"Dead!" muttered the inhuman wretch, as he stood upon the spot late
occupied by his victim, looking down over the cliff. "Dead he must be;
unless a man can fall two hundred feet and still live; which isn't
likely. That clears the way, I take it; and unless I have the ill luck
to meet some one coming up--a straggler--it'll be all right. As sound
ascends, I ought to hear them before they could _see_ me. I shall keep
my ears open."
Saying which he _commenced_ the descent of the _second_ slope,
proceeding in the same cautious way as before.
The path was but a ledge, which, after running fifty yards in a direct
line, made an abrupt double back in the opposite direction, all the
while obliquing downwards. Another similar zig-zag, with a like length
of declivity traversed, and he found himself at the cliff's base, among
shadowy, thick standing trees. He remembered the place, and that before
reaching it on their way up they had followed the trend of the cliff for
more than a quarter of a mile. So, taking this for his guide, he kept
on along the back track.
Not far, before seeing that which brought him to a stop. If he had
entertained any doubt about the sentinel being dead, it would have been
resolved now. There lay the man's body among the loose rocks, not only
lifeless, but shapeless. A break in the continuity of the timber let
the moonlight through, giving the murderer a full view of him he had
murdered.
The sentinel had fallen upon his back, and lay with his face upward, his
crushed body doubled over a boulder; the blood was welling from his
mouth and nostrils, and the open eyes glared ghastly in the white, weird
light. It was a sight to inspire fear in the mind of an ordinary
individual, even in that of a murderer. But it had no effect on this
strange _lusus_ of humanity, whose courage was equal to his cruelty.
Instead of giving the body a wide berth, and scared-like stealing past,
he walked boldly up to it, saying in apostrophe--
"So you're there! Well, you need not blame me, but your luck. If I
hadn't pushed you over, you'd have shot me like a dog, or brained me
with the butt of your gun. Aha! I was too much for you, Mr Monk or
soldier, whichever you were, for you're neither now.
"Just possible," he continued, changing the form of his monologue, "he
may have a purse; the which I'm sure to stand in need of before this
time to-morrow. If without money, his weapons may be of use to me."
With a nimbleness which bespoke him no novice at trying pockets, he soon
touched the bottom of all those on the body, to find them empty.
"Bah!" he ejaculated, drawing back with a disappointed air, "I might
have known there was nothing in them. Whatever cash they've had up
there has been spent long ago, and their wine will soon be out too. His
gun I don't care for; besides, I see it's broken;--yes, the stock
snapped clean off. But this stiletto, it's worth taking with me. Even
if I shouldn't need it as a weapon, it looks like a thing Mr Pawnbroker
would appreciate."
Snatching the dagger--a silver-hilted one--from the corpse of its
ill-starred owner, he secreted it inside his tattered rag of a coat, and
without delay proceeded on.
Soon after he came to a point where the path, forsaking the cliff,
turned to the left, down the slope of the mountain. He knew that would
take him into the Pedregal, where he did not desire to go. Besides his
doubts of being able to find the way through the lava field, there was
no particular need for his attempting so difficult a track. All he
wanted was to get back to the city by the most direct route, and as soon
as possible into the presence of a man of whom during late days he had
been thinking much. For from this man he expected much, in return for a
tale he could tell him. It must be told direct, and for this reason all
caution was required. He might fall into hands that would not only
hinder him from relating it in the right quarter, but prevent his
telling it at all.
Just where the path diverged to the left, going down to the Pedregal, a
mass of rocks rose bare above the tops of the trees. Clambering to its
summit he obtained a view of what lay below; the whole valley bathed in
bright moonlight, green meadows, fields of maize, and maguey, great
sheets of water with haze hanging over them, white and gauzy as a bridal
veil. The city itself was distinguishable at a long distance, and in
places nearer specklings of white telling of some _pueblita_, or single
spots where stood a _rancho_ or _hacienda_. Closer still, almost under
his feet, a clump of those mottlings was more conspicuous; which he
recognised as the _pueblo_ of San Augustin. A narrow ribbon-like strip
of greyish white passing through it, and on to the city, he knew to be
the Great Southern or Acapulco Road, which enters the capital by the
_garita_ of San Antonio de Abad. This route he decided on taking.
Having made note of the necessary bearings, he slipped back down the
side of the rock, and looked about for a path leading to the right.
Not long till he discovered one, a mere trace made by wild animals
through the underwood--sufficiently practicable for him, as he could
work his way through any tangle of thicket. Sprawling along it, and
rapidly, despite all obstructions, he at length came out on the Acapulco
Road, a wide causeway, with the moon full upon it.
The track was easy and clear even now, too clear to satisfy him. He
would have preferred a darker night San Augustin had to be passed
through, and he knew that in it were both _serenos_ and _alguazils_.
Besides, he had heard the _moxos_ at the monastery speak of troops
stationed there, and patrols at all hours along the roads around. If
taken up by these he might still hope to reach his intended destination;
but neither in the time he desired, nor the way he wished. He must
approach the man with whom he meant seeking an interview, not as a
prisoner but voluntarily. And he must see this man soon, to make things
effectual, as the reward he was dreaming of sure.
Urged by these reflections, he made no further delay; but taking to the
dusty road, moved in all haste along it. In one way the moon was in his
favour. The causeway was not straight, for it was still a deep descent
towards the valley, and carried by zig-zags; so that at each angle he
was enabled to scan the stretch ahead, and see that it was clear, before
exposing himself upon it. Then he would advance rapidly on the next
turning-point, stop again, and reconnoitre.
Thus alternately making traverses and pauses, he at length reached the
outskirts of the _pueblo_, unchallenged and unobserved. But the problem
was how to pass through it; all the more difficult at that early hour.
He had heard the church clock tolling the hours as he came down the
mountain, and he knew it had not struck ten. A beautiful night, the
villagers would be all abroad; and how was he to appear in the street
without attracting notice--he above all men? His deformity of itself
would betray him. An expression of blackest bitterness came over his
features as he thus reflected. But it was not a time to indulge in
sentimentalities. San Augustin must be got through somehow, if he could
not find a way around it.
For this last he had been looking some time, both to the right and left.
To his joy, just as he caught sight of the first houses--villa
residences they were, far straggling along the road--a lane running in
behind them seemed to promise what he was in search of. From its
direction it should enable him to turn the village, without the
necessity of passing through the _plaza_, or at all entering upon the
streets. Without more ado he dodged into the lane.
It proved the very sort of way he was wishing for; dark from being
overshadowed with trees. A high park-like wall extended along one side
of it, within which were the trees, their great boughs drooping down
over.
Keeping close in to the wall he glided on, and had got some distance
from the main road, when he saw that which brought him to a sudden
stop--a man approaching from the opposite direction. In the dim light,
the figure was as yet barely discernible, but there was a certain
something in its gait--the confidential swagger of the policeman--which
caught the practised eye of Zorillo, involuntarily drawing from him the
muttered speech--
"_Maltida sea_! An alguazil!"
Whether the man was this or not, he must be avoided; and, luckily for
the dwarf, the means of shunning him were at hand, easy as convenient.
It was but to raise his long arms above his head, lay hold of one of the
overhanging branches, and draw himself up to the top of the wall; which
he did upon the instant. It was a structure of _adobes_, with a coping
quite a yard in width, and laid flat along this, he was altogether
invisible to one passing below.
The man, alguazil or not, neither saw him nor suspected his being there,
but walked tranquilly on.
When he was well beyond earshot the dwarf, deeming himself safe, was
about to drop back into the lane, when a murmur of voices prompted him
to keep his perch. They were feminine, sweet as the sound of rippling
brooks, and gradually becoming more distinct; which told him that those
from whom they proceeded were approaching the spot. He had already
observed that the enclosure was a grand ornamental garden with walks,
fountains, and flowers; a large house on its farther side.
Presently the speakers appeared--two young ladies sauntering side by
side along one of the walks, the soft moonlight streaming down upon
them. As it fell full upon their faces, now turned toward the wall, the
dwarf started at a recognition, inwardly exclaiming--
"_Santissima_! The senoritas of the carriage!"