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Red Cedar,

THE PRAIRIE OUTLAW.

BY GUSTAVE AIMARD.

CHAPTER I.
THE VIRGIN FOREST.

IN Mexico the population is only divided into
two classes, the upper and the lower. There is
no intermediate rank to connect the two ex~
tremes, and this is the cause of the two hundred
and thirty-nine revolu-
tions which have over-
thrown this country since
the declaration of its in-
dependence. Wh this is
so 18 simple enoug . The
intellectual power is in
the hands of a small num-
ber, and all the revolu-
tions are eflected by this
turbulent and ambitious
minority; whence it re—
suits that the country is
governed b the most
complete mi 'tary despot
ism, instead of being a
free republic.

The inhabitants of Chi-
huahua and Texas have
retained, even to the pres-
ent day, that stern, sav-
age, and ener etic physi-
ognomy whic may be
sought in vain among the
other States of the Con-
federation.

Beneath a sky colder

than that of Mexico, the
winter, which frequently
covers the rivers of the
region with a thick layer
of ice, hardens the mus-
cles of the inhabitants,
cleanses their blood, puri-
fies their hearts, and ren—
ders them icked men,
who are distinguished for
their courage, their intel-
ligence, and their pro—
found love of liberty.
. The A aches who orig-
inally ' abited the great-
er portion of New Mexico,
have gradually fallen back
before the ax of the pio—
neers; and after retiring
into the immense deserts
that cover the trian le
formed b the Rio Gila,
the Del orte, and the
Colorado, they ravage al-
most with impunity the
Mexican frontiers, plun-
dering, firing, and devas-
tating all they meet With
on their sage.

The ' abitants of the countries we alluded ‘:
to above, held in respect b these ever-shifting ‘
savages. are in a state 0 Continual warfare
with them, always ready to fl ht, fortifying ‘
their settlements, and only trave ng with wea-
pons in their hands.

On a lovely morning in the month of May,
which the Indians call “the moon of the flow-
ers,”a man of high stature, with harsh and ,
marked features, mounted on a tall, half-tamed ‘
steed, started at a canter from the plaza, and
after a few minutes of hesitation, em )loyed in
realizing his position, resolutely bnricr his spurs
in the horse’s flanks, crossed the ford, and after

leaving behind him the numerous cottonwood , points: a rich saddle of embossed leather, adorn- I took

‘ and drawn up on the shoulder, protects

trees which at this spot cover the river-banks

proceeded toward the dense forest that flashed
on the horizon.

This horseman was dressed in the costume
generally adopted on the frontiers, and which
was so picturesque that we will give a short de—
scription of it. The stranger wore a pelisse of
green cloth, embroidered with silver, allowing
a glimpse of an elegantly-worked shirt, the col-
lar of which was fastened by a loosely-knotted
black-silk handkerchief, the ends passed through
a diamond ring. He wore green cloth brooches,
trimmed with silver, and two rows of buttons
of the same metal, and fastened round the hi 5
by a red silken scarf with gold fringe. T e

in", _-\I,; "

RED CEDAR.

brooches, open on the side half way up the ‘

thi h, displayed his fine linen drawers beneath: ,
his e
boss and stamped leather, attached below the
knee by a Silver arter. On his heels enormous
spurs clanked. mantle glistening with (111?, T
e
upper art of his body, while his head was shel-
torell mm the burning sunbeams by a broad- ;
leafed hat of brown stamped felt, the crown of
which was contracted by a large silver cord
passed twice or thi-ice around it. ,
His steed was capariSt uned with graceful lu'xu— 1
riousness. which highlened all its beautiful

were defended by a strip of brown em- '

ed with massive silver, wide Moorish silver stir-

rups, and handsome water bottles at the saddle-
bow; while an elegant netting, made of open-
work leather and decorated with small steel
chains, entir y covered the horse's croup, and
sparkled with its slightest movement.

The stranger appeared, judging from the lux-
ury he displayed, to belong to the high class of
society. sword hung down his ri ht side, tw”

istols were passed throu h his girgle, the han-

e of a lo knife pro (led from his right
boot, and he aid 9. superb] damascened rifle
across the saddle in front of him.

Bending over the neck of his galloping steed.
he advanced rapidly without looking round him,
although the landsculm
that lay extended before
him was one of the most
attractive and majestic in
those re bus.

The river formed the
most capricious windings
in a center of a terrain
diversified in a thousand
strange ways. Here and
there on the sandy banks
enormous trees might be
won lying, which dried
up b the sun, evidenced,
in t eir washed—out ap-

amnce, that they had

dead for centuries.
Near the shallow and
marsh spots, caymans
and ligators wandered
about awkwardly. At
other places, where the
river ran almost straight,
its banks were uniform
and covered with tall
trees, round which creep—
ers had twined, and then
struck root in the ground
again, thus forming the
most inextricable confu-
sion. Here and there
small clearinfior marshy
spots might detected
in the midst of the dense
wood, often piled up with
trees that had died of old
age. Further on, other
trees, whiich sepmedtisltil]
oun 'u ging rom eir
galorgaiid the solidity of
their bark, fell into dust
with the slightest breath
of wind.

At times the earth, en.
tire] undermined be.
neat , drawn down by
its own weight, dra ged
with it the wood w nch
it bore, and roduccd a
crashing, con used sound
which was returned on all
sides by the echo. and pos-
sessed a certain degree of
grandeur in this desert,
whose de the no man has “
yet dare to scrutinize.

Still the Ems“ galloied on, with his eye
ardently  before him, and not appearing
to see anything. Several hours passe thus

the horseman buried himself deeper in the for-

“ -°

‘ est. He had left the banks of the river, and only

pro with extreme difliculty throu h the
entanglement of branches, grass, and rubs
which at every step arrested his movements,
and forced him to make innumerable turnings.
He merely reined 11 his horse now and then,
took a glance at the s y, and then started again,
muttering to himself but one word:

“ Adelante!” (Forward 1)

At length he stop

in a vast clearing
a suspicious g

around him,an

 

2

The New York Library.

 

 

probably reassured by the leaden silence
which weighed on the desert, he dismounted
hobbled his horse, and took off its bridle that
it might browse on the young tree-shoots.
This duty accomplished, he carelessly lay
down on the ground, rolled a maize cigar-
ette in his fingers, produced egold match-
box from his waist-belt, and struck a li ht.

The clearing was of considerable ex out.
On one side the eye could survey with ease,
through the trees, the widely-extendin
prairie, on which deer were browsing wit
security. On the other side, the forest, wild-
er than ever, seemed, on the contrary, an im-
passable wall of verdure. All was abrupt
and primitive at this spot, which the foot of
man had rarely trodden. Certain trees, either
entirely or partially dried up, offered the
vigorous remains of a rich and fertile soil;
others, equally ancient, were sustained b
the twisted creepers, which in the course 0
time almost equaled their original su port
in size: the diversity of the leaves pro need
the strangest possible mixture. Others,
containing in their hollow trunk a manure
which, formed of their leaves and half-dead
branches, had warmed the seeds the had
let fall. and offered, in the young 5 oots
they contained, some compensation for the
loss of their father tree.

In the prairies, nature, ever provident,
seems to have been desirous to shelter from
the insults of time certain old trees, patri-
archs of the forest which are crushed be-
neath the weight of ages, by forming them
a cloak of gra ‘sh moss, which hangs in fes-
toons from tie highest branches to the

ound, assuming the wildest and most fan-
gstic shapes.

The stranger, lying on his back, with his
head restin on his two crossed hands, was
smokin With that beatitude, full of ease
and slot , which is peculiar to Southerners.
He only interrupted this gentle occupation
to roll a fresh ci rette and cast a glance
around, while mu tering: ‘

“Hum! he keeps me waiting a long
time."

He emitted a pqu of bluish smoke
and resumed his first osltion. Seve
hours passed thus. Sud enly a rather loud
rustling was heard in the thicket, some dis-
tance behind the stranger.

“Ah, ahi" he said, “I fancy my man is
comin at last.”

In e mean while the sound became
louder, and rapidly approached.

“ Hang it, come on, ’ the horseman shout-
ed as he rose. “By our Lady of Pilar! you
have surely kept me waiting ong enough."

Nothing appeared: the clearing was still
deserted, althou h the sound had attained a
certain degree 0 intensity. The stranger,
surprised at the obstinate silence of them
he was addressing, and specially by his con-
tinuing not to show himself, at length rose
to see for himself the reason. At this mo-
ment his horse pricked u its ears snorted
violently, and madea su den effort to free
itself from the lasso that held it; but our
new acquaintance rushed toward it and pat-
ted it. he horse trembled all over, and
made pro iglous bounds in order to escape.
The stranger, more and more surprised,
looked round for an explanation of these ex-
traordinary movements, and was soon satis-
fled.

Scarce twenty yards from him a mag-
nificent jaguar, with a splendidly spotted
hide, was crouched on the main branch of

an enormous cypress, and fixed on him two ‘

feroeious eyes, as it assed its blood-red,
rugged tongue ova ts lips with a feline
pleasure. _ .

“Ah, ah!” the stranger said to himself

in a low voice, but displaying no further ex-
.citement, “I did not expect you; but no
matter, you are welcome, comrade. Humph i
We shall have a fight for it."

Without taking his eye ofl' the jaguar be
convinced himself that his sword quitted
its scabbard readily, picked up his rifle, and,
after these recautions were taken, he ad-
vanced reso utely toward the ferocious brute,
which saw him coming withont changriéig its
Elation. On arriving within ten ya of

e Jaguar, the stranger threw away the
cigarette he had an now held between his
“PS, Shouldered his rifle, and ut his finger
0“ "1° *' Ker. The jaguar rew itself to-

me? In prepared to leap forward. At

be same moment a hoarse yell was heard
from the oPilosite side of the clearing.

“ wait 3 minute " the stranger said to
himself, with a smi e; “ it seems there are
two of them, and I fancied 1 had to do with
a bachelor jaguar. Tm. I. beg-inning to
grow interesting."

And he threw a lanes on one side, He
had not deceived h mself: . mond ja “3,,
rather larger than the am, m fix it,
lashing eyes upon him.

—.

 

CHAPTER II.
rim con'rns'r.

Tm! dwellers on the Mexican frontiers are
accustomed to fight continually with wild
animals, both men and brutes, that con-
tinually attack them. Hence the stranger
was but slightly affected by the uncxpec ed
visit of the two jaguars. Although his po-
sition between his two ferocious enemies
was somewhat precarious, and he did not at
all conceal from himself the danger lie ran
alone ainst two, he did not the less resolve
to con rout them bravely. Not taking his
eye ofl‘ the jaguar he had first seen, he went
back a few steps obliquely so as to have his
foes nearly opposite him, instead of stand-
ing between them. This maneuver, which
demanded some little time, succeeded be—
yond his hopes. The jaguars watched him,
icking their lips, and passing their paws be-
hind their ears with those graceful move-
ments peculiar to the feline race. The two
wild beasts, certain of their prey, seemed
to be playing with it, and not over eager to
pounce on i .

While keeping his e e on the watch, the
Mexican di not yiel to any treacherous
feeling of security: he knew that the
struggle he was about to undertake wasa
supreme one, and he took his precautions.
Jaguars never attack a man unless forced by
necessity; and the latter tried, before all,
to seize the horse. The noble animal, se-
curely fastened by its master, exhausted
itself in efforts to break the bonds that held
it, and escape. it trembled with terror on
scouting its ferocious enemies.

The stranger, when his precautions were
completely taken, shouldered his rifle for
the second time. At this moment the jagu-
ars raised their heads while laying back their
ears and snifiing anxious] . An almost im-
perce tible sound was an ible in the bushes.

“ 0 cos there?” the Mexican asked in
a loud vo ce.

“ A friend, Don Miguel Zarate," was the

re 1y.

P‘Alil it is Valentine,” the Mexican con-
tinued. “You have arrived just in time to
see some fine sport.”

“Ah, ahl" the man who had already
spoken went on. “ Can I help you i?"

“It is useless; but make haste if you
want to see.”

The branches were sharply drawn aside,
and two men appeared in the clearing. At
the sight of, the jaguars they stopped, not
through alarm, for they quietly placed the
butts of their rifles on the ground, but in
order to give the hunter every facility to
emerge victorious from his rash combat.

The jaguars seemed to comprehend that
the moment for action had arrived. As if
by one accord they drew themselves up and
bounded on their enemy. The first, struck
in its leap by a bullet which passed through
its ri ht eye, rolled on the ground, where it
rem ned motionless. The second was re-
ceived on the oint of the hunter’s knife,
who, after disc ar in his rifle, had fallen on
his knee, with h oft arm folded in his
blanket in front, and the knife in the other
hand. The man and the tiger writhed to-
gether in a deadly embrace, and after a few
seconds only one of the adversaries rose: it
was the man. The tiger was dead: the hun-
ter’s knife, ded by a firm hand, had passed
through its eart.

During this ra id fight the new-comers
had not made a s gn, but remained stoicai
s ctators of all that was taking place. The

exican rose, thrust his weapon thrice into
the grass to clean the blade, and turning
cold to the strangers, said:

“ at do you say to that?”

“Splendidl played,” the first answered;
“it is one of he best double strokes I ever
saw in my life.”

The two men threw their rifles on their
shoulders, and walked u to their friend,
who reloaded his piece With as much cool-
ness and tranquillit as if he had not just
escaped froma terri le danger by a miracle
of skill.

The sun was sinking on the horizon, the
shadows of the trees assumed a prodi ions
leggth and the luminary appeared 11 'c a
b i fire amid the limpid azure of the
heavens. The night would soon arrive, and
the desert was awaking. On all sides could
be heard, in the gloomy and mysterious
depths of the Virgin forest, the hoarse howl-
in of the coyotes and other wild beasts,
m led with the son of the birds perched
on i the branches. he desert, silent and
gloomy during the o pressive heat of day,
emerged from its u eaithy torpor on the
approach of dark, and was preparing to re-
sume its nocturnal sports.

The three men in the clearing collected
dried branches, made a pile of them, and sct
fire to it. They doubtlesst intended to
camp for a ortion of the night at this spot.
Saloon as e flames rose joyoust skyward

 

in ion spirals, the two strangers produced
fromt eir game-bags maize-cakes, jerked
meat, and a gourd of whisky. These vu-
rious coincstiblcs were complacently spread
out on the grass, and the three men begun a
hunter’s meal. When the gourd had gone
the round several times, and the food had
disappeared, the new-comers lit their In-
(1%?!) pipes, and the Mexican rolled a cigar-
e

lasted, however, long enough for night to
have completely set in ere it was ended.
Perfect darkness brooded over the clearing,
the ruddy reflections of the fire played on
the energetic faces of the three men, and
gave them a fantastic up cai'ance.

“ And now," the Mcx1cun said, afterliglit-
ing his cigarette, “I will, with your permis-
sion, explain to you why I was so anxious to
see you.

“One moment,” one of the hunters an-
swered. “You know that in the deserts
the leaves have often eyes, and the trees
ears. If I am not mistaken in your hints,
on invited us here that our interview might
c secret.”

“In truth, I have the greatest interest
that nothing of what is said here be ever-
heard or even suspected."

“ cry good. Curumilla, to your work.”

The second hunter rose, seized his rifle,
and disappeared noiselessly in the gloom.
His absence was rather lon r; but, as ion
as it lasted, the two men left at the fire di
not exchange a syllable. In about half an
hour the hunter returned, however, and seat
ed himself by his comrades‘ side.

“ Well?” the one who had sent him off
asked him.

“ My brothers can speak,” he replied, la-
sonically; “ the desert is quiet." ’

On this assurance the three men banished
an anxiety. Still prudence did not abandon
them : they took up their pipes, and turned
their backs to the fire, so that they might
watch the neighborhood while conversing.

“We are ready to listen to you,” the first
hunter said.

“Listen to me with the greatest atten-
tion,” the Mexican began; what you are
about to hear is of the utmost importance."

The two men bowed silently, and the Mex-
ican prepared to speak again.

Before going further we must introduce to
the reader the two men we have just brought
on the stage, and go back a few paces in or-
der to make it perfectly understood why
Don Miguel Zarate, in lieu of receiving them
at his own house, had given them the meet-
ing in the heart of the forest.

The two hunters seemed at the first glance
to be Indians; but, on examinin them
more attentively, you could reco ize that
one of them belonged to those w ite trap-
pers whose boldness has become proverbial
in the South-west. Their appearance and
equipment ofi‘ered a sin ular medley of sav-
age and civilized life. heir hair was of a
remarkable length; for in those countries,
where a man is frequently only sought for
the glory of lifting his scalp, it is considered
the thin to wear tlong and easy to seize.

They ad their hair neatly pluitcd and in-
tertwined with beaver-skins and bright-col-
ored ribbons. The rest of their garb har-
monized with this specimen of their taste.
A hunting-shirt of bright red calico fell
down to their knees; gaiters decorated with
woolen ribbons and bells surrounded their
legs; and their feet were shod with mocca-
sins embroidered with beads, which the
squaws know so well how to make. A stri-
pcd blanket, fastened round the hi s bys
belt of tanned deer-hide, complete their
clothing,bnt was not so closely drawn that
at their every movement the butt of the pis-
tols and the hilt of the knives might be seen
glistening. As for their rifles, useless at this
moment, and carelessly thrown on the
ground by their side, if they had been strip-
ped of the plume-worked elk-skin that cov-
ered them, t would have been possible to
see with what care their owners had decorat-
ed them With copper nails painted of various
colors; for all about these two men bore
the imprint of Indian habits.

The first of the two hunters was a man of
thirty-eight at the most, tall, and well
built: his muscular limbs denoted great bod-
ily strength, allied to unequaled lightness.
Although be affected all the manners of the
red~skins, it was an easy matter to perceive
that he not only belon ed to the unmixed
white race, but also to t 6 Norman or Gaul-
ish type. He was fair; his blue eyes had
an expression of undefinable sadness; his
nese was slightly aquiline; his mouth large,
and filled with teeth of dazzling whiteness;
athick chestnut beard covered the lower
part of his face, which revealed gentleness,

'indness, and manage without boastin
though the whole were combined with awi
of iron.

His companion evidently belonged to the
Indian race.sil the characteristic signs d

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Although this meal had been short, it,

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which be displayed; but, strange to say, he
was not coppcry like the American aborigi-
nes of Texas and North Aiiiericn; and his
skin was brown, and slightly of an olive hue.
He had alofty brow, a bent nose, small but
piercing eyes, a large mouth, and square
chin; in short, he presented the complete
1’. pa of the Arnucaiio race, which inhabits a
l mlted territory in the south of'Chili. This
hunter had round his brow n purple-colored
fillet, in which was thrust over the right car
a plume of the Andes eagle, a sign which
serves to distinguish the chiefs of the Aucas.
These ludians—abovc nil, in New Mexico
Although culled [adios flddfiu‘, are always
ready on the first opportunity to ally them-
selves with their desert congencrs; and in
the incursions of the Apaches and Coman-
chss it is rare for the faithful Indians not to
serve them as scouts, guides. and spies.

 

CHAPTER III.
THE PECGARIEI.

The family of Don Miguel Zarate had re.
tired to New Mexico, which country it did
not leave again a few years after he con-
quests of the a venturcr Uortcz. Don Mi -
uel had closely followwl the polic of h 5
family b maintaining the bonds 0 friend-
ship an good neighborhood which, from
time immemorial, attached it to the Indians,
believers or not. This policy had home its
fruit. Annually, in September, when the
terrible red warriors, preceded by murder
and arson, rushed like a torrent on the
wretched inhabitants, whom they massacred
in the farms they plundered, without pity
for age or sex, only on Miguel Zaratc’s es-
tates were res ectcd; and not merely was
no dam e in icted on them, but even if at
times a old were unwittingly trampled by
the horses’ hoofs, or a few trees destroyed
by plunderers, the evil was immediately re-
paired ere the owner had opportunity for
complaint.

This conduct of the Indians had not failed
to arouse against Don Miguel extreme jeal-
ousy on the part of the inhabitants, who saw
tnemselves periodically ruined by the Indies
Raves. Earnest complaints had been laid
against him before the Mexican Govern-
ment; but whatever might be the power of
his enemies, and the means they employed
to ruin him, the rich liaciendero had never
been seriously disturbed: in the first place,
because New Mexico is too remote from the
capital for the inhabitants to have any thin
to fear from the governing classes; an
secondly, Don Miguel was too rich notto
render it easy for him to impose silence on
those who were most disposed to injure him.

Don Miguel was left a widower after eight
years’ marria c, with two children, a boy and

rl, the son eiug twenty-four, the daugh-
er seventeen, at the period when our story
opens. Donna Clara—such was the daugh-
ter's name—was one of the most delicious
maidens that can be imagined. Her black
eyes, fringed with long silky lashes, pure
mouth, and dreamy brow seemed to promise
divine joys. Her complexion, slightly
bronzed by the warm sunbeams, were that
gilded reflection which so well becomes the
women of these intertro ical countries.
She was short of stature, ut exquisitely
modeled. Gentle and simple, ignorant as
s Creole, this delicious child was adored by
her father, who saw in her the wife he had
so loved living once more. The Indians
looked after her when she at times passed
pensively, plucking a flower before their
wretched huts, and scarce bending the plants
on which she placed her delicate foot. In
their hearts they compared this frail maiden,
with her soft and vsporous outline, to the
“vir in of the first loves,” that sublime
crest on of the Indian religion which holds
so out a place in the Aztec mythology.

on Pablo Zarate, the son, was apowerlhl-
ly-bullt man, with harshly-marked feature
and s haughty glance, although at times i
was imprinted with gentleness and kindness?
Endowed with more than ordinsr ' strength,
skilled in all bodily exercises, on Pablo
was renowned through the whole country
for his talent in taming the most spirited
horses, and the correctness of his aim when
on the chase. A determined hunter and
darin wood-ranger, this young man, when
he he a good horse between is legs, and
his rifle in his hand, knew none, man or ani-
mal capable of barring his passage. The
Indians, in their simple faith, yielded to the
son the same respect- and veneratiou they
entertained for the father.

The Zarates, then, at the period when our
story opens, were real kings of New Mexico.
But the felicity they enjoyed was suddenly
troubled by one of those vulgar incidents
which, though unimportant in themselves
produce a. discomfort possessing no apparen
cause, from the fact t iat it a. .mpossible to
foresee or prevent them. The circumstance
was as follows'

 

Don Miguel possessed, in the vicinity of
the Peso, vast estates extending for a rest
distance, and consisting principally of aci-
endas, prairies and forests. One day he
Was returning irom a visit to his haciendas.
It was late, and be pressed on his horse in
order to rcach ere night the ford, when, at
about three or four leagues at the most from
the spot to which he was proceeding, and
just as he was entering a dense forest of
cottonwood trees, through which he must
pass ere reaching the ford, his attention was
attracted by cries mingled with growls emer-
ging from the wood lie was about to enter.

Ic stopped in order to account for the un-

usual sounds he heard, and bent his head
forward to detect what was lisp enin .
But it was impossible for him to dist nguifii
any thin through the chaos of creepers
and shru s which intercepted vision. In
the meanwhile the noise grew louder, and
the shouts were rcdoub ed, and mingled
with oaths and passionate exclamations.

His horse laid back its ears, neighed, and
refused to advance. Thiukln that a man
was probably attacked by d beasts, he
only consulted his heart; and, in spite of
the visible repugnanee of his steed, he com-
pelled it to go forward and enter the wood.

le had scarce gone a few yards ere he
sto pad in amazement at the strange spoo-
tac e that presented itself to him.

In the middle of a. clearing lay is ripped-
np horse, which six or eight psccaries were
rcnding, while a dozen others were attack-
ing with their tasks the stem of an euor-
mous tree, in the to most branches of which
a man had sou ht s elter.

Let us expla n to our readers, who proba-
bly know little about them, what sort of
animals the peccaries are.

The peccaries hold the intermediate 0
between the domestic gig and the wild oar.
Although this animal oes not exceed two
feet in hight, and is not more than three
feet long from the end of the snout to the
beginning of the tail, it is indubitablyl one
of the most dangerous animals in orth
America. The animal’s jaw is rovided
with tusks rather like those of the oar, but
straight and sharp, their length varying be-
tween four and six inches. 11 the abs 6 of
the body it resembles a but the b stles
scattered over its warty do are in colored
strips: the part nearest the skin is white,
and the point of achocolate tinge. Sosoou
as the animal is en ed these bristles stand
out like the quills o a orcupine.

The movements of o peccaries are as
quick and sharpss those of asquirrel. They
ordinarily live in herds of fifteen, thirty,
and even fifty. The strength of the head,
neck, and shoulders is so great when they
charge, that nothing can resist the impetu-
oslty of their attac s. A remarkable pecu-
liarity of this once is the clumsy wart the
have on their acks, whence it musky fluid
eva crates when the animal is his fury.

he peccary lives in preference on acorns
roots, wheat, sugar-cane, and reptiles of
every description. It is a proved fact that
the most venomous serpents are devoured
by them without their feeling in the slight-
est dcgree iucommoded.

The mode in which the peccsry forms its
lair is very singular. This lair is generally
in the midst of tufted and impenetrable
canes, found in marsh spots round the
monarchs of the force, which still stand
like crushed giants, with their grappling
lines of creepers and vi n vines. The
trunks of these trees, whic at times meas-
ure forty feet in circumference, are nearly
all hollow, and thus afford a convenient
shelter for the peccarles, which retire to
them every ui lit in herds of twenty to
twent -five, en ering the cavit one after
the 0 her backward; so that e last has
the end of its snout placed just at the en-
trance of the hole, thus watching, as it
were, over the rest of its companions.

The peccaries are unboundedly ferocious:
they know not danger, or at least des lee it
completely. They alwa's attack in or
and fight with uuequale rage until the 1%
succumbs, no matter the nature of their
foe. Hence men and animals all fly a meet-
ing with these terrible beasts: the j or,
so stron and redoubtable, will become heir
my if i be so imprudent asto attack them.

CHAPTER IV.
was soon-m

Amn what we have said, it is as? to
understand how precarious was ths‘pos tion
of the man perched on the top of a tree,
and surrounded by ccariu.’ Hie enemies
seeineg dfitenninfgu not tto ling; their

un; eycra ycre roun 0 tree,
flacked its base With thalir tasks, and then
recognizin the inutility of their onsets,
they quiet y lay down by the carcass of the
horse. which they had already sacrificed to

 

their fhry. Don Miguel felt moved to pity
for the poor fellow, whose position grew
momentarll ' more critical; but in vain did
he rack his rains how to help the unhappy
man whose destruction was assured.

To attack the peccaries would have been ex-
treme imprudence, and have produced no
other result than that of turning on himself
the fury of the animals, while not saving the
man he wished to hel . Still time pressed,
What was to be done How without sacri-
ficing himself, save the man who ran so
great a risk?

He hesitated fora long period. It seemed
to him impossible to leave, without hel ,
this man whose death was certain. Th s
idea, which presented itself to his mind sev-
eral times, he had energetically repulsed, so
monstrous did it up ear to him. At length
be resolved at all ks to attempt impossi-
bilitles in favor of this stranger, of whose
death he would have eventually accused
himself had he left him to perish in the
desert.

The stranger’s osltlon was the more crit-
ical because, in h s haste to defend himself
from the attacks of his enemies, he had let
his rifle fall at the foot of the tree, and was
cousequently unable to reduce the number
of the peccaries. In spite of the fineness of
their scent, the latter had not noticed Don
Mi el’s approach, who, by a providentlal
acc dent, ha entered the wood on the side
op osite the wind. He dismounted with a
s g , patted his horse, and then took of! its
accoutermeuts. The noble animal, habitu-
ated to its master’s caresses, shook its head
joyously, and fixed its large intelligent eyes
on him. Don Miguel could not repress an-
other sigh: a tear fell down his bronzed
cheeks. 0n the point of accomplishing the
sacrifice, he hesitated.

It was a faithful companion, almost 0
friend, he was about to se arste from- but
the life of a man was a stake. Driving
back the feelings that tsted him, his res-
olution was formed. e passed a lasso
round his horse’s neck, and in s lte of its
obstinate resistance compelled it 0 advance
to the entrance of the clearin in which the
peccsries were assembled. A l curtain of
cree ers and leaves alone hid it from theh
sigh . 0n arriving here he stopped: he had
one more moment’s hesitation, but onl
one; for then seizing a bit of tinder. whic
he hted, he thrust it into the r sni-
msllssxear while csressiu it. W

The effect was an den and terrible.
The horse uttered a snort of pain; and ren-
dered med by the burning, bounded forward
into the clesri , striving in vain to get rid
of the tinder wh ch caused it intolers 1e suf-
fering. Don Mi el had smartly leaped
aside, and now ollowed with an anxious
glance the result of the terrible tentative he

ad just made to save the stranger. Ou
seal the horse appear suddenly in their
mids , the peccaries rose, formed scompsct
group and rushed with their heads down in
purse t of the horse, thinking no ion or of
the man. The animal, spurred on s more
b the si ht of its ferocious enemies, shot

wl the speed of an arrow, b '

down with its chest all the obstacles in its
way, and followed closely by the peccarles.

he man was saved; but at what a price!
His owner repressed a last si h of regret.
and leaped into the clearing. he stran or
had already descended from the tree; at
the emotion he had undergone was so ex-
treme, that he remained seated on the
ground, almost in a state of unconscious-

noes.

“Quick quick i” Don Miguel said to
him sharp y. “We have not a moment to
lose: the peccsries my alter their minds
and return. ’

“That is true," the siren r muttered in
a hollow voice, as he cast I. rrified glance
around. “ Let us be off—of! at ones.

He made an sa'ort over himself, seized his
rifle, and rose. Through s resentlment
for which he could not sceoun to himself
Don Miguel experienced at the sight 0
this man, whom he had hitherto scarce
looked at, a feel of invincible doubt and
dis t. Owing the life he was obliged
to cad on these frontiers, frequented by

ople of every description, the haciendero
Kid been often brought into relation with
trappers and hunters whose faces were no
recommendation to them- but, nevu- hm
chance brought him in contact with an indi-
vidual of such sinister appearance as this

one.

gun he did not allow his feeli to 30
seen through. and invited this man follow
m, The latter did not let the invihtion
be repeated; for he was anxious '10 WP“
from the spot where he had been '0 3°"
death. Tbsnks to the Mexicsn’l acquaint-
ance with the country the wood was lpeed'

, ily traversed, and the two men, after a walk
0

scarce an hour‘s duration, reached the

banks of the Del No v ust op its the
M Their spastith MP3 great.

I

 

4

 

 

The New YorkflIiibrary.

 

their anxiety so serious, that they had not
exchanged a syllable, so fearful were they
of seeing the peccaries appear at any moment.
Fortunately this was not the case, and they
reached the ford without being again dis-
turbed.

Don Miguel was burdened with his horse’s

trappings, which he now threw on tho
ground, and looked around him in the ho

of finding some one who would help him It
crossing the river. His expectations were
not deceived; for just as they reached the
ford a muleteer was preparing to cross to
the other side of the river with his mules,
and offered to carry them both to the town.
The two men eagerly accepted, each mountn
ed a mule, and half an hour later they found
themselves in safety at the village. After
Ewing the muletecr a few coins to requits

im for his services, Don Mi uel took up,

his horse‘s trappings again, an prepared to
start. The stranger stop ed.

“We are about to part ere,” he said in a
rough voice; “ but, before lsavin , let .me ex-
press to you my deep gratitude, or the noble
and generous manner in which you saved
my lie at the peril of your own.”

“ Sir, I only did myldutyiu saving you.
In the desert all men are brothers, and owe
each other protection. Hence do not thank
me, l'beg, for a very ,simpleaction ; any
ather’m my place would haveactcd as I have

one.

“Perhaps so," the, stran er i continued;
“ but be kind enough pray, 0 tell me your
name, so thatI may lruow to whom I owe
my life.”

“ That is needless,” Don Miguel said with
a smile. “ Still, as I fancy you are a stran-
ger in these parts, letme give you apiece of
advice."

“ What is it, sir l’"

“ Never in future to attack the peccatie's.
They are terrible enemies only tobs con-
a‘erdr   w; swin-

v1 ua n, ,g demon mi, annu-
pardonable folly, ,to which hepmust 'fall a
~victlm."

“ Be assured, air, that I shall profit by the
lesson I have received . this day, a . shall
never put myself in such a, wasp s nest
again. I was too near paying dearly for my
imprudence. But I be you, sir,.do not let
us separate one I know ename of my pre-
server."

“ As you insist, sir, you shall learn if. 'I
am Don Miguel do Zarate."

The stranger t00k a peculiar glance at the
speaker, while repressing a movement of

surprise.

‘ Ah !” he saidln “arguin- tone, “thanks,
Don M uel Zarate. thout knowing you
person ly, I was already acquainted with
your name."

“That is possible,” the haciendero an-
swerid; “hfor I armfllmkfiown 1in tier?
counr,werem eeno ‘ -
tablishgd.” y y ' n: i '

“I sir, am the man whom the Indians
call Wilchasta Jonte, the Man-eater, and
the hunters, my companions, Red Cedar."

And after lifting his hand to his cap in sa-
lute, this man threw his rifle on his shoul-
der, turned on his heel, and wentofl‘ atfull
speed. Don Miguel looked after him tors
while, andtheu walked pensively toward the
house he inhabited at Peso. The haciendero
did not suspect that he had sacrificed his
favorite horse to save the life of his most
implacableenemy. ‘

CHAPTER V.
m wom.

Ar sunrise Don Miguelymcwnted on an
excellent horse, left the Paso, and roceedsd
toward the estate where he res ded with
his family. It was situated a few miles
from the village, ,in a delicious osltion,
and was known as the Farm of t sWell.
The estate inhabited by him stood in the
center of the Vast, delta formed by the Del
Norte and the Rio San Pedro, or Devil’s
River. It was a stro and massive build-
ing: Supported at regililfir distances b enor-
mous cross walls of carved stone. a all
the frontier habitations, which are rather
“firms than houses it was only pierced
01} the side of the plain with a few narrow
wmdows resembling 19;) holes and protect
0‘} W 50nd 130D» bars; . is a ode was be-
?!” b 3 thKCk Wall of clrcumvallation, do-
‘end 0“ “.18 ‘0 by that fretwork called
dmam, which in icated the nobility 01' the
owner. Within this wall but “paused
from the chief apartments, were the stables,
onthouses, barns, and cabin; (0;- an on;

It the extremity of macaw u. , in an
,3er of the hacienda, was the {in square
fryer the chapel, rismg above its terraced

roof. This chapel was served by a monk '

called Era Ambrosio. A magnificent lain
closed in ails splendid farm. _At.the eu‘d of.
a valley more than fifty miles in length

 

‘themorni .
, old of thus8 house b

were cactus trees of a conical shape, loaded
with fruit and flowers, and whose stems
were as much as six feet in diameter.

It was one of those superb American
mornings during which nature seems to be
holding a festival. The centzontle (American
nightingale) frequently poured forth its har-
monious notes; the red-throstlcd cardinals,
the blue birds the parroquets, chattel-ed
gayly beneath the folia e; far away on the
plain galloped flecks 0 light antelopes and
lipid ashatas; while on the extreme verge
of the horizon rushed startled droves of
wild horses, which raised clouds of impal-
pable dust beneath the vibration of their
rapid hoofs. A few alligators, carelessly
stretched out on the river mud, were dry-
ing their scales in the sun, and in mid air the
grand ea les of the Sierra Madre hovered

‘ m estica ly above the valley.

on Mi el advanced rapidly at the favor-

. ite pace w ich consists in making the horse

raise its front legs, while the hind ones al-
most graze the ground—a peculiar sort of
amble which is very gentle and rapid. The
haciendero an] employed four hours in

, traversing the istance separating him from

his home, where he arrived about nine in
He was received on the thresh-
his daughter, who
lwarned of his arrival, haste]. ed to mee
im.
He had. been absent from home for a fort-

, night; hence he received his daughter’s
. caresses with the greatest pleasure.

When
he had embraced her several times, while

; continuing to hold her tightly clas ed in his

arms, be regarded her attentivoy during
several seconds.

“What is the matter, Clara i’" he asked,
with sympath . “Youseem very sad. Can
you feeivexe at the sight of me?” he ad-
ded, with a smile.

“Oh, you can not believe that father!”
she answered, quickly; “ for you know how
hag your presence must render me.”

.)  hanks, my chlldi But whom a, in that
case, comes ‘the sorrow I see spread over
your features ?”

The maiden let her eyes sink, but made
no reply. Don Miguel threw a searching

“ Where is Don Pablo?” he said. “ Why
has he not come to greet me? Can he be
awa from home '2”

' “ o, father, he is here.”

‘ “Well, then, what is the reason he is not

by your side i?"

‘ Because—"the girl said, with hesitation.
“Well?”

' “He is ill.”

"“My son ill i” Don Miguel exclaimed.

' “ I am wrong,” Clara corrected herself.
“Explain yourself, in heaven’s name i”
“M father, the fact is that Pablo is

wounded.”

"“Woundedi",,thefather shar ly said; and

thrusting his daughter aside, e rushed to-
ward the house, bounded up the few steps
leading to the orch, crossed several rooms
without sto pug, and reached his son’s
chamber. , T e young man was lying, weak
and faint, on'his bed; but on perceiving his
rent he smiled, and held out his hand to
im. Don Miguel was fondly attached to
his son, his‘sole'heir, and walked up to him.

“What is this wound of which I have
heard i?” he asked him, in great agitation.

“Less than nothin , father,” the young
man replied, exchang ng a meaning glance
with his sister, who entered at the moment.
“ ,Clsra is a foolish girl, who, in her tender-
ness wron ly alarmed you.”

“hut, a or all, you are wounded?” the
fa her continued.

‘But I repeat that it is a mere nothin ."

' “Gome, explain yourself. How nd w on

did on receive this wound ‘9”

'T 6 young man blushed, and maintained
“an H .

ns s on knowln ” Don Mi ue con-
tinued, ressingly. 8' g

“Goo heavens, father i” Don Pablo re-
plied,» with an air of ill-humOr, “I do not
understand Why you are alarmed for so
futlloa cause. I am not a child, whom a
scratch should make frightened; and many
times have I been wounded previously, and
you have not disturbed yourself so much.”

“ That is possible; but the mode in which
ygu answer me, the care you seem to take

keep me ignorant of the cause of this
wound—in a word, every thing tells me that
this time you are trying to hide something
grave from me.”

if You <are mistaken, father, and shall
convince ourself.”

“ I wls nothing more: speak. Clara,
my child, go and 've orders to have break-
fast prs ared, for am dying of hunger.”

The ng1 went out.

“ Now it is our turn," Don Miguel con-
tinued. “ In the first place, where are you
wounded f”

“ Oh! I have merely a slight scratch on
my shoulder: if I went to bed it was more

- glance around.

I
I

 

 

 

throu h indolence than any other motive.“
“ um! and what scratched your shoul-
der?”

“A bullet.” ‘

“What! a bullet? Then on must have
mught a duel, unhappy boyt” Don Miguel
exclaimed, with a shudder.

The young man smiled, pressed his father’s
hand and bending toward him, said:

“ his is what has happened.”

“I am listening to you,” Don Miguel
replied, making an effort to calm himself.

“ Two days after your departure, father,
I was superintending, as you wished me to
do, the cutting of the cane crop, when a
hunter whom you will probably remember
having seen prowling about the estate, a
man of the name of Andrés Garote, accos-
ted me at the moment I was about to re-
turn home aftcr giving my orders to the
major-domo. After saluting me obscqui-
ously, according to his wont, the scamp
smiled cunningly, and lowering his voice so
as not to be overheard by those around us,
said, ‘Don Pablo, I fancy you would give
half an ounce to the man who brou rht you
important news ‘3’ ‘That depends, I an-
swered; for, having known the man a lonfér
time, I was aware much confidence coul
not he placed in him. ‘Bah! you are so
rich,‘ he continued, insidiously, ‘that a
miserable sum like that is less than nothing
in your pocket, while in mine it would do
me a deal of good.’

“Apart from his defects, this scamp had
at times done us a few small services; and
then, as he said, a half<ounce is but a trifle,
so Igave it to him. He stowed it away in
his pockets, and then bent down to my ear.
‘ Thanks,’ he said to me. ‘I shall not cheat
you of your money. Your horse is rested,
and can stand a long journey. Proceed to
Buffalo Valley, and there on will learn
something to interest JO“. t was in vain
that I urged him to explain himself more
clearly; could draw nomore from him.
He merely added before parting from me,
‘ You have good weapons; so take them
with you, for no man knoweth what may
happen.’ Somehow the scamp’s vaiied
commences aroused my curiosity: hence I
resolved to go to Buffalo Valley, and gain
the clue of this riddle.”

“Audrés Garote is a villain, who laid a
snare for you, into which you fell,” Don
Miguel interrupted.

‘ No, father, you are mistaken. Andres
was honest toward me, and I have only
thanks to give him. Still he saouid have
explained himself, perhaps, more istinctly."

he listener shook his head with a doubt-
ing air.

‘ Go on,” he said.

“ I entered my house, procured the weap-
ons, and then, mounted on Negro in black
charger, I proceeded toward Buffalo alley.
As you are aware, father, the place we call
so, and which belon rs to us, is an immense
forest of cedars an maples, nearly forty
miles in circumference, and traversed almost
throu h its entire 1en rth by a wide conflu-
cnt o the Rio San Pet ro.”

“Of course I know it, and I intend next
year to fell some of the wood there.”

“You need not take that trouble,” the
youn man said, with a smile, “for some
one e as has done it for you.”

“What do you mean?” the hacisudero
asked, wrathfully. “Who has dared i?”

“ Oh i one of those wretched heretie
squatters, as they call themselves. The
villain found the spot to suit him, and has
quietly settled there with his whelps—three
big fellows with hang-dog faces, who
laughed at me when I told them that the
forest was mine, and answered, while aiming
at me, that they were North Americans,
who cared as little for me as they did for a
coyote; that the ground belonged to the
first corner; and that I should afford them,
lively pleasure b being off at full speed.
What more shall tell you, father? I take
after you. I have hot blood, and I cordially
hate that race of Yankee pirates, who, for
some years back, have settled on our lovely
country like aswarm of musquitoes. I saw.
our forest plundered, our finest trees cut
down. I could not remain unmoved in the
presence of these scouudrcls’ insolence, and
the quarrel became so sharp that they fired
at me.”

“They shall pay dearly for the affront
they have offered you, I swear it! I will
take an exemplary vengeance,” Don Miguel
exclaimed in a fury. . ‘

“Why he so angry, father it” the youn
man replied, visibly annoyed at the (like
his story had produced. “The harm these
Efople do us is really very trifling. lwas
» the wrong to let my passion carry me
away.”

“ 0n the contrary you were right. I will
not have these Northern thieves come and
commit their plunder here. I will put a
stop to it.” ,

l

 

 

 

 

 

Red Cedar.

 

 

“I assure you that, if you will leave me
to act, I feel certain of arranging this affair
to your satisfaction.”

“ I forbid you taking the slightest steps,
for this matter concerns me now. What—
ever may occur, I do not wish you to inter-
fere. Will you promise me this 1’"

“ As you insist, I do so, father."

“Very good. Get cured us speedily as

ossiblc, and keep your mind at rest. The

ankees shall pay me dearly for the blood
the have shed.”

Vgith these words Don Miguel retired,
and his son fell buck on his bed stillingr a.
sigh, and uttering a hoarse exclamation of
passion.

 

CHAPTER VI.
'rnn SQUAT’l‘ER'S SHANTY.

DON PABLO had not told his father the facts
In all their truth or detail. lie had fallen into
a perfect alnbuscade. He was suddenly at—
tacked by the three brothers, who would
have mercilessly killed him, resolved to lay
the blame of his death on the wild
beasts, had not, at the moment when
one of them lifted his knife on the
young man, who was thrown down and ren-
dered motionless by the others, a providen-
tial succor reached him in the person of a
charming maid scarce sixteen years of

e.

The courageous girl rushed from a copse
with the rapidity of a fawn, and threw her-
self resolutely into the midst of the assas-
sins.

“ What are you about, brothers?" she ex-
claimed, in a melodious voice. “ Why do
you wish to kill this stranger Y”

The three squatters, surprised by this ap-
Jarition, which they were far from expect-
ng, fell back a few paces. Don Pablo pro-
fited by this truce to jump up and regain

ssession of his arms, which lad fallen by

is side.

“ Was it not enough,” the girl continued,
“ to rob this man, that you must now try
to take his life? Fic, brothers! Do you
not know that blood leaves on the hands of
him who spills it stains which nothing can
efi'ace? Let this man retire in peace.”

The young men hesitated. Although un-
consciously yielding to their sister’s influ-
encs, they were ashamed of thus executing
her wishes. Still they did not dare express
their thoughts, and merely bent on their
enemy, who awaited them with a firm foot
and pistols in hand, glances laden with ha-
tred and anger.

“Ellen is ri rht," the {punlgcst of her
brothers sudden y said. “ 0, will not al-
low any harm to be done the stranger.”

The others looked at him savagely.

“ You would defend him, if necessary, I
flpose, Shaw 5’” Nathan said to him, ironi-

y.

“ Why should 1 not, were it required f"
the young man said, boldly. ‘

“Ehl’ Sutter remarked with a grin,
“he is thinking of the Wood Eglantine. ’

This word had been scarce uttered ere
Shaw, with purpled face, contracted features,
and eyes injected with blood, rushed with
uplifted knife on his brother, who awaited
him firmly. The girl dashed between them.

“Peace, peacei she shricked in a pierc-
ing voice. “ Do brothers dare threaten one
another 1‘”

The two young fellows remained motion-
less, but watching, and ready to strike in a
moment. Don Pablo fixed an ardent glance
on the girl, who was really admirable at this
moment. With her features animated by
anger, her head erect, and her arms stretch-
ed out between the two men, she bore a
startling likeness to those Druidesscs who
in olden times summoned the warriors to
combat beneath the forests of' Germany.

In her whole person she offered the com-

lete t pe of the gentle Northern woman. .

or hair light and golden like ripe corn;
her eyes of extreme purity, which reflected
the azure of the sky; her earnest mouth,
with ma lips and pearly teeth; hcr flexible
and em lwalst; the whiteness of her com-
plexion, whose delicate and transparent
skin still bore the flush of adolescence—all
was combined in this charming maiden to
render her the most seductive creature im-
a inable.

on Pablo, a stranger to this kind of
beauty, felt himself involuntarily attracted
toward the girl. Forgetting the reason
that had brought him to this spot, the dan-
ger he had incurred, and that which still
menaced him, he was fascinated and trem-
bling before this delicious. apparition, fear-
ing at each instant to see it vanish like a vi-
sion, and not daring to turn his glance from
her, while he felt he had no strength left to
admire her.

This young creature, so frail and delicate,
formed a Strange contrast with the 'tall stat-
ures and marked features of her brothers,

 

whose coarse and savage manners only serv-
ed to highten the elegance and charm ax-
hnled by her whole person. Still this scene
could not be prolonged, and must be ended
at once. The maiden walked toward Don
Pablo.

“ Sir," she said to him with a soft smile,
“you have nothing more to fear from my
brothers; you can mount your horse again,
and set out, and no one will oppose your de-
parture.”

The young man understood that he had no
pretext to prolong his stay at this spot ; he
therefore let his head sink, placed his pistols
in his holsters, leaped on hishorsc, and set
out with regret, and as slowly as possible.

lie had scarce gone a lea rue when he
heard the hasty clutter of a orse behind
him. He turned back. The approaching
horseman was Shaw, who soon caught up to

the other. The pair then proceeded some
distance side by side without exchanging a
syllable, and both seemed plunged in pro-
found thought. On reaching the skirt of
the forest, Shaw checked his horse, and
softly laid his right hand on the Mexican’s
bridle. Don Pablo also stopped on this
hint, and waited, while flxin an inquiring
glance on his strange comra e.

“Stranger,” the young man said, “my
sister sends me. She implores you, if it be
possible, to keep secret what occurred be-
ween us to-day. She deepl regrets the at-
tack to which you fell a v ctim and the
wound you have received; and she will try
to persuade Red Cedar, our father, to retire
from your estates.”

“Thank your sister for me," Don Pablo
answered. “ Tell her that her slightest
wish will be evera command to me, and
that I shall be happy to execute it.”

“ I will repeat your words to her."

“ Thanks. Render me a parting aer~
vice.”

“Speak.”

“ What is our sister‘s name i’"

“ Ellen. he is the guardian angel of- our
hearth. My name is Shaw."

“ I am obliged to you for tellin me your
name, though I can not guess e reason
that induces you to do so.

“ I will tell you. I love my sister Ellen
before all: she urged me to offer you my
friendship. I obey her. Remember, stran-
ger, that Shaw is yours to the death.’

“ I shall not forget it, though I ho a never
to be under the necessity of remln ing' you
of your words.”

“ All the worse,” the American said with
a shake of his head; “but if at any time
the opportunity offers, I will prove to you
that I am a man of my word, so surely as I
am a Kentuckian.”

And hurriedly turning his horse’s heed,

the (mug man rapidly disappeared in the ’

wiiu ings of the forest.

Buffalo Valley, illumined by the partin
rays of the setting sun, seemed a lake 0
verdure to which the golden mists of night
imparted magical tones. A light breeze
rustlcd through the loft crests of the co-
dars, catalpas, tuli and em trees, and agi-
tated the grass. 0 Pablo let the reins

float idly on his horse 3 neck, and advanced ‘
dreamily through the forest, where the birds ‘

were leaping from a my to spray, each salut-
ingln its lan uagc he arrival of night.

n hour ater the oun man reached
home; but the woun be ad received in
his shoulder was more serious than at first
supposed. He was obli ed, to his reat're-
gre-t, to keep his bed, w ich raven d him
seeking to meet again the ma den whose im-
age was deeply engraven on his heart.

So soon as the owner had gone ofi‘, the
squatters continued felling trees and sawin
planks, and did not aban on this work

he night had grown quite black. Ellen
had returned to the interior of the house.
where she attended to the housekeeping du-
ties with her mother._ This was a wretched
hut, hastily made. With branches of inter-
twined trees, which trembled with every

breeze, and let the sun and rain penetrate to ‘

the interior.
This cabin was divided into three com.

partments: the one to the ri ht servcd'aa ‘

the bedroom of the two fema es, while the
men slept in the one to the left. The cen-
tral compartment, furnished with worm-eat-
en benches and a clumsily-planed table, was
at once keeping-room and kitchen. '

It was late: the squatters, assembled =
round the fire, over which a huge iron potwu '
boiling, were silently awaiting the return of ~

Red Cedar, who had been absent since the

morning. At length a horse‘s hoofs aound- ‘

ed on the detritus collected for years on’the
floor of the forest, the noise grew gradually
nearer, the horse stopped in front of the
but, and a man made his ap . w. It
was Red Cedar. The men s owly turned
their heads toward him, but did not othe-
{isle disturb themselves, or address a syllable
0. nm. .
Ellen alone rose and embraced her father

 

affectionately. The glant seized the plrl in
his nervous arms, raised her from the ground,
and kissed her several times, saying in his
rough voice, which his tenderness sensibly
softened: '

“ Good-evening, my dear." ,

Then he put her down on the ground 
and not troubling himself further a on
her, fall heavily on a bench, and thrust his
feet toward the fire.

“ Come, wife,” he said, after the expiration
of a moment, “the an per, in the fiend'a
name i I have a coyote s hunger."

The wife did not let this be repeated. A
few moments latera huge dish of fried rk
with beans smoked on the table, with urge

ots of coffee. The meal was short and al-
ent, the four men eating with extreme ra-
pacity. 80 soon as the beans had disap-
peared, Red Cedar and his sons lit their pipes
and began smoking, thou rh still not speak-
ing. t length ed Ce ar took his pipe
from his lips and hit the table sharply,
while saying, in a rough voice:

“ Come, women, docsmpl You have noth-
ing moreto do here. You are in our way,
so 0 to the deuce l"

lien and her mother immediately went
out, and entered their separate apartment.
For a few minutes the could be heard mov-
iniabout, and than :1 became silent again.

ed Cedar made a sign, and Sutter rose
and gsently put his car to the parti board.

l toned or a few moments while olding
his breath, and then returned to his seat,
sayingl laconlcally:

“'1 ey are also ."

" Quick, my elpsi" the old squatter
said, in a low voice. “ We have not a min-
ute to lose; the others are expecting us."

A curious scone than occurred in this
mean room, which was nearly illuminod by
theexpiring light of the hearth. The four
men rose, opened a large cheat, and pro-
duced from it‘ various objects of strange
shapes—lo gings, mittens, buffalo-robes, col-
lars of g zzly bear claws; in a word, the
wmplete costume of A ache Indiana.

The squatters disgu sad themselves In
red-skins; and when they had put on their
garments, which rendered it impossible to
recognize them, they completed the meta-
morphosis by painting the r faces of differ-
ent colors.

Auuredl the traveler whom accident
had brong t, at this moment to the but
would have fancied it inhabited by Apache.
or Comanches.

The garments which the squatters had
taken 0 were locked up in the chest, of
which Red Cedar took the key; and the
four men, armed with their American rides,
left the cabin, mounted their horses, which
Wore awaith them ready saddled, and

letarted at full gallop through the winding

forestpfltho.

At the moment they. disappeared in the
gloom Ellen stood in the doorway of the
cabin, took a. despairing glance in the di-
rection where they-had one, and fell to the
ground. murmuring sad y:

“ Good Heavenl what diabolical work are
they going to perform this night i"

 

CHAPTER VII.
m mom.

I 0x the banks of the Rio San Pedro, and
on the side of a hill, stood a village com-
posed of some ten cabins, inhabited bye

n.

population of sixty persons at the most,

eluding men, women, and children. These
people were Com Indians, hunters and
rlculturlsts, belonging to the Tortoise
tr be. Those poor Indians fired there on
terms of. peace with their neighbors, under
the protection of the Memes“) laws. Quiet
and inoffensive beings, during the nearly
twcnt years tbs. hadbeen'established at
this p ace they h never once offered a sub-
ject of complaint to their neighbors, who,
on the contrary, were glad to ace thcm.pros-
per, owing to their We and hospitable
manners.
0n the night whomwe saw the squatters
leave their cabin in disguise some twenty
individuals, armed to the teat , and clothed
in strange costume, with their faces black.
onedvsor as to render them unrecognizable,
were bivonacked at about two leagues from
the village; in I plain on a river‘s bank.
Beetle: ogyhli‘g round hu 0 fires, theybyivere
Ill! ’ “8 ‘ quarre n or m ug,
wit ignititudinous yells a5} mi; .Two
mmxmted apart at the foot. of an enor-
mous cactus, were convening inc low tout,
while smoking their bulk cigarettes. The"
“firm”. of whom we have already spoken
to the reader, womme Ambrosio, chaplain
to the farm, andlAndres Garoto, the hunter.
Amm’wu atoll, thin fellow, with a sick-
? and cunnin race, who draped himself
silently in h , sordid rags. but whose
Weapons would spouseuy‘xoodmuditioa.

6

The New York Library.

 

Who were the men causin this disturb-
ance? They were “rangers; ’ but this re-
quires explanation.

Immediately after each of the different
revolutions which have periodically over-
turned Mexico since that country so pomp-
ously declared its independence, the first
care of the new President who reaches
power is to dismiss the volunteers who had
accidentally swollen the ranks of his army,
and supplied him the means of overthrowing
his predecessor. These sanguinary men,
without religion or law, who have no re-
lations or friends, are an utter leprosy to the
country.

No onger able to wage war on their
countrymen they form free corps, and en-

e themselves for a certain salary, to hunt

a Indios Bravos—that is to say, the Apa-
ches and Comanches—who desolate the
Mexican frontiers. In addition to this, the

eternal government of North America in

exas, and of Mexico in the States of the
Confederation, allots them a certain sum
for each Indian scalp they bring in.

The men assembled at this moment on the
banks of the river were reparing for a war-
party—the name they ve to the massacres
the organize against the red-skins.

'I’oward midni ht Red Cedar and his three
sons reached t e ran crs’ camp. They
must have been impat ently expected, for
the bandits received them with marks of
the greatest joy and the warmest enthusiasm.
The dice and cards were immediately de-
serted. The rangers mounted their horses,
and grouped round the s uatters, near whom
stoo Fray Ambrosio an his friend Andres
Garote.

Red Cedar took a glance round the mob,
and could not repress a smile of pride at the
sight of the rich collection of bandits of
every description whom he had around him,
and who recognized him as chief. He ex-
tended his arm to command peace. When
all were silent the giant took the word.

“ Comrades," he said, in a powerful and
marked voice, “ the audacit of the red-
skins is growin intolerable. f we let them
alone they wou dsooninundate the country,
when they would end by expelling us. This
state of things must have an end. I have
assembled you here for a war-party, which
1 have been meditatin for some time, and
shall carry out this nig t. We are about to
attack the Coras, who for some cars past

have had the impudence to estab ish them-
'selves near this spot. The are pagans and

l

thieves, who have one hun red times merit-
ed tho severe chastisement we are about to
inflict on them. But I implore you, dis-
pay no mistaken pity. Crush this race of
vi rs—lct not one escape! The scalp of a
sh id is worth as much as that of a man;
so do not let yourselves be moved by cries or
tears but scalp, scalp to the end."

Th s harangue was greeted by yells of

“Tied Cedar then whispered a few words in
Fray Ambrosio's ears, who bowed his head
in assent, and immediately set out in the
direction of the Coras villa es, followed by
Andres Garote. The squat er then turned
to the rangers, who were awaiting his or-
ders.

“ You know where we are going, men,"
he said. “Let us start, and before all, be
silent, if we wish to catch our game in its

lair; for you know that the Indians are as '

cunnin as opossums."

The and started at a gallop, Red Cedar
and his sons being at their head. It was
one of those calm nights which predis oss
the soul to reverie, such as America a one
has the privilege of ossessing. The dark-
blue sky was spangle with an infinite num-
ber of stars, in the center of which shone
the majestic Southern Cross, sparkling like
a king‘s mantle.

The gloomy horsemen still went 0:: silent
and frownin , like the phantoms of e an-
eient legen s, which glide throu h the
shadows to accomplish a deed wlt out a
name. At the end of scarce an hour the
doomed settlement was reached. All were
resting in the village—not a light flashed in
I but. The Indians, wearied with the hard
toll of the day, were reposin , full of confi-
dence in the sworn faith, an apprehending
no treason.

Red Cedar halted twenty yards away and
are" “P his horsemen so as to surround the
village on all sides. When each had taken
his 903‘» and the torches were lighted, Red
Cedar uttered the terrible war-cry of the
Apaches, and the rangers galloped at full
speed on the villa e, uttering ferocious
howls, and brandishing the torches, which
they threw on the cabins.

A Scene 0‘ carnage then took place which
the human Pen ‘3, Powerless to describe.
The unhappy Indians, surprised in their
sleep, rushed terrified and half-naked out of
their poor abodes, and were pitilsssl mas-
sacred and scalpcd by the rangers, lire vii.
loge. fired by the raugers’torchesnoon be.

 

came an immense funeral pile, in which
victims and murderers were huddled pell-
me . -

Still a few Indians had succeeded in col-
iecting. Forming ina compact troop of
twenty men they opposed a desperate re-
sistance to their assassins. At the head of
this band was a half-nude, tall Indian of in-
telligent features, who, with a plowshare
which he wielded with extreme force an
skill, felled all the assailants who came with-
in reach of his terrible weapon. This man
was the chief of the Coras. At his feet is
his mother, wife, and two children—den .
The unhappy man struggled with the en-
ergy of despair. He knew his life would be
sacrificed, but he wished to sell it as dearly
as possible. _

In vain had the rangers fired on the chief—
he seemed invulnerable: not one of the
bullets had struck him. He still fought,
and the wei ht of his weapon did not seem
to fatigue is arm. The rangers excited
each other to finish him; but not one dared
to approach him.

But this combat of giants could not en-
dure longer. Of the twenty companions he
had round him on commencing the struggle
the chief now only saw two or three upright:
the rest were dead. There must be an end.
The circle that incloeed the hapless Indian
drew closer and closer. Henceforth it was
only aquestion of time with him. The ran-
gers, recogisaizing the impossibility of con-
quering th lion-hearted man, had changed
their tactics: they no longer attacked him,
but contented themselves with forming an
impassable circle round him, waiting pru-
dently for the moment when the strength of
the prey, which could not escape them,
lwas exhausted, in order to rush upon

m.

The Coras understood the intention of
his enemies. A contemptuous smile con-
tracted his haughty lips, and be rushed res-
olutely toward these men who recoiled be-
fore him. Suddenly, with amovement quick-
er than thou ht, he threw with extraordi-
nary stren t the plowshare among the
rangers, an boundin like a panther, leap-
ed on a horse, and c utched its rider with
an erhuman vigor.

re the rangers had recovered ,from the
surprise this unforeseen attack occasioned in
them, by a desperate effort, and still holding
the horseman, the chieftain drew from his
girdle a short, sharp knife, which be buried
up to the hilt in the flanks of the horse.
The animal uttered a shriek of pain, rushed
headlon into the crowd, and bore both
away wi h maddening speed.

The rangers, rendered furious at being
played with by a single man, and seeing
heir most terrible enemy escape them,
started in pursuit; but with his liberty the
Coras had regained all his energy: he felt
himself save . In spite of the despcrate
efforts the rangers made to catch him up,
he disappeared n the darkness.

The chief continued to fly till he felt the
horse totterln under him. He had not
loosed his hol of the horseman, who was
half stran led by the rude embrace, and
both rolle on the ground. This man were
the costume of the Apache Indians. The
Coras re urded him for an instant attentive-
ly, and hen a smile of- contempt played
round his lips.

“ You are not a red-skin,” he said in a
hollow voice; “ you are only a pale-face dog.
Why put on the skin of the lion when you
are a cowardly coyote l‘”

The ranger, st ll stunned by the fall he
had suffered, and the bug he had endured,
did not reply.

“ I could kill you,” the Indian continued ;
“ but my vengeance would not be complete.
You and years must pay me for all the inno-
cent blood ou have shed like cowards this
night. I w ll mark you, so that I may know
you again."

Then with fearful coolness, the Coras
threw e ranger on his back, at his knee
on his chest, and burying his nger in the
socket of his eye, gave it a sharp rotatory
movement, an plucked out his eye-ball.
On this frightful mutilation the wretcli ut-
tcred a cry of pain impossible to describe.
The Indian got up.

“ Go!” he said to him. “ Now I am cer-
tain of finding you whenever I want on.”

At this moment the sound of hoo s could
be heard ashort distance off: the rangers
had evidently heard theircomrade’s cry, and
were hurryin to his aid. The Coras rushed
into the bus es and disappeared. A few
moments later the rangers came up.

“ Nathan, my soul" Red Cedar shouted,
as he leaped from his horse and threw him-
self on the body of the wounded. “ Nathan,
my first-born, is dead l”

“ No," one of the rangers answered; “but
he is very bad.”

It was reall the squatter’s eldest son
whom the chic had mutilated. Red Cedar
seized him in his arms. placed him before

 

him on the saddle, and the band started

ain at a gallop. The rangers had accom—
p islied their task: they had sixty human
scalps hanging from their girdles. The vil-
lage of the Coras was no longer aught save
a pile of ashes.

Of all the inhabitants only the chief sur-
vived; but he would suffice to avenge his
brothers.

 

CHAPTER VIIL
ma VALLEY or run nurraLo.

Don MIGUEL ZARATE, on leavin his son,
remouiitcd his horse and rode s rsl ht to
Paso, to the house of Don Luciano area,
the police magistrate.

The worthy Don Luciano sliuddered on
hearing the details of what had occurred
between Don Pablo and the squatters. He at
once buckled on his sword, gave orders to
ten well-armed men to mount, and pla—
cing himself at the head of this numerous
fscort, he proceeded toward Buffalo Val-
ey.
Don Miguel had witnessed with secret
annoyance all these formidable preparations.
He placed but slight confidence in the cour-
age of the policemen and he would have
preferred the sheriff leaving him master to
act as he pleased.

Don Luciano Perez was a plump little
man of about sixty years of a e, round as I
tub, With a jolly face, adorne with a rubl-
cund nose and two cunning little eyes. The
little band set out at a canter, and proceeded
rapidly toward the forest. The sheriff hurl—
ed tire and flames at the audacious usurpers,
as he called them : he spoke of nothing less
than killing them without mercy, if they at-
tempted even the slightest resistance to the
orders he was about to give them. Don
Miguel, who was much calmer, and foreboded
no good from this great wrath, sought in
vain to pacify him ytelling him that he
would in all probability have to do with
men difficult to intimidate, against whom
coolness would be the best weapon.

Don Mi ruel, in order to shorten the jour-
ney, led he band by a cross-road, which
saved at least one-third the distance; and
the first trees of the forest already ap cared
about two miles off. The mischic pro—
duced by the squatters was much more con-
siderable than Don Pablo had represented
to his father; and, at the first glance, it
seemed impossible that, in so shorts time,
four men, even though working vi orously,
could have accompished it. he finest
trees lay on the ground: enormous piles of
planks were arranged at regular distances,
and on the river an already completed raft
only awaited a few more stems of trees to
be thrust into the water.

Don Miguel could not refrain from sigh-
ing at the si ht of the devastation commit-
te in one 0 his best forests; but the near-
er they approached the spot where they
ex ected to meet the squatters, the more
in ewarm grew the warlike zeal of the
sheriff and his aids, and Don Miguel soon
found himself compelled to urge them on,
instead of restraining them as he had hither-
to donc. Suddenly the sound of an ax re-
echoed a few paces ahead of the band. The
sheriff, impelled by the feeling of his duty.
and shame of appearing frightened advance a
boldly in the direction of the scan , followed!
by his escort.

“Stop!” a rough voice shouted, at the
moment the policemen turned the corner
of a lane.

Ten paces from them stood amen in the
center of the ride, leanin on an American,
rifle. The sheriff turns to Don Miguel
with such an expression of hesitation and
honest terror that he could not refrain from
laughing.

“Come, courage, DonlLuciano i" he said:
to him. ‘This man is alone: he can not
venture to bar our passe e."

“Forward!” the sierifi' exclaimed,
ashamed of this impression which he coulth
not master, and frowning porteiitously,
“forward. you fellows, and fire on that:
scouiidrel if he make buta sign to resist
you.

The men set‘ out 's wi rudeutiali
hesitation. W m p

“Stop! I tell you again," the Squaw"
repeated “ Did you not hear the order I
gave you 1’”

The sheriff, reassured by the Prelence 0'
the proprietor, then advanced: and “1‘1
with a tone which he strove to. render ter~
rlble, but which was only ridiculous through
the terror he revealed :

“I, Don Luciano Perez, of the town of
P330, have come, by virtue of the powers
demgated to me by the Government, to
summon you and your adherents to quit
within twenty-four hours this forest you
have illegally entered, and which—"

“Ta, tn!" the stranger shouted, “11:53
interrupting him. and mmme his

 

“-4;

 

 

 

 

 

 

Red Cedar.

r7

 

 

save ely. "I care as much for all your
wor s and laws as I do for an old moccasin.
The ground belongs to the first comers.

We are comfortable here, and mean to re- ‘

main.”

“Your language is very bold, young man,"
Don Miguel then said. “ You do not con-
sider that you are alone, and that, failiinr
other rights, we have strength on our side.’

The squatter burst into a laugh.

“You believe that,” he said. “Learn,
stranger, thatI care as little for the ten
numhugs I now have before me as I do for
a woodcock, and that they will do well to
leave me at peace, unless they want to learn
the weight of my arm at their expense.
However, here is my father: settle it with
him.”

And he berran carelessly Whistling “Yan-
kee Doodle]? At the same instant three
men, at the head of whom was Red Cedar
a poured on the path. At the sight of
t ese unexpected reinforcements for their
arrogant enemy, the sheriff made a move-
ment in retreat. The ail'air was becoming
complicated, and threatened to assume pro-
portions very grave for them.

“Hallo! what’s up 1’” the old man asked,

roughly. “Any thing wrong, Sutter?”
“ These people,” the young man answered,
shrugging his shoulders, contemptuously,
“are talking about driving as from the
forest by virtue of some order.”

“ Hallo!” Red Cedar said, his eyes flash-
ing as he cast a savage glance at the Mexi-
cans. “The only law I recognize in the
desert,” he continued, with a gesture of
terrible energy. as he struck his rifle-barrel,
“is this. Withdraw, strangers, if you do
not wish blood to be shed between us. I am
a peaceful man, wishing to do no one a
hurt; but I warn you that I will not allow
myself to be kicked out without striking a
flow."

“ You will not be turned out,” the sheriff
remarked, timidly; “ on the contrary, you
have seized on what belongs to other

people.”

“ won‘t listen to your arguments, which
Ido not understand,” the squatter rough-
ly exclaimed. “God gave the rround to
man that he might lab)! on ii: Every
proprietor who does not fulfill this eordi~
tion tacitly rcnounces his rial-it, and the
earth then becomes the pi party of the
man who tills it with the swoat of his brow.
Be oil" at full speed, if you do not wish
harm to happen to youl”

“We will not suffer ourselves to be in-
timidated by your threats,” the shtriti‘ said
impelled by his anger, and for ettiug for s
moment his alarm; “we Will 0 our duty,
whatever may happen."

“ Try it,” lied Cedar said, with a grin.

And he made a sign to his sons. The
latter arranged themselves in a single line,
and occupied the entire width of the
path.

“In the name of the law," the slicrifl
said, with energy, as he pointed out the
old man, “men seize that person.”

But, as so frequently happens under simi-
lar circumstances, this order was more easy
to give than to execute. Red Cedar and
his sons did not appear at all disposed to let
themselves be collared.

“ For the last time, will you be off i‘” the
squatter shouted. “Let them have it.”

His three sons raised their rifles. At this
movement, which removed all doubts that
might still remain on their minds, and
winch proved to them that the squatters
would not hesitate to proceed to extremi-
ties, the sheriti‘ and his aids were seized
with an invincible terror. They turned
bridle and galloped off at full speed, fol-
lowed by the yells of the squatters.

One man alone remained motionless be-
fore thein—Don Mliruel Zarate. Red Cedar
had not recognized him, either owing to
the distance that separated them, or be-
cause the proprietor had purposely pulled
over his eyes his broad-briiumed hat. Don
Miguel dismounted, placed the pistols from
his holsters through his belt, fastened his
horse to a tree, and coolly throwing his
rifle across his shoulders, boldly advanced
toward the squatters. The latter, sur-
prised by the courage of this man, who
alone attempted what his comrades had giv-
en up all hopes of achieving, let him cdme
up to them without offering the slightest
opposition. When acoupie of paces from
the old squatter, he stopped, put the butt
of his ride on the ground, and removing
his hat, said:

“ Do you reco nize me, Red Cedar ?"

“ Don Miguel unite l” the bandit shouted,
in surprise.

“As the sheriff deserts me," the pro-

rietor continued, “and fled like a coward

efore your threats, I am obliged to take
justice for myself, and I will do sol Red
Cedar, I, as owner of this forest, in which
you have settled without permission, order
you to detain at once."

 

The young men exchanged a few mutter-
ed threats. .

“ Silence l” RedCedar commanded. "to
the man speak."

“ I have finished, and await your answer.”

The squatter appeared to reflect deeply
fora few minutes.

“The answer you demand is difficult to
give," he at length said: “ my position
toward you is not a free one.”

“Why so ‘f”

“ Because I owe you my life."

"‘ I dispense you from all gratitude."

“ That is iossiblc. You are at liberty to
do so; but can not forget the service you
rendered me.”

“ it is of little consequence."

“ Much more than you fancy. I may be
through my character, habits, and mode of
life I lead, beyond the law of civilized be-
ings; but Iain not the less a man, and if
of the worst sort, perhaps, I do no more
forget a kindness than I do an insult."

“ Prove it, then, by going away as quickly
as you can, and then we shall be quits.”

'I‘he squatter shook his head.

“ Listen to me, Don Miguel,” he said.
“You have in this country the reputation
of being the providence of the unfortunate.
I know from myself the extent of your
kindness and courage. 1t is said that you
possess an immense fortune, of which you
do not yourself know the extent."

“Well, what then?” the haciendero im«
patiently interru ted him.

“ The damage can commit here, even if
I cut down all the trees in the forest, would
be but a trifle to you: then whence comes
the fury you display to drive me out Y"

“Your question s just, and I will answer
it. I demand y ur departure from my es-
tates because, on y a few days back, my son
was grievously wounded by your lads who
led him into a cowardl snare ; and if 0 es-
caped death, it was on y through a miracle.
That is the reason why we can not live side
by side for blood severs us.”

Red Cedar frowned.

“Is this true i” he said, addressing his
sons.

’l‘lhe young men only hung their heads in
rep y.

“ I am waiting,” Don Miguel went on.

“Come, the question can not be settled
thus, so we will proceed to my cabin.”

“ For what purpose? I ask you for a yes
or a no.” .

“ I can not answer you yet. We must
have a conversation together, after which
you shall decide as to my future conduct.

ollow me, then, without fear."

“ I fear nothing, as I believe I have proved
to you. Go on, as you demand it; I will fol-
low you."

Red Cedar made his sons 8. sign to remain
where they were, and proceeded with long
strides toward his hat, which was but a
short distance 011‘. Don Miguel walked
carelessl after him. ' They entered the
cabin. t was deserted. The two females
were doubtless also occupied in the forest.
Red Cedar closed the door after him, not
down on a bench, made his guest I sign to
do the same, and began s eakiu in a low
and measured voice as i afrni what he
had to say might be heard outside.

CHAPTER IX.
m ASSABBINA'I‘IOI‘.

“ LISTEN to me, Don Mi uel,” Red Cedar
said, “ and pray do not mis k6 my meaning.
I have not the sli htest intention of intim ~
dating you, nor 0 1 think of attempting to
gain your confidence b ' revelations which
you may fairly assume have accidentally
acquire .”

The proprietor regarded with amazement
the speaker, whose tone and manner had so
suddenly changed.

“ I do not understand you," he said to him.
“ Explain yourself more clearly, for the
words you have just uttered are an enigma,
the key to which I seek in vain."

“You shall be satisfied; and if you do
not catch the meaning of m words this
time it must be because you wi i not. Like
all intelligent men, you are wearied of the
incessant struggles in which the vital
strength of our country is exhausted un-
profitably. . on have seen that a land so
rich, so fertile, so gloriously endowed en
Mexico, could not—— should say on ht not
_to remain longer the playthin o paltry
ambitions, and the arena on whiclii all these
transitory tyrannies sport in turn. For near-
ly thirty years you have dreamed of emanci-
pation, not of your entire country, for that
would be too rude a task, and unrealizsble;
but you said to yourself ‘Let us render New
Mexico independent; form it into a new
State, governed b wise laws orously oxe-
outed. By hbe institutions at us ive an
impetus to all the riches with whl it it.

 

choked, give intellect all the liberty it re-
quires, and perhaps within a few years the
entire Mexican Confederation, amazed by
the magnificent results I shall obtain, will
follow in example. Then I shall die happy
at what have effected—my object will be
carried out. I shall have saved my country
from the abyss over which it ban 8, through
the double ressure of the Amer can Union
and the ex iaustion of the Spanish race.’
Are not those ideas yours, cubullero? Do
you consider thatI have explained myself
clearly this time i"

“Perhaps so, though I do not et see
distinctly the point you wish to reac . The
thoughts you attribute to me are such
as naturally occur to all men who sincerely
love their country, and I will not pretend
that I have not entertained them."

“You would be wrong in doing so, for
they are reat and noble, and breathe the
purest pa riotism."

“A truce to compliments, and let us come
to the point, for time presses."

“Patience: I have not yet ended. These
ideas must Occur to you sooner than to
another, as on are the descendant of the
first Aztec k rigs, and horn defender of the
Indians in this hapless country. You see
that I am well acquainted with you, Don
Miguel Zarste."

‘ Too well, perhaps,” the Mexican mut‘
tsred.

The squatter smiled and went on :

“ It is not chance that led me to this
country. I knew what I was doing, and
why I came. Don Miguel, the hour is a. sol-
emn one. All your re aretions are made:

' will you hesitate to ve ew Mexico the sig-

nal which must ren er it indc endent of the
metroplis which has so long een fattening
at its ex ense f Answer me."

Don i as] started. He fixed on the
squatter a urning glance, in which admin
atlon at the man’s language could be read.
Red Cedar shrugged his shoulders.

“ What! do you still doubt i” he said.

He rose, went to a box from which he
took some papers, and threw them on the
table before the haciendero, saying:

“Read.”

Don Miguel hurriedly seized the papers,
and ran his e e over them.

“Well i” o asked, looking fixedly at the
stran e speaker. ,

“ on see," the squatter answered “that
I am your accomplice. General Ibancz,
your agent in Mexico, is in correspondence
¥ith me, as is Mr. Wood, your agent at New

or n

“It is true," the Mexican said coldly,
“you have the secret of the conspiracy.
The pply point left is to what extent that

ea.

“I possess it entirely. I have orders to
enlist the volunteers who will form the nu-
cleus of the insurrectionnry army.”

“ Good l"

“Now, you see, b these letters of Gene-
ral Ibancz and Mr. ood, thatl am commis-
sioned by them to come to an understanding
with you, and receive your final orders"

:: Wheatid'” d i f"

a 0 on purpose 0 ng

“ Nothing}:

“What nothing i" the squatter exclaim'
ed, bounding with surprise. “ You arcjeat-
mg I suppose."

“Listen to me in your turn, and pay at-
tention to my words, for they express my ir-
revocable resolution. I know not, nor care
to know, by what means, more or less hon-
orable, you have succeeded in ining the
confidence of my partners an becoming
master of our secrets. Still it is my firm
conviction that a. cause which employs such
men as yourself is com romised, hence I re-
nounce ever combinat on in which you are
coiled to p ay a part. Your antecedents
end the life you lead, have placed you with-
out the pale of the law."

“I am a bandit-out with it! But what
matter so long asyou succeed? Does not
the end justify the means i"

“That may be Iyour morslit , but it will
never be mine. repudiate ul community
of ideas with men of year stamp. I will
not have you either as accomplice or part-
ner. .

The squatter darted a look at him laden
with hatred and disaBpointment.

“In serving 116," on Miguel continued,
“ you can only have an interested object,
which lwiil not take the trouble of guess-
ing at. An Anglo-American will never
frankly aid aMeXican to conquerhis liberty:
he would lose too much by doing it."

“ Then i”

“ I renounce forever the projects I. had
formed: I had, I grant, dreamed of restor-
in to my country the independence of
w ich it was unyustiy stripped: but 1‘ Infill
"13%? I groom. '

at our last word 9"

u a. mi."

“ You ritual"

8

The New York Library.

 

 

.- 1 do."

“ Good; then I know now what is lefi
me to do.”

“ I am curious to learn it.”

“ However rich you may be, Don Miguel
Zarate, and perhaps because of those very
riches, and in spite of the kindness you
sow broadcast, the number of your enemies
is very considerable.”

“ I know it.”

“ Very good. Those enemies will joyfully
seize the rst opportunity that presents it
self to destroy you.”

“ It is probable.”

“ You see, then. When I go to the
Governor and tell him that you are conspir-
ing, and, in support of m denunciation
hand him not only these let ers, but several
others written and si ned by you, lying in
that chest, do you be eve thatthe Governor
will treat me as an impostor, and refuse to
arrest you i"

“ Then you have letters in my hand-
writing ?” -

“ I have three, which will be enough to
hays yo'u,shot."

I

“Yes. Hang it all! you understand that,
in an afi'air so important as this, it is wise
to take one’s precautions, for no one knows
what may happen; and men of my stamp,"
he added with an ironical smile, “ have more
reasons than others for being rudent.”

“Come, that is well plays ," the other
said careless] .

“ is it not ? ’

“Yes, andI com liment you on it: you
re}; better player him I gavo you credit

or.

“ Oh! you do not know me yet.”

“ The littlc I do know suflices me."

“ Then ?” '

“We will remain as we are, if you will
permit me."

“ You stLl refuse f"

“ More than ever."

The squatter frowned. ‘

“Take care, sir,” he muttered, hoarsely.
“ I will do what I told you.”

“ Yes, if I allow you the time.”

H  y"

“If you are a clever scamp, I am not
altogetherafool. Do you'believe, in our
turn, that I will let myself be intimi ated
by your threats, and that I should not find

pneans to keep you from acting i?”

“I am curious to know the means you
will employ to obtain this result."

“ You shallsee,” Don Miguel replied, with
perfect coolness. . ,

The two men were seated in front of the
hearth, each at the end of- a' bench: the
table was between them, but a little back,
so that while talking the onl ' leaned an
elbow on it. While uttc ng t 6 last word
Don Miguel bounded like a tiger on the
squatter, who did not at all expect the at-
tack, seized him by the throat. and buried
him to the ground. The two enemies rolled
on the uneven flooring of the cabin.

The attack had been so sudden and well-
dlrected that the half-strangled squatter
in spite of his Herculean strength, could
not free himself from his enemy’s iron
clutch, which pressed his throat like a vice.
Red Cedar could neither utter a cry nor
offer the slightest resistance: the MeXican’s
knee crashed his chest, while his fingers
pressed into his throat. ‘

80 soon as he had reduced the wretch to
utter impotence, Don Miguel drew from his
boot a lon sha knife, and buried the en-
tire blade n his ody. The bandit writhed
convulsively for a few seconds; a livid pallor
sufi‘used his face; his eyes closed, and he
then remained motionless. Don Miguel
left the weapon in the wound, and slowly
rose.

“ Ah ah i" he muttered, as he gazed at
him with a sardonic air, “ I fancy that
ro ue will not denounce me now.". ,
ithout loss of time be seized the letters

lying on the table, took from the box the

ew documents he found in it, hid them all
in his bosom, o sued the door of the cabin
Which he car uliy closed after him, an

went off with long strides.

The squatter’s sons had not quitted their
past: but soon as they perceived the Mexi-
fln. the went upto him.

“Wei ," Shaw asked him, “have you
come toan understanding with the old man?”
- “ Perfectly so " was the laconic answer.

I “Then the affair is settled f”

“Yes, to our mutual satisfaction.”

“ All the better,” the young men exclaim-
ed oyously?

The proprietor unfastensd his horse and
mounted.

“Good-by, gentlemen!" hesai'd to them.

“Good—by! they replied, returning his

w.

He put his horse to a trot, but at the first
turn in the road he do his s urs into its
flanks, and started at fu l s eedI.’

“ New," Butter observe ' “I‘bollove that

 

we can proceed to the cabin Without .ncon-
venience."

And they walked toward the cabin, pleas-
antly conversin together.

Don Miguel, gowever, had not succeeded
so fully as he imariued. Red Cedar was
not dead, for the ol banditkept a firm hold
on life. Attacked nnawarcs, the squatter
had not attempted a resistance, which he
saw at the first glance was useless, and
would only have exasperated his adversary.
But with marvelous sngacity, he stiffened
himself against thc pain, and resolved on
“playing ’possum.” The success of his
stratagern was complete.

Solong as his enemy remained in the but
the squatter was careful not to make the
slightest movement that might have be-
trayed him; but, so soon as he was alone,
he opened his eyes, rose with an effort, drew
the dagger from the wound, and looking
at the door through which the Mexican
had departed with a glance so full of ha-
tred that it is impossible to describe, he
muttered:

“Now we are quits, Don Miguel Zarate,
since you have tried to take back the life
of him you saved. Pray God never to bring
us face to face a ain 1”

He uttered a eep sigh, and rolled heavily
on the round in a fainting-fit. At this
moment ' sons entered the cabin.

CHAPTER X.
an sacrum or m oonas.

A new da 3 after the events we have de-
scribed in t e previous chapter there was
one of those lovely mornings which are not
accorded to our cold climates to know.
The sun poured down in profusion its warm
beams, which caused the pebbles and sand
to glisten in the walks of the garden of the
Farm. In a clump of flowering orange and
lemon trees whose sweet exhalations per-
fumed theair, and beneath a copse of cac-
tus, nopals, and aloes, a maiden was asleep,
carelessly reclining in a hammock, which
hnag between two orange trees.

th her head thrown back, her long
black hair unfastencd, and falling in disor-
der on her neck and bosom ; with her coral
lips slightly parted, and displaying the daz-
zling pearl 0 ’her teeth, Clara (for it was she
who slept thus with an infantile slumbeig
was really charming. Her features breathe
hap iness for not a cloud had yet arisen to
er urb t e azure horizon of her calm and
ranquil life.

It was nearly midday; there was not a
breath in the air. The sunbeams, pouring
down vertically, rendered the heat so stifling
sud unsu portable, that every one in the
house ha yielded to sleep, and was enJoying
what is enerally called in hot countries the
siesta. till, at a short distance from the
spot where Clara reposed, calm and smiling,
a sound of footsteps, at first almost imper-
ceptible but graduall highteuing, was heard,
and a man made hs appearance. It was
Shaw, the youngest of t e squatter‘s sons.
How was he at this spot?

The young man was panting, and the per-
spiration poured down his cheeks. 0n reach-
ing the entrance of the clump he bent an
anxious lanes on the hammock.

“She 5 there,” he murmured with a pas
sionate accent. “She sleeps.”

Then he fell on his knees upon the sand,
and be an admiring the maiden, dumb and
trembl ng. He remained thus a long time,
with his glance fixed on the slumberer With
a strange ex ression. At length he uttered
asigh and caring himself with an effort
from this delicious contemplation, he rose
sadl , muttering in a whisper :

“ must go—if she were to awake—oh,
:Ihe I,v'vill never know how much I love

or

He plucked an oran e-flower, and softly
laid it on the maiden; t on he walked a few
steps from her, but almost immediately re-
turning, he seized, with a nervous hand,
Clara’s vail, which hung down from the
hammock, and pressed it to his lips several
times, saying], in a voice broken by the
emotion he fe t:

“ It has touched her hair.”

And rushing from the thicket, he crossed
the garden and disappeared. He had heard
footste s approaching. In fact, a few sec-
onds a er his departure, Don Miguel, in his
turn entered the copse.

“ Ome: 001116,” he said gayly, as he shook
the hammock, ‘sleeper, will you not have
finished your siesta soon i?”

Clara opened her eyes with a smile.

in; I am no longer asleep, father," she
as. .

“ Very good. That is the answer I like." ,

And he stepped forward to kiss her; but,
with a sudden movement, the maiden drew
herself back as if she had seen some fearful
vision, and her face was covered with a livid
pallor.

 

“What is the matter with you f” the
father exclaimed with terror.

The girl showed him the orange-flower.

“ Well,” her father continued “ what is
there so terrific in that flower It must
have fallen from the tree during your
sleep."

Clara shook her head sadly.

“ No,” she said; “ for some days ast I
have always noticed, on waking, a s milar
flower thrown on me.”

“ You are absurd: chance alone is to
blame for it all. Come, think no more about
it: you are as paleas death, child. Why
frighten yoursel ' thus about a trifle? Be-
sides, the remedy may be easily found. As
you are so afraid of flowers now why not
take your siesta in your bedroom, instead of
burying yourself in this thicket ?"

“ That is true, father,” the girl said, all
joyous, and no longer thinkin of the fear
she had undergone. “I will f0 low your ad-
vice.”

“ Come, that is settled, so say no more
about it. Now give me a kiss."

The maiden threw herself in her father's
arms, whom she stifled with kisses. Both
sat down on a grassy mound, and commenc-
ed one of those delicious chit-chats whose
charm only those who are parents can prop.
erly appreciate. Presently a peon came
11

p.

“ What has brought you f” Don Miguel
asked.

“ Excellency,” the peon answered, “ s
red-skin warrior has fjust arrived, who de-
sires speech with you. '

“ Do you know him i’"

“ Yes, cxcellency; it is Eagle-wing, the
sachein of the Coras."

“ Eagle-wing!” the proprietor repeated
with surprise. “ What can have brought him
to me? Lead him here.”

The peon retired. and in a few minutes re-
turned, prcceding Eagle-wing. ,

The chief had onned the great war-dress
of the sachems of his nation. His hair,

laited with the skin of a rattlesnake, was

rawn up on the top of his head: in the
center an eagle-plume was affixed. A blouse
of striped calico, adorned with a profusion
of bells, descended to his thighs, which
were defended from the stings of muske-
toes by drawers of the same stuff. He wore
moccasins made of peccary skin, adorned
with glass beads and orcupine- uills. To
his heels were fastens several wo ves' tails,
the distinguishing mark of renowned war-
riors. Round his loins was a belt of elk-
hide, through which were passed his knife,
his pipe, and his medicine-bag. His neck
was adorned by a collar of grizzly bear-claws
and buffalo-teeth. Finall , a magnificent
robe of a white female burgalo-hide, painted
red inside, was fastened to his shoulders,
and fell down behind him like a cloak. In
his right hand he held a fan formed of a sin-
gle eagle’s-wing, and in his left hand an
American rifle. There was something im-
posing and singularly martial in the appear-
ance and demeanor of this savage ch id of
the forest.

On entering the thicket he bowed grace-
fully to Clara, and then stood motionless
and dumb before Don Miguel. The Mexi-
can rcgarded him attentively, and saw an
expression of gloomy melancholy spread
over the Indian chich features.

“ My brother is welcome,” he said to him.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing
him i’”

The chief cast a side lance at the maid-
en. Don Miguel un erstood what he
desired, and made Clara a sign to withdraw.
The remained alone.

“ y brother can speak " the proprietor
then said; “the ears of a riend are open."

“Yes, my father is rood," the chief re-
plied, in his guttural v0 as. “He loves the

ndiuns: unhappin all the pale-faces do not
resemble him.’

“ What does my brother mean? Has he
cause to complain of any one i‘"

The Indian smiled sadly.

“Where is there 'ustice for the red-
skins ?” he said. “ The Indians are ani-
mals: the Great Spirit has not iveu them a
soul, as he has done to the pfie-faces, and
it is not a crime to kill them."

“Come, chief, pray do not s eak longer
in riddles, but explain why you ave till“ ed
your tribe ?” .

“ Mookapec is alone: his tribe no longer
exists."

“ How i"

“The pale-faces came in the night, like
jaguars without courn s. They burned the
vi iage, and massacre all the inhabitants,
own to the women and little children."

“Oh, that is frightful !” his listener mur-
mured, in horror.

“Ah!” the chief continued, with an ac-
cent full of irony, “the scalps of the red-
skins are sold dearly." -

“ And do you know the men who commlt~
ted this atrocious crime 1'"

 

 

 

‘ "mm-n». v .u. 4 y. ... m...“-

9

 

C:

Ass—w

Red Cedar. ‘

 

 

“ Mookapec knows them, and will avenge
himself."

"Tell me their chief, if you know his
name."

“I know it. The pale-faces call him Red-
Cedar, the Indians the Man-eater."

“ Oh! as for him, chief, you are avenged,
for he is dead."

“ My father is mistaken.”

“ How so? Why, I killed him myself."

The Indian shook his head.

“Red Cedar has a hard life,"he said:
“ the blade of the knife my father used was
too short. Red Cedar is wounded, but in
a few days he will bc about again, ready to
kill and scalp the Indians."

This news startled the haciendero: the
enemy he fancied he had got rid of still
lived, andhe wou.d have to begin a fresh
stru r is.

“ yfather must take care," the chief
continued. "Red Cedar has sworn to be
sven ed."

“ i I will not leave him the time.
This man is a demon, of whom the earth
must be purged at all hazards, before his
strength has returned, and he begins his
assassinations again.

“ I will aid my father in his ven eance.”

- “Thanks, chief. I do not re use your
offer: perhaps I shall soon need the help of
my friends. And now, What do you pro-
pose doing ?"

“Eagle-win will retire to the desert.
He has frien s among the Comanches.
The are red-skins. and will welcome him
glad y.”

“ I will not strive to combat your deter-
mination, chief, for it is just; and if, at a
later date, you take terrible reprisals on the
white men, they will have no cause of com-
plaint, for they have brought it on them~
selves. When does my brother start?"

“ At sunset."

“Rest here 10-day: to-rnorrow will be
soon enough to set out."

” Mookspec must depart thi day."

“ Act as you think proper. Have you a
horse f”

“ No; but at the first drove I come to I
will lasso one.”

“I do not wish you to set out thus, but
will ive one horse.”

“ han s; my father is good. The Indian
chief will remember—"

“ Come, you shall choose for yourself.”

. “I have still a few words to say to my
father.”

“ eak, chief; I am listening to you."

“lgdutonepl, the pale hunter, begged
me to give my father an important warn-

ing. ’
‘What is it?"

“A great danger threatens my father.
Koutonepl wishes to see him as soon as
possible, in order himself to tell him its
nature.‘

“ Good! My brother will tell the hunter
that I shall be to-morrow at the ‘clearing
of the shattered oak,’ and await him there
till night."

“I will repeat my father’s words to the
hunter."

The two men then quitted the garden,
and hurriedly proceeded toward the stables.
Don Miguel let the chief choose his own
horse, and while the sachem was harness-
in his steed in the Indian fashion, he
wi hdrew to his bedroom, and sent for his
son to join him. The young man had per-
fectly recovered from his wound. His fath-
er told ‘him that he was obliged‘to absent
himself for some days: he intrusted to him
the management of the estate, while re-
commendin him on no consideration to
leave the arm, and to watch attentively
over his sister. The young man promised
him all he wished, happy at enjoying per-
fect liberty for a few days.

After embracing his son and daughter,
Don Miguel proceeded to the yard, where,
in the meanwhile, the chief had been amu-
sing himself by making the magnificent
horse he had chosen curvet. He admired
for several moments the Indian’s skill and
grace, for he managed a horse superbly-
then mounted, and the two men proceeds
together towardthe Paso deanne which
they must cross in order to enter the dos-
ert, and reach the clearing of the shut-
tered oak.

The journey assed in silence, for the
two men were eeply reflecting. At the
moment they entered the town the sun was
setting on thehorizon in a bed of red mist,
which foreboded a storm for the night, At
the entrance of the Village they separated;
and on the morrow, as we have seen in our
first chapter, Don Miguel set out at day-
break. and galloped to the clearing.

 

_—-_(

CHAPTER XI.
oomnsuron.

VALENTINE GUILLOIS had traversed the
vast solitudes of Mexico and Texas durln
the past five or six years. We saw him Jus
now accompanied by the Araucano chief.
These two men were the boldest hunters
on the frontier. At times, when they had
collected an ample harvest of furs, they
went to sell them in the villa es, renewed
their stock of powder and ba , purchased
afew indis ensable articles, and then re-
turned to t ie desert.

No one knew who they were, or whence
they came. Valentine and his friend main-
tained the most complete silence as to the
events of their life which had receded
their appearance in these arts. nl one
thing had betrayed the hat onalit of slen-
tine, whom his comrade called outone i,
a word belonging; to the lan uage of t e
Aucas, and si ni ying “The silent." On
his chest the unter wore the cross of the
Le ion of Honor. .

hancehad one day made them acquaint
ed with Don Miguel Zarate under strange.
circumstances and since then an uninter—
rupted friendship had been maintained be-
tween them. Don Miguel, duringa tempes-
tuous night, namely had only owed his
life to the accuracyo Valentine's aim who
sent a bullet through the head of the exi-
can’s horse at the moment when, mad with
terror, and no longer obeying the bridle, it
was on the point of longing, into an abyss
with its master. Don iguel had sworn
eternal ratitude to his savior.

Valen ins and Curumilla had made them-
selves tutors of his children who, for their
Bart, felt a dee friendship or the hunters.

on Pablo be frequently made long hunt-
ing parties in the desert with them; and it
was to them he owed the certainty of his
aim, his skill in handling weapons, and his
knack in tamin horses.

Still, des ite e sympathy and friendshi
WIIICII so c oscly connected these difl'eren
persons, and the confidence which formed
the basis of that friendship, Don Miguel and
his children had never been able to obtain
from the hunters information as to events
that had passed prior to their arrival in this
country.

Wrapped in Indian stoicism, intrenched
in habitual sullenness, it was their 'wontto
answer all questions by a shake of the head,
but nothing further. ~ _

The hunter and the Mexican were seated
by the fire, while Cummilla, armed with his
scalping-knife, was busily haying the two
jaguars so skillfully killed by 'Don‘Mlguel,
and which Were two magnificent brutssr '

“ Eh, comrade 1” Don Miguel said, with s
lau h; “I was be inning to lose patience,
ant? fancy you be forgotten the meeting
you had yourself given me."

“I never forget any thing, as you know "
Valentine answered, serious! ; “and I
did not arrive here sooner, i wasrbecauss
the road is long from my hut to this clear-

in ‘H .
EHeaven forbid that I should reproach
you, my friend! Still I confess to you that
the respect of passing the hi ht alone 'in
this crest only slighth please me, and I
should have been 03‘ a you not arrived
before sunset.” v
“ You would have done wrong, Don Mig-
uel: what Ihave to tell you is of the u -
most im ortance to you. Who knows what
the result might have been had I not been
able to warn you ?"
“ You alarm me, my friend."
“Iwillexplain. In the first place let me
tell you that you committed, 'a few days
back, a rave impzndence, whose conse-
quences hreaten be most serious for
.y “What is it?" -' --
“I” said one, - but ought to have said
two. "  . ~ 
“I am waiting till you think roper tau.
press yourself more clearly," Elton Miguel
said, with a slight tinge of impatdence, ‘ .
fore I answer.’ I ‘- r
“ You have charreled with the bandit."
“Red Cedar. ’ I I » - I
“Yes; and when you had him in cm-
ower you let him escape, instead of ki ing
film out and out." ‘ 
“ That is true, and I was wrong. -What
would you do? The villain has as tough as
life as an alligator. But he at case. If ever
he fall into my hands again, I swear that I
will not miss him."
“In the men while you did do so~—tbatis
the evil.”
“ Why so i" v
“ You will understand me. This man ‘ls
one of those villains, the scum of the
United States, too many of whom have-de
on the frontier during thevlast‘ few years.
I do not know how he contrived to ' deceive
our New York agénh'but he gained his con-
fidence so cleverly that the la tor told him

 

silths secrets he know about your enter-
prise."

“ He told me so himself." '

“Very good. It was then, I suppose,
that on stabbed him l’" '

“ es, and at the same time I lucked out
his claws; that is to say, I seize the letters
he ’held, and, which might compromise

mo.

1 “A mistake. This man is too thorough,
paced: scoundrel not to foresee all the
chances of his treason. He had a last letter,
the most im ortant of all; and that you
did not take rom him."

“ I took three." ‘

“Yes, but there were four. As the lost,
however, in itself was worth as much as the
other three, he always wore it about him in
a leather bag hung round his neck by a
steelchain: you did not dream of looking
for that."

“But what importance can this letter, I
do not even remember writing, poosssss, that
you should attach such weigh it i"

“ It is merel the agreement drawn up be-
twsen yourse 1‘ General Ibanez, and Mr.
Wood, and hearing your three sl natures."

“In that case am lost ” t e Mexican
exclaimed in terror, “ for i this man real-
ly! ossesses such a document, he will not

to employ it in order to be revenged on
me.
-“ Nothing is lost, so ion as s man’shssrt
beats in his breast, Don 1 cl. The po-
sition is critical I allow, ha I have saved
myself in situations far more desperate than
the one you are now in."

“ What is to be done 9" “I

“ Red Cedar has been about again for two
days. His first care, so soon as he could
sits horse, was to go to Santa Fé, the capl-
tol of New Mexico, and'denounce you to
the Governor. This has nothing to surprise
you from such Is man." ‘ I A =

“Then I can only fly as speedily Is I

ma ."

JWait. Everyman has inhis heart st
least one of the seven deadly sins as s bait
for the demon."

“tht are you driving at i“ I '

“ You will see. Fortunately for as Red
Cedar hasthsm all seven, I believ in the
finest state of- development; " Avar co, be-
fore all, has reached its some with him. ‘

“well?” >...,, , ,v . .

“This ha pened. Our man denounced
on to the ovemor as a conspirator, etc.,
at was careful not to- give u the roofs

he assessed in support of the enunc ation
at he outset; W on General Isturitz, the
Governor, asked him fartheso‘ proofs, he an-
swered that he was read to supply theml'ln
exchange for the sum 0 one hun red thou-
sand lsstrso'in gold."~*' ‘ -" ‘7  -" 1'5“

“ i" the haciendero said with a breath
of relief, “ and whstdid Isturitz say 1’"

“TheGeneral is one of your most invet-
eterate enemies. I-grsnt,-snd he would give
shgood deal for the pleasure of having you
s at.

“Thetistras.”“ '  ~ ~-

J‘Yes but still thesnm appeared to him,
as it y is, exorbitant, the more so as he
would have to pay it all himself, as the:
Government does not recognize transactions
of that nature.” « '

“ Well what did Red Cedar do then 1”

“Ho id not allow himself bestent-on
the contrary,'ho told the General he would
ave him a week to reflect, and quietly left

0 Cabildo." ' ‘ ‘ - ,

‘zlnri’iml and on what daywss thtsvisit

“Yesterday morning: so that you have
six days still left for action.” ‘

“ Six days—that is very little.”

“ Rh 9” the Frenchman said, with a shrug
of his shoulders impossible to describe.
“ In my country—" '

“ Yes, but you are a Frenchman."

' “Thatis true: hence I allow you twice
the timewo should require. .Coms, let us
putjoking aside. You are s man of more

has common energy; you really wish the
welihre of your country so do not let your-
self be crushed by the fair reverse. Who

knowebut that it ma be all for the best i"

“Army friend, sm alone! General

‘ Ibsnen’ who'slone could help me in this
' criti ~aflhir,isiifl.y leagues off. What can

I doiMNothingi’“

“A”, a»: foresaw nr‘objection. Eagle-
wing tbs chief-of t Corns has gone from
me swornlths General: on «now with
what spesd'hdiaus travel: so he will bring
us thoGensml in s few hours, I feel son-
vinced."

Don'M "regarded thexhuntsr with
min led: mlrstion and res v

.w on have'vdonsthat, my friend?” It.
said whim as be warm] pressed his hand.

MB - Jovei": Valentin ssid $171153 “1
have one somethin  on the
time arrives} will you what it is. But
lot as not-ions outone." ~ t do you in-
tend to do for the present I" '

' an extraordinary appearance.
, were ringing out peels, for the three hun-

1 O  ,,

The New York Library.

 

 

“Act.”

“Good: that is the wayI like to hear
you talk."

“ Yes, but I must first come to an under-

standing with the General."

“That is true: but it is the least thing,"
Valentine answered as he looked skyward,
and consulted the position of the stars.
“ It is now eight o‘clock. Eagle-wing and
the man he brings must be at midnight at
the entrance of the Canondel 1mm. We
have four hours before us, and that is more
than we require, aswe have only ten leagues

to go. ’

‘ Let us go, let us go 1" Don Miguel ex-
claimed, eagerly.

“ Wait a moment; there is no such h .
Don't be alarmed; we shall arrive in time. '

He then turned to Uurumilla, and said to
him in Araucnno a few words which the
haciendero did not understand. The Indian
rose without replying, and disappeared in
the density of the forest.

“ You know,” Valentine continued, “that
Iprefer, through habit, traveling on foot;
still, as under present circumstances min-
utes are precious, and we must not lose
them I have provided two horses."

“ ou think of every thing, my friend.”

“Yes, when I have to act for those I

love," Valentine answered, with a retro-
spective sigh.

There was a moment’ silence between
the two men, and at the end of scarce a

uarter of an hour there was a noise in the
s rubs, the branches parted, and Curumilla
re-entered the clearing, holding two horses
by the bridle. These noble animals, which
were nearly untamed mustangs, bore a strik-
ing resemblance to the steeds of the
Apaches on whose territorl-y our friends now
were. They were litera y covered with
eagle-plumes, beads, and ribbons, while
long red and white s ots com leted their
disguise, and render it almos impossible
to recognize them.

" Mount!” Don Miguel exclaimed, so
soon as he saw them. “Timeis slipping
swa . .

“yOne wp'rd yet,” Valentine remarked.

‘ S eak.
“ Yam still have as chaplain a certain
man? of the name of Fray mbrosio 9"
es."
“ Take care of that man-he betrays
u.
“ You believe it i”
“ I am sure of it."
“ Good! I will remember.”
“ All right. Now we will be off," Valen-
fiixksaid, as he buried his spurs in his horse’s
s.
And the three horsemen rushed into the
darkness with headlong speed.

 

CHAPTER XII.
m seminar.

Tn day on which our story commences
the village of the Paso del Norte hreselntiald
e e s

dre'lth anniversary of its foundation was be-
ing celebrated. ,

n a house of poor appearance, built, like
all its neighbors, of earth bricks, some
twenty-five fellows, whom it was easy to
recognize as adventurers by the feathers in
their hats, their upturned mustaches, and
especially by the 10 bronze-hilted sword
they wore on the th h, were drinkin at
the gambling-tables, w ile yelling like eaf
men, and threatening at every moment to
unsheathe their weapons. r .

In a corner of the room occupied b these
troublesome guests two men, seat-e oppo-
site each other at a table seemed plunged
in dee thought, and looked around them
absent y, not thinking about drinkin the
contents of their glasses, which h_ not
been emptied for more than half an hour.
These two men presented the most striking
contrast. They were still young. The first,

ed twenty-five at the most, had one of
t ose frank honest, and energetic faces
which call for sympathy, and attract re-
lpect- His pailid brow, his face of a delicate
hue surrounded by his ion black curls his
straight and flexible nose, is mouth filled
With a double row of teeth of dazzling
whiteness, and surmounted by a light browu
mustache, gave him a stamp of distinction,
which was he more striking owing to the
:31“, and Perhaps common, style of his at-

c.

He wore the costume of the wood-rangers.
APanama straw hat was thrown on the
table, within reach of his hand, by the side
of an American rifle and two double-bar-
relgd pisgpllz. fA dlirk hung on his left side
an the o a ong knife onto
his left beet. MM

His com anion was short and thick-set:
but his wel -knit limbs and his outstanding

 

muscles indicated no ordinary strength.
His face, the features of which were common-
place enough, had a cunninr look, which
suddenly disappeared to ma c room fora
certain nobility, whenever, under the influ-
ence of any sudden emotion, his eyebrows
contracted, and his glance, ordinarily vailcd,
flashed forth. He wore nearly the same
garb as his comrade; but his hat, stained
with rain, and the colors of his zarape, faded
by the sun, evidenced lengthened wear.
Like the first one we described, he was
well armed.

It was easy to see at the first glance that
these two men did not belong to the Mexi-
can race. Indeed, their conversation would
have removed any doubts on that head, for
the spoke 'in the French dialect employed

anada.

“ Hum!" the first said, taking up his glass,
which he carelessly raised to his lips. ‘ Af-
ter due consideration, Harry, I believe we
shall do better by mounting our horses again,
and starting, instead of rcmainin in this
horrible den, amid these Pagans, w o croak
like frogs before a storm."

“ Deuce take your impatience l” the other

' replied, iil-temperedly. “Can’t you re-

main a moment at rest ?"

“ You call it a moment, Harry. Why, we
have been here an hour.”

“ By Jove! Dick, you’re a wonderful fei-
low," the other continued, with a laurh.
“ Do you think that business can be sett ed
all in a moment 1’"

“ After all, ,what is our game? For
may the old one‘twist my neck, or a grizzly
give me a hu , if I know the least in the
worldi For ve years we have hunted and
slept side by side. We have come from
Canadato st or to this place. I have grown
into a he it—I can not say why—of refer—
rin to you every thin that concerns our
mu uai interests. Still should not be sorry
to know, if only for the rarity of the fact,
why on earth we left the prairies, where we
were so well off, to come here, where we
are so badly off."

“Have you ever repented, up to today,
the confidence you placed in m“ f”

“ I do not ay so, Harry. Heaven forbid i
Still I think—’

“ You think wrong,” the young man
sharply interrupted. “Let me alone, and
before three months you shall have three
times our hat full of massive gold, or call
me a 001."

At this dazzling promise the eye of Dick,
the smaller of the hunters, glistencd like
two stars. He regarded his comrade with a
species of admiration.

“Oh, oh!" he said, in a low voice, “it
isa lacer lsit?”

“ ang ti” the other said, with a shrug
of his shoulders, “were it not, should I be
here? But silence, our man has arrived.”

Presently a man entered. On his appear-
ance a sudden silence fell on the place,
the adventurers rose as if moved by a
spring, respectfull took off their plunied
hats, and ranged emselves with downcust
eyes to let him pass. The man remained for
an instant on the threshold, took a profound
glance at the company, and then walked to-
ward the two hunters.

This man wore the gown of a monk; he
had the ascetic face With the harsh features
and sharply-marked lines, that forms, as it
were, the type of the Spanish monks of
which Titian has so admirably caught the
expression on his canvas. He passed through
the adventurers, holding out right and left
his wide sleeves, which they reverentially
kissed. 0n ap touching the two hunters
he turned round).

“ Continue your sports, my sons,” he said
to the compan ; “in presence need not
disturb your fro ies for only wished to speak
for aI few moments with these two gentle-
men. ‘

The adventurers did not let the invitation
be repeated, but took their places again
tumultuousiy. The monk smiled, and seat-
cd himself between the two hunters, while
bendiuga searching glance on them. The
latter had followed with a mocking eye all
the interludes of this little scene, and with-
out makln a movement, they let the monk
seat himse t‘ by their side.

The monk, without any observation, rolled
a cigarette, and then leaning his elbows on
the table, and bending forward, said:

“ You are punctual. ’

“ We have been waiting an hour,” Dick
observed, in a rough voice,

“ What is an hour in the presence of eter~
nity ?” the monk said, with a smile.

“ Let us not lose any more time,” Harry
continued. “ What have you to propose
tons?"

The monk looked around him suspiciously,
and lowered his voice.

“ I can, if you like, make you rich in a
few days.’

“ What is the business 1” Dick asked.

“Of course.” the monk continued “ this

 

fortuueI oil‘er you is a matter of indiiiercncc
to me. If I have an ardent desire to obtain
it, it is, in the first place, because it belongs
to nobody, and will permit me to relieve
the wretchcdncss of thousands of beings
confided to my charge.”

“Of course, senor adre,” Harry an-
swered, seriously. “ et us not weigh
longer on these details. According to what
you told me a few days back, you have dis-
covered a rich placer.”

“ Not I,” the monk sharply objected.

“ N o consequence, provided that it exists."
Dick answered.

“ Pardon me, but it is of great consequence
to me. I do not wish to take on myself the
responsibility of such a discovery. If, as I
believe, people will go in search of it, it
may entail the death of several persons, and
the church abhors bloodshed.”

:;Very good; you only desire to profit by

“ Not for myself.”

“ For your parishioners. Very good: but
let us try to come to an understanding, if
possible, for our time is too precious for us
to waste it in empty talk." "

The inonk crossed himself, and said:

“ How you have retained the im etuosity
of your French origin i Have a ittle pa-
tience, and I will explain myself."

" That is all we desire."

“ But you will promise me—”

“ Nothin ,” Dick interrupted. “ We are
hunters, an not accustomed to pledge our-
selves so lightly before knowing positively
what is asked of as.”

Harry supported his friend’s words by a
nod. The monk took two or three heavy
pulls at his cigarette.

“ Your will be done," he then said. “ You
are terrible men. This is the affair.”

“ Go on.”

“A poor scamp of a miner, lost I know
not how, in the great desert, discovered at
a considerable distance ofl‘, between the Ric
Gila and the Colorado, the richest placer
the wildest imagination can conceive. Ac-
cording to his statement, the gold is scat‘
tered over the surface, for an extent of two
or three miles, in nuggets, each of which
would make a man‘s fortune. This gambu‘
siiio, dazzled by such treasures, but unable
to appropriate them alone, displayed the
greatest energy, and braved the utmost
perils, in order to gain civilized regions. It
was only through boldness and temerlty
that he succeeded in escaping the countless
enemies who spied and tracked him on all
sides; but heaven at length allowed him t:
reach Paso safe and sound.”

“ Veiy good,” Dick observed. “All this
may possibly be true; but why did you not
bring this gambnsino, instead of talking to
us about the placer, of which you know as
little as we do? He would have supplied us
with information which is indispensable for
us, in the event of our consenting to help
you in looking for this treasure.”

“ Alas l” the monk replied, hypocriticall]
casting his eyes down, “ the unhappy man
was not destined to profit by this discovery,
made at the price 0 so man perils. Scarce
two days after his arrival at aso he quarrel-
ed with another ambusino, and received a
stab which sent iim a few hours later to
the tomb.”

“ In that case," Harry observed, “ how
did you learn all these details, senor padre ‘3"

“ In a very simple way, my son. It was
I who reconciled the poor wretch in his
last moments with Heaven; and,” he added
with an air of compunctiori splendidly as-
sumed, “ when he understood that his end
was at hand, and that nothin could save
him, he confided to me, in grat tude for the
consolatioiis I bestowed on him, what I
have just told you, revenled to me the situ-
ation of the placer, and for greater certainty
gave me a clumsy chart he had drawn out
on the spot. You see that we can proceed
almost with certainty.”

“ Yes,” said Harry, thoughtfully; “ but
why, instead of first applying to the Mexi-
cans, your countrymen, did you propose to
us to help you in your enterprise ‘2“

“ Because the Mexicans are men who can
not be trusted, and before reaching the pla-
cer we should have to right the Apaches and
Comanches, on whose territory it is sit-
uated."

After these words there was a rather
lengthened silence betwoen the three speak-
ers: each was reflecting deeplypn what he
had just heard. The monk tried to read
with cunning eye the impression produced
on the hunters by his confidences; but. his
hopes were deceived. Their faces remained
unmoved. At length Dick spoke in a rough
voice, after exchanging a meaning look
with his comrade. _ .

“ All that is very fine,” he said ; “ but it
is absurd to suppose that two men, however
brave they may be, can attempt such an en-
ter rise In unknown regions peopled b fe-
rocious tribes. It would require at east

 w fl‘;_n

 

 

 

4

Red Cedar.

..  Mm 3mi~m.~‘

i1

 

r —...—.—v

__—

 

flfty resolute and devoted men, otherwise
nothing could be possible."

“ You are right, and hence I did not cal-
culatc on you alone. You will have de-
termincd men under vour orders, chosen
carefully by myself, and .‘ shall also accom-

ou.”

p“‘l‘13i,i)l'iluck'ily, if you have counted on us,
you are mistaken, senor padre," Harry said
peremptorily. “ We are honest liuiitcrs~
but the trade of a gainbusiiio does not at all
suit us. Even if we had a chance of gain-
ing an incalculable fortune, we would not
consent to take part in an expedition of
gold-seekers."

“ Not even if Red Cedar were at the head
(if the expedition, and consented to take
the direction 2‘“ the monk said in a honeyed
voice, and with a side glance.

The hunter started, a feverish blush suf-
fused his face, and it was in a voice choked
by emotion that he exclaimed:

“ Have you spoken with him about it ?"

“ Here he is; you can ask him,” the monk
answered.

In fact, a man was entering the mean at
this moment. Harry looked down in con-
fusion, while Dick tapped the table with
his dagger and whistled. A smile of nude-
iinable meaning wandered over the monk’s
pallld lips.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
RED CEDAR.

RED CEDAR was more than six feet in
hight; his enormous head was fastened to
his square shoulders by a short and muscu~
lar neck, like a bull’s; his bon members
were covered with muscles her as ropes.
In short, his whole erson was a specimen
of brute strength at its culminatingl point.

A fox-skin cap, pressed down on is head,
allowed esca e to a few tufts of course gray-
ish hair, an fell on his little gray eyes,
which were close to a nose that was hooked
like the beak of a bird of prey; his wide
mouth was filled with white, lar rc teeth;
his cheek-bones were prominent an purplcd-
and the lower part of his face disappeared
in a thick black beard, mingled with gray
hairs. He wore a hunting-shirt of striped
calico, fastened ,round the waist by a strap
of brown leather, through which were ass-
ed two pistols, an ax, and a long kni e; a
pair of leggings of tawny leather, sewed at
equal distances with hair, fell down to his
knees; while his legs were protected by In-
dian moccasins, ornamented with a profu-
sion of beads and bells. A game-bag of
fawn-skin, which seemed full, fell over his
right hip; and he held in his hand an Amer-
ican rifle, studded with copper-nails.

No one knew who Red Cedar was, or
whence he came. About two years prior to
thpflperiod of our story opening he had sud-
de y made his appearance in the country,
accompanied by awife of a certain age—a
species of Megsera, of masculine form and
repellent aspect; a irl of seventeen; and
three vigorous lads, w o resembled him too
closely not to be his own, and whose ages
varied from nineteen to twenty-four.

Red Cedar himself appeared to be flfty-
iive at the most. The name by which he
was known had been (given him by the
Indians, of whom he ha declared himself
the im lacable enemy, and boasted that he
had ki led two hundred. The old woman
was called Betsy; the girl Ellen; the
eldest son, Nathan; the second, Sutter; and
the last Shaw.

This family had built a shanty in the forest
at Buffalo Valley, and lived alone in the des-
ert, without havin entered into any rela-
tions with the inha itants of the village, or
the tra pers and wood-rangers, its neigh-
bors. ‘his mysterious con net had given
rise to numerous comments; but all had
remained without reply or solution, and after
two year; they remainedas perfect strangers
Is on the day of their arrival.

_Stlll, mournful and sad stories were in
circulation on their account: they inspired
an instinctive hatred and involuntary terror.
Some _sald in a whisper that old Red Cedar
and his three sons were nothing less than

‘ scalp-hunters :" that is to say, in the pub-
lic esteem, people placed beneath the irates
of the prairies, that unclean breed 0 birds
of ray which ever body fears and despises.

he entry of Re Cedar was significant:
the otherwise unscrupulous men who filled
the saloon hurriedly retired on his approach
and made room for him With a zeal mingled
with disgust. The old partisan crossed the
room with he erect: a smile of haughty
disdain played round his thin lips at the
sight of the affect his presence rodnced,
and he went u to the monk an his two
companions. n reaching them he roughl

laced the butt of his ri e on the groun ,
eaned his two crossed hands upon the barrel,
and after bending a cunning glance on the
persons before him, said to the monk in a

curse voice:

4‘

 

“ The deuce take you! HereI am: what

do on want with me 1’"

ar from being vexed at this brutal ad-
dress, the latter smiled on the colossus, and
held out his hand to him, as he graciously
made answer: .

“ You are welcome, Red Cedar: we were
expecting tyou. Sit down. and we will
tal while rinkiiig aglass of pulque."

“ The deuce tWist your neck and may
your accursed pulque choke youi Do you
take me for your sort .9” the other answered
as he fell into the seat offered him. “ Order
me some brandy, and that of the strongest.
I am not a baby I suppose."

Without making the slightest observation,
the monk rose, went to speak with the host,
and presently returned with a bottle from
which be poured a bum er for the old hunt-
er. The latter emptied t e glass at a draught,
put it back on the table with a sonorous
~‘ hum!” and turned to the monk with a
grimacing smile.

“ Come, the devil is not always so black
as he looks," he said as he passed his hand
over his mouth to wipe his mustache. “ I
see that we can come to an understanding."

“ It will depend on on, Red Cedar. Here
are two worth Can iun hunters who will
do nothing wit out your support.”

The Hercules took a side glance at the
yourig men.
“ h l” he said, “ what do you want with
these children? Did I not promise you to
reach the placer with my sons only?‘

“ He! he i you are powerfully built, both
you and your lads, I allow; but I doubt
whether four men, were they twice as strong
as you are, could carry out this aflhir suc-
cessfully. You will have numerous enemies
to combat on your r .” '

“ All the better! The more there an,
the more we shall kill," he answered, witha
sinister laugh.

“ Senor padre,” Dick interrupted, “as fin
as I am conceined, I care little about it."

But he was suddenly checked by a mean-
ing glance from his mate.

“ What do you care little about, my pretty
lad ?” the giant asked in a mocking voice.

“ Nothing,” the young man answerec
dryly. “ Suppose I had not spoken."

“ Good," ed Cedar remarked; ” it shall
be as on wish. Here’s your health."

An be poured the rest of the bottle into
his glass.

“ Come," said Harry, " let us have but
few words. Explain yourself once for all,
wi‘tihout beating about the bush, senor
pa. re.

“ Yes," Red Cedar observed, “ men 0 t
not to waste their time thus in chat r-

in ."

g‘Veifi (good. This, then, is what I ro-
pose. e Cedar will collect within ree
days from this time thirty resolute men, of
whom he will take the command, and we
will start immediately in search of the
placer. Does it suit you in that way it”

“ Burn 1" Red Cedar said. “ In order to
go in search of the placer we must know a
ittle in what direction it is, or deuce take
me if I undertake the business 1"

“ Do not trouble yourself about tha Red
Cedar; I will accompany you. Have not
a lan of the country?”

he colossus shot at the monk a lance
which sparkled under his dark :fielas , but
he hastened to moderate its b lianey by
letting his eyes fall.

“ That is true " he said with feigned in-
difference; “ I orgot that you were coming
with us. Then you will leave your parish-
ioners during our absence l’"

“ Heaven w ll watch over them."

“ Eh! it will have its workout out. How-
ever, that does not concern me at all. But
why did you want me to come to this place?"

‘ In order to introduce you to these two
hunters, who will accompan us.”

“ I beg your pardon," ick observed,
“ but I do not exactly see of what use I can
be to you in all this: my aid, and that of
my mate, do not appear to me to be indis-
pensable."

“On the contrary," the monk answered.
quickly, “I reckon entirely on you."

The giant had risen.

“What!” he said, as he rougbl laid his
enormous hand on Dick‘s shoul er “ you
do not understand that this honorab e per~
sonagle, who did not hesitate to kill a man
in or or to rob him of the secret of the
placer, has a terrible fear of finding himself
alone With me on the prairie ? Es fears
that I shall kill him in in turn to rob him
of the secret of which he ecame master by
a crime. Hal hal ha!" ‘

And he turned his back unceremoniously.

“How can you suppose such things, Red
Cedar ?” the monk exclaimed.

“ Do you fancy that I did not read you ?"
the latter answered. “ But it is all the same
to you. Do as you please: I leave you at
iibert to act as you like.” . ‘

0‘ ti you are oii‘ already?”

 

“Han it! what have I to do an longer
here? ii is settled between us. n three
days thirt of the best frontiermcn will be
assemble by my care at Grizzly Bear Creek,
where we shall expect you."

After shrgg name shoulders once again
he went 0 wi out any salute, or even
turning his head.

“It must be confessed,” Dick observed,
“that the man has a most villainous face.
What a hideous fellow!”

“Oh i” the monk answered, with a sigh,
“ the exterior is nothing. You should know
the inner man.”

“ Why, in that case, do you have any deal-
ings with him ?"

he monk blushed slightly.

“ Because it must be so,” he muttered.

“All right for on," Dick continued;
“ but as nothing ob iges my friend and my-
self to have any more intimate relations
with tliifatnman, you must not mind, senor

ad , —

p “ Silence, Dick 1" Harry shouted, anfiriiy.
“You do not know what you are ta ing
about. We will accompany you senor pa-
dre. You can reckon on us to efend you
if necessary, for I suppose Red Cedar is
right.”

‘ In what way i"

“ You do not wish to trust your life do-
fenselesst in his hands, and you reck-
oned on us to rotect you. Is it not so i'“

“ Why shou d I feign an longer? Yes,
that man terrlfles inc, and do not wish to
trust myself to his mercy." '

“Do not be alarmed; we shall be ther
and on our word as hunters, not a hair 0
your head shall fall."

A lively satisfaction appeared on the
monk's pale face on hearing this generous

mise.

“ Thanks," he said, warml .

Harry‘s conduct appears so extraordi-
nary to Dick, who knew the lofty sentiments
and innate honor of his comrade, that,
without striving to fathom the motives
which made him act thus, he contented
himself by backin up his words with an
aflirmative nod of e ead.

“Be assured, gentlemen that when we
reach the placer, I will ve you a large
share, and on will have no cause to regret
accompan g me."

“The money question has but slight in-
terest with us,’ answered. “My
friend and I are free nntors, caring very
little for riches which would be to as rather
a source of embarrassment than of pleasure
- )d emglyment. Curiosity alone, and the
desire exploring strange countries, are
sufllclenttomako us undertake this jour-

ne ."

x Whatever the reason that makes you so.
cept my proposals, I am not the less obliged
to you. ’

‘ N ow you will permit us to take leave of
(you, ’and we shall oldourselves at your or-

era.

“ Go, entiemen; I will not keep you
longer. know where to find you when I
want you."

The young men took up their hats, slung
their titles on their shoulders, and left the
saloon. The monk looked after them.

“ Oh i" he muttered, “ I believe I can
trust to those men: they have still in their
veins a few drops of that honest blood which
despises treachery. No matter," he added,
as op reflection; “I will take my precau-

ons. " .

The monk rose and looked around him.
The room was full of adventurers, who
drank or played at mould, and whose ener-
getic faces stood out in the semi-obscurity
of the room, which was scarce lighted by a
smoky lamp. After a moment's reflection
the monk boldly struck the table with his
clenched fist and shouted in a loud voice:

“ Friends, I invite you to listen to me. I
have, I fancy, an advantageous proposal to
make to you.”

The com‘pany turned their heads; all ap-
proached a monk, round whom they
graiiped themselves curiously.

“ risnds," he continued, “ if him not mis
taken, all present are ntlemen whom for
tune has more or’lsss -treated."

The adventure by an automatic move-
ment of extraord ary regularity, bowed
their heads in affirmation.

“ If you wishi " he continued, with an
imperceptible em 18, “I will undertake to
re air the wrongs she has done 11."

he adventurers ricked up t sir em.
“ Speak, speak 1’ they shouted, with do-

i ht.

Iq‘ tisthosflhirf” amanwlthshang-
do‘g face said, who stood in the front ranks.
.i. .t "trims "1 if“ if it,“

o y e 0 m0“

“ and for which I“, I need you.”

At this proposition the first order of the
adventurers visibly cooled down. The
Apaches and Comanche: inspire an invinci-

'beterrorlntheinhahituts “thst

l

1?.

The New York/Eibrary.

 

 

frontiers. The monk guessed the effect he
had produced; but he continued, as if not
observi any thing:

“I ta c you al into my service for a
month, at the rate of four plasters a day."

At this magnificent offer the eyes of the
adventurers sparkled with greed, fear gave
way to avarice, and they all exclaimed:

“ We accept, reverend father 1"

“ But,” the man continued who had al-
ready spoken, “we shall be happy, senor
padre, if, before starting, you would give us
your holy benediction, and absolve us from

:20 Saw venlal sins we may have commit-

“ Yes,” the company yelled, “ we shall be
ha py if you consent to that, reverend
fut er."

The monk appeared to reflect: the adven-
turers anxiously waited. -

“Well, be it so,” he answered, alter a mo-
ment. “ As the work in which I 'am about
to emplo you is so meritorious, Iwill ive
you my b easing, and. grant you absolu ion
of our sins.” ’

or a few minutes there was a chorus of
shouts and exclamations of joy in the room.
The monk demanded silence, and when it
was restored he said: :

“ Now, give me each your name, that I
ma find you when I.‘ need you.” ' "

e sat down, and began enrolling the ad-
venturers, who, with the men— -Red
supplied would form the band with-which
he hoped to rough the placer." ~ -

.——

charm XIV.
um um humans.

Haunt and Dick, whom we saw seatod at
stable, in the saloon with ‘Red Cedar'and
Fray Ambrosio, were, however, very far
from resembling those two men morally.
They were free and bold hunters, who had
spent the raster part' of. their life in the
desert, an who, in the vast soiltudes of the
prairie, had accustomed themselm to‘ a
ife free and exempt from those wines which
accompany a town residence. ‘:' '

For them gold was only the means to pro-.
cure the necessary objects for their trade
as hunters and trapper-s; and they never
imagined that» the possession of a 'large
quantity of that yellow metal they despised
would place them in apositlottto enjoy
other pleasures than those they found in
their long hunts of wild beasts—hunts so
full of strange incidents and striking 'oys.

Thus Dick had been to the host agree
surprised when he saw his frie eagerly ac-
cept the monk’s offer, and agree ogo in
search of the placer; but what even more
sur rised him was Harry‘s insisting that. Red
Ce ar must take the lead of the expedition.

Dick was thoroughly acquainted with his
friend’s upright character and nobility Of
heart. Hence his conduct under the present
circumstances seemed to him perfectly in-
comprehensible andzhe resolve to have an

lanation with him.

hey had scarce h«gutted the saloon ere
Dick bent down to companion, and said,
while looking at him curiously:

“ We have been hunt‘ together for five
years Harry, and up to e presentI have
ever let myself be guided by you, leaving

on free to. act as you please or our mu-

ual welfare. Still, this evening your con-
duct has appeared to me so extraordinary
that I am obliged, lathe name of ourfrlend-
ship, whlch has neversuflered a break'upto
this day, to ask you- for-an explanation of
what has occurred in my presence.”

“ For what good, my boy? Do you not
know me well enough to be certain that I
wouldnnot consent to' do any dishonorable
deed? ‘ '

“ Up to this evening I would have sworn

it, Harry: yes, on my honor "I would hare ‘

sworn it—

“ And now i” the young man asked, stop.
ping and looking his friend in the. face. '

‘ Now," Dick- answered, With a certain
degree of hesitation “1 hang it all! 1le

be frank with you, arryiagan hflll‘ehfl hu‘i’itl- ‘
o no ow ,

er should ever be. Now
should do so: no, indeed I shonldnot."

“ What you say there causes me great
Pa Dick. You. oblige me, in order to dis-
sipa your unjust sus icions, to confide to
you a secret which not in own, and
which I wonld- not have reve ed for any
thl in the world."

“ "don me» Harry, but in my place I am

convinced you would act as I am doin . We ‘

are Very far from our country wh ch we
shall never see again, rhaps. ’We are re
eponslble for eachlot er and our actions
must be free froni'ail double interpretation.”

“ I will do what you ask, nick, whatever
it may cost me. I recognise the justice of
your observations. I understand how much

my'eonduct this night. musthsve hurt you 3
sad-sonaaredambiuuouu- Idcgnotwishlour =

s

‘ spotwhem: the trees, growing

 

l'l‘lendship to receive the least wound, or the
slightest cloud to arise between us. You
shall be satisfied."

“ I thank you, Harry. What you tell me
relieves m ' bosom of a heavy load. 1‘ con-
fess that should have been in despair to
think badly of you; but the words of that
intriguing monk and the manners of his
wort y acolyte, lied Cedar, put me in a

sion. Had you not Warned me so quick-
)! to silence, I believe—Heaven pardon me
—thatl should have ended by telling them a
piece of my mind."

“ You displayed considerable prudence in
keepin silence, and be assured that I feel
sincere y obliged to you for it. You shall
soon understand all, and I feel confident you
will completely approve me.”

“ I do not doubt it, Harry; and now I feel
certaipd deceived myself. I feel all jolly

again. .
While speaking thus the two hunters, who

were walking with that rapid step peculiar
to men habituated to traverse great distances
on foot had crossed the village, and found
themselves alread far in the plain. The
night was hi hi cent—the sky of a deep
blue. An indn to number of glistening stars
seemed floating in ether. The moon spread
its silveryra s profusel over the landscape.
Thelsharpo or of the owers perfumed the
atmosphere. The two hunters still walked
0m ’: '

“ Where are we goln now, Harry?" Dick
asked: “I fincy we onld do better by
uh I. fewhours’ rest, instead of fatiguing
curse yes without an definite object.’

“Inaven do any lag without a reason,
Head; as you know,” any answered; “ so
let me guide you and we shall soon arrive.”

“ Do as you think proper, my boy; Ishall
say nothing.”

“'Inrthe first place you must know that
the French hunter, Koutonepi, has begged
me, fonreasons he did not tell me, to watch
may Ambrosio. That is one of the motives
whichmsde me be present at this night’s in-
terview, although I care as little for a placer
as!” a musk-rat's skin.”

. t“ Kontone do the first. hunter on the
frontier; he. as often done us a service in
the desert. You acted rightly, Harry, in d0-
ing What, he asked."

‘Asfor the second reason that dictated
aficonduct, Dick, you shall soon know it.”

alf talkinlg, half dreaming, the young
menreached ufl‘alo Valley, and soon enter-
ed'the forest which served as a lair for the
squatter and his family.

“ Where the deuce are we going ?” Dick
could not refrain from saying.

“ Silence i” said the other: “ we are up-
preaching.”

The darkness was profound in the forest:
the density of the leafy dome-under which
they, walked completely intercepted the light
of- the. moonheams. Still the Canadians,
long accustomed to a night march, advanced
as easily through the chaos of creepers and
trees tangled . each other as if they had
beenin open day. On reaching a certain

ess closely
together, formed a species of clearing, and
allowed an, uncertain and tremulous light to
pass,H.arr stopped, and made his comrade
a sl n to o the‘same.

“ his is the place,” he said. “ Still, as
the person I have come to see ex sets we to
be. alone, and your unexpecte rescncc
might cause alarm, hide yoursel behind
that larch tree: above all be careful not to
stir till. Icall you.”

“ Oh, oh i” the hunter said with a laugh,

' “ have you' led me to a iove-meetin ‘3”

“ You shall judge," Harry replic laconi-
Oflly. “Hide yourself."

D ck. greatly troubled, did not need the
invitstlouto be repeated: be concealed him-
selfbehind the tree his friend had indicated,
and which would have sheltered a dozen men
behind. its enormous stem. 80 soon as

; Harry-was alone he raised his tin ers to his

“pi. andat three difi‘erent interva s imitated
the cry of an owl with such perfection that
Dick himself was deceived, and mechanical-
1: locked. up to seek the bird in the tall
branches of the tree by which he stood. A1-
most immediately a slight noise was audible

; in ‘the shrubs. and a raceful and white form
: :p cared in the g1 c. It was Ellen, who

ed rapidly toward the young man.

“ Oh, it is you, Harry l" she said with
joy. “ Heaven be blessed l I was afraid you
would not come as it is late.”

“ Itls true, Ellen; pardon me. i made

i all ossible s eed, however; and at is not

my suit that did not arrive sooner."
“ How good you are, Harr , to take so
mnchltrouble for my sake! ow can I ever

' recoguiz e the continual services on do
me? y

“ 911! do not speak about them. It is a
happiness for me to do any thing agreeable

u.
‘ Alas P] the maiden murmured, “ Heaven
is my witness that I feel a, deep. friendship

10”“. Harm

I

 

 

 

The youn man sighed gently.

“ I have one What you asked of me," he
said, suddenly.

“ Then it is true my father is thinking
about leaving this country to go further
still ‘3"

“ Yes, Ellen, and into frightful countries,
among the ferocious Indians."

The girl gave a start of terror.

“ Do you know the reason of his going ?” '

she continued.

“ Yes; he is about to look for a gold
placer.”

“ Alas! who will rotect me, who will do-
fend me in future, i we go away i?"

“ I, Ellen l" the hunter exclaimed impet~
uously. “ Have I not sworn to follow you
everywhere ?”

“ it is true,” she said, sadly' “ but why
should you risk your life on the distant jour-
ney we are about to undertake .9 No, Harry,
remain here; I can not consent to your de-
parture. From what I have heard say, the
band my father commands will be numerous
—it wil have scarce any thing to fear from
the Indians; while, on the other hand, you,
compelled to hide yourself, will be ex osed
alone to terrible danger. No, Harry, will
not permit it."

“ Undeceive yourself, Ellen. I shall not
be alone, for [em a member of your father’s
band.”

“ Is it possible, Harry 1’" she exclaimed
with an expression of joy.

“ I enrolled myself this very evening."

“ Oh i" she said, “ then in that case we -

can often meet ?"

“ Whenever you please, Ellen, asI shall be
there.”

“Oh! how I am anxious to be away from
here and wish we had already started.”

“It will not be long first, set your mind
at rest. I am convinced that we shall start
within the week." -

“ Thanks for the good news you bring me,
Harr .”

“ rc our father and mother still unkind
to on lien ‘2"

‘ It is nearly always the same thing; and
yet their conduct toward me is strange. It
often seems to me incomprehensible, as it
is so marked with peculiarities. There In
moments in which they seem to love me
dearly. My father especially caresses and
embraces me, and then all at once, I know
not why, repulses me rudely and looks at me
in a way that causes me to shudder.”

“That is indeed strange, Ellen."

“ Is it not? There is one thing above all
I can not explain.”

“Tell it me, Ellen: perhaps I can do so."

“ You know that all my family are Pro-
testants ?” ‘

“ Yes.”

“Well, I am a Catholic."

“ That is certainly curious.”

“I wear round my neck a small golden
crucifix. Every time accident makes this
trinket glisten before my father and motiler
they grow furious, threaten to beat me, and
order me to hide it at once. Do you un-
derstand the meaning of this, Harry 1‘”

“ N o, I do not, Ellen; but, take my advice,
leave every thing to time: perhaps it will
enable us to flat aclue to the mystery which
we seek in vain at this moment."

“ Well, your presence has rendered me
happy for along time, Harry, so now I will
retire.”

“ Already i’"

“I must, my friend. Believe me that I
am as sad as yourself at this separation; but
my father has not yet returned, and may
arrive at any moment. If he noticed that
was sgrit asleep, who knows what might hap-
pen .

While saying the last words the girl held
out her delicate hand to the hunter who
raised it to his lips passionately. 'Ellen
withdrew it suddenly and bounding like a
startled fawn, darted into the forest, where
she soon disappeared, giving the young man
a parting word, which caused him to quiver
with 'oy:

“ e shall meet soon.”

Harry stood for along time with his eyes
fixed on the spot where the vision had dis—
appeared. At length he uttered a sigh,
threw his rifle over his shoulder, and turn-
ed as if to depart. Dick was before him.
Harry gave a start of surprise, for he had
forgotten his friend’s presence; but the lat.
ter smiled good-humorediy.

“I now com rehend your conduct, Har-
ry,” he said to im; “ you were right to act
as (you did. Pardon my unjust suspicions
an count on me evel-ywlwe and always.“

Harry silently pressed the hand his friend
offered him, and they walked back rapidly
in the direction of the village. As they
emer ed from the forest they passed a man
who id not see them. It was Red Cedar.
80 soon as he had gone a short distance
Harry stopped his companion, and pointing
to the squatter, whose long black shadow
giggled through the trees, said,»as he laid his

d on his shoulder:

Red Cedar.

1?:

 

 

“ That man hides in his heart a horrible
secret, which I am ignorant of, but have
sworn to discover.”

CHAPTER XV.
EBAY AMBROSIO.

Tun monk remained for a long time in
the room, taking down the names of the
adventurers he wished to enroll in his band.
It was late when he left; but he was satis-
fied with his night’s work, and internally re-
joiced at the rich collection of bandits of
the purest water he had recruited.

The monks form a privileged caste in Mexi-
co: they can go at all hours of the night
wherever they please without fearing the
numerous “gentlemen of the road," scat-
tered about all the highways. Their gown
inspires a respect which guarantees them
from any insult. Besides, Fray Ambrosio,
as the reader has doubtless already per-
ceived, was not the man to neglect indis-

ensahle precautions. The worthy chap-
ain carried underhis gown a pair of double-
barreled pistols, and in his right sleeve he
concealed a long knife, sharp as a razor, and
pointed as a needle.

Not troubling himself about the solitude
that reigned around him, the monk mount-
ed his mule and proceeded quietly to the
farm. It was about eleven o'clock.

A few Words about Fray Ambrosio, while:
he is peacefully anibling along the narrow

ath which will lead him in two hours to
iis destination, will show all the perversity
of the man who is destined to play an un-
fortunately too important part in the course
of our narrative.

One day a gambusino, or gold seeker, who
had disappeared for two years, no one know-
ing what had become of him, and who was
supposed to be dead lon ago, assassinated
in the desert b the In ians, suddenly re-
appeared at the use del Norte. This man,
Joaquin by name, was brother to Andres
Garote, an adventurer of the worst stamp,
whom everybody feared, but who, through
the terror he inspired, enjoyed at the l’aso
in spite of his \vcll-avouchcd crimes, 9. repu-
tation and species of impunity which he
abused whenever the opportunity oil‘ered.

The two brothers began frequenting to-
gether the public places of the village, drink-
ing from morn till night,and payin r either in

old-dust inelosed in stout qui is, or in
umps of native gold. The rumor soon
spread that Joaquin had discovered a rich
placer, and that his expenses were paid with
the specimens he had brought back. The
gold-seeker replied neither yes nor no to the
several insinuations which his friends, or
rather his boon companions, attempted on
him. He twinkled his eyes, smiled myste-
riously, and if it were observed that, at the
rate he was living at, he would soon be ruinl
ed he shru ged his shoulders, saying:

2‘ When have none left I know where to
find others.”

And he continued to enjoy his fill of ‘all
the pleasures which a wretched hole like
Paso can furnish.

Fra Ambrosio had heard speak, like every
one e e, of the asserted discovery; and his
plan was at once formed to become master
of this man’s secret, and rob him of his dis-
covery, were that possible.

The same evening Joaquin and his brother
Andres were drinking, according to their
wont, in a public house, surrounded by a
crowd of scanips like themselves. Fray Am-
brosio, seated at a table with his hands hid-
den in the sleeve of his gown, and hanging
his head, appeared plun red in serious re-
flections, although he to lowed with a cun-
ning eye the various movements of the
drinkers, and not one of their gestures es-
ca ed him. I ,

uddenlya man entered, With his hand
on his lip, and throwing in the face of the
first person he passed the cigarette he was
smoking, he planted himself in front of
Jon uin, to whom he said nothing, but be-
an coking at him impudently, shrugging
is shoulders, and laughing ironically at a
the old-seeker said. Joaquin was not pa-
tien ; he saw at the first glance that this
person Wished to pick a quarrel with him;
and as he was brave, and feared nobody, man
or demon, he walked boldly up to him, and
looking at him fixedly in his turn, he said to
him as he thrust his face in his:

“ be you seek a quarrel, Tomaso ?”

“Why not ‘3” the latter said, impudently,
as he noisily placed his glass on the table.

“ I am your man. We Will light how you
please.”

“Bahi” Tomaso said, carelessly, “ let us
gaghin’gs properly, and fight With the whole

e.

“ Be it so." ,

The combats that take place between the
adventurers are truly like those of wild
beasts. These coarse men,’ with their cruel
instincts, like fighting beyond all else. The
announcement of this duel caused a thrill

 

of pleasure to run through the ranks of the
bandits who pressed round the two men.
The fun was perfect: one of the adversaries
would doubtless fall—perhaps both—cries
and yells of delight were raised by the spec-
tutors.

The due] with knives is the only one that
exists in Mexico, and is solely left to the
people of the lowest classes. This duel has
its rules, which can not be broken under any
pretext. The knives usually emplo ed, have
blades from fourteen to sixteen nclies in
length, and the ducllists fight accordin to
the gravity of the insult, with one, wo,
three, six inches, or the entire blade. The
inches are carefully measured, and the hand
clutches the knife at the marked spot.

This time it was a duel with the whole
blade, the most terrible of all. With extra.-
ordinary politeness and coolness the land-
lord had a large ring formed in the middle‘
of the room, where the two adversaries
stationed themselves, about six paces from
each other at the most.

A deep silence hun over the room a mo-
ment previously so in l of life and disturb-
ance: every one anxiously awaited the de-
’mnwmenl or the terrible drama that was pre-
paring. Fray Ambrosio alone had not quit
ted his seat or made a 51 rn.

The two men rolled their zarapés round
their left arms, planted themselves firmly on
their outstretched legs, beat their bodies
slightly forward, and gently placing the
point of the knifeblade on the arm rounded
in front of the chest, they waited, fixing on
each other flashing lances. Afewseconds
elapsed, during which the adversaries ro‘~
mained perfectly motionless : all beam
were contracted, all bosoms heaving.

Striking was the scene offered ,y those
men, with their weather-stained faces‘and
harsh features, and their clothes in rage,
formiuga circle round the two combatants
ready to kill each other in thismean room;
slightly illuniined by a smoky lamp, which
flashed upon the blue blades of‘ the knives;
and in the shadow, almost disappearing inf ‘
his black gown, the monk, with his impla;
cable glance and mockin smile, who,'like’a
tiger thirsting for bloo , awaited thehom"
to pounce on his prey.

Suddenly, by a spontaneous movemen _' '
rapid as lightning, the adversaries make“
on each other, uttering a yell of‘fnry. The,
blades flashed, there was a clashing ‘of steel,
and both fell back again: Joaquin and To*-%
maso had both dealt the same stroke, called';“ '
in the slang of the country, the '“ blow 20" ,
the brave man.” Each had his face smelled
from top to bottom. ‘ ‘ , j “

The spectators frenziedly applaudedthid‘
magnificent opening scene.  A

“ What a glorious fight 1" they exclaimed," '
with admiration. ', ,_

In the mean while the two combatants“
were again watching for the moment ’to lee "
on one another. Suddenly they brOk
ground; but this time it was no skirmish,
but the real fight, atrocious and merciless]
They seized each other round the waist, and,
entwined like serpents, they twisted about,"
and excited themselves to the strii‘gglehyj
cries of rage and triumph. The cut intuism,
of the spectators was at its‘hlght: they
laughed, clapped hands, and uttered ins.ch-
ulatc howls as they urged the fighters notto
loose their hold. ' H

At length the enemies rolled on the
ground still enclasped. For some seconds‘,‘
the light still continued on the ground, andL
it was impossible to distin sh who Wes,
conqueror. All at once one 0 them bound-
ed to his feet brandishing his knife. It was

‘ J ouquin.

llis brother rushed toward him to congrat-'
ulate him on his victory, but suddenly the
gold-seeker tottered and fainted. Tomaso

id not rise again: he remained motionless,
stretched out on the uneven floor. He was

end.

This scene had been“: rapid, its conclu-‘
sion so unforeseen, that in spite of th‘en‘i-‘
selves, the spectators had remained dumb
and as if struck with stupor. Suddenly thé’
priest, whom all had for otten, rose ‘end‘
walked into the center of t e'room, lookin ‘
round with a glance that caused all to ie
their eyes fall. ‘

“ Retire, all of you," he said in a gloomy
voice, “now that you have allowed this
deed worthy of saVageu to be accomplished.‘
The priest must offer his ministry, and get '
back from the demon, if there be still time,
the soul of this Christian who is about to
die. Be one I”

The venturers hung their heads, and in
a few moments the priest was left alone with
the two men, one 0f_WhOm was dead, the 1
other at the last gasp. No one could say
what occurred in that room' but when the
priest left, a. quarter 01' an our later, his
eyes flashed Wildly. Joaquin had givou his ‘
parting sigh. 0n.opening the door to go
out, Fray Ambrosio jostled against a man,
who drew back shar 1y to- make room for
him. It was Andres .arote.‘ Whetwu'hr

 

doing with his eye at the key-hole while the
men was shrivin his brother?

The adventurer old no one what he had
seen during this last quarter of an hour,
nor did the monk notice in the shade the
man he had almost thrown down. .

Such was the way in which Fray Ambro
sio‘ became master of the gold-seeker’e so.
cret, and how he alone knew at present the
spot where the placer was.

 

CHAPTER XVI.
two vmm'rms or VinLqu.

Now that the reader is Well informed
touching Fray AmbrOsio, we'will follow him
on his road home. The night was calm, sl-
lent, and serene. Not a sound troubled the »
silence, save the trot of the mule, over the
pebbles on the ‘f'oad, or at times in the dis-
tance, the snapping bark of the coyotes
chasing in a pack, according to their wont,
some straggling hind.

Fray Am rosio ambled ently on, while
reflecting on the events of t is evening, and
calculatlu mentally the probable profits of
the expedition he meditated. lie had left
fai‘behind him the last houses of the village,
anilhwas advancing cautiously along a narrow
pa that wound through an immense sugar-
cane field. Already the shadow of the farm-
house walls stood out blackly in the hori~
win. He expected to reach it in twauty,
minutes, when suddenly his mule which
had hitherto gone so quietly, prickeci up its
ears, raised its head and stopped short.

Roughly aroused from his meditations by-
this unexpected halt the monk looked about
for.‘ some obstacle that m' h‘t impede his
progress, About ten paces rom him a man
was standing in the middle of the pom.
Fr iAmbi-oslo was a man not easilyto M'
frig tened : besides, he was well named. He
drew out one of the pistols hidden under
hiegown cocked it, and prepared to cross-v
question he person who so resolutely barred
hisiway; But the latter, at the sharp sound
of lettinglthe hammer, thought it prudent
to make imself known, and not await the.
consequences of an address nearly always-
stormli-nnder similar circumstances.

“; Hellol?’ he: shouted in a. loud voice,
“ retumeour pistol to your belt, Fray Am-

“brosio; I only went to talk with you. ’.
‘ “ The hour and moment ‘iu'e slngularl "
chosen for a friendly. conversation, my go
fellow," said the monk. "

“ Time belongs to nobody ” the stranger
answered sententiously. ‘ .am obliged to
choofeitbat whichAI have at. m disposal.”

“L hat: is. true," the; men said as he
quietly. uncooked hio’vpistol though not re»
turniugittohlo belt. “ Who are you, and
whyorevyou so» anxious to speak with me?
Do you want to confess ii”

“ Have you not reco nized me yet, Frey'
Ambrosio ? Must he i you my name" that
yo; {,I’iay. kuow with whom you have to

e r . , .

“._ Needless, my good air > needless; but
how is it, Red Cedar, that inieet yOu here?
What can you have so pressing to communi-
cate to me f"

“ You shall know if you will stop for a
few moments and dismount.”

“ The deuce take you with our whimsi
Can not you tell me that as wel to-morrow i’ ‘
Nightisgetting You, my home is still some
distance ofi‘, and I am literally worn out."

“, 13911,! youwill sleep capitally by the side
of a ditch,‘ where you could not be more I
comfortable. ,‘Besido what I have to say to
you does not admit o delay."

“.Xou wish to make a proposal to me,
then?’

M Yes),

“ What about, if you please 2".

“ About the afi‘a‘ir we discussed this even- ,
ingot .e‘ nan-P .. . . i

‘_Why, I fancied that we had settled all
that and. you accepted my ofi‘on" ~

“ otyet, not yet, my master. That will
depend upon the 5 qouvmauon we are about
to have, so you had better dismount andsit
down quietly by my side; for it you don't do
it, it w ii come to nothing.”-

“ The deuce take peop ,6 who change their
minds every minute, and on Whom one can
not seeker-Anew. an on an. old surpllcei‘.’
the monk growls with an air of annoyance.
while, .for all til“. getting off his mule,
which be fastened to a shrub.

The s hatter did not seem to roman-lg the
chaplain s. ill-temper, and let him sit owri
by his side without uttering a s liable.

u Here I am," the monk won on. so soon
as he was posted. “ I reallyidofnot know.
3:11, Cedar, why I yield so easily to all your
w m. »

“Who on ms t that your interest
dependq on i : were not for that you would
not do so."

“ 1ytalk thus in the open country, in~
stead 0 going to your house, where we
should be much more condortuhle 2”

n,

14

 

Red Cedar shook his head in denial.

“ No," he said; “ the open is better for
what we have to talk about. Here we need
not fear listeners at our doors."

“ That is true. Well, go on; I am listen-

in .”

g‘ Hum! you insist upon my commanding
the ex edition you project ?”

“ course. I have known you a long
time. I am aware that you are a sure man,
perfectly versed in Indian signs; for if I am
not mistaken, _the greater part of your life
has been spent among them.”

“ Do not speak about what I have done.
Thenquestion now concerns you, and not
me.

“ How so Y"

“ Good, good! Let me speak. You
need me, so it is to my interest to make
you ay as dearly as I can for me."

“ h ?" the monk mnttered,as he made a
“ I am not rich, as you are

“Yes, es; I know that, so soonas you
have a ew piastres or ounces, the monte
table strips you of them immediately."

1“ IIpng it. I have always been unlucky at
p a .

“yFor that reason I do not intend asking
you for money.”

“Very goo . If you have no designs on
my purse we can easily come to an under-
standing. You may s eak boldly."

“I ho e that we s all easil understand
one not or, the more so as e service I
expect from you is almost a more nothing."

“ Come to the point, Red Cedar: and
leave oii' twining yourphrases together.”

“You know t at I have a deadly hatred
against Don Ml uel Zarate l?”

“lhave hear some say about it. Did he
not lodge his knife somewhere in your
chest 1’"

“ Yes, and the blow was so rude that I all
but died of it; but, I am on my le 3 again,
after remaining for nearly three wee on my
back like a cast sheep. I want my re-
vengls.”

“ can’t help sayingwyou are right: in
your place, may Satan st my neck if I
woul not do the same I"

“ For that I count on your help.”

“Hum! that isa delicate affair. [have no
cause of complaint against Don Miguel—on
the contrary: besides, I do not see how I
can serve you."

5 “ You shall see."
: “Go on, then; 1am listening.”

“ He has a dau hter!"

“Donna Clara.
“I mean to as her off."
“ Deuce take e mad ideas that pass

through our brain-pan! How would you

have me e! you in carrying ofl‘ the daugh-

ter of Don iguel, to whom I owe so many

3in atlons? No, I can not do that, in-
ac .

“ You must, though."

“I will not, I tell you."

“ Measure your words well, Fray Ambro-
slg, fpr this conversatggnésgsprions. mBelf‘oi'e
reusn soperemto'y veme e ep
I ask, éflcct well?’

“I have reflected, Red Cedar, and never
will I consent to help you in carryln off the
daughter of my benefactor. Say w at you
like, nothing will ever change my resolu-
tion on that head, for it is inflexible.”

“ Perhaps."

“ 0h ! whatever may happen, I swear that
nothing will make me alter."

“Swear not, Fray Ambrosio, for you will
has erjurer.’

“ a ta, ta! you are mad, my good fel-
low. on’tlet uswaste our time. If you
have nothing else to say to me 1 will leave
you, though I take such pleasure in your
society."

The two men were standing, and the monk
had put his foot in the stirrup. Red Cedar
also appeared ready to make a start. At
the moment of separation a sudden idea
seemed to occur to the squatter. “By the
way " he said, carelessly, “be kind enough
to ve me some information I require."

‘ What is it now i" the monk asked.

“0h! a mere trifle " the squatter remark-
ed, lndifl‘crently. “ t concerns a certain
Don Pedro Tudela, whom I think you for-
merl knew."

“ h t” the monk exclaimed, as he turned
with his leg still in the air.

“Come, come, Fray Ambrosio," Red Ce-
dar continued. in a jeerlng voice “let us
have a little more talk together. Iwill tell
you, if you like, a very remarkable story
about this Don Pedro, with whom you
were acquainted."

The monk was livid; a nervous tremor
agitated all his limbs; he let loose his mule’s
bridle, and followed the squatter mechanic-
ally, who seated himself tran uilly on the

round, makin him a sign to o the same.
he monk fel , suppressin a sigh, and
wiping away the drops of co d perspiration
that beaded on his forehead. '

 

The New York Library.

“ Eh, eh i" the squatter continued at the
end of a moment, “ we must allow that Don
Pedro was a charming gentleman—u little
wild, perhaps; but what would you have?
He was young. I remember meeting him
at Albany 9. ong time ago—how old one

etsl—at the house of one—wait awhile
he name has slipped my memory—could
you not help me to it, Fray Ambrosio i)”

“ Ido not know what you mean," the
monk said, in a hollow voice.

The man was in astute that would have
produced ity; the veins in his forehead
were swol en ready to burst: he was chok-
ing; his right hand clutched the hilt of his
dag er ; and he bent on the squatter a
glance full of deadly hatred. The latter
seemed to see nothing of all this.

“I have it!” he continued. “ The man’s
name was Walter Brunnel, a very worthy
gentleman."

“Demon!” the monk howled in a gasp-
ing voice, “ I know not who made you mas-
ffir ’of that horrible secret, but you shall

6.

And he rushed u on him dagger in hand.

Red Cedar had 'nown Fray Ambrosio a
10 time, and was on his guard. By a
rapid movement he checked his arm, twisted
it, and seized the dagger, which he threw a
lon distance ofl".

‘ nou h l” he said, in a harsh voice.
“ We un erstand one another, my master.
Do not pla that game with me, for you will
be sick of t, Iwarn you."

The monk fell back on the ground, with-
out the strength to makes si n or utter a
syllable. The squatter regar ed him for a
moment with mingled pity and contempt,
and shrugged his shoulders.

“ For sixteen ears I have held this se-
cret,” he said, ‘ andithss never passed my
lips. I will continue to keep silence on
one condition.”

“ What is it i"

“I want you to help me in carrying of!
the haciendero’s daughter.”

“I will do it."

" Good! I count on your word. Besides,
you may be eas , master: I will watch you.’

“Enough o threats. What is to be
done i’"

“ When do we start for Apacheria ll"

“ You are coming, then?’

“Of course.”

A sinister smile played round the monk’s
pale lips.

“ a shall start ins week,” he said.

" Good! 0n the day of the start you will
hand over the girl to me, one hour before
our departure.’

“ What shall 1 do to compel her to follow

“ That is not my business.”

“ Be it so,” the monk said, with an effort.
“Iwill do it; but remember if I ever hold
you in my hands, as I am this day in ours

shall be pitiless, and make you pay or all
I suffer at his moment.”

“You will be right to do so—it is your
due: still I doubt whether you will ever be
able to reach me."

“ Perhaps.”

“Live and learn. In the meanwhile I am
your master, and I reckon on your obedi-
ence."

“I will.obey."

“That is settled. Now one thin more:
how many men have you enlisted t s eve-

‘ About twenty.”-

" That's not many; but, with the sixty I
shall supply, we shall nave a very decent
bandto oi the Indians in check.”

“ May heaven rant it!” '

" Don’t be a armed, my master " the
squatter said, re-assumin the friendly tone
which he emplo ed at ghe outset of the
conversation; “ pledge in self to lead you
straight to your placer. have not lived
ten years with the Indians not to be up to
all their tricks.”

“Of course," the monk answered as he
rose, “you know, Red Cedar, what was
agreed upon: the placer will be shared be-
tween us. It is, therefore, to your interest
to enable us to reach it without obstacle.”

“ We shall reach it. Now that we have
nothing more to say to each other, and have

reed on all points—for we have done so,
I think Y" he said, significantly.

“ Yes, all.”

“We can part, and 0 each home. No
matter, my master! I old you thatIshonld
succeed in making you alter your mind.
Look you, Fray Ambrosio,” he added in an
im udent tone, which made the monk turn

e with rage, “ people need onlyto un-

erstand one another to do any thing.”

He rose, threw his rifle over his shoulder,
and turning away sharply, went ofi‘ with
lengthened strides. The monk remained
for a moment as if stunned by what had
happened. Suddenly he thrust his hand
under his gown, seized a pistol, and aimed
at the squatter. But ere he had time to pull

 

1

the trigger his enemy disappeared, utter-
ing a formidable burst of laughter, which
the mocking echo bore to his ear, and re-
vealed to him all the immensity of his
impotence.

“ Oh!" he muttered, as he got in the sad-
dle, “how did this demon discover the se
cret which I believed no one knew i"

And he went oii‘ gloomy and thoughtfhl.

Half an hour later he reached the farm.
when the gate was opened for him by a this
ty peon, for everybody was asleep. It was
past midnight.

CHAPTER XVII.
TEE Humans cave.

We will now return to Don Miguel, who,
accompanied by his two friends, s allop-
ing at full speed in the direction of also-
tinc‘s hut. Around them nature grew more
abrupt, the scenery sterner. They had left
the forest, and were galloping over a wide
and arid plain. On each side of the way
the trees, becoming rarer, defiled like a le-

ion of phantoms. They crossed several

ributary streams of the Del Norte in which
their horses were immersed up to the chest.

At length they entered a ravine deeply
imbcddcd between two wooded hills, the soil
of which was composed of large flat stones
and rounded ebhles. They had reached
the Canon del uitre, so named on account
of the numerous vultures constantly erch-
ed on the tops of the surrounding hilfi.

The defile was deserted, and Valentine
had his cabin not far from this spot. 80
soon as the three men had dismounted,
Curumilla took the horses and led them to
the jncal.

“ Follow me,” Valentine said to Don
Mi uel.

he latter obe ed, and the two men he-
an then climb n the escarped flanks of
he right-hand lill . The climb was rude,
for no road was traced; but the two hunt-
ers, long accustomed to force a passage
through the most impracticable places, seem-
ed hardly to perceive the difficulty of the
ascent, which would have been impossible
for men less used to a desert life.

“This spot is really delicious,” Valentine
said, with the complacent simplicity of a
land-owner who boasts of his estate. “If
it were day, Don Miguel, you would enjoy
from this spot a magnificent view.”

“ But where are you leading me, my
friend? Are you aware that the road is not
one of the leasantest, and I am beginning
to feel tire i"

“ A little atience: in ten minutes we
shall arrive. am leading you to anatural

rot-to which I discovered a short time back.

t is admirable. At any rate, Iwas so struck
by its beauty that I temporarily abandoned
my cabin, and converted it into my residence.
Its extent is immense. I am certain, though
I never tried to convince myself, that it ass
for more than ten leagues under groun . I
will not allude to the stalactites that hang
from the roof, and form the qualutest an
most curious designs; but stay—we have ar-
rived."

In fact, they found themselves in front of
a gloomy, gaping orifice, about ten feet high
by ei ht w de.

“ et me do the honors of my mansion,"
Valentine said.

“ Do so, my friend."

The two men entered the grotto: the
huntei struck a match, and lit a torch of
candle-wood. The fairy picture which sud-
denly rose before Don Miguel drew from him
a cry of admiration. There was an indescrib-
able confusion: here a Gothic chapel, with
its graceful, soaring pillars: further on, obe-
lisks, cones, trunks of' trees covered with
moss and acanthus leaves, hollow stalactites
of a cylindrical form, drawn _together and
ranged side by side like the pipes of an or-
gan, and yielding to the slightest touch va-
ried metallic sounds which completed the li-
lusion. Then, in the immeasurable depths
of these cavernous halls, at times formid-
able sounds arose, which, returned by the
echoes, rolled along the sides of the grotto
like eals of thunder.

“ ii, it is grand, it is rand!” Don Mig-
uel exclaimed, struck wit rear and respect
at the sight.

“ Dues not man,” Valentine answered.
“ feel very small and miserable before these
sublime creations of nature, which God has
scattered here as if in sport ? Oh, my friend!
it is only in the desert that we understand
the grandeur and infinite omnipotence of the
supreme Being; for at ever step man finds
himself face to face with im who placed
him on this earth, and traces the mark of
His mighty finger engraved in an indelible
manner on every thing that presents itself
to his sight."

“ Yes, ’ Don Mi uelsald who had sudden-
ly become thong tful, “it is only in the
desert that a man learns to know, lore,
fear God, for He is everywhere.”

Red Cedar.

 

15

 

“ Come,” said Valentine.

He led his friend to a hall of not more
than twenty square feet, the vault of which,
however, was more than a hundred yards
above them. In this hall a fire was lighted.
The two men sat down on the ground and
waited, while thinking deeply. After a few
moments the sound of footsteps was audible,
and the Mexican quickly raised his head.
Valentine did not stir, for he had recognized
his friend's tread. In fact, within a moment
the Indian chief appeared.

“Well ‘3” Valentine asked him.

“ Nothing yet,” Curnmilla laconically an-
swercd.

“ They are late, I fancy," Don Miguel ob-~ ,

served.

“ N0,” the chief continued, “ it is hardly
past eleven: we are before our time."

“ But will they find us here ‘1"

“ They know we shall await them in this
hall.

After these few words each fell back into
his thoughts. The silence was only troubled
by the mysterious sounds of the grotto,
which i‘ciéchoed nearly at equal intervals
with a horrific din. Alongr period elapsed.
All at once, ere any sensible noise had warn-
ed Don Miguel, Valentine raised his head
with a hurried movement.

“ Here they are,” he said.

“ You are mistaken, my friend," Don
Mi nel observed; “ I heard nothing.”

he hunter smiled.

“ If you had spent," he said, “ as we
have, ten years in the desert, interrogating
the mysterious voices of the night, your car

would be habituated to the vague rumors '

and sighs of nature which have no meaning
to you at this moment, but which have a1
a significance for me, and so to speak, a
voice every note of which I’understnnd, and
you would not say i was mistaken. Ask
the chief: you will hear his answer.”

“Two men are climbing the hill at this
moment," Curnmilla answered sententious-
ly. “ They are an Indian and a white man."

“ How can you recognize the distinc-
tion?”

“ Very easily," Valentine responded with
a smile. “ The Indian wears moccasins,
which touch the ground without produi lug
any other sound than a species of friction;
the step is sure and unhesltating, as taken
by a man accustomed to walk in the desert,
and only put down his foot firmly: the white
mm. wears high-heeled boots, which at each
step produce a distinct and loud sound; the
s )urs fastened to his boots give out a con-
tinous metallic elink; the step is awkward
and timid; at each moment a stone or
crumble of“ earth rolls away under the foot,
which is only put down licsitatliwly. It is
easy to see that the man thus walking is ac-
customed to a horse, and does not know
the use of his feet. Stay 1 they are now en-
tering the grotto: you will soon hear the
signs .”

At this moment the cry of the coyote was
raised thrice at equal intervals. Valentine
answered by a similar cry.

“ Well, was I mistaken ?” he said.

“ 1 know not what to think, my friend.
What astonishcs me most is that you heard
them so long before they arrived.’

“ The ground of this cave is an excellent
conductor of sound,” the hunter answered

_ simply : that is all the mystery.”

“ The —i" Don Miguel could not refrain
from saying; “ you neglect nothing, I
fancy."

“ f aman wants to live in the desert he
must neglect nothing: the smallest things
have their importance, and an observation
carefully made may often save a. man’s life."

While these few words were being exchang-
ed between the two friends the noise of foot-
steps was drawing nearer and nearer. Two
men up Jeared: one was Eagle-wing, the
chief of the Corns: the second, General
Ibanez.

The General was aman of about thirty-
five, tall and well-built, with a delicate and
intelligent face. His manners were graceful
and noble. He bowed cordially to the haci-
endero and Valentine, squeezed Curumillu’s
hand, and fell down in a sitting posture by
the fire.

“ Ouf!" he said, “ I am done, gentlemen.
Ihave just ridden an awful distance. My
poor horse is foundered, and to recover my-
self I niadc an ascent, during which I
thought twenty times Imust break down;
and that would have infalliny happened,
had not friend Eagle-wing charitany come
to my aid. I must confess that these Indians
climb like real cats.” I

“ At length you have arrived, my friend "
Don Miguel answered. “ Heaven be pro. s-
ad! I was anxious to see you."

“ For my part I confess that my im-

tience Was equally lively, especially since

learned the treachery of that scoundmlly
Red Cedar. That humbug of a Wood sent
him to me with so warms recommendation
that. in spite of all my prudence. I let inv-

 

sclf‘ be taken in, and nearly told him all our
secrets. Unfortunately the little I did let
him know is sufiicient to have us shot a. bun-
di'ed times like vulgar conspirators of no
consequence.”

“ Do not feel alarmed, my friend. After
What Valentine told me today we have,
perchauco, a way of failing,r the tricks of the
infamous spy who has denounced us.”

“ May Heaven grant it ! But nothing will
remove my impression that Wood has some-
thing to do with what has happened to us.
I always doubted that man, who is as cold
as an iceberg, sour as a glass of lemonade,
and methodical as an old Quaker."

“ Who knows, my friend? Perhaps you
are right. Unfortunately what is done can
not be helped, and our retrospective rc-
criminations will do us no good.

“ That is true; but, as ou know, man is
the same everywhere. \ hen he has com-
mitted a fully he is happy to find a scape-
goat on which he can lay the iniquitles With
which he reproaclies himself. That is slight-
ly my case at this moment."

“ Do not take more blame on yourself,
my friend, than you deserve: I guarantee
your integrity and the loyalty of your sen-
timents. Whatever may happen, be per-
suaded that I Will always do you justice,
and, if needed, defend you against all.”

“Thanks, Don Miguel. What you 83
causes me pleasure, and reconciles me wit

-myself. I needed the assurance you give

me in order to regain some slight courage
and not let myself be completely crushe
by the unforeseen blow which threatens to
overthrow our hopes at the very moment
when we expected to find them realized."

“ Come, come, gentlemen," Valentine
said, “time is slip ing away, and we have
none to waste. at us seek to find the
means by which to repair the check we have
suffered. If you permit me I will submit to
yonrapproval a plan which, I believe, com-
bines all the desirable chances of success,
and will turn in our favor the very treach-
ery to which we have fallen victims.”

“ Speak, speak, my friend!” the two men
exclaimed, as they prepared to listen.

Valentine took the word.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
rsrnnn SERAPHIN.

“Gamma/ran," said Valentine “this in ‘

what I propose. The treachery of Red Co-
dar, in surrendering to the Government the
secret of your conspiracy, places you In a
critical position, from which you can not
escape save by violent measures. You are
between life and death. You have no al-
ternative save victory or defeat. The pow-
der is fired, the ground is mined under our
feet, and an explosion is imminent. ell,
then, pick up the glove treachery throws to

ou—aceept frankly the position offered you

c not wait till you are attacked, but com-
mence the contest. Your enemies will be
terrified by your boldness—dashed by this
uprisirg which they are far from expecting
especially now, when they imagine they
hold in their hands all the threads of the
conspiracy—an error which makes them put
faith in the revelations of a common s y,
and will ruin them if you act with skll —
above all, with promptitude. All depends
on the first blow. It must be terrible, and
terrify them: if not, you are lost.”

“All that is true; bnt we lack time,”
General limnez observed.

“ Time is never lacking when a. man knows
how to employ it properly," Valentine an-
swered, pcrcmptorily. “ repeat you must
be beforehand with your adversar es.”

At this moment the sound of footsteps
was heard under the vault of the cave. The
most extreme silence at once reigned in the
chamber where the five conspirators were
assembled. Mechanically each sought his
weapons. The ste s rapidly approached,
and a man up cared n the entrance of the
hall. 0n seeing him all present uttered a
or of joy and rose respectfully, repeating,
“ ‘athcr Seraphin l"

The man advanced smiling, bowed grace-
fully, and answered in a gentle and melodi-
ous voice, which went straight to the soul:

“Take your places again, entlemen, I
beg of you. I should be tru y vexed if I
caused you any disturbance. Permit me on-
1y tonsit down for a few moments by your
side.

They hastened to make room for him.
Let us say in a few words who this person
was, whose unex ected arrival caused so
much pleasure to 8 people assembled in
the grotto.

Father Seraplhin was a man of twenty-four
at the most. 11 spite of fatigues and harsh
labors, which had left numerous traces on
his face, his whole person exhaledaperfume
of oath and health.

owns a Frenchman, and belonged to tho

 

order of the Lazarists. For five years he
had been traversing, as an indefatigable mis-
sionary, with no other weapon than his
staff, the unexplored solitudes of Texas and
New Mexico, preaching the Gospel to the
Indians, while caring nothing for the terri-
ble privations and nameless sufferings he in-
cessantly endured, and the death constantly
suspended over his head.

Father Sera bin had gained the friendship
and respect 0 all those with Whom accident
had brought him into contact. Charmed
with meeting a fellow-countryman in the
midst of those vast solitudes so distant from
that France he never hoped to see a rain he
had attached himself closely to Va entine,
to“ whom he vowed a deep and sincere af-
fection. From the same motives, the hunter
who admired the greatness of character 0
this rlest so full of true religion, felt him-
self 1‘an to him by an irresistible liking.
They had frequently taken long journeys
together, the hunter guiding his friend to
the Indian tribes across the esolate regions
of Apacherla.

So soon as Father Seraphin had taken his

lace near the fire Eagle-wing and Curnmilla
instened to offer him all those slight serv-
ices which they fancied might be agreeable
to him, and offered him a few lumps of roast
venison with maize. The missionary gladly
gratified the two chiefs, and accepted their
ofl‘erlngs.

“It is 3 Ion time since we saw you,
father," the hue endero said. “You neg-
lect us. My daughter asked me about you
onlyntwo days ago, for she is anxious to see

on

“Clara is an angel who does not require
me‘," the missionary replied, gently. “ I
have spent nearly two months With the
Comanche tribe of the Tortoise. Those
poor Indians claim all in care. They are
thirsting for the Divine 0rd.”

“Po you reckon on staying long among

“Yes - this last journey has fatigued me
extremely. My health is in a deplorable
state, an I absolutely need a few days' rest
in order to regain the requisite strength to
continue my ministry."

“ Well, father, come with me to the Farm :
you will remain with us, and make us all

ruly happy."

“ was going to make that requestto iyou,
Don Miguel. am delighted that you ave
thus met my wishes. If I accept your
obli ing offer it lshecauae I know I shall
not ncommode you. ’

“On the contrary, we shall be delighted
to have you among us."

“Ahl I know the goodness of your
heart."

“ Do not make me better than I am, fath- ,

or: there is a spice of egotism in what I am ‘ "

doln .”

“ ow so ?"

“Hang it! by laboring at the education
of the Indians you render an immense ser-
vice to the race I have the honor of‘ belong-
ing to; for I, too, am an Indian."

"That'is true,’ the priest answered, with
a lau h. “ Come, I absolve you from the
sin 0 e otism, in favor of the intention
which an es ou commit it.”

“ Father," alentine then said, "‘is the
gains plentiful in the desert just at present f"

"Yes, there is a. great deal : the buffaloes
have come down from the mountains in
herds—the elka, the deer, and the antelopcs
swarm.”

Valentine rubbed his hands.

“ It will be a good season,” he said.

“Yes, for you. As for myself, I have no
cause of complaint, for the Indians have
been most attentive to me."

“ All the better. I ever tremble when i
know you are among those red devils. I do
not speak of the Comanches,wlio are warriors
Iesteem, and have always displayed the sin.
cerest afl‘ection for you; but have n terri-
ble fear lest those villain. of Apaches may
play you a wicked trick some fine day.”

' Why entertain snelgideas, my friend ?"

“They are correct. ' on can not imagine
what treacherous and cruel cowards those
Apache thieves are. I know them, and
carry their marks; but do not frighten your-
self. If ever they ventured on an extremi-
ties against you, I know the roa to their
vlli cs: therein not a nook in the desert
whic [have not thoroughly explored. It
is not for nothing I have received the name
of the ‘ Trail-hunter.’ Iswear to you I will
not leave them a seal .”

“Valentine, you nowI do not like to
hear you speak so. The Indians are poor

orant men, who know not what they d0.
and giant be pardoned for the evil they com--

“ All right—all right i" the hunter growl--
ed. “You have your (lens on that score,
and I mine.” ,

“Yea " the missionary replied. With I
smile, ‘ but I believe mine the better."

“ It is poklblc. You know I do not dil-

16

The New York Library.

 

Larl

 

cuss that subject with you; for I know not
how on do it, but on always succeed in
prov ng to me that am wrong.”

Everybody laughed at this sally.

“ And what are the Indians doin at this
moment i” Valentine continue . “Are
they still fighting ?”

“ No; I succeeded in bringing Unicorn
the principal chief of the Comanches, an
Stanapat (the Handful of Blood,) the Apache
sachem, to an interview, at which peace was
sworn.’

“Hum i” Valentine said, incredulously,
" that peace will not last lon , for Unicorn
has too many reasons to owe he Apaches a
grud e.”

“ othing leads to the sup sition, at

out, that your forebodings w ll be speedi-
y realized.”

“ Why so i’"

“ Because, when I left Unicorn, he was
repsriu for a rand buffalo-bunt, in which
veth'un ed pic ed warriors were to take

par .
“ Ah, ah! and where do you think the
hunt will take place, father? ’

“I know for a certainty, because, when I
left Unicorn, he begged me to invite you to
it, as he knew I should see you shortly.” ‘

“I willingly accept, for a buffalo-hunt al-
ways had rest attractions for me."

‘ You w 1 not have far to go to find Uni-
eficn, fpr he is scarce ten leagues from this
p e. ,

“The hunt will take place, then, in the
ne hborhood f"

‘ The meeting -place is Yellowstone
Plain.”

“ Ishall not fail to be there, father. Ah!
I am delighted, more than you can suppose,
at the happy news you have brought me.”

“ All the better, my friend. Now, gentle-
men, I will ask you to excuse me; for I feel
so broken With fati e that with your per-
mission, I will go an take a few honrs‘ rest.”

“ I wasa fool not to think of it befo "
Valentine exclaimed with vexation as e
struck his forehead. “ Pardon me, father."

“ I theiight for my brother," said Curu~
mills. "“ my father will follow me all is
read

Themissionary thanked him with a smile
and rose, bowed to all present and, sup rt-
ed by Eagle-wing, he ollowed Cuium' ain-
to another chamber of the grotto. Father
'Seraphin found a bed of dry leaves covered
with bear-skins, and a fire so arranged as to
.buru all night. The two Indians retired
after bowing respectfully to the father, and
assuring themselves that he needed nothing
more.

After kneeling on the und of the grot-
to, Father Seraphin laid imself on his bed
of leaves, crossed his arms .on his chest, and
fell into that child-like sleep which only the
just enjoy. After his departure Valentine-
bent over to his two friends. v V

“ Allis saved,” he said in slow voice.

“ How? Explain yourself,” they eagerly
answered. a .

“ Listen to me. You will spend the u ht

here: at daybreak you will start for ' e.

Farm accom pied by Father Seraphin."
“ Good! but next?”
“ General Ibanez will proceed, as from
you, to the Governor, and invite him too
rand hunt of wild horses, to take place in
fhree days." A
“ I do not understand what you are driv-

in at." . , .

g"l‘hat is not necessary at this moment.
Let me guide you; but above all arrange it
so that all the authorities ofthe town acce t

our invitation and are present at e.

unt.

“ That I take on m self."

“ Very good. You, encral, will collect all
the men you can so that they can sup ort
you on a given signal, but hide themse ves
so that no one can suspect their presence."

“ Very ood," Don Miguel answered:
“ allshall a done as you recommend. - But
where will you be all this while i"

“ You know very well,” he answered with
s smile of undeflnable meaning. “ I shall
be hunting the buffalo With my friend Igni-
¢°m. the great chief of the Comanches.

Hastily breakin off the interview, the
hunter wra ped h meal! in his buffalo-robe,
stretched h mself before the fire, closed his
eyes, and slept, or feigned to sleep. After
a few minutes‘ hesitation his friends imitated
‘his example. and the grotto became calm

land 8116!“ II on the day of the creation.

 

CHAPTER XIX.
moons.

Barons retiring to rest, Father Seraphin,
on the revions evening, had whispered a
couple 0}) words in the ndians" ears. The
sun had scarce begun to rise a. little above
the extreme blue line of the horizon are the
missionary opened his eyes. and after a short

 

prayer hurried to the hall in which his com-
panions had remained. The four men were
still asleep, wrapped in their furs and bufi'alo-
s us.

“ Wake up, brothers,” Father Seraphin
said, “ for day is appearing.”

The four men started up in an instant.

It was a magnificent morning; thousands
of birds, hidden beneath the foliage, salu-
ted the birth of day with their harmonious
songs; a fickle breeze poured through the
branches, and refreshed the air; in the dis-
tance, as far as eye could extend, undulated
the prairie, with its oceans of tall grass in-
cessantly agitated by the hurried footfalls
of the wild beasts returning to their dens.
An hour later, Don Miguel, General Ibancz,
and the missionary took leave of Valentine,
and, mounted on their horses, which Guru-
milla had led to the entrance of the ravine
they started at a gallop in the direction 0
the Paso del Norte, whence they were about
twenty leagues distant. Valentine and the
two Indian chiefs remained behind.

“ I am about to leave my brother," Eagle-
wln said.

“ by not remain with us, chief ?”

“ My pale brother no longer requires
Eagle-wing. The chief hears the cries of
the men and women of his tribe who were
cowardly assassinated, and demand venge-
ance.

“Where goes my brother?” the hunter
asked, who was too ‘thoro hly acquainted
with the character of the In lane to try and
change the warrior‘s determination, though
he was vexed at his departure.

“The Cores dwell in villages on the banks
of the Colorado. E le-win is returning
to his friends. He wi i ask or warriors to
even e his brothers who are dead.”

Va eutiue bowed.

“May the Great Spirit rotect my fath-
er!” he said. “The roa is longto the
villages of his tribe. The chief is leaving
friends who love him. ’

“E le-wiug knows it: he will remem-
ber," t e chie said, with a deep intonation.

And, after pressln the hands the two
hunters held out to im, be bounded on his
horse, and soon disappeared in the windings
of the canon. Valentine watched his de-
parture with a sad and melancholy look.

“Shall I ever see him again?” he mur-
mured. “He isan Indian: he is following
his vengeance. Itis his nature: he obeys
it, and God will judge him. Evcry man
must obey his destiny. ’

The hunter threw his rifle on his shoulder
and started in his turn, followed by Curu-
milla. Valentine and his comrade were on
foot: they preferred that mode of traveling,
which seemed to them sure and quite as

ulckas on horseback. The two men, after

e Indian custom, walked one behind the
other not uttering a syllable; but toward
mid-day the heat became so iusupportahle
that they were obliged to stop to take a
few moments’ repose. At length the sun-
beams lost their strength, the evening
breeze rose, and the hunters could resume
their journe . The soonreached the banks
of the Rio uerco ( irty River ) which they
began ascendin , keepin as c ose as they
could to the anks, w ile following the
tracks made since time immemorial by wild
animals coming down to drink.

The man unacquaintcd with the splendid
American scenery will have a difficulty in
imagining the imposing and savage majesty
of t e prairie the hunters were traversing.
The river, studded with islets covered witi
cottonwood trees, flowed silent and rapid
between banks of slight elevation, aud over-
grown with gees so tail that it obeyed the

mpulse of e wind, and for a great dis-
tance northward the round was broad-
cast with large lumps o pebble resembling
grave-stones.

At a few hundred ards from the river
rose a conical mound, caring on its summit
sgraulte obelisk one hundred and twenty
feet in hight. The Indians, who, like all
primitive nations, are can ht by any thing
strange, frequently assemh ed at this spot.

Agreat number of buffalo-skulls, piled
up at the foot .of the column, and arranged
in circles, elli see, and other geometrical
figures, attestt eir piety for this god of the
hunt, whose protecting s irit, they say,
looks down from the top 0 the monolith.
Here and there KNEW patches of the Indian
potato, wild onion, prairie tomato, and
those millions of strange flowers and trees
composin the American flora. The rest of
the coun ry was covered with tall grass
continuall undulating beneath the 11 h
foothill o the graceful antelopes orbg-
horns, which bounded from one rock to the
other, startled by the approach of the travel-
ers.

Far, far away on the horizon mingled with
the azure of the sky. appeared the denuded
peaks of the lofty mountains that serve as
unassuilable fortresses to the Indians: their
summits, covered with eternal snow, formed

 

the frame of this immense and im osing
picture, which was stamped with a g oomy
and mysterious grandeur. ’

At the hour when the mukawis uttered
its last song to salute the setting of the
sun, which, half plunged in the purple of
evening, stilljuspercd the sky with long red
bands, the travelers perceived the tents of
the Comanches picturesquely grou ed on
the sides of a verdurous bill. be ndians
had, in a few hours, improviseda real village
with their buffalo-skin tents, aligned 0
form streets and squares.

0n arriving at about five hundred yards
from the village the hunters suddenly per-
ccived an Indian horseman. Eviucing not
the slightest surprise, they stopped and un-
folded their bufl‘aio-robes, which floated in
the breeze, as a signal of peace. The horse-
man uttered a loud cry. At this signal—for
it was evidently one—a troop of Comanche
warriors dcboucbed at a gallop from the vil‘
lage, and poured like a torrent down the
si es of the hill, coming up close to the mo-
tionless travelers, bran ishing their weapons,
and uttering their war-yell. ‘

The hunters waited, carelessly leaning on
their guns. Assurediy, to a man not ac-
quainted with the singular manners of the
prairie, this mode of reception would have
seemed overt hostilities. But it was not so;
for, on coming within range of the hunters,
the Comanches be ran making their horses
leap and curvct, an deploying right and left
formed a vast circle, inclosing the two men.

Then a horseman quitted the group,vdls~
mounted, and rapidly approached the new-
comers: the lattcr hastened to meet him.
All thrcehud their arms extended with the
palm forward in sign of peace. The Indian
who thus advanced to meet the hunters was
Unicorn, the great chief of the Comanches.

As a distinctive sign of his race, his skin
was of a red tin e, brighter than the palcst
new copper. e was a man of' thirty at the
most, with masculine and expressive fea-
tures; his face possessed ,a remarkable in-
telligence, and was stamped with that natu-
ral majesty found among the savage children
of the prairie; he was tall and well-built;
and his muscular limbs evidenced avigor
and suppleness against which few men would
have contended with advantage.

He was completely painted and armed for
war: his black hair was drawn u on his
head in the form of a casque, and 5211 down
his back like a meme a profusion of wam-
pum collars, claws of grizzly bear, and buf-
talc-teeth adorned his breast, on which was
painted with rare dexterity a blue tortoise,
the distinctive sign of the tribe to which he
belonged, and of the size of a hand.

The rest of his costume was composed of
the mitasm, fastened round the hips by s
leathern belt, aiid descending to the ankles;
a deer-skin shirt, with long hanging sleeves,
the seams of which, like those of the mi-.
tasse, were fringed with leather stri s and
feathers; a wide cloak, of the hide o a fe-
male buffalo, was fastened across his shoul-
ders’ with a buckle of pure gold, and fell
down to the ground ' on his feet he had elem

ant moccasins of different colors embroi-

ered with beads and porcupine-quills, from
the heels of which trailed several wolf-tails;
alight round shield covered With buffalo-
hidc, and decorated with human scalps,
hung on his left side b his panther-skin
quiver full of arrows. is weapons were
those of the Comanche Indiana; that is to
say, the sculpiug-knife. the tomahawk, a
bow, and an American ride; but a long
whip, the handle of which, painted red, was
gain-tried with scalps, indicated his rank as

e .

When the three men were close together
they saluted each other by raising their
hands to their foreheads; then Valentine
and Unicorn crossed their arms b passin
the right hand over the left shou der, an
bowing their heads at the same time kissed
each other’s mouth after the prairie fashion.
Unicorn then saluted ,Curumilla in the same
way; and this preliminary ceremony termi-
nated. the Comanche chief took the word.

“My brothers are welcome at the village
of my tribe." he said. “I was expectin
them impatiently. I had beg ed the Chle
of Prayer of the pale-faces to nvite them in
my name.” .

“ He performed his promise last night. I
thank my brother for having thought of
me.

"‘ The two stranger t hunters are
friends of Unicorn. His eart was sad not
ltlo see them near him formthe ,buifalo-hunt

is young peo le are rep n .

“ Here we a?“ WS set out3 this morning
at sunrise.” .,

“ My brothers will follow me, and rest at
the council-lire." ' u

The hunters bowed an assent. Each re-
ceived a horse, and at a signal from Unicorn,
who had placed himself between them, the .
troop started at agiillop, and returned to
the village, which it entered to the death»

m in. ram-mum..." ...,...........

Red Cedar.

1'7

 

. .

 

 

ing sounds of drums, chikikoués, shouts of
‘oy from the women and children who sa-
inted their return, and the furious barkin
of the dogs. When the chiefs wcrc seate
round the council-lire the pipe \izis lit,
and cereinoniously presented to the two
strangers, who smoked in silence for some
minutes. When the pipe ilild gone the
round several times, Unicorn addressed Val-
entine:

“ Koutouepi is a great hunter," he said to
him ; “he has often followed the buffalo on
the plains of the Dirty River. The chief
will tell him the preparations he has made,
that the hunter may give his opinion."

“ It is needless, chief,” Valentine replied.
“ The buffalo is the friend of the red-skins:
the Comanches know all its stratagems. l
slioiild like to ask a question of my broth-

“ The hunter can speak: my ears are
0 en.’

“ How long will the chief remain on tht
hunting-grounds with his young men ?"

“About a week. The buffaloes are sus
pieious : my young men 'are surrounding
them, but they can not drive them in our
direction before four or five days."

Valentine gave a start of joy.

“Good!” 1: said. “Is my brother sure
of it .9"

“ Very sure."

“ How many warriors have remained with
the chief !”

“ About four hundred: the rest are scat-
tered over the plain to announce the ap-
proach of the buffaloes."

“Good! If my brother likes Iwill pro-
cure him a fine hunt within three days.’

“Ah!” the chief exclaimed, “then my
brother has started some game ?"

“Oh i" Valentine answered with a laugh,
“let in brother trust to me, and I promise
him rich spoils."

“ Good! 0! what game does my brother

on

“ Of gachupimr.* In two days they will
meet in large numbers not far from here."

“ Wah!" said the Comanche, whose eyes
sparkled at this news, “my young men will
hunt them. My brother must explain."

Valentine shook his head.

“ My words are for the ears ofa chief," he

d

Without replying, Unicorn made asignai:
the Indians rose silently, and left the tent.
Curumilla and Unicorn alone remained near
the fire. Valentine then explained to the
Comanche, in its fullest details, the plan he
had conceived, in the execution of which the
aid of the Indians was indis ensable to him.
Unicorn listened attentive y without inter-
ruptiu . When Valentine had ended:

‘ W at does my brother think ?“ the lat-
ter asked, fixing a scrutinizing glance on
the impasslve countenance of the chief.

“ Wah !" the other replied, “the pale-face
is very crafty. Unicorn will do what he de-
sires. _

This assurance filled Valentine’s heart
with joy.

CHAPTER XX.
m HUNT OF THE WILD HORSES.

Dori MiounL Zans'rn and his two friends
did not reach the hacienda till late. They
were received in the porch by Don Pablo
and Donna Clara, who manifested great Joy
at the sight of the French missionary, for
whom they felt a sincere esteem and great
friendship. Spite of all his care, Fray Am-
brosio had always seen his advances repelled
by the youn eople, in Whom he instinct-
ively inspired ihat fear mingled with disgust
that is experienced at the sight of a reptile.
Donna Clara, who was very pious, carried
this repulsion to such a pitch that she only
confessed her faults and approached the
holy table when Father Seraphin came to
spend a few days at the hacienda.

Fray Ambrosio was too admit to a pear
to notice the eflect his presence pro need
on the children: he feigned to attribute to
tlmidity and indifference on religous mat-
ters what was in reality astrongly-expressed
loathing for himself ersonally. But in his
heart a dull hatred ermented against the
two young folk, and especially against the
missionary, whom he had several times al-
ready attempted to destroy by well-laid
snares. Father Seraphin had always escap.

' Wearers of shoes—s name given by the In-
dians to the Spaniards at the conquest.
ed them bya providential chance: but in
spite of the chaplain‘s obsequi'ous advances,
and the offers of service he did not fail to
overwhelm him with each time they met,
the missionary had thoroughly read the
Mexican monk. He had guessed what fear-
ful corruption was hidden beneath his ap-
parent simplicity and feigned piety; and
while keeping to himself the certainty he
had acquired, he remained on his guard,
and carefully watched this man, whom he

 

suspected of incessantly planning some dark
treacher against him.

Don iguel left his children with the mis-
sionury, who immediately took possession
of him and dragged him away, lavishlng on
him every dpossi le attention. The hacien-
dero retire to his study with General Iba-
nez, when the two men drew up a list of the
persons they intended to invite—that is to
say, the persons Valentine proposed to get
out of the way, though they were innocent
of his scheme. The General then mounted
his horse, and rode off to deliver the invita-
tions. For his part Don Miguel sent off a
dozen peons and vaqueros in search of the
wild horses, and to drive them gradually to-
ward the spot chosen for the hunt.

General Ibanez succeeded perfectly: the
invitations were gladly accepted, and the
next evening the guests began arrivin ,
Don Miguel receiving them With marks 0
:hle most profound respect and lavish hospi-

a ity.

The General Isturltz, Governor of Peso,
Don Luciano Perez, and seven or eight per-
sons of inferior rank, soon arrived at the
hacienda. At sunrise a numerous party,
composed of forty persons, roceeded, ac-
companied b a crowd of wel mounted pe-
ons, toward t e meet. This was avast plain
on the banks of the Rio del Norte, whore
the wild horses were accustomed to rsze
at this season. The caravan produc the
most singular and picturesque effect with
the brilliant costumes of the ersons who
composed it, and their horses 1 ttering with
rold and silver. Starting at a out four A. u.
rom the Farm, four hours later they reached
a clump of trees, beneath whose shade tents
had been raised and tables laid by Don Mig-
nel’s orders, so that they might breakfast
before the hunt.

The riders, who had been Journe ng for
four hours, exposed to therays of 0 sun
and the dust, uttered a shout of joy at the
sight of the tents. Each dismounted; the
la ies were invited to do the same, amo
them being the wife of General Isturitz, an
Donna Clara, and they gayiy sat down around
the tables.

Toward the end of the breakfast Don Pa-
blo arrived who had gone the evening pre-
viously to join the va ueros. He announc-
ed that the horses ha been started that a
large drove was now crossing the Flain of
the Coyotes, watched by the vaqneros and
that they must make haste if they wished
to have goon sport. This news a ,mented
the ardor of the hunters. The is as were
left in camp under the guard of a. dozen
well-armed peons and the whole part
rushed at a gallop in the direction indicate
by 0011 Pub 0. ,

The Plain of the Coyotes extended for an
enormous distance along the banks of the
i1ver. Here and there rose wooded hills,
which varied the landsca e that was render-
ed monotonous by the t grass, in which the
riders disappeared up to their waists. When
the huntin -party reached the skirt of the
plain, Don iguel ordered a belt, that they
might hold a council, and hear the report
of he leader of the vaqueros.

The race of wild horses that nowadays
people the deserts of North America, and
especiallly of Mexico, is descended from Cor-
tez’ cav . Hence it is a pure breed, for
at the pe ad of the s anlsh conquest only
Arab horses were amp 0 ed. These horses
have multiplied in real yan extraordinary
manner. It is not rare to meet with mana-
das of twenty and even thirty thousand
head. They are small, but gifted with an
energy and vigor of which it is impossible to
form a fair idea without havin seen them.
They accomplish without fat gue journeys
of prodigious length. Their coat is the same
as that of other horses, save that during
winter it grows ve long, and becomes friz-
zy like the wool 0 shoe . In spring this
species of fur falls of. he horses ma be
easily trained. Generally, so soon as hey
find themselves caught, they easily submit
to the saddle.

The leader made his report. A drove of
about ten thousand head was two leagues
off on the plain, quietly grazing in the com-
pany of a few elks and bufl'aloes. The hunt.
are sealed a. hill, from the top ‘of which
they easily saw on the horizon a countless
mob of animals, rouped in the most pic-
turesque wa , an apparently not at all sus-
pecting the rigor that threatened them.

After the vaquero’s report, Don Miguel
and his friends held a council, and this is the
resolution they came to. The formed
what is called the grand circle 0 the wild
horses; that is to say, the most skillful riders
were echeloned in every direction at a cer-
tain distance from each other, so as to form
.11 immense circle. The wild horses are ex-
tremely suspicious : their instinct is so subtle
that the slightest breath of wind is sumclent
to carry to them the smell of their enemies,
and make them set ofl‘ at headlong speed.

Hence it is necessary to act with the great-

 

est prudence, and use many precautions, if
a surprise is desired.

When all the preparations were made the
hunters dismounted, and dragging their
horses after them, glided through he tall
grass so as to contract the circle. This ma—
neuver had gone on for some time, and they
had sensibly drawn nearer, when the drove
began to d splay some signs of restlessness.
The horses which had hitherto grazed calm- (
ly, raised their heads, pricked their ears and
neighed as they inhaled the air. Sud enl
they collected, formed a compact band, an
started at a trot in the direction of some cot-
tonwood trees which stood on the banks of
the river. The hunt was about to commence.

At a signal from Don Mi uel six well-
mounted vaqueros rushed at fu lspeed ahead
of the drove, makln their lassoes whistle
round their heads. he horses, startled by
the apparition of the riders, turned back
hastily, uttering shorts of terror and fled
in another direction. But each time they
tried to force the circle, horsemen rode into
the midst of them, and compelled them to
turn back.

Itis necessary to have been present at
such a chase, to have seen this hunt on the
prairies to form an idea of the magnificent
sight od‘ered by all these noble brutes, their
eyes aflre, their mouths foaming, their heads
haughtlly thrown u , and their manos fiat-
tering in the win as the bounded and

loped in the fatal circle e hunters had
ormed round them. There is in such a
sight something intoxicating, which carries
away the most phlegmatic, and renders them
mad with enthusiasm and pleasure.

When this maneuver had lasted 10
enough, and the horses began to grow blin -
ed w th terror, at a signal given by Don
Miguel the circle was broken at a certain
s ot. The horses rushed, with a sound like

under toward this issue which opened
before them, overturnin with their chests
every thin that barred eir progress. But
it was th the hunters expected. The
horses, in their mad race, gallo ed on with-
out dreamin that the road t ey followed
grew grade narrower in front of them,
and terminst in inevitable captivity.

Let us explain this termination of the
hunt. The manada had been cleverly guid'
ed by the hunters toward the entrance of
a canon, or ravine, which ran between two
rather lofty hills. At the end of this ra-
vine the vaqlueros had formed, with stakes
fifteen feet on , planted in the ground, and
firmly fastened gather with cords of twist
ed bark an immense corral or inclosure, in-
to which the horses rushed without seeing
it. In less than no time the corral was full;
than the hunters went to meet the man
which they cut on at the risk of their lives,
while the others closed the entrance of the
corral. More than fifteen hundred magnifi-
cent wild horses were thus captured at one
stroke.

The noble animals rushed with snorts of
fury at the walls of the inclosure, tryiiig‘to
tear up the stakes with their teeth and h-
ing madly against them. At length they w
cognized the futility of their efforts, lay
down, and remained motionless. In the
mean while a tremendous struggle was go-
in on in the ravine between e hunters
an the rest of the mannda. The horses
confined in this narrow space made extra-
ordinary eflorts to e(3mm a passage and fl
snow. They noi h , stain ed, and news
every thingl the cams wi in their'roach.
At lsrfith t ey succeeded in regaining their
first rsction and rushed into the plain
with the velocity of an avalanche. Several
vaqueros had been dismounted and tramp-
led on by the horses, and two of them had i
received such injuries that they were car-
ried of! the ground in a state of insensi-

lilllt .

With all the impotuosity of youth, Don
Pablo bad rushed into the very heart of the
manada. Suddsnl his horse received a kick
which broke its 0 fore leg and it fell to the
gmund,dnggingitsridsrwithit. Thohunt-
eis uttered a of terror and agony. In
the midst of th band of maddened horses

« the youn man was lost, for he must be

trampled death under their hoofs. But
he rose with the rapidity of lightning and
(pick as thought seisi the man, of the
nearest horse, ho leap on it. back, and
held on byhisknees. The hone: were .0
PM!“ W“ on“ “Other that any other

mo“ W“ impouiblo. Then a strange

in! WWW-w extraordinary stru s
between the horse and its rider. The no lo I
bmtt limo“! at feeling its back dishonored
by the wei htit bore, bounded reared, run.
9 for"? i but all was useless, for Don
Pablo adhered firmly.

3010118 as it was in the ravine, the horse
WM“! by its comrades, could not do all
it in ht have wished to get rid of the hu-
d°n i bOI'O' but so soon as it found itself
W the P it throw .up its head, made _
“WWI leaps on one side. and than am

 

 

M.

ii

 

 

. r

18 

The N ew: York Library.

 

 

forward at a speed which took away the
young man’s breath.

Don l’ablo held on firme by digging his
knees into the panting sides of his stee : he
unfastcned his cravat, and prepared to play
the last scene in this drama, which threaten-
ed to terminate in a tragic way for him. . The I
horse had changed its tactics: it was racing
in a straightiine to the river, resolved to
drown itself with its rider sooner than sub-
mit. The hunters followed with an interest
mingled with terror the moving interludes
of t iis mad race, when suddenly the horse
changed its plans a sin, reared, and tried to
fall back with its ri er. The hunters utter-
ed a shout of agony. Don Pablo clun con-
vulsively to the animal’s neck, and, a the
moment it was falling back, he threw his
cgfiat over its eyes with extraordinary
s .

The horse, suddenly blinded, fell back
again on its feet, and stood trembling with
terror. Then the young man dismounted, .
put his face to the horse ahead, and breath:
ed into its nostrils, while gently scratching
its forehead. This operation lasted .ten
minutes at the most, the horsepanting and
snortin , but not daring to leave the spot.
The exican again leaped, .011 the horse’s
back, and removed the bandage: it remained
stunned- Don Pablo had tamed it.
body rushed toward the young man, who
smiled proudly, in order tocomplimeut him
on his splendid victory. He dismounted,
ave his horse to avaquero, who immediater
y passed a. bridle round its neck, and: then
wa ked toward: his father, who embraced .

him tenderly. For more than an hour. Don :u

Miguel had despaired of hisson’s life. '

 

CHAPTER XXI.
rm: ‘sunrnrsn.

80 soon as the emotion caused by Don 

Pablo’s prowess was calmemytlsayzbegun ‘
thinking about returning; Thewsmr was doe 
scending in thezhorizom: ' the Whole :day-had. u
been spent with the exciting. incidents of
the chase. The Haciendsvdof h'NOfiISWM
nearly ten leagues distant : it was, therefore,
urgent to start as speedily as possiblel'unless. I
the party wished toruu the riskrvof bivon-
acking in the open air.

The men would easily have glut u with
this sli ht annoyance, which, »a cimate
like tha of New Mexico, and at this season
of the year, has nothing painful about it;

' but they had ladies. with them. Left one.

or two leagues in the rear, they musttfeel
alarmed in the absence of the hunters—wan ‘
absence which, as so. frequently happens »
when out hunting, hadbeen‘ protracted far: :
be and all expectations. .

on Miguel gave the vaqueros. orders to
brand the captured horses with him siphon:
and the whole party then returned laughw
ingmnd singing, inthedirection ofn etents
wherethe ladies had been led. Thevaqusrosh
who had served as boaters duflnthhe dayrew
maiued, behind to guard the homes.

Inithese countries, where. there is scarce
anytwilight, night succeeds the dayalmost ‘
without transit-ion. As soon as the sun had I
set, the hunters found themselves. in com-
plete darkness: for, ssthe sun. descended on
the horizon, the shade :invaded the sky in
equal proportions, andyatthe moment when
the day-planet disappeared, the night was
complete. The desert, hitherto silent,
seemed to wake up all at once: the birds,
stupefied by the heat, commenced- aformid: \, .
able concert, in which joined] at intervals,
from the inaccessible depths of the forest, ‘

‘ the snapping of. the carcqimu, and the. bark-

ing of- the coyotes mingledwith the. hoarse,
howling of the wildebeasts that had-lent their
dens to come down and drink in the river;

Then radually the cries, the. songs, and
the how ing ceased, and nothing was audible:
save the hunters’ horses on thepebbles of:
the road. A solemn silence seemed to brood
over this abrupt, and primitive scenery. At
intervals the green tufts of the trees and the. A
tall grass bowed slowly with a prolonged
rustlingofi leaves and branches, as if a mys.
terious breath over th'an, and: com.
pelled themto bend their heads There was: -
something at once striking and terrible. in
the imposing appearance ofi‘ered- by the
prairie at this hour of the night, beneath

his sky studded-with brilliant stars, which

s kled like emeralds, in the presence of

is sublime immensit , which. onl suffer-
ed one voice to be hear —that,of De ty,

The young and enthusiastic man to whom
it is given to be present at such a' specta-
cle feels a thrill run over all his bod : he
experiences an undefinable feeling 0 ha I
fumes and extraordinary pleasure on 100 -

g round him at the desert, whose unex-
plored depths conceal fromhim somauy se-
crets, and display to him Divine Majesty in
all its grandeur andomnipotencs.

Every- 

 

The. hunters, so gay and talkative at the
start, had yielded to this omnipotcnt influ-
once of the desert, and advanced rapidly
and silently, only exchanging a few syllables
at lengthened intervals. The profoundcst
calm still continued to reign over the des-
ert; and while, owing to the astonishing
transparency of the atmosphere, the eye
could embrace an enormous horizon,
nothing suspicious was visible.

The re-flies buzzed carelessly round the
top of the grass, and the flickering fires
burning before the tents to which the hunt-
ers were bound could be already seen about
halfi‘a league ahead. At a. signal from Don
Miguel the party, which had, up to the

resent, only trotted, set out at a long can-
er»; for each felt anxious to leave a scene
which, in the darkness, had assumed a sin-
ister aspect.

They thus arrived within a hundred yards
of the fires, whose ruddy glow was reflect-
ed on the distant trees, when suddenly a.
fearful yelllcrossed the air, and from behind
every bush out started an Indian horseman
brandishing his weapons, and makinr his
horse curvet-rouud the white men, whi e ut-
tering the war-cry. The Mexicans, taken
unawares, were surrounded ere they had
sufficiently recovered from their stupor to
think about erfiploying their weapons. At
aglauce Don iguel Judged the position:
it was a critical one. The hunters were at
themost'rbut twenty; the number of Co-
manchewarriors surrounding them was at
leastlthreo'hundred.

Thor. Comanches and Apaches are the
most implacable foes of the white race. In
their periodical invasions of the frontiers
they hardlyever make any prisoners: they
mercilessly killall who fallr into their hands.
Still the Mexicans rallied. Certain of the
fate that awaited them, they were resolved
to sell their. lives dearly. There was a mo-
ment] of supreme expectation before the
commencement of the deadly combat, when
sudden‘l an Indian galloped out of the
raninto the warriors, and rode within three
fiacuofthe littlo'band. .On arriving there
‘ a stopped, and waved his bufi‘alorrobe in
'sign'ofl'psase; I The: Governor prepared to
S oak. V
p“ Let'me onlthe. negotiations,” Don
Miguel-said. “I know the Indians better
(than you do, and perhaps I shall succeed in
getting out of' this awkward position.”

“ Do so,” the Governor answered.

General lbanez was the only who had re-
mained calm and impassive since the sur-
prise :- he did not make a move to seize his
weapons; on the contrary, he crossed his
arms carelessly on his chest, and took a
mocking glance at his comrades, as he hum-
meda song. Don Pablo had placed himself
by his fatherls side, ready to defend him at
the peril ‘of his life. The Indian chief took
the. word. :

“Letthepale-faces listen,” he said; “an
Indian saohem is about. to speak.”

“We. have no time to spare in listening
to theinsidious words which you areprepar—
ingtmsay-toms,” Don Miguel re lied in a
haughty voice. “ Withdraw, an do not
obstinately. bar our passage, or there will be
blood spilt”.-

“The pale<faces will have brought it on
themselves,” the Comanche answered ina
gentle. voice. “The Indians mean no harm
tothepaleewarriors.”

‘«‘~Why_then this sudden attack? The
chief is mad. . We do not let ourselves be so
easily deceived as he seems to suppose: we
know ver well that he wants our scalps."

j‘ No; nicorn wishes to make a bargain
With the pale-faces.”

“Come, chief, explain yourself: perhaps
your intentions are as you describe them. I
do not. wish to reproach myself with having
refused tolisten to on."

The Indian smiled:

‘_‘ Good I” he said. “The rest white
chiefls becoming reasonable. et him lis-
ten, then, to the words Unicorn will pro-
nounce."

“GO 01!. Chief; my comrades and myself
are listening."

f‘The. ale-faces are thieving dogs,” the
chiefsai in a rough voice; “ they carry or.
a continual war wr h the red-skins, and buy
their sealps as if they were peltry; but the
Comanches are m nauimous warriors, who
disdain to avenget emselves. The squuws
of the white men are in their power: they
will restorelthem.”

At these words a shudder of terror ran
alon the ranks of the hunters; their cour-
age. ailed themrthey had only one desire
lefte-that of saving those who had so wretch-
edly fallen into t 6 hands of these blood-
thirsty men. a

“ On what conditions will-the Comanches
restore their prisoners f” Don Miguel asked
whose heart was contracted at the thought
of .his dagghtor, who was also a prisoner.
He secre y cursed Valentine whose fatal

9

 

advice was the sole cause of the. frightful
evil that assailed him at this moment.

“The pale-faces,” the chief continued,
“ will dismount and arrange themselves in
a line. Unicorn will choose from his
enemies those whom he thinks proper to
carry 011' as prisoners; the rest will be free,
and all the women restored.”

“Those conditions are harsh, chief. Can
you not modify them ?"

“A chief has only one word. Do the
pale—faces consent '2”

“Let us consult together for a few mo-
ments at any rate.”

“ Good! Let the white men consult.
Unicorn grants them ten minutes,” the chief
made answer.

And turning his horse, he went back to
his men. Don Miguel then addressed his
friends.

“ Well, what do you think of what has oc-
curred ‘2”

The Mexicans were terrified: still they
were compelled to allow that the conduct
of the Indians was extraordinary, and that
they had never before evinced such lenity.
Now that reflection had followed on the
first feeling of excitement, they understood
that a struggle against enemies so numerous
was insensute, and could only result in ren-
dering their position worse than it was be-
fore, and that the chief’s conditions, harsh
as they were, offered at least some chance
of safety for a portion of them, and the la-
dies would be saved.

This last and all-powerful consideration de-
cided them. Don Miguel had no occasion
to convince them of the necessity of sub-
mission. Whatevcr struggle it cost them,
they dismounted and arranged themselves
in line, as the chief had demanded, Don
llz’Iigélel and his son placing themselves at the

ea .

Unicorn, with that cool courage character—
istic of the Indians, then advanced alone to-

ward the Mexicans, who still had their‘

weapons, and who, impelled by their despair,
and at the risk of being all massacred,
would have sacrificed him to their venge-
ance. The chief had also dismounted.
With his hands crossed on his back, and
frowning brow, he now commenced his in-
spection.

Many a heart contracted at his approach,
for a question of life and death was being
decided for those hapless men: only the
perspective of the atrocious tortures which
menaced the ladies could have made them
consent to this humiliating and degrading
condition. The Unicorn, however, was

onerous: he only selected ei ht of the

Iexicans, and the rest receive permission
to mount their horses, and leave the fatal
circle that begirt th 3m. Still, by a strange
accident, 01' preme-iitation of which the
reason escaped them, these eight prisoners
—among whom were the Governor, General
Isturitz, and the criminal judge, Don Luci.

ano Perez—were the most important per- '

sonalges in the party, and the members of
the rovincial Government.

It was not without surprise that Don Mig-
uel observed this: the Comanches, however,
faithfully fullillcd their compact, and the la-
dies were at once set at liberty. They had
been treated with the greatest respect by
the Indians, who had surprised their camp,
and seized them almost in the same way as
they had the hunters; that is to say, the
camp was invaded simultaneously on all sides.
It was a matter worthy of remark in an am-
buscade that not a drop of blood had been
spilt. ‘

After the moments given up to the happi-
ness of seeintr his daughter again safe and
sound, Don l iguel resolved to make a last
attempt with Unicorn in favor of the un-
happy men who remained in his hands. The
chief listened with deference, and let him
speak without interruption; then he re-

plied, with a smiie whose expression the.

other tried in vain to explain:

“ My father has Indian blood in his veins;
the red-skins love him: never will they do
him an injury. Unicorn would like to re-
store him immediately the prisoners, for
whom he cares yery little; but that is im-
possible. My father himself would speedin
regret Unicorn’s obedience to his wish; but,
in order to prove to my father howmuch
the chief desires to do a thing that will be
agreeable to him the prisoners will not be

ill-treated, and Will be let off with a few ‘

days’ annoyance. Unicorn consents to ac-
cept a ransom for them, instead of making
them slaves. My father can himself tel
them this good news."

“Thanks, chief,” Don Miguel answered. t

“ The nobility of your character touches my
heart: I shall not forget it. Be persuaded
that, under all circumstances. I Shall be hap-
py, to prove to you how grateful I am.”

The chief bowed gracefully and withdrew,
in order to give the haciendero liberty to

communicate with his companions. Thclat- ,

*\

 m- . 

up“-



 

Red Cedar.

[19-

 

 

ter were seated sadly on the ground, rlooniy
and downcast. Don Miguel repeated to
them the conversation he had held with
Unicorn, and the promise he had innde with
respect to them. This restored them all
their courage; and, with the most ail'cction-
ate words and marks of the liveliest joy,
they thanked him for the attempt he had
made in their favor.

In fact, thanks to the promise of liberatin r
them for aransom at the end of a week, an
treating them well during the period of
their captivity, there was nothing so very
terrifyingabout the prospect; and it was
one of those thousand annoyances to which
men are exposed by accident, but whose
proportions had been so reduced in theii
eyes, that, with the carelessness which forms
the staple of the national character, they
were the first to laugh at their mishap.

Don Miguel, however, was anxious to re-
tire; so he took leave of his companions
and rejoined the chief. The latter repeated
his assurance that the prisoners should be
free within a week, if they consented each
to pay a ransom of one thousand piastrcs,
which was a trifle. He assured the hacien-
dero that he was at liberty to withdraw when-
everlie pleased, and he should not oppose
his departure.

Don Miguci did not allow the invitation
to be repeated. His friends and himself
immediately mounted their horses, together
with the ladies, who were placed in the cen-
ter of the detachment; and after taking
leave of Unicorn, they dug their spurs into
their horses, and started at a gallop, glad
to have got off so cheaply. The campfires
were soon left far behind them, and General
Ibanez then approached his friend, and,
bending down to his ear, whispered :

“ Don Miguel, can the Comaiiehes be our
allies? I fancy that they have this night

ven a bold push to the success of our en-

eir'lprise.”

his thought, like a ray of light, had al-
ready crossed the proprietor’s brain several
times.

“ I do not know,” he said, with a clever
smile ; “ but at any rate, my dear General,
they are very adroit foes,"

The little baud continued to advance rap.
idly toward the hacienda, which was now no
great distance, and which they hoped to
reach before sunrise. The events we have
described had occurred in less than an hour.

 

CHAPTER XXII.
'rnn MEETING.

“ BY Jove i” GeneraiIbanez said, “it must
he confessed that these red devils have done
us an immense service without suspecting it.
It miglitbe said, deuce take me, that they
acted under a knowledge of facts. This
Unicorn, as the chief is called, is a precious
man in certain circumstances. Iain anxious
to cultivate his acquaintance, for no one
knows what may happen. It is often good
to have so intelligent a friend' as him at
hand."

“ You are always jesting, General. When
will you be serious for once 3’” Don Miguel
said, with a smile.

“ What would you have, my friend? We
are at this moment staking our heads in a
desperate game, so let us at any rate keep
our gayety. If we are conquered, it will be
time enough then to be sad, and make bitter
reflections about the instability of human
affairs.”

“Yes, your philosophy is not without a
certain dose of futulism, which renders it
more valuable to me. I am happy to see

on in this good temper, especially at a
moment when we are preparing to play our
last curd.” ’ .

“ All is not desperate yet, and I have a se-
cret foreboding, on the contrar', that all
in for the best. Our friend the ’ rail-llunt-
er, I feel convinced, has something to do, If
not all, with what has happened to us.”

‘f Do you believe it .9” Don Miguel asked,
quickly.

“I am certain of it. You know as well
as I do “1050 Indios Bravos, and theiinplaca-
ble hatred they have vowed against us. The
war they wage With us is atrocious; and for
them to he suddenly changed from wolves
into lambs requires some powerful motive to
make them act thus. People do not lay
aside in a moment a hatred which has en-
dured for ages. The Comanches, by the
choice they made, know the importance of
the prisoners they have seized. How is it
that they consent so easdy to give them up
fora trifling ransom? There is some inex-
plicable mystery in all this.”

“ Which is very easy to explain, though,"
a laughing voice interrupted from behind
the shrubs.

The two Mexicans started, and checked
their horses. A man leaped from a thicket,

, and suddenly appeared in the center of the

'and must I really te

 

track the little band of hunters .was follow-
ing. The latter, believing in a fresh attack
and treachery on the part of the Comanches,
seized their weapons.

“ Stop l” Don Miguel said, sharply, “the
man is alone. Let me speak with him.”

Each waited with his hand on his wen on.

“Hold!” Don Miguel continued, ad res-
sing the stranger, who stood motionless,
carelessly restinw on his gun. “Who are
you, my master? ’

“ Do you not recognize me, Don Miguel?

i you my name?" the
stranger answered, with a laugh.

“ The Trail-hunter !"

“ lliinsell',” Valentine continued. “Hang
it all! you take a long time to recognize
your friends.”

“ You will forgive us when you know all
that has happened to us, and how much we
must keep on ourguard.”

“ Confound itl" Valentine said,1aughlng~
ly', as he regulated his pace by the trot of
the horses, “ do you fancy you are going to
tell me any news? Did you not really sus-
pect from what quarter the blow came 1’"

“ What i” Don Miguel exclaimed in sur-
prisc, “ did you-”

“Who else but I? Do you think the
Spaniards are such friends of the Indiana
that the latter would treat them so kindly
when meeting them face to face in the
desert 2’” '

“ I was sure of it," General Ibanez aflrmed.
“I guessed it at the first moment.”

“Good heavens! nothing was more sim-
ple. Your position, through Red Cednr’s
treachery, was most critical. I wished to
Tire you the time to turn round by remov-
ing, for a few days, the obstacles that pre-
vented the success of your plans. I have
succeeded, I fancy.” -

“You could not have managed better."
exclaimed the GeneruL .

“Oh 1” Don Miguel said, with areproach-
ful accent, “why did youlilde it from me i'"

“ For a very simple reason, my friend. I
wished that in these circumstances your will
and conscience should be free."

H Blltflii

“ Let me finish. Had I told you of my
plan, it is ccrtainthat you would, have op-

osed it. You are a man of honor, Don
liguel : your heart is most loyal."

‘ My fricnd—=—” '

“Answer me. Had I explained to yo:
the plan I formed, what would. y0u have
done '3”

“ Well—"

“Answer frankly." .

“I should have refused.” '

“ I was sure of it. Why would you 'have
done so? Because you would never~have
consented to violate the laws of hospitality,
and betray enemies you sheltered beneath
your roof, though you knew all the while
that these men, on leaving you, would have
considered it their duty to seize you, and
that they watched your every movement
while sitting by your side, and eating at
your table. Is it not so 1’" ‘

“It is true: my honor as a gentleman
would have revolted. I could not have suf-
fered such horrible treacheryto .be :carried
out under my very eyes." .

“There! you see that I acted wisely in

saying nothing to you. In that way your;
honor is protected, your congence easy.
hion tree '

and I have in the most simple
you for some days from your enemies."

“ That is true: still—" '

“ What ‘2 Have the prisoners to complain

of tile way in which they have been treatr

“Not at all; on the contrary, the Coman-
ches, and Unicorn in particular, treated them
most kindly.”

“ All is for the best, then. You mustoon-
gratulate yourself on the unexpectedsuc-
cess you have achieved, and must now profit
by it without delay.”

“I intend to do so.”

“You must act at once.”

‘1 ask nothing better. All is ready.
Our men are warned, and they will rise at
the first signal."

“ It must be given immediately."

“I only ask the time to leave my daugh-
ter at home; then, accompanied by my
friends, I Will march on Peso, while General
Ibanez, at the head of a second band, seizes
Santa Fé."

“ The plan is well conceived. Can you
count on the persons who follow you Y"

f‘ Yes; they are all my relatives or
friends.”

“ All for the best. Let us not go thither.
We are here at the place where the roads
part: let your horses breathe awhil and

Will tell you a plan I have form 9nd

' which, I think, will please you." I
I‘he small party halted. The horsemen

dismounted, and lay down on the I: Al
all knew of the conspiracy forme by. Don
Miguel, and were his accomplices in (1158!“
out degrees, this halt did not surprise thornI

 

for they suspected that the mom'ent for ac-
tion was not far off, and that their chief
doubtless wished to take his final measures
before throwing off the mask, and proclaim-
ing the independence of New Mexico. ()n
inviting them to hunt the wild horses, Don
Miruel had not concealed from them Red
Cedar’s treachery, and the necessity in
which he found himself of dealing a great

- blow if he did not wish all to be hooclessly

lost.

Valentine led the haciendero and the Gen-
eralashort distance apart. When they were
out of ear-shot the hunter carefully exam-
ined the uni hborhood; than within a few
minutes rejomed his friends, whom his way
of acting considerably perplexed.

“Friends,” he said to them, “what do
you intend doin i’ In your position min-
utes are ages. Ere you ready to make your
pronunciamento i’"

“ Yes,” they answered.

“ This is what I propose. You, Don Mig-
uel, will proceed direct on Paso. At about
half aleugue from that town you will tliid
Curumiila, with twenty of the best rides on
the frontier. These men, in whom you
can trust, are Canadian and Indian hunters

, devoted to me. They will form the nucleus

of a band suflicient for you to seize on Peso
without striking a blow, as it is only de-

‘ fended by a garrison of forty soldiers. Doe-
, that lan auit on?

“ cs; I wil set about it at once. ' But
my dau hter 1'"

5‘1 w' take charge of her. You will al‘
so leave me your son, andI will convey them
both to the hacienda. As for the other in-
dies, on reaching the town they will merely
go to their homes, which, I fancy, presents
no difficulty."

" N one.” ,

“ Good! Then that is settled f"

“ Perfectly."

“‘ As for you, General, your men have eche-
loned by my care in parties of ten and
twenty along the Santa 6 road, up to two
leagues of the city, so that you will only
have to pick them up. In this way you will
find yourself, within three hours, at the
head of five hundred resolute and well-arm-
ed men."

“ Why, Valentine, my friend,” the General
said. laughingly, “ do you know there is the
stuff in you to make a partisan chief, and
thatI am almost jealous of you ?"

“Oh! you would be wrong, General: I
assure you I am most disinterested in . this
affair.” '

“ Well, my friend, I know it: on are a

co desert hunter, caring very litt e for our

. .paht'rlyhschemes." v

at is true; but I have vowed to Don
Klguel and his family a friendship which“

only terminate, with my life. Itremble for

: him and his children when I think of . the

numberless dangers that surround him, and
I try to aid him as far as mysexperience and
activity permit me. That the secret of
my conduct." - .

“This profession of faith was at least
useless, my friend. I have known you too
intimately and too long to have the least

.. doubt. of your intentions. Hence, you see,

I place such confidence in you, thatl accept
your ideas without discussion, so convinced
am I of the urity of your intentions."

“Thanks, on Miguel: you have judged
me correctly Come, gentlemen, to horse,
and start. We must separate here—you
Don Miguel, to proceed by the right-nan

,traek sto Peso; you General, by the-left-

.hand one to Santa lie; while I, with Don
Paula and his sister, proceed straight on till
we reach the hacienda."

“To horse, then 1” Don Miguel shouted,
mgiutfly; ‘und may God defend the

“Yes,” the General added; “for from
this moment the revolution is commenced."

The three men returned to their friends.
Don Miguel said a few words to his children,
and lnaninstant the whole party Were in
the saddle.

“The die is cast!" Valentine exclaimed.
“Ma heaven keep you, gentlemen l"

f‘ orwardl” Don Miguel commanded.

.“Forwardl” General lbanez shouted, as
be rushed in the op osite direction.

Valentine looke after his departing
friends. Their black outlines were soon
blended with the darkness, and then the
footfalls of their horses died out in the night.
Valentine gave a sigh and raised his head.

9‘ God will protect them," he murmured;
then turuin to the two oung people,
“Come on, c lldren," he 

.They started, and for some minutes kept
silence. Valentine was too budy in thought
to address his com anions; and yet Dona
Clara and Don Pa lo, whose curiosity was
excited to the highest tch, were burning
to question him. At ength the girl, by
whose side the hunter marched With that
quick step Which easily keeps up aim l
horse bent dowu'to him. .

 

 

 

 

 

    

20.

 

“ My friend," she said to him in her soft
voice, “ what is taking place? Why has
my father left us, insteadof coming to his
house Y”

“Yes,” Don Pablo added, “he seemed
agitated when he parted from us. His
voice was stern, his words sharp. What is
he pening, my friend? Why did not my
fat er consent to my accompanying him ?”

Valentine hesitated to answer.

“I implore you, my friend,” Dona Clara
continued, “do not leave us in this mortal
anxiety. The announcement of a misfor-
tune would certainly cause us less pain than
the wrplexity in which we are.”

“ by force me to speak, my children?"
the hunter answered in a saddened voice.
“The secret you ask of me is not mine. If

our father did not impart his plans to you,
t was doubtless because weighty reasons
oppose it. Do not force me to render you
more sorrowful by telling you things you
ought not to know.”

“But I am not a child,” Don Pablo ex-
claimed. “It seems to me that my father
ought not to have thus held his confidence
from me."

“Do not accuse your father, my friend,”
Valentine answered gravely: “probably
he could not haVe acted otherwise.’

“ Valentine, Valentine! I will not accept
those poor reasons,” the young man urged.
“In the name of our friendship I insist on
your explaining yourself.”

“Silence!” the hunter suddenly inter-
rupted him. “I hear suspicious sounds
around us."

The three travelers stop ed and listened,
but all was quiet. The ouse was about
five hundred yards at the most from the spot
where they halted. Don Pablo and Dona
Clara heard nothing, but Valentine made
them a sign to remain quiet: then he dis-
mounted and placed his ear to the ground.

“Follow me,” he said. “ Something is
happening here which I can not make out;
but it alarms me.”

The young people obeyed without hesita-
tion; but they had oni gone a few paces
when Valentine steppe again.

“ Are your weapons loaded Y” he sharply
asked Don Pablo.

‘I Yes.”

“Goodl Perhaps you will have to make
use of them.”

kc“ All at once the gallop of a horse urged
", its utmost speed was audible.
‘ “Attention! ' Valentine muttered.

Still the horseman, whoever he might be,
rapidly advanced in the direction of the
travelers, and soon came up to them. Sud~
dcnly Valentine bounded like a panther
seized the horse by the bridle, and stopped
it dead.

“ Who are you, and where are you gain 1’"
he shouted, as he put a pistol-barrel sgs nst
the stranger’s chest.

“ Heaven be praised l” the latter said not
replying to the question. “ Perha I than
be able to save you. Fl , fly, in lhaste l”

“ Father Seraphinl” alentine said with
stupor, as he lowered his pistoL “ What
has happened i’"

. “F3, fly 1” the missionary repeated, who
seem spray to the most profound terror.

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
ms ABDUOTION.

RID Guns): and Fray Ambrosio had 1101
remained inactive since their last interview
up to the day when Don Miguel set out u
hunt the wild horses. These two fellows,
so suited to understand each other, had
maneuvered with extreme skill. Fray Am-
brosio, all whose avaricious instincts had
been aroused since he had so artfully stolen
from poor Joaquin the secret of the placer
bad assembled a formidable collect on of
the bandits who always swarm on the Indian
frontiers. In a few days he found himself at
the head of one hundred and twenty adven-
turers all men who had cheated the gallows,
and of whom he felt the more sure as the
secret of the expedition was concealed from
them, and they fanciedlthgy itol'med 8 Will'-

W‘ty en ed to 0 sea p- an in f .
p These gifir’igeu, whli) all knew Ref Cedar by
reputation, burned to set out, so convinced
were they of carryin out a successful expe-

’ 'dition under sucha eader. Onl two 111611

formed an exception to this ban of sconn-
drels. They were Harry and Dick, who, for
reasons the reader has doubtless guessed,
found themselves, to their great regret, mix-
ed n with these bandits. Still we must
say, in justice to Fray Ambrosio's soldiers,
that they were all bold hunters, accus-
tomed for many a year to desert life, who
knew all its perils, and feared none of its
dangers.

Fray Ambrosio, apprehending the effects
of too much liquor on his men. hm Me

 

them bivouac at the entrance of the desert,
at a sufliciently great distance from the
town to prevent them easily going there.
The adventurers spent their time Joyously
in playing, not for money, as they had none,
but for the scalps they intended presently
to lift from the Indians, each of which repre-
sented a very decent sum. Still Fray Am-
brosio, so soon as his expedition was com.
pletely organized, had only one desire—to
start as speedily as possible; but for two
days Red Cedar was not to be found. At
length Fray Ambrosio succeeded in catching
him just as he was entering his cabin.
hi“ What has become of you 2’” he asked
in.
“ What does that concern on .9” the
squatter answered brutally. “ ave I to an-
swer for my conduct to you i’”

“I do not say so: still, connected as we
are at this moment, it would be as Well for
me to know where to find you.”

“ I have been attending to my business, as
you have to yours."

“ Well, are you satisfied?”

“Very much so,” he answered with a sin-
ister smile. “ You will soon learn the re-
sult of my journey.”

“ All the better. If you are satisfied. I am
so too.”

“Ah, ah i"

“ Yes, all is ready for departure."

“ Let us be off—to-morrow if you like."

“ Or this very night."

“Very good. You are like me, and don’t
care to travel by day on account of the heat
of the sun."

The two accomplices smiled at this deli-
cate est.

“ ut before starting,” the squatter con-
tinued, becoming serious again, " we have
something left to do here.”

“ Whatis it ?" Fray Ambrosio asked with
candor.

“ It is wonderful what a short memory
you have. Take care: that failing may
play on an awkward trick some day.”

“ hanks! I will try to correct it.”

“ Yes, and the sooner the better: in the
mean while I will refresh your memory."

“ I shall feel obliged to you.”

“And Dona Clara, do you fancy we are
goin to leave her behind f”

“ um! Then you still think of that i’"

“B Jove! more than ever.”

“ The fact is it will not be easy to our
her ofi‘ at this moment.”

“ Why not 9"

“ In,the first place, she is not at the haci-

)

“ That is certainly a reason.”

“ Is it not i?”

“ Yes; but she must be somewhere, I
suppose?” the squatter said with a coarse
lau h.

“g She has gone with her father to a hunt
of wild horses.”

“ The hunt is over, and they are on their
return.”

“ You are well informed.”

“ It is my trade. Come, do you still mean
serving me Y"

“ I must.”

“ That is how I like you. There can not
be many people at the hacienda P”

“A dozen at the most.”

“Better still. Listen to me: it is now
four in the, afternoon. I have a ride to take.

eturn to the hacienda, and I will come

ere this. evening at nine, with twenty res-
olnte men. You will open the little gate of
the corral, and leave me to act. I Will an-
swer for all.”

“If you wish it, it must be so," Fray Am-
brosio said with a sigh. ~ .

“Are we going to begin again?” the
squatter asked in a menacing voice as he
rose.

“ No, noz it is unnecessary," the monk ex-
claimed. ‘ I shall expect you.”

“Good: till this evening."

On which the two accomplices separated.
All happened as had been arranged between
them. At nine o’clock Red Cedar reached
the little gate, which was opened for him by
Fray Ambrosio, and the squatter entered at
the head of his three sons and a party of
bandits. The goons, surprised in their sleep,
were bound efore they even knew what
was taking place.

“ Now,’ ed Cedar said, “we are masters
of the place, the girl can come as soon as
she likes.”

“ Eh f”, the monk went on. “ A11 is not
finished yet. Don Miguel is a resolute man,

and is well accompanied: he will not let his
daughter be carried oil‘ under his eyes with-
out defending her.”

“ He will not come,” the squatter said
with a sardonic grin.

“ How do you know i’"

“ That is not your business.”

“ We shall see.” _

But the bandits had forgotten Father Ser-
sphin. The missionary, aroused by the an-

The New York Library.

 

1

usual noise he heard, had hastily risen. He
had heard the few words exchanged between
the accomplices, and they were sufficient to
make him guess the fearful treachery they
meditated. Only listening to his heart, the
missionary glided out into the corral, sad-
dled a horse, and opening a door, of which he
had a key, so that he could enter or leave
the hacienda as his duties required, he start-
ed at full speed in the direction which he
supposed the hunters must follow in return-
ing to the estate. Unfortunately Father
Scrapiiin had been unable to efi'ect his flight
unheard by the squattcr’s practiced ears.

“Maledictionl” Red Cedar shouted as be
rushed, rifle in hand, toward a window,
which he dashed out with his fist, “ we are
betrayed.”

The bandits rushed in disorder into the
corral where their horses were tied up, and
leaped into their saddles. At this moment
a shadow flitted across the plain in front of
the squatter, who rapidly shouldered his
rifle and fired. Then he went out; a stifled
cry reached his ear, but the person the ban-
dit had fired at still went on.

“ No matter,” the squatter muttered;
“that fine bird has lead in its wing. Sharp,
sharp, my men, on the trail 1”

And all the bandits rushed off in pursuit
of the fugitive.

Father Seru liin had fallen in a fainting
condition at alentine’s feet.

“Good heavens!” the hunter exclaimed
in despair, “ what can have happened 1’"

And he gently carried the missionary into
a ditch that ran by the side of the road.
Father Seraphin had his shoulder fractured,
and the blood poured in a stream from the
wound. The hnnter looked around him -
but at this moment a confused sound could
be heard like the rolling of distant thunder.

“ What is the matter?” he asked.

“ Red Cedar,” gasped Father Sera hin.

“ We must fall like brave men, on Ps-
blo,” Valentine said sharply.

Dona Clara was pale and trembling.

“ Come,” Valentine said.

And, with a movement rapid as thought,
he bounded on to the missionary’s horse.
The three fugitives started at full speed.
This fli ht lasteda quarter of an hour, and
then alentine stopped. He dismounted,

ave the young people a signal to wait, lay
own on the ground, and began crawling on
his hands and knees through the long grass
that concealed him, and stopping at intervals
to listen attentively to the sounds of the

desert. Suddenly be rushed toward his com-
panions, seized their horses by the bridle,
and dragged them behind ,a mound, where
they remained concealed, breathless and un-
able to speak.

A formidable noise of horses was audible.
Some twenty black shadows passed like a
tornado within ten paces of their hiding-
place, not seeing them in consequence of
the darkness. Valentine drew a deep
breath.

“ All hope is not lost,” he muttered.

He waited anxiously for five minutes:
their pursuers were going further and
further away. Presently the sound of their
horses’ hoofs ceased to disturb the silence
of the night.

“ To horse l” Valentine said.

They leaped into their saddles and start-
ed again, not in the direction of the hacien-
da, but in that of the Paso.

“ Loosen your bridles," the hunter said:
“more still, more still—we are not mov-

in ."

guddenly aloud neigh was borne on the
breeze to the ears of the fugitives.

“ We are lost l” Valentine muttered.
“ They have found our trail.”

Red Cedar was too old a hand on the prai-
rie to belong thrown out : he soon perceiv-
ed that he was mistaken, and was now turn-
ing back, quite certain this time of holding
the trail. Then beglan one of those fabulous
races which only t e dWellers on the prairie
Witness—races which intoxxcate and cause a
giddiness, and which no obstacle is able

0 stop or check, for the object is success or
death. The bandits’ half-wild horses, sp-

arcntly identifying themselves with the
erocious passions of their riders, glided
through the night with the rapidity of the
phantom steed in the German ballad, bound-
ed over precipices, and rushed on with pro-
digious speed. ,

At times a horseman rolled with his steed
from the top of a rock, and fell into an abyss,
uttering a yell of distress; but his comrades
passed over his body, borne along like a
whirlwind, and respondin to this cry of
agony; the final appeal 0 a brother, bly .
formidable bowl of rage. This pursuit ad
already lasted two hours, and the fugitives

_ had not lost an inch of ground: their horses

white with foam, uttered hoarse cries o
fatigue and exhaustion as a dense smoke
came out of their nostrils. Dona Clara,
with her hair untied and floating in the
breeze. with sparkling eye and closely press

 

m

 

i
i



Red Cedar.

 

ed lips, constantly urged her horse on with
voice and hand.

“ Allis over!” the hunter suddenly said
“ Save yourselves! I will let myself be
killed here, so that you may go on for ten
minutes longer, and be saved. I will hold
out for that time, so go on.”

“ No," Don Pablo answered nobl ; “we
will be all saved or perish together. '

“ Yes,” the maiden remarked.

Valentine shrugged his shoulders.

“You are mad, he said.

All at once he started, for their pursuers
were rapidly approaching.)

“ Listen, ’ he said. “ 0 you two let your-
selves be captured: they will not follow
me, as the owe me no grudge. I swear to
you that l I remain at liberty I will deliver
you even if they hide you in the bowels
of the earth."

Without re lyingDon Pablo dismounted,
and the Trail- unter leaped on his horse.

“ Hope for the best i" he shouted,hoarsely,
and disappeared.

Don Pablo, so soon as he was alone with
his sister, made her dismount, seated ‘her at
the foot of a tree. and stood before her with
a pistol in eitherhand. He had not to wait
long, for almost immediately he was sur-
rounded by the bandits.

“ Surrender!" Red Cedar shouted, in a
pantin voice.

Don ablo smiled disdainfnll .

“ Here is my answer,” he sai . And with
two pistol-shots he laid two bandits low -
then he threw away his useless weapons, an
crossing his arms on his breast, said:

“130 what you please now: I am aven-

ed.

Red Cedar bounded with fury.

“Kill that dog!” he shouted.

Shaw rushed toward the young man threw
his nervous arms around him, and whispered
in his ear:

“Do not resist, but fall as if dead.”

Don Pablo mechanically followed his ad-

ce.

“It is all over,” said Shaw. “Poor fel-
low he did not cling to life.”

He returned his knife to his belt, threw
the supposed corpse over his shoulders, and
dragged it into aditeh. At the sight of her
brother‘s body, whom she su posed to be
dead, Clara uttered a shriek o despair and
fainted. Red Cedar laid the maiden across
his saddle-bow, and the whole band, start-
ing at a allo was soon lost in the dark-
ness. on ablo then rose slowly, and
took a sorrowful glance around.

“My poor sister i” he murmured.
Then e perceived her horse near him.

“ Valentine alone can save her," he said.

He mounted the horse, and proceeded
toward the town, askin himself this ques-
tion, which he found it impossible to an-
swer:

“But why did not that man kill me i”
And then he reca‘led what Shaw had once
promised him.

A few paces from the village he perceived
two mennalting on the road, and eonversin
with the greatest animation. They hurrie -
iy advanced toward him, and the young man
uttered a cry of surprise on recognizing
them. They were Valentine and Curumilla.

CHAPTER XXIV.
'rna savour.

Don Mrennr. Zuwra had marched rapidly
on the Paso- an hour after leaving Valentine
he saw flashing in the distance the li hts
that shone in the village windows. he
greatest calmness (prevailed in the vicinity:
only at times coul be heard the barking of
the dogs bayin at the moon, or the savage
miawling of ghe wild-cats hidden in the
shrubs. At about one hundred yards from
the village a man suddenly rose before the
small party.

“Who goes there i" he shouted.

“Don iguel Zarate.”

At these words twenty men hidden in the
brushwood rose suddenly and throwing
their rifles on their shoul ers, advanced to
meet the horsemen. They were the hunt-
ers commanded by Curumilla, who, b Val-
entine's orders, were awaiting the haciende-
ro’s arrival to join him.

“ Well,” Don Mi uel asked the Indian
chief, “is there any t ing new ?”

Curumilla shook his head.

“ Then we can advance 17”

II Yes."

“What is the matter, chief? Have you
seen any thing alarming 9"

“lie; and yetl have a feeling of treach-
er .

“ How so i’"

“lean not tell you. Apparently every
thin is as usual: still there something
whic is not so. Look you, it scarce ten
o’clock: generally atthat hour all the sa-
loons are crammed with gamblers and

 

drinkers, the streets flocked with promena-
ders. This night there is nothing of the sort:
all is closed—the town seems abandoned.
This tranquillity is factitloue. I am alarmed,
for I hear the silence. Take care.”

Don Miguel was involuntarily struck by
the chief’s remarks. He had known Curu~
milla for along time. He had often seen
him display in the most dangerous circum-
stances a coolness and contempt for death
beyond all praise: hence some importance
must be attached to the apprehensions and
anxiety of such a man. The haciendero or-
dered his party to halt, assembled his friends,
and heldacouncil. All were of opinion
that, before venturing to advance further,
they should send as scout a clever man to
traverse the town, and. see for himself if
the fears of the Indian chief were well foun-
d d

e .

One of the hunters offered himself. The
conspirators concealed themselves on either
side the road, and awaited, lying in the
shrubs, the return of their messenger. He
was a half-breed, Simon Munez by name, to
whom the Indians had given the sobriquet
of “ Dog-face,” owing to his extraordinary
likeness to that animal. This name had
stuck to the hunter who had been com-
pelled to accept it. He was short and clum-
sy, but endowed with marvelous strength;
and we may say at once that he was an emis-
sary of Red Cedar, and had only joined the
hunters in order to betray them.

When he left the conspirators he roceeded
toward the village whis ling. He ad scarce
taken a dozen steps into the first street ere
a door opened. and a man appeared. This
man stepped forward and addressed the
hunter.

“ You whistle very late, my friend."

“ I whistle to wake those who are asleep,"
the half-breed made answer.

“ Come in," the man continued.

Dog-face went in, and the doorclosed upon
him. He remained in the house half an
hour, then went out, and hurried back along
the road he had traversed.

Rd Cedar, who wished before all to
avenge himself on Don Miguel Zarate, had
discovered, through FrayNAmbrosio, the
conspirators’ new plan. ithout loss of
time he had taken his measures in conse-
quence, and had managed so well that, al-
though the General, the Governor, and the
criminal judge were prisoners, Don Miguel
must succumb in the contest he was pre-
paring to 1provoke. Fray Ambrosio, to his
other qua ties, joined that of bein a lis-
tener at doors. In spite of the istrust
which his patron was beginning to display to-
ward him on Valentine s recommendation,
he had surprised a conversation between
Don Migue and General Ibanez. This con-
versation, immediately reported to Red Ce-
dar, who, according to his usual custom,
had appeared to attach no importance to it,
had been sumcient, however, to make the
squatter prepare his batteries and counter-
mine the conspiracy.

“ Do -face rejoined his companions after
an hour s absence.

“Well 7” Don Miguel asked him.

“Allis quiet,” the half-breed answered;
“the inhabitants have retired to their
houses, and everybody is asleep.”

“ You noticed nothing of a suspicious na-
ture f"

“ I went throu h the town from one end
to the other, an saw nothing."

“We can advance then i"

“ In all security: it will only be a prome-
nade.”

0n thi assurance the. conspirators regain-
ed their cour e, Curumllla was treated as
a visionar , an the order was lven to ad-
vance. till Dog-face's re or far from
dissipating the Indian chie s doubts, had
produced be contrary effect, and considera-

ly augmented them. Saying nothing, he
laced himself by the hunter's side, with
lhe secret intention of watching him close-
yThe plan of the conspirators was very
sim 1e. They would march directly on the
Cab ldo (Town-hall,) seize it and proclaim
sProvisionai Government. Under present
circumstances nothing appeared to be easier.
Don Miguel and his band entered the Paso,
and not ing occurred to arouse their suspi-
cions. It resembled that town in the
“Arabian Nights,” in which all the inhabi-
tants, struck by the wand of the wicked
enchanter, sleep an eternal sleep. The con~
s irators advanced into the town with their
tie-barrels thrust forward, with eye and ear
on the watch, and ready to fire at the slight-
est alarm: but nothing stirred. As Curu-
milla had observed, the town was too quiet.
This tranquillity hid something extraordi-
nary, and must conceal the tempest. In
spite of himself Don Miguel felt a secret
ap rehension which he could not master.
0 some Don Miguel will erhaps appear
epoor conspirator without oresight or any

 

great connection in his ideas. From our
point of view that is possible; but in a
country like Mexico, which counts its revo-
lutions by hundreds, and where pronuncia-
mentos take place, in most cases, without
sense or reason, because a colonel wishes to
become a General, or a lieutenant a captain,
things are not regarded so closely; and the
haciendero, on the contrar , had evidenced
tact, prudence, and talent in carryin r out a
conspiracy which, during the severe years
it had been preparing, had only come across
one traitor. And now it was too late in
turn back: the alarm had been given, and
the Government was on its guard. They
must go onward, even if they succumbed
in the struggle.

In the mean while the conspirators ad-
vanced. They had nearly reached the heart
of the town: they were at this moment in
a little, dirty, and narrow street when sud-
denly a dazzling light illumined the dark-
ness; torches flushed from all the windows;
and Don Miguel saw that the two ends of
the street in which he was were guarded by
strong detachments of cavalry.

“Treachery !” the conspirators shouted in
terror.

Curumllla bounded on Dog-face, and
buried his knife between his shoulders.
The half-breed fell in a lum ,quite dead and
not uttering a cry. Don M guel jud ed the
position at the first glance: he saw 5that he
and his part were 10st.

“ Let us ie l" he said.

“ We will i” the conspirators responded.

Curumilla with the butt of his rifle beat
in the door of the nearest house, and rush-
ed in, the conspirators following him. They
were soon intrenched on the roof. In Mex-
ico all the houses have flat roofs, formed like
terraces. Thanks to the Indian chief’s idea,
the rebels found themselves in possession of
an improvised fortress, where they could
defend themselves for a long time, and sell
their lives dearly,

The troops advanced from each end of the
street, while the roofs of all the houses
were occupied by soldiers. The battle was
about to begin between earth and heaven,
and promised to be terrible. At this

moment General Guerrero, who commanded

the troops, bade them bait, and advanced .
alone to the house on the top of which the

conspirators were intrenched. Don Miguel

beat up the uns of his comrades, WU aim-i
ed at the o cer.

“ Wait,” he said to them; and, addressing
the General, “ What do you want i” he
shouted.

“ To offer you propositions."

“ Speak.” .

The General came a few paces nearer, so
that those he addressed could not miss one
of his words.

“I offer you life and liberty if you consent
to surrender your leader," he said.

“ Never!” the conspirators shouted in
one voice.

“ It is my place to answer," Don Miguel
said; and then taming to the General,
“ What assurance do you give me that these
conditions will be honorably carried out i"

“ My word of honor as a soldier," the Gen-
eral answered.

“Very ood.” Don Ml uel went on; “ I
acce t. ll the men w 10 accompan me
will save the town one after the other. ’

“ No we will not!” the conspirators
shouted, as they brandished their weapons ;
“ we would sooner die."

“ Silence l" the haciendero said in a loud
voice. “ I alone have the right to speak
here, for I am your chief. The life of brave
men like you must not be needlessly sacri-
ficed. Go, I as : I order you—I implore it
of on,” be ad ed with tremor in his voice.
“ erhaps you will soon take your revenge."

The conspirators hung their heads mourn-

full .

“yWell ?" the General asked.

“My friends acce t. I will remain alone
here. If you bre your word Iwill kill
myself.”

“I repeat that you hold my word," the
General answered.

The conspirators came one after the other
to embrace Don Miguel, _and then went
down into the street Without being in
any way interfered With. Things happen
thus in this country, where Conspiracies and
revolutions are the order of the day, as
it were. The defeated are spared as far as
poselble, for the simple reason that the
victors may find themselves to~morrow
fighting side by side with them for the same
cause. Curumilla was the last to depart.

“All is not ended yet," he said to Don
Mi uel. “'Koutoncpi will save you, father.“

he hacrendero shook his head sadly.

“ Chief," he said in 3 (ice iv-moved voice,

- “Iieave my daughter to alentine, Father

Seraphin, and yourself. Watch over her:
the POW Phild will soon have no father.“
Curumilla embraced Don Viruei silently

' "aicwg‘  " ‘

 

 

 

 

 

The New York Library.

 

 

and retired: he had soon disappeared in the
crowd, the General having honorably kept
his word. Don Miguel threw down his
weapons and descended.

“ I am your prisoner,” he said.

General Guerrero bowed, and made him a
sign to mount the horse a soldier had brought

p.

‘éWhere are we going '2" the liacicndero
sai .

“To Santa Fe," the General answered,
“where you will he tried with General Iba-
not, who will doubtless soon he a prisoner
like yourself.”

“ Oh 1" Don Miguel muttered thoughtful-
ly, “ who betra ed as this time i?"

“ It was still ed Cedar," the General au-
swered.

The hacieudero let his head sink on his
chest, and remained silent. A quarter of
an hour later the prisoner left the Paso del
Norte, escorted by a regiment of dragoons.
When the last trooper had disappeared in
the windings of the road, three men left the
shrubs that concealed them, and stood like
three phantoms in the midst of the deso-
late lain.

“ h heavens 1” Don Pablo cried in a
heart~rending voice, “ my father, my sister
-—who will restore them to me ‘2’

“ I l" Valentine said in a grave voice, as
he laid his hand on his shoulder. “ Am I
not the TRAIL-HUNTER ?”

CHAPTER XXV.
THE THREE PLOTTERS.

ABOUT a month after the events we have
described, two horsemen, well mounted,
and carefully enwrapped in their cloaks, en-
tered at a smart trot the town of Santa Fé
between three and four o‘clock in the after-
noon.

Santa Fé, the capital of New Mexico, is a

retty town, built in the midst of a laugh-
ing and fertile plain. One of its sides oc-
on ice the angle formed by a small stream:
it is surrounded by the adobe’ walls of the
houses by which it is bordered. The entrance
of each street is closed by stakes in the
form of palisades; and like the majority
of towns in Spanish America, the houses,
built only one-story high in consequence of
the earthquakes, are covered with terraces
of mil-beaten earth, which are a suflicient
protection in this glorious climate, where
the sky is constantly are.
, in the time of the astilian rule, Santa Fé
enjoyed a certain importance, owing to its
strategic position, which allowed an easy dc-
fense against the incursions of the Indians;
but since the emancipation of Mexico this
city, like all the other centers of population
in this unhappy country, has seen its splen-
dor vanish forever. In a word, this city,
which fifty years back contained more than
ten thousand inhabitants, has now scarcely
three thousand, eaten up by fevers and the
utmost wretchedncss.

During the last few weeks Santa Fé had
appeared to emerge, as if by magic, from the
lethargy into which it is ordinarily plunged;
a certain degree of animation prevailed in its
usually deserted streets. The fact was, an
event of immense importance had recently
taken place in this town. The two leaders
of the conspiracy lately attem ted had been
transferred to safe-keeping at anta Fé.

The Mexicans, ordinarily so slow when jus-
tice has to be dealt, are the most expeditious
people in the world when a conspiracy has
to be punished. Don Miguel and General
Ibanez had not pined long in rison. A
court-martial, hurriedly convene , had as-
sembled, under the presidency of the Gov-
ernor, and the two conspirators were unani-
mously condemned to he shot.

The haciendero, through his name and
position, and especially on account of his
fortune, had numerous partisans in the prov-
iucc: hence the announcement of the ver-
dict had caused a profound stupor, which
almost immediately changed into anger,
among the rich land-owners and the Indians
of New Mexico. A dull agitation prevailed
throughout the country; and the Governor,
who felt too weak to hold head against the
storm that threatened him, and regretted
that he had carried matters so far, \vas teni-
poriznig. and tr ing to evade the peril of
his position untiIs regiment of dragoons he

had asked of the Government arrived, and

gave strength to the law. The condemned
men, whom the Governor had not yet dared
to execute, were still provisionally detained
in the prison.’

The two men of whom we have spoken
rode without stopping through the streets
of the town, deserted at this hour, when
averybody is at home enjoying his siesta,
ind proceeded toward an unpretcnding ran-
cho, built on the banks of the stream at the
ipposite end of the town from that by
which they entered _

 

“Well,” one of the horsemen said, ad-
dressing his comrade, “was I not right?
You see every one is asleep : there is nobody
to watch as. We have arrived at a capital
moment."

“Bali 1” the other answered in a rough
voice, “do you believe that? In towns
there is always somebody watching to see
what does not concern him, and report it
after his fashion."

“ That is possible,” the first said, shrug-
ging his shoulders disdainfully. “I care
about it as little as I do for a string-halt
horse."

“And I too,” the other said sharply.
“ Do you imagine that I care more than you
do for the gossips? But stay; I fancy we
have reached the rancho of Andres Garotc.
This must be the filthy tenement, unless I
am mistaken.”

“ It is the house. I only hope the scamp
has not forgotten the meeting I lgave him.
Wait a minute, senor padre; I w‘ i give the
agreed—on signal.‘ ’

“ It is not worth while, Red Cedar. You
know that I am always at your excellency’s
orders when you may please to give them,”
a mocking voice said from inside the rancho,
the door of which immediately opened to
give admission to the new-comers, and al-
owed a gliiii se of the tall figure of Andres
Garote himse f.

The travelers dismounted and entered
the macho.

Andres took the bridle of the horses and
led them to the corral, where he unsaddled

them and gave each a truss of alfalfa.

The travelers, fatigued by a long journey,
sat down on butaccas arranged against the
wall, and awaited the host's return, while
wiping their dark foreheads and twistintr a
maize cigarette between their fingers. ‘he
room in which they were had nothing ex-
tremely attractive about it. It was a urge
chamber with two windows, protected by
iron bars, the greasy panes allowing but a
doubtful light to pass. The naked and smo-
ky walls were covered with clumsily-painted

ictures, representing various holy objects.

he furniture only consisted of three 01
four halting-tables, the same number of
benches, and afew butaccas, the lioley and
harsh leather of which evinced lengthened
use. As for the floor it was of beaten earth,
but rendered uneven by the mud incessantly
brought in uponthe feet of visitors. A door
carefully closed led to an inner room, in
which the ranchero slept. Another door
was opposite to it, and through this Andres
speedily entered alter giving the horses their
provcnder.

“ I did not expect you yet," he said, as he
entered; “but you are welcome. Is there
any thing new 5’”

‘My faith, I know nothing but the affair
that brings us. It is rather serious, I fancy,
and prevents us attending to any thing else,’
Red Cedar remarked.

“ ()aspi‘ta/ what vivacity, compadre !" An-
dres exclaimed. “But, before talking, I
hope you will take some refreshment at any
rate. There is nothing like a cup of mezcal
to clear the brain.”

“Not to forget,” Fray Ambrosio said,
“ that it is internally hot, and my tongue is
glued to my palate, as I have swallowed so
much dust.”

Andres went to look fora bottle among
several others arranged on a sort of a bar,
and placed it before the travelers.

The liquor, liberally poured out, was
swallowed at a draught by the three .men,
who put their glasses on the table With a
“ hum ” of satisfaction, and that clicking of
the tongue peculiar to topers when they are
swallowing any thing that tickles their
throat.

“And now suppose we talk seriously,”
Red Cedar said

“ At your or era,“ Andres replied. “ Still,
if you prefer a hand at monte, you know
that I have cards at your service. ’

“ Presently, Senor Andres, presently.
Every thing will have its turn. Let us
first settle our little business," Fray Am-
brosio judiciously observed.

Andres Garote bowed his head in resigna-
tion, while thrusting back into his pocket
the pack of cards he had already half drawn
out. The three than made themselves as

. comfortable as they could, and Red Cedar,

after casting a suspicious glance around him,
at length took the word.

“You know,” he said, “how, when we
thought we had nothin to do but proceed
straight to Apacheria, t c sudden desertion
of nearly all our men checked us. The po-
sition was most critical for us and the ab-
duction of Dona Clara compelled us to take
the utmost recautions.”

“ That is rue," Andres Garote observed,
with an air of conviction.

“ Although certain influential persons
rotect us under the rose,” Red Cedar con-
inued, “we are compelled to keep in the

shade as far as we can. I therefore sought

 

r

to remedy the gravest points in the :hust-

ness. In the first place, the girl was bid-

den in an inaccessible retreat, and then I

began looking for comrades to take the

place of those who abandoned usso sad-
7

“Well ?" the two men interrupted him,
sharply.

“At this moment,” Red Cedar calmly
continued, “ when the placers of California
call away all the men belonging to the pro-
fession, it was certainly no easy task to col-
lect one hundred men of the sort we want,
the more so as we shall have to tight the In-
dios Bravos in our expedition. I did not
care to enlist novices, who, at sight of the
first Apache or Comanche savages, would
bolt in terror, andleavc us in the lurch on
the prairies. What I wanted were resolute
men, whom no fatigue would disgushaiid
who, once attached to our enterprise, w6uld
follow it out to the end. I have, therefore,
during the past month, been running about
to all the frontier presidios; and the devil
has come to my help tolerany well, for the
evil is now repaired, and the band com-
pletc.”

“I hope, 'Red Cedar," Fray Ambrosio
asked, “ that you have not spoken about the
placer to your men ‘2”

“ Do you take me for a fool? No,” the
squatter answered, sharply, “no, no. A
hundred thousand reasons urge us to be pru-
dent, and keep the expedition secret. An
indiscretion would ruin us now, when the
whole world only dreams of mines and pla-
cers, and Europe sends us a mob of lean and
starving vagabonds greedy to grow fat at
our expense."

” Faniously reasoned,” said Andres.

l‘No, no, trust to me. I have assembled
the finest collection of men ever brought
together for an expedition, all food for the
gallows, ruined by monte, who do not care
for hard blows, and on whom I can fully
count, while being very careful not to drop
aword that can enlighten them as to the
spot whither we propose leading them; for,
in that case, I know as well as you do that
they would abandon us without the all ht-
est scruples, or, as is even more roha ls,
assassinate us to gain possession o the im-
mense treasures we covet."

“Nothing can be more just,” Fray Ani-
brosio answered. “I am quite of your
opinion, Red Cedar. Now, what have you
resolved on ?”

“We have not an instant to lose," the
squatter continued. “ This very evening,
or tomorrow at the latest, we must set
out. Who knows whether we have not al-
ready delayed our start too long? Perhaps
one of those European vagabonds may have
discovered our placer, for those scoundrels
have a peculiar scent for gold."

Fray Ambrosio cast a suspicious glance at
his artner.

“ lam!" he muttered, “that would be
very unlucky, for hitherto the business has
been well managed.”

“For that reason,” Red Cedar hastened to
add, “I only suggest a doubt—nothing
more.”

“Come, Red Cedar," the monk said,
“you have yourself narrated all thecm-
barrassmeuts of our position, and the count-
less diflicultics we shall have to surmount
before reaching our object. Why, then,
complicate the gravity of our situation still
more, and create fresh enemies needlessly ?"

“I do not understand you. Be good

' enough to explain yourself more clearly.”

“I allude to the young girl you carried
om?!

“Ah, ahl" Red Cedar said, with a grin,
“is that where the shoe pinches ou, com-
rade? I am vexed at it- but I wi i not an-
swer your question. If I carried ofi‘ that
woman, it was becauseI.had pressing rea-
sons to do so. These reasons still exist:
that is all I can tell you. All the better if
these explanations are sufficient for you; if
not, you must put up With them, or you
will get no others."

“ Still it appears to me that, regarding the
terms on which we stand to each other—“

“ What can there be in common between
the abduction of Dona Clara and the dis-
covery of a placer in the heart of Apache-
ria? Come, you are mad, Fray Ambrosio:
the mezcal is getting to your head."

“Still—” the monk insisted.

“Enough of that 1” Red Cedar shouted
as he roughly smote‘the table With his
clenched nst. “I will not hear another
word on the subject.” .

At this moment two smart blows were
heard on the carefull -bolted door.

The three men s arted, and Red Cedar
broke off.

“Shall I open f” Andres asked.

“ Yes," Fray Ambrosio answered: “host
tation or refusal might give an alarm. W
must foresee every thing.” '

Red Cedar consented with a toss of his
head. and the raucbero went with an in

.-

Red Cedar.

,,, M..,.,,,,r.

 

_23

 

grace toward the door, which. 'was being
struck as if about to be beaten in

CHAPTER XXVI.
'rnn on0ss our.

80 soon as the door was opened two men
Appeared on the threshold. The first was
Curumilla; the other, wrapped up ill a large
cloak, and with his broad-brinnned hat
drawn over his eyes, entered the rooln, mak-
ing the Indian chief a sign to follow him.
He was evidently a Mexican.

“ What shall I serve to your cxcellencies P"
asked Andres.

“A bottle of mezeal,” the stranger said.

The new-comers seated themselves at a
table at the end of the room, at a spot
which the light reached in such a weakened
state that it was almost dark. When they
were served, each poured out a glass of
liquor, which he drank; and leaning his
head on his hands, the Mexican appeared
plunged in deep thought, not oceupyiug
himself the least in the world aboutthe per-
sons near him. Curumilla crossed his arms
on his chest, half closed his eyes, and re-
mained motionless.

Still the arrival of these two men, especial-
ly the presence of the stranger, had sudden-
‘.y frozen the eloquence of our three friends.
Gloomy and silent, they instinctively felt
that the new-comers were enemies, and
anxiously waited for what was about to oc-
cur. At length Red Cedar, doubtless more
impatient than his comrades, and wishful to
know at once what he had to expect, rose,
tilled his glass, and turned toward the stran-

ers.

“ Strangers,” he said, imitutin that ex-
quisite politeness which the Mex cans pos-
sess in the highest degree, “ I have the
honor of drinking to your health.”

At this invitation Curumilla remained in-
sensible as a granite statue: his companion
slowly raised his head, fixed his eye for a
moment on the speaker, and answered in a
loud and firm voice:

“ It is needless, for I shall not drink yours.
What I say to you,” he added, laying a stress
on the words, “your friends can also take
for themselves if they think proper.”

Fray Ambrosio rose violently.

“What do you say ‘1” he exclaimed in a
threatening voice. “ Do you mean to insult
me ‘2”

“ There are people whom a man can not
mean to insult, ‘ the stranger continued in
a cutting voice. “ Remember this, senor
padre—I do not wish to have any dealings
with on.”

H  so y”

“ Because I do not please—that is all.
Now, gentlemen, do not trouble yourselves
about me, I beg, but continue your conver-
sation: it was most interesting when I ar-
rived. You were speaking, I believe, about
an expedition you are preparing: there was
a question too, I fancy, when I entered,
about a girl your Worthy friend, or partner
—I do not know which he is—carried off
with your assistance. Do not let me disturb
you. I should, on the contrary, be delight-
ed to learn what you intend doing with that
unhappy young creature.”

No words could render the feeling of
stupor and terror which seized on the three
partners at this crushing revelation of
their plans. When they fancied they had
completely concealed them by their cunuin
indskill, to see them thus suddenly unvai -
ed in all their extent by a man they did not
know, but who knew them, and in con-
sequence was their enemy—this terrified
them to such a degree that for a moment
they fancied they had to do with the spirit
of evil. The two Mexicans crossed them-
selves simultaneously, while the squatter
uttered a hoarse exclamation of rage.

But Red Cedar and Fray Ambrosio were
men too hardened in iniquity for any event,
however grave in its nature, to crash them
for long. The first moment past, they re-
covered themselves, and amazement gave
way to fury. The monk drew from his
boot a knife, and posted himself before the
door to prevent egress; while Red Cedar,
with frowning brow and a dagger in his
hand, advanced resolutely toward the table,
behind which their bold adversary, standing
with folded arms, seemed to defy them by
his ironical smile.

“ Whoever you may be," Red Cedar said,
stopping two paces from his opponent
“ chance has made you master of a score
that kills, and you shall die."

“ Do you really believe that I owe a
Knowledge of your secrets to chance f” the
other said with a mocking accent.

“Defend yourself, Red Cedar howled
furiously, “ if you do not wish me to assas.
sinat? you; for, I shall not hesrtatc, I warn

on.
y “I know it, "v the stranger replied quietly.

 

“I shall not be the first person to whom
that has happened: the Sierra Madre have
often heard the agonizing cries of your vic-
tims, when Indians were wanting to fill up
your number of scalps." .

At this allusion to his frightful trade the
squatter felt a. livid pallor cover his face, a
tremor agitated all his limbs, and he yell-
ed in a chokin voice:

“ You lie! am a hunter.”

“ Of scalps,” the stranger immediately
retortcd, “unless you have given up that
lucrative and honorable profession since
your last expedition to the village of the
Corns."

“0h !" the squatter shouted with an in-
describabls burst of fury, “he is a coward
who hides his face while uttering such
words.” I I

The stranger shrugged his shoulders con-
temptuously, and let the folds of his mantle
fall sharply.

“ Do you not recognize me, Red Cedar,
since your conscience has not yet whispered
my name to you .9"

“ 01h l" the three men exclaimed in hora
ror, Hind instinctively recoiling, “ Don Pablo
de Zarate l”

“ Yes,” the young man continued, “Don
Pablo who has come, Red Cedar, to ask of
you an account of his sister, whom you
carried off.”

Red Cedar was in a state of extraordinary
agitation: with eyes diluted by terror, and
contracted features, he felt the cold perspir-
ation heading on his temples at this unex-
pected apparition.

“ Ah ! ’ he said in a hollow voice, “ do the
dead then, leave the tomb ?"

“ fee,” the young man shouted loudly,
“ they leave their tomb to tear your victims
from you. Red Cedar, restore me my sister l”

The squatter leaped like a hyena on the
young man, brandishin his knife.

“ Dog i" he yelled, “ will kill you a sec-
ond time."

But his wrist was suddenly seized bya
hand of iron, and the bandit tottered back
to the walls of the rancho, against which he
was forced to lean, lest he should roll on
the around. Uurumilla, who had hitherto
rema ned an impassive Witness of the scene
that took place before him, thought the mo-
ment for interference had arrived, and had
sharply hurled him back. The squatter, with
blood-shot eyes, and lips clenched by rage,
looked around him‘With glaring worthy o a
wild beast. Fray Ambrosio and the ranch-
ero, held in check by the Indian chief, did
not dare to interfere. Don Pablo walked
with a slow and measured step toward the
bandit.
he stopped, and looked fixedly at him.

“Red Cedar," he repeated in acalm voice,
“ ive me back my sister.”

‘ Never l” the squatter answered in avoice
choked by rage.

In the mean while the monk and Andres
had treacherously approached the young
man, watching for the propitious moment to
fall on him. The five men assembled in
this room offered a. strange and sinister scene
by the uncertain light that filtered through
the windows, as each stood with his hand
on his weapon, ready to kill or be killed,
and only waiting the opportunity torush on
his enemy. There was a moment of su-

reme silence Ass’uredly these men were

rave In many circumstances they had
seen death under every aspect ' and yet
their hearts beat as if to burst their breasts,
for they know that the combat about to
commence between them was without truce
or mercy. At length Don Pablo spoke again.

“Take care, Red Cedar,” he said. “ I
have come to meet you alone and honorably.
I have asked you for my sister several times,
and you have not answered; so take care."

“i will sell your sister to the. Apaches l”
the squatter howled. “ As for you, maul-sad
one, on shall not leave this room alive."

“ he sconndrel is mad!” the young man
said contemptuously.

He fell back a pace, and then stopped.

“Listen,” he continued. “ I will now re-
tire, but we shall meet again; and wot to
you then, for I shall be as pitiless to :ou
as you have been to me. Farewell l” '

HOh! you shall not go in that way, my
master,” replied the squatter, who had le-
gained all his boldness and impudence.

‘ Did I not tell you I would kill you 1'"

The young man fixed upon him a glance of
undcnnable expression, and crossed his arms
holdl on his chest.

“ 1% 1t." he Said, in a voice rendered
harsh g the fury belling in his heart.

Red edar uttered a yell of rage, and
bounded on Don Pablo. The latter calmly
awaited the attack; but, so soon as the
sgxuatter was Within reach, he suddenly took
0 his mantle, and threw it over his enemy’r

head, who, blinded by the folds of the thick .

garment, rolled about on the ground, an-
able to free himself from the accursed cloth

When he was ten paces from him -

that held him like a net. With one bound ‘

 

the young man was over the table and
troubling himself no further about Red Ca-
dar, proceeded toward the door.

At this moment Fray Ambrosio rushed
upon him, trying to bury his knife in his
chest. Feeling not the slightest alarm, Don
Pablo seized his assailant‘s wrist, and with a
strength he was far from anticipating, twist-
cd his arm so violently that his fingers open-
ed, and he let the knife fall with a yell of
pain. Don i’ablo picked it up, and seized
the monk by the throat.

“Listen, villain i" he said to him. “i
am master of your life. You betrayed my
father, who took pity on you, and received
you into his house. You dishonor the gown
you wear by your connection with criunnals
whose ill deeds you share in. I could kil
you, and perhaps ought to do so; but it
would be robbing the executioner to whom
you belong, and cheating ‘he garrote which
awaits you. This gown, of which you an:
unworthy, saves your life; but I will mark
you so that you shall never forget me."

And placing the point of the knife on the
monk‘s face, he made two gushes in the
shape of a cross.

“ We shall meet again i" he added, in a
thundering voice, as he threw the kni e
away in disgust.

Andres Garote had not dared to make a
move: terror nailed him motionless to the
rround beneath the implacable eye of the

ndian warrior. Don Pablo and Curumillu
then rushed from the room and disappeared,
and ere long the hoofs of two horses depu' I
ing at full speed from the town could be
heard cluttering over the pavement.

By the aid of the ranchero Red Cedar
presently succeeded in freeing himself from
the folds of the cloak that embarrassed him.
When the three accomplices found them-
selves alone again an expression of impotent
rage and deadly hatred distorted their faces.

“Oh!” the squatter muttered, grindin
his teeth, and raising his list to heaven, “
will be revenged.”

“And I too," said Fra
hollow voice, as he wipe
that stained his face.

“film! Ido not care," Andres Garote ‘
said to himself aside. “That family of the
Zarates is anus and but, it must be con-
fessed” that Don Pablo is a. rough fellow."

Ambrosio in it
away the blood

 

' CHAPTER XXVII. 1
run HUNTERS.

A'r about two leagues from Santa F6, in a
clearing situated on the banks of the stream a
which borders that town, and on the eve-
ning of the same day a man was seated be-
fore a lur e fire, which he carefully kept up,
while actively engaged in making prepara-
tions for supper. A frugal meal, at any rate,
this supperl It was composed of a butfulo-
hump, a few potatoes, and maize tortillas
baked on the ashes, the whole washed
down with pulque.

The night was gloomy. Heavy black
clouds coursed athwart the sky, at times
intercepting the sickly rays of the moon,
which only shed an uncertain light over
the landscape, which was itself buried in
one of those dense mists that, in equatorial
countries, exhale from the ground after a .
hot day. The wind blew violently through
the trees, whose branches came in contact,
with plaintive moans; and in the depths
of the Woods the miawling of the wild-
cats was mingled with the snarl of the Ico-
yotes and the howls of the (pumas and pig
uars. All at once the scan of galloping
horses could be heard in the forest, and two
riders burst into the clearing. On seen:
them the hunter uttered an exclamation 0
joy, and hurried to meet them. ’lhey were
Don Pablo and Curumllla.

“Heaven be praised!" he said. “Here
you are at last. I was beglngmg to grow
alarmed at your long absence.

“ You see that nothing has happened to
me,” the young man answered, aflcctionute-
1y ressin the hunter‘s hands.

Son Pa 10 had dismomrted, and hobbled
his own horse and Curunnlla s near Valen-
tine’s, while the Indian chief busied himself
in preparing the supper.

“Come, come," the hunter said, gayly,
“ to table. You must be hungry, and I am
dying of hunger. You can tell me all that
has occurred while We are eating." ,

The three men went to the table; that is,
they seated. themselves on the grass in
flout 0‘ the “my ’1110. vigorously assailed
their men or repast,

“ Now, Valentine asked presently, “what
have 011 done? I fancy you remained
much onger than was necessary in that ac-
cursed town."

“We did, my friend. Certain reason:
forced me to remain longer than I had first
intended.”

“ Proceed in regular order. if you have no

.—-;

‘t‘,

   

 

 

 

 

.24

The New York Library.

 

objection. I fancy that \s the only way of
understanding each other.”

“Act as you please, my friend."

“Very good: the chief and I will light
our pipes while you make your cigarette.
We will sit with our backs to the fire, so as
to watch the nei hborhood, and in that way
can converse wit iout apprehension. What
do you say, Pablo t)”

“ You are always right, my friend. Your
inexhaustible gayety, your honest careless-
ness, restore me all my courage, and make
me quite a different man.”

“Huml” Valentine said, “I am glad to
hear you speak so. The position is serious,
it is true; but it is far from being desperate.
The chief and I have many times been in
situations where our lives only depended on
a thread; and yet we always emerged from
them honorabl —did we not, chief ‘3”

“ Yes,” the ndian answered, laconically,
drawing in a mouthful of smoke, which he
sent forth again from mouth and nostrils.

“ But that is not the question of the mo-
ment. I have sworn to save your father and
sister, Pablo, and will do so, or my carcass
shall be food for the wild beasts of the prai-
rie; so leave me to act. Have you seen
Father Seraphin ?”

“ Yes, I have. Our poor friend is still
very weak and pale, and his wound is scarce
healed. Still, paying no heed to his suf-
ferings, and deriving strength from“ his un-
bounded devotion to humanity, he has done
all we agreed on. For the last week he has
only left my father to hasten to his judges.
He has seen the General, the Governor, the
Bishop—everybody, in short—and has neg-
lected nothing. Unfortunately all his ex-
ertions have hitherto been fruitless.”

“ Patience i” the hunter said, with a smile
of singular meanin .

“ Father Seraphin believes for certain
that my father will be shot within two days.
The Governor wishes to have done with it—
tliat is the expression he employed : and
Father Seraph’in told me that we have not a
moment to lose.”

“TWo days are a long time, my friend:
before they have elapsed many things may
have occurred."

“That is true; but my father’s life is at
stake, and I feel timid.”

“Good, Don Pablo; I like to hear you
speak so. But reassure yourself: all is go-
ing on well, I repeat.”

“Still, my friend, I believe it would be
wise to take certain recautions. Remem-
ber it is aquestion 0 life or death, and we
must make haste. How many times, under
similar circumstances, have the best-arranged
plans failed ! Do you think that your meas-
ures are well taken? Do you not fear lest
an unhappy accident may derange all your
plans at the decisive moment?”

“ We are piayinf at this moment a dee
game, my frien ,” Valentine answere .
“We have chance on our side; that is to
say, the greatest power that exists, and
which governs the world.”

The young man lowered his head, as if but
slightly convinced. The hunter regarded
him for a moment with a mixture of in-
terest and tender pity, and then continued
in a soothin voice:

“Listen, on Pablo-Ge Zarate,” he said.
“I have said that I will save your father,

~ and mean to ,do so. Still I wish him to

leave the prison in which he now is, like a
man of his character ought to leave it, in
open day, (greeted by the a plause of the
crowd, an not by escaping urtively during
the night, like avile criminal. Hang it all
do you think it would have been iflicult
for me to enter the town, and effect your
father’s escape by filing the bars or bribin

the jailer? would not do it. Don Migue
would not have accepted that cowardly and
shameful flight. Your father shall leave his
prison, but begged to do so by the Gover-
nor himself, and all the authorities of Santa
Fé. So regain your coura re, and no longer
doubt a man whose frien ship and experi-
ence should, on the contrary, restore your
confidence.”

The young man had listened to these words
with ever increasing interest. When Valen-
tine ceased speaking he seized his hand.

“Pardon me, my friend," he answered
him. “I know how devoted you are’to
my family; but I suffer, and grief renders
me unjust. For ive me.”

“Child, let us 'orget it all. Wa the town
quiet to-day i"

“ I can not tell you, for I was so absorbed
in thought that I saw nothing going on
around me. §tlil I fancy there was a certain

ilation, which was not natural, on the

aza Mayorhnear the Governor’s palace.”

Valentine indulged once again in that
strange smile that had already played round
the corners of his delicate lips.

“Good i” he said. “And did you, as I ad-
vised, try to gain any information about Red
Cedar i?"

“ Yes " he answered with a start of joy,

“Ldid z’and I have positive news."

 

“Ah, ah! How so 1’"

“I will tell you."

And Don Pablo described the scene that
had taken place inthe rancho. The hunter
listened to it with the utmost attention,
and when it was finished be tossed his head
several times with an air of dissatisfaction.

‘- All young people are so," he muttered:
“they always allow their passions to carry
them beyond the bounds of reason. You
were wrong, extremely wron , Don
Pablo,” he then added. “Red edar be-
lieved you dead, and that might have been
of great use to us presently. You do not
know the immense power that demon has
at his disposal: all the bandits on the fron-
tier are devoted to him. Your outbreak
will be mOst injurious to your sister’s safety.”

“ Still, my friend—”

“ You acted like a madman in arousing
the slumbering fury of a tiger. Red Cedar
will persist in destroying you. I have known
the wretch for a ion time. But that is not
the worst you have one.”

“ What is it, then ?”

“ Why, madman as you are, instead of,
keeping dark, watching your enemies with-
out saying a word—in short, seeing through
their game—by an unpardonable act of
bravado you have unmasked all your hat-
teries.”

“ I do not understand you, my friend."

“Fra Ambrosio is a villain of a different
stamp rom Red Cedar, it is true; but I con-
Iider him even a greater scoundrcl than the
scalp-hunter. At any rate, the latter is
purely a re ue, and you know what to ex
pect from rim: all about him bears the
stamp of his hideous soul. Had you stabbed
that wild beast, who perspires blood by
every pore, and dreams of naught but mur-
der, I might possibly have pardoned on;
but on have completely failed, not on y in
pru ence, but in good sense, by acti as
you have done with Fray Ambrosio. hat
man is a hypocrite. He owes all to your
family, and is furious at seeing his treachery
discovered. Take care, Don Pablo. You
have made at one blow two implacable en-
emies: the more terrible now because they
have nothing to uard against.”

“It is true,” t e young man said; “ I act-
ed likea fool. But what would you? At
the si ht of those two men, when I heard
from heir very lips the crimes they had
committed, and those they still meditate
against us, I was no longer master of my-
self. I entered the rancho, and you know
the rest.”

“ Yes, yes, the cuchiilada was a fine one.
Certainly the bandit deserved it' but I fear
lest the cross you so smartly drew on his
face will cost you dearly some day.”

“ Well, let us leave it in the hands of
heaven. You know the proverb, ‘ It is bet-
ter to forget what can not be remedied.’
Provided m father escape the fate that me-
naces him, shalibe ha py. I shall take
my recautionstodefen myself.”

“ id you learn nothing further?”

“Yes: Bed Cedar‘s gambnsiuos are on-
camped a short distance from us. I know
that their chief intends starting to-morrow
at the latest.”

“ Oh, oh! already? We must make hosts
and prepare our ambuscade, it we wish to
discover the road they mean to follow."

“ When shall we start?”

“ At once."

The three men made their pre arations;
the horses were saddled, the sma skins the
horseman always carries at his saddle-bow
in these dry countries were filled with water,
and five minutes later the hunters mounted.
At the moment they were leavin the clear-
ing a rustling of leaves was card, the
branches parted, andon Indian a peared.
It was Unicorn, the great sachom o the Co-
manehes. 0n seein him the three men dis-
mounted and waiteg. Valentine advanced
alone to meet the Indian. .\

“My brother is welcome," he said.
“What does he want of me i"

“To see the face of a friend," the chief
answered, in a gentle voice.

The two men then bowed after the fashion
of the prairie. After this ceremony Valen-
tine went on:

“My father must a preach the fire, and
smoke from the ca umet of his white
friends.”

“I will do so,” Unicorn answered.

And drawing near the fire, he crouched
down in Indian fashion,-took his ipe from
his belt, and smoked in silence. he hunt-
ers, seeing the turn this unexpected inter-
view was taking. hadfastened up their horses,
and seated themselves again round the are,
A few minutes passed thus, no one speaking,
each waiting till the Indian chief should ex-
p}ain the motive of his coming. At length

nicorn shook the ashes from his calumet,
{iotarned it to his belt, and addressed Valen-

ne.
“ Is my brother settin ontto hunt buffa-
loes again ?" he said. “ here are many this
year on the prairies of the Rio Gila.”

 

4::

“ Yes," the Frenchman re lied, “we are
oing hunting. Does my rothor intend
o accompany us 2’”

“ No; my heart is sad."

“ What means the chief? Has any mis-

fortune happened to him ‘2”

“ Does my brother understand me, or am
I really mistaken? Is it that my brother
only really loves the buffaloes, whose meat
he cats, and whose hides he sells at the
tolderiai”

“Let my brother explain himself more
clearly; then I will try to ansWer him.”

. There was a moment of silence. The In-
dian seemed to be reflecting deeply: his
nostrils were dilated, and at times his
black eye flashed fire. The hunters calmly
awaited the issue of this conversation, Whose
object they had not yet caught. At ien th
Unicorn raised his head, restored all he
serenity to his glance, and said in a soft
and melodious vorce:

“Why pretend not to understand me,
Koutonepi? A warrior must not have a
'orked tongue. What a man can not do
alone, two can attempt and carry out. Let
my brpther speak: the ears of a friend are
0 en.

“My brother is ' ht. I will not deceive
his expectations. he hunt I Wish to make
is serious. I am anxious to save a woman
of my color; but what can the will of one
man effect 9”

“ Koutonepi isnot alone: I see at his side
the best two rifles of the frontier. What
does the white hunter tell me? Is he no
iongpr the rent warrior I knew Y Does he
don t the riendship of his brother the great
sachem of the Comanches ?"

“Inever doubted the friendship of my
brother. I am an adopted son of his nation.
At this very moment is he not seeking to do
me a service?”

“ That service is only half what I wish to
do. Let my brother speak the word and
two hundred Comanche warriors shaii join
him to deliver the vir in of the pale-faces,
and take the scalps of or ravishers."
frValentine started with joy at this noble
0 er. .

“Thanks, chief,” he said, eagerly. “I
accgpt; andI know that your wor is aa-
ere .

“ Michabou protects us,” the Indian said.
“My brother can count on me. A chief
does not forget a service. I owe obligations
to the pale hunter, and I will deliver to him
the robbers."

“Here is my hand, chief: my heart has
long been yours."

“ My brother s eaks well.. I have done
what he requests of me."

And bowing courteousliy the Comanche
chief withdrew without a ding a word.

“Don Pablo," Valentine exclaimed, jo -
ously, “I can now guarantee your fathers
safet : this night—perhaps to-morrow—he
will 6 free.”

The (young man fell into the hunter’s arms
and hi his head on his honest chest not
having the strength to utter a word. A few
minutes later the hunters left the clearing
to go in search of the gambusinos, and pro-
pare their ambuscade.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
scum-mu.

WI will now 0 a little way back, in order
toelearup ce ortions of the conver-
sation between alentine and Unicorn,
whose meaning the reader can not have
caught.

Only a few months after the arrival in
Apacherla the Frenchman and Cnrumills
were huntin the buffalo on the banks of the
Rio Gila. was a. splendid day in the
month of July. The two hunters, fatigued
by 9. ion march made under the beams of
the re ing sun, that fellvertically on their
hea s, had sheltered themselves under a
clump of cedar-wood trees, and, carelessly
stretched out on the ground, were smoking
while waiting until t e great heat had pm.
ed, and the evening breeze rose to enable
them to continue their hunt. A quarter
of elk was roastin for their dinner.

“Eh, pennil" alentine said, addressing
his comrade, and rising on his elbow, “ the
dinner seems to be read : so suppose we
feed? The sun is ra id y sinking behind
theifor’est, and we shal soon have to start

n

“ Eat,” Curumilla answered, sharply.

The meat was laid on a leaf between the
two hunters, who began eating with good
appetite. Valentine had taken a third bite
when he stopped, with his arm raised and
his head bent forward, as if an unusual sound
had suddenly smitten his ear. Cummflla
imitated his friend, and both listened with
that deep attention that only results from a
lengthened desertalife; for on the prairie
every sound is suspicious-every meeting is
feared, especially with man.

Red Cedar.

2.5..

 

:

Some time elapsed are the noise which
startled the hunters was repeated. For, a
moment they fancied themselves decelv’ed,’
and Valentine took another bite, when he
was again checked. This time he had dis-
tincti heard asound resemblin a stifled
nigh, at so weak and hollow the it needed
the Trail-Hunter’s practiced ear to catch
it. Curumilla himself had perceived nothing.
Helooked at his friendin amazement, not
knowin to what he should attribute his
state 0 agitation.‘ Valentine rose hurriedly,
seized his rifle, and rushed in the direction
of the river, his friend following him in all
haste.

It was from the river in fact, that the
sigh heard by Valentino had come, and for-
tunately it was but a few paces distant. so
soon as the hunters had leaped over the in.
tervening bushes the found themselves on
the bank, and a fearfu sight presented itself
to their startled eyes. A long plank was de-
scending the river, turning on its axis, and
borne by the current, which ran rather
strongl at this point. On this leak was
fastens awoman, who helda ch id in her
clasped arms. Each time the plank revolved
the unhappy woman plunged with her child
in the stream, and at ten yards at the most
from it an enormous cayman was swimming
vi orously to snap at its two victims.

alentine raised his rifle. Curumilla at
the same moment glided into the water,
holding his knife-blade between his teeth,
and swam toward the plank. Valentine re-
mained for a few seconds motionless, as if
chan ed into a block of marble. All at
once e pulled the trigger and the discharge
was re-echoed by the dstant mountains.
The ca man leaped out of the water, and
plunge ‘down again: but it reappeared a
moment later, bell upward. It was dead.
Valentine's'bullet ad passed through its
a e.
yIn the mean while Curumilla had reached
the lank with a few strokes. ’ Without loss
of t me he turned it in the opposite direction
from what it was following; and while hold-
ing it so that it could not revolve, he push-
ed it on' the sand. In two strokes he cut the
bonds that held the hapless woman, seized
her in his arms, and ran off with her to the
bivouae tire.

The poor woman gave no signs of life,
and the two hunters eagerly sought to re-
store her. She was an Indian, a parentl
not more than eighteen, and very eautifu .‘
Valentine found great difficult in loosening
her arms and removing the shy; for the
frail creature, about a year old, by an incom-
prehensible miracle, had been preserved—
hanks, doubtless, to its mother s devotion.
It smiled leasantly at the hunter when he
laid it ten erly on a bedof dry leaves.

Curumilla opened, the woman’s mouth
slightly with his knife-blade, laced in it
the mouth of his gourd, an made her
swallow a few drops of 11 nor. A long time
ela sed ere she gave thes ightest move that
ind cated an approachin return to life. The
hunters, however woui not be foiled by
the ill-success of their attentions but re-
doubled their efforts. At length a deep sigh
burst painfully from the snfl‘erer’s oppress-
ed chest, and she opened’her eyes, murmur-
ing in a voice as weak as a breath,

‘My child!” _

This cry of the soul—this first and su-

remea peai ofa mother on t ever e of
{he tomg—afl'ected the two men with earts
of bronze. Valentine cautiouslyliited the
child, which had'gone to slee peacefully on
the leaves, and presented it o the mother,
sayiiif in a soft voice :‘ .»

‘ other, he lives i"

At these words which restored her hope,
the woman leaped up as if moved b a spring,
seized the child, and covered it w th :kisses,
as she burst into tears. The hunters respect-‘
ed this out ouring of maternal love:‘ they
withdrew, eavin food and water. by the
woman’s'side. t sunset the two men re-
turned. The woman was squatting by the
fire, nursing her child, and lullin it' to sleep
by sin ng an Indian song. he ni ht

ed ranquill , the two hunters watch ng
11 turn over t e slumbers of the woman
they had saved, and who reposed in eace. ‘

At sunrise she awoke; and with .he‘ skil‘.
and handiness peculiar'to the women of her _
race, she rekindled the fire and prepared

i breakfast. The two men looked at her with
ssmile, then threw their rifles over their
shoulders, and set out in search pf‘game.
When they returned to the bivouac the meal
was read . After eating, Valentine lit his
Indian p , seated himself at. the foot of
s tree, an addressed the youn wo’man.‘

“What is m sister’s name? he asked.

“Tonameyo (the Sunbeam)," she 're-

lie withajo ous smile that‘revealed‘the ‘
oub'e m o ‘pearis that adorned, her,"
mouth.  ” " " "

“ My sister has a pretty name," Valentine

answered. “She doubtless belongs to the' .

great nation '9! tbelApachesg’ V '

i

 

i

“ The Apaches are dogs,“ she said in a
hollow voice, and with a flash of hatred in
her glance. “ The Comanche women will
Weave them petticoats. The Apaches are
cowardly as coyotes: the only fight a hun-
dred‘against one. The omanche'warriors
are like the tempest. "

“ Is my sister the wife of a chief f”

“Where is the warrior who does not
know Unicorn ?” she said proudly.

Valentine bowed. He had already heard
the name of this terrible chief pronounced
several times. Mexicans and Indians, trap-
pers, hunters, and warriors, all felt for him
a res ect mingled with terror.

“ gunbeam is Unicorn's wife,” the Indian
girl continued.

“Good!” Valentine answered. “My sis-
ter will tell me where to find the village of
her tribe, and I will lead her back to the
chief.”

The young woman smiled.

“I have in my heart a small bird that sings
at every instant of the day," she said in her
gentle and melodious voice. “The swallow
can not live without its mate, and the chief
is on the trail of the Sunbeam.”

“We will await the chief here, then,"
Valentine said.

The hunter felt rent leasure in convers-
ing with this simp e ch' d.

‘How was my sister thus fastened to the
trunk of a tree and thrown into the cur-
rent of the Gila, to perish there with her
child? It is an atrocious vengeance.”

“Yes, it is the vengeance of an Apache
dog," she answered. “ Aztatl (the Heron),
daughter of Stampat, the great chief of the
Apaches, loved Unicorn—her heart bounded
at the mere name of the great Comanche
warrior; but the chief of my nation has
only one heart, and it belongs to Sunbeam.
Two days ago the warriors of my tribe set
out for a great bufl'alovhunt‘, and the s uaws
alone remained in the vill e. While slept
in my hut, four Apache th eves, takin ad-
vantage of my slumber, seized me 'an or
child, and de ivered "us into the hands 0
Stanapat’s dau hter. ‘You love your hus—
band, she sai to me with a rin: ‘ you
doubtless suffer at being separate from him.
Be happy: I will send you to him by the
shortest road. He is hunting on the prairies
down the river, and in two hours you will
be in his arms, unless,’ she added with a
laugh, 'the caymans stop on on the road.’
‘ T e Comanche woman espises death,’ I
answered her. ‘ For a hair you pluck from
me, Unicorn will take the sealps of your
whole tribe- so actas you think proper;’
and I turned my head away, resolved to an-
swer her no more. She herself fastened me
to the log, with my face turned to the sky,
in order, as she said, that I might see my
road: and than she hurled me in
yelling, ‘ Unicorn is a cowardly rabbit,
whom the Apache women despise. This is
how I revenge myself.’ I have told my
brother, the pale hunter, every thing as it
happined.”

sister is a brave woman,” Valentine
replie : “she is worthy to be the wife of a
renowned chief."

The youu mother smiled as she embrac-
ed her chil , which she presented, with a
movement full‘of grace, to the hunter, who
kissed it on the forehead. At this moment
the song of the maukawis was heard ate
short distance ofl‘. The two hunters raised
{their heads in surprise, and looked around

em.

“ The quail sings ve late, I fancy," Val-
entine muttered sus ic ousli.

The Indian girl sm led'as s e looked down,
but gave no answer. Suddenly a slight
cracking of dry branches disturbed the si-
lence. Valentine and Curumilla made a
move as if to s rln up and seize their rifles
that fay by the r si e.

“ My brothers must not stir,” the squaw
said quicklg: “ it is a friend."

The hun ers remained motionless, and the
girl then imitated withrare perfection the
cry of the blue Jay. The bushes parted, and
an Indian warrior. geriactly painted and
armed for war, boun ed likes jackal over
the grass and herbs that obstructed his pas-
sage, and stopped in face of the hunters.
Ti. ‘6 warrior was Unicorn. He saluted the
twu men with that graceinnate in the Indian
race; then he crossed his arms on his breast
and waned: “’1th (raking a glance at his
BQWW, 01' even 9ppearinglto have seen her.
On her side the Indian woman did not

stir.

Duringlseveral momenta a painful silence
fellon t a four persons whom chance had
bropfilht to ether in so strange away. At
len -V entins, seeing that the warrior
ins sted on being silent, decided he would
be the flrstto speak.

“Unicorn is welcome ,to our, cam ," he
said. “Ilethim take a seat by the re.“
his brothers, and share with them the pro-
visions they possess."

“I will take a seat bytlre meet my pale-

s

o the river, "

 

face brother,” he replied; “but he must
first answer me a question Iwish to ask
him."
“My brother can speak: my ears are
en

“ Good i" the chief answered. “ How is
it the hunters have with them Unicorn’s
wife 1’"

“Sunbeam can answer that question
best,” Valentine said, ravcly.

The chief turned to lie squaw.

“ I am waiting,” he remarked.

The Indian woman repeated, word for
word, to herhusband the story she had told
a few minutes before. Unicorn listened
without evincin either surprise or wrath;
his face remaine impasaive, but his brows
were imperceptibly contracted. When the
woman had finished speaking the Comanche
bowed his head on his chest, and remained
for a moment plunged in serious thought.
Presently he raised his head.

“Who saved Sunbeam from the river
E'th she was about to perish Y" be asked

or.

The young,wonian's face was lit up with a
charming smile.

“ These hunters,” she replied.

“ Good i" the chief said, luconically, as he
bent on the two men a glance full of the
most uns eakable gratitude.

“Coul we leave her to perish f" Valen-
tine said.

“My brothers did well. Unicorn is one
of the first sachcins of his nation. His
tongue is not forked: he gives his heart
once, and takes it back no more. Unicorn‘s
heart belongs to the hunters."

These simple words were uttered with
the majesty and grandeur the Indians know
so well how to assume when they think
proper. The two men vowed their gratitude,
and the chief continued :

“ Unicorn is returning to his village with
his wife: his young men are awaiting him
twenty paces from iere. He would be hap-
py if the hunters would consent to accom-
pany him there.”

“Chief,” Valentine answered, “we came
into the prairie to hunt the buffalo.”

“Well, what matter? My brothers will
hunt with me and my young men; but if
they wish to prove to me that they accept
my friendship, they will follow me to my
vila e.”

“’ e chief is mounted, while we are on
foot." g

“ I have horses."

Any further resistance would have been
a breach of politeness, and the hunters ac-
cepted the invitation. Valentine, whom ac-
ci ent had brou ht out to the prairies of
the Rio Gila an Del Norte, was in his heart
not sorry to make friends there, and have
allies on whose support he could reckon in
case of need. The squaw had by this time
risen: she timidly approached her husband,
and held up the chi , saying .in a soft and
frightened voice:

“ Kiss this warrior."

The chief took the frail creature in his
muscular arms, and kissed it repeatedly with
a display of extraordinary tenderness, and
then returned it to the mother. The latter
wrapped the babe in a small blanket, then
placed it on a leak shaped like acradle, and
covered with ry moss, fastened ahoop over
the place where its head rested, to guard it
from the burning beams of the sun, and
hung the whole on her back by means of a
woo en strs passing over her forehead.

‘\I am y," she said.

“ Let us go," the chief replied.

The hunters followed him and they were
soon on the prairie.

CHAPTER XXIX.
rm: ADOPTION.

Sour: sixty Comanche warriors were ly-
ing in the grass awaiting their sachem,
while their tethered horses were nibbling
the tall prairie grasses and the tree-shoots.
It could be seen at the first glance that these
men were pickedzwarfloi‘s, selected for a
da erous expedition. From_ the heels of
all angled five or six Wolf-tniis—marka of
honor which only renOWned warriors have
the right to wear.

On seein their chief they hurriedly rose
andiea e into their .w Mics, A“ were
aware t at their sacheu. wife had been
carried 011‘. and the obicct of their ex edi-
tion was to deliver her. Still, on not cing
her, the evidenced no surprise, but saluted
herasi she had left them only a few mo~
manta preVIOIIEly. The war-party had with
it several horses, which the chief ordered to
be given to his s uaw and his new friends:
then, at a si nal rom him, the whole rty
Started 8'5 {u 1 speed for the Indians now
no other ace than t e gallop

A36! 3; out two ,hours’ rir .4 0.” reached
the vicinity of the village, Wb'eh .Juld be
smelt somc time bt-rnrv r.ucl .xtg, owing to

Mun,

 ‘

26

The New York “Library.

 

 

the habit the Comanchcs have of placfn
their dead on scafl'oldings outside the vi -
lages, where they niolderaway: these scaf-
f'oldings, composed of four stakes planted in
the ground, terminated in a fork, while from
poles stuck up near them hung skins and
other offerings made by the Indians to the
genius of good.

At the entrance of the village a number
of horsemen were assembled, awaiting the
return of the sacheni. So soon as they per-
ceived him they burst inth formidable yell,
and rushed forward like a wliirl\\'ind,sliout-
ing, tiring guns, and hr; ndishing their
weapons. Unicorn’s band ’ollowcd this ex-
ample, and there was soon a most extraor-
dinary confusion.

The sacheni made his entry into the village
In the midst of shouts, barking of dogs,
and shots; in short, he was accompanied to
the square by an indescribable row. On
reaching it the warriors stopped. Unicorn
begged the hunters to dismount, and gui-
de them to his cabin, which he made them
enter before him.

“ Now,” he said to them, “brothers, you
are at home: rest in peace, eat and drink.
This evening I will come and talk with you,
and make you a proposal which I sincerely
ho )e you will not reject.”

be two hunters, wearied by the long
ride they had made, fell back with extreme
satisfaction on the beds of dried leaves which
awaited them.

“Well,” Valentine asked Curumilla,
“ what do you say about what is happening
to us i’"

“ It may be 00d.”

“Can it not ”

N Yes.,7

On which Curumilla fell asleep, and
Valentine soon followed his' example. As
he had promised, toward evening Unicorn
entered the cabin.

“ Have in brothers rested ?” he asked.

“ Yes,” alentine answered.

“ Are they disposed to listen to me 1’”

“ Speak, chief ; we are listening.”

The Comanche sachem then squatted
near the fire, and remained for several min-
utes, with his head bent forward and his
eyes fixed on the ground, in the position of
a. man who is reflecting. At length he
raised his head, stretched forth his arm as
if to give greater authority to the words he
was about to utter, and began thus:

“Brother, you and your friend are two
brave warriors. The prairies rejoice at your
arrival among us; the deer and the buria-
ioes fly at your approach; for your arm is
strong, and our eye unerring. Unicorn is
only a poor ndian; but he is agreat warrior
among the Comanches, and a much-feared
chief of his tribe. You have saved his wife,
Sunbeam, whom the Apache dogs threw into
the Gila, and whom the hideous alligators
were pre aring to devour. Since his wife,
the joy 0 his hearth, and his son, the hope
of his old days, have been restored to him,
Unicorn has sought in his heart the means
to prove to you his gratitude. He asked
the Chief of Life what he could do to attach
on to him. Unicorn is terrible in combat;

c has the heart of the grizzly bear for his
enemies—he has the heart of the gazelle for
those he loves.” ‘

“ Chief,” Valentine answered, “the words
you utter at this moment amply repay us
for what we have done. We are happy to
have saved the wife and son of a celebrated
Warrior: our reward is in our hearts, and
we wish for no other.”

The chief shook his head.

“No,” he said; “the two hunters are no
longer strangers for the Comanches: they
are the brothers of our tribe. During their
sleep Unicorn assembled round the council-
flre the chiefs of his nation, and told them
what has passed. The chiefs have ranged
themselves on Unicorn‘s side, and have or-
dered him to make known to the hunters
the resolution they have formed."

“Speak, then, chief,” Valentine said, “and
believe that the wishes of the council will
be commands to us.”

iAsmile of joy played round the chief‘s

s

p“ Good i” he said. “This is what was
agreed on among the great chiefs. My broth-
ers the hunters will be adopted by the tribe,
and be henceforth sons of the great Coman-
che nation. What say my brothers ‘3”

A lively feeling of pleasure made Valen<
tine quiver at this unex ected proposition.
To be adopted by the omanche tribe was
obtaining the right of hunting over the
whole extent of the immense prairies w
that powerful nation holds through its in-
domitable courage and the number of its
warriors. The hunter exchanged a glance
with his silent comrade and rose.

“I accept for myself and friend," he said.
as he held out his hand to the chief, “the
honor the Comanches do us in admitting us
into the number of the sons of their warlike

 

nation. We shall prove ourselves worthy
of this marked favor.”

Unicorn smiled.

“To-morrow,” he said, as he rose, “ my
brothers will be adopted by the nation."

After bowing gracequy to the hunters he
took leave of them and withdrew. The next
daybreak the chiefs entered the cabin. Val-
entine and Curumilla were ready, and had
long been acquainted with the trials they
would have to undergo. They were conduct-
ed into the great medicine-hut, wlierea eo-
pious meal was prepared. It consisted of
dog-meat boiled in hear-fat, tortillas, maize
and liuutle cakes. The chiefs squatted in a
circle, while the squaws waited on them.

When the meal was ended all rose. Uni-
corn placed himself between the two hunt-
ers, laid his hands on their heads, and struck
up the great war-song. This song was re.
peated in chorus b the company to the
sound of the war-whistles and drums. The
following is the translation of the song :

“ Master of Life, regard II with a favorable syn.

We are receiving two hrothorl in arms who appear to luvs sense.
They display vigor in their arms.

'1‘th fear not toexposs their bodies to the blows of the enemy.”

It is impossible for any one who has not
been present at the ceremony to form even a
distant idea of the frightful noise produced
by theirhoarse voices mingled with the shrill
and discordant instruments ; it was enough to
produce adeafness. When the son was end-
ed each took his seat by the counc Hire.

The hunters were seated on beaver-skins,
and the great war-calumet was presented to
them, from which each took several pufl‘s,
and it went the round. Unicorn then rose,
and fastened round the neck of each a wam-
pum collar, and another made of the claws
of the grizzly hear. The Indians, during
this time had built near the medicine-lodge
a cabin for the sweating, and when it was
finished the hunters took off their clothes
and entered it. The chiefs then brought
two large stones which had been previously
made red-hot and after closing the hut
carefully, left he neophytes in it.

The latter threw water on the stones, and
the steam which arose almost immediately
produced a perspiration. When this was at
its hight the hunters ran out of the but,
passed through the double row of warriors,
and leaped into the river, accordin to the
usual fashion. They were immediate y drawn
from the water, wrapped in blankets, and
led to Unicom’s hut, in order to undergo
the final trial, which is also the most painful.
The hunters were laid on their backs. and
then Unicorn traced on their chests, with a
stick dipped in water in which gunpowder
had been dissolved, the figure of the animal
serving as totem (protector) to the tribe.
Then with two spikes fastened to a small
piece of wood, and dipped in vermilion, he
proceeded to rick the design.

Whenever nicorn came to a place that
was too hard he made an incision in the
flesh with a gun-flint. The places that were
not marked with vermilion were rubbed in
with powder, so that the result was a red
and blue tattooing. During the course of
this operation the war-songs and chikikoués
were constantly heard, in order to drown
the cries which the atrocious pain might
draw from the patients; but the latter en-
dured it all without even a contraction of
the eyebrows evidencing the pain that must
have been felt.

When the tattooing was over the wounds
were cauterized with rotten-wood to prevent
suppuration: then they were washed with
co (1 water, in which had been infused an
herb resembling box, a great deal of which
the Indians mix with their tobacco to re-
duce its strength. The trial we have de-
scribed is so painful to endure, that nearly
always it is only accomplished at intervals,
and often lasts a week. This time the hunt-
ers endured it bravely during the six hours
it lasted, not uttering a c , or giving a sign
of weakness. Hence dial-Indians, from this
moment, regarded them with a species of re-
spect: for with them courage is the first of
qualities.

“ My brothers are children of the tribe,"
the chief said, ofl‘erin each a horse. “ The
Prairie bel‘mgs *0 1. cm. These coursers
will bear them to the most remote limits of
the desert, chasing the wild beasts, or pursu-
ing the A ache dogs.”

‘ Good "‘ Valentine answered.

At one bound the two hunters were in
their saddles, and made their horses per-
form the most elegant and raceful curvets.
This last and heroic deed, a r all they had
suffered during the course of the day, raised
to their full hight the Joy and enthusiasm of
the Comanches, who applauded with frenzi-
ed shouts and yells all they saw their new
brothers execute. After remaining nearly
an hour on horseback they dismounted, and
followed the chiefs into the medicine-lodge'
and when each had taken his seat roan

 

l

the council-fire, and the calumet had again
been smoked, Unicorn rose.

“The Master of Life loves his Comanche
sons, since He gives them for brothers such
warriors as Koutonepi and Curumilla. Who
can equal their courage? Who would dare
to contend with them? On their approach
the grizzly bear hides at the extremity of
its den; the jaguar bounds far away on see—
ing them: the eagle itself, which looks the
sun in the face, flies from their unerring
bullet. Brothers, we congratulate ourselves
on counting you among our warriors. Hence-
forth we shall be invincible. Brothers, give
up the names you have up tc this day borne,
and assume those we now give you. You
Koutonepi, are henceforth Quauhtli, an
bear the name of that eagle whose courage
and strength you possess. ou, Curumilla,
will be called Vexolotl, and the cock will be
proud to see that you have taken possession
of its name.”

The two hunters warmly thanked their
new brothers, and were led back by the chiefs
to their cabin, who wished them a pleasant
night after so rude a day. Such was the
way in which Valentine and Curumilla, to
whom we shall continue to give their old
names, formed the acquaintance of Unicorn,
and the result of it.

CHAPTER XXX.
THE MISSIONARY.

WITH time the relations existing between
the hunters and the Indians were drawn
closer, and became more friendly. In the
desert physical strength is the quality most
highly esteemed. ,—Man, compelled to strug-
gle incessantly against the dangers of every

escription that rise each moment before
him, is bound to look only to himself for
the means to surmount them. Hence the In-
dians profess a profound contempt for sick-
lypeople, and weak and timid nerves.

alentine easily induced Unicorn to seize,

during the hunt of the wild horses, the Mex-
ican magistrates, in order to make hosta es
of them if the conspiracy were unsuccess ul.
What the hunter foresaw happened. Red
Cedar had opposed stratagem to stratagem;
and, aswe have seen, Don Miguel was ar-
rested in the midst of his triumph at the ver
moment when he fancied himself master 0
the Paso del N orte.

After Valentine, Cummilla, and Don Pa-
blo had seen, from their hiding-place in the
bushes, the mournful escort pass that was
taking Don Miguel as a prisoner to Santa Fe,
they held a council. Moments were
precious , for in Mexico conspirators have
the sad privilege over other risoners of be-
ing tried quickly, and not 1e to pine. The
prisoner must be saved. Valentine, with
that promptitude of decision which formed
the salient point of his character, soon ar-
ranged in his head one of those bold schemes
which only he could discover.

“Courage 1” he said to Don Pablo. “As
long as the heart beats in the breast there is
hope, thank Heaven! The first hand is
lost, I allow; but now for the second game."

Don Pablo had entire faith in Valentine:
he had often been in the position to try his
friend. If these words did not completely
reassure him j‘tlhey at least almost restored
his hope, and gave him back that courage
so necessary to him at this supreme moment,
and which had abandoned him.

“Speak, my friend," he said. “What is
to be done i’”

“ Let us attend to the most important thing.

first, and save Father Seraphin, who devot-
ed himself for us.”

The three men started. The night was a
gloomy one. The moon only appeared at
ntervals: incessantly vailed by thick clouds
which passed over its disk, it seemed to
shed its sickly rays regretfully on the earth.
The wind whistled through the branches 'of
the trees which utters m sterious inur-

murs as they came into collision. The co-..,
yotes howled in the plain, and at times their “

sinister forms shot athwart the sky-line.
After a march of about an hour the three
men approached the spot where the mission-
ary had fallen from the effect of Red Cedar‘s
bullet; but he had disappeared. An alarm
mingled With a frightful agony contracted
the. 'unters‘ hearts. Valentine took a de-
spairing glance around; but the darkness
was too dense for him possibly to distinguish
any thing.

"IWhat is to be done 7" Don Pablo asked ‘

sad .

“geek,” Valentine replied sharply: “he
can not be far off.”

Curumilla had already taken up the trail,
and had disappeared in the gloom. The
Araucano had never been a great speaker
naturally: with age he had grown almost
dumb, and never uttered a word save when
absolutely necessary. But if- the Indian,

 

1
i‘

 

fm '

Red Cedar.

‘27

 

.._--__==:

 

did not talk, he acted; and in critical situa-
tions his determination was often worth
long harangucs. Don Pablo, obedient to
Valentine’s orders, threw his rifle over his
shoulder, and prepared to execute them.

“Where are you oing i" the hunter ask-
sd him, as he seized his arm.

“ To look for Father Seraphin."

fl Wutlli

The two men stood motionless, listenin
to the mysterious sounds of the desert, the
nameless melody which plunges the soul in-
to a soft reverie. Nearly an hour passed
thus, nothing revealing to the hunters that
Curumilla’s search .had proved successful.
Valentine growing impatient at this long de-
lag, was also preparing to go on the trail,
w en all at once the weak, snapping cry of
the walkon rose in the air.

“What’s that?“ Don Pablo asked in sur-
prise.

“ Silence l" Valentine muttered.

Asecond time the walkon sung but this
time stron er, and much nearer. Valentine
raised his ngers to his lips, and imitated
the sharp shrillyell of the ocelot twice with
such per ection that Don Pablo started in-
voluntarily, and looked round for the wild
beast, whose e es he fancied he could see
i‘lashin behln a thicket. Almost immedi—
atel t e note of the walkon was heard a
thi time. Valentine rested the butt of his
rifle on thc ground.

“Good! ‘ he said. “Do not be alarmed,
Don Pablo. Curumilla has found Father
Seraphin.”

The young man looked at him in amaze-
ment. The hunter smiled.

“They will both arrive directly,” be
said.

“ How do on know i”

“Child!” alentine interrupted him, “in
the desert the human voice is more injuri-
ous than useful. The son of birds the cry
of wild beasts, serve us as anguage. ’

“ Yes," the young man answered simpl ,
“that is true. I have often heard it state -
but I was not aware you could understand
one another so easily.’

“That is nothing," the hunter remarked,
good humoredly: ‘you will see much more
f on only pass a month in our company.”

a afew moments the sound of footsteps
became audible, at first faint, then gradually
coming nearer, and two shadows were dimly
drawn on the night.

“ Hallo l” Va entine shouted, as he raised
and cocked his rifle, “ friend or foe 1’”

“ Ennis (brothers )" a voice answered.

“ It is Curumilla,’ said Valentine. “Let
us 0 to meet him.”

on Pablo followed him, and they soon
reached the Indian, who walked slowly,
obligedas he was to support, almost carry,
the missionary.

When Father Seraphin fell ofl‘ his horse
he almost immediately lost his senses. He
remained for along time lying in the ditch
but by de rees the night cold had brought
him roun again. At the flat moment the

oor priest, whose ideas were still confhsed,
lied cast anxious glances around him, while
asking himself how he came there, and by
what concourse of strange events it had
happened. He tried to rise; but then a
pOignant pain he felt in his shoulders re-
minded hlm of what had occurred. Still he
did not despair. Alone by night in the
desert; exposed to a thousand unknown
dangers, of which the least was being de-
voured by wild beasts; without weapons to
defend himself; too weak, indeed, to at-
tem t it, even if he had them, be resolved
not remain in this terrible osition, but
make the greatest efforts to rise, and drag
himself as well as he could to the Paso,
which was three leagues distant at the most,
where he was sure of finding that care his
condition demanded.

Father Seraphin, like the majority of the
missionaries who generously devote them-
selves to the welfare of humanity, was aman
who, under a weak and almoat feminine ap-
pearance, concealed an indomitable energy
and a resolution that would withstand all
trials. So soon as he had formed his plan
he began carrying it out. With extreme
difficulty and atrocious ain he succeeded in
fastening his handkerchief“ round his shoul-
der so as to check the hemorrhage. It

I took more than an hour before he could
stand on his legs: often he felt himself faintv
lug, scold perspiration beaded at the root
of his hair, he had a buzzing in his ears, and
every thing seemed to be turning round
him; but he wrestled With the pain, clasp—
ed his hands with an effort, raised his tear-
laden eyes to heaven, and murmured from
the bottom of his heart:

“On Go»! deigp to sup ort thy servant,
for he has set on has all h s hope and con.
ildence." ’ .

Prayer, when made with faith, produces
in a man an effect whose consequences are
lnngediate: it consoles him, gives him cour-

.

 

age, and almost restores him the strength
that has deserted him. This was what hap-
pened to Father Seraphin. After uttering
these few words he set out boldl , support-
ing his tottering footsteps wi h a stick,
which a providentiai chance had placed in
his way. He walked thus for nearly half a
league, stopping at every instant to draw
breath: but human endurance has limits be-
yond which it can not go. In spite of the
efforts he made, the missionary at len th
felt his is give way under him; he un er-
stood thugshe could not go further; and he
sunk at the foot of a tree, certain that he had
attempted impossibilitics, and henceforth
resigning to Providence the care of saving
him

It was at this moment Curumilla arrived
near him. The Indian aided him to rise,
and thenwarned his comrades of the suc.
cess of his search. Father Seraphin, though
the chief offered to carry him, refused, and
wished to walk to join his friends; but his
strength deserted him a second time, he
loat h s senses, and fell into the arms of the
Indian, who watched him attentively; for
he noticed his increasing weakness, and
foresaw his fall. Valentine and Curumilla
hastily constructed a litter of‘ tree-branches,
on which the laid the poor wounded man
and raising h m on their shoulders, went 0
with him rapidly. The night passed away,
and the sun was already high on the horizon,
and yet the hunters were marching. At
length, at about eleven o’clock, they reached
the cavern which served Valentine as a
shelter, and to which he had resolved to car-
331 his patient, that he might himself nurse

in

Father Seraphin was in a raging fever;
his face was red, his e as flashing. As near-
ly always happens wi gun-shot wounds, a
suppuratlng fever had declared itself. The
missionary was laid on a bed of furs, and
Valentine immediately prepared to probe
the wound. By a singular chance the ball
had lodged in the shoulder without fractur-
ing the blade-bone. Valentine drew it;
afid then, helped by Curumilla, who had
quietly pounded ore ano leaves, he formed
a cataplasm, which e laid on the wound,
after first carefully washing it. Searcer had
this been done ere the missionary fell into
a doe sleep, which lasted till nl htfall.

V entine s treatment had e ected won-
ders. The fever had disappeared, the priest's
features were calmed, the flush that pur-
pled his cheeks had given place to a pallor
caused by the loss of blood; in short, he
was as well as could be ex ected. 0n open-
ing his eyes he perceives the three hunt-
ers watching him anxiously. He smiled,
and said in a weak voice:

“Thanks, my brothers, thanks for the
help you have afforded me. Heaven will
reward you. I feel much better."

“The Lord be raised 1” Valentine an-
swered. “ You wil escape, my father, more
chea ly than I had dared to hope."

“ an it be possible?”

“Yes; your wound, thou h serious, is
not dan erous, and in a few ys you can,
if you t ink necessary, resume your avoca-
tions.”

“ I thank gou for this new good, my dear
Valentine. no longer count the times I
owed my life to you. Heaven, in its infinite
goodness has placed you near me to sup Ort
me in my tribulations, and succor mein days
of dan er."

The unter blushed.

“Do not speak so, my father,” he said;
“ I have only performed a sacred duty. Do
you feel strong enough to talk for a few
minutes with me i”

“ Yes. 8 eak, my friend "

“ l wishe to ask your advice."

“ My1 talents are vgy slight: still you
know ow I love you, alentme. Tell me
what vexes you, and perhaps I may be use-
ful to you."

“ I believe it, my father.”

“ eak, then, in heaven's name. my
frien ; for, if you have recourse to me, the
affair must be very serious."

“It can not be more so.”

“Go on: I am listening."

And the missionary settled himself on his
bed to hear as comfortably as he could the
fipnf‘ession the hunter wishedto make to

m.

 

CHAPTER XXXI.
rim iN'riinvmw.

Ar daybreak the next mornin Curumilla
started for Unicorn’s village. A sunset he
returned to the cavern, accompanied by the
Comanche chief. The sachem entertained
the most profound respect for Father Sera-
phin. whose noble aracter he could appre-
ciate, and felt pains at the state in which
be found him. ‘

“ Father," he said to him, as he kissed his

 

hand, " who are the villains who thus wound-
ed you, to whom the Master of Life has ini-
psrted the secret to make us hap y ? Who-
ever they may be, these men slial die."

“ My son," the priest answered, gently,
“ I will not pronounce before you the name
of the unhappy man who, in a moment of
madness, raised his hand against me. My
God is a God of peace; he is merciful, and
recommends his creatures to forget inju-
ries, and rcqnlte good for evil.”

The Indian looked at him in amazement.
He did not understand the soft and touch-
in sublimity of these precepts of love.
E nested in the sanguinary principles of
his race—persuaded like all red-skins, that a
warrior‘s first dut is revenge—he only ad-
mitted that force ous law of the prairies
which commands, “Eye for eye, tooth for
tooth "—a terrible law, which we do not
venture, however, utterly to condemn in
these countries, where ambushes are per-
manent, and implacable death stands at
ever corner of the road.

“ y son," Father Seraphin continued,
‘ you are a great warrior. Many a. time you
have braved the atrocious tortures of the
stake of blood, athousand-fold more terri-
ole than death itself. Often have you, with
a pleasure I excuse (for it is in your naturc,)
thrown down your enemy, and planted your
knee on his chest. Have you never par-
doned anybody in fight i’"

“Never!” the Indian answered, his eye
sparkling with satisfied pride. “ Unicorn
has sent many Apache dogs to the happy
hunting-grounds: their scalps are drying at
the door of his cabin."

“ Well," the missionary said, gently,
“ try clemency once, only once, and on
will know one of the greatest pleasures ad
has granted to man on this earth—that of
pardoning."

The chief shook his head.

“ No,” he said; “ a dead enemy is no
longer to be feared. Better to kill than leave
him means to avenge himself at a later
date."

“ My son, you love me, I believe i"

“ Yes. My father is good ; he has behaved
well to the Comanches, and they are grate-
ful. Let my father command, and his son
will obey."

“I have no right to give you an order,
my son. I can only ask a favor of you.”

“Good! My father can explain himself.
Unicorn will do what he desires."

“ Well, then," said the missionary, with a
lively feeling of joy, “ promise me to pardon
the first unhappy man, whoever he mu
be, who falls into your hands, and you wi l
render me ha py.”

The chief rowned, and an expression of
dissatisfaction appeared on his features.
Father Seraphin anxiously followed on the
Comanche’s intelligent countenance the dif-
ferent shadows reflected on it as in a mirror.
At length the Indian regained his stoieism,
and his face grew serene again.

“Does my father demand it?” he asked,
in a rentle voice.

“ desire it."

“Be it so: my father shall be satisfied. I
gomise him to pardon the firstcn‘em whom

e Manitou causes to fall beneath epoint
of my lance."

“ Thanks, chief,” the missionary exclaim-
ed, joyfully, “ thanks! Heaven will reward
you for this good idea."

The Indian bowed silently and turned to
Valentine, who had been listening to the
conversation.

“My brother called me, and I came.
What does he want of Unicorn Y"

“My brother will take his seat at the
council-fire, and smoke the calumet with
his friend. Chiefs do not speak without re-
{lecting on the words they are about to ut-

er.

“ My brother speaks well, and I will take
my seat at his fire."

Curumilla had lightedalsr e fire in the
first otto of the cavern. he four men
left ether Seralphin to take a few minutes‘
rest, and seate themselves round the fire,
when the calnmet passed from hand to hand.
The Indians never undertake any thing im-

ortant, or commence a discussion, without

rst smoking the calumet in council, what-
ever may be the circumstances in which
they are placed. When the calumet had
gone the round Valentine rose.

“ Every day,” hesnid. bowin to the chief,
“ I appreciate more and more tie honor the
Comaiiehes‘did me in adopting me as a son.
My brother s nation is powerful; its hunt-
ing-grounds cover the whole surface of the
earth- The Apaches fly before the Coman-
che warriors like cowardl coyotes befOre
courageous men. My rother has al-
ready sevaral times done me a service with
that greatness of‘ soul which distinguishes
him and can only belong to a warrior so
celebrated as he is. Today Ihave again a
sfernce to ask of my brother. and will he do

 

I

28

 

it me? I presume so; forI know his heart
and that the Great Spirit of the Master of
Life dwells in him.”

“Let my brother explain," Unicorn an-
swered. “He is speaking to a chief: he
must remove the skin from his heart, and
let his blood flow red and bright before a
friend. The great white hunter is a portion
of myself. I should have to be prevented
by an arth impossibility if I refused any
request emanatin r from him.”

“Thanks, brot icr,” Valentine said with
emotion. “ Your words have passed from
your lips into my breast, which they have
rejoiced. I am not mistaken. I see that I
can ever count on your well-tricd friendship
and honest aid. Don Miguel Zarate, the dc-
scendant of the Mexican kings, the friend
of the red-skins, whom he has ever protect-
ed, is a prisoner to the gacnupinos. They
have carried him to Santa re in order to put
him to death, and deprive the Indians of the
last friend left them.”

“ And what does my brother want ?”

“I wish to save my friend.” ~

“ Good !" the chief answered. “My
brother claims my help to succeed in that
project, I suppose ‘9”

It Yes."

“ Good! My brother can feel reassured.”

“ I can count, then, on my brother’s
aid f” Valentine asked, quickly.

The chief smiled.

“ Unicorn holds in his hands Spaniards
who will answer for the life of the prisoner."

“That is true!” Valentine exclaimed as
he struck his forehead. “Your idea is a
good one, chief."

“ My brother will leave me to act. I an-
swer for success on my head."

“Actas you please, chief. Still, were it
only for form's sake, 1 should not be sorry
to know what you intend doing."

"My brother has a white skin, but his
heart is Indian. Let him trust to the pru-
dence of a chief : Unicorn knows how to
treat with the gacliupinos."

“ Doubtless.

“ Unicorn will 0 to Santa F6 to speak
with the chief of he white men."

Valentine looked at him in amazement.
The chief smiled.

“ Have I not hostages ‘3” he said.

“That is true,” Va entine remarked.

The chief went on:

“The Spaniards are, like chattering old
women, prodigal of seductive words; but
Unicorn knows them. How many times
already has he troddeu the war-path on their
territory at the head of his warriors! They
will not dare to deceive him. Ere the sun
has twice accomplished its revolution round
the tortoise whose immense shell supports
the world, the chief of the Comanches will
carry the bloody arrows to the whites, and
propose to them peace or war. Is my broth-
er satisfied ?”

“I am. My heart is full of gratitude to-
ward my red brother.”

“ Good! What is that to Unicorn? Less
than nothin . Has my brother any thing
else to ask 0 me ‘2”

“One thing more.”

“ Let my brother explain himself as quick-
ly as possible, that no cloud may remain
between him and his red brother."

“I will do so. Men without fear of the
Great Spirit, urred by some mad desire,
have carried 011‘ one Clara, the daughter
of the white chief whom my brother is
pied ed to save."

“ ho are these men 1’ Does my brother
know them 1’"

“ Yes, I know them only too well. They
are bandits, at the head of whom is 3, mon-
ster with a human face, called Red Cedar.”

At this name the Indian started slightly,
his eye flashed fire, and a deep wrinkle hol-
lowed his forehead. .

“ Red. Cedar is aferocious Ja our,” he said
with concentrated passion. “ c has made
himself the scourge of the Indians, whose
scalps he desires. This man has no pity
either for women or children, but he possess-
es no courage: he only attacks his enemies
.n the dark, twenty against one, and when
he is sure of meeting with no resistance.”

“ My brother knows this man L see.” ‘

“And this man has carried oii the white

My brother wishes to know
what Red Cedar has done with his prison-
er?

“I do wish it."

The lndian rose.

“Time is slipping away," he said. “Uni~
corn will return to iis friends. My brother
the hunter need not feel alarmed: a chief is
watching.”

After uttering these few words the chief
Went down into the cavern, mounted his
horse, and disappeared in the direction of
the desert. Valentine had every reason to
be satisfied with his interwew with the
Comanche chief; but Father Seraphin was

 

The New York-Library.

 

less leased than the hunter. The worthy
pries , both through his nature and his vo-
cation, was not disposed to employ violent
measures, which were repugnant to him: he
would have liked, were it possible, to settle
every thing by 'cntlcness, and without run-
ning the risk 0 bloodshed.

Three weeks elapsed, however, ere Uni-
corn appeured to be effectuali carrying out
the plan he had explained to alentine, who
only learnt indirectly that a strong party of
Comanche warriors had invaded the Mexican
frontiers. Father Scraphin, though not yet
completely cured, had insisted on proceed-
ing to Santa Fe to take some steps to save
Don Miguel, whose trial had gone on rapid-
ly, and who was on the point of bcin exe-
cuted. Forhis part, Don Pablo, lial mad
with uneasiness, also insisted, in spite of
Valentine’s entreaties and remarks, on en-
tering Santa Fé furtively, and trying to see
his father. ’

The night on which we found Valentine
in the clearing Unicorn visited him for the
first inie in a month: he came to inform
him of the success of the measures be had
taken. Valentine, used to Indian habits,
understood half a word: hence he had not
hesitated to announce to Don Pablo as a

ositive fact thathis father would soon be
ree. ‘

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
Tim PRISON.

Don MIGUEL and General Ibanez bad man-
aged to be confined together by the expend-
iture of many eutreaties and a. heavy sum
of gold. They inhabited two wretched
rooms, the entire furniture of which con-
sisted in a halting-table, a few leather-cover-
ed butaccas, and two benches which served
them as beds. These two men, so powerful
by nature, had endured without complaint
all the humiliation and insults inflicted on
them during their trial, resolved to die as
they had lived, with head erect and firm
heart, without giving the Judges who had
condemned them the satisfaction of seeing
them turn weak at the last moment.

It was toward the evening of thesame day
on which we saw Valentine in the clearing.
Darkness fell rapidly, and the only window
a species of narrow slit that served to light
the prison, allowed but a weak and dubious
light to penetrate. Don Miguel was walk-
ing with lon strides up and down his prison,
while the cneral, carelessly reclining on
one of the benches, quietly smoked his cig-
arette, watchin with childish pleasure the
clouds of bluis smoke which rose in a
spiral to the ceiling, and which he constant-
ly blew asunder.

“ Well,” Don Miguel said all at once, “it
seems it is not for to-day either.”

“Yes,” the General said, “ unless (though
I do not believe it) they wish to do us the
honor of a torchlight execution.”

“ Can you at all account for this delay 1"”

“ On my honor, no. I have ransacked my
brains in vain to ess the reason that pre-
vents them shoot ng us, and I have given it
up as a bad job.”

“Same with me. At first I fancied they
were trying to fri hten us by the continued
apprehension of eath constantly suspend-
ed over our heads like another sword of
Damocles; but this idea seemed,i to me too
absurd.” '

“ I am entirely of lyour opinion; still
something extraordinary must be occurring.”

“ What makes you suppose that .9"

. “ Wi’i‘y, for the last two days our worthy
yaller, io Quesada, has become, not polite
to us (for that is impossible), but less bru-
tal. I notice that he has drawn in his claws,
and attempted a grin. It is true that his
face is sol ttle accustomed to assume that
expression, that the cal result he obtains
is to make a wretched grfmace.”

“And you conclude rom that f"

“ Nothing positive," the General said.
“ Stilll ask_mysclf whence comes this in-
comprehensible change. It would be as ab-
surd to ' attribute it to the pity he feels for
our position as to suppose that the Gov-
ernor will come to ask our pardon for having
tried and cendemned us.”

“ Eh 1?” Don Miguel said with a toss of
his head. “ All is not over—we are not
dead yet.”

“That is, true; but keep your mind at
rest—we shall be so, soon.”

“Our life is in God’s hands. He will dis-
pose of it at his pleasure.”

“ Amen P? the General said reverently,
as he rolled a fresh ci arette.

“ Do you not cons der it extraordinary
that, during the whole month we have been
confined here, our friends have not given a
5! n of life i"

he General shrugged his shoulders caro-
tess ‘

i .
“ {Ium !" he said, “ a prisoner is very sick,
and our friends doubtless feared to make as

:

 

—:

worse by the sight of their grief: thati'iwhp‘.’

they have deprived themselves of the
pleasure of visiting us.”

“ Do not jest, General. You accuse them
wrongfully, I feel convinced.”

“May Heaven grant it! For my part, I
heartily forgive them their indifference and
the oblivion in which they have left us."

“I can not believe that Don Valentine,
that true-hearted and noble minded man,
for whom I ever felt so deep a friendship,
has not tried to see me.”

“Bali! How, Don Miguel, can you, so
near death as you are, still believe in hon-
orable feelings in any man ?”

At this moment there was a great clash of," ,

iron outside, and the door of the room was
opened sufficiently to afford passage to the;
jaiicr,who preceded another person. The
almost complete obscurity that prevailedin
the prison prevented the condemned men.
from recognizing the visitor, who wore a
long black own.

‘FEh, eh! ’ the General muttered in his

comrade‘s car, “ I believe that General Ven~
turn, our amiable Governor, has at length
made up his mind.”

‘7‘ Why so ‘3” Don Miguel asked in a low
VOice.

“ He has sent us a priest, which means
that we shall be executed to-morrow."

“On my word, all the better,” Don Mig-
uel could not refrain from saying.

In the mean while the jailer, ashort, thick;
set man, with a ferret-face and cunning eye
had turned to the priest, whom he invite ‘
to enter, saying in ahoarse voice:

“Here it is, senor padre: these are the
condemned persons.”

“Will you leave us alone, my friend f”
the stranger said.

“Will you have my lantern? It is et-
ting dark, and when people are talking t ey
like to see one another.”

“ Thanks; you can do so. You will open
when I call you by tapping at the door.‘

“All right—I will do so ;” and he turned
to the condemned, to whom he said sava e-
ly, “Well, senorcs, here is a priest. Ta e
advantage of his services now you have at
him. In your position there is no know ng
what may happen from one moment to
the other.”

The prisoners shrugged their shouldeis
contemptuously, but made no reply. The
jailer went out. When the sound of his
footsteps had died away in the distance, the
priest, who had till this moment stood with
his body bent forward and his car on the
watch, drew himself up, and walked straight,
to Don Miguel. This maneuver on the part
of the stranger surprised the two gentlemen,
who anxiously awaited what was about to
happen. The lantern left by the jailer only
spread a faint and flickering light, scarcely
sufficient to distin uish objects.

“ y father,” t e haciendero said in a
firm voice, “I thank the person who sent
you to pre are me for death, for I anxiously
wished to ulflll my duties as a Christian be-
fore being executed. If you will proceed
with me into the adjoining room I will con-
fess my sins ‘to you: they are those which
an honest man ordinarily commits: for my
heart is pure and I have nothing to re-
proach myself with.”

The priest took ofi‘ his hat, seized the
lantern, and placed it near his pale face,
whose noble and gentle features were sud-
denl displayed in the light.

“ other Scra hin l” the prisoners exclaim-
ed with asur r so mingled with joy.

“ Silence !’ the priest ordered quickly.
“Do not pronounce my name so loudly,
brothers: every one is ignorant of my be-
gi’g there except the jailer, who is my confl-

n

“Hal” Don Miguel said with stupor;
“the man who has been insulting and hu-
miliatin us during amonth i”

“Tha man is henceforth ours. Lose no
time, come. I have secure means to get you
out of prison, and to leave the town ere
{our evasion can be even suspected: the

orses are prepared—an escort s awaiting
you. Come, gentlemen, for the moments are
precious."

The two prisoners interchanged a lance
of sublime eloquence; then General banez
quietly seated himself on a butacca, while
Don Miguel replied;

“ Thanks, my father. You have undertaken
the noble task of soothing all sorrow, and

on do not wish to fail in your duty.» Thanks
or the offer you make us, which we can not,
however, accept. Men like us inust not
ive our enemics right by flying like crim-
nals. We fought fora sacred principle,
and succumbed. We owe it to our country-
men and to ourselves to endure death brave-
ly. When we conspired we were perfectly
well aware of what awaited us if we were
conquered. Once again, thanks: but we
will only quit this prison as free men, orfo
walk to punishment.” '

“I have not the courage, gentlemen 

 

 

,. m- 3, . .. . «NM m..- .

‘ wh.......__w‘.. ,..,  

a“? ._

"""4

Red Cedar.

29‘

 

 

blame your heroic resolution: in a similar
case I should act as you are doing. You
have a very slight ho )e still left, so wait.
Perehanee, within a ew hours, unforeseen
events will occur to change the face of mat-
te“. H

“ We hope for nothing more, my father."

“ That word is a blasphemy in your mouth,
Don Miguel. God can do all he wills. Hope,
I tell you."

“ i am wrong, father: forgive me."

“ liolu!" the jailer shouted through the
door. “ Make haste ; it is getting late.
It will soon be impossible to leave the city.”

“ Open the door,” the missionary said, in
a firm voice. The jailer appeared.

“ Well 1’" he asked.

“ Light inc and lead me out of the prison.
These caballeros refuse to profit by the
chance of safety I came to offer them.‘

The jailer shook his head and shrugged
his shoulders.

“They are mad," he said.

And he went out, followed by the priest.

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.
'rns EMBASSY.

ON the selfsame day that Father Sera-
phin went to the prison to propose an es-
cape to the condemned, a very strange cir-
cumstance had aroused the entire popula—
tion of Santa Fé. At about mid-day, at the
moment when the inhabitants were enjoys
ing their siesta, and the streets, calcined by
the beams of a tropical sun, were complete-
ly deserted, a formidable hurrah, the ter-
rible war-yell of the Comanche Indians, burst
forth at the entrance of the town.

A detachment of dismounted warriors,
about two hundred strong, was marching
in close column, flanked on either wing by
two troops, each of fifty horse. About
twenty paces in front caracoled Unlcorn.

The Comanches did not appear to notice
the excitement they created. Assoon as
they were on the Plaza Mayor they halted
and remained motionless, as if their feet had
suddenly grown to the ground. Unicorn
made a sign with his talisman: a warrior
quittcd the ranks, and rode up to the sentry
standing in front of the Governor‘s palace,
who regarded the singular scene with a
dazed air.

" Wah!" the Indian said, sarcastically,
as he lightly touched the soldier with the
end of his lance. “Is my brother asleep,
that he does not hear a warrior addressing
him ?" -

“ I am not asleep,” the soldier answered,
as he fell back a pace. “What do you
want?” _

“Is my brother a chief ?” g

“ No," the soldier answered, greatly con-
fused by this lesson.

While the Comanche warrior was exchan-
ging these few words with the sentry, sev-
eral persons, came out of the palace attracted
by the unusual disturbance. Amour them
were several officers, one of whom a vanced
to the Indian horseman.

“What does my brother want ?" he asked
him.

The warrior saw at the first glan e that
this time he had to do with a chic. He
bowed courteously, and answered:

“ A deputation of the great Comanche nae
tlon desires to be intro need to my great
white father." _

“ Good! But all the warriors can not an
tor the alace," the ofllcer said.

“My grother is right. Their chiefs alone
will go in: their young men Will await them
here.

“Let my brother be patient. I will go
and deliver his message in all haste.’

“Goodl. My brother is a chief. The
Spider will await him."

The officer disappeared in the interior,
while the Spider planted the end of his long
lance in the ground, and remained With his
eye fixed on the gate of the palace, not
evmcln the slightest im )atience.

The ew Governor 0 Santa F6 was a
General of the name of Don Benito Ventu-
ra. He was ignorant as a fish, stupid and
ban hty as a heathcock.

e had learned with the utmost terror
the entrance of the Comanches into the
town, and when the officer intrusted with
Spider‘s message presented himself before
him he had literally lost his head. It took
all possible trouble to make him compre-
hend that the Indians came as friends. When
at length he'saw himself surrounded and
supported by the oilicers of his stat!" his
terror was slightly toned down; and being
finally convinced by their arguments, he
gave the oflieer who brought the message
orders to bring the three principal Indian
chiefs into the palace.

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.
'rmi PRESENTATION.

TEE oflicer dispatched by General Ventu-
ra had performed his duty. Unicorn and
two other chiefs dismounted, and followed
him into the palace. There thirty ofliccrs,
attired in their splendid uniforms, that
glistened with gold and decorations, were
arranged round the General, while three

osts of ten men each held the doors of the

allof reception.

When the preparations were completed
the embassadors were introduced. The In-
dian chiefs, accustomed for a long period to
Spanish luxury, entered without testifyinr
the slightest surprise. They bowed witi
dignity to the assembly, and, crossing their
arms on their chests, waited till they were
addressed by the General.

“ What reason can have been so powerful
as to oblige my sons to come and see me Y"
be asked, in agracious and conciliating tone.
“Let them make their request, and, if I
can do so, I shall be most readyto satisfy
it."

This opening, which the Governor fancied
to be very politic was, on the contrary
most awkward, as it offended the pride of
those he addressed, and whom he had the
greatest interest in humoring. Unicorn
took a step forward. Asarcastic smile play-
ed on his lips, and he replied in a voice
slightly tinged with irony:

“ The Coinanchcs do not come here to ask
a favor. They know how to avenge them-
selves when insulted.”

“ What do my sons want, then f”

“ To treat with my father for the ransom
of the white chiefs who are in their power.
Five pale-faces inhabit the cabin of the Go
manches. The young men of the tribe de-
mand their punishment, for the blood of
the pale-faces is agreeable to the Master of
Life. To-morrow the prisoners will have
ceased to live if my father does not buy them
off to-day. What does my father say?
Shall we fasten our prisoners to the stake
of blood, or restore them to liberty ‘2"

{AWhat ransom do you ask f" the General
sa .

“ Listen, all you chiefs of the pale-faces
here present, and jud re of the clemency
and generosity of the omanches. We on-
ly Wish, for the life of these five men, the
life of two men.”

“That is little, I allow," the General ro-
marked; “ and who are the two men whose
lives on ask 9”

“ ezpale-faces call them, the first, Don
Mi ruel crate; the second, General Ibaneli.”

he General started.

“ Those two men can not be delivered to

on,” he answered; “they are condemned
death, and will die to-morrow."

“Goodl My prisoners will he tortured
this night," the chief replied, stoically.

“Confound it!" the General sharply ex-
claimed, “is there no other arrangement
possible? Let my brothers ask me a thing

can grant them and—”

“ Enough i We will retire," Unicorn said,
haughtily. “Longer discourse is needless:
our deeds shall s eak for us.”

“A moment!’ the General exclaimed.
“All may be yet arranged. An affair like
the present can not be settled all in a hur-
ry: we must reflect on the propositions made
to us. My son is a chief, and will rant as
reasonable time to offer him a replay.”

Unicorn bent a suspicious glance on the
Governor.

“ My father has spoken wisely,” he pres.
ently made answer. “To-morrow at the
twelfth hour, I will come for the final an-
swer of the pale-faces. But my father will
promise to me not to order the punishment
of the prisoners till he has told me the de-
cision he has come to.”

“Be it so,” the General answered. “ But
what will the Comanches do till then?”

“ They will leave the town as they entered
it, and bivouac on the plain."

“ Agreed on.”

“The Master of Life has heard my fath-
er‘s promise, if he breaks his word, and
possesses a forked tongue, the blood shed
will fall on his head."

The Comanche uttered these words with
a significant tone that made the General
tremble inwardly; then he bowed to the as-
sembly, and left the hallwitn his com tin-
ions. It was after this interview that ni-
corn had the conversation with Valentino
which we recentl described.

Still, when the exican officers were alone
with the General, their courage returned all
at once, and they reproachad him for on
little dignity he had displayed before the In-
dians, and specially for the promise he had
made them.

“ The promise you allude to pledges ms
to nothing. Between this and to-morrow
osttslnthimuwill happen to free-us com

 

the Comanciies, and enable us to dispense
wltih sulrreiildeging the prisoners they demand
so nso on y.

 

CHAPTER XXXV.
nnornnn AND sisraa.

Anon'r half a league west of Santa re three
men and a woman were seated behind a
dense clump of trees, which sheltered while
rendering them unseen, over a brushwood
flrc, supping with good appetite, and chat-
tin r together. The three men were Red
Cet ur's sons: the female was Ellen.

“Hum!” Suttcr said, “ what can \ee
father so long? He told as that he slioul
be back by four o’clock at the latest; but
the sun is just disappearing on the horizon,
and he has not come yet.”

“I care very little, ’ Suttcr brusqueiy re-

lled,"‘whcther father is here or not; but

believe we should do wellnot to wait long-
er, but return to the camp, where our pres-
ence is doubtless necessary."

“Nonsense! Ourcomrades can do with-
out us,” Shaw observed. “ if father has
not returned by sunrise, we will go back to
camp. Harry and Dick can keep good order
tlll our return.”

“ Let us stay, then," Sntter remarked.
“We shall only have to keep the fire up,
and one of us will watch while the others
sleep."

The three brothers rose. Butter and
Nathan collected a pile of dry wood to main-
tain the tire, while Shaw intertwined a few
branches to make his sister a sufficient shel-
ter for the night. The two older brothers
thrust their feet toward the fire wrapped
themselves in their blankets, and went to
sleep, after advisln Shaw to keep a bright
look-out. Shaw,a ter stirrin up the fire,
threw himself at the foot 0 a arge tree,
and letting his head sink on hlschest, plung-
ed into deep and painful meditation.

His sister Ellen was the only member of
his family for whom he experienced sym- ‘
pathy; and yet it was only with extreme
reserve that he intrusted his boyish secrets
to her—secrets which, during the last few
days, had acquired an importance he did not
himself suspect, but which his sister, with
the innate intelligence of woman, had already
divined.

Shaw, as we have said, was thinking.
He was dreaming of Clara. He loved her,
as he was capable of loving, with that pas,
sionate impetuosity, that Violence of feeling,
to which his uncultivated mind adapted him.
The sight of the maiden caused him a strange
trouble, which he did not attempt to ac-
count for. He did not try to analyze his
feelings for that would have been impossi-
ble; an get at times he was a prey to cold
and terri le fury, when thinking that the
haughty maiden, who was even unconscious
of his existence, would probably onl spun)
and despise him if she ne'w it. lie was

ieldin r to these crushing thoughts, when

e sud only felt a hand lai on his shoulder.
0n turning, Ellen stood before him, up-
right and motionless, like the white apps-
ri ions of the German legends. He raised
his head, and bent an inquiring glance on
his sister.

“ What is the matter, Ellen f"

“ Can you not guess i"

“ I do not understand you."

“On the contrary, ou understand me too
well, Shaw,” she sai , with a sigh. “ Your
heart rejoices at this moment at the misfor-
tune of the woman you should defend."

“ What canI do l’ ‘ he murmured, faintly;
_“ the person of whom you speak is father’s
prisoner. I can not contend against him."

Ellen smiled, contemptuously.

" You seek in vain to hide your thou hts
from me," she said. “ I read your hes as
an open book: your sorrow is fei ed, and

on really rejoice at the thought t at in fu-

ure you will constantly be by Clara's side.”

“Ii” he exclaimed, with an angry start.

“Yes, you only see in her ca tivity a
means to ap roach her. Your sci sh heart
is secretly g addeucd by that hope.”

“You are harsh to me, sister. Heaven
is my witness that, were it ossible, I would
at once restore her the lberty torn from
her.’

“ You can if you like.”

. “No, it ‘3 imPOSSible. My father watch-
es too closely over his prisoner."

“He will not distrust you, but allow yon‘
to a preach her freely.” '

“But how save or i’”

“That is your a air, sham"

“But father 1’” Shaw said, hesitstlngly.

“ He will not know your movements.
ake 3n myself to prevent him noticing

em.

“Good!” the young man remarked. half-
convinced: “ but I do not know where the
maiden is hidden."

“1 will tell you; Clare is oonfinsdsttho

30

The New York Library.

 

 

‘5‘
m
Rancho del Coyote: she was mtrusted to “Extraordinarin so," “I am sure Ishan't."
Andres Garote." , _ “If you liked we could easily shorten it “ Nor I.”
“ Ah, ah i” the young man said, as if speak. with these." “It is very easy; the girl will have ss-
did not fancy her so near And Andres drew from his boot a pack of eaped.”

ingnto himself, “

“Good!” the maiden remarked. “Lose
no time: my father’s absence alarms me.
Perhaps at this moment he is preparing a
safer hiding-place for his prisoner.”

“ But who will keep watch while my broth-
ers sleep 1*”

“ Iwill," the maiden answered, resolutely.

“Whencc arises the interest you feel in
this woman, sister, as you do not know
her ?” the young man asked, in surprise.

“ She is a woman, and unhappy. Are not
those reasons sufiicient ‘2"

“ Perhaps so,” Shaw remarked doubtfully.

And rising hurriedly, he kissed his sister
threw his rifle over his shoulder and ran 0
in the direction of Santa Fe. When he had
dlsa poured in the gloom, and the sound of
his ootsteps had died out in the distance,
the girl fell on the ground, muttering in a
low, sad voice:

“ Will he succeed ?"

CHAPTER XXXVI.
DIAMOND our DIAMOND.

Rab CEDAR did not remain long under the
efl‘ect of the startling insult he had received.
Pride, wrath, and, before all, the desire to
avenge himself, restored his strength, and a
few minutes-after Don Pablo Zarate’s de-
parture the squatter had regained all his
coolness and audacity.

“ You see, senor padre,” he said, address-
ing the monk, “that our little plans are
known to our enemies: we must, therefore,
make haste if we do not wish to see persons
break in here, from whom it is of the ut-
most importance to conceal ourselves. To-
morrow night at the latest, perhaps before,
we shall start. Do not stir from here till my
return. Your face is too well known at
Santa Fe for you to venture to show it in
the streets without imprudence."

“Hum!” the monk muttered, “that de-
mon, whom I fancied dead, is a rude adver-
sary. Fortunately we shall soon have nothing
more to fear from his father, for I hardly
know how we should get out of it."

“ If the son has escaped us," Red Cedar
said with an ugly smile, “ that is fortunately
not the case with the father. Don’t be
alarmed: Don Miguel will cause us no fur-
ther embarrassment."

“I wish it most earnestly, for he is a de-
termined man; but I confess to you that I
shall not be entirely at my case till I have
seen him fall beneath the bullets of the sol-
diers "

“ You will not have long to wait. General
Venture has ordered me to go and meet the
regiment of dragoons he expects, in order
to hurry them 'on, and bring them into the
town this very night, if‘ possible. 80 soon
as the Governor has an imposing force at his
disposal he will no longer fear a revolt on
the part of the troops, and give the order
for execution without delay.’

“May heaven grant it! But,” he added
with a sigh of regret, “what a ity that
most of our scamps deserted us! c should
have almost arrived at the place by this time,
and been safe from the vengeance of our
enemies.”

“ Patience, senor padre: all is for the best,
perhaps. Trust to me. Andres, my horse.’

“ You will start at once, then 1’"

“Yes. I recommend you to watch caro-
l’ull over our prisoner.”

he monk shrugged his shoulders.

“ Our affairs are tolerany well embarrassed
already; then why burden ourselves with a
woman ‘3”

The squatter frowned.

“ That is my business," he exclaimed in a
peremptory tone. “Keep all stupid obser-
vations to yourself. A thousand devils! I
know what I am about. That woman will
gossiybly prove our safeguard at a later

ate.

And mounting his horse, Red Cedar gal-
loped out of Santa Fé.

‘ Hum l” Andres Garote said, as he watch-
ed him depart, “what a diabolical eye!
Though I have known him several years, I
never saw him like that before. How will
all this end ?”

Without further remarks he arran ed mat
ters in the rancho, repairing as wel as he
could the disorder caused by the previous
struggle; then he took a look round him.
The monk sat with his elbows on the table,
and a cigarette in his mouth.

“ Why, senor padre,” the ranchero said in
an insinuating vmcc, “do you know that it
is hardly five o’clock ?”

“ Do you think so ‘2" the other answered
for the sake of saying something.

“Does not the time seem to you to go
very slowly i"

 

greasy cards, which he complacently spread
out on the table.

“Ah! that is a ood idea," the monk ex-
claimed with spar ling eyes. “ Let us have
a game of monté. If you permit me 1 will
make you a proposal.”

“Do so senor.

“This it is: we will play, if you like, for
the share of the gold we shall receive when
we reach the placer."

“ Done 1” the ranchero shouted enthusias-
ticaw.

“ ell,” the monk said, drawing from his
pocket a pack of cards no less dirty than the
others. “ we can at any rate kill time.”

“What! you have cards too i?" the run
chero remarked.

“ Yes, and quite new, as you see.”

Andres bowed with an air of conviction.

The game began at once, and soon the two
men were completely absorbed.

Although Garote was a assed master in
trickery, and displayed al his science, he
found in the monk so skillful an adversary
that. after more than three hc srs of an ob-
stinate struggle, they both found themselves
as little advanced as at the outset. The
monk, however, on comin to the rancho,
had an object which Re Cedar was far
from sus ecting.

Fray mbrosio rested his arms on the
table, bent his body slightly forward, and
while carelessly layin with the cards
which he amused imsel by sorting, he said
to his companion, as he fixed a scrutinizing
glance upon him:

“ Shall we talk a little, Andres ?"

“ Willingly,” the latter replied, who had
partly risen, but now fell back on his chair.

“ Senor Don Andres," continued the monk,
in an insinuatin voice, “what a happiness
that your poor rather, on dying, revealed
to me the secret of the rich lacer, which
he concealed even from yourse fl” .

“it is true,” Andres answored, turning
slightly pale; “it was very fortunate. _ For
my part, I congratulate myself on it daily."

“ .s it not so ? for without it the immense
fortune would have been lost to you and all
else."
“It is terrible to think of.”

“Well, at this moment I have a horrible
fear."

“What is it, father ‘2”

“That we have deferred our departure
too long, and that some of those European
vagabonds we were speaking of just now
may have discovered our placer. Those
scoundrels have a peculiar scent for finding

it

“Father!” Andres said, striking the table
with fei ned grief (for he knew well what
the men was saying was only a clever way
of attaining his real oint,) “that would
drive me mad—an afljar so well managed
hitherto.”

“That is true," Fray Ambrosio said in
corrgboratlon. “ I could nevsrvconsole my-
self.
“ I have as great an interest in it as your-
self, father,” he gold-seeker replied, wrth
coolness.

Andres Garote was a man of unequaled
bravery, gifted with a fertile and ready mind
whom the accidents of life had compelled
to live for alen thened period on the prai-
ries, whose pa hs he knew as thoroughly
as he did the tricks of those who dwelt on
them. Hence, and for many other reasons,
Andres Garote was an invaluable comrade
for Fray Ambrosio. '

“However,” said the monk, after an in-
stant’s reflection, “supposing that the pla-
cer is intact, and that no one has discovered
it, we shall have along journey to reach it.”

“Yes,” the ranchero remarked, sl nui-
cantly; “ the road is diflicult and broa cast
with erils innumerable."

“ e must march with our chins on our
shoulders, and fingers on the rifle-tri rer."

“Fl ht nearly constantly with wll easts
or In ans—"

“In a word do you not believe that the
woman Red Cedar has carried off will prove
a horrid bore i?"

“ Dreadfully so," Andres answered.

" Is she here i"

“ Yes," the gold-seeker said, pointing to
a door: “in that room."

“ Suppose we restore her to her family i"

“ And they pay a proper ransom.”

“ That is what I meant to say."

There was is silence.

“But who is to undertake this delicate
mission i” asked the monk.

“I,” the ranchero exclaimed, his eyes
sparkling with greed at the thought of the
nch ransom he would demand.

“ But if Red Cedar were to find out,"
the monk remarked, “ that we had surrenc
dered his prisoner?”

“Who will tell him?"

 

” Quite true."

“ Do not let us lose time, then.

“Don Pablo will be delighted to recover
his sister, whom he expected never to see
again and will not baggie over the price he
pays for her deliverance."

Andres Garote rose with a smile which
would have caused the monk to reflect, had
he seen it; but at the same moment the latter
was rubbing his hands saying in a low voice,
and with a most satisfied air :

“ Now, my scamp, I’ve got you."

What secret thought possessed these two
men, who were carrying on a mutual deceit,
none save themselves could have said. The
gold-seeker approached the door of the
room where Clara was confined, and put the
key in the lock. At this moment two Vigor-
ous blows were dealt on the outer door,
which had been carefully bolted. The two
accomplices started.

“ Must I open ll" Andres asked.

“Yes,” the monk answered; “hesitation
or refusal might create alarm.”

Andres went to open the door, which the
new-comer threatened to break in. A man
walked in, who took a careful glance around,
then dofl'ed his hat, and bowed. The con-
federates exchanged a glance of vexation on
recognizing him, for he was no other than
Shaw, Re Cedar’s youngest son.

“I am afraid I d sturb you, gentlemen,"
the floung man sal with an ironical smile.

“ ot at all,” An res made answer; “on
the contrary, we are delighted to see you."

“ Thanks! ’

And the young man fell back into a chair.

“ You are very late at Santa Fé," the monk
remarked.

“It is true," Shaw said, with some em-
barrassment- “I am looking for my father,
and fancied I should find him here. ‘

“ He was so s few hours back, but was
obli ed to leave us."

it b l"

The monk and the miner did not at all
understand Shaw‘s conduct, and lost them-
selves in conjectures as to the reasons that
brou ht him to town. They guessed in-
stinc ively that what he said about his
father was only a pretext or means of intro-
duction; and that a powerful motive, he
would not or dare not avow, had brought
him. For his part, the young man, in com-
ing where he new that Clara was impris-
0 ed, expected to find Andres alone, with
whom he hoped to come toan understand-
ing in some way or another. The presence
of the monk disturbed all his plans. Still,
time was slipping away; he must make up
his mind, an , before all, profit by Red Co-
dar’s providentlal absence which ofl‘ered
him an opportunity he could hardly dare to

hope ass

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.
A s'ronmr DISCUSSION.

Brnw was not timid, as we have said-ho
ought rather to be accused of the opposite
excess ; he was not the man, once his resolu-
tion was formed, to let any thing soever turn
him from it. His hesitation was not lon ;
he suddenly rose, and violently stampingh s
rifle-butt on the ground, looked at the two
men while saying in a firm voice :

“fie frank; my (presence here at this hour
astonishes you, an you ask yourselves what
cause can have brought me. I will tell
you: I have come to deliver Dona Clara."

“ What do I hear 1’" said Fray Ambrosio.

“Hum l” the young man continued,
quickly, “believe me, do not attempt any
useless resistance, for I have resolved, if
needs, must, to pass over your bodies to suc-
cess.

“ Pardon me,” the monk interrupted,
“ such a determination on your part natural-
ly sn rises us."

11 so 1’" the young man said, raising
his hsa haughtily.

“Because,' Fray Ambrosio answered,
tranquilly, “ you are the son of Red Cedar,
and it is at least stran e that—"

“Enough. talking," haw exclaimed, vio-
lently; “ Will you or not give up her I have
come to seek? '

“I must know, in the first place, what
you intend doin with her.”

“How does t at concern you i’”

.“More than you im ne. Since that
girl has been a prisoner constituted my-
self—if not her usrdian for the dress I
Wear forbids the her efender; in that
quality I have the right of knowing for what
reason you, the son of the man who tore her
from her family, have come so audacioust
to demand her surrender to you, and what
your objectis in acting thus i? ’ ~

The young man had listened to these re-
msrks with an immtienee that became mo-

_._,__‘ I .4

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m— ‘x;__,. . t.

“‘ .3 :2 "

. A ._ .‘._______.._.—7 ._.. .i7 ._ .___“v

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‘31

 

 

 

mentarily more visible; Jt could be seen
that he made superhuman efforts to restrain
himself. When the monk stopped, he looked
at him for a moment with a strange expres-
sion, then walked up so close as almost to
touch him, drew a pair of pistols from his
girdle and pointed them at the monk.

" Surrender Clara to me," he said, in slow
and menacing voice.

Fray Ambrosio had attentively followed
all the squatter’s movements, and when the
latter put the pistol-inuzzlcs to his chest, the
monk, with an action rapid as lightning, also
drew two pistols from his girdle, and placed
them on his adversary’s chests There was a
moment of supreme expectation, of inde-
scribable agony; the two men were motion-
less, face to face, panting, each with his
fingers on a trigger, pale, and their brows
dank with cold perspiration. Andres Ga-
rote, his lips curled by an ironical smile,
and his arms crossed, carelessly leaned
against a table, watching this scene which
had forhini all the attraction of a play.

All at once the door of the macho, which
had not been fastenedagain alter the squat-
ter’s entry, was violently thrown back and
a man appeared; it was Father Seraphin.
At a glance he judged the position and bold-
ly threw himself between the i'oemen, hurl-
ing them back, but not uttering a word.
The two men recoiled, and lowered their
weapons, but continued to menace each oth-
er with their rlances.

“ What!" tie missionary said, in a deep
voice, “have I arrived just in time to pre-
vent a double murder, rentlenien? 1n
heaven’s name, hide those omicidal weap-
ons; do not stand opposite each other like
wild beasts preparing for a leap.”

“ I wish to save a young girl from his
hands,” Shaw said, “ and restore her to her
father."

“ 0f whom are you speaking, my friend ‘1"
the missionary asked, with a secret beating
of his heart.

“ 0f whom should I speak, save Dona
Clara Zarate, whom these villains retain
here by force?”

“Can it be possible ?” Father Serapliiu
exclaimed, in amazement. “ Clara here ‘2"

“Ask those men,” Shaw answered, rough-
ly, as he angrily struck the butt of his riiie
against the ground.

“Is it true i” the priest inquired.

“ It is,” the gold-seeker answered.

Father Seraphin frowned, and his pale
forehead flushed.

“ Sir,” he said, in a voice choking with in-
dignation, “I summon you, in the name of
that God whom you serve, and whose min-
ister you lay claim to being, to restore at
once to liberty the hapless girl whom you
have so unwortliily imprisoned, in defiance
of all laws, human and divine. I engage to
deliver her into the hands of those who
bewail her loss.”

Fray Ambrosio bowed; he let his eyes
fall, and said, in a hypocritical voice:

“Father you are mistaken as regards my-
self. I had nothing to do with the carrying
oil" of that poor child,wliich, on the contrary
I opposed to the utmost of my power; and
that is so true, father,” he added, “that at
the moment when this young madman ar-
rived, the worthy miner and myself had re-
solved, at all risks, on restor.ng her to her
family." . _

“I should wish to believe you, sir; if I
am mistaken, as you say, you will forgive
me, for appearances were against you; it on-
ly depends on yourself to produce a perfect
justification by carrying out my Wishes."

“ You shall be satisfied, father,” the monk
replied. Ata signal from him Garote left
the room. During the few words inter-
changed between the two men, Show remain-
ed motionless, hesitating, not knowmg what
he on htto do; but he suddenly made up
his mind, threw his rifle over his shoulder,
and turned to the missionary.

“ Father,” he said, rCSPCthuny) “ my
presence is now needless here. Farewell;
n departure will prove to you the parity
0 my intentions.”

And turning suddenly on his heel, he hur-
ried out of the rancho. A few moments
after his departure the gold-seeker returned,
Clara following him.

She no longer wore the dress of the whites,
for Red Cedar, in order to render her un-
recognizable, had_ compelled her to don the
Indian garb, which the maiden wore with
an innate grace that hightened its strange
elegance. On seeing the missionary, Clara
uttered a cry of Joy, and rushing toward
him, fell into his arms, and murmured in a
heartrending voice :

“Father! save mel save me!"

“Be calm, my daughter 1” the priest said

- to her, gently. “ You have nothing more

to fear, now that I am near you." .
“You see, father," hay _Ambrosio said,

hypocritically, “ that I did not deceive
on.”

y The missionary cast at the monk a glance

' of undennabls meaning.

 

“I trust that you spoke truly,” he re-
lied ; “ the God who gauges hearts will
udgc you according to works.

And picking up a cloak, he placed it deli-
cately on the sliudderin r shoulders of Clara,
in order to conceal her ndian garb. Father
Seraphin drew her arm throu if his own,
and led her from the rancho. Itre long they
disappeared in the darkness. Fray Ambro-
sio looked after them as long as he could
see them, and then re-entered the room,
carefully bolting the door after him.

“ Well," Andres Garote asked him,
“what do you think of all that has hap-
pened ‘2”

“ Perhaps thin are better as they are.”

“ And Red Ce ar?"

“ I undertake to render ourselves as white
in his sight as snow.”

“ Hum! it will be difficult."

“Perhaps so.”

_—.—.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
'rnn MYSTERY.

ON leaving the Rancho del Coyote, Red
Cedar dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks,
and galloped in a south-western direction.
80 soon as he was out of the town he turned
to the left, took a narrow path that ran round
the walls, pulled up his horse, and advanced
with the utmost caution. Throwing suspi-
cious glances on either side he went on thus
for about three-quarters of an hour when

he reached a house, in one of the Windows

of which burned three wax~tapers.

The lights thus arranged were evidently a
signal for the squatter, for soon as he came
to the house he stopped and dismounted,
attached his horse to a larch-tree, and ru-
dently concealin himself behind a thic ct,
imitated thrice a equal intervals the hu-hu
of an owl. The lights burniu in the win-
dow were extinguished, as by enchant-
ment.

At this moment a voice could be heard
from the house which Red Cedar was watch-
ing so carefully. Thesquatter listened; the
speaker leaned for a second out of the win-
dow, looked cautiously round, and disap-
peared muttering loud enough for the squat-
ter to overhear:

“You can come on, for you are expec-
ted.” ,

“I know it; hence here I am.”

While makin this answer, Red Cedar
left his hiding-p ace, and placed himself be-
fore the door with folded arms like a man
who has nothing to fear. The oor was cau-
tiously opened; a man emerged, carefully
wrapped up in a wide cloak, which only al-
lowe eyes to be seen, that flashed in the
gloom like a jackal’s. This person walked
strai lit up to Red Cedar.

“ ell,’ he asked, in a low voice, “have
you reflected l"

H Yes.”

“And what is the result of your reflec-
tions 17” -

“I refuse."

“ Take care."

“I do not care, Don Melchior, for I am
not afraid of you. ’

“No names l" the stranger exclaimed,
impatiently.

“ We are alone."

“ No one is ever alone in the desert.”

“ That is true," Red Cedar muttered.

“Listen,” the stran rer said, in a low cut-
ting voice. “I will ose no more oi' in
time. Hand Dona Clara over to me, and
will ive you the papers which—"

“ nougli !" the squatter said, sharply.
“Have you those papers about you 1’”

“ No, I have not. I am not such a fool
as to risk assassination at your hands."

“What would your death roilt me Y”

“ Hang it all it it were only my seal on
gouilzipe sure to receive at least fifty 01 rs

r .

At this monrniul Jest the squatter began

laughing.

‘ Idi notthink of that,"hesaid. “Hang
it, thou h, what'can. be your motive for
wishing ohave this girl in your power?"

“ That is no affair o yours. I have no ex-

lanationsdue to you. Enough for you to
Enow that I want her.”

“ You shall not have her."

“We shall see. Good-by, Red Cedar."

“ Good-by, Don Melchior, or whatever he
the name you please to hear."

The stranger made no reply, but turned
his head with a gesture of contempt, and
whistled. A man emerged from the house
holding a horse b the bridle; at one boun
the stranger re ed the saddle, and order-
ed the servant to withdraw.

“Farewell, Compadre, remember our ap-
pointment.”

And loosing his reins, the stranger. started
at a gallop, not condescending even to turn
his head. Red Cedar looked after him with
an indescribable expression of rage.

“0h,” he muttered, in a low voice, “do-
monl shall I novar free myself from your
Gillth I"

 

And with a motion rapid as thou ht be
shouldered his rifle, and aimed at he de’
arting man. All at once the latter turned
is horse, and stood right opposite Red Ce-

ar.

“Mind not to miss moi" he cried, with a
burst of laughter, that caused a cold perspi-
ration to head on the bandit’s forehead.

The latter let his rifle fall, saying, in a
hollow voice:

“He is right, and I am madl If I only
had the papers 1"

The stranger waited for a moment, calm
and motionless; then he started again, and
soon disappeared in the darkness. Red Ce-
dar stood with his body bowed forward, and
his ears on the Watch, so long as the horse's
hoofs could be heard; then he returned to
his own steed, and bounded into the saddle.

“Now to go and warn the dragoons," he
said, and pushed on.

The squatter had scarce departed ere
several men appeared from either side; they
were Valentine, Curumilia, and Don Pablo
on the ri rht; Unicorn and Eagle-wing on
the left. alentine and his friends were as-
tonished at meeting the Comanche chief,
whom they believed gone back to his camp ;
but the sachein explained to them, in a few
words, how, at the moment he was crossin r
the s )ot where they now were, hehad heart
Red ednr‘s voice, and concealed himself in
the shrubs in order to overhear the squat-
ter’s colloquy with his strange friend. Val-
entine had done the same; but unfortunate-
ly, the party had been greatly disappointed,
for the squatter‘s conversation remained to
them an enigma, of which they sought the
keyln vain.

‘ Tis stran e," Valentine remarked, as he
passed his and several times across his
forehead. “I do not know where I have
seen the man lust now talking here with
Red Cedar, but I have a vague reminiscence
of having met him before, where and under
what circumstances I try, though in vain, to
recall.”

“What shall we do i?” Don Pablo asked.

“ Hang it, what we agreed on ;" and turn
ing to the ciiicf he said, “ Good luck, broth-
er, I believe we shall save our friend."

“I am sure of it,” the Indian replied, la-
conically.

“ May heaven hear you, brother," Valen-
tine continued. “Actl while, on your side,
you watch the town for fear of treason. We
then will ambush ourselves on the road the
gold-seeker must take, in order to know
positively thO direction in which they are
proceeding. Till to-moxrow, chief 1"

"Stop! a antlng voice exclaimed, and
:hman sudden y appeared in the midst of

em.

“ Father Seraphin l" Valentine said, in
surprise. “What chance brings you this

way i’"

‘ I was looking for you.”

“What do you want with mo 1’"

“ To give you some ood news."

“ Speak! speak quick y, fathcri Has Don
Miguel left his prison ‘3”

‘ Alasl not yet; but his daughter is
free i”

“ Dona Clara freei" Valentine shouted,
joyously. “Heaven be blessedl where is
she i’”

“She is temporarily in safety, be assured
of that; but let me give you a warning,
which may perhaps prove useful to you."

“Speak I speak i‘

“By order of the Governor, Red Cedai
has was to meet the regiment of dragoons,
comnug up to reinforce the Santa F6 garri
son.

“ Are you sure of your statement, father?”

“I am; in my presence, the men who car-
ried Ofl' Dona Clara spoke about it."

“All is lost if these soldiers arrive."

“ Yes," the missionary said; “but, how
to revent it l’"

urumilla lightly touched the leader‘s

arm.

“ What do you want, chief 1’”

“The Comanehes are warriors," Curumil-
ls answered curtly. _

“ Ah l” Valentine exclaimed, and tapping
his forehead with delight, “ that is true,
chief- you save us."

“While on go in pursuit of the soldiers,“
said Don ablo, “as I can be of no service
to you, I will accompany Father Seraphin to
my goor sister." _

“ 0 so," Valentine answered. “ At day-
break you will bring Clara to the camp, that
I may; myself deliver her to her father." '

“ hat is rreed.”

Valentine, arumllla, and Unicorn rushed
out in the plain, while Father Sara bin find
Don Pablo returned to the town. he “'0
litter. anxious to join the girl. did not per-
ceive that they were closely watched by an
individual, who followed their every move-
ment, while careful not to be seen by them.
It was Nathan, Red Cedar-’5 eldest son.

How was that man there!

an. I t

32

The New York Library.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXXIX.
ran amausosnn.

Tm! night-breeze had swept the clouds
sway; the sky, of a deep azure, was studded
with an infinity of stars; the night was lim-
pid, the atmosphere so transparent as to
allow the slightest varieties of the landscape
to be distinguished. About four leagues
from Santa Fe, a numerous band of horse-
men was following a path scarce traced in
the tall grass, which approached the town
with countless turns and windings. These
horsemen, who marched in rather decent
order, were nearly eight hundred in number,
and formed the regiment of dragoons so
anxiously expected by General Ventura.

About ten paces ahead rode four or five
officers gay] y chatting,r together,amongwhom
was the colonel. Tllc regiment continued
its march slowly, advancing cautiously,
through fear of losing its way in a perfect y
strange country. The colonel and his officers
who had always fought in the States border-
ing the Atlantic, found themselves now for
the first time in these savage countries.

The colonel suddenly remarked, “ I con-
fess to you that I am completely ignorant
as to our whereabouts. Can any one of
you throw a light on the subject? This
road is fearful; it seems to lead nowhere,
and I am afraid we have lost our way.”

“ We are all as ignorant as yourself on that
head, colonel,” an officer answered; “not
one of us could say where we are."

“ Give the order to halt.”

The officer immediately obeyed ; the
soldiers, wearied with 21 ion night’s march,
greeted with shouts of joy t e order to sto .

hey dismounted. The horses were unsa -
died and picketed, camp-tires were lighted,
and in less than an hour the bivouac was
arranged.

The colonel, in desiring to camp for the
night, had a more serious fear than that of
losing his way ; it was that of falling in with
a party of Indiou braves. On the other hand,
he was unaware that the Governor of Santa
Fé had such pressing need of his presence,
and this authorized him in acting with the
utmost precaution. Still, so soon as the
bivouac was established, and the sentincls
posted, the colonel sent oii‘a dozen resolute
men under a sergeant, to trot up the
country and try to procure the assistance of
a ruide.

l‘he little squad had started at a gallop,
but it soon reduced its pace, and the soldiers
and sergeant began laughing and talking,
caring l.ttle for the important mission with
which they were intrusted. A majestic si-
lence hovered over the plain, only disturbed
at intervals by those sounds, without any
known cause, which are heard on the savan-
nas, and which seem to be the respiration
of the sleeping world. Suddenly the mock-
in -bird sung twice, and its plaintive and
so tsong resounded melodiOusly through the
air.

“ Hallo,” one of the dragoous said, ad-
dressing his comrade, “that’s abird that
sings very late.”

“ An evil omen,” the other said with a
shake of his head.

At this moment the song, which appeared
previously some distance oil‘, could be heard
much more close, and seemed to come from
some trees on the side of the path the dra‘

oons were followin . The sergeant raised
file head and steppe ; but all became silent
again, so he shook his head and continued
his conversation. The detachment had
been out more than an hour. During this
long stroll, the soldiers had discovered
nothing suspicious. The ofllcer was about
to give orders to return to camp, when one
of the troopers pointed out to him some
heavy, black forms, apparently prowling
about unsuspiciously.

“ What on earth can that be ?" the officer
asked, after carefully examining what was
pointed out to him.

“ Uaspita,” one of the dragoons exclaim-
Sd, "uthat is easy to see; they are browsing

oer .

“ Deer!” said the sergeant, in whom the
hunter’s instinct was suddenly aroused,
“ there are at least thirty; suppose we try
to lasso them.“

_The dmgoons, delighted at the opportu-
nity of indulgingiu their favorite sport, dis-
mounted, fastencd their horses to the road-
side trees and seized their lassos. On ar-
riving at a short distance from the game, the
dragoons separated in order to have room
for whirlin their lassos, and making a cov-
ering of can tree, they managed to approach
within fifteen paces of the animals.

A strange thing happened at this moment,
however. All the deer-hides fell simultane-
ously to the (ground. displayin Valentine,
Curumilla, an a dozen Comanc e warriors,
who, profiting by the stupor of the troop-
ers at their extraordinary metamorphosis,
hunted the hunters by throwlna leases over

 

their shoulders and buried them to the
ground. The ten dragoons and their leader
were risoncrs.

“ ell, my friends," Valentine said with
a grin, “how do you like that sort of
fun i’"

The startled dragoons made no reply,
but allowed themselves to be bound: one
alone muttered between his teeth:

“Iwas sure that villain of a mocking-
bird would brlng us ill-luck: it sung on our
left. That never deceives, Canaries I”

Valentine smiled at this sally. He then
placed two lingers in his mouth and imitat-
ed the cry of the mocking-bird with such
perfection, that the soldier looked up at
the trees. He had scarce ended, when a
rustling was heard among the bushes, anda
man leaped between the hunters and their
prisoners. It was Eagle~wing, the sachem
of the Corns.

 

CHAPTER XL.
A FRIENDLY Discussrou.

Alr'rnn leaving his enemy (for the myste-
rious man with whom he had so stormy a dis-
cussion could be nothing else , Red Cedar set
out to join the regiment, an hasten its ar-
rival according to the orders he had received.
In spite of himself, the squatter was surfer-
ing from extraordinary nervousness. What-
ever might be the reason, itwas a very potent
one; for after afew minutes of deep thought
his hands let go the reins and his head f ii
on his breast: at length he raised it and
shouted, as he directed a savage glance at
the starllt sky, “ Any struggle with that de-
mon is impossible. I must fly, so soon as
practicable, to the prairies of the far west.
General Ventura must seek another emis-
sary, for more important matters claim my
attention. I must go to the Rancho del Co-
y‘ote, for there alone shall I find my revenge.

ray Ambrosio and his prisoner can supply
me with the weapons I need for the terrible
contest I am compelled to wage against that
demon."

After havln uttered these words in a low
voice, in the ashion of men wont to live in
solitude, Red Cedar appeared to regain all
his boldness and energy. He looked sava e-
ly around, and, burying his spurs .in is
horse’s flanks, he started with the speed of
an arrow in the direction of the rancho.

The monk and the gambusino, delighted at
the unexpected termination of the scene
we recently narrated, deli hted above all at
having got rid of Dona ‘lara without be-
ing immediately mixed up in her escape,
tranquilly resumed their game of meme. In
the midst of a most interestin game, they
heard the furious gallop of a orse up the
paved street. Instinctively they stopped
and listened: a secret forebodingseemed to
warn them that this horse was coming to
the rancho, and that its rider wanted them.

In truth, neither Fray Ambrosio nor An-
dres Garote had a quiet conscience even
supposing, which was very doubtful, that
either had a conscience at all for they felt
that they were responsible to Red Cedar for
Dona Clara.

The horse stopped short before the ran-
cho; a man dismounted, and the door shook
beneath the tremendous blows of his fists.

“ Hum l" Andres whispered, as he
blew out the solitary candle that illumined
the room.’ “ Who the deuce can come at
this advanced hear of the night? I have I
great mind not to 0 en."

Strange to say, my Ambrosio had ap-
parently regained all his serenity. With a
smiling face, crossed arms, and back leaned
against the wall, he seemed to be a perfect
stranger to what perplexed his mate so fu-
rious y. At Garote s remark an ironical
smile played roundhis pale lips for a second.
and he replied with the most perfect indif-
ference:

_“ You are at liberty to act as you please.
231111 I think it ~my duty to warn you of one

u .

“ €Vhat is it?”

“That, if you do not open your door, the
man, whoever he may be now battering it.
is very capable of breakin it in, which
would be a decided nuisance §or you."

“1: Y0“ fiPeitk very mad; at your case,“
am as no answers 111- em e .
“ Su i‘pose it be Red Cedar i,” t p may

“ ' he renter reason to open the door. If
you heSitate, he will begin to suspect you:
and then take care, for he is a man capable
of‘kwiililg you like 13 dog."

i on 0 en ’ a rou hvoice shouted.

“ Red cedar ” both men gwhispered.

‘_‘ I arn coming.” Andres replied, in o
vaice which terror caused to tremble. .

He rose unwillingly,‘and walked slowly
toward the door, which the squatter threat.-
cned to tear from its hinges.

“ Make haste l" he howled, “ for I am in a
hung."

 

“Hum! it is surely be!" the gambusino
tho ht. “ Who are you i)" he asked.

“ hat! who am I." Red Cedar exclaim-
ed, bounding with wrath. “ Did you not
recognize me, or are you having a game with
me ?

“I never have a game with any one " An-

dres replied, lmperturbably: “but warn-
re

you that, although I fancy cognfze your
voice, I shall not open till you mention your
name. The night is too far advanced for me
to risk receiving a suspicious person into my
house."

“ I will break the door down."

“ Try it,” the gambusino shouted boldly,
“ and by our Lady of Pilar I will send a bul-
let through your head.”

At this threat the squatter rushed against
the door in incredible fury, with the evident
intention of breaking it in; but, contrary to
his expectations, though it creaked and
groancd on its hin es, it did not give way.
Andres Garote ha indulged in a line of
reasoning which was far from bein illo rical,
and revealed a. rofouud knowle go o the
human heart. e had said to himself, that
as he must face Red Cedar‘s anger, it would
be better to let it reach its paroxysm at
once, so as to have only the decreasing

eriod to endure. He smiled at the a nat-
er’s sterile attempts, then, and repeate his

request.

“ Well, then," the other said, furiously.
“ I am Red Cedar. Do you recognize me
now ?”

“ Of course; I see that I can open with-
out dau er."

And c ranchero hurriedly drew back the
bolts. Red Cedar rushed into the room with
n yell of fury, but Andres had put out the
light. The squatter stopped, surprised by
the gloom which prevented him distinguish-
ing any ob'ect.

“Hallo ." he said. “ What is the mean-
ing of this darkness? I can see nothing."

" Uaspita I" Andres replied, lmpudently,
“ do you think I amuse myself 0‘ nights by
watching the moon ? I was asleep, when

on came to arouse me with your internal
ammering."

“ That is possible," the squatter remarked ;
“ but there was no reason for keeping me so
long at your door.”

“ Prudence is the mother of security.
We must not let every comer into the
rancho."

“ Hum !" the squatter snorted, suspicious-
ly; 1i ht the candle."

An res struck a match, and Red Cedar
looked ea erl round the room; but Fray
Ambrosio it disappeared. ‘

“ Where is the monk P" Red Cedar
asked.

“ I do not know: probably gone."

The squatter shook his head.

“All this is not clear " he muttered;
“ there is treacber behind it."

“ That is poss ble,” Andres answered,
calml .

Rec? Cedar bent on Andres eyes that flash-
ed with fury, and roughly seized him by the
throat.

“ Answer, scoundrel l” he shouted.
“ What has become of Dona Clara 1"

“ I do not know.”

The squatter squeezed more tightly.

“You do not know!" he yelled.

“No l” Andres whined, “I tell you I do
not know." ,

“Maledlction!” Red Cedar went on. “I
will kill on, if you are obstinate.”

“Let at man go, and Iwill tell you all
on wish to know," was said in a firm voice
y a hunter, who at this moment appeared

on the threshold.

The two men turned in amazement.

“ Nathan l” Red Cedar shouted on recog-
nizlu ', his son. “ What are you doing
here

“ I will tell you, hither," the young m
said, as he entered the room.

CHAPTER XLI.
NATHAN.

Nun“ was not asleep, as Ellen su sad
when she ur ed on Shaw to devote mself
to liberate C are, and he had listened atten-
tively to the conversation. Since the fatal
night, when the chief of the Corns had
avenged himself for the burning of his vil-
lage and the, murder of its inhabitants,
Nathan‘s character had grown still more
gloomy ; he had sworn in h 5 heart to avenge
on those who fell into his hands the injur
one man hadinflicted on him; in a war ,
Nathan. loved none and hated every thin .

,When Shaw had disappeared anion .5“
bushes, and Ellen, after takin a finalg unce
around to convince herself t at. allwas in
order . re-entered the but that, ved-her
a shelter, Nathan rose cautious y threw
fie “51”” his shoulder, and rushed after his

"a

 

‘: A

 

‘.

n" gang‘sfldw'..-” 

Red Cedar.

 

 

'33

 

Convinced of the importance of the affair
and knowing the value his father attache
to carrying off the maiden, who was a most

ions hostage for him Nathan did not
{use a moment, but bounded with the agili-
ty of a tiger-cat over the obstacles that be-
set his ath. Presently he reached an is-
olated ouse, not far mm which several
men were conversing together in a low
voice. Nathan stopped and listened; he
recognized Well-known men, and his mind
was at once made up.

He laid himself on the ground, and ad-
vanced, inch by inch, crawling like a serpent.
At len th he reached a clump of Peru trees
only a cw yards distant from the spot where
the men were standing. His expectations
were not deceived; -thou h a few words es-
caped him here and t ere, he was near
enough perfectly to catch the sense of the
conference. A sinister smile lit up his face,
and he eagerly clenched the barrel of his
rill

e.

Presently the arty broke into two. Val-
entine, Curumil a, and Unicorn, took the
road leading to the country, while Don Pa-
blo and Father Seraphin returned toward
Santa Fe.

80 soon as they were one, Nathan drew
two or three deep breat s, and started in
pursuit of Don Pablo and the missionary,
with whom he soon caught up.

They walked quickly, ike persons anxious
to reach a place where they know they are
expected, exchanging but a few words at
intervals, whose meaning, however, caught
u by the man who followed them, ur ed
h in still more not to let them out of sig t.
They thus traversed the greater part of the
town, until reaching their destination—a
house of handsome aspect.

A weak light burned at the window of a
ground-floor room. By an instinctive move-
ment, the two men turned round at the mo
ment of~enterin the house, but Nathan had

slipped intoa oorwa ,and they did not,

erceive him. Father eraphin tapped gent-

y; the door was at once opened, and they

went in. Nathan stationed himself in the

middle of the street with his eyes ardeutly

fixed on the only Window of the house lit

3. Ere long, shadows crossed the car-
as

“ Good i“ the young man muttered; “ but
ihow to warn the old one that the dove is in
her nest ?”

All at once, a heavy hand was laid on his
shoulder, and Nathan turned, fiercely clutch-
ing a bowie-knife. Anian was before him,
gloomy, silent, and wrapped in the thick
olds of his cloak.

“ Go your way," he said, in a menacing
voice. .

“Nonsense, you are mad; the road be-
lon s to all. This place suits me, and I
lbs 1 remain."

“I wish to be alone here."

“You mean to kill me, then?’

“If I must, yes, without hesitation.”

The two speakers had exchanged these
words in a low and hurried voice in less
time than we have employed to write them.
They stood but a few paces apart, with
flashin eyes, ready to rush on each other.

“ 80 e it, ’ said Nathan, drawing a knife
from his boot.

“Then your blood will be on your own
head."

“ Or on yours,” N athsn replied.

The two foemen each fell back a pace, and
stood on guard, their cloaks rolled round
their left arms. The moon, vailed by
clouds, shed no light; midnight struck from
the cathedral. Suddenly Nathanuttered a
hoarse yell, rushed on his enemy and threw
his cloak in his face, to put him off his

uard. The stranger parried the stroke
fiealt him, and replied by another, wardcd
011‘ with equal dexterity. The two men
then seized each other round the waist, and
wrestled for some minutes, without utter-
Ing a word; at length the stran er rolled on
the ground with a heavy sig ; Nathan‘s
knife was buried in his chest. He rose
with a yell of triumph—his enemy was mo-
tionless. I

“ Can I have killed him ?” be muttered.

He returned his knife to his boot. and
bent over the wounded man. All at once
he started back, for he had recognized his

g brother Shaw.

“ What is to be done now?" he said- but
then added carelessly, “Pshawi all the
worse for him. y did he come across
my path? Well, heaven knows, Iought
not, and could not have hesitated. '

Shaw lay to all appearance dead, with pale
and drawn checks, in the center of the
street.

 

CHAPTER XLII.
m wouxnnn MAI.

NATHAN proceeded straight to the Ran-
oho del Coyote where his unexpected ar-

 

rival was a blessing for Andres Garote,
whom the old squatter was treatin very
roughly. 0n hearing his son’s wor s, Red
Cedar let go of the ambusino, who tottered
back against the w l.

“ Well," he said, ‘where is Dona Clara Y"

“Come with me, father,” the young man
answered; “I will lead you to her."

“ You know her hiding-place, then f"

tL Yea-77

“And so do I," Fray Ambrosio shouted
as he rushed into the room with discomposed
{futures ; “ I felt sure I should discover

er.”

Red Cedar looked at him in amazement,
but the monk did not wince.

“ What has happened to her i?" the squat-
ter said, resently, as he looked suspicious-
ly from t 10 monk to the gainhusino.

“ A very simple matter,” Fray Ambrosio
answered, with an inimitany truthful ac-
cent; about two hours back your son Shaw
came here."

“ Go on."

“Very good. He presented himself to
us as coming from you to remove our pris-
oner."

“And what did you do ?” the squatter
asked impatiently.

“ hat could we do i"

“ Why, oppose the girl’s departure.”

“Do on fancy we let her go so i” the
monk as ed, in erturbably.

The squatter ooked at him in surprise—
he no longer understood any thing. Like
all men 0 action, discussion was to him al-
most amatter of impossibility: especially
with an adversary so crafty as the one he
had before him. Dcccived by the monk’s
coolness and thee parent frankness of his
answers, he wishe to make an end of it.

i Irigome," he said, “how did all this fin-
s

“Thanks to an ally who came to your

son's help, and to whom we were obliged to

“ An,ally i What man can be so bold as to

“ Eh i” the monk sharply interrupted Red
Cedar, “that man is a priest, to whom you
have already bowed many a time.”

“ You are jesting,” the squatter exclaim-
ed savagely.

“ Not the least in the world. Had it been
any one else, I should have resisted; but I,
too, belong to the Church; and as Father
Seraphin is my superior, I was forced to
obey him."

“ What i" the squatter said, with s groan,
“ is he not dead .9"

“It appears,” the monk remarked, ironiu
cally, “as if those on kill are all in a good
state of health, Red Cedar."

At this allusion to Don Pablo’s death, the
s uatter stifled a or of anger, clenched
h s fists, and said: “ f I do not alwa s kill,
1 know how to take my revenge. here is
Dona Clara at this moment P”

“ In a house no great distance from here,”
Nathan answered.

"Good!" said Red Cedar; “as the dove
is in her nest, we shall be able to and her.
What o’clock is it i”

“ Three in the morning," Andres inter-
jected. “Day will soon break.”

“ We must make haste, thou. Follow me,
all of you. Then he added, “ But What has
become of Shaw? Does any one of you
know 1"

“You will probably find him at the door
of Clara’s house,” Nathan said, in a hollow

e.
vo‘l‘c How so? Has my son entered into a
com act with my enemies ?"

“ ges; as be arranged with them to carry
on‘ your prisoner.” _

“Oh! I will kill him ii he prove a trai-
tor!” the squatter shouted with an accent
that made the blood run cold in the veins of

is hearers.
h “ That is done,” Nathan said, harshly.
“ Shaw tried to stab me, so I killed him."

After these mournful words, there was a
moment of silence in the rancho. All these
men, thou h their hearts were steeled by
crime, shu dered involuntarily. The squat-
ter passed his hard hand over his dank
brow. A sigh, like a howl, painfully forced
its way from his oppressed chest.

“ He was my last born,” he said, in a voice
broken by an emotion which he could not
control. “ He deserved death, but he ought
not to have received it at his brother’s

s.

“ Father i" Nathan muttered.

“Silence!” Red Cedar shouted, in a hol-
low voice, as be stamped his foot passionate-
ly on the round; “what is done can not be
undone; nt, woe to my enemy's family!"

After uttering these words, he said to his
mates, in a hollow voice:

“ Let us be off! We have wasted too
much time here already i"

‘Alld he left the rnncho, the others follow-
inficlose at his i"'|i|li.

the meaanloe Don Pablo and Father

 

Bersphin were with Clara. The priest had
taken the maiden to the house of an honest
family which owed him great obligations,
grid was too happy to receive the poor suf~
erer.

Dona Clara had been placed in a comfort-
able room by her hosts. The maiden, worn
out by the poignant emotions of the scene
she had witnessed, was on the point of re-
tirin to bed, when Father Scraphin and
Don ablo tapped at the door of her room.
She hastily opened it, and the sight of her
brother, whom shc had not hoped to see so
speedily, overwhelmed her with joy.

An hour soon slipped away in pleasant
chat. Don Pablo was careful not to tell his
sister of the misfortune that had befallcn
their father. Then, as the night was ad-
vancin , the two men withdrew, so as to
allow her to enjoy that rest so needed to
strengthen her for the journey home. Fa-
ther Scraphin ofl'ei'ed Don Pablo to pass the
night with him by sharing the small lodging
he had not far from there, and the young
man eagerly accepted. After sleeve-taking,
they, therefore, left the house, and, so soon
as they were gone, Clara threw herself, ready
dressed, into a hammoek hanging at one end
of the room, when she speedily fell asleep.

0n reaching the street, Don Pablo saw a
bod lying motionless in front of the house.

“ hat is this Y” he asked, in surprise.

“A poor wrctch whom robbers have killed
in order to plunder him," the missionary
answored.

“That is possible.”

“Perhaps he is not quite dead," the mis-
sionary went on; “it is our duty to succor

m

“As you please,” Don Pablo said, as he
followed him.

Shaw, for it was he, ave no signs of life.
The missionary examined him, then rose
hastily, seized Don Pablo’s arm, and drew
him to him as he whispered :

yit Look 11')

“ Shaw 1” the Mexican exclaimed, in sur-
rise; “what could that man be doing
ere ‘f”

“ Help me, and we shall learn. The poor
fellow has only fainted; and the loss of
blood has produced this semblance to
death.”

Don Pablo, greatly perplexed by this sin-
gular meeting, obeyed the missionary, with—
out furthcr remark. The two men raised
the wounded lad and carried him gently to
Father Seraphin s lodging, where they pro~
posed to give him all the help his condition
req‘uired.

’ hey had scarce turned the corner of the
street, when several men appeared at the
other extremity. They were ltcd Cedar and
his confederates. .On arriving in front of
the house they stopped: all the windows
were in the deepest obscurity.

“ Which is the girl’s room 2" the squatter
asked in a whis er. .

n “This one,” athan said, as he pointed to

.Red Cedar crawled up to the house, drove
his dagger into the wall, raised himself to
the window, and placed his face against a

anc.

“All is well! she sleeps!” he said, when
he came down. “ You, Fray Ambrosio, to
one corner of the street; you, Garotc, to
the other; and do not let me be surprised.“

The monk and the minor went to their
allotted posts. When Red Cedar was alone
with his son he bent and whispered in his

ear:

“ What did you do with your brother i’"

“I left him on the spot where he fell."

“ Where was that Y”

“ Just where we now stand.”

The squatter stooped down to the ground,
and walked a few steps, carefully examining
the bloody traces leit on the pebbles.

“He has been carried ofl',‘ he said, when
he rose ain. “ Perhaps he is not dead."
d The: ey prepared to escalade the win

ow.

CHAPTER XLII'I.
INDIAN DIPLOMAOY.

WI will return, for the present, to Valen-
tine and his comrades.

The sudden apparition of the sachcm of
the Coras had produced a certain degree of
emotion among the hunters and the Coman-
ches. Valentine, the first to recover fl‘om
his surprise, addressed Eagle-wing.

“My brother is welcome,” he said, as he
held eat his hand, which the Indian warmly
pressed. “ What news does the chief bring
us

“ Good," the Coras answered laconically.

“M brother can speak,” Valentine con-
tinue ; “he is surrounded by none but
friends.”

“I know it,” the chief answered, as he
bowed gracefully to the company. “since
J. lull in) bl‘uiiil'l ism mom..- \u‘uc paltz‘cd

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

34

The New York Library.

 

away: 1 have worn out many moccasins
amid the thorns and brambles of the desert:
I have been beyond the Great Lakes to the
villa 'es of my nation.”

“ (100d; my brother is a chief; he was
doubtless well received by the sachems of
the Corns of the Great Lakes.”

“ Mookapec is a renowned warrior among
his people,” the Indian answered proudly;
“his place by the council-tire of the nation
is pointed out The chiefs saw him witlijoy.”

The hunter‘s comrades had drawn nearer,
and now formed a circle round the two
speakers. Curuinilla was occupied silently,
as was his wont, in completely stripping
each Spanish prisoner, whom he then bound
in such a way that the slightest movement
was impossible.

Valentine, although time pressed, knew
too well the [ted-skin character to try and
hurry Eagle-wing on. He felt certain that
the chief had important news to communi-
cate to him ; but it would have been no use
trying to draw it from him; hence he al-
lowed him to act as he pleased. Unicorn,
leaning on his rifle, listened attentively,
without evincing the slightest impatience.

“(lo on, chief,” Valentine said.

“They assembled in council to hear the
Words of Eagle-wing,” the Coras continued.
" They sliuddered with fury on hearing of
the massacre of their children; but Mooka-
pec had formed his plan, and two hundred
warriors are assembled beneath his totem.”

“Good 1” said Valentine, “the chief will
avenge himself."

The Indian smiled.

“Yes,” he said, “my young men have
their orders, they know What I mean to do."

“Very good! in that case they are near
here?”

“No,” the chief replied, with a shake of
his head. “Eaglewing does not march
with them; he has hidden himself under
the skin of an Apache dog.”

“ What does my brother say 1’” Valentino
asked, with amazement.

“ My White brother is quick; his nation
is great,” Unicorn interposed; “it does
not need to march along hidden paths. The
poor Indians are weak as the beaver, but
ike him they are very cunning.”

“That is true,” Valentine replied; “cun-
ning must be allowed you in dealing with
the implacable enemies who surround you.
I was wrong; so go on, chief; tell us what
deviling you have invented, and if it is in-
gteriioiis—well, I will be the first to applaud
i

“ Wah, my brother shall judge. Red
Cedar is about to enter the desert, as my
brother doubtless knows ‘2”

u Yus."

“Does my brother know that he has
asked the Apaches for a guide?”

“No, I did not.”

“Good. Stanaplat, the great chief of the
Apaches, sent a avajoe warrior to act as
guide to Red Cedar.”

“ Well 1'”

i“ Tire Navajoe was scalped by Eagle-
w n .
“Ah, ah! then Red Cedar can not set
out 1’”

“ Eagle-wing takes the place of the guide.”

“ Hum 1'” Valentine remarked, with some
show of ill-humor. “It is possible, but you
play for a heavy stake, chief. That old vil-
ain is as crafty as ten monkeys and ten
opossums united. I warn you that he will
recognize you.”

“My brother can be easy. Eagle-wing is
a warrior; he will see the white hunter
again in the desert."

“ I wish so, chief; but I doubt. However,
act as you please. When will you join Red
Cedar?"

“This night.”

“ You are going to leave as P”

“At once. Eagle-Wing has nothing more
to confide to his brother.”

And, after bowing courteously to the com-
pany, the Corns chief glided into the thicket,
in which he disappeared almost instanta-
neously. Valentine looked after him for
some time. .

“Yes,” he said at last, With a thoughtful
air, “his project is a during one, such as
might be expected from so great a warrior.
May Heaven protect him, and allow him to
succeed!”

And turning to Curumilla, “ The clothes?"
he said.

“ Here they are," the Aucas answered, la-
conically, as he pointed to an enormous
heap of clothing. I

“ What docs my brother mean to do Wltll
them ‘3" Unicorn asked. ~

“My brother will see,” Valentine said
with a. smile; “each of us is going to put
on one of these uniforms."

'l‘he Comanche drew himself up haughtily.

“No,” he said, “Unicorn does not put
off the dress of his people. What need
have we of this disguise 7“

 

“In order to enter the camp of the Span-
iards without being discovered.”

“The hunter will act rightly. But Uni-
corn is a chief, he can not put on the clothes
of the pale-faces.”

Valentine no longer insisted, as it would
have been unavailing; so he agreed to modi-
fy his plan. He made each of his comrades
put on a dragoon uniform, and himself
donned the clothes stripped from the ser-
geant. When the metamorphosis was as
complete as possible, he turned to Unicorn.

“The chief will remain here,” he said,
“ to guard the prisoners.”

“Good,” the Comanche answered. “Is
Unicorn, then, a chattering old woman, that
warriors place him on one side ‘2”

“My brother does not understand me. I
do not wish to insult him, but he can not
enter the camp with us.”

The chief shrugged his shoulders disdain-

“xi‘he Comanche warriors can crawl as
well as serpents. Unicorn will enter."

“Let my brother come, then, since he
wishes it.”

“Unicorn is a sachem; he must give an
example to his young men on the war«path.”

Valentine gave a nod of assent.

“ Here are the horses of the pale-faces,"
Cui'umilla said; “my brother will need
them."

“That is true,” the hunter answered,
with a smile; “my brother is a great chief,
he thinks of every thing.”

Every one mounted Unicorn alone re-
mained on foot. Valentine placed the
ser reant by his side.

e said to him: “You will act as our
ide to the camp. We do not wish to take
he lives of your countrymen; our intention
is simply to prevent them following us at
present. Pay attention to my words; if
on attempt to deceive us, I blow out your
rains. Youare warned."

The Spaniard bowed, but made no reply.
As for the prisoners, they had been so con-
scientiously tied by Curumilla, that there
was no chance of their escaping. The little
hand then set out, Unicorn disappearinr
tmong the trees. When they came a shor
distance from the bivouar: a sentry chal-
lenged, “ Who oes there?’

“Answer,” alentine whispered to the
sergeant.

He did so. They passed, and the sentry,
suddenly seized by Cnrumilla, was bound
and gagged in the twinkling of an eye, all
the other sentinels sharing the same fate.
The Mexicans keep up a very bad watch in
the field, even in the presence of an enemy.
Everybody was asleep, and Valentine and
his friends Were masters of the camp. The
regiment of dragoons had been surprised
without striking a blow.

Valentine’s comrades dismounted; they
knew exactly how to act, and did not devi-
ate from the instructions given by their
leader. They proceeded from picket to
picket, removing the horses, which were led
out of camp. Within twenty minutes all
had been carried ofl‘. When they had lin-
islicd, Valentine raised the curtain of the
colonel’s tent, and found himself face to face
with Unicorn, from whose waist-belt hung a
reeking scalp. Valentine could not repress
a movement of horror.

“ What have you done, chief ?” he asked,
re roachfully.

‘ Unicorn has killed his enemy,” the Co
manche replied, peremptorily. “When
the leader of the antelopes 8 killed, his
flock disperses; the gachupinos will do the
same."

Valentine drew near the colonel. The un-
happy man, fearfully mutilated, with his
brain laid bare, lay stark dead in a 01 of
blood, in the middle of the tent. e hun-
ter vented a. sigh at this sorry sight.

Taking away his saberand epaulettes, he
left the tent, followed by the Indian chief,
and rejoined his comrades. The horses
were led to the Comanche camp, afterwhich
Valentine and his party wrapped themselves
in their blankets, and slept calmly till day-
‘breala The dragoons were no longer to be
eare

 

CHAPTER XLIV.
TEE smmonn.

Fnrnnn SERAPEIN and Don Pablo we left
bearing the wounded man to the missionary's
lodging. Although the house to which they
were proceeding was but a. short distance
off, yet the two gentlemen, compelled to
take every precau on, employed consider-
able time on the journey. Nearly every
step they were compelled to halt, so as not
to fatigue too reatly the wounded man,
whose inert liin swayed in every direc-
tion.

“ That man is dead," Don Pablo rem‘l’rk-
ed. during a halt. .

 

2

" 1 fear so," the missionary answered, sad-
ly; “ still, as we are not certain of it, our
conscience bids us to bestow our care on
him, until we acquire the painful conviction
that it avails him naught."

“ I will do What you wish, father. You
have entire power over me. Still, I fear that
all our care will be thrown away.”

“God, whose humble instruments we are,
Will prove you wrong, I hope. Come, a lit-
tle courage; a few paces further, and we
shall have arrived."

Father Sernphin lodged at a house of
modest appearance, in a small room he hired
from a poor Widow. This room only receiv-
ed air from a window opening on an inner
yard, and was a perfect conventual cell, as far
as furniture was concerned, for the lattercon-
sisted of awooden frame, over which a bull-
hidc was stretched, and served as the mis-
sionary’s bed. But, like all cells, this room
was marvelously clean. From a few nails
hung the well-worn clothes of the poor
prie t, and ashelf supported vials and flasks
which doubtless contained medicaments;
for, like all the missionaries, Father Sera-

hin had a rudimentary knowledge of med-
icine, and took in charge both the souls and
bodies of his neophytes.

The father lit a candle of yellow tallow
standing in an iron candlestick, and aided
by Don Pablo, laid the wounded man on his
own bed; after which the young man fell
back into a chair to regain his breath. Father
Seraphin, on whom, spite of his fragile ap-
pearance, the fatigue had produced no ap-
parent effect, then Went down stairs to lock
the street-door, which he had left open. As
he pushed it to, he felt an opposition out-
side, and a man soon entered the yard.

“ Pardon, my reverend sir," the stranger
said ; “ but be kind enough not to leave me
outside.” .

' “ Do you live in this house i”

“ No,” the stran er coolly replied, “ I do
not live in Santa ‘6, Where I am quite un-
known.”

“ Do you ask hospitality of me, then ?"
Father Seraphin continued, much surprised
at this answer. .

“ Not at all, reverend sir.”

“ Then what do you Want ?" the mission-
ary said, still more surprised.

‘ “ I wish to follow you to the room Where
you have laid the wounded man, to whose
aid you came so generously a short time
back.”

“ This request, sir—" the priest said, hes-
itating.

“ Has nothing that need surprise you. I
have the greatest interest in seeing with my
own eyes in What state that man is, for cer-
tain1i'easons which in no Way concerns

on. - v

“ Do you know who he is 1‘"

“ I do.” -

“ Are you a relation or friend of his 1’”

“Neither one nor the other. Still, I re-
peat to you, very weighty reasons compel
me to see him and speak with him, if that
be ossiblc.”

atner Scraphin took a searching lance
at the speaker. He was a man 0 great
hight, apparently in the fullest vigor of
life. His features, so far as it was possible
to distinguish them by the pale and treinn-
lous moonbeams, were handsome, tlioiirli
an expression of unbendiiig will was he
marked thing about them. He wore the
rich dress of a Mexican, and had in his right
hand a magnificently inlaid American rifle.
Still the missionary hesitated.

“Well,” the stranger continued, “have
you made 11 your mind 9”

“ Sir,” athcr Serapliin answered with
firmness, “do not take in ill part what I am
going to say to you.”

The stranger bowed.

“I do not know who you are; you pre-
sent yourself to me in the depths of the
night, under singular circumstances. You
insist, with stran e tenacity, on seeing the
poor man'whom hristian charity compeiled
me to pick up. Prudence demands that I
should refuse to let you see him.”

A certain annoyance was depicted on , the
stran er’s features.

“ ou are,right,” he answered; “ a pear-
ances are against me. Unfortunate y, the
explanation you demand from me justly
would make us lose too much precious time,
henceI can not give them to you at this
moment. All I can do is to swear, in the
face of Heaven, on that crucifix you Wear
round your neck, and Which is the symbol
of our redemption, that I only Wish well to
the man you have housed, and that I am
this moment seeking to punish a great crim-
ina .

The stranger uttered these words with
such frankness, and such an air of sincerity,
his face glistened with so much honesty,
that the missionar felt convinced: he took

a the crucifix an offered it to this extraor-

men.

H,-_,_mwf:e  .

 

 



“Mo's. “A

Red Cedar.

35

 

 

—:=r

 

“ hear," he said.

“I swear it," he replied in a firm voice.

“ Good," the priest went on; “ now you
can enter, sir; you are one of ourselves; I
will not even insult you by asking your
name.”

“ My name would teach you nothing,
father," the stranger said sadly.

“ Follow me, sir."

The missions locked the gate and led
the stranger to h s room on entering which
the new-comer took off his hat reverently
took a position in a corner of the room, and
did not stir.

“ Do not trouble yourself about me,” he
said in a whis er “ and put implicit faith in
the oath I too .’

The missionary only replied by a nod, and
as the wounded man gave no sign of life,
but still lay much in the position he was
first placed in, Father Seraphin walked up to
him. For along time, however, the atten-
tion he lavished on him proved sterile, and
seemed to roduce no effect on the squatter's
son. Stil , the father did not despair, al.
though Don Pablo shook his head. An hour
thus passed, and no ostensible chan e had
taken place in the youngr man's con ition;
the missionary had exhausted all his stock
of knowledge, and began to fear the worst.
At this moment the stranger walked up to
him.

He said touching1 him gently on the arm,
“you have done a that was humanely pos-
sible but have not succeeded.”

“ las! no i" the missionary said, sadly.

“ Will you permit me to tr in my turn?

“Do you fanc that you w ll prove more
sigcessful than 9” the priest asked in sur~

se.

“ I hope so," the stranger said softly.

“Still, you see I have tried every thing
that "the medical art prescribes in such a

“ That is true; but the Indians possess cer-
tain secrets known only to themselves, and
which are of great efficacy."

“ I have heard so. But do you know these
secrets ?”

“Some of them have been revealed to me :
I will tr their effects on this young man,
who as ar as I can judge, is in a desperate
condition."

, “ I fear he is, poor fellow.”
The stranger bent over the youu man
[and re arde him fora moment wit fixed
attent on ; then he drew from his pocket a
flask of carved crystal, filled with a fluid as
reen as emerald. With the point of his
ger he slightl opened the wounded man’s
closed teeth, an poured into his mouth four
or five drops of the fluid contained in the
flask. A strange thing then occured; the
oung man gave vent to a deep si h, opened
his eyes several times, and sud only, as if
moved by supernatural force, he sat up and
looked around him with amazement. Don
Pablo and the missionary were almost in-
clined to believe in a miracle, so extraordi-
nary did this appear to them. The stranger
returned to his dark corner. Suddenly the
oung man assed his hand over his dank
orehead, an muttered in a hollow voice:

“Ellen, my sister, it is too late. I can
not save her. See, see, they are carrying her
03‘; she is lost!”

And he fell back on the bed, as the three
men rushed toward him.

“ He sleeps i” the mis onary said in amaze-
ment.

“ He is saved 1” the stranger answered.

“ What did he want to say, though 7" Don
Pablo inquired anxiously.

“ Did you not understand it f" the
stran er asked him.

“ 0; did you i‘"

“ Yes ; that led wished to deliver your sis-
ter l"

“ It is true. Go on.

“ He was stabbed at the door of the house
where she sought shelter."

“ What next 1’"

“Those who stabbed him wished to get
him out of the way, in order to carry her off
a second time.”

“Ah!” Don Pablo exclaimed in despair,
“ my mher—let us fly to my sister's aid 1"

The two men rushed from the house with
a presentiment of misfortune. When the
stranger found himself alone with the
wounded man, he walked up to him, wra -

. ped him in his cloak, threw him over h s
shoulders as easylas if he were only a child,
and went out in is turn. 0n reaching the
street, be carefully cloaed the door, and
went off at a great rate, soon disa peering
in the darkness. At the same ins nt the
melanchol voice of the watchman could
bohesrd ting the hour of four.

'—

‘T'M. _ ..--’ ‘

 

CHAPTER XLV.
GENERAL vnN'roiu.

IT was about six in the morning. A daz-
slin sun poured down his transparent rays
on e streets of Santa Fé, which were al-
ready full of noise and movement at that
early hour of the mornin . General Ventu-
ra was still plan, ed in a eep sleep, reassur-
ed by the spee y arrival of the dragoons
promised him, and fancyiiig he had nothing
more to fear from the Comanche, who, on the
previous day, had so audaciously bearded
him in the very heart of his palace.

Suddenly the door of the sleepin room in
which the worthy Governor repose ,was torn
violently open, and an oflicer entered. Gen-
eral Venture, aroused with astart, sat up in
his bed, fixing on the importunate visitor a
glance, at first stern, but which at once he-
came uneasy on seeing the alarm depicted
on the oflicer’s features. .

“ What is the matter, Senor Captain Don
Lo ez ?”

aptain Lopez was a soldier of fortune,
who had grown gray in harness, and con-
tracted a species of" rough frankness, that
prevented him toning the truth down under
any circumstances, which fact made him ap-
pear in the General's eyes, a bird of very
evil omen. To the General’s duery the cap-
tain onl returned the fol owing three
storm-la n words:

“ Nothing that’s good.”

“ What do you mean f"

“ There is a soldier outside who has just
come from I don’t know where and who in-
sists on speaking with you. ghall I bring
him, or send him about his business .9”

“ One moment," exclaimed the General,
whose features had suddenly become gloomy;
“ who is the soldier ?"

“ A dragoon, I fancy."

“ A dragooni let him come in at once.
May Heaven bless you, with all your circum-
locution! The man, doubtless, brings me
news of the arrival of the re iment I am ex-
pecting, and which should iave been here
before. Let him come in.”

“ Tiint is true," said the captain, as he
went off.

Durin this conversation the General had
leaped rom his bed, and dressed himself
with the promptness peculiar to soldiers.

All at once a rest noise was heard in the
Plaza Mayor. he General went to a win-
dow, pulled aside a curtain, and looked out.

“ The Indians again i” he said; “how
can they dare to present themselves here?
They must be i norant of the arrival of the
dirt? opus. Sue boldness is incomprehen-
s c.

He let the curtain fail, and turned away.
The soldier whom the ca tain had announc-
ed stood before him, w ting the General’s
pleasure to question him. The General
started on perceiving him. He was pale;
his uniform was torn and stained with mad.
as if he had made a lon journey on foot
through brambles. The eneral wished to
clear up his doubts; but, ust as he was
opening his mouth to ask t 6 man eques-
tion, the door flew back, and several oflicers,
among whom was Captain Don Lopez, enter-
ed the room.

“ General,” the captain said, “ make haste 1
You are expected in the council-hall. The
Indians have come for the answer you prom-
ised to give them this morningA We have
not a moment to lose, if we w h to avoid
heavy disasters."

The General started.

“ Gentlemen,” he said in an ill-assured
voice, “ it is our duty to watch over the safe-
ty of the opulatlon. I follow on."

And tak ng no further heed o the soldier
he had ordered to be sent in, he proceeded
toward the council-hall.

The disorder that prevailed without had at
len th gained the interior of the palace.
No in was heard but shrieks or exclama-
tions 0 anger or terror. The Mexican ofii-
cers assembled in the hall Were tumultuous-
iy discussing the measures to be adopted in
order to save a contest and the town. The
entrance of the Governor produced a
healthy effect upon them, in so far that the
discussion suddenly ceased, and calmness
was restored.

General Venture regretted in his heart hav-
ing counted on imaginar help, and not hav~
ing listened to the sensi le advice of some
of his oflicers, who ur red him the previous
day to satisfy the Ind ans b giving them
what they asked. In spite of] he terror he
felt, however. his pride revolted at being
compelled to treat on equal terms with bar-
barians, and accept harsh conditions which
may would doubtless im ass on him, in the
consciousness of having e u per hand.

When every one had given hlis opinion, the
Goivernor rose, and said in a trembling
vo ce:

“ Caballeros, all of us here are men of
courage, and have displayed that quality in

1.

 

many difficult circumstances. Certainly, if
the only thing was to sacrifice our lives to
save the hapless townsnien, we would not
hesitate to do so, for we are too well imbued
with the soundness of our duty to hesitate '
but, unhnppily, that sacrifice would not avail
to save those whom we wish before all to
protect. Letus treat, then, with the barba-
rians, as we can not conquer thcm. P81"
haps in this way we shall succeed in protec-
tin our wives and children from the dun er
tha menaccs them. In actiii r thus, an or
the rrave circumstances in w iicli we find
ourse ves, we shall at least have the consola-
tion of having done our duty, even if we do
not obtain all we desire."

Hearty applause greeted this harangue,
and the Governor, turning to the porter,
who stood motionless at the door gave or-
ders to introduce the principal Indian
chiefs.

 

CHAPTER XLVI.
'rnn comsucnns.

VALENTINE and his fricnds awoke at day-
break. The Comanchcs were already pre-
pared to start; and Unicorn, dressed in his

rcat war costume, presented himself to the
iuiiter.

N“ Is my brother going ?" Valentine asked

m.

“Yes,” the sachem answered. “ I am re-
turning to receive the answer of the chief
of the pale-faces."

“ What is my brother‘s intention, should
his demand be rejected i'"

“They would not dare,” Unicorn said,
haughtily. “If the chief whom my broth-
er loves, is not delivered to me safe and
sound, the Spanish prisoners shall be tor-
tured on the plaza of Santa Fe, the town
burned and sacked. I have spoken.

In the mean time the Comanche warriors
had formed their ranks, and only awaited
the si mi] of the sachem to start. The
Spunisi prisoners taken during the night
were placed in the center, bound and halll
naked. Suddenly a disturbance was heard
in the camp, and two men rushed panting
toward the spot where stood Valentine, the
sachem, and Curumiilu. They were Don
Pablo and Father Serapliin. 0n reaching
their friends, they fell, almost in a fainting
state, on the (ground. Valentine fell
stran ely alarme .

“ eaven be praised l" he exclaimed ;
“ but what is the matter, father? What
misfortune have you to announce to me ‘2"

" Dona Ciara— ’

“Well!” the hunter said, sharply.

“Was captured again last night by Red
Cedar and torn from the refuge where I
placed her."

“Oh i" Valentine exclaimed, with concen
trated fury, as be stamped his foot, “alwa 's
that demon—that accurscd Red Cedar. it y
curses on him! But, take courage, father-
let us first save Don Miguel, and then
swear to you that I will restore his daugh-
ter to him.”

Unicorn advanced.

“ Master of rayer,” he said to Father Se-
raphin, in a so nndim ressive voice, “your
heart is good. The omanches love on.
Unicorn will help you. Pray to your ‘od.
He will protect us in our researches, since
he is, as you say so powerful.”

Then t ie chief turned to Don Pablo, and
laid his hand firme on his shoulder:

“ Women weep, ’ he said; “men avenge
themselves. Has not my brother his rifle 2’"

On feelin the Comanche’s hand laid on
him, Don able drew himself up, and fixed
his1 eyes on the chief, and said, in a broken
vo ce:

“ Yes, you are right, chief. I am a man,
and will aven re myself.”

“ Good, y brother speaks well ; he is a
warrior "

Don Pablo, crushed for a moment, had
regained all his energy.

‘ Where are you going 7" he asked.

“ To Santa F6, to deliver your father.”

“I will go with on."

“ Come, ' said nicorn.

“No,” Valentine interposed, autiiorita~
tively. “Your place is not there, Dori Pa-
‘ilo; leave the Comanche warriors to act as
they please; they do not need your help to
carry out their plans properly. Remain
with me.”

“Command me, my friend,” the young
man said, with resignation; “1 have per
fect confidence in your experience.“

“ Good. You are reasonable. Brother,"
he added, turning to the chief, “you can
start. The sun is already high in the hori-
zon- may heaven grant that you may sue-
ceed l"

Unicorn gave the signal for departure.
The Comanciies uttered their war-yell, and
started ata quick pace.

Gummilla then rose, and wrapped himself
in his biiiliilo~i'obe; Valentine watching him,
inquiringiy.

I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

36

“ Does my brother leave us i’“ he said.
"Yes," the Araucano answered, curtly.
“Where is my brother going ?”

“Tolook for the camp of Red Cedar’s
miners," the Indian replied, with a cunning
smile.

“ 00d,” Valentine said. “My brother
for ets nothing."

uruinilla bowed gracefully, and proceed-
ed in the direction of the Paso, soon disap-
pearing in the windings of the road. Valen-
tine turned to his friends, and said :

“ Tell me all about Dona Clara being car-
ried oil again, for I must have the fullest
details."

We will leave the three now conversing,
and join the Comanches and Unicorn a ain.

When the Coinanches reached the laza
Mayor, opposite the palace, they halted.
At an order from Unicorn, the prisoners
were completely stripped of their clothing
and placed some distance in front of the
first rank of Indians, each of them having at
his sidea fully-armed Indian ready to massa-
cre him mercilessly at the slightest sign from
Unicorn. When the preparations were
completed, the Spider, the chief who had
already performed the duty of flag of truce,
pranced up to the gate of the palace, and
demanded speech With the Governor.

The officer of the guard, Who was no
other than Don Lopez, politely requested
the Indian warrior to wait a few moments
and then proceededin all haste to General
,Ventura. We have seen what took place,
and, after a delay of nearly half an hour,
Captain Don Lopez returned. After some
preliminary explanations, he informed the

pidcrthat the General, surrounded by his
staff, was awaiting, in the hall of audience,
the sachem of the nation and his three prin-
cipal warriors.

The Spider communicated this answer to

Unicorn, who gave a nod of assent, dis-

mounted, and entered the palace.

 

CHAPTER XLVII.
NEGOTIATIONS.

WHEN Unicorn entered the council-cham-
ber, preceded by Captain Lopez, and fol-
lowed by three ndiuii chiefs, the deepest
silence prevailed among the Spanish officers
assembled to meet him. 'lhe Governor,
seated in a chair placed in the center of the
hall, was looking nervously round him. He
answered by a nod the ceremonious bow of
the Comanchcs. The sachem draped him-
self in his buffalo-robe, with majestic grace,
drew his head up proudly, and walked to-
ward General Ventura. 0n coming within
four paces of the Governor, Unicorn sto ped,
crossed his arms on his chest, and too the
word.

“I salute my father!" he said, in a loud
and fierce voice. “I have come, as was
agreed on yesterday, to fetch the answer he
owes me.”

“Chief,” the General answered, in any
thing but a firm voice, “your behavior
naturally surprises me. To my knowledge
the Spaniards are not at war with your na-
tion; the whites have not done any thin of
which you have a right to complain. or
what reason do you come, then, against the
sworn faith, and when nothing authorizes
you, to invadea defenseless town, and in-
terfere in matters that only concern our-
selves ?"

“ My father does not answer my request,”
the chief said. “ He is mistaken ; we have
acause, the imprisonment of Don Miguel
Zarate, who, himself an Indian, has never
belied his origin. Hence, my father must
no longer ask by what right I am here, for
that is perfectly established. When I came
here yesterday, my father gave me to under-
stand that my propositions would be accept-
ed, and the exchange of prisoners carried
out."

"‘Itis possible, chief," the General. rep
plied; “but with reflection, your proposi-
tions have appeared to me unacceptable.”

“ Web!" the Indian said, though not
testif 'ng his surprise otherwise.

“ es, the General continued, growing
animated, “I should be ashamed to grant
them, for I should have the a pearance of
only yielding to threats. No, t can not be.
The two gentlemen you claim are guilty,
and shall die ; and if you venture to oppose
the execution of the just sentence of the
court, we will defend ourselves. Honor
forbids me ubscribiu those disgraceful
proposals which you dig not fear to lay be-
fore me.”

“Is it really honor that has dictated my
father’s answer 7” the Indian asked, ironi-
cally. “I can but withdraw; but before
doing so, I will give him news, The war-
riors whom my father expected to arrive to
his aid this day have been dispersed by my
young men, as the autumn breeze sweeps
“my the leaves. They Will not come."

 

 

The New YorkVLibrary.

A murmur of surprise, a.most terror, ran
throu h the assembly. The sachem let the
long olds of his buffalo-robe fall back tore
from his girdle the bleeding scalp that lung
there, an threw it at the General’s feet.

“ That,” he said, gloomily, “is the scalp
of the man who commanded my father’s
warriors."

A shudder of terror ran round the room
at the sight of the scalp; the General felt
the small dose of courage that had still ani-
mated him oozing out.

“Chief,” he exclaimed, in a trembling
voice,- “is it possible you have done that?”

“ I have doneit,” the sachem answered,
coldly. “Now, farewell. I am about to
join my young men.”

“A few moments longer, chief," the
General said; “perhaps we are nearer an
understanding than you su pose.”

“Here is my last word, ’ the Comanche

‘ said. “I insist on the two prisoners be-

ing handed over to me."

“They shall be."

“We shall see. My warriors and myself
will remain on the square. If, within an
hour, the pale-faces are not free, the prison-
ers I hold will be pitilessly massacred, and
the town plundered. Iliave spoken."

Unicorn left the hall, mounted his horse
a 'n, and calmly awaited the fulfillment of
t (ax/promise made him.

hen the Indians had left the council-
chamber, the Mexicans rose tumultuously,
i'oreach feared the execution of the chief’s
threats. When the Governor saw that his
officers were as terrified as himself, he re-
assumed his coolness.

“ Caballeros," he said, “ you have heard
this man. Will you allow ourselves to be
thus braved in the heart 0 the town by a
liandfnl of scouudrels? To arms, Cabal-
leros, and let us die bravely."

This sudden warlike order seemed to his
hearers so unusual, and before all so inop-
portune, that they pressed him to accept
without delay the proposals dictated by the
sacliem.

This was all the Governor wanted. He
had the minutes of the council at once drawn
up, and when it was signed by all present,
he put it in his pocket. w

“ As you insist," he said, “I will myself
proceed to the prison in order to avoid any
misunderstandin ,an have the doors opened
for Don Miguel ’ aratc and General Ibanez.”

The General, glad in his heart at having

ot out of the scrape so well, left the Cabil-
o, and walked across the square to the
prison, which stood on the opposite side.

 

Don Miguel and General Ibanez, on this

day, accordin to their wont, had risen at-

sunrisc, and t ien, with incredible coolness,
began conversing on indifferent topics.
Suddenly a great noise was heard in the
prison; a clang of arms reached the prison-
ers’ ears, and hurried footsteps ap roached
the rooms in which they were onfined.
They listened.

A key creaked in the lock, and the door
opened. The two prisoners fell back in
surprise on seeln the General, who rushed
into the cell, fol owed by two or three oin-
cers.

“ What the deuce do you want here, Gov-
ernor ‘2” Ibanez exclaimed.

General Venture raised his head, fixed on
the prisoners eyes sparkling with joy, and
said in a pantin voice:

“My friends, funmld come myself to tell
you that you are free.”

The prisoners fell back in amazement.

“ What!" General Ibanez exclaimed, “ are
you speaking seriously?”

Don Miguel attentively looked at the Gov-
ernor, trying to read in his face the reasons
of his conduct.

“Come away " the Governor said eagerly,
“do not rema n a moment longer in this
pestilential den.”

“Pardon me,” Don Miguel said, coldly,
“ but, with your permission we will rema n
a few moments longer in it. ’

“ Why so ‘3” General Ventura asked, open-
ing his eyes to their fullest extent.

“The cars of our honor does not ermlt
us to accept a liberation which migh stain
it; hence, we shall not leave this prison un-
til on have given us an exPlanation."

he Governor hardly knew whether he
was on his head or his heels; he had never
before had to deal with such obstinate pris-
oners.

“Gentlemen,” he said with feigned admi-
ration, “ I understand what nobleness there
is in your scruples, and am happy to see that
I was not. mistaken in the greatness of your
character. I will lay no conditions on you;
you are free, purely and aim 1y. Here are

he documents connected w th your trial,
the proofs produced against you; take them
and destroy them, and accept my sincere
apologies for all that has passed."

While saying this, theGevernor drowfrom 4 .

his breast an enormous handle of papers.

 

fl

which he ofiered Don Miguel. The latter
declined them with an air of disgust; but,
General Ibauez less scrupulous, eagerly
clutched them, looked through them, tosee
that the Governor was not deceiving him,
and then threw them into the brasero, stand-
ing in the middle of the room. In less than
four minutes, all was consumed.

“ One word more, by your leave," the ba-
eieudero remarked. “ On leaving this prison,
where are we to go ‘3"

“Wherever you please, entlemeu. Ido
not even ask your word 0 honor to enter
Into no further conspiracy."

“Good, sir,” Don Miguel said, holding
out his hand to General Venture, “your
conduct affects me—thanks.”

“ Come, come,” the Governor said, to
hide his embarrassment on receiving this so
ill-deserved praise.

The prisoners no longer hesitated to fol-
low him. ‘

In the meanwhile, the news of Don
Miguel‘s deliverance had spread through the
town with the rapidity of a train of gun-
powder; windows and roofs were filled with
men, women, and children, whose eyes, fixed
on the prison, awaited the moment of Don
Miguel’s appearance. When he did so, tre-
mendous shouts greeted him. Unicorn
walked up to the Governor.

“ My father has kept his promise,” he
said, gravely. “I will keep mine; the
white prisoners are free; I depart." ,

The Governor listened to these words with
a blush; the sachem returned to the head
of his war-party, which rapidly retired.

0n reaching the gate, General Venture
bowed courteously to the two gentlemen,
and hurried into his palace.

“What do you think of all this Y”. the
haeieudero asked his friend.

“,Iiuml” General Ibanez muttered, “the

Governor’s conduct seems to me rather
pacer; but, no matter, we are free. Icon-
ess to you, my friend, that I should have
no objection to go a little distance from this
place, the air of which, despite General Ven-
tura’s protestations, appears to me remark-
ably unhealthy for us. '

At this moment, and ere Don Miguel
could answer, the General felt aslight touch
on his shoulders; he turned, and saw Unru-
milla before him, with a smiling face. Don
Miguel and the General suppressed a cry of
f‘oy at the sight of the grave and excellent

udian.

“ Come l" he said to them, laconically.

They followod him. On reaching a small
street near the square, and which was nearly
deserted, Curumilla led them to a house be-
fore which he stopped. ,

“It is here,” he said, as be tapped twice.

The door opened, and they entered a
courtyard, in which were three ready-saddled
horses, held by a groom, which they at once
mounted.

“Thanks, brother,” the haeieudero said,
warml , as be pressed the chief’s hand;
“ but ow did you learn our deliverance f"

The Araucano smiled leasantly.

“Let us go," he sai , making no other
snswar.

“ Where to l’" Don Miguel asked.

“ To join Koutouepi.”

The three men started at full speed. Ten
minutes later they were out of‘ the town,
and galloping across the plain.

CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE MEETING.

ON reaching a point where the trail they
were following formed aspecies of fork, Cn-
rumilla stopped, and the two gentlemen im-
ltated him.

“ That is your road " the Araucano chief
said. “ At the end of that path you will see
hKoutpnepi’s blvouac fire. ' must; leave you

ere.

After uttering these words, Cummilla
turned his horse and started, giving theiu a
parting wave of the hand. ,

The two gentlemen went on for nearly
half an hour without exchangin a syllable;
but, just as they turned a corner n the path,
they saw a horseman in front apparently
waiting for them. The Mexicans examined
him attentively, but a black velvet mask
prevented them distinguishing his features.

n coming within five yards of him, they
stop ed.

“ salute you DonMiguel Zarate, and ion,
General Ibancz," the stranger said. “ am
happy to see you out of the claws of that
worthy General Venture." ,

“Friend,” Don' Mi uel made answer, “ I
thank you for the kin words you address to
me, and which can only come from a friend’s
lips, I should be pleased if you would take
0 the mask that. conceals your features, so
that I may recognize you.”

“ Gentlemen, if I removed my mask you
would be disappointed, for myfcatures are
unfamiliar to you. Do not be angry with mg

 

 

 

 

 

 

'77’7—M ’" M w‘ '

- Red Cedar.

_ V37

 

Tm

 

 

for keeping ft on; but, be assured I am
your friend. ’

The two Mexicans bowed courteously,
and the stranger went on.

“I knew that so soon as you were free you
would hasten to join that worthy hunter
Valentine. I placed inysclfhere where you
must infallihly pass, in order to make you a
communication of the utmost importance,
which interests you extremely.”

“ Speak, sir! ’ said Don Miguel. “ I am
anxious to learn the news of which you
have condesccnded to be the bearer."

The stranger shook his head sadly, and
there was a moment’s silence. At length he
spoke again.

“ Two months have elapsed, Don Miguel,
since, through the treachery of Red Cedar,

on were arrested and made prisoner at the

aso del Norte. Many events of which you
are ignorant have occurred since then. 0n
the ver night of your arrest, at the moment
you lai down our arms, your daughter was
carried ofi‘ by ed Cedar.’

“My daughter!" the haciendero exclaim-
ed in anguish.

“ Yes, ’ the stranger continued; “ and
after ion researches, a man providentially
aided by other Seraphin, at length succeed-
ed last night in takiii r Dona Clara from her
abductors: but Red Cedar, advised by some
extraordinary chance, entered the house
where the maiden had sought shelter, and
carried her off again.”

“Oh! [will avenge myself on that man!”
the haciendero shouted passionately. '

“You will find your son and Father Sera-
phin with Valentine," added the mask.

‘ Red Cedar intends to start this CVQlllllg,fiiZ
the head of a band of miners, to go into
the deserts of the Rio Gila, in search of a
placer, which his accomplice, Fray Ambro-
sio, has indicated to him. I know not with
what design ited Cedar is taking your daugh-
ter with him into the desert."

“ Iwill follow him, were it fora thousand
lea use,” Don Miguel said, resolutely.
“ banks to you for having instructed me so
fully. But, whence comes the interest you
take in me so gratuitously, since, asy on say,
I do not know you ‘3”

“You shall learn at a later date, Don Mig-
uel. Now, before I leave you, one last word
——an earnest warning.”

“ I listen attentively.”

“ Do not tell any one—not even the French
hunter, not even your son—of our meeting.
When you reach the far west, if you see be
fore you, at one of your bivouacs, a piece of
mahogany bearing the impress of a horse’s
shoe rise at midnight, and leave the camp,
not etting any one see you. hen you
have gone one hundred paces in the tall
grass, whistle thrice: a similar whistle will
answer you, and then you will learn many
things important for you to know, but which
I can not tell you to~clay. Farewell.”

“Farewell. I will do what you tell me.”

The stran er dug his spurs into his horse’s
sides and tie animal started ofl‘ as if im-
pelled by a tornado.

“Who can that man be ?” said Don Mig-
uel.

“I know no more than you do,” his
friend answered, “but I assure you I will
know if it be possible.”

- “ What l do you intend to come with me P”

“ if you will accept my services," the Gen-
eral said, rayly.

“Most cartily," Don Miguel answered,
warmly.

“ That is settled then; and I swear we
will deliver Dona diam.”

“May Heaven grant it,” the haciendero
said, sadly.

A quarter of an hour later the two friends
reached the Trail-Hunter‘s bivouac.

 

Valentine had been warned, nearly an
hour previously, by Unicorn, of the ne rotia-
tions with the Governor of Santa F ,aud
the immediate liberation of the prisoners.
So soonas he noticed their approach he
milked to meet them, followed by Don Pa-

0.

A few hours were 3 eat, after the first
greetings were over, n a conference, of
which the poor child, so audacioust carried
off, was the sole subJect. Valentine drew
up with his friends the plan of the campaign
against Red Cedar, which was so during
that it would have made the most resolute
men nervous; but the free adventurers who
were about to carry it out, in no way feared
the mysterious dangers of the desert which
they were goinir to confront. _ Bather Sera-

hin had takenaleave of his friends and found

nicorn, with whom he Wished to o to the
Comanche villages, in the hope 0 spread-
ing theli ht of the gospel there. Toward
evening ‘urumilla arrived. Not utterin a
word, he sat down by the fire, took his on u-
met from his gird e and began smoking.
Valentine laid his hand on his shoulder.

“ Well 7" he said to him.

"Cui'umillahss seen them.”

 

“ Good; are they numerous ?”

“Ten times the number of fingers on my
two hands, and one more.”

“Zounds l” Valentine exclaimed. “ We
shall have a tough job in that case. Do you
know when they will start Y”

“ This evening, when the new moon
rises.”

“Ah, ah; Iread their plan," the hunter
said. “ They intend crossing the ford of
the Toro before day.”

Curumilla bowed his head in afllrination.

“That is true,” Valentino remarked;
“ once the ford is passed they will be in the
desert, and have comparatively nothing to
fear, or at least they suppose so. I must
confess,” he added, addressingr his friends,
“ that Red Cedar is a l‘cilllll'flibly clever
scouudrel; nothing escapes him, but this
time he has a tough adversary."

“ What shall we do ‘8” Don Miguel asked.

“Sleep,” Valentine answered; “we have
still several hours before us, so let us profit

y them.”

Curuniilla had slipped away, but now re-
turned, bringing with hlm two rifles, pistols,
and knives.

“My brothers had no weapons,” he said,
as he laid his load before the Mexicans.

The latter thanked him heartily ; for ow-
ing to the foresight of Ciiruniilla, who
thought of every thing, they could now eu-
ter the desert boldly. wo minutes later the
five men were fast asleep, and we will take
advantage of their slumber to return to Red
Cedar whom we left on the point of climb-
ing through Dona Clara's window, while
Fray Ambrosio and Andres Garote were
watching at either end of the street.

At one bound the bandit was in the room,
after breakln open the window with a blow
of his fist. lara, suddenly aroused, leaped
from the bed, uttering fearful cries at the
sight of the terrible apparition before her.

“ Silence,” Red Cedar said to her; “one
cr more, and 1 kill you.”

.l‘he bandit gagged the poor child with the
cloak that lay on the bed, threw her over
his shoulder, and clambered out of the win-
dow a ain. So soonas he put foot on the
groun , he whistled lightly for his comrades
to rejoin him, which they did immediately,
and, still carrying his burden, he proceeded
with them in the direction of the Rancho
del Coyote.

During the walk, which was not along one,
the bandits did not meet a soul. .Andres

opened the door and lit a candle; the radians

entered, and the door was carefully bolted
again. Red Cedar carried Clara, who was in
a half-faintin state, to her room, removed
the ag’ andt en returned to the bar.

“ here,” he said, with satisfaction, “that
is all ri ht; the sheep has returned to the
fold. ow listen to my orders," he con-
tinued. “ and try and carry them out to the
letter; or if not, your roguish hides will
bear the blame."

The three men bowed silently. .

“You, Nathan,” he went on, “will come
with me; and you others, bear this carefully
in mind :—Our enemies will never suppose
that I have made such a mistake as to ring
my prisoner back here' for that is so ab-
surd, that the idea will never enter into
their heads. To-morrow, so soon as the
moon rises, you will make the girl put on an
Indian dress, and come to me at the camp.
Immediately after your arrival we shall
start. Good-by till to-morrow."

“ Till to-morrow ” they answered.

The squatter and his son left the macho.
They walked for along time, with slung ri-
fle, not exchanging a word, but listening to
the sllrhtest noise and sounding the dark-
ness w‘lth their tiger-cat eyes. All at once
they heard the firm footfall of a man coming
toward them. They cooked their rides,
ready for any emergency. A voice was then
heard, though the person to whom it be-
lon ed was nvisible.

“gm brothers must not fire; they would
kill a rlend.”

The words were Apache—s language well
known to the squatters.

Red Cedar replied in the same dialect,
“There are no friends in the shadow of the
desert. My brother must get out of my
path or I will kill him like a coyote."

“ s it thus,” the Indian continued, “that
the ‘mnn-eater ' receives the ide whom
Stanapat, the great chief of t e Apaches
sends him? In that case, good-by. I w
retire." , \

“ One moment," the squatter said, sharp-
} , as he lowered his rifle, and made hisson
a sign to follow his example. “I could not

ness who you were. Advance without

ear, and be welcome, brother, for I was
anxiously expecting you.”

The Indian stepped forward. He wore
the costume _and characteristic paint-of the
Apache warriors' in a word, he was so well
disguised, that Valentine himself could not

it fill

, have reco nized in him his frlepld‘kmaglo-

wing, the bio! of the Cores, the
u. .

 

Red Cedar, delighted at the arrival of his
guide, received him in the most afl‘able inan-
uer. He had long been acquainted with
Stanapat, the most ferocious warrior of all
the Indian nations that traverse the immense
regions of the Rio Gila. Afterseveral ques-
tions, which Eagle-wing answered without
hesitation or once trlppin r, Red Cedar, con-
vinced that he was rca ly the man the
A )ache chief had promised to send him, dis-
mllssed all doubt, and convorsed with him in
the most friendly spirit.

" What is my brother‘s name '3" he asked,
in conclusion.

“ The Heart of Stone l“ Eagle-wing re-
plied.

“ Good l” the squatter said; “my brother
has a grand name. He must be a renowned
warrior in his tribe.“

A short time after, the three men reached
the camp of the miners, established in a
formidable position on the top of a rock
called the Black Mountain.

CHAPTER XLIX.
rounme run DEL soars.

Tun squatter’s two accomplices assed
the day quietly in playing, on ere it, at
monte. No one came to isturb them, or
cast an iiidiscreet glance into this infamous
den. About nine in the evening, the moon
rose magnificently on a deep blue sky,
studded with brilliant stars.

“I fancy it is time to get ready,” Fray
Ambrosio said.

“ You are right,” answered Andres, as be
bid his greasy cards in his boot, and pro-
ceeded to the room in which Clara was con-
fined. She followed him out, weeping bit-
terly.

“Come, come,” the ranchero said to her,
“dry your tears; we do not mean you any
harm. ’

The maiden made no response to this con-
solation; she allowed herself to be disguised
unresistingly, but still continued to weep.

When the gambusino had completed the
malden’s Indian toilet, he perfected the dis-

uise b throwing a zarape over her shoul-
lfilers. one. Clara was placed on a horse;
Andres and the monk also mounted, and
they then started at a gallop in the direction ,
of the Black Mountain.

Red Cedar had lost no time, and all was
ready for departure. The new-comers did
not even dismount, but so soon as they Were
sighted, the caravan, composed, as we have
stated, of some hundred and twenty resolute
men, after forming in Indian file, started in
the direction of the prairies, having first
prudently detached two scouts to watch the
neighborhood.

Soon they reached the banks of the Del
Norte, or Ford del Toro.

The miners managed to get across safely.
The onl persons left on the bank were Red
gander, ugh-wing, the guide, and Doug

ra.

“ It is our turn now, Heart of Stone,"
the squatter said, addressing Eagle-wing;
“you-see that our men are in safety, and
only await us to set out again."

“The squaw first," the Indian replied,
lacOnically.

The maiden boldly made her horse enter
the river, and the two men followed. Dona
Clara’s horse was not followin the line
traced b the ford, but was turn ng ‘to the
left as 1' carried away by the current.

The squatter crossed without any noel-
dent, and reached the bank in safety.

The Cores sachem had urged his steed
in ursult of Dona Clara’s, and both were
fol owing the same line down the stream,
the formerstriving to catch up to the lat-
ter. Suddenly the Coras' horse gave a leap,
while uttering a snort of pain, and began
madly beating the water with its foreleg:
while the river was tin ed with blood around
it. The chief, erceiv n that his horse was
mortally wonn ed,lean over the side, ready
to leap off. At this moment, a hideous face
appeared flush with the water, and a hand
was stretched out to gras him. With that
imperturbable coolness tiat never deserts
the Indians, even under the most critical
filreili‘mstimcels1i the Curse seized his toma-

aw , 5p 5 enem s skull 0 en
glided into the river. y p ’ and

A formidable war-yell was at this moment
heard from the forest, and shots were fired.
from both banks at once, illumiuing the
«zoned witih their lfugitive flashes. A score
0 re -s'ns me e on
fl ht commenced. the “new ma .

he combat was short ; the red-skins, who
were only ! Party of marauding Pawnees,
disappeared as m ldl a. they had come.

50 3001: as the n were routed, Red
Cedar bent an eager gllance u the river-
on that side the sin-2g e was 0 over and
Eagle-wing, mount gfihllldflle younglady.

v

 

 

 

 

38

was guiding her horse to the bank, which it soon

reached.

“ Well?” the squatter asked.

“The Pawnees are cowardl coyotes,” the
lows answered, pointing to t 9 human scalp
that hung from his girdle; “they fly like old wo-
men, so soon as they see the war-plumes of my
nation. "

“ Good!” the squatter said, gleefully, “my
brother is a eat warrior; he has a friend."

The Corns owed with a smile of indescriba-
ble meaning. His object was gained; he had
acquired the confidence of the man he meant to

destroy. Dona. Clara, Ellen, and the squatter’s ‘

wife were placed in the center of the caravan,
and the band started again.

An hour later, a second party of horsemen al— .

so crossed the Del Norte. It was much less
numerous than the first, as it consisted of only
five men, but they were Valentine Cummilla,
Don Miguel his son, and General anez. The
real strug le was about to commence: behind
them they eft the civilized world, to find them-
selves face to face on the desert with their ene-
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THE END.

The New Turk Library.

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a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price or a HALF-DIME.

Deadwood Dick, 'i‘ss Panto: or m
Bow. By Edward L. Wheeler.
2 Yellowstone J ack; or, Tfl‘l TNArm
orrsnENanm GROUND. ByJ. EBadxer. Jr.
3 Kansas K336]: or, Ts: Rm RIGHT
HAND. By B 0 Bill (Hon. Wm. F. Cody).
4 The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt.
Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker.
5 Vagabond Joe; Tm: YOUNG Wanna-
ING J sw. By 011 Coomes.
6 Bill Biddon, Tragger: or, Luvs m
rs: Nosrnwzs'r. By ward 8. Ellis.
7 The Flying Yankee; or, THE OCEAN
OUTcAsT. By Col. Prentiss Ingraiuun.
Seth Jones; or, Tnm CAPTIVES or ran
FRONTIER. By Edward S. 
9 The Adventures of Baron Mun-
chanson.
10 Nat Todd; or, Tm: FATE or ran:
Sioux CAPTIV'E. By Edward S. Ellis.
11 The Two Detectives; or, Tun:
FORTUNEB orA Bownar Gnu. A.W. Aiken.
12 Gulliver's Travels. A Voyage to
Lilliput. and 9. Voyage to Brobdlngnsg.
13 The Dumb Spy. By Oil Coomes,
author of “ Vagabond Joe," etc.
14 Aladdin: or, Tm: WONDuu-UL
LAMP.

15 The Sea-Cat; or THE Wrrcs or
mum. By Capt. Broderick Whittaker.

16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and

_ Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.)

17 Ralph Roy. The Boy Bucca-
neer. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

1 Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy-
ages. From the Arabian Nightl.

19 The Phantom Sp : or, Tm: Pam:
or THE Puma. By uiralo BllL

20 The Double Daggers: or DEAD-
woon DICK'B Du'uNos. By E. LWheeler,

21 Frontier Angel. A Romance of
Kentucky Rangers‘ Life. By E. 8. Ellis.

22 The Sea Serpent: or Tn BOY
RosmsON Causes. By 001. Juan Lewis.

23 Nick 0’ the Ni% t: or, Tan BOY
SPY or ’70. By T. . Herbangh.

24 Diamond Dirk: or, Tris Mrs-rm:
or TEE YnmwsroNs. By COL lngraham.

25 The Boy Ca tain: or, Tn Emma’s
DAuan'ma. y Roger Starbuck.

26 Cloven Hoof. the Demon. By
Edward L. Wheeler.
27 Antelope Abe. the Boy Guide.
By Oil Oceans

28 Buffalo Ben: or. DEADWOOD Drcx
IN DISOUiSE. ByEdwerdLWheeler.

29 The Dumb Pa e; on, Tm: Doen’s
DAUGnm By .apt. F. Whittaker.
30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood. Tm:

Because RANGE“. By Barry St. George.
31 Keen-Knife. Tm: PRINCE or Tm:
Pumas. By 011 Coomes.
32 Bob Woolf. the Border Ruman:
or, Tn: Guns Dun-SHOT. E. LWheeler.
33 The Ocean Bloodhound: or, Tm:
RnanArrs or was Cmnsm. S.W. Pierce.
Sol - or Nrcx Wnnrms’
34 011.32%); By cépt. in. C.Adams.
3 5 Wild Ivan, THE BOY CLAUDE DUVAL;
By Edward L. Wheeler.
 The Boy Clown; or, Tin QUEEN or
was AasNA. By Frank S. Finn.
3 7 The Hidden Lodge: or, Tnn errLs
HUNTER or ran Anmoanoxs. Barbaugh.

38 Ned Wylde, Tan BOY Scour. By
Texast

39 Death-Pace. the Detective. By
Edward L. Wheeler.

Ben. A Ito of a Youn

40 “2:215... By John J. Uril‘lhalL g

41 Lasso Jack. Tan YOUNG MUSTANG-

Is. By 011 (Joanie;I

hantom inert or Dan)-

42 ngoxfiam's Bowm- By m IZWheeler.

Dick Dal-1i . the Pony Express
Rider. 8:50am. F. Whittaker.

 

44 Battling Rube: or, Tss NIGHT-
nm or on. By Barry St. George.
45 Old Avalanche, the Great An-
nihilator. By Edward L. Wheeler.
46 Glass Eye. the Great Shot of the
West. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.
47 Nightingale Nat: on, Tm: Foams-r
APPALNS. By T. C. Harbaugh.
48 Black John, the Road-Agent.
By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.
49 Omaha Oil; or, Dsmwoon Dre: 1:!
DANGER. By Edward IA Wheeler.

50 Burt Bunker. Tin TRAPPEB. A
Tale of the Northwest. By C. E. Lasalie.
51 The Bog Rifles, or, Tn UNnns-
ONOUND Air. By Archie 0. Iron.
52 The White Buflalo. A Tale of
Strange Adventure. Charles E. Luella
53 Jim Bludsde. Jr., Tm: BOY Pnnmx;
or,TmUGn To Tan Dun. E. L.Wheeier.
54 Ned Hazel, THE BOY Turns; or,
rs: PsANrou Famous. By J. F. 0. Adams
5 5 Deadly-Eye, Tan UNKNOWN SCOUT;
By Burialo Bill.
56 Nick Whifles’ Pet. or IN m
VAL“! or Din-rs. Capt. J.  C. Adams.
57 Deadwood Dick’s Ea les; or,
Tu PAws or Fwon BA]. E. Wheeler.
58 The Border King; 0r, Tan Swan
For. By 011 00011161.
59 Old Hickory, or, PANnr ELms’s
Sour. By Barry St. George.
6 The White Indian; or, Tar: SCOUT
or m YmowsmNa By J. F. 0. Adams.
61 Buckhorn Bill, or, THE Rm) Rum
Tun. By Edward L. Wheeler.
62 The Shadow Sh! , or, Tm: Rrvn.
LmUTlNAm ByCo Prentiss Ingrshsm.
63 The Red Brotherhood. or, Tm:
Twnvs Amazes. By W. J. Hamilton.
64 Dandg Jack. or, Tn: OUTLAW or
m mos ’l‘nAn. By '1‘. C. Herbaugh.
6 Hurricane Bill, or, MusrANG SAM
Ann ms "Pm." By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.
66 Single Hand. or, A Inn r03 A Inn.
By W. J. Hamilton.
67 Patent-Leather Joe: or, OLD RAT-
TusNAxx, m Cm. By P. S.Werne.
68 The Border Robin Hood: or, Tu
Plums Rom By Bunnie Bill.
69 Gold Rifle: or, Tee BUY Demo-rm
or m Brno: Rams. By E. hWheeiei‘.
70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, Tm: GREEN-
sosN 1N m Woons. By J. F. C. Adam
7 1 Delaware Dick; THE YOUNG Ru-
on Sn. By Oil Coomes.
7'2 Mad Tom Western, 'l‘nll Tans
, Rana ByW. J. Hamilton.
73 Deadwood Dick on Deck. By
Edward L. Wheeler.
1: Harry Tn YOUNG
  By’Oll Coomes.
7 The 80 Duelist; or, Tan: CBUISI
5 or m {u Wou. By Col. P. Ingralmm.
76 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. By
Albert W. Aiken.
77 Corduroy Charlie: or. Tn LAsr
AOT or me000 DICK. By E. LWheeler.

7 8 Blue Dick: Or, The YELLOW Usmr’s
VqueANcl. By Captain Mayne Reid.

79 soAllglitnéez-ik'le‘is GIANT Tamera. By

80 Rosebud Rob: or, Nuoonr Nun, rs:
Kmesr or m Gums. By E. L. Wheeler.

81 L1 htnin§ Io, Tan Tenses or m
m. y Captain J. F. C. Adams.

82 Kit Barefoot. Tun Woool‘hwx; or,
01.0 POWDER-FACE. By '1'. C. Ilnrbaugh.

8 Rollo. the Boy Ranger: nr. Tn
Harness orm Gown HORN. Oil Coomeu.
84 I l, the Girl Miner: or, 1105mm!)
3 ON BAND. By Edward L Wheeler.

85 Buck Buckram: on, Bees. 'rur l’rt
nu Tunas. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.

 

8 Dan Rock. 'l‘nE—MAN-raoM-Tsx
As. y 0. Waldo Browne.

8 7 The Land Pirates: mt, 'rn F. Liam mt

or Dm‘s lsLANn. By Capt. Mayne lie-id.

88 “01.0%:1011 Phil: on. linulfilll‘l‘

Ron‘s Prmumm. By Ed. L. \\ healer.

89 Island Jim: <)It,’i‘nm PM ON THE

FAMILY. By author oi.’ “J nck linrknway."

90 The Dread I. ider: 0R, 'l‘mt Ti-sA'AN
Dunne-1‘. By George W. Browne.

91 The Ca tain of the Club. By

Breech dge llemyng. (Jack Harkaway.)

9 Canada Chet: or, 01.1» ANACONDA
m Smme Buuls Cm. By IE. L.Wheeler
93 The Boy Miners; or, 'l‘mc ENCHAN'mn
ISLAND. By Edward 5. Ellis.
9 Midnight Jack, Tm. Rouerrmr
By T. C. llariguugil.

9 5 The Rival Rovers. By Lictitouanl
Col. llazcltine.

96 Watch - E 0., Tim Duncan. By
Edward L. healer.

9 7 The Outlaw Brothers: or, Tm
Curry: or THE Burns. By J. J. Marshall

98 Robin Hood, Tm: OUTLAwm) EARL.
By Prof. Stewart Gildelsleeve.

99 The Ti er of' Taos. By George

Waldo rowne.

 Deadwood Dick in Leadville.
By Edward L. Wheeler.

1 0 1 J acl: Ha rkaway in New York.
By Bracubridge Hemyug.

 Dick Dead-E e, 'l‘nr: Ber Famo-

auzs. By Col. entise lugmimm.
 The Lion of the Sea. By Col
Della Sara.

 Deadwood Dick’s Device. By
Edward L. Wheeler.

 Old Rube, THE HUNTER; or. Tss
Caow Cm By Capt. ll. Hohnea

 Old Frosty. the Guide. By
'1‘. C. Hubalkxh.

 One-Eyed Sim: or. Tm: ABAN-

DONED Former Home. By J. 1.. Bowen.

108 Daring Davy, THE YOUNO BEA!
Irma. By Barry st. George.

 Deadwood Dick as Detective.
By Edward L. Wheeler.

 The Black Steed of the Prai~
rice. By James L. Bowen.

1 1 1 The Sea-Devil; or, Tns Mumme-
m‘s Lemur. By Col. P. lngrsham.

1  The Mad Hunter: or, Tm: CA"
or Drum. By Burton Sue.

1 13 Jack Hoyle, THE YOUNG Snee-
u'ron. By Edward L Wheeler.

1 14 The Black Schooner. BY Rooms

STARBUCL

l  The Mad Miner.

WALDO Beam
 The Hussar Captain. 37 COL.

Pam-rise INGNAHAN.

1 1 7 Gilt-Edged Dick. Tm: SPORT-DI
'rnc'rrvs. By Edward L. Wheeler.

1 1 8 Will Somers. Tm: BOY Dn'rno-
m By Charles Morris.
Ready October mm.
1  Mustang Sam: or. Tm: Kle on
was Puma By Joe. E. Bmlpor, Jr.
Ready Novembvr ith.
1  The Branded Band. or. Tm: M AN
or MIMI. B Frank Dumont.
on GM dy November llth.
namon Tns Gnu. Gmns
 By Edward L. ’eeler.
Ready November 18th.

Amluvucurywuk

Br Gnome

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32 Large Three-Column Pages.

1. A Hard Crowd : on, GENTLEMAN‘

Ian’s SISTER. By Philip S. Warne.

2. The Dare-Devil: on, THE WINGEn
WITCH 011' THE SEA. By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.

3. Kit Carson. J r., THE CRACK SHOT or
THE \VEST. By Buckskin Sam.

4. The Kidnapper: on, THE GREAT
SHANGHAI OF THE NORTHWEST. By Philip S. Warnv.

5. The Pire-Fiends: 0R, HERCULES, THE
HUNCEBACK. By A. P. Morris.

6. Wildcat Bob, THE Boss BRUISEB: I

in, THE BOImEH BLOODHOUNDS. By Edward L. Whee-
ior, author Of “ Deadwood Dick,” “Double Daggers."

7. Death-Notch, 'i‘IIE DESTROYER: OR,
[‘HE SPIRIT LAKE AVENGHHS. By 011 00011165.

8. The Headleso Horseman. Astrange
story of Texas. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

9. Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover.

10. Vidocq, THE FRENCH POLICE SPY.
Written by himself.

1 1. Midshipmn Easy.
rvat.

12.. The Death-Shot: on, TBACKED To
DEATH. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

13. Pathaway: OR, NICK W‘HIEELES, THE

OLD TRAIPER 03‘ THE N ORThWEST. By Dr. J. H. Rob-
IDS-On.

14. Tha endanegea, THE SCOURGE;
on, THE WAE AGLE on THE MOHAWKS. By Ned Bunt
ino, author of “The White Wizard.“

15. The Tiger-Slayer: OH, EAGLE
HEAI) To THE REGCUE. By Gustave Aimard.

1 6. The White Wizard : OR, THE GREAT
PROPHET OF THE SEMINOLES. By Ned Buntline.

17. Nightshade, THE ROBBER PRINCE
OF HOUNSLOW HEATH. By DQJ. H. Robinson.

18. The Sea Bandit: OR, THE QUEEN
on THE ISLE. By Ned Buntline.

19. Red Cedar, THE PRAIRIE OUTLAW.
‘33 Gustave Aimard.

20. The Bandit at Bay: OR, THE PI-
urns OE THE PRAIRIEs. By Gustave Aimard.
21. The Trapper’s Daughter:

THE OUTLAw‘s FATE. By Gustave A mud.

22. Whitelaw: OR, NATTIE OF THE LAKE
SHORE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson,

23, The Red Warrior: 0R, STELLA
DELonHE's COMANCHE LOVER. By Ned Buntline.

24. Prairie Flower. By Gustave Ai—
ma rd, author of “ Tiger-Slayer.“ etc.

25. The Gold-Guide: OR, STEEL AM,
THE tEnUI.ATOR. By Francis Johnson.

26. The Death-Track: OR, THE OUT-
LAws on THE MOUNTAIN. By Francis Johnson.

27. The Spotter-Detective: OR. THE
GIRLS OF NEW YORK. By Albert W. Aiken.

28. Three-Pingered Jack, THE ROAD—
AGENT or THE ROCKIES; OR, THE BOY MINER 0F HARD
LUCK. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

29. Tiger Dick, THE FARO KING; or,
I'HE CASHIEH’s CRIME. By Philip S. Warne. author
of “ A Hard Crowd,“ etc.

30. Gospel Geor e; or. FIERY FRED,
l‘Hn OUTLAW. By Josep E. Badger, Jr.

31. The New York ‘Sharp :’ OR, THE
FLASH or LIGHTNING. BY Albert W. Aiken,

32. B’hoys of Yale; OR. THE SCRAPES
or A limo SET OE COLLEGIANs. By John D. Vose.

33. Overland Kit. By Albert W.
Aiken.

34. Rocky Mountain Rob.
x’ri W. Aiken.

35. Kentuck, the Sport.

V. Aiken.
36. Injun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken.
37. Hit-l, the Hunchback: OR. THE

CWORDMAHER OF THE SANTEE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.

38. Velvet Hand; OR, THE IRON GRIP 0F
INJUN DICK. By Albert W. Aiken.

By Capt. Mar-I

03.

BY Al-
By Albert

39. The Russian 813%; on. THE BROTH- V

Ens OF THE STARRY CROSS. By derick Whittaker-

40. The LongL Haired ‘ Pards;’ OB;

but TAnTAns on THE AINs. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

 

LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

I.
KIT CARSON, m—No. 3.

41. Gold Dan: OR, THE WHITE SAVAGE
or THE GREAT SALT LAKE. By Albert W. Aiken.

42. The California Detective: OR,
THE WITCHEs or NEW You. By Albert W. Aiken.

48. Dakota Dan, THE RECELEss RANGER;
or. THE BEE—HUNTERS EXCUHsION. By 011 Coomes.

44. Old Dan Rackback, THE GREAT
EXTAHMINATOH; or, THE TRIANGLE‘s LAST TRAn.
By 011 Coomes.

45. Old Bull’s Eym THE LIGHTNING
SHOT OF THE PLAINS. By  scph E. Badger, JIL,

46. Bowie-Knife Ben, THE LITTLE
HUNTER OE THE NOW-WEST. By 011 Coomes.

47. Pacific Pete, THE PRINCE or THE I

REVOLVEH. By Jos. E. Badger.

48. Idaho Tom, THE YOUNG OUTLAW
or SILVERLAND. By 011 Coomes.

49. The Wolf Demon, or, THE QUEEN OF ‘

THE KANAWHA. By Albert W. Aiken.
60. Jack Rabbit, THE PRAIRIE SPORT;

or, THE CHILDREN or THE LLANo EsTAcADo. By Joe. V

E. Badger. Jr.

51. Red Rob, THE BOY ROAD-AGENT.
By 011 Coomes.

52. Death Trailer, THE CHIEF OI:-I

COUTS' or Life and Love in a Frontier Fort. By
on. Wm. T. Cody, (Bufi'alo B111.)

\

msHIPHAN mar—No. 11.

 

Each Number Complete. Price 10 as.

l 53. Silver Sam; or, THE MYSTERY u
i Deadwoon CITY, By Col. Della Sara.

' 54. Always on Hand; 01'. THE SPORTIvv
I SPORT 01" THE FOOT HILLS. By Phillip S. Warnn.
.' author of “A Hard Crowd.” “Patent Leather Joe "

‘ 55. The Scalp Hunters. A ROMANCEK m
. THE PLAINS. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

56. The Indian Haulage? or, Tsl
MAD MAN OE THE PLAINs. By W. Aike l.

57. The Silent Hunter; or, THE 800“ v
HALL MYSTERY. By Percy B. St. John.

‘ 58. Silver Knife: or, WICKLIFFE, TEI
ROCKY MOUNTAIN RANGER. By Dr. J. H. Robinson,

v 59. The Man From Texas; or, TH!
OY-‘TLAW OE ARKANSAS. By Albert W. Aiken.

60. Wide Awake; or, THE IDIOT 0!
THE BLACK HILLs. By Frank Dumont.

61. Captain Seawaif. THE PRIVATE!!!“
‘ By Ned Buntline.

62. Loyal Heart; or, 'IHE humans 0!
ARKANSAS. By Gustave Aimard.

63. The Winged Whale.
W. Aiken.

64. Double-Sight, the Death Shot.
By Joseph E. Badger, r.

65. The Red Rajah: or, THE SOOUHG»
or THE INDIEs. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

66. The S ter Barque. A TALI
or THE PACIFIC. y Captain Mayne Reid.

67. The Boy Jockey: or, HONEsn
vmasus CROOEEDNEss. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.

68. The Fighting Trapper: or, KI!
CARSON To THE RESCUE. By Capt. J. F. C. Adamu

69. The Irish Captain: A TALE 01
FoNTENOY. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

’70. Hydrabad, THE STRANGLER; ox
ALETHE, THE CHILD or THE CORD. By Dr. J. H
Robinson.

71. Captain Cool-Blade, or, THE MAN
SHARE 03‘ THE MISSISSIPPI. By Jos. E. Badger, J.

72. The Phantom Hand. A STORY 0
;  YOEH HEARTHs AND Home. By Albert V
en.

’78. The Knight of the Red Crosl;
' or, THE MAGIOIAN or GRANADA. A Tale of the Al
hambra. By Dr. J. H. Robinson

"4'4. Captain of the Rifles. A ROMANcn
or THE MEXICAN VALLEY. By Captain Mayne Re”

'75. Gentleman George, or, PAHLOR
PRISON, STAGE AND STREET. By Albert W. Aiken.

76., The Queen’s Musketeei, or
THISBE, THE PMNcEss PALuIsT. By George Albany

'77. The Fresh of Frisco. or, TE!
1 Human or BUENAVENTURA. By Albert W. Aike-

| 78. The Mysterious Spy: or. Gonna:
‘ FEATHER, THE BUCCANEER‘s DAUGHTEH. By A. M
L Grainger.

.1 7'). Joe Phenix, THE POLICE SPY.
. Albert W. Aiken.

. 80. A Man of Nerve, or, CALIBAN
THE DWARF. By Philip S. Warns. Ready Nov. int

i
i 81. The Human Tiger, or, A HEARi
1

By Albert

 

B:

OF FIRE. By Albert W. Aiken. Ready Nov. 19th.

‘ 82. Iron Wrist, the Swordmr stex.
“ By Col. Thomas H. Monstery. Ready December 

 83. Gold Bullet Sport, or, THE KNIGHT.
: OF THE OVERLAND. By Buffalo Bill. Ready Dec. 1 .

. 84. Hunted Down, or, THE WHITE
, Wmfl. By AlbertW. Aiken. December 813%

i Anewismemytwowuka.

Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by an
9 Newsaealers. ten cents per copy, or sent by mail or
[ receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS
l Publishers. 98 William Street. New York.