During all this time Vizcarra lay groaning upon his couch--not so much
with pain as fear, for the fear of death still haunted him. But for
that, his rage would have been boundless; but this passion was in
abeyance--eclipsed by the terrors that flitted across his conscience.
Even had he been assured of recovery he would still have been in dread.
His imagination was diseased by his dream and the after reality. Even
surrounded by his soldiers, he feared the cibolero, who appeared able to
accomplish any deed and escape its consequences. He did not even feel
secure there in his chamber, with guards at the entrance, against that
avenging arm!
Now, more than ever, he was desirous of getting rid of the cause--more
than ever anxious that she should be got rid of; but he reflected that
now more than ever was that a delicate and difficult matter. It would
undoubtedly get abroad _why_ the cibolero had made such a desperate
attempt upon his life--it would spread until it reached high quarters--
such a report could not be passed over--an investigation might be
ordered; and that, unless he could destroy every trace of suspicion,
might be his ruin.
These were his reflections while in the belief that he was going to
recover; when a doubt of this crossed his mind, he grew still more
anxious about the result.
Roblado had hinted at a way in which all might be arranged. He waited
with impatience for the latter to make his appearance. The warlike
captain was still engaged in beating the chapparal; but Gomez had come
in and reported that he was about to give up the search, and return to
the Presidio.
To Roblado the occurrences of the day had been rather pleasant than
otherwise; and a close observer of his conduct could have told this. If
there was anything in the whole business that really annoyed him, it was
the wound of the Comandante--it was exasperating! Roblado, more
experienced than the surgeon, knew this well. The friendship that
existed between the two was a fellow-feeling in wickedness--a sort of
felon's bond--durable enough so long as there was no benefit to either
in breaking it. But this friendship did not prevent Roblado from
regretting with all his heart that the bullet had not hit _his friend_ a
little higher up or a little lower down--either in the skull or the
throat! He entertained this regret from no malice or ill-will towards
the Comandante, but simply from a desire to benefit himself. It was
long since Roblado had been dreaming of promotion. He was not too
humble to hope he might one day command the Presidio himself.
Vizcarra's death would have given him that station at once; but Vizcarra
was not to die just then, and this knowledge somewhat clouded the joy he
was then experiencing.
And it was joy. Garcia and he had been enemies. There had been
jealousy and ill-will between them for long; therefore the lieutenant's
death was no source of regret to him. But the joy of Roblado owed
partly its origin to another consequence of that day's drama--one that
affected him more than any--one that was nearest his heart and his
hopes.
Absurd as appeared the pretensions of the cibolero in regard to
Catalina, Roblado had learned enough of late to make him jealous--ay,
even to give him real uneasiness. She was a strange creature, Catalina
de Cruces--one who had shown proofs of a rare spirit--one not to be
bought and sold like a _bulto_ of goods. She had taught both her father
and Roblado a lesson of late. She had taught them that. She had struck
the ground with her little foot, and threatened a convent--the grave--if
too rudely pressed! She had not rejected Roblado--that is, in word; but
she insisted on having _her own time to make answer_; and Don Ambrosio
was compelled to concede the point.
Under such circumstances her suitor felt uneasy. Not so much that he
was jealous--though he did love her after his own fashion, and was
piqued at the thought of such a rival--but he feared that spirit of
hers, and dreaded that her splendid fortune might yet escape him. Such
a woman was capable of the wildest resolve. She _might_ take to a
convent; or maybe _to the plains_ with this base-born cibolero! Such an
event in the life of such a woman would be neither impossible nor
unlikely. In either case she could not take her fortune with her; but
what mattered? it would not remain with him, Roblado.
The conduct of the cibolero had removed all obstacles, so far as he was
concerned. There was no longer any dread of rivalry from that source.
His life was now forfeited. Not only would he be cut off from all
communication with her, but he would not dare to show himself in the
settlement. A constant vigilance would be kept on foot to guard against
that, and Roblado even promised himself the enjoyment of rare sport in
hunting down his rival, and becoming at the same time his captor and
executioner.
These were the ideas that crossed the mind of the savage captain, and
that made him feel satisfied at the events of the day.
After scouring the chapparal, and following the track of the supposed
Indians to the ceja of the table plain, he returned with his men to the
Presidio, to make preparations for a more prolonged pursuit.