The Hacienda del Venado--like all buildings of this kind situated upon
the Indian frontier, and of course exposed to the attacks of the
savages--was a species of citadel, as well as a country dwelling-house.
Built with sun-dried bricks and hewn stone, crowned by a crenelled
parapet, and defended by huge, massive doors, it could have sustained a
siege from an enemy more expert in strategy than the tribe of Apaches
who were its neighbours.
At one corner stood a tower of moderate height, which crowned the chapel
belonging to the hacienda, serving for the great clock as well as for a
belfry. In case the principal part of the building should be forced,
this tower would answer for an asylum almost impregnable.
Finally, a strong stockade composed of trunks of the _palmetto_,
completely encircled the building; within which enclosure were the
quarters destined for the domestics of the hacienda--as also for the
herdsmen, and such ordinary guests as from time to time came to seek a
passing hospitality. Outside this privileged enclosure was a group of
from twenty to thirty huts, composing a species of little village.
These were inhabited by the day-labourers (peons) and their families
attached to the hacienda--who, in case of danger, would escape within
the enclosure for safety and protection.
Such was the Hacienda del Venado. The proprietor, Don Augustin Pena,
was a man of great opulence. In addition to a rich gold mine which he
worked, at no great distance off, he was the owner of countless herds of
horses, mules, and cattle, that in a half-wild state roamed over the
vast savannahs and forests that constituted the twenty leagues of land
belonging to the hacienda. Such a vast tract of territory belonging to
one man is by no means a rare thing in northern Mexico.
At this time Don Augustin was a widower, and his family consisted of
only one daughter--the young girl already introduced to the reader.
Considering the immense heritage that the Dona Rosario--or, as she was
more gracefully called, Rosarita--was likely to bring to whoever should
become her husband, it was natural that an alliance with Don Augustin
should be the object of many an ambition; in fact her beauty without the
grand fortune--which, at her father's death, she was to become mistress
of--would of itself have been enough to have challenged a crowd of
pretenders to her hand.
The Andalusian type has lost nothing in the northern provinces of
Mexico. Its purity of outline is there associated with freshness of
colour, and this happy mixture of graces was exhibited in the beautiful
countenance of Rosarita. We have described her with black eyes and hair
of raven hue; but hers was a beauty that words can but faintly portray,
and about which all description would be superfluous.
And this lovely creature bloomed in the very midst of the desert, like
the flower of the cactus which blossoms and fades under the eye of God
alone.
The immense plain in the midst of which stood the Hacienda del Venado
presented a double aspect. In front of the house only did the ground
show any traces of cultivation. On that side fields of Indian corn and
vast olive plantations denoted the presence and skilful labour of man.
Behind the hacienda--at some hundred paces distance from the stockade--
the clearing ended, and thence extended the virgin forest in all its
sombre and primitive majesty.
The cultivated ground was intersected by a considerable stream of water.
During the dry season it ran gently and silently along, but in the
season of rain it would suddenly change into an impetuous torrent that
inundated the whole plain, bearing huge rocks along in its current, and
every year widening its channel.
Perhaps the most powerful of Arab chiefs, the richest patriarch of
ancient times, never counted such superb and numerous herds as roamed
over the pasturage of the Hacienda del Venado.
About an hour before sunset--on that same day on which the travellers
departed from La Poza--two men, one on horseback, the other mounted on a
mule, were seen traversing the plain in the direction of the hacienda.
Both horse and mule were each a splendid specimen of his kind--the horse
with fiery eye, broad chest, and curving, swan-like neck, was scarce
more to be admired than the mule, that with fine, delicate limbs,
rounded flanks, and shining coat, walked side by side with him.
This horseman was the master of the hacienda, Don Augustin Pena. His
costume consisted of a hat of Guayaquil grass, a shirt of the finest
cambric, an embroidered vest, and silk velvet pantaloons fastened down
the sides with large buttons of gold.
His companion, the rider of the mule, was the chaplain of the hacienda,
a reverend Franciscan monk in a sort of half convent costume. This
consisted of an ample blue frock confined around the waist with a thick
cord of silk, the tassels of which hung down below his knees. Beneath
this appeared a pair of large riding-boots heavily spurred. Upon his
head a grey beaver, somewhat jauntily set, gave to the Franciscan an
appearance rather soldier-like than monastic.
The haciendado appeared to be regarding with a look of pride his rich
possessions--extending beyond view on every side of him--as if he was
reflecting how much this kind of wealth was superior to golden ingots
shut idly in a chest; while the monk seemed to be absorbed in some
profound reverie.
"By Saint Julian! the patron saint of travellers!" said Don Augustin,
breaking silence, "you have been more than twenty-four hours absent! I
was afraid, reverend father, that some jaguar had swallowed both you and
your mule."
"Man proposes, and God disposes," replied the monk. "When I took my
departure from the hacienda, I did not except to be gone more than a few
hours--giving Christian burial to poor Joaquin, that had been killed by
one of the bulls--but just as I had blessed the earth where they had
buried him, a young man came galloping up like a thunderbolt, both
himself and horse all of a sweat, to beg that I would go along with him
and confess his mother who was upon her death-bed. Only ten leagues he
said it was, and I should have been glad for a pretext to get off from
such a difficult turn of duty; but at the earnest entreaty of the young
fellow, and knowing who he was, I could not refuse him. Who do you
think he was?"
"How should I know?" replied the haciendado.
"Tiburcio, the adopted son of the famous gambusino, Marcos Arellanos."
"How! his mother dead! I am sorry. He is a brave youth, and I have not
forgotten the service he once did me. But for him we should all have
been dead of thirst, my daughter, my people, and myself. If he is left
without resources, I hope you have said to him that he will find a
welcome at the Hacienda del Venado."
"No--I have not," replied the monk.
"And why?"
"Because this young fellow is desperately in love with your daughter; it
is my duty to tell you so."
"What signifies that, so long as my daughter does not love him?" replied
Don Augustin. "And if she did, where would she find a man possessing
higher physical or moral qualities than this same Tiburcio? I never
dreamt of having for my son-in-law any other than an intelligent man,
brave enough to defend the frontier against these hordes of savage
Indians, and just such a man is young Arellanos. But in truth I forget
myself; I have this day designed for Rosarita a husband of a more
exalted station."
"And it may be that you have done wrong," rejoined the monk, in a
serious tone; "from what I suspect--in fact, what I may say I know--this
Tiburcio might make a more valuable son-in-law than you imagine."
"It's too late then," said Don Augustin. "I have given my word, and I
cannot retract it."
"It is just about this matter I wish to speak to you, if you have time
to hear me."
At this moment the two horsemen, having passed the stockade, had arrived
at the foot of the stone stairway--which led up to the portico, and
thence into the grand sala of the hacienda--and while dismounting, their
dialogue was interrupted.
This sala was a large room, which, according to the practice in hot
countries, was so arranged as to be continually kept cool by a current
of air passing lengthwise through its whole extent. Fine Chinese mats
covered the floor, while richly painted window-blinds prevented the rays
of the sun from entering the apartment. The walls, whitened with
stucco, were adorned with rare illuminated paintings set in gold frames,
some leathern chairs called _butacas_, several side tables--upon one of
which stood a silver brazero filled with red cinders of charcoal--these,
with a _fauteuil_ or two, and a mahogany couch of Anglo-American
manufacture, completed the furniture of the apartment.
Upon a table of polished balsam-wood stood several porous jars
containing water; beside them, on a large silver waiter, were
confections of several kinds; while heaped upon other dishes, also of
solid silver, were fruits both of the tropic and temperate climes--
oranges, granadillas, limes, and pitayas, here brought together to tempt
the appetite or assuage the thirst.
The appearance of these preparations denoted that Don Augustin expected
company. As soon as they had entered within the sala, the monk,
observing the well garnished tables, inquired if such was the case.
"Yes," answered the haciendado, "Don Estevan de Arechiza has sent me
word that he will arrive this evening with a somewhat numerous train,
and I have taken measures to entertain a guest of such importance. But
you say you wish to speak to me about some business--what is it, Friar
Jose Maria?"
The two now sat down, each choosing an easy-chair, and while Don
Augustin was lighting a cigar the monk commenced speaking as follows:
"I found the old woman seated upon a bank outside the door of her hut,
whither she had dragged herself to look out for my arrival. `Bless you,
good father!' said she, `you have arrived in time to receive my last
confession. But while you rest a little, I wish you to listen to what I
am going to say to him whom I have always treated as my own child, and
to whom I intend to leave a legacy of vengeance.'"
"What! holy father!" interrupted Don Augustin, "surely you did not
permit this infraction of God's law, who says, _vengeance belongs only
to Him_?"
"Why not?" replied the monk. "In these deserts, where neither laws nor
tribunals exist, every man must be his own avenger."
With this strange apology for his conduct, the monk continued:
"I sat down and listened to what she had to say to this adopted son. It
was this:--`Your father was _not_ killed by the Indians, as we were led
to believe. It was his companion who murdered him--for the purpose of
being the sole possessor of a secret, which I shall presently disclose--
but to you only, Marcos.'
"`God alone knows who this man was,' said Tiburcio, `he alone knows
him.'
"`He only!' cried the dying woman, with an air of disdain. `Is this the
language of a man? When the Indians come to steal his cattle from the
vaquero, does he sit still and say: _God only can prevent them_? No!--
with his eye bent, and his hand ready, he follows upon their traces,
till he has recovered his herds, or perished in the attempt. Go you and
do as the vaquero! Track out the assassin of your father. That is the
last wish of her who nourished you, and has never failed in her
affection.'
"`I shall obey you, my mother,' answered the young man, in a firm voice.
"`Listen, then, to what I have got to say!' continued the widow. `The
murder of Arellanos is no longer a supposition, but a reality. I have
it from a herdsman who came from the country beyond Tubac. Some days
before, he had met two travellers. One was your father Marcos; the
other was a stranger to him. The herdsman was travelling on the same
route, and followed them at some distance behind. At a place where
certain signs showed that the two travellers had made their bivouac, the
herdsman had found the traces of a terrible struggle. The grass was
bent down, and saturated with blood. There were tracks of blood leading
to a precipice that hung over a stream of water; and most likely over
this the victim was precipitated. This victim must have been Marcos;
for the herdsman was able to follow the trail of the murderer by the
tracks of his horse; and a little further on he noticed where the horse
had stumbled on the left fore-leg. The assassin himself must have been
wounded in the struggle, for the herdsman could tell by his tracks
leading to the precipice that he had limped on one leg.'"
Don Augustin listened with attention to this account--proving the
wonderful sagacity of his countrymen, of which he had almost every day
some new proof. The monk went on with his narration.
"`Swear then, Tiburcio, to avenge your father!' continued the dying
woman. `Swear it, and I promise to make you as rich as the proudest in
the land; rich enough to bend to your wishes the most powerful--even the
daughter of Augustin Pena, for whom your passion has not escaped me.
This day you may aspire to her hand without being deemed foolish; for I
tell you, you are as rich as her own father. Swear, then, to pursue to
the death the murderer of Arellanos?'
"`I swear it,' rejoined Tiburcio, with a solemn gesture.
"Upon this, the dying woman placed in the hands of the young man a piece
of paper, upon which Arellanos, before leaving his home for the last
time, had traced the route of his intended journey.
"`With the treasure which that paper will enable you to find,' continued
the dying woman, `you will have gold enough to corrupt the daughter of a
viceroy, if you wish it. Meanwhile, my child, leave me for a while to
confess to this holy man: a son should not always hear the confession of
his mother.'"
The monk, in a few more words, related the closing scene of the widow's
death, and then finished by saying:--
"Now, Don Augustin, you perceive my reason for saying that this young
fellow, whatever may be his family, is not the less likely to make a
good match for the Dona Rosarita."
"I agree with you," responded the haciendado; "but, as I have said to
you, my word is given to Don Estevan de Arechiza."
"What!" exclaimed the monk, "this Spaniard to be your son-in-law!"