A DIPLOMATIC CONVERSATION BETWEEN TWO RASCALS.
The two men looked at one another for some minutes in silence, just as
two clever duelists might have done before venturing on the attack. But
though each tried to read the other, their faces were like marble.
At a mute invitation from the outlaw, the stranger took a seat, and at
once commenced the conversation.
"Sir," he said, "it is a matter of surprise, that you, a perfect
stranger, should address me by a name--"
"Which is or has once been yours, monsieur," answered the outlaw chief,
with freezing politeness.
"That is quite possible. I do not deny it. When one travels in foreign
parts on important business, incognito--"
"Is adopted, I am aware, which only deceives fools and dupes," said the
outlaw, speaking slowly.
"What do you mean, sir?" cried the other.
"I recollect a certain Count de Mas d'Azyr, an excellent gentleman of
Languedoc, who had this mania."
The stranger shivered all over, and a lightning flash darted from
beneath his dark and heavy eyebrows.
"Well," continued the outlaw, with imperturbable sang-froid, "his noble
manners so thoroughly denounced him, despite the plebeian names he
chose to assume, that he was compelled at the end of a few minutes to
give up this absurd acting."
"Really, sir," cried the stranger, "I do not see the meaning or
relevance of your allusions."
"I permit myself no allusions," said the outlaw, with the utmost
suavity. "Very far from it. What matters it to me, I ask, whether you
call yourself Hebrard, Count de Mas d'Azyr, Philippe de Salnam, Jean
Lerou, or take any other alias?"
"Sir!" cried the other.
"Allow me, I pray, to conclude. In you I only recognise a person who
is very warmly recommended to me, who has need of my services, and at
whose disposition I therefore place myself at once--ready to serve him
if possible," he continued; "at all events we can talk, and I should be
glad to know in what way I can be of use."
"Sir," said the stranger, smiling, "you are agreeable and witty. I find
that people make mistakes in their idea of you."
"I am obliged by your high consideration," continued the outlaw; "still
this does not explain to me--"
"Who I am," cried the other, with feigned candour; "well, sir,
considering you have mentioned so many names--"
"You allow, then, that I was right."
"Certainly; you were quite right," answered the other, quickly; "I
therefore sincerely beg your pardon."
"It is not at all necessary."
"There is, however, one thing that I must confess puzzles me very
much," continued the envoy.
"May I, without offence, ask what that is?"
"No offence. I should certainly be only too glad to have an explanation
with you on the subject."
"If it depends upon me," the other said.
"It depends absolutely on you. I always thought I had a good memory. I
believe myself to be a very good physiognomist, but really I have no
recollection of you."
The outlaw burst into a roar of laughter.
"Which only proves," he added, when he recovered himself, "that I am
much more clever at incognito than you."
"Which means--"
"That not only have we met, monsieur, but that we have carried on a
long connection," said Tom.
"Many years ago?"
"Not at all, sir. I speak of very recent times, though I will allow
that our acquaintance commenced long ago."
"You astonish me," said the Frenchman.
"The matter is very easily explained. We have found ourselves connected
at different times, under four different names: I have told you yours,
I will now tell mine. Do you remember Louis Querehard? Do you recollect
François Magnaud, Paul Sambrun, and Pedro Lopez?"
"Perfectly," cried the other.
"Well, sir, those four individuals you now see present under the name
of Tom Mitchell, your very humble servant; though," he added, with
exquisite politeness, yet with a tint of irony, "I have several others
available on occasion."
"Well, sir," cried the stranger, "you have indeed taken me in. I was a
fool not to recognise you."
"Sir!" cried the outlaw.
"Let us call things by their names. It is by far the best plan. I am
indeed not to be forgiven for being taken in like any novice. I deserve
to be dismissed from the service of the Government which employs me,
and which believes me to be worthy of credit, as possessing a certain
amount of wit and diplomatic ability. Well, it is useless to discuss
the matter any longer. Give me your hand, sir," he cried; "you are my
master. We bear no malice."
"I only wanted to prove--" said the outlaw.
"That I was a fool--and I must say you have done so to my entire
satisfaction," he added, in a tone of complete good humour. "But
however unpleasant the shock is to my self-love, I am delighted at what
has happened."
"How so?" asked the outlaw, in the same tone.
"Because the ice is broken between us, and we can come to an
understanding; the more readily," he added, "that the matters I have
to speak of are the same as before."
"If that be so," said the outlaw, "we can easily come to terms."
"Is it not so? Now here is the affair in two words. The revolution
is over in France. Beneath the hand of the mighty man of genius
whose talent and patriotism have raised him to power, Government has
recovered its strength, society begins to breathe, the nation is once
more rising to its proper position amidst the people; New France has
entire faith in the man whose every step has hitherto been marked by
victory, which has definitively declared on his side."
"I presume," said the outlaw, quietly, "that you are speaking of the
General Bonaparte."
"Of no other. This great, this extraordinary man has, with his mighty
hand, put down the Jacobins and the mob, driving them back to their
original nothingness. He has chained forever the awful hydra of
revolution. You have, then, heard of him?"
"Most certainly," said the son of Maillard, coldly.
"I am glad to hear it. This great man, who is as mighty a politician
as he is a successful general, has followed, while slightly modifying
it, the line traced by the national convention of execrable memory with
regard to the Spanish colonies."
"Sir," said the son of the regicide, "you are hard upon fallen men,
upon vanquished enemies, who, if they were guilty of faults--of crimes
if you will--did very great and glorious things, giving the first
signal for social regeneration over the world."
"It is useless, sir," said the envoy, "to discuss that matter. My
convictions are very strong."
"Well, sir, if that be so," replied the outlaw, "let us return to the
General Bonaparte, and pray explain to me his new plans with regard to
the Spanish possessions in America."
"They are no new plans," observed the envoy; "only the old ones
modified to a certain extent."
"Modified in what way?"
"There are two capital points. In the first place he wishes a cordial
and frank alliance with the President of the United States, who
cordially approves the policy of the French Government, which will, in
the end, be to the advantage of America. Then he has given extensive
powers to numerous sure and accredited agents, who, though, are not
openly known because of the temporary Franco-Spanish alliance. Large
sums of money have been provided by means of which to overthrow that
species of Chinese wall with which Spain has surrounded its frontiers,
which none ever cross and return."
"Sir," said the outlaw, with a smile, "I have crossed them many a time
and oft, and yet here I am."
"It is precisely because of that fact that I am here."
"Ah! Ah!" said the outlaw, with a laugh; "After all, despite your
denials, you had seen through my incognito."
"Well, it is useless to deny it. I have long known you to be a man of
heart and action. I also know that by means of your vast connections
no one can more readily help us to revolutionise the colonies. Besides,
you are a Frenchman."
"I am of no country," replied the other.
"What, then, do you call yourself?"
"An outlaw," answered the chief, "and king of this island," drily; "an
outlaw, and nothing more."
"Well, be it so, sir. Still you are exactly the man I want. I
have need, for the execution of my plans, for the carrying out of
my projects, of a man who is bound by no locality, by no social
consideration. In fact, an outlaw."
The other bowed ironically.
"Now are you disposed to be the man?"
"First," said Tom Mitchell, "let me know what you want of me. I will
then give a decisive answer."
"Well, then," replied the envoy, "let us put diplomacy on one side, and
speak frankly and openly."
The outlaw leaned back and assumed something like the attitude of a
tiger about to spring.
"Sir," he said, with a most singular smile, "I was about to make the
very same proposition."
"Very good," replied Monsieur Hebrard; "that shows that we are
beginning to understand one another."
The captain bowed, without speaking.
"The Spanish colonies," continued M. Hebrard, "are already beginning
to feel the germs of revolutionary fermentation. Some devoted and
enterprising men, yourself among others, have gone into the cities and
towns of Mexico."
"All this I know; a truce to flattery."
"They have seen the zealous patriots, who are, however, but ill
prepared as yet for the revolution we ardently desire."
"Ill prepared indeed," cried Tom Mitchell.
"But overtopping all others is a man who has immense influence with the
Indian races. You know him."
"Ah, ah!" exclaimed Tom; "You mean Dolores, the priest."
"I mean no other. He is the only man upon whom we can count. We must
enter into serious relations with him."
"For what purpose?" asked the outlaw.
"In order that when the hour comes he may be ready to raise the
standard of revolt," cried the other, "and ready to draw the population
after him against Spanish despotism."
"Very good, sir. But it is a long way to Dolores, where lives the curé
Hidalgo. The road is one of the most dangerous I know. I doubt if any
agent, however clever, can reach him. Will you allow me to give you
sincere advice?"
"Speak; I am deeply interested."
"My own opinion is that it would be much better to despatch a light
vessel, schooner or brig, into the Gulf of Mexico. This vessel
could cruise along the coast, and, when opportunity offered, land a
confidential agent."
"You are quite right, sir," said the envoy, "I must say this means has
been tried with success."
"Well, what then?"
"The secret was betrayed by a traitor; in consequence, the Spanish
authorities are always on their guard."
"Hence you conclude--"
"That on reflection, and having experience as a guide, the difficult
road you describe is the best."
"Hum!" said the outlaw, and relapsed into silence.
The real meaning, the interesting point, of this conversation, so long,
had not been touched upon. The captain knew it well, and kept himself
in reserve. M. Hebrard was for some time afraid to enter upon a frank
and true explanation.
There was a deep silence; at last the captain determined to fire the
train, if he were blown up.
"Then you think I must go by land," he said.
"There is no choice," responded Hebrard.
"The conditions?" remarked Tom.
"One hundred thousand francs, not in notes, but in golden ounces,
stamped with the effigy of the King of Spain."
"That is tolerable, for a beginning."
"Then there will be as much more for the negotiations, or, as I see you
hesitate, at first one hundred and fifty thousand."
"Why at first?" asked Tom.
"Because your mission will be divided into two distinct parts," replied
the envoy, quietly.
"Let us thoroughly understand the first," continued the outlaw; "we
will talk of the second presently."
"Another hundred thousand on your return with despatches," continued
the diplomatist, warmly.
"Hum!" said Tom; "That makes--"
"Three hundred and fifty thousand francs (£14,000) for only the first
part of your mission," said Hebrard.
"It is very liberal. Now for the second mission," said Tom Mitchell,
watching the diplomatist with his wary eye.
He knew that the real thing was coming now; he was satisfied of this
from the other's uneasy manner.
"Hum!" said M. Hebrard, as if speaking to himself; "Three hundred and
fifty thousand francs is a pretty sum."
"Well, for the first part of the mission which you have explained to
me I don't say no. It is," he added, "a tough job, that I know. Still,
nothing risk, nothing have. Now for the second part."
The diplomatist assumed an air of genial frankness that made the outlaw
shudder. He was at once on his guard.
"The Spaniards, as I have said," observed M. Hebrard, jauntily, "are
forever on the watch. No one, no matter what his position, is safe on
the frontiers. To go in or out is simply impossible."
"Diable!" cried Tom; "What you say is not calculated to give me much
confidence or hope."
"Excuse me, monsieur," said Hebrard, "we are playing a frank and open
game, I do not desire in any way to conceal the dangers that may await
you. I am only speaking in a general kind of way, certain that whatever
obstacles occur you will be right."
All this was verbiage; M. Hebrard was evidently only trying some method
of putting his real thoughts into words.
The outlaw, who expected what was coming, smiled.
"Unfortunately," said the diplomatist, who did not know what to say,
"the real danger is not on the other side."
The outlaw started up.
"You may well be surprised; the danger is here."
"What do you mean?" cried the outlaw.
"I will explain myself, if you will allow me. Of course," said M.
Hebrard, "the Spaniards are no more fools than we are."
"I was always of that opinion."
"They have started a countermine!"
"A countermine!" cried Tom. "What do you mean?"
"You will soon see. Knowing something of our designs, they have covered
the American frontiers with spies."
"It is certainly very clever," said the outlaw.
"Very clever," said the diplomatist, in a husky voice; "but then,
clever as they are, we know all about it, every detail."
"You do not mean to say so?" cried Tom Mitchell.
"Yes. And more than that, we know the chief of the whole gang of
spies," added Hebrard. "And much more than that, we know all his
secrets, cunning as he is."
"That is something," said Tom; "but now what you want is to catch him."
"Yes," said Hebrard, "that is the very thing; you yourself must see the
necessity of catching him before you start."
"I should think so; it is as plain as running water; but," added Tom
Mitchell, "it is not very easy to snap up such a rascal in the desert,
which simply is as full of such rogues and vagabonds as an anthill is
full of ants."
"Don't be uneasy on that point," cried Hebrard; "I shall easily put you
on his track."
"All right. Then all we have to do is to catch him?"
"Exactly so," said the other, with a sigh.
"And you will pay for this capture?"
"Very heavily, my excellent friend."
"Oh! Oh! Then you are very anxious to secure him?"
"Yes," continued the other, gloomily; "dead or alive; it matters not. I
should say, for information's sake, dead rather than alive."
"I like plain speaking. He is very much in your way?"
"Very much more than I can explain."
"And how much will you pay for this mission?"
"Alive, twenty-five thousand; dead, fifty thousand francs."
"It appears to me you prefer him dead. But never mind, give me the
information. His name and address."
"He is a Frenchman, who has taken the name of Oliver. In appearance
he is a hunter, a trapper, anything that comes uppermost. For greater
safety he has connected himself with an Indian tribe, and is to be
found about the Missouri."
"It is a very long way from the Mexican frontiers," observed the
outlaw, in a coldly sarcastic voice.
"True. But the fellow is cunning; his safety requires him to be
extremely cautious. Do you accept?"
"I accept on one condition," replied the other. "It is fully understood
that he is to be dead, mind."
"No matter, so that we have him."
"Well, then, we are agreed on four hundred thousand francs (£16,000)? I
shall want half down."
"I have the money in gold in my valises. I will pay it to you this
evening," replied the envoy.
"And now that this is settled, you are in no hurry?"
"None whatever."
"Well, I know pretty well where to find the man you are in search of. I
must say that, without suspecting the odious part he has been playing,
I have on the several occasions we have met him felt the greatest
repulsion."
"This is extraordinary."
"Well, you see, on the desert everybody knows everybody. But as I
wish to make no mistake, to commit no error in so grave and important
a matter, I should like you to be present at his arrest. Besides, it
would be more regular."
"Hum!" cried the other, with a look of considerable annoyance; "The
idea of further voyage in the desert--"
"Is not pleasant, I know," interrupted Tom; "but that is not necessary.
You shall remain quietly here."
"Then I consent. When do you expect to catch him?"
"In less than a week, unless I am very unfortunate."
"Then I can wholly depend on you?" cried Hebrard.
"I swear to you on my honour that it will not be my fault if at the end
of the time you are not face to face."
"I thank you in advance," said the envoy.
"There is nothing to be grateful for," replied the outlaw, with an odd
expression and smile.