Darkness covered the mountains, and the prince still waited impatiently in his retreat for his attendant to return from the plateau. A feeling of anxious suspense, mingled with a sense of dread, as if impending calamity was threatening, oppressed him—a feeling which may cowardize the bravest heart under less discouraging circumstances than those which surrounded him at that moment. He was about to leave his shelter again, to seek relief from the uncomfortable sensation which disturbed him, when a peculiar cry attracted his attention, and caused him to rouse up and listen. A moment later, to his great relief, it was repeated. He moved away from his retreat a short distance, to find a safe position from which to send back an answer, which, if it were Oza, would bring him in. The return signal was given and the result awaited with anxiety. His suspense was brief; for in a very short time two persons came into the ravine and cautiously approached the sheltered recess. The prince was not expecting that the hunter would return, and for a moment was undecided what to do. Oza quickly reassured him by calling, in a subdued voice:
"Master!"
"Here," returned he, leaving his concealed position.
"Didn't catch ye nappin', eh, Prince?" said Menke.
"No, my friend; with the anxious listening and watching I have done in the last few hours that would hardly have been possible," returned he, and, continuing, he said: "I was not expecting that you would return with Oza; so when two came, instead of one, I was not sure of its being him."
"Hadn't thought of returning to-night, Prince; but findin' danger to yerself gettin' thicker an' thicker, concluded I'd better come."
"What have you discovered, hunter?" anxiously inquired the prince.
"Tepanec soldiers. They're gettin' too thick fur comfort round here. What they'll do when mornin' comes I wouldn't stay to find out ef I 'as the one they're lookin' fur," replied the hunter, emphatically.
"Have you seen the soldiers, that you speak so positively?" questioned the prince.
Here Menke gave an account of the meeting with the soldiers going out, and the difficulties encountered returning. When he concluded, Hualcoyotl said, despondently:
"What can I do, or where go, to find safety from my pursuers? Hunter, you know these mountains well; can't you tell us where we may find refuge?"
"That's just what I'm here fur, Prince. Ef ye'll go 'long o' me I'll try to put ye where ye'll be safe. Ye'll have to take some risk in goin', but think we can dodge the pesky Tepanecs an' reach my place all right. Will ye go?"
"We believe you to be a good friend, hunter, and will trust you. Yes, we'll go with you."
"Good! When the night is darkest, and sleep has bound the soldiers, I'll lead ye from here to a better and safer concealment. But ye must eat. Here are bread and meat," continued the hunter. "Be liberal to yerself, Prince; there's plenty more where we're goin'," he said, giving each a bountiful supply of the provision.
They all partook heartily of the food; after which Menke insisted that the prince and Oza should lie down and sleep, while he would remain on watch.
When the hour came around for leaving, the still tired fugitives were sleeping soundly. The hunter aroused them, and said it was time to go. The food remaining from the supply which he had provided was divided among them, and they started.
The prince was not insensible to the peril to which he was about to expose himself, and, very naturally, experienced some uneasiness in consequence. He did not doubt the fidelity of his guide, but, realizing how powerless they were for defense against a band of armed soldiers, should they be discovered, he could hardly feel otherwise. He did not follow blindly, but was guarded and ready for any emergency.
The direction taken to reach the plateau was different from that followed by the hunter and Oza the day before. This course was adopted with the hope of avoiding the soldiers known to be encamped at the foot of the mountain.
Their progress was slow, and much time was consumed in the descent. It was finally accomplished, however; but before leaving cover the hunter made a careful reconnoisance to ascertain if the way was clear. Finding no indications of the presence of soldiers, the party sallied out upon the open ground, and cautiously crossed to the opposite side of the plateau. Turning to the right they moved along in single file, with gulches, crags and deep ravines to the left of them, and small fields of ripening maize and chia-plant, scattered here and there on the tillable ground, lying between them and the mountain they had just left. The stars shone brightly down upon the trail they were pursuing, and the trio were proceeding on their way with increased confidence, at an easy pace, the hunter in the lead. Jam up against him came the prince and Oza. He had suddenly stopped.
"Why do you halt?" inquired the prince.
Menke only had time to whisper in reply, "Escape, ef ye can; we're discovered!" when they were set upon by a band of Tepanec soldiers.
The attack was made near a patch of corn, and the prince quickly saw in it a way of escape. He still carried the stout stick which did him such excellent service on a former occasion. It was swung into position for defense, and when the soldiers rushed upon them he met their onslaught with a resistance they were not expecting. In less time than is required to record it he cleared a way to the corn, into which he disappeared, and was lost under the cover of night ere the assaulting party discovered his intention. Some of the soldiers followed, but to no purpose; it was a case of life or death to him, and his pursuers were soon left floundering in confusion behind.
When the hunter discovered that the prince had gotten away, he quietly surrendered.
The soldiers could only have presumed that Hualcoyotl was one of the party they were attacking. If he was, a sudden seizure would secure him. On this hypothesis they had no doubt acted. It was not their purpose to injure anyone unnecessarily, and the struggle ended as suddenly as it had begun.
Putting on a bold front, Menke, in a very stern voice, said:
"Why d'ye jump onto a feller an' his men in this way? We're not outlaws."
"Not so sure of that, stranger," answered one of the soldiers, looking the hunter over. "You are not the man we want, at any rate; one of your companions may be. Who are they?"
"They're my servants," replied Menke.
"Which you expect us to believe, of course," returned the soldier, doubtingly.
"Oza, where's Yuma?" inquired the hunter, holding to his assumed position of master, hoping it would divert the soldiers from a pursuit of the prince.
"Yuma ran away like a coward, master," answered Oza, comprehending the hunter's design.
"Let 'im go; he'll come back with the sun," said Menke, with a show of indifference.
The soldiers were not to be hoodwinked so easily, but proceeded to inspect Oza closely. After satisfying themselves that he was not the person wanted, the spokesman turned to the hunter and said:
"You are quite clever with your tongue, stranger. What you say, may be true, but we are not obliged to believe it. Your Yuma, who ran away, showed too much skill to be a servant. We are inclined to believe him the man we are after."
"As ye please, soldier. Havin' made up yer mind to think that way, there's no use o' wastin' words 'bout it; an' ef ye've no further use fur us, we'll move on," spoke Menke, decidedly.
"You can go," returned the soldier, shortly.
The hunter, without deigning to notice the soldiers farther, moved away from them, followed by Oza. When far enough off to be secure from observation, he paused to consider what should be done next.
The situation was rather perplexing. It would not do to signal the prince; that would attract the attention of his pursuers, and make his position more critical. The hunter was too shrewd to do that. The only alternative, therefore, was to wait for daylight to come to their assistance. Having decided on this course a safe place in which to stop was found, where we leave them to follow Hualcoyotl.
After going some distance into the corn patch, the prince paused to listen for the noise of pursuit. He could distinctly hear the rustling of the stalks, but too far away to give him any present concern. He was safe, he felt, until daylight—at which time, however, he wisely concluded he would not be if he remained on the plateau; for the soldiers would surely search it over from end to end, so soon as it became light enough to see. He must get away, and the sooner he went the better would be his chances of eluding them. But where should he go, was the all-important question. His eyes turned toward the mountain he had just left.
"No, it will not do to go there," he thought; "there is danger in that direction." He quickly decided to take an opposite course and started.
The uncertainty of the situation led him to dismiss at once the consideration of an immediate reunion with the hunter and Oza, and caused him to think only of his personal safety.
He left the patch of corn into which he had fled, and passed stealthily out onto the uncultivated ground, which he found covered with weeds and bushes, and very rough. He was compelled to move slowly and pick his way over it. Coming to another patch of corn he entered it, and after going a short distance, paused. Casting his eyes about him he discovered, plainly outlined against the horizon, a mountain, seemingly not very far off, which until now had escaped his observation, and to which he determined to go. It took quite a while to reach it, for it proved to be farther away than he had reckoned. Finally, after a laborious tramp, he stood at its base, and was glad when he entered its dense wood where he might rest once more in comparative security. He went far enough up the side of the mountain to render his position reasonably safe, where he found a spot which was thickly covered with bushes, into which he crept to await the morning's dawning. When daylight spread itself over the scene he was unconscious of it; for he slept. Later on he awoke to find the sun shining brightly through the thick foliage about him. His location was found to be well protected and secure, and he decided to remain in it for the time being.
The prince's situation was now more discouraging, if possible, than at any previous time. In his efforts to get away from his pursuers he had put himself beyond the help of the hunter and Oza. It was hardly possible that they would find him where he was; and it was out of the question for him to attempt to go to them. His case was hourly becoming more desperate. Fate seemed to be driving him helplessly before it. Thus, in temporary security, we leave him for the present.
When day dawned Menke and Oza were on the lookout for Hualcoyotl; and the soldiers were seen scouring their vicinity in search of him. But, as the reader knows, Menke and Oza, and the soldiers as well, were doomed to be disappointed, for the man they were looking for was at that hour sleeping on a mountain, several miles away.
The soldiers finally gave up the hunt for him on the plateau, and, as good luck would have it, turned their attention to the mountain he had previously occupied, believing he had sought the nearest shelter.
The hunter and Oza waited about the place all day, and when night came on reluctantly turned their steps toward the home of the former.
Euetzin and Cacami, with the assistance of their colaborers, had done a splendid work among the men of their tribe for the cause of Tezcuco. Everywhere they had labored the Tezcucan heart was thoroughly aroused, and the secret preparations for resistance to Maxtla's rule were rapidly assuming proportions highly encouraging to the promoters. The comrades were now returning to the once proud capital of their nation to continue the work of organization at the very threshold of the enemy.
The work in Tezcuco had been deferred until assurance of success was made reasonably certain elsewhere; and, now, since a perfect confidence in the ultimate triumph of their cause was felt by the conspirators, the work was to be pushed into that city as a final effort in the creation of the mighty and silent forces which were intended to strike the shackles from the oppressed Tezcucans.
The young men reached Zelmonco villa, on their way to the city, in the afternoon, where they proposed to stop a few hours with Teochma and Itlza. It was a very happy meeting, for weeks had elapsed since the tzin and his companion turned their faces away from the home of the former.
Itlza's welcome to Cacami was very encouraging to him. The weeks of absence he was compelled to endure had strengthened the attachment he had conceived for her, and he was longing for some token of reciprocation, which would release him from his pledge of silence. He thought he saw a realization of his hopes in the greeting he received; and, notwithstanding he was pledged, when he came face to face with the object of his love he felt that his feelings would impel him to speak, should the opportunity for doing so be presented.
The days had not been without effect upon Itlza, too. She had grown thoughtful, and the thoughts which held her most were thoughts of Cacami. She had often gone to the oak tree, where she sat for hours and, dreamingly, lived over again the few pleasant moments she had spent there with him; and, as the dreaming went on, her heart could not do otherwise than go out to the object of her thoughts.
After an hour of pleasant talk, and the subjects of inquiry had been exhausted, the little party broke up. Euetzin went to look about the villa, Teochma to see that suitable refreshments were prepared, and Itlza and Cacami for a short stroll in the park.
Persons who are in love are usually inclined to reticence in the presence of the beloved, except when talking on the subject which is ever uppermost in their minds. Thus it was with Cacami and Itlza. He was thinking of his promise, and was not a little vexed at himself for having given it, now that so favorable an opportunity was presented for pleading his cause. She was thinking of the same thing; and, remembering that she had exacted the promise from him, was endeavoring to devise a way to let him know that he was absolved from it. The consequence was a rather awkward silence between them. He finally managed to say:
"How has Laughing-eyes occupied the time since her brother and myself went away?"
"As she always does—eating, sleeping, and dreaming," she replied, jocosely.
"Were your dreams in your sleeping or waking hours?" he asked, looking at her with quizzical interest.
"You should not question so, Cacami. To be truthful I might be compelled to say in both; then you would think me a dreamer," she answered, coquettishly.
"I should never find fault with your dreaming, Laughing-eyes, if I might be assured of a part in it," he said, with a look of fondness.
"Selfish Cacami!" she exclaimed, with mock solemnity.
"Yes, Laughing-eyes, Cacami is selfish where you are concerned," he rejoined, with unfeigned tenderness.
She could not mistake the trend of his manner, and hoped earnestly that he would disregard his promise, and speak the endearing words she had herself checked upon his lips before she realized that her best love was his.
"I must have a care for myself; selfish Cacami might choose to spirit me away," she said, archly, at the same time giving him a look which tempted him severely, and almost loosed his tongue. With a heroic effort he controlled himself, and, with strained facetiousness, replied:
"When I do that, Laughing-eyes will furnish the spirit wings."
To this quasi repartee she answered only with a coquettish little laugh.
They had come to the lower side of the park, near the roadway. A short pause had followed Cacami's last remark, and he was fixedly and tenderly contemplating his strangely fascinating companion.
The art of fashioning flowers, as well as feathers, into varied and beautiful designs was an accomplishment frequently attained by the native women, and in which Itlza was an adept. She had plucked some choice varieties, here and there, as she walked along, and wrought them into a delicate, heart-shaped bouquet. She noticed her companion's quiet demeanor, and, feeling a magnetic influence from his fixed gaze, turned to look at him.
"Why are you so silent?" she asked, her voice expressive of sympathetic tenderness. She continued: "And what are your thoughts, that the look from your eyes burns into my very heart?"
Her eyes were fixed on his as she spoke, and the love-light, which shone from them, became suddenly intensified. For an instant she was overcome by the power of his superior magnetism, and, holding out both hands, involuntarily exclaimed:
"O, Cacami!"
When Cacami heard the impassioned cry, and saw the no less impassioned light which beamed upon him from the liquid depths of her intensely luminous eyes, the temptation was too strong, and, forgetting his promise, he impulsively clasped her hands in both his own, and, for one moment of blissful thralldom, two souls stood blending on the verge of rapture.
"Itlza!" called the mother, from the hill above.
The spell was broken, and the passionate words which trembled on Cacami's lips remained unsaid.
Itlza quickly withdrew her hands, and answered her mother's call; but the flower-heart was left in Cacami's possession.
With quickened pulse the lovers turned from the blissful spot, and walked toward the house.
The emotions which filled the heart and moved the soul of Cacami, in that to him ecstatic moment, can not be described. Those who have in like manner realized the dearest wish of a heart's first and purest love only can know what his feelings were. Itlza had, not in words, but in the language of soul speaking to soul, surrendered to him the citadel of affection—her heart, which was typified in the beautiful heart of flowers which he now possessed.
An hour in Cacami's society had shown to Itlza how deep was the love she felt for him; and, ere the moment of revelation came, the little love-bird which nestled in her heart was fluttering to be released, that it might sing its song for him. She had wrought the flower-heart for her lover, but knew not how it would reach him. The moment came, as we have seen, unexpectedly to Cacami at least, which transferred it to his hand and revealed to him the fact that he was loved.
When the lovers came up to Teochma, who stood waiting for them at the top of the hill, they had overcome their agitation and met her with no perceptible signs of confusion. She said, with a slight expression of impatience:
"Refreshments are waiting, while Cacami and Itlza are lost to the flight of time, and neglect them."
"If I have been remiss, the pleasure of a stroll with Itlza must be my excuse," said he humbly.
"And, Itlza, what have you to say of your conduct?" asked the mother in a quizzical but affectionate manner, at the same time watching the effect of her question. If she thought to fathom the sentiment which moved the young people she failed; for Itlza answered demurely, casting an arch glance at her companion:
"It was Cacami's fault, mother; he had so much to tell that I forgot."
"Well, well, I'm inclined to think you are both to blame; and since it is so, I can not scold. But you must be more thoughtful in the future;" at saying which Teochma turned and led the way into the house.
After refreshments were served, the family, with Cacami, repaired to the reception room, where the evening was passed in pleasant conversation. The young people had no opportunity to communicate farther except in a general way. Thus they were left for another interval of time to meditate on what might have been.
The tzin was in deepest sympathy with the demands of the hour upon him from his enslaved countrymen and their subverted government; and, regardless of the entreaties of his mother and Itlza, and the pressing desire in his own heart to remain longer, cut short his stay, and with Cacami, who was sadly disappointed at not being permitted, by even a brief interview with Itlza, to verify the hopes with which her latest conduct had inspired him, struck out at an early hour the next morning for Tezcuco, where the work in behalf of Tezcucan independence was to be continued.
On entering the city the tzin felt forcibly drawn toward the palace of the prince. It had been a home to him for the past eight years, and now, returning to its very threshold to remain for a time, it seemed like forsaking an old friend to turn away from it.
But the place was still under surveillance by the enemies of his royal master, and, unknown though he was to them, his presence there, he felt, might expose him to suspicion, which would mark him as a person to be watched, thereby causing him annoyance and possible interruption in his labors. He therefore passed it by with a sigh of regret, and sought accommodations elsewhere, which he found at the home of a patriotic Tezcucan.
No time was permitted to elapse unimproved by Euetzin and his coworkers. The necessary steps, which had become a fixed proceeding, were taken, and ere four and twenty hours had passed, a council of leading Tezcucans was organized, and each member of it, with the obligation still warm upon his lips, was laboring secretly and zealously for country, home and Hualcoyotl.
It was in the afternoon of a day a week or ten days subsequent to the time when Hualcoyotl became separated from Menke and Oza, in eluding the Tepanec soldiers on the plateau, that Mitla, the daughter of Tezcot, had gone around the mountains for an hour's pastime with her bow and arrow; and, having grown weary of the diversion, was returning home. She had just passed a sharp extension at the foot of the mountain and was sauntering leisurely along the border of a patch of ripened chia-plant, which her father's servants had gathered into piles and left lying on the ground, when her attention was attracted by a distant yelling, heard from the plateau behind her. She stopped, and, while listening to the repeated yells, which were growing louder and nearer, was suddenly startled by the appearance of a man running toward her from the direction in which the hallooing was heard. He was evidently fleeing from threatened danger, and almost exhausted. His appearance was one of deep distress, and when he came nearer she saw that a look of despair was depicted on his pale and haggard face. She comprehended the situation at a glance, deciding that he was being pursued by a foe, and instantly conceived the idea of concealing him. Without waiting for explanations, she raised a pile of the chia-plant, and, when he came up to her, told him to get under it, which he tried to do, but only succeeded in falling in a helpless heap upon the ground. Mitla did not wait for a further effort on his part, but speedily covered him with the stalks of the plant where he had fallen. Telling him to lie still—hardly a necessary thing to do, to a man in his exhausted condition—she moved quickly from the spot in the direction of her home.
The man's concealment had been accomplished none too soon, for Mitla had taken scarcely a dozen steps when a party of Tepanec soldiers came in sight around the mountain in hot pursuit of him. So soon as they came in view she stopped and looked at them a moment; then turned and fixed her gaze on a rise in the ground just ahead of her, as if something had attracted her attention to that point. On being asked if she had seen the fugitive, she answered by pointing in the direction of the rise. Her ruse was successful, for the soldiers, without further question, set off on a brisk run. Mitla followed them, to get as far from the fugitive's hiding place as possible.
When the soldiers gained the opposite side of the rise they were completely nonplussed, and appeared undecided what to do. Mitla approached them with perfect composure, and, when interrogated, as to what direction she thought the man had gone, encouraged them to think he had taken to the mountain. This seemed to agree with their own conclusions, and, to her delight, they dashed away, and were quickly hidden among the bushes, in search of him.
Mitla wisely concluded it would not do to go back to the place where the man was concealed, just then; so, to consume a little time, went on to the house. After informing her mother and Oxie of her adventure, and cautioning them not to show any interest in her movements, she returned by a roundabout way to the chia patch. Coming to the pile of stalks under which the man was lying, she said—only loud enough for him to hear:
"Do not attempt to rise; the soldiers are searching for you among the bushes near by, and might discover you. You will be informed when all danger is past."
After thus enlightening him, she went leisurely back to the house, to await her father's return from the mountains, where he had gone in quest of game.
The hunter returned early, and Mitla told him of her adventure. He decided at once that the man could not be relieved with safety before dark. In coming to this conclusion he felt, in his kindness of heart, that it was hard on the poor fellow to be left in such a trying position for so long a time, but, with the soldiers in the vicinity and liable to appear at any time, he must bear it if he would escape.
The hunter suspected the fugitive's identity, and, while waiting for night to come, when he could go to his relief, occupied the time in ruminating as to how he might best serve him. He haply hit upon an idea which appeared so plausible to him that, with an emphatic slap of the knee, he exclaimed:
"Just the thing! I'll save him, or my name's not Tezcot."
"What is 'just the thing,' father; and who are you going to save?" asked Mitla, who was present, and somewhat startled by the hunter's sudden outburst.
"The prince, child. Who else could I save just now?" he answered, absently.
"The prince! what prince?"
At this moment a revelation came to Mitla's mind, which was quite a surprise to her, and she said, expressing it:
"What a simpleton I have been, father, not to have thought of it before—the man under the pile of chia-stalks is Hualcoyotl, the Tezcucan prince! Is that what you mean?"
"Yes, Mit, that is just what I mean."
"And you think you can save him?"
"I'm sure I can, Mit," answered the hunter, positively. "But, child, ye must ask no questions; I can not answer ye."
"Very good, father. I'm sure you will do whatever you think you can," she replied, with the confidence of an unqualified belief in his infallibility.
The time dragged along very slowly to the kind-hearted hunter after his conception of a plan for relieving the fugitive. He felt that the poor fellow must certainly be suffering no little agony in his painful position, and his sympathy was stirred accordingly.
Night, which was impatiently waited for, came on at last, enveloping the mountains in darkness, obscuring from observation objects at a very short distance. It was the hour of relief for the hapless wanderer hidden out in the chia patch.
Tezcot and Mitla quietly left the house, and approached the spot where the man was concealed. The latter pointed out the pile of stalks which covered him, and the former lifted them off his motionless form. They found him in a pitiable condition, quite unable to rise. The hours of confinement under the chia stalks, together with his previous enervation, had rendered him benumbed and helpless. He was assisted to his feet, but his limbs refused to sustain him, and it was found necessary for the hunter to carry him to the house. He was taken to a private apartment, and placed on a comfortable couch. A mug of pulque was given him to drink, after which it was thought best to leave him for a time to himself, to recover, in a measure, from his spent condition.
More than a week of enforced concealment on the mountain, without food to stay his increasing hunger, had passed to Hualcoyotl since he became separated from his servant and the hunter Menke. He had not been disturbed in his hiding place, but the distress arising from his protracted fasting, together with a consequent nervous anxiety, had brought him to the verge of desperation. He must, and would, have something to eat, and, regardless of danger, started out to find it. He reached the plateau, and having boldly emerged upon it, stood looking about him for a house where the much needed food might be obtained. While thus occupied he was made aware of the fact that a party of soldiers were approaching; they had discovered him, and were watching his movements. It took him but a moment to determine what he would do. He did not feel equal to the exertion which would be required in an effort to elude them by climbing the mountain; so, on observing a projection extending out from it, only a short distance from where he was, he promptly decided to round it if possible, and find concealment beyond. He started off at a careless gait, though feeling very shaky. When the soldiers saw that he was walking away, they increased their movement; he did the same, which brought from them a savage yell, which sent him forward with a bound. For a short distance he ran with his usual fleetness, but the impelling force was excitement, which did not last. He succeeded in turning the point, but in an almost exhausted condition. It was at this juncture he came upon Mitla; what followed, the reader knows.
When the hunter returned to the prince's couch, he found him in a very much improved condition. By a little exertion of his own, aided by the stimulating effects of the pulque, his circulation was rapidly reasserting itself, and his forces, though in a weakened state, were reviving. Refreshments were brought in, of which he was permitted to eat a sufficiency but not excessively.
Tezcot avoided referring to the prince's identity, deferring his inquiries until the latter should be more fully restored.
Hualcoyotl did not suspect that his host had a suspicion as to who he was—at least showed no sign that he did. He was inclined to be reserved and uncommunicative; however, took occasion to express his gratitude for the kindness shown him.
The hunter, after giving his unhappy guest all necessary attention, and assuring him of his safety, left him for the night.
The next morning Tezcot repaired to the apartment occupied by the prince, and found him quite comfortable. Food, and a night's rest on a soft couch—the first he had enjoyed for many days, did wonders in restoring his exhausted forces.
The hunter was quite sure that his guest was Prince Hualcoyotl; but before proceeding to carry out his plan for securing him from further pursuit, he wished to obtain an acknowledgment of his identity; so, after assisting him to prepare for the morning meal, he addressed him, saying:
"Your presence in this house is known to no one outside of the family of Tezcot, the hunter." The prince's countenance brightened at once on hearing that name, which had been spoken of in such warm terms by Menke, and his hopes were renewed and buoyed by the confidence it imparted. He listened more attentively while the mountaineer continued: "Since it is no secret that Hualcoyotl, the Prince of Tezcuco, is a fugitive, and hiding somewhere in these mountains, you can not be greatly surprised when told that we think you are that person. Do not feel any concern for your safety, for Hualcoyotl is as secure with Tezcot as he would be in his own palace, surrounded by his friends."
The prince, though surprised that his identity was suspected, was greatly relieved and encouraged by the hunter's language, and his confidence went out to him at once; for he felt sure that he had found in him a friend—a friend who had been raised up to help him in his darkest hour. To the kindly spoken words of his host he replied:
"And you are the great mountaineer, Tezcot, the chief of hunters. Hualcoyotl is indeed fortunate in finding refuge with such a man. The name of Tezcot relieves me from all concern, for it is an assurance of good-will and security. For the first time in weeks I am glad to acknowledge my identity. Yes, glad to say, I am Hualcoyotl. Your divination is correct, kind friend; for the fugitive prince stands before you, profoundly grateful for his deliverance."
It was now Tezcot's turn to be surprised, for he inferred from the prince's language that he was not unknown to him. Hualcoyotl continued:
"When the good hunter Menke said that Tezcot was a man true as his arrow, and worthy of the utmost confidence, it did not occur to me that I would so soon be thrown upon his generosity. But such are the ways of the Great Unseen, whose purposes we can not comprehend. Hualcoyotl is surely an object of His protecting care," he concluded reverently.
Tezcot was deeply impressed by the exhibition of reference manifested by the prince for the Unseen Power which seemed to be shielding his life and proving him in the crucible of adversity, to prepare him for the great future which then lay hidden before him. Wonder prevailed, however, and he said:
"Your words are astonishing. Do you mean to tell me that you have met the hunter Menke, and yet are here a rescued fugitive?"
"Yes, Tezcot; but days have passed since we met and were unfortunately separated," replied the prince.
"Still, I'm puzzled to account for your being here as you are, after meeting so good and shrewd a friend as Menke," returned the hunter.
"No doubt you are; but be assured, kind friend, it was no fault of his that it is so." The prince went on and related the circumstances of his meeting with Menke, and what followed.
"Menke is a good friend, but a little odd," said Tezcot, when the prince had concluded. "He has no doubt looked for you in every place but the right one," he continued. "You certainly have reason to think, from what you have seen of us, that you have nothing to fear from the mountaineers. If they might do it, I am sure all of them would be glad to afford you assistance."
"I believe you, Tezcot, and heartily appreciate the disposition of friendliness. Especially do I feel thankful to yourself for what has already been done for me. That such an excellent friend was raised up to help me so opportunely fills me with unmeasured gratitude."
"Your feelings are natural; but, my friend, you are not yet beyond danger. Let us look to your further safety. If you will permit it, I think something may be done to secure you from any future discomfort, so far as the Tepanec soldiery is concerned," said Tezcot, getting round to his purpose.
"I am in no condition to decline the proffered assistance of anyone, nor will I that of Tezcot and his friends. My present weal is in your hands. What would you have me do?"
"Only this: put your trust in the mountaineers, and follow me without question. You will have no cause to regret it, should you do so," replied the hunter.
"At this moment I am no more than a child. I need no assurance that your intentions are worthy of my whole confidence. I trust you, my friend, implicitly; do with me what you will," he answered, showing how weak and dependent he had become.
"It is well. When the stars alone shall give light to guide us, we will go to a retreat which only an army may successfully invade to disturb you. But, come; breakfast waits."
When the prince entered the eating-room, his appearance, as compared with what it was the night before, was greatly improved. His apparel was considerably soiled; but after a good cleaning and rearranging, which it had received at the hands of Tezcot's servants, made him appear more like the well-bred person he was.
The hunter named each member of his family by way of introduction. Hualcoyotl immediately turned toward Mitla, and said:
"To this young woman a debt is due from me which all the wealth of Anahuac, in my hands, could not cancel. Words are meaningless when drawn upon to express what I feel for the ready thought which prompted the action whereby I was saved from an implacable enemy. Hualcoyotl will ever owe one debt which can not be paid."
Mitla was greatly embarrassed by the words and manner of the prince, addressed to her so unexpectedly; yet, after a moment's hesitation, she recovered herself, and said:
"Your words are very kind, and more than repay me for what I did to save you from your pursuers. I shall always be glad that I was where I could help you."
The prince was pleased with her reply. It showed a degree of intelligence he was not expecting to find in a mountain girl, and he said:
"I am having a peculiarly diverse as well as adverse experience. Yesterday I was a miserable, suffering fugitive, hunted by a relentless foe into a condition of absolute incapability; this morning the conditions are entirely and happily reversed by your wonderful presence of mind at a rare and perplexing moment. In the midst of extremest adversity I am suddenly brought to realize a sense of security and happiness by being thrown upon the generosity of this most generous family. First there comes to me this morning the kindly expressed sympathy of the noble hunter, Tezcot, assuring me of my safety; and now the generous words of my admirable young preserver. What can I say in return for your magnanimity?"
"Don't try to say anything, Prince. Forget your gratitude for a little while; cease to praise us, and fall to eating heartily, that you may have strength to endure what is before you," interrupted the host pleasantly.
"One could not do less than eat heartily in this excellent mountain home," he replied, looking kindly at Zoei.
Tezcot rejoined in a jocular manner, and the conversation continued, varying as the meal progressed.
Breakfast was over, the prince had retired to his apartment, and Tezcot was gone. The latter had taken his hunting outfit and disappeared, but not without a word of caution to the former.
It was not an uncommon thing for the hunter to take his javelin, bow and quiver, and go away for a day's hunt; so, on this occasion, there was nothing thought of it.
It was mid-afternoon, and quiet reigned in and about the mountaineer's home. Tezcot was still on the mountain, where he had gone in the morning, presumably to hunt. Hualcoyotl, though still very weak from privation and the effects of the distressing ordeal through which he had passed the previous day, was enjoying, in undisturbed seclusion, a peacefulness of mind he had not experienced since his wanderings began. Mitla and Oxie were passing a leisure hour in the inviting shade of a large cypress tree, which stood a short distance from the house. To this spot they often went to while away their unoccupied time in chatting, and, if industriously inclined, to fashion some article for the adornment of the person or home. Mitla, on this occasion, was engaged in arranging a piece of feather-work, while Oxie, less diligent, lazily disposed herself on the warm, dry sward near by.
The happiness of innocent girlhood was enjoyed by both these maidens, for no disturbing influence had, up to this time, come to mar the rustic simplicity of their lives. The passion of love, which sooner or later stirs the heart of youth, was yet unknown to them.
Oxie was saying:
"I think the prince is very handsome, sister, don't you?" She spoke with shyness, as if the expression involved a thought to which she ought not give utterance. Mitla looked up with no little surprise and said, inquiringly:
"When did your eyes open to the thought that men are sometimes handsome, Oxie?"
"My eyes have long been open to that which is attractive, Mitla. Would you have me close them now, that the object is a man?" she replied, with some show of impatience.
"Not so, sister; but coming from you, the words sounded oddly. It seems only yesterday that you were a child. Your question tells me you are one no longer. But to answer you: The prince is fine looking, yet does not impress me as being admirable. Under more favorable circumstances he would, no doubt, be quite handsome."
"It is when he speaks that the beauty of his countenance is seen," said Oxie with more courage, which Mitla's answer had imparted. "His eyes are so bright, they fairly dazzle one. When he spoke to you this morning at breakfast I could not help admiring him. It surely was not wrong, sister?"
"I can not say if it was wrong or not; yet, Oxie, I would not encourage such thoughts; they might wound your heart," replied Mitla, not yet having realized that older hearts than Oxie's were subject to impressions that often wound.
"Why do you say that, sister?" asked Oxie, somewhat curiously. "Why should it wound my heart to think well of the prince's looks?"
"Do you know what such thoughts lead to, Oxie?" rejoined Mitla, soberly.
"I can not say that I do; but surely not to anything serious?" still curious.
"Well, sister, I will tell you. After admiration follows love, which in this case would indeed be serious. The folly of a mountain girl falling in love with a noble, and he a prince at that, should be apparent even to you, Oxie," Mitla answered, a little severely.
"Why folly, sister, if her love should be returned?" asked the infatuated maiden. This was too much for Mitla's philosophic mentality, and she concluded that a further discussion of the subject would only tend to strengthen the impressions made upon Oxie's inexperienced mind by the person of the young prince. She answered evasively:
"I only know, sister, from what I have heard, and think I would prefer to say no more about it. See!" she suddenly exclaimed, "yonder comes father. Let us run to meet him," and away they sped to meet the hunter, whose appearance was hailed by Mitla as being very opportune.
"You are early at home to-day, father," she said, when they came up to him. "Has anything happened to you?"
"Yes and no, child. You double up your questions so, I scarcely know how to answer," said he, in reply. "I was a little anxious about the prince, and returned earlier on that account. He's all right, eh?"
"He seems to be, father. We would not know that he is in the house, from any noise he makes," answered Mitla.
"Where is your game, father?" inquired Oxie, noticing that he brought none with him. "You never before came home with an empty hand."
"No, child; not if I were hunting."
"Have you not been hunting, father," she pursued.
"No, Oxie. Other business has claimed my attention to-day."
"I can guess where you have been, father," said Mitla, eager to give expression to a suddenly conceived thought.
"I wouldn't wonder, child, if you should," he replied, apparently indifferent as to whether she could or not.
"You have been to see the hermit. Am I not correct?"
"Yes, Mit, you are correct. I went to have a talk with Ix about the prince."
"I know now what you meant yesterday, when you declared you would save the prince, while he was still under the chia stalks," added Mitla. "It was thoughtful in you to see in the hermitage a refuge for him," she continued, her voice expressing approval, which was also reflected on her animated countenance. "Will the hermit approve of it?"
"Yes, child, but I'd rather not discuss the matter farther now. I'll tell you all about it another time," urged the father, kindly.
They were drawing near to the house, to enter which they were obliged to pass the little window of the prince's apartment, at which he was seated, looking out. The hunter and Mitla greeted him with a friendly smile of recognition as they passed. Oxie, who had fallen behind for a moment, to pluck a few flowers which she arranged into a neat little bouquet, on coming to the window, blushingly handed them to him. He looked pleased, and acknowledged the gift by saying:
"You are very good to remember me in this manner. Your kindness, Oxie, will not soon be forgotten."
There was that in the voice and manner of the prince which affected the simple, girlish heart of Oxie greatly. She was too much confused to reply, and, dropping her eyes under his piercing look, hurried on after her father and Mitla, who had already entered the house.
Hualcoyotl was always considerate of the feelings of those with whom he came in contact, no matter what might be their station in life; as a consequence he was kindly regarded by all who came, in any degree, to know him. His words addressed to Oxie, in acknowledgment of the gift of flowers, were spoken with no thought other than that of kindness; yet, what he said was indelibly fixed on her keenly receptive mind, especially the words: "Your kindness, Oxie, will not soon be forgotten." They would prove a secret treasure put away in memory's hidden recesses to be drawn upon
"When in silent, contemplative mood."
When the mountaineer left home in the morning, instead of going to hunt he went directly to the hermit's cave. His purpose was to have a talk with Ix, the "man of mystery," regarding the prince, and to arrange for bringing him to the cavern for safety. He felt sure the hermit would raise no objections to having the fugitive for a close neighbor, if not a companion. He was received with the hermit's accustomed cordiality, and listened to with close attention while he made known the object of his visit.
Notwithstanding his habitual serenity, Ix gave evidence in his mien of both interest and sympathy as the account of the prince's distressed condition, when rescued, was told to him by the hunter. He said nothing, however, until the latter was through.
"I know not of what blood you are, O Tezcot, nor do I ask to know; but, from the words you have often spoken in my presence, to which I have hearkened with pleasure, together with the deep concern you now manifest for the welfare of the Prince of Tezcuco, I am assured that you are kindly disposed toward his people. Although Ix is without a country, still he has his preferences. Your sympathy for the young prince finds an echo in my lonely heart. Fetch him hither, good friend, and let him abide with me, for mine is a dreary cell to which his presence will bring a welcome relief." Such was Ix's gratifying response to Tezcot's plea for Hualcoyotl.
Expressing his gratification in a very hearty manner for the hermit's ready consent to receive the prince as a companion, and promising to see him again in the evening, accompanied by the latter, the hunter took his departure.
After leaving the cavern, Tezcot went to talk with a few of the leading mountaineers about the prince; and, especially, with reference to putting the hermitage under a close surveillance. The cavern would afford a comparatively safe refuge as it was, but to make it so beyond a doubt was an important part of the hunter's plan. To do this would require the cooperation of a number of his friends. He found the mountaineers whom he went to see cheerfully acquiescent, and ready to assist in any way they could.
In order that no delay might ensue in arranging for Hualcoyotl's security it was decided that a council of friendly hunters should be held at one of their homes, conveniently located, where explanations could be made and an organization effected to meet the exigency. Runners were dispatched accordingly, to notify those whose presence at the council was particularly desired. After matters were shaped agreeably to the hunter's ideas, he turned his footsteps homeward, where his arrival has already been noted.
Everything was working well for securing the safety of the royal fugitive, and greatly to the satisfaction of his deeply interested friend, who felt in his big heart a profound sense of self-approval for what he was doing for suffering Tezcuco, by giving aid to her persecuted prince.
Night came on, and the mountaineer's home was enveloped in deep darkness. The hour was at hand when Hualcoyotl was to be conducted thence to the hermit's cave. In taking leave of the hunter's family he had words of kindness for all, especially for Mitla, whom he looked upon as a deliverer, and toward whom he felt a profound sense of gratitude. He could not forget that her quick thought and ready hand had saved him from capture and a subsequent cruel death at the hands of his enemy, and placed him in the way of a final escape, as he believed, from his pursuers. Whatever that was worth to him he owed to her.
To Oxie he said, holding up the little bouquet of flowers she had given him a few hours before:
"I bear away with me this token of your kindness, Oxie. It will soon fade and pass from my keeping; not so a recollection of the giver. That," turning to Zoei, "with the remembrance of the peaceful hours I have enjoyed beneath your hospitable roof, will pass from me only with my life. Good-by." The next moment he was gone, disappearing with his conductor in the deep shadows of the night.
There was no particular danger to be feared on the way to the hermitage, except a possible attack from some prowling beast; still Tezcot deemed it prudent to go armed for any emergency. He had undertaken to do a thing, and was firm in his purpose that nothing should intervene, through any act or omission of his, to prevent its accomplishment. He was wide awake, and his uncommonly quick ear and penetrating eye were wonderfully alive to the surroundings, ready to catch any sound, or spot any object, of a suspicious nature which might suddenly arise.
The prince's enervated physical condition, together with the roughness of the ground over which it was necessary to pass, made their progress unavoidably slow. He had the utmost confidence in his conductor, and followed him in silence. However, not having been informed as to their destination, his mind was actively ruminating amid the realms of conjecture and anticipation.
Not a word was spoken by either, after leaving Tezcot's house, until the cavern was reached, and then not before the signal was given, and Ix's deep and solemn voice was heard in answer to it, bidding them welcome to his humble abode.
The hermit's expression of language was always impressive, especially so in the presence of those whom he looked upon as having superior intelligence, entitling them to consideration. The presence, therefore, of the Prince of Tezcuco was of sufficient importance to call for his most imposing manner.
After Tezcot had in a few words introduced the prince to his cavern retreat and its mysterious occupant, and the prince had given expression to his great surprise and gratification, the hermit said significantly:
"The wise hunter counted well when he numbered Ix among the friends of Hualcoyotl;" then turning to the latter he continued: "Content yourself with me, O Prince of Tezcuco, until the great Huitzil is ready to avenge you, which he will surely do."
We will not pause to detail what followed at the hermitage on this occasion, except to say briefly, that Tezcot, after assuring himself that the prince would be comfortable, and promising an early return, took his leave, saying as he did so:
"The gods befriend you both, and confuse the emissaries of Maxtla."
A no less sincere benediction from two grateful hearts followed the departing friend.
The hermit and prince were alone. What transpired between them the reader will be left to conjecture. We will say, however, that the association resulted in a friendship which proved of inestimable advantage to both of them in an auspicious future.
Tezcot went from the hermitage to the meeting of the friendly hunters, which resulted in the organization of a mountain patrol, and anyone going to the hermit's cave the next morning would have found its approaches watched by eagle eyes in hunter's guise.
Thus we leave the fugitive prince, who had at last found a perfect refuge, where he could bide his time without fear of molestation.