"I know not whether that is Don Hernando's idea, for I never had the honour of seeing him."
"That is strange, Don Diego; and I cannot understand why you did not try to form his acquaintance; however, that is of little consequence, as far as my plans are concerned."
"Your plans, father?" the young man asked, in amazement.
"I will explain to you that we intend to commence the expedition with a thunder stroke; our first attempt will be to seize the Real de Minas of Quitovar, where the main body of the Mexican forces is now collected. The Hacienda del Toro, situated scarce ten leagues from Arispe, commanding the three roads to Hermosillo, Ures, and Sonora, and built at a very strong position, is of immense importance to us for the success of the war. I had thought of appointing you to carry it by surprise, but as you have no friends in the place, and seem not to care greatly about it, let us say no more on the subject. I will give the command of the expedition to Whistler and Peccary; they are two experienced chiefs, endowed with far from common tact, and will carry the hacienda by a surprise, because the Spaniards, not anticipating such an attack, will not be on their guard. As for you, my son, you will follow me to the Real de Minas. And now, my dear Diego, I have nothing more to say to you, and you can withdraw."
The young man had listened in secret horror to this revelation of his father's plans. He was so full of terror that he did not notice that Thunderbolt, though he pretended at the beginning not to know the hacienda even by name, had described its position with a precision that showed that, on the contrary, he must be perfectly acquainted with it. He stood for a moment crushed by the thought of the terrible danger Doña Marianna would incur if the Apaches took the hacienda. His father took a side-glance at him, and attentively watched the various feelings reflected in his face.
"Forgive me, father," the young man at length said, with an effort; "but I should like to offer an objection."
"What is it, my son? Speak, I am listening."
"I do not think it would be prudent to try and surprise, with a band of savages, a house so far advanced in the interior of the country."
"That is why I selected you. You would have taken a band of white and half-breed trappers and hunters, and would have passed unnoticed, owing to the colour of your skins. Your refusal greatly annoys me, I confess; but, as I do not wish to force your inclinations—"
"But I did not refuse, father," the young man exclaimed.
"What! You did not refuse?"
"No, father; on the contrary, I ardently wish to be entrusted with this confidential mission."
"In that case, I misinterpreted your silence and ambiguous remarks. Then you accept?"
"Gladly, father."
"Very good; that is settled. Now go and send off that Paredes, for it is time for him to return to his master. As for you, my son, breathe not a syllable of what we have discussed; you understand the importance of discretion under such circumstances. Embrace your mother, and leave us."
The young man threw himself into his mother's arms, who tenderly embraced him, and whispered in his ear, "Hope!"
Then he withdrew, after bowing respectfully to his father.
"Well, Esperanza," the old gentleman said, rubbing his hands, so soon as his son had left the room, "do you now begin to guess my plans?"
"No," she answered with a gentle smile; "but I believe that I understand them."
Stronghand quitted the Pyramid in a state of indescribable agitation. The word his mother had whispered in his ear at parting incessantly recurred to his mind, and led him to suppose that Doña Esperanza, with that miraculous intuition Heaven has given to mothers, that they may discover the most hidden feelings of their children, had divined the secret he fancied he had buried in the remotest corner of his heart, and which he did not dare avow to himself. On the other hand, the strange conversation he had held with his father, and the proposal which concluded it, plunged him into extraordinary perplexity. His father's conduct appeared to him extraordinary, in the sense that he did not understand how the old gentleman, who justly enjoyed among the Indians a reputation for stainless honour, could be preparing treacherously to attack the man to whose succour he came at the same moment with such noble disinterestedness. All this seemed to him illogical, incomprehensible, and in direct opposition with the word "hope," which he fancied he could still hear buzzing in his ear. Still, as he was obliged to cross the torrent, and go some distance before reaching his calli, he had time to restore some degree of order in his ideas, and resume his coolness and self-mastery before he reached his own door. Two men were standing there—Whistler and Peccary.
"Come along, Stronghand," the trapper shouted, so soon as he saw him; "we have been waiting for you a long while."
"Waiting for me?" he asked, in surprise.
"Yes. Sparrowhawk warned us, on the part of Thunderbolt, that the chief and myself were to hold ourselves in readiness to escort the man who entered the village with you wherever he thinks proper to go."
"Ah! Whistler has spoken well," Peccary remarked, laconically.
"What else has happened?"
"Nothing, except that Thunderbolt has made this man a present of a mule, laden with rich wares, as Sparrowhawk says. But go on, and he will tell you about it himself."
Stronghand entered, and found the majordomo busily engaged in making his preparations for a start. So soon as he saw the hunter, Paredes eagerly walked up to him, and shook his hand several times.
"You are welcome, comrade," he said. "¡Caray! you are a man of your word, so forgive me."
"Forgive you for what?" the young man asked, with a smile.
"For having doubted you, caramba."
"Doubted me?"
"Yes, on my word. When I saw you leave me this morning in this hole, like a useless or noxious animal, I doubted your sincerity. In a word, as you know, anger is an evil counsellor; still, all sorts of stupid thoughts occurred to me, and I was on the point of running away."
"You would have done wrong."
"Caray! I see it now; hence I feel quite confused at my folly, and beg you once again to forgive me."
"Nonsense," the hunter said, with a laugh, "it is not worth while to torment yourself about such a trifle. An escort of resolute men will accompany you to the hacienda, and as in all probability your master, on seeing that you have brought the money he sent you to fetch, will not ask about what may have happened to you on your journey, I think it unnecessary for you to give him details which would interest him but very slightly, and give rise to unpleasant comments."
"That's enough," the majordomo said, with a knowing smile; "I will not breathe a syllable."
"That will be the best."
"Be easy. Ah! that reminds me that, as I have received the money from you, you must have the bills. Here they are, and once again I thank you."
The hunter took the bills and concealed them in his bosom. There was a moment of silence. The majordomo walked about the calli with an air of embarrassment, though his purpose was now finished, and the hunter comprehended that he had something to say, but did not know how to begin it.
"Come," he asked him, "what else is there that troubles you, my friend? Let me hear."
"On my faith," the Mexican replied, at length forming a resolution. "I confess that I should be delighted to prove my gratitude to you for the service you have done me, and I should not like to leave without doing so; but, unluckily, it embarrasses me more than I can express."
"What, is that all?" the hunter said, gaily. "Why that is a very easy matter."
"Is it?" he remarked, with surprise. "Well, you will not believe that I have been racking my brains over it for more than half an hour, and brought nothing out."
"Because you seek badly, my friend; that is all."
"Then you have found it?"
"You shall see."
"¡Caray! You cannot imagine what pleasure you will cause me."
"You know that I frequently hunt in your parts?"
"Yes; I am aware of that."
"Well, the first time I find myself near the hacienda, I will come and ask hospitality of you."
"Ah! That is what I call a good idea; and even if you brought ten comrades with you, you would see how I should receive you. I only say this much,—I am in a position to treat you well."
"I take you at your word; so that is settled."
"You pledge me your word?"
"I do."
"Very good. Now I shall start happy. Come by day or night, as you may think proper, and you will always be welcome."
"I fancy it would be rather difficult to get into the hacienda by night."
"Not at all. You will only have to mention my name."
"Well, that is settled; and now be off. Only four hours of daylight remain, so do not delay any longer."
"You are right; so good-bye. Do not be long ere you remind me of my promise."
"I will bear you in mind."
They left the calli. Seven or eight hunters and Indians were mounted, and awaiting at the door their guest's good pleasure to start. The majordomo shook the hunter's hand for the last time, mounted his horse, gave the signal for departure, and the little band started at a gallop through a crowd of women and children that had collected through curiosity. Stronghand looked after them as long as he could see them, and then thoughtfully returned to the calli. For a very long time he remained plunged in earnest thought, then he stamped his foot passionately, and exclaimed, in Spanish—"No; a thousand times no. I will not take advantage of the man's kindness to abuse his confidence like a coward. It would be a disgraceful deed."
These words doubtless contained the result of the hunter's reflections, and were the expression of the resolutions he had just formed.
Several days elapsed, and nothing of an interesting nature occurred in the village. The military committee sat several hours during the interval. The plan of the coming campaign was definitively arranged and the collection of the Indian forces was the only thing that delayed the outbreak of hostilities. Whistler returned to the village four days after his departure, and reported to the hunter that Paredes reached the hacienda without any accident, and nothing had disturbed the tranquillity of the journey.
In the meanwhile, the different Indian tribes forming the great confederation of the Papazos began flocking into the village. Ere long there were no quarters left for them, and they were compelled to camp on the plain, which, however, was no hardship to men accustomed to brave all weather. On the twelfth day after Paredes' departure, the hachesto convened all the chiefs to a general meeting at sunset, in order to perform the mystic rites of the great medicine before opening the campaign. At the moment when the sun disappeared below the horizon in clouds of purple vapour, the amantzin, or first sorcerer of the nation, mounted the roof of the medicine hut, and by a sign commanded silence.
"The sun has withdrawn its vivifying heat from us," he said in a powerful voice, "the earth is covered with darkness, and this is the mystic hour when man must prepare for the struggle with the genius of evil—begin the great medicine."
At the same instant, animals of every description appeared from all the lodges, from the corners of the streets, gliding down the ladders of the pyramids, or coming from the plain; quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles collected in the village square, with horrible cries, overflowed the streets on all sides, and spread out over the country for a league round. These animals were Indian chiefs, clothed in the skins of the beasts they wished to represent. Not only do the Indians imitate with rare perfection the different cries of animals, but they have also made a special study of their manners, habits, mode of progression, and even of the way in which they eat and sleep. Nothing can furnish an idea of the horrible concert composed of these cries—hisses, snapping, and roars, mingled with the furious barking of the dogs. There was something savage and primitive that powerfully affected the imagination. At intervals silence was suddenly re-established, and the sorcerer's voice rose alone in the night.
"Is the evil principle conquered?" he asked; "Have my brothers trampled it under foot?"
The animals responded by horrible yells, and the noise began again worse than before. This lasted the whole night through. A few minutes before sunrise the sorcerer repeated the question for the last time, which had received no other answer but furious yells. This time the pure and melodious voice of a young girl rose in the silence, and pronounced these words:—"The Master of Life has pity on his red children; he sends the sun to their help. The evil principle is conquered."
At the same instant the sun appeared in its radiance. The Indians saluted it with a cry of joy, and throwing off their disguises, they fell on their knees, with faces turned up to heaven. The sorcerer, holding in his right hand a calabash full of water, in which was a sprig of wormwood, sprinkled a few drops to each of the cardinal points, crying with an inspired air—"Hail, O sun! Visible minister of the invisible Master of Life! Listen to the prayers of thy red sons. Their cause is just; give them the scalps of their enemies, that they may attach them to their waist belts. Hail, O sun! All hail!"
All the Indians repeated in chorus—
"Hail, O Sun! All hail!"
Then they rose to their feet. The first part of the mysteries of the great medicine was accomplished, and the sorcerer retired. The hachesto, or public crier took his place, and invited the principal chiefs of the confederation to dig up the war hatchet. This characteristic ceremony consists in going in procession into the medicine lodge, where the oldest chief digs up the ground with his scalping knife at a spot the sorcerer indicates, and draws out the great war hatchet, the emblem of the strife about to commence. When the hatchet is unburied, the chiefs quit the hut in the same way as they entered it. At their head marches, with the chief entrusted with the sacred token of the nation, and the brave of the great calumet, the chief who has dug up the hatchet, which he holds with both hands to his breast, with the edge turned outwards. On leaving the lodge, chiefs silently draw up in front of the ark of the first man, opposite the war post, and chance decides which chief shall have the honour of dealing the first blow on the emblematic post with the sacred hatchet.
The Indians, like all primitive peoples, are extremely superstitious; hence they attach an immense importance to this ceremony, because they fancy they can draw a good omen from the way in which the blow has been dealt, and the depth of the notch made by the edge of the blade. Lots were drawn, and chance selected Stronghand. A flattering murmur greeted this name, which was loved by the Indians, and belonged to a man whom they regarded as one of their greatest heroes. Stronghand quitted the ranks, walked into the open space in front of the ark of the first man, and seizing the hatchet which the chief presented to him, he raised it above his head, whirled it round with extreme dexterity, and then dealt a terrible stroke at the war post. The blow was dealt with such violence, the hatchet penetrated the wood so deeply, that when the sorcerer attempted to withdraw it, according to the usual custom, in spite of all his efforts he could not succeed, and was obliged to give up the attempt.
The warriors uttered a shout of joy, which, spreading along the crowd assembled to witness the ceremony, was soon converted into a hideous clamour. The war would be lucky. The omens were excellent. Never, even by the confession of the oldest sachems, had such a blow been dealt the post. Stronghand was congratulated by the chiefs and warriors, who were delighted at the result he had obtained. When the hatchet was at length removed from the post, the warriors retired to make way for the squaws, and the scalp dance began.
This dance is exclusively performed by women, and in this affair alone the men make way for them. This dance, which is regarded as sacred by the untamed Indian nations, only takes place under grand circumstances—at the beginning of an expedition, or at its close, when it has been successful—that is to say, when the warriors bring back many scalps and horses, and have suffered no loss themselves. The women display an excitement in this dance which speedily degenerates into a frenzy, which fills the minds of the warriors with martial ardour. When this dance was ended, and the squaws had ceased their insensate cries and gestures, the final ceremony was proceeded with. This ceremony, of which we only find vestiges among a few tribes of the Upper Missouri, and the Aucas, or Pampas Indians, seems peculiar to the Papazos. It consists in sacrificing a brood mare, which has not yet foaled, and reading the future in its entrails.
We can easily understand that the sorcerer who undertakes the explanation says what He pleases, and must be believed through the impossibility of contradicting his statements. On this occasion, either because he wished to share in the general joy, or that, through deceiving others, he had succeeded in deceiving himself, and putting faith in his own falsehoods, he announced to the attentive warriors the most splendid and successful results for the coming expedition. These prophecies were greeted as they deserved to be—that is to say, with the greatest favour—and, according to custom, the body of the mare was given to the sorcerer; and this was, doubtless, the greatest profit he derived from the whole affair.
Then, when all the rites were performed, the order was given for each warrior to prepare his horses, his weapons, and his provisions, for the expedition might set out at any moment. The Papazos chiefs had succeeded in collecting beneath their totems 30,000 warriors, all mounted on excellent horses, and about 4000 armed with guns. It is true that the Indians, though so skilful in the use of the axe, the lance, and the bow, are deplorable marksmen, and have an instinctive dread of firearms, which prevents their taking a proper aim. Still, some of them succeed in attaining a relative skill, and are dangerous in a fight. But the greatest strength of the Indian army consisted of the sixty or eighty white and half-breed hunters, whom the hope of plunder had induced to join them.
Thunderbolt, while retaining the supreme command of the army, appointed three chiefs as generals of division; they were Sparrowhawk, Whistler, and Peccary. Stronghand took the command of twenty-five white hunters, whom he selected among the bravest and most honourable, and was entrusted with a special mission by his father. All being then in readiness to begin the war, the Indians, according to their invariable custom, only awaited a moonless night to invade the territory of their enemies under cover of the darkness.
The return of José Paredes to the hacienda caused Don Hernando a lively pleasure. Still, the sum he brought, though considerable, was far from sufficing for the constant outlay in working the mine, and would hardly coyer the demands of the moment. Don Rufino did not in any way show the amazement the sight of the majordomo occasioned him, after the measures he had taken to get rid of him. Still this surprise was converted into anxiety, and ere long into terror, when he reflected on the time that had elapsed since his departure.
In fact, it would take three weeks to proceed from the hacienda to Hermosillo and back, even at a good pace, and yet the majordomo had only been absent for nine days. It was evident to the senator that Paredes had not been to Hermosillo, and yet he brought back the money for the bills! What did all this mean? There was something obscure in the whole affair, which Don Rufino burned to clear up; but, unhappily, that was very difficult, if not impossible.
He was supposed to be ignorant of the motive of the majordomo's journey, and consequently could not interrogate him; and then, again, even had he ventured to do so, Paredes would probably not have answered him, or, if he had done so, it would only have been in mockery; for the worthy majordomo, with the infallible scent which upright and faithful men possess, had detected the wolf in sheep's clothing, and although he had no apparent motive, as he was unaware that the senator was the concoctor of the plot to which he had all but fallen a victim, he felt an instinctive aversion for that person, and displayed a marked affectation in trying to avoid any meeting with him.
In Sonora, as in other countries, it is not easy to meet at a moment's notice persons who will discount large bills to render you a service. The man who had given the money for these must be very rich, and most desirous to assist the Marquis. However much the senator thought of the subject, he could not call to mind any landowner for fifty leagues round capable of acting in such a way. Moreover, the discounter must have been aware of the plot formed against the majordomo, for otherwise he would not have proposed to take the bills. Could Kidd be the traitor? In a moment the senator recognised the absurdity of such a suspicion. It was not probable that the bandit had declined to kill the majordomo; but that he should have allowed him to escape without robbing him was an utterly unlikely circumstance. Moreover, Kidd had everything to fear from the senator, and would not have risked playing him such a malicious trick.
As always happens when a man indulges in probabilities without any settled starting point, and proceeds from one deduction to another, Don Rufino attained such a monstrous conclusion, that he was really terrified by it. Still, throughout all his wanderings, a very logical remark escaped him, which proved that, if he had not discovered the truth, he was not very far from it.
"The Redskins are right," he muttered, "and their proverb is true. In the desert, trees have ears, and leaves have eyes. I remember that my conversation with that pícaro of a Kidd took place near a very close growing thicket; perhaps it contained a traitor. Henceforward I will only discuss business at the top of an entirely unwooded hill; and yet," he added with a sigh, "who knows whether a spy may not be concealed in a prairie-dog hole?"
All these reflections the senator made while walking in extreme agitation up and down the room, when the door opened, and Don Ruiz made his appearance.
"Señor Don Rufino," he said to him, after a mutual exchange of compliments, "will you kindly come to the drawing room? Our majordomo, who, as you may have noticed, has been absent for some days, has brought most important news, which my father would like you to hear."
The senator started imperceptibly, and gave the young man a suspicious glance; but nothing in Don Ruiz's open face caused him to suppose any hidden meaning in his words.
"Is anything extraordinary happening, my dear Don Ruiz?" he asked, in a mellifluous voice.
"I have as yet received but very imperfect information about the grave events that threaten us; but if you will kindly follow me, you will soon learn all."
"Be it so, my dear sir—I am at your service;" and he followed Don Ruiz to the saloon, where Doña Marianna, the Marquis, and José Paredes were already assembled.
"Why, what can be the matter, my dear señor?" the senator asked, as he entered; "I confess that Don Ruiz has startled me."
"You will be more startled when you know the events. But sit down, pray," the Marquis answered, and then said to the majordomo, "you have your information from a good source?"
"I can assert that all I have told you is true,mi amo. The Papazos have allied themselves with I know not how many other tribes of ferocious pagans, and we may expect to see them burst upon us at any moment."
"¡Caspita! that is serious," the senator said.
"Much more than you suppose; for the Indians are this time resolved to expel the white men for ever from Sonora, and establish themselves in their place," answered Paredes.
"Oh, oh," Don Rufino said, "they are undertaking a rude task."
"Laugh if you like, but it is so."
"I do not laugh, my worthy friend; still, I do not believe the Indians capable of attempting so mad an enterprise."
"In the first place, I am not your friend, señor," the majordomo said, roughly; "and next, it is probable that when you have seen the Indians at work, your opinions about them will be considerably modified."
The senator pretended not to notice the bitterness contained in this remark, and replied, lightly—"I never saw any wild Redskins, and Heaven preserve me from doing so. Still, I strongly suspect the inhabitants of this country of making them more formidable than they really are."
"You are wrong to have such an opinion, my friend; and if you remain any time with us, will soon have proof of it," the Marquis said.
"Are you going to remain here, exposed to the attacks of the pagans, papa?" Doña Marianna asked with terror.
"We have nothing to fear from the Indians," the Marquis replied. "The rock on which my hacienda is built is too hard for them. They will break their nails before they can pull out a single stone."
"Still, father, we cannot be too prudent," Don Ruiz observed.
"You are right, my son; and as I do not wish your sister to retain even a shadow of anxiety, we will immediately place ourselves in a position of defence, though it is unnecessary. During the grand insurrection of 1827, the Indians did not once attempt to approach El Toro, and I greatly doubt whether they will attack it this time."
"Mi amo," Paredes replied, "believe me, do not neglect any precaution; this insurrection will be terrible."
"Come, come," Don Rufino asked, "tell me, Señor Majordomo, who the person is that informed you so well?"
Paredes gave him a side-glance, and replied, with a shrug of his shoulders—"It is enough that I know it; no matter the name of the man to whom I owe the information. If you fancy that it is a friend who warned me, you will be near the truth."
"Permit me, señor," the senator answered, with a frown, "this is more important than you fancy. You must not thus create an alarm in a family, and then refuse to give proofs in support of your assertions."
"My master knows me, señor; he knows that I am devoted to him, and also that I am incapable of uttering a falsehood."
"I do not doubt, señor, either your honesty or your truthfulness; still, a thing so serious as you announce requires, before being taken into consideration, to be based on evidence with proofs, or a respectable name, in default of anything else."
"Stuff! Stuff! The main point is to be on your guard."
"Yes, when we know whether we really ought to do so. Consequently, in my quality as a magistrate—and I ask the Señor Marquis a million pardons for acting thus in his presence—I command you to reveal to me at once the name of the man who gave you these alarming news."
"Nonsense!" The majordomo said, with a shrug of his shoulders; "What good would it do if I were to tell you the name of an individual you do not know, and whom you never heard mentioned?"
"That is not the question. Be good enough to answer me, if you please."
"It is possible that you may be a magistrate, señor, and I do not care if you are. I recognise no other masters but the Señor Marquis and his children here present; they alone have the right to question me, and them alone I will answer."
The senator bit his lips, and turned to the Marquis.
"Come, Paredes, answer," the latter said. "I really do not at all understand your obstinacy."
"Since you order me to speak,mi amo," the majordomo continued, "you must know that the person who told me of the insurrection of the pagans is a white hunter, called Stronghand."
"Stronghand?" brother and sister exclaimed simultaneously.
"Is not that," the Marquis asked, "the hunter to whom we already are so greatly indebted?"
"Yes,mi amo," the majordomo replied, musingly; "and it is probable that he has not yet finished."
Although it was the first time the senator heard the hunter's name mentioned, by a kind of intuition he felt a species of emotion for which he could not account.
"Oh," Doña Marianna cried, eagerly, "we must place entire confidence in Stronghand's statements."
"Certainly we must," Don Ruiz added. "It is plain that he wished to warn us, and put us on our guard."
"But who is this man who inspires you with such profound sympathy?" the senator asked.
"A friend," Doña Marianna replied, warmly, "for whom I shall feel an eternal gratitude."
"And whom we all love," the Marquis added, with emotion.
"Then you accept his bail for Paredes?"
"Yes; and believe me, my friend, that I shall not neglect the advice he gives me."
"Very good, señor; you will therefore permit me to remark that Señor Paredes' obstinacy in not revealing his name must fairly appear to me extraordinary."
"Señor Rufino, Paredes is an old servant who enjoys a very pardonable freedom, and believes that he has acquired the right of being believed on his word. Now," he added, "let us discuss the means to prevent a surprise. Paredes, you will at once mount your horse, and order all the peons and vaqueros to bring the ganado and horses into the hacienda. You, Don Ruiz, will prepare the necessary corrals and cuartos to lodge the men and animals; collect as much forage and provisions as you can, for, in the event of a siege, we must not run the risk of being reduced by famine. How many peons have you under your orders, Paredes?"
"Excellency, we have about eighty able to bear arms, and do active duty, without counting the women, children, and old men, whom we can always turn to some account."
"Oh, oh," the Marquis said, "there are many more than we require; I see that it will be unnecessary to summon our miners from Quitovar."
"The more so," Paredes objected, "because Captain de Niza, whose position is far more exposed than ours will already have enlisted them in his service."
"That is probable," the Marquis answered, as he rose. "Go and carry out my orders without delay."
The majordomo bowed to his master, and went out.
"Will it please you, señor, to grant me a moment's interview?" the senator then said.
"I am at your orders, señor."
"Oh, do not disturb yourselves," the senator said, addressing Don Ruiz and his sister, who had risen to leave the room: "I have nothing secret to say to the Marquis."
The young people sat down again.
"I confess to you that what this man has just said," Don Rufino continued, "has greatly startled me. I never saw any Indian bravos, and have a horrible fear of them. I should therefore wish, Don Hernando, however strange so sudden a request may appear to you, to obtain your permission to leave you so soon as possible."
"Leave me!" the Marquis replied, with amazement, "At this moment?"
"Yes; it seems as if coming events will be very serious. I am not a man of war, nor anything like it, for I am frightened at anything that bears a likeness to a quarrel; but Congress claims my immediate presence at Mexico, were it only to inform the Government of the situation in which this state is, and urge it to assume energetic measures."
"Señor Don Rufino, you are at liberty to act as you please. Still, I fear that the roads are not quite safe, and that you will expose yourself to serious dangers by obstinately insisting on departing."
"I have thought of that; but I fancy that when I have once reached Arispe, which is no great distance from here, I shall have nothing more to fear. Will you allow Don Señor Ruiz to escort me to that town?"
"I can refuse you nothing, señor. My son will accompany you, since you do him the honour of desiring his escort."
"Yes," the senator continued, taking a side-glance at Doña Marianna, who had let her head drop on her chest; "I wish to entrust Don Ruiz with an important letter for you."
"Why write? It would be far more simple to tell me what you wish in a couple of words."
"No! No! That is impossible," Don Rufino answered, with a smile that resembled a grimace; "that would demand too much time: moreover, dear sir, you know better than I do that there are certain things which can only be settled by ambassadors."
"As you please, señor. When do you propose to start?"
"I frankly confess that, in spite of the regret I feel at leaving you, I fancy that the sooner I set out the better."
"It is only ten o'clock," said Don Ruiz, as he rose; "by hurrying a little, we can reach Arispe tonight."
"Famous! That is better. Allow me, Don Hernando, to take leave of you, as well as of your charming daughter, and pray accept my thanks for the noble hospitality I have received in your mansion."
"What! Are you not afraid of travelling in the great heat of the day?"
"I only fear the sight of the Indians, and that fear is enough to make me forget all others. Excuse me, therefore, for leaving you so suddenly, but I feel convinced that I should die of terror if I heard the war cry of those frightful savages echo in my ears."
Don Ruiz had left the room to give the requisite orders, and his sister followed him, after making a silent curtsey to the senator, whose intention she was far from suspecting. The apprehension expressed by Don Rufino was greatly exaggerated, if it was not entirely fictitious; but he instinctively felt that the ground was beginning to burn beneath his feet at the hacienda, and he wanted to get away, not only to guard himself against the perils he foresaw from the ill success of his plot, but also to try and refasten the broken threads of his intrigue, and carry out his plans with the shortest possible delay.
The revolt of the Indians, by interrupting the work, paralyzing commercial transactions, and consequently creating enormous difficulties for the Marquis, admirably assisted the senator in the realization of the plans he had long been forming in the dark. Moreover he desired, during the short ride he was going to take with Don Ruiz, to obtain in the young man a precious ally, who would serve him the better because he would do so without any afterthought, and without seeing Don Rufino's object. He also thought it better to write and detail his intentions to the Marquis in a letter, rather than discuss them with him, for the grand diplomatic reason that the man who writes is the only speaker, must be heard, and consequently does not fear a refutation till he has completely explained his ideas.
After a few moments, Don Ruiz returned to state that the escort had mounted, and that all was ready for a start. Don Rufino repeated his farewells to the Marquis, but the latter would not let him depart before he had drunk, according to the hospitable fashion of the country, the stirrup cup—that is to say, a glass of iced orangeade. Then all three left the room, for in spite of the entreaties and objections of the senator, his host insisted on accompanying him to the patio, and witnessing his departure. Two minutes later, Don Rufino Contreras, accompanied by Don Ruiz, and followed by six confidential peons, well armed and mounted, left the hacienda, and took the direction of Arispe, which they reached at nightfall; after a rather fatiguing journey, it is true, but which, however, was not troubled by any accident of an alarming nature. The only thing the travellers noticed, and which proved to them how thoroughly the news of an approaching invasion of the Indians had spread along the border, was the complete solitude of the country, which resembled a desert.
All the ranchos they passed were deserted; the doors, windows, and furniture had been removed by the inhabitants, and carried off by them in their flight; they had burned or destroyed all they were compelled to leave behind them; their horses and cattle had also disappeared, which gave a look of indescribable melancholy to the numerous plains the little party crossed. The crops had been cut in the green, or burned, in order that the Indians might not profit by them; and thus, ere the wretched country was ravaged by the Redskins, it had already been completely ruined by its inhabitants.
Don Rufino contemplated with stupor the desolate aspect of the country, for he could not at all understand the strange tactics of the inhabitants. When they reached the gates of Arispe, they found them closed, and guarded by powerful detachments of soldiers and cívicos—a species of national militia, paid by the rich inhabitants to repress the devastation of the marauders who swarm on the Indian border. It was only after interminable debates and infinite precautions that the barrier guards at length consented to let the travellers pass. All the streets in Arispe were defended by strong barricades. The town resembled one large camp. The soldiers were bivouacked on all the squares, and sleeping round the bivouac fires, which were lighted as much to keep off the sharp night cold, as to cook their scanty rations.
Don Rufino possessed, on the Plaza Mayor of Arispe, a large and handsome mansion, at which he resided when business summoned him to Arispe. It took him more than an hour to reach it, owing to the numberless turnings he was compelled to take, and the barricades he was forced to scale. The door of the house was open, and a dozen soldiers were quietly bivouacked in the zaguán and patio; but Don Rufino did not at all protest against this arbitrary violation of his domicile; on the contrary, he boasted of his senatorial title, and seemed very pleased with the liberty the soldiers had taken. Don Rufino would not allow Don Ruiz and his peons to seek a shelter anywhere but in his own house; he forced them to accept his hospitality, and they did so without any excessive pressure, for both men and horses were beginning to feel the want of a few hours' rest, after an entire day's journey, made in the stifling heat of the sun.
Nothing equals the rapidity with which a new fortune is established, except, perhaps, that with which an old family falls, through the eternal balancing of accident, which elevates some and lowers others, thus producing incessant contrasts, which are one of the claims of existing society, and of the equilibrium that presides over the things of this world. With a few exceptions, the first and last of a race are always two powerful men, created by the struggle, endowed with great and noble qualities, and who are always equal to circumstances. Unfortunately, of these two men, one, sustained by capricious chance and the benign influence of his star, sees all obstacles fall before him, and his rashest combinations succeed. In a word, success frequently crowns his efforts, contrary to his expectations. The other, on the contrary, unconsciously yielding through the law of contrast to the malign influence attaching to his race—having fallen by the fault of his predecessors from an elevated position—compelled to struggle on unequal terms with enemies prejudiced against him, and who render him responsible for the long series of errors of which his ancestors have been solely culpable—sees himself, so to speak, placed without the pale of the common law; his most skilful combinations only succeed, in delaying for a few years an inevitable fall, and frequently render that fall the more startling and certain.
What we say here is applicable to all the degrees of the social stage; not only to royal families, but to the miserable beggar's brood. Each revolution that changes the face of an empire, by bringing up to the surface unknown geniuses, at the same time plunges into an abyss of wretchedness and opprobrium those who for centuries have oppressed entire generations, and have in their time placed themselves on a level with the Deity, by believing everything allowed them.
Time, that impassive leveller, bringing progress in its train, incessantly passes its inexorable square over all that raises its head too high—thus pleasing itself by raising some and humiliating others. It has constituted itself the sole arbiter of human ambitions, and the real representative of that moral equality which would be an Utopia, if the great organic law of the harmony of the universe had not thus proclaimed its astonishing principles.
On the very day when Don Ruiz, after escorting Don Rufino Contreras to Arispe, returned to the hacienda, a courier arrived simultaneously with him. This man, who was mounted on an utterly exhausted steed, had apparently ridden a great distance, and was in an excessive hurry. No sooner had he reached the Toro than he was introduced into the Marquis's study with whom he remained shut up for a long time. Then the courier, on leaving the study, remounted his horse, and set off again without speaking to a soul. The almost fantastic apparition of this man caused the occupiers of the hacienda that instinctive fear which people generally experience from things they cannot account for.
The Marquis, whose face was usually imprinted with an expression of sad and resigned melancholy, had, after this interview, become of a cadaverous pallor; deep wrinkles furrowed his forehead, and his eyes stared wildly. He walked up and down the huerta for a long time in extreme agitation, with his arms crossed on his back, and his head bowed over his chest. At times he stopped, beat his forehead furiously, uttered incoherent words, and then resumed his walk mechanically—obeying an imperious want of locomotion rather than any other motive.
Doña Marianna, seated at a window of her boudoir, behind a muslin curtain, followed her father's movements, for she felt frightened at his state, and had a foreboding that she would have to share some of the sorrow which had fallen on him. The Marquis at length stopped, looked round him like a man who is waking up, and, after a moment of reflection, returned to his apartments. A few minutes after, a servant came to inform Doña Marianna that her father was awaiting her in the red chamber. In spite of herself, the maiden felt her apprehensions redoubled, but hastened to obey.
This red chamber, into which we have already had opportunity to introduce the reader, and which Don Hernando had not entered since the day when his brother was so inexorably disinherited by their father, was as cold and gloomy as when we saw it. The sole difference was, that time, by tarnishing the lustre of the hangings and tapestry, and blackening the furniture, had imparted to it a tinge of sadness, which made the visitor shudder as soon as he entered. When Doña Marianna reached the red chamber, she found her father already there; he gave her a silent sign to take a seat, and she sank into an armchair in a state of undisguised alarm. A few minutes after Don Ruiz entered, followed by José Paredes. The Marquis then seated himself in the spacious armchair that occupied the centre of the dais; he ordered the majordomo to close the door, and began in a feeble, trembling voice—
"My children, I have summoned you hither because we have to discuss matters of the deepest gravity. I have called to our council Paredes, as an old servant of the family, whose devotions we have known so long, and I trust you will not think that I have exceeded my rights in doing so."
The young people bowed their assent, Paredes placed himself by their side, and the Marquis continued—"My children, our family has for many years been tried by adversity. Hitherto, respecting the happy carelessness of childhood, I have sought to keep within my own breast the annoyances and grief with which I was incessantly crushed; for, after all, of what good would it have proved to lay a portion of the burden on your shoulders? Misfortune advances with gigantic strides; it catches us up one after the other, and it was better to let you enjoy the too short days of your happy youth. I have therefore struggled for all of us, concealing the grief which at times overwhelmed me, restraining my tears, and always offering to you the calm brow and the tranquil appearance of a man, who, if he were not entirely happy, was satisfied with his share of good and evil Heaven had allotted to him. Believe me, my children I should have continued this conduct, and kept to myself all the cares and annoyances of such a life as I lead, had not a sudden, terrible, and irremediably misfortune, which has fallen on me today, forced me, against my will, to impart to you the melancholy, frightful condition we are now in, and acquaint you with the posture of my affairs, which are yours, for I am only entrusted with the fortune which will be yours some day if we succeed in saving it."
The Marquis stopped for a moment, overcome by the emotion which contracted his throat.
"Father," Don Ruiz replied, "you have ever been the best of parents to my sister and myself. Be assured that we have anxiously awaited this confidence, which has been so long delayed in the fear of causing us a temporary sorrow; for we hoped we might be able to assume a portion of the burden, and thus restore you the courage necessary to support the gigantic struggle in which you have engaged with adverse fortune."
"My son," the Marquis said, "I know your heart and your sister's. I am aware of the respectful affection you feel for me; and in the misfortune that is now bursting on me, it is a great satisfaction to have the intimate conviction that my children will heartily combine in supporting and consoling me."
"Be kind enough then, father, to tell us what the matter is, without further delay. The courier with whom you were shut up so long this morning cannot be a stranger to the determination you have formed. Doubtless he was the bearer of evil tidings?"
"Alas! My son," the Marquis answered, "for some years past fortune has been treating our house with incomprehensible severity; everything is leagued against us, and our fortune, which was immense under the Spanish rule, has constantly diminished since the proclamation of Mexican independence. In vain have I tried to contend against the torrent which carried us away; in vain have I forgotten all I owe to my name and rank, and attempted to regain what I had lost by honourable enterprise. All has been of no avail, and my efforts have only served to prove the inutility of my attempts. Still, I had hoped a few days back that I should be able to render fortune more favourable to me. I foresaw a chance of saving some fragments of our old fortunes; but today I have attained the melancholy conviction that I am entirely ruined unless a miracle intervene."
"Oh, things cannot be so bad as that, father!" Doña Marianna exclaimed.
"Yes, my children, we are ruined—reduced to utter misery," the Marquis continued sadly. "We have lost everything; even this hacienda, built by one of our ancestors, which will be speedily sold—perhaps tomorrow—for the benefit of our creditors."
"But how has such a great misfortune occurred?"
"Alas! in the same way as misfortunes always happen when fate has resolved on ruining a man. For a long time past business has been in a state of collapse, owing to the disastrous negligence of the Government; and the news of the fresh revolt of the Indian mansos and bravos has raised the alarm of the merchants to the highest pitch. The panic is general among the bankers and persons whose capital is engaged in mines; several houses at Hermosillo, Ures, Arispe, Sonora, and even Mexico, have already suspended payment, and thus everything has been paralyzed at a single blow. Then, to complicate matters even more, a pronunciamiento has taken place in Mexico, and at this moment we have not only an Indian border war, but the interior of the country is suffering from all the horrors of a civil war."
"Do you know this officially, father?"
"Unfortunately, I cannot entertain the slightest doubt on the subject. For this reason; under such circumstances as the present, one thing inevitably happens. Creditors insist on the immediate repayment of their advances, while persons indebted to you, if they do not fail, defer payment so long that it is practically of no service. Now, the letters I received this morning, and they are numerous, may be divided into two classes; my debtors refuse to pay me, while my creditors, fearing a loss, have taken out writs against me, so that if I have not paid them within eight days the round sum of 380,000 piastres, I shall be declared bankrupt, imprisoned, expelled from my estate, and this hacienda, the last thing left us, will be put up to auction, and probably purchased for a trifle by one of the ex-vassals of our family, who has grown rich at our expense, and does not blush to take our place."
"Three hundred and eighty thousand piastres!" Don Ruiz muttered with stupor.
"That is the amount."
"How can we possibly get it together?"
"It is useless to dream of it for the present, my son. This hacienda alone is worth double. At other times I could have offered a mortgage, and as I have nearly 300,000 piastres owing to me, you see that I could have easily confronted this fresh stroke of fortune. But now it cannot be thought of; it will be better to give way, and allow our creditors to divide the spoil. I hope you do hot suppose, Ruiz, that I have the intention of defrauding my creditors of the little that is left me?"
"Oh no, father; but what do you propose doing?"
"¡Caray!" Paredes then said, "that is easily settled. I possess, through the liberality of the Moguer family a rancho, which owes nothing to anybody. It is yours,mi amo. My mother and I can easily find another shelter. Well, if this wretched lodging is not so fine or handsome as this, it will, at any rate, afford you a shelter, and save you from applying for it to strangers. Is it so, Excellency? Will you honour the old house of your servant by your presence?"
The Marquis seemed to reflect for a moment, and then held out his hand to Paredes, who kissed it.
"Be it so, my friend. I accept your offer," he said. "Not that I intend to inconvenience you for any length of time, but merely during the few days I shall require to save, if possible, some fragments of my children's fortune from the general shipwreck."
"Do not think of us, father," Doña Marianna said, with emotion. "We are young, and will work."
Paredes was delighted at the acceptance of his offer.
"Oh, do not be frightened,mi amo," he said; "the old rancho is not so dilapidated and miserable as might be supposed. I trust, with the help of Heaven, that you will not be very uncomfortable there, and, at any rate, you will have no cause to fear the visits of certain parties."
"You are unjust, Paredes," the Marquis replied. "Don Rufino Contreras, to whom you allude, is one of my best friends, and I must speak of his behaviour in the highest terms of praise."
"That is possible,mi amo, that is possible," the majordomo said, shaking his head with an air of conviction; "but if I may be permitted to express an opinion about that gentleman, I fancy we had better wait a while before fully making up our minds about him."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing,mi amo, really nothing. I have an idea, that is all."
"That reminds me, father, that on leaving me, Don Rufino gave me a letter, which he begged me to deliver to you so soon as I reached the hacienda."
"Yes; he informed me of his intention of writing."
"Hum!" the majordomo said, between his teeth, but loudly enough for the Marquis to hear him; "I always had a bad idea of men who prefer blackening paper to explain themselves frankly in words."
During this aside, the Marquis had opened and read the letter.
"This time, at any rate," he said, "Don Rufino cannot be accused of want of frankness, or of not explaining himself clearly. He warns me of the measures taken against me, and after showing me, in a most gentlemanly manner, the precarious nature of my position, he ends by offering me the means of escaping from it in the most honourable way; in one word, he asks for my daughter's hand, and offers her a dowry of one and a half million piastres, besides liquidating my debts."
Doña Marianna was crushed by the blow so suddenly dealt her. The Marquis continued, with the bitter accent he had hitherto employed—"Such is the state we have reached, my children; we, the descendants of a race of worthies noble as the king, and whose escutcheon is unstained, have so fallen from our lofty social position, that we are too greatly honoured by the offer of a man whose grandfather was our vassal. But such is the way of the world, and why blame it when we live in an age in which everything is possible?"
"What answer will you give to this strange letter, father?" Don Ruiz asked, anxiously.
Don Hernando drew himself up proudly.
"My son," he replied, "however poor I may be, I do not the less remain the Marquis de Moguer, the only thing, perhaps, which cannot be taken from me. I know the obligations I owe to the honour of my name. Your sister is free to accept or reject the offer made her. I do not wish, under any pretext, to influence her determination in so serious a matter. She is young, and has still many years to live; I have no right to enchain her existence with that of a man she does not love. She will reflect, and follow the impulse of her own heart. Whatever her resolution may be, I approve of it beforehand."
"Thanks, father," the maiden answered, gently. "And now grant me a last favour."
"What is it, my child?"
"I wish for a week before answering this request, for I am so surprised and confused, that it would be impossible for me to form any resolution at present."
"Very good, my child; in eight days you will give me your answer. And now withdraw: but do you remain, Paredes; before leaving the hacienda for ever, I wish to make some arrangements in which your help will be necessary."
Brother and sister, after bowing respectfully to their father, slowly quitted this fatal chamber, which persons never entered save through a misfortune.
Don Ruiz and his sister left the red chamber together, gloomy, sad, and despairing, and not daring to communicate their impressions, because they knew that they had nothing to hope from an exchange of conventional consolation. When they reached the hall whence ran the stairs leading to their different suites of rooms, Don Ruiz let loose his sister's arm, and kissed her on the forehead.
"Courage, Marianna," he said, gently.
"Are you leaving me, brother?" she remarked, with a slight tinge of reproach in her voice.
"Are you not going to your own rooms?" he asked her.
"And what do you intend doing?"
"To tell you the honest truth, sister," he replied, "after what has occurred in the red chamber, I feel in such a state of excitement, that I want to breathe the fresh air; did I not, I fancy I should be ill."
"Do you propose going out, then?"
"In leaving you, my dear sister, it is my firm intention to saddle Santiago, and ride about the country for two or three hours."
"If that be the case, Ruiz, I will ask you to do me a service."
"What is it?"
"Saddle Madrina at the same time."
"Your mare?"
"Yes."
"Are you going out too?"
"I want to pay a visit to my nurse, whom I have not seen for a long time. I am anxious to speak a few words with her."
"Will you go alone to the rancho?"
"Unless you give me the pleasure of your company."
"Do you doubt it, sister?"
"Yes and no, Ruiz."
"Why this reticence?"
"I will explain it to you, brother. To be frank with you, I want to see my nurse, and I may spend the night at the rancho; in the event of that happening, I do not wish you to make an attempt to dissuade me by entreaty or otherwise."
"Reflect, sister, that the country is not tranquil, and that you may incur danger in a wretched rancho, where any resistance would be impossible."
"I have thought of that, and calculated all the chances. But I repeat to you, I must go to the rancho, and may be obliged to pass there not only a night, but a day or two."
Don Ruiz reflected for a moment.
"Sister," he then said, "you are no ordinary woman, and everything you do is carefully calculated. Although you do not tell me the motives for this visit, I guess that they are serious, and hence will make no attempt to thwart your wishes. Act as you please, and I will do all you wish."
"Thank you, Ruiz," she answered, warmly; "I anticipated you would say that, for you understand me: my visit has a serious motive, as you have divined."
"Then I will go and saddle the horses," he remarked, with a smile.
"Do so, brother," she replied, as she gently pressed his hand. "I will wait for you here."
"I only require five minutes."
The young man went out. Doña Marianna leant on the balustrade, and fell into deep thought. Don Ruiz returned, leading the horses by the bridle: brother and sister mounted, and at once left the hacienda. It was about four in the afternoon; the great heat of the day was spent, the birds were singing gaily beneath the foliage; the sun, now level with the lowest branches, had lost much of its heat; and the coming breeze, which was beginning to rise, refreshed the atmosphere, and bore far away the clouds of mosquitoes which had for several hours darkened the air. The young people galloped silently side by side, absorbed in their thoughts, and only taking absent glances at the splendid scenery unfolded around them as they advanced further into the country. They thus reached the rancho without exchanging a word.
Bouchaley, faithful to his friendship for Doña Marianna, had long before announced her arrival to the inhabitants of the rancho, who had hurried out to welcome her. With a hurried glance, Marianna assured herself of the presence of her foster brother, which seemed to cause her great satisfaction.
"Goodness! You here so late, niña?" the ranchero said, in his delight; "What blessed wind has blown you?"
"The desire of seeing you, madresita," the young lady answered, with a smile; "it is so long since I embraced you, that I could not wait any longer."
"It is a good idea, niña," the ranchero said; "unfortunately it is late, and we shall only be able to converse with you for a few moments."
"How do you know, old father?" she replied, as she leaped off her horse, and threw her arms round his neck; "Who told you I should not spend the night at the rancho?"
"Oh, oh, you would not do us that honour, niña," the old man answered.
"You are mistaken, father, and the proof is that I ask my brother to leave me here, and return alone to the hacienda."
"Then I am discharged," Don Ruiz said, laughingly.
"Yes, brother; but you have no cause of complaint, for I warned you."
"That is true; hence I do not complain, little sister; still, before we part, tell me at what hour I am to come and fetch you tomorrow?"
"Do not trouble yourself about that, Ruiz; Mariano will bring me home."
"And this time I shall not behave as the last, niña: may the Lord confound me if I lose sight of you even for a moment," the tigrero said, as he took the horse's bridle to lead it to the corral.
"Will you be so cruel, Marianna," Ruiz observed, "as to force me thus to return at once?"
"No; I grant you an hour to rest and refresh yourself, but when that time has elapsed you will start."
"Agreed, little sister."
They entered the rancho: No Sanchez, with that hospitable speed all Mexican rancheros display, had already covered the table with pulque, mezcal, Catalonian refino, orangeade, and infusion of tamarinds. The young people, thirsty from their long ride, and not wishing to grieve the worthy persons who received them so kindly, did honour to the refreshments thus profusely offered them. Don Ruiz, while teasing his sister about her strange fancy for spending the night at the rancho, though he felt convinced that she must have a very serious reason for it, conversed gaily according to his fashion, and displayed a dazzling wit which is easier in Mexico than elsewhere; for, owing to the natural intelligence of the people, no matter their rank, they are certain to understand. When day began to fall, the young gentleman took leave of the rancheros, mounted his horse, and started for the hacienda.
In Mexico, as in all intertropical countries, evening is the pleasantest part of the day: at that time the inhabitants are all in the open air. At night they sit in front of the rancho doors, conversing, singing, or dancing; two or three in the morning arrives before they dream of going to bed. But on this day, contrary to her habit when she paid her nurse a visit, Doña Marianna seemed fatigued: at times she had difficulty in checking a yawn, and her desire for rest was so evident that the nurse was the first to invite her to retire. The young lady required no pressing, and after bidding the old folks good night, entered the rancho, and the room prepared for her. So soon as Marianna had left them, the old couple also retired to rest. As for Mariano, after making his usual tour of inspection round the rancho, he hung up a hammock under the portico, as he preferred sleeping in the open air to being shut up within walls which the sun's heat had rendered stifling. An hour later all the inhabitants of the rancho were plunged into the deepest sleep.
Suddenly the tigrero felt a hand gently laid on his shoulder; he opened his eyes, and by the light of the stars, which was as brilliant as day, recognised Doña Marianna. The young man who had thrown himself fully dressed upon the hammock, started up, and looked at his foster sister anxiously.
"What is the matter with you, niña?" he asked, in evident alarm.
"Silence, Mariano!" she answered in a low voice, and laying her finger on her lips; "All is quiet, at least I suppose so, but I wish to speak with you."
"Go on, tocaya," he replied, as he leaped from the hammock and folded it up.
"Yes, but I am sorry at having woken you; you were sleeping so soundly, that I looked at you for nearly a quarter of an hour ere I dared to disturb your rest; for sleep is such a blessed thing."
"Nonsense," he answered with a laugh; "you were wrong, niña; we wood rangers sleep so quickly that an hour is sufficient to rest us, and if I am not mistaken, I have been lying down for more than two. Hence speak, niña; I am attentive, and shall not miss a word of what you say to me."
The young lady reflected for a moment.
"You love me, I think, Mariano?" she at length said, with a certain hesitation in her voice.
"Like a sister, niña," he said, warmly; "in truth, are we not tocayo and tocaya? Why ask such a question?"
"Because I want you to do me an important service."
"Me, niña? ¡Caray! Do not be alarmed; I am devoted to you body and soul, and whatever you may ask—"
"Do not pledge yourself too hastily, tocayo," she interrupted him, with a meaning laugh.
"A man cannot do that when he firmly intends to keep his promise."
"That is true; still there are things from which a man at times recoils."
"There may be such, niña, but I do not know them; however, explain your wishes to me, frankly."
"I think, Mariano, that you are on friendly terms with the hunter, called Stronghand?"
"Very intimate, niña; but why do you ask the question?"
"Is he an honest man?"
The tigrero looked at her.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked her.
"Why," she said, with considerable embarrassment, "I mean a man of heart—a man, in short, whose word may be taken."
Mariano became serious.
"Señorita," he said, "Stronghand saved my life under circumstances when my only hope was in Heaven. I have seen this man perform deeds of incredible courage and audacity, for the sole object of serving people who frequently did not feel the slightest gratitude to him. To me he is more than a friend—more than a brother; whatever he bade me I would do, even if I had to lay down the life he saved, and which belongs to him. Such, niña, is my opinion about the hunter called Stronghand."
The young lady gave a glance of pleasure.
"You are deeply attached to him?" she murmured.
"As I told you, he is more to me than a brother."
"And you often see him?"
"When I want him, or he wants me."
"Does he live in the neighbourhood, then?"
"A short time back he stayed several days at the rancho."
"And will he return?"
"Who knows?"
"What did he during his stay here?"
"I am not aware; I believe that he hunted, though I did not see a single head of game he had killed whilst he was here."
"Ah!" she said, pensively.
There was a silence. Mariano looked at her, somewhat surprised that she should have woke him for the sake of asking him such unimportant questions.
"Well," she continued, presently; "if you wanted to see Stronghand, do you know where to find him?"
"I think so."
"You are not certain?"
"Forgive me, niña, I am certain; we have a spot where we are safe to meet."
"But he might not be there."
"That might happen."
"What would you do in that case?"
"Go and seek him at another place, where I should be sure of finding him."
"Ah! And where is that?"
"At the village he inhabits."
"What village is that? I know of none in the vicinity."
"Pardon me, niña; there is one."
"A long way from here, I presume?"
"Only a few leagues."
"And what is this pueblo?"
"A village of the Papazos."
"What?"
"Yes, I have forgotten to tell you that. Although he is a white man, Stronghand has, for reasons I am ignorant of, joined the Indians, and been adopted by one of their most powerful tribes."
"That is singular," the young lady murmured.
"Is it not?" the tigrero replied; understanding less than ever the object of the conversation.
The maiden shook her head coquettishly, and seemed to form a sudden resolution.
"Mariano," she said, "I asked you to do me a service."
"Yes, niña, and I answered that I was ready to do it."
"That is true; are you still of the same mind?"
"Why should I have altered it?"
"This is what I want of you."
"Speak."
"I wish to see Stronghand."
"Very good; when?"
"At once."
"What?" he asked, in amazement.
"Do you refuse?"
"I do not say that, but—"
"There is a but, then?"
"There always is one."
"Let me hear yours."
"It is long past midnight."
"What matter is that?"