Gustave Aimard
The Pirates of the Prairies: Adventures in the American Desert

CHAPTER XXXIII
THE TRAIL

The dawn was just commencing to overshadow the horizon with transient opaline tints; a few stars were still glistening in the dark blue sky. The wild beasts were leaving their watering places, and slowly retiring to their dens, disturbing at intervals the solemn silence of the desert with their sinister howling.

Valentine opened his eyes, looked around him anxiously, and after employing a few seconds in shaking off his drowsiness, he rose slowly and awoke his comrades, who were still sleeping, rolled up in their blankets.

Soon, the whole little party were collected round the fire, on which the hunter had thrown a few armfuls of dry wood, and in whose brilliant flames the breakfast was now preparing.

The Mexicans, with their eyes fixed Valentine, silently awaited his explanation, for they guessed that he had important communications to make to them. But their expectations were foiled, at least for the present, and the Frenchman remained quite silent.

When the meal was ready, Valentine made his comrades a signal to eat; and for some twenty minutes no other sound could be heard save that caused by the formidable appetites of the hunters. When they had finished, Valentine quietly lit his Indian pipe, and indicated to his companions that he wished to speak. All turned toward him.

"My friends," he said, in his sympathetic voice, "what I feared has happened. Red Cedar has left his island camp; he has, if I am not mistaken, several days' start of us, and in vain did I try last night to take up his trail: it was impossible. Red Cedar is a villain, endowed with a fortunately far from common ferocity, whose destruction we have sworn, and I hope we shall keep our word. But I am compelled to do him the justice of saying, that he is one of the most experienced hunters in the Far West; and no one, when he pleases, can more cleverly hide his own trail, and discover that of others. We are, therefore, about to have a trial of patience with him, for he has learned all the stratagems of the redskins, of whom, I am not ashamed to say, he is the superior in roguery."

"Alas!" Don Miguel muttered.

"I have sworn to restore your daughter to you, my friend," Valentine continued, "with the help of heaven. I shall keep my oath, but I am about to undertake a gigantic task: hence I ask of you all the most perfect obedience. Your ignorance of the desert might, under certain circumstances, cause us serious injury, and make us lose in a few minutes the fruit of lengthened researches: hence I ask of your friendship that you will let yourselves be entirely guided by my experience."

"My friend," Don Miguel replied, with an accent full of majesty, "whatever you may order, we will do; for you alone can successfully carry out the difficult enterprise in which we are engaged."

"Good! I thank you for the obedience you promise me, my friend: without it, it would be impossible to succeed. Now leave me to arrange with the Indian chiefs."

Valentine rose, made a sign to Curumilla and Eagle-wing, and the three sat down a short distance off. Valentine passed his calumet to the Araucano, who took a few whiffs and then handed it to Eagle-wing, and he, after smoking also, returned it to the hunter.

"My brothers know why I have convened them in council," Valentine said presently.

The two chiefs bowed in reply.

"Very good," he continued; "now what is the advice of my brother? Let the Sachem of the Coras speak first. He is a wise chief, whose counsels can only be good for us."

"Why does Koutonepi ask the advice of his red brothers?" he said. "Koutonepi is a great warrior: he has the eye of the eagle, the scent of the dog, the courage of the lion, and the prudence of the serpent. No one can discover better than him a trail lost in the sand: what Koutonepi does is well done: his brothers will follow him."

"Thanks, chief," Valentine continued; "but in what direction should we proceed?"

"Red Cedar is the friend of Stanapat: after his defeat the scalp hunter will have sought a refuge with his friend."

"That is also my opinion," the hunter remarked. "What do you think, chief?" he said, turning to Curumilla.

The Araucano shook his head.

"No," he said, "Red Cedar loves gold."

"That is true," said Valentine: "besides, the Apaches are too near us. You are right, chief: we must therefore proceed northward?"

Curumilla nodded an assent.

"No horses," he said, "they destroy a trail."

"We will go on foot. Have you Red Cedar's measure?"

Curumilla fumbled in his medicine bag, and produced an old worn moccasin.

"Oh!" Valentine said eagerly; "that is better still: let us be off at once."

They broke up the conference.

"My friends," the hunter said to the Mexicans, "this is what we have resolved on: you three, alone, will be mounted. Each of you will lead one of our horses, so that we may mount at the first signal. The two chiefs and myself will march on foot, in order to let no sign escape us. You will keep two hundred yards, behind us: and as I noticed that there are at this moment a great many trumpeter swans in the river, that will be our rallying cry. All this is arranged?"

"Yes," the three gentlemen answered unanimously.

"Good! now to set out, and try never to let us out of sight."

"Be at your ease, my friend, about that," the general said; "we have too great an interest in not quitting you. Canarios! what would become of us alone, lost in this confounded desert?"

"Come, come, something tells me that we shall succeed," Valentine said gaily, "so we will have courage."

"May heaven grant you are not mistaken, my friend," Don Miguel said sadly. "My poor child!"

"We will deliver her. I have followed a more difficult trail before now."

With these consolatory words, the two Indians and the hunter set out. Instead of taking Indian file, as ordinarily adopted on the prairie, and marching one after the other, they spread like a fan, in order to have a greater space to explore, and not lose the slightest indication. So soon as the scouts were at the arranged distance, the Mexicans mounted and followed them, being careful not to let them out of sight, as far as was possible.

When Valentine told Don Miguel that he had followed more difficult trails, he was either boasting, or, as is more probable, judging from his frank character, he wished to restore hope to his friend.

In order to follow a trail, it must exist. Red Cedar was too old a wood ranger to neglect the slightest precaution, for he knew too well that, however large the desert may be, a man habituated to cross it always Succeeds in finding the man he is pursuing.

He knew, too, that he was followed by the most experienced hunter of the Far West, whom, by common accord, white and half-breed trappers, and the redskins themselves, had surnamed "The Trail-hunter." Hence he surpassed himself, and nothing was to be seen.

Although Valentine and his two comrades might interrogate the desert, it remained dumb and indecipherable as a closed book. For five hours they had been walking, and nothing had given an embodiment to their suspicions, or proved to them that they were on the right track.

Still, with that patience which characterises men accustomed to prairie life, and whose tenacity no word can express, the three men marched on, advancing, step by step, with their bodies bent, their eyes fixed on the ground, never yielding to the insurmountable difficulties that opposed them, but, on the contrary, excited by these very difficulties, which proved that they had an adversary worthy of them.

Valentine walked in the centre, with Curumilla on his right and Eagle-wing on his left. They were crossing at this moment a level plain, where a considerable view could be enjoyed; on one side stood the outposts of the virgin forest, on the other was the Gila, running over a sand bed. On reaching the bank of a small stream, obstructed with shrubs, Valentine noticed all at once that two or three small branches were broken a few inches from the ground.

The hunter stopped, and in order to examine more closely, lay down on the ground, carefully regarding the fracture of the wood, as he thrust his head into the copse. Suddenly he started up on his knees, uttering a cry of joy: his comrades ran up to him.

"Ah, by Heaven," Valentine exclaimed; "now I have him. Look, look!"

And he showed the Indians a few horse's hairs he held in his hand. Curumilla examined them attentively, while Eagle-wing, without saying a word, formed with earth and stones a dyke across the bed of the stream, which was only a few yards in width.

"Well, what do you say to that, chief?" Valentine asked. "Have I guessed it?"

"Wah," the Indian replied, "Koutonepi has good eyes; these hairs come from Red Cedar's horse."

"I noticed that the horse he rode was iron grey."

"Yes; but it halts."

"I know it, with the off foreleg."

At this moment the Coras summoned them: he had turned the course of the stream, and the traces of a horse's hoofs could be distinctly traced in the sand.

"Do you see?" said Valentine.

"Yes," Curumilla remarked; "but he is alone."

"Hang it, so he is."

The two warriors looked at him in amazement.

"Listen," Valentine said, after a moment's reflection, "this is a false trail. On reaching this stream, where it was impossible for him not to leave signs, Red Cedar, supposing that we should look for them in the water, crossed the stream alone, although it would be easy for men less accustomed to the desert than ourselves to suppose that a party had crossed here. Look down there on the other side, at a horse's marks. Red Cedar wanted to be too clever; showing us a trail at all has ruined him. The rest of the band, which he joined again presently, instead of crossing, descended the bed of the stream to the Gila, where they embarked and passed to the other side of the river."

The two Indians, on hearing this clear explanation, could not repress a cry of admiration. Valentine burst the dyke, and with their help formed another one hundred yards below, a short distance from the Gila. The bed of the stream was hardly dry, ere the two Indians clapped their hands, while uttering exclamations of delight.

Valentine had guessed aright: this time they had discovered the real trail, for the bed of the stream had been trampled by a large band of horses.

"Oh, oh," Valentine said; "I fancy we are on the right road."

He then imitated the cry of a swan, and the Mexicans, who had been puzzled by the movements of the hunters, and were anxious to hear the news, galloped up.

"Well?" Don Miguel shouted.

"Good news," said Valentine.

"You have the trail?" the general asked, hurriedly.

"I think so," the hunter modestly replied.

"Oh!" said Don Pablo, joyously; "In that case we shall soon catch the villain."

"I hope so. We must now cross the river; but let us three go first."

The three hunters leaped on their horses and crossed the river, followed at a distance by the others. On reaching the other side of the Gila, instead of ascending the bank, they followed the current for some distance, carefully examining the ground.

"Ah!" Valentine suddenly exclaimed, as he stopped his horse. "I think the men we are pursuing landed here."

"That is the place," said Curumilla, with a nod.

"Yes," Moukapec confirmed him; "it is easy to see."

In fact, the spot was admirably adapted for landing without leaving any signs. The bank was bordered for nearly one hundred yards with large flat rocks, shaped like tombstones, where the horses could rest their hoofs without any fear of leaving a mark. These atones extended for a considerable distance into the plain, and thus formed a species of natural highway, nearly half a mile in width.

Still, a thing had happened which no one could have foreseen, and which would have passed unnoticed, save for Valentine's watchful eye. One of the horses, in climbing on to the rock, had miscalculated its distance and slipped, so that an almost imperceptible graze, left by its hoof on the stone, showed the quick-sighted hunter where the party struck the bank.

The hunters followed the same road; but, so soon as they had landed, the trail disappeared anew. Although the scouts looked around with the most minute attention, they found nothing that would indicate to them the road followed by the enemy on leaving the water.

Valentine, with his hands resting on the muzzle of his rifle, was thinking deeply, at one moment looking on the ground, at another raising his eyes to the sky, like a man busied with the solution of a problem which seems to him impossible, when suddenly he perceived a white headed eagle soaring in long circles over a mass of rocks, situated a little to the right of the spot where he was standing.

"Hum," the hunter said to himself, as he watched the eagle, whose circles were growing gradually smaller, "what is the matter with that bird? I am curious to know."

Summoning his two comrades, he threw his rifle on his back, and hurried toward the spot above which the bird of prey still continued to hover. Valentine imparted to the Indians the suspicions that had sprung up in his mind, and the three men began painfully climbing up the mass of rocks strangely piled up one on the other, and which rose like a small hill in the middle of the prairie.

On reaching the top the hunters stopped to pant; the eagle, startled by their unexpected appearance, had flown reluctantly away. They found themselves on a species of platform, which must infallibly have once served as a sepulchre to some renowned Indian warrior, for several shapeless fragments lay here and there, near a rather wide cavity, some ten yards in width.

Valentine bent over the edge of this hole, but the obscurity was so dense, owing to the shape of the cavity, that he could perceive nothing, though his sense of smell was most disagreeably assailed by a fetid odour of decaying flesh.

"Hilloah! what is this?" he asked.

Without speaking, Curumilla had lit a candle wood torch which he handed the hunter. Valentine bent over again and looked in.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "Red Cedar's horse – I have you now, my fine fellow! but how the deuce did he manage to get the animal up here without leaving any trail?" After a moment he added: "Oh, what a goose I am! The horse was not dead, he led it up here, and then forced it into the hole. By Jove! It is a good trick: I must confess that Red Cedar is a very remarkable rogue, and had it not been for the eagle, I should not have discovered the road he took – but now I have him! Were he ten times as cunning he would not escape me."

And, all delighted, Valentine rejoined the Mexicans, who were anxiously awaiting the result of his researches.

CHAPTER XXXIV
THE HUNT

"Then," Don Miguel asked the hunter, "you believe, my friend, that we are on the right track, and that the villain cannot escape us."

"I am convinced," Valentine replied, "that we have followed his trail up to the present. As for assuring you that he will not escape us, I am unable to say that; I can only assert that I shall discover him."

"That is what I meant," the hacendero remarked, with a sigh.

They started once more. The prairie became more broken, here and there clumps of trees diversified the landscape, and in the distance rose hills, the first spires of the Sierra Madre, which jagged the blue horizon, and undulated the soil. The hunters reached at about an hour before sunset the first trees of an immense virgin forest, which stretched out like a curtain of verdure, and completely hid the prairie from their sight.

"Wah!" said Curumilla, suddenly stooping and picking up an object which he handed Valentine.

"Hilloah!" the latter exclaimed, "if I am not mistaken, it is Doña Clara's cross."

"Give it me, my friend," Don Miguel said, hurriedly advancing.

He seized the article the hunter handed him; it was, in truth, a small diamond cross, which the maiden constantly wore. The hacendero raised it to his lips, with a joy mingled with sorrow.

"Oh, heavens!" he exclaimed, "What has happened to my poor girl?"

"Nothing," Valentine replied; "reassure yourself, my friend. The chain has probably broken, and Doña Clara lost it – that is all."

Don Miguel sighed, two tears burst from his eyes, but he did not utter a word; at the entrance of the forest Valentine halted.

"It is not prudent," he said, "to go among these large trees by night; perhaps those we seek may be waiting here to attack us under covert. If you will listen to me, we will bivouac here."

No one objected to this proposal, and consequently the encampment was formed. Night had completely set in, and the hunters, after eating their super, had rolled themselves up in their blankets, and were sleeping. Valentine, Curumilla, and Eagle-wing, gravely seated around the fire, were conversing in a low voice, while watching the neighbourhood.

All at once Valentine sharply seized the Ulmen by the collar, and pulled him to the ground; at the same moment a shot was fired, and a bullet struck the logs, producing myriads of sparks. The Mexicans, startled by the shot, sprung up and seized their arms, but the hunters had disappeared.

"What is the meaning of this?" Don Miguel asked, looking round vainly in the darkness.

"I am greatly mistaken," said the general, "if we are not attacked."

"Attacked!" the hacendero continued; "By whom?"

"By enemies, probably," the general remarked; "but who those enemies are I cannot tell you."

"Where are our friends?" Don Pablo asked.

"Hunting, I suppose," the general replied.

"Stay, here they come," said Don Miguel.

The hunters returned; but not alone; they had a prisoner with them, and the prisoner was Orson, the pirate. So soon as he had him in the bivouac, Valentine bound him securely, and then examined him for some minutes with profound attention. The bandit endured this examination with a feigned carelessness, which, well played though it was, did not quite deceive the Frenchman.

"Hum!" the latter said to himself, "this seems to me a cunning scamp; let me see if I am wrong – who are you, ruffian?" he roughly asked him.

"I?" the other said with a silly air.

"Yes, you."

"A hunter."

"A scalp hunter, I suppose?" Valentine went on.

"Why so?" the other asked.

"I suppose you did not take us for wild beasts?"

"I do not understand you," the bandit said, with a stupid look.

"That is possible," said Valentine, "what is your name?"

"Orson."

"A pretty name enough. And why were you prowling round our bivouac?"

"The night is dark, and I took you for Apaches."

"Is that why you fired at us?"

"Yes."

"I suppose you did not expect to kill us all six?"

"I did not try to kill you."

"Ah, ah! You wished to give us a salute, I suppose?" the hunter remarked, with a laugh.

"No, but I wished to attract your attention."

"Well, you succeeded; in that case, why did you bolt?"

"I did not do so – I let you catch me."

"Hum," Valentine said again; "well, no matter, we have got you and you'll be very clever if you escape."

"Who knows?" the pirate muttered.

"Where were you going?"

"To join my friends on the other bank of the river."

"What friends?"

"Friends of mine."

"I suppose so."

"The man is an idiot," Don Miguel said, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Valentine gave him a significant look.

"Do you think so?" he said.

As the hacendero made no reply, Valentine continued his cross-questioning.

"Who are the friends you were going to join?"

"I told you – hunters."

"Very well – but those hunters have a name."

"Have you not one, too?"

"Listen, scamp," Valentine said, whom the Pirate's evasions were beginning to make angry, "I warn you that, if you do not answer my questions simply, I shall be forced to blow out your brains."

Orson started back.

"Blow out my brains!" he exclaimed. "Nonsense, you would not dare."

"Why not, mate?"

"Because Red Cedar would avenge me."

"Ah ah, you know Red Cedar?"

"Of course I do, as I was going to join him."

"Hilloh!" Valentine said distrustfully. "Where, then?"

"Wherever he may be."

"That is true – then you know where Red Cedar is?"

"Yes."

"In that case you will guide us to him."

"I shall be delighted," the Pirate said quickly.

Valentine turned to his friend.

"This man is a traitor," he said. "He was sent to draw us into a snare, in which we will not let ourselves be caught. Curumilla, fasten a rope to a branch of that oak tree."

"What for?" Don Miguel asked.

"To hang this scamp, who fancies we are fools."

Orson trembled.

"One moment," he said.

"What for?" the hunter asked.

"Why, I do not wish to be hanged."

"And yet, it will happen to you within ten minutes, my good fellow – so you had better make up your mind to it."

"Not at all, since I offer to lead you to Red Cedar."

"Very good – but I prefer going alone."

"As you please. In that case, let me go."

"That is not possible, unfortunately."

"Why not?"

"I will tell you: because, if you were set at liberty, you would go straight and tell the man who sent you what you have seen, and I do not wish that. Besides, I know at present as well as you do, where Red Cedar is."

"Red Cedar does not hide himself, and can always be found."

"Very good. You have five minutes to recommend your soul to Heaven, and that is more than you deserve."

Orson understood from the hunter's accent that he was lost. Hence he made up his mind bravely.

"Bravo!" he said, "well-played."

Valentine looked at him.

"You are a plucky fellow," he said to him, "and I will do something for you. Curumilla, unfasten his arms."

The Indian obeyed.

"Look here," said Valentine, offering him a pistol. "Blow out your brains, it will be sooner over, and you will suffer less."

The bandit seized the weapon with a diabolical grin, and, with a movement swift as thought, fired at the hunter. But Curumilla was watching him, and cleft his skull with his tomahawk. The bullet whistled harmlessly past Valentine's ear.

"Thanks," said the bandit, as he rolled on the ground.

"What men!" Don Miguel exclaimed.

"Canarios, my friend," the general said, "you had a narrow escape."

The three men dug a hole into which they threw the bandit's body. The rest of the night passed without incident, and at daybreak the hunt recommenced. About midday, the hunters found themselves again on the river bank, and saw two Indian canoes drifting down with the current.

"Back, back!" Valentine suddenly shouted.

All lay down on the grass, and at the same instant bullets ricochetted from the rocks, and arrows whizzed through the leaves, but no one was wounded. Valentine disdained to reply.

"They are Apaches," he said. "Let us not waste our powder; besides, they are out of range."

They set out again. Gradually, the forest grew clearer, the trees became rare, and they at length entered a vast prairie.

"Stop," said Valentine, "we must be approaching. I believe we shall do well, now that we have an expanse before us, to examine the horizon."

He stood upright in his saddle, and began looking carefully around. Presently, he got down.

"Nothing," he said.

At this moment, he saw something glistening in the grass, on the river bank.

"What is that?" he asked himself, and bent down. But, instead of rising again, he bent lower still, and in a second turned to Curumilla.

"The moccasin," he said, sharply.

The Indian handed it to him.

"Look!" the hunter said.

At this spot the sand was damp, and, under a pile of leaves, there appeared clearly and distinctly the trace of a man's foot, with the toes in the water.

"They are only two hours ahead of us," said Valentine. "One of them lost a horse bell here."

"They have crossed the river," said Eagle-wing.

"That is easy to see," the general remarked.

Valentine smiled, and looked at Curumilla, who shook his head.

"No," the hunter said. "It is a trick, but they shall not catch me."

Making his comrades a signal not to stir, Valentine turned his back to the river, and walked rapidly toward a tree covered hill a short distance off.

"Come!" he shouted, so soon as he reached the top. Several dead trees lay scattered in an open space. Aided by Curumilla, Valentine began removing them. The Mexicans, whose curiosity was aroused to an eminent degree, also lent a hand.

In a few minutes, several trees were rolled on one side. Valentine then removed the leaves, and discovered the remains of a fire, with the ashes still warm.

"Come, come," he said, "Red Cedar is not so clever as I thought."

Don Miguel, his son, and the general were astounded, but the hunter only smiled.

"It is nothing," he said. "But the shadow of the sun is already lengthening on the horizon, within three hours, it will be night; so remain here. When the gloom is thick, we will start again."

They bivouacked.

"Now, sleep," Valentine bade them. "I will awake you when necessary, for you will have smart work tonight."

And joining example to precept, Valentine lay down on the ground, closed his eyes, and slept. At about an hour after sunset, he woke again; he looked around, his comrades were still asleep, but one was absent – Curumilla.

"Good," Valentine thought; "the chief has seen something, and gone to reconnoitre."

He had scarce finished this aside, when he noticed two shadows standing out vaguely in the night; the hunter darted behind a tree, and cocked his rifle. At the same instant, the cry of the swan was audible a short distance off.

"Halloh!" said Valentine, as he withdrew his rifle, "Can Curumilla have made another prisoner? Let me have a look."

A few minutes later, Curumilla arrived, closely followed by an Indian warrior, who was no other than Black Cat. On seeing him, Valentine repressed with difficulty a cry of surprise.

"My brother is welcome," he said.

"I was expecting my brother," the Apache chief said, simply.

"How so?"

"My brother is on the trail of Red Cedar?"

"Yes."

"Red Cedar is there," said Black Cat, pointing in the direction of the river.

"Far?"

"About half an hour."

"Good. How does my red brother know it?" the hunter asked, with ill-concealed suspicion.

"The great pale warrior is the brother of Black Cat; he saved his life. The redskins have a long memory. Black Cat assembled his young men, and followed Red Cedar to deliver him to his brother Koutonepi."

Valentine did not for an instant doubt the good faith of the Apache Chief; he knew how religiously the Indians keep their oaths. Black Cat had formed an alliance with him, and he could place implicit confidence in his words.

"Good," he said, "I will wake the pale warriors; my brother will guide us."

The Indian bowed and folded his arms on his chest. A quarter of an hour later, the hunters reached the encampment of the redskins, when they found that Black Cat had spoken the truth, for he had one hundred picked warriors with him, so cleverly concealed in the grass that ten paces off it was impossible to perceive them.

Black Cat drew Valentine aside, and led him a short distance from the bivouac.

"Let my brother look," he said.

The hunter then saw, a little way off, the fires of the gambusinos. Red Cedar had placed his camp against a hillside, which prevented the hunters seeing it. The squatter fancied he had thrown Valentine out, and this night, for the first time since he knew he was pursued, he allowed his people to light a fire.