On entering the courtyard, a somewhat novel scene presented itself--a
Spanish picture, with some transatlantic touches. The _patio_ of a
Mexican house is its proper front. Here you no longer look upon
jail-like door and windows, but facades gaily frescoed, curtained
verandahs, and glazed sashes that reach to the ground. The patio of Don
Ramon's mansion was paved with brick. A fountain, with its tank of
japanned mason-work, stood in the centre; orange-trees stretched their
fronds over the water: their golden globes and white wax-like flowers
perfumed the atmosphere, which, cooled by the constant evaporation of
the _jet_, felt fresh and fragrant. Around three sides of the court
extended a verandah, its floor of painted tiles rising but a few inches
above the level of the pavement. A row of _portales_ supported the roof
of this verandah, and the whole corridor was railed in, and curtained.
The curtains were close-drawn, and except at one point--the entrance
between two of the portales--the corridor was completely screened from
our view, and consequently all the windows of the house, that opened
into the verandah. No human face greeted our searching glances. In
looking to the rear--into the great _corral_, or cattle-yard--we could
see numerous peons in their brown leathern dresses, with naked legs and
sandalled feet; vaqueros in all their grandeur of velveteens,
bell-buttons, and gold or silver lace; with a number of women and young
girls in coloured _naguas_ and rebosos. A busy scene was presented in
that quarter. It was the great cattle enclosure, for the estate of Don
Ramon de Vargas was a _hacienda de ganados_, or grand grazing-farm--a
title which in no way detracts from the presumed respectability of its
owner, many of the noble hidalgoes of Mexico being _graziers_ on a large
scale.
On entering the patio, I only glanced back at the corral; my eyes were
busy with the curtained verandah, and, failing there were carried up to
the azotea, in hopes of discovering the object of my thoughts. The
house, as I have elsewhere stated, was but a single story in height, and
from the saddle I could almost look into the azotea. I could see that
it was a sanctuary of rare plants, and the broad leaves and bright
corollas of some of the taller ones appeared over the edge of the
parapet. Abundance of fair flowers I could perceive, but not that one
for which I was looking. No face yet showed, no voice greeted us with a
welcome. The shouts of the vaqueros, the music of singing-birds caged
along the corridor, and the murmur of the fountain, were the only
sounds. The two former suddenly became hushed, as the hoofs of our
horses rang upon the stone pavement, and the heedless water alone
continued to utter its soft monotone.
Once more my eyes swept the curtain, gazing intently into the few
apertures left by a careless drawing; once more they sought the azotea,
and glanced along the parapet: my scrutiny still remained unrewarded.
Without exchanging a word, Wheatley and I sat silent in our saddles,
awaiting the return of the portero. Already the peons, vaqueros, and
wenches, had poured in through the back gateway, and stood staring with
astonishment at the unexpected guests.
After a considerable pause, the tread of feet was heard upon the
corridor, and presently the messenger appeared, and announced that the
_dueno_ was coming.
In a minute after, one of the curtains was drawn back, and an old
gentleman made his appearance behind the railing. He was a person of
large frame, and although slightly stooping with age, his step was firm,
and his whole aspect bespoke a wonderful energy and resolution. His
eyes were large and brilliant, shadowed by heavy brows, upon which the
hair still retained its dark colour, although that of his head was white
as snow. He was simply habited--in a jacket of nankeen cloth, and wide
trousers of like material. He wore neither waistcoat nor cravat. A
full white shirt of finest linen covered his breast, and a sash of dull
blue colour was twisted around his waist. On his head was a costly hat
of the "Guayaquil grass," and in his fingers a husk cigarrito smoking at
the end.
Altogether, the aspect of Don Ramon--for it was he--despite its assumed
sternness, was pleasing and intelligent; and I should have relished a
friendly chat with him, even upon his own account.
This, however, was out of the question. I must abide by the spirit of
my orders: the farce must be played out; so, touching the flanks of my
horse, I rode forward to the edge of the verandah, and placed myself
_vis-a-vis_ with the Don.
"Are you Don Ramon de Vargas?"
"Si, senor," was the reply, in a tone of angry astonishment.
"I am an officer of the American army"--I spoke loud, and in Spanish, of
course, for the benefit of the peons and vaqueros. "I am sent to offer
you a contract to supply the army with beeves. I have here an order
from the general-in-chief--"
"I have no beeves for sale," interrupted Don Ramon, in a loud, indignant
voice; "I shall have nothing to do with the American army."
"Then, sir," retorted I, "I must take your beeves without your consent.
You shall be paid for them, but take them I must; my orders require that
I should do so. Moreover, your vaqueros must accompany us, and drive
the cattle to the American camp."
As I said this, I signalled to Holingsworth, who rode in with his
following; and then the whole troop, filing through the back gateway,
began to collect the frightened vaqueros, and set them about their work.
"I protest against this robbery!" shouted Don Ramon. "It is infamous--
contrary to the laws of civilised warfare. I shall appeal to my
government--to yours--I shall have redress."
"You shall have payment, Don Ramon," said I, apparently trying to pacify
him.
"Payment, _carrambo_!--payment from robbers, _filibusteros_--"
"Come, come, old gentleman!" cried Wheatley, who was only half behind
the scenes, and who spoke rather in earnest, "keep a good tongue in your
head, or you may lose something of more value to you than your cattle.
Remember whom you are talking to."
"_Tejanos! ladrones_!" hissed Don Ramon, with an earnest application of
the latter phrase that would certainly have brought Wheatley's revolver
from his belt, had I not, at the moment, whispered a word in the
lieutenant's ear.
"Hang the old rascal!" muttered he in reply to me. "I thought he _was_
in earnest. Look here, old fellow!" he continued, addressing himself to
Don Ramon, "don't you be scared about the dollars. Uncle Sam's a
liberal trader and a good paymaster. I wish your beef was mine, and I
had _his_ promise to pay for it. So take things a little easier, if you
please; and don't be so free of your `filibusteros' and `ladrones':
free-born Texans ain't used to such talk."
Don Ramon suddenly cut short the colloquy by angrily closing the
curtains, and hiding himself from our sight.
During the whole scene I had great difficulty in controlling my
countenance. I could perceive that the Mexican laboured under a similar
difficulty. There was a laughing devil in the corner of his keen eye
that required restraint; and I thought once or twice either he or I
should lose our equanimity. _I_ certainly should have done so, but that
my heart and eyes were most of the time in other quarters. As for the
Don, he was playing an important part; and a suspicion of his hypocrisy,
on the minds of some of the leather-clad _greasers_ who listened to the
dialogue, might have afterwards brought him to grief. Most of them were
his own domestics and retainers, but not all. There were free
_rancheros_ among them--some who belonged to the pueblita itself--some,
perchance, who had figured in _pronunciamentos_--who voted at elections,
and styled themselves _citizens_. The Don, therefore, had good reasons
for assuming a character; and well did the old gentleman sustain it.
As he drew the curtain, his half-whispered "Adios capitan!" heard only
by myself, sounded full of sweetness and _promise_; and I felt rather
contented as I straightened myself in the saddle, and issued the order
for _rieving_ his cattle.