After giving a final glance of satisfaction at his horse, which at intervals interrupted its repast to raise its delicate and intelligent head to him with an expression of pleasure, he carried his weapons and horse trappings to the foot of a rather lofty rock, which offered him but a poor protection against the gusts of the night breeze, and then began collecting dry wood to light a watch fire.

It was no easy task to find dry firewood at a spot almost denuded of trees, and whose soil, covered with snow, except in the clearing, allowed nothing to be distinguished; but the traveller was patient, he would not be beaten, and within an hour he had collected sufficient wood to feed through the night two such fires as he proposed kindling. The branches soon crackled, and a bright flame rose joyously in a long spiral to the sky.

"Ah!" said the traveller, who, like all men constrained to live alone, seemed to have contracted the habit of soliloquizing aloud, "the fire will do, so now for supper."

Then, fumbling in the alforjas, or double pockets which travellers always carry fastened to the saddle, he took from them all the requisite elements of a frugal meal; that is to say, cecina, pemmican, and several varas of tasajo, or meat dried in the sun. At the moment when, after shutting up his alforjas, the traveller raised his head to lay his meat on the embers to broil, he stopped motionless, with widely-opened mouth, and it was only through a mighty strength of will that he suppressed a cry of surprise and possibly of terror. Although no sound had revealed his presence, a man, leaning on a long rifle, was standing motionless before him, and gazing at him with profound attention.

At once mastering the emotion he felt, the traveller carefully laid the tasajo on the embers, and then, without removing his eye from this strange visitor, he stretched out his arm to grasp his rifle, while saying, in a tone of the most perfect indifference —

"Whether friend or foe, you are welcome, mate. 'Tis a bitter night, so, if you are cold, warm yourself, and if you are hungry, eat. When your nerves have regained their elasticity, and your body its usual strength, we will have a frank explanation, such as men of honour ought to have."

The stranger remained silent for some seconds; then, after shaking his head several times, he commenced in a low and melancholy voice, as it were speaking to himself rather than replying to the question asked him —

"Can any human being really exist in whose heart a feeling of pity still remains?"

"Make the trial, mate," the traveller answered quickly, "by accepting, without hesitation, my hearty offer. Two men who meet in the desert must be friends at first sight, unless private reasons make them implacable enemies. Sit down by my side and eat."

This dialogue had been held in Spanish, a language the stranger spoke with a facility that proved his Mexican origin. He seemed to reflect for a moment, and then instantly made up his mind.

"I accept," he said, "for your voice is too sympathizing and your glance too frank to deceive."

"That is the way to speak," the traveller said, gaily. "Sit down and eat without further delay, for I confess to you that I am dying of hunger."

The stranger smiled sadly, and sat down on the ground by the traveller's side. The two men, thus strangely brought together by accident, then attacked with no ordinary vigour, which evidenced a long fast, the provisions placed before them. Still, while eating, the traveller did not fail to examine his singular companion; and the following was the result of his observations.

The general appearance of the stranger was most wretched, and his ragged clothes scarce covered his bony, fleshless body; while his pale and sickly features were rendered more sad and gloomy by a thick, disordered beard that fell on his chest. His eyes, inflamed by fever, and surrounded by black circles, glistened with a sombre fire, and at times emitted flashes of magnetic radiance. His weapons were in as bad a condition as his clothes, and in the event of a fight this man, with the exception of his bodily strength, which must once have been great, but which privations of every description, and probably endured for a lengthened period, had exhausted, would not have been a formidable adversary for the traveller. Still, beneath this truly wretched appearance could be traced an organization crushed by grief. There was in this man something grand and sympathetic, which appeared to emanate from his person, and aroused not only pity but also respect for torture so proudly hidden and so nobly endured. This man, in short, ere he fell so low, must have been great, either in virtue or in vice; but assuredly there was nothing common about him, and a mighty heart beat in his bosom.

Such was the impression the stranger produced on his host, while both, without the interchange of a word, appeased an appetite sharpened by long hours of abstinence. Hunters' meals are short, and the present one lasted hardly a quarter of an hour. When it was over, the traveller rolled a cigarette, and, handing it to the stranger, said —

"Do you smoke?"

On this apparently so simple question being asked, a strange thing happened which will only be understood by smokers who, long accustomed to the weed, have for some reason or other been deprived of it for a lengthened period. The stranger's face was suddenly lit up by the effect of some internal emotion; his dull eye flashed, and, seizing the cigarette with a nervous tremor, he exclaimed, in a voice choked by an outburst of joy impossible to render —

"Yes, yes; I used to smoke."

There was a rather long silence, during which the two men slowly inhaled the smoke of their cigarettes, and indulged in thought. The wind howled fiercely Over their heads, the eddying snow was piling up around them, and the echoes of the canyons seemed to utter notes of complaint. It was a horrible night. Beyond the circle of light produced by the flickering flame of the watch fire all was buried in dense gloom. The picture presented by these two men, seated in the desert, strangely illumined by the bluish flame, fend smoking calmly while suspended above an unfathomable abyss, had something striking and awe-inspiring about it. When the traveller had finished his cigarette, he rolled another, and laid his tobacco-pouch between himself and his guest.

"Now that the ice is broken between us," he said in a friendly voice, "and that we have nearly formed an acquaintance – for we have been sitting at the same fire, and have eaten and smoked together – the moment has arrived, I fancy, for us to become thoroughly acquainted."

The stranger nodded his head silently. It was a gesture that could be interpreted affirmatively or negatively, at pleasure. The traveller continued, with a good-humoured smile —

"I make not the slightest pretence to compel you to reveal your secrets, and you are at liberty to maintain your incognito without in any way offending me. Still, whatever may be the result, let me give you an example of frankness by telling you who I am. My story will not be long, and only consists of a very few words. France is my country, and I was born at Paris – which city, doubtless," he remarked, with a stifled sigh, "I shall never see again. Reasons too lengthy to trouble you with, and which would interest you but very slightly, led me to America. Chance, or Providence, perhaps, by guiding me to the desert, and arousing my instincts and aspirations for liberty, wished to make a wood ranger of me, and I obeyed. For twenty years I have been traversing the prairies and great savannahs in every direction, and I shall probably continue to do so, till an Indian bullet comes from some thicket to stop my wanderings for ever. Towns are hateful to me; passionately fond of the grand spectacles of nature, which elevate the thought, and draw the creature nearer to his Creator, I shall only mix myself up once again in the chaos of civilization in order to fulfil a vow made on the tomb of a friend. When I have done that, I shall fly to the most, unknown deserts, in order to end a life henceforth useless, far from those men whose paltry passions and base and ignoble hatred have robbed me of the small amount of happiness to which I fancied I had a claim. And now, mate, you know me as well as I do myself. I will merely add, in conclusion, that my name among the white men, my countrymen, is Valentine Guillois, and among the redskins, my adopted fathers, Koutonepi – that is to say, 'The Valiant One.' I believe myself to be as honest and as brave as a man is permitted to be with his imperfect organization. I never did harm with the intention of doing so, and I have done services to my fellow men as often as I had it in my power, without expecting from them thanks or gratitude."

The speech, which the hunter had commenced in that clear voice and with that careless accent habitual to him, terminated involuntarily, under the pressure of the flood of saddened memories that rose from his heart to his lips, in a low and inarticulate voice, and when he concluded, he let his head fall sadly on his chest, with a sigh that resembled a sob. The stranger regarded him for a moment with an expression of gentle commiseration.

"You have suffered," he said; "suffered in your love, suffered in your friendship. Your history is that of all men in this world: who of us, but at a given hour, has felt his courage yield beneath the weight of grief? You are alone, friendless, abandoned by all, a voluntary exile, far from the men who only inspire you with hatred and contempt; you prefer the society of wild beasts, less ferocious than they; but, at any rate, you live, while I am a dead man!"

The hunter started, and looked in amazement at the speaker.

"I suppose you think me mad?" he continued, with a melancholy smile; "reassure yourself, it is not so. I am in full possession of my senses, my head is cool, and my thoughts are clear and lucid. For all that though, I repeat to you, I am dead, dead in the sight of my relations and friends, dead to the whole world in fine, and condemned to lead this wretched existence for an indefinite period. Mine is a strange story, and that you would recognize through one word, were you a Mexican, or had you travelled in certain regions of Mexico."

"Did I not tell you that, for twenty years, I have been travelling over every part of America?" the traveller replied, his curiosity being aroused to the highest pitch. "What is the word? Can you tell it me?"

"Why not? I am alluding to the name I bore while I was still a living man."

"What is that name?"

"It had acquired a certain celebrity, but I doubt whether, even if you have heard it mentioned, it has remained in your memory."

"Who knows? Perhaps you are mistaken."

"Well, since you insist, learn, then, that I was called Martial el Tigrero."

"You?" the hunter exclaimed, under the influence of the uttermost surprise; "why that is impossible!"

"Of course so, since I am dead," the stranger answered, bitterly.