Chapter Thirty One.

Chapter Thirty One.“Ha! ha! ha! A capital joke, by my honour!” continued Roblado, laughing as he puffed his cigar. “It’s the only piece of fun I’ve enjoyed since we came to this stupid place. Even in a frontier post I find that onemayhave a little amusement if he know how to make it. Ha! ha! ha! After all, there was a devilish deal of trouble. But come, tell me, my dear Comandante—for you know by this time—in confidence, was it worth the trouble?”“I am sorry we have taken it,” was the reply, delivered in a serious tone.Roblado looked straight in the other’s face, and now for the first time noticed its gloomy expression. Busied with his cigar, he had not observed this before.“Hola!” exclaimed he; “what’s the matter, my colonel? This is not the look a man should wear who has spent the last twelve hours as pleasantly as you must have done. Something amiss?”“Everything amiss.”“Pray what? Surely you were with her?”“But a moment, and that was enough.”“Explain, my dear colonel.”“She is mad!”“Mad!”“Having mad! Her talk terrified me. I was but too glad to come away, and leave her to the care of José, who waits upon her. I could not bear to listen to her strange jabberings. I assure you, camarado, it robbed me of all desire to remain.”“Oh,” said Roblado, “that’s nothing—she’ll get over it in a day or so. She still thinks herself in the hands of the savages who are going to murder and scalp her! It may be as well for you to undeceive her of this as soon as she comes to her senses. I don’t see any harm in lettingherknow. You must do so in the end, and the sooner the better—you will have the longer time to get her reconciled to it. Now that you have her snug within earless and eyeless walls, you can manage the thing at your leisure. No one suspects—no onecansuspect. They are full of the Indians to-day—ha! ha! ha! and ’tis said her inamorato, Don Juan, talks of getting up a party to pursue them! Ha! ha! He’ll not do that—the fellow hasn’t influence enough, and nobody cares either about his cattle or the witch’s daughter. Had it been some one else the case might have been different. As it is, there’s no fear of discovery, even were the cibolero himself to make his appearance—”“Roblado!” cried the Comandante, interrupting him, and speaking in a deep earnest voice.“Well?” inquired the captain, regarding Vizcarra with astonishment.“I have had a dream—a fearful dream; and that—not the ravings of the girl—it is that is now troubling me.Diablos! a fearful dream!”“You, Comandante—a valiant soldier—to let a silly dream trouble you! But come! what was it? I’m a good interpreter of dreams. I warrant I read it to your bettor satisfaction.”“Simple enough it is, then. I thought myself upon the cliff of La Niña. I thought that I was alone with Carlos the cibolero! I thought that he knew all, and that he had brought me there to punish me—to avengeher. I had no power to resist, but was led forward to the brink. I thought that we closed and struggled for a while; but at length I was shaken from his grasp, and pushed over the precipice! I felt myself falling—falling! I could see above me the cibolero, with his sister by his side, and on the extremest point the hideous witch their mother, who laughed a wild maniac laugh, and clapped her long bony hands! I felt myself falling—falling—yet still not reaching the ground; and this horrible feeling continued for a long, long time—in fact, until the fearful thought awoke me. Even then I could scarce believe I had been dreaming, so palpable was the impression that remained. Oh, comrade, it was a dreadful dream!”“Andbuta dream; and what signifies—”“Stay, Roblado! I have not told you all. Within the hour—ay, within the quarter of that time—while I was on this spot thinking over it, I chanced to look up to the cliff; and yonder, upon the extreme point, was a horseman clearly outlined against the sky—and that horseman the very image of the cibolero! I noted the horse and the seat of the rider, which I well remember. I could not trust my eyes to look at him. I averted them for a moment—only a moment; and when I looked again he was gone! So quickly had he retired, that I was inclined to think it was only a fancy—that there had been none—and that my dream had produced the illusion!”“That is likely enough,” said Roblado, desirous of comforting his companion; “likely enough—nothing more natural. In the first place, from where we stand to the top of La Niña is a good five thousand varas as the crow flies; and for you, at that distance, to distinguish Carlos the cibolero from any other horseman is a plain impossibility. In the second place, Carlos the cibolero is at this moment full five hundred miles from the tip of my cigar, risking his precious carcase for a cartload of stinking hides and a few bultos of dried buffalo-beef. Let us hope that some of his copper-coloured friends will raise his hay-coloured hair, which some of our poblanas so much admire. And now, my dear Comandante, as to your dream, that is as natural as may be. It could hardly be otherwise than that you should have such a dream. The remembrance of the cibolero’s feat of horsemanship on that very cliff, and the later affair with the sister, together with the suspicion you may naturally entertain that Señor Carlos wouldn’t be too kind to you if he knew all and had you in his power—all these things, being in your thoughts at one time, must come together incongruously in a dream. The old woman, too—if she wasn’t in your thoughts, she has been in mine ever since I gave her that knock in the doorway. Who could forget such a picture as she then presented? Ha! ha! ha!”The brutal villain laughed—not so much from any ludicrous recollection, as to make the whole thing appear light and trivial in the eyes of his companion.“What does it all amount to?” he continued. “A dream! a simple, everyday dream! Come, my dear friend, don’t let it remain on your mind for another instant!”“I cannot help it, Roblado. It clings to me like my shadow. It feels like a presentiment. I wish I had left this paisana in her mud hut. By Heaven! I wish she were back there. I shall not be myself till I have got rid of her. I seem to loathe as much as I loved the jabbering idiot.”“Tut, tut, man! you’ll soon change your way of thinking—you’ll soon take a fresh liking—”“No, Roblado, no! I’m disgusted—I can’t tell why but Iam. Would to God she were off my hands!”“Oh! that’s easy enough, and without hurting anybody. She can go the way she came. It will only be another scene in the masquerade, and no one will be the wiser. If you are really in earnest—”“Roblado!” cried the Comandante, grasping his captain by the arm, “I never was more in earnest in my life. Tell me the plan to get her back without making a noise about it. Tell me quick, for I cannot bear this horrid feeling any longer.”“Why, then,” began Roblado, “we must have another travestie of Indians—we must—”He was suddenly interrupted. A short, sharp groan escaped from Vizcarra. His eyes looked as though about to start from his head. His lips grow white, and the perspiration leaped into drops on his forehead!What could it mean? Vizcarra stood by the outer edge of the azotea that commanded a view of the road leading up to the gate of the Presidio. He was gazing over the parapet, and pointing with outstretched arm.Roblado was farther back, near the centre of the azotea. He sprang forward, and looked in the direction indicated. A horseman, covered with sweat and dust, was galloping up the road. He was near enough for Roblado to distinguish his features. Vizcarra had already distinguished them. It was Carlos the cibolero!

“Ha! ha! ha! A capital joke, by my honour!” continued Roblado, laughing as he puffed his cigar. “It’s the only piece of fun I’ve enjoyed since we came to this stupid place. Even in a frontier post I find that onemayhave a little amusement if he know how to make it. Ha! ha! ha! After all, there was a devilish deal of trouble. But come, tell me, my dear Comandante—for you know by this time—in confidence, was it worth the trouble?”

“I am sorry we have taken it,” was the reply, delivered in a serious tone.

Roblado looked straight in the other’s face, and now for the first time noticed its gloomy expression. Busied with his cigar, he had not observed this before.

“Hola!” exclaimed he; “what’s the matter, my colonel? This is not the look a man should wear who has spent the last twelve hours as pleasantly as you must have done. Something amiss?”

“Everything amiss.”

“Pray what? Surely you were with her?”

“But a moment, and that was enough.”

“Explain, my dear colonel.”

“She is mad!”

“Mad!”

“Having mad! Her talk terrified me. I was but too glad to come away, and leave her to the care of José, who waits upon her. I could not bear to listen to her strange jabberings. I assure you, camarado, it robbed me of all desire to remain.”

“Oh,” said Roblado, “that’s nothing—she’ll get over it in a day or so. She still thinks herself in the hands of the savages who are going to murder and scalp her! It may be as well for you to undeceive her of this as soon as she comes to her senses. I don’t see any harm in lettingherknow. You must do so in the end, and the sooner the better—you will have the longer time to get her reconciled to it. Now that you have her snug within earless and eyeless walls, you can manage the thing at your leisure. No one suspects—no onecansuspect. They are full of the Indians to-day—ha! ha! ha! and ’tis said her inamorato, Don Juan, talks of getting up a party to pursue them! Ha! ha! He’ll not do that—the fellow hasn’t influence enough, and nobody cares either about his cattle or the witch’s daughter. Had it been some one else the case might have been different. As it is, there’s no fear of discovery, even were the cibolero himself to make his appearance—”

“Roblado!” cried the Comandante, interrupting him, and speaking in a deep earnest voice.

“Well?” inquired the captain, regarding Vizcarra with astonishment.

“I have had a dream—a fearful dream; and that—not the ravings of the girl—it is that is now troubling me.Diablos! a fearful dream!”

“You, Comandante—a valiant soldier—to let a silly dream trouble you! But come! what was it? I’m a good interpreter of dreams. I warrant I read it to your bettor satisfaction.”

“Simple enough it is, then. I thought myself upon the cliff of La Niña. I thought that I was alone with Carlos the cibolero! I thought that he knew all, and that he had brought me there to punish me—to avengeher. I had no power to resist, but was led forward to the brink. I thought that we closed and struggled for a while; but at length I was shaken from his grasp, and pushed over the precipice! I felt myself falling—falling! I could see above me the cibolero, with his sister by his side, and on the extremest point the hideous witch their mother, who laughed a wild maniac laugh, and clapped her long bony hands! I felt myself falling—falling—yet still not reaching the ground; and this horrible feeling continued for a long, long time—in fact, until the fearful thought awoke me. Even then I could scarce believe I had been dreaming, so palpable was the impression that remained. Oh, comrade, it was a dreadful dream!”

“Andbuta dream; and what signifies—”

“Stay, Roblado! I have not told you all. Within the hour—ay, within the quarter of that time—while I was on this spot thinking over it, I chanced to look up to the cliff; and yonder, upon the extreme point, was a horseman clearly outlined against the sky—and that horseman the very image of the cibolero! I noted the horse and the seat of the rider, which I well remember. I could not trust my eyes to look at him. I averted them for a moment—only a moment; and when I looked again he was gone! So quickly had he retired, that I was inclined to think it was only a fancy—that there had been none—and that my dream had produced the illusion!”

“That is likely enough,” said Roblado, desirous of comforting his companion; “likely enough—nothing more natural. In the first place, from where we stand to the top of La Niña is a good five thousand varas as the crow flies; and for you, at that distance, to distinguish Carlos the cibolero from any other horseman is a plain impossibility. In the second place, Carlos the cibolero is at this moment full five hundred miles from the tip of my cigar, risking his precious carcase for a cartload of stinking hides and a few bultos of dried buffalo-beef. Let us hope that some of his copper-coloured friends will raise his hay-coloured hair, which some of our poblanas so much admire. And now, my dear Comandante, as to your dream, that is as natural as may be. It could hardly be otherwise than that you should have such a dream. The remembrance of the cibolero’s feat of horsemanship on that very cliff, and the later affair with the sister, together with the suspicion you may naturally entertain that Señor Carlos wouldn’t be too kind to you if he knew all and had you in his power—all these things, being in your thoughts at one time, must come together incongruously in a dream. The old woman, too—if she wasn’t in your thoughts, she has been in mine ever since I gave her that knock in the doorway. Who could forget such a picture as she then presented? Ha! ha! ha!”

The brutal villain laughed—not so much from any ludicrous recollection, as to make the whole thing appear light and trivial in the eyes of his companion.

“What does it all amount to?” he continued. “A dream! a simple, everyday dream! Come, my dear friend, don’t let it remain on your mind for another instant!”

“I cannot help it, Roblado. It clings to me like my shadow. It feels like a presentiment. I wish I had left this paisana in her mud hut. By Heaven! I wish she were back there. I shall not be myself till I have got rid of her. I seem to loathe as much as I loved the jabbering idiot.”

“Tut, tut, man! you’ll soon change your way of thinking—you’ll soon take a fresh liking—”

“No, Roblado, no! I’m disgusted—I can’t tell why but Iam. Would to God she were off my hands!”

“Oh! that’s easy enough, and without hurting anybody. She can go the way she came. It will only be another scene in the masquerade, and no one will be the wiser. If you are really in earnest—”

“Roblado!” cried the Comandante, grasping his captain by the arm, “I never was more in earnest in my life. Tell me the plan to get her back without making a noise about it. Tell me quick, for I cannot bear this horrid feeling any longer.”

“Why, then,” began Roblado, “we must have another travestie of Indians—we must—”

He was suddenly interrupted. A short, sharp groan escaped from Vizcarra. His eyes looked as though about to start from his head. His lips grow white, and the perspiration leaped into drops on his forehead!

What could it mean? Vizcarra stood by the outer edge of the azotea that commanded a view of the road leading up to the gate of the Presidio. He was gazing over the parapet, and pointing with outstretched arm.

Roblado was farther back, near the centre of the azotea. He sprang forward, and looked in the direction indicated. A horseman, covered with sweat and dust, was galloping up the road. He was near enough for Roblado to distinguish his features. Vizcarra had already distinguished them. It was Carlos the cibolero!

Chapter Thirty Two.The announcement made by the cibolero on the bluff startled Don Juan, as if a shot had passed through him. Up to this time the simple ranchero had no thought but that they were on the trail of Indians. Even the singular fact of the trail leading back to the valley had not undeceived him. He supposed the Indians had made some other and later foray in that quarter, and that they would hear of them as soon as they should descend the cliffs.When Carlos pointed to the Presidio, and said, “She is there!” he received the announcement at first with surprise, then with incredulity.Another word from the cibolero, and a few moments’ reflection, and his incredulity vanished. The terrible truth flashed upon his mind, for he, too, remembered the conduct of Vizcarra on the day of the fiesta. His visit to the rancho and other circumstances now rushed before him, aiding the conviction that Carlos spoke the truth.For some moments the lover could scarce give utterance to his thoughts, so painful were they. More painful than ever! Even while under the belief that his mistress was in the hands of wild Indians he suffered less. There was still some hope that, by their strange code in relation to female captives, she might escape that dreaded fate, until he and Carlos might come up and rescue her. But now the time that had elapsed—Vizcarra’s character—O God! it was a terrible thought; and the young man reeled in his saddle as it crossed his mind.He rode back a few paces, flung himself from his horse, and staggered to the ground in the bitterness of his anguish.Carlos remained on the bluff, still gazing down on the Presidio. He seemed to be maturing some plan. He could see the sentries on the battlements, the troopers lounging around the walls in their dark blue and crimson uniforms. He could even hear the call of the cavalry bugle, as its clear echoes came dancing along the cliffs. He could see the figure of a man—an officer—pacing to and fro on the azotea, and he could perceive that the latter had halted, and was observing him.It was at this very moment that Vizcarra had caught sight of the horseman on the bluff—the sight that had so terrified him, and which indeed was no illusion.“Can it be that fiend himself?” thought Carlos, regarding the officer for a moment. “Quite likely it is he. Oh! that he were within range of my rifle! Patience—patience! I will yet have my revenge!”And as the speaker muttered these words, he reined back from the bluff and rejoined his companion.A consultation was now held as to what would be the best mode of proceeding. Antonio was called to their council, and to him Carlos declared his belief that his sister was a captive within the Presidio. It was telling Antonio what he had already divined. Themestizohad been to the fiesta as well as his master, and his keen eyes had been busy on that day. He, too, had observed the conduct of Vizcarra; and long before their halt he had arrived at an elucidation of the many mysteries that marked the late Indian incursion. He knew all—his master might have saved words in telling him.Neither words nor time were wasted. The hearts of both brother and lover were beating too hurriedly for that. Perhaps at that moment the object of their affection was in peril,—perhaps struggling with her ruffian abductor! Their timely arrival might save her!These considerations took precedence of all plans; in fact, there was no plan they could adopt, to remain concealed—to skulk about the place—to wait for opportunity—what opportunity? They might spend days in fruitless waiting. Days!—hours— even minutes would be too long. Not a moment was to be lost before some action must be taken.And what action? They could think of none—none but open action. What! dare a man not claim his own sister? Demand her restoration?But the thought of refusal—the thought of subterfuge—in fact, the certainty that such would be the result—quite terrified them both.And yet how else could they act? They would at least give publicity to the atrocious deed; that might serve them. There would be sympathy in their favour—perhaps more. Perhaps the people, slaves as they were, might surround the Presidio, and clamour loudly;—in some way the captive might be rescued. Such were their hurried reflections.“If not rescued,” said Carlos, grinding his teeth together, “she shall be revenged. Though thegarrotapress my throat, he shall not live if she be dishonoured. I swear it!”“I echo the oath!” cried Don Juan, grasping the hilt of hismachete.“Masters! dear masters!” said Antonio, “you both know I am not a coward. I shall aid you with my arm or my life; but it is a terrible business. Let us have caution, or we fail. Let us be prudent!”“True, we must be prudent. I have already promised that to my mother; but how, comrades?—how! In what does prudence consist?—to wait and watch, while she—oh!”All three were silent for a while. None of them could think of a feasible plan to be pursued.The situation was, indeed, a most difficult one. There was the Presidio, and within its walls—perhaps in some dark chamber—the cibolero well knew his sister was a captive; but under such peculiar circumstances that her release would be a most difficult enterprise.In the first place, the villain who held her would assuredly deny that she was there. To have released her would be an acknowledgment of his guilt. What proof of it could Carlos give? The soldiers of the garrison, no doubt, were ignorant of the whole transaction—with the exception of the two or three miscreants who had acted as aides. Were the cibolero to assert such a thing in the town he would be laughed at—no doubt arrested and punished. Even could he offer proofs, what authority was there to help him to justice? The military was the law of the place, and the little show of civic authority that existed would be more disposed to take sides against him than in his favour. He could expect no justice from any quarter. All the proof of his accusation would rest only on such facts as would neither be understood nor regarded by those to whom he might appeal. The return trail would be easily accounted for by Vizcarra—if he should deign to take so much trouble—and the accusation of Carlos would be scouted as the fancy of a madman. No one would give credence to it. The very atrociousness of the deed rendered it incredible!Carlos and his companions were aware of all these things. They had no hope of help from any quarter. There was no authority that could give them aid or redress.The cibolero, who had remained for a while silent and thoughtful, at length spoke out. His tone was altered. He seemed to have conceived some plan that held out a hope.“Comrades!” he said, “I can think of nothing but an open demand, and that must be made within the hour. I cannot live another hour without attempting her rescue—another hour, and what we dread—No! within the hour it must be. I have formed a sort of plan—it may not be the most prudent—but there is no time for reflection. Hear it.”“Go on!”“It will be of no use our appearing before the gate of the Presidio in full force. There are hundreds of soldiers within the walls, and our twenty Tagnos, though brave as lions, would be of no service in such an unequal fight. I shall go alone.”“Alone?”“Yes; I trust to chance for an interview withhim. If I can get that, it is all I want. He is her gaoler; and when the gaoler sleeps, the captive may be freed. He shallsleep then.”The last words were uttered in a significant tone, while the speaker placed his hand mechanically upon the handle of a large knife that was stuck in his waist-belt.“He shall sleepthen!” he repeated; “and soon, if Fate favours me. For the rest I care not: I am too desperate. If she be dishonoured I care not to live, but I shall have full revenge!”“But how will you obtain an interview?” suggested Don Juan. “He will not giveyouone. Would it not be better to disguise yourself? There would be more chance of seeing him that way?”“No! I am not easily disguised, with my light hair and skin. Besides, it would cost too much time. Trust me, I will not be rash. I have a plan by which I hope to get near him—to see him, at all events. If it fail, I intend to make no demonstration for the present. None of the wretches shall know my real errand. Afterwards I may do as you advise, but now I cannot wait. I must on to the work. I believe it is he that is at this moment pacing yonder azotea, and that is why I cannot wait, Don Juan. If it be me—”“But what shall we do?” asked Don Juan. “Can we not assist in any way?”“Yes, perhaps in my escape. Come on, I shall place you. Come on quickly. Moments are days. My brain’s on fire. Come on!”So saying, the cibolero leaped into his saddle and struck rapidly down the precipitous path that led to the valley.From the point where the road touched the valley bottom, for more than a mile in the direction of the Presidio, it ran through a thick growth of low trees and bushes forming a “chapparal,” difficult to pass through, except by following the road itself.But there were several cattle-paths through the thicket, by which it might be traversed; and these were known to Antonio the half-blood, who had formerly lived in this neighbourhood. By one of those a party of mounted men might approach within half-a-mile of the Presidio without attracting the observation of the sentries upon the walls. To this point, then, Antonio was directed to guide the party; and in due time they arrived near the edge of the jungle, where, at the command of Carlos, all dismounted keeping themselves and their horses under cover of the bushes.“Now,” said the cibolero, speaking to Don Juan, “remain here. If I escape, I shall gallop direct to this point. If I lose my horse, you shall see me afoot all the same. For such a short stretch I can run like a deer: I shall not be overtaken. When I return I shall tell you how to act.“See! Don Juan!” he continued, grasping the ranchero by the arm, and drawing him forward to the edge of the chapparal. “It is he! by Heaven, it is he!”Carlos pointed to the azotea of the Presidio, where the head and shoulders of a man were seen above the line of the parapet.“It is the Comandante himself!” said Don Juan, also recognising him.“Enough! I have no time for more talk,” cried the cibolero. “Now or never! If I return, you shall know what to do. If not, I am taken or killed. But stay here. Stay till late in the night; I may still escape. Their prisons are not too strong; besides, I carry this gold. It may help me. No more. Adios! true friend, adios!”With a grasp of the ranchero’s hand, Carlos leaped back to his saddle, and rode off.He did not go in the direction of the Presidio, as that would have discovered him too soon. But a path that led through the chapparal would bring him out on the main road that ran up to the front gate, and this path he took. Antonio guided him to the edge of the timber, and then returned to the rest.Carlos, once on the road, spurred his horse into gallop, and dashed boldly forward to the great gate of the Presidio. The dog Cibolo followed, keeping close up to the heels of his horse.

The announcement made by the cibolero on the bluff startled Don Juan, as if a shot had passed through him. Up to this time the simple ranchero had no thought but that they were on the trail of Indians. Even the singular fact of the trail leading back to the valley had not undeceived him. He supposed the Indians had made some other and later foray in that quarter, and that they would hear of them as soon as they should descend the cliffs.

When Carlos pointed to the Presidio, and said, “She is there!” he received the announcement at first with surprise, then with incredulity.

Another word from the cibolero, and a few moments’ reflection, and his incredulity vanished. The terrible truth flashed upon his mind, for he, too, remembered the conduct of Vizcarra on the day of the fiesta. His visit to the rancho and other circumstances now rushed before him, aiding the conviction that Carlos spoke the truth.

For some moments the lover could scarce give utterance to his thoughts, so painful were they. More painful than ever! Even while under the belief that his mistress was in the hands of wild Indians he suffered less. There was still some hope that, by their strange code in relation to female captives, she might escape that dreaded fate, until he and Carlos might come up and rescue her. But now the time that had elapsed—Vizcarra’s character—O God! it was a terrible thought; and the young man reeled in his saddle as it crossed his mind.

He rode back a few paces, flung himself from his horse, and staggered to the ground in the bitterness of his anguish.

Carlos remained on the bluff, still gazing down on the Presidio. He seemed to be maturing some plan. He could see the sentries on the battlements, the troopers lounging around the walls in their dark blue and crimson uniforms. He could even hear the call of the cavalry bugle, as its clear echoes came dancing along the cliffs. He could see the figure of a man—an officer—pacing to and fro on the azotea, and he could perceive that the latter had halted, and was observing him.

It was at this very moment that Vizcarra had caught sight of the horseman on the bluff—the sight that had so terrified him, and which indeed was no illusion.

“Can it be that fiend himself?” thought Carlos, regarding the officer for a moment. “Quite likely it is he. Oh! that he were within range of my rifle! Patience—patience! I will yet have my revenge!”

And as the speaker muttered these words, he reined back from the bluff and rejoined his companion.

A consultation was now held as to what would be the best mode of proceeding. Antonio was called to their council, and to him Carlos declared his belief that his sister was a captive within the Presidio. It was telling Antonio what he had already divined. Themestizohad been to the fiesta as well as his master, and his keen eyes had been busy on that day. He, too, had observed the conduct of Vizcarra; and long before their halt he had arrived at an elucidation of the many mysteries that marked the late Indian incursion. He knew all—his master might have saved words in telling him.

Neither words nor time were wasted. The hearts of both brother and lover were beating too hurriedly for that. Perhaps at that moment the object of their affection was in peril,—perhaps struggling with her ruffian abductor! Their timely arrival might save her!

These considerations took precedence of all plans; in fact, there was no plan they could adopt, to remain concealed—to skulk about the place—to wait for opportunity—what opportunity? They might spend days in fruitless waiting. Days!—hours— even minutes would be too long. Not a moment was to be lost before some action must be taken.

And what action? They could think of none—none but open action. What! dare a man not claim his own sister? Demand her restoration?

But the thought of refusal—the thought of subterfuge—in fact, the certainty that such would be the result—quite terrified them both.

And yet how else could they act? They would at least give publicity to the atrocious deed; that might serve them. There would be sympathy in their favour—perhaps more. Perhaps the people, slaves as they were, might surround the Presidio, and clamour loudly;—in some way the captive might be rescued. Such were their hurried reflections.

“If not rescued,” said Carlos, grinding his teeth together, “she shall be revenged. Though thegarrotapress my throat, he shall not live if she be dishonoured. I swear it!”

“I echo the oath!” cried Don Juan, grasping the hilt of hismachete.

“Masters! dear masters!” said Antonio, “you both know I am not a coward. I shall aid you with my arm or my life; but it is a terrible business. Let us have caution, or we fail. Let us be prudent!”

“True, we must be prudent. I have already promised that to my mother; but how, comrades?—how! In what does prudence consist?—to wait and watch, while she—oh!”

All three were silent for a while. None of them could think of a feasible plan to be pursued.

The situation was, indeed, a most difficult one. There was the Presidio, and within its walls—perhaps in some dark chamber—the cibolero well knew his sister was a captive; but under such peculiar circumstances that her release would be a most difficult enterprise.

In the first place, the villain who held her would assuredly deny that she was there. To have released her would be an acknowledgment of his guilt. What proof of it could Carlos give? The soldiers of the garrison, no doubt, were ignorant of the whole transaction—with the exception of the two or three miscreants who had acted as aides. Were the cibolero to assert such a thing in the town he would be laughed at—no doubt arrested and punished. Even could he offer proofs, what authority was there to help him to justice? The military was the law of the place, and the little show of civic authority that existed would be more disposed to take sides against him than in his favour. He could expect no justice from any quarter. All the proof of his accusation would rest only on such facts as would neither be understood nor regarded by those to whom he might appeal. The return trail would be easily accounted for by Vizcarra—if he should deign to take so much trouble—and the accusation of Carlos would be scouted as the fancy of a madman. No one would give credence to it. The very atrociousness of the deed rendered it incredible!

Carlos and his companions were aware of all these things. They had no hope of help from any quarter. There was no authority that could give them aid or redress.

The cibolero, who had remained for a while silent and thoughtful, at length spoke out. His tone was altered. He seemed to have conceived some plan that held out a hope.

“Comrades!” he said, “I can think of nothing but an open demand, and that must be made within the hour. I cannot live another hour without attempting her rescue—another hour, and what we dread—No! within the hour it must be. I have formed a sort of plan—it may not be the most prudent—but there is no time for reflection. Hear it.”

“Go on!”

“It will be of no use our appearing before the gate of the Presidio in full force. There are hundreds of soldiers within the walls, and our twenty Tagnos, though brave as lions, would be of no service in such an unequal fight. I shall go alone.”

“Alone?”

“Yes; I trust to chance for an interview withhim. If I can get that, it is all I want. He is her gaoler; and when the gaoler sleeps, the captive may be freed. He shallsleep then.”

The last words were uttered in a significant tone, while the speaker placed his hand mechanically upon the handle of a large knife that was stuck in his waist-belt.

“He shall sleepthen!” he repeated; “and soon, if Fate favours me. For the rest I care not: I am too desperate. If she be dishonoured I care not to live, but I shall have full revenge!”

“But how will you obtain an interview?” suggested Don Juan. “He will not giveyouone. Would it not be better to disguise yourself? There would be more chance of seeing him that way?”

“No! I am not easily disguised, with my light hair and skin. Besides, it would cost too much time. Trust me, I will not be rash. I have a plan by which I hope to get near him—to see him, at all events. If it fail, I intend to make no demonstration for the present. None of the wretches shall know my real errand. Afterwards I may do as you advise, but now I cannot wait. I must on to the work. I believe it is he that is at this moment pacing yonder azotea, and that is why I cannot wait, Don Juan. If it be me—”

“But what shall we do?” asked Don Juan. “Can we not assist in any way?”

“Yes, perhaps in my escape. Come on, I shall place you. Come on quickly. Moments are days. My brain’s on fire. Come on!”

So saying, the cibolero leaped into his saddle and struck rapidly down the precipitous path that led to the valley.

From the point where the road touched the valley bottom, for more than a mile in the direction of the Presidio, it ran through a thick growth of low trees and bushes forming a “chapparal,” difficult to pass through, except by following the road itself.

But there were several cattle-paths through the thicket, by which it might be traversed; and these were known to Antonio the half-blood, who had formerly lived in this neighbourhood. By one of those a party of mounted men might approach within half-a-mile of the Presidio without attracting the observation of the sentries upon the walls. To this point, then, Antonio was directed to guide the party; and in due time they arrived near the edge of the jungle, where, at the command of Carlos, all dismounted keeping themselves and their horses under cover of the bushes.

“Now,” said the cibolero, speaking to Don Juan, “remain here. If I escape, I shall gallop direct to this point. If I lose my horse, you shall see me afoot all the same. For such a short stretch I can run like a deer: I shall not be overtaken. When I return I shall tell you how to act.

“See! Don Juan!” he continued, grasping the ranchero by the arm, and drawing him forward to the edge of the chapparal. “It is he! by Heaven, it is he!”

Carlos pointed to the azotea of the Presidio, where the head and shoulders of a man were seen above the line of the parapet.

“It is the Comandante himself!” said Don Juan, also recognising him.

“Enough! I have no time for more talk,” cried the cibolero. “Now or never! If I return, you shall know what to do. If not, I am taken or killed. But stay here. Stay till late in the night; I may still escape. Their prisons are not too strong; besides, I carry this gold. It may help me. No more. Adios! true friend, adios!”

With a grasp of the ranchero’s hand, Carlos leaped back to his saddle, and rode off.

He did not go in the direction of the Presidio, as that would have discovered him too soon. But a path that led through the chapparal would bring him out on the main road that ran up to the front gate, and this path he took. Antonio guided him to the edge of the timber, and then returned to the rest.

Carlos, once on the road, spurred his horse into gallop, and dashed boldly forward to the great gate of the Presidio. The dog Cibolo followed, keeping close up to the heels of his horse.

Chapter Thirty Three.“By the Virgin, itishe!” exclaimed Roblado, with a look of astonishment and alarm. “The fellow himself, as I live!”“I knew it!—I knew it!” shrieked Vizcarra. “I saw him on the cliff: it was no vision!”“Where can he have come from? In the name of all the saints, where has the fellow—”“Roblado, I must go below! I must go in, I will not stay to meet him! Icannot!”“Nay, colonel, better let him speak with us. He has seen and recognised you already. If you appear to shun him, it will arouse suspicion. He has come to ask our help to pursue the Indians; and that’s his errand, I warrant you!”“Do you think so?” inquired Vizcarra, partially recovering his self-possession at this conjecture.“No doubt of it! What else? He can have no suspicion of the truth. How is it possible he could, unless he were a witch, like his mother? Stay where you are, and let us hear what he has got to say. Of course, you can talk to him from the azotea, while he remains below. If he show any signs of being insolent, as he has already been to both of us, let us have him arrested, and cooled a few hours in the calabozo. I hope the fellow will give us an excuse for it, for I haven’t forgotten his impudence at the fiesta.”“You are right, Roblado; I shall stay and heur him. It will be better, I think, and will allay any suspicion. But, as you say, he can have none!”“On the contrary, by your giving him the aid he is about to ask you for, you may put him entirely off the scent—make him your friend, in fact. Ha! ha!”The idea was plausible, and pleased Vizcarra. He at once determined to act upon it.This conversation had been hurriedly carried on, and lasted but a few moments—from the time the approaching horseman had been first seen, until he drew up under the wall.For the last two hundred yards he had ridden slowly, and with an air of apparent respect—as though he feared it might be deemed rude to approach the place of power by any swaggering exhibition of horsemanship. On his fine features traces of grief might be observed, but not one sign of the feeling that was at that moment uppermost in his heart.As he drew near, he raised his sombrero in a respectful salute to the two officers, whose heads and shoulders were just visible over the parapet; and having arrived within a dozen paces of the wall, he reined up, and, taking off his hat again, waited to be addressed.“What is your business?” demanded Roblado.“Cavalleros! I wish to speak with the Comandante.”This was delivered in the tone of one who is soon to ask a favour. It gave confidence to Vizcarra, as well as to the bolder villain—who, notwithstanding all his assurances to the contrary, had still some secret misgivings about the cibolero’s errand. Now, however, it was clear that his first conjecture was correct; Carlos had come to solicit their assistance.“I am he!” answered Vizcarra, now quite recovered from his fright, “I am the Comandante. What have you to communicate, my man?”“Your excellency, I have a favour to ask;” and the cibolero again saluted with an humble bow.“I told you so,” whispered Roblado to his superior. “All safe, my colonel.”“Well, my good fellow,” replied Vizcarra, in his usual haughty and patronising manner, “let me hear it. If not unreasonable—”“Your excellency, it is a very heavy favour I would ask, but I hope not unreasonable. I am sure that, if it do not interfere with your manifold duties, you will not refuse to grant it, as the interest and trouble you have already taken in the cause are but too well-known.”“Told you so,” muttered Roblado a second time.“Speak out, man!” said Vizcarra, encouragingly; “I can only give an answer when I have heard your request.”“It is this, your excellency. I am but a poor cibolero.”“You are Carlos the cibolero! I know you.”“Yes, your excellency, we have met—at the fiesta of San Juan—”“Yes, yes! I recollect your splendid horsemanship.”“Your excellency is kind to call it so. It does not avail me now. I am in great trouble!”“What has befallen? Speak out, man.” Both Vizcarra and Roblado guessed the purport of the cibolero’s request. They desired that it should be heard by the few soldiers lounging about the gate and for that reason they spoke in a loud tone themselves, anxious that their petitioner might do the same.Not to oblige them, but for reasons of his own, Carlos replied in a loud voice. He, too, wished the soldiers, but more particularly the sentry at the gate, to hear what passed between himself and the officers. “Well, your excellency,” replied he, “I live in a poor rancho, the last in the settlement, with my old mother and sister. The night before last it was attacked by a party of Indians—my mother left for dead—the rancho set on fire—and my sister carried off!”“I have heard of all this, my friend,—nay, more, I have myself been out in pursuit of the savages.”“I know it, your excellency. I was absent on the Plains, and only returned last night. I have heard that your excellency was prompt in pursuing the savages, and I feel grateful.”“No need of that; I only performed my duty. I regret the occurrence, and sympathise with you; but the villains have got clear off, and there is no hope of bringing them to punishment just now. Perhaps some other time—when the garrison here is strengthened—I shall make an incursion into their country, and then your sister may be recovered.”So completely had Vizcarra been deceived by the cibolero’s manner, that his confidence and coolness had returned, and any one knowing nothing more of the affair than could be gathered from that conversation would have certainly been deceived by him. This dissimulation both in speech and manner appeared perfect. By the keen eye of Carlos, however—with his knowledge of the true situation—the tremor of the speaker’s lips, slight as it was—his uneasy glance—and an occasional hesitancy in his speech, were all observed. Though Carlos was deceivinghim,hewas not deceiving Carlos.“What favour were you going to ask?” he inquired, after he had delivered his hopeful promise.“This, your excellency; that you would allow your troops to go once more on the trail of the robbers, either under your own command—which I would much like—or one of your brave officers.” Roblado felt flattered. “I would act as guide, your excellency. There is not a spot within two hundred miles I am not acquainted with, as well as I am with this valley; and though I should not say it, I assure your excellency, I can follow an Indian trail with any hunter on the Plains. If your excellency will but send the troop, I promise you I shall guide them to the robbers, or lose my reputation. I can follow their trailwherever it may lead.”“Oh! you could, indeed?” said Vizcarra, exchanging a significant glance with Roblado, while both exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness.“Yes, your excellency, anywhere.”“It would be impossible,” said Roblado. “It is now two days old; besides,wefollowed it beyond the Pecos, and we have no doubt the robbers are by this time far out of reach, of any pursuit. It would be quite useless to attempt such a thing.”“Cavalleros!”—Carlos addressed himself to both—“I assure you I could find them. They are not so far off.”Both the Comandante and his captain started, and visibly turned pale. The cibolero did not affect to notice this.“Nonsense! my good fellow!” stammered Roblado; “they are—at least—hundreds of miles off by this—away over the Staked Plain—or to—to the mountains.”“Pardon me, captain, for differing with you; but I believe I know these Indians—I know to what tribe they belong.”“What tribe?” simultaneously inquired the officers, both with an earnestness of manner and a slight trepidation in their voices; “what tribe?—Were they not Yutas?”“No,” answered the cibolero, while he observed the continued confusion of his questioners.“Who, then?”“I believe,” replied Carlos, “they werenotYutas—more likely my sworn foes, the Jicarillas.”“Quite possible!” assented both in a breath, and evidently relieved at the enunciation.“Quite possible!” repeated Roblado. “From the description given us by the people who saw them, we had fancied they were the Yutas. It may be a mistake, however. The people were so affrighted, they could tell but little about them. Besides, the Indians were only seen in the night.”“Why think you they are the Jicarillas?” asked the Comandante, once more breathing freely.“Partly because there were so few of them,” replied Carlos. “Had they been Yutas—”“But they were not so few. The shepherds report a large band. They have carried off immense numbers of cattle. There must have been a considerable force of them, else they would not have ventured into the valley—that is certain.”“I am convinced, your excellency, there could not have been many. A small troop of your brave soldiers would be enough to bring back both them and their booty.”Here the lounging lanzeros erected their dwarfish bodies, and endeavoured to look taller.“Ifthey were Jicarillas,” continued Carlos, “I should not need to follow their trail. They arenotin the direction of the Llano. If they have gone that way, it was to mislead you in the pursuit. I know where they are at this moment—in the mountains.”“Ha! you think they are in the mountains?”“I am sure of it; and not fifty miles from here. If your excellency would but send a troop, I could guide it direct to the spot, and without following the trail they have taken out of the valley—which I believe was only a false one.”The Comandante and Roblado drew back from the parapet, and for some minutes talked together in a low tone.“It would look well,” muttered Roblado; “in fact, the very thing you want. The trump cards seem to drop right into your hands. You send a force at therequestof this fellow, who is a nobody here. You do him a service, and yourself at the same time. It will tell well, I warrant you.”“But for him to act as guide?”“Let him! So much the better—that will satisfy all parties. He won’t find his Jicarillas,—ha! ha ha!—of course; but let the fool have his whim!”“But suppose, camarado, he falls uponourtrail?—the cattle?”“He is not going in that direction; besides, if he did, we are not bound to follow such trails as he may choose for us; but he has said he is not going that way—he don’t intend to follow a trail. He knows some nest of these Jicarillas in the mountains,—like enough; and to rout them—there’s a bit of glory for some one. A few scalps would look well over the gate. It hasn’t had a fresh ornament of that sort since we’ve been here! What say you? It’s but a fifty-mile ride.”“I have no objection to the thing—itwouldlook well; but I shall not go myself. I don’t like being along with the fellow out there or anywhere else—you can understand that feeling, I suppose?”Here the Comandante looked significantly at his companion.“Oh! certainly—certainly,” replied the latter.“Youmay take the troop; or, if you are not inclined, send Garcia or the sergeant with them.”“I’ll go myself,” replied Roblado. “It will be safer. Should the cibolero incline to follow certain trails, I can lead him away from them, or refuse—yes it will be better for me to go myself. By my soul! I want to have a brush with these redskins. I hope to bring back some ‘hair,’ as they say. Ha ha! ha!”“When would you start?”“Instantly—the sooner the better. That will be more agreeable to all parties, and will prove our promptitude and patriotism. Ha! ha! ha!”“You had better give the sergeant his orders to get the men ready, while I make our cibolero happy.”Roblado hastened down from the azotea, and the next moment the bugle was heard sounding “boots and saddles.”

“By the Virgin, itishe!” exclaimed Roblado, with a look of astonishment and alarm. “The fellow himself, as I live!”

“I knew it!—I knew it!” shrieked Vizcarra. “I saw him on the cliff: it was no vision!”

“Where can he have come from? In the name of all the saints, where has the fellow—”

“Roblado, I must go below! I must go in, I will not stay to meet him! Icannot!”

“Nay, colonel, better let him speak with us. He has seen and recognised you already. If you appear to shun him, it will arouse suspicion. He has come to ask our help to pursue the Indians; and that’s his errand, I warrant you!”

“Do you think so?” inquired Vizcarra, partially recovering his self-possession at this conjecture.

“No doubt of it! What else? He can have no suspicion of the truth. How is it possible he could, unless he were a witch, like his mother? Stay where you are, and let us hear what he has got to say. Of course, you can talk to him from the azotea, while he remains below. If he show any signs of being insolent, as he has already been to both of us, let us have him arrested, and cooled a few hours in the calabozo. I hope the fellow will give us an excuse for it, for I haven’t forgotten his impudence at the fiesta.”

“You are right, Roblado; I shall stay and heur him. It will be better, I think, and will allay any suspicion. But, as you say, he can have none!”

“On the contrary, by your giving him the aid he is about to ask you for, you may put him entirely off the scent—make him your friend, in fact. Ha! ha!”

The idea was plausible, and pleased Vizcarra. He at once determined to act upon it.

This conversation had been hurriedly carried on, and lasted but a few moments—from the time the approaching horseman had been first seen, until he drew up under the wall.

For the last two hundred yards he had ridden slowly, and with an air of apparent respect—as though he feared it might be deemed rude to approach the place of power by any swaggering exhibition of horsemanship. On his fine features traces of grief might be observed, but not one sign of the feeling that was at that moment uppermost in his heart.

As he drew near, he raised his sombrero in a respectful salute to the two officers, whose heads and shoulders were just visible over the parapet; and having arrived within a dozen paces of the wall, he reined up, and, taking off his hat again, waited to be addressed.

“What is your business?” demanded Roblado.

“Cavalleros! I wish to speak with the Comandante.”

This was delivered in the tone of one who is soon to ask a favour. It gave confidence to Vizcarra, as well as to the bolder villain—who, notwithstanding all his assurances to the contrary, had still some secret misgivings about the cibolero’s errand. Now, however, it was clear that his first conjecture was correct; Carlos had come to solicit their assistance.

“I am he!” answered Vizcarra, now quite recovered from his fright, “I am the Comandante. What have you to communicate, my man?”

“Your excellency, I have a favour to ask;” and the cibolero again saluted with an humble bow.

“I told you so,” whispered Roblado to his superior. “All safe, my colonel.”

“Well, my good fellow,” replied Vizcarra, in his usual haughty and patronising manner, “let me hear it. If not unreasonable—”

“Your excellency, it is a very heavy favour I would ask, but I hope not unreasonable. I am sure that, if it do not interfere with your manifold duties, you will not refuse to grant it, as the interest and trouble you have already taken in the cause are but too well-known.”

“Told you so,” muttered Roblado a second time.

“Speak out, man!” said Vizcarra, encouragingly; “I can only give an answer when I have heard your request.”

“It is this, your excellency. I am but a poor cibolero.”

“You are Carlos the cibolero! I know you.”

“Yes, your excellency, we have met—at the fiesta of San Juan—”

“Yes, yes! I recollect your splendid horsemanship.”

“Your excellency is kind to call it so. It does not avail me now. I am in great trouble!”

“What has befallen? Speak out, man.” Both Vizcarra and Roblado guessed the purport of the cibolero’s request. They desired that it should be heard by the few soldiers lounging about the gate and for that reason they spoke in a loud tone themselves, anxious that their petitioner might do the same.

Not to oblige them, but for reasons of his own, Carlos replied in a loud voice. He, too, wished the soldiers, but more particularly the sentry at the gate, to hear what passed between himself and the officers. “Well, your excellency,” replied he, “I live in a poor rancho, the last in the settlement, with my old mother and sister. The night before last it was attacked by a party of Indians—my mother left for dead—the rancho set on fire—and my sister carried off!”

“I have heard of all this, my friend,—nay, more, I have myself been out in pursuit of the savages.”

“I know it, your excellency. I was absent on the Plains, and only returned last night. I have heard that your excellency was prompt in pursuing the savages, and I feel grateful.”

“No need of that; I only performed my duty. I regret the occurrence, and sympathise with you; but the villains have got clear off, and there is no hope of bringing them to punishment just now. Perhaps some other time—when the garrison here is strengthened—I shall make an incursion into their country, and then your sister may be recovered.”

So completely had Vizcarra been deceived by the cibolero’s manner, that his confidence and coolness had returned, and any one knowing nothing more of the affair than could be gathered from that conversation would have certainly been deceived by him. This dissimulation both in speech and manner appeared perfect. By the keen eye of Carlos, however—with his knowledge of the true situation—the tremor of the speaker’s lips, slight as it was—his uneasy glance—and an occasional hesitancy in his speech, were all observed. Though Carlos was deceivinghim,hewas not deceiving Carlos.

“What favour were you going to ask?” he inquired, after he had delivered his hopeful promise.

“This, your excellency; that you would allow your troops to go once more on the trail of the robbers, either under your own command—which I would much like—or one of your brave officers.” Roblado felt flattered. “I would act as guide, your excellency. There is not a spot within two hundred miles I am not acquainted with, as well as I am with this valley; and though I should not say it, I assure your excellency, I can follow an Indian trail with any hunter on the Plains. If your excellency will but send the troop, I promise you I shall guide them to the robbers, or lose my reputation. I can follow their trailwherever it may lead.”

“Oh! you could, indeed?” said Vizcarra, exchanging a significant glance with Roblado, while both exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness.

“Yes, your excellency, anywhere.”

“It would be impossible,” said Roblado. “It is now two days old; besides,wefollowed it beyond the Pecos, and we have no doubt the robbers are by this time far out of reach, of any pursuit. It would be quite useless to attempt such a thing.”

“Cavalleros!”—Carlos addressed himself to both—“I assure you I could find them. They are not so far off.”

Both the Comandante and his captain started, and visibly turned pale. The cibolero did not affect to notice this.

“Nonsense! my good fellow!” stammered Roblado; “they are—at least—hundreds of miles off by this—away over the Staked Plain—or to—to the mountains.”

“Pardon me, captain, for differing with you; but I believe I know these Indians—I know to what tribe they belong.”

“What tribe?” simultaneously inquired the officers, both with an earnestness of manner and a slight trepidation in their voices; “what tribe?—Were they not Yutas?”

“No,” answered the cibolero, while he observed the continued confusion of his questioners.

“Who, then?”

“I believe,” replied Carlos, “they werenotYutas—more likely my sworn foes, the Jicarillas.”

“Quite possible!” assented both in a breath, and evidently relieved at the enunciation.

“Quite possible!” repeated Roblado. “From the description given us by the people who saw them, we had fancied they were the Yutas. It may be a mistake, however. The people were so affrighted, they could tell but little about them. Besides, the Indians were only seen in the night.”

“Why think you they are the Jicarillas?” asked the Comandante, once more breathing freely.

“Partly because there were so few of them,” replied Carlos. “Had they been Yutas—”

“But they were not so few. The shepherds report a large band. They have carried off immense numbers of cattle. There must have been a considerable force of them, else they would not have ventured into the valley—that is certain.”

“I am convinced, your excellency, there could not have been many. A small troop of your brave soldiers would be enough to bring back both them and their booty.”

Here the lounging lanzeros erected their dwarfish bodies, and endeavoured to look taller.

“Ifthey were Jicarillas,” continued Carlos, “I should not need to follow their trail. They arenotin the direction of the Llano. If they have gone that way, it was to mislead you in the pursuit. I know where they are at this moment—in the mountains.”

“Ha! you think they are in the mountains?”

“I am sure of it; and not fifty miles from here. If your excellency would but send a troop, I could guide it direct to the spot, and without following the trail they have taken out of the valley—which I believe was only a false one.”

The Comandante and Roblado drew back from the parapet, and for some minutes talked together in a low tone.

“It would look well,” muttered Roblado; “in fact, the very thing you want. The trump cards seem to drop right into your hands. You send a force at therequestof this fellow, who is a nobody here. You do him a service, and yourself at the same time. It will tell well, I warrant you.”

“But for him to act as guide?”

“Let him! So much the better—that will satisfy all parties. He won’t find his Jicarillas,—ha! ha ha!—of course; but let the fool have his whim!”

“But suppose, camarado, he falls uponourtrail?—the cattle?”

“He is not going in that direction; besides, if he did, we are not bound to follow such trails as he may choose for us; but he has said he is not going that way—he don’t intend to follow a trail. He knows some nest of these Jicarillas in the mountains,—like enough; and to rout them—there’s a bit of glory for some one. A few scalps would look well over the gate. It hasn’t had a fresh ornament of that sort since we’ve been here! What say you? It’s but a fifty-mile ride.”

“I have no objection to the thing—itwouldlook well; but I shall not go myself. I don’t like being along with the fellow out there or anywhere else—you can understand that feeling, I suppose?”

Here the Comandante looked significantly at his companion.

“Oh! certainly—certainly,” replied the latter.

“Youmay take the troop; or, if you are not inclined, send Garcia or the sergeant with them.”

“I’ll go myself,” replied Roblado. “It will be safer. Should the cibolero incline to follow certain trails, I can lead him away from them, or refuse—yes it will be better for me to go myself. By my soul! I want to have a brush with these redskins. I hope to bring back some ‘hair,’ as they say. Ha ha! ha!”

“When would you start?”

“Instantly—the sooner the better. That will be more agreeable to all parties, and will prove our promptitude and patriotism. Ha! ha! ha!”

“You had better give the sergeant his orders to get the men ready, while I make our cibolero happy.”

Roblado hastened down from the azotea, and the next moment the bugle was heard sounding “boots and saddles.”

Chapter Thirty Four.During the conversation that had taken place the cibolero sat, motionless upon his horse where he had first halted. The two officers were no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the azotea, and the high parapet concealed them. But Carlos guessed the object of their temporary retirement, and waited patiently.The group of soldiers, lounging in the gateway, and scanning him and his horse, now amounted to thirty or forty men; but the bugle, sounding the well-known call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry alone remained by the gate. Both he and the soldiers, having overheard the last conversation, guessed the object of the summons. Carlos felt assured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet the Comandante had not told him.Up to that moment the cibolero had conceived no fixed plan of action. How could he, where so much depended on chance?Only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite—that wasto get Vizcarra alone. If but for a single minute, it would suffice.Entreaty, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in his own defeat and death. A minute would be enough for vengeance; and with the thoughts of his sister’s ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning for this. To anything after he scarce gave a thought. For escape, he trusted to chance and his own superior energy.Up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. It had just occurred to him that the Comandante himself might lead the party going out. If so he would take no immediate step. While acting as guide, his opportunity would be excellent—not only for destroying his enemy, but for his own escape. Once on the wide plains, he would have no fear of ten times the number of lancers. His true steed would carry him far beyond their reach.The troop was going. The bugle told him so. Would Vizcarra go with it? That was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he sat immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the parapet above.Once more the hated face appeared over the wall—this time to announce what the Comandante believed would be glad news to his wretched petitioner. With all the pompous importance of one who grants a great favour he announced it.A gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero—not at the announcement, though Vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of the fact that the latter seemed to be nowalone upon the azotea. Roblado’s face was not above the wall.“It is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant this favour to an humble individual like myself. I know not how to thank you.”“No thanks—no thanks: an officer of his Catholic Majesty wants no thanks for doing his duty.”As the Comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, and seemed about to retire backward. Carlos interrupted his intention by putting a question: “Am I to have the honour of acting as guide to your excellency?”“No; I do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, Captain Roblado, will lead it. He is now getting ready. You may wait for him.”As Vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, and continued his promenade along the azotea. No doubt he felt ill at ease in atête-à-têtewith the cibolero, and was glad to end it. Why he had condescended to give all this information need not be inquired into; but it was just what the cibolero desired to know.The latter saw that the time was come—not a moment was to be lost, and, quick as thought, he resolved himself for action.Up to this moment he had remained in his saddle. His rifle—its butt resting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up to his shoulder—had been seen by no one. The “armas de aqua” covering his legs, and the serapé his shoulders, had completely concealed it. In addition to this, his sharp hunting-knife, strapped along his left thigh, escaped observation under the hanging corner of the serapé. These were his only weapons.During the short conversation between the Comandante and Roblado he had not been idle, though apparently so. He had made a full reconnaissance of the walls. He saw that out of the saguan, or gateway, an escalera of stone steps led up to the azotea. This communication was intended for the soldiers, when any duty required them to mount to the roof; but Carlos knew that there was another escalera, by which the officers ascended: and although he had never been inside the Presidio, he rightly conjectured that this was at the adjacent end of the building. He had observed, too, that but one sentry was posted at the gate, and that the stone banquette, inside the saguan, used as a lounging-place by the guard, was at the moment unoccupied. The guard were either inside the house, or had strayed away to their quarters. In fact, the discipline of the place was of the loosest kind. Vizcarra, though a dandy himself, was no martinet with his men. His time was too much taken up with his own pleasures to allow him to care for aught else.All these points had passed under the keen observation of the cibolero before Vizcarra returned to announce his intention of sending the troop. He had scarce parted out of sight the second time ere the former had taken his measures.Silently dismounting from his horse, Carlos left the animal standing where he had halted him. He did not fasten him to either rail or post, but simply hooked the bridle-rein over the “horn” of the saddle. He know that his well-trained steed would await him there.His rifle he still carried under his serapé, though the butt was now visible below the edge, pressed closely against the calf of his leg. In this way he walked forward to the gate.One doubt troubled him—would the sentry permit him to pass in? If not, the sentry must die!This resolve was quickly made; and the cibolero under his serapé kept his grasp on the handle of his hunting-knife as he approached the gate.The attempt was made to pass through. Fortunately for Carlos, and for the sentry as well, it was successful. The latter—a slouching, careless fellow—had heard the late conversation, and had no suspicion of the other’s design. He made some feeble opposition, notwithstanding; but Carlos hastily replied that he had something to say to the Comandante, who had beckoned him up to the azotea. This but half satisfied the fellow, who, however, reluctantly allowed him to pass.Once inside, Carlos sprang to the steps, and glided up with the stealthy silent tread of a cat. So little noise had his moccasins made upon the stones, that, when he arrived upon the roof, its occupant—although standing but six feet from the head of the escalera—was not aware of his presence!There was he—Vizcarra himself—the despot—the despoiler—the violator of a sister’s innocence and honour—there was he within six feet of the avenging brother—six feet from the muzzle of his ready rifle, and still ignorant of the terrible situation! His face was turned in an opposite direction—he saw not his peril.The glance of the cibolero rested upon him but an instant, and then swept the walls to ascertain if any one was above. He knew there were two sentries on the towers. They were not visible—they were on the outer walls and could not be seen from Carlos’s position. No one else was above. His enemy alone was there, and his glance again rested upon him.Carlos could have sent the bullet into his back, and such a thought crossed his mind, but was gone in an instant. He had come to take the man’s life, but not in that manner. Even prudence suggested a better plan. His knife would be more silent, and afford him a safer chance of escape when the deed was done! With this idea, he brought the butt of his rifle gently to the ground, and rested its barrel against the parapet. The iron coming in contact with the stone wall gave a tiny clink. Slight as it was, it reached the ear of the Comandante, who wheeled suddenly round, and started at the sight of the intruder.At first he exhibited anger, but the countenance of the cibolero, that had undergone a complete metamorphosis during the short interval, soon changed his anger into alarm.“How dare you intrude, sir?—how dare—”“Not so loud, colonel!—not so loud—you will be heard!”The low husky voice, and the firm tone of command, in which they were uttered, terrified the cowardly wretch to whom these words were addressed. He saw that the man who stood before him bore in his face and attitude the expression of desperate and irresistible resolve, that plainly said, “Disobey, and you are a dead man!” This expression was heightened by the gleaming blade of a long knife, whose haft was firmly grasped by the hand of the cibolero.At sight of those demonstrations, Vizcarra turned white with terror. He now comprehended what was meant. The asking for the troop had been but a subterfuge to get near his own person! The cibolero had tracked him; his guilt was known, and the brother was now come to demand redress or have vengeance! The horrors of his night-dream returned, now mingling with the horrors of the fearful reality before him.He scarce knew what to say—he could scarce speak. He looked wildly around in hopes of seeing some help. Not a face or form was in sight—nothing but the grey walls, and before him the frowning face of his terrible antagonist. He would have called for help; but that face—that angry attitude—told him that the shout would be his last. He gasped out at length—“What want you?”“I want my sister!”“Your sister?”“My sister!”“Carlos—I know not—she is not here—I—”“Liar! she is within these walls. See! yonder the dog howls by the door. Why is that?”Carlos pointed to a door in the lower part of the building, where the dog Cibolo was at that moment seen, whining and making other demonstrations, as if he wanted to get inside! A soldier was endeavouring to drive him off.Vizcarra looked mechanically as directed. He saw the dog. He saw the soldier too; but dared not make a signal to him. The keen blade was gleaming before his eyes. The question of the cibolero was repeated.“Why is that?”“I—I—know not—”“Liar again! She has gone in by that door. Where is she now? Quick, tell me!”“I declare, I know not. Believe me—”“False villain! she is here. I have tracked you through all your paths—your tricks have not served you. Deny her once more, and this to your heart. She is here!—Where—where—I say?”“Oh! do not murder me. I shall tell all. She—she—is—here. I swear I have not wronged her; I swear I have not—”“Here, ruffian—stand at this point—close to the wall here.—Quick!”The cibolero had indicated a spot from which part of the patio, or courtyard, was visible. His command was instantly obeyed, for the craven Comandante saw that certain death was the alternative.“Now give orders that she be brought forth! You know to whom she is intrusted. Be cool and calm, do you hear? Any sign to your minions, either word or gesture, and this knife will pass through your ribs! Now!”“O my God!—my God!—it would ruin me—all would know—ruin—ruin—I pray you—have mercy—have patience!—She shall be restored to you—I swear it—this very night!”“This very moment, villain! Quick—proceed—all those who know—let her be brought forth!—quick—I am on fire—one moment more—”“O Heaven! you will murder me—a moment—Stay!—Ha!”The last exclamation was in a different tone from the rest. It was a shout of exultation—of triumph!The face of the Comandante was turned towards the escalera by which Carlos had ascended, while that of the latter looked in the opposite direction. Carlos, therefore, did not perceive that a third person had reached the roof, until he felt his upraised right arm grasped by a strong hand, and held back! He wrenched his arm free—turning as he did so—when he found himself face to face with a man whom he recognised as the Lieutenant Garcia.“I have no quarrel withyou,” cried the cibolero; “keep away from me.”The officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and was levelling it at his head. Carlos rushed upon him.The report rang, and for a moment the smoke shrouded both Garcia and the cibolero. One was heard to fall heavily on the tiles, and the next moment the other sprang from the cloud evidently unhurt.It was the cibolero who came forth; and his knife, still in his grasp, was reeking with blood!He rushed forward towards the spot where he had parted with the Comandante, but the latter was gone! He was some distance off on the azotea, and running towards the private stairway.Carlos saw at a glance he could not overtake him before he should reach the escalera, and make his descent; and to follow him below would now be useless, for the shot had given the alarm.There was a moment of despair,—a short moment; for in the next a bright thought rushed into the mind of the cibolero—he remembered his rifle. There might be still time to overtake the Comandante with that.He seized the weapon, and, springing beyond the circle of smoke, raised it to his shoulder.Vizcarra had reached the stairway, and was already sinking into its trap-like entrance. His head and shoulders alone appeared above the line of wall, when some half-involuntary thought induced him to stop and look back. The coward had partly got over his fright now that he had arrived within reach of succour, and he glanced back from a feeling of curiosity, to see if the struggle between Garcia and the cibolero was yet over. He meant to stop only for an instant, but just as he turned his head the rifle cracked, and the bullet sent him tumbling to the bottom of the escalera!The cibolero saw that his shot had taken effect—he saw, moreover, that the other was dead—he heard the wild shouts of vengeance from below; and he knew that unless he could escape by flight he would be surrounded and pierced by an hundred lances.His first thought was to descend by the escalera, up which he had come. The other way only led into the patio, already filling with men. He leaped over the body of Garcia, and ran toward the stairway.A crowd of armed men was coming up. His escape was cut off!Again he crossed the dead body, and, running along the azotea, sprang upon the outer parapet and looked below.It was a fearful leap to take, but there was no other hope of escaping. Several lancers had reached the roof, and were charging forward with their pointed weapons. Already carbines were ringing, and bullets whistling about his ears. It was no time to hesitate. His eye fell upon his brave horse, as he stood proudly curving his neck and champing the bit, “Thank Heaven, he is yet alive!”Nerved by the sight, Carlos dropped down from the wall, and reached the ground without injury. A shrill whistle brought his steed to his side, and the next moment the cibolero had sprung into the saddle, and was galloping out into the open plain!Bullets hissed after, and men mounted in hot pursuit; but before they could spur their horses out of the gateway, Carlos had reached the edge of the chapparal, and disappeared under the leafy screen of its thick foliage.A body of lancers, with Roblado and Gomez at their head, rode after. As they approached the edge of the chapparal, to their astonishment a score of heads appeared above the bushes, and a wild yell hailed their advance!“Indios bravos! los barbaros!” cried the lancers, halting, while some of them wheeled back in alarm.A general halt was made, and the pursuers waited until reinforcements should come up. The whole garrison turned out, and the chapparal was surrounded, and at length entered. But no Indians could be found, though the tracks of their animals led through the thicket in every direction.After beating about for several hours, Roblado and his troopers returned to the Presidio.

During the conversation that had taken place the cibolero sat, motionless upon his horse where he had first halted. The two officers were no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the azotea, and the high parapet concealed them. But Carlos guessed the object of their temporary retirement, and waited patiently.

The group of soldiers, lounging in the gateway, and scanning him and his horse, now amounted to thirty or forty men; but the bugle, sounding the well-known call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry alone remained by the gate. Both he and the soldiers, having overheard the last conversation, guessed the object of the summons. Carlos felt assured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet the Comandante had not told him.

Up to that moment the cibolero had conceived no fixed plan of action. How could he, where so much depended on chance?

Only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite—that wasto get Vizcarra alone. If but for a single minute, it would suffice.

Entreaty, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in his own defeat and death. A minute would be enough for vengeance; and with the thoughts of his sister’s ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning for this. To anything after he scarce gave a thought. For escape, he trusted to chance and his own superior energy.

Up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. It had just occurred to him that the Comandante himself might lead the party going out. If so he would take no immediate step. While acting as guide, his opportunity would be excellent—not only for destroying his enemy, but for his own escape. Once on the wide plains, he would have no fear of ten times the number of lancers. His true steed would carry him far beyond their reach.

The troop was going. The bugle told him so. Would Vizcarra go with it? That was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he sat immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the parapet above.

Once more the hated face appeared over the wall—this time to announce what the Comandante believed would be glad news to his wretched petitioner. With all the pompous importance of one who grants a great favour he announced it.

A gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero—not at the announcement, though Vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of the fact that the latter seemed to be nowalone upon the azotea. Roblado’s face was not above the wall.

“It is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant this favour to an humble individual like myself. I know not how to thank you.”

“No thanks—no thanks: an officer of his Catholic Majesty wants no thanks for doing his duty.”

As the Comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, and seemed about to retire backward. Carlos interrupted his intention by putting a question: “Am I to have the honour of acting as guide to your excellency?”

“No; I do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, Captain Roblado, will lead it. He is now getting ready. You may wait for him.”

As Vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, and continued his promenade along the azotea. No doubt he felt ill at ease in atête-à-têtewith the cibolero, and was glad to end it. Why he had condescended to give all this information need not be inquired into; but it was just what the cibolero desired to know.

The latter saw that the time was come—not a moment was to be lost, and, quick as thought, he resolved himself for action.

Up to this moment he had remained in his saddle. His rifle—its butt resting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up to his shoulder—had been seen by no one. The “armas de aqua” covering his legs, and the serapé his shoulders, had completely concealed it. In addition to this, his sharp hunting-knife, strapped along his left thigh, escaped observation under the hanging corner of the serapé. These were his only weapons.

During the short conversation between the Comandante and Roblado he had not been idle, though apparently so. He had made a full reconnaissance of the walls. He saw that out of the saguan, or gateway, an escalera of stone steps led up to the azotea. This communication was intended for the soldiers, when any duty required them to mount to the roof; but Carlos knew that there was another escalera, by which the officers ascended: and although he had never been inside the Presidio, he rightly conjectured that this was at the adjacent end of the building. He had observed, too, that but one sentry was posted at the gate, and that the stone banquette, inside the saguan, used as a lounging-place by the guard, was at the moment unoccupied. The guard were either inside the house, or had strayed away to their quarters. In fact, the discipline of the place was of the loosest kind. Vizcarra, though a dandy himself, was no martinet with his men. His time was too much taken up with his own pleasures to allow him to care for aught else.

All these points had passed under the keen observation of the cibolero before Vizcarra returned to announce his intention of sending the troop. He had scarce parted out of sight the second time ere the former had taken his measures.

Silently dismounting from his horse, Carlos left the animal standing where he had halted him. He did not fasten him to either rail or post, but simply hooked the bridle-rein over the “horn” of the saddle. He know that his well-trained steed would await him there.

His rifle he still carried under his serapé, though the butt was now visible below the edge, pressed closely against the calf of his leg. In this way he walked forward to the gate.

One doubt troubled him—would the sentry permit him to pass in? If not, the sentry must die!

This resolve was quickly made; and the cibolero under his serapé kept his grasp on the handle of his hunting-knife as he approached the gate.

The attempt was made to pass through. Fortunately for Carlos, and for the sentry as well, it was successful. The latter—a slouching, careless fellow—had heard the late conversation, and had no suspicion of the other’s design. He made some feeble opposition, notwithstanding; but Carlos hastily replied that he had something to say to the Comandante, who had beckoned him up to the azotea. This but half satisfied the fellow, who, however, reluctantly allowed him to pass.

Once inside, Carlos sprang to the steps, and glided up with the stealthy silent tread of a cat. So little noise had his moccasins made upon the stones, that, when he arrived upon the roof, its occupant—although standing but six feet from the head of the escalera—was not aware of his presence!

There was he—Vizcarra himself—the despot—the despoiler—the violator of a sister’s innocence and honour—there was he within six feet of the avenging brother—six feet from the muzzle of his ready rifle, and still ignorant of the terrible situation! His face was turned in an opposite direction—he saw not his peril.

The glance of the cibolero rested upon him but an instant, and then swept the walls to ascertain if any one was above. He knew there were two sentries on the towers. They were not visible—they were on the outer walls and could not be seen from Carlos’s position. No one else was above. His enemy alone was there, and his glance again rested upon him.

Carlos could have sent the bullet into his back, and such a thought crossed his mind, but was gone in an instant. He had come to take the man’s life, but not in that manner. Even prudence suggested a better plan. His knife would be more silent, and afford him a safer chance of escape when the deed was done! With this idea, he brought the butt of his rifle gently to the ground, and rested its barrel against the parapet. The iron coming in contact with the stone wall gave a tiny clink. Slight as it was, it reached the ear of the Comandante, who wheeled suddenly round, and started at the sight of the intruder.

At first he exhibited anger, but the countenance of the cibolero, that had undergone a complete metamorphosis during the short interval, soon changed his anger into alarm.

“How dare you intrude, sir?—how dare—”

“Not so loud, colonel!—not so loud—you will be heard!”

The low husky voice, and the firm tone of command, in which they were uttered, terrified the cowardly wretch to whom these words were addressed. He saw that the man who stood before him bore in his face and attitude the expression of desperate and irresistible resolve, that plainly said, “Disobey, and you are a dead man!” This expression was heightened by the gleaming blade of a long knife, whose haft was firmly grasped by the hand of the cibolero.

At sight of those demonstrations, Vizcarra turned white with terror. He now comprehended what was meant. The asking for the troop had been but a subterfuge to get near his own person! The cibolero had tracked him; his guilt was known, and the brother was now come to demand redress or have vengeance! The horrors of his night-dream returned, now mingling with the horrors of the fearful reality before him.

He scarce knew what to say—he could scarce speak. He looked wildly around in hopes of seeing some help. Not a face or form was in sight—nothing but the grey walls, and before him the frowning face of his terrible antagonist. He would have called for help; but that face—that angry attitude—told him that the shout would be his last. He gasped out at length—

“What want you?”

“I want my sister!”

“Your sister?”

“My sister!”

“Carlos—I know not—she is not here—I—”

“Liar! she is within these walls. See! yonder the dog howls by the door. Why is that?”

Carlos pointed to a door in the lower part of the building, where the dog Cibolo was at that moment seen, whining and making other demonstrations, as if he wanted to get inside! A soldier was endeavouring to drive him off.

Vizcarra looked mechanically as directed. He saw the dog. He saw the soldier too; but dared not make a signal to him. The keen blade was gleaming before his eyes. The question of the cibolero was repeated.

“Why is that?”

“I—I—know not—”

“Liar again! She has gone in by that door. Where is she now? Quick, tell me!”

“I declare, I know not. Believe me—”

“False villain! she is here. I have tracked you through all your paths—your tricks have not served you. Deny her once more, and this to your heart. She is here!—Where—where—I say?”

“Oh! do not murder me. I shall tell all. She—she—is—here. I swear I have not wronged her; I swear I have not—”

“Here, ruffian—stand at this point—close to the wall here.—Quick!”

The cibolero had indicated a spot from which part of the patio, or courtyard, was visible. His command was instantly obeyed, for the craven Comandante saw that certain death was the alternative.

“Now give orders that she be brought forth! You know to whom she is intrusted. Be cool and calm, do you hear? Any sign to your minions, either word or gesture, and this knife will pass through your ribs! Now!”

“O my God!—my God!—it would ruin me—all would know—ruin—ruin—I pray you—have mercy—have patience!—She shall be restored to you—I swear it—this very night!”

“This very moment, villain! Quick—proceed—all those who know—let her be brought forth!—quick—I am on fire—one moment more—”

“O Heaven! you will murder me—a moment—Stay!—Ha!”

The last exclamation was in a different tone from the rest. It was a shout of exultation—of triumph!

The face of the Comandante was turned towards the escalera by which Carlos had ascended, while that of the latter looked in the opposite direction. Carlos, therefore, did not perceive that a third person had reached the roof, until he felt his upraised right arm grasped by a strong hand, and held back! He wrenched his arm free—turning as he did so—when he found himself face to face with a man whom he recognised as the Lieutenant Garcia.

“I have no quarrel withyou,” cried the cibolero; “keep away from me.”

The officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and was levelling it at his head. Carlos rushed upon him.

The report rang, and for a moment the smoke shrouded both Garcia and the cibolero. One was heard to fall heavily on the tiles, and the next moment the other sprang from the cloud evidently unhurt.

It was the cibolero who came forth; and his knife, still in his grasp, was reeking with blood!

He rushed forward towards the spot where he had parted with the Comandante, but the latter was gone! He was some distance off on the azotea, and running towards the private stairway.

Carlos saw at a glance he could not overtake him before he should reach the escalera, and make his descent; and to follow him below would now be useless, for the shot had given the alarm.

There was a moment of despair,—a short moment; for in the next a bright thought rushed into the mind of the cibolero—he remembered his rifle. There might be still time to overtake the Comandante with that.

He seized the weapon, and, springing beyond the circle of smoke, raised it to his shoulder.

Vizcarra had reached the stairway, and was already sinking into its trap-like entrance. His head and shoulders alone appeared above the line of wall, when some half-involuntary thought induced him to stop and look back. The coward had partly got over his fright now that he had arrived within reach of succour, and he glanced back from a feeling of curiosity, to see if the struggle between Garcia and the cibolero was yet over. He meant to stop only for an instant, but just as he turned his head the rifle cracked, and the bullet sent him tumbling to the bottom of the escalera!

The cibolero saw that his shot had taken effect—he saw, moreover, that the other was dead—he heard the wild shouts of vengeance from below; and he knew that unless he could escape by flight he would be surrounded and pierced by an hundred lances.

His first thought was to descend by the escalera, up which he had come. The other way only led into the patio, already filling with men. He leaped over the body of Garcia, and ran toward the stairway.

A crowd of armed men was coming up. His escape was cut off!

Again he crossed the dead body, and, running along the azotea, sprang upon the outer parapet and looked below.

It was a fearful leap to take, but there was no other hope of escaping. Several lancers had reached the roof, and were charging forward with their pointed weapons. Already carbines were ringing, and bullets whistling about his ears. It was no time to hesitate. His eye fell upon his brave horse, as he stood proudly curving his neck and champing the bit, “Thank Heaven, he is yet alive!”

Nerved by the sight, Carlos dropped down from the wall, and reached the ground without injury. A shrill whistle brought his steed to his side, and the next moment the cibolero had sprung into the saddle, and was galloping out into the open plain!

Bullets hissed after, and men mounted in hot pursuit; but before they could spur their horses out of the gateway, Carlos had reached the edge of the chapparal, and disappeared under the leafy screen of its thick foliage.

A body of lancers, with Roblado and Gomez at their head, rode after. As they approached the edge of the chapparal, to their astonishment a score of heads appeared above the bushes, and a wild yell hailed their advance!

“Indios bravos! los barbaros!” cried the lancers, halting, while some of them wheeled back in alarm.

A general halt was made, and the pursuers waited until reinforcements should come up. The whole garrison turned out, and the chapparal was surrounded, and at length entered. But no Indians could be found, though the tracks of their animals led through the thicket in every direction.

After beating about for several hours, Roblado and his troopers returned to the Presidio.

Chapter Thirty Five.Garcia was dead. Vizcarra was not, though, when taken up from where he had fallen, he looked like one who had not long to live, and behaved like one who was afraid to die. His face was covered with blood, and his cheek showed the scar of a shot. He was alive however,—moaning and mumbling. Fine talking was out of the question, for several of his teeth had been carried away by the bullet.His wound was a mere face wound. There was not the slightest danger; but the “medico” of the place, a young practitioner, was not sufficiently master of his art to give him that assurance, and for some hours Vizcarra remained in anything but blissful ignorance of his fate.The garrison doctor had died but a short time before, and his place was not yet supplied.A scene of excitement for the rest of that day was the Presidio—not less so the town. The whole settlement was roused by the astounding news, which spread like a prairie fire throughout the length and breadth of the valley.It travelled in two different shapes. One was, that the settlement was surrounded by “los barbaros,” headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they must be in great numbers, since they had made an open attack upon the military stronghold itself; but that they had been beaten off by the valiant soldiers after a desperate conflict, in which many were killed on both sides; that the officers were all killed, including the Comandante; and that another attack might be looked for that night, which would most likely be directed against the town! This was the first shape of the “novedades.”Another rumour had it that the “Indios mansos” had revolted; that they were headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they had made an unsuccessful attempt upon the Presidio, in which, as before, the valiant soldiers had repulsed them with great loss on both sides, including the Comandante and his officers: that this was but the first outbreak of a great conspiracy, which extended to all the Tagnos of the settlement, and that no doubt the attack would be renewed that night!To those who reflected, both forms of the rumour were incomprehensible. Why should “Indios bravos” attack the Presidio before proceeding against the more defenceless town as well as the several rich haciendas? And how could Carlos the cibolero be their leader? Why should he of all men,—he who had just suffered at the hands of the savages? It was well-known through the settlement that it was the cibolero’s sister who had been carried off. The idea of an Indian incursion, with him at the head of it, seemed too improbable.Then, again, as to the conspiracy and revolt. Why the tame Indians were seen labouring quietly in the fields, and those belonging to the mission were working at their usual occupations! News, too, had come down from the mines—no symptoms of conspiracy had been observed there! A revolt of the Tagnos, with the cibolero at their head, would, of the two rumours, have been the more likely to be true; for it was well-known to all that these were far from content with their lot—but at present there was no appearance of such a thing around. There were they all at their ordinary employments. Who, then, were the revolters? Both rumours, therefore, were highly improbable.Half the town-people were soon gathered around the Presidio, and after stories of all shapes had been carried back and forward, the definite facts at length became known.These, however, were as mysterious and puzzling as the rumours. For what reason could the cibolero have attacked the officers of the garrison? Who were the Indians that accompanied him? Were they “bravos” or “mansos”?—savages or rebels?The most remarkable thing was, that the soldiers themselves who had taken part in the imaginary “fight” could not answer these questions. Some said this, and some that. Many had heard the conversation between Carlos and the officers; but that portion of the affair, though perfectly natural in itself when taken in connexion with after circumstances, only rendered the whole more complicated and mysterious! The soldiers could give no explanation; and the people returned home, to canvass and discuss the affair among themselves. Various versions were in vogue. Some believed that the cibolero had come with thebona fidedesire to obtain help against the Indians—that those who accompanied him were only a few Tagnos whom he had collected to aid in the pursuit—and that the Comandante, having first promised to aid him, had afterwards refused, and that this had led to the strange conduct of the cibolero!There was another hypothesis that gained more credit than this. It was that Captain Roblado was the man whom the cibolero had desired to make a victim; that he was guided against him by motives of jealousy; for the conduct of Carlos on the day of the fiesta was well-known, and had been much ridiculed—that, in failing to reach Roblado, he had quarrelled with the Comandante, and so forth.Improbable as was this conjecture, it had many supporters, in the absence of the true motive for the conduct of the cibolero. There were but four men within the Presidio to whom this was known, and only three outside of it. By the general public it was not even suspected.In one thing all agreed—in condemning Carlos the cibolero. The garotta was too good for him; and when taken, they could all promise him ample punishment. The very ingratitude of the act was magnified. It was but the day before that these same officers had gone forth with their valiant soldiers to do him a service! The man must have been mad! His mother had no doubt bewitched him.To have killed Lieutenant Garcia!—he who was such a favourite!Carrambo!This was true. Garcia was liked by the people of the settlement—perhaps not so much from the possession of any peculiar virtues, but in contrast with his superiors. He was an affable, harmless sort of person, and had won general esteem.That night the cibolero had not one friend in San Ildefonso. Nay, we speak wrongly. He hadone. There was one heart beating for him as fondly as ever—Catalina’s—but she, too, was ignorant of the motives which had led to his mysterious conduct.Whatever these motives were, she knew they could not be otherwise than just. What to her were the calumnies—the gibes—that were heaped upon him? What to her if he had taken the life of a fellow-creature? He had not done so without good cause—without some fearful provocation. She believed that in her soul. She knew his noble nature too well to think otherwise. He was the lord of her heart, and could do no wrong!Sorrowful, heart-breaking news was it to her. It boded long separation—perhaps for ever! He dared no more visit the town—not even the settlement! He would be driven to the wild plains—hunted like the wolf or the savage bison—perhaps taken and slain! Bitter were her reflections. When should she see him again? Maybe, never!

Garcia was dead. Vizcarra was not, though, when taken up from where he had fallen, he looked like one who had not long to live, and behaved like one who was afraid to die. His face was covered with blood, and his cheek showed the scar of a shot. He was alive however,—moaning and mumbling. Fine talking was out of the question, for several of his teeth had been carried away by the bullet.

His wound was a mere face wound. There was not the slightest danger; but the “medico” of the place, a young practitioner, was not sufficiently master of his art to give him that assurance, and for some hours Vizcarra remained in anything but blissful ignorance of his fate.

The garrison doctor had died but a short time before, and his place was not yet supplied.

A scene of excitement for the rest of that day was the Presidio—not less so the town. The whole settlement was roused by the astounding news, which spread like a prairie fire throughout the length and breadth of the valley.

It travelled in two different shapes. One was, that the settlement was surrounded by “los barbaros,” headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they must be in great numbers, since they had made an open attack upon the military stronghold itself; but that they had been beaten off by the valiant soldiers after a desperate conflict, in which many were killed on both sides; that the officers were all killed, including the Comandante; and that another attack might be looked for that night, which would most likely be directed against the town! This was the first shape of the “novedades.”

Another rumour had it that the “Indios mansos” had revolted; that they were headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they had made an unsuccessful attempt upon the Presidio, in which, as before, the valiant soldiers had repulsed them with great loss on both sides, including the Comandante and his officers: that this was but the first outbreak of a great conspiracy, which extended to all the Tagnos of the settlement, and that no doubt the attack would be renewed that night!

To those who reflected, both forms of the rumour were incomprehensible. Why should “Indios bravos” attack the Presidio before proceeding against the more defenceless town as well as the several rich haciendas? And how could Carlos the cibolero be their leader? Why should he of all men,—he who had just suffered at the hands of the savages? It was well-known through the settlement that it was the cibolero’s sister who had been carried off. The idea of an Indian incursion, with him at the head of it, seemed too improbable.

Then, again, as to the conspiracy and revolt. Why the tame Indians were seen labouring quietly in the fields, and those belonging to the mission were working at their usual occupations! News, too, had come down from the mines—no symptoms of conspiracy had been observed there! A revolt of the Tagnos, with the cibolero at their head, would, of the two rumours, have been the more likely to be true; for it was well-known to all that these were far from content with their lot—but at present there was no appearance of such a thing around. There were they all at their ordinary employments. Who, then, were the revolters? Both rumours, therefore, were highly improbable.

Half the town-people were soon gathered around the Presidio, and after stories of all shapes had been carried back and forward, the definite facts at length became known.

These, however, were as mysterious and puzzling as the rumours. For what reason could the cibolero have attacked the officers of the garrison? Who were the Indians that accompanied him? Were they “bravos” or “mansos”?—savages or rebels?

The most remarkable thing was, that the soldiers themselves who had taken part in the imaginary “fight” could not answer these questions. Some said this, and some that. Many had heard the conversation between Carlos and the officers; but that portion of the affair, though perfectly natural in itself when taken in connexion with after circumstances, only rendered the whole more complicated and mysterious! The soldiers could give no explanation; and the people returned home, to canvass and discuss the affair among themselves. Various versions were in vogue. Some believed that the cibolero had come with thebona fidedesire to obtain help against the Indians—that those who accompanied him were only a few Tagnos whom he had collected to aid in the pursuit—and that the Comandante, having first promised to aid him, had afterwards refused, and that this had led to the strange conduct of the cibolero!

There was another hypothesis that gained more credit than this. It was that Captain Roblado was the man whom the cibolero had desired to make a victim; that he was guided against him by motives of jealousy; for the conduct of Carlos on the day of the fiesta was well-known, and had been much ridiculed—that, in failing to reach Roblado, he had quarrelled with the Comandante, and so forth.

Improbable as was this conjecture, it had many supporters, in the absence of the true motive for the conduct of the cibolero. There were but four men within the Presidio to whom this was known, and only three outside of it. By the general public it was not even suspected.

In one thing all agreed—in condemning Carlos the cibolero. The garotta was too good for him; and when taken, they could all promise him ample punishment. The very ingratitude of the act was magnified. It was but the day before that these same officers had gone forth with their valiant soldiers to do him a service! The man must have been mad! His mother had no doubt bewitched him.

To have killed Lieutenant Garcia!—he who was such a favourite!Carrambo!

This was true. Garcia was liked by the people of the settlement—perhaps not so much from the possession of any peculiar virtues, but in contrast with his superiors. He was an affable, harmless sort of person, and had won general esteem.

That night the cibolero had not one friend in San Ildefonso. Nay, we speak wrongly. He hadone. There was one heart beating for him as fondly as ever—Catalina’s—but she, too, was ignorant of the motives which had led to his mysterious conduct.

Whatever these motives were, she knew they could not be otherwise than just. What to her were the calumnies—the gibes—that were heaped upon him? What to her if he had taken the life of a fellow-creature? He had not done so without good cause—without some fearful provocation. She believed that in her soul. She knew his noble nature too well to think otherwise. He was the lord of her heart, and could do no wrong!

Sorrowful, heart-breaking news was it to her. It boded long separation—perhaps for ever! He dared no more visit the town—not even the settlement! He would be driven to the wild plains—hunted like the wolf or the savage bison—perhaps taken and slain! Bitter were her reflections. When should she see him again? Maybe, never!

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