The announcement made by the cibolero on the bluff startled Don Juan, as
if a shot had passed through him. Up to this time the simple ranchero
had no thought but that they were on the trail of Indians. Even the
singular fact of the trail leading back to the valley had not undeceived
him. He supposed the Indians had made some other and later foray in
that quarter, and that they would hear of them as soon as they should
descend the cliffs.
When Carlos pointed to the Presidio, and said, "She is there!" he
received the announcement at first with surprise, then with incredulity.
Another word from the cibolero, and a few moments' reflection, and his
incredulity vanished. The terrible truth flashed upon his mind, for he,
too, remembered the conduct of Vizcarra on the day of the fiesta. His
visit to the rancho and other circumstances now rushed before him,
aiding the conviction that Carlos spoke the truth.
For some moments the lover could scarce give utterance to his thoughts,
so painful were they. More painful than ever! Even while under the
belief that his mistress was in the hands of wild Indians he suffered
less. There was still some hope that, by their strange code in relation
to female captives, she might escape that dreaded fate, until he and
Carlos might come up and rescue her. But now the time that had
elapsed--Vizcarra's character--O God! it was a terrible thought; and the
young man reeled in his saddle as it crossed his mind.
He rode back a few paces, flung himself from his horse, and staggered to
the ground in the bitterness of his anguish.
Carlos remained on the bluff, still gazing down on the Presidio. He
seemed to be maturing some plan. He could see the sentries on the
battlements, the troopers lounging around the walls in their dark blue
and crimson uniforms. He could even hear the call of the cavalry bugle,
as its clear echoes came dancing along the cliffs. He could see the
figure of a man--an officer--pacing to and fro on the azotea, and he
could perceive that the latter had halted, and was observing him.
It was at this very moment that Vizcarra had caught sight of the
horseman on the bluff--the sight that had so terrified him, and which
indeed was no illusion.
"Can it be that fiend himself?" thought Carlos, regarding the officer
for a moment. "Quite likely it is he. Oh! that he were within range of
my rifle! Patience--patience! I will yet have my revenge!"
And as the speaker muttered these words, he reined back from the bluff
and rejoined his companion.
A consultation was now held as to what would be the best mode of
proceeding. Antonio was called to their council, and to him Carlos
declared his belief that his sister was a captive within the Presidio.
It was telling Antonio what he had already divined. The _mestizo_ had
been to the fiesta as well as his master, and his keen eyes had been
busy on that day. He, too, had observed the conduct of Vizcarra; and
long before their halt he had arrived at an elucidation of the many
mysteries that marked the late Indian incursion. He knew all--his
master might have saved words in telling him.
Neither words nor time were wasted. The hearts of both brother and
lover were beating too hurriedly for that. Perhaps at that moment the
object of their affection was in peril,--perhaps struggling with her
ruffian abductor! Their timely arrival might save her!
These considerations took precedence of all plans; in fact, there was no
plan they could adopt, to remain concealed--to skulk about the place--to
wait for opportunity--what opportunity? They might spend days in
fruitless waiting. Days!--hours--even minutes would be too long. Not a
moment was to be lost before some action must be taken.
And what action? They could think of none--none but open action. What!
dare a man not claim his own sister? Demand her restoration?
But the thought of refusal--the thought of subterfuge--in fact, the
certainty that such would be the result--quite terrified them both.
And yet how else could they act? They would at least give publicity to
the atrocious deed; that might serve them. There would be sympathy in
their favour--perhaps more. Perhaps the people, slaves as they were,
might surround the Presidio, and clamour loudly;--in some way the
captive might be rescued. Such were their hurried reflections.
"If not rescued," said Carlos, grinding his teeth together, "she shall
be revenged. Though the _garrota_ press my throat, he shall not live if
she be dishonoured. I swear it!"
"I echo the oath!" cried Don Juan, grasping the hilt of his _machete_.
"Masters! dear masters!" said Antonio, "you both know I am not a coward.
I shall aid you with my arm or my life; but it is a terrible business.
Let us have caution, or we fail. Let us be prudent!"
"True, we must be prudent. I have already promised that to my mother;
but how, comrades?--how! In what does prudence consist?--to wait and
watch, while she--oh!"
All three were silent for a while. None of them could think of a
feasible plan to be pursued.
The situation was, indeed, a most difficult one. There was the
Presidio, and within its walls--perhaps in some dark chamber--the
cibolero well knew his sister was a captive; but under such peculiar
circumstances that her release would be a most difficult enterprise.
In the first place, the villain who held her would assuredly deny that
she was there. To have released her would be an acknowledgment of his
guilt. What proof of it could Carlos give? The soldiers of the
garrison, no doubt, were ignorant of the whole transaction--with the
exception of the two or three miscreants who had acted as aides. Were
the cibolero to assert such a thing in the town he would be laughed at--
no doubt arrested and punished. Even could he offer proofs, what
authority was there to help him to justice? The military was the law of
the place, and the little show of civic authority that existed would be
more disposed to take sides against him than in his favour. He could
expect no justice from any quarter. All the proof of his accusation
would rest only on such facts as would neither be understood nor
regarded by those to whom he might appeal. The return trail would be
easily accounted for by Vizcarra--if he should deign to take so much
trouble--and the accusation of Carlos would be scouted as the fancy of a
madman. No one would give credence to it. The very atrociousness of
the deed rendered it incredible!
Carlos and his companions were aware of all these things. They had no
hope of help from any quarter. There was no authority that could give
them aid or redress.
The cibolero, who had remained for a while silent and thoughtful, at
length spoke out. His tone was altered. He seemed to have conceived
some plan that held out a hope.
"Comrades!" he said, "I can think of nothing but an open demand, and
that must be made within the hour. I cannot live another hour without
attempting her rescue--another hour, and what we dread--No! within the
hour it must be. I have formed a sort of plan--it may not be the most
prudent--but there is no time for reflection. Hear it."
"Go on!"
"It will be of no use our appearing before the gate of the Presidio in
full force. There are hundreds of soldiers within the walls, and our
twenty Tagnos, though brave as lions, would be of no service in such an
unequal fight. I shall go alone."
"Alone?"
"Yes; I trust to chance for an interview with _him_. If I can get that,
it is all I want. He is her gaoler; and when the gaoler sleeps, the
captive may be freed. He shall _sleep then_."
The last words were uttered in a significant tone, while the speaker
placed his hand mechanically upon the handle of a large knife that was
stuck in his waist-belt.
"_He shall sleep_ then!" he repeated; "and soon, if Fate favours me.
For the rest I care not: I am too desperate. If she be dishonoured I
care not to live, but I shall have full revenge!"
"But how will you obtain an interview?" suggested Don Juan. "He will
not give _you_ one. Would it not be better to disguise yourself? There
would be more chance of seeing him that way?"
"No! I am not easily disguised, with my light hair and skin. Besides,
it would cost too much time. Trust me, I will not be rash. I have a
plan by which I hope to get near him--to see him, at all events. If it
fail, I intend to make no demonstration for the present. None of the
wretches shall know my real errand. Afterwards I may do as you advise,
but now I cannot wait. I must on to the work. I believe it is he that
is at this moment pacing yonder azotea, and that is why I cannot wait,
Don Juan. If it be me--"
"But what shall we do?" asked Don Juan. "Can we not assist in any way?"
"Yes, perhaps in my escape. Come on, I shall place you. Come on
quickly. Moments are days. My brain's on fire. Come on!"
So saying, the cibolero leaped into his saddle and struck rapidly down
the precipitous path that led to the valley.
From the point where the road touched the valley bottom, for more than a
mile in the direction of the Presidio, it ran through a thick growth of
low trees and bushes forming a "chapparal," difficult to pass through,
except by following the road itself.
But there were several cattle-paths through the thicket, by which it
might be traversed; and these were known to Antonio the half-blood, who
had formerly lived in this neighbourhood. By one of those a party of
mounted men might approach within half-a-mile of the Presidio without
attracting the observation of the sentries upon the walls. To this
point, then, Antonio was directed to guide the party; and in due time
they arrived near the edge of the jungle, where, at the command of
Carlos, all dismounted keeping themselves and their horses under cover
of the bushes.
"Now," said the cibolero, speaking to Don Juan, "remain here. If I
escape, I shall gallop direct to this point. If I lose my horse, you
shall see me afoot all the same. For such a short stretch I can run
like a deer: I shall not be overtaken. When I return I shall tell you
how to act.
"See! Don Juan!" he continued, grasping the ranchero by the arm, and
drawing him forward to the edge of the chapparal. "It is he! by Heaven,
it is he!"
Carlos pointed to the azotea of the Presidio, where the head and
shoulders of a man were seen above the line of the parapet.
"It is the Comandante himself!" said Don Juan, also recognising him.
"Enough! I have no time for more talk," cried the cibolero. "Now or
never! If I return, you shall know what to do. If not, I am taken or
killed. But stay here. Stay till late in the night; I may still
escape. Their prisons are not too strong; besides, I carry this gold.
It may help me. No more. Adios! true friend, adios!"
With a grasp of the ranchero's hand, Carlos leaped back to his saddle,
and rode off.
He did not go in the direction of the Presidio, as that would have
discovered him too soon. But a path that led through the chapparal
would bring him out on the main road that ran up to the front gate, and
this path he took. Antonio guided him to the edge of the timber, and
then returned to the rest.
Carlos, once on the road, spurred his horse into gallop, and dashed
boldly forward to the great gate of the Presidio. The dog Cibolo
followed, keeping close up to the heels of his horse.