Chapter 31 - Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora by Mayne Reid
The Recognition
The conversation, for a moment interrupted, was resumed by Bois-Rose.
“So you shall find,” said he, “in my comrade Pepé, a man ready to join you against this Don Estevan; and, as Pepé’s enemies are mine, I shall be equally your partisan. We shall be able to offer you a brace of good rifles that never miss their aim. There is one, at all events, I think I can answer for.”
As the trapper said this, he pointed to the long piece that rested by his side.
Tiburcio cast his eyes upon the gun, and for a moment regarded it with some surprise. He appeared to look more particularly at the wood-work of the stock, which was notched and carved in a somewhat fantastic manner. Here there was a row of simple notches, and there another row of marks resembling crosses. Then there were rows of double crosses; and also one of triple crosses; and finally a series of stars. All these hieroglyphics appeared to have been cut with the blade of a knife; but their purpose was a puzzle to Tiburcio.
Bois-Rose, noticing an interrogative expression upon the face of the young man, at once entered upon an explanation.
“These marks,” said he, “are the scores I keep of the savages that have fallen by my rifle. They themselves keep count by the number of scalps; but this, you see, is more Christian and decent. That row of crosses stands for Apache—there is a dozen in all. The double crosses are for Sioux—seven of them. Those with the triple branch are Pawnees—eight of them I have sent to the land of spirits. The stars are Crows—and number only four, that my rifle has caused to utter their death-yell. You see nine parallel notches?—well, these are nine Flatheads that, thanks to me, will rob no longer in this world; and finally, those marks of a roundish shape, which I needn’t count, are so many Blackfeet, who have gone to their happy hunting-grounds. Now,” added the trapper, “I think I can promise you a rifle that is not likely to miss fire, and the hand of a friend that will not fail you.”
And as he said this, he stretched forth his huge hand, and grasping that of Tiburcio, pressed it frankly and firmly.
The young man accepted the offer with a profusion of thanks.
“I had a presentiment,” said he, “when I saw the light of your fire, that I should find friends around it.”
“You are not deceived,” warmly responded Bois-Rose; “you have found friends;—but, pardon me when I ask you, have you no relatives or connections with whom you could find a home?”
For a moment the colour mounted to the cheeks of Tiburcio; but after a slight hesitation, he replied:
“Why should I not be frank with you?—I shall! Know then, brave trappers, that surrounded as I am by enemies who seek my life; disdained by the woman I have loved, and still love—I am alone in the world: I have neither father, nor mother, nor any relative that I know of?”
“Your father and mother—are they dead?” inquired Bois-Rose, with an air of interest.
“I never knew either of them,” answered the young man in a sad voice.
“You have never known them!” cried the Canadian, rising suddenly, and laying hold of a blazing fagot, which he held up to the face of Tiburcio.
This fagot, light as it was, appeared as if a hundredweight in the hand of the giant, that trembled like an aspen, under the convulsive emotions that were agitating his bosom. He held the flame closed to the countenance of the young man, and scanned his features with eager anxiety.
“But surely,” said he, “you at least know in what country you were born?”
“I do not,” answered Tiburcio. “But why do you ask me? What interest—”
“Fabian! Fabian!” interrupted Bois-Rose, in a soft, appealing tone, as if he was speaking to an infant—“what has become of you?”
“Fabian!” repeated the young man; “I do not know the name.”
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed the Canadian, as if speaking to himself, “since this name recalls nothing to him, it is not he! Why did I indulge in such a foolish hope? And yet his features are just as Fabian’s should be at his age. Pardon me,” he continued, addressing himself to Tiburcio—“pardon me, young friend. I am a fool! I have lost my senses!”
And throwing the fagot back upon the fire, he returned to his seat, placing himself with his back to the light, so that his countenance was concealed from the eyes of his companion.
Both were for some minutes silent. Tiburcio was endeavouring to penetrate the past, and recall some vague reminiscences of infancy, that still lingered in his memory. The widow of Arellanos had told him all she knew of his early history—of the gigantic sailor who had nursed him; but it never occurred to Tiburcio that the great trapper by his side, a coureur de bois of the American wilderness—could ever have been a seaman—much less that one of whom he had heard and read, and who was believed to have been his father. The strange interest which the trapper had exhibited and the questions he had asked were attributed by him to mere benevolence. He had no idea that the latter referred to any one whom he had formerly known, and who was now lost to him; for Bois-Rose had as yet told him nothing of his own history.
As Tiburcio continued to direct his thoughts upon the past, certain vague souvenirs began to shape themselves in his memory. They were only dim shadows, resembling the retrospect of a dream, and yet he was impressed with the belief that they had once been realities. He was the more confirmed in this idea, because such visions had occurred to him before—especially upon the night when he sat by the death-bed of his adopted mother—the widow of Arellanos. The revelations which she made to him before dying had revived in some mysterious way these shadowy souvenirs.
After a while the young man made known his thoughts to his companion by the camp-fire, whose interest appeared to be forcibly re-awakened, and who listened with eager attention to every word.
“I fancy I can remember,” said Tiburcio—“that is, if it be not a dream I have sometimes dreamt—a terrible scene. I was in the arms of a woman who held me closely to her breast—that I was rudely snatched from her embrace by a wicked man—that she screamed and cried, but then all at once became silent; but after that I remember no more.”
These words appeared to produce an effect upon the Canadian; and his interest visibly increased as he listened.
“You can remember no more?” he inquired, in an eager tone. “Can you not remember what sort of place it was in? Was it in a house? or do you not remember whether the sea was around you? That is a thing one is not likely to forget.”
“No,” answered Tiburcio, “I saw the great ocean for the first time at Guaymas—that was four years ago—and yet from what has been told me I should have also seen it when I was a child.”
“But, when you saw it four years ago, did it not recall anything to your memory?”
“No, nothing.”
“Nothing?” repeated the Canadian, interrogatively, and in a despairing tone.
“Nothing more than this same dream, which I have mistaken no doubt for reality.”
Bois-Rose again resumed his attitude of melancholy, and remained silent.
After a pause Tiburcio continued:
“One figure appears to me in these visions that is different from the rest.”
“What sort of figure?” inquired the Canadian, with renewed interest.
“That of a man of a hale rude countenance, but notwithstanding one of kindly expression. This man loved me, for I now have his face before me more clearly than I ever had; and I can trace that expression upon it.”
“And did you love him? can you remember that?” inquired the Canadian, while his heart beat with anxiety, as he awaited the answer.
“I am sure I did, he was so kind to me. I can remember he was kind to me.”
A tear stole over the bronzed cheek of the trapper as he listened to these words; and then turning his face once more so that it was hidden from the view of Tiburcio, he murmured to himself—
“Alas, poor Fabian! he too loved me—I know he did.”
Then once more facing round to the fire, he hazarded a last question:
“Do you not remember one circumstance above all? Do you not remember that this man was suddenly separated from you in the midst of a terrible affray—?”
The emotion under which Bois-Rose was suffering hindered him from finishing his interrogatory. His head fell between his knees, and he awaited in trembling the response which Tiburcio might make.
The latter was silent for some seconds, as if endeavouring to arrange the confused thoughts that had suddenly sprung up in his mind.
“Hear me!” said he at length, “you who appear to be a beacon guiding my memories of the past—hear what I can remember at this moment. There was one day of terror and confusion; I saw much blood around me. The ground appeared to tremble—there was thunder or the noise of cannon. I was in great fear within a dark chamber where I had been shut up—a man came to me; it was the big man who loved me—”
Tiburcio paused for an instant, as if to grapple freshly with the vague reminiscences that were endeavouring to escape from him, while the Canadian appeared like one suffering the agony of suspense.
“Yes,” resumed Tiburcio, “this man came to me—he lifted me up in his arms and carried me into the light—there he caused me to kneel down—oh! I now remember what he said—‘kneel!’ said he, ‘kneel, my child! and pray for your mother!’ That is all I can remember.”
The Canadian, who was still seated, appeared to tremble convulsively, as he listened to these last words; but when Tiburcio had finished speaking, he rose suddenly to his feet; and rushing forward threw his arms wildly around the young man, while at the same time he cried out in a broken voice:
“Your mother whom I found dead beside you. Oh! my God! Once more in need of a father, hast thou sent him to me. Oh! Fabian! Fabian! Come to my heart! It was I who caused you to kneel—I am that man! who in the bay of Elanchovi—”
At this moment the report of a carbine echoed in the woods; and a bullet whistling through the air, passed close to the head of Tiburcio, striking a tree that stood behind him.
This unexpected intruder at once put an end to the dialogue; suddenly changing the tableaux of figures around the fire. Pepé, who had heard the shot, sprang instantaneously to his feet, and all three stood grasping their weapons, ready to receive the enemy who had committed the dastardly attempt.