Far along the route these sounds accompanied the two riders--that is,
the wailing of the jackals, mingled with the more fearful utterance of
the great feline denizens of the desert. All at once, however, these
noises became stilled, as a sound of a far different nature indicated
the presence of some human being interfering in this scene of the
desert. It was the crack of a gun, but with that quick sharp report
that distinguishes the detonation of the rifle.
"A shot!" exclaimed Tiburcio. "But who can be amusing himself by
hunting at this time of night, and in the middle of such a desert?"
"Very likely one of those American trappers we see now and then at
Arispe, where they come to sell their beaver skins. These fellows think
as little of a puma or a jaguar as they do of a jackal."
No other noise was afterwards heard to break the imposing silence of the
night. The stars were shining brightly in the blue heaven, and the
breeze, that had now become much cooler, scarce made the slightest
rustling as it passed through the branches of the iron-wood trees.
"Where are you taking me?" asked Tiburcio, after an interval of silence.
"To La Poza, where I have some companions who are to pass the night
there. To-morrow, if you like, on to the hacienda of Venado."
"To the hacienda of Venado! that is just where I was going."
Had it been daylight, Cuchillo might have seen a blush suddenly redden
the cheeks of the young man as he pronounced these words; for it was an
affair of the heart, that in spite of all the efforts he had made to
resist it, was attracting him to the hacienda de Venado. The object of
his interest was no other than the daughter of the _haciendado_
himself--the young heiress already spoken of.
"For what purpose were you going there?" inquired Cuchillo, in a
careless tone.
This simple question was nevertheless difficult to be answered. His
companion was not the man to whom the young gambusino could give his
confidence. He hesitated before making reply.
"I am without resources," said he at length, "and I go to ask Don
Augustin Pena if he will accept me in the capacity of one of his
_vaqueros_."
"'Tis a poor business you wish to undertake, _amigo_. To expose your
life forever for such paltry pay as you will get--to keep watch at night
and run about all the day; exposed to the burning heat of the sun, and
by night to the cold--for this is the lot of a vaquero."
"What can I do?" replied Tiburcio. "Besides, it is just the sort of
life I have been accustomed to; have I not always been exposed to
privations and the solitude of the desert plains? These torn calzoneras
and well-worn jacket are all that are left me--since I have now no
longer my poor horse. Better turn vaquero than be a beggar!"
"He knows nothing of the secret then," reflected Cuchillo, "since he is
meditating on an employment of this nature." Then raising his
voice:--"You are in truth, then, a complete orphan, amigo; and have no
one to mourn for you if you were to die--except myself. Have you by
chance heard anything of this grand expedition that is being organised
at Tubac?"
"No."
"Become one of it then. To an expedition of this kind a resolute young
fellow like you would be a valuable acquisition; and upon your part, an
expert gambusino, such as I fancy you must be--from the school in which
you have been taught--might make his fortune at a single stroke."
If he parry this thrust, muttered the outlaw to himself, it will be
proof positive that he knows nothing about it.
Cuchillo was thus pursuing his investigation with a twofold object,
sounding Tiburcio about the secret, while at the same time trying to
attach him to the expedition by the hope of gain. But cunning as was
the outlaw, he had to do with a party that was no simpleton. Tiburcio
prudently remained silent.
"Although between ourselves," continued Cuchillo, "I can tell you that I
have never been beyond Tubac, yet I am to be one of the guides of this
expedition. Now what say you?"
"I have my reasons," replied Tiburcio, "not to engage in it without
reflection. I therefore demand of you twenty-four hours to think it
over, and then you shall have my answer."
The expedition, of which this was the first news Tiburcio had heard,
might, in fact, ruin or favour his own projects--hence the uncertainty
he felt, and which he contrived so cleverly to conceal by his discreet
reserve.
"Very well," rejoined Cuchillo, "the thing will keep that long."
And with this the conversation was discontinued.
Cuchillo, joyed at being disembarrassed of his apprehension about the
secret, began carelessly whistling while he spurred forward his horse.
The greatest harmony continued between these two men, who, though they
knew it not, had each a motive of the deadliest hatred one against the
other. Suddenly, as they were thus riding along, the horse that carried
them stumbled upon the left fore-leg, and almost came to the ground. On
the instant Tiburcio leaped down, and with eyes flashing fire, cried out
in a threatening tone to his astonished companion.
"You say you have never been beyond Tubac? where did you get this horse,
Cuchillo?"
"What business of yours, where I got him?" answered the outlaw,
surprised by a question to which his conscience gave an alarming
significance, "and what has my horse to do with the interrogatory you
have so discourteously put to me?"
"By the soul of Arellanos! I will know; or, if not--"
Cuchillo gave the spur to his horse, causing him to bound to one side--
while at the same time he attempted to unbuckle the straps that fastened
his carbine to the saddle; but Tiburcio sprang after, seized his hand,
and held it while he repeated the question:--
"How long have you owned this horse?"
"There, now! what curiosity!" answered Cuchillo, with a forced smile,
"still, since you are so eager to know--it is--it is about six weeks
since I became his master; you may have seen me with him, perhaps?"
In truth it was the first time Tiburcio had seen Cuchillo with this
horse--that, notwithstanding his bad habits of stumbling, was otherwise
an excellent animal, and was only used by his master on grand occasions.
For this very reason Tiburcio had not seen him before.
The ready lie of the outlaw dissipated, no doubt, certain suspicions
that had arisen in the mind of the young man, for the latter let go the
horseman's wrist, which up to this time he had held in his firm grasp.
"Pardon me!" said he, "for this rudeness; but allow me to ask you
another question?"
"Ask it!" said Cuchillo, "since we are friends; in fact, among friends,
one question less or more can make no difference."
"Who sold you this horse six weeks ago?"
"Por Dios, his owner, of course--a stranger, whom I did not know, but
who had just arrived from a long journey."
Cuchillo repeated these words in a slow and drawling manner, as if to
gain time for some hidden purpose.
"A stranger?" repeated Tiburcio; "pardon me! one more question?"
"Has the horse been stolen from _you_?" asked the outlaw in an ironical
tone.
"No--but let us think no more of my folly--pardon me, senor!"
"I pardon you," answered Cuchillo, in a tone of magnanimity, "the more
so," added he mentally, "that you will not go much further, you son of a
hound!"
Tiburcio, unsuspecting, was no longer on his guard, and the outlaw,
profiting by the darkness, had already detached his carbine from the
saddle. In another moment, beyond doubt, he would have carried into
execution his demoniac purpose, had it not been for the appearance of a
horseman, who was coming at full gallop along the road. Besides the
horse which he rode, the horseman led behind him another, saddled and
bridled. He was evidently a messenger from Don Estevan.
"Ah! is it you, Senor Cuchillo?" he cried out, as he rode up.
"The devil!" grumbled the outlaw, at this ill-timed interruption. "Ah!
is it you, Senor Benito?" he inquired, suddenly changing his tone.
"Yes. Well, have you saved the man? Don Estevan has sent me back to
you with a gourd of fresh water, and a horse to bring him on."
"He is there," replied Cuchillo, pointing to Tiburcio, who stood at a
little distance, "thanks to me he is sound and safe--until I have a
chance of being once more alone with him," he muttered, in a tone not
intended to be heard.
"Well, gentlemen," remarked the servant, "we had better go on--the
camping place is not far from here--we can soon reach it."
Tiburcio leaped into the empty saddle, and the three galloped silently
toward the place where the travellers had halted--the servant thinking
only of reaching it as soon as possible, and going to rest--Cuchillo
mentally cursing the interruption that had forced him to adjourn his
project of vengeance--and Tiburcio vainly endeavouring to drive out of
his mind the suspicion which this curious incident had aroused.
In this occupation the three rode on for about a quarter of an hour,
until the gleam of fires ahead discovered the halting-place of the
travellers at La Poza. Soon afterwards their camp itself was reached.