The Trapper's Daughter Part 42

"Will it quench the thirst that parches my throat?" the monk asked, brutally, as he rose with an effort on his elbow and gave her a furious glance.

"Silence! You foolish child, if you have no other help than your silly words to give us."

"Silence, villain!" Sutter interrupted him with a groan, "Do not insult my sister; she alone may perchance save us; for if G.o.d have pity on us, it will be for her sake."

"Ah!" the monk said, with a hideous grin, "Now you believe in G.o.d, my master. You must fancy yourself very near death to be so frightened?

G.o.d! You poor fool, rejoice that there is none, instead of calling on Him for help; for if He really existed, He would have crushed you long ago."

"Well said, monk," Nathan remarked. "Come, let us have peace. If we are to die here like the dogs we are, let us die, at any rate, pleasantly.

That is not asking too much I suppose?"

"Oh, how I suffer!" Sutter muttered, as he rolled wildly on the ground.

Ellen got up, gently approached her; brother, and putting to his lips the mouth of the skin, in which a little water yet remained, she bade him drink. The young man made a movement as if to seize the skin; but at the same instant he repulsed it, shaking his head in refusal.

"No," he replied, mournfully, "keep that, sister; you would give me your life."

"Drink, I insist," she said, authoritatively.

"No," he answered firmly, "that would be cowardly. I am a man, sister; I can suffer."

Ellen understood that her entreaties would be useless, for she knew the superst.i.tious affection her brothers bore her; hence she returned to the fire. She sat down, took three buffalo-horn cups, which she filled with water, and placed before her; then she took a sharp pointed knife, and turning to the three men, who were anxiously watching her, she said--

"Here is water, drink. I swear that if you do not instantly obey me, I will slit the skin in which the little stock of water is left; all will then be lost, and I shall suffer the same pains as you do."

The men made no answer, but looked at each other.

"For the last time, will you drink or not?" she cried, as she placed the point of the knife on the skin.

"Stay," the monk shouted, as he rose and rushed towards her. "Demonios!

She would do as she said."

And seizing a cup, he emptied it at a draught, his companions following his example. This mouthful of water--for the cups were very small--sufficed, however to calm their irritation--the fire that burned them was extinguished, they breathed more easily, and gave vent to a grunt of satisfaction, as they fell back on the ground. An angelic smile lit up the maiden's radiant face.

"You see," she said, "all is not lost yet."

"Come, come, Nina," the monk remarked, tranquilly, "why lull us with foolish hopes? The drop of water you have given us can only check our sufferings for a little while; within an hour our thirst will be more ardent and terrible than ever."

"Do you know what Heaven may reserve for you between this and then?" she asked, softly. "A respite, however short it may be, is in your position everything; all depends for you, not on the present moment, but on the coming one."

"Good, good! We'll not dispute after the service you have rendered us, Nina; still, everything seems to prove you wrong."

"How so?"

"Why, Caspita, what I say is very easy to understand; without going further, your father, who pledged his word never to desert us--"

"Well?"

"Where is he? Since daybreak he has left us to go--the deuce alone knows where? Night has long set in, and, and as you see, he has not returned."

"What does that prove?"

"_Canarios!_ That he has gone away, that is all."

"Do you believe it, senor?"

"I am sure of it, Nina."

Ellen gave a contemptuous look.

"Senor," she haughtily answered, "you do not know my father if you consider him capable of such cowardice."

"Hum! In our position he would almost have an excuse for doing so."

"He might have done so, perhaps," she went on, quickly, "if he had no other comrade but yourself, caballero; but he would leave his children here, and he is not the man to abandon them when in danger."

"That is true," the monk said, with humility; "I did not think of that, so forgive me. Still, you will permit me to remark that it is an extraordinary thing your father has not yet returned?"

"Well, senor," the maiden said, warmly, "although you are so ready to accuse a friend, who has constantly offered you the most unequivocal proofs of his unknown devotion, how do you know that he is not delayed by his desire to save us?"

"Well spoken, by Heaven!" a rough voice said; "Thank you, my daughter."

The adventurers turned with an involuntary start; at this moment the bushes were parted by a firm hand, a heavy step sounded on the pebbles, and Red Cedar appeared, bearing a doe on his shoulder. On reaching the light of the fire he stopped, threw his burden the ground, and looked sarcastically around him.

"Oh, oh," he said, with a grin, "it seems that I have arrived just in time, senor Padre. _Viva Dios!_ you were giving me a fine character in my absence; is that the way in which you understand Christian charity, gossip? Cristo! I do not compliment you on it, if that be the case."

The monk, startled by the sudden appearance and rough address, found no answer, so Red Cedar went on:

"By Jove! I am a better fellow than yourself, for I bring you food, and it was not without difficulty that I succeeded in killing that confounded animal, I can tell you. But now look sharp and roast a joint."

Sutter and Nathan had not waited for their father's orders, but had already begun skinning the doe.

"Hilloh!" Nathan remarked, "to roast this meat, we must enlarge our fire; and how about our pursuers?"

"It is a risk to run," Red Cedar replied; "settle among ourselves if you will incur it."

"What is your opinion?" the monk asked.

"It is a matter of perfect indifference to me; but I wish you to understand one thing, once for all, as I am intimately convinced that we shall fall into the hands of our pursuers, I care very little whether it happen today or in a week's time."

"Confusion! You are not at all encouraging, gossip," Fray Ambrosio exclaimed. "Have you lost your courage too, or discovered any suspicious trail?"

"My courage never fails me; I know very well the fate reserved for me, and hence my mind is made up. As for suspicious signs, as you say, a man must be blind not to see them."

"Then there is no hope," the three men said, with ill-disguised terror.

"On my honour I do not think there is; but," he added, with a mocking accent, "why do you not roast the meat? You must be almost dead of hunger."

"That is true; but what you tell us has taken away our appet.i.te," Fray Ambrosio remarked, sadly.