FATHER AND SON.
Now that we have given the reader all necessary information about
the events accomplished at the Hacienda del Toro, we will resume our
narrative at the point where we were compelled to leave it--that is to
say, we will return to the village of the Papazos, and be present at
the conversation between Thunderbolt and Stronghand in the Pyramid.
The two men, walking side by side, went up to the top of the Pyramid.
They traversed the bridge of lianas thrown over the Quebrada at a great
height, and entered the Pyramid on the right. They descended to the
first floor--the Indians they met bowing respectfully to them--and
stopped before a securely fastened door. On reaching it, Thunderbolt
gave it two slight taps; an inner bolt was drawn, the door opened,
and they went in. They had scarce crossed the threshold ere the young
Indian who had opened the door closed it again after them. A strange
change had taken place in the two men; the Indian stoicism they had
hitherto affected made way for manners that revealed men used to
frequent the highest society of cities.
"Maria," Thunderbolt said to the girl, "inform your mistress that
her son has returned to the village." In giving this order the old
gentleman employed Spanish, and not the Comanche idiom which he had
used up to the present.
"The señora was already aware of her son's return, _mi amo_," Maria
answered, with a smile.
"Ah!" said the old man, "then she has seen somebody."
"The venerable Padre Fray Serapio came an hour ago to pay the señora a
visit, and he is still with her."
"Very good; announce us, my child."
The girl bowed and disappeared, returning a moment after to tell the
two gentlemen that they could enter. They were then introduced into a
rather spacious room, lighted by four glazed windows--an extraordinary
luxury in such a place--in front of which hung heavy red damask
curtains. This room, entirely lined with stamped Cordovan leather, was
furnished in the Spanish style, with that good taste which only the
Castilians of the old race have kept, and was, through its arrangement,
half drawing room, half oratory. In one corner an ebony _prie-dieu_,
surmounted by an ivory crucifix, which time had turned yellow, and
several pictures of saints, signed by Murillo and Zurbaran, would have
caused the apartment to be taken for an oratory, had not comfortable
sofas, tables loaded with books, and butacas, proved it to be a drawing
room. Near a silver brasero two persons were sitting in butacas.
Of these, one was a lady, the other a Franciscan monk; both had passed
midlife, or, to speak more correctly, were close on fifty years of age.
The lady wore the Spanish garb fashionable in her youth--that is to
say, some thirty years before. Although her hair was beginning to grow
white, and a few deep wrinkles altered the purity of her features,
still it was easy to see that she must have been very lovely once on a
time. Her skin, of a slightly olive hue, was extremely fine, and in the
firm marked lines of her face, the distinctive character of the purest
Aztec race could be recognised. Her black eyes, shaded by long lashes,
and whose corners rose slightly, like those of the Mongolians, had an
expression of strange gentleness, and her whole face revealed mildness
and intelligence. Although she was below the ordinary height of women,
she still retained the elegance of youth; and her exquisitely modelled
hands and feet were almost of a microscopic smallness. Fray Serapio was
the true type of the Spanish monk--handsome, majestic, and dreamy--and
seemed as if he had stepped out of a picture by Zurbaran. When the two
gentlemen entered, the lady and the Padre rose.
"You are welcome, my darling child," the old lady said, opening her
arms to her son.
The latter rushed into them, and for some minutes there was an
uninterrupted series of caresses between mother and son.
"Forgive me, Padre Serapio," Stronghand at length said, as he freed
himself from the gentle bondage; "but it is so long since I had the
pleasure of embracing my mother, that I cannot leave off."
"Embrace your mother, my child," the monk answered, with a smile; "a
mother's caresses are the only ones that do not entail regret."
"What are you about, Padre?" Thunderbolt asked; "Are you going to leave
us already?"
"Yes; and pray excuse me for going away so soon; but after a lengthened
separation, you must have much to say to one another, and a third
person, however friendly he may be, is always in the way at such a
time. Moreover, my brothers and I have a good deal to do at present,
owing to so many white hunters and trappers being in the village."
"Are you satisfied with your neophytes?"
The monk shook his head mournfully.
"No," he at length answered; "the Indians love and respect us, owing to
the protection you have deigned to afford us, Señor Don--"
"Silence!" the chief interrupted him, with a smile; "no other name but
that of Thunderbolt."
"That is true; I always forget that you have surrendered the one
received at your baptism; still it is one of the most noble in the
martyrology. Well," he continued with a sigh, "the will of Heaven be
done! The glorious days of conversion have passed since we have become
Mexicans; the Indians no longer believe in the Spanish good faith, and
sooner than accept our God, persist in their old errors. This makes me
remember that I have a favour to ask of you."
"Of me? Oh, it is granted beforehand, if it be in my power to satisfy
you."
"Doña Esperanza, with whom I have spoken about it, leads me to hope
that you will not refuse it."
"Did you not say to me one day that the señora's name brought you good
luck? It will probably be the same today."
The monk took a furtive glance at the old lady.
"This is the matter, my dear," she said, mingling in the conversation;
"the good father wishes your authority to follow, with another monk,
the warriors during the coming expedition."
"That is a singular idea, father; and what may your object be? For I
presume you do not intend to fight in our ranks."
"No," the monk answered with a smile, "my tastes are not warlike enough
for that; but if I may judge from the preparations I see you making,
this will be a serious expedition."
"It will," the old man answered, pensively.
"I have noticed that generally, during these expeditions, the wounded
are left without assistance. I should like to accompany the Indians, in
order to attend to their wounds, and console those whose hurts are so
serious that they cannot recover; still, if the request appear to you
exorbitant, I will recall it, though I shall do so reluctantly."
The old gentleman gazed at the monk for a moment with an expression of
admiration and tenderness impossible to describe.
"I grant your request, Padre," he at length said, affectionately
pressing his hand. "Still, I am bound to make one remark."
"What is it?"
"You run a risk of falling into the hands of the Mexicans."
"Well, what matter? Can they regard it as a crime if I perform on the
battlefield the duties which my religion imposes on me?"
"Who knows? Perhaps they will regard you as a rebel."
"And in that case--"
"Treat you as such."
"That is to say--"
"You will run a risk, father, of being shot; and that is worth thinking
about, I suppose."
"You are mistaken, my friend; between duty and cowardice no hesitation
is possible. I will die, if it be necessary--but with the conviction
that I have fulfilled to the close the sacred mission I have
undertaken. Then you grant my request?"
"I do so, father, and thank you for having made it."
"Blessings on your kindness, my son; and now the Lord be with you. I
shall retire."
In spite of much pressing, the worthy father insisted on going away,
and was conducted to the door of the apartment by the two gentlemen, in
spite of his efforts to escape a mark of honour of which he considered
himself unworthy. When the door closed after him, and the three persons
were really alone, Doña Esperanza, after a long look at her son, gently
drew him towards her, and obliging him to sit down on an equipal, she
lovingly parted off his forehead his clustering locks, and said in
a sweet, harmonious voice, in which all the jealous tenderness of a
mother was revealed--
"I find you sad, Diego; your face is pale, your features are worn, and
your eyes sparkle with a gloomy fire. What has happened to you during
your absence?"
"Nothing extraordinary, mother," he answered, with an embarrassment
he tried in vain to conceal. "As usual, I have hunted a great deal,
travelled a long distance, and consequently, endured great fatigue;
hence, doubtless, comes the pallor you notice upon my face."
The old lady shook her head with an incredulous air.
"A mother cannot be deceived, my boy," she said, gently. "Since you
have been a man I have seen you return only too often, alas, from long
and perilous expeditions. You were fatigued--at times ill, but that was
all; while today you are gloomy, restless--"
"Mother!"
"Do not argue, for my mind is made up, and nothing will alter it. If
you refuse me your confidence, Heaven grant that you may select a
confidant who understands you so thoroughly."
"Oh, mother! This is the first time a reproach has passed your lips."
"Because, Diego, this is the first time you have refused to let me read
your heart."
The young man sighed and hung his head, without replying. Thunderbolt,
who had hitherto been a silent spectator of the scene, gave Doña
Esperanza a meaning glance, and walked up to her son.
"Diego," he said to him, as he laid his hand on his shoulder, "you
forget that you have to give me a report of the mission I entrusted to
you."
Stronghand started, and eagerly sprang up.
"That is true, father," he replied; "forgive me. I am ready to furnish
you with all the details you desire of what I have been doing during my
absence from the village."
"Sit down, my son; your mother and I give you permission."
The young man took a chair, and after reflecting for a few seconds, at
a further remark from his father, he commenced the recital of all he
had been doing while away. The narrative was long, and lasted nearly
two hours; but we will not relate it, because the reader is acquainted
with most of the facts the young man stated. Thunderbolt and Doña
Esperanza listened without interruption, and gave unequivocal signs of
the liveliest interest. When he had concluded his story, his mother
fondly embraced him, while congratulating him on his noble and generous
conduct. But Thunderbolt regarded the matter from another point of view.
"Then," he asked his son, "the man who arrived with you is the
majordomo of this Don Hernando de Moguer?"
"Yes, father."
"Though I am an Indian by adoption, I will not forget that Spanish
blood flows in my veins. You will pay this Paredes, as you call him,
the amount of the bills, and I will send them to Hermosillo to be
cashed hereafter. You did well in bringing him with you, for an honest
man must not fall a victim to a villain. Although this affair does not
in any way concern us, I am not sorry to do a service to an old fellow
countryman. Let the majordomo leave the village this very night; in
order to prevent any accident on the road, you will have him escorted
to the hacienda by Whistler and Peccary, and three or four warriors.
They will be more than sufficient to frighten any scoundrels that may
attempt to stop him; and as, moreover, we are in a direction entirely
opposed to that in which the Hermosillo road runs, no one will think of
stopping him."
"I can accompany him myself, with your permission, father."
The old gentleman gave him a piercing glance, which compelled him to
look down.
"No," he replied; "I want you here."
"As you please, father," he said, with feigned indifference.
And he rose.
"Where are you going?"
"To carry out your orders, father."
"There is no hurry; the day is not very advanced yet, and I want to
talk with you; so return to your chair."
The young man obeyed. Thunderbolt reflected for a moment, and then
said--
"How do you call this hacienda?"
"El Toro."
"Let me see," the old man continued, as if striving to remember; "it is
not built on the exact site of the ancient Cosala?"
"So people say, father."
Doña Esperanza listened to this conversation with considerable anxiety.
In vain did she try to discover her husband's meaning, and ask herself
why he thus obstinately brought the conversation back to so hazardous a
subject.
"Is it not a strong place?" the sachem continued.
"Yes, father; substantially built, and crowned with almenas."
"In truth, I now remember having seen it formerly! It is an excellent
strategical position."
Doña Esperanza looked at her husband with amazement blended with alarm;
she could neither account for his coldness nor his persistence. He
continued--
"Have you ever entered this hacienda."
"Never, father."
"That is vexatious; still, I presume you are acquainted with some of
its inhabitants. A man cannot save," he added, ironically, "the life of
such a man as this Don Hernando de Moguer must be, without his trying
to testify his gratitude to the man who did him the service."
"I know not whether that is Don Hernando's idea, for I never had the
honour of seeing him."
"That is strange, Don Diego; and I cannot understand why you did not
try to form his acquaintance; however, that is of little consequence,
as far as my plans are concerned."
"Your plans, father?" the young man asked, in amazement.
"I will explain to you that we intend to commence the expedition with
a thunder stroke; our first attempt will be to seize the Real de
Minas of Quitovar, where the main body of the Mexican forces is now
collected. The Hacienda del Toro, situated scarce ten leagues from
Arispe, commanding the three roads to Hermosillo, Ures, and Sonora,
and built at a very strong position, is of immense importance to us for
the success of the war. I had thought of appointing you to carry it
by surprise, but as you have no friends in the place, and seem not to
care greatly about it, let us say no more on the subject. I will give
the command of the expedition to Whistler and Peccary; they are two
experienced chiefs, endowed with far from common tact, and will carry
the hacienda by a surprise, because the Spaniards, not anticipating
such an attack, will not be on their guard. As for you, my son, you
will follow me to the Real de Minas. And now, my dear Diego, I have
nothing more to say to you, and you can withdraw."
The young man had listened in secret horror to this revelation of his
father's plans. He was so full of terror that he did not notice that
Thunderbolt, though he pretended at the beginning not to know the
hacienda even by name, had described its position with a precision that
showed that, on the contrary, he must be perfectly acquainted with it.
He stood for a moment crushed by the thought of the terrible danger
Doña Marianna would incur if the Apaches took the hacienda. His father
took a side-glance at him, and attentively watched the various feelings
reflected in his face.
"Forgive me, father," the young man at length said, with an effort;
"but I should like to offer an objection."
"What is it, my son? Speak, I am listening."
"I do not think it would be prudent to try and surprise, with a band of
savages, a house so far advanced in the interior of the country."
"That is why I selected you. You would have taken a band of white and
half-breed trappers and hunters, and would have passed unnoticed,
owing to the colour of your skins. Your refusal greatly annoys me, I
confess; but, as I do not wish to force your inclinations--"
"But I did not refuse, father," the young man exclaimed.
"What! You did not refuse?"
"No, father; on the contrary, I ardently wish to be entrusted with this
confidential mission."
"In that case, I misinterpreted your silence and ambiguous remarks.
Then you accept?"
"Gladly, father."
"Very good; that is settled. Now go and send off that Paredes, for it
is time for him to return to his master. As for you, my son, breathe
not a syllable of what we have discussed; you understand the importance
of discretion under such circumstances. Embrace your mother, and leave
us."
The young man threw himself into his mother's arms, who tenderly
embraced him, and whispered in his ear, "Hope!"
Then he withdrew, after bowing respectfully to his father.
"Well, Esperanza," the old gentleman said, rubbing his hands, so soon
as his son had left the room, "do you now begin to guess my plans?"
"No," she answered with a gentle smile; "but I believe that I
understand them."