Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

“One night while the young man and I were watching, I recalled a name which six months before he had uttered in his sleep. I then learned the secret of that grief which was slowly consuming him. He loved, and solitude had but increased a passion which he vainly sought to stifle.”

Gayferos paused an instant to cast a searching glance upon the countenances of his auditors, especially upon that of Doña Rosarita. He appeared to take a secret pleasure in exciting the young girl by the recital of all the circumstances best calculated to touch the heart of a woman.

As a warrior and a hunter, the haciendado did not attempt to conceal the interest with which the stranger’s narrative was inspiring him.

Rosarita, on the contrary, endeavoured, under a mask of studied coldness, to conceal the charm she experienced on listening to this romance of heart and action, whose most stirring pages were so considerately opened to her by the intelligent narrator.

But her heightened colour and the fire in her large dark eyes completely belied her efforts.

“Ah!” cried Don Augustin, “if these three brave men had been under Don Estevan’s command, the fate of the expedition might have been far different.”

“I am of the same opinion,” replied Gayferos, “but God had ordained it otherwise. Meanwhile,” he continued, “I felt a great longing again to see my native land, but gratitude required that I should conceal it. But the old warrior divined my thoughts, and one day addressed me on this subject.

“Too generous to suffer me alone to brave the dangers of my homeward journey, the giant hunter resolved to accompany me as far as Tubac. His companion did not oppose his resolution, and we set out for the frontier. The young man alone seemed, to follow us reluctantly in this direction.

“I shall not describe our fatigues and the various difficulties we surmounted, in the course of our long and perilous journey. I wish, however, to speak of one of our last encounters with the Indians.

“In order to reach the Presidio we were obliged to cross the chain of the Rocky Mountains. It was towards the approach of night that we found ourselves amongst their gloomy solitudes, and we were obliged to halt.

“This is a spot much frequented by the Indians, and we could not encamp without the greatest precaution.

“Nothing, as it seems to me, can better resemble the abode of condemned souls than these mountains, where we spent the night. At every moment strange sounds, which appeared to proceed from the cavities of the rocks, broke upon our ears. At one time it was a volcano, which rumbled with dull and heavy noise beneath us, or the distant roar of a cataract: sometimes resembling the howling of wolves or plaintive cries; and from time to time dreadful flashes of lightning tore aside the veil of mist which eternally covers these mountains.

“For fear of a surprise we had encamped upon a rock which projected, in the form of a table, above a wide open valley about fifty feet below us. The two elder hunters were asleep; the youngest alone kept watch. It was his turn, and as usual he had been compelled to insist upon it – for his companions seemed unwilling thus to allow him to share their toils.

“As for myself, sick and suffering, I was stretched upon the ground. After many vain efforts to obtain a little rest, at length I slept, when a frightful dream awoke me with a start.

“‘Did you hear nothing?’ I asked of the young man, in a low voice. ‘Nothing,’ he replied, ‘except the rumbling of the subterranean volcanoes in the mountains.’ ‘Say, rather, that we are here in an accursed spot,’ I continued, and then I related my dream to him.

“‘It is, perhaps a warning,’ he said gravely. ‘I remember one night to have had just such a dream, when – ’

“The young man paused. He had advanced to the edge of the rock. I crawled after him mechanically. The same object arrested our attention at the same moment.

“One of those spirits of darkness which might have inhabited such a spot, appeared suddenly to have acquired a visible form. It was a kind of phantom, with the head and skin of a wolf, but erect upon its legs like a human being. I made the sign of the cross, and murmured a prayer, but the phantom did not stir.

“‘It is the devil,’ I whispered.

“‘It is an Indian,’ replied the young man; ‘there are his companions at some distance.’

“In short, our eyes, well practised in making out objects in the dark, could distinguish about twenty Indians, stretched upon the ground, and who, in truth, had no idea of our vicinity.

“Ah, Señorita!” added the narrator, addressing himself to Doña Rosarita, “it was one of those opportunities fraught with danger, which the poor young man sought with so much avidity; and your heart, like mine, would have been torn at beholding the sad joy which sparkled in his eyes; for the further we travelled in this direction the more his melancholy seemed to increase.

“‘Let us wake our friends,’ I suggested.

“‘No; let me go alone. These two men have done enough for me. It is now my turn to run a risk for them and, if I die, I shall forget – ’

“As he spoke these words the young man quitted me, made a détour, and I lost sight of him – without, however, ceasing to behold the frightful apparition which continued immovable in the same spot.

“All at once I saw another dusky shape, which rushed towards the phantom and seized it by the throat. The two forms grappled with one another. The struggle was short and noiseless, and one might have believed them two spirits. I prayed to God in behalf of the poor young man who thus exposed his life with so much indifference and intrepidity. A short time afterwards I saw him return; the blood was flowing over his face from a large wound on his head.

“‘Oh, Heavens!’ I cried; ‘you are wounded.’

“‘It is nothing,’ he said; ‘I will now wake our companions.’

“What do you think, Señorita?” continued the narrator. “Was not my dream a warning from God? A party of Indians, whom we had put to flight on the other side of the mountains – had followed our track in order to revenge the blood of their companions, which had been spilt upon the banks of the Gila – at the place where we had rescued the young man.

“But the Indians had to contend with terrible adversaries. Their sentinel was the phantom who had been killed by the courageous hunter before he had time to utter a cry of alarm, and the rest, surprised in their sleep, were nearly all stabbed; a few sought safety in flight.

“The night had not passed before this new exploit was accomplished.

“The tall hunter hastened to dress the wound of the young man, whom he loved as a son; and the latter, overcome with fatigue, stretched himself upon the ground and slept.

“In the mean time his two friends watched by his side to guide his sleep, whilst I in sadness contemplated his altered countenance, his reduced figure, and the bloodstained bandage with which his head was bound.”

“Poor youth,” interrupted Doña Rosarita, gently, “still so young, and yet compelled to lead a life of incessant danger. And his father, also, he must have trembled for the life of a beloved son?”

“Beloved, as you say, Señorita,” continued the narrator.

“During a period of six months I was a daily witness to the infinite tenderness of this father for his child.

“The young man slept tranquilly, and his lips softly murmured a name – that of a woman – the same which had lately been revealed to me in his slumber.”

Rosarita’s dark eyes seemed to question the narrator, but her words expired upon her parted lips; she dared not utter the name her heart was whispering in her ears.

“But I encroach upon your time,” continued Gayferos, without appearing to notice the young girl’s agitation. “I draw towards the close of my narrative.

“The young man woke just as day began to dawn. ‘Comrade,’ said the giant to me, ‘go down yonder and count the dead which these dogs have left behind them.’

“Eleven corpses stretched upon the ground,” continued Gayferos, “and two captured horses, attested the victory of these intrepid hunters.”

“Let all due honour be given to these formidable men,” cried Don Augustin, with enthusiasm, whilst his daughter, clapping her little hands together, exclaimed, with sparkling eyes, and an enthusiasm which equalled that of her father —

“That is splendid! that is sublime! so young, and yet so brave.”

Rosarita only lavished her praises upon the young unknown – though perhaps the acute perception which belongs to a woman, and which almost resembles a second sight, may have revealed to her his name.

The narrator seemed to appreciate the praises bestowed upon his friends.

“But did you not learn their names?” asked Doña Rosarita, timidly.

“The elder was called Bois-Rose, the second Pepé. As to the young man – ”

Gayferos appeared vainly endeavouring to recall the name without remarking the anguish which was depicted in the young girl’s agitated frame, and visible in her anxious eyes.

By the similarity of position between Tiburcio and the unknown, she could not doubt but that it was he; and the poor child was collecting all her strength to listen to his name, and not to utter, on hearing it, a cry of happiness and love.

“As to the young man,” continued the narrator, “he was called Fabian.”