"Try a Manilla this time," said the Mexican, as Kearney was reaching out
to take a cigar from the case. "Most people believe that the best can
only come from Cuba. A mistake, that. There are some made in the
Philippine Islands equal--in my opinion, superior--to any Havannahs. I
speak of a very choice article, which don't ever get into the hands of
the dealers, and's only known to the initiated. Some of our _ricos_
import them by way of Acapulco. Those are a fair sample."
The young Irishman made trial of the weed thus warmly recommended; to
discover what contradicted all his preconceived ideas in the smoking
line. He had always heard it said that the choicest cigars are
Havannahs; but, after a few whiffs from that Manilla, which had never
seen a cigar shop, he was willing to give up the "Imperadores." His
host, lighting one of the same, thus proceeded: "_Pues, caballero_; to
give you the promised explanation. That the monks of my community are
of an order neither very devout nor austere, you've already observed, no
doubt, and may have a suspicion they're not monks at all. Soldiers,
every man; most having seen service, and many who have done gallant
deeds. When I speak of them as soldiers, you will understand it in its
true sense, Senor. With one or two exceptions, all have held
commissions in our army, and with a like limitation, I may say all are
gentlemen. The last revolution, which has again cursed our country by
restoring its chronic tyrant, Santa Anna, of course threw them out; the
majority, as myself, being proscribed, with a price set upon their
heads."
"Then you're not robbers?"
This was said without thought, the words involuntarily escaping
Kearney's lips. But the counterfeit abbot, so far from feeling offence
at them, broke out into a laugh, good-humouredly rejoining--
"Robbers, _amigo mio_! who told you we were that?"
The Irishman felt abashed, seeing he had committed himself.
"Don Ruperto," he exclaimed, hastening to make the best of his blunder,
"I owe you every apology. It arose from some talk I heard passing
around in the prison. Be assured, I neither did nor could believe it."
"Thank you, Senor!" returned the Mexican. "Your apologies are
appreciated. And," he added, putting on a peculiar smile, "in a way
superfluous. I believe we do enjoy that repute among our enemies; and,
to confess the truth, not without some reason."
Kearney pricked up his ears, perplexity, with just a shade of trouble,
again appearing upon his face. He said nothing, however, allowing the
other to proceed.
"_Carramba_, yes!" continued the proscript. "'Tis quite true we do a
little in the plundering line--now and then. We need doing it, Don
Florencio. But for that, I mightn't have been able to set so good a
breakfast before you; nor wines of such quality, nor yet these
delectable cigars. If you look to the right down there, you'll see the
_pueblo_ of San Augustin, and just outside its suburbs, a large yellow
house. From that came our last supply of drinkable and smokeable
materials, including those here, mahogany and everything. A forced
contribution, as I've hinted at. But, Senor, I should be sorry to have
you think we levy blackmail indiscriminately. He from whom they were
taken is one of our bitterest enemies; equally an enemy of our country.
'Twas all in the way of reprisal; fair, as you'll admit, when you come
to comprehend the circumstances."
"I comprehend them now," returned the listener, relieved, "quite; and I
trust you'll accept my apology."
"_Sans arriere pensee_," responded the Mexican, who could speak French,
if not English, "I do frankly, freely. No reproach to you for supposing
us robbers. I believe many others do, among whom we make appearance.
Southward, however, in the State of Oaxaca, we are better known as `the
Free Lances'; a title not so appropriate, either, since our weapons are
only at the disposal of the Republic--our lives as well."
"But," questioned Kearney, "may I ask why you are habited as I now see
you?"
"For a good reason, _amigo_. It adds to our security, giving all sorts
of opportunities. Throughout Mexico, the cowl of the monk is the best
passport a man could be provided with. Wearing it, we go about among
the mountain villages without suspicion, the people believing that this
old monastery, so long abandoned as to have been forgotten, has again
become the dwelling-place of a religious order. Of course we don't
allow any of the rustics to approach it. Luckily, they are not curious
enough to care for that, against the toil of climbing up here. If they
attempt it, we have sentinels to stay them. For ourselves, we have
learned to play the part of the holy friar, so that there would be
difficulty in detecting the counterfeit. As it chances, we have with us
one or two who once wore the cowl. These perverts have taught us all
the tricks and passwords current among the fraternity. Hitherto they
have availed us, and I trust will, till the time arrives for our casting
off our cassock, and putting on the soldier's coat. That day is not
distant, Don Florencio; nearer than I expected, from what my comrades
have told me since we came up. The State of Oaxaca is disaffected; as,
indeed, the whole southern side of Acapulco, and a _grito_ is
anticipated ere long--possibly within a month. Alvarez, who controls in
that quarter, will be the man to raise it; and the old Pinto chief will
expect to be joined by the `Free Lances.' Nor will he be disappointed.
We are all burning to be at it. So, caballero, you see how it is with
us. And now," he added, changing tone and looking his listener
earnestly in the face, "I have a question to put to yourself."
"What?" asked the Irishman, seeing that he hesitated putting it.
"Will you be one of us?"
It was now Kearney's turn to hesitate about the answer he ought to make.
A proposition fraught with such consequences required consideration.
To what would he be committing himself if he consented? And what if he
should refuse? Besides, under the circumstances, was he free to refuse?
That of itself was a question, a delicate one. He and his comrade,
Cris Rock, owed their escape to this strange man, whatever he might be;
and to separate from him now, even under full permission, would savour
of ingratitude. Still more, after listening to what was further said.
For, noting his embarrassment, and deeming it natural enough, the
Mexican hastened to relieve him.
"If my proposal be not to your liking, Senor Irlandes, say so; and
without fear of offence. All the same, you may rest assured of our
protection while you remain with us; and I shall do what I can to get
you safe out of the country. At all events, I won't send you back to
the Acordada gaol, and the tender care of its governor. So you can
speak frankly, without reserve. Are you willing to be one of us?"
"I am!" was the answer, given without further hesitation.
Why should he have either hesitated or said nay? In the heart of a
hostile country, an escaped prisoner, his life, as he felt sure,
forfeited should he be retaken. Joining Rivas and his Free Lances might
be his sole chance of saving it. Even had they been banditti, he could
not have done better then.
"Yes, Don Ruperto," he added; "if you deem me worthy of belonging to
your brotherhood, be it so. I accept your invitation."
"And your comrade, Don Cristoforo. Will he be of the same mind, think
you?"
"Sure to be. I take it I can answer for him. But you shall hear for
yourself. Rock!"
He called to the Texan, who, not understanding their dialogue, had
sauntered apart, chewing away at the Imperador.
"Wal, Cap; what's up now?" he asked on rejoining them.
"They're no robbers, Cris," said Kearney, speaking freely in their own
tongue.
"Gled to hear it. I didn't think they war--noways. Nor monks neyther,
I guess?"
"Nor monks."
"What then, Cap?"
"The same as yourself. Patriots who have been fighting for their
country, and got defeated. That's why they are here--in hiding."
"Yes, Cap; I see it all, clar as coon's track on a mud bar. Enemies o'
ole Santy, who've got beat it thar last risin'."
"Just so. But they expect another rising soon, and wish us to join
them. I've agreed, and said so. What say you?"
"Lordy, Cap; what a questun to be axed, an' by yurself! Sure this chile
air boun' to stick to ye, whatsomever ye do. Ef they'd been brigants, I
shed 'a put my conscience in my pocket, and goe'd in wi' 'em all the
same; s'long you're agreed. Nor I wudn't 'a minded turning monk for a
spell. But men who intend foughtin' for freedom? Haleluyah! Cris Rock
air all thar! Ye may tell him so."
"He consents," said Kearney, reporting to the Mexican; "and willingly as
myself. Indeed, Don Ruperto, we ought both to regard it as a grace--an
honour--to be so associated, and we shall do the best we can to show
ourselves worthy of it."
"_Mil gracias, Senor_! The grace and honour are all given to us. Two
such _valientes_, as I know you to be, will be no slight acquisition to
our strength. And now, may I ask you to assume the garb which, as you
see, is our present uniform? That by way of precaution for the time.
You'll find suitable raiment inside. I've given Gregorio orders to get
it ready. So you see, _Camarades_, I've been counting upon you."
"Gehosofat!" exclaimed the Texan, when told of the dress he was expected
to put on. "What wi' New Orleens store close, an' prison duds, an' the
like, this chile hev had a goodish wheen o' changes since he stripped
off his ole huntin' shirt. An' now a-goin' in for a monk! Wal; tho' I
mayn't be the most sanctified, I reck'n I'll be the tallest in thar
mon'stery."