THE CAMP.
The Gambusinos reached their camp a little before sunrise. During their
absence, the few men left in charge of the entrenchments had not been
disturbed.
Don Mariano awaited the return of the Mexicans with lively impatience.
So soon as he saw them, he went to meet them.
Marksman was gloomy. The reception he gave the gentleman, though
cordial, was still rather dry. The hunter, although convinced he had
accomplished a duty in condemning Don Estevan, was for all that sad,
when thinking of the responsibility he had taken on himself in the
affair.
It is one thing to kill a man in action while defending one's life,
in the midst of the intoxication of battle, another to try and coldly
execute an individual against whom no personal motive of hatred or
anger is felt. The old Canadian, in his heart, feared Don Mariano's
reproaches. He knew the human heart too well not to be assured that the
gentleman, when he regarded in cold blood the action he had excited the
Gambusinos to commit, would detest it, and curse the docile instruments
he had found. However great Don Estevan's crimes against Don Mariano
might be, however cruel his conduct, it was not his brother's place to
accuse him, or to demand his death at the hands of these implacable
men, in whom all feelings of clemency are extinguished through the
rough life they are forced to lead.
Now that some hours had elapsed since Don Estevan's condemnation,
Marksman, who had begun to reflect again, and was able to regard that
action under a different light, had asked himself if he really had the
right to act as he had done, and if what he took for a deed of stern
and strict justice were not an assassination and disguised vengeance.
Hence he expected that Don Mariano, on seeing him, would reproach him,
and ask his brother's life at his hands.
The hunter prepared to answer the questions Don Mariano was doubtless
going to address to him; and so soon as he perceived him, his brow,
already troubled by sad thoughts, grew even more overcast. But Marksman
was mistaken, not a reproach, not a word having reference to the
judgment passed Don Mariano's lips; not an allusion, however remote,
caused the hunter to suspect that the gentleman intended to attack that
delicate subject.
The Canadian breathed again; but during the few moments they occupied
in returning to the camp side by side, he took a side glance at Don
Mariano's face. The old gentleman was pale and sad, but his countenance
was calm, and his features apathetic.
The hunter shook his head. "He is turning over some scheme in his
mind," he muttered, in a low voice.
So soon as the camp was entered, and the barriers were closed again
behind the Gambusinos, Don Miguel, after placing sentries at the
entrenchments, turned to Marksman and Don Mariano. "The sun will rise
in about two hours," he said to them; "deign to accept my hospitality,
and accompany me to my tent."
The two men bowed. Don Miguel made his bearers a sign to place the
litter on the ground. He rose, helped by Marksman, and leaning on the
hunter's arm, entered the tent, followed by Don Mariano. The curtain
fell behind them.
The Gambusinos, wearied with their night march, had hastened to
unsaddle their horses and give them food. Then, after throwing some
handfuls of dried wood on the fires, in order to revive the flame,
they wrapped themselves in their frasadas and zarapés, and lay down
on the ground, where they speedily fell asleep. Ten minutes after the
adventurers' return, they were all in the deepest sleep. Three men
alone were awake, and they were assembled in the tent, and holding a
conversation, at which we will invite the reader to be present.
The interior of the tent into which Don Miguel had introduced his two
companions was furnished in the most simple fashion. In one corner was
the hermetically closed palanquin; in the opposite one, several furs
stretched on the ground marked the place of a bed; four or five buffalo
skulls served as chairs; it was impossible to meet with anything so
simple and less comfortable than this.
Don Miguel threw himself on the bed, bidding his comrades, by a
graceful bow, to sit down on the buffalo skulls. Marksman and Don
Mariano drew them up by their host's side, and sat down silently. Don
Miguel then took the word. "Caballeros," he said, "the events which
have occurred this night, to which I shall not further allude, require
to be clearly explained, especially in the provision of the probable
complications which may result from them in the affairs which, I hope,
we shall undertake ere long. What I have to say regards and interests
you peculiarly, Don Mariano. Hence I address myself principally to
you. As for Marksman, he knows pretty nearly all the connecting links
of what I am about to tell you. If I beg him to be present at the
interview I wish to have with you, it is first owing to the old
friendship that unites us, and secondly, because his advice will be of
great help to us in the further resolutions we shall have to take."
Don Mariano looked at the adventurer in a way which made him comprehend
that he understood not a syllable of this long prelude.
"Do you not remember, Don Mariano," the Canadian then said, "that
before sending Brighteye to the camp to fetch Don Miguel, I told you
that you were ignorant of the most interesting portion of the history?"
"Yes; I remember it, although, at the moment, I did not attach to the
statement all the value it deserved."
"Well, if I am not mistaken, Don Miguel is about to explain these
frightful machinations to you in a few words." Then he added, as if
on reflection, "There is one man I should like to see here. It is
important that he should know the whole truth also; but since our
return to the camp I have not seen him."
"Whom do you mean?"
"Brighteye, whom I asked to accompany you here."
"He did so; but on reaching the camp, as he doubtlessly supposed that I
had no further need of his protection, he left me."
"Did he not tell you for what object?" the hunter asked, looking firmly
at the old gentleman.
Don Mariano, in his heart, was troubled by this inquiry; but wishing
to leave to Brighteye the care of explaining his absence, and not at
all desirous of avowing his wish to save his brother, he replied, with
a degree of hesitation he could not entirely conceal,--"No; he told
me nothing, I fancied that he had joined you again, and am as much
surprised as yourself at his absence."
Marksman frowned slightly. "That is strange," he said. "However," he
added, "he will not fail to return soon, and then we shall know what
he has been about."
"Yes. Now, Don Miguel, I am at your orders. Speak; I am listening to
you attentively," Don Mariano said, not at all wishful to see the
conversation continued on that subject.
"Give me my real name, Don Mariano," the young man answered, "for it
will perhaps inspire you with some confidence in me. I am neither Don
Torribio Carvajal, nor Don Miguel Ortega. My right name is Don Leo de
Torres."
"Leo de Torres!" Don Mariano exclaimed, rising with stupefaction. "The
son of my dearest friend."
"It is so," the young man answered, simply.
"But no; that is not possible. Basilio de Torres was massacred, with
his entire family, by the Apache Indians, amid the smoking ruins of his
hacienda, twenty years ago."
"I am the son of Don Basilio de Torres," the adventurer continued.
"Look at me carefully, Don Mariano. Do not my features remind you of
anyone?"
The gentleman approached, laid his hand on the adventurer's shoulder,
and examined him for a few moments with the profoundest attention. "It
is true," he then said, with tears in his eyes, "the resemblance is
extraordinary. Yes, yes," he exclaimed, impetuously; "I now recognize
you."
"Oh!" the young man continued, with a smile, "I have in my possession
the documents that guarantee my identity. But," he said, "that is not
the question. Let us return to what I wished to say to you."
"How is it that since the fearful catastrophe which made you an orphan,
I never heard any mention of you? I, the best friend, almost the
brother of your father, I should have been so happy to provide for
you."
Don Leo, to whom we will henceforth give his real name, frowned; his
brow was furrowed with deep wrinkles. He answered, with a sorrowful
accent and trembling voice,--"Thank you, Don Mariano, for the
friendship you evince for me. Believe that I am worthy of it; but, I
implore you, let me keep in my heart the secret of my silence. One day,
I trust, I shall be permitted to speak, and then I will tell you all."
Don Mariano pressed his hand. "Act as you think proper," he said, with
deep emotion; "only remember one thing--that you have found in me the
father you lost."
The young man turned his head away to conceal the tears he felt rising
in his eyes. There was a lengthened silence without; the barking of
the coyotes alone disturbed at intervals the imposing solitude of the
desert. The interior of the tent was only lighted by a torch of ocote
wood fixed in the ground, whose flickering flame played on the faces
of the three men with shadows and lights which imprinted on their
countenances a strange and fantastic expression.
"The sky is beginning to be studded with broad white bands," Don Leo
continued: "the owls hidden beneath the leaves are saluting the return
of day; the sun is about to rise; permit me, in a few words, to explain
to you the facts with which you are unacquainted; for if I believe my
presentiments, we shall soon have to act vigorously, in order to repair
the ill deeds committed by Don Estevan."
The two men bowed in affirmation. Don Leo went on:--"Certain reasons,
unnecessary to give here, led me to Mexico a few months ago. Owing to
those reasons, I led rather a singular life, frequenting the worst
society, and mingling, when the occasion offered, in society more or
less corrupt, according as you understand my words. Do not believe,
from what I have said, that I was engaged in any criminal operations,
for you would commit a grave error. I merely, like a goodly number of
my countrymen, carried on certain contraband trade; perhaps regarded
with an evil eye by government officials, but which had nothing very
reprehensible about it."
Marksman and Don Mariano exchanged a glance; they understood, or
fancied they did. Don Leo feigned not to notice this glance.
"One of the places I frequented most assiduously," he said, "was the
Plaza Mayor. There I visited an evangelista, a man of about fifty, half
Jew, half pawnbroker, who, under a venerable appearance, concealed the
most venal soul and most corrupt mind. This thorough scamp, through
the thousand secret negotiations he carried on, and his duties of
evangelista, was thoroughly acquainted with the secrets of an infinite
number of families, and all the infamies daily committed in that
immense capital. One day, when I happened to be in his shop at the
Oración, a young girl entered. She was lovely, and seemed respectable.
She trembled like a leaf on entering the scoundrel's den; the latter
put on his most captivating smile, and obsequiously asked how he could
serve her. She turned a timid glance around, and noticed me. I know not
why, I scented a mystery. I pretended to be asleep, with my head on the
table, and my forehead resting on my crossed arms."
"'That man!' she said, pointing to me."
"'Oh!' the evangelista answered, 'he is intoxicated with pulque; he is
a poor sergeant, of no importance; besides, he is asleep.'"
"She hesitated; then, seeming suddenly to form a resolution, she drew a
small paper from her bosom."
"'Copy that,' she said to the evangelista, 'and I will give you two
ounces.'"
"The old villain seized the paper, and looked at it."
"'But it is not Castilian,' he said."
"'It is French,' she answered, 'But what consequence is it to you?'"
"'To me, none.'"
"He prepared his paper and pens, and copied the note without further
observation. When it was finished, the girl compared the two notes,
gave a smile of satisfaction, tore up the original, folded the note,
and dictated a short address to the evangelista. Then she placed the
letter in her bosom, and went out, after paying the agreed on price,
which the evangelista seized gaily, for he had gained more in a few
minutes than he usually did in a month. The girl had scarce departed,
ere I raised my head: but the evangelista made me a sign to re-assume
my position. He had heard the key turning in his door. I obeyed, and
lucky it was I did so, for a man entered almost immediately. This man
evidently desired not to be known. He was carefully wrapped up in a
large rebozo, and the brim of his sombrero was pulled down over his
eyes. On entering, he gave an angry start."
"'Who is that man?' he asked, pointing to me."
"'I A poor drunkard asleep.'"
"'A young girl has just left here.'"
"'It is possible,' the evangelista answered, put on his guard by the
question."
"'No ambiguous phrases, scoundrel,' the stranger answered haughtily.
'I know you, and pay you,' he added, as he threw a heavy purse on the
table. 'Answer!'"
"The evangelista quivered. All his scruples disappeared at the sight of
the gold sparkling through the meshes of the purse."
"'A young girl has just left here?' the stranger continued."
"'Yes.'"
"'What did she want of you?'"
"'To copy a letter written in French.'"
"'Very good. Show me the letter.'"
"'She folded it up, wrote an address, and took it away.'"
"'I know all that.'"
"'Well?'"
"'Well!' the stranger retorted, with a grin, 'as you are no fool, you
kept a copy of the note, and that copy I must have.'"
"The man's voice had struck me. I could not tell why. As his back
was almost turned to me, I made the evangelista a sign, which he
understood."
"'I did not think of that,' he answered."
"He assumed such a simple face as he said this, that the stranger was
deceived. He made a move of annoyance. At length he said,--'She will
return.'"
"'I do not know.'"
"The stranger shrugged his shoulders. 'I know it though. Every time she
comes, you will keep a copy of what she makes you write. The answers
will come here?'"
"'Not to my knowledge.'"
"'You will not deliver them till you have shown them to me. I shall
return tomorrow; and do not be such a fool as you have been today, if
you wish me to make your fortune.'"
"The evangelista grinned a smile. The stranger turned to go away. At
this moment the corner of his cloak caught in the table, and I saw his
face. I needed all my self-command not to utter a cry on recognizing
him, for it was Don Estevan, your brother. He drew his cloak over his
face again with a stifled curse, and went away. He had scarce gone
ere I leaped up. I bolted the door, and placed myself in front of the
evangelista. 'It is now our turn,' I said to him."
"He made a movement of terror. My face had a terrible expression, which
made him fall back against the wall, clutching the purse he had just
received, and which he doubtless supposed I wished to take from him."
"'I am a poor old man,' he said to me."
"'Where is the copy you refused that man?' I said sharply."
"He bent down to his desk, took the copy, and handed it to me,
trembling. I read it with a shudder, for I understood."
"'Stay,' I said, giving him an ounce; 'every time you will hand me
the young lady's note, I allow you to show it also to that man. But
remember this carefully; not one of the answers written by the person
who has just left will be handed by you to the lady until I have read
it. I am not so rich as that stranger, still I can pay you properly.
You know me. I have only one thing more to say. If you betray me, I
will kill you like a dog.'"
"I went out, and, as I closed the door, I heard the evangelista mutter
to himself, 'Santa Viring, into what wasp's nest have I got?'"
"This is the key of the mystery. The young lady I saw at the
evangelista's was a novice in the convent of the Bernardines, where
your daughter was. Doña Laura, not knowing in whom to confide, had
begged her to let Don Francisco de Paulo Serrano know--"
"My brother-in-law! her godfather!" Don Mariano exclaimed.
"The same," Don Leo continued. "She had, I said, desired her friend,
Doña Luisa, to let señor Serrano receive the note, in which she
revealed to him her uncle's criminal machinations, and the persecutions
to which she was exposed, while imploring him, as her father's best
friend, to come to her aid, and take her under his protection."
"Oh, my poor child!" Don Mariano murmured.
"Don Estevan," Don Leo continued, "had by some means learned your
daughter's intentions. In order to be thoroughly acquainted with her
plans, and be able to overthrow them at the right moment, he pretended
to be entirely ignorant of them; let the young girl carry the letters
to the evangelista, reading the copies, and answering them himself, for
the simple reason that señor Serrano did not receive your daughter's
letters, because Don Estevan had bought his valet, who gave them to
him with seals unbroken. This skilful perfidy would doubtless have
succeeded, had not accident, or rather providence, placed me so
fortunately in the evangelista's shop."
"Oh!" Don Mariano muttered, "the man was a monster."
"No," Don Leo remarked; "circumstances compelled him to go much further
than he perhaps intended. Nothing proves that he meditated the death of
your daughter."
"What would he then?"
"Your fortune. By forcing Doña Laura to take the veil, he gained his
object. Unfortunately, as always happens when a man enters on that
thorny path which fatally leads to crime, although he had coldly
calculated all the chances of success, he could not foresee my
intervention in the execution of his plans--an intervention which must
make them fail, and compel him to commit a crime, in order to ensure
success. Doña Laura, persuaded that Don Francisco's protection would
not fail her, scrupulously followed the advice I sent her by means of
letters I myself wrote in the name of the friend she addressed. For my
own part, I held myself in readiness to act when the moment arrived. I
will enter into no details on this subject. Doña Laura refused to take
the vows in the church itself. The scandal was extreme, and the abbess,
in her fury, resolved to put an end to matters. The hapless young lady,
sent to sleep by means of a powerful narcotic, was buried alive in the
_in pace_, where she must die of hunger."
"Oh!" the two men exclaimed, shuddering with horror.
"I repeat to you," Don Leo continued, "that I do not believe Don
Estevan capable of this barbarity. He was probably the indirect
accomplice, but nothing more; the abbess was the sole culprit. Don
Estevan accepted accomplished facts; he profited by them, nothing more.
We must suppose so, for the honour of humanity; otherwise, this man
would be a monster. Warned on the same day of what had occurred in
the convent, I collected a band of banditti and adventurers. Then, at
nightfall, I entered the building by stratagem, and, pistol in hand,
carried off your daughter."
"You!" Don Mariano exclaimed, with a movement of surprise, mingled with
joy. "Oh, heavens! then she is saved--she is in safety!"
"Yes; at a place where I, aided by Marksman, concealed her."
"Don Estevan would never have found her," the hunter added, with a
crafty smile.
The gentleman was fearfully agitated. "Where is she?" he exclaimed. "I
will see her. Tell me where my poor darling child is."
"You can understand," the young man answered, "that I did not keep her
near me. I knew that Don Estevan's spies and your brother himself were
pursuing me, and following my every step. After placing Doña Laura in
safety, I enticed all the pursuers on to my trail. In this way, this
palanquin," he said, pointing to it, "contained Doña Laura till we
reached the Presidio de Tubar. I was careful to let her be seen once or
twice; no more was needed to make it supposed that she was still with
me. By the care I took to keep the palanquin constantly closed, and let
no one approach it, I hoped to lead my enemies after me, and, once I
had them in the desert, punish them. My calculations were more correct
than Don Estevan's, for Heaven, helped me. Now that the criminal has
been punished, and Doña Laura has no more to fear, I am ready to make
known her place of concealment, and lead you to her."
"Oh, my God! Thou art just and merciful," Don Mariano exclaimed, with
an expression of ineffable joy. "I shall see my child again. She is
saved."
"She is lost, if you do not make haste," a sepulchral voice replied.
The three men turned in terror. Brighteye, with a pale and bleeding
face, his clothes torn and bloodstained, was standing upright and
motionless in the entrance of the tent, holding the curtain back.