The last beams of the sun were gilding the summit of the ridge that
bounded the plain of Las Palmas, when Don Rafael Tres-Villas crossed it
on his way to the hacienda Del Valle. To recover the time he had lost,
he pressed his horse to his utmost speed, and descended the slope on the
opposite side at a gallop. As the brave steed dashed onward, a hoarse
snorting sound was heard to issue from his nostrils, caused by the
singular operation which the _arriero_ had performed upon him.
On reaching the level of the valley in which stood the hacienda Del
Valle, the horseman drew bridle and listened, he was sufficiently near
the house to have heard any unusual commotion that might be there going
on. He fully expected to have distinguished the shouts of men engaged
in fight, or the tumultuous murmur of a siege.
No sound, however, reached his ear--not a murmur. Silence ominous and
profound reigned throughout the valley.
With clouded brow, and heart anxiously beating, the officer continued on
his course. He had unbuckled his carbine from the saddle, and carried
the piece in his hand ready for use.
The silence continued. Not a cry awoke the solitude--not the flash of a
fusil lit up the darkness of the twilight. The sleep of death seemed to
be upon everything.
As already stated, Don Rafael had not visited the hacienda of Del Valle
since he left it when only a child: he therefore knew nothing of the way
that led to it beyond the directions he had received from his late host.
He was beginning to think he had gone astray, when a long wide avenue
opened before him. This was bordered on each side by a row of tall
trees, of the species _taxodium disticha_--the cypress of America. He
had been told of this avenue, and that at its extremity stood the
hacienda he was in search of. The description was minute: he could not
be mistaken.
Heading his steed into the avenue, he spurred forward beneath the sombre
shadow of the trees. In a rapid gallop he traversed the level road, and
had arrived nearly at its further extremity, when all at once the walls
of the hacienda came in view directly in front of him--a dark mass of
building, that filled up the whole space between the two rows of trees.
The main entrance in the centre appeared to be only half closed, one
wing of the massive gate standing slightly ajar. But no one came forth
to welcome him! Not a sound issued from the building. All was silent
as the tomb!
Still pressing forward, he advanced towards the entrance--determined to
ride in through the open gateway; but, just at that moment, his steed
made a violent bound, and shied to one side.
In the obscurity of the twilight, or rather from the confusion of his
senses, Don Rafael had not observed the object which had frightened his
horse. It was a dead body lying upon the ground in front of the
gateway. More horrible still, it was a body wanting the head!
At this frightful spectacle a cry broke from the lips of the officer--a
cry of fearful import. Rage, despair, all the furious passions that may
wring the heart of man, were expressed in that cry--to which echo was
the only answer. He had arrived too late. All was over. The body was
that of his father!
He needed not to alight and examine it, in order to be convinced of this
terrible fact. On a level with his horse's head an object appeared
hanging against one of the leaves of the great door. It was a head--the
head that had belonged to the corpse. It was hanging from the latch,
suspended by the hair.
Despite the repugnance of his horse to advance, Don Rafael drove the
spur into his flank; and forced him forward until he was himself near
enough to examine the fearful object. With flashing eyes and swelling
veins, he gazed upon the gory face. The features were not so much
disfigured, as to hinder him from identifying them. They were the
features of his father!
The truth was clear. The Spaniard had been the victim of the
insurgents, who had respected neither his liberal political sentiments,
nor his inoffensive old age. The authors of the crime had even boasted
of it. On the gate below were written two names, _Arroyo_--_Antonio
Valdez_.
The officer read them aloud, but with a choking utterance.
For a moment his head fell pensively forward upon his breast. Then on a
sudden he raised it again--as if in obedience to a secret resolve--
saying as he did so, in a voice husky with emotion--
"Where shall I find the fiends? Where? No matter!--find them I shall.
Night or day, no rest for me--no rest for them, till I have hung both
their heads in the place of this one!"
"How now," he continued after a pause, "how can I combat in a cause like
this? Can a son fight under the same flag with the assassins of his
father? Never!"
"For Spain, then!" he cried out, after another short moment of silence.
"For Spain shall my sword be drawn!" And raising his voice into a
louder tone, he pronounced with furious emphasis--
"_Viva Espana! Mueran a los bandidos_!" (Spain for ever! Death to the
brigands!)
Saying this, the dragoon dismounted from his horse, and knelt
reverentially in front of that ghastly image.
"Head of my venerable and beloved father!" said he, "I swear by your
grey hairs, crimsoned with your own blood, to use every effort in my
power, by sword and by fire, to nip in the bud this accursed
insurrection--one of whose first acts has been to rob you of your
innocent life. May God give me strength to fulfil my vow!"
At that moment a voice from within seemed to whisper in his ear,
repeating the words of his mistress:--
"_May all those who raise an arm in favour of Spain be branded with
infamy and disgrace! May they find neither a roof to shelter them, nor
a woman to smile upon them! May the contempt of those they love be the
reward of every traitor to his country_!"
Almost the instant after, another voice replied--"_Do your duty, no
matter what may be the result_." In presence of the mutilated remains
of his father, the son hearkened only to the latter.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The moon had been long up before Don Rafael finished the melancholy task
of digging a grave. In this he respectfully placed the headless corpse,
and laid the head beside it in its proper position. Then, drawing from
his bosom the long plait of Gertrudis' hair, and taking from his
shoulders the embroidered sun-scarf, with like respectful manner, he
deposited these two love-tokens alongside the honoured remains of his
father.
Convulsed with grief, he threw in the earth, burying in one grave the
dearest _souvenirs_ of his life.
It was not without difficulty that he could withdraw himself from a spot
thus doubly consecrated by filial piety and love; and for a long while
he stood sorrowing over the grave.
In fine, new thoughts coursing through his bosom aroused him to action;
and, leaping into his saddle, he spurred his steed into a gallop, taking
the road that conducted to the capital of Oajaca.