FRAY AMBROSIO.
The monk remained for a long time in the room of the mesón, taking down
the names of the adventurers he wished to enrol in his band. It was late
when he left it to return to the Hacienda de la Noria; but he was
satisfied with his night's work, and internally rejoiced at the rich
collection of bandits of the purest water he had recruited.
The monks form a privileged caste in Mexico: they can go at all hours of
the night wherever they please without fearing the numerous "gentlemen
of the road," scattered about the highways. Their gown inspires a
respect which guarantees them from any insult, and preserves them better
than anything from unpleasant rencontres. Besides, Fray Ambrosio, as the
reader has doubtless already perceived, was not the man to neglect
indispensable precautions in a country where, out of ten persons you
meet on your road, you may boldly assert that nine are rogues, the tenth
alone offering any doubts. The worthy chaplain carried under his gown a
pair of double-barrelled pistols, and in his right sleeve he concealed a
long _navaja_, sharp as a razor, and pointed as a needle.
Not troubling himself about the solitude that reigned around him, the
monk mounted his mule and proceeded quietly to the hacienda. It was
about eleven o'clock.
A few words about Fray Ambrosio, while he is peacefully ambling along
the narrow path which will lead him in two hours to his destination,
will show all the perversity of the man who is destined to play an
unfortunately too important part in the course of our narrative.
One day a gambusino, or gold seeker, who had disappeared for two years,
no one knowing what had become of him, and who was supposed to be dead
long ago, assassinated in the desert by the Indians, suddenly reappeared
at the Paso del Norte. This man, Joaquin by name, was brother to Andrés
Garote, an adventurer of the worst stamp, who had at least a dozen
_cuchilladas_ (knife stabs) on his conscience, whom everybody feared,
but who, through the terror he inspired, enjoyed at the Paso, in spite
of his well-avouched crimes, a reputation and species of impunity which
he abused whenever the opportunity offered.
The two brothers began frequenting together the mesones and ventas of
the village, drinking from morn till night, and paying either in gold
dust enclosed in stout quills, or in lumps of native gold. The rumour
soon spread at Paso that Joaquin had discovered a rich placer, and that
his expenses were paid with the specimens he had brought back. The
gambusino replied neither yes nor no to the several insinuations which
his friends, or rather his boon companions, attempted on him. He
twinkled his eyes, smiled mysteriously, and if it were observed that, at
the rate he was living at, he would soon be ruined, he shrugged his
shoulders, saying:--
"When I have none left I know where to find others."
And he continued to enjoy his fill of all the pleasures which a wretched
hole like Paso can furnish.
Fray Ambrosio had heard speak, like everyone else, of the gambusino's
asserted discovery; and his plan was at once formed to become master of
this man's secret, and rob him of his discovery, were that possible.
The same evening Joaquin and his brother Andrés were drinking, according
to their wont, in a mesón, surrounded by a crowd of scamps like
themselves. Fray Ambrosio, seated at a table with his hands hidden in
the sleeves of his gown, and hanging head, appeared plunged in serious
reflections, although he followed with a cunning eye the various
movements of the drinkers, and not one of their gestures escaped him.
Suddenly a man entered, with his hand on his hip, and throwing in the
face of the first person he passed the cigarette he was smoking. He
planted himself in front of Joaquin, to whom he said nothing, but began
looking at him impudently, shrugging his shoulders, and laughing
ironically at all the gambusino said. Joaquin was not patient, he saw at
the first glance that this person wished to pick a quarrel with him; and
as he was brave, and feared nobody, man or devil, he walked boldly up to
him, and looking at him fixedly in his turn, he said to him, as he
thrust his face in his:
"Do you seek a quarrel, Tomaso?"
"Why not?" the latter said impudently, as he set his glass on the table.
"I am your man. We will fight how you please."
"Bah!" Tomaso said carelessly, "let us do things properly, and fight
with the whole blade."
"Be it so."
The combats which take place between the adventurers are truly like
those of wild beasts. These coarse men, with their cruel instincts, like
fighting beyond all else, for the smell of blood intoxicates them. The
announcement of this duel caused a thrill of pleasure to run through the
ranks of the leperos and bandits who pressed round the two men. The fun
was perfect: one of the adversaries would doubtless fall--perhaps
both--and blood flow in streams. Cries and yells of delight were raised
by the spectators.
The duel with knives is the only one that exists in Mexico, and is
solely left to the leperos and people of the lowest classes. This duel
has its rules, which cannot be broken under any pretext. The knives
usually employed, have blades from fourteen to sixteen inches in length,
and the duelists fight according to the gravity of the insult, with one,
two, three, six inches, or the entire blade. The inches are carefully
measured and the hand clutches the knife at the marked spot.
This time it was a duel with the whole blade, the most terrible of all.
With extraordinary politeness and coolness the landlord had a large ring
formed in the middle of the room, where the two adversaries stationed
themselves, about six paces from each other at the most.
A deep silence hung over the room, a moment previously so full of life
and disturbance; every one anxiously awaited the _dénouement_ of the
terrible drama that was preparing. Fray Ambrosio alone had not quitted
his seat or made a sign.
The two men rolled their zarapés round their left arm, planted
themselves firmly on their outstretched legs, bent their bodies slightly
forward and gently placing the point of the knife blade on the arm
rounded in front of the chest, they waited, fixed on each other flashing
glances. A few seconds elapsed, during which the adversaries remained
perfectly motionless: all hearts were contracted, all bosoms heaving.
Worthy of Callot's pencil was the scene offered by these men, with their
weather-stained faces and harsh features, and their clothes in rags,
forming a circle round two combatants ready to kill each other in this
mean room, slightly illumined by a smoky lamp, which flashed upon the
blue blades of the knives, and in the shadow, almost disappearing in his
black gown, the monk, with his implacable glance and mocking smile, who,
like a tiger thirsting for blood, awaited the hour to pounce on his
prey.
Suddenly, by a spontaneous movement rapid as lightning, the adversaries
rushed on each other, uttering a yell of fury. The blades flashed, there
was a clashing of steel, and both fell back again. Joaquin and Tomaso
had both dealt the same stroke, called, in the slang of the country, the
"blow of the brave man." Each had his face slashed from top to bottom
with a gaping wound.
The spectators frenziedly applauded this magnificent opening scene: the
jaguars had scented blood, and were mad.
"What a glorious fight!" they exclaimed with admiration.
In the meanwhile the two combatants, rendered hideous by the blood that
streamed from their wounds and stained their faces, were again watching
for the moment to leap on one another. Suddenly they broke ground; but
this time it was no skirmish, but the real fight, atrocious and
merciless. The two men seized each other round the waist, and entwined
like serpents, they twisted about, trying to stab each other, and
exciting themselves to the struggle by cries of rage and triumph. The
enthusiasm of the spectators was at its height: they laughed, clapped
hands, and uttered inarticulate howls as they urged the fighters not to
loose their hold.
At length the enemies rolled on the ground still enclasped. For some
seconds the combat continued on the ground, and it was impossible to
distinguish who was the conqueror. All at once one of them, who no
longer had a human form, and whose body was as red as an Indian's,
bounded to his feet brandishing his knife. It was Joaquin.
His brother rushed toward him to congratulate him on his victory, but
all at once the gambusino tottered and fainted. Tomaso did not rise
again: he remained motionless, stretched out on the uneven floor of the
mesón. He was stark dead.
This scene had been so rapid, its conclusion so unforeseen, that, in
spite of themselves, the spectators had remained dumb, and as if struck
with stupor. Suddenly the priest, whom all had forgotten, rose and
walked into the centre of the room, looking round with a glance that
caused all to let their eyes fall.
"Retire, all of you," he said in a gloomy voice, "now that you have
allowed this deed worthy of savages to be accomplished. The priest must
offer his ministry, and get back from Satan, if there be still time, the
soul of this Christian who is about to die. Begone!"
The adventurers hung their heads, and in a few moments the priest was
left alone with the two men, one of whom was dead, the other at the last
gasp. No one could say what occurred in that room; but when the priest
left it, a quarter of an hour later, his eyes flashed wildly. Joaquin
had given his parting sigh. On opening the door to go out Fray Ambrosio
jostled against a man, who drew back sharply to make room for him. It
was Andrés Garote. What was he doing with his eye at the keyhole while
the monk was shriving his brother?
The adventurer told no one what he had seen during this last quarter of
an hour, nor did the monk notice in the shade the man he had almost
thrown down.
Such was the way in which Fray Ambrosio became master of the gambusino's
secret, and how he alone knew at present the spot where the placer was.