Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 20 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

—EE hatred which existed between Fray Ambro- -sio and Red Cedar; but the Coras had kept this discovery in his heart, intending to take advantage of it when the opportunity pre- sented itself. , “*Chief,”’ the monk said, ‘‘do you suspect who the allies are Red Cedar has gone to seek ?”” “<a *““No;”’ the other replied; ‘how should I know ?” ‘‘ Still it must interest you, for you are not so great a friend of his as you would like to appear.”’ “The Indians haye a very dense mind; iet my father explain himself so that L may understand him, and be able to answer him.” “Listen,” the monk continued, in a dry voice and with a sharp accent, ‘‘I know who yoa are: your disguise, clever and exact though it be, was not sufficient to deceive me; at the first glance 1 recognized you. Do you believe that if | Lad said to Red Ce- dar, this man is a spy or a traitor; he has crept among us to make us fall into a trap prepared long beforehand; in a word, this man is no other than Moukapec, the prin- cipal chief of the Coras—do you believe, I say, that Red Cedar would have hesitated to blow out your brains, eh, chief? Answer.”’ During these words, whose signiticance was terrible to him, the Coras had remained unmoved; not a muscle of his face had quivered. When the monk ceased speaking, he smiled disdainfully, and contented himself with replying in a haughty yoice, while look- ing at him fixedly: “Why did not my father tell this to the sealp-huuter? He was wrong.” The monk was quite coniounded by this reply, which he was farfrom expecting; he understood that he had before him one of those energetic natures over which threats have no power. Still he had advanced too far to draw back: he resolved to go on to the end, whatever might happen. ‘* Perhaps,” he said, with an evil smile; ‘‘at any rate, I have it in my power to warn our ehief on bis return.” *“My father will act as he thinks proper,” the chief replied, drily; ‘‘ Moukapee is a re- nowned warrior; the barking of the coyotes never terrified him.” *“Come, come, Indian, you are wrong,” Garote interposed ; “ youare mistaken as to the padre’s intentions with respect to you; I am perfectly convfnced that he does not wish to injure you in any way.” **Moukapec is not an old woman woo can be cheated with words,’’ the Coras said; ‘*he cares little for the present intentions of the man, who, during the burning of his village and the massacre of his brothers, excited his enemies to murder and arson. The chief follows his vengeance alone ; he will know how to attain it without allying himself ‘to one of his foes to get it. I hive spoken.” After uttering these words, the Indian chief rose, dressed himself in his buffalo- robe, and withdrew, leaving the two Mexi- cans disconcerted by this resistance, which they were far from anticipating. Both looked after him for awhile with ad- mirdtion mingled with anger. ~ Hom !”” the monk at length murmured ; “dog of a savage, Indian, brute, beast, he shall pay me for it.”’ “Take care, Senor Padre,’’? Andres said ; “*we are not in luck at this moment. Let us leave this man, with whom we can effect nothing, and seek something else. Every man reaches his point who knows how to wait, and the moment will arrive to avenge ourselves on him; till then, Jet us dissimu- late—that is the best thing, [ believe, for us to do.” “Did you notice that, on leaving us, Red Cedar did not say a syllable about his pris- oner ?”’ ‘* Por what good? He knows that she js in erfect safety here; any flight from this is- and is impossible.” “That is true; but why did he carry off this woman ?”’ ““Who Knows? Red Cedaris one of those men whose thoughts it is always dangerous tosound. Up to the present, we can not read his conduct ¢learly enough ; let him return } perhaps then the object he has in view will be unfolded to us.”’ ** That woman annoys me here,’’ the monk said, in a hollow voice. _ ** What’s to be done? Down there at Santa Fé I did not hesitate to serve you in trying to getrid of her; but now it is too late— it would be madness to dream of it. What matter to us, after all, whether she be with us, or not? Beli¢ve me, make up your mind ‘to it, and spéak no more about it. Bah! she will not prevent us reaching the placer.” * The monk shook his head with a dissatis- fied air, but made no reply. ‘ Andres wrapped himself in his zarape, lay down On the ground, and fell asleep. 4) ray Ambrosio, for ‘his part, remained plunged in gloomy thoughts, The What was he thinking of ?.. Some treach- ery doubtless. Vheu the woman, who ‘had been leaning against the,tree, perceiyed that the conver- sation was at an end, she glided softly away, and re-entered the cabin. CHAPTER VIL. BLLEN AND DONA OLARA. Since she had fallen into the power of Red Cedar, Dona Clara, a prey to a gloomy sorrow, had yielded unresistingly to her. ab- ductors, despairiug ever to escape from ‘them; especially since she had seen the men in whose power she was, definitely take the road to the desert. For a maiden, accustomed to all the re- finements of luxury, and all those little at- tentions which a father’s love continually lavished on her, the new existence commen- cing was an uninterrupted suecession. of tortures, among half-savage ruffians, whose brutal ways and coarse language constantly made her fear insults she would have been too weak. to repulse. Still, up to this moment, Red Cedar’s con- duct had been—we will not say respectful, for the squatter was ignorant, of such refine- ments—but, af any.rate, proper ;. that is to say, he had affected to pay no attention, to her, while ordering his men not to. trouble her in-any way. Dona Clara had been intrusted, by the scalp-hunter to his wife Betsy and his daugh- ter Ellen. Ellén had constituted herself, on her. pri- vate authority, the friend of the prisoner, to whom she rendered all thosesmall services her position allowed her, with a delicacy and tact little to be expected from a girl educated in the desert by a father like hers. At. the, outset, Dona Clara, absorbed in her grief, had paid no attention to Ellen’s kindness, but gradually, in spite of herself, the young American’s unchanging gentle- ness, and her patience, which nothing _re- buffed, affected her; she had felt the services which the other occasionally rendered her, and had gradually learned to. feel for the squatter’s daughter a degree of gratitude which presently ripened into friendship. Youth is naturally confiding ; when a great rief oppresses, it, the. meed, of; intrusting that grief to a person who seems to sympa- thize with it, renders it expansive. Alone among the. bandits, to whom chance bad. handed her over,. Dona Clara .must inevitably—so soon as the first paroxysm uf suffering had passed—seek for some one. te console her, and help her to endure the im- mense misfortune that crushed her. And this had occurred much more rapidly than under ordinary circumstances, thanks to the sympathizing kindness of the youn American, who had in afew hours foun the way to her heart. Red Cedar, whom nothing eseaped, smiled cunningly at the friendship of the two maid- ens, Which, however, he feigned not to per- ceive. It was.a strange thing, but. this scalp- hunter, this man that seemed to have not ing human about him, who perspired crime af every pore, whose ferocity was unbounded, had in his heart one feeling which attached him victoriously to the human family: a profound, illimitable love for Ellen—the love of the tiger for its cubs. This frail girl was the sole creature for whom his heart beat more violently. How great, how pos het th was the love Red Cedar experienced for this simple child! it was a worship, an adoration. A word from her little mouth caused the ferocious bandit to feel indescribable delight; a smile from her rosy lips overwhelmed him with happiness. By her charming caresses, her gentle and insinuating words, Ellen had power to govern despotically that gathering of birds of prey which was her family. he chaste kiss his daughter gave him every morning, was the sunbeam that for the whole day warmed the heart of the ter- rible bandit, before whom everybody tem- bled, and who himself trembled at a slight frown from her, who combined all the joy and happiness of his life. It was with extreme satisfaction that he saw his daughter become bis innocent. ac- complice by acquiring the confidence or’ his prisoner, and gaining her friendship. This entle girl was in his sight the seciuwzest jailer he could give Dona Clara. Hence, im order to facilitate,as far as pos- sible, all that could enhance the friends hip, he had completely closed his eyes, and fiign- ed to be ignorant of the approximation be- tween the two girls. ; Tt was Ellen who had listened to the con- versation between the monk and Andres Ga- rote, ' At the momentshe was re-entering the hut the stifled sound of voices. induced her to lis- ten. Dona Clara was spéaking in a low voice a | to a man and that man was the sachem of the Coras. Ellen, surprised in the highest degree, listened anxiously to their conversation, which soon greatly interested her, After leaving the two Mexicans, Eagle wing had, for some minutes, walked about the camp with affected carelessness, intend- ed.to remove the suspicions of any who might have been tempted to watch his moye ments. When he found he had dispelled any sus- vicions, the Indian chief insensibly drew nearer to the cabin, which served as a refuge to the maidens, and entered it, after assur- ing himself by a glance, that no one was watching. Dona Clara was alone at this raoment. We have told the reader where Ellen was; as for the squatter’s wife, faithful to her hus- band’s instructions pot to annoy the prisoner in any way, she was quietly sleeping by the fire in the clearing. The maiden, with her head bowed on-he1 bosom, was plunged in deep and sad thought. At the sound of the Indian’g steps,..she raised her head, and could not restrain a start of terror on seeing him, Eagle-wing immediately perceived the im- pression he produced on her; he stopped ou the threshold of the cabin, folded his arms on his chest, and bowed respectfully. “My sister need not be alarmed,’’ he said in a Pane and insinuating voice; “itis a friend who is’ speaking to her.”’ ‘A friend !’’. Dena Clara murmured, asshe took a side-glance at him; ‘‘the unfor- tunate have no friends.”’ The Indian drew a few steps nearer to her, and went on, as he bent over her: “The jaguar has been forced to put onthe skin of the crafty serpent, inorder to intro- duce himself among his enemies, and gain their confidence. Does not my sister recog- nize me?’ The Mexican girl reflected for a moment, and then answered with hesitation, and look- ing at him attentively : “ Although the sound, of your voice is not a..familiar to me, I seek in vain to remember where, and under what circumstances I have already secn you.”’ ‘*My sister need not seek, it will be use- less,”’ Eagle-wing continued ; ‘‘I prefer tell- ing her my name at once, for moments are precious. Iam Moukapec, the great chief of the Coras, of the Del Norte. . My sister’s father and my sister herself often helped the poor Indians of my tribe.”’ ‘““That is true,’’ the maiden said, sadly. “On! Ll remember now. Poor peopie! they were pitilessly massacred, and their vil- lage fired by the Apaches. Oh! I know that horrible story.” A sardonic smile played round the chief's lips at these words, ** Coyote does not eat coyote,’’ he said, in & hollow voice; ‘‘the jaguars do not wage war op jaguars. They were not Indians who assassinated the Coras, but scalp-hunters,”’ “Oh !’” she said, in horror. ** Let my sister listen,” the Coras continu- ed quickly; “now that Lhave told her my name, she must place confidence in me,” ‘““Yes,”” she answered, eagerly, ‘‘ for | know the nobility of your character,” ‘*Thanks!.I am here for my sister’s sake alone. I have sworn fo Save her, and restore yer to her father “Alas!” she murmured sadly, “* that is impossible. You are alone, and we are sur- rounded by enemies... .The bandits who ard us are a hundred-fold more cruel than be ferocious beasts of the desert.’’ ““T do not know yet in what way 1 shall set about saving my sister,’’ the chief said, realy» “but I shall sueceed if she is will- ng.’ ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed with energy, “if 1 am willing! Whatever requires to be done, I will do without hesitation. My courage will not fail me, be assured of that, chief.”’ “Good!” the Indian said with Joys ‘“my sister is truly a daughter of the xican kings. I count on her when the moment arrives... Red Cedar is absent for a few days ; I will go and prepare every thing for my sis- ter’s flight.”’ | “*Go, chief; at the first sign from you I shall be ready to follow you.’ -**Good!. I retire;, my sister can take courage, she will soon be free.” , The Indian bowed to the maiden, and pre- pared to leave the hut. Suddenly, a hand was laid on his shoulder. At this unexpected touch, in spite of his seli-command, the chief could not repress a start of terror. He turned, and Red Cedar’s daughter stood before him, with a smile on ber lips, ‘ ‘“‘I have heard all,’”’ she said in her pure and melodious voice. ,_ 4 ithe le chief bent along andsed look on Dona ara. Pe , s his emotion,”’ Ellen continued e whtent hai on your features? Ido not mean to betray you, forl am a friend of Dona