Chapter Thirty Four.Padre Cornaga.Astonishment still held me speechless, as it did my companion—motionless, too, as the maguey leaves, radiating around us.Had I known the real signification of what had just transpired, I might have acted with more promptitude, and ten times the energy.As it was, I felt like one slowly recovering from a state of torpidity—from an ill-digested dream!“What does it all mean?” I inquired of the stage-driver, without stirring from my place.“Darn’d if I know, cap’n; ’cept it air one band o’ robbers that’s attackted the t’other, and stripped ’em of their spoils. The conq’rors ’pear to be clean gone away, an’ hev took the weemen too! They’ve sloped off on t’other side o’ the shanty. I kin hear ’em yet, making their way up the mountain! Thar’s a path there; tho’ it ain’t so easy to climb. I reck’n they’ve gone up it, toatin up the gurls along wi’ ’em. The reezuntheyain’t still screechin’ is, they’ve got ’em eyther gagged, ortapado.”“Tapado?”“Yes; muffled up—thar faces covered wi’ something—to hinder them from seeing their way, or singin’ out. They only do it, when the weemen show refactory.”What mattered it to me? What mattered, whether Dolores Villa-Señor was the wife of one robber, or the mistress of another? Why should I care now? She could never be mine!I stepped out from among the leaves—leisurely, as one who has no motive for making haste. There was a cold pain at my heart; a callous indifference to the fate of her who had caused it. She was welcome to go higher—to the summit of the mountain she had selected as the scene of her nuptials.It was Ixticihuatl on whose slope we stood. The “White Sister” could be seen through the clear starlight above, reposing in spotless vestments. How different from the robe of Dolores!“Let her go!” was my unchivalric reflection. “She has made her own bed: let her lie upon it!”It was not for the purpose of pursuing—at all events not with any thought of rescuing her—that I placed the call to my lips, and sounded the signal for my men.In less than five minutes the “Rifles” were around me—their green jackets distinguishable under the brilliant beams of the moon—that on the instant sailed suddenly into sight.On hearing the shots, and other sounds of strife, they had commenced moving up the mountain-path. Hence the promptness of their appearance.Selecting half a dozen of them, I stepped straight into the doorway of the house. We entered without opposition—groping our way through the saguan.Inside all was darkness; though we could tell that the place was still tenanted,—by the groans that proceeded from the adjacent chamber.A light was struck; and we commenced exploring the apartments. In the dining-room there was no one—a banquet spread—but without guest to partake of it!We turned into thesala grande—from whence proceeded the lugubrious sounds.The scene—so late one of merriment—was now a spectacle of death!Two men were lying along the floor. One might have been supposed asleep: as he lay quite silent. But a red rivulet, trickling from its source underneath him, and terminating on the tiles in a pool of blood—told that it was the silence of death.The other, also surrounded by seams of smoking gore, still lived and moved. It was he who was making moan.On stooping over him, I recognised the features of Francisco Moreno. They were still handsome, though terribly distorted by his struggle, as I supposed, with death.It was no use asking an explanation from him. I saw that he did not know me!There was a thought in my mind at the moment—an unsanctified thought. A rival had been removed from my path. Francisco Moreno was no longer in my way!But it could not matter now. The relief had come too late!“Hilloa, what’s this?” exclaimed one of the men, poking his rifle under thebanquette, and pressing it against what appeared a large bundle done up in Kentucky jeans. “By the Almighty, it’s a monk!”“You’re right, caballero,” answered a voice, from under the envelope of grey-blue serge, which, on closer inspection, proved to be the gown of a Franciscan friar.“A monk I am—at your service, caballeros.Sangre de Crista! It’s the merest, accident that I’m a living one. O, señores; I perceive that you arehombres buenos; and that theladroneshave retreated at your approach. Say that they are gone; and that I need have no further fear?”“Two on ’em haint gone fur,” replied the stage-driver; “thar they lie—right afore yur eyes, Padre Cornaga.”“Ah! you know me, good sir?Santissima, it’s the driver of thediligencia—the worthy Don Samuel Bruno! What!theserobbers?Por Dios, no! They are gentlemen!”“A queery kind o’ gentlemen, I reckin’.”“’Tis true as I say it, Señor Don Samuel.Caballeros—hombres honestos—both these unfortunate young men.Ay de mi!” added the monk, stooping down over one of the prostrate forms. “This is the son of ourJuez de Letras(judge of the Criminal court). Many a robber have I shrived after sentence passed by his honoured father. And this,” he continued, turning to Francisco, “Ah! señores, this is the bridegroom himself—asesinado—in the presence of his bride, and under the sacred shadow of the altar, that should have protected him from anything!Pobre Dolores! Pobre Dolores!”“It is the name of a lady. How camesheto be here? You say these men are not robbers—what are they?”“Oh, señor capitan!—for I perceive you are the chief—it is a strange story. Shall I tell it to you?”“As you please about that. I came here to capture a gang ofladrones; or kill them, if need be. I only want to know which are the thieves, and which the honest men. There does not appear to be any great difference between them?”“O caballero! why should you say that? Surely you do not mistake the honourable capitan Moreno for asalteador? A worthy young gentleman who but ten minutes ago was standing up to be wedded to one of the fairest and most Christian ladies in our good city of Puebla—the daughter of Don Eusebio—”“Villa-Señor. I know all that. But how came it to pass? Why was the ceremony here? Why not in her father’s house?”“You astonish me, señor! What can you know?”“Never mind what. Tell me, I entreat—I command you—how it is that this marriage—interrupted as I perceive it has been—was taking place here—among the mountains?”“Señor capitan; you are welcome to know all. Alas! there is now no reason for keeping the scheme concealed.”“A scheme! There was a scheme?”“Si, señor! It was contrived between the young people themselves. Don Eusebio was against their being united—so much, that to prevent it he was taking his daughter to a convent—that of La Concepcion, in the capital; which I may be permitted to say to you, a stranger, is the most fashionable of our nunneries. Pobre Dolores! Can you blame her for using means to escape from such a fate? Even I, areligio, do not scruple to say it was wrong. To think of immuring such a fair creature within the dull walls of a cloister!”“I acknowledge to having been in the confidence of theamantes; and even assisted them to contrive their little scheme; which, alas! has proved so unsuccessful. Ah, worse than that: since it has brought ruin to all engaged in it!”“What was it?” I asked, impatiently, having but slight sympathy with the regrets of the priest.“Well, señor, it was this. The gallant youth whom you see there—alas, I fear the victim of his gallantry—with half a dozen of his friends, disguised assalteadores, were to capture thediligencia, and gain possession of the Señorita Dolores,—as also of her sister who accompanied her; another lady as fair—some say fairer—than she; and, with all respect to the gentle Dolores, I am myself of this opinion.“Need I say that the plan so far was eminently successful?“Pues, señor! It had been arranged that I was to be one of the travelling party; which, from my office ofsacristanto the family of the Señor Don Eusebio, was easily brought about. I too was to be taken prisoner by the sham bandits!“Pues señor! There was to be a marriage—without Don Eusebio’s consent. It was in the act of being solemnised.Jesu Cristo! what a termination! There lies the bridegroom. Where is the bride? Where her sister Mercedes? Ah, señor! you should see Mercedes—una cosa muy linda—the fairest thing in all the city of Puebla!”“Excepting Dolores.”The words went forth with a purely mechanical effort. I was in no mood for playing champion to charms never to be enjoyed by me.“The robbery of thediligenciawas a ruse, then?”“Si, señor. Una engaña. A little stratagem of Don Francisco and his friends.”“I thort thar was somethin’ queery beout it,” remarked the stage-driver.“But what meant the ransom—the ten thousand dollars?” I asked.“Ay Dios, señor capitan, that was part of the plot. Don Eusebio ismuy rico—very rich indeed. For all that he is perhaps a little parsimonious. The young people knew that they would need money to commence housekeeping; and as it might be a long time, before the worthy parent would relent and grant them forgiveness, they thought it might be as well toborrowit from him in that way.Santissima! it has been a mistake—all, all! Oh, señores!youwill not betray me? If it becomes known that I was a willing actor in this sad affair, I would not only lose the lucrative situation I hold in Don Eusebio’s family, but perhaps also my gown.Dios de mi alma!”“My good padre,” I answered somewhat unmannerly, “we have no time to trouble ourselves about your future. We wish you to give some further explanation of the present. The marriage ceremony you speak of was interrupted. We know that. But why, and by whom?”“Robbers, señor—real robbers!Salteadores del camino grande!”This was an answer to both my questions. The monk on perceiving it, offered no further explanation.“Their sole motive was plunder, I suppose?”“Ah, señor, I wish I could think so!”“You believe they had some other object?”“Alas! yes. Look there, caballero!”The priest pointed to the dead body of the young man, whom he had represented as the son of theJuez de Letras. He was lying with face upwards. I could see upon his breast the sparkle of gold—the guard-chain of a watch—and inside the vest a shape showing that the watch was itself there!“This is strange,” I said. “Are you sure they were regular robbers who did this?”“Sure—sure!” replied the padre, with a melancholy shake of the head. “Too sure, caballero. ’Tis true they wore masks, and I could not see their faces. But I heard a name that told me all. I heard it as they passed out, carrying themuchachasalong with them.”“What name?” I asked, with a painful presentiment.“Ah, señor capitan; one too well known upon these roads.”“Carrasco?” I half shouted, without waiting for the padre to pronounce it.“Ay Dios, señor! You know everything! That is the name. I heard it from one of his followers, who spoke to him as they hurried off in the darkness. The robber-chief who has done this foul deed is the noted captainCarrasco! Pobres niñas!”
Astonishment still held me speechless, as it did my companion—motionless, too, as the maguey leaves, radiating around us.
Had I known the real signification of what had just transpired, I might have acted with more promptitude, and ten times the energy.
As it was, I felt like one slowly recovering from a state of torpidity—from an ill-digested dream!
“What does it all mean?” I inquired of the stage-driver, without stirring from my place.
“Darn’d if I know, cap’n; ’cept it air one band o’ robbers that’s attackted the t’other, and stripped ’em of their spoils. The conq’rors ’pear to be clean gone away, an’ hev took the weemen too! They’ve sloped off on t’other side o’ the shanty. I kin hear ’em yet, making their way up the mountain! Thar’s a path there; tho’ it ain’t so easy to climb. I reck’n they’ve gone up it, toatin up the gurls along wi’ ’em. The reezuntheyain’t still screechin’ is, they’ve got ’em eyther gagged, ortapado.”
“Tapado?”
“Yes; muffled up—thar faces covered wi’ something—to hinder them from seeing their way, or singin’ out. They only do it, when the weemen show refactory.”
What mattered it to me? What mattered, whether Dolores Villa-Señor was the wife of one robber, or the mistress of another? Why should I care now? She could never be mine!
I stepped out from among the leaves—leisurely, as one who has no motive for making haste. There was a cold pain at my heart; a callous indifference to the fate of her who had caused it. She was welcome to go higher—to the summit of the mountain she had selected as the scene of her nuptials.
It was Ixticihuatl on whose slope we stood. The “White Sister” could be seen through the clear starlight above, reposing in spotless vestments. How different from the robe of Dolores!
“Let her go!” was my unchivalric reflection. “She has made her own bed: let her lie upon it!”
It was not for the purpose of pursuing—at all events not with any thought of rescuing her—that I placed the call to my lips, and sounded the signal for my men.
In less than five minutes the “Rifles” were around me—their green jackets distinguishable under the brilliant beams of the moon—that on the instant sailed suddenly into sight.
On hearing the shots, and other sounds of strife, they had commenced moving up the mountain-path. Hence the promptness of their appearance.
Selecting half a dozen of them, I stepped straight into the doorway of the house. We entered without opposition—groping our way through the saguan.
Inside all was darkness; though we could tell that the place was still tenanted,—by the groans that proceeded from the adjacent chamber.
A light was struck; and we commenced exploring the apartments. In the dining-room there was no one—a banquet spread—but without guest to partake of it!
We turned into thesala grande—from whence proceeded the lugubrious sounds.
The scene—so late one of merriment—was now a spectacle of death!
Two men were lying along the floor. One might have been supposed asleep: as he lay quite silent. But a red rivulet, trickling from its source underneath him, and terminating on the tiles in a pool of blood—told that it was the silence of death.
The other, also surrounded by seams of smoking gore, still lived and moved. It was he who was making moan.
On stooping over him, I recognised the features of Francisco Moreno. They were still handsome, though terribly distorted by his struggle, as I supposed, with death.
It was no use asking an explanation from him. I saw that he did not know me!
There was a thought in my mind at the moment—an unsanctified thought. A rival had been removed from my path. Francisco Moreno was no longer in my way!
But it could not matter now. The relief had come too late!
“Hilloa, what’s this?” exclaimed one of the men, poking his rifle under thebanquette, and pressing it against what appeared a large bundle done up in Kentucky jeans. “By the Almighty, it’s a monk!”
“You’re right, caballero,” answered a voice, from under the envelope of grey-blue serge, which, on closer inspection, proved to be the gown of a Franciscan friar.
“A monk I am—at your service, caballeros.Sangre de Crista! It’s the merest, accident that I’m a living one. O, señores; I perceive that you arehombres buenos; and that theladroneshave retreated at your approach. Say that they are gone; and that I need have no further fear?”
“Two on ’em haint gone fur,” replied the stage-driver; “thar they lie—right afore yur eyes, Padre Cornaga.”
“Ah! you know me, good sir?Santissima, it’s the driver of thediligencia—the worthy Don Samuel Bruno! What!theserobbers?Por Dios, no! They are gentlemen!”
“A queery kind o’ gentlemen, I reckin’.”
“’Tis true as I say it, Señor Don Samuel.Caballeros—hombres honestos—both these unfortunate young men.Ay de mi!” added the monk, stooping down over one of the prostrate forms. “This is the son of ourJuez de Letras(judge of the Criminal court). Many a robber have I shrived after sentence passed by his honoured father. And this,” he continued, turning to Francisco, “Ah! señores, this is the bridegroom himself—asesinado—in the presence of his bride, and under the sacred shadow of the altar, that should have protected him from anything!Pobre Dolores! Pobre Dolores!”
“It is the name of a lady. How camesheto be here? You say these men are not robbers—what are they?”
“Oh, señor capitan!—for I perceive you are the chief—it is a strange story. Shall I tell it to you?”
“As you please about that. I came here to capture a gang ofladrones; or kill them, if need be. I only want to know which are the thieves, and which the honest men. There does not appear to be any great difference between them?”
“O caballero! why should you say that? Surely you do not mistake the honourable capitan Moreno for asalteador? A worthy young gentleman who but ten minutes ago was standing up to be wedded to one of the fairest and most Christian ladies in our good city of Puebla—the daughter of Don Eusebio—”
“Villa-Señor. I know all that. But how came it to pass? Why was the ceremony here? Why not in her father’s house?”
“You astonish me, señor! What can you know?”
“Never mind what. Tell me, I entreat—I command you—how it is that this marriage—interrupted as I perceive it has been—was taking place here—among the mountains?”
“Señor capitan; you are welcome to know all. Alas! there is now no reason for keeping the scheme concealed.”
“A scheme! There was a scheme?”
“Si, señor! It was contrived between the young people themselves. Don Eusebio was against their being united—so much, that to prevent it he was taking his daughter to a convent—that of La Concepcion, in the capital; which I may be permitted to say to you, a stranger, is the most fashionable of our nunneries. Pobre Dolores! Can you blame her for using means to escape from such a fate? Even I, areligio, do not scruple to say it was wrong. To think of immuring such a fair creature within the dull walls of a cloister!”
“I acknowledge to having been in the confidence of theamantes; and even assisted them to contrive their little scheme; which, alas! has proved so unsuccessful. Ah, worse than that: since it has brought ruin to all engaged in it!”
“What was it?” I asked, impatiently, having but slight sympathy with the regrets of the priest.
“Well, señor, it was this. The gallant youth whom you see there—alas, I fear the victim of his gallantry—with half a dozen of his friends, disguised assalteadores, were to capture thediligencia, and gain possession of the Señorita Dolores,—as also of her sister who accompanied her; another lady as fair—some say fairer—than she; and, with all respect to the gentle Dolores, I am myself of this opinion.
“Need I say that the plan so far was eminently successful?
“Pues, señor! It had been arranged that I was to be one of the travelling party; which, from my office ofsacristanto the family of the Señor Don Eusebio, was easily brought about. I too was to be taken prisoner by the sham bandits!
“Pues señor! There was to be a marriage—without Don Eusebio’s consent. It was in the act of being solemnised.Jesu Cristo! what a termination! There lies the bridegroom. Where is the bride? Where her sister Mercedes? Ah, señor! you should see Mercedes—una cosa muy linda—the fairest thing in all the city of Puebla!”
“Excepting Dolores.”
The words went forth with a purely mechanical effort. I was in no mood for playing champion to charms never to be enjoyed by me.
“The robbery of thediligenciawas a ruse, then?”
“Si, señor. Una engaña. A little stratagem of Don Francisco and his friends.”
“I thort thar was somethin’ queery beout it,” remarked the stage-driver.
“But what meant the ransom—the ten thousand dollars?” I asked.
“Ay Dios, señor capitan, that was part of the plot. Don Eusebio ismuy rico—very rich indeed. For all that he is perhaps a little parsimonious. The young people knew that they would need money to commence housekeeping; and as it might be a long time, before the worthy parent would relent and grant them forgiveness, they thought it might be as well toborrowit from him in that way.Santissima! it has been a mistake—all, all! Oh, señores!youwill not betray me? If it becomes known that I was a willing actor in this sad affair, I would not only lose the lucrative situation I hold in Don Eusebio’s family, but perhaps also my gown.Dios de mi alma!”
“My good padre,” I answered somewhat unmannerly, “we have no time to trouble ourselves about your future. We wish you to give some further explanation of the present. The marriage ceremony you speak of was interrupted. We know that. But why, and by whom?”
“Robbers, señor—real robbers!Salteadores del camino grande!”
This was an answer to both my questions. The monk on perceiving it, offered no further explanation.
“Their sole motive was plunder, I suppose?”
“Ah, señor, I wish I could think so!”
“You believe they had some other object?”
“Alas! yes. Look there, caballero!”
The priest pointed to the dead body of the young man, whom he had represented as the son of theJuez de Letras. He was lying with face upwards. I could see upon his breast the sparkle of gold—the guard-chain of a watch—and inside the vest a shape showing that the watch was itself there!
“This is strange,” I said. “Are you sure they were regular robbers who did this?”
“Sure—sure!” replied the padre, with a melancholy shake of the head. “Too sure, caballero. ’Tis true they wore masks, and I could not see their faces. But I heard a name that told me all. I heard it as they passed out, carrying themuchachasalong with them.”
“What name?” I asked, with a painful presentiment.
“Ah, señor capitan; one too well known upon these roads.”
“Carrasco?” I half shouted, without waiting for the padre to pronounce it.
“Ay Dios, señor! You know everything! That is the name. I heard it from one of his followers, who spoke to him as they hurried off in the darkness. The robber-chief who has done this foul deed is the noted captainCarrasco! Pobres niñas!”
Chapter Thirty Five.Sad but Sweet.I waited for no further explanation on the part of the Franciscan.I fancied I now understood thesituation, as well as he—perhaps better.With the thought of Dolores in the keeping of common brigands, I should have been, if not content, certainly less tortured. It was a different thing to think of her in the keeping ofTorreano Carrasco!Vividly flashed before me the taunting in the Cathedral—the scenes in the “Street of the Sparrows.”“Make ready, men! Look to your rifles and revolvers! Sergeant! form in single file, for a march up the mountain-path!”As he of the triple chevron hastened to execute the order, I turned towards Francisco Moreno.With an indescribable emotion, I bent down over the wounded man.At a glance I could see that he had been badly abused.In addition to several stabs from sword or poignard, the bullet of anescopettehad traversed his left thigh—the purple spot appearing right over the femoral artery!I had myself received just such a shot at the storming of Chapultepec—creasing, but, fortunately, without cutting the vein; and I knew, that if this had been opened in the thigh of Francisco Moreno it was his life-blood I saw upon the floor.Its quantity, and the deathlike paleness of his face, were points for a sad prognosis.In a double sense the spectacle gave me pain. In the finely-chiselled features—more perfect in their pallor—I saw that which had deprived me of Dolores Villa-Señor. No wonder she loved him!But he was going from this world, and my jealousy should go with him.It went at once, hastened by thoughts of Carrasco; and my first friendship for Francisco Moreno was restored in all its strength.I looked around the room. There was no furniture, except such as appeared to have been transported thither for the occasion. I stepped into a small chamber adjoining. In this I discovered acatre, or camp-bedstead of leather, stretched upon trestles. Some shawls, scarfs, and other articles of female apparel thrown over it, told of its intended occupancy. It was to have been thebridal bed!I had the bridegroom placed upon it; to receive the embrace, not of Dolores, but Death!After a cursory examination of his wounds, I conceived a more hopeful opinion of them. The haemorrhage had been profuse. Still the main artery did not appear to be touched.He was feeble as a child; and stood in need of some restorative.I could think only of that which, under circumstances strangely analogous, had given support to myself—a draught ofCatalan. My flask was full ofrefino—the best that could be obtained in the Capital.I placed it between his lips; and poured down a portion of its contents.The effect was such as I anticipated—drawing from my own remembrance. The spirit passed immediately through his frame—filling his veins as with fresh blood.He soon became conscious: he recognised me.“Ah, señor!” said he, looking gratefully in my face, “It is you—you who are doing me this kindness! Oh! tell me, where is she—Dolores—my own Dolores—my bride—my wife? Ah—no—she was not yet that? But where—where—”“Do not disquiet yourself about her,” I said, with a bitterness that even his sufferings could not hinder me from showing. “No doubt she can take care of herself.”“But where is she? O señor! tell me where!”“Compose yourself, Don Francisco. The lady cannot yet be far off. I fancy I shall be able to overtake the scoundrels who have carried her away.”“They have carried her away? O God! carried away, by him—by him!”“By whom?”It was an idle interrogatory. I knew without asking. There was a voice still ringing in my ears—a voice I had distinguished through the din of the strife, and which even then I fancied having heard before. I now knew it was no fancy. The friar had convinced me of that.“That wretch, Carrasco!” replied the wounded man; “I am sure it was he. I recognised him despite the crape mask. Lola, Lola! you are lost! And still moreMercedes! pobre Mercedes!”I did not press for an explanation of this speech, that sounded so ambiguously strange. I only said in reply:“Señor Moreno, do not excite yourself. Leave the matter in my hands. My duty compels me to use every effort in recovering these ladies, and punishing the vile caitiffs who have carried them off. Have no fear about my doing what I can. If fate wills it,yourDolores shall be restored to you.”“Thanks, thanks, señor! I feel assured you will do what can be done. If not forDolores, you should for the sake of her sister.”“Her sister! What mean you by that speech, captain Moreno?”“Ah, caballero! if you but knew how she loves you!”“Lovesme!”“Ay. It was in the hope of seeing you, that she consented to assist in a stratagem, of which I need not tell you now. It was to end by our going on to the Capital; where, since the storming of Chapultepec, she knew you have been residing. She heard of your gallant behaviour in that sanguinary action, and of the dangerous wounds you received. You cannot guess how she grieved for you—despite her chagrin.Pobre Mercedes!”“Mercedes—grieved—chagrin! You mystify me.”“Ah, señor—your conduct mystified her. Ay more: it half broke her heart.”“Francisco Moreno! for heaven’s sake explain yourself! What does all this mean—aboutMercedes? Pray tell me!”“I can tell you little, but what should be known to yourself.Pobre niña! She had made me herconfidant,—having long been mine in my correspondence with Lola. O, señor! you have been kind to me. You are doubly so now. But why have you behaved so to Mercedes? Though I may never rise from this couch, I cannot help telling you it was dishonourable,—aycruel!”“On what occasion, may I ask, has this cruelty occurred?”“You are mocking me,amigo? You must remember it. She gave you an appointment in the Alameda; and though you came, and she saw you, you went away without waiting to speak to her. After that slight she never saw you again! To win a woman’s heart, and thus trifle with it! Was it not cruel? I ask, was it not cruel?”An overpowering surprise hindered me from making reply. There was something more to account for my remaining silent. Through the darkness long shrouding my soul, I discerned the dawning of day.“You cannot have forgotten the occasion?” continued the wounded man, still speaking reproachfully, “I myself have reason to remember it: since it brought me a message from Lola—the sweetest ever received from myquerida. It was a written promise to be mine; a vow registereden papel: that sooner than enter the convent she would consent—huyar—huyar. You know what that means?”Though I well understood the significance of the phrase, I was not in a state of mind to answer the interrogatory. I had one of my own to put—to me of far more importance.“You received your letter through the window of a carriage? Was it not the writer herself who delivered it?”“Por Dios, no! Thebilletitayou speak of was fromDolores. She who gave it me wasMercedes!”I felt like folding Francisco Moreno in my friendliest embrace. I could have stayed by his bedside to nurse him, or, what was then more likely, to close his eyelids in death!I could have canonised him for the words he had spoken. To me they had imparted new life—along with a determination, that soon absorbed every impulse of my soul.I need not tell what it was. In less time than it would take to declare it, I was scaling the steeps of Ixticihuatl in search of my lost love—once more,Mercedes!
I waited for no further explanation on the part of the Franciscan.
I fancied I now understood thesituation, as well as he—perhaps better.
With the thought of Dolores in the keeping of common brigands, I should have been, if not content, certainly less tortured. It was a different thing to think of her in the keeping ofTorreano Carrasco!
Vividly flashed before me the taunting in the Cathedral—the scenes in the “Street of the Sparrows.”
“Make ready, men! Look to your rifles and revolvers! Sergeant! form in single file, for a march up the mountain-path!”
As he of the triple chevron hastened to execute the order, I turned towards Francisco Moreno.
With an indescribable emotion, I bent down over the wounded man.
At a glance I could see that he had been badly abused.
In addition to several stabs from sword or poignard, the bullet of anescopettehad traversed his left thigh—the purple spot appearing right over the femoral artery!
I had myself received just such a shot at the storming of Chapultepec—creasing, but, fortunately, without cutting the vein; and I knew, that if this had been opened in the thigh of Francisco Moreno it was his life-blood I saw upon the floor.
Its quantity, and the deathlike paleness of his face, were points for a sad prognosis.
In a double sense the spectacle gave me pain. In the finely-chiselled features—more perfect in their pallor—I saw that which had deprived me of Dolores Villa-Señor. No wonder she loved him!
But he was going from this world, and my jealousy should go with him.
It went at once, hastened by thoughts of Carrasco; and my first friendship for Francisco Moreno was restored in all its strength.
I looked around the room. There was no furniture, except such as appeared to have been transported thither for the occasion. I stepped into a small chamber adjoining. In this I discovered acatre, or camp-bedstead of leather, stretched upon trestles. Some shawls, scarfs, and other articles of female apparel thrown over it, told of its intended occupancy. It was to have been thebridal bed!
I had the bridegroom placed upon it; to receive the embrace, not of Dolores, but Death!
After a cursory examination of his wounds, I conceived a more hopeful opinion of them. The haemorrhage had been profuse. Still the main artery did not appear to be touched.
He was feeble as a child; and stood in need of some restorative.
I could think only of that which, under circumstances strangely analogous, had given support to myself—a draught ofCatalan. My flask was full ofrefino—the best that could be obtained in the Capital.
I placed it between his lips; and poured down a portion of its contents.
The effect was such as I anticipated—drawing from my own remembrance. The spirit passed immediately through his frame—filling his veins as with fresh blood.
He soon became conscious: he recognised me.
“Ah, señor!” said he, looking gratefully in my face, “It is you—you who are doing me this kindness! Oh! tell me, where is she—Dolores—my own Dolores—my bride—my wife? Ah—no—she was not yet that? But where—where—”
“Do not disquiet yourself about her,” I said, with a bitterness that even his sufferings could not hinder me from showing. “No doubt she can take care of herself.”
“But where is she? O señor! tell me where!”
“Compose yourself, Don Francisco. The lady cannot yet be far off. I fancy I shall be able to overtake the scoundrels who have carried her away.”
“They have carried her away? O God! carried away, by him—by him!”
“By whom?”
It was an idle interrogatory. I knew without asking. There was a voice still ringing in my ears—a voice I had distinguished through the din of the strife, and which even then I fancied having heard before. I now knew it was no fancy. The friar had convinced me of that.
“That wretch, Carrasco!” replied the wounded man; “I am sure it was he. I recognised him despite the crape mask. Lola, Lola! you are lost! And still moreMercedes! pobre Mercedes!”
I did not press for an explanation of this speech, that sounded so ambiguously strange. I only said in reply:
“Señor Moreno, do not excite yourself. Leave the matter in my hands. My duty compels me to use every effort in recovering these ladies, and punishing the vile caitiffs who have carried them off. Have no fear about my doing what I can. If fate wills it,yourDolores shall be restored to you.”
“Thanks, thanks, señor! I feel assured you will do what can be done. If not forDolores, you should for the sake of her sister.”
“Her sister! What mean you by that speech, captain Moreno?”
“Ah, caballero! if you but knew how she loves you!”
“Lovesme!”
“Ay. It was in the hope of seeing you, that she consented to assist in a stratagem, of which I need not tell you now. It was to end by our going on to the Capital; where, since the storming of Chapultepec, she knew you have been residing. She heard of your gallant behaviour in that sanguinary action, and of the dangerous wounds you received. You cannot guess how she grieved for you—despite her chagrin.Pobre Mercedes!”
“Mercedes—grieved—chagrin! You mystify me.”
“Ah, señor—your conduct mystified her. Ay more: it half broke her heart.”
“Francisco Moreno! for heaven’s sake explain yourself! What does all this mean—aboutMercedes? Pray tell me!”
“I can tell you little, but what should be known to yourself.Pobre niña! She had made me herconfidant,—having long been mine in my correspondence with Lola. O, señor! you have been kind to me. You are doubly so now. But why have you behaved so to Mercedes? Though I may never rise from this couch, I cannot help telling you it was dishonourable,—aycruel!”
“On what occasion, may I ask, has this cruelty occurred?”
“You are mocking me,amigo? You must remember it. She gave you an appointment in the Alameda; and though you came, and she saw you, you went away without waiting to speak to her. After that slight she never saw you again! To win a woman’s heart, and thus trifle with it! Was it not cruel? I ask, was it not cruel?”
An overpowering surprise hindered me from making reply. There was something more to account for my remaining silent. Through the darkness long shrouding my soul, I discerned the dawning of day.
“You cannot have forgotten the occasion?” continued the wounded man, still speaking reproachfully, “I myself have reason to remember it: since it brought me a message from Lola—the sweetest ever received from myquerida. It was a written promise to be mine; a vow registereden papel: that sooner than enter the convent she would consent—huyar—huyar. You know what that means?”
Though I well understood the significance of the phrase, I was not in a state of mind to answer the interrogatory. I had one of my own to put—to me of far more importance.
“You received your letter through the window of a carriage? Was it not the writer herself who delivered it?”
“Por Dios, no! Thebilletitayou speak of was fromDolores. She who gave it me wasMercedes!”
I felt like folding Francisco Moreno in my friendliest embrace. I could have stayed by his bedside to nurse him, or, what was then more likely, to close his eyelids in death!
I could have canonised him for the words he had spoken. To me they had imparted new life—along with a determination, that soon absorbed every impulse of my soul.
I need not tell what it was. In less time than it would take to declare it, I was scaling the steeps of Ixticihuatl in search of my lost love—once more,Mercedes!
Chapter Thirty Six.The Bandits at Bay.I went not without a guide, else I might have climbed Ixticihuatl in vain.The stage-driver still acted in this capacity. By good fortune he had made the ascent before—on some speculative expedition during a recess, when the ribbons were out of his hands; and he knew of a second “robbers’ nest” still higher up than that chosen as the scene of the nuptials.It was a lone log hut, the residence of a reputed charcoal burner; but the situation was too high to be convenient for charcoal burning; and, in Sam Brown’s opinion, the “carbonero” was in reality abandolero.There was just a chance we might find Carrasco at this hut; if not, somewhere else among the mountains.How different were the feelings with which I now prosecuted the search. No longer indifferent about the escape of the robbers, I was determined on tracking them up, if I should have to traverse every defile in the Cordillera, or climb to the summit of Popocatepec!Like a second Ordaz, I could have plunged into its fiery crater to rescue the captive, who but a short hour before might have leaped into it, without my stretching forth a hand to restrain her!It was all changed now. The wound, that had been bleeding for six long months, had become suddenly cicatrised. A load seemed lifted from my heart.I felt light and lithe as I sprang up the acclivity. No Alpine climber could have equalled me in energy: for never went one with such a purpose to stimulate his strength. It were a trite triumph to scale the summit of the Matterhorn, compared with that of rescuing Mercedes Villa-Señor!The path was not only difficult, but perilous. It would have been so in the day. At night both the danger and difficulty were doubled. It was all up hill—steep as the side of a cairn, and with footing not much surer. The surface was corrugated with lava runs, that had been liquid some centuries before—now congealed into scoriae that resembled the slag cast forth from a furnace.It was not treeless; but sparsely covered with cactus, grass-like tufts ofzamia, and stunted fir-trees. Here and there were patches bare and coal-black—as if the lava had but recently cooled, after being vomited forth from thevolcanabove.Two things greatly delayed us: the darkness, and the necessity of making a noiseless advance. The slightest sound—a word spoken aloud—might frustrate the purpose of our pursuit.I had given strict orders for no one to speak—even in whispers. In these alone the guide conversed, as he gave his directions. We knew that our voices would be carried upward to the ears of the brigands, while there was not much likelihood of our hearing theirs.That they were above us we had little doubt; though we neither heard nor saw them. We were assured by the nature of the ground. The path carried us along the combing of a ridge—on either side flanked by a stupendous precipice. It was but the continuation of the twin cliffs that hemmed in the hacienda below. We saw no side track, that the robbers could have taken. We were certain we had them before us.Our search promised fair for success. The robbers could have no suspicion that they were being followed—least of all by a score of American riflemen. The only enemy they might deem near had been left helpless below.Silently we toiled on, stepping as lightly as possible over the loose lava.At intervals we stopped to listen. We fancied we could hear footsteps and the murmuring of men. We were not sure about either. The torrent tearing along the bottom of the “barranca” sent its “sough” into our ears—filling them to the exclusion of almost every other sound.Still the ravishers could not be far ahead of us. Not suspecting pursuit, they would have no motive for moving in a hurry; though Carrasco might have one—Mercedes!The horrid thought chilled the blood within my veins, causing me to stride on with nervous impatience.Though the place we were making for was scarce a mile from that we had left, nearly two hours elapsed before we came in sight of it.We did so at length.What we saw was a rude parallelopipedon projected in dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. It was a cabin constructed of hewn tree trunks; very similar to that of the “States,” only with a flat terraced roof instead of the slanting cover of “clap-boards.”It stood upon the very edge of the abyss, its back being flush with the escarpment of the cliff! Only one aperture appeared on the side towards us—a narrow doorway, with a door upon it; which, as we came within sight, appeared to be shut.Presently it was opened from the inside—letting out a stream of light that scattered over the cleared track in front. On this we could distinguish the figures of several men, hitherto unseen under the shadow of the walls. The logs were in juxta-position, as if carefully “chinked” to keep out the cold: for the dwelling was situated on the extreme limits of thetierra fria.While the door remained open we could see a number of men moving inside, and in their midst the loosely dressed form of a woman. A white scarf floated among the darker drapery of cloaks andjaquetas.The robbers appeared to have just arrived. We knew they could not have been there long. Those inside the hut were hurrying to and fro—some carrying torches that appeared recently ignited.The party without had commenced kindling a fire, that soon blazed up, throwing its red glare athwart the grey pine-trees; a grove of which growing near the edge of the cliff flung its sable shadow over the dwelling.The bivouackers were the inferior men of the band; for whom there was no accommodation inside.We could bear voices, both inside and out; but the harsh hissing of the cascade, both above and below, hindered us from making anything of what was said.We needed no words to give us an explanation of what we saw. It was intelligible without this. We had tracked the bandits to their den. They were in it—their victims along with them!For the first time since starting on the uphill pursuit, we felt puzzled as to how we should act. My own impulses prompted me to spring forward, and bring the affair to an instant termination.As far as regarded victory or defeat, I had no fear about the issue. Although Carrasco’s party and ours were nearly equal in numbers, I knew that in real strength—as in courage and equipment—we were as two to their one.But even reversing the order, my men would not have shied from the contest; not if the enemy had been ten to our one.For myself—with the motive I had, to move, and madden me,—odds never entered my thoughts.As it was, we simply considered ourselves in the presence ofvermin, that we could crush beneath the heels of our boots.With such feeling of contempt for our antagonists, the impulse was to set upon them at once. My men only waited for the word.I was prevented from giving it by a reflection. In destroying the vermin the game might be injured along with it? Mercedes and her sister—I thought only of Mercedes—might be wounded, perhaps killed in the conflict?This fear was sufficient to restrain us. My comrades intuitively shared it with me; and I had no difficulty in keeping them in check.For some time we stayed, crouching behind the trees, where we had first come within sight of the cabin.Who could say what was best to be done? This was the inquiry that passed mechanically among us.The sergeant had conceived an idea. He was an old veteran of the Texan wars—had served in the campaigns of Houston—and obtained a thorough knowledge of the Mexican character.“Best way, capten,” said he, whispering close to my ear, “would be to besiege ’em, and make ’em come to tarms.”“How?”“Surround the place. It’s half surrounded already. We’ve only got to ‘filade’ the other half, and they’ll be complete caged.”There was sense in the sergeant’s suggestion. I should at once have acceded to it, but for the thought—I need not say what. Time was the enemy I most dreaded. Just then an hour seemed eternity!“No,” I rejoined, “we must attack them at once. If we leave them undisturbed till the morning, then our pursuit would be to no purpose. These ladies—”“I kin understan you, capten. I didn’t mean to leave it till the mornin’. Let’s pounce upon ’em now—them that’s outside yonder! Lick that lot up first, and then summon the others to surrender. Seein’ their comrades taken, and theirselves surrounded—with ne’er a chance of escapin’—they’ll be only too glad to give up the weemen—ay, without rufflin’ a hair o’ their heads. Besides,” continued he, pointing to the summit of Ixticihuatl, seen distinctly from the spot, “talkin’ o’ mornin’, look yonder, capten!”I directed my glance upwards. A roseate tint appeared upon the snow. It was the first kiss of the Aurora. Though still night where we lay, there were signs of morn upon the summit of the mountain. In less than twenty minutes there would be daylight around us!The thought decided me to act according to the suggestion of the sergeant.My commands, imparted in a low tone to the comrades that crouched behind me, were followed by a quick rush across the open ground, and the almost instantaneous capture of the fellows around the fire.It might have been done without alarming their comrades inside, but for one of them discharging his carbine as we came up.For him it proved an imprudent act. It was the last shot he ever fired. It hurt no one; but he himself dropped dead the instant after, riddled by the bullets of our revolvers.The rest surrendered without further show of fight; and in a minute more were our prisoners.The shots, of course, carried the surprise inside; but instead of the door being thrown open, we saw that it was quickly barricaded!We discovered this on attempting to force it open, and also that it had been contrived with an eye to such contingency!While occupied in front of it we were saluted with a volley from above; while the besieged brigands were seen over the parapet of the azotea.Before we could answer the fire, their heads were “ducked;” and we were compelled to stand with guns undischarged, or send our shots idly into the air.I felt that we were foiled. My comrades shared the thought. A rifleman lay, wounded, among our feet. A second had dropped upon his knees; while three or four others had been scathed by scattering shots.We stood in a position completely exposed. To hack down the door would take time. Before it could be done, we might look for a second discharge from the housetop, with an uneven chance of returning it: for we now saw that the parapet wascrenelled; rudely, it is true, but sufficient for the protection of its defenders.We felt loth to retreat. There seemed a chance to shelter ourselves close to the wall; and some, yielding to instinct, had done so. But several heavy blocks of stone were hurled down from above—proving the position untenable.There was no help for it but retreat to the cover of the trees; and this we did, taking our crippled comrades along with us.We had lost but little time. The interval of indecision occupied only a few seconds; and, before the bandits had got their carbines ready for a fresh fusilade, we were safely sheltered against such “sharpshooters” as they.
I went not without a guide, else I might have climbed Ixticihuatl in vain.
The stage-driver still acted in this capacity. By good fortune he had made the ascent before—on some speculative expedition during a recess, when the ribbons were out of his hands; and he knew of a second “robbers’ nest” still higher up than that chosen as the scene of the nuptials.
It was a lone log hut, the residence of a reputed charcoal burner; but the situation was too high to be convenient for charcoal burning; and, in Sam Brown’s opinion, the “carbonero” was in reality abandolero.
There was just a chance we might find Carrasco at this hut; if not, somewhere else among the mountains.
How different were the feelings with which I now prosecuted the search. No longer indifferent about the escape of the robbers, I was determined on tracking them up, if I should have to traverse every defile in the Cordillera, or climb to the summit of Popocatepec!
Like a second Ordaz, I could have plunged into its fiery crater to rescue the captive, who but a short hour before might have leaped into it, without my stretching forth a hand to restrain her!
It was all changed now. The wound, that had been bleeding for six long months, had become suddenly cicatrised. A load seemed lifted from my heart.
I felt light and lithe as I sprang up the acclivity. No Alpine climber could have equalled me in energy: for never went one with such a purpose to stimulate his strength. It were a trite triumph to scale the summit of the Matterhorn, compared with that of rescuing Mercedes Villa-Señor!
The path was not only difficult, but perilous. It would have been so in the day. At night both the danger and difficulty were doubled. It was all up hill—steep as the side of a cairn, and with footing not much surer. The surface was corrugated with lava runs, that had been liquid some centuries before—now congealed into scoriae that resembled the slag cast forth from a furnace.
It was not treeless; but sparsely covered with cactus, grass-like tufts ofzamia, and stunted fir-trees. Here and there were patches bare and coal-black—as if the lava had but recently cooled, after being vomited forth from thevolcanabove.
Two things greatly delayed us: the darkness, and the necessity of making a noiseless advance. The slightest sound—a word spoken aloud—might frustrate the purpose of our pursuit.
I had given strict orders for no one to speak—even in whispers. In these alone the guide conversed, as he gave his directions. We knew that our voices would be carried upward to the ears of the brigands, while there was not much likelihood of our hearing theirs.
That they were above us we had little doubt; though we neither heard nor saw them. We were assured by the nature of the ground. The path carried us along the combing of a ridge—on either side flanked by a stupendous precipice. It was but the continuation of the twin cliffs that hemmed in the hacienda below. We saw no side track, that the robbers could have taken. We were certain we had them before us.
Our search promised fair for success. The robbers could have no suspicion that they were being followed—least of all by a score of American riflemen. The only enemy they might deem near had been left helpless below.
Silently we toiled on, stepping as lightly as possible over the loose lava.
At intervals we stopped to listen. We fancied we could hear footsteps and the murmuring of men. We were not sure about either. The torrent tearing along the bottom of the “barranca” sent its “sough” into our ears—filling them to the exclusion of almost every other sound.
Still the ravishers could not be far ahead of us. Not suspecting pursuit, they would have no motive for moving in a hurry; though Carrasco might have one—Mercedes!
The horrid thought chilled the blood within my veins, causing me to stride on with nervous impatience.
Though the place we were making for was scarce a mile from that we had left, nearly two hours elapsed before we came in sight of it.
We did so at length.
What we saw was a rude parallelopipedon projected in dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. It was a cabin constructed of hewn tree trunks; very similar to that of the “States,” only with a flat terraced roof instead of the slanting cover of “clap-boards.”
It stood upon the very edge of the abyss, its back being flush with the escarpment of the cliff! Only one aperture appeared on the side towards us—a narrow doorway, with a door upon it; which, as we came within sight, appeared to be shut.
Presently it was opened from the inside—letting out a stream of light that scattered over the cleared track in front. On this we could distinguish the figures of several men, hitherto unseen under the shadow of the walls. The logs were in juxta-position, as if carefully “chinked” to keep out the cold: for the dwelling was situated on the extreme limits of thetierra fria.
While the door remained open we could see a number of men moving inside, and in their midst the loosely dressed form of a woman. A white scarf floated among the darker drapery of cloaks andjaquetas.
The robbers appeared to have just arrived. We knew they could not have been there long. Those inside the hut were hurrying to and fro—some carrying torches that appeared recently ignited.
The party without had commenced kindling a fire, that soon blazed up, throwing its red glare athwart the grey pine-trees; a grove of which growing near the edge of the cliff flung its sable shadow over the dwelling.
The bivouackers were the inferior men of the band; for whom there was no accommodation inside.
We could bear voices, both inside and out; but the harsh hissing of the cascade, both above and below, hindered us from making anything of what was said.
We needed no words to give us an explanation of what we saw. It was intelligible without this. We had tracked the bandits to their den. They were in it—their victims along with them!
For the first time since starting on the uphill pursuit, we felt puzzled as to how we should act. My own impulses prompted me to spring forward, and bring the affair to an instant termination.
As far as regarded victory or defeat, I had no fear about the issue. Although Carrasco’s party and ours were nearly equal in numbers, I knew that in real strength—as in courage and equipment—we were as two to their one.
But even reversing the order, my men would not have shied from the contest; not if the enemy had been ten to our one.
For myself—with the motive I had, to move, and madden me,—odds never entered my thoughts.
As it was, we simply considered ourselves in the presence ofvermin, that we could crush beneath the heels of our boots.
With such feeling of contempt for our antagonists, the impulse was to set upon them at once. My men only waited for the word.
I was prevented from giving it by a reflection. In destroying the vermin the game might be injured along with it? Mercedes and her sister—I thought only of Mercedes—might be wounded, perhaps killed in the conflict?
This fear was sufficient to restrain us. My comrades intuitively shared it with me; and I had no difficulty in keeping them in check.
For some time we stayed, crouching behind the trees, where we had first come within sight of the cabin.
Who could say what was best to be done? This was the inquiry that passed mechanically among us.
The sergeant had conceived an idea. He was an old veteran of the Texan wars—had served in the campaigns of Houston—and obtained a thorough knowledge of the Mexican character.
“Best way, capten,” said he, whispering close to my ear, “would be to besiege ’em, and make ’em come to tarms.”
“How?”
“Surround the place. It’s half surrounded already. We’ve only got to ‘filade’ the other half, and they’ll be complete caged.”
There was sense in the sergeant’s suggestion. I should at once have acceded to it, but for the thought—I need not say what. Time was the enemy I most dreaded. Just then an hour seemed eternity!
“No,” I rejoined, “we must attack them at once. If we leave them undisturbed till the morning, then our pursuit would be to no purpose. These ladies—”
“I kin understan you, capten. I didn’t mean to leave it till the mornin’. Let’s pounce upon ’em now—them that’s outside yonder! Lick that lot up first, and then summon the others to surrender. Seein’ their comrades taken, and theirselves surrounded—with ne’er a chance of escapin’—they’ll be only too glad to give up the weemen—ay, without rufflin’ a hair o’ their heads. Besides,” continued he, pointing to the summit of Ixticihuatl, seen distinctly from the spot, “talkin’ o’ mornin’, look yonder, capten!”
I directed my glance upwards. A roseate tint appeared upon the snow. It was the first kiss of the Aurora. Though still night where we lay, there were signs of morn upon the summit of the mountain. In less than twenty minutes there would be daylight around us!
The thought decided me to act according to the suggestion of the sergeant.
My commands, imparted in a low tone to the comrades that crouched behind me, were followed by a quick rush across the open ground, and the almost instantaneous capture of the fellows around the fire.
It might have been done without alarming their comrades inside, but for one of them discharging his carbine as we came up.
For him it proved an imprudent act. It was the last shot he ever fired. It hurt no one; but he himself dropped dead the instant after, riddled by the bullets of our revolvers.
The rest surrendered without further show of fight; and in a minute more were our prisoners.
The shots, of course, carried the surprise inside; but instead of the door being thrown open, we saw that it was quickly barricaded!
We discovered this on attempting to force it open, and also that it had been contrived with an eye to such contingency!
While occupied in front of it we were saluted with a volley from above; while the besieged brigands were seen over the parapet of the azotea.
Before we could answer the fire, their heads were “ducked;” and we were compelled to stand with guns undischarged, or send our shots idly into the air.
I felt that we were foiled. My comrades shared the thought. A rifleman lay, wounded, among our feet. A second had dropped upon his knees; while three or four others had been scathed by scattering shots.
We stood in a position completely exposed. To hack down the door would take time. Before it could be done, we might look for a second discharge from the housetop, with an uneven chance of returning it: for we now saw that the parapet wascrenelled; rudely, it is true, but sufficient for the protection of its defenders.
We felt loth to retreat. There seemed a chance to shelter ourselves close to the wall; and some, yielding to instinct, had done so. But several heavy blocks of stone were hurled down from above—proving the position untenable.
There was no help for it but retreat to the cover of the trees; and this we did, taking our crippled comrades along with us.
We had lost but little time. The interval of indecision occupied only a few seconds; and, before the bandits had got their carbines ready for a fresh fusilade, we were safely sheltered against such “sharpshooters” as they.
Chapter Thirty Seven.A Scoundrel Safely Screened.Though for the time disconcerted, we had no thought of retreating. The unsuccessful assault but rendered my men more determined—besides still further embittering them against the despised foe.Fortunately the wounds received by their comrades were not mortal, though it needed not this to provoke their vengeance. The situation of the two captives—now thoroughly comprehended by every one—was sufficient to check all thoughts of retiring from the strife—even had the enemy far outnumbered us.As it was, we still believed that we had them in the trap, and it was only a question of time and strategy to bring the affair to a termination.By withdrawing to the trees we had obtained a more advantageous position. It gave us a better chance of aiming at any object on the azotea; and as the sky was each instant becoming clearer, we could distinguish the loopholes along the parapet.They were but rude holes—the ragged interstices between the logs—but good enough for the purpose for which they had evidently been left in the fabrication of the dwelling.We expected to see faces behind them, or something we might fire at. We saw nothing—not so much as a hand!The brigands had by this time discovered who were their assailants, and no doubt knew something of the skill of the American rifleman. Mistrusting it, they were keeping close—not even daring to look through the loopholes.They were not far astray in their tactics—if such they were. Not a clear spot on the parapet that was not watched with eager eyes, and fingers ready to press upon the trigger.For full five minutes did the inaction continue—five minutes that seemed fifty!To me the delay was intolerable as some slow subtle torture. I was scheming how to put an end to it, when, to my astonishment, I saw a form rising above the parapet. It was that of a tall man, whose darksilhouettebecame outlined against the lighter background of the sky.At a glance I recognisedCarrasco!I can scarcely tell what restrained me from sending a bullet through his body. Perhaps surprise at the unexpected apparition?And my followers seemed to be influenced by a like feeling; since, along their whole line, not a trigger was touched!The robber-chief must have calculated upon something of the kind, else he would not have so audaciously exposed himself.He had also made a nice reckoning of the limits to which our surprise could be trusted. The time was short enough; but before we had recovered from it, we saw a white curtain drawn hastily before him, that concealed from our sight more than half of his person!“A flag of truce!” thought we, as we lowered the muzzles of our guns.In another instant we were undeceived—so far as to its being a flag. It was the white drapery of a woman’s dress—with a woman inside it! Despite the ambiguous light of the struggling dawn, I could see who the woman was.Her appearance—quick and instantaneous—was evidently an act of compulsion—as if Carrasco had forced her into the position. I fancied I had seen his arm outstretched, as he hastily drew her in front of him.Our rifles were instantly dropped to the “trail,” and my comrades uttered a simultaneous cry of “Shame!”It was enough to challenge their indignation. A young and beautiful woman thus basely used for the shielding of a bandit’s body!Many of them shivered at the thought of the murder they had been so near committing.I experienced an emotion peculiar to myself—unknown to them—more painful than that they had been called upon to feel! since I knew the white shield to be Mercedes!There was now enough of light to enable me to distinguish her features. It needed not this. The undulating outlines of her head, neck, and shoulders, like a cameo cut against the sky—were easily identified.It was an image too firmly fixed in my memory, and too deeply engraven upon my heart, to be ever more mistaken.I had just time to see that her dress was torn, her hair tossed, and hanging like a cloud about her shoulders—just time to note that she looked wan and woe-stricken—when the voice of Carrasco, rising above the sibillation of the torrent, summoned us to a parley.“Caballeros!” he cried out, “in the darkness I have no chance to know who you are; but, from your mode of making approach, I take it you are our enemies. Furthermore, from the fact of your being armed with rifles, you should beAmericanos! Am I right?”I had not sufficiently recovered coolness to make reply. My eyes, my thoughts, were still fixed upon Mercedes.“What else should we be?” answered the stage-driver by my side, “That same we air, an’ no mistake about it.”“Why have you come here?”“To capter the cussdest cut-throat in all Mexiko: for that same ye air, Mister Capting Carrasco.”“Hola, amigo! You’ve made a mistake this time? You appear to take me for the noted Carrasco; and my people, no doubt, for a cuadrilla of salteadores? We’re nothing of the sort, I assure you. Only a band of honestpatriotas; who, loving our country, have continued to fight for it—as you know, after our grand army has seen fit to forsake the field.Por Dios; señores Americanos! You’re not the men to blame us for that? Just now we acknowledge ourselves vanquished; though still only besieged. But as we have no supplies in our castle here—you will give me credit for some candour in confessing it?—moreover, as we believe it hopeless to hold out against you, we have made up our minds to capitulate. All we ask for ourselves is an honourablecartelof surrender.”Surrender! The word fell sweet upon my ears—and for a particular reason. It promised safety for Mercedes.“Come then, caballeros!” pursued the robber-chief; “state your terms; and let me entreat you not to be too exacting!”For some seconds I refrained from making reply—partly astounded by the audacity of the robber—partly considering the answer that should be returned to him.Had it been any other man I might have talked about terms. But it was the wretch Carrasco; and just then I remembered the deception practised upon me in Puebla. I thought of Francisco Moreno lying on his death-bed below, and of my artist friend, who, in all probability, had fallen by the same hand.With the remembrance there sprang up in my mind, not only suspicion, but a fresh feeling of revenge; and by these, not prudence, was my answer inspired.“Terms!” I shouted back, in a tone of undisguised scornfulness; “We make no terms with such as you. Surrender; and then trust to such mercy as may be shown you!”“Mil demonios!” screamed the bandit, now for the first time recognising me. “Carajo! you, it is! You, my saintly friend, whose devotions I had the pleasure of witnessing, and the pain of disturbing, in the Cathedral of La Puebla! May I ask why I am honoured by this early call—in a mansion so remote from the ordinary walks of life?”“Come, Captain Carrasco,” I replied, “if such be your title. I don’t intend to lose time in talking to you. I call upon you to surrender, and at once!”“And suppose I don’t choose to take it in that way, what then?”“You need expect no mercy.”“From you, caballero, I have no idea of asking it?”“You have need, then, unless you desire to die. You have no chance of escape—not the slightest. I tell it you in all seriousness, and without thought of triumph. My men are stationed, so as to command every path that leads from the place. They are all armed with rifles and revolvers.”“Listen to reason!” I went on almost entreatingly, having now become convinced of the mistake I had made, in doing what might drive the brigand to desperation. “Give up your captives, and I promise to spare the lives both of yourself and your comrades.”“Ay, Dios! how generous you are! Ha! Ha! Ha! Is that all you can promise, noble captain?”“No—not all,” I answered, stung by the taunting speech. “Something more. If you reject the terms offered, I promise that in ten minutes from this time your soul will be in eternity, and your body hanging from the branch of yonder tree!”I pointed to one of the pines that stood conspicuous on the cliff.“What, so soon?” was the cool rejoinder. “It will take you more than ten minutes to force an entrance into this citadel of ours. Don’t mistake it for ajacalé. Though our fortress be of wood, it is stronger than you suppose, señor captain.”“We can set fire to it!”“Ah! you won’t do that. I’ve no fear of being burnt up, or smoked out, so long as I am in such goodly company.”The sneer with which the speech was accompanied goaded me to frantic rage—at the same time that it made me feel my impotence to carry out the threat I had so boastingly pronounced.“We shall not need to set the house on fire,” was my reply; “we shall get at you without that. My men are provided with axes. They are backwoodsmen, and know how to use them. It won’t take us ten minutes to break open your door.”“Open it!” interrupted the robber, “and one half of you will never live to stride across the threshold. Those who do, will be witnesses to a scene which I know, noble captain,youwon’t love to look upon.”“What scene?” I involuntarily asked, as a horrid fancy flashed across my brain.“A woman—a beautiful woman—with a poignard in her breast! By the Holy Virgin, you shall seethat!”I felt as if a dagger had been plunged into my own. I knew it was no idle vaunt. There was a terrible firmness in the tone of the brigand’s voice that told of his being in earnest.“Let me take a shot at him,” whispered the sergeant by my side. “I think I can fetch him ’ithout touchin’ the gurl.”“No—no!” I hastily answered, “Leave it to me. For your life, don’t fire—not yet!”I stood trembling—uncertain what course to pursue. I had my own rifle in hand, and was considering whether I should not risk taking a shot at the ruffian. Under other circumstances I should have been confident enough of making a sure one; but just then I felt my nerves shaking through the throes of my excited heart. It was a terrible crisis. The sinews of Tell could not have been more severely tried, as he adjusted his arrow to the string.The bandit seemed thoroughly to comprehend my hesitation.There was something fiendishly exultant in the laugh with which he followed up his last speech.“Now, señor Yankee!” he went on, without waiting for a reply. “I hope you are ready to accede to my request. If so, state your terms for our release; and remember! make them easy, or it will be impossible for us to accept them. I don’t wish to hurry you. As it’s a matter of some importance to both of us, and toheras well,”—I could see him nod towards Mercedes—“I beg you will take time to consider. Meanwhile, we shall retire, and patiently await your answer.”Saying this, he receded from the parapet—as I supposed, still staying on the azotea.The white shield was drawn back along with him: and once more Mercedes was out of sight—leaving me to fell fancies, more torturing than the sting of thetarantula.
Though for the time disconcerted, we had no thought of retreating. The unsuccessful assault but rendered my men more determined—besides still further embittering them against the despised foe.
Fortunately the wounds received by their comrades were not mortal, though it needed not this to provoke their vengeance. The situation of the two captives—now thoroughly comprehended by every one—was sufficient to check all thoughts of retiring from the strife—even had the enemy far outnumbered us.
As it was, we still believed that we had them in the trap, and it was only a question of time and strategy to bring the affair to a termination.
By withdrawing to the trees we had obtained a more advantageous position. It gave us a better chance of aiming at any object on the azotea; and as the sky was each instant becoming clearer, we could distinguish the loopholes along the parapet.
They were but rude holes—the ragged interstices between the logs—but good enough for the purpose for which they had evidently been left in the fabrication of the dwelling.
We expected to see faces behind them, or something we might fire at. We saw nothing—not so much as a hand!
The brigands had by this time discovered who were their assailants, and no doubt knew something of the skill of the American rifleman. Mistrusting it, they were keeping close—not even daring to look through the loopholes.
They were not far astray in their tactics—if such they were. Not a clear spot on the parapet that was not watched with eager eyes, and fingers ready to press upon the trigger.
For full five minutes did the inaction continue—five minutes that seemed fifty!
To me the delay was intolerable as some slow subtle torture. I was scheming how to put an end to it, when, to my astonishment, I saw a form rising above the parapet. It was that of a tall man, whose darksilhouettebecame outlined against the lighter background of the sky.
At a glance I recognisedCarrasco!
I can scarcely tell what restrained me from sending a bullet through his body. Perhaps surprise at the unexpected apparition?
And my followers seemed to be influenced by a like feeling; since, along their whole line, not a trigger was touched!
The robber-chief must have calculated upon something of the kind, else he would not have so audaciously exposed himself.
He had also made a nice reckoning of the limits to which our surprise could be trusted. The time was short enough; but before we had recovered from it, we saw a white curtain drawn hastily before him, that concealed from our sight more than half of his person!
“A flag of truce!” thought we, as we lowered the muzzles of our guns.
In another instant we were undeceived—so far as to its being a flag. It was the white drapery of a woman’s dress—with a woman inside it! Despite the ambiguous light of the struggling dawn, I could see who the woman was.
Her appearance—quick and instantaneous—was evidently an act of compulsion—as if Carrasco had forced her into the position. I fancied I had seen his arm outstretched, as he hastily drew her in front of him.
Our rifles were instantly dropped to the “trail,” and my comrades uttered a simultaneous cry of “Shame!”
It was enough to challenge their indignation. A young and beautiful woman thus basely used for the shielding of a bandit’s body!
Many of them shivered at the thought of the murder they had been so near committing.
I experienced an emotion peculiar to myself—unknown to them—more painful than that they had been called upon to feel! since I knew the white shield to be Mercedes!
There was now enough of light to enable me to distinguish her features. It needed not this. The undulating outlines of her head, neck, and shoulders, like a cameo cut against the sky—were easily identified.
It was an image too firmly fixed in my memory, and too deeply engraven upon my heart, to be ever more mistaken.
I had just time to see that her dress was torn, her hair tossed, and hanging like a cloud about her shoulders—just time to note that she looked wan and woe-stricken—when the voice of Carrasco, rising above the sibillation of the torrent, summoned us to a parley.
“Caballeros!” he cried out, “in the darkness I have no chance to know who you are; but, from your mode of making approach, I take it you are our enemies. Furthermore, from the fact of your being armed with rifles, you should beAmericanos! Am I right?”
I had not sufficiently recovered coolness to make reply. My eyes, my thoughts, were still fixed upon Mercedes.
“What else should we be?” answered the stage-driver by my side, “That same we air, an’ no mistake about it.”
“Why have you come here?”
“To capter the cussdest cut-throat in all Mexiko: for that same ye air, Mister Capting Carrasco.”
“Hola, amigo! You’ve made a mistake this time? You appear to take me for the noted Carrasco; and my people, no doubt, for a cuadrilla of salteadores? We’re nothing of the sort, I assure you. Only a band of honestpatriotas; who, loving our country, have continued to fight for it—as you know, after our grand army has seen fit to forsake the field.Por Dios; señores Americanos! You’re not the men to blame us for that? Just now we acknowledge ourselves vanquished; though still only besieged. But as we have no supplies in our castle here—you will give me credit for some candour in confessing it?—moreover, as we believe it hopeless to hold out against you, we have made up our minds to capitulate. All we ask for ourselves is an honourablecartelof surrender.”
Surrender! The word fell sweet upon my ears—and for a particular reason. It promised safety for Mercedes.
“Come then, caballeros!” pursued the robber-chief; “state your terms; and let me entreat you not to be too exacting!”
For some seconds I refrained from making reply—partly astounded by the audacity of the robber—partly considering the answer that should be returned to him.
Had it been any other man I might have talked about terms. But it was the wretch Carrasco; and just then I remembered the deception practised upon me in Puebla. I thought of Francisco Moreno lying on his death-bed below, and of my artist friend, who, in all probability, had fallen by the same hand.
With the remembrance there sprang up in my mind, not only suspicion, but a fresh feeling of revenge; and by these, not prudence, was my answer inspired.
“Terms!” I shouted back, in a tone of undisguised scornfulness; “We make no terms with such as you. Surrender; and then trust to such mercy as may be shown you!”
“Mil demonios!” screamed the bandit, now for the first time recognising me. “Carajo! you, it is! You, my saintly friend, whose devotions I had the pleasure of witnessing, and the pain of disturbing, in the Cathedral of La Puebla! May I ask why I am honoured by this early call—in a mansion so remote from the ordinary walks of life?”
“Come, Captain Carrasco,” I replied, “if such be your title. I don’t intend to lose time in talking to you. I call upon you to surrender, and at once!”
“And suppose I don’t choose to take it in that way, what then?”
“You need expect no mercy.”
“From you, caballero, I have no idea of asking it?”
“You have need, then, unless you desire to die. You have no chance of escape—not the slightest. I tell it you in all seriousness, and without thought of triumph. My men are stationed, so as to command every path that leads from the place. They are all armed with rifles and revolvers.”
“Listen to reason!” I went on almost entreatingly, having now become convinced of the mistake I had made, in doing what might drive the brigand to desperation. “Give up your captives, and I promise to spare the lives both of yourself and your comrades.”
“Ay, Dios! how generous you are! Ha! Ha! Ha! Is that all you can promise, noble captain?”
“No—not all,” I answered, stung by the taunting speech. “Something more. If you reject the terms offered, I promise that in ten minutes from this time your soul will be in eternity, and your body hanging from the branch of yonder tree!”
I pointed to one of the pines that stood conspicuous on the cliff.
“What, so soon?” was the cool rejoinder. “It will take you more than ten minutes to force an entrance into this citadel of ours. Don’t mistake it for ajacalé. Though our fortress be of wood, it is stronger than you suppose, señor captain.”
“We can set fire to it!”
“Ah! you won’t do that. I’ve no fear of being burnt up, or smoked out, so long as I am in such goodly company.”
The sneer with which the speech was accompanied goaded me to frantic rage—at the same time that it made me feel my impotence to carry out the threat I had so boastingly pronounced.
“We shall not need to set the house on fire,” was my reply; “we shall get at you without that. My men are provided with axes. They are backwoodsmen, and know how to use them. It won’t take us ten minutes to break open your door.”
“Open it!” interrupted the robber, “and one half of you will never live to stride across the threshold. Those who do, will be witnesses to a scene which I know, noble captain,youwon’t love to look upon.”
“What scene?” I involuntarily asked, as a horrid fancy flashed across my brain.
“A woman—a beautiful woman—with a poignard in her breast! By the Holy Virgin, you shall seethat!”
I felt as if a dagger had been plunged into my own. I knew it was no idle vaunt. There was a terrible firmness in the tone of the brigand’s voice that told of his being in earnest.
“Let me take a shot at him,” whispered the sergeant by my side. “I think I can fetch him ’ithout touchin’ the gurl.”
“No—no!” I hastily answered, “Leave it to me. For your life, don’t fire—not yet!”
I stood trembling—uncertain what course to pursue. I had my own rifle in hand, and was considering whether I should not risk taking a shot at the ruffian. Under other circumstances I should have been confident enough of making a sure one; but just then I felt my nerves shaking through the throes of my excited heart. It was a terrible crisis. The sinews of Tell could not have been more severely tried, as he adjusted his arrow to the string.
The bandit seemed thoroughly to comprehend my hesitation.
There was something fiendishly exultant in the laugh with which he followed up his last speech.
“Now, señor Yankee!” he went on, without waiting for a reply. “I hope you are ready to accede to my request. If so, state your terms for our release; and remember! make them easy, or it will be impossible for us to accept them. I don’t wish to hurry you. As it’s a matter of some importance to both of us, and toheras well,”—I could see him nod towards Mercedes—“I beg you will take time to consider. Meanwhile, we shall retire, and patiently await your answer.”
Saying this, he receded from the parapet—as I supposed, still staying on the azotea.
The white shield was drawn back along with him: and once more Mercedes was out of sight—leaving me to fell fancies, more torturing than the sting of thetarantula.
Chapter Thirty Eight.The Swing Bridge.I stood for some time chafing, irresolute.There seemed no help for it, but complying with the brigand’s request. The log cabin could not be successfully stormed without a fearful sacrifice of the lives of my men—which I was unwilling to make.Not but thattheywere willing—one and all of them. Stung by the insulting tone of the robber-chief, they were ready to rush forward, defiant of death, and die in the act of obtaining vengeance.The vile threat still ringing in their ears alone restrained them—as it did myself. No one doubted that the monster meant what he had said; and we knew that, if driven to desperation, he would carry out his atrocious design.There was no alternative but to make terms with him—the best we could obtain.Stepping back behind the trees, and summoning around me half a dozen of my most experienced men, we proceeded to discuss the points of capitulation.No words were wasted. Tortured by the thought of that loved form still trembling in the loathsome embrace of the brigand, I lost no time in taking the opinions of my comrades.As my voice ruled the council, they coincided with my own; which was: that the robbers should be permitted to leave the place without further molestation—their captives to remain with us.To let these scoundrels escape, after having them so completely in our power, was a source of the bitterest chagrin to every one of our party It was like abandoning the object of our expedition. But, from the high tone taken by Carrasco, I could tell that less liberal terms would be rejected; and I was far from being confident of his compliance with these. I had a thought—shared by my comrades—that there was still something behind, and that another trick was intended to be played upon us. In the speeches addressed to us, there was an ambiguity we could ill understand. Despite his professed fearlessness, the robber-chief could not but be sensible of the danger he was in; and thesang froiddisplayed by him was scarcely reconcilable with the situation.Perhaps at this moment he was in the act of perpetrating some piece of strategy—some villainousruse?We could not think what it might be, nor even that any was possible; and therefore no one gave speech to the vague suspicion, though all felt it. It was only as a presentiment—and for this reason remained unspoken.It had the effect, however, of urging us to hasten our deliberations, and bring them to a more speedy conclusion.The terms settled, I stepped once more to the front—with the intention of making them known to the enemy.There was no one in sight; but I supposed that the bandit was still upon the housetop—crouching below the level of the parapet.I shouted to attract his attention.There was no response, save the echoes of my own voice, that reverberated in duplicate along the twin cliffs of the chasm.I shouted a second time, louder than before.Still only echoes—mingling with the cries of acaracaraeagle, that soared scared-like into the air.Again I put forth my voice—calling the robber by his name, and summoning him to listen to our proposal.But there was no answer—not even a responding exclamation!Outside the hut there was heard the hoarse roaring of the torrent, that rose continuously from below—above, thecaracarastill repeating its shrill screech; but inside there was only silence—ominous, deathlike, appalling!I could bear the suspense no longer.Directing one half of the men to keep their places—and cover our approach with their rifles—with the other half I started towards the dwelling.With a rapid rush we reached it—coming to a stop in front of the doorway.There was no need for such haste. We were permitted to make approach unmolested. No shout heard—not a shot fired—not a missile hurled from above!We stayed not to give expression to our surprise. The door was instantly assailed; and, before the strokes of the Collin’s axe, soon gave way—going inside with a crash.We entered in a confused crowd—unopposed, not caring for opposition. We did not expect it. Despite its improbability, we were more than half prepared to find the fortress forsaken.And so did we find it. The bandits had gone off; and, O God, they had again carriedtheir captives along with them!There was no mystery about their disappearance. The mode by which they had made escape—as well as the way taken—was before our eyes the instant we entered the hut.There was another doorway at the back—with a door upon it, standing slightly ajar.Hastening across the floor, and drawing it wide open, I looked out.At a glance everything was accounted for.A swing bridge (puente-hamaca), constructed ofllianas, with sticks laid across, extended over the chasm. One end was attached to the door post; the other to a tree standing out from the opposite cliff.At its farther extremity were two men, engaged as if hammering upon an anvil. But instead of hammers their tools weremachetés; and I saw they were hacking at the suspenders of the bridge.They succeeded in completing their task—in spite of the shots fired to prevent them.It was the last act of their lives. Both went headlong into the abyss below; but along with their bodies, went the bridge they had been so eager in destroying!Mingling with their last cries came a peal of laughter from the opposite side of the chasm. It would have sounded fiendish enough without this. It was from the throat of Torreano Carrasco!I saw him standing upon the cliff—near the point of a projecting rock. He was not using it as a screen. He was sheltered as before. Mercedes was still in front of him. His arm was around her waist. He was holding her in a hug!Near at hand was her sister Dolores—shielding a second of the ruffians in a similar manner!“Hola!” cried the robber-chief, intentionally restraining his laughter, and speaking in a tone of loud exultation. “Hola! mio amigo! Very clever of you to have made your way into my mountain mansion? And so quick you’ve been about opening the door? For all that, you see you are too late. Never mind. You can make your morning call upon some other occasion; when perhaps you may find me at home. Meanwhile I have some business with this lady—the Doña Mercedes Villa-Señor—that will carry us a little further up the mountain. Should you want to see her again, you may come after—if you can!”Another peal of coarse laughter—in which his comrades, hidden behind the rocks, were heard to join—interrupted his taunting speech.“Hasta luego!” he again cried out. “Good morning, noble captain! I leave you to your matins; while I go to enjoy a little stroll in company with the sweet Mercedes.Va con Dios—o’ si gusta V. al Demonio!” (Go with God, or to the Devil, if you like it better!)At the close of this profane speech, he commenced making approach to the rock, taking Mercedes along with him.Rifle in hand I watched his movements, with an earnestness I cannot describe. The feverish anxiety, with which the stalker regards the shifting of the stag, can give but a faint idea of that stirring within me.I had hopes that the coward might become separated from the fair form he was using as a shield. Six inches would have satisfied me: for his last brutal innuendo proclaimed a terrible emergency; and with six inches of his carcase clear I should have risked the shot.But, no! He did not allow me even this trifling chance. He seemed to divine my intent; and inch by inch, keeping her body straight between us—O God, to see her in that swarth embrace!—he sidled behind the stone!The other followed his example, taking Dolores; and before another word could be spoken, both robbers and captives had passed out of sight!The instant after, half a score of hats started suddenly out of the bushes, that skirted the edge of the cliff; and we were saluted by a volley from a like number ofescopetas.A rifleman, standing in the door by my side, threw up his arms with a shriek, and fell forward upon the stoup.As I caught hold, to hinder him from going over the cliff, something hot came spurting against my cheek.It was the life-blood of my comrade, who had been killed by the bullet of an escopeta.I saw that I was dealing with a dead body; and desisted from the struggle to sustain it.It glided from my grasp, and fell with a heavy plash upon the swift water below!My men were by this time more than half mad. It needed not the death of their comrade to excite them to frantic action. The sight of the captive ladies; the disappointment caused by our being unable to rescue them—after supposing ourselves sure of it—and perhaps, as much as anything else, the trick that had been played upon them—rendered one and all thirsty for vengeance.I need not say that I shared this thirst—so much that I no longer cared for consequences, and had lost even the perception of danger.I stood upon the projecting doorstep; not looking after the body which had gone below, but across the chasm, in hopes of getting sight of a brigand. Any one now: since I knew there was not much chance of again seeing their chief.I heeded not the stray shots that came hurtling around my head; and, in all likelihood, one would have consigned me to a fate, similar to what had befallen my comrade, had I been left to a much longer indulgence in my reckless mood.But I was not. A strong arm seizing me from behind—it was that of my sergeant—drew me back within the cabin; whose thick wooden walls were proof against the bullets of either carbine, orescopeta.
I stood for some time chafing, irresolute.
There seemed no help for it, but complying with the brigand’s request. The log cabin could not be successfully stormed without a fearful sacrifice of the lives of my men—which I was unwilling to make.
Not but thattheywere willing—one and all of them. Stung by the insulting tone of the robber-chief, they were ready to rush forward, defiant of death, and die in the act of obtaining vengeance.
The vile threat still ringing in their ears alone restrained them—as it did myself. No one doubted that the monster meant what he had said; and we knew that, if driven to desperation, he would carry out his atrocious design.
There was no alternative but to make terms with him—the best we could obtain.
Stepping back behind the trees, and summoning around me half a dozen of my most experienced men, we proceeded to discuss the points of capitulation.
No words were wasted. Tortured by the thought of that loved form still trembling in the loathsome embrace of the brigand, I lost no time in taking the opinions of my comrades.
As my voice ruled the council, they coincided with my own; which was: that the robbers should be permitted to leave the place without further molestation—their captives to remain with us.
To let these scoundrels escape, after having them so completely in our power, was a source of the bitterest chagrin to every one of our party It was like abandoning the object of our expedition. But, from the high tone taken by Carrasco, I could tell that less liberal terms would be rejected; and I was far from being confident of his compliance with these. I had a thought—shared by my comrades—that there was still something behind, and that another trick was intended to be played upon us. In the speeches addressed to us, there was an ambiguity we could ill understand. Despite his professed fearlessness, the robber-chief could not but be sensible of the danger he was in; and thesang froiddisplayed by him was scarcely reconcilable with the situation.
Perhaps at this moment he was in the act of perpetrating some piece of strategy—some villainousruse?
We could not think what it might be, nor even that any was possible; and therefore no one gave speech to the vague suspicion, though all felt it. It was only as a presentiment—and for this reason remained unspoken.
It had the effect, however, of urging us to hasten our deliberations, and bring them to a more speedy conclusion.
The terms settled, I stepped once more to the front—with the intention of making them known to the enemy.
There was no one in sight; but I supposed that the bandit was still upon the housetop—crouching below the level of the parapet.
I shouted to attract his attention.
There was no response, save the echoes of my own voice, that reverberated in duplicate along the twin cliffs of the chasm.
I shouted a second time, louder than before.
Still only echoes—mingling with the cries of acaracaraeagle, that soared scared-like into the air.
Again I put forth my voice—calling the robber by his name, and summoning him to listen to our proposal.
But there was no answer—not even a responding exclamation!
Outside the hut there was heard the hoarse roaring of the torrent, that rose continuously from below—above, thecaracarastill repeating its shrill screech; but inside there was only silence—ominous, deathlike, appalling!
I could bear the suspense no longer.
Directing one half of the men to keep their places—and cover our approach with their rifles—with the other half I started towards the dwelling.
With a rapid rush we reached it—coming to a stop in front of the doorway.
There was no need for such haste. We were permitted to make approach unmolested. No shout heard—not a shot fired—not a missile hurled from above!
We stayed not to give expression to our surprise. The door was instantly assailed; and, before the strokes of the Collin’s axe, soon gave way—going inside with a crash.
We entered in a confused crowd—unopposed, not caring for opposition. We did not expect it. Despite its improbability, we were more than half prepared to find the fortress forsaken.
And so did we find it. The bandits had gone off; and, O God, they had again carriedtheir captives along with them!
There was no mystery about their disappearance. The mode by which they had made escape—as well as the way taken—was before our eyes the instant we entered the hut.
There was another doorway at the back—with a door upon it, standing slightly ajar.
Hastening across the floor, and drawing it wide open, I looked out.
At a glance everything was accounted for.
A swing bridge (puente-hamaca), constructed ofllianas, with sticks laid across, extended over the chasm. One end was attached to the door post; the other to a tree standing out from the opposite cliff.
At its farther extremity were two men, engaged as if hammering upon an anvil. But instead of hammers their tools weremachetés; and I saw they were hacking at the suspenders of the bridge.
They succeeded in completing their task—in spite of the shots fired to prevent them.
It was the last act of their lives. Both went headlong into the abyss below; but along with their bodies, went the bridge they had been so eager in destroying!
Mingling with their last cries came a peal of laughter from the opposite side of the chasm. It would have sounded fiendish enough without this. It was from the throat of Torreano Carrasco!
I saw him standing upon the cliff—near the point of a projecting rock. He was not using it as a screen. He was sheltered as before. Mercedes was still in front of him. His arm was around her waist. He was holding her in a hug!
Near at hand was her sister Dolores—shielding a second of the ruffians in a similar manner!
“Hola!” cried the robber-chief, intentionally restraining his laughter, and speaking in a tone of loud exultation. “Hola! mio amigo! Very clever of you to have made your way into my mountain mansion? And so quick you’ve been about opening the door? For all that, you see you are too late. Never mind. You can make your morning call upon some other occasion; when perhaps you may find me at home. Meanwhile I have some business with this lady—the Doña Mercedes Villa-Señor—that will carry us a little further up the mountain. Should you want to see her again, you may come after—if you can!”
Another peal of coarse laughter—in which his comrades, hidden behind the rocks, were heard to join—interrupted his taunting speech.
“Hasta luego!” he again cried out. “Good morning, noble captain! I leave you to your matins; while I go to enjoy a little stroll in company with the sweet Mercedes.Va con Dios—o’ si gusta V. al Demonio!” (Go with God, or to the Devil, if you like it better!)
At the close of this profane speech, he commenced making approach to the rock, taking Mercedes along with him.
Rifle in hand I watched his movements, with an earnestness I cannot describe. The feverish anxiety, with which the stalker regards the shifting of the stag, can give but a faint idea of that stirring within me.
I had hopes that the coward might become separated from the fair form he was using as a shield. Six inches would have satisfied me: for his last brutal innuendo proclaimed a terrible emergency; and with six inches of his carcase clear I should have risked the shot.
But, no! He did not allow me even this trifling chance. He seemed to divine my intent; and inch by inch, keeping her body straight between us—O God, to see her in that swarth embrace!—he sidled behind the stone!
The other followed his example, taking Dolores; and before another word could be spoken, both robbers and captives had passed out of sight!
The instant after, half a score of hats started suddenly out of the bushes, that skirted the edge of the cliff; and we were saluted by a volley from a like number ofescopetas.
A rifleman, standing in the door by my side, threw up his arms with a shriek, and fell forward upon the stoup.
As I caught hold, to hinder him from going over the cliff, something hot came spurting against my cheek.
It was the life-blood of my comrade, who had been killed by the bullet of an escopeta.
I saw that I was dealing with a dead body; and desisted from the struggle to sustain it.
It glided from my grasp, and fell with a heavy plash upon the swift water below!
My men were by this time more than half mad. It needed not the death of their comrade to excite them to frantic action. The sight of the captive ladies; the disappointment caused by our being unable to rescue them—after supposing ourselves sure of it—and perhaps, as much as anything else, the trick that had been played upon them—rendered one and all thirsty for vengeance.
I need not say that I shared this thirst—so much that I no longer cared for consequences, and had lost even the perception of danger.
I stood upon the projecting doorstep; not looking after the body which had gone below, but across the chasm, in hopes of getting sight of a brigand. Any one now: since I knew there was not much chance of again seeing their chief.
I heeded not the stray shots that came hurtling around my head; and, in all likelihood, one would have consigned me to a fate, similar to what had befallen my comrade, had I been left to a much longer indulgence in my reckless mood.
But I was not. A strong arm seizing me from behind—it was that of my sergeant—drew me back within the cabin; whose thick wooden walls were proof against the bullets of either carbine, orescopeta.