Having delivered his fire the outlaw did not even stop to ascertain its effect; but turning suddenly away, he ran to recover his horse. The dread of being pursued and overtaken by the two trappers caused him to fly at full speed. He dreaded the vengeance of two men of whose singular courage and dexterity he had already been a witness. Fear, however, so confused his senses, that on facing round, he was unable to remember in what direction he had come, or where the horse had been left; and for some seconds he stood hesitating and doubtful.

Short as was the time, it might have proved fatal to him, but that his unexpected attack had somewhat disconcerted the camp. Both Bois-Rose and Tiburcio, interrupted while suffering the most vivid emotions, stood for some moments in a state of stupor, while Pepe was stretched out at full length, and supposed to be asleep.

This was only apparent, however, for at the report he sprang to his feet as if he had heard the "hish" of the bullet as it pa.s.sed close to his ears.

"_Carramba_!" cried he, "I am curious to know which of us that bit of lead was intended for, you or myself, young man; for I have heard your conversation, and I am no stranger to this affair of Elanchovi."

"Elanchovi!" exclaimed the Canadian. "What! do you know anything of Elanchovi?"

"Ah, well do I," answered Pepe. "I have good reasons to know Elanchovi--but there's no time to talk of it now; I will settle that business by-and-by, for it's a secret you can't comprehend without my help. So indeed it is the young count, and you have found him again!

Well that's enough at present. Now, Bois-Rose, forward! You take to the right of where the shot came from, while this young man and I go to the left. The cowardly rascal who fired will no doubt be trying to turn our camp, and by going both ways, one or other of us will be likely to chance upon him. Away, Bois-Rose, away!"

Hurriedly p.r.o.nouncing these words, Pepe grasped his rifle and struck off to the left, followed by Tiburcio, who had no other weapon than his knife. The Canadian, suddenly stooping, till his huge body was almost horizontal, glided off to the right under the branches of the trees, and then moved on with a silence and rapidity that showed how accustomed he was to this mode of progression.

The camp-fire was abandoned to the guard of the half-wild horse, that, freshly affrighted by the report of the carbine, once more plunged and reared, until he had almost strangled himself in the noose of his lazo.

Meanwhile the day was beginning to break, and the red light of the fire was every moment growing paler under the first rays of the morning.

"Let us stop here," said Pepe to Tiburcio, as soon as they had reached a thicket where they could have the advantage of seeing without being seen, and from which they commanded a view of the road leading to the Salto de Agua. "Stand closely behind this sumac bush," continued he; "I have an idea that this _picaron_, who has such a crooked sight, will pa.s.s this way. If he do, I shall prove to him that the lessons Bois-Rose has given me have not been altogether lost upon me. I manage my piece somewhat better now than when I was in the service of her Catholic majesty. There now, stand close, and not a word above a whisper."

Tiburcio--or, as we may now call him, Fabian de Mediana--obeyed with pleasure the injunctions of his companion. His spirit, troubled with a few strange words he had heard from Bois-Rose and Pepe, was full of hope that the latter would be able to complete the revelation just begun; and he waited with anxious silence to hear what the ex-carabinier might say.

But the latter was silent. The sight of the young man--whom he had himself a.s.sisted in making an orphan, and despoiling not only of his t.i.tle and wealth, but even of his name--renewed within him the remorse which twenty years had not sufficed to blot out from his memory. Under the dawning light he looked sadly but silently on the face of that child whom he had often seen playing upon the beach of Elanchovi. In the proud glance of the youth, Pepe saw once more the eyes of his high-born mother; and in the elegant and manly form he recognised that of Don Juan de Mediana, his father; but twenty years of a rude and laborious life-- twenty years of a struggle with the toils and dangers of the desert--had imparted to Fabian a physical strength far superior to that of him who had given him being.

Pepe at length resolved to break the silence. He could no longer restrain himself, suffering as he was from such bitter memories.

"Keep your eye fixed upon the road," said he, "at yonder point, where it is lost among the trees. Watch that point whilst I talk to you. It is the way in which Bois-Rose and I do when there is any danger threatening us. At the same time listen attentively to what I say."

"I listen," answered Fabian, directing his glance as his companion, had instructed him.

"Do you remember nothing of your young days, more than you have just related to the Canadian?"

"Nothing--ever since I learnt that Arellanos was not my father, I have tried to remember something, but to no purpose. I do not even know who took care of me in my infancy."

"No more know they of you, my poor young man. I am the only one who can tell you these things of which you are ignorant."

"For heaven's sake speak!" impatiently cried Fabian.

"Hush! not so loud!" cautioned the trapper. "These woods, remote and solitary as they seem, nevertheless contain your deadliest enemy-- unless, indeed, it was at me that the bullet was aimed. That may make a difference in your favour. In fact, since I have not been able to recognise you, I do not see how _he_ can?"

"Who--of whom do you speak?" brusquely demanded Fabian.

"Of your mother's murderer--of the man who has robbed you of your t.i.tles, your honours, your wealth, and your name."

"I should be n.o.ble and rich then?" cried Fabian, interrogatively. "Oh that I had but known it sooner--only yesterday!"

Fabian's thoughts were upon Rosarita. If he could have told this to her, in that sad parting interview, perhaps the result might have been different!

"n.o.ble! yes!" replied Pepe, "you should be and shall yet, if I mistake not--but rich--alas! you are no more rich."

"What matters it?" responded Fabian, "to-day it would be too late."

"Yes, but it does matter--ah! I knew two men--one at least--who shall restore to you what you have lost, or die in the attempt."

"Of whom do you speak?"

"Of one who, without knowing it, aided to some extent in the a.s.sa.s.sination of your mother--of one whom that sad souvenir has a thousand times troubled the conscience--who, in the silence of the night in the midst of the woods, has often fancied he could hear that cry of anguish, which at the time he mistook for the wailing of the breeze against the cliffs of Elanchovi. It was the death scream of your poor mother. Ah! Don Fabian de Mediana," continued the speaker, in reply to the gesture of horror made by the young man, "Ah! that man's conscience has reproached him in stronger terms than you could use; and at this hour he is ready to spill the last drop of his blood for you."

The impetuous pa.s.sions of Fabian, for a moment softened by thoughts of Rosarita, were again inflamed to their utmost. He had already sworn to avenge the death of Arellanos, and here was anew object of vengeance, the murderer of his own mother! The bland image of Rosarita at once disappeared, paling away as the firelight eclipsed by the brighter gleams of the rising sun.

"My mother's a.s.sa.s.sin!" cried he, his eyes flashing with furious indignation. "And you know him?"

"You also--you have eaten with him at the same table--under the same roof--that which you have just now quitted!"

Pepe without further interrogation went on to recount what he knew of the events of Elanchovi. He told Fabian who he was--that Don Estevan was no other than his uncle, Antonio de Mediana--of the marriage of his mother with Don Juan his father--of the consequent chagrin of the younger brother--of his infamous design, and the manner it had been carried into execution. How Don Antonio, returning from the wars in Mexico, with his band of piratical adventurers, had landed in a boat upon the beach at Ensenada--how he had entered the chateau, and with the help of his two subordinate villains had abstracted the Countess and her infant--himself Fabian--how the a.s.sa.s.sination of the mother had been committed in the boat, and the child only spared in the belief that the murderer's steel was not necessary--in the belief that the waves and the cold atmosphere of a November night would complete the deed of death.

Nor did Pepe conceal his own conduct connected with this affair. He disclosed all to his half-frantic listener--the after actions of Don Antonio with regard to himself--his imprisonment and subsequent banishment to the fisheries of Ceuta--his escape at a later period to the prairies of America, and his meeting with Bois-Rose--with whom, however, no recognition had ever been established about the events of Elanchovi--since neither had ever mentioned that name in hearing of the other.

All these things Pepe narrated in turn, but briefly as the circ.u.mstances required. The rest of his history Fabian already knew--at least, the greater part of it; Bois-Rose had partially made the revelation.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE MAN IN THE YELLOW JACKET.

Bois-Rose, as already stated, had gone alone in a direction opposite to that taken by his comrades. His mind full of the danger with which Fabian was surrounded--Fabian restored to him as if by a miracle--the Canadian continued to advance with rapid strides. He examined every opening and aisle of the forest with an eye keenly bent, and an ear straining to catch the slightest sound.

After making a distance of a hundred yards or so, he stopped in his tracks, and laying himself flat along the gra.s.s, placed his ear to the ground and listened attentively. In a few seconds' time a dull sound reached him--the hoof-strokes of a horse that seemed to approach the spot where he lay.

"Pepe is right," muttered he to himself, as he started to his feet; "the skunk is coming this way. Good! he has the advantage of me in being mounted; but I have a rifle that I dare say will make up for the difference--_enfant de grace_! he is here!"

As this exclamation escaped him, the trapper was seen suddenly to raise his long rifle to his shoulder. At the same instant a leathern jacket of yellowish colour appeared at some distance off among the leaves, and at about the height of a man on horseback.

The sharp crack of a rifle was instantly followed by the disappearance of the leathern jacket: and, since for marksmen like Bois-Rose to take aim is to hit, the latter had no doubt that his enemy had fallen to the ground either dead or wounded. For a moment he thought of reloading; but the ardour of his vengeance urged him to rush forward and make sure of his victim. In the event that the a.s.sa.s.sin should have companions, the trapper trusted to his great strength to equalise the chances of a hand-to-hand conflict. Neglecting all further precautions, therefore, like the hunter rushing upon the wounded stag, he dashed forward through the trees toward the spot where his enemy had fallen.

As he drew near, he could perceive a horse rearing furiously in front of him, crushing the underwood as he plunged violently from side to side.

The horse was saddled and bridled, but there was no one in the saddle.

This led Bois-Rose to the belief that his bullet had dismounted the rider.

All at once a shrill whistle rang through the trees; and the horse uttered a loud neigh--as if in reply--galloping off in the direction from which the signal had come. After making several lengths through the bushes, the horse came to a stop. Bois-Rose ran after, and in a few bounds was beside the animal. It was still dark under the shadow of the trees, but the Canadian could make out the form of a man upon the ground, at that moment struggling in the act of raising himself. Just then the horse dropped upon his knees, the man grasping the pommel of the saddle succeeded in crawling into it; a signal started the animal to his feet again; and before the trapper could come up to the spot, both horse and man were fast disappearing behind the foliage of the trees.

Bois-Rose launched after them a furious malediction; and reloading his rifle as rapidly as he could, sent a bullet in the same direction; but the continued strokes of the horse's feet falling upon his ear told him that his random shot had been delivered to no purpose.

Without following further, he turned in the opposite direction, and after imitating three times in succession, the howling of the prairie wolf--a signal for Pepe--he strode off to the spot where the yellow jacket had fallen from the saddle.

There he perceived the gra.s.s pressed down as if where a man's body had fallen upon it; and at about the height of a man on horseback, the branches of the sumac tree were broken, as though the horseman had caught at them in falling. There were no traces of blood, however--not a drop could be seen; but a carbine lying upon the ground showed that the horseman, in his hurry to escape, had left his weapon behind him.

"My poor Fabian!" muttered he, "this will serve for him. In these woods a knife is not much worth; this will be a better weapon for him."