The Freebooters: A Story of the Texan War. Gustave AimardЧитать онлайн книгу.
at short intervals, rolled themselves in their blankets, lay down with their feet to the fire, and went to sleep almost immediately. Fray Antonio, crushed by the poignant emotions of the day, and the enormous fatigue he had experienced, would gladly have imitated the Indians, had he dared, for he felt his eyes close involuntarily, and found immense difficulty in contending against the sleep that overpowered him. At last the Indian who hitherto had alone spoken, perceiving his state of somnolency, took pity on him. He rose, fetched a horsecloth, and brought it to the monk.
"My father will wrap himself in this fressada,2" he said, employing the bad Spanish in which he had hitherto spoken; "the nights are cold, and my father needs sleep greatly, he will, therefore, feel warmed with this. Tomorrow, a Chief will smoke the calumet with my father in council. Blue-fox desires to have a serious conversation with the father of prayer of the Palefaces."
Fray Antonio gratefully accepted the horsecloth so graciously offered by the Chief, and without attempting to prolong the conversation, he wrapped himself up carefully, and lay down by the fire so as to absorb the largest amount of caloric possible. Still the Indian's words did not fail to cause the monk a certain degree of anxiety.
"Hum!" he muttered to himself, "That is the reverse of the medal. What can this Pagan have to say to me? He does not mean to ask me to christen him, I suppose? especially as his name appears to be Blue-fox, a nice savage name, that. Well, heaven will not abandon me, and it will be day tomorrow. So now for a snooze."
And with this consolatory reflection the monk closed his eyes: two minutes later he slept as if never going to wake again.
Blue-fox, for it was really into the hands of that Chief the monk had so unexpectedly fallen, remained crouched over the fire the whole night, plunged in gloomy thought, and watching, alone of his comrades, over the common safety: at times, his eyes were fixed with a strange expression on the monk who was fast asleep, and far from suspecting that the Apache Chief was so obstinately engaged with him.
At sunrise Blue-fox was still awake: he had remained the whole night without once changing his position, and sleep had not once weighed down his eyelids.
CHAPTER II
INDIAN DIPLOMACY
The night passed calm and peaceful. At the moment when the sun appeared on the horizon, saluted by the deafening concert of the birds, hidden beneath the foliage, Blue-fox, who had hitherto remained motionless, extended his right arm in the direction of the monk, who was lying by his side, and gently touched him with his hand. This touch, slight as it was, sufficed, however, to arouse Fray Antonio.
There are moments in life when, although the body reposes, the mind retains all its delicate perceptions and vigilance; the monk was in a similar situation. The gentleness the Apaches displayed towards him on the previous night was so extraordinary, and opposed to their usual habit of treating white men, their inveterate foes, that the monk, despite the coolness which formed the basis of his character, understood that the strange conduct of the men into whose power he had fallen must result from very powerful motives, and that, in spite of the pretended friendship they showed him, he would do well to keep on his guard, in order to be able to make head against the storm, from whatever quarter it might come.
In consequence of this reasoning, while taking advantage of the friendly feeling of the Indians, he craftily watched their movements, only yielded to sleep with great circumspection, and then slept with one eye open, to employ the vulgar expression. Hence at the first signal he was ready to respond to the Indian's summons with a vivacity that brought an equivocal smile upon the latter's stern features. The Redskins are physiognomists by nature; and, in spite of the tranquillity the monk affected, Blue-fox had, from certain signs that never deceive, guessed the secret alarm that internally devoured him.
"Has my brother slept well?" the Indian asked in his hoarse voice; "The Wacondah loves him, has watched over his sleep, and kept Nyang, the genius of evil, away from his dreams."
"I have, indeed, slept well, Chief, and I thank you for the cordial hospitality you have been pleased to grant me."
A smile played round the Indian's lips, as he continued: —
"My father is one of the Chiefs of prayer of his nation, the God of the Palefaces is powerful, He protects those who devote themselves to His service."
As this remark required no answer, the monk contented himself by bowing in the affirmative. Still, his anxiety increased; beneath the Chiefs gentle words he fancied he could hear the hoarse voice of the tiger, which licks its lips ere devouring the booty it holds gasping in its terrible claws.
Fray Antonio had not even the resource of pretending not to understand the dangerous speaker, for the Chief expressed himself in bad Spanish, a language all the Indian tribes understand, and which, despite their repugnance to use it, they still employ in their dealings with the white men.
The morning was magnificent; the trees, with their dew-laden leaves, seemed greener than usual; a slight mist, impregnated with the soft matutinal odours, rose from the ground, and was sucked up by the sunbeams, which with each moment grew warmer. The whole camp was still sunk in sleep; the Chief and the monk were alone awake. After a moment's silence, Blue-fox continued: —
"My father will listen," he said; "a Chief is about to speak; Blue-fox is a Sachem, his tongue is not forked, the words his chest breathes are inspired by the Great Spirit."
"I am listening," Fray Antonio replied.
"Blue-fox is not an Apache, although he wears their costumes, and leads one of their most powerful tribes on the war trail; Blue-fox is a Snake Pawnee, his nation is as numerous as the grains of sand on the borders of the great lake. Many moons ago, Blue-fox left the hunting grounds of his nation, never to return to them, and became an adopted son of the Apaches; why did Blue-fox act thus?"
The Chief interrupted himself. The monk was on the point of answering that he did not know the fact, and cared very little about learning it, but a moment's reflection made him understand the danger of such an answer to a man so irritable as the one he was now talking with.
"The brothers of the Chief were ungrateful to him," he replied with feigned interest, "and the Sachem left them; after shaking off his moccasins at the entrance of their village."
The Chief shook his head in negation.
"No," he answered, "the brothers of Blue-fox loved him, they still weep for his absence; but the Chief was sad, a friend had abandoned him, and took away his heart."
"Ah!" said the monk, not at all understanding.
"Yes," the Indian continued; "Blue-fox could not endure the absence of his friend, and left his brothers to go in search of him."
"Of course you have found the person again, Chief, to whom you devoted yourself?"
"For a long time Blue-fox sought, but did not succeed in obtaining any news of him; but one day he at length saw him again."
"Good, and now you are re-united?"
"My father does not understand," the Indian answered drily.
This was perfectly correct. The monk did not understand a syllable of what it pleased the Chief to tell him – the more so, as this obscure narrative interested him but very slightly; and while the Apache was speaking, he was cudgelling his brains to discover the motives for this confidence. The consequence was that most of the words uttered by the Chief struck his ear, but only produced an empty sound, whose meaning did not reach his mind; but the peremptory accent with which Blue-fox uttered the last sentence, aroused him, and while recalling him to a feeling of his present position, made him comprehend the danger of not seeming to take an interest in the conversation.
"Pardon me, Chief," he eagerly answered; "on the contrary, I perfectly understand; but I am subject to a certain absence of mind completely independent of my will, which I hope you will not feel offended at, for I assure you it is no fault of mine."
"Good, my father is like all the Chiefs of Prayer of the Palefaces, his thoughts are constantly directed to the Wacondah."
"So it is, Chief," the monk exclaimed, delighted at the way in which his apology
"frazada."