Nature has rights she always enforces: whatever the anxiety of the Mexicans, the fatigues they had endured during the whole of that long day made them feel the imperious necessity of recruiting their strength; so, after a few gloomy reflections on their critical and almost desperate situation, Don Pedro ordered the peones to light a fire and prepare the evening meal.

Men whose physical faculties are more frequently called into exertion than their minds, never forget to eat and sleep, whatever situation chance may place them in; appetite and sleep never fail them. The reason is simple: constantly exposed to Titanic struggles with man or the elements, their natural forces must be maintained in an equal ratio with the efforts they have to make to surmount the obstacles which oppose, or the perils which threaten them.

The meal was sad and silent; the Mexicans were too deeply impressed by the approach of night, the time habitually chosen by the redskins for their attacks, to care for exchanging many words.

The hunter's absence was protracted; already, for more than two hours, the sun had disappeared behind the high mountaintops; thick darkness enveloped the earth as with a shroud; not a star twinkled in the sky; and great black clouds coursed through space, completely veiling the orb of the moon.

The hacendero would not resign to any other the duty of watching over the common safety. Lying face downwards on the platform, so that he might not be visible if an unseen enemy were lying in wait, he anxiously scanned the dark line of the water. At his side lay the capataz, who, equally with himself, had no wish to attempt a repose which he knew to be impossible.

The high cliffs of the banks were bare and deserted; only at one place, where the shore was accessible, they saw black shapes moving for a few seconds, with hoarse and angry growls, and then disappearing. These black forms were evidently wild animals, slaking their thirst in the river before repairing to their layers.

"Come!" suddenly exclaimed a deep and determined voice in the ear of the Mexican.

Don Pedro turned round, repressing a cry of astonishment; the hunter stood by him, leaning on his rifle.

The three men entered the cavern. The remains of the fire which had been lighted for the evening meal diffused light enough to distinguish objects.

"You are very late," said the hacendero.

"I have traversed six leagues since I left you," replied the hunter; "but that is no matter. A man, whose name you need not know at present, has resolved to prevent your reaching the hacienda. A party of Apaches is on our trail. All my precautions have not availed to conceal our tracks from these cunning demons, whose piercing eyes would detect in the air the trail of the eagle's flight. They are encamped close by; they are preparing rafts and canoes to attack you."

"Are there many of them?" inquired the hacendero.

"No; not above a score at most, of whom only six or seven are armed with rifles; the rest have but bows and lances. Knowing you to be without arms, or at least believing so, they count upon carrying you off without striking a blow."

"Who is the man who is so inveterate against us?"

"What is that to you? He is a strange and mysterious being, whose life is one continual round of dark conspiracies; his mind is an abyss which no one has dared to sound, the depths of which even he himself, who fears nothing in the world, would dread to fathom. But enough of him. You are to be attacked in two hours; three chances of escape from the fate prepared for you are open to you."

"And what are these chances?" said the hacendero.

"The first is, to remain here, await the attack, and make a vigorous resistance. The Apaches, alarmed at finding armed and on their guard the men whom they hoped to surprise weaponless and defenceless, may lose courage, and retreat."

Doña Hermosa, aroused by the sound of voices, had approached, and was listening attentively.

The hacendero shook his head. "The chance seems hazardous," he said; "for if our enemies succeeded in setting foot on the rock, they would overpower us by dint of numbers, and make themselves masters of our persons."

"That would most probably be the case," said the hunter, coolly.

"Let us hear the second chance; the one already proposed seems impracticable."

"This rock communicates, by a subterraneous passage under the bed of the river, with another rock, a good distance from the place where we now are. I will lead you to that rock; when we get there, we will embark in the canoe; having reached the opposite bank of the river, we will mount, and trust our safety to the speed of our horses."

"I should prefer this chance, if our horses were not so worn out that a night flight across the wilderness would be almost an impossibility."

"The redskins know as well as I do all the outlets from the rock on which we have taken refuge. Most likely they have already guarded the passage by which we might hope to escape."

"Alas!" said the hacendero, sorrowfully, "With all your good intention to help us, the chances you propose are against us."

"I know it; unfortunately, it does not depend upon me to make them otherwise."

"And lastly," resumed Don Pedro, with much resignation, "what is the third chance?"

"I am afraid you will find the last more desperate than the other two. It is a rash and dangerous undertaking, which might perhaps offer a hope of success if we had not with us a woman, whom we must not expose to one peril in order to save her from another."

"Then it is useless to name it," said the hacendero, with a mournful look at his daughter.

"You are wrong, father," said Doña Hermosa, with much animation; "let us hear, at least, what this chance is. Perhaps it is the only good one. Explain, señor," continued she, addressing the hunter. "After all you have done for us, we should be ungrateful not to listen to your counsel. I am convinced that what you hesitate to propose, for my sake, is the only means of safety open to us."

"That may be," answered the hunter; "but I repeat, señorita, that the means are impracticable – you being with us."

The girl drew herself up, a gay smile played about her rosy lips, and, commencing her speech in a voice slightly ironical, she said:

"You surely think me very weak and pusillanimous, señor, since you dare not speak out. I am but a woman, it is true, and feeble, as we all are; but I think I have proved to you, in the few hours during which we have travelled together, that my heart is above vulgar fears; and that if my physical strength is not equal to my moral energy, my will triumphs over my woman's weakness, and makes me superior to circumstances, let them be what they will."

Stoneheart listened attentively to the beautiful girl. The mask of impassiveness which covered his features melted away at the sound of that melodious voice, and a deep blush suffused his face.

"Pardon me, señorita," he said in a voice which the secret feelings agitating him caused to waver; "I was wrong; I will speak out."

"Good!" said she, with a pleasant smile; "I knew what your answer would be."

"The Apaches," began the hunter, "are encamped, as I have told you, at a short distance from the bank of the river. Certain that they will not be molested, they keep no watch; they sleep, drink the firewater, and await the time for attacking you. We are six men, well armed and determined; we know that our safety depends on the success of our expedition. Let us land on the island, surprise the redskins, and fall on them boldly. Perhaps we may succeed in opening ourselves a passage, and in that case we shall be saved, for they will not pursue us after they have been defeated. This is my proposal."

There was a long silence; it was Doña Hermosa who broke it.

"You were wrong in hesitating to acquaint us with this project," said she, fervently; "it is the only one practicable. It is better to meet danger halfway than to tremble in cowardly expectation of its advent. Let us go! Let us go! We have not a minute to lose."

"Daughter," exclaimed Don Pedro, "you are mad! Remember, we are going to expose ourselves to almost certain death."

"Be it so, my father," she replied, with feverish energy; "our fate is in the hands of God, whose protection has been so evident thus far, that I believe He will not abandon us now."

"The señorita is right," cried the capataz; "let us smoke these demons out of their lair. This hunter, to whom I make my most humble apologies for having suspected his loyalty for an instant, will supply us with the means of arriving, without being discovered, at the camp of the Apaches."

"I can but do my best," said the hunter modestly.

"Let us go, then, since needs must," said the hacendero, with a sigh.

The peones, who had not mingled in the conversation, seized their rifles with an air of determination which proved them resolved to do their duty.

"Follow me," said the hunter, lighting a torch of ocote wood, to show the way.

Without another word, the Mexicans plunged into the depth of the cavern, taking with them the horses whose strength had been thoroughly recruited by their rest of so many hours.

They continued pushing their way through the subterranean passage. Overhead they heard the dull and ceaseless noise of the waters; thousands of night birds, dazzled by the unwonted light of the torch, awoke from their slumbers, and wheeled around, uttering mournful and discordant cries.

At the end of half an hour's rapid march, the hunter halted.

"Wait for me here," he said, and passed on rapidly, after delivering the torch to the capataz.

Shortly after, he returned.

"Come," said he, "all goes well."

They followed him anew. Suddenly a fresh, cool breeze met their faces, and through the obscurity before them they saw two or three points of light glittering. They had reached the other rock.

"We must now redouble our caution," said the hunter; "those points of light you see shining through the mist are the campfires of the Apaches. Their ear is fine; the least noise would betray our presence."

The canoe was launched again; the Mexicans embarked, the capataz, at the stern of the frail bark, holding the reins of the horses, which followed swimming.

Crossing occupied only a few minutes, and the canoe soon grated against the sandy beach.

Nothing could be better than the place chosen by the hunter. A high rock threw over the water, to a considerable distance, so dark a shadow, that it was impossible to distinguish the travellers ten paces off.

The forest, scarcely twenty yards from the shore, offered, amongst its thickets, immediate protection to the fugitives.

"The señorita will remain here, with one peon to guard the horses," said the hunter; "we others will attempt the surprise."

"Not so," exclaimed the girl resolutely. "I want no one here. You would miss the man you wish to leave with me. Give me a pistol, to defend myself in case of attack, and go."

"Nevertheless, señorita – "

"It is my will," she peremptorily exclaimed. "Go, and God be with you!"

The hacendero convulsively pressed his daughter to his bosom.

"Courage, my father!" she cried, while she embraced him; "Courage; all will end well."

She took a pistol from him, and left him, waving her adieu.

The hunter for the last time warned his companions to be cautious; and the men set off, following his exact footsteps in the forest.

After marching half an hour in Indian file, they saw the fires of the Apaches glimmering close by.

At a sign from the hunter, the Mexicans threw themselves on the ground, and began to crawl forward in silence, advancing with extreme precaution inch by inch, their ears on the watch, and ready to fire at the first suspicious movement of the enemy.

But nothing stirred: most of the Apaches slept, plunged, as Stoneheart had asserted, in the brutal drunkenness caused by the abuse of the firewater.

Only three or four warriors, easily recognised as chiefs by the vulture plumes they wore in their hair, were squatting around the fire, smoking with the mechanical gravity characteristic of the Indian.

By the hunter's order, the Mexicans slowly arose, and each man sheltered himself behind the trunk of a tree.

"I leave you here," whispered Stoneheart. "I am going to enter the camp. Keep still as death; and, whatever may happen, do not fire before you see me throw my cap on the ground."

He disappeared among the underwood.

From the spot where the travellers were hidden, they could easily see all that took place in the camp of the redskins, and even hear what was said; for only a few yards separated them from the fire round which the sachems crouched.

With bodies ensconced behind the trees, their fingers on the triggers of their rifles, their eyes fixed in feverish impatience on the camp, the Mexicans awaited the signal to give fire.

The few minutes preceding a night attack are very solemn. A man left alone with his thoughts on such an occasion, about to risk his life in pitiless strife, however brave he may be, feels himself seized by an instinctive dread, which sends a cold shudder thrilling through his frame. In that supreme hour he sees his whole life pass, as in a dream, with giddy rapidity before him, and the most abiding and predominant sensation is the thought of that which is to happen beyond the grave, – the dread unknown.

Some ten minutes had elapsed since the departure of the hunter, when a slight noise was heard in the brushwood on the opposite side of the camp to that where the Mexicans lay in ambush.

The Apache chiefs turned their heads negligently, the bushes parted, and Stoneheart made his appearance in the circle of light caused by the watch fires.

The hunter slowly approached the chiefs. When close to them, he stopped, and bowed ceremoniously, but without speaking.

The sachems returned the salute with the innate good breeding of the redskins.

"My brother is welcome," said a chief. "Will he sit by the council fire?"

"No," said the hunter; "my time is short."

"My brother is prudent," resumed the chief; "he has abandoned the palefaces, because he knows that the Tigercat has delivered them over to the barbed arrows of the Apache warriors."

"I have not abandoned the palefaces: my brother deceives himself. I have sworn to defend them; I will do so."

"That is against the orders of the Tigercat."

"I take no orders from him. I hate treachery. I will not let the redskin braves accomplish what they meditate."

"Oh!" grunted the sachem; "My brother lifts his voice very high. I have heard the hawk mock at the eagle, but a blow of its mighty wing crushed the hawk to powder."

"A truce to sarcasm, chief. You are one of the most renowned braves of your tribe, and cannot consent to become the agent of an infamous treachery. The Tigercat has received these travellers in his calli; he has treated them with hospitality. Is not hospitality sacred in the desert?"

The Apache burst into a laugh.

"The Tigercat is a great chief; he would neither eat nor drink with the palefaces."

"It is an unworthy artifice."

"The palefaces are thievish dogs. The Apaches will take their scalps."

"Wretch!" cried the hunter; "I too am a paleface. Come and take my scalp."

And, rapid as thought, he cast on the ground the cap of fur which covered his head, and at the same instant precipitated himself on the Indian chief, and plunged his knife into his heart.

Five shots were heard simultaneously with this action, and the remaining chiefs sitting round the fire rolled to the ground in their death agony.

The sachems were the only Indians with rifles.

"Forward! Forward!" shouted the hunter; and seizing his rifle by the muzzle, he hurled himself into the midst of the panic-stricken Apaches.

The Mexicans after their first fire, rushed into the camp to reinforce the guide.

Then a terrible struggle commenced – six men against fifteen – a struggle all the more fierce and desperate because each man knew he could expect no mercy.

Happily for themselves, the whites were armed with pistols. These they discharged point-blank in the face of their opponents, attacking them afterwards with the sabre.

The Indians had been so completely surprised – they had so little expected to have to sustain such a vigorous onslaught from men who seemed to have emerged from the earth, and whose numbers they were far from suspecting – that half of them had been killed before the rest could recover from their fright, or attempt serious resistance. When at last they essayed an organised defence, it was too late. The Mexicans pressed them so hard, that a longer resistance was impossible.

"Hold!" shouted the hunter.

Whites and redskins lowered their arms at once.

The hunter continued: "Warriors of the Apaches, throw down your arms!"

They obeyed; and at a signal from the guide, the Mexicans bound their opponents without further difficulty.

As soon as the redskins acknowledged their defeat, they awaited, with complete apathy and their usual fatalism, the doom their victors might think fit to impose upon them.

Out of twenty Apache braves, only eight remained alive: the rest had fallen.

"At sunrise," said the hunter, "I will come and release you from your bonds. Till then, stir not! I pardon once; never a second time."

The Mexicans collected all the arms, freed all the horses tethered at one side of the camp, drove them into the forest, where they were soon lost to sight, and left the Apaches.

"And now," exclaimed the hunter, "let us return to the señorita."

"But," enquired Don Pedro, "is it really your intention to restore these men to liberty?"

"Assuredly. Would you have me leave them to be devoured by wild beasts?"

"It would be no great misfortune," answered the rancorous capataz.

"Are they not men, like ourselves?"

"They are so little like ourselves, that it is hardly worth mention," said the capataz.

"And will you really dare to place yourself in the power of these ferocious beings, exasperated as they are by defeat?" asked the hacendero. "Do you not fear they will assassinate you?"

"These men!" replied the hunter in disdain; "They would not dare."

Don Pedro could not repress his amazement.

"The redskins are the most vindictive of men," said he.

"True," was the reply; "but I am not a man in their eyes."

"What then?"

"An evil spirit," murmured the hunter in a hoarse whisper.

By this time they had reached the place where they had left their horses.

The noise of the combat had extended itself to the spot where Doña Hermosa was waiting; but that courageous girl, far from suffering herself to be overcome by the very natural fear she experienced, understood the importance of the post confided to her, and remained firmly on her guard, a pistol in each hand, attentively listening to every sound in the forest, ready to defend herself, and resolute to die sooner than fall into the hands of the Indians.

Her father having explained to her what had occurred, they began their journey at the best speed of their horses.

The whole night passed without slackening their pace. At sunrise they had cleared the forest, and there lay the bare wilderness, extending to the horizon.

They continued their route for two more hours, when they halted.

The hunter addressed them: "We must part here." He spoke in a firm, voice, yet unable completely to conceal the feeling of sorrow which pervaded him.

"So soon!" said the girl naively

"Thanks for that expression of regret, señorita; but I must go. You are but a few miles from your hacienda: the road is easy; my help is no longer needful."

"We must not part thus, señor," said the hacendero, holding out his hand; "I owe you too many obligations."

"Forget them, caballero," vehemently exclaimed the young hunter; "forget me too: we must never meet again. You return to civilised life, I to the desert. Our roads are far apart; for your sake and for mine, pray that we never again stand face to face. Only," he added, lifting his eyes to the señorita, "I carry with me a memory of you which can never be effaced. And now, farewell! Yonder are the vaqueros of your hacienda approaching to meet you. You are in safety."

He bent his head to his saddlebow, tuned his horse, and began to gallop away. But, looking back, he perceived Doña Hermosa riding after him.

"Stay," she exclaimed.

He obeyed mechanically.

"Look," said she, presenting to him a slender gold ring; "of all my possessions, I value this ring the most; it belonged to my mother whom I never knew. Keep it in memory of me, señor."

The señorita rode off, leaving the ring in his hand without giving him time to reply.