Gustave Aimard
Stoneheart: A Romance
At this unexpected insult, she uttered a shriek of terror, and making a superhuman effort, freed herself from his arms, pushing him from her with all her strength. The savage staggered backwards, and, too drunk to keep his legs, dropped to the ground, giving vent to a cry of rage; but, springing up in an instant, he rushed like a jaguar on Hermosa.
Ña Manuela threw herself hastily before her.
"Back!" said she, resolutely placing her hand on the Indian's chest; "This girl is my sister."
"El Zopilote is a brave who never puts up with an insult," replied the savage, frowning, and unsheathing his knife.
"Will you kill her?" exclaimed Manuela in terror.
"Yes, I will kill her, unless she consents to follow me to my toldo. She shall be the wife of a chief."
"You are mad," said Manuela. "Your toldo is full, and there is no room for another fire."
"There is room for two," replied the Indian, grinning. "Since you are her sister, you shall go with her."
The noise collected a crowd of Indians round the two women, who were thus the centre of a circle it would have been impossible to break through.
Manuela instantly comprehended the danger of their situation; she saw they were all but lost.
"Well," continued El Zopilote, seizing in his left hand Hermosa's hair, and twisting it round his wrist, at the same time brandishing his scalp knife, "will you and your sister follow me to my toldo?"
The poor girl cowered down; half recumbent upon the ground, she awaited the mortal blow.
Manuela drew herself up to her full height; her eyes flashed fire; she arrested the arm of El Zopilote, and addressed him thus:
"Since thou wilt have it so, dog, let thy destiny be fulfilled! Behold, the Wacondah allows not his servants to be insulted with impunity."
Hitherto Manuela had contrived to keep herself in such a position that her face was shaded as much as possible, and no one had remarked her features; now she turned her head towards the full light of the fires. On seeing the fantastic lines of paint, the Indians gave utterance to a cry of surprise, and recoiled in terror.
Manuela smiled at her triumph: she resolved to complete it.
"The power of the Wacondah is boundless," she cried; "woe to him who would oppose his schemes: he it is who sends me. Back, all!"
Grasping the arm of Doña Hermosa, who had scarcely recovered from her terrible emotion, she advanced to the edge of the circle. The Indians hesitated. Manuela extended her arm in an attitude of supreme command; the outwitted savages opened to right and left, and gave them passage.
"I shall die," faintly whispered Doña Hermosa.
"Courage!" replied Manuela, "We are saved."
"Wagh!" said a jeering voice; "What is passing here?"
And a man placed himself before the two women.
"The amantzin!" muttered the Indians; and taking fresh courage, they again crowded round their prisoners.
Manuela shuddered, overcome with despair at seeing her hopes annihilated; still the resolute woman determined to make one more effort.
"The Wacondah loves the Indians," she said; "it is he who sends me the amantzin of the Apache braves."
"Indeed!" said the sorcerer, with a sneer; "And what does he want with me?"
"None but yourself may hear."
"Wagh!" said the amantzin, placing his hand on her shoulder, and looking at her attentively; "What proof can you give me of the mission with which the all-powerful Spirit has charged you?"
"Will you save me?" said Manuela, whispering rapidly in his ear.
"That depends on her," answered the sorcerer, fixing his glittering eyes on the girl.
"See!" said Manuela, presenting to him the rich bracelets of gold and pearls she took from her arms.
"Wagh!" replied the sorcerer, hiding them in his bosom; "They are beautiful! What does my mother require?"
"First of all, to be freed from these men."
"And afterwards?"
"Deliver us first."
"It shall be as you will."
The Indians had remained motionless, impassive spectators of the scene. They had heard nothing of this short conversation. The amantzin turned towards them, exhibiting a countenance distorted with fear.
"Fly!" said he in terrible accents; "This woman brings misfortune! The Wacondah is angry! Fly, all; fly!"
The Indians, who had only been restored to confidence by the advent of their sorcerer, seeing him a prey to a terror they could not comprehend, first crowded together, and then dispersed, without asking further questions.
As soon as they had disappeared behind the toldos, the sorcerer turned to the two women.
"Am I able to protect you?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Manuela; "and I thank my father, who is as powerful as he is wise."
A smile of gratified pride just formed itself on the lips of the cautious Indian.
"I am powerful to avenge myself on those who deceive me," said he.
"Therefore I shall not attempt to deceive my father."
"Whence comes my white daughter," he asked.
"From the ark of the first man," replied Manuela, looking him steadily in the face.
The amantzin blushed.
"My daughter has the forked tongue of the congouar," he said. "Does she take me for a lizard, that one can entrap like an old woman?"
"Here is a necklace," she replied, offering a rich string of pearls to the Indian; "the Wacondah gave it me for the wise man of the Apaches."
"Wagh!" said the amantzin; "My mother cannot lie; she is wise. What more can I do for her?" And he slipped the necklace into the same receptacle with the bracelets.
"My father must lead me to the toldo of the great white chief who fights in the ranks of the Apache warriors."
"My daughter would speak to the white chief?"
"I would."
"The white chief is a wise man; will he admit women?"
"Let not that trouble my father; tonight I must speak with the white chief."
"Good; my mother shall speak to him. But this woman?" And he pointed to Doña Hermosa.
"That woman," answered Manuela, "is a friend of the Tigercat. She too is charged with a mission to the sachem."
The sorcerer shook his head.
"The warriors must spin the vicuña wool," said he, "since women make war, and sit at the council fire."
"My father errs; the sachem loves my sister."
"No," replied the Indian.
"Let us see if my father will refuse to lead me to the toldo of the great chief," said Manuela, impatient at the tergiversations of the amantzin, and dreading the return of her persecutors. "Let him beware, the great chief expects us."
The sorcerer cast a piercing look at her, which Manuela bore without casting down her eyes.
"Good," said he; "my mother does not lie. Follow me."
Grasping each of the women by a wrist, he placed himself between them, and began to guide them through the labyrinthine confusion of the camp.
The Indians they met on their road avoided them with unequivocal signs of terror.
The amantzin was by no means displeased with what had happened: he was radiant with joy; for, besides the profit derived from meeting the women, the incident which occurred in consequence had tended to confirm his power in the eyes of the credulous and superstitious Indians, who believed him to be really inspired by the Wacondah.
A quarter of an hour's difficult walking brought them to the toldo, in front of which the totem (standard) of the assembled tribes was planted, surrounded by lances fringed with scarlet, and guarded by four warriors.
"This is the place," said the sorcerer to Manuela.
"Good; let my father give orders that we enter alone."
"Am I to leave you?"
"Yes; my father can wait for us outside,"
"I will wait," briefly replied he, casting a suspicious look on them.
At a sign from the amantzin, the sentries placed before the toldo made way for the women. They entered with trepidation: the dwelling was unoccupied.
They were unable to repress a sigh of satisfaction. The absence of Don Torribio gave them time to prepare for the interview Doña Hermosa so greatly desired.
The amantzin remained standing at the entrance to the toldo. This man, lately raised to the dignity through the influence of the Tigercat, was his tool, and acted as his spy.
CHAPTER XI.
THE RENEGADE
Don Torribio Quiroga and Don José Kalbris urged on their horses, in order to get beyond the defences of the presidio as soon as possible.
The governor was rejoicing at the reinforcement the general commanding in the province had sent him. He knew it would be an easy task to compel the Indians to raise the siege of the presidio when once the troops marching up had joined him. Indeed, he counted upon profiting by the opportunity to give the Apaches – those untiring ravagers of the Mexican frontiers – such a rude lesson, that it would be long before they again attempted an inroad into the territory of the Confederation.
They now arrived at one of the barriers, guarded by a strong detachment of vaqueros and townspeople.
"We must pass through here," said Don Torribio to the governor. "The night is dark, bands of these Indian vagabonds are prowling about all over the country, and we shall most probably have to ride a league or two before we meet our men. I think it will be scarcely prudent for us to venture forth without an escort."
"A very just remark," said Don José.
"You must recollect that you are the governor of the presidio," continued Don Torribio, with a strange smile. "The consequences would be very serious for the town if the Indians were to attack us, and take us prisoners. I do not mention this on my own account, but on yours: I should be a prize of little value to the savages; but with you it is a very different matter. I beg you to consider this carefully, before we go any farther."
"By heaven! You are quite right colonel; it would be an unpardonable imprudence. So I think the best thing we can do is to take an escort."
"I think it would be advantageous," said Don Torribio. "How many men will you take?"
"Oh, a dozen, at the most."
"No; take a score. We cannot tell whom we may fall in with on our road at this time of night. Suppose we were to be set upon by a couple of hundred Indians! We ought to be able to show them a front."
"Let it be a score, then, if you like," answered Don José, with perfect indifference; "and be good enough to choose them yourself."
"Make your mind easy," said Torribio.
With that he rode up to the guard, who had turned out on the governor's arrival, and picked out twenty horseman, whom he ordered to form behind them.
"Now," said he to the governor, "we are ready to march."
"Then let us go," said the latter, giving his horse his head.
The escort put itself in motion, and followed Don José Kalbris and Colonel Torribio Quiroga at about twenty paces' interval.
All went well for nearly an hour, when the governor began to grow restless, in spite of Don Torribio's lively conversation. The latter kept up a constant fire of jokes and sparkling repartees, laying himself out to amuse Don José, and had never before proved so agreeable a companion.
"Excuse me, colonel," said the governor, coming to a halt; "but is it not extraordinary that we see no signs of the troops we are going to meet?"
"Not at all, señor; perhaps the officer in command is waiting for my return, before he leads his men into roads with which he is unacquainted."
"It is just possible," said the governor, after a minute's reflection.
"I think it highly probable," said Don Torribio; "and, in that case, we have nearly another league before we can meet him."
"Then we had better push on."
They resumed their march, but without renewing their conversation. Both of them seemed absorbed in meditation. At times Don Torribio raised his head, and looked carefully about him. All of a sudden they heard the distant neigh of a horse.
"What is that?" said Don Torribio.
"Most likely the troops we are looking for," replied the governor.
"Perhaps," answered the other; "but we had better be cautious."
Requesting the governor to stop where he was, he set spurs to his horse, and riding forward was soon lost in the darkness. Having ridden a short distance, he dismounted, applied his ear to the ground, and listened.
"¡Demonios!" he exclaimed, hastily rising and throwing himself into the saddle; "They are pursuing us! Can that vagabond, Don Estevan, have recognised me? There is not a moment to lose!"
"Well, what is it?" asked the governor, as Don Torribio rode back to him.
"Nothing," said Don Torribio shortly; "nothing of interest to you."
"Then – "
"Then," retorted the other, laying his hand on the governor's left arm, "Don José Kalbris, surrender; you are my prisoner."
"What do you say?" replied the astounded veteran. "Are you mad, Don Torribio?"
"Call me no longer Don Torribio: I am a nameless, homeless wretch, whom the thirst for vengeance has driven amongst the Apaches."
"Treason!" exclaimed the governor. "To the rescue, men! Defend your colonel!"
"These men will not help you, Don José; they are in my pay. Surrender, I say!"
"I will not surrender," said the governor resolutely. "Don Torribio, or whatever else you may call yourself, you are a coward!"
He gave his horse the spur, shook off Don Torribio's hold, and drew his sword. At the same time, the rapid approach of horsemen was heard in the distance.
"Aha!" said the governor, cocking a pistol; "Here comes aid!"
"Yes," replied Don Torribio; "but it comes too late."
And he ordered the vaqueros to surround Don José, and attack him. A couple of shots from the governor's pistol laid two of them in the dust; and a terrible combat began.
Don José, knowing all hope of safety to be gone, determined to sell his life dearly, and did wonders. An accomplished horseman, he parried the blows aimed at him, and struck fiercely into the men crowding upon him with savage vociferations. In the meantime, the thundering gallop of the approaching horsemen grew louder. Don Torribio saw it was time to make a finish, and shot the governor's horse through the head.
Don José came violently to the ground, but was up again in a moment, and aimed a blow at the renegade, which the latter avoided by a dexterous movement. Then the gallant old soldier put the muzzle of his pistol to his own forehead.
"A man like me," said he, "never surrenders to dogs like you; here, curs, quarrel over my body!"
With these words he blew his brains out.
Just then several shots were fired, and a troop of horsemen fell, like a whirlwind, upon the vaqueros. Don Estevan and Major Barnum led the assailants.
The conflict did not last long. Don Torribio gave a loud whistle, and the vaqueros went to the right-about, and, scattering in all directions, were soon lost sight of.
Seven or eight remained dead on the field.
"What is to be done?" said Major Barnum.
"Nothing!" replied Don Estevan sorrowfully; "We are too late. Don José has killed himself rather than submit to be carried off by these dogs."
"He was a noble soldier!" said the major; "But how can we get at the rascals again?"
"We will let them alone, major: they are in camp by this time. Trust me, we shall soon learn to read this riddle."
The mayor domo dismounted, and cut with his machete a branch of the resinous pinewood, which grows so abundantly through all the country. He struck a light, and in a minute or two a torch was ready.
By its ruddy and flickering flame, he and the major began to examine the bodies on the ground. They soon found the governor, lying on his back, with his head horribly crushed. His hand still retained the fatal weapon; and his features wore an expression of haughty disdain and indomitable courage.
"Look at him!" said Don Estevan.
The major could not repress the tear that rolled silently down his swarthy cheek.
"Yes," he said; "he has died like a soldier, with his face to the foe. But, alas! he has fallen a victim to treachery – killed by a white man. My poor old friend! Was this to be your end?"
"It was God's will," answered Don Estevan.
"It was," said the major: "may we do our duty as he has done his!"
Reverently they lifted the body, put it upon a horse, and marched back in sadness to the presidio.
In the meanwhile, Don Torribio was greatly disconcerted. His plans had failed. He had not wished the governor to lose his life, for his death would be no benefit, but, on the contrary, prejudicial, by inspiring the Mexicans with the desire for revenge, and strengthening their determination to resist to the last, and bury themselves under the ruins of the presidio, rather than surrender to such ferocious enemies. His intention had been to seize Don José, keep him prisoner, and to make his own terms with the Mexicans.
But the old soldier's energetic resistance, and resolve to blow out his own brains rather than surrender, had upset these plans. So he returned to the camp, cast down and discontented, while his companions looked upon the cause of his dejection as a triumphant success.
Manuela and Doña Hermosa had profited by his absence to throw off their disguise, and resume their usual dress.
As soon as Don Torribio reached his toldo, the sorcerer, who had never quitted it since he had led the two women to the spot, came forward to meet him.
"What do you want?" said Don Torribio.
"Let my father look with a favourable eye upon me," replied the amantzin; "two women have entered the camp tonight."
"And what is that to me?" said the chief impatiently.
"These females, although dressed like Indians, are white," answered the sorcerer, laying stress on the last two words.
"What then? They are most likely wives of some of the vaqueros."
"Not so," said the sorcerer; "their hands are too white, and their feet too small."
"Indeed!" replied the other, in whom the tale began to excite some interest; "Who has taken them prisoner?"
"No one; they are here alone, of their own accord."
"Alone?"
"They said they had important revelations to make to my father."
"They did?" said the chief, scanning the man narrowly; "And how does my father know that?"
"Because I rescued them, and brought them to my father's toldo."
"Then they are in here?"
"This hour or more."
Don Torribio drew from his pocket a few ounces, and handed them to the sorcerer. "I thank my brother," said he; "he has done well."
The amantzin grinned, and pocketed the bribe.
Don Torribio rushed to the toldo, and raised the curtain. A cry of joy and astonishment escaped him when he recognised Doña Hermosa.
The latter smiled; while he bowed gracefully, asking himself the while what the meaning of this could be.
Doña Hermosa could not resist admiring the man. His rich uniform became him; it exhibited all his handsome proportions, and increased his attractions.
"What rank shall I give you?" she said, beckoning to him to sit down by her side.
"Give me any name you like best, señorita. If you speak to the Spaniard, call me Don Torribio; if you address yourself to the Indian, the name by which I am known among the Apaches is 'the Accursed.'"
"Why have they given you this dreadful name?" said she.
There was no answer to her question: and the two gazed at each other in silence.
Doña Hermosa was thinking of the manner in which she should tell him the object of her visit; he was pondering over the reasons which could have brought her there. He was the first to speak.
"Have you really come here inquest of me señorita?"
"Of whom else?" she replied.
"Excuse my frankness," said he; "but this seems to me so extraordinary, that although I see and hear you, I cannot believe in such great good fortune. I feel as if I were in a dream, and dread the awakening."
This piece of flattery was pronounced in the tone which Don Torribio Quiroga would have employed had he been at Don Pedro's hacienda; a tone adding to the strangeness of the scene, it was so little in accord with the circumstances and the place where it was uttered.
"Good sir," replied Doña Hermosa, in the same easy tone he had used towards her, "I will relieve your trouble, and hasten to dispel the witchery to which you would attribute my presence in your toldo."
"You will still remain an enchantress in my eyes," said he, smiling.
"You flatter me. If there is any enchantment at all in the matter, poor Estevan is the wizard He knew my fixed determination to see you, and told me where I should find you. So, if you are determined to raise somebody to the rank of sorcerer, let Estevan be the victim."
"I will not forget him when the opportunity occurs," said Don Torribio, his face darkly clouding over. "But let us not wander from our own two selves. I have the happiness to see you here: will it offend you if I ask why you come?"
"The reason is quite simple," replied Doña Hermosa, eyeing him steadfastly. "A girl of my age, and particularly of my rank" – and she laid great emphasis on the latter word – "does not take a step so – let us say, so singular, without a strong motive."
"I am sure of it."
"What motive could be strong enough to induce a woman to lay aside the instinctive modesty of her sex, and risk her good name? I know but one. When her heart is in question, when her love is involved? Am I speaking clearly, Don Torribio? Do you begin to understand me."
"I begin to comprehend, señorita."
"The last time we met, my father received you coldly, – you, my betrothed. Mad with jealousy, furious with him and myself, believing our marriage broken off, you rushed from us, and left the hacienda with rage and hatred boiling in your breast."
"Cousin, I swear to you?"
"I am a woman, Don Torribio; and we women possess an instinct which never deceives us. Can you think for a moment that I, on the verge of marriage with you, did not know the love you felt for me?"
Don Torribio gazed at her with an indefinable expression.
"A few days later," she continued, "Don Fernando Carril fell into an ambush, and was left for dead on the spot. Why did you do this, Don Torribio?"
"I will not attempt to deny, señorita, that I wished to avenge myself on one I considered a rival; but I swear I gave no orders to kill him."
"I know it!" she replied; "You need not attempt to exculpate yourself."
Don Torribio looked at her without understanding her words.
"The man whom you imagined to be your rival was no favoured suitor," she continued, with a sweet smile. "You had scarcely left the hacienda, before I confessed to my father that you were my only love, and that I would never consent to marry another."
"Is it possible?" cried Don Torribio, rising in his excitement. "Oh! Had I but known it!"
"Calm yourself; the evil you have done is partly repaired. Don Fernando, rescued by my orders from the clutches of Pablito, is now at Las Norias, whence he will shortly depart for Mexico. My father, who can never refuse me anything, has given me permission to choose him I love most."
As she said this, she darted at Don Torribio a look full of unutterable affection.
He was thunderstruck. A crowd of opposing feelings jostled in his breast: he did not dare to put full credence in the girl's words; a cruel doubt would insinuate itself. Was she mocking him?
"Is it indeed true," he said, "that you could still love me?"
"Is not my presence here an answer? Why should I have come? What should induce me?"
"It is true!" said he, falling on his knees before her. "Forgive me, señorita; I am mad, and know not what I say. It is too much happiness."
A smile of triumph lighted up her face.
"If I did not love you," she said, "could I not have chosen Don Fernando, who is now at the hacienda?"
"Yes, yes; you are a thousand times right! O woman! Adorable woman! Who is able to fathom thy heart?"
Doña Hermosa smiled bitterly: she had brought the lion captive to her feet; she had vanquished man in his pride. Now she was sure of her revenge.
"What answer shall I give my father?" she said.
He drew himself up to his full height; his eyes flashed, his features grew radiant, and he answered in a low tone:
"Señorita, my happiness is immeasurable. Say to your father, that the devotion of a whole life cannot repay the bliss of this interview. As soon as the presidio of San Lucar is taken, I shall present myself at the hacienda of Don Pedro de Luna."
