Part 45 (1/2)

After the meal the men of us sat around the fire, indulging in that luxury--esteemed sweet by the prairie traveller--the fumes of the Nicotian weed. Marian had retired to her tent; and, for a few minutes, was lost to our sight. After a short time she came forth again; but, instead of joining us by the cheerful _hearth_, she was seen sauntering down in the direction of the stream. This caused a defection in our party. The young backwoodsman rose to his feet; and silently, but with rather an awkward grace, walked towards the tent--not Marian's. He might as well have spared himself the trouble of taking up some of his accoutrements, and pretending to examine them. The feint was perfectly transparent to the rest of us--especially when the action ended, by his strolling off almost on the identical track taken by the huntress-maiden!

”_Amantes_?” (lovers), whispered Archilete, half-interrogatively, as with a smile of quiet significance he followed the receding form of the hunter. ”Yes; lovers who have been long separated.”

”_Carrambo_! Do you say so? This then should be the rival of the false husband?” I nodded a.s.sent. ”_Por Dios, Senor_; it is not to be wondered at that the canting _heretico_ stood no chance in that game-- had it been played fairly. Your _camarado_ is a magnificent fellow. I can understand now why the wild huntress had no eyes for our _mountain-men_ here. No wonder she sighed for her far forest-home. _Ay de mi, cavallero_! Love is a powerful thought, even the desert will not drive it out of one's heart. No, no; _valga me dios_! no!”

The tone in which the Mexican repeated the last words had a tinge of sadness in it--while his eyes turned upon the fire with an expression that betrayed melancholy. It was easy to tell that he too--odd, and even ludicrous as was his personal appearance--either was, or had been, one of love's victims. I fancied he might have a story to tell--a love story? and at that moment my mind was attuned to listen to such a tale.

Sure-shot had also left us--our animals picketed a few paces off requiring his attention--and the two of us were left alone by the fire.

If the trapper's tale should prove a sentimental romance--and such are not uncommon in the Mexican border land--the moment was opportune.

Seeing that my new acquaintance was in the communicative mood, I essayed to draw him forth.

”You speak truly,” I said. ”Love _is_ a powerful pa.s.sion, and defies even the desert to destroy it. You yourself have proved it so, I presume? You have souvenirs?”

”Ay, senor, that have I; and painful ones.”

”Painful?”

”As poison--_Carrai-i-i_!”

”Your sweetheart has been unfaithful?”

”No.”

”Her parents have interfered, I suppose, as is often the case? She has been forced against her will to marry another?”

”Ah! _senor_, no. She was never married.”

”Not married? what then?”

”She was _murdered_!”

Regret at having initiated a conversation--that had stirred up such a melancholy memory--hindered me from making rejoinder; and I remained silent. My silence, however, did not stay the tale. Perhaps my companion longed to unburden himself; or, with some vague hope of sympathy, felt relief in having a listener. After a pause he proceeded to narrate the story of his love, and the sad incidents that led to its fatal termination.

CHAPTER NINETY TWO.

GABRIELLA GONZALES.

”_Puez, Senor_!” commenced the Mexican, ”your comrades tell me, you have been campaigning down below on the Rio Grande.”

”Quite true--I have.”

”Then you know something of our Mexican frontier life--how for the last half century we have been hara.s.sed by the _Indios bravos_--our _ranchos_ given to the flames--our grand _haciendas_ plundered and laid waste--our very towns attacked--many of them pillaged, destroyed, and now lying in ruins.”

”I have heard of these devastations. Down in Texas, I have myself been an eye-witness to a similar condition of things.”

”Ah! true, _senor_. Down there--in Tejas and Tamaulipas--things, I have heard, are bad enough. _Carrai_! here in New Mexico they are ten times worse. There they have the Comanches and Lipanos. Here we have an enemy on every side. On the east Caygua and Comanche, on the west the Apache and Navajo. On the south our country is hara.s.sed by the Wolf and Mezcalero Apaches, on the north by their kindred, the Jicarillas; while, now and then, it pleases our present allies the Utahs, to ornament their s.h.i.+elds with the scalps of our people, and their wigwams with the fairest of our women. _Carrambo! senor_! a happy country ours, is it not?”

The ironically bitter speech was intended for a reflection, rather than an interrogation, and therefore needed no reply. I made none. ”_Puez, amigo_!” continued the Mexican, ”I need hardly tell you that there is scarce a family on the Rio del Norte--from Taos to El Paso--that has not good cause to lament this unhappy condition of things; scarce one that has not personally suffered, from the inroads of the savages. I might speak of houses pillaged and burnt; of maize-fields laid waste to feed the horses of the roving marauder; of sheep and cattle driven off to desert fastnesses; bah! what are all these? What signify such trifling misfortunes, compared with that other calamity, which almost every family in the land may lament--the loss of one or more of its members-- wife, daughter, sister, child--borne off into hopeless bandage, to satisfy the will, or gratify the l.u.s.t, of a merciless barbarian?”

”A fearful state of affairs!”