maiden wished to retire to the compartment which served as her bedroom.
"Stay, my child," Red Cedar said. "I have to speak with you."
Ellen sat down in a corner of the jacal and waited. The three men went on smoking silently for some time, while outside the storm still continued. At length, the young men shook the ashes out of their pipes, and rose.
"Then," said Nathan, "all is arranged."
"It is," replied Red Cedar.
"At what hour will they come to fetch us?" Sutter asked.
"At an hour before sunrise."
"Very good."
The brothers lay down on the ground, rolled themselves in their furs, and soon fell asleep. Red Cedar remained for some time plunged in thought, while Ellen did not stir. At length he raised his head.
"Come hither, child," he said.
She came up and stood before him.
"Sit down by my side."
"For what good, father? Speak, I am listening," she answered.
The squatter was visibly embarrassed; he knew not how to commence the conversation, but, after some moments' hesitation, he said:
"You are ill, Ellen."
The maiden smiled sadly.
"Did you not notice it before today, father?" she replied.
"No, my child; I have noticed your sadness for a long time past. You are not suited for a desert life."
"That is true," was all she said.
"We are about to leave the prairie," Red Cedar went on.
Ellen gave an almost imperceptible start.
"Soon?" she asked.
"This very day; in a few hours we shall be on the road."
The girl looked at him.
"Then," she said, "we will draw nearer to the civilised frontier?"
"Yes," he answered, with considerable emotion.
Ellen smiled mournfully.
"Why deceive me, father?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" he exclaimed; "I do not understand you."
"On the contrary, you understand me thoroughly, and it would be better to explain your thoughts to me frankly than try to deceive me for a purpose I cannot divine. Alas!" she continued, with a sigh, "Am I not your daughter, and must undergo the consequences of the life you have chosen?"
The squatter frowned.
"I believe that your words contain a reproach," he replied. "Life is scarce opening for you; then how do you dare to judge the actions of a man?"
"I judge nothing, father. As you say, life is scarce opening for me; still, however short my existence may have been, it has been one long suffering."
"That is true, poor girl," the squatter said, gently; "pardon me, I should be so glad to see you happy. Alas! Heaven has not blessed my efforts, though all I have done has been for your sake."
"Do not say that, father," she quickly exclaimed; "do not thus make me morally your accomplice, or render me responsible for your crimes, which I execrate, else you would impel me to desire death."
"Ellen, Ellen! you misunderstood what I said to you; I never had the intention," he said, much embarrassed.
"No more of this," she went on; "we are going, you said, I think, father? Our retreat is discovered, we must fly; that is what you wish to tell me?"
"Yes," he said, "it is that, though I cannot imagine how you have learned it."
"No matter, father. And in what direction shall we proceed?"
"Temporarily we shall conceal ourselves in the Sierra de los Comanches."
"In order that our pursuers may lose our trail?"
"Yes, for that reason, and for another," he added, in a low voice.
But, however low he spoke, Ellen heard him.
"What other?"
"It does not concern you, child, but myself alone."
"You are mistaken, father," she said, with considerable resolution; "from the moment that I am your accomplice, I must know all. Perhaps," she added, with a sad smile, "I may be able to give you good advice."
"I will do without it."
"One word more. You have numerous enemies, father."
"Alas! Yes," he said, carelessly.
"Who are those who compel you to fly today?"
"The most implacable of all, Don Miguel Zarate."
"The man whose daughter you assassinated in so cowardly a way."
Red Cedar struck the table passionately.
"Ellen!" he shouted.
"Do you know any other appellation more correct than that?" she asked, coldly.
The bandit looked down.
"Then," she continued, "you are about to fly – fly forever?"
"What is to be done?" he muttered.
Ellen bent over him, laid her white hand on his arm, and regarded him fixedly.
"Who are the men about to join you in a few hours?" she asked.
"Fray Ambrosio, Andrés Garote – our old friends, in short."
"That is just," the girl murmured, with a gesture of disgust, "a common danger brings you together. Well, my father, you and your friends are all cowards."
At this violent insult which his daughter coldly hurled in his teeth, the squatter turned pale, and rose suddenly.
"Silence!" he shouted, furiously.
"The tiger, when attacked in its lair, turns on the hunters," the girl went on, without displaying any emotion; "why do you not follow their example?"
A sinister smile played round the corners of the bandit's mouth.
"I have something better in my pocket," he said, with an accent impossible to describe.
The maiden looked at him for a moment.
"Take care," she at length said to him in a deep voice; "take care! The hand of God is on you, and His vengeance will be terrible."
After uttering these words, she slowly withdrew and entered the room set apart for her. The bandit stood for a moment, crushed by this anathema; but he soon threw up his head, shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and lay down by the side of his sons, muttering in a hoarse
