It was near sunset. The yellow orb was hastening to kiss the snowy
summit of the Sierra Blanca, that barred the western horizon. The white
mantle, that draped the shoulders of the mountain, reflected beautiful
roseate tints deepening into red and purple in the hollows of the
ravines, and seeming all the more lovely from the contrast of the dark
forests that covered the Sierra farther down.
It was a sunset more brilliant than common. The western sky was filled
with masses of coloured clouds, in which gold and purple and cerulean
blue mingled together in gorgeous magnificence; and in which the eye of
the beholder could not fail to note the outlines of strange forms, and
fancy them bright and glorious beings of another world. It was a
picture to gladden the eye, to give joy to the heart that was sad, and
make happier the happy.
It was not unobserved. Eyes were dwelling upon it--beautiful eyes; and
yet there was a sadness in their look that ill accorded with the picture
on which they were gazing.
But those eyes were not drawing their inspiration from the sky-painting
before them. Though apparently regarding it, the thoughts which gave
them expression were drawn from a far different source. The heart
within was dwelling upon another object.
The owner of those eyes was a beautiful girl, or rather a fully
developed woman still unmarried. She was standing upon the azotea of a
noble mansion, apparently regarding the rich sunset, while, in reality,
her thoughts were busy with another theme, and one that was less
pleasant to contemplate. Even the brilliant glow of the sky, reflected
upon her countenance, did not dissipate the shadows that were passing
over it. The clouds from within overcame the light from without. There
were shadows flitting over her heart that corresponded to those that
darkened her fair face.
It was a beautiful face withal, and a beautiful form--tall, majestic, of
soft graces and waving outlines. The lady was Catalina de Cruces.
She was alone upon the azotea--surrounded only by the plants and
flowers. Bending over the low parapet that overlooked the garden to the
rear, she at the same time faced toward the sinking orb,--for the garden
extended westward.
Now and then her eyes were lifted to the sky and the sun; but oftener
they sought the shaded coppice of wild-china-trees at the bottom of the
enclosure, through whose slender trunks gleamed the silvery surface of
the stream. Upon this spot they rested from time to time, with an
expression of strange interest. No wonder that to those eyes that was
an interesting spot--it was that where love's first vows had been
uttered in her delighted ear--it had been consecrated by a kiss, and in
her thoughts it was hallowed from the "earth's profound" to the high
heaven above her. No wonder she regarded it as the fairest on earth.
The most famed gardens of the world--even Paradise itself--in her
imagination, had no spot so sweet, no nook so shady, as the little
arbour she had herself trained amid the foliage of those
wild-china-trees.
Why was she regarding it with a look of sadness? In that very arbour,
and on that very night, did she expect to meet him--the one who had
rendered it sacred. Why then was she sad? Such a prospect should have
rendered her countenance radiant with joy.
And so was it, at intervals, when this thought came into her mind; but
there was another--some other thought--that brought those clouds upon
her brow, and imparted that air of uneasy apprehension. What was that
thought?
In her hand she held a bandolon. She flung herself upon a bench, and
began to play some old Spanish air. The effort was too much for her.
Her thoughts wandered from the melody, and her fingers from the strings.
She laid down the instrument, and, again rising to her feet, paced
backwards and forwards upon the azotea. Her walk was irregular. At
intervals she stopped, and, lowering her eyes, seemed to think intently
on something that was absent. Then she would start forward, and stop
again in the same manner as before. This she repeated several times,
without uttering either word or exclamation.
Once she continued her walk all around the azotea, casting a
scrutinising look among the plants and flower-pots on both sides, as if
in search of something; but whatever it was, she was unsuccessful, as
nothing appeared to arrest her attention.
She returned once more, and took up the bandolon. But her fingers had
hardly touched the strings before she laid the instrument down again,
and rose from the bench, as if some sudden resolution had taken
possession of her.
"I never thought of that--I may have dropped it in the garden!" she
muttered to herself, as she glided toward a small escalera that led down
into the patio.
From this point an avenue communicated with the garden; and the next
moment she had passed through this and was tripping over the sanded
walks, bending from side to side, and peeping behind every plant and
bush that could have concealed the object of her search.
She explored every part of the enclosure, and lingered a moment in the
arbour among the china-trees--as if she enjoyed that spot more than any
other--but she came back at length with the same anxious expression,
that told she was not rewarded by the recovery of whatever she had lost.
The lady once more returned to the azotea--once more took up the
bandolon; but after a few touches of the strings, laid it down, and
again rose to her feet. Again she soliloquised.
"_Carrambo_! it is very strange!--neither in my chamber--the sala, the
cuarto, the azotea, the garden!--where can it be? O Dios! if it should
fall into the hands of papa! It is too intelligible--it could not fail
to be understood--no--no--no! O Dios! if it should reach other hands!--
those of _his_ enemies! It names to-night--true, it does not tell the
place, but the time is mentioned--the place would be easily discovered.
Oh! that I knew where to communicate with him! But I know not, and he
will come. _Ay de mi_! it cannot be prevented now. I must hope no
enemy has got it. But where can it be? Madre de Dios! where can it
be?"
All these phrases were uttered in a tone and emphasis that showed the
concern of the speaker at the loss of some object that greatly
interested her. That object was no other than the note brought by
Josefa, and written by Carlos the cibolero, in which the assignation for
that night had been appointed. No wonder she was uneasy at its loss!
The wording not only compromised herself, but placed the life of her
lover in extreme peril. This it was that was casting the dark shadows
over her countenance--this it was that was causing her to traverse the
azotea and the garden in such anxious search.
"I must ask Vicenza," she continued. "I like not to do it, for I have
lost confidence in her of late. Something has changed this girl. She
used to be frank and honest, but now she has grown false and
hypocritical. Twice have I detected her in the act of deceiving me.
What does it mean?"
She paused a moment as if in thought. "I must ask her notwithstanding.
She may have found the paper, and, not deeming it of any use may have
thrown it in the fire. Fortunately she does not read, but she has to do
with others who can. Ha! I forgot her soldier sweetheart! If she
should have found it, and shown it to him! _Dios de mi alma_!"
This supposition seemed a painful one, for it caused the lady's heart to
beat louder, and her breathing became short and quick.
"That would be terrible!" she continued,--"that would be the very worst
thing that could happen. I do not like that soldier--he appears mean
and cunning and I have heard is a bad fellow, though favoured by the
Comandante. God forfend he should have gotten this paper! I shall lose
no more time. I shall call Vicenza, and question her."
She stepped forward to the parapet that overlooked the patio.
"Vicenza!--Vicenza!"
"_Aqui, Senorita_," answered a voice from the interior of the house.
"_Ven aca_!--_Ven aca_!" (Come hither.)
"_Si, Senorita_."
"_Anda! Anda_!" (Quickly.)
A girl, in short bright-coloured nagua, and white chemisette without
sleeves, came out into the patio, and climbed up the escalera that led
to the roof.
She was a _mestiza_, or half-blood, of Indian and Spanish mixture, as
her brownish-white skin testified. She was not ill-looking; but there
was an expression upon her countenance that precluded the idea of either
virtue, honesty, or amiability. It was a mixed expression of malice and
cunning. Her manner, too, was bold and offensive, like that of one who
had been guilty of some known crime, and had become reckless. It was
only of late she had assumed that tone, and her mistress had observed it
among other changes.
"_Que quiere V., Senorita_?" (What want you, my lady?)
"Vicenza, I have lost a small piece of paper. It was folded in an
oblong shape--not like a letter, but this--"
Here a piece of paper, similarly put up, was held out for the inspection
of the girl.
"Have you seen anything of it?"
"No, Senorita," was the prompt and ready answer.
"Perhaps you may have swept it out, or thrown it into the fire? It
looked insignificant, and, indeed, was not of much importance, but there
were some patterns upon it I wished to copy. Do you think it has been
destroyed?"
"I know not that, Senorita. I know that _I_ did not destroy it. I
neither swept it out nor threw it into the fire. I should not do that
with any paper, as I cannot read myself, and might destroy something
that was valuable."
Whatever truth there was in the last part of her harangue, the mestiza
knew that its earlier declarations were true enough. She had not
destroyed it, either by sweeping out or burning.
Her answer was delivered with an ingenuous _naivete_, accompanied with a
slight accent of anger, as though she was not over-pleased at being
suspected of negligence.
Whether her mistress noticed the latter did not appear from her answer,
but she expressed herself satisfied.
"It is of no consequence, then," said she. "You may go, Vicenza."
The girl walked off, looking sulky. When her head was just disappearing
below the top of the escalera, her face was towards her mistress, whose
back was now turned to her. A scornful pouting of the lips, accompanied
by a demoniac smile, was visible upon it. It was evident from that look
that she knew something more of the lost paper than was admitted in her
late declaration.
Catalina's gaze was once more turned upon the setting sun. In a few
minutes he would disappear behind the snowy ridge of the mountain. Then
a few hours, and then--moments of bliss!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Roblado was seated in his cuartel as before. As before, a tiny knock
sounded upon the door. As before, he called out, "Quien es?" and was
answered, "Yo!" and, as before, he recognised the voice and gave the
order for its owner to enter. As before, it was the soldier Jose, who,
in a cringing voice and with a cringing salute, approached his officer.
"Well, Jose, what news?"
"Only this," replied the soldier, holding out a slip of paper folded
into an oblong shape.
"What is it?" demanded Roblado. "Who is it from?" in the same breath.
"The captain will understand it better than I can, as I can't read; but
it comes from the Senorita, and looks inside like a letter. The
Senorita got it from somebody at church yesterday morning: so thinks
Vicenza, for she saw her read it as soon as she got back from morning
prayers. Vicenza thinks that the girl Josefa brought it up the valley,
but the captain most likely can tell for himself."
Roblado had not listened to half of this talk; but had instead been
swallowing the contents of the paper. As soon as he had got to the end
of it he sprang from his chair as if a needle had been stuck into him,
and paced the room in great agitation.
"Quick! quick, Jose!" he exclaimed. "Send Gomez here. Say nothing to
any one. Hold yourself in readiness--I shall want you too. Send Gomez
instantly. _Vaya_!"
The soldier made a salute less cringing because more hurried, and
precipitately retired from the apartment. Roblado continued--
"By Heaven! this is a piece of luck! Who ever failed to catch a fool
when love was his lure? This very night, too, and at midnight! I shall
have time to prepare. Oh! if I but knew the place! 'Tis not given
here."
Again he read over the note.
"Carajo, no! that is unfortunate. What's to be done? I must not go
guessing in the dark! Ha! I have it! _She_ shall be watched!--watched
to the very spot! Vicenza can do that while we lie somewhere in ambush.
The girl can bring us to it. We shall have time to surround them.
Their interview will last long enough for that. We shall take them in
the very moment of their bliss. Hell and furies! to think of it--this
low dog--this butcher of buffaloes--to thwart me in my purposes! But
patience, Roblado! patience! to-night--to-night!--"
A knocking at the door. Sergeant Gomez was admitted.
"Gomez, get ready twenty of your men! picked fellows, do you hear? Be
ready by eleven o'clock. You have ample time, but see that you be ready
the moment I call you. Not a word to any one without. Let the men
saddle up and be quiet about it. Load your carbines. There's work for
you. You shall know what it is by and by. Go! get ready!"
Without saying a word, the sergeant went off to obey the order.
"Curses on the luck! if I but knew the place, or anything near it.
Would it be about the house? or in the garden? Maybe outside--in the
country somewhere? That is not unlikely. He would hardly venture so
near the town, lest some one might recognise him or his horse. Death to
that horse. No, no! I shall have that horse yet, or I much mistake.
Oh! if I could find this place before the hour of meeting, then my game
were sure. But no, nothing said of the place--yes, the _old_ place.
Hell and furies! they have met before--often--often--oh!"
A groan of agony broke from the speaker, and he paced to and fro like
one bereft of his senses.
"Shall I tell Vizcarra now," he continued, "or wait till it is over? I
shall wait. It will be a dainty bit of news along with supper. Perhaps
I may garnish the table with the ears of the cibolero. Ha! ha! ha!"
And uttering a diabolical laugh, the ruffian took down his sabre and
buckled the belt around his waist. He then armed himself with a pair of
heavy pistols; and, after looking to the straps of his spurs, strode out
of the room.