and the Canadians are the French of America, are they not?"
"You are right."
"Well, then, it is agreed, no more Spanish between us."
"No, nothing but French."
"Bravo! Here's your health, my worthy fellow countryman! And now," he added, returning his glass to the table after emptying it, "let us have your story. I am listening."
"I told you that it is not long."
"No matter; go ahead. I am certain 'twill interest me enormously."
The Frenchman stifled a sigh.
"I, too, have lived the life of a wood ranger," he said; "I, too, have experienced the intoxicating charms of that feverish existence, full of moving incidents, no two of which are alike. Far from the country where we now are, I have traversed vast deserts, immense virgin forests, in which no man prior to myself had left the imprint of his footstep. Like you, a friend accompanied me in my adventurous travels, sustaining my courage, maintaining my gaiety by his inexhaustible humour and his unbounded courage. Alas! That was the happiest period of my life.
"I fell in love with a woman and married her. So soon as my friend saw me rich and surrounded by a family he left me. His departure was my first grief – a grief from which I never recovered, which each day rendered more poignant and which now tortures me like a remorse. Alas! Where is now that strong heart, that devoted friend who ever interposed between danger and myself, who loved me like a brother, and for whom I felt a son's affection? He is probably dead!"
In uttering the last words the Frenchman let his head sink in his hands, and yielded to a flood of bitter thoughts, which rose from his heart with every reminiscence he recalled. Belhumeur looked at him in a melancholy manner, and pressing his hand, said in a low and sympathising voice, "Courage, my friend."
"Yes," the Frenchman continued, "that was what he always said to me when, prostrated by grief, I felt hope failing me. 'Courage,' he would say to me in his rough voice, laying his hand on my shoulders; and I would feel galvanised by the touch, and draw myself up at the sound of that cherished voice, ready to recommence the struggle, for I felt myself stronger. Several years passed in the midst of a felicity which nothing came to trouble. I had a wife I adored, charming children for whom I formed dreams of the future; in short, I wanted for nothing save my poor comrade, about whom I could discover nothing from the moment he left me, in spite of my constant inquiries. Now, my happiness has faded away never to return. My wife, my children are dead – cruelly murdered in their sleep by Indians, who carried my hacienda by storm. I alone remained alive amid the smoking ruins of that abode where I had spent so many happy days. All I loved was eternally buried beneath the ashes. My heart was broken, and I did not wish to survive all that was dear to me; but a friend, the only one that remained to me, saved me. He carried me off by main force to his tribe, for he was an Indian. By his care and devotion he recalled me to life, and restored to me, if not the hope of a happiness henceforth impossible for me, at least the courage to struggle against that destiny whose blows had been so rude. He died only a few months back. Before closing his eyes for ever he made me swear to do all he asked of me. I promised him. 'Brother,' he said, 'every man must proceed in life toward a certain object. So soon as I am dead, go in search of that friend from whom you have so long been separated. You will find him, I feel convinced. He will trace your line of conduct.' Two hours later the worthy chief died in my arms. So soon as his body was committed to the earth I set out. This very day, as I told you, I reached Guaymas. My intention is to bury myself immediately in the wilderness; for if my poor friend be still alive, I can only find him there."
There was a lengthened silence, at length broken by Belhumeur.
"Hum! All that is very sad, mate, I must allow," he said, tossing his head. "You are rushing upon a desperate enterprise, in which the chances of success are almost null. A man is a grain of sand lost in the desert. Who knows, even supposing he still lives, at what place he may be at this moment; and if, while you are seeking him on one side, he may not be on the other? Still, I have a proposition to make to you, which, I believe, can only prove advantageous."
"I know it, my friend, before you tell it me. I thank you, and accept it," the Frenchman replied quickly.
"It is agreed then. We start together. You will come with me into Apacheria?"
"Yes."
"By Jove! I am in luck. I have hardly separated from Loyal Heart ere Heaven brings me together with a friend as precious as he is."
"Who is that Loyal Heart you mention?"
"The friend with whom I lived so long, and whom you shall know some day. But come, we will start at daybreak."
"Whenever you please."
"I have the meeting with Eagle-head two days' journey from here. I am much mistaken, or he is waiting for me by this time."
"What are you going to do in Apacheria?"
"I do not know. Eagle-head asked me to accompany him, and I am going. It is my rule never to ask my friends more of their secrets than they are willing to tell me. In that way we are more free."
"Excellent reasoning, my dear Belhumeur; but, as we shall be together for a long time, I hope, at least – "
"I, too."
"It is right," the Frenchman continued, "that you should know my name, which I have hitherto forgotten to tell you."
"That need not trouble you; for I could easily give you one if you had reasons for preserving your incognito."
"None at all: my name is Count Louis de Prébois Crancé."
Belhumeur rose as if moved by a spring, took off his fur cap, and bowing before his new friend, said —
"Pardon me, sir count, for the free manner in which I have addressed you. Had I known in whose company I had the honour of being, I should certainly not have taken so great a liberty."
"Belhumeur, Belhumeur," the count said with a mournful smile, and seizing his hand quickly, "is our friendship to commence in that way? There are here only two men ready to share the same life, run the same dangers, and confront the same foes. Let us leave to the foolish inhabitants of cities those vain distinctions which possess no significance for us; let us be frankly and loyally brothers. I only wish to be to you Louis, your good comrade, your devoted friend, in the same way as you are to me only Belhumeur, the rough wood ranger."
The Canadian's face shone with pleasure at these words.
"Well spoken," he said gaily, "well spoken, on my soul! I am but a poor ignorant hunter; and, by my faith, why should I conceal it? What you have just said to me has gone straight to my heart. I am yours, Louis, for life and death; and I hope to prove to you soon, comrade, that I have a certain value."
"I am convinced of it; but we understand each other now, do we not?"
"By Jove – !"
At this moment there was such a tremendous disturbance in the street, that it drowned that in the room. As always happens under such circumstances, the adventurers assembled in the pulquería were silent of a common accord, in order to listen. Shouts, the clashing of sabres, the stamping of horses, drowned at intervals by the discharge of fire arms, could be clearly distinguished.
"Caray!" Belhumeur exclaimed, "there's fighting going on in the street."
"I am afraid so," the pulquero laconically answered, who was
