CHAPTER XI. IN THE PLAIN.

Oliver and Dominique, after leaving the rancho, rode for a long time side by side without exchanging a word; the adventurer seemed to be reflecting, while for his part the vaquero, in spite of his apparent nonchalance, was greatly preoccupied. Dominique, or Domingo, according as he was called in French or Spanish, whose physical portrait we have sketched in a preceding chapter, was, morally, a strange mixture of good and bad instincts; still, we are bound to add, that the good nearly always gained the victory. The wandering life he had led for several years among the indomitable Indians of the prairie, had developed in him, beside a great personal strength, an incredible force of will and energy of character, blended with a leonine courage and a degree of cleverness which might at times be taken for duplicity. Crafty and distrustful like a Comanche, he had transferred to civilized life all the practices of the wood rangers, never letting himself be taken unawares by the most unforeseen events, and opposing an impassive face to the most scrutinizing glances, he feigned a simplicity by which the cleverest persons were often deceived; added to this, he generally displayed a rare frankness, unbounded generosity, exquisite sensibility of heart, and carried his devotion to those he loved to the extremest limits, without reflection or afterthought; but on the other hand he was implacable in his hatreds, and possessed a true Indian ferocity. In one word, his was one of those strange natures as perfect for good as for evil, and whom opportunity can as easily make remarkable men as great villains.

Oliver had profoundly studied the extraordinary character of his protégé, hence he knew better than himself, perhaps, of what he was capable; and he had frequently shuddered on probing the hidden depths of this strange organization which did not know itself; and while imposing his will on the indomitable nature and making it bow as he pleased, still, like the imprudent beast tamer who plays with a tiger, he foresaw the moment when the lava boiling dully at the bottom of this young man's heart would suddenly burst forth under the impetuous blast of the passions; hence, in spite of the implicit confidence he seemed to have in his friend, it was with extreme care that he set certain chords vibrating in him, and he sedulously avoided giving him a consciousness of his strength, or revealing to him the extent of his moral power.

After a ride of some hours the travellers arrived about three leagues from the hacienda del Arenal, on the skirt of a rather thick wood that bordered the last plantations of the hacienda.

"Let us stop here and eat," Oliver said, as he dismounted; "this is our destination for the present."

"I am quite willing," Dominique answered; "this confounded sun falling virtually on my head since the morning, is beginning, I confess, to tire me, and I should not be sorry to lie down for a little while on the grass."

"In that case stand on no ceremony, comrade; the spot is glorious for a rest."

The two men hobbled their horses, which they unbridled, to let them browze at their ease; and after sitting down opposite each other under the protection of the dense foliage of the trees, they felt in their alforjas, which were well stocked with provisions, and began eating with good appetite. Neither of the men was a great speaker, hence they disposed of their meal in silence, and it was not till Oliver had lit a puro and Dominique his Indian calumet, that the former resolved to speak.

"Well, Dominique," he said to him, "what do you think of the life I have made you lead for the last five months in this province?"

"To tell you the truth," the vaquero replied, puffing out a dense cloud of smoke, "I consider it absurd and wearisome to the highest degree. I should long ago have requested you to send me back to the western prairies, had I not been convinced that you wanted me here."

Oliver burst into a laugh.

"You are true, friend," he said, as he offered him his hand, "ever ready to act without observation or comment."

"I flatter myself I am; for is not friendship composed of self-denial and devotedness?"

"Yes; and that is why it is so rarely met with in this world."

"I pity those who are incapable of experiencing the feeling, for they deprive themselves of a great enjoyment. Friendship is the only real link that attaches men to each other."

"Many believe that it is egotism."

"Egotism is only a variety of the species; it is friendship badly understood, and reduced to low proportions."

"Hang it! I did not fancy you were so strong in paradoxes. Did you learn these tricks of the tongue among the Indians?"

"The Indians are wise men, my master," the vaquero answered with a shake of the head; "with them the true is true, and the false false, while in your cities you have so well succeeded in embroiling everything, that the cleverest man could not find his way, while the simple man soon loses the feeling of justice and injustice. Let me return to the prairies, my friend, my place is not among the paltry contests that disgrace this country, and make my heart ache with disgust and pity."

"I would willingly restore you your liberty, my boy, but I repeat that I have need of you, perhaps for three months longer."

"Three months? That is very long."

"Perhaps you will find the period very short," he said, with a peculiar expression.

"I do not believe it."

"We shall see; but I have not told you yet what I want of you."

"That is true, and I had better know, so that I may fulfil your intentions properly."

"Listen to me then: I shall be the more brief, because when the persons I am expecting arrive, I shall give you more detailed instructions."

"Very good, go on."

"Two persons are going to join us here, a young man, and a young lady; the latter is do?a Dolores de la Cruz, daughter of the owner of the hacienda del Arenal: she is sixteen years of age, and very beautiful; she is a gentle, pure, and simple girl."

"Very good, but that does not concern me, for you know I trouble myself but slightly about squaws."

"That is true, so I will not dwell on the point: do?a Dolores is betrothed to don Ludovic, who will marry her immediately."

"Much good may it do him; and who is don Ludovic? Some Mexican, I suppose, stupid and proud, who prances like a canon's mule."

"In that you are mistaken; don Ludovic is her cousin, Count Ludovic de la Saulay, belonging to the highest nobility in France."

"Ah, ah! He is the Frenchman in question?"

"Yes: he has come expressly from France to contract with his cousin this union which has long been arranged between the two families. Count Ludovic is a most agreeable gentleman, rich, kind, amiable, well educated, and obliging: in short, an excellent fellow, in whom I take the most sincere interest, and I wish you to attach yourself to him."

"If he is as you say, all right; before two days we shall be the best friends in the world."

"Thanks, Dominique, I expected no less from you."

"Eh," said the vaquero, "look there, Oliver, someone is coming, I fancy: hang it, they are riding fast, they will be on us in ten minutes."

"They are do?a Dolores and Count Ludovic."

They rose to go and receive the young people, who, in truth, were coming up at full speed.

"Here we are at last," the young lady said, as she stopped her horse, with the skill of a practised rider.

With one bound the newcomers reached the ground; after bowing to Dominique, the count held out both hands to the adventurer.

"I see you again then, my friend," he said to him; "thanks for remembering me."

"Did you suppose I had forgotten you?"

"On my word," the young man said gaily, "I almost had the right to do so."

"My Lord Count," the adventurer then said, "permit me first of all to introduce to you M. Dominique, he is more than a brother, he is another self: I shall be pleased if you will transfer to him a small portion of the friendship you deign to testify to me."

"Sir," the count replied, bowing gracefully to the vaquero, "I sincerely regret that I express myself so badly in Spanish, for it prevents me from proving to you the lively desire I feel to let you see the sympathy with which you have already inspired me."

"That is of no consequence, sir," the vaquero replied in French "I speak your language fluently enough to thank you for your cordial words, for which I am most grateful."

"Ah, by Jove! Sir, you delight me; this is a charming surprise; pray, accept my hand, and consider me as entirely at your service."

"Most willingly, sir, and thank you; we shall soon know each other better, and then, you will reckon me, I hope, in the number of your friends."

After these words, the two young men warmly shook hands.

"Are you satisfied, my friend?" do?a Dolores asked.

"You are a fairy, dear child," Oliver replied with emotion; "you cannot imagine how happy you render me."

And he respectfully kissed the forehead which the young lady offered him. "Now," he continued, changing his tone, "let us turn to business, for time presses; but we are still one short."

"Who is it?" the young lady asked.

"Leo Carral: let me summon him;" and raising to his lips a silver whistle, he produced a shrill and long sustained note.

Almost immediately the galloping of a horse was heard in the distance, which rapidly drew nearer, and the majordomo soon appeared.

"Come on, come on, Leo," the adventurer shouted to him.

"Here I am, se?or," the majordomo replied, "entirely at your orders."

"Listen to me attentively," Oliver resumed, addressing do?a Dolores; "the affair is serious, I am compelled to go away this very day: my absence may last for a long time; and hence it is impossible for me to watch over you: unfortunately I have a foreboding that an imminent danger threatens you, of what nature it is, or when it will burst on you, I am unable to say, but it is certain. Now, my dear Dolores, what I cannot do, others will do: these others are the count, Dominique, and our friend Leo Carral, all three are devoted to you, and will watch over you like brothers."

"But, my friend," the young lady interrupted, "you forget, I think, my father and my brother."

"No, my child, I do not forget them, on the contrary, I bear them in mind: your father is an aged man, who not only cannot protect anyone, but needs protection himself, which in the case of need you will not fail to grant him. As for your brother, don Melchior, you know, my dear girl, my opinion about him, and hence it is unnecessary to dwell on that point: he cannot, or will not defend you. You know that I am usually well informed, and am rarely mistaken; now, all of you carefully remember this; be most careful not to let don Melchior or any other inhabitant of the hacienda suppose, either from your words or actions, that you foresee a misfortune; but watch carefully, so as not to let yourselves be surprised, and take your precautions accordingly."

"We will watch, trust to me," the vaquero replied; "but I have an objection to offer, my friend, which is not without justice."

"What is it?"

"How shall I manage to get into the hacienda and remain there without arousing suspicions? This appears to me rather difficult."

"No, you are mistaken; no one at the hacienda knows you but Leo Carral, I think?"

"That is true."

"Well, you will go there as a Frenchman, a friend of the Count de la Saulay; and for greater security you will pretend, not to understand a word of Spanish."

"Permit me," Ludovic observed, "I have spoken several times to don Andrés about an intimate friend attached to the French Legation in Mexico, and whom I expect to visit me at the hacienda at any moment."

"Perfect, Dominique will pass for him, and if he likes, he can talk broken Spanish; what is the name of the friend you expect?"

"Charles de Meriadec."

"Very good, Dominique will christen himself so; while he is at the hacienda, I will arrange that the man whose name he temporarily assumes, does not come to disturb him."

"Hum, that is important."

"Fear nothing, I will arrange it; so that is settled; and tomorrow Monsieur Charles de Meriadec will arrive at the hacienda."

"He will be well received then," Ludovic replied with a smile.

"As for you, Leo Carral, I have no recommendations to give you."

"No, no, my measures have been taken for a long time past," the majordomo replied; "I have only now to arrange with these gentlemen."

"All is going well, so now let us separate: I should have been a long way off by this time."

"Are you leaving us already, my friend?" do?a Dolores asked with emotion.

"I must, my child; be of good cheer, and have confidence in God; during my absence, He will watch over you; farewell."

The adventurer pressed the count's hand for the last time, kissed the young lady's forehead, and leapt into the saddle.

"Let me see you again soon," do?a Dolores said to him.

"Tomorrow you will see your friend Meriadec," Dominique said with a laugh, and he started at a gallop after the adventurer.

"Are you going back with us to the hacienda?" the count asked the majordomo.

"Why not?" he replied; "I shall be supposed to have met you during your ride."

"That is true."

They remounted, and cantered toward the hacienda, which they reached a little before sunset.