Lopez obeyed, and the young man allowed him to do so. He was beginning to comprehend that possibly his heart had deceived him, and that he had too easily given way to a feeling of humanity towards a man who was a perfect stranger to him.
There was a rather lengthened silence. Lopez had gone off with the wounded man, and had already disappeared in the cavern. Oliver and Dominique, standing face to face, remained motionless and pensive. At length the adventurer raised his head.
"Have you spoken with this man?"
"Only a few words."
"What did he tell you?"
"Not much that was sensible, he talked to me about an attack to which he had fallen a victim."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, or nearly so."
"Did he tell you his name?"
"I did not ask him for it."
"But he must have told you who he is."
"Yes, I think so: he told me that he had come a short time previously from Veracruz and was proceeding to Mexico, when he was attacked unawares and plundered by men whom he was unable to recognize."
"He told you nothing else about his name or position?"
"No, not a word."
The adventurer remained pensive for a moment.
"Listen," he then continued, "and do not take what I am going to say to you in ill part."
"From you, Master Oliver, I will hear anything you have the right to say everything to me."
"Good! Do you remember how we became acquainted?"
"Certainly: I was a child then, wretched and sickly, dying of want and misery in the streets of Mexico: you took pity on me, you clothed and fed me: not satisfied with this, you yourself taught me to read, write and cypher, and many other things."
"Go on."
"Then, you enabled me to find my parents again, or at least the persons who brought me up, and whom, in default of others, I have always regarded as my family."
"Good, what next?"
"Hang it, you know that as well as I do, Master Oliver."
"That is possible, but I wish you to repeat it to me."
"As you please: one day you came to the rancho, you took me away with you and took me to Sonora and Texas, where we hunted buffalo: at the end of two or three years, you caused me to be adopted by a Comanche tribe, and you left me, ordering me to remain on the prairies, and to lead the existence of a wood ranger, until you sent me an order to return to you."
"Very good, I see that you have a good memory: go on."
"I obeyed you, and remained among the Indians, hunting and living with them: six months ago, you came yourself to the banks of the Rio Gila, where I was at the time, and you told me that you had come to fetch me and that I must follow you. I followed you, therefore, without asking an explanation which I did not need: for do I not belong to you, body and soul?"
"Good, you still retain the same feeling."
"Why should I have changed? You are my only friend."
"Thanks, then you are resolved to obey me in everything?"
"Without hesitation, I swear it."
"That is what I wished to be certain of, now listen to me in your turn: this man whom you have succoured so foolishly – forgive the word – lied from the first to the last word he told you. The story he told you is a tissue of falsehoods: it is not true that he had only arrived a few days before from Veracruz, it is not true that he is going to Mexico, and lastly it is not true that he was attacked and plundered by strangers. This man I know: he has been at Mexico for the last eight months, he lives at Puebla, he was condemned to death by men who had a right to try him and with whom he is perfectly well acquainted: he was not attacked unawares, a sword was placed in his hand, and he received permission to defend himself – a permission which he took advantage of, and he fell in fair fight: finally, he was not plundered, because he had not to do with highwaymen but with men of honour."
"Oh, oh," said the young man, "this alters the case."
"Now answer this: you have pledged yourself to me? What do you mean by that?"
"This man, when he regained his senses and was able to speak, implored your protection; did he not?"
"That is true, Master Oliver."
"Good, and what did you answer him?"
"Hang it all, you understand that it was very difficult for me to abandon the poor fellow in the state he was in, especially after what I had done for him."
"Good, good; what then?"
"Well then, I promised to cure him."
"Nothing else?"
"Well no."
"And you only promised him this?"
"No, I pledged my word."
The adventurer gave a start of impatience.
"But supposing he recovers," he continued, "which between ourselves seems rather doubtful; when he is in a good state of health, will you consider yourself entirely free from him?"
"Oh yes, Master Oliver, completely."
"In that case, it is only a half evil."
"You know that I do not at all understand you?"
"Be content, Dominique, learn that you have not a lucky hand for a good deed."
"Because?"
"Because the man you have succoured and on whom you lavished such devoted attentions, is your deadly enemy."
"This man my deadly enemy?" he exclaimed with an astonishment mingled with doubt; "But I do not know him any more than he knows me."
"You suppose so, my poor fellow; but be convinced that I am not deceived and am telling you the truth."
"It is strange."
"Yes, very strange, indeed, but it is so: this man is even your most dangerous foe."
"What is to be done?"
"Leave me to act: I went to the rancho this morning with the intention of telling you that one of your enemies, the most formidable of all, was dead: you took care to make me a liar. After all, perhaps it is better it should be so: what God does is well, His ways are unknown to us, we must bow before the manifestation of His will."
"Then, it is your intention – ?"
"My intention is to order Lopez to watch over your patient: he will remain in the cavern where he will be taken the greatest care of, but you will not see him again, as it is unnecessary for you to know any more about him at present: in my turn, I pledge you my word that all the attention his condition demands shall be bestowed on him."
"Oh, I trust entirely to you, Master Oliver: but when he's cured, what shall we do?"
"We will let him go away in peace, he is not our prisoner: be at ease, we shall find him again without difficulty when we want him: of course it is understood that no one in the rancho is to go down to him or have any relations with him."
"Good: in that case you will tell them so, for I cannot undertake it."
"I will do so: but I shall not see him either; Lopez alone will remain in charge of him."
"Have you nothing more to say to me?"
"Yes, that I intend to take you away with me for a few days."
"Ah, are we going far?"
"You will see: in the meanwhile go to the rancho and prepare everything you want for your journey."
"Oh, I am ready," he interrupted.
"That is possible, but I am not; have I not to give Lopez orders about your wounded man?"
"That