It was well on in the afternoon of the following day before the four
spoil-laden savages who had sought shelter in the cave again showed
themselves outside. Then came they filing forth, one after the other,
in the same order as they had entered; but so changed in appearance that
no one seeing them come out of the cavern could by any possibility have
recognised them as the same men who had the night before gone into it.
Even their animals had undergone some transformation. The horses were
differently caparisoned; the flat American saddle having been removed
from the back of the grand Kentucky steed, and replaced by the deep-tree
Mexican _silla_, with its _corona_ of stamped leather and wooden
_estribos_. The mules, too, were rigged in a different manner, each
having the regular _alpareja_, or pack-saddle, with the broad
_apishamores_ breeched upon its hips; while the spoils, no longer in
loose, carelessly tied-up bundles, were made up into neat packs, as
goods in regular transportation by an _atajo_.
The two men who conducted them had altogether a changed appearance.
Their skins were still of the same colour--the pure bronze-black of the
Indian--but, instead of the eagle's feathers late sticking up above
their crowns, both had their heads now covered with simple straw hats;
while sleeveless coats of coarse woollen stuff, with stripes running
transversely--_tilmas_--shrouded their shoulders, their limbs having
free play in white cotton drawers of ample width. A leathern belt, and
apron of reddish-coloured sheepskin, tanned, completed the costume of an
_arriero_ of the humbler class--the _mozo_, or assistant.
But the change in the two other men--the chief and him addressed as
Roblez--was of a far more striking kind. They had entered the cave as
Indians, warriors of the first rank, plumed, painted, and adorned with
all the devices and insignia of savage heraldry. They came out of it as
white men, wearing the costume of well-to-do rancheros--or rather that
of town traders--broad glazed hats upon their heads, cloth jackets and
trousers--the latter having the seats and insides of the legs fended
with a lining of stamped leather; boots with heavy spurs upon their
feet, crape sashes around the waist, machetes strapped along the flaps
of their saddles, and seraphs resting folded over the croup, gave the
finishing touch to their travelling equipment. These, with the well
appointed _atajo_ of mules, made the party one of peaceful merchants
transporting their merchandise from town to town.
On coming out of the cave, the leader, looking fresh and bright from his
change of toilet and late purification of his skin, glanced up towards
the sky, as if to consult the sun as to the hour. At the same time he
drew a gold watch from his vest pocket, and looked also at that.
"We'll be just in the right time, Roblez," he said. "Six hours yet
before sunset. That will get us out into the valley, and in the river
road. We're not likely to meet any one after nightfall in these days of
Indian alarms. Four more will bring us to Albuquerque, long after the
sleepy townsfolk have gone to bed. We've let it go late enough, anyhow,
and mustn't delay here any longer. Look well to your mules, _mozos!
Vamonos_!"
At the word all started together down the gorge, the speaker, as before,
leading the way, Roblez next, and the mozos with their laden mules
stringing out in the rear.
Soon after, they re-entered the mountain defile, and, once more heading
north-westward, silently continued on for the valley of the Rio del
Norte. Their road, as before, led tortuously through canons and rugged
ravines--no road at all, but a mere bridle path, faintly indicated by
the previous passage of an occasional wayfarer or the tracks of straying
cattle.
The sun was just sinking over the far western Cordilleras when the
precipitous wall of the Sierra Blanca, opening wider on each side of the
defile, disclosed to the spoil-laden party a view of the broad level
plain known as the valley of the Del Norte.
Soon after, they had descended to it; and in the midst of night, with a
starry sky overhead, were traversing the level road upon which the broad
wheel-tracks of rude country carts--_carretas_--told of the proximity of
settlements. It was a country road, leading out from the foot-hills of
the sierra to a crossing of the river, near the village of Tome, where
it intersected with the main route of travel running from El Paso in the
south through all the riverine towns of New Mexico.
Turning northward from Tome, the white robbers, late disguised as
Indians, pursued their course towards the town of Albuquerque. Any one
meeting them on the road would have mistaken them for a party of traders
_en route_ from the Rio Abajo to the capital of Santa Fe.
But they went not so far. Albuquerque was the goal of their journey,
though on arriving there--which they did a little after midnight--they
made no stop in the town, nor any noise to disturb its inhabitants, at
that hour asleep.
Passing silently through the unpaved streets, they kept on a little
farther. A large house or hacienda, tree shaded, and standing outside
the suburbs, was the stopping place they were aiming at; and towards
this they directed their course. There was a _mirador_ or belvidere
upon the roof--the same beside which Colonel Miranda and his American
guest, just twelve months before, had stood smoking cigars.
As then, there was a guard of soldiers within the covered entrance, with
a sentry outside the gate. He was leaning against the postern, his form
in the darkness just distinguishable against the grey-white of the wall.
"_Quien-viva_?" he hailed as the two horsemen rode up, the hoof-strokes
startling him out of a half-drunken doze.
"_El Coronel-Commandante_!" responded the tall man in a tone that told
of authority.
It proved to be countersign sufficient, the speaker's voice being
instantly recognised.
The sentry, bringing his piece to the salute, permitted the horsemen to
pass without further parley, as also the _atajo_ in their train, all
entering and disappearing within the dark doorway, just as they had made
entrance into the mouth of the mountain cavern.
While listening to the hoof-strokes of the animals ringing on the
pavement of the _patio_ inside, the sentinel had his reflections and
conjectures. He wondered where the colonel-commandant could have been
to keep him so long absent from his command, and he had perhaps other
conjectures of an equally perplexing nature. They did not much trouble
him, however. What mattered it to him how the commandant employed his
time, or where it was spent, so long as he got his _sueldo_ and rations?
He had them with due regularity, and with this consoling reflection he
wrapped his yellow cloak around him, leaned against the wall, and soon
after succumbed to the state of semi-watchfulness from which the
unexpected event had aroused him.
"Carrambo!" exclaimed the Colonel to his subordinate, when, after
looking to the stowage of the plunder, the two men sat together in a
well-furnished apartment of the hacienda, with a table, decanters, and
glasses between them. "It's been a long, tedious tramp, hasn't it?
Well, we've not wasted our time, nor had our toil for nothing. Come,
_teniente_, fill your glass again, and let us drink to our commercial
adventure. Here's that in the disposal of our goods we may be as
successful as in their purchase!"
Right merrily the lieutenant refilled his glass, and responded to the
toast of his superior officer.
"I suspect, Roblez," continued the Colonel, "that you have been all the
while wondering how I came to know about this caravan whose spoil is to
enrich us--its route--the exact time of its arrival, the strength of its
defenders--everything? You think our friend the Horned Lizard gave me
all this information."
"No, I don't; since that could not well be. How was Horned Lizard to
know himself--that is, in time to have sent word to you? In truth, _mio
Coronel_, I am, as you say, in a quandary about all that. I cannot even
guess at the explanation."
"This would give it to you, if you could read; but I know you cannot,
_mio teniente_; your education has been sadly neglected. Never mind, I
shall read it for you."
As the colonel was speaking he had taken from the drawer of a cabinet
that stood close by a sheet of paper folded in the form of a letter. It
was one, though it bore no postmark. For all that, it looked as if it
had travelled far--perchance carried by hand. It had in truth come all
the way across the prairies. Its superscription was:--
"El Coronel Miranda, Commandante del Distrito Militario de Albuquerque,
Nuevo Mexico."