Part 27 (1/2)
Sunbeam shook her head sadly, and, making a last sign of farewell to her companion, she bounded like a startled fawn, rushed to the door, and disappeared.
The young Mexican remained for a long time pensive after Sunbeam's departure; the Indian's veiled words and embarra.s.sed countenance had excited her curiosity to the highest degree. On the other hand, the interest she could not forbear taking in this extraordinary woman, who had rendered her a signal service, or, to speak more correctly, a gloomy presentiment warned her that Sunbeam was leaving her to undertake one of those dangerous expeditions which the Indians like to carry out without help of any soul.
About two hours elapsed. The maiden, with her head bowed on her bosom, went over in her mind the strange events which had led her, incident by incident, to the spot where she now was. All at once a stifled sigh reached her ear; she raised her head with surprise, and saw a man standing before her, humbly leaning against a beam of the calli, and gazing on her with a strange meaning in his glance. It was Shaw, Red Cedar's son.
Dona Clara blushed and looked down in confusion; Shaw remained silent, with his eyes fixed on her, intoxicating himself with the happiness of seeing and contemplating her at his ease. The girl, seated alone in this wretched Indian hut, before the man who so many times had n.o.bly risked his life for her, fell into profound and serious thought.
A strange trouble seized upon her--her breast heaved under the pressure of her emotion. She did not at all comprehend the delicious sensations which at times made her quiver. Her eye, veiled with a soft languor, rested involuntarily on this man, handsome as an ancient Antinous, who with his haughty glance, his indomitable character, whom a frown from her made tremble--the wild son of the desert, who had hitherto known no will but his own!
On seeing him, so handsome and so brave, she felt herself attracted to him by all the strength of her soul. Though she was ignorant of the word love, for some time an unconscious revolution had taken place in her mind: she now began to understand that divine union of two souls, which are commingled in one, in an eternal communion of thoughts of joy and suffering.
In a word, she was about to love!
”What do you want with me, Shaw?” she asked, timidly.
”I wish to tell you, senorita,” he answered, in a rough voice, marked, however, with extraordinary tenderness, ”that, whatever may happen, whenever you have need of a man to die for you, you will have no occasion to seek him for I will be there.”
”Thanks,” she answered, smiling, in spite of herself, at the strangeness of the offer and the way in which it was made; ”but here we have nothing to fear.”
”Perhaps,” he went on. ”No one knows what the morrow has in store.”
Women have a decided taste for taming ferocious animals: like all natures essentially nervous, woman is a creature of feeling, whose pa.s.sion dwells in her head rather than in her heart. Love with a woman is only an affair of pride or a struggle to endure: as she is weak, she always wishes to conquer, and above all dominates at the outset, in order to become presently more completely the slave of the man she loves, when she has proved her strength, by holding him panting at her feet.
Owing to that eternal law of contrasts which governs the world, a woman will never love any man but him who, for some reason or another, flatters her pride. At any rate, it is so in the desert. I do not pretend to speak for our charming European ladies, who are a composite of grace and attraction, and who, like the angels, only belong to humanity, by the tip of their little wing, which scarce grazes the earth.
Dona Clara was a Mexican. Her exceptional position among Indians, the dangers to which she had been exposed, the weariness that undermined her--all these causes combined must dispose her in favour of the young savage, whose ardent pa.s.sion she divined, with that intuition peculiar to all women.
She yielded so far as to answer him, and encourage him to speak. Was it sport, or did she act in good; faith? No one could say: woman's heart is a book, in which man has never yet been able to construe a word.
One of those long and pleasant conversations now begun between the two young people, during which, though the word ”love” is not once uttered, it is expressed at every instant on the lips, and causes the heart to palpitate, which it plunges into those divine ecstacies, forgotten by ripe age, but which render those who experience them so happy.
Shaw, placed at his ease by the complacent kindness of Dona Clara, was no longer the same man. He found in his heart expressions which, in spite of herself made the maiden quiver, and put her into a confusion she could not understand.
At the hour indicated by Pethonista, a Comanche warrior appeared at the door of the calli, and broke off the conversation. He was ordered to lead the strangers to the meal prepared for them in the chief's lodge.
Dona Clara went out at once, followed by Shaw, whose heart was ready to burst with joy.
And yet what had Dona Clara said to him? Nothing. But she had let him speak, and listened to him with interest, and at times smiled at his remarks. The poor young man asked no more to be happy, and he was so, more than he had ever been before.
Valentine, Don Pablo, and the two Indians were awaiting Dona Clara. So soon as she appeared, all proceeded to the calli of the chief, preceded by the Comanche warrior, who served as guide.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE DANCE OF THE OLD DOGS.
Pethonista received his guests with all the refinements of Indian courtesy, obliging them to eat when he fancied he noticed that what was placed before them pleased their taste.
It is not always agreeable to a white man to be invited to an Indian dinner; for, among the redskins, etiquette prescribes that you should eat everything offered you without leaving a mouthful. Acting otherwise would greatly offend the Anfitrion. Hence the position of small eaters is very disagreeable at times: owing to the vast capacity of Indian stomachs, they find themselves under the harsh necessity of undergoing an attack of indigestion, or attract on themselves a quarrel which must have serious consequences.