The Trapper's Daughter: A Story of the Rocky Mountains. Gustave Aimard

Unicorn said, as he laid his hand on her shoulder, "go whither your heart calls you; save my brother and pay the debt you have contracted with him: my eye will follow you, and at the first signal I will run up."

      "Thanks," the young woman said, joyfully, and kneeling before the chief, she affectionately kissed his hand.

      Unicorn went on —

      "I confide this woman to my brother – I know that his heart is great: I am at my ease; farewell."

      And after a parting signal he dismissed his guest; the chief entered his calli without looking back, and let the buffalo hide curtain fall behind him. Sunbeam looked after him; when he had disappeared, she turned to Black Cat.

      "Let us go," she said, "to save our friend."

      A few hours later, the Apache chief, followed by a young woman, rejoined his tribe on the banks of the Gila, and on the next day but one Black Cat arrived with his entire forces at the hill of Mad Buffalo.

      CHAPTER IX

      THE MEETING

      The preceding explanations given, we will resume our story at the point where we left it at the end of chapter seven. Sunbeam, without speaking, offered the Spanish girl a piece of paper, a species of wooden skewer, and a shell filled with blue paint. The Gazelle gave a start of joy.

      "Oh, I understand," she said.

      The chief smiled.

      "The whites have a great deal of knowledge," he said, "nothing escapes them; my daughter will draw a collar for the pale chief."

      "Yes," she murmured, "but will he believe me?"

      "My daughter will put her heart in that paper, and the white hunter will recognise it."

      The girl heaved a sigh.

      "Let us try," she said.

      With a feverish movement she took the paper from Sunbeam's hand, hastily wrote a few words, and returned it to the young Indian, who stood motionless and stoical before her. Sunbeam rolled up the paper, and carefully fastened it round an arrow.

      "Within an hour it will be delivered," she said, and she disappeared in the wood with the lightness of a startled fawn. This little affair took her less time to perform than we have been employed in describing it. When the Indian girl, taught long before by Black Cat the part she had to play, had gone off to deliver her message, the chief said —

      "You see that, though we may not save them all, those who are dear to us will at any rate escape."

      "May Heaven grant that you are not mistaken, father," the girl said.

      "Wacondah is great – his power is unbounded – he can do everything – my daughter can hope."

      After this a long conversation took place between the couple, at the end of which, White Gazelle glided unnoticed, among the trees, and proceeded to a hill a short distance from the post occupied by the whites, called Elk Hill, where she had given Don Pablo the meeting. At the thought of seeing the Mexican again, the girl had been involuntarily attacked by an undefinable emotion; she felt her heart contracted, and all her limbs trembled. The recollection of what had passed between her and him so short a time back still troubled her ideas, and rendered the task she had imposed on herself even more difficult.

      At this moment she was no longer the rude amazon we have represented her to our readers, who, hardened since her childhood to the terrible scenes of prairie life, braved the greatest perils. She felt herself a woman; all the manliness in her had disappeared, only leaving a timid, trembling girl, who shuddered to find herself face to face with the man whom she reproached herself with having so cruelly outraged, and who, perhaps, on seeing her, would not condescend to enter into any explanation, but turn his back on her.

      All these thoughts and many others whirled about in her brain while she proceeded with a furtive step to the place of meeting. The nearer she drew the more lively her fears became, for her mind retraced with greater force the indignity of her previous conduct. At length she arrived, and found the top of the hill still deserted. A sigh of relief escaped from her oppressed chest, and she returned thanks to Heaven for granting her a few moments' respite to prepare herself for the solemn interview she had craved.

      But the first moment passed, another anxiety troubled her; she feared lest Don Pablo would not accept her invitation, but despise the chance of safety offered him. Then, with her head thrust forward, her eyes fixed on space, and striving to sound the depths of the gloom, she waited anxiously, counting the seconds. No one has yet been able to calculate how many centuries each moment is composed of to a person who is waiting. The girl was beginning to doubt Don Pablo's arrival; a gloomy despair seized upon her, and she cursed the material responsibility which nailed her inactively to the spot.

      Let us describe in a few words what was happening at this moment on the Hill of Mad Buffalo. Valentine, Curumilla and Don Pablo, seated on the crest of the hill, were silently smoking, each thinking apart of the means to be employed to escape from the painful position in which they were, when a shrill whistle was heard, and a long arrow, passing rapidly between the three men, buried itself deeply in the sods of the grassy mount, at the foot of which they were seated.

      "What is that?" Valentine, the first to regain his coolness, exclaimed. "By heavens! Can the redskins be beginning the attack already?"

      "Let us wake our friends," said Don Pablo.

      "A friend!" grunted Curumilla, who had pulled the arrow out and examined it attentively.

      "What do you mean, chief?" the hunter asked.

      "Look!" the Indian replied laconically, as he gave him the arrow, and pointed to the paper rolled round it.

      "So it is," Valentine said, as he unfastened the paper, while Curumilla picked up a burning log and held it to him as a candle.

      "Hum!" Don Pablo muttered, "this mode of corresponding appears to me rather strange."

      "We will see what it all means," the hunter answered.

      He unfolded the paper, on which a few lines were written in Spanish, and read the following —

      "The palefaces are lost; the Indian tribes, assembled from all parts and helped by the Pirates of the Prairies, surround them. The white men have no help to expect from anybody. Unicorn is too far off, Bloodson too much engaged in defending himself to have time to think of them. Don Pablo de Zarate can, if he likes, escape the death that menaces him, and save those who are dear to him. His fate is in his own hands. So soon as he has received this, let him leave his camp and proceed alone to Elk Hill, where he will meet a person prepared to supply him with the means he must seek in vain elsewhere; this person will await Don Pablo till sunrise. He is implored not to neglect this warning; tomorrow will be too late to save him, for he would infallibly succumb in a mad struggle.

"A FRIEND."

      On reading this strange missive, the young man let his head sink on his chest, and remained for a long time plunged in deep thought.

      "What is to be done?" he muttered.

      "Why go, hang it all!" Valentine answered; "Who knows whether this scrap of paper may not contain the salvation of all of us?"

      "But suppose it is treachery?"

      "Treachery! Nonsense, my friend, you must be joking. The Indians are thorough rogues and traitors, I grant; but they have a fearful terror of anything written, which they believe emanates from the genius of evil. No, this letter does not come from the Indians. As for the pirates, they can use a rifle very well, but are completely ignorant of a goose quill; and I declare, from here to Monterey on one side and to New York, on the other, you will not find one who knows how to write. This letter, therefore, emanates from a friend; but who that friend is, is more difficult to guess."

      "Then your opinion is to grant the meeting?"

      "Why not? Taking, of course, all the precautions usual in such a case."

      "Must I go alone?"

      "Canarios! people always go alone to such meetings: that is settled," Valentine said with a grin; "still, they are accompanied,