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The Bee Hunters: A Tale of Adventure

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Title: The Bee Hunters: A Tale of Adventure

Author: Gustave Aimard

Translator: Sir Lascelles Wraxall


        
Release date: December 6, 2013 [eBook #44375]
                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 Oxford Bodleian Library)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEE HUNTERS: A TALE OF ADVENTURE ***
THE BEE HUNTERS

A TALE OF ADVENTURE

BY

GUSTAVE AIMARD


AUTHOR OF "STONEHEART," "SMUGGLER CHIEF," ETC., ETC.


LONDON:

CHARLES HENRY CLARKE, 13 PATERNOSTER ROW.

1865





CONTENTS.


      I.   A MEETING IN THE FAR WEST
     II.   IN THE FOREST
    III.   THE CALLI
     IV.   SUPERFICIAL REMARKS
      V.   CONFIDENTIAL CHAT
     VI.   THE JOURNEY
    VII.   THE SKIRMISH
   VIII.   THE PUEBLO (THE TOWN)
     IX.   DOÑA HERMOSA
      X.   EL AS DE COPAS (THE ACE OF HEARTS)
     XI.   THE RANCHO
    XII.   THE REDSKINS
   XIII.   THE MIDNIGHT MEETING
    XIV.   DON ESTEVAN DIAZ
     XV.   DON GUZMAN DE RIBERA
    XVI.   THE POST HOUSE IN THE PAMPAS
   XVII.   A DELICATE FEDERAL ATTENTION
  XVIII.   TREACHERY
    XIX.   THE END OF THE STORY




CHAPTER I.

A MEETING IN THE FAR WEST.


Since the discovery of the goldfields in California and on the
Fraser River, North America has entered into a phase of such active
transformation, civilisation has advanced with such giant strides,
that only one region is still extant--a region of which very little
is known--where the poet, or the dreamer who delights in surrounding
himself with the glories of nature, can revel in the grandeur and
majesty, which are the great characteristics of the mysterious
savannahs.

It is the only country, nowadays, where such men can sate themselves
with the contemplation of those immense oceans of alternate verdure and
sand, which spread themselves out in striking contrast, yet wonderful
harmony,--expanding, boundless, solemn, silent, and threatening, under
the eye of the omnipotent Creator.

This region, in which the sound of the squatter's axe has not yet
roused the slumbering echoes, is called the Far West.

Here the Indians still reign as masters, tracing paths on rapid
mustangs, as untamed as their riders, through the vast solitudes, whose
mysteries are known only to themselves; hunting the bison and wild
horse, waging war with each other, or pursuing with deadly enmity, the
white hunters and trappers daring enough to venture into this last
formidable refuge of the redskins.

On the 27th July, 1858, about three hours before sunset, a cavalier,
mounted on a magnificent mustang, was carelessly following the banks of
the Rio Bermejo, a tributary of the Rio Grande del Norte, into which
it falls after a course of from seventy to eighty leagues across the
desert.

This cavalier, clad in the leather dress worn by Mexican hunters, was,
as far as one could judge, a man not more than thirty years of age,
of tall and well-knit frame, and graceful in manner and action. His
face was proud and determined; and his hardy features, stamped with
an expression of frankness and good nature, inspired, at first sight,
respect and sympathy.

His blue eyes, soft and mild as a woman's; the thick curls of blonde
hair, which escaped in masses from under the brim of his cap of vicuña
skin, and wantoned in disorder on his shoulders; the sallowish white
of his skin, very different from the olive tint, approaching to bronze,
peculiar to the Mexicans,--all these would lead one to surmise that he
had not first seen the light under the hot sun of Spanish America.

This man, who was to all appearance so peaceable and so little to be
dreaded, concealed, under a slightly effeminate exterior, a courage
which nothing could daunt, nor even startle: the delicate and almost
diaphanous skin of his white hands, with their rosy nails, served as a
covering to nerves of steel.

At the moment of which we speak this personage seemed to be half-asleep
in his saddle, and allowed his mustang to choose his own pace; and the
beast, profiting by a liberty to which he was not accustomed, nibbled
off with the tips of his lips the blades of sun-dried grass he met with
on his road.

The place where our cavalier found himself was a plain of tolerable
extent, cut into two nearly equal parts by the Rio Bermejo, whose banks
were steep, and here and there strewn with bare, gray rocks.

This plain was enclosed between two chains of hills, rising to right
and left in successive undulations, until they formed at the horizon
high peaks covered with snow, on which the purple splendours of sunset
were playing.

However, in spite of the real or pretended somnolence of the cavalier,
his eyes half opened occasionally and, without turning his head,
he cast a searching glance around him, but betrayed no symptom of
apprehension, which nevertheless would have been quite pardonable in a
district where the jaguar is the least formidable of man's enemies.

The traveller, or hunter,--for as yet we do not know who he
is,--continued his road at a pace which became more and more slow and
careless; he was on the point of passing at about a hundred yards'
distance from a rock which rose like a solitary watchtower on the bank
of the Rio Bermejo, when, from behind the mass, where he had probably
lain in ambuscade, there half emerged a man, armed with an American
rifle.

This individual for a moment examined the traveller with the minutest
attention: then, levelling his rifle, he pressed the trigger, and fired.

The cavalier, bounding in his saddle, and uttering a suppressed scream,
flung up his arms, lost his stirrups, and rolled on the turf, where,
after a few convulsive movements, he remained motionless.

The horse, in alarm, reared, lashed out wildly with his heels, and
started off at full speed in the direction of the woods scattered over
the hills, in the midst of which he soon disappeared.

Having thus cleverly knocked over his man, the assassin dropped the
butt of his weapon on the ground, and, doffing his cap of vicuña skin,
dried his forehead, while he murmured expressions of gratified vanity.

"_¡Canarios!_ This time I don't think my marauding friend will come to
life again; I must have broken his backbone for him. What a glorious
shot! What will those fools say who wanted to make me believe at the
venta that he was a sorcerer, who could not be hit without putting a
silver ball into my rifle, if they could see him now, stretched out in
that way? Capital! I have loyally earned my hundred piastres. It's not
bad luck. I had lots of trouble in succeeding. May the holy Virgin be
blessed for the protection she has deigned to grant me! I will take
care not to be ungrateful to her for it."

All the time he was muttering thus, the worthy fellow was reloading his
rifle with the most scrupulous care.

"Well," continued he, seating himself on a clod of turf, "I am knocked
up with having had to watch so long. Suppose I were to go and convince
myself of his death? By Heaven, no; he might still be breathing, and
treat me to a thrust of the knife. I'm no such fool. I prefer sitting
here in peace, and smoking a cigarette. If, within an hour, he has not
stirred, all will be over, and then I'll run the risk. And indeed I'm
in no sort of hurry," he added, with a sinister smile.

Upon that, with an air of the greatest coolness, he took the tobacco
from his pouch, twisted a _pajillo_ (straw cigarette), lit it, and
commenced smoking with immense _sangfroid_, never ceasing to watch, out
of the corner of his eye, the corpse lying a few yards from him.

Let us profit by this moment of respite to make the reader a little
better acquainted with this interesting personage.

He was a man a little below the average height, but the breadth of
his shoulders and bigness of his limbs showed him to be endowed with
immense muscular power; his forehead was low and receding like that
of a wild beast; his nose, long and hooked, bent down over a mouth
immense in size, but with thin lips, and garnished with long pointed
and irregular teeth; gray eyes, with squinting pupils, stamped his
physiognomy with a sinister expression.

The man was dressed in a hunter's garb, similar to that of the
cavalier. _Calzoneras_ (loose trousers) of leather, bound about at
the hips with a _faja_, or sash of silk, and falling as low as the
knee, were fastened under _botas vaqueras_ (heavy boots), intended to
preserve the legs. A kind of half-jacket, half-blouse, also of leather,
covered the upper part of his body, which garment, open in front like
a shirt, had sleeves reaching to the elbow; a _machete_ or straight
sword, passed without sheath through an iron ring, hung on his left
hip; and a game bag, apparently well supplied was slung to his right
side by a strip of bison hide worn across the shoulder; a _zarapé_, or
Indian blanket, motley with brilliant colours, lay on the earth beside
him.

In the meanwhile time was passing; an hour and a half had already
elapsed without our friend, who smoked cigarette after cigarette,
appearing to be able to decide upon going to convince himself of the
death of him on whom he had treacherously drawn trigger from behind the
rock.

During all this time, the cavalier, after he fell, had preserved
the most complete immobility; attentively watched by the assassin,
the latter had not been able to perceive the slightest motion. The
_zopilotes_ (turkey buzzards) and the condors, in all probability
attracted by the scent of the corpse, were beginning to circle in wide
rings over it, uttering their rough and discordant cries; the sun, on
the point of disappearing, had assumed the shape of a globe of fire on
the edge of the horizon. It became necessary to act.

The assassin rose, greatly against his will.

"Pooh!" he murmured, "The man must be dead enough by this time, or
if not his soul has turned to ashes in his heart. Let's go and look.
Nevertheless, as prudence is the mother of safety, let us be prudent."

And in accordance with this reasoning, he drew from his garter the
sharp-pointed knife which every Mexican carries for the purpose of
cutting the thong if an enemy happens to cast the lasso round his neck.
Having tried the spring of the blade against a stone, and convinced
himself that the point was not broken, he made up his mind, at last,
to approach the body, still lying motionless on the spot where it had
fallen. But in the American deserts there is an axiom the justice of
which is acknowledged by all. It is this: That the shortest road from
one point to another is a curve. Our friend took good care to put it in
practice on this occasion. Instead of advancing straight to the object
of his visit, he made a long circuit, drawing nearer little by little,
stealing along softly, stopping at intervals to examine the body, and
ready to fly at the slightest movement he might see, and with his knife
ready to strike.

But these precautions were useless; the corpse preserved the immobility
of a statue, and our man stopped almost within reach without
discovering a single thing to betray an atom of life in the unhappy
wretch stretched upon the ground before him.

The murderer crossed his arms over his chest, and contemplated the
body, whose face was turned to the ground.

"By my faith, he is dead indeed. It is a pity; for he was a formidable
fellow. I should never have dared to attack him face to face. But a
man must stick to his word. I had been paid; I was bound to fulfil my
engagement. Curious! I see no blood! Pooh! It is a case of internal
bleeding. So much the better for him, for his sufferings will have been
less. However, to make doubly sure, I'll plant my knife between his two
shoulders: in that way I shall be sure of my bird, although there is no
danger of his coming to life again. You see, one must not deceive those
who pay us; a man must stick to his word."

After this soliloquy he knelt down, bent over the body, supporting
himself by one hand on its shoulders, and lifted his knife; but
suddenly, by a movement of unexampled rapidity, the supposed corpse
rose with a bound like a jaguar, and oversetting the stupefied
assassin, seized him by the throat, pinned him to the earth, planted
his knee on his chest, and deprived him of his knife before his brains
could render an account of what was happening.

"Hulloa, _compadre!_" (comrade) said the cavalier in a jeering tone;
"One moment, if you please, _¡cuerpo de Cristo!_"

All this passed in much less time than we have taken to write it.

However, sudden and unexpected as the attack had been, the other
was too much accustomed to strange vicissitudes in somewhat similar
situations not to recover his presence of mind almost immediately.

"Well, comrade," resumed the cavalier, "what have you got to say to all
this?"

"I?" replied the other, with a sneer; "_¡Caray!_ I say the game has
been well played."

"Then it is one you are acquainted with?"

"A little," was the modest reply.

"I have been a little sharper than you."

"Yes, sharper; yet I certainly thought I had killed you. Curious," he
continued, as if talking to himself, "the others were right; it is
I who have been a fool. I will take a silver ball next time; it is
surer."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing."

"Pardon me, you did say something."

"Are you very anxious to know?"

"Apparently, since I have asked the question."

"Very well. I said I would take a silver bullet next time."

"What for?"

"Why, to kill you."

"To kill me? Go to; you are a fool! Do you fancy I will let you escape?"

"I do not fancy anything of the kind, the more so as you could not do
anything worse."

"Because you would kill me?"

"By Heavens! Yes, as soon as possible."

"Then you hate me?"

"I? Not the least in the world."

"Well, then, if not, what is your motive?"

"Confound it! A man must stick to his word."

The cavalier cast a long look upon him, shaking his head the while with
a thoughtful air.

"H'm," said he, at last, "promise me not to attempt to escape if I
leave you free for a time."

"I promise, with so much the more pleasure, since I am obliged to
confess that I find myself in a most fatiguing posture, and am very
anxious to change it."

"Rise," said the cavalier, helping him up.

The other did not wait for the mandate to be repeated: in an instant he
was on his legs.

"Ah," he replied, with a grunt of satisfaction, "liberty is a blessing!"

"Is it not? Now shall we talk a little?"

"I desire nothing better, _caballero_. I can only be the gainer by your
conversation," replied the other, bowing, with an insinuating smile.

The two enemies placed themselves side by side, as if nothing
extraordinary had happened between them.

This is one of the distinctive traits of Mexican character: murder
amongst these people has grown so thoroughly into a habit, that it
never astonishes anyone; and it often happens that the man just escaped
falling a victim to an ambuscade, does not scruple to press the hand
extended by his would-be assassin, foreseeing that someday or other he
too will be called on to play in his turn the part of murderer.

In the present circumstances it was certainly not this consideration
which induced the cavalier to act as he was doing. He had a powerful
motive, with which we shall become acquainted presently; for, in spite
of his feigned indifference, it was only with a sentiment of lively
disgust that he seated himself beside the bandit.

As to the latter, we feel ourselves bound in justice to state that he
had only one feeling of regret--the shame of having missed his blow;
but he promised himself, _in petto_, to take his revenge as soon as
possible, and this time to take such sure precautions that he must
succeed.

"What are you thinking of?" demanded the cavalier, all of a sudden.

"I? On my honour, nothing," was the ingenuous reply.

"You would deceive me. I know what you are thinking of at this very
moment."

"Oh, as for that, permit me to tell you--"

"You were thinking of killing me," said the cavalier, interrupting him
abruptly.

The other returned no answer; he contented himself with muttering
between his teeth--

"What a devil! He reads the most hidden thoughts. One is not safe
beside him."

"Will you answer honestly, and frankly, the questions I am about to put
to you?" resumed the cavalier, after a time.

"Yes; as well as lies in my power."

"That is to say, just so far as your interest does not lead you to lie."

"Confound it, señor, no one likes to make war upon oneself! No one
ought to force me to speak ill of myself."

"You are right. Who are you?"

"Señor," replied the other, raising himself proudly, "I have the
honour to be a Mexican, My mother was an Opata Indian; my father a
_caballero_ (gentleman) of Guadalupe."

"Very well; but I learn nothing from this about yourself."

"Alas, señor!" was the reply, given in that whining tone the Mexicans
know so well how to adopt, "I have been unfortunate."

"Oh, you have met with misfortunes! Well, pardon me once more. You have
forgotten to mention your name."

"It is a very obscure one, señor; but since you desire to know it, here
it is: I am called Tonillo el Zapote--at your service, señor."

"Thanks, Señor Zapote. Now proceed; I am listening."

"I have followed many trades in my day. I have been by turns _lepero_
(vagabond), muleteer, husbandman, soldier. Unhappily, I am of a quick
temper: when I am in a passion, my hand is very ready."

"And heavy," said the cavalier, with a smile.

"It is all the same; so much so, that I have had the misfortune to
_bleed_ five or six individuals who had the imprudence to pick a
quarrel with me. The _Juez de letras_ (magistrate) was annoyed; and
under the pretence that I was guilty of six murders, he asserted I
deserved the garotte; so, seeing my fellow citizens misapprehended
me--that society would not appreciate me at my real value--I took
refuge in the desert, and turned hunter."

"Of men?" interrupted the cavalier in a tone of sarcasm.

"By Heavens! Señor, times are hard: the Gringos pay twenty dollars for
a scalp. It is a pretty sum; and, on my honour, particularly so when
want presses. But I never have recourse to these means except in the
direst extremity."

"It is well. And now tell me, do you know me?"

"Very well by report; personally, not at all."

"Have you any reasons for hating me?"

"I have already the honour to tell you--none."

"In that case, why have you attempted to assassinate me?"

"I, señor?" cried he, showing signs of the utmost astonishment; "I
assassinate you? Never!",

"What, fool!" exclaimed the cavalier, lowering his brows, "Dare you
maintain such an imposture? Four times have I served as a target to
your rifle. You have drawn trigger upon me this very day, and--"

"Oh! By your leave, señor," said El Zapote with warmth, "that is quite
a different thing. True, I fired at you; it is even likely I shall fire
at you again; but never, as I hoped for Paradise, have I dreamed of
assassinating you. For shame!--I, a _caballero_! How could you form so
bad an opinion of me, señor?"

"Then what was your intention in firing at me?"

"To kill you, señor; nothing more."

"Then in this case murder is not assassination?"

"Not in the slightest degree, señor; this was business."

"What! Business?--The rogue will make me go mad, upon my soul!"

"By Heaven, señor, an honest man must stick to his word."

"If it is to kill me?"

"Exactly so," answered El Zapote. "You can understand that, under the
conditions, I was compelled to keep my engagement."

There was a moment of silence; evidently the reasoning did not seem so
conclusive to the cavalier as to the _lepero_.

Then said the former:

"Enough; let us have done with this."

"I ask no better of your seigneurie."

"You acknowledge, I suppose, that you are in my power?"

"It would be difficult to assert the contrary."

"Good! As, according to your own confession you have fired on me with
the evident intention of killing me--"

"I cannot deny it, señor."

"In killing you, now you are in my power, I should only be making use
of reprisals?"

"That is perfectly true, _caballero_, I must even confess that you
could not possibly have a stronger reason for doing so."

His companion gazed at him in surprise.

"Then you are content to die?" said he.

"Let us understand each other," replied the _lepero_ with avidity.
"I am not at all content. On the contrary, I only know that I am a
thorough gambler, that is all. I played; I lost; I have to pay. It is
reasonable."

The cavalier seemed to reflect.

"And if, instead of planting my knife in your throat, even as you
yourself acknowledge I have the right to do--"

El Zapote made a sign of assent.

"I were to restore you to liberty," continued the cavalier, "leaving
you the power of acting according to your own impulse?"

The bandit shook his head sorrowfully.

"I repeat," he said, "that I would kill you. A man must stick to his
word. I cannot betray the confidence of my employers; it would ruin my
reputation."

The cavalier burst out laughing.

"I suppose you have been well paid for this undertaking?" said he.

"Not a great deal; but want makes many things be done. I have received
a hundred piastres."

"No more?" exclaimed the stranger, with a gesture of disdain; "It is
very little; I thought myself worth more than that."

"A great deal more, particularly as the undertaking was difficult; but
next time I will take a silver bullet."

"You are an idiot, comrade. You will not kill me the next, any more
than you did the other times. Think of what has occurred up to today.
I have already heard your balls whistle four times about my ears: that
annoyed me. At last I wished to find out who you were: you see I have
succeeded."

"It is the truth. Now, after all, were you not aware of my being close
to you?"

The cavalier shrugged his shoulders.

"I will not even demand of you," he said, "the name of him who has
ordered you to compass my death. Here, take your knife, and begone. I
despise you too much to fear you. Adieu!"

Speaking thus, the cavalier rose, and dismissed the bandit with a
gesture full of majesty and disdain.

The _lepero_ remained an instant motionless, then bowed profoundly
before his generous adversary.

"Thanks, your worship," said he, in a voice exhibiting some emotion;
"you are better than I. Never mind; I will prove to you that I am not
the scoundrel you fancy me, and that there is still something within me
which has not been utterly corrupted."

The cavalier's only answer was to turn his back upon him, with a shrug
of the shoulders.

The _lepero_ gazed after his retiring form with a look of which his
savage features would have seemed incapable: a mixture of sorrow and
gratitude impressed on his countenance a stamp very different to their
customary expression.

"He does not believe me," he muttered--we have already seen that he had
a decided taste for soliloquy--"he does not believe me. Why, indeed,
should he trust my words? It is sad; but an honest man must stick to
his word, and I will prove to him that he does not yet know me. Let me
begone."

Comforting himself with these words, the bandit returned to the rock
behind which he had originally hidden; there he picked up his rifle,
then from the other side of the rock he brought his horse, which he had
concealed in a hollow, replaced the bridle, and departed at a gallop,
after casting a glance behind him, and murmuring, in a tone of sincere
admiration:

"_¡Caray!_ What a tremendous fellow! What natural power! What a pity it
would be to knock him over like an antelope, from behind a bush! _¡Viva
Dios!_ That shall not happen, if I can hinder it, on the honour of a
Zapote."

He forded the Rio Bermejo, and speedily disappeared amongst the tall
grasses that bordered the opposite bank.

As soon as the unknown had assured himself of the _lepero's_ departure,
he began to calculate the time by the enormously lengthened shadows of
the trees; and, after looking about him attentively, gave a whistle,
sharp and prolonged, which, although restrained, was nevertheless
repeated by all the echoes of the river, so powerful was its tone.

At the end of a few seconds a distant neighing made itself audible,
followed almost immediately after by the sound of precipitate
galloping, resembling the rolling of distant thunder.

Little by little the sound grew nearer, the branches crashed, the
underwood was violently dashed aside, and the unknown's mustang made
his appearance on the skirt of a wood at a little distance.

When there, the noble animal paused, snuffed the air vigorously,
turning his head and neck in all directions; then starting off, with a
thousand capers he made the best of his way, till he halted before his
master, and gazed upon him with eyes full of intelligence.

The latter patted him gently, talking to him in a caressing voice;
then, having made quite sure that the _lepero_ was gone, and that he
was assuredly alone, he readjusted the trappings of his horse, which
had become slightly disordered, vaulted into the saddle and in his turn
departed.

But instead of continuing to follow the course of the Rio Bermejo, he
turned his back upon it, and rode in the direction of the mountains.

The bearing of the unknown had undergone a complete change; it was no
longer the man whom we formerly presented to our readers, half asleep,
swaying in the saddle, and leaving his horse to wander at leisure.
No; now he held himself firm and upright on his mustang, with limbs
closely pressing its flanks; his face was overcast with dark shades
of thought; his glances wandered about as if they would pierce the
mysteries of the thick forest with which he was surrounded; with head
slightly bent forward, he listened with strained attention to the most
trifling noise; and his rifle, placed across the saddlebow, had the
lock exactly under his right hand, in such a fashion that he could fire
instantaneously, if circumstances required.

One might have said, so suddenly had the man changed, that the strange
scene to which we have just introduced our reader was for him only one
of those thousand accidents, without consequences, to which his desert
life exposed him, but that now he was preparing to battle with dangers
which might really prove serious.




CHAPTER II.

IN THE FOREST.


The unknown had struck into a dense forest, the last skirts of which
dwindled away close to the banks of the Rio Bermejo.

American forests have little resemblance to those of the Old World: in
the former, the trees shoot up hap-hazard, crossing and interlacing
each other, and sometimes leaving large spaces completely open, strewn
with dead trees, uprooted, and piled on each other in the strangest
manner.

Some trees, partially or wholly withered, show in their hollow remnants
of the strong and fruitful soil; others, equally ancient, are supported
by the entangled creepers, which, in process of time, have almost
attained the size of their former props--the diversity of foliage
forming here the most agreeable contrast; others, concealing within
their hollow trunks a hotbed, formed from the remains of their leaves
and half-dead branches, which has promoted the germination of the seed
that fell from them, seem to promise an indemnification for the loss of
the parent trees in the saplings they nourish.

One could imagine that nature had determined to put beyond the ravages
of time some of these old trees, when sinking under the weight of ages,
by clothing them in a mantle of gray moss, which hangs in long festoons
from the topmost branches to the ground. This moss, called _barbe
d'Espagnol_, gives to the trees a most fantastic aspect.

The ground of these forests, formed from the remains of trees falling,
in successive generations, for centuries, is most eccentric: sometimes
raising itself in the shape of a mountain, to descend suddenly into
a muddy swamp, peopled by hideous alligators wallowing in the green
slime, and by millions of mosquitoes swarming amidst the fetid vapours
exhaled, sometimes extending itself endlessly in plains of a monotony
and regularity truly depressing.

Rivers, without a name, traverse these unknown deserts, bearing nothing
on their silent waters save the black swans, which let themselves
carelessly float down the currents; while rosy flamingoes, posted
along the banks, fish philosophically for their dinners, with eyes
half-closed and sanctimonious air.

Even where the view seems most contracted, sudden clearings sometimes
open out prospects picturesque in the extreme and deliciously
fortuitous.

Incessant noises, nameless sounds, make themselves heard without
a break in these mysterious regions--the grand voices of the
solitude--the solemn hymn of the invisible world, created by the
Almighty.

In the bosom of these redoubtable forests the wild beasts and reptiles,
which abound in Mexico, find refuge; here and there one meets with
paths incessantly trodden for centuries by jaguars and bisons, and
which, after countless meanderings, all debouch on unknown drinking
holes.

Woe to the daring mortal who, without a guide ventures to tempt the
inextricable mazes of these immense seas of verdure! After ineffable
tortures, he succumbs, and falls a prey to the savage beasts. How
many hardy pioneers have died thus, without the possibility of the
veil being lifted which shrouds their miserable end! Their blanched
bones, discovered at the foot of some tree, alone can teach those who
come upon them that on that spot men have died, a prey to infinite
suffering, and that the same fate, perchance, awaits the finders.

The stranger must have been the constant guest of the forest into which
he had so audaciously plunged at the moment when the sun, quitting the
horizon, had left the earth to darkness--darkness rendered still denser
in the covert, in which the light even at midday could only struggle in
at intervals through the tufted branches.

Bending a little forward, eye and ear on the watch, the unknown
advanced as rapidly as the nature of the ground under his horse's hoofs
would let him, following unhesitatingly the capricious deviations of a
wild animal's path, whose traces were scarcely discoverable amidst the
tall grasses which strove continually to efface it.

He had already ridden for several hours without having slackened the
pace of his horse, plunging deeper and deeper into the forest.

He had forded several rivers, scaled many a steep ravine, hearing at a
short distance, on right and left, the hoarse growlings of the jaguar
and the mocking wailing of the tiger cat, which seemed to follow him
with their menacing yells.

Taking no heed of roar or tumult, he continued his route, although the
forest assumed a more dreary aspect at every step.

The bushes and trees of low growth had disappeared, to make room for
gigantic mahogany trees, century old cork trees, and the acajou, whose
sombre branches formed a vaulted roof of green eighty feet above his
head. The path had grown wider, and stretched, in a gentle incline,
towards a hillock of moderate height, entirely free from trees.

Arrived at the base of the hillock, the stranger halted; then, without
dismounting, cast a searching glance on all around.

The stillness of death pervaded everything; the howling of the wild
beasts was lost in the distance; no noise was audible, save that caused
by a slender stream of water, which, trickling through the crevices of
a rock, fell from a height of three or four yards into a natural basin.

The sky, of the deepest blue, was spangled with an infinite number
of brilliant stars; and the moon, sailing amidst a sea of whitish
clouds, cast her silvery rays in profusion on the hillock, whose sides,
fantastically lighted up, formed a striking contrast with the rest of
the landscape, merged, as it was, in the deepest obscurity.

During several minutes the unknown remained motionless as a statue,
listening to the faintest sound, ready to fire at the slightest
appearance of danger.

Convinced, at last, that all around was peaceful, and that nothing
unusual disturbed the silence of the solitude, he prepared to dismount,
when suddenly his horse threw up his head, laid back his ears, and
snorted loudly.

A moment more, and a violent crashing was heard among the underwood; a
noble moose deer rose from amidst the bushes, and, bounding to within a
short distance from the cavalier, rapidly traversed the path, tossing
his antlers in terror, and vanished in the darkness.

For a time the noise of its headlong course resounded over the dry
leaves, crushed under its feet in the constantly increasing speed of
its flight.

The cavalier, with a scarcely perceptible motion of the hand, backed
his horse gradually to the foot of the hillock, with his head always
turned in the direction of the forest, like a vidette who retires
before a superior force.

As soon as he reached the spot he had selected, the unknown leaped
lightly to the ground; and, making a rampart of his horse's body,
levelled his rifle, steadied the barrel across the saddle, and waited
patiently.

He had not to wait long: after a while the tread of several persons was
heard approaching his place of ambush.

Most likely the unknown had already divined who these persons might be,
even before he saw them; for he quitted his temporary shelter, passed
his arm through his horse's reins, and, uncocking his rifle, let the
butt drop on the ground, with every symptom of complete security, while
a smile of indefinable expression played about his lips.

At last the branches parted, and five persons appeared on the scene.

Of these five persons, four were men; two of them supported the
tottering form of a woman, whom they almost carried in their arms. And,
what was most wonderful in these regions, the strangers, whom it was
easy to recognise as white men by their dress and the colour of their
skin, had no horses with them.

They continued to advance without being aware of the presence of the
unknown, who, still motionless, marked their approach with mingled pity
and sadness.

Suddenly one of the strangers happened to lift his eyes.

"Praise be to God!" cried he, in Mexican, with lively satisfaction;
"We are saved. Here is a human being at last."

The five stopped. The one who had first observed the unknown came
rapidly towards him, and exclaimed, with a graceful inclination:

"Caballero, I entreat you to grant, what is seldom refused in the
wilderness, aid and protection."

The unknown, before he replied, threw a searching look at the speaker.

The latter was a man of some fifty years; his manner was polished, his
features noble, although his hair was growing white about his temples;
his figure, upright and compact, had no more bent an inch, nor his
black eyes lost a particle of their fire, than if he had been only
thirty. His rich dress and the ease of his manner clearly proved him to
belong to the highest grade of Mexican society.

"You have committed two grave errors in as many minutes, caballero,"
answered the unknown: "the first, in approaching me without precaution;
the second, in demanding aid and protection without knowing who I am."

"I do not understand you, señor," replied the stranger, with
astonishment. "Do not all men owe mutual assistance to each other?"

"In the civilised world it may be so," said the unknown, with a sneer;
"but in the wilderness, the sight of a man always forebodes danger: we
are savages here."

The stranger recoiled in astonishment.

"And thus," said be, "you would leave your fellow creatures to perish
in these horrible solitudes without stretching forth a hand to help
them?"

"My fellow creatures!" cried the unknown, with biting irony; "My fellow
creatures are the wild beasts of the prairie. What have I in common
with you men of towns and cities, natural enemies of every being that
breathes the pure air of liberty? There is nothing in common between
you and me. Begone, and weary me no more."

"Be it so," was the stranger's haughty answer. "I would not importune
you much longer; were it only a question of myself, I would not have
uttered a single prayer to you. Life is not so dear to me, that I
should seek to prolong it on terms repugnant to my honour; but it is
not a question of myself alone; here is a female, still almost a child,
my daughter who is in want of prompt assistance, and will die if it is
not rendered."

The unknown made no reply; he had turned away, as if reluctant to carry
on any further conversation.

The stranger slowly rejoined his companions, who had halted at the edge
of the forest.

"Well?" he asked uneasily.

"The señorita has fainted," sorrowfully replied one of the men.

The stranger uttered an exclamation of grief. He remained for some
moments fixing his eyes on the girl, with an indescribable expression
of despair.

All of a sudden he turned abruptly, and rushed towards the unknown.

The latter had mounted, and was on the point of retiring.

"Stop!" called the stranger.

"What is it you want with me?" replied the unknown once more. Then
he added fiercely, "Let me begone; and thank God that our unforeseen
meeting in this forest has not been productive of graver consequences
to you."

The menace contained in these enigmatical words disturbed the stranger
in spite of himself. However, he would not be discouraged.

"It is impossible," he resumed vehemently, "that you can be as cruel as
you wish us to believe. You are too young for all feeling to have died
out of your heart."

The unknown laughed strangely.

"I have no heart," he said.

"I implore you, in the name of your mother, not to abandon us!"

"I have no mother."

"Then I beseech you in the name of the being you love most upon earth,
whoever that may be."

"I love no one."

"No one?" repeated the stranger, shuddering; "Then I pity you, for you
must be most unhappy."

The unknown trembled; a feverish glow stole over his face; but soon
recovering himself, he exclaimed:

"Now let me go."

"No; not before I learn who you are."

"Who I am! Have I not already told you? A wild beast; a being with only
the semblance of humanity, with a hatred towards all men which nothing
can ever appease. Pray to God you may never again encounter me on your
path. I am like the raven--the sight of me foretells evil. Adieu!"

"Adieu!" murmured the stranger; "And may God have mercy on you, and not
visit your cruelty upon you!"

Just at this moment a voice, feeble, but in its sad modulations
sweet and melodious as the notes of the _centzontle_, the American
nightingale, rose through the stillness.

"My father, my dear father!" it uttered. "Where are you? Do not abandon
me."

"I am here, I am here," exclaimed the stranger tenderly, as he turned
quickly to run to her who thus called him.

A cloud passed over the face of the unknown at the sound of these
melodious accents; his blue eye flashed like the lightning. He placed
his hand on his heart, trembling as if he had received an electric
shock.

After a short hesitation, he forced his horse to make a sudden bound
forward, and placing his hand on the stranger's shoulder:

"Whose voice is that?" he asked in singular accents.

"The voice of my daughter, who is dying, and calls me."

"Dying?" stammered the unknown, strangely moved. "She!"

"My father, my father!" repeated the girl in a voice which grew weaker
and weaker.

The unknown raised himself to his full height; his face assumed an
expression of indomitable energy.

"She shall not die!" said he in a low voice. "Come!"

They rejoined the group.

The young girl was stretched upon the ground, with her eyes closed, her
face pale as a corpse; the feeble gasps of her breathing alone evincing
that life had not completely left her.

The persons surrounding her watched her in profound sadness, while
tears rolled silently down their bronzed cheeks.

"Oh!" cried the father, falling on his knees beside the young girl,
seizing her hand and covering it with kisses, while his face was
inundated with tears; "My fortune--my life--to him who will save my
cherished child!"

The unknown had dismounted, and observed the girl with sombre and
pensive eye. At last, after several minutes of this mute contemplation,
he turned towards the stranger.

"What ails this girl?" he asked abruptly.

"Alas! An incurable ailment: she has been bitten by a grass snake."

The unknown frowned till his eyebrows nearly met together.

"Then she is lost indeed," said his deep voice.

"Lost! O Heavens! My daughter, my dearest daughter!"

"Yes; unless--" then, arousing himself: "How long is it since she was
bitten?"

"Scarcely an hour."

The face of the unknown lighted up. He remained silent for a moment,
during which the bystanders anxiously bent towards him, awaiting with
impatience the opinion he would probably pronounce.

"Scarcely an hour?" said he at last. "Then she may be saved."

The stranger uttered a sigh of joy.

"You will answer for it?" he cried.

"I?" returned the unknown, shrugging; his shoulders; "I will answer for
nothing, except that I will attempt impossibilities for the chance of
restoring her to you."

"Oh, save her, save her!" eagerly exclaimed the father; "And, whoever
you may be, I will bless you."

"It matters not to me what you may do. I do not try to save this girl
for your sake; and, whatever may be the motives inducing me, I exempt
you from all feelings of gratitude."

"You may possibly harbour such thoughts; but for myself--"

"Enough," rudely broke in the unknown; "we have already lost too much
time in idle words; let us make haste, if we would not be too late."

All were silent.

The unknown looked around.

We have already said that the strangers had halted at the edge of the
forest; over their heads the last trees of the covert expanded their
mighty branches.

Approaching the trees, the unknown examined them carefully, apparently
in search of something he could not find.

All of a sudden, he uttered a cry of joy; and, unsheathing the long
knife fastened to his right knee, he cut a branch from a creeper, and
returned to the strangers, who were anxiously watching his proceedings.

"Here," said he to one of the party, who looked like a _peon_ (a serf),
"strip all the leaves from this branch, and pound them. Be quick; every
second is worth a century to her whom we wish to save."

The _peon_ set himself actively to the allotted task.

Then the unknown turned to the father:

"In what part of the body has this child been bitten?"

"A little below the left ankle."

"Has she much courage?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Answer! Time presses."

"The poor child is quite worn out; she is very weak."

"Then we must hesitate no longer; the operation must be performed."

"An operation!" cried the stranger, affrighted.

"Would you rather she should die?"

"Is this operation indispensable?"

"It is: we have already lost too much time."

"Then perform it. God grant you may succeed!"

The girl's leg was horribly swollen; the part round the serpent's bite,
terribly tumefied, was already taking a greenish hue.

"Alas," muttered the unknown, "there is not a moment to spare. Hold the
child so that she cannot stir while I perform the operation."

In these last words the voice of the unknown had assumed such an accent
of command, that the strangers obeyed without hesitation.

The former seated himself on the ground, took the limb of the girl
upon his knee, and made his preparations. Luckily the moon shone at
this moment so clearly, that her vivid rays flooded the landscape, and
everything was almost as visible as in broad daylight.

When the girl had first felt the bite, she had immediately, and happily
for herself, torn off her silk stocking. The unknown grasped the blade
of his knife an inch from the point, and, lowering his brow with
terrible determination, buried the point in the wound, and made a
cruciform incision about six lines deep, and more than an inch long.

The poor child must have felt terrible anguish; for she gave utterance
to a dreadful scream, and twisted herself about nervously.

"Hold her tight, _cuerpo de Cristo!_" shouted the unknown in a voice of
thunder, while with admirable coolness and skill he pressed the lips
of the wound, so as to force out the black and decomposing blood it
contained; "And now the leaves--the leaves!"

The _peon_ ran up.

The unknown took the leaves, parted asunder the lips of the wound,
and gently, carefully expressed their juice on the palpitating flesh.
Making a kind of plaster of the same leaves, he applied it to the
wound, tied it down firmly with a bandage, placed the foot carefully on
the ground, and rose.

As soon as a certain quantity of the sap of the creeper had fallen
upon the wound, the girl had seemed to experience a sensation of great
relief; the nervous spasms began to abate; she closed her eyes; and
finally she leaned back without attempting to struggle any longer with
the persons who held her in their arms.

"You may leave her now," whispered the unknown; "she is asleep."

In fact, the regular though feeble breathing of the patient proved her
to be plunged in a profound slumber.

"God be praised!" exclaimed the poor father, clasping his hands in
ecstasy; "Then she is really saved?"

"She is," answered the unknown leisurely; "bating unforeseen accidents,
she has nothing more to fear."

"But what is the extraordinary remedy you have employed to obtain such
a happy result?"

The unknown smiled with disdain, and did not seem willing to reply;
however, after a short hesitation, yielding perhaps to that secret
vanity which induces us all to make a parade of our wisdom, he decided
upon giving the information demanded.

"The pettiest things astonish you fellows who dwell in cities," said he
ironically; "the man who has passed his whole life in the wilderness
knows many things of which the inhabitants of your brilliant towns
are ignorant, although, with the sole aim of humiliating, they take
pleasure in parading their false science before us poor savages.
Nature hides not the secret of her mysterious harmonics from him who
ceaselessly pries into the darkness of night and the brightness of
day, with a patience beyond proof, without suffering himself to be
discouraged by failure. The sublime Architect, when he had created
this immense universe, did not let it fall from his omnipotent hands
until it had been made perfect, nor till the amount of good should
counterbalance everywhere the amount of evil--placing, so to say, the
antidote side by side with the poison."

The stranger listened with increasing surprise to the words of this
man, whose real character was an enigma to him, and who at every
moment showed himself in lights diametrically opposed, and under forms
entirely distinct.

"But," continued the unknown, "pride and presumption make man blind.
Accustomed to make all things bear upon himself, imagining that all
existence has been specially created for his convenience, he takes no
pains to study the secrets of nature further than they seem to have a
direct influence on his personal welfare, not caring to make inquiry
into her simplest actions. So, for instance, the region in which we
now are, being low and marshy, is naturally infested with reptiles,
which are so much the more dangerous and to be dreaded, because they
are half-calcined and rendered furious by the rays of a torrid sun.
Therefore provident nature has produced in abundance throughout
these same regions a creeper called _mikania_--the one I have just
used--which is an infallible remedy for the bites of serpents."

"I cannot doubt it, after having witnessed its efficacy; but how
were the virtues of this creeper discovered?" said the stranger,
involuntarily interested in the highest degree.

"A hunter of the woods," continued the unknown, with a certain
self-complacency, "observed that the black falcon, better known as
the _guaco_, a bird which feeds chiefly upon reptiles, takes special
delight in exterminating serpents. This hunter had also observed that
if, during the struggle, the serpent contrived to wound the _guaco_,
the latter immediately retired from the combat, and flying to the
_mikania_, tore off a few leaves, which it bruised in its beak. It
afterwards returned to the fight more resolute than ever, until it had
vanquished its redoubtable enemy. The hunter was an astute man, and of
great experience; one who knew that animals, being devoid of reason,
are more especially under the providence of God, and that all their
actions proceed from laws laid down at the beginning. After mature
reflection, he resolved to test his experience upon himself."

"And did he execute his project?" cried the stranger.

"He did. He let a coral snake bite him, the deadliest of all; but,
thanks to the _mikania_, the bite proved as harmless to him as the
prick of a thorn. That is the manner in which this precious remedy was
discovered. But," added the unknown, suddenly changing his tone, "I
have complied with your wishes in bringing help to your daughter; she
is safe. Adieu! I may stay no longer."

"You must not go before you have told me your name."

"What good will this pertinacity do you?"

"I wish to embalm the name in my memory as that of a man to whom I have
vowed a gratitude which will only end with my life."

"You are mad!" rudely answered the unknown. "It is useless to pronounce
to you a name which you will very likely learn but too soon."

"Let it be so; I will not persist, nor ask the reasons which compel
you to act thus. I will not seek to learn it in despite of you; but,
if you refuse to teach me your name, you cannot prevent my making you
acquainted with my own--I am called Don Pedro de Luna. Although until
today I have never penetrated thus far into the prairies, my residence
is not very far off. I am proprietor of the Hacienda de las Norias
de San Antonio, close to the frontiers of the Despoblado, near the
_embouchure_ of the Rio San Pedro."

"I know the Hacienda de las Norias de San Antonio. Its owner ought to
belong to the happy ones of earth, according to the opinion of those
who dwell in cities. So much the better: if it does belong to you, I do
not envy riches with which I should not know what to do. Now, you have
nothing more to say, have you? Well, then, adieu!"

"What! Adieu! You will leave us?"

"Certainly; do you think I intend to remain all night with you?"

"I hoped, at least, you would not leave unfinished the work you have
undertaken."

"I do not understand you; caballero."

"Will you abandon us thus? Will you leave my daughter in her present
state, lost in the wilderness, without the means of escape,--in the
depths of this forest, which has been so nearly fatal to her?"

The unknown frowned several times, then cast a stolen look on the girl.
A violent struggle seemed to commence in his bosom; he remained silent
for several minutes, uncertain how to decide. At last he raised his
head.

"Listen," said he in a constrained voice; "I have never learnt to lie.
At a short distance I have a _jacal_ (hovel), as you would call the
miserable _calli_ (cottage) which shelters me; but, believe me, it is
better for you to remain here than to follow me there."

"And why?" said the stranger, surprised.

"I have no explanation to give you, and I will not lie. I only repeat:
believe me, and remain here. Nevertheless, if you persist in following
me, I will not oppose it; I will be your faithful guide."

"Danger menace us under your roof? I will not stop on such an
hypothesis: hospitality is sacred in the prairies."

"Perhaps so; I will neither answer yes nor no. Do you decide; only make
your resolve quickly, for I am in haste to have the matter decided."

Don Pedro de Luna threw a sorrowful look at his daughter; then
addressing the unknown--

"Whatever may happen," said he, "I will follow you. My daughter cannot
stay here; you have done too much for her not to wish to save her. I
confide in you; show me the way."

"Agreed," replied the unknown laconically. "I have warned you; take
care you are on your guard."




CHAPTER III.

THE CALLI.


Much as the unknown had hesitated in offering shelter to Don Pedro
de Luna and his daughter,--and we know in what terms the offer had
been finally made,--he showed himself equally anxious, as soon as
his decision was made, to quit that part of the forest where the
scene passed which we have recorded in our preceding chapter. His
eyes wandered about continually with a disquietude he took no pains
to conceal. He turned his head repeatedly towards the hillock, as if
he expected to see some horrible apparition suddenly rising from its
summit.

In the state the girl was in, to awaken her would have been to commit
a grave imprudence, seriously compromising her health. In accordance
with orders delivered in a dry tone by the unknown, the _peones_ of Don
Pedro, and the _hacendero_ himself, hastened to cut down some branches,
in order to fashion a litter, which they covered with dry leaves. Over
these they spread their _zarapés_, of which they deprived themselves in
order to make a softer couch for their young mistress.

These preparations finished, the girl was raised with great
precaution, and gently placed upon the litter.

Of the three men who accompanied Don Pedro, two were _peones_, or
domestic Indians; the third was the _capataz_ (bailiff) of the
_hacendero_.

The _capataz_ was an individual of about five feet eight, with broad
shoulders, and legs bowed by the constant habit of riding. He was
extraordinarily thin; but one could truly say of him, he was nothing
but muscle and sinew. His strength was wonderful. This man, called
Luciano Pedralva, was devoted, body and soul, to his master, whom, and
his family, he and his had served for nearly two centuries.

His features, bronzed by the vicissitudes of the weather, although
not striking, had an expression of intelligence and astuteness, to
which his eyes, black and well opened, added an appearance of energy
and courage beyond the common. Don Pedro de Luna had the greatest
confidence in this man, whom he considered more in the light of a
friend than a servitor.

When the girl had been placed upon the litter, the _peones_ lifted it;
while Don Pedro and the _capataz_ placed themselves one on the right,
the other on the left of the patient, in order to guard her from the
branches of trees and creepers.

At a mute sign from the unknown, who had remounted, the little troop
leisurely began its march.

Instead of reentering the forest, the unknown continued to advance
towards the hillock, the base of which was speedily attained. A narrow
pathway serpentined along its side in an incline sufficiently gentle.
The little troop entered upon it without hesitation.

They ascended in this manner fur some minutes, following ten or a dozen
yards behind the unknown, who rode on in front by himself. Suddenly, on
arriving at an angle of the road, round which their guide had already
disappeared, a whistle rent the air, so sharp that the Mexicans halted
involuntarily, not knowing whether to advance or retreat.

"What is the meaning of this?" murmured Don Pedro anxiously.

"Treachery, without a doubt," said the _capataz_ casting his eyes
searchingly around.

But all remained quiet about them; no change was perceptible in the
landscape, which looked as lonely as ever.

Nevertheless, in a few minutes, more whistling, similar to the first
they had heard, was audible in different directions at the same lime,
answering evidently to a signal which had been made.

At that moment the unknown reappeared; his face pale, his gestures
constrained, and a prey to the most vivid emotion.

"It is you who have willed this," said he; "I wash my hands of what may
happen."

"Tell us, at all events, what peril threatens us," replied Don Pedro,
in agitation.

"Ah!" said the other, in a voice of subdued passion,

"Do I know it myself? And what would it aid you to know? Would you be
the less lost for that? You refused to believe me. Now, pray to God to
help you; for never danger threatened you more terrible than that which
hangs over your head!"

"But why these perpetual reservations? Be frank; we are men, _vive
Dios_, and, great as the peril may be, we shall know how to meet it
bravely."

"You are mad! Can one man oppose a hundred? You will fall, I tell you;
but it is to yourself alone you must address your reproaches; it is
yourself who have persisted in braving the _Tigercat_ in his lair."

"Alas," cried the _hacendero_ in accents of horror, "what name is that
you have uttered?"

"The name of the man in whose clutches you are at this very moment."

"What! the Tigercat? That redoubtable bandit, whose numberless crimes
have shocked the land for so long; that man who seems endowed with
a diabolical power to accomplish the atrocious deeds with which he
incessantly sullies himself;--is that monster near us?"

"He is; and I warn you to be prudent, for perhaps he hears you at this
moment, although invisible to your eyes and mine."

"What do I care?" energetically exclaimed Don Pedro. "Away with
caution, since we are once in the power of this demon; he is a man
devoid of pity, and my life is no longer my own."

"What do you know about it, Señor Don Pedro de Luna?" answered a
mocking voice.

The _hacendero_ trembled, and recoiled a step, uttering a stifled cry.

The Tigercat, bounding with the agility of the animal from which he
took his name, had leaped upon the summit of an elevated rock which
overhung the pathway some distance off, and now dropped lightly on the
ground two paces from Don Pedro.

There was an instant of terrible silence. The two men, thus placed face
to face, their eyes flashing, their lips compressed with rage, examined
each other with ardent curiosity. It was the first time the _hacendero_
had seen the terrible partisan, the fame of whose thirst for blood had
reached the most ignorant villagers in the land, and who for thirty
years had spread terror over the Mexican frontiers.

We will give, in a few words, the portrait of this man, who is destined
to play an important part in our history.

The Tigercat was a species of Colossus, six feet high; his broad
shoulders and limbs, from which the muscles stood out in marble
rigidity, showed that, though long past the prime of life, his strength
still existed in all its integrity; his long locks, white as the snows
on Coatepec, fell in disorder on his shoulders, and mingled with the
grizzly beard that covered his breast. His forehead was broad and
open; he had the eye of the eagle, under the brows of the lion; his
whole person offered, in a word, a complete type of the man of the
desert,--grand, strong, majestic, and implacable. Although his skin was
stained by every inclemency of weather till it had almost acquired the
colour of brick, it was nevertheless easy to recognise, in the clearly
defined lines of his face, that this man belonged to the race of whites.

His dress lay midway between that of the Mexican and of the redskin;
for although he wore the _zarapé_, his mitasses, in two pieces, worked
with hairs attached here and there, and his moccasins of different
colours, embroidered with porcupine quills and ornamented with glass
beads and hawks' bells, showed his preference for the Indians, to whose
customs, by the by, he seemed to have entirely adapted his mode of life.

A large scalping knife, a hatchet, a bullet bag, and powder horn, were
slung from a girdle of wild beast's skin, drawn tightly above his hips.

One thing must not be forgotten,--a singularity in a white man,--a
white-headed eagle's plume was placed above his right ear, as if this
man arrogated to himself the dignity of chief of an Indian tribe.

Lastly, he held in his hand a magnificent American rifle, damaskeened,
and most skilfully inlaid with silver.

Such is the physical portrait of the man to whom white hunters and
redskins had given the name of Tigercat; a name he deserved in every
respect, if hearsay had not belied him, and if only half the stories
reported of him were true.

As to the character of this strange being, we will abstain from
dwelling upon it for the present. We are persuaded the scenes which
follow will enable us to appreciate it correctly.

Although struck with surprise at the apparition--as sudden as it was
unexpected--of the dreaded freebooter, Don Pedro was not long in
recalling his presence of mind.

"You appear to know me much better than I know you," replied he coolly;
"but if half the things I have heard reported about you be true, I can
only expect, on your part, treatment similar to that which all unhappy
persons encounter who fall into your hands."

The Tigercat smiled sarcastically.

"And do you not dread this treatment?" he asked.

"For myself, personally, no!" answered Don Pedro disdainfully.

"But," continued the freebooter, with a glance towards the wounded
lady, "for the young girl?"

The _hacendero_ trembled; a livid pallor overspread his features.

"You cannot mean what you are saying," was his answer; "for the honour
of humanity, I will not think so. The Apaches themselves, fierce as
they are, feel their rage vanish before the feebleness of woman."

"Have I not among the dwellers in cities the reputation of being
fiercer than the fierce Apaches,--even than the very beasts?"

"Let us end this," replied Don Pedro haughtily; "since I have been fool
enough, in spite of repeated warnings, to place myself in your hands,
dispose of me as you think fit; but deliver me from the torture I
undergo in conversing with you."

The Tigercat frowned; he struck the ground forcibly with the butt of
his rifle, muttering some unintelligible words; but, by an extreme
effort of his will, his features instantaneously resumed their habitual
imperturbability, every trace of emotion vanished from his voice, and
he answered, in the calmest tone:

"In beginning the conversation, about which you seem to care so little,
_caballero_, I said to you, 'What do you know about it?'"

"Well?" said the _hacendero_, surprised and overcome, in spite of his
efforts, by the strange change in the dreaded speaker.

"Well," replied the latter, "I repeat the phrase, not, as you may
suppose, in mockery, but simply to elicit your frank opinion of me."

"That opinion can be of little value to you, I presume."

"More than you may imagine. But why these words? Answer me!"

The _hacendero_ remained mute for a time. The Tigercat, his eyes fixed
steadily upon him, watched him attentively.

As to the hunter who had been almost forced to consent to serve Don
Pedro de Luna as guide, his astonishment was extreme. Believing himself
to be thoroughly acquainted with the character of the freebooter, he
could not understand the scene at all, and inwardly asked himself what
this feigned courtesy of the Tigercat would end in.

Don Pedro himself argued quite differently on the bandit's sentiments;
right or wrong, he fancied he had perceived an accent of sad sincerity
in the tone in which the last words had been addressed to him.

"Since you absolutely desire it," said he, "I will reply frankly: I
believe your heart to be not so cruel as you would have it supposed;
and I imagine that this conviction, which you inwardly possess, makes
you extremely unhappy; for, notwithstanding the barbarous acts with
which they reproach you, other crimes have entered your thoughts,
before the execution of which you have recoiled, in spite of the
pitiless ferocity they attribute to you."

The Tigercat seemed about to speak.

"Do not interrupt me," continued the _hacendero_ hastily; "I know that
I am treading upon a volcano; but you have my promise to speak frankly,
and, willing or not willing, you must hear me to the end. Most of
mankind are the architects of their own fortunes in this world; you
have not escaped the common lot. Gifted with an energetic character,
with vivid passions, you have not sought to overcome these passions;
you have suffered yourself to be overcome by them, and thus, fall
after fall, you have reached that depth in which you are now lost; and
yet all good feeling is not utterly dead in you."

A smile of contempt flickered over the lips of the old man.

"Do not smile at me," the _hacendero_ went on; "the very question you
have put proves my assertion. Leading in the wilderness the life of
the plundering savage, hating society, which has cast you off, you
still hanker after the opinion the world forms of you. And why? Because
that sentiment of justice, which God has planted in the hearts of all,
revolts in you at the universal reprobation heaped upon your name. It
has roused your shame. The man who can still be ashamed of himself,
criminal as he may be, is very close to repentance; for the voice that
cries aloud in his heart is the voice of awakening remorse."

Although Don Pedro had ceased speaking for some time, the Tigercat
still seemed to be listening to his words; but suddenly lifting his
head proudly, he cast a mocking glance around him, and burst into a
laugh, dry and hard as that which Goethe ascribes to Mephistopheles.

This laugh cut the _hacendero_ to the heart. He comprehended that the
evil instincts of the freebooter had resumed their sway over the better
thoughts which, for a moment, had seemed to assert their mastery.

After this bout of laughter, the countenance of the Tigercat resumed
its usual rigid immobility.

"Good!" cried he in a tone of apparent glee, which did by no means
deceive Don Pedro; "I expected a sermon, and find I was not mistaken.
Well, at the risk of sinking in your estimation,--or, to speak more
truly, in order to flatter your self-esteem by leaving you in the
belief that you judge my feelings correctly,--I decree that you and
your followers return to your Hacienda de las Norias de San Antonio,
not only without the loss of a hair, but even as partakers of my
hospitality. Does not this decision astonish you? You were far from
expecting it."

"Not so; it is exactly what I anticipated."

"Indeed!" said he, with astonishment; "Then if I offer you the
hospitality of my _calli_, you will accept it?"

"And why not, if the offer is made in good faith?"

"Then come without fear; I pledge you my word that you nor yours need
fear any injury on my part."

"I follow you," said Don Pedro.

But the unknown had watched with increasing anxiety the erratic course
of this conversation, and advancing abruptly in front of, and extending
his arms towards, the _hacendero_--

"Stop, as you value your life!" he cried in a voice trembling with
secret emotion. "Stop! Do not let yourself be deceived by the assumed
benevolence of this man; he is spreading a snare for you; his offer
conceals a treason."

The Tigercat drew himself up to his full height, stared disdainfully
at the speaker, and replied, in an accent of supreme majesty:

"Your senses wander, boy; this man runs no risk in confiding in me.
Granted that there are many things I do not respect in this world,
still there is at least one which I have always respected, and have
suffered no one to doubt,--my word,--my word, which I have given to
this _caballero_. Come! Let us pass; the young woman whom you have
succoured so opportunely is not yet out of danger; her state demands
attentions which are beyond your power to afford."

The unknown trembled; his dark-blue eyes flashed, his lips parted as if
to answer; but he remained silent, and retired a few paces, knitting
his brow in concentrated passion.

"Moreover," imperturbably continued the freebooter, "whatever force
may lie at your disposal in other parts of the wilderness, you know
that here I am all-powerful, and that here my will is law. Leave me to
act as I please. Do not force me to measures I should abhor; for if I
raised but a finger I could tame your fool's pride."

"I know," said the young man, "that I am powerless; but beware how you
treat these strangers, who placed themselves under my protection; for I
shall know how to take my revenge."

"Yes, yes," said the Tigercat drearily; "I know you would not hesitate
to revenge yourself even on me, if you fancied you had a cause. But I
care not; I am master here."

"I shall follow you even into your haunt; think not I intend to desert
these strangers now they are in your hands."

"As you please; I do not forbid you to accompany them; on the contrary,
I should regret your leaving them."

The unknown held his peace, smiling disdainfully.

"Come," resumed the Tigercat, turning to the _hacendero_.

The troop began again to ascend the hillock, following in the footsteps
of the old freebooter, close to whom rode their former guide.

After some turnings and windings in the path, of more or less
abruptness, some of which caused the Mexicans no little difficulty, the
Tigercat turned towards the _hacendero_, and addressed him in a voice
perfectly free from embarrassment:

"I beg you to excuse my guiding you over such villainous roads;
unfortunately they are the only ones leading to my dwelling. It is at
hand; in a few minutes we shall be there."

"But I see no traces of habitation," replied Don Pedro, vainly,
scanning the country in all directions.

"True," said the Tigercat, with a smile; "nevertheless, we are hardly
an hundred paces from the end of our journey; and I can assure you the
abode to which I am leading you would harbour a hundred times our
present numbers."

"I have not much idea where this dwelling is to be found, unless it be
subterranean, as I begin to suspect."

"You have almost guessed it. The place I inhabit, if not subterranean
in the strict sense of the word, is at least a dwelling covered by the
ground. Few have entered it to leave it again safe and sound, as you
shall."

"So much the worse," retorted roundly the _hacendero;_ "so much the
worse for them--and for you."

The Tigercat frowned, but immediately replied, in the light and
careless tone he had affected for the last few minutes:

"Look you, I will clear up this mystery. Listen; the story is
interesting enough. When the Aztecs quitted Azlin, which signifies
'the country of herons,' to conquer Anahuac, or 'the country between
the waters,' their peregrinations were long, extending over several
centuries. Disheartened at times by long travel, they halted, founded
cities, in which they installed themselves as if they never intended
to abandon the place they had chosen; and, perhaps with the object
of leaving behind them ineffaceable traces of their passage through
the wild countries they traversed, they constructed pyramids. Hence
the numerous ruins littering the soil of Mexico, and the _teocalis_
one meets with occasionally,--last and mournful vestiges of a people
that has disappeared. These _teocalis_ built on a system of incredible
solidity far from crumbling under the strenuous embrace of time, have
ended in becoming a part of the ground which supported them, and so
completely, that there is often difficulty in recognising them. I can
give you no better proof of my assertion than what you have now before
you. The elevation you are now ascending is not, as you might suppose,
a hill caused by some perturbation of the earth,--it is an Aztec
_teocali_."

"A _teocali!_" exclaimed Don Pedro, in astonishment.

"It is, indeed," continued the freebooter; "but so many centuries have
elapsed since the day it was built, that, thanks to the vegetable
matter incessantly conveyed by the winds, nature has apparently resumed
her rights, and the Aztec watchtower has become a green hill. You are
doubtless aware that the _teocalis_ are hollow?"

"I am aware of it," answered the _hacendero_.

"It is in the interior of this one I have fixed my dwelling. See, we
have reached it. Allow me to show you the way into it."

In fact, the travellers had arrived at a kind of coarse portal--a
Cyclopean construction--which gave admittance to a subterranean
building, in which a profound obscurity prevailed, forbidding any
estimate of its dimensions.

The Tigercat stopped, and gave a peculiar whistle. Immediately a
dazzling light broke forth from the interior, and illuminated it in all
its vastness.

"Let us enter," said the freebooter, preceding his companions.

Without hesitation Don Pedro prepared to follow, after making a sign to
his attendants, warning them to conceal their rising fears.

For a moment the unknown found himself, so to speak, alone with the
_hacendero_, and bending swiftly down, whispered softly in his ear, "Be
prudent; you are entering the tiger's den."

Saying this, he rapidly left them, as he feared the freebooter might
perceive that he was giving a last word of warning to the stranger.

But, good or bad, the advice came too late: hesitation would have been
folly, for flight was impossible.

On all sides, on every jutting rock, appeared as by enchantment, the
dark shadows of a host of persons, who had started up around the
strangers without their understanding whence they came, so stealthy had
been their approach.

The Mexicans entered, then, although not without feelings of dread,
into the terrible cavern, whose mouth opened yawning before them. The
building was vast, the walls were lofty.

After proceeding for about ten minutes, the Mexicans found themselves
in a species of rotunda, in the centre of which a huge brazier was
flaming; four long corridors crossed the rotunda at right angles. The
Tigercat, still followed by the travellers, entered one of these. He
stopped on reaching a door formed of a reed hurdle.

"Make yourselves at home," said he; "your lodgings consists of two
chambers, which have no communication with the rest of the cave. By my
orders you will be supplied with food, with wood to make a fire, and
torches of ocote to give you light."

"I thank you for these attentions," replied Don Pedro. "I had little
reason to expect them."

"And why not? Do you think that I do not know how to practise Mexican
hospitality, in its fullest extent, whenever it suits me?"

"Sir!" said the _hacendero_, with a gesture of deprecation.

"Silence!" said the bandit, interrupting him; "You are my guests for
the night. Sleep in peace; nothing shall disturb your rest. In an hour
I will send you a potion for the lady to drink. We shall meet again
tomorrow." And, bowing with an ease and courtesy little expected by
Don Pedro from such a man, the Tigercat took his leave and quitted the
chamber.

For a few seconds the step resounded under the dark vault of the
corridor; then it was silenced. The travellers were alone, and the
_hacendero_ determined to investigate the chambers prepared for them.




CHAPTER IV.

SUPERFICIAL REMARKS.


The _haciendas_ of Spanish America were never feudal tenures,
whatever certain badly informed authors may assert, but simply large
agricultural holdings, as their name clearly indicates.

These _haciendas_, scattered over Mexico at great distances from each
other, and surrounded by vast stretches of country, for the greater
part uninhabited, are generally situated on the top of abruptly rising
hills, in positions easy of defence.

As the _hacienda_, properly so called,--_i.e._ the habitation of the
proprietor of the estate,--forms the nucleus of the colony, and, in
addition to the barns and stables, contains also the out houses, the
lodgings of the _peones_, and, above all, the chapel, its walls are
high, massive, and surrounded by a ditch, so as to put it out of danger
from a _coup-de-main._

These numerous _haciendas_ frequently maintain from six to seven
hundred individuals of all trades, the lands belonging to a farm of
this description being often of greater extent than a whole province in
France.

They are the wholesale breeding places of the wild horses and cattle
that graze at freedom in the prairies, watched over at a distance by
_peones vaqueros_ as untamed as themselves.

The Hacienda de las Norias de San Antonio--_i.e._ St. Anthony's
Wells--rose gracefully from the summit of a hill covered with thick
groves of mahogany, Peru trees and _mesquites_, forming a belt of
evergreen foliage, the palish green of which contrasted agreeably with
the dead white of the lofty walls, crowned with _almenas_, a kind of
battlement intended to announce the nobility of the proprietor of the
holding.

In fact, Don Pedro de Luna was what is called a _cristiano viejo_ (old
Christian), and descended in a direct line from the first Spanish
conquerors, without a single drop of Indian blood having been infused
into the veins of his ancestors. So, although after the Declaration of
Independence the ancient customs began to fall into disuse, Don Pedro
de Luna was proud of his nobility, and clung to the _almenas_ as marks
of distinction which only noblemen were allowed to adopt in the time of
the Spanish rule.

Since the period when, in the suite of that genial adventurer, Fernando
Cortez, a Lopez de Luna had first put foot in America, the fortunes of
this family, very poor and much reduced at that time--for Don Lopez
literally possessed nothing but his cloak and sword,--the fortunes
of this family, we say, had taken an incredible flight upwards, and
entered on a career of prosperity that nothing in time's course could
trammel. Thus Don Pedro de Luna, the actual representative of this
ancient house, was in the enjoyment of wealth, the amount of which
it would certainly have puzzled him to state,--wealth which had been
increased still more by the property of Don Antonio de Luna, his elder
brother, who had disappeared more than twenty-five years after events
to which we shall have to revert, and who it was supposed had perished
miserably in the mysterious wilderness in the neighbourhood of the
_hacienda_. It was likely that he had fallen a victim to the horrible
pangs of hunger, or more probably into the hands of the Apaches, those
implacable enemies of the whites, on whom they ceaselessly wage an
inveterate war.

In short Don Pedro was the sole representative of his name, and his
fortune was immense. No one who has not visited the interior of Mexico
can figure to himself the riches buried in these almost unknown
regions, where certain land owners, if they would only take the trouble
to put their affairs in order, would find themselves five or six times
more wealthy than the greatest capitalists of the old world.

Now, although everything seemed to smile on the opulent _hacendero_,
and although, to the world that looks beyond the surface, he seemed
to enjoy, with every appearance of reason, an unalloyed happiness,
nevertheless the deep wrinkles channelled in the forehead of Don Pedro,
the mournful severity of his face, and his gaze often turned to heaven
with an expression of sombre despair, might give rise to the surmise
that the life all thought so happy was secretly agitated by a profound
sorrow, which the years, as they rolled on, augmented instead of
solacing.

And what was the sorrow? What storms had troubled the course of a life
so calm on the surface?

The Mexicans are the most forgetful people on earth. This certainly
arises from the nature of their climate, which is incessantly
distracted by the most frightful cataclysms. The Mexican, whose life is
passed on a volcano, who feels the soil incessantly trembling under his
feet, only cares to live for today. For him yesterday no longer exists;
tomorrow he may never see the sun rise; today is his all, for today is
his own.

The inhabitants of the Hacienda de las Norias, incessantly exposed to
the inroads of their redoubtable neighbours the redskins, constantly
occupied in defending themselves from their attacks and depredations,
were still more forgetful than the rest of their countrymen of a past
in which they took no interest.

The secret of Don Pedro's grief, if really such a secret existed, was,
therefore, confined pretty nearly to his own breast; and as he never
complained,--never made allusion to the earlier years of his life,
--surmise was impossible, and the ignorance of everyone on the subject
complete.

One single being had the privilege of smoothing the anxious brow of
the _hacendero_, and of bringing a languid and fleeting smile to his
lips.

It was his daughter. Doña Hermosa at sixteen was dazzlingly beautiful.
The jet black arches of her brow, finely traced as with a pencil,
enhanced the beauty of a forehead not too high and of a creamy white.
Her large eyes, blue and pensive, contrasted harmoniously with hair of
ebon hue, which curled about the delicate neck, and on which the sweet
jasmines died away with pleasure.

Short, like all Spanish women of her race, her figure was slender but
well knit. No smaller feet had ever pressed in the dance the greensward
of Mexico; no more delicate hand ever ransacked the dahlias of a
garden. Her walk, easy, like that of all Creoles, was a serpentine
and undulating motion, full of grace and of _salero_, as they say in
Andalusia.

This exquisite girl scattered mirth and joy over the _hacienda_,
whose echoes from morning to night repeated lovingly the melodious
modulations of her pellucid notes, the pure and fresh qualities of
which made the birds die of envy as they hid themselves under the
foliage of the _puerta_ (open court).

Don Pedro idolised his daughter; he felt for her that passionate and
boundless affection the immense power of which can only be understood
by those who are fathers in the true sense of the word.

Hermosa, brought up at the _hacienda_, had only paid a few short
visits, at long intervals, to the great centers of the Mexican
Confederation. Their manners were entirely strange to her. Accustomed
to lead the free and untrammelled life of a bird, and to express her
thoughts aloud, her frankness and innocent simplicity were extreme,
while her sweetness of temper made her adored by all the inhabitants of
the _hacienda_, over whose welfare she watched with constant care.

Nevertheless, owing to the peculiar kind of education she had
received,--exposed on this distant frontier to the frequent sound of
the frightful war whoop of the redskins, and to be present during
horrible scenes of carnage,--she had accustomed herself from an early
age to look perils in the face, if not coldly, at all events with a
courage and strength of mind scarcely to be expected in so delicate a
child.

In conclusion, the influence she exercised over all who approached her
was incomprehensible: it was impossible to know her without loving her,
or without feeling a wish to lay down one's life for her.

On several occasions, in the attacks made on the _hacienda_ by those
ferocious plunderers of the desert the Apaches and Comanches, some
wounded Indians had fallen into the hands of the Mexicans. Doña
Hermosa, far from suffering these wretches to be maltreated, had
ordered every care to be taken of them, and restored them to liberty as
soon as their wounds were healed.

From this course of action it resulted that the redskins by degrees
renounced their attacks upon the _hacienda_, and that the girl,
attended by only one man--with whom we shall soon make the reader
acquainted--unconcernedly took long rides in the wilderness, and
often, carried away by the ardour of the chase, rambled off to a great
distance from the _hacienda;_ while the Indians who saw her pass not
only abstained from injuring her, but laid no obstacles in her way. On
the contrary, these primitive beings, having conceived a superstitious
veneration for her, contrived, while remaining out of sight themselves,
to remove from her path any dangers she might otherwise have
encountered.

The redskins, with that natural tone of poetry which distinguishes
them, had called her "the White Butterfly," so light and fragile did
she seem to them as she bounded like a frightened fawn through the tall
prairie grasses, which hardly bent under her weight.

One of her most favourite resting places in these excursions was a
_rancho_, (a farm) seven or eight miles from the _hacienda._ The
_rancho_, built in a charming situation and surrounded by fields well
looked after and carefully cultivated, was inhabited by a woman of
fifty and her son, a tall and handsome man of twenty-five or twenty-six
with a proud eye and a warm heart, named Estevan Diaz. Na Manuela, as
they called the old woman, and Estevan had an affection for the girl
which knew no bounds. Manuela had nursed Hermosa when an infant, and
the foster mother almost looked upon her young mistress as her own
child, so deep was the love she bore her. The woman belonged to a class
of domestics, now unhappily extinct in Europe, who form, as it were
a part of the family, and are looked upon by their masters more as
friends than servants.

It was under Estevan's escort that Hermosa took those long rides of
which we spoke above. These continual _têtes-à-têtes_ between a girl of
sixteen and a man of twenty-five, which in our hypocritical and prudish
world would be considered compromising, seemed very natural to the
inhabitants of the _hacienda._ They knew the profound respect and loyal
affection which bound Estevan to his mistress, whom he had dandled
on his knees when a child, and whose first steps he had supported.
Hermosa, who was as laughing, playful, and teasing as most girls of her
age, took very great pleasure in being with Estevan, whom she could
torment and plague to her heart's delight without his ever attempting
to turn restive at the capricious vagaries of his young mistress. Did
he not endure all her caprices with a patience beyond praise?

Don Pedro manifested an affectionate esteem for Manuela and her son. He
had great confidence in both, and for the last two years had entrusted
Estevan with the important post of _major-domo_--a post he shared, as
far as the land was concerned, with Luciano Pedralva, who, however, was
placed under his orders.

Thus Estevan Diaz and his mother were, next to the proprietor, the
persons of greatest account at the _hacienda_, where they were treated
with infinite respect, not only on account of the post they occupied,
but also for the sake of their character, which was duly appreciated by
all.

The Mexican _hacenderos_, whose properties are of immense extent, have
a practice at certain times of the year of making a progress through
their estates, in order to cast over their holding that "eye of the
master" which, according to the favourite saying in Southern America,
makes the crops ripen and the cattle fatten. Don Pedro never failed
to undertake these tours, on which he was anxiously expected by the
inferior persons in his employ, and by the _peones_ of the _haciendas_,
to whom the casual presence of their master brought some temporary
alleviation of their miserable lives.

In Mexico slavery, abolished in principle by the Declaration of
Independence, no longer exists by right; but it exists _de facto_
through the whole extent of the Confederation; and the following is
the adroit manner in which the law is eluded by the rich owners of
the soil:--Every _hacienda_ necessarily employs a great number of
individuals as _peones, vaqueros, tigreros,_ (herdsmen, hunters), &c.
All these people are _Indios mansos_, or civilized Indians--that is to
say, they have been baptised, and practise, after their own fashion, a
religion they will not take the trouble to understand, and which they
mix up with most absurd and ridiculous customs derived from their old
creeds.

Brutalised by misery, the _peones_ hire themselves, at very moderate
wages, to the _hacenderos_, for the sake of satisfying their two
chief vices,--gambling and drunkenness. But as Indians are the most
thriftless beings in creation, their petty wages never suffice to feed
and clothe them; and every day they are liable to die of hunger, if
they cannot contrive to procure the ordinary necessaries of life from
some source independent of their pay. It is when they have reached this
climax that the rich proprietors trap them.

The _capataz_ and _major-domo_ keep in every _hacienda_, by order of
their master, stores filled with clothing, arms, household utensils,
and so forth, which are open to the _peones_, who pawn their labour for
the needful articles advanced to them; the prices of the articles being
always ten times their value.

It follows, from this simple combination, that the poor devils of
_peones_ not only never touch an infinitesimal fraction of the nominal
wages allotted to them, but find themselves always on the debit side
of the _hacendero's_ balance sheet; and in a few months owe sums they
could not possibly pay off in a lifetime. As the law is positive in
these cases, the _peones_ are compelled to remain in the service
of their masters until, by their labour, this debt is liquidated.
Unfortunately for them, their necessities are so imperious at all
times, their position so precarious, that, after a life spent in
incessant toil, the _peones_ die insolvent. They have lived as slaves,
fatally, _adscripti glebæ_, shamelessly worked, without mercy, down
to their latest sigh, by men whom their sweat and their labour have
enriched tenfold.

Doña Hermosa, good natured, as girls usually are when brought up in
the bosom of their families, generally accompanied her father in these
annual progresses, and pleased herself by leaving bounteous marks of
her welcome visit with the poor _peones_.

This year, as in the preceding ones, she had attended Don Pedro de
Luna, signalizing her visit to each _rancho_ by relieving, in some way
or other, the infirm, the old, and the children.

About forty-eight hours before the day on which our story commences,
Don Pedro had left a silver mine he was working some leagues off in
the desert, and set off for Las Norias de San Antonio. When he had got
within twenty leagues of the _hacienda_, he felt convinced that his
escort was not needed so near his own property, and sent forward Don
Estevan and the armed retainers to announce his return, keeping with
him only the _capataz_, Luciano Pedralva, and three or four _peones_.

Don Estevan had tried to dissuade his master from remaining in the
desert almost single-handed, pointing out to him that the Indian
frontiers were infested by freebooters and marauders of the vilest
kind, who, skulking among the thickets, would be upon the watch for an
opportunity of attacking his little band; but, by a singular fatality,
Don Pedro, convinced that he had nothing to fear from these vagabonds,
who had never exhibited signs of hostility towards him, had insisted on
the _major-domo's_ departure, and the latter had been forced to obey,
although with reluctance.

The escort rode off; the _hacendero_ quietly continued his road,
chatting with his daughter, and laughing at the sinister presentiments
clouding the face of the _major-domo_ when he took leave of his master.

The day slipped away without anything happening to confirm the
misgivings of Don Estevan; no accident interrupting the monotonous
regularity of the march; no suspicious sign excited the fears of the
travellers. The desert was at peace; as far as the eye could reach,
nothing was to be seen but some straggling herds of elks and antelopes,
browsing on the tall and tufted grasses of the prairie.

At sunset Don Pedro and his companions had reached the outskirts of an
immense virgin forest, part of which they would have to cross to reach
the _hacienda_, now about a dozen leagues off.

The _hacendero_ resolved to encamp for the night at the edge of the
covert, hoping to reach Las Norias early on the morrow, before the
great heat of the day set in.

In a short time everything was arranged; a hut of branches was put
together for Doña Hermosa; fires were lit, and the horses securely
tethered, to prevent their straying during the night.

The travellers supped gaily; after which everyone laid down to sleep as
comfortably as he could manage.

However, the _capataz_, a man trained to Indian artifices, thought it
prudent not to neglect a single precaution to secure the repose of
his companions. He placed a sentry, to whom he recommended the utmost
vigilance, and saddled his horse, with the intention of making a
reconnaissance round the camp.

Don Pedro, already half asleep, raised his head, and asked Don
Luciano what he intended to do. When the _capataz_ had explained, the
_hacendero_ burst out laughing, and peremptorily ordered him to leave
his horse to feed in peace, and to lay himself down by the fire, in
order to be ready to resume the journey at break of day. The _capataz_
shook his head, but obeyed; he could not understand the conduct of his
master, who was usually so prudent and circumspect.

The truth was, that Don Pedro, impelled by one of those inexplicable
fatalities which, without apparent reason, often make the most
intelligent blind, was convinced that he had nothing to fear so
near his home, and almost on his own territory, from the rovers and
marauders of the frontiers, who would think twice before they attacked
a man of his importance, having the means in his power to make them pay
dearly for any attempt upon his person. Nevertheless, the _capataz_,
agitated by a secret uneasiness, which kept him awake in spite of
his efforts to sleep, determined to keep good watch during the night,
notwithstanding the injunctions of his master.

As soon as he saw Don Pedro decidedly asleep, he rose softly, took his
rifle, and crept stealthily towards the forest to reconnoitre; but he
had scarcely quitted the circle of light formed by the watch fire, and
advanced a few paces into the covert, than he was suddenly and rudely
seized by invisible hands, thrown on the ground, gagged, and bound with
cords; and with such expedition, that he could neither use his arms nor
utter a cry of warning to his companions.

But, in strange contrariety to the tragical usages of the prairie, the
persons who had so abruptly mastered the _capataz_ subjected him to no
ill usage, contenting themselves with binding him firmly, so as to put
the possibility of the slightest resistance out of the question, and
leaving him stretched upon the ground.

"My poor mistress!" sighed the worthy fellow as he fell, without
indulging a thought for himself.

He remained in this position for a length of time, listening greedily
to every sound in the desert, expecting every instant to hear cries
of distress from Don Pedro and Doña Hermosa. But not a cry was heard:
nothing disturbed the calm of the wilderness, over which the silence of
death seemed brooding.

At last, after twenty or twenty-five minutes, someone threw a _zarapé_
over his face, most likely with the intention of preventing any
recognition of his assailants; he was lifted from the ground with a
certain degree of precaution, and two men carried him in their arms to
some considerable distance.

The situation became more complicated every moment. In vain the
_capataz_ racked his mind to divine the intentions of his captors. The
latter uttered not a word, and glided over the ground with light and
noiseless steps, as if they were spectres. The generality of Mexicans
are fatalists. The _capataz_, recognizing the futility of a struggle,
philosophically consoled himself for what had happened, and patiently
awaited the result of this singular scene.

He had not long to wait for the issue. His unknown captors, having
probably reached the intended spot, halted and laid the _capataz_ on
the ground, after which everything round him grew calm and silent again.

At the end of several minutes he determined on an attempt to recover
his liberty, and made a desperate effort to break his bonds. But here
again a fresh surprise was reserved for him: the cords which bound him,
and which were so fast a minute before, broke after a slight resistance.

The _capataz's_ first impulse was to lift the _zarapé_ which covered
his face, and free himself from the gag. He next looked about him to
reconnoitre, and to find out what had become of his companions, and
uttered a cry of astonishment and fright on seeing Doña Hermosa, her
father, and the _peones_ stretched on the ground close by, gagged as he
had been, and their heads muffled in _zarapés_.

The _capataz_ hastened to the relief of his mistress and Don Pedro,
after which he severed the cords which bound the _peones_.

The place to which the travellers had been transported by their
invisible aggressors was completely dissimilar to the site chosen for
the camp. They were in the midst of a thick forest, where at an immense
height above their heads, the gigantic trees formed a green vault,
almost impenetrable to the light of day. The horses and baggage of the
travellers had vanished. Their position was frightful, deserted as they
were in the virgin forest without provisions or horses. Every hope of
safety was gone, and a terrible death, after horrible sufferings stared
them in the face.

It is impossible to describe the despair of Don Pedro. He acknowledged,
when it was too late, the folly of his conduct. He fixed his weeping
eyes on his daughter with an expression of unspeakable tenderness
and sorrow, accusing himself as the sole cause of the evil that had
overwhelmed them. Doña Hermosa was the only one who did not give way
to despair in these critical circumstances. After trying to raise the
courage of her father by tender and consoling words, she was the first
to speak of quitting the place and endeavouring to find the road they
had lost.

The courage which sparkled in the eye of the daughter reanimated the
energy of her father and the rest. If she did not succeed in reviving
hope in their breasts, at all events she aroused in them sufficient
spirit to encounter the necessary struggle before them. The final words
of this young creature put a stop to all hesitation, and completed the
happy reaction she had excited in their minds.

"Our friends," said she, "on finding we do not arrive, will suspect
our misfortune, and devote themselves immediately to a search for us.
Don Estevan, to whom all the secrets of the wilderness are known, will
infallibly recover our trail. Our position, therefore, is far from
desperate. Let us not abandon ourselves, if we do not wish God to
abandon us. Let us go: soon I hope we shall find our way out of the
forest, and see the sun once more."

So they began their march.

Unfortunately it is impossible to find the right direction in a virgin
forest, unless we are well acquainted with the localities,--the
forests, where all the trees are alike, where there is no visible
horizon, and where the only available knowledge is the instinct of the
brute, not the reason of man. Thus the travellers wandered at random
the whole day long, always turning, without knowing it, in the same
circle, travelling far without advancing, and vainly seeking to find a
road which was not in existence.

Don Pedro endeavoured to discover a reason why the men who had
stolen their horses should have abandoned them in this inextricable
labyrinth; why they had been thus callously condemned to an agonising
death; and who the enemy might be who had cruelly conceived a plan of
such atrocious revenge. But the _hacendero_ racked his brains in vain
for even a surmise. His mind suggested no one on whom suspicion could
rest as the probable author of this unqualified crime.

All the morning the travellers continued their devious course: the sun
went down, the day gave way to night, and they were still toiling on,
wandering mechanically without any fixed direction, now to the right,
now to the left; struggling on more in the endeavour to escape from
their thoughts by physical fatigue, than in the hope of emerging from
the forest--their horrible prison.

Doña Hermosa uttered no complaint. Cool and resolute, she pushed
forward with a firm step, encouraging her companions by voice and
gesture, and still finding spirit enough to chide and shame them for
their want of perseverance.

All of a sudden she uttered a cry of pain. She had been bitten by a
snake. This fresh misfortune, which should have apparently completed
the travellers' despair, on the contrary, excited them to such a pitch,
that they forgot all else, except how to think for and to save her whom
they called their guardian angel.

But human strength has limits, beyond which it may not go. The
travellers, overcome by fatigue and their poignant emotions during
their wanderings, and convinced, besides, of the inutility of their
efforts, were on the point of yielding to their despair, when God
placed them suddenly face to face with the hunter.




CHAPTER V.

CONFIDENTIAL CHAT.


After conducting his guests to the compartment of the _teocali_ which
he had appointed for them, the Tigercat retraced his steps, and turned
in the direction of a sufficiently ample excavation, which served for
his own particular abode.

The old man walked at a slow pace, with his head raised, and his brow
wrinkled under the tension of mighty thoughts. The flame of the torch
he held in his right hand played capriciously over his countenance,
revealing a strange expression on his features, where hate, joy, and
uneasiness reflected themselves by turns.

When he arrived at his _cuarto_ (bedchamber),--if it is right to give
the name chamber to a kind of hole ten feet square by seven feet high,
which contained as furniture a few skulls of the bison dispersed here
and there, with a handful of maize-straw negligently thrown into a
corner, and serving, no doubt, as couch for the inhabitants of this
sorry refuge,--the Tigercat fixed his _ocote_ torch in a bracket of
iron made fast to the wall, crossed his arms on his breast, lifted his
eyes with an air of defiance, and muttered the words:

"At last!"

Doubtless these words summed up in his thoughts a long series of dark
and bold combinations.

After pronouncing these words, the old man cast a searching glance
around him, as if he dreaded having been overheard. A mocking smile
passed across his pale lips; he sat down on a bison's skull, and,
burying his face in his hands, plunged into profound meditation.

A long time elapsed before he changed his position. At last, a slight
noise fell on his ear: he lifted his head with a start, and turned
towards the entrance to his cell.

"Come in!" he shouted. "I have waited for you with impatience."

"I think not!" replied a powerful voice; and the young hunter appeared
at the threshold, where he stopped, holding his head erect, and looking
proud and daring.

A shade crossed the forehead of the Tigercat.

"Ah, ha!" cried he, with pretended gaiety. "In truth, I was not
expecting you, _muchacho_ (boy); but never mind; you are welcome."

"Is that wish truly in your thoughts at this moment?" sneered the other.

"And why should it not be in my thoughts? Am I in the habit of
disguising them?"

"It is a useful habit under particular circumstances."

"A truth I do not deny; but not in this case. Come in; sit down, and
let us talk."

"I comply," answered the hunter, taking a few steps forward,
"particularly as I have to demand an explanation from you."

The Tigercat frowned, and replied, with rising and ill-suppressed anger:

"Is it to me you speak thus? Have you forgotten who I am?"

"I forget nothing that I ought to remember," concisely replied the
other.

"Boy! Have you forgotten that I am your father?"

"My father! Who will prove it?"

"You are over-venturesome," cried the old man in ire.

"After all," said the hunter scornfully, "it is nothing to me whether
you be my father or not. What does it matter? Have you not told me a
thousand times over, that bonds of relationship do not exist in nature;
that they are only a factitious sentiment, invented by human egotism
for the profit of the petty exigencies of debased society? Here, we are
only two men, equals in strength and courage; of whom the one comes to
demand from the other a clear and unvarnished explanation."

While the hunter was speaking, the old man fixed upon him a look which
flashed fire from under his half-closed eyelids. When he ceased, the
Tigercat smiled ironically.

"The wolf's cub feels he is cutting his teeth, and wants to bite his
fosterer."

"He will devour him without hesitation, if it be needful," fiercely
replied the hunter, as he let the butt end of the heavy rifle he
carried in his hand fall violently on the ground.

Instead of being lashed into a fury by a menace uttered so
peremptorily, the Tigercat suddenly became calm. His austere features
lighted up with an expression of good nature which rarely visited them.
Clapping his large hands together gaily, he exclaimed, with an air of
lively satisfaction:

"Well roared, my lion's whelp! _¡Vive Dios!_ You deserve your name,
Stoneheart! The more I see of you, the more I love you. I am proud of
you, _muchacho;_ for you are my handiwork, and I congratulate myself on
my success in producing so complete a monster. Go on as you have begun,
my son: I prophesy, you will go far."

The tone in which these words were pronounced by the Tigercat clearly
proved that they were in reality the unreserved expression of his
thoughts.

Stoneheart--for at last we know the name of this man--listened to his
father with a shrug of his shoulders, and an affectation of disdain.
When the latter ceased, the son replied as follows:

"Will you listen to me or not?"

"Certainly, my darling child. Speak! Tell me what frets you."

"Seek not to dupe me, gray-haired demon. I know your hellish malignity,
and your unmatchable knavery."

"You are complimentary, _muchacho._"

"Answer frankly and categorically the questions I will put to you!"

"Bah, Bah! Go on, go on. What are you afraid of?"

"Of nothing, I tell you; but my time is short: I have no leisure to
follow you through all the Indian circumlocutions it may be your
pleasure to invent. That is why I listen to nothing but the plain
truth."

"I cannot bind myself to that until I hear the questions you wish to
put."

"Take heed, father! If you deceive me, I shall find it out, and then--"

"And then?" repeated the old man mockingly.

"May the devil take my soul, if I do not plant my bowie knife between
your two shoulders."

"You forget that two can play at that game."

"So much the better; it will be a strife and I prefer it."

"You are not fastidious. But proceed; speak, or may the pestilence
stifle you! I am listening. I, too, have no more time to lose than you."

Stoneheart, who up to this moment had been standing erect in the middle
of the cell, seated himself on a bison's skull, and rested his rifle
across his knees.

"Did you not expect to see Zopilote when I burst into your cell?"

"I did expect Zopilote: you have guessed it, _muchacho._"

"Having finished, with his assistance, the ruffianly deeds of yesterday
and today, you two are anxious to concoct the treason you meditate
tomorrow."

"On my soul, _muchacho_, you are incomprehensible!"

"The devil I am! Then your apprehension is dull today."

"Perhaps it is: but oblige me by explaining your meaning."

"I will; however, attempt no denial: only a few minutes ago I learned
the whole story through the gossiping of the very men who were with
you."

"If you know all, why do you come here to question me?"

"In the first place, to ascertain if they spoke truly."

"They could not speak more truly: you see, I am frank."

"Then you really did surprise these travellers in their sleep?"

"Yes, _muchacho_, like a litter of prairie dogs in their earth."

"You stole their horses and baggage?"

"In good truth, I did all that."

"Afterwards, you had them carried into the thick of the forest, to die
a frightful death?"

"I did have them carried to the forest; but not, as you pretend to
believe, for the purpose of leaving them to starve."

"For what other purpose, then? I cannot suppose it was with the
intention of effacing all traces of the robbery. You care little about
such precautions, and do not stick at a knife thrust."

"Admirably reasoned, _muchacho_. I had no intention to do these
travellers the least harm in the world."

"Then what did you want from them? I cannot understand your conduct. It
is marvellous."

"Confess that it mystifies you, my son."

"It does; but will you explain?"

"That depends upon circumstances. But now promise, in your turn, to
answer a single question."

"One? I will answer it. Ask; I am listening."

"What do you think of Doña Hermosa? Has she not beautiful eyes! One
would think she had stolen a piece of the sky, they are so blue."

At this home-thrust Stoneheart recoiled; a sudden flush tinted his
features.

"Why do you ask me?" said he hesitatingly.

"What does that matter? Answer, as you have promised."

"I have scarcely looked at her," he replied, with increasing
embarrassment.

"You lie, my son: you have looked at her often enough; or young men
in these days are changed from what they were in my time--which I can
hardly believe." "Well, then, I have; and I care not who knows it,"
said Stoneheart, in a voice in which embarrassment was mingled with ill
humour. "I have looked at Doña Hermosa, if that is her name, and have
found her beautiful. Are you satisfied?"

"Almost. Has this charming creature had no other effect upon you?"

"I am not bound to answer you, father: that is a second question."

"You are right; nevertheless, I know what your reply would be. I can
dispense with it."

Stoneheart turned away his head to escape the searching look of the
Tigercat.

"But now," said he, after a momentary silence, "let us return to your
explanation."

"You are an ingrate, who will not understand. Have you not already
discovered that all this business has been undertaken for your sake
alone?"

Stoneheart started with surprise.

"For my sake? Is there anything in common between this girl and me? You
are laughing at me!"

"Not in the least; on the contrary, I am speaking seriously."

"Even if you do, I confess I am still in the dark."

"Aha! You are laughing now at my expense. Throughout the whole of this
comedy I assign you a capital part to play: I make you interesting; I
introduce you as the deliverer; are you still in the dark?"

"I myself assumed the character which you say you assigned me; I
adopted it myself, alone, without any interference of yours."

"Do you believe that, my son?" said the bandit, with a grin.

Stoneheart, not thinking it necessary to insist on this point, answered:

"I will admit that you may have arranged all that happened; but
what are your intentions towards the travellers now they are in the
_teocali?_"

"On my honour, _muchacho_, I confess that it is not settled yet; it
depends entirely on yourself."

"On me?" stammered the other.

"Yes; on my honour. Reflect; decide what you wish me to do: I give you
my word that I will conform to your wishes."

"Will you swear so, father,--solemnly swear?"

"Oh, yes. You see, I am very accommodating."

"It is exactly this pliancy, so foreign to your character and habits,
which makes me tremble."

"Folly! What more unjust suspicion! It happens one day that I remember
I am man; that it is my duty to succour my fellow creatures: and you
give me no credit for it!"

"_¡Caspita!_ How could it be otherwise? Your intrigues are so dark,
the means you employ are so utterly at variance with common usage in
similar cases, that, in spite of my knowledge of your character, the
real object of your machinations perpetually eludes me."

The visage of the Tigercat lighted up once more with a smile of
triumph; but he repressed it immediately, and assumed a look of
paternal benevolence.

"In spite of all you say," he answered, "my object in this case is so
plain that a child might see it."

"Then I must be an idiot, for I cannot divine it; on which account, I
must beg you to explain your wishes frankly."

"To make you adore the little one, _¡vive Cristo!_"

"Me!" exclaimed the hunter, astounded at the proposition, and purple
with blushes.

"And whom else, if not you?--unless it were myself."

"No, no," said the other, shaking his head mournfully; "that is
impossible: everything separates us. You have forgotten who she is; you
have forgotten what I am--I, Stoneheart, the man whose name, pronounced
to an inhabitant of the borders, makes him thrill with terror. No; it
is the dream of a fool: a love like that would be monstrous. I repeat,
it is impossible."

The Tigercat coolly shrugged his shoulders.

"My son," said he, "you have yet much to learn concerning that
many-sided being, that graceful compound of angel and devil, that
whimsical mixture of all good qualities and all vices, the world calls
woman. Be quite sure, my son, that since the time of mother Eve, woman
has never changed; there are the same treasons, the same perfidies,
still the same feline nature of the tiger, mingled with the no less
tortuous ways of the serpent. Woman must be quelled by the bold, or
she will busy herself with the hope of quelling him; she will always
despise the man for whom, in her secret heart, she feels no fear, and
for whom she entertains no involuntary respect. Your chances of winning
the heart of Hermosa, and installing yourself therein as master, are
numberless; you are proscribed, and your name is a name of terror. Oh,
my boy, love lives upon contrasts, knows no disparities, and despises
the barrier raised by human vanity. The man most sure to succeed with
a woman is precisely the only one whom, in the eyes of the world, she
ought to repel the most."

"Enough of this theme!" cried the hunter violently; "Your horrible
theories have already troubled my soul, and harrowed my heart. Let us
stop this conversation, of which I am weary. Again, I ask, what are
your intentions towards your prisoners?"

"I repeat, that it depends entirely upon yourself; they are in your
hands."

"If that be the case, they shall not stay long in your hideous lair;
tomorrow, at daybreak, they shall go."

"Just what I wish, my son."

"I myself will be their guide. You will restore everything you have
taken from them--horses and baggage."

"You shall restore them yourself; you can easily invent a story for
returning what belongs to them which shall not compromise me."

"Compromise you!" sneered Stoneheart.

"By our Lady," replied the Tigercat, with a hideous smile, "I stick to
the only good deed of my life; I will not lose the credit of it."

"Then all is agreed between us; you will not break your word to me?"

"Rest in peace; I will not break it."

"Then, good-bye, till tomorrow. I go to make everything ready."

"Good night, my son. Do not take that trouble; I take it upon myself."

And the two men separated.

The Tigercat listened attentively to the sound of his son's footsteps
as they died away in the distance. When silence was completely
re-established, he shook his head more than once with a preoccupied air.

"Love makes him shrewd," he murmured in a suppressed voice. "I will not
leave him leisure to divine my plans, or, at the moment it is within my
reach, he would frustrate the vengeance I have been so many years in
preparing."

Instead of retiring to his couch, the old man seized the torch, and
went forth from his cell.

In the meanwhile, in spite of the fears naturally caused by their
precarious position in the midst of people whose ferocious looks and
brutal manners spoke little in their favour, the travellers had passed
the night in tranquillity. No sound of evil augury had disturbed
their repose; and, worn out by fatigue, and wearied with the various
emotions of this day of misfortunes, after a short conversation, they
settled themselves to sleep.

Doña Hermosa, on waking at daybreak, found herself perfectly free from
the sufferings of the preceding day. Thanks to the remedy applied by
the hunter to the wound, the place where she was bitten, now the venom
was expressed, began to heal; she felt sufficient strength to resume
her journey on horseback, and would be able to travel without too
much fatigue. These good news dispersed the clouds which obscured the
forehead of the _hacendero_, and he awaited, with lively impatience,
the meeting with his host, which he had no doubt would not be long
deferred. In fact, as soon as the Tigercat supposed that those to whom
he had afforded shelter were awake, he presented himself before them to
inquire how they had passed the night.

The _hacendero_ thanked him warmly, assured him they were quite well,
and that Doña Hermosa herself felt almost restored to health.

"So much the better," replied the Tigercat, casting a glance of fire at
the girl. "It were a pity so charming a creature should perish in such
a miserable manner. And now, what are your intentions? Be not offended
at this question; I shall be happy to keep you at my side; and the
longer you remain here, the greater my pleasure."

"Thanks for your gracious offer," said Don Pedro; "unfortunately,
I dare not accept it: they will be uneasy on our account at the
_hacienda_, and I must hasten in person to put an end to their alarm."

"You are right. Then you intend to depart?"

"As soon as I can; unhappily, I have no horses for the few leagues of
the journey. I must put your hospitality still further to the test,
although I hardly know how to thank you for what you have done already,
by requesting you to sell me the animals I require to return home;
at the same time, I would also crave a guide, to lead us through the
forest which had nearly proved our tomb, and to put us once more on our
right road. You see, _caballero_, that I make great demands on your
courtesy."

"You only ask of me what is your right, señor; I will exert myself to
fulfil your wishes. But how did it happen that you found yourself on
foot in the virgin forest, so far from any habitations?"

The _hacendero_ cast a furtive glance over the speaker; but the
features of the latter continued immovable. Don Pedro then recounted
all the details of the strange attack of which he had been the victim.

The Tigercat listened calmly, without interrupting him, saying, as soon
as the recital was finished:

"All this seems very incomprehensible. I am annoyed at not having
received this information yesterday evening. It is very late, now;
but leave me to do what I can. Perhaps I may be able to cause your
lost property to be restored to you; at all events I will furnish you
with the means of reaching your _hacienda_. Entertain no fears on that
score. I presume you would not like to leave this place before you have
broken your fast; you can begin your journey as soon after breakfast as
you please. I must leave you for a short time, to give the necessary
orders for your departure. Excuse me. In an hour's time you shall hear
from me again."

Having said this, he retired; leaving the travellers in astonishment,
and perplexed as to his true character so easily did this man vary both
manner and language.

An hour and a half passed over without Don Pedro receiving any news
of his host. At the end of that time an Indian appeared, and without
uttering a word, made a sign to the travellers to follow him. They
obeyed without hesitation.

After following him for some minutes, they found themselves on the
summit of the _teocali_ which the evening before, under the silver rays
of the moon, they had taken for a hill.

From this elevation the travellers commanded an immense extent of
horizon, and enjoyed a magnificent landscape, still partially veiled
by the mists of morning, but illumined here and there by the dazzling
sunbeams, which produced the most striking effects amongst this chaos
of trees and mountains intersecting the boundless prairies.

The morning repast was prepared on a mound of turf, covered over with
the large leaves of the mahogany.

The Tigercat standing by the mound, was waiting for his guests. Some
redskins, few in number, and scattered here and there about the
platform, all armed, and in their war paint, were walking about with
seeming indifference, and taking no apparent note of the presence of
the strangers.

"I have preferred to have the meal served here," said the Tigercat,
"where you can enjoy the magnificent prospect."

Don Pedro thanked him; and, at his repeated invitation, sat down by the
mound with his daughter and Don Luciano. The _peones_ ate by themselves.

The repast was frugal. It consisted of fritters, with red pepper,
_tasajo_ (sun-dried beef), a few slices of venison, and rolls made
of maize flour, the whole washed down with _eau de smilax_ and
_pulque_,--a spirit prepared from a species of aloe. It was a true
hunter's meal.

"Eat and drink," said the Tigercat; "you have a long journey before
you."

"Will you not honour us by partaking of the repast you have gallantly
offered us?" said Don Pedro, seeing that the old man continued standing.

"You must excuse me, _caballero_," replied the Tigercat civilly, but
peremptorily. "I broke my fast long ago."

"Indeed!" said the _hacendero_, not content with the answer; "Then, at
least, you will consent to empty this horn of _pulque_ to my health."

"It grieves me to refuse you, señor; but it is impossible!" and he
bowed.

These repeated refusals caused a sudden coolness between the guests
and their host, in spite of the apparent graciousness of the old man's
hospitality,--for the Americans of New Spain resemble the Arabs in
this, that they only consent to eat and drink with those towards whom
their intentions are friendly.

A vague suspicion crossed the mind of Don Pedro; and he looked
inquiringly at his host, but could see nothing in the smiling face of
the old man to justify his apprehension.

The repast was eaten silently. At its termination, Doña Hermosa, after
thanking the Tigercat for his profuse hospitality, asked him if, before
she left, she could not see the hunter who had rendered her such
invaluable service the evening before.

"He is absent at present, señorita,--absent in your service; but I
expect him to return immediately."

The doña was about to ask for an explanation of these words, when a
sound, resembling distant thunder, arose in the forest, and grew louder
and louder every minute.

"And here," continued the Tigercat, "comes the very man whom you
desired to see; he will be with you directly. The noise you hear is
caused by the galloping of the horses he brings with him."




CHAPTER VI.

THE JOURNEY.


In a very short time after the occurrences related in the preceding
chapter, the travellers saw a tolerably numerous troop of riders emerge
from the forest.

Stoneheart rode at their head, and Don Pedro discovered, with feelings
of lively satisfaction, that the horses and mules so audaciously stolen
from him were in the rear of the troop.

"Ha!" said he, "The robbers have been compelled to disgorge their prey."

"It would appear so," answered the old man, with a scarcely perceptible
smile.

Meanwhile, the hunter had halted the troop at a little distance from
the _teocali._ He himself had dismounted, and was now coming towards
the travellers. He soon reached them.

"I perceive that you have succeeded in your enterprise," the Tigercat
said to him in a tone of raillery.

"I have," answered the hunter laconically, and turning from him.

"I am rejoiced at this circumstance," resumed the old man, addressing
Don Pedro; "thanks to it, you will reach your home on your own horses,
and without the loss of anything belonging to you."

"How shall I ever repay all the obligations I owe you, señor?" said the
_hacendero_, with great emotion.

"By not thanking me for them: my conduct towards you has been very
simple, and solely dictated by the interest I took in your unlucky
position."

Although nothing could be more evident than the Tigercat's intention
to make a courteous answer, his words were uttered with such a hissing
accent, his voice was so ironical, and his tone so sarcastic, that the
effect produced was quite contrary to what he intended. Without exactly
comprehending the reason, Don Pedro felt he had met with an insult
instead of a compliment.

"Let us end this," said Stoneheart abruptly. "The sun is already
high; and it is time to set out, if you would cross the forest before
nightfall."

"In all sincerity," said the Tigercat, "notwithstanding the chagrin I
feel at seeing you depart, it is my duty to warn you that, if nothing
detains you here, you will do well to commence your journey."

Don Pedro and his companions rose, and, accompanied by the two hunters,
descended into the plain.

During the words which had been exchanged on the _teocali_, the mounted
Indians had disappeared, leaving the animals of the Mexicans at the
place where they had first halted.

The _hacendero_, before he mounted, turned his head several times in
the direction in which the Indian's had vanished.

"What are you looking for?" asked the old man, uneasy at this repeated
movement.

"You will excuse me," answered Don Pedro; "but I am afraid to enter
without a guide into that pathless forest; and I do not see the one you
were good enough to promise me."

"Nevertheless he stands before you, señor," said the Tigercat, pointing
to the hunter.

"Yes," said the latter, looking defiantly at the old man, "it is I who
am to be your guide; and I give you my sacred word, that in despite of
savages, be they beasts or men, I will conduct you in safety to your
_hacienda._"

The Tigercat made no answer to these words, which were evidently spoken
for his behoof; he contented himself by shrugging his shoulders, while
an indefinable expression settled on his mocking lips.

"Oh!" said the _hacendero_, "We have indeed nothing to fear if you are
to be our guide, señor; the generosity of your late conduct is a sure
guarantee for the future."

"Let us go," said the hunter briefly, "we have already lost too much
time."

The travellers mounted without replying.

"Adieu! And good luck," said the Tigercat, when he saw them ready to
start.

"One word, if you please, caballero," exclaimed the _hacendero_, bowing
slightly to his host.

"Speak, señor," said the latter; "is there any further service I can
render you?"

"No," replied the Mexican; "I owe you too many favours already; only,
before I leave you, perhaps forever, I wish to tell you, without
desiring to pry too closely into the motives which prompted your
actions towards me, your conduct has apparently been so cordial and
noble, that I must try to express to you the extent of my gratitude.
Whatever may happen, señor, and until evident proof to the contrary, I
consider myself indebted to you; and if occasion offers, I shall know
how to cancel the debt I owe you."

And before the Tigercat, stupefied by this adieu, which proved that
the _hacendero_ was not quite his dupe, had recovered, the Mexican
had given both spurs to his horse, and galloped off to rejoin his
companions who had already advanced some little way.

The old man remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the travellers,
until they had finally disappeared within the forest; then he regained
the _teocali_, muttering in a low voice:

"Has he foreseen my purpose? No, it is impossible; but his suspicion is
aroused, and I must have been less prudent than my wont."

In the meantime the travellers had entered upon the forest, under the
guidance of Stoneheart, who rode alone in advance, with drooping head,
and apparently plunged in sombre thought.

For two hours they progressed without exchanging a word. The hunter
rode on as if he were alone, without troubling himself in the least
about those who followed him; without even turning his head in their
direction, to see whether they were behind him.

This behaviour only moderately astonished the _hacendero_, who,
recollecting the manner in which he had made acquaintance with the
hunter the day before, was expecting a certain oddness of character on
his part. Nevertheless, he was hurt by the coldness and indifference
displayed by the man whose good will he had sought to conciliate. So
he made no attempt to engage him to break the silence and become more
sociable.

A little before midday the travellers reached a tolerably large
clearing, in the centre of which there gushed forth, from the fissures
of a rock, which rose to a grand height in the form of a pyramid, a
spring of water, as clear and limpid as crystal, which ran off in a
narrow stream through thick tufts of gladiolus.

This clearing, shaded by a leafy vault of gigantic trees surrounding
it, offered a delicious spot for repose to the weary travellers.

"We will wait here until the greatest heat of the day is over," said
the guide, breaking silence for the first time since they had left the
_teocali._

"Content," said the _hacendero_, smiling; "indeed, you could not have
chosen a fitter spot."

"One of the baggage mules carries food and other refreshment, of which
you may avail yourself, if you choose; they have been provided for your
use."

"And you--will you not join us?" asked the _hacendero_.

"I am neither hungry nor thirsty; do not trouble yourself about me;
other duties claim my attention."

Thinking it useless to insist, Don Pedro dismounted, lifted his
daughter from her saddle, and placed her on the turf beside the brook.
The horses were tethered, and all settled themselves to snatch a few
moments of repose.

Stoneheart, after silently helping the _peones_ to unload the mule
which carried the provisions, and spreading them out before Don Pedro
and his daughter, absented himself with hasty strides, and was soon
lost in the forest.

"What a strange fellow!" said the _capataz_, while doing honour to the
food before him.

"His conduct is incomprehensible," answered Don Pedro.

"But I believe him honest, in spite of his rough manner," said Doña
Hermosa; "up to the present his proceedings towards us have been
irreproachable."

"Very true," said her father; "yet he seems to display a coldness
which, I confess, makes me uneasy."

"It is impossible to think ill of a man who, in spite of all, has shown
us nothing but kindness hitherto," replied Doña Hermosa, with a certain
degree of warmth of manner; "we owe him our lives, especially myself,
whom he saved from a certain and horrible death."

"Very true, my daughter; yet all this is most difficult to account for."

"Not the least in the world, father: this man, accustomed to live
amongst Indians, has unconsciously adopted their sententiousness, and
the reserve of their manners. What you consider coldness, is probably
no more than bashfulness in the presence of a class of persons he is
not accustomed to; and his want of knowledge of our habits prevents his
speaking."

"It is not impossible that you may be right, my child; however, I
intend to ease my mind of this anxiety; and I will not leave him till I
have made an effort to loosen his tongue."

"Why should you distress him, father? We cannot exact anything from
him, beyond leading us in safety to the _hacienda._ Let him do as he
likes, if he only fulfils the promise he made us."

"All very well, señorita," objected the _capataz_; "but you must
confess that we should be seriously at a loss if he takes it into his
head not to come back."

"That supposition is inadmissible, Don Luciano: his horse is feeding
with ours; besides, for what purpose should he commit such an
unwarrantable treason."

"This man, in spite of the whiteness of his skin, is more an Indian
than an individual of our colour; and, right or wrong, señorita, I
distrust the redskins amazingly."

"Moreover," added Don Pedro, "I cannot see what urgent business could
induce him to leave us all alone, and to plunge into the forest."

"Who can tell, father?" said the girl shrewdly; "It may be he is gone
to do us some further service."

"At all events, señorita," resumed the _capataz_, "I see one thing
very clearly, which is, that if this man does not come back again, our
position is still more frightful than it was yesterday, for then we had
our rifles. Today we are completely without weapons, and incapable of
defending ourselves if attacked by man or beast."

"It is too true," cried the _hacendero_, turning pale; "our arms were
taken from us while we slept. I never thought of them before. What can
be the meaning of all this? Have we again fallen into a snare, and is
this man really a traitor?"

"No, my father," replied the girl, with spirit; "he is innocent; I am
sure of it. You will soon acknowledge the injustice of your suspicions."

"God grant it!" said Don Pedro, with a sigh.

At this moment a sharp and prolonged whistle was heard at a distance.
At the sound the hunter's horse, which had been browsing peaceably,
pricked up his ears, and darting in the direction whence the whistle
was heard, gave a neigh of pleasure, and galloped off into the forest.

"What did I tell you, señorita?" cried the _capataz_. "Do you believe
me now?"

"No," she replied energetically; "I do not believe this man to be a
traitor. Strong as appearances may be against him, you will soon see
the injustice of your suspicions."

"For this once, my daughter, I concur with Don Luciano; it is evident
that, for reasons of his own the miscreant has abandoned us."

His daughter shook her head, but said nothing.

The _hacendero_ continued:

"What shall we do? We must decide upon something or other; we cannot
stop here and wait for night."

"It is my opinion," said the _capataz_, "that we have no other
alternative than to leave this place directly. Who knows whether the
wretch is not preparing to swoop down upon us this very moment, at the
head of a band of robbers like himself?"

"Yes; but where are we to go? None of us knows the road," interposed
the _hacendero_.

"Horses have an infallible instinct which never fails to direct them to
inhabited places. Let us throw the reins on their necks, and leave them
to choose their road."

"It is a chance we might try; it might succeed. Let us set to work
without delay."

"Father! In the name of Heaven," entreated Doña Hermosa, "Think of what
you are about to do. Do not act with a precipitation you would soon
regret. Wait a little while yet; it is scarcely midday, and an hour
more or less is of little importance."

"I will not wait a minute, not a second!" violently exclaimed the
_hacendero_, rising to his feet. "Here, _muchachos!_ Saddle the horses
quickly; we will be off."

The _peones_ hastened to obey.

"Be careful, father," said the girl; "I hear the sound of a horse's
hoofs in the thicket; our guide is returning."

The convictions of the _hacendero_ were shaken by his daughter's
earnest appeal. He dropped on the turf again, making a sign to his
companion to do the like.

Doña Hermosa had not deceived herself. The noise she had heard was
certainly the step--not perhaps of a horse, for it was slow and
heavy, but at all events of an animal of great size. It was obviously
approaching.

"Perhaps it is a grizzly bear," muttered the _hacendero_.

"Or a jaguar in search of prey," added the _capataz_ in a low voice.

The anxiety of the travellers was intense. Abandoned in the forest,
without arms to defend themselves, it was clear that they were lost if
a wild beast should really attack them; for flight was impossible, as
they knew not where to fly to.

"You are mistaken," said Doña Hermosa, who alone had preserved her
presence of mind; "no danger threatens us. Look! The horses continue
feeding without showing the least alarm."

"You are right," said Don Pedro; "they would have perceived the scent
of a wild beast--have been mad with fear, and taken to flight before
this."

Suddenly the bushes parted, and the hunter made his appearance, leading
his horse by the bridle.

"I was sure of it," cried Doña Hermosa in triumph; while her father and
the _capataz_ cast down their eyes, blushing for shame.

The features of the hunter were as cold and impassive as they had
been when he quitted the clearing, only their expression was more
sombre. His horse carried on his back a heavy bundle, oblong in shape,
carefully corded, and wrapped up in buffalo hide.

"You must excuse me for having left you," he said in a voice that
sounded rather sadly; "I only perceived, when it was too late, that
you had been deprived of your weapons,--at least I suppose that to be
the case; for you cannot have forgotten to take them when you left the
_teocali_; and as it is more than probable you will have to defend
yourselves before you leave the wilderness, I have been to find arms
for you."

"Is that the reason why you left us?"

"Why I left you!" he answered quietly. "I brought you to this place
because a few paces off I have one of those _caches_ (hiding places)
which we hunters fashion, here and there in the desert, to serve us in
time of need. But," he added in a bitter tone, "it has been discovered
and pillaged. On that account I whistled for my horse, whose help had
become indispensable; for I was obliged to go to another _cache_ at
some distance. If it had not been for this mishap, I should have been
back at least half an hour ago."

This explanation was given by the hunter without emphasis, and in the
tone of a man conscious he was merely relating a simple fact.

He unloaded his horse, and opened the bale. It contained five American
rifles, knives, straight swords called _machetes_, powder, balls, and
hatchets.

"Arm yourselves. The rifles are good; they will not fail you when the
time to use them arrives."

The Mexicans did not wait to be asked twice; they were soon armed to
the teeth.

"Now, at least," said the hunter, "you can defend yourselves like men,
instead of letting yourselves be butchered like deer."

"Ah," sighed Doña Hermosa, "I was convinced he would act like this."

"Thanks, señorita," was his response; "thanks for your trust in me."

While he spoke these words, his features became animated, and his eyes
flashed; but he soon resumed the impassiveness of marble.

"I promised to conduct you in safety to your home," he said, "and I
will do so."

"Is there any danger to be feared?" inquired Don Pedro.

"There is always danger," he replied bitterly, "in the desert more than
elsewhere."

"Are we threatened with treachery?"

"Ask me no questions; I will not reply to them. Listen to my words, and
profit by them. If you wish to preserve your scalps, you must place
implicit confidence in me, whatever I may do, and obey me, without fear
or hesitation, in everything I may order. All I shall do will be done
with but one aim--your safety. Do you consent to these conditions?"

"We do," exclaimed Doña Hermosa fervently; "we will not doubt your
loyalty, and will act entirely according to your council."

"I swear it," said the _hacendero_.

"It is well; now I will be answerable for everything. Put aside all
anxiety. Do not speak to me; I have need to collect my thoughts."

Bowing carelessly, he betook himself to a little distance, and seated
himself at the foot of a tree.

In the meantime the curiosity of the Mexicans was strongly excited.
They comprehended that serious danger was impending, and that the
hunter was planning means to avert it; but now that they had excellent
weapons, horns full of powder, and balls, they looked at their position
in a new light, and, although their anxiety was still great, they did
not despair of being able to escape from the snares laid for their
feet.

The hunter, after remaining motionless as a statue for nearly half an
hour, raised his head, calculated the time by the shadows of the trees,
and said, rising with some impetuosity,

"To horse; it is time to go."

The horses were soon saddled, and the travellers in their seats.

"You will march in Indian file," continued the hunter; "follow exactly
in my steps."

Instead of advancing in the direction he had taken hitherto, he rode
his horse into the rivulet, the course of which he followed until
he reached a spot where two other brooks contributed their waters.
Stoneheart chose the left hand brook, and followed its windings. The
Mexicans closely imitated this manoeuvre, riding in Indian file--the
head of each horse at the crupper of the one in front of him.

The heat was stifling in the covert, where the circulation of the air,
impeded by the foliage, was scarcely perceptible. The deepest calm
prevailed through the forest; the birds, nestled under the leaves, had
ceased their songs; and nothing was heard but the monotonous humming of
innumerable myriads of mosquitoes hovering about the marshes.

In the meantime the brook they were following increased by degrees till
it assumed the character of a river. Here and there, already, black
_chicots_ (trees uprooted and carried down by the rivers, often forming
serious obstacles to navigation) began to make their appearance, on
which rosy flamingoes and herons stood on one leg; the banks right and
left became steeper, and the horses for some time past had been obliged
to swim.

This unknown river, whose blue waters had never reflected anything
but the azure of the skies and the green dome formed by the trees
capriciously bending over its banks, presented to the eye a grand and
majestic sight, impressing the mind with a kind of melancholy calm and
religious awe.

The travellers, silent as phantoms, continued their journey, swimming
slowly down the middle of the river, close at the heels of their guide,
whose eagle glance explored its banks. Arriving at a place where an
immense rock rose like a solitary watchtower, and formed an immense
vault overhanging the stream, Stoneheart slipped from his horse, whose
bridle he gave to Don Pedro, and swam under the arch, making a sign to
the others to pursue their course. He soon reappeared in one of those
Indian canoes which are built of birch bark, detached by means of
boiling water, and whose lightness is unequalled. With a few strokes
of the paddle he reached the travellers; the latter climbed into the
canoe, and their horses, relieved from the weight of their riders, were
able to swim with greater ease.

Doña Hermosa was very glad of the change. Still suffering from her
wound, she began to feel much difficulty in keeping her seat on her
horse, although she exerted herself to the utmost to conceal her
fatigue. But the quick eye of the hunter had noticed her lassitude, and
he had brought the canoe for her relief.

They still continued to advance in this manner for nearly an hour,
without any occurrence to disturb their tranquillity or make them
suspect the vicinity of an enemy. At last they reached a turn of the
river where the banks rose, for a considerable space, to a prodigious
height, and hemmed in the stream between two walls of rock terminating
in peaks. In the centre of the river arose a block of grayish granite,
about sixty yards in circumference, and towards it the hunter guided
the canoe. The Mexicans, at first astonished at this manoeuvre, were
not long before they comprehended it; for, when close in upon the rock,
they discovered that one of its faces sloped down in a gentle incline,
and in this face there yawned the mouth of a cavern.

The canoe touched the ground; the travellers disembarked, and hastened
to bring the horses to land: the poor animals were spent with fatigue.

"Come," said the hunter, shouldering the canoe; and the Mexicans
followed him.

The cavern was spacious, and seemed to extend under water to a great
distance. The horses were stabled in a corner, and supplied with
provender.

"Here," said the hunter, "we are as much in safety as it is possible
to be in the desert. If nothing comes to trouble us, we will pass the
night here, in order to give our horses the rest of which they stand
so much in need. You can light a fire without hesitation; the fissures
in the rock, which afford you light, will divide the smoke, and render
it invisible. Although I believe I have hidden our trail from those in
pursuit of us, it is still incumbent on me to make a reconnaissance
outside. Be not uneasy; present or absent, I watch over you. I will
return in an hour. But take heed not to show yourselves; in the virgin
forest, who can tell what eyes may be upon him? Adieu for a time."

He went out, leaving his companions a prey to anxiety, which was
the more lively because, although well aware that some great danger
threatened, they could not foresee either whence or in what manner it
would fall on them, and because they were completely at the mercy of
a man whose character and ultimate intentions it was impossible to
divine.




CHAPTER VII.

THE SKIRMISH.


Nature has rights she always enforces: whatever the anxiety of the
Mexicans, the fatigues they had endured during the whole of that
long day made them feel the imperious necessity of recruiting their
strength; so, after a few gloomy reflections on their critical and
almost desperate situation, Don Pedro ordered the _peones_ to light a
fire and prepare the evening meal.

Men whose physical faculties are more frequently called into exertion
than their minds, never forget to eat and sleep, whatever situation
chance may place them in; appetite and sleep never fail them. The
reason is simple: constantly exposed to Titanic struggles with man or
the elements, their natural forces must be maintained in an equal ratio
with the efforts they have to make to surmount the obstacles which
oppose, or the perils which threaten them.

The meal was sad and silent; the Mexicans were too deeply impressed by
the approach of night, the time habitually chosen by the redskins for
their attacks, to care for exchanging many words.

The hunter's absence was protracted; already, for more than two hours,
the sun had disappeared behind the high mountaintops; thick darkness
enveloped the earth as with a shroud; not a star twinkled in the sky;
and great black clouds coursed through space, completely veiling the
orb of the moon.

The _hacendero_ would not resign to any other the duty of watching
over the common safety. Lying face downwards on the platform, so
that he might not be visible if an unseen enemy were lying in wait,
he anxiously scanned the dark line of the water. At his side lay the
_capataz_, who, equally with himself, had no wish to attempt a repose
which he knew to be impossible.

The high cliffs of the banks were bare and deserted; only at one place,
where the shore was accessible, they saw black shapes moving for a few
seconds, with hoarse and angry growls, and then disappearing. These
black forms were evidently wild animals, slaking their thirst in the
river before repairing to their layers.

"Come!" suddenly exclaimed a deep and determined voice in the ear of
the Mexican.

Don Pedro turned round, repressing a cry of astonishment; the hunter
stood by him, leaning on his rifle.

The three men entered the cavern. The remains of the fire which had
been lighted for the evening meal diffused light enough to distinguish
objects.

"You are very late," said the _hacendero_.

"I have traversed six leagues since I left you," replied the hunter;
"but that is no matter. A man, whose name you need not know at present,
has resolved to prevent your reaching the _hacienda._ A party of
Apaches is on our trail. All my precautions have not availed to conceal
our tracks from these cunning demons, whose piercing eyes would detect
in the air the trail of the eagle's flight. They are encamped close by;
they are preparing rafts and canoes to attack you."

"Are there many of them?" inquired the _hacendero_.

"No; not above a score at most, of whom only six or seven are armed
with rifles; the rest have but bows and lances. Knowing you to be
without arms, or at least believing so, they count upon carrying you
off without striking a blow."

"Who is the man who is so inveterate against us?"

"What is that to you? He is a strange and mysterious being, whose life
is one continual round of dark conspiracies; his mind is an abyss which
no one has dared to sound, the depths of which even he himself, who
fears nothing in the world, would dread to fathom. But enough of him.
You are to be attacked in two hours; three chances of escape from the
fate prepared for you are open to you."

"And what are these chances?" said the _hacendero_.

"The first is, to remain here, await the attack, and make a vigorous
resistance. The Apaches, alarmed at finding armed and on their guard
the men whom they hoped to surprise weaponless and defenceless, may
lose courage, and retreat."

Doña Hermosa, aroused by the sound of voices, had approached, and was
listening attentively.

The _hacendero_ shook his head. "The chance seems hazardous," he said;
"for if our enemies succeeded in setting foot on the rock, they would
overpower us by dint of numbers, and make themselves masters of our
persons."

"That would most probably be the case," said the hunter, coolly.

"Let us hear the second chance; the one already proposed seems
impracticable."

"This rock communicates, by a subterraneous passage under the bed of
the river, with another rock, a good distance from the place where
we now are. I will lead you to that rock; when we get there, we will
embark in the canoe; having reached the opposite bank of the river, we
will mount, and trust our safety to the speed of our horses."

"I should prefer this chance, if our horses were not so worn out that a
night flight across the wilderness would be almost an impossibility."

"The redskins know as well as I do all the outlets from the rock on
which we have taken refuge. Most likely they have already guarded the
passage by which we might hope to escape."

"Alas!" said the _hacendero_, sorrowfully, "With all your good
intention to help us, the chances you propose are against us."

"I know it; unfortunately, it does not depend upon me to make them
otherwise."

"And lastly," resumed Don Pedro, with much resignation, "what is the
third chance?"

"I am afraid you will find the last more desperate than the other two.
It is a rash and dangerous undertaking, which might perhaps offer a
hope of success if we had not with us a woman, whom we must not expose
to one peril in order to save her from another."

"Then it is useless to name it," said the _hacendero_, with a mournful
look at his daughter.

"You are wrong, father," said Doña Hermosa, with much animation; "let
us hear, at least, what this chance is. Perhaps it is the only good
one. Explain, señor," continued she, addressing the hunter. "After all
you have done for us, we should be ungrateful not to listen to your
counsel. I am convinced that what you hesitate to propose, for my sake,
is the only means of safety open to us."

"That may be," answered the hunter; "but I repeat, señorita, that the
means are impracticable--you being with us."

The girl drew herself up, a gay smile played about her rosy lips, and,
commencing her speech in a voice slightly ironical, she said:

"You surely think me very weak and pusillanimous, señor, since you dare
not speak out. I am but a woman, it is true, and feeble, as we all are;
but I think I have proved to you, in the few hours during which we have
travelled together, that my heart is above vulgar fears; and that if
my physical strength is not equal to my moral energy, my will triumphs
over my woman's weakness, and makes me superior to circumstances, let
them be what they will."

Stoneheart listened attentively to the beautiful girl. The mask of
impassiveness which covered his features melted away at the sound of
that melodious voice, and a deep blush suffused his face.

"Pardon me, señorita," he said in a voice which the secret feelings
agitating him caused to waver; "I was wrong; I will speak out."

"Good!" said she, with a pleasant smile; "I knew what your answer would
be."

"The Apaches," began the hunter, "are encamped, as I have told you, at
a short distance from the bank of the river. Certain that they will
not be molested, they keep no watch; they sleep, drink the firewater,
and await the time for attacking you. We are six men, well armed and
determined; we know that our safety depends on the success of our
expedition. Let us land on the island, surprise the redskins, and fall
on them boldly. Perhaps we may succeed in opening ourselves a passage,
and in that case we shall be saved, for they will not pursue us after
they have been defeated. This is my proposal."

There was a long silence; it was Doña Hermosa who broke it.

"You were wrong in hesitating to acquaint us with this project," said
she, fervently; "it is the only one practicable. It is better to meet
danger halfway than to tremble in cowardly expectation of its advent.
Let us go! Let us go! We have not a minute to lose."

"Daughter," exclaimed Don Pedro, "you are mad! Remember, we are going
to expose ourselves to almost certain death."

"Be it so, my father," she replied, with feverish energy; "our fate is
in the hands of God, whose protection has been so evident thus far,
that I believe He will not abandon us now."

"The señorita is right," cried the _capataz_; "let us smoke these
demons out of their lair. This hunter, to whom I make my most humble
apologies for having suspected his loyalty for an instant, will supply
us with the means of arriving, without being discovered, at the camp of
the Apaches."

"I can but do my best," said the hunter modestly.

"Let us go, then, since needs must," said the _hacendero_, with a sigh.

The _peones_, who had not mingled in the conversation, seized their
rifles with an air of determination which proved them resolved to do
their duty.

"Follow me," said the hunter, lighting a torch of _ocote_ wood, to show
the way.

Without another word, the Mexicans plunged into the depth of the
cavern, taking with them the horses whose strength had been thoroughly
recruited by their rest of so many hours.

They continued pushing their way through the subterranean passage.
Overhead they heard the dull and ceaseless noise of the waters;
thousands of night birds, dazzled by the unwonted light of the torch,
awoke from their slumbers, and wheeled around, uttering mournful and
discordant cries.

At the end of half an hour's rapid march, the hunter halted.

"Wait for me here," he said, and passed on rapidly, after delivering
the torch to the _capataz_.

Shortly after, he returned.

"Come," said he, "all goes well."

They followed him anew. Suddenly a fresh, cool breeze met their faces,
and through the obscurity before them they saw two or three points of
light glittering. They had reached the other rock.

"We must now redouble our caution," said the hunter; "those points
of light you see shining through the mist are the campfires of the
Apaches. Their ear is fine; the least noise would betray our presence."

The canoe was launched again; the Mexicans embarked, the _capataz_, at
the stern of the frail bark, holding the reins of the horses, which
followed swimming.

Crossing occupied only a few minutes, and the canoe soon grated against
the sandy beach.

Nothing could be better than the place chosen by the hunter. A high
rock threw over the water, to a considerable distance, so dark a
shadow, that it was impossible to distinguish the travellers ten paces
off.

The forest, scarcely twenty yards from the shore, offered, amongst its
thickets, immediate protection to the fugitives.

"The señorita will remain here, with one _peon_ to guard the horses,"
said the hunter; "we others will attempt the surprise."

"Not so," exclaimed the girl resolutely. "I want no one here. You would
miss the man you wish to leave with me. Give me a pistol, to defend
myself in case of attack, and go."

"Nevertheless, señorita--"

"It is my will," she peremptorily exclaimed. "Go, and God be with you!"

The _hacendero_ convulsively pressed his daughter to his bosom.

"Courage, my father!" she cried, while she embraced him; "Courage; all
will end well."

She took a pistol from him, and left him, waving her adieu.

The hunter for the last time warned his companions to be cautious; and
the men set off, following his exact footsteps in the forest.

After marching half an hour in Indian file, they saw the fires of the
Apaches glimmering close by.

At a sign from the hunter, the Mexicans threw themselves on the
ground, and began to crawl forward in silence, advancing with extreme
precaution inch by inch, their ears on the watch, and ready to fire at
the first suspicious movement of the enemy.

But nothing stirred: most of the Apaches slept, plunged, as Stoneheart
had asserted, in the brutal drunkenness caused by the abuse of the
firewater.

Only three or four warriors, easily recognised as chiefs by the vulture
plumes they wore in their hair, were squatting around the fire, smoking
with the mechanical gravity characteristic of the Indian.

By the hunter's order, the Mexicans slowly arose, and each man
sheltered himself behind the trunk of a tree.

"I leave you here," whispered Stoneheart. "I am going to enter the
camp. Keep still as death; and, whatever may happen, do not fire before
you see me throw my cap on the ground."

He disappeared among the underwood.

From the spot where the travellers were hidden, they could easily see
all that took place in the camp of the redskins, and even hear what was
said; for only a few yards separated them from the fire round which the
_sachems_ crouched.

With bodies ensconced behind the trees, their fingers on the triggers
of their rifles, their eyes fixed in feverish impatience on the camp,
the Mexicans awaited the signal to give fire.

The few minutes preceding a night attack are very solemn. A man left
alone with his thoughts on such an occasion, about to risk his life
in pitiless strife, however brave he may be, feels himself seized by
an instinctive dread, which sends a cold shudder thrilling through
his frame. In that supreme hour he sees his whole life pass, as in
a dream, with giddy rapidity before him, and the most abiding and
predominant sensation is the thought of that which is to happen beyond
the grave,--the dread unknown.

Some ten minutes had elapsed since the departure of the hunter, when
a slight noise was heard in the brushwood on the opposite side of the
camp to that where the Mexicans lay in ambush.

The Apache chiefs turned their heads negligently, the bushes parted,
and Stoneheart made his appearance in the circle of light caused by the
watch fires.

The hunter slowly approached the chiefs. When close to them, he
stopped, and bowed ceremoniously, but without speaking.

The _sachems_ returned the salute with the innate good breeding of the
redskins.

"My brother is welcome," said a chief. "Will he sit by the council
fire?"

"No," said the hunter; "my time is short."

"My brother is prudent," resumed the chief; "he has abandoned the
palefaces, because he knows that the Tigercat has delivered them over
to the barbed arrows of the Apache warriors."

"I have not abandoned the palefaces: my brother deceives himself. I
have sworn to defend them; I will do so."

"That is against the orders of the Tigercat."

"I take no orders from him. I hate treachery. I will not let the
redskin braves accomplish what they meditate."

"Oh!" grunted the _sachem;_ "My brother lifts his voice very high. I
have heard the hawk mock at the eagle, but a blow of its mighty wing
crushed the hawk to powder."

"A truce to sarcasm, chief. You are one of the most renowned braves
of your tribe, and cannot consent to become the agent of an infamous
treachery. The Tigercat has received these travellers in his _calli;_
he has treated them with hospitality. Is not hospitality sacred in the
desert?"

The Apache burst into a laugh.

"The Tigercat is a great chief; he would neither eat nor drink with the
palefaces."

"It is an unworthy artifice."

"The palefaces are thievish dogs. The Apaches will take their scalps."

"Wretch!" cried the hunter; "I too am a paleface. Come and take my
scalp."

And, rapid as thought, he cast on the ground the cap of fur which
covered his head, and at the same instant precipitated himself on the
Indian chief, and plunged his knife into his heart.

Five shots were heard simultaneously with this action, and the
remaining chiefs sitting round the fire rolled to the ground in their
death agony.

The _sachems_ were the only Indians with rifles.

"Forward! Forward!" shouted the hunter; and seizing his rifle by the
muzzle, he hurled himself into the midst of the panic-stricken Apaches.

The Mexicans after their first fire, rushed into the camp to reinforce
the guide.

Then a terrible struggle commenced--six men against fifteen--a struggle
all the more fierce and desperate because each man knew he could expect
no mercy.

Happily for themselves, the whites were armed with pistols. These they
discharged point-blank in the face of their opponents, attacking them
afterwards with the sabre.

The Indians had been so completely surprised--they had so little
expected to have to sustain such a vigorous onslaught from men who
seemed to have emerged from the earth, and whose numbers they were far
from suspecting--that half of them had been killed before the rest
could recover from their fright, or attempt serious resistance. When at
last they essayed an organised defence, it was too late. The Mexicans
pressed them so hard, that a longer resistance was impossible.

"Hold!" shouted the hunter.

Whites and redskins lowered their arms at once.

The hunter continued: "Warriors of the Apaches, throw down your arms!"

They obeyed; and at a signal from the guide, the Mexicans bound their
opponents without further difficulty.

As soon as the redskins acknowledged their defeat, they awaited, with
complete apathy and their usual fatalism, the doom their victors might
think fit to impose upon them.

Out of twenty Apache braves, only eight remained alive: the rest had
fallen.

"At sunrise," said the hunter, "I will come and release you from your
bonds. Till then, stir not! I pardon once; never a second time."

The Mexicans collected all the arms, freed all the horses tethered at
one side of the camp, drove them into the forest, where they were soon
lost to sight, and left the Apaches.

"And now," exclaimed the hunter, "let us return to the señorita."

"But," enquired Don Pedro, "is it really your intention to restore
these men to liberty?"

"Assuredly. Would you have me leave them to be devoured by wild beasts?"

"It would be no great misfortune," answered the rancorous _capataz_.

"Are they not men, like ourselves?"

"They are so little like ourselves, that it is hardly worth mention,"
said the _capataz_.

"And will you really dare to place yourself in the power of these
ferocious beings, exasperated as they are by defeat?" asked the
_hacendero_. "Do you not fear they will assassinate you?"

"These men!" replied the hunter in disdain; "They would not dare."

Don Pedro could not repress his amazement.

"The redskins are the most vindictive of men," said he.

"True," was the reply; "but I am not a man in their eyes."

"What then?"

"An evil spirit," murmured the hunter in a hoarse whisper.

By this time they had reached the place where they had left their
horses.

The noise of the combat had extended itself to the spot where Doña
Hermosa was waiting; but that courageous girl, far from suffering
herself to be overcome by the very natural fear she experienced,
understood the importance of the post confided to her, and remained
firmly on her guard, a pistol in each hand, attentively listening to
every sound in the forest, ready to defend herself, and resolute to die
sooner than fall into the hands of the Indians.

Her father having explained to her what had occurred, they began their
journey at the best speed of their horses.

The whole night passed without slackening their pace. At sunrise they
had cleared the forest, and there lay the bare wilderness, extending to
the horizon.

They continued their route for two more hours, when they halted.

The hunter addressed them: "We must part here." He spoke in a firm,
voice, yet unable completely to conceal the feeling of sorrow which
pervaded him.

"So soon!" said the girl naively

"Thanks for that expression of regret, señorita; but I must go. You are
but a few miles from your _hacienda:_ the road is easy; my help is no
longer needful."

"We must not part thus, señor," said the _hacendero_, holding out his
hand; "I owe you too many obligations."

"Forget them, _caballero_," vehemently exclaimed the young hunter;
"forget me too: we must never meet again. You return to civilised life,
I to the desert. Our roads are far apart; for your sake and for mine,
pray that we never again stand face to face. Only," he added, lifting
his eyes to the señorita, "I carry with me a memory of you which can
never be effaced. And now, farewell! Yonder are the _vaqueros_ of your
_hacienda_ approaching to meet you. You are in safety."

He bent his head to his saddlebow, tuned his horse, and began to gallop
away. But, looking back, he perceived Doña Hermosa riding after him.

"Stay," she exclaimed.

He obeyed mechanically.

"Look," said she, presenting to him a slender gold ring; "of all my
possessions, I value this ring the most; it belonged to my mother whom
I never knew. Keep it in memory of me, señor."

The señorita rode off, leaving the ring in his hand without giving him
time to reply.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE PUEBLO (THE TOWN).


After the Spanish rule had been firmly established in the New
World, the government, to hold the Indians, in cheek, constructed
fortified posts, at certain distances, on the extreme limits of their
possessions. These posts were called _presidios_, and were peopled by
criminals of every degree of whom it was deemed prudent to clear the
mother country. The _presidio_ of San Lucar, on the Rio Bermejo, was
one of the first established.

At the epoch of the foundation of this _presidio_, the post consisted
solely of a fort built on the north bank, on a steep cliff which
commands the river, the plains to the south, and the surrounding
country.

It is square in form, built with very thick walls of hewn stone, and
flanked by three bastions,--two on the river, to east and west, the
third in the plain.

The interior contains the chapel, priest's house and the powder
magazine; on the other sides are the old dwelling places of the
prisoners, spacious buildings for the commandant, the treasurer, and
officers of the garrison, and likewise a small hospital.

All these buildings, only one story high, were finished off with
flat Italian roofs. Outside, the government had also constructed vast
granaries, a bakery, a mill, two workshops for saddlers and carpenters,
and two _ranchos_ appropriated to the horses and cattle.

In these days the fort is almost in ruins the walls, for want of
repair, are crumbling in all directions; only the dwellings are kept in
tolerable condition.

The _presidio_ of San Lucar is divided into three sections,--two to
the north, the third to the south of the river.

Its general aspect is melancholy. A few sparse trees grow here and
there, in close contiguity to the river, manifesting, by their want
of vitality, how ungrateful is the soil from which they draw their
existence. The roads are covered with a pulverulent sand, throwing up
clouds of dust at the least motion in the atmosphere.

Three days after the events recorded in our last chapter, at about
two o'clock in the afternoon, five or six _vaqueros_ and _leperos_
were seated at a table in the drinking room of a _pulquería_ (a public
house) of New San Lucar, which is situated on the south bank of the
river, and disputed vehemently, while they emptied, at long draughts,
the _pulque_ in the cups which circulated among them.

"_¡Canarios!_" exclaimed a tall and meagre fellow, with the mien and
air of a brazen-faced scoundrel, "Are we not free men? If Señor Don
Louis Pedrosa, our governor, persist in fleecing us in this fashion,
the Tigercat is not too far off for a man to come to an understanding
with him. Though he chooses to be an Indian chief today, he is a white
man without alloy, and a _caballero_ to the tips of his fingers."

"_¡Calla la voz!_ be silent, Pablito!" said another; "You had better
swallow your words with your _pulque_ than utter such folly."

"I will speak!" said Pablito, who was washing the inside of his throat
more than the others.

"Do you not know that invisible eyes are watching us from the shade,
and that ears are open to gather up our words, and profit by them?"

"There you are again," replied the first speaker: "always in fear,
Carlocho! I have no more respect for a spy than for an old _cuarta_"
(hag).

"Pablito!" exclaimed the other, placing his finger on his lips.

"What! Am I not right? Why does Don Louis bear us so much malice?"

"You are wrong," interrupted a third, with a laugh. "Don Louis, on the
contrary, is only too fond of you so he always keeps you under his
thumb."

"This devil of a _verado_ has a wit fit for such a rascal as he,"
roared Pablito, with shouts of laughter.

"Well, after us the end of the world."

"In the meantime let us drink," said the _verado_.

"Good! Let us drink, and drown care. Have we not Don Fernando Carril
to help us when our purses run dry?"

"Another name which ought to have stuck in your throat," said Carlocho,
striking the table in his irritation with his fist. "Can you never hold
your tongue, cursed dog?"

Pablito frowned, and, looking angrily across the table, exclaimed: "Do
you pretend to give me a lesson, _amigo? ¡Canarios!_ You begin to put
my blood up."

"A lesson? And why not, when you deserve it?" replied the other,
without stirring. "_Caray_ these two hours you have been drinking like
a sponge; you are full as a vat, and talk as wildly as an old woman.
Hold your tongue, or go to sleep."

"_Mil rayos_," growled Pablito, sticking his knife violently into the
table; "You shall answer for this!"

"_¡Vive Dios!_ A blood-letting will do you good. My hand itches to give
you a _navajada_ (a stroke with a knife) across your hideous snout."

"Hideous snout, did you say?" and Pablito threw himself upon Carlocho,
who awaited his onset firmly.

The other _vaqueros_ and _leperos_ threw themselves between the pair,
to prevent the meeting.

"¡Halloa, _caballeros!_" cried the _pulquero_ (innkeeper), thinking it
necessary to interfere. "Peace! in the name of God or the devil! No
quarrels in my house: if you wish for satisfaction, the street is free."

"The _pulquero_ is right!" screamed Pablito. "Come, if you are a man!"

"Gladly!" cried Carlocho; and the two _vaqueros_ rushed into the street.

As to the worthy _pulquero_, he stood at his door, his hands in the
pockets of his _calzoneras_ (loose trousers), and whistled a _jarana_
(a dance tune), while expecting the fight.

Pablito and Carlocho wrapped the left arm in the _zarapé_ for a shield,
took off their hats and saluted with much affectation, drew their long
knives from their girdles, and, without exchanging a word, stood on
their guard with remarkable coolness.

In this kind of duel--the only one, by the by, known in
Mexico--satisfaction consists in slashing the adversary in the face.
A blow delivered below the girdle would be considered a piece of
treachery unworthy of a true _caballero._

The two opponents, firmly planted with legs apart, bodies inclined, and
heads thrown back, watched each other fixedly, in order to forestall a
movement, parry a blow, or inflict a wound. The rest of the _vaqueros_,
with their delicate maize cigarettes in their mouths, looked on
composedly, and applauded every adroit thrust or parry.

The fight was continued for some minutes, with equal success on
either side, when Pablito, whose sight was most likely obfuscated by
his copious potations, came to the parry a second too late, and felt
the point of Carlocho's knife rip the skin of his face from chin to
forehead.

"Bravo! Bravo!" exclaimed all the _vaqueros_ at once. "Well hit!"

The combatants, flattered by this approbation, stepped away from each
other, bowed to the spectators, sheathed their knives, saluted one
another with exquisite courtesy, and having first shaken hands, went
into the _pulquería_ once more.

The _vaqueros_ are a peculiar race of men, whose ways and manners are
quite distinct from the customs known in Europe. Those of San Lucar
may serve as a type. Born on the Indian frontiers they have contracted
sanguinary habits, and their disregard of life is remarkable.
Inveterate gamblers, the cards are never out of their hands; and play
is a fruitful source of quarrels, in which the knife is constantly
called into requisition. Careless of the future, little heedful of
present trouble, and enduring physical suffering hardily, they look
upon death with as much contempt as on life, and recoil before no
danger.

These men--who often abandon their families in order to live a life
of greater license among the savage hordes of the desert; who, in
shear wantonness, spill the blood of their fellow creatures; who are
implacable in their hate--these men are capable of ardent friendship,
and of extraordinary devotedness and self-denial. Their character
presents a curious mixture of good and evil, of unbridled vice and
sterling qualities. They are at one and the same time idle, gamblers,
quarrelsome, drunkards, ferocious, brave to rashness and devoted heart
and soul to a friend, or the patron of their choice. From infancy blood
runs like water from their hands during the period of the _matanza
del ganado_ (slaughtering the cattle); and this familiarity with the
crimson stains hardens them to the sight of human gore. Lastly, their
jokes are as coarse as their habits, the threat of using the knife on
quite frivolous occasions being the most delicate and the most common.

While the _vaqueros_, reseated at the table in the _pulquería_, were
pouring libations to their reconciliation, and drowning the remembrance
of the petty incident in floods of _pulque_ and _mezcal_ (a coarse kind
of brandy), a man entered, muffled in the folds of a thick cloak, and
with the wide brim of his hat pulled over his eyes. Approaching the
table without uttering a word, he cast a look of seeming indifference
around, lighted a cigarette at the brazier, and struck three blows upon
it with a large piastre he held between his fingers.

The noise, which appeared to be a signal, startled the three
_vaqueros_. They dropped the noisy conversation they were engaged in,
as if suddenly struck by an electric shock, and became as still as
death. Pablito and Carlocho began to tremble, seeking all the while to
discover the features of the new arrival under the folds of his cloak;
while the _verado_ turned his head on one side to hide his crafty
smiles.

The stranger cast his half-consumed cigar into the brazier, and
retired from the filthy room in the same silence in which he came.

An instant later, Pablito, who was stanching his bleeding cheek,
and Carlocho, making a pretence of important business, quitted the
_pulquería_. The _verado_ glided along the wall to the door, and
followed at their heels.

"Holloa!" muttered the _pulquero_, "Here are three _pícaros_
(villains), who seem to be concocting some devil's job, in which more
broken heads than _duros_ (dollars) are to be gained. _¡Caray!_ That is
their lookout."

The remaining _vaqueros_, completely absorbed in a game at _monte_,
and bending over their cards, appeared scarcely to have noticed the
departure of their comrades.

At some little distance from the _pulquería_ the stranger looked back.
The two _vaqueros_ were walking close behind him, talking carelessly,
as if they were two idlers strolling along. The _verado_ was not to be
seen.

The stranger went on his way again, after making a scarcely perceptible
sign to the two men, and pursued a road which, in a gentle curve,
gradually retired from the river, and led, little by little, into the
fields. At the exit from the _pueblo_ this road took a sharp angle, and
narrowed suddenly into a path, which lost itself in the plain among
many more.

Just at the bend in the road, a cavalier, trotting hurriedly in the
direction of the _presidio_, passed close to the three men; but,
immersed in their thoughts, neither stranger nor _vaqueros_ took
notice of him. As to the cavalier, he darted a rapid and piercing look
at them, and gradually slackened his horse's speed, which he stopped
altogether a few yards further on.

"God forgive me!" he said to himself; that is Don Fernando Carril, or
else the devil in flesh and bone. That fool, Zapote, has missed him
again, then! What business can he have out here, in company with those
two bandits, who look like agents of Satan? May I never be Torribio
Quiroga if I don't find out, and if I do not put myself on their traces.

Señor Don Torribio Quiroga was an individual of not more than
thirty-five, with a rather stout figure, under the middle height. But
to make up for it, the squareness of his shoulders, and thick-set
limbs, gave unmistakable evidence of great muscular power. Little grey
eyes, lively, and sparkling with malice and audacity, lit up a face
which was perhaps somewhat vulgar. He was dressed in the costume of all
Mexicans of a certain rank.

He dismounted, and looked about for somebody to hold his horse,
but could see no one; for, at San Lucar, and especially in the new
_pueblo_, it was almost a miracle to meet two persons passing through
the streets at the same time. He stamped in anger, threw the reins over
his arm, and led his horse to the _pulquería_ whence the _vaqueros_ had
come, confiding him to the care of the landlord.

Having carefully completed this duty--for the Mexican's dearest friend
is his horse--Don Torribio retraced his steps with the most minute
precaution, like a man who wishes to see without himself being seen.

The _vaqueros_ had gained considerably upon him, and disappeared behind
a hillock of shifting sand just at the moment when he turned the angle
of the lane: however, he soon saw them again as they were toiling up a
steep and rough path leading to a clump of trees, which by chance or
some caprice of nature had shot up among the arid sands.

Sure of finding them now, Don Torribio began to walk more slowly, and
lit a cigar, to keep himself in countenance in case of surprise, or to
prevent any casual suspicion of his intentions. Luckily, the _vaqueros_
never looked back once, but entered the wood close upon the heels of
the man recognised by Don Torribio as Don Fernando Carril.

When, in his turn, Don Torribio arrived at the margin of the wood, he
took good care not to walk straight into it. He first made a slight
_détour_ to the right; then, bending down to the ground, he commenced
crawling on hands and knees, taking special care to avoid any noise
that might excite the attention of the _vaqueros_.

The sound of voices soon reached him. Gently raising his head, he
perceived, in a small clearing close at hand, the figures of the three
men, who had stopped, and were engaged in a lively conversation. He
rose from the ground, and hid himself behind a maple tree.

Don Fernando Carril had dropped his cloak, leaning with his shoulders
against a tree, and, with his legs crossed, he was listening with
visible impatience to what Pablito was saying.

The hands of Don Fernando were small, and delicately gloved; his feet,
showing the nobility of his blood by their diminutive size, were
encased in varnished boots,--a luxury unheard of in these distant
regions. His costume, of amazing richness, was absolutely identical in
shape with that of the _vaqueros_. A diamond of immense value fastened
the collar of his shirt; and his _zarapé_ was worth more than five
hundred piastres. For the present, we will conclude the portrait here.

Two years before our narrative commences, Don Fernando Carril had
arrived at San Lucar, knowing nobody; and everyone had asked, Who
is he? Where does he come from? Whence does he derive his riches?
And where do his estates lie? Don Fernando bought a _hacienda_ a few
leagues from San Lucar. Under pretence of defending it against the
Indians, he fortified it, surrounded it with palisades and a moat,
and furnished it with two small pieces of cannon. In this way he had
kept his doings secret, and curiosity at bay. Although he never opened
his _hacienda_ to receive a guest, he was himself received by the
first inhabitants of San Lucar, whom he visited most assiduously, till
suddenly, to the great amazement of all, he disappeared for several
months.

The ladies missed their practice in smiles and ogling, the men their
occupation of contriving adroit questions to entrap Don Fernando.
Don Louis Pedrosa, whose post as governor gave him a right to be
inquisitive, could not help feeling uneasy about the stranger; but,
wearied with conjecture, he was obliged to trust to time, which, sooner
or later, reveals all mysteries. Nothing more was known of the man who
was standing in the clearing, listening to Pablito.

"Enough!" said this personage, interrupting Pablito, in a fit of
passion; "You are a dog, and a dog's son."

"Señor!" exclaimed the latter.

"I feel inclined to crush you, wretch!"

"A threat! And to me!" shouted the _vaquero_ white with fury, and
unsheathing his knife.

Don Fernando seized the man's fist with his gloved hand, and gave it
such a sudden and violent wrench, that the _vaquero_ dropped his weapon
with a groan.

"Down on your knees, and ask for pardon!" the don went on, hurling the
wretch to the ground.

"No! I will die first!"

"Begone! You are a brute beast!"

The _vaquero_ staggered as he rose; his eyes were bloodshot, his lips
blue; his whole body trembled. He picked up his knife, and approached
Don Fernando, who stood there with folded arms.

"It is true; yes, I am a brute beast; but, nevertheless, I am devoted
to you. Forgive me, or kill me, but do not bid me begone."

"Go! I tell you."

"And you have no more to say to me?"

"It is my last word; vex me no more."

"Your last word to me? Then I go--to the devil!" And he raised his
weapon to kill himself.

Don Fernando arrested the stroke. "I forgive you," said he: "but, if
you still wish to remain in my service, be mute as a corpse."

The _vaquero_ fell at his feet, and covered with kisses the hand
extended to him. It was like a dog licking the hand of the master who
has beaten him.

Carlocho had taken no part in this scene, but remained a calm and
unmoved spectator.

"What charm has this mysterious stranger," muttered Don Torribio behind
his maple, "to make himself beloved like this?"

After a short silence, Don Fernando again spoke.

"I know you are devoted to me. I have great confidence in your
fidelity; but you are a drunkard, and drink is an evil counsellor."

"I will drink no more," replied the _vaquero_.

Don Fernando smiled in disdain.

"Drink, but do not drown your reason. Drunkenness such as yours lets
fall words for which there is no remedy,--words more murderous than
the dagger. It is not the master, it is the friend who speaks to you.
Can I count on you both?"

"You can."

"I leave this place for a few days; you will remain in the
neighbourhood. At a short distance from the _pueblo_ is the Hacienda de
las Norias de San Antonio; do you know it?"

"Who does not know Don Pedro de Luna?"

"Watch that _hacienda_ carefully, both without and within. If anything
extraordinary befalls Don Pedro or his daughter, Doña Hermosa, one of
you will come and acquaint me with it. You know where to find me?"

The men bowed their heads.

"Will you execute all my orders, however incomprehensible, with
promptitude and accuracy?"

"We swear so, master."

"Good! One word more; attach to yourselves as many _vaqueros_ as you
can; strive to gather together a body of men to be depended on. Do this
without exciting suspicion; she never sleeps with both eyes closed.
Stay! I remember! Put no faith in the _verado;_ he is a traitor--a spy
upon me, in the service of the Tigercat."

"Shall we kill him?" coolly asked Carlocho.

"It might be, prudent; only rid yourselves of him quietly."

The two _vaqueros_ looked at each other furtively.

Don Fernando seemed not to remark what happened.

"Do you want money?" he asked.

"No, master; we have still some."

"Nevertheless, take this as well: better to have too much than too
little."

He placed in the hands of Carlocho a long netted purse, across the
meshes of which a goodly number of gold pieces glittered.

"Now, Pablito, my horse."

The _vaquero_ led from the recesses of the wood a magnificent charger.
Don Fernando vaulted into the saddle.

"Remember," said he, "prudence and fidelity; one indiscretion would
cost you your lives."

He waved his hand to the _vaqueros_, gave his horse the spur, and rode
off in the direction of the _presidio_. The two men resumed the road to
the _pueblo._

When they were a good way off, the brushwood at one corner of the
clearing began to shake, and a human head slowly emerged, the face
blanched with terror.

The head was succeeded by the body of the _verado_ who had risen to
his feet, his knife in one hand, a pistol in the other, and now looked
about him with his hair standing on end.

"_¡Canarios!_" he cried in a low tone; "rid themselves of me quietly!
We shall see! we shall see, _¡Santa Virgen del Pilar!_ What demons!
Aha! I was right to listen."

"It is the only way to hear," said a mocking voice.

"Who goes there?" roared the _verado_, as he jumped to one side.

"A friend," replied Don Torribio, leaving his hiding place and
advancing into the open.

"What! You, Señor Don Torribio Quiroga? You are welcome. Then you
listened too?"

"_¡Cuerpo de Cristo!_ Didn't I listen! I think I have profited by it,
to get edifying news about Don Fernando."

"Since you overheard the conversation, what do you think of it?"

"This _caballero_ seems to me a black villain enough; but we will
thwart his infamous plans."

"God grant we may!" muttered the _verado_, with a sigh.

"And now, what are your own intentions?"

"Mine! I swear I do not know. I know nothing, except that my head
swims. Did you hear? They want to rid themselves of me quietly! In my
opinion, they are the greatest wretches in the prairie."

"Pooh! I have known them a long time; they give me very little
uneasiness."

"And I, on the contrary, am very uneasy."

"What the devil! You are not dead yet!"

"_¡Vive Dios!_ I am little better off; I am literally between death and
the devil."

"How can you be afraid--you, the most daring hunter of the jaguar I
know?"

"A jaguar is but a jaguar, after all; one can talk reason to him with
a ball. But these two _birbones_ (rascals), whom Don Fernando has
maliciously set upon my trail, are veritable demons, without faith
or law, who would bleed their own fathers for a small measure of
_pulque._" ("To bleed" is the common Mexican expression for "to stab.")

"True; but time presses. For reasons with which I need not acquaint
you, I take enormous interest in Don Pedro de Luna, and more in his
lovely daughter. Don Fernando Carril, as we have just learnt, is
concocting some infernal plot against this family. I mean to frustrate
it. Will you assist me? Two men can do a great deal, if they work with
a will."

"Do you propose a partnership with me, Don Torribio?"

"Call it what you will; but answer promptly."

"In that case, sincerity for sincerity, Don Torribio. This morning
I would have refused your proposal: tonight I accept it; for I have
done with soft-heartedness. My position is completely changed. Rid
themselves of me quietly! _¡Vive Dios!_ I will have my revenge. I am
yours, as my knife is to the sheath. I am yours, body and soul, on the
word of a _vaquero_."

"I see we shall easily come to an understanding."

"Say, rather, we understand each other already."

"Good! But we must be cautious, if we wish to succeed: the game we
are about to chase is wily. Do you know a _lepero_ named Tonillo el
Zapote?"

"Know Tonillo! He is my bosom friend."

"So much the better. This Tonillo is a resolute fellow, on whom one can
fearlessly depend."

"That is holy truth. Moreover, he is a _caballero_ of excellent
principle."

"He is: find him out, and bring him one hour after sunset to the
Callejou de las Minas" (the pass of the mines).

"It shall be done; I understand perfectly. We will be there."

"And then, we three will arrange our counterplot."

"Yes; and set your heart at rest. We will find a way to deliver you
from this man, who wishes to rid himself of me quietly."

"That seems to lie heavily on your mind."

"_¡Caray!_ Just put yourself in my place. After all, the longest liver
will see. Don Fernando has not got quite so far with me as he fancies."

"Then you will bring Tonillo?"

"Were I to bring him by force, we would both be there."

"Now, we have nothing more to do than to go about our separate affairs."

"Which road do you take?"

"I am going direct to the _hacienda_ of Don Pedro."

"Listen to me, Don Torribio: do not broach this matter to him."

"What is your reason for saying so, _verado?_"

"Because Don Pedro, excellent man and perfect _caballero_ as he is,
has old-fashioned ideas, and would probably attempt to dissuade you
from your plan."

"Perhaps you may be right; he had better know nothing of the service I
wish to render him."

"It will be better. Now Don Torribio, good-bye till evening."

"Good-bye; and good luck!"

The two men separated. Don Torribio Quiroga ran hastily down the road
leading to the _pueblo_, to regain his horse from the _pulquero_; while
the _verado_, whose horse had been hidden somewhere about, jumped into
the saddle, and galloped off in a fury still muttering between his
teeth:

"Rid themselves of me quietly! Was there ever such an idea? But we
shall see. _¡Mil rayos!_" (a thousand thunders).




CHAPTER IX.

DOÑA HERMOSA.


Stoneheart was not mistaken in declaring that the dust, rising far away
in the desert, was caused by the servants of the _hacienda_; in fact,
the hunter had scarcely left the persons he was guiding, when the cloud
of sand was blown away by the breeze, disclosing a numerous party of
_vaqueros_ and _peones_, well armed, who were approaching at the top of
their speed.

Two horses' length in front galloped Don Estevan Diaz, chiding his
companions, and urging them to increase their pace.

The two parties soon met, and mingled with each other.

Estevan Diaz, as Don Pedro had foreseen, had grown anxious at his
master's lengthened absence. Fearing lest some accident might have
occurred, he had assembled all the most resolute men belonging to the
_hacienda_, and placing himself at their head, commenced his search at
once, scouring the wilderness in all directions.

But had it not been for the lucky chance which led to the meeting with
Stoneheart, in the very moment when the strength and courage of the
little party were oozing away together, it is probable that the search
would have been without result, and another mournful and horrible
tragedy registered in the annals of the prairies.

The joy of Don Estevan and his party was great at recognising those
whom they had scarcely hoped to see again, and the whole company gaily
took the road to the _hacienda_, where they arrived in safety a couple
of hours later.

Doña Hermosa retired to her apartment as soon as she had dismounted,
excusing herself on account of the fatigue she had endured.

She reached her cool maiden chamber, which looked so calm and pleasant,
cast a glance of delight at the cherished appurtenances, and then threw
herself with a feeling of instinctive gratitude, at the knees of the
Virgin, whose image, crowned with flowers, was placed in a corner of
the chamber, and seemed to watch over her.

Her prayer addressed to the Virgin was long, very long. For more than
an hour she remained on her knees, murmuring words which none save God
could hear.

At last she rose, slowly, and as it were with reluctance, made a final
sign of the cross, and, traversing the room, cast herself on a couch,
where she nestled in a flood of drapery, like the Bengali in its bed of
moss.

Then she gave herself up to thought.

What power could thus profoundly occupy the mind, hitherto so gay and
cheerful, of this young creature, whose life from infancy had been
one unbroken succession of gentle joys,--for whom the sky had had no
cloud, the past no regrets, and the future no apprehensions Why did she
frown so heavily, tracing, on her pure forehead, lines at first hardly
perceptible, but deepening with her deepening thoughts?

None could tell. Hermosa herself could not, perhaps, have given an
explanation.

This was the reason: without accounting to herself for the change she
was undergoing, Hermosa awoke as from a long slumber; her heart beat
more quickly, her blood coursed more rapidly in her veins, a flood of
unknown thoughts rushed from her heart to her brain, making it whirl.
In one word, the girl felt she had become a woman.

A vague uneasiness without apparent cause, a feverish irritability,
agitated her by turns; sometimes a stifled sob would rend her bosom,
and a burning tear show like a pearl on her eyelashes; then her purple
lips would part under the influence of a charming smile, the reflection
of thoughts she could not define, beseeching her to drive them away,
and return to the calm and heedless joys she was losing forever.

"Yes!" she cried suddenly, bounding from her couch with the grace of a
startled fawn; "Yes: I will discover who he is."

Hermosa had involuntarily allowed the key of the riddle to escape her.
Possessed by the spirit whose voice was evoking her inward agitation,
she loved--or at least Love was on the point of revealing himself to
her.

Scarcely had she uttered the words we have reported, than she blushed
deeply, and, urged by a charming impulse of maiden modesty, ran to draw
before the image of the Virgin the curtain used to conceal it.

The Virgin, the habitual confidante of the girl, was not to know the
secrets of the woman. Full of holy fervour, Hermosa had immediately
seized upon this delicate distinction; perhaps she mistrusted herself;
perhaps the feeling which had been so suddenly and violently awakened
in her heart did not seem pure enough to be confided, with all its
longings and desires, to her at whose feet she had hitherto deposited
all her hopes and aspirations.

Feeling calmer after this action, which, in her superstitious
ignorance, she fancied would shroud her from the piercing eye of her
heavenly protectress, Doña Hermosa regained her couch, and touched a
silver bell standing beside her. At the sound, the door softly opened
half way, and the arch face of a charming _chola_ (maid) appeared at
the opening with a look of inquiry.

"Come in, _chica_" (girl), said her mistress, making a sign for her to
approach.

The _chola_, a slim maiden, of lithe figure, and whose skin was
slightly tawny, like that of all half-breeds kneeled gracefully at
the feet of her mistress, fixed her great black eyes upon her, and
smilingly asked what she wanted.

"Nothing," was the evasive answer, "only to see and talk to you a
little."

"How glad I am!" said the girl, passionately clasping her hands
together; "It is so long since I have seen you, _niña_" (a term of
endearment).

"Did my absence distress you much, Clarita?"

"What a question to ask, señorita! Do I not love you like a sister? Do
they not say you have been in great danger?"

"Who says that?" asked Hermosa carelessly.

"Everyone; they talk of nothing but your adventures in the prairie. All
the _peones_ have left their work to hear the news; the _hacienda_ is
in an uproar."

"Indeed!"

"For the two whole days of your absence, we did not know what saint to
commend you to; I vowed a gold ring to my good patroness Santa Clara."

"Thank you," said she, with a smile.

"But you should only have seen Don Estevan! He would not be comforted;
the poor fellow was like a madman, accusing himself as the cause of all
that had happened: he tore his hair, asserting that he ought to have
disobeyed your father, and to have remained with you in defiance of his
orders."

"Poor Estevan!" said the lady, whose thoughts were elsewhere, and who
began to get weary of the chattering of her maid; "Poor Estevan! He
loves me like a brother."

"Yes, he does; so he has sworn by his head that such a thing shall not
happen to you again, and that from henceforth he will never lose sight
of you."

"Was he really in such alarm about me?"

"You cannot imagine how dreadfully frightened he was, particularly as
they said you had fallen into the hands of the most ferocious robber in
the prairie."

"Yet, I can assure you, _chica_, that the man who gave us shelter
overwhelmed us with civility and attention."

"Exactly what your father says; but Don Estevan maintains he has known
this man for a long time; that his kindness was feigned, and intended
to conceal some monstrous treachery."

Doña Hermosa had suddenly become thoughtful.

"Don Estevan has gone mad," she said; "his friendship for me bewilders
his brains; I am sure he is mistaken. But you remind me that I escaped
from him the moment after my arrival without offering him a word of
thanks. I must make reparation for this involuntary forgetfulness; is
he still in the _hacienda?_"

"I think he is, señorita."

"Go and find out, and ask him to come here, if he has not gone already."

The maid rose and left her.

"As he knows him," said Hermosa, as soon as she was alone, "I will
make him speak, and teach me what I want to learn."

So she awaited impatiently the return of her messenger.

The latter seemed to have divined the anxiety of her mistress, and made
such haste to execute her commission that scarcely ten minutes elapsed
before she announced Don Estevan.

We have already said that Don Estevan was a handsome man; he had the
heart of a lion, the eye of an eagle; his carriage full of grace and
suppleness, betrayed his race. He entered, saluting the lady with a
winning familiarity authorised by his long and intimate connection with
one whom he had known from her cradle.

"Dear Estevan," said she, stretching out her hand gaily, "how happy I
am to see you! Sit down here and let us talk."

"Yes; let us have some chat," answered Don Estevan, gladly entering
into the spirit of Hermosa's gaiety.

"Give Estevan a chair, _chica_, and then go; I do not want you any
longer."

The maid obeyed without replying.

"What a number of things I have to tell you, my friend!" resumed the
doña. "But first excuse me for running away from you. My sole thought
was to be alone, and put my ideas into a little order."

"I can easily understand that, dear Hermosa."

"Then you are not angry with me, Estevan?"

"Not the least in the world, I assure you."

"Are you quite sure?" said she, pouting half seriously.

"Do not talk about it anymore, my dear child; one cannot encounter such
dangers as you have been exposed to without feeling their effect upon
the mind for a long time afterwards."

"But it is all over now, believe me; yet, between ourselves, my dear
Estevan, these dangers have not been so great as your affection for me
led you to suppose."

The other shook his head in token of his want of conviction, and
replied:

"On the contrary, _niña_, these dangers have been much more serious
than you choose to believe."

"No, they were not Estevan; the people we met treated us with the most
cordial hospitality."

"I admit it; but will reply with one question."

"Ask it; and I will answer it, if I can."

"Do you know the name of the man who treated you with this cordial
hospitality?" And he laid considerable stress on the last words.

"I confess that I not only do not know it, but that I did not even take
the pains to ask him."

"You were wrong, señorita: for he would have answered that his name was
'the Tigercat.'"

"The Tigercat!" she exclaimed, turning deadly pale; "The execrable
miscreant who for years has spread terror over the frontiers! You are
wrong, Estevan; it could not be he."

"No, señorita, I am not wrong; I know the truth of my assertion. I can
have no doubt, after wh

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