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  THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER

  STORY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

  BY

  GUSTAVE AIMARD.

  AUTHOR OF "PRAIRIE FLOWER," "PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES," ETC.

  LONDON

  WARD AND LOCK

  158, FLEET STREET.

  MDCCCLXI.

  CONTENTS.

  I. The Jacal II. Inside the Cabin III. A Conversation IV. A Backward Glance V. The Hacienda Quemada VI. The Apaches VII. The Hill of the Mad Buffalo VIII. Black Cat and Unicorn IX. The Meeting X. A War Stratagem XI. In the Forest XII. The Missionary XIII. Return to Life XIV. An Old Acquaintance of the Reader XV. Convalescence XVI. An Accomplice XVII. Mother and Son XVIII. The Consultation XIX. Bloodson XX. Red Cedar XXI. Curumilla XXII. El Mal Paso XXIII. El Rastreador XXIV. The Camp in the Mountains XXV. A Game at Hazard XXVI. Nathan Paints Himself XXVII. A Trail in the Air XXVIII. The Fight with the Grizzly XXIX. A Mother's Love XXX. The Sorcerer XXXI. White Gazelle XXXII. The Escape XXXIII. Plot and Counterplot XXXIV. Cousin Bruin XXXV. The Hunt Continued XXXVI. The Last Refuge XXXVII. The Casket XXXVIII. Smoke in the Mountains XXXIX. The Boar at Bay XL. Lynch Law

  PREFACE.

  In the present volume another series of Indian adventures is concluded,and the further career of the hero is described in the series beginningwith the "Tiger-slayer." It must be understood, however, that thestories are not arbitrarily connected--each is complete in itself; butthose who have read one volume will, I hope, be sufficiently interestedin the hero to desire to know more of his career. The following,therefore, is the order in which the volumes should be read:--

  1. TRAIL HUNTER. 2. PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES. 3. THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER. 4. TIGER SLAYER. 6. GOLD SEEKERS. 7. INDIAN CHIEF.

  In all probability, M. Aimard will favour us with other volumes; but, inthe mean time, the above can be read collectively or separately, withequal interest.

  LASCELLES WRAXALL

  THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER BY GUSTAVE AIMARD

  CHAPTER I.

  THE JACAL.

  About three in the afternoon, a horseman, dressed in the Mexicancostume, was galloping along the banks of a stream, an affluent of theGila, whose capricious windings compelled him to make countless detours.This man, while constantly keeping his hand on his weapons, and watchingfor every event, urged his horse on by shouts and spur, as if anxious toreach his journey's end.

  The wind blew fiercely, the heat was oppressive, the grasshoppersuttered their discordant cries under the herbage that sheltered them;the birds slowly described wide circles in the air, uttering shrillnotes at intervals: coppery clouds were incessantly passing athwart thesun, whose pale, sickly beams possessed no strength; in short, allpresaged a terrible storm.

  The traveller seemed to notice nought of this; bowed over his horse'sneck, with his eyes fixed ahead, he increased his speed, withoutnoticing the heavy drops of rain that already fell, and the hoarserolling of distant thunder which began to be heard.

  Still this man, had he wished it, could easily have sheltered himselfunder the thick shade of the aged trees in the virgin forest which hehad been skirting for more than an hour, and thus let the heaviest partof the storm pass; but a weightier interest, doubtless, urged him on,for, while increasing his speed, he did not think of drawing his zarapeover his shoulders to protect him from the rain, but contented himself,as each gust of wind howled past him, with drawing his hat a littletighter on his head, while repeating to his horse, in a sharp tone:

  "Forward! Forward!"

  In the meanwhile, the stream, whose banks the traveller was following,grew gradually narrower, and at a certain spot the bank was completelyobstructed by an undergrowth of shrubs and interlaced creepers, whichcompletely prevented any approach. On reaching this point the travellerstopped; he dismounted, carefully inspected the vicinity, took his horseby the bridle, and led it into a copse, where he concealed it; attachingit with his lasso to the trunk of a large tree, after removing the_bozal_ to let it browse at liberty.

  "Rest here, Negro," he said, as he softly patted it; "do not neigh, forthe enemy is at hand--I shall soon return."

  The intelligent animal seemed to comprehend the words its masteraddressed to it, for it stretched out his head and rubbed it against hischest.

  "Good, good, Negro! Wait awhile!"

  The stranger then took from his holsters a brace of pistols, which heplaced in his girdle, threw his rifle on his shoulder, and startedhurriedly in the direction of the river. He buried himself withouthesitation in the shrubs that bordered the stream, carefully separatingthe branches which at each step barred his progress. On reaching theedge of the water he stopped for a moment, bent forward, seemed to belistening, and then drew himself up, muttering:

  "There is no one; all is safe."

  He then stepped on a mass of intertwined lianas, which extended from onebank to the other, and formed a natural bridge. This bridge, apparentlyso slight, was firm, and though it oscillated under the traveller'sfootsteps, he crossed it in a few seconds. He had scarce reached theother bank, when a girl emerged from a clump of trees which concealedher.

  "At last!" she said, as she ran up to him: "oh! I was afraid you wouldnot come, Don Pablo."

  "Ellen," the young man answered, with his whole soul in his glance,"death alone would keep me away."

  The traveller was Don Pablo Zarate; the girl, Ellen, Red Cedar'sdaughter.[1]

  "Come," she said.

  The Mexican followed her, and they walked on for some time withoutexchanging a word. When they had passed the chaparral which bordered theriver, they saw a short distance before them a wretched _jacal_, whichleant solitary and silent against a rock.

  "There is my home," the maiden said, with a sad smile.

  Don Pablo sighed, but made no reply, and they continued to walk in thedirection of the jacal, which they soon reached.

  "Sit down, Don Pablo," the maiden went on, as she offered her comrade astool, on which he sank. "I am alone; my father and two brothers wentoff this morning at sunrise."

  "Are you not afraid," Don Pablo answered, "of remaining thus alone inthe desert, exposed to innumerable dangers, so far from all help?"

  "What can I do? Has not this life been ever mine?"

  "Does your father go away often?"

  "Only during the last few days. I know not what he fears, but he and mybrothers seem sad and preoccupied, they go on long journeys, and whenthey return quite worn out, the words they address to me are harsh andsnappish."

  "Poor child!" said Don Pablo, "I can tell you the cause of these longjourneys."

  "Do you fancy I have not guessed it?" she replied; "No, no, the horizonis too gloomy around us for me not to perceive the gathering storm whichwill soon burst over us; but," she added, with an effort, "let us speakof ourselves, the moments are precious; what have you done?"

  "Nothing," the young man said, mournfully; "all my researches have beenin vain."

  "That is strange," Ellen muttered; "and yet the coffer cannot be lost."

  "I am as convinced of that as you are; but into whose hands has itfallen? That is what I cannot say."

  The maiden reflected.

  "When did you notice its disappearance?" Don Pablo went on a momentafter.

  "Only a few minutes after Harry's death; fr
ightened by the sounds of thefight and the fearful uproar of the earthquake, I was half mad. Still, Ican remember a circumstance which will doubtless put us on the righttrack."

  "Speak, Ellen, speak, and whatever is to be done I will do."

  The girl looked at him for a moment with an indefinable expression. Shebent over to him, laid her hand on his arm, and said, in a voice soft asa bird's song:

  "Don Pablo, a frank and loyal explanation between us is indispensable."

  "I do not understand you," the young man stammered, as he let his eyesfall.

  "Yes you do," she replied, with a sad smile; "you understand me, DonPablo; but no matter, as you pretend to be ignorant of what I wish tosay to you, I will explain myself in such a way that any furthermisconception will be impossible."

  "Speak! Ellen; though I do not suspect your meaning, I have a forebodingof misfortune."

  "Yes," she continued, "you are right; a misfortune is really concealedunder what I have to say to you, if you do not consent to grant me thefavour I implore of you."

  Don Pablo rose.

  "Why feign longer? Since I cannot induce you to give up your plan,Ellen, the explanation you ask of me is needless. Do you believe," hewent on, as he walked in great agitation up and down the jacal, "that Ihave not already regarded the strange position in which we findourselves from every side? Fatality has impelled us toward each other byone of those accidents which human wisdom cannot foresee. I love you,Ellen, I love you with all the strength of my soul, you, the daughter ofthe enemy of my family, of the man whose hands are still red with mysister's blood, which he shed by assassinating her coldly, in the mostinfamous manner. I know that, I tremble at thinking of my love, which,in the prejudiced eyes of the world, must seem monstrous. All that youcan say to me, I have said repeatedly to myself; but an irresistibleforce drags me on this fatal incline. Will, reason, resolution, all arebroken before the hope of seeing you for a moment and exchanging a fewwords with you. I love you, Ellen, so as to leave for your sake,relatives, friends, family, aye, the whole universe."

  The young man uttered these words with sparkling eye, and in a sharpstern voice, like a man whose resolution is immovable. Ellen let herhead droop, and tears slowly ran down her pallid cheeks.

  "You weep!" he exclaimed, "Oh Heavens! Can I be mistaken? You do notlove me?"

  "I love you, Don Pablo!" she replied in a deep voice; "yes, I love youmore than myself; but alas! That love will cause our ruin, for aninsurmountable barrier separates us."

  "Perhaps," he exclaimed impetuously; "no, Ellen, you are mistaken, youare not, you cannot be the daughter of Red Cedar. Oh, that coffer, thataccursed coffer, I would give half the time Heaven will still grant meto live, could I recover it. In it, I feel certain, are the proofs Iseek."

  "Why cheat ourselves with a wild hope, Don Pablo? I believed too lightlyin words uttered unmeaningly by the squatter and his wife: my childhoodrecollections deceived us, that is unhappily too certain. I am nowconvinced of it: all proves it to me, and I am really that man'sdaughter."

  Don Pablo stamped his foot angrily.

  "Never, never," he shouted, "it is impossible, the vulture does not pairwith the dove, demons cannot be betrothed to angels. No, that villain isnot your father! Listen, Ellen; I have no proof of what I assert--allseems, on the contrary, to prove that I am wrong; appearances are quiteagainst me; but still, mad as it may seem, I am sure that I am right,and that my heart does not deceive me when it tells me that man is astranger to you."

  Ellen sighed.

  Don Pablo continued.

  "See, Ellen, the hour has arrived for me to leave you. Remaining longerwith you would compromise your safety; give me then the information I amawaiting."

  "For what good?" she murmured despairingly, "The coffer is lost."

  "I am not of your opinion; I believe, on the contrary, that it hasfallen into the hands of a man who intends to make use of it, for whatpurpose I am ignorant, but I shall know it, be assured."

  "As you insist on it, listen to me, then, Don Pablo, though what I havetold you is extremely vague."

  "A gleam, however weak it may be, will suffice to guide me, and perhapsenable me to discover what I seek."

  "May Heaven grant it!" she sighed; "This is all I can tell you, and itis quite impossible for me to say certainly whether I am not mistaken,for, at the moment, terror so troubled my senses that I cannot saypositively I saw what I fancied I saw."

  "Well, go on," the young man said, impatiently.

  "When Harry fell, struck by a bullet, and was writhing in the lastthroes, two were near him, one already wounded, Andres Garote theranchero, the other, who stooped over his body, and seemed riffling hisclothes--"

  "Who was he?"

  "Fray Ambrosio. I even fancy I can remember seeing him leave the poorhunter with a badly restrained movement of joy, and hiding in his bosomsomething which I could not distinguish."

  "No doubt but he had seized the coffer."

  "That is probable, but I cannot say positively, for I was, I repeat, ina condition which rendered it impossible for me to perceive anythingclearly."

  "Well," said Don Pablo, pursuing his idea; "what became of Ambrosio?"

  "I do not know; after the earthquake, my father and his comrades rushedin different directions, each seeking his safety in flight. My father,more than any other, had an interest in concealing his trail, the monkleft us almost immediately, and I have not seen him since."

  "Has Red Cedar never spoken about him before you?"

  "Never."

  "That is strange! No matter. I swear to you, Ellen, that I will find himagain, if I have to pursue him to hell; it is that scoundrel who hasstolen the coffer."

  "Don Pablo," the maiden said as she rose, "the sun is setting, my fatherand brothers will soon return, we must part."

  "You are right, Ellen, I leave you."

  "Farewell, Don Pablo, the storm is bursting; who knows if you will reachyour friends' bivouac safe and sound?"

  "I hope so, Ellen, but if you say to me farewell, I reply that we shallmeet again: believe me, dear girl, put your trust in Heaven, for if wehave been permitted to love, it is because that love will produce ourhappiness."

  At this moment lightning flashed across the sky, and the thunder burstominously.

  "There is the storm," the maiden exclaimed; "go, go, in Heaven's name!"

  "Good bye, my well-beloved, good bye," the young man said, as he rushedfrom the jacal; "put your trust in Heaven, and in me."

  "Oh, Heaven!" Ellen exclaimed, as she fell on her knees, "Grant that mypresentiments have not deceived me, or I shall die of despair."

  [Footnote 1: See the Trail Hunter and Pirates of the Prairies.]