The White Scalper: A Story of the Texan War

"On what conditions do you offer me all these advantages?" the old man asked, as he bowed, with cold politeness, to the Chief of the bandits.

"On none, señor," he answered; "we ask nothing of you, not even your name; we are proscribed and banished men; hence, every proscript, whatever be the motives that bring him here, has a right to a place by our fire. And now," he added, as he seized a bottle and poured out a bumper, "here is to your fortunate arrival among us, señor! Pledge me!"

"One moment, señor. Before replying to your toast I have, if you will permit me, a few words to say to you."

"We are listening to you, señor."

The old man rose, drew himself up to his full height, and looked silently at the company. A deep silence prevailed; suffering from lively anxiety, all impatiently waited for the Scalper to speak. At length he did so, while his face, which had hitherto been cold and stern, was animated by an expression of gentleness of which it would not have been thought capable.

"Señores," he said, "your frankness challenges mine; the generosity and grandeur of your reception compels me to make myself known. When a man comes to claim the support of men like yourselves he must keep nothing hidden from them. Yes, I am proscribed! Yes, I am banished! But I am so by my own will. I could return tomorrow, if I pleased, to the bosom of society, which has never repelled me, I make here neither allusions nor applications. I remain in the desert to accomplish a duty I have imposed on myself; I pursue a vengeance, an implacable vengeance, which nothing can completely satiate, not even the death of the last of my enemies! A vengeance which is only a wild dream, a horrible nightmare, but which I pursue, and shall pursue, at all hazards, until the supreme hour when, on the point of giving my last sigh, I shall die with regret at not having sufficiently avenged myself. Such is the object of my life, the cause which made me abandon the life of civilized men to take up with that of wild beasts – VENGEANCE! Now you know what I am; when I have told you my name you will be well acquainted with me."

The old man's voice, at first calm and low, had gradually mounted to the diapason of the passions that agitated him, and had become sonorous and harsh. His hearers, involuntarily overpowered by his impassioned accents, listened with panting chests and, as it were hanging on his lips, to this strange man, who, by revealing the secret of his life, had stirred up their hearts, and caused the only sensitive fibre that still existed there to vibrate painfully. For they, too, had but one object left, a sole desire – vengeance on that society which had expelled them like impure scum. These men could comprehend such a powerful and vindictive nature, admire it, and even feel jealous of it, for it was more complete and more vigorously tempered than their own.

When the Scalper had ceased speaking, all rose as if by common accord, and, leaning their quivering hands on the table, bent over to him, awaiting, with feverish impatience, the revelation of his name. But, by a strange revolution, the wounded man seemed to have forgotten what was taking place around him, and no longer to remember either where he was or what he had said. His head was bowed on his chest; with his forehead resting on his right hand and his eyes fixed on the ground, he tried in vain to overcome the flood of bitter recollections, the ever-bleeding wound which in a moment of excitement he had so imprudently revived.

Sandoval regarded him for a moment with an expression of sadness and pity, and laid his hand on his shoulder. At this touch the old man, roughly recalled to a feeling of external things, drew himself up as if he had received an electric shock, and gazed wildly round him.

"What do you want with me?" he asked, in a hoarse voice.

"To tell you your name," the pirate answered, slowly.

"Ah!" he said, "Then you know it?"

"Ten minutes back I was ignorant of it."

"While now – ?"

"Now I have guessed it."

An ironical smile curled the old man's pale lips.

"Do you think so?" he said.

"I am sure of it; there are not two men of your stamp in the desert; you are the genius of evil if you are not White Scalper."

At this name an electric quiver traversed the limbs of the hearers. The old man raised his head haughtily.

"Yes," he said, in a sharp voice, "I am White Scalper."

During this long conversation a number of pirates, brought up either by idleness or curiosity, had entered the dining room one after the other. On hearing this name uttered which they had been accustomed so long to admire, on seeing at length this man for whom they felt a secret terror, they burst into a formidable shout, which the resounding echoes repeated indefinitely, and which caused the roof to tremble as if agitated by an earthquake. The White Scalper made a signal to ask silence.

"Señores," he said, "I am very grateful for the friendly demonstrations of which I am the object. Up to the present I have refused every species of alliance; I obstinately resolved to live alone and accomplish, without help, the work of destruction to which I have devoted myself. But, after what has passed here, I must break the promise I made myself; he who receives is bound to give! Henceforth I am one of yourselves, if you deem me worthy to form part of your cuadrilla."

At this proposal the huzzas and shouts of joy were redoubled with extreme frenzy. Sandoval frowned; he understood that his precarious power was menaced. But, too skilful and crafty to let the secret fears that agitated him be guessed, he resolved to outflank the difficulty, and regain, by a masterstroke, the power which he felt instinctively was slipping from his grasp. Raising the glass he held in his hand, he shouted in a thundering voice:

"Muchachos! I drink to White Scalper!"

"To White Scalper," the bandits joined in enthusiastically.

Sandoval allowed the first effervescence time to calm down. Himself exciting this enthusiasm, he at length requested silence at the moment when this enthusiasm had attained its paroxysm. For a few minutes his efforts were in vain, for heads were beginning to grow hot under the influence of copious and incessant libations of mezcal, pulque, and Catalonian refino. By degrees, however, and like the sea after a storm, the cries died out, a calm was re-established, and nothing was audible save a dull and confused murmur of whispered words. Sandoval hastened to profit by this transient moment of silence to speak again.

"Señores," he said, "I have a proposal to make, which, I believe, will suit you."

"Speak, speak," the pirates shouted.

"Our association," Sandoval continued, "is founded on the most entire equality of its members, who freely elect the man they consider most worthy to command them."

"Yes, yes," they exclaimed.

"Long live Sandoval!" some said.

"Let him speak, do not interrupt him," the majority vociferated.

Sandoval, negligently leaning on the table, followed with an apparently indifferent glance these various manifestations, though he was suffering from lively anxiety, and his heart beat ready to burst his chest. He was playing for a heavy stake; he knew it, for he had, with the infallible glance of all ambitious men, calculated all the chances for and against. Hence, it was only by the strength of his will that he succeeded in giving his face a marble rigidity which did not permit the supreme agony he was suffering internally to be divined. When silence was nearly re-established, and he might hope to be heard, he continued, in a firm voice:

"You did me the honour to appoint me your Chief, and I believe that hitherto I have rendered myself worthy of that honour."

He paused as if to await a reply. A murmur of assent gently tickled his ear.

"What is he driving at?" Orson asked in a rough voice.

"You shall know," said Sandoval, who overheard him. And he continued: "In the common interest, I consider it my duty this night to hand you back the authority with which you entrusted me. You have at present among you a man more capable than myself of commanding you, a man whose mere name will inspire terror in the heart of your enemies. In a word, I offer you my resignation, proposing that you should elect on the spot White Scalper as your Chief!"

It was only then that Sandoval really knew the feeling of his comrades toward him. Of two hundred pirates assembled at this moment in the dining hall, two thirds pronounced immediately for him, energetically refusing the resignation he offered apparently with so much self-denial; one half the remaining third gave no sign of approval or disapproval. Thirty or forty of the bandits alone received the proposal with shouts of joy.

Still, as happens nearly always under similar circumstances, these thirty or forty individuals, by their shouts and yells, would soon have led away others, and would probably have become ere long an imposing majority, had not White Scalper himself thought it high time to interfere. The old adventurer did not at all desire the disgraceful honour of being elected the Chief of this band of ruffians, whom he despised in his heart, and whom the force of circumstances alone compelled him to accept as companions. He was, on the contrary, resolved to part with them so soon as his wounds were closed, and he felt capable of recommencing his wandering life. Hence, at the moment when the shouts and oaths crossed each other in the air with an intensity that grew more and more menacing, when already some of the pirates, their arguments being exhausted, were beginning to lay hands on their knives and pistols, and a frightful battle was about to begin between these men, among whom a moral feeling did not exist, and who were consequently restrained by no sentiment of honour or affection; he rose, and speaking amid the vociferations of these turbulent men, he protested energetically against the proposal made by Sandoval, not wishing, as he said, to accept anything but the honour of fighting by their side, and sharing their dangers, for he felt an incompetence to command.

In the face of such an energetic refusal, all opposition necessarily ceased. A reaction in the contrary sense set in, and the pirates implored Sandoval to retain the command, while protesting their devotion to him. Sandoval, after letting himself be a long time entreated, in order to convince them thoroughly of the frankness of his conduct, at length allowed himself to be persuaded, and consented to retain that power which he had felt for a moment such fear of losing.

Peace was thus restored as if by enchantment, and while the pirates drank floods of mezcal to celebrate the happy conclusion of this affair, the Captain led his guests to a compartment separate from the grotto, where they were at liberty at last to rest themselves. Still Sandoval, who, rightly or wrong, had for a moment found his power threatened by White Scalper, felt a malice for him in his heart, and promised to avenge himself on the first opportunity.

CHAPTER XIII

A CONVERSATION

Tranquil and Loyal Heart, as we have seen, withdrew immediately the opportunity appeared favourable to them, and returned to the hunter's rancho, where No Eusebio had made all preparations to give them a hearty reception. Loyal Heart was too sad by nature, the Canadian too preoccupied by a fixed idea which he had hitherto; kept in his heart, for these two men to take the slightest interest in the coarse festivities of the Indians. All this noise and disturbance wearied them; they felt a desire to rest themselves.

Doña Garillas received them with that calm and radiant smile which seemed to pass over her pale and sad face like a sunbeam passing between two clouds. Attentive to satisfy their slightest desires, she seemed to be thankful to them for their return, and tried, by those thousand little attentions of which women alone possess the secret, to keep them as long as possible by her side.

The hunter's house, so peaceful and comfortable, although in the prejudiced sight of a European it would have seemed hardly above the most wretched labourer's cabin in this country, formed a contrast which was not without grandeur with the leather callis of the Redskins, those receptacles of vermin, where the most utter neglect and complete forgetfulness, not only of comfort, but of the most simple enjoyments of life, were visible.

Loyal Heart, after respectfully kissing his mother's forehead, shaking hands with No Eusebio, and patting his dogs, which leapt up at him with joyous whines, sat down to table, making Tranquil a sign to follow his example. Since the previous night a singular change had taken place in the manner, and even countenance of the old hunter. He whose movements were generally so frank and steady, seemed embarrassed; his eye had lost the fire which illumined it and gave it so noble an expression; his eyebrows continually met under the effect of some secret thought; his very speech was sharper than usual.

The young man watched pensively, and with a melancholy smile, the hunter's movements. When the meal was over, and the pipes were lit, after making his mother and No Eusebio a sign to withdraw, he turned to the Canadian —

"My guest," he said affectionately, "we are old friends, are we not? Although we have known each other but a short time."

"Certainly! Loyal Heart, in the desert friendships and hatreds grow rapidly, and we have been together under circumstances when two men, side by side, can appreciate each other in a few minutes."

"Will you let me ask you a question?"

"Of course," the hunter answered.

"Stay," the young man continued; "do we understand each other? Will you promise to answer me this question?"

"Why not?" Tranquil said quietly.

"Who knows —¿quién sabe? as we Spanish Americans say," the young man replied with a smile.

"Nonsense," the Canadian replied carelessly; "ask your question, mine host; I cannot foresee the possibility of my being unable to answer you."

"But, supposing it were so?"

"I do not suppose it; you are a man of too upright sense, and too great intelligence, to fall into that error. So speak without fear."

"I will do so, as you authorise me; for you do so, I think."

"Understood."

"In that ease, listen to me. I know you too well, or, at least, I fancy I know you too well to suppose that you have come here merely to pay me a visit, as you knew you could meet me any day on the prairie. You have, therefore, undertaken this journey with some definite object; a most serious motive impelled you to wish to see me."

Tranquil gave a silent nod of assent. Loyal Heart went on after a moment's silence, during which he seemed to be awaiting a reply, which did not come.

"You have been here now two days. You have already had several opportunities for a frank explanation, an explanation, by the way, which I desire with my whole heart, for I foresee that it will contain a service I can render you, and I shall be happy to prove to you the esteem I entertain for your character. Still, that explanation does not come; you seem, on the contrary, to fear it; your manner toward me has completely changed; since yesterday, in a word, you are no longer the man I knew, the man who never hesitates, and always utters his thoughts loudly and boldly, whatever might be the consequences at a later date. Am I mistaken? Answer, old hunter."

For some minutes the Canadian seemed considerably embarrassed; this point-blank question troubled him singularly. At length he boldly made up his mind, and raised his head —

"On my word," he answered, looking his questioner firmly in the face, "I cannot contradict it; Loyal Heart, you are right – all you have said is perfectly correct."

"Ah!" the young man said with a smile of satisfaction, "I was not mistaken, then; I am pleased to know what I have to depend on."

The Canadian shrugged his shoulders philosophically, like a man who does not at all understand, but who yet experiences a certain degree of pleasure at seeing his questioner satisfied, though he is completely ignorant why. Loyal Heart continued —

"Now, I demand in the name of that friendship that binds us – I demand, I say, that you should be frank with me, and without reservation or circumlocution, confess to me the motives which urged you to act as you have done."

"These motives are only honourable, be assured, Loyal Heart."

"I am convinced of it, my friend; but I repeat to you, I wish to know them."

"After all," the old hunter continued with the accent of a man who has formed a resolution, "why should I have secrets from you when I have come to claim your assistance? You shall know all. I am only a coarse adventurer, who received all the education he has on the desert; I adore God, and am mad for liberty; I have always tried to benefit my neighbour, and requite good for evil as far as lay in my power; such, in two words, is my profession of faith."

"It is rigorously true," Loyal Heart said, with an air of conviction.

"Thanks, and frankly I believe it. But, with the exception of that, I know nothing. Desert life has only developed in me the instincts of the brute, without giving me any of those refinements which the civilisation of towns causes to be developed in the most savage natures."

"I confess that I do not see at all what you are driving at."

"You will soon comprehend me. From the first moment I saw you, with the first word you uttered, by a species of intuition, by one of those sympathies what are independent of the will, I felt myself attracted towards you. You were my friend during the few days we lived together, sharing the same couch under the vault of Heaven, running the same dangers, experiencing the same joys and sorrows. I believed that I appreciated you at your true value, and my friendship only increased in consequence. Hence, when I needed a sure and devoted friend, I thought of you at once, and, without further reflection, started to go in quest of you."

"You did well."

"I know it," said Tranquil, with simple enthusiasm; "still, on entering this modest rancho, my ideas were completely modified; a doubt occurred to me – not about you, for that was impossible – but about your position, and the mysterious life you lead. I asked myself by what concourse of circumstances a man like you had confined himself to an Indian village and accepted all the wretchedness of a Redskin life, a wretchedness often so cruel and opposed to our manners. On seeing your mother so lovely and so kind, your old servant so devoted, and the way in which you behave within these walls, I thought, without prejudging anything, that a great misfortune had suddenly burst on you and forced you for a time into a hard exile. But I understood that I was not your equal, that between you and me there was a distinctly traced line of demarcation; then I felt oppressed in your company, for you are no longer the free hunter, having no other roof but the verdurous dome of our virgin forests, or other fortune than his rifle; in a word, you are no longer the comrade, the friend with whom I was so happy to share everything in the desert I no longer recognise the right to treat as an equal a man whom a passing misfortune has accidentally brought near me, and who would, doubtless, at a later date, regret this intimacy which has sprung from accident; while continuing to love and esteem you, I resume the place that belongs to me."

"All of which means?" Loyal Heart said, distinctly.

"That, being no longer able to be your comrade, and not wishing to be your servant, I shall retire."

"You are mad, Tranquil," the young man exclaimed, with an outburst of impatient grief. "What you say, I tell you, has not common sense, and the conclusions yon draw from it are absurd."

"Still – ?" the Canadian hazarded.

"Oh!" the other continued, with considerable animation, "I have allowed you to speak, have I not? I listened to whatever you had to say without interruption, and it is now your turn. Without wishing it, you have caused me the greatest pain it is possible for me to suffer; you have caused an ever-living wound to bleed, by reminding me of things which I try in vain to forget, and which will cause the wretchedness of my whole life."

"I – I?" the hunter exclaimed, with a start of terror.

"Yes, you! But what matter? Besides, you were walking blindly, not knowing where you were going; hence, I have no right to be angry with you, and am not so. But there is one thing I value above all, which; I esteem more than life, and that is your friendship. I cannot consent to lose it. Confidence for confidence! You shall know who I am and what motive brought me to the desert, where I am condemned to live and die."

"No," Tranquil answered, clearly, "I have no claim to your confidence. You say that I have unintentionally caused you great suffering; that suffering would only be increased by the confession you wish to make me. I swear to you, Loyal Heart, that I will not listen to you."

"You must, my friend, both for your sake and my own, for in that way we shall learn to understand one another. Besides," he added, with a melancholy smile, "this secret which crushed me, and which I have hitherto kept in my own bosom, it will be a great consolation to me, be assured, to confide to a real friend. And then, you must know this: I have no one to complain of; the terrible misfortune which suddenly fell upon me, or chastisement, if you like that term better, was just, though perhaps severe; I have, therefore, no one to reproach but myself. My life is only one long expiation; unhappily I tremble lest the present and the future will not suffice to expiate the past."

"You forget God, my son," a voice said, with an accent of supreme majesty, "God, who cannot fail you and will judge you. When the expiation you have imposed on yourself is completed, that God will cause it to terminate."

And Doña Garillas, who had for some moments been listening to the conversation of the two men, crossed the room with a majestic step, and laid her white and delicate hand on the shoulder of her son, while giving him a glance full of that powerful love which mothers alone possess.

"Oh! I am a wretched ingrate!" the young man exclaimed, sorrowfully; "in my hideous egotism I for a moment forgot you, my mother, who gave up everything for me."

"Raphael, you are my first-born. What I did nine years ago I would do again today. But now, let what you are about to hear be a consolation to you. I am proud of you, my son; whatever pain you once caused me, the same amount of joy and pride you cause me today. All the Indian tribes that traverse the vast solitudes of the prairie have the greatest respect and deepest veneration for you; has not the name these primitive men have given you become the synonym of honour? Are you not, in a word, Loyal Heart, that is to say, the man whose decisions have the strength of law, whom all, friends and enemies, love and esteem? What more do you want?"

The young man shook his head sadly.

"Alas, mother," he said, in a hollow voice, "can I ever forget that I have been a gambler, assassin, and incendiary?"

Tranquil could not restrain a start of terror.

"Oh, it is impossible!" he muttered.

The young man heard him, and turning to him, said – ?

"Yes, my friend, I have been a gambler, assassin, and incendiary. Well, now," he added, with an accent of sad and bitter raillery, "do you still fancy yourself unworthy of my friendship? Do you still consider you are not my equal?"

The Canadian rose while the young man bent on him a searching glance; he went up to Doña Garillas, and bowed to her with a respect mingled with admiration.

"Señora," he said, "whatever crimes a man may have committed in a moment of irresistible passion, that man must be absolved by all when, in spite of his fault, he inspires a devotion so glorious, so perfect, and so noble as yours. You are a holy woman, madam! Hope, as you said yourself a moment back, hope. GOD, who is omnipotent, will, when the moment arrives, dry your tears and make you forget your sorrow in immense joy. I am but a poor man, without talent or learning, but my instinct has never deceived me. I am convinced that if your son were ever guilty, he is now pardoned, even by the man who condemned him under the influence of an exaggerated feeling of honour, which he regretted at a later date."

"Thanks, my friend," Loyal Heart answered; "thanks for words which I feel convinced are the expression of your innermost thoughts; thanks in my mother's name and my own! Yours is a frank and upright nature. You have restored me the courage which at times abandons me, and have raised me in my own sight; but this expiation to which I condemned myself, would not be complete unless I told you, in their fullest details, all the events of my life. No refusal," he added, with a sign to the hunter, "it must be so! Believe me, Tranquil, this story bears its own instruction. Just as the traveller, after a long and painful journey, halts by the wayside, and looks with a certain degree of satisfaction at the distance he has covered, I shall feel a mournful pleasure in returning to the early and terrible events of my life."