The Tiger-Slayer: A Tale of the Indian Desert

On his arrival the Black Bear gazed fixedly at him, and they went on smoking without saying a word; for Indian etiquette prescribes that the sachem should not interrogate another chief before the latter has shaken into the fire the ashes of his calumet. The Black Bear's impatience was evidently shared by the other Indians; still all remained grave and silent. At length the newcomer drew a final puff of smoke, which he sent forth through his mouth and nostrils, and returned his calumet to his girdle. The Black Bear turned to him.

"The Little Panther has been long," he said.

As this was not a question the Indian limited himself to replying with a bow.

"The vultures are soaring in large flocks over the desert," the chief presently continued; "the coyotes are sharpening their bent claws; the Apaches scent a smell of blood which makes their hearts bound with joy in their breasts. Has my son seen nothing?"

"The Little Panther is a renowned warrior of his tribe. At the first leaves he will be a chief. He has fulfilled the mission his father entrusted to him."

"Wah! What are the Long-knives doing?"

"The Long-knives are dogs that howl without knowing how to bite: an Apache warrior terrifies them."

The chiefs smiled with pride at this boast, which they simply regarded as seriously meant.

"The Little Panther has seen their camp," the Indian continued; "he has counted them. They cry like women, and lament like weak children. Two of them will not take their accustomed place this night at the council fire of their brothers."

And with a gesture marked with a certain degree of nobility, the Indian raised the cotton shirt which fell from his neck about half way down his thighs, and displayed two bleeding scalps fastened to his waist belt.

"Wah!" the chiefs exclaimed joyfully, "the Little Panther has fought bravely!"

The Black Bear made the warrior a sign to hand him the scalps. He unfastened them and gave them. The sachem examined them attentively. The Apaches fixed their eyes eagerly upon him.

"Asch'eth (it is good)," he said presently; "my brother has killed a Long Knife and a Yori."

And he returned the scalps to the warrior.

"Have the palefaces discovered the trail of the Apaches?"

"The palefaces are moles; they are only good in their great stone villages."

"What has my son done?"

"The Panther executed the orders of the sachem point by point. When the warrior perceived that the palefaces would not see him, he went towards them mocking them, and led them for three hours after him into the heart of the desert."

"Good! My son has done well. What next?"

"When the palefaces had gone far enough the Panther left them, after killing two in memory of his visit, and then proceeded to the camp of the warriors of his nation."

"My son is weary: the hour of rest has arrived for him."

"Not yet," the Indian replied seriously.

"Wah! Let my son explain."

At this remark Don Martial, who was listening attentively to all that was said, felt his heart contract, he knew not why. The Indian continued, —

"There are others beside the Long-knives in the desert; the Little Panther has discovered another trail."

"Another trail?"

"Yes. It is not very visible: there are seven horses and three mules in all. I recognised one of the horses."

"Wah! I await what my brother is about to tell me."

"Six Yori warriors, having a woman with them, have entered the desert."

The chiefs eyes flashed fire.

"A palefaced woman?" he asked.

The Indian bowed in affirmation. The sachem reflected for a moment, and then his face re-assumed that stoical mask which was habitual to it.

"The Black Bear is not mistaken," he said; "he smelt the scent of blood: his Apache sons will have a splendid chase. Tomorrow at the endi-tah (sunrise) the warriors will mount. The sachem's lodge is empty. Let us now leave the Big-knives to their fate," he added, raising his eyes to heaven; "Nyang, the genius of evil, will take on himself to bury them beneath the sand. The Master of Life summons the tempest: our task is fulfilled. Let us follow the track of the Yoris, and return to our hunting grounds at full speed. The hurricane will soon howl across the desert. My sons can go to sleep: a chief will watch over them. I have spoken."

The warriors bowed silently, rose one after the other, and went to lie down on the sand a short distance off. Within five minutes they were all in a deep sleep. The Black Bear alone watched. With his head in his hands, and his elbows on his knees, he looked fixedly at the sky. At times his face lost that severe expression, and a transient smile played around his lips. What thoughts thus absorbed the sachem? On what was he meditating?

Don Martial read his thoughts, and felt a shudder of terror. He remained another half-hour motionless in his hiding place lest he might run the risk of discovery. Then he went down again as he had come, employing even greater precautions; for at this moment, when a leaden silence brooded over the desert, the slightest sound would have betrayed his presence to the Indian chief's subtile ear. He feared the discovery now more than ever, after the revelations he had succeeded in overhearing. At length he reached again, all safe and sound, the spot where he had left his horse.

For some time the Tigrero let the bridle hang loosely on his noble animal's neck, went slowly onwards, revolving in his mind all he had heard, and searching for the means he should employ to shield his companions from the frightful danger that menaced them. His perplexity was extreme: he knew not what to decide on. He knew Don Sylva too well to suppose that a personal interest, however powerful it might be, would induce him to abandon his friends in their present peril. But must Doña Anita be sacrificed to this delicacy – to this false notion of honour; above all, for a man in every respect unworthy of the interest the hacendero felt for him?

It was possible to avoid and escape the Apaches by skill and courage; but how to escape the tempest which in a few hours perhaps, would burst on the desert, destroy every trace, and render flight impossible?

The girl must be saved at any risk. This thought incessantly returned to the Tigrero's perplexed mind, and gnawed at his heart like a searing iron: he felt himself affected by a cold rage on considering the material impossibilities that rose so implacably before him. How to save the girl? He constantly asked himself this question, for which he found no answer. For a long time he went on thus with drooping head, seeking in vain a method which would enable him to act on his own inspiration, and escape from the critical position in which he found himself. At length light dawned on his mind; he raised his head haughtily, cast a glance of defiance toward the enemies who appeared so sure of seizing his companions, and digging the spurs into his horse, started at full speed.

When he reached the camp he found every one asleep save the peon who was mounting guard. The night was well on – it was about one o'clock in the morning; the moon spread around a dazzling light, almost as clear as day. The Apaches would not set out before daybreak, and he had, therefore, about four hours left him for action. He resolved to profit by them. Four hours well employed are enormous in a flight.

The Tigrero began by carefully rubbing down his horse to restore the elasticity to its limbs, for he would need all its speed; then, aided by the peons, he loaded the mules and saddled the horses. This last accomplished, he reflected for a moment, and they wrapped round the horse hoofs pieces of sheep-skin filled with sand. This stratagem, he fancied, would foil the Indians, who, no longer recognising the traces they expected, would fancy themselves on a false trail. For greater security he ordered two or three skins of mezcal to be left on the rock. He knew the Apaches' liking for strong liquors, and calculated on their drunken propensities. This done, ho aroused Don Sylva and his daughter.

"To horse! To horse!" he said in a voice that admitted of no reply.

"What's the matter?" the hacendero asked, still half asleep.

"That if we do not start at once we are lost!"

"How – what do you mean?"

"To horse! To horse! Every moment we waste here brings us nearer to death. Presently I will explain all."

"In Heaven's name tell me what the matter is!"

"You shall know. Come, come."

Without listening to anything, he compelled the hacendero to mount: Doña Anita had done so already. The Tigrero looked around for the last time, and gave the signal for departure. The party started at their horses' topmost speed.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE APACHES

Nothing is so mournful as a night march through the desert, especially under such circumstances as hurried our party on. Night is the mother of phantoms; in the darkness, the gayest landscapes become sinister – everything assumes a form to startle the traveller. The moon, however brilliant the light it diffuses may be, imparts to objects a fantastic appearance and mournful hues which cause the bravest to tremble.

This sepulchral calmness of the desert – this solitude that surrounds you, torments you from every side, and peoples the scenery with spectres – this obscurity which enfolds you like a leaden shroud – all combine to trouble the brain, and arouse a species of febrile terror, which the vivifying sunbeams are alone powerful enough to dissipate.

In spite of themselves our friends suffered from this feeling. They galloped through the night, not able to explain to themselves their motive for doing so, not knowing whither they were going. With heavy heads and weighed down eyelids, they had only one thought – of sleep. Borne along by their horses at headlong speed; the trees and rocks danced around them. They therefore secured themselves in their saddles, closed their eyes, and yielded to the sleep which overwhelmed them, and which they no longer felt the strength to resist.

Sleep is perhaps the most tyrannical and imperious necessity of man: it makes him despise and forget all else. The man overpowered by sleep will give way to it, no matter where he is, or what danger menaces him. Hunger and thirst may be subdued for a while by strength of will and courage, but sleep cannot. It is impossible to contend against it. It strangles you in its iron claws, and in a few moments hurls you down panting and conquered.

With the exception of Don Martial, whose eye was sharp and mind clear, the other members of the party resembled somnambulists. Hanging to their horses as well as they could, with eyes shut and thoughts wandering, they hurried on unconsciously, a prey to that horrible nightmare which is neither sleeping nor waking, but only the torpor of the senses and the oblivion of the mind.

This lasted the whole night. They had travelled ten leagues, and were utterly exhausted. Still at sunrise, beneath the influence of the warm rays, they gradually shook off their heaviness, opened their eyes, looked curiously around them, and an infinity of questions rose from the heart to the lips, as generally happens in such a case.

The party had reached the banks of the Rio Gila, whose muddy waters form, on this side, the desert frontier. Don Martial, after carefully examining the spot where he was, stopped on the bank. The bags of sand were removed from the horses' feet, and they were supplied with food. As for the men, they must temporarily put up with a mouthful of refino to restore their strength.

The appearance of the country had changed. On the other bank of the river a thick, strong grass covered the ground, and immense virgin forests grew on the horizon.

"Ouf!" Don Sylva said, rolling on the ground with an expression of great satisfaction, "What a journey! I am worn out. If that were to last but one day, voto a brios! I could not stand it any longer. I am neither hungry nor thirsty. I will go to sleep."

While saying this the hacendero had arranged himself in the posture most agreeable for a nap.

"Not yet, Don Sylva," the Tigrero said sharply, and shaking him by the arm. "Do you want to leave your bones here?"

"Go to the deuce! I want to sleep, I tell you."

"Very good," Don Martial made answer coldly; "but if you and Doña Anita fall into the hands of the Apaches you will not make me responsible for it?"

"Eh?" the hacendero said, jumping up, and looking him in the face, "What are you saying about Apaches?"

"I tell you again that the Apaches are in pursuit of us. We are only a few hours ahead of them, and if we do not make haste we are lost."

"Canarios! We must fly," Don Sylva exclaimed, now thoroughly awake. "My daughter must not fall into the hands of those demons."

As for Doña Anita, little troubled her at this moment. She was fast asleep.

"Let the horses eat, and then we will start. We have a long way to go, and they must be able to bear us. These few moments of rest will allow Doña Anita to regain her strength."

"Poor child!" the hacendero muttered, "I am the cause of what has happened. My unlucky obstinacy brought us here."

"What use is recrimination, Don Sylva? We are all to blame. Let us forget the past, only to think of the present."

"Yes, you are right. What need discussing things that are done? Now that I am perfectly awake, tell me what you did during the night, and why you forced us to start so suddenly."

"My story will be short, Don Sylva; but you, I believe, will find it very interesting. But you shall judge for yourself. After leaving you last night, as you remember, to find out – "

"Yes, you wished to examine a fire that seemed to you suspicious."

"That was it. Well, I was not mistaken: that fire, as I supposed, was a snare laid by the Apaches. I managed to crawl up to them unnoticed, and hear their conversation. Do you know what they said?"

"By my faith, I have little notion what such idiots as those talk about."

"Not such idiots as you fancy somewhat lightly, Don Sylva. One of their runners was telling the sachem the result of a mission entrusted to him. Among other things he mentioned that he had discovered a paleface trail, and that among the palefaces was a woman."

"Caspita!" the hacendero exclaimed in terror, "Are you quite sure of that, Don Martial?"

"The more so because I heard the chief make this reply. Be attentive, Don Sylva – "

"I am listening, my friend: go on."

"'At sunrise we will set out in pursuit of the palefaces. The chief's lodge is empty: he wants a white woman to occupy it.'"

"Caramba!"

"Yes. Then finding I had learnt sufficient of the expedition the redskins were undertaking, I slipped away and regained our camp as soon as possible. You know the – "

"Yes, I know the rest, Don Martial," the hacendero said almost affectionately; "and I thank you most sincerely, not only for the intelligence you have displayed on this occasion, but also for the devotion with which you compelled us to follow you, instead of being disgusted by our mad sloth."

"I have done nothing but what I should do, Don Sylva. Have I not sworn to devote my life to you?"

"Yes, my friend, and you keep your vow nobly."

Since the hacendero had known Don Martial this was the first time he spoke openly with him, and gave him the title of friend. The Tigrero was touched by this expression; and if he had hitherto felt some slight prejudice against Don Sylva, it was suddenly dissipated, and only left in his heart a feeling of profound gratitude.

Doña Anita awoke during this conversation, and it was with an indescribable joy that she heard them talking thus amicably together. When her father told her the cause of the hasty journey she had been compelled to undertake in the middle of the night, she warmly thanked Don Martial, and rewarded him for all his sufferings by one of those glances, the secret of which only women in love possess, and into which they throw their whole soul. The Tigrero, delighted at seeing his devotion appreciated as it deserved served to be, forgot all his fatigues, and had only one desire – that of terminating happily what he had so well begun. So soon as the horses were saddled they mounted again.

"I leave myself in your hands, Don Martial," the hacendero said: "you alone; can save us."

"With the help of Heaven I shall succeed," the Tigrero replied passionately.

They entered the river, which was rather wide at this spot. Instead of crossing it at right angles, Don Martial, in order to throw the savages off the scent, followed the course of the river for some distance, and made repeated curves. At length, on reaching a point where the river was inclosed by two calcareous banks, where it was impossible for the horses' hoofs to leave any marks, he landed. The party had left the desert. Before them stretched those immense prairies, whose undulating soil gradually, rises to the slopes of the Sierra Madre and the Sierra de los Comanches. They are no longer sterile and desolate plains, denuded of wood and water, but a luxuriant nature, with an extraordinary productive force – trees, flowers, grass; countless birds singing joyously beneath the foliage; animals of every description running, browsing and sporting in the midst of these natural prairies.

The travellers yielded instinctively to the feeling of comfort produced by the sight of this splendid prairie, when compared with the desolate desert they had just quitted, and in which they had wandered about so long haphazard. This contrast was full of charm for them: they felt, their courage rekindled, and hope returning to their hearts. About eleven o'clock the horses were so fatigued that the travellers were compelled to encamp, in order to give them a few hours' rest, and thus pass the great heats of the day. Don Martial chose the top of a wooded hill, whence the prairie could be surveyed, while they remained completely concealed among the trees.

The Tigrero would not permit them, however, to light a fire to cook food as the smoke would have caused their retreat to be discovered; and in their present position they could not exercise too great prudence, as it was evident that the Apaches would have started in pursuit at sunrise. Those crafty bloodhounds must be thrown off the scent. In spite of all the precautions he had taken, the Tigrero could not flatter himself with the hope of having foiled them; for the redskins are so clever in discovering a trail. After eating a few hasty mouthfuls he allowed his companions to enjoy a rest they needed so greatly, and rose to go on the watch.

This man appeared made of iron – fatigue took no hold on him; his will was so firm that he resisted everything, and the desire to save the woman he loved endowed him with a supernatural strength. He slowly descended the hill, examining each shrub, only advancing with extreme prudence, and with his ear open to every sound, however slight. So soon as he reached the plain, certain that his presence would be concealed by the tall grass, in which he entirely disappeared, he hastened at full speed towards a sombre and primeval forest, whose trees approached almost close to the hill. This forest was really what it appeared to be – a virgin forest. The trees and leaves intertwined formed an inextricable curtain, through which a hatchet would have been required to cut a passage. Had he been alone, the Tigrero would not have been greatly embarrassed by this apparently insurmountable obstacle. Skilful and powerful as he was, he would have travelled 'twixt earth and sky, by passing from branch to branch, as he had often done before. But what a man so desolate as himself could do was not to be expected from a frail and weak woman.

For an instant the Tigrero felt his heart fail him, and his courage give way. But this despair was only momentary. Don Martial drew himself up proudly and suddenly regained all his energy. He continued to advance toward the forest, looking around like a wild beast on the watch for prey. All of a sudden he uttered a stifled cry of joy. He had found what he had been seeking without any hope of finding it.

Before him, beneath a thick dome of verdure, ran one of those narrow paths formed by wild beasts in going to water, which it required the Tigrero's practised eye to detect. He resolutely turned aside into this path. Like all such it took innumerable turnings, incessantly coming back on itself. After following it for a length of time, the Tigrero went back and re-ascended the hill.

His companions, anxious at his prolonged absence, were impatiently expecting him. Each welcomed his return with delight. He told them what he had been doing, and the track he had discovered. While Don Martial had been on the search, one of his peons, however, had made, on the side of this very hill, a discovery most valuable at such a moment to our travellers. This man, while wandering about the neighbourhood to kill time, had found the entrance to a cave which he had not dared to explore, not knowing whether he might not unexpectedly find himself face to face with a wild beast.

Don Martial quivered with joy at this news. He seized an ocote torch and ordered the peon to lead him to the cavern. It was only a few paces distant, and on that side of the hill which faced the river. The entrance was so obstructed by shrubs and parasitic plants, that it was evident no living being had ever penetrated it for many a long year. The Tigrero moved the shrubs with the greatest care, in order not to injure them, and glided into the cavern. The entrance was tolerably lofty, though rather narrow. Before going in Don Martial struck a light and kindled the torch.

This cavern was one of those natural grottos, so many of which are to be found in these regions. The walls were lofty and dry, the ground covered with fine sand. It evidently received air from imperceptible fissures, as no mephitic exhalation escaped from it, and breathing was quite easy; in a word, although it was rather gloomy, it was habitable. It grew gradually lower to a species of hall, in the centre of which was a gulf, the bottom of which Don Martial could not see, though he held down his torch. He looked around him, saw a lump of rock, probably detached from the roof and threw it into the abyss.

For a long time he heard the stone dashing against the sides, and then the noise of a body falling into water. Don Martial knew all he wanted to know. He stepped past the gulf, and advanced along a narrow shelving passage. After walking for about ten minutes along it, he saw light a considerable distance ahead. The grotto had two outlets. Don Martial returned at full speed.

"We are saved!" he said to his companions. "Follow me: we have not an instant to lose in reaching the refuge Providence so generously offers us."

They followed him.

"What shall we do, though," Don Sylva asked, "with the horses?"

"Do not trouble yourselves about them; I will conceal them. Place in the grotto our provisions, for it is probable we shall be forced to remain here some time; also keep by you the saddles and bridles, which I do not know what to do with. As for the horses, they are my business."

Each set to work with that feverish ardour produced by the hope of escaping a danger; and at the end of an hour at most, the baggage, provisions, and men had all disappeared in the cavern. Don Martial drew the bushes over the entrance, to hide the traces of his companions' passage, and breathed with that delight caused by the success of a daring project; then he returned to the crest of the hill.

He fastened the horses and mules together with his reata, and descending to the plain, he proceeded toward the forest, and entered the path he had previously discovered. It was very narrow, and the horses could only proceed in single file, and with extreme difficulty. At length he reached a species of clearing, where be abandoned the poor animals, leaving them all the forage, which he had taken care to pack on the mules. Don Martial was well aware that the horses would stray but a short distance from the spot where he left them, and that when they were wanted it would be easy to find them.

These various occupations had consumed a good deal of time, and the day was considerably advanced when the Tigrero finally quitted the forest. The sun, very low on the horizon, appeared like a ball of fire, nearly on a level with the ground. The shadow of the trees was disproportionately elongated. The evening breeze was beginning to rise. A few hoarse cries, issuing at intervals from the depths of the forest, announced the speedy re-awakening of the wild beasts, those denizens of the desert which, during the night, are its absolute king.

On reaching the crest of the hill, and before entering the grotto, Don Martial surveyed the horizon by the last rays of the expiring sun. Suddenly he turned pale; a nervous shudder passed through his frame; his eyes, dilated by terror, were obstinately fixed on the river; and he muttered in a low voice, stamping with fury, —

"Already? The demons!"

What the Tigrero had seen was really startling. A band of Indian horsemen was traversing the river at the precise spot where he and his companions had crossed it a few hours previously. Don Martial followed their movements with growing alarm. On arriving at the river bank, without any hesitation or delay, they took up his trail. Doubt was no longer possible; the Apaches had not been deceived by the hunter's schemes, but had come in a straight line behind the party, exercising great diligence. In less than an hour they could reach the hill; and then, with that diabolical science they possessed to discover the best hidden trail, who knew what would happen?

The Tigrero felt his heart breaking, and half mad with grief, rushed into the grotto. On seeing him enter thus with livid features, the hacendero and his daughter hurried to meet him.

"What is the matter?" They asked.

"We are lost!" he exclaimed with despair. "Here are the Apaches!"

"The Apaches!" they muttered with terror.

"O heavens save me!" Doña Anita said, falling on her knees and fervently clasping her hands.

The Tigrero bent over the fair girl, took her in his arms with a strength rendered tenfold by grief, and turning to the hacendero, —

"Come," he shouted, "follow me. Perhaps one chance of salvation is still left us."

And he hurried toward the extremity of the grotto, all eagerly following him. They hurried on for some time in this way. Doña Anita, almost fainting, leaned her lovely head on the Tigrero's shoulders. He still ran on.

"Come, come," he said, "we shall soon be saved."

His companions uttered a shout of joy: they had perceived a gleam of daylight before them. Suddenly, at the moment Don Martial reached the entrance, and was about to rush forth, a man appeared. It was the Black Bear.

The Tigrero leaped back with the howl of a wild beast.

"Wah!" the Apache said, with a mocking voice, "my brother knows that I love this woman, and to please me hastens to bring her to me."

"You have not got her yet, demon!" Don Martial shouted, boldly placing himself before Doña Anita, with a pistol in each hand. "Come and take her."

Rapidly approaching footsteps were heard in the depths of the cavern. The Mexicans were caught between two fires. The Black Bear, with his eye fixed on the Tigrero, watched his every movement. Suddenly he bounded forward like a tiger cat, uttering his war yell. The Tigrero fired both pistols at him and seized him round the waist. The two men rolled on the ground, intertwined like two serpents, while Don Sylva and the peons fought desperately with the other Indians.