In the meanwhile, political events pressed on with ever increasing rapidity: Juárez' troops seriously occupied the country: already scouts belonging to his party had appeared in the neighbourhood of the hacienda: people talked vaguely of Spanish chateaux taken by assault, plundered, burnt, and whose owners had been cowardly assassinated by the guerilleros. The anxiety was great at Arenal: don Andrés de la Cruz, who was not reassured as to the future by the fact of his being a Spaniard, took the most extensive precautions not to be surprised by the enemy. The question of abandoning the hacienda and retiring to Puebla had even been agitated several times, but had constantly been obstinately repelled by don Melchior.
Still, the strange conduct which the young man displayed ever since the count had been at the hacienda, his affectation of keeping aloof, his long and frequent absences, and, more than all, the recommendations of don Oliver, whose mistrust doubtless aroused a long time before, and based on facts known to himself alone, had led to Dominique's presence at the hacienda under the name of Baron de Meriadec, aroused the suspicions of Count de Saulay, suspicions to which the antipathy he had felt for don Melchior since the first day of seeing him, almost gave the strength of certainty.
The count, after ripe reflections, resolved to communicate his anxiety to Dominique and Leo Carral, when one evening on entering the patio he met don Melchior on horseback proceeding to the hacienda gate. The count then asked himself why, at so advanced an hour (it was about nine o'clock at night), don Melchior ventured on a moonless night to go alone into the country, at the risk of falling into an ambush of Juárez' guerilleros, whose scouts, as he was perfectly well aware, had been prowling round the hacienda for some days past.
This fresh departure of the young man, for which there was no apparent motive, dissipated the count's last doubts, and confirmed him in the resolution of immediately taking counsel with his two friends.
At this moment Leo Carral crossed the patio and Ludovic called to him.
The majordomo ran up directly.
"Where are you going now?" the count asked.
"I can hardly tell your Excellency," the majordomo answered. "This evening I feel more anxious than usual, and I am going to pay a visit to the neighbourhood of the hacienda."
"Can it be foreboding?" the count said pensively. "Will you let me accompany you?"
"I purpose going out and beating up the country a little," Ño Leo Carral continued.
"Very good: have my horse and don Carlos' saddled, we will join you in an instant."
"Mind, Excellency, not to take any servants, but do our business ourselves. I have a plan, so let us avoid all chances of treachery."
"Agreed: in ten minutes we will be with you."
"You will find your horses at the gate of the first court. I need not recommend you to be armed."
"All right."
The count went to his apartment. Dominique was soon told of the state of affairs; both left the apartments directly after and found the majordomo, who, already mounted, was waiting for them at the open gate of the hacienda. They leapt on their horses and rode out in silence. The hacienda gate was gently closed after them. They went down the incline that led to the plain at a sharp trot.
"Eh," the count said a minute after, "what is the meaning of this? Are we mounted on spectral steeds, that produce no sound in moving?"
"Speak lower, Excellency," the majordomo remarked, "we are probably surrounded by spies; as for the thing that perplexes you so, it is only a very simple precaution; your horse's hoofs are thrust into sheepskin bags filled with sand."
"Hang it!" Ludovic replied, "It seems, then, that we are on a secret expedition."
"Yes, Excellency, secret and most important."
"What is it?"
"I suspect don Melchior."
"But remember, friend, that he is the son and heir of don Andrés."
"Yes, but as we say on the wrong side of the blanket; his mother was a Zapotheque Indian, with whom, I do not know why, my master fell in love, for she was neither beautiful, nor good, nor witty; however, the result of their connection was a child, and that child is don Melchior. The mother died in childbirth, imploring don Andrés not to abandon the poor creature; my master promised it, recognized the boy, and brought him up as if he had been legitimate, and a few years later induced his wife to receive him into the family. He was thus brought up as if he were really a legitimate son, the more so, that doña Lucia de la Cruz died, only leaving her husband a daughter."
"Ah! Ah!" said the count, "I am beginning to get a glimpse of the truth."
"All went on well for some years; don Melchior, most kindly treated by his father, gradually came to persuade himself that on the death of don Andrés the paternal fortune would fall to him; but about a year ago my master received a letter, after reading which he had a long and serious explanation with his son.
"Yes, yes, that letter reminded him of the marriage plan arranged between his family and mine, and announced my speedy arrival."
"Probably, Excellency; but nothing transpired of what took place between father and son, except it was noticed that don Melchior, who is not naturally of a gay temper, became from that period gloomy and morose, seeking solitude, and only addressing his father when absolutely compelled. Although he had hitherto rarely left the hacienda, he now began to have a wild liking for the chase, and often stayed away for several days; your sudden arrival at the hacienda, when he doubtless never expected to see you, augmented his ill feeling to a frightful extent, and I am convinced that in his despair at losing the inheritance he has so long coveted, he will not hesitate before anything, even a crime, to seize on it. This, Excellency, was what I thought it my duty to tell you. Heaven knows that if I have spoken, it was solely from a pure motive."
"Everything is now explained to me, Ño Leo Carral. I am, like yourself, persuaded that Melchior meditates some odious treachery against the man to whom he owes everything, and who is his father."
"Well," said Dominique, "do you wish to know my opinion? If the opportunity presents itself, it will be a pious task to lodge a bullet in his wicked brain; the world will in that way get rid of a frightful villain."
"Amen!" said the count, with a laugh.
At this moment they reached the plain.
"Excellency, here the difficulties of the enterprise we are about to undertake really commence," the majordomo then said; "we must act with the most extreme prudence, and, above all, avoid revealing our presence to the invisible spies by whom we are indubitably surrounded."
"Fear nothing, we shall be dumb as fishes; go on ahead without fear; we will prowl on your track after the fashion of Indians on the war path."
The majordomo took the head of the file, and they began advancing rather rapidly along the paths which were entangled together, and formed an inextricable network for anyone but Leo Carral.
As we have already stated, the night was moonless, and the sky black as ink. A profound silence, interrupted at long intervals by the shrill cries of the night birds, brooded over the country.
They continued to advance thus without exchanging a word for about half an hour, and then the majordomo halted.
"We have arrived," he said in a low voice; "get off your horses, we are in safety here."
"Do you think so?" said Dominique; "I fancied during the march the cries of night birds too well imitated to be true."
"You are right," Leo Carral answered; "they are the enemy's sentries challenging each other; we have been scented, but thanks to the night and my acquaintance with the roads, we have temporarily, at any rate thrown out those who started in pursuit of us, they are seeking us in a direction opposed to the one in which we are."
"That is what I fancied I could understand," Dominique remarked.
The count eagerly listened to this conversation, but to no effect, for what the two men said was Hebrew to him; for the first time since he had been in the world, accident placed him in a situation so singular; hence he was completely deficient in experience; he was far from suspecting that he had passed through all the outposts of a hostile camp; had been within pistol shot of sentinels ambuscaded on the right and left, and had escaped death perhaps twenty times by a miracle.
"Señores, take the bags off the horses, as they are no longer wanted, while I light a torch of ocote wood," Leo Carral then said.
The young men obeyed, for they tacitly recognized the majordomo as the leader of the expedition.
"Well, is it done?" the majordomo asked a moment after.
"Yes," the count answered, "but we cannot see anything; are you not going to light your torch?"
"It is lighted, but it would be too imprudent to show a light here; follow me, drawing your horses after you by the bridle."
He went in front again as guide, and they advanced once more, but this time on foot.
Ere long a light glistened in front of them, and illuminated them sufficiently to enable them to distinguish surrounding objects.
They were in a natural grotto; this grotto opened at the end of a passage, sufficiently winding for the light of the torch not to be seen from the outside.
"Where the deuce are we?" the count asked, in surprise.
"As you see, Excellency, in a grotto."
"Very good, but you had a reason for bringing us here."
"Certainly I had one, Excellency, and the reason is as follows: this grotto communicates with the hacienda, by a very long subterraneous passage; this passage has several issues into the country, and two into the hacienda itself; of the latter two, one is known to myself alone, and the other I stopped up this very day; but fearing less don Melchior might have discovered this grotto during his rides, I determined to visit it tonight, and solidly wall it up inside, so as to prevent a surprise in this way."
"Famously reasoned, Ño Leo Carral; there is no want of stones, so we will set to work as soon as you like."
"One moment, Excellency, let us make certain first that other persons have not got here before us."
"Hum! That appears to me rather difficult."
"You think so," he said, with a slight tinge of irony in his voice.
He took the torch which he had placed on an angle and stooped down to the ground, but almost immediately rose again, uttering a cry of fury.
"What is it?" the two young men exclaimed anxiously.
"Look," he said, pointing to the ground.
The count looked.
"We are foiled," he said, a moment after; "it is too late."
"But, explain yourself in Heaven's name," the count exclaimed, "I do not understand what you are saying."
"Stay, my dear fellow," said Dominique, "do you not see how the ground is trampled? Do you not notice the footsteps going in all directions?"
"Well."
"Well, my poor friend, these footsteps were left by the men probably led by don Melchior, who have taken this road to enter the hacienda, where they probably are by this time."
"No," the majordomo remarked, "the footsteps are quite fresh: they only entered a few minutes before us. The advance they have is nothing, for on reaching the end of the passage, they will have to destroy the wall I built, and it is substantial. Let us not be discouraged yet, therefore, perhaps Heaven will permit us to reach the hacienda in time; come, follow me, make haste, and leave your horse; ah, it was Heaven that inspired me not to touch the second outlet."
Then, waving the torch to revise the flame, the majordomo ran along a side gallery, followed by the two young men. The subterraneous passage rose with a gentle ascent; the road they had followed to reach the grotto, wound round the hill on which the hacienda was built; besides, they had been obliged to make numerous circuits, and march circumspectly, that is to say, rather slowly, through fear of being surprised, which had demanded a considerable lapse of time; but now this was no longer the case, they ran on in a straight line and they accomplished in less than a quarter of an hour, what, on horseback had required nearly an hour, and reached the garden.
The hacienda was silent.
"Wake your servants, while I ring the alarm bell," said the majordomo, "possibly we may save the hacienda."
He ran to the bell, whose sonorous peals soon aroused the inhabitants of the hacienda, who ran up, half dressed, not at all understanding what was going on.
"To arms, to arms!" shouted the count, and his two companions.
In a few words don Andrés was informed of the state of matters, and while he had his daughter guarded in her rooms, by some devoted attendants, and organized the defense as well as circumstances permitted him, the majordomo, followed by the two young men and their servants, dashed into the garden.
Ludovic and Dolores had only exchanged one word.
"I am going to my father's rooms," she said.
"I will join you there."
"I shall expect you, no one but you will approach me?"
"I swear it."
"Thanks."
And they separated. On reaching the garden, the five men distinctly heard the hurried blows which the assailants were dealing on the wall.
They ambushed themselves within pistol shot of the issue, behind a clump of trees and shrubs.
"But, these people must be bandits," the count exclaimed, "to come in this way to pillage honest people."
"Of course they are bandits," Dominique replied, "you will soon see them at work, and no longer have a doubt on the subject."
"In that case, attention," said the count, "and let us receive them as they deserve."
In the meanwhile, the blows were redoubled in the passage; ere long one stone was detached, then a second, then a third, and a rather large breach was opened in the wall. The guerilleros, dashed forward with a shout of joy, which was at once turned into a yell of pain. Five shots, blended in one, had exploded like a formidable clap of thunder.
The battle was beginning.
At the frightful discharge which greeted them, and scattered death in their ranks, the guerilleros fell back with horror; surprised by those whom they calculated on surprising, prepared to plunder but not to fight, their first thought was flight, and an indescribable disorder broke out in their ranks.
The defenders of the hacienda, whose number had considerably increased, took advantage of this hesitation to send a shower of bullets among them. Some resolution must be formed, however, either to advance under the bullets, or give up the expedition.
The proprietor of the hacienda was rich, as the guerilleros were aware; for a long time past they had desired to seize this wealth, which they coveted, and which, whether rightly or wrongly, they supposed to be hidden in the hacienda; it cost them a struggle to give up this expedition so long prepared, and from which they promised themselves such magnificent results.
Still the bullets constantly scattered among them, and they did not dare to pass the breach. Their chiefs, even more interested than they in the success of their projects, put an end to any hesitation, by resolutely arming themselves with pickaxes and crowbars, not only to enlarge the breach, but also to completely throw down the wall, for they understood that it was only by a sudden eruption that they could succeed in overthrowing the opposition which the defenders of the hacienda offered them.
The latter continued to fire bravely, but most of their shots were thrown away, as the guerilleros were working under shelter, and were very cautious not to show themselves in front of the breach.
"They have changed their tactics," the count said to Dominique, "they are now engaged in throwing down the wall, and will soon return to the attack; and," he added, taking a sorrowful glance around, "we shall be conquered; for the men who accompany us are not capable of resisting a vigorous attack."
"You are right, friend, the situation is serious," the young man answered.
"What is to be done?" the majordomo asked.
"Stay, I have an idea," Dominique suddenly said, striking his forehead; "you have gunpowder here?"
"Yes, thank heaven, there is no want of that; but what is the use of it?"
"Have a barrel brought here as speedily as possible, I answer for the rest."
"That is easy."
"In that case go."
The majordomo ran off.
"What do you intend to do?" the count asked.
"You shall see," the young man replied, with flashing eyes; "by Heaven, a glorious idea has occurred to me. These brigands will probably seize the hacienda, and we are too weak to resist them, and it is only a question of time for them; but, by Jupiter, it shall cost them dearly."
"I do not understand you."
"Ah," the young man continued, in a state of feverish excitement; "ah, they wish to open a wide passage; well, I undertake to make it for them; wait a while."
At this moment the majordomo returned, bringing not one, but three barrels on a truck; each of these barrels contained about 120 pounds of gunpowder.
"Three barrels!" Dominique exclaimed, joyously; "All the better: in this way each of us will have his own."
"But what do you intend doing?"
"I mean to blow them up, by heaven!" he exclaimed. "Come to work! Imitate me!"
He took a barrel and unheaded it; the count and Leo Carral did the same.
"Now," he said, addressing the peons, who were startled by these sinister preparations; "back, you fellows, but still continue to fire, and keep them on the alarm."
The three men remained alone with the count's two servants, who refused to abandon their master. In a few words Dominique explained his plan to his companions. They raised the barrels, and gliding silently behind the trees, approached the grotto. The besiegers, occupied in destroying the wall inside, and not daring to venture in front of the breach, could not see what was going on outside. It was therefore an easy task for the five men to reach the very foot of the wall the guerilleros were demolishing, without being discovered. Dominique placed the three powder barrels so as to touch the wall, and on these barrels, he, aided by his companions, piled all the stones he could find. Then he took his mechero, drew out the tinder match, from which he cut off about six inches, lit it, and planted it on one of the barrels.
"Back! Back!" he said, in a low voice; "The wall no longer holds! See how it is bulging. It will fall in a moment."
And, setting the example, he ran off at full speed. Nearly all the defenders of the hacienda, about forty in number, with don Andrés at their head, were assembled at the entrance of the huerta.
"Why are you running so hard?" the hacendero asked the young men; "Are the brigands after you?"
"No, no," Dominique replied; "not yet; but you will soon have news of them."
"Where is doña Dolores?" the count asked.
"In my apartments with her women, and perfectly safe."
"Fire, you fellows!" Dominique shouted to the peons.
The latter recommenced a tremendous fire.
"Raimbaut," the count said, in a low voice; "we must foresee everything. Go with Lanca Ibarru, and saddle five horses: mind one of them is a side-saddle. You understand me, do you not?"
"Yes, my lord."
"You will lead these horses to the door which is at the end of the huerta. You will wait for me there with Lanca, both well armed. Go."
Raimbaut went off at once, as quiet and calm as if nothing extraordinary were occurring at the moment.
"Ah!" said don Andrés with a sigh of regret; "If Melchior was here he would be very useful to us."
"He will be here soon, señor, you may be sure," the count remarked, ironically.
"Where can he be, though?"
"Ah! Who can tell?"
"Ah! Ah!" Dominique exclaimed; "Something is going on down there."
The stones, vigorously assailed by the repeated blows of the guerilleros, were beginning to fall outwards. The breach was rapidly entered, but at last a whole piece of wall fell in one mass into the garden. The guerilleros uttered a loud shout, threw down their picks, and seizing their weapons, prepared to rush forth. But suddenly a terrible explosion was heard; the earth quivered as if agitated by a volcanic convulsion; a cloud of smoke rose to the sky, and masses of ruins, raised by the explosion, were hurled in all directions. A horrible cry of agony rang through the air, and that was all: a deadly silence brooded over the scene.
"Forward! Forward!" Dominique shouted.
The injury caused by the mine was terrible. The entrance of the passage, completely destroyed, and filled up with masses of earth and heaped-up stones, had not permitted one of the assailants to pass. Here and there the disfigured remains of what had been a moment before men, emerged from the middle of the fragments. The catastrophe must have been awful, but the passage kept the secret close.
"Oh! Heaven be praised! We are saved!" don Andrés exclaimed.
"Yes, yes," the majordomo said; "if no other assailants arrive from another quarter."
Suddenly, as if in justification of the remark, loud cries were heard blended with shots, and a vivid flame, which rose from the outhouses of the hacienda, lit up the country with a sinister gleam.
"To arms! To arms!" the peons shouted, as they ran up in alarm. "The guerilleros! The guerilleros!"
And they speedily saw, by the red glow of the fire which was devouring the buildings, the black outlines of some hundred men, who hurried up, brandishing their weapons, and uttering yells of fury. A few paces in advance of the bandits advanced a man, holding a sabre in one hand, and a torch in the other.
"Don Melchior!" the old gentleman exclaimed, despairingly.
"By heaven! I will stop him!" Dominique said, taking aim at him.
Don Andrés darted at the gun, which he threw up.
"It is my son!" he said.
The shot passed harmlessly through the air.
"Hum! I fancy you will repent having saved his life, señor," Dominique coldly replied.
Don Andrés, dragged away by the count and Dominique, entered his apartments, all the issues to which his peons hastily barricaded, and then kept up a sustained fire from the windows on the besiegers.
Don Melchior had an understanding with the partisans of Juárez. Reduced, as the majordomo had very correctly told the count, to a state of desperation by the speedy marriage of his sister, and the inevitable loss of the fortune of which he had so long entertained the hope of being sole heir, the young man forgot all moderation, and, under certain conditions accepted by Cuéllar, though with, the intention of not fulfilling them, he had proposed to the latter to surrender the hacienda to him; and all the measures had been taken in consequence. It was then arranged that a portion of the cuadrilla, under the orders of resolute officers, should attempt a surprise by the secret passage, which the young man had previously made known. Then, while this troop was operating, the other of the cuadrilla, under Cuéllar's own orders, and guided by don Melchior, would silently scale the walls of the hacienda on the side of the corrals, which the inhabitants would doubtless neglect to defend. We have related the success of this double attack.
Cuéllar, though he was still ignorant of it, had lost one half of his cuadrilla, who were buried under the ruins of the grotto. With the men left him he was at this moment waging an obstinate fight with the peons of the hacienda, who, knowing they had to deal with the band of Cuéllar, the most ferocious and sanguinary of all Juárez' guerilleros, and that this band never granted quarter, fought with the energy of desperation, which renders strength tenfold as great. The combat lasted some time. The peons, ambushed in the apartments, had lined the windows with everything that came to hand, and fired under cover at the assailants scattered about the courtyards, on whom they entailed considerable losses. Cuéllar was furious, not alone at this unforeseen resistance, but also at the incomprehensible delay of the soldiers of his cuadrilla who had entered by the grotto, and who should have joined him long ere this. He had certainly heard the noise of the explosion, but as he was at the time at a considerable distance from the hacienda, in a direction diametrically opposed to that where the explosion took place, the noise had reached his ears indistinctly, and he had paid no further attention to it; but the inexplicable delay of his comrades at this moment, when their help would have been so valuable, was beginning to cause him lively anxiety, and he was on the point of sending one of his men off to hurry the laggards, when suddenly shouts of victory were raised from the interior of the buildings he was attacking, and several guerilleros appeared at the windows, brandishing their weapons joyously. It was owing to don Melchior that this decisive success was obtained. While the main body of the assailants attacked the buildings in front, he, accompanied by several resolute men, stepped through a low window, which in the first moment of confusion they had forgotten to barricade like the rest. He had entered the interior, and suddenly appeared before the besieged, whom his presence terrified, and on whom his comrades rushed with sabres and pistols.
At this moment it was no longer a fight but a horrible butchery. The peons, in spite of their entreaties, were seized by the conquerors, stabbed, and hurled through the windows into the courtyard. The guerilleros soon poured through all the buildings, pursuing the wretched peons from room to room, and pitilessly massacring them. They thus reached a large drawing room, whose large folding doors were wide open; but on arriving there they not merely stopped, but recoiled with an instinctive movement of terror before the terrible spectacle that was presented to them. This room was splendidly lit up by a number of candles, placed in all the chandeliers and on the various articles of furniture. In one corner of the room a barricade had been erected by piling up the furniture: behind this barricade, doña Dolores had sought shelter with all the wives and children of the hacienda peons, two paces in front of the barricade, four men were standing erect with a gun in one hand and a pistol in the other. These four men were don Andrés, the count, Dominique and Leo Carral: two barrels of gunpowder with the heads knocked out were placed near them.
"Halt," the count said in a jeering voice, "halt, I request, caballeros; one step further, and we blow up the house. Do not pass the threshold, if you please."
The guerilleros were careful not to disobey this courteous hint, for at the first glance they recognized with whom they had to deal. Don Melchior stamped his foot savagely on seeing himself thus rendered powerless.
"What do you want?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"Nothing of you; we are men of honour, and will not parley with a scoundrel of your stamp."
"You shall be shot like dogs, accursed Frenchmen."
"I defy you to put your threat in execution," said the count, as he coolly cocked the revolver he held in his hand and pointed it at the barrel of gunpowder by his side.
The guerilleros recoiled, uttering shrieks of terror.
"Do not fire, do not fire," they exclaimed; "here is the colonel."
In fact, Cuéllar arrived. Cuéllar is a frightful bandit, this statement will surprise nobody, but we must do him the justice of stating that he possesses unparalleled bravery. He forced his way through his soldiers, and soon found himself standing alone in front of them. He bowed gracefully to the four men, and examined them craftily, and while idly rolling a cigarette.
"Well," he said gaily, "the affair you have imagined is most ingenious, and I sincerely compliment you upon it, caballeros. Those demons of Frenchmen have incredible ideas, on my honour," he added, speaking to himself; "they never allow themselves to be taken unawares; there is enough there to send us all to paradise."
"And in case of need we would no more hesitate to do it than we hesitated to blow up your men, whom you sent as scouts through the grotto."
"What," Cuéllar asked, turning pale, "what is it you are saying about my soldiers?"
"I am saying," the count replied coldly, "that you can have their corpses sought for in the passage, all will be found there, for all have fallen there."
A shudder of terror ran along the ranks of the guerilleros at these words.
There was a silence. Cuéllar was reflecting. He raised his head, every trace of emotion had disappeared from his face, and he looked around him as searching for something.
"Are you looking for a light?" Dominique asked him, as he advanced toward him candle in hand: "Pray light your cigarette, señor."
And he politely held out the candle.
Cuéllar lit his cigarette, and returned the candlestick.
"Thanks, señor," he said.
Dominique rejoined his companions.
"So then," said Cuéllar, "you request a capitulation."
"You are mistaken, señor," the count replied coolly; "on the contrary, we offer you one."
"You offer us?" the guerillero said with amazement.
"Yes, since we are masters of your life."
"Pardon me," Cuéllar said, "that is specious, for on blowing us up, you will go with us."
"Hang it! That is precisely what we intend."
Cuéllar reflected once more.
"Come," he said a moment after, "let us not wage a war of words, but come to the fact like men: what do you want?"
"I will tell you," the count answered.
Cuéllar was carelessly smoking his cigarette, his left hand was laid on his long sabre, the end of the scabbard resting on the floor: there was a charming ease in the way in which he stood at the door of the room, letting his eyes wander around with a feline gentleness, and emitting through his mouth and nostrils, with the blessed sensuality of a real enjoyer, thick clouds of bluish smoke.
"Pardon, señores," he said, "before going further, it is necessary to have a thorough understanding, I think, so permit me to make a slight observation."
"Do so, señor," the count answered.
"I am perfectly willing to treat: I am a very easy man to deal with as you see, but do not ask of me extravagant things which I should be forced to refuse you, for I need not tell you that, if you are determined, I am no less so, and while desiring a bargain equally advantageous for both sides, still if you are too exorbitant, I should prefer to blow up with you, the more so because I have a presentiment that I shall in that way some day or other, and should not be sorry to go to the deuce in such excellent company."
Although these words were uttered with a smiling air, the count was not deceived as to the resolute purpose of the man with whom he was dealing.
"Oh señor," he said, "you know us very badly, if you suppose us capable of asking impossibilities of you, still as our position is good, we wish to take advantage of it."
"And I think you perfectly right, caballero; but as you are a Frenchman and your countrymen never doubt anything, I thought it my duty to make this observation to you."
"Be convinced señor," the count answered, while affecting the same tranquillity as the other, "that we shall only demand reasonable conditions."
"You demand," Cuéllar repeated, laying a stress on these two words.
"Yes: hence we will not oblige you to leave the hacienda, because we know that if you went out today, you would recommence the attack tomorrow."
"You are full of penetration, señor: so pray come to the facts."
"In the first place you will give up the poor peons who have escaped the massacre."
"I see no difficulty in that."
"With their arms, horses and the little they possess."
"Agreed, go on."
"Don Andrés de la Cruz, his daughter, my friend, myself and Leo Carral, the majordomo, and all the women and children sheltered in this room, will be at liberty to retire whenever we please without fear of being disturbed."
Cuéllar made a grimace. "What next?" he said.
"Pardon me, is that settled?"
"Yes, it is settled; what next?"
"My friend and I are strangers, Frenchmen, and Mexico is not at war, as far as I am aware, with our country."
"It might happen," Cuéllar said maliciously.
"Perhaps so, but in the meanwhile we are at peace, and have a claim to your protection."
"Have you not fought against us?"
"That is true, but we had a right to defend ourselves: we were attacked and were compelled to fight."
"Good, good, enough of that."
"We therefore request the right to take away with us on mules, everything that belongs to us."
"Is that all?"
"Nearly so; do you accept these conditions?"
"I do."
"Good, now there only remains a slight formality to fulfil."
"A formality, what is it?"
"That of the hostages."
"Hostages! Have you not my word?"
"Of course."
"Well, what more do you want?"
"As I told you, hostages: you can perfectly understand, señor, that I would not confide my life and that of my companions, I will not say to you, for I hold your word and believe it good, but to your soldiers, who, like the worthy guerilleros they are, would have not the slightest scruple, if we had the madness to place ourselves in their power, about plundering us and perhaps worse: you do not command regular troops, señor, and however strict may be the discipline you maintain in your cuadrilla, I doubt whether it goes so far as to make your prisoners respected, when you are not there to protect them by your presence."
Cuéllar, flattered in his heart by the count's remarks, gave him a gracious smile.
"Hum," he said, "what you say may be true up to a certain point. Well, who are the hostages you desire, and how many are they?"
"Only one, señor, you see that it is very trifling."
"Very trifling, indeed; but who is this hostage?"
"Yourself," the count answered distinctly.
"Canarios!" Cuéllar said with a grin, "You are a cool hand: that one would in truth be sufficient."
"For that reason we will have no other."
"That is very unfortunate."
"Why so?"
"Because I refuse, caray! And who would be security for me, if you please?"
"The word of a French gentleman, caballero," the count hastily replied, "a word which has never been pledged in vain."
"On my word," Cuéllar continued with that bonhomie of which he possesses so large a share and which, where it suits him, causes him to be taken for the best fellow in the world: "I accept, caballero, let what may happen, for I am curious to try that word of honour of which Europeans are so proud: it is settled then that I act as your hostage: now, how long am I to remain with you? It is very important for me to settle that point."
"We will ask no more of you than to accompany us within sight of Puebla: once there you shall be at liberty, and you can even, if you think proper, take with you an escort of ten men to secure your return."
"Come, that is speaking; I am yours, caballero. Don Melchior, you will remain here during my absence and watch that everything goes on right."
"Yes," don Melchior replied hoarsely.
The count, after whispering a few words to the majordomo, again addressed Cuéllar.
"Señor," he said to him, "be kind enough to give orders for the peons to be brought here: then, while you remain with us, Ño Leo Carral will go and make all the preparations for our departure."
"Good," said Cuéllar, "the majordomo can go about his business: you hear, my men," he added, turning to the guerilleros who still stood motionless, "this man is free, bring the peons here."
Some fifteen poor wretches, with their clothes in rags, covered with blood, but armed as had been agreed, then entered the drawing room: these fifteen men were all that remained of the defenders of the hacienda. Cuéllar then entered the room in the doorway of which he had been hitherto standing, and without being invited to do it, posted himself behind the barricade. Don Melchior, feeling the false position in which he was placed, now that he remained alone, facing the besieged, turned away to retire; but at this moment don Andrés rose, and addressed him in a loud and imperious voice.
"Stay, Melchior," he said to him, "we cannot separate thus: now, that we shall never meet again in this world, a final explanation between us is necessary—even indispensable."
Don Melchior started at the sound of this voice: he turned pale, and made a movement as if he wished to fly, but then suddenly halted and haughtily raising his head, said—
"What do you want with me? Speak, I am listening to you."
For a very considerable period, the old man stood with his eyes fixed on his son with a strangely blended expression of love, anger, grief and contempt, and at length making a violent effort on himself, he spoke as follows:
"Why wish to withdraw, is it because the crime you have committed horrifies you, or are you really flying with fury in your heart at seeing your parricide foiled and your father saved in spite of all your efforts to rob him of life? God has not permitted the complete success of your sinister projects: He chastens me for my weakness for you and the place you have usurped in my heart: I pay very dearly for a moment of error, but at length the veil that covered my eyes has fallen. Go, wretch, marked on the brow by an indelible stigma, be accursed! And may this curse which I pronounce on you, weigh eternally on your heart! Go, parricide, I no longer know you."
Don Melchior, in spite of all his audacity, could not sustain the flashing glance which his father implacably fixed on him: a livid pallor spread over his face, a convulsive trembling agitated his limbs, his head was bowed beneath the weight of the anathema, and he recoiled slowly without turning round, as if dragged away by a force superior to his will, and at length disappeared in the midst of the guerilleros, who left a passage for him with a movement of horror.
A funereal silence pervaded the room; all these men, though so little impressionable, felt the influence of the terrible malediction pronounced by a father on a guilty son. Cuéllar was the first to recover his coolness.
"You were wrong," he said to don Andrés, with a shake of his head, "to offer your son this crushing insult in the presence of all."
"Yes, yes," the old gentleman answered sadly, "he will avenge himself; but what do I care? Is not my life henceforth crushed?"
And bowing his head on his chest, the old man sank into a deep and gloomy meditation.
"Watch over him," Cuéllar said to the count, "I know don Melchior, he is a thorough Indian."
In the meanwhile, doña Dolores, who up to this moment had remained, timidly concealed among her women behind the barricade, rose, removed some articles of furniture, glided softly through the opening she had effected, and sat down by the side of don Andrés. The latter did not stir; he had neither seen her come nor heard her place herself by his side. She bent down to him, seized his hand, which she pressed in her own; kissed him softly on the forehead, and said to him in her melodious voice, with an accent of tenderness, impossible to describe—
"My father, dear father, have you not a child left who loves and respects you? Do not let yourself be thus prostrated by grief; look at me, papa, in Heaven's name! I am your daughter, do you not love me, who feel so great a love for you?"
Don Andrés raised his face, which was bathed in tears, and opened his arms to the girl, who rushed into them with a cry of joy. "Oh! I was ungrateful," he exclaimed, with ineffable tenderness; "I doubted the infinite goodness of God; my daughter is left to me! I am no longer alone in the world, I can be happy still!"
"Yes, papa, God has wished to try us, but He will not abandon us in our misfortune; be brave, forget your ungrateful son; when he repents, remove the terrible malediction you uttered against him; let him return penitent to your knees; he has only been led astray, I feel sure; how could he help loving you, my noble father, you are ever so great and good?"
"Never speak to me about your brother, child," the old man replied with savage energy, "that man no longer exists for me; you have no brother, you never had one! Pardon me for deceiving you, by letting you believe that this villain formed part of our family; no, this monster is not my son, I was abused myself in supposing that the same blood flowed in his veins and mine."
"Calm yourself, in Heaven's name, papa, I implore you."
"Come, my poor child," he continued as he pressed her in his arms, "do not leave me, I want to feel you are here near me, that I may not believe myself alone in the world, and that I may have the strength to overcome my despair. Oh, say to me once more, that you love me, you cannot understand what balm the words are to my heart, and what relief they offer to my sorrow!"
The guerilleros had dispersed over all parts of the hacienda, plundering and devastating, breaking the furniture, and forcing locks with a dexterity that evidenced lengthened practice. Still, according to the agreement made, the count's apartments were respected. Raimbaut and Ibarru, relieved from their long watch by Leo Carral, were busily engaged in loading on mules, the portemanteaux of the count and Dominique; the guerilleros watched them for a while with knowing looks, laughing to each other at the clumsy way in which the two servants loaded their mules, and then offered their services to Raimbaut, which he bravely accepted; then, the same men, who without the slightest scruple, would have plundered all these articles, which possessed great value for them, were actively engaged in removing and loading them with the greatest care, without thinking for a moment of stealing the smallest article.
Thanks to their intelligent aid, the luggage of the two young men was in a very short time loaded on three mules, and Leo Carral had only to see that the horses required for the journey were saddled, which were effected in a moment, such eagerness and good will did the guerilleros display in fetching the horses from the corral, and bringing them into the yard. Leo Carral then returned to the drawing room, and announced that everything was in readiness for departure.
"Gentlemen, we will go when you please," the count said.
"At once then."
They left the drawing room, surrounded by the guerilleros, who walked by their side, uttering loud cries, but still without daring to draw too near, restrained, according to all appearance, by the respect they bore their chief.
When all those who were to leave the hacienda were mounted, as well as ten guerilleros, commanded by a non-commissioned officer, whose duty it was to serve as escort on their colonel's release, the guerillero addressed his soldiers, recommending them to obey in all points don Melchior de la Cruz, during his absence, and then gave the signal for departure. Beckoning the women and children, the little caravan was composed of about sixty persons, all that were left of the two hundred servants of the hacienda.
Cuéllar rode at the head, by the side of the count; behind him was doña Dolores, between her father and Dominique; next came the peons, leading the bat mules, under the direction of Leo Carral and the count's two servants; the guerilleros formed the rearguard.
They descended the hill at a slow pace, and ere long found themselves in the plain; the night was dark, it was about two hours after midnight; the cold was severe, and the sorrowful travellers shivered under theirsarapes. They took the high road to Puebla, which they reached at the expiration of about twenty minutes, and then broke into a more rapid pace; the town was only five or six leagues distant, and they hoped to arrive there at sunrise, or, at any rate, at a very early hour.
Suddenly a great light tinged the sky with reddish hues, and lit up the country for a long distance. The hacienda was on fire. At this sight, don Andrés cast a sad glance behind him, and gave vent to a deep sigh, but he did not utter a word. Cuéllar was the only person that spoke; he tried to prove to the count, that war had painful necessities, that for a long time past, don Andrés had been denounced as an avowed partisan of Miramón, and that the capture and destruction of the hacienda were only the results of his dislike of President Juárez. All matters to which the count, understanding the inutility of a discussion on such a subject with such a man, did not even take the trouble to reply. They rode on then for about three hours, without any incident occurring to disturb the monotony of their journey.
The sun rose, and by the first beams of dawn the domes and lofty steeples, of Puebla appeared in the distance, with their black and still indistinct outlines standing out against the dark blue sky.
The count ordered the party to halt.
"Señor," he said to Cuéllar, "you have loyally fulfilled the conditions stipulated between us; receive my thanks, and those of my unfortunate companions here; we are not more than two leagues from Puebla, it is daylight, and it is, therefore, unnecessary for you to accompany us further."
"In truth, señor, I believe that you can now do without me, and as you permit it, I will leave you, repeating my regret for what has occurred, but unfortunately I am not the master, and—"
"No more of this, pray," the count interrupted, "what is done is irreparable, for the present at least: so it is useless to dwell on the subject any longer."
Cuéllar bowed. "One word, señor Conde," he said, in a low voice.
The young man went up to him.
"Let me," the guerillero continued, "give you a piece of advice ere we part."
"Pray go on, señor."
"You are still far from Puebla, where you will not arrive for two hours: be on your guard, and carefully watch the country around you."
"What do you mean, señor?"
"It is impossible to know what may happen: I repeat to you, watch."
"Farewell, señor," the young man replied mechanically as he returned his salute.
After thus courteously taking leave of the party, the guerillero placed himself at the head of his men and galloped off, though not without once more recommending the young man to be prudent by a significant gesture. The count watched him depart with a pensive air.
"What is the matter, friend?" Dominique asked him.
Ludovic told him what Cuéllar had said to him on taking leave.
Thevaquerofrowned. "There is something in the background," he said; "in any case the advice is good and we should do wrong to neglect it."
For some minutes after the departure of the guerillero, the melancholy caravan silently continued its journey. The last words uttered by Cuéllar had gone home, however: the count and thevaquerofelt involuntarily restless, and without daring to impart their gloomy presentiments to each other, they advanced with excessive prudence, sniffing the air, so to speak, and starting at the least suspicious movement in the bushes. It was a little past five a.m.: it was that moment when nature appears to be sunk in contemplation, and when day and night, struggling together with almost equal force, melt into each other and produce that opaline gleam, whose misty tints impart to objects a vague and undetermined appearance, which renders them somewhat fantastic. A greyish vapour rose from the ground and produced a transparent fog, which the sunbeams, gradually growing in intensity, rent at spots, lighting up one part of the landscape and leaving the other in shadow: in a word, it was no longer night and not yet day. In the distance the numerous domes of the buildings of Puebla appeared, standing out in confused masses against the dark blue sky: the trees, washed by the abundant night dew, had grown green: on each leaf trembled a crystalline drop of water and their branches agitated by the morning breeze, smote each other softly with mysterious murmurings: already the small birds concealed beneath the foliage were uttering twitterings, and the wild oxen raised their heads above the tall grass with hoarse lowings. The fugitives were following a winding track beset on either side by factitious embankments, thrown up for the cultivation of the agave, which limited the horizon to an extremely narrow circle, and prevented that careful survey of the environs, which was perhaps necessary for the general safety of the caravan. The count approached Dominique, and leaning over the saddle, said in a low cautious voice:
"My friend, I know not why, but I feel an extreme anxiety: the farewell of that bandit painfully affected me: it seems to forebode a speedy, terrible and inevitable misfortune for us, and yet we are only a short distance from the town, and the tranquillity that prevails around us ought to reassure me."
"It is this tranquillity," the young man replied in the same key, "which causes me like yourself indescribable agony: I too have a presentiment of a misfortune; we are here in a wasp's nest, and no place would be better for an ambush."
"What is to be done?" the count muttered.
"I do not know exactly, for it is a difficult case: still I feel convinced that we ought to redouble our prudence. Place don Andrés and his daughter in front, warn the peons to march with finger on trigger, and be ready for the slightest alarm: in the meanwhile, I will go out scouting and if the enemy is pursuing us, I will contrive to throw him off the track: but we must not lose a single instant."
While speaking thus, thevaquerodismounted, threw his bridle to a peon, placed his gun on his left arm and ascended the right hand embankment, where he almost immediately disappeared among the bushes that bordered the path.
When left alone, the count immediately set about following his friend's advice: he consequently formed a rearguard of the most resolute and best armed peons, and gave them orders attentively to watch the approaches; but he concealed from them, through fear of terrifying them, the gravity of the events he foresaw. The majordomo, as if he divined the count's anxiety and shared his suspicions of an approaching attack, had placed don Andrés and his daughter in the centre of a small group of devoted servants, of whom he took the command, and hurrying on the horses, he left an interval of about one hundred yards between himself and the main body. Doña Dolores, overwhelmed by the terrible emotions of the night, had paid very slight attention to the arrangements made by her friends, and mechanically followed the new impulse given her, in all probability unconscious of the new dangers that menaced her, and only thinking of one thing, watching over her father, whose state of prostration was becoming more and more alarming. In fact, since his departure from the hacienda, in spite of his daughter's entreaties, don Andrés had not uttered a syllable, with fixed, lacklustre eyes, with his head bowed on his chest and his body agitated by a continuous nervous trembling, he left his horse to guide itself, without appearing to know whither he was going, so utterly had sorrow broken all his energy and will.
Leo Carral, who was devoted to his master and young mistress and who understood how incapable the old gentleman would be of offering the slightest resistance in the probable event of an attack, had especially recommended the servants he selected to serve as an escort to don Andrés, not to lose sight of him; and in the event of a combat, to make every possible effort to draw him out of the medley, and protect him as far as possible from danger: then at a signal the count gave him, he turned back and rejoined him.
"I see," the count said, "that like myself you have a foreboding of danger."
The majordomo shook his head. "Don Melchior will not give up the game," he replied, "until he has either won or utterly lost it."
"Do you then suspect him to be capable of a horrible trap?"
"This man is capable of anything."
"Why, in that case he is a monster."
"No," the majordomo replied gently, "he is a mixed blood, an envious and proud man, who knows that fortune alone can obtain him the apparent consideration which he covets: all means will be right to obtain this consideration."
"Even parricide?"
"Exactly."
"What you tell me is horrible."
"What would you have, señor? It is so."
"Thank Heaven, we are approaching Puebla, and once inside the town we shall have nothing more to fear."
"Yes, but we are not there yet: you know the proverb as well as I do, Excellency."
"What proverb?"
"That twixt the cup and the lip there's many a slip."
"I hope that this time you will be mistaken."
"I wish it, too: but you called me, Excellency?"
"Yes; I had a hint to give you."
"I am anxious to hear it."
"In the case of our being attacked, I insist that you leave us to our own resources, and escape at full speed towards Puebla, taking with you don Andrés and his daughter, while we are fighting. Perhaps you will have time to place them in safety behind the walls of the town."
"I will obey you, Excellency. No one shall reach my master without passing over my corpse. Have you nothing more to say to me?"
"No. Return to your post; and may Heaven be gracious to us!"
The majordomo bowed, and galloped up to the small troop, in the centre of whom were don Andrés and his daughter. Almost at the same moment Dominique reappeared on the side of the track: he fetched his horse, and then stationed himself on the count's right.
"Well," the latter asked him, "have you discovered anything?"
"Yes, and no," he replied, in a low voice.
His face was gloomy, his eyebrows contracted till they joined. The count examined him attentively for a moment, and felt his alarm redoubled.
"Explain yourself," he at length said to him.
"What is the use? You will not understand me."
"Perhaps not; but speak all the same."
"This is the fact. The plain is completely deserted on our right, left, and rear; I am certain of that. If the danger really exists, it is not to be feared in those quarters. If a trap is laid for us—if ambushed enemies are prepared to rush upon us, this trap is ahead; these enemies are concealed between the town and us."
"What makes you suppose this?"
"Signs which are certain to me, and which my long residence among the Indians made me recognize at the first glance. In the regions where we now are, men generally neglect all the precautions employed on the prairies, the forgetfulness of one of which would entail the immediate death of the imprudent hunter or warrior who had thus revealed his presence to his enemy. Here the trail is easy to recognize, and easier to follow, for it is perfectly visible even to the most inexperienced eye. Listen carefully to this:—since we left the hacienda, we have been—I will not say followed, for the term is not correct under the circumstances, but accompanied on our right by a large party of horsemen, who galloped in the same direction as ourselves at the distance of a gunshot at the most. These men, whoever they may be, wheeled about half a league from here, drawing slightly nearer to our left, as if they wished to approach us; but then doubled their pace, passed us, and entered, ahead of us, the track on which we now are, so that we are following them at this moment."
"And you conclude from this?"
"That the situation is dangerous, even critical; and that whatever precautions we may take, I am greatly afraid that we have to deal with too strong a party. Remark how the path gradually contracts—how the sides become scarped. We are now in acañon, and in a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes at the most, we shall reach the spot where the canyon opens out into the plain. It is there, be assured, that our watchers are waiting for us."
"My good fellow, this is only too clear. Unluckily, we have no way of escaping the fate that menaces us, and we must push on all the same."
"I know it, and it is that which vexes me," thevaquerosaid with a suppressed sigh, as he cast a side glance at doña Dolores. "If the question only concerned us, it would be soon settled, for we are men, and could fall bravely; but will our death save that old man and that poor innocent girl?"
"At least, we will attempt impossibilities to keep them from falling into the hands of their persecutors."
"We are now approaching the suspicious point, so let us push on, to be ready for any event."
They forced their horses into a gallop. A few minutes passed, and they then reached a spot where the path, before entering the plain, made a rather sharp elbow.
"Look out," the count said, in a low voice.
All placed their finger on the trigger. The elbow was passed, but suddenly the whole cavalcade halted with a start of surprise and terror. The entrance of the canyon was barred by a strong barricade, composed of branches, trees, and stones, thrown across the path. Behind this barricade some twenty men were standing motionless and threatening. The weapons of other men crowning the heights on the right and left could be seen glistening in the beams of the rising sun. A horseman was standing in the centre of the path, a little in front of the barricade. It was don Melchior.
"Ah! Ah!" he said, with an ironical grin; "Each his turn, caballeros. I believe that I am at this moment master of the situation, and in a position to offer conditions."
The count, without being in the slightest degree disconcerted, drew a few paces nearer.
"Take care of what you are going to do, señor," he replied; "a treaty was loyally concluded between your chief and us. Any infraction of that treaty would be an act of treachery, and the dishonour would fall on your chief."
"Good!" don Melchior retorted; "We are partizans, and carry on war in our fashion, without troubling ourselves about what people may think. Instead of entering into an idle discussion, which would not be favourable to you, I fancy it would be more sensible to inform you on what conditions I will consent to let you pass."
"Conditions! We will not accept a single one, caballero; and if you do not consent to let us pass, we may compel you to do so, however serious the consequences of a struggle may be for both of us."
"Try it!" he replied, with an ironical smile.
"We are going to do so."
Don Melchior shrugged his shoulders, and turning to his partizans, shouted—
"Fire!"
A frightful detonation was heard, and a shower of bullets hustled round the little party.
"Forward! Forward!" the count cried.
The peons rushed with yells of anger against the barricade. The struggle began—a terrible, fearful struggle; for the peons knew that no quarter would be granted them by their ferocious adversaries, and they fought accordingly, performing prodigies of valour—not to conquer, for they did not believe that possible—but not to fall unavenged. Don Andrés had torn himself from the arms of his daughter, who tried in vain to retain him; and, only armed with a machete, boldly threw himself into the thickest of the fight. The attack of the peons was so impetuous, that the barricade was crossed at the first bound, and the two parties fought hand to hand, being too near each other to employ either guns or pistols.
The partizans stationed on the heights were necessarily reduced to inaction through fear of wounding their friends, as the two bands were so mixed up. Don Melchior was far from expecting such a vigorous resistance on the part of the peons: owing to the advantageous position he had chosen, he had believed the victory easy and reckoned on immediate submission. The event singularly deranged his calculations, and he was beginning to see the consequences of his action. Cuéllar, who would doubtless have forgiven an act of treachery accomplished without striking a blow, would not pardon him for letting his bravest soldiers be thus madly killed. These thoughts redoubled don Melchior's rage. The small troop, horribly decimated, now only counted a few men capable of fighting, the rest were either killed or wounded.
Don Andrés' horse had been killed and the old gentleman, though his blood poured from two wounds, did not the less continue to fight. All at once he uttered a fearful cry of despair: don Melchior had dashed with a tiger's bound into the centre of the group where doña Dolores had sought shelter. Hurling down all the peons who came in his way, don Melchior seized the girl, in spite of her resistance, threw her across his horse's neck, and clearing all obstacles, fled, without troubling himself further about the combat sustained by his comrades. The latter, on seeing themselves thus abandoned, gave up a fight which no longer possessed any object for them, and doubtless, in pursuance of an order previously given them, dispersed in all directions, leaving the peons at liberty to continue their journey to Puebla, if such were their desire. The abduction of doña Dolores had been so rapidly performed by don Melchior that no one noticed it at the first moment, and the cry of despair uttered by don Andrés alone gave the alarm. Without calculating the dangers to which they exposed themselves, the count and the majordomo dashed in pursuit of don Melchior. But the young man who was mounted on a valuable horse, had a considerable advance on their tired steeds, which was augmented every instant. Dominique cast a glance at don Andrés, who had thrown himself on the ground, and raised him gently saying, "Have good hopes, señor, I will save your daughter."
The old gentleman clasped his hands, and after looking at him with an expression of unspeakable gratitude fainted away. Thevaqueroremounted his horse, and driving his spurs into his flanks, he left don Andrés in the hands of his servants, and in his turn started in pursuit of the abductor. Shortly after the pursuit began, thevaqueroacquired the certainty that don Melchior who was better mounted than himself and his comrades, would speedily be out of reach. The young man, who had hitherto galloped in a straight line across country, suddenly made a sharp whirl, as if an unforeseen obstacle had suddenly risen before him; and keeping to the right he seemed for some minutes desirous of reapproaching his pursuers. The latter then tried to bar his passage. Dominique stopped his horse and dismounted, and cocked his gun.
According to the direction don Melchior was following at this moment, he must pass within a hundred yards of him. Thevaqueromade the sign of the cross, shouldered his gun and pulled the trigger. Don Melchior's horse, struck in the head, rolled on the ground, dragging down the rider in its fall. At the same moment, some thirty partizans appeared in the distance, galloping at full speed toward the scene of the ambuscade. Cuéllar galloped at their head. Great as was the haste displayed by the count and the majordomo to reach the spot where don Melchior was lying, Cuéllar arrived, before them. Don Melchior rose, much hurt by his fall, and leaned down to his sister to help her to rise: doña Dolores had fainted.
"By heavens, señor," Cuéllar said in a rough voice, "you are a rude comrade, you practise treachery and ambushes with a rare talent, but may the fiend twist my neck sooner than he ought to do, if we ride any longer in company."
"You select your time badly for jesting, señor," don Melchior replied; "this young lady, who is my sister, has fainted."
"Whose fault is it," the partizans exclaimed brutally, "except your own? With the mere object of carrying her off for I know what purpose, you have had twenty of the most resolute men in my cuadrilla killed. But things shall not go on so. I will put them in order, I vow."
"What do you mean?" don Melchior asked haughtily.
"I mean that you will henceforth do me the great pleasure of going wherever you like, so long as it is not with us, and that I intend from this moment to have nothing more in common with you. This is clear, is it not?"
"Perfectly clear, señor, and hence I will not abuse your patience any longer: supply me with the requisite horses for my sister and myself, and I will leave you immediately."
"Hang me if I supply you with anything: as for this young lady, here are several gentlemen coming who, I am afraid, will hardly let you take her away with you."
Don Melchior turned pale with rage, but he comprehended that any resistance on his part was impossible: he folded his arms on his chest, drew himself up haughtily and waited. The count, the majordomo, and Dominique were really hurrying up. Cuéllar walked some paces toward them—and the young man felt rather anxious, for they did not know the partisan's intentions, and apprehended that he might declare against them.
But Cuéllar hastened to disabuse them: "You arrive opportunely, señores," he said with a kindly accent: "I hope that you have not done me the insult of supposing that I was in any way connected with the trap to which you so nearly fell victims."
"We did not believe it for a moment, señor," the count politely replied.
"I thank you for the good opinion you entertain of me, señores: of course you have come to request that this young lady may be delivered to you."
"That is certainly our intention, señor."
"And if I refuse to let you remove her," don Melchior said fiercely.
"I shall blow out your brains, señor," the partisan coolly interrupted. "Believe me, you had better not try to contend with me, but rather profit by my present good temper to be off: for I might soon repent of this last reproof of my kindness I give you, and abandon you to your enemies."
"Be it so," don Melchior remarked bitterly; "I will retire since I am compelled to do so;" and looking at the count disdainfully, he added, "We shall meet again, señor, and then I hope, if the strength is not entirely on my side, that at least the chances will be equal."
"You have already been mistaken on that point, señor; I have too much confidence in God to believe that it will not always be so."