THE SALTEADORES.
In the meanwhile the carriage rolled along the Orizaba road, surrounded
by its escort. But at a little distance from that town it turned off
and reached by a shortcut the Puebla road, along which it advanced in
the direction of the defiles of Las Cumbres: while going at full speed
along the dusty road, the two travellers caroused.
The lady who accompanied the old gentleman was a girl of sixteen or
seventeen years at the most; her delicate features, her blue eyes
bordered by long lashes which, in falling traced a brown semicircle
on her velvety cheeks, her straight nose with its pink or flexible
nostrils, her small mouth, whose coral lips when parted allowed a
glimpse of her pearly teeth, her slightly dimpled chin, her pale
complexion rendered even paler by the silky tresses of raven hair which
surrounded her face and fell on her shoulders, produced one of those
pale and attractive countenances, which are only seen in equinoctial
countries, and which, while not possessing the piquancy of the frail
beauties of our northern climes, have that irresistible attraction
which makes one dream of the angel in the woman, and produces not only
love but adoration.
Gracefully reclining in a corner of her carriage, half buried in masses
of muslin, she allowed her eyes to wander pensively over the country,
only answering absently and in monosyllables the remarks which her
father addressed to her.
The old gentleman, though he affected a certain assurance, appeared,
however, rather restless.
"I tell you, Dolores," he said, "all this is not clear in spite of the
repeated affirmations of the heads of the Veracruz government, and the
protection they feign to grant me. I have no confidence in them."
"Why not, papa?" the young lady asked carelessly.
"For a thousand reasons: the principal one is that I am a Spaniard, and
you know that unfortunately at the present time, that name is a further
motive for the hatred the Mexicans feel against Europeans generally."
"That is only too true, papa, but permit me to ask one question."
"Pray do so, Dolores."
"Well, I should like you to tell me the urgent motive which induced
you to leave Veracruz suddenly, and take this journey with me, more
especially, when usually you never take anyone with you on your
excursions."
"The motive is very simple, my child, serious interests claim my
presence at Mexico, where I must be as soon as possible. On the other
hand, the political horizon is daily growing darker, and I reflected
that a residence at our Hacienda del Arenal might become ere long,
dangerous for our family. I therefore have resolved that, after leaving
you in Puebla with our relation don Luis de Pezal, whose god-daughter
you are, and who loves you dearly, to push on to Arenal, where I shall
take up your brother Melchior, and convey you to the capital, where
it will be easy for us to find effectual protection, in the event,
unhappily too easy to foresee, of the constituted power being suddenly
overthrown and that of Veracruz substituted for it."
"And you have no other motive but that, papa?" the young lady said,
leaning forward, with a slight smile.
"What other motive could I have but what I have just told you, my dear
Dolores?"
"You see I do not know, papa, since I ask you."
"You are a curious niña," he continued laughingly, shaking his finger
at her, "you would like to make me confess my secret."
"Then you have a secret, papa?"
"That is possible; but for the present you must be satisfied with
knowing so much, for I shall not tell it to you."
"Really, dear papa?"
"I pledge you my word."
"Oh, in that case I will not press you. I know too well that when you
put on your big voice and knit your brows, it is useless to do so."
"You are a madcap, Dolores."
"No matter. I should have liked to know why you assumed a false name
for this journey."
"Oh! I have no objection to tell you that: my name is too well known,
as that of a rich man, for me to venture to carry it across country
when so many bandits are swarming on the roads."
"You had no other motive?"
"No other, my dear child: I believe that is sufficient, and that
prudence urged me to act as I have done."
"Very good, papa," she replied, shaking her head with a pout: "but,"
she suddenly exclaimed, "I fancy, papa, that the carriage is slackening
its speed."
"It is true," the old gentleman answered, "what is the meaning of
this?".
He pulled down the glass and thrust out his head, but could see
nothing: the berlin was at this moment entering the defile of the
Cumbres, and the road made so many winds, that it was impossible to see
more than thirty yards before or behind. The old gentleman called up
one of the servants who rode close to the carriage.
"What is the matter, Sánchez?" the traveller asked. "I fancy we are not
going so fast as before."
"That is true, señor amo," Sánchez answered, "since we left the plain,
we have not been advancing so rapidly, though I do not know the reason:
the soldiers of our escort appear alarmed, and are talking together in
a low voice, while incessantly looking round them: it is evident that
they fear some danger."
"Could the salteadores or guerillas who infest the roads think of
attacking us?" the old gentleman said with ill-disguised anxiety,
"Pray inquire, Sánchez--Hem! The spot would be capitally chosen for
a surprise, still, our escort is numerous, and unless they have an
understanding with the bandits, I doubt whether the latter would
venture to bar our way. Come, Sánchez, cross-question the soldiers
adroitly, and report to me what you learn."
The servant bowed, checked his horse to let the carriage pass him, and
then prepared to carry out the commission with which his master had
intrusted him.
But Sánchez caught up the berlin again almost immediately: his features
were distorted, his panting voice hissed between his teeth which were
clenched by terror, and a cadaverous pallor covered his face.
"We are lost, señor amo," he muttered, as he bent down to the carriage
window.
"Lost!" the old gentleman exclaimed with a nervous tremor, and giving
his daughter, who was dumb with terror, a glance charged with the most
impassioned paternal love: "Lost! You must be mad, Sánchez, explain
yourself, in Heaven's name."
"It is unnecessary, mi amo," the poor fellow stammered. "Here is señor
don Jesús Domínguez, the chief of the escort, coming up: without doubt
he will inform you of what is taking place."
"What is it? Better, on my soul, a certainty however terrible its
nature, than such anxiety."
The carriage had halted on a species of platform, about one hundred
yards square: the old gentleman looked out: the escort still
surrounded, the berlin, but seemed to be doubled: instead of twenty
horsemen there were forty.
The traveller understood that he had fallen into a trap: that any
resistance would be madness, and that the only chance of safety lay
in submission: still, as in spite of his age, he was endowed with a
firm character and energetic mind, he would not thus allow himself
vanquished at the first collision, and resolved to try and render his
troublesome position as agreeable as he could.
After tenderly embracing his daughter, and recommending her to remain
quiet and not interfere, whatever might happen, he opened the carriage
door, and actively sprang into the road, with a revolver in each hand.
The soldiers, though surprised at the action, did not make a move to
oppose it, but remained immoveable in their ranks.
The traveller's four servants ranged themselves behind him
unhesitatingly, with their rifles in readiness to fire on receiving
their master's order.
Sánchez had spoken truly; don Jesús Domínguez was coming up at a
gallop; but he was not alone, another horseman accompanied him.
The latter was a short, thick set man, with stern features and a
sidelong glance: the reddish tinge of his complexion proved him to be
a full blooded Indian: he wore the sumptuous uniform of a colonel in a
regular army.
The traveller at once recognized this unpleasant personage as don
Felipe Neri Irzabal, one of the guerillero chiefs of Juárez' party; he
had met him twice or thrice at Veracruz.
It was with a nervous start and a thrill of terror that the old
gentleman awaited the arrival of the two men; still, when they were
only a few paces from him, instead of allowing them to question him, he
was the first to speak.
"Hola, caballeros," he shouted to them in a haughty voice, "what is the
meaning of this, and why do you thus compel to interrupt my journey?"
"You shall learn, my dear sir," the guerillero replied with a grin;
"and in the first place, that you may know at once what you have to
expect, I arrest you in the name of the country."
"Arrest me! You?" the old gentleman protested. "By what right, pray?"
"By what right?" the other repeated with his ill-omened grin; "Viva
Cristo! I might, if I thought proper, reply that it was by the right of
force, and the reason would be peremptory, I imagine."
"Certainly," the traveller replied sarcastically, "and I presume it is
the only one you can invoke."
"Well, you are mistaken, my good sir; I do not invoke it, but arrest
you as a spy, convicted of high treason."
"Nonsense, you are mad, señor Coronel. I a traitor and a spy!"
"Señor, for some time past the government of his most gracious
Excellency, President Juárez, has had its eye on you; your movements
have been watched; we know for what motive you so hurriedly left
Veracruz, and with what object you are going to Mexico."
"I am going to Mexico on commercial business, and the President is well
aware of the fact, as he himself signed my safe conduct, and the escort
that accompanies me was graciously granted me by him, without my having
the necessity to ask for it."
"All that is true, señor; our magnanimous President--who always feels
a repugnance for rigorous measures--did not wish to have you arrested;
he preferred, through consideration for your grey hairs, to leave you
means of escape; but your last act of treachery has filled up the
measure, and though he has been obliged to force himself to do so, the
President recognized the necessity of acting vigorously against you
without delay. I was sent after you with orders to arrest you, and this
order I now execute."
"And may I know of what treason I am accused?"
"You must know better than anyone else, señor don Andrés de la Cruz,
the motives which induced you to give up your own name and assume that
of don Antonio de Carrera."
Don Andrés--for such in reality was his name--was startled by this
revelation; not that he felt himself guilty, for this change of
name had been effected with the assent of the President; but he was
confounded by the duplicity of the people who arrested him, and who,
for want of better reasons, even played this one to make him fall into
an infamous snare, in order to seize on a fortune which they had long
coveted.
Don Andrés, however, overcame his emotion, and addressed the guerillero
once more.
"Take care of what you are doing, señor Coronel," he said; "I am not a
nobody, and will not let myself be thus despoiled without complaining;
there is at Mexico a Spanish ambassador, who will be able to procure me
justice."
"I do not know what you mean," don Felipe answered imperturbably; "If
you are alluding to señor Pacheco, I do not think that his protection
will be very profitable to you; for this gentleman, who entitles
himself ambassador extraordinary of H.M. the Queen of Spain, has
thought proper to recognize the government of the traitor Miramón.
Hence we of the other party have nothing to do with him, and his
influence with the national President is completely null. However, I
have no occasion to discuss the point with you; whatever may happen,
I arrest you. Will you surrender, or do you intend to offer a useless
resistance? Answer."
Don Andrés surveyed the persons who surrounded him; he saw that he had
no hope or support to expect from anyone but his own servants, hence he
let his revolvers fall at his feet, and folded his arms on his chest.
"I surrender to force," he said in a firm voice; "but I protest before
all those who surround me against the violence which is done me."
"Pray protest, my dear sir, you are quite at liberty to do so, and it
is not of the slightest consequence to me. Don Jesús Domínguez," he
added, addressing the officer who had calmly and carelessly witnessed
this scene, "we will at once proceed to a minute inspection of the
baggage, and, above all, the papers of the prisoner."
The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"Well played," he said; "unluckily you are a little too late,
caballero."
"What do you mean?"
"Only this, that the money and securities you expect to find in my
baggage are no longer there. I know you too well, señor, not to have
taken my precautions in the provision of what is happening at this
moment."
"Maldición!" exclaimed the guerillero, as he smote the pommel of his
saddle with his fist; "Devil of a gachupine; do not fancy you will
escape in this way. I will know where you have hidden your treasures,
even if I am obliged to flay you alive."
"Try it," don Andrés said ironically, and he turned his back on him.
The bandit had revealed himself. The guerillero, after the outbreak
into which his avarice had led him; had no reason to affect moderation
toward a man whom he intended to plunder in such an audaciously cynical
manner.
"Very good," he said, "we shall see," and bending down to don Jesús'
ear, he whispered to him for a few minutes.
The two bandits were doubtless concerting together the most effectual
means by which to force the Spaniard to reveal his secret, and place
himself at their mercy.
"Don Andrés," the guerillero said a moment after with a nervous grin;
"since that is the case, I will venture to interrupt your journey;
before returning to Veracruz, we will proceed together to your hacienda
of Arenal, where we shall be able to discuss our business far more
comfortably than on this high road; be good enough to get into your
carriage again, and we will start; besides, your daughter, the charming
Dolores, doubtless requires to be re-assured."
The old gentleman turned pale, for he comprehended all the horrible
extent of the threat which the bandit made him; he raised his eyes to
Heaven, and prepared to return to the carriage.
But at the same instant a furious galloping was heard. The soldiers
moved out of the way in terror, and a horseman, coming up at full
speed, dashed like a tornado into the centre of the circle formed round
the berlin.
This horseman was masked, a black veil entirely covered his face.
He suddenly pulled up his horse on its hind legs, and fixing on the
guerillero eyes that flashed like live coals through the holes in the
veil, he asked in a sharp, menacing voice--
"What is going on here?"
By an instinctive gesture, the guerillero gave a pull at his bridle,
and made his horse recoil without replying.
The soldiers and the officer himself crossed themselves in terror, and
muttered in a low voice--
"El Rayo! El Rayo!"
"I asked you a question," the unknown said, after a few moments of
expectation.
The forty odd men who surrounded him piteously hung their heads,
and, gradually falling back, considerably enlarged the circle, as
they cordially felt no desire to enter into a discussion with this
mysterious personage.
Don Andrés felt hope return to his heart; a secret foreboding warned
him that the sudden arrival of this stranger, though it might
not entirely change his position, would at least produce a more
advantageous phase for himself; moreover, he fancied that he could
confusedly recall the stranger's voice, though it was impossible for
him to remember where he had heard it. Hence, while everybody else fell
back in terror, he, on the contrary, approached the stranger with an
instinctive eagerness, for which he could not account.
Don Jesús Domínguez, the commander of the escort, had disappeared; he
had fled disgracefully.