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The Red Track: A Story of Social Life in Mexico

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Title: The Red Track: A Story of Social Life in Mexico

Author: Gustave Aimard

Translator: Sir Lascelles Wraxall


        
Release date: May 29, 2013 [eBook #42834]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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Credits: Produced by Camille Bernard and Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available by the Internet Archive - University of California)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED TRACK: A STORY OF SOCIAL LIFE IN MEXICO ***
THE RED TRACK

A Story of Social life in Mexico

BY

GUSTAVE AIMARD


AUTHOR OF "ADVENTURERS," "PEARL OF THE ANDES," "TRAIL HUNTER,"
"PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES," "TRAPPER'S DAUGHTER," "TIGER
SLAYER," "GOLD SEEKERS," "INDIAN CHIEF," ETC.



LONDON:

CHARLES HENRY CLARKE, 13 PATERNOSTER ROW.




PREFACE.


The present volume of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works is a continuation of the
"Indian Chief," and conclusion of the series comprising that work, the
"Gold Seekers," and the "Tiger Slayer."

At the present moment, when we are engaged in a war with Mexico, I feel
assured that the extraordinary and startling descriptions given in this
volume of the social condition and mode of life in the capital of that
country will be read with universal gratification; for I can assert
confidently that; no previous writer has ever produced such a graphic
and truthful account of a city with which the illustrated papers will
soon make us thoroughly acquainted.

If a further recommendation be needed, it will be found in the fact that
the present volume appears in an English garb before being introduced to
French readers. GUSTAVE AIMARD is so gratified with the reception his
works have found in this country, through my poor assistance, that he
has considered he could not supply a better proof of his thankfulness
than by permitting his English readers to enjoy, on this occasion, the
first fruits of his versatile and clever pen. This is a compliment
which, I trust, will be duly appreciated; for, as to the merits of
the work itself, I have not the slightest doubt. Readers may imagine
it impossible for GUSTAVE AIMARD to surpass his previous triumphs in
the wildly romantic, or that he could invent anything equal to the
"Prairie Flower," a work which I venture to affirm, to be the finest
Indian tale ever yet written, in spite of the great authors who have
preceded AIMARD; but I ask my reader's special admiration for the "RED
TRACK," because in it our favourite author strikes out a new path, and
displays versatility which puts to the blush those bilious critics--few
in number--I grant, among the multitude of encouraging reviewers, who
have ventured an opinion that GUSTAVE AIMARD can only write about Indian
life, or, in point of fact, that he is merely a hunter describing his
own experiences under a transparent disguise.

Well, be it so, I accept the assertion. GUSTAVE AIMARD is but a
hunter; he has seen nought but uncivilized life; he has spent years
among savages, and has returned to his own country to try and grow
Europeanized again. What then? The very objection is a proof of his
veracity; and I am fully of the conviction that every story he has told
us is true. It is not reasonable to suppose that a man who has spent the
greater part of his life in hunting the wild animals of America--who
has been an adopted son of the most powerful Indian tribes--who has for
years never known what the morrow would bring forth, should sit down
to invent. The storehouse of his mind is too amply filled with marvels
for him to take that needless trouble, and he simply repeats on paper
the tales which in olden limes he picked up at the camp fires, or heard
during his wanderings with the wood rangers.

And it is as such that I wish GUSTAVE AIMARD to be judged by English
readers. His eminent quality is truth. He is a man who could not set
down a falsehood, no matter what the bribe might be, he has lived
through the incidents he describes, and has brought back to Europe
the adventures of a chequered life. He does not attempt to fascinate
his readers by a complicated plot. He does not possess the marvellous
invention of a Cooper, who, after a slight acquaintance with a few
powerless Indians, wrote books which all admirers of the English
language peruse. But GUSTAVE AIMARD possesses a higher quality, in the
fact that he only notes down incidents which he has seen, or which he
has received on undoubted evidence from his companions.

The present is the twelfth volume of GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works to which. I
have put my name; and, with the exception of a few captious criticisms
whose motive may be read between the lines, the great body of the
British Press has greeted our joints efforts with the heartiest
applause. The success of this series has been unparalleled in the annals
of cheap literature. Day by day the number of readers increases, and the
publication of each successive volume creates an excitement which cannot
fail to be most gratifying to the publishers.

To please all parties, the proprietors of AIMARD'S copyrights have
projected an Illustrated Series, to which I would invite most earnest
attention. Although by this time I am saturated with Indian life, I
confess that I never thoroughly understood it till I saw the engravings
after a Zwecker, a Huard, and a Corbould. The artists have carefully
studied their subjects, and gone to the fountain-head for information;
and the result is, that they have produced a series of works which only
need to be seen to be appreciated. The last volume illustrated is "The
Freebooters," which was entirely intrusted to Mr. Corbould, and though
I do not wish for a moment to depreciate the other artists, I felt, on
seeing the illustrations, that GUSTAVE AIMARD was worthily interpreted.
All I can urge upon readers is, that they should judge for themselves.

To wind up this unusually long Preface, into which honest admiration for
the author has alone induced me, I wish to say that it affords me an
ever-recurring delight to introduce GUSTAVE AIMARD'S works to English
readers, while it causes me an extra pleasure, on this occasion, to be
enabled to repeat that the present volume appears on this side of the
Channel before it has been introduced to French readers. And, knowing as
I do the number of editions through which AIMARD'S books pass in his own
native land, I can appreciate the sacrifice he has made on this occasion
at its full value.

                                              LASCELLES WRAXALL.

DRAYTON TERRACE, WEST BROMPTON,
   _March_, 1862.




CONTENTS.

      I. THE SIERRA OF THE WIND RIVER
     II. THE DEAD ALIVE
    III. THE COMPACT
     IV. THE TRAVELLERS
      V. THE FORT OF THE CHICHIMÈQUES
     VI. THE SURPRISE
    VII. THE EXPLANATION
   VIII. A DECLARATION OF WAR
     IX. MEXICO
      X. THE RANCHO
     XI. THE PASEO DE BUCARELI
    XII. A CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION
   XIII. DON MARTIAL
    XIV. THE VELORIO
     XV. THE CONVENT OF THE BERNARDINES
    XVI. THE CONFESSOR
   XVII. THE BEGINNING OF THE STRUGGLE
  XVIII. A VISIT
    XIX. ASSISTANCE
     XX. EL ZARAGATE
    XXI. AFTER THE INTERVIEW
   XXII. THE BLANK SIGNATURE
  XXIII. ON THE ROAD
   XXIV. A SKIRMISH
    XXV. LOS REGOCIJOS
   XXVI. THE PRONUNCIAMIENTO
  XXVII. THE CAPILLA

  A BUFFALO HUNT
  A MUSTANG




CHAPTER I.

THE SIERRA OF THE WIND RIVER.


The Rocky Mountains form an almost impassable barrier between California
and the United States, properly so called; their formidable defiles,
their rude valleys, and the vast western plains, watered by rapid
streams, are even to the present day almost unknown to the American
adventurers, and are rarely visited by the intrepid and daring Canadian
trappers.

The majestic mountain range called the Sierra of the Wind River,
especially offers a grand and striking picture, as it raises to the
skies its white and snow-clad peaks, which extend indefinitely in a
north-western direction, until they appear on the horizon like a white
cloud, although the experienced eye of the trapper recognizes in this
cloud the scarped outline of the Yellowstone Mountains.

The Sierra of the Wind River is one of the most remarkable of the Rocky
Mountain range; it forms, so to speak, an immense plateau, thirty
leagues long, by ten or twelve in width, commanded by scarped peaks,
crowned with eternal snows, and having at their base narrow and deep
valleys filled with springs, streams, and rock-bound lakes. These
magnificent reservoirs give rise to some of the mighty rivers which,
after running for hundreds of miles through a picturesque territory,
become on one side the affluents of the Missouri, on the other of the
Columbia, and bear the tribute of their waters to the two oceans.

In the stories of the wood rangers and trappers, the Sierra of the
Wind River is justly renowned for its frightful gorges, and the wild
country in its vicinity frequently serves as a refuge to the pirates of
the prairie, and has been, many a time and oft, the scene of obstinate
struggles between the white men and the Indians.

Toward the end of June, 1854, a well-mounted traveller, carefully
wrapped up in the thick folds of a zarapé, raised to his eyes, was
following one of the most precipitous slopes of the Sierra of the
Wind River, at no great distance from the source of the Green River,
that great western Colorado which pours its waters into the Gulf of
California.

It was about seven in the evening: the traveller rode along, shivering
from the effects of an icy wind which whistled mournfully through the
canyons. All around had assumed a saddening aspect in the vacillating
moonbeams. He rode on without hearing the footfall of his horse, as it
fell on the winding sheet of snow that covered the landscape; at times
the capricious windings of the track he was following compelled him to
pass through thickets, whose branches, bent by the weight of snow, stood
out before him like gigantic skeletons, and struck each other after he
had passed with a sullen snap.

The traveller continued his journey, looking anxiously on both sides
of him. His horse, fatigued by a long ride, hobbled at every step, and
in spite of the repeated encouragement of its rider seemed determined
to stop short, when, after suddenly turning an angle in the track, it
suddenly entered a large clearing, where the close-growing grass formed
a circle about forty yards in diameter, and the verdure formed a cheery
contrast with the whiteness that surrounded it.

"Heaven be praised!" the traveller exclaimed in excellent French, and
giving a start of pleasure; "Here is a spot at last where I can camp for
tonight night, without any excessive inconvenience. I almost despaired
of finding one."

While thus congratulating himself, the traveller had stopped his horse
and dismounted. His first attention was paid to his horse, from which
he removed saddle and bridle, and which he covered with his zarapé,
appearing to attach no importance to the cold, which was, however,
extremely severe in these elevated regions. So soon as it was free, the
animal, in spite of its fatigue, began browsing heartily on the grass,
and thus reassured about his companion, the traveller began thinking
about making the best arrangements possible for the night.

Tall, thin, active, with a lofty and capacious forehead, an intelligent
blue eye, sparkling with boldness, the stranger appeared to have been
long accustomed to desert life, and to find nothing extraordinary or
peculiarly disagreeable in the somewhat precarious position in which he
found himself at this moment.

He was a man who had reached about middle life, on whose brow grief
rather than the fatigue of the adventurous life of the desert had formed
deep wrinkles, and sown numerous silver threads in his thick light
hair; his dress was a medium between that of the white trappers and
the Mexican gambusinos; but it was easy to recognize, in spite of his
complexion, bronzed by the seasons, that he was a stranger to the ground
he trod, and that Europe had witnessed his birth.

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.




CHAPTER II.

THE DEAD ALIVE.


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 with the blade of his navaja, while his eyes wandered
around, and were at times fixed on his companion with an expression of
deep sympathy.

"Stay," he said, presently, as he thrust back with his foot a few embers
that had rolled out; "pardon me, sir, any insult which my exclamation
may seem to have contained. You have mistaken, I assure you, the
meaning of my remarks; although, as we have never met, we are not such
strangers as you suppose. I have known you for a long time."

The Tigrero raised his head, and looked at the hunter incredulously.

"You?" he muttered.

"Yes, I, caballero, and it will not be difficult to prove it to you."

"What good will it do?" he murmured; "what interest can I have in the
fact of your knowing me?"

"My dear sir," the Frenchman continued, with several shakes of his head,
"nothing happens in this world by the effect of chance. Above us, an
intellect superior to ours directs everything here below; and if we have
been permitted to meet in a manner so strange and unexpected in these
desolate regions, it is because Providence has designs with us which we
cannot yet detect; let us, therefore, not attempt to resist God's will,
for what He has resolved will happen: who knows whether I may not be
unconsciously sent across your path to bring you a supreme consolation,
or to supply you with the means to accomplish a long meditated
vengeance, which you have hitherto deemed impossible?"

"I repeat to you, señor," the Tigrero replied, "that your words are
those of a stout-hearted and brave man, and I feel involuntarily
attracted towards you. I think with you, that this accidental meeting,
after so many days of solitude and grief, with a man of your stamp,
cannot be the effect of unintelligent chance, and that at a moment
when, convinced of my impotence to escape from my present frightful
situation, I was reduced to despair and almost resolved on suicide, the
loyal hand you offer me can only be that of a friend. Question me, then,
without hesitation, and I will answer with the utmost frankness."

"Thanks for that speech," the hunter said, with emotion, "for it proves
that we are beginning to understand each other, and soon, I hope, we
shall have no secrets; but I must, before all else, tell you how it is
that I have known you for a long time, although you were not aware of
the fact."

"Speak, señor, I am listening to you with the most earnest attention."

Valentine reflected for a moment, and then went on as follows:--

"Some months ago, in consequence of circumstances unnecessary to remind
you of, but which you doubtless bear in mind, you met at the colony of
Guetzalli a Frenchman and a Canadian hunter, with whom you eventually
stood on most intimate terms."

"It is true," the Tigrero replied, with a nervous start, "and the
Frenchman to whom you allude, is the Count de Prébois Crancé. Oh! I
shall never be able to discharge the debt of gratitude I have contracted
with him for the services he rendered me."

A sad smile curled the hunter's lip. "You no longer owe him anything,"
he said, with a melancholy shake of the head.

"What do you mean?" the Tigrero exclaimed, eagerly; "surely the count
cannot be dead!"

"He is dead, caballero. He was assassinated on the shores of Guaymas.
His murderers laid him in his tomb, and his blood, so treacherously
shed, cries to Heaven for vengeance: but patience, Heaven will not
permit this horrible crime to remain unpunished."

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 reminiscence 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."

"Yes, yes," the Tigrero muttered; "it was, indeed, a frightful
catastrophe. I would gladly have found death at the bottom of the abyss
into which I rolled during my struggle with Black Bear, could I have
saved her I loved; but God decreed it otherwise, and may his holy name
be blessed and praised."

"Amen!" the hunter said, sadly turning his head away.

"Oh!" Don Martial continued a moment later, "I feel my recollections
crowding upon me at this moment. I feel as if the veil that covers my
memory is torn asunder, in order to recall events, already so distant,
but which have left so deep an impression on my mind. I, too, recognize
you now; you are the famous hunter whom the count was trying to find
in the desert; but he did not call you by any of the names you have
mentioned."

"I dare say," Valentine answered, "that he alluded to me as the 'Trail
Hunter,' the name by which the white hunters and the Indians of the Far
West are accustomed to call me."

"Yes; oh, now I remember perfectly, that was indeed the name he gave
you. You were right in saying that we had been long acquainted, though
we had never met."

"And now that we meet in this desert," the hunter said, offering his
hand, "connected as we are by the memory of our deceased friend, shall
we be friends?"

"No, not friends," the Tigrero exclaimed, as he heartily pressed the
hunter's honest hand; "not friends, but brothers."

"Well, then, brothers, and each for the other against all comers," the
hunter answered. "And now that you are convinced that curiosity plays no
part in my eager desire to know what has befallen you since the moment
when you so hurriedly left your friends, speak, Don Martial, and then I
will tell you, in my turn, what are the motives that directed my steps
to these desolate regions."

The Tigrero, in a few moments, began his narrative as follows:--

"My friends must have fancied me dead, hence I cannot blame them for
having abandoned me, although they were, perhaps, too quick in doing so
without an attempt either to recover my corpse, or assure themselves at
least that I was really dead, and that assistance would be thrown away;
but though I am ignorant of what happened in the cavern after my fall,
the bodies left on the battlefield proved to me afterwards that they had
a tough fight, and were compelled to fly before the Indians; hence, I
say again that I do not blame them. You are aware that I was attacked by
Black Bear at the moment when I believed that I had succeeded in saving
those whom I had sworn to protect. It was on the very verge of the pit
that Black Bear and myself, enwreathed like two serpents, began a final
and decisive struggle: at the moment when I had all but succeeded in
foiling my enemy's desperate efforts, and was raising my arm to cut
his throat, the war yell of the Comanches suddenly burst forth at the
entrance of the cavern. By a supreme effort the Apache chief succeeded
in escaping from my clutch, bounded on his feet, and rushed towards
Doña Anita, doubtless with the intention of carrying her off, as the
unforeseen assistance arriving for us would prevent the accomplishment
of his vengeance. But the maiden repulsed him with that strength
which despair engenders, and sought refuge behind her father. Already
severely wounded by two shots, the chief tottered back to the edge of
the pit, where he lost his balance. Feeling that he was falling, by an
instinctive gesture, or, perhaps, through a last sentiment of fury, he
stretched out his arms as if to save himself, caught hold of me as I
rose, half-stunned by my recent contest, and we both rolled down the
pit, he with a triumphant laugh, and I with a shriek of despair. Forgive
me for having described thus minutely the last incidents of this fight,
but I was obliged to enter into these details to make you thoroughly
understand by what providential chance I was saved, when I fancied
myself hopelessly lost."

"Go on, go on;" the hunter said, "I am listening to you with the
greatest attention."

Don Martial continued:--

"The Indian was desperately wounded, and his last effort, in which he
had placed all his remaining strength, cost him his life: it was a
corpse that dragged me down, for during the few seconds our fall lasted
he did not make a movement. The pit was not so deep as I fancied, not
more than twenty or five-and-twenty feet, and the sides were covered
with plants and grass, which, although they bent beneath our weight,
prevented us from falling perpendicularly. The chief was the first
to reach the bottom of the abyss, and I fell upon his body, which
deadened my fall, though it was serious enough entirely to deprive me
of consciousness. I cannot say how long I remained in this state, but,
from a calculation I made afterwards, my faint must have lasted two
hours. I was aroused by a cold sensation which suddenly affected me. I
opened my eyes again, and found myself in utter darkness. At the first
moment it was impossible for me to account for the situation in which
I found myself, or what events had placed me in it; but my memory
gradually returned, my thoughts became more lucid, and I only desired
to emerge as speedily as possible from the pit into which I had fallen.
I was suffering fearfully, although I was not actually wounded. I had
received numerous contusions in my fall, and the slightest movement
caused me an atrocious pain, for I was so bruised and shaken. In my
present state I must endure the evil patiently: attempting to scale
the sides of the pit when my strength was completely exhausted would
have been madness, and I therefore resigned myself to waiting. I was in
complete darkness, but that did not trouble me greatly, as I had about
me everything necessary to light a fire. Within a few moments I had a
light, and was enabled to look about me. I was lying at the bottom of a
species of funnel, for the pit grew narrower in its descent, which had
greatly helped to deaden my fall; my feet and legs almost to the knee
were bathed in a subterranean stream, while the upper part of my body
leant against the corpse of the Indian chief. The spot where I found
myself was thirty feet in circumference at the most, and I assured
myself by the help of my light that the sides of the pit, entirely
covered with creepers, and even sturdy shrubs, rose in a gentle slope,
and would not be difficult to escalade when my strength had sufficiently
returned. At this moment I could not dream of attempting the ascent,
so I bravely made up my mind, and although my anxiety was great about
the friends I had left in, the cavern, I resolved to wait a few hours
before proceeding to save myself. I remained thus for twenty hours
at the bottom of the pit, _tête-à-tête_ with my enemy's corpse. Many
times during my excursions in the desert I had found myself in almost
desperate situations, but never, I call heaven to witness, had I felt
so completely abandoned and left in the hands of Providence. Still,
however deplorable my position might be, I did not despair; in spite
of the frightful pain I suffered, I had convinced myself that my limbs
were in a satisfactory state, and that all I needed was patience. When
I fancied my strength sufficiently restored, I lighted two torches,
which I fixed in the ground, in order to see more clearly. I threw my
rifle on my back, placed my navaja between my teeth, and clinging to the
shrubs, by a desperate effort I began my ascent. I will not tell you of
the difficulty I had in conquering the terrible shocks I was obliged
to give my aching bones in surmounting almost unsurpassable obstacles;
sufficient for you to know that I reached the mouth of the pit after
an hour and a half's struggle, in which I expended all the energy a
man possesses who hopes to save himself. When I reached the floor of
the cavern, I lay for more than half an hour on the sand, exhausted,
panting, unable to make the slightest movement, scarce breathing,
hearing nothing, seeing nothing, not even conscious of the frightful
state into which I was plunged. Fortunately for me, this terrible
condition did not last long, the refreshing air from without, reaching
me through the passages of the cavern, recovered me, and restored the
entire use of my mental faculties. The ground around me was covered with
dead bodies, and there had, doubtless, been a terrible struggle between
the white men and the redskins. I sought in vain for the corpses of Doña
Anita and her father. I breathed again, and hope re-entered my heart,
for my sacrifice had not been fruitless. Those for whom I had given my
life were saved, and I should see them again. This thought restored my
courage, and I felt quite a different man. I rose without any excessive
difficulty, and, supporting myself on my rifle, went toward the mouth of
the cavern, after removing my stock of provision, and taking two powder
horns from the stores I had previously _cached_, and which my friends
in their flight had not thought of removing. No words can describe the
emotion I felt when, after a painful walk through the grotto, I at
length reached the riverbank, and saw the sun once more: a man must have
been in a similar desperate situation to understand the cry, or rather
howl of joy which escaped from my surcharged bosom when I felt again the
blessed sunbeams, and inhaled the odorous breath of the savannah. By an
unreflecting movement, though it was suggested by my heart, I fell on my
knees, and piously clasping my hands, I thanked Him who had saved me,
and who alone could do so. This prayer, and the simple thanks expressed
by a grateful heart, were, I feel convinced, borne upwards to heaven on
the wings of my guardian angel.

"As far as I could make out by the height of the sun, it was about the
second hour of the tarde. The deepest silence prevailed around me; so
far as the vision could extend, the prairie was deserted; Indians and
palefaces had disappeared: I was alone, alone with that God who had
saved me in so marvellous a fashion, and would not abandon me. Before
going further, I took a little nourishment, which the exhaustion of
my strength rendered necessary. When, in the company of Don Sylva de
Torrés and his daughter, I had sought a refuge in the cavern, our
horses had been abandoned with all the remaining forage in an adjacent
clearing, and I was too well acquainted with the instinct of these
noble animals to apprehend that they had fled. On the contrary, I knew
that, if the hunters had not taken them away, I should find them at
the very spot where I had left them. A horse was indispensable for
use, for a dismounted man is lost in the desert, and hence I resolved
to seek them. Rested by the long halt I had made, and feeling that my
strength had almost returned, I proceeded without hesitation towards
the forest. At my second call I heard a rather loud noise in a clump of
trees; the shrubs parted, and my horse galloped up and gladly rubbed its
intelligent head against my shoulder. I amply returned the caresses the
faithful companion of my adventures bestowed on me, and then returned
to the cavern, where my saddle was. An hour later, mounted on my good
horse, I bent my steps toward houses. My journey was a long one, owing
to my state of weakness and prostration, and when I reached Sonora the
news I heard almost drove me mad. Don Sylva de Torrés had been killed
in the fight with the Apaches, as was probably his daughter, for no
one could tell me anything about her. For a month I hovered between
life and death; but God in His wisdom, doubtless, had decided that I
should escape once again. When hardly convalescent, I dragged myself to
the house of the only man competent of giving me precise and positive
information about what I wanted to learn. This man refused to recognize
me, although I had kept up intimate relations with him for many years.
When I told him my name he laughed in my face, and when I insisted,
he had me expelled by his peons, telling me that I was mad, that Don
Martial was dead, and I an impostor. I went away with rage and despair
in my heart. As if they had formed an agreement, all my friends to whom
I presented myself refused to recognize me, so thoroughly was the report
of my death believed, and it had been accepted by them as a certainty.
All the efforts I attempted to dissipate this alarming mistake, and
prove the falsehood of the rumour were in vain, for too many persons
were interested in it being true, on account of the large estates I
possessed; and also, I suppose, through a fear of injuring the man to
whom I first applied--the only living relation of the Torrés family,
who, through his high position, has immense influence in Sonora. What
more need I tell you, my friend? Disgusted in every way, heartbroken
with grief, and recognising the inutility of the efforts I made
against the ingratitude and systematic bad faith of those with whom I
had to deal, I left the town, and, mounting my horse, returned to the
desert, seeking the most unknown spots and the most desolate regions in
which to hide myself and die whenever God decrees that I have suffered
sufficiently, and recalls me to Him."

After saying this the Tigrero was silent, and his head sunk gloomily on
his chest.

"Brother," Valentine said gently to him, slightly touching his shoulder
to attract his attention, "you have forgotten to tell me the name of
that influential person who had you turned out of his house, and treated
you as an impostor."

"That is true," Don Martial answered; "his name is Don Sebastian
Guerrero, and he is military governor of the province of Sonora."

The hunter quickly started to his feet with an exclamation of joy.

"Don Martial," he said, "you may thank God for decreeing that we should
meet in the desert, in order that the punishment of this man should be
complete."




CHAPTER III.

THE COMPACT.


Don Martial gazed at the hunter in amazement.

"What do you mean?" he asked him. "I don't understand you."

"You will soon do so, my friend," Valentine answered. "How long have you
been roaming about this neighbourhood?"

"Nearly two months."

"In that case you are well acquainted, I presume, with the mountains
among which we are at this moment?"

"There is not a tree or a rock whose exact position I cannot tell, nor a
wild beast trail which I have not followed."

"Good: are we far from a spot called the 'Fort of the Chichimèques?'"

The Tigrero reflected for a moment.

"Do you know by what Indians these mountains are inhabited?" he at
length asked.

"Yes, by poor wretches who call themselves the Root-Eaters, and whom the
hunters and trappers designate by the name of the 'Worthy of Pity.' They
are, I believe, timid, harmless creatures, a species of incomplete men,
in whom brutal instincts have stifled the intellect; however, I only
speak of them from hearsay, for I never saw one of the poor devils."

"You are perfectly well informed about them, and they are what you
depict them. I have often had opportunities of meeting them, and have
lamented the degree of brutalization into which this hapless race has
fallen."

"Permit me to remark that I do not see what connection can exist between
this unhappy tribe and the information I ask of you."

"There is a very great one. Since I have been roaming about these
mountains you are the first man of my own colour with whom I have
consented to enter into relations. The Root-Eaters have neither history
nor traditions. Their life is restricted to eating, drinking, and
sleeping, and I have not learned from them any of the names given to the
majestic peaks that surround us. Hence, though I perfectly well know the
spot to which you refer, unless you describe it differently, it will be
impossible for me to tell you its exact position."

"That is true; but what you ask of me is very awkward, for this is the
first time I have visited these parts, and it will be rather difficult
for me to describe a place I am not acquainted with. Still, I will try.
There is, not far from here, I believe, a road which traverses the Rocky
Mountains obliquely, and runs from the United States to Santa Fe; at a
certain spot this road must intersect another which leads to California."

"I am perfectly well acquainted with the roads to which you refer, and
the caravans of emigrants, hunters, and miners follow them in going to
California, or returning thence."

"Good! At the spot where these two roads cross they form a species
of large square, surrounded on all sides by rocks that rise to a
considerable height. Do you know the place I mean?"

"Yes," the Tigrero answered.

"Well, about two gunshots from this square is a track winding nearly in
an east-south-east course, along the side of the mountains. This track,
at first so narrow that a horse even passes with difficulty, gradually
widens till it reaches a species of esplanade, or terrace, if you like
it better, which commands an extensive prospect, while on its edge
are the remains of barbarous erections, which can, however, be easily
recognized as an ancient parapet. This terrace is called the 'Fort of
the Chichimèques,' though for what reason I cannot tell you."

"I know no more than you do on that head, although I can now assure
you that I am perfectly acquainted with the place to which you refer,
and have often camped there on stormy nights, because there is a deep
cavern, excavated by human hands, and divided into several passages,
every turning of which I know, and which has offered me a precious
shelter during those frightful tempests which, at intervals, overthrow
the face of nature in these regions."

"I was not aware of the existence of this grotto," the hunter said,
with a glad start, "and I thank you for having told me of it; it will
be very useful for the execution of the plans I have formed. Are we any
great distance from this terrace?"

"In a straight line, not more than five or six miles, and, if it were
day, I could show it to you; but as we must ride round to reach the
caravan road, which we are obliged to follow in order to reach the
tracks, we have about three hours' ride before us."

"That is a trifle, for I was afraid I had lost my way in these
mountains, which are strange to me. I am delighted to find that my old
experience has not failed me this time, and that my hunter's instincts
have not deceived me."

While saying this, Valentine had risen to explore the clearing. The
storm had ceased, the wind had swept away the clouds, the deep blue sky
was studded with brilliant stars, and the moon profusely shed its rays,
which imparted a fantastic appearance to the landscape by casting the
shadows of the lofty trees athwart the snow, whose pallid carpet spread
far as eye could see.

"'Tis a magnificent night," the hunter said, after carefully examining
the sky for some moments. "It is an hour past midnight, and I do not
feel the slightest inclination to sleep. Are you fatigued?"

"I am never so," the Tigrero answered, with a smile.

"All right: in that case you are like myself, a thorough wood ranger.
What do you think of a ride in this magnificent moonlight?"

"I think that after a good supper and an interesting conversation
nothing so thoroughly restores the balance of a man's thoughts as a
night ride in the company of a friend."

"Bravo! that is what I call speaking. Now, as every ride to be
reasonable should have an object, we will go, if you have no objection,
as far as the Fort of the Chichimèques."

"I was about to propose it; and, as we ride along, you will tell me in
your turn what imperious motive compelled you to come to these unknown
regions, and what the project is to which you alluded."

"As for that," the hunter said, with a knowing smile, "I cannot satisfy
you; at any rate not for the present, as I wish you to have the pleasure
of a surprise. But be easy, I will not put your patience to too long a
trial."

"You will act as you think proper, for I trust entirely to you. I know
not why, but I am persuaded, either through a sentiment or sympathy,
that in doing your own business you will be doing mine at the same time."

"You are nearer the truth at this moment than you perhaps imagine, so be
of good cheer, brother."

"The happy meeting has already made a different man of me," the Tigrero
said, as he rose.

The hunter laid his hand on his shoulder. "One moment," he said to
him; "before leaving this bivouac, where we met so providentially,
let us clearly agree as to our facts, so as to avoid any future
misunderstanding."

"Be it so," Don Martial answered. "Let us make a compact in the Indian
fashion, and woe to the one who breaks it."

"Well said, my friend," Valentine remarked, as he drew his knife from
his belt. "Here is my navaja, brother; may it serve you as it has done
me to avenge your wrongs and mine."

"I receive it in the face of that Heaven which I call as witness of the
purity of my intentions. Take mine in exchange, and one half my powder
and bullets, brother."

"I accept it as a thing belonging to me, and here is half my ammunition
for you; henceforth we cannot fire at one another, all is in common
between us. Your friends will be my friends, and you will point out your
enemies to me, so that I may aid you in your vengeance. My horse is
yours."

"Mine belongs to you, and in a few moments I will place it at your
service."

Then the two men, leaning shoulder to shoulder, with clasped hands, eyes
fixed on heaven, and outstretched arm, uttered together the following
words:

"I take God to witness that of my own free will, and without
reservation, I take as my friend and brother the man whose hand is at
this moment pressing mine. I will help him in everything he asks of
me, without hope of reward, ready by day and night to answer his first
signal, without hesitation, and without reproach, even if he asked me
for my life. I take this oath in the presence of God, who sees and
hears me and may He come to my help in all I undertake, and punish me
if I ever break my oath."

There was something grand and solemn in this simple act, performed by
these two powerful men, beneath the pallid moonbeams, and in the heart
of the desert, alone, far from all human society, face to face with
God, confiding in each, and seeming thus to defy the whole world. After
repeating the words of the oath, they kissed each other's lips in turn,
then embraced, and finally shook hands again.

"Now let us be off, brother," Valentine said; "I confide in you as in
myself; we shall succeed in triumphing over our enemies, and repaying
them all the misery they have caused us."

"Wait for me ten minutes, brother; my horse is hidden close by."

"Go; and during that time I will saddle mine, which is henceforth yours."

Don Martial hurried away, leaving Valentine alone.

"This time," he muttered, "I believe that I have at length met the man I
have been looking for so long, and whom I despaired to find; with him,
Curumilla, and Belhumeur, I can begin the struggle, for I am certain I
shall not be abandoned or treacherously surrendered to the enemy I wish
to combat."

While indulging after his wont in this soliloquy, the hunter had lassoed
his horse, and was busily engaged in saddling it. He had just put the
bit in its mouth, when the Tigrero re-entered the clearing, mounted on
a magnificent black steed.

Don Martial dismounted.

"This is your horse, my friend," he said.

"And this is yours."

The exchange thus effected, the two men mounted, and left the clearing
in which they had met so strangely. The Tigrero had told no falsehood
when he said that a metamorphosis had taken place in him, and that
he felt a different man. His features had lost their marble-like
rigidity; his eyes were animated, and no longer burned with a sombre and
concentrated fire. Even though his glances were still somewhat haggard,
their expression was more frank and, before all, kinder; he sat firm and
upright in the saddle, and, in a word, seemed ten years younger.

This unexpected change had not escaped the notice of the all-observing
Frenchman, and he congratulated himself for having effected this moral
cure, and saved a man of such promise from the despair which he had
allowed to overpower him.

We have already said that it was a magnificent night. For men like
our characters, accustomed to cross the desert in all weathers, the
ride in the darkness was a relaxation rather than a fatigue. They rode
along side by side, talking on indifferent topics--hunting, trapping,
expeditions against the Indians--subjects always pleasing to wood
rangers, while rapidly advancing towards the spot they wished to reach.

"By-the-bye," Valentine all at once said, "I must warn you, brother,
that if you are not mistaken, and we are really following the road to
the Fort of the Chichimèques, we shall probably meet several persons
there; they are friends of mine, with whom I have an appointment, and I
will introduce them to you; for reasons you will speedily learn, these
friends followed a different road from mine, and must have been waiting
for some time at the place of meeting."

"I do not care who the persons are we meet, as they are friends of
yours," the Tigrero answered; "the main point is that we make no
mistake."

"On my word, I confess my incompetence, so far as that is concerned;
this is the first time I have ventured into the Rocky Mountains, where
I hope never to come again, and so I deliver myself entirely into your
hands."

"I will do my best, although I do not promise positively to lead you to
the place you want to reach."

"Nonsense!" the hunter said with a smile; "two places like the one I
have described to you can hardly be found in these parts, picturesque
and diversified though they be, and it would be almost impossible to
lose our way."

"At any rate," the Tigrero answered, "we shall soon know what we have to
depend on, for we shall be there within half an hour."

The sky was beginning to grow paler; the horizon was belted by wide,
pellucid bands, which assumed in turn every colour of the rainbow. In
the flashing uncertain light of dawn, objects were invested with a
more fugitive appearance, although, on the other hand, they became more
distinct.

The adventurers had passed the crossroads, and turned into a narrow
track, whose capricious windings ran along rocks, which were almost
suspended over frightful abysses. The riders had given up all attempts
to guide their horses, and trusted to their instinct; they had laid
their bridles on their necks, leaving them at liberty to go where they
pleased--a prudent precaution, which cannot be sufficiently recommended
to travellers under similar circumstances.

All at once a streak of light illumined the landscape, and the sun rose
radiant and splendid; behind them the travellers still had the shadows
of night, while before them the snowy peaks of the mountains--were
glistening in the sun.

"Well," the hunter exclaimed, "we can now see clearly, and I hope that
we shall soon perceive the Fort of the Chichimèques."

"Look ahead of you over the jagged crest of that hill," the Tigrero
answered, stretching out his arm; "that is the terrace to which I am
leading you."

The hunter stopped, for he felt giddy, and almost ready to fall off his
horse. About two miles from him, but separated from the spot where he
stood by an impassable canyon, an immense esplanade stretched out into
space in the shape of a _voladero_; that is to say, in consequence of
one of those earthquakes so common in these regions, the base of the
mountain had been undermined, while the crest remained intact, and hung
for a considerable distance above a valley, apparently about to fall at
any moment; the spectacle was at once imposing and terrific.

"Heaven forgive me!" the hunter muttered, "but I really believe I was
frightened; I felt all my muscles tremble involuntarily. Oh! I will not
look at it again; let us get along, my friend."

They set out again, still following the windings of the tract, which
gradually grew steeper; and, after a very zigzag course, reached the
terrace half an hour later.

"This is certainly the place," the hunter exclaimed, as he pointed to
the decaying embers of a watch fire.

"But your friends--?" the Tigrero asked.

"Did you not tell me there was a grotto close by?"

"I did."

"Well, they doubtless concealed themselves in the grotto when they heard
us approaching."

"That is possible."

"It is true: look."

The hunter discharged his gun, and at the sound three men appeared,
though it was impossible to say whence they came. They were Belhumeur,
Black Elk, and Eagle-head.




CHAPTER IV.

THE TRAVELLERS.


We must now leave Valentine and his companions on the esplanade of the
Fort of the Chichimèques, where we shall join them again however, in
order to attend to other persons destined to play an important part in
the narrative we have undertaken to tell the reader.

About five or six leagues at the most from the spot where Valentine and
the Tigrero met, a caravan, composed of some ten persons, had halted on
the same night, and almost at the same moment as the hunter, in a narrow
valley completely sheltered from the wind by dense clumps of trees.

The caravan was comfortably lodged on the bank of a running stream, the
mules had been unloaded, a tent raised, fires lighted; and when the
animals were hobbled, the travellers began to make preparations for
their supper.

These travellers, or at any rate one of them, appeared to belong to the
highest class, for the rest were only servants or Indian peons. Still
the dress of this person was most simple, but his stiff manner, his
imposing demeanour, and haughty air, evidenced the man long accustomed
to give his orders without admitting refusal or even the slightest
hesitation.

He had passed his fiftieth year; he was tall, well-built, and his
movements were extremely elegant. His broad forehead, his black eyes
large and flashing, his long gray moustaches and his short hair gave him
a military appearance, which his harsh, quick way of speaking did not
contradict. Although he affected a certain affability of manner, he at
times involuntarily betrayed himself, and it was easy to see that the
modest garb of a Mexican Campesino which he wore was only a disguise.
Instead of withdrawing beneath the tent prepared for him, this person
had sat down before the fire with the peons, who eagerly made way for
him with evident respect.

Among the peons two men more especially attracted attention. One was a
redskin, the other a half-breed, with a crafty, leering manner, who, for
some reason or another, stood on more familiar terms with his master;
his comrades called him Ño Carnero, and at times gave him the title of
Capataz.

Ño Carnero was the wit of the caravan, the funny fellow--ever ready to
laugh and joke, smoking an eternal cigar, and desperately strumming
an insupportable guitar. Perhaps, though, he concealed beneath this
frivolous appearance a more serious character and deeper thoughts than
he would have liked to display.

The redskin formed the most complete contrast with the capataz; he was
a tall, thin, dry man, with angular features and gloomy and sad face,
illumined by two black eyes deeply set in their orbit, but constantly
in motion, and having an undefinable expression; his aquiline nose, his
wide mouth lined with large teeth as white as almonds, and his thin
pinched up lips, composed a far from pleasant countenance, which was
rendered still more lugubrious by the obstinate silence of this man, who
only spoke when absolutely compelled, and then only in monosyllables.
Like all the Indians, it was impossible to form any opinion as to his
age, for his hair was black as the raven's wing, and his parchment skin
had not a single wrinkle; at any rate he seemed gifted with no ordinary
strength.

He had engaged at Santa Fé to act as guide to the caravan, and, with
the exception of his obstinate silence, there was every reason to be
satisfied with the way in which he performed his duty. The peons called
him The Indian, or sometimes José--a mocking term employed in Mexico to
designate the Indios mansos; but the redskin appeared as insensible to
compliments as to jokes, and continued coldly to carry out the task he
had imposed on himself. When supper was ended, and each had lit his pipe
or cigarette, the master turned to the capataz.

"Carnero," he said to him, "although in such frightful weather, and in
these remote regions, we have but little to fear from horse thieves,
still do not fail to place sentries, for we cannot be too provident."

"I have warned two men, _mi amo_," the capataz replied; "and, moreover,
I intend to make my rounds tonight; eh, José," he added, turning to
the Indian, "are you certain you are not mistaken, and that you really
lifted a trail?"

The redskin shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and continued his quiet
smoke.

"Do you know to what nation the sign you discovered belongs?" the master
asked him.

The Indian gave a nod of assent.

"Is it a formidable nation?"

"Crow," the redskin answered hoarsely.

"Caray!" the master exclaimed, "if they are Crows, we shall do well to
be on our guard, for they are the cleverest plunderers in the Rocky
Mountains."

"Nonsense!" Carnero remarked with a grin of derision, "do not believe
what that man tells you; the mezcal has got into his head, and he is
trying to make himself of importance; Indians tell as many lies as old
women."

The Indian's eye flashed; without deigning to reply he drew a moccasin
from his breast, and threw it so adroitly at the capataz as to strike
him across the face. Furious at the insult so suddenly offered him by a
man whom he always considered inoffensive, the half-breed uttered a yell
of rage, and rushed knife in hand on the Indian.

But the latter had not taken his eye off him, and by a slight movement
he avoided the desperate attack of the capataz; then, drawing himself
up, he caught him round the waist, raised him from the ground as easy
as he would have done a child, and hurled him into the fire, where he
writhed for a moment with cries of pain and impotent passion. When he
at length got out of the fire, half scorched, he did not think of
renewing the attack, but sat down growling and directing savage glances
at his adversary, like a turnspit punished by a mastiff. The master
had witnessed this aggression with the utmost indifference, and having
picked up the moccasin, which he carefully examined--

"The Indian is right," he said, coldly, "this moccasin bears the mark of
the Crow nation. My poor Carnero, you must put up with it, for though
the punishment you received was severe, I am forced to allow that it was
deserved."

The redskin had begun smoking again as quietly as if nothing had
occurred.

"The dog will pay me for it with his traitor face," the capataz growled,
on hearing his master's warning. "I am no man if I do not leave his body
as food for the crows he discovers so cleverly."

"My poor lad," his master continued, with a jeer, "you had better forget
this affair, which I allow might be disagreeable to your self-esteem;
for I fancy you would not be the gainer by recommencing the quarrel."

The capataz did not answer; he looked round at the spectators to select
one on whom he could vent his spite, without incurring any extreme risk;
but the peons were on their guard, and offered him no chance. He then,
with an air of vexation, made a signal to two men to follow him, and
left the circle grumbling.

The head of the caravan remained for a few minutes plunged in serious
thought; he then withdrew beneath his tent, the curtain of which fell
behind him; and the peons lay down on the ground, one after the other,
with their feet to the fire, and carefully wrapped up in their serapes,
and fell asleep.

The Indian then took the pipe stem from his mouth, looked searchingly
around him, shook out the ashes, passed the pipe through his belt,
and, rising negligently, went slowly to crouch at the foot of a tree,
though not before he had taken the precaution of wrapping himself
in his buffalo robe, a measure which the sharp air rendered, if not
indispensable, at any rate necessary.

Ere long, with the exception of the sentries leaning on their guns and
motionless as statues, all the travellers were plunged in deep sleep,
for the capataz himself, in spite of the promise he had made his master,
had laid himself across the entrance of the tent.

An hour elapsed ere anything disturbed the silence that prevailed in the
camp. All at once a singular thing happened. The buffalo robe, under
which the Indian was sheltered, gently rose with an almost imperceptible
movement, and the redskin's face appeared, darting glances of fire into
the gloom. In a moment the guide raised himself slowly along the trunk
of the tree against which he had been lying, embraced it with his feet
and hands, and with undulating movements resembling those of reptiles,
he left the ground, and raised himself to the first branches, among
which he disappeared.

This ascent was executed with such well-calculated slowness that it had
not produced the slightest sound. Moreover, the buffalo robe left at
the foot of the tree so well retained its primitive folds, that it was
impossible to discover, without touching it, that the man it sheltered
had left it.

When the guide was thoroughly concealed among the leaves, he remained
for a moment motionless; though not in order to regain his breath after
having made such an expenditure of strength, for this man was made of
iron, and fatigue had no power over him. But he probably wished to look
about him, for with his body bent forward, and his eyes fixed on space,
he inhaled the breeze, and his glances seemed trying to pierce the gloom.

Before selecting as his resting place the foot of the tree in which he
was now concealed, the guide had assured himself that this tree, which
was very high and leafy, was joined at about two-thirds of its height by
other trees, which gradually rose along the side of the mountain, and
formed a wall of verdure.

After a few minutes' hesitation, the guide drew in his belt, placed his
knife between his teeth, and with a certainty and lightness of movement
which would have done honour to a monkey, he commenced literally hopping
from one tree to another, hanging by his arms, and clinging to the
creepers, waking up, as he passed, the birds, which flew away in alarm.

This strange journey lasted about three-quarters of an hour. At length
the guide stopped, looked attentively around him, and gliding down the
trunk of the tree on which he was, reached the ground. The spot where
he now found himself was a rather spacious clearing, in the centre of
which blazed an enormous fire, serving to warm forty or fifty redskins,
completely armed and equipped for war. Still, singular to say, the
majority of these Indians, instead of their long lances and the bows
they usually employ, carried muskets of American manufacture, which
led to the supposition that they were picked warriors and great braves
of their nation; and this, too, was further proved by the numerous
wolf tails fastened to their heels, an honourable insignia which only
renowned warriors have the right to assume.

This detachment of redskins was certainly on the war trail, or at any
rate on a serious expedition, for they had with them neither dogs nor
squaws. In spite of the slight care with which the Indians are wont to
guard themselves at night, the free and deliberate manner in which the
guide entered their encampment proved that he was expected by these
warriors, who evinced no surprise at seeing him, but, on the contrary,
invited him with hospitable gestures to take a seat at their fire. The
guide sat down silently, and began smoking the calumet which the chief
seated by his side immediately offered him. This chief was still a young
man, his marked features displaying the utmost craft and boldness. After
a rather lengthened interval, doubtless expressly granted the visitor to
let him draw breath and warm himself, the young chief bowed to him and
addressed him deferentially.

"My father is welcome among his sons; they were impatiently awaiting his
arrival."

The guide responded to this compliment with a grimace, in all
probability intended to pass muster for a smile. The chief continued:--

"Our scouts have carefully examined the encampment of the Yoris, and the
warriors of the Jester are ready to obey the instructions given them by
their great sachem, Eagle-head. Is my father Curumilla satisfied with
his red children?"

Curumilla (for the guide was no other than the reader's old acquaintance
the Araucano chief) laid his right hand on his chest, and uttered with a
guttural accent the exclamation, "Ugh!" which was with him a mark of the
greatest joy.

The Jester and his warriors had been too long acquainted with Curumilla
for his silence to seem strange to them; hence they yielded without
repugnance to his mania, and carefully giving up the hope of getting a
syllable out of his closed lips, began with him a conversation in signs.

We have already had occasion, in a previous work, to mention that the
redskins have two languages, the written and the sign language. The
latter, which has among them attained a high perfection, and which all
understand, is usually employed when hunting, or on expeditions, when
a word pronounced even in a low voice may reveal the presence of an
ambuscade to the enemy, whether men or beasts, whom they are pursuing,
and desire to surprise.

It would have been interesting, and even amusing, for any stranger
who had been present at this interview to see with what rapidity the
gestures and signs were exchanged between these men, so strangely lit
up by the ruddy glow of the fire, and who resembled, with their strange
movements, their stern faces, and singular attitudes, a council of
demons. At times the Jester, with his body bent forward, and emphatic
gestures, held a dumb speech, which his comrades followed with the most
sustained attention, and which they answered with a rapidity that words
themselves could not have surpassed.

At length this silent council terminated. Curumilla raised his hand to
heaven, and pointed to the stars, which were beginning to grow dim, and
then left the circle. The redskins respectfully followed him to the
foot of the tree by the aid of which he had entered their camp. When he
reached it, he turned round.

"May the Wacondah protect my father!" the Jester then said. "His sons
have thoroughly understood his instructions, and will follow them
literally. The great pale hunter will have joined his friends by this
hour, and he is doubtless awaiting us. Tomorrow Koutonepi will see his
Comanche brothers. At the _enditha_ the camp will be raised."

"It is good," Curumilla answered, and saluting for the last time the
warriors, who bowed respectfully before him, the chief seized the
creeping plants, and, raising himself by the strength of his wrists, in
a second he reached the branches, and disappeared in the foliage.

The journey the Indian had made was very important, and needed to be so
for him to run such great risks in order to have an interview at this
hour of the night with the redskins; but as the reader will soon learn
what were the consequences of this expedition, we deem it unnecessary to
translate the sign language employed during the council, or explain the
resolutions formed between Curumilla and the Jester.

The chief recommenced his aerial trip with the same lightness and the
same good fortune. After a lapse of time comparatively much shorter than
that which he had previously employed, he reached the camp of the white
men. The same silence prevailed in its interior; the sentinels were
still motionless at their post, and the watch fires were beginning to
expire.

The chief assured himself that no eye was fixed on him--that no spy
was on the watch; and, feeling certain of not being perceived, he slid
silently down the tree and resumed the place beneath the buffalo robe
which he was supposed not to have left during the night.

At the moment when, after taking a final glance around, the Indian chief
disappeared beneath his robe, the capataz, who was lying athwart the
entrance of the hut, gently raised his head, and looked with strange
fixity of glance at the place occupied by the redskin.

Had a suspicion been aroused in the Mexican's mind? Had he noticed the
departure and return of the chief? Presently he let his head fall again,
and it would have been impossible to read on his motionless features
what were the thoughts that troubled him.

The remainder of the night passed tranquilly and peacefully.




CHAPTER V.

THE FORT OF THE CHICHIMÈQUES.


The sun rose; its beams played on the trembling yellow leaves of the
trees, and tinged them with a thousand shades of gold and purple. The
birds, cozily nestled in the bushes, struck up their matin carol;
the awakening of nature was as splendid and imposing as it is in all
mountainous countries.

The leader of the caravan left his tent and gave orders to strike the
camp. The tent was at once folded up, the mules were loaded, and, so
soon as the horses were saddled, the party started without waiting for
the morning meal, for they generally breakfasted at the eleven o'clock
halt, while resting to let the great heat of the day subside.

The caravan advanced along the road from Santa Fé to the United States,
at a speed unusual under such circumstances. A military system was
affected which was imposing, and, indeed, indispensable in these
regions, infested not merely by numerous bands of predatory Indians, but
also traversed by the pirates of the prairie, more dangerous bandits
still, who were driven by their enemies beyond the pale of the law, and
who, ambushed at the turnings of roads or in broken rocks, attacked the
caravans as they passed, and pitilessly massacred the travellers, after
plundering them of all they possessed.

About twenty yards ahead of the caravan rode four men, with their rifles
on their thigh, preceded by the guide, who formed the extreme vanguard.
Next came the main body, composed of six well-armed peons, watching
the mules and baggage, under the immediate orders of the chief of the
caravan. Lastly, the capataz rode about thirty paces in the rear, having
under his orders four resolute men armed to the teeth.

Thus arranged to face any event, the caravan enjoyed a relative
security, for it was not very probable that the white or red pillagers,
who were doubtless watching it, would dare to attack in open day
seventeen resolute and trained men. At night the horse thieves, who
glide silently in the darkness during the sleep of the travellers, and
carry off horses and baggage, were more formidable.

Still, either through accident, or the prudential measures employed
by the chief of the caravan, since they had left Santa Fé, that is
to say for more than a month, the Mexicans had not seen an Indian,
or been alarmed. They had journeyed--apparently at least--with as
much tranquillity as if, instead of being in the heart of the Rocky
Mountains, they were moving along the roads in, the interior of Sonora.
This security, however, while augmenting their confidence, had not
caused their prudential measures to be neglected; and their chief, whom
this unusual leniency on the part of the villains who prowl about these
countries alarmed, redoubled his vigilance and precautions to avoid a
surprise and a collision with the plunderers.

The discovery, made on the previous day by the guide, of an Indian
Crow trail--the most determined thieves in these mountains--added to
his apprehensions; for he did not hide from himself that, if he were
compelled to fight, in spite of the courage and discipline of his peons,
the odds would be against him, when fighting men thoroughly acquainted
with the country, and who would only attack him with numbers sufficient
to crush his band, however desperate the resistance offered might be.

When he left the camp, the chief of the caravan, suffering perhaps from
a gloomy foreboding, spurred his horse and joined the Indian, who, as we
said, was marching alone in front, examining the bushes, and apparently
performing all the duties of an experienced guide. Curumilla, though he
heard the hurried paces of the Mexican's horse, did not turn round, but
continued trotting along carelessly on the sorry mule allotted to him
for this expedition.

When the chief of the caravan joined him and brought his horse alongside
the Indian, instead of speaking to him, he attentively examined him
for some minutes, trying to pierce the mask of stoicism spread over
the guide's features, and to read his thoughts. But, after a rather
lengthened period, the Mexican was constrained to recognize the
inutility of his efforts, and to confess to himself the impossibility of
guessing the intentions of this man, for whom, in spite of the service
he had rendered the caravan, he felt an instinctive aversion, and whom
he would like to force, at all risks, to make a frank explanation.

"Indian," he said to him in Spanish, "I wish to speak with you for a
few moments on an important subject, so be good enough to put off your
usual silence for awhile and answer, like an honest man, the questions I
propose asking you."

Curumilla bowed respectfully.

"You engaged with me, at Santa Fé, to lead me, for the sum of four
ounces, of which you received one half in advance, to lead me, I say,
safely to the frontiers of Upper Mexico. Since you have been in my
service I must allow that I have only had reason to praise the prudence
in which you have performed your duties; but we are at this moment in
the heart of the Rocky Mountains, that is to say, we have reached the
most dangerous part of our long journey. Two days ago you lifted the
trail of Crow Indians, very formidable enemies of caravans, and I want
to consult with you as to the means to employ to foil the snares in
which these Indians will try to catch us, and to know what measures you
intend to employ to avoid a meeting with them; in a word, I want to know
your plan of action."

The Indian, without replying, felt in a bag of striped calico thrown
over his shoulder, and produced a greasy paper, folded in four, which he
opened and offered the Mexican.

"What is this?" the latter asked, as he looked and ran through it. "Oh,
yes, certainly; your engagement. Well, what connection has this with the
question I asked you?"

Curumilla, still impassive, laid his finger on the paper, at the last
paragraph of the engagement.

"Well, what then?" the Mexican exclaimed, ill-humouredly. "It is said
there, it is true, that I must trust entirely to you, and leave you at
liberty to act as you please for the common welfare, without questioning
you."

The Indian nodded his head in assent.

"Well, _voto a Brios!_" the Mexican shouted, irritated by this studied
coolness, in spite of his resolve to curb his temper, and annoyed at
the man's obstinate refusal to answer, "what proves to me that you are
acting for our common welfare, and that you are not a traitor?"

At this word traitor, so distinctly uttered by the Mexican, Curumilla
gave a tiger glance at the speaker, while his whole body was agitated by
a convulsive tremor: he uttered two or three incomprehensible guttural
exclamations, and ere the Mexican could suspect his intentions, he
was seized round the waist, lifted from the saddle, and hurled on the
ground, where he lay stunned.

Curumilla leapt from his mule, drew from his belt two gold ounces,
hurled them at the Mexican, and then, bounding over the precipice
that bordered the road, glided to the bottom with headlong speed and
disappeared at once.

What we have described occurred so rapidly that the peons who remained
behind, although they hurried up at full speed to their master's
assistance, arrived too late on the scene to prevent the Indian's flight.

The Mexican had received no wound; the surprise and violence of the
fall had alone caused his momentary stupor; but almost immediately
he regained his senses, and comprehending the inutility and folly of
pursuit at such a spot with such an adversary, he devoured his shame and
passion, and, remounting his horse, which had been stopped, he coolly
gave orders to continue the journey, with an internal resolution that,
if ever the opportunity offered, he would have an exemplary revenge for
the insult he had received.

For the moment he could not think of it, for more serious interests
demanded all his attention; it was evident to him that, in branding the
guide as a traitor, he had struck home, and that the latter, furious at
seeing himself unmasked, had proceeded to such extremities in order to
escape punishment, and find means to fly safely.

The situation was becoming most critical for the chief of the caravan;
he found himself abandoned and left without a guide, in unknown regions,
doubtless watched by hidden foes, and exposed at any moment to an
attack, whose result could but be unfavourable to himself and his
people; hence he must form a vigorous resolve in order to escape, were
it possible, the misfortunes that menaced the caravan.

The Mexican was a man endowed with an energetic organization, brave to
rashness, whom no peril, however great it might be, had ever yet had
the power to make him blench; in a few seconds he calculated all the
favourable chances left him, and his determination was formed. The road
he was following at this moment was assuredly the one frequented by the
caravans proceeding from the United States to California or Mexico; and
there was no other road but this in the mountains. Hence the Mexican
resolved to form an entrenched camp, at the spot that might appear to
him most favourable, fortify himself there as well as he could, and
await the passing of the first caravan, which he would join.

This plan was exceedingly simple, and in addition very easy to execute.
As the travellers possessed an ample stock of provisions and ammunition,
they had no reason to fear scarcity, while, on the other hand, seven or
eight days in all probability would not elapse without the appearance of
a fresh caravan; and the Mexican believed himself capable of resisting,
behind good entrenchments, with his fifteen peons, any white or red
plunderers who dared to attack him.

So soon as this resolution was formed, the Mexican at once prepared
to carry it out. After having briefly and in a few words explained
to his disheartened peons what his intentions were, and recommending
them to redouble their prudence, he left them, and pushed on in order
to reconnoitre the ground and select the most suitable spot for the
establishment of the camp.

He started his horse at a gallop and soon disappeared in the windings
of the road, but, through fear of a sudden attack, he held his gun in
his hand, and his glances were constantly directed around him, examining
with the utmost care the thick chaparral which bordered the road on the
side of the mountain.

The Mexican went on thus for about two hours, noticing that the further
he proceeded the narrower and more abrupt the track became. Suddenly
it widened out in front of him, and he arrived at an esplanade, across
which the road ran, and which was no other than the Fort of the
Chichimèques, previously described by us.

The Mexican's practised eye at once seized the advantages of such a
position, and, without loss of time in examining it in detail, he turned
back to rejoin the caravan. The travellers, though marching much more
slowly than their chief, had, however, pushed on, so that he rejoined
them about three-quarters of an hour after the discovery of the terrace.

The flight of the guide had nearly demoralized the Mexicans, more
accustomed to the ease of tropical regions, and whose courage the
snows of the Rocky Mountains had already weakened, if not destroyed.
Fortunately for the chief's plans he had over his servants that
influence which clever minds know how to impose on ordinary natures, and
the peons, on seeing their master gay and careless about the future,
began to hope that they would escape better than they had supposed from
the unlucky position in which they found themselves so suddenly placed.
The march was continued tranquilly; no suspicious sign was discovered,
and the Mexicans were justified in believing that, with the exception of
the time they would be compelled to lose in awaiting a new guide, the
flight of the Indian would entail no disagreeable consequences on them.

Singularly enough, Carnero the capataz seemed rather pleased than
annoyed at the sudden disappearance of the guide. Far from complaining
or deploring the delay in the continuance of the journey he laughed at
what had happened, and made an infinitude of more or less witty jests
about it, which in the end considerably annoyed his master, whose joy
was merely on the surface, and who, in his heart, cursed the mishap
which kept them in the mountains, and exposed him to the insults of the
plunderers.

"Pray, what do you find so agreeable in what has happened that you
are or affect to be so merry, Ño Carnero?" he at length asked with
considerable ill temper.

"Forgive me, mi amo," the capataz answered humbly; "but you know the
proverb, 'What can't be cured must be endured,' and consequently I
forgot."

"Hum!" said the master, without any other reply.

"And besides," the capataz added, as he stooped down to the chief, and
almost whispering, "however bad our position may be, is it not better to
pretend to consider it good?"

His master gave him a piercing look, but the other continued
imperturbably with an obsequious smile--

"The duty of a devoted servant, mi amo, is to be always of his master's
opinion, whatever may happen. The peons were murmuring this morning
after your departure, and you know what the character of these brutes
is; if they feel alarmed we shall be lost, for it will be impossible
for us to get out of our position; hence I thought that I was carrying
out your views by attempting to cheer them up, and I feign a gaiety
which, be assured, I do not feel, under the supposition that it would be
agreeable to you."

The Mexican shook his head dubiously, but the observations of the
capataz were so just, the reasons he offered appeared so plausible,
that he was constrained to yield and thank him, as he did not care to
alienate at this moment a man who by a word could change the temper of
his peons, and urge them to revolt instead of adhering to their duty.

"I thank you, Ño Carnero," he said, with a conciliatory air. "You
perfectly understood my intentions. I am pleased with your devotion to
my person, and the moment will soon arrive, I hope, when it will be in
my power to prove to you the value I attach to you."

"The certainty of having done my duty, now as ever, is the sole reward I
desire, mi amo," the capataz answered, with a respectful bow.

The Mexican gave him a side glance, but he restrained himself, and
it was with a smile that he thanked the capataz for the second time.
The latter thought it prudent to break off the interview here, and,
stopping his horse, he allowed his master to pass him. The chief of the
caravan was one of those unhappily constituted men who after having
passed their life in deceiving or trying to deceive those with whom the
accidents of an adventurous existence have brought them into contact,
had reached that point when he had no confidence in anyone, and sought,
behind the most frivolous words, to discover an interested motive, which
most frequently did not exist. Although his capataz Carnero had been
for a long time in his service, and he granted him a certain amount of
familiarity--although he appeared to place great confidence in him, and
count on his devotion, still, in his heart, he not only suspected him,
but felt almost confident, without any positive proof, it is true, that
he was playing a double game with him, and was a secret agent of his
deceivers.

What truth there might be in this supposition, which held a firm hold of
the Mexican's mind, we are unable to say at present; but the slightest
actions of his capataz were watched by him, and he felt certain that he
should, sooner or later, attain a confirmation of his doubts; hence,
while feigning the greatest satisfaction with him, he constantly kept on
his guard, ready to deal a blow, which would be the sharper because it
had been so long prepared.

A little before eleven A.M. the caravan reached the terrace, and it was
with a feeling of joy, which they did not attempt to conceal, that the
peons recognized the strength of the position selected by their master
for the encampment.

"We shall stop here for the present," the Mexican said. "Unload the
mules, and light the fires. Immediately after breakfast we will begin
entrenching ourselves in such a way as to foil all the assaults of
marauders."

The peons obeyed with the speed of men who have made a long journey and
are beginning to feel hungry; the fires were lighted in an instant, and
a few moments later the peons vigorously attacked their maize tortillas,
their tocino, and their cecina--those indispensable elements of every
Mexican meal. When the hunger of his men was appeased, and they had
smoked their cigarettes, the chief rose.

"Now," he said, "to work."




CHAPTER VI.

THE SURPRISE.


The position which the leader of the caravan fancied he had been the
first to discover, and where he had made up his mind to halt, was
admirably selected to establish an intrenched camp--strong enough to
resist for months the attacks of the Indians and the pirates of the
prairies. The immense voladero hovering at a prodigious height above
the precipices, and guarded on the right and left by enormous masses of
rock, offered such conditions of security that the peons regained all
their merry carelessness, and only regarded the mysterious flight of
the guide as an accident of no real importance, and which would have no
other consequences for them but to make their journey somewhat longer
than the time originally arranged.

It was, hence, with well promising ardour that they rose on receiving
their chiefs command, and prepared under his directions to dig the
trench which was intended to protect them from a surprise. This trench
was to be bordered by a line of tall stakes, running across the open
space between the rocks, which gave the sole access to the terrace.

The headquarters were first prepared, that is to say, the tent was
raised, and the horses hobbled near pickets driven into the ground.

At the moment when the leader proceeded with several peons armed with
picks and spades toward the entrance, with the probable intention of
marking the exact spot where the trench was to be dug, the capataz
approached him obsequiously, and said with a respectful bow--

"Mi amo, I have an important communication to make to you."

His master turned and looked at him with ill-concealed distrust.

"An important communication to make to me?" he repeated.

"Yes, mi amo," the capataz replied with a bow.

"What is it? Speak, but be brief, Carnero, for, as you see, I have no
time to lose."

"I hope to gain you time, excellency," the capataz said with a silent
smile.

"Ah, ah, what is it?"

"If you will allow me to say two words aside, excellency, you will know
at once."

"Diablo! a mystery, Master Carnero?"

"Mi amo, it is my duty to inform no one but your excellency of my
discovery."

"Hum! then you have discovered something?"

The other bowed, but made no further answer.

"Very well then," his master continued, "come this way: go on,
muchachos," he added, addressing the peons, "I will rejoin you in a
moment."

The latter went on, while the leader retired for a few paces, followed
by the capataz. When he considered that he had placed a sufficient
distance between himself and the ears of his people, he addressed the
half-breed again--

"Now, I suppose, Master Carnero," he said, "you will see no
inconvenience in explaining yourself?"

"None at all, excellency."

"Speak then, in the fiend's name, and keep me no longer in suspense."

"This is the affair, excellency: I have discovered a grotto."

"What?" his master exclaimed, in surprise, "you have discovered a
grotto?"

"Yes, excellency."

"Where?"

"Here."

"Here! that's impossible."

"It's the fact, excellency."

"But where?"

"There," he said, stretching out his arm, "behind that mass of rocks."

A suspicious look flashed from beneath his master's eyelashes.

"Ah!" he muttered, "that is very singular, Master Carnero; may I ask in
what manner you discovered this grotto, and what motive was so imperious
as to take you among those rocks, when you were aware how indispensable
your presence was elsewhere?"

The capataz was not affected by the tone in which these words were
uttered; he answered calmly, as if he did not perceive the menace they
contained--

"Oh! mi amo, the discovery was quite accidental, I assure you."

"I do not believe in chance," his master answered "but go on."

"When we had finished breakfast," the capataz continued, soothingly, "I
perceived, on rising, that several horses, mine among them, had become
unfastened, and were straying in different directions."

"That is true," his master muttered, apparently answering his own
thoughts rather than the remarks of the capataz.

The latter gave an almost imperceptible smile. "Fearing," he continued,
"lest the horses might be lost, I immediately started in pursuit. They
were easy to catch, with the exception of one, which rambled among the
rocks, and I was obliged to follow it."

"I understand; and so it led you to the mouth of the grotto."

"Exactly, mi amo; I found it standing at the very entrance, and had no
difficulty in seizing the bridle."

"That is indeed most singular. And did you enter the grotto, Master
Carnero?"

"No, mi amo. I thought it my duty to tell you of it first."

"You were right. Well, we will enter it together. Fetch some torches
of ocote wood, and show us the way. By the by, do not forget to bring
weapons, for we know not what men or beasts we may find in caverns thus
opening on a high road." This he said with a sarcastic air, which caused
the capataz to tremble inwardly in spite of his determined indifference.

While he executed his master's orders, the latter selected six of his
peons, on whose courage he thought he could most rely, ordered them to
take their muskets, and, bidding the others to keep a good watch, but
not begin anything till he returned, he made a signal to the capataz
that he was ready to follow him. Ño Carnero had followed with an evil
eye the arrangements made by his master, but probably did not deem it
prudent to risk any remark, for he silently bowed his head, and walked
toward the pile of rocks that masked the entrance of the grotto.

These granite blocks, piled one on top of the other, did not appear,
however, to have been brought there by accident, but, on the contrary,
they appeared to have belonged in some early and remote age to a
clumsy but substantial edifice, which was probably connected with the
breastwork still visible on the edge of the voladero on the side of the
precipice.

The Mexicans crossed the rocks without difficulty, and soon found
themselves before the dark and frowning entrance of the cavern. The
chief gave his peons a signal to halt.

"It would not be prudent," he said, "to venture without precautions into
this cavern. Prepare your arms, muchachos, and keep your eyes open; at
the slightest suspicious sound, or the smallest object that appears,
fire. Capataz, light the torches."

The latter obeyed without a word; the leader of the caravan assured
himself at a glance that his orders had been properly carried out; then
taking his pistols from his belt, he cocked them, took one in each hand,
and said to Carnero--

"Take the lead," he said, with a mocking accent; "it is only just that
you should do the honours of this place which you so unexpectedly
discovered. Forward, you others, and be on your guard," he added,
turning to the peons.

The eight men then went into the cavern at the heels of the capataz, who
raised the torches above his head, doubtless in order to cast a greater
light on surrounding objects.

This cavern, like most of those found in these regions, seemed to have
been formed through some subterranean convulsion. The walls were lofty,
dry, and covered at various spots with an enormous quantity of night
birds, which, blinded and startled by the light of the torches, took
to flight with hoarse cries, and flew heavily in circles round the
Mexicans. The latter drove them back with some difficulty by waving
their muskets. But the further they got into the interior of the cavern,
the greater the number of these birds became, and seriously encumbered
the visitors by flapping them with their long wings, and deafening them
with their discordant cries.

They thus reached a rather large hall, into which several passages
opened. Although the Mexicans were a considerable distance from the
entrance, they found no difficulty in breathing, owing doubtless to
imperceptible fissures in the rock, through which the air was received.

"Let us halt here for a moment," the leader said, taking a torch from
the capataz; "this hall, if the cavern has several issues as I suppose,
will afford us a certain refuge: let us examine the spot where we are."

While speaking he walked round the hall, and convinced himself, by
certain still existing traces of man's handiwork, that at a former
period the cave had been inhabited. The peons seated themselves idly
on the blocks of granite scattered here and there, and with their guns
between their legs carelessly followed their master's movements.

The latter felt the suspicions aroused in his mind by the sudden nature
of Carnero's discovery gradually dissipated. He felt certain that for
many years no human being had entered this gloomy cave, for none of
those flying traces which man always leaves in his passage, whatever
precaution he may take to hide his presence, had been discovered by him.
All, on the contrary, evidenced the most utter abandonment and solitude,
and hence the leader of the caravan was not indisposed to retire to this
spot, which was so easy of defence, instead of throwing up an intrenched
camp, always a long and difficult task, and which had the inconvenience
of leaving men and animals exposed to a deadly climate for individuals
accustomed to the heat of the Mexican temperature.

"While continuing his explanations, the leader conversed with the
capataz in a more friendly manner than he had done for a long time,
congratulating him on his discovery, and explaining his views, to which
the latter listened with his usual crafty smile. All at once he stopped
and listened--the two men were at this moment at the entrance of one of
the passages to which we have referred.

"Listen," he said to the capataz, as he laid his hand on his arm to
attract his attention, "do you not hear something?"

The latter bent his body slightly forward, and remained motionless for
some seconds.

"I do," he said, drawing himself up, "it sounds like distant thunder."

"Is it not? or, perhaps, the rolling of subterranean waters."

"Madre de Dios! mi amo," the capataz exclaimed gleefully. "I can swear
that you are right. It would be a piece of luck for us to find water in
the cave, for it would add greatly to our security, as we should not be
obliged to lead our horses, perhaps, a long distance to drink."

"I will assure myself at once if there is any truth in the supposition.
The noise proceeds from that passage, so let us follow it. As for our
men they can wait for us here; we have nothing to fear now, for if the
pirates or the Indians were ambuscaded to surprise us, they would not
have waited so long before doing so, and hence the assistance of our
peons is unnecessary."

The capataz shook his head doubtfully.

"Hum," he said, "the Indians are very clever, mi amo; and who knows what
diabolical projects those redskins revolve in their minds? I believe it
would be more prudent to let the peons accompany us."

"Nonsense," said his master, "it is unnecessary; we are two resolute
and well-armed men; we have nothing to fear, I tell you. Besides, if,
against all probability, we are attacked, our men will hear the noise
of the conflict, will run to our help, and will be at our side in an
instant."

"It is not very probable, I grant, that we have any danger to apprehend;
still I considered it my duty as a devoted servant, mi amo, to warn
you, because in the event of Indians being hidden in these passages,
of whose windings we are ignorant, we should be caught like rats in a
trap, with no possibility of escape. Two men, however brave they may
be, are incapable of resisting twenty or thirty enemies, and you know
that Indians never attack white men save when they are almost certain of
success."

These words seemed to produce a certain impression on the leader of
the caravan. He remained silent for a moment, apparently reflecting
seriously on what he had heard, but he soon raised his head, and shook
it resolutely.

"Nonsense! I do not believe in the danger you seem to apprehend; after
all, if it really exist, it will be welcome. Wait here, my men, and be
ready to join us at the first signal," he added, addressing the peons,
who answered by rising and collecting in the middle of the hall.

Their master left them a torch to light them during his exploration,
took the other, and turning to Carnero, said, "Let us go."

They then entered the passage. It was very narrow, and ran downwards
with a steep incline, so that the two men, who were unacquainted with
its windings, were obliged to walk with the most serious attention, and
carefully examining all the spots they passed.

The further they proceeded, the more distinct the sound of water became;
it was evident that at a very short distance from the spot where they
were, perhaps but a few steps, there ran one of those subterranean
streams so frequently found in natural caverns, and which are generally
rivers swallowed up by an earthquake.

All at once, without being warned by the slightest sound, the leader of
the caravan felt himself seized round the waist, his torch was snatched
roughly from his hand, and extinguished against a rock, and himself
thrown down and securely bound, before he was able to attempt the
slightest resistance, so sudden and well calculated had the attack been.
Carnero had been thrown down at the same time as his master, and bound.

"Cowards, demons!" the Mexican yelled, as he made a superhuman effort to
rise and burst his bonds; "show yourself, at least, so that I may know
with whom I have to deal."

"Silence! General Don Sebastian Guerrero," a rough voice said to him,
whose accent made him start, in spite of all his courage; "resign
yourself to your fate, for you have fallen into the power of men who
will not liberate you till they have had a thorough explanation with
you."

General Guerrero, whom the readers of the "Indian Chief" will doubtless
remember, made a movement of impotent rage, but he was silent; he
perceived that the originators of the snare of which he was a victim
were implacable enemies, as they had not feared to call him by his name,
and more formidable than the pirates of the prairies or the redskins,
with whom he at first thought he had to deal. Moreover, he thought that
the darkness that surrounded him would soon cease, and then he would see
his enemies face to face, and recognize them.

But his expectations were deceived. When his conquerors had borne him to
the hall, where his peons were disarmed and guarded by peons, he saw,
by the light of the torch that faintly illumined the hall, that among
the men who surrounded him few wore the Mexican costume, it was true,
but had their faces hidden by a piece of black crape, forming a species
of mask, and so well fastened round their necks, that it was entirely
impossible to recognize them.

"What do these men want with me?" he muttered as he let his head fall on
his chest sadly.

"Patience!" said the man who had already spoken, and who overheard the
general's remark, "you will soon know."




CHAPTER VII.

THE EXPLANATION.


There was a short delay, during which the conquerors appeared to be
consulting together in a low voice; while doing so, an Indian chief, who
was no other than the Jester, entered the hall, and uttered a few words
in Comanche.

The general and the capataz were again picked up by the redskins,
and at a sign from one of the masked men, transported on to the
voladero. The appearance of the terrace had entirely changed during the
general's short absence, and offered at this moment a most singular and
picturesque scene.

One hundred and fifty to two hundred Indians, mostly armed with guns,
and ranged in good order round the terrace, the centre of which remained
free, faced the cavern, having among them the disarmed Mexicans, the
baggage, horses, and mules of the caravan.

The tent still stood solitary in the middle of what Was to have been
the encampment; but the curtain Was raised, and a horseman was standing
in front of it, as if to defend the entrance, and protect the precious
articles it contained from pillage.

At the moment when the party emerged from the cave, and appeared on the
terrace, the horsemen drawn up at the entrance of the defile opened
out to the right and left, leaving a passage for a small troop of men
dressed in hunters' garb, and whom it was easy to recognize as white
men, by the colour of their skin, although it was bronzed and freckled
by the sun; two ladies, mounted on ambling mules, were in the midst of
them.

This troop of strangers was composed of eight persons altogether,
leading with them two baggage mules. As the men were disarmed, and
walked on foot amid some fifty Indian horsemen, they had, in all
probability, been surprised by a party of redskins, and made prisoners
in some skilfully-arranged ambuscade.

The two ladies, one of whom was of a certain age while the other
appeared scarce eighteen, and who might be supposed closely related,
through the resemblance of their features, were treated with an
exquisite politeness they were far from expecting by the Indians, and
conducted to the tent, which they were requested to enter. The curtain
was then lowered, to conceal them from the glances of the Indians, whose
expression, although respectful, must necessarily be disagreeable to
them.

The new comers, at a signal from their conductors, ranged themselves
with the other prisoners; they were powerful men with marked features,
whom the Indians had probably not given a chance to fight, otherwise
they looked as if they would sooner be killed than yield.

They displayed neither fear nor depression, but their flashing looks
and frowning brows showed that though they silently submitted to their
fate, they were far from being resigned, and would eagerly seize the
first opportunity to regain the liberty of which they had been so
treacherously deprived.

Still, in spite of the determination they had doubtless formed to remain
indifferent as to what took place around them, they soon felt themselves
interested more than they liked in the strange drama which they
involuntarily witnessed, and whose gloomy preparations were of a nature
to arouse their curiosity to an eminent degree.

At the base of the rocks several blocks of granite had been arranged
in a semicircle, thus forming a resemblance to that terrible Vehmic
tribunal, which in olden times held its formidable assize on the banks
of the Rhine, before which kings and even emperors were at times
summoned to appear, and the resemblance was rendered more striking by
the care the assailants took in hiding their features.

Two masked men took their seats on the granite blocks, and the Indians
who carried the general laid him on the ground in front of this species
of tribunal. The person who seemed to be the president of this sinister
assembly gave a sign, the prisoner's bonds at once fell off, and he
found himself once more able to move his limbs.

The general drew himself up, crossed his hands on his chest, threw his
body back haughtily, raised his head and looked at the men who had
apparently constituted themselves his judges with a glance of withering
contempt.

"What do you want with me, bandits?" he said; "enough of this; these
insolent manoeuvres will not alarm me."

"Silence!" the president said coldly, "it is not your place to speak
thus."

Then he remarked to the Jester, who was standing a few paces from him--

"Bring up the other prisoners, old and new; everybody must hear what is
going to be said to this man."

The Jester gave a signal to the warriors; some of them dismounted,
approached the prisoners, and, after loosening the cord that bound the
capataz, they led him, as well as the peons and the prisoners of the
second caravan, in front of the tribunal, where they ranged themselves
in line. Then, at a signal from the Jester, the horsemen closed up round
the white men, who were thus hemmed in by Comanche warriors.

The spectacle offered by this assemblage of men, with their marked
features and quaint garb, grouped without any apparent regularity on
this voladero, which was suspended as if artificially over a terrible
gulf, and leant against lofty mountains, with their abrupt flanks and
snowy crest, was not without a certain grandeur.

A deadly silence brooded at this moment over the esplanade; all chests
were heaving, every heart was oppressed. Redskins, hunters, and
Mexicans all understood instinctively that a grand drama was about to
be performed; invisible streams could be heard hoarsely murmuring in
the cavern, and at times a gust of wind whistled over the heads of the
horsemen.

The prisoners, affected by a vague and undefined terror, waited with
secret anxiety, not knowing what fate these ferocious victors reserved
for them, but certain that, whatever the decision formed about them
might be, prayers would be impotent to move them, and that they would
have to endure the atrocious torture to which they would doubtless be
condemned.

The president looked round the assembly, rose in the midst of a profound
silence, stretched out his arm towards the general, who stood cold and
passionless before him, and, after darting at him a withering glance
through the holes made in the crape that concealed his face, he said in
a grave, stern, and impressive voice--

"Caballeros, remember the words you are about to hear, listen to them
attentively, so as to understand them, and not to be in error as to our
intentions. In the first place, in order to reassure you and restore
your entire freedom of mind, learn that you have not fallen into the
hands of Indians thirsting for your blood, or of pirates who intend to
plunder you first and assassinate you afterwards. No, you need not feel
the slightest alarm. When you have acted as impartial witnesses, and are
able to render testimony of what you have seen, should it be required,
you will be at liberty to continue your journey, without the forfeiture
of a single article. The men seated on my right and left, although
masked, are brave and honest hunters. The day may perhaps arrive when
you will know them; but reasons, whose importance you will speedily
recognize, compel them to remain unknown for the present. I was bound
to say this, señores, to you, against whom we bear no animosity, before
coming to a final settlement with this man."

One of the travellers belonging to the second caravan stepped forward;
he was a young man, with elegant and noble features, tall and well built.

"Caballero," he answered, in a distinct and sympathizing voice, "I thank
you, in the name of my companions and myself, for the reassuring words
you have spoken. I know how implacable the laws of the desert are, and
have ever submitted to them without a murmur; but permit me to ask you
one question."

"Speak, caballero."

"Is it an act of vengeance or justice you are about to carry out?"

"Neither, señor. It would be an act of folly or weakness if the
inspirations of the heart could be blamed or doubted by honourable and
loyal men."

"Enough of this, señor," the general said, haughtily; "and if you are,
as you assert, an honourable man, show me your face, in order that I
may know with whom I have to deal."

The president shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"No, Don Sebastian," he said, "for in that case the game would not be
even between us. But be patient, caballero, and soon you will learn, if
not who I am, at any rate the motives which have made me your implacable
foe."

The general attempted to smile, but in spite of himself the smile died
away on his lips, and though his haughty bearing seemed to defy his
unknown enemies, a secret apprehension contracted his heart.

There was a silence for some moments, during which no other sound was
audible save that of the breeze whistling through the denuded branches
and the distant murmur Of the invisible torrents in the quebradas.

The president looked round with flashing eyes, and folding his arms on
his chest at the same time, as he raised his head, he began speaking
again in a sharp, cutting voice, whose accents caused his hearers to
tremble involuntarily. And yet they were brave men, accustomed to the
terrible incidents of a desert life, and whom the most serious dangers
could not have affected.

"Now listen, señores," he said, "and judge this man impartially; but
do not judge him according to prairie law, but in your hearts. General
Don Sebastian Guerrero, who is standing so bold and upright before
you at this moment, is one of the greatest noblemen of Mexico, a
_Cristiano viejo_ of the purest blood, descended in a direct line from
the Spanish Conquistadors. His fortune is immense, incalculable, and he
himself could not determine its amount. This man, by the mere strength
of his will, and the implacable egotism that forms the basis of his
character, has always succeeded in everything he has undertaken. Coldly
and resolutely ambitious, he has covered with corpses the bloody road
he was compelled to follow in order to attain his proposed object, and
he has done so without hesitation or remorse; he has looked on with a
smiling face, when his dearest friends and his nearest relations fell
by his side; for him nothing which men respect exists--faith and honour
are with him but empty sounds. He had a daughter, who was the perfection
of women, and he coldly lacerated that daughter's heart; he fatally
drove her to suicide, and the blood of the poor girl spirted on his
forehead, while he was triumphantly witnessing the legal murder of the
man she loved, and whose death he resolved on, because he refused to
palter with his honour, and aid this man in the infamous treachery he
was meditating. This human-faced tiger, this monster with the mocking,
sceptical face, you see, señores, has only one thought, one object,
one desire--it is, to attain the highest rank, even if, to effect it,
he were compelled to clamber over the panting corpses of his relations
and friends sacrificed to his ambition; and if he cannot carve out an
independent kingdom in this collapsing republic, which is called Mexico,
he wishes to seize, at least, on the supreme magistracy, and be elected
president. If this man's life merely comprised this egotistic ambition
and these infamous schemes to satisfy it, I should content myself
with despising, instead of hating him, and not being able to find an
excuse for him, I should forget him. But no; this man has done more--he
dared to lay hands on a man who was my friend, my brother, the Count
de Prébois Crancé, to whom I have already referred, señores, without
mentioning his name. Unable to conquer the count loyally, despairing of
winning him over to his shameful cause, he at first tried to poison him;
but, not having succeeded, and wishing to come to an end, he forgot that
his daughter, an angel, the sole creature who loved him, and implored
divine mercy for him, was the betrothed wife of the count, and that
killing him would be her condemnation to death. In his horrible thirst
for revenge, he ordered the judicial murder of my friend, and coldly
presided at the execution, not noticing, in the joyous deliverance of
his satisfied hatred, that his daughter had killed herself at his side,
and that he was trampling her corpse beneath his horse's feet. Such is
what this man has done; look at him well, in order to recognize him
hereafter; he is General Don Sebastian Guerrero, military governor of
Sonora."

"Oh!" the audience said involuntarily, as they instinctively recoiled in
horror.

"If this man is the ex-governor of Sonora," the hunter who had already
spoken said, in disgust "he is a wild beast, whom his ferocity has
placed beyond the pale of society, and it is the duty of honest men to
destroy him."

"He must die! he must die!" the newcomers exclaimed.

The general's peons were gloomy and downcast; they hung their heads
sadly, for they did not dare attempt to defend their master, and yet did
not like to accuse him.

The general was still cool and unmoved; he was apparently calm, but a
fearful tempest was raging in his heart. His face was of an earthy and
cadaverous pallor; his brows were contracted till they touched, and his
violet lips were closed, as if he were making violent efforts not to
utter a word, and to restrain his fury from breaking out in insults. His
eyes flashed fire, and then his whole body was agitated by convulsive
movements, but he managed, through his self-command, to conquer his
emotion, and retain the expression of withering contempt, which he had
assumed since the beginning of this scene.

Seeing that his accuser was silent, he took a step forward, and
stretched out his arm, as if he claimed the right of answering. But his
enemy gave him no time to utter a word.

"Wait!" he shouted, "I have not said all yet; now that I have revealed
what you have done, I am bound to render the persons here present judges
not only of what I have done, but also of what I intend to do in future
against you."




CHAPTER VIII.

A DECLARATION OF WAR.


The general shrugged his shoulders with a contemptuous smile.

"Nonsense," he said, "you are mad, my fine fellow. I know now who
you are; your hatred of me has unconsciously discovered you. Remove
that veil which is no longer of any use; I know you, for, as you are
aware, hatred is clear-sighted. You are the French hunter whom I have
constantly met in my path to impede my projects, or overthrow my plans."

"Add," the hunter interrupted, "and whom you will ever meet."

"Be it so, unless I crush you beneath my heel like a noxious insect."

"Ever so proud and so indomitable, do you not fear lest, exasperated by
your insults, I may forget the oath I have taken, and sacrifice you to
my vengeance?"

"Nonsense," he replied, with a disdainful toss of his head, "you kill
me? that is impossible, for you are too anxious to enjoy your revenge to
stab me in a moment of passion."

"That is true, this time you are right, Don Sebastian. I will not kill
you, because, however culpable you may be, I do not recognize the right
to do so. Blood does not wash out blood, it only increases the stain;
and I intend to take a more protracted vengeance on you than a stab or a
shot will grant us. Besides this, vengeance has already commenced."

"Indeed!" the general said sarcastically.

"Still," the hunter continued with some emotion, "as the vengeance
must be straightforward, I wish to give you, in the presence of all
these gentlemen, the proof that I fear you no more today than I did
when the struggle commenced between us. This veil which you reproach me
for wearing I am going to remove, not because you have recognized me,
but because I deem it unworthy of me to conceal my features from you
any longer. Brothers," he added, turning to his silent assistants, "my
mask alone must fall, retain yours, for it is important for my plans of
vengeance that you should remain unknown."

The four men bowed their assent, and the hunter threw away the crape
that covered his features.

"Valentine Guillois!" the general exclaimed; "I was sure of it."

On hearing this celebrated name, the hunters of the second caravan made
a movement as if to rush forward, impelled either by curiosity or some
other motive.

"Stay," the Frenchman shouted, stopping them by a quick wave of the
hand, "let me finish with this man first."

They fell back with a bow.

"Now," he continued, "we are really face to face. Well, listen patiently
to what still remains for me to tell you; and, perhaps, the assumed
calmness spread over your features will melt away before my words, like
the snow in the sunshine."

"I will listen to you, because it is impossible for me to do otherwise
at this moment; but if you flatter yourself that you will affect me in
any way, I am bound to warn you that you will not succeed. The hatred I
feel for you is so thoroughly balanced by the contempt you inspire me
with, that nothing which emanates from you can move me in the slightest
degree."

"Listen then," the hunter coldly continued; "when my unhappy friend
fell at Guaymas, in my paroxysm of grief I allow that I intended to
kill you; but reflection soon came, and I saw that it would be better
to let you live. Thanks to me, one week after the count's death, the
Mexican Government, not satisfied with disavowing your conduct publicly,
deprived you of your command, without inquiry, and refused, in spite of
your remonstrances, to explain to you the motives of their conduct."

"Ah, ah," the general said, in a hissing but suppressed voice, "it was
to you, then, that I owe my recall?"

"Yes, general, to me alone."

"I am delighted to hear it."

"You remained, then, in Sonora, without power or influence, hated and
despised by all, and marked on your forehead with that indelible brand
which God imprinted on Cain, the first murderer; but Mexico is a
blessed country, where ambitious men can easily fish in troubled waters,
when, like yourself, they are not restrained by any of those bonds of
honour, which too often fetter the genius of honest men. You could not
remain long bowed beneath the blow that had fallen on you, and you made
up your mind in a few days. You resolved to leave Sonora and proceed
to Mexico, where, thanks to your colossal fortune, and the influence
it would necessarily give you, you could carry on your ambitious
projects; by changing the scene, you hoped to cast the scandalous acts
of which you had been guilty into oblivion. Your preparations were soon
made--listen attentively, general, to this, for I assure you that I have
reached the most interesting part of my narration."

"Go on, go on, señor," he replied carelessly, "I am listening to you
attentively; do not fear that I shall forget one of your words."

"In spite of your affected indifference, señor, I will go on. As you
fancied, for certain reasons which to is unnecessary to remind you of,
that your enemies might try to lay some ambush for you, during the
long journey you were obliged to perform from Hermosillo to Mexico,
you thought it necessary to take the following precautions, the
inutility of some of which I presume that you have recognized by this
time. While, for the purpose of deceiving your enemies, you started
in disguise, and only accompanied by a few men, for California, in
order to return to Mexico across the Rocky Mountains; while you gave
questioners the fullest details of the road, you pretended to follow,
with your men--your real object was quite different. The man in whom
you placed your confidence, Don Isidro Vargas, a veteran of your War of
Independence, who had known you when a child, and whom you had converted
into your tool, took the shortest, and, consequently, most direct route
for the capital, having with him not only twelve mules loaded with gold
and silver, the fruit of your plunder during the period of your command,
but a more precious article still, the body of your unhappy daughter,
which you had embalmed, and which the captain had orders to inter with
your ancestors at your Hacienda del Palmar, which you left so long ago,
and to which you will, in all probability, never return. Your object
in acting thus was not only to divert attention from your ill-gotten
riches, but also to attract your enemies after yourself. Unfortunately
or fortunately, according as we regard the matter, I am an old hunter
so difficult to deceive that my comrades gave me long ago the glorious
title of the Trail-hunter, and hence, while everybody else was forming
speculations about you, I alone was not deceived, and guessed your plan."

"Still, your presence here gives a striking denial to the assertion,"
the general interrupted him, ironically.

"You think so, señor, and that proves that you are not thoroughly
acquainted with me yet; but patience, I hope that you will, ere long,
appreciate me better. Moreover you have not reflected on the time that
has elapsed since your departure from Hermosillo."

"What do you mean?" the general asked, with a sudden start of
apprehension.

"I mean that before attacking you, I resolved to settle matters first
with the captain."

"Ah!"

"Well, general, it is my painful duty to inform you that four days
after he left Pitic, our brave friend Don Isidro, although an old
and experienced soldier, well versed in war stratagems, fell into an
ambuscade resembling the one into which you fell today, with this
exception----."

"What exception?" the general asked, with greater interest than he would
have liked to display, for he was beginning to fear a catastrophe.

"My men were so imprudent," the hunter continued, ironically, "as to
leave the captain the means of defending himself. The result was that he
died, bravely fighting to save the gold you had intrusted to him, and,
before all, the coffin containing your daughter's corpse."

"Well, and I presume you plundered the caravan, and carried off the gold
and silver?" he asked, contemptuously.

"You would most probably have acted thus under similar circumstances,
Don Sebastian," the hunter answered, giving him back insult for insult;
"but I thought it my duty to act differently. What could you expect?
I, a coarse, uneducated hunter, do not know how to plunder, for I did
not learn it when I had the honour to serve my own country, and I never
stood under your orders in Mexico. This is what I did: so soon as the
captain and the peons he commanded were killed--for the poor devils, I
must do them the justice of saying, offered a desperate resistance--I
myself, you understand, friend, I myself conveyed the money to your
Hacienda del Palmar, where it now remains in safety, as you can easily
assure yourself if you ever return to Palmar."

The general breathed again, and smiled ironically. "Instead of blaming
you, señor," he said, "I, on the contrary, owe you thanks for this
chivalrous conduct, especially toward an enemy."

"Do not be in such an hurry to thank me, caballero," the hunter
answered; "I have not told you all yet."

These words were uttered with such an accent of gratified hatred, that
all the hearers, the general included, shuddered involuntarily, for they
understood that the hunter was about to make a terrible revelation, and
that the calmness he feigned concealed a tempest.

"Ah," Don Sebastian murmured, "speak, I implore you, señor, for I am
anxious to know all the obligations I owe you."

"Captain Don Isidro Vargas not only escorted the money I had conveyed to
Palmar," he said in a sharp, quick voice, "but there was also a coffin.
Well, general, why do you not ask me what has become of that coffin?"

An electric shock ran through the audience on hearing the ironical
question so coldly asked by the hunter, whose eye, implacably fixed on
the general, seemed to flash fire.

"What!" Don Sebastian exclaimed, "I can hardly think that you have
committed sacrilege?"

Valentine burst into a loud and sharp laugh. "Your suppositions ever go
beyond the object. I commit sacrilege, oh, no! I loved the poor girl too
dearly when alive to outrage her after death. No, no, the betrothed of
my friend is sacred to me; but as, in my opinion, the assassin can have
no claim to the body of his victim, and you are morally your daughter's
murderer, I have robbed you of this body, which you are not worthy to
have, and which must rest by the side of him for whom she died."

There was a moment's silence. The general's face, hitherto pale, assumed
a greenish hue, and his eyes were suffused with blood. Now and then he
made superhuman efforts to speak, which were unsuccessful, but at length
he yelled in a hoarse and hissing voice--

"It is not true; you have not done this. You cannot have dared to rob a
father of his child's body."

"I have done it, I tell you," the hunter said coldly. "I have taken
possession of the body of your victim, and now you understand me;
never shall you know where this poor body rests. But this is only
the beginning of my vengeance. What I wish to kill in you is the soul
and not the body; and now begone, go and forget at Mexico, amid your
ambitious intrigues, the scene that has passed between us; but remember
that you will find me in your path everywhere and ever. Farewell till we
meet again."

"One last word," the general exclaimed, affected by the deepest despair,
"restore me my daughter's body; she was the only human creature I ever
loved."

The hunter regarded him for a moment with an undefinable expression, and
then said in a harsh and coldly-mocking voice, "Never."

Then, turning away, he re-entered the grotto, followed by his
assistants. The general tried to rush after him, but the Indians
restrained him, and, in spite of his resistance, compelled him to stop.

Don Sebastian, who was the more overwhelmed by the last blow because
it was unexpected, stood for a moment like a man struck by lightning,
with pendant arms and seared eyes. At last a heartrending sob burst from
his bosom, two burning tears sprung from his eyes, and he rolled like a
corpse on the ground.

The very Indians, those rough warriors to whom pity is a thing unknown,
felt moved by this frightful despair, and several of them turned away
not to witness it.

In the meanwhile the Jester had ordered the peons to saddle the horses
and load the mules. The general was placed by two servants on a horse,
without appearing to notice what was done to him, and a few minutes
later the caravan left the Fort of the Chichimèques, and passed
unimpeded through the silent ranks of the Indians, who bowed as it
passed.

"When the Mexicans had disappeared in the windings of the road,
Valentine emerged from the grotto, and walked courteously up to the
hunters of the second caravan.

"Forgive me," he said to them, "not the delay I have occasioned you,
but the involuntary alarm I caused you; but I was compelled to act as I
did. You are going to Mexico, where I shall soon be myself, and it is
possible that I may require your testimony some day."

"A testimony which will not be refused, my dear countryman," the hunter
who had hitherto spoken gracefully answered.

"What!" the hunter exclaimed in amazement, "are you French?"

"Yes, and all my companions are so, too. We have come from San
Francisco, where, thanks to Providence, we have amassed a very
considerable fortune, which we hope to double in the Mexican capital.
My name is Antoine Rallier, and these are my brothers, Edward and
Augustus; the two ladies who accompany us are my mother and sister, and
if you know nobody in Mexico, come straight to me, sir, and you will be
received, not only as a friend, but as a brother."

The hunter pressed the hand his countryman offered him.

"As this is the case," he said, "I will not let you go alone, for these
mountains are infested by bandits of every description, whom you may not
escape, but with my protection you can pass anywhere."

"I heartily accept the offer; but why do you not come with us to Mexico?"

"That is impossible for the present," the hunter answered pensively;
"but be at your ease. I shall not fail to demand the fulfilment of your
promise."

"You will be welcome, friend, for we have been acquainted for a long
time, and we know that you have ever honourably represented France in
America."

Two hours later the Fort of the Chichimèques had returned to its usual
solitude; white men and Indians had abandoned it for ever.




CHAPTER IX.

MEXICO.


We will now leap over about two months and, leaving the Rocky Mountains,
invite the reader to accompany us to the heart of Mexico.

The Spanish Conquistadors selected with admirable tact the sites on
which they founded the cities destined to insure their power, and become
at a later date the centres of their immense trade, and the entrepôts of
their incalculable wealth.

Even at the present day, although owing to the negligence of the
Creoles and their continual fratricidal Wars, combined with the sudden
earthquakes, these cities are half ruined, and the life which the
powerful Spanish organization caused to circulate in them has died out,
these cities are still a subject of surprise to the traveller accustomed
to the morbid crowding of old European cities. He regards with awe
these vast squares, surrounded by cloister-like arcades; these broad
and regular streets through which refreshing waters continually flow;
these shady gardens in which thousands of gaily-plumaged birds twitter;
these bold bridges; these majestically simple buildings, whose interiors
contain incalculable wealth. And yet, we repeat, the majority of these
cities are only the shadow of themselves. They seem dead, and are only
aroused by the furious yells of an insurrection, to lead for a few
days a feverish existence under the excitement of political passions.
But so soon as the corpses are removed, and water has washed away the
blood stains, the streets revert to their solitude, the inhabitants
hide themselves in their carefully-closed houses, and all becomes again
gloomy, mournful, and silent, only to be galvanized afresh by the hoarse
murmurs of an approaching revolt.

If we except Lima, the splendid "Ciudad de los Reyes," Mexico is
probably the largest and handsomest of all the cities that cover the
soil of ancient Spanish America.

From whatever point we regard it, Mexico affords a magnificent view;
but if you wish to enjoy a really fairy-like sight, ascend at sunset one
of the towers of the cathedral, whence you will see the strangest and
most picturesque panorama imaginable unrolled at your feet.

Mexico certainly existed before the discovery of America, and our
readers will probably pardon a digression showing how the foundation of
the city is narrated by old chroniclers.

In the year of the death of Huetzin, King of Tezcuco, that is to say,
the "spot where people stop," because it was at this very place that the
migration of the Chichimèques terminated, the Mexicans made an eruption
into the country, and reached the place where Mexico now stands, at the
beginning of the year 1140 of our era. This place then formed part of
the dominions of Aculhua, Lord of Azcapotzalco.

According to paintings and the old chronicles, these Indians came from
the empires of the province of Xalisco. It appears that they were of the
same race as the Toltecs, and of the family of the noble Huetzin, who
with his children and servants escaped during the destruction of the
Toltecs, and was residing at that period at Chapultepec, which was also
destroyed at a later date.

It is recorded that he traversed with them the country of Michoacán,
and took refuge in the province of Atzlán, where he died, and had for
his successors Ozolopan, his son, and Aztlal, his grandson, whose heir
was Ozolopan II. The latter, remembering the country of his ancestors,
resolved to return thither with his entire nation, which was already
called Mezetin. After many adventures and combats, they at length
reached the banks of a great lake covered with an infinitude of islands,
and as the recollection of their country had been traditionally kept up
among them, they at once recognized it, though not one of them had even
seen it before. Too weak to resist the people that surrounded them, or
to establish themselves in the open country, they founded on several of
the islands, which they connected together, a town, which they called
after themselves, Mexico, and which at a later date was destined to be
the capital of a powerful empire.

Although the Mexicans arrived on the banks of the lake in 1140, it was
not till two years later that the American Venice began to emerge from
the bosom of the waters.

We have dwelt on these details in order to correct an error made by a
modern author, who attributes to the Aztecs the foundation of this city,
to which he gives the name of Tenochtitlan, instead of Temixtetlan,
which is the correct name.[1]

Like Venice, its European sister, Mexico was only a collection of
cabins, offering a precarious shelter to wretched fishermen, who were
incessantly kept in a state of alarm by the attacks of their neighbours.
The Mexicans, at first scattered over a great number of small islands,
felt the necessity of collecting together in order to offer a better
resistance. By their patience and courage they succeeded in building
houses, raised on piles, and employing the mud of the lagoons, held
together by branches of trees, they created the _chinampas_, or floating
gardens, the most curious in the world, on which they sowed vegetables,
pimento, and maize, and thus, with the aquatic birds they managed to
catch on the lake, they contrived to be entirely independent of their
neighbours.

Almost destroyed during the obstinate fights between the natives and the
Spaniards, Mexico, four years after the conquest, was entirely rebuilt
by Fernando Cortez. But the new city in no way resembled the old one.
Most of the canals were filled up, and paved over; magnificent palaces
and sumptuous monasteries rose as if by enchantment, and the city became
entirely Spanish.

Mexico has been so frequently described by more practised pens than
ours, and we, in previous works, have had such frequent occasions
to allude to it, that we will not attempt any description here, but
continue our story without further delay.

It was October 12th, 1854, two months, day for day, had elapsed since
the unfortunate Count de Prébois Crancé, victim of an iniquitous
sentence, had honourably fallen at Guaymas beneath the Mexican
bullets.[2] A thick fog had hung over the city for the whole day,
changing at times into a fine drizzle, which after sunset became
sharper, although a heavy fog still prevailed. However, at about eight
in the evening the rain ceased to fall, and the stagnant waters of the
lake began to reflect a few particles of brighter sky. The snow-clad
summit of Iztaczihuatl, or the White Woman, feebly glistened in the pale
watery moonbeams, while Popocatepetl remained buried in the clouds.[3]

The streets and squares were deserted, although the night was not yet
far advanced; for the loungers and promenaders, driven away by the
weather, had returned to their homes. A deep silence brooded over the
city, whose lights expired one after the other, and only at lengthened
intervals could be heard on the greasy pavement the footsteps of the
serenos, or watchmen, who performed their melancholy walk, with the
indifferent air peculiar to that estimable corporation. At times a few
discordant sounds, escaping from the velorios were borne along on the
breeze; but that was all--the city seemed asleep.

Half past nine was striking by the cathedral clock at the moment when
a dull sound resembling the rustling of reeds shaken by the wind was
audible on the gigantic highway joining the city to the main land. This
sound soon became more distinct, and changed into the trampling of
horses, which was deadened by the damp air and the ground softened by
a lengthened rain. A black mass emerged from the fog, and two horsemen
wrapped in thick cloaks stood out distinctly in the moonlight.

These horsemen seemed to have made a long journey; their steeds,
covered with mud, limped at each step, and only advanced with extreme
difficulty. They at length reached a low house, through whose dirty
panes a doubtful light issued, which showed that the inhabitants were
still awake.

The horsemen stopped before this house, which was an inn, and without
dismounting, one of them gave the door two or three kicks, and called
the host in a loud sharp voice. The latter, doubtless disturbed by this
unusual summons at so improper an hour, was in no hurry to answer, and
would have probably left the strangers for some time in the cold, if the
man who had kicked, probably tired of waiting, had not thought of an
expeditious means of obtaining an answer.

"_Voto a Brios!_" he shouted, as he drew a pistol from his holster, and
cocked it, "since this dog is resolved not to open, I will send a bullet
through his window."

This menace had been scarce uttered ere the door opened as if by
enchantment, and the landlord appeared on the threshold. This man
resembled landlords in all countries; he had, like them, a sleek and
crafty look, but at this moment his obsequiousness badly concealed a
profound terror, evidenced by the earthy pallor of his face.

"Hola, caballero," he said, with a respectful bow, "have a little
patience, if you please. Caramba! how quick you are; it is plain to
see that you are forasteros, and not acquainted with the custom of our
country."

"No matter who I am," the stranger answered sharply; "are you a
landlord--yes or no?"

"I have that honour, caballero," the host remarked, with a deeper bow
than the first.

"If you are so, scoundrel," the stranger exclaimed angrily, "by what
right do you, whose duty it is to be at the orders of the public, dare
to keep me waiting thus at your door?"

The landlord had a strong inclination to get into a passion, but the
resolute tone of the man who addressed him, and, above all, the pistol
he still held in his hand, urged him to prudence and moderation; hence
he answered with profound humility--

"Believe me, señor, that if I had known what a distinguished caballero
did me the honour of stopping before my humble dwelling, I should have
hastened to open."

"A truce to such impertinent remarks, and open the door."

The landlord bowed without replying this time, and whistled a lad,
who came to help him in holding the travellers' horses; the latter
dismounted, and entered the inn, while their tired steeds were led to
the corral by the boy.

The room into which the travellers were introduced was low, black, and
furnished with tables and benches in a filthy state, and mostly broken,
while the floor of stamped earth was greasy and uneven. Above the bar
was a statuette of the Virgin de la Soledad, before which burned a
greasy candle. In short, this inn had nothing attractive or comfortable
about it, and seemed to be a velorio of the lowest class, apparently
used by the most wretched and least honourable ranks of Mexican society.

A glance was sufficient for the travellers to understand the place to
which accident had led them, still they did not display any of the
disgust which the sight of this cut-throat den inspired them with. They
seated themselves as comfortably as they could at a table, and the one
who had hitherto addressed mine host went on, while his silent companion
leaned against the wall, and drew the folds of his cloak still higher up
his face.

"Look here," he said, "we are literally dying of hunger, patron; could
you not serve us up a morsel of something? I don't care what it is in
the shape of food."

"Hum!" said the host with an embarrassed air, "it is very late,
caballero, and I don't believe I have even a maize tortilla left in the
whole house."

"Nonsense," the traveller replied, "I know all about it, so let us deal
frankly with each other; give me some supper, for I am hungry, and we
will not squabble about the price."

"Even if you paid me a piastre for every tortilla, excellency, I really
could not supply you with two," the landlord replied, with increased
constraint.

The traveller looked at him fixedly for a moment or two, and then laid
his hand firmly on his arm, and pulled him toward the table.

"Now, look here, Ño Lusacho," he said to him curtly, "I intend to pass
two hours in your hovel, at all risks; I know that between this and
eleven o'clock you expect a large party, and that all is prepared to
receive them."

The landlord attempted to give a denial, but the traveller cut him short.

"Silence," he continued, "I wish to be present at the meeting of these
persons; of course I do not mean them to see me; but I must not only
see them, but hear all they say. Put me where you please, that is your
concern; but as any trouble deserves payment, here are ten ounces for
you, and I will give you as many more when your visitors have gone, and
I assure you that what I ask of you will not in any way compromise
you, and that no one will ever know the bargain made between us--you
understand me, I suppose? Now, I will add, that if you obstinately
refuse the arrangement I offer----"

"Well, suppose I do?"

"I will blow out your brains," the traveller said distinctly; "my friend
here will put you on his shoulder, throw you into the water, and all
will be over. What do you think of my proposal?"

"Hang it, excellency," the poor fellow answered, with a grimace which
attempted to resemble a smile, and trembling in all his limbs, "I think
that I have no choice, and am compelled to accept."

"Good! now you are learning reason; but take these ounces as a
consolation."

The landlord pocketed the money, as he raised his eyes to heaven and
gave a deep sigh.

"Fear nothing, _viva Dios_!" the traveller continued; "all will pass off
better than you suppose. At what hour do you expect your visitors?"

"At half past ten, excellency."

"Good! it is half past nine, we have time before us. Where do you
propose to hide us?"

"In this room, excellency."

"Here, diablo; whereabouts?"

"Behind the bar; no one will dream of looking for you there, and,
besides, I shall serve as a rampart to you."

"Then you will be present at the meeting?"

"Oh!" he said with a smile, "I am nobody; the more so, that if I spoke,
my house would be ruined."

"That is true. Well, then, all is settled; when the hour arrives, you
will place us behind the bar; but can my companion and I sit there with
any degree of comfort?"

"Oh, you will have plenty of room."

"I fancy this is not the first time such a thing has occurred, eh?"

The landlord smiled, but made no answer: the traveller reflected for a
moment.

"Give us something to eat," he at length said; "here are two piastres in
addition for what you are going to place before us."

The landlord took the money, and forgetting that he had declared a
few moments previously that he had nothing in the house, he instantly
covered the table with provisions, which, if not particularly delicate,
were, however, sufficiently appetizing, especially for men whose
appetite appeared to be powerfully excited.

The two travellers vigorously attacked this improvised supper, and for
about twenty minutes no other sound was heard but that of their jaws.
When their hunger was at length appeased, the traveller who seemed to
speak for both, thrust away his plate, and addressed the landlord, who
was modestly standing behind him hat in hand.

"And now for another matter," he said; "how many lads have you to help
you?"

"Two, excellency--the one who took your horses to the corral, and
another."

"Very good. I presume you will not require both those lads to wait on
your friends tonight?"

"Certainly not, excellency; indeed, for greater security, I shall wait
on them alone."

"Better still; then, you see no inconvenience in sending of them into
the Cuidad; of course on the understanding that he is well paid for the
trip?"

"No inconvenience at all, excellency; what is the business?"

"Simply," he said, taking a letter from his bosom, "to convey this
letter to Señor Don Antonio Rallier, in the Calle Secunda Monterilla,
and bring me back the answer in the shortest possible period to this
house."

"That is easy, excellency; if you will have the kindness to intrust the
letter to me."

"Here it is, and four piastres for the journey."

The host bowed respectfully, and immediately left the room.

"I fancy, Curumilla," the traveller then said to his companion, "that
our affairs are going well."

The other replied by a silent nod of assent, and a moment the landlord
returned.

"Well?" the traveller asked.

"Your messenger has set off, excellency, but he will probably be some
time ere he returns."

"Why so?"

"Because people are not allowed to ride about the city at night without
a special authority, and he will be obliged to go and return on foot."

"No consequence, so long as he returns before sunrise."

"Oh, long before then, excellency."

"In that case all is for the best; but I think the moment is at hand
when your friends will arrive."

"It is, excellency, so have the kindness to follow me."

"All right."

The travellers rose; in a twinkling the landlord removed all signs of
supper, and then hid his guests behind the bar. This bar, which was
very tall and deep, offered them a perfectly secure, if not convenient,
hiding place, in which they crouched down with a pistol in each hand, in
order to be ready for any event. They had scarce installed themselves
ere several knocks, dealt in a peculiar fashion, were heard on the outer
door.


[1] In order to protect themselves from the misfortunes which had before
crushed them, the Mexicans placed themselves under the safeguard of the
King of Azcapotzalco, on whose lands they had established themselves.
This prince gave them two of his sons as governors, of whom the first
was Acamapuhtli, chief of the Tenochcas. On their arrival in Ahanuec,
these Indians had found on the summit of a rock a nopal, in which was an
eagle devouring a serpent, and they took their name from it. Acamapuhtli
selected this emblem as the _totem_ of the race he was called upon to
govern. During the War of Independence, the insurgents adopted this
hieroglyphic as the arms of the Mexican Republic, in memory of the
ancient and glorious origin of which it reminded them.

[2] See the "Indian Chief." Same publishers.

[3] This second volcano, whose name indicates "The Smoking Mountain," is
near the former.




CHAPTER X.

THE RANCHO.


In one of our previous works we proved by documentary evidence
that, since the declaration of its independence, that is to say, in
about forty years, Mexico has reached its two hundred and thirtieth
revolution which gives an average of about five revolutions a year. In
our opinion, this is very decent for a country which, if it pleased,
regard being had to the retrograde measures adopted by the government,
would have been justified in having at least one a month.

The causes of these revolutions are and must be ever the same in
a country where the sabre rules without control, and which counts
_twenty-four_ thousand officers for an army of twenty thousand
men. These officers, very ignorant generally, and very ambitious
individually, incapable of executing the slightest manoeuvre, or
commanding the most simple movement, find in the general disorder
chances of promotion which they would not otherwise have, and many
Mexican generals have attained their elevated rank without having once
been present at a battle, or even seen any other fire than that of
the cigarettes they constantly have in their mouths. The real truth
is, they have skilfully pronounced themselves; each _pronunciamiento_
has gained them a step, sometimes two, and with pronunciamiento after
pronunciamiento, they have acquired the general's scarf, that is to say,
the probability, with the aid of luck, of being in their turn proclaimed
President of the Republic, which is the dream of all of them, and the
constant object of their efforts.

We have said that the travellers had scarce time to conceal themselves
in the bar, ere several knocks on the door warned the landlord that the
mysterious guests he expected were beginning to arrive.

Ño Lusacho was a fat little man, with constantly rolling gray eyes, a
cunning look, and a prominent stomach--the true type of the Mexican
Ranchero, who is more eager for gain than two Jews, and very ready when
circumstances demand it, that is to say, when his own interests are
concerned, to make a bargain with his conscience. He assured himself by
a glance that all was in order in the room, and that there was nothing
to cause the presence of strangers to be suspected, and then walked to
the door; but, before opening, with the probable intention of displaying
his zeal, he thought it advisable to challenge the arrivals.

"¿Quién vive?" he asked.

"Gente de paz!" a rough voice answered; "open in the Fiend's name, if
you do not wish us to break in your door."

Ño Lusacho doubtless recognized the voice, for the somewhat brusque
response appeared to him sufficient, and he immediately prepared to draw
back the bolts.

The door was hardly ajar ere several men burst into the inn, thrusting
each other aside in their haste, as if afraid of being followed. These
men were seven or eight in number; and it was easy to see they were
officers, in spite of the precaution of some among them who had put on
civilian attire.

They laughed and jested loudly, which proved that, if they were
conspirators, or, at least, if they were brought to this ill-famed den
by any illicit object, that object, whatever it might be, did not spoil
their gaiety or appear to them of sufficient importance to render
them unwontedly serious.

They seated themselves at a table, and the landlord, who had doubtless
long been acquainted with their habits, placed before them a bottle of
Catalonian refino and a jug of pulque, which they straightway began
swallowing while rolling their cigarettes.

The door of the rancho had been left ajar by the landlord, who probably
thought it unnecessary to close it; the officers succeeded each other
with great rapidity, and their number soon became so great, that the
room, though very spacious, was completely filled. The newcomers
followed the example of those who had preceded them; they seated
themselves at a table, and began drinking and smoking, not appearing to
trouble themselves about the earlier comers, to whom they merely bowed
as they entered.

As for Ño Lusacho, he continually prowled round the tables, watching
everything with a corner of his eyes, and being careful not to serve the
slightest article without receiving immediate payment. At length one of
the officers rose, and, after rapping his glass on the table several
times to attract attention, he asked--

"Is Don Sirven here?"

"Yes, señor," a young man of twenty at the most answered as he rose. His
effeminate features were already worn by precocious debauchery.

"Assure yourself that no person is absent."

The young man bowed, and began walking from one table to the other,
exchanging two or three words in a low voice with each of the visitors.
When Don Sirven had gone round the room, he went to the person who had
addressed him, and said with a respectful bow--

"Señor coronel, the meeting is complete, and only one person is absent;
but as he did not tell us certainly whether he would do us the honour of
being present tonight, I----"

"That will do, alférez," the colonel interrupted him; "remain outside
the house, carefully watch the environs, and let no one approach without
challenging him, but if you know who arrives, introduce him immediately.
You have heard me, so execute my orders punctually; you understand the
importance of passive obedience for yourself."

"You can trust to me, coronel," the young man answered; and, after
bowing to his superior officer, he left the room and closed the door
behind him.

The officers, then, without getting up, turned round on the benches, and
thus found themselves face to face with the colonel, who had stationed
himself in the middle of the room. The latter waited a few minutes till
perfect silence was established, and then, after bowing to the audience,
he spoke as follows;--

"Let me, in the first place, thank you, caballeros, for the punctuality
with which you have responded to the meeting I had the honour of
arranging with you. I am delighted at the confidence it has pleased you
to display in me, and, believe me, I shall show myself worthy of it; for
it proves to me once again that you are really devoted to the interests
of our country, and that it may freely reckon on you in the hour of
danger."

This first portion of the colonel's speech was drowned in applause,
as was only fitting. This colonel was a man of about forty years of
age, of herculean stature, and looking more like a butcher than an
honest soldier. His cunning looks did not at all inspire confidence,
and every step in his profession had been the reward of an act of
treachery. He was a most valuable man in a conspiracy on this account,
for being so old a hand at pronunciamientos, people knew that he was too
clever to join a losing cause; hence, he inspired his accomplices with
unlimited confidence. After allowing time for the enthusiasm to calm, he
continued--

"I am pleased, señores, not at this applause, but at the devotion you so
constantly display for the public welfare. You understand as well as I
do that we can no longer bow our necks beneath the despotic government
that tyrannizes over us. The man who at this moment holds our destinies
in his hands has shown himself unworthy of the mandate we confided to
him; by failing in his duties towards us, he has liberated us from the
oath of obedience we took to him. Human patience has its limits, and the
hour will soon strike for the man who has deceived us to be overthrown."

The colonel had made a start, and would probably have continued his
plausible speech for a long time in an emphatic voice, had not one of
his audience, evidently wearied of finding nothing positive or clear in
this flood of sounding words, suddenly interrupted him--

"That is all very fine, colonel," he said, "_Rayo de Dios!_ we are all
aware that we are gentlemen devoted, body and soul, to our country; but
devotion must be paid for, _cuerpo de Cristo!_ What shall we get by all
this after all? We have not assembled here to compliment each other;
but, on the contrary, to come to a definite understanding. So pray come
to the point at once."

The colonel was at first slightly embarrassed by this warm apostrophe;
but he recovered himself at once, and turned with a smile to his
interrupter--

"I was coming to it, my dear captain, at the very moment when you cut
across my speech."

"Oh, that is different," the captain answered; "pray suppose that I had
not spoken, and explain the affair in a couple of words."

"In the first place," the colonel went on, "I have news for you which I
feel assured you will heartily welcome. This is the last time we shall
meet."

"Very good," said the practical captain, encouraged by the winks of his
companions, "let us hear first what the reward is."

The colonel saw that he could no longer dally with the matter, for all
his hearers openly took part with their comrade, and murmurs of evil
augury were beginning to be audible. At the moment when he resolved to
tell all he knew, the door of the inn was opened, and a man wrapped
in a large cloak quickly entered the room, preceded by the Alferez Don
Sirven, who shouted in a loud voice--

"The general. Caballeros, the general."

At this announcement silence was re-established as if by enchantment.
The person called the general stopped in the middle of the room, looked
around him, and then took off his hat, let his cloak fall from his
shoulders, and appeared in the full-dress uniform of a general officer.

"Long live General Guerrero!" the officers shouted, as they rose
enthusiastically.

"Thanks, gentlemen, thanks," the general responded with numerous bows.
"This warm feeling fills me with delight; but pray be silent, that we
may properly settle the matter which has brought us here; moments are
precious, and, in spite of the precautions we have taken, our presence
at this inn may have been denounced."

All collected round the general with a movement of interest easy to
understand. The latter continued--

"I will come at once to facts," he said, "without entering into idle
speculations, which would cause us to waste valuable time. In a word,
then, what is it we want? To overthrow the present government, and
establish another more in conformity with our opinions and, above all,
our interests."

"Yes, yes," the officers exclaimed.

"In that case we are conspiring against the established authority,
and are rebels in the eyes of the law," the general continued coolly
and distinctly; "as such, we stake our heads, and must not attempt
any self-deception on this point. If our attempt fails, we shall be
pitilessly shot by the victor; but we shall not fail," he hastily
added, on noticing the impression these ill-omened words produced on
his hearers; "we shall not fail, because we are resolutely playing a
terrible game, and each of us knows that his fortune depends on winning
the game. From the alférez up to the brigadier-general each knows that
success will gain him two steps of promotion, and such a stake is
sufficient to determine the least resolute to be staunch when the moment
arrives to begin the struggle."

"Yes, yes," the captain whose observations had, previous to the
general's arrival, so greatly embarrassed the colonel, said, "all that
is very fine. Jumping up two steps is a most agreeable thing; but we
were promised something else in your name, excellency."

The general smiled.

"You are right, captain," he remarked; "and I intend to keep all
promises made in my name--but not, as you might reasonably suppose, when
our glorious enterprise has succeeded. If I waited till then, you might
fear lest I should seek pretexts and excuses to evade their performance."

"When then, pray?" the captain asked, curiously.

"At once, señores," the general exclaimed, in a loud voice, and,
addressing the whole company, "I wish to prove to you that my confidence
in you is entire, and that I put faith in the word you pledged to me."

Joy, astonishment, incredulity, perhaps, so paralyzed his hearers, that
they were unable to utter a syllable. The general examined them for a
moment, and then, turning away with a mocking smile, he walked to the
front door, which he opened. The officers eagerly watched his movements,
with panting chests, and the general, after looking out, coughed twice.

"Here I am, excellency," a voice said, issuing from the fog.

"Bring in the bags," Don Sebastian ordered, and then quietly returned to
the middle of the room.

Almost immediately after a man entered, bearing a heavy leather
saddlebag. It was Carnero, the capataz. At a signal from his master,
he deposited his bundle and went out; but returned shortly after with
another bag, which he placed by the side of the first one. Then, after
bowing to his master, he withdrew, and the door closed upon him.

The general opened the bags, and a flood of gold poured in a trickling
cascade on the table; the officers instinctively bent forward, and held
out their quivering hands.

"Now, señores," the general said, still perfectly calm, as he carelessly
rested his arm on the pile of gold; "permit me to remind you of our
agreement; there are thirty-five of us at present, I believe?"

"Yes, general, thirty-five," the captain replied, who seemed to have
appointed himself speaker in ordinary for self and partners.

"Very good; these thirty-five caballeros are thus subdivided:--ten
alférez, who will each receive twenty-five ounces of silver. Señor Don
Jaime Lupo," he said, turning to the colonel, "will you be kind enough
to hand twenty-five ounces to each of these gentlemen?"

The alférez, or sub-lieutenants, broke through the ranks, and boldly
came up to receive the ounces, which the colonel delivered to each of
them; then they fell back with a delight they did not attempt to conceal.

"Now," the general continued, "twelve captains, to each of whom I wish
you to offer, on my behalf, Don Lupo, fifty ounces."

The captains pocketed the money with no more ceremony than the alférez
had displayed.

"We have ten tenientes, each of whom is to receive thirty-five ounces, I
believe?"

The tenientes, or lieutenants, who had begun to frown on seeing the
captains paid before them, received their money with a bow.

"There now remain three colonels, each of whom has a claim to one
hundred ounces," the general said; "be kind enough to pay them, my dear
colonel."

The latter did not let the invitation be repeated twice. Still the
entire pile of gold was not exhausted, and a considerable sum still
remained on the table. Don Sebastian Guerrero passed his hands several
times through the glittering metal, and at length thrust it from him.

"Señores," he said, with an engaging smile, "about five hundred ounces
remain, which I do not know what to do with; may I ask you to divide
them among you, as subsistence money while awaiting the signal you are
to receive from me."

At this truly regal act of munificence, the enthusiasm attained its
highest pitch; the cries and protestations of devotion became frenzied.
The general alone remained impassive, and looked coldly at the division
made by the colonel.

"When all the gold had disappeared, and the effervescence was beginning
to subside, Don Sebastian, who, like the Angel of Evil, had looked with
a profoundly mocking smile at these men so utterly under the influence
of cupidity, slightly tapped the table, to request silence.

"Señores," he said, "I have kept all my promises, and have acquired the
right to count on you; we shall not meet again, but at a future day I
will let you know my intentions. Still be ready to act at the first
signal; in ten days is the anniversary festival of the Proclamation of
Independence, and, if nothing deranges my plans, I shall probably choose
that day to try, with your assistance, to deliver the country from the
tyrants who oppress it. However, I will be careful to have you warned.
So now let us separate; the night is far advanced, and a longer stay at
this spot might compromise the sacred interests for which we have sworn
to die."

He bowed to the conspirators, but, on reaching the door, turned round
again.

"Farewell, señores," he said, "be faithful to me."

"We will die for you, general," Colonel Lupo answered, in the name of
all.

The general gave a final bow and went out; almost immediately the hoofs
of several horses could be heard echoing on the paved street.

"As we have nothing more to do here, caballeros," the colonel said,
"we had better separate without further delay; but do not forget the
general's parting recommendation."

"Oh, no," the captain said, gleefully rattling the gold, with which his
pockets were filled. "Don Sebastian Guerrero is too generous for us not
to be faithful to him; besides, he appears to me at the present moment
the only man capable of saving our unhappy country from the abyss. We
are all too deeply attached to our country and too devoted to its real
interests, not to sacrifice ourselves for it, when circumstances demand
it."

The conspirators laughingly applauded this speech of the captain's, and
after exchanging courteous bows, they withdrew as they had come; that is
to say, they left the inn one after the other, not to attract attention.
They carefully wrapped themselves in their cloaks, and went off in
parties of three and four, with their hands on their weapons, for fear
of any unpleasant encounter.

A quarter of an hour later, the room was empty, and the landlord bolted
the door for the night.

"Well, señores," he asked the two strangers, who now left the hiding
place in which they had been crouching for upwards of two hours, "are
you satisfied?"

"We could not be more so," replied the one who had been the sole speaker
hitherto.

"Yes, yes," the landlord continued, "three or four more
pronunciamientos, and I believe I shall be able to retire on a decent
competency."

"That is what I wish you, Ño Lusacho, and, to begin, a thing promised is
a thing done; here are your ten ounces."




CHAPTER XI.

THE PASEO DE BUCARELI.


Mexico is a country of extensive prospects and magnificent views; and
the poet Carpio is right when he says enthusiastically, in the poem in
which he sings the praises of his country--

     "Qué magníficos tienes horizontes!"

In truth, the prospect is the first and greatest beauty of Mexico.

The plateau of Mexico is situated exactly in the centre of a circle of
mountains. On all sides the landscape is bounded by admirable peaks,
whose snowy crests soar above the clouds, and in the golden beams of the
setting sun they offer the most sublime pictures of the imposing and
grand Alpine nature.

In the general description we attempted of Mexico we omitted to allude
to its promenades, of which we intended previously to give a detailed
account.

In Europe, and especially in France, promenades are wanting in the
interior of towns; and it is only during the last few years that Paris
has possessed any worthy of a capital. In Spain, on the contrary, the
smallest market town has at least one alameda, where, after the torrid
heat of the day, the inhabitants breathe the evening breeze, and rest
from their labours. Alameda, a soft and graceful word to pronounce,
which we might be tempted to take for Arabic, and to which some
ill-informed scholars, unacquainted with Spanish, attribute a Latin
origin, while it is simply Castilian, and literally signifies "a place
planted with poplars."

The Alameda of Mexico is one of the most beautiful in America. It
is situated at one of the extremities of the city, and forms a long
square, with a wall of circumvallation bordered by a deep ditch, whose
muddy, fetid waters, owing to the negligence of the government, exhale
pestilential miasmas. At each corner of the promenade a gate offers
admission to carriages, riders, and pedestrians, who walk silently
beneath a thick awning of verdure, formed by willows, elms, and poplars
that border the principal road. These trees are selected with great
tact, and are always green, for although the leaves are renewed, it
takes place gradually and imperceptibly, so that the branches are never
entirely stripped of their foliage.

Numerous walks converge to open spots adorned with gushing fountains,
and clumps of jessamine, myrtle, and rose bushes, surrounded by stone
benches for the tired promenaders. Statues, unfortunately far below
mediocrity in their execution, stand at the entrance of each walk; but,
thanks to the deep shadow, the whistling of the evening breeze in the
foliage, the buzz of the hummingbirds flying from flower to flower, and
the harmonious strains of the cenzontles hidden in the fragrant clumps,
you gradually forget those unlucky statues, and fall into a gentle
reverie, during which the mind is borne to unknown regions, and seems no
longer connected with earth.

But Mexico is a thorough country of contrasts. At each step barbarism
elbows the most advanced civilization. Hence all the carriages, after
driving a few times round the Alameda, take the direction of the Paseo
de Bucareli, and the promenaders spread over a walk, in the Centre of
which there is a large window in the Wall, protected by rusty iron bars,
and through which come puffs of poisoned air. It is the window of the
Deadhouse, into which are daily thrown pell-mell the bodies of men,
women, and children, assassinated during the previous night, hideous,
bloody, and disfigured by death! What a brilliant, what a delicious
idea, to have placed the Deadhouse exactly between the two city walks!

The Paseo, or promenade, of Bucareli--so called after the Viceroy who
gave it to Mexico--resembles the Champs Elysées of Paris. It is, in
reality, merely a wide road, with no other ornament than a double row of
willow and beech trees, with two circular places, in the centre of which
are fountains, adorned with detestable allegorical statues and stone
benches for pedestrians.

At the entrance of the Paseo de Bucareli has been placed an equestrian
statue of Charles IV., which in 1824 adorned the Plaza Mayor of Mexico.
When the Emperor Iturbide fell, this monument was removed from the
square and placed in the University Palace yard--a lesson, we may here
remark, given by a comparatively barbarous people to civilized nations,
who in revolutions, as a first trial of liberty, and forgetting that
history records everything in her imperishable annals, carry their
Vandalism so far as to destroy everything that recalls the government
they have overthrown. Owing to the intelligent moderation of the
Mexicans, the promenaders can still admire, at the Bucareli, this really
remarkable statue, due to the talent of the Spanish sculptor, Manuel
Tolsa, and cast in one piece by Salvador de la Vega. The sight of this
masterpiece ought to induce the Mexican municipality to remove the
pitiable statues which disgrace the two finest promenades in the city.

From the Paseo de Bucareli a magnificent prospect is enjoyed of the
panorama of mountains bathed in the luminous vapours of night; you
perceive, through the arches of the gigantic aqueduct the white fronts
of the haciendas clinging to the sides of the Sierra, the fields of
Indian corn bending softly before the breeze, and the snowy peaks of the
volcanoes, crowned with mist, and lost in the sky.

It is not till night has almost set in that the promenaders, leaving
the Alameda, proceed to the Bucareli, where the carriages take two or
three turns, and then equipages, riders, and pedestrians, retire one
after the other. The promenade is deserted, the entire crowd, just now
so gay and noisy, has disappeared as if by enchantment, and you only see
between the trees some belated promenader, who, wrapped in his cloak,
and with eye and ear on the watch, is hastily returning home, for, after
nightfall, the thieves take possession of the promenade, and without the
slightest anxiety about the serenos and celadores appointed to watch
over the public security, they carry on their trade with a boldness
which the certainty of impunity can alone engender.

It was evening, and, as usual, the Alameda was crowded; handsome
carriages, brilliant riders, and modest pedestrians were moving
backwards and forwards, with cries, laughter, and joyous calls, as they
sought or chased each other in the walks. Monks, soldiers, officers, men
of fashion, and leperos, were mixed together, carelessly smoking their
cigars and cigarettes under each other's noses, with the recklessness
and negligence peculiar to southern nations.

Suddenly, the first stroke of the Oración broke through the air. At the
sound of the Angelus-bell, as if the entire crowd had been struck by an
enchanter's wand, horses, carriages, and pedestrians stopped, the seated
citizens left the benches on which they were resting, and a solemn
silence fell on all; every person took off his hat, crossed himself,
and for four or five minutes this crowd, an instant before so noisy,
remained dumb and silent. But the last stroke of the Oración had scarce
died away, ere horses and carriages set out again; the shouts, the
songs, and talking, became louder than before; each resumed the sentence
at the point where he had broken it off.

By degrees, however, the promenaders proceeded toward the Bucareli: the
carriages became scarcer, and by the time night had quite set in, the
Alameda was completely deserted.

A horseman, dressed in a rich Campesino costume, and mounted on a
magnificent horse, which he managed with rare skill, then entered the
Alameda, along which he galloped for about twenty minutes, examining the
sidewalks, the clumps of trees, and the densest bushes: in a word, he
seemed to be looking for somebody or something.

However, after a while, whether he had convinced himself that his search
would have no result, or for some other motive, he gave the click of the
tongue peculiar to the Mexican jinetes, lifted his horse which started
at an amble, and proceeded toward the Paseo de Bucareli, after bowing
sarcastically to some ill-looking horsemen who were beginning to prowl
round him, but whom his vigorous appearance and haughty demeanour had
hitherto kept at arm's length.

Although the darkness was too dense at this moment for it to be possible
to see the horseman's face distinctly, which was in addition half
covered by the brim of his vicuna hat, all about him evidenced strength
and youth; he was armed as if for a nocturnal expedition, and had on
his saddle, in spite of police regulations, a thin, carefully rolled up
reata.

We will say, parenthetically, that the reata is considered in Mexico so
dangerous a weapon, that it requires special permission to carry one at
the saddle-bow, in the streets of Mexico.

The salteadores, who occupy the streets after nightfall, and reign with
undisputed sway over them, employ no other weapon to stop the persons
they wish to plunder. They cast the running knot round their necks, dash
forward at full speed, and the unlucky man, half strangled, and dragged
from the saddle, falls unresistingly into their hands.

At the moment when the traveller we are following reached the Bucareli,
the last carriages were leaving it, and it was soon as deserted as the
Alameda. He galloped up and down the promenade twice or thrice, looking
carefully down the side rides, and at the end of his third turn a
horseman, coming from the Alameda, passed on his right hand, giving him
in a low voice the Mexican salute, "Santísima noche, caballero!"

Although this sentence had nothing peculiar about it, the horseman
started, and immediately turning his horse round, he started in pursuit
of the person who had thus greeted him. Within a minute the two horsemen
were side by side; the first comer, so soon as he saw that he was
followed, checked his horse's pace, as if with the intention of entering
into the most direct communication with the person he had addressed.

"A fine night for a ride, señor," the first horseman said, politely
raising his hand to his hat.

"It is," the second answered, "although it is beginning to grow late."

"The moment is only the better chosen for certain private conversation."

The second horseman looked around, and bending over to the speaker,
said--

"I almost despaired of meeting you."

"Did I not let you know that I should come?"

"That is true; but I feared that some sudden obstacle----"

"Nothing ought to impede an honest man in accomplishing a sacred duty,"
the first horseman answered, with an emphasis on the words.

"The other bowed with an air of satisfaction. Then," he said, "I can
count on you, Ño ----."

"No names here, señor," the other sharply interrupted him. "Caspita, an
old wood ranger like you, a man who has long been a Tigrero, ought to
remember that the trees have ears and the leaves eyes."

"Yes, you are right. I should and do remember it; but permit me to
remark that if it is not possible for us to talk about business here, I
do not know exactly where we can do so."

"Patience, señor, I wish to serve you, as you know, for you were
recommended to me by a man to whom I can refuse nothing. Let yourself,
therefore, be guided by me, if you wish us to succeed in this affair,
which, I confess to you at once, offers enormous difficulties, and must
be managed with the greatest prudence."

"I ask nothing better; still you must tell me what I ought to do."

"For the present very little; merely follow me at a distance to the
place where I purpose taking you."

"Are we going far?"

"Only a few paces; behind the barracks of the Acordades, in a small
street called the Callejón del Pájaro."

"Hum! and what am I to do in this street?"

"What a suspicious man you are!" the first horseman said with a laugh.
"Listen to me then. About the middle of the Callejón I shall stop
before a house of rather poor appearance; a man will come and hold my
horse while I enter. A few minutes later you will pull up there; after
assuring yourself that you are not followed you will dismount; give your
horse to the man who is holding mine, and without saying a word to him,
or letting him see your face, you will enter the house, and shut the
door after you. I shall be in the yard, and will lead you to a place
where we shall be able to talk in safety. Does that suit you?"

"Famously; although I do not understand why I, who have set foot in
Mexico today for the first time, should find it necessary to employ such
mighty precautions."

The first horseman laughed sarcastically.

"Do you wish to succeed?" he asked.

"Of course," the other exclaimed energetically, "even if it cost me my
life."

"In that case do as you are recommended."

"Go on, I follow you."

"Is that settled? you understand all about it?"

"I do."

The second horseman then checked his steed to let the first one go on
ahead, and both keeping a short distance apart, proceeded at a smart
trot toward the statue of Charles IV., which, as we said, stands at the
entrance of the Paseo.

While conversing, the two horsemen had forgotten the advanced hour of
the night, and the solitude that surrounded them. At the moment when
the first rider passed the equestrian statue, a slip knot fell on his
shoulders, and he was roughly dragged from his saddle.

"Help!" he shouted in a choking voice.

The second rider had seen all; quick as thought he whirled his lasso
round his head, and galloping at full speed, hurled it after the
Salteador at the moment when he passed twenty yards from him.

The Salteador was stopped dead, and hurled from his horse; the worthy
robber had not suspected that another person beside himself could have a
lasso so handy. The horseman, without checking his speed, cut the reata
that was strangling his companion, and, turning back, dragged the robber
after him.

The first horseman so providentially saved, freed himself from the
slip knot that choked him, and, hardly recovered from the alarm he had
experienced from his heavy fall, he whistled to his horse, which came up
at once, remounted as well as he could, and rejoined his liberator, who
had stopped a short distance off.

"Thanks," he said to him, "henceforth we are stanch friends; you have
saved my life, and I shall remember it."

"Nonsense," the other answered, "I only did what you would have done in
my place."

"That is possible, but I shall be grateful to you on the word of a
Carnero," he exclaimed, forgetting in his joy the hint he had given a
short time previously, not to make use of names, and revealing his own
incognito; "is the pícaro dead?"

"Very nearly so, I fancy; what shall we do with him?"

"Make a corpse of him," the capataz said bluntly. "We are only
two paces from the deadhouse, and he can be carried there without
difficulty. Though he is an utter scoundrel and tried to assassinate
me, the police are so well managed in our unhappy country that if
we committed the imprudence of letting him live, we should have
interminable disputes with the magistrates."

Then, dismounting, he stooped over the bandit, stretched senseless at
his feet, removed his lasso, and coolly dashed out his brains with a
blow of his pistol butt. Immediately after this summary execution, the
two men left the Paseo de Bucareli, but this time side by side, through
fear of a new accident.




CHAPTER XII.

A CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION.


Directly on emerging from the Paseo, the two men separated, as had been
agreed on between them; that is to say, the capataz went ahead, followed
at a respectful distance by Martial the Tigrero, whom the reader has
doubtless recognized.

All happened as the capataz had announced. The streets were deserted,
the horsemen only met a few half sleeping serenos leaning against the
walls, and were only crossed by a patrol of celadores walking with a
hurried step, and who seemed more inclined to avoid them, than to try
and discover the motives that caused them thus to ride about the streets
of the capital at night, in defiance of the law.

The Tigrero entered the Callejón del Pájaro, and about the middle of
the street saw the capataz's horse held by an ill-looking fellow, who
gazed curiously at him. Don Martial, following the instructions given
him, pulled his hat over his eyes to foil the mozo's curiosity, stopped
before the door, dismounted, threw his bridle to the fellow, and,
without saying a word to him, resolutely entered the house and carefully
closed the door after him.

He then found himself in utter darkness, but after groping his way,
which was not difficult for him to do, as all Mexican houses are built
nearly on the same model, he pushed forward. After crossing the zaguán,
he entered a square yard on which several doors looked; one of these
doors was open, and a man was standing on the threshold with a cigarette
in his mouth. It was Carnero.

The tiger-slayer went up to him; the other made room, and he walked on.
The capataz took him by the hand and whispered, "Come with me."

In spite of the protestations of devotion previously made by the
capataz, the Tigrero in his heart was somewhat alarmed at the manner in
which he was introduced into this mysterious house; but as he was young,
vigorous, well armed, brave, and resolved, if necessary, to sell his
life dearly, he yielded his hand Unhesitatingly to Carnero, and allowed
him to guide him while seeking to pierce the darkness that surrounded
him.

But all the windows were hermetically closed with shutters, which
allowed no gleam of light to enter from without.

His guide led him through several rooms, the floors of which were
covered with matting that deadened the sound of footsteps; he took him
up a flight of stairs, and opening a door with a key he took from his
pocket, conducted him into a room faintly lighted by a lamp placed
before a statue of the Virgin, standing in one corner of the room, on
a species of pedestal attached to the wall, and covered with extremely
delicate lace.

"Now," said Carnero, after closing the door, from which the Tigrero
noticed that he removed the key, "draw up a butaca, sit down and let us
talk, for we are in safety." Don Martial followed the advice given him,
and after carefully installing himself in a butaca, looked anxiously
around him.

The room in which he found himself was rather spacious, furnished
tastefully and richly; several valuable pictures hung on the walls,
which were covered with embossed leather, while the furniture consisted
of splendid carved ebony or mahogany tables, sideboards, chiffonniers,
and butacas. On the floor was an Indian petate, several books were
scattered over the tables, and valuable plate was arranged on the
sideboard. In short, this room displayed a proper comprehension of
comfort, and the two windows, with their Moorish jalousies, gave
admission to the pure breeze which greatly refreshed the atmosphere.

The capataz lighted two candles at the Virgin's lamp, placed them on
the table, and then fetching two bottles and two silver cups, which
he placed before the Tigrero, he drew up a butaca, and seated himself
opposite his guest.

"Here is sherry which I guarantee to be real Xeres de los Caballeros;
this other bottle contains chinquirito, and both are at your service,"
he said, with a laugh; "whether you have a weakness for sugar cane
spirits, or prefer wine."

"Thanks," Don Martial replied, "but I do not feel inclined to drink."

"You would not wish to insult me by refusing to hobnob with me?"

"Very well; if you will permit me, I will take a few drops of
chinquirito in water, solely to prove to you that I am sensible of your
politeness."

"All right," the capataz continued, as he handed him a crystal decanter,
covered with curiously worked silver filagree; "help yourself."

When they had drunk, the capataz a glass of sherry, which he sipped like
a true amateur, and Don Tigrero a few drops of chinquirito drowned in a
glass of water, the capataz placed his glass again on the table with a
smack of his lips, and said--

"Now, I must give you a few words in explanation of the slightly
mysterious way in which I brought you here, in order to dispel any
doubts which may have involuntarily invaded your mind."

"I am listening to you," the Tigrero answered.

"Take a cigar first, they are excellent." And he lit one, after pushing
the bundle over to Don Martial: the latter selected one, and soon the
two men were enveloped in a cloud of thin and fragrant smoke.

"We are in the mansion of General Don Sebastian Guerrero," the capataz
continued.

"What?" the Tigrero exclaimed, with a start of uneasiness.

"Re-assure yourself, no one saw you enter, and your presence here is
quite unknown, for the simple reason that I brought you in by my private
entrance."

"I do not understand you."

"And yet it is very easy to explain; the house I led you through belongs
to me. For reasons too long to tell you, and which would interest you
but slightly, during Don Sebastian's absence as Governor of Sonora, I
had a passage made, and established a communication between my house
and this mansion. Everybody save myself is ignorant of the existence
of this communication, which," he added, with a glowing smile, "may at
a given moment be of great utility to me. The room in which we now are
forms part of the suite I occupy in the mansion, in which the general,
I am proud to say, has never yet set foot. The man who took your horse
is devoted to me, and even were he to betray me, it would be of little
consequence to me, for the secret door of the passage is so closely
concealed that I have no fear of its being discovered. Hence you see
that you have nothing to fear here, where your presence is unknown."

"But suppose you were to be sent for, through the general happening to
want you suddenly?"

"Certainly, but I have foreseen that; it is my system never to leave
anything to chance. Although it has never happened yet, no one can enter
here without my being informed soon enough to get rid of any person who
may be with me, supposing that, for some reason or another, that person
did not desire to be seen."

"That is capitally arranged, and I am happy to see that you are a man of
prudence."

"Prudence is, as you know, señor, the mother of safety; and in Mexico,
before all other countries, the proverb receives its application at
every moment."

The Tigrero bowed politely, but in the fashion of a man who considers
that the speaker has dwelt sufficiently long on one subject, and wishes
to see him pass to another. The capataz appeared to read this almost
imperceptible hint on Don Martial's face, and continued with a smile--

"But enough on that head, so let us pass, if you have no objection, to
the real purpose of our interview. A man, whose name it is unnecessary
to mention, but to whom, as I have already had the honour of telling
you, I am devoted body and soul, sent you to me to obtain certain
information you require, and which he supposes I am in a position to
give, I will now add, that what passed between us this evening, and the
generous way in which you rushed to my assistance, render it my bounden
duty not only to give you this information, but also to help you with
all my might in the success of the projects you are meditating, whatever
those projects may be, and the dangers I may incur in aiding you. So,
now speak openly with me; conceal nothing from me and you will only have
to praise my frankness towards you."

"Señor," the Tigrero answered, with considerable emotion, "I thank you
the more heartily for your generous offer, for you know as well as I do
what perils are connected with the carrying out of these plans, to say
nothing of their success."

"What you are saying is true, but it will be better, I fancy, for the
present, for me to assume to be ignorant of them, so as to leave you the
entire liberty you need for the questions you have to ask me."

"Yes, yes," he said, shaking his head sadly, "my position is so
precarious, the struggle I am engaged in is so wild, that, although I am
supported by sincere friends, I cannot be too prudent. Tell me, then,
what you know as to the fate of the unfortunate Doña Anita de Torrés. Is
she really dead, as the report spread alleged?"

"Do you know what happened in the cavern after your fall down the
precipice?"

"Alas! no; my ignorance is complete as to the facts that occurred after
I was abandoned as dead."

Carnero reflected for a moment. "Listen, Don Martial: before I can
answer categorically the question you have asked me, I must tell you a
long story. Are you ready to hear it?"

"Yes," the other answered, without hesitation, "for there are many
things I am ignorant of, which I ought to know. So speak without further
delay, señor, and though some parts of the narrative will be most
painful to me, hide nothing from me, I implore you!"

"You shall be obeyed. Moreover, the night is not yet far advanced; time
does not press us, and in two hours you will know all."

"I am impatiently waiting for you to begin."

The capataz remained for some considerable time plunged in deep and
serious reflection. At length he raised his head, leant forward, and
setting his left elbow on the table, began as follows:--

"At the time when the facts occurred I am about to tell you, I was
living at the Hacienda del Palmar, of which I was steward. Hence I was
only witness to a portion of the facts, and only know the rest from
hearsay. When the Comanches arrived, guided by the white men, Don Sylva
de Torrés was lying mortally wounded, holding in his stiffened arms his
daughter Anita, who had suddenly gone mad on seeing you roll down the
precipice in the grasp of the Indian chief. Don Sebastian Guerrero was
the only relation left to the hapless young lady, and hence she was
taken to his hacienda."

"What?" Don Martial exclaimed in surprise. "Don Sebastian is a relation
of Doña Anita?"

"Did you not know that?"

"I had not the slightest idea of it; and yet I had for several years
been closely connected with the Torrés family, for I was their tigrero."

"I know it. Well, this is how the relationship exists: Don Sebastian
married a niece of Don Sylva's, so you see they were closely connected.
Still, for reasons never thoroughly made known, a few years after the
general's marriage, a dispute broke out which led to a total suspension
of intimacy between the two families. That is probably the reason why
you never heard of the connection existing between the Sylvas and the
Torrés."

The Tigrero shook his head. "Go on," he said. "How did the general
receive his relation?"

"He was not at the hacienda at the time; but an express was sent off
to him, and I was the man. The general came post haste, seemed greatly
moved at the double misfortune that had befallen the young lady, gave
orders for her to be kindly treated, appointed several women to wait
on her, and returned to his post at Sonora, where events of the utmost
gravity summoned him."

"Yes, yes, I have heard of the French invasion, and that their leader
was shot by the general's orders. I presume you are alluding to that?"

"Yes. Almost immediately after these events the general returned to
the Palmar. He was no longer the same man. The horrible death of his
daughter rendered him gloomier and harsher to any person whom chance
brought into contact with him. For a whole week he remained shut up in
his apartments, refusing to see any of us; but, at last, one day he
sent for me to inquire as to what had happened at the hacienda during
his absence. I had but little to tell him, for life was too simple and
uniform at this remote dwelling for anything at all interesting for him
to have occurred. Still he listened without interruption, with his head
in his hands, and apparently taking great interest in what I told him,
especially when it referred to poor Doña Anita, whose gentle interesting
madness drew tears from us rough men, when we saw her wandering, pale
and white as a spectre, about the huerta, murmuring in a low voice one
name, ever the same, which none of us could overhear, and raising to
heaven her lovely face, bathed in tears. The general let me say all I
had to say, and when I ended he, too, remained silent for some time. At
length, raising his head, he looked at me for a moment angrily."

"'What are you doing there?' he asked."

"'I am waiting,' I answered, 'for the orders it may please your
excellency to give me.'"

"He looked at me for a few more moments as if trying to read my very
thoughts, and then laid his hand on my arm. 'Carnero,' he said to me,
'you have been a long time in my service, but take care lest I should
have to dismiss you. I do not like,' he said, with a stress on the
words, 'servants who are too intelligent and too clear-sighted,' and
when I tried to excuse myself, he added, 'Not a word--profit by the
advice I have given you, and now lead me to Doña Anita's apartments.'"

"I obeyed with hanging head; the general remained an hour with the
young lady, and I never knew what was said between them. It is true
that now and then I heard the general speaking loudly and angrily, and
Doña Anita weeping, and apparently making some entreaty to him; but
that was all, for prudence warned me to keep at too great a distance
to overhear a single word. When the general came out he was pale, and
sharply ordered me to prepare everything for his departure. The morrow
at daybreak we set out for Mexico, and Doña Anita followed us, carried
in a palanquin. The journey was a long one, but so long as it lasted the
general did not once speak to the young lady, or approach the side of
her palanquin. So soon as we reached our journey's end, Doña Anita was
carried to the Convent of the Bernardines, where she had been educated,
and the good sisters received her with tears of sorrowful sympathy. The
general, owing to the influence he enjoyed, easily succeeded in getting
himself appointed guardian to the young lady, and immediately assumed
the management of her estates, which, as you doubtless are aware, are
considerable, even in this country where large fortunes are so common."

"I know it," said the Tigrero, with a sigh.

"All these matters settled," the capataz continued, "the general
returned to Sonora to arrange his affairs, and hand over the government
to the person appointed to succeed him, and who started for his post
some days previously. I will not tell you what happened then, as you
know it; besides, we have only been back in Mexico for a fortnight, and
you and your friends followed our track from the Rocky Mountains."

The Tigrero raised his head. "Is that really all?" he asked.

"Yes," the capataz answered.

"On your honour?" Don Martial added, looking fixedly at him.

Carnero hesitated. "Well, no," he said at last, "there is something else
I must tell you."




CHAPTER XIII.

DON MARTIAL.


The capataz rose, opened a door, went out for a moment, returned; to his
seat opposite the Tigrero, poured himself out a glass of sherry, which
he swallowed at a draught, and then letting his head fall in his hands,
remained silent.

Don Martial watched with amazement the various movements of the
capataz. Seeing at last that he did not seem inclined to make the
confession he was so impatiently awaiting, he went over and touched him
slightly. Carnero started as if suddenly branded with a hot iron.

"What you have to reveal to me must be very terrible," the Tigrero at
length said in a low voice.

"So terrible, my friend," the capataz answered with an amount of terror
impossible to depict, "that though alone with you in this room, where no
spy can be concealed, I fear to tell it you."

The Tigrero shook his head sadly. "Speak, my friend," he said, in a
gentle voice, "I have suffered such agony during the last few months,
that all the springs of my soul have been crushed by the fatal pressure

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