The Pirates of the Prairies: Adventures in the American Desert
Page 7
CHAPTER VII.
ELLEN AND DONA CLARA.
Since she had fallen again into the power of Red Cedar, Dona Clara, aprey to a gloomy sorrow, had yielded unresistingly to her abductors,despairing ever to escape from them; especially since she had seen themen in whose power she was, definitely take the road to the desert.
For a maiden, accustomed to all the refinements of luxury, and all thoselittle attentions which a father's love continually lavished on her, thenew existence commencing was an uninterrupted succession of tortures,among half savage ruffians, whose brutal ways and coarse languageconstantly made her fear insults she would have been too weak torepulse.
Still, up to this moment, Red Cedar's conduct had been--we will not sayrespectful, for the squatter was ignorant of such refinements--but, atany rate, proper, that is to say, he had affected to pay no attention toher while ordering his men not to trouble her in any way.
Dona Clara had been entrusted by the scalp hunter to his wife Betsy andhis daughter Ellen.
The Megera, after giving the maiden an ugly look, had turned her back onher, and did not once address her--conduct which was most agreeable tothe young Mexican. As for Ellen, she had constituted herself, on herprivate authority, the friend of the prisoner, to whom she rendered allthose small services her position allowed her, with a delicacy and tactlittle to be expected from a girl educated in the desert by a fatherlike hers.
At the outset, Dona Clara, absorbed in her grief, had paid no attentionto Ellen's kindness, but gradually, in spite of herself, the youngAmerican's unchanging gentleness, and her patience, which nothingrebuffed, affected her; she had felt the services which the otheroccasionally rendered her, and had gradually learned to feel for thesquatter's daughter a degree of gratitude which presently ripened intofriendship.
Youth is naturally confiding; when a great grief oppresses it, the needof entrusting that grief to a person who seems to sympathise with it,renders it expansive. Alone among the bandits, to whom chance had handedher over, Dona Clara must inevitably--so soon as the first paroxysm ofsuffering had passed--seek for someone to console her, and help her inenduring the immense misfortune that crushed her.
And this had occurred much more rapidly than under ordinarycircumstances, thanks to the sympathising kindness of the youngAmerican, who had in a few hours found the way to her heart.
Red Cedar, whom nothing escaped, smiled cunningly at the friendship ofthe two maidens, which, however, he feigned not to perceive. It was astrange thing, but this scalp hunter, this man that seemed to havenothing human about him, who perspired crime at every pore, whoseferocity was unbounded, had in his heart one feeling which attached himvictoriously to the human family, a profound, illimitable love forEllen--the love of the tiger for its cubs.
This frail girl was the sole creature for whom his heart beat moreviolently. How great, how powerful was the love Red Cedar experiencedfor this simple child! It was a worship, an adoration. A word from herlittle mouth caused the ferocious bandit to feel indescribable delight;a smile from her rosy lips overwhelmed him with happiness. By hercharming caresses, her gentle and insinuating words, Ellen had power togovern despotically that gathering of birds of prey which was herfamily. The chaste kiss his daughter gave him every morning, was thesunbeam that for the whole day warmed the heart of the terrible bandit,before whom everybody trembled, and who himself trembled at a slightfrown from her, who combined all the joy and happiness of his life.
It was with extreme satisfaction that he saw his daughter become hisinnocent accomplice by acquiring the confidence of his prisoner, andgaining her friendship. This gentle girl was in his sight the securestgaoler he could give Dona Clara. Hence, in order, to facilitate, as faras possible, all that could enhance the friendship, he had completelyclosed his eyes, and feigned to be ignorant of the approximation betweenthe two girls.
It was Ellen who had listened to the conversation between the monk andthe Gambusino. At the moment she was re-entering the hut, the stifledsound of voices induced her to listen. Dona Clara was speaking in a lowvoice to a man, and that man was the Sachem of the Coras. Ellen,surprised in the highest degree, listened anxiously to theirconversation, which soon greatly interested her.
After leaving the two Mexicans, Eagle-wing had, for some minutes, walkedabout the camp with an affected carelessness, intended to remove thesuspicions of any who might have been tempted to watch his movements.
When he fancied he had dispelled any suspicions, the Indian chiefinsensibly drew nearer to the cabin, which served as a refuge to themaidens, and entered it, after assuring himself by a glance, that no onewas watching.
Dona Clara was alone, at this moment. We have told the reader whereEllen was; as for the squatter's wife, faithful to her husband'sinstructions not to annoy the prisoner in any way, she was quietlyasleep by the fire, in the clearing.
The maiden, with her head bowed on her bosom, was plunged in deep andsad thought. At the sound of the Indian's steps, she raised her head,and could not restrain a start of terror on seeing him.
Eagle-wing immediately perceived the impression he produced on her, hestopped on the threshold of the cabin, folded his arms on his chest, andbowed respectfully.
"My sister need not be alarmed," he said in a gentle and insinuatingvoice, "it is a friend who is speaking to her."
"A friend!" Dona Clara murmured, as she took a side glance at him; "theunfortunate have no friends."
The Indian drew a few steps nearer to her, and went on, as he bent overher:
"The jaguar has been forced to put on the skin of the crafty serpent, inorder to introduce himself among his enemies, and gain their confidence.Does not my sister recognise me?"
The Mexican girl reflected for a moment, and then answered withhesitation, and looking at him attentively:
"Although the sound of your voice is not unfamiliar to me, I seek invain to remember where, and under what circumstances I have already seenyou."
"I will help my sister to remember," Eagle-wing continued. "Two daysago, at the passage of the ford, I tried to save her, and was on thepoint of succeeding, but before that my sister had seen me severaltimes."
"If you will mention a date and a circumstance, I may possibly succeedin remembering."
"My sister need not seek, it will be useless; I prefer telling her myname at once, for moments are precious. I am Moukapec, the great Chiefof the Coras, of the Del Norte. My sister's father and my sister herselfoften helped the poor Indians of my tribe."
"That is true," the maiden said, sadly. "Oh! I remember now. Poorpeople! They were pitilessly massacred, and their village fired by theApaches. Oh! I know that horrible story."
A sardonic smile played round the chief's lips at these words.
"Coyote does not eat coyote," he said, in a hollow voice; "the jaguarsdo not wage war on jaguars. They were not Indians who assassinated theCoras, but scalp hunters."
"Oh!" she said, in horror.
"Let my sister listen," the Coras continued quickly; "now that I havetold her my name, she must place confidence in me."
"Yes," she answered, eagerly, "for I know the nobility of yourcharacter."
"Thanks! I am here for my sister's sake alone. I have sworn to save her,and restore her to her father."
"Alas!" she murmured sadly, "that is impossible. You are alone, and weare surrounded by enemies. The bandits who guard us are a hundredfoldmore cruel than the ferocious beasts of the desert."
"I do not know yet in what way I shall set about saving my sister," thechief said, firmly; "but I shall succeed if she is willing."
"Oh!" she exclaimed with febrile energy, "If I am willing! Whateverrequires to be done, I will do without hesitation. My courage will notfail me, be assured of that, chief."
"Good!" the Indian said with joy; "My sister is truly a daughter of theMexican kings. I count on her when the moment arrives. Red Cedar isabsent for a few days; I will go and prepare everything for my sister'sflight."
"Go, chief; at the fi
rst sign from you I shall be ready to follow you."
"Good! I retire; my sister can take courage, she will soon be free."
The Indian bowed to the maiden, and prepared to leave the hut. Suddenly,a hand was laid on his shoulder. At this unexpected touch, in spite ofhis self-command, the chief could not repress a start of terror. Heturned, and Red Cedar's daughter stood before him, with a smile on herlips. "I have heard all," she said in her pure and melodious voice.
The chief bent a long and sad look on Dona Clara.
"Why this emotion," Ellen continued, "which I read on your features? Ido not mean to betray you, for I am a friend of Dona Clara. Reassureyourself; if accident has made me mistress of your secret, I will notabuse it--on the contrary, I will help your flight."
"Can it be so? You would do that?" Dona Clara exclaimed, as she threwher arms round her neck, and buried her face in her bosom.
"Why not?" she simply answered; "You are my friend."
"Oh! Oh! I love you, for you are good. You had pity on my grief, andwept with me." Eagle-wing fixed on the maiden a glance of undefinablemeaning.
"Listen," Ellen said; "I will supply you with the means you lack. We'llleave the camp this very night."
"We?" Dona Clara asked; "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Ellen continued, quickly, "that I shall go with you."
"Can it be possible?"
"Yes," she said, in a melancholy voice; "I cannot remain here longer."
On hearing these words, the Coras Chief quivered with joy; a sinisterray flashed from his dark eyes; but he immediately resumed his stoicalappearance, and the maidens did not notice his emotion.
"But what shall we do to procure means of flight?"
"That is my affair, so do not trouble yourself about it. This verynight, I repeat, we shall start."
"May Heaven grant it!" Dona Clara sighed.
Ellen turned to the chief and said:
"Does my brother know, at a short distance from the spot where we noware, any Indian pueblo where we can seek shelter?"
"Two suns from here, in a northwestern direction, there is a pueblo,inhabited by a tribe of my nation. It was thither I intended to lead mywhite father's daughter after her escape."
"And we shall be in safety with that tribe?"
"The daughter of Acumapicthzin will be as safe as in her father'shacienda," the Indian answered, evasively.
"Good! Can my father leave the camp?"
"Who is strong enough to arrest the flight of the condor? Moukapec is awarrior, nothing stops him."
"My brother will set out."
"Good!"
"He will proceed by the shortest road to the pueblo of his nation, thenhe will return to meet us with the warriors he has collected, in orderthat we may defend ourselves, in the event of being followed by theGambusinos."
"Very good," the Indian answered joyfully. "My sister is young, butwisdom dwells in her heart; I will do what she desires--when may Istart?"
"At once."
"I go. What hour will my sister quit the camp?"
"At the hour when the owl sings its first hymn to the rising sun."
"My sister will meet me at the most four hours after her departure. Shemust remember in her flight always to go in a northwestern direction."
"I will do so."
Eagle-wing bowed to the maidens and left the cabin.
The gambusinos were in a deep sleep round the fire; only Dick and Harrywere awake. The Coras glided like a phantom through the trees, andreached the edge of the water unnoticed, which was the more easy toeffect, because the Canadians were not watching the island, from whichthey had no danger to apprehend, but had their eyes fixed on theprairie. The chief took off his clothes and made them into a parcel,which he fastened on his breast; he slipped into the water, and swamsilently in the direction of the mainland.
So soon as the Indian left the cabin Ellen bent over Dona Clara, gaveher a loving kiss on the forehead, and said softly--"Try to sleep for afew hours, while I prepare everything for our flight."
"Sleep!" the Mexican answered, "How can I with the restlessness thatdevours me."
"You must!" Ellen insisted, "For we shall have great fatigue to enduretomorrow."
"Well," Dona Clara said, softly, "I will try, as you wish it."
The maidens exchanged a kiss and a shake of the hand, and Ellen left thehut in her turn, smiling to her friend, who followed her with an anxiousglance. When left alone, Dona Clara fell on her knees, clasped herhands, and addressed a fervent prayer to God. Then, slightlytranquilised by her appeal to Him, who is omnipotent, she fell back onthe pile of dry leaves that served as her bed, and, as she had promisedEllen, attempted to sleep.