The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West. Gustave Aimard

      THE ASSASSINATION.

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      "Listen to me, Don Miguel," Red Cedar said, "and pray do not mistake my meaning. I have not the slightest intention of intimidating you, nor do I think of attempting to gain your confidence by revelations which you may fairly assume I have accidentally acquired."

      The hacendero regarded with amazement the speaker, whose tone and manner had so suddenly changed.

      "I do not understand you," he said to him. "Explain yourself more clearly, for the words you have just uttered are an enigma, the key to which I seek in vain."

      "You shall be satisfied, caballero; and if you do not catch the meaning of my words this time it must be because you will not. Like all intelligent men, you are wearied of the incessant struggles in which the vital strength of your country is exhausted unprofitably. You have seen that a land so rich, so fertile, so gloriously endowed as Mexico, could not—I should say ought not—to remain longer the plaything of paltry ambitions, and the arena on which all these transitory tyrannies sport in turn. For nearly thirty years you have dreamed of emancipation, not of your entire country, for that would be too rude a task, and unrealisable; but you said to yourself, 'Let us render New Mexico independent; form it into a new State, governed by wise laws rigorously executed. By liberal institutions let us give an impetus to all the riches with which it is choked, give intellect all the liberty it requires, and perhaps within a few years the entire Mexican Confederation, amazed by the magnificent results I shall obtain, will follow my example. Then I shall die happy at what I have effected—my object will be carried out. I shall have saved my country from the abyss over which it hangs, through the double pressure of the invasion of the American Union and the exhaustion of the Spanish race.' Are not those ideas yours, caballero? Do you consider that I have explained myself clearly this time?"

      "Perhaps so, though I do not yet see distinctly the point you wish to reach. The thoughts you attribute to me are such as naturally occur to all men who sincerely love their country, and I will not pretend that I have not entertained them."

      "You would be wrong in doing so, for they are great and noble, and breathe the purest patriotism."

      "A truce to compliments, and let us come to the point, for time presses."

      "Patience: I have not yet ended. These ideas must occur to you sooner than to another, as you are the descendant of the first Aztec kings, and born defender of the Indians in this hapless country. You see that I am well acquainted with you, Don Miguel Zarate."

      "Too well, perhaps," the Mexican gentleman muttered.

      The squatter smiled and went on:—

      "It is not chance that led me to this country. I knew what I was doing, and why I came. Don Miguel, the hour is a solemn one. All your preparations are made: will you hesitate to give New Mexico the signal which must render it independent of the metropolis which has so long been fattening at its expense? Answer me."

      Don Miguel started. He fixed on the squatter a burning glance, in which admiration at the man's language could be read. Red Cedar shrugged his shoulders.

      "What! You still doubt?" he said.

      He rose, went to a box from which he took some papers, and threw them on the table before the hacendero, saying—

      "Read."

      Don Miguel hurriedly seized the papers, and ran his eye over them.

      "Well?" he asked, looking fixedly at the strange speaker.

      "You see," the squatter answered, "that I am your accomplice. General Ibañez, your agent in Mexico, is in correspondence with me, as is Mr. Wood, your agent at New York."

      "It is true," the Mexican said coldly, "you have the secret of the conspiracy. The only point left is to what extent that goes."

      "I possess it entirely. I have orders to enlist the volunteers who will form the nucleus of the insurrectionary army."

      "Good!"

      "Now, you see, by these letters of General Ibañez and Mr. Wood, that I am commissioned by them to come to an understanding with you, and receive your final orders."

      "I see it."

      "What do you purpose doing?"

      "Nothing."

      "What, nothing!" the squatter exclaimed, bounding with surprise. "You are jesting, I suppose."

      "Listen to me in your turn, and pay attention to my words, for they express my irrevocable resolution. I know not nor care to know, by what means, more or less honourable, you have succeeded in gaining the confidence of my partners, and becoming master of our secrets. Still it is my firm conviction that a cause which employs such men as yourself is compromised, if not lost; hence I renounce every combination in which you are called to play a part. Your antecedents, and the life you lead, have placed you without the pale of the law."

      "I am a bandit—out with it! What matter so long as you succeed? Does not the end justify the means?"

      "That may be your morality, but it will never be mine. I repudiate all community of ideas with men of your stamp. I will not have you either as accomplice or partner."

      The squatter darted a look at him laden with hatred and disappointment.

      "In serving us," Don Miguel continued, "you can only have an interested object, which I will not take the trouble of guessing at. An Anglo-American will never frankly aid a Mexican to conquer his liberty; he would lose too much by doing it."

      "Then?"

      "I renounce forever the projects I had formed. I had, I grant, dreamed of restoring to my country the independence of which it was unjustly stripped: but it shall remain a dream."

      "That is your last word?"

      "The last."

      "You refuse?"

      "I do."

      "Good; then I now know what is left me to do."

      "Well, what is it? Let me hear," the hacendero said, as he crossed his arms on his breast, and looked him boldly in the face.

      "I will tell you."

      "I am waiting for you to do so."

      "I hold your secret."

      "Entirely?"

      "Hence you are in my power."

      "Perhaps."

      "Who will prevent me going to the Governor of the State and denouncing you?"

      "He will not believe you."

      "You think so?"

      "I am sure of it."

      "Perhaps, I will say in my turn."

      "Why so?"

      "Oh! you shall easily see."

      "I am curious to learn it."

      "However rich you may be, Don Miguel Zarate, and perhaps because of those very riches, and in spite of the kindness you sow broadcast, the number of your enemies is very considerable."

      "I know it."

      "Very good. Those enemies will joyfully seize the first opportunity that presents itself to destroy you."

      "It is probable."

      "You see, then. When I go to the governor and tell him you are conspiring, and, in support of my denunciation, hand him not only these letters, but, several others written and signed by you, lying in that chest, do you believe that the governor will treat me as an impostor, and refuse to arrest you?"

      "Then you have letters in my hand-writing?"

      "I have three, which will