XVII.

From the city of Guanapila to the hacienda of Tres Hermanos the road

runs almost continually through mountain defiles, where on either hand

the great masses of bare rocks rise so precipitously that it seems

impossible that man or beast should scale them; and here, where Nature’s

aspect is most terrible, man is least to be feared. But there are

intervals where broad flat ledges hang above the roadway, or where it

crosses plateaus shaded by scrub-oak or mesquite and even grassy dells,

where after the rains water may be found, offering charming

camping-grounds during the noon-tide heat; and precisely at such places

the anxious traveller has need to look to his weapons, and picket his

horses and mules in such order that no sudden attack may cause a

stampede among them, and that they may, if need offer, form a barricade

for their defenders. In those lawless times few persons ventured forth

without a military escort, and if possible sought additional security by

accompanying the baggage trains which by arrangement with the party for

the moment in power enjoyed immunity from attack by roving bands of

soldiery, and were too formidable to be successfully assailed by the

ordinary cliques of highwaymen. Seldom indeed was there found a person

so reckless as to venture forth attended only by the escort his own

house afforded; and daring indeed was the woman who would undertake a

two days’ journey in such a manner. The least she might expect would be

to find her protectors dispersed, perhaps slain, and herself a

captive,—held for an exorbitant ransom, and subjected to the hardships

of life in the remote recesses of the mountains, and to indignities the

very report of which might daunt the most reckless or the bravest.

Yet in spite of all this, a carriage containing a lady and her maid—for

such were their relative positions, though both were alike dressed in

plain black gowns and the common blue reboso—entered in the early

afternoon of a summer’s day the narrow gorge that led by circuitous

windings through the rocks to the great gorge that formed the entrance

to the wide valley of Tres Hermanos, whose entire extent offered to the

eye the wondrous fruitfulness so rich and varied in itself, so startling

in contrast to the desolation passed to reach it.

The midday halt had been a short one, for it was the rainy season, and

progress was necessarily slow over the swollen watercourses and the

obstructions of accumulated sands and pebbles, the masses of cactus and

branches of trees and shrubs, which had been brought down by recent

storms. At times it seemed impossible that the carriage, although drawn

by four stout mules, could proceed, and from time to time the servant

looked anxiously through the window. But the mistress was equal to all

emergencies, herself giving directions to the perplexed driver and his

assistant, and though she had been travelling for more than two days

over a road usually easily passed in one, allowing no sign or word of

weariness or impatience to escape her.

But this carriage and its occupants would have appeared to a passer-by

the least important factor in the caravan of which it formed a part; for

it was encircled and almost concealed by a band of mounted men, clad in

suits of brownish leather, glimpses of the red waist-band glistening

with knives and pistols showing from beneath their striped blankets,

long knives and lassos hanging at their saddle-bows, rifles in their

sinewy right hands, while from beneath their wide hats their keen eyes

investigated sharply every jutting rock and peered into the distance

with an air of half-defiant, half-fearful expectancy,—for these were men

taken from her own estate, who idle retainers as they had been in her

great bare house in the city where Doña Isabel Garcia had lived for

years in melancholy state, thrilled with clannish fidelity to their

mistress and passionate love for their _tierra_ to which they were

returning, and with that vague delight in the possibility of a fight

which arouses in man both chivalrous and brutish daring, as the smell of

blood arouses the love of slaughter in the tamest beast.

In front of these rode the conductor of the party clad in a

half-military fashion, as became the character he had earned for

eccentric daring, the reputation of which perhaps more than actual

bravery made him eminently successful in guiding safely the party wise

or rich enough to secure his escort. This man was known as Tio Reyes,

though his appearance did not justify the honorary title of Uncle, for

he was still in the prime of life; but it was applied to him in tones of

jesting yet affectionate respect by his followers who had joined the

party with him, and adopted by the others to whom he was a stranger,—for

at the last moment he had appeared just as they were leaving Guanapila,

and with a brief word to the mistress, to which in much surprise and

some annoyance she had agreed, had placed himself at their head.

In the rear of those we have described came four or five mules laden

with provisions, necessaries for camping, and some private baggage;

these were driven by _arrieros_ who ran at their sides, for the

travelling pace of horses did not exceed that of those trained runners.

The journey, wearisome as it had proved, had so far been made without

alarms, and upon nearing the boundaries of Tres Hermanos much of the

anxiety though none of the vigilance of the escort subsided; when

suddenly upon the glaring sunshine of the day, all the hotter and

clearer from the recent rains, rose in the distance a sort of mist,

which filled the narrow road and blurred the outline of the towering

rocks. The guide paused for a moment and glanced back at the escort.

Each hand grasped tighter the ready rifle; at a word the carriage was

stopped, the baggage mules were driven up and enclosed within the square

hastily formed by the armed men,—for upon that clear day, after the

rains, the tramp of many feet was requisite to raise that cloud of dust,

and these precautions were but prudent, whether the advancing troop were

friends or foes.

Tio Reyes, after disposing his force to his satisfaction, rode forward

with his lieutenant to meet the advancing host, which in those few

moments seemed to fill the entire range of vision, though at first with

confusing indistinctness, as did the sounds that came echoing from rock

to rock. The cries of men rose hoarsely above a deep and rumbling

undertone, which resolved itself at last into the lowing of cattle and

the bleating of sheep,—harmless and terrified wayfarers, but driven and

preceded by a troop of undisciplined soldiery, ripe for deeds more

tragic than the plunder of vaqueros and shepherds, who would be more

likely wisely to seek shelter in the crevices of the rocks than to defy

numbers before whom they were helpless.

“Señora of my soul!” cried the servant, catching a word from one of the

men, “we are lost! Virgin of Succors, pray for us! These are some of the

men of his Excellency the Governor, and you know they stop at nothing.

Ah, what a chance to gain money is this! Once in the mountains what may

they not demand for you? _Ave Maria Sanctissima!_ Ah, Señora, if you

would but have listened to the Señorita! to me!”

“Silence!” said the lady, in a tone as of one unused to hear her actions

commented upon. “Silence! thou wilt be safe. If we are captured, thou

wilt not be a prize worth retaining; it will be easy to induce them to

take thee to Guanapila, and obtain a reward from my cousin, Don

Hernando.”

“No, no!” cried the woman, brought to her senses by this quiet scorn and

the startling proposition of her mistress. “Could I leave your grace?

No, no! imprisonment, starvation, even to be made the wife of one of

those bandits!” and a faint smile curled the damsel’s lip, for she was

not ugly, and knew something of the gallantries of Ramirez’s

followers,—“anything rather than desert my lady! Ay, my life! whom have

we here?”

It was Tio Reyes undoubtedly, and with him was a military stranger, a

gallant young fellow, and handsome, though his hands and face were

covered with dust, and something like a large blood-stain defaced the

breast of his blue coat. “Pardon, Señora,” he exclaimed, bowing most

obsequiously and removing his wide hat, disclosing a young and vivacious

countenance, “I am Rodrigo Alva, your servant, who kisses your feet,

captain of this troop of horse, of the forces of his Excellency Don José

Ramirez, Governor of Guanapila.”

“And I am the Señora Doña Isabel Garcia de Garcia,” responded the lady,

with dignified recognition of the young man’s courteous

self-introduction; “and as I am unaware of any cause for detention, I

beg to be permitted to proceed toward my hacienda, which I desire to

reach before night closes in.”

“It is not my desire to molest ladies,” said the captain, gallantly;

“and I have besides received express orders to defend your passage and

facilitate it in every way.”

“I have no acquaintance with Señor Ramirez,” said Doña Isabel in

surprise; “yet more than once have I been indebted to his courtesy,” and

she glanced at Tio Reyes. “He it was who sent me this worthy guide. I

know not why the Señor Ramirez takes such interest in my personal

safety, especially as we are politically opposed;” and she added with a

daring which had somewhat of girlish archness, strange from the lips of

Doña Isabel, “he has not the name of a man given to gallantries.”

“No, rather to gallant deeds,” said the young captain, his voice

accentuating the distinction. “But you, Doña Isabel, like us who serve

him, must be content not to inquire too closely into his motives.”

“Whatever they may be,” retorted she, in a voice of displeasure, “they

are not such as will spare my flocks and herds;” and she frowned as a

stray ox, upon whose flank she recognized the well-known brand of Tres

Hermanos, bounded by the carriage, from which the escort had gradually

withdrawn, and were now exchanging amicable salutations with the more

advanced of the host which they would have been equally pleased to

fight.

The young man bowed in some confusion. “The men must be fed,” he said.

“These come from the ranchito del Refugio, Señora, and I regret to say

the huts are burned down and the shepherds and vaqueros scattered; one

poor fellow was killed in pure wantonness.”

“And you dare tell me this!” cried Doña Isabel, in violent indignation,

which for the moment overcame her wonted calmness.

“It was but to explain,” interrupted Captain Alva, “that we encountered

the famous Calvo there. He has succeeded in raising three hundred men or

more to march to the assistance of the double-dyed traitor Juarez.

Fortunately, but a portion of his troops were with him; the rest have

joined Gonzales,—so our work was easy, though the fellows fought well.

Three or four were killed, a few wounded, the rest fled to the

mountains, and we succeeded in securing the cattle and sheep; and I hope

your grace will be consoled in knowing they are destined to feed good

patriots.”

Doña Isabel waved her hand impatiently. “What matter a few animals?” she

said. “But the poor shepherds,—they must be looked to. And the

wounded—what of them?”

“_Canalla!_” laughed the captain, carelessly, “one or two are with us

here, tied on their saddles. They will do well enough. Others lay down

under bushes to shelter their cracked heads. But one there is, Señora, a

foreigner, a mere boy, who was in the party by chance they say, just a

boy’s freak,—but, my faith! he did a man’s portion of fighting, and has

a wound to end a man’s life. He must die if he rides much farther lashed

to his horse;” and the young soldier, half a bandit in lawlessness, and

in his perplexed notions of honor, perhaps too, scarce free from

blood-guiltiness, sighed as he added, “but this is no subject for a

lady’s ear. Permit, Señora, that my troops and their belongings pass by,

and you may then proceed in all peace and safety.”

“Thanks, Señor,” said Doña Isabel, adding half hesitatingly: “And the

wounded youth,—a foreigner, I think you said?”

“By his looks and tongue, English,” answered the officer, with his hand

to his hat as a parting salute. But Doña Isabel’s look stopped him.

“You pity this poor wounded creature,” she said, “and I can do no less.

You are compelled to travel in haste, and the city—if that is your

destination—is far distant.”

Doña Isabel spoke as if under some invisible compulsion and as against

her will, and paused as if unable to utter the proposal that trembled on

her lips; but the voluble young officer, with the eagerness of desire,

divined what she would say, and so lauded the appearance and bearing of

the wounded prisoner that to her own amazement Doña Isabel found herself

making room for him in her carriage, much to the surprise of her maid

Petra, who was mounted upon the led horse, which in thought her mistress

had at first destined to the use of her unexpected guest.

However, when under the superintendence of Captain Alva and Tio Reyes

the youth was transferred from his horse to the carriage, Doña Isabel

saw at once that his strength was so nearly spent that even with most

careful handling it was doubtful whether he would reach the hacienda

alive. She shrank away as his fair young head was laid back upon the

dark cushions, and his long limbs were disposed upon blankets and

cushions, as much to avoid contact with that frame so evidently of alien

mould as to give all the space possible to the almost unconscious

sufferer. She scarce looked at him, as with effusive thanks Alva bade

her farewell, but forced her eyes, though with no special interest or

regret, upon the portion of her flocks that was driven bleating before

her carriage, with mechanical kindness closing the window as the horned

cattle, bellowing and pawing the dust, followed, and breathing a sigh of

relief as the last of the revolutionary force rode by, and the sound of

their noisy march grew fainter, and she realized that her own escort had

fallen into their places around her carriage, the slow motion of which

indicated that her interrupted journey was resumed.

For some time the thoughts of Doña Isabel were necessarily directed to

her wounded guest. The wound in the shoulder had been bandaged with such

skill and care as could be offered by the self-trained doctor of the

rancho, for the nonce become army surgeon; and it would doubtless have

done well but for exposure and fatigue, which had induced fever, in

which the patient muttered uneasily and even at times became violently

excited, looking at Doña Isabel with eyes of inexpressible brilliancy,

catching her cool white hands in his own burning ones and calling her in

endearing accents names which, though untranslatable by her, were sweet

to her ear. Perhaps, they were those of mother or sister,—she almost

longed to know. Later, when under her tendance and that of the grooms,

who when she motioned for the carriage to be stopped often came to her

assistance, he sank into uneasy slumber, she had opportunity to wonder

at the impulse that had induced _her_ to receive this stranger of a

race, that whether American or English, she had long abjured, and to

feel once more as she gazed upon his wan features something of the

bitter detestation with which she had looked upon Ashley’s dead face.

Doña Isabel started; the thought had entered her mind just as they were

emerging from the great chasm of rocks which gave entrance to the plain,

and she saw once more the Eden from which she had been driven. The house

was so far distant still that she caught, across the fields of tall

corn, but a mere suggestion of its flat roofs and the square turrets at

the corners of the encircling walls; but though more distant still, the

tall chimney of the reduction-works rose clearly defined against the

sky,—so clearly that she could see where a few bricks had fallen from

the cornice, and how a solitary pigeon was circling it in settling to

its nest. What a picture of solitariness! Doña Isabel groaned, and

covered her face with her hand. It was as she had known it would be. The

first objects to meet her gaze were those that could waken the darkest

and bitterest memories. Why had she come? Oh that she could retrace the

rough path that she had traversed!

The wounded man groaned; he was fainting. “Hasten, hasten!” she cried,

“send Anselmo forward; bid them prepare a bed. The road is not so rough;

let them drive faster!”

Thus Doña Isabel’s words belied the desire of her heart, for she could

not by her own wish have approached her home too slowly. This boy was a

stranger, not even brought thither by her will, as the other had been;

yet as the other had driven her forth, this one was hastening her back.

Was it fancy, or did the boy’s lips pronounce a name? No, no! it was but

her excited imagination. No wonder! Did not the earth and sky, the wide

circle of the hills, all cry out to her, “What hast thou done? Where is

Herlinda?”