The Trapper's Daughter Part 72

"Good, good," Red Cedar quickly interrupted him, "keep that to yourself; now, good night, you must need rest; so sleep, if you can."

The gambusino's stratagem was too simple and at the same time too cleverly carried out, not to succeed. No one can suppose that an individual would voluntarily, give himself a serious wound, and any suspicions on Red Cedar's part were entirely dissipated by the sight of Don Pablo's hat. How could he suppose that two men of such different character and position should be working together? Anything was credible but that. Hence the bandits, who recognised in Garote one of themselves, did not at all distrust him.

The worthy ranchero, delighted at having got into the lion's den, almost certain of the success of his scheme, and too accustomed to wounds to care much about the one he had given himself with such praiseworthy dexterity, began again the slumber Don Pablo had so roughly interrupted and slept till daybreak. When he awoke, Fray Ambrosio was by his side, preparing the morning meal.

"Well," the monk asked him, "how do you feel now?"

"Much better than I should have fancied," he answered; "sleep has done me good."

"Let me look at your wound, gossip."

Andres held out his arm, which the monk bandaged afresh, and the two men went on talking like friends delighted at meeting again after a lengthened separation. All at once Red Cedar hurried up, rifle in hand.

"Look out!" he shouted, "Here is the enemy."

"The enemy!" the gambusino said, "Canelo, where is my rifle? If I cannot stand, I will fire sitting down: it shall not be said that I did not help my friends in their trouble."

Sutter now ran up from the other side, shouting:

"Look out!"

This strange coincidence of two attacks made from opposite sides rendered Red Cedar thoughtful. "We are betrayed," he shouted.

"By whom?" the gambusino impudently asked.

"By you, perhaps," the squatter answered furiously.

Andres began laughing.

"You are mad, Red Cedar," he said: "danger has made you lose your head.

You know very well that I have not stirred from here."

The reasoning was unanswerable.

"And yet, I would swear that one of us has been the traitor," the squatter continued pa.s.sionately.

"Instead of recriminating as you are doing," Andres said, with an accent of wounded dignity, perfectly played, "you would do better to fly. You are too old a fox to have only one hole to your earth--all the issues cannot be occupied, hang it all: while you are escaping, I, who cannot walk, will cover the retreat, and you will thus see whether I was the traitor."

"You will do that?"

"I will."

"Then you are a man, and I restore you my friendship."

At this moment the war yell of the Comanches burst forth at one of the entrances, while at the opposite could be heard: "Bloodson! Bloodson!"

"Make haste, make haste!" the gambusino shouted, as he boldly seized the rifle lying at his side.

"Oh, they have not got me yet," Red Cedar replied, as he seized his daughter in his powerful arms, who had run up at the first alarm, and was now pressing timorously to his side. The three bandits then disappeared in the depths of the cave. Andres leaped up as if worked by a spring, and rushed in pursuit of them, followed by twenty Comanche and Apache warriors who had joined him, at whose head were Unicorn, Black Cat, and Spider.

They soon heard the sound of firing re-echoed by the walls of the cavern: the fight had begun.

Red Cedar had found himself face to face with Valentine and his comrades, while trying to fly by an outlet he did not suppose guarded.

He fell back hurriedly, but he had been seen, and the firing immediately begun. A terrible combat was about to take place beneath the gloomy avenues of this vast cavern. These implacable enemies, at last face to face, had no mercy to expect from each other. Still Red Cedar did not despond; while replying vigorously to the shots of their adversaries, he incessantly looked round him to discover a fresh outlet.

The perfect darkness that reigned in the cavern aided the bandits, who, owing to their small numbers, sheltered themselves behind rocks, and thus avoided the bullets, while their shots, fired into the compact ma.s.s of enemies pressing round them, scarcely ever missed their mark.

All once the squatter uttered a triumphant yell, and, followed by his comrades, disappeared as if by enchantment. The Indians and rangers then dispersed in pursuit of the bandits, but they had vanished and left no sign.

"We shall never find them in this way," Valentine shouted, "and we run a risk of hitting friends; some of the warriors will be detached to cut us torches, while we guard all the outlets."

"It is unnecessary," Curumilla said, coming up, loaded with candlewood.

In a second, the cavern was brilliantly lit up, and then the side pa.s.sage by which Red Cedar had escaped became visible to the astonished Comanches, who had pa.s.sed it twenty times without seeing it. They rushed in with a yell but there came a discharge, and three of them fell mortally wounded. The pa.s.sage was low, narrow, and ascending; it formed a species of staircase. It was, in truth, a formidable position, for four men could with difficulty advance together.

Ten times the Comanches returned to the charge, ten times they were forced to fall back; the dead and wounded were heaped up in the cave, and the position was becoming critical.

"Halt!" Valentine shouted.

All were motionless, and then the white men and princ.i.p.al chiefs held a council; Curumilla had left the cave with a dozen warriors whom he had made a sign to follow him. As happens unfortunately only too often in precarious circ.u.mstances, everybody gave a different opinion, and it was impossible to come to an understanding; at this moment Curumilla appeared, followed by the warriors loaded like himself with leaves and dry wood.

"Wait a moment," Valentine said, pointing to the chief; "Curumilla has had the only sensible idea."

The others did not understand yet.

"Come, my lads," the hunter cried, "a final attack."

The Comanches rushed furiously into the pa.s.sage, but a fresh discharge compelled them again to retire.

"Enough!" the Trail-hunter commanded, "that is what I wanted to know."

They obeyed, and Valentine then turned to the chief who accompanied him.

"It is plain," he said, "that this pa.s.sage has no outlet; in the first moment of precipitation Red Cedar did not perceive this, else he would not have entered it; had it an outlet, the bandits, instead of remaining, would have profited by the momentary respite we granted them to escape."

"That is true," the chiefs answered.

"What I tell you at this moment, Curumilla guessed long ago; the proof is that he has discovered the only way to make the demons surrender, smoking them out." Enthusiastic shouts greeted these words.

"Warriors," Valentine went on, "throw into that cave all the wood and leaves you can; when there is a large pile, we will set light to it."

Red Cedar and his comrades probably guessing their enemy's intention, tried to prevent it by keeping up an incessant fire, but the Indians, rendered prudent by experience, placed themselves so as to escape the bullets, which hit n.o.body. The entrance of the pa.s.sage was soon almost blocked up with inflammable matter of every description. Valentine seized a lighted torch, but before setting fire to the pile he made a sign to command silence, and addressed the besieged:

"Red Cedar," he shouted, "we are going to smoke you out, will you surrender"?

"Go to the devil, accursed Frenchman," the squatter replied.

And three shots served as peroration to this energetic answer.