"Not much, I allow."
"Well, what next?"
"It is a long journey."
"Our horses are good."
"We risk not finding the hunter at our usual meeting place."
"We will push on to his village."
The tigrero looked at her attentively.
"You have a great need to see Stronghand in that case?" he asked.
"Most extreme."
"It is more serious than you suppose, señorita."
"Why so?"
"Hang it! It is not so easy to enter an Indian village."
"But you do so."
"That is true; but I am alone and well known."
"Well, I will go on after you; that is all."
"Are you aware that the Indians have revolted?"
"That does not concern you, as you are a friend of theirs."
Mariano shook his head.
"You ask a very difficult thing again, tocaya," he said, "in which you run a great risk."
"Yes, if I fail; but I shall succeed."
"It would be better to give up this excursion."
"Confess at once," she said, impatiently, "that you do not wish to keep the promise you made me."
"You are unjust to me; I am only trying to dissuade you from an enterprise which you will repent when it is too late."
"That is my business, I repeat, Mariano," she continued, with a marked stress in her words; "it is not to gratify a caprice that I wish to see the hunter. I have reasons of the utmost importance for wishing to speak with him; and, to tell you all, he urged me to summon him under certain circumstances, and told me I need only apply to you in order to find him. Are you satisfied now? will you adhere to your doubts, and still refuse to accompany me?"
The young man had listened to Doña Marianna with earnest attention. When she had ended, he replied—"I no longer hesitate, niña; as things are so, I am bound to obey you. Still, I beg you not to make me responsible for any events that may happen."
"Whatever may occur, my kind Mariano, be assured that I shall be grateful to you for the immense service you have rendered me."
"And you wish to start at once?"
"How far have we to ride?"
"Some ten or twelve leagues."
"Oh, that is nothing."
"Not on a regular road; but I warn you that we shall be compelled to follow hardly visible wild beast tracks."
"The night is clear; we shall have sufficient light to guide us, so let us start."
"If you wish it," the young man answered.
A few minutes later they left the rancho at a gallop. It was about two in the morning; and the moon, which was at its full, lit up the landscape as in bright day.
As we have already said, Doña Marianna, although still so young, was gifted with an ardent soul and an energetic character, which the unusual dangers of a border life had, so to speak, unconsciously ripened. In life these select organizations do not know themselves; events alone, by exciting their living strength, reveal to them what they are capable of at a given moment, by urging them bravely to endure the attack of malignant fortune, and to contend resolutely with their adversary. When the Marquis, forced by the necessities of his unhappy condition, had a frank explanation with his children, and confessed to them into what difficulties he was suddenly thrown, Doña Marianna had listened to him with the most sustained attention. Then, by degrees, a species of revolution took place in her. Stronghand's words reverted to her mind, and she had a vague idea that he could avert the danger that was suspended over her father's head.
On recapitulating all that had occurred to her since her departure from Rosario—the help the hunter had rendered her on various occasions with unexampled devotion—the conversation she had held with him a few days previously, and the promise she had made him—it appeared evident to her that Stronghand, better informed than perhaps the Marquis himself was about the machinations of his enemies, held in his hands the means of saving the Moguer family, and parrying the blows which were about to be dealt them in the dark.
Then, full of hope, and confiding in the promises of this man, who had never made his appearance except to prove his devotion to her, her resolution was spontaneously formed, and without informing anyone of the project she had conceived, for fear lest an effort might be made to dissuade her, she went to her nurse's rancho, in order to obtain an interview with the hunter by the agency of her foster mother. Under existing circumstances, the step taken by Doña Marianna was not at all easy, or without dangers. The daughter of the Marquis de Moguer galloping at night along the Indian border, only accompanied by one man—devoted, it is true, but who, in spite of all his courage, would be powerless to defend her against an attack—displayed more than temerity in this action; and however great her bravery was, and the confidence she had in the honesty of the enterprise she was thus blindly undertaking, still she could not refrain from an internal shudder on thinking of her isolated position, and the ease with which she might be surprised, carried off, or even massacred by the revolted Indians. Too proud, however, to allow any of the secret fears that agitated her to be seen, Doña Marianna affected a tranquillity and freedom of mind she was far from feeling. She conversed in a low voice with her foster brother, teasing and scolding him about the difficulty he had made in granting her request, and describing her delight at a ride through such exquisite scenery on so magnificent a night.
Mariano did not think, and consequently did not understand what he supposed was a girl's fancy. Accustomed since childhood to yield to all the wishes of his foster sister, and obey her as a slave, he had on this occasion done what she desired without trying to account for such an unusual excursion, so happy did he feel at obliging her. At the same time, he felt a lively pleasure at accompanying her, and thus passing a few hours in her company. We must not mistake the feelings that animated the tigrero for Doña Marianna. He loved his foster sister with his whole soul, and would have gladly died for her; but this feeling, lively as it was, had nothing personal or interested about it; it was merely friendship, but a friendship elevated to the most complete self-denial and the most entire devotion—in a word, to the most sublime degree which this feeling can attain in the human heart. Hence the tigrero, comprehending the responsibility weighing on him, rode on, as is commonly said, with his beard on his shoulder, carefully examining the bushes, listening to the desert sounds, and ready, on the slightest alarm, bravely to defend the girl who had placed herself under his guard. The country they were traversing, though rather varied, was not, however, completely wooded: owing to the transparent brightness of the night, the view extended for a great distance, which removed all fears of a surprise, and gave a certain security to the travellers; still, they at times, fancied they saw great shadows moving on the riverbank, and flying at their approach. The young lady looked round her curiously, and then asked the tigrero whether they would soon reach the spot where Stronghand was. Mariano pointed out to her a gentle eminence forming a bend of the river, on the top of which the fugitive gleams of an expiring fire could be seen at intervals.
"That is where we are going," he said.
"Then we have only a few minutes' ride, and it is useless to hurry our horses."
"You are mistaken, niña. Not only is the track we are following very winding, and will detain us, but, through an optical illusion easy to be understood, this hill which you fancy so near to us is at least two leagues distant as the crow flies; so that, taking into account the windings, the distance is nearly doubled."
"Can we not cut across country, and thus shorten the distance?"
"Heaven forbid, niña! We should get into trembling prairies, in which we should be swallowed up in a few minutes."
"I trust to you in that case, Mariano; besides, now that, thanks to that fire, I am certain of meeting the hunter, my anxiety is less lively, and I will await patiently."
"Permit me to remark, my dear tocaya, that I did not say certainly that we should find Stronghand at this bivouac."
"What did you tell me, then?"
"Simply that we might hope to meet him here, because it is the spot where he generally encamps when hunting in these parts."
"Still, as we can perceive the flame of that watch fire—for that is really a flame, is it not?"
"Certainly; still, we have yet to learn whether this fire has been kindled by Stronghand or some other hunter. This mound is one of the most suitable places of encampment, owing to the height of the hill, which allows the country to be surveyed, and thus avoid a surprise."
"Then probably we shall not find the hunter at the encampment?"
"I do not say that either, niña," Mariano answered, with a laugh.
"But what do you mean?" the young lady said, impatiently patting the pommel of her saddle with her little hand; "you are really unendurable."
"Do not be angry, tocaya; I may be mistaken. If Stronghand is not here, perhaps we may find a hunter who will tell us where he is."
"Why not an Indian?"
"Because there are no Indians at that campfire."
"Tocayo, I must really ask this time how you can possibly know that?"
"Very easily, niña; I do not require to be a sorcerer to guess so simple a thing."
"Do you consider it so simple?"
"Certainly; nothing can be more so."
"In that case I will ask you to explain, for it is always worth while learning."
"You fancy you are joking, niña; and yet there is always something to be learned in the desert."
"Good, good, tocayo; I know that; but I am waiting for your explanation."
"Listen then. This fire, as I told you, is not an Indian fire."
"That is not exactly what you said to me. Go on, however."
"The Indians, when they camp on the white man's border, never light a fire, for fear of revealing their presence; or if compelled to light one in order to cook their food, they are most careful to diminish the flame, in the first place by digging a deep hole in the ground, and next by only using extremely dry wood, which burns without crackling, flaming, or producing smoke, and which they carry with them for long distances, in case they might not find it on their road."
"But, my friend, that fire is scarce visible."
"That is true; but still it is sufficiently so for us to have perceived it a long distance off, and thus discovered the existence of a bivouac at this spot which, under present circumstances, would entail the surprise and consequent death of the imprudent men who lit it, if they were Indians instead of hunters."
"Excellently reasoned, compañero, and like a man accustomed to a desert life!" A rough, though good-humoured voice suddenly said, a few yards from them.
The travellers started and pulled up sharply, while anxiously investigating the surrounding thickets. Mariano, however, did not lose his head under these critical circumstances; but with a movement swift as thought raised his rifle, and covered a man who was standing by the side of a thicket, with his hands crossed on the muzzle of a long gun.
"Hold, compadre!" the stranger continued, not at all disturbed by the tigrero's hostile demonstration; "Pay attention to what you are about. A thousand fiends! Do you know that you run a risk of killing a friend?"
Mariano hesitated for a moment; and then, without raising his rifle, remarked—
"I fancy I recognise that voice."
"By Jove!" the other said, "It would be a fine joke if you did not."
"Wait a minute; are you not Whistler?"
"All right, you remember now," the Canadian said with a laugh; for the person was really the hunter whom the reader saw for a moment at the village of the Papazos.
The tigrero uncocked his rifle, which he threw over his shoulder, and said to Marianna—"It is a friend."
"Are you quite sure of this man?" she asked in a low, quick voice.
"As of myself."
"Who is he?"
"A Canadian hunter or trapper. He has all the defects of the race, but at the same time all its qualities."
"I will believe you, for his countrymen are generally regarded as honest men. Ask him what he was doing on the skirt of the track."
Mariano obeyed.
"I was attending to my business," Whistler replied with a grin; "and pray what may you be doing, so poorly accompanied at this hour of the night, when the Indians have taken the field?"
"I am travelling, as you see."
"Yes, but every journey has an object, I suppose."
"It has."
"Well, I do not see what end yours can achieve by continuing in that direction."
"Still, we are going to do so till we have found the man we are in search of."
"I will not ask you any questions, although I may perhaps have a right to do so; still, I fancy you would act more wisely in turning back than in obstinately going on."
"I am not able to do so."
"Why not?"
"Because I have not the command of the expedition, and I cannot undertake such a responsibility."
"Ah, who is the chief, then? I only see two persons."
"You seem to forget, señor," Doña Marianna said, joining in the conversation for the first time, "that one of these two persons is a female."
"Of course she must command," the trapper answered with a courteous bow; "pray excuse me, madam."
"I the more willingly do so, because I hope to obtain from you important information about the object of the journey we have undertaken, perhaps somewhat too carelessly, in these desolate regions."
"I shall be too happy to be agreeable to you, my lady, if it be in my power."
"Permit me, in that case, to ask you a few questions."
"Pray do so."
"I wish to know what the camp is whose watch fires I perceive a short distance off."
"A hunter's bivouac."
"Only hunters?"
"Yes, they are all white hunters or trappers."
"I thank you, señor. Do you know these men?"
"Very well, considering I am a member of the band." Doña Marianna hesitated for a moment.
"Forgive me, sir," she continued, "I am in search of a hunter with whom grave reasons force me to desire an immediate interview; perhaps he is among your comrades."
"Do you know him personally, madam?"
"Yes, and am under great obligations to him. He is called Stronghand."
The trapper eagerly walked up to the young lady, and attentively examined her.
"You wish to have an immediate interview with Stronghand?"
"Yes, I repeat, señor, for reasons of the highest importance."
"In case you are Doña Marianna de Moguer."
"What!" she exclaimed, in surprise, "You know my name?"
"That needs not astonish you, madam," he said, with the most exquisite politeness; "I am the intimate friend of Stronghand. Without entering into any details that might justly offend you, my friend told me that you might perchance come and ask for him at our campfire."
"He knew it, then," she murmured, in a trembling voice; "but how did he learn it?"
Though these words were uttered in a whisper, Whistler heard them.
"He doubtless hoped it would be so, without daring to credit it, madam," he answered.
"Good heavens!" she continued, "What does this mean?"
"That my friend, in his eager desire to be agreeable to you, and foreseeing the chance of your coming during his absence, warned me, in order to spare you a very difficult search, and thus induce you to grant me a little of that confidence you deign to honour him with."
"I thank you, sir. Now that you know me, would it be taxing your courtesy too greatly to ask you to guide my companion and myself to your bivouac?"
"I am at your orders, madam, and believe me that you will receive a proper reception, even though my friend does not happen to be there at the moment."
"What!" she said, suddenly checking her horse, "Can he be absent?"
"Yes, but do not let that cause you any anxiety; he will soon return.
"Good heavens!" she murmured, clasping her hands in grief.
"Madam," Whistler again continued, "I understand that the reasons which urged you to undertake such a journey must be of the utmost importance; let me, therefore, go on ahead to the camp, and make all the preparations for your reception."
"But Stronghand, señor?"
"Warned through me, madam, he will be back by daybreak."
"You promise me that, señor."
"On my honour."
"Go, then, and may Heaven requite you for the goodwill and courtesy you show me."
Whistler bowed respectfully to the young lady, took his rifle under his arm, and soon disappeared in the forest.
"We can now go on without fear," said Mariano; "I know Whistler to be an honest, worthy fellow, and he will do what he has promised."
"Heaven grant I may see the man whom I have come so far to meet."
"You will see him, be assured; moreover, all precautions were taken in the event of your visit."
"Yes," she murmured, pausing; "and it is this which renders me alarmed. Well, I put my trust in the Virgin."
And flogging her horse, she went on her way, followed by the tigrero, who, according to his habit, could not at all comprehend this remark, after the desire the young lady had evinced to see the hunter.
It was no great distance to the bivouac, and the travellers reached it about half an hour after Whistler. Still, though this period was so short, the worthy Canadian had profited by it to erect for the young lady, who thanked him by a smile, a jacal of branches, under which she found a shelter as comfortable as desert life permits. The hunters' camp had a military look, which greatly perplexed Doña Marianna. Strong wooden palisades defended all the approaches; the horses, which were ready saddled, were fastened to pickets; several watch fires, lighted at regular distances, sufficiently illumined the plain to prevent the approach of an enemy, whether man or beast; and four sentinels, standing rifle in hand on the entrenchments, followed with a vigilant eye the slightest undulations of the lofty pass. Some thirty men, with harsh and irregular features, clothed after the fashion of wood rangers, in fur caps, cotton shirts, and leather calzoneras, were lying in front of the fires, rifle in hand, in order to be ready for the first alarm.
Orders had probably been given beforehand by Whistler, for the sentinels allowed the two travellers to pass unquestioned through a breach in the entrenchments, which was immediately closed after them again. The Canadian was awaiting them in front of the jacal; he helped Doña Marianna to dismount, and the horses were led to join the others, and supplied with a copious meal of alfalfa.
"You are welcome among us, señora," he said with a respectful bow; "in this jacal, which no one will enter save yourself, there is a bed of skins, on which you can take a few hours' rest while awaiting Stronghand's arrival."
"I thank you, señor, for this graceful attention, by which I cannot profit, however, till you have reiterated your promise."
"Señorita, two horsemen have already set out to fetch Stronghand, but I repeat, that he cannot be here for some hours; now, if you will accept the humble refreshment prepared for you—"
"I only require rest, señor; still I am not the less obliged to you for your offer. With your permission, I will retire."
"You are the mistress here, madam."
The young lady smiled, pressed her foster brother's hand, and entered the jacal. So soon as Doña Marianna had let fall after her the blanket which formed the doorway, the tigrero quietly removed his zarapé from his shoulders, and laid it on the ground.
"What is that for, comrade?" Whistler asked, astonished at the performance.
"You see, compadre, I am making my bed."
"Do you mean to sleep there?"
"Why not?"
"As you please; still, you will be cold, that is all."
"Nonsense! A night is soon spent, especially when so far advanced as this one is."
"I trust that you do not doubt us."
"No, Whistler, no; but Doña Marianna is my foster sister, and I am bound to watch over her."
"That care concerns me at the moment; so do not be at all alarmed."
"Two sentries are better than one; besides, you know me, do you not? Although I place the utmost confidence in you, I will not surrender the guardianship of my tocaya to another man; that is my idea, whether right or wrong, and I shall not give it up."
"As you please," the trapper said, with a laugh.
And he left him at liberty to make his arrangements as he pleased. The tigrero, though he knew most of the hunters, or, perhaps, because he knew them, did not wish to leave his foster sister unprotected among these reckless men, who, accustomed to the utter license of a desert life, might, under the influence of strong liquors, forget the sacred duties of hospitality, and insult Doña Marianna. In this the young man, in spite of his desert experience, was completely mistaken.
We have no intention to attempt the rehabilitation of these men, who, generally endowed with evil instincts, and who do not wish to yield to the demands of civilization, retire into the desert in order to live as they like, and seek liberty in license; still, we will mention in their honour, that a nomadic life, after a certain lapse of time, completely modifies their character, curbs their passions, and so subjects them that they gradually become purified by constant danger and privations, by getting rid of all that was bad in them, and retaining beneath their rough bark and coarse manners principles of honesty and devotion of which they would have been considered incapable at an earlier period. What we say here is scrupulously true of about two-thirds at least of the bold pioneers who traverse in all directions the vast savannahs of the New World; the others are incorrigible, and within a given time end by becoming real bandits, and carry their contingent of crime to those formidable bands of pirates of the prairies, who ambush like hideous birds of prey to await the passage of caravans, and plunder and massacre the travellers.
But, whether good or bad, the dwellers on the prairie—no matter if whites, half-breeds, or Redskins, trappers, pirates, or Indians—have one virtue in common, and whose duties they carry out with remarkable punctuality and generosity, and that is hospitality. A traveller surprised by night, and wearied by a long journey, may, if he see a campfire in the huts of an Indian village, present himself without fear, and claim hospitality. From that moment he is sacred to the men he applies to, no matter if they be Indians, bravos, hunters, or even pirates. These individuals, who would not have scrupled to assassinate him by the side of a ditch, treat him like a brother, show him the most delicate attentions, and will never make any insulting allusions to the length of his stay among them; on the contrary, he is at liberty to remain as long as he pleases, and when he takes leave his hosts say good-bye regretfully. At the same time it is true that, if they meet him a week after in the forest, they will kill him without mercy to raise his hair and take his weapons; but this need only be apprehended with the pirates and some Indian tribes of the far west. As for the hunters, when a stranger has once slept by their side and shared their food, he is for ever sacred to them.
The tigrero, therefore, was completely mistaken when he feared lest Doña Marianna might be insulted by these men, who, although coarse, were honest and loyal in the main; and who, flattered by the confidence this lovely, innocent girl placed in them, would, on the contrary, have gladly defended her had it been necessary.
Whistler went off with a laugh, and lay down by the side of his comrades. As we have already said, the night was far advanced when Doña Marianna and her travelling companion reached the camp of the hunters; a few hours at the most separated them from sunrise: and the young lady, who at first resolved to spend these hours awake, overcome by fatigue, had yielded to sleep, and enjoyed a calm and refreshing rest. So soon as day began to appear, Doña Marianna repaired as well as she could the disorder produced in her dress by her lengthened journey, rose and went to the door of the jacal. The camp was still plunged in the deepest silence: with the exceptions of the sentries still on the watch, the hunters were fast asleep.
The dawn was just breaking, and striping the horizon with wide vermillion bands; the sharp and rather cold morning breeze rustled softly through the branches; the flowers that enamelled the prairie raised themselves, and expanded the corollas to receive the first sunbeams; the numberless streams, whose silvery waters made their way through the tall grass, murmured over the white and grey pebbles as they bore their tribute to the Rio Bravo del Norte, whose capricious windings could be guessed in the distance, owing to the thick cloud of vapour that constantly rose from it and brooded over its bed. The birds, still hidden beneath the foliage, were timidly preluding their harmonious concert; the glad earth, the bright sky, the serene atmosphere, the pure light—all, in a word, revealed that the day which had now entirely appeared was about to be tranquil and lovely.
The maiden, refreshed by the rest she had enjoyed, felt herself newborn as she breathed the first exhalations of the flowers and the sharp odour which is found in the desert alone. Without venturing to quit the jacal, in front of which the tigrero was lying, she surveyed the surrounding landscape, which, thanks to the elevation she stood at, lay expanded at her feet for a long distance. The profound calmness of reawakening nature, the powerful harmonies of the desert, filled the maiden's heart with a gentle melancholy; she pensively indulged in those thoughts which the great spectacles of nature ever arouse in minds unaffected by human passions. In the meanwhile the sun ascended the horizon, and the last shadows melted away in the dazzling beams propelled by the daystar. Suddenly the girl uttered an exclamation of delight, for she noticed a band of horsemen fording the stream, and apparently coming in the direction of the hill. At the cry his foster sister uttered, the tigrero bounded to his feet and stood by her side, rifle in hand, ready to defend her if necessary.
"Good morning, tocayo," she said to him.
"Heaven keep you, niña!" he replied, with a shade of anxiety. "Have you slept well?"
"I could not have done so better, Mariano."
"All right then; but why did you utter that cry?"
"I cried out, my friend, and scarce know why."
"Ah, yes—stay; look at those horsemen coming up at full speed."
"Caray! How they gallop! They will be here within half an hour."
"Do you think that Stronghand is among them?"
"I suppose so, niña."
"And I am sure of it," said Whistler, with a respectful bow to the young lady; "I have recognised him, señorita; so will you allow that I have kept my promise?"
"Most fully, señor; and I know not how to express my thanks for the hearty hospitality you have given me."
"I have no claim to any thanks from you, señorita, as I have only carried out my friend's intention; niña, it is to him alone you should offer thanks, if you consider that you ought to make them."
In the meanwhile the camp was aroused; the hunters were yawning, and turned to their daily avocations; some led their horses to the watering place, others kindled the fires; some cut the wood requisite to keep them up, while two or three of the older men acted as cooks, and got breakfast ready for the party. The camp changed its appearance in a minute; it lived the nervous, agitated life of the desert, in which each man performs his task with the feverish speed of persons who are aware of the value of time, and do not wish to lose it. The young lady, at first surprised by the cries, laughter, and unaccustomed movement that prevailed around her, began to grow used to it, and eagerly watched the occupations of the men she had beneath her eyes. A sharp challenge of "Who goes there?" suddenly made her raise her head.
"A friend!" a voice she at once recognised answered from without.
Suddenly a band of horsemen entered the camp, at their head being Stronghand. The young man dismounted, and after exchanging a few words with Whistler, he went straight up to the maiden, who was standing motionless in the doorway of the jacal, and watching his approach with amazement. In fact, as we have said, Stronghand was not alone; several persons accompanied him, among them being Thunderbolt and Doña Esperanza; the rest were confidential Indian servants. When Stronghand came in front of the young lady, he bowed to her respectfully, and then turned to the persons who accompanied him.
"Permit me, señorita," he said to her, "to present to you my mother, Doña Esperanza, and my father; both love you, though they do not know you, and insisted on accompanying me."
The maiden, blushing with joy at this delicate attention on the part of the hunter, who thus placed their interview beneath the safeguard of his father and mother, replied with emotion—"I am delighted, señor, with this kind inspiration of your heart; it augments, were it possible, the confidence I have placed in you, and the gratitude I felt for the eminent services you have rendered me."
Doña Esperanza and the sachem embraced the girl, who, at once ashamed and joyous at the friendship of these persons, whose exterior was at once so imposing and so venerable, knew not how to respond to their caresses and the kindness they evinced to her. In the meanwhile the hunters had raised, with great skill and speed, a tent, under which the four persons were at once protected from the curious glances of the persons who surrounded them. Through that innate feeling of women, which makes them love or detest each other at the first glance, Doña Esperanza and the young lady at once felt attracted to each other by a natural movement of sympathy, and leaving the gentlemen to their occupations, they withdrew on one side, and began an animated and friendly conversation. Doña Marianna, subjugated by Doña Esperanza's seductive manner, and drawn toward her by a feeling of attraction for which she did not attempt to account, as she felt so happy with her, spoke to her open-heartedly; but then she was greatly surprised to see that this lady, whom she was bound to suppose an entire stranger, was perfectly acquainted with all that related to her family, and knew her father's affairs better than she did herself; her amazement increased when Doña Esperanza explained in the fullest details the reasons that occasioned her presence in the hunter's camp, and the precarious position to which the Marquis de Moguer was reduced.
"I could add many more surprising things, my dear girl," Doña Esperanza continued with a smile, "but I do not wish to fatigue you at present; sufficient for you to know that we really take an interest in your family, and that it will not be our fault if your father is not soon freed from all his cares."
"Oh, how good you are, madam!" the young lady exclaimed, warmly; "How can I have merited such lively interest on your part?"
"That must not trouble you at all, my dear girl; the step you have taken today to come to your father's assistance, and the confidence you have placed in my son, are for us proofs of the loftiness of your feelings and the purity of your heart. Although we are almost Indians," she added with a smile, "we have white blood enough in our veins to remember what we owe to persons of that race."
The conversation went on thus between the two ladies on a footing of frank friendliness, until the moment when Stronghand came to interrupt it, by stating that breakfast was ready, and that they were only waiting for them to sit down. The tigrero and the Canadian had both been invited to share the meal, but they declined the invitation under the pretext that they did not like to eat with persons so high above them in rank, but in reality, because the worthy wood rangers preferred breakfasting without ceremony. Stronghand did not press them, and allowed them to do as they pleased. Doña Marianna bit her lips in order to suppress a smile when the hunter informed her that they were about to sit down to table; for, owing to her recent journey and her life on the Indian border, the young lady was well aware that such meals were extremely simple, and eaten on the grass. Hence her surprise was at its height when, after passing into a separate compartment of the tent, she perceived a table laid with a luxury which would have been justly admired even in Mexico: nothing was wanting, even to massive plate and valuable crystal. The dishes, it is true, were simple, and merely consisted of venison and fruit; but all had a stamp of true grandeur, which it was impossible not to appreciate at the first glance. The contrast offered by this table, so elegantly and comfortably laid, was the greater, because, behind the canvas of the tent, desert life could be seen in all its simplicity.
The young lady seated herself between Thunderbolt and Doña Esperanza, Stronghand sat down opposite to her, and two menservants waited. In spite of the agreeable surprise which the impromptu comfort of this repast, prepared for her alone, caused her, the young lady did not at all display her surprise, but she ate heartily and gaily, thus thanking her hosts for the delicate attentions they showed her. When the dainties were placed on the table, and the meal was drawing to a close, Stronghand bowed to Doña Marianna.
"Señorita," he said, with a smile, "before we begin a serious conversation, which might, at this moment, appear to you untimely, be kind enough to permit my mother to tell us one of the charming Indian legends with which she generally enlivens the close of our meals."
Doña Marianna was at first surprised by this proposition, made, without any apparent motive, at the close of a lively conversation; but imagining that the hunter's remarks concealed a serious purpose, and that the legend, under its frivolous aspect, would entail valuable results for her, she answered with her sweetest smile—"I shall listen with the greatest pleasure to the narrative the señora is about to tell us, because my nurse, who is of Indian origin, was wont to lull me to sleep with these legends, which have left a deep and most agreeable impression on my mind."
Doña Esperanza exchanged a look with the sachem, and after reflecting a moment, as if recalling her ideas, she said to Doña Marianna, in her gentle, sympathising voice—"My dear girl, before beginning my narrative, I must inform you that I belong to the Aztec race, and am descended in a direct line from the kings of that people. Hence, the story you are about to hear, though simple in its form, is completely exact, and has dwelt among us intact for generations. I trust," she added, with a stress, "that it will interest you."
Then turning to one of the criados who stood motionless behind the guests, she said—"The quipos."
The criado went out, and almost immediately returned with a bag of perfumed tapir skin, which he handed his mistress with a bow. The latter opened it, and drew out several cords plaited of different coloured threads, divided at regular distances by knots mingled with shells and beads. These cords are called quipos, and are employed by the Indians to keep up the memory of events that have occurred during a long course of years, and thus represent books. Still, it requires a special study to understand these quipos, and few people are capable of deciphering them, the more so as the Indians, who are very jealous about keeping their historical secrets, only permit a small number of adepts to learn the explanation, which renders any knowledge of Indian history almost impossible for white men. Doña Esperanza, after attentively examining the quipos, selected one, replaced the others in the bag, and letting the knots of the rope glide through her fingers, much as a monk does with his beads when telling his rosary, she began her narrative.
For fear of injuring this story, whose truth cannot be doubted, and which we ourselves heard told in an atepetl of the Papazos, we will leave it in all its native rudeness, without attempting to adorn it with flowers of European metaphors, which, in our opinion, would deprive it of its peculiar character. Doña Esperanza spoke as follows:—"At a certain period of the year," she said, while beginning to feel the quipos, which served her, as it were, as a book, "long before the appearance of white men on the red territory, a numerous band of Chichimeques and Toltequez, who originally dwelt at the lakes, becoming dissatisfied, resolved to emigrate to the south-west in pursuit of the buffaloes, and carried out their resolve."
"At Salt Lake they divided, and those who remained continued to bear their primitive name; while the others, for an unknown motive, assumed that of Comanches. These Comanches, more enterprising than their brothers, continued their journey till they reached the banks of the Rio Gila, where they encamped and divided again. One band, which resolved not to go farther, was christened by the others, who determined to press on, the 'Great Ears;' but the whites who first discovered them called them 'Opatas.' The remainder of the band continued to march in the same direction, and found the Rio Bravo del Norte at the mouth of the Rio Puerco. They had only two principal chiefs left, and gave themselves the name of Neu-ta-che, which means, 'those who reach the river's mouth.' One of the chiefs had an only son, and the other a lovely daughter, and the young people loved each other. But this raised the anger of the father of the unhappy girl to such a height, that he made his band arm and prepare to fight. But the father and the young man crossed the Rio Gila, and buried themselves with their band in the territory afterwards called by the white man Señora or Sonora, where they settled, and continued to reside peacefully until the period when the whites, ever in search of new lands, arrived there in their turn, and after many cruel wars, succeeded in gaining possession of the country."
"The Comanches had founded several towns in Sonora, and, in accordance with their constant habit, in the neighbourhood of the gold and silver mines they discovered, and begun to work. One of their towns, perhaps the richest and most populous, had for its chief a warrior justly renowned for his wisdom in council, and valour in the combat. This chief was called Quetzalmalin—that is to say, the 'Twisted Feather.' His nobility was great, and very ancient; he justly declared that he was descended in a direct line from Acamapichtzin, first king of Mexico, whose hieroglyphic he retained on the totem of his tribe, through that veneration which our fathers displayed for their ancestors. This hieroglyphic, which his descendants have preciously retained, is composed of a hand grasping a number of reeds, which is the literal translation of the name of the noble chief of the race. Twisted Feather had a daughter, eighteen summers old, lovely and graceful: her name was Ova, and she ran over the prairie grass without bending it; gentle, pensive, and timid as the virgin of the first loves, her black eyes had not yet been fixed on one of the warriors of the tribe, who all sought to please her."
"Ova wore a tunic of water-green colour, fastened round her waist by a wampum belt, with a large golden buckle. When she danced before her father, the old man's forehead became unwrinkled, and a sunbeam passed into his eyes. Her father had often told her that it was time for her to marry, but Ova shook her head with a smile; she was happy, and the little bird that speaks to the heart of maidens had not yet sung to her the gentle strains of love."
"Still a moment arrived when Ova lost all her careless gaiety. The young girl, so laughing and so wild, became suddenly pensive and dreamy—she loved."
"Ova went to find her father. The chief at this moment was presiding over the great council of the nation in the great medicine calli. The maiden advanced, and knelt respectfully before her father."
"'What is it, my daughter?' the chief said, as he passed his hand gently through her long hair, which was fine as aloe threads."
"'My father,' she replied, looking down modestly, 'I love, and am beloved.'"
"'My daughter, what is the name of the chief who is so happy that your choice should have fallen on him?'"
"'He is not a chief, my father; he is, perchance, one of the most obscure warriors of the tribe, although he is one of the bravest. He works in the gold mine that belongs to you.'"
"The chief frowned, and a flash of anger sparkled in his glance."
"'My father,' the maiden continued, as she embraced his legs, 'if I did not marry him, I should die.'"
"The chief gazed at his daughter for a moment, and saw her so sad and resigned, that pity entered his heart. He, too, loved his daughter—his only child; for the Master of Life had called away the others to the happy hunting grounds. The aged man did not wish his daughter to die."
"'You shall marry the man you love,' he said to her."
"'Do you promise it to me on the sacred totem of the nation, father?'"
"'On the sacred totem of the nation I promise it; speak, therefore, without fear. What is the name of the man you love?'"
"'He is called the Clouded Snake, father.'"
"The old man sighed."
"'He is very poor,' he muttered."
"'I am rich enough for both.'"
"'Be it so. You shall marry him, my daughter.'"
"Ova rose, sparkling with joy and happiness, bowed to the assembly, and left the medicine lodge."
"Clouded Snake was poor, it is true—even very poor, since he was constrained to work in the gold mine; but he was young, he was brave, and was considered the handsomest of all the warriors of his age."
"Tall, robust, and muscular, Clouded Snake formed as complete a contrast with Ova, who was pale and frail, as a noble buffalo does with a graceful antelope. Perhaps their love emanated from this contrast."
"The young man, though he was so poor, found means to give his betrothed perfumes of grizzly bears' grease, necklaces of alligators' teeth, and wampum girdles."
"The young people Were happy. On the eve of the marriage, Clouded Snake laid at Ova's feet buckles of gold and two bracelets of shells, mingled with beads of pure gold."
"Ova accepted these presents with a smile, and said to her betrothed, as she left him,—"
"'Farewell; we part today to see each other tomorrow, and tomorrow we shall be united for ever.'"
"On the next day Clouded Snake did not come. Ova waited for several months; Clouded Snake did not reappear."
"In vain, by the chief's orders, was the young man sought for throughout the country; no one had seen him, no one had heard speak of him."
"Clouded Snake no longer existed, except in the heart of Ova."
"She wept for him, and people tried to make her believe that he had gone to fight the white men; but Ova shook her head, and wiped away her tears."
"Forty times did the snow cover the summit of the mountains, and yet it had been impossible to clear up the mystery of Clouded Snake's disappearance."
"One day some labourers at work in the gold mine, which had belonged to Ova's father, and was now her property, while going far down an old gallery which had been abandoned for a long time, exhumed a corpse as miraculously preserved as the mummies of theteocallisare in their bandages."
"The warriors flocked up to see this strange corpse, clothed in a dress belonging to another age, and no one recognised it."
"Ova, who was then old, and who, to please her father had married the great chief of his nation when her last hope expired, went with her husband to the spot where the corpse was exposed to the sight of visitors."
"Suddenly she started, and tears darted from her eyes; she had recognised Clouded Snake, as handsome as on the day when she left him with the hope of a speedy reunion. She, on the other hand, aged and bowed down more by grief than years, was weak and tottering."
"Ova wished that the corpse of the man whom she had been on the point of marrying, and whom the evil spirit had torn from her, should be restored to the mine from which it had been removed after forty years. The mine, by the orders of the chief's wife, although extremely rich, was abandoned and shut up."
"Ova ordered a hieroglyphic to be carved on the stone that covers the body of her betrothed, which may be thus translated:—'This sepulchre is without a body; this body is without a sepulchre; but by itself it is a sepulchre and a body.'"
"Such," Doña Esperanza added, as she finished the legend, and laid down the quipos, "is the story of the lovely Ova, daughter of the great chief Twisted Feather, and of Clouded Snake the miner, just as it occurred, and just as Ova herself ordered it to be preserved by a special quipos for future ages."
Doña Esperanza stopped, and there was a moment's silence.
"Well, señorita," the sachem asked, "has the legend interested you?"
"Through its simplicity it is most touching, señor," the young lady answered; "still, there is something vague and unsettled about the whole story, which impairs its effect."
Thunderbolt smiled gently.
"You find, do you not, that we are not told the precise spot where the events of the narrative occurred, that Sonora is very large, and that the town in which Twisted Feather commanded is not sufficiently indicated?"
"Pardon me, señor," the young lady remarked, with a blush, "such geographical notions, though doubtless very useful in settling the spot where events have occurred, interest me personally very slightly. What I find incomplete is the story itself; the rest does not concern me."
"More so than you suppose, perhaps, señorita," the sachem remarked; "but pray be good enough to state your objections more fully."
"Excuse me, señor, but I have not yet recovered from the surprise which the events that have occurred during the last few hours have occasioned me, and I explain myself badly, in spite of my efforts."
"What do you mean, señorita, and to what events are you referring?"
"To those which are taking place at this very moment. Having started from home to ask an interview of a wood ranger, whom I naturally supposed encamped in the open air, and shared the life of privations of his fellows, I meet, on the contrary, persons who overwhelm me with attentions, and, under an Indian appearance, conceal all the refinements of the most advanced civilization. You can understand how this strange contrast with what surrounds me must surprise, almost frighten me, who am a young girl, ignorant of the world, and have undertaken a step which many persons would disapprove if they knew it."
"You are going too far, my dear child," Doña Esperanza replied, as she tenderly embraced her; "what you have seen here ought not to surprise you. My husband is one of the principal chiefs of the great Confederation of the Papazos; but he and I, in other times, lived the life of white men. When we withdrew to the desert, we took with us our civilized habits, and that is the entire mystery. As for the step you have taken, it has nothing that is not most honourable to you."
"I thank you for these kind remarks, and the interpretation you are pleased to give to a step conceived, perhaps, a little too giddily, and executed more giddily still."
"Do not regret it, señorita," said Thunderbolt; "perhaps it has helped your father's affairs more than you suppose."
"As for the story of Ova," Doña Esperanza continued, with a gentle smile, "this is how it ended:—the poor woman died of despair a few days after the discovery of the man she ought to have married, and whom she had held in such tender memory for so long a time. At her last hour she expressed a desire to be united in death to the man from whom she had been separated in life. This last wish was carried out. The two betrothed repose side by side in the mine, which was at once closed again, and no one has dreamed of opening it up to the present day."
"I thank you, señora, for completing your narrative. Still," Marianna said, with a sigh, "this gold mine must, in my opinion, be very poor, since the Spaniards, when they seized the country, did not attempt to work it."
"Not at all, my dear child; on the contrary, it is excessively rich. But Ova's secret has been so well kept that the Spaniards remained in ignorance of its existence."
The two ladies were by this time alone, as the sachem and his son had left the tent.
"It is strange," the maiden murmured, answering her own thoughts rather than Doña Esperanza's remark.
The earnestness with which the lady insisted on referring to the legend astounded and interested her. A secret foreboding warned her that the story had a hidden object, whose importance still escaped her, though she was burning to discover it. Doña Esperanza attentively followed in her face the various feelings that agitated her, and were reflected in her expressive face as in a mirror. She continued—"This is why the mine was not discovered when the Spaniards seized the town where it was situated. It had been stopped up for a very long time. The old inhabitants were killed or expelled by the conquerors; and those who escaped were careful not to reveal this secret to their oppressors. The latter destroyed the town, and built an immense hacienda over its mines."
"But—pardon me for questioning you thus, señora—how have all these facts come to your knowledge?"
"For a very simple reason, my dear child. Ova was my ancestress, and the knowledge of this mine is consequently a family secret for us. I am, perhaps, the only person in the world who at the present day knows its exact position."
"Yes, I understand you," the young lady said, becoming very pensive.
"Still you are trying to discover, are you not, my dear child?" the old lady continued, kindly interrogating her, "Why, instead of letting you speak of the important matters that brought you here, my son urged you to ask this story of me; and why, without pity for your filial sorrow, I consented to do so; and why, now that it is ended, I am anxious for you to learn the minutest details."
The girl hid her face in the old lady's bosom, and burst into tears.
"Yes," she said, "you have understood me, madam, and pray pardon me."
"Pardon you for what, my dear child? For loving your father? On the contrary, you are quite right. But yours is no common nature, my child; though we have only been acquainted for a few hours, you have sufficiently appreciated my character, I think, to recognise the interest I take in you."
"Yes, yes, I believe you, madam; I must believe you."
"Well, console yourself, my dear girl; do not weep thus, or I shall be forced to follow your example; and I have still some details to add to this interminable story."
The maiden smiled through her tears. "Oh, you are so kind, madam," she answered.
"No, I love you, that is all, and," she added, with a sigh, "I have done so for a long time."
Doña Marianna gazed at her with amazement.
"Yes, that surprises you," she continued, "and I can well understand it. But enough of this subject for the present, my darling, and let us return to what I wanted to say to you."
"Oh, I am listening to you, madam."
"I will now tell you where Ova's town stood, and its name. It was called Cibola."
"Cibola!" the girl exclaimed.
"Yes, dear child, the very spot where the Hacienda del Toro was afterwards built by your ancestor, the Marquis de Moguer. Now do you understand me?"
Without replying, Doña Marianna threw herself into the old lady's arms, who pressed her tenderly to her bosom.
Kidd had left the atepetl of the Papazos with rage in his heart, and revolved in his mind the most terrible schemes of vengeance. Not that the bandit had in his gangrened heart any sensitive chord which noble sentiment could cause to vibrate; to him it was a matter of the slightest importance that he had been publicly branded and expelled like the lowest scoundrel; humiliation glided over him without affecting him, and what most enraged him was to see the fortune dried up which Don Marcos de Niza had momentarily flashed before his greedy eyes, and which he hoped, by dissimulation and treachery, to invest in his capacious pocket in the shape of gold ounces. Now he could no longer dream of it; the slightest information he could henceforth accidentally pick up would not be sufficiently important to be paid for at the price given for the first.
There was something desperate in such an alternative for a man like the bandit; but what should he do? With all his other qualities, the adventurer combined the rather strange one, for him, of only being brave like the Coyotes, which only attack in pairs, and when they are certain of conquering; that is to say, he was an utter coward when compelled to meet an enemy face to face, although he would not hesitate to kill him from behind a bush. The adventurer did not deceive himself about this peculiarity of his character, and the mere idea of picking a quarrel with Stronghand caused him an instinctive terror, externally revealed by a general trembling.
He therefore very sadly and despairingly proceeded, along the road to the Real de Minas, not knowing yet whether he should enter the pueblo, or push further on and seek fortune elsewhere, when his attention was attracted to the left hand of the road he was following by an unusual and continuous undulation of the tall grass. The bandit's first impulse was to stop, dismount, and conceal himself and his horse behind an aloe tree, which afforded a temporary shelter. It is extraordinary to see how villains, who care nothing for the life of others, display remarkable instinct of self-preservation, and what tricks they employ to escape an often imaginary danger. When the bandit believed himself in safety, at least for the moment, he began watching most carefully the undulation of the grass, which incessantly drew nearer to him.
A quarter of an hour passed thus; then the grass parted, and the bandit perceived three horsemen coming towards him, entirely dressed in black. With that peculiar scent scoundrels have for detecting policemen, Kidd did not deceive himself; he at once recognised the three persons as belonging to the noble corporation of Alguaciles. A fourth, also dressed in black, in whose ugly features an expression of bestial craft and wickedness seemed to be reflected, was evidently the leader of the party,—an Alguacil mayor, a race of rapacious vultures, without heart or entrails; a manso Indian, dressed in torn trousers, and with bare head, arms, and legs, was running in front of the others, and evidently acting as guide.
"Hold, José!" the most important of the men shouted to the Indian, employing the general nickname of these poor fellows. "Hold, José! Mind you do not lead us astray, scoundrel, if you do not want to have your ribs broken; we must arrive this night at the Real de Minas of Quitovar, whither important business summons us."
"You would arrive there before two o'clock, Excellency," the Indian answered, with a crafty laugh, "if instead of riding at a foot pace you would consent to give your mule the spurs; if not we shall not get there till after sunset."
"¡Válgame dios!" the first speaker said, angrily; "What will my honourable client, El Señor Senator Don Rufino Contreras say, who must have been awaiting my arrival for several days with the utmost impatience?"
"Nonsense, Excellency! You will arrive soon enough to torture honest people."
"What do you dare to say, scoundrel?" the bailiff exclaimed, raising the chicote he held in his hand.
The Indian parried with a stick the blow which would have otherwise fallen on his loins, and answered drily, as he seized the mule by the bridle, and made it rear, to the great alarm of the rider,—
"Take care, señor; though you call me José, and treat me no better nor worse than a brute, we are no longer in one of your civilized towns, but on the prairie; here I have my foot on my native heath, and will not put up with the slightest insult from you. Treat me as an idiot, if you like, and I shall not care for it, as it comes from one whom I utterly despise; but bear this in mind,—on the slightest threatening gesture you make, I will immediately thrust my knife into your heart."
And while saying this, the man flashed in the bailiffs terrified face a long knife, whose blue blade had a sinister lustre.
"You are mad, José—quite mad," the other answered, affecting a tranquillity he was far from feeling at the announcement; "I never intended to insult you, and I shall never do so; so let go my mule's bridle, pray, and we will continue our journey in peace."
"That will do," the Indian said, with his eternal grin; "that is the way you must speak for us to remain good friends during the period we shall have to pass together."
And after letting go the mule, he began trotting in front with that swinging pace of which Indians alone possess the secret, and which enables them to follow a trotting horse for several days, without becoming tired.
The conversation had taken place sufficiently near to Kidd's lurking place for him to overhear every syllable. Suddenly he started. An idea doubtless crossed his mind, for after allowing the horsemen to go on, but not too far for him to catch them up, he left his thicket, and went after them, growling between his teeth,—"What the deuce relations can these birds of night have with Don Rufino Contreras? Well, we shall soon see."
On turning into the track he saw the party a short distance ahead of him. The latter, whom the sound of his horse's hoofs stamping on the dry ground, had already warned, looked back rather anxiously, the more so because the bandit, in spite of the ease he tried to effect, had nothing very prepossessing about his appearance or face. Policemen could form no mistake about him. Hence they did not do so, and at the first glance recognised him as what he really was—that is to say, a bandit. But in Mexico, as in many other countries which pretend, rightly or wrongly, to be civilized, policemen and ruffians have the best possible reasons for living on friendly terms; and had it not been for the solitary spot where he was, Don Parfindo Purro (such was the Alguacil's name) saw nothing very disagreeable in meeting the adventurer. The latter continued to advance, talking to his horse, tickling its flanks with his spur, galloping, with his fist proudly placed on his hip, and his hat pulled impudently over his right ear.
"Santas tardes, caballeros," he said, as he joined the party of men in black, and slightly checked his horse, so that it should keep pace with the others, "by what fortunate accident do I meet you so late on this desolate road?"
"Fortune is with us, caballero," Don Parfindo answered, politely; "this accursed Indian has led us a roundabout road; I really believe, whatever he may say, that we have lost our way, or shall soon do so."
"That is possible," Kidd observed; "and without being too curious, will you allow me to ask whither you are going? Moreover, to set you at your ease by displaying confidence, I will inform you that I am going to Quitovar."
"Ah!" said the bailiff, "That is very lucky."
"Why so?"
"Because I am going there too, in the first instance. Are we still a great distance from the pueblo?"
"Only a few leagues; we shall arrive before two o'clock, and if you will allow me to take your guide's place, I shall be delighted to show you the way, which, I confess, is not very easy to find."
"Your proposal delights me, caballero, and I most heartily accept it."
"That is agreed; if you do not know the pueblo, I will take you to a capital house, where you will be excellently treated."
"I thank you, caballero; it is the first time I have been to Real de Minas. I am a bailiff at Hermosillo."
"A bailiff!" the bandit said; "¡Caray! That is a famous profession."
"At your service, were I competent for it," Don Parfindo said, puffing himself out.
"I do not say no," Kidd continued, giving himself an air of importance. "When a man carries on a large business, as I do, the acquaintance of a caballero so distinguished as you appear to be can only be most advantageous."
"You confound me, señor."
"Oh, do not thank me, for what I say I really think; I was speaking about it only a few days back to Don Rufino Contreras, who is also very rich, and consequently has numerous trials."
"Do you know Don Rufino?" the bailiff asked, with rising respect.
"Which one?—The illustrious senator?"
"Himself."
"He is one of my most intimate friends. Are you acquainted with him too?"
"He has instructed me to proceed in his name against certain debtors of his."
"¡Viva Dios!This is a strange meeting," the adventurer exclaimed, with a radiant face.
"What a worthy señor!" the bailiff remarked, "And so honourable!"
The two scoundrels understood each other. The acquaintance was formed, and confidence sprang up quite naturally. The conversation was continued on the best possible terms; Kidd adroitly led the other to make a general confession, and the latter, believing that he had to do with an intimate of Don Rufino, told him the secret of the negotiations he was intrusted with, without any visible pressure. Altogether this is what the adventurer learned:—Don Rufino Contreras, impelled by some motive unknown, had secretly bought up the claims of all the persons to whom the Marquis de Moguer was indebted. So soon as he held them, he had taken out writs, through a third party, against the Marquis, so as to dispossess him of the small property left him—among other things, the Hacienda del Toro, which he evinced a great desire to possess. His proposal to marry Doña Marianna was only a bait offered to the good faith of Don Hernando, in order to lull his prudence and remove his suspicions. What he wanted was to become, at any price, proprietor of the hacienda. But still, wishing to retain the mask of friendship, by the aid of which he had hitherto deceived the Marquis, he had put the matter in the hands of a man of his own, who had orders to push matters to extremities, and accept no arrangement. Don Parfindo Purro was the bailiff selected: he was the bearer of the most perverse instructions and strictest orders, and was resolved to accomplish to the letter what he emphatically called his duty.
In Mexico, we are compelled to allow that justice is the most derisive buffoon and horrible thing imaginable. The judges, most of whom are utterly ignorant, and who actgratis, as their salaries are never paid, requite themselves for this annoyance on the contending parties, whom they plunder without pity or shame; and this is carried to such an extent, that, so soon as the trial is begun, it is known who will win and who lose. It is little consequence whether the trial be criminal or civil. Money decides everything. To give only one instance: A man commits a murder, the fact is confirmed—known by all; the assassination has been performed in bright day, in the open street, and in the presence of a hundred persons. The relations of the victim go before thejuez de lettras—that is to say, the criminal judge; he lets them explain the affair in its fullest details, and gives no signs of approval or disapproval; but when they have finished, he asks them the simple question—
"Have you any witnesses?"
"Yes," the relatives answer.
"Very good; and these witnesses are doubtless men of good position and of a certain value?"
"Certainly. Each of them is worth a thousand piastres."
"Well," says the judge, "and how many may there be?"
"Ten."
"What a pity!" he then continues, in his mildest accents; "Your adversary, who between ourselves, appears to me a highly distinguished caballero, has exactly the same number of witnesses as you; but his are far more important people, for each is worth two thousand piastres."
The matter is settled. If the relatives of the murdered man are not rich enough to make a higher bid, the assassin is not only acquitted, but discharged without a stain on his character, and is at perfect liberty, if he think proper, to kill another of his enemies on the same day and the same terms. Such is the way in which the Mexicans understand justice. We can therefore understand how an enormously rich man like Don Rufino Contreras could defeat the Marquis, the state of whose fortune did not allow him to buy the judges.
The adventurer listened with the most earnest attention to the revelations the bailiff made with a certain degree of complacency. Kidd, who was accustomed to fish in troubled waters, had found an opportunity for a famous haul in these revelations. His plan was at once formed, and so soon as he came in sight of the pueblos his arrangements were made. It was late when the travellers reached the barriers of the Real de Minas; the sun had set long before, and the sentries, although they recognised the adventurer as one of their side, made some difficulty about letting him and his companions into the town. They were engaged for nearly an hour in parleying outside, and it was only by the express orders of the commandant that they obtained permission at last to enter the pueblo, which had been converted into a regular fortress.
Kidd, still continuing to act as guide to his comrades, led them straight to a mesón, where he left them at liberty to rest themselves, after warmly recommending them to the landlord. Then the bandit, after placing his horse in the corral, and carefully wrapping himself up in his zarapé, and pulling the brim of his hat over his eyes to escape recognition, glided through the darkness to the house of Don Marcos de Niza, which he entered. The captain, as we said, was accessible at all hours of the day or night, to any person who had news to communicate. At this moment he was in the same study where he had already held a conversation with Master Kidd. On noticing the adventurer, the captain raised his eyes, and without leaving his chair, he said—"Ah, is that you, Master Kidd? Your absence has been long; but for all that, you are welcome, if you bring good news."
The bandit gave a meaning smile.
"My news is excellent, captain," he said, laying a marked stress on the words, "especially for you."
"¡Cuerpo de Cristo!I hope so, for am I not commandant of the town?"
"Yes; but I am not going to talk with you about politics at present, Excellency."
"In that case, go to the deuce, scoundrel," the captain said, shrugging his shoulders angrily; "do you think I have nothing more important to do than listen to the rubbish you may please to invent and tire my ears with?"