FELIPE’S VISITOR.
“Well, Pepe, what is it?” a little impatiently asked Felipe Canelo, as a
_vaquero_ paused at the entrance of the little arbor within which he was
seated with Luisa.
“_Un papelaio, mi amo_,” respectfully answered Pepe, as he presented a
folded note to the young man, and then resumed his former position as it
was being perused.
Luisa’s eyes were fixed upon her brother’s face, and the change in it
was so sudden and strange, that she could not suppress an exclamation of
alarm. His face blanched to an ashen white, and his form shook as though
he had an ague-fit, while there was a wild, half-crazed glare in his
eyes, that frightened her, she scarce knew why. But the sound of her
voice recalled Felipe to his senses, and with an effort he regained his
composure sufficiently to speak coherently.
“It is nothing, Luisa, darling. It is from an old friend that I thought
was dead, and the unexpected sight of his name shocked me; that is all,”
he muttered, as stooping, he pressed a kiss upon her cheek. “But, Pepe,
where is the gentleman who gave you this; I must see him,” he added, as
he saw that the _vaquero_ still stood at the door.
“He awaits you at the first clump of _magueys_ on the _arroyo maduro_,
_senor_, just below the ford. I met him there and he asked me to give
you _el papelaio_. But pardon, master, shall I not go with you? He is a
wild, rough-looking person, more like a _salteador_ than an honest man,”
urged the _vaquero_.
“No, Pepe; he means no mischief, and even if he did, it is not one man
who would get the better of me,” laughed Felipe, but it was in a
constrained manner. “Go now, and saddle Peralta, and fasten him at the
gate. I will be there in five minutes. Come, Luisa, let us return to the
house,” he added, taking her arm and leaving the arbor.
“Felipe—brother, do not go to that man. I know that something dreadful
will happen if you do,” pleaded Luisa.
“But I _must_ go, or he would come here, and—”
“But that would be better; then where there were so many around, he
would not harm you,” interrupted the maiden, eagerly.
“Not for the world would—I mean it would not be pleasant, sister; at
least, just at present,” stammered Felipe. “And there is no danger.
Besides, I shall go armed. So say no more about it, and when I come back
we will laugh heartily over your foolish fancies,” he added, lightly.
Luisa said no more, for she saw that he was determined to go, and in a
few moments he was in the saddle, well armed, and galloping swiftly
toward the point designated. As he rode up, he uttered the shrill,
thrilling whistle of the red-tailed hawk, and in a few moments the
signal was answered from the grove of _moquet_, and a horseman rode from
out among the underbrush that surrounded the tall plants.
He was a tall, stalwart man, with features regular enough, but upon them
was the brand of crime and fearful passion. Pepe, the _vaquero_, had
spoken truly when he described the stranger as a “wild, rough-looking
man.” He was such a man as one would instinctively shun if in a lone
place, and feel more at ease when he was out of sight.
The two men, so dissimilar in appearance, were soon deeply engaged in
consultation, and did not notice that there was an intruder near them,
and one, too, that was listening eagerly to their every word, his
countenance betraying the intense interest it occasioned him. He was
concealed behind a dense stunted bush, or rather _in_ a little clump,
not more than a score of feet distant, with his eye at one opening and
ear at another, carefully parting the leaves with his hands, so as to
hear everything, while the slightly-fluttering leaves fully screened his
face from view.
That it was a secret topic they were discussing was plainly evidenced by
the continual glances that were cast around them, as if to guard against
espial or interruption, but they were directed beyond where the spy was
crouched. Perhaps an hour afterward the two men separated, Felipe riding
homeward slowly, the stranger galloping rapidly off toward Guanajuato.
When they moved out of sight the spy arose, and looking toward the point
where the latter had disappeared, clenched his fist and shook it
vindictively, hissing between his closed teeth as he did so.
“Beware, Senor Don Lopez Romulo. I know you now, and your precious
secret! And I will foil you, so sure as the sun shines; yes, and test my
_cuchillo_ on your ribs before many days. _Santissima Virgin!_ can it be
true?” he added, in a changed voice, as he sat down again, and resting
his head upon his hand, sunk into a deep fit of musing that lasted until
the sun had set.
“Yes, that will do, I think. At least I will try. But Don Felipe?
_Sangre de Christo!_ it must be so; else they would not have been so
cautious. Poor Senora Canelo!” he muttered, as he strode rapidly toward
the _hacienda_, taking a roundabout course, so as to enter it upon the
opposite side from that whence Felipe had ridden.
It was at an early hour of the night of the succeeding day to that on
which Felipe had met his strange visitor, that this same man, or Lopez
Romulo as the spy had termed him, entered a low, fifth-rate _cabaret_
near the suburbs of Guanajuato. His soft, felt hat was slouched over his
eyes, and the muffling folds of his coarse woolen _bayeta_ shrouded the
lower portion of his face, only leaving a narrow aperture, from which
gleamed a large black eye. After a quick glance around the room, he
dropped his cloak, and spoke to the _patrone_.
“Senor Don Sanchez, if a _cavallero_ asks for me by the name you know,
be so kind as to direct him to my table. Stop. Have you any acquaintance
with Don Sylva Cohecho?”
“Carajo! yes; more than I could wish. He owes me for two nights’
drinking, and what a head he has got, to be sure! He said you would see
me paid.”
“Very good. Include it with my bill. Send a bottle of wine and some
cigarettes—not like the bundle you gave me the other day, or I will ram
them down my pistol and use your head for a target.”
“I comprehend your excellency,” grinned the _patrone_, significantly.
“You were a stranger then, and I did not expect to see you again. It was
all in the way of business, you see. But no offense, I trust?”
“None. You rob the traveler in one way, I in another; ha, ha!” laughed
Romulo, as he passed to the further end of the vacant room, where he
seated himself at a small table.
The host, when he brought the ordered articles, removed the two nearest
stands to a distance, so that any thing said in a moderate tone by Lopez
or his expected friend could not be overheard. After the elapse of an
hour, perhaps, half of the tables were occupied, and then Sylva Cohecho,
the repulsive-looking scoundrel who had betrayed Marcos Sayosa and his
comrades of the Scarlet Shoulders to the _Melladios_, entered, and was
directed to where Romulo was sitting. He was greeted with a careless,
half-contemptuous nod by the latter, who did not deign to move the
cigarette from between his lips.
“You wished to see me, _’nor capitan_?”
“On business, yes; for pleasure, no,” returned Lopez, not noting the
flash of anger that shot from beneath the shaggy, pent-house eyebrows of
his comrade. “I have work for you to do, of that kind which pleases you
the most. There is a certain man that I wish put out of the way; a blow
of the _cuchillo_ will do. And the sooner it is done the greater will be
your pay. He has deeply insulted me, and as it was at a place and time
that I could not resent it then, I ask you. But that matters not. When
you have done this, we will be ready to begin the business that brought
us here.”
“And the person’s name is—?”
“One Marcos Sayosa, a miner of Los Rayas, and, I have heard, the chief
of those who call themselves Scarlet Shoulders,” returned the captain.
“Good, and at the same time I can discharge the little sum he owes me!”
exclaimed Cohecho, clutching his long knife vindictively.
“Ah, you know him, then?”
For reply Don Sylva narrated the adventures of the night on which he had
played the spy.
“Your headstrong folly will ruin both yourself and my plans, yet; not
that the first would matter much, because the sooner the _zopilates_
feed upon your hideous carcass the better; but until this affair is
over, remember your life belongs to _me_, and you must keep as much in
the dark as possible. Supposing some of those miners should meet you
again—for they will not soon forget such a marvel of grace and beauty as
you are—their first greeting would be either a stab or a pistol bullet,”
angrily muttered Lopez, as he refilled his glass.
“_Carrai!_ but that’s a two-handed game,” returned Cohecho. “And they
have all returned to work at the mines, so there is no danger of that.
But about this Sayosa?”
“You will receive five hundred _pesos_, if you bring me satisfactory
proof that he is dead; but beware how you act. If you try to deceive me,
I wear a knife that has stilled the breath of better men than you, and
perhaps you know my hand never misses its aim,” answered Romulo,
significantly.
“_Voto al demonios,’nor capitan_, where is the need of threats? Have I
ever played you false?”
“Not to my knowledge. If you had, you would not be sitting here now.”
“He is your enemy, and mine also. I shall claim the money within the
week, perhaps before another night. But the other—”
“Is an altogether different affair. You will be paid for it, as I told
you, just as soon as the work is done.”
“_Carambo_, it is beautiful!” murmured the ruffian, in a joyful tone.
“After this I shall set up a _monte_ bank, and roll in gold—the sweet,
darling gold!”
“Yes; after, but not yet. Do not let your _chiripe_ turn your brain or
steal away the little sense you have got,” sneered Don Lopez, as he
lighted another cigarette.
“Pardon, _’nor capitan_, I was dreaming. But did you see this Don Felipe
Canelo?” returned Cohecho.
“_Mil diablos, zarayote_, why do you speak that name?” exclaimed Lopez,
ferociously. “What do you know about him?”
“Nothing—nothing at all,” drawing a little back from the table, as if in
expectation of an attack. “I only thought—”
“_Carrai!_” hissed Romulo. “You have no right to think of any thing or
in any way but as I bid you. And the better you obey me in this, the
longer will be your life. _Por to dos santos_” (by all the saints), “if
I hear that name from your thick lips, or hear your tongue even hint at
it, I will tear it out by the roots and feed it to the _coyotes_.”
“I hear you, _’nor_ Romulo, and will heed your _hint_.”
“See that you do. I never warn twice.”
“Have you any further orders?”
“None; except that you be here to-morrow night, to report progress in
the first affair. Then you can attend to this miner, Sayosa.”
“_Muy bueno!_ But, _’nor capitan_, I must have some money. I spent the
last _ocharo_ to-night,” hinted Sylva.
“_Voto a brios, picaro_, do you think I am a gold mine?” fumed the
choleric Lopez. “Here, take this, and be a little less free in your
riotings,” at the same time shoving six golden _onzas_ over to the
other, who eagerly clutched them, saying, as he slipped them, one by
one, into his pocket:
“You wrong me, master. Remember, there are many little bribes to give
that I can not avoid, and—”
“To say nothing of the _Chinas_,” interrupted Lopez, as he arose from
the table. “But remember; be diligent, and meet me here at this hour
to-morrow night,” and he turned away, without a look of recognition for
the obsequious bow of the unabashed ruffian, who then resumed his seat
with an air of relief, darting a venomous glance after his master, and
refilling his glass.
“Yes, you may strut and put on airs for a while longer, you cursed dog,
but only for a little while. Let me once receive my gold, and then—I
will give you a receipt in full! Oh, won’t it be delicious when I am
free, and settle your curses and your jeers with the knife? When I
strike you to the heart, and then, as you gasp out your life at my feet,
I will do as you have threatened me—pluck out your tongue and thrust it
down your throat! I could die then, perfectly happy. No, not die; oh,
no! I shall be rich then, and with the gold you give me, I will double
and double it, until I can count it by thousands of ounces! No, no, not
die; life would be too sweet then, and I will live for years—years of
pleasure and feasting. Oh, the gold, and wine, and women! for them I
will live—live forever!” murmured the hideous ruffian, as he drank
repeatedly from the bottles before him, lost to the present, busied only
with gorgeous images of the future.