Though for the time disconcerted, we had no thought of retreating. The
unsuccessful assault but rendered my men more determined--besides still
further embittering them against the despised foe.
Fortunately the wounds received by their comrades were not mortal,
though it needed not this to provoke their vengeance. The situation of
the two captives--now thoroughly comprehended by every one--was
sufficient to check all thoughts of retiring from the strife--even had
the enemy far outnumbered us.
As it was, we still believed that we had them in the trap, and it was
only a question of time and strategy to bring the affair to a
termination.
By withdrawing to the trees we had obtained a more advantageous
position. It gave us a better chance of aiming at any object on the
azotea; and as the sky was each instant becoming clearer, we could
distinguish the loopholes along the parapet.
They were but rude holes--the ragged interstices between the logs--but
good enough for the purpose for which they had evidently been left in
the fabrication of the dwelling.
We expected to see faces behind them, or something we might fire at. We
saw nothing--not so much as a hand!
The brigands had by this time discovered who were their assailants, and
no doubt knew something of the skill of the American rifleman.
Mistrusting it, they were keeping close--not even daring to look through
the loopholes.
They were not far astray in their tactics--if such they were. Not a
clear spot on the parapet that was not watched with eager eyes, and
fingers ready to press upon the trigger.
For full five minutes did the inaction continue--five minutes that
seemed fifty!
To me the delay was intolerable as some slow subtle torture. I was
scheming how to put an end to it, when, to my astonishment, I saw a form
rising above the parapet. It was that of a tall man, whose dark
_silhouette_ became outlined against the lighter background of the sky.
At a glance I recognised _Carrasco_!
I can scarcely tell what restrained me from sending a bullet through his
body. Perhaps surprise at the unexpected apparition?
And my followers seemed to be influenced by a like feeling; since, along
their whole line, not a trigger was touched!
The robber-chief must have calculated upon something of the kind, else
he would not have so audaciously exposed himself.
He had also made a nice reckoning of the limits to which our surprise
could be trusted. The time was short enough; but before we had
recovered from it, we saw a white curtain drawn hastily before him, that
concealed from our sight more than half of his person!
"A flag of truce!" thought we, as we lowered the muzzles of our guns.
In another instant we were undeceived--so far as to its being a flag.
It was the white drapery of a woman's dress--with a woman inside it!
Despite the ambiguous light of the struggling dawn, I could see who the
woman was.
Her appearance--quick and instantaneous--was evidently an act of
compulsion--as if Carrasco had forced her into the position. I fancied
I had seen his arm outstretched, as he hastily drew her in front of him.
Our rifles were instantly dropped to the "trail," and my comrades
uttered a simultaneous cry of "Shame!"
It was enough to challenge their indignation. A young and beautiful
woman thus basely used for the shielding of a bandit's body!
Many of them shivered at the thought of the murder they had been so near
committing.
I experienced an emotion peculiar to myself--unknown to them--more
painful than that they had been called upon to feel! since I knew the
white shield to be Mercedes!
There was now enough of light to enable me to distinguish her features.
It needed not this. The undulating outlines of her head, neck, and
shoulders, like a cameo cut against the sky--were easily identified.
It was an image too firmly fixed in my memory, and too deeply engraven
upon my heart, to be ever more mistaken.
I had just time to see that her dress was torn, her hair tossed, and
hanging like a cloud about her shoulders--just time to note that she
looked wan and woe-stricken--when the voice of Carrasco, rising above
the sibillation of the torrent, summoned us to a parley.
"Caballeros!" he cried out, "in the darkness I have no chance to know
who you are; but, from your mode of making approach, I take it you are
our enemies. Furthermore, from the fact of your being armed with
rifles, you should be _Americanos_! Am I right?"
I had not sufficiently recovered coolness to make reply. My eyes, my
thoughts, were still fixed upon Mercedes.
"What else should we be?" answered the stage-driver by my side, "That
same we air, an' no mistake about it."
"Why have you come here?"
"To capter the cussdest cut-throat in all Mexiko: for that same ye air,
Mister Capting Carrasco."
"_Hola, amigo_! You've made a mistake this time? You appear to take me
for the noted Carrasco; and my people, no doubt, for a cuadrilla of
salteadores? We're nothing of the sort, I assure you. Only a band of
honest _patriotas_; who, loving our country, have continued to fight for
it--as you know, after our grand army has seen fit to forsake the field.
_Por Dios; senores Americanos_! You're not the men to blame us for
that? Just now we acknowledge ourselves vanquished; though still only
besieged. But as we have no supplies in our castle here--you will give
me credit for some candour in confessing it?--moreover, as we believe it
hopeless to hold out against you, we have made up our minds to
capitulate. All we ask for ourselves is an honourable _cartel_ of
surrender."
Surrender! The word fell sweet upon my ears--and for a particular
reason. It promised safety for Mercedes.
"Come then, caballeros!" pursued the robber-chief; "state your terms;
and let me entreat you not to be too exacting!"
For some seconds I refrained from making reply--partly astounded by the
audacity of the robber--partly considering the answer that should be
returned to him.
Had it been any other man I might have talked about terms. But it was
the wretch Carrasco; and just then I remembered the deception practised
upon me in Puebla. I thought of Francisco Moreno lying on his death-bed
below, and of my artist friend, who, in all probability, had fallen by
the same hand.
With the remembrance there sprang up in my mind, not only suspicion, but
a fresh feeling of revenge; and by these, not prudence, was my answer
inspired.
"Terms!" I shouted back, in a tone of undisguised scornfulness; "We
make no terms with such as you. Surrender; and then trust to such mercy
as may be shown you!"
"_Mil demonios_!" screamed the bandit, now for the first time
recognising me. "_Carajo! you_, it is! You, my saintly friend, whose
devotions I had the pleasure of witnessing, and the pain of disturbing,
in the Cathedral of La Puebla! May I ask why I am honoured by this
early call--in a mansion so remote from the ordinary walks of life?"
"Come, Captain Carrasco," I replied, "if such be your title. I don't
intend to lose time in talking to you. I call upon you to surrender,
and at once!"
"And suppose I don't choose to take it in that way, what then?"
"You need expect no mercy."
"From you, caballero, I have no idea of asking it?"
"You have need, then, unless you desire to die. You have no chance of
escape--not the slightest. I tell it you in all seriousness, and
without thought of triumph. My men are stationed, so as to command
every path that leads from the place. They are all armed with rifles
and revolvers."
"Listen to reason!" I went on almost entreatingly, having now become
convinced of the mistake I had made, in doing what might drive the
brigand to desperation. "Give up your captives, and I promise to spare
the lives both of yourself and your comrades."
"_Ay, Dios_! how generous you are! Ha! Ha! Ha! Is that all you can
promise, noble captain?"
"No--not all," I answered, stung by the taunting speech. "Something
more. If you reject the terms offered, I promise that in ten minutes
from this time your soul will be in eternity, and your body hanging from
the branch of yonder tree!"