The Freebooters: A Story of the Texan War. Gustave Aimard

your narrative, I beg, for I am now most anxious to listen to it."

      "Wah! My father constantly traverses the prairies of the Palefaces."

      "Yes, for the duties of my office oblige me to – "

      Blue-fox quickly interrupted him.

      "My father knows the pale hunters of these prairies?"

      "Nearly all."

      "Very good; one of these hunters is the friend so deeply regretted by Blue-fox."

      "Who is he?" the monk asked.

      The Indian did not seem to hear the question, for he went on —

      "Very often the Redskin warrior has been led a short distance from his friend by the incidents of the chase, but never near enough to make himself known."

      "That is unfortunate."

      "The Chief would like to see his friend, and smoke the calumet of peace with him at the council fire, while conversing about old times, and the period when, as children of the same tribe, they traversed together the hunting grounds of the Sachem's terrible nation."

      "Then the hunter is an Indian?"

      "No, he is a Paleface; but if his skin is white, the Great Spirit has placed an Indian heart in his bosom."

      "But why does not the Chief frankly go and join his friend, if he knows where he is? He would be probably delighted to see him again."

      At this insinuation, which he was far from anticipating, the Chief frowned, and a cloud momentarily crossed his face; but the monk was too little of an observer to remark this emotion: he had asked the question, as he would have done any other, unmeaningly, and simply to show the Chief by replying that he was an attentive listener. After a few seconds, the Indian reassumed that apathy which the Redskins rarely put off, and only when taken by surprise, and continued —

      "Blue-fox does not go to meet his friend, because the latter is not alone, and has with him enemies of your Chief."

      "That is different, and I can understand your prudence."

      "Good," the Indian added, with a sardonic smile, "wisdom speaks by the mouth of my rather; he is certainly a Chief of prayer, and his lips distil the purest honey."

      Fray Antonio drew himself up, and his alarm was beginning to be dissipated; he saw vaguely that the Redskin wished to ask something of him – in short, that he wanted his help. This thought restored his courage, and he tried to complete the effect he fancied he had produced on his Machiavellian questioner.

      "What my brother is unable to do, I can undertake," he said, in an insinuating voice.

      The Apache gave him a piercing glance.

      "Wah!" he replied, "Then my father knows where to find the Chiefs friend?"

      "How should I know it?" the monk objected; "You have not told me his name yet."

      "That is true; my father is good, he will forgive me. So he does not yet know who the Pale hunter is?"

      "I know him, perhaps, but up to the present I am ignorant whom the Chief alludes to."

      "Blue-fox is rich; he has numerous horses; he can assemble round his totem one hundred warriors, and ten times, twenty times more. If my father is willing to serve the Sachem, he will find him grateful."

      "I ask nothing better than to be agreeable to you. Chief, if it lies in my power; but you must explain: clearly what I have to do, in order that I may make no mistake."

      "Good; the Sachem will explain everything to his father."

      "In that way, nothing will be easier."

      "Does my father believe so?"

      "Well, I do not see what can prevent it."

      "Then my father will listen. Among all the Pale hunters, whose moccasins trample the prairie grass in all directions, there is one who is braver and more terrible than the rest; the tigers and jaguars fly at his approach, and the Indian warriors themselves are afraid to cope with him. This hunter is no effeminate Yori; the blood of the Gachupinos does not flow in his veins; he is the son of a colder land, and his ancestors fought for a lengthened period with the Long Knives of the East."

      "Good," the monk said; "from what the Chief tells me, I see that this man is a Canadian."

      "That is the name given, I think, to the nation of my friend."

      "But among all the hunters I am acquainted with, there is only one who is a Canadian."

      "Wah!" said the Chief, "Only one?"

      "Yes; his name is Tranquil, I think, and he is attached to the Larch-tree hacienda."

      "Wah! That is the very man. Does my father know him?"

      "Not much, I confess, but still sufficiently to present myself to him."

      "Very good."

      "Still, I warn you, Chief, that this man, like all his fellows, leads an extremely vagabond life, being here today and gone tomorrow; so that I am in great doubt as to where I should seek him."

      "Wah! my father need not trouble himself about that; the Sachem will lead him to the camp of the Tiger killer."

      "In that case, very good; I will undertake the rest."

      "My father must carefully retain in his heart the words of Blue-fox. The warriors are awaking; they must know nothing. When the hour arrives, the Chief will tell my father what he wants of him."

      "As you please, Chief."

      The conversation broke off here. The warriors were really awaking, and the camp, so quiet a few moments previously, had now the aspect of a hive, when the bees prepare at sunrise to go in search of their daily crop. At a sign from the Chief, the hachesto, or public crier, mounted a fallen tree, and twice uttered a shrill cry. At this appeal all the warriors, even those still lying on the ground, hastened to range themselves behind the Chief. A deep silence then prevailed for several minutes; all the Indians, with their arms folded on their chest, and their faces turned to the rising sun, awaited what the Sachem was about to do.

      The latter took a calabash full of water, which the hachesto handed him, and in which was a spray of wormwood. Then raising his voice, he sprinkled toward the four cardinal points, saying —

      "Wacondah, Wacondah! Thou unknown and omnipotent spirit, whose universe is the temple, Master of the life of man, protect thy children!"

      "Master of the life of man, protect thy children!" the Apaches repeated in chorus, respectfully bowing.

      "Creator of the great sacred Tortoise, whose skill supports the world, keep far from us Nyang, the genius of evil! Deliver our enemies to us, and give us their scalps. Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!"

      "Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!" the warriors repeated.

      The Sachem then bowed to the sun, and then towards the contents of the calabash, saying —

      "And thou, sublime star, visible representative of the omnipotent and invincible Creator, continue to pour thy vivifying heat on the hunting grounds of thy Red Sons, and intercede for them with the Master of life. May this clear water I offer thee be grateful. Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!"

      "Wacondah! Wacondah! Protect thy children!" the Apaches repeated, and followed their Chief's example by kneeling reverently. The latter then took a medicine rod from the hachesto, and waved it several times over his head, while shouting in a loud voice —

      "Nyang, spirit of evil, rebel against the Master of life; we brave and despise thy power, for the Wacondah protects us!"

      All the congregation uttered a loud yell, and rose. When the morning prayer had been said, and the rites performed, each man began attending to his daily duties.

      Fray Antonio had witnessed with extreme astonishment this sacred and affecting ceremony, whose details, however, escaped his notice, for the words uttered by the Chief had been in the dialect of his nation, and consequently incomprehensible to the monk. Still, he experienced a certain delight on seeing that these men, whom he regarded as barbarians, were