Vizcarra and his gay lancers passed up the valley, on their return from
the pursuit at an early hour of the evening.
Scarcely had a short hour elapsed when another cavalcade, dusty and
wayworn, was seen moving along the same road, and heading towards the
settlements. It could hardly be termed a cavalcade, as it consisted of
an atajo of pack-mules, with some carretas drawn by oxen. One man only
was on horseback, who, by his dress and manner, could be recognised as
the owner of the atajo.
Despite the fatigue of a long march, despite the coating of dust which
covered both horse and rider, it was not difficult to tell who the
horseman was. Carlos the cibolero!
Thus far had he reached on his homeward way. Another stretch of five
miles along the dusty road, and it would halt before the door of his
humble rancho. Another hour, and his aged mother, his fond sister,
would fling themselves into his arms, and receive his affectionate
embrace!
What a surprise it would be! They would not be expecting him for
weeks--long weeks.
And what a surprise he had for them in another way! His wonderful luck!
The superb mulada and cargo,--quite a little fortune indeed! Rosita
should have a new dress,--not a coarse woollen nagua, but one of silk,
real foreign silk, and a manta, and the prettiest pair of satin
slippers--she should wear fine stockings on future fiesta days--she
should be worthy of his friend Don Juan. His old mother, too--she
should drink tea, coffee, or chocolate, which she preferred--no more
_atole_ for her!
The rancho was rude and old--it should come down, and another and better
one go up in its place--no--it would serve as a stable for the horse,
and the new rancho should be built beside it. In fact, the sale of his
mulada would enable him to buy a good strip of land, and stock it well
too.
What was to hinder him to turn ranchero, and farm or graze on his own
account? It would be far more respectable, and would give him a higher
standing in the settlement. Nothing to hinder him. He would do so; but
first one more journey to the plains--one more visit to his Waco
friends, who had promised him--Ha! it was this very promise that was the
keystone of all his hopes.
The silk dress for Rosita, the luxuries for his old mother, the new
house, the farm, were all pleasant dreams to Carlos; but he indulged a
dream of a still pleasanter nature--a dream that eclipsed them all; and
his hopes of its realisation lay in that one more visit to the country
of the Wacoes.
Carlos believed that his poverty alone was the barrier that separated
him from Catalina. He knew that her father was not, properly speaking,
one of the "rico" class. True, he was a rico now: but only a few years
ago he had been a poor "gambucino"--poor as Carlos himself. In fact,
they had once been nearer neighbours; and in his earlier days Don
Ambrosio had esteemed the boy Carlos fit company for the little
Catalina.
What objection, then, could he have to the cibolero--provided the latter
could match him in fortune? "Certainly none," thought Carlos. "If I
can prove to him that I, too, am a `rico,' he will consent to my
marrying Catalina. And why not? The blood in my veins--so says my
mother--is as good as that of any hidalgo. And, if the Wacoes have told
me the truth, one more journey and Carlos the cibolero will be able to
shew as much gold as Don Ambrosio the miner!"
These thoughts had been running in his mind throughout the whole of his
homeward journey. Every day--every hour--did he build his aery castles;
every hour did he buy the silk dress for Rosita--the tea, coffee, and
chocolate for his mother; every hour did he erect the new rancho, buy
the farm, show a fortune in gold-dust, and demand Catalina from her
father! _Chateaux en Espagne_!
Now that he was close to his home, these pleasant visions grew brighter
and seemed nearer; and the countenance of the cibolero was radiant with
joy. What a fearful change was soon to pass over it!
Several times he thought of spurring on in advance, the sooner to enjoy
the luxury of his mother's and sister's welcome; and then he changed his
mind again.
"No," muttered he to himself; "I will stay by the atajo. I will better
enjoy the triumph. We shall all march up in line, and halt in front of
the rancho. They will think I have some stranger with me, to whom
belong the mules! When I announce them as my own they will fancy that I
have turned Indian, and made a _raid_ on the southern provinces, with my
stout retainers. Ha! ha! ha!" And Carlos laughed at the conceit.
"Poor little Rosy!" he continued; "she _shall_ marry Don Juan this time!
I won't withhold my consent any longer? It would be better, too. He's
a bold fellow, and can protect her while I'm off on the plains again:
though one more journey, and I have done with the plains. One more
journey, and I shall change my title from Carlos the cibolero to Senor
Don Carlos R--, Ha! ha! ha!"
Again he laughed at the prospect of becoming a "rico," and being
addressed as "Don Carlos."
"Very odd," thought he, "I don't meet anyone. I don't see a soul upon
the road up or down. Yet it's not late--the sun's above the bluff
still. Where can the people be? And yet the road's covered thick with
fresh horse-tracks! Ha! the troops have been here! they have just
passed up! But that's no reason why the people are not abroad; and I
don't see even a straggler! Now I could have believed there was an
alarm of Indians had I not seen these tracks; but I know very well that,
were the Apaches on their war-trail, my Comandante and his Whiskerandos
would never have ventured so far from the Presidio--that I know.
"Well, there's something extraordinary! I can't make it out. Perhaps
they're all up to the town at some fiesta. Anton, my boy, you know all
the feast-days! Is this one?"
"No, master."
"And where are all the folks?"
"Can't guess, master! Strange we don't see some!"
"So I was thinking. You don't suppose there have been wild Indians in
the neighbourhood?"
"No, master--_mira_! They're the tracks of the `lanzeros'--only an hour
ago. No Indians where they are!"
As Antonio said this, both his accent and look had an expression which
guided his master to the true meaning of his words, which might
otherwise have been ambiguous. He did not mean that the fact of the
lancers having been on the ground would prevent the Indians from
occupying it, but exactly the reverse. It was, not "lancers no
Indians," but "Indians no lancers," that Antonio meant.
Carlos understood him; and, as this had been his own interpretation of
the tracks, he burst out into a fit of laughter.
Still no travellers appeared, and Carlos did not like it. As yet he had
not thought of any misfortune to those he loved; but the unpeopled road
had an air of loneliness about it, and did not seem to welcome him.
As he passed on a feeling of sadness came stealing over him, which after
it had fairly taken possession he could not get rid of.
He had not yet passed a settlement. There were none before reaching his
own rancho, which, as already stated, was the lowest in the valley.
Still the inhabitants fed their flocks far below that; and it was usual,
at such an hour, to see them driving their cattle home. He neither saw
cattle nor vaqueros.
The meadows on both sides, where cattle used to graze, were empty! What
could it mean?
As he noticed these things an indefinite sense of uneasiness and alarm
began to creep over him; and this feeling increased until he had arrived
at the turning which led to his own rancho.
At length he headed around the forking angle of the road; and having
passed the little coppices of evergreen oaks, came within sight of the
house. With a mechanical jerk he drew his horse upon his haunches, and
sat in the saddle with open jaw and eyes glaring and protruded.
The rancho he could not see--for the covering interposal columns of the
cacti--but through the openings along their tops a black line was
visible that had an unnatural look, and a strange film of smoke hung
over the azotea!
"God of heaven! what can it mean?" cried he, with a choking voice; but,
without waiting to answer himself, he lanced the flanks of his horse
till the animal shot off like an arrow.
The intervening ground was passed; and, flinging himself from the
saddle, the cibolero rushed through the cactus-fence.
The atajo soon after came up. Antonio hurried through: and there,
inside the hot, smoke-blackened walls, half-seated, half-lying on the
banqueta, was his master, his head hanging forward upon his breast, and
both hands nervously twisted in the long curls of his hair.
Antonio's foot-fall caused him to look up--only for a moment.
"O God! My mother--my sister!" And, as he repeated the words, his head
once more fell forward, while his broad breast rose and fell in
convulsed heaving. It was an hour of mortal agony; for some secret
instinct had revealed to him the terrible truth.