II.

Meanwhile, the moon had risen and was flooding the broad roofs and

various courts of the great buildings with a silvery brilliancy, which

contrasted sharply with the inky shadows cast by moving creatures or

solid wall or massive column. While it was early in the evening, the

sound of voices was heard, mingling later with the monotonous minor

tones of those half-playful, half-pathetic airs so dear to the ear and

heart of the Mexican peasantry; but as night approached, silence

gradually fell upon the scene, broken only by the mutter or snore of

some heavy sleeper, or the stamping of the horses and mules in their

stalls.

The new-comer Juan Planillos, who had joined readily in jest and

song,—though his wit was scarce bright enough, it seemed, to attract

attention to the speaker (while absolute silence certainly would have

done so),—at length, following the example of those around him, sought

the shaded side of the corridor, and wrapping himself in his striped

blanket lay down a little apart from the others, and was soon fast

asleep.

Men who are accustomed to rise before or with the dawn sleep heavily,

seldom stirring in that deep lethargy which at midnight falls like a

spell on weary man and beast; yet it was precisely at that hour that

Juan Planillos, like a man who had composed himself to sleep with a

definite purpose to arise at a specified time, uncovered his face,

raised himself on his elbow, and glancing first at the sky (reading the

position of the moon and stars), threw then a keen glance at the

prostrate figures around him. The very dogs—of which, lean and mongrel

curs, there were many—like the men, fearing the malefic influences of

the rays of the moon, had retired under benches, and into the farthest

corners, and upon every living creature profound oblivion had fallen.

It was some minutes before Planillos could thoroughly satisfy himself on

this point, but that accomplished, he rose to his feet, leaving the

sandals that he had worn upon the brick floor, and with extreme care

pushing open the door near which he had taken the precaution to station

himself, passed into the first and larger court, which he had entered

upon reaching the hacienda. As he had evidently expected, he found this

court entirely deserted, although in the vaulted archway at the farther

side he divined that the gate-keeper lay upon his sheepskin in the

little alcove beside the great door, of which he was the guardian.

As he stepped into this courtyard, Juan Planillos paused to draw upon

his feet a pair of thin boots of yellow leather, so soft and pliable

that they woke no echo from the solid paving, and still keeping in the

shadow, he crossed noiselessly to a door set deep in a carved arch of

stone, and like one accustomed to its rude and heavy fastenings, deftly

undid the latch and looked into the court upon which opened the private

apartments of the family of Garcia. He stood there in the shadow of the

doorway, still dressed, it is true, in the ranchero’s suit,—a soiled

linen shirt open at the throat, over which was a short jacket of stained

yellow leather, while trousers of the same, opening upon the outside of

the leg to the middle of the thigh, over loose drawers of white cotton,

were bound at the waist by a scarf of silk which had once been bright

red; his blanket covered one shoulder; his brows were still circled by

the handkerchief, but he had pushed back the slouching hat, and the face

which he thrust forward as he looked eagerly around had undergone some

strange transformation, which made it totally unlike that of the stolid

mixed-breed villager who had talked with the major-domo a few hours

before. Even the features of the face seemed changed, the heavy

fleshiness of the ranchero had given place to the refinement and

keenness of the cavalier. The bushy brows were unbent, there was

intelligence and vivacity in his dark eyes, a half-mocking, half-anxious

smile upon his lips, which utterly changed the dull and ignorant

expression, and of the same flesh and blood made an absolutely new

creation.

It was not curiosity that lighted the eyes as they glanced lingeringly

around, scanning the low chairs and tables scattered through the

corridor, resting upon the rose-entwined columns that supported it, and

then upon the fountain in the centre of the court, which threw a slender

column in the moonlight, and fell like a thousand gems into the basin

which overflowed and refreshed a vast variety of flowering shrubs that

encircled it. It was rather a look of pleased recognition, followed by a

sarcastic smile, as if he scorned a paradise so peaceful. There was

indeed in every movement of his well-knit figure, in the clutch of his

small but sinewy hand upon the door, something that indicated that the

saddle and sword were more fitting to his robust physique and fiery

nature than the delights of a lady’s bower.

Nevertheless, he was about to enter, and had indeed made a hasty

movement toward the staircase that led to the upper rooms, when an

unexpected sound arrested him. Planillos drew back into the shadow and

listened eagerly, scarce crediting the evidence of his senses; gradually

he fell upon his knees, covering himself with his dingy blanket,

transforming himself into a dull clod of humanity, which under cover of

the black shadows would escape observation except of the most jealous

and critical eye. Yet this apparent clod was for the time all eyes and

ears. Presently the sound he had heard, a light tap on the outer door,

was repeated; a shrill call like that of a wild bird—doubtless a

pre-arranged signal—sounded, and in intense astonishment he waited

breathlessly for what should further happen.

Evidently the gate-keeper was not unprepared, for the first wild note

caused him to raise his head sleepily, and at the second he staggered

from his alcove, muttering an imprecation, and fumbling in his girdle

for the key of the postern. He glanced around warily, even going softly

to places where the shadows fell most darkly; but finding no one,

returned, and with deft fingers proceeded to push back noiselessly the

bolts of the small door set in a panel of the massive one which closed

the wide entrance. It creaked slowly upon its hinges, so lightly that

even a bird would not have stirred in its slumbers, and a man cautiously

entered. He had spurs upon his heels, and after effecting his entrance

stooped to remove them, and Planillos had time and opportunity to see

that he was not one of Pedro Gomez’s associates,—not one of the common

people.

The midnight visitor was tall and slender, the latter though, it would

seem, from the incomplete development of youth, rather than from

delicacy of race. The long white hand that unbuckled his spurs was

supple and large; his whole frame was modelled in more generous

proportions than are usually seen in the descendants of the Aztecs or

their conquerors.

“Ingles,” thought Planillos, using a term which is indiscriminately

applied to English or Americans. “A man I dare vow it would be hard to

deal with in fair fight!”

But evidently the Englishman, or American, was not there with any idea

of contest; a pistol gleamed in his belt, but its absence would have

been more noticeable than its presence,—it was worn as a matter of

course. For so young a man, in that country where every cavalier native

or foreign affected an abundance of ornament, his dress was singularly

plain,—black throughout, even to the wide hat that shaded his face, the

youthful bloom of which was heightened rather than injured by the

superficial bronze imparted by a tropical sun.

Planillos had time to observe all this. Evidently the late-comer knew

his ground, and had but little fear of discovery. “A bold fellow,”

thought the watcher, “and fair indeed should be the Dulcinea for whom he

ventures so much. It must be the niece of Don Rafael, or perhaps the

governess—did I hear she was young?”

But further speculation was arrested by the movements of the stranger,

who, after a moment’s parley with Pedro, came noiselessly but directly

toward the door near which Planillos was lying.

Once within it, he paused to listen. Planillos expected him to make some

signal, and to see him joined by a veiled figure in the corridor, but to

his unbounded amazement and rage the intruder passed swiftly by the

fountain, under the great trees of bitter-scented oleanders and cloying

jasmine, and sprang lightly up the steps leading to the private

apartments. His foot was on the corridor, when Planillos, light as a

cat, leaped up the steep stair. His head had just reached the level of

the floor above, when with an absolute fury of rage he caught the

glimpse of a fair young face in the moonlight, and beheld the American

in the embrace of a beautiful girl. Instinct, rather than recognition,

revealed to his initiated mind the young heiress, Herlinda Garcia.

Absolutely paralyzed by astonishment and rage, for one moment dumb,

almost blinded, in the next he saw the closing of a heavy door divide

from his sight the lovers whom he was too late to separate.

Too late? No! one blow from his dagger upon that closed door, one cry

throughout the sleeping house and the life of the man who had stolen

within would not be worth a moment’s purchase! It required all his

strength of will, a full realization of his own position, to prevent

Planillos from shouting aloud, from rushing to the door of Doña Isabel,

to beat upon it and cry, “Up! up! look to your daughter! See if there be

any shame like hers! see how your own child tramples upon the honor of

which you have so proudly boasted!”

But he restrained himself, panting like a wild animal mad with

excitement. The thought of a more perfect, a more personal revenge

leaped into his mind, and silenced the cry that rose to his lips,—held

him from rushing down to plunge his dagger into the heart of the false

doorkeeper, completely obliterated even the remembrance of the purpose

for which he had ventured into a place deemed so sacred, so secure! and

sustained him through the long hour of waiting, the horrible intentness

of his purpose each moment growing more fixed, more definitely pitiless.

For some time he stood rooted to the spot upon which he had made the

discovery which had so maddened him, but at last he crouched in the

shadow at the foot of the staircase; and scarcely had he done so, when

the man for whom he waited appeared at the top. He saw him wave his

hand, he even caught his whispered words, so acute were his senses:

“Never fear, my Herlinda, all will be well. I will protect you, my love!

In another week at most all this will be at an end. I shall be free to

come and go as I will!”

“Free as air!” thought the man lying in the shadow, with grim humor,

even as he grasped his dagger. Crouching beneath his blanket he had

drawn from his brows the red kerchief. The veins stood black and swollen

upon his temples as the foreigner, waving a last farewell, descended the

stairs. He passed with drooping head, breathing at the moment a deep

sigh, within a hand’s breadth of an incarnate fiend.

Ah, devoted youth! had thy guardian angel veiled her face that night?

Oh, if but at the last moment thy light foot would wake the echoes and

rouse the sleepers, already muttering in their dreams, as if conscious

that the dawn was near. But nothing happened; the whole world seemed

wrapped in oblivion as he bent over the gate-keeper, and with some

familiar touch aroused him. He stooped to put on his spurs, as Pedro

opened the postern, and instantly stepped forth, while the gate-keeper

proceeded to replace the fastenings. But as the man turned nervously,

with the sensation of an unexpected presence near him, he was absolutely

paralyzed with dismay. A livid face, in which were set eyes of lurid

blackness, looked down upon him with satanic rage. The bulk that towered

over him seemed colossal. “Mercy! mercy!” he ejaculated. “By all the

saints I swear—”

“Let me pass!” hissed Planillos in a voice scarce above a whisper, but

which in its intensity sounded in the ears of Pedro like thunder.

“Villain, let me pass!” and he cast from him the terrified gate-keeper

as though he were a child, and rushed out upon the sandy slope which lay

between the great house and the village. He was not a moment too soon.

In the dim light he caught sight of the lithe figure of the foreigner,

as he passed rapidly over the rough ground skirting the village, the

better to escape the notice of the dogs, which, tired with baying the

moon, had at last sunk to uneasy slumbers.

Planillos looked toward the moon, and cursed its rapid waning. The light

grew so faint he could scarce keep the young man in sight, as he

approached a tree where a dark horse was tied, which neighed as he drew

near. Planillos clutched his dagger closer; would the pursued spring

into his saddle, and thus escape, at least for that night? On the

contrary, he lingered, leaning against his horse, his eyes fixed on the

white walls of the house he had left. All unconscious of danger, he

stood in the full strength of manhood, with the serene influences of

Nature around him, his mind so rapt and tranced that even had his

pursuer taken no precaution in making his approach from shrub to shrub,

concealing his person as much as possible, he would probably have

reached his victim unnoticed. Within call slept scores of fellow-men;

behind him, scarce half a mile away, rose the walls and chimneys of his

whilom home; not ten minutes before he had said, “I shall be as safe on

the road as in your arms, my love!” He was absolutely unconscious of his

surroundings, lost in a blissful reverie, when with irresistible force

he was hurled to the ground; a frightful blow fell upon his side,—the

heavens grew dark above him. Conscious, yet dumb, he staggered to his

feet, only to be again precipitated to the earth; the dagger that at the

moment of attack had been thrust into his bosom, was buried to the hilt;

the blood gushed forth, and with a deep groan he expired.

All was over in a few moments of time. John Ashley’s soul, with all its

sins, had been hurled into the presence of its Judge. The self-appointed

avenger staggered, gasping, against the tree; an almost superhuman

effort had brought a terrible exhaustion. Every muscle and nerve

quivered; he could scarcely stand. Yet thrusting from him with his foot

the dead body, he thirsted still for blood. “If I could but return and

kill that villain Pedro,” he hissed; “if his accursed soul could but

follow to purgatory this one I have already sent! But, bah! a later day

will answer for the dog! Ah, I am so spent a child might hold me; but,”

looking toward the mountains, “this horse is fresh and fleet. I shall be

safe enough when the first beam of the morning sun touches your lover’s

lips, Herlinda.”

The assassin glanced from his victim toward the house he had left, with

a muttered imprecation; then, trembling still from his tremendous

exertions, he approached the steed, which, unable to break the lariat by

which it had been fastened, was straining and plunging, half-maddened,

after the confusion of the struggle, by the smell of blood already

rising on the air.

Planillos possessed that wonderfully magnetic power over the brute

creation which is as potent as it is rare, and which on this occasion

within a few moments completely dominated and calmed the fright and fury

of the powerful animal, which he presently mounted, and which—though man

and horse shook with the violence of excitement and conflict—he managed

with the ease that denoted constant practice and superb horsemanship.

With a last glance at the murdered man, whom the darkness that precedes

the dawn scarce allowed him to distinguish from the shrubs around, he

put spurs to the restive steed, and galloped rapidly away.