A TARTAR _AND_ A TARTAR
"But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides."
--_As You Like It._
As Maximilian crossed the pasture, he suddenly had to jump aside with
considerable sprightliness. A brace of horsemen came swerving through
the gateway from the highroad and tore down upon him as though the Day
of Judgment galloped behind. They were abreast, ten feet apart, but the
oddest thing was a lariat that dangled between them, from saddle-horn to
saddle-horn.
The thunder of hoofs brought Dragoons and Cossacks and Dignitaries, and
emptied the granary. Even insane horsemen could see that the Empire was
encamped over that cow lot. And as nearer they rushed, the two maniacs
seemed to recognize the fact. One was straightway more anxious to
arrive; a directly opposite effect was apparent in the other. And there
was the rope between them, from saddle-horn to saddle-horn. Their
opinions on destination, unexpectedly diverging, promised something. And
since one wanted to stop and the other to hasten, the something was not
long in happening.
One of the horsemen--he wore a sombrero--leaned back frantically. The
other--who wore a battered soldier cap--passed ahead like the wind. The
lariat twanged, but held. Sombrero's horse got its feet planted. The
horse of Soldier Cap slowed to a standstill, and panted. Sombrero flung
out his pistol, Soldier Cap his. They aimed at each other, the triggers
snapped, no report. They looked amazed, embarrassed; and tried again.
Same result. "Por Dios!" "Sacre nom!" They hurled the pistols, each at
the other's head. Both ducked. Sombrero wheeled, drove home the spurs,
and headed for retreat. Soldier Cap and horse braced themselves against
the shock. The spectators, running nearer, now perceived that the lariat
was tied round each man's waist as well as wrapped over his pommel.
Soldier Cap weathered the jolt, next plunged suddenly closer, and in the
instant of the slack, unwound the rope from his saddle and leaped to the
ground. In two leaps more he had Sombrero about the neck. They fell
together, rolling and fighting, while Sombrero's horse reared and plowed
the soil with them. Dragoons and Cossacks heaped themselves on all
three. It was quite an energetic mystery altogether.
Under the soldier cap, under dust and blood and scratches, Jacqueline
caught glimpses of a happy face.
"Oh la-la, it's--it's Michel!"
"Rodrigo Galan!" roared the Tiger, in his turn recognizing Sombrero.
"Here, up with him! Six of you, quick there, in line, shoot him!"
It was near the sweetest moment of the old warrior's life.
"One moment, colonel!" someone spoke quietly. "Is it a Huastecan custom,
by the way, to shoot a cavalier the instant he--ah--dismounts?"
"But this scoundrel is Rodrigo Galan, Your Majesty. And that black
horse, sacre tonnerre, that is Maurel's horse. Captain Maurel, sire,
whom he murdered!"
Don Rodrigo straightened pompously. "Your Most Opportune Majesty--" he
began.
"Also, Colonel Dupin," Maximilian continued, "he waylaid the Belgian
ambassador, sent by Leopold, brother to Our August Spouse."
"The more reason to shoot him, pardi!"
"Without doubt, monsieur. But his execution must have eclat. Europe must
know that Mexican outlaws do not go unpunished.--Colonel Lopez, you will
take charge of Our prisoner. Guard him well, and bring him with you to
the City. He shall be tried there, with every ceremony."
Colonel Dupin, that policeman of the backwoods forced upon Mexico by
Napoleon, could only grind his teeth, which he did.
"Now then," said His Majesty, "let Us see this brigand-catcher who
excels the redoubtable Contra Guerrillas.--As I live, the young man is a
Chasseur d'Afrique! Step nearer, sir, and tell Us who you are."
"Michel Ney, at Your Majesty's service."
"The Prince of Moskowa!" exclaimed the Emperor. In his court, he was
grateful for even a Napoleonic prince.
"Sergeant, Your Majesty." It looked as though Ney were hinting to be
made something else.
"I see," said Maximilian. "And so Our Empire of romance is to hold a
baton for another of the family of Ney. But to start more modestly, how
would a lieutenancy suit, do you think?"
"Your pardon, sire, but I report to His Excellency, Marshal Bazaine."
Maximilian's white brow clouded. The French occupation was ever a thorn
in his side. He could never quite be Emperor in fact. He could not even
promote a likely young man. He had to "recommend" to one Bazaine, who
had carried a knapsack.
"Quite so," he answered coldly. "I shall inform Our dear Marshal how
well you deserve."
"The fact is, Your Majesty," said Ney in some confusion, "I did
not--exactly--capture him. It was, uh, sort of mutual."
Everybody stared curiously. There was the rope, the unloaded pistols. It
was a queer puzzle. How did it happen? Ney began with an apology. Would
Mademoiselle d'Aumerle forgive him? But he had worried though! He should
not have left her, day before yesterday!
"Because of a greater attraction?" the young woman suggested.
Ney demurred so earnestly that Jacqueline laughed outright. "Don't make
it worse, Michel," said she. "I know how you regretted the death of the
terrible Rodrigo. Then you learned that he was alive. Oh no, I couldn't
have held you.--But go on. Did he prove interesting?"
The Frenchman told his story. It appeared that, on deserting
mademoiselle two days before, he went at the best speed of his horse up
the ravine she had so graciously indicated. He hoped to overtake the
fugitive bandit, and after an hour, at a turn in the arroyo, did meet
him, face to face. Both were equally astounded. Rodrigo was retracing
his steps, having been blocked by a dried waterfall. Either man drew and
covered the other. The Mexican did not fire. Seeing Ney, he supposed the
Contras at no great distance, and a shot would bring them on his heels.
But after a time the thing commenced to grow ridiculous, and Ney
laughed.
"Monsieur Rodrigue," he said, "I hope you will come along quietly."
Fra Diavolo mistook the Gallic humor for an assurance of armed backing
near at hand. "Where to?" he asked.
"The devil take me if _I_ know! Where would you suggest?"
It dawned then on the puzzled brigand that the other knew nothing of the
country, and accordingly they struck up an armistice; which, for the
rest, the alert revolver of each made imperative. Their protocol's chief
clause required the prisoner to conduct his captor to some neutral
point. Rodrigo suggested Anastasio Murguia's ranch, and Ney agreed. But
as to what might happen on arriving, they left in blank. Michel had a
duel in mind, if honest seconds were to be had. The craftier Rodrigo
hoped to find some of his own men lurking about the hacienda.
A cessation of hostile moves was further stipulated, though treachery of
course warranted the instant drawing of weapons. Should the prisoner try
to betray the captor to guerrillas, this was to constitute treachery.
Ney for his part insisted on his rights as captor. That is, he could
call for help if he got the chance. Rodrigo assented willingly. He knew
the neighborhood. He would avoid the Cossacks, and the Frenchman might
shout to his heart's ease. To do him justice, the outlaw had no desire
to kill Ney, even if Ney gave him leave. A duke and prince in one was
too valuable. A pretty ransom loomed brightly. Ney suspected as much,
but not being ingenuous enough to obviate the risks, took a huge delight
in them.
Conforming to the terms of the truce, each man, simultaneously, put his
gun in his holster. Then, good company enough one for the other, though
with eyes ever on the watch, they proceeded along tortuous bridle paths
until twilight, meeting no one. They camped in the same forest which
that same moment held Murguia, Driscoll, and the two girls. They
tethered their horses together and made a bed of leaves for themselves.
Each laid his pistol a comfortable distance away, so that if either
tried to arm himself while the other slept, there would be much snapping
of twigs under his feet. Again simultaneously, they sat down and talked,
and smoked cigarettes in lieu of supper. Ney progressed in his Spanish
that evening. Fra Diavolo wished to impress on the companionable
Frenchman that he, Rodrigo Galan, was a more terrible person than
Colonel Dupin. He seemed envious, even of the compliment implied in the
Tiger's nickname.
During a pause the brigand said, "Now don't jump, caballero, because I'm
only getting out my flask."
"The beautiful idea!" returned Ney. "I'll do the same."
But each stopped with the liquor at his mouth. It was consolation for
lack of food, but if one refrained and the other partook--well, there
would be a light sleeper and a heavy sleeper. With the tempting fumes in
their nostrils, they waited, each for the other, to quaff first. And
neither did. Finally Rodrigo proposed that they equalize the perils of
indulgence. Accordingly each lowered the contents of his flask by three
swallows, after which they compared the extent of the ebb tide in either
bottle.
"But, voyons," Ney objected, "you haven't taken as much as I have!"
Rodrigo admitted the impeachment, and amiably took another draught. But
the swallow proved too large, and Ney in his turn tried to balance that
one, only to fail likewise. This entailed another effort from Rodrigo,
which resulted in still another exaggeration.
"Now you've had _more_ than I have," Michel complained, growing
vague on the real point at issue.
"Bien, senor, suppose you try a little of this. It's catalan, genuine,
too, smuggled at Tampico."
"Mine's cognac," said Ney. "Have some?"
They exchanged flasks, and that night in the forest their snores were
discordant and loud. Ney half awoke once, and remembered that he seemed
to have heard the tramp of many horses. Toward morning, when it was not
yet light, he was aroused for good by a savage tightening around his
waist and a tremendous pull. He sat up, and heard his prisoner scuffling
and swearing near him.
"You've tied me, you sneaking animal without shame!"
"It's you that's tied me, tete de voleur!"
But as Rodrigo wrested in the dark, Ney found that the brigand's
stumblings corresponded with the tightening about himself. He clutched
at his waist, and discovered a rope.
Both men groped vengefully forward with the line, and lurched into one
another's arms. Each had thought to come on a tree, only to discover
himself tied to the other. In the first start of suspicion, and in no
good humor from splitting headaches, one reached for his knife, the
other for his sabre. But the knife was gone, the sabre was gone.
Forthwith they grappled and strained and breathed by jerks and tumbled
and rolled and wound themselves in the lariat, until at last they lay
exhausted on their backs and blinked up at the beautiful innocent morn
peeping through the trees.
"Now don't you untie yourself till I get untied," ordered Ney.
"Or you yourself," retorted the other.
"Let us both untie at the same time."
"But one might finish first," objected Rodrigo. The brigand had grown
amiable again. He saw advantages in the rope. It was well to have his
prospective ransom never more than a few feet away.
They discussed the problem at length, but were not equal to it. So the
modus vivendi was stretched a rope's length, and the treachery clause
expanded to include any untying or attempted untying before their
arrival at Murguia's. Scrupulously simultaneous, they arose, found their
pistols, and mounted their horses. To guard against any sudden varying
in rapidity of travel and its consequences, each wrapped the lariat once
about his saddle-horn. Where necessary, the brigand rode in front, since
Ney insisted that the other way would reverse their roles of prisoner
and captor. Rodrigo got some tortillas from a charcoal burner, and they
lunched and rested within the forest's edge till dark. But they traveled
all that night in the open country, and approached Murguia's before noon
of the next day. Hoping to find friends about the hacienda's stables,
Rodrigo suggested that they race up the highway into the pasture. He was
thinking that then the Frenchmen might be overpowered the more easily.
Ney fell into the trap. He accepted the challenge and was keen for the
sport. Thus it happened that they all but ran down the Emperor of Mexico
himself, and instead of guerrillas, Rodrigo saw Cossacks and Dragoons.
But the mystery of the rope, added to that of the unloaded pistols,
rested unexplained.
Jacqueline was delighted. "If it were just conventional heroism," she
exclaimed, "one might talk of lieutenancies. But sire, this----"
"Never fear," replied Maximilian. "I cannot make him captain, but he
shall have his reward.--Monsieur le Prince, I will leave you a half
company of my Austrians, if, though a Chasseur, you will deign to
command them. In a word, I desire you to have the honor of escorting
mademoiselle to the City."
"And I thank you, sire. Parbleu, the sergeant is happier with such an
order than--than the captain without it."
"Michel," cried Jacqueline, "and where in the world now did you get
that?"
"Why--out of my own head. Really, mademoiselle."