CHAPTER XVII.
THE QUEBRADA DEL COYOTE.
It is especially at night, about two hours after sunset, that Americanscenery assumes grand proportions. Under the influence of the firstnight shadows the trees seem to put on majestic forms; the animatedsilence of the desert becomes more mysterious; and man experiencesinvoluntarily a feeling of undefinable respect, which contracts hisheart, and fills him with superstitious dread. At that hour the watersof the rivers flow with hoarse murmurings; the heavy and sinister flightof the birds of night agitates the air with a fluttering of evil augury;and the wild beasts, aroused in their hidden dens, salute the darknesswith long howlings of joy, for at night they are incontestably the kingsof the desert, for man is deprived of his greatest strength--the powerof the eye.
Father Seraphin was riding by the side of the two females along the footof a lofty mountain, whose wooded slopes were lost in the black depthsof the Barrancas. Since leaving the camp they had not stopped once. Theywere following at this moment a narrow path traced by mules, which woundwith countless turnings along the sides of the mountain. This path wasso narrow that two horses could scarce go along side by side; but thesteeds on which our travellers were mounted were so sure-footed, thatthe latter proceeded without any hesitation along a road on which noother animal would have ventured in the darkness.
The moon had not yet risen; not a star glistened in the cloud-laden sky;the darkness was dense; and, under the circumstances, this was almostfortunate; for had the travellers been able to see the spot where theywere, and the way in which they were suspended, as it were, in space ata prodigious height, possibly their courage would have failed them, andtheir heads grown dizzy. Father Seraphin and Dona Angela were ridingside by side: Violanta was a few paces behind.
"My father," the young lady said, "we have now been travelling fornearly six hours, and I am beginning to feel fatigued. Shall we not haltsoon?"
"Yes, my child, in an hour at the most. In a few moments we shall leavethis path, and cross a defile called the Quebrada del Coyote: at the endof that pass we shall spend the night in a poor house, which is now notmore than two miles off."
"You say we are going to pass through the Coyote defile. We are, then,on the road to Hermosillo?"
"Quite true, my child."
"Is it not imprudent for us to venture on this road, which my father'stroops command."
"My child," the missionary said gently, "in good policy we must oftenrisk a great deal in order to secure greater tranquillity. We are notonly on the road to Hermosillo, but we are going to that very city."
"What! to Hermosillo?"
"Yes, my child. In my opinion it is the only spot where you will becompletely safe from your father's search, as he will never think oflooking for you there, and cannot imagine that you are so near him."
"That is true," she said after a moment's reflection.
"The plan is a bold one, and hence must succeed. I believe, in truth,that Hermosillo is the only spot where I can be safe from the pursuit ofthose who have an interest in finding me."
"I will take care, besides, to recommend you to the persons to whom Ishall intrust you; and, for greater security, I will leave you as littleas possible."
"I shall be greatly obliged to you, my father, for I shall feel very sadand lonely."
"Courage, my child! I have faith in Don Louis. Heaven must protect hisexpedition, for the work he has undertaken is grand and noble, as it hasfor its object the emancipation of an entire country."
"Believe me, my father, I am happy to hear you speak thus. The count mayfail; but in that case he will fall like a hero, and his death will bethat of a martyr."
"Yes, the count is a chosen vessel. I believe, like yourself, my child,that if his contemporaries do not do him the justice which is hisdue, posterity at least will not confound him with those filibustersand shameless adventurers for whom gold alone is everything, and who,whatever may be the title they assume, are in reality no more thanhighway robbers. But the road is growing wider--we are about to enterthe pass. This spot does not enjoy a very good reputation, so keep by myside. Although I believe that we have nothing to fear, it is always wellto be prudent."
In fact, as the missionary stated, the path had suddenly widened out:the two sides of the mountain, which had, for some distance, beengradually drawing together, now formed two parallel walls, at the mostonly forty yards apart. It was this narrow gorge which was known asthe Quebrada del Coyote. It was about half a mile in length; but thenit suddenly grew wider, and opened on a vast _chaparral_, covered withthickets and fields of dahlias; while the mountains separated to theright and left, not to meet again till eighty leagues further on.
At the moment when the travellers entered the pass the moon broke outfrom the clouds in which it floated, and lighted up this dangerous passwith its mournful and sickly light. This gleam, weak as it was, couldnot fail to be agreeable to the travellers, as it allowed them to lookaround and see where they were. They pressed on their wearied steeds,in order to arrive more speedily at the end of the gloomy gorge inwhich they were. They had gone on for about ten minutes, and had nearlyreached the centre of the pass, when the neighing of a horse smote theirears.
"We have travellers behind us," the missionary said with a frown.
"And in a hurry, as it seems," Dona Angela added. "Hark!"
They stopped to listen. The noise of hurried galloping reached theirears.
"Who can these men be?" the missionary murmured, speaking to himself.
"Travellers like ourselves, probably."
"No," Father Seraphin remarked, "travellers would not go at such a pace:they are doubtlessly persons in pursuit of us."
"That is not probable, my father: no one is aware of our journey."
"Treachery has the eye of the lynx and the ear of the opossum, my dearchild. It is incessantly on the watch: everything is known--a secret isno longer one when two persons know it. But time presses: we must makeup our minds."
"We are lost if they are enemies!" Dona Angela exclaimed with terror."We have no help to expect from any one."
"Providence is on the watch, child. Place confidence in her: she willnot abandon us."
The noise of horses rapidly approaching came nearer, and resembledthe grumbling of thunder. The missionary drew himself up: his facesuddenly assumed an expression of indomitable energy which would havebeen thought impossible for such gentle features; his voice, usually sopleasant and sonorous, became quick, and almost harsh.
"Place yourselves behind me, and pray," he said; "for, if I am notgreatly mistaken, the meeting will be dangerous."
The two females obeyed mechanically. Dona Angela believed herself lost:alone with this poor priest, any resistance must be impossible. Themissionary collected the reins in his left hand, attached them to thepommel of his saddle, and awaited the shock with his face turned tothe newcomers. He had not long to wait: within scarce five minutes tenhorsemen appeared at full gallop. When twenty paces from the travellersthey halted as firmly as if their horses' hoofs were suddenly fixed inthe ground.
These men, as far as it was possible to distinguish in the doubtful andtremorous light of the moon, were dressed in the Mexican garb, and theirfaces were covered with black crape. Doubt was no longer possible: thesesinister horsemen were really in pursuit of our travellers. There was aninstant of supreme silence--a silence which the missionary at lengthresolved to break.
"What do you want, gentlemen?" he said in a loud and firm voice. "Whyare you pursuing us?"
"Oh, oh!" a mocking voice said, "the dove assumes the accent of thegamecock. Senor padre, we have no intention to injure you; we only wishto do you a service by saving you the trouble of guarding the two prettygirls you so cleverly have with you."
"Go your way, sirs," the priest continued, "and do not troubleyourselves about what does not concern you."
"Come, come, senor padre," the first speaker went on, "surrender witha good grace: we should not like to fail in the respect due
to you.Resistance is impossible--we are ten against you alone: besides, you area man of peace."
"You are cowards!" the missionary shouted. "Retire! A truce to mockery,and let me continue my journey in peace."
"Not so, senor padre, unless you consent to leave us your twocompanions."
"Ah, ah! that is it? Well, then, we must fight, gentlemen. It seems tome that you are strangely mistaken about me. Yes, I am a missionary,a man of peace; but I am also a Frenchman, and you appear to haveforgotten that. You must understand that I will not suffer the slightestinsult to the persons, whoever they may be, whom Heaven has placed undermy protection."
"And with what will you defend them, Mr. Frenchman?" the stranger askedwith a grin.
"With these," the missionary coldly replied as he drew a brace ofpistols from his holsters, and set the hammers with a resolute air.
The bandits hesitated involuntarily. The missionary's action was soclear, his voice so firm, his presence so intrepid, that they feltthemselves tremble; for they understood that they had a brave-heartedman before them, who would sooner die than yield an inch. The Mexicansdo not respect much; but we must do them the justice of saying that theyhave an unbounded reverence for the priest's gown. The missionary wasnot a man like some who may be unfortunately met with, especially amongthe clergy of North and South America. His reputation for virtue andgoodness was immense along the whole Mexican frontier: it was a seriousmatter to insult him, much more to threaten him with death. Still thestrangers had advanced too far to give way.
"Come, padre," the man who had hitherto been spokesman said, "do notattempt any useless resistance. At all risks we will carry off thesewomen."
And he made a movement as if to advance.
"Stop! One step further, and you are a dead man. I hold in my hands thelife of two."
"And I of two others," a rough voice exclaimed; and a man, suddenlyemerging from a thicket, bounded forward like a jaguar, and placedhimself intrepidly by the missionary's side.
"Curumilla!" the latter exclaimed.
"Yes," the chief answered, "it is I. Courage! Our friends are coming up."
In fact a dull and continued sound could be heard rapidly increasing.The strangers had not yet paid attention to it, as they were so engagedby their discussion with the missionary. Still the situation wasgrowing complicated. Father Seraphin saw that, so long as a pistol wasnot fired, he should remain almost master of the situation, certain,from Curumilla's words, as he was of seeing speedy help arrive. Hisresolution was at once formed: all he wanted was to gain time, and heattempted it.
"Come, gentlemen," he said, "you see that I am no longer alone: God hassent me a brave auxiliary; hence my position is no longer so desperate.Will you parley?"
"Parley!"
"Yes."
"Be quick."
"I will try to be so, as I presume, from the way in which you stoppedme, you are salteadores. Well, look you. You have me almost in yourpower, or at least you think so. Remember that I am only a poormissionary, and that what I possess belongs to the unhappy. How muchdo you want for my ransom? Answer. I am ready to make any sacrificecompatible with my position."
Father Seraphin might have spoken thus for a long time, for thestrangers were no longer listening: they had noticed the approachingsound, and were beginning to grow nervous.
"Maldicion!" the man who had hitherto spoken said, "that demon hasmocked us."
He dug his spurs into his horses flanks; but the noble animal, insteadof bounding forward, reared up almost straight with a snort of pain, andthen fell in a heap. Curumilla had cut its back sinews with a blow ofhis machete. After this exploit the Indian uttered a loud cry for help,which was answered by a formidable hurrah.
Still the impulse had been given, and the bandits rushed forward with aferocious yell. The missionary discharged his pistols, rather for thepurpose of hastening the advent of his unknown friends than of woundinghis enemies, which was easy to see; for no one fell, and the two partieswere so close that it was almost impossible to miss the mark.
At the same instant five or six horsemen rushed on the strangers likea whirlwind. A frightful medley began, and the bullets whistled inevery direction. The missionary had dismounted, and, compelling the twofemales to do the same, he led them a few paces in the rear, in order toprotect them from the shots. But the struggle was not a long one: withinfive minutes the bandits fled at full speed, pursued by nearly all thenewcomers, and leaving four of their men stretched on the ground.
After a chase of a few minutes, however, the horsemen giving up apursuit which they saw was useless, returned and joined the missionary.The latter, forgetting the unjust aggression he had just escaped, wasalready seeking to succour the unhappy men who had fallen victims tothe trap they had laid for him: he went piously from one to the other,in order to offer them assistance if there were still time. Three weredead: the fourth was gasping and rolling on the ground in convulsionsof death. The missionary raised the veil that concealed his face, anduttered a cry of surprise on recognising him. At this cry the dying manopened his eyes, and fixed a haggard glance on Father Seraphin.
"Yes, it is I," he said in an expiring voice. "I have only what Ideserve."
"Unhappy man!" the missionary replied, "Is that what you swore to me?"
"I tried to do it," he continued. "A few days back I saved the man yourecommended to me, father."
"And I," the missionary said sorrowfully, "you owe your life to me, andyet tried to kill me?"
The dying man made a gesture of energetic denial.
"No," he exclaimed, "never! Look you, my father: there are accursednatures in the world. El Buitre was a wretched bandit. Well, he dies ashe lived: that is just. Good-by, father! Well, I saved your friend, thehunter. Ah, ah!"
While saying this the wretch had sat up. Suddenly he was seized with aconvulsion, and rolled on the ground: he was dead. The missionary kneltdown by his side and prayed. All present, moved involuntarily, took offtheir hats piously, and remained silent by his side. All at once shoutsand firing were heard, and a numerous baud of horsemen galloped down thepass.
"To arms!" the men shouted, leaping into their saddles hurriedly.
"Stay," Curumilla said; "they are friends."
The Indian Chief: The Story of a Revolution Page 17
