“Up yonder, near the pine trees? Ah, master Cuchillo, how glad I am to find that you have not taken my foolish little joke amiss, and that these trees do not affect you any more than if they were cactus plants! Between ourselves, Don Tiburcio, whom you perceive to be deeply absorbed, is only regretting in reality the enormous sum he has given you, for a service which he could equally well have performed himself.”
“An enormous sum! it was but a very fair price, and at any rate I should have lost it,” cried Cuchillo, recovering all his habitual impudence of manner, on seeing the change that had taken place in the conduct and tone of the ex-carabinier.
“Agreed,” continued the latter; “but in truth, he may have repented of the bargain; and I must avow that if he commanded me to blow your brains out, in order to get rid of you, I should be compelled to obey him. Allow me, then, to call him here so as to restore his confidence; or, better still, come and show me the portion, which your munificence destines for me. Afterwards we each go our own way; and notwithstanding all you have said about it, the share assigned to you will surpass all your expectations.”
“Let us set off then,” resumed Cuchillo, happy to see a negotiation – the probable result of which began to cause him serious uneasiness – terminate so satisfactorily for him and, casting a glance of passionate tenderness upon a heap of gold which he had piled up upon his wrapper, he set off towards the summit of the pyramid. He had scarcely reached it, when, upon Pepé’s invitation, Fabian and Bois-Rose began to ascend the steep on the other side.
“No one can escape his fate,” said Pepé to Fabian, “and I had already proved to you that the rascal would testify no astonishment. Be that as it may remember that you have sworn to avenge the death of your adopted father, and that in these deserts you ought to shame the justice of cities, where such crimes go unpunished. To show mercy towards such a knave is an outrage to society! Bois-Rose! I shall need the assistance of your arm.”
The Canadian hunter, by a glance, interrogated him, for whom his blind devotion knew no bounds.
“Marcos Arellanos craved pardon and did not obtain it,” said Fabian, no longer undecided, “and as this man did to others, so let it be done to him.”
And these three inexorable men seated themselves solemnly upon the summit of the pyramid, where Cuchillo already awaited them. At sight of the severe aspect of those whom he had inwardly so many reasons to dread, Cuchillo felt all his apprehensions renewed. He endeavoured, however, to recover his assurance.
“Do you see,” said he, pointing out behind the sheet of water, whose majestic torrent foamed beside them, “the spot where the block of gold sheds forth its dazzling rays?”
But the eyes of his judges did not turn in the direction he indicated. Fabian rose slowly; his look caused the blood to curdle in the veins of the outlaw.
“Cuchillo!” said he, “you saved me from dying of thirst, and you have not done this for one who is ungrateful. I have forgiven you the stab with which you wounded me at the Hacienda del Venado. I have pardoned another attempt you made near El Salto de Agua; also the shot which you only could have fired upon us from the summit of this pyramid. I might, in short, have forgiven every attempt you have made to take away a life you once saved; and with having pardoned you, I have even recompensed you, as a king does not recompense the executioner of his justice.”
“I do not deny it; but this worthy hunter, who has informed me with a great deal of circumspection upon the delicate subject you wish to touch upon, ought also to inform you how reasonable he found me in the matter.”
“I have forgiven you,” continued Fabian, “but there is one crime, amongst others, from which your own conscience ought not to absolve you.”
“There is a perfect understanding between my conscience and myself,” resumed Cuchillo, with a graciously sinister smile, “but it seems to me that we are getting away from our subject.”
“That friend whom you assassinated in such a cowardly manner – ”
“Disputed with me the profits of a booty, and faith, the consumption of brandy was very considerable,” interrupted Cuchillo. “But permit me – ”
“Do not pretend to misunderstand me!” cried Fabian, irritated by the knave’s impudence.
Cuchillo collected his thoughts.
“If you allude to Tio Tomas, it is an affair which was never very well understood, but – ”
Fabian opened his lips to form a distinct accusation with reference to the assassination of Arellanos, when Pepé broke in —
“I should be curious,” he said, “to learn the real facts concerning Tio Tomas: perhaps Master Cuchillo has not sufficient leisure to recollect himself, which would be a pity.”
“I hold it necessary,” continued Cuchillo, flattered at the compliment, “to prove that men own such a susceptible conscience as mine; here then are the facts – My friend Tio Tomas had a nephew impatient to inherit his uncle’s fortune; I received a hundred dollars from the nephew to hasten the moment of his inheritance. It was very little for such a capital will.
“It was so little that I gave Tio Tomas warning, and received two hundred dollars to prevent his nephew becoming his heir. I committed a fault in – despatching the nephew without giving him warning, as I ought to have done, perhaps. It was then I felt how inconvenient a quarrelsome conscience like mine may become. I seized upon the only means of composition which was left me. The nephew’s money was a continual remorse to me, and I resolved to get rid of it.”
“Of the money?”
“Not so.”
“And you despatched the uncle as well?” cried Pepé.
Cuchillo assented.
“From that time my conscience had but little to reproach me with. I had gained three hundred dollars by the most ingenious integrity.”
Cuchillo was yet smiling, when Fabian exclaimed —
“Were you paid for assassinating Marcos Arellanos?”
At this astounding accusation a livid paleness overspread Cuchillo’s features.
He could no longer disguise from himself the fate that awaited him.
The bandage which covered his eyes fell suddenly; and to the flattering delusions with which he had deceived himself succeeded a formidable reality.
“Marcos Arellanos!” he stammered out in a weak voice, “who told you that? I did not kill him!”
Fabian smiled bitterly.
“Who tells the shepherd,” he cried, “where the den of the jaguar is to be found that devours his sheep?
“Who tells the vaquero where the horse that he pursues has taken refuge?
“To the Indian, the enemy he seeks?
“To the gold-seeker the ore, concealed by God?
“The surface of the lake only does not preserve the trace of the bird which flies over its waters, nor the form of the cloud which it reflects; but the earth, with its herbs and mosses, reveals to us sons of the desert, the print of the jaguar’s foot as well as the horse’s hoof and the Indian’s track; do you not know it, even as I do?”
“I did not kill Arellanos,” repeated the assassin.
“You did kill him; you cut his throat near to our common country; you threw his corpse into the river; the earth revealed it to me – since I noticed the defect in the horse you rode, as well as the wound in your leg, which you received in the struggle.”
“Pardon, Don Tiburcio?” cried Cuchillo, overwhelmed by the sudden revelation of these facts, to which God alone had been witness. “Take back all the gold you gave me, but spare my life; and to show my gratitude, I will kill all your enemies everywhere, and always at a sign from you – for nothing – even my father, if you command me; but in the name of the all-powerful God, spare my life – spare me my life!” he continued, crawling forward and clutching at Fabian’s knees.
“Arellanos also craved for mercy; did you listen to him?” said Fabian, turning away.
“But when I killed him, it was that I might possess all this gold myself. Now I restore it all for my life – what can you want more?” he continued, while he resisted Pepé’s efforts, who was trying to prevent him from kissing Fabian’s feet.
With features distorted by excess of terror, a whitish foam upon his lips, his eyes starting from his head, yet seeing nothing, Cuchillo still sued for mercy, as he endeavoured to crawl towards Fabian. He had by continued efforts reached the edge of the platform. Behind his head, the sheet of water fell foaming downwards.
“Mercy, mercy!” he cried, “in the name of your mother – for Doña Rosarita’s sake, who loves you, for I know that she loves you – I heard – ”
“What?” cried Fabian, in his turn rushing towards Cuchillo, but the question expired upon his lips.
Spurned along the earth by the carabinier’s foot Cuchillo with head and arms stretched back was hurled into the abyss!
“What have you done, Pepé?” exclaimed Fabian.
“The wretch,” said the ex-carabinier, “was not worth the cord which might have hung him, nor the bullet that would have sent him out of the world.”
A piercing cry, – a cry which rose from the abyss – which drowned their voices and was heard above the roar of the cascade, caused Fabian to stretch his head forward and withdraw it again in horror. Hanging to the branches of a shrub which bent beneath his weight, and which scarce adhering to the sides of the rock, was fast giving way, Cuchillo hung over the abyss, howling forth his terror and anguish.
“Help!” he shouted, in a voice despairing as the damned. “Help! if you are human beings – help!”
The three friends exchanged a glance of unutterable meaning, as each one wiped the sweat from his brow.
Suddenly the bandit’s voice grew faint, and amidst horrible bursts of laughter, like the shrieks of a lunatic, were heard the last inarticulate words that escaped his lips.
A moment after, and the noise of the cascade alone broke the silence of the desert. The abyss had swallowed up him whose life had been a long tissue of crime.
Chapter Fifty Two
The Man of the Red Kerchief
Six months have elapsed since the three hunters, without deigning to carry with them a single grain of the treasures of the valley of gold, directed their steps, following the course of the Rio Gila, to the plains of Texas. The rainy had succeeded to the dry season, without anything being known of their fate, or of the expedition commanded by Don Estevan de Arechiza.
Diaz was no more, having carried with him to the tomb the secret of the wonderful valley – and Gayferos had followed his three liberators. What had become of these intrepid hunters who had willingly encountered fatigues, privations and dangers, instead of returning to civilised life? Were they as rich and powerful as they might have been? Had the desert claimed these three noble spirits, as it has done so many others? Like the monk, who seeks in the silence of cloister forgetfulness of the world’s vain show, had Fabian in the sublimity of solitude been able to forget the woman who loved him, and who secretly hoped for and expected his return?
What we are about to relate will answer these questions.
One sultry afternoon, two men, mounted and armed to the teeth, pursued the lonely road which leads from the utmost confines of the province of Sonora to the Presidio of Tubac. Their costume, the coarse equipment of their steeds, and the beauty of the latter, formed on the whole a striking contrast and seemed to indicate subalterns despatched by some rich proprietor, either to carry or to seek information.
The first was clothed in leather from head to foot, like the vaquero of some noble hacienda. The second, dark and bearded like a Moor, though less simply attired than his companion, did not appear to be of much greater consideration.
At the end of a journey of some days the white houses of the Presidio began to appear in the distance. The two cavaliers had probably exhausted every subject of conversation, for they trotted on in silence.
The scanty vegetation which covered the plains they were crossing was again becoming parched by the sun, after the winter rains; and the dry grass harboured innumerable grasshoppers whose shrill note was heard incessantly, mingled with the scorching breath of the south wind. The foliage of the Peruvian trees drooped languidly over the burning sand, like the willows upon the banks of a stream.
The two cavaliers arrived at the entrance of the Presidio just as the church clock sounded the evening angelus.
Tubac was then a village with two cross streets, its houses built of cement, with only a few windows in the front, as is the custom in places exposed to the sudden excursions of the Indians. Strong movable barriers, formed by trunks of trees, protected the four approaches to the village; and a piece of the artillery of the country, raised upon its carriage, was erected behind each of these barriers.
Previous to following the new-comers into the Presidio, we must relate an incident which, insignificant in itself, nevertheless acquired some importance in the heart of a solitary village of Tubac.
During the space of a fortnight a mysterious personage – inasmuch as he was unknown to the inhabitants of the Presidio – had frequently, and for a short time, appeared there. He was a man of about forty years of age, thin, but rough and vigorous in appearance, whose countenance seemed to tell of dangers overcome, but whose speech was as rare as his physiognomy was expressive. He replied shortly to any questions addressed to him; but, on the other hand, he asked a great many, and appeared particularly anxious to know what was passing at the Hacienda del Venado.
Some of the inhabitants of the Presidency knew the rich proprietor very well by repute, but few amongst them – or, one might rather say, none of them – were so thoroughly acquainted with Don Augustin Peña, as to be capable of answering the questions of the stranger.
Everybody in Tubac remembered the gold-seekers’ expedition which had set out six months previously; and according to some vague replies given by the mysterious personage, it was suspected that he knew more upon the matter than he chose to reveal. He had, he pretended, encountered in the deserts of the Apache country, a troop commanded by Don Estevan in a very critical position, and he had reason for believing that they must have fought a last and terrible engagement with the Indians, from the result of which he augured no good.
The evening before the arrival of the two travellers, he had inquired what direction he ought to take to reach Don Augustin’s house; and, above all, he had testified a great wish to learn whether Doña Rosarita was still unmarried.
The unknown always wore on his head a red checkered handkerchief, the folds of which hung down over his eyes; and in consequence of this head-dress he always went by the name of the “man with the red kerchief.”
This being explained, let us now return to our two travellers.
The new-comers – whose arrival created some sensation – on entering the presidency, directed their steps towards one of the houses of the village, at the door of which sat a man, who was soothing his leisure hours by playing upon the guitar.
One of the cavaliers, addressing him, said —
“Santas tardes! my master; will you afford hospitality to two strangers for a day and a night?”
The musician rose and bowed courteously.
“Pray dismount, noble cavaliers,” he answered, “this dwelling is at your service as long as you please to remain.”
Such is the simple ceremonial of hospitality still in vogue in these distant countries.
The cavaliers dismounted from their horses, in the midst of an idle group who had collected around them, and who observed the two strangers with considerable curiosity – for in the Presidio of Tubac an arrival is a rare event.
The host silently assisted his guests to unsaddle their horses, but the more inquisitive of the crowd did not exercise so much discretion, and without scruple addressed a multitude of questions to the travellers.
“Good people,” said one of the cavaliers, “let us first attend to our horses, and afterwards, when we have taken a mouthful of food, we shall have a chat. My comrade and myself have come here for that very purpose.”
Thus saying, the bearded cavalier unfastened his gigantic spurs, threw them across his horse’s saddle, which he deposited, together with its woollen covering carefully folded, in the piazza attached to the house.
The two strangers did not dwell long over their repast. They soon rejoined their host upon the threshold, and sat down beside him.
Their questioners had not yet departed from the house.
“I am the more inclined,” resumed the bearded traveller, “to inform you all of the object of our visit to the Presidio, since we are sent by our master to ask you a few questions. Will that be agreeable to you?”
“Perfectly,” replied several voices, “and first, may we know who your master is?”
“He is Don Augustin Peña; you are not without some knowledge of his name?”
“The proprietor of the great Hacienda del Venado – a man worth three millions! Who does not know him?” replied one of the bystanders.
“He is the same. This cavalier, whom you see, is a vaquero, entrusted with the care of the beasts of the hacienda; for myself, I am a major-domo attached to the service of the proprietor. Would you have the kindness, my dear friend, to give me a light for my cigar?” continued the bearded major-domo.
He paused to light his cigar of maize husk, and then resumed:
“Six months ago an expedition set out from here in search of gold dust. This expedition was headed by one named – let me see —carrai! I have heard him called by so many names that I cannot remember any!”
“Don Estevan Arechiza!” replied one of the interlocutors, “a Spaniard, and one such as we do not often see in this country; one who seemed, by his noble deportment and majestic countenance, to have commanded all his life.”
“Don Estevan Arechiza: the very same,” said the major-domo, “a man who as far exceeds all others in generosity as a gamester who has just won a fortune. But let me return to the expedition; about how many men composed it, do you guess?”
“More than eighty started out with it.”
“More than a hundred,” suggested another.
“You are mistaken – the number was not a hundred in all,” interrupted a third.
“That matters little to Don Augustin, my master. It is far more important to know how many returned.”
Upon this point also there were two different opinions.
“Not a single one,” remarked a voice.
“Yes; there was one, and but one,” continued another.
The major-domo rubbed his hands with an air of satisfaction.
“Good!” said he, “then at least one is saved, provided this gentleman, who declares that all the gold-seekers are not dead, be rightly informed, as I hope he is.”
“Do you not think,” said the last who had spoken, “that the man of the red handkerchief may not be one of those whose departure we witnessed six months ago? I would swear to it by the cross and Gospel.”
“No! not so!” cried another, “that man never set foot in the Presidio before the other day.”
“In any case,” interrupted a third, “the man of the red handkerchief has doubtless something of interest in store for Don Augustin Peña, since he has so often inquired about him. With these gentlemen, he will probably be more communicative than with us.”
“That will be just what we desire,” resumed the major-domo.
“You must know, then, and I may without indiscretion inform you,” continued he, “that Don Augustin Peña, whom God preserve, was the intimate friend of Señor Arechiza, and that he has had no news of him for six months past, which would be natural enough if he has been massacred by the Indians with all the rest. But my master is anxious for his return, that he may marry his daughter, Doña Rosarita, a beautiful and charming person, to the Senator Don Vicente Tragaduros. Months have elapsed, and since the hacienda is not on the main road from Arispe to Tubac, and that we cannot gain information from any one upon the subject of this deplorable expedition, Don Augustin determined upon sending us here to inquire about it. When he shall have established the fact that Don Estevan’s return is impossible – and as young girls do not readily meet with Senators in the heart of the desert – nor do the latter often find there girls whose marriage portion is worth two hundred thousand piastres – ”
“Carramba! that is a high figure.”
“True, friend,” continued the major-domo, “then the projected marriage will take place to the mutual satisfaction of all parties. Such is the object of our journey to Tubac. If, therefore, you can conduct me to him whom you describe as the sole survivor of this expedition, we shall perhaps learn from him what we wish to discover.”
The conversation had reached this stage, when, at some distance from the house where it was taking place, a man was seen passing, with his head bent downwards.
“See!” said one of the party, pointing to the man in question; “there goes your sole survivor.”
“In truth, it is a person whose conduct is sufficiently mysterious,” added the host. “For some days past he has done nothing but come and go, from one place to another, without informing any one of the object of his journeyings.”
“If it please you, we shall question him?” proposed one.
“Hola! friend!” cried another of the party; “come this way; here is a gentleman who is anxious to see and speak with you.”
The mysterious unknown approached at the summons.
“Señor cavalier,” said the major-domo, courteously addressing him, “it is not to gratify an idle curiosity that I now address you; but the master whom I serve feels a natural anxiety at the disappearance of a friend, whose death he would greatly deplore. What do you know of Don Estevan de Arechiza?”
“Many things. But, pray what is the name of the master of whom you speak?”
“Don Augustin Peña – proprietor of the Hacienda del Venado.”
A ray of joy lit up the countenance of the unknown.
“I am able,” he said, “to furnish Don Augustin with all the information he may desire. How many days’ journey is it from hence to the hacienda?”
“Three days’ journey, with a good horse.”
“I possess a capital one; and if you can wait for me until to-morrow evening, I shall accompany you, and communicate with Don Augustin in person.”
“Be it so,” answered the major-domo.
“Very well,” added the man of the red handkerchief; “to-morrow at this same hour we will start, so that we may travel by night, and so escape the heat.”
Saying this, he took his departure, when the major-domo remarked:
“It must be agreed, gentlemen, that nothing can exceed the complaisance of this cavalier of the red handkerchief.”
The arrangement did not satisfy the bystanders, who were thoroughly disappointed; but their interest was renewed, on seeing the man of the red handkerchief pass by on horseback, and depart at full speed towards the north.
The unknown kept his promise: and on the day following he returned at the hour of the evening angelus.
Don Augustin’s two envoys took leave of their host, assuring him of a kind welcome, if ever his affairs led him in the direction of the Hacienda del Venado. Even the poorest in this primitive country, would blush to receive any other reward for hospitality than sincere thanks, and a promise that they in their turn should receive it.
The three horsemen set off at full speed; the horse of the unknown equalled in strength and mettle those of Don Augustin’s envoys. The journey was rapidly accomplished; and at dawn of the third day, they could trace in the distance the clock-tower of the Hacienda del Venado, and an hour afterwards they dismounted in the court-yard. Although it was at that early hour when the sun sheds its most enlivening rays, everything which surrounded this habitation bore the stamp of melancholy. One might have supposed that the gloomy nature of the inmates was reflected upon its exterior.
Doña Rosarita was dying of grief; and this filled the haciendado with the deepest anxiety. Don Augustin’s daughter could not help the belief that Fabian yet lived. But why, then, had not Tiburcio, as she always called him, returned to the hacienda? Either he was dead, or he no longer loved her? It was this uncertainty that gave rise to Doña Rosarita’s deep dejection.
Another source of anxiety to the haciendado, was the absence of all news from the Duke de Armada; and to this anxiety was added impatience. The projected marriage between Rosarita and the Senator had been devised by Don Estevan. Tragaduros had urged its fulfilment. Don Augustin had laid the proposal before his daughter, but she replied only by tears; and her father still hesitated.
However, at the expiration of six months, it was determined to put an end to the uncertainty by sending to the Presidio for information concerning the expedition commanded by Don Estevan. It was the last respite that poor Rosarita had ventured to demand.
The Senator had absented himself for some days from the hacienda, when the major-domo returned, and Don Augustin was informed of the arrival of a stranger who could remove his uncertainty. He ordered the stranger to be introduced into the chamber already known to the reader; and Doña Rosarita, who had been sent for, speedily joined her father.
In a few moments the stranger presented himself. A wide felt hat, to which on entering he raised his hand without removing it, shaded his face, upon which a keen anxiety was visible. From beneath the broad brim of his hat a red handkerchief fell so low upon his forehead as almost to conceal his eyebrows, and from beneath its shadow he gazed with a singular interest upon the pale countenance of the young girl.