Astonishment still held me speechless, as it did my companion--
motionless, too, as the maguey leaves, radiating around us.
Had I known the real signification of what had just transpired, I might
have acted with more promptitude, and ten times the energy.
As it was, I felt like one slowly recovering from a state of torpidity--
from an ill-digested dream!
"What does it all mean?" I inquired of the stage-driver, without
stirring from my place.
"Darn'd if I know, cap'n; 'cept it air one band o' robbers that's
attackted the t'other, and stripped 'em of their spoils. The conq'rors
'pear to be clean gone away, an' hev took the weemen too! They've
sloped off on t'other side o' the shanty. I kin hear 'em yet, making
their way up the mountain! Thar's a path there; tho' it ain't so easy
to climb. I reck'n they've gone up it, toatin up the gurls along wi'
'em. The reezun _they_ ain't still screechin' is, they've got 'em
eyther gagged, or _tapado_."
"_Tapado_?"
"Yes; muffled up--thar faces covered wi' something--to hinder them from
seeing their way, or singin' out. They only do it, when the weemen show
refactory."
What mattered it to me? What mattered, whether Dolores Villa-Senor was
the wife of one robber, or the mistress of another? Why should I care
now? She could never be mine!
I stepped out from among the leaves--leisurely, as one who has no motive
for making haste. There was a cold pain at my heart; a callous
indifference to the fate of her who had caused it. She was welcome to
go higher--to the summit of the mountain she had selected as the scene
of her nuptials.
It was Ixticihuatl on whose slope we stood. The "White Sister" could be
seen through the clear starlight above, reposing in spotless vestments.
How different from the robe of Dolores!
"Let her go!" was my unchivalric reflection. "She has made her own bed:
let her lie upon it!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was not for the purpose of pursuing--at all events not with any
thought of rescuing her--that I placed the call to my lips, and sounded
the signal for my men.
In less than five minutes the "Rifles" were around me--their green
jackets distinguishable under the brilliant beams of the moon--that on
the instant sailed suddenly into sight.
On hearing the shots, and other sounds of strife, they had commenced
moving up the mountain-path. Hence the promptness of their appearance.
Selecting half a dozen of them, I stepped straight into the doorway of
the house. We entered without opposition--groping our way through the
saguan.
Inside all was darkness; though we could tell that the place was still
tenanted,--by the groans that proceeded from the adjacent chamber.
A light was struck; and we commenced exploring the apartments. In the
dining-room there was no one--a banquet spread--but without guest to
partake of it!
We turned into the _sala grande_--from whence proceeded the lugubrious
sounds.
The scene--so late one of merriment--was now a spectacle of death!
Two men were lying along the floor. One might have been supposed
asleep: as he lay quite silent. But a red rivulet, trickling from its
source underneath him, and terminating on the tiles in a pool of blood--
told that it was the silence of death.
The other, also surrounded by seams of smoking gore, still lived and
moved. It was he who was making moan.
On stooping over him, I recognised the features of Francisco Moreno.
They were still handsome, though terribly distorted by his struggle, as
I supposed, with death.
It was no use asking an explanation from him. I saw that he did not
know me!
There was a thought in my mind at the moment--an unsanctified thought.
A rival had been removed from my path. Francisco Moreno was no longer
in my way!
But it could not matter now. The relief had come too late!
"Hilloa, what's this?" exclaimed one of the men, poking his rifle under
the _banquette_, and pressing it against what appeared a large bundle
done up in Kentucky jeans. "By the Almighty, it's a monk!"
"You're right, caballero," answered a voice, from under the envelope of
grey-blue serge, which, on closer inspection, proved to be the gown of a
Franciscan friar.
"A monk I am--at your service, caballeros. _Sangre de Crista_! It's
the merest, accident that I'm a living one. O, senores; I perceive that
you are _hombres buenos_; and that the _ladrones_ have retreated at your
approach. Say that they are gone; and that I need have no further
fear?"
"Two on 'em haint gone fur," replied the stage-driver; "thar they lie--
right afore yur eyes, Padre Cornaga."
"Ah! you know me, good sir? _Santissima_, it's the driver of the
_diligencia_--the worthy Don Samuel Bruno! What! _these_ robbers? _Por
Dios_, no! They are gentlemen!"
"A queery kind o' gentlemen, I reckin'."
"'Tis true as I say it, Senor Don Samuel. _Caballeros--hombres
honestos_--both these unfortunate young men. _Ay de mi_!" added the
monk, stooping down over one of the prostrate forms. "This is the son
of our _Juez de Letras_ (judge of the Criminal court). Many a robber
have I shrived after sentence passed by his honoured father. And this,"
he continued, turning to Francisco, "Ah! senores, this is the bridegroom
himself--_asesinado_--in the presence of his bride, and under the sacred
shadow of the altar, that should have protected him from anything!
_Pobre Dolores! Pobre Dolores_!"
"It is the name of a lady. How came _she_ to be here? You say these
men are not robbers--what are they?"
"Oh, senor capitan!--for I perceive you are the chief--it is a strange
story. Shall I tell it to you?"
"As you please about that. I came here to capture a gang of _ladrones_;
or kill them, if need be. I only want to know which are the thieves,
and which the honest men. There does not appear to be any great
difference between them?"
"O caballero! why should you say that? Surely you do not mistake the
honourable capitan Moreno for a _salteador_? A worthy young gentleman
who but ten minutes ago was standing up to be wedded to one of the
fairest and most Christian ladies in our good city of Puebla--the
daughter of Don Eusebio--"
"Villa-Senor. I know all that. But how came it to pass? Why was the
ceremony here? Why not in her father's house?"
"You astonish me, senor! What can you know?"
"Never mind what. Tell me, I entreat--I command you--how it is that
this marriage--interrupted as I perceive it has been--was taking place
here--among the mountains?"
"Senor capitan; you are welcome to know all. Alas! there is now no
reason for keeping the scheme concealed."
"A scheme! There was a scheme?"
"Si, senor! It was contrived between the young people themselves. Don
Eusebio was against their being united--so much, that to prevent it he
was taking his daughter to a convent--that of La Concepcion, in the
capital; which I may be permitted to say to you, a stranger, is the most
fashionable of our nunneries. Pobre Dolores! Can you blame her for
using means to escape from such a fate? Even I, a _religio_, do not
scruple to say it was wrong. To think of immuring such a fair creature
within the dull walls of a cloister!"
"I acknowledge to having been in the confidence of the _amantes_; and
even assisted them to contrive their little scheme; which, alas! has
proved so unsuccessful. Ah, worse than that: since it has brought ruin
to all engaged in it!"
"What was it?" I asked, impatiently, having but slight sympathy with
the regrets of the priest.
"Well, senor, it was this. The gallant youth whom you see there--alas,
I fear the victim of his gallantry--with half a dozen of his friends,
disguised as _salteadores_, were to capture the _diligencia_, and gain
possession of the Senorita Dolores,--as also of her sister who
accompanied her; another lady as fair--some say fairer--than she; and,
with all respect to the gentle Dolores, I am myself of this opinion.
"Need I say that the plan so far was eminently successful?
"_Pues, senor_! It had been arranged that I was to be one of the
travelling party; which, from my office of _sacristan_ to the family of
the Senor Don Eusebio, was easily brought about. I too was to be taken
prisoner by the sham bandits!
"_Pues senor_! There was to be a marriage--without Don Eusebio's
consent. It was in the act of being solemnised. _Jesu Cristo_! what a
termination! There lies the bridegroom. Where is the bride? Where her
sister Mercedes? Ah, senor! you should see Mercedes--_una cosa muy
linda_--the fairest thing in all the city of Puebla!"
"Excepting Dolores."
The words went forth with a purely mechanical effort. I was in no mood
for playing champion to charms never to be enjoyed by me.
"The robbery of the _diligencia_ was a ruse, then?"
"_Si, senor. Una engana_. A little stratagem of Don Francisco and his
friends."
"I thort thar was somethin' queery beout it," remarked the stage-driver.
"But what meant the ransom--the ten thousand dollars?" I asked.
"Ay Dios, senor capitan, that was part of the plot. Don Eusebio is _muy
rico_--very rich indeed. For all that he is perhaps a little
parsimonious. The young people knew that they would need money to
commence housekeeping; and as it might be a long time, before the worthy
parent would relent and grant them forgiveness, they thought it might be
as well to _borrow_ it from him in that way. _Santissima_! it has been
a mistake--all, all! Oh, senores! _you_ will not betray me? If it
becomes known that I was a willing actor in this sad affair, I would not
only lose the lucrative situation I hold in Don Eusebio's family, but
perhaps also my gown. _Dios de mi alma_!"
"My good padre," I answered somewhat unmannerly, "we have no time to
trouble ourselves about your future. We wish you to give some further
explanation of the present. The marriage ceremony you speak of was
interrupted. We know that. But why, and by whom?"
"Robbers, senor--real robbers! _Salteadores del camino grande_!"
This was an answer to both my questions. The monk on perceiving it,
offered no further explanation.
"Their sole motive was plunder, I suppose?"
"Ah, senor, I wish I could think so!"
"You believe they had some other object?"
"Alas! yes. Look there, caballero!"
The priest pointed to the dead body of the young man, whom he had
represented as the son of the _Juez de Letras_. He was lying with face
upwards. I could see upon his breast the sparkle of gold--the
guard-chain of a watch--and inside the vest a shape showing that the
watch was itself there!
"This is strange," I said. "Are you sure they were regular robbers who
did this?"
"Sure--sure!" replied the padre, with a melancholy shake of the head.
"Too sure, caballero. 'Tis true they wore masks, and I could not see
their faces. But I heard a name that told me all. I heard it as they
passed out, carrying the _muchachas_ along with them."
"What name?" I asked, with a painful presentiment.
"Ah, senor capitan; one too well known upon these roads."
"_Carrasco_?" I half shouted, without waiting for the padre to
pronounce it.
"Ay Dios, senor! You know everything! That is the name. I heard it
from one of his followers, who spoke to him as they hurried off in the
darkness. The robber-chief who has done this foul deed is the noted
captain _Carrasco! Pobres ninas_!"