The Trapper's Daughter Part 64

THE LAST REFUGE.

We must now return to Red Cedar. When the squatter heard the yells of the redskins, and saw their torches flashing through the trees in the distance, he at the first start of terror thought himself lost, and burying his head in his hands, he would have fallen to the ground, had not Fray Ambrosio caught hold of him just in time.

"Demonios!" the monk exclaimed, "take care, gossip, gestures are dangerous here."

But the bandit's despondency lasted no longer than a flash of lightning; he drew himself up again, almost as haughty as he had been previously, saying in a firm voice--"I will escape."

"Bravely spoken, gossip," the monk said; "but we must act."

"Forward!" the squatter howled.

"What do you mean?" the monk cried, with a start of terror; "why, that leads to the redskins' camp."

"Forward, I tell you."

"Very good, and may the devil protect us!" Fray Ambrosio muttered.

The squatter, as he said, marched boldly toward the camp; they soon reached the spot where they let down a la.s.so for Nathan, and which they had beaten a retreat from in their first movement of terror. On reaching it, the squatter parted the branches, and looked down. All the camp was aroused; Indians could be seen running about in all directions.

"Oh," Red Cedar muttered, "I hoped all these demons would start in pursuit of us; it is impossible to cross there."

"We cannot think of it," said Nathan, "we should be hopelessly lost."

"Let us do something," said the monk.

Ellen, exhausted with fatigue, seated herself on a branch, and her father gazed at her in despair.

"Poor child," he said, in a low voice, "how she suffers!"

"Do not think about me, father," she said; "save yourself, and leave me here."

"Leave you!" he cried, savagely; "never! Not if I died; no, no, I will save you."

"What have I to fear from these men, to whom I never did any harm?" she continued; "they will have pity on my weakness."

Red Cedar burst into an ironical laugh. "Ask the jaguars if they pity the antelopes," he said. "You do not know the savages, poor child. They would torture you to death with ferocious joy."

Ellen sighed, and let her head droop.

"Time is slipping away; let us decide on something," the monk repeated.

"Go to the demon!" the squatter said brutally; "You are my evil genius."

"How ungrateful men are!" the monk said, ironically, as he raised his hypocritical eyes to Heaven; "I, who am his dearest friend."

"Enough," Red Cedar said, furiously; "we cannot remain here, so let us go back."

"What, again?"

"Do you know any other road, demon?"

"Where is Nathan?" the squatter suddenly asked; "has he fallen off?"

"Not such a fool," the young man said, with a laugh; "but I have changed my dress."

He parted the leaves that hid him, and his comrades gave a cry of surprise. Nathan was clothed in a bearskin, and carried the head in his hand.

"Oh, oh!" said Red Cedar, "That is a lucky find; where did you steal that, lad?"

"I only had the trouble to take it off the branch where it was hung to dry."

"Take care of it, for it may be of use ere long."

"That is what I thought."

After taking a few steps, Red Cedar stopped, stretched out his arm to warn his comrades, and listened. After two or three minutes, he turned to his comrades and whispered--"Our retreat is cut off; people are walking on the trees, I heard branches creaking and leaves rustling."

They gazed at each other in terror.

"We will not despair," he went on, quickly, "all is not yet lost; let us go higher, and on one side, till they have pa.s.sed; during that time, Nathan will amuse them; the Comanches rarely do an injury to a bear."

No one made any objection, so Sutter started first, and the monk followed. Ellen looked at her father sorrowfully. "I care not," she said.

"I say again, I will save you, child," he replied with great tenderness.

He took the maiden in his powerful arms, and laid her softly on his shoulder.

"Hold on," he muttered, "and fear nothing."

Then, with a dexterity and strength doubled by a father's love, the bandit seized the bough over his head with one hand, and disappeared in the foliage, after saying to his son: "Look out, Nathan, play your part cleverly, lad, our safety depends on you."

"Don't be frightened, old one," the young man replied, as he put on the bear's head; "I am not more stupid than an Indian; they will take me for their cousin."

We know what happened, and how this trick, at first so successful, was foiled by Curumilla. On seeing his son fall, the squatter was momentarily affected by a blind rage, and pointed his rifle at the Indian. Fortunately the monk saw the imprudent gesture soon enough to check him. "What are you about?" he hoa.r.s.ely whispered, as he struck up the barrel; "you will destroy your daughter."

"That is true," the squatter muttered.

Ellen, by an extraordinary hazard, had seen nothing; had she done so, it is probable that her brother's death would have drawn from her a cry of agony, which must have denounced her companions.

"Oh," Red Cedar said, "still that accursed Trail-hunter and his devil of an Indian. They alone can conquer me."

The fugitives remained for an hour in a state of terrible alarm, not daring to stir, through fear of being discovered. They were so close to their pursuers that they distinctly heard what they said, but at length the speakers retired, the torches were put out, and all became silent again.

"Ouf!" said the monk, "they have gone.

"Not all," the squatter answered; "did you not hear that accursed Valentine?"