The Indian Chief: The Story of a Revolution

The adventurers had piled their arms, and had already forgotten all their rancour: they were laughing and talking gaily together. Valentine and Curumilla had rejoined the count.

"What is your intention?" the hunter asked.

"Have you not guessed it?" Louis replied. "I pardon them."

"All?"

"Of course," he said with surprise.

"Then you will restore them to liberty?"

"Yes."

"Hum!" the hunter said.

"Do you see anything to prevent it?"

"Possibly."

"Explain yourself."

"I see no harm in your forgiving the Indians, for that may produce a good effect among the tribes, especially as the redskins have an excellent memory, and will long remember the severe lesson they received this night."

"Well?"

"But," the hunter went on, "all those men are not Indians."

"What do you mean?"

"That there are disguised Mexicans among them."

"You are certain of that?"

"Yes, the more so because I was warned by the man who commands the horsemen that proved such useful auxiliaries to you."

"But are not those horsemen Apaches?"

"You are mistaken, my dear friend: they are white men, and what is more, cívicos; that is to say, men paid and enrolled by the hacenderos to chase the Indians. You see how honourably they carry out their duties; but that must not astonish you, for you are sufficiently well acquainted with the manners of this country to find that perfectly natural, I have no doubt."

Louis stopped thoughtfully.

"What you tell me confounds me," he muttered.

"Why so?" the hunter replied carelessly. "It is, on the contrary, most simple. But we have not to trouble ourselves about the horsemen at present – they are beside the question."

"Certainly. Indeed, I owe them my thanks."

"They will save you the trouble, and I too. Let us only deal with the men down there."

"Then you are sure there are white men among them?"

"Quite sure."

"But how to recognise them?"

"Curumilla will undertake that."

"What you tell me is strange. For what purpose are these men leagued with our enemies?"

"We shall soon know that."

They then went on, and stood by the group. Valentine made a sign to Curumilla: the chief then approached the Indians, and began examining them attentively in turn, the count and Valentine watching him with considerable interest. The Araucano was as cold and gloomy as usual – not a muscle of his face quivered. On seeing him examine them thus, the Indians could not refrain from shuddering: they trembled at the sight of this dumb and unarmed man, whose piercing glance seemed to try and read their hearts; Curumilla laid his finger on an Indian's chest.

"One!" he said, and passed on.

"Come out!" Valentine said to the redskin.

The latter stood apart.

Curumilla pointed out in this way nine in succession, and then rejoined his comrades.

"Is that all?" Valentine asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"Disarm those men, and bind them firmly," the count commanded.

His orders being obeyed, Don Louis then walked up to the Apaches.

"My brothers may take their arms and mount their horses again," he said. "They are valiant warriors. The palefaces have appreciated their courage, and esteem them. My brothers will return to their villages, and tell the old men and sages of their nation that the palefaces who have conquered them are not cruel men, like the ferocious Yoris, and that they desire to bury the hatchet so deeply between themselves and the Apaches, that it may never be found again for ten thousand years."

An Indian advanced from the group, and saluted majestically.

"Strong Heart is a terrible warrior: he is a jaguar during the combat, but he becomes an antelope after the victory. The words his breast breathes are inspired in him by the Great Spirit – the Wacondah loves him. My nation was deceived by the Yoris. Strong Heart is generous – he has pardoned. Henceforth there will be friendship between the Apaches and the warriors of Strong Heart."

The redskins, according to their custom, had, with that poesy which distinguishes them, given Don Louis the name of Strong Heart.

After this address on the part of the Indian, who was a celebrated chief, and known as the White Buffalo, there was an interchange of good offices between the adventurers and Apaches. Their horses and arms were returned to them, and the ranks were opened to let them pass. When they had disappeared in the forest, El Buitre ordered his men to wheel, and retired in his turn. Don Louis for a moment had the idea of recalling this auxiliary, who had been so useful to him during the action; but Valentine opposed it.

"Let those men go, brother," he said to him. "You must not have any public relations with them."

Don Louis did not insist.

"Now," Valentine went on, "let us finish what we have so well begun."

"That is right," the count answered.

The order was at once given to bury the dead and attend to the wounded. The Frenchmen had suffered a serious loss: they had ten men killed and twenty odd wounded. It is true that the majority of these wounds were not mortal; still the victory cost dearly: it was a warning for the future.

Two hours later the company, assembled by the bugle call, ranged themselves silently in the mission square, in the centre of which Don Louis, Valentine, and three officers were gravely seated at a table, on which lay sundry papers. Don Cornelio was writing at a smaller table. The count had summoned his comrades, and appointed a court martial, of which he was president, in order to try the prisoners captured during the fight. Don Louis rose amidst a solemn silence.

"Bring forward the prisoners," he said.

The men previously pointed out by Curumilla appeared, led by a detachment of adventurers, and were freed from their bonds. Although they still wore the costume of Apache warriors, they had been compelled to wash themselves, and remove the paint that disguised them. These men appeared not so much to repent of their detected roguery, but merely ashamed of being made a public spectacle.

"Bring in the last prisoner," Don Louis commanded.

At this order the adventurers looked round in surprise, not understanding what the count meant, for the nine Mexicans were all present. But at the expiration of a moment their surprise was changed into anger, and a dull murmur ran along their ranks like an electric current.

Colonel Florés had made his appearance. He was unarmed, and his head bare; but his face, stamped with boldness and defiance, had a gloomily malicious expression, which gave him a most unpleasant appearance. Curumilla accompanied him. The count made a sign, and silence was re-established.

"What is the meaning of this?" the colonel asked in a haughty tone.

Don Louis did not allow him to continue.

"Silence!" he said in a firm voice, turning a flashing glance upon him.

Subdued, in spite of himself, by the count's accent, the colonel blushed and remained silent. Don Louis continued: —

"Brothers and comrades," he said, "unfortunately for us, circumstances have placed us in an exceptional situation. On all sides treachery surrounds us. By falsehood after falsehood, trick upon trick, they have led us onto this desert, where we are abandoned to ourselves, far from all help, and having our courage alone to count upon to save us. Yesterday Don Sebastian Guerrero, believing himself at length sure of the success of his infamous plans, which he has so long been forming against us, decided on raising the mask. He declared us outlaws, and branded us with the disgraceful epithet of pirates. Scarce two hours after his departure we were attacked by Indians. Our enemies' measures were well calculated, and were within an ace of success. But God was on the watch, and saved us this time again. Now, do you know the man who made himself the generals right arm, and carried into effect the odious treachery of which we were so nearly the victims?

"This man," he said, pointing with his finger with an expression of crushing contempt, "is the villain who, since our departure from Guaymas, has attached himself to us, and never left us. He pretended to love and defend us, that he might surprise our secrets, and sell them to our enemies. It is the wretch whom we treated as a brother – to whom we offered the most delicate and enduring attention. It is the man, lastly, who assumes the title of colonel, and name of Francisco Florés, and who lied in doing so; for he is a nameless half-breed, surnamed El Garrucholo, ex-lieutenant of El Buitre, that ferocious brigand who commands a cuadrilla of salteadores that has desolated Upper Mexico for several years. Look at him! Now that he is detected, he trembles – villain that he is; for he knows that the supreme hour of justice has rung for him."

In fact, at this terrible revelation, thus made in the presence of all, the bandit's boldness suddenly gave way, and an expression of hideous terror contracted his features.

"See," the count continued, "the men whom our enemies are not ashamed to employ against us; and yet they treat us as pirates! Well, we accept this brand, brothers; and these bandits who have fallen into our hands shall be judged according to the summary law of pirates."

The adventurers warmly applauded their chief's address. Besides, all recognised the truth and logic of his remarks. In the critical situation in which they found themselves they could forgive nothing: clemency would have been culpable weakness. They could only regain their position by boldness and energy, by terrifying their foes, and compelling them to treat with them. The count sat down again.

"Don Cornelio," he said, "read to the accused the charges brought against him."

The Spaniard rose, and began a long charge against the colonel, supported by numerous letters written by Don Francisco, or received by him from various persons, principally General Guerrero, which clearly and indubitably proved the colonel's guilt. Don Cornelio finished by describing the interview on the previous day between Don Francisco, El Buitre, and the Apache chief. The adventurers listened to this long enumeration of crimes and felonies in the most profound silence. When Don Cornelio had ended the count addressed the colonel.

"Do you recognise the truth of the charge brought against you?"

The bandit raised his head: his mind was made up, and he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"Of what use to deny?" he said. "It is all true."