Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 20 — page 34: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

oo a __. | * it 5 ae . : » a py Ps ‘ '” Se > 4 . mote eK . as Eo ) — a g ae Te po ~ s - ——< -- << ~. * » - » * f : 2, en ae * 4 '> ae = Ded o~ -— » -~ > ——s 7 é = ] . Shaw hesitated for a moment, then let fall the weapon, as he muttered: ‘* There will still be time.” ‘* Excellently, reasoned,’’ said the monk. ‘* Now, sit down, and let us, talk. Trust to me; the senora ere long will not feel the slightest doubt about your innocence.”’ Frorinas this scene Dona Clara had remain- ed motionless as a statue of grief, apparent- ly. taking no.interest in;what passed between the two men. | ‘This young man has told you the perfect truth,” he said; ‘‘it is.a justice I take plea- sure. in rendering him, I know not what cause urged him to aet so, but, in. order, to save you, he achieved impossibilities; hold- mg you in his arms, he fought with a cloud of red-skins thirsting for his blood. When heaven sent us so miraculously to his assis- tance, he. was about to succumb, and he rolled unconscious under our horses’ hoofs, till holding against his bleeding breast the precious burden which had doubtless been confided to him, and from which he had sworn only death should separate him, That is the real truth, madam; I swear it on my honor.”’ Dona Clara smiled bitterly. ‘* Oh,” she answered, ‘‘ keep these deceit- ful and useless protestations to yourself; I have learned to know you too, thanks be to heaven, for some time past, and am aware What faith can be placed in your word.”’ The monk bit his lips spitefully, ‘‘ Perhaps you are mistaken, madam,’’ he answered, with a humble bow, ‘“and too readily put fuith in false appearances.”’ ** Very false, in truth,” the girl exclaimed, ‘“‘since your conduct, up to this day, Las only proved their correctness,”’ A flash shot from the monk’s. savage eye, which expired as soon as it burst forth; he composed bis countenance, and continued with immovable gentleness: ‘* You judge me wrongly too; misfortune renders you unjust. You forget.that Il owe all to your father.”’ ‘*It is not I, but you, who have forgotten it,’ she said, sharply. ‘* And who tells you, madam,’ he, said with acertain degree of animation, ‘‘ that if Lum in the ranks of. your enemies, it is not to serve you better ?”’ ‘“‘Oh!’. she answered, ironically; ‘‘it would be diflicult for you. to supply me with proofs of such admirable devotion.”’ ‘* Not so much as you suppose; I haye at this moment one at my service, which you can not doubt.”’ ‘‘ And that proof is?’ she asked with a sneer. ‘‘ This, madam, My comrades are asleep, two horses have been tied up by myself fifty paces from here in the forest; I will lead you to them, and guloed by this unhappy young man, who is devoted to you, although you have been cruel to him, after the perils to which he has exposed himself for your sake—it will be easy for you to get out of our reach in a few hours, and foil any pur- suit, This is the proof, madam; can you now say it is false?”’ ‘‘And who will guarantee me,” she re- plied, *‘ that this feigned solicitude you take in me, and which, I fancy, is very sudden, does not conceal a new snare ?”’ ‘* Moments are precious,’”’ the monk said again, still imperturbable; ‘‘every second that slips away is a chance of safety you are deprived of. I will not argue with you, but limit myself to saying—of what use, would it be to me to pretend to let you escape ?”’ ‘‘How do 1 know? Can I guess the an on which you act ?’’.. “Very good, madam, do as you think proper: .but heayen is my witness that I have done all in my power to saye you, and that it was you who refused.” The monk uttered these words with suck an accent of conviction, that, in spite of herself, Dona Clara felt her suspicions shaken. Fray Ambrosio’s last observation was cor- rect: why feign to let her escape, when he aad her in his power? . She reflected for a moment. ‘‘ Listen,” she said to him, ‘‘ I have sacri- ficed my life; I know not if you are sincere; I should like to believe so; but as nothing gan happen to me worse than what threat- ens me here, I confide in you; lead on, therefore, to the horses you have prepared for me, and I shall soon know whether your intentions are honest, and I have been de- eeived in my opinion of you.” _ A furtive smile lit up the monk’s face, and ae uttered a sigh of satisfaction. -“Come,’’ he said, ‘ follow me; but walk zautiously, so as not to arouse Fay GOD aCS, who are probably not 80 well disposed toward you as I am.” Dona Clara and Shaw rose and noiselessly followed the monk, the squatter’s son walk- ing before the maiden and removing all the obstacles to her passage. The darkness was thick, hence it was difficult to walk through the thickets, inter- .*. = a — a a _ ee —-— — ee ee laeed as they were withcreepers and parasi- tical plants. Dona Clara stumbled at every step. At the expiration of half an hour, they reached the skirt of the forest, where two horses, fastened to ‘trees, were quietly nib- bling the tree-shoots. ‘* Well!’ the monk said, with a triumph- ant accent, ‘‘do you believe me now ?”’ ‘*‘Tam not saved: yet,’ she sadly answer- ed; and she prepared to mount. Suddenly, the branches and shrubs were violently parted, six or eight men rushed forward, and surrounded the three, ere it was possible for them to attempt a defense. Shaw, however, drew a pistol, and. pre- pared to sell his life dearly. ‘*Stop, Shaw,”? Dona Clara said to him, ently; ‘‘I now see that you were faithful, and I pardon you. Do not let yourself be uselessly killed; you see that it would be madness to resist !’’ The young man let his head droop, and teturnéd the pistol'to his girdle. ‘*Hilloh !”? a rough voice shouted, which caused the fugitives to tremble, ‘*“‘I felt sure that these horses belonged to some- body. Let us see what we have here. A torch here, Orson, to have a look at them.”’ “Tt is unnecessary, Red Cedar, we are friends.”’ ‘Friends,’? Red Cedar answered, hesi- tating, for it'was really he; “that is possi- ble; still, I would sooner be convinced of it. Light the torch, lad, all the same.”’ There was'a moment’s silence; during which Orson lit a branch of candlewood tree. ‘‘ Ah, ah,”’ the squatter said, with a grin; ‘“‘in truth, we are among friends. But where the deuce were you going at this hour of the night, my master ?’’ ‘*We were returning to the camp, after a ride, in which we have lost our way,’’ the monk answered, imperturbably. Red Cedar gave him a suspicious glance. ‘*A ride!” he growled between his teeth; ‘**it is a singular hour for that. But there is Shaw. You are welcome, my boy, though I little expected to meet you, especially in the company of that charming dove,’’ he added, with a sarcastic smile. ‘Yes, it is I, father,” the young man an- swered in a hollow voice. ‘* Very good; presently you shall tell me what has become of you for so long, but this is not the moment. Did you not say that your camp was near here, my master ? al- though, may my neck be twisted, if I can understand how that is; as I was going to seek you on the isle where [left you.” — ‘We were compelled to leave it.’’ *‘All right; we have no time to lose in chattering. ‘Lead me to the camp; ata later date, all will be cleared up, never fear.”’ Guided by the monk, and followed by the Pirates, who had Shaw and Dona Clara in their midst, Red Cedar entered the forest. This unforeseen meeting once again robbed the poor gin! of a speedy deliverance. | As for Fray Ambrosio, he walked along apparently as calmly as if nothing extrior- dinary had happened to him. “CHAPTER XXXITI, THE TRAIL. THE dawn was just commencing to over- shadow the horizon with transient opaline tints ; a few stars were still glistening in the dark blue sky. The wild beasts were leav- ing their watering-places, and slowly retiring to their dens, disturbing at intervals the solemn silence of the desert with their sinister howling. Valentine opened his eyes, looked around him anxiously, and after employing a few seconds in shaking off his drowsiness, he rose slowly and awoke his. comrades, who were still sleeping, rolled up in their blankets. Soon, the whole little party were eolected round the fire, on which the hunters had thrown a few armfuls of dry wood, and in whose brilliant flames the breakfast was now preparing. | he Mexicans, with their eyes fixed on Valentine, silently awaited his explanation, for they guessed that he had important com- munications to make to them. But their expectations were foiled, at least for the present, and the Frenchman remained quite silent. ' “When the meal was ready, Valentine made his comrades a signal to'eat ; and for some twenty minutes no other sound could be heard save that caused by the formidable ap- etites Of the hunters. When they had nished, Valentine quietly lit his dian pipe, and indicated to his companions that e wished to speak. ! | turned toward him. “ My friends,” he said, in his sympathet- le voice, ‘‘ what I feared has happened. Red The ‘New York ‘Library. | ee ee rn — a Cedar has left his ‘island camp: ae, has, .f I am. not mistaken, several days’ start of us, and in yain did I try last night. to take up is trail—it was impossible. Red Cedar is a villain, endowed with a fortunately far from common ferocity, whose destruction we have sworn, and I hope we shall. keep our word, But lam compelled to do him the justice of saying, that he is one of the most experi- enced hunters:in the Far West; and no one, when he pleases, can more eleverly. hide his own trail, and discover that of others. We are, therefore, about ‘to have a -trial of pa- tience with him, for he has learned. all the stratagems of the: red-skins, of whom, I am not ashamed to say, he is the superior in roguery.’’ ** Alas !’? Don Miguel muttered. ‘“[ have. sworn to restore your daughter to you, my friend,’ Valentine contimued, ‘with the help of heaven. Ishall keep my oath, but lam about to undertake a gigan- tic task: hence 1 ask. of you all the most perfect obedience. Your ignorance of the desert might, under certain circumstances, cause us serious injury, and make us lose in a few minutes the fruit of lengthened. re- searches; hence I ask of your friendship that you will let yourselves. be entirely guided by my experience.” ‘“My friend,’’ Don: Miguel replied, with an aceent full of majesty; ‘‘ whatever. you may order, we will do ;,for, you alone can successfully carry out the difficult enterprise in which we are engagede”’ ‘*Good! I thank you for the obedience you promise me,my friend: without it, it would be impossible to succeed. | Now leayt me to arrange with the Indian,chiefs,”’ Valentine rose, made asign to, Curumilla and Eagle-wing, and the threesat downa short distance off. Valentine passed his eal- umet to Curumilla, who took a few whitfs and then handed it to; Eagle-wing, and he, after smoking also, returned it to the hunt- ‘* My brothers know why I have convened them in cowncil,;’’ Valentine said presently. ‘Lhe two chiefs bowed in reply, ** Very good,”’ he continued ; ‘‘ now what is tlie advice of my brother? Let the sachem of the Coras speak first. He is a wise chief, whose counsels can only be good for us.”’ ‘*Whyvy does Koutonepi oak the advice of his red brothers ?”? he said. ‘ Koutonepi is a great warrior; he has the eye of the eagle, the scent of the dog, the courage of the lion, and the prudence of the serpent. No one can discover better than him a trail lost in the sand: what Koutonepi does is well done: his brothers will follow him.”’ ‘*Thanks, chief,’ Valentine continued ‘‘but in what direction should we proceed ?” ‘*Red Cedar is the friend of Stanapat. after his defeat the scalp-hunter will) have sought a refuge with his friend.”’ ‘* That is also my opinion,’’ the hunter re- marked. ‘‘ What do you think, chief?’ he said, turning to Curumilla. The chief shook his head. “No,” he said, ‘* Red Cedar loves gold.”’ ‘¢'That is true,’’ said Valentine: ‘* besides, the Apaches are too near us. You are right, chief: we must therefore proceed north- ward ?”’ Curumilla nodded ‘an assent: ‘*No horses,’’ he said; ‘‘they destroy a trail.’’ “We will go on foot. Have you Red Ce- dar’s measure ?”’ Curumilla fumbled in his medicine-bag and produced an old worn moccasin. o “Ob!” Valentine said eagerly: ‘‘ that is better still; let us be off at once.” They broke up the conference. ‘* My friends,’’ the hunter said to the Mex- icans,*‘ this is what we have resolved on : you three, alone, will be mounted. Each of you will lead one of our horses, s0 that we may mount at the first signal. The two chiefs and myself will march on foot, in order to let no sign escape us. You will keep two hundred yards behind us: and as I noticed that there are at this mioment a great many trumpeter swans in the river, that will be our rallying ery. All this is arranged ad ‘‘ Yes,’ the three gentlemen answered unanimously. ve -. ** Good! now to'set out, and trynever to let us out of sight.”’ ‘* Be at your ease, my friend, about that,’’ the General said; ‘ we have too great anin- terest in not quitting you. What woald be- come of us alone, lost in this confounded desert ?”’ ‘*Come, come, something tells me that we shall suceceed,’’ Valentine said gayly, “‘ so ‘we will have courage.” ' “May heaven grant you are not mistaken, my friend,’’ Don Miguel said sadly. ‘*‘My poor child !” 5 a ‘‘ We will deliver her. I haye followed a more difficult trail before now.” With these consolatory words, the two In. dians and the bunter set out. Instead of taking Indian file, as ordinarily adopted ou = _ _ a Ate , » . 2