"Before explaining my plan to you," Red Cedar went on, "I must tell you what our position really is, so that when I have described the means I wish to employ, you can decide with a full knowledge of the facts."

His hearers gave a nod of assent, but no one made an answer.

The squatter continued —

"We are surrounded on three sides: firstly, by the Comanches, next by Bloodson's rangers, and lastly by the French hunter and his friends. Weakened as we are by the terrible privations we have suffered since we came into the mountains, any contest is impossible; we must, therefore, give up all hope of opening a passage by force."

"What is to be done, then?" the monk asked; "it is plain that we must escape, and each second that slips away renders our prospects worse."

"I am as fully convinced of that as you can be. My absence today had a double object; the first was to obtain provisions, in which, as you see, I succeeded – "

"That is true."

"Secondly, to reconnoitre carefully the positions held by our enemies."

"Well?" they asked anxiously.

"I have succeeded. I advanced unnoticed close to their camps; they keep a good watch, and it would be madness to try and pass through them; they form a wide circle around us, of which we are the centre; this circle is being daily contracted, so that in two or three days, perhaps before, we shall find ourselves so pressed that it will be impossible to hide ourselves, and we must fall into their hands."

"Demonios!" Fray Ambrosio exclaimed, "that is anything but a pleasant prospect; we have no mercy to expect from these villains, who will, on the contrary, find a pleasure in torturing us in every way possible. Hum! the mere thought of falling into their hands makes my flesh creep; I know what the Indians are capable of in torturing, for I have seen them at work often enough."

"Very good; I will not press that point then."

"It would be perfectly useless. You will do better to explain to us the plan you have formed, and which, as you say, can save us."

"Pardon me! I did not offer you any certainty; I merely said that it had some chances of success."

"We are not in a position to quibble about words; let us have your scheme."

"It is this – "

The three men listened with the deepest attention.

"It is evident," Red Cedar went on, "that if we remain together, and try to fly in one direction, we shall be infallibly lost, supposing, as is certain, that our trail is discovered by our pursuers."

"Very well," the monk growled; "go ahead; I do not exactly understand what you want to come at."

"I have, therefore, reflected on this inconvenience, and I have formed the following scheme."

"Out with it."

"It is very simple; we will make a double trail."

"Hum! I suppose you mean, a false and a true one. The plan seems to me defective."

"Why so? Red Cedar asked with a smile.

"Because there must be a point where the false trail runs into the real one, and – "

"You are mistaken, gossip," Red Cedar sharply interrupted him; "both trails will be true, otherwise the idea would be absurd."

"In that case, I do not understand you."

"You soon will, if you will allow me to speak. One of us will devote himself to save the others; while we fly in one direction, he will go on another, trying to draw the enemy on his trail. In this way, he will open us a passage, through which we shall pass, without being discovered. Do you understand me now?"

"Caspita! I should think I did – the idea is magnificent," the monk exclaimed enthusiastically.

"All now wanted is to carry it out."

"Yes, without any delay."

"Very good! Who will sacrifice himself to save his comrades?"

No one answered.

"What," Red Cedar went on, "are you all silent? Come, Fray Ambrosio, you are a priest, so give us an example."

"Thank you, gossip, but I never felt any call to martyrdom. I am not at all ambitious."

"Still, we must get out of this scrape."

"Caramba! I wish for nothing better; still, I am not desirous that it should be at the expense of my scalp."

Red Cedar reflected for an instant. The adventurers looked at him anxiously, waiting till he had found the solution of this difficult problem. All at once the squatter raised his head.

"Hum!" he said, "Any discussion would be useless, for you are not the men to be led by your feelings."

They nodded their assent.

"This is what we will do; we will draw lots who shall devote himself; the one on whom it devolves will obey without a murmur. Does that suit you?"

"As we must bring matters to an end," said Nathan, "why, the sooner the better; that way is as good as another, so I do not object."

"Nor I," Sutter remarked.

"Nonsense!" The monk exclaimed; "I was always lucky at games of chance."

"It is settled then; you swear that the man on whom the lot falls, will obey without hesitation, and accomplish his task honourably?"

"We swear it," they said with one voice; "come, Red Cedar, let us have it over."

"Yes; but in what way shall we consult chance?" Red Cedar observed.

"That need not trouble you, gossip," Fray Ambrosio said with a laugh; "I am a man of caution."

While speaking thus, the monk fumbled in his vaquera boots, and produced a greasy pack of cards.

"These will do the trick," he went on with a triumphant air. "This pretty child," he added, turning to Ellen, "will shuffle the cards; one of us will cut them, and then she will deal the cards one by one, and the man who has the two of spades will have to make the double trail. Does that suit you?"

"Admirably," they replied.

Ellen took the cards from the monk and shuffled them, while a zarapé was laid on the ground by the fire, so that the colour of the cards might be distinguished by the flame.

"Cut," she said, placing the pack on the zarapé.

Fray Ambrosio thrust out his hand; but Red Cedar laughingly caught hold of his arm.

"A moment," he said; "those cards are yours, gossip, and I know your talent: permit me to cut."

"As you please," the monk said with a grimace of disappointment.

The squatter cut, and Ellen began dealing the cards.

There was something most strange about the scene. On a gloomy night, in the heart of this desolate gorge, with the wind moaning through the trees, these four men bending forward, anxiously watching the pale-browed girl, who, by the capricious and changing glare of the fire, seemed performing a cabalistic work, and the sinister looks of these men, staking their lives at this moment on a card – assuredly, a stranger who could have watched the extraordinary spectacle, himself unseen, would have fancied it an hallucination of the brain.

With frowning brows, pale faces, and heaving chests, they followed with a feverish glance each card as it fell, wiping away at intervals the cold perspiration that beaded on their temples. The cards still fell, but the two of spades had not yet appeared; Ellen had not more than ten cards left in her hand.

"Ouf!" the monk said, "It is a long job."

"Bah!" Red Cedar said with a grin; "perhaps you will find it too short."

"It is I," Nathan said in a choking voice. In fact, the two of spades fell to him, and all breathed freely again.

"Well," the monk said, as he tapped him on the shoulder, "I congratulate you, my friend Nathan: you have a glorious mission."

"Will you undertake it in my stead?" the other remarked with a grin.

"I would not deprive you of the honour of saving us," Fray Ambrosio said with magnificent coolness.

Nathan gave him a look of pity, shrugged his shoulders, and turned his back on him. Fray Ambrosio collected the cards, and replaced them in his boot with evident satisfaction.

"Hum!" he muttered, "They may still be of service; we cannot tell in what circumstances chance may place us."

After this philosophic reflection, the monk, cheered up by the certainty of not being obliged to sacrifice himself for his friends, quietly sat down again by the fire. In the meanwhile, Red Cedar, who did not let out of sight the execution of his plan, had placed some lumps of meat on the fire, that his companions might acquire the necessary strength for the fatigues they would have to endure.

As usually happens under similar circumstances, the meal was silent; each, absorbed in his thoughts, ate rapidly without thinking of keeping up idle conversation. It was about five in the morning, and the sky was beginning to assume those opaline tints which summoned daybreak. Red Cedar rose, and the rest imitated him.

"Come, lad," he said to Nathan, "are you ready? The hour has arrived."

"I will start whenever you please, father," the young man answered, resolutely. "I am only awaiting your final instructions, that I may know the directions I have to follow, and at what place I shall find you again, if, as is not very likely, I have the luck to escape safe and sound."

"My instructions will not be lengthy, my lad. You must go north-west, as that is the shortest road to leave these accursed mountains. If you can reach the high road to Independence, you are saved; thence it will be easy for you to reach in a short time the cavern of our old comrades, where you will hide yourself while waiting for us. I recommend you specially to hide your trail as well as you can. We have to deal with the craftiest men on the prairie; an easy trail would arouse their suspicions, and our design would be entirely foiled. You understand me, I think?"

"Perfectly."

"For the rest, I trust to you; you know desert life too well to be humbugged; you have a good rifle, powder, and bullets. I wish you luck, lad! But do not forget that you have to draw our enemies after you."

"Do not be frightened," Nathan replied, roughly, "I am no fool."

"That is true; take a lump of meat, and good-bye."

"Good-bye, and the devil take you but watch over my sister; I care precious little for your old carcass, so long as the girl runs no danger."

"All right," the squatter said, "We will do what is needful to protect your sister, so do not trouble yourself about her; come, be off."

Nathan embraced Ellen, who affectionately pressed his hand, as she wiped away her tears.

"Don't cry, Ellen," he said hoarsely; "a man's life is nothing after all; don't bother yourself about me – the devil will look after his friends."

After uttering the words in a tone which he tried in vain to render careless, the young savage threw his rifle on his back, hung a piece of meat to his girdle, and went off hurriedly, not turning round once. Five minutes later, he disappeared in the chaparral.

"Poor brother!" Ellen murmured, "he is going to a certain death."

"Well," Red Cedar said, with a shrug of his shoulders, "we are all going to death, and each step unconsciously brings us nearer to it: what use is it feeling sorry about the fate that threatens him; do we know what awaits ourselves? We are not lying on a bed of roses. My child, I warn you, that we shall require all, our skill and sagacity to get out of it, for I cannot calculate on a miracle occurring."

"That is far more prudent," Fray, Ambrosio said, cunningly; "besides, it is written somewhere, I forget where, 'Help yourself, and heaven will help you.'"

"Yes," the squatter replied, with a grin, "and there never was a finer opportunity for putting the precept in practice."

"I think so, and am waiting for you to explain to us what we have to do."

Without answering the monk, Red Cedar turned to his daughter.

"Ellen, my child," he asked her, in an affectionate voice, "do you feel strong enough to follow us?"

"Do not trouble yourself about me, father," she replied; "wherever you pass, I will pass: you know that I have been accustomed to the desert from my childhood."

"That is true," Red Cedar remarked doubtfully: "but this is the first time you have tried the mode of travelling we shall be obliged to adopt."

"What do you mean? People travel on foot, horseback, or in a boat. We have moved about in one of those fashions twenty times before."

"You are right; but now we are constrained by circumstances to modify our mode of marching. We have no horses, no river, and our enemies hold the ground."

"In that case," the monk exclaimed with a grin, "we will imitate the birds, and fly through the air."

Red Cedar, looked at him earnestly.

"You have nearly guessed it," he said.

"What?" the monk remarked, "you are making fun of us, Red Cedar. Do you think this the proper moment for jesting?"

"I am not naturally inclined to jesting," the squatter coldly replied, "and at this moment less than ever. We shall not fly like the birds, because we have no wings; but for all that, we will make our journey in the air, in this way. Look around you; on the sides of the mountains extend immense virgin forests, in which our enemies are concealed. They are coming on quietly, carefully picking out every sign of our passing they can discover."

"Well?" the monk asked.

"While they are seeking our trail on the ground, we will slip through their hands like serpents, passing from tree to tree, from branch to branch, thirty yards above their heads, and they not dreaming of looking up, which would, indeed, be useless, for the foliage is too dense, the creepers too close for them to discover us. And then, again, this chance of safety, though very slight, is the only one left us. Have you the courage to try it?"

There was a momentary silence. At length the monk took the squatter's hand, and shook it heartily.

"Canarios! Gossip," he said to him, with a species of respect, "you are a great man. Forgive my suspicions."

"You accept, then?"

"Caspita! You need not ask that. Eagerly, and I swear it, that never squirrel leaped as I will do."

CHAPTER XXVI
NATHAN PAINTS HIMSELF

So soon as he had got out of sight of his comrades, Nathan halted. He was neither so careless nor confident as he wished to appear. When he was alone and away from those who might ridicule, he gave way to his ill temper, and cursed the chance that placed him in such a precarious and dangerous position.

Nathan, we think we have already said, was a species of Hercules, gifted with uncommon energy and ferocity. Accustomed from his childhood to a desert life and its sanguinary tragedies, he was not the man to despond and despair easily. Pitiless to himself as to others, he perfectly accepted the consequences of the situation in which he found himself at times placed, and, in case of necessity, was resolved to fight to the death in defence of his scalp.

At this moment, however, it was not his position in itself that rendered him anxious. He had been a hundred times beset by equal danger in crossing the prairie; but hitherto, when he had perilled his life, he had done it with an object he knew perfectly well, with the prospect, near or remote, of some profit; but this time he regarded himself as obeying a will he was ignorant of, for a purpose he did not understand, and for interests that were not his own. Hence, he cursed his father, Fray Ambrosio, and himself for having thus got into a trap, whence he did not know how to escape.

Red Cedar's last recommendation was necessary. Nathan was not at all anxious to have his trail discovered. He employed all the means his intelligence suggested to him to hide it from the keenest glance, only taking a step after convincing himself that the trace of the previous one had disappeared. After ripe reflection, he had arrived at the following conclusion —

"It's all the worse for them, but each for himself! If I lose my scalp they will not give it me back. I will, therefore, defend it as well as I can. They must do what they can, but for my part I must do my best to get out of the scrape."

After these words, uttered in a loud voice, in the way of men accustomed to live alone, Nathan gave that almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, which in all countries signifies "let what will happen." And, after carefully examining his rifle, he started afresh.

Europeans, accustomed to the horizons of the old world, to macadamised roads, bordered by pleasant houses and traversed in every direction, cannot form, even approximately, a correct idea of the position of a man alone in that ocean of verdure called the "Far West", who feels himself watched by invisible eyes, and knows he is tracked like a wild beast.

A man, however brave he may be, and accustomed to the adventurous life of the desert, shudders and feels very weak when he turns an enquiring glance around him, and sees himself, so little in the immensity that surrounds him. In the desert, if you wish to go north, you must march to the south; be attentive not to crush the leaves on which you walk, break the branches that bar the way, and, above all, not to make the pebbles on which you step grate against each other.

All the sounds of the desert are known to, explained, and commented on by the redskins. After listening for a few seconds, they can tell you if the animal whose footfall is heard in the distance, is a horse, a bear, a buffalo, an elk, or an antelope. A pebble rolling down the side of a ravine suffices to denounce a prowler. A few drops of water spilt on the edge of a ford, clearly reveal the passing of several travellers. An unusual movement in the tall grass, betrays a watching spy. Everything, in short, from the down-trodden blade of grass to the buffalo that suddenly cocks its ears while browsing, or the asshata bounding in alarm without cause – all in the desert serves as a book, in which the Indian reads the passage of friend or foe, and puts him on his trail, even though they be one hundred miles apart.

The men who live in these countries, where material life is everything, acquire a perfection of certain organs which, seems incredible; sight and hearing especially are enormously developed in them; and this, combined with extreme agility, dauntless courage, and sustained by muscles of remarkable vigour, renders them dangerous adversaries. In addition to this, we have that cunning and treachery which are never apart, and are the two great means which the Indians employ to seize their foes, whom they never attack face to face, but always by surprise. Necessity is the supreme law of the Indian, and he sacrifices everything to it, and, like all incomplete or badly-developed natures, he only admits physical qualities, caring nothing for virtues he does not want, but, on the contrary, would injure him in the life he leads.

Nathan was himself almost a redskin: only at rare intervals had he visited, for a few days at a time, the towns of the American Union. Hence all he knew of life he had learned in the desert; and that education is as good as another when the instincts of the man who receives it are good; because he is able to make a choice, and take what is noble and generous, laying aside what is bad. Unfortunately, Nathan had never any other teacher of morality but his father. From an early age he had been accustomed to regard things in the same way as the squatter did, and that was the worst of all. Hence with years the teaching be received had fructified so fully that he had become the true type of the civilised man who has turned savage; the most hideous transformation of species that can be imagined.

Nathan loved nothing, believed in nothing, and respected nothing. Only one person had any influence over him, and that was Ellen; but at this moment she was no longer by his side.

The young man marched on for a long time without perceiving anything that revealed the approach of danger; still this factitious security did not make him neglect his precautions. While walking on, with rifle thrust out before him, his body bent forward, and eye and ear on the watch, he thought, and the further he went, the more gloomy his thoughts became.

The reason was simple; he knew that he was surrounded by implacable foes, watched by numerous spies, and yet nothing disturbed the quiet of the prairie. All appeared to be in its ordinary state; it was impossible to notice the least suspicious movement in the grass or shrubs. This calmness was too profound to be natural, and Nathan was not deceived by it.

"Humph!" he said to himself, "I shall have a row presently, I feel certain; deuce take those brutes of redskins for not giving a sign of life. I am walking blindly, not knowing where I am going, I am convinced I shall fall into some trap laid for me by these villains, and which it will be impossible for me to get out of."

Nathan went on walking till about ten in the morning. At that hour, as he felt hungry, and his legs were rather stiff, he resolved at all hazards to take a few moments' rest and some mouthfuls of meat. He mechanically looked round him to seek a suitable, spot, but he suddenly gave a start of surprise as he raised his rifle, and hid himself behind an enormous tree. He had noticed, scarce fifty yards from him, an Indian, sitting carelessly on the ground and quietly eating a little pemmican.

After the first emotion had worn off, Nathan attentively examined the Indian. He was a man of thirty at the most; he did not wear the garb of a warrior, and two screech owl feathers fixed in his thick hair, over his right ear, rendered it easy to recognise a Nez-Percé Indian. The adventurer looked at him a long time ere he could make up his mind what to do; at length he threw his rifle on his shoulder, left his hiding place, and walked up to the Indian. The latter probably saw him, though he displayed no alarm, and quietly went on eating. When about two paces from the Nez-Percé the American stopped.

"I salute my brother," he said, raising his voice, and unfolding his zarapé in sign of peace; "may the Wacondah grant him a great hunt."

"I thank my paleface brother," the Indian replied, as he looked up; "he is welcome, I have two handfuls of pemmican left, and there is a place for him at my fire."

Nathan approached, and, without further ceremony, sat down by the side of his new friend, who paternally shared his food with him, but asked him no questions. After feeding, the Nez-Percé lit an Indian pipe, in which his companion at once imitated him.

The two men remained there, silently puffing the smoke in each other's face. When the Nez-Percé had finished his calumet, he shook out the ash on his thumb, placed the pipe in his belt, and and then resting his elbows on his knees, and his face in the palm of his hands, he plunged into that state of ecstatic beatitude which the Italians call the dolce far niente, the Turks keff, and which has no equivalent in English. Nathan filled his pipe a second time, and then turned to his comrade.

"Is my brother a chief?" he asked him.

The Indian raised his head.

"No," he answered, with a proud smile, "I am one of the masters of the great medicine."

Nathan bowed respectfully.

"I understand," he said, "my brother is one of the wise men, whom the redskins call allanus."

"I am also a sorcerer," the Nez-Percé said.

"Oh, oh! What, is my brother one of the Ministers of the Great Turtle?"

"Yes," he answered, "we command the caciques and warriors; they only act on our orders."

"I know it; my father has great learning, his power extends over the whole earth."

The Nez-Percé smiled condescendingly at this praise, and holding up a small staff decorated with gay feathers and bells which he held in his right hand, he said:

"This mulbache is a more tremendous weapon than the thunder of the palefaces; everywhere it makes me feared and respected."

A sinister smile for the second time curled the American's lips.

"Is my brother returning to his nation?" he asked.

"No," the Indian said with a shake of the hand; "I am expected at the village of the Buffalo Apaches, who require my counsel and my medicine, in order to undertake, under favourable auspices, a great expedition they are meditating at this moment. My brother will therefore forgive my leaving him, for I must reach the end of my journey this night."

"I will not leave my red brother," Nathan answered; "if he will permit me, I will walk in his moccasins, for my footsteps have the same direction as my brother's."

"I gladly accept my brother's proposition; let us start then."

"I am ready."

After rising and adjusting his dress, the Indian stooped to pick up a small bundle, which probably contained his scanty property. Nathan profited by the movement; swift as thought he drew his knife, and buried it to the hilt between the Indian's shoulders. The unhappy man uttered a stifled cry, stretched out his arms, and fell dead. The American phlegmatically drew his knife from the horrible wound, wiped it in the grass, and returned it to his girdle.

"Hum!" he said, with a grin; "there's a poor devil of a sorcerer, whose skill could not save him: I will try whether I cannot succeed better."

While talking with the redskin, whom he had at first no intention of killing, and whom he only wished to make a protector, a sudden idea crossed his mind. This idea, which at the first blush will seem extraordinary, suited the bandit, owing to the boldness and daring it required to carry it out successfully. He made up his mind to assume the sorcerer's clothes, and pass for him among the redskins. Long conversant with Indian habits and customs, Nathan felt sure he should play this difficult part with all the perfection necessary to deceive even sharper eyes than those of the savages. After assuring himself that his victim gave no sign of life, Nathan began removing his garments, which he put on instead of his own. When this first change was effected, he riffled the sorcerer's bag, took out a mirror, bladders filled with vermilion, and a black pigment, and with small pieces of wood painted on his face the strange figures that were on the sorcerer's. The imitation was perfect; from the face he passed to the body; then he fastened on his hair, and stuck in it the two screech owl feathers. Nathan had frequently disguised himself as an Indian, when going scalp hunting with his father, hence the metamorphosis in a few seconds.

"This carrion must not be found," he said.

Taking the body on his back, he hurled it to the bottom of a precipice.

"Well, that is settled," he continued, with a laugh; "if the Apaches are not satisfied with the great medicine man who is coming to them, they will be difficult to please."

As he did not wish to lose his clothes, he hid them in the Indian's bundle, which he passed over his rifle barrel; he then took the poor sorcerer's staff, and gaily set out, muttering to himself with an impudent smile —

"We shall soon see whether this mulbache really possesses the magic powers that are attributed to it."