"Glad to see you, Senor Juliano! It's not often you honour Arispe with
your presence."
Colonel Requenes is the speaker, he spoken to being a gentleman of
middle age, in civilian costume, the dress of a _haciendado_. It is Don
Juliano Romero, brother of the Senora Villanueva, the owner of a large
_ganaderia_ or grazing estate, some six or seven miles out of Arispe.
"True," he admits, "nor would you see me now, only that this thing
begins to look serious."
"What thing?" asks the Colonel, half divining it.
"No news from Villanueva, I came to see if _you've_ had any."
"Not a word; and you're right about it's beginning to look serious. I
was just talking of it to your son there, before you came in."
They are in a large apartment in Colonel Requenes' official residence,
his receiving-room, into which the _ganadero_ has just been ushered; the
son alluded to being there already, a youth of some sixteen summers, in
military uniform, with sabretasche and other insignia proclaiming him an
aide-de-camp. After greeting his father, he has resumed his seat by a
table on which are several open despatches, with which he seems to busy
himself.
"_Por Dios_! I cannot tell what to make of it," pursues the _ganadero_;
"they must have reached the mine, wherever it is, long ago. Time enough
for word to have been brought back. And my sister not writing to me,
that's a puzzle! She promised she would soon as they got there."
"And Villanueva himself promised he would write to me. Besides, the
people, many of them, have left friends behind, relatives out in the
neighbourhood of the old _minera_. Some of them are in Arispe every
day, inquiring if there be any news of those gone north; so it's clear
they've had no word from them either."
"What do you suppose can be the cause, Requenes?"
"I've been trying to think. At first I fancied the great drought that's
been, with every stream and pond dried up, might have forced them out of
their way for water, and so lengthened their journey. But even with
that there's been time enough for them to have reached their destination
long since, and us to have heard of it. As we haven't, I fear it's
something worse."
"What's your conjecture, Colonel?"
"I'm almost afraid to venture on conjectures, but they force themselves
on me, Don Juliano; and in the one shape you will yourself, no doubt, be
thinking of."
"I comprehend. _Los Indios_!"
"_Los Indios_," echoes the officer; "just that. Villanueva told me the
new-discovered _veta_ lies a long way to the north-west, beyond the
headwaters of the Horcasitas. That's all country claimed by the Apaches
of different bands; as you know, every one of them determinedly hostile
to the whites, especially to us Mexicans, for reasons you may have heard
of."
"I know all that; you allude to the affair of Gil Perez?"
"I do; and my fear is our friends may have encountered these red-handed
savages. If so, Heaven have mercy on them, and God help them; for He
only can."
"Encountering them would mean being attacked by them?"
"Surely so; and destroyed if defeated: the men butchered, the women and
children carried into captivity."
At this the young aide-de-camp turns round on his chair, his face
showing an expression of pain. He says nothing, however, but continues
an earnest listener to the conversation.
"Merciful Heaven!" exclaims the _ganadero_, with a groan, "I hope it has
not come to that."
"I hope so too, and don't yet think it has; only that it's probable
enough--too probable. Still, even if set upon, they would resist; and
when one comes to remember how many there were of them, they ought to
make a stout resistance."
"Many of them," rejoins Don Juliano, "both miners and _vaqueros_, are of
approved valour, and were well armed. I was at the old _minera_ when
they started off, and saw that for myself."
"Yes, I know; but their holding out would depend on the sort of ground
they chanced to be on when attacked, if they have been attacked. By
good luck, our mutual brother-in-law is no novice to Indian tactics, but
a soldier of experience, who'll know how to act in any emergency."
"True; but the worst of it is his being embarrassed by having so many
women and children with him; among them, alas! my sister and niece.
_Pobrecitas_!"
Again the young officer shifts uneasily on his chair, the expression of
pain still upon his face. For he is the cousin whom Gertrude was said
to have forgotten.
"They took a number of large vehicles with them?" says the Colonel,
interrogatively. "American wagons, did they not?"
"They did."
"How many? Can you remember?"
"Six or seven, I think."
"And a large pack-train?"
"Yes; the _atajo_ seemed to number about fourscore mules."
For a moment the Colonel is silent, seeming to reflect, then says:
"Villanueva would know how to throw these _carros_ into _corral_, and
with so many pack-saddles ought to make a defensible breastwork, to say
nothing of the bales and boxes of goods. If not taken by surprise while
_en route_, he'd be sure of using that precaution. So protected, and
armed as they were, they ought to hold good their ground against any
number of redskins. The worst danger would be their getting dropped on
in some place without water. In that case surrender would be the
necessary result, and surrender to Apaches were as death itself."
"_Santissima_! yes--we all know that. But, Requenes, do you really
think we've to fear their having met such a disaster?"
"I don't know what to think. I'd fain not fear it, but the thing looks
grave, no matter in what way one views it. There should have been word
from them several days ago; none coming, what other can be the
explanation?"
"Ay, true; what other?" rejoins the _ganadero_, despondently. "But what
ought we to do?" he adds.
"I've been considering that for some time, but couldn't make up my mind.
I've made it up now."
"To what?"
"To sending one of my squadrons along the route they took; with orders
to follow it up, if need be, to the new-discovered mine; at all events,
till it be ascertained what hinders our hearing from them."
"That seems the best and only way," returns Don Juliano. "But when do
you propose your men to start?"
"Immediately--soon as they can be ready. For such an expedition, most
of the way through a very wilderness, they will need supplies, however
lightly equipped. But I will issue the order this moment. Cecilio," to
the aide-de-camp, "hasten down to the _cuartel_, and tell Major Garcia
to come to me at once."
The young officer, rising at the words and clapping on his shako, makes
straight for the outer door. But before stepping over its threshold, he
sees that which causes him to return instantly to the receiving-room, to
the surprise of those he had left there.
"What is it?" demands the Colonel.
"Look there!"
He points out through the open window over the _plaza_ in front of it.
Springing from their seats and moving up to it, they perceive a young
man on horseback advancing towards the house; his face pale, and with a
wayworn look, his dress dust-stained, and otherwise out of order, the
horse he bestrides steaming at the nostrils, froth clouted, and with
palpitating flanks.
"_Caramba_!" exclaims Colonel Requenes. "That's young Tresillian, the
son of Villanueva's partner!"