxiety. The bear, as if to es cape the strange fascination it suffered under, shook its head twice, and then rushed forward with a fearful growl. At the same instant a shot was fired. Don Miguel and his son ran up. Valentine, with his rifle butt resting on the ground, was laughing carelessly, while two paces from him the terrible animal was uttering howls of fury, and writhing in its dying convulsions. Crumilla bending forward, was curi ously watching the movements of the animal as it rolled at his feet. '* Thank Heaven," Don Miguel eager ly exclaimed. " You are safe, my friend." " Did you fancy that I ran any danger?" the hunter answered simply. " I trembled for your life," the haci- endero said with surprise and admira tion. " It was not worth the trouble, I as sure you," the hunter said carelessly ; " grizzly and I are old acquaintances ; ask Curumilla how many we have knocked over in this way." " But," Don Pablo objected, " the grizzly bear is invulnerable; bullets flatten on its skull, and glide off its fur." "That is perfectly true ; still, you forget there is a spot where it can be hit." " I know it, the eye ; but it is almost impossible to hit it at the first shot ; to do so a man must be endowed with marvellous skill, not to say admirable courage and coolness." " Thank you," Valentine replied with a smile ; " now that our enemy is dead, I would ask you to look and teil me where I hit it." The Mexicans stooped down quickly; the bear was really dead. Its gigantic corpse, which Curumilla was already preparing to strip of its magnificent coat, covered a space of nearly ten feet. The hunter's bullet had entered its right eye ; the two gentlemen uttered a cry of admiration. " Yfs," Valentine said, replying to their thought, " it was not a bad shot ; but be assured that this animal enjoys an usurped reputation, owing to the ha bit it has of attacking man, ,vhorn, how ever, it hardly ever conquers." " But look, my friend, at those sharp claws ; why, they are nearly six inches long." " That is true ; I remember a poor Comanche, on whose shoulder a grizzly let his paw fall, and completely smash ed it. But, is it an interesting sport ? I confess that it possesses an irresistible attraction for me." " You are quite at liberty, my friend," said Don Miguel, " to find a delight in fighting such monsters, and 1 can account for it ; the life you lead in the desert has so familiarized you with danger, that you no longer believe in 126 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. it ; but we dwellers in towns have, I confess, an invincible respect and terror for this monster." " Nonsense, Don Miguel, how can you say when I have seen you engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with tigers ?" "That is possible, my friend; I would do so again, if necessary but a jaguar is not a grizzly." " Come, come, I will not tease you any longer. While Curumilla prepares our breakfast, I will go down into the J-avine. Help my friend to roast a piece of my game, and I am sure, when you have tasted it, the exquisite flavor will make you quite alter your opinion about friend Grizzly." And carelessly throwing his rifle on his shoulder, which he had reloaded, Valentine then entered the chapparal, in which he almost immediately dis appeared. The game, as Valentine called the grizzly, weighed about four hundred weight. After flaying it with that dexterity the Indians possess, Curu milla, aided by the two Mexicans, hung up the body to a branch, that bent beneath its weight ; he cut steaks from the loin, and took out the pluck, which regular hunters consider the most delicate part of the beast ; and then, while Don Miguel and Don Pablo lit the fire, and laid the steaks on the ashes, the Indian entered the cave. Don Pablo and his father, long ac customed to the Araucano Chief's way of behaving, made no remark, but went on with the preparations for breakfast ! actively, the more so because the night's fatigues and their long priva tions had given them an appetite which the smell of the cooking meat only heightened. Still, the meal had been ready some time, and Valentine had not returned. The two gentlemen were beginning to feel anxious. Nor did Curumilla emerge either from the cavern in which he had now been upwards of an hour. The Mexicans exchanged a glance. " Can anything have happened ?" Don Miguel asked. " We must go and see." said Don Pablo. They rose ; Don Pablo proceeded toward the cave, while his father went to the end of the platform. At this moment Valentine arrived 01 one side, Curumilla on the other, hold ing two young bearskins in his hands. " What does that mean ?" Don Pablo in his surprise could not refrain from asking. The Indian smiled. "It was *a she-bear," he said. " Are we going to breakfast *" Val entine asked. " Whenever you like, my friend," Don Miguel answered ; " we were only waiting for you." " I have been gone a long time." " More than an hour." "It was not my fault. Just fancy, down there it is as dark as in an oven. I had great difficulty in finding our friend's body ; but, thanks to heaven, it is now in the ground, and protected from the teeth of the coyotes and the other vermin of the prairie." Don Miguel took his hand and press ed it tenderly, while tears of gratitude ran down his cheeks. " Valentine," he said, with great emo tion. " You are better than all of us ; you think of ever3'thing ; no circumstance, however grave it may be, can make you forget what you regard in the light of a duty. Thanks, my friend, thanks, for having placed in the ground the poor general's body ; you have made me very happy." " That will do," Valentine said, as he turned his head away, not to let the emo tion he felt in spite of himself, be notic ed ; " suppose we feed ? 1 am fearfully hungry ; the sun is rising, and we have not yet quitted that frightful labyrinth in which we so nearly left our bones." The hunters set down round the fire, and began sharply attacking the meal that awaited them. When they had finished eating, which did not take long, thanks to Valentine, who continually urged them to take double mouthfuls, they rose and pre pared to start again. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 127 " Let us pay great attention, cabal- leros," the hunter said to them, " and carefully look around us, for I am great ly mistaken if we do not find a trail within an hour." " What makes you suppose so ?" " Nothing, 1 have found no sign," Va lentine answered, with a smile ; " but I feel a foreboding that we shall soon find the man we have been seeking so long." " May heaven hear you, my friend !' Don Miguel exchumed. " Forward ! forward !" Valentine said, as he set out. His comrades followed him. At this moment the sun appeared above the horizon, the forest awoke as if by en chantment, and the birds, concealed be neath the foliage, began their matin hymn, which they sing daily to salute the sun. CHAPTER XXIX. A MOTHER'S LOVE. As we have said, Madame Guillois was installed by her son at the winter village of the Comanches, and the In dians gladly welcomed the mother of the adopted son of their tribe. The most commodious lodge was immediate ly placed at her service, and the most delicate attentions were lavished 011 her. The redskins are incontestably su perior to the whites in all that relates to hospitality. A guest is sacred to them to such an extent, that they be come his slaves, so to speak, so anxious are they to satisfy all his desires, and even his slightest caprices. After Father Seraphin had warned Red Cedar to be on his guard, he re turned to Madame Guillois in order to watch more directly over it. The worthy missionary was an old acquain tance and friend of the Comanches, to whom he had been useful on several oc casions, and who respected in him not the priest, whose sublime mission they could not understand, but the good and generous man, ever ready to devote himself to his fellow men. Several weeks passed without pro ducing anv great change in the old lady's life. Sunbeam, on her own private autho rity, had constituted herself her hand- ma'den, amusing her with her medley of Indian-Spanish and French, attending to her like a mother, and trying, by all the means in her power, to help her to kill time. So long as Father Seraphin remained near her, Madame Guillois endured her son's absence very pa tiently. The missionary's gentle and paternal exhortations made her not forget, be cause a mother never does that but deceive herself as to the cruelty of this seperation. Unhappily, Father Seraphin had im perious duties to attend to which he could no longer neglect; to her great regret he must recommence his wan dering life, and his mission of self-de nial and suffering, while carrying to the Indian tribes the light of the gospel, and the succor of religion. Father Seraphin was in Madame Guil- lois's sight a link of the chain that at tached her to her son ; she could speak about him with the missionary, who knew the most secret thoughts of her heart, and could by one word calm her alarm, and restore her courage. But when he left her for the first time since her arrival in America, she really felt alone, and lost her sou once again, as it were. Thus the seperation was cruel ; and she needed all her Christian resignation and long habit of suffering to bear meekly the fresh blow that struck her. Indian life is very dull and monoto nous, especially in winter, in the heart of the forest, in badly built huts, open to all the winds, when the leafless trees are covered with hoar-frost ; the villa ges are half buried beneath the snow, the sky is gloomy, and during the long nights the hurricane may be heard howling, and a deluge of rain falling. Alone, deprived of a friend in whose bosom she could deposit the overflow ing of her heart, Madame Guillois grad ually fell into a gloomy melancholy, from which nothing could arouse her. A woman of the age of the hunter's 128 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. mother does not easily break through all her habits to undertake a journey like that she had made across the American desert. However simple and frugal the life of a certain class of society may be in Europe, they still enjoy a certain rela tive comfort, far superior to what they may expect to find in Indian villages where objects of primary necessity are absent, and life is reduced to its sim plest expression. Thus, for instance, a person accus tomed to work in the evening in a com fortable chair, in the chimney corner, by the light of a lamp, in a well-closed room, would never grow used to sit on the beaten ground, crouching over a fire, whose smoke blinds her, in a win- dowless hut, only illumined by the flickering flame of a smoky torch. When Madame Guillois left Havre, she had only one object, one desire, to see her son again ; every other consid eration must yield to that: she gladly sacrificed the comfort she enjoyed to find the son whom she believed she had lost, and who filled her heart. Still, in spite of her powerful consti tution and the masculine energy of her character, when she had endured the fa tigue of a three months' voyage, and the no less rude toil of several weeks' travelling through forests and over prai ries, sleeping in the open air, her health had gradually broken down, her strength was worn out in this daily and hourly struggle, and wounded, both physically and morally, she had been at length forced to confess herself beaten, and to allow that she was too weak to endure such an existence longer. She grew thin and haggard visibly ; her cheeks were sunken, her eyes buried more and more deeply in their orbits, her face was pale, her look lan guishing in short, all the symptoms revealed that the nature which had hitherto so valiantly resisted, was rap idly giving way, and was undermined by an illness which had been secretly wasting her for a long time, and now displayed itself in its fell proportions. Madame Guillois did not deceive her self as to her condition, she calculated coolly and exactly all the probable in cidents, followed step by step the dif ferent phases of her illness, and when Sunbeam anxiously enquired what was the matter with her, and what she suf fered from, she answered her with that calm and heart-breaking smile which the man condemned to death puts on when no hope is left him a smile more affecting than a sob : "It is nothing, my child, I am dy ing." These words were uttered with so strange an accent of gentleness and re signation that the young Indian felt her eyes fill with tears, and hid herself to weep. One morning a bright sun shone on. the village, the sky was blue, and the air mild. Madame Guillois, seated in front of her calli, was warming herself in this last smile of autumn, while mechanical ly watching the yellow leaves, which a light breeze turned round. Not far from her the children were sporting, chasing each other with merry bursts of laughter. Unicorn's squaw presently sat down, by the old lady's side, took her hand, and looked at her sympathizingly. " Does my mother feel better ?" she asked her in her voice which was soft as the note of the Mexican nightin gale. " Thanks, my dear little one," the old lady answered, affectionately, " I am better." " That is well," Sunbeam replied, with a charming smile ; " for 1 have good news to tell my mother." " Good news ?" she said, hurriedly, as she gave her a piercing glance ; " has my son arrived ?" " My mother would have seen him before this," the squaw said, with a tinge of gentle reproach in her voice. " That is true," she muttered ; " my poor Valentine !" She let her head sink sadly on her bosom. Sunbeam looked at her for a moment with an expression of tender pity. " Does not my mother wish to hear the news I have to tell her ?" she went on. Madame Guillois sighed. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 129 " Speak, my child," she said. " One of the great warriors of the tribe has just entered the village," the youug woman continued ; " Spider left the chief two days ago." " Ah !" the old lady said, carelessly, seeing that Sunbeam stopped ; " and where is the chief at this moment ?" " Spider says that Unicorn is in the mountains, with his warriors ; he has seen Koutonepi." " He has seen my son ?" Madame Guillois exclaimed. " He has seen him," Sunbeam repeat ed ; " the hunter is pursuing Red Ce dar with his friends." " And he is not wounded ?" she ask ed anxiously. The young Indian pouted her lips. " Red Cedar is a dog and cowardly old woman,'' she said ; " his arm is not strong enough, or his eye sure enough to wound the great pale hunter. Kou tonepi is a terrible warrior, he despises the barkings of the coyote." Madame Guillois had lived long enough among the Indians to understand their figurative expressions ; she grate fully pressed the young squaw's hand. " Your great warrior has seen my son?" she said eagerly. "Yes," Sunbeam quickly answered, '* Spider saw the pale hunter, and spoke. Koutonepi gave him a necklace for my mother." " A necklace ?" she repeated, in sur prise, not understanding what the wo man meant ; " what am I to do with itf Sunbeam's face assumed a serious ex press on. " The white men are great sorcerers," she said, " they know how to make powerful medicines ; by figures traced on birch bark communicate their thoughts at great distances ; space does not exist for them. Will not my mother receive the necklace her son sends her ?" "Give it me, my dear child," she eagerly answered ; " everything that comes from him is precious to me." The young squaw drew from under her striped calico dress a square piece of bark of the size of her hand, and gave it to her. 9 Madame Guillois took it curiously, not knowing what this present meant. She turned it over and over, while Sun beam watched her attentively. All at once the old lady's features brightened, and she uttered, a cry of joy ; she had perceived a few words traced on the inside of the bark with the point of a knife. " Is my mother satisfied ?" Sunbeam asked. " Oh, yes," she answered. She eagerly perused the note ; it was short, contained indeed but a few words, yet they filled the mother with delight ; for they gave her certain news of her son. This is what Valentine wrote : " My dear mother, be of good cheer, my health is excellent, I shall see you soon : your loving son, Valentine." It was impossible to write a more la conic letter ; but on the desert, where communication is so difficult, a son may be thanked for giving news of himself, if only in a word. Madame Guillois was delighted, and when she had read the note again, t, was heard, immediately fol lowed by a third. Nathan raised his head cautiously, and looked up ; but the night was so dark that he could distinguish nothing. At this moment, some object, whose shape it was impossible for him to guess, touched his forehead and struck it several times, as it oscillated. This object gradually descended, and aC length fell on the young man's knees. He stoopedvdowu and examined it. It was a knife ! Nathan with difficulty repressed a shout of joy. Pie was not entirely abandoned, then ! Unknown friends took an interest in his fate, and were trying to give him the means of escape. Hope returned to his heart ; and like a boxer, stunned for a moment by the blow he had received, he collected all his strength to recommence the con test. However intrepid a man may be, al though if conquered by an impossibility he has bravely sacrificed his life, still, if at the moment of marching to the place of punishment a gleam of hope seems to dazzle his astonished eyes, he suddenly draws himself up the image of death is effaced from his mind, and he lights desperately to regain that life which he had so valiantly surrendered. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 141 This is what happened to Nathan ; he gradually sat up, with his eyes eag erly fixed on his still motionless guards. My readers must pardon the follow ing trifling detail, but it is too true to be passed over. When the first hiss was heard, the young man was snoring, though wide awake ; he now continued the monoton ous melody which fulled his keepers to sleep. There was something most striking in the appearance of this man, who, with eyes widely open, frowning brow, features painfully contracted by hope and fear, was cutting through the cords that fastened his elbows to the tree, while snoring as quietly as if he were enjoying the quietest sleep. After considerable efforts, Nathan managed to cut through the ligatures ; the rest was nothing, us his hands were at liberty. In a few seconds he was completely freed from his bonds, and seized the knife, which he thrust into his girdle. The cord that let it down was then drawn up again. Nathan waited in a state of indescri bable agony. He had returned to his old position, and was snoring. All at once one of his guardians turned towards him, mov ed his limbs, stiffened with cold, rose and bent over him with a yawn. Nathan, with half- closed eyes, care fully watched his movements. When he saw the redskin's face only two inches from his own, with a gesture swift as thought, he threw his hands round his neck, and that so suddenly that the Conianche, taken unawares, had not the time to utter a cry. The American was endowed with Herculean strength, which the hope of deliverance doubled at tfhis moment. He squeezed the warrior's neck as in a vice ; and the latter struggled in vain to free himself from this deadly pres sure. The bandit's iron hands drew tighter and tighter with a slow, delibe rate, but irresistible pressure. The Indian, his eyes suffused with blood, his features horribly contracted, beat the air two or three times mechan ically, made one convulsive effort, and then remained motionless. He was dead. Nathan held him for two or three minutes, to be quite certain that all was over, and then laid the warrior by his side, in a position that admirably re sembled sleep. He then passed his hand over his forehead to wipe away the icy perspiration, and raised his eyes to the tree, but nothing appeared there. A frightful thought then occupied the young man ; suppose his friends, des pairing of saving him, had abandoned : him ? a horrible agony contracted his chest. Still, he had recognized his father's signal : the hiss of the whip-snake had been long employed by them to com municate under perilous circumstances. His father was not the man to leave any work he had begun undone, what ever the consequences might be. And yet the moments slipped away one after the other, and nothing told the wretch that men were at work fur his deliverance ; all was calm and gloomy. Nearly half-an-hour passed thus. Nar than was a prey to feverish impjw tience and a terror impossible to des cribe. Up to the present, it was true, no one in camp had perceived the un usual movement he had been obliged to make, but an unlucky chance might reveal his plans for flight at any mo ment ; to effect this, an Indian aruused by the sharp cold need only pass by him while trying to restore the circula tion of his blood by a walk. As his friends forgot him, the young man resolved to get out of the affair by himself. In the first place, he must get rid of his second watcher, and then he would settle what next to do. Hence, still remaining on the ground, he slowly crawled toward the second warrior. He approached him inch by [ inch, so insensible and deliberate were his movements ! At length he arrived j scarce two paces from the warrior, whose tranquil sleep told him that he t could act without fear. Nathan drew himself up, and bound ing like a jaguar, placed his knee on the Indian's chest, while with his left hand he powerfully clutched his throat. The Conianche, suddenly awakened, made a hurried movement to free him self from this fatal pressure, and open- 142 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. ed his eyes wildly, as he looked round in terror. Nathan, without uttering a word, drew his knife and buried it in the In dian's heart, while still holding him by the throat. The warrior fell back as if struck by lightning, and expired without uttering a cry or giving a sigh. " I don't care," the bandit muttered, as he wiped the knife, " it is a famous weapon. Now, whatever may happen, I feel sure of not dying unavenged." Nathan, when he found his disguise useless, had asked leave to put on his old clothes, which was granted. By a singular chance, the Indian he stabbed had secured his game bag and rifle, which the young man at once took back. He gave a sigh of satisfaction at finding himself again in possession of objects so valuable to him, and clothed once more in his woodranger's garb. Time pressed ; he must be off at all risks, try to foil the sentries, and quit the camp. What had he to fear in being killed? if he remained, he knew perfectly well the fate that awaited him ; hence the alternative was not doubtful ; it was a thousandfold better to stake his life bravely in a final con test, than wait for the hour of punish ment. Nathan looked ferociously around, bent forward, listened, and silently cocked his rifle. The deepest calm continued to pre vail around. " Come," the young man said, " there can be no hesitation ; I must be off." At this moment the hiss of the whip- snake was again audible. Nathan started. " Oh, oh !" he said, " it seems that I arn not abandoned as I fancied." He lay down on the ground again and crawled back to the tree to which he had been fastened. A lasso hung down to the ground, terminating in one of those double knots which sailors call " chairs," one half of which passes under the thighs, while the other sup ports the chest. " By jingo !'' Nathan muttered joy fully, " only the old man can have such ideas. What a famous trick we are going to play those dogs of redskins! They will really believe rne a sorcerer; for I defy them to find my trail." While talking thus to himself, the American had seated himself in the chair. The lasso drawn by a vigorous hand, rapidly ascended, and Nathan soon dis appeared among the thick foliage of the tree. When he reached the first branches, which were about thirty feet from the ground, the young man removed the lasso, and in a few seconds rejoined his comrades. " Ouf !" he muttered, as he drew two or three deep breaths, while wiping the perspiration from his face ; " 1 can now say I have had a lucky escape, thanks to you ; for, deuce take me, without you, I had been dead." " Enough of compliments," the squatter sharply answered ; " we have no time to waste in that nonsense. I suppose you are anxious to be off'?" " I should think so ; in which direc tion are we going ?" " Over there," Red Cedar answered, holding his arm out in the direction of the camp. " The devil !" Nathan sha.-ply ob jected, " are you mad, or did you pre tend to save my life, merely to deliver me to our enemies with your own hands ?" " What do you mean?" " Something you would see as well as I, if it were day; the forest sudden ly terminates a few yards from here on the edge of an immense quebrada." " Oh," Red Cedar said, with a frown; " what is to be done in that case ?" " Return by the road you came for about half a league, and then go to the left. I have seen enough of the coun try since I left you to have a confused resemblance of the shape of the moun tain, but, as you say, the main point at this moment is to be off from here ?" " The more so, as the moon will soon rise," Sutler observed, " and if the redskins perceived Nathan's escape, they would soon find our trail." "Well said," Nathan replied, "let us be off." Red Cedar placed himself once more THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 143 at the head of the small party, ard they turned back. Progress was extremely difficult in this black night ; they were obliged to grope, and not put down their foot till they were certain the support was solid. If they did not, they ran a risk of fall ing and being dashed on the ground, at a depth of seventy or eighty feet. They had scarcely gone three hun dred yards in this way, when a frightful clamor was heard behind them : a great light illumined the forest, and be tween the leaves the fugitives perceiv ed the black outlines of the Indians running in every direction, gesticulat- iiiof and yelling ferociously. " Hilloh," Red Cedar said, " I fancy the Comanches have found out your desertion." "I think so, too," Nathan replied, with a grin ; " poor fellows ! they are inconsolable at my loss." " The more so, because you prob ably did not quit them without leaving your card." " Quite true, father," the other said, as he raised his hunting-shirt and dis played two bloody scalps suspended to his girdle ; " 1 did not neglect busi ness." The wretch, before fastening the lasso round him, had, with horrible coolness, scalped his two victims. " In that case," Fray Ambrosio said, " they must be furious ; you know that the Comanches never forgive. How could you commit so unworthy an action ?" " Trouble yourself about your own affairs, Senor Padre," Nathan said, brutally, "and let me act as I think proper, unless you wish me to send you to take my place with the butt end of my rifle." The monk bit his lips. " Brute beast!" he muttered. " Come, peace, in the devil's name !" Red Cedar said ; " let us think about not being caught." " Yes," Sutler supported him, " when you are in safety, you can have an ex planation with knives, like true cabal- leros. But, at this moment, we have other things to do than quarrel like old women." The two men exchanged a glance full of hatred, but remained silent. The .little party, guided by Red Cedar, gradually retired, pursued by the yells of the Comanches, who constantly drew nearer. " Can they have discovered our track "?" Red Cedar said, shaking his head sadly. CHAPTER XXXIII. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. WE will now return to Valentine and his friends, whom we left preparing to pursue Red Cedar once more. Valentine, had began to take a real interest in this protracted man-hunt ; it was the first time since he had been ia the desert that he had to deal with a foeman so worthy of his steel as was Red Cedar. Like him, the squatter possessed a thorough knowledge of life in the Far West all the sounds of the prairie were known to him, all tracks familiar ; like him, he had made Indian trickery and cunning his special study ; in a word, Valentine had found his equal, if not his master. His powerfully excited self love urged him to bring this game of chess to a conclusion; hence he was resolved to press matters so vigorously that, in spite of his cleverness, Red Cedar must soon fall into his hands. After leaving, as we have seen, the upper regions of the sierra, the hunters advanced in the shape of a fan, in order to find some sign which would enable them to find the long-lost trail, for, ac cording to the axiom well known to the wood-rangers, any rastreador, who holds one end of a trail, must infallibly reach the other within a given time. Unfortunately, no trace or sign was visible ; Red Cedar had disappeared, and it was impossible to find the slight est trace of the way he had gone. Still, Valentine did not give in ; he studied the ground, examined every blade of grass, and cross-questioned the shrubs with a patience nothing could weary. His friends, less accustomed than 144 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. himself to the frequent disappointments in a hunter's life, in vain gave him de spairing glances ; he walked on, with his head bent down, neither seeing their signals nor hearing their remarks. At length, about mid-day, after going nearly four leagues in this fashion a most wearying task the hunters found themselves on a perfectly naked rock. At this spot it would have been mad ness to look for foot-prints, as the gran- iite would not take them. Don Miguel and his son fell to the ground, more through despondency than fatigue. Curumilla began collecting the scat tered leaves to light the breakfast-fire, while Valentine, leaning on his rifle, with his forehead furrowed by deep wrinkles, looked scrutinizingly round. At the spot where the hunters had established their temporary bivouac, no vegetation grew on the barren rocks ; while an immense larch tree over shadowed it with its well-covered bran ches. The hunter incessantly turned his in telligent eye from earth to sky, as if he had a foreboding that at this spot he must find the trail he had so long been seek ing. All at once he uttered a sonorous ' hum !" At this sound, a signal agreed on be tween the Indian and him, Curumilla left off collecting the leaves, raised his head, and looked at him. Valentine walked towards him with a hasty step. The two Mexicans eagerly rose and joined him. " Have you discovered anything ?" Don Miguel asked, curiously. " No," Valentine replied, " but in all probability I soon shall." " Here ?" " Yes, at this very spot," he said, with a knowing smile; "believe me, you shall soon see." While saying this, the hunter stoop ed, picked up a handful of leaves, and began examining them attentively, one by one. *" What can those leaves teach you ?' Don Miguel asked with a shrug of his shoulders. " Everything," Valentine firmly re plied, as he continued his examination. Curumilla was surveying the ground, and questioning the rock. " Wah !" he said. All stopped ; the chief pointed to a line about half an inch, of the thickness of a hair, recently made on the rock. " They have passed this way," Va lentine went on, " that is as certain to me as that two and two make four ; everything proves it to me ; the steps we discovered going away from the spot where we now are are a sure proof." " How so 1 ?" Don Miguel asked in amazement. " Nothing is more simple ; the traces that deceived you could not humbug an old woodranger like myself; they press ed too heavily on the heel, and were not regular, proves them false ?" " Why false?" " Of course. This is what Red Ce dar did to hide the direction he took ; he walked for nearly two leagues back wards ?" " You think so ?" " I am sure of it. Red Cedar, though aged, is still possessed of all the vigour of youth ; his steps is firm and per fectly regular ; like all men accustomed to forest life, he walks cautiously, that is to say, first putting down the point of his foot, like every man who is not certain that he may not have to go back. In the footsteps we saw, as I told you, the heel was put down first, and is much deeper buried than the rest of the foot ; that is quite impossible, unless a person has walked backwards, especially for some time." " That is true," Don Miguel answer ed ; " what you say could not be more logical." Valentine smiled. " We have not got to the end yet,' he said ; " let me go on.' ; " But," Don Pablo remarked, " sup posing that Red Cedar did come her< which I now believe as fully as you d( how is it that we do not find his trace en the other side of the rock ? How ever carefully he may have hidder them, we should discover them, if thej existed." "Of course; but they are not here, and it is useless to lose time in looking 145 for them. Red Cedar has come here, as this mark proves ; but you will ask me why he did so ? for a reason very easy to comprehend ; on this granite soil, footsteps are effaced; the squatter wished to throw us out by bringing us to a spot where we must completely lose his direction, if we succeeded in finding his track. He succeeded up to a certain point ; but he wished to be too clever, and went beyond his object ; before ten minutes, I will show you the trail as clear as if we had been present when he went off." ' I confess, my friend, that all you say greatly astonishes me," Don Mi guel replied. " I never could under stand this species of sublime instinct which helps you to find your way in the desert, although you have already given me the most, astonishing proofs; still, I confess that what is taking place at this moment surpasses everything i have hitherto seen you do." " Good gracious !" Valentine answer ed ; " you pay me compliments 1 am far from deserving ; all this is an affair of reasoning, and especially of habit. Thus, it is as plain to you as it is to me, that Red Cedar came here ?" " Yes." " Very good ; as he came, he must have gone away again," the hunter said with a laugh ; " for the reason that he is no longer here, or we should have him." " That is certain." " Good ; now look how he can have gone." " That is exactly what I do not see." " Because you are blind, or because you will not take the trouble." / " Oh, my friend, I swear " "Pardon,! am in error : it is be cause you cannot explain what you see." " What ?" Don Miguel said, slightly piqued by this remark. " Certainly," Valentine went on phlegmatically ; " and you shall con fess I am in the right." " 1 shall be delighted to do so." In spite of his good sense, and the other great qualities with which he was gifted, Valentine had the weakness, common to many men, of liking, under certain circumstances, to make a parade of his knowledge of desert life. This defect, which is very frequently found on the prairies, in no way injured his character, and was pardonable after all. " You shall see," he said with that sort of condescension which persons who know a thing thoroughly, as sume on explaining it to the ignorant : " Red Cedar has been here and has dis appeared : I arrive and look : he can not have flown away, or buried himself in the ground : hence he must absolute ly have gone by some road a man can use ; look at these leaves scattered over he rock, they are sign No. 1." "How so?" "Hang it! that, is clear enough, we are not at the season when trees lose their leaves : hence they did not fall." " Why so?" " Because, if they had, they would be yellow and dry, and instead they are green, crumpled, and some are even torn ; hence it is positive, I think, that they have been removed from the tree by violence." " That is true," Don Miguel mutter ed, his surprise at its height. " Now, let us seek what unknown force tore them from the tree." While saying this, Valentine had be gun walking on, with his body bent to the ground, in the direction where he had seen the black line. His friends imitated his movements and followed him, also looking care fully on the ground. All at once Valentine stooped, pick ed up a piece of bark about the-size of half his hand, and showed it to Don Miguel. " All is explained to me now," he said : " look at that piece of bark : it is pressed and broken as if a rope had been round it, 1 think]'' "It is." " Well, do you not understand V " On my word, no more than I did just now." Valentine shrugged his shoulders. " Listen to me then," he said ; " Red Cedar came thus far : with his lasso he caught the end of that heavy branch just above our heads ; and with the help of his companions, pulled it down 146 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. to the ground. The black mark we saw proves what an effort they 'made. Once the bough was bent, the squatter's comrades mounted on it one alter the other : lied Cedar, the last, went up with it, and all found themselves some seventy feet above ground. You must allow this is all very ingenious ; but, unluckily, the squatter's boots left on this rock a graze about the width of a hair, and leaves fell from the tree ; on unfastening his lasso,, a piece of bark broke oil', and as he was in a hurry, and could not come down again to remove all these ruinous proofs, I have seen them, and now 1 know as well all that happened here, as if I had been pre sent." The hunters did not merely display surprise at this clear and lucid explana tion, but seemed struck speechless by such an incredible proof of sagacity. 44 It is miraculous," Don Miguel at length exclaimed ; " then you believe Red Cedar went otF by that tree'?" "I would bet anything on it. How ever, you shall soon be convinced of it, for we -shall follow the same road." " But we cannot go far on that way." " You are mistaken. -In the virgin forests like the one that stretches out before us, the road we are about to tol- low is often the only one practicable. And now that we have found the ban dits' trail, not to lose it again, I hope, let us breakfast quickly, so as to start the sooner in pursuit." The hunters sat down gaily round the fire, and ate some grizzly bear meat. But their impatience made them take double mouthtuls, so that. the meal was over in a twinkling, and they were soon ready to commence their re searches. Valentine, in order to prove to his friends the exactness of the information he had given them, employed the same means Ked Cedar had done to mount the tree, and when the hunters had as sembled there, they allowed the truth of Valentine's statements : lied Cedar's trail was plainly visible. They went on thus for a long time following the bandit's trail; but the further they went, the less distinct it became, and it was soon lost for the second time. Valentine stopped and collected his friends. " Let us hold a council," he said. "I think," Don Miguel observed, " that Red Cedar fancied he had been long enough up a tree, and so went back to the ground." Valentine shook his head. " You have not got it," he said. " what you assert, my friend, is mate rially impossible." " Why so?" " Because the trail, as you see, sud denly ceases over a lake." " That is true." " Hum ! it is plain that Red Cdar did not swim across it. Let us go on at all hazards, 1 feel certain that we shall speedily recover the trail ; that direction is the only one Red Cedar could have followed. His object is lo cross the line of foes who surround him on all sides; if he buried himself in the mountains, we know by experience, and he knows as well as we do, he would infallibly perish; hence he can only es cape in this way, and we must pursue him." "Still remaining on the trees'?" Don Miguel asked. " By Jove ! do not forget, my friends, that the bandits have a girl with them. The poor child is nut accustomed like them to these fearful desert journeys ; she could not endure them for an hour if her father and brothers were not care ful to lead her by comparatively easy roads. Look beneath you, and you will feel convinced that it is impossible for a girl to have passed that way. This is our road," he added perempto rily, "and it is the only one by which we shall discover our enemy." " Let us go, then," the Mexicans ex claimed. Curumilla, according to his habit, said nothing ; he had not even stopped to listen to the discussion, but walked on. " Wah !" he suddenly said. His friends eagerly hurried up. The chief held in his hand a pieoe of striped calico, no larger than a shilling. TIIE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 147 "You see," Valentine said, "we are in a "ood direction, so we will nut laave O * it." This discovery stopped all discussion. The day gradually passed away, the red globe of the sun appeared in the distance between the stems of the trees, and after inarching two hours longer, the darkness was complete. " What is to be done?" Don Miguel asked ; " we cannot spend the night perched up here, like parroquets. Let us choose a convenient spot to camp; to-morrow, at daybreak, we will ascend again and continue the chase." "Yes," Valentine said, with a laugh, "and during the night, while we are quietly asleep down there, if any inci dent occurs that compels Red Cedar to turn back, he will slip through our fingers like a snake, and we know noth ing about it. No, no, my friend, you must make up your mind to perch here for the night like a parroquet, as you say, if you do not wish to lose the fruit of all your trouble and fatigue." " Oh, oh, if it is so," Don Miguel ex claimed, " 1 consent. I would sooner sleep a week in a tree than let that vil lain escape." "Do not be alarmed; he will not keep us at work all that time ; the boar is at bay, and will soon be found. However large the desert may be, it possesses no unexplored refuge to men who are accustomed to traverse it in every direction. ReJ Cedar has done more than a common man to escape us. Now all is over with him, and he under stands that it is only a question of time." "May Heaven grant it, my friend. 1 would give my life to avenge myself on that monster." " He will soon be in your power, I assure you." At this moment Curumilla laid his hand on Valentine's arm. " Well, chief, what is it ?" the latter asked. " Listen !" The hunters did so. They soon heard, at a considerable distance, confused cries, which momen tarily become more distinct, and soon merged into a fearful clamor. 9 " What is happening now?" Valentine asked, thoughtfully. The shouts increased fearfully,strange lights illumined the forest, whose guests, disturbed in their sleep, flew heavily here and there, uttering plaintive cries. " Attention !" the hunter said, " let us try and discover what all this means." But their uncertainty did not last long. Valentine all at once left the branch behind which he was concealed, and ut tered a long, shrill cry, which was repli ed to with fearful yells. < ; What is it ?" .Don Miguel asked. " Unicorn !" Valentine answered. CHAPTER XXXIV. COUSIN BRUIN. NATHAN'S flight was discovered by a singular accident. The Comanches are no more accus tomed than other Indians to have grand rounds and night patrols during the night, which are inventions of civilized nations quite unknown on the prairie. In all probability, the Indians would not have perceived their prisoner's disap pearance till daybreak. Nathan fully built on this. He was too well acquainted with Indian habits not to know what he had to depend on in this respect. But he had not taken hatred into cal culation, that vigilant sentry which no thing can send to sleep. About an hour after Nathan's success ful ascent White Gazelle, aroused by the cold, and more probably by the desire of assuring herself that the priso ner could not escape, rose, and crossed the camp alone, striding over the sleep ing warriors, and feeling her way as well as she could in the dark ; for most of the fires had gone out, and those which still burned spread only an uncer tain light. Impelled by that feeling, of hatred which so rarely deceives those who feel its sharpened sting, she at length found her way through this inex tricable labyrinth, and reached the tree to which the prisoner had been fastened. 118 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. The tree was deserted. The cords which had bound Nathan lay cut a few paces off, while Gazelle was stupified for a moment at this sight, which she was so far from expecting. "Oh!" she muttered savagely, "it is a family of demons ! but how has he escaped ? where can he have fled ? "Those villains are quietly asleep," she said, seeing the warriors reposing, " while the man they were ordered to watch is laughing at them far away." She spurned them with her foot. " Accursed dogs !" she yelled, " wake up ! the prisoner has escaped !" The men did not stir. " Oh, oh !" she said, " what means this r She stooped down and carefully ex amined them : all was revealed to her at once. " Dead !" she said ; " he has assas sinated them. What diabolical power must this race of reprobates possess !" After a moment of terror, she sprang up furiously and rushed through the camp, shouting in a shrill voice : " Up, up ! warriors, the prisoner has fled !" All were on their feet in a moment. Unicorn was one of the first to seize his weapons, and hurried towards her, asking the meaning of those unusual sounds. In a few words White Gazelle in- formed him, and Unicorn, more fu rious than herself, aroused his warriors, and sent them in all directions in pur suit of Nathan. But we know that, temporarily at -least, the squatter's son had nothing to fear from this vain search. The miraculous flight of a man from ,the middle of a camp of warriors, un- perceived by the sentries, had some thing so extraordinary about it, that the Comanches, superstitious as all In dians, were disposed to believe in the intervention of the Genius of Evil. The whole camp was in confusion: everv one ran in a different direction, brandishing torches. The circle widen ed more and more. The warriors, carried away by their ardor, left the cle.iring and entered the forest. All at once a shrill cry broke through the air, and everybody stopped as if by enchantment. "Oh," White Gazelle asked, "what is that ?" " Koutonepi, my brother," Unicorn replied briefly, as he repeated the signal. " Let us run to meet him," the girl said. They hurried forward, closely fol lowed by a dozen warriors, and soon stood under the tree where Valentine and his companions were standing. The hunter saw them coming, and hence called to them. "Where are you?" Unicorn asked. " Up this gum tree," Valentine shouted ; " stop and look." The Indians looked up. " Wah !" Unicorn said with astonish ment, " what is my brother doing there?" " I will tell you, but first help me to come down ; we are not comfortably situated for conversing, especially for what I have to tell you, chief." " Good ; I await my brother." Valentine fastened his lasso to a branch and prepared to slide down, but Curumilla laid a hand on his shoulder. " What do you want, chief?" " Is my brother going down ?" " You see," Valentine said, pointing to the lasso. Curumilla shook his head with an air of dissatisfaction. " Red Cedar !" he said. "Ah, Canarios /" the hunter exclaim ed, as he struck his forehead, " I did not think about him. Why, I must be go ing mad. By Jove, chief! you are a precious man, nothing escapes your no tice wait." Valentine stooped, and forming his hands into a speaking-trumpet, shouted : " Chief, come up." " Good." The sachem seized the lasso, and by the strength of his wrists raised himself to the branch, where Valentine and Curumilla received him. " Here I am," he said. " By what chance are you hunting in the forest at this time of night?" the hunter asked him. Unicorn told him in a few words what had occurred. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 149 At this narration Valentine frowned and in his turn informed the chief of what he had done. " It is senous," Unicorn said, with a shake of his head. " It is," Valentine answered ; " it is plain the men we seek are not far from here. Perhaps they are listening to us." " It is possible," Unicorn muttered " but what is to be done in the dark ness ?" " Good ! let us be as clever as they How many warriors have you down there ?" " Ten, I believe." " Good. Have you among them any in whom you can trust?" "All," the sachem answered, proudly " I do not allude to courage, but to experience." " Wah ! F have Spider." "That's the man. He will take our place here with his warriors; he will cut off the communication aloft, while ; my comrades and I follow you. I should like to inspect the spot where your prisoner was tied up." All was arranged as Valentine pro posed. Spider established himself on the trees with his warriors, with orders to keep a good look-out; and Valentine, now sure of having raised an impassible barrier before Red Cedar, prepared to go to the camp, accompanied by Uni com. Curumilla again interposed. " Why go down V he said. Valentine was so well acquainted with his comrade's way of speaking, that he understood him at half a word. " True," he said to Unicorn ; " let us go to the camp, proceeding from branch to branch. Curumilla is right ; in that way, if Red Cedar is concealed in the neighborhood, we shall discover him." The Comanche Sachem nodded his head in assent, and they set out. They had been walking for about half an hour, when Curumilla, who was in front, stopped and uttered a sup pressed cry. The hunters raised their heads, and perceived, a few yards above them, an enormous black mass, carelessly sway ing about. " Well," Valentine said, " what is that ?" " A bear," Curumilla replied. " Indeed !" said Don Pablo ; " it is a splendid black bear." " Let us give him a bullet," Don Miguel remarked. " Do not fire, for Heaven's sake !" Don Pablo exclaimed eagerly, " it would give an alarm and warn the fel lows we are looking for of the spot where we are." "Still, I should like to collar it," Valentine observed, " were it only for its fur." " No," Unicorn peremptorily said, who had hitherto been silent, " bears are the cousins of my family." " In that case it is different," said the hunter, concealing with difficulty an ironical smile. The prairie Indians, as we think we have said before, are excessively super stitious. Among other articles of faith, they believe they spring from certain ani mals, which they treat as relatives, and for which they profess a profound re spect, which does not prevent them, however, from killing them occasional ly, as, for instance, when they are press ed by hunger, as frequently happens ; but we must do the Indians the justice of saying, that they never proceed to such extremities with their relatives without asking their pardon a thousand irnes, and first explaining to them that lunger alone compelled them to have recourse to this extreme measure to support life. Unicorn had no need of provisions at s moment, for his camp was choked ivith them, hence he displayed a praise worthy politeness and gallantry to his cousin Bruin. He bowed to him, and spoke to him or some minutes in the most affection- ite way, while the bear continued to way about, apparently not attaching jreat importance to the chief's remarks, nd rather annoyed than flattered by he compliments his cousin paid him. "he chief, internally piqued by this in- 150 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. difference in such bad taste, gave a part ing bow to the bear, and went on. The little party advanced for some time in silence. " I do not care," Valentine suddenly said ; " I do not know why, but I should have liked to have your cousin's hide, chief." " VVah !" Unicorn answered, "there are buffaloes in camp." " I know that very well," Valentine said, " so that is not my reason." " What is it, then?" " I don't know, but that bear did not seem to me all right, and had a suspi cious look about it." " My brother is jesting." "No; on my word, chief, that ani- did not seem to me true. For a trifle, I would return and have it out." " Does my brother think, then, that Unicorn is a child, who cannot recog nize an animal?" the sachem asked, haughtily. " Heaven forbid my having such a thought, chief; I know you are an ex perienced warrior, but the cleverest men may be taken in." "Oh! oh! what does my brother ^uppose, then ?" "Will you have my honest opinion?" "Yes, my brother will speak; he is a great hunter, his knowledge is im mense." " No, I am only an ignorant fellow, but I have carefully studied the habits of wild beasts." " Well," Don Miguel asked, " your opinion is that the bear " " Is Red Cedar, or one of his sons," Valentine quickly interrupted. " What makes you think so ?" "Just this: at this hour wild beasts have gone down to drink ; but even supposing that bear had returned al ready, do you not know that all animals fly from, man? This one, dazzled by the light, startled by the cries it heard in the usually quiet forest, ought to have tried to escape if it obeyed its in stincts, which would have been easy to do, instead of impudently dancing be fore us at a height of one hundred feet from the ground ; the more so, because tle bear is too prudent and selfish an animal to'confide its precious carcase so thoughtlessly to such slender branches as those on which it was balancing. Hum ! the more I reflect, the more per suaded I am that this animal is a man." The hunters, and Unicorn himself, who listened with the utmost attention to Valentine's words, were struck with the truth of his remarks ; numerous details which had escaped them now re turned to their minds, and corroborated the Trail-hunter's suspicions. "It is possible," Don Miguel said, " and for my part I am not indisposed to believe it." " Good gracious !" Valentine went on, "you can understand that on so dark a night as this it was easy for the chief, in spite of all his experience, to be deceived especially at such a dis tance as we were from the animal, which we only glimpsed; still, we com mitted a grave fault, and 1 first of all, in not trying to acquire a certainty." "Ah!" the Indian said, "my bro ther is right ; wisdom resides in him." " Now it is too late to go back the fellow will have decamped," Valentine remarked, thoughtfully ; " but," he ad ded a moment after, as he looked round, " where on earth is Curumilla?" At the same instant a loud noise breaking branches, followed by a su pressed cry, was heard a little distan off. " Oh, oh !" Valentine said, " can the bear be at any tricks ?" The cry of the jay was heard. "That is Curumilla's signal," said Valent ne ; "what the deuce can he be up to ?" " Let us go back and see," Don Mi guel remarked. " By Jove ! do you fancy I should desert my old companion so?" Valen tine exclaimed, as he replied to his friend by a similar cry to the one h had given. The hunters hurried back as quickl as the narrow and dangerous path the were following allowed. Curumilla, comfortably seated on a branch whose foliage completely hid him from any one who might be spy ing overhead, was laughing to himself. It was so extraordinary to see the Ul- men laugh, and the hour seemed so THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 151 unsir.ted for it, that. Valentine was al armed, and at the first moment was not far from believing that his worthy friend had suddenly gone mad. " Halloh, chief," he said, as he look ed round, " tell rne why you are laugh ing o. Were it only to follow your example, I should be glad to know the cause of this extreme gaiety." Curumilla fixed his intelligent eye on him, and replied, with a smile full of good humor : "The Ulmen is pleased." " I can see that," Valentine replied, " but I do not know why, and want to do so." "Curumilla has killed the bear," the Aucas said, sententiously. " Nonsense !" Valentine remarked, in surprise. " My brother can look, there is the chief's cousin." Unicorn looked savage, but Valentine and his friends peered in the direction indicated by the Araucano. Cururnil- la's lasso, securely fastened to the branch on which the hunters were standing, hung downwards, with a black and clumsy mass swaying from its ex tremity. It was the bear's carcass. Curumilla, during the conversation between Unicorn and his relative, care fully watched the animal's movement; like Valentine, its motions did not seem to him natural enough, and he wished to know the truth. Consequently, he waited the departure of his friends, fastened his lasso to a branch, and while the bear was carelessly descending from its perch, fancying it had got rid of its visitors, Curumilla lassoed it. At this unexpected attack the animal tottered and lost its balance in short, it fell, and remaining suspended in the air ; thanks to the slip knot, which pressed its throat and saved it from broken bones ; as a recompense, how ever, it was strangled. The hunters began drawing up the lasso, for all burned to know were they deceived. After some efforts the animal's corpse was stretched out on a branch. Valentine beat over it, but rose again almost immediately. " I was sure of it," he said, contemp tuously. He kicked off the head, which fell, displaying in its stead Nathan's face, whose features were frightfully con vulsed. "Oh!" they exclaimed, "Nathan." " Yes," Valentine remarked. " Red Cedar's eldest son." "One!" Don Miguel said, in a hol low voice. Poor Nathan was not lucky in his disguises; in the first he was all but burnt alive, in the second he was handed. CHAPTER XXXV. THE HUNT CONTINUED. THE hunters stood for a moment silent, with their eyes fixed on their enemy. Unicorn, who doubtless owed Na than a grudge for the way in which he had deceived him by passing for one of his relatives, broke the sort of charm that enthralled them, by draw ing his scalping knife and raising the poor fellow's hair with uncommon dex terity. " It is the scalp of a dog of the Long- knives," he said, contemptuously as he placed his bleeding trophy in his girdle : his lying tongue will never again deceive anybody." Valentine was deep in thought. " What are we to do now ?'' Don Mi guel asked. " Canelo !" Don Pablo exclaimed, " that is not difficult to guess, father tart at once in pursuit of Red Cedar." " What does my brother say ?" Uni corn asked, as he turned, deferentially to Valentine. The latter raised his head. " All is over for this night," he re plied ; " that man was ordered to amuse us while his friends fled. Try ing to pursue them at this moment would be signal folly ; they have too reat a start for us possibly to catch them up, and the night is so black that we should want a sentry on every branch. We will content ourselves for 152 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. the present by keeping our line of scouts as we placed them. At day break the council of the tribe will as semble, and decide on the further meas ures to be taken." All followed the hunter's advice, and they returned towards the camp, which they reached an hour later. On entering the clearing, Unicorn tapped Valentine on the shoulder. "I have to speak with my brother," he said. " I am listening to my brother," the hunter replied ; " his voice is a music that always rejoices my heart." " My brother will be much more re joiced," the chief answered, a smiling, " when he hears what I have to tell him." " The sachem can only be the bearer of good news to me ; what has he to tell me ?" " Sunbeam reached the camp to day." Valentine started. " Was she alone?" he asked, eagerly. " Alone ! she would not have dared to come," the chief remarked, with some haughtiness. "That is true," Valentine said, anx iously ; " then my mother ?" " The hunter's mother is here ; I have given her my calli." " Thanks, chief," he exclaimed, warm ly ; "oh! you are truly a brother to me." " The great pale hunter is a son of the tribe ; he is the brother of all of us." " Oh, my mother, my good mother ! How did she come hither 1 Oh, I must run to see her." " Here she is," said Curumilla. The Araueano, at the first word utter ed by Unicorn, guessing the pleasure he should cause his friend, had gone, with out saying a word, to seek Madame Guillois, whom anxiety kept awake, though she was far from suspecting that her son was near her. " My child !" the worthy woman said, as she pressed him to her heart. After the first emotion had passed over, Valentine took his mother's arm in his, and led her gently back to the calli. " You are not wise, mother," he said, with an accent of reproach. " Why did you leave the village ? The season is advanced, it is cold, and you do not know the deadly climate of the prairies; your health is far from strong, and I wish you to nurse yourself. 1 ask you to do so, not for yourself but for me. Alas ! what would become of me, were I to lose you !" "My dear child," the old lady repli ed, tenderly. " Oh ! how happy I am to be thus loved. What I experience at present amply repays all the suffering your absence occasioned me. I implore you to let me act as 1 like ; at my age, a woman should not calculate on a mor row. I will not seperate far from you again ; let me, at any rate, have the happiness of dying in your arms, if I am not permitted to live." Valentine regarded his mother atten tively. These ill-omened words struck him to the heart. He was frightened by the expression of her face, whose pallor and extreme tenuity had something fatal about it. Madame Guillois perceived her son's emotion, and smiled sadly. " You see," she said, gently, " I shall not be a burden to you long ; the Lord will soon recal me to him." "-Oh, speak not so, mother. Dis miss those gloomy thoughts. You have, I hope many a long day to pass by my side." The old lady shook her head, as aged persons do when they fancy themselves certain of a thing. " No weak illusions, my son," she said, in a firm voice ; " be a man pre pare yourself for a speedy and inevita ble seperation. But promise me one thing." " Speak, mother." " Whatever may happen, swear not to send rne away from you again." " Why, mother, you order me to commit a murder. In your present state you could not lead my mode of life for two days." " No matter, my son, I will not leave you again : take the oath I demand of you." " Mother !" he said, hesitating. " You refuse me, my son !" she ex claimed, in pain. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 153 Valentine felt almost heartbroken ; he had not the courage to resist longer. " Well," he murmured, sorrowfully, " since you insist, mother, be it so ; I swear that we shall never be separated again." A flush of pleasure lit up the poor old lady's face, and for a moment she looked happy. " Bless you, my son," she said. " You render me very happy by grant ing what I ask." " Well," he said, with a stifled sigh, " it is you who wish it, mother : your will be done, and may Heaven not punish me for having obeyed you. Now it is my turn to ask, as henceforth the care of your health concerns me alone." " What do you want ?" she said, with an ineffable smile. " 1 wish you to take a few hours' in- dispensible rest, after your fatigues of the day." " And you, dear child ?" " I shall sleep too, mother ; for if to day has been fatiguing, to-morrow will be equally so ; so rest in peace, and feel no anxiety on my account." Madame Guillois tenderly embraced her son, and threw herself on the bed prepared for her by Sunbeam's care. Valentine then left the calli, and re joined his friends, who were reposing round a fire lit by Curumilla. Careful ly wrapping himself in his buffalo robe he laid on the ground, closed his eyes, and sought sleep that great consoler of the afflicted, who often call it in vain for a long time ere it deigns to come for a few hours, and enable them to forget their sorrows. He was aroused, towards daybreak, by a hand being softly laid on his shoulder, and a voice timidly murmur ing his name. The hunter opened his eyes, and sat up quickly. " Who goes there?" he said. " I ! White Gazelle." Valentine, now completely awake, threw off his buffalo robe, got up and shook himself several times. " I am at your orders," he saii. " What do you desire ?" " To ask your advice," she replied. " Speak : I am listening." , " Last night, while Unicorn and yourself were looking for Red Cedar on one side, Black Cat and I were look ing on the other." " Do you know where he is ?" he quickly interrupted her. " No ; but I suspect it." He gave her a scrutinising glance, which she endured without letting her eyes sink. " You know that I am now entirely devoted to you," she said, candidly. " Pardon me I am wrong : go on, I beg you." " When I said I wished to ask your advice, I was wrong ; I should have said I had a prayer to address to you." " Be assured that if it be possible for me to grant it, I will do so without hesitation." White Gazelle stopped for a mo ment ; then, making an effort over her self, she seemed to form a resolution, and went on : " You have no personal hatred to Red Cedar ?" " Pardon me. Red Cedar is a vil lain, who plunged a family I love into mourning and woe : he caused the d,eath of a maiden who was very dear to me, and of a man to whom I was at tached by ties of friendship." White Gazelle gave a start of im patience, which she at once repressed. " Then 1" she said. " If he fall into my hands, I will re morselessly kill him." " Still, there is another person who has had, for many years, terrible in sults to avenge on him."* " Whom do you allude to?" " Bloodson." " That is true ; he told me he had a fearful account to settle with his ban dit." " Well," she said quickly, " be kind enough to let my uncle, I mean Blood- son, capture Red Cedar." " Why do you ask this of me?" " Because the hour has arrived to do so, Don Valentine." " Explain yourself." " Ever since the bandit has been confined in the mountains with no hope of escape, I was ordered by my 154 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. uncle to ask you to yield this capture to him, when the moment came for it," " But suppose he let him escape !" said Va/entine. She smiled with an indefinable ex pression. "-That is impossible," she answered, " you do not know what a twenty years' hatred is." She uttered these words with an ac cent that made the hunter, brave as he was, tremble. Valentine, as he said, would have kill ed Red Cedar without hesitation, like a dog, if chance brought them face to face in a fair fight ; but it was repulsive to his feelings and honor to strike a dis armed foe, however vile and unworthy he might be. While inwardly recogniz ing the necessity of finishing once for all with that human-faced tiger called Red Cedar, he was not sorry that an other assumed the responsibility of such an act, and constituted himself execu tioner. White Gazelle carefully watched him, and anxiously followed in his face the various feelings that agitated him, try ing to guess his resolution. " Well T' she asked at the end of a moment. " What is to be done ?" he said. " Leave me to act ; draw in the blockading force, so that it would be impossible for our foe to pass, even if he assumed the shape of a prairie dog, and wait without stirring." " For long ?" " No ; for two days, three at the most ; is that too long ?" " Not if you keep your promise." " I will keep it, or, to speak more correctly, my uncle shall keep it for me." " That is the same thing." j " No, it is better." " That is what I meant." " It is settled, then !" " One word more. You know how my friend Don Miguel Zarate suffered through Red Cedar, 1 think ?" " 1 do." " I know the villain killed his daugh ter ?" " Yes," she said, with a tremor in her voice, " I know it ; but trust to me, Don Valentine ; I swear to you that Don Miguel shall be more fully aveng ed than ever he hoped to be." " Good ; if at the end of three days I grant you, justice is not dene on that villain, 1 will undertake it, and 1 swear in my turn that it will be terrible." " Thanks, Don Valentine, now 1 will go." " Where to ?" " To join Bloodson, and carry him your answer." White Gazelle leaped lightly on her horse, which was fastened ready saddled to a tree, and set off at a gallop, wav ing her hand to the hunter for the last time in thanks. " What a singular creature ?" Valen tine muttered. As day had dawned during this con versation, the Trail-hunter proceeded to ward Unicorn's calli, to assemble the great chiefs in council. So soon as the hunter entered the lodge, Don Pablo, who ly.d hitherto re mained motionless, pretending to sleep, suddenly rose. " Good Heavens !" he exclaimed, as he clasped his hands fervently. " How to save poor Ellen 1 if she falls into the hands of that fury, she is lost." Then after a moment's reflection, he ran toward Unicorn's calli. Valentine came out of it at the mo ment the yuui'g man reached the door. " Where are you going" to at that rate, my friend ?" he asked him. " I want a horse." "A horse?" Valentine said in sur prize ; " what to do ?" The Mexican gave him a glance of strange meaning. " To go to Bloodson's camp," he said resolutely. A sad smile played round the Trail- hunter's lips. He pressed the young man's hand, saying in a sympathizing voice : " Poor lad r " Let me go, Valentine, I implore you," he said earnestly. The hunter unfastened a horse that was nibbling the young tree shoots in front of the lodge. " Go," he said, sadly, " go where your destiny drags you." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. The young man thanked him warm ly, leaped on the horse, and started off at full speed. Valentine looked after him for some time, and when the rider had disappear ed, he gave vent to a profound sigh, as he murmured : " He, too, loves unhappy man !" And he entered his mother's calli, to give her the morning kiss. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE LAST REFUGE. WE must now return to Red Cedar. When th squatter heard the yells of the redskins, and saw their torches flashing through the trees in the distance, he at the first start of terror thought himself lost, and burying his head in his hands, he would have fallen to the ground, had not Fray Ambrosio caught hold of him just in time. " Demonios !" the monk exclaimed, "take care, gossip, gestures are danger ous here." But the bandit's despondency lasted no longer t um a flash of lightning ; he drew himself up again, almost as haugh ty as he had been previously, saying in a firm voice : " I will escape." " Bravely spoken, gossip," the monk said ; " but we must act." "Forward !" the squatter howled. " What do you mean ?' the monk cried, with a start of terror; " why, that leads to the redskins' camp." " Forward, I tell you." " Very good, and may the devil pro tect us !" Fray Ambrosio muttered. The s*quatt*;r, as he said, marched boldly toward the camp ; they soon reached the spot where they let down a lasso for Nathan, and which they had beaten a retreat from in, their first move ment of terror. On reaching it, the squatter parted the branches, and look ed down. All the camp was aroused ; Indians could be seen running about iu all di rections. "Oh," Red Cedar muttered, "I hoped all these demons would start in pursuit of us ; it is impossible to cross there." "We cannot think of it," said Nathan, ' we should be hopelessly lost." " Let us do something," said the monk. Ellen, exhausted with fatigue, seated herself on a branch, and her father gazed at her in despair. " Poor child," he said, in a low voice, " how she suffers !" " Do not think about me, father," she said ; " save yourself, and leave me here." " Leave you !" he cried, savagely ; " never ! not if I died ; no, no, 1 will save you." " What have I to fear from these men, to whom I never did any harm ?" she continued ; " they will have pity on my weakness." Red Cedar burst into an ironical laugh. " Ask the jaguars if they pity the antelopes," he said. " You do not know the savages, poor child. They would torture you to death with ferocious joy." Ellen sighed, and let her head droop. "Time is slipping away; let us de cide on something," the monk repeated. " Go to the devil !'' the squatter said brutally; "you are my evil genius." " How ungrateful men are !" the monk said, ironically, as he raided his hypocritical eyes to Heaven ; " 1, who am his dearest friend." " Enough," Red Cedar said, furious ly ; " we cannot remain here, so let us go back." "What, again?" " Do you know any other road, de mon r "Where is Nathan?" the squatter suddenly asked; "has he fallen off?" " Not such a fool," the young man said, with a laugh ; " but I have chang ed my dress." He parted the leaves that hid him, and his comrades gave a cry of surprise. Nathan was clothed in a bear-skin, and carried the head in his hand. " Oh, oh !" said Red Cedar, " that is a lucky find : where did you steal that, lad?" " I only had the trouble to take it off 156 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. the branch where it was hung to dry." " Take care of it, for it may be of use ere long." " That is what I thought." After taking a few steps, Red Cedar stopped, stretched out his arm to warn his comrades, and listened. After two oi 1 three minutes, he turned to his com rades and whispered : " Our retreat is cut off; people are walking on the trees, I heard branches creaking and leaves rustling." They gazed at each other in terror. "We will not despair," he went on, quickly, " all is not yet lost ; let us go higher, and on one side, till they have passed; during that time, Nathan will amuse them ; the Comanches rarely do an injury to a bear." No one made any objection, so Sut- ter started first, and the monk followed. Ellen looked at her father sorrowful- ijr. " I care not," she said. " I say again, I will save you, child," he replied with great tenderness. He took the maiden in his powerful arms, and laid her softly on his shoul- det. " Hold ou," he muttered, " and fear nothing." Then, with a dexterity and strength doubled by a father's love, the bandit seized the bough over his head with one hand, and disappeared in the foli age, after saying to his son : " Look out, Nathan, play your part cleverly, lad, our safety depends on you." " Don't be frightened, old one," the young man replied, as he put on the bear's head ; " I am not more stupid than an Indian ; they will take me for their cousin." We know what happened, and how this trick, at first so successful, was foiled by Curumilla. On seeing his &on fall, the squatter was momentarily affected by a blind rage, and pointed his rifle at the Indian. Fortunately the monk saw the impru dent gesture soon enough to check him. " What are you about ?" he hoarse ly whispered, as he struck up the bar rel ; "you will destroy your daugh ter." " That is true," the squatter mutter ed. Ellen, by an extraordinary hazard, had seen nothing ; had she done so, it is probable that her brother's death would have drawn from her a cry of agony, which must have denounced her companions. " Oh," Red Cedar said, "still that ac cursed Trail-hunter and his devil of an Indian. They alone can conquer me." The fugitives remained for an hour in a state of terrible alarm, not daring to stir, through fear of being discover ed. They were so close to their pursuers that they distinctly heard what they said, but at length the speakers retired, the torches were put out, and all be came silent again. "Ouf!"said the monk, " they have gone. " Not all," the squatter answered ; " did you not hear that accursed Valen tine ?" " That is true ; our retreat is still cut off." " We must not despair yet ; for the present we have nothing to fear here ; rest a little while, while I go on the search." " Hum!" Fray Ambrosio muttered ; " why not go altogether ? that would be more prudent, I think." Red Cedar laughed bitterly. "Listen, gossip," he said to the monk, as he seized his arm, which he pressed like a vice : " you distrust me, and you are wrong. 1 wished once to leave you, I allow, but I no longer wish it. We will perish or escape together." ' Oh, oh ! are you speaking serious ly, gossip V " Yes ; for, trusting to the foolish promises of a priest, 1 resolved to re form ; I altered my life, and led a pain ful existence ; not injuring anybody, and toiling honestly. The men I wish ed to forget remembered me in their thirst for revenge. Paying no heed to my wish to repent, they fired my wretched jacal and killed my son. Now they track me like a wild beast, the old instincts are aroused in me, and the evil leaven that slept in my heart is fermenting afresh. They have de- THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 157 olared a war to the death. Well, by heaven, I accept it, and will wage it without pity, truce, or mercy, not ask ing of them, if they captured me, less than I would give them if they fell into my hands. Let them take care, for 1 am Red Cedar ! he the Indians call the Man-eater (Witchasta Joute) and I will devour their hearts. So, at pre sent, be at your ease, monk, we shall not part again : you are my conscience we are inseparable." The squatter uttered those atrocious words with such an accent of rage and hatred, that the monk saw he really spoke the truth, and his evil instincts had definitively gained the upper hand. A hideous smile of joy curled his lips. " Well, gossip," he said, " go and look out, we will await you here." During the squatter's absence not a word was uttered. Sutter was asleep, the monk thinking, and Ellen weeping. The poor girl had heard with sorrow mingled with horror her father's atroci ous sentiments. She then measured tlie fearful depth of the abyss into which she was suddenly hurled, for Red Ce dar's determination cut her off eternally from society, and condemned her to a life of grief and tears. After about an hour's absence Red Cedar re-appeared, and the expression of his face was joyous. " Well ! ' the monk anxiously asked him. " Good news," he replied ; " I have discovered a refuge where I defy the cleverest bloodhounds of the prairies to track me." " Is it far from here ?" " A very little distance ; but that will prove our security. Our enemies will never suppose we had the impudence to hide so close to them." " That is true ; we will go there, then." " When you please." " At once." Red Cedar told the truth. He had really discovered a refuge, which offer ed a very desirable guarantee of secu rity. Had we not ourselves witnessed a similar thing in the Far West, we should not put faith in the possibility of such a hiding-place. After going about one hundred and fifty yards, the squatter stopped before an enormous oak that had died of old age, and whose interior was hollow. " It is here," he said, cautiously part ing the mass of leaves, branches, and creepers that completely concealed the cavity. " Hum !" the monk said, as he peer ed down into the hole, which was dark as pitch ; " have we got to go down there ?" " Yes," Red Cedar replied ; " but re assure yourself, it is not very deep." In spite of this assurance the monk still hesitated. " Take it or leave it," the squatter went on ; " do you prefer being cap tured ?" " But we shall not be able to stir down there ?" " Look around you." " I am looking." " Do you perceive that the mountain is perpendicular here ?" " Yes, I do." " Good ; we are on the edge of the precipice which poor Nathan told us of." " Ah !" " Yes ; yoll see that this dead tree seem.s, as it were, welded to the moun tain V' " That is true. I did not notice it at first." " Well ; going down that cavity, for fifteen feet at the most, you will find another which passes the back of the tree, and communicates with a cavern." " Oh !" the monk exclaimed gleefully, ' how did you discove'r this hiding- place r The squatter sighed. " It was long ago," he said. " Stay," Fray Ambrosio objected ; ' others may know it beside yourself." i " No," he answered, shaking his head; ' only one man knows it beside myself, and his discove.ry cost him his life." " That is reassuring.'' " No hunter or trapper ever comes ,his way, for it is a precipice ; if we were to take a few steps further in that direction, we should find ourselves sus- 153 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. pended over an abyss of unknown depth, one of the sides of which this mountain forms. However, to quiet your fears, J will go down first." Red Cedar threw into the gaping hol low a few pieces of candle-wood he had procured ; he put his rifle on his back, and, hanging by his hands, let himself down to the bottom of the tree, Sutter and the monk curiously watching him. The squatter struck a light, lit one of the torches, and waved it about his head. The monk then perceived that the old scalp-hunter had spoken the truth. Red Cedar entered the cavern, in the floor of which he stuck his torch, so that the hollow was illumined, then came out and rejoined his friends by the aid of his lasso. " Well," he said to them, " what do you think of that ?" " We shall be famous there," the monk answered. Without further hesitation he slipped into the tree and disappeared in the grotto. Suiter followed his example, but re main t-d at the bottom of the tree to help his sister down. The maiden appeared no longer con scious of what was going on around her. Kind and docile as ever, she acted with automatic precision, not trying to understand why she did one thing more than another ; her father's words had struck her heart, and broken every spring of her will. When her father let her down the tree, she mechanically followed her brother into the cave. When left alone, the squatter re moved with minute care any traces which might have revealed to his ene mies' sharp eyes the direction in which he had gone ; and when he felt certain that nothing would denounce him, he entered the cave in his turn. The bandits' first care was to inspect their domain, and they found it was im mense. The cavern ran for a considerable distance under the mountain ; it was divided into several branches and floors, some of which ran up to the top of the mountain, while others buried them selves in the ground ; a subterranean lake, the reservoir of some nameless river, extended for an immense distance under a low arch, all black with bats. The cavern had several issues in dia metrically opposite directions; and they were so well hidden, that it was impossible to notice them outside. Only one thing alarmed the adven turers, and that was the chances of pro curing food ; but to that Red Cedar re plied that nothing was easier than to set traps, or even hunt on the moun tain. Ellen had fallen into a broken sleep on a bed of furs her father had hastily prepared for her. The wretched girl had so suffered and endured such fatigue during the last few days, that she lite rally could not stand on her feet. When the three men had inspected the cave, they returned and sat down by her side. Red Cedar looked at her sleeping with an expression of infinite tenderness ; he was too fond of his daughter not to pity her, and think with grief of the fearful destiny that awaited her by his side ; unhappily, any remedy was impossible. Fray Ambrosio, whose mind was al ways busy, drew the squatter from his reverie. " Well, gossip," he said, " I suppose we are condemned to spend some time here ?" " Until our pursuers, tired of seeking us in vain, at length determine to go off." " They may be long ; hence, for the greater secrecy, I propose one thing." " What is it ?" " There are blocks of stone here which time has detached from the roof; before we go to sleep, I propose that we roll three or four of the largest into the hole by which we entered." " Why so V the squatter asked ab ruptly. " In our present position two precau tions are better than one; the Indians are such cunning demons, that they are capable of coming down the tree." " The padre is right, old one," Sut ter, who was half asleep, said ; " it is no great task to roll the stones ; but ill that way we shall be easy in our minds." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 159 "Do what you like," the squatter answered, still continuing to gaze on his daughter. The two men, with their leader's ap proval, rose to carry on their plan, and half an hour later the hole was so artistically closed up, that no one would have suspected it had he not known it before. " Now we can sleep, at any rate," said Fray Ambrosio. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE CASKET. IK spite of the start White Gazelle had, Don Pablo caught up to her before she had gone two leagues from c:imp. On hearing a horse galloping behind her, the girl turned, and one glance was sufficient for her to recognize the Mexi can. At the sight of him a feverish flush suffused her face, a convulsive tremor fell upor. her, and, in short, the emotion she felt was so powerful, that she was compelled to stop. Still, ashamed of letting the man she hopelessly loved see the impression the sight of him produced on her, she made a supreme effort, and managed to assume a look of indifference, while thoughts crowded her brain. "What is he going to do here 1 ? where is he going ? We shall see," she added to herself. She waited, and Don Pablo soon found her. The young man, suffering from ex treme nervous excitement, was in the worst possible mood to act diplomati cally. On reaching the White Gazelle he bowed, and continued his journey without speaking to her. White Gazelle shook her head. " I know how to make him speak," she said. Hitting her horse sharply with her chicote, she started at a gallop, and kept by Don Pablo's side. The two riders went on thus for some time without exchanging a syllable. Each of them seemed afraid of opening the conversation, feeling in what direc tion it must turn. Still galloping side by side, they at length reached a spot where two paths forked. White Gazelle checked her horse, and stretched out her arm in a northerly direction. " I am going there," she said. " So am I," Don Pablo remarked, without hesitation. The young woman looked at him with a surprise too natural not to be feigned. " Where are you going, then ]" she went on. " Where you are," he said again. " But I am going to Bloodson's camp." " Well, so am I ; what is there so amazing in that ?" " Nothing ; how does it concern me ?" she said with a significant pout. " You will, therefore, permit me, Nina, to accompany you to your destin ation." " 1 cannot and will not prevent you from following me; the road is free, caballero," she drily replied. Tiiey were silent as if by common agreement, and were absorbed in thought. White Gazelle gave her companion one of those bright womanly glances that read to the bottom of the heart ; a smile played round her cherry lips, and she shook her head maliciously. Singu lar thoughts doubtless fermented in her head. At about two of the tarde, as they say in Spanish countries, they reached a ford on a small river, on the other side of which the huts of Bloodson's camp could be seen at a distance of about two leagues. White Gazelle halted, and at the mo ment her companion was about to take to the water, she laid her little hand on his bridle, and checked him, saying, in a soft but firm voice : " Before we go further, a word if you please, caballero." Don Pablo looked at her in surprise, but made no attempt to remove the obstacle. " I am listening to you, senorita," he said, with a bow. 160 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. " I know why you are going to Blood son's camp," she continued. " I doubt it," he said, with a shake of the head. " Boy ! this morning, when I wa: talking with Don Valentine, you were lying at our feet." " I was." " If your eyes were shut, your ear were open." . " What do you mean ?" " That you heard our conversation." " Suppose I did, what do you con clude from that?" " You are going to the camp to coun teract my plans, and make them fail, if possible." . The young man started and looked disappointed at being so truly judged. " Senorita," he said, with embarrass- ment. " Do not deny it," she said kindly ; " It would be useless, for I know all." "All!'' " Yes, and a great deal more than you know yourself." The Mexican was amazed. " Let us play fairly," she continued. % " I ask nothing better," he replied, not knowing what he said. " You love the squatter's daughter ?" she said distinctly. " Yes." " You wish to save her ?" " Yes." "I will help you." There was a silence ; these few words had been interchanged by the speakers with feverish rapidity. "You are not deceiving me?" Don Pablo asked, timidly. " No," she answered, frankly, " what good would it do me ? You have given her your heart, and a man cannot love really twice ; I will help you, I say." The young man gazed at her with surprise mingled with terror. He re membered what an implacable foe White Gazelle had been to poor Ellen only a few months back, and suspected a snare. She guessed it, and a sorrow ful smile played round her lips. " Love is no longer permitted me," she said ; " my heart is not even capa cious enough for the hatred that devours it. I live only for vengeance. Believe me, Don Pablo, I will treat you honor ably. When you are at length happy, and indebted to me for a small portion of the happiness you enjoy, perhaps you will feel a little friendship and gra titude for me. Alas ! it is the only feeling I desire now ; I am one of those wretched, condemned creatures, who hurled involuntarily into an abyss, can not check their downward progress. Pity me, Don Pablo, but dismiss all fear ; for, I repeat to you, you have not and never will have a more devoted friend than myself." The girl pronounced these words with such an accent of sincerity, it was so plain that the heart alone spoke, and that the sacrifice was consummated without any after-thought, that Don Pablo felt affected by such abnegation. By an irresistible impulse, he offered her his hand ; she pressed it warmly, wiped away a tear, and then banished every trace of emotion. " Now," she said, " not a word more : we understand one another, I think?" " Oh, yes," he answered, gladly. " Let us cross the stream," she said, with a smile ; " in half-an-hour we shall reach the camp ; no one must know what has passed between us." They soon reached Bloodson's camp, where they wei*e received with shouts of pleasure and welcome ; they gallop ed through it and stopped before the ranger's hut, who had come out, arous- d by the shouts, and was awaiting. The reception was cordial, and after the first compliments, White Gazelle xplained to her uncle the result of her mission and what had occurred in Uni- orn's camp while she was there. "That Red Cedar is a perfect de mon," he answered ; " I alone have the ueans in my hands to capture him." " In what way ?" Don Pablo asked. " You shall see," he said. Without further explanation, he raised a silver whistle to his lips, and )lew a clear and long note. -At this summons, the buffalo-hide curtain of the hut was raised from without, and a man appeared, in whom Don Pablo recognized Andres Garote. The gambusino bowed with that THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 161 politeness peculiar to Mexicans, and fixed his small grey and intelligent eyes on Bloodson. " Master Garote," the latter said, turning to him, " 1 have called you, be cause I want to speak seriously with you." " I am at your Excellency's orders," he answered. " You doubtless remember," Blood- son went on, " the compact you made when I admitted you into my cuadril- la?" Andres bowed his affirmative. " I remember it," he said. " Very good. Are you still angry with Red Cedar ?" " Not exactly with Red Cedar, Ex cellency ; personally he never did me much harm." " That is true ; but you still have, I suppose, the desire to avenge yourself on Fray Ambrosio V A flash of hatred shot from the Gam- busino's eye. " I would give my life to have his." " Good ! I like to find you feel in that way ; your desire will soon be satisfied, if you are willing." " If I am willing, Excellency !" the ranchero exclaimed, hotly. "Canaries, tell me what I must do for that, and, on my soul, I will do it. I assure you I will not hesitate." Bloodson concealed a smile of satis faction. " Red Cedar, Fray Ambrosio, and their comrades," he said, " are hidden a few miles from here in the mountains ; you will go there." " I will." , " Wait a minute. You will join them in some way, gain their confi dences, and when you have obtained this necessary information, you will re turn here, so that we may crush this brood of vipers." The gambusino reflected for a mo ment. Bloodson fancied he was unwilling. " What, you hesitate !" he said. " I hesitate !" the ranchero exclaim ed, shaking his head with a peculiar smile. " No, no, Excellency, I was merely reflecting." " What abouU" "I will tell you: the mission you give me is one of life and death. If I' tail, I know what I have to expect : Red Cedar will kill me like a dog." " Very probably." " He will be right in doing so, and I shall be unable to reproach him ; but, when I am dead, I do not wish that vil lain to escape." " Trust to my word.'' The gambusino's foxy face assumed an extraordinary expression of cunning. " I do trust to it, Excellency," he said ; " but you have very serious busi ness that occupies nearly all your time, and perhaps, without desiring it, you might forget me." " You need not fear that." " We can answer for nothing, Excel lency ; there are very strange circum stances in life." "What do you want to arrive at? come, explain yourself frankly." Andres Garote lifted his zarape, and took from under it a little steel box, which he placed on the table near which Bloodson was sitting. " Here, Excellency," he said, in that soft voice which never left him ; " take that casket ; so soon as I am gone, break open the lock, I am certain you will find it contains papers that will interest you." " What do these words mean ?" Bloodson asked anxiously. " You will see," the gambusino re plied, quite unmoved ; " in that way, if you forget me, you will not forget your self, and 1 shall profit by your venge ance." " Do you know the contents of these papers, then?" " Do you suppose, Excellency, that I have had that coffer in my possession for six months, without discovering its contents ? No, no, I like to know what I have got. You will find it interest ing, Excellency." " But if that be the case, why did you not give me the papers sooner?" " Because the hour had not arrived to do so, Excellency ; I awaited the op portunity that offers to-day. The man who wishes to avenge himself must be patient. You know the proverb : ' Ven- 162 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. geance is a fruit that must be eaten ripe.' " While the gambusino was saying this, Bloodson kept his eyes fixed on the casket. "Are you going?" he asked him, when he ceased speaking. " Directly, Excellency ; but if you permit it, we will make a slight altera tion in the instruction you have given me." " Speak." " It strikes me that, if I am obliged to return here, we shall lose precious time in coining and going 1 : which time Red Cedar, whose suspicions will be aroused, may profit by to decamp." " That is true ; but what is to be done V " Oh, it is very simple. When the moment arrives to spread our nets, I will light a fire on the mountain; which will serve as a signal to you to start at once ; still, there would be no harm if some one accompanied me, and remain ed hidden ne;ir the spot where I am going." " It shall be done as you wish," White Gazelle answered : " two per sons will accompany vou in lieu of one." " How so ?" " Don Pablo de Zarate and myself intend to go with you," she continued, giving the young man a glance he un derstood. " Then all is for the best," the gam busino said, " and we will start when you like." " At once, at once," the two young people exclaimed. " Our horses are not tired, and can easily cover that distance," Don Pablo remarked. " Make haste, then, for moments are precious," said Bloodson, who burned to be alone. "I only crave a few moments to saddle my horse." " Go, we will wait for you here." The gambusino went out. The three persons remained in silence, all equally perplexed about the casket, on which Bloodson had laid his hand as if afraid of having it torn from him again. Very shortly, a horse was heard gal loping outside, and Garote put his head in at the door. "I am ready," he said. White Gazelle and Don Pablo rose. " Let us go !" they shouted as they ran to the door. " I wish you luck 1" Bloodson said to them. " Excellency, do not forget the cof fer," the gambusino said with a grin ; " you will find the contents most inter esting to you." So soon as the ranger was alone, he rose, carefully fastened the door, not to be disturbed in the examination he was about to make, and then sat down again, after selecting from a small deerskin pouch some hooks of different size. He then took the coffer, and careful ly examined it all over. There was nothing remarkable about it : it was, as we have said elsewhere, a light cas ket of carved steel, made with the most exquisite taste a pretty toy, in a word. In spite of his desire to know its contents, the ranger hesitated to open it ; this pretty little toy caused him an emotion for which he could not account: he fancied he had seen it before, but he racked his brains in vain to try and re member where. " Oh !" he said, speaking to himself in a low hoarse voice ; " can I be ap proaching the consummation of the ob ject to which I have devoted my life !" He fell into a profound reverie, and remained for a lengthened period ab sorbed in a flood of bitter memories, that oppressed his breast. At length he raised his head, shook back his thick hair, and passed his hand over his forehead. " No more hesitation," he said, hoarsely, " let me know what I have to depend on. Something tells me that my researches will this time be crown ed with success." He then seized one of the hooks with a trembling hand, and put it in the lock; but his emotion was so great that he could not make the instrument act, and he threw it angrily from him. " Am I a child, then ?" he said ; " I will be calm." THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 163 He took the hook up again with a firm hand, and the casket opened. Blcodson looked eagerly into the in terior ; it only contained two letters, which time had turned yellow. At the sight of them, a livid pallor covered the ranger's face. He evidently recognized the handwriting at the first glance. He uttered a howl of joy, and' seized the letters, say ing, in a voice that had nothing human about it : " Here, then, are the proofs I believed to be destroyed !" He unfolded the paper with the most minute precautions, for fear of tearing the creases, and bfgan reading. Ere long, a sigh of relief burst from his overladen bosom. ." Ah !" he uttered, " Heaven has at length delivered you to me, my masters; we will settle our accounts." He replaced the letters in the casket, closed it again, and carefully hid it in his bosom. CHAPTER XXXVIII. SMOKE IN THE MOUNTAIN. THK three adventurers rapidly left Bloodson's camp, and proceeded in the direction of the mountains, galloping silently side by side. They had a foreboding that the finale of this terrible drama was approaching, and involuntarily their thoughts were sad. Man is so constituted that the feeling which has most power over him is sad ness ; human organization is formed for struggling, and joy is only an anomaly ; built to resist the hardest trials, the strongest man is frequently the one who yields most easily to great joy ; hence, strange to say nothing more resembles happiness than sorrow ; the symptoms are so completely the same, that a great joy annihilates the faculties almost as a> much as a great sorrow does. At this moment, the three persons we are following were under the weight of an emotion such as we have described. At the instant when they expected the hopes they had so long entertained 10 would be fulfilled, they felt an emotion which completely mastered them, and for which they could not account. They were about to play for a decisive stake. Ever since they had been con tending with this rude adversary, they had ever found him standing in the track, returning them trick for trick, and although cruelly wounded, constant ly retaining the victory. This time luck had turned ; Heaven itself seemed to have interposed to make justice triumph, and the bandit, driven to his last entrenchments, was expect ing them to be forced at any moment. Still they did not conceal from them selves the difficulties of this final strug gle, in which the squatter would escape the fate reserved him by death, unless they managed to deceive him by trick ery. In such a state of mind, we may easily suppose that they said nothing, and reached the foot of the mountain without exchanging a syllable. Here they stopped. " Cabal leros," the gambusino said, " before going further, we shall not do badly, 1 fancy, by making some indis pensable arrangements." "What do you mean, my friend ?" Don Pablo asked. " We are going to enter regions," Andres replied, " where our horses will become more injurious than useful ; in the mountains a footman passes any where, a horseman nowhere." " That is true ; let us leave our horses here, then ; the noble brutes will not stray beyond the spot where they can find provender. When we re quire them, we sh:ill be sure to find them again, with a little search." " Is that the senorita's opinion also ?' the gambusino asked respectfully. " Quite," she answered. " Then let us dismount, remove sad dle and bridle, and leave them to their instinct." They removed everything that could trouble the horses, and then drove them away. The intelligent animals, accustomed to this, only went a few yards, and be gan quietly nibbling the thick prairie- grass. 164 TilE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. "That is all right," the gambusino said : " now let us think of ourselves." " But the harness," White Gazelle remarked ; " the moment will come when we shall be glad to have it ready to hand." " Perfectly true," said Andres ; " so we will put it in a safe place; for in stance, this hollow tree will form a famous store-room." " Caramba ! that is an original idea," Don Pablo said, " and deserves being followed." The three saddles were placed in the tree, and so covered with dead leaves, that it would be impossible to suspect their presence. "Now," said White Gazelle, "let us look after a place to bivouac : the nights are cold at this season, especially in tlie mountains ; day is rapidly de parting, and we shall soon be in dark ness." Our three scouts had left the camp at a rather late hour : hence, while they were unsaddling their horses, and hiding the harness, the sun had gradu ally sunk down beneath the horizon : the short period of twilight had begun, during which day finishes, and night begins, in which darkness and light, struggling desperately together, spread over the landscape a mixed haze, througt. which objects are regarded as through a prism. They must profit by this moment to look about them, so that they might run no risk of losing themselves so soon as darkness had gained the victory. They did so, therefore: after carefully noting the position of the different peaks, they boldly set out. They walked for nearly an hour up an ascent constantly becoming steeper, and then reached a species of narrow platform, where they halted for a moment ; in the first place to take breath, and then to consult about their further operations. "Suppose we sleep here?" White Gazelle said. " The perpendicular rock behind us offers a famous shelter from the wind, and, wrapped up in our zara- pes and buffalo robes, I feel convinced we should be quite comfortable." " Patience, Nina," the gambusiuo said, sententiously, " we must not talk about sleeping at present." " Why not?" she said, sharply ; " for my part, 1 may tell you 1 can sleep famously here." "Possibly so, Nina," Andres con tinued ; " but we have something else to do at present." " What then ?" " Look about us." " Why, you must be mad, my friend. It is as black as in an oven. The demon himself, though so used to darkness, would tread on his tail." " That is the very reason ; let us take advantage of the moon not having yet risen, to explore the neighborhood." " 1 do not understand you." "See how transparent the atmos phere is ; the vacillating and dubious light of the stars is sufficient to let ob jects be distinguished at an enormous distance. If the men we are pursuing, eat, which is probable, this is just the hour they would select to cook their food." " Well ?" Don Pablo asked, curiously. " Follow my argument closely ; Red Cedar can only expect enemies from the side of^ the plain.' 1 " That is true." " Hence his precautions are taken on that side, and not here ; he does not suspect us so near him, and, persuaded that no one is spying him, he will Jet the smoke of his fire rise peacefully to the sky in the shade of night, convinced that nobody will perceive it, which would be perfectly true, if, unfortunate ly for him, we were not here. Such is the reason why I urged you to enter the mountains, in spite of the advanced hour." White Gazelle and Don Pablo were struck by the correctness of this reason ing. They began, in consequence, to form a better opinion of their guide, and ta citly recognize in him that superiority which a man who is thoroughly acquaint ed with a thing, always acquires at a given moment. " Do as you think proper," Don Pablo said to him. " We are quite*of your opinion," the girl added. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 165 The gambusino displayed no pride or fatuity at this acknowledgement of the justice of his argument; he contented himself with recommending his com panions not to leave the spot where they were till his return, and then vrent off. When he was alone, instead of walk ing as he had hitherto done, the gam busino lay down and began crawling slowly along- the rocks, stopping ev ery now and then to raise his head, look around him and listen to the thousand sounds of the desert. At the expiration of about two hours he returned. " Well V Don Pablo asked him. " Come !" the garnbusino laconically answered. They followed, and he led them by a most abrupt path, where they were for ced to crawl on their hands and knees, to escape falling over the precipices. After a lengthened ascent, made with extraordinary difficulty, the gambusino stood up, making his companions a sign to follow his example. They did not let the invitation be repeated, for they were completely worn out. They found themselves on a plat form like the one they had previously left ; this platform, like the other, was commanded by an immense rock, but this rock had an enormous orifice like the entrance of an oven, and, strange enough, at the end of this orifice glit tered a light about the size of a star. " Look !" said the gambusino. " Oh, oh ! what is that?" Don Pablo asked in surprize. " Can we have found what we are looking for?" White Gazelle exclaimed, as she clasped her hands. " Silence," Andres Garote whisper ed, as he placed his hand on her mouth ; " we are at the entrance of a cavern, and these subterraneous passages are excellent sound-conductors ; Red Cedar has a fine ear, and though he is so far from you at this moment, you must fear his overhearing you." They gazed for a long time at this flickering light; at times a shadow pass ed before this star, and its brilliancy was eclipsed for some minutes. The gambusino, when he judged that their curiosity was satisfied, touched them on the arm, and led them gently away. " Come," he said to them. They began ascending again. At the end of about half an hour he made them stop a second time, and stretched out his arm. " Look attentively," he said to them. " Oh," Don Pablo said, at the end of a minute, " smoke." In fact a slight jet of white smoke seemed to issue from the ground, and rose in a thin and transparent spiral to the sky. " There is no smoke without fire," the gambusino said, with a grin ; " 1 show ed you the fire first, now there is the smoke. Are you convinced ? Have we found the tiger's lair?" " Yes," they said together. " That is better than sleeping, eh ?" he went on, with a slightly triumphant ac cent. " What are we to do now ?" White Gazzelle quickly interupted him. " Oh, good gracious ! a very simple thing," Andres replied ; " one of you two will immediately return to the camp to announce our discovery, and the mas ter will act as he thinks proper," " Good !" said the girl ; " I will go." "And you?" the gambusino asked Don Pablo. " I stay here." Garote made no objection, and White Gazelle darted down the mountain side with feverish ardor. The gambusino laid his buffalo robe carefully on the ground, wrapped him self in his zarape, and lay down. " What are you about?" Don Pablo asked him. "You see," he replied, "I am prepar ing to sleep ; we have nothing more to do at present, and must wait till to-mor row to act ; I advise you to follow my example." " That is true," the young man said ; " you are right." And, rolling himself in his zarape, he threw himself on the ground. An hour passed away thus, and the two men slept, or pretended to sleep. Then Don Pablo rose softly on his elbow, and bent over Andres Garote, 166 THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. whom he attentively observed ; he was sleeping the calmest possible sleep. The young man, reassured by this, rose, examined his weapons, and after giving the sleeper a last glance, descend ed the mountain. The moon had risen and cast a light over the landscape scarce sufficient for hirn to proceed without fear of falling over a precipice. The young nran,on reaching the low er platform, on to which the entrance of the cavern opened, stopped for a mo ment, muttered a fervent prayer, as he raised his eyes to the star-studded sky, and after once more examining his wea pons to feel sure they were in good con dition, he crossed himself and boldly entered the cavern. Of a truth, he must have been gifted with ample stock of courage thus to brave a danger which was the more ter rible, because it was unknown. With his eye fixed on the fire, which served as his polar star, Don Pablo advanced cautiously with out-stretched arms, stop ping at intervals to account for the nameless noises which constantly growl in caverns, and ready to defend himself against the invisible foes he suspected in the shadow. He went on thus for a long time, the fire not appearing to grow larger, when the granite on which he rested his left hand to guide himself suddenly left off, and at the end of a narrow passage, dirnly lighted by an expiring torch of candle-wood, he perceived Ellen kneel ing on the bare ground, and praying fervently. The young man stopped, struck with admiration at this unexpected sight. The maiden, with her hair untied and floating in long tresses on her shoulders, with pallid face bathed in tears, seemed to be suffering the greatest sorrow. Sobs and heavy sighs were escaping from her burdened bosom. Don Pablo could not resist the emo tion that seized upon him. At this crushing sight, forgetting all prudence, he rushed toward the maiden with open arms, exclaiming, with an accent of supreme love : " Ellen, Ellen, what is the matter ?" At this voice, which smote her ear so unexpectedly, the girl rose, and said, with gestures of great m;ijesty : " Fly, unhappy man, fly, or you are lost !" ' " Ellen," he repeated, as he fell on his knees, and clasped his hands in en treaty, " for mercy's sake hear me !" " What do you want here ?" she con tinued. " I have come to save you, or perish in the attempt.' 1 " Save me," she cried, sadly ; " no, Don Pablo, my destiny is fixed forever. Leave me fly I implore you." "No. I tell you a terrible danger impends over your father. He is hopelessly lost. Come, fly ; there is yet time, Oh, Ellen, 1 implore you, in the name of our love so chaste and pure, follow me !'' The maiden shook her head with a movement that set her long, fair tresses waving. " I am condemned, I tell you, Don Pablo ; remaining longer here will be your destruction. You say you love me well, in the name uf your love, or, if you insist, of mine, 1 implore you to leave me, to shun me forever. Oh, believe me, Don Pablo, my touch brings death. 1 am an accursed crea ture." The young man folded his arms on his chest, and raised his head proudly. "No," he said resolutely, "I will not go, 1 do not wish for the devotion to be yours solely. What do I care for life if I may never see you again ? Ellen, we will die together." " Oh, Heavens, how he loves me !" she exclaimed, in despair. " Oh, Lord ! Lord ! have 1 suffered enough ? Is the measure now full ? Oh, Lord ! give me the strength to accomplish my sa crifice to the end. Listen, Don Pablo," she said to him, as she caught hold of his arm fiercely, " my father is an out law, the whole world rejects him ; he has only one joy, one happiness in his immense suffering his daughter. I cannot, I will not abandon him. What ever love I may feel for you in my heart, Don Pablo, I will never leave my father. No, all is said between us, my love ; remaining here longer would be usaiessly braving a terrible and inev- THE TRAILER'S DAUGHTER. 167 itable danger. Go, Don Pablo, go it must be so." " Remember," the young man said with a groan, " remember, Ellen, that this interview will be the last." " I know it." " You still wish me to go ?" " I insist on it." " Yes, but I do not wish it," a rough voice suddenly said. They turned in terror, and perceived Red Cedar looking at them with a grin, as he leant on his rifle. Ellen gave her father such a flashing glance, that the old squatter involun tarily looked down without replying. She turned to Don Pablo, and took his hand. " Come," she said to him. She walk ed resolutely toward her father, who did not stir. " Make way," she said boldly. " No," the trapper answered. " Pay attention to me, father," she Continued; "I have sacrificed for you my life, my happiness, all my hopes on this earth, but on one condition, that his life shall be sacred. Let him go, then ; I insist on it." " No," he said again, " he must die." Ellen burst into a wild laugh, whose shrill notes made the two men shudder. With a movement swift as thought, she tore a pistol from the squatter's belt, cocked it, and put t.he muzzle to her forehead. " Make way !" she repeated. Red Cedar uttered a yell of terror. " Stup !" he shouted, as he rushed to ward her. " For the last time, make way, or I kill myself!" " Oh !" he said with an expression of rage impossible to endure, " go, demon, but I shall find you again." " Farewell, my beloved !" Ellen cried passionately ; " farewell for the last time !" " Ellen," the young man answered, " we shall meet again ; 1 will save you in spite of yourself." And rush ng down the passage, he disappeared. " And now, father," the maiden said, throwing the pistol far from her, when the sound of her lover's footsteps died . away in the distance, " do with me what you please." " 1 pardon you, child," Red Cedar re plied gnashing his teeth, " but I will kill him." CHAPTER XXXIX. THE BOAR AT BAY. DON PABLO ran out of the cavern and joined Andres Garote hastily, who still slept. The young man had some difficulty in waking him, but at length he opened his eyes, sat up, and yawned ; but perceiv ing the stars slill shining, he said ill- humoredly : " What fly has stung you? let me sleep day is still far off." " 1 know that better than you, for I have not lain down." " Then you were wrong," the other said, yawning fit to dislocate his jaw ; " 1 am going to sleep, so good night." And he tried to lie down again, but the young man prevented him. " A pretty time for sleeping," he said as he dragged away the other's zarape, in which he tried in vain to wrap him self. " Why, you must be mad to annoy me so," he said furiously; "has any thing fresh happened?" Don Pablo told him what he had done. The gambusino listened with the most profound attention, and when he had finished scratched his head with em barrassment as he said, "Demonios ! that is serious excessively serious; all lo vers are madmen. You have spoiled our expedition." " Do you think so ?" " Canelo ! I am sure of it; Red Ce dar is an old scoundrel, as cunning as an opossum. Now that he is put on his guard, it will take a clever fellow to catch him." Don Pablo looked at him in conster nation. " What is to be done?" he said. " Be off", that is the safest ; you can understand that the squatter is now ou his e Benedict, T. 8. Arthur, Chas. J. PcteMon, and tho Author of '-The Murder in the Glen Ross," besides all the best writers. Jjg~ In addition to the usual number of shorlef stories, there will be given, iu 18(53, Four Original and Copyright Novelets, viz: TEE BEOKEN TROTH-PLIGHT, By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, THE SECOND LIFE, By Author of " The Murder in the Glen Eoss." THE PATIENT HEAET, By Louise Chandler Moulton, COOT TCHEEKEENOZOFF, By Frank Lee Benedict. In its Illustrations also, "Peterson" is unrivalled. Tho publisher challenges a comparison between its SUPEEB MEZZOTINTS AND OTHER STEEL ENGRAVINGS And those in other Magazines, and one at least is given in every number. 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