The sun had already hidden his red disc under the sea horizon, when the
man-hunters mounted the hill, and approached the hut where Custos
Vaughan had been compelled to make halt, and in which he was now lying
lifeless.
"_Mira_, Manuel!" said Andres, as they came within sight of the hovel,
and at the same instant saw the horse standing tied to the tree; "_un
cavallo_! saddled, bridled, and with _alforjas_!"
"A traveller's horse!" rejoined Manuel, "and that very traveller we've
been tracking. Yes! it's the horse of the great alcalde of Mount
Welcome! Don't you remember, when we saw them before us at mid-day,
that one of the horses was a bay, and the other a grey? There's the
grey, and it was on that very animal the Custos was riding."
"Quite true, _compadre_; but where's the other?"
"Maybe among the trees, or tied round the other side of the hut. The
riders must be inside."
"Both, do you think, Manuel?"
"Of course, both; though where Blackskin's horse can be is more than I
can say. _Carrambo_! what's halted them here? There's nobody lives in
the ranche. I know that: I came this way about a week ago and it had no
tenant then. Besides, the _ingenio_ where he was to put up for the
night is just below. What, in the name of Saint Mary, has stopped them
here?"
"_Por Dios, compadre_!" said the younger of the two _cacadores_, looking
significantly at the saddlebags still hanging over the cantle of the
Custos's saddle. "There ought to be something valuable in those
_alforjas_?"
"_Caval_! you're right; but we mustn't think of that just yet,
_camarado_! After the other's done, then we shall have the
opportunity--I wonder whether they're both inside? It's very odd we
don't see the negro's horse!"
"Ha!" rejoined Andres, apparently struck with an idea. "What if he's
gone on to the plantation for some purpose? Suppose an accident has
happened to the Custos's steed, or, _carrai_! suppose he's himself taken
sick? You remember the man we met, who told us about them ugly
pistols--he said that one of the travellers--the white man--looked sick.
Didn't the fellow say he saw him puking?"
"_Por Dios_! he did. As you say, there may be something in it. If
Blackskin's out of the way, now's our time; for there is more to be
feared from that big buck nigger than his master, when it comes to a
struggle. If it should prove that the Custos is sick--I hope it is so--
he won't be in a condition to make much use of his weapons; and
_carrambo_! we must get hold of them before he knows what we're after!"
"Hadn't we better go round first?" counselled the sagacious Andres.
"Let us explore the back of the hut, and see whether the other horse is
there. If he's not, then certainly the negro's gone off on some errand!
We can steal through the bushes to the other side, and get right up to
the walls without any danger of being seen!"
"That's our plan, _camarado_. Let's lose no time, then, for, if it be
so that Blackskin's abroad, we're in luck. We mayn't find such another
chance--not between here and the world's end. Follow me, _hombre_! and
set down your feet as if you were stepping upon eggs with young birds in
them. _Vamos_!"
So saying, the chief of the two _cacadores_ skulked in among the trees,
closely followed by his companion.
After making a circuit through the underwood, the assassins stole
silently in towards the back of the hovel.
They saw no other horse--only the grey, which stood tied to the tree in
front. The bay was gone, and in all probability his rider. Andres
already congratulated himself upon his conjecture being correct: the
negro had ridden off upon some errand.
This was put beyond all doubt by their perceiving the fresh tracks of a
horse, leading away from the hut along the road towards Content. The
hoof-prints were so plain as to be visible at some distance. The turf
on the road-edge was torn up, and deeply indented--where the negro groom
had urged his horse into a gallop.
The assassins saw this, even without returning to the road; and were now
satisfied that the attendant was gone away. It only remained to make
sure that the traveller himself was inside the hut.
Creeping cautiously up to the wall, the _cacadores_ peeped through the
unclayed chinks of the cabin.
At first the darkness inside hindered them from distinguishing any
object in particular. Presently, as their eyes grew more accustomed to
the obscurity, they succeeded in making out the bamboo bedstead in the
corner, with something that resembled the figure of a man stretched
lengthwise upon it. A dark cloak covered the form, the face as well;
but the feet, booted and spurred, protruding from under the cover, told
that it was a man who was lying in that outstretched attitude--the man
who was to be murdered!
He appeared to be sound asleep: there was no motion perceptible--not
even as much as would indicate that he breathed!
Lying on the floor, at some distance from the couch, was a hat, and
beside it a pair of pistols, in their holsters--as if the traveller had
unbuckled them from his belt, and flung them down, before going to
sleep. Even if awake he could scarce get hold of the pistols, before
his assailants could spring upon him.
The assassins looked towards one another with a significant glance. The
fates appeared to favour their attempt; and, as both on the instant were
actuated by the same sanguinary instinct, they leaped simultaneously to
their feet, drew their sharp _machetes_, and rushed together through the
doorway.
"_Matelo! matelo_!" (kill him!) cried both, in the same voice, each
with a view of encouraging the other; and, as they uttered the cruel
cry, they buried the blades in the body of the unresisting traveller--
stabbing it repeatedly through the cloak.
Convinced that they had finished their bloody work, the murderers were
about to rush out again--probably with an eye to the saddlebags outside,
when it occurred to them as strange that the victim of their hired
villainy should have kept so quiet. In their frenzied excitement--while
dealing what they supposed to be his death-blows--they had not stopped
to notice anything odd in the behaviour of the man whom they were
murdering. Now that the deed was done, and they could reflect more
coolly, a sudden surprise seized upon them--springing from the
circumstance that the wretched man had made not the slightest motion--
had neither stirred nor cried out! Perhaps the first stab had gone
right through his heart: for it was so intended by Andres, who had given
it. But even that does not produce instantaneous death, and the
man-hunters knew it. Besides, on the blade of Andres' _machete_, as
well as that of his comrade, _there was no blood_!
It was very strange. Could the cloak or under-garments have wiped it
off? Partially they might, but not altogether! Their blades were wet,
but not with blood--of that they showed scarce a stain!
"It's a queer thing, comrade," exclaimed Manuel. "I could almost
fancy--_Vaya_! Lift the cloak, and let's have a look at him."
The other, stepping closer to the couch, stooped forward, and raised the
fold of the camlet from the face of the murdered man.
As he did so, his hand came in contact with the cold skin, while his
glance fell upon the stiffened features of a corpse--upon eyes whose
dull, blank film showed that the light had long since forsaken them!
The assassin stayed not for a second look. With a cry of terror he let
go the garment; and rushed towards the door, followed by his equally
terrified companion.
In another moment both would have escaped outside; and perhaps have
taken the back track, without thinking any more about the saddlebags;
but just as Andres had set foot upon the door-sill, he saw before him
something that caused him to pull up, and with a precipitancy that
brought his comrade with a violent concussion against his back.
The something which had led to this sudden interruption was the presence
of three men, standing in a triangular row, scarce five paces from the
door. Each was holding a gun, in such position, that its dark, hollow
tube was visible to the eyes of the assassin--pointing directly upon
himself.
The three men were of three distinct colours--white, yellow, and black;
all three known to the man-hunter and his companion. They were Herbert
Vaughan, Cubina, captain of Maroons, and Quaco, his lieutenant.
Volume Three, Chapter XXI.