Chapter Nineteen.Rosarita.On the route from La Poza it had fallen to the lot of Cuchillo and Tiburcio to ride side by side, but for all this few words had passed between them. Although Cuchillo had not the slightest idea of renouncing his dire design, he continued to hide his thoughts under an air of good-humour—which when need be he knew how to assume. He had made several attempts to read the thoughts of the young gambusino, but the latter was on his guard, seeking in his turn to identify Cuchillo with the assassin of his father. No opportunity offered, however; and in this game of mutual espionage, neither had the advantage. Nevertheless, an instinctive and mutual hatred became established between the two, and before the day’s journey was over, each regarded the other as a mortal foe. Cuchillo was more than ever determined to execute his hellish purpose—since a crime less or more would be nothing to him—while Tiburcio, keenly remembering the oath which he had made to his adopted mother, was resolved on keeping it, and only awaited the time when he should be sure of the assassin. We need scarcely add that Tiburcio in the accomplishment of his vow, had no thought of playing the assassin. No. Whenever and wherever the murderer should be found, he was to die by Tiburcio’s hand; but only in fair and open fight.But there were other painful reflections that occupied Tiburcio’s mind during the journey. The nearer he approached the object of his love the greater seemed to be the distance between them. Though a man may hope to obtain what he only wishes for in a moderate way, yet when anything is ardently yearned after, the obstacles appear insurmountable. Hence the secret of many a heroic resolution. When Tiburcio was reclining by the well of La Poza, his sweet dream hindered him from thinking of these obstacles; but now that the journey was nearly ended, and he drew near to the grand hacienda, his spirits fell, and a feeling of hopelessness took possession of his soul. Hence it was that he formed the resolution to put an end to the painful suspense which he had now a long time endured; and that very night, if possible, he intended to ascertain his position in the eyes of Doña Rosarita. Come what might, he resolved to ask that question, whose answer might render him at once the happiest or the most miserable of men.When Tiburcio had first met Doña Rosarita, with her father and his servants, in the depth of the forest, he knew nothing of the rank of the party thus wandering astray. Even during the two happy days in which he acted as their guide, he was ignorant of the name of the beautiful young girl, to whom his eyes and his heart rendered a continual homage. He therefore permitted himself to indulge in those pleasant dreams which have their origin in a hopeful love. It was only after he had learned the quality of his fellow-travellers—that the young lady was the daughter of the opulent proprietor, Don Augustin Peña—it was only on ascertaining this that Tiburcio perceived the folly of his aspirations, and the distance that lay between him and the object of his love. If then the secret, so unexpectedly revealed to him, had given him a desire for the possession of riches, it was not for the sake of being rich. No; a nobler object inspired him—one more in keeping with his poetic character. He desired riches only that with them he might bridge over the chasm that separated him from Rosarita.Unhappily he could not hide from himself the too evident fact that he was not the sole possessor of the secret.All at once it occurred to him that the expedition to which he found himself thus accidentally attached could have no other object than this very placer of the Golden Valley. Most likely the very man who shared the secret with him—the murderer of Marcos Arellanos—was among the men enrolled under the orders of the chief Don Estevan. The ambiguous questioning of Cuchillo, his comprehension of events, the stumbling of his horse, with other slighter indications, appeared to throw some light upon the obscurity of Tiburcio’s conjectures; but not enough. How was he (Tiburcio) to arrive at a complete understanding?A still more painful uncertainty pressed upon his spirit, as they approached the dwelling of Don Augustin. What reception would he meet with from Doña Rosarita? he, a poor gambusino—without resources, without family—poorly dressed even—a mere follower, confounded with the common mob of adventurers who composed the expedition? Sad presentiments were passing in his mind, as the cavalcade of which he formed so humble an appendage arrived at the palisade enclosure of the hacienda.The gates were soon open to receive them; and the moment after Don Augustin himself welcomed the travellers at the front entrance of the mansion. With that ease and elegance, almost peculiar to Spanish manners, he received Don Estevan and the Senator, while the cordiality with which he welcomed Tiburcio appeared to the young man a happy omen.The travellers all dismounted. Cuchillo remained outside—partly out of respect to his chief and partly to look after his horse. As to Tiburcio, he had not the same motives for acting thus, and therefore entered along with Don Estevan and Tragaduros, his face pale and his heart beating audibly.The room into which they had been shown was the grand sala already described, and in which certain preparations had been made for a magnificent banquet. But Tiburcio saw nothing of all this. His eyes beheld only one object—for there stood a beautiful girl whose lips rendered paler the carnation red of the granadillas, and the hue of whose cheeks eclipsed the rosy tint of thesandias, scattered profusely over the tables. It was Rosarita herself. A silken scarf covered her head, permitting the thick plaits of her dark hair to shine through its translucent texture, and just encircling the outline of her oval face. This scarf, hanging down below the waist, but half concealed her white rounded arms, and only partially hindered the view of a figure of the most elegantly voluptuous tournure. Around her waist another scarf of bright scarlet formed a sort of cincture or belt, leaving its long fringed ends to hang over the skirt of her silken robe, and blending its colours with those of the light veil that fell down from her shoulders. It was a costume that seemed well-suited to her striking beauty, and the effect of thecoup d’oeilupon the heart of poor Tiburcio was at once pleasant and embarrassing.Notwithstanding the gracious smile with which she acknowledged his presence, there was a certain hauteur about the proffered welcome—as if it was a mere expression of gratitude for the service he had formerly rendered.Tiburcio observed this with a feeling of chagrin, and sighed as he contrasted her cold formality of speech with the abandon and freedom of their former relations. But he could not help noticing a still greater contrast when he looked at his own poor garments and compared them with the elegant costumes of his two travelling companions.While Don Estevan was entertaining his host with some account of what had happened on their journey, the Senator appeared to have eyes only for the beautiful Rosarita—upon whom he was not slow in lavishing a string of empty compliments.The young girl appeared to Tiburcio to receive these compliments with a smile very different from that she had accorded to himself; he also observed, with a feeling of bitterness, the superior easiness of manner in which those whom he regarded as his rivals addressed themselves to her. With anguish he noticed the colour become more vivid upon her cheeks; while the heaving of her bosom, as the scarf rose and fell in regular vibrations, did not escape the keen glance of jealousy. In fact the young girl appeared to receive pleasure from these gallantries, like a village belle who listens to the flatteries of some grand lord, at the same time that a voice from within whispers her that the sweet compliments she is receiving are also merited.Don Estevan was not unobservant of this by-play that was passing around him. He easily read in the expressive looks of Tiburcio the secret of his heart, and involuntarily contrasted the manly beauty of the young man with the ordinary face and figure of the Senator. As if from this he apprehended some obstacles to his secret projects, more than once his dark eyebrows became contracted, and his eyes shone with a sombre fire.By little and little he ceased to take part in the conversation, and at length appeared wrapped in a profound meditation. Insensibly also an air of melancholy stole over the features of Rosarita. As for Don Augustin and the Senator they appeared at once to be on good terms with each other, and carried on the conversation without permitting it to flag for a moment.Just then Cuchillo, accompanied by Baraja, entered to pay their respects to the master of the hacienda. Their entrance within the sala of course created some slight disarrangement in the tableaux of thedramatis personalalready there. This confusion gave Tiburcio an opportunity to carry out a desperate resolution he had formed, and profiting by it, he advanced nearer to Rosarita.“I will give my life,” said he to her, in a side whisper, “for one moment alone with you. I wish to speak of an affair of the highest importance.”The young girl regarded him for a moment with an air of astonishment, further expressed by a disdainful movement of the lip; although, considering their former relations, and also the free familiarity of Mexican manners, she might have been expected to have excused his freedom. Tiburcio stood waiting her reply in a supplicating attitude, and as everything seemed spontaneous with her, he had not long to wait. She answered in a few words:“To-night then—at ten o’clock I shall be at my window.”Scarcely had the thrilling tones of her voice ceased to vibrate on the ear of Tiburcio, when supper was announced, and the guests were shown into another room. Here a table, splendidly set out, occupied the middle of the apartment, above which hung a great chandelier fitted with numerous waxen candles: these gave out a brilliant and cheerful light, that was reflected from hundreds of shining vessels of massive silver of antique forms, arranged upon the table below.The upper end of the table was occupied by the host himself and his principal guests. His daughter sat on his left hand, while Don Estevan was placed upon the right. After them, the Senator and the chaplain, and Pedro Diaz. At the lower end were seated Tiburcio, Cuchillo, Baraja and Oroche.The chaplain pronounced thebenedicite. Although it was no longer the same jumbling formula,sans façon, which he had used at the death-bed of the widow of Arellanos, yet the air of mock solemnity and unction with which the grace was uttered, recalled to the heart of Tiburcio that sad souvenir, which recent events had for a time caused him to forget.Cheerfulness soon reigned around the table. The expedition was talked of, and toasts drunk to its success. Vast silver goblets of antique shape were used for wine glasses, and these, passing rapidly from hand to mouth, soon produced an abundance of good-humour among the guests.“Gentlemen!” said Don Augustin, when the festive scene was near its end, “before retiring I have the honour to invite you all to a hunt of the wild horse on my estate—which is to come off early in the morning.”Each of the guests accepted the invitation, with thatabandonnatural to people who have made a good supper.With regard to Tiburcio, jealousy was devouring him. He scarce ate of the rich viands placed before him. He kept his eyes constantly fixed upon Don Estevan, who, during the supper appeared to pay marked attentions to Rosarita, and for every one of which Tiburcio thanked him with a look of hatred. As soon as the supper was ended, the young man silently left the room and repaired to the chamber that had been assigned to him for the night.At an early hour—for such was the custom of the hacienda—all the guests had retired to their sleeping apartments—even the domestics were no longer to be seen in the great hall; and a profound silence reigned throughout the vast building, as if all the world had gone to rest. But all the world was not yet asleep.
On the route from La Poza it had fallen to the lot of Cuchillo and Tiburcio to ride side by side, but for all this few words had passed between them. Although Cuchillo had not the slightest idea of renouncing his dire design, he continued to hide his thoughts under an air of good-humour—which when need be he knew how to assume. He had made several attempts to read the thoughts of the young gambusino, but the latter was on his guard, seeking in his turn to identify Cuchillo with the assassin of his father. No opportunity offered, however; and in this game of mutual espionage, neither had the advantage. Nevertheless, an instinctive and mutual hatred became established between the two, and before the day’s journey was over, each regarded the other as a mortal foe. Cuchillo was more than ever determined to execute his hellish purpose—since a crime less or more would be nothing to him—while Tiburcio, keenly remembering the oath which he had made to his adopted mother, was resolved on keeping it, and only awaited the time when he should be sure of the assassin. We need scarcely add that Tiburcio in the accomplishment of his vow, had no thought of playing the assassin. No. Whenever and wherever the murderer should be found, he was to die by Tiburcio’s hand; but only in fair and open fight.
But there were other painful reflections that occupied Tiburcio’s mind during the journey. The nearer he approached the object of his love the greater seemed to be the distance between them. Though a man may hope to obtain what he only wishes for in a moderate way, yet when anything is ardently yearned after, the obstacles appear insurmountable. Hence the secret of many a heroic resolution. When Tiburcio was reclining by the well of La Poza, his sweet dream hindered him from thinking of these obstacles; but now that the journey was nearly ended, and he drew near to the grand hacienda, his spirits fell, and a feeling of hopelessness took possession of his soul. Hence it was that he formed the resolution to put an end to the painful suspense which he had now a long time endured; and that very night, if possible, he intended to ascertain his position in the eyes of Doña Rosarita. Come what might, he resolved to ask that question, whose answer might render him at once the happiest or the most miserable of men.
When Tiburcio had first met Doña Rosarita, with her father and his servants, in the depth of the forest, he knew nothing of the rank of the party thus wandering astray. Even during the two happy days in which he acted as their guide, he was ignorant of the name of the beautiful young girl, to whom his eyes and his heart rendered a continual homage. He therefore permitted himself to indulge in those pleasant dreams which have their origin in a hopeful love. It was only after he had learned the quality of his fellow-travellers—that the young lady was the daughter of the opulent proprietor, Don Augustin Peña—it was only on ascertaining this that Tiburcio perceived the folly of his aspirations, and the distance that lay between him and the object of his love. If then the secret, so unexpectedly revealed to him, had given him a desire for the possession of riches, it was not for the sake of being rich. No; a nobler object inspired him—one more in keeping with his poetic character. He desired riches only that with them he might bridge over the chasm that separated him from Rosarita.
Unhappily he could not hide from himself the too evident fact that he was not the sole possessor of the secret.
All at once it occurred to him that the expedition to which he found himself thus accidentally attached could have no other object than this very placer of the Golden Valley. Most likely the very man who shared the secret with him—the murderer of Marcos Arellanos—was among the men enrolled under the orders of the chief Don Estevan. The ambiguous questioning of Cuchillo, his comprehension of events, the stumbling of his horse, with other slighter indications, appeared to throw some light upon the obscurity of Tiburcio’s conjectures; but not enough. How was he (Tiburcio) to arrive at a complete understanding?
A still more painful uncertainty pressed upon his spirit, as they approached the dwelling of Don Augustin. What reception would he meet with from Doña Rosarita? he, a poor gambusino—without resources, without family—poorly dressed even—a mere follower, confounded with the common mob of adventurers who composed the expedition? Sad presentiments were passing in his mind, as the cavalcade of which he formed so humble an appendage arrived at the palisade enclosure of the hacienda.
The gates were soon open to receive them; and the moment after Don Augustin himself welcomed the travellers at the front entrance of the mansion. With that ease and elegance, almost peculiar to Spanish manners, he received Don Estevan and the Senator, while the cordiality with which he welcomed Tiburcio appeared to the young man a happy omen.
The travellers all dismounted. Cuchillo remained outside—partly out of respect to his chief and partly to look after his horse. As to Tiburcio, he had not the same motives for acting thus, and therefore entered along with Don Estevan and Tragaduros, his face pale and his heart beating audibly.
The room into which they had been shown was the grand sala already described, and in which certain preparations had been made for a magnificent banquet. But Tiburcio saw nothing of all this. His eyes beheld only one object—for there stood a beautiful girl whose lips rendered paler the carnation red of the granadillas, and the hue of whose cheeks eclipsed the rosy tint of thesandias, scattered profusely over the tables. It was Rosarita herself. A silken scarf covered her head, permitting the thick plaits of her dark hair to shine through its translucent texture, and just encircling the outline of her oval face. This scarf, hanging down below the waist, but half concealed her white rounded arms, and only partially hindered the view of a figure of the most elegantly voluptuous tournure. Around her waist another scarf of bright scarlet formed a sort of cincture or belt, leaving its long fringed ends to hang over the skirt of her silken robe, and blending its colours with those of the light veil that fell down from her shoulders. It was a costume that seemed well-suited to her striking beauty, and the effect of thecoup d’oeilupon the heart of poor Tiburcio was at once pleasant and embarrassing.
Notwithstanding the gracious smile with which she acknowledged his presence, there was a certain hauteur about the proffered welcome—as if it was a mere expression of gratitude for the service he had formerly rendered.
Tiburcio observed this with a feeling of chagrin, and sighed as he contrasted her cold formality of speech with the abandon and freedom of their former relations. But he could not help noticing a still greater contrast when he looked at his own poor garments and compared them with the elegant costumes of his two travelling companions.
While Don Estevan was entertaining his host with some account of what had happened on their journey, the Senator appeared to have eyes only for the beautiful Rosarita—upon whom he was not slow in lavishing a string of empty compliments.
The young girl appeared to Tiburcio to receive these compliments with a smile very different from that she had accorded to himself; he also observed, with a feeling of bitterness, the superior easiness of manner in which those whom he regarded as his rivals addressed themselves to her. With anguish he noticed the colour become more vivid upon her cheeks; while the heaving of her bosom, as the scarf rose and fell in regular vibrations, did not escape the keen glance of jealousy. In fact the young girl appeared to receive pleasure from these gallantries, like a village belle who listens to the flatteries of some grand lord, at the same time that a voice from within whispers her that the sweet compliments she is receiving are also merited.
Don Estevan was not unobservant of this by-play that was passing around him. He easily read in the expressive looks of Tiburcio the secret of his heart, and involuntarily contrasted the manly beauty of the young man with the ordinary face and figure of the Senator. As if from this he apprehended some obstacles to his secret projects, more than once his dark eyebrows became contracted, and his eyes shone with a sombre fire.
By little and little he ceased to take part in the conversation, and at length appeared wrapped in a profound meditation. Insensibly also an air of melancholy stole over the features of Rosarita. As for Don Augustin and the Senator they appeared at once to be on good terms with each other, and carried on the conversation without permitting it to flag for a moment.
Just then Cuchillo, accompanied by Baraja, entered to pay their respects to the master of the hacienda. Their entrance within the sala of course created some slight disarrangement in the tableaux of thedramatis personalalready there. This confusion gave Tiburcio an opportunity to carry out a desperate resolution he had formed, and profiting by it, he advanced nearer to Rosarita.
“I will give my life,” said he to her, in a side whisper, “for one moment alone with you. I wish to speak of an affair of the highest importance.”
The young girl regarded him for a moment with an air of astonishment, further expressed by a disdainful movement of the lip; although, considering their former relations, and also the free familiarity of Mexican manners, she might have been expected to have excused his freedom. Tiburcio stood waiting her reply in a supplicating attitude, and as everything seemed spontaneous with her, he had not long to wait. She answered in a few words:
“To-night then—at ten o’clock I shall be at my window.”
Scarcely had the thrilling tones of her voice ceased to vibrate on the ear of Tiburcio, when supper was announced, and the guests were shown into another room. Here a table, splendidly set out, occupied the middle of the apartment, above which hung a great chandelier fitted with numerous waxen candles: these gave out a brilliant and cheerful light, that was reflected from hundreds of shining vessels of massive silver of antique forms, arranged upon the table below.
The upper end of the table was occupied by the host himself and his principal guests. His daughter sat on his left hand, while Don Estevan was placed upon the right. After them, the Senator and the chaplain, and Pedro Diaz. At the lower end were seated Tiburcio, Cuchillo, Baraja and Oroche.
The chaplain pronounced thebenedicite. Although it was no longer the same jumbling formula,sans façon, which he had used at the death-bed of the widow of Arellanos, yet the air of mock solemnity and unction with which the grace was uttered, recalled to the heart of Tiburcio that sad souvenir, which recent events had for a time caused him to forget.
Cheerfulness soon reigned around the table. The expedition was talked of, and toasts drunk to its success. Vast silver goblets of antique shape were used for wine glasses, and these, passing rapidly from hand to mouth, soon produced an abundance of good-humour among the guests.
“Gentlemen!” said Don Augustin, when the festive scene was near its end, “before retiring I have the honour to invite you all to a hunt of the wild horse on my estate—which is to come off early in the morning.”
Each of the guests accepted the invitation, with thatabandonnatural to people who have made a good supper.
With regard to Tiburcio, jealousy was devouring him. He scarce ate of the rich viands placed before him. He kept his eyes constantly fixed upon Don Estevan, who, during the supper appeared to pay marked attentions to Rosarita, and for every one of which Tiburcio thanked him with a look of hatred. As soon as the supper was ended, the young man silently left the room and repaired to the chamber that had been assigned to him for the night.
At an early hour—for such was the custom of the hacienda—all the guests had retired to their sleeping apartments—even the domestics were no longer to be seen in the great hall; and a profound silence reigned throughout the vast building, as if all the world had gone to rest. But all the world was not yet asleep.
Chapter Twenty.The Assignation.Alone in his chamber, Tiburcio awaited impatiently the hour named by Rosarita. From his window he cast a distracted glance over the plain that stretched away from the walls of the hacienda. The moon was up in the heavens, and the road leading to Tubac appeared under her light shining like a vast ribbon extended through the middle of the forest. The forest itself appeared asleep; not even a breath stirred the leaves of the trees, and the only sounds he heard were those caused by the half-wild herds that wandered through its glades. Now and then the bellowing of a bull denoted the uneasiness of the animal—perhaps from the presence of those terrible night robbers, the puma and jaguar. There was one other sound that reached the ear of Tiburcio, but this appeared to proceed from some part of the hacienda itself. It was the tinkling of a mandolin. The hour was appropriate to amorous reflections, as well as to thoughts of a graver character, and both presented themselves at that moment to the spirit of Tiburcio. Like all those whose life has been passed amid the depths of the desert, there was at the bottom of his heart a certain poetic temperament, at the same time that his soul exhibited that energetic vigour required by the dangers which surround such a life of solitude. His present position then was perfectly appropriate to this double character. His love was unreciprocated—the coolness of Rosarita, almost assured him of the painful fact—and some secret presentiment told him that he was encompassed by enemies.While thus sadly reflecting on his situation, an object came under his eyes that attracted his attention. It was the gleam of a fire, which appeared to be kindled under cover of the forest at no great distance from the hacienda. The light was partly eclipsed by that of the moon, but still it could be traced by the greater redness of its rays, as they trembled mysteriously on the silver foliage of the trees. It denoted the halting-place of some traveller.“So near the hacienda!” muttered Tiburcio, in entering upon a new series of reflections. “What can it mean? Why have these travellers not come here to demand hospitality? They have certainly some reason for keeping themselves at a distance? They may be unknown friends to me for heaven often sends such to those who stand in need of them. Cuchillo, Don Estevan, and this pompous Senator, all appear to be my enemies and all are secure under this roof! why might not these travellers, who appear to shun it for that very reason prove friends to me?”The hour of rendezvous had at length arrived. Tiburcio took up hisserapéand his knife—the last, the only weapon he had—and prepared to go out from his chamber without making any noise. A fearful conflict of emotions was passing in his bosom; for he knew that in a few minutes would be decided the question of his happiness or misery. Before leaving his chamber, he looked once more through the window in the direction of the forest fire. It was still gleaming in the same place.While the lover, with cautious tread and wildly beating heart, was silently traversing the long gallery, and passing round to that side upon which opened the window of Rosarita, other scenes were passing elsewhere that must now be detailed.Since his arrival at the hacienda, Don Estevan, in presence of the other guests, had scarce found an opportunity to speak with thehaciendadoon business that concerned both of them. Only for one moment had they been alone; and then the Spaniard had briefly related to Don Augustin the contract he had entered into with Cuchillo. When Don Estevan mentioned the secret of the Golden Valley, the haciendado appeared to make a slight gesture, as of disappointment, but their short dialogue ended abruptly by a promise to return to the subject at a later hour of the night.Don Estevan awaited until all the other guests had retired to their chambers. Then drawing the Senator into the bay of one of the large windows of the sala, he requested him to look up at the stars that were shining in all their brilliance in the blue sky above.“See!” said he, pointing to a particular constellation. “That is theChariotthat has risen above the eastern horizon. Do you perceive a single star farther down, which scarce shines through the vapour? That is the emblem ofyourstar, which at present pale, to-morrow may be in the ascendant, and gleam more brightly than any of those that compose the brilliant cortege of theChariot.”“What mean you, Señor Arechiza?”“I shall tell you presently. Perhaps the hour is nearer than you think when you may be the future master of this hacienda, by a marriage with the charming daughter of its present owner, who is to be its heiress. Come presently to my apartment. The conversation which I am about to have with Don Augustin must be decisive, and I shall let you know the result.”With these words the Spaniard and the Senator parted—the heart of the latter beating at the same time with hope and fear.Don Estevan now awaited the haciendado, who the moment after came up to him.The proprietor of the Hacienda del Venado, as has already been seen, had given to the Spaniard more than an ordinary welcome. His politeness to him when in presence of witnesses, was even less respectful than when the two were alone. On his side Don Estevan appeared to accept the homage of the other as if it were due to him. There was in his polite condescension towards the rich proprietor, and in the deference of the latter towards him, something resembling the relation that might be supposed to exist between a powerful sovereign and one of his noble vassals.It was not until after reiterated requests—orders they might almost be called—that Don Augustin consented to be seated in the presence of the other—whereas the Spaniard had flung himself into afauteuilon the moment of entering the chamber, and with the most perfect abandon.The haciendado waited silently for Don Estevan to speak.“Well, what do you think of your future son-in-law?” inquired the Spaniard. “I presume you never saw him before?”“Never,” answered Don Augustin. “But if he was even less favoured by nature than he is, that would make no obstacle to our projects.”“I know him; he only needs to be known to prove that he has in him the stuff of a gentleman, besides being a senator of the illustrious congress of Arispe.”The Spaniard pronounced these words with a slight smile of contempt.“But, señor,” continued he, “that is not the difficulty, the important matter is whetheryour daughterwill find him to her liking.”“My daughter will act according to my wish,” said the haciendado.“But supposing her heart is not free?”“The heart of Rosarita is free, Señor Don Estevan; how could it be otherwise—she whose life has been spent in the midst of these deserts?”“And what about this ragged young fellow, this Tiburcio Arellanos, whom you appear to know? he is in love with your daughter?”“I have been made aware of it this very morning.”“If it is only a few hours, then, since you have been apprised of the secret of his passion, surely that of your daughter cannot have to this time escaped you?”“The truth is,” answered Don Augustin, smiling, “that I understand better how to follow the traces of an Indian, and read in the countenance of a savage his most secret thoughts, than to look into the heart of a young girl. But I repeat it, I have reason to believe that my daughter’s heart is free of any such affection. I do not apprehend any difficulty in this regard. I dread an obstacle of a more important character—I mean an obstacle to the expedition you are about to conduct into the desert.”Here the haciendado communicated to Don Estevan the particulars which the monk had gathered at the death-bed of the widow of Arellanos, and which seemed to produce a strong impression on the Spaniard; but although the conversation continued for some time longer, I shall not here detail what was said, but return to the Senator, who with anxious heart was now awaiting Don Estevan in the apartment which had been assigned to the latter.
Alone in his chamber, Tiburcio awaited impatiently the hour named by Rosarita. From his window he cast a distracted glance over the plain that stretched away from the walls of the hacienda. The moon was up in the heavens, and the road leading to Tubac appeared under her light shining like a vast ribbon extended through the middle of the forest. The forest itself appeared asleep; not even a breath stirred the leaves of the trees, and the only sounds he heard were those caused by the half-wild herds that wandered through its glades. Now and then the bellowing of a bull denoted the uneasiness of the animal—perhaps from the presence of those terrible night robbers, the puma and jaguar. There was one other sound that reached the ear of Tiburcio, but this appeared to proceed from some part of the hacienda itself. It was the tinkling of a mandolin. The hour was appropriate to amorous reflections, as well as to thoughts of a graver character, and both presented themselves at that moment to the spirit of Tiburcio. Like all those whose life has been passed amid the depths of the desert, there was at the bottom of his heart a certain poetic temperament, at the same time that his soul exhibited that energetic vigour required by the dangers which surround such a life of solitude. His present position then was perfectly appropriate to this double character. His love was unreciprocated—the coolness of Rosarita, almost assured him of the painful fact—and some secret presentiment told him that he was encompassed by enemies.
While thus sadly reflecting on his situation, an object came under his eyes that attracted his attention. It was the gleam of a fire, which appeared to be kindled under cover of the forest at no great distance from the hacienda. The light was partly eclipsed by that of the moon, but still it could be traced by the greater redness of its rays, as they trembled mysteriously on the silver foliage of the trees. It denoted the halting-place of some traveller.
“So near the hacienda!” muttered Tiburcio, in entering upon a new series of reflections. “What can it mean? Why have these travellers not come here to demand hospitality? They have certainly some reason for keeping themselves at a distance? They may be unknown friends to me for heaven often sends such to those who stand in need of them. Cuchillo, Don Estevan, and this pompous Senator, all appear to be my enemies and all are secure under this roof! why might not these travellers, who appear to shun it for that very reason prove friends to me?”
The hour of rendezvous had at length arrived. Tiburcio took up hisserapéand his knife—the last, the only weapon he had—and prepared to go out from his chamber without making any noise. A fearful conflict of emotions was passing in his bosom; for he knew that in a few minutes would be decided the question of his happiness or misery. Before leaving his chamber, he looked once more through the window in the direction of the forest fire. It was still gleaming in the same place.
While the lover, with cautious tread and wildly beating heart, was silently traversing the long gallery, and passing round to that side upon which opened the window of Rosarita, other scenes were passing elsewhere that must now be detailed.
Since his arrival at the hacienda, Don Estevan, in presence of the other guests, had scarce found an opportunity to speak with thehaciendadoon business that concerned both of them. Only for one moment had they been alone; and then the Spaniard had briefly related to Don Augustin the contract he had entered into with Cuchillo. When Don Estevan mentioned the secret of the Golden Valley, the haciendado appeared to make a slight gesture, as of disappointment, but their short dialogue ended abruptly by a promise to return to the subject at a later hour of the night.
Don Estevan awaited until all the other guests had retired to their chambers. Then drawing the Senator into the bay of one of the large windows of the sala, he requested him to look up at the stars that were shining in all their brilliance in the blue sky above.
“See!” said he, pointing to a particular constellation. “That is theChariotthat has risen above the eastern horizon. Do you perceive a single star farther down, which scarce shines through the vapour? That is the emblem ofyourstar, which at present pale, to-morrow may be in the ascendant, and gleam more brightly than any of those that compose the brilliant cortege of theChariot.”
“What mean you, Señor Arechiza?”
“I shall tell you presently. Perhaps the hour is nearer than you think when you may be the future master of this hacienda, by a marriage with the charming daughter of its present owner, who is to be its heiress. Come presently to my apartment. The conversation which I am about to have with Don Augustin must be decisive, and I shall let you know the result.”
With these words the Spaniard and the Senator parted—the heart of the latter beating at the same time with hope and fear.
Don Estevan now awaited the haciendado, who the moment after came up to him.
The proprietor of the Hacienda del Venado, as has already been seen, had given to the Spaniard more than an ordinary welcome. His politeness to him when in presence of witnesses, was even less respectful than when the two were alone. On his side Don Estevan appeared to accept the homage of the other as if it were due to him. There was in his polite condescension towards the rich proprietor, and in the deference of the latter towards him, something resembling the relation that might be supposed to exist between a powerful sovereign and one of his noble vassals.
It was not until after reiterated requests—orders they might almost be called—that Don Augustin consented to be seated in the presence of the other—whereas the Spaniard had flung himself into afauteuilon the moment of entering the chamber, and with the most perfect abandon.
The haciendado waited silently for Don Estevan to speak.
“Well, what do you think of your future son-in-law?” inquired the Spaniard. “I presume you never saw him before?”
“Never,” answered Don Augustin. “But if he was even less favoured by nature than he is, that would make no obstacle to our projects.”
“I know him; he only needs to be known to prove that he has in him the stuff of a gentleman, besides being a senator of the illustrious congress of Arispe.”
The Spaniard pronounced these words with a slight smile of contempt.
“But, señor,” continued he, “that is not the difficulty, the important matter is whetheryour daughterwill find him to her liking.”
“My daughter will act according to my wish,” said the haciendado.
“But supposing her heart is not free?”
“The heart of Rosarita is free, Señor Don Estevan; how could it be otherwise—she whose life has been spent in the midst of these deserts?”
“And what about this ragged young fellow, this Tiburcio Arellanos, whom you appear to know? he is in love with your daughter?”
“I have been made aware of it this very morning.”
“If it is only a few hours, then, since you have been apprised of the secret of his passion, surely that of your daughter cannot have to this time escaped you?”
“The truth is,” answered Don Augustin, smiling, “that I understand better how to follow the traces of an Indian, and read in the countenance of a savage his most secret thoughts, than to look into the heart of a young girl. But I repeat it, I have reason to believe that my daughter’s heart is free of any such affection. I do not apprehend any difficulty in this regard. I dread an obstacle of a more important character—I mean an obstacle to the expedition you are about to conduct into the desert.”
Here the haciendado communicated to Don Estevan the particulars which the monk had gathered at the death-bed of the widow of Arellanos, and which seemed to produce a strong impression on the Spaniard; but although the conversation continued for some time longer, I shall not here detail what was said, but return to the Senator, who with anxious heart was now awaiting Don Estevan in the apartment which had been assigned to the latter.
Chapter Twenty One.The Duke de Armada.The chamber set apart for the Señor Don Estevan de Arechiza was undoubtedly the best in the house; and, notwithstanding the little progress that luxury has made in the state of Sonora, was furnished with considerable elegance.In this chamber Don Estevan found the Senator pacing to and fro, with an air that bespoke him a prey to the most vivid emotions.“Well, Señor Don Vicente!” began Arechiza, who appeared to make light of the impatience of hisprotégé, “what do you think of the daughter of our host? have I exaggerated her beauty?”“Oh, my friend!” exclaimed the Senator, with all that vivacity of pantomimic gesture so characteristic of the South, “the reality far exceeds the imagination. She is an angel! Even in our country, famous for its beautiful women, Doña Rosarita is certainly loveliest of all.”“And richest too,” added the Spaniard, with a smile.“Who would have expected to find, in the middle of the desert, such an accomplished beauty? such youthful freshness? Such charms were created to shine in afar higher sphere?”“At the court of a king, for instance,” carelessly rejoined Arechiza.“Oh! Señor Don Estevan!” again exclaimed the Senator in an earnest voice, “do not keep me in suspense; the divine, the rich Doña Rosarita—is it possible I am to have her for my wife?”“One word from me, one promise from you, and the thing is done. I have her father’s word. Within fifteen days you may be the husband of his daughter.”“Agreeable as easy.”“A little later you will be rich.”“No harm in that.”“Later still you will be a grand proprietor.”“Oh! it is magnificent. Carramba! Señor de Arechiza, it is a perfect cataract of felicities to be lavished upon my head, it is a dream! it is a dream!” shouted the Senator, as he strode to and fro across the floor.“Lose no time then in making it a reality,” replied Don Estevan.“But is the time so pressing?” inquired the Senator, suddenly pausing in his steps.“Why this question? Is it possible to be too quick in obtaining happiness?”The Senator appeared thoughtful, and for a moment presented an aspect of embarrassment, in strange contrast to his previous looks. He replied after a pause—“The fact is, Don Estevan, I am willing to marry an heiress whose wealth, as is usually the case, would compensate for her ugliness. In this case it is the very beauty of the lady that confuses me.”“Perhaps she does not please you!”“On the contrary, so much happiness awes me. It appears to me, for a reason which I cannot divine, that some sad disappointment lurks under the seductive prospect.”“Ah! just as I expected,” answered Don Estevan; “it is the human heart. I knew you would make some objection of this kind, but I thought you were more a man of the world than to trouble yourself about the past with such a splendid fortune before you. Ah! my poor Despilfarro,” added the Spaniard, with a laugh, “I thought you were more advanced.”“But why, Don Estevan?” inquired the Senator, intending to give a proof of his high diplomatic capacity,—“why is it,entre nous, that you desire to lavish this treasure of beauty—to say nothing of her grand wealth—upon another, while you yourself—”“While I myself might marry her,” interrupted the Spaniard. “Is that what you mean to say? Suppose I have no wish to get married. I had that desire long ago, like the rest of the world. My history has been like a great many others; that is, my sweetheart married another. It is true I adopted the means to re—to console myself, and quickly too,” added Arechiza, with a dark scowl. “But who do you think I am, Don Vicente Tragaduros?”“Who are you! why; Don Estevan de Arechiza, of course!”“That does honour to your penetration,” said the Spaniard, with a disdainful smile. “Well, then, since I have already demanded the hand of Doña Rosarita for the illustrious senator Tragaduros y Despilfarro, of course I cannot now take his place.”“But why, señor, did you not make the demand on your own account?”“Why, because, my dear friend, were this young lady three times as beautiful, and three times as rich as she is, she would neither be beautiful enough nor rich enough for me!”Despilfarro started with astonishment.“Eh! and who are you then, señor, may I ask in my turn?”“Only, as you have said, Don Estevan Arechiza,” coolly replied the Spaniard.The Senator made three or four turns across the room before he could collect his thoughts; but in obedience to the distrust that had suddenly sprung up within him, he resumed:“There is something in all this I cannot explain, and when I can’t explain a thing I can’t understand it.”“Good logic,” exclaimed Don Estevan, in a tone of raillery, “but am I really mistaken about you, my dear Senator? I did you the honour to believe you above certain prejudices; and even if there was anything in the past life of the beautiful Rosarita—for instance, any prejudice to be trampled under foot—is a million of dowry, besides three millions of expectation, nothing in your eyes?”Don Estevan put this question for the purpose of sounding the morality of the man, or rather to try the strength of a tool, which he meant to make use of.Despilfarro returned no reply.“Now, then, I await your answer,” said Don Estevan, after a pause, appearing to take pleasure in the Senator’s embarrassment.“Upon my word, Don Estevan,” replied Despilfarro, “you are cruel to mystify one in this manner. I—I—Carramba! it is very embarrassing.”Don Estevan interrupted him. This hesitation on the part of Despilfarro told the Spaniard what he wished to know. An ironical smile played upon his lips, and laying aside his pleasantry, he resumed in a serious tone:“Listen to me, Tragaduros! It would be unworthy of a gentleman to continue longer this badinage where a lady’s reputation is concerned. I can assure you, then, that the past life of the Doña Rosarita is without a stain.”The Senator breathed freely.“And now,” continued Don Estevan, “it is necessary that you give me your full confidence, and I will set you an example by giving mine with a perfect frankness: the success of the noble cause I have embraced depends upon it. First, then, hear who I am. Arechiza is only a borrowed appellation. As to my real name—which you shall soon know—I made oath in my youth, that no woman, however rich or beautiful, should share it with me; therefore, now that my hair is grey do you think that I should be likely to break the oath I have so long kept? Although a wife, such as I propose for you, may ofttimes be a stepping-stone to ambition, she is oftener an obstacle.”As he said this, Don Estevan rose, and in his turn paced the floor with an agitated air. Some traces of distrust were still perceptible upon the countenance of the Senator—they were noticed by him.“You wish for a more precise explanation?” said he; “you shall have it.”The Spaniard approached the window and closed the shutters—as if fearful that their conversation might be heard outside. He then sat down again, and requested the Senator to be seated near him.Tragaduros watched him with a lively curiosity, at the same time lowering his eyes whenever they met the fiery glances of the Spaniard.The latter appeared suddenly to become transformed, as if looking grander and nobler.“Now, Señor Senator!” began he, “I am going to make known to you some secrets sufficient to turn your head.”The Senator trembled.“When the tempter carried the Son of Man to the top of a mountain, and promised him all the kingdoms of the earth if he would fall down and worship him, he scarce offered him more than I am offering to the Senator of Arispe. As the tempter, then, I lay at your feet honours, power, and riches, if you will subscribe to my conditions.”The solemnity of this exordium, and the imposing manner of Don Estevan, following so closely upon the jocular mien he had hitherto exhibited, made a painful impression upon the mind of the Senator. There was a short moment in which he regretted being soadvancedin his opinions, and during this time the great dowry of Rosarita and her rosy lips had but slight prestige for him.“It is now twenty years,” continued the Spaniard, “since I took up my real vocation in the world. Previous to that time, I believed myself made for domestic life, and indulged in those absurd dreams of love natural to young hearts. An illusion soon destroyed—an evil hour—an accident showed me the deception; and I found out that I was made for ambition—nothing more. I have therefore sought for glory and honour to satisfy my desires, and I have won them. I have conquered the right to stand uncovered in the presence of the king of Spain. Chevalier of the Order of Saint James of the Sword, I have taken part in the royal ceremonies of thewhite cloak and red sword; and I may say that for me fame has been no idle illusion. Chevalier also of Carlos the Third, I have shared with the royal princes the title of the Grand Cross. I have won successively the Order of Saint Ferdinand, of Saint Hermengildo, and the Golden Fleece of Calatrava. These honours, although coveted by all, were for me but sterile consolations.”This enumeration, made without the slightest show of ostentation, caused the Senator to regard the speaker with an air of respectful astonishment. Don Estevan continued:“Wealth followed close upon these honours. Richappanages, added to the fortune I derived from my ancestors, soon left far behind me, the time when, as a simple cadet of my family, I was worth nothing but my sword. Now I was rich, opulent, and—will I tell you?—I was still far from being content. My efforts continued; and I was made Comte de Villamares, and afterwards Duke de Armada—”“Oh! Señor Duke,” interrupted Despilfarro, in a humble voice, “permit me—but—I—”“I have not yet finished,” calmly continued the Spaniard; “when you have heard all, you will no longer doubt my words. Notwithstanding your mistrust, señor, I am still nothing more than the secret agent of a prince, and I desire to remain in your eyes, as ever, the simple gentleman Don Estevan de Arechiza—nothing more. It is necessary, however, that this distrust of me should not manifest itself again; for since you are presently to know the object which I am pursuing, you will be privy to my most secret thoughts.”The Senator continued to listen in the most respectful silence.“As I have said, then, I followed ambition for twenty years for its own sake; or to speak more truly, I passed twenty years of my life to destroy a painful souvenir, at the same time that I was pursuing the path to fame. I fancied that in the middle of a turbulent life, this souvenir would in time be effaced from my memory. The favourite of a prince, the expectant heir to one of the first thrones in Christendom—elevated to the highest places of power—wealth prodigally lavished upon me—I hoped to be able to forget that terrible souvenir. Vain hope!” added the speaker in a solemn voice: “Alas! Nothing can banish remorse. The bloody sword of Saint James was no idle symbol in my hands; for remorse lends to ambition a fearful activity—like a voice continually crying, ‘On—on forever!’”Don Estevan paused, and for a time remained silent, during which the Senator regarded him with a timid look, at the same time admiring the imposing and solemn dignity of his countenance.“But where to go on?” continued the speaker; “what object to follow next? Into what new course might I precipitate this torrent of ambition that was boiling within me? At length a new incident offered itself, and gave me a fresh opportunity for action—an opportunity to strive and combat—for in my case, to struggle and fight is to forget.“In all likelihood you have scarce heard of our political troubles, Don Vicente? I am aware that all the kingdoms of Europe might be shaken to their bases, without your knowing anything of the matter, in this out of the way corner of the world. Well, then, I shall make known to you what occurred.“It is now about two years since the king of Spain—by a total violation of the Salic law, hitherto observed by all his ancestors—violently cut off the succession to the throne in the person of his brother Don Carlos; and by this act kindled the fires of civil war throughout the kingdom. The Infanta Isabella was declared heiress to the crown, to the exclusion of her uncle, the legal heir. This prince it was of whom I spoke, and who is my august patron and protector. I did everything in my power to assuage the mortal grief that this unexpected event naturally caused to the man, whom I above all others have reason to esteem.“Amidst the consolations which I offered him, and the plans which I proposed, one design of a gigantic nature offered itself to my imagination. True, it presented the prospect of countless dangers, and obstacles almost insurmountable; but for this very reason I adopted it.“My dream, then, is to conquer for my master a kingdom as vast as the one of which he has been wrongfully deprived; to restore to him one of the brightest jewels of that Transatlantic crown, which his ancestors once so gloriously wore. I dream of conquering a kingdom—and that kingdom once conquered, I, a simple gentleman, intend to present it to the true heir of the Spanish monarchy—Don Carlos de Bourbon!“Now, do you believe, Señor Senator, that Don Estevan de Arechiza has the power to bestow upon others, and without regretting it, the beauty and wealth of the daughter of a Mexican haciendado?”The Spaniard pronounced these last words with an air of proud tranquillity, and then remained silent, awaiting their effect upon his listener.
The chamber set apart for the Señor Don Estevan de Arechiza was undoubtedly the best in the house; and, notwithstanding the little progress that luxury has made in the state of Sonora, was furnished with considerable elegance.
In this chamber Don Estevan found the Senator pacing to and fro, with an air that bespoke him a prey to the most vivid emotions.
“Well, Señor Don Vicente!” began Arechiza, who appeared to make light of the impatience of hisprotégé, “what do you think of the daughter of our host? have I exaggerated her beauty?”
“Oh, my friend!” exclaimed the Senator, with all that vivacity of pantomimic gesture so characteristic of the South, “the reality far exceeds the imagination. She is an angel! Even in our country, famous for its beautiful women, Doña Rosarita is certainly loveliest of all.”
“And richest too,” added the Spaniard, with a smile.
“Who would have expected to find, in the middle of the desert, such an accomplished beauty? such youthful freshness? Such charms were created to shine in afar higher sphere?”
“At the court of a king, for instance,” carelessly rejoined Arechiza.
“Oh! Señor Don Estevan!” again exclaimed the Senator in an earnest voice, “do not keep me in suspense; the divine, the rich Doña Rosarita—is it possible I am to have her for my wife?”
“One word from me, one promise from you, and the thing is done. I have her father’s word. Within fifteen days you may be the husband of his daughter.”
“Agreeable as easy.”
“A little later you will be rich.”
“No harm in that.”
“Later still you will be a grand proprietor.”
“Oh! it is magnificent. Carramba! Señor de Arechiza, it is a perfect cataract of felicities to be lavished upon my head, it is a dream! it is a dream!” shouted the Senator, as he strode to and fro across the floor.
“Lose no time then in making it a reality,” replied Don Estevan.
“But is the time so pressing?” inquired the Senator, suddenly pausing in his steps.
“Why this question? Is it possible to be too quick in obtaining happiness?”
The Senator appeared thoughtful, and for a moment presented an aspect of embarrassment, in strange contrast to his previous looks. He replied after a pause—
“The fact is, Don Estevan, I am willing to marry an heiress whose wealth, as is usually the case, would compensate for her ugliness. In this case it is the very beauty of the lady that confuses me.”
“Perhaps she does not please you!”
“On the contrary, so much happiness awes me. It appears to me, for a reason which I cannot divine, that some sad disappointment lurks under the seductive prospect.”
“Ah! just as I expected,” answered Don Estevan; “it is the human heart. I knew you would make some objection of this kind, but I thought you were more a man of the world than to trouble yourself about the past with such a splendid fortune before you. Ah! my poor Despilfarro,” added the Spaniard, with a laugh, “I thought you were more advanced.”
“But why, Don Estevan?” inquired the Senator, intending to give a proof of his high diplomatic capacity,—“why is it,entre nous, that you desire to lavish this treasure of beauty—to say nothing of her grand wealth—upon another, while you yourself—”
“While I myself might marry her,” interrupted the Spaniard. “Is that what you mean to say? Suppose I have no wish to get married. I had that desire long ago, like the rest of the world. My history has been like a great many others; that is, my sweetheart married another. It is true I adopted the means to re—to console myself, and quickly too,” added Arechiza, with a dark scowl. “But who do you think I am, Don Vicente Tragaduros?”
“Who are you! why; Don Estevan de Arechiza, of course!”
“That does honour to your penetration,” said the Spaniard, with a disdainful smile. “Well, then, since I have already demanded the hand of Doña Rosarita for the illustrious senator Tragaduros y Despilfarro, of course I cannot now take his place.”
“But why, señor, did you not make the demand on your own account?”
“Why, because, my dear friend, were this young lady three times as beautiful, and three times as rich as she is, she would neither be beautiful enough nor rich enough for me!”
Despilfarro started with astonishment.
“Eh! and who are you then, señor, may I ask in my turn?”
“Only, as you have said, Don Estevan Arechiza,” coolly replied the Spaniard.
The Senator made three or four turns across the room before he could collect his thoughts; but in obedience to the distrust that had suddenly sprung up within him, he resumed:
“There is something in all this I cannot explain, and when I can’t explain a thing I can’t understand it.”
“Good logic,” exclaimed Don Estevan, in a tone of raillery, “but am I really mistaken about you, my dear Senator? I did you the honour to believe you above certain prejudices; and even if there was anything in the past life of the beautiful Rosarita—for instance, any prejudice to be trampled under foot—is a million of dowry, besides three millions of expectation, nothing in your eyes?”
Don Estevan put this question for the purpose of sounding the morality of the man, or rather to try the strength of a tool, which he meant to make use of.
Despilfarro returned no reply.
“Now, then, I await your answer,” said Don Estevan, after a pause, appearing to take pleasure in the Senator’s embarrassment.
“Upon my word, Don Estevan,” replied Despilfarro, “you are cruel to mystify one in this manner. I—I—Carramba! it is very embarrassing.”
Don Estevan interrupted him. This hesitation on the part of Despilfarro told the Spaniard what he wished to know. An ironical smile played upon his lips, and laying aside his pleasantry, he resumed in a serious tone:
“Listen to me, Tragaduros! It would be unworthy of a gentleman to continue longer this badinage where a lady’s reputation is concerned. I can assure you, then, that the past life of the Doña Rosarita is without a stain.”
The Senator breathed freely.
“And now,” continued Don Estevan, “it is necessary that you give me your full confidence, and I will set you an example by giving mine with a perfect frankness: the success of the noble cause I have embraced depends upon it. First, then, hear who I am. Arechiza is only a borrowed appellation. As to my real name—which you shall soon know—I made oath in my youth, that no woman, however rich or beautiful, should share it with me; therefore, now that my hair is grey do you think that I should be likely to break the oath I have so long kept? Although a wife, such as I propose for you, may ofttimes be a stepping-stone to ambition, she is oftener an obstacle.”
As he said this, Don Estevan rose, and in his turn paced the floor with an agitated air. Some traces of distrust were still perceptible upon the countenance of the Senator—they were noticed by him.
“You wish for a more precise explanation?” said he; “you shall have it.”
The Spaniard approached the window and closed the shutters—as if fearful that their conversation might be heard outside. He then sat down again, and requested the Senator to be seated near him.
Tragaduros watched him with a lively curiosity, at the same time lowering his eyes whenever they met the fiery glances of the Spaniard.
The latter appeared suddenly to become transformed, as if looking grander and nobler.
“Now, Señor Senator!” began he, “I am going to make known to you some secrets sufficient to turn your head.”
The Senator trembled.
“When the tempter carried the Son of Man to the top of a mountain, and promised him all the kingdoms of the earth if he would fall down and worship him, he scarce offered him more than I am offering to the Senator of Arispe. As the tempter, then, I lay at your feet honours, power, and riches, if you will subscribe to my conditions.”
The solemnity of this exordium, and the imposing manner of Don Estevan, following so closely upon the jocular mien he had hitherto exhibited, made a painful impression upon the mind of the Senator. There was a short moment in which he regretted being soadvancedin his opinions, and during this time the great dowry of Rosarita and her rosy lips had but slight prestige for him.
“It is now twenty years,” continued the Spaniard, “since I took up my real vocation in the world. Previous to that time, I believed myself made for domestic life, and indulged in those absurd dreams of love natural to young hearts. An illusion soon destroyed—an evil hour—an accident showed me the deception; and I found out that I was made for ambition—nothing more. I have therefore sought for glory and honour to satisfy my desires, and I have won them. I have conquered the right to stand uncovered in the presence of the king of Spain. Chevalier of the Order of Saint James of the Sword, I have taken part in the royal ceremonies of thewhite cloak and red sword; and I may say that for me fame has been no idle illusion. Chevalier also of Carlos the Third, I have shared with the royal princes the title of the Grand Cross. I have won successively the Order of Saint Ferdinand, of Saint Hermengildo, and the Golden Fleece of Calatrava. These honours, although coveted by all, were for me but sterile consolations.”
This enumeration, made without the slightest show of ostentation, caused the Senator to regard the speaker with an air of respectful astonishment. Don Estevan continued:
“Wealth followed close upon these honours. Richappanages, added to the fortune I derived from my ancestors, soon left far behind me, the time when, as a simple cadet of my family, I was worth nothing but my sword. Now I was rich, opulent, and—will I tell you?—I was still far from being content. My efforts continued; and I was made Comte de Villamares, and afterwards Duke de Armada—”
“Oh! Señor Duke,” interrupted Despilfarro, in a humble voice, “permit me—but—I—”
“I have not yet finished,” calmly continued the Spaniard; “when you have heard all, you will no longer doubt my words. Notwithstanding your mistrust, señor, I am still nothing more than the secret agent of a prince, and I desire to remain in your eyes, as ever, the simple gentleman Don Estevan de Arechiza—nothing more. It is necessary, however, that this distrust of me should not manifest itself again; for since you are presently to know the object which I am pursuing, you will be privy to my most secret thoughts.”
The Senator continued to listen in the most respectful silence.
“As I have said, then, I followed ambition for twenty years for its own sake; or to speak more truly, I passed twenty years of my life to destroy a painful souvenir, at the same time that I was pursuing the path to fame. I fancied that in the middle of a turbulent life, this souvenir would in time be effaced from my memory. The favourite of a prince, the expectant heir to one of the first thrones in Christendom—elevated to the highest places of power—wealth prodigally lavished upon me—I hoped to be able to forget that terrible souvenir. Vain hope!” added the speaker in a solemn voice: “Alas! Nothing can banish remorse. The bloody sword of Saint James was no idle symbol in my hands; for remorse lends to ambition a fearful activity—like a voice continually crying, ‘On—on forever!’”
Don Estevan paused, and for a time remained silent, during which the Senator regarded him with a timid look, at the same time admiring the imposing and solemn dignity of his countenance.
“But where to go on?” continued the speaker; “what object to follow next? Into what new course might I precipitate this torrent of ambition that was boiling within me? At length a new incident offered itself, and gave me a fresh opportunity for action—an opportunity to strive and combat—for in my case, to struggle and fight is to forget.
“In all likelihood you have scarce heard of our political troubles, Don Vicente? I am aware that all the kingdoms of Europe might be shaken to their bases, without your knowing anything of the matter, in this out of the way corner of the world. Well, then, I shall make known to you what occurred.
“It is now about two years since the king of Spain—by a total violation of the Salic law, hitherto observed by all his ancestors—violently cut off the succession to the throne in the person of his brother Don Carlos; and by this act kindled the fires of civil war throughout the kingdom. The Infanta Isabella was declared heiress to the crown, to the exclusion of her uncle, the legal heir. This prince it was of whom I spoke, and who is my august patron and protector. I did everything in my power to assuage the mortal grief that this unexpected event naturally caused to the man, whom I above all others have reason to esteem.
“Amidst the consolations which I offered him, and the plans which I proposed, one design of a gigantic nature offered itself to my imagination. True, it presented the prospect of countless dangers, and obstacles almost insurmountable; but for this very reason I adopted it.
“My dream, then, is to conquer for my master a kingdom as vast as the one of which he has been wrongfully deprived; to restore to him one of the brightest jewels of that Transatlantic crown, which his ancestors once so gloriously wore. I dream of conquering a kingdom—and that kingdom once conquered, I, a simple gentleman, intend to present it to the true heir of the Spanish monarchy—Don Carlos de Bourbon!
“Now, do you believe, Señor Senator, that Don Estevan de Arechiza has the power to bestow upon others, and without regretting it, the beauty and wealth of the daughter of a Mexican haciendado?”
The Spaniard pronounced these last words with an air of proud tranquillity, and then remained silent, awaiting their effect upon his listener.
Chapter Twenty Two.The New Kingdom.The Mexican senator, with his contracted, or rather egoistic views, was struck dumb by the gigantic and daring design of his companion. He could only exclaim, as he respectfully pressed the hand which the Spaniard held out to him:“Oh, Don Estevan—if you permit me still to give you this modest title—I regret my suspicions; and for the happiness which you offer me, for the grand perspective which you open before me, I promise you my life, my heart, but—”“But! another suspicion?” asked Don Estevan, with a smile.“No, not a suspicion of you, but a fear of some one else. Have you noticed the young man whom chance brought into our company? I have a secret presentiment that there is something between him and Doña Rosarita. He is young—he is good-looking—and they appear to have known each other a long while.”“What!” exclaimed Don Estevan, “jealous of this ragged rustic?”“I avow,” replied the Senator, “that I cannot help it. I noticed two or three times their eyes fixed upon each other with a strange expression.”“Make yourself easy about that. I know, for certain—and from Don Augustin himself I have had my information—that the heart of his daughter is free. Besides, her vanity alone would hinder her from any fancy for this droll fellow, who appears to have all the pride of a Spanish beggar. He shall be watched; and, should he have the impudence to carry his pretensions so high, it will be an easy matter to send him about his business.”In pronouncing the last words the countenance of Don Estevan appeared for a moment to wear a troubled expression, and he could not hinder himself from adding:“I have myself remarked what you say, but let us not dwell upon chimerical fears. Listen to me, Don Vicente, while I explain more categorically the object of which I have been speaking, in order that you may understand fully why I wish to reckon upon your assistance. I have not yet told you—either what resources I have, or the kingdom it is my design to conquer.”“True enough,” assented Tragaduros, “you have not.”“The province then which I intend to transform into a kingdom is neither more nor less than this of Sonora.”“What! our republican state to be changed into a monarchy!” exclaimed the Senator. “Señor Don Estevan, to attempt this will be to play with your life.”“I know it.”“But what resources do you count upon?”“Listen: Ten years ago I was in the Spanish army, and fought against the independence of your country in this very province. I then became acquainted with its resources—its incalculable richness—and when I quitted it to go home to Europe, I had a presentiment that some day I should again return to it—as I have done. Chance at that time made me acquainted with Don Augustin, then occupied in amassing the vast wealth which to-day he so freely spends. I had the fortune to render him a service—to save his life, in fact, and prevent his house from being pillaged by the insurgents, for he did not conceal his sympathy for the Spanish cause. I afterwards kept up with him a correspondence, and learned that Sonora became every day more discontented with the federal government. I then designed my great plan, which was approved of by the prince, and at his desire I came over here. Don Augustin was among the first to whom I opened my purpose. He was flattered by the promises I was able to make in the name of my royal master, and at once placed his fortune at my disposal.“Nothwithstanding the large pecuniary resources I have been able to dispose of, I am seeking to augment them still farther, and chance has favoured me. While here in my former campaign I made the acquaintance of an odd character—a young fellow who in turns betrayed both royalists and republicans. My relations with him recall a somewhat droll occurrence. I found that he was guiding the regiment I commanded into an ambuscade of the insurgents, and I ordered him to be hung to the first tree we should meet with. Fortunately for him my men translated the order in its most literal sense; and being at the time in the middle of vast savannahs entirely destitute of trees, the execution was held over, as it was an impossibility to perform it. The result was that in the middle of our marchings and counter-marchings the fellow escaped; and it appears did not, afterwards, hold any rancour towards me, since he has again offered his services to me. This fellow to-day goes by the name of Cuchillo. It was he whom I met at the village of Huerfano, where you saw us renew our acquaintance; and at that interview he has made known to me the secret of an immense placer of gold—whither I intend to conduct my expedition. Besides ourselves, Cuchillo alone knows the object of this enterprise,” (the Spaniard did not mention the name of Tiburcio), “which is generally supposed to be merely a new expedition—like many others that have been got up to go gold seeking by chance.“And now, Señor Senator,” continued Don Estevan, “you need not proceed farther with us. You may remain here, where you will have an easy part to play, in making yourself agreeable to the fair Rosarita, while I am braving the perils of this unknown frontier. As for Cuchillo, if he attempt to play the traitor with me a second time, I shall take care to be a little more prompt in punishing him.“The product of this expedition,” pursued the Spaniard,—“of which, as leader, I shall be entitled to a fifth part—will be added to the resources I have already. The men who compose it will be easily converted into devoted partisans of our design; and should it happen that the forces I expect from Europe should fail to come to hand in due time, these adventurers will serve a good purpose. But I have no fear for the want of followers. Europe is at the present moment overcrowded with people who lack employment: any enterprise will be welcome to them; and a leader in any part of the world needs only to speak the word for crowds to enrol themselves under his banner.”As he said this, Don Estevan paced the room, agitated by the grandeur of his thoughts. His dark eyes flashed with excitement, and his soul seemed inspired with a warlike ardour that caused him for a while to forget the presence of the Senator. It was only after some minutes spent in this wild enthusiasm that he remembered an important fact—that in all projects such as he was engaged in,intrigueshould be the precursor of open action; and as this was to be the peculiarrôlewhich the Senator was expected to play, he again turned to address himself to this individual.“Meanwhile,” said he, “your tactics will be of a more pacific character. I take charge of the open fighting—while you manage the secret diplomacy of the affair. Your fortune, restored to you by this opulent alliance, will enable you to get back the influence you have lost. You will receive with the daughter of Don Augustin, at least two hundred thousand dollars of dowry. Half of this you are to employ in making partisans in the Senate, and in what you are pleased to callyour army. This sum you will not lose: it will be repaid to you, and with usurious interest; or if it never should, you still make a good thing of it. The end you will keep in view, is to detach the Senate of Sonora from the Federal alliance. You will find no lack of reasons for this policy. For instance, your State has now scarcely the privileges of a simple territory; your interests differ entirely from those of the central States of the Republic. Every day your laws are becoming more centralised. The President, who deals with your finances, resides at a distance of seven hundred leagues from your capital—it is ridiculous! Besides, the funds of the treasury are misappropriated—the army badly paid, although you have to do your duty in raising the tax that is to pay it—a thousand grievances can be cited. Well, this will enable you to get up apronunciamento, and before the news of yourgritocan reach the city of Mexico, and the Executive power there can send a force against you—ay, before the government troops could get half-way to Sonora, more than two-thirds of them would desert. The others would come upon the ground, only to find the insurrectionary party too strong for them, and they themselves would be certain to join us.“Laws emanating from your own Senate—of which you yourself would have the control and guidance—laws suited to the manners and usages of your State, would soon become firmly established and respected, and Sonora would then be an independent government. This would be the first step and the most difficult. After that the rest would be easy enough; and the gold which I should furnish will bring it about. The Senate and the army would call for a European prince to place himself at their head—one who speaks the same language and professes the same religion as themselves. This prince I have already provided. Now hear me, Don Vicente! as to your own share in this business. The Senator Despilfarro is already a rich man, with a lady for his wife of whom a prince might be proud. He will be made noble—a count—a Grandee of Spain. A lucrative post will attach him to the person of the new king, and nothing is to hinder him from rising to the very summit of his ambition. All this I promise on the part of your future sovereign,King Charles the First.”With these words the Spaniard finished his harangue. The Mexican Senator, fascinated by the riches and honours thus promised him, grasped the hand of the bold conspirator, at the same time crying out with enthusiasm, “Viva! Viva Carlos el Primero!”“Good!” rejoined Don Estevan, with a smile. “Don Carlos can count upon one powerful partisan already in Sonora, and there will soon be many. But it is getting late, Don Vicente, and I have yet much business to do before I can go to sleep. You will excuse me, then, if I bid good-night to you.”After exchanging the usualbuenas noches, the Senator returned to his own chamber and couch, to dream of his future riches and grandeur.
The Mexican senator, with his contracted, or rather egoistic views, was struck dumb by the gigantic and daring design of his companion. He could only exclaim, as he respectfully pressed the hand which the Spaniard held out to him:
“Oh, Don Estevan—if you permit me still to give you this modest title—I regret my suspicions; and for the happiness which you offer me, for the grand perspective which you open before me, I promise you my life, my heart, but—”
“But! another suspicion?” asked Don Estevan, with a smile.
“No, not a suspicion of you, but a fear of some one else. Have you noticed the young man whom chance brought into our company? I have a secret presentiment that there is something between him and Doña Rosarita. He is young—he is good-looking—and they appear to have known each other a long while.”
“What!” exclaimed Don Estevan, “jealous of this ragged rustic?”
“I avow,” replied the Senator, “that I cannot help it. I noticed two or three times their eyes fixed upon each other with a strange expression.”
“Make yourself easy about that. I know, for certain—and from Don Augustin himself I have had my information—that the heart of his daughter is free. Besides, her vanity alone would hinder her from any fancy for this droll fellow, who appears to have all the pride of a Spanish beggar. He shall be watched; and, should he have the impudence to carry his pretensions so high, it will be an easy matter to send him about his business.”
In pronouncing the last words the countenance of Don Estevan appeared for a moment to wear a troubled expression, and he could not hinder himself from adding:
“I have myself remarked what you say, but let us not dwell upon chimerical fears. Listen to me, Don Vicente, while I explain more categorically the object of which I have been speaking, in order that you may understand fully why I wish to reckon upon your assistance. I have not yet told you—either what resources I have, or the kingdom it is my design to conquer.”
“True enough,” assented Tragaduros, “you have not.”
“The province then which I intend to transform into a kingdom is neither more nor less than this of Sonora.”
“What! our republican state to be changed into a monarchy!” exclaimed the Senator. “Señor Don Estevan, to attempt this will be to play with your life.”
“I know it.”
“But what resources do you count upon?”
“Listen: Ten years ago I was in the Spanish army, and fought against the independence of your country in this very province. I then became acquainted with its resources—its incalculable richness—and when I quitted it to go home to Europe, I had a presentiment that some day I should again return to it—as I have done. Chance at that time made me acquainted with Don Augustin, then occupied in amassing the vast wealth which to-day he so freely spends. I had the fortune to render him a service—to save his life, in fact, and prevent his house from being pillaged by the insurgents, for he did not conceal his sympathy for the Spanish cause. I afterwards kept up with him a correspondence, and learned that Sonora became every day more discontented with the federal government. I then designed my great plan, which was approved of by the prince, and at his desire I came over here. Don Augustin was among the first to whom I opened my purpose. He was flattered by the promises I was able to make in the name of my royal master, and at once placed his fortune at my disposal.
“Nothwithstanding the large pecuniary resources I have been able to dispose of, I am seeking to augment them still farther, and chance has favoured me. While here in my former campaign I made the acquaintance of an odd character—a young fellow who in turns betrayed both royalists and republicans. My relations with him recall a somewhat droll occurrence. I found that he was guiding the regiment I commanded into an ambuscade of the insurgents, and I ordered him to be hung to the first tree we should meet with. Fortunately for him my men translated the order in its most literal sense; and being at the time in the middle of vast savannahs entirely destitute of trees, the execution was held over, as it was an impossibility to perform it. The result was that in the middle of our marchings and counter-marchings the fellow escaped; and it appears did not, afterwards, hold any rancour towards me, since he has again offered his services to me. This fellow to-day goes by the name of Cuchillo. It was he whom I met at the village of Huerfano, where you saw us renew our acquaintance; and at that interview he has made known to me the secret of an immense placer of gold—whither I intend to conduct my expedition. Besides ourselves, Cuchillo alone knows the object of this enterprise,” (the Spaniard did not mention the name of Tiburcio), “which is generally supposed to be merely a new expedition—like many others that have been got up to go gold seeking by chance.
“And now, Señor Senator,” continued Don Estevan, “you need not proceed farther with us. You may remain here, where you will have an easy part to play, in making yourself agreeable to the fair Rosarita, while I am braving the perils of this unknown frontier. As for Cuchillo, if he attempt to play the traitor with me a second time, I shall take care to be a little more prompt in punishing him.
“The product of this expedition,” pursued the Spaniard,—“of which, as leader, I shall be entitled to a fifth part—will be added to the resources I have already. The men who compose it will be easily converted into devoted partisans of our design; and should it happen that the forces I expect from Europe should fail to come to hand in due time, these adventurers will serve a good purpose. But I have no fear for the want of followers. Europe is at the present moment overcrowded with people who lack employment: any enterprise will be welcome to them; and a leader in any part of the world needs only to speak the word for crowds to enrol themselves under his banner.”
As he said this, Don Estevan paced the room, agitated by the grandeur of his thoughts. His dark eyes flashed with excitement, and his soul seemed inspired with a warlike ardour that caused him for a while to forget the presence of the Senator. It was only after some minutes spent in this wild enthusiasm that he remembered an important fact—that in all projects such as he was engaged in,intrigueshould be the precursor of open action; and as this was to be the peculiarrôlewhich the Senator was expected to play, he again turned to address himself to this individual.
“Meanwhile,” said he, “your tactics will be of a more pacific character. I take charge of the open fighting—while you manage the secret diplomacy of the affair. Your fortune, restored to you by this opulent alliance, will enable you to get back the influence you have lost. You will receive with the daughter of Don Augustin, at least two hundred thousand dollars of dowry. Half of this you are to employ in making partisans in the Senate, and in what you are pleased to callyour army. This sum you will not lose: it will be repaid to you, and with usurious interest; or if it never should, you still make a good thing of it. The end you will keep in view, is to detach the Senate of Sonora from the Federal alliance. You will find no lack of reasons for this policy. For instance, your State has now scarcely the privileges of a simple territory; your interests differ entirely from those of the central States of the Republic. Every day your laws are becoming more centralised. The President, who deals with your finances, resides at a distance of seven hundred leagues from your capital—it is ridiculous! Besides, the funds of the treasury are misappropriated—the army badly paid, although you have to do your duty in raising the tax that is to pay it—a thousand grievances can be cited. Well, this will enable you to get up apronunciamento, and before the news of yourgritocan reach the city of Mexico, and the Executive power there can send a force against you—ay, before the government troops could get half-way to Sonora, more than two-thirds of them would desert. The others would come upon the ground, only to find the insurrectionary party too strong for them, and they themselves would be certain to join us.
“Laws emanating from your own Senate—of which you yourself would have the control and guidance—laws suited to the manners and usages of your State, would soon become firmly established and respected, and Sonora would then be an independent government. This would be the first step and the most difficult. After that the rest would be easy enough; and the gold which I should furnish will bring it about. The Senate and the army would call for a European prince to place himself at their head—one who speaks the same language and professes the same religion as themselves. This prince I have already provided. Now hear me, Don Vicente! as to your own share in this business. The Senator Despilfarro is already a rich man, with a lady for his wife of whom a prince might be proud. He will be made noble—a count—a Grandee of Spain. A lucrative post will attach him to the person of the new king, and nothing is to hinder him from rising to the very summit of his ambition. All this I promise on the part of your future sovereign,King Charles the First.”
With these words the Spaniard finished his harangue. The Mexican Senator, fascinated by the riches and honours thus promised him, grasped the hand of the bold conspirator, at the same time crying out with enthusiasm, “Viva! Viva Carlos el Primero!”
“Good!” rejoined Don Estevan, with a smile. “Don Carlos can count upon one powerful partisan already in Sonora, and there will soon be many. But it is getting late, Don Vicente, and I have yet much business to do before I can go to sleep. You will excuse me, then, if I bid good-night to you.”
After exchanging the usualbuenas noches, the Senator returned to his own chamber and couch, to dream of his future riches and grandeur.
Chapter Twenty Three.Quarrelsome Gamesters.In a remote chamber of the hacienda were lodged the four adventurers, Pedro Diaz, Oroche, Cuchillo, and Baraja. These gentlemen were not slow in becoming acquainted with one another, and this acquaintance was soon of the most familiar character. In the middle of the room in which all four were to pass the night, stood a strong oaken table, upon which, in an iron candlestick, was burning a long thin tallow candle, that gave forth a somewhat dim and doubtful light. By this light Cuchillo and Baraja—forgetful of all their promises and vows—were going on with the game, which had been so suddenly interrupted that morning at the village of Huerfano.Pedro Diaz appeared to be merely an involuntary spectator; while Oroche, seated at one corner of the table, his right leg across his left, his elbow resting on his knee—the favourite attitude of mandolin players—accompanied his own voice as he sang thebolerosandfandangosthen most in vogue among the inhabitants of the coast region.Wrapped as usual in his ragged cloak, Oroche appeared to have the true inspiration of an artist: since he could thus elevate himself upon the wings of music, above the vulgar consideration of the toilette, or the cleanliness and comfort of the person. A bottle ofmezcal, already half empty, stood upon the table. From this the players occasionally helped themselves—as a finale to the elegant supper they had eaten and to which Cuchillo, Baraja, and Oroche had done ample honour. Notwithstanding the frequent bumpers which Cuchillo had quaffed, he appeared to be in the worst of humour, and a prey to the most violent passions. His shaggy eyebrows, contracted by the play of these passions, added to the evil aspect of his physiognomy, rendering it even more sinister than common. Just then he was observed to cut the cards with particular care. He was not playing with his friend Baraja for the mere sport of the thing; for a moiety of the half ounce he had received from Don Estevan had already gone into Baraja’s pockets, and Cuchillo was in hopes that the attention which he had given to the cutting of the cards might change the luck that had hitherto been running against him. The careful cutting, however, went for nothing; and once more the sum he had staked was swept into the pocket of his adversary. All at once Cuchillo flew off into a passion, scattering his hand of cards over the table.“Who the devil wants your music?” cried he to Oroche in a furious tone, “and I myself, fool that I am, to play in this fashion—only credit when I win, and cash whenever I lose.”“You offend me, Señor Cuchillo,” said Baraja, “my word has always passed for its value in cash.”“Especially when you don’t happen to lose,” sneeringly added Cuchillo.“That is not a very delicate insinuation,” said Baraja gathering up the cards. “Fye, fye! Señor Cuchillo—to get angry about such a trifle! I myself have lost half a hacienda at play—after being robbed of the other half—and yet I never said a word about it.”“Didn’t you indeed? what’s that to me? I shall speak as I please, Señor Baraja, and as loudly as I please too,” added he, placing his hand upon the hilt of his knife.“Yes,” coolly answered Baraja, “I know you use wordsthat cause your friends to drop dead; but these words are harmless at a distance—besides I have got a tongue as sharp as yours, Señor Cuchillo.”As Baraja said this, he drew his knife from its sheath—in which action he was imitated by his antagonist—and both placed themselves simultaneously in an attitude for fight.Oroche coolly took up his mandolin—which at the interference of Cuchillo he had laid aside—and, like a bard of ancient times was, preparing to accompany the combat with a chant, when Diaz suddenly interposed between the two champions.“For shame, gentlemen!” cried he; “what! two men made to be mutual friends, thus to cut each other’s throats for a few paltry dollars! on the eve too of becoming the owners of a hundred times as much! Have I not understood you to say, Señor Cuchillo, that you were to be the guide of our expedition? Your life is no more your own, then; it belongs to us all, and you have no right to risk it. And you, Señor Baraja! you have not the right to attempt the life of our guide. Come! put up your knives, and let there be no more of this matter.”This speech recalled the two combatants to their senses. Cuchillo remembering the grand interest he had in the success of the expedition, and perceiving that the risk of life was playing a little too high—for a combat of this sort usually ends in the death of one or the other—gave ready ear to the counsel of Diaz. Baraja, on his side, reflected that the dollars he had already pocketed might be better employed than in defraying the expenses of his own funeral; and on this reflection was equally ready to desist from his intention.“Be it so, then!” cried Cuchillo, speaking first; “I sacrifice my feelings to the common good.”“And I,” said Baraja, “I am willing to follow so noble an example. I disarm—but—I shall play no more.”The knives were again stuck into their scabbards, and the two adversaries mutually extended their hands to one another.At this moment, Diaz, by way of preventing any allusion to the recent quarrel, suddenly turning to Cuchillo, demanded:“Who, Señor Cuchillo, is this young man whom I saw riding by your side as you came up to the hacienda? Notwithstanding the friendship that appeared to exist between you and him, if I mistake not, I observed you regarding one another with an occasional glance of mistrust—not to say hostility. Was it not so?”Cuchillo recounted how they had found Tiburcio half dead upon the road, and also the other circumstances, already known to the reader; but the question put by Diaz had brought the red colour into the face of the outlaw, for it recalled to him how his cunning had been outwitted by the young man, and also how he had been made to tremble a moment under Tiburcio’s menace. Writhing under these remembrances, he was now determined to make his vengeance more secure, by enlisting his associates as accomplices of his design.“It often happens,” said he, in a significant tone, “that one man’s interest must be sacrificed to the common welfare—just as I have now done—does it not?”“Without doubt,” replied several.“Well then,” continued Cuchillo, “when one has given himself, body and soul, to any cause, whatever it may be, it becomes his duty, as in my case, to put a full and complete constraint upon his affections, his passions, even his dearest interests—ay, even upon any scruples of conscience that might arise in an over-delicate mind.”“All the world knows that,” said Baraja.“Just so, gentlemen. Well, I feel myself in that difficulty; I have a too timid conscience, I fear, and I want your opinions to guide me.”His audience maintained an imperturbable silence.“Suppose, then,” continued the outlaw, “there was a man whom you all held in the highest esteem, but whose life compromised the success of our expedition, what should be done with him?”“As God lives,” cried Oroche, “I should be happy to find some occasion of sacrificing private interests to the common good.”“But is there such a man?” inquired Diaz, “and who may he be?”“It’s a long story,” replied Cuchillo, “and its details concern only myself—but thereissuch a man.”“Carajo!” exclaimed Oroche, “that is enough; he should begot rid ofas speedily as possible.”“Is that the advice of all of you?” asked Cuchillo.“Of course,” answered simultaneously Oroche and Baraja.Diaz remained silent keeping himself out of this mysterious compromise. After a little, he rose from his seat, and under some pretext left the chamber.“Well, then, gentlemen,” said Cuchillo, addressing himself to his two more facile comrades, “you are fully of the opinion that the man should be got rid of? Let me tell you, then, that this man is no other than Tiburcio Arellanos.”“Tiburcio!” exclaimed the two acolytes.“Himself—and although, since he is one of my dearest friends, it goes sadly against my heart, I declare to you that his life may render abortive all the plans of our expedition.”“But,” interposed Baraja, “why may he not lose it?—to-morrow in this hunt of wild horses there will be a thousand opportunities of his losing it?”“True enough,” said Cuchillo, in a solemn voice. “It is of great importance he should not return from this hunt. Can I rely upon you, gentlemen?”“Blindly!” replied the two adventurers.The storm was gathering over the head of poor Tiburcio, but danger threatened him from still another quarter; and long before the expected hunt, that danger would be at its height.The three adventurers continued their conversation, and were entering more particularly into the details of their design, when a knocking at the outer door interrupted their sinister councils.
In a remote chamber of the hacienda were lodged the four adventurers, Pedro Diaz, Oroche, Cuchillo, and Baraja. These gentlemen were not slow in becoming acquainted with one another, and this acquaintance was soon of the most familiar character. In the middle of the room in which all four were to pass the night, stood a strong oaken table, upon which, in an iron candlestick, was burning a long thin tallow candle, that gave forth a somewhat dim and doubtful light. By this light Cuchillo and Baraja—forgetful of all their promises and vows—were going on with the game, which had been so suddenly interrupted that morning at the village of Huerfano.
Pedro Diaz appeared to be merely an involuntary spectator; while Oroche, seated at one corner of the table, his right leg across his left, his elbow resting on his knee—the favourite attitude of mandolin players—accompanied his own voice as he sang thebolerosandfandangosthen most in vogue among the inhabitants of the coast region.
Wrapped as usual in his ragged cloak, Oroche appeared to have the true inspiration of an artist: since he could thus elevate himself upon the wings of music, above the vulgar consideration of the toilette, or the cleanliness and comfort of the person. A bottle ofmezcal, already half empty, stood upon the table. From this the players occasionally helped themselves—as a finale to the elegant supper they had eaten and to which Cuchillo, Baraja, and Oroche had done ample honour. Notwithstanding the frequent bumpers which Cuchillo had quaffed, he appeared to be in the worst of humour, and a prey to the most violent passions. His shaggy eyebrows, contracted by the play of these passions, added to the evil aspect of his physiognomy, rendering it even more sinister than common. Just then he was observed to cut the cards with particular care. He was not playing with his friend Baraja for the mere sport of the thing; for a moiety of the half ounce he had received from Don Estevan had already gone into Baraja’s pockets, and Cuchillo was in hopes that the attention which he had given to the cutting of the cards might change the luck that had hitherto been running against him. The careful cutting, however, went for nothing; and once more the sum he had staked was swept into the pocket of his adversary. All at once Cuchillo flew off into a passion, scattering his hand of cards over the table.
“Who the devil wants your music?” cried he to Oroche in a furious tone, “and I myself, fool that I am, to play in this fashion—only credit when I win, and cash whenever I lose.”
“You offend me, Señor Cuchillo,” said Baraja, “my word has always passed for its value in cash.”
“Especially when you don’t happen to lose,” sneeringly added Cuchillo.
“That is not a very delicate insinuation,” said Baraja gathering up the cards. “Fye, fye! Señor Cuchillo—to get angry about such a trifle! I myself have lost half a hacienda at play—after being robbed of the other half—and yet I never said a word about it.”
“Didn’t you indeed? what’s that to me? I shall speak as I please, Señor Baraja, and as loudly as I please too,” added he, placing his hand upon the hilt of his knife.
“Yes,” coolly answered Baraja, “I know you use wordsthat cause your friends to drop dead; but these words are harmless at a distance—besides I have got a tongue as sharp as yours, Señor Cuchillo.”
As Baraja said this, he drew his knife from its sheath—in which action he was imitated by his antagonist—and both placed themselves simultaneously in an attitude for fight.
Oroche coolly took up his mandolin—which at the interference of Cuchillo he had laid aside—and, like a bard of ancient times was, preparing to accompany the combat with a chant, when Diaz suddenly interposed between the two champions.
“For shame, gentlemen!” cried he; “what! two men made to be mutual friends, thus to cut each other’s throats for a few paltry dollars! on the eve too of becoming the owners of a hundred times as much! Have I not understood you to say, Señor Cuchillo, that you were to be the guide of our expedition? Your life is no more your own, then; it belongs to us all, and you have no right to risk it. And you, Señor Baraja! you have not the right to attempt the life of our guide. Come! put up your knives, and let there be no more of this matter.”
This speech recalled the two combatants to their senses. Cuchillo remembering the grand interest he had in the success of the expedition, and perceiving that the risk of life was playing a little too high—for a combat of this sort usually ends in the death of one or the other—gave ready ear to the counsel of Diaz. Baraja, on his side, reflected that the dollars he had already pocketed might be better employed than in defraying the expenses of his own funeral; and on this reflection was equally ready to desist from his intention.
“Be it so, then!” cried Cuchillo, speaking first; “I sacrifice my feelings to the common good.”
“And I,” said Baraja, “I am willing to follow so noble an example. I disarm—but—I shall play no more.”
The knives were again stuck into their scabbards, and the two adversaries mutually extended their hands to one another.
At this moment, Diaz, by way of preventing any allusion to the recent quarrel, suddenly turning to Cuchillo, demanded:
“Who, Señor Cuchillo, is this young man whom I saw riding by your side as you came up to the hacienda? Notwithstanding the friendship that appeared to exist between you and him, if I mistake not, I observed you regarding one another with an occasional glance of mistrust—not to say hostility. Was it not so?”
Cuchillo recounted how they had found Tiburcio half dead upon the road, and also the other circumstances, already known to the reader; but the question put by Diaz had brought the red colour into the face of the outlaw, for it recalled to him how his cunning had been outwitted by the young man, and also how he had been made to tremble a moment under Tiburcio’s menace. Writhing under these remembrances, he was now determined to make his vengeance more secure, by enlisting his associates as accomplices of his design.
“It often happens,” said he, in a significant tone, “that one man’s interest must be sacrificed to the common welfare—just as I have now done—does it not?”
“Without doubt,” replied several.
“Well then,” continued Cuchillo, “when one has given himself, body and soul, to any cause, whatever it may be, it becomes his duty, as in my case, to put a full and complete constraint upon his affections, his passions, even his dearest interests—ay, even upon any scruples of conscience that might arise in an over-delicate mind.”
“All the world knows that,” said Baraja.
“Just so, gentlemen. Well, I feel myself in that difficulty; I have a too timid conscience, I fear, and I want your opinions to guide me.”
His audience maintained an imperturbable silence.
“Suppose, then,” continued the outlaw, “there was a man whom you all held in the highest esteem, but whose life compromised the success of our expedition, what should be done with him?”
“As God lives,” cried Oroche, “I should be happy to find some occasion of sacrificing private interests to the common good.”
“But is there such a man?” inquired Diaz, “and who may he be?”
“It’s a long story,” replied Cuchillo, “and its details concern only myself—but thereissuch a man.”
“Carajo!” exclaimed Oroche, “that is enough; he should begot rid ofas speedily as possible.”
“Is that the advice of all of you?” asked Cuchillo.
“Of course,” answered simultaneously Oroche and Baraja.
Diaz remained silent keeping himself out of this mysterious compromise. After a little, he rose from his seat, and under some pretext left the chamber.
“Well, then, gentlemen,” said Cuchillo, addressing himself to his two more facile comrades, “you are fully of the opinion that the man should be got rid of? Let me tell you, then, that this man is no other than Tiburcio Arellanos.”
“Tiburcio!” exclaimed the two acolytes.
“Himself—and although, since he is one of my dearest friends, it goes sadly against my heart, I declare to you that his life may render abortive all the plans of our expedition.”
“But,” interposed Baraja, “why may he not lose it?—to-morrow in this hunt of wild horses there will be a thousand opportunities of his losing it?”
“True enough,” said Cuchillo, in a solemn voice. “It is of great importance he should not return from this hunt. Can I rely upon you, gentlemen?”
“Blindly!” replied the two adventurers.
The storm was gathering over the head of poor Tiburcio, but danger threatened him from still another quarter; and long before the expected hunt, that danger would be at its height.
The three adventurers continued their conversation, and were entering more particularly into the details of their design, when a knocking at the outer door interrupted their sinister councils.