are implacable, and clemency is unknown to them. In the prairies the only law is va victis. The redskins, being pitiless, never implore the mercy of their foes, and endure unmurmuring the harsh law which it may please their conquerors to mete out to them.
The adventurers had piled their arms, and had already forgotten all their rancour: they were laughing and talking gaily together. Valentine and Curumilla had rejoined the count.
"What is your intention?" the hunter asked.
"Have you not guessed it?" Louis replied. "I pardon them."
"All?"
"Of course," he said with surprise.
"Then you will restore them to liberty?"
"Yes."
"Hum!" the hunter said.
"Do you see anything to prevent it?"
"Possibly."
"Explain yourself."
"I see no harm in your forgiving the Indians, for that may produce a good effect among the tribes, especially as the redskins have an excellent memory, and will long remember the severe lesson they received this night."
"Well?"
"But," the hunter went on, "all those men are not Indians."
"What do you mean?"
"That there are disguised Mexicans among them."
"You are certain of that?"
"Yes, the more so because I was warned by the man who commands the horsemen that proved such useful auxiliaries to you."
"But are not those horsemen Apaches?"
"You are mistaken, my dear friend: they are white men, and what is more, cívicos; that is to say, men paid and enrolled by the hacenderos to chase the Indians. You see how honourably they carry out their duties; but that must not astonish you, for you are sufficiently well acquainted with the manners of this country to find that perfectly natural, I have no doubt."
Louis stopped thoughtfully.
"What you tell me confounds me," he muttered.
"Why so?" the hunter replied carelessly. "It is, on the contrary, most simple. But we have not to trouble ourselves about the horsemen at present – they are beside the question."
"Certainly. Indeed, I owe them my thanks."
"They will save you the trouble, and I too. Let us only deal with the men down there."
"Then you are sure there are white men among them?"
"Quite sure."
"But how to recognise them?"
"Curumilla will undertake that."
"What you tell me is strange. For what purpose are these men leagued with our enemies?"
"We shall soon know that."
They then went on, and stood by the group. Valentine made a sign to Curumilla: the chief then approached the Indians, and began examining them attentively in turn, the count and Valentine watching him with considerable interest. The Araucano was as cold and gloomy as usual – not a muscle of his face quivered. On seeing him examine them thus, the Indians could not refrain from shuddering: they trembled at the sight of this dumb and unarmed man, whose piercing glance seemed to try and read their hearts; Curumilla laid his finger on an Indian's chest.
"One!" he said, and passed on.
"Come out!" Valentine said to the redskin.
The latter stood apart.
Curumilla pointed out in this way nine in succession, and then rejoined his comrades.
"Is that all?" Valentine asked.
"Yes," he answered.
"Disarm those men, and bind them firmly," the count commanded.
His orders being obeyed, Don Louis then walked up to the Apaches.
"My brothers may take their arms and mount their horses again," he said. "They are valiant warriors. The palefaces have appreciated their courage, and esteem them. My brothers will return to their villages, and tell the old men and sages of their nation that the palefaces who have conquered them are not cruel men, like the ferocious Yoris, and that they desire to bury the hatchet so deeply between themselves and the Apaches, that it may never be found again for ten thousand years."
An Indian advanced from the group, and saluted majestically.
"Strong Heart is a terrible warrior: he is a jaguar during the combat, but he becomes an antelope after the victory. The words his breast breathes are inspired in him by the Great Spirit – the Wacondah loves him. My nation was deceived by the Yoris. Strong Heart is generous – he has pardoned. Henceforth there will be friendship between the Apaches and the warriors of Strong Heart."
The redskins, according to their custom, had, with that poesy which distinguishes them, given Don Louis the name of Strong Heart.
After this address on the part of the Indian, who was a celebrated chief, and known as the White Buffalo, there was an interchange of good offices between the adventurers and Apaches. Their horses and arms were returned to them, and the ranks were opened to let them pass. When they had disappeared in the forest, El Buitre ordered his men to wheel, and retired in his turn. Don Louis for a moment had the idea of recalling this auxiliary, who had been so useful to him during the action; but Valentine opposed it.
"Let those men go, brother," he said to him. "You must not have any public relations with them."
Don Louis did not insist.
"Now," Valentine went on, "let us finish what we have so well begun."
"That is right," the count answered.
The order was at once given to bury the dead and attend to the wounded. The Frenchmen had suffered a serious loss: they had ten men killed and twenty odd wounded. It is true that the majority of these wounds were not mortal; still the victory cost dearly: it was a warning for the future.
Two hours later the company, assembled by the bugle call, ranged themselves silently in the mission square, in the centre of which Don Louis, Valentine, and three officers were gravely seated at a table, on which lay sundry papers. Don Cornelio was writing at a smaller table. The count had summoned his comrades, and appointed a court martial, of which he was president, in order to try the prisoners captured during the fight. Don Louis rose amidst a solemn silence.
"Bring forward the prisoners," he said.
The men previously pointed out by Curumilla appeared, led by a detachment of adventurers, and were freed from their bonds. Although they still wore the costume of Apache warriors, they had been compelled to wash themselves, and remove the paint that disguised them. These men appeared not so much to repent of their detected roguery, but merely ashamed of being made a public spectacle.
"Bring in the last prisoner," Don Louis commanded.
At this order the adventurers looked round in surprise, not
