Balle-Franche. English

by Gustave Aimard

  CHAPTER II.

  A TRAIL DISCOVERED.

  Our friends would probably have remained for a long time plunged intheir present state of beatitude had not a slight sound in the riversuddenly recalled them to the exigencies of their position.

  "What's that?" the Count said, flipping off the ash from his cigar.

  Bright-eye glided among the shrubs, looked for a moment, and thencalmly returned to his seat.

  "Nothing," he said; "two alligators sporting in the mud."

  "Ah!" the Count said. There was a moment's silence, during which thehunter mentally calculated the length of the shadow of the trees on theground.

  "It is past midday," he said.

  "You think so," the young man remarked.

  "No; I am sure of it, sir Count."

  "Confound you! you are at it again," the young man said with a smile."I have told you to call me by my Christian name; but if you do notlike that, call me like the Indians."

  "Nay!" the hunter objected.

  "What is the name they gave me, Bright-eye? I have forgotten."

  "Oh! I should not like, sir--"

  "Eh?"

  "Edward, I meant to say."

  "Come, that is better," the young man remarked laughingly; "but I mustbeg of you to repeat the nickname."

  "They call you 'Glass-eye.'"

  "Oh, yes! that's it;" the Count continued his laugh. "Only Indianscould have such an idea as that."

  "Oh," Bright-eye went on, "the Indians are not what you suppose them;they are as crafty as the demon."

  "Come, stop that, Bright-eye; I always suspected you of having aweakness for the Redskins."

  "How can you say that, when I am their obstinate enemy, and have beenfighting them for the last forty years?"

  "That is the very reason that makes you defend them."

  "How so?" the hunter said, astonished at this conclusion, which he wasfar from expecting.

  "For a very simple reason. No one likes to contend with enemiesunworthy of him, and it is quite natural you should try to elevatethose against whom you have been fighting for forty years."

  The hunter shook his head.

  "Mr. Edward," he said, with a thoughtful air, "the Redskins are peoplewhom it takes many a long year to know. They possess at once the craftof the opossum, the prudence of the serpent, and the courage of thecougar. A few years hence you will not despise them as you do now."

  "My good fellow," the Count objected, "I hope I shall have left theprairies within a year. I am yearning for a civilized life. I wantParis, with its opera and balls. No, no; the desert does not suit me."

  The hunter shook his head a second time. Then he continued, with amournful accent, which struck the young man, and, as if rather speakingto himself, than replying to the Count's remarks--

  "Yes, yes; that is the way with Europeans: when they arrive on theprairies, they regret civilized life, and the desert is only graduallyappreciated; but when a man has breathed the odours of the savannah,when during long nights he has listened to the rustling of the windin the trees, and the howling of the wild beasts in the virginforests--when he has admired that proud landscape which owes nothing toart, where the hand of God is imprinted at each step in ineffaceablecharacters: when he has gazed on the glorious scenes that rise insuccession before him--then he begins by degrees to love this unknownworld, so full of mysteries and strange incidents; his eyes are openedto the truth, and he repudiates the falsehoods of civilization. Atsuch a a moment he experiences emotions full of secret charms, andrecognizing no other master save that God, in whose presence he feelshimself so small, he forgets everything to lead a nomadic life, andremains in the desert, because there alone he feels free, happy--a man,in a word! Ah, sir, whatever you may say, whatever you may do, thedesert now holds you: you have tasted its joys and its griefs; it willnot allow you to depart so easily--you will not see France again sospeedily--the desert will retain you in spite of yourself."

  The young man had listened with an emotion for which he could notaccount, to this long harangue. In his heart he recognized, through thehunter's exaggeration, the justice of his reasoning, and felt startledat being compelled to allow him to be in the right. Not knowing whatto reply, or feeling that he was beaten, the Count suddenly turned theconversation.

  "Hum!" he began, "I think you said it was past twelve?"

  "About a quarter past," the hunter answered.

  The Count consulted, his watch.

  "Quite right," he said.

  "Oh!" the hunter continued, pointing to the sun, "that is the only trueclock; it never goes too fast or too slow, for Heaven regulates it."

  The young man bowed his head affirmatively.

  "We will start," he said.

  "For what good at this moment?" the Canadian asked. "We have nothingpressing before us."

  "That is true; but are you sure we have not lost our way?"

  "Lost our way!" the hunter exclaimed, with a start of surprise, almostof anger; "no, no, it is impossible. I guarantee that within a week weshall be on Lake Itasca."

  "The Mississippi really runs from that lake?"

  "Yes; for, in spite of what is asserted, the Missouri is only theprincipal branch of that river: the savants would have done better toassure themselves of the fact, ere they declared that the Mississippiand Missouri are two separate rivers."

  "What would you have, Bright-eye?" the Count said, laughingly. "Savantsare the same in all countries; being naturally indolent, they relyon one another, and hence the infinity of absurdities they put incirculation with the most astounding coolness."

  "The Indians are never mistaken."

  "That is true; but then the Indians are not savants."

  "No; they see for themselves, and only assert what they are sure of."

  "That is what I meant," the Count replied.

  "If you will listen to me, Mr. Edward, we will remain here a few hourslonger to let the great heat pass off, and when the sun is going downwe will start again."

  "Very good; let us rest then. Ivon appears to be thoroughly of ouropinion, for he has not stirred."

  The Count had risen; before sitting down, he mechanically cast a glanceon the immense plain which lay so calmly and majestically at his feet.

  "Eh!" he suddenly exclaimed, "what is that down there?--look,Bright-eye."

  The hunter rose and looked in the direction indicated by the Count.

  "Well--do you see nothing?" the young man remarked.

  Bright-eye, with his hand over his eyes to shield them from the glareof the sun, looked attentively without replying.

  "Well?" the Count said, at the expiration of a moment.

  "We are no longer alone," the hunter answered; "there are men downthere."

  "How men? We have seen no Indian trail."

  "I did not say they were Indians."

  "Hum! I suppose at this distance it would be rather difficult to decidewho they are."

  Bright-eye smiled.

  "You always judge from your knowledge obtained in the civilized world,Mr. Edward," he answered.

  "Which means--?" the young man said, intensely piqued at theobservation.

  "That you are always wrong."

  "Hang it, my friend! You will allow me to observe, all individualityapart, that it is impossible at this distance to recognize anybody.Especially when nothing can be distinguished, save a little whitesmoke."

  "Is not that enough? Do you believe that all smoke is alike?"

  "That is rather a subtle distinction; and I confess that to me allsmoke is alike."

  "That's where the error is," the Canadian continued, with greatcoolness, "and when you have spent a few years in the prairie you willnot be deceived."

  The Count looked at him attentively, convinced that he was laughing athim; but the other continued, with the utmost calmness--

  "What we notice down there is neither the fire of Indians nor ofhunters, but is kindled by white men, not yet accustomed to a desertlife."

  "Perhaps
you will have the goodness to explain."

  "I will do so, and you will soon allow that I am correct. Listen, Mr.Edward, for this is important to know."

  "I am listening, my good fellow."

  "You are not ignorant," the hunter continued imperturbably, "that whatis conventionally called the desert is largely populated."

  "Quite true," the young man said, smiling.

  "Good; but the enemies most to be feared in the prairies are not wildbeasts so much as men; the Indians and hunters are so well aware ofthis fact that they try as much as possible to destroy all traces oftheir passage and hide their presence."

  "I admit that."

  "Very good; when the Redskins or the hunters are obliged to light afire, either to prepare their food or ward off the cold, they selectmost carefully the wood they intend to burn, and never employ any butdry wood."

  "Hum! I do not see the use of that."

  "You will soon understand me," the hunter continued; "dry wood onlyproduces a bluish smoke, which is difficult to detect from the sky, andthis renders it invisible at a short distance; while on the other hand,green wood, through its dampness, produces a white dense smoke, whichreveals for a long distance the presence of those who kindle it. Thisis the reason why, by a mere inspection of that smoke, I told you justnow that the people down there were white men, and strangers, moreover,to the prairie, else they would have employed dry wood."

  "By Jove," the young man exclaimed, "that is curious, and I should liketo convince myself."

  "What do you intend doing?"

  "Why, go and see who are the people that have lighted the fire."

  "Why disturb yourself, since I have told you?"

  "That is possible; but what I propose doing is for my personalsatisfaction; since we have been living together you have told me suchextraordinary things, that I should like, once in a way, to know whatfaith to place in them."

  And not listening to the Canadian's observations, the young man arousedhis servant.

  "What do you want, my lord?" the latter said, rubbing his eyes.

  "The horses, and quickly too, Ivon."

  The Breton rose and bridled the horses; the Count leaped into thesaddle; the hunter imitated him, though shaking his head; and the threetrotted down the hill.

  "You will see Mr. Edward," Bright-eye said, "that I was in the right."

  "I am certain of it; still I should like to judge for myself."

  "If that is the case, allow me to go in front; for, as we do not knowwith what people we may have to deal, it is as well to be on our guard."

  The Canadian headed the party. The fire the Count had seen from the topof the hill was not so near as he supposed, the hunter was incessantlycompelled to get out of the way of dense thickets which barred the way,and this lengthened the distance; so that they took nearly two hoursin reaching the spot they were steering for. When they had at lengtharrived within a short distance of the fire which had so perplexedM. de Beaulieu, the Canadian stopped, making his companions a signto imitate him. When they had done so, Bright-eye got down, gave hishorse's bridle to Ivon, and taking his rifle in his hand, said, "I amgoing on a voyage of discovery."

  "Go," the young man replied, laconically.

  The Count was a man of tried courage; but since he had been in theprairie he had learned one thing, that courage without prudence ismadness in the presence of enemies who never act without calling craftand treachery to their aid; hence, gradually renouncing his chivalrousideas, he was beginning to adopt the habits of the desert, knowing verywell that in an ambuscade the advantage nearly always remains with theman who first discovers the enemies whom chance may bring in his way.The Count, therefore, patiently awaited the hunter's return, who hadsilently glided among the trees, and disappeared in the direction ofthe fire. At the end of about an hour the shrubs shook, and Bright-eyereappeared at a point opposite to that where he had started. The oldwood ranger had been considerably bothered by the apparition of thedistant fire which the Count pointed out to him from the top of thehill. So soon as he was alone, putting in practice the axiom, that theshortest road from one point to another is a curved line, the truth ofwhich is proved in the prairie, he had taken a wide circuit, in orderto come, if it were possible, on the trail of the men he wished toobserve, and from it discover who they really were.

  In the desert, the meeting most feared is that with man. Every strangeris at first an enemy, and hence persons generally accost each other ata distance, with the barrel of the gun advanced, and the finger on thetrigger. With that infallible glance the experience of the savannahshad given him, Bright-eye had noticed from a distance a place where thegrass was laid, and the strangers must have passed along that road.The hunter, still bent down to escape observation, soon found himselfon the edge of a track about four feet wide, the end of which was lostin a virgin forest a short distance ahead. After stopping a minute, torecover his breath, the Canadian placed the butt of his rifle on theground, and began carefully studying the traces so deeply imprinted onthe plain. His investigation did not last ten minutes; then he raisedhis head with a smile, threw his rifle on his shoulder, and quietlyreturned to the spot where he had left his companions, not even takingthe trouble to go to the fire. This brief examination had told him allhe wished to know.

  "Well, Bright-eye, any news?" the Count asked, on noticing him.

  "The people, whose fire we perceived," the hunter replied, "areAmerican emigrants, pioneers who wish to set up their tent in thedesert. The family is composed of six persons--four men and two women;they have a waggon to carry their baggage, and have with them a largenumber of beasts."

  "Mount your horse, Bright-eye, and let us go and welcome these worthypeople to the desert."

  The hunter remained motionless and thoughtful, leaning on his rifle.

  "Well," the Count said, "did you not hear me, my friend?"

  "Yes, Mr. Edward, I perfectly understood you; but among the traces leftby the emigrants I discovered others which appeared to me suspicious,and I should like, before venturing into their camp, to beat up theneighbourhood."

  "What traces do you allude to?" the young man asked, quickly.

  "Well," the hunter went on, "you know that, rightly or wrongly, theRedskins claim to be kings of the prairies, and will not endure therethe presence of white men."

  "I consider that they are perfectly right in doing so; since thediscovery of America, the white men have gradually dispossessed them oftheir territory, and driven them back on the desert; they are defendingtheir last refuge, and are justified in doing so."

  "I am perfectly of your opinion, Mr. Edward; the desert ought tobelong to the hunters and the Indians; unfortunately the Americans donot think so, and they daily quit their cities and proceed into theinterior, establishing themselves here and there, and confiscating totheir benefit the most fertile countries, and those richest in game."

  "What can we do, my good friend?" the Count answered, with a smile;"it is an irremediable evil, which we must put up with; but I cannotyet see where you wish to arrive with these reflections, which, thoughextremely just, do not appear to me exactly suited to the occasion; sopray have the goodness to explain your meaning."

  "I will do so. Well, I noticed, by certain signs, that the emigrantsare closely followed by a party of Indians, who probably only await afavourable moment to attack and massacre them."

  "The deuce!" the young man said; "that is serious of course you warnedthese worthy people of the danger that threatens them."

  "I--not at all. I have not spoken to them, nor even seen them."

  "What! you have not seen them?"

  "No; so soon as I recognized the Indian sign, I hurried back to consultwith you."

  "Very good; but as you did not go to their camp, how were you able togive me such precise information about them and their number?"

  "Oh, very easily," the hunter answered simply; "the desert is a bookentirely written by the hand of God, and it cannot hide its secretsfrom a man accustomed to read
it. I needed only to look at the trailfor a few minutes to divine everything."

  The Count fixed on the hunter a glance of surprise. Though he hadbeen living in the prairie for more than six months, he could not yetunderstand the species of divination with which the hunter seemedgifted, with reference to facts that were to himself as a dead letter.

  "Perhaps, though," he said, "the Indians whose trail you detected areharmless hunters."

  Bright-eye shook his head.

  "There are no harmless hunters among the Indians, especially when theyare on the trail of white men. These Indians belong to three plunderingtribes which I am surprised to see united; they doubtlessly meditatesome extraordinary expedition, in which the massacre of these emigrantswill be one of the least interesting episodes."

  "Who are these Indians? Do you think they are numerous?"

  The hunter reflected for a moment.

  "The party I discovered is probably only the vanguard of a morenumerous band," he answered; "as far as I could judge, there were notmore than forty; but the Redskin warriors march with the speed of theantelope, and they can hardly ever be counted; the party is composed ofComanches, Blackfeet, and Sioux; that is to say, the three most warliketribes in the prairie."

  "Hum!" the Count remarked, after a moment's reflection, "if thesedemons really mean to attack the Americans, as everything leads us tosuppose, the poor fellows appear to be in an awkward position."

  "Unless a miracle occur, they are lost," the hunter said, concisely.

  "What is to be done--how to warn them?"

  "Mr. Edward, take care what you are going to do."

  "Still we cannot allow men of our own colour to be murdered almost inour presence; that would be cowardly."

  "Yes; but it would be astounding folly to join them; reflect that thereare only three of us."

  "I know it," the young man said, thoughtfully; "still I would neverconsent to abandon these poor people without trying to defend them."

  "Stay, there is only one thing to be done, and perhaps Heaven will cometo our aid."

  "Come, be brief, my friend, time presses."

  "In all probability, the Indians have not yet discovered our trail,although they must be a short distance from us. Let us, then, return tothe spot where we breakfasted, and which commands the entire prairie.The Indians never attack their enemy before four in the morning; assoon as they attempt their attack on the emigrants, we will fall ontheir rear; surprised by the sudden aid given the Americans, it ispossible they will fly, for the darkness will prevent them counting us,and they will never suppose that three men were so mad as to make suchan attack upon them."

  "By Jove!" the Count said, laughing, "that is a good idea of yours,Bright-eye, and such as I expected from so brave a hunter as yourself;let us hurry back to our observatory, so as to be ready for everyevent."

  The Canadian leaped on his horse, and the three men retraced theirsteps. But, according to his custom, Bright-eye, who was apparently asworn foe to a straight line, made them describe an infinite number ofturnings, to throw out any person whom accident brought on their track.

  They arrived at the top of the hill just at the moment the sun wasdisappearing beneath the horizon. The evening breeze was rising, andbeginning to agitate the tops of the great trees with mysteriousmurmurs. The howling of the tigers and cougars was already mingledwith the lowing of the elks and buffaloes, and the sharp yelping of thered wolves, whose dusky outlines appeared here and there on the riverbank. The sky grew more and more gloomy, and the stars began dottingthe vault of heaven.

  The three hunters sat down carelessly on the top of the hill, at thesame spot they had left a few hours previously with the intention ofnever returning, and made preparations for supper,--preparations whichdid not take long, for prudence imperiously ordered them not to lighta fire, which would have at once revealed their presence to the unseeneyes which were, at the moment, probably surveying the desert in everydirection. While eating a few mouthfuls of pemmican, they kept theireyes fixed on the camp of the emigrants, whose fire was perfectlyvisible in the night.

  "Oh Lord!" Bright-eye said, "those people are ignorant of the first lawof the desert, else they would guard against lighting a fire which theIndians can see for ten leagues round."

  "Bah! that beacon will guide us where to go to their aid," the Countsaid.

  "Heaven grant that it be not in vain."

  The meal over, the hunter invited the Count and his servant to sleepfor a few hours.

  "For the present," he said, "we have nothing to fear; let me keep watchfor all, as my eyes are accustomed to see in the darkness."

  The Count did not allow the invitation to be repeated; he rolledhimself in his cloak, and lay down on the ground. Two minuteslater, himself and Ivon were sleeping the sleep of the righteous.Bright-eye took his seat against the trunk of a tree, and lit a pipeto soothe the weariness of his night watch. All at once, he benthis body forward, placed his ear to the ground, and seemed to belistening attentively. His practised ear had heard a sound at firstimperceptible, but which seemed to be gradually drawing nearer.

  The hunter silently cocked his rifle, and waited. At the expiration ofabout a quarter of an hour there was a slight rustling in the thicket,the branches parted, and a man made his appearance.

  This man was Natah Otann, the sachem of the Piekanns.