style="font-size:15px;"> He plucked an orange flower, and softly laid it on the maiden; then he walked a few steps from her, but almost immediately returning, he seized, with a nervous hand, Doña Clara's rebozo, which hung down from the hammock, and pressed it to his lips several times, saying, in a voice broken by the emotion he felt, —
"It has touched her hair."
And rushing from the thicket, he crossed the garden and disappeared. He had heard footsteps approaching. In fact, a few seconds after his departure, Don Miguel, in his turn, entered the copse.
"Come, come," he said gaily, as he shook the hammock, "sleeper, will you not have finished your siesta soon?"
Doña Clara opened her eyes, with a smile.
"I am no longer asleep, father," she said.
"Very good. That is the answer I like."
And he stepped forward to kiss her; but, with sudden movement, the maiden drew herself back as if she had seen some frightful vision, and her face was covered with a livid pallor.
"What is the matter with you?" the hacendero exclaimed with terror.
The girl showed him the orange flower.
"Well," her father continued, "what is there so terrific in that flower? It must have fallen from the tree during your sleep."
Doña Clara shook her head sadly.
"No," she said: "for some days past I have always noticed, on waking a similar flower thrown on me."
"You are absurd; chance alone is to blame for it all. Come, think no more about it; you are pale as death, child. Why frighten yourself thus about a trifle? Besides the remedy may be easily found. If so afraid of flowers now, why not take your siesta in your bedroom, instead of burying yourself in this thicket?"
"That is true, father," the girl said, all joyous, and no longer thinking of the fear she had undergone. "I will follow your advice."
"Come, that is settled, so say no more about it. Now give me a kiss."
The maiden threw herself into her father's arms, whom she stifled with kisses. Both sat down on a grassy mound, and commenced one of those delicious chit-chats whose charm only those who are parents can properly appreciate. Presently a peon came up.
"What has brought you?" Don Miguel asked.
"Excellency," the peon answered, "a redskin warrior has just arrived at the hacienda, who desires speech with you."
"Do you know him?" Don Miguel asked.
"Yes, Excellency; it is Eagle-wing, the sachem of the Coras of the Rio San Pedro."
"Mookapec! (Flying Eagle)" the hacendero repeated with surprise. "What can have brought him to me? Lead him here."
The peon retired and in a few minutes returned, preceding Eagle-wing.
The chief had donned the great war-dress of the sachems of his nation. His hair, plaited with the skin of a rattlesnake, was drawn up on the top of his head; in the centre an eagle plume was affixed. A blouse of striped calico, adorned with a profusion of bells, descended to his thighs, which were defended from the stings of mosquitoes by drawers of the same stuff. He wore moccasins made of peccary skin, adorned with glass beads and porcupine quills. To his heels were fastened several wolves' tails, the distinguishing mark of renowned warriors. Round his loins was a belt of elk hide, through which passed his knife, his pipe and his medicine bag. His neck was adorned by a collar of grizzly bear claws and buffalo teeth. Finally, a magnificent robe of a white female buffalo hide, painted red inside, was fastened to his shoulders, and fell down behind him like a cloak. In his right hand he held a fan formed of a single eagle's wing, and in his left hand an American rifle. There was something imposing and singularly martial in the appearance and demeanor of this savage child of the forest.
On entering the thicket, he bowed gracefully to Doña Clara, and then stood motionless and dumb before Don Miguel. The Mexican regarded him attentively, and saw an expression of gloomy melancholy spread over the Indian chief's features.
"My brother is welcome," the hacendero said to him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing him?"
The chief cast a side glance at the maiden. Don Miguel understood what he desired, and made Doña Clara a sign to withdraw. They remained alone.
"My brother can speak," the hacendero then said; "the ears of a friend are open."
"Yes, my father is good," the chief replied in his guttural voice. "He loves the Indians: unhappily all the palefaces do not resemble him."
"What does my brother mean? Has he cause to complain of anyone?"
The Indian smiled sadly.
"Where is there justice for the redskins?" he said. "The Indians are animals: the Great Spirit has not given them a soul, as He has done for the palefaces, and it is not a crime to kill them."
"Come, chief, pray do not speak longer in riddles, but explain why you have quitted your tribe. It is far from Rio San Pedro to this place."
"Mookapec is alone: his tribe no longer exists."
"How?"
"The palefaces came in the night, like jaguars without courage. They burned the village, and massacred all the inhabitants, even to the women and little children."
"Oh, that is frightful!" the hacendero murmured, in horror.
"Ah!" the chief continued with an accent full of terrible irony, "The scalps of the redskins are sold dearly."
"And do you know the men who committed this atrocious crime?"
"Mookapec knows them, and will avenge himself."
"Tell me their chief, if you know his name."
"I know it. The palefaces call him Red Cedar, the Indians the Maneater."
"Oh! As for him, chief, you are avenged, for he is dead."
"My father is mistaken."
"How so? Why, I killed him myself."
The Indian shook his head.
"Red Cedar has a hard life," he said: "the blade of the knife my father used was too short. Red Cedar is wounded, but in a few days he will be about again, ready to kill and scalp the Indians."
This news startled the hacendero: the enemy he fancied he had got rid of still lived, and he would have to begin a fresh struggle.
"My father must take care," the chief continued. "Red Cedar has sworn to be avenged."
"Oh! I will not leave him the time. This man is a demon, of whom the earth must be purged at all hazards, before his strength has returned, and he begins his assassinations again."
"I will aid my father in his vengeance."
"Thanks, chief. I do not refuse your offer: perhaps I shall soon need the help of all my friends. And now, what do you purpose doing?"
"Since the palefaces reject him, Eagle-wing will retire to the desert. He has friends among the Comanches. They are redskins,
