Hunger was pressing hard upon the fugitive prince and his companion, and it became an absolute necessity for one of them to venture out in search of food. Hualcoyotl took it upon himself to do this.
The natives were adepts in the practice of imitating certain birds and animals, and a signal of this kind was agreed upon, to be used in emergencies.
Before setting out on his venture, Hualcoyotl enjoined upon his man the strictest watchfulness, and that he should on no account leave his retreat, unless driven from it by threatened danger; also to listen for the signal, but not to answer until it had been repeated.
It was night, and black darkness enveloped the mountain, especially within the dense woody growth which covered it. The prince stole noiselessly forth from his hiding-place, and with that stealth which is characteristic of the American Indian, passed down the mountain's side, and out onto the plain below. Food in abundance was just before him, but to undertake to secure it would be at the risk of discovery, and, possibly, death. The maddening pangs of hunger were impelling him on; and in his starving condition the tempting food, which was almost within his reach, outweighed the instinctive sense of self-preservation. With cat-like tread he moved away from the mountain's base, knowing that, at any moment, he might come upon a camp of his enemy. In his weak and nervous condition the noise made in the rustling of a leaf, or by the breaking of a twig, was magnified a dozenfold in his imagination.
Though desperation was leading him on, the prince did not for an instant relax his vigilance.
At last he was in the midst of plenty; fields of corn just in the milk, and fruit, on shrub and tree, to be had for the plucking. Securing a quantity of each, he started to return. The same watchful vigilance was observed returning as in going out. He was moving cautiously along, with his senses wide awake, when a sound, very like the noise of some one moving near him, arrested his attention.
"Pish!" he ejaculated, after listening a moment. "'Twas but the flapping of a wing by some nightbird."
The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when a screech most dismal, and quite close, struck upon his sensitive ear, sending a chill to his very heart. Reduced as he was by hunger, with nerves up-strung to their utmost tension, the shock was very severe, and he felt, for an instant, as if he would sink to the earth.
"What a woman I have become!" he muttered, chidingly, to himself. "This will not do. To allow the scream of a bird to affect me thus is cowardice."
Bracing himself against further weakness, he resumed his cautious movement toward the foot of the mountain. When he reached it, he attempted to ascend, but now, that he was in a measure safe, the nervous rigor and force of will, which had sustained him, relaxed, and he was compelled to sit down until his exhausted powers were restored.
While he lingered thus, his thoughts reverted to his palace home; to old Itzalmo, his faithful friend and counselor; to Euetzin, his companion and confidante, and to Zelmonco villa, the home of Itlza. Thoughts of her awakened a pleasurable thrill in his soul, and his features softened under the touch of a sentiment which, if not love, was something very nearly akin to it. To himself he said:
"Am I, indeed, in love with my friend's sweet sister? Yes, it must be so; for I feel that I could sacrifice the man who would dare to come between us!"
When he felt himself sufficiently recovered to ascend the mountain, he arose and proceeded slowly up its side, and on toward his retreat. As he approached his hiding-place he became more wary. What if, in his absence, his retreat had been discovered by his enemy? The thought impressed itself upon him so forcibly that he paused frequently to listen for unusual sounds; but nothing reached his ear save the low and familiar murmur of the night winds, lulling, with their monotonical song, nature's wearied hosts to rest.
When near enough to give it, he sounded the signal, so like the real that the shrewdest woodsman might have been deceived. Again it pierced the silent woods, and quickly came back the echo in Oza's answer.
Hualcoyotl, now relieved of his apprehensions, went boldly forward, and was gladly welcomed back by his anxious attendant.
They could not risk a fire in the nighttime, and were compelled to make a supper on uncooked maize and fruit. Very soon sleep, "Nature's sweet restorer," claimed her own, and they were lost to the dangers about them.
The next morning, before the sun was up, a fire was built, and a breakfast of roasted maize duly prepared. They had no salt with which to season it, but that was of little consequence to them; hunger furnished the added relish, and gave it a flavor that all the condiments required by necessity and art, for man's gratification and need, could not have given. It was a delicious feast to the half-starved fugitives, and was repeated several times during the day.
The first venture of the prince having proved successful, others followed as often as circumstances required it. With each recurring trip he became more bold, and less vigilant, and finally it was decided to make a daylight venture. The first was successful, but the second proved unfortunate, and the last. On this occasion he got too far away from the base of the mountain, and, in returning, was intercepted by a party of Tepanec troops. They were discovered to each other about the same time. The soldiers, to be sure of their man, sent up a savage yell, which had the desired effect, for the prince immediately started to run for his life, making his identity quite certain, and a chase began at once.
Hualcoyotl was fleet of foot, and had recovered, in the past few days, much of his former vigor. He gained rapidly on his pursuers, which gave him an opportunity to change his course. The deflection he made took him out of sight of the soldiers, but their continued yells indicated a hot and determined pursuit.
He was becoming hopeful of his ability to evade them, if he could only hold out. The gaining confidence within him added strength to his limbs. On, on, he almost flew; and, as he ran, the yells of his pursuers impelled him forward in his flight.
The course the fugitive was now pursuing was nearly in the direction of the mountain, and he was speeding along on the wings of hope, when, as he dashed into a narrow vale, he came suddenly upon another party of soldiers. He was right in their midst before he was aware of their presence. "The gods defend me now!" was the prayerful ejaculation which escaped him as he took in the situation.
The moment the prince came into their midst the soldiers surmised who he was, and, closing around him, seized and laid him on the ground. A large drum, which they had with them, was then brought forward and placed over him. When this was done, they began to sing and dance around it.
When the pursuers of the prince came in sight of the party of soldiers who were dancing around the drum under which he was lying, they suddenly stopped and viewed the scene with an air of bewilderment, as if uncertain what to do. The pause was of short duration, however; for, with a yell of disappointment and rage at the disappearance of the prince, they changed their course so as to pass the dancing party, and were soon out of sight and hearing.
Hualcoyotl's wonder and astonishment were great when his captors began to sing and dance around the drum. The song did not indicate a spirit of hostility, but, on the other hand, friendliness. What did it mean? Could it possibly be that he was not in the hands of an enemy? These queries passed quickly through his mind.
The mystery was very soon cleared away. When his pursuers had disappeared, his captors lifted the drum from over him and assisted him to rise. He was free; no hand was upon him, and the faces about him were wreathed in smiles of satisfaction, while he was told that he was among friends. His astonishment, and the joy he experienced because of his deliverance, were very great. His captors were men of Tlacopan, a friendly nation, whose singular conduct was explained when they informed him that on his appearance in their midst they guessed who he was, and that his pursuers were emissaries of Maxtla. There was no time to lose in explanations, then, if they would save him; so he was quickly seized and placed under the drum as a means of concealment.
Hualcoyotl expressed his gratitude in words of no uncertain meaning, and commended the soldiers for their ready shrewdness in devising and executing the plan to save him.
He remained with them until night, when he was escorted by them to within a short distance of his retreat, where they left him with a feeling of personal friendliness, and also one of satisfaction at having done a kind act in the service of a good man.
Oza was overjoyed at his master's safe return, for he had given him up as lost or captured.
After explaining the cause of his protracted absence, the prince said:
"And now, Oza, we must leave this place at once, and get as far from it as possible before daylight to-morrow morning. My pursuers will scour these rocks and hills in every direction without delay in search of me. If we would escape them, we must lose no time in getting away."
The prince took his bearings, and they started. It began to rain, and the night grew wet and dark. They suffered much from the inclement weather, and the hurts and bruises which they got in their efforts to cross the mountain. All night through they dragged themselves wearily on, over the rough and rocky ground. When day dawned they knew not where they were, nor did they care, so they were beyond pursuit.
The first thing to be done after daylight was to find a suitable place, safe and comfortable, in which to fix a temporary habitation.
In a small, narrow ravine among the rocks a spot was found which promised protection from the sun and rain by adding a covering of boughs and leaves, which was speedily accomplished. After partaking of a light breakfast of maize and fruit, the last they had excepting a few ears of the former, they disposed themselves to rest; and being greatly worn and fatigued from the laborious tramp of the night, soon found oblivion in sleep.
"That was a good shot, Mit! Your old father couldn't have done it better." Such was the comment made by Tezcot, the hunter, on the result of a well directed arrow from a bow in the hands of Mitla, the "Mountain Princess."
They were out on the mountain, hunting. Tezcot often went on short excursions of the kind to please Mitla, and it gave him genuine pleasure to do so. Being very kindly disposed, as he was, it afforded him much gratification to make others happy, especially his children.
"He's a fine specimen of his kind," he continued, holding the bird up before him, "and will increase your stock of plumage, and, as well, add another feather to your archer's cap."
The prize was a most beautiful pheasant; and for a moment Mitla's eyes were bright with excitement, but as she gazed upon the lovely bird, lying dead and bleeding at her feet, where her father had carelessly thrown it, the woman's heart within her was touched with feelings of compunction, and she said:
"Father, is it well to kill such beautiful birds? My heart is sad because I have done this."
"It's all the same, child, whether the bird is beautiful or ugly; the one suffers equally with the other, when it comes to that," philosophized he. "Hello, Menke! Is that you?" he continued, addressing a hunter, who just then came up to where they were.
"Wull, yes, it's me, ef I know myself; an' think I should, for some folks do say that Menke an' me are right sociable," jestingly replied the newcomer, a well known mountaineer hunter, who was much addicted to talking to himself, to which addiction his remark referred.
"That ye are, Menke, we all know," answered Tezcot, appreciating the hunter's reference to his peculiar habit, "but it doesn't make ye any less friendly toward the rest of us."
"Wull, no; Menke's about the same all over," returned he, and, suddenly changing the subject, continued: "Goin' far up the mountain, Tez?"
"Not far. We're only out for a short hunt this morning. Mit, there, enjoys a trip to the mountains occasionally."
"Good mornin', Princess," he said to Mitla. "Had any luck, eh?"
"Yes, I have one beautiful bird, a pheasant. See! Is it not a pretty one?" she replied, showing him the prize.
"Nice bird, Princess. Shot it yerself, eh?"
"Certainly, but wish I had not; it is such a lovely bird," she returned, looking sorrowfully at it.
"That's the woman of ye, Princess. Women don't make good hunters; they're too squeamish," he observed, rather contemptuously.
"You, no doubt, speak truly, Menke; but it is our nature, and we can not help it," she replied, her eyes fixed on the bird with an expression of sadness.
Menke turned to Tezcot, and said:
"Say, Tez, wish ye'd jine me in a trip across the mountain to-day. Can't do it, eh?"
"Not to-day, Menke; it would spoil Mit's sport. Some other day I'll go with you."
"All right, Tez; ye know yer own business. The mornin's goin' right fast, an' I'll have to be goin' with it, ef I'd get roun' 'fore night. Good mornin', Princess."
"Good morning, and success attend you, Menke," she returned.
With a parting word to his friend Tezcot the hunter left them, moving rapidly up the mountain, and was soon lost to view among the timber.
Tezcot and Mitla, at a later hour, awoke to the fact that they were farther from home than they had intended to go at starting out. They were more than a league and a half away, and the hunter thought it time to call a halt. Their hunt had proven fairly successful, quite a bunch of game having been secured, rendering the excursion very satisfactory.
"Father," said Mitla, when a return had been decided on, "let us visit the hermit's cave, on our way, going home. I have not been there for a long time."
"If a visit to the hermit would please ye, Mit, we'll go that way."
"Thank you, father; it would, indeed, please me very much to visit the hermitage again."
So it was settled the hermitage should receive a visit from them.
The hermit's cave was the abode of a recluse, whose identity and previous life were a profound mystery. By accompanying the hunter and Mitla to it, we will at least get an insight into the character of the man.
About a league from Tezcot's house was a long, narrow, and dark ravine. It was fully a half mile in length, and was inwalled on either side by steep elevations. Its gloomy wildness was seemingly filled with an awe-inspiring presence, and only a few of the denizens of the mountainous range would venture into it. Stories were told of strange sights and sounds haunting its lonely recesses, which readily found credence in the minds of the more superstitious of them.
Tezcot, and a few other fearless hunters of the locality, took the stories for what they were—creations of fancy or design, and occasionally explored the place in quest of game.
Since the advent of the hermit on the mountain, which took place some years prior to the incidents narrated here, these bolder mountaineers might have been seen at intervals cautiously invading its solitudes, going, in most cases, to the hermitage to visit its strange occupant.
The ravine was situated east and west, and those who were familiar with its dark depths found it most easily entered from the eastern terminus.
When Tezcot and Mitla arrived there, they went in without hesitation. They found the ground rough, and frequently quite sloping, yet made good progress over it.
After going some distance into the ravine, they turned toward the south, and began the ascent of the steep acclivity in that direction, along a natural depression in its side.
Going well up out of the ravine they made a turn to the west, and went around the side of a mountain until they came to a dense growth of underbrush, which had the appearance, in its denseness, of being impenetrable. Tezcot, however, knew the ground well, and quickly found a place that would admit of their passing through. When they came out on the opposite side of the thicket, it was to find themselves on a kind of shelf in the side of the mountain, at the back of which rose an almost perpendicular wall of rock. Following this rocky wall for a short distance back, they came to a great recess in its face, which had the appearance of a natural vestibule. In the rear of this recess was an opening, which proved to be the entrance to a cavern. Tezcot went familiarly forward, passing through the aperture into a tunnel-shaped cave, which appeared as running far back into the mountain. The interior was only dimly lighted from the entrance; yet the semi-darkness did not seem to impede the hunter's movement, for he went confidently in, until he came to an opening in the side of the tunnel, before which he stopped, and gave a peculiar signal.
In response to the signal there presently appeared before the visitors the form of a man dimly outlined in the faint light of the cavern. In a voice which was deep and solemn, he inquired:
"Who would break in on the solitude of Ix, the anchorite?"
"Tezcot, the anchorite's friend, and Mitla, his child, who have come to pay their respects to him, and hear again the words of wisdom which his lips are wont to speak," replied the hunter, respectfully.
"Tezcot and his are ever welcome in the home of Ix, the hermit. Enter, and find rest."
Tezcot laid aside his hunter's outfit, and, followed by Mitla, passed into the recluse's lonely abode.
The cell, or room, occupied by the hermit as a habitation, was a natural cavity in the side of the main cavern, situated, as we have seen, some distance back from the entrance. It was square shaped, and answered well the purpose for which it was used.
A burning taper shed a dim and sickly glimmer over the room, giving barely light enough to reveal its contents. At one side of the apartment was a couch, made up of animals' skins, and opposite to it a rough table, on which was placed a burning taper.
Such was the scanty furnishment of the hermit's cell, except the necessary arms of a hunter, with which he was supplied, and which were lying and hanging about the room.
Good friends, like Tezcot, would often give the recluse sufficient provisions to last for days, yet he would sometimes venture out on the mountain, when no eye was near to watch him, in quest of game, which he seldom failed to secure, for he handled his weapons with efficiency.
His food was prepared in the main cavern, leaving his cell free from that inconvenience.
A question frequently asked, but never answered, was: "Who is he, this Ix, the hermit?" He was in truth, and to all, a man of mystery.
The more ignorant of the mountaineers—those who believed the ravine haunted—thought the mysterious individual superhuman in character, and shunned the locality as an abode of spirits. Ix encouraged this feeling and belief among them, so far as he could, though always very grateful to the few who were above such notions, and who were ever welcome visitors to his cavern home.
The hermit could afford no better accommodations than skins thrown on the ground, as a protection, to sit on, and his visitors were seated in this manner. When they were comfortably settled, the anchorite said:
"How is it with my wise friend—thyself, O Tezcot, and those who share with thee the bounteous favors which bless thy mountain home?"
"It is well with us. And thou, O friend, hath good or evil come to make or mar thy peace, of late?" replied the hunter inquiringly.
"My lonely life is seldom interrupted. Its simplicity could only lead to peace if the mind were less active. But who can say, O, mind, be still, and trouble not thyself with what is past, or what may come?"
The hermit's words showed that he was not in his usual temper of mind. They indicated that his meditations sometimes disturbed him. On no previous occasion had Tezcot heard him intimate that disquieting recollections were ever present to interrupt the peacefulness of his lonely life. And yet, why not? The man had not always been a hermit. The surprise to Tezcot was in the yielding of his habitual restraint upon his speech, so far as to give utterance to such a thought. He did not immediately respond to the hermit, and, after a moment's pause, the latter continued:
"You have come from the world of light, O Tezcot, and know much that is dark to Ix. If it please you, will you tell me something of what is passing there? How fares it with the people in the valley?"
"Why should Ix, the hermit, who has gone from the world to find seclusion in a mountain fastness, seek knowledge concerning the people and of what is passing beyond? Does the anchorite tire of his lonely mountain cell, and long for a place among them, that he turns from his solitude to inquire after the people's welfare?"
"Tezcot is wise, but he reads only from that which his eyes behold. There are sealed records from which even he can not read. Ix is one of these to all the world, yet not without his sorrows. Memory is not less bright because of the darkness which hides external things," rejoined the hermit, with deep pathos in his voice.
"Tezcot is rebuked," returned he, regretfully. "The wisdom of Ix is greater than his. The hermit's desire to learn something of what is passing among the people in the valley shall be gratified. There is peace on the beautiful Anahuac, and the people appear to be happy; still, there is unrest and repining beneath it all. The signs bespeak a coming storm—not of the heavens, which we wot of when the sky is overcast and chains of fire flash across it—nor yet when the waters descend and the thunder's deep and awful voice is heard. No, it is not a storm like that, but one in which the passions of men shall sway them as the tempest sways the mighty tree; a storm in which blood shall flow and once more stain and soil the beautiful face of Anahuac; and sorrow shall find place in the hearts of many people, and lamentation shall ascend."
The voice of the hunter was like one inspired. The hermit felt it, and replied:
"The language of Tezcot is the language of a prophet. Whose hand is in the strifeful storm of which he foretells?"
"The hand of Maxtla, king at the royal city of Azcapozalco, is in it," answered the hunter.
At the mention of Maxtla's name, an expression of fierceness came over the hermit's face, but the taper's dim light did not reveal it. He inquired, in a voice in which there was evident displeasure, causing the hunter to give him a closer look:
"Where is the old destroyer of Tezcucan liberty, Tezozomoc, that Maxtla is king at Azcapozalco?"
"The old king is dead," replied Tezcot.
"The world is none the worse for that, I'm sure," returned the hermit, showing unmistakable enmity.
"It is surely not any better since Maxtla is king," answered the hunter, observing with interest the hermit's relaxing reserve.
"What would he—this Maxtla of Azcapozalco?" inquired Ix.
"It is known that he would destroy the Prince of Tezcuco, because of jealousy and hatred." A gleam of intelligence might have been seen to light up the anchorite's countenance on hearing these words, but it was not observed by the hunter, who continued: "The prince is a fugitive, hunted as a fox by the vassals of the king."
The hermit was silent and thoughtful for a moment, and then asked:
"Whence come the signs which speak to Tezcot of an approaching conflict?"
"If Ix would read the signs himself, let him go into the valley where dwell the Tezcucans—the oppressed people of the fugitive prince. The deadly serpent lies motionless in our path, but should our foot perchance fall upon it, our destruction would follow swift and sure; though not more surely than retribution on the man who tramples human rights beneath his heel," replied the hunter, impressively.
"The words of my wise friend are full of meaning. They come to Ix like a message from the world. He will treasure them up and give them thought, for they are portentous. Things of which the wise hunter hath no knowledge press heavily upon Ix's mind. His heart is sad because of the wickedness of men," returned the hermit, in gloomy accents.
Tezcot was acquainted with some of the hermit's peculiar moods, and felt, from his manner, that a longer stay would be neither pleasant nor profitable; so, after a brief silence, he arose and said they would depart, inasmuch as their absence from home had been prolonged in order to make the hermitage a visit.
The hermit expressed his gratification for the visit, and said further:
"My friend has brought much food for thought, for which I am grateful. Do not forget, O Tezcot, that you and yours are ever welcome in the home of the hermit. Tarry not away; for Ix would hear more of the signs of the hour and what they portend."
"When the signs speak more clearly I will come again, that Ix may have knowledge of their import," returned the hunter, turning to leave the hermit's cell.
They passed into the main cavern, where a liberal division of the game was made, of which the hermit received a goodly portion. It was accepted with expressions of gratitude; and, after the customary salutations, the visitors took their departure, leaving the recluse to his solitude and lonely cogitations, the nature of which could only be surmised.
The hunter went from the hermitage with conflicting thoughts. He had talked with the hermit many times, but had never before looked so far into his character. He was nearer the solution of the oft repeated, but still unanswered question, "Who is he?" than at any previous time; and yet his theories were vague and unsatisfactory. He determined to know more of the man of mystery, and resolved to see him frequently.
The day was one of brightness and warmth on the mountain where we left Hualcoyotl and his attendant. The storm of the previous night had entirely disappeared before the refulgent rays of the morning sun. Hours came and passed, and the day was three-fourths gone; yet, fairly well protected in their new quarters, the prince and Oza slept on in an unbroken slumber, so worn were they from the almost superhuman efforts of the night before. The sleep of exhaustion was upon them, and the ordinary noises of the mountain wilds with which they were surrounded were without effect to disturb them. Now and then a bird would alight quite near and shie its bright eye at the sleepers, then hurry away. Animals frisked unconcerned about them, and the pestiferous insect filled the air with its ceaseless and annoying hum; still the tired fugitives continued profoundly unconscious of it all.
Such was the situation of the sleepers about the middle of the afternoon, when a piercing scream, like the cry of a person in extreme distress or peril, only much louder and inexpressibly awful, awakened the slumberers to a sudden impression of impending danger. The prince quickly raised himself to a listening posture, and exclaimed:
"What means that cry?"
"Hist, master; look there! What is that?" spoke Oza, in an excited whisper, at the same time pointing to an object just above and in front of them.
The prince looked in the direction indicated by his attendant, and there, not twenty feet away, beheld, crouched on an overhanging limb, a ferocious looking beast, with eyes which shone like balls of fire fixed menacingly upon them. The animal's lips were parted, showing its great ugly teeth, which caused a savage grin to overspread its fierce and threatening visage. Its tail, cat-like and menacing, was moving slowly to and fro; and, altogether, the monster's appearance was anything but reassuring to contemplate. The situation was, indeed, alarming.
The position of the animal was such that, to get away, the prince and Oza would have been compelled to pass almost under it. To have done this would have been to invite an immediate attack, which they could not afford to do in their defenseless condition.
Hualcoyotl recalled having heard some time in his life that such animals would not attack a person whose eyes were kept fixed upon them. The thought suggested the idea that the beast might be kept at bay in this manner until, tiring, it would leave of its own accord. The plan was immediately put into execution, and a peculiar contest began.
The fiercely grinning beast gave stare for stare, and never once turned its eyes away. For a full half hour, which seemed an age to the prince, the battle of the eyes went on, and still there was no letting up in the belligerent attitude of his fierce looking adversary.
Thus matters stood when there came a sudden thud-like sound, followed by a terrible howl from the animal, which leaped from its position into the ravine, falling dead almost at the feet of the imprisoned fugitives.
The long, uninterrupted stare into the eyes of the snarling beast had proven to be a very trying ordeal to Hualcoyotl; and when it sprang so suddenly into the ravine as if to attack them, he was almost prostrated from the shock given his tensified sensibilities. He quickly recovered when he saw that deliverance, from an unknown and unexpected source, had come to them through the death of the animal. Directly a voice, apparently just above them, was heard to say:
"Menke, ye couldn't have missed that feller no how. Queer the brute 'lowed me to come so close; never moved till I sent the jav'lin right into his ugly carcass. There he lies, sure enough, at the bottom o' the ravine, dead as a stone. Ol' feller, ye got yer everlastin', an' no mistake. Hello! What's that?" was the exclamation which followed the discovery of the prince's quarters. "Looks as ef somebody'd gone to house-keepin'."
The foregoing talk was carried on by Menke, the hunter, who was introduced to the reader in the preceding chapter. It was in the nature of a soliloquy, in which, as we have before observed, the hunter frequently indulged.
In pursuing his hunt through the mountain forests he had chanced to pass near the place where the prince and Oza were sheltered, and seeing the animal with fixed attention, crept cautiously up and gave it a death thrust with the javelin. He was too deeply intent on securing the animal as a prize to notice the retreat of the fugitives until the moment his exclamation was uttered.
Hualcoyotl very naturally concluded, on hearing the voice, that there were at least two persons in the party. He also surmised, from the character of the language used, that they were denizens of the mountains.
"They are surely not soldiers," he thought, "and may prove to be friendly."
The hunter descended into the ravine for the purpose of securing his prize, hardly expecting to find any one under cover of the shelter he had just discovered. When he reached the bottom near where the animal was lying, his eyes fell upon the forms of the prince and Oza, who had remained quietly waiting developments. He quickly took in the situation and said, with an air of surprise:
"Wull, now, what kind of a nest d'ye call that, eh?"
"It might be a worse one, hunter," returned the prince, recognizing Menke's calling by his general appearance, at the same time coming out of his sheltered retreat. "We were endeavoring to get some sleep, after a very tiresome tramp over the mountain," he continued, "when the cry of this beast aroused us rather unceremoniously; and for the past half hour we have been trying to drive it from us by looking it steadily in the eyes. But it has been provokingly persistent, and might have worried us out in time, had you not opportunely come along and relieved us with your javelin."
"That 'counts for the brute payin' no 'tention to me; 'lowin' me to come right onto 'im, an' givin' me such a fine show for his skin," returned the hunter.
"Yes, its fixed attention made it a splendid target for your javelin. But, friend, where are your companions?" the prince asked, seeing no one but the hunter.
"My companions," quoth Menke. "Don't understand ye, stranger."
"We certainly heard you talking with someone just before you came into the ravine," replied the prince.
"Wull, now, that's so; I was doin' some talkin', I reckon, but it was to myself. Ye see, stranger, when a feller's alone 'bout all the time, as I am, he gets real sociable with 'imself, an' falls into that way o' doin'. No, there's no one 'long o' me, an' ef I did any conversin', it was entirely onesided," returned the hunter, in his peculiar manner of expression. "Ye've got a right snug place here," he continued, taking a look at the fugitives' shelter. "Goin' to stop a while, eh?"
"That will depend on circumstances," replied the prince. "Do you live near here?"
"Wull, no; it's some distance to my place. There are folks livin' hereabout, but their way o' livin's kind o' tough. Ye'd better go round 'em, stranger. Some good people on the plateaus, though. Now, there's Tezcot—lives th' other side of yon mountain. He's a man ye can fasten to an' know ye're safe. He's a kind o' chief 'mong the mountain people. Ef ye happen to run onto Tez, ye'll find 'im true as his arrer, an' that's sayin' a heap."
"We'll try to remember your friend Tezcot, hunter, and should we meet him, will feel that we are fortunate."
"S'pose ye're on a huntin' excursion, eh?" said Menke, forgetting the strangers could not be supplied with arms, else the animal would hardly have held them prisoners.
"Well, not exactly. Our business is, to some extent, searching for roots and berries," replied the prince, expressing a sudden thought which suggested a way of misleading the hunter and avoiding immediate discovery.
"Medicine man, eh?" responded the hunter, in an ejaculatory manner.
The prince found it necessary to change the subject, which he did by inquiring:
"Do you ever get any news from the valley, hunter?"
"Wull, yes. 'Casionally meet a hunter from there who has news; an' then the soldiers—thick as mosquitoes round here o' late—they have a heap to say. Some o' them—the Tepanecs, are lookin' for the Tezcucan prince, who's hidin' somewhere in the mountains. Maxtla, the new Tepanec king, is after his life."
"Have you seen this prince you speak of?"
"Wull, no; haven't had that pleasure."
"What would you do, hunter, should you meet with the prince on the mountain—make him a prisoner and claim the reward?"
"No, stranger, I'd do nothin' o' the sort; I'd let 'im alone."
"You certainly have not heard of the extraordinary reward which, I understand, has been offered for his capture, dead or alive—a noble lady's hand in marriage, and a rich domain with it, to him who takes the prince. Is that not worth considering?" said Hualcoyotl, endeavoring to draw the hunter out still farther, to be more fully assured that he might trust him.
"Not to a man o' family, stranger," replied the hunter.
"With the wealth included in the reward you could support several wives. The matter of a family would be of small consequence," pursued the prince.
"All the same, stranger, I'd sooner be a free man o' the mountains than to have all Maxtla has to give for the prince's capture. I'll never be a slave to any man, and surely not to Maxtla. Ef the prince should come my way, I'll show 'im what a mountaineer can do fur the son o' his father, a man who was loved by his people fur the good that was in 'im." At this instant a thought occurred to the hunter which caused him to look sharply at the prince. After a moment of close scrutiny, he said: "Come to think of it, ye're askin' a good many questions 'bout the prince. Wouldn't be s'prised ef ye'd turn out to be the 'dentical chap, yerself. Curious I haven't s'pected that afore. Who are ye, any way?"
"Hunter, your expressions of good will assure me that I can trust you. I have the confidence to believe you would not betray a pursued and unjustly persecuted man. You see in me Hualcoyotl, the fugitive prince." As the prince said this he seemed to grow taller, for he stood proudly erect while he waited for the surprised hunter to speak.
Menke's astonishment, at finding his suspicion verified, was little short of amazement. After a moment, he said:
"Wull, ef I aint clear beat; been talkin' to a live prince all this time, an' didn't have gumption 'nough to know it." Looking Hualcoyotl over, he continued: "So ye're the prince. Wull, that knocks me crookeder 'an that animal's leg; I'd 'bout as soon take yer man fur a prince. Can't see but ye're just like other folks—nothin' extra, either."
The prince could not repress a smile of amusement at hearing the hunter's very expressive language. Menke continued:
"D'ye know, Prince, ye took my measure exactly when ye said ye thought ye could trust me? Ye can do it, sure as ye live. May the next lion I come across eat me jacket and all, ef ye can't!"
"Thank you, hunter," returned the prince. "You can not know how much relief and encouragement your words afford us. Our situation was very critical before you came to our assistance, and we feel very grateful to you. The disposition of kindliness which you evince toward us is most assuring, and makes us feel as if we were not wholly friendless."
"That's all right, Prince. It doesn't cost much to be obligin', an' it turns up a good profit; so don't let it trouble ye. Menke—that's me—'ll do all he's promised, an' more too ef it's needed. How're ye fixed fur somethin' to eat?" he concluded, thoughtful of the fugitives' physical wants.
"Rather poorly, hunter. We have nothing except a little green maize which we brought with us when we came here—hardly worth mentioning."
"Ye are a little short, that's a fact. My luck hasn't been the best to-day. Only got a pheasant or two an' one hare. Ye're welcome to 'em, Prince."
"Again we have to thank you, hunter; you are very kind."
"Can't see why I'm more'n I should be; ye've nothing to eat an' I have; that means a divide to Menke, Prince."
"I have often heard of the liberality and hospitable character of the men of the mountains. You have proven, by your kindness, Menke, that the report is well founded.
"It doesn't matter how you put it, Prince; that's our way o' doin'; an' ef ye've no objection to remainin' here alone, I'll take yer man 'long o' me—what's 'is name?" he suddenly asked, looking at Oza. The name was given, and he continued: "Wull, Oza, ef yer master's willin', ye can g'long o' me, and I'll find ye somethin' more than pheasant an' hare to eat."
It was arranged for Oza to accompany the hunter to the plateau, to bring in such food as he might procure for them. When ready to go, Menke threw the carcass of the mountain lion (for such it was) over his shoulder, and started to leave the ravine.
"Hunter!" called the prince, as he was moving off, "you will keep our hiding-place a secret. Do not mention to anyone, not even to your closest friends, that you have seen us; curiosity might lead to our discovery."
"Don't 'low any such notion as that to spoil yer sleep, Prince," returned the hunter. "When Menke undertakes to do somethin', he doesn't count on callin' in his neighbors. Think he knows what's what, if he does live on the mountains." With this brusk and emphatic reply he left the ravine, followed by Oza.
Hualcoyotl was now alone. His situation was not the happiest, and was calculated to call up disturbing reflections.
For some time after the departure of the hunter and Oza, he remained in his retreat, pondering on his peculiarly trying position. Growing nervous and uneasy, he concluded to venture out on the side of the mountain, which he did. Finding a place whence he could observe unseen the approaches to his quarters, he put himself on guard. As the hours passed and Oza did not return, he grew still more uneasy. He had eaten nothing during the day, and hunger was becoming a disturbing influence. When night came on and Oza had not returned, he felt that some mishap had certainly befallen him. He went back to his retreat, under cover of darkness, feeling much depressed in spirits, where we leave him, to follow the hunter and Oza.
After leaving the prince, they passed noiselessly down the side of the mountain and out on to a narrow, level stretch of ground, along which they went for a short distance, passing, on their way, some rudely constructed huts, formed of sticks and earth, which were inhabited by the class of mountaineers referred to by Menke as living tough.
The hunter's object was to procure for the fugitives a supply of uncooked food, but he did not deem it expedient to apply to the occupants of the huts for it, so passed on.
They had not gone far, after passing the huts, when they were met by a squad of soldiers, the sight of whom almost paralyzed the heart of Oza.
"Hist, Oza!" quietly ejaculated the hunter, when he discovered the soldiers approaching. "Ye're my servant; d'ye understand? Take this animal on yer back an' fall behind." Oza comprehended, and quickly obeyed.
Menke advanced boldly up to the soldiers, and one of them, looking at Oza's burden, said:
"What have you there, hunter?"
"A lion, soldier—a very savage kind of animal. I'd caution ye to look out fur 'em; they're plenty 'round here, 'specially on the mountains."
"Your very liberal with your advice, hunter, which may be good, but think we can take care of ourselves."
"All right, soldier; ef ye want to furnish a meal or two fur the hungry beasts, don't 'low me to hinder ye."
"Never mind the beasts, hunter; we care nothing for them. We're looking for a different kind of animal—a run-away prince, who is known to be hiding somewhere in these mountains. Haven't come across such a fellow in your travels, eh?" questioned the soldier.
"Wull, now, wouldn't be sure, but think I've seen the man ye're lookin' fur," returned Menke, making a show of trying to recall the circumstance. "Yesterday—yes, 'twas yesterday, on th'other side o' the mountain. Tall chap—"
"Yes," interjected the soldier.
"Kind o' dark skin?"
"Exactly, hunter," again put in the soldier.
"Was lookin' fur somethin' to eat," pursued Menke.
"Just what he'd most likely be doing. Think you've seen our man," replied the soldier. "Could you tell us," he continued, "about where to look for him?"
"Wull, now, soldier, I might guess at it, but 'twould be like shootin' an arrer at the moon—I'd come 'bout as close to one as th'other. Guess I can't enlighten ye. Sorry, soldier, but I can't," concluded Menke, moving on, and giving no heed to the scowling looks which followed him.
The meeting with the soldiers caused the hunter to modify his plans somewhat. It would not be prudent to build a fire on the mountain, with which to cook food, while the soldiers remained in such uncomfortably close proximity. This made it necessary to procure it in a prepared state.
The provisions could be obtained at Menke's home, but to go there would consume much time. Then, there was danger of the soldiers going up into the mountain in their search for the prince. He ought to be informed of their presence. And yet, he must have something to eat.
All this was thought over by the hunter, who finally determined to take the risk of leaving Hualcoyotl to look out for himself, and started to procure the victuals from his own home.
The trip was accomplished as quickly as possible; nevertheless, darkness overtook them before they got back; and it was well for them that it did, for they came very near running into a band of soldiers who were camping close to the point where the hunter had intended beginning the ascent of the mountain. This made it necessary for them to retreat and make a detour in order to reach cover.
The soldiers were becoming numerous on the plateaus, and Menke realized that sharp practice would be required to elude them. Having become deeply interested in the welfare of the fugitives, he decided, in view of the gravity of the situation, to return with Oza to their retreat; and, with the prince's approval, conduct them to a place of concealment, at or near his home.
After some delay a bushy undergrowth, which grew thickly at the foot of the mountain, was reached, into which, followed by Oza, the mountaineer disappeared.