THE NEXT DAY.
The sky was just beginning to be tinted with shades of opal--a few stars
still shone feebly here and there in the gloomy depths of the sky. It
was about half past three in the morning.
Within the _locanda_ men and animals were sleeping that calm sleep which
precedes sunrise. Not a sound, save at intervals the barking of a dog
baying at the moon, broke the silence that brooded over the pueblo of
San José.
The door of the cuarto in which the foster brothers rested was
cautiously opened, a thin thread of light found its way through the
orifice, and Valentine and the count came out. Don Louis had no reason
for departing unseen; he had no motives for hiding himself. If he took
so many precautions, it was only through a fear of disturbing the sleep
of the other lodgers, who had not such good reasons as himself for
rising so early, and whom, consequently, it was unnecessary to arouse.
On arriving in the patio Don Louis prepared his horse's trappings, while
Valentine led the animal from the corral, carefully rubbed it down, and
gave it water. When all was in order Valentine opened the gate, the two
men shook hands for the last time, and Don Louis entered the gloom of
the only street of the pueblo, where he soon disappeared, amid the
barking of the masterless dogs aroused by his passing, and who rushed
after him howling furiously, and snapping at his horse's legs.
Valentino remained for a moment motionless and thoughtful, listening
mechanically to the decreasing sound of the hoofs on the hardened
ground.
"Perhaps I ought not to have put him on that path," he muttered. "Who
knows what awaits him at the other end?" A stifled sigh broke from his
bosom. "Bah!" he added a moment after, "all roads do not lead to the
same point--death! Why let such foolish forebodings have any effect over
me? Live and learn."
The worthy hunter, somewhat comforted by these philosophic reflections,
re-entered the patio, and set to work shutting the outer door, before
throwing himself for an hour or two on his cuadro. While engaged in this
occupation, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps behind him: he
turned his head, and recognised Don Cornelio.
"Ah, ah, my dear friend!" he said gaily, offering him his hand, which
the other pressed affectionately; "You are up very early."
"Eh?" the Spaniard answered with a laugh. "I think it a good joke for
you to make that remark to me."
"Why so?"
"Because, if I have risen so early, it appears as if you had not been to
bed at all."
Valentine began laughing.
"By Jove! You are right. The fact is that, with the exception of
yourself and myself, it is certain that everybody is asleep in the
pueblo; and now that this door is closed again, with your permission, I
will go and do the same for an hour or two."
"What! You are going to bed again?"
"Certainly."
"What to do?"
"Why, to sleep, I suppose."
"Pardon me, but I did not mean that."
"I suppose not."
"And you know what I wish to say to you?"
"I! Not the least in the world. But, as you are a man far too
intelligent to spend in walking about the time you might pass far more
agreeably in sleeping, I presume that you have certain weighty reasons
for being here now."
"That is true, on my word."
"You see!"
"Yes; but I did not wish exactly to speak with you."
"Whom with, then?"
"With Don Louis."
"Hum! And you cannot tell it to me?"
"O yes, I can; but I think it would be better to speak with him myself."
"Confuse the thing!"
Don Cornelio gave that shrug of the shoulders which in all countries and
languages signifies the same thing; that is, that the shrugger declines
all responsibility.
"And," Valentine continued, "what you have to communicate to Don Louis
is probably very important?"
"Very."
"Hang it all, that is annoying; for it is impossible for you to speak
with him."
"Bah! How so?"
"Because there is an obstacle."
"For me?"
"For you and for everybody else."
"Oh, oh! And what is that obstacle, Don Valentine, if you please?"
"Oh, I do not want to make any mystery of it; I am more vexed than
yourself at what has happened; but the obstacle is very simply that Don
Louis has gone away."
"Gone! Don Louis!" the other said in amazement.
"Yes."
"How was that--without speaking to anybody? Gone off at a venture?"
"Not exactly. There were urgent reasons to speed his departure; and see,
I was engaged in shutting the gate after him when you arrived. A moment
earlier and you would have met him."
"How unlucky!"
"It is; but what would you do? After all, the misfortune is not so
great as it may seem to you at the first blush. We shall see him again
in a few days."
"You are sure of it?"
"Quite; for it is arranged between us. So soon as I have succeeded in
selling the herd, we shall go and join our friend again. So take
patience, Don Cornelio; the separation will not be long. Console
yourself with that thought, and good night."
Valentine turned and walked a few steps, but the Spaniard stopped him.
"What do you want now?"
"Only one word."
"Make haste, for I am dropping with sleep."
"Pardon me, but you made a remark this moment which struck me greatly."
"Ah! What was it?"
"You said that Don Louis had commissioned you to sell the herd."
"Yes, I did. What then?"
"That was the very subject I wished to speak with him about."
"Bah!"
"Yes, I have found a purchaser."
"What! For the whole herd?"
"Yes, in a lump."
"Stay, stay!" Valentine said, fixing his piercing eyes upon him; "that
would singularly simplify matters."
"Would it not?"
"Where on earth have you dug up this strange purchaser since last
night?"
"There is nothing at all strange about him, I assure you. I found him
here."
"Here, in this locanda?"
"On my word, yes."
"I really beg your pardon," Valentine said. "I am too well acquainted
with the gravity of your character to suppose that you have any
intention of deceiving me--"
"Oh!"
"But all this is so extraordinary--"
"I am as much astonished as yourself at it."
"Really!"
"The more so because I did not know that Don Louis wished to sell the
herd here, and consequently the proposition does not emanate from me."
"That is true. So you have been offered--"
"To take the whole herd off my hands this very day--yes."
"That is strange. Tell me all about it, my dear friend. What a pity that
Don Louis has started!"
"Is it not?"
"Well, you said, then--"
"Permit me, if you have no objection, we will proceed to your cuarto,
where we can converse much more agreeably than here."
"You are right, especially as people are beginning to get up in the
house."
In fact, the servants of the hostelry and the muleteers were already
stirring, and walking round our two friends, whom they examined
curiously, while attending to their own business. Valentine and Don
Cornelio left the patio, and proceeded to the hunter's cuarto. So soon
as they had installed themselves Valentine said,--
"Now I am all attention. Speak, my good fellow. I confess I am anxious
to hear the solution of this riddle."
Don Cornelio was aware of the friendship existing between Don Louis and
Valentine; hence he had not the slightest difficulty in telling the
hunter what had happened to him that night in the minutest details.
"Is that all?" Valentine said, who had listened with the greatest
attention.
"Yes; and now what do you think of it?"
"Hum!" the hunter said thoughtfully, "if I must give you my opinion, it
appears to me rather less clear now than an hour ago."
"Nonsense!"
"That is my opinion. Still we must not neglect this opportunity which
presents itself so famously to get rid of our cattle advantageously."
"That is what I think."
"Very good; then do not stir. Above all, do not say a syllable about Don
Louis' departure."
"Do you think so?"
"That is important."
"As you please."
"Then supposing you are summoned?"
"I will go."
"No, we will both go; that will be more proper. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly."
"Then good night; I am going to sleep a little. If there is anything new
wake me up."
"All right."
And Don Cornelio withdrew.
Valentine was not at all inclined to sleep; but he wished to be alone,
that he might reflect on what he had just heard. He perfectly understood
that the young lady had been playing with the Spaniard like a cat with a
mouse, feigning an interest in him which she did not at all feel. But
what was her object in all this? Did she love Don Louis? Had the maiden
retained in her heart the remembrance of what had happened to the child?
Had gratitude unconsciously changed in her into love with growing years?
This was what the hunter could not fathom. Valentine had never been very
expert in the matter of women; their hearts were to him as a dead
letter, an unknown tongue, in which he could not read a word. The life
he had constantly led in the desert, ever contending either with Indians
or with wild beasts, had not been at all favourable to the study of the
feminine heart; and besides, the deep love of his early youth--a love
the memory of which still palpitated in his heart--had prevented him
paying the slightest attention to the few women chance had at times
thrown in his way, and who had only appeared to him weak, defenceless
creatures, whom it was his duty to defend.
Thus the worthy hunter was now considerably bothered, and knew not what
to do in order to read the young lady's intentions. It was evident to
him that Doña Angela had a secret object she desired to gain, and that
the purchase of the novillos was only a pretext to draw nearer to Don
Louis. But what was that object? Why did she wish to see his friend?
That was what he vainly sought, and was unable to discover.
"After all," he muttered to himself, while going over the chaos of
thoughts that jostled each other in his brain, "it is perhaps better
that she should not see Louis. Who knows what might be the result of
such an interview? The lady's father is governor of Sonora, and we must
be most careful not to get into any trouble with him. Who knows whether
we may not need him hereafter? It is strange, I do not know where I have
heard his name before; but I am certain I do not hear it today for the
first time. Guerrero--Don Sebastian Guerrero. Under what circumstances
can that name have been pronounced in my presence?"
The hunter had reached this point in his monologue when the door opened
gently, and a man entered. It was Curumilla. Valentine started with joy
on seeing him.
"You are welcome, chief," he said.
The Araucanian pressed his hand, and sat down silently by his side.
"Well, chief," Valentine continued, "you are awake. Have you been taking
a turn in the pueblo?"
The Indian smiled disdainfully.
"No," he said.
An idea crossed the hunter's mind.
"My brother should go down into the patio," he said. "It seems there are
other travellers beside us: he should see them."
"Curumilla has seen them."
"Ah!"
"He knows them."
Valentine made a sign of astonishment.
"What! You know them?" he exclaimed.
"Only the man. Curumilla is a chief: his memory is long."
"Ah, ah!" the hunter went on. "Is it possible that I shall obtain in
this way the information I have been racking my brains to find?"
The Indian smiled and shook his head.
"Who is the man, chief? Is he a friend?"
"He is an enemy."
"An enemy, by Jupiter! I was certain I had heard his name before."
"Let my brother listen," the chief went on. "Curumilla has seen the
paleface: he will kill him."
"Hum! Do not go to work so fast, chief. In the first place tell me who
he is; then we shall see what we have to do. Unfortunately we are not
here on the prairies: the death of that individual, whoever he may be,
might cost us dear."
"The palefaces are women," the Indian replied disdainfully.
"That is possible, chief; but prudent. Tomorrow is not passed, as you
gentlemen say, and every man gains his point who knows how to wait. For
the present let us be shy; we are not the stronger."
Curumilla shrugged his shoulders. It was plain that the worthy Indian
was not a friend to temporising measures; still he did not raise the
slightest objection.
"Come, chief, tell me who he is, and under what circumstances we had a
quarrel with him."
The Indian rose and stood right in front of Valentine.
"Does not my brother remember?" he asked.
"No."
"Wah! The conspiracy of the Paso del Norte, when Curumilla killed
Dog-face."
"Oh!" Valentine exclaimed, striking his forehead, "I have it; it is the
general who commanded the Mexican troops, and to whom Don Miguel de
Zarate surrendered."
"Yes."
"Well, he was a brave and honest soldier in those days; he kept his word
to our friend nobly. I cannot be angry with him."
"He is a traitor."
"From your point of view, chief, possibly so, but not from mine. It is
true; I perfectly remember him now. Poor General Ibañez often spoke to
me about him: he was not fond of him either. It is a strange
coincidence. Good! Fear nothing, chief; I will watch. Whether friend or
foe, this man has never seen me--he knows not who I am; hence I have a
great advantage over him. Thanks, chief!"
"Is my brother satisfied?"
"You have rendered me an immense service, chief; so you can judge
whether I am satisfied."
Curumilla smiled.
"Wah!" he said, "all the better."
"Yes, chief, all the better, and let us breakfast. I feel a ferocious
appetite ever since, thanks to you, I have been able to see my way a
little more clearly."
Curumilla and Don Cornelio had prepared their frugal meal in their
cuarto, consisting of red haricot beans with pepper, a few _varas_ of
dried meat, and maize tortillas, the whole washed down with aloe pulque
of the first quality, and a few _tragos_ of excellent Catalonian refino.
The three friends ate with good appetite, and were preparing to light
their cigars, the obligato termination of every American meal, when they
heard a discreet tap at the door, which was only leaned to.
"Come in," Valentine said.
A criado appeared, and after bowing courteously to all present, said,--
"My master, his Excellency General Don Sebastian Guerrero, presents his
civilities to the caballeros here assembled, and desires that Señor Don
Cornelio and Señor Don Louis will favour him with a moment's interview,
if their occupations will permit of it."
"Tell his Excellency," Valentine answered, "that we shall have the
honour of obeying his orders."
The servant bowed and retired.
"Why, you know, señor," Don Cornelio then said, "that Don Louis is
absent."
"No matter: am I not here?"
"That is true, but--"
"Leave me alone," the hunter quickly interrupted him; "I will answer for
everything."
"Very good; do as you think proper."
"Trust to me. How can it concern this man whether he deals with Don
Louis or anyone else, so long as the ganado is young, vigorous, and
cheap?"
"That is true; it must be a matter of indifference to him."
"Come on: you will see that I shall settle this affair satisfactorily."
And he went out, followed by Don Cornelio, who, however, did not seem
completely satisfied.