The White Scalper Part 28

"In that ease, listen to me. I know you too well, or, at least, I fancy I know you too well to suppose that you have come here merely to pay me a visit, as you knew you could meet me any day on the prairie. You have, therefore, undertaken this journey with some definite object; a most serious motive impelled you to wish to see me."

Tranquil gave a silent nod of a.s.sent. Loyal Heart went on after a moment's silence, during which he seemed to be awaiting a reply, which did not come.

"You have been here now two days. You have already had several opportunities for a frank explanation, an explanation, by the way, which I desire with my whole heart, for I foresee that it will contain a service I can render you, and I shall be happy to prove to you the esteem I entertain for your character. Still, that explanation does not come; you seem, on the contrary, to fear it; your manner toward me has completely changed; since yesterday, in a word, you are no longer the man I knew, the man who never hesitates, and always utters his thoughts loudly and boldly, whatever might be the consequences at a later date.

Am I mistaken? Answer, old hunter."

For some minutes the Canadian seemed considerably embarra.s.sed; this point-blank question troubled him singularly. At length he boldly made up his mind, and raised his head--

"On my word," he answered, looking his questioner firmly in the face, "I cannot contradict it; Loyal Heart, you are right--all you have said is perfectly correct."

"Ah!" the young man said with a smile of satisfaction, "I was not mistaken, then; I am pleased to know what I have to depend on."

The Canadian shrugged his shoulders philosophically, like a man who does not at all understand, but who yet experiences a certain degree of pleasure at seeing his questioner satisfied, though he is completely ignorant why. Loyal Heart continued--

"Now, I demand in the name of that friends.h.i.+p that binds us--I demand, I say, that you should be frank with me, and without reservation or circ.u.mlocution, confess to me the motives which urged you to act as you have done."

"These motives are only honourable, be a.s.sured, Loyal Heart."

"I am convinced of it, my friend; but I repeat to you, I wish to know them."

"After all," the old hunter continued with the accent of a man who has formed a resolution, "why should I have secrets from you when I have come to claim your a.s.sistance? You shall know all. I am only a coa.r.s.e adventurer, who received all the education he has on the desert; I adore G.o.d, and am mad for liberty; I have always tried to benefit my neighbour, and requite good for evil as far as lay in my power; such, in two words, is my profession of faith."

"It is rigorously true," Loyal Heart said, with an air of conviction.

"Thanks, and frankly I believe it. But, with the exception of that, I know nothing. Desert life has only developed in me the instincts of the brute, without giving me any of those refinements which the civilisation of towns causes to be developed in the most savage natures."

"I confess that I do not see at all what you are driving at."

"You will soon comprehend me. From the first moment I saw you, with the first word you uttered, by a species of intuition, by one of those sympathies what are independent of the will, I felt myself attracted towards you. You were my friend during the few days we lived together, sharing the same couch under the vault of Heaven, running the same dangers, experiencing the same joys and sorrows. I believed that I appreciated you at your true value, and my friends.h.i.+p only increased in consequence. Hence, when I needed a sure and devoted friend, I thought of you at once, and, without further reflection, started to go in quest of you."

"You did well."

"I know it," said Tranquil, with simple enthusiasm; "still, on entering this modest rancho, my ideas were completely modified; a doubt occurred to me--not about you, for that was impossible--but about your position, and the mysterious life you lead. I asked myself by what concourse of circ.u.mstances a man like you had confined himself to an Indian village and accepted all the wretchedness of a Redskin life, a wretchedness often so cruel and opposed to our manners. On seeing your mother so lovely and so kind, your old servant so devoted, and the way in which you behave within these walls, I thought, without prejudging anything, that a great misfortune had suddenly burst on you and forced you for a time into a hard exile. But I understood that I was not your equal, that between you and me there was a distinctly traced line of demarcation; then I felt oppressed in your company, for you are no longer the free hunter, having no other roof but the verdurous dome of our virgin forests, or other fortune than his rifle; in a word, you are no longer the comrade, the friend with whom I was so happy to share everything in the desert I no longer recognise the right to treat as an equal a man whom a pa.s.sing misfortune has accidentally brought near me, and who would, doubtless, at a later date, regret this intimacy which has sprung from accident; while continuing to love and esteem you, I resume the place that belongs to me."

"All of which means?" Loyal Heart said, distinctly.

"That, being no longer able to be your comrade, and not wis.h.i.+ng to be your servant, I shall retire."

"You are mad, Tranquil," the young man exclaimed, with an outburst of impatient grief. "What you say, I tell you, has not common sense, and the conclusions yon draw from it are absurd."

"Still----?" the Canadian hazarded.

"Oh!" the other continued, with considerable animation, "I have allowed you to speak, have I not? I listened to whatever you had to say without interruption, and it is now your turn. Without wis.h.i.+ng it, you have caused me the greatest pain it is possible for me to suffer; you have caused an ever-living wound to bleed, by reminding me of things which I try in vain to forget, and which will cause the wretchedness of my whole life."

"I--I?" the hunter exclaimed, with a start of terror.

"Yes, you! But what matter? Besides, you were walking blindly, not knowing where you were going; hence, I have no right to be angry with you, and am not so. But there is one thing I value above all, which; I esteem more than life, and that is your friends.h.i.+p. I cannot consent to lose it. Confidence for confidence! You shall know who I am and what motive brought me to the desert, where I am condemned to live and die."

"No," Tranquil answered, clearly, "I have no claim to your confidence.

You say that I have unintentionally caused you great suffering; that suffering would only be increased by the confession you wish to make me.

I swear to you, Loyal Heart, that I will not listen to you."

"You must, my friend, both for your sake and my own, for in that way we shall learn to understand one another. Besides," he added, with a melancholy smile, "this secret which crushed me, and which I have hitherto kept in my own bosom, it will be a great consolation to me, be a.s.sured, to confide to a real friend. And then, you must know this: I have no one to complain of; the terrible misfortune which suddenly fell upon me, or chastis.e.m.e.nt, if you like that term better, was just, though perhaps severe; I have, therefore, no one to reproach but myself. My life is only one long expiation; unhappily I tremble lest the present and the future will not suffice to expiate the past."

"You forget G.o.d, my son," a voice said, with an accent of supreme majesty, "G.o.d, who cannot fail you and will judge you. When the expiation you have imposed on yourself is completed, that G.o.d will cause it to terminate."

And Dona Garillas, who had for some moments been listening to the conversation of the two men, crossed the room with a majestic step, and laid her white and delicate hand on the shoulder of her son, while giving him a glance full of that powerful love which mothers alone possess.

"Oh! I am a wretched ingrate!" the young man exclaimed, sorrowfully; "in my hideous egotism I for a moment forgot you, my mother, who gave up everything for me."

"Raphael, you are my first-born. What I did nine years ago I would do again today. But now, let what you are about to hear be a consolation to you. I am proud of you, my son; whatever pain you once caused me, the same amount of joy and pride you cause me today. All the Indian tribes that traverse the vast solitudes of the prairie have the greatest respect and deepest veneration for you; has not the name these primitive men have given you become the synonym of honour? Are you not, in a word, Loyal Heart, that is to say, the man whose decisions have the strength of law, whom all, friends and enemies, love and esteem? What more do you want?"

The young man shook his head sadly.

"Alas, mother," he said, in a hollow voice, "can I ever forget that I have been a gambler, a.s.sa.s.sin, and incendiary?"

Tranquil could not restrain a start of terror.

"Oh, it is impossible!" he muttered.

The young man heard him, and turning to him, said--?

"Yes, my friend, I have been a gambler, a.s.sa.s.sin, and incendiary. Well, now," he added, with an accent of sad and bitter raillery, "do you still fancy yourself unworthy of my friends.h.i.+p? Do you still consider you are not my equal?"

The Canadian rose while the young man bent on him a searching glance; he went up to Dona Garillas, and bowed to her with a respect mingled with admiration.

"Senora," he said, "whatever crimes a man may have committed in a moment of irresistible pa.s.sion, that man must be absolved by all when, in spite of his fault, he inspires a devotion so glorious, so perfect, and so n.o.ble as yours. You are a holy woman, madam! Hope, as you said yourself a moment back, hope. G.o.d, who is omnipotent, will, when the moment arrives, dry your tears and make you forget your sorrow in immense joy.

I am but a poor man, without talent or learning, but my instinct has never deceived me. I am convinced that if your son were ever guilty, he is now pardoned, even by the man who condemned him under the influence of an exaggerated feeling of honour, which he regretted at a later date."

"Thanks, my friend," Loyal Heart answered; "thanks for words which I feel convinced are the expression of your innermost thoughts; thanks in my mother's name and my own! Yours is a frank and upright nature. You have restored me the courage which at times abandons me, and have raised me in my own sight; but this expiation to which I condemned myself, would not be complete unless I told you, in their fullest details, all the events of my life. No refusal," he added, with a sign to the hunter, "it must be so! Believe me, Tranquil, this story bears its own instruction. Just as the traveller, after a long and painful journey, halts by the wayside, and looks with a certain degree of satisfaction at the distance he has covered, I shall feel a mournful pleasure in returning to the early and terrible events of my life."

"Yes," said his mother, "you are right, my son. A man must have courage to look back, in order to acquire the strength to walk worthily forward.

It is only by reverting to the past that you can understand the present and have hope in the future. Speak, speak, my son, and if in the course of your narrative your memory or your courage fail you, your mother will be here at your side, as I have ever been, and what you dare not or cannot say, I will say."

Tranquil regarded with admiration this strange woman, whose gestures and words harmonized so well with her majestic bearing; this mother, whose sweet face reflected so well her n.o.ble sentiments; he felt himself very small and wretched in the presence of this chosen nature, who, of all the pa.s.sions, knew only one, maternal love.

"Loyal Heart," he said, with an emotion he could not master, "since you insist, I will listen to the narrative of the events which brought you to the desert; but be a.s.sured of this, whatever I may hear, since you are willing still to give me the t.i.tle of friend, here is my hand, take it, I will never fail you. Now, whether you speak or keep your secret, is of no consequence. Remember one thing, however, that I belong to you, body and soul, before and against all, today or tomorrow, tomorrow or ten years hence, and that," he added with a certain degree of solemnity, "I swear to you from my deepest soul, by the memory of my beloved mother, whose ashes now rest in Quebec cemetery. Now go on, I am ready to listen to you."

Loyal Heart warmly returned the pressure of the hunter's hand, and made him sit down on his right hand, while Dona Garillas took her place on his left.

"Now, listen to me," he said.

At this moment the door opened, and No Eusebio appeared.

"_Mi amo_," he said, "the Indian Chief, called Black-deer, wishes to speak to you."

"What, Black-deer?" the hunter said with surprise; "Impossible! He must be engaged with his marriage festivities."

"Pardon me," Tranquil observed; "you forget, Loyal Heart, that when we left the feast the Chief came up to us, saying in a low voice that he had a serious communication to make to us."