The Trapper's Daughter Part 27

"What!" the squatter yelled, as he bounded like a panther and seized Fray Ambros...o...b.. the arm, "What did you say, monk?"

"I said," the other replied, in a firm and marked voice, "that your enemies wish to punish you through Ellen, and that if that accursed monk has. .h.i.therto appeared to protect you, it was because he feared lest the victim he covets might escape him."

At these fearful words, a horrible change took place in Red Cedar; a livid pallor covered his face, his body was agitated by a convulsive quivering.

"Oh!" he shouted with the roar of a tiger, "let them come, then!"

The monk gave, his comrades a triumphant glance; he had succeeded, and held his palpitating prey in his hands.

"Come," Red Cedar continued, "do not desert me; we will crush this herd of vipers. Ah, they fancy they have me," he added, with a nervous laugh; that almost choked him, "but I will show them that the old lion is not conquered yet. I can count on you, my lads, and on you, Fray Ambrosio?"

"We are your only friends," the monk replied, "as you know perfectly well."

"That is true," he went on; "forgive me for having forgotten it for a moment. Ah, you shall see."

Two hours later the three men reached the jacal, and on seeing them enter, Ellen felt a shudder of terror run over her; a secret foreboding warned her of misfortune.

CHAPTER XVII.

MOTHER AND SON.

So soon as Father Seraphin had installed Red Cedar and Ellen in the jacal, and a.s.sured himself that the new life he had procured them was supportable, he thought about keeping his promise to Valentine's mother.

The worthy female, in spite of all her courage and resignation, felt her strength daily growing less; she said nothing, she did not complain; but the certainty of being so near her son and yet unable to see him, to press him in her arms after such a lengthened separation, such cruel alternations of cheated hopes and frightful deceptions plunged her into a gloomy melancholy from which nothing could draw her; she felt herself dying by inches, and had arrived at the terrible point of believing that she would never see her son again, for he was dead, and that the missionary, through fear of dealing her a terrible blow, deceived her with a hope which could never be realised. Maternal love does not reason.

All that Father Seraphin had told her to cause her to be patient had only lulled her grief for a while, till it broke out again in redoubled impatience and anxiety. All she had seen and heard since her landing in America had only increased her anxiety, by showing her how life in this country often only hangs by a thread. Hence, when the missionary informed her that in a week at the latest she should embrace her son, her joy and anxiety were so great that she almost fainted.

At first, she did not believe in such happiness. Through hoping against hope so long, she had reached such a state of distrust that she supposed that the good priest only told her this to make her patient for a while longer, and that he promised this meeting just as hopeless sick people are promised things which can never be realised.

In the meanwhile, Father Seraphin, though certain that Valentine was at this moment on the prairie, did not know where to lay his hand on him.

So soon as he reached the grotto he inhabited provisionally, he sent off the Indians in four different directions to obtain information and bring him positive news of the hunter. Valentine's mother was present when the missionary despatched these couriers; she heard the instructions he gave them, saw them start, and then began counting the minutes till their return, calculating in her mind the time they would employ in finding her son and in returning: the incidents that might delay them; in short, making those countless suppositions to which people give way who are impatiently awaiting anything they eagerly desire.

Two days elapsed, and none of the couriers returned; the poor mother, seated on a rock, with her eyes fixed on the plain, awaited them, motionless and indefatigable. At the close of the third day, she perceived, at a great distance, a black point, rapidly approaching the spot where she was; gradually, it became more distinct, and she recognised a horseman galloping at full speed up the valley.

The mother's heart beat as if ready to burst. It was evidently one of the missionary's messengers; but what news did he bring? At length, the Indian dismounted, and began scaling the hill side; the old woman seemed to regain her youthful limbs, so rapidly did she go to meet him, and cleared in a few minutes the s.p.a.ce that separated them. But when they were face to face, another obstacle rose before her: the redskin did not understand a word of French; she, for her part, could not speak Indian.

But mothers have a species of language, a freemasonry of the heart, which is understood in all countries; the Comanche warrior stopped before her, folded his arms on his chest, and bowed with a gentle smile, merely uttering the word--

"Koutonepi!"

Valentine's mother knew that the Indians were accustomed to call her son thus; and she suddenly felt rea.s.sured by the man's smile, and the way in which he had spoken her son's name. She took the warrior by the arm, and dragged him to the grotto, at the entrance of which Father Seraphin was reading his breviary.

"Well!" he asked on seeing her, "What news?"

"This man could tell me nothing," she replied, "for I do not understand his language; but something a.s.sures me he brings good news."

"With your leave, I will question him."

"Do so, for I am anxious to know what I have to expect."

The missionary turned to the Indian, who stood motionless a few yards off, and had listened to the few words spoken.

"The brow of my brother, the Spider, is damp," he said; "let him take a place by my side and rest: he has had a long journey."

The Indian smiled gravely, and bowed respectfully to the missionary.

"The Spider is a chief in his tribe," he said in his guttural and yet melodious voice; "he can bound like the jaguar, and crawl like the serpent: nothing fatigues him."

"I know that my brother is a great warrior," the missionary answered: "his exploits are numerous, and the Apaches fly on seeing him. Has my brother met the young men of his tribe?"

"Spider has met them: they are hunting the buffalo on the Gila."

"Was their great chief Unicorn with them?"

"Unicorn was with his warriors."

"Good! My brother has the eye of a tiger-cat: nothing escapes him. Did he meet the great paleface hunter?"

"Spider smoked the calumet with Koutonepi and several warriors, friends of the pale hunter, a.s.sembled round his fire."

"Did my brother speak with Koutonepi?" the priest asked.

"Yes, Koutonepi is glad at the return of the father of prayer, whom he did not hope to see again. When the walkon has sung for the second time, Koutonepi will be near my father with his comrades."

"My brother is a wise and skillful warrior: I thank him for the way in which he has carried out the mission with which he was entrusted, a mission which no other warrior would have performed with so much prudence and tact."

At this well-dressed compliment, a smile of joy and pride played round the Indian's lips, who withdrew after respectfully kissing the missionary's hand. Father Seraphin then turned to Madame Guillois, who anxiously awaited the result of this conversation, trying to read in the priest's looks what she had to hope or fear. He took her hand, pressed it gently, and said to her with that sympathetic accent which he possessed in the highest degree--

"Your son is coming, you will soon see him: he will be here this night, within two hours at the most."

"Oh!" she said with an accent impossible to render; "G.o.d! Be blessed!"

And, kneeling on the ground, she burst into tears. The missionary watched her anxiously, ready to help her if her extreme emotion caused her to break down. After a few moments she rose smiling through her tears, and took her place again by the priest's side.

"Oh!" she said eagerly, "he is my son, the only being I ever loved; the child I nursed at my breast, and I am going to see him again! Alas! We have been separated for ten years--for ten years the mark of my kisses has been effaced from his forehead. You cannot understand what I feel, father--it cannot be explained; to a mother her child is everything."

"Do not let your emotion overpower you."

"Then, he is coming?" she repeated eagerly.

"In two hours at the most."

"What a long time two hours are!" she said with a sigh.

"Oh! all human creatures are like that," the missionary exclaimed. "You, who waited so many years without complaining, now find two hours too long."