Now and then he was known to absent himself from Arispe for a week or
ten days at a time. He was absent on some journey; but no one could
tell to what part of the country these journeys were made--for his
well-trained servants never said a word about the movements of their
master.
Whoever he might be, his courteous manner _a l'Espagnol_, his
generosity, and his fine free table, soon gave him a powerful influence
in the social world of Arispe; and by this influence he was now
organising an expedition, to penetrate to a part of the country which it
was supposed no white man had ever yet visited.
As Don Estevan almost always lost at play, and as he also neglected to
reclaim the sums of money which he so liberally lent to his
acquaintances, it began to be conjectured that he possessed not far from
Arispe some rich _placer_ of gold from which he drew his resources. The
periodical journeys which he made gave colour to this conjecture.
It was also suspected that he knew of some _placer_--still more rich--in
the country into which he was about to lead his expedition. What truth
there was in the suspicion we shall presently see.
It will easily be understood that with such a reputation, Don Estevan
would have very little difficulty in collecting his band of adventurers.
Indeed it was said, that already more than fifty determined men from
all parts of Sonora had assembled at the _Presidio of Tubac_ on the
Indian frontier--the place appointed for the rendezvous of the
expedition. It was further affirmed that in a few days Don Estevan
himself would leave Arispe to place himself at their head.
This rumour, hitherto only conjecture, proved to be correct; for at one
of the dinners given by the hospitable Spaniard, he announced to his
guests that in three days he intended to start for Tubac.
During the progress of this same dinner, a messenger was introduced into
the dining-room, who handed to Don Estevan a letter, an answer to which
he awaited.
The Spaniard, begging of his guests to excuse him for a moment, broke
the seal and read the letter.
As there was a certain mystery about the habits of their convivial host,
the guests were silent for a while--all watching his movements and the
play of his features; but the impassible countenance of Don Estevan did
not betray a single emotion that was passing his mind, even to the most
acute observer around the table. In truth he was a man who well knew
how to dissemble his thoughts, and perhaps on that very occasion, more
than any other, he required all his self-command.
"It is well," he said, calmly addressing himself to the messenger.
"Take my answer to him who sent you, that I will be punctual to the
rendezvous in three days from the present."
With this answer the messenger took his departure. Don Estevan, turning
to his guests, again apologised for his impoliteness; and the dinner for
an instant suspended once more progressed with renewed activity.
Nevertheless the Spaniard appeared more thoughtful than before; and his
guests did not doubt but that he had received some news of more than
ordinary interest.
We shall leave them to their conjectures, and precede Don Estevan to the
mysterious rendezvous which had been given him, and the scene of which
was to be a small village lying upon the route to the Presidio of Tubac.
The whole country between Arispe and the Presidio in question may be
said to be almost uninhabited. Along the route only mean hovels are
encountered, with here and there a _hacienda_ of greater pretensions.
These houses are rarely solitary, but collected in groups at long
distances apart. Usually a day's journey lies between them, and,
consequently, they are the stopping-places for travellers, who may be on
their way towards the frontier. But the travellers are few, and the
inhabitants of these miserable hovels pass the greater part of their
lives in the middle of a profound solitude. A little patch of Indian
corn which they cultivate,--a few head of cattle, which, fed upon the
perfumed pastures of the plains, produce beef of an exquisite flavour,--
a sky always clear,--and, above all, a wonderful sobriety of living,--
enable these dwellers of the desert steppes of Sonora to live, if not in
a state of luxury, at least free from all fear of want. What desires
need trouble a man who sees a blue sky always over his head, and who
finds in the smoke of a cigarette of his own making, a resource against
all the cravings of hunger?
At one part of the year, however, these villages of hovels are
uninhabited--altogether abandoned by their occupants. This is the _dry
season_, during the greater portion of which the cisterns that supply
the villages with water become dried up. The cisterns are fed by the
rains of heaven, and no other water than this can be found throughout
most tracts of the country. When these give out, the settlements have
to be abandoned, and remain until the return of the periodical rains.
In a morning of the year 1830, at the distance of about three days'
journey from Arispe, a man was seated, or rather half reclining, upon
his _serape_ in front of a rude hovel. A few other huts of a similar
character were near, scattered here and there over the ground. It was
evident, from the profound silence that reigned among these dwellings,
and the absence of human forms, or implements of household use, that the
_rancheria_ was abandoned by its half nomad population. Such in reality
was the fact, for it was now the very height of the dry season. Two or
three roads branched out from this miserable group of huts, leading off
into a thick forest which surrounded it on all sides. They were rather
paths than roads, for the tracks which they followed were scarce cleared
of the timber that once grew upon them. At the point of junction of
these roads the individual alluded to had placed himself; and his
attitude of perfect ease told that he was under no apprehension from the
profound and awe-inspiring loneliness of the place. The croak of the
ravens flitting from tree to tree hoarsely uttered in their flight; the
cry of the _chaculucas_ as they welcomed the rising sun, were the only
sounds that broke the stillness of the scene.
Presently the white fog of the night began to rise upward and disappear
under the strength of the sunbeams. Only a few flakes of it still hung
over the tops of the mezquite and iron-wood trees that grew thickly
around the huts.
Near where the man lay, there might be seen the remains of a large fire.
It had been kindled no doubt to protect him from the chill dews of the
night; and it now served him to prepare his breakfast. Some small cakes
of wheaten meal, with few pieces of _tasajo_, were already placed upon
the red embers of the fire; but notwithstanding that these would made
but a meagre repast the man appeared eagerly to await the enjoyment of
it.
Near at hand, with a frugality equal to that of his master, a horse was
browsing upon the tufts of dry yellow grass, that grew thinly over the
ground. This horse, with a saddle and bridle lying near, proved the
solitary individual to be a traveller. Contrary to the usual custom of
the country, the horse had no _lazo_, or fastening of any kind upon him;
but was free to wander where he pleased.
The costume of the traveller consisted in a sort of jacket or vest of
brick-coloured leather, without buttons or any opening in front, but
drawn over the head after the manner of a shirt. Wide pantaloons of the
same material, open from the knee downwards, and fastened at the waist
by a scarf of red China crape. Under the pantaloons, and covering the
calf of the leg nearly up to the knee, could be seen the _botas_ of
strong stamped leather, in one of which was stuck a long knife with a
horn hilt--thus ready to the hand whether the owner was seated,
standing, or on horseback. A large felt hat, banded with a _toquilla_
of Venetian pearls, completed a costume sufficiently picturesque, the
vivid colours of which were in harmony with that of the _serape_ on
which the traveller was reclining. This costume denoted one of those
men accustomed to gallop among the thorny jungles that cover the desert
steppes of North Mexico; and who in their expeditions, whether against
Indian enemies, or for whatever purpose, sleep with indifference under
the shadow of a tree, or the open heaven itself,--in the forest, or upon
the naked plain.
There was in the features of this traveller a singular mixture of brutal
ferocity and careless good-humour. A crooked nose, with thick bushy
eyebrows, and black eyes that sparkled from time to time with a
malicious fire, gave to his countenance a sinister aspect, and belied
the expression of his mouth and lips, that presented rather a pleasant
and smiling contour. But the man's features, when viewed as a whole,
could not fail to inspire a certain feeling of repulsiveness mingled
with fear. A short carbine that lay by his side, together with the long
knife, whose haft protruded above the top of his boots, did not in any
way tame down the ferocious aspect of his face. On the contrary they
proclaimed him one whom it would not be desirable to have for a
companion in the desert.
Despite the _nonchalance_ of his attitude, it was evident that he
awaited some one; but as everything in these countries is on a large
scale, so also is the virtue of patience. This outlaw--for everything
about him signified that he was one of some sort--this outlaw, we say,
having made three days' journey before arriving upon the ground where he
now was, thought nothing of a few hours, less or more, spent in
expectation. In the desert, he who has travelled a hundred leagues,
will consider it a mere bagatelle to wait for a hundred hours: unlike to
him who keeps an appointment in the midst of a great city, where a delay
of a quarter of an hour will be endured with feverish impatience.
So it was with our solitary traveller; and when the hoof-strokes of a
horse were heard at some distance off in the forest, he did nothing more
than to make a slight change in the attitude in which he had been
reclining; while his steed, also hearing the same sounds, tossed up his
head and neighed joyously. The hoof-strokes each moment were heard more
distinctly; and it was evident that a horseman was galloping rapidly in
the direction of the huts. After a little the strokes became more
gentle, and the gallop appeared to be changed to a walk. The rider was
approaching with caution.
A few seconds intervened, and then upon one of the roads--that leading
to Arispe--the horseman was perceived coming on at a slow and cautious
pace.
On perceiving the traveller, still half reclining upon his _serape_, the
horseman drew his rein still tighter and halted, and the two men
remained for some seconds regarding each other with a fixed and
interrogative glance.