Les trappeurs de l'Arkansas. English Read online

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE MOTHER.

  Two horses, held by the bridle by No Eusebio, were waiting at the doorof the hacienda.

  "Shall I accompany you, senor?" asked the major-domo.

  "No!" the hacendero replied drily.

  He mounted and placed his son across the saddle before him.

  "Take back the second horse," he said; "I do not want it."

  And plunging his spurs into the sides of his horse, which snorted withpain, he set off at full speed.

  The major-domo returned to the house, shaking his head sadly.

  As soon as the hacienda had disappeared behind a swell in the ground,Don Ramon stopped, drew a silk handkerchief from his breast, bandagedthe eyes of his son without saying a word to him, and then again resumedhis course.

  This ride in the desert lasted a long time; it had something dismalabout it that chilled the soul.

  This horseman, clothed in black, gliding silently along through thesands, bearing before him on his saddle a securely-bound boy, whosenervous starts and writhings alone proclaimed his existence, had a fataland strange aspect, which would have impressed the bravest man withterror.

  Many hours had passed without a word being exchanged between the son andthe father; the sun began to sink in the horizon, a few stars alreadyappeared in the dark blue of the sky--but the horse still went on.

  The desert, every instant, assumed a more dismal and wild appearance;every tree of vegetation had disappeared; only here and there heaps ofbones, whitened by time, marbled the sand with livid spots; birds ofprey hovered slowly over the horsemen, uttering hoarse cries; and in themysterious depths of the chaparrals, wild beasts, at the approach ofnight, preluded their rude concerts with dull roarings.

  In these regions twilight does not exist; as soon as the sun hasdisappeared, the darkness is complete.

  Don Ramon continued to gallop on. His son had not addressed a singleprayer to him, or uttered a single complaint.

  At length, towards eight o'clock, the horsemen stopped. This feverishride had lasted ten hours. The horse panted and throbbed, and staggeredat every step.

  Don Ramon cast an anxious glance around him; a smile of satisfactioncurled his lip. On all sides the desert displayed its immense plains ofsand; on one alone the skirt of a virgin forest cut the horizon withits strange profile, breaking in a sinister manner the monotony of theprospect.

  Don Ramon dismounted, placed his son upon the sand, took the bridlefrom his horse, that it might eat the provender he gave it; then, afterhaving acquitted himself of all these duties, with the greatest coolnesshe approached his son, and removed the bandage from his eyes.

  The boy remained silent, fixing upon his father a dull, cold look.

  "Sir!" Don Ramon said, in a sharp, dry tone, "you are here more thantwenty leagues from my hacienda, in which you will never set yourfoot again under pain of death; from this moment you are alone, youhave no longer either father, mother, or family; as you have provedyourself almost a wild beast, I condemn you to live with wild beasts; myresolution is irrevocable, your prayers could not change it. Spare themthen!"

  "I shall not pray to you," the boy replied, "people do not intreat anexecutioner!"

  Don Ramon started; he walked about in feverish agitation; but soonrecovering himself, he continued,

  "In this pouch are provisions for two days. I leave you this rifle,which in my hands never missed its mark; I give you also these pistols,this machete, and this knife, this hatchet, and powder and balls inthese buffalo horns. You will find with the provisions a steel andeverything necessary for kindling a fire. I add to these things aBible, belonging to your mother. You are dead to society, into whichyou can never return; the desert is before you; it belongs to you; forme, I have no longer a son, adieu! The Lord be merciful to you, all isended between us on earth; you are left alone, and without a family;it depends upon yourself, then, to commence a second existence, and toprovide for your own wants. Providence never abandons those who placetheir confidence in it; henceforward, it alone will watch over you."

  After having pronounced these words, Don Ramon, his countenance stillimpassible, replaced the bridle on his horse, restored his son toliberty by cutting the cords which bound him, and then getting into hissaddle, he set off at his horse best speed.

  Rafael rose upon his knees, bent his head forward, listened with anxietyto the retreating gallop of the horse on the sand, followed with hiseyes, as long as he was able, the fatal profile which was thrown inblack relief by the moonbeams; and when the horseman was at lengthconfounded with the darkness, the boy placed his hand upon his breast,and an expression of despair impossible to be described convulsed hisfeatures.

  "My mother! my mother!" he cried.

  He fell lifeless upon the sand. He had fainted.

  After a long gallop, Don Ramon, insensibly and as if in spite ofhimself, slackened the speed of his horse, lending a keen ear to thevague noises of the desert, listening with anxiety, without rendering anaccount to himself why he did so, but expecting, perhaps, an appeal fromhis unfortunate son to return to him. Twice even his hand mechanicallypulled the bridle as if he obeyed a secret voice which commanded himto retrace his steps; but the fierce pride of his race was still thestronger, and he continued his course homewards.

  The sun was rising at the moment Don Ramon arrived at the hacienda.

  Two persons were standing side by side at the gate, waiting his return.

  The one was Dona Jesuita, the other the major-domo.

  At sight of his wife, pale, mute, and motionless before him, like thestatue of desolation, the hacendero felt an unutterable sadness weighupon his heart; he wished to pass, but Dona Jesuita, making two stepstowards him and seizing the bridle of his horse, said with agonizedemotion,--

  "Don Ramon, what have you done with my son?"

  The hacendero made no reply; on beholding the grief of his wife,remorse shot a pang into his heart, and he asked himself mentally if hehad really the right to act as he had done.

  Dona Jesuita waited in vain for an answer. Don Ramon looked earnestlyat his wife; he was terrified at perceiving the indelible furrows whichgrief had imprinted upon that countenance, so calm, so placid, but a fewhours before.

  The noble woman was livid; her contracted features had an inexpressiblerigidity; her eyes, burnt with fever, were red and dry, two black anddeep lines rendered them hollow and haggard; a large stain marbled eachof her cheeks, the trace of tears the source of which was dried up; shecould weep no more, her voice was hoarse and broken, and her oppressedbreast heaved painfully to allow the escape of a panting respiration.

  After having waited some minutes for a reply to her question, "DonRamon," she repeated, "what have you done with my son?"

  The hacendero turned away his head with something like confusion.

  "Oh! you have killed him!" she said, with a piercing shriek.

  "No;" Don Ramon replied, terrified at her grief, and for the first timein his life forced to acknowledge the power of the mother who demands anaccount of her child.

  "What have you done with him?" she screamed persistently.

  "Presently, when you are more calm, you shall know all."

  "I am calm," she replied, "why should you feign a pity you do not feel?My son is dead, and it is you who have killed him!"

  Don Ramon alighted from his horse.

  "Jesuita," he said to his wife, taking her hands and looking at her withtenderness, "I swear to you by all that is most sacred in the world,that your son exists; I have not touched a hair of his head."

  The poor mother remained pensive for a few seconds.

  "I believe you," she said; then after a pause she added, "What is becomeof him?"

  "Well!" he replied, with some hesitation, "since you insist upon knowingall, learn that I have abandoned your son in the desert, but have lefthim the means to provide for his safety and his wants."

  Dona Jesuita started, a nervous shudder crept through the whole of herframe.


  "You have been very clement," she said in a cutting tone, and withbitter irony; "you have been very clement towards a boy of sixteen,Don Ramon; you felt a repugnance to bathe your hands in his blood, andyou have preferred leaving that task to the wild beasts and ferociousIndians who alone people those solitudes."

  "He was guilty!" the hacendero replied, in a low but firm voice.

  "A child is never guilty in the eyes of her who has borne him in herbosom, and nourished him with her milk," she said with energy. "It iswell, Don Ramon, you have condemned your son, I--I will save him!"

  "What would you do?" the hacendero said, terrified at the resolution hesaw kindled in the eyes of his wife.

  "What matters it to you? Don Ramon, I will accomplish my duty as youbelieve you have accomplished yours! God will judge between us! Tremble,lest He should one day demand of you an account of the blood of yourson!"

  Don Ramon bent his head beneath this anathema; with a pale brow, and amind oppressed by heavy remorse, he went slowly into the hacienda.

  Dona Jesuita looked after him for an instant.

  "Oh!" she cried, "may God grant that I may arrive in time!"

  She then went out from the portico, followed by No Eusebio.

  Two horses awaited them, concealed behind a clump of trees. They mountedimmediately.

  "Where are we going, senora?" the major-domo asked.

  "In search of my son!" she replied in a shrill voice.

  She seemed transfigured by hope; a bright colour flushed her cheeks; herblack eyes darted lightning.

  No Eusebio untied four magnificent bloodhounds, called rastrerosin the country, and which were kept to follow trails; he made themsmell a shirt belonging to Rafael; the hounds rushed forward on thescent, baying loudly. No Eusebio and Dona Jesuita galloped after them,exchanging a look of sanguine hope.

  The dogs had no trouble in following the scent, it was straight andwithout obstruction, therefore they did not stop an instant.

  When Dona Jesuita arrived at the spot where Rafael had been abandoned byhis father, the place was void!--the boy had disappeared!

  The traces of his having sojourned there were visible; a fire was notyet burnt out; everything indicated that Rafael could not have quittedthat place more than an hour.

  "What is to be done?" No Eusebio asked anxiously.

  "Push forward!" Dona Jesuita replied resolutely, urging her horse againinto action, and the generous steed responding with unflagging spirit.

  No Eusebio followed her.

  On the evening of that day the greatest consternation prevailed at theHacienda del Milagro, Dona Jesuita and No Eusebio had not returned.

  Don Ramon ordered all the household to mount on horseback.

  Provided with torches, the peons and vaqueros commenced a battue of animmense extent in search of their mistress and the major-domo.

  The whole night passed away without bringing the least satisfactoryresult.

  At daybreak, the horse of Dona Jesuita was found half devoured in thedesert. Its trappings were wanting.

  The ground round the carcass of the horse appeared to have been thescene of a desperate conflict of some kind.

  Don Ramon, in despair, gave orders for return.

  "Great Heaven!" he cried, as he re-entered the hacienda, "is it possiblethat my chastisement has already commenced?"

  Weeks, months, years passed away, without any circumstance, lifting thecorner of the mysterious veil which enveloped these sinister events,and, notwithstanding the most active and persevering researches, nothingcould be learnt of the fate of Rafael, his mother, and No Eusebio.

  THE END OF THE PROLOGUE.

  PART I.

  THE LOYAL HEART.