The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico
Page 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
Carlos, who by this time had become aware of the nature of theirinquiries, now stepped forward, and, in modest phrase, detailed throughthe interpreter how the chief had fallen, and what part he himself hadborne in the conflict.
A loud murmur of applause broke from the circle of warriors, and themore excited of the young men rushed forward and grasped the cibolero'shand, uttering as they did so expressions of gratitude. Most of thewarriors already knew that to him they were indebted for their safety.It was the report of his rifle, fired in the night, that had put them ontheir guard, and prevented the Panes from surprising their encampment,else the day's history might have been _very_ different. In fact, thePanes, through this very signal having been heard, had been themselvessurprised, and that was the true secret of their disaster and sanguinaryretreat.
When, in addition to this service, it was seen how the cibolero hadfought on their side, killing several of their foes, the hearts of theWacoes were filled with gratitude; but now that it became known that thepale-faced warrior was the avenger of their beloved chief, theirgratitude swelled into enthusiasm, and for some minutes their loudexpressions of it alone could be heard.
When the excitement had to some extent subsided, the warrior who seemedto be recognised as the orator of the tribe, and who was regarded withgreat deference, again stood forth to speak. This time his speech wasdirected to Carlos alone.
"White warrior!" he said. "I have spoken with the braves of our nation.They all feel that they owe you deep gratitude, which words cannotrepay. The purport of our recent deliberations has been explained toyou. Upon this ground we vowed that the avenger of him who lies coldshould be our future chief. We thought not at the time that that bravewarrior was our white brother. But now we know; and should we for thatbe false to our vow--to our promised word? No!--not even in thought;and here, with equal solemnity, we again repeat that oath."
"We repeat it!" echoed around the ring of warriors, while each withsolemnity of manner placed his hand over his heart.
"White warrior!" continued the speaker, "our promise remains sacred.The honour we offer you is the greatest that we can bestow. It hasnever been borne but by a _true_ warrior of the Waco tribe, for noimpotent descendant of even a favourite chief has ever ruled over thebraves of our nation. We do not fear to offer this honour to you. Wewould rejoice if you would accept it. Stranger! we will be proud of a_white_ chief when that chief is a warrior such as you! We know youbetter than you think. We have heard of you from our allies theComanche--we have heard of _Carlos the Cibolero_!
"We know you are a great warrior; and we know, too, that in your owncountry, among your own people, you are nothing. Excuse our freedom,but speak we not the truth? We despise your people, who are onlytyrants and slaves. All these things have our Comanche brothers toldus, and much more of _you_. We know who you are, then; we knew you whenyou came amongst us, and were glad to see you. We traded with you as afriend.
"We now hail you as a brother, and thus say,--If you have no ties thatbind you to your ungrateful nation, we can offer you one that will notbe ungrateful. Live with us,--be our chief!"
As the speaker ended, his last words were borne like an echo from lip tolip until they had gone round the full circle of warriors, and then abreathless silence ensued.
Carlos was so taken by surprise that for some moments he was unable tomake reply, he was not alone surprised by the singular proposal thussingularly made to him; but the knowledge which the speaker betrayed ofhis circumstances quite astonished him. True, he had traded much amongthe Comanches, and was on friendly terms with that tribe, some of whom,in times of peace, even visited the settlement of San Ildefonso; but itseemed odd that these savages should have noticed the fact--for fact itwas--that the cibolero was somewhat of an outcast among his own people.Just then he had no time to reflect upon the singularity of thecircumstances, as the warriors waited his reply.
He scarcely knew what reply to make. Hopeless outcast that he was, fora moment the proposal seemed worthy of acceptance. At home he waslittle better than a slave; here he would be ruler, the lord elect ofall.
The Wacoes, though savages by name, were warriors, were men of hearts,human and humane. He had proofs of it before him. His mother andsister would share his destiny; but Catalina,--ha! that one thoughtresolved him; he reflected no further.
"Generous warriors!" he replied; "I feel from the bottom of my heart afull sense of the honour you have offered to confer upon me. I wishthat by words I could prove how much I thank you, but I cannot. Mywords, therefore, shall be few and frank. It is true that in my ownland I am not honoured,--I am one of the poorest of its people; butthere is _a tie_ that binds me to it--_a tie of the heart_ that callsupon me to return. Wacoes, I have spoken!"
"Enough!" said the orator; "enough, brave stranger: it is not for us toinquire into the motives that guide your acts. If not our chief, youwill remain our friend. We have yet a way--a poor one--left us to showour gratitude: you have suffered from our enemies; you have lost yourproperty, but that has been recovered, and shall be yours again.Further we entreat you to remain with us for some days, and partake ofour rude hospitality. _You_ will stay with us?"
The invitation was promptly echoed by all, and as promptly accepted.
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About a week after this time an atajo of pack-mules--nearly fifty innumber--loaded with buffalo-hides and tasajo, was seen struggling up theeastern ceja of the Llano Estacado, and heading in a north-westerlydirection over that desert plain. The arriero, mounted upon the_mulera_, was a half-blood Indian. Three carretas, drawn by oxen anddriven by dusky peons, followed the mule-train, making noise enough tofrighten even the coyotes that behind skulked through the coverts ofmezquite. A dashing horseman mounted upon a fine black steed rode inadvance, who, ever and anon turning in his saddle, looked back with asatisfied glance upon the fine atajo. That horseman was _Carlos_.
The Wacoes had not forgotten to be generous. That train of mules andthose heavy packs were the gift of the tribe to the avenger of theirchief. But that was not all. In the breast-pocket of the cibolero'sjacket was a "bolsa," filled with rare stuff, also a present from theWacoes, who promised some day that their guest should have more of thesame. What did that bolsa contain? coin? money? jewels? No. Itcontained only dust; but that dust was yellow and glittering. It was_gold_!