The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER XVII.

  EL CANYON DEL BUITRE.

  We will now return to the hacendero, who, accompanied by his twofriends, is galloping at full speed in the direction of Valentine'sjacal. The road the three men followed led them further and further fromthe Paso del Norte. Around them nature grew more abrupt, the scenerysterner. They had left the forest, and were galloping over a wide andarid plain. On each side of the way the trees, becoming rarer, defiledlike a legion of phantoms. They crossed several tributary streams of theDel Norte, in which their horses were immersed up to the chest.

  At length they entered a ravine deeply imbedded between two woodedhills, the soil of which, composed of large flat stones and roundedpebbles, proved that this spot was one of those _desaguaderos_ whichserve to carry off the waters in the rainy season. They had reached theCanyon del Buitre, so named on account of the numerous vulturesconstantly perched on the tops of the surrounding hills.

  The defile was deserted, and Valentine had his cabin not far from thisspot. So soon as the three men had dismounted, Curumilla took the horsesand led them to the jacal.

  "Follow me," Valentine said to Don Miguel.

  The latter obeyed, and the two men began then climbing the escarpedflanks of the right hand hill. The climb was rude, for no road wastraced; but the two hunters, long accustomed to force a passage throughthe most impracticable places, seemed hardly to perceive the difficultyof the ascent, which would have been impossible for men less used to adesert life.

  "This spot is really delicious," Valentine said with the complacentsimplicity of a landowner who boasts of his estate. "If it were day, DonMiguel, you would enjoy from this spot a magnificent view. A few hundredyards from the place where we are, down there on that hill to the right,are the ruins of an ancient Aztec camp in a very fine state ofpreservation. Just imagine that this hill, carved by human hands, thoughyou cannot see it in the darkness, is of the shape of a pyramidal cone:its base is triangular, the sides are covered with masonry, and it isdivided into several terraces. The platform is about ninety yards longby seventy-five in width, and is surrounded on three sides by aplatform, and flanked by a bastion on the north. You see that it is aperfect fortress, constructed according to all the rules of militaryart. On the platform are the remains of a species of small teocali,about twenty feet high, composed of large stones covered withhieroglyphics sculptured in relief, representing weapons, monsters,rabbits, crocodiles, and all sorts of things; for instance, men seatedin the oriental fashion, and wearing spectacles. Is not that reallycurious? This little monument, which has no staircase, doubtless servedas the last refuge to the besieged when they were too closelybeleaguered by the enemy."

  "It is astonishing," Don Miguel answered, "that I never heard of theseruins."

  "Who knows them? Nobody. However, they bear a considerable likeness tothose found at Jochicalco."

  "Where are you leading me, my friend? Are you aware that the road is notone of the pleasantest, and I am beginning to feel tired?"

  "A little patience: in ten minutes we shall arrive. I am leading you toa natural grotto which I discovered a short time back. It is admirable.It is probable that the Spaniards were unacquainted with it, althoughthe Indians, to my knowledge, have visited it from time immemorial. TheApaches imagine it serves as a palace to the genius of the mountain. Atany rate, I was so struck by its beauty that I abandoned my jacal, andconverted it into my residence. Its extent is immense. I am certain,though I never tried to convince myself, that it goes for more than tenleagues under ground. I will not allude to the stalactites that hangfrom the roof, and form the quaintest and most curious designs; but thething that struck me is this: this grotto is divided into an infinitenumber of chambers, some of them containing pools in which swim immensenumbers of blind fish."

  "Blind fish! You are jesting, my friend," Don Miguel exclaimed, andstopped.

  "I am wrong: blind is not the word I should have employed, for thesefish have no eyes."

  "What! No eyes?"

  "None at all; but that does not prevent them being very dainty food."

  "That is strange."

  "Is it not? But stay--we have arrived."

  In fact, they found themselves in front of a gloomy, gaping orifice,about ten feet high by eight wide.

  "Let me do the honours of my mansion," Valentine said.

  "Do so, my friend."

  The two men entered the grotto: the hunter struck a match, and lit atorch of candlewood. The fairy picture which suddenly rose before DonMiguel drew from him a cry of admiration. There was an indescribableconfusion: here a gothic chapel, with its graceful soaring pillars;further on, obelisks, cones, trunks of trees covered with moss andacanthus leaves, hollow stalactites of a cylindrical form, drawntogether and ranged side by side like the pipes of an organ, andyielding to the slightest touch varied metallic sounds which completedthe illusion. Then, in the immeasurable depths of these cavernous halls,at times formidable sounds arose, which, returned by the echoes, rolledalong the sides of the grotto like peals of thunder.

  "Oh, it is grand, it is grand!" Don Miguel exclaimed, struck with fearand respect at the sight.

  "Does not man," Valentine answered, "feel very small and miserablebefore these sublime creations of nature, which God has scattered hereas if in sport? Oh, my friend! It is only in the desert that weunderstand the grandeur and infinite omnipotence of the Supreme Being;for at every step man finds himself face to face with Him who placed himon this earth, and traces the mark of His mighty finger engraved in anindelible manner on everything that presents itself to his sight."

  "Yes," Don Miguel said, who had suddenly become thoughtful, "it is onlyin the desert that a man learns to know, love, and fear God, for He iseverywhere."

  "Come," said Valentine.

  He led his friend to a hall of not more than twenty square feet, thevault of which, however, was more than a hundred yards above them. Inthis hall a fire was lighted. The two men sat down on the ground andwaited, while thinking deeply. After a few moments the sound offootsteps was audible, and the Mexican quickly raised his head.Valentine did not stir, for he had recognised his friend's tread. Infact, within a moment the Indian chief appeared.

  "Well?" Valentine asked him.

  "Nothing yet," Curumilla laconically answered.

  "They are late, I fancy," Don Miguel observed.

  "No," the chief continued, "it is hardly half past eleven: we are beforeour time."

  "But will they find us here?"

  "They know we shall await them in this hall."

  After these few words each fell back into his thoughts. The silence wasonly troubled by the mysterious sounds of the grotto, which re-echoednearly at equal intervals with an horrific din. A long period elapsed.All at once, ere any sensible noise had warned Don Miguel, Valentineraised his head with a hurried movement.

  "Here they are," he said.

  "You are mistaken, my friend," Don Miguel observed; "I heard nothing."

  The hunter smiled.

  "If you had spent," he said, "like we have, ten years in the desert,interrogating the mysterious voices of the night, your ear would behabituated to the vague rumours and sighs of nature which have no meaningto you at this moment, but which have all a significance for me, and, soto speak, a voice every note of which I understand, and you would notsay I was mistaken. Ask the chief: you will hear his answer."

  "Two men are climbing the hill at this moment," Curumilla answeredsententiously. "They are an Indian and a white man."

  "How can you recognise the distinction?"

  "Very easily," Valentine responded with a smile. "The Indian wearsmoccasins, which touch the ground without producing any other sound thana species of friction: the step is sure and unhesitating, as taken by aman accustomed to walk in the desert, and only put down his foot firmly:the white man wears high-heeled boots, which at each step produce adistinct and loud sound; the spurs fastened to his boots give out acontinuous metallic clink; the step is awkward and timid; at ea
ch momenta stone or crumble of earth rolls away under the foot, which is only putdown hesitatingly. It is easy to see that the man thus walking isaccustomed to a horse, and does not know the use of his feet. Stay! Theyare now entering the grotto: you will soon hear the signal."

  At this moment the bark of the coyote was raised thrice at equalintervals. Valentine answered by a similar cry.

  "Well, was I mistaken?" he said.

  "I know not what to think, my friend. What astonishes me most is thatyou heard them so long before they arrived."

  "The ground of this cave is an excellent conductor of sound," the hunteranswered simply: "that is all the mystery."

  "The devil!" Don Miguel could not refrain from saying; "You neglectnothing, I fancy."

  "If a man wants to live in the desert he must neglect nothing: thesmallest things have their importance, and an observation carefully mademay often save a man's life."

  While these few words were being exchanged between the two friends thenoise of footsteps was heard drawing nearer and nearer. Two menappeared: one was Eagle-wing, the Chief of the Coras; the second,General Ibanez.

  The general was a man of about thirty-five, tall and well-built, with adelicate and intelligent face. His manners were graceful and noble. Hebowed cordially to the hacendero and Valentine, squeezed Curumilla'shand, and fell down in a sitting posture by the fire.

  "Ouf!" he said, "I am done, gentlemen. I have just ridden an awfuldistance. My poor horse is foundered, and to recover myself I made anascent, during which I thought twenty times I must break down; and thatwould have infallibly happened, had not friend Eagle-wing charitablycome to my aid. I must confess that these Indians climb like real cats:we _gente de razon_[1] are worth nothing for that trade."

  "At length you have arrived, my friend," Don Miguel answered. "Heaven bepraised! I was anxious to see you."

  "For my part I confess that my impatience was equally lively, especiallysince I learned the treachery of that scoundrelly Red Cedar. That humbugof a Wood sent him to me with so warm a recommendation that, in spite ofall my prudence, I let myself be taken in, and nearly told him all oursecrets. Unfortunately, the little I did let him know is sufficient tohave us shot a hundred times like vulgar conspirators of noconsequence."

  "Do not feel alarmed, my friend. After what. Valentine told me today, wehave, perchance, a way of foiling the tricks of the infamous spy who hasdenounced us."

  "May Heaven grant it! But nothing will remove my impression that Woodhas something to do with what has happened to us. I always doubted thatAmerican, who is cold as an iceberg, sour as a glass of lemonade, andmethodical as a Quaker. What good is to be expected from these men, whocovet the possession of our territory, and who, unable to take it fromus at one lump, tear it away in parcels?"

  "Who knows, my friend? Perhaps you are right. Unfortunately, what isdone cannot be helped, and our retrospective recriminations will do usno good."

  "That is true; but, as you know, man is the same everywhere. When he hascommitted a folly he is happy to find a scapegoat on which he can laythe iniquities with which he reproaches himself. That is slightly mycase at this moment."

  "Do not take more blame on yourself, my friend, than you deserve; Iguarantee your integrity and the loyalty of your sentiments. Whatevermay happen, be persuaded that I will always do you justice, and, ifneeded, defend you against all."

  "Thanks, Don Miguel. What you say causes me pleasure and reconciles mewith myself. I needed the assurance you give me in order to regain someslight courage, and not let myself be completely crushed by theunforeseen blow which threatens to overthrow our hopes at the verymoment when we expected to find them realised."

  "Come, come, gentlemen," Valentine said, "the time is slipping away, andwe have none to waste. Let us seek to find the means by which to repairthe check we have suffered. If you permit me I will submit to yourapproval a plan which, I believe, combines all the desirable chances ofsuccess, and will turn in our favour the very treachery to which we havefallen victims."

  "Speak, speak, my friend!" the two men exclaimed, as they prepared tolisten.

  Valentine took the word.

  [1] Literally, "men of reason"--a graceful expression the whites employto distinguish themselves from the Indians, whom they affect to considerbrute beasts, and to whom they do not even grant a soul.