CHAPTER XLIV.
THE STRANGER.
Father Seraphin and Don Pablo we left bearing the wounded man to themissionary's lodging. Although the house to which they were proceedingwas but a short distance off, yet the two gentlemen, compelled to takeevery precaution, employed considerable time on the journey. Nearlyevery step they were compelled to halt, so as not to fatigue too greatlythe wounded man, whose inert limbs swayed in every direction.
"The man is dead," Don Pablo remarked, during a halt they made on thePlaza de la Merced.
"I fear so," the missionary answered, sadly; "still, as we are notcertain of it, our conscience bids us to bestow our care on him, untilwe acquire the painful conviction that it avails him nought."
"Father, the love of one's neighbour often carries you too far; betterwere it, perhaps, if this wretch did not come back to life."
"You are severe, my friend. This man is still young--almost a boy.Trained amid a family of bandits, never having aught but evil examplesbefore him, he has hitherto only done evil, in a spirit of imitation.Who knows whether this fearful wound may not offer him the means toenter the society of honest people, which he has till now been ignorantof? I repeat to you, my friend, the ways of the Lord are inscrutable."
"I will do what you wish, father. You have entire power over me. Still,I fear that all our care will be thrown away."
"God, whose humble instruments we are, will prove you wrong, I hope.Come, a little courage, a few paces further, and we shall have arrived."
"Come on then," Don Pablo said with resignation.
Father Seraphin lodged at a house of modest appearance, built of adobesand reeds, in a small room he hired from a poor widow, for the small sumof nine reals a month. This room, very small, and which only receivedair from a window opening on an inner yard, was a perfect conventualcell, as far as furniture was concerned, for the latter consisted of awooden frame, over which a bull hide was stretched, and served as themissionary's bed; a butaca and a prie-dieu, above which a coppercrucifix was fastened to the whitewashed wall. But, like all cells, thisroom was marvellously clean. From a few nails hung the well-worn clothesof the poor priest, and a shelf supported vials and flasks whichdoubtless contained medicaments; for, like all the missionaries, FatherSeraphin had a rudimentary knowledge of medicine, and took in chargeboth the souls and bodies of his neophytes.
The father lit a candle of yellow tallow standing in an ironcandlestick, and, aided by Don Pablo, laid the wounded man on his ownbed; after which the young man fell back into the butaca to regain hisbreath. Father Seraphin, on whom, spite of his fragile appearance, thefatigue had produced no apparent effect, then went downstairs to lockthe street door, which he had left open. As he pushed it to, he felt anopposition outside, and a man soon entered the yard.
"Pardon, my reverend father," the stranger said; "but be kind enough notto leave me outside."
"Do you live in this house?"
"No," the stranger coolly replied, "I do not live in Santa Fe, where Iam quite unknown."
"Do you ask hospitality of me, then?" Father Seraphin continued, muchsurprised at this answer.
"Not at all, reverend father."
"Then what do you want?" the missionary said, still more surprised.
"I wish to follow you to the room where you have laid the wounded man,to whose aid you came so generously a short time back."
"This request, sir--" the priest said, hesitating.
"Has nothing that need surprise you. I have the greatest interest inseeing with my own eyes in what state that man is, for certain reasonswhich in no way concern you."
"Do you know who he is?"
"I do."
"Are you a relation or friend of his?"'
"Neither one nor the other. Still, I repeat to you, very weighty reasonscompel me to see him and speak with him, if that be possible."
Father Seraphin took a searching glance at the speaker.
He was a man of great height, apparently in the fullest vigour of life.His features, so far as it was possible to distinguish them by the paleand tremulous moonbeams, were handsome, though an expression ofunbending will was the marked thing about them. He wore the dress ofrich Mexican hacenderos, and had in his right hand a magnificentlyinlaid American rifle. Still the missionary hesitated.
"Well," the stranger continued, "have you made up your mind, father?"
"Sir," Father Seraphin answered with firmness, "do not take in ill partwhat I am going to say to you."
The stranger bowed.
"I do not know who you are; you present yourself to me in the depths ofthe night, under singular circumstances. You insist, with strangetenacity, on seeing the poor man whom Christian charity compelled me topick up. Prudence demands that I should refuse to let you see him."
A certain annoyance was depicted on the stranger's features.
"You are right, father," he answered; "appearances are against me.Unfortunately, the explanation you demand from me justly would make uslose too much precious time, hence I cannot give them to you at thismoment. All I can do is to swear, in the face of Heaven, on thatcrucifix you wear round your neck, and which is the symbol of ourredemption, that I only wish well to the man you have housed, and that Iam this moment seeking to punish a great criminal."
The stranger uttered these words with such frankness, and such an air ofconviction, his face glistened with so much honesty, that the missionaryfelt convinced: he took up the crucifix and offered it to thisextraordinary man.
"Swear," he said.
"I swear it," he replied in a firm voice.
"Good," the priest went on, "now you can enter, sir; you are one ofourselves; I will not even insult you by asking your name."
"My name would teach you nothing, father," the stranger said sadly.
"Follow me, sir."
The missionary locked the gate and led the stranger to his room, onentering which the newcomer took off his hat reverently, took up a postin a corner of the room, and did not stir.
"Do not trouble yourself about me, father," he said in a whisper, "andput implicit faith in the oath I took."
The missionary only replied by a nod, and as the wounded man gave nosign of life, but still lay much in the position he was first placed in,Father Seraphin walked up to him. For a long time, however, theattention he lavished on him proved sterile, and seemed to produce noeffect on the squatter's son. Still, the father did not despair,although Don Pablo shook his head. An hour thus passed, and noostensible change had taken place in the young man's condition; themissionary had exhausted all his stock of knowledge, and began to fearthe worst. At this moment the stranger walked up to him.
"My father," he said, touching him gently on the arm, "you have done allthat was humanly possible, but have not succeeded."
"Alas! No!" the missionary said sadly.
"Will you permit me to try in my turn?"
"Do you fancy you will prove, more successful than I?" the priest askedin surprise.
"I hope so," the stranger said softly.
"Still, you see I have tried everything that the medical art prescribesin such a case."
"That is true, father; but the Indians possess certain secrets knownonly to themselves, and which are of great efficacy."
"I have heard so. But do you know those secrets?"
"Some of them have been revealed to me; if you will permit me, I willtry their effects on this young man, who, as far as I can judge, is in adesperate condition."
"I fear he is, poor fellow."
"We shall, therefore, run no risk in trying the efficacy of my superiorremedy upon him."
"Certainly not."
The stranger bent over the young man, and regarded him for a moment withfixed attention; then he drew from his pocket a flask of carved crystal,filled with a fluid as green as emerald. With the point of his dagger heslightly opened the wounded man's closed teeth, and poured into hismouth four or five drops of the fluid contained in the flask. A strangething then occurred; the yo
ung man gave vent to a deep sigh, opened hiseyes several times, and suddenly, as if moved by supernatural force, hesat up and looked around him with amazement. Don Pablo and themissionary were almost inclined to believe in a miracle so extraordinarydid the fact appear to them. The stranger returned to his dark corner.Suddenly the young man passed his hand over his dank forehead, andmuttered in a hollow voice:--
"Ellen, my sister, it is too late. I cannot save her. See, see, they arecarrying her off; she is lost!"
And he fell back on the bed, as the three men rushed towards him.
"He sleeps!" the missionary said in amazement.
"He is saved?" the stranger answered.
"What did he want to say, though?" Don Pablo inquired anxiously.
"Did you not understand it?" the stranger asked of him.
"No."
"Well, then, I will tell you."
"You!"
"Yes, I; listen! That lad wished to deliver your sister!"
"How do you know?"
"Is it true?"
"It is; go on."
"He was stabbed at the door of the house when she sought shelter."
"What next?"
"Those who stabbed him wished to get him out of the way, in order tocarry her off a second time."
"Oh, that is impossible!"
"It is the fact."
"How do you know it?"
"I do not know it, but I can read it plainly."
"Ah!" Don Pablo exclaimed in despair, "my father--let us fly to mysister's aid!"
The two gentlemen rushed from the house with a presentiment ofmisfortune. When the stranger found himself alone with the wounded man,he walked up to him, wrapped him in his cloak, threw him over hisshoulders as easy as if he were only a child, and went out in his turn.On reaching the street, he carefully closed the door, and went off at agreat rate, soon disappearing in the darkness. At the same instant themelancholy voice of the sereno could be heard chanting--
_"Ave Maria purisima! Los cuatro han dado! Viva Mejico! Todo esquieto!_"[1]
What irony on the part of accident was this cry after the terribleevents of the night!
[1] Hail, most pure Mary! It has struck four. Long live Mexico! All isquiet.
The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West Page 44