It was mid-afternoon, and quiet reigned in and about the mountaineer's
home. Tezcot was still on the mountain, where he had gone in the
morning, presumably to hunt. Hualcoyotl, though still very weak from
privation and the effects of the distressing ordeal through which he
had passed the previous day, was enjoying, in undisturbed seclusion, a
peacefulness of mind he had not experienced since his wanderings began.
Mitla and Oxie were passing a leisure hour in the inviting shade of a
large cypress tree, which stood a short distance from the house. To
this spot they often went to while away their unoccupied time in
chatting, and, if industriously inclined, to fashion some article for
the adornment of the person or home. Mitla, on this occasion, was
engaged in arranging a piece of feather-work, while Oxie, less
diligent, lazily disposed herself on the warm, dry sward near by.
The happiness of innocent girlhood was enjoyed by both these maidens,
for no disturbing influence had, up to this time, come to mar the
rustic simplicity of their lives. The passion of love, which sooner or
later stirs the heart of youth, was yet unknown to them.
Oxie was saying:
"I think the prince is very handsome, sister, don't you?" She spoke
with shyness, as if the expression involved a thought to which she
ought not give utterance. Mitla looked up with no little surprise and
said, inquiringly:
"When did your eyes open to the thought that men are sometimes
handsome, Oxie?"
"My eyes have long been open to that which is attractive, Mitla. Would
you have me close them now, that the object is a man?" she replied,
with some show of impatience.
"Not so, sister; but coming from you, the words sounded oddly. It seems
only yesterday that you were a child. Your question tells me you are
one no longer. But to answer you: The prince is fine looking, yet does
not impress me as being admirable. Under more favorable circumstances
he would, no doubt, be quite handsome."
"It is when he speaks that the beauty of his countenance is seen," said
Oxie with more courage, which Mitla's answer had imparted. "His eyes
are so bright, they fairly dazzle one. When he spoke to you this
morning at breakfast I could not help admiring him. It surely was not
wrong, sister?"
"I can not say if it was wrong or not; yet, Oxie, I would not encourage
such thoughts; they might wound your heart," replied Mitla, not yet
having realized that older hearts than Oxie's were subject to
impressions that often wound.
"Why do you say that, sister?" asked Oxie, somewhat curiously. "Why
should it wound my heart to think well of the prince's looks?"
"Do you know what such thoughts lead to, Oxie?" rejoined Mitla,
soberly.
"I can not say that I do; but surely not to anything serious?" still
curious.
"Well, sister, I will tell you. After admiration follows love, which in
this case would indeed be serious. The folly of a mountain girl falling
in love with a noble, and he a prince at that, should be apparent even
to you, Oxie," Mitla answered, a little severely.
"Why folly, sister, if her love should be returned?" asked the
infatuated maiden. This was too much for Mitla's philosophic mentality,
and she concluded that a further discussion of the subject would only
tend to strengthen the impressions made upon Oxie's inexperienced mind
by the person of the young prince. She answered evasively:
"I only know, sister, from what I have heard, and think I would prefer
to say no more about it. See!" she suddenly exclaimed, "yonder comes
father. Let us run to meet him," and away they sped to meet the hunter,
whose appearance was hailed by Mitla as being very opportune.
"You are early at home to-day, father," she said, when they came up to
him. "Has anything happened to you?"
"Yes and no, child. You double up your questions so, I scarcely know
how to answer," said he, in reply. "I was a little anxious about the
prince, and returned earlier on that account. He's all right, eh?"
"He seems to be, father. We would not know that he is in the house,
from any noise he makes," answered Mitla.
"Where is your game, father?" inquired Oxie, noticing that he brought
none with him. "You never before came home with an empty hand."
"No, child; not if I were hunting."
"Have you not been hunting, father," she pursued.
"No, Oxie. Other business has claimed my attention to-day."
"I can guess where you have been, father," said Mitla, eager to give
expression to a suddenly conceived thought.
"I wouldn't wonder, child, if you should," he replied, apparently
indifferent as to whether she could or not.
"You have been to see the hermit. Am I not correct?"
"Yes, Mit, you are correct. I went to have a talk with Ix about the
prince."
"I know now what you meant yesterday, when you declared you would save
the prince, while he was still under the chia stalks," added Mitla. "It
was thoughtful in you to see in the hermitage a refuge for him," she
continued, her voice expressing approval, which was also reflected on
her animated countenance. "Will the hermit approve of it?"
"Yes, child, but I'd rather not discuss the matter farther now. I'll
tell you all about it another time," urged the father, kindly.
They were drawing near to the house, to enter which they were obliged
to pass the little window of the prince's apartment, at which he was
seated, looking out. The hunter and Mitla greeted him with a friendly
smile of recognition as they passed. Oxie, who had fallen behind for a
moment, to pluck a few flowers which she arranged into a neat little
bouquet, on coming to the window, blushingly handed them to him. He
looked pleased, and acknowledged the gift by saying:
"You are very good to remember me in this manner. Your kindness, Oxie,
will not soon be forgotten."
There was that in the voice and manner of the prince which affected the
simple, girlish heart of Oxie greatly. She was too much confused to
reply, and, dropping her eyes under his piercing look, hurried on after
her father and Mitla, who had already entered the house.
Hualcoyotl was always considerate of the feelings of those with whom he
came in contact, no matter what might be their station in life; as a
consequence he was kindly regarded by all who came, in any degree, to
know him. His words addressed to Oxie, in acknowledgment of the gift of
flowers, were spoken with no thought other than that of kindness; yet,
what he said was indelibly fixed on her keenly receptive mind,
especially the words: "Your kindness, Oxie, will not soon be
forgotten." They would prove a secret treasure put away in memory's
hidden recesses to be drawn upon
"When in silent, contemplative mood."
* * * * *
When the mountaineer left home in the morning, instead of going to hunt
he went directly to the hermit's cave. His purpose was to have a talk
with Ix, the "man of mystery," regarding the prince, and to arrange for
bringing him to the cavern for safety. He felt sure the hermit would
raise no objections to having the fugitive for a close neighbor, if not
a companion. He was received with the hermit's accustomed cordiality,
and listened to with close attention while he made known the object of
his visit.
Notwithstanding his habitual serenity, Ix gave evidence in his mien of
both interest and sympathy as the account of the prince's distressed
condition, when rescued, was told to him by the hunter. He said
nothing, however, until the latter was through.
"I know not of what blood you are, O Tezcot, nor do I ask to know; but,
from the words you have often spoken in my presence, to which I have
hearkened with pleasure, together with the deep concern you now
manifest for the welfare of the Prince of Tezcuco, I am assured that
you are kindly disposed toward his people. Although Ix is without a
country, still he has his preferences. Your sympathy for the young
prince finds an echo in my lonely heart. Fetch him hither, good friend,
and let him abide with me, for mine is a dreary cell to which his
presence will bring a welcome relief." Such was Ix's gratifying
response to Tezcot's plea for Hualcoyotl.
Expressing his gratification in a very hearty manner for the hermit's
ready consent to receive the prince as a companion, and promising to
see him again in the evening, accompanied by the latter, the hunter
took his departure.
After leaving the cavern, Tezcot went to talk with a few of the leading
mountaineers about the prince; and, especially, with reference to
putting the hermitage under a close surveillance. The cavern would
afford a comparatively safe refuge as it was, but to make it so beyond
a doubt was an important part of the hunter's plan. To do this would
require the cooperation of a number of his friends. He found the
mountaineers whom he went to see cheerfully acquiescent, and ready to
assist in any way they could.
In order that no delay might ensue in arranging for Hualcoyotl's
security it was decided that a council of friendly hunters should be
held at one of their homes, conveniently located, where explanations
could be made and an organization effected to meet the exigency.
Runners were dispatched accordingly, to notify those whose presence at
the council was particularly desired. After matters were shaped
agreeably to the hunter's ideas, he turned his footsteps homeward,
where his arrival has already been noted.
Everything was working well for securing the safety of the royal
fugitive, and greatly to the satisfaction of his deeply interested
friend, who felt in his big heart a profound sense of self-approval for
what he was doing for suffering Tezcuco, by giving aid to her
persecuted prince.
* * * * *
Night came on, and the mountaineer's home was enveloped in deep
darkness. The hour was at hand when Hualcoyotl was to be conducted
thence to the hermit's cave. In taking leave of the hunter's family he
had words of kindness for all, especially for Mitla, whom he looked
upon as a deliverer, and toward whom he felt a profound sense of
gratitude. He could not forget that her quick thought and ready hand
had saved him from capture and a subsequent cruel death at the hands of
his enemy, and placed him in the way of a final escape, as he believed,
from his pursuers. Whatever that was worth to him he owed to her.
To Oxie he said, holding up the little bouquet of flowers she had given
him a few hours before:
"I bear away with me this token of your kindness, Oxie. It will soon
fade and pass from my keeping; not so a recollection of the giver.
That," turning to Zoei, "with the remembrance of the peaceful hours I
have enjoyed beneath your hospitable roof, will pass from me only with
my life. Good-by." The next moment he was gone, disappearing with his
conductor in the deep shadows of the night.
There was no particular danger to be feared on the way to the
hermitage, except a possible attack from some prowling beast; still
Tezcot deemed it prudent to go armed for any emergency. He had
undertaken to do a thing, and was firm in his purpose that nothing
should intervene, through any act or omission of his, to prevent its
accomplishment. He was wide awake, and his uncommonly quick ear and
penetrating eye were wonderfully alive to the surroundings, ready to
catch any sound, or spot any object, of a suspicious nature which might
suddenly arise.
The prince's enervated physical condition, together with the roughness
of the ground over which it was necessary to pass, made their progress
unavoidably slow. He had the utmost confidence in his conductor, and
followed him in silence. However, not having been informed as to their
destination, his mind was actively ruminating amid the realms of
conjecture and anticipation.
Not a word was spoken by either, after leaving Tezcot's house, until
the cavern was reached, and then not before the signal was given, and
Ix's deep and solemn voice was heard in answer to it, bidding them
welcome to his humble abode.
The hermit's expression of language was always impressive, especially
so in the presence of those whom he looked upon as having superior
intelligence, entitling them to consideration. The presence, therefore,
of the Prince of Tezcuco was of sufficient importance to call for his
most imposing manner.
After Tezcot had in a few words introduced the prince to his cavern
retreat and its mysterious occupant, and the prince had given
expression to his great surprise and gratification, the hermit said
significantly:
"The wise hunter counted well when he numbered Ix among the friends of
Hualcoyotl;" then turning to the latter he continued: "Content yourself
with me, O Prince of Tezcuco, until the great Huitzil is ready to
avenge you, which he will surely do."
We will not pause to detail what followed at the hermitage on this
occasion, except to say briefly, that Tezcot, after assuring himself
that the prince would be comfortable, and promising an early return,
took his leave, saying as he did so:
"The gods befriend you both, and confuse the emissaries of Maxtla."
A no less sincere benediction from two grateful hearts followed the
departing friend.
The hermit and prince were alone. What transpired between them the
reader will be left to conjecture. We will say, however, that the
association resulted in a friendship which proved of inestimable
advantage to both of them in an auspicious future.
Tezcot went from the hermitage to the meeting of the friendly hunters,
which resulted in the organization of a mountain patrol, and anyone
going to the hermit's cave the next morning would have found its
approaches watched by eagle eyes in hunter's guise.
Thus we leave the fugitive prince, who had at last found a perfect
refuge, where he could bide his time without fear of molestation.