The Pirates of the Prairies: Adventures in the American Desert. Gustave Aimard

will excuse me, general," Valentine answered; "but the war we carry on is completely different from that of civilised people; in the desert craft alone can triumph."

      "Well, let us be crafty: I ask nothing better, especially as, with the slight forces we have at our disposal, I do not see how we could act otherwise."

      "That is true," the hunter continued, "There are only five of us; but, believe me, five determined men are more dangerous than might be supposed, and I soon hope to prove it to our enemies."

      "Well spoken, friend," Don Miguel said, gladly. "Cuerpo de Dios, those accursed Gringos shall soon realise that fact."

      "We have," Valentine continued, "allies who will second us valiantly when the moment arrives: the Comanche nation proudly calls itself the 'Queen of the Prairies,' and its warriors are terrible enemies. Unicorn will not fail us, with his tribe; and we have also a friend in the enemy's camp in the Chief of the Coras."

      "What are you saying?" the General gaily remarked. "Why, our success is insured."

      Valentine shook his head.

      "No," he said; "Red Cedar has allies too: the Pirates of the Prairies and the Apaches will join him, I feel convinced."

      "Perhaps so," Don Miguel observed.

      "Doubt is not admissible under the circumstances; the scalp hunter is too well used to a desert life not to try and get all the chances of success on his side."

      "But, if that happen, it will be a general war," the hacendero said.

      "Doubtless," Valentine continued; "that is what I wish to arrive at. Two days' march from where we now are there is a Navajo village; I have done some slight services to Yellow Wolf, the principal chief; we must proceed to him before Red Cedar attempts to see him, and insure his alliance at all risks. The Navajos are prudent and courageous warriors."

      "Do you not fear the consequences of this delay?"

      "Once for all, caballeros," Valentine answered, "remember that in the country where we now are the straight line is ever the longest."

      The three men bowed resignedly.

      "Yellow Wolf's alliance is indispensable to us: with his support it will be easy for us to – "

      The sudden appearance of Curumilla interrupted the hunter. "What is the matter now?" he asked him.

      "Listen!" the chief answered laconically.

      The four men anxiously stopped talking.

      "By Heavens!" Valentine said, as he hurriedly arose, "What is the matter here?"

      And, followed by his comrades, he stepped into the thicket. The Mexicans, whose senses were dulled, had heard nothing at the first moment; but the noise which had struck the hunter's practised ear now reached them. It was the furious galloping of several horses, whose hoofs re-echoed on the ground with a noise resembling that of thunder. Suddenly, ferocious yells were heard, mingled with shots.

      The five travellers, hidden behind trees, peered out, and soon noticed a man mounted on a horse lathered with foam, who was pursued by some thirty mounted Indians.

      "To horse!" Valentine commanded in a low voice. "We cannot let this man be assassinated."

      "Hem!" the general muttered, "We are playing a dangerous game, for they are numerous."

      "Do you not see that the man is of our own colour?" Valentine went on.

      "That is true," said Don Miguel. "Whatever happens, we must not allow him to be massacred in cold blood by those ferocious Indians."

      In the meanwhile, the pursuers and pursued had come nearer the spot where the hunters were ambushed behind the trees. The man the Indians were so obstinately following drew himself up haughtily in his saddle, and, while galloping at full speed, turned from time to time to fire his rifle into the thick of his enemies. At each discharge a warrior fell; his comrades then uttered fearful yells, and answered by a shower of arrows and bullets. But the stranger shook his head disdainfully, and continued his career.

      "Caspita!" the general said with admiration; "That is a brave fellow."

      "On my soul," Don Pablo exclaimed, "it would be a pity to see him killed."

      "We must save him," Don Miguel could not refrain from saying.

      Valentine smiled gently.

      "I will try it," he said. "To horse!"

      Each leaped into the saddle.

      "Now," Valentine continued, "remain invisible behind the shrubs. These Indians are Apaches; when they come within range, you will all fire without showing yourselves."

      Each set his rifle, and held in readiness. There was a moment of supreme expectation, and the hunters' hearts beat violently.

      The Indians still approached, bowed over the necks of their panting steeds, brandishing their weapons furiously, and uttering at intervals their formidable war cry. They came up at headlong speed, preceded about one hundred yards by the man they were pursuing, whom they must soon catch up, for his wearied horse stumbled continually, and was sensibly diminishing its speed.

      At length the stranger passed with lightning speed the thicket which concealed those who were about to try a diversion in his favour, that might ruin them.

      "Attention," Valentine commanded in a low voice. The rifles were lowered on the Apaches.

      "Aim carefully," the Trail-hunter added. "Every bullet must, kill its man."

      A minute elapsed – a minute an age in length.

      "Fire!" the hunter suddenly shouted; "Fire now."

      Five shots were discharged, and the same number of Apaches fell.

      CHAPTER III

      AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF THE READER

      On this unforeseen attack the Apaches uttered a yell of terror; but, before they could pull up their horses, a second discharge made four fresh victims in their ranks. A mad terror then seized on the Indians, and they turned and fled in every direction; ten minutes later they had disappeared. The hunters did not dream for a moment of pursuing them; but Curumilla had dismounted, and crawling out to the scene of action, conscientiously finished and scalped the Apaches who had fallen under his comrades' bullets. At the same time he lassoed a riderless horse which passed a few paces from him, and then rejoined his friends.

      "To what tribe do those dogs belong?" Valentine asked him.

      "The Buffalo," Curumilla made answer.

      "Oh, oh," the hunter went on; "we were in luck's way then. Stanapat, I believe, is the chief of the Buffalo tribe."

      Curumilla nodded an assent; and after hobbling the horse he had lassoed by the side of the others, quietly seated himself on the river bank.

      The stranger had been quite as much surprised as the Apaches by the unforeseen help that had so providentially arrived at the moment when he believed himself hopelessly lost. At the sound of the firing he checked his horse, and, after a moment's hesitation, slowly turned back.

      Valentine watched all his movements. The stranger, on reaching the thicket, dismounted, pulled back with a firm hand the brambles that barred his way, and boldly proceeded to the clearing where the hunters were ambushed. This man, whom the reader already knows, was no other than the person Red Cedar called Don Melchior, and of whom he seemed so terribly afraid.

      When he found himself in the presence of the Mexicans, Don Melchior took off his hat and bowed courteously; the others politely returned his salute.

      "Viva Dios!" he exclaimed. "I do not know who you are, caballeros; but I thank you sincerely for your interference just now. I owe my life to you."

      "In the Far West," Valentine answered nobly, "an invisible bond connects all the individuals of one colour, who only form a single family."

      "Yes," the stranger said, with a thoughtful accent, "it should be so; but unfortunately," he added, shaking his head in denial, "the worthy principles you enunciate, caballero, are but very slightly put