Wood Rangers Part 37

He regretted having allowed himself to be led away by circ.u.mstances, and at the moment when the last of the Medianas--except himself--disappeared from his eyes, he regretted an heir so worthy to bear the name. Now, when on the eve of mounting another step by the conquest of the Golden Valley, this regret became more vivid.

This was not the only care, however, which then preoccupied Antonio de Mediana; the absence of Cuchillo made him uneasy, and he began to have a suspicion of this man's perfidy.

Cuchillo had gained considerably upon the Indians who pursued him; but no sooner did he perceive through the hedge the entrenchment raised by his companions than he slackened his pace. The distance at which he still was from the camp was too great to enable him to be perceived by the sentinels; and when he saw the Indians who pursued him halt at sight of the column of smoke, he stopped altogether. His plan was to go into the camp as late as possible, so as only to give the alarm at the last moment. He knew enough of the Indians to play this dangerous game with the most perfect _sang froid_; he knew that they never attacked but with superior numbers, also that some hours would elapse before they decided on attacking the camp at all; that, satisfied with having recovered the track of their enemies, his pursuers would return and carry the report to their companions.

He was right; and enchanted at the effect of his ruse, the outlaw lay down behind a mound of earth, ready to resume his course when his senses should warn him of the approach of danger. By regaining the camp only a few minutes before the attack, he hoped also to escape the questions of Don Estevan.

"We should have sixty to divide the treasure," thought he, "had I not taken care to diminish that number. Then, while the whites and reds are fighting together, I--"

A distant explosion, like that of a rifle, interrupted his meditations.

This sound appeared to come from the north, and indeed proceeded from the river, where were Bois-Rose and his companions.

"It is strange that such a sound should proceed from that quarter," said Cuchillo, "for the white camp is eastward and the red westward."

A second shot was heard; then a third, followed by a short silence, to which succeeded a continual firing. Cuchillo trembled. He fancied that a second white party, distinct from his, were about to seize the coveted treasures. Then he feared that Don Estevan had despatched a detachment to take possession of the Golden Valley. But reason soon showed him the little probability of either of these surmises. A party of men must have left traces which he should have discovered during the two days he had been scouring the country; and then it was not probable that Don Estevan would have dared to weaken his force by dividing it. He therefore lay still, and concluded that the sounds proceeded from some party of American hunters surprised by the natives.

We must return to the camp of Don Antonio, where the firing had also been heard, and where it had given rise to a host of conjectures.

Evening had come on, and red clouds marked the fiery trace of the setting sun; the earth began to freshen up at the approach of night, and the crescent of the moon to grow more and more brilliant, under the light of which the camp appeared picturesque.

On the rising ground which overlooked the whole entrenchment, arose, as we have said, the chief's tent with its floating banner. A feeble light from within indicated that he was still watching, and several fires, made in holes dug in the sand or surrounded by stones--lest their light should betray their position--threw a subdued red glare around; while, in case of attack, f.a.gots were prepared to illumine the camp. Groups of men lying down, and others preparing the evening meal, were mingled with the horses and mules, who were eating their rations of maize.

The careless and satisfied look upon every face, showed that these men confided the care of their defence wholly to their chief. At the entrance to the tent lay a man, like a dog watching over his master; and from his long hair and the guitar by the side of his rifle, it was easy to recognise Oroche. His time seemed to be divided between the contemplation of a heaven glittering with stars, and the care of keeping up a fire of green wood, the smoke of which rose in a vertical column silvered by the moon. Beyond the entrenchments the moonlight whitened the plain, and even the fog which covered the summits of a chain of mountains which were visible in the horizon.

Behind the carts paced the sentinels, carbine in hand. Among the various groups of men scattered about were Benito, the servant of Don Estevan, and Baraja. They were engaged in conversation.

"Senor Benito," said Baraja, speaking to the old herdsman, "you who are so well acquainted with all the affairs of these deserts, can you explain to me what is the cause of these shots, which we have been hearing ever since noon, and which can only be fired by our enemies, the Indians?"

"It is difficult to say," answered Benito; "but certainly they must have some good reason for wasting so much powder--a scarce article among them. It appears probable enough that poor Cuchillo is captured; or may be the Senor Gayferos, who was sent after him."

"But why should they keep firing from time to time?--one shot would be enough to put an end to either Cuchillo or Gayferos; whereas we have heard volleys."

"Ah! it may be that the savages are practising one of their horrible modes of punishment--perhaps they are firing at their victims merely for the sport. There is one terrible torture they inflict--I remember to have been--"

"Hold there, friend Benito!" cried Baraja, interrupting him, "no more of your horrible stories; I have not forgotten that frightful night by the well of La Poza."

"Well," rejoined the herdsman, "unless they are firing at either Cuchillo or Gayferos--or perhaps at both--I cannot divine the cause of their continued fusillade. These Indians are as curious as the very devil; and they can extract a secret almost as effectually as the Holy Inquisition itself. Perhaps they are frightening either the guide or Gayferos to betray the situation of our camp."

"G.o.d forbid they should succeed!" exclaimed Baraja.

"I join you in the prayer," said the ex-herdsman: "but I cannot help remarking, how imprudent in our chief to permit the fire. The smoke has been rising all day like a column. In an atmosphere like this it may be seen for leagues off!"

"I agree with you," replied Baraja; "but then you know it was kindled at the express wish of the guide--so that he might find the way to where we should be encamped. Both humanity towards Cuchillo, as well as our own interest in his safety, required us to light the fire."

"Ah! that is not so certain. Between ourselves, I haven't much confidence in this Cuchillo. He appears to be one of those guides whose paths always end in quagmires."

"But have you not heard the rumour of the camp?"

"What rumour? That Don Estevan is not going by mere hazard to search for a mine of gold; but that he already knows of the existence of a rich placer? Is it that you mean?"

"Yes--or rather that Don Estevan knows of the existence of the placer; but not _where_ it is, or the road that leads to it. This is only known to Cuchillo, whose death would therefore be an irreparable loss to all of us."

"Bah!" replied the ex-herdsman, with a shake of the head; "Cuchillo's face is one that could never deceive an experienced eye. For my part I hope I am deceived in him, though I doubt it."

"Oh, Senor Benito, you always look upon the dark side of things."

"Well, perhaps so--and on this very night I may especially appear a bird of ill omen, for I cannot help feeling the presentiment that there is danger near us. See! look yonder! The animals have left off eating-- both mules and horses. Observe how they stand listening, as if they heard something. Well, what is to come will come; and I have not much to lose--even my life is not worth much."

And with this consolatory speech the old shepherd wrapped himself up in his cloak and lay down to sleep.

Not so Baraja. The words of his comrade had produced their effect, and he was unable to compose himself to rest. His imagination depicted to him a thousand phantoms, and every moment he fancied he could hear the yells of the savages, as they rushed forward to attack the camp. Not that the ex-haciendado was altogether a coward; but there was reason for his fears; and the darkness of the night, as well as the strange behaviour of the animals, was sufficient cause to render even a brave man apprehensive of danger.

After the long day's march, all the adventurers were asleep--stretched here and there upon the ground. The sentinels alone were awake, and watching--now and then raising along the lines their monotonous cry of "_Sentinela alerte_!" It was the only sound that for a long time interrupted the silence of the night.

After remaining awake for a considerable time, Baraja began to feel confidence, and perhaps would have gone to sleep, like the others, when all at once he heard several shots, similar to those that had been heard during the day, and which appeared to proceed from the same direction.

"They are still firing over there," said he, nudging the old herdsman so as to awake him.

"No matter," grumbled Benito; "let them fire away. If it be not Cuchillo or Gayferos, we needn't care. So, friend Baraja, I wish you good-night--go to sleep yourself. In the desert, time for sleep is precious, although at any minute you may be sent to sleep in eternity-- Good-night!"

After this terrifying speech, the ex-herdsman drew his cloak over his eyes to keep out the rays of the moon, when a noise made by the mules caused him to raise his head again, "Ah!" said he, "the red devils are not far off."

The neigh of a horse was now heard from a distance, accompanied by a cry of alarm, and the next moment a man was seen riding up at full gallop.

"It is Cuchillo," cried the servant; then, in a low voice, to Baraja, "Let the travellers take care when the will-o'-the-wisp dances on the plain!"

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE ALARM.

That evening, as usual, Don Estevan watched in his tent, while his people reposed. By the light of a smoky candle, the Spaniard, in spite of the modest appearance of his lodgings and of his dust-covered clothes, seemed to have lost nothing of the dignity of his appearance or of his grand air. His complexion, more sunburnt than usual, gave his countenance a still more energetic character. He appeared pensive, but his thoughts were no longer so uneasy as they had been; on the eve, after so many dangers, of realising his vast designs, Don Estevan had, for the time at least, shaken off gloomy thoughts, and fixed his mind on the hope of a success which he believed infallible.

He had raised the canvas, which served as a door, in order to glance upon the men who reposed around, and seemed to wish to compare his means of action with the aim he was pursuing.

"Nearly twenty years ago," thought he, "I commanded a party of sailors, nearly equal in number, and as determined as these. I was then only an obscure younger son, and they aided me to recover my inheritance--yes, it was mine. But I was then in the flower of my age, and had an aim in the future to pursue. I have attained this aim--I have even surpa.s.sed it; and now that I have nothing more to desire, I find myself, in my mature age, scouring the desert as I formerly scoured the sea. Why?"

The conscience of Mediana cried to him, that it was in order to forget one day of his life, but at that moment he wished to remain deaf to its voice. The moon shone upon the firearms piled in the centre of the camp, and cast its light upon sixty men inured to peril and fatigue, and who laughed at heat and thirst. In the distance a luminous vapour rested upon the mountains beyond which lay the Golden Valley.

"Why?" repeated Don Estevan; "because there remains to me still an immense treasure and a vast kingdom to conquer."

The eyes of Mediana sparkled with pride; then this expression pa.s.sed away, and he fixed on the horizon a melancholy look.

"And yet," continued he, "what of this treasure shall I keep for myself?

Nothing. The crown will be placed on the head of another, and I shall not even have a son or any descendant bearing the name of Mediana, who one day might bow before my portrait and say, 'This man could be tempted neither by gold nor by a throne.' But they will say it of me now, and is not that enough?"

At this moment Pedro Diaz raised the door of the tent, and said, "You sent for me, Senor Don Estevan?"