Chapter Twenty Six
An Abrupt Departure
Don Estevan and Cuchillo, on leaving the ground of the combat, returned to the alley of granadines; but for some time not a word passed between them. Don Estevan was buried in a profound meditation. More skilled than his coarse companion in the mysteries of the female heart, he had divined, before the end of the dialogue between Rosarita and Tiburcio, that the young girl felt for the latter a tender sentiment. It was true it was just germinating in her soul; but the accents of her voice, her gestures, and other signs, discovered to the experienced intelligence of Don Estevan that she really loved Tiburcio, though herself not yet aware of the extent of that love.
For Tiburcio knowing the secret of the Golden Valley, Don Estevan cared little – that was a matter of secondary importance; but Tiburcio’s love reciprocated by Doña Rosarita was a very different affair. This at once presented a series of obstacles to the ambitious projects of the Spaniard. Tiburcio then must be got out of the way at all hazards, and at any price. Such are the terrible exigencies of ambition.
It only remained to adopt some plan; but the Spaniard was not then in the spirit to think of one. He was writhing at the inadvertence that had just happened.
“The clumsy fool!” he muttered, but loud enough for his companion to hear him.
“Is it of me your excellency is speaking?” inquired Cuchillo, in a tone that savoured strongly of his usual impudence.
“Who else could I mean, you sot? You who neither know how to use strength or stratagem! A woman has accomplished what you could not do! I have told you that this child is a giant to you; and had it not been for me – ”
“Had it not been for you,” interrupted the outlaw, “this young fellow would not now have been living to trouble us.”
“How sir?” demanded Don Estevan.
“Last night, as I was bringing him to your bivouac, the fellow did an outrage to my honour, and actually threatened me. I was about putting an end to our differences by a shot from my carbine, when your precious old fool of a servant, Benito, came galloping up, and of course I had to renounce my design. So you see, the only good action I have ever done, has brought me to grief. Such is the reward of our virtue!”
“Speak for yourself, my droll fellow!” said the Spaniard, whose pride revolted at being thus classed with such company as the outlaw. “But if that could be outraged which does not exist, may I ask what attempt this young man made upon your honour?”
“I do not know myself – it was something that happened with my horse, who has the fault – ”
Cuchillo interrupted himself as one who has made an imprudent speech.
“The fault of stumbling in the left fore-leg?” added Don Estevan. “I see – this old history of the murder of Arellanos.”
“I did not murder him,” cried the outlaw, impudently. “I had reasons not to like him; but I pardoned him, for all that.”
“Oh! you are so magnanimous! But come, an end to these pleasantries. It remains for you to get this young man out of the way. I have my reasons for wishing it so – among others, he knows our secret. I gave you a half onza to save his life. To-day I have different views regarding him; and I promise to give you twenty onzas when I am assured that he is no longer alive.”
“Agreed, Don Estevan; and in to-morrow’s hunt of these wild horses, it will be strange if Tiburcio Arellanos don’t knock his brains out against either a rock or the trunk of a tree, or at least get himself into some corner, where he won’t be able to find his way out again. The only regret I have is, that I shall have to share these twenty onzas with my friends, Baraja and Oroche.”
“To-morrow!” exclaimed Don Estevan; “and who knows but that to-morrow may be too late? Is the night not better for your purpose? Are you not three to one? Who is to assure you that to-morrow I may not change my mind?”
This threat seriously alarmed Cuchillo.
“Carramba! your excellency is quick to decide; you are not one of those who leave for to-morrow what should be done to-day. Pues– then – I shall try my best. In fact, it is very quiet here – I wonder the cries of this young woman have not startled the whole house. There’s not a creature about.”
Such was in reality the case. Notwithstanding the noise of the struggle between Tiburcio and his assailants, and later still, the cries of Rosarita, no one had been awakened. The vast extent of the building prevented these sounds from being heard, particularly as all the domestics of the hacienda, as well as the proprietor himself, were buried in a profound slumber.
Cuchillo now directed himself toward the apartment where he had left his comrades; Don Estevan returning at the same time to his own chamber. The moon once more poured her soft, silvery light upon the grove of oranges, as if no crime had ever been attempted in that tranquil spot.
Don Estevan did not go to rest; but for a long time paced to and fro across his ample chamber, with the air of one accustomed to watch over ambitious projects while others were asleep.
After a lapse of time, Cuchillo was heard knocking softly at his door; and as soon as it was opened, the hired assassin stepped in. His confused looks caused Don Estevan to tremble. Was the deed already done? He wished it, yet feared to ask the question. Cuchillo relieved him from his embarrassment by speaking first.
“My twenty onzas are gone to the devil!” said he, in a lugubrious tone.
“How?” hastily inquired Don Estevan.
“The bird has flown: the young man is no longer about the place.”
“Gone!” exclaimed Don Estevan. “And you have let him escape?”
“How could I hinder him? This brute, Baraja, as well as Oroche, were both drunk with mezcal; and Diaz refused to assist me, point-blank. While I was endeavouring to arouse the other two, the fellow had taken leg bail through an opening in the wall of the garden – at least that’s all we can make out.”
“And how have you arrived at this conjecture?” asked Don Estevan, angrily striking the floor with his foot.
“Why, when we arrived at the place, the Doña Rosarita was clinging over the wall, no doubt guided there by Tiburcio. He could not be far off at the time, for she was still calling upon him to return; and judging by the love-speeches she was making, she must have earnestly desired it.”
“She loves him, then?”
“Passionately – or her words and her accents are all deceit. ‘Come back!’ she cried, ‘Tiburcio, come back! I love only you!’ These were the last words I heard; for shortly after she left the wall, and went back to her room.”
“We must to horse and pursue him!” cried Don Estevan, hurrying to make ready; “yes, there is no help for it now. The success of our expedition depends upon the life of this ragged fellow. Go! arouse Benito and the others. Tell them to saddle the horses. Warn your friends in the chamber that we must be en route in an hour. Away! while I awake Don Augustin and the Senator.”
“Just as I have known him for twenty years,” muttered Cuchillo, as he hastened to his companions, “always awake, always ready for the greatest obstacles. Well, if with his character he has not made way in his own country, I fear that in Europe perseverance and energy are not worth much.”
Don Estevan, as soon as Cuchillo had left him, spent a few minutes in putting himself once more in travelling costume, and then repaired to the chamber of the Senator. He found the door open – as is the custom in a country where people spend most of their lives outside their houses. The moon was beaming full through the large window, and her light illumined the chamber as well as the couch upon which the Senator was sleeping.
“What is it, Don Estevan?” cried the Senator, suddenly leaping up in his bed; “Señor Estevan, I should say.” Tragaduros had been dreaming of the court of the King of Spain. “What is it, your grace?”
“I come to take leave of you, and to give you my final instructions.”
“Eh! what?” said the Senator. “Is the hour late? or have I been three days asleep?”
“No,” gravely replied the Spaniard, “but there is a serious danger that menaces our projects – both yours and mine. This young rustic, whom we found on the road, knows all about the Golden Valley; and what is still worse, he loves Doña Rosarita, and Doña Rosarita loves him.”
Tragaduros, instead of starting up at this announcement, sank back upon his pillow, crying out.
“Adieu then to the million dollars of dowry! adieu to those beautiful plains covered with horses and cattle, which I already believed my own! adieu to the honours of the court of Carlos el Primero!”
“Come! all is not yet lost,” said Don Estevan. “The evil may be remedied if taken in time. This young fellow has quitted the hacienda. It will be necessary to follow and find him before he gets out of the way. So much the worse for him, if his evil star is in opposition to yours.”
The Spaniard said no more of his designs with regard to Tiburcio. As to the Senator, it was of little importance to him how he was to be disembarrassed of so dangerous a rival, so long as he himself should not be troubled with the matter.
“Whatever may be the end of it,” added Don Estevan, “one thing is certain – the young fellow will never be allowed to come back to this house, for I shall arrange that with Don Augustin. You will therefore be master of the situation, and will have everything your own way. Make the young lady love you – it will be easy enough – your rival will be absent, he may be dead– for these deserts are dangerous, and you know the old proverb about absence?”
“I shall make myself irresistible!” said the Senator, “for since yesterday I feel as if I was on fire about this lovely creature, who appears to have come down direct from heaven – and with – such a dowry!”
“No man ever aimed at an object more desirable than this immense dowry and this fair flower of the desert. Spare no pains, therefore, to win both the lady and the fortune.”
“If necessary I shall spin for her, as Hercules at the feet of Omphalé.”
“Ha, ha ha!” laughed the Spaniard. “If Hercules had any merits in the eyes of Omphalé, it was not on account of his spinning, but because he was Hercules. No – do better than spin. To-morrow Don Augustin has a hunt among his wild steeds; there will be an opportunity for you to distinguish yourself by some daring exploit. Mount one of the wildest of the horses, for the honour of the beautiful eyes of Rosarita, and after having tamed him, ride him up panting into her presence. That will gain you more grace than handling the thread and distaff à la Hercules.”
The Senator responded to these counsels with a sigh: and Don Estevan, having given him further instructions as to how he was to act during the absence of the expedition, took leave of him, and repaired to the chamber of Don Augustin.
The clank of his heavy spurs, as he entered the sleeping apartment of the haciendado, awoke the latter – who on opening his eyes and seeing his nocturnal visitor in full riding-costume, cried out:
“What! is it time to set forth upon the chase? I did not know the hour was so late!”
“No, Don Augustin,” replied the Spaniard, “but for me the hour has come to set forth upon a more serious pursuit than that of wild horses. I hasten to pursue the enemy of your house – the man who has abused your hospitality, and who if not captured, may bring ruin upon all our projects.”
“The enemy of my house! the man who has abused my hospitality!” cried the haciendado, starting up in astonishment, and seizing a long Toledo rapier that hung by the side of his bed, “Who is the man that has acted so, Don Estevan?”
“Be calm!” said Don Estevan, smiling inwardly at the contrast exhibited between the spirit of the haciendado and the pusillanimity of the Senator. “Be calm! the enemy I speak of is no longer under your roof – he has fled beyond the reach of your just vengeance.”
“But who is he?” impatiently demanded Don Augustin.
“Tiburcio Arellanos.”
“What! Tiburcio Arellanos my enemy! I do not believe it. Loyalty and courage are the characteristics of the young man. I shall never believe him a traitor.”
“He knows the situation of the Golden Valley! Furthermore, he loves your daughter!”
“Is that all? Why, I was aware of these facts already!”
“Yes, but your daughter loves him – perhaps you were not aware of that fact?”
Don Estevan here detailed the events that had just transpired, and which proved that the passion of the young gambusino was reciprocated by Rosarita.
“Well!” calmly rejoined Don Augustin; “so much the worse for the Senator!”
This reply could not fail to astonish the Spaniard, and create a feeling of disappointment.
“Remember,” said he, “remember, Don Augustin Peña; that you have engaged your word – not only to me, not only to Tragaduros, but to a prince of the blood royal of Spain, from whose brow this apparently simple incident – the caprice of a young girl – may snatch a crown. Think too of your country – its future glory and greatness – all dependent on the promise you have given – ”
“Why,” interrupted Don Augustin, “why set forth all these considerations? After my promise has been given, I never retract my word. But it is only to the Duke de Armada I have engaged myself, and he alone can free me from that engagement. Are you satisfied with this assurance?”
“How could I be otherwise?” cried the Spaniard, holding out his hand to the noble haciendado. “Enough! I have your word, it will be necessary forme to leave you without farther delay. This young fellow may find comrades to accompany him to the Golden Valley. There is not a moment, therefore, to be lost. I must at once proceed to Tubac. Adieu, my friend, adieu!”
Don Augustin would have risen to accompany his guest to the gates, but the Spaniard would not permit him, and they parted without farther ceremony.
When Don Estevan reached the court-yard, his attendants and domestics were found in readiness to depart. The mules had been packed, and the remuda collected in charge of the driver. The followers, Cuchillo, Baraja, Oroche, and Pedro Diaz were already in their saddles – the last mounted on a magnificent and fiery steed, which told that the generous haciendado had kept his promise.
Chapter Twenty Seven
The Lone Fire in the Forest
The motive for this hasty departure from the hacienda was unknown only to Benito and the other domestics. The cavalier adventurers were aware of its object though two of them, Baraja and Oroche, had no very clear understanding upon the matter. The fumes of the mezcal were still in their heads, and it was with difficulty they could balance themselves in the saddle. They were sensible of their situation, and did their best to conceal it from the eyes of the chief.
“Am I straight in my stirrups?” whispered Oroche addressing himself to Baraja.
“Straight as a bamboo!” replied the other. “Do I appear firm?” inquired he in turn.
“Firm as a rock,” was the response.
Thanks to the efforts they were making to keep themselves upright, Don Estevan, as he glanced over the ranks of his followers, did not observe anything amiss. Cuchillo, however, knowing that they were not in a fit state for inspection regarded them with an anxious glance.
As Don Estevan was about to mount, the outlaw rode up to him, and pointing to the others with an expressive gesture, said, “If your honour desires me to act as guide, and give the order of march, I am ready to enter upon my duties.”
“Very well,” replied Don Estevan, springing into the saddle, “commence at any moment, but let us be gone as soon as possible.”
“Benito!” shouted the newly appointed guide, “take the remuda and recua in advance; you will wait for us at the bridge of the Salto de Agua.”
Benito, with the other attendants, obeyed the order in silence; and the moment after were moving with their respective charges along the road leading to Tubac. A little later the cavalcade rode out of the court-yard of the hacienda, and turning round the wall of the enclosure, guided by Cuchillo, proceeded toward the breach through which Tiburcio had passed. The guide was riding by the side of Don Estevan.
“We have found his traces,” said he to the chief, as they moved forward; “he is down in the forest.”
“Where?”
“Do you see a light yonder shining through the trees?”
The mysterious light was gleaming, just as Tiburcio had first seen it from his window. It was to this that Cuchillo directed the attention of the chief.
“Yes,” replied the latter, “what of it?”
“It is the camp-fire of some travellers; and in all probability the fellow will be found there. So,” continued he, with a hideous smile, “we are going to give chase to a wild colt – which will be better than hunting Don Augustin’s wild horses – and here are the three hunters.”
As the outlaw said this, he pointed with his whip, first to himself, and then to his two comrades, Oroche and Baraja.
“They have both espoused our quarrel,” he added.
“From what motive?” inquired the Spaniard.
“That motive which the hound has in taking the part of the hunter against the stag,” answered the outlaw, with a significant smile; “they only follow their instincts, and they are two animals with formidable teeth.”
At this moment the moon shone out, and gleaming upon the carbines and knives of the two adventurers, seemed to confirm the assertion of Cuchillo. But the light proved disadvantageous to Baraja and Oroche, for it enabled Don Estevan to perceive that they were far from steady in their seats.
“Why, these fellows are drunk!” cried he, turning upon the guide a look of furious reproach. “Are these the assistants you count upon?”
“True, your honour,” replied Cuchillo, “they are not exactly sober; but I hope soon to cure them. I know of a remedy that will set them all right in five minutes. It is the fruit of the jocuistle, which grows abundantly in these parts. I shall find it as soon as we have reached the woods.”
Don Estevan was forced to swallow his chagrin in silence. It was not the time for vain recriminations; and above all, Tiburcio had first to be found, before the services of either of the inebriated gentlemen would be called into requisition.
In a few seconds’ time the party had reached the breach in the wall. Cuchillo dismounted, and striking a light, pointed out to the others the traces left by Tiburcio. There could be seen some fragments freshly fallen from the wall, evidently detached by the feet of one passing over; but what was of more consequence, they were stained with drops of blood. This must have been Tiburcio’s.
“You see,” said the outlaw to Don Estevan, “that he must have passed this way. Ah! if I had only given him another inch or two. After all,” added he, speaking to himself, “it is better I didn’t. I shall be twenty onzas the richer that I didn’t settle with him then. Now,” continued he, once more raising his voice, “where can he have gone, unless to yonder fire in the woods?”
A little farther on in the direction of the forest, other spots of fresh blood were discovered upon the dry calcareous surface of the soil. This appeared to confirm the conjecture of the guide – that Tiburcio had proceeded towards the camp-fire.
“If your honour,” resumed Cuchillo, addressing himself to his chief, “will go forward in company with the Señor Diaz, you will reach a stream running upon your left. By following down its bank for some distance, you will come to a bridge constructed with three or four trunks of trees. It is the bridge of the Salto de Agua. Just before reaching it, your honour will see a thick wood on the right. Under cover of that you can remain, until we three have finished our affair and rejoin you. Afterwards we can overtake the domestics. I have ordered them forward, for the reason that such people should not be privy either to our designs or actions.”
In this arrangement Cuchillo exhibited the consummate skill of the practiced bandit. Don Estevan, without offering any opposition to his plan, rode off as directed, in company with Diaz; while the outlaw, with his two chosen acolytes turned their horses’ heads in the direction of the fire.
“The fire betokens a halt of travellers, beyond doubt,” remarked Diaz to Don Estevan; “but who these travellers can be is a thing that puzzles me.”
“Travellers like any others, I suppose,” rejoined the Spaniard, with an air of abstraction.
“No, that is not likely. Don Augustin Peña is known for his generous hospitality for twenty leagues around. It is not probable that these travellers should have halted so near his hacienda without knowing it. They must be strangers to the country I fancy, or if not, they have no good purpose in camping where they are.”
Pedro Diaz was making almost the same observations that had occurred to Tiburcio at an earlier hour of the night.
Meanwhile, Cuchillo, with his two comrades, advanced towards the edge of the forest. As soon as they had reached it the guide dismounted from his horse.
“Stay here,” said he, “while I go fetch something to cure you of your ill-timed drunkenness.”
So saying he glided in among the trees, and in a few seconds came out again, carrying with him several oblong yellow-coloured fruits that resembled ripe bananas. They were the fruits of the jocuistle, a species of asimina, whose juice is an infallible remedy against the effects of intoxication. The two inebriates ate of the fruit according to Cuchillo’s direction; and in a minute or two their heads were cleared of the fumes of the mezcal as if by enchantment.
“Now to business!” cried Cuchillo, without listening to the apologies his comrades were disposed to make – “to business! You will dismount and lead your horses forward by the bridle, until you can see the fire; and when you hear the report of my gun, be ready, for I shall then fall back upon you.”
“All right,” responded Oroche, “we are both ready – the Señor Baraja and myself – to sacrifice all private interests to the common good.”
Cuchillo now parted with the two, leading his horse ahead of them. A little farther on he tied the animal to the branch of a tree, and then stooping downward he advanced on foot. Still farther on he dropped upon his hands and knees, and crept through the underwood like a jaguar stealing upon its prey.
Now and then he paused and listened. He could hear the distant lowing of the wild bulls, and the crowing of the cocks at the hacienda, mingled with the lugubrious notes of the great wood owl, perched near him upon a branch. He could hear the distant sound of water – the cataract of the Salto de Agua– and, in the same direction, the continuous howling of the jackals.
Again the assassin advanced – still creeping as before. Presently he saw before him the open glade, lit up by the flame of the camp-fire. On the edge nearest him, stood a huge button-wood tree, from whose base extended a number of flat ridge-like processes, resembling the bastions of a fortification. He perceived that, behind these he would be concealed from the light of the fire; while he himself could command a view of every object within the glade.
In another moment he was crouching under the trunk of the button-wood. His eyes gleamed with a fierce joy, as he gazed in the direction of the fire, around which he could distinguish the forms of three men – two of them seated, the other stretched along the ground, and apparently asleep.