During the conversation that had taken place the cibolero sat,
motionless upon his horse where he had first halted. The two officers
were no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the azotea, and
the high parapet concealed them. But Carlos guessed the object of their
temporary retirement, and waited patiently.
The group of soldiers, lounging in the gateway, and scanning him and his
horse, now amounted to thirty or forty men; but the bugle, sounding the
well-known call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry alone
remained by the gate. Both he and the soldiers, having overheard the
last conversation, guessed the object of the summons. Carlos felt
assured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet the
Comandante had not told him.
Up to that moment the cibolero had conceived no fixed plan of action.
How could he, where so much depended on chance?
Only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite--that
was _to get Vizcarra alone_. If but for a single minute, it would
suffice.
Entreaty, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in his
own defeat and death. A minute would be enough for vengeance; and with
the thoughts of his sister's ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning for
this. To anything after he scarce gave a thought. For escape, he
trusted to chance and his own superior energy.
Up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. It
had just occurred to him that the Comandante himself might lead the
party going out. If so he would take no immediate step. While acting
as guide, his opportunity would be excellent--not only for destroying
his enemy, but for his own escape. Once on the wide plains, he would
have no fear of ten times the number of lancers. His true steed would
carry him far beyond their reach.
The troop was going. The bugle told him so. Would Vizcarra go with it?
That was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he sat
immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the
parapet above.
Once more the hated face appeared over the wall--this time to announce
what the Comandante believed would be glad news to his wretched
petitioner. With all the pompous importance of one who grants a great
favour he announced it.
A gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero--not at the
announcement, though Vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of the
fact that the latter seemed to be now _alone upon the azotea_.
Roblado's face was not above the wall.
"It is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant this favour to
an humble individual like myself. I know not how to thank you."
"No thanks--no thanks: an officer of his Catholic Majesty wants no
thanks for doing his duty."
As the Comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, and
seemed about to retire backward. Carlos interrupted his intention by
putting a question: "Am I to have the honour of acting as guide to your
excellency?"
"No; I do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, Captain
Roblado, will lead it. He is now getting ready. You may wait for him."
As Vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, and
continued his promenade along the azotea. No doubt he felt ill at ease
in a _tete-a-tete_ with the cibolero, and was glad to end it. Why he
had condescended to give all this information need not be inquired into;
but it was just what the cibolero desired to know.
The latter saw that the time was come--not a moment was to be lost, and,
quick as thought, he resolved himself for action.
Up to this moment he had remained in his saddle. His rifle--its butt
resting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up to his shoulder--had
been seen by no one. The "_armas de aqua_" covering his legs, and the
serape his shoulders, had completely concealed it. In addition to this,
his sharp hunting-knife, strapped along his left thigh, escaped
observation under the hanging corner of the serape. These were his only
weapons.
During the short conversation between the Comandante and Roblado he had
not been idle, though apparently so. He had made a full reconnaissance
of the walls. He saw that out of the saguan, or gateway, an escalera of
stone steps led up to the azotea. This communication was intended for
the soldiers, when any duty required them to mount to the roof; but
Carlos knew that there was another escalera, by which the officers
ascended: and although he had never been inside the Presidio, he rightly
conjectured that this was at the adjacent end of the building. He had
observed, too, that but one sentry was posted at the gate, and that the
stone banquette, inside the saguan, used as a lounging-place by the
guard, was at the moment unoccupied. The guard were either inside the
house, or had strayed away to their quarters. In fact, the discipline
of the place was of the loosest kind. Vizcarra, though a dandy himself,
was no martinet with his men. His time was too much taken up with his
own pleasures to allow him to care for aught else.
All these points had passed under the keen observation of the cibolero
before Vizcarra returned to announce his intention of sending the troop.
He had scarce parted out of sight the second time ere the former had
taken his measures.
Silently dismounting from his horse, Carlos left the animal standing
where he had halted him. He did not fasten him to either rail or post,
but simply hooked the bridle-rein over the "horn" of the saddle. He
know that his well-trained steed would await him there.
His rifle he still carried under his serape, though the butt was now
visible below the edge, pressed closely against the calf of his leg. In
this way he walked forward to the gate.
One doubt troubled him--would the sentry permit him to pass in? If not,
the sentry must die!
This resolve was quickly made; and the cibolero under his serape kept
his grasp on the handle of his hunting-knife as he approached the gate.
The attempt was made to pass through. Fortunately for Carlos, and for
the sentry as well, it was successful. The latter--a slouching,
careless fellow--had heard the late conversation, and had no suspicion
of the other's design. He made some feeble opposition, notwithstanding;
but Carlos hastily replied that he had something to say to the
Comandante, who had beckoned him up to the azotea. This but half
satisfied the fellow, who, however, reluctantly allowed him to pass.
Once inside, Carlos sprang to the steps, and glided up with the stealthy
silent tread of a cat. So little noise had his moccasins made upon the
stones, that, when he arrived upon the roof, its occupant--although
standing but six feet from the head of the escalera--was not aware of
his presence!
There was he--Vizcarra himself--the despot--the despoiler--the violator
of a sister's innocence and honour--there was he within six feet of the
avenging brother--six feet from the muzzle of his ready rifle, and still
ignorant of the terrible situation! His face was turned in an opposite
direction--he saw not his peril.
The glance of the cibolero rested upon him but an instant, and then
swept the walls to ascertain if any one was above. He knew there were
two sentries on the towers. They were not visible--they were on the
outer walls and could not be seen from Carlos's position. No one else
was above. His enemy alone was there, and his glance again rested upon
him.
Carlos could have sent the bullet into his back, and such a thought
crossed his mind, but was gone in an instant. He had come to take the
man's life, but not in that manner. Even prudence suggested a better
plan. His knife would be more silent, and afford him a safer chance of
escape when the deed was done! With this idea, he brought the butt of
his rifle gently to the ground, and rested its barrel against the
parapet. The iron coming in contact with the stone wall gave a tiny
clink. Slight as it was, it reached the ear of the Comandante, who
wheeled suddenly round, and started at the sight of the intruder.
At first he exhibited anger, but the countenance of the cibolero, that
had undergone a complete metamorphosis during the short interval, soon
changed his anger into alarm.
"How dare you intrude, sir?--how dare--"
"Not so loud, colonel!--not so loud--you will be heard!"
The low husky voice, and the firm tone of command, in which they were
uttered, terrified the cowardly wretch to whom these words were
addressed. He saw that the man who stood before him bore in his face
and attitude the expression of desperate and irresistible resolve, that
plainly said, "Disobey, and you are a dead man!" This expression was
heightened by the gleaming blade of a long knife, whose haft was firmly
grasped by the hand of the cibolero.
At sight of those demonstrations, Vizcarra turned white with terror. He
now comprehended what was meant. The asking for the troop had been but
a subterfuge to get near his own person! The cibolero had tracked him;
his guilt was known, and the brother was now come to demand redress or
have vengeance! The horrors of his night-dream returned, now mingling
with the horrors of the fearful reality before him.
He scarce knew what to say--he could scarce speak. He looked wildly
around in hopes of seeing some help. Not a face or form was in sight--
nothing but the grey walls, and before him the frowning face of his
terrible antagonist. He would have called for help; but that face--that
angry attitude--told him that the shout would be his last. He gasped
out at length--
"What want you?"
"_I want my sister_!"
"Your sister?"
"My sister!"
"Carlos--I know not--she is not here--I--"
"Liar! she is within these walls. See! yonder the dog howls by the
door. Why is that?"
Carlos pointed to a door in the lower part of the building, where the
dog Cibolo was at that moment seen, whining and making other
demonstrations, as if he wanted to get inside! A soldier was
endeavouring to drive him off.
Vizcarra looked mechanically as directed. He saw the dog. He saw the
soldier too; but dared not make a signal to him. The keen blade was
gleaming before his eyes. The question of the cibolero was repeated.
"Why is that?"
"I--I--know not--"
"Liar again! She has gone in by that door. Where is she now? Quick,
tell me!"
"I declare, I know not. Believe me--"
"False villain! she is here. I have tracked you through all your
paths--your tricks have not served you. Deny her once more, and this to
your heart. She is here!--Where--where--I say?"
"Oh! do not murder me. I shall tell all. She--she--is--here. I swear
I have not wronged her; I swear I have not--"
"Here, ruffian--stand at this point--close to the wall here.--Quick!"
The cibolero had indicated a spot from which part of the patio, or
courtyard, was visible. His command was instantly obeyed, for the
craven Comandante saw that certain death was the alternative.
"Now give orders that she be brought forth! You know to whom she is
intrusted. Be cool and calm, do you hear? Any sign to your minions,
either word or gesture, and this knife will pass through your ribs!
Now!"
"O my God!--my God!--it would ruin me--all would know--ruin--ruin--I
pray you--have mercy--have patience!--She shall be restored to you--I
swear it--this very night!"
"This very moment, villain! Quick--proceed--all those who know--let her
be brought forth!--quick--I am on fire--one moment more--"
"O Heaven! you will murder me--a moment--Stay!--Ha!"
The last exclamation was in a different tone from the rest. It was a
shout of exultation--of triumph!
The face of the Comandante was turned towards the escalera by which
Carlos had ascended, while that of the latter looked in the opposite
direction. Carlos, therefore, did not perceive that a third person had
reached the roof, until he felt his upraised right arm grasped by a
strong hand, and held back! He wrenched his arm free--turning as he did
so--when he found himself face to face with a man whom he recognised as
the Lieutenant Garcia.
"I have no quarrel with _you_," cried the cibolero; "keep away from me."
The officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and was
levelling it at his head. Carlos rushed upon him.
The report rang, and for a moment the smoke shrouded both Garcia and the
cibolero. One was heard to fall heavily on the tiles, and the next
moment the other sprang from the cloud evidently unhurt.
It was the cibolero who came forth; and his knife, still in his grasp,
was reeking with blood!
He rushed forward towards the spot where he had parted with the
Comandante, but the latter was gone! He was some distance off on the
azotea, and running towards the private stairway.
Carlos saw at a glance he could not overtake him before he should reach
the escalera, and make his descent; and to follow him below would now be
useless, for the shot had given the alarm.
There was a moment of despair,--a short moment; for in the next a bright
thought rushed into the mind of the cibolero--he remembered his rifle.
There might be still time to overtake the Comandante with that.
He seized the weapon, and, springing beyond the circle of smoke, raised
it to his shoulder.
Vizcarra had reached the stairway, and was already sinking into its
trap-like entrance. His head and shoulders alone appeared above the
line of wall, when some half-involuntary thought induced him to stop and
look back. The coward had partly got over his fright now that he had
arrived within reach of succour, and he glanced back from a feeling of
curiosity, to see if the struggle between Garcia and the cibolero was
yet over. He meant to stop only for an instant, but just as he turned
his head the rifle cracked, and the bullet sent him tumbling to the
bottom of the escalera!
The cibolero saw that his shot had taken effect--he saw, moreover, that
the other was dead--he heard the wild shouts of vengeance from below;
and he knew that unless he could escape by flight he would be surrounded
and pierced by an hundred lances.
His first thought was to descend by the escalera, up which he had come.
The other way only led into the patio, already filling with men. He
leaped over the body of Garcia, and ran toward the stairway.
A crowd of armed men was coming up. His escape was cut off!
Again he crossed the dead body, and, running along the azotea, sprang
upon the outer parapet and looked below.
It was a fearful leap to take, but there was no other hope of escaping.
Several lancers had reached the roof, and were charging forward with
their pointed weapons. Already carbines were ringing, and bullets
whistling about his ears. It was no time to hesitate. His eye fell
upon his brave horse, as he stood proudly curving his neck and champing
the bit, "Thank Heaven, he is yet alive!"
Nerved by the sight, Carlos dropped down from the wall, and reached the
ground without injury. A shrill whistle brought his steed to his side,
and the next moment the cibolero had sprung into the saddle, and was
galloping out into the open plain!
Bullets hissed after, and men mounted in hot pursuit; but before they
could spur their horses out of the gateway, Carlos had reached the edge
of the chapparal, and disappeared under the leafy screen of its thick
foliage.
A body of lancers, with Roblado and Gomez at their head, rode after. As
they approached the edge of the chapparal, to their astonishment a score
of heads appeared above the bushes, and a wild yell hailed their
advance!
"Indios bravos! los barbaros!" cried the lancers, halting, while some of
them wheeled back in alarm.
A general halt was made, and the pursuers waited until reinforcements
should come up. The whole garrison turned out, and the chapparal was
surrounded, and at length entered. But no Indians could be found,
though the tracks of their animals led through the thicket in every
direction.
After beating about for several hours, Roblado and his troopers returned
to the Presidio.