Wood Rangers Part 61

And he made a sign to Cuchillo to leave the ground.

The bandit, instead of pa.s.sing through the hedge of cotton-trees, took the road to the Misty Mountains, towards the spot where his horse was fastened.

A few minutes afterwards he returned with his serape in his hand. He drew aside the interlacing branches which shut in the valley, and soon disappeared from Fabian's sight. The sun, in the midst of his course, poured down a flood of light, causing the gold spread over the surface of the valley to shoot forth innumerable rays.

A shudder pa.s.sed though Cuchillo's veins, as he once more beheld it.

His heart beat quick at the sight of this ma.s.s of wealth. He resembled the tiger which falling upon a sheepfold cannot determine which victim to choose. He encompa.s.sed with a haggard glance the treasures spread at his feet; and little was wanting to induce him, in his transports of joy, to roll himself in these floods of gold.

Soon, however, restored to calmer thoughts, he spread his mantle on the sand; and as he saw the impossibility of carrying away all the riches exposed to his view, he cast around him a glance of observation.

In the meantime, Diaz, seated at some distance on the plain, had not lost a single detail of this melancholy scene.

He had seen Cuchillo suddenly appear, he had imagined the part he would be required to fulfil, he heard the bandit's cry of false alarm, and even the b.l.o.o.d.y catastrophe of the drama had not been unseen by him.

Until then he had remained motionless in his place, mourning over the death of his chief, and the hopes which that death had destroyed.

Cuchillo had disappeared from their sight, when the three hunters saw Diaz rise and approach them.

He advanced with slow steps, like the justice of G.o.d, whose instrument he was about to become.

His arm was pa.s.sed through his horse's bridle; and his face, clouded by grief, was turned downwards.

The adventurer cast a look full of sadness upon the Duke de Armada lying in his blood; death had not effaced from that countenance its look of unalterable pride.

"I do not blame you," said he; "in your place I should have done the same thing. How much Indian blood have I also not spilt to satisfy my vengeance!"

"It is holy bread," interrupted Bois-Rose, pa.s.sing his hand through his thick grey hair, and directing a sympathetic glance toward the adventurer. "Pepe and I can say that, for our part--"

"I do not blame you, friends, but I grieve because I have seen this man, of such n.o.ble courage, fall almost before my eyes; a man who held in his hand the destiny of Sonora. I grieve that the glory of my country expires with him."

"He was, as you say, a man of n.o.ble courage, but with a heart of stone.

May G.o.d save his soul!"

A convulsive grief agitated Don Fabian's breast. Diaz continued the Duke de Armada's funeral oration.

"He and I had dreamed of the freedom of a n.o.ble province and days of splendour. Neither he, nor I, nor others, will ever now behold them shine. Ah! why was not I killed instead of him? No one would have known that I had ceased, to exist, and one champion less would not have compromised the cause we served; but the death of our chief ruins it forever. The treasure which is said to be acc.u.mulated here might have aided us in restoring Sonora; for you do not, perhaps, know that near to this spot--"

"We know it," interrupted Fabian.

"Well," continued Diaz, "I will think no more about this immense treasure. I have always preferred the life of an Indian, killed by my own hands, to a sack of gold dust."

This common feeling of hatred towards the Indians still further added to the sympathy which Bois-Rose had felt for the disinterestedness and courage shown by Diaz.

"We have failed at the onset," continued Diaz, in a tone of great bitterness, "and all this through the fault of a traitor whom I wish to deliver up to your justice--not because he deceived us, but because he has destroyed the instrument which G.o.d was willing to grant, in order to make my country a powerful kingdom."

"What do you say?" cried Fabian; "is it Cuchillo of whom you speak?"

"The traitor who twice attempted your life--the first time at the Hacienda del Venado, the second in the neighbouring forest--is the one who conducted us to this valley of gold."

"It was then Cuchillo who told you the secret. I was almost sure of it--but are you also certain?"

"As certain as I am that I shall one day appear before G.o.d. Poor Don Estevan related to me how the existence and position of the treasure became known to Cuchillo; it was in a.s.sa.s.sinating his a.s.sociate who had first discovered it.

"And now if you decide that this man who has twice attempted your life deserves exemplary punishment, you have only to determine upon it."

As he finished these words, Pedro Diaz tightened his horse's girths, and prepared to depart.

"One word more!" cried Fabian, "has Cuchillo long possessed this grey horse, which, as you may be aware, has a habit of stumbling?"

"More than two years, from what I have heard."

This last scene had escaped the bandit's observation, the thicket of cotton-trees concealing it from his sight; besides, he was too much absorbed in the contemplation of his treasures to turn his eyes away from them.

Seated upon the sand, he was crouched down amidst the innumerable pieces of gold which surrounded him, and he had already begun to pile up upon his serape all those he had chosen, when Diaz finished his terrible revelation.

"Ah! it is a fearful and fatal day," said Fabian, in whose mind the latter part of this revelation left no room for doubt. "What ought I do with this man? You, who both know what he has done with my adopted father, Pepe--Bois-Rose--advise me, for my strength and resolution are coming to an end. I have experienced too many emotions for one day."

"Does the vile wretch, who cut your father's throat, deserve more consideration than the n.o.ble gentleman, who murdered your mother, my son?" answered the Canadian, resolutely.

"Whether it be your adopted father or any others who have been his victims, this brigand is worthy of death," added Diaz, as he mounted upon his saddle, "and I abandon him to your justice."

"It is with regret that I see you depart," said Bois-Rose to the adventurer, "a man who like yourself is a bitter enemy to the Indians, would have been a companion whose society I should have appreciated."

"My duty recalls me to the camp, which I quitted under the influence of Don Estevan's unhappy star," replied the adventurer, "but there are two things I shall never forget; they are, the conduct of generous enemies; and the oath I have taken never to reveal to a living creature the existence of this Golden Valley."

As he finished these words, the loyal Diaz quickly withdrew, reflecting upon the means of reconciling his respect for his word, with the care and safety of the expedition entrusted to him by its leader, previous to his death.

The three friends speedily lost sight of him.

The sun shone out, and, glancing down from the Golden Valley, discovered Cuchillo, greedily bending over his treasures, and the three hunters holding council amongst themselves respecting him.

Fabian had listened in silence to Bois-Rose's advice, as well as that given by Diaz previous to his departure; and he only waited the counsel of the old carabinier.

"You have taken," said the latter, in his turn, "a vow, from which nothing ought to release you; the wife of Arellanos received it from you on her death-bed; you have her husband's murderer in your power; there is nothing here to deny it."

Then, observing a look of anxious indecision in Fabian's countenance, he added, with that bitter irony which formed a part of his character; "But after all, if this duty is so repugnant to you, I shall undertake it; for not having the least ill will against Cuchillo, I can bang him without a scruple. You will see, Fabian, that the knave will not testify any surprise at what I am going to tell him. Fellows who have such a face as Cuchillo's expect to be hung every day."

As he concluded this judicious reflection, Pepe approached the green hedge, which separated them from the outlaw.

The latter, unconscious of all that had taken place around him--dazzled, blinded, by the golden rays, which reflected the sun's light over the surface of the valley--had heard and seen nothing.

With fingers doubled up, he was busied rummaging amongst the sand with the eagerness of a famished jackal disinterring a corpse.

"Master Cuchillo! a word, if you please," cried Pepe, drawing aside the branches of the cotton shrubs; "Master Cuchillo!"

But Cuchillo did not hear.