Simultaneous with the scene in the square marquee a dialogue is taking
place within the conical tent, the speakers being Uraga and Roblez.
The colonel is reclining on a bearskin, spread over the thick sward of
grass, which forms a soft couch underneath. The lieutenant sits on a
camp-stool beside.
Both are smoking; while from a canteen and two cups, resting upon the
top of a bullock trunk, comes a perfume which tells they have also been
indulging in a drink.
Uraga is thoughtful and silent; Roblez patiently waiting for him to
speak. The adjutant has but late entered the tent and delivered his
report about the pitching of the camp, the arrangements of which he has
been superintending.
"You've stationed a look-out as I directed?" the Colonel inquires, after
a long silence.
"I have."
"I hope you've placed him so that he can command a good view of the
valley below?"
"He's on a spur of the cliff, and can see full five miles down stream.
May I ask, colonel, whom we may expect to come that way? Not pursuers,
I take it?"
Uraga does not make immediate reply. There is evidently something in
his thoughts he hesitates to communicate to his subordinate. The answer
he at length vouchsafes is evasive.
"Whom may we expect? You forget those fellows left behind on the Llano.
The corporal and two men, whether they've found the Indian or not, will
make all haste after us. Fear of falling in with some party of Apaches
will stimulate their speed. I wonder why they haven't got up long ago.
Something strange about that."
"No doubt the storm has detained them."
"Do you think it's been that, ayadante?"
"I can't think of anything else, colonel. Anyhow, they wouldn't be
likely to come here, but go on straight to Albuquerque. The corporal is
a skilled _rastrero_, and, reaching the place where the troop separated,
he'd be pretty sure to follow the trail of the larger party. All the
more from his knowing it the safer one, so far as savages are
concerned."
"I hope he has done so. We don't want him here."
Saying this, Uraga resumes his thoughtful attitude and silently puffs
away at his cigar, apparently watching the smoke as it curls up and
spreads against the canvas.
Roblez, who appeared anxious about something, after a time again essays
speech. He puts the interrogatory,--
"How long are we to remain here?"
"That will depend on--"
Uraga does not complete the response--at least not till after taking
several whiffs at his weed.
"On what?" asks the impatient subordinate.
"Many matters--circumstances, events, coincidences."
"May I know what they are. You promised to tell me, colonel."
"I did--in time. It has not yet come. One thing I may now make known.
When we leave this camping-place we shall take no prisoners along with
us."
"You intend setting them free?" The question is asked, not with any
idea that this is Uraga's design, but to draw out the explanation.
"Free of all cares in this world, whatever may be their troubles in the
next."
"They are to die, then?"
"They are to die."
"You mean only the men--Don Valerian and the doctor?"
"What a ruffian you are, Roblez! By your question you must take me for
the same--a sanguinary savage. I'm not so bloodthirsty as to think of
killing women, much less one so sweet as the Senorita Miranda. Men
don't desire the deaths of their own wives--at least, not till after the
honeymoon. The Dona Adela is to be mine--shall, and must!"
"I am aware that is your wish, and as things stand you have a fair
chance of obtaining it. You can have her without spilling her brother's
blood. Excuse me, colonel, but I can see no reason why he should not be
let live, at least till we take him to Santa Fe, There a prison will
hold him safe, and a court-martial can be called, which, with the spirit
just now abroad, will condemn him in one day, and execute him on the
morning of the next. That would keep you clear from all suspicion of
over-haste, which may attach to you if you take the thing into your own
hands here."
"Bah! you talk like a child, teniente! The security of a prison in New
Mexico, or the chances of a prisoner being condemned, far less executed,
are things merely imaginary. All the more now that there's some
probability of a change in the political sky. Clouds have shown
themselves on the horizon at the capital--talk that our good friend
Gameleg is going out again. Before the storm comes I for one intend
making myself secure. As the husband of Adela Miranda, owning all that
belongs to her brother, and which will be hers after his death, I shall
care but little who presides in the Halls of the Moctezumas.
Priest-party or patriots, 'twill be all the same to me."
"Why not become her husband and let the brother live?"
"Why? Because that cannot be."
"I don't see any reason against it. Both are in your power. You may
easily make terms."
Uraga, impressed with the observation, remains for a while silent,
considering. To aid reflection he smokes harder than ever.