The Pirates of the Prairies Part 41

"I must, for am I not your slave?"

She smiled proudly.

"Take care, Nina! I know not what has happened between this girl and yourself, but I am conscious that vengeance often produces very bitter fruits, Perhaps you will repent hereafter what you do today?"

"What matter? I shall be avenged. That thought will render me strong, and give me the courage to suffer."

"Then, you are quite resolved?"

"Irrevocably."

"I will obey."

"Thanks, my kind father," she said, eagerly; "thanks for your devotion."

"Do not thank me," the Pirate said, sadly; "perhaps you will curse me some day."

"Oh, never!"

"May Heaven grant it!"

With these words, the accomplices separated.

Pedro re-entered the tent allotted to him, while the Gazelle rejoined Ellen, who was still sleeping her untroubled sleep, smiling at the pleasant dreams that lulled her.

Curumilla lay down again at the entrance of the lodge.

CHAPTER XXVII.

SHAW.

We have said that Dona Clara had disappeared.

At the moment when the struggle was most obstinate, Valentine, taking Dona Clara in his arms, leaped from the top of the lodge on which he had hitherto been fighting, intrusted the maiden to Shaw, and rushed back into the fight at the head of the Comanches, who, recovering from the terror caused by the unforeseen attack of their implacable foes the Apaches, gradually a.s.sembled to the powerful war cry of their chief, Pethonista.

"Watch over her," Valentine said to Red Cedar's son; "watch over her, and, whatever may happen, save her."

Shaw took the maiden in his powerful arms, threw her over his shoulder, and with flashing eye and quivering lip, he brandished his axe, that fearful squatter's instrument he never laid aside, and rushed head foremost among the Apaches, resolved to die or break the human barrier that rose menacingly before him.

Like a boar at bay, he dashed madly forward, felling and trampling mercilessly on all who attempted to bar his progress. A living catapult, he advanced step by step over a pile of corpses, incessantly dropping his axe, which he raised again dripping with blood. He had only one thought left--to save Dona Clara or die!

In vain did the Apaches collect around him; like an implacable reaper, he cut them down as ripe corn, while laughing that dry and hoa.r.s.e grin, a nervous contraction which affects a man who has reached the last stage of rage or madness.

In fact, at this moment, Shaw was no longer a man, but a demon.

Trampling over the quivering bodies that fell beneath the terrible blows of his axe, feeling the body of her for whose safety he fought trembling on his shoulder, he struggled without stopping in his impossible task, but resolved to cut a hole, at all risks, through the human wall constantly arising before him.

Shaw was a man of tried courage, long habituated to fighting, and pitiless to the redskins. But alone, on this night, only illumined by the blood-red hue of the fire, and confined in a fatal circle, he felt a great fear involuntarily coming over him; he breathed with difficulty, his teeth were clenched, an icy perspiration ran down his body, and he felt on the point of succ.u.mbing.

Falling would have been death. He would have immediately disappeared under the avalanche of ferocious Indians yelling around him.

This discouragement did not last so long as a lightning flash. The young man, sustained by that hope which springs eternal in the human breast, as well as by his love for Dona Clara, prepared to continue the unequal contest.

Bounding like a jaguar, he hurled himself into the thick of the fight.

This contest of a single man against a swarm of enemies had something grand and startling about it. Shaw, as if under the influence of a horrible nightmare, struggled in vain against the incessantly renewed cloud of foemen; in him every feeling of self had vanished, he no longer reflected, his life had become entirely physical, his movements were automatic, his arms rose and fell with the rigid regularity of a pendulum.

He had managed, without knowing how, to clear the fortifications of the village; at a few paces from him the Gila flowed silently on, and appeared to him in the moonlight like an immense silver ribbon. Could he reach the river, he was saved; but there is a limit which human strength, however great it may be, cannot go beyond, and Shaw felt that he was reaching this limit.

He took an anxious glance around; Apaches hemmed him in on all sides! He uttered a sigh, for he thought that he was about to die. At this solemn moment, when all was about to fail him, a final shriek burst from his chest. A cry of agony and despair, of terrifying meaning, and re-echoed for a second far and wide, so that it drowned all the battle sounds; it was the parting protest of a man who at length confesses himself conquered by fatality, and who, before succ.u.mbing, summons his fellow men to his aid, or implores the succour of Heaven.

A cry answered his! Shaw, astonished, unable to count on a miracle, as his friends were too far off and themselves too busy to help him, fancied himself the victim of a dream or hallucination; still, collecting all his strength, feeling hope well up again in his heart, he gave vent to a more startling shout than the former.

"Courage!"

This time, it was not echo that answered him.

Courage! This word alone was borne on the wings of the wind, weak as a sigh, and, in spite of the horrible yells of the Apaches, was distinctly heard by Shaw.

In moments of frenzy, or when a man is at bay, the senses acquire a perfection for which it is impossible otherwise to account. Like the giant Antaeus, Shaw drew himself up, and seemed restored to that life which was on the point of leaving him. He redoubled his blows on his innumerable enemies, and at length succeeded in breaking through the barrier they opposed to him.

Several hors.e.m.e.n appeared galloping over the plain; shots illumined the darkness with their transient flash, and men, or rather demons, rushed suddenly on the throng of the Apaches, and commenced a frightful carnage. The redskins, surprised by their unexpected attack, rushed toward the village, uttering yells of terror: their prey had escaped them.

Shaw had fought bravely and firm as a rock up to the last moment; but when his enemies disappeared, he sank to the ground in a state of unconsciousness.

How long did he remain in this state? He could not say: but when he recovered his senses it was night. He fancied at first, that only a few hours had elapsed since the terrible struggle he had undergone, and he looked inquiringly around him. He was lying by a fire in the centre of a clearing; Dona Clara was a few paces from him, weak and pale as a spectre.

Shaw uttered a cry of surprise and terror on recognising the men who surrounded him, and who had probably saved him by answering his final shout. They were his two brothers, Fray Ambrosio, Andres Garote, and a dozen Gambusinos.

By what strange accident had he rejoined his comrades at the moment when he had so great interest in shunning them? What evil chance had brought them across his path?

The young man let his head sink on his chest, and fell into a sad and gloomy reverie. His comrades, lying like him by the fire, maintained the most obstinate silence, and did not seem at all eager to cross-question him.

We will take advantage of the momentary respite allowed Shaw, to explain what had taken place on the island since we quitted it to follow Dona Clara, Ellen, and the two Canadian hunters.

Until sunrise no one perceived the flight of the girls. At breakfast, Nathan and Sutter, amazed at not seeing their sister appear, ventured on entering the hut of branches that served as shelter to the two females, and then all was explained. They went in a furious rage to Fray Ambrosio to tell him what had happened, and the monk completed the news they gave him by announcing in his turn the flight of Eagle-wing, d.i.c.k, and Harry.

The fury of the two brothers was unbounded, and they proposed to raise the camp at once, and go in pursuit of, the fugitives. Fray Ambrosio and his worthy friend Garote had infinite difficulty in making them understand that this would lead to no result; that, moreover, they had as guide an Indian thoroughly acquainted with the topography of the country, and the hiding places, and that it would be folly to suppose that the persons who had escaped had not so arranged their flight as to foil all attempts made to seize them again.

Another and more powerful reason obliged them to remain on the island, to which the squatter's sons were compelled to yield. Red Cedar, on going away, ordered that under no pretext should they quit the post he had selected; he had moreover promised to join his band again there, and if they left it, it would be impossible for him to find them, as he would not know in what direction they had gone.

The young men were forced to allow that Fray Ambrosio was right; but, in order to satisfy their conscience, they placed themselves at the head of a few resolute men, crossed the river, and beat up the neighbourhood. We need scarcely say that they found nothing, for at about a league from the Gila the traces were finally lost.

The young men were in despair; but Fray Ambrosio, on the other hand, was delighted. He had only one desire, that of seeing the band quit of Dona Clara, who, according to his views, impeded its progress and prevented it marching with the speed circ.u.mstances required; and now, instead of one woman, two had gone!

The worthy monk could scarce contain himself for joy; he, listened with, a sympathising air and expressions of condolence to the advice and complaints of his comrades at this extraordinary flight; but in his heart he was delighted.