CUCHARES.
The silence began to grow embarrassing to all, and the count speedily
noticed this. As a thorough gentleman, accustomed to command immediately
the most exceptional and difficult positions, he rose, walked toward the
stranger with outstretched hand, and turning to his officers,--
"Gentlemen," he said, with a peculiar inflection of voice, and bowing
courteously, "allow me to present to you this _caballero_, whose name I
am not yet acquainted with, but who, from what he has himself said, is
one of my most intimate enemies."
"Oh, señor conde!" the unknown said, in a stifled voice.
"I am delighted at it," the count said quickly. "Pray do not contradict
me, my dear enemy, but be good enough to take a seat by my side."
"I never was your enemy; the proof is that I have ridden two hundred
leagues to ask a service of you."
"It is granted ere mentioned; so put off serious matters till tomorrow.
Take a glass of champagne."
The unknown bowed, seized the glass, and said, bowing to the company,--
"Gentlemen, I drink to the fortunate issue of your expedition."
And lifting the glass to his lips, he emptied it at a draught.
"You are a famous companion, sir. I thank you for your toast; it is of
good omen to us."
"Commandant, pray be kind enough," Lieutenant Martin said, "to tell us
as speedily as possible your amusing relations with this caballero."
"I would do so with pleasure, señores; but I should first like to ask
this caballero, who states he has ridden so far to see me, to break an
incognito which has lasted too long already, and to inform us of his
name, so that we may know whom we have the honour of greeting."
The stranger began laughing, and, allowing the fold of his cloak, which
had hitherto concealed his face, to fall, replied:--
"With the greatest pleasure, caballeros; but I fancy that my name, like
my face, will teach you nothing. We only met once, señor conde, and
during that interview the night was too dark, and the conversation
between yourself and my comrade too animated, for my features to have
deeply imprinted on your memory, even had you seen them."
"It is true, señor," the count replied, after attentively examining his
features. "I am free to confess that I do not remember ever having seen
you before."
"I was sure of it."
"Then," the count exclaimed hotly, "why do you so obstinately hide your
face?"
"Come, sir count, I probably had my reasons for doing so. Who knows if
you may not some day have cause to regret making me break an incognito
which I probably had reasons for maintaining?"
These words were pronounced in a sarcastic voice, mingled with a menace,
which each could read in spite of the stranger's apparent coolness.
"It is of little consequence, señor," the count said haughtily. "I am
one of those men whose sword supports his words; so now have the
goodness to give me your name without further excuses or vacillation."
"Which will you have, caballero--my _nom de guerre_, or any other of my
aliases?"
"Any one you please," the count said furiously, "so long as you give us
one."
The stranger rose, and, turning a haughty glance on all present, said in
a firm voice,--
"I told you on entering this room, caballero, that I had ridden two
hundred leagues to ask a service of you. I deceived you. I expect
nothing of you, neither service nor favour; on the contrary, I wish to
be useful to you. I have come for that purpose, and no other. What need
of your knowing who I am, or what my name is, as I shall not be your
obligé, but you mine?"
"The greater reason, caballero, for you to unmask. I will respect the
quality of guest you claim here, and not make you do by force what I ask
of you; but remember this, I am resolved, whatever may happen, to listen
to nothing, and beg you to withdraw immediately, if you refuse any
longer to satisfy my wishes."
"You will repent of it, señor conde," the stranger replied, with a
sardonic smile. "One word more, and a last one. I consent to make myself
known to you privately, the more so as what I have to tell you must only
be heard by yourself."
"By Bacchus!" Lieutenant Martin exclaimed, "this surpasses all belief,
and such persistency is extraordinary."
"I know not if I am mistaken," the capataz exclaimed meaningly; "but I
am certain I hold a great place in the mystery with which this caballero
surrounds himself, and that if he fears anybody here it is I."
"You are quite correct, señor Don Blas," the stranger said with a bow.
"You see that I know you. You know me too, if not by face, fortunately
for me at this moment, by name and repute. Well, rightly or wrongly, I
am convinced that were I to pronounce that name before you, you would
induce your friend not to listen to me."
"And what would happen then?" the capataz interrupted him.
"A great misfortune probably," the stranger said in a firm voice. "You
see that I act frankly with you, whatever your opinion may be. I only
ask of the count ten minutes' conversation; after that he can do
whatever he pleases with the secret I intrust to him, and the news I
bring him."
There was a moment's silence. The count examined the stranger's calm
face while reflecting profoundly. At length the unknown rose, and,
bowing to the count, said,--
"Which am I to do, señor--stay or go?"
The count turned a piercing glance upon him, which the other endured
without betraying the slightest emotion.
"Stay!" he said.
"Good!" the unknown remarked, and seated himself again on the _butaca_.
"Gentlemen," continued the count, addressing his guests, "you have
heard, be kind enough to excuse me for a few moments."
The officers rose and withdrew without any reply. The capataz was the
last to go, after bending on the unknown one of those glances which
ransack the depths of a man's heart. But this glance, like the count's,
produced no effect on the stranger's cold, impassive face.
"Now, señor," said the count to the stranger, as soon as they were
alone, "I am awaiting the fulfilment of your promise."
"I am ready to satisfy you."
"What is your name? Who are you?"
"Pardon me, sir," the stranger replied with easy raillery, "if we go on
thus it will take a long time, and you will learn nothing, or very
little."
The count repressed with difficulty a gesture of impatience.
"Proceed as you think proper," he said.
"Good! In that way we shall soon understand each other."
"I am listening."
"You are strange, señor, in this country. Having arrived a few months
back only, you do not yet know the habits and customs of the
inhabitants. Relying on the knowledge you attained in your own country,
you fancied, on arriving among us, that you could do exactly as you
pleased, because your intelligence was so superior to ours, and you have
acted accordingly."
"To your story, señor!" interrupted the count passionately.
"I am coming to it, señor. Owing to powerful protectors, you found
yourself at once placed in an exceptional position. You have founded a
magnificent colony in the richest province of Mexico, on the desert
frontier. You then asked and obtained from government the rank of
captain, with the right to raise a free corps composed exclusively of
your own countrymen, specially intended to hunt the Apaches, Comanches,
&c. That is easy to understand for we Mexicans are such cowards."
"Señor, señor! I would remind you that all you are now saying is at
least useless," the count angrily exclaimed.
"Not so much as you suppose," the other said, still perfectly calm; "but
set your mind at ease. I have finished, and now reach the point which
specially interests you. I only wished to let you see that if you did
not know _me_, I, on the other hand, know more of you than you
imagined."
The count struck the table with his fist and stamped his foot as an
outlet for his passion.
"I will go on," the unknown continued. "Certainly, on landing in Mexico,
however great your ambition might be, you did not expect to gain such a
brilliant position in so short a time. Facile fortune is a bad adviser.
The too much of yesterday becomes the not enough of today. When you saw
that you succeeded in everything, you wished to crown your work by a
masterstroke, and shelter yourself for ever from the freaks of that
fortune which is today your slave, but might suddenly turn its back on
you tomorrow. I do not blame you. You acted like a clever gambler; and,
being afflicted with that vice myself, I can appreciate in others a
quality I do not myself possess.
"Oh," the count said.
"Patience! I am there now. You looked around you, and your eyes were
naturally fixed on Don Sylva de Torrés. That caballero combined all the
qualities you sought in a father-in-law, for what you wished was to
contract a rich marriage. Ah! You no longer interrupt me. It seems that
the account I am giving of your own history is becoming interesting. Don
Sylva is kind-hearted and credulous; moreover, he has a colossal
fortune, even for this country, where fortunes are so large; and Doña
Anita is a charming girl. In short, you introduced yourself to Don
Sylva. You asked his daughter's hand, which he promised you, and the
marriage should have come off a month ago. And now, caballero, be good
enough to redouble your attention, for I am entering on the most
interesting part of my narrative."
"Continue, señor; you see that I am listening with all necessary
patience."
"You shall be rewarded for your complaisance, caballero, be at rest,"
the unknown said with a tinge of mockery.
"I am anxious to hear the end of your story, señor."
"Here you have it. Unfortunately for your schemes, Doña Anita was not
consulted by her father in the choice of a husband: for a long time she
had secretly loved a young man who had done her important service."
"And you know the man's name?"
"Yes, señor."
"Tell it me."
"Not yet. This man returned her love. The two young people met without
Don Sylva's knowledge, and swore an eternal love. When Doña Anita was
constrained by her father to regard you as her husband she feigned
submission, for she did not dare openly to resist her father; but she
warned the man she loved, and the couple, after renewing their love
vows, thought on a way to break off this fatal marriage."
The count had risen several moments back, and was now pacing the room.
At the last words he stopped before the stranger.
"Then," he said in a gloomy voice, "the attempted assassination at the
Rancho--"
"Was a means employed by the lover to get rid of you? Yes, señor," the
stranger calmly said.
"This man, then, is only a dastardly assassin!" he said contemptuously.
"You are wrong, caballero; he only wished to compel you to retire. The
proof is that your life was in his hands and he did not take it."
"To the point, then!" the count exclaimed. "Assassin or not, you will
tell me his name, for you have finished now, I suppose?"
"Not yet. After the meeting at the Rancho you proceeded to your
hacienda, accompanied by your future father-in-law and wife. Even then,
without leaving you a moment's rest, the hatred of Doña Anita's lover
pursued you: the Apaches attacked you.
"Well?"
"Well, need I give you further explanation? Cannot you understand that
this man was in league with the redskins?"
"And Doña Anita knew it?"
"I will not affirm that positively, but it is probable."
"Oh!"
"Was not the game well played?"
The count bit his lips till the blood began to flow.
"And you know who carried Doña Anita off?"
"I do."
"It was not the redskins?"
"No."
"That man, then?"
"Yes."
"But her father was carried off to?"
"I know it; but it was not at all with his will, I assure you."
"Where is Don Sylva now?"
"Quietly at home at Guaymas."
"Is his daughter with him?"
"No."
"She is with that man, I suppose?"
"You are a perfect sorcerer."
"And you know where they are?"
"I do."
Quick as lightning the count bounded on the stranger, seized him by the
collar with his left hand, and, placing a pistol against his breast,
shouted in a hoarse voice,--
"Now, villain, you will tell me where they are!"
"Is that the game we are playing?" the stranger said. "Well, as you
please, caballero."
Then throwing back his cloak quickly, he aimed at the count two pistols
which he held in either hand. The stranger's movement had been so rapid
that the count was unable to prevent it. Besides, a sudden idea occurred
to him at the moment. Lowering his pistol, and thrusting it back in his
girdle, he muttered,--
"I was mad: pardon that angry movement."
"Most heartily," the unknown replied, laying his pistols on the table
within reach.
"Pardon me again. Now that I reflect on what you have just told me, I
see that your object was to be of service to me."
The stranger made a gesture of affirmation.
"But there is one thing I cannot explain."
"What is that?"
"The manner in which you have told me all these details."
"Oh! That is simple enough."
"I shall feel obliged by your explanation."
"With pleasure, caballero. Two men attacked you at the Rancho."
"Yes."
"I am he who pulled you off your horse."
"Oh!" the count said, with a singular intonation in his voice.
"In a word, my name is Cucharés! I am a lepero; that is to say, I like
the sun better than the shade, rest than work, and would sooner stab a
man, when properly paid for it, than do a good action which brings in
nothing. You comprehend me?"
"Perfectly."
"Then we can come to an understanding?"
"I think so."
"Well, so do I, and that is the reason I have come to you."
"One question more."
"Ask it."
"At this moment you are betraying your friends?"
"I? Who?"
"The persons you have hitherto served."
"A man like myself, caballero, has no friends, only customers."
"Friends or customers, you are betraying them."
"Pooh! We have settled our accounts. They owe me nothing, nor I them. We
are quits. Look ye, caballero: in every business there are two sides,
which a skilful man can work equally well. I have drawn all I could from
the first, so I am going to try the other now."
The count heard the lepero develope this strange theory with an amazement
mingled with terror. A cynicism so ripe and shameless terrified him and
yet the count was not excessively thin-skinned.
"We will agree, then, that you have come to do me a service."
The lepero smiled.
"Let us understand one another," continued he. "I say so not to startle
the consciences of the gentlemen who were present on my entrance; but
between ourselves, I will be more frank."
"Which means?"
"That I have come to sell it to you."
"Be it so!"
"I shall want a long price."
"Good!"
"A very long price."
"No matter, if it is worth it."
"Come," the lepero exclaimed joyfully, "you are just the man I expected
to find you. Well, you can trust in me."
"I must do so, I suppose."
"What would you? It is the way of the world. Today my turn, tomorrow
yours. Bah! You will have no cause to regret a few thousand piastres."
"First, then, my rival's name."
"It will cost you fifty ounces, and you cannot think it dear."
"Here they are," the count said, arranging them on the table.
The lepero made them disappear in a second in his large pockets.
"The name of your rival, caballero, is Don Martial. He is a Tigrero, and
very rich."
"I fancy I have heard Don Sylva mention that name."
"It is probable. Don Sylva cannot endure Don Martial, especially since
he saved Doña Anita's life."
"I remember that circumstance too; Don Sylva frequently mentioned it to
me. And now, how did Don Martial carry the girl off?"
"Very easily, the more so as she wished nothing better than to follow
him. During your fight with the Apaches he placed Doña Anita in a canoe,
into which I had already thrown her father, gagged and tied; then we
went off, all four of us. All through the night we kept to the river, so
as to leave no traces of our flight, and by daybreak had covered fifteen
leagues. No longer fearing discovery, we landed. Indios Mansos sold us
some horses. Don Martial ordered me to take the young girl's father to
Guaymas, and I fulfilled this difficult commission with all honour. Don
Sylva was unwilling to follow me; but at last I managed to get him into
his own house, where I left him, and went back to Don Martial, who had
requested me to bring him certain things, and was awaiting me at a spot
agreed on between us."
"Ah!" the count said, "and how did you come to leave him?"
"Good gracious, caballero! We separated, as so often happens to the best
of friends, in consequence of a misunderstanding."
"Very good! He turned you off?"
"Nearly so, I am obliged to confess."
"Have you left him long?"
The lepero winked his right eye.
"No," he answered.
"Can you lead me to the spot where he now is?"
"Yes, whenever you please."
"Very good! Is it far?"
"No, but pardon me, caballero, let us settle matters at once. Are you
agreeable?"
"Let us see."
"How much will you give me to learn at what spot Don Martial and Doña
Anita are concealed?"
"Two hundred ounces."
"Hand them over."
"Here they are."
The count took some handfuls of money from an iron box in a corner of
the room, and gave them to the lepero.
"There is a pleasure in dealing with you," said Cucharés, as he sent
these ounces to join the others with admirable celerity. "Thus you see I
was quite right when I told you that I was going to do you a service."
"It is true, and I thank you. Where are Don Martial and the Doña?"
"At the mission of Don Francisco. But now I must ask permission to leave
you."
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"For two reasons; the first, because, in spite of all the confidence I
have in you, nothing has yet proved to me that you have told the truth."
"Oh!" said the lepero with a gesture of denial.
"I know very well I am mistaken; but what would you have? I am naturally
suspicious."
"Good! I will remain. But now for your second reason."
"This is it. I have in my turn a service to ask of you."
"To be paid for?"
"Of course."
"I am listening."
"I will give you a hundred ounces to lead me to my rival."
"Canarios!" the lepero exclaimed.
"One hundred ounces," the count said again.
"I understand you. One hundred ounces--a fine sum. But look ye, count:
I am a costeño, and a lepero in the bargain. This desert life does not
suit my temperament and injures my health. I have taken an oath to have
no more of it. The road from here to the mission is difficult. We shall
have to cross the desert. No, taking all things into consideration, it
is impossible."
"That is unlucky," coldly replied the count.
"It is."
"Because," he continued, "I would have given you not one, but two
hundred ounces."
"Eh?" asked the other, cocking his ears.
"But as you refuse--you do so, I think?--I shall be obliged, to my great
regret to have you shot."
"What do you say?" the lepero exclaimed, with a movement of terror.
"By'r Lady!" the count said simply, "my dear fellow, you are so clever in
business matters that, having found two sides of a question, I am
terribly frightened lest you should find a third."
And before Cucharés could prevent him he seized the pistols that lay on
the table. The lepero turned livid.
"Pardon me, pardon me," he said in an ill-assured voice. "As you desire
it so eagerly, I must please you to the best of my power. I accept the
two hundred ounces."
"Very good!" the count exclaimed. "I thought, too, that we should come
to an understanding."
He went to fetch the money from the iron chest; but, as he turned his
back on the lepero, he could not see the singular smile that curved his
lips. Had he done so, he would not have chanted his victory so loudly.