As is known, Hamersley's suspicions about the treachery of the peon are
not without cause. On the contrary, they might seem second-sight. For,
almost at the moment he is communicating them to Colonel Miranda, the
native is telling his tale to Uraga.
Nor does the latter lose much time in acting upon the information
gained--only that short interlude given to exultation as he stepped up
to the portrait of Adela Miranda, and stood triumphantly regarding the
likeness of her he now looks upon as sure to be his. He has no hope to
get possession of her by fair means; foul are alone in his thoughts.
After delivering his half-frenzied apostrophe to the painted image, he
returns to the table, beside which Roblez has already taken a seat.
They re-fill their glasses, and drink the toasts specified, with a
ceremony in strange contrast to the hellish glee sparkling in the eyes
of the Lancer-Colonel. His countenance beams with triumph, such as
might be shown by Satan over the ruin of innocence. For he now feels
sure of his victims--alike that of his love as well as those of his
revenge.
Not long does he remain over his cups in the company of his subordinate.
He has an important matter upon his mind which calls for reflection--in
silence and by himself.
Though often admitting his adjutant to a share in his criminal schemes,
the participation is only in their profits and the act of execution.
Despotic even in his villainies, he keeps the planning to himself, for
he has secrets even Roblez must not know. And now an idea has dawned
upon his mind, a purpose he does not care to communicate to the
subaltern till such time as may be necessary or seem fit to him. Not
that he dreads treachery on the part of his fellow freebooter. They are
mutually compromised, and long have been; too much to tell tales about
one another. Besides, Roblez, though a man of undoubted courage, of the
coarse, animal kind, has, neverthless, a certain moral dread of his
commanding officer, and fears to offend him. He knows Gil Uraga to be
one whose hostility, once provoked, will stop short at nothing, leave no
means untried to take retribution--this of a terrible kind. Hence a
control which the colonel holds over him beyond that drawn from his
superior military rank. Hence, also, his receiving but a small share in
the proceeds of their various robberies, and his being satisfied with
this, or, at all events, seeming so.
On his side, Uraga has several motives for not letting his subordinate
into the knowledge of all his complicated schemes; among them one
springing from a moral peculiarity. He is of a strangely-constituted
nature, secretive to the last degree--a quality or habit in which he
prides himself. It is his delight to practice it whenever the
opportunity offers; just as the thief and detective officer take
pleasure in their respective callings beyond the mere prize to be
derived from their exercise.
The intelligence just received from the traitorous mule-driver,
unexpected as pleasing, has opened to him the prospect of a grand
success. It may enable him to strike a _coup_ covering all--alike
giving gratification to his love, as his hate.
But the blow must needs be dealt deftly. There are circumstances to be
considered and precautions taken, not only to prevent its failing, but
secure against a publicity that might cause scandal to himself, to say
naught of consequent danger.
And it must be struck soon--at once. It is too ticklish a matter to
admit of delay, either in the design or execution.
Already has the matter flitted before his mind in its general outlines;
almost soon as receiving the report of the peon.
It is only the details that remain for consideration; and these he
intends considering alone, without any aid from his adjutant.
As time is an object, he speedily terminates his carousal with the
subaltern; who, dismissed, returns to the military _cuartel_.
Soon as he is gone the colonel again seats himself, and lighting a fresh
cigar, continues smoking. For several minutes he remains silent, his
eyes turned upwards, and his features set in a smile. One might fancy
him but watching the smoke of his cigar as it rises in spiral wreaths to
the ceiling. He is occupied with no such innocent amusement. On the
contrary, his grim smile betokens meditation deep and devilish. He is
mentally working out a problem, a nefarious scheme, which will ere long
bear evil fruit.
As the cigar grows shorter he seems to draw nearer to his conclusions.
And when at length there is only the stump between his teeth, he spits
it out; and, taking a hand-bell from the table, rings until a domestic
appears in the doorway in answer to the summons.
"Call in the guard-corporal!" is the order received by the servant, who
withdraws without saying a word.
Soon the soldier shows himself, saluting as he enters the door.
"_Cabo_! Bring your prisoner before me."
The corporal retires, and shortly after returns, having the Indian in
charge. He is commanded to leave the latter, and himself remain waiting
without. Directed also to close the door; which he does on getting
outside.
Thus closeted with the peon--still wondering why he has been made a
prisoner--Uraga submits him to a process of examination, which elicits
from the scared creature everything he seeds to know. Among the rest,
he makes himself acquainted with the situation of the valley, where the
exiles have found temporary asylum; the direction, distance, and means
of access to it--in short, its complete topography.
With all the Indian is familiar, can correctly describe it, and does so.
In that imposing presence he dare not attempt deception, even if
inclined. But he is not. Between questioner and questioned the aim and
end are similar, if not the same. Besides, the peon's blood has again
been warmed up, and his tongue set loose, by a fresh infusion of
aguardiente--so that his confessions are full as free. He tells about
the life led by the Mexican refugees, as also their American guests--all
he knows, and this is nearly everything. For trusted, unsuspected, he
has had every opportunity to learn. The only thing concealed by him is
his own love affair with Conchita and its disastrous ending, through the
intrusion of the Texan Ranger.
This, if told, would give his listener slight concern, alongside the
grave impressions made upon him by another affair; some particulars of
which the peon communicates. These points refer to tender relations
existing between the young prairie trader and Adela Miranda, almost
proving their existence. Confirmed or not, on hearing of them Gil Uraga
receives a shock which sends the blood rushing in quick current through
his veins; while upon his countenance comes an expression of such bitter
malignity, that the traitor, in fear for his own safety, repents having
told him.
But Uraga has no spite against him--no motive for having it. On the
contrary, he intends rewarding him, after he gets out of him certain
other services for which he is to be retained.
When his cross-questioning is at length brought to a close, he is once
more committed to the charge of the guard-corporal, with orders to be
returned to the prison. At the same time a hint is given him that his
incarceration is only precautionary, with a promise it will not be for
long.
Immediately after his removal, Uraga seats himself before an escritoire,
which stands on one side of the room. Laying open the lid, he spreads a
sheet of paper upon it, and commences to write what appears an epistle.
Whatever it is, the composition occupies some considerable time.
Occasionally he stops using the pen, as though pondering what to put
down.
When it is at length completed, apparently to his satisfaction, he folds
the sheet, thrusts a stick of wax into the flame of a candle, and seals
the document, but without using any seal-stamp. A small silver coin
taken from his pocket makes the necessary impression. There does not
appear to be any name appended to the epistle, if one it is; and the
superscription shows only two words, without any address. The words are
"El Barbato."
Again ringing the bell, the same servant answers it.
"Go to the stables," commands his master, "or the corral, or wherever he
may be, and tell Pedrillo I want him. Be quick about it!"
The man bows and disappears.
"It will take them--how many days to reach the Tenawas' town, and how
many back to the Pecos?" soliloquises Uraga, pacing the floor, as he
makes his calculations. "Three, four, five. No matter. If before them
we can wait till they come. Pedrillo!"
Pedrillo has put in an appearance. He is an Indian of the tame sort,
not greatly differing from the man Manuel, with a countenance quite as
forbidding. But we have seen Pedrillo before; since he was one of the
two muleteers who conducted the _atajo_ transporting the spoil from the
caravan of the prairie traders.
"Pedrillo," directs the Colonel, "catch a couple of the best roadsters
in the corral--one for yourself, the other for Jose. Have them saddled,
and get yourselves ready for a journey of two weeks, or so. Make all
haste with your preparations. When ready, come here, and report
yourself."
The muleteer disappears, and Uraga continues to pace the floor,
apparently yet busied with a mental measurement of time and distance.
At intervals he stops before the portrait on the wall, and for a second
or two gazes at it. This seems to increase his impatience for the man's
reappearance.
He has not a great while to wait. The scrip and staff of a New Mexican
traveller of Pedrillo's kind is of no great bulk or complexity. It
takes but a short time to prepare it. A few _tortillas_ and _frijoles_,
a head or two of _chile Colorado_, half a dozen onions, and a bunch of
_tasojo_--jerked beef. Having collected these comestibles, and filled
his _xuaje_, or water gourd, Pedrillo reports himself ready for the
road, or trail, or whatever sort of path, and on whatever errand, it may
please his master to despatch him.
"You will go straight to the Tenawa town--Horned Lizard's--on the south
branch of the Goo-al-pah. You can find your way to the place, Pedrillo.
You've been there before?"
The Indian nods an affirmative.
"Take this." Here Uraga hands him the sealed paper. "See you show it
to no one you may chance to meet passing out from the settlements. Give
it to Barbato, or hand it to the Horned Lizard himself. He'll know who
it's for. You are to ride night and day, as fast as the animals can
carry you. When you've delivered it you needn't wait, but come back--
not here, but to the Alamo. You know the place--where we met the
Tenawas some weeks ago. You will find me there. _Vaya_!"
On receiving these instructions Pedrillo vanishes from, the room; a
strange sinister glance in his oblique Indian eyes telling that he knows
himself to be once more--what he has often been--an emissary of evil.
Uraga takes another turn across the floor, then, seating himself by the
table, seeks rest for his passion-tossed soul by drinking deep of the
_mescal_ of Tequila.