been free to say that he ought to mend his ways, and the old place might
certainly count as a way that should be mended. His career as prefect,
years before, had been by no means free from charges of extortion and
thievery, and it was notorious that he would be glad to see again in the
presidential chair the unscrupulous usurper who had grown from pauper
soldier to many-times millionaire in one term. For this reason Don
Telesfor was as little beloved as his old patron; and poor _cholos_, with
better love than understanding of freedom, took malicious pleasure in
laying the scourge to their two backs jointly. “Look at the Cacerist!”
they would growl audibly when Don Telesfor thundered down the reeling
cobblestones on his silver trapped horse. As for his house, I fancy
not one of them ever passed it after nightfall, with a bit of chalk in
his pocket (and chalk is the last thing to be without in Peru during a
campaign), but he stopped and scrawled in elastic Spanish upon the outer
wall: “Death to the tyrant and his leeches! Down with the cross-eyed!”
But though he was unpopular in person and politics, no one thought of
taking Don Telesfor very seriously. Like his patron, he had turned tail
when the Chilean wolves came down on the fold; and unlike him, his
caution was greater than his greed. Every one knew him for timorous. The
unhappy republic was torn and pale with fear of a new usurpation; but in
all the whisperings and the glances over the shoulder, Don Telesfor was
quite forgotten. Since the downfall of the pretender he had been quietly
cultivating his pretty _chacra_ at Yura, and now even thought to patch
up the old mansion in Arequipa, long tousled and neglected since the
terrible _temblor_ of ’68. This was praiseworthy and reassuring, too. In
those troublous times to think rather of beautifying and restoring the
home was clearly a pledge of peace.
Sober burros, each laden with two big white blocks of _sillar_, had been
trudging down from the lofty quarries, and the tottering arches of the
courtyard had been rebuilt. Now, Don Telesfor was hauling rich soil all
the way from his plantation to make flower beds in the _patio_.[20] Some
felt that the soil of Arequipa ought to be good enough for any flower;
but if he chose to haul dirt twelve miles instead of one, that was his
lookout. So the crazy wagons creaked across the ancient stone bridge
every afternoon and bumped into the courtyard, and were relieved of
their mules. Don Telesfor was always on hand in person to attend to the
unloading—he and his nephew, Don Beltran, and two old peons—while the
drivers took their animals to the _acéquia_. One would have thought that
loam sacred, by the care he took of it.
Just now the big gates were shut. The wagons would not be in from Yura
for some time yet. Along the east side of the _patio_ was the long mound
of soil, paling in the hot sun; aside from that, one might have thought
the place abandoned.
But if one could have peered through the heavy doors of the middle room
of the north portal one would have seen Don Telesfor and Don Beltran
and half a dozen strangers talking low and earnestly. The windows and
even the skylight were shuttered, and the one candle sent strange shadows
sprawling over a formidable row of long, shallow, iron-bound boxes
stained with fresh earth.
“To-morrow night, then,” said one of the strangers, laying his hand on
Don Telesfor’s shoulder. “Even so it will begin in Lima on the eve of
the new congress, and all is set that the revolution burst in the same
hour in Truxillo, Cuzco, here and all Peru. And carrying it off well here
in the south, who knows but Don Telesfor shall earn a place in the new
cabinet?”
“Ójala!” sighed Don Telesfor, his mouth twitching greedily. “At all
events, this end is safe. I promise you no one so much as suspects us,
and with the two hundred men that will sleep here to-night hidden, we can
easily put down any resistance. The _guárdias_ are the only danger; for,
being _cholos_[21] they all worship Piérola, and it avails not the trying
to buy them. The only argument with such stupids is to rap them the back
of the head—and for that, thirty secure men are appointed to hide upon
the beat and silence each his policeman. By midnight that should all
be settled without noise, and then we will fall upon the barracks. A
hundred soldiers, asleep, have nothing to say with us; and in the morning
Arequipa will waken to find herself in our ranks.”
“Nothing lacks, then?”
“Nothing. All is understood. Forty rifles are still to come, but they
will be here in an hour, or maybe two, for the carts move slowly.”
“And then the flower beds will be done, no?” chuckled the other with a
wink.
“Aye, and ready to bloom,” answered Don Telesfor, smiling grimly at the
jest.
“And, methinks, with enough thorns—_ay diós!_ What?”
For a deep, far roar crept through the closed shutters; a Babel of
howling curs and crowing cocks and the jangle of church bells. Before one
could fairly turn to look at his neighbor it was as if that whole room
of stone had suddenly been dropped twenty feet, as one might drop a bird
cage to the floor. The heavy boxes and the standing men and the massive
furniture were tossed as feathers in a gust of air. The wide stone vault
overhead yawned and let in a foot of sky, and shivered as if to fall, and
then as swiftly clapped its ragged teeth shut again, while a great dust
filled the room to choking. Then all was still as the grave, and for a
few seconds nothing moved. At last the men scrambled to their feet, pale
and hushed, and stood looking blankly at one another.
“_Ea!_ But I like not your Arequipa temperament,” faltered the tallest of
the strangers. “It is too impulsive. Not if you gave me three Arequipas
would I dwell here!”
“_Pues_, it is nothing,” answered Don Telesfor, coolly. “Only in the
being accustomed. These _temblores_ are fearsome, but we think little of
them. To the street, when the shock comes, lest the walls thump us on the
heads; and then back into the house, as if there had been nothing. As for
this one, it is a good omen. El Misti gives us the hand that he is with
us for an overturning.”
* * * * *
Tránsita, sitting upon the stone coping of her own roof, had a clearer
view of the earthquake, and her opinion certainly did not coincide with
that of Don Telesfor. It was a perfect day, as most days in Arequipa are,
but something in the air made her nervous and ill at ease, and all the
morning she had been perched up there confiding her fears to the great
peak. Below, the street was still echoing the rumble of clumsy carts high
heaped with earth. She had paid little attention to them or their clamor.
Her thoughts were for Eugénio, and her anxiety about him seemed to grow.
So groundlessly, too. The national unrest was everywhere, but vague and
undefined. No one knew any specific cause for alarm, and she least of
all. Now, if her ears had been sharp enough to hark across to that barred
room a mile away, where Don Telesfor was at that very moment saying: “The
only argument with such stupids is to rap them the back of the head.”
And “such stupids” meant precisely Eugénio and his fellow-soldiers, the
military police of the city.
Six wagons had already turned the corner toward the bridge and were out
of sight. As the straggling seventh and last trundled past the house the
teamster, seeing that squat figure up there, tossed at it a pebble from
his load. Tránsita only shrugged her shoulder at the tap. She was too
busy with her thoughts to so much as turn around. “Much care of Eugénio,”
she murmured. “And if truly there be of these Cacerists here, confound
them, _taita_!”
As she raised her eyes to the great peak a swift chill ran through her.
She was sure the Misti nodded, as if he had heard her words. Surely the
giant moved! Far spurts of dust rose from his shoulders, and dark masses
came leaping down, and the great profile seemed to lose its sharpness.
She winked hard to be sure of her eyes, and now the Misti moved no more.
But from the corrals roundabout rose a bedlam; and Chopo ran out, barking
frantically, and the ancient cottonwoods up by the mill suddenly bowed
their heads as to a hurricane. The _acéquia_ bank split and the stream
came panicking out. The tall wall back of Eusébio’s house was rent from
top to bottom, and two-foot blocks of _sillar_ flew all about. The very
roof on which she sat—a massive arch of stone, as are nearly all the
roofs of Arequipa—went up and down as if a heavy wave had passed under
it. The coping spilled into the street; and Tránsita was left clinging
on the broken edge, her face hanging over. There were wild screams, and
every one stood, as by magic, in the middle of the street, looking up at
the tottering walls. And in the self-same breath it was all done, and no
sign was left save the shattered blocks of stone, the truant _acéquia_
and a tall cloud of yellow dust that went bellying off toward Charchani.
Yes, one thing more. Tránsita lay bewildered a moment, and then began
to look about, still without moving. Every one was going back into the
houses, laughing nervously, a few children crying. In another moment
the street was deserted. It was as if that thousand people had been a
return-ball, to pop one instant into sight, and in another back with the
recoil of the elastic. But down by the empty hovels over the way was a
cart, broken across in halves. Two dazed mules were trying clumsily to
right themselves with the forward end of the wreck, while the rear half
was tossed up on the narrow sidewalk against the ruined walls. The load
of earth had been unceremoniously dumped into the gutter, and the _cholo_
driver, half overwhelmed by it, lay motionless along the curb.
At that, Tránsita was upon her feet at once, nor paused until she was
tugging at the teamster’s arms. The dirt was heaped upon his legs, and he
had fainted with the pain, and such a dead weight she could not budge.
She dropped the limp shoulders and began to claw the loose earth away.
In a moment the left foot was free; but as she dragged it out, the dirt
slipped down and revealed the corner of an iron-bound box resting upon
the other leg. A sudden impulse led her to sweep back the soil until
the end of the case was uncovered. The funny black marks there meant
nothing to Tránsita—indeed, if any one had spelled out for her the
“M-a-double-n-l-i-c-h-e-r,” I seriously doubt if that grewsome German
name would have made her any the wiser. But if she did not know letters
from ten-penny nails, and was equally ignorant of the inventions and the
existence of Germany, Tránsita was no fool. For a moment her brown face
looked more than usually dull. Then a slow grayness crept into it, and
there was a hitch in her breath.
She looked up at the Misti appealingly, and then down at the box, staring
as if fascinated. Presently the rather heavy jaw set stubbornly. She
lifted the corner of the box an inch, by a violent effort, pried her
shin against the sharp edge to hold it, and laboriously dragged out the
imprisoned foot. Then she scraped the earth over until the box was well
hidden again, and leaving the liberated but unconscious teamster where he
lay, went racing down the street like one gone daft.
* * * * *
“This is a pretty story to bring to the _cuartel_, daughterling,” said
Captain Yrribarri, fifteen minutes later. Corporal Eugénio had no
sooner heard his sister’s breathless message than he brought her before
the commanding officer, and there she had rehearsed it all, unshaken by
questionings and banter. “It has to be true,” she declared, over and
over, “else _mi taita_ Misti never would have showed me.”
“A girl’s nonsense,” the grave officer repeated. “And still—what do _any_
boxes, thus hidden in loads of earth, and in these times? I mind me, now,
that Don Telesfor has been hauling earth all the way from Yura these
many weeks, when there is better at Carmen Alto. It is fit to be looked
into, and by the saints, if thy guess is true, little one, thou shalt
be corporal, or thy brother sergeant! _Oyez_, Eugénio! With a squad of
thirty men surround Don Telesfor’s house and hold it tight that it leak
not, while Pedro goes with five to verify the cart and the box. If that
is nothing, they will report to you and you will return to quarters with
the tongue behind the teeth; but if they shall find arms in the cart,
keep the house and warn me.”
For my own part, I do not overly love the soldier-police of Arequipa,
and have sometimes been angry enough to want to choke them for murdering
my sleep with their abominable midnight whistles. But after all, I am
glad that they were not all knocked on the head the night after the
earthquake; for in spite of their ignorance and their skin and their
ear-piercing way of announcing “All’s well,” they are a kindly, honest,
well meaning set, who could be much better utilized than by clubbing.
And particularly Eugénio, who is a very good boy and likes to talk with
me, calling me “your grace.” He has told me many interesting things, and
often sent a _cholo_ to “tote” my heavy camera around. Sergeant Eugénio
now, please—for Tránsita declined to be a corporal when the search
revealed not only the one case of Mannlicher rifles in the dirt under
the wrecked cart, but thirty cases more in Don Telesfor’s house, along
with papers which left no doubt of his treason. Some fellow-conspirator
must have warned him in time of the wayside accident, for though Eugénio
and his men kept the house fully surrounded until a report came from the
cart, when they broke in there was not a soul to be found.
None of the other plotters were known, and Don Telesfor eluded pursuit.
It may or may not be true, as, I have been told, that he took asylum
in Bolivia and was afterward drowned in trying to ford the Choqueyapu
during a freshet; but, at all events, he never came back to revive his
nipped revolution.
As for Tránsita, you might just as well try to tell her that the Misti
is not there at all as that “He” did not specially and intentionally
interpose to save the peace of his daughters and the head of Eugénio.
I half believe her brother is secretly of the same opinion, for the
superstition of the peak is very strong in Arequipa; though he shrugs his
shoulders in a deprecatory way when put the direct question, and says
evasively:
“_Pues_, who knows? So the women declare. For me it is enough that he did
it, and in time, the same as if he knew.”
The Witch Deer.
The Witch Deer.
“Tchu! ’stá-te!” cried Josefa,[22] straightening up from her work and
looking severely at a small brown rogue who had climbed up to the little
shelf over the corner fireplace. The adobe floor was spattered with big
drops of water, to lay the dust; and Josefa, bent half double to reach it
with the short wisp of broom corn which serves in New Mexican homes, was
sweeping toward the door the fine gray powder that works up daily from
the compact clay.
“Give me that little stone, _nana_,” begged the boy. “The one _tata_
carries in his pouch when he goes to hunt.”
“Get away, quick, for that is the charm of the Magic Deer! Much care! For
if ever thou touch that, thy grandfather will see to thee!”
Anastácio clambered down reluctantly from the old chair, and went outside
to play with the burro. But the stone weighed on his mind. It was a very
ordinary-looking pebble, gray, light, porous, and without any particular
shape—looking, in fact, like one of the pieces of pumice which were so
common in the mountains. But somehow it had a fascination for Anastácio.
And that evening, when we all sat by the crackling fire, he climbed on
his grandfather’s knee and said:
“Go, _tata_, tell me what is this stone of the Magic Deer, that I may not
play with it.”
“To play with _that_?” exclaimed Don José, in a tone of horror. “Child!
That little stone is very precious. For no other hunter in New Mexico has
the like; and if it were lost or broken, we should be ruined, since only
with it is it possible to kill the deer which are enchanted, as are many.
And to get that stone I passed a sad time.”
“How? Where? When? With the Enchanted Deer? Tell me, _tatita_!”
“Yes, with the _Venado Encantado_, and in many ways.” And Don José, the
luckiest hunter in Rio Arriba, a gray-headed but sharp-eyed Mexican—whom
I count a staunch friend and a brave man, even if he does believe some
things I do not—nodded to me, as if for permission to tell the story. I
had often heard of the Witch Deer, and knew that a very large proportion
of the natives of New Mexico believe firmly in this and in many other
forms of witchcraft. I knew, too, that Don José was a scrupulously
truthful man. The years of our acquaintance had proved that beyond doubt.
Whatever in his story might be supernatural would have to be charged to
his faith, and not to any intention of deceiving.
“You must know, Don Carlos,” said he, “that while there are many witches
here, there is one kind that delights most to vex hunters. Without doubt
you also will have seen the Enchanted Deer, as much as you hunt.”
“No,” I answered. “I have never seen one, but I have heard of them all
over New Mexico these five years.”
“Sure! For there are many; and many have lost their lives thereby, for
the Witch Deer is more dangerous than bear or mountain lion. Only when
one has the stone which they wear in the first fork of their horns is it
possible to conquer them, for that makes one not to be seen.”
“But I can see you, Don José,” I interrupted, smiling, as he held up the
magic stone.
“But, friend, that is different! For it is only in its use. Now I _want_
you to see me; but when I carry this no deer in the sierra has eyes for
me, and I could walk even up to them, taking care only that they scented
me not.”
It is worse than useless to argue against these beliefs. Don José would
never be convinced, and the incredulity of a friend could only hurt his
feelings, and, besides being ill-mannered, further caviling would lose me
a story, so I said, simply:
“All right, _compadre_, tell us all about it.”
“Well, then, thus it was, and you shall see I am right. It makes many
years now, for it was long before I married me with Josefa, in the
year of ’67. Her father was Alcalde of Abiquiu[23]; and there lived my
parents also. When I was a young man, already grown, strong—as you may
yet see—and well taught in the ways of hunting, I came often to these
mountains for game; and our house was never without dried meat in plenty.
There was one that hunted with me, and they always called him _Cabezudo_,
because of his strong head; but in truth he was Luís Delgado, a cousin
of me. In heart we were as brothers, and either would give his life for
the other. Often the old men of Abiquiu told us of the Witch Deer, which
could never be killed unless by a hunter unseen; and Luís answered
always: ‘Aha! When there is a deer too strong for this rifle, let him eat
me.’ For, you see, he believed not in witches. This was the only thing we
ever quarreled about—that he was without faith.
“It came that in October of the year ’60 we were together camped in the
Valles, and with much care, since the Navajos were bad. We had a house of
logs, very strong, and in it already was a wonder of dried meat of deer
and bear. We went forth always together, for fear of the Indians, but by
good luck they molested us not. As for game, I think there was never such
a year.
“One day, when the first snow was three hours old, we came to a round
_mesa_ that stood on the plateau, and near the foot of it were tracks
of a deer. But alas! I knew then that it was no true deer, for its
footprints were great as those of a horse. ‘It will be the Venado
Encantado,’ said I to Luís. ‘Let us go the other way!’ But he said:
‘_What_ Enchanted Deer, nor yet what mouse-traps? Get out! I thought
thee a man! Thou that only yesterday didst kill, with dagger alone, the
great she-bear, and now wouldst run from a deer track!’ And it was true;
for since the bear, well wounded, was upon us before there was room to
reload, I had the luck to compose her with my hunting-knife.
“Wrong of me it was, but I had shame at the words of Luís, and followed
him. ‘Truly this is grandfather of all the deer!’ he cried. ‘For never
have I seen such tracks. And his horns we will take to Abiquiu, though
they shall weigh like a tree. Come on!’
“With that we pursued the tracks, wondering always at their greatness.
They went a little around the foot of the mesa, and then up a steep way
to its top. When we came to the top, where was a cleft in the rocks, so
that one could get up, we found a large level place, round, and with
a rim of cliffs below, so that nowhere else was it possible to reach
the summit. The trail went away among the junipers, and we followed it
cautiously, knowing that the deer must be here, since no tracks led down.
And of a sudden, crawling around a clump of trees, we stood before him.
Ay, señor! How great he was! Great as a tall horse, and upon his head the
keys [horns] were as the branches of a blasted cedar. There he stood,
a thing of fifty yards away, looking at us with his head high, as if
mocking. My heart forgot its count; for truly he was no thing of this
earth—that beast with a look so cunning and so terrible.
“‘What a beast!’ Luís whispered. ‘At the throat, to break his neck. But
save thou thy fire, for in case’—and putting his rifle firm as a rock, he
fired. But as the smoke blew by, there stood the deer, wagging himself
the head scornfully, for the bullet had rebounded from him. So it is with
these beasts that are witches, for when they see you, no ball will enter
their hide. And then, putting down his head till that the horns lacked
but a foot from the ground, he came like a large rock leaping down the
mountain.
“Now I knew well that he was no mortal thing, and that I had no right to
shoot. But for sake of Luís, who was pouring new powder in his rifle, I
cared not even if I should be accursed; and when the beast was very close
I sprang to one side and gave him the ball, of an ounce weight, squarely
upon the side. But it could not enter him. Luís jumped, too, and the
brute passed between us like a strong wind. In a moment he turned and
charged us again, and I am sure I saw smoke come from his nose. As for
his eyes, they were pure fire. ‘Run for yourself!’ cried Luís, and he
made for the tree, while I took the other way. Turning a juniper, I ran
for the edge of the cliff; but just as I came there, there was a scream,
and looking across my shoulder, I saw the deer making with his horns as
one does with his spade upon hard ground.
“After that I could go no more to our camp, but came straightway to
Abiquiu. When they heard what had been, all the town mourned—for Luís was
well beloved. But none were surprised, for they said: ‘Always we told him
of the Venado Encantado, but he would not believe. And now it has come
true. Poor headstrong Luís!’
“As for me, I sickened, and was much time in bed. And always I saw the
deer leaping upon Luís and tearing him, until it was not to be borne.
When at last I was cured, I could think only to kill the Witch Deer, and
avenge my poor _compañero_. I asked of all the old men if there was how
to do it; but all said, ‘Beware, lest he trample thee also!’ And Josefa
prayed me to think no more of it, for she would never marry one who
put himself against the witches. I know not how, Don Carlos, for I too
feared, but Luís would not let me rest.
“Twice I went alone to the mesa, for no one would companion me. _There_
was always the deer; but I kept under the rocks, where he could not reach
me, and waited my turn. Once, when my aim was true upon his heart, the
rifle only snapped; and when I went to prime with double care, the flint
was all in cracks, so that it would not strike a spark. And again, when I
shot him between the very eyes, from near, it did him nothing. So I saw
it was useless.
“From then all went ill. Even the wild turkeys had no fear of me, for I
could shoot nothing. And in Abiquiu I was mocked, for the young men had
been jealous that formerly I had killed more game than any, and now they
taunted me for ‘the starved hunter.’
“At the last I thought me of one who lived in the cañon of Juan Tafoya—a
witch, they say, very wise in such things—and to him I went. When he
had heard my story, he said: ‘But, man! knowest thou not that this is
the Venado Encantado? How dost thou think to kill him? For he has in
his horns a stone of great power, having the which he cannot be harmed.
There is only one way in which it could be done, and that is to shoot him
when he sees thee not. But that, even the best hunter cannot do, for the
animal is very wise and of sharp sight. Only having an invisible stone
could one do it.’
“‘And have other deer this stone?’ I asked; and he replied: ‘There are
some, for this is not the only Witch Deer. But none of them canst thou
kill if they see thee.’