"Canarios! may I be hanged if I interfere at all in this affair! I have done too much already," the colonel made answer.
"You are always a trembler. How do you expect that men half demoralised, fatigued by a long journey, can resist the combined and well-directed attack of my brother's, this Apache chief's, band, supported as they will be by the eighty scoundrels the Mexican Government has placed at my disposal for this expedition?"
"I do not know what the French will do; but you will, perhaps, learn that they are stout fellows."
"All the better—we shall have the more fun."
"Take care not to have too much," El Garrucholo said with a grin.
"Go to the deuce with your observations! Besides, I have a grudge against their chief, as you know."
"Bah! how can a man like you have a grudge against anyone in particular? He only has a grudge against riches. Who are your men?"
"Cívicos—real bandits—regular game for the gallows. My dear fellow, they will perform miracles."
"What! cívicos? The idea is glorious—the men whom the hacenderos pay and support for the purpose of fighting the redskins."
"Good Lord, yes, that is the way of the world. This time they will fight by the side of the redskins against the whites. The idea is original, is it not, especially as, for this affair, they will be disguised as Indians?"
"Better still. And the chief, how many warriors has he with him?"
"I do not know; he will tell you himself."
The chief had remained gloomy and silent during this conversation, and the colonel now turned toward him with an inquiring glance.
"Mixcoatzin is a powerful chief," the redskin said in his guttural voice: "two hundred Apache warriors follow his war plume."
El Garrucholo gave a significant whistle.
"Well," he continued, "I maintain what I said."
"What?"
"You will receive an awful thrashing."
El Buitre repressed with difficulty a gesture of ill-temper.
"Enough," he said; "you do not know the Indians. This chief is one of the bravest sachems of his tribe. His reputation is immense in the prairies. The warriors placed under his orders are all picked men."
"Very good. Do what you please: I wash my hands of it."
"Can we at least reckon on you?"
"I will execute punctually the orders I received from the general."
"I ask no more."
"Then nothing is changed?"
"Nothing. Always the same hour and the same signal."
"In that case it is useless for us to remain longer together. I will return to the mission, for I must try to avoid any suspicion."
"Go, and may the demon continue his protection to you!"
"Thanks."
The colonel left the platform. Valentine hesitated a moment, thinking whether he should follow him; but, after due reflection, he felt persuaded that all was not finished yet, and that he should probably still obtain some precious information. El Buitre shrugged his shoulders, and turning to the Indian chief, who was still impassive, said—
"Pride has ruined that man. He was a jolly comrade a few years back."
"What will my brother do now?"
"Not much. I shall remain in hiding here until the sun has run two-thirds of its course, and then go and rejoin my comrades."
"The chief will retire. His warriors are still far off."
"Very good. Then we shall not meet again till the appointed moment?"
"No. The paleface will attack on the side of the forest, while the Apaches advance by the river."
"All right! But let us be prudent, for a misunderstanding might prove fatal. I will draw as near as possible to the mission; but I warn you that I shall not budge till I hear your signal."
"Wah! my brother will open his ears, and the miawling of the tiger-cat will warn him that the Apaches have arrived."
"I understand perfectly. One parting remark, chief."
"I listen to the paleface."
"It is clearly understood that the booty will be shared equally between us?"
The Indian gave a wicked smile.
"Yes," he said.
"No treachery between us, redskin, or, by God! I warn you that I will flay you alive like a mad dog."
"The palefaces have too long a tongue."
"That is possible; but if you do not wish misfortune to fall on you, profit by my words."
The Indian only replied by a gesture of contempt: he wrapped himself in his buffalo robe, and retired slowly.
The bandit looked after him for a moment.
"Miserable dog!" he muttered, "so soon as I can do without you I will settle your account, be assured."
The Indian had disappeared.
"Hum! what shall I be after now?" El Buitre continued.
Suddenly a man bounded like a jaguar, and, before the bandit could even understand what was happening, he was firmly garotted, and reduced to a state of complete powerlessness.
"You do not know what to be after? Well, I will tell you," Valentine remarked, as he sat down quietly by his side.
The first moment of surprise past, the bandit regained all his coolness and audacity, and looked impudently at the hunter.
"By God! I do not know you, comrade," he said; "but I must confess you managed that cleverly."
"You are a connoisseur."
"Slightly so."
"Yes, I am aware of it."
"But you have tied me a little too tightly. Your confounded reata cuts into my flesh."
"Bah! you will grow used to it."
"Hum!" the bandit remarked. "Did you hear all we said?"
"Nearly all."
"Deuce take me if people can now talk in the desert without having listeners!"
"What would you? It is a melancholy fact."
"Well, I must put up with it, I suppose. You were saying——"
"I! I did not say a word."
"Ah! I beg your pardon in that case; but I fancied you were cross-questioning me. You probably did not tie me up like a plug of tobacco for the mere fun of the thing."
"There is some truth in your observation. I had, I allow, another object."
"What is it?"
"To enjoy your conversation for a moment."
"You are a thousand times too kind."
"Opportunities for conversing are so rare in the desert."
"That is true."
"So you are on an expedition?"
"Yes, I am: a man must be doing something."
"That is true also. Be good enough to give me a few details."
"About what?"
"Why, this expedition."
"Ah, ah! I should like to do so, but unfortunately that is impossible."
"Only