CHAPTER XVI.
AN ACCOMPLICE.
Red Cedar accustomed himself more easily than his daughter thoughtpossible, to the life prepared for him. After all, no change had takenplace in his existence; with the exception of the mode of procedure, itwas still the same labour, that is to say, a desert life in all itssplendid liberty; hunting and fishing, while Ellen remained at home toattend to household duties. At night, however, before retiring to rest,the girl read her father a chapter from a Bible Father Seraphin hadgiven her. The squatter, with his elbow on the table, and a pipe in hismouth, listened to her with an attention that surprised himself, andwhich each day only increased.
It was an exquisite picture presented in this obscure nook of the greatAmerican desert, amid this grand scenery, in this wretched hut, whichthe slightest breath of wind caused to tremble, by this athletic oldman, with his energetic and stern features, listening to this palefacedand delicate girl, whose fine features and shadowy outline formed sostrong a contrast with those of her hearer.
It was the same life every day; the squatter was happy, or, at least,fancied himself so; like all men whose life has been but one long drama,and who are made for action, recollections held but little place in him;he forgot, and fancied himself forgotten.
Ellen suffered, for she was unhappy; this existence, with no outlet andno future, was full of disenchantment for her, as it condemned her torenounce for ever that supreme blessing of every human creature, hope.Still, through fear of afflicting her father, she carefully shut up inher heart her sorrow, and only displayed a smiling face in his presence.Red Cedar yielded more and more to the charms of a life which waspleasant to him. If, at times, the recollection of his sons troubled therepose in which he lived, he looked at his daughter, and the sight ofthe angel he possessed, and who had devoted herself to his happiness,drove any other thoughts far away.
In the meanwhile, Father Seraphin visited the tenants of the jacalseveral times; and if satisfied with the resignation with which thesquatter accepted his new position, the dull sorrow that undermined themaiden had not escaped his clear-sighted glance. His experience of theworld told him that a girl of Ellen's age could not thus spend herfairest years in solitude, without contact with society. Unfortunately,a remedy was difficult, if not impossible, to find; the good missionarydid not deceive himself on this point, and understood that all theconsolations he lavished on the maiden, were thrown away, and thatnothing could effectually combat the listlessness into which she hadfallen.
As always happens in such cases, Red Cedar did not in the slightestdegree suspect his daughter's grief; she was gentle, affectionate,attentive to him; he profited by it all, finding himself perfectlyhappy, and in his egotism, not seeing further. The days slipped away,each resembling the other; in the meanwhile, the winter came on, gamebecame rarer, and Red Cedar's absences from home grew longer. Around thetops of the mountains were collected the grayish clouds, which dailydescended lower, and would eventually burst over the prairie in theshape of rain and snow.
Winter is a terrible season in the Far West: all scourges combine toassail the unhappy man whom his evil destiny has cast into thesedisinherited countries without the means to brave their frightfulclimate, and, victim to his want of foresight, he presently dies ofhunger and misery, after enduring inconceivable tortures. Red Cedar knewthe Far West too long and too thoroughly not to perceive the arrival ofthis season with a species of terror; hence he sought, by all possiblemeans, to procure the necessary provisions and indispensable furs.
Rising at daybreak, he galloped over the prairie, exploring it in everydirection, and not returning home till night compelled him to give upthe chase. But, as we have said, game was becoming more and more rare,and consequently his journeys longer.
One morning Red Cedar rose earlier than usual, left the jacalnoiselessly for fear of waking his daughter, saddled his horse, andstarted at a gallop. He had found, on the previous evening, the trail ofa magnificent black bear, which he had followed to within a shortdistance of the cave to which it retired, and he intended to attack itin its lair. To do that, he must make haste, for the bear is not likeother wild beasts: it seeks its food during the day, and generallyleaves its abode at an early hour. The squatter, perfectly acquaintedwith the animal's habits, had therefore taken up the trail as soon as hecould.
The sun had not yet risen; the sky of a dark blue, was only justbeginning to assume on the extreme verge of the horizon those opalinetints which presently turn into pink, and are the precursors of sunrise.The day promised to be splendid: a light breeze slightly bowed the leafysummits of the trees, and scarce wrinkled the little stream whose bankthe squatter was following. A light fog rose from the ground,impregnated with those sharp odours which expand the chest sogloriously. The birds woke one after the other beneath the leaves, andsoftly produced the melodious concert they perform each morning tosalute the re-awakening of nature. By degrees the darkness was effaced,the sun rose brilliantly on the horizon, and the day broke splendidly.
Red Cedar, on reaching the entrance of a narrow gorge, at the end ofwhich was the bear's den, in the midst of a chaos of rocks, stopped afew minutes to regain breath, and make his final preparations. Hedismounted, hobbled his horse, and gave it its forage, then, afterassuring himself that his knife played easily in the sheath, and hisrifle was in good order, he entered the defile.
The squatter walked in with outstretched neck, and eye and ear on thewatch, when suddenly a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a hoarse laughsmote his ear. He turned with surprise, but this surprise was convertedinto terror at the sight of the man who, standing before him with armsfolded on his chest, was regarding him with a look of mockery.
"Fray Ambrosio!" he exclaimed, as he fell back a step.
"Halloh, gossip," the latter said; "on my soul, you must be hard ofhearing: I called you a dozen times, and you did not deign to answer me._Satanas!_ I was obliged to touch you before you would see that somebodywanted you."
"What is your business with me?" the squatter asked in an icy tone.
"What I want, gossip? That's a strange question: don't you know it aswell as I do?"
"I do not understand you," Red Cedar said, still perfectly calm; "soexplain yourself, if you please."
"I will do so, my master," the monk answered, with a mocking smile.
"But make haste, for I warn you that I am in a hurry."
"Can it be possible! Well, I have plenty of time, so you must find someto listen to me."
The squatter gave a passionate start, which he, however, immediatelychecked.
"Yes, it is so," the monk said coolly; "I have been looking for you along time."
"Come, a truce to talking! Here I am, explain yourself in two words. Isay again, I am in a hurry."
"And I repeat that I do not care if you are. Oh! You may frown, gossip,but you must listen to me."
Red Cedar stamped his foot angrily, taking one step to the monk, he laidhis hand on his shoulder, and looked fiercely in his face.
"Why, master," he said in a short, harsh voice, "I fancy, on my side,that we are changing parts, and that you treat me very curtly; takecare, I am not patient, as you know, and if you do not mind, my patiencemight soon fail me."
"That is possible," the monk answered impudently; "but if we havechanged our parts, whose fault is it, pray, mine or yours? Your sons areright in saying that you have turned monk, and are no longer fit foranything."
"Villain!" the squatter shouted, and raising his hand--
"That will do! Insults now! Don't be bashful: I like you better thatway, at least I recognise you. Hum! what a change! I must confess thatthose French missionaries are real sorcerers: what a misfortune thatsince the independence the inquisition no longer exists!"
Red Cedar looked at the monk, who fixed on him his fierce eye with adiabolical expression; the squatter was suffering from one of thosebursts of cold passion, which are the more terrible, because they areconcentrated. He felt an extraordinary itching to crush th
e scoundrelwho was mocking him, and made impotent efforts to repress the angerwhich was beginning to get the mastery of him. The monk was not so muchat his ease as he pretended to be. He saw the squatter's frown growdeeper, his face become livid; all this foreboded a storm which he wasnot anxious to see burst to his presence.
"Come," he said, in a softer key, "why should old friends quarrel? _Conmil demonios_--I am only here with a good intent, and to do you aservice."
The squatter laughed contemptuously.
"You do not believe me," the monk continued, with an air of beatitude;"that does not surprise me, it is always so. Good intentions aremisunderstood, and a man believes his enemies in preference to hisfriends."
"A truce to your nonsense," the squatter said, impatiently; "I havelistened to you too long already; let me pass, and you can go to thedevil."
"Thanks for the proposition you make me," the monk said with a laugh;"but if you have no objection, I will not take advantage of it, at leastfor the present. But, jesting apart, there are two persons close byanxious to see you, and whom I am sure you will be delighted to meet."
"Whom do you mean? I suppose they are rogues of your own sort."
"Probably," the monk said; "however you shall judge for yourself,gossip."
And, not waiting for the squatter's answer, the monk imitated thrice thehiss of the coral snake. At the third time a slight movement took placein the shrubs a short distance off, and two men leaped into the defile.The squatter uttered a cry of surprise, almost of terror, on seeingthem: he had recognised his two sons, Nathan and Sutter. The young menwalked up quickly to their father, whom they saluted with a respectmingled with irony, which did not escape his notice.
"Ah, there you are, father," Sutter, said, roughly, as he banged thebutt of his rifle on the ground, and rested his hands on the muzzle; "aman has a hard run before he can catch you up."
"It seems that since our separation father has turned Quaker; his newreligion, probably, orders him not to frequent such bad company asours."
"Silence, you villains!" the squatter shouted, stamping his foot; "I dowhat I please, and no one that I know of has a right to interfere."
"You are mistaken, father," Sutter, said drily; "I, for instance,consider your conduct unworthy of a man."
"Not mentioning," the monk supported him, "that you place yourconfederates in a fix, which is not right."
"That is not the question," Nathan said; "if father likes to turnPuritan, that is his business, and I will not find, fault with him; butthere is a time for everything. To my mind, when a man is surrounded byenemies and tracked like a wild beast, he ought not to put on asheepskin, and pretend to be harmless."
"What do you mean?" the squatter asked impatiently; "Explain yourself,once for all, and let us make an end of this."
"I will do so," Nathan went on; "while you are sleeping in a deceitfulsecurity, your enemies are watching and constantly weaving the web inwhich they have hopes of enfolding you shortly. Do you fancy that wehave not known your retreat for a long time? Who can hope to escapediscovery in the desert? We did not wish, however, to disturb yourrepose till the moment arrived for doing so, and that is why you did notsee us before today."
"Yes," the monk remarked; "but at present time presses: while you trustto the fine words of the French missionary, who cured you and lulls youto sleep, in order always to keep you under his thumb, your enemies aresilently preparing to attack you, and finish with you once for all."
The squatter gave a start of amazement.
"Why, that man saved my life," he said.
The three men burst into a laugh.
"What use is experience?" the monk said, turning to the young men with asignificant shrug of his shoulders. "Here is your father, a man whosewhole life has been spent in the desert, who forgets at once its mostsacred law, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, and will not understand thatthis man, who, he says, saved his life, merely cured him to torture himat a later date, and have the pleasure of depriving him of that lifewhen he is in rude health, instead of the miserable amount left him whenthey met."
"Oh, no," the squatter shouted, "you lie! That is impossible!"
"That is impossible!" the monk replied, with pity; "Oh, how blind menare! Come, reflect, gossip; had not this priest an insult to avenge?"
"It is true," Red Cedar muttered with a sigh; "but he forgave me."
"Forgave you! Do you ever forgive anybody? Nonsense, you are mad,gossip! I see there is nothing to be got out of you. Do what youlike--we leave you."
"Yes," said the squatter, "leave me; there is nothing I wish more."
The monk and his comrades went away a few paces, but Fray Ambrosiosuddenly returned. Red Cedar was still standing at the same spot withhanging head and frowning brow. The monk saw the squatter was shaken,and the moment had arrived to deal the great blow.
"Gossip," he said, "a parting word, or, if you prefer, a last piece ofadvice."
"What is there now?" Red Cedar said, nervously.
"Watch over Ellen!"
"What!" the squatter yelled, as he bounded like a panther and seizedFray Ambrosio by the arm, "What did you say, monk?"
"I said," the other replied, in a firm and marked voice, "that yourenemies wish to punish you through Ellen, and that if that accursed monkhas hitherto appeared to protect you, it was because he feared lest thevictim he covets might escape him."
At these fearful words, a horrible change took place in Red Cedar; alivid pallor covered his face, his body was agitated by a convulsivequivering.
"Oh!" he shouted with the roar of a tiger, "let them come, then!"
The monk gave, his comrades a triumphant glance; he had succeeded, andheld his palpitating prey in his hands.
"Come," Red Cedar continued, "do not desert me; we will crush this herdof vipers. Ah, they fancy they have me," he added, with a nervous laugh;that almost choked him, "but I will show them that the old lion is notconquered yet. I can count on you, my lads, and on you, Fray Ambrosio?"
"We are your only friends," the monk replied, "as you know perfectlywell."
"That is true," he went on; "forgive me for having forgotten it for amoment. Ah, you shall see."
Two hours later the three men reached the jacal, and on seeing thementer, Ellen felt a shudder of terror run over her; a secret forebodingwarned her of misfortune.
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