CHAPTER XLI.
NATHAN.
Nathan was not asleep, as Ellen supposed, when she urged on Shaw todevote himself to liberate Dona Clara, and he had listened attentivelyto the conversation. Nathan was a man of about thirty years of age, who,both physically and morally, bore a marked resemblance to his father.Hence the old squatter had concentrated in him all the affection whichhis uncultivated savage nature was capable of feeling. Since the fatalnight, when the chief of the Coras had avenged himself for the burningof his village and the murder of its inhabitants, Nathan's character hadgrown still more gloomy; a dull and deep hatred boiled in his heartagainst the whole human race; he only dreamed of assassination: he hadsworn in his heart to revenge on all those who fell into his hands theinjury one man had inflicted on him; in a word, Nathan loved none andhated everything.
When Shaw had disappeared among the bushes, and Ellen, after taking afinal glance around to convince herself that all was in order,re-entered the hut that served her as a shelter, Nathan rose cautiously,threw his rifle over his shoulder, and rushed after his brother. Anotherreason urged him to foil Shaw and Ellen's plans; he had a double grudgeagainst Don Miguel--the first for the stab the Mexican gentlemen hadgiven his father; the second because Don Miguel had compelled him toleave the forest in which his family had so daringly installed itself.
Convinced of the importance of the affair, and knowing the value thesquatter attached to carrying off the maiden, who was a most precioushostage for him, Nathan did not lose a moment, but reached Santa Fe bythe most direct route, bounding with the agility of a tiger cat over theobstacles that beset his path. Presently he reached an isolated house,not far from which several men were conversing together in a low voice.Nathan stopped and listened; but he was too far off, and coulddistinguish nothing. The squatter's son, reared in the desert, wasthoroughly versed in all its stratagems; with the piercing eye of a manaccustomed to night journeys in the prairie, he recognised well-knownpersons, and his mind was at once made up.
He laid himself on the ground, and following the shadow cast by themoon, lest he might be perceived by the speakers, he advanced, inch byinch, crawling like a serpent, stopping at intervals lest the waving ofthe grass might reveal his presence, in short, employing all theprecautions usual under such circumstances. At length he reached a clumpof Peru trees only a few yards distant from the spot where the men hewished to overhear were standing. He then got up, leaned against thelargest tree, and prepared to listen. His expectations were notdeceived; though a few words escaped him here and there, he was nearenough perfectly to catch the sense of the conference. This conversationwas, in truth, most interesting to him; a sinister smile lit up hisface, and he eagerly clenched the barrel of his rifle.
Presently the party broke into two. Valentine, Curumilla, and Unicorn,took the road leading to the open country, while Don Pablo and FatherSeraphin returned toward the town. Valentine and his two friends almosttouched the young man as they passed, and he instinctively carried hishands to his pistols; they even stopped for a moment and cast suspiciousglances at the clump that concealed their foe. While conversing inwhispers, Unicorn drew a few branches aside and peered in; for someseconds Nathan felt an indescribable agony; a cold perspiration stood atthe root of his hair and the blood coursed to his heart; in a word, hewas afraid. He knew that if these men, his mortal enemies, discoveredhim, they would be pitiless to him and kill him like a dog. But thisapprehension did not last longer than a lightning flash. Unicorncarelessly let the leafy curtain fall again, saying only one word to hiscomrades:--
"Nothing."
The latter resumed their march.
"I do not know why," said Valentine, "but I fancy there is someonehidden there."
"No," the chief answered, "there is nobody."
"Well, be it so," the hunter muttered, with a toss of his head.
So soon, as he was alone, Nathan drew two or three deep breaths, andstarted in pursuit of Don Pablo and the missionary, whom he soon caughtup. As they did not suppose they were followed, they were conversingfreely together.
In Spanish America, where the days are so warm and the nights so fresh,the inhabitants, shut up at home so long as the sun calcines the ground,go out at nightfall to breathe a little pure air; the streets, desertedin consequence of the heat, are gradually peopled; benches are placedbefore the doors, on which persons recline to smoke and gossip, drinkorangeade, strum the guitar, and sing. Frequently the entire night ispassed in these innocent amusements, and folks do not return home tilldawn, in order to indulge in the sleep so grateful after this longwatch. Hence the Hispano-American towns must be especially visited bynight, if you wish to judge truthfully the nature of this people--astrange composite of the most discordant contrasts, who only live forenjoyment, and only accept from existence the most intoxicatingpleasures. Still, on the night to which we refer, the town of Santa Fe,usually so laughing and chattering, was plunged into a gloomy sadness,the streets were deserted, the doors closed; no light filtered throughthe hermetically closed windows; all slept or at least feigned to sleep.The fact was, that Santa Fe was at this moment in a state of mortalagitation, caused by the condemnation of Don Miguel Zarate, the richestland owner in the province--a man who was loved and revered by the wholepopulation. The agitation took its origin in the unexpected apparitionof the Comanche war detachment--those ferocious enemies whose crueltieshave become proverbial on the Mexican frontier, and whose presencepresaged nothing good.
Don Pablo and his companion walked quickly, like persons anxious toreach a place where they knew they are expected, exchanging but a fewwords at intervals, whose meaning, however, caught up by the man whofollowed them, urged them still more not to let them out of sight. Theythus traversed the greater part of the town, and on reaching the Callede la Merced, they stopped at their destination--a house of handsomeaspect.
A weak light burned at the window of a ground floor room. By aninstinctive movement, the two gentlemen turned round at the moment ofentering the house but Nathan had slipped into a doorway, and they didnot perceive him. Father Seraphin tapped gently; the door was at onceopened, and they went in. Nathan stationed himself in the middle of thestreet, with his eye ardently fixed on the only window of the house litup. Ere long, shadows crossed the curtains.
"Good!" the young man muttered; "But how to warn the old one that thedove is in her nest?"
All at once, a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and Nathan turned,fiercely clutching a bowie knife. A man was before him, gloomy, silentand wrapped in the thick folds of his cloak. The American started.
"Go your way," he said in a menacing voice.
"What are you doing here?" the stranger asked.
"How does that concern you? The street is free to all."
"No."
This word was pronounced with a sharp accent. Nathan tried in vain toscan the features of the man with whom he had to deal.
"Give way," he said, "or blood will surely be shed between us."
As sole reply, the stranger took a pistol in his right hand, a knife inhis left.
"Ah!" Nathan said, mockingly, "You mean fighting."
"For the last time, withdraw."
"Nonsense, you are mad, senor Caballero; the road belongs to all, I tellyou. This place suits me, and I shall 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 fewpaces apart with flashing eyes, ready to rush on each other. Nathanreturned his pistol to his belt.
"No noise," he said; "the knife will do; besides, we are in a countrywhere that is the only weapon in use."
"Be it so," the stranger replied; "then, you will not give way to me?"
"You would laugh at me if I did," the American said with a grin.
"Then your blood will be on your own head."
"Or on yours."
The two foemen each fell back a pace, and stood on guard, with theircloaks rolled round their left arms. The moon, veiled by clouds, shed nolight; the darkness was perfect; midnight struck from the cathedral; thevoice of the _serenos_ chanting the hour could be heard in the distance,announcing that all was quiet. There was a moment's hesitation, whichthe enemies employed in scrutinising each other. Suddenly Nathan uttereda hoarse yell rushed on his enemy, and threw his cloak in his face, toput him on his guard. The stranger parried the stroke dealt him, andreplied by another, guarded off with equal dexterity. The two men thenseized each other round the waist, and wrestled for some minutes,without uttering a word; at length the stranger rolled on the groundwith a heavy sigh; Nathan's knife was buried in his chest. The Americanrose with a yell of triumph--his enemy was motionless.
"Can I have killed him?" Nathan muttered.
He returned his knife to his vaquera boot, and bent over the woundedman. All at once he started back, for he had recognised his brotherShaw.
"What is to be done now?" he said; but then added carelessly, "Pshaw!all the worse for him. Why did he come across my path?"
And, leaving there the body of the young man, who gave no sign of life--
"Well, Heaven knows, I ought not, and could not have hesitated," hesaid.
Shaw lay to all appearance dead, with pale and drawn cheeks, in thecentre of the street.
The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West Page 41
