None of the three started or felt surprise. That had been gradually
passing: for before this their presentiment had become almost a
conviction.
Quaco simply uttered one of those exclamations that proclaim a climax;
Cubina felt chagrined--disappointed in more ways than one; while Herbert
gave way to grief--though less than he might have done, had his relative
more deserved his sorrow.
It was natural they should inquire into the circumstances of the
Custos's death. Now, firmly believing he had been murdered, and by the
_cacadores_, they proceeded to make an examination of the body.
Mystery of mysteries! a dozen stabs by some sharp instrument, and no
blood! Wounds through the breast, the abdomen, the heart--all clean cut
punctures, and yet no gore--no extravasation!
"Who gave the stabs? you did this, you wretches!" cried Herbert, turning
fiercely upon the _employes_ of Jessuron.
"_Carrambo_! why should we do such a thing, master?" innocently inquired
Andres. "The alcalde was dead before we came up."
"Spanish palaver!" cried Quaco. "Look at these blades!" he continued,
taking up the two _machetes_, "they're wet now! 'Ta'nt blood azzactly;
but somethin'--. See," he exclaimed, holding his _cocuyo_ over the
wounds, and presenting one of the _machetes_ to the light, "they fit to
these holes like a cork to a bottle. 'Twere they that made em, nothin'
but they, an' you did it, ye ugly skinks!"
"By the Virgin, Senor Quaco!" replied Andres, "you wrong us. I'll swear
on the holy evangelists, _we_ didn't kill the alcalde--Custos, I mean.
_Carrambo_! no. We were as much surprised as any of you, when we came
in here and found him lying dead--just as he is now."
There was an air of sincerity in the declaration of the wretch that
rendered it difficult to believe in his guilt--that is, the guilt of him
and his companion as the real murderers, though their intention to have
been so was clear enough to Cubina.
"_Crambo_! why did you stab him?" said he to the two prisoners. "You
need not deny that you did that."
"Senor capitan," answered the crafty Andres, who in all delicate
questions appeared to be spokesman, "we won't deny that. It is true--I
confess it with shame--that we did run our blades once or twice through
the body."
"A dozen times, you John Crow!" corrected Quaco.
"Well, Senor Quaco," continued the Spaniard, "I won't be particular
about the number. There may have been a thrust or two less, or more.
It was all a whim of my comrade, Manuel, here--a little bit of a wager
between us."
"A wager for what?" asked Herbert.
"Well, you see, master, we'd been journeying, as I've said already, to
Savanna. We saw the horse tied outside this little rancho, and thought
we would go in and see who was inside. _Carrambo_! what should we see
but the body of a dead man lying stretched out on the bamboos!
_Santissima! Senores_, we were as much startled as you!"
"Terribly surprised, I suppose?" sarcastically spoke Cubina.
"Nearly out of our senses, I assure you, senor."
"Go on, you wretch!" commanded Herbert. "Let us hear what tale you have
to tell."
"Well!" said the _cacadore_, resuming his narration, "after a while we
got a little over our fright--as one naturally does, you know--and then
Manuel says to me, `Andres!' `What is it, Manuel?' said I. `Do you
think,' said he, `that blood would run out of a dead body?' `Certainly
not,' said I; `not a drop.' `I'll bet you five pesos it will,'
challenged my _camarado_. `Done!' said I; and then, to settle the
thing, we--I acknowledge it--did run our _machetes_ through the body of
the Custos--of course, we could do him no harm then."
"Monsters!" exclaimed Herbert; "it was almost as bad as killing him!
What a horrid tale! Ha! you wretches, notwithstanding its ingenuity,
it'll not save your necks from a halter!"
"Oh, senorito," said Andres, appealingly, "we've done nothing to deserve
that. I can assure you we are both right sorry for what we've done.
Ain't you sorry, Manuel?"
"_Carrai_! that I am," earnestly answered Manuel.
"We both regretted it afterwards," continued Andres, "and to make up for
what we had done, we took the cloak and spread it decently over the
body--in order that the poor alcalde should rest in peace."
"Liar!" cried Quaco, throwing the light of his _cocuyo_ on the corpse.
"You did no such thing; you stabbed him _through_ the cloak. Look
there!"
And as Quaco gave this indignant denial, he pointed to the cuts in the
cloth to prove the falsehood of the Spaniard's statement.
"_Carrai-ai-i_!" stammered out the confounded Andres. "Sure enough
there's a cut or two. Oh, now I recollect: we first covered him up. It
was after we did that, we then made the bet--didn't we, Manuel?"
Manuel's reply was not heard: for at that instant the hoof-strokes of
horses were heard in front of the hut; and the shadowy forms of two
horsemen could be distinguished just outside the doorway.
It was the black groom, who had returned from Content, accompanied by
the overseer of the estate.
Shortly after a number of negroes appeared on foot, carrying a
stretcher.
Their purpose was to convey the sick man to Content.
Circumstances had occurred to make a change in the character of their
duty.
Volume Three, Chapter XXIII.