The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  THE ABDUCTION.

  Red Cedar and Fray Ambrosio had not remained inactive since their lastinterview up to the day when Don Miguel set out to hunt the wild horses.These two fellows, so suited to understand each other, had manoeuvredwith extreme skill. Fray Ambrosio, all whose avaricious instincts hadbeen aroused since he had so artfully stolen from poor Joaquin thesecret of his placer, had assembled a formidable collection of thebandits who always swarm on the Indian frontiers. In a few days he foundhimself at the head of one hundred and twenty adventurers, all men whohad cheated the gallows, and of whom he felt the more sure as the secretof the expedition was concealed from them, and they fancied they formeda war party engaged to go scalp hunting.

  These men, who all knew Red Cedar by reputation, burnt to set out, soconvinced were they of carrying out a successful expedition under such aleader. Only two men formed an exception to this band of scoundrels, thesmallest culprit of whom had at least three or four murders on hisconscience. They were Harry, and Dick, who, for reasons the reader hasdoubtless guessed, found themselves, to their great regret, mixed upwith these bandits. Still we must say, in justice to Fray Ambrosio'ssoldiers, that they were all bold hunters, accustomed for many a year todesert life, who knew all its perils, and feared none of its dangers.

  Fray Ambrosio; apprehending the effects of mezcal and pulque on his men,had made them bivouac at the entrance of the desert, at a sufficientlygreat distance from the Paso del Norte to prevent them easily goingthere. The adventurers spent their time joyously in playing, not formoney, as they had none, but for the scalps they intended presently tolift from the Indians, each of which represented a very decent sum.Still Fray Ambrosio, so soon as his expedition was completely organised,had only one desire--to start as speedily as possible; but for two daysRed Cedar was not to be found. At length Fray Ambrosio succeeded incatching him just as he was entering his jacal.

  "What has become of you?" he asked him.

  "What does that concern you?" the squatter answered brutally. "Have I toanswer for my conduct to you?"

  "I do not say so: still, connected as we are at this moment, it would beas well for me to know where to find you when I want you."

  "I have been attending to my business, as you have to yours."

  "Well, are you satisfied?"

  "Very much so," he answered with a sinister smile. "You will soon learnthe result of my journey."

  "All the better. If you are satisfied, I am so too."

  "Ah, ah!"

  "Yes, all is ready for departure."

  "Let us be off--tomorrow if you like."

  "On this very night."

  "Very good. You are like me, and don't care to travel by day on accountof the heat of the sun."

  The two accomplices smiled at this delicate jest.

  "But before starting," the squatter continued, becoming serious again,"we have something left to do here."

  "What is it?" Fray Ambrosio asked with candor.

  "It is wonderful what a short memory you have. Take care: that failingmay play an awkward trick some day."

  "Thanks! I will try to correct it."

  "Yes, and the sooner the better: in the meanwhile I will refresh yourmemory."

  "I shall feel obliged to you."

  "And Dona Clara, do you fancy we are going to leave her behind?"

  "Hum! Then you still think of that?"

  "By Jove! More than ever."

  "The fact is it will not be easy to carry her off at this moment."

  "Why not?"

  "In the first place, she is not at the hacienda."

  "That is certainly a reason."

  "Is it not?"

  "Yes; but she must be somewhere, I suppose?" the squatter said with acoarse laugh.

  "She has gone with her father to a hunt of wild horses."

  "The hunt is over and they are on their return."

  "You are well informed."

  "It is my trade. Come, do you still mean serving me?"

  "I must."

  "That is how I like you. There cannot be many people at the hacienda?"

  "A dozen at the most."

  "Better still. Listen to me: it is now four in the afternoon. I have aride to take. Return to the hacienda, and I will come there this eveningat nine, with twenty resolute men. You will open the little gate of thecorral, and leave me to act. I'll answer for all."

  "If you wish it it must be so," Fray Ambrosio said with a sigh.

  "Are you going to begin again?" the squatter asked in a meaning voice ashe rose.

  "No, no, it is unnecessary," the monk exclaimed. "I shall expect you."

  "Good: till this evening."

  "Very well."

  On which the two accomplices separated. All happened as had beenarranged between them. At nine o'clock Red Cedar reached the littlegate, which was opened for him by Fray Ambrosio, and the squatterentered the hacienda at the head of his three sons and a party ofbandits. The peons, surprised in their sleep, were bound before theyeven knew what was taking place.

  "Now," Red Cedar said, "we are masters of the place, the girl can comeas soon as she likes."

  "Eh?" the monk went on. "All is not finished yet. Don Miguel is aresolute man, and is well accompanied: he will not let his daughter becarried off under his eyes without defending her."

  "Don Miguel will not come," the squatter said with a sardonic grin.

  "How do you know?"

  "That is not your business."

  "We shall see."

  But the bandits had forgotten Father Seraphin. The missionary, arousedby the unusual noise he heard in the hacienda, had hastily risen. He hadheard the few words exchanged between the accomplices, and they weresufficient to make him guess the fearful treachery they meditated. Onlylistening to his heart, the missionary glided out into the corral,saddled a horse, and opening a door, of which he had a key, so that hecould enter or leave the hacienda as his duties required, he started atfull speed in the direction which he supposed the hunters must follow inreturning to the hacienda. Unfortunately, Father Seraphin had beenunable to effect his flight unheard by the squatter's practised ear.

  "Malediction!" Red Cedar shouted, as he rushed, rifle in hand, toward awindow, which he dashed out with his fist, "We are betrayed."

  The bandits rushed in disorder into the corral where their horses weretied up, and leaped into their saddles. At this moment a shadow flittedacross the plain in front of the squatter, who rapidly shouldered hisrifle and fired. Then he went out: a stifled cry reached his ear, butthe person the bandit had fired at still went on.

  "No matter," the squatter muttered; "that fine bird has lead in itswing. Sharp, sharp, my men, on the trail!"

  And all the bandits rushed off in pursuit of the fugitive.

  Father Seraphin had fallen in a fainting condition at Valentine's feet.

  "Good heavens!" the hunter exclaimed in despair, "what can havehappened?"

  And he gently carried the missionary into a ditch that ran by the sideof the road. Father Seraphin had his shoulder fractured, and the bloodpoured in a stream from the wound. The hunter looked around him; but atthis moment a confused sound could be heard like the rolling of distantthunder.

  "We must fall like brave men, Don Pablo, that is all," he said sharply.

  "Be at your ease," the young man answered coldly.

  Dona Clara was pale and trembling.

  "Come," Valentine said.

  And, with a movement rapid as thought, he bounded on to the missionary'shorse. The three fugitives started at full speed. The flight lasted aquarter of an hour, and then Valentine stopped. He dismounted, gave theyoung people a signal to wait, lay down on the ground, and begancrawling on his hands and knees, gliding like a serpent through the longgrass that concealed him, and stopping at intervals to look around him,and listen attentively to the sounds of the desert. Suddenly he rushedtowards his companions, seized the horses by the bridle, and draggedthem behind a mound, where they remained
concealed, breathless andunable to speak.

  A formidable noise of horses was audible. Some twenty black shadowspassed like a tornado within ten paces of their hiding place, not seeingthem in consequence of the darkness.

  Valentine drew a deep breath.

  "All hope is not lost," he muttered.

  He waited anxiously for five minutes: their pursuers were going furtheraway. Presently the sound of their horses' hoofs ceased to disturb thesilence of the night.

  "To horse!" Valentine said.

  They leaped into their saddles and started again, not in the directionof the hacienda, but in that of the Paso.

  "Loosen your bridles," the hunter said: "more still--we are not moving."

  Suddenly a loud neigh was borne on the breeze to the ears of thefugitives.

  "We are lost!" Valentine muttered. "They have found our trail."

  Red Cedar was too old a hand on the prairie to be long thrown out: hesoon perceived that he was mistaken, and was now turning back, quitecertain this time of holding the trail. Then began one of those fabulousraces which only the dwellers on the prairie can witness--races whichintoxicate and cause a giddiness, and which no obstacle is powerfulenough to stop or check, for the object is success or death. Thebandits' half wild horses, apparently identifying themselves with theferocious passions of their riders, glided through the night with therapidity of the phantom steed in the German ballad, bounded overprecipices, and rushed with prodigious speed.

  At times a horseman rolled with his steed from the top of a rock, andfell into an abyss, uttering a yell of distress; but his comrades passedover his body, borne along like a whirlwind, and responding to this cryof agony, the final appeal of a brother, by a formidable howl of rage.This pursuit had already lasted two hours, and the fugitives had notlost an inch of ground: their horses, white with foam, uttered hoarsecries of fatigue and exhaustion as a dense smoke came out of theirnostrils. Dona Clara, with her hair untied and floating in the breeze,with sparkling eye and closely pressed lips, constantly urged her horseon with voice and hand.

  "All is over!" the hunter suddenly said. "Save yourselves! I will letmyself be killed here, so that you may go on for ten minutes longer, andbe saved. I will hold out for that time, so go on."

  "No," Don Pablo answered nobly; "we will be all saved or perishtogether."

  "Yes," the maiden remarked.

  Valentine shrugged his shoulders.

  "You are mad," he said.

  All at once he started, for their pursuers were rapidly approaching.

  "Listen," he said. "Do you two let yourselves be captured; they will notfollow me, as they owe me no grudge. I swear to you that if I remain atliberty I will deliver you, even if they hide you in the bowels of theearth."

  Without replying Don Pablo dismounted, and Valentine leaped on to hishorse.

  "Hope for the best!" he shouted hoarsely, and disappeared.

  Don Pablo, so soon as he was alone with his sister, made her dismount,seated her at the foot of a tree, and stood before her with a pistol ineither hand. He had not to wait long, for almost immediately he wassurrounded by the bandits.

  "Surrender!" Red Cedar shouted in a panting voice.

  Don Pablo smiled disdainfully.

  "Here is my answer," he said.

  And with two pistol shots he laid two bandits low; then he threw awayhis useless weapons, and crossing his arms on his breast said,--

  "Do what you please now; I am avenged."

  Red Cedar bounded with fury.

  "Kill that dog!" he shouted.

  Shaw rushed toward the young man, threw his nervous arms around him, andwhispered in his ear,--

  "Do not resist, but fall as if dead."

  Don Pablo mechanically followed his advice.

  "It is all over," said Shaw. "Poor devil! He did not cling to life."

  He returned his knife to his belt, threw the supposed corpse on hisshoulders, and dragged it into a ditch. At the sight of her brother'sbody, whom she supposed to be dead, Dona Clara uttered a shriek ofdespair and fainted. Red Cedar laid the maiden across his saddle-bow,and the whole band, starting at a gallop was soon lost in the darkness.Don Pablo then rose slowly, and took a sorrowful glance around.

  "My poor sister!" he murmured.

  Then he perceived her horse near him.

  "Valentine alone can save her," he said.

  He mounted the horse, and proceeded toward the Paso, asking himself thisquestion, which he found it impossible to answer:--

  "But why did not that man kill me?"

  A few paces from the village he perceived two men halting on the road,and conversing with the greatest animation. They hurriedly advancedtoward him, and the young man uttered a cry of surprise on recognisingthem. They were Valentine and Curumilla.