DON TORRIBIO QUIROGA.
There was a long silence after these words of Don Torribio. The
_vaqueros_, with their eyes fixed on him, endeavoured to guess his
thoughts from the play of his features. But Don Torribio's face, cold
and rigid as a block of marble, gave no signs of the thoughts within.
At last, after casting a glance of suspicion around, more from habit
than from any fear of being overheard, he rolled a cigarette, lit it
with the greatest coolness, and began to speak in a careless tone.
"My good _verado_, I am truly sorry that you have taken these
honourable _caballeros_ from their vocations, and put yourself to
inconvenience, in order to repair to the place I had appointed."
"Why so, señor?" asked the _verado_, perfectly puzzled by this
commencement.
"For a very simple reason, señor,--because the motives no longer exist
which induced me to wish to confer with you."
"What!" cried all the rogues together; "Can that be possible?"
"Oh, yes!" he replied coolly; "All things considered, Don Fernando
Carril is a charming _caballero_. I should be in despair if I caused
him the slightest inconvenience."
"_Diablo!_ not quite so charming!" observed the verado; "The fellow who
ordered Carlocho to kill me quietly!"
"It was not to me, dear friend," said Carlocho, with great suavity,
"but to Don Pablito here, that Señor Don Fernando gave the order."
"You are right; I made a mistake. Accept my excuses, señor."
After this exchange of courtesy, the two bandits again grew silent.
"An honest man sticks to his word," said Tonillo; "and if Don Torribio
has changed his mind, we have nothing more to say. That reminds me," he
added, with a smothered sigh, "that I must refund to you two hundred
piastres, which you advanced to--"
"Keep the trifle, dear señor," said Don Torribio; "the money cannot be
in better hands than yours."
The _vaquero_, who had pulled the coins from his pocket with evident
reluctance, thrust them back again with a celerity that evinced the
greatest satisfaction.
"It is all the same," said he; "I do not consider myself quits with
you, señor. I am an honest man, and you may rely upon me."
"On us all!" exclaimed the others in one voice.
"I thank you for your devotion, señores, and appreciate it highly.
Unfortunately, as I say once more, it is of no use to me."
"It is unfortunate," said the _verado_; "one does not find such patrons
as you every day, señor."
"Pooh!" said he gaily; "Now you are free, what prevents your placing
yourselves under the orders of Don Fernando? He is very generous; a
_caballero_ to the tips of his fingers: I am sure he will pay you well."
"I suppose it will have to be so, señor," said Pablito; "moreover, we
can now confess that we have already been thinking of it, and--"
"Have already taken service with him," said Don Torribio carelessly. "I
was aware of it."
"You know it?" cried the bandits, struck with astonishment.
"And are not vexed at it?" continued Pablito.
"Why should I be? On the contrary, I am delighted. It is a strange
chance; but perhaps you will be even better able to serve me by the
change."
"Indeed!" said they, becoming very attentive.
"Certainly you may. So you really are devoted to me?"
"To the last drop of our blood!" shouted the _vaqueros_ in touching
unison.
"You do not despise money?"
"Money can never hurt those who have none," replied the sententious
Pablito.
"When it is earned honourably," added Tonillo with a grin like a monkey.
"I agree with you," said Don Torribio; "particularly when it is a
question of a hundred ounces or so," (about three hundred and forty
pounds sterling).
The bandits trembled with joy, and their wild eyes sparkled. They
exchanged looks of promise to themselves for the future, which did not
escape Don Torribio's observation.
"_¡Caray!_" they muttered, hugging themselves with joy.
"So that would suit you, I suppose?"
"_Rayo de Dios!_ a hundred ounces! I should think so," said Pablito.
"There may be more," observed Don Torribio.
"But doubtless it will be a difficult job," the _verado_ ventured to
say.
"_¡Dame!_ You know, things are going wrong at present."
"No need to tell us that, señor; the misery is frightful."
"Perhaps there may be a man to kill?" insinuated Carlocho.
"That might happen!" roundly replied Don Torribio.
"So much the worse for him," muttered Pablito.
"Then the offer is agreeable to you, even in that case?"
"More so than ever," growled Tonillo.
"Since that is your opinion, _caballeros_, listen attentively," said
Don Torribio, drawing himself up; "I have pledged my honour," he began,
"to make no attempts against Don Fernando Carril, either directly or
indirectly."
"An honest man sticks to his word," said Tonillo.
"And I intend to keep mine scrupulously, as regards Don Fernando."
The _vaqueros_ made signs of approbation.
"But," continued the speaker, "you know as well as I do that Don
Fernando is a man made of mysteries, whose life lies hidden under an
impenetrable veil."
"Alas, yes!" piteously sighed Tonillo.
"No one knows what becomes of him for the greater part of his time: he
disappears for months together, to start up again at the moment when
one least expects him."
"It is but too true," said Pablito; "the life of the _caballero_ is
most extraordinary."
"To how many dangers he must expose himself," continued Don Torribio,
"in those perilous adventures, of which no one knows the object, nor
the direction in which he seeks them!"
"It is terrible even to think of them," said Carlocho, with an air of
conviction.
"One so easily meets with mishap in the wilderness," added the _verado_.
"Without going further, only look what might have happened to yourself
tonight, señor!" said Tonillo, looking interested.
"It is dreadful," exclaimed Pablito.
"You will clearly understand, señores," resumed Don Torribio, "that I
can by no means be responsible for the numberless accidents to which
Don Fernando's manner of life exposes him at every step."
"This is incontestable," cried the others.
"Chance seems to take malignant pleasure in deranging and upsetting
the best conceived plans; and it is impossible for me to save him from
chance, even with the lively interest I take in his safety."
"There can be no doubt on that head," said Pablito, dogmatically; "and
certainly not a soul would have the right to utter a word of reproach
against you, señor, should poor Don Fernando be killed in one of his
perilous adventures."
"Exactly what I think; but as I am now no longer the enemy, but the
friend of Don Fernando, and in that capacity take the greatest interest
in knowing all that may happen to him, so that I might fly to his aid
if necessary--"
"Or avenge him, if ill luck should have it that he should be killed,"
said Carlocho, interrupting him.
"I should like," continued Don Torribio, "to be constantly apprised of
whatever may happen to him."
"Oh, holy friendship!" exclaimed Tonillo, raising his eyes to heaven
with a sanctified air; "Thou art not a mere idle word!"
"_Caballeros_, you could not be in a better position for giving me
information; and as all trouble should have its reward, you shall
receive at least one hundred ounces to share amongst you, or two
hundred, according to the news you may bring me. You understand?"
"Perfectly, señor," replied Carlocho, with imperturbable composure, in
the name of his deeply touched companions; "the office you confide to
us is most honourable. You may rely on our carrying out your views to
your utmost satisfaction."
"Well, that is settled, señores; I rely upon the accuracy of your
information, for you must perceive the ridiculous position in which
a false report would place me in the eyes of Don Fernando's numerous
friends, whom I should be loth to disturb without good cause."
"Trust entirely to us, señor; we will confirm our information by
irrefragable proof."
"Good! I see we understand each other; it is useless to pursue the
matter further."
"Perfectly useless, señor; we are men of quick comprehension."
"Yes," said Don Torribio, smiling; "but, as your memories may be short,
do me the honour of dividing these ten ounces amongst you,--not as the
earnest--money of a bargain, for there is no bargain between us, but
as a return for the service you have just done me, and as a means of
imprinting our conversation on your brains."
The _vaqueros_, without waiting to be pressed, extended their hands,
and, with smiling faces, pocketed the ounces so liberally bestowed.
"Now, one word more, _caballeros:_ where are we?"
"In the Selva Negra, señor," answered Pablito; "not more than four
leagues from the Hacienda del Cormillo, where Don Pedro de Luna and his
family are at present residing."
Don Torribio started in astonishment.
"What! Has Don Pedro left Las Norias de San Antonio?"
"Yes, señor; since yesterday."
"What a singular thing! El Cormillo is on the extreme verge of the
wilderness, in the midst of the Apaches: it is impossible to understand
it."
"They say it was Doña Hermosa who wished for this change, of which
scarcely anybody has yet heard."
"What an extraordinary whim! After the dangers to which she was exposed
only a few days ago, to come and brave the redskins on their own
territory!"
"The _hacienda_ is strong, and perfectly safe from sudden assault."
"True: yet the change of residence seems very incomprehensible. At
sunrise, I should be happy if you would do me the honour of serving me
as guides till I get within sight of the _hacienda_. It is important
that I should see Don Pedro without delay."
"We shall be at your orders, señor, as soon as you please to depart,"
answered Carlocho.
The night was fleeting; and Don Torribio had need of repose to restore
his strength, exhausted by his late struggle for life. He rolled
himself in his _zarapé_, stretched out his feet towards the fire, and
was soon asleep, in spite of the trouble that racked his mind.
The _vaqueros_ followed his example, after drawing lots amongst
themselves as to who should watch over the common safety.
The post fell to Carlocho: the others closed their eyes; and the
silence of the wilderness, which had just been so terribly disturbed,
resumed its empire.
Night passed, without anything occurring to disturb the rest of these
guests of the forest.
At sunrise the _vaqueros_ were up. After feeding and watering their
horses, they saddled them, and roused Don Torribio, announcing that the
hour of departure had arrived.
The latter rose at once; and, after a short prayer uttered by them all,
the five men mounted, and left the clearing which had nearly proved so
fatal to one of them.
The Hacienda del Cormillo may be looked upon as the advanced sentinel
of the _presidio_ of San Lucar; it is, without contradiction, the
richest and strongest position on the whole Indian frontier. It rises
on a kind of peninsula, three leagues in circumference, on which an
incalculable number of cattle pasture at liberty. We will not expatiate
much on the description of a dwelling in which only a few scenes of our
story are laid; we will confine ourselves to saying, that in the middle
of the _hacienda_ properly speaking, and perfectly secured behind the
massive fortifications, loopholed and bastioned, of the fortress (for
El Cormillo was certainly such), there stood a white house, small
indeed, but admirably arranged, pleasant and cheerful looking. At a
distance, the roof was half concealed by the branches of the trees
which covered it with their verdant foliage; from its windows, the eye
roamed on one side over the wilderness, on the other over the Rio del
Norte, which unrolled itself in the plain like a silver band, and was
lost to view in the blue distance of the horizon.
The _vaqueros_, in company with Don Torribio, had struck into the
forest. For three hours their route led them along the banks of the Rio
Bravo del Norte, till they were opposite the Hacienda del Cormillo,
which dimly showed itself in the centre of one of those charming
oases created by the deposit of the river, and covered with groups of
willows, nopals, mesquites, orange and citron trees, and jasmines in
full flower, amongst the branches of which a whole host of birds of
varied plumage warbled unceasingly.
Don Torribio halted, and turning towards his companions, who had
likewise stopped, addressed them:
"I must leave you here; I thank you for the escort you have done me
the honour to give me. Your help is no longer needed. Return to your
avocations, señores; you know our agreement, and I reckon on your
punctuality."
"Farewell, _caballero_," they replied, bowing ceremoniously to him;
"cast aside all anxiety as to the measures we are about to take."
They turned the heads of their horses, made them enter the river as
if they intended to cross it, and soon vanished behind a rise in the
ground. Don Torribio remained alone.
The families of Don Torribio and Don Pedro de Luna, both originally
Spanish, and connected by various ties in old times, had always lived
on a footing of great intimacy. The young man and the girl had almost
been brought up together. So, when her handsome cousin had come to bid
her adieu, and announce his departure for Europe, where he was to stay
a few years, in order to complete his education and acquire the manners
of the fashionable world, Doña Hermosa, then about twelve years old,
had felt sorry to lose him. They had loved each other from infancy,
unwittingly obeying the secret impulses of childhood, which is always
seeking for happiness.
Don Torribio had left her, carrying his own love with him, and never
doubting that Doña Hermosa was preserving hers for him.
On his return to Veracruz, after visiting the most celebrated places of
the civilized world, he had hastened to put his affairs in order, and
set out for San Lucar, burning with desire to meet her whom he loved
so dearly, and whom he had not seen for three years--his Hermosa, that
pretty child, who by this time, must have grown into a beautiful and
accomplished woman.
The surprise and joy of Don Pedro and his daughter were extreme.
Hermosa was particularly happy, for, we must confess, she had thought
all day long of Don Torribio, and looked at him through the medium of
her recollections of childhood; yet at the same time she felt her heart
disturbed by mingled sensations of pain and pleasure.
Don Torribio perceived it: he understood, or thought he understood,
that she still loved him; and his happiness was complete.
"Come, children," the smiling father had said, "embrace each other; you
have my permission."
Doña Hermosa, with many blushes, bent forward her forehead to Don
Torribio, who respectfully touched it with his lips.
"Is that what you call kissing?" cried Don Pedro. "Come, come, no
hypocrisy; embrace each other frankly. Do not play the coquette,
Hermosa, because you are a pretty girl and he is a handsome fellow; and
you, Torribio, who have come upon us like a thunderbolt, without giving
warning, do you think to make me believe you have ridden many hundred
leagues, as fast as your horse could carry you, to see me? I know for
whom you come all the way from Veracruz to San Lucar! You love each
other. Give each other an honest kiss, like betrothed lovers as you
are; and if you are wise, you will be married offhand."
The young people, melted by his kind words and pleasant humour, threw
themselves into the arms of the venerable man, to hide the depth of
their emotion.
In consequence of this reception, Don Torribio had been formally
acknowledged as having a claim to the hand of Doña Hermosa, and in that
capacity was received by her.
We must do the girl the justice to say, that she sincerely believed she
loved her cousin. The ties of relationship, their childish friendship,
and the long separation, which had increased the warmth of their
feelings, disposed her to think favourably of the marriage proposed by
her father. She awaited the day fixed for her espousals without any
degree of impatience, and looked forward with a kind of pleasurable
hope to the time when she would be indissolubly united to him.
Although such an assertion will most likely make many of our readers
cry "Fie!" upon us, we will nevertheless maintain that a young girl's
first passion is rarely genuine love. Her second love originates in
the heart; the first only in the brain A young girl who begins to
experience the first emotions of her heart naturally allows herself
to be attracted by the man who, from circumstances and his relations
towards her, has long ago obtained her confidence and excited her
interest. This kind of love, then, is only friendship, fortified by
habit and magnified by the secret influence exercised by the as yet
vague and undecided thoughts which crop up in the brains of sixteen;
and lastly, and more than all, by the want of opportunities for
comparing her lover with others, and the fact that the marriage is
already settled, and she thinks it impossible to recede.
This was the position in which Doña Hermosa, without at all suspecting
it, stood towards her cousin. The marriage had been retarded, up to
the day about which we are now writing, for divers reasons of age and
convenience, although Don Pedro attached immense importance to it,
either on account of his intended son-in-law's enormous wealth, or
because he was persuaded the union would make his daughter happy.
Matters had proceeded thus between the young people, without any
remarkable incident occurring to trouble the calm of their relations to
each other, up to the time when the events we have narrated in another
place happened to Doña Hermosa in the prairie. But at the first visit
Don Torribio paid his betrothed after her return to the Hacienda de
las Norias, he perceived, with the clear-sightedness of love, that
Doña Hermosa did not receive him with the freedom or the frankness of
speech and manner to which he had been accustomed.
The girl seemed sad and dreamy; she scarcely answered the questions he
addressed to her, and did not appear to understand the hints he threw
out about their approaching marriage.
Don Torribio at first attributed the change to one of those nervous
influences to which young girls are subject, without suspecting it. He
fancied she was unwell, and left her, without dreaming that another
filled the place in the heart of his betrothed which he believed
himself alone to occupy.
Moreover, upon whom could his suspicions fall, if he entertained any?
Don Pedro lived in great retirement, only receiving at long intervals
his old friends, most of them married, or long past the age for
marrying.
It was impossible to suppose that, in the two days Doña Hermosa spent
in the prairie among the redskins, she could have met with a man whose
appearance and manners could have touched her affections.
However, Don Torribio was soon compelled to acknowledge in spite
of himself, that what he had at first taken for a girlish whim was
a confirmed resolve; or, in one word, that if Doña Hermosa still
preserved for him the friendship to which he had a right, as the
companion of her childhood, her love, if she had ever felt it for him,
had vanished for ever.
When once convinced of this certainty, he became seriously uneasy. The
love he felt for his cousin was profound and sincere; he had let it
grow into his heart too deeply to be easily eradicated. He saw all his
plans of happiness in the future crumble together, and, his hopes once
shipwrecked, resolved to have the indispensable explanation from the
girl which should tell him how much he had to hope or fear.
It was with the intention of demanding this explanation from Doña
Hermosa that, instead of returning to San Lucar, where he lived, he
had desired the _vaqueros_ to show him the way to the Hacienda del
Cormillo. But as soon as his guides left him, and he found himself
alone in front of the _hacienda_, his courage nearly evaporated.
Foreseeing the result of the step he was about to take, he hesitated to
enter the dwelling; for, like all lovers, in spite of the pain caused
by the girl's indifference, he would have preferred to go on cheating
himself with futile expectations, rather than learn a truth which would
break his heart, by robbing him of all hope.
The struggle lasted a long time; more than once he made as if he would
ride back; but at last reason conquered passion. He comprehended how
difficult the position would be, both for Doña Hermosa and himself.
Happen what might, he resolved to end it; and digging his spurs into
the flanks of his horse, he galloped towards the _hacienda_, rightly
fearing that, if he lingered longer, he would find no strength to
accomplish the project he had formed.
When he arrived at El Cormillo, he was informed that Don Pedro and his
daughter had gone hunting at sunrise, and would not return before the
_oración_ (time for mass).
"So much the better," muttered Don Torribio between his teeth, and
with a sigh of satisfaction at the respite chance had so opportunely
afforded him.
Without stopping for the refreshments offered him, he turned his
horse's head in the direction of San Lucar, and galloped off,
congratulating himself that the explanation he both dreaded and desired
had been thus providentially delayed.