"_Por Dios_! if that infernal Seven of Spades had left any dollars in my
purse, I should have considered them in danger of being taken out of it
just now."
Despite the nature of his reflection, the horseman did not hesitate any
longer, but spurring his horse forward to the edge of the fire, lifted
his hat courteously from his head, and saluted him on the ground, at the
same time saying interrogatively:--
"No doubt it is the Senor Don Pedro Cuchillo I have the honour to
address?"
"The same, cavallero!" replied the other, rising to his feet, and
returning the salute with no less politeness than it had been given.
"Cavallero! I have been sent forward to meet you, and announce to you
the approach of the Senor Arechiza, who at this time cannot be many
leagues distant. My name is Manuel Baraja, your very humble servant."
"Your honour will dismount?"
The horseman did not wait for the invitation to be repeated, but at once
flung himself from the saddle. After unbuckling his enormous spurs, he
speedily unsaddled his horse, fastened a long lazo around his neck, and
then giving him a smart cut with the short whip which he carried,
despatched the animal without further ceremony to share the meagre
provender of his companion.
At this movement the _tasajo_, beginning to sputter over the coals, gave
out an odour that resembled the smell of a dying lamp. Notwithstanding
this, Baraja cast towards it a look of longing.
"It appears to me Senor Cuchillo," said he, "that you are well provided
here. Carramba!--_tortillas_, of wheaten meal! _tasajo_!--it is a
repast for a prince!"
"Oh, yes," replied Cuchillo, with a certain air of foppishness, "I treat
myself well. It makes me happy to know that the dish is to your liking;
I beg to assure you, it is quite at your service."
"You are very good, and I accept your offer without ceremony. The
morning air has sharpened my appetite."
And saying this, Baraja proceeded to the mastication of the tassajo and
tortillas. After being thus engaged for some time, he once more
addressed himself to his host.
"Dare I tell you, Senor Cuchillo, the favourable impression I had of you
at first sight?"
"Oh! you shock my modesty, senor. I would rather state the good opinion
your first appearance gave me of _you_!"
The two new friends here exchanged a salute, full of affability, and
then continued to eat, Baraja harpooning upon the point of his long
knife another piece of meat out of the ashes.
"If it please you, Senor Baraja," said Cuchillo, "we may talk over our
business while we are eating. You will find me a host _sans
ceremonie_."
"Just what pleases me."
"Don Estevan, then, has received the message which I sent him?"
"He has, but what that message was is only known to you and him."
"No doubt of that," muttered Cuchillo to himself.
"The Senor Arechiza," continued the _envoy_, "started for Tubac shortly
after receiving your letter. It was my duty to accompany him, but he
ordered me to proceed in advance of him with these commands: `In the
little village of Huerfano you will find a man, by name Cuchillo; you
shall say to him that the proposal he makes to me deserves serious
attention; and that since the place he has designated as a rendezvous is
on the way to Tubac, I will see him on my journey.' This instruction
was given by Don Estevan an hour or so before his departure, but
although I have ridden a little faster to execute his orders, he cannot
be far behind me."
"Good! Senor Baraja, good!" exclaimed Cuchillo, evidently pleased with
the communication just made, "and if the business which I have with Don
Estevan be satisfactorily concluded--which I am in hopes it will be--you
are likely to have me for a comrade in this distant expedition. But,"
continued he, suddenly changing the subject, "you will, no doubt, be
astonished that I have given Don Estevan a rendezvous in such a singular
place as this?"
"No," coolly replied Baraja, "you may have reasons for being partial to
solitude. Who does not love it at times?"
A most gracious smile playing upon the countenance of Cuchillo, denoted
that his new acquaintance had correctly divined the truth.
"Precisely," he replied, "the ill-behaviour of a friend towards me, and
the malevolent hostility of the alcalde of Arispe have caused me to seek
this tranquil retreat. That is just why I have established my
headquarters in an abandoned village, where there is not a soul to keep
company with."
"Senor Don Pedro," replied Baraja, "I have already formed too good an
opinion of you not to believe that the fault is entirely upon the side
of the alcalde, and especially on the part of your friend."
"I thank you, Senor Baraja, for you good opinion," returned Cuchillo, at
the same time taking from the cinders a piece of the meat, half burnt,
half raw, and munching it down with the most perfect indifference; "I
thank you sincerely, and when I tell you the circumstances you may judge
for yourself."
"I shall be glad to hear them," said the other, easing himself down into
a horizontal position; "after a good repast, there is nothing I so much
enjoy as a good story."
After saying this, and lighting his cigarette, Baraja turned upon the
broad of his back, and with his eyes fixed upon the blue sky, appeared
to enjoy a perfect beatitude.
"The story is neither long nor interesting," responded Cuchillo; "what
happened to me might happen to all the world. I was engaged with this
friend in a quiet game of cards, when he pretended that I had _tricked_
him. The affair came to words--"
Here the narrator paused for an instant, to take a drink from his
leathern bottle, and then continued--
"My friend had the indelicacy to permit himself to drop down dead in my
presence."
"What at your words?"
"No, with the stab of a knife which I gave him," coolly replied the
outlaw.
"Ah! no doubt your friend was in the wrong, and you received great
provocation?"
"The alcalde did not think so. He pestered me in the most absurd
manner. I could have forgiven the bitterness of his persecution of me,
had it not been that I was myself bitterly roused at the ill-behaviour
of my friend, whom up to that time I had highly esteemed."
"Ah! one has always to suffer from one's friends," rejoined Baraja,
sending up a puff of smoke from his corn-husk cigarette.
"Well--one thing," said Cuchillo, "the result of it all is that I have
made a vow never to play another card; for the cards, as you see, were
the original cause of this ugly affair."
"A good resolution," said Baraja, "and just such as I have come to
myself. I have promised never to touch another card; they have cost me
a fortune--in fact, altogether ruined me."
"Ruined you? you have been rich then?"
"Alas! I had a splendid estate--a _hacienda de ganados_ (cattle farm)
with a numerous flock upon it. I had a lawyer for my _intendant_, who
took care of the estate while I spent my time in town. But when I came
to settle accounts with this fellow I found I had let them run too long.
I discovered that half my estate belonged to him!"
"What did you do then?"
"The only thing I could do," answered Baraja, with the air of a
cavalier, "was to stake my remaining half against his on a game, and let
the winner take the whole."
"Did he accept this proposal?"
"After a fashion."
"What fashion?"
"Why, you see I am too timid when I play in presence of company, and
certain to lose. I prefer, therefore, to play in the open air, and in
some quiet corner of the woods. There I feel more at my ease; and if I
should lose--considering that it was my whole fortune that was at
stake--I should not expose my chagrin to the whole world. These were
the considerations that prompted me to propose the conditions of our
playing alone."
"And did the lawyer agree to your conditions?"
"Not a bit of it."
"What a droll fellow he must have been!"
"He would only play in the presence of witnesses."
"And you were forced to his terms?"
"To my great regret, I was."
"And of course you lost--being so nervous in presence of company?"
"I lost the second half of my fortune as I had done the first. The only
thing I kept back was the horse you see, and even him my ex-intendant
insisted upon having as part of the bet. To-day I have no other hope
than to make my fortune in this Tubac expedition, and if I should do so
I may get back, and settle accounts with the knave. After that game,
however, I swore I should never play another card; and, carramba! I
have kept my oath."
"How long since this happened?"
"Five days."
"The devil!--You deserve credit for keeping your word."
The two adventurers after having exchanged these confidences, began to
talk over their hopes founded on the approaching expedition--of the
marvellous sights that they would be likely to see--but more especially
of the dangers that might have to be encountered.
"Bah!" said Baraja, speaking of these; "better to die than live wearing
a coat out at elbows."
Cuchillo was of the same opinion.
Meanwhile the sun was growing hotter and hotter. A burning wind began
to blow through the trees, and the horses of the two travellers,
suffering from thirst, uttered their plaintive neighings. The men
themselves sought out the thickest shade to protect them from the fervid
rays of the sun, and for a while both observed a complete silence.
Baraja was the first to resume the conversation.
"You may laugh at me, Senor Cuchillo," said he, fanning himself with his
felt hat, "but to say the truth the time appears very long to me when I
am not playing."
"The same with myself," hastily responded Cuchillo.
"What do you say to our staking, on word of honour, a little of that
gold we are going to find?"
"Just what I was thinking myself, but I daren't propose it to you;--I am
quite agreeable."
Without further parley each of the two thrust a hand into his pocket,
and drew forth a pack of cards--with which, notwithstanding the oath
they had taken, both were provided.
The play was about to commence, when the sound of a bell, and the
clattering of hoofs at a distance, announced the approach, most
probably, of the important personage whom Cuchillo awaited.