The count, ever in front of his comrades, whom he encouraged by his gestures and voice, tried to approach Mixcoatzin, who, still curveting on his black horse, performed prodigies of valour, which electrified his men, and threatened, if not to change the face of the combat, at any rate to prolong it. But each time that chance brought him in front of the chief, and he prepared to rush upon him, a crowd of combatants, driven back by the changing incidents of the fight, came between them, and neutralised his efforts.
For his part, the sachem also strove to approach the count, with whom he burned to measure himself, persuaded that, if he succeeded in killing the chief of the palefaces, the latter would be struck with terror, and abandon the battlefield.
At length, as if by mutual agreement, the white men and Indians fell back a few paces, doubtlessly to prepare for a final contest; and it was then that, for the first time since the combat, the count and the sachem found themselves face to face. The two men exchanged a flashing glance, and rushed upon each other furiously. Neither of the chiefs had firearms: the sachem brandished his terrible club, and the count waved his long sword, which was reddened to the hilt.
"At last!" the count shouted, as he raised his weapon over his head.
"Begging dog of the palefaces," the Indian said with a grin, "you bring me, then, your scalp, that I may attach it to the entrance of my cabin!"
They were only two paces from each other, each awaiting the favourable moment to rush on his enemy. On seeing their chiefs ready to engage, the two parties rushed forward impetuously, in order to separate them and recommence the combat; bat Don Louis, with a gesture of supreme command, ordered his companions not to interfere. The adventurers remained motionless. On his side, Mixcoatzin, seeing the noble and gallant courtesy of the count, commanded his comrades to keep back. The redskins obeyed, and the question was left to be decided between Don Louis and the sachem.
CHAPTER VI
REPRISALS
The two enemies hesitated for a moment; but suddenly the sachem bounded forward. The count remained motionless; but at the moment the Indian reached him, with a movement rapid as thought, he seized the nostrils of the chief's horse with the left hand, so that it reared with a shriek of pain, and thrust his sword into the Indian's throat: the latter's lifted arm fell down, his eyes opened widely, a jet of blood poured from the gaping wound, and he rolled on the ground, uttering a yell of agony, and writhing like a serpent. The count placed his foot on the chief's chest, and nailed him to the ground. Then he shouted to his comrades in a powerful voice,
"Forward forward!"
The adventurers responded by a shout of triumph, and rushed once more on the redskins. But the latter no longer awaited their attack. Terrified by the death of Mixcoatzin, one of their most revered sachems, a panic seized upon them, and they fled in every direction. Then began a real manhunt, with all its hideous and atrocious interludes. As we have said, the Indians were surrounded: flight had become impossible. The adventurers, exasperated by the long contest they had been obliged to sustain, pitilessly massacred their conquered enemies, who would have implored mercy in vain. The distracted Indians ran hither and thither, sabred as they passed, transfixed by bayonets, and trampled underfoot by the horses, which, as cruel as their masters, and intoxicated by the sharp odour of blood, stamped on them frenziedly. The corpses were piled up in the centre of the fatal circle which incessantly closed in around them.
Their courage and strength all exhausted, the wretched redskins had thrown away their arms, and, with their hands crossed on their chests, they gave up any further struggle for life, and awaited death with that gloomy calmness of despair and stoicism which characterises their race.
The count had wished for a long time to arrest this horrible carnage; but, in the intoxication of victory, his orders were not so much disobeyed as unheard. Still the Frenchmen stopped, struck with admiration at the sight of the stoical resignation displayed by their brave enemies, who disdained to ask mercy, and prepared to die worthily, without any weakness or bravado. The Frenchmen hesitated, looked at one another, and then raised their bayonets. The count profited by this truce, and rushed before his men, brandishing in the air his sword, reddened to the hilt.
"Enough, comrades," he shouted, "enough! We are soldiers, not hangmen or butchers. Leave to the Mexicans all cowardly acts, and remain what you have ever been brave and clement men. Mercy for these poor wretches!"
"Mercy mercy!" the Frenchmen shouted as they brandished their weapons above their heads.
At this moment the sun rose gloriously in a flood of vapour. It was a scene at once imposing and full of sublime horror which the battlefield offered still smoking with the last explosions of the firearms, covered with corpses, and in the midst of which thirty disarmed men appeared to bid defiance to a circle of men stained with blood and powder, and whose features were contracted by passion.
The count then returned his sword to its scabbard, and walked slowly toward the Indians, who watched his approach restlessly; for they understood nothing of what had just occurred. The Indians 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?"