The Trappers of Arkansas: or, The Loyal Heart

The appearance of Loyal Heart, under the extraordinary circumstances in which he had presented himself to her, had won upon her mind, which was at that time particularly open to all sensations, and ready to retain all the strong impressions it might receive.

In presence of the exalted nature of the hunter, of that man in wild costume, but possessing a manly countenance, handsome features and noble bearing, she had felt agitated without comprehending the reason.

The fact was, that unknown to herself, by the force of the secret sympathies which exist between all the beings of the great human family, her heart had met the heart she sought for.

Delicate and frail, she stood in need of this energetic man, with the fascinating glance, the leonine courage, and an iron will, to support her through life, and defend her with his omnipotent protection.

Thus had she, therefore, from the first moment, yielded with a feeling of undefinable happiness, to the inclination which drew her towards Loyal Heart; and love had installed himself as master in her heart, before she was aware of it, or had even thought of resisting.

Recent events had awakened with intense force the passion which had been slumbering at the bottom of her heart. Now that she was near him, that she heard, at every instant, his praises from the mouth of his mother, or from those of his companions, she had come to consider her love as forming part of her existence, she could not comprehend how she could have lived so long without loving this man, whom it appeared she must have known from her very birth.

She no longer lived but for him and by him; happy at a look or a smile, joyful when she saw him, sad when he remained long absent from her.

Loyal Heart had arrived at the same result by a very different route.

Brought up, so to say, in the prairies, face to face with the Divinity, he was accustomed to adore in the great works he had constantly before his eyes, the sublime spectacles of nature; the incessant struggles he had to sustain, whether against Indians or wild beasts, had developed him, morally and physically, in immense proportions. As, by his muscular strength and his skill with his weapons, he had overcome all obstacles that had been opposed to him; so, by the grandeur of his ideas and the delicacy of his sentiments, he was capable of comprehending all things. Nothing that was good and nothing that was great seemed to be unknown to him. As it always happens with superior organisations early placed at war with adversity, and given up without other defences than themselves to the terrible chances of life, his mind had developed itself in gigantic proportions, still remaining in strange unconsciousness of certain sensations, which were unknown to him, and would always have remained so, but for a providential chance.

The daily wants of the agitated and precarious life he led, had stifled within him the germ of the passions; his solitary habits had, unknown to himself, led him to a taste for a contemplative life.

Knowing no other woman but his mother, for the Indians, by their manners, inspired him with nothing but disgust, he had reached the age of six-and-thirty without thinking of love, without knowing what it was, and, what is more, without ever having heard pronounced that word which contains so many things in its four letters, and which, in this world, is the source of so many sublime devotions and so many horrible crimes.

After a long day's hunting through woods and ravines, or after having been engaged fifteen or sixteen hours in trapping beavers, when, in the evening, they met in the prairie at their bivouac fire, the conversation of Loyal Heart and his friend Belhumeur, who was as ignorant as himself in this respect, could not possibly turn upon anything but the events of the day.

Weeks, months, years passed away without bringing any change in his existence, except a vague uneasiness, whose cause was unknown, but which weighed upon his mind, and for which he could not account. Nature has her imprescriptible rights, and every man must submit to them, in whatever condition he may chance to be placed.

Thus, therefore, when accident brought Doña Luz before him, by the same sentiment of instinctive and irresistible sympathy which acted upon the young girl, his heart flew towards her.

The hunter, astonished at the sudden interest he felt for a stranger, whom, according to all appearances, he might never see again, was almost angry with her on account of that sentiment which was awakening within him, and gave to his intercourse with her an asperity which was unnatural to him.

Like all exalted minds, who have been accustomed to see everything bend before them without resistance, he felt himself irritated at being subdued by a girl, at yielding to an influence from which he no longer could extricate himself.

But when, after the fire in the prairie, he quitted the Mexican camp, notwithstanding the precipitation of his departure, he carried away the remembrance of the fair stranger with him.

And this remembrance increased with absence.

He always fancied he heard the soft and melodious notes of the young girl's voice sounding in his ears, however strong the efforts he made to forget her; in hours of watching or of sleep, she was always there, smiling upon him, and fixing her enchanting looks upon him.

The struggle was severe. Loyal Heart, notwithstanding the passion that devoured him, knew what an insuperable distance separated him from Doña Luz, and how senseless and unrealizable this love was. All the objections possibly to be made in such cases, he made, in order to prove he was mad.

Then, when he had convinced himself that an abyss separated him from her he loved, overcome by the terrible conflict he had maintained against himself, supported perhaps by that hope which never abandons energetic men, far from frankly acknowledging his defeat, but yielding to the passion which was from that time to constitute his sole joy, his sole happiness, he continued doggedly to struggle against it, despising himself for a thousand little weaknesses which his love was continually making him commit.

He shunned, with an obstinacy that ought to have offended the maiden, all opportunities of meeting her. When by chance they happened to be together, he became taciturn and sullen, only answering with difficulty the questions she put to him, and, with that awkwardness peculiar to unpractised lovers, seizing the first opportunity for leaving her.

The young lady looked after him sadly, sighed quietly but deeply, and sometimes a liquid pearl flowed silently down her rosy cheeks at seeing this departure, which she took for indifference, and which was in reality love.

But during the few days that had passed since the taking of the camp the young people had progressed without suspecting it, and this was greatly assisted by the mother of Loyal Heart, who, with that second sight with which all mothers worthy of the name are endowed, had divined this passion, and the honourable combats of her son, and had constituted herself the secret confidante of their love, assisting it unknown to them, and protecting it with all her power, whilst both lovers were persuaded that their secret was buried in the depths of their own hearts.

Such was the state of things two days after the proposal made by the captain to Doña Luz.

Loyal Heart appeared more sad and more preoccupied than usual; he walked about the grotto with hasty strides, showing signs of the greatest impatience, and at intervals casting uneasy glances around him.

At length, leaning against one of the projections of the grotto, he let his head sink on his chest, and remained plunged in profound meditation.

He had stood thus for some time, when a soft voice murmured in his ear —

"What is the matter, my son? Why are your features clouded with such sadness? Have you received any bad news?"

Loyal Heart raised his head, like a man suddenly awakened from sleep.

His mother and Doña Luz were standing before him, their arms interlaced, and leaning upon each other.

He cast upon them a melancholy glance, and replied with a stifled sigh, —

"Alas! mother, tomorrow is the last day. I have as yet been able to imagine nothing that can save Doña Luz, and restore her uncle to her."

The two women started.

"Tomorrow!" Doña Luz murmured; "that is true; it is tomorrow that that man is to come!"

"What will you do, my son?"

"How can I tell, mother?" he replied impatiently. "Oh! this man is stronger than I am. He has defeated all my plans. Up to the present moment we have not possibly been able to discover his retreat. All our researches have proved useless."

"Loyal Heart," the young lady said, softly, "will you then abandon me to the mercy of this bandit? Why, then, did you save me?"

"Oh!" the young man cried, "that reproach kills me."

"I am not reproaching you, Loyal Heart," she said warmly; "but I am very unhappy. If I remain, I cause the death of the only relative I have in the world; if I depart, I am dishonoured!"

"Oh, to be able to do nothing!" he cried, with great excitement. "To see you weep, to know that you are unhappy, and to be able to do nothing! Oh!" he added, "to spare you the least anxiety I would sacrifice my life with joy. God alone knows what I suffer from this want of power."

"Hope, my son, hope!" the old lady said, with an encouraging accent. "God is good. He will not abandon you."

"Hope! how can you tell me to do so, mother? During the last two days my friends and I have attempted things that would appear impossible – and yet without result. Hope! and in a few hours this miserable wretch will come to claim the prey he covets! Better to die than see such a crime consummated."

Doña Luz cast upon him a glance of a peculiar expression, a melancholy smile for a moment passed over her lips, and then she gently laid her delicate little hand upon his shoulder, —

"Loyal Heart," she said, with her melodious, clear voice, "do you love me?"

The young man started; a tremor pervaded every limb.

"Why that question?" he said, in a deeply agitated tone.

"Answer me," she replied, "without hesitation, as I put the question to you; the hour is a solemn one; I have a favour to ask of you."

"Oh! name it, señora; you know I can refuse you nothing!"

"Answer me, then," she said, trembling with emotion; "do you love me?"

"If it be love to desire to sacrifice my life for you – if it be love to suffer martyrdom at witnessing the flowing of a tear which I would purchase with my whole blood – if it be love to have the courage to see you accomplish the sacrifice that will be required from you tomorrow in order to save your uncle – oh! yes, señora, I love you with all my soul! Therefore, speak without fear: whatever you ask of me I will perform with joy."

"That is well, my dear friend," she said, "I depend upon your word; tomorrow I will remind you of it when that man presents himself; but, in the first place, my uncle must be saved, if it were to cost me my life. Alas! he has been a father to me: he loves me as his daughter. It was on my account that he fell into the hands of the bandits. Oh! swear to me, Loyal Heart, that you will deliver him," she added, with an expression of anguish impossible to be described.

Loyal Heart was about to reply when Belhumeur and Black Elk entered the grotto.

"At last!" he cried, springing towards them.

The three men talked for a few minutes together in a low voice: then the hunter returned hastily towards the two women.

His face was glowing with animation.

"You were right, my dear mother," he exclaimed, in a cheerful tone, "God is good: He will not abandon those who place their confidence in Him. Now it is my turn to say, Hope, Doña Luz, I will soon restore your uncle to you."

"Oh!" she cried, joyfully, "can it be possible?"

"Hope! I repeat! Adieu, mother! Implore God to second me; I am about, more than ever, to stand in need of His help!"

Without saying more the young man rushed out of the grotto, followed by the greater part of his companions.

"What did he mean by what he said?" Doña Luz asked, anxiously.

"Come with me, my daughter," the old lady replied, sorrowfully; "come, let us pray for him."

She drew her softly towards the retired part of the grotto which they inhabited.

There only remained about half a score men charged with the defence of the two women.

CHAPTER XI.

THE PRISONERS

When the redskins and the hunters had recaptured the camp of the Mexicans, the pirates, according to the orders of their leader, had spread about in all directions, in order the more easily to escape the researches of their enemies.

The captain and the four men who carried off the general and his Negro, both bound and gagged, had descended the declivity of the rocks, at the risk of being dashed to pieces a thousand times by falling down the precipices which gaped at their feet.

On arriving at a certain distance, reassured by the silence which reigned around them, and still more by the extraordinary difficulties they had surmounted in reaching the place where they found themselves, they stopped to take breath.

A profound darkness enveloped them; over their heads, at an immense height, they perceived, twinkling like little stars, the torches borne by the hunters who pursued them, but who took care not to venture in the dangerous path they had followed.

"This is lucky," said the captain; "now, my boys, let us rest for a few minutes, we have nothing at the present time to fear: place your prisoners here, and go, two of you, and reconnoitre."

His orders were executed; a few minutes later the two bandits returned, announcing that they had discovered an excavation, which, might temporarily offer them shelter and safety.

"The devil!" cried the captain, "let us go to it."

And setting the example he started off in the direction pointed out by the scouts.

They soon arrived at a hollow nook which appeared tolerably spacious, and which was situated a few fathoms lower down than the place they had stopped at.

When they were concealed in this hiding place, the captain's first care was to close the entrance hermetically, which was not difficult, for that entrance was very narrow, the bandits having been obliged to stoop to penetrate into it.

"There," said the captain, "now we are snug; in this fashion we need not be afraid of impertinent visitors."

Drawing a steel from his pocket, he lit a torch of candlewood, with which, with that foresight that never abandons persons of his stamp even in the most critical circumstances, he had taken care to provide himself.

As soon as they could distinguish objects, the bandits uttered a cry of joy. What in the darkness they had taken for a simple excavation proved to be one of those natural grottos of which so many are found in these countries.

"Eh! eh!" said the captain, laughing, "let us see what sort of quarters we have got into; remain here, my men, and keep strict watch over your prisoners; I will go and reconnoitre our new domain."

After lighting a second torch, he explored the grotto.

It dipped deep under the mountain by a gentle descent; the walls were everywhere lofty, and sometimes they were widened into large compartments.

The cavern must have received external air by imperceptible fissures, for the light burned freely and the captain breathed without difficulty.

The farther the pirate advanced, the more perceptible the air became, which led him to conclude he was approaching an entrance of some kind.

He had been walking nearly twenty minutes, when a puff of wind came sharply in his nice and made the flame of his torch flicker.

"Hum!" he muttered, "here is a place of exit – let us be prudent and put out our lights, we know not whom we may meet with outside."

He crushed the light of his torch beneath his feet, and remained a few instants motionless, to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.

He was a prudent man, and thoroughly acquainted with his trade of a bandit, was this captain. If the plan he had formed for the attack of the camp had failed, it had required for that a concurrence of fortuitous circumstances impossible to have been foreseen by anybody.

Therefore, after the first moment of ill-humour caused by the check he had received, he had bravely taken his part; resolving, in petto, to take his revenge as soon as an opportunity should present itself.

Besides, it seemed as if Fortune was willing to smile on him afresh, by offering him, just at the moment when he had the greatest want of it, a refuge not likely to be discovered.

It was therefore with an almost unspeakable joy and hope that he waited till his eyes should be accustomed to the darkness, to permit him to distinguish objects and know if he were really going to find a place of exit, which would render him master of an almost impregnable position.

His expectations were not disappointed.

As soon as the dazzling effect of the blaze of the torch was got rid of, he perceived, at a considerable distance before him, a feeble light.

He walked resolutely forward, and at the end of a few minutes came to the so much desired outlet.

Decidedly fortune was once more propitious to him!

The outlet of the grotto opened upon the banks of a little river, the water of which came murmuring close to the mouth of the cavern, so that the bandits might, by swimming or constructing a raft, go in and out without leaving any traces, and thus defeat all researches.

The captain was too well acquainted with the prairies of the West, in which he had for nearly ten years exercised his honourable and lucrative profession, not to be able to know at once where he was on looking around him.

He perceived that this river flowed at some distance from the camp of the Mexicans, from which its numberless meanderings tended still more to remove it. He breathed a sigh of satisfaction when he had well examined the environs, no longer fearing discovery and thenceforward at ease regarding his position. He lit his torch again, and retraced his steps.

His companions, with the exception of one who watched the prisoners, were fast asleep.

The captain aroused them.

"Come, be alive! be alive!" he said; "this is not the time for sleeping; we have something else to do."

The bandits arose with a very ill grace, rubbing their eyes, and yawning enough to dislocate their jaws.

The captain made them, in the first place, securely close up the hole by which they had entered, then he ordered them to follow him with the prisoners, whose legs they unbound, in order that they might walk.

They stopped in one of the numerous halls, if we may so term them, which the captain had discovered on his route; one man was appointed to guard the prisoners, who were left in this place, and the captain, with the three other bandits continued their way to the outlet.

"You see," he said to them, pointing to the outlet, "that sometimes misfortune has its good, since chance has allowed us to discover a place of refuge where no one will come to seek us. You, Frank, set off directly for the rendez-vous I have appointed with your comrades, and bring them hither, as well as all the rest of our men who did not form part of the expedition. As for you, Antonio, you must procure us some provisions. Go, both of you. It is needless to tell you that I shall await your return with impatience."

The two bandits plunged into the river without reply, and disappeared.

"As to you, Gonzalez," he said, "employ yourself in gathering wood together for firing, and dry leaves for bedding; come, to work! to work!"

An hour later, a clear fire sparkled in the grotto, and upon soft beds of dry leaves the bandits slept soundly.

At sunrise the rest of the troop arrived.

There were still thirty of them!

The worthy leader felt his heart dilate with joy at the sight of the rich collection of scoundrels he had still at his disposal. With them he did not despair of re-establishing his affairs, and of soon taking a signal revenge.

After an abundant breakfast, composed of venison, copiously washed down with mezcal, the captain at length turned his attention to his prisoners. He repaired to the hall which served for their dungeon.

Since he had fallen into the hands of the bandits, the general had remained silent, apparently insensible to the ill-treatment to which he had been exposed.

The wounds he had received, being neglected, had festered, and gave him terrible pain; but he did not utter a complaint.

A deep grief took possession of his mind from the moment of his capture; he saw all his hopes overthrown of being able to resume the execution of the project that had brought him into the prairies.

All his companions were dead, and he knew not what fate awaited himself.

The only thing that brought a slight consolation to his pains was the certainty that his niece had succeeded in escaping.

But what was to become of her in this desert, where nothing was to be met with but wild beasts, and still more ferocious Indians? How could a young girl, accustomed to all the comforts of life, support the hazards of this existence of privations?

This idea redoubled his sufferings.

The captain was terrified at the state in which he found him.

"Come, general," he said, "courage! What the devil! luck often changes; I know something of that! Caray! never despair; nobody can tell what tomorrow will bring about. Give me your parole not to endeavour to escape, and I will immediately restore you the freedom of your limbs."

"I cannot give you that parole," the general replied with firmness; "I should take a false oath if I did. On the contrary, I swear to endeavour to fly by all possible means."

"Bravo! well answered!" said the pirate, laughing; "in your place, I should have replied just the same; only, at the present moment, I believe, with the best will in the world, it would be impossible for you to go a step. In spite, therefore, of all you have said to me, I will restore both you and your servant to liberty, and you may make what use you like of it, but it is freedom of your limbs, please to recollect, that is all."

With a stroke of his machete he cut the cords which bound the arms of the general, and then performed the same service for the Negro, Jupiter.

The latter, as soon as he was free in his movements, began jumping and laughing, exhibiting two rows of formidable teeth of dazzling whiteness.

"Come, be prudent, blacky," said the pirate; "be quiet here, if you do not want to have a bullet through your head."

"I will not go without my master," Jupiter replied, rolling his great wild-looking eyes.

"That is right!" the pirate remarked with a sneer; "that is agreed upon; such devotedness does you honour, blacky."

Turning next to the general, the captain bathed his wounds with cold water, and dressed them carefully; then, after placing provisions before the prisoners, to which the Negro alone did honour, the pirate retired.

Towards the middle of the day, the captain called together the principal men of his band.

"Caballeros," he said, "we cannot deny that we have lost the first game; the prisoners we have made are far from reimbursing our expenses; we cannot remain quiet under the effects of a check, which dishonours us, and renders us ridiculous. I am going to play a second game; this time if I do not win I shall be unlucky indeed. During my absence, watch well over the prisoners. Pay attention to the last orders I give you: if tomorrow, at midnight, I have not returned, safe and sound among you, at a quarter past midnight, I say, you will shoot the two prisoners without remission; you perfectly understand what I say, do you not? – without remission."

"Be at your ease, captain," Frank replied, in the name of his companions; "you may go as soon as you please; your orders shall be executed."

"I know they will; but be sure not to shoot them a minute too soon, or a minute too late."

"Exactly at the time named."

"That is understood. Adieu, then; do not be too impatient for my return."

Upon this the captain left the grotto, to throw himself in the way of Loyal Heart.

We have seen what the bandit wanted with the trapper.