The White Scalper. Gustave Aimard

and that is almost impossible; but it might happen."

      "In that case nothing is more simple: we will draw our machetes and charge each other."

      "Agreed. Stay, one word more; one of us must remain on the ground, I suppose?"

      "I should think so. If not, what would be the use of fighting?"

      "That is true; so promise me one thing."

      "What is it?"

      "The survivor will throw the body into the river."

      "Hum! Then you are very desirous that I should not come to life again?"

      "Well, you can understand—"

      "All right, that is agreed."

      "Thank you."

      The two men bowed, and then went off in opposite directions, to take up their stations. The distance between them was about seventy yards; in a few seconds a double detonation burst forth like a clap of thunder, and woke up the echoes. The two adversaries then rushed on each other, machete in hand. They met nearly half way, and not uttering a word, attacked each other furiously.

      The combat lasted a long time, and threatened to continue longer, without any marked advantage for either of the champions, for they were nearly of equal strength, when all at once several men appeared, and, aiming at the two adversaries, ordered them to lay down their arms immediately. Each fell back a step, and waited.

      "Stop!" the man shouted, who seemed to be the Chief of the newcomers; "do you, John Davis, mount your horse and be off!"

      "By what right do you give me that order?" the American asked, savagely.

      "By the right of the stronger," the leader replied. "Be off, if you do not wish a misfortune to happen to you!"

      John Davis looked around him. Any resistance was impossible—for what could he have done alone, merely armed with a sabre, against twenty individuals? The American stifled an oath, and mounted again, but suddenly reflecting, he asked, "And who may you be, who thus pretend to dictate to me?"

      "You wish to know?"

      "Yes."

      "Well, I am a man to whom you and Colonel Melendez offered an atrocious insult. I am the Monk Antonio!"

      At this name the two adversaries felt a thrill of terror run through their veins; without doubt the monk was about to avenge himself, now that in his turn he had them in his power.

CHAPTER V.

      BEFORE THE BATTLE.

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      John Davis recovered almost immediately.

      "Ah, ah!" he said, "Then it is you, my master?"

      "It astonishes you to meet me here."

      "On my honour, no. Your place, in my opinion, is wherever a snare is laid; hence nothing is more natural than your presence."

      "It is wrong, John Davis, for a man to take advantage of his weakness to insult people, especially when he is ignorant of their intentions."

      "Ah, they appear to me tolerably clear at this moment."

      "You might be mistaken."

      "I do not believe it. However, I shall soon be certain."

      "What are you doing?"

      "As you see, I am dismounting."

      In fact, the American leapt from his horse, drew his pistols from the holsters, and walked toward the monk with a most quiet step and thoroughly natural air.

      "Why do you not go, as I advised you to do?" Fray Antonio continued.

      "For two reasons, my dear Señor. The first is, that I have no orders or advice to receive from you; the second, because I shall not be sorry to be present at the pretty little act of scoundrelism you are of course meditating."

      "Then your intention is—"

      "To defend my friend, by Heaven!" the American exclaimed, warmly.

      "What! your friend?" the monk said, in amazement: "why, only a minute ago you were trying to take his life."

      "My dear Señor," Davis remarked, ironically, "there are certain remarks whose sense you unhappily never catch. Understand me clearly: I am ready to kill this gentleman, but I will not consent to see him assassinated. That is clear enough, hang it all!"

      Fray Antonio burst into a laugh.

      "Singular man!" he said.

      "Am I not?" Then turning to his adversary, who still stood perfectly quiet, he continued: "My dear Colonel, we will resume, at a later date, the interesting interview which this worthy Padre so untowardly interrupted. For the present, permit me to restore you one of the pistols you so generously lent me; it is undoubted that these scamps will kill us; but, at any rate, we shall have the pleasure of settling three or four of them first."

      "Thank you, Davis," the Colonel answered, "I expected nothing less from you. I accept your proposition as frankly as you make it."

      And he took the pistol, and cocked it. The American took his place by his side, and bowed to the stranger with mocking courtesy.

      "Señores," he said, "you can charge us whenever you think proper, for we are prepared to sustain your charge bravely."

      "Ah, ah!" said Fray Antonio, "Then you really mean it?"

      "What!—mean it? The question seems to me somewhat simple; I suppose you think the hour and place well chosen for a joke?"

      The monk shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the men who accompanied him.

      "Be off!" he said. "In an hour I will join you again, you know where."

      The strangers gave a nod of assent, and disappeared almost instantaneously among the trees and shrubs. The monk then threw his weapons on the ground, and drew so near to the men as almost to touch them.

      "Are you still afraid?" he said; "It is I now who am in your power."

      "Halloh!" Davis said, as he uncocked his pistol, "why, what is the meaning of this?"

      "If, instead of taking me as a bandit, as you did, you had taken the trouble to reflect, you would have understood that I had but one object, and that was, to prevent the resumption of the obstinate fight which my presence so fortunately interrupted."

      "But how did you arrive here so opportunely?"

      "Accident did it all. Ordered by our Commander-in-chief to watch the enemy's movements, I posted myself on the two roads, in order to take prisoner all the scouts who came in this direction."

      "Then you do not owe either the Colonel or myself any grudge?"

      "Perhaps," he said, with hesitation, "I have not quite forgotten the unworthy treatment you inflicted on me; but, at any rate, I have given up all thoughts of vengeance."

      John Davis reflected for a moment, and then said, as he offered him his hand, "You are a worthy monk. I see that you are faithful to the pledge of amendment you made. I am sorry for what I did."

      "I will say the same, Señor," the Colonel remarked; "I was far from expecting such generosity on your part."

      "One word, now, Señores."

      "Speak," they said, "we are listening."

      "Promise me not to renew that impious duel, and follow my example by forgetting your hatred."

      The two men stretched out their hand with a simultaneous movement.

      "That is well," he continued, "I am happy to see you act thus. Now let us separate. You, Colonel, will mount