After stepping forth from the tent Uraga pauses to reflect. The course
counselled by Roblez seems reasonable enough. If he can but force the
girl's consent, it will not be difficult to get it sealed. There are
priests in the frontier pueblitas who will be obedient to a power
superior to the Church--even in Mexico, that Paradise of padres. Gold
will outweigh any scruples about the performance of the marriage
ceremony, however suspicion! the circumstances under which the intending
bride and bridegroom may prevent themselves at the altar. The lancer
colonel is well aware of this.
But there are other points to be considered before he can proceed
farther with the affair. His escort must not know too much. There are
ten of them, all thorough cut-throats, and, as such, having a
fellow-feeling for their commanding officer. Not one of them but has
committed crime, and more than one stained his soul with murder.
Nothing strange for Mexican soldiers under the regime of Santa Anna.
Not rare even among their officers.
On parting with the main body Uraga selected his escort with an eye to
sinister contingencies. They are the sort to assist in any deed of
blood. If ordered to shoot or hang the captives they would obey with
the eagerness of bloodhounds let loose from the leash, rather relishing
it as cruel sport.
For all, he does not desire to entrust them with the secret of his
present scheme.
They must not overhear the conversation which he intends holding with
his captives; and to prevent this a plan easily suggests itself.
"Holla!" he hails a trooper with chevroned sleeves, in authority over
the others. "Step this way, _sergente_."
The sergeant advances, and saluting, awaits further speech from the
colonel.
"Order boots and saddles!" directs the latter.
The order is issued; and the soldiers soon stand by their stirrups ready
to mount, wondering what duty they are so unexpectedly to be sent upon.
"To horse!" commands the Colonel, vicariously through his
non-commissioned officer. "Ride up the creek, and find if there is a
pass leading out above. Take all the men with you; only leave Galvez to
keep guard over the prisoners."
The sergeant, having received these instructions, once more salutes.
Then, returning to the group of lancers, at some distance off, gives the
word "Mount!" The troopers, vaulting into their saddles, ride away from
the ground, Galvez alone staying behind, who, being a "familiar" with
his colonel, and more than once his participator in crimes of deepest
dye, can be trusted to overhear anything.
The movement has not escaped the observation of the two men lying tied
under the tree. They cannot divine its meaning, but neither do they
augur well of it. Still worse, when Uraga, calling to Galvez to come to
him, mutters some words in his ear.
Their apprehensions are increased when the sentry returns to them, and,
unfastening the cord from the doctor's ankles, raises him upon his feet,
as if to remove him from the spot.
On being asked what it is for, Galvez does not condescend to give an
answer, except to say in a gruff voice that he has orders to separate
them.
Taking hold of the doctor's arm, he conducts him to a distance of
several hundred yards, and, once more laying him along the ground,
stands over him as before in the attitude of a sentry. The action is
suspicious, awe-inspiring--not more to Don Prospero than Miranda
himself.
The latter is not left long to meditate upon it. Almost instantly he
sees the place of his friend occupied by his enemy. Gil Uraga stands
beside him.
There is an interval of silence, with only an interchange of glances;
Don Valerian's defiant, Uraga's triumphant. But the expression of
triumph on the part of the latter appears held in check, as if to wait
some development that may either heighten or curb its display.
Uraga breaks silence--the first speech vouchsafed to his former
commanding officer since making him a prisoner.
"Senor Miranda," he says, "you will no doubt be wondering why I have
ordered your fellow-captive to be taken apart from you. It will be
explained by my saying that I have words for you I don't wish overheard
by anyone--not even by your dear friend, Don Prospero."
"What words, Gil Uraga?"
"A proposal I have to make."
Miranda remains silent, awaiting it.
"Let me first make known," continues the ruffian, "though doubtless you
know it already, that your life is in my power. If I put a pistol to
your head and blow out your brains there will be no calling me to
account. If there was any danger of that, I could avoid it by giving
you the benefit of a court-martial. Your life is forfeit to the state;
and our military laws, as you are aware, can be stretched just now
sufficiently to meet your case."
"I am aware of it," rejoins Miranda, his patriotic spirit roused by the
reflection; "I know the despotism that now rules my unfortunate country.
It can do anything, without respect for either laws or constitution."
"Just so," assents Uraga; "and for this reason I approach you with my
proposal."
"Speak it, then. Proceed, sir, and don't multiply words. You need not
fear of their effect. I am your prisoner, and powerless."
"Since you command me to avoid circumlocution, I shall obey you to the
letter. My proposal is that, in exchange for your life--which I have
the power to take, as also to save--you will give me your sister."
Miranda writhes till the cords fastening his wrists almost cut through
the skin. Withal, he is silent; his passion too intense to permit of
speech.
"Don't mistake me, Don Valerian Miranda," pursues his tormentor, in a
tone intended to be soothing. "When I ask you to give me your sister I
mean it in an honourable sense. I wish her for my wife; and to save
your life she will consent to become so, if you only use your influence
to that end. She will not be a faithful sister if she do not. I need
not tell you that I love her; you know that already. Accept the
conditions I offer, and all will be well. I can even promise you the
clemency of the State; for my influence in high places is somewhat
different from what it was when you knew me as your subordinate. It
will enable me to obtain free pardon for you."
Miranda still remains silent--long enough to rouse the impatience of him
who dictates, and tempt the alternative threat already shaping itself on
his tongue.
"Refuse," he continues, his brow suddenly clouding, while a light of
sinister significance flashes from his eyes, "Refuse me, and you see not
another sun. By that now shining you may take your last look of the
earth; for this night will certainly be your last on it alive. Observe
those vultures on the cliff! They are whetting their beaks, as if they
expected a banquet. They shall have one, on your body, if you reject
the terms I've offered. Accept them, Don Valerian Miranda; or before
to-morrow's sun reaches meridian the birds will be feeding upon your
flesh, and the wild beasts quarrelling over your bones. Answer me, and
without prevarication. I demand plain speech, yes or no."
"No!" is the monosyllable shouted, almost shrieked, by him so menaced.
"No!" he repeats; "never shall I consent to that. I am in your power,
Gil Uraga. Put your pistol to my head, blow out my brains, as you say
you can do with impunity. Kill me any way you wish, even torture. It
could not be more painful than to see you the husband of my sister,
either by my consent or her own. You cannot force mine upon such
disgraceful conditions, nor yet gain her's. My noble Adela! She would
rather see me die, and die along with me."
"Ha! ha!" responded Uraga, in a peal of mocking laughter, mingled with a
whine of chagrin, "we shall see about that. Perhaps the senorita may
not treat my offer quite so slightingly as yourself. Women are not so
superbly stupid. They have a keener comprehension of their own
interests. Your sister may better appreciate the honour I am intending
her. If not, Heaven help her and you! She will soon be without a
brother. Adios, Don Valerian! I go to pour speech into softer ears.
For your own sake, hope--pray--that my proposal may be more favourably
received."
Saying this, Uraga turns upon his heel and abruptly walks away, leaving
behind his captive with hands tied and heart in a tumult of anguished
emotion.