Trapper's Daughter

Gustave Aimard

Description

Though born in France, writer Gustave Aimard had a frontier spirit, and his travels in northern Mexico proved to be a life-changing experience. In The Trapper's Daughter, Aimard combines all of the elements of a classic western novel -- adventure, romance, ruminations on the desert landscape, and pulse-pounding encounters with enemies -- in a seamless package that will thrill fans of the genre.

Sujets

• Westerns
• Western (genre)
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775562481
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER
A STORY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS
* * *
GUSTAVE AIMARD
Translated by
LASCELLES WRAXALL
 
*
The Trapper's Daughter A Story of the Rocky Mountains First published in 1861 ISBN 978-1-77556-248-1 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Preface Chapter I - The Jacal Chapter II - Inside the Cabin Chapter III - A Conversation Chapter IV - A Backward Glance Chapter V - The Hacienda Quemada Chapter VI - The Apaches Chapter VII - The Hill of the Mad Buffalo Chapter VIII - Black Cat and Unicorn Chapter IX - The Meeting Chapter X - A War Stratagem Chapter XI - In the Forest Chapter XII - The Missionary Chapter XIII - Return to Life Chapter XIV - An Old Acquaintance of the Reader Chapter XV - Convalescence Chapter XVI - An Accomplice Chapter XVII - Mother and Son Chapter XVIII - The Consultation Chapter XIX - Bloodson Chapter XX - Red Cedar Chapter XXI - Curumilla Chapter XXII - El Mal Paso Chapter XXIII - El Rastreador Chapter XXIV - The Camp in the Mountains Chapter XXV - A Game at Hazard Chapter XXVI - Nathan Paints Himself Chapter XXVII - A Trail in the Air Chapter XXVIII - The Fight with the Grizzly Chapter XXIX - A Mother's Love Chapter XXX - The Sorcerer Chapter XXXI - White Gazelle Chapter XXXII - The Escape Chapter XXXIII - Plot and Counterplot Chapter XXXIV - Cousin Bruin Chapter XXXV - The Hunt Continued Chapter XXXVI - The Last Refuge Chapter XXXVII - The Casket Chapter XXXVIII - Smoke in the Mountain Chapter XXXIX - The Boar at Bay Chapter XL - Lynch Law Endnotes
Preface
*
In the present volume another series of Indian adventures is concluded,and the further career of the hero is described in the series beginningwith the "Tiger-slayer." It must be understood, however, that thestories are not arbitrarily connected—each is complete in itself; butthose who have read one volume will, I hope, be sufficiently interestedin the hero to desire to know more of his career. The following,therefore, is the order in which the volumes should be read:—
1. Trail Hunter. 2. Pirates of the Prairies. 3. The Trapper's Daughter. 4. Tiger Slayer. 6. Gold Seekers. 7. Indian Chief.
In all probability, M. Aimard will favour us with other volumes; but, inthe mean time, the above can be read collectively or separately, withequal interest.
Lascelles Wraxall
Chapter I - The Jacal
*
About three in the afternoon, a horseman, dressed in the Mexicancostume, was galloping along the banks of a stream, an affluent of theGila, whose capricious windings compelled him to make countless detours.This man, while constantly keeping his hand on his weapons, and watchingfor every event, urged his horse on by shouts and spur, as if anxious toreach his journey's end.
The wind blew fiercely, the heat was oppressive, the grasshoppersuttered their discordant cries under the herbage that sheltered them;the birds slowly described wide circles in the air, uttering shrillnotes at intervals: coppery clouds were incessantly passing athwart thesun, whose pale, sickly beams possessed no strength; in short, allpresaged a terrible storm.
The traveller seemed to notice nought of this; bowed over his horse'sneck, with his eyes fixed ahead, he increased his speed, withoutnoticing the heavy drops of rain that already fell, and the hoarserolling of distant thunder which began to be heard.
Still this man, had he wished it, could easily have sheltered himselfunder the thick shade of the aged trees in the virgin forest which hehad been skirting for more than an hour, and thus let the heaviest partof the storm pass; but a weightier interest, doubtless, urged him on,for, while increasing his speed, he did not think of drawing his zarapéover his shoulders to protect him from the rain, but contented himself,as each gust of wind howled past him, with drawing his hat a littletighter on his head, while repeating to his horse, in a sharp tone:
"Forward! Forward!"
In the meanwhile, the stream, whose banks the traveller was following,grew gradually narrower, and at a certain spot the bank was completelyobstructed by an undergrowth of shrubs and interlaced creepers, whichcompletely prevented any approach. On reaching this point the travellerstopped; he dismounted, carefully inspected the vicinity, took his horseby the bridle, and led it into a copse, where he concealed it; attachingit with his lasso to the trunk of a large tree, after removing the bozal to let it browse at liberty.
"Rest here, Negro," he said, as he softly patted it; "do not neigh, forthe enemy is at hand—I shall soon return."
The intelligent animal seemed to comprehend the words its masteraddressed to it, for it stretched out his head and rubbed it against hischest.
"Good, good, Negro! Wait awhile!"
The stranger then took from his holsters a brace of pistols, which heplaced in his girdle, threw his rifle on his shoulder, and startedhurriedly in the direction of the river. He buried himself withouthesitation in the shrubs that bordered the stream, carefully separatingthe branches which at each step barred his progress. On reaching theedge of the water he stopped for a moment, bent forward, seemed to belistening, and then drew himself up, muttering:
"There is no one; all is safe."
He then stepped on a mass of intertwined lianas, which extended from onebank to the other, and formed a natural bridge. This bridge, apparentlyso slight, was firm, and though it oscillated under the traveller'sfootsteps, he crossed it in a few seconds. He had scarce reached theother bank, when a girl emerged from a clump of trees which concealedher.
"At last!" she said, as she ran up to him: "oh! I was afraid you wouldnot come, Don Pablo."
"Ellen," the young man answered, with his whole soul in his glance,"death alone would keep me away."
The traveller was Don Pablo Zarate; the girl, Ellen, Red Cedar'sdaughter. [1]
"Come," she said.
The Mexican followed her, and they walked on for some time withoutexchanging a word. When they had passed the chaparral which bordered theriver, they saw a short distance before them a wretched jacal , whichleant solitary and silent against a rock.
"There is my home," the maiden said, with a sad smile.
Don Pablo sighed, but made no reply, and they continued to walk in thedirection of the jacal, which they soon reached.
"Sit down, Don Pablo," the maiden went on, as she offered her comrade astool, on which he sank. "I am alone; my father and two brothers wentoff this morning at sunrise."
"Are you not afraid," Don Pablo answered, "of remaining thus alone inthe desert, exposed to innumerable dangers, so far from all help?"
"What can I do? Has not this life been ever mine?"
"Does your father go away often?"
"Only during the last few days. I know not what he fears, but he and mybrothers seem sad and preoccupied, they go on long journeys, and whenthey return quite worn out, the words they address to me are harsh andsnappish."
"Poor child!" said Don Pablo, "I can tell you the cause of these longjourneys."
"Do you fancy I have not guessed it?" she replied; "No, no, the horizonis too gloomy around us for me not to perceive the gathering storm whichwill soon burst over us; but," she added, with an effort, "let us speakof ourselves, the moments are precious; what have you done?"
"Nothing," the young man said, mournfully; "all my researches have beenin vain."
"That is strange," Ellen muttered; "and yet the coffer cannot be lost."
"I am as convinced of that as you are; but into whose hands has itfallen? That is what I cannot say."
The maiden reflected.
"When did you notice its disappearance?" Don Pablo went on a momentafter.
"Only a few minutes after Harry's death; frightened by the sounds of thefight and the fearful uproar of the earthquake, I was half mad. Still, Ican remember a circumstance which will doubtless put us on the righttrack."
"Speak, Ellen, speak, and whatever is to be done I will do."
The girl looked at him for a moment with an indefinable expression. Shebent over to him, laid her hand on his arm, and said, in a voice soft asa bird's song:
"Don Pablo, a frank and loyal explanation between us is indispensable."
"I do not understand you," the young man stammered, as he let his eyesfall.
"Yes you do," she replied, with a sad smile; "you understand me, DonPablo; but no matter, as you pretend to be ignorant of what I wish tosay to you, I will explain myself in such a way that any furthermisconception will be impossible."
"Speak! Ellen; though I do not suspect your meaning, I have a forebodingof misfortune."
"Yes," she continued, "you are right; a misfortune is really concealedunder what I have to say to you, if you do not consent to grant me thefavour I implore of you."
Don Pablo rose.
"Why feign longer? Since I cannot induce you to give up your plan,Ellen, the explanation you ask of me is needless. Do you believe," hewent on, as he walked in great agitation up and down the jacal, "that Ihave not already regarded the strange position in which we findourselves from every side? Fatality has impelled us toward each other byone of those accidents which human wisdom cannot foresee. I love you,Ellen, I love you with all the strength of my soul, you, the daughter ofthe enemy of my family, of the man whose hands are still red with mysister's blood, which he shed by assassinating her coldly, in the mostinfamous manner. I know that, I tremble at thinking of my love, which,in the prejudiced ey