THE ASSASSINATION.
"Listen to me, Don Miguel," Red Cedar said, "and pray do not mistake my
meaning. I have not the slightest intention of intimidating you, nor do
I think of attempting to gain your confidence by revelations which you
may fairly assume I have accidentally acquired."
The hacendero regarded with amazement the speaker, whose tone and
manner had so suddenly changed.
"I do not understand you," he said to him. "Explain yourself more
clearly, for the words you have just uttered are an enigma, the key to
which I seek in vain."
"You shall be satisfied, caballero; and if you do not catch the meaning
of my words this time it must be because you will not. Like all
intelligent men, you are wearied of the incessant struggles in which the
vital strength of your country is exhausted unprofitably. You have seen
that a land so rich, so fertile, so gloriously endowed as Mexico, could
not--I should say ought not--to remain longer the plaything of paltry
ambitions, and the arena on which all these transitory tyrannies sport
in turn. For nearly thirty years you have dreamed of emancipation, not
of your entire country, for that would be too rude a task, and
unrealisable; but you said to yourself, 'Let us render New Mexico
independent; form it into a new State, governed by wise laws rigorously
executed. By liberal institutions let us give an impetus to all the
riches with which it is choked, give intellect all the liberty it
requires, and perhaps within a few years the entire Mexican
Confederation, amazed by the magnificent results I shall obtain, will
follow my example. Then I shall die happy at what I have effected--my
object will be carried out. I shall have saved my country from the abyss
over which it hangs, through the double pressure of the invasion of the
American Union and the exhaustion of the Spanish race.' Are not those
ideas yours, caballero? Do you consider that I have explained myself
clearly this time?"
"Perhaps so, though I do not yet see distinctly the point you wish to
reach. The thoughts you attribute to me are such as naturally occur to
all men who sincerely love their country, and I will not pretend that I
have not entertained them."
"You would be wrong in doing so, for they are great and noble, and
breathe the purest patriotism."
"A truce to compliments, and let us come to the point, for time
presses."
"Patience: I have not yet ended. These ideas must occur to you sooner
than to another, as you are the descendant of the first Aztec kings, and
born defender of the Indians in this hapless country. You see that I am
well acquainted with you, Don Miguel Zarate."
"Too well, perhaps," the Mexican gentleman muttered.
The squatter smiled and went on:--
"It is not chance that led me to this country. I knew what I was doing,
and why I came. Don Miguel, the hour is a solemn one. All your
preparations are made: will you hesitate to give New Mexico the signal
which must render it independent of the metropolis which has so long
been fattening at its expense? Answer me."
Don Miguel started. He fixed on the squatter a burning glance, in which
admiration at the man's language could be read. Red Cedar shrugged his
shoulders.
"What! You still doubt?" he said.
He rose, went to a box from which he took some papers, and threw them on
the table before the hacendero, saying,--
"Read."
Don Miguel hurriedly seized the papers, and ran his eye over them.
"Well?" he asked, looking fixedly at the strange speaker.
"You see," the squatter answered, "that I am your accomplice. General
Ibañez, your agent in Mexico, is in correspondence with me, as is Mr.
Wood, your agent at New York."
"It is true," the Mexican said coldly, "you have the secret of the
conspiracy. The only point left is to what extent that goes."
"I possess it entirely. I have orders to enlist the volunteers who will
form the nucleus of the insurrectionary army."
"Good!"
"Now, you see, by these letters of General Ibañez and Mr. Wood, that I
am commissioned by them to come to an understanding with you, and
receive your final orders."
"I see it."
"What do you purpose doing?"
"Nothing."
"What, nothing!" the squatter exclaimed, bounding with surprise. "You
are jesting, I suppose."
"Listen to me in your turn, and pay attention to my words, for they
express my irrevocable resolution. I know not nor care to know, by what
means, more or less honourable, you have succeeded in gaining the
confidence of my partners, and becoming master of our secrets. Still it
is my firm conviction that a cause which employs such men as yourself is
compromised, if not lost; hence I renounce every combination in which
you are called to play a part. Your antecedents, and the life you lead,
have placed you without the pale of the law."
"I am a bandit--out with it! What matter so long as you succeed? Does
not the end justify the means?"
"That may be your morality, but it will never be mine. I repudiate all
community of ideas with men of your stamp. I will not have you either as
accomplice or partner."
The squatter darted a look at him laden with hatred and disappointment.
"In serving us," Don Miguel continued, "you can only have an interested
object, which I will not take the trouble of guessing at. An
Anglo-American will never frankly aid a Mexican to conquer his liberty;
he would lose too much by doing it."
"Then?"
"I renounce forever the projects I had formed. I had, I grant, dreamed
of restoring to my country the independence of which it was unjustly
stripped: but it shall remain a dream."
"That is your last word?"
"The last."
"You refuse?"
"I do."
"Good; then I now know what is left me to do."
"Well, what is it? Let me hear," the hacendero said, as he crossed his
arms on his breast, and looked him boldly in the face.
"I will tell you."
"I am waiting for you to do so."
"I hold your secret."
"Entirely?"
"Hence you are in my power."
"Perhaps."
"Who will prevent me going to the Governor of the State and denouncing
you?"
"He will not believe you."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it."
"Perhaps, I will say in my turn."
"Why so?"
"Oh! you shall easily see."
"I am curious to learn it."
"However rich you may be, Don Miguel Zarate, and perhaps because of
those very riches, and in spite of the kindness you sow broadcast, the
number of your enemies is very considerable."
"I know it."
"Very good. Those enemies will joyfully seize the first opportunity that
presents itself to destroy you."
"It is probable."
"You see, then. When I go to the governor and tell him you are
conspiring, and, in support of my denunciation, hand him not only these
letters, but, several others written and signed by you, lying in that
chest, do you believe that the governor will treat me as an impostor,
and refuse to arrest you?"
"Then you have letters in my hand-writing?"
"I have three, which will be enough to have you shot."
"Ah!"
"Yes. Hang it all! you understand: that, in an affair so important as
this, it is wise to take one's precautions, for no one knows what may
happen; and men of my stamp," he added, with an ironical smile, "have
more reasons than others for being prudent."
"Come, that is well played," the hacendero said, carelessly.
"Is it not?"
"Yes, and I compliment you on it: you are a better player than I gave
you credit for."
"Oh! You do not know me yet."
"The little I do know suffices me."
"Then?"
"We will remain as we are, if you will permit me."
"You still refuse?"
"More than ever."
The squatter frowned.
"Take care, Don Miguel," he muttered, hoarsely. "I will do what I told
you."
"Yes, if I allow you time."
"Eh?"
"_Caspita!_ If you are a clever scamp, I am not altogether a fool. Do
you believe, in your turn, that I will let myself be intimidated by your
threats, and that I should not find means to keep you from acting, not
for my own sake, as I care little personally for what you can do, but
for my friends, who are men of honour, and whose lives I do not wish to
be compromised by your treachery?"
"I am curious to know the means you will employ to obtain this result."
"You shall see," Don Miguel replied with perfect coolness.
"Well?"
"I shall kill you."
"Oh, oh!" the squatter said, as he looked complacently at his muscular
limbs, "That is not easy."
"More so than you suppose, my master."
"Hum! and when do you reckon on killing me?"
"At once!"
The two men were seated in front of the hearth, each at the end of a
bench: the table was between them, but a little back, so that while
talking they only leaned an elbow on it. While uttering the last word,
Don Miguel bounded like a tiger on the squatter, who did not at all
expect the attack, seized him by the throat, and hurled him to the
ground. The two enemies rolled on the uneven flooring of the jacal.
The Mexican's attack had been so sudden and well directed that the
half-strangled squatter, in spite of his Herculean strength, could not
free himself from his enemy's iron clutch, which pressed his throat like
a vice. Red Cedar could neither utter a cry nor offer the slightest
resistance: the Mexican's knee crushed his chest, while his fingers
pressed into his throat.
So soon as he had reduced the wretch to utter impotence, Don Miguel drew
from his vaquera boot a long sharp knife, and buried the entire blade in
his body. The bandit writhed convulsively for a few seconds; a livid
pallor suffused his face; his eyes closed, and he then remained
motionless. Don Miguel left the weapon in the wound, and slowly rose.
"Ah, ah!" he muttered as he gazed at him with a sardonic air, "I fancy
that rogue will not denounce me now."
Without loss of time he seized the letters lying on the table, took from
the box the few documents he found in it, hid them all in his bosom,
opened the door of the cabin, which he carefully closed after him, and
went off with long strides.
The squatter's sons had not quitted their post; but, so soon as they
perceived the Mexican, they went up to him.
"Well," Shaw asked him, "have you come to an understanding with the old
man?"
"Perfectly so," the Mexican answered.
"Then the affair is settled?"
"Yes, to our mutual satisfaction."
"All the better," the young men exclaimed joyously.
The hacendero unfastened his horse and mounted.
"Good-bye, gentlemen!" he said to them.
"Good-bye!" they replied, returning his bow.
The Mexican put his horse to a trot, but at the first turn in the road
he dug his spurs into its flanks, and started at full speed.
"Now," Sutter observed, "I believe that we can proceed to the cabin
without inconvenience."
And they gently walked toward the jacal, pleasantly conversing together.
Don Miguel, however, had not succeeded so fully as he imagined. Red
Cedar was not dead, for the old bandit kept a firm hold on life.
Attacked unawares, the squatter had not attempted a resistance, which he
saw at the first glance was useless, and would only have exasperated his
adversary. With marvellous sagacity, on feeling the knife blade enter
his body, he stiffened himself against the pain, and resolved on
"playing 'possum;" that is to say, feigning death. The success of his
stratagem was complete. Don Miguel, persuaded that he had killed him,
did not dream of repeating his thrust.
So long as his enemy remained in the jacal the squatter was careful not
to make the slightest movement that might have betrayed him; but, so
soon as he was alone, he opened his eyes, rose with an effort, drew the
dagger from the wound, which emitted a jet of black blood, and looking
at the door, through which his assassin had departed, with a glance so
full of hatred that it is impossible to describe, he muttered,--
"Now we are quits, Don Miguel Zarate, since you have tried to take back
the life of him you saved. Pray God never to bring us face to face
again!"
He uttered a deep sigh, and rolled heavily on the ground in a fainting
fit. At this moment his sons entered the cabin.