Left to himself, Don Rafael calmly considered the circumstances that
surrounded him. He could not help feeling a conviction that his chances
of escape were of the most doubtful kind; and that, unless some
unforeseen accident should favour him, he had but a very poor prospect
of being able to extricate himself from the danger that threatened.
Such an accident he had no reason to expect.
The sun was now high in the heavens, and his bright beams penetrating
through the foliage, illuminated even the darkest labyrinths of the
forest. It would be eight or nine hours before he would set again; for
it was near the summer solstice, when the days of the year are longest.
Don Rafael now regretted having slept so long. Had he awoke before
sunrise, there might still have been time to have secured his retreat.
He further regretted not having declared his name and rank to the two
men who had just parted from him. It was possible that, by the offer of
a large recompense, he might have induced them to attempt making an
entrance into the hacienda Del Valle, and warning Lieutenant Veraegui of
his perilous situation.
He was far from suspecting at that moment, that a providential chance
was about doing for him the very thing which his reflection had now too
late suggested he should have done before.
Notwithstanding the danger in which he was placed, Don Rafael, who had
not eaten for many long hours, began to feel hungered. This, however,
gave him but little concern; since in the tropical forests of Mexico,
the anona, the corosollo, the aguacate, and other fruit-bearing trees,
yield spontaneously their delicious produce, sufficient for the
sustenance of human life.
These reflections once made, Don Rafael was not the man to waste time in
vain regrets. He resolved to act at once.
He hesitated only an instant, to reflect upon what he should do with his
horse. At first he thought of abandoning him; but then it occurred to
him, that while passing along his tortuous track through the chapparal,
the animal might prove useful. He might serve as a sort of moveable
rampart, behind which he could shelter himself from the bullets of the
carbines, that might be fired by his assailants. Moreover, should he
succeed in getting clear of the thicket, by flinging himself in the
saddle he would still have a chance of escape, through the superior
swiftness of Roncador. For this reason he decided upon going in search
of the horse.
The thicket in which he had hidden him was at no great distance from the
cedrela; and finding his own traces, Don Rafael returned on them with
stealthy tread. The silence that reigned throughout the forest was for
the moment profound; and he knew that the slightest sound, even the
snapping of a stick, might betray his presence to some lurking foe.
He had advanced only a few paces, when a vague clamour of voices reached
his ear. He listened for some seconds; but as the voices did not appear
to come any nearer, he again moved forward.
At length he succeeded in reaching the thicket, where Roncador had been
left. The poor animal, though devoured by thirst--and suffering from
hunger as well--had made no effort to free himself from his fastenings.
He was still standing by the tree, to which Don Rafael had attached him.
At the approach of his master he uttered a joyous neigh.
Notwithstanding the fear which Don Rafael had that the noise might be
heard by his pursuers, he could not help feeling a joyful emotion at
being thus saluted by his old companion in many a scene of peril; and,
while caressing the horse, he felt a certain remorse at the _role_ he
had just designed him to play. It was, however, one of those crises,
when the instinct of self-preservation is at variance with the desire of
the heart.
Leading his steed by the bridle, Don Rafael advanced as rapidly as was
possible through the labyrinth of bushes and climbing plants that
thickly covered the ground. The sun occasionally coming in view,
enabled him to guide his course towards the south--the direction which
Zapote had counselled him to take.
The advice given by the latter seemed to Don Rafael worth following. If
he could only pass through the line of those seeking for him, and reach
the cane-brake on the Ostuta, he might there conceal himself until after
sunset. By night he might again attempt to enter the hacienda, and with
a better chance of success; since he was now aware of its being
surrounded by the insurgent guerilleros.
In order to give him more freedom in his movements, he cast away his
sword-belt and scabbard; and with the bare blade in one hand, and his
bridle-rein in the other, he continued to advance as silently as
possible. He had determined to make use of his pistols--only as a last
resource.
It was not long, however, before he was forced out of his direct
course--not by the thickness of the jungle, but on hearing in front of
him the voices of several men. These calling to one another, appeared
to be directing a movement among themselves, as if advancing towards him
in an extended deployment.
Singly, each of those who were approaching would have caused Don Rafael
no more uneasiness than does the solitary hunter the lion who
reluctantly retreats before him; but it was evident from the number of
voices that a large party of men were in the wood; and should they all
fall upon him simultaneously, there would be no alternative but to
succumb. He therefore renounced the desperate idea that for a moment
had occurred to him: of rushing upon the nearest, and putting an end to
him without noise.
He perceived, at the same time, that, in the midst of the dense
chapparal where he then was, a resolute man would have a decided
advantage over enemies who were so scattered, and who were constantly
warning him of their whereabouts as they advanced; while he, keeping
silence, left them ignorant of his own.
The men were evidently getting nearer, and Don Rafael heard their voices
with anxiety. He listened also to hear if any others replied to them in
the opposite direction; since in that case he would be in danger of
being surrounded. He knew not the number of his enemies; but he could
tell by the sounds that their cordon had not yet been completely drawn
around him, and there might still be a chance of escaping from it.
While thus listening, with all the eagerness of a man whose life was
depending on the acuteness of his hearing, a noise reached him, which he
knew was not made by a human being. It was the distant and sonorous
tapping of a woodpecker upon the trunk of a dead tree--a sound often
heard in the depths of an American forest. The sound fell upon his ear
like the voice of a friend. It seemed to say that, in the direction
whence it proceeded, no human creature would be found to trouble the
solitude of the forest.
The hint was sufficient for one skilled in wood-lore, as Don Rafael was.
Without a moment's hesitation, he faced in the direction of the sound,
and commenced advancing towards it--guided by the measured strokes given
by the beak of the bird.
He was still at some distance from the dead-wood, where the woodpecker
was employed seeking its food, when the bird, perceiving him, flew off
amidst the trees.
Don Rafael now halted, and once more bent his ear to listen. To his joy
he perceived that the voices of the searchers had receded to a distance.
This proved that he had passed out of their way; and, if they should
not find reason to return on their tracks, his chances of escape were
becoming more favourable.
To make more sure of not being followed, he adopted a ruse, which he had
learnt during his Indian campaigns. Taking up two dry sticks of
guiacuni wood, he struck one against the other, thus producing a sound
that resembled the tapping of the woodpecker's beak; and, after
repeating this for a number of times, he returned by a detour to the
same direction from which he had been forced on hearing the voices.
After a half-hour's advance through the thicket, he halted to refresh
himself by eating some fruits of the pawpaw that grew by the path.
Their juicy pulp served for a moment to satisfy the craving of both
appetites--relieving at the same time both hunger and thirst.
Mid-day had already passed, and the sun was beginning to fling his rays
obliquely through the branches, when Don Rafael resumed his route; and
shortly after, through the last straggling trees of the forest, he
perceived the crystal current of the Ostuta running its tranquil course
between banks thickly covered with tall bamboos.
The breeze blowing freely over the water stirred the long lance-like
leaves of the gigantic canes; among whose moveable stems the caimans had
sought protection from the hot sun, and were awaiting the freshness of
the night to return to the channel of the river. Here, too, like them,
was Don Rafael to find an asylum that would shelter him till sunset.
He was not long in choosing a place of concealment. The selvage of the
forest through which he had come, extended to within a few paces of the
bamboo brake; and, crossing the intervening space as rapidly as
possible, the fugitive plunged in among the canes.
Once hidden by the gigantic reeds, he felt more secure; and had now an
opportunity to reconnoitre to some extent a portion of the surrounding
neighbourhood. From certain large rocks, which he saw lying in the
mid-channel of the stream, he recognised the place, and knew that he was
not far distant from the ford of the Ostuta--where, two years before,
the pursuit of Arroyo and his brigands had more than once conducted him.
He saw, moreover, on the opposite side of the stream, the rude tent of
the guerillero chief, and the horsemen of his band galloping up and down
the bank. The sight aroused all his fiery passions, and he could not
restrain himself from raising his clenched hand, and stretching his arm
in menace across the water.
All at once he heard shouts behind him, and the trampling of horses.
These sounds were caused by the party sent in pursuit of him by Arroyo,
and who were now returning to the camp. It need not be said that they
had been unsuccessful, as they brought back with them, instead of the
Colonel and the two runaways, only Suarez and Pacheco, still alive and
well, but terribly frightened.
For better security, Don Rafael advanced still further among the
bamboos, carefully parting them with his hands as he moved forward; and
the horsemen, though they rode past along the bank, only a short
distance from where he was concealed, had not the slightest suspicion
their enemy was so near. The most sharp-sighted eye could not have
discovered his place of concealment.
Still continuing to listen, he heard the plashing of the horses as they
forded the crossing; and a few minutes after a profound silence reigned
over the scene.