Several Indians had left their callis and assembled round the chief, who continued his song. In a moment an Indian started after him, dancing and singing behind him. After him came another and then another, so that, at the end of half an hour, twenty warriors were dancing behind the Stag, and repeating after him the words he continued to improvise. As each Indian faced the circle of dancers, a woman left the group of spectators, and went to fetch his weapons from the calli. In the meanwhile the dance, which had begun to a slow and monotonous rhythm, had grown animated. The Indians, bathed in perspiration, twirled round the tree, to which they dealt repeated blows, while uttering hoarse, inarticulate cries, and brandishing their weapons furiously. The squaws and children, collected round the braves, mingled their cries and yells with theirs, and added by their imprecations and disorderly gestures to the sinister horror of this scene, to which was imparted all the savage majesty of the Indian war dance.

The tree, struck by the axes, sagaies, knives, and lances of the Indians, lost its branches, and was completely stripped of its bark, which was piled on the ground; but the ardour of the warriors, far from being checked, seemed, on the contrary, momentarily to increase. Suddenly the Stag gave a signal. All halted, as if by magic, and a deep silence instantaneously succeeded the deafening concert performed by all these men who had reached a paroxysm of fury. The chief gazed with satisfaction at the young, powerful, and haughty men who surrounded him.

"Will twenty warriors follow the Stag on the war trail?" he asked.

"Yes, they will follow him!" the redskins replied unanimously.

"Good; they are great braves! The Stag knows them. The warriors will put on their war moccasins, take their weapons, and choose their best horses. When the sun is level with the topmost branches of the trees, the Stag will be at the foot of the ark of the first man, mounted and waiting for his brothers. Now the Comanche squaws will proceed to cut down the sumach; no trace of the enemies of the Red Buffaloes must remain. The warriors kill their foes, but women torture them. I have spoken."

The warriors dispersed. The squaws, following the permission granted them, at once rushed yelling on the unhappy tree, the last fragments of which disappeared within ten minutes beneath the blows of these savage Megæras. The Stag returned to his father's lodge, where the latter soon joined him. They had a confidential conversation together, which lasted more than two hours, at the end of which Running Water retired, apparently much satisfied with the explanation his son had given him. At the hour appointed by the Stag to depart, all the warriors were drawn up in front of the ark of the first man, impatient to set out and begin their mysterious expedition.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE WAR TRAIL

The principal sachems of the tribe, collected at the entrance of the medicine lodge, were present at the departure of the warriors. Two bands, each composed of twenty braves, were drawn up side by side. At the head of the first stood the Stag, haughtily bestriding his horse, which was painted and accoutred in the Comanche fashion, so that it was quite as difficult to recognize as its rider. An ill-restrained delight glistened in the chief's fierce eyes. At the head of the second troop, composed of more aged and calm warriors, were Running Water and White Crow.

The women, children, and warriors who were to remain at home crowded the square. A deep silence, apparently caused by the expectation of an important event, prevailed among them. At the end of an instant the sachems assembled before the medicine lodge moved on one side, and made way for a man dressed in garments of strange shape, in which the most startling and discordant colours were brought together. This man was the sorcerer, or medicine man, of the tribe.

His step was imposing and haughty; his expressive face displayed enthusiasm and faith. In one hand he held a clumsy vessel, in which a tuft of wormwood was soaking; in the other he brandished a scalping knife. On reaching the centre of the square he stopped at an equal distance from the two troops, in front of a fire lighted expressly for the occasion. He stood for a moment motionless, with his head drooping on his chest, murmuring a few words in a low and indistinct voice; then he took out the wormwood, and sprinkled the four cardinal points, exclaiming, as he did so —

"Wacondah! Thou seest these warriors; be favourable to them, blind their enemies, and remove any snares from their path!"

After uttering these words, he deposited the vessel on the ground, felt in the parchment bag that hung by his side, and drew out a handful of moriche, which he dropped slowly into the fire, saying —

"Receive this offering, Wacondah! And let us know thy designs."

And, still continuing to drop the tobacco, he began dancing round the fire, brandishing his knife, and making strange contortions and grimaces. By degrees, his features altered, a white foam issued from the corners of his mouth, his hair stood on end, his eyes seemed ready to spring from their sockets, and he shouted in a hoarse and panting voice —

"I see them! I see them!"

"What does my father see?" the Stag asked, with ill-disguised anxiety; for, in spite of his Mexican education, or, perhaps, owing to it, he was like all his countrymen, and, perhaps, more than they, accessible to superstitious terrors.

"I see them," the sorcerer continued; "the combat is obstinate; the women roll on the ground; they fall into the power of my sons; they rise again. Why these signs? What mean these demonstrations? Oh, I hear them!"

"What does my father hear?" the chief asked.

"I hear cries, but the Comanches are implacable. Kill, kill, kill, I say. Why do you hesitate?" All at once he burst into a convulsive laugh, "Ah, ah, ah! Yes, that is better," he said, with a shriek, "in that way the vengeance will be more perfect."

In spite of themselves, the hearers felt terrified by this Satanic laugh, which echoed in their ears like a funeral knell.

"Do not go," the sorcerer continued; "death is there. Leave that enemy alone, for it is not he but you who will succumb. But no; go, for you must; why, Wacondah, why?"

While uttering these words, the sorcerer suddenly stopped; his voice grew low and unintelligible; he seemed to listen for a moment, uttered a loud cry, turned round twice or thrice with headlong speed, and fell all his length on the ground, where he writhed for several moments in frightful convulsions. The Indians were struck with terror at this strange scene; the sorcerer's gloomy prediction filled them with horror, they did not dare communicate their thoughts to one another, but remained uncertain and alarmed, while watching the man who writhed before them. At length Running Water broke the charm which held all these impressionable men enthralled, for he felt the discredit which would attach to the two expeditions, if the warriors were allowed time to think.

"Like all the predictions of the medicine man," he said, with a slight tinge of irony, "this contains both good and bad; still I fancy I noticed that good prevailed, and that, if we have the misfortune to lose one or two of our comrades, we shall at least return loaded with booty, and dragging prisoners after us."

"I believe I understood that too," White Crow said, to back him up; "the warriors who fall in an expedition are fortunate. The happy hunting grounds are opened to them, and they are led to them by the Wacondah."

"Yes," said the Stag, "the prediction is a good one; it announces success."

The versatile mind of the Indians immediately followed the impulse the chiefs gave it, and soon all the redskins were persuaded that the medicine man's predictions were really excellent, and that the two expeditions started under the most favourable auspices. As for the poor sorcerer, he lay on the ground in a state of perfect insensibility, and none of the persons present dreamed of helping him. Then the two bands started to leave the village, followed by the whole tribe, who made vows for the success of the expedition, and urged them to show no mercy to the enemies they were about to fight; the women were especially distinguished by their ferocious cries and repulsive gestures.

For nearly an hour the two bands rode side by side, the three chiefs conversing together in a low voice, and the warriors laughing and smoking, for they were well aware that they had not yet reached the spot where they would really enter on the war trail and that any precautions they now took would be useless. At about two p.m., on a sign from their chief, they halted in a narrow valley, by the side of a stream, whose banks were overshadowed by small clumps of sumachs, larches, and Peru trees. The riders dismounted and carelessly lay down on the ground, leaving to the chiefs the trouble of watching over the common safety, if they considered it necessary. The latter had lighted their pipes, and were holding council. After a moment's silence, Running Water said, in his grave and calm voice —

"We have reached the ford of the Antelope, and it is here that we shall part. I will go down the river with my braves, while the Stag reenters the forest with his warriors. Has my son anything further to say to Running Water and White Crow? They are listening."

"I have nothing more to say to my father Running Water, or to my brother White Crow, than what they now already know; the expedition we are attempting is perilous, and must be carried out with prudence, not so much, perhaps, on account of our enemies themselves, as of the superstitious terrors with which they inspire our warriors."

"I understand the words of my son," the old chief replied; "they are serious. Running Water is renowned for his courage among his brothers; still he would not dare to attack the enemies whom the genius of evil protects and renders invincible."

The Stag concealed with difficulty a contemptuous smile, which was checked on his lips by the respect with which his father inspired him.

"Our own weakness partly forms the strength of our enemies," he replied, shaking his head sorrowfully; "the redskins are brave, but they are children who put faith in absurd things."

"My son," the old man said, sternly, "contact with the palefaces has injured you more than you suppose; without suspecting it, you have come to discuss the belief of your fathers, and turn it into ridicule. Take care, I repeat, my son; the road you are entering on is a bad one – it leads to a precipice; it is better to believe in an absurdity than fall into the contrary excess, and deny all belief. I will not lead my warriors against the persons whom you so obstinately insist on attacking."

"I do not ask it of you, father," the Stag replied, biting his lips in spite; "merely do what we agreed on, and that will be sufficient. I am willing to assume all the risks and perils of this expedition."

"The Stag is right," White Crow observed; "what danger do we incur in doing what he asks? Besides, even if we tried to prevent it, our warriors would not stand before them, but fly. Leave your son to act, Running Water; if on certain points contact with the whites has been injurious to him, it is evident that it will prove very useful to him for many others. He knows better than we do what is best to be done under the circumstances, and since he consents to assume all the responsibility, let him act as he pleases."

The old man shook his head several times, as if still far from being convinced.

"Be it so," he at length said, "since he fancies he has more wisdom beneath his black scalp than those whose hair has grown white at the council fire; let him act as he thinks proper. His father will henceforth be dumb, and will not cast the ice of his experience upon the fire of his ardent youth. Alas! Old customs are dying out. The Comanches are no longer worthy of their ancestors! The poison of the palefaces has penetrated to their villages. May the Wacondah grant that I have not lived too long, and that I may not see at an early day the ruin of my nation, as I have witnessed the ruin of its old laws and wise and simple customs."

While speaking thus, the old chief rose pensively, and walked slowly toward his horse, which a warrior was holding by the bridle. White Crow waited till the sachem was out of earshot, and then bent down to the Stag's ear.

"Brother," he said to him, as he seized his arm, "do not be uneasy. I only know your plans very imperfectly through the few hints you have dropped in my presence; but, if I am not mistaken, they are of great importance. Carry them out, therefore, without fear; if your father hesitates to support you, I will oblige him not to break the promise he has made you."

"Thanks, chief," he answered with emotion, "among all our brothers you alone understand me. Oh, be assured that I shall succeed."

"Yes, I understand you," White Crow said sadly, "perhaps only too well; but the Wacondah's will be done! He alone can read hearts and distinguish good from evil. Still, before we part, let me give you one counsel."

"I will receive it gladly, chief."

"Perhaps so; still I think it my duty to give it you, whether you like it or not. Here it is, and you can act as you please. The man who wishes to attain a high position among his people must be careful not to substitute private or personal interests for the public interests intrusted to him. You are too intelligent to fail to understand me. Trust to me. Farewell for the present."

And after discharging this Parthian arrow, the chief went off, apparently not noticing the Stag's confusion. The latter stood for a moment as if stunned by this clear-sighted apostrophe.

"¡Voto a brios!" he muttered in Spanish, "Have I been so maladroit as to let these crafty men read my secret thoughts? Oh, it is impossible! Still – nonsense," he added, as he haughtily raised his head, and looked defiantly around him, "what do I care after all? If I succeed, each will acknowledge me to be right. Does not success justify the most desperate enterprises, and this is far from being one."

These reflections seemed to restore him all the confidence and audacity which his father's remarks and White Crow's malice had momentarily shaken, and he walked with a calm look and careless demeanour toward the two chiefs, who were mounting at the moment, as he wished to take leave of them before starting. The compliments were short and cold on both sides, for these three men were eager to separate. Brought up in a different medium, and in ideas diametrically opposed, the Stag and his two comrades could not understand each other, and the sachems even involuntarily felt an antipathy for their young colleague.

Running Water was right in the remonstrance which he addressed to his son. Paternal love on one side, on the other his hatred of the Mexicans, rendered him clear-sighted. A man, however firm his character may be, does not adopt with impunity the customs and habits of men in a more advanced stage of civilization than himself, and pass his childhood and youth in the midst of the comfort and luxury ignored in savage life, which, while freeing man from physical apprehensions, enlarge his ideas, by giving him the leisure to think and live, no longer through the senses, but through the heart.

The Stag, destined by his father to serve as the instrument of the revenge which he wished to take on Don Aníbal de Saldibar and his family, had been so well trained by Running Water, that his entrance to the hacienda met with no difficulty. The boy had begun by playing a long studied part, then, by degrees, without knowing how or why it took place, the fiction was converted into a reality, and the Comanche grew to regard almost with terror the moment when he would be compelled to return to the independent life of the prairies, and resume the nomadic existence of his tribe. This repugnance for the customs of his fathers emanated neither from any gratitude he felt for Don Aníbal's constant kindness to him, nor from friendship he felt for those who brought him up.

Sotavento was naturally ungrateful, moreover he cordially hated white men generally, and his benefactor particularly; but he had quickly grown accustomed to the life he led; it seemed to him a real paradise in comparison with what awaited him in the desert. By degrees the faith of his tribe was effaced in his heart, to make room for another that was wider, and more in accordance with his instincts and appetites; and he regarded the mission with which he had been intrusted as a heavy burden from which he would be delighted to be delivered. No man is perfect; however strong he may be, he cannot continually have the same idea of pursuing the same object.

His father's implacable hatred of the white men, which was comprehensible in the medium in which the chief lived, was not so for his son; it was only at intervals, when he witnessed an insult dealt to a man of colour, that his Indian blood was revealed in him, and his hatred was re-kindled. Sotavento was vexed at this indifference; he tried to overcome it by all means, and when he was among his own people, his protestations were made in good faith, for he then believed what he said, so much did he desire in his heart that it should be true. Unfortunately for him, he had scarce returned to the hacienda, ere his ideas completely changed, his resolutions evaporated, and he felt himself beneath a far more powerful influence, an influence whose strength was gradually revealed in him, and eventually overpowered whatever efforts he might attempt to escape from it.

Under the pressure of the new feeling which mastered him, the Indian felt all the ferocious instincts of the race to which he belonged aroused in him; from this moment, forgetting all other interests, he had but one thought – it was to employ, in carrying out successfully the daring plan he had formed, the confidence he enjoyed among the chiefs and the forces of which he could dispose at a given moment. The hour which the Indian had selected for the realization of his project and the execution of his bold plans had arrived, and he audaciously set to work, without hesitation or without scruple, caring little about marching over corpses, provided that these corpses were so many steps of a ladder enabling him to attain the extraordinary result he desired.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SNARE

Running Water and White Crow placed themselves at the head of their warriors, who marched in Indian file, and forded the river. The redskins who remained in the valley watched them cross and disappear in the windings of the track they were following. The Stag remained for nearly an hour at the spot where his band had halted, and it was not until the sun had begun to descend on the horizon that he gave orders to mount. The warriors at once quitted the protecting shade which had sheltered them for several hours, and in a twinkling were ready to start.

Among the warriors who accompanied the Stag were six with whom he was very intimate; they several times entered the Mexican territory under different disguises, and had even got as far as the Hacienda del Barrio, where the majordomo received and sheltered them without exciting the slightest suspicion, so cleverly did they play the part of Indios mansos. Of these six warriors four had been employed for several months as vaqueros to guard the ganado.

The Stag had stipulated that this should be so, because, as he remarked at the council, a day might come when it would be well for him to have men ready at hand who were sufficiently acquainted with the customs of the redskins, to aid the tribe in carrying out the revenge which had so long been preparing. The council assented to the proposition, and the majordomo neglected nothing that his friends might make rapid progress in their knowledge of Mexican customs.

Sotavento had an object, but it was very different from the one which he suggested to the Comanches. Success had not only crowned the Indian's efforts, but exceeded all his expectations, and his six warriors assumed in a very short time the manners of Mexican peons. Everybody knows the aptitude of redskins for doing or imitating what they please when they suppose they can derive any eventual profit by it, so what we state here will not arouse any surprise.

After recommencing his march, the Stag called up to him these six warriors, and began giving them confidential instructions in so low a voice that they had a difficulty in catching and understanding his remarks. It appeared as if the revelations he made to these men were serious, for, in spite of the mask of stoicism with which Indians habitually cover their face, their features suddenly displayed a surprise which soon assumed a distinct character of horror. But the Stag did not give way; on the contrary, he redoubled his efforts, heaped promise on promise, flattery on flattery; in short, he managed so cleverly, that he ended by convincing them, or at least it seemed so, for, after a lengthened hesitation, they gave a nod of assent. The chief shook his head.

"Wah!" he said in a louder voice. "My brothers are men of loyal hearts and iron arms. I believe in their word, but they have not sworn by the sacred totem of the tribe, and as they have not promised by word of mouth, it is possible that the Wacondah may not remember their promise."

The warriors began laughing.

"The opossum is very crafty," one of the Indians said, "but the Stag joins to the cunning of the opossum that of the guanaco."

"Wah!" said another, "The palefaces have taught the Stag all the cleverness of the Yoris."

"Well," he answered laughingly, "that of the Comanches is greater still; for is not the Comanche nation the Queen of the Prairies? Who would dare, without leave, to traverse our hunting grounds. Will my brothers swear by the totem?"

"We will," said the one who spoke first, "because we love our brother, and know that his intentions are good."

"Yes, that is true; we believe in you, chief."

At these words the seven men stopped, and let their comrades pass them. When the latter had disappeared in the windings of the track, and were so far that they could neither see nor hear what was taking place, the Stag made a sign, and the six warriors formed a circle round him. Then the chief drew his scalping knife from his belt, opened his hunting shirt, and placing the point of the blade against his heart, on which was drawn in red the totem, or emblem of his tribe, that is to say, a buffalo, he raised his right hand to the setting sun, and uttered the words of the oath, the only one, perhaps, sacred to the Indians, as there is no instance known of it having been broken.

"I, a great man of the Comanche nation, a son of the Red Buffalo tribe, swear, in the presence of the sun, the visible representative of the invisible Wacondah, the powerful master of life, to accomplish without hesitation everything which my master, the Stag, may demand of me, consenting that the blade of my hunting knife, the point of which is at this moment resting on the image of the totem of my tribe, may be buried to the hilt in my heart, were I to break my oath which I now voluntarily take. I also consent to submit to the most terrible punishment the powerful Wacondah, the master of life, may deign to inflict on me. Hence, may the Wacondah remember my oath, in order to reward or punish me, according to my conduct."

The six warriors, following their chief's example, drew their scalping knives, put the point on their heart, and repeated after him in a solemn voice, and an accent of conviction, the words he pronounced.

"I thank my brothers," he said, "they are truly great braves; the tails of red wolves which hang from their heels do not speak falsehood."

The Indians bowed, and he continued —

"My brothers will leave me here, and go straight to the Elk's cavern; they have just time to get there, and prepare to carry out my orders: have my brothers thoroughly understood?"

"We have understood," they answered.

"In that case, my brothers will make their mustangs feel the whip; the sun is rapidly descending, it is nearly level with the grass, and it will soon be night."

The warriors took leave of their chief, and turning to the right, vigorously lashed their horses, and disappeared in a whirlwind of dust. The Stag looked after them pensively; when he lost them out of sight, he whistled to his horse, and rejoined at a gallop his warriors, who, during the scene we have just described had continued their march, and were some considerable distance ahead.

We will leave the Comanche warriors for a while, and let them glide like snakes through the prairie grass, and cross the Río Grande del Norte to enter Mexican territory. We will take up our narrative again a few hours later, at the moment when Doña Emilia, her daughter, and Don Melchior, attracted by the firing of Running Water's warriors, rushed into the canyon, and by their mere presence caused the Indians that inconceivable panic which made them fly in every direction, and abandon their coveted prey when they were on the point of grasping it. After pursuing for some time the fugitives, to whom terror seemed to give wings, Doña Emilia prepared to return to the count and his comrades, when all at once she fancied she heard desperate cries in a wood a little distance off, which she had passed unnoticed in the heat of the pursuit.

"What is the meaning of that?" Doña Emilia asked, as she checked her steed. "Can there be any unhappy white men engaged with these demons on this side?"

At the same moment the wind bore down to them the sound of several shots.

"It appears like a serious action," Don Melchior answered. "Still I cannot understand the cause, for, with the exception of the count, there are not, to my knowledge, any white men travelling at present on this border."

"You must be mistaken, my friend, and hark, the noise is increasing; forward, forward; who knows whether we may not have the good fortune to save the life of some poor wretch. Those red demons fled so rapidly that we could not catch up a single one."

"Mother," Doña Diana timidly observed, "would it not be better, before venturing again among the savages, to make certain with whom we have to deal, and the number of foes we may have to confront?"

"What good will that do, daughter?" Doña Emilia answered drily; "Those men are savages, I think that we do not require to know more."

"Permit me to insist, mother; I know not why, but for some days past, sad forebodings involuntarily pursue me; I fear that we have traitors about us, and that they are watching us. I am afraid! Alas! Is it fitting for women," she murmured feebly, "to wage war thus?"

Doña Emilia gave the maiden an angry glance. "Pigeon heart," she said with feverish energy, "who keeps you here? return to the hacienda; I will be sufficient."

"I fear a snare, mother."

"A snare? Do you forget the terror with which my presence inspires these Pagans? You have long had a proof of it," she continued with a contemptuous smile; "but come, daughter, accompany me this time, and I swear that I will not again force you to serve my hatred."

The young lady let her head drop but said nothing, and the three riders started at full gallop in the direction of the shots, which became more frequent the nearer they approached. They were soon close enough to distinguish all the details