Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1907-04-11
CT 4 pTEP TT

CHAPTER II.
The Tigrero had let his head fall on
his chest again, and seemed engaged with
gloomy thoughts. The hunter somewhat
embarrassed by the turn the conversation
had taken, and anxious to continue it,
mechanically stirred up the fire.
Stay" he said, presently, as he thrust
back with his foot few embers that had
rolled out; pardon me, sir, any insult
which my exclamation may seem to have
contained. You have mistaken my mean
ing, although we have never met, we are
not such strangers as you suppose l
have known you for a long time"
The Tigrero raised his head and looked
at the hunter incredulously.
You" he muttered.
Yes, l, and it will not be difficult to
prove it to you"
What good will it ?" he murmured ::
what interest can l have in the fact of
your knowing me?"
Valentine reflected for a moment. and
then went on as follows:
Some months ago, in consequence of
circumstances unnecessary to remind YOU
you met at the colony of Guetzalli
Frenchman and Canadian hunter, with
whom you eventually stood on most init
mate terms"
1T is true" the Tigrero replied, 1.-THE
Frenchman to whom you allude is the
Count de Prebois GRANGE. OH | shall
never be able to discharge the debt of
gratitude | have contracted with him."
A sad smile curled the hunters lip.
You no longer owe him anything" he
said.
What do you mean?" the Tigrero ex-
claimed eagerly; surely the count can
not be dead"
He is dead, caballero. He was as
His murderers laid him in his tomb. and
his blood, so treacherously shed, cries for
vengeance"
The hunter hurriedly wiped away the
tears he had been unable to repress while
speaking of the count, and went on in
a voice choked by the internal emotion
which he strove in vain to conquer:
But let us, for the present leave this
sad Renaissance to slumber in our hearts
The count was my friend, my dearest
friend, more than a brother to me; he
often spoke about you to me, and several
times told me your gloomy history, which
terminated in a frightful catastrophe"
The Tigrero, in few moments, began
his narrative as follows:
My friends must have fancied me
dead. You are aware that | was at
tackled by Black Bear just as l believed
| had saved friends. We fought on the
edge of pit and 1 was just about to
finish him when the Comanche war cry
was heard Startled, l let the Indian go,
he rushed at Dona Anita, a member of
the party, who. however, repulsed him.
He fell backward in the direction of the
pit. clutching me, and down we went to-
gether."
go on" the hunter said, Il am listen
ing to you with the greatest attention"
The Indian was desperately wounded,
and it was a corpse that dragged me
down. The chief was the first to reach
the bottom, and | fell upon his body,
which deadened my fall. | cannot say
how long | remained in this state. but |
fancy my faint must have lasted two
hours. When l opened my eyes again, !
found myself in utter darkness. That
did not trouble me greatly, as | had about
me everything necessary to light fire.
Within few moments | had light, and
was enabled to look about me. l was
lying at the bottom of a species of tun-
mel, for the pit grew narrower in its de-
scent. When | reached the floor of the
cavern, l lay for more than half an hour
on the sand, exhausted, painting, unable
to make the slightest movement. Fortu-
nately for me this terrible condition did
not last long, for the refreshing air from
without, reaching me through the passages
of the cavern, recovered me. The ground
around me was covered with dead bodies,
and there had doubtless. been a terrible
struggle. | sought in vain for the corpses
of Dona Anita and her father. l breath
ed again, and hope re-entered my heart.
Those for whom l had given my life were
saved. This thought restored my courage,
and felt quite a different man. | rose
without any excessive difficulty. and. sup
porting myself on my rife, went toward
the mouth of the cavern, after removing
my stock of provision, and taking two
powder horns from stores l had previous
ly cached. No words can describe the
emotion l felt when, after painful walk
through the grotto, l at length reached
the river bank, and saw the sun once
more.
An hour later, mounted on my good
| horse. l bent my steps toward houses.
My journey was a long one, and when
| reached Sonora the news l heard al
most drove me mad. Don Sylvia de
Torres had been killed in the fight with
the Apaches, as was probably his daugh-
ter. For a month | lowered between life
and death. When hardly convalescent, l
| dragged myself to the house of the only
man competent of giving me precise in
| formation. This man refused to recos-
| nize me, although l had been intimate
with him for many years. When L told
him my name he laughed in my face, and
when / insisted. he had me expelled by
| his poems, telling me that i was mad,
| that Don Martial was dead, and an i'm
rostor / went away with rage and de-
spair in my heart. After this all my
| friends to whom 1 presented myself re-
| fused to recognize me, so thoroughly was
the report of my death believed. All the
efforts l attempted to dissipate this
alarming mistake and prove the falsehood
of the rumor were in vain, for too many
persons were interested in it being true,
on account of my large estates; and also,
| suppose, through fear of injuring the
man to whom I first applied-the only