Chapter Forty Nine
For a long time Carlos had neither been seen nor heard of except through reports that on being examined turned out to be false. Both the Comandante and his confrère began to grow uneasy. They began to fear he had in reality left the settlement and gone elsewhere to live, and this they dreaded above all things. Both had a reason for wishing him thus out of the place, and until late occurrences nothing would have pleased them better. But their feelings had undergone a change, and neither the intended seducer nor the fortune-hunter desired that things should end just in that way. The passion of revenge had almost destroyed the ruffian love of the one, and the avarice of the other. The very sympathy which both received on account of their misfortunes whetted this passion to a continued keenness. There was no danger of its dying within the breast of either. The looking-glass alone would keep it alive in Vizcarra’s bosom for the rest of his life.
They were together on the azotea of the Presidio, talking the matter between them, and casting over the probabilities of their late suspicion.
“He is fond of the sister,” remarked the Comandante; “and mother too, for that matter, hag as she is! Still, my dear Roblado, a man likes his own life better than anything else. Near is the shirt, etcetera. He knows well that to stay here is to get into our hands some time or other, and he knows what we’ll do with him if he should. Though he has made some clever escapes, I’ll admit, that may not always be his fortune. The pitcher may go to the well once too often. He’s a cunning rascal – no doubt knows this riddle – and therefore I begin to fear he has taken himself off, – at least for a long while. He may return again, but how the deuce are we to sustain this constant espionage? It would weary down the devil! It will become as tiresome as the siege of Granada was to the good king Fernando and his warlike spouse of the soiled chemise. Por Dios! I’m sick of it already!”
“Rather than let him escape us,” replied Roblado, “I’d wear out my life at it.”
“So I – so I, capitan. Don’t fear I have the slightest intention of dropping our system of vigilance. No – no – look in this face. Carajo!”
And as the speaker reflected upon his spoiled features, the bitterest scowl passed over them, making them still more hideous.
“And yet,” continued Vizcarra, following out the original theme, “it does not seem natural that he should leave them behind him, even for a short period, after what has occurred, and after the risk he ran to recover her; does it?”
“No,” replied the other, thoughtfully, “no. What I most wonder at is his not setting off with them the night she got back, – that very night, – for by the letter he was there upon the spot! But, true, it takes some time to prepare for a journey across the prairies. He would never have gone to one of our own settlements – not likely – and to have travelled elsewhere would have required some preparation for the women at least; for himself, I believe he is as much at home in the desert as either the antelope or the prairie wolf. Still with an effort he might have gone away at that time and taken them along with him. It was bad management on our part not to send our men down that night.”
“I had no fear of his going off, else I should have done so.”
“How? – no fear? was it not highly probable?”
“Not in the least,” replied Roblado.
“I cannot understand you, my dear capitan. Why not?”
“Because there is a magnet in this valley that held him tighter than either mother or sister could, and I knew that.”
“Oh! now I understand you.”
“Yes,” continued Roblado, grinding his teeth against each other, and speaking in a bitter tone; “that precious ‘margarita,’ that is yet to be my wife, – ha! ha! He was not likely to be off without having a talk with her. They have had it. God knows whether they agreed to make it their last, but I, with the help of Don Ambrosio, have arranged that for them. Carrai! she’ll make no more midnight sorties, I fancy. No – he’s not gone. I cannot think it, – for two reasons. First, on her account. Have you ever loved, Comandante? I mean truly loved! Ha! ha! ha!”
“Ha! ha! ha! well I think I was caught once.”
“Then you will know that when a man really loves – for I myself count that foolish act among my experiences, – when a man really loves, there’s no rope strong enough to pull him away from the spot where the object of his love resides. No, I believe this fellow, low as he is, not only loves but worships this future wife of mine, – ha! ha! – and I believe also that no danger, not even the prospect of the garrote, will frighten him from the settlement so long as he has the hope of another clandestine tête-à-tête with her; and, knowing that she is ready to meet him half-way in such a matter, he will not have lost hope yet.
“But my second reason for believing he is still lurking about is that which you yourself have brought forward. He is not likely to leave them behind after what has happened. We have not blinded him; though —Gracias à Dios, or the devil – we have dusted the eyes of everybody besides! He knows all, as the girl Vicenza can well testify. Now, I have no belief that, knowing all this, he would leave them for any lengthened period. What I do believe is that the fellow is as cunning as a coyote, sees our trap, knows the bait, and won’t be caught if he can help it. He is not far off, and, through these accursed peons of his, communicates with the women regularly and continually.”
“What can be done?”
“I have been thinking.”
“If we stop the peons from going back and forth they would be sure to know the trap that was set around them.”
“Exactly so, Comandante. That would never do.”
“Have you considered any other plan?”
“Partly I have.”
“Let us hear it!”
“It is this. Some of those peons regularly visit the fellow in his lair. I feel certain of it. Of course they have been followed, but only in daylight, and then they are found to be on their ordinary business. But there is one of them who goes abroad at night; and all attempts at following him have proved abortive. He loses himself in the chapparal paths in spite of the spies. That is why I am certain he visits the cibolero.”
“It seems highly probable.”
“Now if we can find one who could either follow this fellow or track him – but there’s the difficulty. We are badly off for a good tracker. There is not one in the whole troop.”
“There are other ciboleros and hunters in the valley. Why not procure one of them?”
“True, we might – there are none of them over well disposed to the outlaw – so it is said. But I fear there is none of them fit, that is, none who combines both the skill and the courage necessary for this purpose – for both are necessary. They hate the fellow enough, but they fear him as well. There is one whom I have heard of, – in fact know something of him, – who would be the very man for us. He not only would not fear an encounter with the cibolero, but would hardly shun one with the devil; and, as for his skill in all sorts of Indian craft, his reputation among his kind is even greater than that of Carlos himself.”
“Who is he?”
“I should say there are two of them, for the two always go together; one is a mulatto, who has formerly been a slave among the Americanos. He is now a runaway, and therefore hates everything that reminds him of his former masters. Among other souvenirs, as I am told, he hates our cibolero with a good stout hatred. This springs partly from the feeling already mentioned, and partly from the rivalry of hunter-fame. So much in our favour. The alter ego of the mulatto is a man of somewhat kindred race, a zambo from the coast near Matamoras or Tampico How he strayed this way no one knows, but it is a good while ago, and the mulatto and he have for long been shadows of each other; live together, hunt together, and fight for one another. Both are powerful men, and cunning as strong; but the mulatto is the zambo’s master in everything, villainy not excepted. Neither is troubled with scruples. They would be the very men for our purpose.”
“And why not get them at once?”
“Therein lies the difficulty – unfortunately they are not here at present. They are off upon a hunt. They are hangers-on of the mission, occasionally employed by the padrés in procuring venison and other game.
“Now it seems that the stomachs of our good abstemious fathers have lately taken a fancy to buffalo tongue cured in a certain way, which can only be done when the animal is fresh killed. In order to procure this delicacy they have sent these hunters to the buffalo range.”
“How long have they been gone? – can you tell?”
“Several weeks – long before the return of our cibolero.”
“It is possible they may be on the way back. Is it not?”
“I think it quite probable, but I shall ride over to the mission this very hour and inquire.”
“Do so; it would be well if we could secure them. A brace of fellows, such as you describe these to be, would be worth our whole command. Lose no time.”
“I shall not waste a minute,” Roblado replied, and leaning over the wall he called out, “Hola! José! my horse there!”
Shortly after a messenger came up to say that his horse was saddled and ready. He was about to descend the escalera, when a large closely-cropped head – with a circular patch about the size of a blister shaven out of the crown – made its appearance over the stone-work at the top of the escalera. It was the head of the Padré Joaquin, and the next moment the owner, bland and smiling, appeared upon the azotea.
Chapter Fifty
The monk who presented himself was the same who had figured at the dinner-party. He was the senior of the two that directed the mission, and in every respect the ruler of the establishment. He was known as the Padré Joaquin, while his junior was the Padré Jorgé. The latter was a late addition to the post, whereas Padré Joaquin had been its director almost since the time of its establishment. He was, therefore, an old resident, and knew the history and character of every settler in the valley. For some reason or other he held an inveterate dislike to the family of the cibolero, to which he had given expression upon the evening of the dinner-party, – although he assigned no cause for his hostility. It could not have been because he regarded them as “hereticos,” for, though the Padré Joaquin was loud in his denunciations of all who were outside the pale of the Church, yet in his own heart he cared but little about such things. His zeal for religion was sheer hypocrisy and worldly cunning. There was no vice practised in the settlement in which Padré Joaquin did not take a leading part. An adroit monte player he was – ready to do a little cheating upon occasions – a capital judge of game “gallos,” ever ready to stake his onzas upon a “main.” In addition to these accomplishments, the padré boasted of others. In his cups, – and this was nothing unusual, – he was in the habit of relating the liaisons and amourettes of his earlier life, and even some of later date. Although the neophytes of the mission were supposed to be all native Tagnos with dark skins, yet there was to be seen upon the establishment quite a crowd of young mestizoes, both boys and girls, who were known as the “sobrinos” and “sobrinas” of Padré Joaquin.
You cannot otherwise than deem this an exaggeration: you will imagine that no reverend father could practise such conduct, and still be held in any sort of respect by the people among whom he dwelt? So should I have thought had I not witnessed with my own eyes and ears the “priest-life” of Mexico. The immoralities here ascribed to Padré Joaquin can scarcely be called exceptional in his class. They are rather common than otherwise – some have even said universal.
It was no zealous feeling of religion, then, that could have “set” the monk in such hostile attitude against the family of the poor cibolero. No. It was some old grudge against the deceased father, – some cross which the padré had experienced from him in the days of the former Comandante.
As Padré Joaquin walked forward on the azotea, his busy bustling air showed that he was charged with some “novedad;” and the triumphant smile upon his countenance told that he calculated upon its being of interest to those to whom he was about to communicate it.
“Good day, father! – Good day, your reverence!” said the Comandante and Roblado speaking at the same time.
“Buenos dias, cavalleros!” responded the padré.
“Glad to see you, good father!” said Roblado. “You have saved me a ride. I was just in the act of starting for the mission to wait upon your reverence.”
“And if you had come, capitan, I could have given you a luxury to lunch upon. We have received our buffalo-tongues.”
“Oh! you have!” cried Vizcarra and Roblado in the same breath, and with an expression of interest that somewhat surprised the padré.
“Ha! you greedy ladrones! I see what you would be after. You would have me send you some of them. You sha’n’t have a slice though – that is, unless you can give me something that will wash this dust out of my throat. I’m woeful thirsty this morning.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the officers. “What shall it be, father?”
“Well – let me see. – Ah! – a cup of ‘Bordeos’ – that you received by last arrival.”
The claret was ordered and brought up; and the padré, tossing off a glassful, smacked his lips after it with the air of one who well knew and appreciated the good quality of the wine.
“Linda! lindisima!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes up to heaven, as if everything good should come and go in that direction.
“And so, padré,” said the impatient Roblado, “you have got your buffalo-tongues? Your hunters, then, have returned?”
“They have; that is the business that brought me over.”
“Good! that was the business that was about to take me to the mission.”
“An onza we were both on the same errand!” challenged the padré.
“I won’t bet, father; you always win.”
“Come! you’d be glad to give an onza for my news.”
“What news? – what news?” asked the officers at once, and with hurried impatience of manner.
“Another cup of Bordeos, or I choke! The dust of that road is worse than purgatory. Ah! this is a relief.”
And again the padré swallowed a large glassful of claret, and smacked his lips as before.
“Now your news, dear padré?”
“Pues, cavalleros – our hunters have returned!”
“Y pues?”
“Pues que! they have brought news.”
“Of what?”
“Of our friend the cibolero.”
“Of Carlos?”
“Precisely of that individual.”
“What news? Have they seen him?”
“No, not exactly him, but his trail. They have discovered his lair, and know where he is at this moment.”
“Good!” exclaimed Vizcarra and Roblado.
“They can find him at any time.”
“Excellent!”
“Pues, cavalleros; that is my news at your service. Use it to your advantage, if you can.”
“Dear padré!” replied Vizcarra, “yours is a wiser head than ours. You know the situation of affairs. Our troopers cannot catch this villain. How would you advise us to act?”
The padré felt nattered by this confidence.
“Amigos!” said he, drawing both of them together, “I have been thinking of this; and it is my opinion you will do just as well without the help of a single soldier. Take these two hunters into your confidence – so far as may be necessary – equip them for the work – set them on the trail; and if they don’t hunt down the heretic rascal, then I, Padré Joaquin, have no knowledge of men.”
“Why, padré!” said Roblado; “it’s the very thing we have been thinking about – the very business for which I was about to seek you.”
“You had good reason, cavalleros. In my opinion, it’s the best course to be followed.”
“But will your hunters go willingly to work? They are free men, and may not like to engage in so dangerous an enterprise.”
“Dangerous!” repeated the padré. “The danger will be no obstacle to them, I promise you. They have the courage of lions and the agility of tigers. You need not fear that danger will stand in the way.”
“You think, then, they will be disposed to it?”
“They are disposed – I have sounded them. They have some reasons of their own for not loving the cibolero too dearly; and therefore, cavalleros, you won’t require to use much persuasion on that score. I fancy you’ll find them ready enough, for they have, been reading the proclamation, and, if I mistake not, have been turning over in their thoughts the fine promises it holds out. Make it sure to them that they will be well rewarded, and they’ll bring you the cibolero’s ears, or his scalp, or his whole carcase, if you prefer it, in less than three days from the present time! They’ll track him down, I warrant.”
“Should we send some troopers along with them? The cibolero may not be alone. We have reason to believe he has a half-blood with him – a sort of right-hand man of his own – and with this help he may be quite a match for your hunters.”
“Not likely – they are very demonios. But you can consult themselves about that. They will know best whether they need assistance. That is their own affair, cavalleros. Let them decide.”
“Shall we send for them? or will you send them to us?” inquired Roblado.
“Do you not think it would be better for one of you to go to them? The matter should be managed privately. If they make their appearance here, and hold an interview with either of you, your business with them will be suspected, and perchance get known to him. If it should reach his ears that these fellows are after him, their chances of taking him would be greatly diminished.”
“You are right, father,” said Roblado. “How can we communicate with these fellows privately?”
“Nothing easier than that, capitan. Go to their house – I should rather say to their hut – for they live in a sort of hovel by the rocks. The place is altogether out of the common track. No one will be likely to see you on your visit. You must pass through a narrow road in the chapparal; but I shall send you a guide who knows the spot, and he will conduct you. I think it like enough the fellows will be expecting you, as I hinted to them to stay at home – that possibly they might be wanted. No doubt you’ll find them there at this moment.”
“When can you send up the guide?”
“He is here now – my own attendant will do. He is below in the court – you need lose no time.”
“No. Roblado,” added the Comandante, “your horse is ready – you cannot do better than go at once.”
“Then go I shall: your guide, padré?”
“Esteban! Hola! Esteban!” cried the padré, leaning over the wall.
“Aqui, Señor,” answered a voice.
“Sube! sube! anda!” (Come up quickly.)
The next moment an Indian boy appeared upon the azotea, and taking off his hat approached the padré with an air of reverence.
“You will guide the capitan through the path in the chapparal to the hunters’ hut.”
“Si, Señor.”
“Don’t tell any one you have done so.”
“No, Señor.”
“If you do you shall catch the ‘cuarto.’ Vaya!”
Roblado, followed by the boy, descended the escalera; and, after being helped on his horse, rode away from the gate.
The padré, at the invitation of Vizcarra, emptied another cup of Bordeos; and then, telling his host that a luncheon of the new luxury awaited him at the mission, he bade him good day, and shuffled off homeward.
Vizcarra remained alone upon the azotea. Had any one been there to watch him, they would have noticed that his countenance assumed a strange and troubled expression every time his eyes chanced to wander in the direction of La Niña.
Chapter Fifty One
Roblado entered the chapparal, the boy Esteban stepping a few paces in advance of his horse’s head. For half-a-mile or so he traversed a leading road that ran between the town and one of the passes. He then struck into a narrow path, but little used except by hunters or vaqueros in search of their cattle. This path conducted him, after a ride of two or three miles, to the base of the cliffs, and there was found the object of his journey – the dwelling-place of the hunters.
It was a mere hut – a few upright posts supporting a single roof, which slanted up, with a very slight inclination, against the face of the rock. The posts were trunks of a species of arborescent yucca that grew plentifully around the spot, and the roof-thatch was the stiff loaves of the same, piled thickly over each other. There was a sort of rude door, made of boards split from the larger trunks of the yucca, and hung with strong straps of parflèche, or thick buffalo leather. Also a hole that served for a window, with a shutter of the same material, and similarly suspended. The walls were a wattle of vines and slender poles bent around the uprights, and daubed carelessly with a lining of mud. The smooth vertical rock served for one side of the house – so that so much labour had been spared in the building – and the chimney, which was nothing better than a hole in the roof, conducted the smoke in such a manner that a sooty streak marked its course up the face of the cliff. The door entered at one end, close in by the rock, but the window was in the side or front. Through the latter the inmates of the hut could command a view of any one approaching by the regular path. This, however, was a rare occurrence, as the brace of rude hunters had but few acquaintances, and their dwelling was far removed from any frequented route. Indeed, the general track of travel that led along the bottom line of the bluffs did not approach within several hundred yards of this point, in consequence of the indentation or bay in which the hut was placed. Moreover, the thick chapparal screened it from observation on one side, while the cliffs shut it in upon the other.
Behind the house – that is, at the hinder end of it – was a small corral, its walls rudely constructed with fragments of rock. In this stood three lean and sore-backed mules, and a brace of mustangs no better off. There was a field adjoining the corral, or what had once been a field, but from neglect had run into a bed of grass and weeds. A portion of it, however, showed signs of cultivation – a patch here and there – on which stood some maize-plants, irregularly set and badly hoed, and between their stems the trailing tendrils of the melon and calabash. It was a true squatter’s plantation.
Around the door lay half-a-dozen wolfish-looking dogs; and under the shelter of the overhanging rock, two or three old pack-saddles rested upon the ground. Upon a horizontal pole two riding saddles were set astride – old, worn, and torn – and from the same pole hung a pair of bridles, and some strings of jerked meat and pods of chilé pepper.
Inside the house might have been seen a couple of Indian women, not over cleanly in their appearance, engaged in kneading coarse bread and stewing tasajo. A fire burnt against the rock, between two stones – earthen pots and gourd dishes lay littered over the floor.
The walls were garnished with bows, quivers, and skins of animals, and a pair of embankments of stones and mud, one at each corner of the room – there was but one room – served as bedstead and beds. A brace of long spears rested in one corner, alongside a rifle and a Spanish escopeta; and above hung a machete or sword-knife, with powder-horns, pouches, and other equipments necessary to a hunter of the Rocky Mountains. There were nets and other implements for fishing and taking small game, and these constituted the chief furniture of the hovel. All these things Roblado might have seen by entering the hut; but he did not enter, as the men he was in search of chanced to be outside – the mulatto lying stretched along the ground, and the zambo swinging in a hammock between two trees, according to the custom of his native country – the coast-lands of the tierra caliente.
The aspect of these men, that would have been displeasing to almost any one else, satisfied Roblado. They were just the men for his work. He had seen both before, but had never scrutinised them till now; and, as he glanced at their bold swarthy faces and brawny muscular frames, he thought to himself, “These are just the fellows to deal with the cibolero.” A formidable pair they looked. Each one of them, so far as appearance went, might with safety assail an antagonist like the cibolero – for either of them was bigger and bulkier than he.
The mulatto was the taller of the two. He was also superior in strength, courage, and sagacity. A more unamiable countenance it would have been difficult to meet in all that land, without appealing to that of the zambo. There you found its parallel.
The skin of the former was dull yellow in colour, with a thin beard over the cheeks and around the lips. The lips were negro-like, thick, and purplish, and behind them appeared a double row of large wolfish teeth. The eyes were sunken – their whites mottled with yellowish flakes. Heavy dark brows shadowed them, standing far apart, separated by the broad flatfish nose, the nostrils of which stood so widely open as to cause a protuberance on each side. Large ears were hidden under a thick frizzled shock that partook of the character both of hair and wool. Over this was bound, turban fashion, an old check Madras kerchief that had not come in contact with soap for many a day; and from under its folds the woolly hair straggled down over the forehead so as to add to the wild and fierce expression of the face. It was a countenance that proclaimed ferocity, reckless daring, cunning, and an utter absence of all humane sentiment.
The dress of the man had little in it differing from others who lead the life of a prairie-hunter. It was a mixture of leather and blanket. The head-dress only was peculiar. That was an old souvenir of the Southern States and their negro life.
The zambo had a face as ferocious in its expression as that of his confrère. It differed in colour. It was a coppery black – combining the hues of both races from whom he derived his origin. He had the thick lips and retreating forehead of the negro, but the Indian showed itself in his hair, which scarcely waved, but hung in long snaky tresses about his neck and shoulders. He was altogether less distinguished-looking than his comrade the mulatto. His dress partook of the character of his tribe – wide trousers of coarse cotton stuff, with a sleeveless shirt of the same material, – a waist scarf, and coarse serapé. Half the upper part of his body was nude, and his thick copper-coloured arms were quite bare.
Roblado arrived just in time to witness the finale of an incident that would serve to illustrate the character of the zambo.
He was half sitting, half-lying in his hammock, in the enjoyment of a husk cigar, and occasionally striking at the flies with his raw-hide whip. He called out to one of the women – his wife for the time —
“Niña! I want to eat something – is the guisado ready?”
“Not yet,” answered a voice from the hut.
“Bring me a tortilla then, with chilé Colorado.”
“Querido– you know there is no chilé Colorado in the house,” was the reply.
“Niña! come here! I want you.”
The woman came out, and approached the hammock, but evidently with some mistrust.
The zambo sat perfectly silent until she was close enough for his purpose, and then, suddenly raising the raw-hide, which he had hitherto held behind him, he laid it with all his strength over her back and shoulders. A thin chemisette was all that intervened to hinder the full severity of the blows, and these fell thick end fast, until the sufferer took courage and retreated out of reach!
“Now, Niña, dear love! the next time I call for a tortilla with chilé Colorado you’ll have it – won’t you, dear pet?”
And then laying himself back in his hammock, the savage uttered a roar of laughter, in which he was joined by the mulatto, who would have done just the same by his better half for a like provocation!
It was just at this crisis Roblado pulled up in front of the hovel.
Both got to their feet to receive him, and both saluted him with a gesture of respect. They knew who he was. The mulatto, as the principal man, took the principal part in the conversation, while the zambo hung in the background.
The dialogue was carried on in a low tone on account of the woman and the boy Esteban. It resulted, however, in the hunters being engaged, as the padré had suggested, to track and follow the cibolero Carlos to death or capture. If the former, a large sum was to be their reward – if the latter, a sum still larger – nearly double!
With regard to assistance from the troops, neither mulatto nor zambo wished for any. Quite the contrary. They had no desire that the magnificent bounty should be diminished by subdivision. As it stood, it would be a small fortune to both of them, and the brilliant prospect whetted their appetite for the success of the job.
His errand having been thus accomplished, the officer rode back to the Presidio; while the man-hunters immediately set about making preparations for expedition.