It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. The rays of the sun, falling more and more obliquely, were gradually lengthening the shadows of the trees; the birds were flying to their roosts, and nestling as they could under the foliage, with deafening cries and pipings. A few bands of prairie wolves were showing themselves here and there, snuffing the breeze, and preparing for their nocturnal chase among the tall grasses. At intervals, the lofty antlers of elks and antelopes were suddenly rising from amidst the herbage, the animals quickly throwing back their heads, and commencing a giddy flight into the distance. The sun, close on the verge of the horizon, looked like a globe of red fire behind the trunks of the stately trees. Everything announced the rapid approach of night.

In the virgin forest, about two hundred miles from the presidio of San Lucar, where the last terrible episodes of our story occurred, and in the centre of a vast clearing, two men, habited like the Mexican gambucinos, were sitting on buffalo skulls, beside a clear fire which gave forth no smoke. They were Don Estevan Diaz the mayor domo, and Luciano Pedralva the capataz. They held their rifles across their knees, ready for an emergency, and smoked their maize pajillos in silence. Several peones and arrieros were lying about a few paces off, and baggage mules were greedily munching the rations of Indian corn laid on mats before them. Eight or ten horses were tethered, to prevent their straying, close to a jacal (hut) of branches, the entrance to which was closed with a zarapé. A peon, standing motionless with cocked rifle on the borders of a little brook which meandered round the extremity of the clearing, watched over the common safety.

It was easy to perceive, from the fragments of all sorts which littered the ground, whence every vestige of grass had disappeared, and from the quarters of venison suspended from the boughs of a mahogany tree, that the encampment we have described was not one of those temporary resting places which the backwoodsmen choose for a night and quit at sunrise, but one of those more substantial camps which the hunters often establish as places of rendezvous for the trapping season.

The zarapé at the entrance to the jacal was lifted, and Don Pedro made his appearance on the scene. His features were pale, his expression was sad and pensive. He looked carefully around, went up to the two men seated by the fire, and spoke: "No news as yet?"

"None whatever," replied Don Estevan.

"This absence is incomprehensible; Don Fernando has never before stayed away from us so long."

"True," said the capataz; "it is more than thirty hours since he left us. Pray God, no misfortune may have happened."

"No," answered Don Estevan; "Don Fernando is too well acquainted with the desert to incur much danger."

"But think whereabouts we are," put in Don Pedro; "the country round about is infested by the most dangerous serpents; wild beasts swarm in every place."

"What does that matter, Don Pedro?" boldly answered Don Estevan; "You forget that Don Fernando and Stoneheart are one and the same; that in this region the greater part of his life was spent; that it is here, for long years, he was a bee-hunter, and gathered the cascarilla bark."

"But how do you explain his protracted absence?"

"You recollect, Don Pedro, with what disinterestedness our friend offered us his cooperation when, in despair at the sudden disappearance of Doña Hermosa, mad with grief, and impotent to act, we knew not what step to take to recover the lost one. We have been led from the presidio to this spot, following a trail invisible to all eyes save Don Fernando's, who, accustomed to reap the sublime lines of the wilderness, recognised it with singular ease and exactitude. The trail has suddenly vanished here – vanished in spite of the most minute and patient research. We have been eight days encamped in this place; and every morning, at sunrise, Don Fernando – whom obstacles seem to excite, rather than subdue – mounts and begins his search afresh. Hitherto his labour has been in vain. Yesterday he left us, as usual, at daybreak. Well, suppose the reason of his protracted absence, which makes you so restless, should be the finding, at some spot leagues away perchance, the signs we have sought for so long and unavailing?"

"God grant it, my good friend! Your idea glads my heart. But what traces could we find, after the painful exertions we have already made?"

"You forget, Don Pedro, that we have to deal with the Apaches, the most astute savages in the wilderness, the most acute of all the redskins in hiding their trail."

"Holloa!" exclaimed the capataz; "I hear the tread of a horse."

"Is it possible?" said Don Pedro joyfully.

"Yes," said Don Estevan; "I, too, hear a noise, but it is not the sound of one horse; there are two or three."

"Yet Don Fernando left the camp alone."

"He has probably encountered someone on the road," replied Don Estevan, laughing.

"You are wrong to joke with us in our circumstances; it is almost an insult to my sorrow."

"Heaven preserve me from such an intention, Don Pedro! The sound is coming nearer. We shall soon see what we have to do. I should not be at all surprised if Don Fernando has laid hands upon some Indian marauder, at the very moment when, concealed by the underwood, he was watching our camp, and spying out our movements."

"¡Canarios! It is he himself!" cried the capataz.

In fact, the clear and sonorous voice of Don Fernando replied to the challenge of the sentry, and two horsemen pushed through the thick underwood which surrounded the clearing and formed a kind of natural rampart.

Don Fernando brought with him a man whom he had firmly bound to a horse to prevent his escape. As to the prisoner, he seemed to bear his capture lightly. He swayed himself comfortably in his saddle, comported himself with an air of assurance, and looked altogether as impudent as possible. On reaching the fire, where our personages were assembled, he saluted them with a grimace, unabashed by the looks of the standers-by.

He was no other than our friend Tonillo el Zapote, whom we have presented to our readers on several occasions.

Don Fernando was very warmly and heartily greeted. His friends burnt with impatience to question him; and their curiosity was the more excited, as the frank and almost joyful expression of his features led them to suppose he was the bearer of good news. Don Fernando dismounted, embraced his friends, and unbuckled the girth which strapped the prisoner's legs under the belly of his horse, thus giving him the use of his limbs.

"Good," said the vaquero, "many thanks, Don Fernando. I have had quite enough of it. My legs are tingling as if a million of pins were stuck in them." He sprang to the ground; but he had spoken truly; his benumbed limbs could not support the weight of his body, and he fell heavily. The capataz hastened to raise him. "It is a mere nothing," said the vaquero, honouring him with a gracious smile; "yet I thank you, caballero. In five minutes the circulation will be restored, and no harm done. But if it is the same to you, Don Fernando, pray do not pull the buckle so tight another time."

"It will depend upon yourself, Zapote. Swear you will make no attempt at escape, and I will set you free."

"If that is all," cried the vaquero, gaily, "we shall soon strike a bargain. I swear, by all my hopes of Paradise, not to slip away."

"Enough! I will trust you."

"An honest man sticks to his word," answered El Zapote; "you will have no cause of complaint against me. I am the bond-slave of my word."

"It will be all the better for you if that is the truth. But I am doubtful about it, particularly after your late conduct towards me, in spite of the protestations and offers of service you made me."

The vaquero showed no signs of embarrassment at this straightforward thrust. "Men endowed with certain good qualities are sure to be misunderstood," he replied in a wheedling tone; "I never broke the promise I made you."

"Not when, after introducing Indians and other rascals of your own kind into the presidio, you laid an infamous snare for me, and led me into an ambuscade?"

"Yes, Señor Don Fernando; I was faithful even under the circumstances you mention."

"¡Rayo de Dios!" impatiently exclaimed the latter; "I should be glad to learn how you can prove your fidelity there."

"Good Heavens, señor! I was faithful after my own fashion."

This answer was so extraordinary and unexpected, that the bystanders could not refrain from laughing. El Zapote bowed gravely, with the proud humility common to men of doubtful talent, who in their inmost soul consider themselves unappreciated geniuses.

"After all," said Don Fernando, carelessly shrugging his shoulders, "we shall soon see. I know pretty well the extent of this elastic fidelity."

El Zapote returned no answer; he merely raised his eyes to heaven, as if to invoke it as a witness of the injustice done to him, and crossed his arms on his breast.

"Before telling you anything, let me have something to eat," said Don Fernando, "I am fainting from inanition; I have neither eaten or drank since I left the camp."

Don Estevan hastened to place provisions before him, to which he and his prisoner did great honour. However, the meal was short. Don Fernando's appetite was soon appeased; he gave a sigh of satisfaction, after slaking his thirst in the limpid brook, came and sat down beside the others, and, without putting their curiosity to further torture, began to explain the causes of his prolonged absence in all their details. Don Estevan had judged correctly; Don Fernando had really discovered the trail so long fruitlessly sought for. The trail took a south-west direction, towards the most unexplored regions of the Far West. He had followed it with a trapper's indomitable patience for several hours, in order to be well assured that it was the true trail, and not an Indian artifice to turn his steps astray.

The redskins, when they fear pursuit, and cannot hide their trail, entangle so skilfully the many tracks they purposely make, and throw them all into such hopeless confusion, that it is generally impossible to distinguish the right one. On this occasion they had used a similar artifice with such dexterity and success, that they would have managed to outwit and lead astray any hunter less adroit than Stoneheart. But he, accustomed from childhood to their wiles, did not suffer himself to be hoodwinked, particularly as he thought he had recognised some peculiar signs, which would have escaped the observation of a less experienced woodman. Don Fernando, delighted with his discovery, had rapidly commenced his return to the camp, without neglecting any of the prudential measures requisite in a country where every bush may conceal a foe, when it struck him that the grass in a certain spot was waving in a manner not wholly natural. He dropped quietly from his horse, and, without other arms than the knife he carried in an iron ring at his girdle, and a pistol, crept towards the suspected spot, crawling on hands and knees with the speed and silence of a snake gliding through grass.

After a quarter of an hour's work, he reached the place, and with difficulty repressed a cry of joy on seeing El Zapote comfortably seated on the ground, the bridle of his horse passed over his left arm, and finishing a copious meal.

Don Fernando drew a few paces nearer, in order to be sure of his man; then, having carefully measured the distance, with a spring like a jaguar he seized the vaquero by the throat, and had him bound beyond the possibility of resistance before El Zapote had recovered from his astonishment. "Aha!" said he, seating himself beside his prisoner, "what a singular chance! How are you, Zapote?"

"You are very kind, caballero; I cough a little." And he put his hand to his threat.

"Poor fellow! I hope it is of no consequence."

"I hope, too, that no evil consequences may ensue, señor; nevertheless, I am not quite easy about it."

"Pooh! Cast aside your anxiety. I will cure you."

"Do you know a remedy, caballero?"

"Yes; an excellent one, which I propose to apply to you."

"A thousand thanks, señor! But perhaps that would give you too much trouble?"

"None in the world. Judge for yourself. I propose to knock out your brains with the butt end of a pistol."

The vaquero shuddered when the words were uttered; but he would not give in. "You really think that remedy would cure me?" said he.

"Radically, I am convinced."

"It may seem very odd, caballero; but, with all due deference, I am obliged to observe, that I am of a totally different opinion."

"You are wrong," replied Don Fernando, coolly cocking a pistol; "you will soon find how efficacious it is."

"And you really think, señor, there is no other remedy?"

"By my faith, I see no other."

"But it seems to me a little too violent."

"You only think so. I tell you again, you are Wrong."

"Possibly so. I would not take the liberty of contradicting you, caballero. Have you any great wish to administer the remedy on this particular spot?"

"I? Not at all! Do you know any more fitting place?"

"I think I do, señor."

"And whereabouts is the place, comrade?"

"Good heavens! caballero, I may be mistaken; but still, I think it would be a pity so marvellous a secret as this remedy should be lost, for want of an eyewitness to its efficacy. Consequently, I wish you to take me where we can find one."

"Very well! I suppose you know of such a place, not very far hence?"

"Yes, caballero; I even fancy you would be charmed to see those to whom I wish to present you."

"That depends upon who they are."

"You know them very well, señor: one of them is the Tigercat – a most amiable caballero."

"And you will undertake to lead me to him?"

"Whenever you please: this very instant if you like."

Don Fernando replaced the pistol in his belt. "Not directly. No," he said; "we must first report ourselves at the camp, where my friends expect me. I find you are not quite so ill as I thought; and I need not administer my remedy just now. We can always fall back upon it some other time, if it is necessary."

"I can assure you, there is no hurry at all," replied the vaquero, trying an engaging smile.

Thus the business was concluded between the two men, who, knowing each other for a long time were perfectly aware of what each could expect from the other. Don Fernando put no faith in Tonillo; so he took good care to remove all temptation to stray from his side, by leaving him bound as he was – a proceeding against which the vaquero did not remonstrate.

But as night had fallen while they were talking, they made such arrangements as they could for sleeping where they were, giving up all idea of rejoining the camp until the morrow. Two or three times in the course of the night the vaquero surreptitiously tried to free himself from the bonds in which he lay; but each time he endeavoured to put his project into execution, he saw the large blue eyes of the hunter fixed steadfastly upon him.

"Do you still feel indisposed?" he asked, the last time the prisoner made his attempt.

"Not at all!" replied the vaquero hastily; "Not at all."

"I am glad to hear it; but," added he slowly, and emphatically, "your inability to sleep made me anxious about you."

The vaquero took the hint, shut his eyes without another word, and did not open them again till daylight.

Don Fernando was already alert, and had saddled the horses. "Aha! Awake at last?" said he.

"Have you slept well?"

"Capitally; only I feel a little numb. Gentle exercise would soon restore the circulation."

"The effects of the dew," said the hunter imperturbably; "the nights are cold."

"The devil!" said the vaquero, grinning. "I hope I shall not catch the rheumatism."

"I think not. The ride will do you good."

While he said this, Don Fernando had hoisted his companion on his shoulders, and thrown him across one of the horses. But on second thoughts, he freed his legs, and set him upright in the saddle; reflecting that useless cruelty would only harden the man against him, who could give such precious information when the proper moment arrived. The vaquero, who feared he was about to make the journey slung over the horse like a bale of merchandise, felt grateful for the half-liberty allowed him, and made no objection when Don Fernando took the precaution of buckling his legs together under his horse's belly.

In this manner the two men rode to the camp, talking on different matters, and apparently the best friends in the world.

CHAPTER XVI.
PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE

All the time Don Fernando was telling his story, El Zapote had assumed the nonchalant attitude of a man perfectly satisfied with himself; nodding his head affirmatively at certain passages, and smiling at others with an air of modest gratification. When the former ceased speaking, he thought it time to put in his word also.

"You see, señores, I made no objection whatever to following this estimable caballero; which means to say, that I am ready to obey all commands you may please to lay on me."

"Here is a compliment," said Don Fernando, with a malicious smile, "which would evidently have been addressed to others, but for the surprise of yesterday!"

"Oh, fie, caballero!" retorted the vaquero, assuming a look of indignant denial.

"But," continued Stoneheart, "I will not vex you on that score; your secret feelings towards me affect me in nowise. I thought I had given you ample proof a long while ago how little I dread you in any way. I will content myself with remarking, that, more generous than you, I have several times held your life in my hands, and never abused the power."

"On that account I am deeply grateful to you, señor."

"Pooh, pooh, Señor Zapote!" replied Stoneheart, shrugging his shoulders; "You have quite mistaken your man. I have no more belief in your gratitude than in your good feelings towards me, and I have only refreshed your memory in this respect to induce you to reflect that, if I have hitherto condescended to pardon you, the amount of courtesy I could afford to expend on you is at length exhausted, and on the next occasion matters will end very differently between us."

"I perfectly understand your meaning, señor; but, please God, such an occasion, I am quite sure, will never present itself. I repeat, once for all, that I have given you my word, and, you know, an honest man sticks – "

"No more!" broke in Stoneheart. "I wish it may be so, for your own sake. However that may be, listen attentively."

"I am all ears, señor; I will not lose a word."

"Although I am still young, Señor Tonillo, I know one important truth not very creditable to humanity. If one wishes to attract a man, and insure his fidelity, one must not attempt to act upon his virtues, but make sure of him through his vices. You are more richly endowed with these last than most men I know."

The vaquero made a modest bow in acknowledgment of the compliment. "Señor," he said, "you cover me with confusion; such praise – "

"Is richly deserved," continued Stoneheart. "I have seen few men in possession of such a formidable assortment of vices as you, my friend. Yours are so many, that I was at a loss which to select. But among these vices are a few more prominent than the rest: for instance, your avarice has acquired a prodigious development; I am going to appeal to your avarice."

The vaquero's eyes sparkled with greed. "What do you want me to do?" said he.

"First, let me tell you what I will give you; after that, I will explain what I require."

The leering, cunning face of the bandit instantly grew serious; and, leaning his elbows on his knees, he stretched out his head to listen to Stoneheart's words.

"You know I am rich, and can have no doubt that I am able to fulfil any engagement with you into which I may enter. However, to save time, and deprive you of any pretext to betray me, I will immediately place in your hands three diamonds, each worth two thousand five hundred piastres You are so well acquainted with precious stones, that a single glance will convince you of their value. These diamonds are yours. I make you a present of them. Nevertheless, if you prefer it, I engage to pay you what they are worth; that is to say, to forward seven thousand five hundred piastres on your first demand, after our return to San Lucar, in exchange for the jewels."

"And you have got the diamonds about you?" said the vaquero, in a voice half stifled with emotion.

"Here they are!" replied Stoneheart, drawing from his bosom a small deerskin bag, and taking out three good-sized jewels, which he placed in the vaquero's hands.

The latter clutched them with a glee he did not attempt to conceal, looked at them for a moment with eyes sparkling with triumph, and hid them carefully in his bosom.

"Wait a moment!" said Stoneheart, with a curious smile; "I have not yet told you the conditions."

"Whatever they may be, I accept them, señor. ¡Caspita! seven thousand five hundred piastres! It is a fortune to a poor devil like me! No navajada will ever bring me in as much, however well they pay me!"

"Then you want no time for consideration?"

"¡Canarios! I should think not! Whom am I to kill?"

"No one," briefly answered Stoneheart. "Listen to me: all you have to do is to lead me to the place where the Tigercat has taken refuge."

The vaquero shook his head discontentedly at this proposal. "I cannot do it, caballero. By all my hopes hereafter, it is impossible!"

"Very well," said Stoneheart. "I forgot to mention another little thing."

"What is it, señor?" asked the vaquero, in great trouble at the turn the conversation was taking.

"A very trifling matter. If you do not accept my proposal, I will instantly blow out your brains."

El Zapote examined the speaker's face most carefully; with a rascal's intuitive perception, he felt that the time for pleasantry was over, and matters were threatening to become serious. "At least give me leave to explain, señor," said he.

"I ask no better," said Stoneheart coldly. "I am in no hurry."

"I cannot lead you to the Tigercat's hiding place – I swear so; but I can direct you to it, and tell you its name."

"That is something. Go on; we have already made some progress. I see we shall come to an understanding. I am in despair at finding myself obliged to use extreme measures; it is so disagreeable."

"Unhappily, señor, I have told you all. This is what happened: the Tigercat, after his flight from the presidio, collected some score of resolute men, of whom I was one, who comprehended that for some time to come the Mexican Confederation would be too hot to hold them, and resolved to plunge into the wilderness, in order to give the storm time to blow over. All went well for a little while, when the Tigercat suddenly changed his route; and, instead of leading us to overrun the country of the Apaches, took us to the district of the bee-hunters and cascarilla gatherers."

"He has done that?" exclaimed Stoneheart, starting with surprise and terror.

"Yes, señor. You can understand how little I cared for a game of life and death, in regions infested by the fiercest beasts of prey, and, worse than that, by serpents whose bite is mortal. Seeing that the Tigercat was seriously bent upon taking refuge in this horrible country, I confess, señor, I got terribly frightened; and at the risk of dying with hunger, or being scalped by the redskins in the desert, I quietly dropped to the rear, and profited by the first opportunity to give the Tigercat the slip."

Stoneheart fixed on the vaquero a gaze which seemed to search his inmost soul; the latter bore it manfully.

"It is well," he said, "I see you have not lied. How long is it since you left the Tigercat?"

"Only four days, señor. As I do not know this part of the wilderness, I was wandering about at a venture, when I had the good fortune to fall in with you."

"Indeed! Now, what is the name of the place to which the Tigercat intended to lead you?"

"El Voladero de las Ánimas," answered the vaquero, without hesitation.

Stoneheart instantly grew pale as death at this information; and yet he had almost expected it, from the cruel and implacable character of his former teacher.

"Alas!" cried he; "The unfortunate girl is lost! This wretch has carried her into a very nest of serpents!"

The bystanders were dreadfully agitated.

"What is this horrible place?" said Don Pedro.

"Alas! El Voladero de las Ánimas is an accursed region, into which the hardiest bee-hunters and boldest cascarilleros scarcely dare to enter. The Voladero is a lofty mountain, which frowns over an immense expanse of swamps swarming with cobras, coral snakes, and others, whose slightest bite kills the strongest man in ten minutes. For ten leagues around this dread mountain, the country is alive with reptiles and venomous insects, against which how shall man defend himself!"

"Great God!" cried Don Pedro, in despair; "And it is to this hell they have carried my darling child!"

"Calm yourself," said Stoneheart, who perceived the necessity of restoring a little courage to the poor father; "the Tigercat knows this accursed place too well to enter it without taking the needful precautions. The swamps alone are to be dreaded; the Voladero is free from these noxious animals; the air is too pure, and its elevation too great for them to live there. Not one attempts to scale it. Courage, then! If your daughter, as I hope, has reached the Voladero alive, she is in safety."

"But, alas!" replied Don Pedro, "How are we to cross this impassable barrier; how reach my daughter, without encountering certain death?"

An indefinable smile illumined the features of Don Fernando. "I will reach her, Don Pedro," he exclaimed, in firm and resolute tones. "Have you forgotten that I am Stoneheart, the most renowned bee-hunter of the prairies? The Tigercat confided all his secrets to me when we were not only bee-hunters but cascarilleros. Courage, I say; all is not yet lost."

If a man who is struck down with some dire and and unexpected calamity has a friend beside him, whose stout heart and cheering words bid him hope, his prostrate courage revives, however faint and problematical the hope may be, and, confiding in the prospect held out to him, he gathers fresh energy for the approaching struggle. This was exactly what happened to Don Pedro. The speech of Stoneheart, who, for weeks past, had worked hard for him, – whom he had learned to love, and in whom he had entire confidence, – revived his hope and courage as if by magic.

"And now," said Stoneheart, addressing the vaquero, "tell me how the Tigercat treated his prisoners. You remained with him long enough to give me reliable information on this point."

"As far as that goes, señor, I can answer without hesitation, that his attention to the señorita's welfare was unceasing; he watched over her with anxious care, often shortening the day's march for fear of overtiring her."

His hearers breathed more freely. This solicitude on the part of one who respected neither God nor man seemed to indicate better intentions than they had a right to expect.

Stoneheart continued his interrogations. "Do you know the nature of the Tigercat's conversations with Doña Hermosa?"

"I overheard one, señor. The poor señorita was very sad: she dared not weep openly, for fear of offending the chief; but her eyes were always filled with tears, and her breast heaved with stifled sobs. One day, during a halt, she was sitting apart at the foot of a tree, her eyes fixed on the road we had just travelled, and large tears coursing down her cheeks. The Tigercat advanced towards her, looked at her for a moment with mingled pity and displeasure, and addressed her in nearly the following words: 'Child, it is useless to look back; those you expect will not come. No one shall tear you from my hands till the time comes when I shall think fit to restore you to freedom. To you alone I owe the ruin of my projects, and the massacre of my friends at San Lucar. I know it well. Therefore I carried you off, for vengeance' sake. But this I will tell you, for your consolation and encouragement: my revenge shall not be harsh; within a month I will give you to him you love.' The señorita looked at him incredulously; he perceived it, and continued, in a tone of implacable malice: 'My most earnest wish is to see you some day the bride of Don Fernando Carril: I have never lost sight of this. Take courage, then; dry those useless tears, which only disfigure you, – for I swear to you I will carry out my resolve, the very day and hour I have appointed.' Having said this, he left her, without waiting for the answer Doña Hermosa was about to make. I happened to be lying on the grass, a few paces from the lady. The Tigercat either did not notice me, or thought me asleep. That is how I overheard their conversation. To the best of my belief, that is the only time the chief ever conversed with his prisoner, although he continued to treat her well."

When the vaquero ceased, a long silence ensued, caused by the strangeness of this revelation. Stoneheart racked his brains in vain endeavours to discover a motive for the Tigercat's conduct. He recalled the words the chief had once uttered in his presence, – words which agreed with what he had just heard; for even at that time the old man seemed to take delight in the project. But Stoneheart vainly tried to find a solution to the question, why he should act thus.

In the meanwhile the sun had gone down, and night set in with the rapidity peculiar to intertropical climates, in which there is no twilight. It was one of those delicious nights of Southern America which are replete with sweet odours and airy melody. The dark blue sky was enamelled with a countless number of golden stars. The moon, now at the full, showered down a flood of soft and glorious light; and the transparent atmosphere made distant objects seem close at hand. The night wind tempered the oppressive heat of the day; and the men seated in front of the jacal inhaled with delight the refreshing breeze that whispered among the foliage, surrendering themselves to the influence of the night, which stole upon them with all its seductive languor.