The Red Track: A Story of Social Life in Mexico

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER II.

  THE DEAD ALIVE.

  The Tigrero had let his head fall on his chest again, and seemed engagedwith gloomy thoughts. The hunter, somewhat embarrassed by the turn theconversation had taken, and anxious to continue it, mechanically stirredup the fire with the blade of his navaja, while his eyes wanderedaround, and were at times fixed on his companion with an expression ofdeep sympathy.

  "Stay," he said, presently, as he thrust back with his foot a few embersthat had rolled out; "pardon me, sir, any insult which my exclamationmay seem to have contained. You have mistaken, I assure you, themeaning of my remarks; although, as we have never met, we are not suchstrangers as you suppose. I have known you for a long time."

  The Tigrero raised his head, and looked at the hunter incredulously.

  "You?" he muttered.

  "Yes, I, caballero, and it will not be difficult to prove it to you."

  "What good will it do?" he murmured; "what interest can I have in thefact of your knowing me?"

  "My dear sir," the Frenchman continued, with several shakes of his head,"nothing happens in this world by the effect of chance. Above us, anintellect superior to ours directs everything here below; and if we havebeen permitted to meet in a manner so strange and unexpected in thesedesolate regions, it is because Providence has designs with us which wecannot yet detect; let us, therefore, not attempt to resist God's will,for what He has resolved will happen: who knows whether I may not beunconsciously sent across your path to bring you a supreme consolation,or to supply you with the means to accomplish a long meditatedvengeance, which you have hitherto deemed impossible?"

  "I repeat to you, senor," the Tigrero replied, "that your words arethose of a stout-hearted and brave man, and I feel involuntarilyattracted towards you. I think with you, that this accidental meeting,after so many days of solitude and grief, with a man of your stamp,cannot be the effect of unintelligent chance, and that at a momentwhen, convinced of my impotence to escape from my present frightfulsituation, I was reduced to despair and almost resolved on suicide, theloyal hand you offer me can only be that of a friend. Question me, then,without hesitation, and I will answer with the utmost frankness."

  "Thanks for that speech," the hunter said, with emotion, "for it provesthat we are beginning to understand each other, and soon, I hope, weshall have no secrets; but I must, before all else, tell you how it isthat I have known you for a long time, although you were not aware ofthe fact."

  "Speak, senor, I am listening to you with the most earnest attention."

  Valentine reflected for a moment, and then went on as follows:--

  "Some months ago, in consequence of circumstances unnecessary to remindyou of, but which you doubtless bear in mind, you met at the colony ofGuetzalli a Frenchman and a Canadian hunter, with whom you eventuallystood on most intimate terms."

  "It is true," the Tigrero replied, with a nervous start, "and theFrenchman to whom you allude, is the Count de Prebois Crance. Oh! Ishall never be able to discharge the debt of gratitude I have contractedwith him for the services he rendered me."

  A sad smile curled the hunter's lip. "You no longer owe him anything,"he said, with a melancholy shake of the head.

  "What do you mean?" the Tigrero exclaimed, eagerly; "surely the countcannot be dead!"

  "He is dead, caballero. He was assassinated on the shores of Guaymas.His murderers laid him in his tomb, and his blood, so treacherouslyshed, cries to Heaven for vengeance: but patience, Heaven will notpermit this horrible crime to remain unpunished."

  The hunter hurriedly wiped away the tears he had been unable to represswhile speaking of the count, and went on, in a voice choked by theinternal emotion which he strove in vain to conquer:--

  "But let us, for the present, leave this sad reminiscence to slumberin our hearts. The count was my friend, my dearest friend, more than abrother to me: he often spoke about you to me, and several times told meyour gloomy history, which terminated in a frightful catastrophe."

  "Yes, yes," the Tigrero muttered; "it was, indeed, a frightfulcatastrophe. I would gladly have found death at the bottom of the abyssinto which I rolled during my struggle with Black Bear, could I havesaved her I loved; but God decreed it otherwise, and may his holy namebe blessed and praised."

  "Amen!" the hunter said, sadly turning his head away.

  "Oh!" Don Martial continued a moment later, "I feel my recollectionscrowding upon me at this moment. I feel as if the veil that covers mymemory is torn asunder, in order to recall events, already so distant,but which have left so deep an impression on my mind. I, too, recognizeyou now; you are the famous hunter whom the count was trying to findin the desert; but he did not call you by any of the names you havementioned."

  "I dare say," Valentine answered, "that he alluded to me as the 'TrailHunter,' the name by which the white hunters and the Indians of the FarWest are accustomed to call me."

  "Yes; oh, now I remember perfectly, that was indeed the name he gaveyou. You were right in saying that we had been long acquainted, thoughwe had never met."

  "And now that we meet in this desert," the hunter said, offering hishand, "connected as we are by the memory of our deceased friend, shallwe be friends?"

  "No, not friends," the Tigrero exclaimed, as he heartily pressed thehunter's honest hand; "not friends, but brothers."

  "Well, then, brothers, and each for the other against all comers," thehunter answered. "And now that you are convinced that curiosity plays nopart in my eager desire to know what has befallen you since the momentwhen you so hurriedly left your friends, speak, Don Martial, and then Iwill tell you, in my turn, what are the motives that directed my stepsto these desolate regions."

  The Tigrero, in a few moments, began his narrative as follows:--

  "My friends must have fancied me dead, hence I cannot blame them forhaving abandoned me, although they were, perhaps, too quick in doing sowithout an attempt either to recover my corpse, or assure themselves atleast that I was really dead, and that assistance would be thrown away;but though I am ignorant of what happened in the cavern after my fall,the bodies left on the battlefield proved to me afterwards that they hada tough fight, and were compelled to fly before the Indians; hence, Isay again that I do not blame them. You are aware that I was attacked byBlack Bear at the moment when I believed that I had succeeded in savingthose whom I had sworn to protect. It was on the very verge of the pitthat Black Bear and myself, enwreathed like two serpents, began a finaland decisive struggle: at the moment when I had all but succeeded infoiling my enemy's desperate efforts, and was raising my arm to cuthis throat, the war yell of the Comanches suddenly burst forth at theentrance of the cavern. By a supreme effort the Apache chief succeededin escaping from my clutch, bounded on his feet, and rushed towardsDona Anita, doubtless with the intention of carrying her off, as theunforeseen assistance arriving for us would prevent the accomplishmentof his vengeance. But the maiden repulsed him with that strengthwhich despair engenders, and sought refuge behind her father. Alreadyseverely wounded by two shots, the chief tottered back to the edge ofthe pit, where he lost his balance. Feeling that he was falling, by aninstinctive gesture, or, perhaps, through a last sentiment of fury, hestretched out his arms as if to save himself, caught hold of me as Irose, half-stunned by my recent contest, and we both rolled down thepit, he with a triumphant laugh, and I with a shriek of despair. Forgiveme for having described thus minutely the last incidents of this fight,but I was obliged to enter into these details to make you thoroughlyunderstand by what providential chance I was saved, when I fanciedmyself hopelessly lost."

  "Go on, go on;" the hunter said, "I am listening to you with thegreatest attention."

  Don Martial continued:--

  "The Indian was desperately wounded, and his last effort, in which hehad placed all his remaining strength, cost him his life: it was acorpse that dragged me down, for during the few seconds our fall lastedhe did not make a movement. The pit was not so deep as I fancied, notmore than twenty or
five-and-twenty feet, and the sides were coveredwith plants and grass, which, although they bent beneath our weight,prevented us from falling perpendicularly. The chief was the firstto reach the bottom of the abyss, and I fell upon his body, whichdeadened my fall, though it was serious enough entirely to deprive meof consciousness. I cannot say how long I remained in this state, but,from a calculation I made afterwards, my faint must have lasted twohours. I was aroused by a cold sensation which suddenly affected me. Iopened my eyes again, and found myself in utter darkness. At the firstmoment it was impossible for me to account for the situation in whichI found myself, or what events had placed me in it; but my memorygradually returned, my thoughts became more lucid, and I only desiredto emerge as speedily as possible from the pit into which I had fallen.I was suffering fearfully, although I was not actually wounded. I hadreceived numerous contusions in my fall, and the slightest movementcaused me an atrocious pain, for I was so bruised and shaken. In mypresent state I must endure the evil patiently: attempting to scalethe sides of the pit when my strength was completely exhausted wouldhave been madness, and I therefore resigned myself to waiting. I was incomplete darkness, but that did not trouble me greatly, as I had aboutme everything necessary to light a fire. Within a few moments I had alight, and was enabled to look about me. I was lying at the bottom of aspecies of funnel, for the pit grew narrower in its descent, which hadgreatly helped to deaden my fall; my feet and legs almost to the kneewere bathed in a subterranean stream, while the upper part of my bodyleant against the corpse of the Indian chief. The spot where I foundmyself was thirty feet in circumference at the most, and I assuredmyself by the help of my light that the sides of the pit, entirelycovered with creepers, and even sturdy shrubs, rose in a gentle slope,and would not be difficult to escalade when my strength had sufficientlyreturned. At this moment I could not dream of attempting the ascent,so I bravely made up my mind, and although my anxiety was great aboutthe friends I had left in, the cavern, I resolved to wait a few hoursbefore proceeding to save myself. I remained thus for twenty hoursat the bottom of the pit, _tete-a-tete_ with my enemy's corpse. Manytimes during my excursions in the desert I had found myself in almostdesperate situations, but never, I call heaven to witness, had I feltso completely abandoned and left in the hands of Providence. Still,however deplorable my position might be, I did not despair; in spiteof the frightful pain I suffered, I had convinced myself that my limbswere in a satisfactory state, and that all I needed was patience. WhenI fancied my strength sufficiently restored, I lighted two torches,which I fixed in the ground, in order to see more clearly. I threw myrifle on my back, placed my navaja between my teeth, and clinging to theshrubs, by a desperate effort I began my ascent. I will not tell you ofthe difficulty I had in conquering the terrible shocks I was obligedto give my aching bones in surmounting almost unsurpassable obstacles;sufficient for you to know that I reached the mouth of the pit afteran hour and a half's struggle, in which I expended all the energy aman possesses who hopes to save himself. When I reached the floor ofthe cavern, I lay for more than half an hour on the sand, exhausted,panting, unable to make the slightest movement, scarce breathing,hearing nothing, seeing nothing, not even conscious of the frightfulstate into which I was plunged. Fortunately for me, this terriblecondition did not last long, the refreshing air from without, reachingme through the passages of the cavern, recovered me, and restored theentire use of my mental faculties. The ground around me was covered withdead bodies, and there had, doubtless, been a terrible struggle betweenthe white men and the redskins. I sought in vain for the corpses of DonaAnita and her father. I breathed again, and hope re-entered my heart,for my sacrifice had not been fruitless. Those for whom I had given mylife were saved, and I should see them again. This thought restored mycourage, and I felt quite a different man. I rose without any excessivedifficulty, and, supporting myself on my rifle, went toward the mouth ofthe cavern, after removing my stock of provision, and taking two powderhorns from the stores I had previously _cached_, and which my friendsin their flight had not thought of removing. No words can describe theemotion I felt when, after a painful walk through the grotto, I atlength reached the riverbank, and saw the sun once more: a man must havebeen in a similar desperate situation to understand the cry, or ratherhowl of joy which escaped from my surcharged bosom when I felt again theblessed sunbeams, and inhaled the odorous breath of the savannah. By anunreflecting movement, though it was suggested by my heart, I fell on myknees, and piously clasping my hands, I thanked Him who had saved me,and who alone could do so. This prayer, and the simple thanks expressedby a grateful heart, were, I feel convinced, borne upwards to heaven onthe wings of my guardian angel.

  "As far as I could make out by the height of the sun, it was about thesecond hour of the tarde. The deepest silence prevailed around me; sofar as the vision could extend, the prairie was deserted; Indians andpalefaces had disappeared: I was alone, alone with that God who hadsaved me in so marvellous a fashion, and would not abandon me. Beforegoing further, I took a little nourishment, which the exhaustion ofmy strength rendered necessary. When, in the company of Don Sylva deTorres and his daughter, I had sought a refuge in the cavern, ourhorses had been abandoned with all the remaining forage in an adjacentclearing, and I was too well acquainted with the instinct of thesenoble animals to apprehend that they had fled. On the contrary, I knewthat, if the hunters had not taken them away, I should find them atthe very spot where I had left them. A horse was indispensable foruse, for a dismounted man is lost in the desert, and hence I resolvedto seek them. Rested by the long halt I had made, and feeling that mystrength had almost returned, I proceeded without hesitation towardsthe forest. At my second call I heard a rather loud noise in a clump oftrees; the shrubs parted, and my horse galloped up and gladly rubbed itsintelligent head against my shoulder. I amply returned the caresses thefaithful companion of my adventures bestowed on me, and then returnedto the cavern, where my saddle was. An hour later, mounted on my goodhorse, I bent my steps toward houses. My journey was a long one, owingto my state of weakness and prostration, and when I reached Sonora thenews I heard almost drove me mad. Don Sylva de Torres had been killedin the fight with the Apaches, as was probably his daughter, for noone could tell me anything about her. For a month I hovered betweenlife and death; but God in His wisdom, doubtless, had decided that Ishould escape once again. When hardly convalescent, I dragged myself tothe house of the only man competent of giving me precise and positiveinformation about what I wanted to learn. This man refused to recognizeme, although I had kept up intimate relations with him for many years.When I told him my name he laughed in my face, and when I insisted,he had me expelled by his peons, telling me that I was mad, that DonMartial was dead, and I an impostor. I went away with rage and despairin my heart. As if they had formed an agreement, all my friends to whomI presented myself refused to recognize me, so thoroughly was the reportof my death believed, and it had been accepted by them as a certainty.All the efforts I attempted to dissipate this alarming mistake, andprove the falsehood of the rumour were in vain, for too many personswere interested in it being true, on account of the large estates Ipossessed; and also, I suppose, through a fear of injuring the man towhom I first applied--the only living relation of the Torres family,who, through his high position, has immense influence in Sonora. Whatmore need I tell you, my friend? Disgusted in every way, heartbrokenwith grief, and recognising the inutility of the efforts I madeagainst the ingratitude and systematic bad faith of those with whom Ihad to deal, I left the town, and, mounting my horse, returned to thedesert, seeking the most unknown spots and the most desolate regions inwhich to hide myself and die whenever God decrees that I have sufferedsufficiently, and recalls me to Him."

  After saying this the Tigrero was silent, and his head sunk gloomily onhis chest.

  "Brother," Valentine said gently to him, slightly touching his shoulderto attract his attention, "you have forgotten to tell me the name ofthat influential person who had you turned out of his hous
e, and treatedyou as an impostor."

  "That is true," Don Martial answered; "his name is Don SebastianGuerrero, and he is military governor of the province of Sonora."

  The hunter quickly started to his feet with an exclamation of joy.

  "Don Martial," he said, "you may thank God for decreeing that we shouldmeet in the desert, in order that the punishment of this man should becomplete."