Without speaking, Curumilla had lit a candle wood torch which he handed the hunter. Valentine bent over again and looked in.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "Red Cedar's horse--I have you now, my fine fellow!

but how the deuce did he manage to get the animal up here without leaving any trail?" After a moment he added: "Oh, what a goose I am! The horse was not dead, he led it up here, and then forced it into the hole.

By Jove! It is a good trick: I must confess that Red Cedar is a very remarkable rogue, and had it not been for the eagle, I should not have discovered the road he took--but now I have him! Were he ten times as cunning he would not escape me."

And, all delighted, Valentine rejoined the Mexicans, who were anxiously awaiting the result of his researches.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

THE HUNT.

"Then," Don Miguel asked the hunter, "you believe, my friend, that we are on the right track, and that the villain cannot escape us."

"I am convinced," Valentine replied, "that we have followed his trail up to the present. As for a.s.suring you that he will not escape us, I am unable to say that; I can only a.s.sert that I shall discover him."

"That is what I meant," the hacendero remarked, with a sigh.

They started once more. The prairie became more broken, here and there clumps of trees diversified the landscape, and in the distance rose hills, the first spires of the Sierra Madre, which jagged the blue horizon, and undulated the soil. The hunters reached at about an hour before sunset the first trees of an immense virgin forest, which stretched out like a curtain of verdure, and completely hid the prairie from their sight.

"Wah!" said Curumilla, suddenly stooping and picking up an object which he handed Valentine.

"Hilloah!" the latter exclaimed, "if I am not mistaken, it is Dona Clara's cross."

"Give it me, my friend," Don Miguel said, hurriedly advancing.

He seized the article the hunter handed him; it was, in truth, a small diamond cross, which the maiden constantly wore. The hacendero raised it to his lips, with a joy mingled with sorrow.

"Oh, heavens!" he exclaimed, "What has happened to my poor girl?"

"Nothing," Valentine replied; "rea.s.sure yourself, my friend. The chain has probably broken, and Dona Clara lost it--that is all."

Don Miguel sighed, two tears burst from his eyes, but he did not utter a word; at the entrance of the forest Valentine halted.

"It is not prudent," he said, "to go among these large trees by night; perhaps those we seek may be waiting here to attack us under covert. If you will listen to me, we will bivouac here."

No one objected to this proposal, and consequently the encampment was formed. Night had completely set in, and the hunters, after eating their super, had rolled themselves up in their blankets, and were sleeping.

Valentine, Curumilla, and Eagle-wing, gravely seated around the fire, were conversing in a low voice, while watching the neighbourhood.

All at once Valentine sharply seized the Ulmen by the collar, and pulled him to the ground; at the same moment a shot was fired, and a bullet struck the logs, producing myriads of sparks. The Mexicans, startled by the shot, sprung up and seized their arms, but the hunters had disappeared.

"What is the meaning of this?" Don Miguel asked, looking round vainly in the darkness.

"I am greatly mistaken," said the general, "if we are not attacked."

"Attacked!" the hacendero continued; "By whom?"

"By enemies, probably," the general remarked; "but who those enemies are I cannot tell you."

"Where are our friends?" Don Pablo asked.

"Hunting, I suppose," the general replied.

"Stay, here they come," said Don Miguel.

The hunters returned; but not alone; they had a prisoner with them, and the prisoner was Orson, the pirate. So soon as he had him in the bivouac, Valentine bound him securely, and then examined him for some minutes with profound attention. The bandit endured this examination with a feigned carelessness, which, well played though it was, did not quite deceive the Frenchman.

"Hum!" the latter said to himself, "this seems to me a cunning scamp; let me see if I am wrong--who are you, ruffian?" he roughly asked him.

"I?" the other said with a silly air.

"Yes, you."

"A hunter."

"A scalp hunter, I suppose?" Valentine went on.

"Why so?" the other asked.

"I suppose you did not take us for wild beasts?"

"I do not understand you," the bandit said, with a stupid look.

"That is possible," said Valentine, "what is your name?"

"Orson."

"A pretty name enough. And why were you prowling round our bivouac?"

"The night is dark, and I took you for Apaches."

"Is that why you fired at us?"

"Yes."

"I suppose you did not expect to kill us all six?"

"I did not try to kill you."

"Ah, ah! You wished to give us a salute, I suppose?" the hunter remarked, with a laugh.

"No, but I wished to attract your attention."

"Well, you succeeded; in that case, why did you bolt?"

"I did not do so--I let you catch me."