Munificent Old Sol, never more brilliant, had covered fully half his
ascending course from horizon to zenith, when Tezcot led the three
Tezcucans into the hermit's cave.
Ix's deep and sombre-toned voice, always a source of wonder and
astonishment when heard for the first time, struck the tzin and his
companions as something marvelous, coming, as it did, from the depths
of the cavern, in answer to the hunter's signal.
After the customary salutations between the hunter and hermit, the
former requested that Hualcoyotl should come from his retreat, which he
promptly did. He was permitted to look the party over, while the hunter
addressed him, and, designedly, took up a little time in apologizing
for the liberty he had taken in bringing strangers to the hermitage.
The cavern's dim light, together with the dress worn by the visitors,
made it quite impossible for the unsuspecting prince to recognize him.
When Tezcot realized this fact he said:
"Euetzin, salute Prince Hualcoyotl."
The tzin stepped forward and dropped on one knee in salutation.
Hualcoyotl, recovering from the astonishment which the sudden discovery
of his friend caused him, exclaimed:
"Euetzin, my brother! This is, indeed, a glad surprise. Rise, that I
may greet you as an equal--not as a vassal."
The tzin arose to his feet, and the prince embraced him affectionately.
He then inquired:
"Who are these that accompany you?"
"Oza, salute your master," was the tzin's response.
"Oza here, too!" exclaimed, again, the now delighted prince. "I see
through it all, Oza; to you it is that I am indebted for this most
happy moment. You have my blessing, and more--your freedom, from this
hour!"
The slave had prostrated himself before his master, who now bade him
rise.
"I would not be free, master, if it will take me from you," said the
devoted vassal, in reply.
"It shall not take you from me, Oza, except to permit you to march with
the army of liberation. You shall be an honored soldier."
The moment was a happy one for the ever faithful slave, and the change
in his condition would only make him a more willing servitor.
"Here, O Prince, is a friend whom you will be pleased to greet, I am
sure; for in him you see Cacami, the hunter, who delivered you from the
Tepanec soldiers on the highway," said Euetzin, turning to his friend,
who stood waiting to be presented.
Cacami saluted the prince, who, in return, gave him a cordial greeting,
and said:
"Yes, Euetzin, I am more than pleased to know and greet the valiant
hunter Cacami; for it is a hope realized, an opportunity I have truly
wished for. More than gratitude is due from us to him, and when we are
in position to requite his service he will find us not unmindful of the
fact."
Passing over Cacami's reply, except to say that he deprecated an
allusion to the occurrence, which he regarded as a very little thing
for him to do, and, with the presentation of the party to the hermit,
who found in the occasion another opportunity in which to be profoundly
impressive, we leave the friends to engage in explanations and
consultation, and return to Tezcot's.
Mitla was not so bright as was her wont, all through the morning hours.
She was inclined to avoid conversation, and sought, more than was her
practice, to be alone. After the mid-day meal she took her archer's
outfit and sauntered off along the plateau, around the mountain. She
was heedless, alike of time and distance. Her bow was seldom brought
into use. A parrot or pheasant seemed to have no attraction for her. In
one or two instances, however, when the mark was so conspicuous that
the attention of a less interested person would have been drawn to it,
she let go an arrow with good effect, but showed no animation at the
result; she was manifestly _distrait_.
The afternoon wore on, and Mitla was far from home ere she took account
of where she was, or the distance she had gone. She was in the act of
facing about to retrace her steps when she noticed, for the first time,
three men approaching from the opposite direction. She did not wish to
meet them, and, turning, walked briskly in the direction from which she
had come. She did not look back for fear of attracting their attention,
but, gradually increasing her step, hastened homeward. The first
intimation she had that the men were following, with a view to
overtaking her, was when one of them called:
"Not so fast, pretty maiden; we would keep you company."
Mitla turned quickly, in surprise, and discovered that the men had
nearly overtaken her.
Three Tepanec soldiers, not more than a dozen steps away, showing a
menacing disposition, was a sight to strike terror to the stoutest
woman's heart. Mitla was terribly frightened at seeing them, and her
heart instantly leaped into her throat. There was not a house within a
mile of where she was, and, if the men meditated harm to her, her
situation was indeed alarming. Her bow could hardly be deemed a means
of defense against the soldiers, who were now close upon her. What
should she do? was a question that called for prompt decision. She was
quick of foot and in vigorous health; she might get away from them by
running. It was worth trying. From the impulse of the thought she gave
a bound forward, and shot away from her menacing pursuers like a
frightened fawn. The soldiers immediately entered on a determined
chase, and, to her, it now became a run for self-preservation. She kept
up well for a short distance, and then began to flag. The shock from
her fright, together with the awful sense of dread which filled her
heart, unnerved her, and a growing weakness followed. She thought of
her friends: if some of them were only near to come to her relief! But
they were not, and her heart sank lower and lower. By an occasional
glance over her shoulder she could see that her pursuers were rapidly
closing the intervening distance between them, and would surely
overtake her. It was a terrible moment to the fleeing maiden, who was
naturally courageous and brave under ordinary circumstances, but, in
her present desperate dilemma she became an impotent, helpless thing,
about to sink to the earth from exhaustion. The foremost soldier was
within an arm's length of her, and in another moment she would be at
their mercy.
* * * * *
When the hunters' chief and his Tezcucan companions returned from the
hermit's cave, about the middle of the afternoon, the first thought of
the tzin was of Mitla. On being informed that she had gone around the
mountain, presumably to do some shooting, he determined to go in search
of her. He saw in the circumstance an opportunity to further his
acquaintance, which he would not fail to improve. He accordingly threw
his hunting outfit across his back, and started off in the direction
she had gone.
Quite a distance had been covered by the tzin when his attention was
attracted to a beautiful golden pheasant which flew into the wood just
ahead of him. He turned aside to get a shot at it, hoping to secure it
for Mitla. It escaped him, however, and, disappointed, he returned to
the plateau. As he emerged from the bushes he was startled and
horrified at what he saw. Only a few steps away Mitla was struggling to
free herself from the hands of the Tepanec soldiers, who had only just
overtaken and seized her. The tzin was upon them in an instant, and,
sending an arrow into one and his javelin at another, they were quickly
made to desist. His sword, which he carried more as a weapon of defense
than to be used in the pursuit of game, was raised to strike, but
before he could use it the villains drew off. He could not follow them;
for when Mitla was released she staggered, and would have fallen to the
ground had he not caught her in his arms, thus saving the miscreants
from his deadly _maquahuitl_. Mitla had swooned, and he could only vent
his indignation and wrath in words. He exclaimed:
"Beasts, ocelotls, in the guise of soldiers! Were I free to do it, I
would punish you as you deserve. Go, if you would escape a just
retribution for your iniquitous conduct."
One of the soldiers was badly wounded, and they were only too glad to
get away, knowing they merited all the punishment and denunciation
Euetzin had meted out to them; and more--should they fall into the
hands of the mountaineers, they would be summarily dealt with. They did
not wait to be addressed the second time, but moved off as rapidly as
they could with the wounded man to look after.
It was some minutes before Mitla recovered sufficiently to free herself
from the tzin's arms. During the time of her unconsciousness he used
every convenient means known to him to restore her, and succeeded very
well in his efforts. When he saw that she was conscious, he inquired:
"Have you received personal injury?"
Mitla answered by a shake of the head, at the same time giving him a
look of trustful helplessness. The look spoke more than words could
have expressed, and told how grateful she was for the deliverance his
coming had brought her, from a fate too terrible for contemplation.
When Euetzin's support was no longer required, he conducted her to a
place where she could be seated, and waited for her to speak. After a
moment's pause she turned her eyes, beaming with gratitude, full upon
him, and said:
"It is now Mitla's turn to be grateful. If I have done aught to place a
debt upon the prince, or his friends, you have paid it a hundredfold. I
shall never cease to regard you as my preserver from a fate against
which death would be a welcome deliverance."
"Any true man, in my place, would have done the same for you," he
answered. "I am entitled to no especial gratitude for doing my duty, I
would assure you. Because I happened to be here at the right moment to
rescue you from the hands of those villainous soldiers, the act should
not make a hero of me."
He spoke jocularly, hoping to impart cheerfulness by a cheerful manner.
"Your words do not affect the sense of obligation which fills my heart,
and that it is so I am glad, for I could not be generous were I
ungrateful," she returned, still deeply affected.
"I shall certainly bear in mind, with no little satisfaction, Mitla,
that I have earned a place in your remembrance. Let that suffice to
reward me for the service done, and think no more about it," he
replied, endeavoring to dispose of the matter by depreciation, in which
he failed, for Mitla said:
"I am sure you are generous. Will you not, then, permit me to be so,
too? Would you have me stifle the feeling which fills my heart--the
feeling of immeasurable gratitude which goes out to you, my deliverer?"
Her eyes shone with intense brightness as she spoke, showing how deep
were the fires of passion in her nature, which only required stirring
to become irresistible. The passionate vehemence with which her words
were uttered was affective. The tzin was human, though a young man with
the profoundest sense of right; for the nonce, however, he allowed
himself to yield to impulse, and replied to her impassioned appeal with
the warmth, almost, of a lover:
"I am reproved. I would not that you stifle one generous impulse of
your peerless woman's heart. I shall not soon forget the glowful
expression which but now lighted up your beautiful face--so earnestly
fixed in kindness upon me. The recollection of it will be an
ever-present reminder of the noble girl I rescued from peril, and whose
friendship I shall always prize."
For these words she bent on him an expression which carried with it
more than gratitude. It recalled him to himself, and he discovered, all
too late, that he had said too much. He was honorable in a high degree,
and held it a discreditable act to encourage in a maiden a sentiment he
could not fully reciprocate. Her passionate utterances had caused him,
for the moment, to forget his conscientiousness, and he overstepped the
bounds of propriety. He was not in position to play the role of lover,
and, recalling what he had said, he became greatly disturbed.
A silence ensued, until, presently, Mitla moved as if to rise, which
the tzin anticipated by lifting her to her feet. She was sufficiently
recovered to go home, and, leaning on the arm of her escort, she was
conducted from the scene of her terrible struggle with the villainous
Tepanec soldiers.