CHAPTER XXV.

THE HATCHET.

Stronghand quitted the Pyramid in a state of indescribable agitation.

The word his mother had whispered in his ear at parting incessantly

recurred to his mind, and led him to suppose that Doña Esperanza, with

that miraculous intuition Heaven has given to mothers, that they may

discover the most hidden feelings of their children, had divined the

secret he fancied he had buried in the remotest corner of his heart,

and which he did not dare avow to himself. On the other hand, the

strange conversation he had held with his father, and the proposal

which concluded it, plunged him into extraordinary perplexity. His

father's conduct appeared to him extraordinary, in the sense that he

did not understand how the old gentleman, who justly enjoyed among

the Indians a reputation for stainless honour, could be preparing

treacherously to attack the man to whose succour he came at the same

moment with such noble disinterestedness. All this seemed to him

illogical, incomprehensible, and in direct opposition with the word

"hope," which he fancied he could still hear buzzing in his ear. Still,

as he was obliged to cross the torrent, and go some distance before

reaching his calli, he had time to restore some degree of order in his

ideas, and resume his coolness and self-mastery before he reached his

own door. Two men were standing there--Whistler and Peccary.

"Come along, Stronghand," the trapper shouted, so soon as he saw him;

"we have been waiting for you a long while."

"Waiting for me?" he asked, in surprise.

"Yes. Sparrowhawk warned us, on the part of Thunderbolt, that the chief

and myself were to hold ourselves in readiness to escort the man who

entered the village with you wherever he thinks proper to go."

"Ah! Whistler has spoken well," Peccary remarked, laconically.

"What else has happened?"

"Nothing, except that Thunderbolt has made this man a present of a

mule, laden with rich wares, as Sparrowhawk says. But go on, and he

will tell you about it himself."

Stronghand entered, and found the majordomo busily engaged in making

his preparations for a start. So soon as he saw the hunter, Paredes

eagerly walked up to him, and shook his hand several times.

"You are welcome, comrade," he said. "¡Caray! you are a man of your

word, so forgive me."

"Forgive you for what?" the young man asked, with a smile.

"For having doubted you, caramba."

"Doubted me?"

"Yes, on my word. When I saw you leave me this morning in this hole,

like a useless or noxious animal, I doubted your sincerity. In a word,

as you know, anger is an evil counsellor; still, all sorts of stupid

thoughts occurred to me, and I was on the point of running away."

"You would have done wrong."

"Caray! I see it now; hence I feel quite confused at my folly, and beg

you once again to forgive me."

"Nonsense," the hunter said, with a laugh, "it is not worth while to

torment yourself about such a trifle. An escort of resolute men will

accompany you to the hacienda, and as in all probability your master,

on seeing that you have brought the money he sent you to fetch, will

not ask about what may have happened to you on your journey, I think it

unnecessary for you to give him details which would interest him but

very slightly, and give rise to unpleasant comments."

"That's enough," the majordomo said, with a knowing smile; "I will not

breathe a syllable."

"That will be the best."

"Be easy. Ah! that reminds me that, as I have received the money from

you, you must have the bills. Here they are, and once again I thank

you."

The hunter took the bills and concealed them in his bosom. There was

a moment of silence. The majordomo walked about the calli with an air

of embarrassment, though his purpose was now finished, and the hunter

comprehended that he had something to say, but did not know how to

begin it.

"Come," he asked him, "what else is there that troubles you, my friend?

Let me hear."

"On my faith," the Mexican replied, at length forming a resolution. "I

confess that I should be delighted to prove my gratitude to you for the

service you have done me, and I should not like to leave without doing

so; but, unluckily, it embarrasses me more than I can express."

"What, is that all?" the hunter said, gaily. "Why that is a very easy

matter."

"Is it?" he remarked, with surprise. "Well, you will not believe that

I have been racking my brains over it for more than half an hour, and

brought nothing out."

"Because you seek badly, my friend; that is all."

"Then you have found it?"

"You shall see."

"¡Caray! You cannot imagine what pleasure you will cause me."

"You know that I frequently hunt in your parts?"

"Yes; I am aware of that."

"Well, the first time I find myself near the hacienda, I will come and

ask hospitality of you."

"Ah! That is what I call a good idea; and even if you brought ten

comrades with you, you would see how I should receive you. I only say

this much,--I am in a position to treat you well."

"I take you at your word; so that is settled."

"You pledge me your word?"

"I do."

"Very good. Now I shall start happy. Come by day or night, as you may

think proper, and you will always be welcome."

"I fancy it would be rather difficult to get into the hacienda by

night."

"Not at all. You will only have to mention my name."

"Well, that is settled; and now be off. Only four hours of daylight

remain, so do not delay any longer."

"You are right; so good-bye. Do not be long ere you remind me of my

promise."

"I will bear you in mind."

They left the calli. Seven or eight hunters and Indians were mounted,

and awaiting at the door their guest's good pleasure to start. The

majordomo shook the hunter's hand for the last time, mounted his

horse, gave the signal for departure, and the little band started at

a gallop through a crowd of women and children that had collected

through curiosity. Stronghand looked after them as long as he could

see them, and then thoughtfully returned to the calli. For a very long

time he remained plunged in earnest thought, then he stamped his foot

passionately, and exclaimed, in Spanish--"No; a thousand times no. I

will not take advantage of the man's kindness to abuse his confidence

like a coward. It would be a disgraceful deed."

These words doubtless contained the result of the hunter's reflections,

and were the expression of the resolutions he had just formed.

Several days elapsed, and nothing of an interesting nature occurred

in the village. The military committee sat several hours during the

interval. The plan of the coming campaign was definitively arranged and

the collection of the Indian forces was the only thing that delayed the

outbreak of hostilities. Whistler returned to the village four days

after his departure, and reported to the hunter that Paredes reached

the hacienda without any accident, and nothing had disturbed the

tranquillity of the journey.

In the meanwhile, the different Indian tribes forming the great

confederation of the Papazos began flocking into the village. Ere long

there were no quarters left for them, and they were compelled to camp

on the plain, which, however, was no hardship to men accustomed to

brave all weather. On the twelfth day after Paredes' departure, the

hachesto convened all the chiefs to a general meeting at sunset, in

order to perform the mystic rites of the great medicine before opening

the campaign. At the moment when the sun disappeared below the horizon

in clouds of purple vapour, the amantzin, or first sorcerer of the

nation, mounted the roof of the medicine hut, and by a sign commanded

silence.

"The sun has withdrawn its vivifying heat from us," he said in a

powerful voice, "the earth is covered with darkness, and this is the

mystic hour when man must prepare for the struggle with the genius of

evil--begin the great medicine."

At the same instant, animals of every description appeared from all the

lodges, from the corners of the streets, gliding down the ladders of

the pyramids, or coming from the plain; quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles

collected in the village square, with horrible cries, overflowed the

streets on all sides, and spread out over the country for a league

round. These animals were Indian chiefs, clothed in the skins of the

beasts they wished to represent. Not only do the Indians imitate with

rare perfection the different cries of animals, but they have also

made a special study of their manners, habits, mode of progression,

and even of the way in which they eat and sleep. Nothing can furnish

an idea of the horrible concert composed of these cries--hisses,

snapping, and roars, mingled with the furious barking of the dogs.

There was something savage and primitive that powerfully affected the

imagination. At intervals silence was suddenly re-established, and the

sorcerer's voice rose alone in the night.

"Is the evil principle conquered?" he asked; "Have my brothers trampled

it under foot?"

The animals responded by horrible yells, and the noise began again

worse than before. This lasted the whole night through. A few minutes

before sunrise the sorcerer repeated the question for the last time,

which had received no other answer but furious yells. This time the

pure and melodious voice of a young girl rose in the silence, and

pronounced these words:--"The Master of Life has pity on his red

children; he sends the sun to their help. The evil principle is

conquered."

At the same instant the sun appeared in its radiance. The Indians

saluted it with a cry of joy, and throwing off their disguises, they

fell on their knees, with faces turned up to heaven. The sorcerer,

holding in his right hand a calabash full of water, in which was a

sprig of wormwood, sprinkled a few drops to each of the cardinal

points, crying with an inspired air--"Hail, O sun! Visible minister of

the invisible Master of Life! Listen to the prayers of thy red sons.

Their cause is just; give them the scalps of their enemies, that they

may attach them to their waist belts. Hail, O sun! All hail!"

All the Indians repeated in chorus--

"Hail, O Sun! All hail!"

Then they rose to their feet. The first part of the mysteries of

the great medicine was accomplished, and the sorcerer retired. The

hachesto, or public crier took his place, and invited the principal

chiefs of the confederation to dig up the war hatchet. This

characteristic ceremony consists in going in procession into the

medicine lodge, where the oldest chief digs up the ground with his

scalping knife at a spot the sorcerer indicates, and draws out the

great war hatchet, the emblem of the strife about to commence. When the

hatchet is unburied, the chiefs quit the hut in the same way as they

entered it. At their head marches, with the chief entrusted with the

sacred token of the nation, and the brave of the great calumet, the

chief who has dug up the hatchet, which he holds with both hands to his

breast, with the edge turned outwards. On leaving the lodge, chiefs

silently draw up in front of the ark of the first man, opposite the war

post, and chance decides which chief shall have the honour of dealing

the first blow on the emblematic post with the sacred hatchet.

The Indians, like all primitive peoples, are extremely superstitious;

hence they attach an immense importance to this ceremony, because they

fancy they can draw a good omen from the way in which the blow has been

dealt, and the depth of the notch made by the edge of the blade. Lots

were drawn, and chance selected Stronghand. A flattering murmur greeted

this name, which was loved by the Indians, and belonged to a man whom

they regarded as one of their greatest heroes. Stronghand quitted the

ranks, walked into the open space in front of the ark of the first man,

and seizing the hatchet which the chief presented to him, he raised

it above his head, whirled it round with extreme dexterity, and then

dealt a terrible stroke at the war post. The blow was dealt with such

violence, the hatchet penetrated the wood so deeply, that when the

sorcerer attempted to withdraw it, according to the usual custom, in

spite of all his efforts he could not succeed, and was obliged to give

up the attempt.

The warriors uttered a shout of joy, which, spreading along the crowd

assembled to witness the ceremony, was soon converted into a hideous

clamour. The war would be lucky. The omens were excellent. Never, even

by the confession of the oldest sachems, had such a blow been dealt the

post. Stronghand was congratulated by the chiefs and warriors, who were

delighted at the result he had obtained. When the hatchet was at length

removed from the post, the warriors retired to make way for the squaws,

and the scalp dance began.

This dance is exclusively performed by women, and in this affair

alone the men make way for them. This dance, which is regarded as

sacred by the untamed Indian nations, only takes place under grand

circumstances--at the beginning of an expedition, or at its close, when

it has been successful--that is to say, when the warriors bring back

many scalps and horses, and have suffered no loss themselves. The women

display an excitement in this dance which speedily degenerates into a

frenzy, which fills the minds of the warriors with martial ardour. When

this dance was ended, and the squaws had ceased their insensate cries

and gestures, the final ceremony was proceeded with. This ceremony, of

which we only find vestiges among a few tribes of the Upper Missouri,

and the Aucas, or Pampas Indians, seems peculiar to the Papazos. It

consists in sacrificing a brood mare, which has not yet foaled, and

reading the future in its entrails.

We can easily understand that the sorcerer who undertakes the

explanation says what He pleases, and must be believed through the

impossibility of contradicting his statements. On this occasion, either

because he wished to share in the general joy, or that, through

deceiving others, he had succeeded in deceiving himself, and putting

faith in his own falsehoods, he announced to the attentive warriors the

most splendid and successful results for the coming expedition. These

prophecies were greeted as they deserved to be--that is to say, with

the greatest favour--and, according to custom, the body of the mare was

given to the sorcerer; and this was, doubtless, the greatest profit he

derived from the whole affair.

Then, when all the rites were performed, the order was given for each

warrior to prepare his horses, his weapons, and his provisions, for

the expedition might set out at any moment. The Papazos chiefs had

succeeded in collecting beneath their totems 30,000 warriors, all

mounted on excellent horses, and about 4000 armed with guns. It is true

that the Indians, though so skilful in the use of the axe, the lance,

and the bow, are deplorable marksmen, and have an instinctive dread of

firearms, which prevents their taking a proper aim. Still, some of them

succeed in attaining a relative skill, and are dangerous in a fight.

But the greatest strength of the Indian army consisted of the sixty

or eighty white and half-breed hunters, whom the hope of plunder had

induced to join them.

Thunderbolt, while retaining the supreme command of the army, appointed

three chiefs as generals of division; they were Sparrowhawk, Whistler,

and Peccary. Stronghand took the command of twenty-five white hunters,

whom he selected among the bravest and most honourable, and was

entrusted with a special mission by his father. All being then in

readiness to begin the war, the Indians, according to their invariable

custom, only awaited a moonless night to invade the territory of their

enemies under cover of the darkness.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE WHITE-SKINS.

The return of José Paredes to the hacienda caused Don Hernando a lively

pleasure. Still, the sum he brought, though considerable, was far from

sufficing for the constant outlay in working the mine, and would hardly

coyer the demands of the moment. Don Rufino did not in any way show the

amazement the sight of the majordomo occasioned him, after the measures

he had taken to get rid of him. Still this surprise was converted into

anxiety, and ere long into terror, when he reflected on the time that

had elapsed since his departure.

In fact, it would take three weeks to proceed from the hacienda to

Hermosillo and back, even at a good pace, and yet the majordomo had

only been absent for nine days. It was evident to the senator that

Paredes had not been to Hermosillo, and yet he brought back the money

for the bills! What did all this mean? There was something obscure in

the whole affair, which Don Rufino burned to clear up; but, unhappily,

that was very difficult, if not impossible.

He was supposed to be ignorant of the motive of the majordomo's

journey, and consequently could not interrogate him; and then, again,

even had he ventured to do so, Paredes would probably not have answered

him, or, if he had done so, it would only have been in mockery; for the

worthy majordomo, with the infallible scent which upright and faithful

men possess, had detected the wolf in sheep's clothing, and although

he had no apparent motive, as he was unaware that the senator was the

concoctor of the plot to which he had all but fallen a victim, he

felt an instinctive aversion for that person, and displayed a marked

affectation in trying to avoid any meeting with him.

In Sonora, as in other countries, it is not easy to meet at a moment's

notice persons who will discount large bills to render you a service.

The man who had given the money for these must be very rich, and most

desirous to assist the Marquis. However much the senator thought of

the subject, he could not call to mind any landowner for fifty leagues

round capable of acting in such a way. Moreover, the discounter

must have been aware of the plot formed against the majordomo, for

otherwise he would not have proposed to take the bills. Could Kidd be

the traitor? In a moment the senator recognised the absurdity of such

a suspicion. It was not probable that the bandit had declined to kill

the majordomo; but that he should have allowed him to escape without

robbing him was an utterly unlikely circumstance. Moreover, Kidd had

everything to fear from the senator, and would not have risked playing

him such a malicious trick.

As always happens when a man indulges in probabilities without any

settled starting point, and proceeds from one deduction to another,

Don Rufino attained such a monstrous conclusion, that he was really

terrified by it. Still, throughout all his wanderings, a very logical

remark escaped him, which proved that, if he had not discovered the

truth, he was not very far from it.

"The Redskins are right," he muttered, "and their proverb is true. In

the desert, trees have ears, and leaves have eyes. I remember that

my conversation with that pícaro of a Kidd took place near a very

close growing thicket; perhaps it contained a traitor. Henceforward I

will only discuss business at the top of an entirely unwooded hill;

and yet," he added with a sigh, "who knows whether a spy may not be

concealed in a prairie-dog hole?"

All these reflections the senator made while walking in extreme

agitation up and down the room, when the door opened, and Don Ruiz made

his appearance.

"Señor Don Rufino," he said to him, after a mutual exchange of

compliments, "will you kindly come to the drawing room? Our majordomo,

who, as you may have noticed, has been absent for some days, has

brought most important news, which my father would like you to hear."

The senator started imperceptibly, and gave the young man a suspicious

glance; but nothing in Don Ruiz's open face caused him to suppose any

hidden meaning in his words.

"Is anything extraordinary happening, my dear Don Ruiz?" he asked, in a

mellifluous voice.

"I have as yet received but very imperfect information about the grave

events that threaten us; but if you will kindly follow me, you will

soon learn all."

"Be it so, my dear sir--I am at your service;" and he followed Don Ruiz

to the saloon, where Doña Marianna, the Marquis, and José Paredes were

already assembled.

"Why, what can be the matter, my dear señor?" the senator asked, as he

entered; "I confess that Don Ruiz has startled me."

"You will be more startled when you know the events. But sit down,

pray," the Marquis answered, and then said to the majordomo, "you have

your information from a good source?"

"I can assert that all I have told you is true, _mi amo_. The Papazos

have allied themselves with I know not how many other tribes of

ferocious pagans, and we may expect to see them burst upon us at any

moment."

"¡Caspita! that is serious," the senator said.

"Much more than you suppose; for the Indians are this time resolved to

expel the white men for ever from Sonora, and establish themselves in

their place," answered Paredes.

"Oh, oh," Don Rufino said, "they are undertaking a rude task."

"Laugh if you like, but it is so."

"I do not laugh, my worthy friend; still, I do not believe the Indians

capable of attempting so mad an enterprise."

"In the first place, I am not your friend, señor," the majordomo said,

roughly; "and next, it is probable that when you have seen the Indians

at work, your opinions about them will be considerably modified."

The senator pretended not to notice the bitterness contained in

this remark, and replied, lightly--"I never saw any wild Redskins,

and Heaven preserve me from doing so. Still, I strongly suspect the

inhabitants of this country of making them more formidable than they

really are."

"You are wrong to have such an opinion, my friend; and if you remain

any time with us, will soon have proof of it," the Marquis said.

"Are you going to remain here, exposed to the attacks of the pagans,

papa?" Doña Marianna asked with terror.

"We have nothing to fear from the Indians," the Marquis replied. "The

rock on which my hacienda is built is too hard for them. They will

break their nails before they can pull out a single stone."

"Still, father, we cannot be too prudent," Don Ruiz observed.

"You are right, my son; and as I do not wish your sister to retain even

a shadow of anxiety, we will immediately place ourselves in a position

of defence, though it is unnecessary. During the grand insurrection

of 1827, the Indians did not once attempt to approach El Toro, and I

greatly doubt whether they will attack it this time."

"_Mi amo_," Paredes replied, "believe me, do not neglect any

precaution; this insurrection will be terrible."

"Come, come," Don Rufino asked, "tell me, Señor Majordomo, who the

person is that informed you so well?"

Paredes gave him a side-glance, and replied, with a shrug of his

shoulders--"It is enough that I know it; no matter the name of the man

to whom I owe the information. If you fancy that it is a friend who

warned me, you will be near the truth."

"Permit me, señor," the senator answered, with a frown, "this is more

important than you fancy. You must not thus create an alarm in a

family, and then refuse to give proofs in support of your assertions."

"My master knows me, señor; he knows that I am devoted to him, and also

that I am incapable of uttering a falsehood."

"I do not doubt, señor, either your honesty or your truthfulness;

still, a thing so serious as you announce requires, before being

taken into consideration, to be based on evidence with proofs, or a

respectable name, in default of anything else."

"Stuff! Stuff! The main point is to be on your guard."

"Yes, when we know whether we really ought to do so. Consequently,

in my quality as a magistrate--and I ask the Señor Marquis a million

pardons for acting thus in his presence--I command you to reveal to me

at once the name of the man who gave you these alarming news."

"Nonsense!" The majordomo said, with a shrug of his shoulders; "What

good would it do if I were to tell you the name of an individual you do

not know, and whom you never heard mentioned?"

"That is not the question. Be good enough to answer me, if you please."

"It is possible that you may be a magistrate, señor, and I do not care

if you are. I recognise no other masters but the Señor Marquis and his

children here present; they alone have the right to question me, and

them alone I will answer."

The senator bit his lips, and turned to the Marquis.

"Come, Paredes, answer," the latter said. "I really do not at all

understand your obstinacy."

"Since you order me to speak, _mi amo_," the majordomo continued, "you

must know that the person who told me of the insurrection of the pagans

is a white hunter, called Stronghand."

"Stronghand?" brother and sister exclaimed simultaneously.

"Is not that," the Marquis asked, "the hunter to whom we already are so

greatly indebted?"

"Yes, _mi amo_," the majordomo replied, musingly; "and it is probable

that he has not yet finished."

Although it was the first time the senator heard the hunter's name

mentioned, by a kind of intuition he felt a species of emotion for

which he could not account.

"Oh," Doña Marianna cried, eagerly, "we must place entire confidence in

Stronghand's statements."

"Certainly we must," Don Ruiz added. "It is plain that he wished to

warn us, and put us on our guard."

"But who is this man who inspires you with such profound sympathy?" the

senator asked.

"A friend," Doña Marianna replied, warmly, "for whom I shall feel an

eternal gratitude."

"And whom we all love," the Marquis added, with emotion.

"Then you accept his bail for Paredes?"

"Yes; and believe me, my friend, that I shall not neglect the advice he

gives me."

"Very good, señor; you will therefore permit me to remark that Señor

Paredes' obstinacy in not revealing his name must fairly appear to me

extraordinary."

"Señor Rufino, Paredes is an old servant who enjoys a very pardonable

freedom, and believes that he has acquired the right of being believed

on his word. Now," he added, "let us discuss the means to prevent a

surprise. Paredes, you will at once mount your horse, and order all the

peons and vaqueros to bring the ganado and horses into the hacienda.

You, Don Ruiz, will prepare the necessary corrals and cuartos to lodge

the men and animals; collect as much forage and provisions as you can,

for, in the event of a siege, we must not run the risk of being reduced

by famine. How many peons have you under your orders, Paredes?"

"Excellency, we have about eighty able to bear arms, and do active

duty, without counting the women, children, and old men, whom we can

always turn to some account."

"Oh, oh," the Marquis said, "there are many more than we require; I see

that it will be unnecessary to summon our miners from Quitovar."

"The more so," Paredes objected, "because Captain de Niza, whose

position is far more exposed than ours will already have enlisted them

in his service."

"That is probable," the Marquis answered, as he rose. "Go and carry out

my orders without delay."

The majordomo bowed to his master, and went out.

"Will it please you, señor, to grant me a moment's interview?" the

senator then said.

"I am at your orders, señor."

"Oh, do not disturb yourselves," the senator said, addressing Don Ruiz

and his sister, who had risen to leave the room: "I have nothing secret

to say to the Marquis."

The young people sat down again.

"I confess to you that what this man has just said," Don Rufino

continued, "has greatly startled me. I never saw any Indian bravos, and

have a horrible fear of them. I should therefore wish, Don Hernando,

however strange so sudden a request may appear to you, to obtain your

permission to leave you so soon as possible."

"Leave me!" the Marquis replied, with amazement, "At this moment?"

"Yes; it seems as if coming events will be very serious. I am not a

man of war, nor anything like it, for I am frightened at anything

that bears a likeness to a quarrel; but Congress claims my immediate

presence at Mexico, were it only to inform the Government of the

situation in which this state is, and urge it to assume energetic

measures."

"Señor Don Rufino, you are at liberty to act as you please. Still,

I fear that the roads are not quite safe, and that you will expose

yourself to serious dangers by obstinately insisting on departing."

"I have thought of that; but I fancy that when I have once reached

Arispe, which is no great distance from here, I shall have nothing more

to fear. Will you allow Don Señor Ruiz to escort me to that town?"

"I can refuse you nothing, señor. My son will accompany you, since you

do him the honour of desiring his escort."

"Yes," the senator continued, taking a side-glance at Doña Marianna,

who had let her head drop on her chest; "I wish to entrust Don Ruiz

with an important letter for you."

"Why write? It would be far more simple to tell me what you wish in a

couple of words."

"No! No! That is impossible," Don Rufino answered, with a smile that

resembled a grimace; "that would demand too much time: moreover, dear

sir, you know better than I do that there are certain things which can

only be settled by ambassadors."

"As you please, señor. When do you propose to start?"

"I frankly confess that, in spite of the regret I feel at leaving you,

I fancy that the sooner I set out the better."

"It is only ten o'clock," said Don Ruiz, as he rose; "by hurrying a

little, we can reach Arispe tonight."

"Famous! That is better. Allow me, Don Hernando, to take leave of you,

as well as of your charming daughter, and pray accept my thanks for the

noble hospitality I have received in your mansion."

"What! Are you not afraid of travelling in the great heat of the day?"

"I only fear the sight of the Indians, and that fear is enough to

make me forget all others. Excuse me, therefore, for leaving you so

suddenly, but I feel convinced that I should die of terror if I heard

the war cry of those frightful savages echo in my ears."

Don Ruiz had left the room to give the requisite orders, and his sister

followed him, after making a silent curtsey to the senator, whose

intention she was far from suspecting. The apprehension expressed by

Don Rufino was greatly exaggerated, if it was not entirely fictitious;

but he instinctively felt that the ground was beginning to burn beneath

his feet at the hacienda, and he wanted to get away, not only to guard

himself against the perils he foresaw from the ill success of his

plot, but also to try and refasten the broken threads of his intrigue,

and carry out his plans with the shortest possible delay.

The revolt of the Indians, by interrupting the work, paralyzing

commercial transactions, and consequently creating enormous

difficulties for the Marquis, admirably assisted the senator in the

realization of the plans he had long been forming in the dark. Moreover

he desired, during the short ride he was going to take with Don Ruiz,

to obtain in the young man a precious ally, who would serve him the

better because he would do so without any afterthought, and without

seeing Don Rufino's object. He also thought it better to write and

detail his intentions to the Marquis in a letter, rather than discuss

them with him, for the grand diplomatic reason that the man who writes

is the only speaker, must be heard, and consequently does not fear a

refutation till he has completely explained his ideas.

After a few moments, Don Ruiz returned to state that the escort had

mounted, and that all was ready for a start. Don Rufino repeated his

farewells to the Marquis, but the latter would not let him depart

before he had drunk, according to the hospitable fashion of the

country, the stirrup cup--that is to say, a glass of iced orangeade.

Then all three left the room, for in spite of the entreaties and

objections of the senator, his host insisted on accompanying him to

the patio, and witnessing his departure. Two minutes later, Don Rufino

Contreras, accompanied by Don Ruiz, and followed by six confidential

peons, well armed and mounted, left the hacienda, and took the

direction of Arispe, which they reached at nightfall; after a rather

fatiguing journey, it is true, but which, however, was not troubled

by any accident of an alarming nature. The only thing the travellers

noticed, and which proved to them how thoroughly the news of an

approaching invasion of the Indians had spread along the border, was

the complete solitude of the country, which resembled a desert.

All the ranchos they passed were deserted; the doors, windows, and

furniture had been removed by the inhabitants, and carried off by them

in their flight; they had burned or destroyed all they were compelled

to leave behind them; their horses and cattle had also disappeared,

which gave a look of indescribable melancholy to the numerous plains

the little party crossed. The crops had been cut in the green, or

burned, in order that the Indians might not profit by them; and thus,

ere the wretched country was ravaged by the Redskins, it had already

been completely ruined by its inhabitants.

Don Rufino contemplated with stupor the desolate aspect of the

country, for he could not at all understand the strange tactics of the

inhabitants. When they reached the gates of Arispe, they found them

closed, and guarded by powerful detachments of soldiers and cívicos--a

species of national militia, paid by the rich inhabitants to repress

the devastation of the marauders who swarm on the Indian border. It

was only after interminable debates and infinite precautions that the

barrier guards at length consented to let the travellers pass. All

the streets in Arispe were defended by strong barricades. The town

resembled one large camp. The soldiers were bivouacked on all the

squares, and sleeping round the bivouac fires, which were lighted as

much to keep off the sharp night cold, as to cook their scanty rations.

Don Rufino possessed, on the Plaza Mayor of Arispe, a large and

handsome mansion, at which he resided when business summoned him to

Arispe. It took him more than an hour to reach it, owing to the

numberless turnings he was compelled to take, and the barricades he was

forced to scale. The door of the house was open, and a dozen soldiers

were quietly bivouacked in the zaguán and patio; but Don Rufino did not

at all protest against this arbitrary violation of his domicile; on the

contrary, he boasted of his senatorial title, and seemed very pleased

with the liberty the soldiers had taken. Don Rufino would not allow Don

Ruiz and his peons to seek a shelter anywhere but in his own house;

he forced them to accept his hospitality, and they did so without any

excessive pressure, for both men and horses were beginning to feel the

want of a few hours' rest, after an entire day's journey, made in the

stifling heat of the sun.

CHAPTER XXVII.

SERIOUS EVENTS.

Nothing equals the rapidity with which a new fortune is established,

except, perhaps, that with which an old family falls, through the

eternal balancing of accident, which elevates some and lowers others,

thus producing incessant contrasts, which are one of the claims of

existing society, and of the equilibrium that presides over the things

of this world. With a few exceptions, the first and last of a race

are always two powerful men, created by the struggle, endowed with

great and noble qualities, and who are always equal to circumstances.

Unfortunately, of these two men, one, sustained by capricious chance

and the benign influence of his star, sees all obstacles fall before

him, and his rashest combinations succeed. In a word, success

frequently crowns his efforts, contrary to his expectations. The other,

on the contrary, unconsciously yielding through the law of contrast to

the malign influence attaching to his race--having fallen by the fault

of his predecessors from an elevated position--compelled to struggle

on unequal terms with enemies prejudiced against him, and who render

him responsible for the long series of errors of which his ancestors

have been solely culpable--sees himself, so to speak, placed without

the pale of the common law; his most skilful combinations only succeed,

in delaying for a few years an inevitable fall, and frequently render

that fall the more startling and certain.

What we say here is applicable to all the degrees of the social stage;

not only to royal families, but to the miserable beggar's brood. Each

revolution that changes the face of an empire, by bringing up to the

surface unknown geniuses, at the same time plunges into an abyss of

wretchedness and opprobrium those who for centuries have oppressed

entire generations, and have in their time placed themselves on a level

with the Deity, by believing everything allowed them.

Time, that impassive leveller, bringing progress in its train,

incessantly passes its inexorable square over all that raises its head

too high--thus pleasing itself by raising some and humiliating others.

It has constituted itself the sole arbiter of human ambitions, and the

real representative of that moral equality which would be an Utopia,

if the great organic law of the harmony of the universe had not thus

proclaimed its astonishing principles.

On the very day when Don Ruiz, after escorting Don Rufino Contreras

to Arispe, returned to the hacienda, a courier arrived simultaneously

with him. This man, who was mounted on an utterly exhausted steed, had

apparently ridden a great distance, and was in an excessive hurry.

No sooner had he reached the Toro than he was introduced into the

Marquis's study with whom he remained shut up for a long time. Then the

courier, on leaving the study, remounted his horse, and set off again

without speaking to a soul. The almost fantastic apparition of this

man caused the occupiers of the hacienda that instinctive fear which

people generally experience from things they cannot account for.

The Marquis, whose face was usually imprinted with an expression of

sad and resigned melancholy, had, after this interview, become of

a cadaverous pallor; deep wrinkles furrowed his forehead, and his

eyes stared wildly. He walked up and down the huerta for a long time

in extreme agitation, with his arms crossed on his back, and his

head bowed over his chest. At times he stopped, beat his forehead

furiously, uttered incoherent words, and then resumed his walk

mechanically--obeying an imperious want of locomotion rather than any

other motive.

Doña Marianna, seated at a window of her boudoir, behind a muslin

curtain, followed her father's movements, for she felt frightened at

his state, and had a foreboding that she would have to share some of

the sorrow which had fallen on him. The Marquis at length stopped,

looked round him like a man who is waking up, and, after a moment of

reflection, returned to his apartments. A few minutes after, a servant

came to inform Doña Marianna that her father was awaiting her in the

red chamber. In spite of herself, the maiden felt her apprehensions

redoubled, but hastened to obey.

This red chamber, into which we have already had opportunity to

introduce the reader, and which Don Hernando had not entered since the

day when his brother was so inexorably disinherited by their father,

was as cold and gloomy as when we saw it. The sole difference was,

that time, by tarnishing the lustre of the hangings and tapestry, and

blackening the furniture, had imparted to it a tinge of sadness, which

made the visitor shudder as soon as he entered. When Doña Marianna

reached the red chamber, she found her father already there; he gave

her a silent sign to take a seat, and she sank into an armchair in

a state of undisguised alarm. A few minutes after Don Ruiz entered,

followed by José Paredes. The Marquis then seated himself in the

spacious armchair that occupied the centre of the dais; he ordered the

majordomo to close the door, and began in a feeble, trembling voice--

"My children, I have summoned you hither because we have to discuss

matters of the deepest gravity. I have called to our council Paredes,

as an old servant of the family, whose devotions we have known so long,

and I trust you will not think that I have exceeded my rights in doing

so."

The young people bowed their assent, Paredes placed himself by their

side, and the Marquis continued--"My children, our family has for

many years been tried by adversity. Hitherto, respecting the happy

carelessness of childhood, I have sought to keep within my own breast

the annoyances and grief with which I was incessantly crushed; for,

after all, of what good would it have proved to lay a portion of the

burden on your shoulders? Misfortune advances with gigantic strides; it

catches us up one after the other, and it was better to let you enjoy

the too short days of your happy youth. I have therefore struggled

for all of us, concealing the grief which at times overwhelmed me,

restraining my tears, and always offering to you the calm brow and

the tranquil appearance of a man, who, if he were not entirely happy,

was satisfied with his share of good and evil Heaven had allotted to

him. Believe me, my children I should have continued this conduct, and

kept to myself all the cares and annoyances of such a life as I lead,

had not a sudden, terrible, and irremediably misfortune, which has

fallen on me today, forced me, against my will, to impart to you the

melancholy, frightful condition we are now in, and acquaint you with

the posture of my affairs, which are yours, for I am only entrusted

with the fortune which will be yours some day if we succeed in saving

it."

The Marquis stopped for a moment, overcome by the emotion which

contracted his throat.

"Father," Don Ruiz replied, "you have ever been the best of parents to

my sister and myself. Be assured that we have anxiously awaited this

confidence, which has been so long delayed in the fear of causing us a

temporary sorrow; for we hoped we might be able to assume a portion of

the burden, and thus restore you the courage necessary to support the

gigantic struggle in which you have engaged with adverse fortune."

"My son," the Marquis said, "I know your heart and your sister's.

I am aware of the respectful affection you feel for me; and in the

misfortune that is now bursting on me, it is a great satisfaction to

have the intimate conviction that my children will heartily combine in

supporting and consoling me."

"Be kind enough then, father, to tell us what the matter is, without

further delay. The courier with whom you were shut up so long this

morning cannot be a stranger to the determination you have formed.

Doubtless he was the bearer of evil tidings?"

"Alas! My son," the Marquis answered, "for some years past fortune has

been treating our house with incomprehensible severity; everything

is leagued against us, and our fortune, which was immense under the

Spanish rule, has constantly diminished since the proclamation of

Mexican independence. In vain have I tried to contend against the

torrent which carried us away; in vain have I forgotten all I owe

to my name and rank, and attempted to regain what I had lost by

honourable enterprise. All has been of no avail, and my efforts have

only served to prove the inutility of my attempts. Still, I had hoped a

few days back that I should be able to render fortune more favourable

to me. I foresaw a chance of saving some fragments of our old fortunes;

but today I have attained the melancholy conviction that I am entirely

ruined unless a miracle intervene."

"Oh, things cannot be so bad as that, father!" Doña Marianna exclaimed.

"Yes, my children, we are ruined--reduced to utter misery," the

Marquis continued sadly. "We have lost everything; even this hacienda,

built by one of our ancestors, which will be speedily sold--perhaps

tomorrow--for the benefit of our creditors."

"But how has such a great misfortune occurred?"

"Alas! in the same way as misfortunes always happen when fate has

resolved on ruining a man. For a long time past business has been

in a state of collapse, owing to the disastrous negligence of the

Government; and the news of the fresh revolt of the Indian mansos and

bravos has raised the alarm of the merchants to the highest pitch. The

panic is general among the bankers and persons whose capital is engaged

in mines; several houses at Hermosillo, Ures, Arispe, Sonora, and even

Mexico, have already suspended payment, and thus everything has been

paralyzed at a single blow. Then, to complicate matters even more, a

pronunciamiento has taken place in Mexico, and at this moment we have

not only an Indian border war, but the interior of the country is

suffering from all the horrors of a civil war."

"Do you know this officially, father?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot entertain the slightest doubt on the subject.

For this reason; under such circumstances as the present, one thing

inevitably happens. Creditors insist on the immediate repayment of

their advances, while persons indebted to you, if they do not fail,

defer payment so long that it is practically of no service. Now, the

letters I received this morning, and they are numerous, may be divided

into two classes; my debtors refuse to pay me, while my creditors,

fearing a loss, have taken out writs against me, so that if I have

not paid them within eight days the round sum of 380,000 piastres, I

shall be declared bankrupt, imprisoned, expelled from my estate, and

this hacienda, the last thing left us, will be put up to auction, and

probably purchased for a trifle by one of the ex-vassals of our family,

who has grown rich at our expense, and does not blush to take our

place."

"Three hundred and eighty thousand piastres!" Don Ruiz muttered with

stupor.

"That is the amount."

"How can we possibly get it together?"

"It is useless to dream of it for the present, my son. This hacienda

alone is worth double. At other times I could have offered a mortgage,

and as I have nearly 300,000 piastres owing to me, you see that I could

have easily confronted this fresh stroke of fortune. But now it cannot

be thought of; it will be better to give way, and allow our creditors

to divide the spoil. I hope you do hot suppose, Ruiz, that I have the

intention of defrauding my creditors of the little that is left me?"

"Oh no, father; but what do you propose doing?"

"¡Caray!" Paredes then said, "that is easily settled. I possess,

through the liberality of the Moguer family a rancho, which owes

nothing to anybody. It is yours, _mi amo_. My mother and I can easily

find another shelter. Well, if this wretched lodging is not so fine or

handsome as this, it will, at any rate, afford you a shelter, and save

you from applying for it to strangers. Is it so, Excellency? Will you

honour the old house of your servant by your presence?"

The Marquis seemed to reflect for a moment, and then held out his hand

to Paredes, who kissed it.

"Be it so, my friend. I accept your offer," he said. "Not that I intend

to inconvenience you for any length of time, but merely during the

few days I shall require to save, if possible, some fragments of my

children's fortune from the general shipwreck."

"Do not think of us, father," Doña Marianna said, with emotion. "We are

young, and will work."

Paredes was delighted at the acceptance of his offer.

"Oh, do not be frightened, _mi amo_," he said; "the old rancho is not

so dilapidated and miserable as might be supposed. I trust, with the

help of Heaven, that you will not be very uncomfortable there, and, at

any rate, you will have no cause to fear the visits of certain parties."

"You are unjust, Paredes," the Marquis replied. "Don Rufino Contreras,

to whom you allude, is one of my best friends, and I must speak of his

behaviour in the highest terms of praise."

"That is possible, _mi amo_, that is possible," the majordomo said,

shaking his head with an air of conviction; "but if I may be permitted

to express an opinion about that gentleman, I fancy we had better wait

a while before fully making up our minds about him."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, _mi amo_, really nothing. I have an idea, that is all."

"That reminds me, father, that on leaving me, Don Rufino gave me a

letter, which he begged me to deliver to you so soon as I reached the

hacienda."

"Yes; he informed me of his intention of writing."

"Hum!" the majordomo said, between his teeth, but loudly enough for

the Marquis to hear him; "I always had a bad idea of men who prefer

blackening paper to explain themselves frankly in words."

During this aside, the Marquis had opened and read the letter.

"This time, at any rate," he said, "Don Rufino cannot be accused of

want of frankness, or of not explaining himself clearly. He warns me

of the measures taken against me, and after showing me, in a most

gentlemanly manner, the precarious nature of my position, he ends by

offering me the means of escaping from it in the most honourable way;

in one word, he asks for my daughter's hand, and offers her a dowry of

one and a half million piastres, besides liquidating my debts."

Doña Marianna was crushed by the blow so suddenly dealt her.

The Marquis continued, with the bitter accent he had hitherto

employed--"Such is the state we have reached, my children; we, the

descendants of a race of worthies noble as the king, and whose

escutcheon is unstained, have so fallen from our lofty social

position, that we are too greatly honoured by the offer of a man whose

grandfather was our vassal. But such is the way of the world, and why

blame it when we live in an age in which everything is possible?"

"What answer will you give to this strange letter, father?" Don Ruiz

asked, anxiously.

Don Hernando drew himself up proudly.

"My son," he replied, "however poor I may be, I do not the less remain

the Marquis de Moguer, the only thing, perhaps, which cannot be taken

from me. I know the obligations I owe to the honour of my name. Your

sister is free to accept or reject the offer made her. I do not wish,

under any pretext, to influence her determination in so serious a

matter. She is young, and has still many years to live; I have no right

to enchain her existence with that of a man she does not love. She

will reflect, and follow the impulse of her own heart. Whatever her

resolution may be, I approve of it beforehand."

"Thanks, father," the maiden answered, gently. "And now grant me a last

favour."

"What is it, my child?"

"I wish for a week before answering this request, for I am so surprised

and confused, that it would be impossible for me to form any resolution

at present."

"Very good, my child; in eight days you will give me your answer. And

now withdraw: but do you remain, Paredes; before leaving the hacienda

for ever, I wish to make some arrangements in which your help will be

necessary."

Brother and sister, after bowing respectfully to their father, slowly

quitted this fatal chamber, which persons never entered save through a

misfortune.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE TIGRERO.

Don Ruiz and his sister left the red chamber together, gloomy, sad,

and despairing, and not daring to communicate their impressions,

because they knew that they had nothing to hope from an exchange of

conventional consolation. When they reached the hall whence ran the

stairs leading to their different suites of rooms, Don Ruiz let loose

his sister's arm, and kissed her on the forehead.

"Courage, Marianna," he said, gently.

"Are you leaving me, brother?" she remarked, with a slight tinge of

reproach in her voice.

"Are you not going to your own rooms?" he asked her.

"And what do you intend doing?"

"To tell you the honest truth, sister," he replied, "after what has

occurred in the red chamber, I feel in such a state of excitement, that

I want to breathe the fresh air; did I not, I fancy I should be ill."

"Do you propose going out, then?"

"In leaving you, my dear sister, it is my firm intention to saddle

Santiago, and ride about the country for two or three hours."

"If that be the case, Ruiz, I will ask you to do me a service."

"What is it?"

"Saddle Madrina at the same time."

"Your mare?"

"Yes."

"Are you going out too?"

"I want to pay a visit to my nurse, whom I have not seen for a long

time. I am anxious to speak a few words with her."

"Will you go alone to the rancho?"

"Unless you give me the pleasure of your company."

"Do you doubt it, sister?"

"Yes and no, Ruiz."

"Why this reticence?"

"I will explain it to you, brother. To be frank with you, I want to

see my nurse, and I may spend the night at the rancho; in the event of

that happening, I do not wish you to make an attempt to dissuade me by

entreaty or otherwise."

"Reflect, sister, that the country is not tranquil, and that you may

incur danger in a wretched rancho, where any resistance would be

impossible."

"I have thought of that, and calculated all the chances. But I repeat

to you, I must go to the rancho, and may be obliged to pass there not

only a night, but a day or two."

Don Ruiz reflected for a moment.

"Sister," he then said, "you are no ordinary woman, and everything you

do is carefully calculated. Although you do not tell me the motives

for this visit, I guess that they are serious, and hence will make no

attempt to thwart your wishes. Act as you please, and I will do all you

wish."

"Thank you, Ruiz," she answered, warmly; "I anticipated you would say

that, for you understand me: my visit has a serious motive, as you have

divined."

"Then I will go and saddle the horses," he remarked, with a smile.

"Do so, brother," she replied, as she gently pressed his hand. "I will

wait for you here."

"I only require five minutes."

The young man went out. Doña Marianna leant on the balustrade, and

fell into deep thought. Don Ruiz returned, leading the horses by the

bridle: brother and sister mounted, and at once left the hacienda. It

was about four in the afternoon; the great heat of the day was spent,

the birds were singing gaily beneath the foliage; the sun, now level

with the lowest branches, had lost much of its heat; and the coming

breeze, which was beginning to rise, refreshed the atmosphere, and bore

far away the clouds of mosquitoes which had for several hours darkened

the air. The young people galloped silently side by side, absorbed in

their thoughts, and only taking absent glances at the splendid scenery

unfolded around them as they advanced further into the country. They

thus reached the rancho without exchanging a word.

Bouchaley, faithful to his friendship for Doña Marianna, had long

before announced her arrival to the inhabitants of the rancho, who had

hurried out to welcome her. With a hurried glance, Marianna assured

herself of the presence of her foster brother, which seemed to cause

her great satisfaction.

"Goodness! You here so late, niña?" the ranchero said, in his delight;

"What blessed wind has blown you?"

"The desire of seeing you, madresita," the young lady answered, with a

smile; "it is so long since I embraced you, that I could not wait any

longer."

"It is a good idea, niña," the ranchero said; "unfortunately it is

late, and we shall only be able to converse with you for a few moments."

"How do you know, old father?" she replied, as she leaped off her

horse, and threw her arms round his neck; "Who told you I should not

spend the night at the rancho?"

"Oh, oh, you would not do us that honour, niña," the old man answered.

"You are mistaken, father, and the proof is that I ask my brother to

leave me here, and return alone to the hacienda."

"Then I am discharged," Don Ruiz said, laughingly.

"Yes, brother; but you have no cause of complaint, for I warned you."

"That is true; hence I do not complain, little sister; still, before we

part, tell me at what hour I am to come and fetch you tomorrow?"

"Do not trouble yourself about that, Ruiz; Mariano will bring me home."

"And this time I shall not behave as the last, niña: may the Lord

confound me if I lose sight of you even for a moment," the tigrero

said, as he took the horse's bridle to lead it to the corral.

"Will you be so cruel, Marianna," Ruiz observed, "as to force me thus

to return at once?"

"No; I grant you an hour to rest and refresh yourself, but when that

time has elapsed you will start."

"Agreed, little sister."

They entered the rancho: No Sanchez, with that hospitable speed all

Mexican rancheros display, had already covered the table with pulque,

mezcal, Catalonian refino, orangeade, and infusion of tamarinds. The

young people, thirsty from their long ride, and not wishing to grieve

the worthy persons who received them so kindly, did honour to the

refreshments thus profusely offered them. Don Ruiz, while teasing his

sister about her strange fancy for spending the night at the rancho,

though he felt convinced that she must have a very serious reason for

it, conversed gaily according to his fashion, and displayed a dazzling

wit which is easier in Mexico than elsewhere; for, owing to the natural

intelligence of the people, no matter their rank, they are certain to

understand. When day began to fall, the young gentleman took leave of

the rancheros, mounted his horse, and started for the hacienda.

In Mexico, as in all intertropical countries, evening is the

pleasantest part of the day: at that time the inhabitants are all

in the open air. At night they sit in front of the rancho doors,

conversing, singing, or dancing; two or three in the morning arrives

before they dream of going to bed. But on this day, contrary to her

habit when she paid her nurse a visit, Doña Marianna seemed fatigued:

at times she had difficulty in checking a yawn, and her desire for rest

was so evident that the nurse was the first to invite her to retire.

The young lady required no pressing, and after bidding the old folks

good night, entered the rancho, and the room prepared for her. So soon

as Marianna had left them, the old couple also retired to rest. As for

Mariano, after making his usual tour of inspection round the rancho,

he hung up a hammock under the portico, as he preferred sleeping in

the open air to being shut up within walls which the sun's heat had

rendered stifling. An hour later all the inhabitants of the rancho were

plunged into the deepest sleep.

Suddenly the tigrero felt a hand gently laid on his shoulder; he opened

his eyes, and by the light of the stars, which was as brilliant as day,

recognised Doña Marianna. The young man who had thrown himself fully

dressed upon the hammock, started up, and looked at his foster sister

anxiously.

"What is the matter with you, niña?" he asked, in evident alarm.

"Silence, Mariano!" she answered in a low voice, and laying her finger

on her lips; "All is quiet, at least I suppose so, but I wish to speak

with you."

"Go on, tocaya," he replied, as he leaped from the hammock and folded

it up.

"Yes, but I am sorry at having woken you; you were sleeping so soundly,

that I looked at you for nearly a quarter of an hour ere I dared to

disturb your rest; for sleep is such a blessed thing."

"Nonsense," he answered with a laugh; "you were wrong, niña; we wood

rangers sleep so quickly that an hour is sufficient to rest us, and

if I am not mistaken, I have been lying down for more than two. Hence

speak, niña; I am attentive, and shall not miss a word of what you say

to me."

The young lady reflected for a moment.

"You love me, I think, Mariano?" she at length said, with a certain

hesitation in her voice.

"Like a sister, niña," he said, warmly; "in truth, are we not tocayo

and tocaya? Why ask such a question?"

"Because I want you to do me an important service."

"Me, niña? ¡Caray! Do not be alarmed; I am devoted to you body and

soul, and whatever you may ask--"

"Do not pledge yourself too hastily, tocayo," she interrupted him, with

a meaning laugh.

"A man cannot do that when he firmly intends to keep his promise."

"That is true; still there are things from which a man at times

recoils."

"There may be such, niña, but I do not know them; however, explain your

wishes to me, frankly."

"I think, Mariano, that you are on friendly terms with the hunter,

called Stronghand?"

"Very intimate, niña; but why do you ask the question?"

"Is he an honest man?"

The tigrero looked at her.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked her.

"Why," she said, with considerable embarrassment, "I mean a man of

heart--a man, in short, whose word may be taken."

Mariano became serious.

"Señorita," he said, "Stronghand saved my life under circumstances

when my only hope was in Heaven. I have seen this man perform deeds of

incredible courage and audacity, for the sole object of serving people

who frequently did not feel the slightest gratitude to him. To me he is

more than a friend--more than a brother; whatever he bade me I would

do, even if I had to lay down the life he saved, and which belongs to

him. Such, niña, is my opinion about the hunter called Stronghand."

The young lady gave a glance of pleasure.

"You are deeply attached to him?" she murmured.

"As I told you, he is more to me than a brother."

"And you often see him?"

"When I want him, or he wants me."

"Does he live in the neighbourhood, then?"

"A short time back he stayed several days at the rancho."

"And will he return?"

"Who knows?"

"What did he during his stay here?"

"I am not aware; I believe that he hunted, though I did not see a

single head of game he had killed whilst he was here."

"Ah!" she said, pensively.

There was a silence. Mariano looked at her, somewhat surprised that

she should have woke him for the sake of asking him such unimportant

questions.

"Well," she continued, presently; "if you wanted to see Stronghand, do

you know where to find him?"

"I think so."

"You are not certain?"

"Forgive me, niña, I am certain; we have a spot where we are safe to

meet."

"But he might not be there."

"That might happen."

"What would you do in that case?"

"Go and seek him at another place, where I should be sure of finding

him."

"Ah! And where is that?"

"At the village he inhabits."

"What village is that? I know of none in the vicinity."

"Pardon me, niña; there is one."

"A long way from here, I presume?"

"Only a few leagues."

"And what is this pueblo?"

"A village of the Papazos."

"What?"

"Yes, I have forgotten to tell you that. Although he is a white man,

Stronghand has, for reasons I am ignorant of, joined the Indians, and

been adopted by one of their most powerful tribes."

"That is singular," the young lady murmured.

"Is it not?" the tigrero replied; understanding less than ever the

object of the conversation.

The maiden shook her head coquettishly, and seemed to form a sudden

resolution.

"Mariano," she said, "I asked you to do me a service."

"Yes, niña, and I answered that I was ready to do it."

"That is true; are you still of the same mind?"

"Why should I have altered it?"

"This is what I want of you."

"Speak."

"I wish to see Stronghand."

"Very good; when?"

"At once."

"What?" he asked, in amazement.

"Do you refuse?"

"I do not say that, but--"

"There is a but, then?"

"There always is one."

"Let me hear yours."

"It is long past midnight."

"What matter is that?"

"Not much, I allow."

"Well, what next?"

"It is a long journey."

"Our horses are good."

"We risk not finding the hunter at our usual meeting place."

"We will push on to his village."

The tigrero looked at her attentively.

"You have a great need to see Stronghand in that case?" he asked.

"Most extreme."

"It is more serious than you suppose, señorita."

"Why so?"

"Hang it! It is not so easy to enter an Indian village."

"But you do so."

"That is true; but I am alone and well known."

"Well, I will go on after you; that is all."

"Are you aware that the Indians have revolted?"

"That does not concern you, as you are a friend of theirs."

Mariano shook his head.

"You ask a very difficult thing again, tocaya," he said, "in which you

run a great risk."

"Yes, if I fail; but I shall succeed."

"It would be better to give up this excursion."

"Confess at once," she said, impatiently, "that you do not wish to keep

the promise you made me."

"You are unjust to me; I am only trying to dissuade you from an

enterprise which you will repent when it is too late."

"That is my business, I repeat, Mariano," she continued, with a marked

stress in her words; "it is not to gratify a caprice that I wish to

see the hunter. I have reasons of the utmost importance for wishing to

speak with him; and, to tell you all, he urged me to summon him under

certain circumstances, and told me I need only apply to you in order to

find him. Are you satisfied now? will you adhere to your doubts, and

still refuse to accompany me?"

The young man had listened to Doña Marianna with earnest attention.

When she had ended, he replied--"I no longer hesitate, niña; as

things are so, I am bound to obey you. Still, I beg you not to make me

responsible for any events that may happen."

"Whatever may occur, my kind Mariano, be assured that I shall be

grateful to you for the immense service you have rendered me."

"And you wish to start at once?"

"How far have we to ride?"

"Some ten or twelve leagues."

"Oh, that is nothing."

"Not on a regular road; but I warn you that we shall be compelled to

follow hardly visible wild beast tracks."

"The night is clear; we shall have sufficient light to guide us, so let

us start."

"If you wish it," the young man answered.

A few minutes later they left the rancho at a gallop. It was about

two in the morning; and the moon, which was at its full, lit up the

landscape as in bright day.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE EXCURSION.

As we have already said, Doña Marianna, although still so young, was

gifted with an ardent soul and an energetic character, which the

unusual dangers of a border life had, so to speak, unconsciously

ripened. In life these select organizations do not know themselves;

events alone, by exciting their living strength, reveal to them what

they are capable of at a given moment, by urging them bravely to endure

the attack of malignant fortune, and to contend resolutely with their

adversary. When the Marquis, forced by the necessities of his unhappy

condition, had a frank explanation with his children, and confessed to

them into what difficulties he was suddenly thrown, Doña Marianna had

listened to him with the most sustained attention. Then, by degrees, a

species of revolution took place in her. Stronghand's words reverted to

her mind, and she had a vague idea that he could avert the danger that

was suspended over her father's head.

On recapitulating all that had occurred to her since her departure from

Rosario--the help the hunter had rendered her on various occasions with

unexampled devotion--the conversation she had held with him a few days

previously, and the promise she had made him--it appeared evident to

her that Stronghand, better informed than perhaps the Marquis himself

was about the machinations of his enemies, held in his hands the means

of saving the Moguer family, and parrying the blows which were about to

be dealt them in the dark.

Then, full of hope, and confiding in the promises of this man, who had

never made his appearance except to prove his devotion to her, her

resolution was spontaneously formed, and without informing anyone of

the project she had conceived, for fear lest an effort might be made

to dissuade her, she went to her nurse's rancho, in order to obtain

an interview with the hunter by the agency of her foster mother.

Under existing circumstances, the step taken by Doña Marianna was

not at all easy, or without dangers. The daughter of the Marquis de

Moguer galloping at night along the Indian border, only accompanied by

one man--devoted, it is true, but who, in spite of all his courage,

would be powerless to defend her against an attack--displayed more

than temerity in this action; and however great her bravery was, and

the confidence she had in the honesty of the enterprise she was thus

blindly undertaking, still she could not refrain from an internal

shudder on thinking of her isolated position, and the ease with which

she might be surprised, carried off, or even massacred by the revolted

Indians. Too proud, however, to allow any of the secret fears that

agitated her to be seen, Doña Marianna affected a tranquillity and

freedom of mind she was far from feeling. She conversed in a low voice

with her foster brother, teasing and scolding him about the difficulty

he had made in granting her request, and describing her delight at a

ride through such exquisite scenery on so magnificent a night.

Mariano did not think, and consequently did not understand what he

supposed was a girl's fancy. Accustomed since childhood to yield to

all the wishes of his foster sister, and obey her as a slave, he had

on this occasion done what she desired without trying to account for

such an unusual excursion, so happy did he feel at obliging her. At

the same time, he felt a lively pleasure at accompanying her, and thus

passing a few hours in her company. We must not mistake the feelings

that animated the tigrero for Doña Marianna. He loved his foster sister

with his whole soul, and would have gladly died for her; but this

feeling, lively as it was, had nothing personal or interested about

it; it was merely friendship, but a friendship elevated to the most

complete self-denial and the most entire devotion--in a word, to the

most sublime degree which this feeling can attain in the human heart.

Hence the tigrero, comprehending the responsibility weighing on him,

rode on, as is commonly said, with his beard on his shoulder, carefully

examining the bushes, listening to the desert sounds, and ready, on

the slightest alarm, bravely to defend the girl who had placed herself

under his guard. The country they were traversing, though rather

varied, was not, however, completely wooded: owing to the transparent

brightness of the night, the view extended for a great distance, which

removed all fears of a surprise, and gave a certain security to the

travellers; still, they at times, fancied they saw great shadows moving

on the riverbank, and flying at their approach. The young lady looked

round her curiously, and then asked the tigrero whether they would

soon reach the spot where Stronghand was. Mariano pointed out to her a

gentle eminence forming a bend of the river, on the top of which the

fugitive gleams of an expiring fire could be seen at intervals.

"That is where we are going," he said.

"Then we have only a few minutes' ride, and it is useless to hurry our

horses."

"You are mistaken, niña. Not only is the track we are following very

winding, and will detain us, but, through an optical illusion easy to

be understood, this hill which you fancy so near to us is at least two

leagues distant as the crow flies; so that, taking into account the

windings, the distance is nearly doubled."

"Can we not cut across country, and thus shorten the distance?"

"Heaven forbid, niña! We should get into trembling prairies, in which

we should be swallowed up in a few minutes."

"I trust to you in that case, Mariano; besides, now that, thanks to

that fire, I am certain of meeting the hunter, my anxiety is less

lively, and I will await patiently."

"Permit me to remark, my dear tocaya, that I did not say certainly that

we should find Stronghand at this bivouac."

"What did you tell me, then?"

"Simply that we might hope to meet him here, because it is the spot

where he generally encamps when hunting in these parts."

"Still, as we can perceive the flame of that watch fire--for that is

really a flame, is it not?"

"Certainly; still, we have yet to learn whether this fire has been

kindled by Stronghand or some other hunter. This mound is one of the

most suitable places of encampment, owing to the height of the hill,

which allows the country to be surveyed, and thus avoid a surprise."

"Then probably we shall not find the hunter at the encampment?"

"I do not say that either, niña," Mariano answered, with a laugh.

"But what do you mean?" the young lady said, impatiently patting the

pommel of her saddle with her little hand; "you are really unendurable."

"Do not be angry, tocaya; I may be mistaken. If Stronghand is not here,

perhaps we may find a hunter who will tell us where he is."

"Why not an Indian?"

"Because there are no Indians at that campfire."

"Tocayo, I must really ask this time how you can possibly know that?"

"Very easily, niña; I do not require to be a sorcerer to guess so

simple a thing."

"Do you consider it so simple?"

"Certainly; nothing can be more so."

"In that case I will ask you to explain, for it is always worth while

learning."

"You fancy you are joking, niña; and yet there is always something to

be learned in the desert."

"Good, good, tocayo; I know that; but I am waiting for your

explanation."

"Listen then. This fire, as I told you, is not an Indian fire."

"That is not exactly what you said to me. Go on, however."

"The Indians, when they camp on the white man's border, never light a

fire, for fear of revealing their presence; or if compelled to light

one in order to cook their food, they are most careful to diminish the

flame, in the first place by digging a deep hole in the ground, and

next by only using extremely dry wood, which burns without crackling,

flaming, or producing smoke, and which they carry with them for long

distances, in case they might not find it on their road."

"But, my friend, that fire is scarce visible."

"That is true; but still it is sufficiently so for us to have perceived

it a long distance off, and thus discovered the existence of a bivouac

at this spot which, under present circumstances, would entail the

surprise and consequent death of the imprudent men who lit it, if they

were Indians instead of hunters."

"Excellently reasoned, compañero, and like a man accustomed to a desert

life!" A rough, though good-humoured voice suddenly said, a few yards

from them.

The travellers started and pulled up sharply, while anxiously

investigating the surrounding thickets. Mariano, however, did not lose

his head under these critical circumstances; but with a movement swift

as thought raised his rifle, and covered a man who was standing by the

side of a thicket, with his hands crossed on the muzzle of a long gun.

"Hold, compadre!" the stranger continued, not at all disturbed by the

tigrero's hostile demonstration; "Pay attention to what you are about.

A thousand fiends! Do you know that you run a risk of killing a friend?"

Mariano hesitated for a moment; and then, without raising his rifle,

remarked--

"I fancy I recognise that voice."

"By Jove!" the other said, "It would be a fine joke if you did not."

"Wait a minute; are you not Whistler?"

"All right, you remember now," the Canadian said with a laugh; for the

person was really the hunter whom the reader saw for a moment at the

village of the Papazos.

The tigrero uncocked his rifle, which he threw over his shoulder, and

said to Marianna--"It is a friend."

"Are you quite sure of this man?" she asked in a low, quick voice.

"As of myself."

"Who is he?"

"A Canadian hunter or trapper. He has all the defects of the race, but

at the same time all its qualities."

"I will believe you, for his countrymen are generally regarded as

honest men. Ask him what he was doing on the skirt of the track."

Mariano obeyed.

"I was attending to my business," Whistler replied with a grin; "and

pray what may you be doing, so poorly accompanied at this hour of the

night, when the Indians have taken the field?"

"I am travelling, as you see."

"Yes, but every journey has an object, I suppose."

"It has."

"Well, I do not see what end yours can achieve by continuing in that

direction."

"Still, we are going to do so till we have found the man we are in

search of."

"I will not ask you any questions, although I may perhaps have a right

to do so; still, I fancy you would act more wisely in turning back than

in obstinately going on."

"I am not able to do so."

"Why not?"

"Because I have not the command of the expedition, and I cannot

undertake such a responsibility."

"Ah, who is the chief, then? I only see two persons."

"You seem to forget, señor," Doña Marianna said, joining in the

conversation for the first time, "that one of these two persons is a

female."

"Of course she must command," the trapper answered with a courteous

bow; "pray excuse me, madam."

"I the more willingly do so, because I hope to obtain from you

important information about the object of the journey we have

undertaken, perhaps somewhat too carelessly, in these desolate

regions."

"I shall be too happy to be agreeable to you, my lady, if it be in my

power."

"Permit me, in that case, to ask you a few questions."

"Pray do so."

"I wish to know what the camp is whose watch fires I perceive a short

distance off."

"A hunter's bivouac."

"Only hunters?"

"Yes, they are all white hunters or trappers."

"I thank you, señor. Do you know these men?"

"Very well, considering I am a member of the band." Doña Marianna

hesitated for a moment.

"Forgive me, sir," she continued, "I am in search of a hunter with whom

grave reasons force me to desire an immediate interview; perhaps he is

among your comrades."

"Do you know him personally, madam?"

"Yes, and am under great obligations to him. He is called Stronghand."

The trapper eagerly walked up to the young lady, and attentively

examined her.

"You wish to have an immediate interview with Stronghand?"

"Yes, I repeat, señor, for reasons of the highest importance."

"In case you are Doña Marianna de Moguer."

"What!" she exclaimed, in surprise, "You know my name?"

"That needs not astonish you, madam," he said, with the most exquisite

politeness; "I am the intimate friend of Stronghand. Without entering

into any details that might justly offend you, my friend told me that

you might perchance come and ask for him at our campfire."

"He knew it, then," she murmured, in a trembling voice; "but how did he

learn it?"

Though these words were uttered in a whisper, Whistler heard them.

"He doubtless hoped it would be so, without daring to credit it,

madam," he answered.

"Good heavens!" she continued, "What does this mean?"

"That my friend, in his eager desire to be agreeable to you, and

foreseeing the chance of your coming during his absence, warned me,

in order to spare you a very difficult search, and thus induce you to

grant me a little of that confidence you deign to honour him with."

"I thank you, sir. Now that you know me, would it be taxing your

courtesy too greatly to ask you to guide my companion and myself to

your bivouac?"

"I am at your orders, madam, and believe me that you will receive a

proper reception, even though my friend does not happen to be there at

the moment."

"What!" she said, suddenly checking her horse, "Can he be absent?"

"Yes, but do not let that cause you any anxiety; he will soon return.

"Good heavens!" she murmured, clasping her hands in grief.

"Madam," Whistler again continued, "I understand that the reasons

which urged you to undertake such a journey must be of the utmost

importance; let me, therefore, go on ahead to the camp, and make all

the preparations for your reception."

"But Stronghand, señor?"

"Warned through me, madam, he will be back by daybreak."

"You promise me that, señor."

"On my honour."

"Go, then, and may Heaven requite you for the goodwill and courtesy you

show me."

Whistler bowed respectfully to the young lady, took his rifle under his

arm, and soon disappeared in the forest.

"We can now go on without fear," said Mariano; "I know Whistler to be

an honest, worthy fellow, and he will do what he has promised."

"Heaven grant I may see the man whom I have come so far to meet."

"You will see him, be assured; moreover, all precautions were taken in

the event of your visit."

"Yes," she murmured, pausing; "and it is this which renders me alarmed.

Well, I put my trust in the Virgin."

And flogging her horse, she went on her way, followed by the tigrero,

who, according to his habit, could not at all comprehend this remark,

after the desire the young lady had evinced to see the hunter.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE HUNTER'S CAMP.

It was no great distance to the bivouac, and the travellers reached it

about half an hour after Whistler. Still, though this period was so

short, the worthy Canadian had profited by it to erect for the young

lady, who thanked him by a smile, a jacal of branches, under which she

found a shelter as comfortable as desert life permits. The hunters'

camp had a military look, which greatly perplexed Doña Marianna. Strong

wooden palisades defended all the approaches; the horses, which were

ready saddled, were fastened to pickets; several watch fires, lighted

at regular distances, sufficiently illumined the plain to prevent

the approach of an enemy, whether man or beast; and four sentinels,

standing rifle in hand on the entrenchments, followed with a vigilant

eye the slightest undulations of the lofty pass. Some thirty men,

with harsh and irregular features, clothed after the fashion of wood

rangers, in fur caps, cotton shirts, and leather calzoneras, were lying

in front of the fires, rifle in hand, in order to be ready for the

first alarm.

Orders had probably been given beforehand by Whistler, for the

sentinels allowed the two travellers to pass unquestioned through a

breach in the entrenchments, which was immediately closed after them

again. The Canadian was awaiting them in front of the jacal; he helped

Doña Marianna to dismount, and the horses were led to join the others,

and supplied with a copious meal of alfalfa.

"You are welcome among us, señora," he said with a respectful bow;

"in this jacal, which no one will enter save yourself, there is a

bed of skins, on which you can take a few hours' rest while awaiting

Stronghand's arrival."

"I thank you, señor, for this graceful attention, by which I cannot

profit, however, till you have reiterated your promise."

"Señorita, two horsemen have already set out to fetch Stronghand, but I

repeat, that he cannot be here for some hours; now, if you will accept

the humble refreshment prepared for you--"

"I only require rest, señor; still I am not the less obliged to you for

your offer. With your permission, I will retire."

"You are the mistress here, madam."

The young lady smiled, pressed her foster brother's hand, and entered

the jacal. So soon as Doña Marianna had let fall after her the blanket

which formed the doorway, the tigrero quietly removed his zarapé from

his shoulders, and laid it on the ground.

"What is that for, comrade?" Whistler asked, astonished at the

performance.

"You see, compadre, I am making my bed."

"Do you mean to sleep there?"

"Why not?"

"As you please; still, you will be cold, that is all."

"Nonsense! A night is soon spent, especially when so far advanced as

this one is."

"I trust that you do not doubt us."

"No, Whistler, no; but Doña Marianna is my foster sister, and I am

bound to watch over her."

"That care concerns me at the moment; so do not be at all alarmed."

"Two sentries are better than one; besides, you know me, do you not?

Although I place the utmost confidence in you, I will not surrender

the guardianship of my tocaya to another man; that is my idea, whether

right or wrong, and I shall not give it up."

"As you please," the trapper said, with a laugh.

And he left him at liberty to make his arrangements as he pleased. The

tigrero, though he knew most of the hunters, or, perhaps, because he

knew them, did not wish to leave his foster sister unprotected among

these reckless men, who, accustomed to the utter license of a desert

life, might, under the influence of strong liquors, forget the sacred

duties of hospitality, and insult Doña Marianna. In this the young man,

in spite of his desert experience, was completely mistaken.

We have no intention to attempt the rehabilitation of these men, who,

generally endowed with evil instincts, and who do not wish to yield to

the demands of civilization, retire into the desert in order to live as

they like, and seek liberty in license; still, we will mention in their

honour, that a nomadic life, after a certain lapse of time, completely

modifies their character, curbs their passions, and so subjects them

that they gradually become purified by constant danger and privations,

by getting rid of all that was bad in them, and retaining beneath their

rough bark and coarse manners principles of honesty and devotion of

which they would have been considered incapable at an earlier period.

What we say here is scrupulously true of about two-thirds at least of

the bold pioneers who traverse in all directions the vast savannahs of

the New World; the others are incorrigible, and within a given time

end by becoming real bandits, and carry their contingent of crime to

those formidable bands of pirates of the prairies, who ambush like

hideous birds of prey to await the passage of caravans, and plunder and

massacre the travellers.

But, whether good or bad, the dwellers on the prairie--no matter if

whites, half-breeds, or Redskins, trappers, pirates, or Indians--have

one virtue in common, and whose duties they carry out with remarkable

punctuality and generosity, and that is hospitality. A traveller

surprised by night, and wearied by a long journey, may, if he see a

campfire in the huts of an Indian village, present himself without

fear, and claim hospitality. From that moment he is sacred to the men

he applies to, no matter if they be Indians, bravos, hunters, or even

pirates. These individuals, who would not have scrupled to assassinate

him by the side of a ditch, treat him like a brother, show him the most

delicate attentions, and will never make any insulting allusions to

the length of his stay among them; on the contrary, he is at liberty

to remain as long as he pleases, and when he takes leave his hosts say

good-bye regretfully. At the same time it is true that, if they meet

him a week after in the forest, they will kill him without mercy to

raise his hair and take his weapons; but this need only be apprehended

with the pirates and some Indian tribes of the far west. As for the

hunters, when a stranger has once slept by their side and shared their

food, he is for ever sacred to them.

The tigrero, therefore, was completely mistaken when he feared lest

Doña Marianna might be insulted by these men, who, although coarse,

were honest and loyal in the main; and who, flattered by the confidence

this lovely, innocent girl placed in them, would, on the contrary, have

gladly defended her had it been necessary.

Whistler went off with a laugh, and lay down by the side of his

comrades. As we have already said, the night was far advanced when Doña

Marianna and her travelling companion reached the camp of the hunters;

a few hours at the most separated them from sunrise: and the young

lady, who at first resolved to spend these hours awake, overcome by

fatigue, had yielded to sleep, and enjoyed a calm and refreshing rest.

So soon as day began to appear, Doña Marianna repaired as well as she

could the disorder produced in her dress by her lengthened journey,

rose and went to the door of the jacal. The camp was still plunged in

the deepest silence: with the exceptions of the sentries still on the

watch, the hunters were fast asleep.

The dawn was just breaking, and striping the horizon with wide

vermillion bands; the sharp and rather cold morning breeze rustled

softly through the branches; the flowers that enamelled the prairie

raised themselves, and expanded the corollas to receive the first

sunbeams; the numberless streams, whose silvery waters made their way

through the tall grass, murmured over the white and grey pebbles as

they bore their tribute to the Rio Bravo del Norte, whose capricious

windings could be guessed in the distance, owing to the thick cloud

of vapour that constantly rose from it and brooded over its bed.

The birds, still hidden beneath the foliage, were timidly preluding

their harmonious concert; the glad earth, the bright sky, the serene

atmosphere, the pure light--all, in a word, revealed that the day

which had now entirely appeared was about to be tranquil and lovely.