The Trapper's Daughter Part 25

"And when can I go to it, father?"

"Whenever you please; all is ready."

"Ah, if I did not fear appearing ungrateful, I would say I will go at once."

"Do you think you are strong enough to undertake a journey of fifteen leagues?"

"I feel extraordinarily strong at this moment, father."

"Come, then; for had you not made the proposition, I intended to do so."

"In that case, father, all is for the best; and you are not vexed to see me so anxious to leave you, father."

"Not at all, be a.s.sured."

While talking thus, the three persons had descended the mountainside, and reached the ravine, where horses were awaiting them, held by an Indian.

"In the desert," the missionary said, "it is almost impossible to do without horses, owing to the great distance one has to go; you will therefore oblige me by keeping these."

"It is too much, father, you really overwhelm me with kindness."

Father Seraphin shook his head.

"Understand me, Red Cedar," he said; "in all I do for you there is far more calculation than you suppose."

"Oh!" Red Cedar said.

"Calculation in a good action!" Ellen exclaimed, incredulously; "you must be jesting, father."

"No, my child, I speak seriously, and you will understand; I have tried to regulate your father's life so well, place him so thoroughly in a condition to become a brave and honest hunter, that it will be impossible for him to find the slightest pretext for returning to his old errors, and all the fault will attach to him if he does not persevere in the resolution he has formed of amendment."

"That is true," Red Cedar answered; "well, father, I thank you for this calculation, which makes me the happiest of men, and proves to me that you have confidence in me."

"Come, come, to horse!"

They started.

Red Cedar inhaled the air deliciously; he felt born again, he was once more free. The missionary examined him curiously, a.n.a.lysing the feelings which the squatter experienced, and trying to form some opinion of the future from what he saw. Red Cedar understood instinctively that he was watched by his comrade; hence, to deceive him as to his feelings, he burst out into a loud expression of his grat.i.tude, part of which was certainly true, but which was too noisy not to be exaggerated. The missionary pretended to be taken in by this device, and talked pleasantly throughout the ride.

About six hours after leaving the cave, they reached the jacal. It was a pretty little hut of interlaced reeds, divided into several rooms, with a corral behind for the horses. Nothing was wanting; hidden in the bottom of a valley, very difficult to approach, it stood on the bank of a small stream that flowed into the Gila. In a word, the position of this wild abode was delightful, and nothing was more easy than to be perfectly happy in it.

When the travellers had dismounted, and led their horses into this corral, Father Seraphin went over the jacal with his two _proteges_. All was as he had stated; and if there was not much to increase comfort, at any rate everything strictly necessary had been provided. Ellen was delighted, and her father pretended, perhaps, to be more so than he really was. After spending an hour with them Father Seraphin took leave of the squatter and his daughter.

"Will you leave us, already, father?" Ellen said.

"I must, my child; you know that my time is not my own," he answered, as he leaped on his horse, which the squatter brought him.

"But I hope," Red Cedar said, "that your absence will not be long, and that you will remember this jacal, where two persons live who owe their all to you."

"I wish to leave you at liberty. If I visited you too frequently, you might see in that a species of inquisition, and that impression would annoy you; still I will come, do not doubt it."

"You can never come too often, father," they both said, as they kissed his hands.

"Farewell, be happy," the missionary said, tenderly; "you know where to find me, if you have need of consolation or help. Come to me, and I shall be ever ready to help you to the extent of my ability: little though I can do, G.o.d, I feel convinced, will bless my efforts.

Farewell."

After uttering these words, the missionary set spurs to his horse, and trotted away.

Red Cedar and his daughter looked after him so long as they could see him, and when he disappeared in the chaparral, on the other side of the stream, they gave vent to a sigh, and entered the jacal.

"Worthy and holy man!" the squatter muttered, as he fell into a butaca.

"Oh! I will not crush the hopes he has built on my conversion!"

At this moment Red Cedar was not playing a farce.

CHAPTER XVI.

AN ACCOMPLICE.

Red Cedar accustomed himself more easily than his daughter thought possible, to the life prepared for him. After all, no change had taken place in his existence; with the exception of the mode of procedure, it was still the same labour, that is to say, a desert life in all its splendid liberty; hunting and fishing, while Ellen remained at home to attend to household duties. At night, however, before retiring to rest, the girl read her father a chapter from a Bible Father Seraphin had given her. The squatter, with his elbow on the table, and a pipe in his mouth, listened to her with an attention that surprised himself, and which each day only increased.

It was an exquisite picture presented in this obscure nook of the great American desert, amid this grand scenery, in this wretched hut, which the slightest breath of wind caused to tremble, by this athletic old man, with his energetic and stern features, listening to this palefaced and delicate girl, whose fine features and shadowy outline formed so strong a contrast with those of her hearer.

It was the same life every day; the squatter was happy, or, at least, fancied himself so; like all men whose life has been but one long drama, and who are made for action, recollections held but little place in him; he forgot, and fancied himself forgotten.

Ellen suffered, for she was unhappy; this existence, with no outlet and no future, was full of disenchantment for her, as it condemned her to renounce for ever that supreme blessing of every human creature, hope.

Still, through fear of afflicting her father, she carefully shut up in her heart her sorrow, and only displayed a smiling face in his presence.

Red Cedar yielded more and more to the charms of a life which was pleasant to him. If, at times, the recollection of his sons troubled the repose in which he lived, he looked at his daughter, and the sight of the angel he possessed, and who had devoted herself to his happiness, drove any other thoughts far away.

In the meanwhile, Father Seraphin visited the tenants of the jacal several times; and if satisfied with the resignation with which the squatter accepted his new position, the dull sorrow that undermined the maiden had not escaped his clear-sighted glance. His experience of the world told him that a girl of Ellen's age could not thus spend her fairest years in solitude, without contact with society. Unfortunately, a remedy was difficult, if not impossible, to find; the good missionary did not deceive himself on this point, and understood that all the consolations he lavished on the maiden, were thrown away, and that nothing could effectually combat the listlessness into which she had fallen.

As always happens in such cases, Red Cedar did not in the slightest degree suspect his daughter's grief; she was gentle, affectionate, attentive to him; he profited by it all, finding himself perfectly happy, and in his egotism, not seeing further. The days slipped away, each resembling the other; in the meanwhile, the winter came on, game became rarer, and Red Cedar's absences from home grew longer. Around the tops of the mountains were collected the grayish clouds, which daily descended lower, and would eventually burst over the prairie in the shape of rain and snow.

Winter is a terrible season in the Far West: all scourges combine to a.s.sail the unhappy man whom his evil destiny has cast into these disinherited countries without the means to brave their frightful climate, and, victim to his want of foresight, he presently dies of hunger and misery, after enduring inconceivable tortures. Red Cedar knew the Far West too long and too thoroughly not to perceive the arrival of this season with a species of terror; hence he sought, by all possible means, to procure the necessary provisions and indispensable furs.

Rising at daybreak, he galloped over the prairie, exploring it in every direction, and not returning home till night compelled him to give up the chase. But, as we have said, game was becoming more and more rare, and consequently his journeys longer.

One morning Red Cedar rose earlier than usual, left the jacal noiselessly for fear of waking his daughter, saddled his horse, and started at a gallop. He had found, on the previous evening, the trail of a magnificent black bear, which he had followed to within a short distance of the cave to which it retired, and he intended to attack it in its lair. To do that, he must make haste, for the bear is not like other wild beasts: it seeks its food during the day, and generally leaves its abode at an early hour. The squatter, perfectly acquainted with the animal's habits, had therefore taken up the trail as soon as he could.

The sun had not yet risen; the sky of a dark blue, was only just beginning to a.s.sume on the extreme verge of the horizon those opaline tints which presently turn into pink, and are the precursors of sunrise.

The day promised to be splendid: a light breeze slightly bowed the leafy summits of the trees, and scarce wrinkled the little stream whose bank the squatter was following. A light fog rose from the ground, impregnated with those sharp odours which expand the chest so gloriously. The birds woke one after the other beneath the leaves, and softly produced the melodious concert they perform each morning to salute the re-awakening of nature. By degrees the darkness was effaced, the sun rose brilliantly on the horizon, and the day broke splendidly.

Red Cedar, on reaching the entrance of a narrow gorge, at the end of which was the bear's den, in the midst of a chaos of rocks, stopped a few minutes to regain breath, and make his final preparations. He dismounted, hobbled his horse, and gave it its forage, then, after a.s.suring himself that his knife played easily in the sheath, and his rifle was in good order, he entered the defile.