Title: The Tiger Hunter
Author: Reid, Mayne, 1818-1883
Language: English
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The Tiger Hunter, by Captain Mayne Reid.

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Strictly speaking this book is a free translation by Reid (1818-1883) of
an earlier (1851) book by the Frenchman Luis de Bellemare (pseudonym of
Gabriel Ferry, 1809-1852), "Costal l'Indien."  The subject is the
1811-1812 Mexican War of Independence from Spain.  Reid, having fought
in the Mexican-American War of the 1850s, and having written books about
the subject, would have wanted to make this excellent book available to
an English-speaking readership, and his translation was published in
1861 with the title "A Hero In Spite Of Himself."  The edition used was
published by Routledge in 1890, some years after the author's death,
with the title "The Tiger Hunter," which is what Costal was, though the
tigers referred to were actually jaguars.

The type-setting in this book was not very good, and it seems likely
that Routledge used the type from an earlier edition.  To make matters
worse practically every page of the copy used had been defaced by a
rubber stamp of a previous owner, which made a day's work for the
transcriber to clean up.  Nevertheless the result is excellent, the book
is very readable, and it makes a good audiobook.

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THE TIGER HUNTER, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.



PROLOGUE.

During one of many journeyings through the remote provinces of the
Mexican republic, it was my fortune to encounter an old revolutionary
officer, in the person of Captain Castanos.  From time to time as we
travelled together, he was good enough to give me an account of some of
the more noted actions of the prolonged and sanguinary war of the
Independence; and, among other narratives, one which especially
interested me was the famed battle of the _Puente de Calderon_, where
the Captain himself had fought during the whole length of a summer's
day!

Of all the leaders of the Mexican revolution, there was none in whose
history I felt so much interest as in the _priest-soldier_, Morelos--or,
as he is familiarly styled in Mexican annals, the "illustrious
Morelos"--and yet there was none of whose private life I could obtain so
few details.  His public career having become historic, was, of course,
known to every one who chose to read of him.  But what I desired was a
more personal and intimate knowledge of this remarkable man, who from
being the humble curate of an obscure village in Oajaca, became in a few
short months the victorious leader of a well-appointed army, and master
of all the southern provinces of New Spain.

"Can you give me any information regarding Morelos?"  I asked of Captain
Castanos, as we were journeying along the route between Tepic and
Guadalaxara.

"Ah!  Morelos? he was a great soldier," replied the ex-captain of
guerilleros.  "In the single year of 1811, he fought no less than
twenty-six battles with the Spaniards.  Of these he won twenty-two; and
though he lost the other four, each time he retreated with honour--"

"Hum!  I know all that already," said I, interrupting my
fellow-traveller.  "You are narrating history to me, while I want only
chronicles.  In other words, I want to hear those more private and
particular details of Morelos' life which the historians have not
given."

"Ah!  I understand you," said the captain, "and I am sorry that I cannot
satisfy your desires: since, during the war I was mostly engaged in the
northern provinces, and had no opportunity of knowing much of Morelos
personally.  But if my good friend, Don Cornelio Lantejas, is still
living at Tepic, when we arrive there, I shall put you in communication
with him.  He can tell you more about Morelos than any other living man:
since he was _aide-de-camp_ to the General through all his campaigns,
and served him faithfully up to the hour of his death."

Our conversation here ended, for we had arrived at the inn where we
intended to pass the night--the _Venta de la Sierra Madre_.

Early on the following morning, before any one had yet arisen, I left my
chamber--in a corner of which, rolled in his ample _manga_, Captain
Castanos was still soundly asleep.  Without making any noise to disturb
him, I converted my coverlet into a cloak--that is, I folded my serape
around my shoulders, and walked forth from the inn.  Other travellers,
along with the people of the hostelry inside, with the domestics and
muleteers out of doors, were still slumbering profoundly, and an
imposing silence reigned over the mountain platform on which the venta
stood.

Nothing appeared awake around me save the voices of the _sierras_, that
never sleep--with the sound of distant waterfalls, as they rushed
through vast ravines, keeping up, as it were, an eternal dialogue
between the highest summits of the mountains and the deepest gulfs that
yawned around their bases.

I walked forward to the edge of the table-like platform on which the
venta was built; and halting there stood listening to these mysterious
conversations of nature.  And at once it appeared to me that other
sounds were mingling with them--sounds that suggested the presence of
human beings.  At first they appeared like the intonations of a hunter's
horn--but of so harsh and hoarse a character, that I could scarcely
believe them to be produced by such an instrument.  As a profound
silence succeeded, I began to think my senses had been deceiving me; but
once more the same rude melody broke upon my ears, in a tone that, taken
in connexion with the place where I listened to it, impressed me with an
idea of the supernatural.  It had something of the character of those
horns used by the shepherds of the Swiss valleys; and it seemed to
ascend out of the bottom of a deep ravine that yawned far beneath my
feet.

I stepped forward to the extreme edge of the rock, and looked downwards.
Again the hoarse cornet resounded in my ears; and this time so near,
that I no longer doubted as to its proceeding from some human agency.
In fact, the moment after, a man's form appeared ascending from below,
along the narrow pathway that zigzagged up the face of the cliff.

I had scarce time to make this observation, when the man, suddenly
turning the angle of the rock, stood close by my side, where he halted
apparently to recover his breath.

His costume at once revealed to me that he was an Indian; though his
garments, his tall stature, and haughty mien, lent to him an aspect
altogether different from that of most of the Indians I had hitherto
encountered in Mexico.  The proud air with which he bore himself, the
fiery expression of his eye, his athletic limbs, and odd apparel, were
none of them in keeping with the abject mien which now characterises the
descendants of the ancient masters of Anahuac.  In the grey light of the
morning, I could see suspended from his shoulders the instrument that
had made the mysterious music--a large sea-shell--a long, slender,
curved conch, that hung glistening under his arm.

Struck with the singular appearance of this man, I could not help
entering into conversation with him; though he appeared as if he would
have passed me without speaking a word.

"You are early abroad, friend?"  I remarked.

"Yes, master," he replied; "early for a man as old as I am."

I could not help regarding this as a jest; for over the shoulders of the
Indian fell immense masses of jet black hair, which seemed to give
contradiction to the statement of his being an old man.

I looked more narrowly into his countenance.  His bronzed skin appeared
to cling closely to his angular features, but there were none of those
deep furrows that betray the presence of advanced age.

"How old are you?"  I asked at length.

"That I cannot tell, cavallero," replied he.  "I tried from the time I
was able to distinguish the dry season from that of the rains to keep an
account of my age; and I succeeded in doing so up till I was fifty.
After that, for particular reasons, I did not care to know it, and so I
left off counting."

"You say you are more than fifty years old?" and as I put this inquiry I
glanced at the long purple black tresses that hung over his shoulders.

"Nearly half as much more," was the reply.  "You are looking at the
colour of my hair.  There are ravens who have seen a hundred seasons of
rain without having a feather whitened.  Ah! what matters the course of
years to me?  A raven croaked upon the roof of my father's cabin when I
was born, at the same instant that my father had traced upon the floor
the figure of one of these birds.  Well, then! of course I shall live as
long as that raven lives.  What use then to keep a reckoning of years
that cannot be numbered?"

"You think, then, that your life is in some way attached to that of the
raven that perched on the paternal roof when you came into the world?"

"It is the belief of my ancestors, the Zapoteques, and it is also mine,"
seriously responded the Indian.

It was not my desire to combat the superstitions of the Zapoteques; and,
dropping the subject, I inquired from him his purpose in carrying the
conch--whether it was for whiling away his time upon the journey, or
whether there was not also connected with it some other belief of his
ancestors?

The Indian hesitated a moment before making reply.

"It is only a remembrance of my country," he said, after a short
silence.  "When I hear the echoes of the Sierra repeat the sounds of my
shell, I can fancy myself among the mountains of Tehuantepec, where I
used to hunt the tiger--in pursuing my profession of _tigrero_.  Or at
other times I may fancy it to be the signals of the pearl-seekers in the
Gulf, when I followed the calling of a _buzo_ (diver); for I have hunted
the sea tigers who guard the banks of pearls under the water, as I have
those that ravage the herds of cattle upon the great savannas.  But time
passes, cavallero; I must say good day to you.  I have to reach the
hacienda of Portezuelo by noon, and it's a long journey to make in the
time.  _Puez, adios, cavallero_!"

So saying, the Indian strode off with that measured step peculiar to his
race; and was soon lost to my sight, as he descended into the ravine on
the opposite side of the plateau.

As I returned towards the inn I could hear the prolonged notes of his
marine trumpet rising up out of the chasm, and reverberating afar off
against the precipitous sides of the Sierra Madre.

"What the devil is all this row about?" inquired Captain Ruperto
Castanos, as he issued forth from the venta.

I recounted to him the interview I had just had; and the singular
communications I had received from the Indian.

"It don't astonish me," said he; "the Zapoteques are still more pagan
than Christian, and given to superstitious practices to a greater degree
than any other Indians in Mexico.  Our Catholic _curas_ in their
villages are there only for the name of the thing, and as a matter of
formality.  The business of the worthy padres among them must be a
perfect sinecure.  I fancy I understand what the fellow meant, well
enough.  Whenever a Zapoteque woman is about to add one to the number of
their community, the expectant father of the child assembles all his
relations in his cabin; and, having traced out the figures of certain
animals on the floor, he rubs them out one after another in their turn.
That which is being blotted out, at the precise moment when the child is
born, is called its _tona_.  They believe that, ever after, the life of
the newborn is connected in some mysterious manner with that of the
animal which is its _tona_; and that when the latter dies so will the
former!  The child thus consecrated to the tona, while growing up, seeks
out some animal of the kind, takes care of it, and pays respect to it,
as the negroes of Africa do to their _fetish_."

"It is to be presumed, then, that the Indian father will make choice
only of such animals as may be gifted with longevity?"

The captain made no reply to my suggestion, farther than to say that the
Zapoteque Indians were a brave race, easily disciplined, and out of whom
excellent soldiers had been made during the war of the Revolution.

After a hasty _desayuno_ at the venta, my travelling companion and I
resumed our journey; and, crossing the second great chain of the Mexican
Andes, at the end of six days of fatiguing travel we reached the ancient
town of Tepic.

Here it was necessary for me to remain some time, awaiting the arrival
of important letters which I expected to receive from the capital of
Mexico.

During the first week of my stay at Tepic, I saw but very little of my
fellow-voyager--who was all the time busy with his own affairs, and most
part of it absent from the little _fonda_ where we had taken up our
abode.  What these affairs might be, God only knows; but I could not
help thinking that the worthy ex-captain of guerilleros carried on his
commercial transactions, as in past times he had his military ones--a
little after the partisan fashion, and not altogether in accordance with
legal rules.

After all, it was no affair of mine.  What most concerned me, was that
with all his running about he had not yet been able to meet with his
friend, Don Cornelio Lantejas--whom no one in Tepic seemed to know
anything of--and I was beginning to suspect that the existence of this
individual was as problematical as the business of the captain himself,
when a lucky chance led to the discovery of the ex-aide-de-camp of
Morelos.

"Don Ruperto appears to have gone crazy," said Dona Faustina, our
hostess of the fonda, one morning as I seated myself to breakfast.

"Why, Dona Faustina?"  I inquired.

"Because, Cavallero," replied she, evidently piqued at the captain's
disregard of her hospitable board, "he is hardly ever here at meal
times, and when he does show himself, it is so late that the _tortillas
enchiladas_ are quite cold, and scarce fit to eat."

"Ah, senora!" replied I, by way of excusing the irregularity of the
captain's habits, "that is not astonishing.  An old soldier of the
Revolution is not likely to be very punctual about his time of eating."

"That is no reason at all," rejoined the hostess.  "We have here, for
instance, the good _presbitero_, Don Lucas de Alacuesta, who was an
insurgent officer through the whole campaign of the illustrious Morelos,
and yet he is to-day a very model of regularity in his habits."

"What! an officer of Morelos, was he?"

"Certainly; all the world knows that."

"Do you chance to know another old officer of Morelos, who is said to
live here in Tepic, Don Cornelio Lantejas?"

"Never heard of him, Senor."

At this moment Don Ruperto's voice sounded outside, announcing his
return from one of his matutinal expeditions.

"To the devil with your tortillas and black beans!" cried he, rushing
into the room, and making answer to the reproaches of his hostess.  "No,
Dona Faustina--I have breakfasted already; and what is more, I shall
dine to-day as a man should dine--with viands at discretion, and wine,
as much as I can drink, of the best vintage of Xeres!  I have
breakfasted to-day, good clerical fashion.  Who with, do you think?"
asked he, turning to me.

"Don Lucas de Alacuesta, perhaps?"

"Precisely; otherwise Don Cornelio Lantejas, who, on changing his
profession, has made a slight alteration in his name; and who, but for a
lucky chance, I should never have found till the day of judgment, since
the worthy _presbitero_ hardly ever stirs out from his house.  Who would
have believed that an old soldier of the Independence should so change
his habits?  In fact, however, we have had so many priests turned
officers during the Revolution, that it is only natural one officer
should become a priest, by way of compensation."

In continuation, Don Ruperto announced to me, that we were both invited
to dine with his old acquaintance; and further, that the latter had
promised to place at my disposition such souvenirs of the illustrious
Morelos as I desired to be made acquainted with.

I eagerly accepted the invitation; and in three hours after under the
conduct of the captain, I entered the domicile of the worthy padre, Don
Lucas de Alacuesta.  It was a large house, situated near the outskirts
of the town, with an extensive garden, enclosed by a high wall, rendered
still higher by a stockade of the organ cactus that grew along its top.

We found our host awaiting us--a thin little man, of some fifty years of
age, nimble in his movements, and extremely courteous and affable.  He
appeared to be one who occupied himself, much less with the affairs of
his parish, than with the cultivation of his garden, and the
preservation of entomological specimens--of which he possessed a
bountiful collection.

Nothing either in his speech or features, as in those of Captain
Castanos, recalled the _ex-militario_, who had borne a conspicuous part
in the long and bloody campaigns of the revolutionary war.

It is not necessary to give any details of the dinner--which was after
the fashion of the Mexican _cuisine_, and excellent of its kind.
Neither shall I repeat the conversation upon general topics; but enter
at once upon those scenes described by the ex-aide-de-camp of Morelos,
and that of which our drama has been constructed.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE GRITO OF HIDALGO.

The great revolutionary war of 1790 was not confined to France, nor yet
to Europe.  Crossing the Atlantic, it equally affected the nations of
the New World--especially those who for three centuries had submitted to
the yoke of Spain.  These, profiting by the example set them by the
English colonies in the north, had taken advantage of the confusion of
affairs in Europe, and declared their independence of the mother
country.

Of the Spanish-American vice-kingdoms, New Spain--or Mexico more
properly called--was the last to raise the standard of independence; and
perhaps had the wise measures of her viceroy, Iturrigaray, been endorsed
by the court of Madrid, the revolution might have been still further
delayed, if not altogether prevented.

Don Jose Iturrigaray, then vice-king of New Spain, on the eve of the
insurrection had deemed it wise policy to grant large political
concessions to the Creoles, or native white population of the country,
and confer upon them certain rights of citizenship hitherto withheld
from them.

These concessions might have satisfied the Creoles with the government
of the mother country, and perhaps rendered their loyalty permanent.
Mexico, like Cuba, might still have been a "precious jewel" in the
Spanish crown, had it not been that the decrees of Iturrigaray produced
dissatisfaction in another quarter--that is, among the pure Spaniards
themselves--the _Gachupinos_, or colonists from Old Spain, established
in Mexico; and who had up to this time managed the government of the
country, to the complete exclusion of the Creoles from every office of
honour or emolument.

These egoists, considering the acts of the viceroy ruinous to their
selfish interests, and the privileges they had hitherto enjoyed, seized
upon his person, and sent him to Spain to give an account of his
conduct.

Tyrannous counsels prevailed; the prudent plans of Iturrigaray were
rejected, and Mexico fell back into the same political bondage under
which she had groaned since the conquest of Cortez.

The dismissal of Iturrigaray took place in 1808.  The Gachupinos were
not without apprehensions of an outbreak; but as two years passed over
in tranquillity, their doubts became dissipated, and they ceased to
believe in the possibility of such an event.

Theirs was but fancied security, and lasted only two years.  In 1810 it
was abruptly terminated by the rising of Hidalgo in one of the northern
provinces, the news of which event descended upon the Gachupinos like a
thunderbolt.

Strange enough that a priest should be the leader of this movement in
favour of liberty: since it was through priestly influence that Mexico
had all along been governed and oppressed!  But in truth Hidalgo, and
the other priests who figured in this insurrection, were a very
different class of men from the great metropolitan ecclesiastics of the
capital and the larger cities, who conducted the affairs of state.
Hidalgo was but a simple village _cura_--a child of the people--and so,
too, were most of the other patriot priests who espoused the popular
cause.

In October 1810, Hidalgo had nearly one hundred thousand men in the
ranks of his army.  They were badly armed and equipped, but still
formidable from their very numbers.  This immense host, which consisted
principally of native Indians, overspreading the country like a torrent,
could not fail to produce consternation in the minds of the Gachupinos.

Even among the Creoles themselves it created a certain confusion of
ideas.  All these were the sons or descendants of Spaniards, and of
course connected with the latter by ties of consanguinity.  It was but
natural, therefore, that some of them should believe it to be their duty
to take the part of the government against the insurrection, while
others should sacrifice the ties of family relationship to the more
noble idea of liberating their country from a foreign yoke.

This difference of opinion among the Creoles existed only in families of
the higher and wealthier classes.  Among the poorer Mexicans--the
people--whether white or half caste, there existed only one sentiment,
and that was in favour of independence from Spain.  The Indians of pure
blood had their own ideas.  They had been more enslaved than the
Creoles, and of course readily united with them for the expulsion of the
Spaniard--their common oppressor.  Some of them also indulged in the
idle dream that circumstances might restore the ancient splendour of the
Aztec race.



CHAPTER TWO.

AN IRKSOME JOURNEY.

In a morning of the month of October, a solitary traveller was pursuing
his route across the vast plains which extend from the limits of the
state of Vera Cruz through that of Oajaca.  It is scarcely necessary to
say that the traveller was on horseback--in a country where no one ever
thinks of journeying on foot.  He was armed also, as well as mounted;
but both horse and weapon were of such an indifferent character as to be
ill suited for an encounter with an enemy of any kind.  This, too, in a
country just then in a state of revolution, where the traveller might
expect to meet with an enemy at any moment--either a political
adversary, or one of those professional bandits with whom Mexico at this
time abounded, and who robbed all alike, irrespective of party.

The only weapon our traveller possessed was an old curved sabre; but it
was doubtful whether it could be drawn from its iron scabbard, which
appeared as rusty as if it had lain for years at the bottom of a river.
It was carried obliquely along the flap of the saddle, and under the
thigh of the horseman--the common mode in Mexico--thus transferring the
weight of the weapon from the hip of the rider to the ribs of his horse.

The steed of our traveller showed evident signs of having been at one
time the property of some _picador de toros_: as was manifested by the
numerous scars that traversed his flanks and counter; but whatever good
qualities he may have once possessed, he was evidently now one of the
sorriest of jades--worth no more than the value of his own skin.
Notwithstanding the repeated strokes of the spur, which his rider
administered without stint, it was impossible to force him into anything
more rapid than a shambling walk, and at this slow pace was he
proceeding, evidently to the great chagrin of the impatient traveller.

The costume of the horseman thus ill mounted consisted of a sort of
jacket of white cotton stuff, with open _calzoneros_ of olive-coloured
velveteen.  On his feet were short boots of goat-skin--dressed in
imitation of cordovar leather--and covering his head was a broad-brimmed
hat of common palmetto plait.  Though not positively shabby, his
garments had the appearance of having been a long time in wear, out of
regard to economy.  There was something, however, in their cut and
texture that bespoke the wearer to belong to a class above that of the
mere peasant.

He was a young man--apparently two or three and twenty--of slender
figure and rather thin in flesh.  His countenance bespoke gentleness of
disposition, amounting almost to simplicity; and this would have been
the impression produced upon an observer, but for a pair of lively
spiritual eyes that sparkled in sockets somewhat sunken.  These,
combined with a well-formed mouth, and lips of a sarcastic cut, relieved
the otherwise too ingenuous expression of his features, and proved that
the young man was capable, when occasion required, of exhibiting a
considerable power of repartee and acute observation.  Just then the
predominant expression upon his features was that of chagrin, mixed with
a certain degree of uneasiness.

The scenes through which he was passing were of a character to cause
apprehension--especially to one journeying alone.  On all sides extended
a vast plain of sterile soil--the brown earth but thinly covered with a
growth of cactus and wild aloes, under the shadow of which appeared a
sparse herbage, wild, and of yellowish hue.  The aspect was monotonous
and dreary beyond expression; while here and there vast clouds of dust
rose in whirlwinds, and moved like spectres over the plain.  The
straggling huts encountered at long intervals on the way were all
empty--apparently abandoned by their owners!  This strange circumstance
combined with the heat of a tropic sun, the absence of all signs of
water, the profound silence that reigned over these solitary steppes,
had created a sense of discouragement in the mind of the young
traveller, amounting almost to fear.

Notwithstanding a liberal use of the spur, his horse could not be
induced to depart from a walk.  If by a desperate effort he was once or
twice forced into a trot it was only to return again to his old gait as
soon as the spur was taken from his flanks.  The painful exertions of
the rider had no other result than to cause the perspiration to flow
profusely over his face, rendering it necessary for him every now and
then to make use of his pocket-kerchief.

"_Maldito cavallo_!"  (Good-for-nothing beast!) he exclaimed at
intervals as his patience became exhausted; but the horse, fatigued with
a long journey, was as insensible to the insults of his rider's speech
as he had been to the strokes of his spur, and moved not a whit the
faster.

Wearied with these idle efforts to increase the speed of the animal, the
young traveller turned in his saddle and looked back.  His object was to
compare the route he had come with that which lay before him--in order
to form some calculation as to the distance yet to be travelled before
he could reach the other side of the desert plain.

The observation did not appear to gratify him.  On the contrary, his
countenance became clouded with a still deeper shade of chagrin; and,
abandoning himself to a complete despair, he made no further attempt to
urge forward his unwilling roadster, but left the sorry brute to his
creeping pace.

For several hours the traveller kept on his slow course--his spirit
alternately exasperated and depressed.

Mid-day had arrived, and the tropic sun, glaring down vertically from a
cloudless sky, was causing a degree of heat almost intolerable.  The
breeze had ceased to cool the atmosphere; and even the dry leaves of the
trees hung motionless from the boughs.  At every moment the horse,
crawling painfully forward, threatened to become motionless as they.

Suffering from thirst, and wearied with the journey he had already made,
the young traveller at length dismounted, and threw his bridle-rein over
the neck of his horse.  He had no fear that the animal would take
advantage of the freedom thus given him.  There was not the slightest
danger of its running away.

Leaving the steed to himself, therefore, the rider walked towards a
clump of _nopals_--in hopes of finding some fruit upon them, by which he
might relieve his thirst.

As good luck would have it, he was not deceived in his expectation.  The
_nopals_ were in fruit; and having plucked a number of these "Indian
figs," and stripped them of their spinous skins, he was enabled, by
swallowing a quantity of the sweetish pulp, to allay in some measure the
excessive thirst that had been hitherto torturing him.  Thus satisfied,
he once more mounted into his saddle, and continued his interrupted
journey.



CHAPTER THREE.

AN ENIGMA.

After riding several miles farther, he arrived at a small village,
situated in the same plain through which he had been journeying.  There,
as all along the route, he found the houses deserted and abandoned by
their owners!  Not a soul was to be seen--no one to offer him
hospitality; and as nothing could be found in the empty houses--neither
food to satisfy his hunger, nor water to quench his thirst--the
traveller was compelled to ride on without halting.  "_Cosa estrana_!"
muttered he to himself, "what on earth can be the meaning of this
complete depopulation?"

In addition to the desertion of the houses, another odd circumstance had
struck his attention.  Almost at every hut which he passed, he saw
canoes and _periaguas_ suspended from the branches of the trees, and
raised many feet above the ground!  In a part of the country where there
is neither lake nor river--not so much as the tiniest stream--no wonder
the sight astonished our traveller, considering that he was a stranger
to the district, and had not yet encountered a single individual who
might explain the ludicrous phenomenon.

Just as he was pondering over an explanation of these singularities, a
sound fell upon his ear, that produced within him a feeling of joy.  It
was the hoof-stroke of a horse, breaking upon the profound solitude.  It
came from behind him; and betokened that some horseman was approaching
in his rear, though still invisible on account of a turning in the road,
which the young traveller had just doubled.

In a few seconds' time the horseman appeared in sight; and galloping
freely forward, soon came side by side with our traveller.

"_Santos Dios_!" saluted the new-comer, at the same time raising his
hand to his hat.

"_Santos Dios_!" responded the young man, with a similar gesture.

The meeting of two travellers in the midst of a profound solitude is
always an event, which leads to their regarding one another with a
certain degree of curiosity; and such occurred in the present instance.

He who had just arrived was also a young man--apparently of twenty-four
or twenty-five years; and this conformity of age was the only point in
which the two travellers resembled each other.  The new-comer was
somewhat above medium stature, with a figure combining both elegance and
strength.  His features were regular and well defined; his eyes black
and brilliant; his moustache thick and curving, and his complexion
deeply embrowned with the sun.  All these circumstances tended to show
that he was a man of action; while a certain air of energy and command
bespoke fiery passions, and the hot Arabian blood, which flows in the
veins of many Spanish-Mexican families.

His horse was a bay-brown, whose slender limbs and sinewy form declared
him also to be descended from an oriental race.  The ease with which his
rider managed him, and his firm graceful seat in the saddle, betokened a
horseman of the first quality.

His costume was both costly and elegant.  A vest of unbleached cambric
suited well the heat of the climate.  His limbs were covered with
_calzoneros_ of silk velvet of a bright purple colour; while boots of
buff leather, armed with long glancing spurs, encased his feet.  A hat
of _vicuna_ cloth, with its trimming of gold lace, completed a costume
half-military, half-civilian.  To strengthen its military character a
rapier in a leathern sheath hung from his waist-belt, and a carbine,
suspended in front, rested against the pommel of his saddle.

"_Puez, amigo_!" said the newly-arrived horseman, after a pause, and
glancing significantly at the back of the traveller.  "May I ask if you
have far to go upon that horse?"

"No, thank goodness!" replied the other; "only to the hacienda of San
Salvador; which, if I'm not mistaken, is scarce six leagues distant."

"San Salvador?  I think I've heard the name.  Is it not near to an
estate called hacienda of Las Palmas?"

"Within two leagues of it, I believe."

"Ah! then we are following the same route," said he in the laced cap; "I
fear, however," he continued, checking the ardour of his steed, "that
there will soon be some distance between us.  Your horse does not appear
to be in any particular hurry?"

The last speech was accompanied by a significant smile.

"It is quite true," rejoined the other, also smiling, as he spoke; "and
more than once upon my journey I have had reason to blame the mistaken
economy of my good father, who, instead of letting me have a proper
roadster, has munificently furnished me with a steed that has escaped
from the horns of all the bulls of the Valladolid Circus; the
consequence of which is, that the poor beast cannot see even a cow on
the distant horizon without taking to his heels in the opposite
direction."

"_Carrambo_! and do you mean to say you have come all the way from
Valladolid on that sorry hack?"

"Indeed, yes, Senor--only I have been two months on the way."

Just then the Rosinante of the circus, roused by the presence of the
other horse, appeared to pique himself on a point of honour, and made an
effort to keep up with his new companion.  Thanks to the courtesy of the
moustached cavalier, who continued to restrain the ardour of his fine
steed, the two horses kept abreast, and the travellers were left free to
continue the conversation.

"You have been courteous enough," said the stranger, "to inform me that
you are from Valladolid.  In return, let me tell you that I am from
Mexico, and that my name is Rafael Tres-Villas, captain in the Queen's
dragoons."

"And mine," rejoined the young traveller, "is Cornelio Lantejas, student
in the University of Valladolid."

"Well, Senor Don Cornelio, can you give me the solution of an enigma
which has puzzled me for two days, and which I have been unable to ask
any one else, for the reason that I have not met with a soul since I
entered this accursed country.  How do you explain this complete
solitude--the houses, and villages without inhabitant, and skiffs and
canoes suspended from the trees in a district where you may go ten
leagues without finding a drop of water?"

"I cannot explain it at all, Senor Don Rafael," replied the student; "it
has equally astonished myself; and more than that--has caused me most
horrible fear."

"Fear!" echoed the captain of dragoons; "of what?"

"The truth is, Senor Capitan, I have a bad habit of being more afraid of
dangers which I cannot comprehend, than those which I know.  I fear that
the insurrection has gained this province--though I was told to the
contrary--and that the State of Oajaca was perfectly tranquil.  Like
enough the people have abandoned their dwellings to avoid falling into
the hands of some party of insurgents that may be scouring the country?"

"Bah!" exclaimed the dragoon, with a contemptuous toss of his head.
"Poor devils like them are not in the habit of fleeing from marauders.
Besides, the country-people have nothing to fear from those who follow
the banner of the insurrection.  In any case, it was not for sailing
through these sandy plains that the canoes and _periaguas_ have been
hung up to the trees?  There's some other cause, than the panic of the
insurrection, that has breathed a spirit of vertigo into the people
here; though, for the life of me, I can't guess what it is."

For a while the two travellers continued their journey in silence--each
absorbed in speculating upon the singular mystery that surrounded them,
and of which neither could give an explanation.



CHAPTER FOUR.

THE HUNGRY TRAVELLERS.

The dragoon was the first to resume the conversation.

"You, Senor Don Cornelio," said he, "you who have come from Valladolid,
perhaps you can give me some later news, than I have received about the
march of Hidalgo and his army?"

"Not any, I fear," replied the student; "you forget, Senor, that, thanks
to the slow pace of my old horse, I have been two months on the route?
When I left Valladolid, nobody had any more thought of an insurrection
than of a new deluge.  All I know of it is what I have heard from public
rumour--that is, so much as could be divulged without fear of the Holy
Inquisition.  If, moreover, we are to believe the mandate of the Lord
Bishop of Oajaca, the insurrection will not find many supporters in his
diocese."

"And for what reason?" asked the captain of dragoons, with a certain
hauteur, which proved, without committing himself to any disclosure of
his political opinions, that the insurgent cause would not find an enemy
in him.  "What reason does the bishop assign?"

"What reason?" replied the student.  "Simply because my Lord Bishop
Bergosa y Jordan will excommunicate them.  He affirms, moreover, that
every insurgent will be recognisable by his horns and cloven hoofs,
which before long they will all have from the hands of the devil!"

Instead of smiling at the childish credulity of the young student, the
dragoon shook his head with an air of discontent, while the hairs of his
black moustachios curled with indignation.

"Yes," said he, as if speaking to himself, "thus is it that our priests
fight with the weapons of calumny and falsehood, perverting the minds of
the Creoles with fanatical superstition!  So, Senor Lantejas," he
continued in a louder tone, addressing himself to the student, "you are
afraid to enrol yourself in the ranks of the insurgents, lest you might
obtain these diabolical ornaments promised by the bishop?"

"Heaven preserve me from doing such a thing!" replied the student.  "Is
it not an article of faith?  And who should know better than the
respectable Lord Bishop of Oajaca?  Besides," continued he, hastening
his explanation, as he saw the angry flash of his companion's eye, "I am
altogether of a peaceable disposition, and about to enter into holy
orders.  Whatever party I might take, it would be with prayer alone I
should seek to make it triumph.  The Church has a horror of blood."

While the student was thus delivering himself, the dragoon regarded him
with a side glance; which seemed to say: that it mattered little which
side he might take, as neither would be much benefited by such a sorry
champion.

"Is it for the purpose of passing your thesis that you have come to
Oajaca?"

"No," replied Lantejas, "my errand into this country is altogether
different.  I am here in obedience to the commands of my father, whose
brother is the proprietor of the rich estate of San Salvador.  I am to
remind my uncle that he is a widower--rich--and without children; and
that he has half-a-dozen nephews to provide for.  That is my business at
San Salvador.  What can I do?  My honoured father is more attached to
the good things of this life than is perhaps right; and I have been
obliged to make this journey of two hundred leagues, for the purpose of
sounding our relative's disposition in regard to us."

"And ascertaining the value of his property as well?"

"Oh! as to that, we know exactly how much it is worth; though none of us
has ever been on the estate."

This answer of the young student did more honour to his heart than to
his discretion.

"Well," continued he, after a pause, "I may safely say, that never did
nephew present himself before an uncle in a more famished condition than
I shall do.  Thanks to the inexplicable desertion of all the houses and
villages through which I have passed--and the care which their owners
have taken to carry with them even the leanest chicken--there is not a
jackal in the country hungrier than I at this minute."

The dragoon was in pretty much the same case.  For two days he had been
travelling without seeing a soul, and though his horse had picked up a
little forage along the road, he had been unable to obtain food for
himself--other than such wild fruits and berries as he could gather by
the way.

The sympathy for a like suffering at once dissipated any ill-blood which
the difference in their political sentiments might have stirred up; and
harmony was restored between them.

The captain in his turn informed his new _compagnon du voyage_, that,
since the imprisonment of the Viceroy, Iturrigaray, his own father, a
Spanish gentleman, had retired to his estate of Del Valle, where he was
now proceeding to join him.  He was not acquainted with this estate,
having never been upon it since he was a mere child; but he knew that it
was not far from the hacienda of Las Palmas, already mentioned.  Less
communicative than Don Cornelio, he did not inform the student of
another motive for his journey, though there was one that interested him
far more than revisiting the scenes of his childhood.

As the travellers rode on, the evanescent ardour of Don Cornelio's
roadster insensibly cooled down; while the student himself, fatigued by
the incessant application of whip and spur, gradually allowed to
languish a conversation, that had enabled them to kill a long hour of
their monotonous journey.

The sun was now declining towards the western horizon, and the shadows
of the two horsemen were beaming elongated upon the dusty road, while
from the tops of the palm-trees the red cardinals and parroquets had
commenced to chaunt their evening song.

Thirst--from which both the travellers suffered even more than from
hunger--was still increasing upon them; and at intervals the dragoon
captain cast a look of impatience toward the horse of his companion.  He
could not help observing that the poor brute, for the want of water, was
every moment slackening his pace.

On his side, Don Cornelio perceived, that, from a generous motive, his
travelling companion was resisting the temptation to ride forward.  By
putting his fine horse into a gallop, the latter could in a short time
reach the hacienda--now less than three leagues distant.  Under the
apprehension of losing his company, therefore, the student redoubled his
efforts to keep his old circus hack abreast with the bay-brown of the
dragoon.

The journey thus continued for half an hour longer; when it became
evident to both travellers that the _escapado_ of the bull-ring was
every moment growing more unable to proceed.

"Senor student," said the dragoon, after a long spell of silence, "have
you ever read of those shipwrecks, where the poor devils, to avoid
starvation, cast lots to see which shall be eaten by the others?"

"Alas! yes, I have," answered Lantejas, with a slight trembling in his
speech; "but I hope with us it will not come to that deplorable
extremity."

"_Carrambo_!" rejoined the dragoon with a grave air, "I feel at this
moment hungry enough to eat a relative--even if he were rich and I his
heir, as you of your uncle, the _haciendado_ of San Salvador!"

"But we are not at sea, Senor captain, and in a boat from which there is
no chance of escape?"

The dragoon fancied that he might amuse himself a little at the expense
of the young student of divinity--of whose excessive credulity he had
already had proofs.  Perhaps he meant also to revenge himself on this
foolish credulity, upon which the fulmination of the Bishop Bergosa--
already celebrated throughout Mexico--had made such an impression.  His
chief motive, however, was to demonstrate to his travelling companion
the necessity for their parting company; in order, that, by riding
forward himself, he might be able to send back succour to his
fellow-traveller.  He was no little surprised, therefore, to perceive
that his pleasantry was taken in actually a serious light; and therefore
had determined to desist from making any further innuendos.

"I hope, Senor captain," said Don Cornelio, "I hope neither of us will
ever be in such extremities."

Then casting a glance over the arid waste that stretched before them, a
new idea seemed to strike the student; and with a haste that bespoke his
agitation he continued--

"As for me, if I were mounted on a horse equal in strength and vigour to
yours, I should gallop either to the hacienda of Las Palmas or San
Salvador, without drawing bridle; and from there send assistance to the
fellow-traveller I had left behind."

"Ah! is that your advice?"

"I could not think of giving any other."

"Good, then!" cried the dragoon; "I shall follow it; for to be candid, I
felt a delicacy in parting company with you."

As Don Rafael spoke, he held out his hand to the student.

"Senor Lantejas," said he, "we part friends.  Let us hope we may never
meet as enemies!  Who can foresee the future?  You appear disposed to
look with an evil eye on those attempts at emancipation of a country,
that has been enslaved for three hundred years.  As for myself, it is
possible I may offer my arm--and, if need be, my life--to aid her in
conquering her liberty.  _Hasta luego_!  I shall not forget to send you
assistance."

Saying this, the officer clasped warmly the chill attenuated fingers of
the student of theology, gave the reign to his horse, that needed no
spur, and disappeared the moment after amidst a cloud of dust.

"God be praised!" said Lantejas, breathing freely; "I do believe the
famished Lestrygon would have been quite capable of devouring me!  As
for my being found on a field of battle in front of this Goliath, or any
other, there's not much danger.  I defy the devil with all his horns to
make a soldier of me, either _for_ the insurrection or _against_ it."

The student proceeded on his solitary route--congratulating himself on
having escaped, from what his credulous fancy had believed to be a
danger.

Some time had passed, and the red clouds of sunset were tinting the
horizon, when he saw before him the form of a man, whose gait and
complexion proved him to be an Indian.  In hopes of obtaining some
provisions from this man, or, at all events, an explanation of the
singular circumstances already mentioned, the student urged his horse
into a more rapid pace, heading him towards the Indian.

He saw that the latter was driving two cows before him, whose distended
udders proved them to be milch cattle.  This increased the desire of the
horseman, hungry and thirsty as he was, to join company with the
cowherd.

"_Hola_!  Jose!" cried he, at the top of his voice.

An Indian will always respond to the name _Jose_, as an Irishman to that
of _Pat_ or _Paddy_.  On hearing it, the cow-driver looked round in
alarm.  At that moment the _escapado_ of the bull-ring caught sight of
the two cows, and suddenly broke off into a gallop--unfortunately,
however, in a direction the very opposite to that which his rider
desired him to take!

Notwithstanding this, the student still continued to shout to the
cowherd, in hopes of bringing him to comprehend his dilemma.  But the
odd spectacle of a horseman calling to him to approach, while he himself
kept riding off in the opposite direction, so astounded the Indian that,
uttering a cry of affright, he also took to his heels, followed in a
long shambling trot by the two cows!

It was not until all three were out of sight, that the student could
prevail on his affrighted steed to return into the proper path.

"In the name of the Holy Virgin!" soliloquised he, "what has got into
the people of this country?  Every one of them appears to have gone
mad!"

And once more setting his horse to the road, he proceeded onward--now,
however, hungrier and more disconsolate than ever.

Just as night was coming down, he arrived at a place where two or three
small huts stood by the side of the road.  These, like all the others,
he found deserted.  At sight of them, however, the old horse came to a
dead stop, and refused to proceed.  His rider, equally fatigued,
resolved upon remaining by the huts, until the assistance promised by
the dragoon captain should arrive.

In front of one of the huts stood two tall tamarind trees--between which
a hammock was suspended, at the height of seven or eight feet from the
ground.  It was a capacious one, made of the strong plaited thread of
the _maguey_.  It seemed to invite the wearied traveller to repose--as
if placed there on purpose for him.

As the heat was still suffocating, instead of entering one of the huts,
he unsaddled his horse, permitted the animal to go at will, and by the
trunk of one of the tamarinds climbed up into the hammock.  There,
stretching himself, he lay a good while listening attentively, in hopes
of hearing some sound that might announce the approach of the promised
succour.

It was now dark night.  All nature had gone to sleep; and the profound
silence was unbroken by any sound that resembled the tramp of a horse.
Nothing was heard to indicate the approach of the expected relief.

As the student continued to listen, however, he became sensible of
sounds, of a singular and mysterious character.  There was a continuous
noise, like the rumbling of distant thunder, or the roaring of the ocean
during a storm.  Although the air was calm around him, he fancied he
could hear a strong wind blowing at a distance, mingled with hoarse
bellowings of unearthly voices!

Affrighted by these inexplicable noises--which seemed the warning voices
of an approaching tempest--he lay for a while awake; but fatigue
overcoming him, he sunk at length into a profound sleep.



CHAPTER FIVE.

BLACK AND RED.

On that same evening, and about an hour before sunset, two men made
their appearance on the banks of a small river that traversed the
country not far from the group of huts where the traveller had halted--
at a point about halfway between them and the hacienda Las Palmas.

At the place where the two men appeared upon its banks, the river in
question ran through the middle of a narrow valley; flowing so gently
along, that its unrippled surface mirrored the blue sky.  At this place
the water filled its channel up to the level of the banks, that were
treeless, and covered with a sward of grass.  Farther down trees grew
along the edge of the stream--tall oaks and cotton woods, whose branches
were interlaced by flowering llianas.  Still farther down, the river
entered between high banks of wilder appearance, and covered with yet
more luxuriant vegetation.  From the grassy meadow, in which the two men
were standing, the noise of a cataract, like the breaking of the sea
upon a rocky beach, was distinctly audible.

The complexion and costume of one of the men pronounced him an Indian.
The former was a copper-brown, the well-known colour of the American
aboriginal.  His dress consisted of a coarse shirt of greyish woollen
stuff, rayed with black stripes.  Its short sleeves, scarce reaching to
the elbows, permitted to be seen a pair of strong, sinewy arms of
deepest bronze.  It was confined round the waist with a thick leathern
belt, while its skirt hung down to mid-thigh.  Below this appeared the
legs of a pair of trowsers, wide, but reaching only to the knee.  These
were of tanned sheep-skin, and of a reddish brown hue.  From the bottoms
of the trowsers, the legs and ankles of the Indian were naked; while the
_chaussure_ consisted of leathern buskins, also of a brownish red
colour.  A hat of rush plaiting covered his head, from under which hung
two long tresses of black hair--one over each cheek--and reaching down
to his elbows.

He was a man of tall stature, and with a physiognomy remarkable for one
of his race.  Instead of the servile aspect so characteristic of the
_Indios mangos_ (subdued Indians) of Mexico, he had more the air of the
true savage, or _Indio bravo_.  This appearance was strengthened by the
fact of his having a slight moustache and beard--a rare distinction
among the aborigines of Mexico.

Over his shoulder he carried a short, thick carbine, somewhat rusty;
while a long _machete_ (half sword, half knife), was stuck behind his
belt.

His companion was a negro, whose clothing consisted of little else than
rags.  Otherwise there was nothing remarkable about him--if we except
the air of stupified credulity with which he appeared to be listening to
the discourse of the Indian.  From time to time his features assumed an
expression of ill-concealed fear.

The red man, closely followed by the black, was advancing along the bank
at a place destitute of timber and where the ground was smooth and soft.
He was going slowly, his body bent slightly forwards, and his eyes
turned upon the earth as if in search of some object, or tracking an
animal.  Suddenly he came to a top--

"Now!" he exclaimed, turning to the negro, and pointing to the ground,
"I told you I should find their traces in less than half an hour.  Look
there!"

The Indian spoke in a tone of triumph; but the feeling was far from
being shared by his companion, who bent his eyes upon the earth rather
with a look of dismay.  The sight was sufficient to have caused
uneasiness to any one other than a hunter of wild beasts.  In the soft
mud was exhibited a number of tracks--twenty of them in all.  They were
of different sizes, too; and appeared to have been recently made.  The
marks of sharp claws, distinctly outlined in the clayey soil, told what
kind of animal had made the tracks.  It was the fierce jaguar--the tiger
(_tigre_) of the Spanish-Americans.

"It's not half an hour since they have been here," continued the Indian.
"_Mira_!" exclaimed he, pointing to a little eddy on the edge of the
stream, "they have been drinking there not ten minutes ago: the water is
yet muddy!"

"Let us get away," suggested the negro, whose black face was now pale
with fear.  "I see no use in our remaining here.  See! there are many
tracks, and of different sizes, too.  Lord bless me! a whole procession
of tigers must have passed here."

"Oh! you are exaggerating," rejoined the Indian, with a sneering laugh.
"Let us count them," he continued, bending down over the foot-prints,
"one--two--three--four: a male, a female, and her two _cachorros_
(cubs).  That is all.  _Carrambo_! what a sight for a _tigrero_
(tiger-hunter)."

"Ah! indeed!" assented the negro, in a hesitating way.

"Yes," rejoined the other; "but we shan't go after them to-day.  We have
more important business on our hands."

"Would it not be better to defer the business you were speaking of till
to-morrow, and now return to the hacienda?  However curious I am to see
the wonderful things you promised, still--"

"What!" exclaimed the Indian, interrupting his companion's speech,
"defer that business till another day?  Impossible.  The opportunity
would not come round for another month, and then we shall be far from
this place.  No, no, Clara," continued he, addressing the black by this
_very_ odd cognomen, "no, no; we must about it to-day and at this very
moment.  Sit down, then."

Suiting the action to the word, the Indian squatted himself on the
grass; and the negro, willing or unwilling, was forced to follow his
example.



CHAPTER SIX.

THE TIGER-HUNTER.

Notwithstanding the change of attitude, the negro still continued the
victim of his fears.  Instead of paying proper attention to what his
companion was saying, his eyes wandered abroad, searching the horizon on
every side of him, as if at every moment he expected to see the jaguars
returning to attack them.

Noticing his uneasiness, the Indian made an attempt to reassure him.

"You have nothing to fear, comrade," said he.  "The tigers have the
whole river to drink out of; and it is not likely they will come back
here."

"They may be hungry," rejoined Clara, "and I have heard say that they
prefer a black man, like me, to either a white or an Indian."

"Ha, ha!" laughed his companion.  "You need not flatter yourself on that
score.  Bah, man! there's not a tiger in all the State that would be
fool enough to prefer a carcass tough and black as yours, to the flesh
of a young colt or heifer, either of which they can have at any time.
Ha, ha!  If the jaguars only heard what you've said, they would shake
their sides with laughter."

The fearlessness exhibited by the Indian himself in regard to the
jaguars is easily explained, since it was by the destruction of these
fierce animals that he got his living.  His calling was a peculiar one,
though common enough throughout the tropical regions of America.  He
was, in fact, a _tigrero_, or tiger-hunter, a class of men whose sole
occupation consists in pursuing, _a l'outrance_, the different beasts of
prey that ravage the flocks and herds of the great _haciendas de
ganado_, or grazing estates.  Among these predatory creatures the jaguar
is the most destructive; and the hunting and slaying of these animals is
followed by many men--usually Indians or half-breeds--as a regular
profession.

As the jaguar (_Felis onca_) in all parts of Spanish-America is
erroneously called the tiger (_tigre)_, so the hunter of this animal is
termed a tiger-hunter (_tigrero_).  Many of the more extensive estates
keep one or more of these hunters in their pay; and the Indian we have
introduced to the reader was the _tigrero_ of the hacienda Del Valle.
His name and nation were declared by himself in the speech that
followed--

"Ah!" he exclaimed with an air of savage exultation, "neither tigers nor
men may laugh with impunity at Costal, the Zapoteque.  As for these
jaguars," he continued after a pause, "let them go for this night.
There will be nothing lost by waiting till to-morrow.  I can soon get
upon their trail again; and a jaguar whose haunt is once known to me, is
a dead animal.  To-night we have other business.  There will be a new
moon; and that is the time when, in the foam of the cascade, and the
surface of the solitary lake, the Siren shows herself--the Siren of the
dishevelled hair."

"The Siren of the dishevelled hair?"

"Yes; she who points out to the gold-seeker the rich _placers_ of gold--
to the diver the pearls that lie sparkling within their shells at the
bottom of the great ocean."

"But who has told you this?" inquired Clara, with a look of incredulity.

"My fathers--the Zapoteques," replied Costal, in a solemn tone of voice;
"and why should _they_ not know?  They have learnt these things from
Tlaloc and Matlacuezc--gods they were, as powerful as the Christ of the
pale faces.  Why--"

"Don't speak so loud!" interrupted Clara, in a voice that betokened
alarm.  "The priests of the Christians have their ears everywhere.  They
might call it blasphemy; and _carrambo_! the Inquisition has its dangers
for blacks as well as whites!"

On hearing the word Inquisition the Indian involuntarily lowered his
voice; but continued speaking in a tone that his companion could still
hear him.

"My fathers," said he, "have told me that the Siren never appears to any
one who is alone.  It is necessary that two be present--two men of tried
courage they must be--for the divinity is often wrathful at being
invoked, and at such times her anger is terrible.  As two men are
required, I need another besides myself.  Will you then be my
companion?"

"Hum!" said Clara.  "I may boast that I am not afraid of a man; though I
confess I cannot say the same about a tiger.  As to your Siren, that
appears to be the very devil--"

"Man, tiger, or devil," cried Costal, "why fear any of the three?  What
need one care for them--one who has a stout heart--especially when the
reward of his courage is gold, and enough of it to make a grand lord out
of a poor Indian?"

"And of a negro as well?"

"Without doubt."

"Say, rather," rejoined Clara, with an air of discouragement, "that gold
could serve neither one nor the other.  Black and Indian, both are
slaves, and our masters would soon take it from us."

"True enough what you say; but let me tell you, Clara, that the bondage
of the Indian is approaching its end.  Have you not heard that up in the
north--in the _tierra adentro_--a priest has proclaimed the emancipation
of all races, and equal liberty for all?"

"No," replied the negro, betraying his total ignorance of the political
affairs of the country, "I have heard nothing about it."

"Know, then, that the day is at hand when the Indian will be on an
equality with the white, the Creole with the Spaniard; and when an
Indian, such as I, will be the master of both!"

The descendant of the Zapoteques delivered this speech with an air of
proud exultation.

"Yes!" continued he, "the day of our ancient splendour will soon return.
That is why I am desirous at present of acquiring gold.  Hitherto I
have not troubled myself about finding it; since, as you say, it would
soon be wrested from the hands of a poor slave.  Now that I am to be
free, the circumstances are changed; and I want gold, by which I may
revive the glories of my ancestors."

Clara could not help casting a look of astonishment at his companion.
The air of savage grandeur, visible in the countenance of the
tiger-hunter--vassal of the hacienda Las Palmas--surprised him, as did
also the pretentious manner in which he spoke about reviving the ancient
splendours of his race.

The look and its meaning did not escape the observation of the Indian.

"Friend Clara!" said he, in a confidential tone, "listen to me, while I
reveal to you a secret which I have kept for many long years--long
enough for me to have seen fifty dry seasons, and fifty seasons of rain;
and this fact can be confirmed to you by all of my colour and race."

"You have seen fifty seasons of rain?" cried the negro, in a tone of
astonishment, at the same time regarding his companion attentively, who
in truth did not appear to be over thirty years of age.  "Fifty seasons
of rain?"

"Well, not quite fifty," replied Costal, with a smile, "but very near
it."

"Ah!  I shall see fifty more," continued he.  "Omens have told me that I
shall live as long as the ravens."

The negro remained silent, still held in surprise by the wild
declarations which his companion was volunteering to make to him.

"Listen, friend Clara!" continued the tiger-hunter, extending his arm in
a circle, and designating the four points of the compass; "in all the
space that a horseman could traverse between sunrise and sunset--from
north to south, from east to west--there is not a spot of ground that
was not once possessed by my ancestors--the ancient lords of Zapoteca.
Before the vessels of the white men touched upon our coasts, they were
sovereign masters of all this land--from ocean to ocean.  The sea alone
was their boundary.  Thousands of warriors followed their banners, and
crowded around their plume-bedecked standards of war.  In the ocean the
pearl-banks, and on the land the _placers_ of gold belonged to them.
The yellow metal glanced upon their dresses and armour, or ornamented
the very sandals upon their feet.  They possessed it in such abundance,
they scarce knew what to do with it.

"Where now are the once powerful Caciques of Tehuantepec?  Most of their
subjects have been slaughtered by the thunder of the white men, or
buried in the dark mines--while the conquerors have divided among them
and made slaves of the survivors!  An hundred needy adventurers have
been transformed into grand magnates--each endowed with a portion of the
conquered territory; and at this moment the last descendant of the
Caciques is forced to earn his subsistence almost as a slave--to submit
to the tyranny of a white master--to expose his life daily for the
destruction of fierce beasts, lest they should ravage the flocks and
herds of his thankless employer; while, of the vast plains over which he
is compelled to pursue his perilous calling, there remains to him not a
spot he can call his own--not even the ground occupied by his miserable
hut."

The speaker might have gone on much longer without fear of his hearer
interrupting him.  The latter was held mute with astonishment, as well
as by a kind of involuntary respect with which the words of his
companion had inspired him.  In all probability the negro had never
before heard that a powerful and civilised people existed in that
country previous to the arrival of the Spaniards.  At all events he had
never suspected that the man who was thus enlightening him--the
half-Pagan, half-Christian tiger-hunter--was the descendant of the
ancient masters of Tehuantepec.

As for Costal himself, after making these statements of the former
splendours of his family--in which, notwithstanding his pompous mode of
declaring them, there was much truth--he lapsed into a profound silence;
and, his face turned with a melancholy expression upon the ground, he
took no notice of the effect produced on the mind of his black
companion.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE CHASE OF THE JAGUAR.

The sun was gradually inclining towards the horizon, when a prolonged
howl, shrill at first, but ending in a hoarse roar, fell upon the ears
of the two adventurers.  It appeared to come from a brake some distance
down the river; but, near or distant, it at once changed the expression
upon the countenance of the negro.  Fear took the place of astonishment;
and, on hearing the sound, he sprang suddenly to his feet.

"_Jesus Maria_!" exclaimed he, "it is the jaguar again!"

"Well, what if it be?" said Costal, who had neither risen, nor made the
slightest gesture.

"The jaguar!" repeated the negro in his terror.

"The jaguar?  You are mistaken," said Costal.

"God grant that I may be," rejoined the black, beginning to hope that
the sounds had deceived him.

"You are mistaken as to the number," coolly proceeded Costal.  "There is
not one jaguar, but four--if you include the _cachorros_!"

Perceiving the sense in which Costal meant he was mistaken, the negro,
with terror gleaming in his eyes, appeared as if about to start off
towards the hacienda.

"Take care what you do!" said the Indian, apparently inclined to amuse
himself with the fears of his companion.  "It is quite true, I believe,
that these animals are very fond of black men's flesh."

"_Carrambo_! just now you told me the contrary?"

"Well, perhaps I am mistaken upon that point; but one thing I know
well--for I have proved it a hundred times--that is, that a brace of
tigers, when the male and female are together, seldom roar in that
fashion--especially if they suspect the presence of a human being.  It
is more likely, therefore, that at this moment they are separated; and
by going towards the hacienda, you might risk getting between the two."

"Heaven preserve me from getting into such a scrap," muttered the negro.

"Well, then; the best thing you can do is to stay where you are--beside
a man who don't care a _claco_ for the jaguars."

The negro hesitated, not quite certain that it would be the best thing
for him.  At that moment, however, a second howl, coming in a direction
entirely opposite to the first, decided his uncertainty, and convinced
him that the _tigrero_ had spoken the truth.

"You see," said Costal, "the brutes are in search of something to eat.
That's why they are calling to one another.  Well, now! if you're still
in the mind, off with you to the hacienda!"

This was of course meant as a taunt; for the negro, who now perceived
that there was a jaguar howling in the way that led to the hacienda, had
given up all notion of proceeding in that direction.  On the contrary,
while his black face turned of an ashen-grey colour, he drew closer to
his imperturbable companion--who had not even attempted to take hold of
the carbine which lay on the grass by his side!

"Bah!" muttered Costal, speaking to himself, "this comrade of mine is
scarce brave enough for my purpose.  I must defer it, till I meet with
one possessed of more courage."  Then resuming the current of his
thoughts, which had been interrupted by the howling of the jaguars, he
said aloud--"Where is the red man, where the black, who would not lift
his arm to aid this brave priest?--he who has risen against the
oppressor--the oppressor of all Zapoteques, Creoles, and Aztecs.  Have
these Spaniards not been more ferocious than even the tigers
themselves?"

"I should not fear _them_, at any rate," interposed Clara.

"Good!  I am glad you talk that way, comrade.  To-morrow let us give
warning to our master, Don Mariano de Silva.  He must find another
tigrero; and we shall go and join the insurgents in the west."

The Indian had scarce finished his speech, when another howl came from
the jaguars, as if to put the patience of the tiger-hunter to the test.
It was even more spitefully prolonged, coming in the direction in which
the first had been heard--that is, from a point upon the river a little
above where the two men were seated.

On hearing it, thus uttered as a signal of defiance, the eyes of the
tigrero began to sparkle with an irresistible desire for the chase.

"By the souls of the Caciques of Tehuantepec!" exclaimed he, "this is
too much for human patience.  I shall teach those two braggarts not to
talk so loud of their affairs.  Now, Clara!" continued he, springing to
his feet, "you shall have the opportunity of becoming acquainted with a
jaguar at closer quarters than you have hitherto been."

"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed the black, "why should I go near them?  I have
no weapon, and would be of no use to you?"

"Hear me, Clara!" said the Indian, without replying to the speech of his
comrade.  "The one that howled last is the male.  He was calling to the
female, his mate.  He is a good distance from here, up stream.  We must
go up to him; and as there's not a stream on all the estate, where I
haven't either a canoe or _periagua_, for the purposes of my calling--"

"You have one here, then?" interrupted Clara.

"Certainly I have.  We can go up the river; and in the canoe you will
not be in the slightest danger.  I have my own notions as to how we may
best approach this noisy brute."

"But the jaguars can swim like seals, I have heard?"

"I don't deny it.  Never mind that; come on!"

Without deigning further speech, the tigrero started forward; and going
cautiously, approached that part of the bank where his canoe was moored.

Clara seeing that it would be perhaps less dangerous to accompany him
than remain where he was alone, reluctantly followed.

In a few minutes they arrived at the place where the canoe was fastened
to the bank; a rude craft, just large enough to carry two men.  A paddle
lay at the bottom; along with a piece of matting of plaited palm-leaf,
which on occasions was called into requisition as a sail.  But Costal
threw out the matting, as there was no likelihood of its being required
upon the present occasion.

Having loosed the cord by which the canoe was attached to the branch of
a willow, the Indian leaped aboard, and seated himself near the stem.
The negro took his place abaft.  A vigorous push was given against the
bank, the little craft shot out into the middle of the stream, and,
impelled by the paddle, commenced ascending the current.

The sun was still shining on the river, but with his last rays; and the
willows and _alamos_ that grew along the bank threw their trembling
shadows far over the water.  The breeze of the desert sighed among their
leaves, bearing upon its wings sweet perfumes stolen from a thousand
flowers.  It seemed the intoxicating incense of liberty.

Costal, an Indian and a hunter, inhaled it with an instinctive delight.
Clara was altogether insensible to the sweetness of the scene; and his
anxious countenance offered as great a contrast to the calm unmoved
features of his companion, as the black shadows of the trees thrown upon
the water with the brilliant hues of the sky.

The canoe for a time kept close along the bank, and followed the
windings of the stream.  Here and there the bushes hung over; and in
passing such places Clara kept a sharp look out, in dread of seeing a
pair of fiery orbs glancing upon him through the leaves.

"_Por Dios_!" cried he, every time the canoe approached too closely to
the bank, "keep her farther off, friend Costal.  Who knows but that the
jaguars may be up there, ready to spring down upon us?"

"Possible enough," rejoined Costal, vigorously plying his paddle; and
without giving any farther thought to the appeals of his companion.
"Possible enough; but I have my idea--"

"What is it?" asked Clara, interrupting him.

"A very simple one, and one which I have no doubt you will approve of."

"Let us hear it first."

"Well, then; there are two jaguars, without speaking of the brace of
_cachorros_.  These I shall leave to you, since you have no weapon.
Your plan will be this: take up one of the whelps in each hand, and
break in their skulls, by striking them one against the rather.  Nothing
can be more simple."

"On the contrary, friend Costal, it appears to me very complicated.
Besides, how can I lay hold upon them if they should run away?"

"Very likely, they will save you that trouble by laying hold on you.
Never fear your getting close enough.  If I'm not mistaken, we shall
have all four of them within arm's length in less than a quarter of an
hour."

"All four!" exclaimed the negro, with a start that caused the canoe to
oscillate as if it would upset.

"Beyond doubt," rejoined Costal, making an effort to counterbalance the
shock which the frail bark had received.  "It is the only plan by which
we can bring the chase to a speedy termination; and when one is pressed
for time, one must do his best.  I was going to tell you, when you
interrupted me, that there are two jaguars--one on the right bank, the
other on the left--the male and female, beyond doubt.  Now by their
cries I can tell that these animals are desirous of rejoining one
another; and if we place ourselves between the two, it is evident they
will both come upon us at once.  What say you?  I defy you to prove the
contrary?"

Clara made no reply to the challenge.  His profound belief in the
infallibility of his companion's perceptions kept him silent.

"Look out now, Clara!" continued the hunter, "we are going to double
that bend in the river where the bushes hide the plain from our view.
Your face will be turned the right way.  Tell me, then, what you see."

From his position in the canoe, Costal, who plied the paddle, was seated
with his back to the open ground towards which they were advancing; and
he could only see in front by turning his head, which from time to time
he had been doing.  But he needed not to look around very often.  The
countenance of the negro, who was face to face with him, resembled a
faithful mirror, in which he could read whatever might be passing behind
him.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

A GRAND SPECTACLE.

Hitherto the features of Clara had expressed nothing more than a kind of
vague fear; but at the moment when the canoe rounded the last turn in
the river, a sudden terror became depicted upon them.  The hunter thus
warned quickly faced round.  An immense plain came before his eye, that
seemed to stretch to the verge of the horizon.  Through this ran the
river, its waters almost on a level with the banks--which were covered
with a grassy sward, and without a single tree.  At some distance from
the curve the stream almost doubled back on itself--forming a verdant
delta, around the apex of which ran the road that led to the hacienda
Las Palmas.

The rays of the setting sun were flooding the plain with a transparent
golden haze, which hung over the empurpled bosom of the water on which
the canoe was floating.  Just above, in the middle of the current, and
scarce two shots distant from where the two men were, a sight appeared
to the ravished eyes of the tiger-hunter that caused him at once to
change his position in the boat.

"_Mira_!" exclaimed he in a half-whisper.  "Look, Clara!  Did you ever
behold a more beautiful sight?"

With his claws stuck into the floating carcass of a colt upon which he
was feeding, an enormous jaguar was suffering himself to float gently
down the stream.  It was the male one, the same from which the last
howlings had proceeded.

With his head outstretched and curving over his fore paws, his hind legs
drawn up under his belly, his back highly arched, and his flanks
quivering with a supple undulation that betokened activity and power,
was seen the royal beast of the American jungle.  The dying rays of the
sun falling upon his glossy skin displayed his splendid coat of bright
yellow ocellated with spots of deepest black.

It was one of those beautiful savage spectacles often exhibited to the
eyes of the Indian hunter--a magnificent episode in that eternal poem
which the wilderness is constantly repeating.

Scarce taking time to gaze upon it, Costal passed the paddle to his
companion; and, gun in hand, crouched down in the bottom of the canoe.

Clara accepted the oar, and half mechanically commenced rowing.  He had
made no reply to the enthusiastic interrogatory of the hunter.  Fear
held him speechless.

At that moment a growl, resembling the deepest tones of an ophicleide,
resounded from the throat of the jaguar, rolling over the surface of the
water to the ears of the men seated in the canoe.  He had seen his
enemies, and this was his signal of defiance.

The Indian replied by a cry somewhat similar, as the bloodhound utters
his wild bay on seeing his victim before him.

"It's the male!" said Costal, apparently pleased that it was so.

"Fire, then!" cried Clara, at last finding his tongue.

"Fire, _Carrambo_! no.  My gun does not carry so far.  Besides, I shoot
best when my game is nearer the muzzle.  I wonder," continued he,
looking up to the bank, "that the female has not found him!  No doubt,
if we wait a little, we'll see her coming bounding up with the
_cachorros_ at her heels."

"_Dios nos ampare_!"  (God preserve us!) muttered the negro in a
melancholy tone; for he feared that Costal would still insist upon his
carrying out the plan he had proposed.  "God preserve us!  I hope not:
one at a time is sufficient."

The words were scarce out of the negro's mouth, when a sharp screech,
heard at some distance, proclaimed the coming of the other jaguar; and
the moment after she was seen bounding over the savanna, with a rapidity
and gracefulness superb beyond admiration.

At the distance of about two hundred yards from the bank, as also from
the canoe, she came to a sudden stop; and with muzzle raised aloft,
scenting the air, and flanks quivering like an arrow after striking its
mark, she remained for some moments fixed to the spot.  Meanwhile the
two whelps, that had been left in the covert of the bushes, were seen
hastening to join her.  The canoe, no longer propelled by the paddle,
began to spin round with the ripple, keeping about the same distance
between it and the tiger crouched on the floating carcass.

"For Heaven's sake, Clara," said Costal impatiently, "keep the boat's
head to the current, or I shall never get close enough to fire.  There
now--that is right--keep a steady hand--mine never shakes.  It is
important I should kill this jaguar at the first shot.  If not, one of
us is lost, to a certainty.  Perhaps both; for if I miss we shall have
both the brutes to contend with, to say nothing of the brace of whelps."

All this while the jaguar was quietly descending the stream upon his
floating pedestal, and the distance between him and the canoe was
gradually diminishing.  Already could be seen his fiery eyeballs rolling
in their sockets, and the quick oscillations of his tail, expressive of
his gathering rage.

The hunter had taken aim, and was about to pull trigger, when the canoe
commenced rocking about, as if tossed upon a stormy sea!

"What the devil are you about, Clara?" inquired the Indian in an angry
tone.  "If you move in that way I could not hit one in a whole crowd of
tigers."

Whether it was through design, or that fear was troubling his senses,
and causing him to shift about, Clara, instead of keeping quiet, only
seemed to shake all the more.

"A thousand devils take you!" cried Costal, with increased rage.  "Just
then I had him between the eyes."

Laying down his gun, the hunter snatched the paddle from the hands of
the black, and set about turning the canoe into its proper position.

This proved a work of some little time; and before Costal could succeed
in accomplishing his purpose, the tiger had taken to flight.  Giving
utterance to a loud scream, the animal buried his sharp teeth in the
carcass, tore from it a large mouthful, and then making a desperate
bound passed from the floating body to the bank.  In another moment he
had rejoined his mate with her young ones, and all were soon beyond the
range of the hunter's carbine.  The two terrible creatures appeared to
hesitate as to whether they should return to the attack, or retreat.
Then giving a simultaneous scream, both stretched off at full gallop
across the plain, followed by their _cachorros_.

The disappointed hunter looked after them, giving utterance to a fierce
exclamation expressive of his disappointment.  Then seating himself in
the stern of the canoe, he turned its head down stream, and put forth
all his strength to regain the point from which they had set out.



CHAPTER NINE.

THE CASCADE.

The canoe carrying the two men continued slowly to descend the course of
the river--the negro felicitating himself on his escape from the claws
of the jaguars; while the thoughts of the Indian were dwelling with
regret upon his want of success.

Clara, however, did not enjoy an unalloyed satisfaction.  The jaguars
had fled, it was true, but in what direction?  It was evident they had
gone down stream, and might be encountered below.

This thought troubling Clara, he inquired of his companion if there was
any probability of their again falling in with this dangerous enemy.

"Probable enough," responded Costal, "and more than probable.  If we
descend below the cascade, we shall be almost certain of seeing the
jaguars there.  The carcass of a fine young colt is not to be met with
every day; and these brutes can reason like a man.  They know well
though that the current will carry the floating body over the fall, and
that, below, it will be rendered up to them again.  I do not say it will
then be whole; for I have seen the trunks of great trees broken into
fragments from being carried over that very cascade."

"Then you really think the jaguars may be waiting below?"

"No doubt but they will be there.  If I don't mistake, you shall hear
their roar before ten minutes have passed, and it will come from the
bottom of the cascade, just where our business is now taking us."

"But they may feel inclined to take revenue on us for having driven them
from the carcass?"

"And if they should, what care I?  Not a straw.  _Vamos_! friend Clara,
we've given too much thought to these animals.  Fortunately we have not
lost much; and now to our affair.  The young moon will be up in a trice,
and I must invoke Tlaloc, the god of the waters, to bestow some gold on
the Caciques of Tehuantepec."

The two men had by this time arrived at the place from which the canoe
had been taken; and here both disembarked, Costal carefully refastening
the craft to the trunk of the willow.  Then leaving his companion, he
walked off down the bank alone.

"Do not go far away!" said Clara, entreatingly, still troubled with the
fear of the jaguars.

"Bah!" exclaimed Costal, "I leave my gun with you!"

"Oh, indeed!" murmured the negro; "what signifies that? one bullet for
four tigers!"

Without vouchsafing any reply to this last speech, the Indian advanced a
little farther along the bank, and then came to a pause.  A large tree
grew upon the edge of the stream, its branches extending outwards.  Into
this he climbed; and then stretching out his arms over the water, he
commenced chaunting a lugubrious measure--a species of Indian
invocation, of which Clara could hear the words, but without in the
least comprehending their signification.

There was something in the wild melody of the Indian's voice to cause
his companion a certain mysterious dread; and this was increased by
additional notes of an equally mournful character that came pealing up
the ravine, mingling with the hoarse roaring of the cascade.  It was the
scream of the jaguar; though it actually appeared as if some demon was
answering to the invocations of the Indian.  The lugubrious chaunt of
the pagan, and the coincident scream of the tiger, formed a kind of
infernal accompaniment, well calculated to strike awe into the mind of
one of Clara's superstitious race; and as he stood upon the bank he
fancied he saw fiery eyes glaring upon him through the leaves, and the
Siren with the dishevelled hair rising above the surface of the water.

A double chill passed through his black skin, from the soles of his feet
to the roots of his kinky hair.

At this moment Costal returned to him.

"Are you ready?" inquired the Indian.

"For what?"

"To accompany me to the cascade--there to invoke the Siren, and ask if
she may be seen."

"What! down there, where the tigers are roaring?"

"Oh, a fig for them!  Remember, Clara, it is gold _we_ seek; and,
believe me, if fortunate in our application, the Siren will tell us
where it is to be found.  Gold in masses!"

"Enough!" cried Clara, overcome by the rich prospect.  "I am with you,"
continued he--"lead on!  From this hour I am the slave of the Siren who
can show us the _placers_ of gold!"

The Indian took up his hat and carbine, both of which he had laid aside
while chaunting his invocation; and, throwing the gun over his shoulder,
started down stream.  Clara followed close at his heels--his spirit
alternately possessed with cupidity and fear.

As they advanced, the banks rose higher above the surface of the stream,
and the channel became the bottom of a deep, narrow ravine, where the
water rushed foaming among rocks.  The great trees growing on each side
stretched towards one another, until their branches interlocked, forming
a dark sombre tunnel underneath.  At the lower end of this, the stream,
once more bursting forth into light, leaped vertically at one bound
through a space of two hundred feet sheer, falling into the bottom of a
deep gorge, with a noise louder than the roar of the mighty ocean.

Just where the foaming flood broke over the crest of the rocks, grew two
enormous cypresses of the kind known to the Mexicans as _ahuehuetes_, or
"lords of the water."  They stood on opposite sides of the stream, with
their long arms extended towards each other.  Thickly loaded with
llianas, and profusely festooned with the silvery Spanish moss, which,
drooping downwards, every now and then dipped into the foaming arch of
the cascade, these two great trees looked like the ancient genii of the
waters.

At this point the two men made a halt.  Although they were now very near
to the place where the jaguars were supposed to be, Clara had become
more regardless of the danger.  His fear, both of wild beasts and evil
spirits, had yielded to his thirst for gold, which had been gradually
growing stronger.

"Now, Clara!" said Costal, turning a severe look upon his comrade;
"listen attentively to the instructions I am about to give you.  If the
Siren should appear to you, and you should exhibit, either by look or
gesture, the slightest symptoms of fear, you are a lost man!"

"All right!" replied the negro.  "The hope of being shown a mine of gold
gives me courage to risk even my neck in a halter, if need be.  Never
fear, Costal.  Speak on--I am ready to listen."

As the negro pronounced these words, his countenance to all appearance
expressed as much firmness as that of Costal himself.  The Indian, thus
assured, seated himself upon the very edge of the precipice, overlooking
the gorge into which the waters were precipitated, while Clara, without
invitation, sat down by his side.



CHAPTER TEN.

STRAYED FROM THE TRACK.

The ravine, below the spot where the Indian and negro had seated
themselves, was covered with a luxuriant vegetation--plants and trees of
tropical growth so thickly standing over the ground that the rays of the
sun could not have penetrated through the umbrageous foliage.
Notwithstanding this abundance of vegetation, if the two gold-seekers
had not been so absorbed in their designs, they might have seen below
them the figure of a man, who was standing at the bottom of the cascade,
directly under their feet.

This man, who had just arrived on the spot, and who appeared to be
regarding the waterfall with looks of curiosity and admiration, was no
other than Rafael Tres-Villas, Captain of the Queen's Dragoons.

It is necessary to explain how Don Rafael had come to be found in this
wild spot, altogether away from the path which he should have followed
to the hacienda Las Palmas.  Accident, not design, had conducted him to
the bottom of the cascade.

On parting from the student of theology, who, recalling the classic
scenes of his Odyssey, had mistaken him for a man-eater--a Lestrygon--
the dragoon captain, without searching any longer for an explanation of
the odd circumstances observed along the way, at once stretched his
horse into a gallop.  The animal required no propulsion of the spur.
His instinct enabled him to scent the proximity of a stable; and he
responded to the wishes of his rider by galloping swiftly forward.

Unfortunately the Captain, though a Creole or native Mexican, was
entirely unacquainted with this part of the country.  He had been born
in it, as already hinted; but at a very early age had been taken to
reside in the capital; and since then had never revisited the place of
his nativity.  He was consequently ignorant of the road leading to the
paternal hacienda Del Valle--as also to that of Las Palmas--for both
were one.

He had not ridden many miles when he arrived at a point where the road
forked into two separate paths.  Both however continued on, running at
no great distance from each other.

Not knowing which he should take, and having met no human being that
could direct him, the Captain left the choice to his horse.

The animal, that was no doubt suffering more from thirst than hunger,
spread his nostrils to the air, and scenting the fresh exhalations of
water, struck off in the direction whence it came.  This was to the
right.

The choice was fortunate for the student of theology, but rather unlucky
for the dragoon captain, as will presently appear.

In fact, the path leading to the left was that which conducted to the
hacienda of Las Palmas--which the Captain, for a certain reason, was
desirous of reaching, and on that very evening.

After following the right-hand branch for some minutes, the horseman
arrived at a spot where the path suddenly gave out.  In front appeared
only a thick tangle of trees and bushes, behind which could be heard the
roaring of a torrent.

Don Rafael was now completely at fault.  To return on his track would
not only be disagreeable, but there would still exist the same
uncertainty as to his route.  Even the right-hand branch of the road
might not be the right one!

After a minute or two spent in considering what was best to be done, the
Captain dismounted, and tying his steed to a tree, commenced making his
way through the thicket in the direction whence came the sound of the
water, evidently a stream.  He was in hopes that on reaching the bank,
and following along the water's edge, he might find the continuation of
the road at some point where the stream was fordable.  After making his
way with much labour and loss of time through the labyrinthine tangle of
the thicket, he arrived at the bottom of the cascade, just at the moment
when Costal and Clara were about entering upon the ceremony of invoking
the Siren.

Notwithstanding the desire which the dragoon captain had to escape as
soon as possible from the dilemma into which chance had conducted him,
the spectacle of this cascade--one of the most magnificent in America--
drew from him a cry of wonder and admiration.  For some minutes he stood
regarding it with admiring eyes, inspired with those sublime feelings
which such a grand sight is calculated to call forth.

At length other thoughts came before his mind; and he was about turning
away to continue his explorations for a path, when an unexpected object
presenting itself to his eyes, caused him to keep his place.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A LUDICROUS SPECTACLE.

Amid the vapoury mist that soared above the foaming torrent, the tops of
the two _ahuehuetes_ could be seen only indistinctly, but the trunks and
lower limbs were more palpably visible.  On one of these, that projected
obliquely over the water, the dragoon fancied he could perceive the
figure of a man.  On closer scrutiny he became certain it was the figure
of a man, and the bronze-coloured skin told him the man was an Indian.

Looking further, he observed another apparition equally singular.
Through the fork of the second _ahuehuete_, appeared a face with a
complexion black as ebony.  It could be no other than the face of a
negro.

Here, then, were three distinct types of the human race met in this wild
spot.  Why he was himself there, Don Rafael knew well enough; but what
had brought the Indian and negro into such a place, and at such an hour,
was what was now puzzling him.

Without saying a word, he stood watching the movements of the two men,
in hopes that the event would furnish him with an explanation.  Soon the
entire bodies of both negro and Indian appeared in sight, as the two men
crawled outward on the overleaning limbs of the trees; but still more
plainly, as, hanging by the branches, they let themselves down till
their feet dipped in the foam; and swinging there, appeared to go
through a series of the most grotesque contortions!  The sight made the
head of the officer to swim, as if suddenly struck with vertigo.

Thus engaged, neither of the two perceived Don Rafael, though he was
standing upon a spot of open ground immediately below them.

For his life, the officer could not guess the nature of these singular
proceedings.  He concluded that some object--unseen to him--was engaging
their attention; and he could not help fancying that it was some nymph
of the waters, whom the negro appeared to be wooing, to judge by his
impassioned gestures and animated physiognomy.

The large mouth of the darkey was open from ear to ear, displaying his
double row of white teeth set in the most winning smile; while ever and
anon he stretched his neck out over the water, as if the object of his
regards was hid under the shining sheet of foam!

The Indian was acting in a similar fashion, but with a more serious
expression of countenance, and greater dignity of manner.

The officer carefully scrutinised the whole surface of the cascade; but
he could see nothing but the glistening sheen of the water, and the mass
of white foam where it broke over the rock.

At that moment the Indian made a sign to the black to cease from his
grimaces; and, letting go his hold with one hand, he swung his body
wholly upon the other over the fearful abyss.

The recklessness of the action caused a renewed surprise to the
spectator standing below, amounting almost to a feeling of awe.  Before
he had time to reflect upon it, a human voice reached his ears, rising
high above the roaring of the torrent.  It was the voice of the Indian,
who, with outstretched arm, was chaunting a solemn invocation to the
spirit of the waters.  The words could not be distinguished, but Don
Rafael saw, by the muscular play of the man's lips, that he was singing
with all the strength of his lungs.

Curiosity might have prompted the dragoon captain to watch these strange
proceedings to the end, but the desire of learning something about his
route influenced him to act otherwise.  He fancied that by waiting
longer the opportunity might be lost.  The two persons might disappear
in a manner as mysterious as was their behaviour.

To attract their attention, therefore, he shouted, and at the top of his
voice; but to no purpose.  The deafening roar of the cataract hindered
him from being heard; and partly, perhaps, the engrossing occupation in
which the two men were engaged.

Failing to attract their notice, he resolved upon ascending the side of
the ravine, and going round to the place where they were.  For that
purpose he retraced his steps through the thicket; and after a difficult
climb he reached the top of the cliff, at the point where the
_ahuehuetes_ formed the arcade over the water.  The two personages had
disappeared!

Curious as to the object of their ludicrous proceedings, the dragoon
climbed up one of the trees, and from a commanding point carefully
scrutinised the water underneath.  He there perceived nothing more than
he had seen already--nothing to justify the strange conduct he had
witnessed.

While in the tree, he looked down into the ravine below; first upon the
frothing river, and then over the tops of the bushes that grew upon its
bank.  In an instant he perceived that some of these were in motion, as
if some one was making way through the thicket which he had himself
traversed.

Presently two men emerged from the cover, and stepped out upon the open
bank, at the spot where but the moment before Don Rafael had stood.  A
glance satisfied him that they were the same he had seen upon the
_ahuehuetes_--the negro and Indian.

The sun had already set, but there was still light enough, even in the
bottom of the ravine, for Don Rafael to distinguish, not only the
movements of the men, but the expression upon their features.  Both wore
a solemn cast, but those of the negro exhibited evidence of his being
influenced by a secret fear.

Near the bank, and where the stream was shallow, a large round boulder
of rock stood up out of the water.  Towards this the two were directing
their steps.

At a signal from the Indian, the negro collected a number of dry sticks;
and having piled them upon the flat top of the rock, set them on fire.

In a short time the blaze shot up, and cast its red glare over the
stream, tinging with purple flakes the foam of the cataract.

The negro, after kindling the fire, seated himself on the bank, and
appeared to contemplate the blaze and its reflections with a feeling of
awe.  The Indian, on the other hand, threw off his hat, and untwined the
plaits of his hair--black as the wing of the raven--whose age he
expected to attain.  Leaving the long tresses to fall wildly over his
shoulders, he walked out into the water, and halted by the side of the
rock.  The dragoon now saw for the first time a huge sea-shell--a
conch--in the hands of the Indian, which had hitherto hung by his side
suspended in a string.  Placing the conch to his month, he blew several
loud, prolonged notes upon it, as if with the intention of arousing the
spirit of the waters.  Then suffering the shell to fall back upon its
string, he commenced leaping around the rock in a sort of grotesque
dance, splashing and plunging through the water until the spray rose up
and wetted him over the crown of the head.

The whole spectacle was at once ludicrous and imposing.  The stoical
composure of the negro, who sat perfectly silent upon the bank watching
with a solemn air the grotesque capers of his companion--the red light
reflected upon the savage figures of the two men--reflected also upon
the foaming cataract, which appeared to roll over the cliff like an
avalanche of fire--all combined to form a scene in which the ludicrous
and the sublime were singularly commingled.

Don Rafael might have desired to witness the _finale_; but time was
pressing, and he had a strong motive urging him to proceed upon his
journey.

"_Santos Dios_!" cried he, in an impatient tone, "I should like very
well to wait and see what pagan divinity these droll savages are
invoking; but it will not do to tarry longer here.  I must onwards; and
to find my way it will be necessary to interrupt their proceedings."

Saying this, the officer raised his voice and shouted "Hola!" with all
the strength of his lungs.

The hail was not heeded: it was not heard.

"_Maldito_!" exclaimed he, "I must try some other means of drawing their
attention."

A method at once suggested itself; and stooping, the officer took up a
handful of small pebbles, and launched them down upon the two adorers of
the demon.

So far as drawing their attention went, the means proved efficacious;
for the instant that the pebbles fell upon the water, the Indian, with a
stroke of his hand, swept the fire from the rock, and the ravine became
instantaneously as dark as Erebus.  The forms of the two
water-worshippers disappeared in the gloom; and Don Rafael found himself
alone in the presence of the foaming cataract.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE DIADEM.

Chagrined at the result, the traveller had no course left but to return
to the place where he had left his horse.  He was now in a worse
predicament than ever; since it had become dark, and it would be
difficult not only to find a path, but to follow it when found.  The
moon, however, had already risen, or rather had been all the while above
the horizon, but hidden by a thick band of cumulus clouds that hung over
the west.  As the clouds did not cover the whole canopy, and it was
likely that the moon would soon be visible, the traveller saw that he
had no other resource than to wait: in hopes that by her light he might
extricate himself from the difficulty into which his mischances had
guided him.

On arriving where he had left his horse, Don Rafael sat down upon a
fallen tree; and, lighting a cigar, awaited the appearance of the moon.
He knew he should not have long to wait, for the yellow sheen, which
betokened the situation of the luminary of night, was at no great
distance from the edge of the cloud.

He had not been seated more than a few seconds, when a singular sound
fell upon his ear.  It was not the rushing noise of the cascade--for to
that he had been accustomed for some time--but a sound that resembled
the scream of some wild animal, ending in a hoarse and fiercely intoned
roaring.  He had heard it once or twice before; and although he could
tell that it was not the howl of the coyote, he knew not what sort of
creature was causing it.

Despite his ignorance of the cause, there was something in the sound
that denoted danger; and, instinctively influenced by this idea, the
young officer rose from his seat upon the log; and, untying his horse,
leaped into the saddle.  It was not with the intention of moving away
from the spot--for the moon was not visible as yet--but with the
knowledge that on horseback he would be the better prepared for any
event that might arise.  Still further to provide against possible
danger, he unbuckled the strap of his carbine, and tried whether the
piece was primed and in order.  Don Rafael, although young, had seen
some military service on the northern frontier of Mexico--where Indian
warfare had taught him the wisdom of keeping habitually upon his guard.

Again he heard the wild lugubrious scream rising above the roar of the
waters; and perceived that his horse, hearing it also, trembled between
his thighs!

Coupling the sound with the strange spectacle to which he had just been
a witness, the young officer could not help feeling a slight sensation
of fear.  He was a Creole, brought up consequently in the midst of
ecclesiastical superstition, scarce less monstrous and absurd than that
of pure paganism itself.  He had heard in his youth how animals in
presence of beings of the other world are seized with a shivering--such
as that exhibited at the moment by his own horse--and he could almost
fancy that the scene he had just witnessed was some evocation of the
Prince of Darkness, to which the lugubrious sounds now reaching him were
the response.

But Don Rafael was one of those bold spirits whom fear may visit but not
subdue; and he remained immobile in his saddle, without showing any
further symptoms of apprehension than by the twitching of his lips
against his cigar, the light of which at intervals gleamed like a meteor
through the darkness.

While thus patiently waiting the moonlight, the horseman fancied that he
heard other sounds, and of a different import.  Human voices they
appeared to be; and it at once occurred to him, that it might be the two
men whom he had disturbed and driven from their incantations.  The
voices were each moment more distinctly uttered; and it was evident that
the speakers were approaching him.  He perceived that it was probable
they would come out somewhere near where he was stationed; and in order
to have the advantage of a preliminary survey, in case they might turn
out to be enemies, he drew his horse back under the darker shadow of the
trees--placing himself in such a position that he commanded a view of
the path.

The voices he heard were in reality those of the Indian and negro or
Costal and Clara: for it need scarce be told that it was they who were
the heroes of the mysterious spectacle of which Don Rafael had been the
sole spectator.

The two worthies, on being interrupted in their pagan ceremony by the
shower of pebbles, had given up the performance; and were now threading
their way through the thicket to reach the road beyond it.

The Indian was venting his wrath against the unknown personage who had
intruded upon their sacred devotions, and who had very probably hindered
the Siren of the dishevelled hair from showing herself.  The negro
appeared to be equally indignant; but his anger was probably only
pretended.

"Is it only at the first appearance of a new moon that the Siren shows
herself?" inquired Clara, as if the opportunity for seeing her had
escaped them.

"Of course," replied Costal, "only then; but if there is a profane
person in the neighbourhood--and by profane I mean a _white_--the spirit
will not appear."

"Perhaps she is afraid of the Inquisition?" naively suggested the negro.

"Bah!  Clara, you're a ninny!  Why the devil should you suppose that the
powerful divinity of the waters has any fear of long-robed monks?  It is
they, more likely, who would have cause to tremble in her presence, and
prostrate themselves before her."

"_Carrambo_! if she's afraid to show herself before one white man, more
reason why she should fear a whole host of monks--who, it must be
confessed, are ugly enough to frighten anything."

"May the devil drown the man who interrupted us!" cried Costal, rendered
the more indignant by the justice of the negro's reasoning.  "A few
minutes more, and I am certain the Siren would have showed herself."

"Why did you extinguish the fire so soon?  I think, friend Costal, you
did wrong in that," remonstrated Clara.

"I did it to hide from the eyes of the profane white man the mystery
about to be accomplished.  Besides, I knew after what happened there was
no chance of her appearing."

"So you really think it was some one who disturbed us?"

"I am sure of it."

"And is that how you account for the shower of stones?"

"Of course."

"By my faith, then," said the negro in a serious tone, "I differ with
you in opinion about that."

"You do?  And what is your opinion about it?" inquired Costal, stopping
and turning his eyes upon his companion.

"I would stake my life upon it," replied the negro, still speaking
seriously, "that while you were dancing around the rock, I saw the
Siren."

"Saw the Siren?"

"Yes.  Just where we had been--up by the _ahuehuetes_--I saw by the
blaze of our fire a face, surrounded by a diadem of shining gold.  What
could that have been but the Siren?"

"You must have been mistaken, friend Clara."

"I was not mistaken.  I saw what I tell you, and I shouldn't a bit
wonder that what we took for pebbles were neither more nor less than a
shower of _pepitas_ (nuggets) of gold, which the spirit had thrown down
to us."

"_Carajo_! why did you allow us to leave the place without telling me of
this?"

"Because it has just occurred to me now that it was _pepitas_, and not
pebbles; besides, our touchwood is all gone, and we could not have
kindled another fire."

"We might have groped in the dark."

"Nonsense, friend Costal!  How could we tell grains of gold from gravel
or anything else in the midst of such darkness as there is down here.
Besides, if I came away, it was only with the thought of returning
again.  We can come back in the morning at daybreak."

"Aha!" cried Costal, suddenly starting with an alarmed air, and striking
his forehead with his hand.  "We shan't return here to-morrow morning.
_Carrai_!  I had forgotten; we shall do well to get out of this ravine
as quickly as possible."

"Why so?" hastily inquired the black, astounded beyond measure at the
altered demeanour of his companion.

"_Carrai_!  I had forgotten," said Costal, repeating his words.
"To-night is new moon; and it is just at this season that the rivers
rise, break over their banks, and inundate the whole country.  Yes! the
flood will come upon us like an avalanche, and almost without warning.
Ha!  I do believe that is the warning now!  Do you not hear a distant
hissing sound?"  And as he said this the Indian bent his head and stood
listening.

"The cascade, is it not?"

"No--it is very different--it is a distant sound, and I can distinguish
it from the roar of the river.  I am almost certain it is the
inundation."

"Heaven have mercy upon us!" exclaimed the black.  "What are we to do?"

"Oh! make your mind easy," rejoined Costal in a consolatory tone.  "We
are not in much danger.  Once out of the ravine, we can climb a tree.
If the flood should find us here, it would be all over with us."

"_Por Dios_! let us make haste then," said Clara, "and get out of this
accursed place, fit only for demons and tigers!"

A few steps more brought the two adventurers out into the open ground;
and close to the spot where the dragoon captain was sitting silently on
his horse.  The red coal glowing at the end of his cigar shone at
intervals in the darkness, lighting up his face, and the gold band of
lace that encircled his hat.  Clara was the first to perceive this
unexpected apparition.

"Look, Costal!" said he, hastily grasping his companion by the arm, and
whispering in his ear; "look there!  As I live, the diadem of the
Siren!"

The Indian turned his eyes in the direction indicated, and there, sure
enough, beheld something of a circular shape, shining in the glow of a
reddish-coloured spot of fire.

He might have been as much puzzled to account for this strange
appearance as was his companion; but at that moment the moon shot up
from behind the bank of clouds that had hitherto hindered her from being
seen, and the figures of both horse and rider were brought fully into
the light.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

WHO GOES THERE?

At a glance Costal saw what the strange object was--a broad band of gold
lace encircling a _sombrero_, and placed, Mexican fashion, around the
under edge of the brim.  The cigar illuminating the lace had deceived
the negro, guiding him to the idea of a diadem!

"_Carajo_!" muttered Costal between his teeth, "I told you so.  Did I
not say that some profane white had hindered the Siren from appearing?"

"You were right," replied Clara, ashamed at the mistake he had made, and
from that time losing all belief in the _genius_ of the cascade.

"An officer!" murmured Costal, recognising the military equipments of
the dragoon, who, with a carbine in one hand, and his bridle in the
other, sat smoking his cigar, as immoveable as a statue.

"Who goes there?" cried Costal, saluting him in a loud, bold voice.

"Say, rather, who stands there?" responded Don Rafael, with equal
firmness, at the same moment that he recognised in the speaker the
Indian whose incantation he had witnessed.

"Delighted to hear you speak at last, my fine fellows," continued the
dragoon in his military off-hand way, at the same time causing his horse
to step forward face to face with the adventurers.

"Perhaps we are not so much pleased to hear you," replied Costal
roughly, as he spoke, shifting his gun from one shoulder to the other.

"Ah!  I am sorry for that," rejoined the dragoon, smiling frankly
through his thick moustache, "for I'm not inclined to solitary habits,
and I'm tired of being here alone."

As Don Rafael said this, he placed his carbine back into its sling, and
rebuckled the straps around it, as if it was no longer required.  This
he did notwithstanding the half-hostile attitude of the adventurers.

The act did not escape the quick perception of the Indian; and, along
with the good-humour manifest in the stranger's speech, made an
instantaneous impression upon him.

"Perhaps," added Don Rafael, plunging his hand into the pocket of his
_jaqueta_, "you have no good feeling towards me for disturbing you in
your proceedings, which I confess I did not understand.  Neither did
they concern me; but you will excuse a strayed traveller, who wished to
inquire his way; and as I had no means of making myself heard to you, I
was forced to adopt the method I did to draw your attention.  I hope
that on reflection you will do justice to my dexterity in taking care
that none of the stones should hit you."

As he finished speaking the dragoon took a dollar from his purse, and
offered it to the Indian.

"Thank you," said Costal, delicately refusing the piece, but which
Clara, less scrupulous, transferred to his pocket.  "Thank you,
_cavallero_!  May I ask where you are going?"

"To the hacienda Las Palmas."

"Las Palmas?"

"Yes--am I far from it?"

"Well," replied Costal, "that depends on the road you take."

"I wish to take the shortest.  I am rather pressed for time."

"Well, then--the road which is the shortest is not that which you will
find the most easy to follow.  If you wish to go by the one on which
there is the least danger of your getting astray, you will follow up the
course of this river.  But if you wish a shorter route--one which avoids
the windings of the stream--you will go that way."

As Costal finished speaking, he pointed in a direction very different
from that which he had indicated as the course of the river.

The Indian had no design of giving a false direction.  Even had the
little resentment, which he had conceived for the stranger, not entirely
passed, he knew that he dared not mislead a traveller on the way to the
hacienda, of which he was himself a servitor.  But he no longer held any
grudge against the young officer, and his directions were honestly
meant.

While they were speaking, another of those terrible screams that had
perplexed the traveller broke in upon the dialogue.  It was the cry of
the jaguar, and came from the direction in which lay the route indicated
by Costal as the shortest.

"What on earth is that?" inquired the officer.

"Only a jaguar searching for prey," coolly responded Costal.

"Oh!" said the dragoon, "is that all?  I was fancying it might be
something more fearful."

"Your shortest route, then, lies that way," said Costal, resuming his
directions, and pointing with his gun towards the spot where the howl of
the tiger had been heard.

"Thank you!" said the horseman, gathering up his reins, and heading his
horse to the path.  "If that is the shortest, I shall take it."

"Stay!" said Costal, approaching a little nearer, and speaking with more
cordiality than he had yet shown.

"_Oigate, senor cavallero_!  A brave man like you does not need to be
warned of every danger; but one ought to be informed of the dangers one
must meet."

Don Rafael checked his horse.

"Speak, friend," said he; "I shall not listen to you ungratefully."

"To reach from here the hacienda of Las Palmas," continued Costal,
"without going astray, or making detours, be careful always to keep the
moon to your left, so that your shadow may be thrown on the right--a
little slanting--just as you are at this moment.  Moreover, when you
have started, never draw bridle till you have reached the house of Don
Mariano de Silva.  If you meet a ditch, or brake, or ravine, cross them
in a direct line, and don't attempt to go round them."

The Indian gave these directions in so grave a tone of voice, and with
such solemnity of manner, that Don Rafael was struck with surprise.

"What frightful danger is it that threatens me?" he inquired at length.

"A danger," replied Costal, "compared with which that of all the tigers
that ever howled over these plains is but child's play--the danger of
the _inundation_!  Perhaps before an hour has passed, it will come
sweeping over these savannas like a foaming sea.  The _arriero_ and his
mules, as well as the shepherd and his flocks, will be carried away by
its flood, if they don't succeed in reaching the shelter of that very
hacienda where you are going.  Ay! the very tigers will not escape, with
all their swiftness."

"I shall pay strict attention to the directions you have given me," said
the officer--once more about to ride off--when just then he remembered
his fellow-traveller whom he had left on the road.

In a few hurried words he made known to the Indian the situation of the
young student of theology.

"Make your mind easy about him," replied the latter.  "We shall bring
him to the hacienda to-morrow, if we find him still alive.  Think only
of yourself, and those who might bewail your death.  If you meet the
jaguars don't trouble yourself about them.  Should your horse refuse to
pass them, speak to him.  If the brutes come too near you, let them hear
you as well.  The human voice was given us to procure respect, which it
will do from the most ferocious of animals.  The whites don't know
this--because fighting the tiger is not their trade, as it is that of
the red man; and I can tell you an adventure of this kind that I once
had with a jaguar--Bah; he's gone!"

The last exclamatory phrases were drawn from the speaker, on perceiving
that the horseman, instead of staying to listen to his tale of
adventure, had put spurs to his horse, and suddenly ridden away.

In another instant he was beyond earshot, galloping over the moonlit
plain in the direction of the hacienda Las Palmas.

"Well!" cried Costal, as he stood gazing after him, "he's a frank brave
fellow, and I should be very sorry if any mischance were to happen to
him.  I was not pleased about his interrupting us.  It was a pity, to be
sure; but after all, had I been in his place I should have done just as
he did.  Never mind," he added, after a pause, "all is not over--we
shall find another opportunity."

"Hum!" said Clara, "I think the sooner we get out of the neighbourhood
of these tigers the better for our skins.  For my part, I've had enough
adventure for one day."

"Bah! still frightened about the tigers!  For shame, Clara!  Look at
this young man, who never saw a jaguar in his life; and heeds them no
more than so many field mice.  Come along!"

"What have we to do now?"

"The spirit of the waters," replied Costal, "does not show herself in
the cascade alone.  She appears also to those who invoke her with the
conch, amidst the yellow waves of the inundation.  To-morrow we may try
again."

"What about the young fellow whom the officer has recommended to our
care?"

"We shall go to look after him in the morning.  Meanwhile, we must have
some rest ourselves.  Let us climb out of the ravine, and carry the
canoe up to the summit of the _Cerro de la Mesa_.  There we shall sleep
tranquilly, without fear either of floods or jaguars."

"That's just the thing," said Clara, his black face brightening up at
the prospect of a good night's rest.  "To say the truth, friend Costal,
I'm tired enough myself.  Our gymnastics up yonder, on the _ahuehuetes_,
have made every bone in my body as sore as a blister."

And as the two _confreres_ ended their dialogue, they stepped briskly
forward, and were soon at the top of the precipitous path that led up
from the ravine.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

PRECIOUS MOMENTS.

The Captain of the Queen's Dragoons continued his gallop towards the
hacienda of Las Palmas.

For the first mile or two of his route, he passed over the broad plain
that lay silent under the soft light of the moon.  The frondage of the
palms swayed gently under a sky sparkling with stars, and the
penetrating odour of the guavas loaded the atmosphere with a delicious
perfume.  So tranquil was the scene, that Don Rafael began to think the
Indian had been playing upon his credulity.  Mechanically he relaxed his
pace, and delivered himself up to one of those sweet reveries which the
tropic night often awakens within the spirit of the traveller.  At such
an hour one experiences a degree of rapture in listening to the voices
of earth and heaven, like a hymn which each alternately chants to the
other.

All at once the traveller remembered what for the last two days of his
journey had been perplexing him--the houses abandoned--the canoes
suspended from the trees.  Now, for the first time, did he comprehend
the meaning of these circumstances, no longer strange.  The canoes and
_periaguas_ had been thus placed as a last means of safety, for those
who might be so unfortunate as to be overtaken by the inundation.

Suddenly rousing himself from his reverie, Don Rafael again spurred his
horse into a gallop.

He had ridden scarce a mile further, when all at once the voices of the
night became hushed.  The cicadas in the trees, and the crickets under
the grass, as if by mutual consent, discontinued their cheerful chirrup;
and the breeze, hitherto soft and balmy, was succeeded by puffs of wind,
exhaling a marshy odour, stifling as the breath of some noisome
pestilence.

This ominous silence was not of long duration.  Presently the traveller
perceived a hoarse distant roaring, not unlike that of the cataract he
had left behind him; but from a point diametrically opposite--in fact,
from the direction towards which he was heading.

At first he fancied that in his momentary fit of abstraction he had
taken a wrong direction, and might be returning upon the stream.  But
no: the moon was on his left; his shadow and that of his horse were
projected to the opposite side.  He must still be on the right road.

His heart began to bound more quickly within his breast.  If the Indian
had spoken the truth, a danger lay before him against which neither his
carbine nor rapier--neither courage nor a strong arm--could avail him.
His only hope rested in the speed and strength of his horse.

Fortunately, the long journey had not deprived the brave steed of all
his vigour.  With ears laid back, and muzzle stretched horizontally
forward, he continued his rapid gallop; his spread nostrils inhaling the
puffs of damp air which came like avant-couriers in advance of the
troubled waters.

It was now a struggle between the horseman and the flood, as to which
should first reach the hacienda of Las Palmas.

The officer slackened his bridle-rein.  The tinkling rowels of his spurs
resounded against the ribs of his horse.  The trial of speed had
commenced.  The plain appeared to glide past him like the current of a
river.  The bushes and tall palms seemed flying backward.

The inundation was rolling from west to east.  The horseman was
hastening in the opposite direction.  Both must soon come together; but
at what place?

The distance between them was rapidly diminishing.  The noise of the
flood, at first low, like the muttering of distant thunder, was
gradually growing louder.  The palms still appeared to glide past like
spectres, but as yet the belfry of the hacienda had not come in sight.
Neither as yet was visible the threatening mass of the inundation.

At this perilous moment Don Rafael perceived that his horse was sensibly
slackening his pace.  The sides of the animal felt swollen, and heaved
with a convulsive panting.

The air, so rapidly cut in his swift course, with difficulty entered his
nostrils.  A few seconds longer, and that in his lungs must give out.

The officer drew up for an instant.  The breathing of his horse appeared
obstructed, and the hoarse sound, caused by its inspiration, was a
mournful accompaniment to the sough of the waters that were constantly
advancing.

The traveller listened to these sounds with a sentiment of despair.

Just then he heard the clanging of a bell, as if hurriedly tolled.  It
was that of the hacienda, giving out its warning notes over the wide
savanna.

A reflection crossed his mind.  It had been partly suggested by the
words of the Indian: "_Think only of those who may bewail your death_."
Was there in that hacienda, where he was hourly expected, one who would
bewail it?  Perhaps yes, and bitterly!

The thought would have urged him onward; but Don Rafael still remained
halted.  He saw that his horse required a moment of rest, in order to
recover his wind, otherwise he could not have proceeded.

The dragoon had the presence of mind to perceive this imperious
necessity; and, in spite of the danger that threatened he dismounted,
loosened the girdle of his saddle, thus permitting the horse to breathe
more freely.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

He was counting with anxiety the minutes that passed, when at that
moment there echoed upon his ear the hoof-strokes of another horse,
going at full gallop.

It was a horseman following the same route, and running the same risk as
himself.  He was mounted upon a strong, swift animal, that appeared to
pass over the ground like a bird upon the wing.

In an instant the horseman came up, and drawing vigorously on the
bridle, halted alongside.

"What are you about?" cried the new-comer, speaking in hurried phrase.
"Do you not hear the alarm-bell?  Don't you know that the flood is
coming down?"

"Yes; but my horse has given out.  I am waiting till he recovers his
wind."

The stranger cast a glance towards the bay-brown of Don Rafael, and then
threw himself out of his saddle.  "Take hold of this," he said, flinging
his bridle to the officer.  "Let me examine your horse."

Raising the saddle-flap, he placed his hand underneath, to feel the
pulsations of the lungs.

"All right yet," he exclaimed, after a pause, apparently satisfied that
the animal would recover.

Then stooping down, he took up a large stone, and began to rub it
vigorously over the ribs and along the belly of the panting steed.

Don Rafael could not help gazing with curious interest on a man who,
thus careless of his own life, was occupying himself so generously about
the safety of another--that other, too, a perfect stranger!

The man was costumed as an _arriero_ (muleteer).  A species of
tight-fitting blouse, of coarse greyish-coloured wool, striped black,
covered the upper part of his body, over which, in front, hung a short
leathern apron.  Wide calzoneros of linen flapped about his legs.  His
feet were encased in buskins of brown goat-skin, while over his face
fell the shadow of a broad-brimmed hat of coarse felt cloth.

He was a man of less than medium size; but with a sweet expression of
features, from which his sunburnt complexion did not detract.  Even at
that terrible moment his countenance appeared calm and serene!

Don Rafael did not attempt to interrupt his proceedings, but stood
regarding him with a feeling of deep gratitude.

For some moments the muleteer continued to use the stone.  Then stopping
the process, he placed his hand once more to feel the pulsation.  This
time he appeared less satisfied than before.

"He will founder," said he, "if something be not done to prevent it.  He
must have more breath through his nostrils.  There is but one way to
save him.  Assist me to try it.  We must haste, for the bell is tolling
with double violence to give warning that the waters are near."

As he was speaking, he drew a cord from the pocket of his leathern
apron; and, forming a running noose at one end of it, he drew it tightly
around the muzzle of the horse, just above the nostrils.

"Now," said he, handing the cord to Don Rafael.  "First cover the
horse's eyes with your handkerchief; and then hold the cord with all
your might."

While Don Rafael hastened to obey the directions, the muleteer took a
knife from his belt, and with a quick cut divided the transparent
partition between the nostrils of the animal.  The blood gushed forth in
copious jets; and the horse, notwithstanding the efforts of Don Rafael
to hold him to the ground, reared up on his hind legs, and struck
forward with his hoofs.  A hollow gurgling noise came forth from his
nostrils as the air rushed in through the opening that had been made.

"Now!" exclaimed the muleteer, "you need no longer fear for his wind.
Your horse can run as far as his legs will carry him.  You will be saved
if you are to be saved."

"Your name," cried Don Rafael, stretching out his hand to the muleteer;
"your name, that I may always keep it in remembrance."

"Valerio Trujano, a poor _arriero_; not very fortunate in his affairs,
but who consoles himself with the belief that he has done his duty, and
leaves the rest to God.  Our lives are now in His hands.  Let us pray
that He may preserve them from the awful danger that is before us."

Repeating these words with an air of solemnity, the muleteer took off
his hat, displaying to view a mass of black curling hair.  Then kneeling
upon the sand, he raised his eyes to heaven, and in a voice of prayer
pronounced the words:--

"_De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine!  Domine, exaudi vocem meam_!"

While the muleteer was engaged in his devotion, the dragoon tightened
his girths for the last struggle; and both at the same time springing
into their saddles, resumed the gallop that had been so unfortunately
interrupted.  The damp, chill wind which preceded the coming of the
waters bore loudly to their ears the warning notes of the bell--mingled
with the sinister sounds that betokened the approach of the inundation.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

LAS PALMAS AND ITS PEOPLE.

The southern portion of the state of Vera Cruz, bordering on
Tehuantepec, exhibits a singular hydrographic system.  A number of great
rivers, as the _Rio Blanc_, the _Plaza Vicente_, the _Goazacoalcos_, and
the _Papatoapan_, with many of smaller note, form a complete network
over the country.  Most of these rivers have their sources in the
_Sierra Madre_, and traversing the plains of the _tierra caliente_,
debouch into the Gulf of Mexico.

Every one has heard how profusely the rain falls in tropical countries
during that period of the year known as the "rainy season."  It is the
American winter of these southern latitudes, commencing in the month of
June, and ending in October.  At this time the waters of the rivers
above mentioned, augmented by torrents of rain falling daily, break over
the boundaries of their channels, and, free as the wild horses upon
their banks, rush impetuously over the surrounding plains.

Almost with the rapidity of a galloping steed, the yellow flood rolls
onward, as if impelled by the breath of a demon, carrying terror and
desolation in its track.  Woe to the living thing unable to flee before
its watery phalanx!

The inundations proceeding simultaneously from the different streams
soon become joined to one another; and the waters, now spread over a
vast tract of country, flow in a more tranquil current.  Thus united
together, they form an immense sea, covering the whole extent of the
savannas; upon the tranquil surface of which may be seen the _debris_ of
their destructive violence, with the carcasses of all sorts of animals.

In the country thus inundated a singular spectacle may at this time be
witnessed: villages completely surrounded by water, as if built upon
islands; trees with their trunks submerged, their leafy tops alone
visible; canoes and large _periaguas_, decked with flags and filled with
people in their holiday suits, trying to outdo each other in speed or
elegance of adornment; while groups of young girls, gaily dressed and
crowned with flowers, may be seen seated in the boats, singing to the
inspiriting accompaniment of the harp or mandolin.

The situation in which the hacienda of Las Palmas stood had been chosen
with a view to provide against these annual floods.  It was upon the
north side of a plait apparently boundless towards the south, east, and
west.  The house stood upon an eminence of no great elevation--a sort of
outlying spur of a higher ridge that backed it upon the north.  It was
isolated, however, and at some distance from the ridge, whose direction
was eastward and westward.  The hill upon which the hacienda stood was
one of those singular eminences known in Spanish-America by the name of
_mesa_ (table).  Its flat top formed an oblong parallelogram, at one end
of which stood the dwelling-house, the other being occupied by the
storehouses and stables.  These were upon an extensive scale, all
enclosed within a wall of strong mason-work.  In the same enclosure were
rows of chambers for the lodgment of the _peons, vaqueros_, and other
retainers of the establishment.

The dwelling-house, standing upon the southern extremity of the _mesa_,
fronted towards the great plain.  In its centre a massive double door
opened into the courtyard, or _patio_; and this entrance was reached by
a broad causeway, sloping upward with a gentle declivity from the plain,
and fenced along each edge by a parapet of strong mason-work.  Thus
situated, the hacienda of Las Palmas--so named from the numerous topes
of palm-trees which mottled the plain in front--not only defied the
flood, but might have served as a fortress of no despicable strength.
The proprietor of this dwelling, as well as the extensive estate
surrounding it, was Don Mariano de Silva.

The bell of the hacienda had tolled the evening _oration_, and the
tinkling of the _angelus_ was sounding the summons to prayer.  At that
moment might be witnessed an interesting spectacle upon the plain
adjoining the dwelling of Don Mariano de Silva.  The Indian labourers,
who never work a moment beyond the prescribed time, at the first sound
of the bell had all suddenly stopped as if struck by paralysis.  The
pickaxe raised aloft, the spade half buried in the earth, the goad
lifted to prick forward the ox, fell simultaneously from their hands;
while the oxen themselves, accustomed to imitate their drivers, came at
once to a stand, leaving the plough in the half-finished furrow.  The
_vaqueros_ galloped straight to their stables and unsaddled their
horses; the peons came crowding in from the fields; and while the plain
was thus deserted the corral and outhouses became crowded.

In the midst of this crowd women were seen hurrying to and fro, carrying
hot plates of _comal, tortillas_, and _chile colorado_, destined for the
evening repast.

The sun was yet shining brightly, and his last rays darted their golden
light through the iron bars and green trelliswork of the windows of the
hacienda.  One, however, that looked eastward was sheltered from his
beams; and a traveller coming in that direction might have observed that
the lattice blind was raised up, and the rich amber-coloured curtains
were visible behind it, although partially drawn.  The window was at no
great height from the ground, in fact on the ground-floor itself; but
the house standing upon the pedestal of the _mesa_ was elevated several
feet above the level of the plain, and a horseman, however high his
horse, could not have looked into the chamber thus situated.

There was no traveller, however, in sight; no one except some belated
labourers, who, through the luminous haze of the setting sun, could be
seen making their way towards the hacienda.

Any one who could have looked into this chamber would have there beheld
a scene of more than ordinary interest.  Though a mansion in the western
world, the style and furnishing of the apartment exhibited a certain
character of _orientalism_: for Mexico has long held traffic with the
countries of the far East.

At that moment the chamber contained something of more interest than
even its rich furniture.  Three young girls graced it by their presence.
Two of them were evidently sisters--judging by the air of familiarity
that existed between them, rather than by any very marked personal
resemblance.  They were the daughters of Don Mariano, the proprietor of
the mansion.  The third was simply a servant--their waiting-maid.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A CREOLE TOILETTE.

It is customary in Europe to accuse the Creole ladies of tropical
America of the crime of indolence.  This custom is common with those who
talk of woman and her political rights, and who believe that woman was
created to share man's labours instead of soothing them.  He, however,
who has looked upon these fair Creole women and observed their tranquil
repose of spirit--perhaps a certain sensualism, which only adds to their
beauty--he, I say, who has seen this, will be disposed to look with a
more lenient eye upon their so-called indolence, and will scarce believe
it a crime.

The two daughters of Don Mariano de Silva offered at this moment, though
in degrees somewhat different, examples of this peculiar characteristic
of their countrywomen.  One of them, with her limbs crossed in the
oriental fashion, was seated upon a Chinese mat.  Her long black hair,
that had been plaited in several tresses, and recently combed out, still
preserved the wavy outlines of the plaits, as it fell profusely over her
shoulders.

Perhaps there are no women in the world who take more pride in their
hair than do the Creoles of Spanish-America.  It is never desecrated by
the touch of the scissors; and several hours of every day are bestowed
upon the dressing of it.  For all this, the young girl in question, as
she sat with her head pensively inclined, seemed to give but little
thought to those luxuriant tresses that, undulating over her white
shoulders, lay in clusters upon the mat.  She appeared rather to deliver
them up mechanically to the hands of her attendant, who was occupied in
arranging them.

The face encircled by these exuberant masses of glossy hair, possessed
all the characteristics of the finest Creole beauty.  Her features, at
once proud and calm, denoted an ardent and enthusiastic spirit
habitually hidden under an expression of indolent serenity.  The
elegance of the Spanish race was also manifest in her small white hands,
and in those little feet possessed by Mexican and South American women
of whatever class.  Blue satin slippers covered those of the young girl,
otherwise nude: for stockings are not a rigorous necessity of Creole
costume.

The young lady thus described was Dona Gertrudis, the elder of the two
daughters of Don Mariano.

The younger, Marianita, was scarce less beautiful, but her beauty was of
a different style.  Quick-witted, and prone to laughter, her sparkling
glances formed a contrast to the calm yet brilliant gaze of her sister;
while varying expressions passed as rapidly over her countenance as the
fleeting shadows of an April sky.  With Dona Gertrudis it was altogether
different; she resembled the volcanoes of her country, with their
perpetual fire hidden under a robe of snow.

Neither of the young girls had yet reached the age of womanhood.
Gertrudis was only seventeen, while the other was a year and a half
younger.  Both, however, had acquired that full development of feminine
beauty which a tropical climate often calls forth at a much earlier age.

While the hair of Gertrudis was being arranged by her waiting woman,
Marianita was tying around her ankle the ribbons that were to confine
the tiny slipper upon her pretty little foot.

The grand political events at this time occurring had disturbed the
quietude of this family, as well as that of most others.  There were
some probabilities, too, of there being a difference of opinion among
its members, for at the moment when our narrative commences, a marriage
was on the _tapis_ between a young Spaniard of the neighbourhood and
Dona Marianita.

Previous to the Mexican revolution, the most ardent wish of a young
Creole lady was to obtain for a husband some new arrival from the mother
country--Spain.  Gertrudis, nevertheless, had more than once declined
this honour, which Marianita, as we have seen, had accepted.  Why did
the Dona Gertrudis form an exception to the general rule?  The sequel
will show.

We have presented these two young girls in the act of making their
toilet; we may add, that these preparations were in view of the arrival
of two gentlemen who were that evening expected.  One was the young
Spaniard, the betrothed lover of Marianita; the other Don Rafael
Tres-Villas, Captain in the Queen's Dragoons.  The former lived within
less than two leagues of the hacienda Las Palmas, and might be expected
at any moment--the other, having two hundred to travel, could scarce be
looked for with equal punctuality; for although he had sent positive
word that he would arrive on that evening, it was reasonable to suppose
that upon such a long journey some incident might arise to derange his
calculations.  Was this uncertainty the reason why Gertrudis had scarce
commenced making her toilet, while Marianita had finished hers?  Was Don
Rafael the only man in whose eyes Gertrudis cared to appear beautiful?
We shall presently know.

One of the daily cares of a young Creole lady is to take down the
abundant plaits of her hair, and combing out the separate tresses, leave
them hanging over her shoulders, so that the air may circulate freely
among them.  As soon as the attendant of Gertrudis, charged with this
duty in the present instance, had accomplished her task, she passed out
of the chamber, and the two sisters were left alone.

There are certain subjects of conversation which young girls, of
whatever country, love only to talk of between themselves, and in their
own private apartment.

Scarce had the servant closed the door behind her, than Marianita--who
had just finished placing some pomegranate flowers behind her
tortoiseshell comb--glided eagerly towards the window.  On reaching it
she stood for some moments with her eyes bent inquiringly on the plain.
Gertrudis had changed her oriental posture for a seat upon a leathern
_fauteuil_.  After casting back, by an indolent movement of her arms,
the dark masses of her hair, she delivered herself up to a silent
reverie.

"I have examined the plain with all my eyes," said Marianita after a
while spent at the window; "it appears entirely deserted.  I cannot see
a human creature upon it, much less Don Fernando, or Don Rafael.
Santissima!  I fear I have had all this trouble for nothing; in half an
hour it will be sunset."

"You need not be uneasy.  Don Fernando will come," said Gertrudis, in a
calm voice.

"Ah!" exclaimed Marianita, "one might tell by the tone in which you
speak that you are not expecting your _novio_ (betrothed), as I am.  My
very impatience makes me despair of seeing him.  Ah!  Gertrudis, you
have never experienced the emotion of love."

"Were I in your place I should feel more chagrin than impatience."

"Chagrin, oh! no; if Don Fernando don't choose to come this evening, he
will lose the pleasure of seeing me in this beautiful white dress which
he admires so much, and with these purple pomegranates in my hair, which
I put in just to please him.  For my part I prefer the white blossoms of
the orange; but they say that a woman when married must make some
sacrifices, and I may as well accustom myself to them."

In saying these words the young girl snapped her fingers together till
they cracked like castanets; while her countenance, instead of
expressing any very painful emotion, exhibited an air of perfect
contentment.

Gertrudis made no answer, except by a sigh, half-suppressed.  She sat
motionless, with the exception of her foot, which kept balancing upward
and downward the little slipper of blue satin, while the fresh breeze of
the evening blowing in from the window, caused a gentle tremulous
movement among the tresses of her hair.

"It's very tiresome--this country life," continued Marianita; "it's true
one can pass the day by combing out one's hair, and taking a siesta; but
in the evening, to have nothing else to do but walk in the garden and
listen to the sighing breeze, instead of singing and dancing in a
_tertulia_!  Oh, it is wearisome--very, very wearisome, I declare.  We
are here, like the captive princesses in an Eastern romance, which I
commenced reading last year, but which I have not yet finished.  Santa
Virgen!  I see a cloud of dust upon the horizon at last--a horseman!
_Que clicha_!  (what happiness!)"

"A horseman!--what is the colour of his steed?" inquired Gertrudis,
suddenly aroused.

"Ha--ha!  As I live his horse is a mule--what a pity it was not some
knight-errant! but I have heard that these fine gentry no longer exist."

Gertrudis again sighed.

"Ah!  I can distinguish him now," continued Marianita.  "It is a priest
who rides the mule.  Well, a priest is better than nobody--especially if
he can play as well on the mandolin as the last one that travelled this
way, and stayed two days with us.  He!  He is coming on a gallop--that's
not a bad sign.  But no! he has a very grave, demure look.  Ah! he sees
me; he is waving a salute.  Well, I must go down and kiss his hand, I
suppose."

Saying these words, the young Creole--whose education taught her that it
was her duty to kiss the hand of every priest who came to the hacienda--
pursed up her pretty rose-coloured lips in a saucy mocking fashion.

"Come, Gertrudis!" continued she; "come along with me.  He is just by
the entrance gate!"

"Do you see no one upon the plain?" inquired Gertrudis, not appearing to
trouble herself about the arrival of the priest.  "No other horseman--
Don Fernando, for instance?"

"Ah, yes!" answered Marianita, once more looking from the window.  "Don
Fernando transformed into a mule-driver, who is forcing his _recua_ into
a gallop, as if he wished the loaded animals to run a race with one
another!  Why, the muleteer is making for the hacienda, as well as the
priest, and galloping like him, too!  What on earth can be the matter
with the people?  One would think that they had taken leave of their
senses!"

The clanging of bolts and creaking hinges announced the opening of the
great gate; and this, followed by a confused clatter of hoof-strokes,
told that the mule-driver with his train of animals was also about to
receive the hospitality of the hacienda.  This circumstance, contrary to
all usage, somewhat surprised the young girls, who were wondering why
the house was being thus turned into an hostelry.  They were further
surprised at hearing an unusual stir in the courtyard--the servants of
the establishment talking in a clamorous medley of voices, and footsteps
falling heavily on the pavements and stone stairs leading up to the
_azotea_ of the building.

"Jesus!" exclaimed Marianita, making the sign of the cross; "is the
hacienda going to be besieged, I wonder?  Mercy on us!  I hope the
insurgent brigands may not be coming to attack us!"

"Shame, sister!" said Gertrudis, in a tone of calm reproach.  "Why do
you call them brigands?--these men who are fighting for their liberties,
and who are led by venerable priests?"

"Why do I call them brigands?" brusquely responded Marianita.  "Because
they hate the Spaniards, whose pure blood runs in our veins; and
because," continued she--the impetuous Creole blood mounting to her
cheek--"because _I_ love a Spaniard!"

"Ah!" replied Gertrudis, in the same reproachful tone; "you perhaps only
fancy you love him?  In my opinion, sister, true love presents certain
symptoms which I don't perceive in you."

"And what matters if I do not love him, so long as he loves me?  Am I
not soon to belong to him?  And why, then, should I think different to
what he does?  No, no!" added the young girl, with that air of
passionate devotion which the women of her country and race lavish
without limits on those whom they love.

At this moment, the sudden and unexpected strokes of the alarm-bell
breaking upon their ears interrupted the dialogue between the two
sisters, putting an end to a conversation which promised to engender
ill-feeling between them--just as the same topic had already caused
dissension in more than one family circle, breaking the nearest and
dearest ties of friendship and kindred.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE INUNDATION.

Just as Marianita was about to open the door and inquire the cause of
the tumult, the _femme-de-chambre_ rushed into the room; and, without
waiting to be questioned, cried out--

"_Ave Maria, senoritas! the inundation is coming_!  A vaquero has just
galloped in to say that the waters are already within a league or two of
the hacienda!"

"The inundation!" echoed both the sisters in a breath; Marianita
repeating the sign of the cross, while Gertrudis bounded up from the
_fauteuil_, and, gathering her long hair around her wrists, rushed
towards the window.

"_Jesus! senorita_," cried the waiting-maid, addressing herself to
Gertrudis, "one would think you were going to leap down to the plain, as
if to save some one in danger."

"Don Rafael, God have pity on him!" exclaimed Gertrudis in a state of
distraction.

"Don Fernando!" cried Marianita, shuddering as she spoke.

"The plain will soon be one great lake," continued the servant; "woe to
them who may be caught upon it!  But as for Don Fernando, you may make
yourself easy, senorita.  The vaquero who came in was sent by Don
Fernando with a message to master, to say that he would be here in the
morning in his boat."

After delivering this intelligence the attendant retired, leaving the
young girls once more alone.

"In a boat!" exclaimed Marianita, as soon as the servant had gone out.
"Oh, Gertrudis!" she continued, suddenly passing from sadness to a
transport of joy, "won't that be delightful?  We shall sail upon the
water in our state barge crowned with flowers, and--"

As Marianita turned round, her transport of frivolous egotism was
suddenly checked, as she saw her sister, with her long dark tresses
hanging dishevelled around her, kneeling in front of an image of the
Madonna.  Giving way to a feeling of reproach, she also knelt down and
mingled her prayers with those of Gertrudis, while the alarm-bell
continued to peal forth to the four quarters of the compass its notes of
solemn and lugubrious import.

"Oh, my poor Gertrudis!" said she, taking her sister's hand in her own,
while her tears fell fast upon the glistening tresses; "pardon me if, in
the fulness of my own joy, I did not perceive that your heart was
breaking.  Don Rafael--you love him then?"

"If he die I shall die too--that is all I know," murmured Gertrudis,
with a choking sigh.

"Nay, do not fear, Gertrudis; God will protect him.  He will send one of
his messengers to save him," said the young girl, in the simplicity of
her faith; and then returning, she mingled her prayers with those of her
sister, now and then alternating them with words of consolation.

"Go to the window!" said Gertrudis, after some time had passed.  "See if
there is yet any one upon the plain.  I cannot, for my eyes are filled
with tears.  I shall remain here."

And, saying these words, Gertrudis again knelt before the image of the
Virgin.

Marianita instantly obeyed the request, and, gliding across the floor,
took her stand by the open window.  The golden haze that had hitherto
hung over the plain was darkening into a purple violet colour, but no
horseman appeared in the distance.

"The horse he will be riding," said Gertrudis, at the moment
interrupting her devotions, "will be his bay-brown.  He knows how much I
admire that beautiful steed--his noble war-horse that carried him
through all his campaigns against the Indians.  I have often taken the
flowers from my hair to place them upon the frontlet of the brave
bay-brown.  Oh!  _Virgen Santissima_!  O Jesus! sweet Lord!  Don Rafael!
my beautiful! my loved! who will bring you to me?" cried the young
girl--her wild, passionate ejaculations mingling with the words of her
prayer.

The plain was every moment becoming less visible to the eye, as the
twilight deepened into the shadows of night, when all at once it was
re-illuminated by the pale rays of the moon.  Still no horseman could be
seen either near or afar off--nothing but the tall, dark palm-trees that
stood motionless in the midst of the silent savanna.

"He has been warned in time," suggested Marianita, in hopes of
tranquillising her sister.  "Most likely he will not have set out
to-day."

"Oh, no--no!" cried Gertrudis, wringing her hands in anguish; "you are
wrong.  I know Don Rafael too well.  I judge his heart by my own.  I am
sure he would try to be here this very evening.  Another day would be
too long for him.  He would brave every danger, if only to see me a few
hours sooner--I know he would.  I know he will be coming at this
moment!"

Just then a noise as of distant thunder was heard mingling with the
metallic notes of the bell; and simultaneous with this ominous dialogue,
between the hoarse muffled rumbling of the waters and the lugubrious
clanging, a sheen of reddish light was seen to gleam suddenly over the
moon-whitened plain, and, as it glared far into the distance,
illuminating the dark forms of the palm-trees.  It was proceeding from
the beacon fires which Don Mariano had caused to be kindled both on the
platform of the hacienda and on the higher ridge behind it--in hopes
that their light might serve as a guide to those who might be still
wandering upon the plain.

Both the eye and the ear were thus warned of the threatening danger;
and, as the people moved around the blazing fires, their shadows,
magnified to gigantic proportions, were projected far out upon the
savanna.

The moments passed slowly, amidst fearful and ominous sounds.  The
muffled roar of the inundation was every instant heard more distinctly,
as the exasperated flood came rolling onward.  Already it resembled the
noise of the loudest thunder, when the mass of dense waters was seen
glistening under the light of the fires, only a few hundred paces
distant from the western wall of the hacienda!

"Oh, sister!" cried Gertrudis, in a voice of despair, "look again!  Is
no one in sight?  O mercy!"

Marianita still stood by the window, eagerly directing her glance over
the plain, and endeavouring to penetrate the obscure gleam outside the
circle lighted by the glare of the fires.

"No--no one," replied she; and then her tone suddenly changing into one
of terror, she shrieked out--"O mercy!  I see two horsemen--yes; they
are horsemen.  _Madre de Dios_! they are flying like the wind!  Alas!
alas! they will be too late!"

As she spoke, loud shouts were heard from above--from the _azotea_ of
the house--to which Don Mariano and a crowd of servants had ascended.
Other men, mounted on horseback, galloped along the terrace upon which
the house stood, waving long lazoes around their heads, and ready to
fling them out as soon as the two travellers should approach within
reach.  The men below were also uttering loud cries, unable to restrain
their voices at the sight of the two horsemen thus desperately
struggling to anticipate the approach of the mass of roaring waters.
Already the flood was rushing forward upon the walls of the hacienda,
approaching like waves of fire under the glare of the flaming beacons.

The sisters within the chamber heard the cries, without seeing those
that gave utterance to them, or knowing aught of the movements that were
being made for rescuing the two horsemen from their perilous position.

"Oh, Gertrudis!" cried Marianita, now leaning out from the window, and
clinging convulsively to one of the iron bars, "come hither and see
them!  You can tell whether it be Don Rafael.  I do not know him.  If it
be he, your voice might encourage him."

"I cannot--I cannot!" replied Gertrudis, in a voice quivering with
emotion.  "Oh, sister!  I dare not look upon such a spectacle.  'Tis
he--too well my heart tells me it is he--oh, I can only pray for him!"

"They are both mounted on dark-coloured horses.  One of them is a little
man.  He is in the costume of an arriero.  That cannot be Don Rafael!"

"The other? the other?" cried Gertrudis in a low but anxious tone.

"The other," answered Marianita, "is a head taller than the first.  He
sits his horse like a centaur.  Now I can see his face distinctly.  He
has a fine noble countenance, with black moustaches.  There is a band of
gold lace on his hat.  The danger does not appear to alarm him.  Ah! he
is a noble, handsome fellow."

"It is he!" cried Gertrudis, in a voice that could be heard high above
the _melee_ of sounds.  "Yes--it is Don Rafael!" she repeated, springing
to her feet, as if with the intention of beholding him once more before
he should be engulfed in the flood of waters.  "Where, sister? where?"
she continued, gliding towards the window; but before she had made three
steps across the chamber, her strength failed her, and she sank
half-fainting upon the floor.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Marianita, half stupified with terror.  "Oh!  _Jesus
Maria_! another bound of their horses, and they will be safe!  _Valga me
Dios_! too late--too late! there are the waters.  Oh! their wild roar!
hear how they beat against the walls.  Mother of God! shield these brave
men!  They hold one another by the hand!  They bury their spurs in their
horses' flanks!  They ride forward without fear!  They advance upon the
frothing flood, as if they were charging upon an enemy!  Virgin of
Paradise! one of them, the smaller, is actually chaunting a hymn!"

In effect, at that moment the voice of a man was heard above the rush of
the water, crying out in measured accents--

"_In manus tuas, Domine! commendo animam meam_!"

"Merciful Father!" cried Marianita, "I see them no more, the waters are
over them both!"

For a moment a death-like silence reigned in the apartment, broken only
by the groaning of the waters, and the shouts of those clustering upon
the _azotea_ without.

Gertrudis, prostrate amidst the tresses of her dishevelled hair, was no
longer able to give utterance to a word even in prayer.

The voice of Marianita once more aroused her.

"Now I see them again," continued she, "but no, only one!  There is only
one of them in the saddle.  It is the taller one--he with the moustache.
The other is gone.  No!  I see him, but he is dismounted, and borne off
upon the flood.  There! the other has seized hold of him! he raises him
up, and draws him across his horse.  What a powerful arm the brave man
must have--he lifts the other like a child!  The horse too appears
strong as his master.  How gallantly he breasts the flood with both men
upon his back!  What a strange sound comes from his nostrils!  Now they
are heading for the walls.  _Santissima Virgen_! will you allow this
brave cavalier to perish? he who overcomes that which has rooted up the
trees of the forest?"

"Oh!" cried Gertrudis, recovering her strength, and speaking in a burst
of passionate pride; "it is Don Rafael, I am sure!  No other could
perform such a deed!"

Her heart suddenly sank again, as she observed that her sister once more
spoke in a tone of anguish.

"Alas, alas!" cried Marianita, "an enormous tree is drifting towards
them!  Oh! it will strike the horse! they will be overwhelmed by it."

"Angel, whose name he bears!" shrieked Gertrudis, "angel, protect him!
Virgin Mary, appease the rage of the waters, and shield him from
destruction!  Holy Virgin, save him, _and I vow to sacrifice my hair for
his life_!"

This was the most precious offering the young Creole could think of
making to the Virgin, and as if the vow had been accepted, the voice of
Marianita was at that moment heard in a more cheerful tone.

"Blessed be God!" exclaimed she, "they will yet be saved!  A dozen
lazoes are around the tree.  They have been thrown by people from the
house.  Good! the trunk no longer rolls onward.  It is checked and held
by the ropes.  The brave horseman might easily mount upon it.  But no!
he will not abandon his noble horse, nor the man he is holding in his
arms.  See, he is riding around the tree, his brave steed plunging
through the water with all his strength.  Once more he is breasting the
flood--on--on--ah! hear those shouts of triumph!  He is up to the walls!
he is saved!"

A loud triumphant cheer rising from below, and blending with a similar
cry that pealed along the roof of the hacienda, confirmed the words of
Marianita; and the two sisters rushing together became locked in a
mutual embrace.

"Ah, Gertrudis!" said Marianita, after a moment, "you have vowed your
hair to the Virgin? your beautiful hair, worth a kingdom!"

"Yes," responded Gertrudis, "and, were it worth a world, I should have
given it all the same for the life of my noble Don Rafael.  Ah! yes; and
he shall cut it from my head with his own hands!"



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE LAST OF THE ZAPOTEQUES.

At no great distance from the cascade already introduced to the reader,
there rises a little hill, with a flat or table-shaped top, as if it had
once been a cone, whose apex had been cut off by some freak of nature.
As already observed, such eminences are not uncommon throughout the
plains of America, where they are generally termed _mesas_, or _cerros
de la mesa_ (table hills).  The archaeologists of the province, in
speaking of the hill in question--which simply bore the name of
_Cerro-de-la-mesa_--declared it to be an ancient shrine of the
Zapoteques.  Tradition says that a temple once stood upon it; but, if
so, it must have been constructed of very perishable materials; since no
ruin testifies to the truth of this tradition.  Costal, however,
believed it, for the _tigrero_, though apparently a Christianised
Indian, was still a faithful believer in many of the pagan rites of his
fathers; and, influenced by a superstitious feeling, he was in the habit
of sleeping upon the summit of the _Cerro-de-la-mesa_, whenever the
necessities of his calling compelled him to remain over night in that
neighbourhood.  A little hut which he had constructed out of bamboos,
with the broad leaves of bananas thrown over it for thatch, served him
sufficiently well for this occasional and temporary shelter.

Costal had told Clara no more than the truth.  He was descended from the
ancient Caciques of Tehuantepec; and, while wandering through the midst
of the solitary savannas, the falling grandeur of his ancient race was
often the subject of his thoughts.  Perfectly indifferent to the
political quarrels of the whites, he would have regarded the new
insurrection of Hidalgo without the slightest interest or enthusiasm;
but another motive had kindled within his breast the hope that in the
end he might himself profit by the revolutionary movement, and that by
the aid of the gold which he vainly dreamt of one day discovering, he
might revive in his own person the title of Cacique, and the sovereignty
which his ancestors had exercised.  The pagan doctrines in which he had
been brought up, the solitudes in which he dwelt while engaged in his
calling of tiger-hunter, the contemplation of the boundless sea, whose
depths he had often explored--for previous to his becoming a _tigrero_
he had long practised the perilous profession of a pearl-diver--all
these circumstances had contributed to give to his character a tone of
singular exaltation which bordered upon frenzy.

Visionary dreamer though he was, he had acquired as much ascendancy over
the negro Clara as ever Don Quixote had over his squire Sancho Panza.
Nay more, for, unlike the _Manchego_ gentleman, he might easily have
persuaded his black associate that windmills were giants, since the
latter had already taken a captain in the Queen's dragoons for the Siren
with the dishevelled hair!

About an hour after this incident we find the two adventurers upon the
summit of the _Cerro-de-la-mesa_.  Thither they had just transported the
canoe of Costal, which, being a light craft, they had carried up on
their shoulders without much difficulty.  They had placed it keel
upwards close to the wall of the bamboo hovel.

"Ouf!" grunted the negro as he sat down upon it.  "I think we have
fairly earned a minute's rest.  What's your opinion, Costal?"

"Didn't you travel through the province of Valladolid?" asked the Indian
without replying to Clara's idle question.

"Of course I did," answered the black.  "Valladolid, Acapulco, and
several other of the south-western provinces.  Ah, I know them well--
from the smallest path to the most frequented of the great roads--every
foot of them.  How could I help knowing them? for, in my capacity of
_mozo de mulas_, did I not travel them over and over again with my
master, Don Vallerio Trujano, a worthy man, whose service I only quitted
to turn proprietor in this province of Oajaca?"

Clara pronounced the word _proprietor_ emphatically, and with an
important air.  His proprietorship consisted in being the owner of a
small _jacal_, or bamboo hut, and the few feet of ground on which it was
built--of which, however, he was only a renter under Don Mariano de
Silva.  To the haciendado he hired himself out a part of each year,
during the gathering of the cochineal crop.  The rest of his time he
usually passed in a sort of idle independence.

"Why do you ask me these questions?" he added.

"I don't see," said Costal, speaking as much to himself as to his
companion, "how we can enrol ourselves in the army of Hidalgo.  As a
descendant of the Caciques of Tehuantepec, I am not above hiring myself
out as a tiger-hunter; but I can never consent to wear a soldier's
uniform."

"And why not?" asked Clara.  "For my part, I think it would be very fine
to have a splendid green coat with red facings, and bright yellow
trowsers, like one of these pretty parroquets.  I think, however, we
need not quarrel on that score.  It's not likely that the Senor Hidalgo,
though he is generalissimo of the American insurgent army, will have
many uniforms to spare; and unless we enrol ourselves as officers, which
is not likely, I fear--"

"Stay!" said Costal, interrupting him.  "Why couldn't we act as guides
and scouts, since you know the country so well?  In that capacity we
could go and come as we pleased, and would have every opportunity to
search for the Siren with the dishevelled hair."

"But is the Siren to be seen everywhere?" naively inquired Clara.

"Certainly; she can appear at any place to her faithful worshippers,
wherever there is a pool of water in which she can mirror herself, a
stream or a cascade in which she may bathe herself, or in the great sea
where she searches for pearls to adorn her hair."

"And did you never see her when you were yourself a pearl-fisher on the
coast of the Gulf?"

"Certainly I have," replied Costal; "yes, more than once, too, I have
seen her at night; and by moonlight I have heard her singing as she
combed out her shining hair and twisted long strings of pearls about her
neck, while _we_ could not find a single one.  Several times, too, I
have invoked her without feeling the slightest sensation of fear, and
intreated her to show me the rich pearl-banks.  But it was all to no
purpose: no matter how courageous one is, the Siren will not do anything
unless there are two men present."

"What can be the reason of that?" inquired Clara.  "Perhaps her husband
is jealous, and don't allow her to talk to one man alone."

"The truth is, friend Clara," continued Costal, without congratulating
the negro on the cleverness of his conjecture, "I have not much hopes of
seeing her until after I am fifty years old.  If I interpret correctly
the traditions I have received from my fathers, neither Tlaloc nor
Matlacuezc ever reveal their secrets to any man who is less than half a
century old.  Heaven has willed it that from the time of the conquest up
to my day none of my ancestors has lived beyond his forty-ninth year.  I
have passed that age; and in me alone can be verified the tradition of
my family, which has been passed down in regular succession from father
to son.  But there is only one day in which it may be done: the day of
full moon after the summer solstice of the year, in which I am fifty.
That is this very year."

"Ah, then," said the negro, "that will explain why all our efforts to
invoke the Siren has proved fruitless.  The time has not yet come."

"Just so," said Costal.  "It will be some months yet before we can be
certain of seeing her.  But whatever happens we must start to-morrow for
Valladolid.  In the morning we can go to the hacienda in our canoe, and
take leave of our master Don Mariano as two respectable servants ought
to do."

"Agreed," said Clara; "but are we not forgetting an important matter?"

"What?"

"The student whom the officer left near the tamarind trees?  Poor devil!
he's in danger of being caught by the inundation!"

"I had not forgotten him," rejoined Costal.  "We can go that way in the
morning, and take him to the hacienda in the canoe along with us--that
is, if we still find him alive.  I hope he will have sense enough,
before the flood reaches him, to climb into one of the trees."

As Costal said this, he rose from his seat, and glanced westward over
the plain.  Already the hoarse murmur of the inundation was making
itself heard in the direction of the hacienda.

"Listen!" said he, "to the growling of the waters.  _Carrambo_!  Who
knows if the officer himself has had time to escape?  He would have done
better had he passed the night with us here.  He appeared so anxious
about going on to the hacienda.  Probably he has his own private reasons
for that; besides, I never thought of asking him to stay with us."

"Well," said Clara, "we may congratulate ourselves upon being safe here;
but I feel rather hungry just now; do you chance to have a bit of
_tasajo_ in any corner of your cabin?  I could put up with that and a
drink of water."

"I think I can manage to find a morsel or two," said Costal, going
inside the hut, whither he was followed by the negro.

A fire of dried sticks soon crackled upon the hearth, among the embers
of which, as soon as they had burnt to a certain degree of redness,
Costal placed several pieces of jerked meat--which he had taken from a
string suspended across the room.  This species of viand requires but a
slight process of cooking; and, as soon as it was deemed sufficiently
done, the two adventurers entered upon their frugal repast, which a keen
appetite rendered palatable, if not absolutely luxurious.

Supper over, they stretched themselves along the floor, and for a time
lay listening to the hoarse mutterings of the flood that every moment
grew louder and louder.  To this, however, they paid but little
attention, having full confidence in the security of their elevated
position; and even the noise of the water as the great waves came
dashing against the hill did not hinder Costal from falling into a
profound slumber.  The negro also fell asleep, but awoke from time to
time--fancying that he heard the screams of the jaguars mingling with
the confused surging of the waters!  In truth it was no fancy.  What the
negro heard was in reality the voices of the savage creatures they had
that evening encountered.  On becoming aware of the approach of the
inundation, all four of them had made for the _Cerro-de-la-mesa_; but
perceiving that its summit was already occupied by the two men, they had
halted by its base, and stood for some moments growling their chagrin.
The near approach of the waters inspiring them with terror, started them
off afresh; and bounding rapidly onward, they were soon far distant from
the hill, fleeing at utmost speed from the danger of the inundation,
well understood even by them.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

A CANOPY OF JAGUARS.

Considering the circumstances in which he has been left, it is time to
return to the poor student of theology--Don Cornelio Lantejas.  We left
him sleeping in a hammock, between two great tamarind trees; and
certainly it must have been his good star that had conducted him into
that comfortable situation.

All at once he awoke with a start--his slumber having been interrupted
by a chilly sensation that had suddenly crept upon him.  On opening his
eyes, he perceived that he was suspended over a vast sea that rolled its
yellow waves beneath the hammock, and within six inches of his body!  At
this unexpected sight, a cry of terror escaped him, which was instantly
responded to by a growling, sniffing noise, that appeared to proceed
from the tops of the tamarinds over his head!

As yet he saw nothing there; but casting his eyes around, he perceived
that the whole country was under water sweeping onward in a frothy,
turbulent current!

A moment's reflection sufficed to explain to him this singular
phenomenon.  He now remembered having heard of the great annual
inundation to which the plains of Oajaca are subject, and which occur
almost at a fixed day and hour; and this also explained the
circumstances which had been mystifying him--the abandoned dwellings,
and the boats suspended from the trees.  He had arrived in the midst of
one of these great floods, which he might have shunned but for the slow
and gentle gait at which his _cavallo de picador_ had carried him along
the route.

What was he to do?  He scarce knew how to swim.  But even had he been as
accomplished in the art of natation as a pearl-diver himself, it would
not have availed him in the midst of that immense sheet of water, on all
sides apparently stretching to the limits of the horizon!

His situation, sufficiently unpleasant on account of the danger of the
rising inundation, soon became absolutely frightful from another and a
very different reason.

Some shining objects, which appeared to him among the leaves of the
tamarinds, and that looked like burning coals, just then caught his
glance; and a closer scrutiny convinced him that these could be no other
than the eyes of some fierce animals that had taken refuge upon the
trees--jaguars, no doubt: since he could think of no other creatures
that could have climbed up the smooth trunks of the tamarinds!

His terror was now complete.  Beneath rushed the surging waters.  He
knew not how soon they might mount higher and engulf him--for the flood
might still be far from its maximum height!  On the other hand, he dare
not climb upwards.  The fierce animals in the tree would be certain to
dispute his ascent, even should they feel disposed to leave him
unassailed where he was!

In this horrid state of uncertainty--dreading the double danger--he was
compelled to pass the remainder of the night.

We need not detail the unpleasant reflections to which his situation
gave rise: for a volume would scarce contain the thousand alternations
from hope to fear that passed through his spirit before the light of the
morning broke upon his longing eyes.

Though he had longed for morning to come, the daylight did not add much
to the joyfulness of his situation.  The animals, whose glancing orbs
had kept him all night in a state of apprehension, were now plainly seen
among the branches of the trees.  They _were_ jaguars--four of them--two
large ones, and two others of smaller size, or _cachorras_.  This was
not all that Don Cornelio saw to alarm him.  In addition to the fierce
quadrupeds, the tops of the tamarinds were occupied by other living
creatures of equally frightful aspect.  These were reptiles: large
serpents of hideous appearance twined spirally round the branches, with
their heads projected outwards, and their forked tongues glistening
beyond their teeth!

The terrified student cast an inquiring glance over the waters, to see
if there was no means of escape from his perilous position.  He saw only
the bubbling surface, here and there mottled with huge uprooted trees,
upon which appeared wolves and other wild animals half dead with
affright.  High overhead, eagles, vultures, and other birds of prey
wheeled in circles through the air, uttering their piercing cries--fit
accompaniment to this scene of desolation and death.

Don Cornelio again turned his eyes towards the fierce jaguars crouching
among the branches of the trees.  These brutes appeared to struggle
against the ferocious instincts of their nature, which prompted them to
seize hold of a prey almost within reach of their claws.  Fear for their
own lives alone prevented them from taking that of the student; and at
intervals they closed their eyes, as if to escape the temptation caused
by his presence!

At the same time the serpents, not far above his face, kept continually
coiling their long viscous bodies round the branches, and rapidly
uncoiling them again--equally uneasy at the presence of the man and the
tigers.

Mechanically closing the folds of the hammock over him, and thus holding
them with both hands, the student lay perfectly still.  He feared either
to speak or make a motion, lest his voice or movement might tempt either
the reptiles or quadrupeds to make an attack upon him.

In this way more than an hour had passed, when over the surface of the
waters, which now flowed in a more tranquil current, Don Cornelio
fancied he heard a singular sound.  It resembled the notes of a bugle,
but at times the intonation was hoarser and more grave, not unlike a
certain utterance of his two formidable neighbours, which from time to
time the student heard swelling from the tops of the tamarinds.

It was neither more nor less than the conch of Costal; who, making his
way towards the spot in his canoe, was employing the time to advantage
in endeavouring to invoke the goddess of the waters.

Presently the student was able to make out in the distance the little
canoe gliding over the water, with the two adventurers seated in the
stem and stern.  At intervals, the Indian, accustomed to this sort of
navigation, was seen to drop his oars and hold the shell to his mouth.
Lantejas then saw that it was from this instrument the sounds that had
so puzzled him were proceeding.

Absorbed in their odd occupation, neither Costal nor Clara had as yet
perceived the student of theology--hidden as he was by the thick network
of the hammock, and almost afraid to make the slightest movement.  Just
then, however, a muffled voice, as of some one speaking from under a
mask, reached their ears.

"Did you hear anything, Costal?" inquired the negro.

"Yes, I heard a sort of cry," replied Costal; "like enough it's the poor
devil of a student who is calling us.  _Carrambo_! where can he be?  I
see only a hammock hung between two trees.  Eh! as I live, he is inside
it.  _Carrai_!"

As Costal finished speaking, a loud peal of laughter burst from his
lips, which to him in the hammock appeared like heavenly music.  It told
him that the two men had discovered his situation; and the student at
once fervently returned thanks to God for this interposition of His
mercy.

Clara was sharing the mirth of the Indian, when music of a very
different sort stifled the laugh upon his lips.  It was the cry of the
jaguars, that, suddenly excited by the voice of the student, had all
four of them sent forth a simultaneous scream.

"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed Clara, with a fresh terror depicted upon his
face; "the tigers again."

"Rather strange!" said the Indian.  "Certainly their howls appeared to
come from the same place as the voice of the man.  Hola!  Senor
student," he continued, raising his voice, so as to be heard by him in
the hammock, "are you making your siesta alone, or have you company
under the shade of those tamarinds?"

Don Cornelio attempted to reply, but his speech was unintelligible both
to the Indian and the negro.  In fact, terror had so paralysed his
tongue, as to render him incapable of pronouncing his words distinctly!

For a moment his arm was seen elevated above the folds of the hammock,
as if to point out his terrible neighbours upon the tree.  But the thick
foliage still concealing the jaguars from the eye of Costal, rendered
the gesture of the student as unintelligible as his cry.

"For the love of God, hold your oar!" cried Clara; "perhaps the tigers
have taken refuge on the top of the tamarinds!"

"All the more reason why we should get up to them," replied the Indian.
"Would you leave this young man to smother in his hammock till the
waters had subsided?"

In saying this, Costal plied his oars more vigorously than ever; and, in
spite of the remonstrances of his companion, headed the canoe in a
direct line towards the hammock.

"If these be the same tigers we encountered yesterday," said Clara, in
an anxious tone of voice, "and I am almost sure they are, by the mewing
of their whelps, think for a moment, Costal, how desperately spiteful
they will be against us."

"And do you think I am not equally spiteful against them?" replied
Costal, urging his canoe onwards with more rapidity than ever.

A few strokes of the paddle brought the light craft within gunshot
distance of the tamarinds; and now for the first time did Costal obtain
a good view of the theological student couched within the hammock--where
he appeared to be indolently reposing, like some Oriental satrap, under
a dais of tigers and serpents!



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE STUDENT RESCUED.

The odd spectacle once more overcame the gravity of the Indian; and,
resting upon his oars, he delivered himself up to a renewed spell of
laughter.

Through the network of the hammock the student could now note the
movements of those who were coming to his rescue.  He saw the Indian
turn towards his companion, pointing at the same time to the singular
tableau among the tops of the trees, which the negro appeared to
contemplate with a countenance that betrayed an anxiety equal to his
own.

Don Cornelio could not make out what there was to laugh at in a
spectacle that for two mortal hours--ever since daybreak--had been
causing him the extreme of fear; but, without saying a word, he waited
for the explanation of this ill-timed hilarity.

"Let us get a little farther off!" stammered the negro; "we can
deliberate better what we should do."

"What we should do!" cried Costal, now speaking seriously; "it needs no
deliberation to tell that."

"Quite true," assented Clara, "it does not.  Of course we should push
off a little; and the sooner we do it the better."

"Bah!" exclaimed Costal, "that's not what I meant;" as he spoke coolly
laying his paddle in the bottom of the canoe, and taking up his carbine.

"But what are you going to do?" anxiously asked Clara.

"_Por Dios_! to shoot one of the jaguars; what else?  You shall see
presently.  Keep yourself quiet, Senor student," he continued, speaking
to Don Cornelio, who still lay crouched up within the hammock, and who,
from very fear, could neither speak nor move.

At this moment one of the jaguars uttered a growl that caused the blood
to run cold through the veins of Clara.  At the same time the fierce
creature was seen tearing the bark from the tamarind with his curving
claws; while, with mouth agape, and teeth set, as if in menace, he fixed
his fiery eyes upon Costal, who was nearest to him.  His angry glance
had no terrors for the _tigrero_, who, gazing firmly back upon the
fierce brute, appeared to subdue him by some power of fascination.

Costal now raised the carbine to his shoulder, took deliberate aim, and
fired.  Almost simultaneously with the report, the huge animal came
tumbling down from the tree, and fell with a dull, dead plash upon the
water.  It was the male.

"Quick, Clara!" cried the Indian.  "A stroke of the paddle--quick, or we
shall have the other upon us!"

And, as Costal spoke, he drew his long knife to be ready for defending
himself.

Anxious as the negro was to get out of the way, and making all the haste
in his power, his fears had so unnerved him that his efforts were in
vain.  The female jaguar, furious at the death of her mate, and anxious
for the safety of her whelps, stayed only to utter one savage yell; and
then, bounding downward from the branches, she launched herself upon the
student.  The hammock, however, oscillating violently to one side,
caused her to let go her hold, and making a second spring, she dropped
down into the canoe.  The weight of her body, combined with the impetus
which her anger had given to it, at once capsized the little craft; and
Indian, negro, and jaguar went all together under water!

In a second's time all three reappeared on the surface--Clara
half-frightened out of his senses, and striking out with all the energy
of despair.

Fortunately for the negro, the old pearl-diver could swim like a shark;
and, in the twinkling of an eye, the latter had darted betwixt him and
the jaguar--his knife slung between his clenched teeth.

The two adversaries, now face to face, paused for an instant as if to
measure the distance between them.  Their eyes met--those of the
tiger-hunter expressing coolness and resolution, while the orbs of the
jaguar rolled furiously in their sockets.

All at once the hunter was seen to dive; and the jaguar, astonished at
the sudden disappearance of her enemy, paused, and for a moment balanced
herself in the water.  Then turning round, she commenced swimming back
towards the tree upon which she had left her young ones.

Before reaching it, however, she was seen to struggle, and sink
partially below the surface--as if some whirlpool was sucking her
underneath; then rising up again, she turned over on her back, and
floated lifeless down the current.  A long red gash appeared freshly
opened in her belly; and the water around was fast becoming tinged with
the crimson stream that gushed copiously from the wound.

The Indian, in turn, came to the surface; and, after casting a look
around him, swam towards the canoe--which the current had already
carried to some distance from the trees.  Overtaking it, he once more
turned the craft deck upwards; and, mounting aboard, paddled back
towards the student.

Lantejas had not yet recovered from the surprise with which the
encounter, as well as the audacious _sang-froid_ exhibited by the
_tigrero_, had inspired him, when the latter arrived underneath; and,
with the same blade with which he had almost disembowelled the tiger,
opened the bottom of the hammock by cutting it lengthwise.  By this
means he had resolved on delivering the student more easily than by
endeavouring to get him out over the edge.

At that moment was heard the voice of Clara, still swimming about in the
water.

"The skins of the jaguars!" cried he; "are you going to let them be
lost?  They are worth twenty dollars, Costal!"

"Well, if they are," replied the Indian, "swim after and secure them.  I
have no time to spare," added he, as he pulled Lantejas through the
bottom of the hammock, and lowered him down into the canoe.

"_Dios me libre_!" responded Clara; "I shall do nothing of the kind.
Who knows whether the life's quite out of them yet?  They may go to the
devil for me!  Heigh!  Costal! paddle this way, and take me in.  I have
no desire to go under those tamarinds--laced as they are by half a mile
of rattlesnakes."

"Get in gently, then!" said Costal, directing the canoe towards the
negro.  "Gently, or you may capsize us a second time."

"Jesus God!" exclaimed Don Cornelio, who now for the first time had
found the power of speech; "Jesus God!" he repeated, seeing himself, not
without some apprehension, between two strange beings--the one red, the
other black--both dripping with water, and their hair covered with the
yellow scum of the waves!

"Eh!  Senor student," rejoined Clara, in a good-humoured way, "is that
all the thanks you give us for the service we have done you?"

"Pardon me, _gentlemen_," stammered out Don Cornelio; "I was dreadfully
frightened.  I have every reason to be thankful to you."

And, his confidence now restored, the student expressed, in fit terms,
his warm gratitude; and finished his speech by congratulating the Indian
on his escape from the dangers he had encountered.

"By my faith! it is true enough," rejoined Costal, "I have run some
little danger.  I was all over of a sweat; and this cursed water coming
down from the mountains as cold as ice--_Carrambo_!  I shouldn't wonder
if I should get a bad cold from the ducking."

The student listened with astonishment to this unexpected declaration.
The man whose fearful intrepidity he had just witnessed to be thinking
only of the risk he ran of getting a cold!

"Who are you?" he mechanically inquired.

"I?" said Costal.  "Well, I am an Indian, as you see--a Zapoteque--
formerly the _tigrero_ of Don Matias de la Zanca; at present in the
service of Don Mariano de Silva--to-morrow, who knows?"

"Don Matias de la Zanca!" echoed the student, interrupting him; "why,
that is my uncle!"

"Oh!" said Costal, "your uncle!  Well, Senor student, if you wish to go
to his house I am sorry I cannot take you there, since it lies up among
the hills, and could not be reached in a canoe.  But perhaps you have a
horse?"

"I had one; but the flood has carried him off, I suppose.  No matter.  I
have good reasons for not regretting his loss."

"Well," rejoined Costal, "your best way will be to go with us to the
Hacienda las Palmas.  There you will get a steed that will carry you to
the house of your uncle.  But first," added he, turning his eyes towards
the tamarinds, "I must look after my carbine, which has been spilled out
of the canoe.  It's too good a gun to be thrown away; and I can say that
it don't miss fire once in ten times.  It should be yonder, where the
brute capsized us; and with your permission, Senor student, I'll just go
in search of it.  Ho, Clara! paddle us back under the hammock!"

Clara obeyed, though evidently with some reluctance.  The hissing of the
serpents still sounded ominously in his ears.

On arriving near the spot where the canoe had turned over, Costal stood
up in the bow; and then raising his hands, and joining them above his
head, he plunged once more under the water.

For a long time the spectators saw nothing of him; but the bubbles here
and there rising to the surface, showed where he was engaged in
searching for his incomparable carbine.

At length his head appeared above water, then his whole body.  He held
the gun tightly grasped in one of his hands, and making a few strokes
towards the canoe he once more climbed aboard.

Costal now took hold of the paddle; and turning the head of the canoe in
a westerly direction commenced making way across the turbid waters
towards the Hacienda las Palmas.

Although the fury of the inundation had by this time partially subsided,
still the flood ran onward with a swift current; and what with the
danger from floating trees, and other objects that swelled the surface
of the water, it was necessary to manage the canoe with caution.  Thus
retarded, it was near mid-day before the voyageurs arrived within sight
of the hacienda.  Along the way Don Cornelio had inquired from his new
companions, what strange accident had conducted them to the spot where
they had found him.

"Not an accident," said Costal; "but a horseman, who appeared to be in a
terrible hurry himself, as _Por Dios_! he had need to be.  He was on his
way to the house of Don Mariano, for what purpose I can't say.  It
remains to be known, Senor student, whether he has been as fortunate as
you, in escaping the flood.  God grant that he has! for it would be a
sad pity if such a brave young fellow was to die by drowning.  Brave men
are not so plentiful."

"Happy for them who are brave!" sighed Don Cornelio.

"Here is my friend, Clara," continued Costal, without noticing the
rejoinder of the student, "who has no fear of man; and yet he is as much
afraid of tigers as if he were a child.  Well, I hope we shall find that
the gallant young officer has escaped the danger, and is now safe within
the walls of the hacienda."

At that moment the canoe passed round a tope of half-submerged
palm-trees, and the hacienda itself appeared in sight, as if suddenly
rising from the bosom of the waters.  A cry of joy escaped from the lips
of the student, who, half-famished with hunger, thought of the abundance
that would be found behind those hospitable walls.

While gazing upon them a bell commenced to toll; and its tones fell upon
his ears like the music of birds, for it appeared as if summoning the
occupants of the hacienda to pass into the refectory.  It was, however,
the _angelus_ of noon.

At the same instant two barges were seen parting from the causeway that
led down in front, and heading towards the high ridge that ran behind
the hacienda, at a little distance on the north.  In the first of these
boats appeared two rowers, with a person in a travelling costume of
somewhat clerical cut, and a mule saddled and bridled.  In the second
were two gentlemen and the same number of ladies.  The latter were young
girls, both crowned with luxuriant chaplets of flowers, and each
grasping an oar in her white delicate fingers, which she managed with
skill and adroitness.  They were the two daughters of Don Mariano de
Silva.  One of the gentlemen was Don Mariano himself, while the other
was joyfully recognised by Costal as the brave officer who had asked him
the way, and by the student as his _compagnon du voyage_ of yesterday--
Don Rafael Tres-Villas.

Shortly after, the two boats reached the foot of the Sierra; and the
traveller with the mule disembarked.  Mounting into his saddle, he
saluted those who remained in the other boat; and then rode away, amidst
the words oft repeated by Don Mariano and his daughters--

"_A dios! a dios!  Senor Morelos! a dios_!"

The two barges now returned towards the hacienda, arriving there nearly
at the same time as the canoe which carried the student of theology, the
Indian, and the negro.

Don Cornelio had now a better opportunity of observing the rich freight
carried in the larger of the two boats.  The drapery of purple silk
which covered the seats and fell over the sides of the barge, threw its
brilliant reflections far out upon the water.  In the midst of this
brilliance appeared the young ladies, seated and bending languidly upon
their oars.  Now and then Marianita, in plunging her oar-blade into the
water, caused the pomegranate flowers to rain down from her hair, as she
shook them with bursts of laughter; while Gertrudis, looking from under
the purple wreath, ever and anon cast stealthy glances at the cavalier
who was seated by the side of her father.

"Senor Don Mariano!" said Costal, as the barge drew near, "here is a
guest whom I have taken the liberty to bring to your hospitable
mansion."

As the Indian delivered this speech he pointed to the student of
theology still seated in the canoe.

"He is welcome!" rejoined Don Mariano; and then, inviting the stranger
to disembark, all except Costal, Clara, and the servants, landed from
the boats, and passed out of sight through the front gateway of the
hacienda.

These taking the boats around the battlements of the building, entered
the enclosure by a gate that opened towards the rear.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

RAFAEL AND GERTRUDIS.

As already stated, Don Luis Tres-Villas, the father of Don Rafael, was a
Spaniard.  He was one of those Spaniards, however, who from the first
had comprehended the necessity of making liberal political concessions
to the Creoles--such as those accorded to them by the enlightened Don
Jose Iturrigaray.  Even the interest of Spain herself demanded these
reforms.

Don Luis, himself an officer in the vice-regal guard, had been one of
the most devoted partisans of Iturrigaray; and when the latter was
arrested by the more violent _Gachupinos_ and sent prisoner to Spain,
Tres-Villas saw that all ties of attachment between Spaniards and
Creoles had been severed by the act; and that an open rupture was at
hand.  Unwilling to take part against the native people, Don Luis had
thrown up his commission as captain in the vice-regal guards, left the
capital, and retired to his estate of Del Valle.

This hacienda was situated on the other side of the ridge that bounded
the plain of Las Palmas on the north, and about two leagues distant from
the dwelling of Don Mariano de Silva.  These two gentlemen had met in
the metropolis; and the slight acquaintance there initiated had been
strengthened during their residence in the country.

On receiving the news of Hidalgo's insurrection, Don Luis had sent an
express messenger to his son Don Rafael, summoning him to the Hacienda
del Valle.  In obedience to the order of his father, the young captain
of dragoons, having obtained leave of absence from his regiment, was on
his way thither, when he overtook upon the road the student of theology.
Nevertheless, Don Rafael had not deemed the order of his father so
pressing as to hinder him from passing a day at the hacienda of Las
Palmas, which lay directly in the route to that of Del Valle.  This,
therefore, he had determined upon doing.

A word about the antecedents, which led to this resolve on the part of
the dragoon captain.

In the early part of the preceding year Don Mariano de Silva had passed
three months in the Mexican metropolis.  He had been accompanied by his
daughter Gertrudis--Marianita remaining in Oajaca with a near relative
of the family.  In the _tertulias_ of the gay capital the fair
_Oajaquena_ had met the dashing captain of dragoons, and a romantic
attachment had sprung up between them, mutual as sincere.  To this there
could be no objection by the parents on either side: since there was
between the two lovers a complete conformity in age, social position,
and fortune.  In all likelihood the romance of courtship would soon have
ended in the more prosaic reality of marriage; but just at that time the
young officer was ordered upon some military service; and Don Mariano
was also suddenly called away from the capital.  The marriage ceremony,
therefore, that might otherwise have been expected to take place, thus
remained unconsummated.

It is true that up to this time Don Rafael had not formally declared his
passion to the young Creole; but it is probable that she knew it without
any verbal avowal; and still more that she fully reciprocated it.
Neither had Don Mariano been spoken to upon the matter: the captain of
dragoons not deeming it proper to confer with him till after he had
obtained the consent of Gertrudis.

After the separation of the two lovers, by little and little Don Rafael
began to doubt whether his passion had been really returned by the fair
Oajaquena.  Time and absence, while they rendered more feeble the
remembrance of those little incidents that had appeared favourable to
him, increased in an inverse ratio the impression of the young Creole's
charms--that in fancy now appeared to him only the more glowing and
seductive.  So much did this impression become augmented, that the young
officer began to think he had been too presumptuous in aspiring to the
possession of such incomparable loveliness.

His cruel doubts soon passed into a more cruel certainty; and he no
longer believed that his love had been returned.

In this state of mind he endeavoured to drive the thoughts of Gertrudis
out of his head: by saying to himself that he had never loved her!  But
this attempt at indifference only proved how strongly the sentiment
influenced him; and the result was to force him into a melancholy,
habitual and profound.

Such was the state of Don Rafael's mind when the soldier-priest,
Hidalgo, pronounced the first _grito_ of the Mexican revolution.  Imbued
with those liberal ideas which had been transmitted to him from his
father--and even carrying them to a higher degree--knowing, moreover,
the passionate ardour with which Don Mariano de Silva and his daughter
looked forward to the emancipation of their country; and thus sure of
the approbation of all for whom he had reverence or affection--Don
Rafael determined to offer his sword to the cause of Independence.  He
hoped under the banners of the insurrection to get rid of the black
chagrin that was devouring his spirit; or if not, he desired that in the
first encounter between the royalist and insurgent troops, death might
deliver him from an existence that was no longer tolerable.

At this crisis came the messenger from Del Valle.  The message was
simply a summons to his father's presence that he might learn from him
some matters that were of too much importance either to be trusted to
paper or the lips of a servant.  The young officer easily conjectured
the object for which he was summoned to Oajaca.  Knowing his father's
political leanings, he had no doubt that it was to counsel him, Don
Rafael, to offer his sword to the cause of Mexican Independence.

The message, however significant and mysterious, partially restored the
captain of dragoons to his senses.  In the journey he was necessitated
to make, he saw there might be an opportunity of sounding the heart of
Gertrudis, and becoming acquainted with her feelings in regard to him.
For this purpose he had determined upon frankly declaring his own.  In
fine, he had half resolved to renounce those chivalric sentiments, that
had already hindered him from opening the affair to Don Mariano without
the consent of Gertrudis.  So profound had his passion become, that he
would even have preferred owing to filial obedience the possession of
her he so devotedly loved, than not to possess her at all.

Influenced by such ideas, no wonder that with feverish ardour he rushed
over the hundred leagues that separated Mexico from Oajaca; and it was
for this reason he was willing to risk the danger of perishing in the
flood rather than not reach the Hacienda las Palmas, on the evening he
had appointed to be there.

It may be mentioned that in sending back the messenger of his father, he
had charged the man to call at the hacienda of Las Palmas and inform its
proprietor of his--Don Rafael's--intention to demand there the
hospitality of a night.  Having calculated the exact time he might be
occupied on his journey, he had named the day, almost the very hour,
when he might be expected.  Without knowing the importance which the
young dragoon attached to this visit, Don Mariano was but too gratified
to have an opportunity of showing politeness to the son of a gentleman
who was at the same time his neighbour and friend.

With regard to the sentiments of Gertrudis, they are already known to
the reader.  What would not Don Rafael have given to have been equally
well acquainted with them!  Ah! could he have known the secret pleasure
with which his arrival was expected--the ardent prayers, and that
sacrificial vow registered in his favour, at the moment when he was
struggling with danger--could he have known all this, it would have at
once put an end to his melancholy!

At this time the insurrection was just beginning to make some stir at
Oajaca.  On throwing off the mask, Hidalgo had despatched secret agents
to the different provinces of Mexico, in hopes that they might all join
in the _grito_ already pronounced by him in Valladolid.  The emissaries
sent to Oajaca were two men named Lopez and Armenta; but both, having
fallen into the hands of the government authorities, were beheaded on
the instant, and their heads, raised upon poles, were exposed upon the
great road of San Luis del Rey, as a warning to other insurgents.

This rigorous measure had no effect in retarding the insurrection.
Shortly after, a ranchero, named Antonio Valdez, raised the standard of
independence, and, at the head of a small _guerilla_ of country-people,
commenced a war of retaliation.  Many Spaniards fell into his hands; and
their blood was spilled without mercy: for in this sanguinary manner did
the Mexican revolution commence; and in such fashion was it continued.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE HONEST MULETEER.

On the same day in which the student of theology arrived at the Hacienda
las Palmas, and about four o'clock in the afternoon--just after the hour
of dinner--the different members of the family, along with their guests,
were assembled in one of the apartments of the mansion.  It was the
grand _sala_ or reception room, opening by double glass doors upon a
garden filled with flowering plants, and beautiful shade trees.

Two individuals, already known to the reader, were absent from this
reunion.  One was the student himself, who, notwithstanding that he was
now in perfect security, had so delivered himself up to the remembrance
of the dangers he had encountered while reclining under his terrible
dais of tigers and serpents, that he had been seized with a violent
fever, and was now confined to his bed.

The other absentee was Marianita, who, on pretext of taking a look at
the great ocean of waters--but in reality to ascertain whether the bark
of Don Fernando was not yet in sight--had gone up to the _azotea_.

Don Mariano, with that tranquillity of mind, which the possession of
wealth usually produces--assuring the rich proprietor against the
future--was seated in a large leathern _fauteuil_, smoking his cigar,
and occasionally balancing himself on the hind legs of the chair.

Beside him stood a small table of ornamental wood, on which was placed a
cup of Chinese porcelain containing coffee.  It was of the kind known
among Spanish-Americans as _cafe de siesta_; on the principle, no doubt,
_lucus a non lucendo_: since it is usually so strong that a single cup
of it is sufficient to rob one of the power of sleep for a period of at
least twenty-four hours.

In the doorway opening into the garden stood Don Rafael, who appeared to
be watching the evolutions of the parroquets, amidst the branches of the
pomegranates, with all the interest of a naturalist.

Though his countenance was calm, his heart was trembling at the thought
of the _entretien_ he had proposed on bringing about.

Gertrudis, with head inclined, was seated near by, occupied with the
embroidery of one of those scarfs of white cambric, which the Mexican
gentlemen are accustomed to wear over their shoulders, after the fashion
of the Arab burnouse, to protect them from the too fierce rays of the
sun.

Despite the tranquil silence of the haciendado, at intervals a cloud
might have been observed upon his brow; while the pale countenance of
Don Rafael also exhibited a certain anxiety, belying the expression of
indifference which he affected.

The spirit of Gertrudis in reality was not more calm.  A secret voice
whispered to her that Don Rafael was about to say something; and that
same voice told her it was some sweet prelude of love.  Nevertheless,
despite the quick rush of her Creole blood, and the sudden quivering
that rose from her heart to her cheeks, she succeeded in concealing her
thoughts under that mask of womanly serenity which the eye of man is not
sufficiently skilful to penetrate.

The only individual present whose countenance was in conformity with his
thoughts, was the _arriero_--Don Valerio Trujano.

With hat in hand, and standing in front of the haciendado, he had come
to say _adios_, and thank Don Mariano for the hospitality his house had
afforded him.

To that easy gracefulness of manners common to all classes in
Spanish-America, there was united in the person of the _arriero_ a
certain imposing severity of countenance, which, however, he could
temper at will by the aid of a pair of eyes of mild and benevolent
expression.

Notwithstanding that his social position was not equal to that of his
host--for Mexico had not yet become republican--Valerio Trujano was not
regarded as an ordinary guest either by Don Mariano or his daughters.

Independent of his reputation for honesty beyond suspicion--for profound
piety as well--which he enjoyed throughout the whole country, he
possessed other high qualities that had entitled him to universal
esteem.  The generosity and courage which he had exhibited on the
preceding evening--when assisting a stranger at the risk of his own
life--had only added to the great respect already entertained for him by
the inmates of the Hacienda las Palmas.

Although the dragoon officer had in some measure requited the service,
by afterwards snatching the _arriero_ from the jaws of the devouring
flood, he did not on that account feel a whit less grateful.  Neither
did Gertrudis, who with her thoughts of love had already mingled her
prayers for him, who had a just title to be called the saviour of Don
Rafael's life.

The man, Valerio Trujano, whose nature at a later period became
immortalised by the siege of Huajapam, was at this time about forty
years of age; but his fine delicate features, overshadowed by an
abundance of glossy black hair, gave him the appearance of being much
younger.

"Senor Don Mariano," said he, on coming into the presence of the
haciendado, "I have come to bid _adios_, and thank you for your
hospitality."

"What!" exclaimed Don Mariano, "surely you are not going to leave us so
soon?  No, no."

Gertrudis at the same time expressed her unwillingness that he should
depart.

"I must leave you, Don Mariano," answered the _arriero_.  "The man who
has business to attend to is not always his own master.  When his heart
impels him to turn to the right, his affairs often carry him to the
left.  He who is _in debt_, is still less master of himself."

"You owe a sum of money, then?" said Don Rafael, interrogatively, at the
same time advancing towards the _arriero_ and offering him his hand.
"Why could you not have told me of this?  Whatever be the amount, I--"

"Ah! _cavallero_," interrupted Trujano, with a smile, "it is a bad plan
to borrow from one for the purpose of paying another.  I could not think
of accepting a loan.  It is not from pride, but a sense of duty that I
decline your generous offer; and I hope you will not be offended.  The
sum I owe is not a very heavy one--a few hundred dollars.  Since it has
pleased God that my mules should find a shelter in the stables of Don
Mariano, and thus escape the inundation, I can now take the road through
the mountains to Oajaca, where the money I shall receive for my _recua_
will, I hope, entirely clear me from debt."

"What!" cried Don Mariano, in a tone of surprise, "do you talk of
selling your mules--the only means you have of gaining your livelihood?"

"Yes," modestly replied the muleteer, "I intend selling them.  I do so
in order that I may be able to go where my vocation calls me.  I should
have gone already; but being in debt up to this time, my life belonged
to my creditors rather than to myself, and I had not the right to expose
it to danger."

"To expose your life?" interrogated Gertrudis, with an accent that
bespoke her interest in the brave man.

"Just so, Senorita," responded the _arriero_.  "I have seen the heads of
Lopez and Armenta exposed upon the high road of San Luis del Rey.  Who
knows but that my own may soon figure beside them?  I speak openly,"
continued Trujano, looking round upon his audience, "and as if before
God.  I know that my host, no more than God himself, would betray a
secret thus confided to him."

"Of course not," rejoined Don Mariano, with an air of hospitable
simplicity such as characterised the earlier ages.  "But here," he
continued, "we are one and all of us devoted to the cause of our
country's liberty; and we shall pray for those who aid her in obtaining
it."

"We shall do more than that," said Tres-Villas in his turn; "we shall
lend our help to her.  It is the duty of every Mexican who can wield a
sword and ride a horse."

"May all those who raise an arm in favour of Spain!" cried Gertrudis,
her eyes flashing with patriotic enthusiasm, "may they be branded with
infamy and disgrace! may they find neither a roof to shelter them, nor a
woman to smile upon them! may the contempt of those they love be the
reward of every traitor to his country!"

"If all our young girls were like you," said Trujano, looking gratefully
towards Gertrudis, "our triumph would soon be attained.  Where is the
man who would not be proud to risk his life for one smile of your pretty
lips, Senorita, or one look from your beautiful eyes?"

As the _arriero_ said this, he glanced significantly towards the young
officer.  Gertrudis hung her head, happy at hearing this homage rendered
to her beauty in presence of the man in whose eyes she alone cared to
appear beautiful.

After a pause Trujano continued: "_Dios y Libertad_!  (God and Liberty!)
that is my motto.  Had I been in a condition sooner to take up the cause
of my country, I should have done so--if only to restrain the excesses
that have already sullied it.  No doubt you have heard of them, Senor
Don Mariano?"

"I have," replied the haciendado; and the shadow that at that moment
passed over his brow told that the news had troubled him.

"The blood of innocent Spaniards has been shed," continued the muleteer,
"men who had no ill-will towards our cause; and, shame to say, the only
one in this our province who now carries the banner of the insurrection
is the worthless wretch, Antonio Valdez."

"Antonio Valdez!" cried Don Rafael, interrupting him.  "Do you mean
Valdez, a _vaquero_ of Don Luis Tres-Villas--my father?"

"The same," replied Don Mariano.  "May it please God to make him
remember that his master always treated him with kindness!"

The air of uneasiness with which Don Mariano pronounced these words did
not escape Don Rafael.

"Do you think, then," said he, in a tone that testified his alarm, "do
you think that my father, whose liberal opinions are known to every one,
is in any danger from the insurgents?"

"No, I hope not," replied Don Mariano.  "Senor Valerio," said Don
Rafael, turning to interrogate the _arriero_; "do you know how many men
this fellow, Antonio Valdez, may have under his command?"

"Fifty, I have heard; but I think it likely his band may have been
greatly increased by accessions among the country-people--who have
suffered even more than those of the town from the oppressions of the
Spaniards."

"Senor Don Mariano," said the officer, in a voice trembling with
emotion, "nothing less than news similar to what I have just now heard
could have tempted me to abridge a sojourn under your roof, which I
should have been only too happy to have prolonged; but when one's father
is in danger--even to the risk of life--his son's place should be by his
side.  Is it not so, Dona Gertrudis?"

On hearing the first words of Don Rafael's speech, which announced the
intention of a precipitate departure, a cry of anguish had almost
escaped from the lips of the young girl.  With the heroism of a woman's
heart she had repressed it; and stood silent with her eyes fixed upon
the floor.

"Yes, yes!" murmured she, replying to Don Rafael's question in a low but
firm voice.

There was an interval of silence, during which a sort of sinister
presentiment agitated the spirits of the four personages present.  The
homicidal breath of civil war was already commencing to make itself felt
within the domestic circle.

Trujano was the first to recommence the conversation--his eyes gleaming
as he spoke like one of the ancient prophets moved by Divine
inspiration.

"This morning," said he, "an humble servant of the Most High, the
obscure priest of a poor village, has left you to offer up his prayers
for the insurgent cause.  And now an instrument, not less humble, by the
will of God takes leave of you to offer it his arm, and if need be, his
life.  Pray for them! good and beautiful Madonna!" he continued,
addressing himself to Gertrudis, and speaking with that religious and
poetical fervour which was the leading trait in his character; "pray for
them; and perhaps it will please the Almighty to show that from the very
dust He can raise the power that may hurl the tyrant from his throne."

On saying these words, the _arriero_ respectfully pressed the hands that
were held out to him, and then walked out of the _sala_, followed by Don
Mariano.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE LOVERS ALONE.

It may be that the haciendado had reasons for thus leaving his daughter
alone with Don Rafael, during the few short moments that should elapse
previous to the departure of the young officer.

The voices of the muleteers, who were busily lading the _recua_ of Don
Valerio, scarce reached the ears of the lovers, who were now embarrassed
by the profound silence that reigned in the _sala_.  It was the first
time they had found themselves alone, since the arrival of the officer
at the hacienda.

The sun was gilding the tops of the pomegranate trees, where the
parroquets were joyously performing their gymnastic exercises; and the
breeze which caressed the plants in the garden, wafted into the saloon
the perfumes of a thousand flowers.  It was a solemn and decisive
moment.  Gertrudis, happy, yet trembling for the words of love she
expected to hear, sat with her face partially concealed behind the folds
of her silken _reboso_.  In her fingers she still held the scarf she had
been embroidering; but, seeing that this betrayed the trembling of her
hand, she placed it on a table by her side, lest Don Rafael might
observe the emotion of which he was the author.  It was the last effort
of virgin pride--its last attempt at resistance before avowing itself
overcome.

"Gertrudis!" said Don Rafael, endeavouring to stifle the pulsations of
his heart, "I have spoken to your father.  I wish to consecrate these
few moments--the last I may ever pass in your presence--to an
explanation between us.  I implore you, then, to speak, as I intend
speaking myself, without reserve--without ambiguity."

"I promise you that, Don Rafael," responded Gertrudis; "but what
mysterious secret have you been communicating to my father?" added she,
in a tone of gentle raillery.

"I told him," replied the lover, "that I had come hither with my heart
full of _you_; that my father's message summoning me to his presence had
been received by me as a voice calling me to bliss: since it gave me
this opportunity of once more being near you.  I told him how I had
hurried over the immense distance that separated us; and how, in order
that I might see you an hour sooner, I had disregarded the howling of
the jaguars, and the threatening voice of the inundation--"

Don Rafael became silent, perhaps from embarrassment, while Gertrudis
still remained in a listening attitude.  It was a melody to which she
could have listened for ever!

"And when you told my father," said she, after a pause of silence,
"that--that--you loved me--did he exhibit any astonishment at the
unexpected revelation?"

"No, not any," replied the officer, himself a little surprised at the
question thus put to him.

"That, then, must have been because I had already told him," said the
young beauty, with a smile as sweet as her voice.  "But my father--what
answer did he give you?"

"`My dear Don Rafael,' said he to me, `I would be most happy to see our
families united.  But this can only be with the consent of Gertrudis,
and the free wish of her heart; and I have no reason to think that her
heart is yours.'  Those were the terrible words that proceeded from the
lips of your father.  Gertrudis, do your lips confirm them?"

The voice of Don Rafael quivered as he spoke; and this trembling of a
strong man--who never trembled in the presence of danger--was so
delicious to the heart of her who loved him, as to hinder her from
hastening to make reply.

On hearing the answer which her father had given to Don Rafael, the
carnation upon her lips became of a deeper hue.  She was biting them to
restrain a smile.  Assuming an air of gravity, however, which had the
effect of rendering her lover still more anxious, she at length made
reply--

"Don Rafael!" said she, "you have appealed to my candour, and I shall
speak frankly to you.  But swear to me that you will not regard my
sincerity as a crime."

"I swear it, Gertrudis!  Speak without fear, though your words should
crush a heart that is entirely your own."

"Only on one condition can I speak freely."

"Name it! it shall be observed."

"It is, that--while I am making my confession to you, you will keep your
eyes fixed upon the tops of those pomegranate trees.  Without doing that
you might risk not hearing certain things--in short, an avowal--such as
you might wish."

"I shall try to obey you," answered Don Rafael, turning his gaze towards
the tops of the trees, as if about to study the domestic habits of the
parroquets, that still continued their evolutions among the branches.

In a timid and trembling voice, Gertrudis commenced--

"One day," said she, "not very long ago--a young girl made a vow to the
Virgin, to save the man she loved from fearful danger that threatened
him.  Don't you think, Don Rafael, that that man was dearly loved?"

"That depends upon the nature of the vow," replied the officer.

"You shall hear it.  The young girl promised to the Virgin, that if her
lover should escape from the danger, she would cause him to cut the
hair--Oh! if you look at me I cannot go on--she would cause him to cut
the hair from her head with his own hands--the long tresses which she
herself highly valued, and which he had so passionately admired.  In
your opinion, was that man beloved?"

"Oh! who would not be proud to be so loved?" cried Don Rafael, casting a
glance at his questioner that moved her to the depths of her soul.

"I have not yet finished," said she.  "Turn your eyes upon the trees, or
perhaps you may not hear the end of my tale, and that might vex you.
When this young girl, who had not hesitated to sacrifice her hair--the
object of her constant care--the long silken tresses that encircled her
head like the diadem of a queen, and which, perhaps, were, in her
lover's eyes, her greatest embellishment--when this poor girl will have
cut--had cut them off, I should say--do you believe that her lover--you
may look at me now, Don Rafael--I give you permission--do you believe
that he would still love her as before?"

Don Rafael faced round suddenly at the question; not that he yet
comprehended its import; but the tone of melancholy in which Gertrudis
was speaking had profoundly moved him.

A tender tear--a tear of envy for the lot of this unknown, so
passionately loved--glistened in his eye, as he made reply--

"Oh, Gertrudis!" said he, "no devotion could repay such a sacrifice as
that; and the young girl you speak of, however beautiful she might be,
could not be otherwise than an angel in the eyes of her lover."

Gertrudis pressed her hand over her heart, to stay the flood of joyful
emotion that was rushing through it.

After a pause she continued, her voice quivering as she spoke--

"Once more, and for the last time, I desire you to raise your eyes
towards heaven.  We have reason to be thankful to it."

While Don Rafael obeyed the direction, Gertrudis permitted the _reboso_
to fall from her shoulders; and with her fingers she removed the comb
that imprisoned her shining hair, which, coiled up in two long plaited
tresses, encircled her crown like a diadem.  These she allowed to drop
down at will, until they hung far below her waist.  Then seizing in one
hand the scissors she had just been using at her work, and with the
other covering the crimson blush upon her cheek, she held forth the
instrument, at the same time crying out--

"Now, Don Rafael! aid me in keeping my vow, by cutting for me the hair
from my head."

"I?" exclaimed Don Rafael, in whose ear her voice had sounded like the
voice of an angel.  "I?" repeated he, astounded at the proposal.
"Gertrudis!  Gertrudis!"

"I have promised it to the Virgin for saving you last night.  Now do you
comprehend, Don Rafael--my dearly beloved Rafael?"

"Oh, Gertrudis!" cried the lover, in an ecstasy of joy, "you should have
prepared me more gradually for so much happiness."

And kneeling in front of the young girl, he eagerly took hold of her
hand, which no longer refused to let him touch it, but, on the contrary,
was rather advanced to meet his lips.

"Is it my fault?" said Gertrudis, in a tone of sweet playfulness.  "Is
it my fault if men are slow at taking a hint?  _Santissima_! for a full
quarter of an hour, shameful as it may appear, have I been endeavouring
to prepare you for what you call your happiness."  Then suddenly laying
aside her playful tone, she continued--"But now, my dear Rafael, I must
remember my vow.  I have made it, and you must assist me in its
accomplishment."

"But why did you promise your hair?" inquired the lover, with a slight
air of chagrin.

"Because I had nothing more valuable to offer in exchange for your
life--mine perhaps as well.  Oh!  I am well repaid for the sacrifice by
knowing that you love me.  Come, Rafael! take the scissors."

"Oh!  I could never manage with that weak instrument," said Don Rafael,
speaking merely to gain time.

"Ah! are you going to complain of the trouble it will give you?"
inquired Gertrudis, bending down towards her lover, who was still
kneeling before her--"Come, my brave Rafael!  Use these scissors.  I
command you."

Don Rafael took the shining instrument in his trembling hand, but still
hesitated to use them--like the woodman, who, with his axe raised
against some noble tree of the forest he has been ordered to cut down,
hesitates before striking the first blow.  Gertrudis would have smiled
to encourage him, but at that moment, as she looked upon those gorgeous
tresses, so long and carefully guarded, and which, if unfolded, would
have covered her like a shawl, the poor young girl could not hinder a
tear from escaping her.

"Stay, my Rafael--a moment yet," cried she, while the crimson blush
mantled higher upon her cheeks.  "I have long desired--dreamt of it as a
supreme felicity--to entwine in these poor tresses the man whom I should
one day love, and--and--"

Before she could finish speaking, Don Rafael had caught the perfumed
tresses between his fingers, and rapturously kissing them, passed them
around his neck.

"Now I am ready," continued she, raising the long plaits that encircled
her lover's cheeks, and setting the captive free.  "Go on, Rafael!  I am
ready."

"I should never have the courage to commit such a fearful act," cried
the officer, flinging the scissors upon the floor, and crushing them
under his heel.

"It must be done, Rafael; it must be done.  God will punish me else.
Perhaps He may punish me by taking away from me your love."

"Well, I shall do it," rejoined the reluctant lover, "but not yet
awhile.  On my return, Gertrudis.  For my sake, leave it over till
then."

The passionate appeal of Don Rafael at length obtained a respite, until
the time fixed for his return; which was to be on the morrow--as soon as
he should have assured himself of the safety of his father.

While their next meeting was being arranged between the two lovers,
Gertrudis suddenly started up, like a young doe that springs from its
perfumed lair at the first sound of the hunter's horn.

"Surely I heard a noise?" said she; "a strange noise.  What could it
mean?"

Don Rafael, whose senses had been entirely absorbed by his new-found
happiness, sprang also to his feet, and stood listening.

They had scarce listened for a dozen seconds, when a well-known sound
fell upon the ears of both--though well-known, a sound significant and
ominous.  It was the report of a gun, quickly followed by several others
as if fired in fusillade.

At the same moment, Don Mariano and his daughter Marianita rushed into
the room.  They, too, had heard the reports, which were in the direction
of the hills, and were proceeding to the rear of the hacienda to inquire
the cause.

All remained listening and alarmed--Don Rafael, more than even the young
girls: for too much happiness has the effect of weakening the heart.
The most profound silence reigned throughout the building; for the
firing, heard by the servants of the hacienda, had inspired one and all
of them with the same mute alarm; just as pigeons asleep upon the tree
aroused by the first scream of the kite, remain for some moments
terrified and motionless in their places.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A MEXICAN MAJOR-DOMO.

Don Mariano, the dragoon officer, and the two sisters rushed up to the
_azotea_, the hearts of all filled with a dread presentiment.

From the roof, already crowded with servants, a view of the ridge could
be obtained--its whole slope from top to bottom being visible at a
single glance.  A horrible spectacle came under the eyes of all at once.

At the upper end of the path which led towards the Hacienda del Valle, a
horse and horseman were seen lying upon the road close to one another.
Both appeared to be wounded--the man struggling to regain his feet--the
horse making only the slightest motion, as if in the last moments of
life.

"Haste!" cried Don Mariano to his domestics.  "Haste!  Procure a litter,
and have the wounded horseman carried down here to the house."

"If my eyes don't deceive me," said the young officer, casting uneasy
glances to the hill, "yonder unfortunate man is poor old Rodriguez, the
oldest of my father's servants."

The head of the wounded horseman was in fact covered with grey hair, as
could be seen from the _azotea_.

"The name Antonio Valdez," continued Don Rafael, "now recalls to me some
facts connected with that wretch.  I remember something of a punishment
inflicted upon him; and I have a dark presentiment--Oh, heavens!  Senor
Don Mariano, such happiness to be thus interrupted--"

And without finishing his speech, the young officer hastily pressed the
hand of his host, and rushed for the postern that opened towards the
hills.

In a few seconds after, he was seen climbing the ridge, followed by the
domestics of Don Mariano, who carried a _litera_.

On reaching the wounded man, Don Rafael had no longer any doubts about
his being old Rodriguez; though having seen the latter only in his
childhood, he remembered little more than the name.

Rodriguez, enfeebled by the loss of blood, and by the efforts he had
been making to get upon his feet, was fast losing consciousness.

"Hold!" said Don Rafael to the domestic.  "It is useless placing him on
the _litera_.  He will not be able to endure the motion.  His blood has
nearly all run out by this terrible wound."

As the officer spoke he pointed to a large red spot upon the vest of the
wounded man, beneath which the bloody orifice of a wound showed where
the bullet had entered.

The dragoon captain had fairly won his spurs in the sanguinary wars of
the Indian frontier.  He had witnessed death in all its forms, and his
experience had taught him to adopt the readiest means in such a crisis.

He first stopped the bleeding with his handkerchief, and then, taking
the scarf of China crape from his waist, he bound it tightly over the
wound.  For all this he had but little hopes of the man's recovery.  The
bullet had entered between his shoulders, and passed clear through his
body.

Don Rafael only anticipated that, the haemorrhage once stopped, the
wounded man might return for a moment to consciousness, he was, no
doubt, the bearer of some important message from his master, and it
behoved Don Rafael to learn its purport.

Some time elapsed before the old servant opened his eyes; but one of Don
Mariano's people at that moment came up, carrying a flask of
_aguardiente_.  A few drops were poured down his throat.  Some of the
liquid was sprinkled over his temples, and this had the effect of
momentarily reviving him.

Opening his eyes, he beheld his young master bending over him.  He had
not seen Don Rafael since childhood, but he knew he was in the
neighbourhood, and that the young officer must be he.

"It is I, Rodriguez," said Don Rafael, speaking close to his ear.  "I--
Rafael Tres-Villas.  You have a message from my father?  Why has he sent
you?"

"Blessed be God that He has sent _you_," said the old man, speaking with
difficulty.  "Oh!  Senor Don Rafael, I bring fearful news.  The hacienda
Del Valle--"

"Is burnt?"

The wounded man made a sign in the negative.

"Besieged, then?"

"Yes," replied Rodriguez in a feeble voice.

"And my father?" inquired the officer with a look of anguish.

"He lives.  He sent me to you--to Don Mariano's--to ask assistance.  I--
pursued by the brigands--a bullet--here!  Do not stay with me.  Hasten
to your father.  If any misfortune happen--Antonio Valdez--Remember--
Antonio Valdez--miscreant--taking vengeance for--oh, young master!  Don
Rafael--pray for poor old Rodriguez--who nursed you when a child--
pray--"

The sufferer could speak no more, even in whispers.  His head fell back
upon the turf.  He was dead.  When the litter was set down in the
courtyard of Las Palmas it carried only a corpse!  Don Rafael had turned
back for his horse, and to bid a hasty adieu to the family of his host.

"If Costal were only here!" said Don Mariano.  "Unfortunately the brave
fellow is gone away.  Only a few hours ago he came to take his leave of
me, with another of my people--a negro whom I had no great fancy for.
Both, I believe, are on their way to join the insurgent army in the
capacity of scouts or guides.  _Hola_!" continued the haciendado,
shouting to one of the _peons_, "send hither the _mayor-domo_!"

This functionary soon made his appearance; not a house steward--as the
name might seem to imply--in white cravat, stockings, and powdered wig;
but, on the contrary, a strapping energetic fellow, dressed in full
_ranchero_ costume, with a pair of spurs upon his booted heels, whose
enormous rowels caused him to walk almost upon his toes, and with long
black hair hanging to his shoulders like the manes of the half-wild
horses he was accustomed to ride.  Such is the _mayor-domo_ of a Mexican
hacienda, whose duties, instead of confining him to the dwelling-house,
consist in the general superintendence of the estate, often equal in
extent to the half of a county.  It is, therefore, necessary for him to
be a man of the most active habits, a first-class rider, ever in the
saddle, or ready to leap into it at a moment's notice.  Such was the
personage who presented himself in obedience to the summons of Don
Mariano.

"Give orders," said the latter, addressing him, "to my two vaqueros,
Arroyo and Bocardo, to saddle their horses and accompany Senor Don
Rafael!"

"Neither Arroyo nor Bocardo can be found," replied the mayor-domo.  "It
is eight days since I have seen either of them."

"Give each of them four hours in the _xepo_ (stocks), as soon as they
return!"

"I doubt whether they will ever return, Senor Don Mariano."

"What! have they gone to join Valdez, think you?"

"Not exactly," replied the mayor-domo; "I have my suspicions that the
brace of worthies have gone to get up a guerilla on their own account."

"Summon Sanchez, then!"

"Sanchez is laid up in bed, Senor Don Mariano.  He has some bones broken
by a wild horse--that he had mounted for the first time--having reared
and fallen back upon him."

"So, Senor Don Rafael," said the haciendado with an air of vexation,
"out of six servants which I counted yesterday I have not one to place
at your service, except my mayor-domo here, for I cannot reckon upon
those stupid Indian _peons_.  The mayor-domo will attend you."

"No," rejoined Don Rafael; "it is not necessary.  Let him remain here.
I shall go alone to the assistance of my father, who, no doubt, will
have plenty of people with him.  It is more likely a leader that is
wanted."

The mayor-domo, dismissed by this answer, hurried towards the stables,
to see that Don Rafael's horse was made ready for the road.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE VOW PERFORMED.

While these incidents were in course of occurrence, the two sisters had
returned to their own chamber.

Alarmed by the coincidence, between the melancholy event that had just
transpired and the procrastination of her vow, Gertrudis fancied she saw
in it the finger of Providence; and, without further hesitation, she,
with her own hands, completed the pious but painful sacrifice!

Shrouded under the folds of her _reboso_, her pale face appeared beneath
a single band of hair that encircled her forehead--all that was left of
that magnificent _chevelure_.

Marianita was in tears.  It was she one would have thought that had
suffered a misfortune; while Gertrudis, whose eyes shone with a sort of
melancholy satisfaction for the act she had accomplished, appealed to be
endeavouring to console her sister!

"Do not weep, my poor Marianita!" said she.  "Perhaps, had it not been
for my culpable weakness, in consenting to defer the fulfilment of my
vow, this sad affair would not have arisen.  Now I am more confident,
that whatever danger he may run, God will restore Rafael safe to me.  Go
and tell him that I wait here to bid him _adios_.  Bring him here, but
stay with us yourself.  Remember that, sister.  Remain here along with
us, for I cannot trust my strength.  I might never allow him to leave
me.  Go, dearest, and return quickly!"

Marianita, covering her face with a kerchief, and endeavouring to dry
her tears, hastened upon her errand.

Gertrudis, left alone, looked towards the two long plaits which she had
placed beside her upon the table.  The lips of Don Rafael had kissed
them but the moment before; and, perhaps, influenced by this sweet
souvenir, the young girl took them up and pressed them repeatedly to her
own.  Then laying them once more upon the table, she knelt down, to seek
in prayer the strength of which she stood in need.

She was still upon her knees when Marianita, followed by Don Rafael,
entered the chamber--that virgin sanctuary of the two sisters, where
man, except their father, had never before penetrated.

A rapid glance told Don Rafael that the sacrifice had been accomplished.
He was already too pale to change countenance.

Gertrudis rose and seated herself upon a _fauteuil_.  Marianita also
took a seat, but in a remote corner of the apartment.  Don Rafael
remained standing.

"Come here, Don Rafael!" said Gertrudis, "come near me.  Kneel before
me.  No!--on one knee!--upon both only before God.  So!  Place your
hands in mine!  Look into my eyes."

Don Rafael obeyed these gentle injunctions without resistance or
reluctance.  What more could he wish, than thus to bend before her whom
he loved?  To press those white delicate fingers between his own strong
hands?  To drink from those swimming eyes as from the fountain of love?
What more could man desire?

"Do you remember what you just now said to me, Don Rafael?  `_Oh!
Gertrudis, there is no love that could repay such a sacrifice!  And
however beautiful she might be, that young girl must appear in the eyes
of her lover as beautiful as an angel_!'  Are you still of the same
opinion?"  And with a sweet smile the questioner looked down in the face
of her lover.  "There, hush!" continued she, placing her little hand
over his lips, "you need not make reply.  Your eyes--you have beautiful
eyes, my Rafael!--your eyes answer in the affirmative."

The simple and tender homage, thus rendered to the personal appearance
of her lover, may appear a little _brave_ in the opinion of those who
pretend to love a man for the qualities of his mind and heart.  I shall
not discuss the point.  I only design to draw a faithful picture, and
exhibit in all its simple exaltation the love of a Creole maiden under
the ardent sky of the tropics.

Reassured that she was still beautiful as ever in the eyes of her lover,
the young girl proceeded--

"Do not tell me, Rafael, that you will ever love me more than you do
now.  It is sweet for me to know that you cannot love me more.  Now!"
she continued with faltering voice--"now we are about to part.  I do not
know--when one loves one always has fear.  Take one of these tresses.  I
have been so happy while decking it with flowers for you.  Take it!
Keep it as a token--a souvenir.  It will remind you, that you should
never cease to love a poor girl, who knew of nothing more precious to
offer to God in exchange for your life.  The other I shall keep myself,
as a talisman.  Oh! it is a fearful thing I am now going to say to you.
If one day you should cease to love me--if I should know this beyond all
doubt--swear to me, Rafael, that, no matter in what place you may be--no
matter at what hour it may reach you--when you receive this tress from
me, that you will instantly come to see me.  This silent messenger will
say to you, `_The woman who sends you this token knows that you no
longer love her; but, despite all, she cannot cease to love you, and she
desires once more, only once more, to see you kneeling before her_'--as
you are now, Don Rafael!"

"I swear it," cried the lover with emphasis.  "I swear it; and though I
were standing in front of my most mortal foe, with my sword raised to
strike him, I should suspend the blow to obey that sacred message!"

"Your oath is registered in Heaven, Don Rafael," said Gertrudis.  "But
now the time presses.  Accept from me this sun-scarf, which I have
embroidered for you.  Each thread of the embroidery will recall a
thought, a prayer, or a sigh, of which you have been the object.  Adieu,
my beloved Rafael!  You must go; your father may stand in need of your
help.  What is a mistress when compared with one's father?"

"It is time," said Don Rafael, suddenly awakening to a sense of his
filial duty, "I shall be gone."

And yet he remained kneeling at the feet of Gertrudis, ever intending to
go, and as often tarrying in his intent, adieu following adieu, like the
eternal waves of the ocean!

"Say to him to go, Marianita," said Gertrudis with a sweet smile, "I
have not the courage to tell him.  One more kiss, Don Rafael, ere we
part! let it be the pledge--"

The ardent pressure of her lover's lips interrupted her speech.  One
last fond embrace--a strange commingling of joy and sorrow--one wildly
spoken "_Adios_!" and Don Rafael rushed from the apartment.

The clattering of hoofs, heard shortly after, told that he was galloping
away from the hacienda.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DUTY VERSUS LOVE.

The last beams of the sun were gilding the summit of the ridge that
bounded the plain of Las Palmas, when Don Rafael Tres-Villas crossed it
on his way to the hacienda Del Valle.  To recover the time he had lost,
he pressed his horse to his utmost speed, and descended the slope on the
opposite side at a gallop.  As the brave steed dashed onward, a hoarse
snorting sound was heard to issue from his nostrils, caused by the
singular operation which the _arriero_ had performed upon him.

On reaching the level of the valley in which stood the hacienda Del
Valle, the horseman drew bridle and listened, he was sufficiently near
the house to have heard any unusual commotion that might be there going
on.  He fully expected to have distinguished the shouts of men engaged
in fight, or the tumultuous murmur of a siege.

No sound, however, reached his ear--not a murmur.  Silence ominous and
profound reigned throughout the valley.

With clouded brow, and heart anxiously beating, the officer continued on
his course.  He had unbuckled his carbine from the saddle, and carried
the piece in his hand ready for use.

The silence continued.  Not a cry awoke the solitude--not the flash of a
fusil lit up the darkness of the twilight.  The sleep of death seemed to
be upon everything.

As already stated, Don Rafael had not visited the hacienda of Del Valle
since he left it when only a child: he therefore knew nothing of the way
that led to it beyond the directions he had received from his late host.

He was beginning to think he had gone astray, when a long wide avenue
opened before him.  This was bordered on each side by a row of tall
trees, of the species _taxodium disticha_--the cypress of America.  He
had been told of this avenue, and that at its extremity stood the
hacienda he was in search of.  The description was minute: he could not
be mistaken.

Heading his steed into the avenue, he spurred forward beneath the sombre
shadow of the trees.  In a rapid gallop he traversed the level road, and
had arrived nearly at its further extremity, when all at once the walls
of the hacienda came in view directly in front of him--a dark mass of
building, that filled up the whole space between the two rows of trees.

The main entrance in the centre appeared to be only half closed, one
wing of the massive gate standing slightly ajar.  But no one came forth
to welcome him!  Not a sound issued from the building.  All was silent
as the tomb!

Still pressing forward, he advanced towards the entrance--determined to
ride in through the open gateway; but, just at that moment, his steed
made a violent bound, and shied to one side.

In the obscurity of the twilight, or rather from the confusion of his
senses, Don Rafael had not observed the object which had frightened his
horse.  It was a dead body lying upon the ground in front of the
gateway.  More horrible still, it was a body wanting the head!

At this frightful spectacle a cry broke from the lips of the officer--a
cry of fearful import.  Rage, despair, all the furious passions that may
wring the heart of man, were expressed in that cry--to which echo was
the only answer.  He had arrived too late.  All was over.  The body was
that of his father!

He needed not to alight and examine it, in order to be convinced of this
terrible fact.  On a level with his horse's head an object appeared
hanging against one of the leaves of the great door.  It was a head--the
head that had belonged to the corpse.  It was hanging from the latch,
suspended by the hair.

Despite the repugnance of his horse to advance, Don Rafael drove the
spur into his flank; and forced him forward until he was himself near
enough to examine the fearful object.  With flashing eyes and swelling
veins, he gazed upon the gory face.  The features were not so much
disfigured, as to hinder him from identifying them.  They were the
features of his father!

The truth was clear.  The Spaniard had been the victim of the
insurgents, who had respected neither his liberal political sentiments,
nor his inoffensive old age.  The authors of the crime had even boasted
of it.  On the gate below were written two names, _Arroyo_--_Antonio
Valdez_.

The officer read them aloud, but with a choking utterance.

For a moment his head fell pensively forward upon his breast.  Then on a
sudden he raised it again--as if in obedience to a secret resolve--
saying as he did so, in a voice husky with emotion--

"Where shall I find the fiends?  Where?  No matter!--find them I shall.
Night or day, no rest for me--no rest for them, till I have hung both
their heads in the place of this one!"

"How now," he continued after a pause, "how can I combat in a cause like
this?  Can a son fight under the same flag with the assassins of his
father?  Never!"

"For Spain, then!" he cried out, after another short moment of silence.
"For Spain shall my sword be drawn!"  And raising his voice into a
louder tone, he pronounced with furious emphasis--

"_Viva Espana!  Mueran a los bandidos_!"  (Spain for ever!  Death to the
brigands!)

Saying this, the dragoon dismounted from his horse, and knelt
reverentially in front of that ghastly image.

"Head of my venerable and beloved father!" said he, "I swear by your
grey hairs, crimsoned with your own blood, to use every effort in my
power, by sword and by fire, to nip in the bud this accursed
insurrection--one of whose first acts has been to rob you of your
innocent life.  May God give me strength to fulfil my vow!"

At that moment a voice from within seemed to whisper in his ear,
repeating the words of his mistress:--

"_May all those who raise an arm in favour of Spain be branded with
infamy and disgrace!  May they find neither a roof to shelter them, nor
a woman to smile upon them!  May the contempt of those they love be the
reward of every traitor to his country_!"

Almost the instant after, another voice replied--"_Do your duty, no
matter what may be the result_."  In presence of the mutilated remains
of his father, the son hearkened only to the latter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moon had been long up before Don Rafael finished the melancholy task
of digging a grave.  In this he respectfully placed the headless corpse,
and laid the head beside it in its proper position.  Then, drawing from
his bosom the long plait of Gertrudis' hair, and taking from his
shoulders the embroidered sun-scarf, with like respectful manner, he
deposited these two love-tokens alongside the honoured remains of his
father.

Convulsed with grief, he threw in the earth, burying in one grave the
dearest _souvenirs_ of his life.

It was not without difficulty that he could withdraw himself from a spot
thus doubly consecrated by filial piety and love; and for a long while
he stood sorrowing over the grave.

In fine, new thoughts coursing through his bosom aroused him to action;
and, leaping into his saddle, he spurred his steed into a gallop, taking
the road that conducted to the capital of Oajaca.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE ILLUSTRIOUS MORELOS.

Little more than twelve months after its first breaking out--that is,
about the close of the year 1811--the Mexican revolution might have been
compared to one of those great fires of the American prairies, whose
destructive range has been checked by the hand of man.  In vain the
flames jet out on all sides, seeking fresh element.  A wide space has
been cleared around them.  Soon the crackling of the large trees, and
the hiss of the burning grass, cease to be heard; and the whole plain
becomes enveloped under a cloud of smoke rising upward from the
blackened ashes.

Such was the fate of the insurrection stirred up by the priest Hidalgo.
From the little hamlet of Delores it had spread like fire over all the
vice-kingdom of New Spain; but very soon the leaders were almost to a
man made captives and shot--the venerable Hidalgo himself undergoing the
same sad fate.  A remnant of the insurgents, pressed on all sides by the
royalist troops under General Calleja, had taken refuge in the little
town of Zitacuaro, where they were commanded by the Mexican general, Don
Ignacio Rayon.  There they had established a _junta_, independent of the
government; and continued to launch forth their proclamations, powerless
as the glow of the prairie fire after its flames have been extinguished.

When such a fire, however, has been the work of men--when kindled by
man's will and for man's purpose--and not the result of accident or
spontaneity, then, indeed, the flames may be expected to burst forth
anew at some other point of the prairie or the forest.

Just so was it with the Mexican revolution.  Another champion of
independence, of origin even more obscure than his predecessors--if that
were possible--soon appeared upon the arena which they had quitted, and
with an _eclat_ likely to eclipse any of those who had preceded him.

This was the curate of Caracuaro, he whom historians designate as "_El
insigne Morelos_" (the illustrious Morelos).  The Mexican writers do not
state in what year Morelos was born.  Judging from the portraits I have
seen of him, and comparing the different dates that have been assigned
to his birth, he should have been about thirty-eight or forty years old,
at the commencement of his career as a revolutionary leader.  His native
place was Talmejo, a small hamlet near the town of Apatzingam, in the
state of Valladolid--now called _Morelia_, after the most illustrious of
its sons.  The only patrimony of the future heir of the Mexican
independence was a small _recua_ of pack-mules, left him by his father,
who was a muleteer.

For a long time the son himself followed this humble and laborious
calling; when, for some reason or other, the idea came into his head to
enter holy orders.  History does not say what was his motive for this
resolution; but certain it is that Morelos proceeded to carry it out
with that determined perseverance which was an essential trait in his
character.

Having sold off his mules, be consecrated his whole time to acquire
those branches of education, rigorously indispensable to the attainment
of his purpose--that is to say, the study of Latin and theology.  The
college of Valladolid was the scene of his student life.

Having gone through the required course, orders were conferred upon him;
but Valladolid offering to him no prospect of advancement, he retired to
the little _pueblo_ of Uruapam, where for a time he subsisted upon the
scanty means supplied by giving lessons in Latin.

About this time the curacy of Caracuaro became vacant.  Caracuaro is a
village as unhealthy as poor, where no one could be supposed to reside
from choice; and yet Morelos, lacking powerful friends, had great
difficulty in getting appointed to the living.

In this miserable place had he resided in a state of obscure poverty, up
to that hour, when, accidentally introduced to the reader, at the
hacienda Las Palmas.  Under the pretence of visiting the Bishop of
Oajaca, but in reality for the purpose of fomenting the insurrection,
Morelos had travelled through the province of that name; and at the time
of his visit to Las Palmas, he was on his way to offer his services to
Hidalgo, as chaplain of the insurgent army.  The result of that
application was, that instead of a chaplaincy to his army, Hidalgo
bestowed upon the _cura_ of Caracuaro, a commission to capture the
fortified seaport of Acapulco.  It was in reality rather as a jest, and
to disembarrass himself of the importunities of Morelos, that Hidalgo
bestowed this singular and important commission.  How much Morelos
merited the honour will appear in the sequel.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A COURSE OF STUDY INTERRUPTED.

In the early part of January, 1812--about fifteen months after the
scenes detailed as occurring near the hacienda Las Palmas--two men might
have been seen face to face--one seated behind a rude deal table covered
with charts and letters--the other standing in front, hat in hand.

This tableau was within a tent--the least ragged and largest, among a
number of others that formed an encampment on the banks of the river
Sabana, at a short distance from the port of Acapulco.

The person seated wore upon his head a checked cotton kerchief while his
shoulders were covered with a _jaqueta_ of white linen.  It would have
been difficult for any one not knowing him, to recognise in this
plainly-dressed individual the commander-in-chief of the insurgent army
encamped around, and still more difficult perhaps to have believed that
he was the _ci-devant_ "cura" of Caracuaro, Don Jose Maria Morelos y
Pavon.  And yet it was he.

Yes, the humble curate had raised the standard of independence in the
southern provinces; had long been carrying it with success; and at this
moment he was commander-in-chief of the insurgent forces besieging
Acapulco--that very town he had been ironically empowered to take.

But notwithstanding the eccentric changes which civil war produces in
the situations of men, the reader cannot be otherwise than greatly
astonished when told, that the gentleman who stood in front of Morelos,
encased in the somewhat elegant uniform of a lieutenant of cavalry, was
the _ci-devant_ student of theology--Don Cornelio Lantejas.

By what magical interference had the timid student of theology been
transformed into an officer of dragoons--in the army of the insurgents,
too, towards whose cause he had shown himself but indifferently
affected?

To explain this unexpected metamorphosis, it will be necessary to enter
into some details, continuing the history of the student from the time
when we left him on a fevered couch in the hacienda of Las Palmas, till
that hour when we find him in the marquee of the insurgent general.

It may be stated, in advance, however, that the extraordinary
transformation which we have noticed, was entirely owing to a new act of
parsimonious economy upon the part of Don Cornelio's father, conducting
him into a series of perilous mishaps and desperate dangers, to which
his adventure with the jaguars and rattlesnakes, while suspended between
the two tamarinds, was nothing more, according to the simile of Sancho
Panza, than "_tortus y pan pintado_" (couleur de rose).  To proceed,
then, with the promised details.

On recovering from his temporary illness, the student travelled on to
the dwelling of his uncle.  He had been mounted in a more becoming
manner, on a fine young horse, which Don Mariano--who owned some
thousands of the like--had presented to him.

Having sounded the dispositions of the uncle, according to instructions,
he made all haste in returning to his father's house; which he reached
in less than half the time he had employed upon his previous journey.
Too soon, perhaps; for, had he been delayed, as before, two months upon
the route, he might have escaped the series of frightful perils through
which he was afterwards compelled to pass.

Before setting out on his mission to the bachelor uncle, he had finished
his preliminary studies for the ecclesiastical calling; and it only
remained for him to return to the college, and present his thesis before
the faculty of examiners, to take out his orders.  For this purpose it
was necessary he should repair to Valladolid, where the university was.
To make the journey, his father now provided him with an old she-mule of
a most unamiable disposition, which he had obtained in exchange for the
young horse--the gift of Don Mariano--with a goodly number of dollars in
"boot."

Thus mounted, the student started on his new journey--carrying with him
the paternal blessing, and a long chapter of instructions, as to how he
should manage his mule, and keep himself clear of all meddling with
insurrectionary matters.

After journeying for two days along the route to Valladolid, he had
arrived within sight of the straggling huts that compose the little
_pueblita_ of Caracuaro, when three horsemen appeared upon the road in
front, and riding towards him.

The student was at the moment occupied in passing through his mind the
rudiments of his theological education--which he had gained from a crowd
of books; and which, with some uneasiness, he found had been well nigh
driven out of his head by his late adventures in the South.

Just at that moment, when he was paying not the slightest attention to
his mule, the skittish animal, frightened by the approach of the
horsemen, threw up her hind quarters, and pitched her rider upon the
road.  As the latter fell, his head came in contact with a large stone,
and with such violence as to deprive him of consciousness.

On coming to his senses again, he found himself seated against the bank
of the causeway, his head badly bruised, and above all without his mule.
The animal, profiting by the opportunity when the three horsemen had
alighted to look after her spilt rider, had headed about, and taken the
back track at full gallop!

Of the three horsemen, one appeared to be the master, and the other two
his attendants.

"My son!" said the first, addressing the student, "your situation,
without being dangerous, is nevertheless sufficiently serious.  You will
stand in need of that which you cannot obtain in the poor village of
Caracuaro, which is, moreover, nearly two leagues distant.  The best
thing you can do is to mount behind one of my attendants, and ride back
with us to the hacienda of San Diego, which we shall reach in an hour.
Your mule has taken that direction; and I shall have her caught for you
by the _vaqueros_ of the hacienda.  You will need a day or two of
repose, which you can there obtain.  Afterwards you can resume your
route.  Where were you going?"

"To Valladolid," replied Lantejas.  "I was on my way to the University,
to enter into holy orders."

"Indeed! then we are of the same robe," rejoined the horseman with a
smile.  "I myself am the unworthy curate of Caracuaro--Don Jose Maria
Morelos--a name, I presume, you have never heard before."

In truth the afterwards illustrious Morelos was at this time entirely
unknown to fame, and of course Don Cornelio had never heard his name.

The student was no little astonished at the appearance of the man who
had thus announced himself as the _cura_ of Caracuaro.  For one of the
clerical calling his costume was altogether singular--to say nothing of
its being rather shabby.  A double-barrelled gun, with one barrel
broken, hung from his saddle-bow, and an old rusty sabre in a common
leathern scabbard dangled against his horse's side.

The two domestics were still more plainly attired; and each carried in
his hand a huge brass blunderbuss!

"And you, Senor padre?" inquired the student in turn.  "Where are you
going, may I ask?"

"I?  Well," replied the _cura_, smiling as he spoke, "just as I have
told you--to the hacienda of San Diego.  After that to Acapulco--to
capture the town and citadel in obedience to an order I have received."

Such were at this time the equipment and warlike resources of the
general, whose name afterwards obtained such heroic renown!

His response caused the candidate for holy orders to open his eyes to
the widest.  He fancied that in the confusion of his head he had not
clearly comprehended the meaning of the _cura's_ speech; and he
preferred this fancy to the alternative of supposing that the worthy
priest of Caracuaro was himself suffering from mental aberration.

"What! you an insurgent?" inquired Lantejas, not without some
apprehension.

"Very true.  I am, and have been for a long time."

As neither upon the head of the _cura_, nor yet of his two servants,
there appeared those diabolical ornaments which had been promised them
by the Lord Bishop of Oajaca, Don Cornelio began to think that perhaps
all insurgents were not delivered over to the devil; and, as there was
no alternative, he accepted the offer made to him, and mounted behind
one of the attendants.  He had made up his mind, however, not to
accompany the curate of Caracuaro further than the hacienda of San
Diego, and to make as short a stay as possible in such suspicious
company.  But he had scarcely completed this satisfactory arrangement
with his conscience, when the burning rays of the sun shining down upon
his head, caused a ferment in his brain of so strange a character--that
not only did the idea of this insurrection, excited by priests, appear
right and natural, but he commenced chanting at the top of his voice a
sort of improvised war song, in which the King of Spain was mentioned in
no very eulogistic terms!

From that time, till his arrival at the hacienda of San Diego, the
student was altogether unconscious of what passed--and for several days
after, during which he remained under the influence of a burning fever.
He had only a vague remembrance of ugly dreams, in which he appeared
constantly surrounded by armed men, and as if he was tossing about on a
stormy sea!

At length his consciousness returned, and on looking around he was
astonished to find himself in a small and poorly furnished chamber.  He
now remembered his tumble from the mule, and his encounter with the
_cura_ of Caracuaro.  Finally, feeling himself strong enough to rise
from his couch, he got up, and staggered towards the window--for the
purpose of ascertaining the nature of a noisy tumult that was heard
outside.

The courtyard under the window was filled with armed men--some afoot,
others on horseback.  Lances with gay pennons, sabres, guns, and other
weapons were seen on all sides, glancing under the sunbeams.  The horses
were rearing and neighing--the men talking loudly--in short, the scene
resembled the temporary halt of a _corps d'armee_.

His weakness soon compelled the invalid to return to his couch, where he
lay awaiting impatiently--the more so that he was half-famished with
hunger--the coming of some one who could give him an explanation of the
strange circumstances by which he was surrounded.

Shortly after, a man entered the chamber, whom the student recognised as
one of the attendants of the _cura_ of Caracuaro.  This man had come, on
the part of his master, to inquire, the state of the invalid's health.

"Where am I, friend? tell me that," said Lantejas, after having answered
the inquiries of the servant.

"At the hacienda of San Luis."

The student summoned all his recollections; but these only carried him
as far as the hacienda of San Diego.

"You must be mistaken?" said he.  "It is the hacienda of San Diego, is
it not?"

"Oh, no," replied the domestic.  "We left San Diego yesterday; we were
no longer safe there.  What folly of you, senor, to act as you did!  No
matter how good a patriot one may be, it's not necessary to proclaim it
from the housetops."

"I do not comprehend you, my good friend," said Lantejas.  "Perhaps it
is the fever that is still troubling my head."

"What I have said is clear enough," rejoined the domestic.  "We were
obliged to quit San Diego, where the royalist troops would have arrested
us--on account of the loud declaration of his political opinions made by
a certain Don Cornelio Lantejas."

"Cornelio Lantejas!" cried the student, in a tone of anguish, "why
that's myself!"

"_Por Dios_!  I well know that.  Your honour took good care everybody
should know your name: since out of the window of the hacienda you
shouted with all your voice--proclaiming my master Generalissimo of all
the insurgent forces; and we had the greatest difficulty to hinder you
from marching upon Madrid."

"Madrid--in Spain?"

"Bah! two hundred leagues of sea was nothing to you to traverse.  `_It
is I_!' you cried, `_I, Cornelio Lantejas, who take upon me to strike
down the tyrant_!'  In fine, we were obliged to decamp, bringing you
with us in a litter--for my master would not abandon so zealous a
partisan, who had compromised himself, moreover, in the good cause.
Well, we have arrived here at San Luis; where, thanks to a strong body
of men who have joined us, you may have an opportunity of proclaiming
your patriotism as loudly as you please.  For yourself, it can do no
further harm, since, no doubt, there is a price placed upon your head
before this time."

The student listened with horror, and completely stupefied, to this
account of his actions.

"And now, cavallero," continued the domestic, "my master, whom you were
the first to proclaim Generalissimo, has not permitted you to go without
your reward.  He has appointed you an _alferez_, and named you to be his
aide-de-camp.  You will find your commission under the pillow."

Saying this, the servant left the room, leaving the unhappy _alferez_
crushed beneath the weight of the astounding disclosures he had made to
him.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

A SOLDIER AGAINST HIS WILL.

As soon as the man had gone out of the apartment the student looked
under his pillow.  Sure enough there lay a document, which proved upon
examination to be an ensign's commission, granted to Don Cornelio
Lantejas, and signed by the commander-in-chief of the insurgent army--
Don Jose Maria Morelos y Pavon.

An overwhelming anguish seized the spirit of the student; and once more
he sprang from his couch and rushed towards the window.  This time it
was with the design of disavowing all participation in the
insurrection--like the early Christians, who in the midst of an
idolatrous host of persecutors still continued to avow their faith in
God.

But the evil genius of Don Cornelio was yet by his side; and, at the
moment when he was about opening his lips to deny all complicity with
the enemies of Spain, his senses again gave way; and, without knowing
what came out of his mouth, he cried in a loud voice, "_Viva Mexico,
muera el tyran_!"  Then, overcome by the effort, he staggered back to
his couch.

This time his syncope was of short duration.  On recovering his senses,
he perceived that his bed was surrounded by armed men; who, judging from
their looks and speeches, were examining him with more than ordinary
interest.  Among others he recognised the voice of Morelos himself!

"How can one explain this sudden sympathy with our cause?"  Morelos was
inquiring.  "It seems as if the young man was under the hallucination of
his fever?"

"Something more than that, General," suggested an officer of the name of
Valdovinos.  "If the most ardent patriotism was not boiling at the
bottom, the foam would not thus rise to the surface."

"No matter!" rejoined Morelos, "but I cannot think that my ascendancy--"

A new-comer interrupted the speech of the _cura_ of Caracuaro, just as
Lantejas had got his eyes fairly open.  This was a man of robust and
vigorous appearance, with a noble martial air, and a bold open
countenance.  His large beard, and hair slightly grizzled, betrayed his
age to be somewhere near fifty.

"And why not, General?" said he, taking hold of the hand which Morelos
stretched out to him.  "Why should not this brave young man have
submitted to your ascendancy at first sight, just as I have done?  It is
only this morning I have seen you for the first time, and yet you have
no follower more devoted than myself.  I shall answer for this young
stranger.  He is one of us, beyond doubt."

As the new-comer pronounced these words, he cast upon Lantejas a glance
so winning and at the same time so severe, that it completely subjugated
the spirit of the student with a sort of invincible charm, and hindered
him from making any attempt to contradict the engagement which was thus
made in his name.  On the contrary, he rather confirmed it with an
involuntary gesture, which he could not restrain himself from making.

The man who had thus intervened was he whom historians delight to call
_the grand, the terrible, the invincible Hermenegildo Galeana_--the
Murat of the Mexican revolution; he who afterwards, in more than a
hundred actions, was seen to place his lance in rest, and dash into the
thickest of the enemy's lines, like a god of battles, vociferating his
favourite war-cry, _Aqui esta Galeana_!  (Here comes Galeana!)  A
redoubtable enemy--a friend tender and devoted--such was Don
Hermenegildo Galeana.

More fortunate than Murat, Galeana met his death on the battle-field, in
the midst of hosts slain by his own hand.  Still more fortunate than the
French warrior, he died faithful to the principles as well as to the inn
to whom he had consecrated his life.

"Well--however the thing may be," said Valdovinos, pursuing the subject
of Don Cornelio's dubious patriotism, "I know this, that General Calleja
has set a price upon this young man's head as well as on our own."

"Come, _Alferez_ Don Cornelio!" added Galeana, "get ready to start in
the morning; and show yourself worthy of the commission that has been
bestowed upon you.  You will soon find opportunity, I promise you."

At that moment the report of a cannon reverberated under the window, to
the astonishment of Morelos himself: who had not yet been made aware
that he had a piece of artillery under his orders.

"Senor General," said Galeana, explaining the presence of the gun, "that
cannon is part of the patrimonial inheritance of our family.  When a
Galeana is born or one dies, it serves to signalise our joy or our
sorrow.  To-day we consecrate it to the service of the whole Mexican
family.  It is yours, as our swords and lives are yours."

As Galeana finished speaking, he advanced towards the window; and in
that formidable voice which often struck terror into the hearts of the
Spaniards, he cried out--"_Viva el General Morelos_!"

Responsive _vivas_ rose up from the court below, mingled with the
clanking of sabres, as they leaped forth from their scabbards, and the
crashing jar of fusils dashed heavily against the pavement; while the
horses, catching up the general enthusiasm, sent forth a loud, wild
neighing.

In another instant the chamber was emptied of its guests.  Morelos had
gone down into the courtyard to press the hands of his new adherents,
and the other officers had followed him.

Far from partaking of the universal warlike ardour, the student was
suffering at the moment the most terrible anguish of heart.  The thought
of his theological studies being thus interrupted, in order that he
might figure in the middle of an insurgent camp, was rendering him
completely miserable; but still more the unpleasant information he had
just received, that he had been declared a rebel, and that a price was
set upon his head.  All this, too, had been brought about by the
shameful stinginess of his father, in providing him with that sorry
mule--just as his former misfortunes had arisen, from his having no
better horse than the old steed of the _picador_.

It is scarce necessary to say, that under these circumstances he passed
a wretched night of it, and that his dreams were a continued series of
horrid visions.  He fancied himself engaged in numerous sanguinary
battles: and that the insurgent army in which he was enrolled had
suddenly changed into a legion of demons, with horns and hoofs!

On waking with the first dawn of day, his dreams, instead of being
terminated, appeared to be continued.  He heard a noisy tumult in the
court below; and rising far above the general clamour could be
distinguished a strange trumpet-like sound, now shrill, now hoarsely
bellowing--as if the fiend himself was sounding the signal of "Boots and
Saddles" to his infernal legions.  Bathed in a cold sweat, he started up
from his couch; and approaching the window, cast a glance into the
courtyard.  As before, he saw that it was crowded with armed men in
every kind of equipment.  The cannon was there, standing in the middle
of the court.  A negro was reloading it.  It was not without surprise
that Don Cornelio recognised in the negro the same man who, along with
the tiger-hunter, had conducted him to the hacienda of Las Palmas.

Yes, the artillerist was no other than Clara; who was thus improvised as
full commander of the solitary piece of cannon--the first which Morelos
had at his disposal, and which, under the name of _El Nino_, became
afterwards so celebrated in the history of the Mexican revolution.  The
student also saw the instrument that had been bellowing forth those
infernal tones, which he had been fancying he had heard somewhere
before.  His fancy was not at fault, as he now ascertained--on seeing
near the cannon a tall Indian, who was holding to his lips an immense
sea-shell, from which proceeded the mysterious sounds.  It was Costal
and his conch, at that moment performing the _metier_ of first bugler in
the army of Morelos.  Morelos himself, surrounded by a staff of
officers, stood at one end of the spacious courtyard, in the act of
distributing fusils to the newly enrolled troops.

Lantejas perceived the necessity of making ready for the departure which
was evidently about to take place; and having dressed himself, he
descended to the court and mingled among the other officers--beyond
doubt the most lugubrious ensign in all the insurgent army.

The first person he encountered was the terrible Galeana; and he
trembled lest the piercing glance of the warrior should detect under the
lion's skin the heart of the hare.

Luckily for him, however, Galeana had at that moment something else to
think of, than to scrutinise the thoughts of an obscure ensign; and all
the rest were deceived by the martial air which he had done his best to
assume.

Morelos, as stated, was at the moment making a distribution of fusils, a
large quantity of which appeared by his side piled along the pavement of
the courtyard.

It is necessary to explain how these arms had fallen so appropriately
into the hands of the insurgent general--which they had done by a
circumstance that might appear almost providential.

While retiring from the hacienda of San Luis, on account of the insane
demonstrations of the student, and with the latter transported in a
litter, Morelos encountered near San Diego the insurgent leader, Don
Rafael Valdovinos.  The latter, already at the head of a small
_guerilla_ was just on his way to join the _cura_ of Caracuaro.

Having received information that the Spanish Government had forwarded a
large number of fusils to the neighbouring village of Petitlan, for the
purpose of equipping a corps of militia belonging to that place, the
insurgent general thought that these guns might serve better in the
hands of his own followers; and with the band of Valdovinos he made a
rapid march upon Petitlan, and succeeded in capturing them.

The rumour of this dashing action had reached San Diego before Morelos
himself; and, shortly after his arrival there, his troops were further
strengthened by the followers of Galeana--who stood in need of this
well-timed supply of weapons.

Almost on the instant that Lantejas presented himself in the courtyard,
the cannon, El Nino, thundered forth another discharge.  It was the
signal of departure; and the little army, putting itself in motion,
marched off from the hacienda of San Diego--the new _alferez_ taking his
place with the rest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morelos was shortly after joined by other partisans, till his troop had
grown into a small army; and, after two months of long marches, and
sharp skirmishes with the Spanish troops--out of which he always issued
victorious--the insurgent general found himself in front of the town of
Acapulco, on the Pacific Ocean.  He was now besieging that place--which
he had been ironically commanded to take--and with a fair prospect of
obtaining its speedy surrender.

As for the student of theology, two months' campaigning had somewhat
_soldierised_ him.  He had obtained a great reputation for courage;
although his heart in moments of danger had often been upon the point of
failing him.

On the first occasion that he was under fire, he was by the side of Don
Hermenegildo Galeana, who had acquired a complete ascendancy over him,
and whose terrible glances he more dreaded than even the presence of the
enemy.  Don Hermenegildo of course fought in the foremost rank; where,
with his lance and long sabre, he was accustomed to open a wide circle
around his horse, that no enemy dared to intrude upon, and which, for
the sword of the trembling ensign, left absolutely nothing to do.
Lantejas having learnt, in the first encounter, the advantage of this
position, ever afterwards took care to keep well up with the redoubtable
Don Hermenegildo.

There was another man, who, from habit, always fought alongside Galeana,
and who scarce yielded to the latter either in courage or dexterity.
This was Costal, the Zapoteque; and protected by these two, as by a pair
of guardian angels, Lantejas scarce ran any danger in the hottest fight;
while at the same time he was constantly gaining fresh laurels by
keeping the position.

For all this, his glory sat upon him like a burden too heavy for his
back, and one that he was not able to cast from his shoulders.  To
desert from the insurgent army was impossible: a price was set upon his
head.  Besides, Morelos had given to that corner of the Sabana river
occupied by his camp the quaint title of _Paso de la eternidad_ (the
road to eternity)--to signify that, whoever should attempt either to
abandon the entrenchments, or make an attack upon them, would be forced
to embark upon that long journey.

Lantejas had already written to his father, informing him of all that
had happened; how--thanks to the valuable roadster with which his parent
had provided him--he was now sustaining his thesis with the sword; and
that, instead of having only his hair shorn, he was more likely to lose
his head.

To these letters--for there had been several written by him--he had at
length received a response.  This, after complimenting him upon the
valorous deeds he had achieved--and which his worthy parent had hardly
expected to hear of--ended by informing him that the latter had obtained
from the Viceroy a promise of pardon for him, on the condition of his
forsaking the insurgent cause, and throwing the weight of his sword into
that of Spain.

This condition was hardly to the taste of Lantejas.  In the ranks of the
Spanish army he might seek in vain for two such protectors as he now had
by his side.  Moreover, were he to join the Spaniards, he might some
day, as an enemy, be brought face to face with the formidable Galeana!
The very thought of such a contingency was enough to make his hair stand
on end!

It was some time before he could bring himself to any definite
resolution as to what he should do.  At length, however, he resolved
upon a course of action.  Instead of attempting to run away from the
insurgent ranks, he determined to say nothing to the General about the
contents of his father's letter, but to obtain from him, if possible, a
short leave of absence: which it was his intention should be prolonged
to an indefinite period.

It was for this purpose he had entered the General's tent, and was now
standing, hat in hand, in front of the Commander-in-Chief of the
besieging army.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

PEPE GAGO.

Besides his military chapeau, the lieutenant of cavalry held in his hand
a piece of folded paper; and although he had already stated his errand,
his countenance exhibited considerable embarrassment.

"What, leave of absence?" said the General, smiling benignantly upon his
aide-de-camp.  "You, friend Lantejas--you think of quitting us? and at
such a time, too, when all is going well!"

"It is necessity, General, that drives me to make the application.
There are family affairs that require me at home, and--" Lantejas here
paused, as if inwardly ashamed of the deceit he was practising.
"Besides, General, to say the truth, this soldier's life is not suited
to me, nor I to it.  I was born to be a priest, and would greatly desire
to complete my theological studies, and enter upon that career to which
my inclinations lead me.  Now that success has crowned your army, you
will no longer require me?"

"_Vita Cristo_!" exclaimed Morelos, "not require you!  Ah, friend
Lantejas, you are too valiant a soldier of the Church militant to be
spared so easily as that.  Like that faithful adherent of some French
king, whose name I do not now remember, you would be the very man to
wish yourself hanged if Acapulco were taken without you.  I must refuse
your application, then, although I see it vexes you.  I refuse it,
because I am too well satisfied with your services to let you go.  You
were my first follower; and do you know what people say, that the three
bravest men in our little army are Don Hermenegildo Galeana, Manuel
Costal, and yourself?  And what at this moment still more endears you to
me is, that you propose leaving me just as fortune is showering her
favours upon me; whereas, with most other friends, the reverse is
usually what may be expected.  I have just heard that the Captain Don
Francisco Gonzales has been killed in the affair of Tonaltepec.  You
will replace him in the command of his company--Now?  _Captain_
Lantejas?"

The new captain bowed his thanks in silence, and was about to retire.

"Do not go yet!" commanded the General; "I have something more to say to
you.  You have, I believe, some relative or relatives living near
Tehuantepec.  Well, I have a commission for some one to that part of the
country, and I require a man of courage and prudence to execute it.  I
have thought of sending _you_, as soon as we have taken Acapulco--which
I trust will be in a very short time."

Lantejas was about to open his mouth, and inquire the nature of this
confidential mission, when he was interrupted by the entrance of two men
into the tent.  One of these was Costal the Indian; the other was a
stranger both to Morelos and the captain.  The latter was again about to
retire, when Morelos signed him to stay.

"There's the General," said Costal, pointing out the commander-in-chief
to the man who accompanied him, and who was in the costume of a Spanish
officer.

The latter regarded for an instant, and not without surprise, the
simply-clad individual whose name at that moment had become so widely
renowned.  Although evidently a person of imperturbable coolness, the
stranger said nothing, leaving it to the General to open the
conversation.

"Who are you, my friend, and what do you want?" inquired Morelos.

"To speak a word in confidence with you," replied the man.  "This
individual," continued he, pointing to Costal, "whom I encountered
philosophising upon the sea-beach, has promised me that his word would
enable me to obtain an interview with your Excellency, and safe conduct
through your camp.  On this promise I have followed him."

"Costal," said the General, "was my first bugler, and with his great
conch sounded the signals to less than twenty horsemen, who at that time
composed my whole army.  I confirm the parole he has given you.  Speak
freely."

"With your Excellency's permission, then, my name is Pepe Gago.  I am a
Gallician, an officer of artillery, and command a battery in the castle
of Acapulco--which your Excellency, if I am not mistaken, desires to
capture."

"It is a pleasure which I intend affording myself one of these days."

"Perhaps your Excellency is confounding the castle with the town?  The
latter you can take whenever it pleases you."

"I know that."

"But you would not be able to hold it, so long as we are masters of the
citadel."

"I know that also."

"Ah, then, your Excellency, we are likely to understand one another."

"It is just for that reason that I decline taking the town till I have
first captured the castle."

"Now I think we are still nearer comprehending each other: since it is
just that which you wish to have, that I come to offer you.  I will not
say to _sell_: for my price will be so moderate that it will deserve
rather to be called a gift I am making you.  _Apropos_, however, of the
price--is your Excellency in funds?"

"Well, you have heard, no doubt, that I have just captured from the
Spanish general, Paris, eleven hundred fusils, five pieces of cannon--to
say nothing of the eight hundred prisoners we have made--and ten
thousand dollars in specie.  That is about ten times the price of a
fortress, which in a short time I may have for nothing."

"Be not so sure of that, your Excellency.  We have no scarcity of
provisions.  The Isle of Roqueta--"

"I shall capture that also."

"Serves us," continued the Spaniard, without noticing the interruption,
"as a port of supply, by which the ships can always throw provisions
into the castle.  But not to dispute the point, am I to understand that
your Excellency fixes the price at a thousand dollars?  I agree to that
sum.  You say you have captured ten thousand.  Unfortunately for me, I
have the opportunity of selling the fortress only once."

"A thousand dollars down, do you mean?" inquired the General.

"Oh, no," replied the artilleryman; "what security would you have of my
keeping my word?  Five hundred, cash down, and the balance when the
castle is delivered up to you."

"Agreed!  And now, Senor Pepe Gago, what are your means for bringing
about the surrender?"

"I shall have the command of the portcullis guard from two till five
to-morrow morning.  A lantern hung up on the bridge of Hornos to advise
me of your approach--a password between us--and your presence.  I
presume your Excellency will not yield to any one the taking of the
place?"

"I shall be there in person," replied Morelos.  "With regard to the
password, here it is."

The General handed to the Gallician a scrap of paper, on which he had
written two words, which neither Costal nor Lantejas were near enough to
read.

A somewhat prolonged conversation was now commenced between Morelos and
Pepe Gago, but carried on in a tone so low that the others did not
understand it import.  At length the Spaniard was about to take his
departure, when Costal, advancing towards him, laid his hand firmly on
his shoulder.

"Listen to me, Pepe Gago!" said he to the Gallician in a serious voice.
"It is I who am responsible for you here; but I swear by the bones of
the Caciques of Tehuantepec--from whom I have the undoubted honour of
being descended--if you play traitor in this affair, look out for
Costal, the Zapoteque.  Though you may dive like the sharks to the
bottom of the ocean, or like the jaguars hide yourself in the thickest
jungles of the forest, you shall not escape, any more than shark or
jaguar, from my carbine or my knife.  I have said it."

The Spaniard again repeated his declarations of good faith, and retired
from the tent under the safe conduct of Costal.

"By-and-by," said the General to Lantejas when the others had gone, "I
shall speak to you of the mission I intend sending you upon.  Meanwhile,
go and get some rest, as I shall want you at an early hour in the
morning.  At four o'clock I shall myself take a party of men up to the
castle.  As it is best that no one should know our intention, you and
Costal must hang a lantern on the bridge of Hornos.  That is to be the
signal for our approach to the gate."

Saying this, the commander-in-chief dismissed his captain--who strode
forth out of the marquee, with no very sanguine anticipations of
obtaining a tranquil night's rest.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

THE SECRET SIGNAL.

The fortress castle of Acapulco stands at some little distance from the
town, commanding the latter.  It is built upon the summit of the cliffs
that inclose the Acapulco Bay--against whose base the waves of the South
Sea are continually breaking.  On each side of the fortress a deep
ravine or barranca pierces the precipice down to the depths of the
ocean--so that the castle stands upon a sort of island promontory or
_voladero_.  The cliff upon the right flank of the castle is called the
_Voladero de los Hornos_; and over the ravine between it and the citadel
stretches a narrow bridge called _El Puento de los Hornos_.

Early in the following morning--while the insurgent camp was in
some confusion consequent upon an unexpected order from the
commander-in-chief; and while a strong detachment was getting under
arms, not knowing where they were to be conducted--Captain Don Cornelio
Lantejas and Costal the Indian were seen gliding silently along the
sea-beach in the direction of the fortress.

The night was still dark--for it wanted yet two hours to sunrise--and
both the town and castle were wrapped in the most profound slumber.  The
only sounds heard distinctly were the continuous murmuring of the waves
as they broke along the beach.

The two men, after cautiously advancing towards the black cliff, on
which stood the fortress, commenced climbing upward.  It was not without
much exertion, and danger too, that they at length succeeded in
ascending to the bridge of Los Hornos.

The Indian now struck a light; and kindling a resin candle, which he
carried inside his lantern, he hung the latter to a post that stood near
the middle of the bridge, fixing it in such a manner that the light
should shine in the direction of the fortress.  It was the signal agreed
upon by the Gallician; and as their part of the performance was now
over, the two men sat down to await the attack which was soon to be made
by the General in person.

The position which they occupied commanded an extensive view--taking in
the town, the castle, and the ocean.  Of the three, the last-mentioned
alone gave out any sound; and Lantejas, after a time, ceased watching
the two former, and involuntarily bent his regards upon the sea.

Costal was also turning his eyes upon the great deep, in which
everything might also have appeared asleep, but that at intervals a
narrow line of light might be seen gleaming along the black surface of
the water.

"There's a storm in the air," muttered Costal to his companion in a
solemn tone of voice.  "See, how the sharks are shining in the roadway!"

As Costal spoke, half-a-dozen of these voracious creatures, in search of
prey, were seen quartering the waters of the bay--crossing each other's
course, and circling around, like fireflies over the surface of a
savanna.

"What think you," continued the _ci-devant tigrero_, "would become of
the man who should chance to fall overboard among those silent swimmers?
Many a time, for all that, have I braved that same danger--in the days
when I followed pearl-diving for my profession."

Don Cornelio made no reply, but the thought of being among the sharks at
that moment sent a shivering through his frame.

"I was in no danger whatever," continued the Indian.  "Neither the
sharks nor the tigers--which I afterwards also hunted as a profession--
could prevail against one destined to live as long as the ravens.  Soon
I shall be half-a-century old; and then _quien sabe_?  At present,
perhaps, no one here except myself could swim in the midst of those
carnivorous creatures without the danger of certain death.  _I_ could do
it without the slightest risk."

"Is that the secret of your courage, Costal--of which you give so many
proofs?"

"Yes, and no," replied the Indian.  "Danger attracts me, as your body
would attract the sharks.  It is an instinct which I follow--not a
bravado.  Another reason, perhaps, gives me courage.  I seek to avenge
in Spanish blood the assassination of my forefathers.  What care I for
the political emancipation of you Creoles?  But it is not of this I wish
to speak now.  Look yonder!  Do you see anything down there?"

A strange object just then came under the eyes of Lantejas, which caused
him to make a movement of superstitious terror.  Costal only smiled,
while gazing calmly upon the object.

A dark human-like form, with a sort of tufted hair hanging loosely over
its head, had emerged from the water, and was supporting itself by his
two arms upon the beach--as if resting there like some bather fatigued
with swimming.

"What is it?" inquired Lantejas in a troubled tone--the more so that a
plaintive whine seemed to proceed from this singular object, which, with
somewhat of the form of a woman, had nothing human in its voice.

"A _manatee_," responded Costal; "an amphibious creature we call
_pesca-mujer_--that is, half-fish, half-woman.  Dare you stand face to
face with a creature still more human-like in form--ah! more perfect
than any human creature?"

"What do you mean?" inquired Lantejas.

"Senor Captain Don Cornelio," continued the Indian, "you who are so
brave in the face of the enemy--"

"Hum!" interrupted Lantejas with an embarrassed air, "the bravest has
his moments of weakness, do you see?"

An avowal of his want of courage--though on certain occasions the
ex-student of theology was not lacking this quality--was upon the tongue
of Lantejas, when Costal interrupted him with a rejoinder--

"Yes, yes.  You are like Clara--although a little braver than he, since
he has not had such an opportunity to cultivate an acquaintance with the
tigers, as you.  Well, then, if you were to see down on the beach
yonder, in place of the manatee, a beautiful creature rise up out of the
deep--a beautiful woman with dishevelled locks--her long hair dripping
and shining with the water, and she singing as she rose to the surface;
and were you to know that this woman, although visible to your eyes, was
only a spirit, only of air--what would you do?"

"A very simple thing," answered the ex-student, "I should feel terribly
afraid."

"Ah! then I have nothing more to say to you," replied the Indian, with
an air of disappointment.  "For a certain object I had in view, I was in
search of a comrade, one with more courage than Clara.  I must content
myself with the negro.  I expected that you--never mind--we need not
talk any more about the matter."

The Indian did not add a single word; and the officer, whose fears were
excited by the half-confidences of his companion, was silent also.  Both
awaiting to hear the sounds of the attack upon the castle, continued to
gaze upon the vast mysterious ocean, in which the luminous tracks of the
sharks and the dark body of the manatee alone animated its profound
solitude.

They were thus seated in silence, with their eyes wandering over the
dark blue surface of the water, when all at once the manatee was heard
to plunge under the waves, uttering a melancholy cry as it went down.
Just then the loud booming of a cannon drowned the voice of the
amphibious creature.

"The castle is taken!" cried Lantejas.

"No," replied Costal, "on the contrary, Pepe Gago has betrayed us.  I
fear our General has been tricked."

Several discharges of cannon followed on the instant, confirming
Costal's surmise; and the two men, hastening to leave their dangerous
post by the bridge of Hornos, retreated towards a narrow defile called
the _Ojo de Agua_.  There they saw the Mexican detachment scattered, and
in full retreat towards their encampment.  A man standing in the middle
of the path was trying to intercept their flight.

"Cowards!" cried he, "will you pass over the body of your general?"

Many halted, and, returning, made an attack upon the works of the
citadel.  But it was to no purpose: the gate was too well defended; and
a discharge of grape had the effect not only of terrifying the
assailants, but also killed several of their number.

Morelos now saw that he had been betrayed, and caused the retreat to be
sounded.  It was the first check he had experienced during a victorious
career of months.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day had not yet dawned, when two men were seen advancing from the
direction of the insurgent camp toward the bridge of Los Hornos.  One of
these men was Costal, but this time he was accompanied by Clara the
negro.  The resin candle still burned within the lantern, but giving out
a more feeble light, as the first streaks of day began to succeed to the
darkness of night.

"You see that lantern, Clara?" said Costal, pointing out the glimmering
light to his companion.  "You know what it was hung there for: since I
have just told you.  But you haven't yet heard the vow I have taken
against the traitor who has so played with us.  I shall tell you now."

And Costal proceeded to disclose to his old camarado the oath he had
registered against Pepe Gago.

"Devil take me!" said Clara in reply, "if I can see how you will ever be
able to fulfil your vow."

"No more do I," rejoined Costal, "but as I have promised Pepe Gago that
he should not forget the lantern on the bridge of Los Hornos, and as I
am determined he shall have a sight of it now and then, to keep his
memory awake, I don't see why I should leave it here to be picked off by
the first comer.  At all events, it is no longer needed as a signal."

Saying this, the Indian took down the lantern from the post, and blew
out the light.

"Here, Clara," he continued, "help me to make a hole.  I intend hiding
it--so that I can get it again, whenever I may want it."

The two men kneeling down, and using the blades of their knives, soon
carved out a hollow place, in which Costal deposited the lamp still
containing the resin candle.

"Now, friend Clara," said the Indian, as soon as they had covered it in,
"sit down here, and let us try if we can't think of some way to capture
this castle, as well as the _picaro_ who is within it."

"Willingly, I will," answered the black; and seating themselves side by
side, the two associates commenced with all due gravity their important
deliberation.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE ISLE OF ROQUETA.

While thus on the summit of the _Voladero de los Hornos_ the Indian
Costal and the negro Clara were debating between themselves how the
castle might be captured--the same subject was being discussed by two
persons of more importance in the tent of the insurgent general.  These
were Morelos himself, and Don Hermenegildo Galeana--now usually styled
the "Marshal," to distinguish him from another Galeana, his own nephew,
who was also an officer in the insurgent army.

The countenance of Morelos had not yet cast off the shadow caused by the
failure of their assault upon the castle; and his garments were still
soiled with dust, which, under the agitation of violent passions, he
disdained to wipe off.

The brow of the Marshal was also clouded; but that was rather by
reflecting the unpleasant thoughts that were troubling the spirit of his
well-beloved General: for no care of his own ever darkened the
countenance of the warlike Galeana.

A chart of the bay and roadstead of Acapulco lay upon the table before
them, illuminated by two candles, whose light was every moment becoming
paler, as the day began to break into the tent.

They had been for some time engaged in discussing the important matter
in question.  The Marshal had been endeavouring to press upon the
General the necessity of at least capturing the town: since the troops
were not only badly provided with tents and other equipage, but were in
such a position among the burning sands, that it was difficult to
transport provisions to the camp.  Moreover, the situation on the
river's bank was exceedingly unhealthy; and fever was daily thinning the
ranks, and prostrating some of their best soldiers.  The Marshal urged,
that, once inside the town, they would at least be better lodged, while
many other evils might be avoided.  The town could not hold out against
a determined assault.  It might be, carried by a _coup de main_.

"I know all that, my dear Marshal," said Morelos, in reply to the
arguments of Galeana; "we can easily take the town, but the castle will
still hold out, provisioned as it can always be through this unfortunate
isle of Roqueta, with which the garrison is able to keep up a constant
communication."

The isle in question lay in the roadway of Acapulco, two short leagues
from the town.  There was a small fort upon it, with a Spanish garrison;
and at the anchorage connected with this fort the Spanish ships,
occasionally arriving with supplies for the fortress, could discharge
their cargoes, to be afterwards transported to the castle in boats.

"Let us first capture Roqueta, then?" suggested Galeana.

"I fear the enterprise would be too perilous," replied Morelos; "we have
scarce boats enough to carry sixty men--besides, the isle is two leagues
out to sea; and just at this season storms may be looked for every
hour--to say nothing of a mere handful of men landing to attack a strong
garrison behind their entrenchments."

"We can take them by surprise," continued the intrepid _Mariscal_.
"Leave it to me, General; I care not for the danger.  In the glory of
your name I shall undertake to capture La Roqueta."

"A perilous enterprise!" repeated Morelos, half in soliloquy.  "Yes,
friend Galeana," continued he, once more addressing himself to his
Marshal, "although you have taught me to believe in the success of any
enterprise you may undertake, this is really of such a nature as to
require serious consideration."

"Never fear for the result, Senor General!  I promise to capture the
isle on one condition."

"What is it?"

"That as soon as you see my signal, announcing that I have mastered the
garrison of Roqueta, you will take the town of Acapulco.  Your
Excellency will agree to that?"

Morelos remained for a moment thoughtful, and apparently reluctant to
permit so perilous an attempt.

Just at that moment a rocket was seen ascending into the air, and
tracing its curving course against the still sombre background of the
sky.  It had evidently been projected from the fort of Roqueta, which in
daylight would have been visible from the camp of the insurgents.
Morelos and his Marshal, through the open entrance of the marquee, saw
the rocket and conjectured it to be some signal for the garrison on the
isle to the besieged within the fortress.  Almost on the instant, this
conjecture was confirmed by another rocket seen rising from the citadel
upon the summit of the cliffs, and in turn tracing its blue line across
the heavens.  It was evidently the answer.

For some minutes the General and Galeana remained within the marquee,
endeavouring to conjecture the object of these fiery telegraphs.  They
had not succeeded in arriving at any satisfactory conclusion, when the
General's aide-de-camp, Captain Lantejas, entered the tent.  His errand
was to announce to the Commander-in-chief that Costal, the scout, had
just arrived in the encampment as the bearer of some important
intelligence.

"Will your Excellency permit him to come in?" requested the Marshal.
"This Indian has always some good idea in his head."

Morelos signified assent, and the next moment the Indian entered the
tent.

"Senor General!" said he, after having received permission to speak, "I
have just been up to the cliff of Los Hornos, and through the grey dawn
I have seen a schooner at anchor by the isle of Roqueta.  She must have
arrived during the night: since she was not there yesterday."

"Well, what of it, friend Costal?"

"Why, General, I was just thinking how easy it would be for a party of
us, after it gets dark, to slip up alongside, and take possession of
her.  Once masters of that schooner--"

"We could intercept all the supplies destined for the castle,"
impetuously interrupted Galeana; "and then we shall reduce it by famine.
Senor General, it is God who speaks by the mouth of this Indian.  Your
Excellency will no longer refuse the permission which I have asked?"

It is true, the danger apprehended was not diminished by the presence of
the schooner; but, overcome by the earnest appeals of the Marshal, and
the prospect of the important results which would certainly arise from
the possession of the vessel, Morelos at length consented to the attempt
being made.

"If I know how to read the clouds," said Costal, whose counsel on this
point was now requested, "I should say, from the way in which the sun is
now rising, we shall have a dark calm day and night--at least, until the
hour of midnight--"

"After midnight?" demanded the Marshal.

"A tempest and a howling sea," replied Costal.  "But before that time
the schooner and the isle of Roqueta may be ours."

"_Shall_ be ours!" cried Galeana, with enthusiasm.

In fine, and before the council broke up, the enterprise was planned.
The expedition was to be commanded by the Marshal, accompanied by his
nephew, the younger Galeana, while Lantejas was to be the captain of a
canoe, with Costal under his orders.

"The brave Don Cornelio would never forgive us," said Galeana, "if we
were to perform this exploit without him."

The Captain smiled as he endeavoured to assume a warlike expression of
countenance.  He thought to himself, however, how much more to his taste
it would be to have been deprived of the privilege accorded to him.  But
according to the habit he had got into, and in conformity with the
energetic Spanish refrain: _Sacar de tripas corazon_ (Keep a stout heart
against every fortune), he pretended to be delighted with the honour
that was yielded to him.

The prognostic of Costal about the weather appeared likely to be
realised.  During the whole day, while they were making preparations for
their night expedition, the sky remained shadowed with sombre clouds;
and, as evening arrived, the sun went down in the midst of a thick
cumulus of vapour.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

AN ENTERPRISE BY NIGHT.

As soon as darkness had fairly descended over the deep, the men took
their places in the boats.

The flotilla was comprised of three barges or whale-boats, and a small
canoe--in which altogether not more than fifty men could be embarked;
but as it was at this period the sole fleet possessed by the insurgents,
they were forced to make the best of it.

With oars carefully muffled, they rowed out from the beach; and, thanks
to the darkness of the night, they succeeded in passing the castle
without causing any alarm.

They were soon out of sight of the shore; and after rowing a mile or so
further, the dark _silhouette_ of the cliffs ceased to be visible
through the obscurity.

The canoe commanded by Captain Lantejas carried, besides himself, Costal
and two rowers.  As it was the lightest vessel in the flotilla, it was
directed to keep the lead, as a sort of _avant-courier_, to announce
whatever might be seen ahead.

Costal sat in the stern guiding the craft; and while engaged in this
duty, he could not resist the temptation of pointing out to his captain
what the latter had already tremblingly observed:--three or four great
sharks keeping company with the canoe.

"Look at them!" said the Indian; "one might almost imagine that the
instinct of these fierce sea-wolves told them--"

"What?" inquired Lantejas, with an anxious air.

"Why, that this vessel we are in is not sea-worthy.  She is as rotten
and ricketty as an old tub; and very little--Bah!  I only wish that my
friend Pepe Gago was one of those fellows in the water, and I had
nothing more to do than leap in and poniard him in presence of the
others!"

"What! are you thinking still of that fellow?"

"More than ever!" replied Costal, grinding his teeth; "and I shall never
leave the army of Morelos--even when my time of service is out--so long
as there's a hope of capturing the castle of Acapulco, and getting my
hands on the miserable traitor."

Lantejas was paying only slight attention to what the Indian said.  The
doubt which the latter had expressed about the sea-worthiness of the
canoe, was at that moment occupying his thoughts more than Costal's
project of vengeance; and he was desirous that they should reach the
island as soon as possible.  Even an engagement with a human enemy--so
long as it should take place on _terra firma_--would be less perilous
than a struggle in the water with those terrible monsters--the sharks.

"The canoe goes very slowly!" remarked he to Costal mere than once.

"Senor Don Cornelio!" exclaimed the Indian with a smile, "you are always
in a hurry to get into the fight; but we are now approaching the isle;
and, with your permission, I think we would do well to obtain leave from
the admiral (by his title Costal designated Don Hermenegildo) to go a
little more in advance, and reconnoitre the way for the others.  The
canoe can approach near the schooner without much risk of being seen;
whereas those great whale-boats would just now stand a pretty fair
chance of being discovered.  That's my advice--do you agree to it,
Captain?"

"Willingly," replied Lantejas, scarce knowing between the two dangers
which might be the greatest.

At a command from Costal the two rowers now rested upon their oars; and,
shortly after, one of the barges arrived alongside.  It was that which
carried the admiral.

"What is it?" inquired the latter, seeing that the canoe had stopped for
him.  "Have you discovered anything?"

Don Cornelio communicated to him the proposition of Costal.  The idea
appeared good to the Marshal; and, in accordance with it, the three
barges were ordered to lie to, while the lighter craft glided on in
advance.

In a short time the isle appeared in sight--a dark spot upon the bosom
of the water, like some vast sea-bird that had settled down upon the
waves, to rest a moment before resuming its flight.

Presently, as they drew nearer, the dark mass appeared to grow larger,
but still lay buried in sombre silence, with no light nor any visible
object distinguishable through the gloom.

Still drawing nearer, they at length perceived, rising over the tops of
the trees that thickly covered the island, the tall tapering masts and
cross-yards of a ship.  It was the schooner they were in search of.

Continuing their course, in a few moments they were able to make out her
hull against the white background of the beach, and then the two cabin
windows in her stern.  Through these, lights were shining, that in two
broad bands were flung far over the surface of the water.  In the
darkness, the vessel might have been likened to some gigantic whale that
had risen a moment, and was bending its huge eyes to reconnoitre the
surface of the sea.

"We must change our course," muttered Costal.  "If the canoe gets under
that light, some sentry on the quarterdeck may see us.  We must make a
detour, and approach from the other side."

In saying this the Indian shifted the rudder, and turned the head of the
craft into a new direction, while the rowers still continued to ply
their muffled oars.

The sharks turned at the same time, and kept on after the canoe, as
could be told by the luminous traces left by their viscous bodies in
passing through the water.

Beyond, the surface was sparkling with phosphoric points, as if the sky,
now covered with a uniform drapery of dark clouds, had dropped its
starry mantle upon the sea.

At intervals there came a slight puff of wind, and the water curling
under it glanced more luminously; while an occasional flash of lightning
announced that the clouds above were charged with electricity.

In all these signs Costal recognised the precursors of a storm.

The canoe had now passed far out of sight of the barges, and was
circling around, to get upon the other side of the schooner--still
followed by five of the shining monsters of the deep.

Both Costal and the Captain believed themselves too far distant from the
schooner to be seen by any one aboard when all at once a brilliant light
enveloped the Spanish vessel, revealing her whole outlines from stem to
stern.  Those in the canoe had just time to perceive that it was the
blaze of a cannon, when the report followed, and the hissing of a ball
was heard.  Almost on the instant the little craft received a terrible
shock; and, in the midst of a cloud of spray thrown around it, the two
rowers were seen tumbling over the side and sinking below the surface of
the water.  Two of the sharks disappeared at the same moment!

Costal, seated in the stern, at once perceived that the canoe no longer
obeyed the rudder; and Lantejas, who was more amidships, saw to his
horror that the vessel was sinking at the forward part, where she had
been struck by the ball.

"_Por los infiernos_! an unlucky shot!" cried Costal.

"What will be the result?" anxiously demanded Lantejas.

"Why, a very simple thing: the bullet has crushed in the bow of the
craft, and she will go down head foremost, I suppose."

"_Por Dios_! we are lost then!" cried Don Cornelio in a voice of terror.

"Not so sure of that yet," calmly returned Costal, at the same time
rising and stepping forward in the canoe.  "Keep your place!" whispered
he to Lantejas, "and don't lose sight of me."

Notwithstanding the assuring air with which the Indian spoke, the third
rower, under the excitement of a terrible alarm, at this moment rushed
up and caught him around the knees--as if clinging to him for help.

"Ho!" cried Costal, endeavouring to disengage himself, "hands off there,
friend!  Off, I say--here it is every one for himself!"  And as he said
this he pushed the man backward.

The latter, staggering partly under the impulsion he had received, and
partly under the influence of his fright, tumbled back into the water.
At the same instant a third shark disappeared from the side of the
canoe, while a cry of despair appeared to rise up from the bottom of the
sea!

"It was his own fault," said the impassable Zapoteque, "his example
should be a warning to others!"

At this frightful innuendo the ex-student of theology, more dead than
alive, commenced invoking God and the saints with a fervour such as he
had never felt in all his life.

"_Carrambo_!  Captain," cried the imperturbable pagan, "put more
confidence in your own courage than your saints.  Can you swim?"

"Only a few strokes," feebly replied Lantejas.

"Good! that will be enough.  There is only one way to hinder the canoe
from going head downwards.  Look out, then, and keep close by my side!"

Saying this, Costal waited until the canoe rose upon the top of a wave;
and then, throwing all his strength into the effort, he kicked the
craft, overturning it keel upwards.

Both men were for the moment under water; and Lantejas, on coming to the
surface, felt himself violently grasped by the garments.  He fancied it
was one of the sharks that had seized hold of him; but the voice of
Costal close to his ear once more reassured him.

"Do not fear: I am with you," said the Indian, dragging him through the
water towards the capsized canoe, which was now floating wrong side up.

The efforts of the Indian, joined to those which Lantejas mechanically
made for himself, enabled the latter to get astride the keel of the
canoe; where Costal, after swimming a few strokes through the water,
mounted also.

"Another minute," said the Indian, "and the old tub would have gone to
the bottom.  Now she may keep afloat till the whale-boats get up--that
is, if the storm don't come down before then."

Lantejas cast a despairing glance towards the distant ocean, which,
lashed by the wind, had already commenced under its mantle of foam.  The
sight drew from him a fresh invocation to the saints, with an improvised
but earnest prayer for his own safety.

"_Carrambo_!" cried the pagan Costal, "keep a firm seat, and don't trust
too much to your gods.  If you let yourself be washed off, you'll find
they won't do much for you.  Stay! you've nothing to hold on by! let me
make a catch for you."

Saying this, Costal bent towards his companion; and with the blade of
his knife commenced opening a hole in the keel of the canoe.  In the
worm-eaten wood this might be easily effected; and, working with all the
_sang-froid_ of a wood-carver, in a few seconds Costal succeeded in
making an aperture large enough to admit the hand.  Through this
Lantejas thrust his fingers; and, clutching firmly underneath, was now
in a condition to maintain his seat against the waves that were
threatening every moment to roll over the spot.

Costal, having thus secured his companion, and provided for his own
safety in a similar fashion, now commenced peering through the darkness
in hopes of seeing the barges.

In this he was disappointed.  Though the lightning now flashed at
shorter intervals, its gleams revealed only the dark and scowling water,
the isle sleeping in sullen gloom, and farther off the frowning mass of
the fortress-crowned cliff.

Notwithstanding that the castaways now shouted at the highest pitch of
their voices, there was no response from the whale-boats.  Their cries
pealed along the seething surface of the waters, and died without even
an echo.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

FEARFUL FELLOW-SWIMMERS.

The shipwrecked sailor, floating upon his frail raft, or some spar of
his shattered vessel, could not be more at the mercy of wave and wind,
than were the two men astride of the capsized canoe.  Their situation
was indeed desperate.  The stroke of a strong sea would be sufficient to
swamp their frail embarkation; and, should the tempest continue to
increase in fury, then destruction appeared inevitable.

Despite the imminent danger, Lantejas still indulged a hope that the
intrepidity of the Zapoteque might rescue him from the present danger,
as it had from many others.  Sustained by this vague belief, he kept his
eyes fixed upon the countenance of Costal, while endeavouring to read in
its expression the condition of the Indian's spirit.

Up to that time the imperturbable coolness exhibited by the _ex-tigrero_
had favoured the hopes of his companion.  As the time passed, however,
and nothing was seen of the whale-boats, even the features of Costal
began to wear an expression of anxiety.  There is a difference, however,
between anxiety and despair.  The spirit of the Indian had only
succumbed to the former of these two phases.

"Well, Costal, what think you?" demanded Lantejas, with a view of
breaking the silence, which appeared to him of ill omen.

"_Por Dios_!" replied the Indian, "I'm astonished that the barges have
not moved up on hearing that shot.  It's not like the Marshal to hang
back so.  He don't often need two such signals to advance--"

A blast of wind sweeping past at the moment hindered Lantejas from
hearing the last words of his companion's speech.  He saw, however, that
the latter had relapsed into his ominous silence, and that the cloud of
inquietude was growing darker over his countenance.  It was almost an
expression of fear that now betrayed itself upon the bronzed visage of
the Indian.

The Captain well knew that the least display of such a sentiment on the
part of Costal, was evidence that the danger was extreme.  Not that he
needed any farther proof of this, than what he saw around him; but, so
long as the Zapoteque showed no signs of fear, he had entertained a hope
that the latter might still find some resource for their safety.

He almost believed himself saved, when the voice of the Indian once more
fell upon his ear, in a tone that seemed to betray an indifference to
their present situation.

"Well, Senor Don Cornelio," said Costal, "what would you give now to be
lying in a hammock, with a canopy of jaguars and rattlesnakes over you?
Eh?"

Costal smiled as he recalled the scene of the inundation.  His gaiety
was a good sign.  Almost immediately after, however, he muttered to
himself, in a tone of inquietude--

"Can it be possible that the barges have gone back?"

In situations of a frightful kind the smallest suspicion soon assumes
the form of a reality; and the Captain did not doubt but that the barges
had returned to the shore.  Not that there was the slightest reason for
this belief.  On the contrary, it was more natural to suppose that they
were still in the place where they had been left--awaiting the return of
the canoe, and the news it might bring them.  This was all the more
likely: since they in the barges could not fail to have heard the shot
from the schooner, and would be awaiting an explanation of it.

The probability of all this--especially of the boats being still in the
same place--did not fail to strike Costal, who for some seconds appeared
to be reflecting profoundly.

Meanwhile the waves had increased, and had all the appearance of soon
becoming much larger.  Already the frail embarkation was tossed about
like an egg-shell.

"Listen to me, Senor Don Cornelio Lantejas!" said Costal.

"Ah!" woefully murmured the Captain, on hearing his patronymic
pronounced; for ever since his proscription as Cornelio Lantejas, he had
held his own name in horror.  Never did it sound to him with a more
lugubrious accent than now.

"Listen!" said Costal, repeating himself with emphasis; "I know you are
a man for whom death has no terrors.  Well, then!  I think it would not
be right of me to conceal from you--a fact--"

"What fact?"

"That if we stay here one hour longer, we must both go to the bottom.
The waves are constantly growing bigger, as you see--"

"And what can we do?" demanded Lantejas, in a despairing tone.

"One of two things," replied Costal.  "The barges are either waiting for
us where we left them, or they are directing their course towards the
isle.  It is absurd to suppose they have returned to the town.  When one
receives an order from a great general to attack any particular point,
one does not return without making an attempt.  The boats, therefore,
must still be where we parted from them."

"Well, what would you do?"

"Why, since it is easy for me to swim to them--"

"Swim to them!"

"Certainly.  Why not?"

"What! through the midst of those monsters who have just devoured our
comrades under our very eyes?"

A flash of lightning at that instant lit up the countenance of Costal,
which exhibited an expression of profound disdain.

"Have I not just told you," said he, "that I am perhaps the only man who
could pass among these sharks without the least danger?  I have done it
a hundred times out of mere bravado.  To-night I shall do it to save our
lives."

The thought of being left alone caused the Captain a fresh alarm.  He
hesitated a moment before making a reply.  Costal, taking his silence
for consent, cried out--

"As soon as I have reached one of the barges I shall cause a rocket to
be sent up as a signal that I am aboard.  Then you may expect us to come
this way; and you must shout at the top of your voice, in order that we
may find you."

Don Cornelio had not time to make answer.  On finishing his speech the
_ci-devant_ pearl-diver plunged head foremost into the water.

The Captain could trace a luminous line as he swam for some seconds
under the surface; and could also see that the fierce denizens of the
deep--as if they recognised in him a superior power--had suddenly glided
out of his way!

Don Cornelio saw the intrepid swimmer rise to the surface, at some
distance off, and then lost sight of him altogether behind the curling
crests of the waves.  He fancied, however, he could hear some indistinct
words of encouragement borne back by the wind.  After that, the only
sounds that reached his ear were the hoarse moanings of the surf, and
the ominous plashing of the waves against the quivering timbers of his
canoe.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

UNPLEASANT SWIMMING COMPANIONS.

A shark may be driven off for a time by the efforts of a human enemy,
but his natural voracity will soon impel him to return to the attack.
When the Indian therefore rose to the surface of the water--remembering
his old practice as a pearl-diver--he cast around him a glance of
caution.  Having shouted back to his companion in misfortune some words
which the latter had indistinctly heard, he placed his knife between his
teeth, and swam straight onward.

It was not fear that caused him to take this precaution.  It was merely
an act of habitual prudence.

As he struck out from the canoe, he perceived that two monsters of the
deep, far more formidable than those of the forest, were proceeding in
the same direction as himself.  One was about twenty feet from him on
the right; the other appeared at an equal distance on his left; and both
were evidently _attending_ upon him!

Unpleasant as two such companions might be deemed, the swimmer at first
paid but slight attention to their movements.  His mind was pre-occupied
with a variety of other thoughts--especially with the doubt as to
whether he might be able to find the barges.  On the wide surface of the
sea, and in the midst of the profound darkness, it would be but too easy
to pass without perceiving them, and very difficult indeed to find them.
This apprehension, combined with those fearless habits in the water,
which he had contracted while following the life of a pearl-diver--and
furthermore his belief in a positive fatalism--all united in rendering
the Zapoteque indifferent to the presence of his two terrible
attendants.

Only at intervals, and then rather from prudence than fear, he turned
his head to the right or left, and glanced in the direction of his
_compagnons du voyage_.  He could not help perceiving moreover that at
each instant the sharks were drawing nearer to him!

By a vigorous stroke on the water he now raised his body high over the
surface; and, there balancing for a moment, glanced forward.  It was an
eager glance; for he was looking for that object on the finding of which
his life must depend.  He saw only the line of the horizon of dull
sombre hue--no object visible upon it, except here and there the white
crests of the waves.

A sudden glance to the right, and another to the left, showed him the
two fearful creatures, now nearer than ever.  Neither was more than ten
feet from his body!

Still the swimmer was not dismayed by their presence.  Far more was he
daunted by the immense solitude of the watery surface that surrounded
him.

However bold a man may be, there are moments when danger must
necessarily cause him fear.  Costal was in a position sufficiently
perilous to have unnerved most men.  Swimming in the midst of a rising
sea--beyond sight of land, or any other object--escorted by two
voracious sharks--with a dark sky overhead, and no precise knowledge of
the direction in which he was going--no wonder he began to feel
something more than inquietude.

However strong may be a swimmer, he cannot fail after long keeping up
such vigorous action as it requires, to become fatigued, and worn out:
the more so when, like Costal, he carries a knife between his teeth--
thus impeding his free respiration.  But the ex-pearl-diver did not
think of parting with the weapon--his only resource, in case of being
attacked by the sharks--and still keeping his lips closed upon it, he
swam on.

After a time, he felt his heart beating violently against his ribs.  He
attributed this circumstance less to fear than to the efforts he was
making; and, taking the knife from his mouth, he carried it in one of
his hands.

The pulsations of his heart were not the less rapid: for it may be
acknowledged, without much shame to him, that Costal now really felt
fear.  Moreover, swimming with one hand closed, it was necessary for him
to strike more rapidly with the other.

The precaution of holding his knife ready in hand, was not likely to
prove an idle one.  The two sharks appeared gradually converging upon
the line which the swimmer must take, if he continued to swim directly
onward.

On observing this convergence of his silent and persevering pursuers,
Costal suddenly obliqued to the right.  The sharks imitated his movement
on the instant, and swam on each side of him as before!

For a few minutes--long and fearful minutes--he was forced to keep on in
this new direction.  He began to fancy he was swimming out of the way he
should have taken; and was about to turn once more to the left, when an
object came before his eyes that prompted him to utter an ejaculation of
joy.

In spite of himself, he had been guided into the right direction, by the
very enemies from whom he was endeavouring to escape; and it was the
sight of the barges that had drawn from him the joyful exclamation.

The moment after, he uttered a louder cry, hailing the boats.

He had the satisfaction of hearing a response; but as no one saw him
through the darkness, it was necessary for him to continue swimming
onwards.

By this time the two sharks had closed on each side, and were gliding
along so near, that only a narrow way was open between them.  Costal
felt that he had not sufficient strength to make a detour; and the only
course left him, was to swim straight for the nearest boat.  He kept on
therefore, his heart beating against his ribs, and with his knife firmly
held in his grasp--ready to bury the weapon in the throat of the first
that should assail him.  With the last efforts of his strength he lunged
out right and left, by voice and gesture endeavouring to frighten off
the two monsters that flanked him; and he proceeded onward in this way
like some doomed ship, struggling between black masses of rocky
breakers.

By good fortune his efforts proved successful.  The hideous creatures,
glaring upon him with glassy eyeballs, were nevertheless frightened by
his menacing gestures, and for the moment diverged a little out of his
way.

Costal took advantage of this precious moment; and, swimming rapidly
forward, succeeded in clutching the side of one of the barges.

A dozen friendly arms instantly drew him aboard; but as his comrades
bent over him upon the deck, they perceived that he was unconscious.
The effort had been too much for his strength.  He had sunk into a
syncope.

The presence of Costal in such sad plight sufficiently revealed the fate
of the canoe and its occupants.  Words could not have made the history
of their misfortune more clear.

"It is no use remaining longer here," said the soldier-admiral.  "The
canoe must have gone to the bottom.  Now, my braves! we shall pull
straight for the isle."

Then raising his sombrero in a reverential manner, he added--

"Let us pray for the souls of our unfortunate comrades--above all, for
Captain Lantejas.  We have lost in him a most valiant officer."

And after this laconic oration over Don Cornelio, the barges were once
more set in motion, and rowed directly towards the isle of Roqueta.

Meanwhile the unhappy Lantejas sat upon the keel of the broken canoe,
contemplating with horrible anxiety the waves of the ocean constantly
surging around him, and gradually growing fiercer and higher.  Now they
appeared as dark as Erebus; anon like ridges of liquid fire, as the
lightning flashed athwart the sky, furrowing the black clouds over his
head.

He listened attentively.  He heard the wind whistling against the waves,
and lashing them into fury--as a horseman rouses his steed with whip and
spur; he heard the groaning of the surge, like an untamed horse
rebelling against his rider.

Fortunately for him, it was yet but the prologue of the storm to which
he was listening; and he was still able to maintain his seat upon the
frail embarkation.

At short intervals he shouted with all his might, but the wind hurled
back his cries, mingled with the spray that was dashed in his face.

No succour appeared within sight or hearing.  Costal had no doubt been
either drowned or devoured; and the unhappy officer had arrived at the
full conviction, that such was to be his own fate; when, all of a
sudden, some object came under his eyes that caused him to quiver with
joy.  Under the glare of the lightning, the barges were visible mounted
on the crest of a huge dark wave!

Only a momentary glance did he obtain of them; for, after the flash had
passed, the boats were again shrouded in the obscurity of the night.

Do Cornelio raised a loud cry, and listened for the response.  No voice
reached him.  His own was drowned; midst the roaring of the waters, and
could not have been heard by the people on board the boats.

He shouted repeatedly, but with the like result--no response.

Once more was he plunged into the deepest anxiety--approaching almost to
despair--when on the next flashing of lightning he once more beheld the
barges at a little distance from him, but in a direction altogether
opposite!  They had passed him in the darkness, and were now rowing
away!

This was his reflection, though it was an erroneous one.  The boats were
still in the same direction as at first, but now appeared in the
opposite quarter.  This deception arose from Don Cornelio himself having
turned round on the broken canoe, which kept constantly spinning about
upon the waves.

At this moment a rocket shooting up into the dark sky inspired the
castaway with fresh hope; and he once more raised his voice, and shouted
with all the concentrated power of throat and lungs.  After delivering
the cry, he remained in breathless expectation, equally concentrating
all his strength in the act of listening.

This time a responsive cry came back--a sound all the more joyful to his
ears from his recognising it as the voice of Costal.

Don Cornelio now repeated his cries, thick and fast after each other,
until his throat and jaws almost refused to give out the slightest
sound.  Nevertheless he kept on shouting, until one of the barges,
bounding over the waves, forged close up to the side of the canoe.  Then
he felt himself seized by strong arms--they were those of Costal and
Galeana--and the moment after he was lifted into the boot, where, like
the ex-pearl-diver, but from a very different cause, he fell fainting
upon the deck.

It was fortunate for Don Cornelio that Costal had remained only a short
time under the influence of his syncope.  Recovering from it, the Indian
had, in a few words, revealed the situation of the canoe.  The signal
agreed upon was at once made; and led, as described, to the rescue of
his companion from his perilous position.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

A DEED A LA CORTEZ.

Notwithstanding the alarm given by the schooner, the barges of Galeana
found no difficulty in effecting a landing upon the isle--but on the
opposite side to that where the war vessel lay.  The stormy night
favoured the attempt; the garrison of La Roqueta not dreaming that on
such a night any attack would be made upon the fort.

Lantejas still remained unconscious; and, when at last he came to his
senses, he found himself on land, the branches of tall trees extending
over him, through which the wind was whistling with all the fury of a
tempest.  The rustling of the leaves was the sweetest melody he had ever
heard: since it told him he was once more on _terra firma_--though at
the same time the thunder rolling around appeared to shake the
foundations of the isle.

On awakening to consciousness, he looked around him.  He saw men
reclining, or sitting in groups--most of them with arms in their hands.
He recognised them as the people of the expedition.

Costal, asleep, was lying upon the ground close at hand.

"Where are we, Costal?" inquired Lantejas, after rousing the Indian from
his slumber.

"Where?  _Por Dios_! where should we be, but on the isle of Roqueta?"

"But how did we get ashore?"

"Easily enough, Senor Capitan.  We had no opposition to contend against.
Not one of the Spanish garrison suspects our presence here; for who
would think of sixty men venturing to sea on such a night as this?  We
shall take the enemy completely by surprise."

"And what hinders the Marshal from attacking them now?"

"We have not yet found them.  We neither know where the fort is, nor
where we are ourselves.  Don't you see that the night is as dark as the
inside of a cannon, and one can't make out his finger before him?
They're safe enough while this storm lasts; and, by good luck, so are
we."

It was in truth to the storm that the Mexicans owed their present
security.  Few in numbers, and ignorant of the locality in which they
had landed, an attack by the troops of the garrison might have proved
fatal to them.  Thanks to the tempestuous character of the night, they
had not only found an opportunity of debarking on the isle, but time to
mature their plans for assaulting the fort.

It was now about four in the morning, and the wind, still blowing with
all its fury, was causing the large waves to roll up against the beach,
threatening to break the cables by which the barges were moored to the
shore.  Don Cornelio cast glances of fear upon that mighty ocean that,
but a few hours before, had come so near engulfing him within its dark
depths.

While he sat with his face turned seaward, his eye fell upon the figure
of a man who was passing from the spot where the groups were scattered
downward to the beach.  This man having approached the place where the
barges were moored, for some moments appeared to be occupied with them,
as if looking to their security.  This was Don Cornelio's first
impression on seeing the figure bending over the cables; but the moment
after, the blade of a knife glancing in the man's fingers, was revealed
by a flash of lightning; and this gave a sudden turn to the captain's
thoughts.

"What is he about to do?" inquired he of Costal, at the same time
pointing out the individual so mysteriously occupied about the barges.

"_Carrambo_! he is cutting the cables!" cried the Indian, springing to
his feet, and rushing towards the boats, followed by Don Cornelio.

On drawing nearer the beach, both recognised, under the pale reflection
of the foaming waves, the Marshal himself--Don Hermenegildo Galeana!

"Ah!  Captain Lantejas, it is you!" cried the Marshal as they
approached.  "Good.  I want you to lend me a hand here in cutting these
hawsers: they are hard as iron chains."

"Cut the hawsers!" echoed the astonished captain.  "And what, General,
if we are compelled to retreat before a superior force?"

"That's just what I wish to provide against," replied Don Hermenegildo,
laughing.  "Some people fight but poorly when they know they may run
away; and I wish our people to fight well."

Don Cornelio saw it was no use to attempt remonstrance with the
chivalric Galeana, and both he and Costal went to work to assist the
Marshal in his daring design.

"All right, comrades!" cried Don Hermenegildo, as soon as the three
hawsers were parted; "it only remains for us to get the signal rockets
out of the boats, and then let them go to sea of themselves."

So saying, the energetic leader stepped aboard one of the barges, seized
hold of the rocket case, and, assisted by Costal and Don Cornelio,
carried it on shore.  Then, giving each of the boats a shove from the
beach, the Marshal had the satisfaction--not shared by the Captain,
however--of seeing all three of them the next moment carried far away
from the shore, and still tossing seaward on the crests of the foaming
waves!  Retreat was no longer possible.  The people of the expedition
must either conquer or succumb.

"Now, Captain Lantejas," said the Marshal, addressing Don Cornelio, "you
had better go and get some sleep.  You have need of rest, after what you
have passed through.  I shall cause you to be awakened in good time.
Meanwhile Costal will make a reconnaissance, to discover, if possible,
the whereabouts of our enemy.  By daybreak both the fort and schooner
must be ours."

With this finish to the conversation, Don Hermenegildo folded his cloak
around him and walked away.  Costal and the captain returned to the
temporary encampment among the trees.  There the Indian, without
communicating his thoughts to his companion, silently divested himself
of the little remnant of clothing that remained to him, and glided off
among the bushes--like a jaguar advancing through the underwood to
surprise the gaunt alligator on the bank of some solitary lagoon.



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

THE CAPTURE OF LA ROQUETA.

It was in vain that Don Cornelio attempted to sleep.  Although more than
a year of campaigning and the experience of many sanguinary engagements
had inured him to danger, there was something in the peril to which he
was now exposed that was altogether novel and unpleasant.

Their leader had provided against retreat, and to conquer or die had
become a positive obligation of the expeditionary force.  This was
sufficient to keep the involuntary soldier awake for the remainder of
the night.

He passed the time in reflecting upon the singular _contretemps_ that
had so interfered with his plans of life, and changed, as it were, his
very destiny.  He could now only entertain but one hope and wish, and
that was that the fortress of Acapulco should be taken as soon as
possible: since upon that event being completed, Morelos had promised to
grant him leave of absence from the army.

In about an hour afterwards, Costal returned from his scout, and
reported to him the result of his explorations, which he had already
detailed to the Marshal.

According to the information collected by the Indian, the Spanish
garrison consisted of about two hundred men; who were entrenched in a
small earthwork on the southern side of the isle, and not more than
cannon-shot distance from the Mexican encampment.  Two field pieces, set
in battery, defended the work; and the schooner, whose unlucky shot had
swamped the canoe, lay at a cable's length from the land, in a little
bay that ran up to the fort.

The Mexican leader now knew the position of his enemy, their numbers,
and means of defence; and, as soon as the dawn began to appear, he
summoned his little band, and formed them into rank.  At the same time
he caused the signal rockets to be carried to an eminence that was near
their encampment.

"Now, _muchachos_!" said he, addressing his soldiers in an undertone,
"whatever point we attack, may be considered as taken.  We are about to
assault the enemy.  We may therefore at once announce to our
general-in-chief, without fear of disappointment, that the isle and
fortress of La Roqueta are in our hands.  I have promised it."

And without awaiting a reply from any one, the Marshal took the cigar
from his lips, and held the burning end of it to the fuse of one of the
rockets.

The piece of hemp became kindled at the touch, and the moment after the
rocket rose hissing into the air, and described a circle of vivid red
against the grey background of the sky.  A second rocket was sent up,
which traced an ellipse of white light; and then a third, whose
reflection was a brilliant green.

"Red, white, and green!" cried Galeana, "our national colour.  It is the
signal I agreed upon with our General, to announce to him the capture of
the isle.  Our comrades in the Mexican camp have by this time seen the
signal.  They believe we have triumphed, and we must not deceive them.
Forward to victory!"

On issuing the command, Galeana bounded lightly forward and placed
himself at the head of his men; and the whole troop, guided by Costal,
advanced at a rapid pace towards the enemy.

As they approached the fort, cries of distress were heard in that
direction, which at first filled the assailants with surprise.  The
cause, however, was soon apparent.  The cries came not from the fort,
but from the schooner, which was now seen through an opening between the
trees struggling against the storm, and fast drifting among breakers!  A
row of jagged rocks stretched along to leeward; and from driving upon
these rocks, the sailors aboard of her were vainly endeavouring to
restrain the ill-fated vessel.

The latter, during the violence of the wind, had dragged her anchors,
and was now fast hastening to destruction.

"_Jesus Maria_!" exclaimed Galeana at the sight.  "Comrades, what a
pity!  She will undoubtedly be lost, and I had counted upon this
magnificent bounty.  _Carrambo_! we shall get nothing but a wreck."

The dangerous situation of the schooner was of course known in the fort,
where it had already created considerable confusion.  This was now
changed into consternation by the approach of the insurgents; and the
wild war-cry of Galeana, as he sprang forward to the walls, echoed by
his followers, and accompanied as it was by loud peals of thunder,
produced something like a panic among the ranks of the Spanish garrison.
So sudden was the attack, and so completely unexpected, that it could
scarcely fail of success; and indeed, after a short hand-to-hand combat,
one portion of the garrison fled, while the other surrendered without
conditions to the triumphant Galeana.

Scarcely had the last shot been fired, and the fort delivered up to the
victors, when the schooner, striking violently upon a sharp reef, leant
over to one side, and, like a steed gored by the horns of the bull, the
sides of the vessel were opened, and she began to sink among the foaming
waves.  The victors on shore thought no more of enemies, but now bent
all their energies towards saving the unfortunate mariners, whose lives
were thus placed in peril.  By means of lazoes flung from the beach,
most of the latter were rescued from the death that threatened them.

The sun soon after cast his yellow beams over the agitated bosom of the
ocean, but his rising had no effect in calming the tempest.  The storm
continued to rage as furiously as ever.

Just as the last of the shipwrecked sailors had been got safely on
shore, a flag running up to the signal-staff of the fort announced that
a new sail was seen in the offing.  In a few minutes after a vessel was
perceived in the roadstead of the bay, struggling against the storm, and
endeavouring to stand outward to sea.

This intention the adverse winds seemed trying to prevent; and driven by
these out of her course, the strange ship passed so near the isle of
Roqueta that those in the fort could see the people on board, and even
distinguish the uniforms and faces of the officers upon the quarterdeck.
It was evident that the vessel thus coasting past Acapulco was a
man-of-war; and the uniforms of the officers aboard of her could plainly
be distinguished as that of the Spanish navy.  One was dressed somewhat
differently from the rest.  His costume was military, not naval.  It was
that of an officer of dragoons.  Costal, Clara, and Captain Lantejas
were standing on the parapet of the fort, observing the manoeuvres of
the strange ship, when the keen eyes of the Indian became fixed on this
officer.

He was a man in the full vigour of youth and strength--as was testified
by his erect and graceful figure, and by the rich masses of dark hair
that clustered under his laced cap; but an air of profound melancholy
seemed resting upon his features, and it was evident that some secret
care was occupying his thoughts far more than the storm or its dangers!

"Do you recognise the officer, yonder?" inquired Costal pointing him out
to Clara and Don Cornelio.

"No," replied Lantejas, "I don't remember ever having seen him before."

"He is the same," rejoined Costal, "whom we three formerly knew as a
captain of the Queen's dragoons--Don Rafael Tres-Villas.  He is now
_Colonel_ Tres-Villas."

"_Por Dios_!" interposed a soldier who was standing near, and who had
come from the state of Oajaca.  "Colonel Tres-Villas!  That is he who
nailed the head of Antonio Valdez to the gate of his hacienda!"

"The same," assented Costal.

"_Carrambo_!" cried another soldier, "that is the officer who, after
capturing the town of Aguas Calientes, caused the hair to be cropped
from the heads of three hundred women who were his prisoners!"

"It is said that he had his reasons for doing so," muttered Costal, in
reply.

"Whether or no," said the soldier, "if he comes this way, he'll get
punished for it."

Just as the soldier spoke, the ship became enveloped in a mass of fog--
at that moment spreading over the water--and was lost to the view of the
people on the isle.  When she became visible again, it was seen that she
was standing out to sea.  By a favourable turn which the wind had taken,
she was enabled to gain the offing, and was soon receding from view upon
the distant horizon.

Costal was correct in his identification.  The officer thus accidentally
seen, and who was a passenger on board the man-of-war, was indeed Don
Rafael Tres-Villas, who from one of the northern ports was now on his
return to Oajaca, bearing with him to the shores of Tehuantepec a
profound and incurable melancholy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The capture of the isle of La Roqueta was an important step towards the
taking of Acapulco.  The town itself had fallen into the hands of the
insurgents, almost at the same instant; for Morelos, according to
agreement, on perceiving the signals of Hermenegildo, had directed his
attack upon the town, and so brusquely that the place was carried by a
_coup de main_.

The possession of La Roqueta enabled the insurgent general to intercept
the supplies of the citadel garrison; and shortly after the fortress
itself was compelled to surrender.

This conquest, with which the humble _cura_ had been derisively
entrusted, rendered him master of the whole southern part of Mexico--
from the shores of the Pacific Ocean, almost to the gates of the capital
of New Spain.  Twenty-two battles had he gained from that day, when,
accompanied by his two domestics, he rode forth from the village of
Caracuaro to raise in Oajaca the banner of the insurrection.  To that
province, after the taking of Acapulco, it was necessary for him to
proceed with his victorious army--in order to assist the insurgents then
besieged in the town of Huajapam.  Thither, but some days preceding him,
shall we conduct the reader, in order that we may once more return to
the hero of our predilection.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

THE PLAIN OF HUAJAPAM.

It was a morning of June, just before the commencement of the rainy
season--at that period of the day and year when the tropic sun of
Southern Mexico is least endurable.  His fervid rays, striking
perpendicularly downward, had heated like smouldering ashes the dusty
plain of Huajapam, which lay like a vast amphitheatre surrounded by
hills--so distant that their blue outlines were almost confounded with
the azure sky above them.  On this plain was presented a tableau of
sadness and desolation, such as the destructive genius of man often
composes with demoniac skill.

On one side, as far as the eye could reach, horsemen could be seen
hurrying about the plain in the midst of pillaged houses--some of which
had been given to the flames.  Under the hoofs of these horses, as they
dashed recklessly to and fro, were crushed rich treasures that had been
sacked from the deserted dwellings, and now lay scattered upon the
ground, tempting only the hand of the thievish camp-follower.  The soil,
defiled in every way, presented only a scanty growth of bruised herbage,
upon which the horseman disdained to pasture his steed.

Here and there groups of black vultures told where some dead body of
horse or rider had been abandoned to their voracity; while the _coyotes_
trotted in troops far out from the mountain ridge, going to or returning
from their hideous repast.

Looking over the plain in another direction, the standard of Spain could
be seen floating over the tents of the royalist camp, whose night-fires
still sent up their lines of bluish smoke; while from the same quarter
could be heard the neighing of horses, the rolling of drums, and the
startling calls of the cavalry bugles.

Farther off in the same direction--above the low, flat-shaped _azoteas_
of a village--could be seen the domes and belfries of several churches,
all breached with bombs or riddled with round shot.  This village lay at
the distance of a few hundred yards from the lines of the royalist camp,
and was evidently besieged by the latter.  Rude earthworks could be
perceived extending between the scattered suburbs, upon which a few
pieces of cannon were mounted, and pointing towards the entrenchments of
the Spanish encampment.  Between the hostile lines the plain was
unoccupied, save by the dead bodies of men and horses that lay unburied
on the dusty surface of the soil.

The village in question--or town it might rather be called--was the
famous Huajapam, that now for more than three months had been defended
by a body of three hundred insurgents against a royalist force of five
times their number!  The heroic leader of this gallant resistance was
Colonel Don Valerio Trujano.

At mention of this name the reader will call to mind the noble muleteer
Trujano, whose firm voice he has heard intoning the _De profundis_ and
_In manus_ while struggling against the inundation.  Beyond a doubt his
religious zeal had inspired the besieged of Huajapam: for, every now and
then, from out the sad and desolate town may be heard the voices of his
men, chanting in chorus some sacred song or prayer to the God of
battles!

In that moment when the priests of Huajapam have left the altar to take
part in the defence of their town, there will be observed, neither in
their acts nor words, aught to recall their former profession.  At such
a time Don Valerio Trujano may be said to reproduce one of those ascetic
heroes of the old religious wars--great repeaters of _paternosters_,
whose blows always fell without mercy, and who marched into battle
reciting quotations from Scripture.  Perhaps he might be more happily
likened to one of the old Templars, careless of personal renown,
kneeling to pray in front of the foe, and charging upon the Saracen to
the accompaniment of that famous psalm, "Quare fremuerunt gentes?"

Such was the appearance which the plain of Huajapam presented on the
morning in question: houses smoking and in ruins--dead bodies scattered
over the ground--vultures wheeling above--the royalist banner face to
face with the banner of the insurrection.

We shall first enter the camp of the besiegers, where the Brigadier
Bonavia, governor of Oajaca, held command--assisted by the Spanish
generals, Caldelas and Regules.

At an early hour of the morning two dragoons, who had been scouring the
distant plain, were seen returning to the lines of the encampment,
conducting with them a third horseman, evidently a stranger to the camp.
This was on the side, opposite to that on which lay the town of
Huajapam.  The horseman, guided by these dragoons, was costumed as a
vaquero--that is, he wore a jacket and wide calzoneros of brick-coloured
deerskin, with a huge sombrero of black glaze on his head, and a
speckled blanket folded over the croup of his saddle.  He had already
reported himself to the dragoons as the bearer of a message to the
colonel--Don Rafael Tres-Villas.  Furthermore, in addition to the horse
on which he rode, he was leading another--a noble steed of a bay-brown
colour.

This animal, startled at the sight and smell of the dead bodies among
which they were passing, gave out from time to time a snorting of a
peculiar character, which had drawn the attention of the dragoons.

These, after conducting the vaquero through a portion of the camp,
halted in front of one of the largest tents.  There a groom was saddling
another steed, in strength and beauty but little inferior to that led by
the vaquero.  It was the war-horse of Colonel Tres-Villas, of whom the
groom in question was the _assistente_.

"What is your name, _amigo_?" demanded the latter, addressing himself to
the vaquero.

"Julian," replied the stranger.  "I am one of the servitors of the
hacienda Del Valle.  Colonel Tres-Villas is its proprietor, and I have a
message for him of great importance."

"Very well," responded the other, "I shall tell the Colonel you are
here."

So saying, the _assistente_ entered the tent.

On that day the besieging army was about to make the fifteenth attack
upon the town, defended by Colonel Trujano, and Don Rafael was dressing
himself in full uniform to assist at the council of war, called together
to deliberate on the plan of assault.

At the word "messenger" pronounced by his military servant, a slight
trembling was seen to agitate the frame of Colonel Tres-Villas, while
his countenance became suddenly overspread with pallor.

"Very well," stammered he, after a moment's hesitation, and in a voice
that betrayed emotion.  "I know the messenger; you may leave him free; I
shall answer for him.  Presently let him come him in."

The _assistente_ stepped out of the tent and delivered this response of
the Colonel.  The dragoons rode off, leaving the vaquero free to
communicate to his master the message of which he was the bearer.

It is here necessary for us to detail some portion of the history of Don
Rafael, from the time when he took his departure at full gallop from the
hacienda Del Valle, up to that hour when we again encounter him in the
royalist camp before Huajapam.

When the first shock of grief, caused by the murder of his father--when
that terrible struggle betwixt love and duty, had passed, and his spirit
become a little calmer--the only line of conduct that appeared possible
for him, was to repair at once to Oajaca; and, having found its
governor, Don Bernardino Bonavia, obtain from him a detachment of
troops, with which he might return and punish the insurgent assassins.

Unfortunately for Don Rafael, notwithstanding the distinguished
reception accorded to him by the governor, the latter could not place at
his disposal a single soldier.  The province was already in such a state
of fermentation, that all the men under his command were required to
keep in check the revolt that threatened to break out in the provincial
capital itself.  Don Rafael therefore could not prevail upon the
governor to enfeeble the garrison of Oajaca, by detaching any portion of
it on so distant a service as an expedition to the hacienda Del Valle.

While negotiating, however, word reached him of a royalist corps that
was being raised at no great distance from Oajaca, by a Spanish officer,
Don Juan Antonio Caldelas.  Don Rafael, urged on by a thirst for
vengeance, hastened to join the band of Caldelas, who on his part at
once agreed to place his handful of men at the disposal of the dragoon
captain for the pursuit of Valdez.  Of course Caldelas had himself no
personal animosity against the insurgent leader; but believing that the
destruction of his band would crush the insurrection in the province, he
was the more ready to co-operate with Don Rafael.

Both together marched against Valdez, and encountered him and his
followers at the _cerro_ of Chacahua, where the ex-vaquero had
entrenched himself.  An action was fought, which resulted in Valdez
being driven from his entrenchments, but without Don Rafael being able
to possess himself of his person, a thing he desired even more than a
victory over his band.

A fortnight was spent in vain searches, and still the guerilla chief
continued to escape the vengeance of his unrelenting pursuer.  At the
end of that period, however, the insurgents were once more tempted to
try a battle with the followers of Don Rafael and Caldelas.  It proved a
sanguinary action, in which the royalists were victorious.  The
scattered followers of Valdez, when reunited at the rendezvous agreed
upon in the event of their being defeated, perceived that their leader
was missing from among them.

Alive they never saw him again.  His dead body was found some distance
from the field of battle, and around it the traces of a struggle which
had ended in his death.  The body was headless, but the head was
afterwards discovered, nailed to the gate of the hacienda Del Valle,
with the features so disfigured that his most devoted adherents would
not have recognised them but for an inscription underneath.  It was the
name of the insurgent, with that of the man who had beheaded him, Don
Rafael Tres-Villas.

Valdez had fled from the field after the defeat of his followers.
Before proceeding far, he heard behind him the hoarse snorting of a
steed.  It was the bay-brown of Don Rafael.

In a few bounds the insurgent was overtaken.  A short struggle took
place between the two horsemen; but the ex-vaquero, notwithstanding his
equestrian skill, was seized in the powerful grasp of the dragoon
officer, lifted clear out of his saddle, and dashed with violence to the
earth.  Before he could recover himself, the lasso of Don Rafael--
equally skilled in the use of this singular weapon--was coiled around
him; and his body, after being dragged for some distance at the tail of
the officer's horse, lay lifeless and mutilated along the ground.  Such
was the end of Antonio Valdez.



CHAPTER FORTY.

FATAL MISUNDERSTANDINGS.

The death of this first victim, offered to the manes of his murdered
father, had to some extent the effect of appeasing the vengeful passion
of Don Rafael.  At all events his spirit became calmer; and other
sentiments long slumbering at the bottom of his heart began to usurp
their sway.  He perceived the necessity of justifying his conduct--which
he knew must appear inexplicable--to the inhabitants of the hacienda Las
Palmas.  Had he done so at that moment all would have been well; but
unfortunately a certain spirit of pride interfered to hinder him.  A son
who had punished the murderer of his father, ought he to excuse himself
for what he felt to be a holy duty?  Moreover, could he expect pardon
for becoming the enemy of a cause he could no longer call his own?

This haughty silence on the part of Don Rafael could not do otherwise
than complete the ruin of his hopes, and render still more impassable
the gulf that had been so suddenly and unexpectedly opened up between
his love and his duty.

The news of Valdez' death--brought to the hacienda of Las Palmas by a
passing messenger--together with the tenour of the inscription that
revealed the author of it, had fallen like a bomb-shell into the family
circle of Don Mariano de Silva.  Unfortunately the same messenger had
failed to report the assassination of Don Luis Tres-Villas--for the
simple reason that he had not heard of it.  His hosts, therefore,
remained ignorant of the cause of this terrible reprisal.

From that moment, therefore, the family of Las Palmas could not do
otherwise than regard the dragoon captain as a traitor, who, under the
pretence of the purest patriotism, had concealed the most ardent
sympathies for the oppressors of his country.  Nevertheless the love of
Gertrudis essayed that justification, which the pride of Don Rafael had
restrained him from making.

"O my father!" exclaimed she, overwhelmed with grief, "do not judge him
too hastily.  It is impossible he can be a traitor to his country's
cause.  One day--I am sure of it--one day, he will send a message to
explain what has occurred."

"And when he does explain," responded Don Mariano, with bitterness,
"will he be less a traitor to his country?  No--we need not hope.  He
will not even attempt to justify his unworthy conduct."

In fine, the message came not; and Gertrudis was compelled to devour her
grief in silence.

Nevertheless the audacious defiance to the insurrection implied in the
act of Don Rafael, and the inscription that announced it, had something
in it of a chivalric character, which was not displeasing to the spirit
of Gertrudis.  It did not fail to plead the cause of the absent lover;
and at one time her affection was even reconquered--that is, when it
came to be known that the head of the insurgent chief had replaced that
of Don Rafael's father, and that it was blood that had been paid for
blood.

If in that crisis the captain had presented himself, Don Mariano, it is
true, might not have consented to his daughter forming an alliance with
a renegade to the Mexican cause.  The profound patriotism of the
haciendado might have revolted at such a connection; but an explanation,
frank and sincere, would have expelled from the thoughts both of himself
and his daughter all idea of treason or disloyalty on the part of Don
Rafael.  The latter, ignorant of the fact that the news of his father's
death had not reached Las Palmas--until a period posterior to the report
of that of Valdez--very naturally neglected the favourable moment for an
_eclaircissement_.

How many irreparable misfortunes spring from that same cause--
misunderstanding!

The two captains, Caldelas and Tres-Villas, soon transformed the
hacienda of Del Valle into a species of fortress, which some species of
cannon, received from the governor of the province, enabled them to do.
In strength the place might defy any attack which the insurgent bands of
the neighbourhood could direct against it.

During the constant excursions which he made against the other two
assassins of his father, Arroyo and Bocardo, Don Rafael left the charge
of their citadel to the Captain Caldelas.

Listening only to the whisperings of his heart, he had finished by
making a compromise between his love and his pride.  Repelling the idea
of communicating by a messenger, he had at one time resolved to present
himself in person at the hacienda of Las Palmas; but, carried forward by
the ardour of his vengeance, he dreaded that an interview with Gertrudis
might have the effect of weakening his resolution; and for this reason
he deferred seeking the interview, until he should complete the
accomplishment of that rash vow made over the grave of his murdered
parent.

Notwithstanding the almost superhuman efforts which he daily made in the
pursuit of the insurgents, the result was not such as to appease his
spirit of vengeance.  Man by man did he accomplish the destruction of
their band; but both the leaders still contrived to escape.  In fine,
after more than two months had passed since the death of Valdez, the
rumour became spread throughout the neighbourhood that Arroyo and
Bocardo had quitted the province of Oajaca, and gone northward with the
remnant of their guerilla to offer their services to General Hidalgo.

On receiving this news Don Rafael, who had been absent on a protracted
scout, returned to the hacienda Del Valle.  During his absence, an order
had arrived from the general-in-chief of the vice-regal army, commanding
him to return to duty with his regiment--the Queen's dragoons.

Before obeying this order, however, he resolved on devoting one day to
the affairs of his heart; and, permitting his love to conquer his pride,
he determined on presenting himself at the hacienda of Las Palmas.

Alas! it might now be too late.  A justification in the eyes of Don
Mariano would now be more difficult than it might have been two months
before.  During that time appearances had been converted into realities,
suspicions into certainties, and Don Rafael was for him no longer aught
but a common renegade.  Certain words which he was in the habit of
repeating to his daughter, told too plainly his opinion of the dragoon
captain; and these words rang in the ears of Gertrudis as a sad
presentiment which she almost believed already accomplished.

"Do not weep for the defection of Don Rafael," said the haciendado,
endeavouring to dry his daughter's tears.  "He will be false to his
mistress, as he has been to his country."

What appeared a strange circumstance in the eyes of the father--these
words only caused Gertrudis to weep the more abundantly and bitterly!

Nevertheless, such had been the former friendship of Don Mariano for the
young officer--such the tender passion kindled in the heart of
Gertrudis--that it is possible, had Don Rafael even then presented
himself before them--his countenance open and beaming with the manly
pride of accomplished duty--the frankness of his bearing, and the
loyalty of his speech, might have still dissipated the clouds that hung
over the heads of all.

Unfortunately destiny had decided otherwise.  It was not decreed by fate
that at that hour Don Rafael should enter, as a friend, the hospitable
gates of the hacienda Las Palmas.



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

A RUDE RECEPTION.

Don Rafael had now become known throughout all Oajaca as one of the most
energetic foes of the insurrection.  Among the country-people,
therefore--the majority of whom were of Creole blood, and of course
revolutionary in principle--he need not expect to meet many friends.
Every man whom he might encounter was pretty certain of being his enemy.
For this reason, although it was only a league from the hacienda Del
Valle to that of Las Palmas, he deemed it prudent to take half-a-dozen
of his troopers along with him--a wise precaution, as the event proved.

After crossing the chain of hills that separated the two estates, the
dragoon captain and his escort rode direct for the postern of the
hacienda Las Palmas, that opened to the rear of the building.  This, for
some reason, had been recently walled up; and it became necessary for
them to go round to the main entrance in front.  Scarce, however, had
the horse of Don Rafael doubled the angle of the wall, when he and his
little band were suddenly confronted by a score of horsemen of ruffianly
aspect, who opposed the passage, the leader of them vociferating
loudly:--

"Muera al traidor--mueran _los coyotes_!"  (Death to the traitor!--death
to the jackals!)

At the same instant one of the assailants, charging recklessly forward,
brought his horse into collision with that of Don Rafael, and with such
a violent shock that the steed of the dragoon officer was thrown to the
ground.

In this crisis the agility of Don Rafael, along with his herculean
strength, enabled him to save himself.  Instantly disengaging his limbs
from the body of his horse, he sprang upon that of one of his escort who
had just fallen from his saddle, thrust through by one of the
insurgents; and after a short struggle, in which several of the
assailants succumbed, Don Rafael, with his five remaining followers, was
enabled to retreat back to the ridge, where their enemies had not the
courage to follow them.

One of his men killed--with the loss of his favourite bay-brown--such
was the result of Don Rafael's attempt to justify his conduct after two
months of silence!  No wonder that with bitter emotions he retraced his
steps to the hacienda Del Valle.

His heart was wrung with grief and disappointment.  This hacienda of Las
Palmas, where two months before he had been the honoured guest, now
sheltered the enemies that were thirsting for his blood.

These, after their unsuccessful attempt to possess themselves of the
person of Don Rafael, hastened back towards the entrance of the
building.

"You stupid sot!" exclaimed one of them, speaking in angry tones, and
addressing a companion by his side; "why did you not allow him to get
into the hacienda?  Once inside, we should have had him at our mercy,
and then--_Carajo_!"

The speaker, a man of ferocious and brutal aspect, here made a gesture
of fearful meaning, as an appropriate finish to his speech.

"Don Mariano would not have permitted it," rejoined the other, by way of
excusing himself for having been the cause of the dragoon officer's
escape.  "Once under his roof, he would never have consented to our
molesting him."

"Bah!" exclaimed the first speaker.  "It's past the time when we require
to ask Don Mariano's permission.  We are no longer his servants.  The
time is come when the servants shall be the masters, and the masters the
servants, _Carajo_!  What care I for the emancipation of the country?
What I care for is blood and plunder."

The fierce joy that blazed in the eyes of the speaker as he pronounced
the last words, told too plainly that these were his veritable
sentiments.

The second of the two brigands who, though smaller in size and of a more
astute expression of countenance, was equally characterised by an aspect
of brutal ferocity--for a moment appeared to quail before the
indignation of his companion.

"_Carajo_!" continued the first, "we have got to shift our quarters.  If
that furious captain finds out that _we_ are here, he will set fire to
the four corners of the hacienda, and roast us alive in it.  Fool that I
was to listen to you!"

"Who could have foreseen that he would get off so?" said the lesser man,
still endeavouring to excuse himself.

"You, _Carrai_!" thundered the bandit; and overcome by rage and chagrin
at the escape of his mortal enemy, he drew his poignard, and struck a
left-handed blow at the bosom of his associate.  The latter severely
wounded, uttering a cry of pain, fell heavily from his horse.

Without staying to see whether or not he had killed his comrade, the
guerillero dashed through the gate of the hacienda; and, dismounting in
the courtyard, ran, carbine in hand, up the stone stairway that led to
the _azotea_.

Meanwhile Don Rafael and his five horsemen were ascending the hill that
sloped up from the rear of the building.

"_Santos Dios_! it is very strange!" remarked one of the troopers to a
companion.  "It's the general belief that Arroyo and Bocardo have
quitted the province, but if I'm not mistaken--"

"It was they, to a certainty," interrupted the second trooper.  "I know
them well, only I didn't wish to tell our captain.  He is so furious
against these two fellows, that if he had only known it was they who
attacked us, we should not have had much chance of being permitted to
retreat as we have done."

The man had scarce finished speaking when the report of a carbine, fired
from the roof of the hacienda, reverberated along the ridge, and the
trooper fell mortally wounded from his saddle.

A bitter smile curled upon the lips of Don Rafael, and a sharp pang shot
through his heart, as he compared the adieu he was now receiving from
the inhabitants of the hacienda, with that which had accompanied his
departure but two months before.

The fatal bullet had struck that very trooper who had judged it prudent
to conceal from his officer the names of his assailants.

"'Tis Arroyo who has fired the shot!" involuntarily exclaimed the other,
who also believed that he had recognised the insurgent.

"Arroyo!" exclaimed the captain, in a tone of angry surprise; "Arroyo
within that hacienda, and you have not told me!" added he, in a furious
voice, while his moustachios appeared to crisp with rage.

The trooper was for the moment in great danger of almost as rude
treatment as Arroyo had just given his associate.  Don Rafael restrained
himself, however; and, without waiting to reflect on consequences, he
ordered one of his followers--the best mounted of them--to proceed at
once to the hacienda Del Valle, and bring fifty men well armed, with a
piece of cannon by which the gate of Las Palmas might be broken open.

The messenger departed at a gallop, while Don Rafael and his three
remaining troopers, screening themselves behind the crest of the ridge,
sat in their saddles silently awaiting his return.

It was long before Don Rafael's blood began to cool; and in proportion
as it did so, he experienced a degree of sorrow for the act of hostility
he was about to undertake against the father of Gertrudis.

A violent contest commenced within his breast, between two opposing
sentiments of nearly equal strength.  Whether he persisted in his
resolution, or retreated from it, both courses seemed equally criminal.
The voice of duty, and that of passion, spoke equally loud.  To which
should he listen?

The struggle, long and violent, between these antagonistic sentiments,
had not yet terminated, when the detachment arrived upon the ground.
This decided him.  It was too late to retire from his first
determination.  On towards the hacienda!  Don Rafael drew his sword,
and, placing himself at the head of his troop, rode down the hill.  The
bugle sounding the "advance," warned the inhabitants of the hacienda
that a detachment of cavalry was crossing the ridge.

A few minutes after, the squadron halted before the great gate, at a
little distance from the walls.  A horseman advanced in front of the
line, and once more having sounded the bugle, in the name of Don Rafael
Tres-Villas, Captain of the Royalist army, summoned Don Mariano de Silva
to deliver up, dead or alive, the insurgents, Arroyo and Bocardo.

The demand having been made, Don Rafael, with pale face, and heart
audibly beating, sat motionless in his saddle to await the response.

Silence--profound silence alone made reply to the summons of the
horseman and the sound of his trumpet.



CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

BEARDING A BRIGAND.

In addition to the consequences that would arise from his resolve--
already foreseen by Don Rafael Tres-Villas--there was one other of which
he could not have had any foresight.

A glance into the interior of the hacienda will proclaim this
consequence.

Within that chamber, already known to the reader, were Don Mariano de
Silva, with his two daughters; and their situation was enough to justify
the silence which succeeded to the summons of the dragoon.  Inside the
closed door, and by the side of the two young girls, stood Arroyo and
Bocardo.  Poignard in hand, the brigands were tracing out to Don Mariano
the line of conduct he should pursue.

"Listen to me, Don Mariano de Silva," said the former, with an air of
brutal mockery that was habitual to him, "I rather think you are too
loyal a gentleman to dishonour the laws of hospitality by delivering up
your guests."

"It is true," replied the haciendado, "you may rest assured--"

"I know it," continued Arroyo, interrupting him; "you would not betray
us of your own accord.  But this demon of a dragoon captain will break
open the gate, and take us in spite of your intreaties.  Now, listen!
and hear what I wish you to do."

"Can you suggest any means of preventing him from acting thus?"

"Nothing more simple, good Senor de Silva.  This _coyote_ of the devil
is your personal friend.  If in the quality of your serving-man--that
is, in times past--I chanced to apprehend a little of what was going on,
you cannot blame me.  If I am not mistaken, the dragoon captain has a
little weakness for the pretty Dona Gertrudis.  For that reason he will
pay some regard to the danger that now hangs over the young lady's
head."

"Danger!  I do not comprehend you."

"You will, presently.  You may say to the captain outside there, that if
he persists in breaking open your gates, he may capture _us_ alive.
That he may do, beyond doubt; but as to yourself, and your two
daughters, he will find nothing more of you than your dead bodies.  You
understand me now?"

Arroyo need not have been so explicit.  Half the speech would have been
enough to explain his fearful meaning.  The air of ferocity that
characterised his features was sufficiently indicative of his thoughts.

The daughters of Don Mariano, terrified at his looks, flung themselves
simultaneously into the arms of their father.

At that moment the notes of the bugle resounded through the building;
and the voice of the dragoon was heard for the second time pronouncing
his summons.

The haciendado, troubled about the fate of his children--thus completely
in the power of his unfaithful vaqueros, whose companions crowded the
corridor--permitted the second summons to pass without response.

"_Mil Devionios_!" cried the bandit, "why do you hesitate?  Come! show
yourself at the window, and make known to this furious captain what I
have told you.  _Carrai_! if you do not--"

The bugle sounding for the third summons drowned the remainder of the
brigand's speech.  As soon as the trumpet notes had ceased to echo from
the walls, a voice was heard from without, the tones of which produced
within the heart of Gertrudis at the same moment both fear and joy.

It was the voice of Rafael.

Quickly following it were heard the cries of the troopers as they called
aloud--

"Death to the enemies of Spain!"

"One moment!" shouted Don Mariano, presenting himself at the window,
where he could command a view of the plain below; "I have two words to
say to your captain: where is he?"

"Here!" responded Don Rafael, riding a pace or two in front.

"Ah! pardon," said the haciendado, with a bitter smile; "I have hitherto
known Captain Tres-Villas only as a friend.  I could not recognise him
in the man who threatens with ruin the house where he has been a guest."

At this imprudent speech--whose irony Don Mariano had not been able to
conceal--the face of the Captain, hitherto deadly pale, became red.

"And I," he replied, "can only recognise in you the promoter of an
impious insurrection, which I have striven to crush, and the master of a
mansion of which brigands are the guests.  You have understood my
summons?  They must be delivered up."

"In any case," rejoined the haciendado, "I should not have betrayed
those I had promised to protect.  As it is, however, I am not left to my
own choice in this matter; and I am charged to say to you, on the part
of those whom you pursue, that they will poignard my two daughters and
myself before suffering themselves to fall into your hands.  Our lives
depend on them, Captain Tres-Villas.  It is for you to say, whether you
still persist in your demand, that they be delivered up to you."

The irony had completely disappeared from the speech and countenance of
the haciendado, and his last words were pronounced with a sad but firm
dignity, that went to the heart of Don Rafael.

A cloud came over it at the thought of Gertrudis falling under the
daggers of the guerilleros, whom he knew to be capable of executing
their threat; and it was almost with a feeling of relief that he
perceived this means of escaping from a duty, whose fulfilment he had
hitherto regarded as imperious.

"Well, then," said he, after a short silence, and in a tone that bespoke
the abandonment of his resolution, "say to the brigand, who is called
Arroyo, that he has nothing to fear, if he will only show himself.  I
pledge my solemn word to this.  I do not mean to grant him pardon--only
that reprieve which humanity claims for him."

"Oh!  I don't require your solemn word," cried the bandit, impudently
presenting himself by the side of Don Mariano.  "Inside here I have two
hostages, that will answer for my life better than your word.  You wish
me to show myself.  What want you with me, Senor Captain?"

With the veins of his forehead swollen almost to bursting, his lip
quivering with rage, and his eyes on fire, Don Rafael looked upon the
assassin of his father--the man whom he had so long vainly pursued--the
brigand, in fine, whom he could seize in a moment, and yet was compelled
to let escape.  No wonder that it cost him an effort to subdue the
impetuous passions that were struggling in his breast.

Involuntarily his hand closed upon the reins of his bridle, and his
spurs pressed against the flanks of his horse, till the animal,
tormented by the touch, reared upwards, and bounded forward almost to
the walls of the hacienda.

One might have fancied that his rider intended to clear the obstacle
that separated him from his cowardly enemy--who, on his part, could not
restrain himself from making a gesture of affright.

"That which I wish of the brigand Arroyo," at length responded the
Captain, "is to fix his features in my memory, so that I may know them
again, when I pursue him, to drag his living body after the heels of my
horse."

"If it is to promise me only such favours that you have called me out--"
said the bandit, making a motion to re-enter the chamber.

"Stay--hear me!" cried Don Rafael, interrupting him with a gesture;
"your life is safe.  I have said it.  Humanity has compelled me to spare
you."

"_Carrambo_!  I am grateful, Captain; I know the act is to your taste."

"Gratitude from you would be an insult; but if in the red ditch-water
that runs through your heart there be a spark of courage, mount your
horse, choose what arms you please, and come forth.  I defy you to
single combat!"

Don Rafael in pronouncing this challenge rose erect in his stirrups.
His countenance, noble and defiant, presented a strange contrast to the
aspect of vulgar ferocity that characterised the features of the man
thus addressed.  The insult was point blank, and would have aroused the
veriest poltroon; but Arroyo possessed only the courage of the vulture.

"Indeed?" responded he, sneeringly.  "Bah! do you suppose me such a fool
as to go down there? fifty to one!"

"I pledge my honour, as a gentleman," continued the captain, "as an
officer, in the presence of his soldiers; as a Christian, in the
presence of his God--that whatever may be the issue of the combat--that
is, if I succumb--no harm shall happen to you."

For a moment the bandit appeared to hesitate.  One might have fancied
that he was calculating the chances of an encounter.  But the address
and valour of the dragoon captain were known to him by too many proofs,
to allow him to reckon many chances in his favour.  He dared not risk
the combat.

"I refuse," he said, at length.

"Mount your horse.  I shall abandon mine, and fight you on foot."

"_Demonio_!  I refuse, I tell you."

"Enough.  I might have known it.  One word more then, I shall still
agree to your life being spared.  I solemnly promise it, if you will
allow the inmates of this hacienda to leave the place, and put
themselves under the safeguard of a loyal enemy."

"I refuse again," said the bandit, with a demoniac sneer.

"Away, poltroon! you are less than man; and, by the God of vengeance,
when this hand clutches you, you shall not die as a man, but as a mad
dog."

After delivering this terrible adieu, the captain put spurs to his
horse, turning his back upon the bandit with a gesture of the most
profound contempt.

The bugle sounded the "forward;" and the detachment, wheeling around the
wall of the hacienda, once more took the road that led over the ridge.

Among other bitter reflections, with which this interview had furnished
Don Rafael, not the least painful was his apprehension for the safety of
Gertrudis.  No wonder he should have fears; considering the character of
the ruffians in whose power he was compelled to leave her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The apprehensions of Don Rafael were only realised in part.

Two days afterwards he received information from one of his scouts--sent
to Las Palmas for the purpose--that Arroyo and Bocardo had quitted the
neighbourhood--this time in reality--and that Don Mariano and his
daughters had suffered no further injury from them, beyond the pillage
of their hacienda.  This the robbers had stripped of every valuable that
it was convenient for them to carry away.



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

RONCADOR RESTORED.

Captain Tres-Villas, now compelled to obey the order he had received
from the commander-in-chief, proceeded to rejoin his regiment.
Caldelas, at the same period, promoted to the rank of commandant, was
summoned away from Del Valle; and the garrison of the hacienda which
still remained fell under the command of Lieutenant Veraegui, a Catalan.

During the events which followed, Don Rafael saw a great deal of active
service.  He bore a conspicuous part in the battle of Calderon, where
the Royalist general, Calleja, with only six thousand soldiers, routed
the undisciplined army of Hidalgo, numbering nearly an hundred thousand
men!

After being carried by the chances of the campaign into almost every
province of the vice-royalty, Don Rafael was at length ordered back to
Oajaca, to assist in the siege of Huajapam.  It was while on his passage
to this latter province from the fort of San Blas, that he appeared for
a moment off the isle of Roqueta.

At the siege of Huajapam, his old comrade Caldelas re-appears as a
general; while Don Rafael himself, less fortunate, has not risen above
the rank of a colonel.

Such, briefly, is the history of the dragoon captain up to the time when
the vaquero, Julian, arrived in the camp at Huajapam.

The announcement of this messenger caused within the bosom of Don Rafael
an emotion sudden and vivid.  Absence, remarks a moralist, which soon
dissipates a slight affection, has the very opposite effect upon a
profound passion.  It only inflames it the more--just as the wind
extinguishes the flame of a candle, while it augments the blaze of a
conflagration.  Absence had produced upon Don Rafael an effect of the
latter kind.  He lived in the hope that Gertrudis might some day send
him a message of pardon and love.  No wonder, then, that he was moved by
the arrival of a messenger from that part of the country.

"Well, Julian," said he, in a tone of assumed carelessness, "you have
news for me--what is it, my lad?  I hope the insurgents have not
captured our fortress?"

"Oh no, master," replied Julian; "the soldiers at the hacienda only
complain of having nothing to do.  A little scouting through the
country--where they might have the chance of sacking a rich hacienda--
would be more to their taste and fancy.  As to that, the news which I
bring to your Honour will probably procure them this opportunity."

"You bring news of our enemy, I presume?"

The tone of disappointment in which the interrogatory was put, was
sufficiently marked to strike even the ear of Julian.

"Yes, Captain," replied he, "but I have other messages; and, to begin
with that which is least important, I fancy it will be agreeable to your
honour to know that I have brought along with me your favourite,
Roncador."

"Roncador?"

"Yes; the brave bay-brown you lost in your affair at Las Palmas.  He has
been recovered for you, and taken care of.  Ah! he has been marvellously
cared for, I can assure your Honour.  He was sent back to the hacienda."

"Who sent him?" hastily inquired Don Rafael.

"Why, who could it be, your Honour, but Don Mariano de Silva.  One of
his people brought the horse to Del Valle three days ago--saying that he
supposed the owner of such a fine animal would be pleased to have him
again.  As the saddle and bridle had been lost, a new saddle and bridle
were sent along with him.  Ah! splendid they are--the bridle, with a
pretty bunch of red ribbons on the frontlet!"

"Where are these ribbons?" hastily asked Don Rafael, carried away by the
thought that a sight of them might enable him to divine whether the hand
of Gertrudis had attached them to the frontlet.

"One of our people--Felipe el Galan--took them to make a cockade with."

"Felipe is a silly fellow, whom, one of these days, I shall punish for
his indiscretion."

"I told him so, your Honour; but he would take them.  I should add, your
Honour, that the servant of Don Mariano also brought a letter for you."

"Ah! why did you not tell me so at first?"

"I began at the beginning, your Honour," replied the phlegmatic Julian.
"Here is the letter."

The messenger drew from the pocket of his _jaqueta_ a small packet done
up in a leaf of maize, inside which he had prudently concealed the
letter.  Unfolding the leaf, he handed the note to Don Rafael, whose
hand visibly trembled on taking it.

In vain did he attempt to dissemble his emotion under the studied air of
coolness with which he received the letter, which he permitted to remain
unopened.

This letter, thought he, should be from Gertrudis; and he dwelt on the
voluptuous pleasure he was about to enjoy while reading it alone.

"Well, Julian," said he, after a pause, "anything else have you to tell
me of?"

"Yes, your Honour; the most important of all.  Arroyo, Bocardo, and
their bandits have returned to the neighbourhood; and Lieutenant
Veraegui has charged me to say to you--"

"Arroyo!  Bocardo!" interrupted Don Rafael, all at once re-awaking from
his sweet dreams to thoughts of vengeance.  "Tell Lieutenant Veraegui to
give double rations to his horses, and get them ready for a campaign.
Say that in two or three days I shall be with him, and we shall enter
upon it.  The last assault upon Huajapam is to be made this very day,
and the place must either fall, or we raise the siege.  I shall then
obtain leave from the Commander-in-chief, and by the Virgin!  I shall
capture these two ruffians, or set the whole province on fire.  _Vaya,
Julian_!"

Julian was about to depart, when Don Rafael's eye, once more alighting
upon the little billet which promised to yield him a moment of sweet
happiness, called the messenger back to him.

"Stay a moment!" said he, looking around for his purse, "you have been
the bearer of good news, Julian.  Here!"

And, as he said this, he placed in the hands of the messenger an _onza_
of gold.

Julian accepted the douceur with eagerness--not without profound
astonishment at being so generously recompensed for reporting the
re-appearance of Arroyo and his band!  Nevertheless, his satisfaction at
the perquisite far exceeded his surprise.

As soon as he had gone out of the tent, Don Rafael took the letter from
the table--where he had for the moment deposited it--and held it for
some seconds in his hand without daring to open it.  His heart rose and
fell in violent pulsations, for he had no doubt that the letter was from
Gertrudis, and it was the first souvenir he had received from her for
nearly two years--since he had embraced the Royalist cause.

In fine, he opened the note.  Although written in a feminine hand, it
was more like that of Marianita than Gertrudis, and contained only the
following words:--

  "The inmates of Las Palmas are not forgetful that they have received a
  kindness from Don Rafael Tres-Villas under very critical
  circumstances; and they believe that the Colonel Tres-Villas might be
  gratified at having restored to him the noble steed which the Captain
  Tres-Villas had such reason to esteem."

"A kindness!" exclaimed Don Rafael, with bitter emphasis, "what
ingratitude!  A service rendered by the betrayal of an oath sworn over
the head of my murdered father!  They call it a kindness--an act of
simple politeness, forsooth!  Oh!  I must endeavour to think no more of
those who have forgotten me."

And with a bitter sigh the Colonel strode forth from his tent, and
proceeded towards the marquee of the Commander-in-chief--where the
council of war was at that moment assembling.

Notwithstanding his chagrin, however, Don Rafael did not tear up the
letter that had caused such disappointment, nor yet did he fling it
away.  Perhaps it had been touched by the hand of Gertrudis; and, with
this thought passing through his mind, he placed the billet in a little
pocket in his uniform, which chanced to be on the left side, just over
his heart.

While passing towards head-quarters, another reflection crossed his
mind, that exerted a consolatory influence upon his spirits.  Gertrudis
knew how much he prized the noble bay-brown--so often caressed by her
hand.  Was it for that reason the horse had been sent back to him?  Was
it she who had attached the rosette of ribbons to the bridle, to recall
the flowers of the grenadine which in happier times she had placed upon
his frontlet?

It was sweet happiness to believe it was she.



CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

THE COUNCIL OF WAR.

The Commander-in-chief Bonavia, the generals of brigade--Caldelas and
Regules--were seated around a table covered with a green cloth, when Don
Rafael entered the marquee.  The council had not yet commenced.

"Ah!  Colonel," cried Bonavia, addressing Don Rafael, as he entered, "I
understand you have received a message from Del Valle.  Is it of a
private nature, or one that may assist the Royalist cause?"

"The lieutenant who commands the garrison of Del Valle informs me that
those two guerilleros, whom both sides now regard as outlaws--Arroyo and
Bocardo, I mean--have returned to Oajaca with their band.  I have the
honour to solicit from your Excellency that, after this place is taken,
you will grant me permission to go in pursuit of these brigands, and
hunt them as wild beasts."

"You shall have leave to do so, Colonel.  I know no one better qualified
to perform such a duty."

"I can promise your Excellency that no one will set about it with more
zeal, nor follow it up with more perseverance."

The war council was then inaugurated without further delay.

Without reporting all that passed at Huajapam, we shall give a few
details that may render more clear the relative situation of the
besieged and the besiegers at this memorable blockade of Huajapam.

"Gentlemen," began Bonavia, addressing himself to his assembled
officers, "it is now one hundred and fourteen days since we opened siege
upon this paltry town.  Without counting skirmishes, we have made
fourteen regular attacks upon it; and yet we are at this hour no nearer
capturing it than we were on the first day!"

"Less nearer, I should say," interposed Regules, when the
Commander-in-chief had ceased speaking.  "The confidence of the besieged
has grown stronger by the success of their obstinate resistance.  When
we first invested the place, they possessed not a single cannon.  Now
they have three pieces, which this Colonel Trujano has caused to be cast
out of the bells of the churches."

"That is as much as to say that General Regules is of opinion we should
raise the siege?"

This speech was delivered by Caldelas in a tone of irony, which plainly
expressed that a certain animosity existed between these two generals.
Such was in reality the fact--a feeling of rivalry having long estranged
them from each other.  Caldelas was an energetic officer, brave, and of
undoubted loyalty; while Regules, on the other hand, was noted for
unnecessary severity, while his courage was more than questionable.

"It is just that question I have summoned you to discuss," said Bonavia,
without giving Regules time to reply to the taunt of his rival, "whether
we are to raise the siege or continue it.  It is for Colonel
Tres-Villas, who is the youngest of you, and of lowest grade, to give
his advice first.  Pronounce, Colonel!"

"When fifteen hundred men besiege a place like Huajapam, defended by
only three hundred, they should either take it, or to the last man die
upon its ramparts.  To do otherwise, would be to compromise not only
their own honour but the cause which they serve.  That is the opinion I
have the honour of submitting to your Excellency."

"And you, General Caldelas, what is your advice?"

"I agree with the Colonel.  To raise the siege would be a pernicious
example for the Royalist troops, and a deplorable encouragement to the
insurrection.  What would the brave Commander-in-chief of our army--Don
Felix Calleja--say to our raising the siege?  During a hundred days he
besieged Cuautla Amilpas, defended by a general far more skilful than
Trujano--Morelos himself--and yet on the hundredth day he was master of
the town."

"Morelos evacuated the place," interposed Regules.

"What matter if he did?  By so doing, he acknowledged himself defeated;
and the Spanish flag had the honours of a successful siege."

It was now the turn of Regules to give his opinion.

He reviewed at full length the delays and difficulties they had
experienced; the fruitless assaults and sanguinary skirmishes they had
made.  He argued that it was impolitic to stand upon an empty point of
honour consuming the lives and courage of one thousand soldiers in front
of a paltry village, while Morelos was at that moment marching on the
capital of Oajaca.

"And when I say a _thousand_ soldiers," continued he, "I do not speak
without reason.  The Colonel, in speaking of fifteen hundred, must have
counted our dead along with the living.  Up to the present time, in all
other parts of the vice-kingdom, our troops have only encountered
enemies, inspired by what they please to designate `love of their
country;' while here, in our front, we have a host of religious
fanatics, whom this droll muleteer, Trujano, has imbued with his own
spirit, and it must be confessed, with his courage as well.  It is not
three hundred enemies against whom we are contending, but a thousand
fanatics who fight under the influence of despair, and die with a song
upon their lips.  While we are here wasting time in useless attempts,
the insurrection is spreading in other parts of the province, where we
might be profitably employed in crushing it.  My advice, then, is to
raise a siege that has been disastrous in every point of view."

"The besieged no doubt recall the exploits of Yanguitlan," ironically
remarked Caldelas.  "That is why they defend themselves so well."

At this allusion to Yanguitlan, which will be understood in the sequel,
Regules bit his lips with suppressed chagrin, at the same time darting a
look of concentrated hatred upon his rival.

To the view of the case presented by Regules, the General-in-chief was
disposed to give in his adhesion.  Less accessible to mere punctilios of
honour than his younger officers, he saw in the advice of the brigadier
reasons that were not wanting in a certain solidity.  Without, however,
availing himself of the full authority of his rank, he proposed an
intermediate course.  It was, that on the morrow, they should try one
last and powerful attack; and if that should prove a failure then they
might raise the siege.

While Bonavia was still speaking a singular noise reached the tent, as
if coming from the besieged town.  It appeared as a chorus of many
voices intoning some solemn chaunt.  This was followed by the clangour
of horns and trumpets, and the explosion of fireworks--as if let off
upon the occasion of a jubilee.

"These rejoicings," remarked Regules, "are an ill omen for us.  It is
not to-morrow that the siege should be raised, but this very day."

"That is to say," rejoined Caldelas, "that we should take to flight
before an exhibition of fireworks!"

"Or, like the walls of Jericho, fall down at the sound of trumpets!"
added the Colonel.

"Well," said Regules, "perhaps before long you may learn to your cost
that I have been right."

In spite of his opinion, however, a last assault was determined upon, to
take place on the following morning; and after the plans were discussed
and arranged, Bonavia dissolved the council; and the officers proceeded
to their respective tents.

Don Rafael hastened towards his: he was anxious to be alone.  He desired
to indulge in reflection--to ponder upon the meaning of the message he
had received--and above all to caress the sweet ray of hope which had
lately entered his heart, so long desolate and sad.

He did not even deign to lend an ear to the tumultuous rejoicings that
came swelling from the beleaguered town; although the whole Royalist
camp was at that moment occupied with these demonstrations, the soldiers
deeming them, as Regules had pronounced, sounds of sinister import.



CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

VALERIO TRUJANO.

In Colonel Valerio Trujano the reader will recognise the ex-muleteer,
who, it will be remembered, declined exposing his life to the chances of
war before paying his debts.  Though in full command at Huajapam, he was
simply a leader of guerilleros--nothing more; and in these partisan
chieftains the country at the time abounded.  The renown, however, which
Trujano had gained within the narrow sphere of his exploits, had already
rendered him a subject of constant inquietude to the government of
Oajaca; and to crush this formidable enemy had been the object of the
march upon Huajapam, where Trujano chanced to be at the time.  The
Royalist officers believed that a favourable opportunity had offered, in
the absence of two of Trujano's ablest supporters--Miguel and Nicolas
Bravo--both of whom had been summoned by Morelos to assist at the siege
of Cuautla.

Such was the importance attached to the defeat of the religious
insurgent, that the government employed against him nearly every soldier
in the province--concentrating its whole force upon Huajapam.

The little town was at the time entirely without fortifications of any
kind, and on all sides open to an enemy.  All the more does the
remarkable defence made by Trujano deserve to be immortalised.
Fortunately for him the place was well supplied with provisions.

For all this, resistance against such a superior force would have been
impossible, according to the ordinary rules of war; and it was not by
these that Trujano succeeded in making it.

His first act was to store all the provisions in a common magazine; and
these were served out every morning in rations to each soldier and each
head of a family among the citizens.  He also established a code of
discipline, almost monastic in its severity; which discipline, from the
first hour of the siege, in the midst of its most sanguinary episodes,
during the long period of nearly four months, he managed to maintain
without the slightest infraction.  The energy of his character, combined
with the prudence of his dispositions, obtained for him an irresistible
ascendency over both soldiers and citizens.

The time was distributed for various purposes in the same manner as in a
convent; and the most part of it that was not taken up by military
duties, was spent in prayers and other devotional exercises.  Orations
and vespers were performed in public--every one, both soldiers and
citizens, taking part; and in this remote village, cut off from all
communication with the world, amidst a population little used to the
pleasures of life, hourly prayers were offered up with that fervour with
which the mariner implores the protection of God against the fury of the
storm.

It must be acknowledged that these dispositions were somewhat droll and
eccentric.  They were prudent, however; since the followers of the
insurgent chieftain, thus continually kept in occupation, had no time to
become discouraged.  If provisions were becoming scarce, they knew
nothing about it.  No curious gossips were permitted to explore the
magazines, and report upon their emptiness.  No indiscreet tongue was
allowed to talk of approaching starvation.  This arrangement could only
lead to one of two issues: either the besiegers must destroy the last
man in Huajapam, or themselves abandon the siege.

During more than a hundred days, as already stated, this strange
condition of things existed in the town; and in all that time only one
attempt had been made from without to relieve the place.  This was by
the insurgent leaders, Colonel Sanchez and the priest Tapia.  The
attempt had proved a failure; but even that did not shake the constancy
of Trujano and his followers.  The discouragement was altogether on the
side of the Royalists.

Among the besieged perfect confidence was placed in their leader--a
truly extraordinary man--one in whom were united the most brilliant
qualities, and even those of a kind that are rarely found existing
together.

Never did he permit the ardour of his courage to interfere with the
prudence of his plans; and never did he advance them too hastily to
maturity.  Brave almost to rashness, he nevertheless calculated minutely
the chances of a combat before commencing it.  His frank open
countenance had something so winning in it, that all freely yielded up
their secret thoughts to him, while no one could penetrate his.

His gentleness towards his soldiers, tempered with a due measure of
justice, had the effect of gaining their obedience by love rather than
fear.  An indefinable charm, in short, emanated from his person, which
excluded all idea of disobedience to his will.

It may here be observed that at this period of the Mexican Revolution
(1812), the Spaniards were in possession of all the resources of
administration--the posts, and express couriers, with the principal
highways of the country.  The insurrectionary forces were in scattered
and isolated bodies, either besieged in towns or pursued among the
_sierras_.  Bearing these facts in mind, it will not be wondered at,
that although, while Trujano was besieged in Huajapam, and Morelos was
in Cuautla, at the distance of only two or three days' journey, the
Mexican general was entirely ignorant of the situation of the
ex-muleteer!  Even a month after Morelos had evacuated Cuautla, and
retired upon Isucar, the position of his compatriot still remained
unreported to him.  Fortunately Trujano had learnt the whereabouts of
the general, and had despatched a messenger to him demanding assistance.

Enclosed as Huajapam was by the enemy--who guarded every approach with
the strictest vigilance--it seemed impossible that any messenger could
make his way through their lines.  Several days had passed since the
man--an Indian--had gone out of the town; but whether he had succeeded
in safely reaching Morelos' camp, or whether he might be able to return
with the answer, were questions of prime importance to the plans of
Trujano.

On that same day in which the council of war was held in the Spanish
camp, Trujano had ordered a mass to be performed--specially devoted to
prayer for the return of his messenger.  It was in the evening, the hour
succeeding twilight, that this mass was held; and all the population of
the town, including the soldiers, was assembled in the public piazza,
which was illuminated by torches of _ocote_, although the moon was
shining brilliantly above.  A church, whose dome was shattered with
bombs, and rows of houses in ruins, surrounded the square.  The temple
in which the offering was made was the Piazza itself, and the roof was
the starry canopy of the sky.  There, under the red glare of the
torches, might be seen the assembled people of Huajapam; the priests who
assisted at the ceremony in their robes, covering a military garb
underneath; the women, children, and aged, grouped around the walls of
the houses; the soldiers, in ragged uniforms, with guns in hand; and the
wounded seated upon doorsteps with bloody bandages--having dragged
themselves thither to take part in the sacred ceremonial.

Profound silence reigned throughout the Piazza.

On the appearance of a man who advanced into the centre of the square,
his countenance calm, and his eye beaming with religious enthusiasm,
every head was uncovered, or bent in obeisance.  This man was Trujano.

Stopping in the midst of the multitude, he made sign that he was about
to address them.  The silence, if possible, became more profound.

"Children!" he commenced in a sonorous voice, "the Scripture saith,
`except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.'  Let
us pray, then, to the God of battles to watch with us!"

All bent down at the summons, the speaker kneeling in their midst.

"This evening," said he, "we celebrate mass for a special purpose.  Let
us pray for our messenger; let us pray to God to protect him on his
journey, and grant him a safe return.  Let us sing praises to that God,
who has hitherto preserved from evil the children who have trusted in
Him!"

The speaker then intoned the verse of the well-known psalm--

"His truth shall be thy shield and buckler.  Thou shalt not be afraid of
the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the
pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that
wasteth at noon day."

After each verse of the psalm, the people repeated--

"Lord have compassion upon us!  Lord have mercy upon us!"

The devout Colonel, as if he expected that God would show him some
signal mark of his favour, in more emphatic tone chanted the verse--

"I will deliver him because he hath known My name; I will protect him
because he hath loved Me."

And as if in reality the Divine interpretation had been granted, the
messenger at that moment appeared entering the Piazza!

The man had seen Morelos, and brought back the glad news that the
insurgent general would instantly place his army _en route_ for the
relief of Huajapam.

Trujano, raising his eyes to heaven, cried out--

"Bless the Lord! oh, bless the Lord, all ye who are His servants!"

He then proceeded to distribute the supper rations--giving them out with
his own hands--after which the torches were extinguished, and the
besieged betook themselves to sleep, trusting in Him who never slumbers,
and whose protection was to them as a shield and buckler.



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

A WALKING CORPSE.

While the mass was being performed in the Piazza, the Spanish sentries,
who guarded the trenches outside, could distinctly hear the voices of
those who took part in it; and could even distinguish the words of the
sacred song, which alone broke the silence of the night.

The sentinel whose post was nearest to the entrenchments of the town,
had for his companions a number of dead bodies of the enemy, who had
fallen during a sortie of the insurgents, and whose corpses their
comrades had no opportunity of interring.  These, as already mentioned,
were all more or less mutilated by their cruel foes, who oft-times
revenged themselves on the dead for defeats they had suffered from the
living.

The sentry in question walked to and fro upon his prescribed rounds,
alternately turning face and back upon the mangled corpses.  On each
occasion, as he faced round half mechanically he counted them, by way of
killing the time, at the same time preserving between them and himself a
respectable distance.

After a short while spent in this melancholy pastime, the sounds
accompanying the ceremony of the mass attracted his attention; and, as a
change, he commenced endeavouring to make out the words that were being
spoken or chaunted.

A distant voice exclaimed--

"A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right-hand;
but it shall not come nigh thee."

"What the devil can it mean?" soliloquised the soldier.  "Latin it must
be!  Some prayer for these dead rebels, I suppose!"

While thus alluding to the corpses that lay near, he once more glanced
towards them.  All at once it appeared to him that their number had
increased!

"I must have made a mistake," muttered he to himself; "I surely counted
only nine of them a moment ago; and yet now there was surely ten--one,
two, three--yes, ten!"

He again lent his ears to listen to the chaunting of the psalm--

"Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder; the young lion and the
dragon shalt thou trample under foot."

"Ah!" exclaimed the sentry, "they are talking of dragoons--the Queen's
dragoons, I suppose?"

On making this remark, he paused suddenly in his steps.  He had been
timing his paces with that regular tread habitual to sentries, and in
such a fashion as to maintain the same distance between himself and the
corpses--which he had no inclination to approach.  This time, on turning
his face, it appeared to him that he had got much nearer to one of them;
and at the next turn nearer still!  This induced him to count the steps
he was taking; and though on each round he made exactly the same number,
he could not resist the conviction that he was constantly approximating
to the corpse.  Either he must be mistaken, or the dead body must have
moved from its place!  The latter was, of course, the more probable
supposition; but, to assure himself, he approached the corpse to examine
it.

The dead man was lying upon his side; and a blotch of crimson colour
conspicuous behind his cheek, marked the place where his ear had been
cropped off.

A brief examination satisfied the sentry that the man was dead.  It
followed, therefore, that he himself must have been labouring under an
illusion as to the distance.  He almost gave way to an impulse to thrust
his bayonet through the corpse; but a dead body, seen under the shadows
of night, inspires a certain air of imposing solemnity, which repels
profanation; and this, acting upon the spirit of the sentinel, hindered
him from yielding to the temptation.

"If it were possible for dead men to get upon their legs and walk, I
should say these fellows could do so.  I am almost sure I counted only
nine at first.  Now there are ten; and devil take me if that fellow,
whom I have examined, does not look as if he wished to have a chat with
me, for the fun of the thing.  _Carrambo_! the voices of those rebels in
the town are not very gay at the best; but for all that, they are
pleasanter to bear than the silence of these companions here.  There
goes the sing-song again!"

The chaunt continued--

"Lift your hands through the night, and bless the Lord.  His truth shall
be thy shield and buckler.  Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror by
night!"

Although to the ears of the sentry the chaunting of the besieged was
merry as a drinking song compared with the melancholy silence of the
dead bodies, yet the time seemed long enough to him; and every now and
then he looked towards the camp, in hopes of hearing some sound that
would indicate the approach of the relief guard.

None was heard; and he continued to walk his round, as before measuring
the ground with exact steps.

The dead body which was nearest appeared to remain in the same place;
and the mind of the soldier was becoming gradually tranquillised, when
all at once, on turning sharply round, he perceived that this corpse was
no longer where he had last seen it.  At the same instant his eye caught
the shadow of an upright figure gliding rapidly off, in the direction of
the town!

Terror at the unexpected resurrection hindered him for a while from
making any movement; and when this had passed, and he was able to
reflect more calmly, he comprehended all.  He had simply been duped by
an Indian ruse; which explained the mysterious addition to the number of
the corpses, and the lessened distance between himself and that which
had been lying nearest.

It was now too late to arrest the progress of the Indian by firing after
him; and, as the giving an alarm would only be to disclose his own
negligence, the sentry prudently maintained silence, and permitted the
man to continue his course.

To account for the absence of ears, which had led the soldier to mistake
the Indian for a corpse, it is necessary to mention an episode of the
insurrectionary war, which had happened some weeks before.  The scene of
the episode was the village of Yanguitlan, where the cruel Spanish
general, Regules, having captured a number of Indian insurgents, had
caused the ears of a score of them to be cropped off, so close to their
heads, that many of them died of the haemorrhage which followed.  The
others succeeded in making their way to Huajapam; and the Indian, who
had so cleverly duped the Spanish sentry--and who was no other than the
messenger whose return was at that moment being prayed for within the
town--was one of the survivors of the horrible outrage.

It was to this affair that Caldelas had derisively alluded during the
sitting of the war council.

"_Mil Rayos_!" hissed out the sentry, in a frenzy of rage and chagrin;
"_Demonios_! there may be more of these fellows alive!  I shall take
care that no other gets to his feet, and runs off like the one who has
so cleverly tricked me.  Now, then!"

Saying these words the sentry turned his fusil in his hands; and,
rushing towards the corpses, did not leave off thrusting till he had
passed his bayonet two or three times through each of them.

Not one of the bodies showed the slightest signs of life; and the only
sounds that troubled the tranquillity of the scene, were the angry
breathings of the soldier, as he performed his ghastly work, and the
chaunting of the besieged that still swelled in melancholy intonation
upon the night air.

"Chaunt away, you cowardly devils," cried the terrified soldier; "chaunt
away!  You have reason, if it were only to mock me for keeping such
careful guard over you.  _Chingarito_!"

And the Spaniard, as he uttered this emphatic shibboleth, gnashed his
teeth with vexation.

Shortly after, the voices within the Piazza became hushed.  As we have
stated, the messenger had arrived, and delivered his welcome tidings to
the insurgent leader.



CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

A DECOY SENTRY.

On the same evening while the besieged were celebrating mass in the
Piazza of Huajapam, other scenes were occurring not many leagues
distant.  Behind the chain of hills which bounded the plain of Huajapam,
and in the rear of the Royalist encampment, a third army had suddenly
made its appearance--though still invisible to the Spanish sentries.
Morelos, true to his promise, with a thousand soldiers under his
command, was hastening forward to the relief of Trujano.  These were all
the regular troops at his disposal; as he had been compelled to leave a
strong garrison in the town of Chilapa, which he had also recently taken
from the Royalists.

Besides his regulars, however, he was accompanied by a large force of
Indians, armed with bows and slings.

At a short distance behind the General-in-chief, the Marshal Galeana and
Captain Don Cornelio Lantejas were riding side by side.

Notwithstanding the distinguished position which he held in the
insurgent army, the ci-devant student of theology seemed ill at ease.
Some secret grief was troubling his spirit.

"The General is quite right in refusing you leave of absence," said
Galeana.  "A brave and experienced officer like you cannot be well
spared; and your persistence in asking for leave has greatly offended
him, I can assure you.  As for that, my dear Lantejas, leave it to me.
I am much mistaken if I don't soon find you an opportunity of achieving
some bold deed, which will be certain to reinstate you in the General's
favour.  You will only have to slay three or four Spanish soldiers, or a
Royalist officer of high rank, and that will set you all straight with
Morelos."

"I should prefer slaying the officer, I think," answered Lantejas,
scarce knowing what to say in reply.

To him, who had hitherto been only a hero by simple accident, the idea
of premeditating any act that would distinguish him, only brought a
fresh shadow upon the horizon of his future; and he would gladly have
resigned the honours he had already gained for leave to escape being the
candidate for new ones.

As soon as Morelos' army had halted for the night, the General and
Galeana commenced deliberating on some plan by which they might give the
enemy a decisive blow.  The strategy which appeared most to recommend
itself was to get the Royalist army between two fires; that is, while
the troops of Morelos himself assaulted the Spanish camp in the rear,
those of Trujano should make a sortie from the town, and attack the
enemy on his front.

To the carrying out of this design the chief obstacle that presented
itself was the difficulty of communicating with the besieged.  The
messenger of Trujano had left the camp of Morelos before the idea of
such an attack had been conceived.  Was there any one in the insurgent
army who could pass the Royalist lines, and carry a message into the
town?  That became the question, which, as it so happened, Don Cornelio
Lantejas was able to answer in the affirmative.

The Captain was in command of the Indians, one of whom had informed him
that he knew a secret way by which the town could be entered.  The
patriotic Indian at the same time declared his willingness to carry a
message to Colonel Trujano.

On communicating this information to the General, Lantejas had no
thought of the honourable commission it would be the means of obtaining
for himself.  Perhaps, had he suspected what was in store for him, he
would have withheld it.  He did not do so, however; and, on disclosing
the fact to Morelos, the General at once ordered him to accompany the
Indian, taking along with him some half-dozen of his trustiest men.

An honour thus offered by the Commander-in-chief of an army cannot,
without difficulty, be declined; and Don Cornelio was constrained to
accept it.

Choosing for his companions Costal and Clara, with some half-dozen
others, and, preceded by the Indian guide, he set forth towards the
town.

After two hours spent in climbing the hills, they came within sight of
the bivouac fires of the Spanish camp--towards which they proceeded
without making stop, until they had arrived near the line of pickets.
Here the guide halted the party, concealing them behind a ruined wall.

From this point a road, deeply sunk below the surface of the plain, ran
past the place where one of the Spanish pickets held post.  It was the
same post where, but a short while before, the earless Indian had
succeeded in deceiving the sentry.  The one now on post was not the
same.  The guard had been meanwhile relieved and another sentry had
taken the place; who, by the uneasy glances which, from time to time, he
kept casting around him, was evidently under the belief that his
position was a dangerous one.

Many causes combined to render the new sentinel sufficiently
uncomfortable.  The night was disagreeably cold; the companionship of
the corpses, whose mutilated state presented death before his eyes in
its most hideous aspect; their odour horribly infecting the air;--all
these causes, coming together, could not fail to inspire the soldier
with a secret fear.

To chase away his unpleasant reflections--as well as to keep his blood
warm against the chill breeze--he walked to and fro in double quick
time.  The only moments when he remained motionless were at those
intervals when it was necessary for him to pause and call out the usual
phrase: "_Alerta, centinela_!"

"I am sorry for the poor devil!" said Costal, "we must send him to keep
guard in the next world."

The wall behind which they had halted, although tumbled down and in
ruins, still rose sufficiently high to screen the party from the eyes of
the sentinel.  Moreover, between the latter and the ruin, the ground was
thickly studded with aloe plants and bushes of wild wormwood.

"Let us first get rid of the sentry," said Costal; "that accomplished,
scatter yourselves among the bushes, and leave the rest to me."

On giving this counsel, the Zapoteque borrowed a sling from one of the
Indians, in which he placed a stone carefully chosen.  Then ordering two
others to make ready their bows, he continued, addressing himself to Don
Cornelio--

"You, Senor Captain, can give the signal.  Take two stones--strike them
together so that the fellow may hear you--strike them twice.  And you,"
continued he, turning to the bowmen, "on hearing the second stroke, take
good aim, and let fly your arrows."

Costal stood holding the sling in readiness.  It was one of those rare
occasions when the bow and the sling serve better than any kind of
firearm.

Lantejas brought the two stones into collision with a loud crack.

The sentry heard the concussion, suddenly halted in his steps, brought
his piece to the "ready," and stood listening.

The Captain gave the second signal.  The stone and arrows hissed
simultaneously through the air; and, struck by all three, the soldier
fell dead without even uttering a cry.

"Go! scatter yourselves among the bushes," cried Costal, hurriedly; "the
rest I can manage better without you."

Don Cornelio and the Indians, in obedience to Costal's injunction,
glided from behind the wall, and crept forward among the aloes.

As they were advancing, directly in front of them, there arose the cry,
"_Alerta, centinela_!"  It came from the place where the sentry had just
fallen; and Don Cornelio, on looking in that direction, perceived, to
his horror and surprise, that the man was once more upon his feet, and
walking his rounds as if nothing had happened!

Lantejas turned to demand an explanation from Costal, but the latter was
nowhere to be seen.  The Captain then faced towards the other Indians;
but these, instead of concealing themselves any longer behind the
bushes, had risen erect, and were running past the sentinel, who seemed
to take no notice of them!

A ray of light broke upon the mind of the innocent Lantejas.

"_Santissima_!" cried he, "the sentinel--it must be Costal himself!"

And so it was.  The living had replaced the dead; and so aptly did
Costal imitate the voice and movements of the soldier who had fallen,
that the other sentries along the line had not the slightest suspicion
of the change that had taken place.

On comprehending the situation of affairs, Don Cornelio sprang to his
feet; and, passing the decoy sentinel, ran on at full speed towards the
walls of the town--where his Indians had already preceded him.

Seeing his captain clear through the lines, Costal flung away the shako
and musket of the soldier, and hastened after.

Soon overtaking Don Cornelio, he cried out, "Quicker, run quicker, Senor
Captain!  The others will give the alarm as soon as they have missed
their comrade!"

As he spoke, he caught Don Cornelio by the wrist, and dragged him along
at such a rate that the Captain was scarce able to keep upon his feet.

In a few seconds they reached the line of the Mexican sentries, who,
already warned of their approach by the Indians, permitted them to enter
the town without opposition.  On entering the Piazza they encountered
Trujano himself; who, with his sword girded on, was making a round of
the village before retiring to rest.

While Don Cornelio was delivering to him the message of Morelos, the
Colonel directed scrutinising glances both upon the Captain and his
Indian companion.  He had some vague recollection of having once before
seen the two men, but he could not remember where.  At the moment that
Don Cornelio finished speaking, his recollection had become more clear
upon the point, "Ah!" exclaimed he, "I was thinking where I had met you.
Are you not the young student who had such confidence in the mandate of
the Bishop of Oajaca, and who, at the hacienda of Las Palmas, denounced
the insurrection as a deadly crime?"

"The same," answered Lantejas, with a sigh.

"And you," continued Trujano, addressing himself to Costal, "are you not
the tiger-hunter of Don Mariano de Silva?"

"The descendant of the caciques of Tehuantepec," answered Costal
proudly.

"God is great, and his ways are inscrutable," rejoined the ex-muleteer,
with the inspired air of a prophet of Judah.

After having more substantially repeated his message, Don Cornelio was
conducted by the Colonel to his quarters, and shown the apartment in
which he was to sleep.

It only remained for him to seek the few hours' rest that would
intervene before daybreak--the hour fixed for the decisive battle which
was to take place.  Wrapped in his cloak, he flung himself upon the
wooden bench that served for a bed--vowing to himself as he fell asleep
to attempt no heroic deeds on the following day, beyond those which were
rigorously necessary for the defence of his own person.



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

THE MORN OF THE BATTLE.

Not until several hours after the arrival of Don Cornelio did the
insurgent Colonel warn his troops of the coming event.  Then they were
instructed to be ready at the first dawn of day, for a sortie against
the Royalist camp--which at the same instant of time was to be attacked
by Morelos on the opposite side.

While the shadows of night were still hanging above the beleaguered
town, a singular noise was heard proceeding from the Piazza.  It
resembled the creaking of a watchman's rattle, or rather half-a-dozen of
these instruments that had been sprung together.  Such in reality it
was: for since the church bells had been converted into cannon, the
rattles of the _serenos_ had been substituted as a means by which to
summon the inhabitants to prayers!

According to the monastic regulation, which Trujano had imposed upon the
besieged, they were each day called together to _oration_.  On this
morning, however, their reunion was earlier than usual: since it had for
its object not only the ordinary prayers, but preparation for the combat
that was to decide the issue of a long and irksome siege.

At the same hour the Royalist camp was aroused by the beating of drums
and bugles sounding the _reveille_; while behind the chain of hills that
bounded the plain Morelos was silently setting his army in motion.

In a few minutes the Piazza of Huajapam was filled with citizens and
soldiers, all armed for the fight.  They stood in silent groups,
awaiting the prayer that would endue them with the necessary energy and
enthusiasm.  The horsemen were dismounted--each man standing by the head
of his horse, and in the order in which they were accustomed to range
themselves.

Trujano appeared in his turn, his countenance solemn, yet smiling, with
confidence in his heart as upon his lips.  He was armed, according to
his custom, with a long two-edged sword, which he had oft-times wielded
with terrible effect.  By his side marched Captain Lantejas, who for the
time being was acting as an aide-de-camp.  Behind them came a soldier,
holding in hand two horses fully equipped for the field.  One of these
was the war-horse of Trujano himself; the other was intended for the
aide-de-camp.  Over the withers of the animal destined for the
ex-student of theology rose a long lance, strapped to the stirrup and
the pummel of the saddle.

Don Cornelio would have had a difficulty in declaring why he had armed
himself in this fashion.  In reality, the lance was not a weapon of his
own choosing, since he had never had any practice in the handling of
one; but the horse had been brought to him thus equipped, and he
passively accepted the lance, for the same reason that he was allowing
himself to be led into the fight:--because he could not help it.

The matin prayers were not extended to any great length of time.  The
dawn was already commencing to show itself in the east; and it would not
be a great while before the sun would cast his golden bearing over the
plains of Huajapam.

The religious insurgent was deeply versed in Scripture.  Many portions
of the Bible were so familiar to him, that he could correctly repeat
them without referring to the sacred book.  In a voice, every tone of
which was heard to the most distant corner of the Piazza, he repeated
the following verses--the meaning of which was rendered more solemn by
the circumstances under which they were recited:--

"The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light.  The dawn is
come to those who dwell in the region of the shadow of death."

"Lord, thou hast blessed thy land; thou hast delivered Jacob from
captivity.  Glory to the most high."

A thousand voices repeated "Glory to the most high!"

By little and little the eastern horizon exhibited a brighter dawn; and
the clouds that floated over the heads of those people so piously bent,
becoming tinged with purple, announced the rising of the sun.

It will be remembered that, at the council of war, the Spanish general
had decided not to make his attack till after the hour of noon.  No
preparations, therefore, had as yet been made in the Royalist camp.

As Bonavia was still ignorant both of the proximity of Morelos and
Trujano's intention to make a sortie, the double attack was likely to
fall upon the Spanish camp with the suddenness of a thunderbolt.

The Spanish army was divided into three brigades, that might almost be
said to occupy three separate encampments.  The first, commanded by
Regules, held position nearest to the walls of the town.  The second,
under the immediate orders of Bonavia himself, occupied the centre;
while the third, in command of Caldelas, formed the rearguard.

According to this disposition, Trujano, in sallying from the town, would
come immediately into collision with the brigade of Regules; while
Morelos, approaching from the mountains, would direct his attack against
that of Caldelas.  In this case, Bonavia, from the centre, could march
to the assistance of whichever of his two brigadiers should stand most
in need of it.

The Colonel Tres-Villas was second in command in the brigade of
Caldelas, and his tent was of course in the rear.

During the night he had slept but little.

Sometimes during a storm the thick mantle of clouds which covers the sky
breaks suddenly apart, disclosing an almost imperceptible portion of the
azure canopy.  Only for a moment the blue spot is visible, after which
the dull vapoury mass closes over it, and again hides it from view.

Such was the ray of hope that had lately shone into the heart of Don
Rafael.  His habitual melancholy had assumed the ascendant, and the
cloud had returned.

The man who passionately loves, and he who scarce loves at all, are
equally unable to tell when their love is reciprocated.  His violent
passion blinds the judgment of the one; while indifference renders the
other inattentive.  Neither is capable of perceiving the tokens of love
which he may have inspired, and which pass unnoticed before his eyes.

In the former situation was Don Rafael.  Despite the proofs which
Gertrudis had given him, his thought was, _not that he was no longer
loved, but that he had never been loved at all_!  He, who had almost
sacrificed his love to his pride, could not perceive that the pride of a
woman may also have its days of revolt against her heart.  Hence arose
the profound discouragement which had taken possession of him, and
extinguished the ray of hope that had gleamed for a moment in his
breast.

Wearied with tossing upon a sleepless couch, he rose at the first call
of the _reveille_ bugle; and ordering his horse to be saddled, he rode
forth from the camp, in hopes that a ride would afford some distraction
to his thoughts.

The aspect of the desolated fields--from which every vestige of a crop
had disappeared--reminded him of his own ruined hopes: like the bud of a
flower plucked from its stem, before it had time to blossom.

Occupied with such reflections, he had ridden nearly a league beyond the
lines of the camp, without taking note of the distance.  In the midst of
the deep silence which reigned around him, he all at once heard a
noise--at first low, but gradually becoming louder.  This instantly
roused him from his reverie--causing him to draw bridle and listen.

During the different campaigns he had made, Don Rafael had learnt to
distinguish all the sounds which indicate the march of a _corps
d'armee_.  The cadenced hoof-stroke, the distant rumbling of
gun-carriages and _caissons_, the neighing of horses, and the clanking
of steel sabres were all familiar to his ear--and proclaimed to him the
movement of troops, as plainly as if they were passing before his eyes.

He had no doubt that what he now heard was the approach of a body of the
insurgents, advancing to the relief of the town.  The alarm given by the
sentinels upon the preceding night--the death of one of the number--the
vivas and other strange exclamations of the besieged, within the town--
left him no room to question the correctness of his conjecture.

Sure of the fact--and not wishing to lose a moment by listening longer--
he wheeled around; and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped back to the
camp where, on his arrival, he at once gave the alarm.



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

BETWEEN TWO FIRES.

After the first moment of confusion had passed, the Royalists commenced
preparing to receive the attack, with that coolness which springs from
practised discipline.  In a short while every one was at his post.

The sun was just appearing above the horizon, disclosing to each army
the view of its antagonist.  The advanced sentinels along the lines had
already retired from their posts, and were hurrying towards the camp.
In the town could be heard the voices of the besieged, in solemn chorus
chaunting the psalm "_Venite exultemus Domine_," while shouts of "_Viva
Morelos_!" came from the opposite direction, and loud above all could be
heard the noted war-cry of the marshal, "_Aqui esta Galeana_!"

Almost at the same instant a double fusillade opened its formidable
dialogue from the two separate wings of the Spanish army.  Trujano and
Morelos replied to it; one attacking in front, and the other upon the
rear.  The hour of retaliation had come: the besiegers were now besieged
in their turn.

Meanwhile Morelos, having given orders to Galeana to direct the
movement, had posted himself upon a little hill; where, telescope in
hand, he stood watching the progress of the action.

After having coolly arranged his plan of attack, Trujano impetuously
launched himself upon the camp of Regules, at the same instant that
Galeana was advancing upon that of Caldelas.

On both sides the firing was of short duration.  Neither the Marshal nor
Trujano were the men to remain long at a distance from their enemy; and
both, charging impetuously forward, brought their men hand to hand with
the Royalists.

Although inferior in numbers to their enemies, the _guerilleros_ of
Trujano made such a desperate attack upon the soldiers of Regules, that
the latter, unable to sustain the shock, were thrown for a moment into
confusion.  Their general, however, succeeded in rallying them; and
Trujano, with his handful of men, was held for a time in check.

Meanwhile, Bonavia and Caldelas, having united their forces, were using
all their efforts to resist the desperate charges made by Galeana; who,
notwithstanding the impetuosity of his attack, found himself unable to
break through their line and form a junction with Trujano.

There are men in whose company it is impossible not to feel brave--or at
least have the appearance of it--especially when fighting by their side.
Trujano was one of this character.  His ardent valour was contagious;
and alongside of him, Lantejas had no difficulty in sustaining his
reputation for courage.

Nevertheless, the battle seemed to the Captain to be hanging a long time
undecided; and he was growing fearfully troubled that the day would go
against them, when Trujano, wiping the perspiration from his forehead,
cried out to him--

"Captain Lantejas!  I fear we shall never be able to break their line
with such a handful of men.  Put spurs to your horse, and gallop round
till you find General Morelos.  Ask him to reinforce me with two or
three battalions.  Say that I have great need of them, and that the
success of the day depends upon it.  Ride quickly; and I shall endeavour
to sustain the attack till your return.  _Vaya!  Capitan_!"

The aide-de-camp, on receiving the order, went off at a gallop, lance in
hand.

At the same instant an officer rode forth from the camp of Regules, on a
similar mission to the Commander-in-chief of the Spanish army.  The
latter, however, succeeded in executing his commission more promptly
than Don Cornelio; and Bonavia hastened, notwithstanding the protest of
Caldelas, to send to Regules the reinforcement he had demanded.

"That man will be our ruin," said Caldelas to Tres-Villas, as the
battalions were drawn from his brigade.

Don Rafael, mounted upon his favourite steed, El Roncador, was at this
time making every effort to reach the Marshal, whose defiant war-cry, so
often pealing in their ears, was beginning to create terror among the
ranks of the Royalists.

"_Mil demonios_!" exclaimed Caldelas, "if Regules prove the cause of our
defeat, I shall blow out his brains, and afterwards my own!"

As the brigadier pronounced this threat, his soldiers, pressed by a
violent movement in front, commenced to give ground; and that which he
had foreseen was likely to be realised.  His brigade, weakened by the
battalions sent as a reinforcement to Regules, was unable to withstand
the desperate charges of Galeana; and, in a minute or two after, his
troops broke line, fell back, and then scattered in full retreat.

Blinded by rage, Caldelas turned his horse, leaving to Don Rafael the
duty of collecting the dispersed soldiers, and, furiously plying the
spur, he galloped off towards the ground where Regules was still
contesting the issue with Trujano.

Meanwhile Don Cornelio was going at full speed on his message to
Morelos.  He was not proceeding in a very direct line, however.  Not
desiring to get again embroiled in the battle, he had resolved on making
a wide circuit round a vast field of maize, that extended along the edge
of the plain, and slightly elevated above it.  Every now and then he
endeavoured to discover whether he was opposite the position held by
Morelos; but in this he was unsuccessful; for the blades of the maize
plants rising above his head hindered him from having a view over the
plain.  He at length reached a crossroad; and, deeming that he had
ridden far enough to put him beyond the ground occupied by the Royalist
forces, he turned his horse along the road, still going at a gallop.

The combatants were hidden from his view by a thicket of low bushes that
skirted the side of the road.  This, however, at length terminated
abruptly; and Don Cornelio, riding into the open ground, all at once
found himself in the presence of a large body of Spanish soldiers, who
appeared in front of him forming a semicircle of swords, bayonets, and
lances.

Terrified at the excess of his involuntary boldness, he turned his horse
upon the instant, and plunged back into the crossroad; but he had scarce
made three lengths of his horse in the back direction, when he saw
riding towards him a Spanish officer, who, pistol in hand, and with a
countenance red with rage, was uttering the most emphatic threats and
protestations.  In another instant they must meet face to face.

The advancing horseman had his eyes fixed upon the field of battle; and,
although he did not appear to be aware of the approach of Don Cornelio,
the latter had no other belief than that he himself was the object of
the blasphemous menaces.  If the Spaniard was not expressly searching
after him to kill him, why should he thus cut off his retreat by the
crossroad--the only direction that offered him a chance of escape?

Believing that the horseman was advancing to assail him, and suddenly
nerved by despair, the Captain, on his side, charged forward; and
delivering a vigorous thrust with the lance, he pierced his unsuspecting
antagonist through the body, striking him lifeless out of his saddle!

A cry of grief reached the ears of the ex-student, coming from another
part of the field; but not staying to see who had uttered it, he again
spurred his steed along the crossroad--determined this time to make a
detour sufficiently wide before heading towards the position of Morelos.

He had not gone far, however, when he heard a loud voice hailing him
from behind; while the hoarse snorting of a horse was mingled with the
cries--a snorting that resembled the roaring of a jaguar, and for that
reason awakened within him the most terrible souvenirs.

"It is surely the horse of the Apocalypse?" muttered the ex-student of
theology, while using every effort to maintain the distance that lay
between himself and this mysterious pursuer.

In order to gallop more freely, he had flung away the lance, and was now
plying the spurs with all the energy of a racing jockey; but still the
singular snorting appeared to grow louder, and the pursuer was evidently
gaining upon him.

To say the least, the situation of Captain Lantejas was becoming
critical--to judge by the fierce zeal exhibited by his pursuer.  Perhaps
in all his life the ex-student had never been in a position of greater
peril than at that moment.

Just as he was about reaching the crossing of the roads, he heard close
behind him the breathing of the man who was in pursuit of him; and,
glancing over his shoulder, he saw the head of the animal he had termed
the horse of the Apocalypse--almost on a level with the croup of his
saddle.

In another moment, a vigorous hand seized him by the collar, that
lifting him out of his stirrups, dragged him backward, till he felt that
he was lying across the pummel of his adversary's saddle.

Don Cornelio now saw a poignard raised to strike, which flashed before
his sight like the sword of an archangel.  He closed his eyes, believing
his last hour had come; when all at once the arm fell, and a voice cried
out--

"_Tomal_ Why it is Don Cornelio Lantejas!"

The ex-student reopened his eyes; and, looking up, recognised the young
officer in whose company he had journeyed, on his way to San Salvador,
whom he had afterwards met at the hacienda Las Palmas.



CHAPTER FIFTY.

A SPLENDID STROKE.

Surrounded by his staff, Morelos still continued to watch the progress
of events.  From the commanding position which he held, almost every
incident of the battle could be observed.  Even those occurring at the
most distant point of the field were observable through the medium of
the telescope.  Among other objects that had attracted his notice was a
horseman going at full gallop along the crossroad, which led from the
field of maize to the Royalist encampment.

"Ha!" exclaimed he to an officer of his staff; "if I'm not mistaken, it
is our Captain Lantejas who is galloping down yonder.  Where can he be
going?  No doubt he is about to strike one of those improvised, decisive
blows in which he excels--as when at Cuautla, he dashed his horse full
tilt against the gigantic Spanish cuirassier, and received the sabre
stroke that might else have fallen upon my own skull.  Fortunately his
sword turned in the hand of the Spaniard, and Don Cornelio was struck by
the flat side of the blade, which only knocked him out of his saddle,
without doing him any great injury."

"Senor General," remarked the officer, with some show of hesitation;
"there are evil-disposed persons, who pretend to say that--that--"

"What do they pretend to say?" demanded Morelos.

"Why, that on the occasion of which your Excellency speaks, the horse of
Senor Lantejas was running away with him."

"An odious calumny!" pronounced Morelos, in a severe tone.  "Envy is
always the proof of merit."

At this moment, Don Cornelio disappeared from off the crossroad; and
Morelos now saw coming in the same direction a Spanish officer also
going at a gallop.

"_Santissima_!" cried Morelos, recognising the latter through his glass.
"As I live, it is the brave Caldelas, who also appears to have been
seized with vertigo!  What can all this galloping mean?"

It was in reality Caldelas, who, pistol in hand, was searching for
Regules, to accomplish the threat he had made.

Just then Don Cornelio again appeared in the crossroad; but this time
going in the opposite direction, as if charging forward to meet
Caldelas.

"See!" cried Morelos to his staff.  "Look yonder--an encounter between
Caldelas and the Captain!  Ha! what was I saying to you?  _Viva Dios_!--
did you ever see such a beautiful _coup de lance_?  He has struck down
the most formidable of our enemies.  Huzza!  Victory is ours!  The
Spaniards are scattering!  They yield the ground, and all because their
bravest leader has been slain.  Now, sir!" continued the General,
turning to the officer who had doubted the courage of Don Cornelio;
"will that silence the detractors of Senor Lantejas?  To whom, if not to
him, are we indebted for this splendid victory?  Presently you will see
him ride with his accustomed modesty, to say that he has simply done his
duty.  Otherwise, should he present himself to be complimented, he shall
find his mistake: I must reprimand him for being too rash."

"Happy is he whom your Excellency is pleased to reprimand in such
fashion," said the officer, withdrawing to one side.

"Let us onward!" exclaimed Morelos.  "The action is over--the siege is
raised, and our enemies are in full retreat.  To Yanguitlan, and then--
to take up our winter-quarters in the capital of Oajaca!"

On pronouncing these word, Morelos remounted his horse and rode off,
followed by his officers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

We return to Colonel Tres-Villas and the ex-student of theology.

Notwithstanding the violent wrath of Don Rafael against the man who had
killed his brave comrade, Caldelas, there was something so ludicrously
comic in the countenance of the ex-student--so much innocent simplicity
in its expression--that the resentment of Don Rafael vanished upon the
instant.  Then, quick as a flash of lightning, came over him the
remembrance of that day--at the same time terrible and delightful--when
parting from the student of theology, he had hurried forward to see
Gertrudis, and receive from her the avowal of her love--alas! too soon
forgotten!

These souvenirs--but more especially that recalling the daughter of Don
Mariano--formed the aegis of the ex-student.  A bitter smile curled upon
the lip of Don Rafael, as he looked upon the pale and feeble youth
within his grasp.  "If such a man," thought he, "has been able to give
his death-blow to the valiant Caldelas--whose very glance he could
scarce have borne--it must be that the hours of the vice-royalty are
numbered."

"You may thank your stars," he continued, addressing himself to
Lantejas, "for having fallen into the hands of one, who is hindered by
old memories from revenging upon you the death of the valiant Caldelas,
the bravest of the Spanish chiefs."

"Ah! is the brave Caldelas dead?" inquired Don Cornelio, scarce sensible
of what he was saying.  "Is it possible?  But it must be so, if you say
it.  In any case, I pardon him, and you too."

"Very gracious of you," rejoined Don Rafael, with a sarcastic smile.

"More than you think," replied the ex-student, a little restored to his
senses at finding his exploit was to be forgiven.  "You have no idea of
the terrible fright that he and you caused me just now.  But, Senor Don
Rafael--with your permission--I am in a _very_ uncomfortable position
for conversing--"

"Perhaps you will pardon me again for setting you safe and sound upon
your feet?" said Don Rafael, permitting the captain to slide gently to
the ground.  "Adieu, then, Captain!" continued he, about to ride away.
"I leave you, regretting that I have not time to inquire how it is that
the peace-loving student, so terribly frightened at the mandate of the
Bishop of Oajaca against the insurrection has become transformed into an
officer of the insurgent army?"

"And I," replied Lantejas, "I should like to know how it is that a
captain in the Queen's Dragoons, who did not appear to view that same
mandate with a favourable eye, is to-day one of the bitterest
adversaries of the insurrection?  If it pleases you, Senor Don Rafael,
to sit down here beside me, and let us discourse a bit--like the old
Paladins, who often interrupted their deadliest combats for such a
purpose--it would be much more agreeable to me than returning to the
battle-field."

A sombre shadow passed over the countenance of Don Rafael at the
allusion made to the change of his opinions.  Both officers presented a
striking example of how little man can do to direct his own destiny, and
how much he is the sport of circumstances.  Both were, in fact, serving
the cause opposed to that of their heart's choice.

Just then a series of loud huzzas and _vivas_ of triumph came from both
sides of the battle-field; but it was impossible for either of them to
tell upon which side the victory had declared itself.

"Ah!  Senor Don Rafael," cried the ex-student, "if our side has
succumbed, then I am your prisoner."

"And if you are victorious, I am _not_ yours," responded the Colonel,
casting towards Lantejas a glance of contempt that he could not
conceal--while at the same time he gathered up the reins of his bridle.

As he did so, at both extremities of the road appeared a number of
mounted men, whose half-military equipments proclaimed them to be
insurgents.  One was heard to call out--

"Senor Colonel!  Yonder he is--Don Cornelio still living and well!"

It was Costal who spoke.

In another moment both the Captain and Don Rafael were surrounded by the
horsemen.



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

A GENEROUS ENEMY.

The situation of Don Rafael had now become as critical as was that of
Lantejas but the moment before.  His pistols had been discharged; his
sabre, broken in the battle, he had flung from him; and the only arm of
which he could now avail himself was the dagger so near being sheathed
in the heart of Don Cornelio.

During the Mexican revolutionary war but few prisoners were taken by the
Royalists; and the cruelties exercised upon those that were, naturally
led to retaliation.  On both sides it was a war of extermination.  The
lives of captives were rarely spared, even after they had voluntarily
surrendered.

Don Rafael, therefore, had made up his mind to sell his life as dearly
as he could, rather than fall into the hands of his enemies, when one of
them, an officer, addressing Lantejas, called out, in a voice which the
latter recognised--

"Ah!  Captain Lantejas! haste and come this way.  The General wishes to
thank you for the victory which you have given us."

Don Rafael also recognised the officer, who was advancing at a gallop;
and brave though Tres-Villas was, it was not without satisfaction that
the enemy he saw coming towards him was Colonel Trujano, the
ex-muleteer.

Trujano, on his side, at the same instant recognised the royalist
officer.

Don Rafael, too proud to appeal to old friendships for protection--even
to one whose life he had saved, in return for a similar service--put
spurs to his horse, and galloped towards Trujano.  With such impetuosity
did he ride, that in another instant the two horses would have come into
collision, had not the bridle of Don Rafael's been grasped by a hand--
the hand of Lantejas!  The Captain, at the risk of being crushed under
the hoofs of both horses--moved by the generosity which Don Rafael had
so lately bestowed upon him--rushed between the two horsemen as a
mediator.

"Colonel Trujano!" cried he, "I do not know what you mean in saying that
the General is indebted to me for a victory; but, if I have done
anything that deserves a recompense, I do not wish any other than the
life and liberty of Don Rafael Tres-Villas."

"I ask favours from no one," interrupted Don Rafael, with a haughty
glance towards Trujano.

"You will grant me one--that of giving me your hand," said the
ex-muleteer, at the same time cordially holding out his own.

"Never to a conqueror!" exclaimed Don Rafael, though evidently affected,
in spite of himself, by the action and speech of his generous enemy.

"Here there is neither conqueror nor conquered," rejoined Trujano, with
that winning smile that gained all hearts.  "There is a man, however,
who always remembers a service done to him."

"And another who never forgets one," repeated Don Rafael, with warmth,
at the same time grasping the hand that was still held towards him.

Then the two horsemen drew their horses nearer, and exchanged the most
cordial greetings.

Trujano profited by this occasion to whisper in the ear of his enemy,
and with a delicacy which still further moved Don Rafael, whose pride he
had treated with such condescension--

"Go--you are free.  Only promise not to cut the hair off the heads of
any more poor women; although it is said there was one whose heart
trembled with pride that the conqueror of Aguas Calientes should send
her such a terrible souvenir.  Go!" added he, withdrawing his hand from
the convulsive grasp of Don Rafael, "deliver yourself up a prisoner at
the hacienda Las Palmas, where the road is open for you, believe me."

Then, as if he had too long occupied himself with the trivial affairs of
the world, the countenance of Trujano resumed its expression of ascetic
gravity, and when the eye of Don Rafael was interrogating it, in hopes
of reading there the true signification of the last words, the insurgent
chieftain called out--

"Let Don Rafael Tres-Villas pass free!  Let every one forget what has
occurred."

Saying this, he formally saluted the Royalist colonel with his sword,
who could only return the salute with a glance of the most profound
gratitude.

Don Rafael pressed the hand of the Captain; and bowing coldly to the
other insurgents, rode out from their midst.  Then, urging his horse
into a gallop, he followed the road that led outward from the plain of
Huajapam.

On finding himself alone, he reduced the speed of his horse to a walk,
and became absorbed in a reverie of reflection.  The last words of
Trujano--what could they mean?  "_The road is open for you, believe
me_."  Was it an assurance that he should be welcomed at the hacienda of
Las Palmas?  Should he proceed thither, as the insurgent colonel had
counselled him? or should he go direct to Del Valle, to make
arrangements for his last campaign against the brigand Arroyo?

Once more had commenced the struggle between love and duty.

Don Rafael would not have hesitated long as to the course he should
pursue, had some good genius only made known to him a certain fact--that
at that same hour an accident was occurring at the hacienda Del Valle,
of a nature to reconcile the two conflicting sentiments that had warped
the thread of his destiny.

A messenger from Don Mariano--the same who had brought back Roncador to
Del Valle--had on that very day again presented himself at the hacienda.
This time his errand was one of a purely personal nature--to Don Rafael
Tres-Villas himself.

"Where are you from?" demanded Veraegui of the messenger, in his usual
blunt Catalonian fashion.

"Oajaca!"

"Who has sent you?"

"Don Mariano de Silva."

"What do you want with the Colonel?"

"I can only declare my errand to the Colonel himself."

"Then you will have to go to Huajapam first--that is, unless you prefer
to wait till he arrives here.  We expect him in three or four days."

"I prefer going to Huajapam," rejoined the man "my errand is of such a
nature that it will not bear delay."

This messenger was on his way to Huajapam, and not more than thirty
leagues from the town, at the moment when Don Rafael was leaving it to
proceed in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile Trujano, returning to the field of battle covered with the
bodies of his dead and wounded enemies, caused all his soldiers to
kneel, and publicly render thanks to God for having delivered them from
their long and painful siege.  Morelos at the same moment ordered his
troops to prostrate themselves in prayer; and then a psalm was sung by
all in chorus, to consecrate the important victory they had gained.

Don Rafael was still not so distant from the field but that he could
hear the swelling of many voices in the pious chaunt.  The sounds fell
with melancholy effect upon his ears, until the tears began to chase
themselves over his cheeks.

In reviewing the circumstances which had influenced him to change his
line of conduct in regard to this revolution, he reflected that had he
given way to more generous instincts, and not allowed himself to be
forced astray by the desire of fulfilling a rash vow, his voice would at
that moment have been mingling with theirs--one of the loudest in giving
thanks for the success of a cause of which he was now the irreconcilable
enemy!

With an effort he repulsed these reflections, and sternly resolved upon
going to the hacienda Del Valle, to re-steel his heart over the tomb of
his father.

A perilous journey it would be for him.  The whole province--the capital
and one or two other places excepted--was now in the hands of the
insurgents; and a royalist officer could not travel the roads without
great risk of falling into their hands.

"God protects him who does his duty," muttered Don Rafael, as he again
turned his horse to the roads, spurring him into a gallop, in order that
the sound of his hoofs might drown that pious song, which, by stirring
up sad souvenirs, was fast weakening his resolution.

In another hour he had crossed the Sierra which bounded the plain of
Huajapam, and was following the road which led southward to the hacienda
Del Valle.



CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

RUDE GUESTS.

Let us now recount the events which took place at the hacienda Las
Palmas from the day on which Captain Tres-Villas was compelled to leave
Don Mariano and his two daughters at the mercy of the ferocious robbers
Arroyo and Bocardo.

The two guerilleros had sought refuge there, with the remnant of their
band--most of which had been already destroyed by Tres-Villas and
Caldelas.  From the moment of first entering his house, they had
insisted upon a footing of perfect equality between themselves and their
old master.  Even Gertrudis and Marianita were not exempted from this
compulsory social levelling.  The brigands ate at the same table with
Don Mariano and his daughters--were waited upon by the servants of the
hacienda--and slept in the very best beds the house afforded.

All the while Bocardo was observed to cast covetous glances on the
silver plate--which, as is customary in the houses of Mexican _ricos_,
was massive and abundant.

In Don Mariano's presence he was in the habit of frequently making
allusion to the richness of the Royalists; and behind his back he had
several times endeavoured to persuade Arroyo that one who was the
proprietor of such wealth, as was enjoyed by the haciendado, could not
be otherwise than an enemy to the insurgent cause, and, at the bottom of
his heart, a friend to the oppressors of the country.

"Look at us, poor insurgents!" he would say, "often reduced--especially
when absent from this hospitable mansion--to use our fingers for forks,
and our _tortillas_ for spoons!"

And the wind-up of his argument always was, that they "ought to treat as
a Royalist a master who dined every day upon silver plates--that Don
Mariano should be reduced to the same condition as other patriotic
insurgents, and use his fingers for forks, while his plates should be
converted into piastres."

Up to a certain period Arroyo rejected these proposals of his comrade.
Not that he had any more respect for the property of Don Mariano than
his associate had; but rather that he was not yet sufficiently hardened
to reckless outrage, as to perpetrate such an audacious robbery on one
who was publicly known to be a friend to the insurgent cause.  We say,
up to a certain time Arroyo preserved these egotistical scruples; but
that time terminated on the day and hour when, in the presence of his
old master, and the whole household of Las Palmas, he was forced to
endure the terrible insults inflicted upon him by the dragoon captain.
From that moment he transferred a portion of his vengeful hatred for Don
Rafael to the haciendado and his daughters; and it is possible that on
his leaving Las Palmas the night after--which the dangerous proximity of
Del Valle influenced him to do--he would have left bloody traces behind
him, but for the interference of his associate Bocardo.

The latter, in his turn, had counselled moderation.  More covetous of
gold, and less thirsty of blood than Arroyo, the astute brigand had
represented, that "there could be no great blame attached to them for
using the silver of Don Mariano to serve the good cause of the
insurrection; that the more needy of the insurgents might justly demand
aid from their richer brethren, but not their lives or their blood."

Arroyo no longer combated the proposals of his _confrere_.  To him they
now appeared moderate; and the result was, that the two _forbans_
collected all of Don Mariano's silver they could lay their hands upon,
with such other valuables as were portable--and, having made a
distribution among their followers, decamped that night from Las Palmas,
taking good care in their _Haegira_ to give the hacienda of Del Valle a
wide berth.

With regard to Don Mariano and his daughters, they were only too happy
that nothing worse than robbery had been attempted by the brigands.
They had dreaded outrage as well as spoliation; and they were rejoiced
at being left with their lives and honour uninjured.

Made aware, by this episode, of the danger of living any longer in a
house isolated as Las Palmas--which might be at the mercy any moment of
either royalists or insurgents--Don Mariano bethought him of retiring to
Oajaca.  He would be safer there--even though the town was thoroughly
devoted to the cause of the king; for, as yet, his political opinions
had not been declared sufficiently to compromise him.  For some days,
however, circumstances of one kind or another arose to hinder him from
putting this project into execution.

The hacienda of San Carlos, inhabited by the man who was about to become
his son-in-law--Don Fernando de Lacarra--was only a few leagues distant
from that of Las Palmas; and Marianita did not like the idea of leaving
the neighbourhood.  Without stating the true one, she urged a thousand
objections to this departure.  Gertrudis was also against it.  The
souvenirs which Las Palmas called up were at once sweet and sad; and the
influence which sorrow has over love is well-known--especially within
the heart of woman.

In the hacienda Las Palmas sad memories were not wanting to Gertrudis.
How often, at sunset, did she sit in the window of her chamber, with her
eyes bent in dreamy melancholy over the distant plain--deserted as on
that evening when Don Rafael hastened to arrive, risking life that he
might see her but an hour sooner!

When Don Rafael, in the first burst of his grief and vengeance, indulged
in that wild pleasure which is often felt in breaking the heart of
another, while one's own is equally crushed--when he galloped off along
the road to Oajaca, after burying the _gage d'amour_ in the tomb of his
father--thus renouncing his love without telling of it--then, and for
some time after, the young girl waited only with vivid impatience.  The
pique she had at first felt was soon effaced by anxiety for his safety;
but this at length gave place to agony more painful than that of
suspense--the agony of suspicion.

We have already related, by what insensible and gradual transitions the
family of Don Mariano de Silva had become confirmed in the belief, that
Don Rafael had proved traitor to his mistress as to his country.

Nevertheless, at that moment when he presented himself, to demand the
surrendering of the brigands, the sound of his voice falling upon the
ears of Gertrudis had come very near vanquishing her wounded pride.
That manly voice--whether when exchanging a few words with her father,
or hurling defiance at the ferocious Arroyo--had caused her heart to
tremble in every fibre.  She required at that moment to summon up all
the resentment of love disdained, as well as all the natural modesty of
woman, to hinder her from showing herself to Don Rafael, and crying
out--

"Oh, Rafael!  I can more easily bear the dagger of Arroyo, than your
desertion of me!"

"Alas! what have you done, _mio padre_?" cried she, addressing herself
to her father, as soon as Don Rafael had gone; "you have wounded his
pride by your irritating words, at the very moment when, out of regard
for us, he has renounced the vengeance which he had sworn on the grave
of his father!  It may be that the words of oblivion and reconciliation
were upon his lips; and you have hindered him from speaking them now and
for ever.  Ah! _mio padre_! you have ruined the last hope of your poor
child!"

The haciendado could make no reply to speeches that caused his own heart
to bleed.  He deeply regretted the allusions he had made, towards an
enemy to whose generosity he was now indebted for the lives both of
himself and children.



CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

LOVE'S MALADY.

After the departure of the bandits, a mournful tranquillity reigned in
the hacienda of Las Palmas.  Gertrudis, asking herself at every moment
of the day whether Don Rafael really no longer loved her, could only
answer with certainty that she loved him, and should do so for ever.

One afternoon--it was the third after Arroyo had gone--she sat looking
over the plain as the sun was sinking slowly to the horizon.  It was
just such an evening as that on which she had awaited the arrival of Don
Rafael.  Now, however, the floods had retired, and the landscape had
assumed a more verdant and joyous aspect.

All at once, half-a-dozen horsemen appeared before her eyes, as if just
coming from the hills in the rear of the hacienda.  The Spanish pennants
floating from their lances proclaimed them to be Royalist dragoons.  One
rode a little in advance of the rest, evidently their leader.  Several
other horsemen appeared, following them: until a large troop was seen
defiling across the plain.

Gertrudis heeded not those in rank.  Her eyes were solely occupied by
the one who rode in front.  He was too distant to be recognised by the
sight, but her heart told her who it was.

"I, too," murmured she to herself, "I have been rash in my words--in
pronouncing an anathema against those sons of our country who should
betray its cause.  What matters it to the woman who loves, what flag her
beloved may fight under?  His cause should be hers.  Why did I not do as
my sister?  Ah! why, indeed?  Marianita is now happy, while I--" A sigh
choked her utterance, and with tears falling from her eyes she continued
silently to gaze after the horsemen, until their retreating forms melted
away into the golden haze of the sunset.

Not even once had their leader turned his face towards the hacienda, and
yet it was Don Rafael!

It was in reality the dragoon captain, going off in obedience to the
order he had received; and who, to conceal from his soldiers the anguish
of his spirit, had thus ridden past the hacienda without turning his
head to look back.

From this time it should have mattered little to Gertrudis where she
might reside.  For her, Las Palmas had now only sad memories; but even
these seemed to attach her to the place; and she could not help
thinking, that her departure from Las Palmas would break the last link
that bound her to him she so devotedly loved.

When Don Rafael no longer breathed the same air with her, she found a
melancholy pleasure in taking care of his beautiful steed--the bay-brown
Roncador--that, having galloped off after the encounter with the men of
Arroyo, had been recaught by Don Mariano's vaqueros, and brought back to
the hacienda.

Shortly after the marriage of Marianita with Don Fernando de Lacarra was
celebrated.  This union had been arranged, long previous to the breaking
out of the insurrection, and found no opposition on the part of Don
Mariano.  Don Fernando was a Spaniard, it is true; but he had already
obtained the consent of the haciendado.  Even under the changed
circumstances in which the revolution had placed the country, it would
not have been refused.  Like many other Spaniards at this time, Don
Fernando had chosen for his country, that which held the object of his
affections; and his sympathies had become enlisted in favour of the land
of his adoption.

A few days after his marriage, he bore his young bride home with him to
the hacienda of San Carlos.  His mansion was situated not far from the
hacienda of Del Valle, lying, as the latter did, on the banks of the
river Ostuta which separated the two estates, and not far from the lake
of the same name.

Most of the people on the estate of Don Fernando--less given to
insurrectionary views than those of Las Palmas--had remained faithful to
its owner.  On this account, it appeared to offer a more secure abode
during the troublous times of the insurrection; and Don Fernando wished
to give an asylum to his father-in-law and his family.  Don Mariano,
however, had declined the offer, in hopes that amidst the stirring life
and society of a large town he might find distraction for the melancholy
of Gertrudis.  He preferred, therefore, retiring to Oajaca, and a few
days after his daughter's marriage had set out.  Gertrudis refused to
use the _litera_ that had been prepared for her on the journey.  She
preferred riding the beautiful bay-brown, that had so often carried Don
Rafael; and the fiery Roncador, as if conscious that he was object most
dear to his master, suffered himself to be guided with as much docility
by the fair frail hand of Gertrudis, as if his rein had been held in the
vigorous grasp of Don Rafael himself.

Contrary to Don Mariano's expectation, the sojourn in Oajaca proved
ineffectual in removing the melancholy under which his daughter
suffered.  Insensible to all the attractions offered by the best society
of the place, the time hung heavily upon Gertrudis.  One moment of
happiness she enjoyed: and that was when public rumour announced that
Colonel Tres-Villas, after capturing the town of Aguas Calientes, had
caused the hair to be shorn from the heads of three hundred women!

As Trujano had already hinted--having heard it from Marianita, at the
house of whose husband he had spent several days--this news had for a
moment filled the heart of the young Creole with happiness and pride.
Amidst the general surprise at this act of singular severity, she alone
knew why it had been accomplished.  Don Rafael did not wish that she
should be the only woman who, by this insurrection, should lament the
loss of her hair.  Gertrudis, nevertheless, did not fail to reproach
herself, for indulging in this moment of selfish happiness.

"_Pobres mujeres_!"  (poor women!) exclaimed she, as she drew her
fingers through the ebony locks that already replaced the long luxuriant
tresses she had sacrificed.  "_Pobres mujeres_!  They have not had, as
I, the good fortune to make the sacrifice for the life of those they
loved."

After this occurrence, months passed, without her receiving any news of
Don Rafael; and her cheek, gradually growing paler, with the blue
circles darkening around her eyes, bore witness to the mental torment
she was enduring.

For the long period of two years this agony continued--the young girl in
vain endeavouring to stifle the passion that was devouring her life.
Both spirit and body, enfeebled by solitude, by silence, and the
sedentary character of the life she now led, had not the strength to
continue the struggle much longer.

Don Rafael had the advantage in this respect.  He carried his grief from
one end of the kingdom to the other; and the constant change of scene,
along with the distraction caused by the excitement of battles, were to
him a species of relief.

Such advantages were wanting to Gertrudis.  Happily, however, God has
granted to woman, in a large degree, the virtue of resignation--often
her sole defence against sorrow.

Gertrudis made no complaint, but suffered in silence--concealing, as
well as she could, the dark chagrin that was consuming her.  In long
sleepless nights, when resignation appeared as if it would soon succumb,
a feeble ray of hope would sometimes break upon her spirit, and for the
moment restore its equanimity.

It was then she thought of her first resource--that which she intended
to make use of when her power of resistance should be gone--that supreme
resource that still existed in the tress of hair she had so carefully
cherished and preserved.

The sending back to Don Rafael his horse had already cost her a pang.
It had been a step on her part towards compromising the strife between
her love and pride.  Still more painful would it be to resort to that
last measure, and avail herself of the permission, alas! so
prophetically asked for.



CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

TOPOGRAPHICAL DETAILS.

In proportion as the insurrection spread through the province of Oajaca
did the Royalists increase their watchfulness in the capital; and Don
Mariano, having become suspected of a leaning towards the insurgent
cause, was ordered to leave the place.

Before taking his departure, he had despatched a messenger--the same
already made mention of--to the hacienda Del Valle.  Upon what errand?
We shall know presently.

On the same day that the messenger had presented himself to the Catalan
lieutenant, and almost at the same hour, Don Rafael Tres-Villas was
galloping as a fugitive through the plain of Huajapam.  On that morning,
also, Don Mariano de Silva took his departure from Oajaca, _en route_
for the hacienda San Carlos.  The haciendado was accompanied by his
daughter Gertrudis, borne in a litter, and attended by a number of
mounted domestics.  The pale cheeks of the young girl, contrasted with
the purplish circles around her eyes, proclaimed the mental agony she
had endured.

Finally, on that same day, only at a later hour, another important
personage of our history--the Captain Don Cornelio Lantejas--rode out
from the camp of Morelos--evidently bent upon a journey, as was
testified by the travelling costume that had replaced his military
uniform.  He was accompanied by two men, easily recognised as the scouts
Costal and Clara.

Don Cornelio had been ordered by the insurgent general on a mission,
confidential as it was dangerous.

The summer solstice was close at hand; and the black and the Indian--the
latter having now accomplished his half century of years--were
discussing between themselves the best plan for raising the Siren of the
dishevelled hair from the waters of the mysterious lake, Ostuta, on
whose banks they expected to encamp, before Don Cornelio had finally
accomplished his mission.

Although this mission was of a secret and confidential character, it
will be no betrayal of confidence on our part to state at once what it
was.

The taking of the capital of Oajaca would not only render Morelos master
of the whole province, but of all the southern part of New Spain--from
the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean.  The insurgent general was,
therefore, anxious to complete this magnificent conquest before the
closing of that year's campaign.

Nevertheless, in the prospect of attacking a town so populous and well
garrisoned as Oajaca, he deemed it prudent to gain some information as
to its actual resources; and it was chiefly upon this errand he had
despatched his aide-de-camp Lantejas.

The mission of the Captain had another object, of secondary importance,
which, however, was the first to be accomplished.  To the honour of the
cause which Morelos upheld, it was of urgent necessity to put an end to
the depredations of the two notorious guerilleros, Arroyo and Bocardo;
whose deeds of cruel atrocity were rapidly producing the effect of
rendering the insurrection as odious to its partisans as to its enemies.
The force which these two leaders had under their command was as little
known as the whereabouts in which they might be found; but their bloody
deeds had rendered them as much dreaded as if a numerous army had been
under their orders.  The rapidity of their movements gave them the
opportunity of multiplying, to an indefinite extent, their acts of
ferocity, though at the same time a pursuer in search of them might
easily have found them by the ensanguined track which marked their
passage.

Arroyo, ever ready to imbrue his hands in blood--no matter whose--seemed
to find a savage pleasure in destroying life; and one of his favourite
habits was to be himself the executioner of his victims.  He was endowed
with some brute courage, a quality altogether wanting to his associate,
Antonio Bocardo; for the latter was both cowardly and cruel, though in
general more inclined to robbery than murder.

Morelos had been apprised of the outrages committed by these two
bandits; and a message to them was one of the commissions with which
Captain Lantejas had been charged.  The message was in the form of a
simple threat--it was to say to them, on the part of the insurgent
general, that, unless they discontinued those outrages which had so long
dishonoured the insurgent cause, they should both be drawn and
quartered.

From the reputation which these two brigands had acquired, of being
little mindful of military authority--as well as on account of the rigid
guard which the Spaniards had established in Oajaca--it will be seen
that we have spoken only the simple truth in saying that the mission of
Captain Lantejas was anything but a safe one.  With melancholy mien,
therefore, he traversed the road leading from Huajapam to the Ostuta
river--upon the banks of which it was reported that Arroyo and his band
were at that time encamped.

Before proceeding farther, it will be necessary to give, at a bird's-eye
view--if we may use the expression--the topography of the country lying
in the triangle between Huajapam, Oajaca, and the Lake Ostuta: for this
is now to become the arena of the future events of our narrative.

Regarding Huajapam and the town of Oajaca as on the same line, we find a
road running from each--the two gradually converging until they meet.
The point of union is upon the banks of the Ostuta river, not far from
the lake, and where a ford crosses the stream.  Before arriving at this
ford, the hacienda Del Valle lies to one side of the Oajaca road, while
about an hour's journey after crossing the river the domain of San
Carlos is reached.  These two estates--each embracing an immense tract
of territory--would be contiguous to each other, but for the river which
flows between and separates them.

Arroyo, having returned to the neighbourhood, with the number of his
followers augmented by recent successes, as well as by the more
favourable prospects of the insurrection, had sworn not to leave a stone
of the hacienda Del Valle standing in its place; and to accomplish this
vow was the object of his presence on the banks of the Ostuta.

His band, divided into two encampments, held both sides of the river,
just by the crossing.  Thus disposed, he could direct himself at will
either against San Carlos or Del Valle.

It was not only possible, but probable, that the messenger of Don
Mariano de Silva, going from Del Valle to Huajapam, would meet Don
Rafael coming in the opposite direction, and about half way; since, as
already stated, both had set out about the same time.  It was also
likely enough that Don Mariano and his daughter, _en route_ for San
Carlos, would encounter Captain Lantejas, travelling from Huajapam
somewhere not far from the crossing of the Ostuta.  The time at which
both had started on their respective journeys would favour this
probability.  Finally, Don Rafael, making for the hacienda Del Valle,
unless some accident should detain him, might meet all those personages
almost at the same instant of time.

The principal characters of our history would thus be once more united
on the banks of the Ostuta.



CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

SUNRISE IN THE TROPICS.

On the fourth day after the siege of Huajapam, let the reader fancy
himself transported to the banks of the Ostuta, where he will behold one
of the most magnificent natural landscapes of American scenery.

The sun has not yet risen, and the _maipouri_ (tapir), before seeking
his forest lair, plunges once more under the shadowy waves of the river.
The Mexican roebuck, more timid than the tapir, trembling at the
slightest sound among the leaves, watches while drinking for the first
signs of daybreak--its signal to conceal itself in the thickets of
sassafras and tall ferns.  The solitary heron, standing statue-like upon
its long legs, and the red flamingoes ranged in silent ranks, await, on
the contrary, the coming of the dawn to commence their matutinal
fishery.

There is a profound silence over all, save those vague sounds heard at
this hour even in the most solitary places--where the different guests
of the forest, according to their nature, are either awaking to begin
their day, or retiring to their haunts for rest and concealment.

Although the darkness of night has disappeared, the eye cannot yet make
out, amidst the whitish vapour that overhangs the stream, with what
species of vegetation its banks are adorned.  The crowns of palm-trees
rising high above the other foliage--like noble knights of the olden
time above the melee of common warriors--can alone be distinguished.  To
a superficial observer, the banks of the Ostuta might appear as much of
a solitude as in those days before the children of Europe had set foot
upon American soil; but the eye of one scrutinising the scene more
narrowly would discover this deserted appearance to be altogether a
deception.

Along the right bank of the river--near its main crossing--might be
distinguished a number of scattered fires, scintillating through the
nocturnal vapour, like stars in a cloud-covered sky.

On the left bank also, and opposite the first, others appear,
irregularly gleaming along the edge of the river.  Both lines of fires
betoken an encampment--the same, though separated into two divisions by
the stream.

At a considerable distance from the crossing, and contiguous to the road
leading from Huajapam to the hacienda Del Valle, in the midst of a
little glade, might be seen a group of eight horsemen, at the moment
apparently engaged in some consultation among themselves.  Still nearer
to the river, and at the distance of some three or four hundred yards
from this group, two pedestrian travellers appeared, cautiously
advancing along the road, where it wound through an extensive wood of
guiacum and cedrela trees.

Finally, between the eight horsemen and the two foot travellers, and at
about mid-distance from each party, a single individual might have been
seen, who could not be called either horseman or pedestrian, and who
could neither be said to be occupied in any way.  In fact, this
personage was fast asleep, though in a most singular situation and
attitude: that is to say, fast bound with a scarf of scarlet silk
between the two main branches of a tree, and at a height of over ten
feet from the ground.

The thick foliage so completely concealed him, however, that an Indian
spy might have passed under the tree without suspecting his presence.

The individual who occupied this aerial couch was no other than Colonel
Don Rafael Tres-Villas.

There are occasions when extreme bodily fatigue has the effect of
causing apprehension in the spirit; and Don Rafael had found himself in
one of these occasions.

Wearied, after three days' journey under a hot sun, and having had no
sleep on the night before setting out, in spite of the uncomfortable
position in which he had placed himself, Don Rafael was enjoying that
deep repose which is often granted to the tired soldier, even on the eve
of a sanguinary battle.

Leaving him, therefore, to indulge in his lofty siesta, and passing to
some distance from the spot, and along the road leading to Oajaca, we
shall encounter another group, differing from any yet mentioned.  At a
short distance from the river Ostuta, and near the lake of this name, a
little before daybreak, might be seen a small party of travellers, about
to resume their journey interrupted for the night.  From the haste
exhibited in making preparations for departure from their bivouac, it
would appear as if they were in dread of some danger.  Two of them were
busy in extinguishing the remains of a fire, lest its light might still
betray them; two others saddled the horses; while a fifth, who stood by
the half-opened curtains of a _litera_, appeared to be reassuring a
young lady who was inside.

It is scarce necessary to say that the travellers in question were Don
Mariano de Silva, his daughter, and their domestics.

In the midst of the solitudes of transatlantic scenery, there are two
solemn hours out of the twenty-four, in which all created nature seems
more especially to rejoice--the hours of sunrise and sunset.

The eternal horologe is about to sound the first.  A fresh breeze
arising, gently stirs the leaves of the trees, and, playing over the
surface of the water, dispels the nocturnal vapours.  The eastern sky is
becoming tinged with bright yellow streaks, mixed with the purple of the
aurora, which proclaims the approach of the rising sun.  His coming is
saluted by the voices of myriads of bright birds that flutter among the
trees of the forest.

The jackal flying to his den, utters his parting growl, and the funereal
voices of the night-birds are heard for the last time.  The maipouri and
roebuck have already disappeared within the thickets, where they have
chosen their respective dens.

Finally, the clouds redden like the wings of the flamingoes, as the sun,
shooting upward, gleams with golden brilliance upon the fronds of the
palms, and discloses in all their splendid variety the trees of the
American forest.

The tall ebony trees, with their bunches of golden flowers, the guiacums
and perfumed liquidambars--like pyramids of solid vegetation--the
mahogany and cedrela trees, and the princely palms towering over
gigantic tree-ferns, and fanciful festoons of parasitical climbers, that
form a flowery cortege around their stems.

In the midst of the almost impenetrable labyrinths formed by these
various kinds of trees, glades may here and there be encountered, and
paths leading from one to another, trodden only by wild animals, or
savage bulls, the descendants of those introduced by the great Cortez
into the province of Oajaca.  These, maddened by thirst, may be seen
pressing through the thick undergrowth towards the river, or standing,
half immersed, with their black muzzles buried under water.  Here and
there pieces of the flowery turf, detached by their hooves, float down
the stream, while birds alighting upon these miniature islets, joyfully
flap their wings, as if celebrating a triumphal procession upon the
water.

Such, in all its primitive splendour, was the aspect of the Ostuta on
the morning in question, at that solemnal hour, when the sun proclaimed
his presence upon the eastern horizon.



CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

THE BANDIT CAMP.

The bivouac fires appearing by the ford of the Ostuta were those of
Arroyo and his guerilla.

At sunrise, this temporary encampment of the guerilleros presented a
scene sufficiently animated and picturesque.  A hundred men might be
seen occupying themselves in grooming their horses.  This they did in
the most primitive fashion, some rubbing them down with bunches of dry
grass, others with the first stone that offered, while still others,
mounted on the bare backs of the animals, were swimming them through the
stream, in order to wash and refresh them.  On the bank the saddles were
placed in a sort of irregular alignment, in the midst of bales of goods
laid open, and of which only the coverings remained upon the ground, to
tell of plunder taken from some unfortunate _arriero_.

On the right bank of the river--that side on which lay the hacienda San
Carlos--was the principal encampment.  There stood a large,
rudely-shaped tent, constructed out of the covers of the despoiled
packages--pieces of coarse hempen canvas and sack cloth, woven from the
fibres of the maguey.

Two guerilleros, armed from head to foot, with carbines, swords,
pistols, and knives, mounted guard on each side of it, pacing to and
fro, but at such a distance from the tent that neither could hear what
might be said within.

This rude marquee was the head-quarters of the two leaders, Arroyo and
Bocardo, both of whom were at that moment inside.  They were seated upon
the skulls of bullocks, which served them for chairs, each smoking a
cigarette rolled in the husk of Indian corn.  From the attitude
presented by Arroyo--his eyes bent upon the ground, which was cut up by
the long heavy rowels of his spurs, it was evident that his astute
associate was employing arguments to influence him to some deed of
crime.

"Most certainly," said the latter, with an air of drollery, "I am
disposed to do justice to the good qualities of the Senora Arroyo; they
are truly admirable.  When a man is wounded, she volunteers to sprinkle
red pepper over his wounds.  Nothing can be more touching than the way
she intercedes for the prisoners we condemn to death--that is, that they
may be put to death as slowly as may be--I mean as gently as possible."

"Ah, that is not selfishness on her part," interrupted the husband.
"She does so to please me rather than herself--poor thing."

"True, she is greatly devoted to you--a worthy woman, indeed!  Still,
camarado," continued Bocardo with a hesitation that told he had finished
speaking the praises of Madame Arroyo; "you will acknowledge she is
neither young nor very pretty."

"Well--say she is old and ugly," answered Arroyo, "she suits my purpose
for all that."

"That's strange enough."

"It's less strange than you think for.  I have my reasons.  She shares
with me the execration of the public; and if I were a widower--"

"You would have to bear it all on your own shoulders.  Bah! they are
broad enough for that!"

"True," replied Arroyo, flattered at the compliment, "but you, _amigo_,
have also a share of that load.  It isn't often that the name of Arroyo
is cursed, without that of Bocardo being mixed up in the malediction."

"Ah, there are too many lying tongues in this world!"

"Besides," continued the brigand, returning to the subject of Madame
Arroyo, "I have another good reason for wishing that no harm should come
to my wife.  She is in possession of a scapulary, blessed by the Pope of
Rome; which has the wonderful power of causing the husband of whatever
woman may carry it to die at the same time that his wife does."

"Oh!" rejoined Bocardo in a tone of repudiation, "I did not mean that
you should kill the Senora Arroyo--nothing of the kind.  My idea is that
she should be sent to a convent of penitents, where she might occupy her
time in praying for the salvation of her soul, as well as that of her
husband.  Then replace her by a pretty young damsel, with eyes and hair
as black as night, lips as red as the flowers of the grenadine, and skin
as white as the _floripondio_.  Now you can tell what for the last
half-hour I have been killing myself to make you comprehend."

"And do you know of such a pretty young damsel?" inquired Arroyo after
an interval of silence, which proved that the arguments of his associate
were not lost upon him.

"Of course I do, and so do you as well--one that you could lay your
hands on at any moment."

"Where?"

"Where?  At the hacienda of San Carlos.  Where else should she be?"

"You mean the Dona Marianita de Silva?"

"Precisely so."

"_Mil demonios, camarado_!  Do you intend us to save every hacienda in
the country?  Of course it is for the sake of pillaging the house, that
you wish me to possess myself of its mistress?"

"The owner of San Carlos is a Spaniard," rejoined Bocardo, without
making any direct reply to the insinuation of his associate.  "It would
surely be no great crime to take either the wife or property of a
_Gachupino_."

"Hold, _amigo_! that Gachupino is as great a friend to the insurgent
cause as you or I.  He has furnished us with provisions, and--"

"True; but he does it out of pure fear.  How can you suppose that any
one is a true insurgent, who has chests filled with bags of dollars,
drawers crammed with silver plate, and besides," added Bocardo to
conceal his true designs, "such a pretty young wife by his side.  Bah!
we were fools that we did not also take Don Mariano's two daughters from
him, at the same time that we disembarrassed him of his plate.  We
should have been better off now, and I too should have possessed a
beautiful creature, whereas I am still a solitary bachelor.  But it's my
luck, camarado, always to sacrifice my own interests to yours!"

"Look here, Bocardo!" said the brigand leader after a moment of pensive
silence, in which he appeared to reflect upon the proposals of his
astute associate, "we shall get ourselves into trouble, if we carry on
in this fashion.  It may end in our being hunted down like a pair of
wild beasts."

"We have a hundred and fifty devoted followers," simply replied the
other, "every one of them brave and true as his dagger."

"Well!" said Arroyo, still speaking in a reflective tone, "I do not say,
but--I shall think it over."

The eyes of Bocardo flashed with a fierce joy as he perceived the
undecided bearing of his associate.  Well knew he that, before the end
of that day, he should be able to obtain Arroyo's full consent and
co-operation in the dark and terrible deed he had designed to
accomplish.



CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN.

A REAL VIRAGO.

The two brigands remained for some time without saying a word, both
reflecting on the scheme of murder and pillage which they now
premeditated.  At this moment the tent flap was raised, and a figure
appeared in the entrance.  It was a woman of masculine mien--a true
virago--robust and hale; but whose countenance betrayed the ravage of
evil passions rather than time.  Her coarse hair clubbed around her
head, and held in its place by a large tortoiseshell comb with gold
pendants, showed no sign of advanced age.  It was black as ebony.
Around her neck were hung numerous chains of gold and glass beads, to
which were attached a number of crosses, scapularies, and other golden
ornaments; but in spite of this gaudy adorning her countenance was
hideous to behold, and did not belie the portrait of Arroyo's wife which
had been sketched by Bocardo, for it was she.  As she presented herself
at the opening of the tent, rage was depicted in her countenance,
exhibiting itself in the swollen veins of her neck and forehead, and in
the rolling of her bloodshot eyes.

"A shame on you!" cried she, casting on Bocardo, whom she both hated and
despised, the angry look she feared to give her husband, "a shame on
you, that after the oath you have taken, there should still remain a
stone of this nest of vipers, or a man to defend it!"

"Well--what now?" demanded Arroyo, in an ill-humoured tone.  "What nest
of vipers are you speaking of?"

"The hacienda Del Valle--what other should it be?  There our men--the
greater number of them at least--have been besieging it for three days
without any result.  No, not without result, for I've just this moment
learnt that three of our people have been killed in a sortie, and that
this accursed Catalan, who commands the place, has nailed their heads
over the door of the hacienda!"

"Who has told you this?" quickly demanded Arroyo.

"Gaspacho.  He is outside awaiting your orders.  He has been sent to ask
for a reinforcement."

"By all the devils!" cried Arroyo in a rage.  "Woman! who has given you
the privilege of interrogating the couriers that are sent me?"

As he put this interrogatory the brigand sprang to his feet; and,
seizing the bullock's skull upon which he had been seated, made a motion
as if he would crush with it that of his amazonian partner.  Perhaps,
influenced by the late councils of Bocardo, he would have decided on
bearing the public execration upon his own shoulders, had it not been
for that scapulary blessed by the Pope, and whose fatal influence he at
the moment remembered.

Bocardo paid no attention to the threatening demonstration of his
associate, but sat phlegmatically silent.

"_Maria Santissima_!" exclaimed the virago, as she retreated before the
angry menace of her husband.  "Will you not protect me, Senor Bocardo?"

"Hum!" replied the latter, without moving from his seat, "you know the
proverb, worthy Senora?  Between the tree and the bark--you understand?
These little domestic broils--"

"Must not occur any more," interposed Arroyo, quieting down; "and now,
Senora," continued he, addressing himself to his helpmate, "before
receiving Gaspacho, I have a commission for you to execute."

"What may that be?" brusquely demanded the woman, elevating her tone in
proportion as that of her husband became lowered.

"It is a magnificent scheme conceived by me," interrupted Bocardo.

"Ah!" exclaimed the virago, "if you had only as much courage as
intelligence, Senor Bocardo!"

"Bah!  Arroyo has courage enough for both of us."

"That," said Arroyo, suddenly turning his anger upon his associate, who
had not the advantage of possessing a charmed scapulary, "that is as
much as to say that you have the intelligence for both of us?"

"God forbid I should either say or think so," rejoined Bocardo in an
humble tone; "you are as intelligent as you are brave, Senor Arroyo."

"Wife!" continued Arroyo, without appearing to listen to the fulsome
flattery of his associate, "go and interrogate once more the prisoner we
have taken.  Find out if possible what errand he was on--"

"The bird still sings the same tune," responded the woman; "he repeats
that he is in the service of Don Mariano de Silva; and that he is the
bearer of a message to that mad Colonel, as you call him, Don Rafael
Tres-Villas."

At this hated name the shade deepened upon the brow of the bandit.

"Have you found out what this message is?" he inquired.

"The fellow insists upon it that it is of no importance.  What do you
suppose I found in his pockets, when we were searching him?"

"A vial of poison, perhaps?"

"No; but something equally droll.  A packet carefully put up, enclosing
a small cambric handkerchief, sweetly scented with perfume, and inside
this a tress of hair--a woman's hair, long and beautiful, by my faith!"

"Indeed!" exclaimed Bocardo, in a significant tone; "and what have you
done with it, Madame Arroyo?"

"What should I have done with it?" said the virago, with a disdainful
toss of her head--"what but fling it back in the face of the messenger--
the worthless thing.  No doubt it is a love-token sent to this colonel
of the devil."

"The messenger took it back then?"

"Ah, indeed--with as much eagerness as if it had been a chain of gold."

"So much the better," said Bocardo, with a significant gesture.  "I have
an idea," he continued, "if I am not mistaken--a superb idea!  With this
messenger and this love-token, we can give the Colonel Tres-Villas a
rendezvous, where, instead of meeting his sweetheart, he may tumble into
the middle of a score of our fellows, who may take him alive without the
slightest difficulty.  The thing's as good as done.  Only put me in
communication with this messenger, and I'll answer for the rest.  What
say you, Arroyo?  What shall we do with the Colonel Tres-Villas?"

"Burn him over a slow fire--roast him alive!" responded the guerillero,
with an expression of ferocious joy.

"But your wife will intercede for him?" ironically added Bocardo.

"_Carrambo_!  Yes!" exclaimed the hag, "to burn him over the slow fire,
and roast him alive--that I shall."

And with a hideous laugh she walked out of the tent to give place to
Gaspacho, who the next moment entered.

The courier thus named had all the appearance of an original character.
He was tall and thin as the blade of a rapier, with a cynical expression
of countenance, and long snaky tresses of hair hanging down over his
shoulders, like thongs of smoked leather.

"Speak!" commanded Arroyo, as he entered.  "Thou bearer of evil tidings,
what have you to tell us now?"

"Perhaps, Senor Captain," responded the brigand, who, notwithstanding
his habitual air of importance, was evidently cowed by the scowl of his
superior, "perhaps I have some good news as well?"

"First, then, deliver your bad ones!"

"Well, then, Senor Captain, there are not enough of us to take this
hacienda by assault.  The den of coyotes has proved stronger than we
expected; and I am sent to ask for a reinforcement of men."

"Who has sent you?--Lieutenant Lantejas?"

"Lieutenant Lantejas will never send another message.  This morning his
head was nailed over the gate of the hacienda along with that of
Sergeant Yanez."

"Tripes of the fiend!" exclaimed the guerilla leader, "Yanez, too!"

"Their heads are not the only ones, Captain.  Besides them are those of
Salinas and Tuerto, to say nothing of Matavidas, Sacamedios, and
Piojento, who were taken prisoners and hung alive by the feet from the
parapet of the building.  We had to fire at them and kill them with our
carbines, in order to put an end to their sufferings."

"They deserved it--a fig for their lives!  Why did they allow themselves
to be taken alive?"

"That's just what I told them," said Gaspacho, with an air of assent.
"I warned them that your honour would be very angry about it.  But they
did not mind what I said for all that."

"So then there are now only forty-four of you laying siege to the
accursed place?"

"Your pardon, Captain.  I did not yet mention four others who have been
hung up by the necks.  Upon these we were not obliged to spend our
powder--as they were dead enough already."

"_Carajo_!" vociferated the brigand with a furious accent.  "Ten of my
men gone already!  _Demonios_!  Am I to lose this band like the other?
Go on!  You have given me enough of ill news.  Let me hear some of what
you call good ones!"

"Yesterday evening a horseman approached the hacienda riding towards it,
as if he had nothing to do but present himself at the gate and be
admitted.  Before getting near, however, he was seen by two of our
videttes, who at once charged upon him.  After a fight, in which the
horseman made a fierce resistance, he managed to escape."

"_Carajo_!--the stupids!"

"Don't be angry with the poor fellows, Senor Captain.  I assure you they
did not let him go without a struggle, which ended in one of them
getting his shoulder fractured by a pistol-shot, and the other having
his horse fall under him.  Pressed by the latter, the Royalist horseman
turned upon him, and rushing against his horse, brought the animal to
the ground.  Then grasping the vidette by the collar, he lifted him
clean out of his stirrups, and dashed him to the earth, as one would do
a cocoa-nut to break its shell.  It was full two hours before the poor
fellow came to his senses."

"I know only one man strong enough to accomplish that feat," said
Bocardo, turning pale--"the damned Colonel Tres-Villas.  It was just in
that way that he killed Antonio Valdez."

"It was Colonel Tres-Villas," added Gaspacho.  "Pepe Lobos is sure of
it.  He heard the snorting of that strange horse--the same he rode upon
the day he came to Las Palmas.  Besides, Pepe recognised his figure, and
the sound of his voice--notwithstanding that it was in the night.  Ten
of our men have gone in pursuit of him, and by this he ought to be
taken."

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the guerillero chief, turning his eyes towards
heaven, "I promise you a wax candle as big as a palm tree, if this man
falls into our hands!"

"As big as a palm tree!" exclaimed Bocardo in astonishment.--"Camarado,
do you mean it?"

"Hush!" said the other in a low voice.  "Hold your tongue, Bocardo; it's
only to humbug the Virgin!"

"Well," replied Bocardo, "whether they capture him or not, it don't much
matter.  We shall take him all the same.  If I understand his history,
and the meaning of the message which this coyote has for him, he can be
lured by it to the farthest corner of the earth."

At this moment the wife of Arroyo re-entered the tent, her face
exhibiting a still stronger expression of fury than before.

"The cage is empty!" cried she, "the bird has flown, and along with it
the guardian left to watch it--the worthless Juan de Zapote!"

"Blood and fire!" vociferated Arroyo, "quick, pursue them!  Hola!"
continued he, raising the flap of his tent, "twenty men to horse!  Scour
the woods and the river banks.  Bring back the two fugitives bound hand
and foot.  Above all, bring them back _alive_!"

The order created a brisk movement throughout the camp, where each
seemed to compete with his fellow as to who should be the first to enter
on the pursuit.

"_Jesus Santo_!" muttered Bocardo to himself, "if this Colonel should
escape, and also the messenger, adieu to all my fine combinations!
Well!" he continued, after the wife of Arroyo had gone out of the tent
to hasten the departure of the pursuers.  "Well, Senor Arroyo! if he
should get away from us it will be a great pity sure enough.  Still we
shall find consolation at the hacienda San Carlos."

"True," replied the other, "and I have need of some distraction just
now.  This evening I mean to amuse myself.  To-morrow we shall storm the
fortress of Del Valle with all our force; and may the devil scorch me,
if I leave one stone of it standing upon another!"

"Yes; to-morrow let us set seriously about it," said Bocardo, gleefully
rubbing his hands together.  "But see!" he continued, glancing out of
the tent, "our fellows are ready to start.  If you take my advice,
instead of twenty men, you'll send only ten.  That will be quite
sufficient to capture those two droll devils who have escaped from us.
After you have sent the reinforcement to Del Valle we'll have no great
number of men to remain at head-quarters here."

The guerillero chief yielded to the counsel of his associate; and
choosing from the horsemen that were ready ten of the best mounted, he
directed them to enter upon the pursuit.  The others were at the same
time ordered to proceed to the hacienda Del Valle to reinforce the party
already besieging the place.



CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.

AN UNEXPECTED RECEPTION.

From that portion of Gaspacho's report which related to Don Rafael
Tres-Villas, the reader will easily guess the purpose of the eight
horsemen assembled in the glade of the forest of Ostuta: they were no
other than the soldiers who from the besieging party had gone in pursuit
of the Royalist Colonel.  It will be remembered, however, that ten was
the number mentioned by Gaspacho, while only eight now composed the
group that occupied the clearing.

We shall presently learn how their number became thus reduced: but first
let us recount the adventures of Don Rafael himself--from the time of
his quitting the camp of Huajapam, to the moment when we find him asleep
upon his arboreal couch.

As soon as the song of triumph raised by the soldiers of Trujano had
ceased to echo in his ears, Don Rafael proceeded to reflect upon his own
situation.  He perceived at once that, in order to traverse with safety
some thirty leagues of a country almost entirely in the hands of the
insurgents, certain precautions would be absolutely necessary.  His
gold-laced uniform, his helmet, all his equipments, in short, would
betray him to an insurgent enemy.  Moreover he was badly armed--having
broken his sword in the conflict; and for such a perilous journey it was
necessary to be provided with better weapons than a dagger and pistols.

He knew it was impossible to return to his marquee to re-equip himself.
The camp was already filled with the insurgent soldiers, and no doubt
his tent had been pillaged long before that time.

After a moment's reflection it occurred to him that on the field of
battle--that part of it most distant from Huajapam, where Callejas had
sustained the first shock of Morelos' army--he might find the necessary
articles he desired; and turning a little out of his course, he directed
himself thither.

His judgment proved correct.  A two-edged sword soon rewarded his
search; and he was able to exchange for his dragoon helmet the felt hat
of an insurgent soldier, with a brass front-plate, bearing in ill-formed
letters the inscription, _Independencia o' muerte_!

Scornfully tearing off the tablet and trampling it under his feet, Don
Rafael placed the felt hat upon his head, and continued his
explorations.  Shortly after he exchanged the _jaqueta_ of an insurgent
soldier for his cavalry uniform; and then looking to the state of his
pistols, and seeing that his cartridge-box was well garnished he put
spurs to Roncador and rode briskly away from the ground.

It is not necessary to detail the many precautions which he adopted from
hour to hour to keep out of the hands of the insurgents, who were on all
sides scouring the country through which he had to pass.  Suffice it to
say that for the most part he journeyed only by night.  Even travelling
thus, he was not always safe; and more than once he found occasion to
employ all the courage and presence of mind with which Nature had
endowed him.

On the evening of the third day, just at the hour of twilight, he
arrived in the neighbourhood of his own hacienda.  He was expecting soon
to be in security within its walls, when the two videttes already
mentioned perceived and rushed forward to capture him.  This behaviour
was in conformity with the orders of Arroyo, who had commanded that
every one seen near the hacienda should be made prisoner and brought
into his presence.

Don Rafael was at first uncertain as to the enemy with which he had to
deal; but he was not the man to submit tamely to conduct so brusque and
uncourteous as was that of the videttes.  His resistance ended in
putting both of them _hors de combat_; but the circumstances of the
encounter, for certain reasons, had been somewhat misrepresented by
Gaspacho.

It is true that one of the two soldiers had his shoulder fractured by a
shot; but the bullet had also passed so near his heart, that the man was
dead in an hour after.  As to the other, it was true that the Colonel
dashed him to the ground as described; but, before doing so, he had
taken the precaution to plunge his dagger into the breast of this second
adversary.

Although he had left both deprived of the power to give the alarm,
unfortunately the report of his pistol had betrayed his presence to the
guerilleros.  In a few moments half a score of them were riding in
pursuit; for, by the orders of their chief, one half their horses were
kept saddled and bridled both day and night.

After disembarrassing himself of his two adversaries, the Colonel had
hesitated a moment, as to whether he should return on his path or
continue on to the hacienda.  It was during this interval of hesitation
that the pursuing horsemen drew near, and that one of them (Pepe Lobos
by name) caught sight of and recognised him, while the snorting of
Roncador as he galloped off confirmed the guerillero in his belief.

It is likely enough that the extreme hatred which Arroyo bore for the
Colonel was at this crisis the means of saving his life.  The
guerilleros, knowing the desire of their chief that Tres-Villas should
be captured alive, reflected upon the rich recompense they might expect
if they should so take him.  Otherwise the volley of carbine shots,
which they would have delivered on the instant, might have terminated
the existence of their dreaded foe.

On seeing the horsemen, Don Rafael suddenly wheeled round and galloped
back as he had come.  His hope lay in being able to distance his
pursuers, and afterwards find a temporary refuge in the thick forest he
had just been traversing, and through which ran the road to Huajapam.
With this purpose in view, he returned along the route at full gallop.

When he deemed himself at a sufficient distance in advance of his
pursuers, he wheeled suddenly from the road and headed his steed into
the thick underwood, through which he spurred onward, until his passage
was fairly barred up by an impenetrable network of vines and bushes.
Here he halted; and, dismounting, led his horse to a tree.  He then
commenced groping about, to find some spot where he might in safety
obtain a few hours of repose, after the fatigues he had encountered
during the day.

A few paces further on he perceived a cedrela tree of gigantic
dimensions, and so thickly loaded with leaves that it seemed to promise
a secure hiding-place among its branches.  Still apprehensive that his
pursuers might discover his track, Don Rafael resolved to climb the
cedrela, whose dark foliage would screen him from the sharpest eyes.  On
approaching the tree, he perceived by the vast circumference of its
trunk that he could not climb up by embracing it.  Neither could he
reach to even the lowest of its limbs.  A means, however, presented
itself of getting over the difficulty.

An enormous lliana, stretching from among the top branches, reached the
ground in a diagonal direction; and up this Don Rafael was enabled to
make his ascent.

Placing his body between two large boughs, he disposed himself, as best
he could, to pass the remainder of the night, leaving it for the day to
bring him to some further determination.

He commenced reflecting upon the pursuit.  He was in hopes that his
pursuers, having lost his track, might separate into small parties of
two or three, in order the more thoroughly to scour the woods.  In this
case, he might be able to defeat the whole party, taking them in detail,
and favoured by his own superior courage and strength, in which he felt
the most perfect confidence.

The night had already advanced, and the moon from the high vault of the
starry heavens poured down her floods of light over the spray of the
forest.  A few feeble raylets, penetrating through the thick masses of
foliage, reached the retreat where Don Rafael had hidden himself.

He remained for some moments listening attentively.  He could hear
nothing--at least no sound that betokened the presence of human beings.
The breeze sighing among the leaves, the distant howl of the coyote, the
sweet note of the mimic night-thrush, or perchance the rustling caused
by the iguana as it scampered over the dead leaves, were the only sounds
that broke the stillness of the night.

The fresh balmy air that he was breathing, the shadow of night that
enwrapped him, the imposing tranquillity that reigned around, all
conspired to beget the desire for repose.  He felt his eyelids gradually
grow heavier and heavier; and after a while an invincible torpor seized
upon his whole frame.

Without being in any great degree uneasy about his situation, Don Rafael
nevertheless felt the necessity of keeping awake as long as he might be
able.  With this intent he struggled for a time against sleep, but in
vain.  Seeing that it was about to overpower him, he unwound the sash
from his waist, and with this attached himself firmly between the
branches.  Having thus provided against the danger of a fall, he
surrendered himself the moment after to a profound and silent slumber.



CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

A CARELESS SEARCH.

Most of the guerilleros of the band of Arroyo were country-people--
rancheros, vaqueros, and the like.  Many of them, from their habits of
life, were skilled in following the tracks of animals.  It was not
likely, therefore, they should fail to discover the place where the
Colonel had turned off from the road; and in reality they perceived it,
and there came to a halt.  The uncertain light of the moon, however,
hindered them from following his tracks through the underwood; and,
unable to guess the direction he had taken, they remained for some
minutes deliberating on what was best to be done.

To go forward in a body would be to diminish the chances of finding his
traces--more especially if they proceeded on horseback.  It was
resolved, therefore, that all should dismount; and, separating into
twos, thus scour the thicket in front.  Afterwards, if unsuccessful in
their search, they were to reunite in the glade where they had picketed
their horses.

This resolution was carried out; and in pairs the guerilleros scattered
off into the wood.

Although adopting all necessary measures of prudence, on account of the
terrible name of him they were in search of, at first the pursuers
conscientiously performed their work.  By little and little, however,
their ardour became abated; and then a very similar idea presented
itself to the minds of all of them at the same time.  They remembered
how easily the Colonel had overcome his two adversaries, the videttes;
and it now occurred to them that _they_ had acted very rashly in thus
weakening their strength by division.

As it would never do to return at once to the appointed rendezvous, each
couple perceived the necessity of allowing some time to elapse before
going back, for the sake of saving appearances.  They continued their
search, therefore; but rather by way of passing the time than with any
ardour in the accomplishment of their original design.

"_Carrambo_! what a lovely moon!" remarked Pepe Lobos to his partner in
the search; "it gives me an idea--"

"That the Colonel may see us before we discover him?" interrupted his
companion.

"Bah! nothing of the kind," rejoined Pepe; "that devil of a royalist is
not to be found.  What I was thinking of is, that, since it is almost as
clear as daylight, there's a good opportunity for your showing me that
which you have so long promised."

"What is it, camarado?"

"The trick of cards by which one may always win an _albur_ at monte."

"Of course I cannot show you without having the cards."

"But I have them, hombre--a brand-new pack too."

"Ah! it is easier to do that trick with an old pack," replied Pepe's
comrade with a knowing shrug of the shoulders.  "However, since I have
promised you, and, as you justly remark, there is no chance of finding
this royalist colonel, I agree to your request."

The two insurgents seated themselves on the turf--in a spot where the
moon fell with a clear light--and Pepe Lobos, having drawn a pack of
cards from his pocket, the lesson commenced.  Between the ardour of the
master and the docility of the pupil, the lesson was prolonged to such a
time, that the Colonel, asleep between his two branches, could have
dreamt all the dreams that might present themselves to his imagination
before either of these worthies was likely to awaken him.

Not far distant two others of the searchers put in practice, as regards
Don Rafael, a very similar courtesy.

"So, Suarez," said the first of these two to the other, "five hundred
dollars, isn't it, that the Captain promises the man who may take this
royalist colonel alive?"

"Yes," replied Suarez, "five hundred dollars, and a good round sum it
is.  But should one get an arm shot off, or a leg disabled, in capturing
the _demonio_, will the Captain allow anything extra for that, do you
think?"

"Ah!  I can't say.  I should fancy so."

"Well, then, hear me, friend Suarez.  I have no doubt it will be a good
thing; and for you who are married and have a family to support, this
five hundred dollars would be a windfall.  I am single, and don't
require it.  I am therefore willing to surrender my chance to you, and
you can look for the Colonel by yourself."

Saying this, the soldier stretched himself along the grass, and disposed
himself for a sleep.

"For the last two nights," continued he, "I haven't had a wink, and I
can't keep my eyes open any longer.  When you have captured the Colonel,
come back and rouse me; but, whether you take him or no, mind you, good
Suarez, come this way and wake me before daylight--else I may sleep too
long."

"Coward!" exclaimed Suarez, "I shall keep on without you, and get the
reward for myself."

The answer to these remarks was a loud snore, for Suarez' comrade had
fallen asleep on the instant.

Of the ten enemies of Don Rafael three had thus withdrawn themselves
from the pursuit.

Two others, at no great distance off, held the following conversation.

"_Santissima_!" exclaimed one, looking up to the sky.  "Did you ever see
a moon so ridiculously clear?  This Royalist Colonel, if hidden about
here, cannot fail to see us."

"That would be unfortunate," rejoined the second.  "If he should see us,
he would be certain to make off."

"Ah! hum!" muttered the first speaker, "I'm not so sure about that: he's
not one of the kind that cares about making off.  Have you heard how he
lifted Panchito Jolas out of his stirrups?"

"Yes; I have myself had some falls from a horse, but when I think of
poor Jolas it makes my blood run cold.  _Ave Maria_! did you not hear
something?"

The two searchers stopped in their tracks, and stood listening: with far
more fear in their hearts than could be in that of him for whom they
were searching.

It was only a false alarm; but it had the effect of causing them to
betray to one another the dread with which the fame of the Colonel had
inspired them.  The mask thus removed, mutual confidence became
established between the two; and both were equally agreed upon the
prudence of at once returning to the appointed rendezvous.

The other four pursuers continued to advance; but with such easy
nonchalance that in two or three hours afterwards eight of the ten had
returned to the glade, all equally unsuccessful in their search.

As to the two who were still missing the reason for their absence was
simple enough.  As soon as Suarez had parted from his somnolent
companion, the thought occurred to him that since the latter, only a
single man, was so careful of his life, he, being married, and with a
family, had still greater reason for being careful of his.  Having given
his companion a proof of his courage, which had cost him nothing, he
resolved to imitate the latter in another respect.  After going a
hundred paces farther, he also stretched himself along the grass, and
entered into the land of dreams--perhaps dreaming of his wife; and how
upon his bed of moss he was enjoying the good fortune of escaping from
her ill temper.  Before falling asleep he had promised himself to awake
at an early hour, and after rousing his companion to abuse him for his
cowardice.

Unfortunately for Suarez, he reckoned without his host, when supposing
he could awake himself; and both he and his partner slept, until long
after the other eight had reassembled at the rendezvous, and commenced
deliberating upon a more earnest prosecution of the search.

The moon had already gone down, and the day was beginning to dawn.  The
grey light falling upon the group of insurgent horsemen--dressed in
their half-military, half-peasant costumes, soiled and tattered by long
campaigning--presented a tableau of the most picturesque character.

Around the glade, their horses, tied to the trees, were endeavouring to
satisfy their hunger by gnawing at the leaves and twigs.  Even this
miserable pasture was scarce attainable, on account of the bitts which
the animals still had in their mouths, and which were heard constantly
clanking between their teeth.  The eight insurgents had seated
themselves in the centre of the glade; and with their carbines resting
across their knees, and their daggers sticking in their boot tops, were
listening to the discourse of Pepe Lobos.

"Suarez and Pacheco will never return," continued Pepe, in answer to the
conjectures of his comrades.  "It is as good as certain that this
Colonel of Beelzebub has settled the affair with both--just as he did
with poor Panchito Jolas; and since we have searched all night without
finding any trace--"

"We explored our route with the greatest care!" interrupted one of the
beaters who had exhibited the greatest dread of encountering the
Colonel.

"We have done the same," added Pepe Lobos.  "Ask my partner there.
Although his trace has escaped our observation, it is evident the
Royalist is somewhere in this wood--else what has become of Suarez and
Pacheco?  Yes, he is in it yet, be assured; and my advice is that we go
back to the place where he left the main road, and follow the track of
his horse from there.  That will be the more likely plan to bring us to
the place where he is at this minute."

The other seven gave in their consent to this plan, and it was resolved
that it should be carried into execution.

"As for the reward of five hundred dollars," continued Pepe Lobos,
"that's all very well.  But I say vengeance before everything; and we
will do better to kill this fierce devil at once.  A fig for the bounty,
say I!"

"Perhaps the Captain will pay one half, if we bring him in dead?"
suggested one of the insurgents.

"When we have ascertained exactly where he is hid," continued Pepe,
without heeding the suggestion, "we can then separate into two parties
of four each.  One can approach from one side, and the other party in
the opposite direction.  We shall thus have him between us; and let
whoever sets eye on him fire at him as at a mad dog.  That is the only
way to make sure; besides, if he should be only wounded and we can carry
him to camp with a little life in him, we shall still be entitled to the
reward."

The counsel of Pepe Lobos met with a universal approbation; and it was
finally resolved that as soon as day had fairly broken, they should all
return to the main road and recommence the search.

Just as the sun commenced gilding the lofty summits of the palm-trees,
the eight guerilleros scattered themselves along the road to examine the
hoof tracks, and if possible discover the point at which Don Rafael had
turned off into the woods.  This was by no means so easily accomplished:
for the ground was now trodden by their own horses in such a fashion
that it seemed impossible to distinguish which of the trails was that of
the Royalist dragoon.  A native of Europe would have examined them in
vain; but to a vaquero of Mexico, a gaucho of Chili, or in fact a native
peasant of any part of Spanish-America, it was simply a work of time and
patience.  In fact, scarce ten minutes had passed, before Pepe Lobos
called to his comrades to announce that he had discovered the track they
were in search of.

Besides the hoof-prints of a horse, a twig broken from the branch of a
tree, and some fresh leaves of sassafras laurel lying upon the ground,
showed clearly the place where Don Rafael had passed through the
underwood.

After following his trail for some paces, all believed that the fugitive
could not be far distant from the spot.  The two parties were then
formed: one to advance directly on the trail, the other to make a
circuit and enter the thicket from the opposite direction.

While the latter was executing the movement agreed upon, the four men
who composed it came suddenly upon the horsemen whom Arroyo had sent in
pursuit of Juan de Zapote and the fugitive messenger.  By their known
watchword the two parties of insurgents recognised each other; and,
after joining their forces, they agreed to separate again into three
bodies, and thus advance towards the spot where it was conjectured Don
Rafael might be hidden.  Four parties were now closing in upon a common
centre; and just in that centre stood the great cedrela in which Don
Rafael had ensconced himself.

As all four were acting under a common understanding that the Royalist
Colonel was to be shot down upon sight, it will be perceived that the
position of Don Rafael was now one of imminent danger.  The very least
misfortune that seemed to menace him would be to have the opportunity to
die sword in hand--fighting to the death: for this would be far
preferable to falling into the hands of his pitiless foeman, the brigand
Arroyo.  With the Royalist Colonel it was in reality a moment of extreme
peril.



CHAPTER SIXTY.

EL ZAPOTE AND GASPAR.

Just about the moment when Pepe Lobos and his comrades had made their
dispositions for advancing into the thicket, Don Rafael awoke from his
prolonged slumber.  On first opening his eyes, the glare of the sunlight
so dazzled them, that he inquired of himself where he was.  Presently,
however, objects appeared more distinctly; and he became aware of the
extraordinary situation in which he had placed himself.

He had scarce time for a single reflection, when his attention was drawn
to a rustling among the leaves at a short distance off; and, looking
diagonally downward, he perceived two men on foot advancing towards the
cedrela.

On first awaking, he had felt such an extreme lassitude throughout all
his limbs, that he could scarce believe himself to have slept as long as
he had done.  The height of the sun, however, proclaimed that he had
slumbered for many hours.

Notwithstanding the strong desire he had to descend from his
uncomfortable couch, at the sight of the two men he prudently deferred
his intention.  He took the precaution, however, to untie the sash that
bound him to the branches--doing this as gently as possible--while he
kept his eyes fixed upon the new-comers, who, to say the least,
presented a suspicious appearance.

The costume of both was odd enough, and altogether unsuited for
traversing such a thorny jungle as that through which they were passing.
It consisted merely of a shirt and cotton drawers--while each of them
carried in hand a large parcel.  Although the night had been dry
throughout, the garments of both pedestrians appeared saturated with
water!

Without the slightest suspicion that Don Rafael was in the tree, or that
any other human being was near, the two men were nevertheless moving
with cautious steps.  Now they looked to the right, and then to the
left, with quick earnest glances--as if they were either searching for
something, or in dread that an enemy might be concealed in the bushes.

"These droll fellows," said the Colonel to himself, "are either
searching for some one, or fear that some one is searching for them--
which of the two?"

He watched them, listening attentively.

The same reason which had induced Don Rafael to select this part of the
wood as a hiding-place--that is the impenetrability of the thicket that
surrounded it--seemed to have influenced in like manner the two
thinly-clad pedestrians.

"We had better stop here," said one to the other, as both came to a
halt, "at least until we can put on our clothes again."

"Agreed," was the response; "but we must make our stay as short as
possible: we should by this time have been far along the road to
Huajapam."

Each at the same moment untied the parcel which he carried, and which
consisted of his upper garments that had been kept dry.  Then stripping
off their wet shirts and drawers, they commenced dressing themselves in
their proper habiliments.

"So, amigo!" said the first speaker, pointing to a small packet which
the other had been carrying, "that, you tell me, is worth its weight in
gold?"

"Yes; and you shall soon find that you have nothing to regret in helping
me to escape, and sharing with me the douceur we shall receive on
presenting it.  If we are only lucky enough to get away from this
neighbourhood--I have no doubt they will pursue us."

"We may be certain of that, _compadre_; but don't be uneasy about their
finding us.  If we should fall into the hands of any of those who are
besieging Del Valle, trust me for getting clear of them.  As they are my
comrades, and don't know yet that I have run away, I shall be able to
mislead them.  I can tell them, that I have been sent along with you, to
receive the ransom of one of our prisoners."

"What if they should carry us back to Arroyo's camp?"

"Why, in that case we shall both be hanged.  What matters it, a little
sooner or later--it is the common lot?" philosophically added Juan el
Zapote--for it was he, in company with the messenger whom he had aided
in making his escape.  "Never mind, _compadrito_," he continued in a
more cheering tone, "I shall do my best to get _you_ clear of the scrape
anyhow."

"_Santa Virgen_!" mentally ejaculated the Colonel.  "This droll fellow,
who thinks it is the lot of all men to be hanged sooner or later,
appears to be so sure of the fact, that it would not expose him to much
more risk to conduct me also to a safer harbour."

And in making this reflection, Don Rafael caught hold of the llianas by
which he had climbed up; and at the risk of leaving some of his garments
behind him, sprang out from between the branches, and dropped down
between the two pedestrians with a suddenness that stupefied them.

The man who was to pay so dear for the precious packet sent him by
Gertrudis, was now face to face with the messenger who bore it; and yet
neither of them knew the other!

"Hush!" said the Colonel, taking the initiative, "you have nothing to
fear.  I promise you my protection; but first lay down your arms!"

Zapote had drawn his long dagger, and stood ready to use it against the
first enemy who came near, with that indifference peculiar to one who
believed in the rope or garotte as the necessary termination of his
life.  But Don Rafael had at the same instant caught hold of his arm,
which he held with a grasp, that proved he could also become as terrible
an antagonist as he might be a powerful protector.

"Who are you?" simultaneously inquired the two fugitives.

"Ah! it might be indiscreet in me to tell you that," replied Don Rafael.
"I am a young man who has just sprung down from the tree above you, as
you may see by my hat still sticking up there among the branches."

Without letting go his hold of Zapote the Colonel raised himself on his
toes; and, stretching his arm upwards, proceeded to disengage the
insurgent's hat from among the branches.

"So, amigos!" continued he as soon as he had recovered his hat.  "You
are fleeing from the guerilleros of Arroyo?  Well--so am I: that is
enough for you to know at present.  You are two and I only one; but let
me plainly tell you, that if you do not make common cause with me, I
shall be under the necessity of killing you both.  Now you may choose--
Yes or no!"

"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed Zapote, not ill pleased with the frank, off-hand
manner of the stranger, "what a capital trader you would make with your
roundabout way of coming to terms!  Well, cavallero! what can we do for
you?"

"Pass me off with these fellows of Arroyo: as you are intending to do
your comrade here.  Say that I am charged with the ransom of a prisoner
at the hacienda Del Valle, and thus obtain for me permission to pass the
lines.  If you do this, I promise you a recompense.  And since you are
both about to share the bounty of some one between you--"

"Only a little commission," interrupted Zapote; "and if you knew what it
is--"

"Oh, I have no intention of claiming my third in the reward.  I don't
care to know what it is."

"But you shall know, for all that," replied Zapote, apparently carried
away by an irresistible desire of giving his confidence.  "Among
friends--for we are so at present--there should be no concealment."

"Well, then, what is it?" inquired the Colonel.

"It is the will of a rich uncle in favour of a nephew who believed
himself disinherited, and to whom we are now taking it.  You may fancy
whether we have just grounds for expecting a good perquisite."

"Are you sure that the will is not a false one?" inquired the Colonel,
not without suspicions as to the veracity of Zapote.

"Neither of us knows how to read," replied the ex-guerillero, with an
air of affected innocence.

"But take my word for it, cavallero," he hastily added, "we had better
get out of this place as quickly as we can.  We have already lost too
much time."

"But my horse," objected the Colonel, "what's to be done with him?"

"Oh, you have a horse?  Well, then, the best way is to leave him behind:
he will only embarrass you."

"He would certainly do so," interrupted the messenger, "if he was like a
horse I once knew.  Ah, that was a devil of an animal!  If you had only
heard--"

The man was alluding to a horse he had once seen in the stables of his
master, Don Mariano de Silva, and which was no other than Roncador
himself.  He was about to recount the peculiarities of this famous
steed--which would no doubt have led to a recognition between himself
and Don Rafael--when his speech was interrupted by voices heard in
different directions, as if men were approaching the spot from different
sides.

Both Don Rafael and the messenger interrogated with anxious regard the
countenance of Zapote.

"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed the latter, "it may be more serious than I
thought."

The voices had now broken forth into shouts and cries--as if uttered by
men engaged in a chase; and the sounds expressed a sort of vengeful
resolve--on the part of those who uttered them--not to show mercy or
give quarter.

El Zapote looked for some moments with fixed gaze upon the royalist
fugitive, who with the felt hat of an insurgent, the jacket of an
infantry soldier, and the pantaloons of a dragoon officer, presented a
somewhat motley appearance.

"You are a man who has just dropped down from a tree," said he.  "I will
not deny that fact; but if you are the only one about here, I should say
there is a royalist in this wood, that these fellows are about to hunt
to death."

"On my side I shall be frank with you," answered Don Rafael.  "You have
guessed rightly: I am in the King's cause."

"These shouts," continued Zapote, "the meaning of which I understand
full well, denote that there is a royalist hidden in these woods, who is
to be taken dead or alive.  Have the men who are pursuing you ever seen
you?"

"I killed two of their number yesterday evening.  There were others who,
no doubt, saw me."

"Then there is no hope of my being able to pass you off as an ordinary
prisoner, like my companion here, who is neither royalist nor
insurgent."

"It is very doubtful, to say the least," remarked Don Rafael, in a
desponding tone.

"Altogether impossible; but I can promise you one thing, however: that
we shall not betray you, should we fall in with these pursuers.
Moreover, I shall endeavour to throw them off your scent: for I am
beginning to tire of this brigand life of theirs.  On one condition, how
ever."

"Name it!" said the Colonel.

"That you will permit us to part company with you.  I can do nothing to
save you--you know it--while you may only ruin us, without any profit to
yourself.  On the other hand your fate has become in a manner linked
with ours; and to abandon you in the midst of danger would be a baseness
for which I could never pardon myself."

There was in the words of Zapote an accent of loyalty, which moved the
Colonel to admiration, in spite of himself.

"Have no care for me," resolutely rejoined Don Rafael.  "Go which way
you please without me; and I hope," he added with a smile, "that you
will reach that nephew you speak of, and safely deliver to him his
uncle's will!"

"After all, _amigo_," he continued in a more serious tone, "I have but
little reason to care for life more than yourself.  A little sooner or a
little later, what matters it?  Only," added he, smiling, "I should not
exactly fancy to be hanged."

"Thanks for your permission that we should part from you," said Zapote;
"but, Senor Cavallero, a word before you go.  If you take my advice, you
will climb back into that tree where no one will suspect your presence."

"No," interrupted Don Rafael.  "Up there I should be as a jaguar pursued
by hounds--without the power to defend myself; and I am like the
Indians, I wish, on entering the other world, to send as many enemies
before me as possible."

"Well, then, do better still--make towards the river; keep due south
from this place; and, on reaching the banks of the Ostuta, you will see
a vast thicket of bamboos--in which my comrade and myself have just
found a refuge, and where we might have remained safe from enemies till
the day of judgment, had we not to go forward upon our errand.  If you
can only succeed in reaching the bamboos, you are saved."

Saying this El Zapote, followed by his companion, turned his face
northward, and striking off into the thicket but were soon lost to Don
Rafael's sight.



CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

THE FUGITIVES IN DANGER.

El Zapote and his confrere, the messenger, after making a wide detour
through the forest, came out on the Huajapam road.  Their intention was
to journey on to Huajapam--where they supposed the royalist army still
held the place in siege, and where they expected to find Colonel
Tres-Villas, to whom the messenger had been sent.  Little did either the
ex-guerillero or his companion suspect that it was the colonel himself
from whom they had just parted.

"By my faith!" remarked the messenger, as they journeyed along, "it's a
pity now that we did not ask that gentleman his name.  It is likely
enough that he is some grand officer belonging to the royalist army."

"Bah!" replied Zapote.  "What good would it be to us to know his name?
He's a lost man, I fear.  It matters little, therefore, what name he
carries."

"_Quien sabe_?" doubtingly rejoined the messenger.

"I am more vexed," continued Zapote, "that we were not able to do
anything for him.  It can't be helped, however; and just now, let me
tell you, my brave Gaspar, that we have got to look out for ourselves.
We are yet far from being out of danger."

The two men pursued their route, gliding silently and cautiously under
the shadow of the underwood.

Scarce ten minutes had elapsed when they again heard the voices of those
who were beating the wood in search of the hiding-place of Don Rafael.
Both stepped behind a screen of bushes and listened.  In the midst of a
profound silence, they heard the crackling of branches; and the moment
after a man appeared at a short distance from where they stood.  He was
advancing with stealthy step, carbine in hand, and almost at the same
instant two others made their appearance, coming up behind him, and
moving forward with like caution.

All three were stealthily gliding from tree to tree--making a temporary
rampart of the trunks, as they reconnoitred the ground before them.

One of these men was recognised by Zapote as an old comrade.

"Eh, Perico!" cried he, speaking loud enough to be heard by the men.

"Hola!  Who calls me?" responded Perico.

"I--Juan el Zapote."

"Zapote! how is it that you are here?  Where did you come from?"

"From the camp," replied Zapote, with wondrous impudence.  "Our Captain
has sent--"

"Oh! the Captain knows, then, that we are in pursuit of a royalist who
has taken shelter in the _chapparal_?  We have had a time of it after
him, and he's not found yet.  We have scoured the thicket all the night
in search of his hiding-place; and, out of ten of us who came after him,
eight only remain.  Two, Suarez and Pacheco, he has killed somewhere;
but if I may judge by the signal cries to which we have responded, there
should be at least twenty of our comrades at present looking after him."

At this moment another man joined company with the three already on the
ground.  Fortunately for Juan el Zapote and the messenger, these four
were precisely the same whom Pepe Lobos had ordered to go round by the
Huajapam road, and as they had not yet been in communication with the
party from the camp, they were ignorant of the fact that their old
comrade, Zapote, was himself being pursued as a deserter.  "Well,"
continued Zapote, "as I was saying, our Captain has sent me on an errand
with my companion, Gaspar, here; and we are in the greatest haste."

"What errand?" demanded Perico.

"_Carrambo_!  A secret mission; one that I daren't disclose to you.
_Adios, amigo_!  I am in a terrible hurry."

"Before you go," cried one of the men, "tell us if you saw anybody?"

"Saw anybody?  Who?  The royalist you are in search of?"

"Yes; the mad Colonel."

"No; I met no mad colonel," said Zapote, turning away.

"Eh! _hombre_?" exclaimed Perico, with a significant glance; "make it
appear you are ignorant that it is the Colonel Tres-Villas we are
pursuing?  You know that well enough.  You wish to capture him alone,
and get the five hundred dollars to yourself?"

"Colonel Tres-Villas?" cried Zapote and the messenger in the same
breath.

"Five hundred dollars reward!" exclaimed Zapote the instant after,
raising his hand to his head, as if about to pluck out a fistful of his
hair.

"Certainly, that same; a grand gentleman, with black moustachios, a felt
hat of the same colour, a soldier's infantry jacket, and gold-laced
cavalry pantaloons."

"And he has killed two of our people?"

"Four.  Since Suarez and Pacheco have not returned, we may also reckon
them as dead men."

Zapote no longer doubted that the man from whom they had just parted was
he to whom they were bearing the message of Gertrudis de Silva, in other
words, the Colonel Tres-Villas.  He exchanged a significant glance with
the messenger.

For a moment the new resolution of honesty made by the ex-bandit wavered
upon its foundation, still but weakly laid; but the mute appealing
glance of Gaspar, and the remembrance of the promise of fidelity he had
just made, conquered the instinct of cupidity that had momentarily been
aroused within him.

"Well--we have neither met nor seen any one," he remarked drily; "but we
are losing our time.  _Adios_!"

"_Vete con Dios_!"  (God be with you), responded Perico.

Zapote and Gaspar, saluting the others, walked away--going at a moderate
pace so long as they were in sight of the insurgents; but as soon as
they were behind the bushes advancing with all the speed in their power.

Their object now was to put themselves as distant as possible from the
danger; since their projected journey to Huajapam was no more to be
thought of.  When they had got to such a distance as not any longer to
fear pursuit, Zapote flung himself down upon the grass with an air of
profound disappointment.

"What are we to do now?" inquired Gaspar, in a lugubrious tone.

Zapote, overcome by his emotions, made no reply.  About a minute after,
however, he sprang suddenly to his feet, as if some interesting idea had
occurred to him.

"A grand idea!" he exclaimed, "a superb idea!"

"Ah!  What is it?"

"Listen, _camarado_!  I am known to those who are laying siege to the
hacienda Del Valle: you are known to those who defend it.  Well, we
shall thus be able to get in.  Once inside, you can pass me off for one
of the servants of your master, Don Mariano de Silva."

"That might be possible, my dear Zapote," naively answered Gaspar, "if
it were not for your devil of a physiognomy."

"Never mind that.  I shall alter it to suit the occasion.  You shall
see.  All I ask is, that if I extricate the Colonel from his present
dilemma, I am to have a reward of a thousand dollars.  I risk my life
for it; and the sum would be only a fair one.  I shall take fifty men,
and deliver him from danger.  As to your message, he will pay for that
separately, and you may have all the bounty to yourself."

"It would be a great stroke of business, if we could so manage it,"
assented Gaspar.

"You see, after all," philosophically remarked the ex-bandit, "that
honesty is the best policy."

"But suppose the Colonel should be taken prisoner, or killed?" suggested
Gaspar.

"We must take the chance of that.  If he be, we shall endeavour to
capture Arroyo.  In either case, I ought to have a reward; and, cost
what it will, I mean to try for one."

"It is possible," again suggested Gaspar, "the Colonel may be able to
reach the bamboo brake on the river bank.  If so, we might still be in
time to save him."

"In less than two hours we can get back here with the men to rescue him.
They can easily make a sortie from Del Valle, now that nearly all the
others are scouring the forest.  Quick, then, let us make for the
hacienda."

Excited by the hope of being able to accomplish their design, the two
adventurers started off, gliding through the thicket as rapidly as they
could make their way in the direction of the hacienda Del Valle.



CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

ESCAPING THE TOILS.

Left to himself, Don Rafael calmly considered the circumstances that
surrounded him.  He could not help feeling a conviction that his chances
of escape were of the most doubtful kind; and that, unless some
unforeseen accident should favour him, he had but a very poor prospect
of being able to extricate himself from the danger that threatened.
Such an accident he had no reason to expect.

The sun was now high in the heavens, and his bright beams penetrating
through the foliage, illuminated even the darkest labyrinths of the
forest.  It would be eight or nine hours before he would set again; for
it was near the summer solstice, when the days of the year are longest.
Don Rafael now regretted having slept so long.  Had he awoke before
sunrise, there might still have been time to have secured his retreat.
He further regretted not having declared his name and rank to the two
men who had just parted from him.  It was possible that, by the offer of
a large recompense, he might have induced them to attempt making an
entrance into the hacienda Del Valle, and warning Lieutenant Veraegui of
his perilous situation.

He was far from suspecting at that moment, that a providential chance
was about doing for him the very thing which his reflection had now too
late suggested he should have done before.

Notwithstanding the danger in which he was placed, Don Rafael, who had
not eaten for many long hours, began to feel hungered.  This, however,
gave him but little concern; since in the tropical forests of Mexico,
the anona, the corosollo, the aguacate, and other fruit-bearing trees,
yield spontaneously their delicious produce, sufficient for the
sustenance of human life.

These reflections once made, Don Rafael was not the man to waste time in
vain regrets.  He resolved to act at once.

He hesitated only an instant, to reflect upon what he should do with his
horse.  At first he thought of abandoning him; but then it occurred to
him, that while passing along his tortuous track through the chapparal,
the animal might prove useful.  He might serve as a sort of moveable
rampart, behind which he could shelter himself from the bullets of the
carbines, that might be fired by his assailants.  Moreover, should he
succeed in getting clear of the thicket, by flinging himself in the
saddle he would still have a chance of escape, through the superior
swiftness of Roncador.  For this reason he decided upon going in search
of the horse.

The thicket in which he had hidden him was at no great distance from the
cedrela; and finding his own traces, Don Rafael returned on them with
stealthy tread.  The silence that reigned throughout the forest was for
the moment profound; and he knew that the slightest sound, even the
snapping of a stick, might betray his presence to some lurking foe.

He had advanced only a few paces, when a vague clamour of voices reached
his ear.  He listened for some seconds; but as the voices did not appear
to come any nearer, he again moved forward.

At length he succeeded in reaching the thicket, where Roncador had been
left.  The poor animal, though devoured by thirst--and suffering from
hunger as well--had made no effort to free himself from his fastenings.
He was still standing by the tree, to which Don Rafael had attached him.
At the approach of his master he uttered a joyous neigh.

Notwithstanding the fear which Don Rafael had that the noise might be
heard by his pursuers, he could not help feeling a joyful emotion at
being thus saluted by his old companion in many a scene of peril; and,
while caressing the horse, he felt a certain remorse at the _role_ he
had just designed him to play.  It was, however, one of those crises,
when the instinct of self-preservation is at variance with the desire of
the heart.

Leading his steed by the bridle, Don Rafael advanced as rapidly as was
possible through the labyrinth of bushes and climbing plants that
thickly covered the ground.  The sun occasionally coming in view,
enabled him to guide his course towards the south--the direction which
Zapote had counselled him to take.

The advice given by the latter seemed to Don Rafael worth following.  If
he could only pass through the line of those seeking for him, and reach
the cane-brake on the Ostuta, he might there conceal himself until after
sunset.  By night he might again attempt to enter the hacienda, and with
a better chance of success; since he was now aware of its being
surrounded by the insurgent guerilleros.

In order to give him more freedom in his movements, he cast away his
sword-belt and scabbard; and with the bare blade in one hand, and his
bridle-rein in the other, he continued to advance as silently as
possible.  He had determined to make use of his pistols--only as a last
resource.

It was not long, however, before he was forced out of his direct
course--not by the thickness of the jungle, but on hearing in front of
him the voices of several men.  These calling to one another, appeared
to be directing a movement among themselves, as if advancing towards him
in an extended deployment.

Singly, each of those who were approaching would have caused Don Rafael
no more uneasiness than does the solitary hunter the lion who
reluctantly retreats before him; but it was evident from the number of
voices that a large party of men were in the wood; and should they all
fall upon him simultaneously, there would be no alternative but to
succumb.  He therefore renounced the desperate idea that for a moment
had occurred to him: of rushing upon the nearest, and putting an end to
him without noise.

He perceived, at the same time, that, in the midst of the dense
chapparal where he then was, a resolute man would have a decided
advantage over enemies who were so scattered, and who were constantly
warning him of their whereabouts as they advanced; while he, keeping
silence, left them ignorant of his own.

The men were evidently getting nearer, and Don Rafael heard their voices
with anxiety.  He listened also to hear if any others replied to them in
the opposite direction; since in that case he would be in danger of
being surrounded.  He knew not the number of his enemies; but he could
tell by the sounds that their cordon had not yet been completely drawn
around him, and there might still be a chance of escaping from it.

While thus listening, with all the eagerness of a man whose life was
depending on the acuteness of his hearing, a noise reached him, which he
knew was not made by a human being.  It was the distant and sonorous
tapping of a woodpecker upon the trunk of a dead tree--a sound often
heard in the depths of an American forest.  The sound fell upon his ear
like the voice of a friend.  It seemed to say that, in the direction
whence it proceeded, no human creature would be found to trouble the
solitude of the forest.

The hint was sufficient for one skilled in wood-lore, as Don Rafael was.
Without a moment's hesitation, he faced in the direction of the sound,
and commenced advancing towards it--guided by the measured strokes given
by the beak of the bird.

He was still at some distance from the dead-wood, where the woodpecker
was employed seeking its food, when the bird, perceiving him, flew off
amidst the trees.

Don Rafael now halted, and once more bent his ear to listen.  To his joy
he perceived that the voices of the searchers had receded to a distance.
This proved that he had passed out of their way; and, if they should
not find reason to return on their tracks, his chances of escape were
becoming more favourable.

To make more sure of not being followed, he adopted a ruse, which he had
learnt during his Indian campaigns.  Taking up two dry sticks of
guiacuni wood, he struck one against the other, thus producing a sound
that resembled the tapping of the woodpecker's beak; and, after
repeating this for a number of times, he returned by a detour to the
same direction from which he had been forced on hearing the voices.

After a half-hour's advance through the thicket, he halted to refresh
himself by eating some fruits of the pawpaw that grew by the path.
Their juicy pulp served for a moment to satisfy the craving of both
appetites--relieving at the same time both hunger and thirst.

Mid-day had already passed, and the sun was beginning to fling his rays
obliquely through the branches, when Don Rafael resumed his route; and
shortly after, through the last straggling trees of the forest, he
perceived the crystal current of the Ostuta running its tranquil course
between banks thickly covered with tall bamboos.

The breeze blowing freely over the water stirred the long lance-like
leaves of the gigantic canes; among whose moveable stems the caimans had
sought protection from the hot sun, and were awaiting the freshness of
the night to return to the channel of the river.  Here, too, like them,
was Don Rafael to find an asylum that would shelter him till sunset.

He was not long in choosing a place of concealment.  The selvage of the
forest through which he had come, extended to within a few paces of the
bamboo brake; and, crossing the intervening space as rapidly as
possible, the fugitive plunged in among the canes.

Once hidden by the gigantic reeds, he felt more secure; and had now an
opportunity to reconnoitre to some extent a portion of the surrounding
neighbourhood.  From certain large rocks, which he saw lying in the
mid-channel of the stream, he recognised the place, and knew that he was
not far distant from the ford of the Ostuta--where, two years before,
the pursuit of Arroyo and his brigands had more than once conducted him.
He saw, moreover, on the opposite side of the stream, the rude tent of
the guerillero chief, and the horsemen of his band galloping up and down
the bank.  The sight aroused all his fiery passions, and he could not
restrain himself from raising his clenched hand, and stretching his arm
in menace across the water.

All at once he heard shouts behind him, and the trampling of horses.
These sounds were caused by the party sent in pursuit of him by Arroyo,
and who were now returning to the camp.  It need not be said that they
had been unsuccessful, as they brought back with them, instead of the
Colonel and the two runaways, only Suarez and Pacheco, still alive and
well, but terribly frightened.

For better security, Don Rafael advanced still further among the
bamboos, carefully parting them with his hands as he moved forward; and
the horsemen, though they rode past along the bank, only a short
distance from where he was concealed, had not the slightest suspicion
their enemy was so near.  The most sharp-sighted eye could not have
discovered his place of concealment.

Still continuing to listen, he heard the plashing of the horses as they
forded the crossing; and a few minutes after a profound silence reigned
over the scene.



CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

AN UNWILLING AMBASSADOR.

On the afternoon of that same day--a little after the time when Don
Rafael buried himself among the bamboos--the ex-student of theology,
accompanied by Costal and Clara, was riding along the Huajapam road, at
no great distance from the ford of the Ostuta.  When near to this famous
crossing, the three halted; and while their horses were picking up a
little grass, Costal kept on a little further afoot--for the purpose of
reconnoitring the ground upon the banks of the river.

Meanwhile Clara busied himself in roasting, over a fire he had kindled,
some green ears of maize corn, which, with a few pieces of dried beef
(_cecina_), were to constitute the dinner of the party.  Clara had taken
the materials from his _alforjas_.

After an interval of silence, the Captain commenced a conversation with
the object of making to the negro a communication evidently deemed by
him of some importance.

"Listen to me, Clara!" said he; "we are entrusted with a commission
which I need not tell you will require us to act with the greatest
circumspection.  I need not tell you that our carrying to this Captain
Arroyo the threats of the General is a sufficiently dangerous errand.
No more need I assure you that to enter the town of Oajaca is of a
similar character.  There the Royalists think no more of the head of an
insurgent, than you of one of those ears of corn that you are roasting
in the fire.  What I wish of you, then, is--that you will drop the bad
habit you have of calling me by the name of Lantejas; which, up to the
present time, has brought me nothing but ill fortune.  It was under that
name I was proscribed; and I beg of you, therefore, that, for the
future, both you and Costal will know me only by the name of _Don Lucas
Alacuesta_.  This last is the name of my mother's family, and it will
serve my purpose as well as any other."

"Enough said, Captain," rejoined the negro; "I shall not forget to obey
your orders--even though I should have the axe of the executioner raised
over my neck."

"I am satisfied you will not.  Meanwhile, until Costal returns, you may
serve me with some of those morsels you are roasting, which seem to be
done enough.  I am dying of hunger."

"And I too," added the negro, casting a greedy glance towards the
_cecina_.

Clara spread out before the Captain his saddle-cloth to serve as a
napkin; and, taking some pieces of the broiled meat from the coals,
placed them upon it.  To this he added two or three of the roasted ears.
Then, seating himself close to the fire, he drew from the ashes the
remaining portions of meat, and commenced eating with an earnestness
that was likely to prove fatal to Costal's share in the banquet.

"Ho!" cried the Captain, "if you continue on in that fashion, your
comrade Costal will be likely to go without his dinner."

"Costal will not eat before to-morrow," replied the negro in a grave
tone.

"That I can easily believe," assented Don Cornelio.  "There will be
nothing left for him to eat, I fancy."

"You misunderstand me, Senor Captain.  To-day is the third after
midsummer, and to-night the moon will be at the full.  That is why
Costal will not eat, in order that by fasting he may prepare himself to
hold communion with his gods."

"You fool!  Do you believe in the wretched fables of the pagan Costal?"

"I have reason to believe them," gravely replied the negro.  "The God of
the Christians dwells in the sky; those of Costal inhabit the Lake of
Ostuta, Tlaloc, the god of the mountains, lives on the summit of
Monopostiac; and Matlacuezc his wife, the goddess of the water, bathes
herself in the waters of the lake that surround the enchanted mountain.
The third night after the summer solstice--at the full of the moon--is
the time when they show themselves to the descendants of the caciques of
Tehuantepec--to such as have passed their fiftieth year--and Costal
intends to invoke them this very night."

As Don Cornelio was about endeavouring to bring the negro to a more
rational religious belief, Costal strode silently up.

"Well," said the Captain, "is our information correct?  Have you learnt
whether Arroyo is really encamped on the banks of the Ostuta?"

"Quite true," answered the Indian, "a _peon_ of my acquaintance, whom I
chanced to meet, has told me that Arroyo and Bocardo are by the ford,
where they intercept the passage of all who come this way.  It is close
by, so that this evening you can deliver your message.  After that is
done, I would ask leave of absence for Clara and myself for the night.
We wish to spend it on the shore of the Sacred Lake."

"Hum!" muttered Don Cornelio, without noticing the request.  "So near!"
continued he, speaking to himself, and abruptly ceasing to eat.  "What
else did your _peon_ acquaintance make known about Arroyo and Bocardo?"

"Only that they are more thirsty than ever--the one for blood, the other
for plunder."

Costal imparted this information in a tone but little calculated to
inspire the Captain with a relish for his mission.

He endeavoured to conceal his uneasiness, however; and, raising his
voice to a tone of assumed boldness, he inquired:--

"It is to the ford of the Ostuta, then, we are to go?"

"Yes, Senor Captain, whenever it pleases your honour to move forward."

"We have plenty of time," replied Don Cornelio, evidently reluctant to
make any further advance.  "I wish to take a few hours of rest before
going thither.  And your old master, Don Mariano de Silva--did you hear
anything of him?"

"Yes.  He has long ago left the hacienda Las Palmas, and is living in
Oajaca.  As to that of Del Valle, it is still occupied by the Royalist
garrison."

"So then we have enemies on all sides of us?" rejoined the Captain.

"Arroyo and Bocardo," said Costal, "should scarcely be enemies to an
officer bearing despatches from the General Morelos.  As for Clara and
myself, we are that sort whom these bandits never frighten."

"I agree with you there," rejoined the Captain, "certainly I do--
meanwhile--nevertheless--I should prefer--ah! who is that horseman who
is galloping in this direction, carbine in hand?"

"If one may judge the master by the servant, and if this fellow chances
to have a master, that master ought to be one of the greatest rogues on
earth."

As Costal was delivering this figurative speech, he stretched forth his
hand and seized hold of his own old and trusty piece.

The horseman in question was no other than Gaspacho--the courier who had
brought to Arroyo the evil news from the hacienda Del Valle.

He rode forward as one rides in a conquered country; and without making
any obeisance addressed himself to the Captain--who, from being a white,
appeared to him the most considerable of the three strangers.

"Tell me, friend--" said he.

"Friend!" cried Costal, interrupting him, and evidently ill pleased with
his looks, "a captain in the army of General Morelos is no friend to
such as you."

"What does this brute of an Indian say?" demanded Gaspacho, regarding
Costal with an air of contempt.

The eyes of Costal fairly blazed with rage; and his movements promised
for Gaspacho a terrible chastisement, when Don Cornelio interposed to
prevent it.  "What is your wish?" asked he of the follower of Arroyo.

"To know if you have seen anything of that rascal, Juan de Zapote, and
his worthy companion, Gaspar?"

"We have seen neither Zapote nor Gaspar."

"If they're not found, then, my friend Perico--who met and permitted
them to pass him--is likely to spend a most uncomfortable quarter of an
hour--when he appears in the presence of our Captain Arroyo."

"Ah! you are in Arroyo's service then?"

"I have the honour."

"Perhaps you can tell me where I shall be most likely to find him?"

"_Quien sabe_?  By the ford of the Ostuta you may find him--if he's not
gone elsewhere--to the hacienda of San Carlos, for example."

"This hacienda does not belong to the royalists then?" inquired the
Captain.

"Perhaps I may be mistaken," ironically answered Gaspacho.  "In any
case, if you wish to see the Captain--which rather astonishes me--you
will have to cross the ford all the same; and there you may hear of his
whereabouts.  My faith! that is a splendid cloak you have got on your
shoulders.  It appears a mile too big for you; and looks as if it would
just fit a man of my dimensions."

On saying these words, the bandit put spurs to his horse and galloped
off--leaving Don Cornelio with an unpleasant impression upon his mind,
caused by his ambiguous speeches and the admiration the stranger had
expressed for his cloak.

"I fear we have fallen among wicked people here," said he, addressing
himself to Costal.  "You see how little this ragged fellow makes of an
officer of Morelos; and doubtless his master will make still less.
Well--we must be prudent, and wait until night before we attempt to go
forward among them."

"Prudence is not always a bad substitute for courage," remarked Costal,
with a shrug.  "We shall do as you desire, Senor Captain; and I shall be
careful we do not fall either into the hands of the loyalists, or those
of the followers of Arroyo, before arriving in the presence of that
gentleman himself.  Otherwise, I might lose the one peculiar day of my
life, that I have so long looked forward to.  Trust to me.  I think you
can say that I never let you remain long in a dangerous situation?"

"You are my providence," cried the Captain, with friendly warmth.  "It
is true; and it will always give me pleasure to acknowledge it."

"No, no," interrupted Costal, "what I may have done for you is not worth
talking about.  Meanwhile, we will act wisely to take a wink of sleep--
Clara and myself more especially: since, during all this night, we
shan't have another opportunity to close our eyes."

"You are right--I perfectly agree with you.  Let us all have some sleep
then."

As the sun was still hot, Clara and Costal stretched themselves under
the shadow of a spreading tree, and both, with that indifference to
danger to which a life of adventures had habituated them, were soon
buried in profound slumber; during which the negro was constantly
endeavouring, in dreams, to capture the Siren with dishevelled hair, and
force her to reveal to him some rich _placer_ of gold.

As for Don Cornelio, he lay for a long time awake: anxious and
apprehensive about the result of his approaching interview with the
guerilla chief.  At length, imitating the example of his two _compagnons
de voyage_, he also fell asleep.



CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.

THE TALISMAN TRANSMITTED.

It was only after a long and desperate effort to subdue the passion with
which Don Rafael Tres-Villas had inspired her, that Gertrudis de Silva
resolved upon making use of the talisman she had so carefully
preserved--that message, which Don Rafael had sworn to obey without a
moment's hesitation--even though it should reach him on the instant when
his hand was raised to strike down his most mortal enemy.

When the young girl at length reluctantly yielded to the determination
of once more seeing Don Rafael, her first emotion was one of profound
pleasure.  She could not convince herself of the fact, that her former
lover could now be indifferent, or that from his mouth she should hear
the avowal that he no longer loved her.  She believed that the message
would convey to him a happiness similar to that she herself felt in
sending it; and it was for this reason, and also the better to secure
his fidelity and zeal, that she had led the messenger to expect a
magnificent reward, on the accomplishment of his errand.  Under the
critical circumstances in which the messenger found himself, after
setting out from Oajaca, it was well that such a golden lure glistened
before his mental vision--else the precious talisman might have stood
less chance of arriving at its destination.

On the departure of the messenger, Gertrudis felt as if inspired with
new life; but this joyful state was but of short duration.  Doubt soon
took the place of certainty.  Between herself and her lover more than
one misunderstanding had arisen, all the result of imperious
circumstances.  She was no longer loved--this was her reflection.  The
distant proof she had for a while believed in--the affair of Aguas
Calientes--was perhaps only a wild freak on the part of the Colonel; and
if he no longer loved her, it was because he loved another.

Moreover, her messenger would have to traverse a country disturbed by
civil war, and there was every chance of his failing to accomplish his
mission.  This doubt also added to the torture she was undergoing.

Overcome by such sad thoughts, and at times devoured by black and bitter
jealousy, her heart was lacerated to the extreme of endurance.  Her
cheek had paled to the hue of the lily; while the purple circle round
her eyes told of the mental agony the young Creole was enduring.

In this condition was she when Don Mariano set out on the journey from
Oajaca--only three days after the departure of the messenger Gaspar.

The fond father beheld with apprehension the extreme melancholy that had
taken possession of his daughter; and, convinced of the inutility of the
efforts he had already made to cure her of her passion for Don Rafael--
by representing the latter as unworthy of her--he had altogether changed
his tactics in that regard.  He now endeavoured to extenuate the faults
of the Colonel; and, in the place of an accuser, became his benevolent
champion.

"The nobility and frankness of his character," Don Mariano would say,
"is enough to set aside all suspicion of his perfidy.  His silence may
be explained by the events through which he has been involuntarily
borne, and by the political relationships that surround him."

Gertrudis smiled sadly at the words of her father, but her heart was not
the less torn with grief.

In this unpleasant state of mind they passed three days, while
journeying from Oajaca to the borders of the lake Ostuta.  On the route
they had met with no particular adventures nor encountered any obstacle;
though from rumours that reached them from time to time--of the
sanguinary deeds perpetrated by the ferocious Arroyo--they could not
help experiencing a certain amount of apprehension.

It was on the third evening of the journey that they reached the Ostuta
river and had halted upon its banks at the spot already described.
During the night Don Mariano, rendered uneasy by hearing certain
confused noises in the adjoining forest, had despatched one of the
trustiest of his servants in the direction of the crossing, with
directions to reconnoitre the place.

Two hours afterwards the domestic returned, with the report, that, near
the ford he had seen numerous fires blazing along the bank of the river
and on both sides of the ford.  These could be no other than the fires
of Arroyo's camp: since they had heard several times along their route,
that the brigand was encamped at the crossing of the Ostuta.

The servant added, that in returning from his reconnaissance he was
under the belief that some one had followed him, as dogging his steps
through the forest.  It was for this reason that Don Mariano had caused
the fires of his bivouac to be extinguished, and had so suddenly taken
his departure from the place.

By going some distance down the river, and making the circuit of the
lake into which it flowed, the servant of Don Mariano believed he could
find a crossing, by which they might reach the hacienda of San Carlos on
a different road.  Although this detour would make their journey nearly
one day longer, it would still be preferable to falling into the company
of Arroyo and his brigands.

Among all the places in America, sacred to the worship of the native
races, perhaps none enjoys a greater celebrity than the lake of Ostuta,
and the mountain which rises up out of the bosom of its waters.

The mountain is called Monopostiac, or the _Cerro encantado_ (enchanted
hill).  It has long been the locale of Indian tradition; and the
singularly lugubrious aspect of the lake and its surrounding scenery
would seem to justify the legendary stories of which it has been made
the scene.  It was to the borders of this lake, that the necessity of
seeking his own and his daughter's safety, was now conducting Don
Mariano de Silva.

The journey proved long and arduous.  The feebleness of Gertrudis would
not permit her to travel fast, even in her easy _litera_; and the bad
state of the roads, which would scarce admit the passage of the mules,
contributed to retard their advance.

It was near midnight before they came within sight of the lake,--its
sombre waters suddenly appearing through an opening in the trees.  At
the point where they approached, it was bordered by a thick forest,
whose dark shadowy foliage promised them an impenetrable asylum where
they might pass the night safe from discovery or pursuit.

In this forest Don Mariano resolved to make halt, and wait until the
light of day might enable him to discover the crossing, by which, as his
servant had assured him, they might reach the by-road leading to the
hacienda of San Carlos.



CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.

LANTEJAS BEHEADED.

The short interval of bluish light between daybreak and sunrise in the
tropics was nearly over, when Captain Lantejas and his two trusty
followers climbed into their saddles to proceed towards the ford of the
Ostuta.  A difficulty yet lay in the way of their reaching it: since
before gaining the river it would be necessary for them to pass within
sight of the hacienda Del Valle, and they might be seen, as they
supposed, by the sentinels of the royalist garrison.  As yet the three
travellers were ignorant that the place was blockaded by the guerilla of
Arroyo.

"If we were to pass it by night," said Costal, "it would look more
suspicious.  Better to go in full daylight.  Clara can ride ahead of us.
If any one stops him, he can ask permission for a merchant and his
servants who are travelling southward.  If, on the other hand, he sees
no one, he may ride on; and we can follow him without further ceremony."

The advice was to the liking of the Captain; and they accordingly
commenced advancing along the road that would conduct them past the
hacienda.

In about a quarter of an hour they arrived in front of it, near the end
of the long avenue already mentioned.  Costal and Don Cornelio halted at
some distance behind while Clara rode forward; and, to make sure that no
one was there, even entered the avenue itself.

Not a human being could be seen.  The place appeared deserted--all was
silent as upon that night when Don Rafael rode up to the house to find
only desolation and death.

Still further to guard against surprise, Clara rode on up the avenue;
but he had scarce gone a hundred paces from the main road when a soldier
appeared behind the parapet of the hacienda, evidently watching his
approach.

The black seeing that he was discovered kept on straight for the
building.

The distance hindered Don Cornelio and Costal from distinguishing the
words that passed between Clara and the sentry; but they could see that
the latter was pointing out something to the black which was to them
invisible.  Whatever the object was, it appeared to excite the risible
faculties of the negro: for, distant as he was, they could distinctly
hear him laughing.

Meanwhile the sentinel disappeared, and as Clara continued to indulge in
his hilarity, it was evident he had obtained the permission asked for.
At all events, Don Cornelio and Costal regarded his behaviour as a good
omen.

Nevertheless he seemed to hesitate about returning to the road; and
instead of doing so, the moment after, he made signs to Don Cornelio and
Costal to advance up the avenue.

Both instantly obeyed the invitation; and when they had arrived near the
walls, Clara, still shaking his sides with laughter, pointed out to them
the object which had given origin to his mirth.

On beholding it, Don Cornelio believed that his eyes were deceiving him.
In truth the spectacle, to which he was thus introduced, had very
little in it to justify the merriment of the black.  In place of the
heads of wolves and other noxious animals, which may often be seen
nailed up against the walls of country houses, here there were three
human heads!  They were not yet desiccated, but appeared as if freshly
cut off from the bodies to which they belonged.

"Wretched man!" cried Don Cornelio, addressing himself to Clara, "what
is there in such a sight to excite your gaiety?"

"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed the negro, answering to the reproach by a fresh
burst of laughter,--then, in a whisper, he continued, pointing to one of
the heads--

"Senor Captain, don't you see?  One of the heads is yours!"

"Mine?" muttered the ex-student, suddenly turning pale, though, as he
felt his head still upon his shoulders, he believed that the negro was
only mocking him.

"So the sentry has just told me," affirmed Clara, "but, Senor Captain,
you who know how to read may satisfy yourself."

As the negro spoke he pointed to an inscription, that appeared over one
of the heads.  Don Cornelio, despite the gloomy shadow which the tall
cypresses cast over the wall, was able to read the inscription: "_Esta
es la cabeza del insurgente Lantejas_."  (This is the head of the
insurgent Lantejas.)

It was in reality the head of an insurgent of the same name as Don
Cornelio himself--one of Arroyo's followers, who, as already known, by
the report of Gaspacho, had been captured during a sortie of the
besieged.

Don Cornelio turned his eyes away from the hideous spectacle presented
by the head of his namesake; and anathematising once more the
unfortunate name which he had inherited from his father, made all haste
to ride off from the spot.

In proportion as the distance between him and the hacienda increased,
his terror became diminished, and at length ended in a melancholy smile
at the odd coincidence of the encounter with his beheaded homonyme.

But the profound silence that surrounded him as he journeyed along, and
the knowledge that in a few minutes he would find himself face to face
with the redoubtable guerillero, once more imbued the mind of the
Captain with the darkest presentiments.

Without permitting his companions to suspect the sentiments that were
troubling him, he would willingly have proposed deferring for another
day his interview with the bandit chief.  Both Costal and Clara,
however, as they rode along by his side, presented an appearance of such
stoical indifference to danger, that he felt ashamed of showing himself
less brave than they; and, thus restrained, he continued to travel on in
silence.

Shortly after, they came in sight of the river, and at the same time
could command a view of the banks on both side of the ford.  Don
Cornelio became reassured at the sight.  Neither horse, horseman, nor
tent, was to be seen.  Noisy and bustling as the place had been in the
morning, it was now in the evening completely silent and deserted.  Not
a trace remained of the encampment of Arroyo--save the smouldering
bivouac fires, and the debris of various articles that lay scattered
over the ground.

"If I know," said Costal to the Captain, "how to pick the truth from the
lies which that scurvy fellow has told us--he who took such a marvellous
fancy to your cloak--I should say we are on the road that will guide us
to the man you are in search of.  He is at this moment, I venture to
say, at the hacienda San Carlos--notwithstanding that the droll humbug
appeared to make such a mystery of his whereabouts."

"But suppose the hacienda San Carlos to be occupied by a Spanish
garrison?" suggested the Captain.

"Let us first cross the river," said Costal, "you can remain upon the
other side with Clara, while I go forward and make a reconnaissance."

This proposition was agreed to by Don Cornelio; and the three travellers
having forded the stream, Costal prepared to separate from them.

"Be cautious, good Costal," said Lantejas, "there is danger on every
side of us."

"For me and Clara," remarked the Indian, with an ironical smile; "one
who has already lost his head should have nothing more to fear, Senor
Captain!"

Saying this, Costal went off at a trot, leaving the Captain and Clara on
the bank of the river.

The Indian had scarce passed out of sight, when a plunging in the water
announced that horses were crossing the ford.  Looking around, Don
Cornelio beheld two horsemen riding out on the bank where he and Clara
had halted.  One of them carried behind him a pair of canvas alforjas,
which appeared to have some large roundish objects inside.  Merely
exchanging a brief salute, the horsemen were passing on; when the
Captain, in hopes of obtaining some information from them, inquired if
the hacienda of San Carlos was far distant.

"No," replied one, "only about a quarter of a league."

"Are we likely to be well received there?" further asked Don Cornelio.

"Ah!" replied the second horseman, "that depends--"

The muttered voice, and the distance which he had already gained,
hindered Don Cornelio from perceiving the tone of irony in which he
spoke; but almost at the same instant the speaker elevated his voice to
a high pitch, though only the last words were heard with distinctness.

These were, "_Mejico e independencia_."

The phrase was well-known to Don Cornelio.

"What word came before it?" inquired he of his companion; "_viva_, was
it not?"

"No, it was _muera_," replied the negro.

"You are mistaken, I think, Clara."

"No, I repeat it,--it was _muera_!"

Not having inquired from the horsemen whether San Carlos was in the
power of the royalists or insurgents, Don Cornelio remained as undecided
upon that point as ever.

A considerable time passed, and still Costal did not return.

"Suppose I gallop forward a bit," suggested Clara, "and see whether I
can meet him?"

The Captain having become uneasy about the prolonged absence of Costal,
assented to this proposition; but at the same time directed the black to
return in a quarter of an hour, if Costal did not make his appearance
within that time.



CHAPTER SIXTY SIX.

DON CORNELIO A CAPTIVE.

Almost as soon as Clara had ridden out of sight, Don Cornelio began to
count the minutes.  The quarter of an hour appeared a whole one; and,
when it had passed, with no signs of either returning, he became more
than uneasy--he felt alarm.

In order to create some distraction for his thoughts, he rode gently
forward--on the same path by which his two companions had gone.  Not
meeting either, he kept on for another quarter of an hour.  Becoming
still more alarmed, he was about to make a halt, when he saw lights that
seemed to go and come along the summits of the trees that appeared at
some distance before him.  These lights had flashed into view at a turn
of the road.

On looking more attentively, he perceived that the ground sloped up from
the place which he occupied; and he was now enabled to distinguish the
outlines of a vast building, the windows of which were so brilliantly
illuminated from the inside, that one might have fancied the house to be
on fire.  Outside, upon the _azotea_, blazing torches appeared to be
carried backward and forward.  It was these that had first attracted the
eye of Don Cornelio, who, on account of the elevation at which they were
seen, fancied them to be moving among the tops of the trees!

There was something too unnatural in these blazing torches, agitated by
the night breeze--but more especially in the strange lights that shone
through the windows--now red, now blue, and then of a pale violet
colour, and in an instant changing from one hue to another--something so
fantastically singular, that Don Cornelio suddenly drew up, without
daring to advance a pace further.

The superstitious ideas with which Costal had entertained him during
their journey now came into his mind; and, despite his disbelief in
them, he could not help conjuring up fancies almost as absurd.  He
remembered the bull fulminated against the insurgents by the Bishop of
Oajaca--representing them as spirits of darkness--and he began to fancy
there must be some truth in it, and that he was now within view of these
very demons.  The silence that reigned around tended to strengthen this
fancy--which was now further confirmed by the sight of a phantom-like
figure clothed in white, seen for a moment gliding among the trees, and
then as suddenly vanishing out of sight.  The phantom appeared to have
come from the direction of the illuminated building--as if fleeing from
some danger that there menaced it.

The Captain made the sign of the cross, and then sat motionless in his
saddle--uncertain whether to remain where he was, or to gallop back to
the ford.

While thus irresolute, and asking himself whether the phantom he had
seen might have been a stray reflection of one of the torches, the
lights all at once disappeared from the upper part of the building.

At the same moment four or five horsemen issued forth from the shadow of
the walls, and galloped towards him, uttering loud yells.  Don Cornelio
perceived that his presence was discovered; but to put this beyond
doubt, a light at the moment flashed up among the horsemen, followed by
the report of a carbine, and the hissing of a bullet, which passed close
to his ears.

He no longer hesitated as to whether he should stand or fly.  The bullet
was sufficient cue for flight; and, wheeling round, he set off in full
gallop towards the river.

Trained by the misfortunes which had occurred to him, from the mistaken
economy of his worthy father, Don Cornelio had ever since felt an
aversion to second-rate horses, and on the present journey he had taken
care to provide himself with a good one.  Knowing the fact, he had fair
hopes of being able to distance his pursuers.  Driving his spurs deeply
into the ribs of his horse, he permitted the animal to choose its own
course--so long as it carried him in a direction opposite to that from
which he was pursued.

Forgetting all about Costal and Clara, he rode away like the wind; and,
in all likelihood, would have got clear beyond the reach of his
pursuers, but for an unforeseen misfortune.  In passing a gigantic
cypress his horse stumbled upon its projecting roots, and came head
foremost to the ground--flinging his rider out of the saddle with such
force that, but for the softness of the spot on which he fell, some of
his bones would undoubtedly have suffered fracture.

He was but little damaged by the fall, and, before he could get to his
feet, and recover his horse, one of the pursuers had ridden up, and
casting out a lazo, noosed him round the body.

To whom was the captain a prisoner?

Of this he was completely ignorant, still uncertain as to who were in
possession of the hacienda.  As soon as he had regained his feet,
however, a voice cried out, interrogatively, "For Spain, or the
Independence?"

Before making answer, Don Cornelio looked up.  Half-a-dozen men had
arrived upon the ground, and encircled him in their midst, forming a
menacing cordon around him.  Of one and all the aspect was sinister and
doubtful.

"Spain, or the Independence?" repeated the voice, in a more threatening
tone.

Thus brusquely called upon to proclaim his colours, the Captain, not
knowing those of the party who surrounded him, hesitated to make answer.

"Very well, cavallero!" cried one of the men, "answer or not, as you
please.  No doubt of it," he continued, addressing himself to a comrade,
"this fellow is in company with the other two.  Bring him along to the
hacienda!"

At these words one of his captors seized Don Cornelio by the arm, and
commenced dragging him along toward the illuminated building.

"Hold!" cried the first speaker, as, under the glare of the distant
lights, he saw that their prisoner was neither negro nor Indian.  "_Por
Dios_! this fellow is white."

"Red, black, and white!" added another.  "We want only a _mestizo_ to
complete the collection."

From these speeches Don Cornelio conjectured that his comrades, Costal
and Clara, had been already captured by the same party who were making
him their prisoner.

He was still ignorant, however, as to whether his captors were royalists
or insurgents; and, before proceeding further, he determined, if
possible, to settle that question.

"What do you want with me?" he inquired, in the hope of obtaining some
clue in the answer.

"Not much," replied the spokesman of the party.  "Only to nail your head
in the place of that of Lantejas."

"Lantejas!" exclaimed Don Cornelio, inspired with a fresh hope.  "That
is my name.  It is I who am the insurgent Lantejas, sent here to Oajaca,
by General Morelos."

The declaration was received with a burst of savage laughter.

"_Demonio_!" cried one of the guerilleros, coming up with the horse of
Don Cornelio, "I have had trouble enough in catching this accursed
brute.  It is to be hoped he carries something to repay me for it."

Don Cornelio fancied he knew the tone of this voice, but he had no time
to reflect upon where he had heard it, before its owner again cried out,
"_Alabado sea Dios_!  (Blessed be the Lord!) there is my cloak!"

Don Cornelio recognised the man who the day before had taken such a
fancy to his cloak.  In a word, the speaker was Gaspacho.

"What a lucky fellow I am to meet you again," continued the brigand;
"that cloak is much too large for you.  I told you so yesterday."

"Such as it is, it satisfies me," meekly responded the Captain.

"Oh! nonsense," rejoined Gaspacho, at the same time throwing off his own
tattered scrape, and making a significant gesture to Don Cornelio to
uncloak himself.

The latter hesitated to comply with this rude invitation; but almost on
the instant Gaspacho snatched the garment from his shoulders, and coolly
wrapped it round his own.

"Now, amigo," cried one of Gaspacho's confreres, "surely a man without a
head has no need of a hat?  Yours appears as if it would just fit me,"
and saying this, the bandit picked the hat from Don Cornelio's head, at
the same time flinging his own battered sombrero to the ground.

As there was nothing more upon the person of the prisoner to tempt the
cupidity of the brigands, the lazo was unloosened from around his arms,
and he was ordered to accompany his captors to the hacienda.  This he
did willingly enough: for the presence of Gaspacho told him that he was
in the hands of the guerilleros of Arroyo.

"Can I see the Captain?" he inquired.

"What Captain?"

"Arroyo."

"Ah! you wish to see him?" responded Gaspacho.  "That rather surprises
me.  You shall have the pleasure of seeing him soon enough, I fancy.
Come along!"

The guerilleros continued on to the house, conducting their prisoner
along with them.

As they drew near to the walls, the attention of Don Cornelio was again
attracted to the singular lights that seemed to be burning within the
house.  It could not be the flame of a conflagration, else the building
would long since have been consumed.

A few minutes brought them up to the gate.  It was shut, and one of the
men knocked against it with the hilt of his sabre, at the same time
giving utterance to a password, which Don Cornelio did not understand.
What he did comprehend was, that the moment had come when, _bon gre mal
gre_, he was called upon to acquit himself of the commission with which
Morelos had entrusted him.

It often happens that danger in prospective is more dreaded than when it
is present; and so was it in this instance: for, on his arrival at the
gate, Don Cornelio felt less embarrassed with apprehensions than he had
been ever since his departure from the camp at Huajapam.

The huge door turned upon its heavy hinges to admit the horsemen--in the
midst of whom the prisoner was carried into a large, paved courtyard,
illuminated by the flames of several fires that burned in the open air.
Around these fires could be distinguished the forms of men--to the
number of one hundred or more--grouped in different attitudes, or lying
asleep upon the pavement.  Along the walls stood as many horses,
completely equipped for the road.  The bridles only were off, and
hanging suspended over the saddle-bow--in order that the animals might
consume their rations of maize, served to them in wooden troughs.  Here
and there, stacks of carbines, lances, and sabres, glanced under the
light of the fires, and Don Cornelio could not help shivering with
terror as he looked upon these fierce bandits, in the midst of their
picturesque accoutrements.

Most of them remained as they were, without offering to stir.  The sight
of a fresh prisoner was nothing new to them.  One only coming forward,
asked Gaspacho, in a tone of indifference, what had taken him out at
that hour of the night.

"Well!" exclaimed the cloak-robber in reply.  "They say that the
mistress of the hacienda has escaped by a window.  Her husband says she
is absent.  I don't care whether it's true or not.  All I know is, that
we can see nothing of her without; and we should have returned
empty-handed, if good fortune hadn't thrown into our hands this
gentleman here.  I have no doubt he is a royalist spy, since he wanted
to pass himself off for our old comrade--the Lieutenant Lantejas."

"Ah!" rejoined the other, "he would ill like to be Lantejas just now."

And as the man said this he returned to the fire, which he had for the
moment forsaken.

The captors of Don Cornelio were soon lost amidst the groups of their
associates--Gaspacho alone staying to guard him.

Only a few seconds did the cloak-robber remain in the courtyard; after
which, making a sign to his prisoner to follow him, he commenced
reascending the stone _escalera_ that led to the second storey of the
building.



CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN.

THE COLONEL OF COLONELS.

The day upon which these various events took place was anything but a
happy one for Arroyo.  It appeared to him as if the re-appearance in the
neighbourhood of his deadliest foe--Don Rafael Tres-Villas--had been the
signal for the series of disappointments which had occurred to him.  Ten
of his followers had fallen in a sortie of the besieged, besides two
more killed by the hand of Don Rafael--who had himself escaped, as well
as the prisoner Gaspar and the deserter Juan el Zapote.

The bloodthirsty disposition of the guerilla chief had been strengthened
by these disappointments, and in order to give solace to his vexed
spirit, he resolved to possess himself of the hacienda of San Carlos
without further delay.

In addition to the wicked desires--which the promptings of Bocardo had
excited within him--there was another reason urging him to carry out
this design.  The hacienda of San Carlos, with a little labour, could be
converted into a fortress of considerable strength, and such as he might
yet stand in need of.

He saw that he had miscalculated the power of resistance of the royalist
garrison of Del Valle; and, still ignorant of its real strength, he
deemed it better to call off the besieging force until after the taking
of San Carlos.  Then he could go back with his whole band, and make a
determined assault against the place.

He had, for these reasons, ordered the besiegers to return to camp; and,
striking his tent, had marched with all his followers to the capture of
San Carlos.  This will explain why Don Cornelio and his companions had
been able to pass the hacienda Del Valle--and afterwards the ford of the
Ostuta--without seeing anything of Arroyo or his band--Gaspacho alone
excepted.

Numerous as were the servants of Don Fernando Lacarra--the proprietor of
San Carlos--their master did not for a moment dream of making
resistance.  It would have been worse than useless against an
experienced _guerilla_ numbering in all above a hundred men.  At the
first summons, therefore, the gates of the hacienda were opened to
Arroyo and his followers.

Having hitherto practised a strict neutrality, and being known to have a
strong sympathy with the cause of the Independence, the young Spaniard
believed that Arroyo only intended demanding from him a contribution in
provisions--and perhaps money--for the support of his troops; and that
with this he would be contented.

Although not suspecting the designs of the brigand in regard to his
wife, he had deemed it prudent, before opening the gates, that she
should conceal herself in one of the secret chambers of the mansion--
where he was also in the habit of keeping his money and plate.  There he
fancied she would be safe enough--unless, indeed, the whole building
should be ransacked and pillaged.

To strengthen this precaution, Don Fernando had informed the brigands on
their entering the house, that his wife, Marianita, was not at home.

Unfortunately for him, it was not a mere levy of blackmail that was now
to satisfy the partisan chieftains.  One was determined upon robbing him
of his wife--while the other coveted his money--and therefore the
subterfuges of Don Fernando were not likely to avail him.

It was just at the time that the wretched husband was endeavouring to
mislead his visitors as to the hiding-place of his wife and his
treasure, that Don Cornelio Lantejas had come within view of the
building, the lights of whose windows had so mystified him.  That
mystery was now to be cleared up, and the ex-student was to find the
explanation of those bright coloured flames with their changing hues.

Following Gaspacho up the stone stairway, Don Cornelio reached a door
upon the landing.  It was closed; but inside, a tumult of voices could
be heard, accompanied by cries as of some one in pain.

His conductor unceremoniously opened the door, and pushed Don Cornelio
into a large room, the atmosphere of which almost suffocated him.

Several torches of resin, set in candelabras, were burning round the
walls, but the reddish light which these produced was almost eclipsed
under the glare that proceeded from a keg of brandy that stood near the
middle of the floor, and which, having been set on fire, was completely
enveloped in violet-coloured flames.

The heat, the smell of blood, and the effluvia of the burning alcohol,
constituted an atmosphere horrid to endure; but even this was less
painful to Don Cornelio than the sight which met his eyes as he entered
the room.  On one side was a group of guerilleros--clustered around some
object which they were regarding with the most vivid interest--all
seemingly pleased with the spectacle.

It was that of an unfortunate man, stripped almost naked, and tied with
his face to the wall, while another man stood over him, grasping a
strong cow-hide whip, with which, at intervals, he struck the wretched
victim, apparently with all the strength that lay in his arms.

He who handled the whip was a man of the most sinister aspect; and the
blue flames of the alcohol flashing over his countenance added to its
demoniac expression.  Gouts of blood, that had spurted from the back of
the sufferer, spotted the wall on both sides of him; and the number of
those spots showed that the punishment had been continued for some
length of time.

By the side of the man who was inflicting the stripes--and whom Lantejas
supposed to be some common executioner--stood a woman of a still more
hideous aspect; who, by her gestures and words, kept exciting the wretch
to still greater cruelty--as though he stood in need of such
encouragement.

Gaspacho, perceiving that no one heeded his entrance, cried out, so as
to be heard above the tumult--

"Senor Captain! we have captured the comrade of the negro and the
Indian.  Here he is."

To the astonishment of Don Cornelio, the person thus addressed as the
captain was no other than the hideous individual who was handling the
whip.

"Very well," responded the latter, without turning round.  "I shall
attend to him presently, as soon as I have made this _coyote_ confess
where he has hidden his wife and his money."

The whip again whistled through the air, and came down upon the back of
the wretched sufferer, without producing any other manifestation than a
deep groan.

It is scarcely necessary to say that the victim of this barbarous
treatment was Don Fernando Lacarra.  The words of Arroyo have already
made this known to the reader.

Perfectly indifferent to the spectacle, Gaspacho, having introduced his
prisoner to the presence of Arroyo, walked out of the room.

As regards Don Cornelio, he stood where the robber had left him,
paralysed with horror.  Independently of the compassion he felt for the
sufferer, he was under the suspicion that both Costal and Clara had
already perished, and that his own turn might come next.

While these fearful reflections were passing through his mind, a man
whom he had not before noticed now came up to him.  This was an
individual with a jackal-like face, and the skulking mien of that
animal, with all its ferocious aspect.

"My good friend," said this man, addressing himself to Don Cornelio,
"you appear somewhat lightly clad for one who is about to present
himself before people of distinction."

Lantejas, in reality--thanks to the bandits who had captured him--was
almost naked: a torn shirt and drawers being all the clothing they had
left him.

"Senor Captain,"--said he, addressing the jackal-like individual, and
intending to account for the scantiness of his costume.

"Stop," interrupted the other, "not _captain_.  Call me Colonel of
Colonels, if you please.  It is a title which I have adopted, and no one
shall deprive me of it."

"Well then, Colonel of Colonels! if your people had not robbed me of my
broad cloth cloak, my hat of Vicuna wool, and various other articles of
clothing, you would not have seen me so lightly dressed.  But it is not
only that which grieves me.  I have other serious complaints to make--"

"The devil!" exclaimed the Colonel of Colonels, without heeding the last
remarks.  "A broad cloth cloak and Vicuna hat, did you say?  Two things
of which I stand particularly in need.  They must be recovered."

"I have to complain of violence offered to my person," continued Don
Cornelio.  "I am called Lantejas--Captain Lantejas.  I serve the junta
of Zitacuaro, under the orders of General Morelos; and I bear from him a
commission, of which the proofs--"

A sudden thought interrupted the speech of Don Cornelio--a terrible
thought, for it just now occurred to him that his despatches, his
commission as captain, his letters of credence--in short, all the papers
by which he could prove his identity--were in the pockets of the stolen
cloak!

"Ho!" exclaimed the Colonel of Colonels, in a joyful tone, "you call
yourself Lantejas, do you?  I am delighted to hear it, and so will our
captain be.  It is the luckiest circumstance in the world for us, and
for you, too, as you shall presently be convinced.  Look here!"

The speaker raised the corner of a _serape_ that was spread upon one of
the tables standing near, and pointed to some objects lying underneath.
Don Cornelio saw they were human heads.

There were three of them.

"Now, my good friend," continued the Colonel of Colonels, "there you see
the head of our old comrade, Lieutenant Lantejas, which we have brought
away from where it was nailed over the gate of the hacienda Del Valle.
Conceive, then, what a lucky thing for us!  What a splendid _revanche_
we shall have when, in place of the head of the insurgent Lantejas, we
shall nail up that of Lantejas the royalist spy!"

"But it is a mistake," cried Don Cornelio, rubbing the cold sweat from
his forehead.  "I am not a royalist nor a spy neither.  I have the
honour to serve the cause of the Independence--"

"Bah! everybody says the same.  Besides, without any proofs--"

"But I have proofs.  They are in the pocket of my cloak, of which I have
been robbed."

"Who took your cloak?" inquired the Colonel of Colonels.

"Gaspacho," replied Don Cornelio, who had incidentally learnt the name
of the brigand who had despoiled him.

"Ah! that is a terrible misfortune.  Gaspacho has just received orders
to go in all haste to Las Cruces.  He is off by this time, and will not
likely be back in less than ten days.  You, by that time will have lost
your head, and I my cloak and Vicuna hat.  Both of them, I know, would
have fitted me, since you and I are both of a size.  What a damnable
misfortune for both of us!"

A fearful cry interrupted the dialogue between Don Cornelio and the
Colonel of Colonels.  The cry came from the wretched sufferer, who
fainted as soon as uttering it.

Almost at the same instant the alcohol shot up its last flickering
flame--as the spirit itself was consumed; and in the reddish light of
the torches Don Cornelio could perceive the men flitting about like
shadows, or rather like demons assisting in the horrible drama that was
being enacted.



CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

THE COMMISSION EXECUTED.

While the Captain Lantejas stood in the midst of an atmosphere that
nearly stifled his breathing, he saw one of these shadowy forms step out
from among the rest and advance towards him.  As the man came nearer, he
recognised the ferocious captain of the bandits, who, licking his
blood-stained lips like a jaguar after leaving its prey, cried out in a
hoarse voice, "Bring me that spy!  I can examine him while the coyote is
coming to himself."

"Here he is," replied Bocardo, seizing Don Cornelio by the shoulder, and
pushing him forward into the presence of his associate.

"My good friend," muttered Bocardo, addressing himself to Don Cornelio,
"it's your turn now.  Of course the lash will make you confess that you
are a spy, and of course your head will be taken off immediately after.
I would, therefore, advise you not to waste time about it but
acknowledge your guilt at once."

While Bocardo was giving this fearful counsel, his associate stood
regarding Don Cornelio with eyes that expressed a villainous pleasure,
at the idea of having another victim to satisfy his bloodthirsty
instincts.

"Confess quickly!" he cried, "and let that end it.  I am tired, and
shan't be kept waiting."

"Senor Arroyo!" replied Lantejas, "I am a captain in the insurgent army,
and am sent by General Morelos to tell you--"

Don Cornelio paused.  He was hesitating as to whether he dare proclaim
his real errand.

"Your proofs?" demanded Arroyo.

"My papers have been taken from me," said Lantejas.

"A fig for your papers!  Hola! wife!" continued Arroyo, turning to the
hag who still stood by the fainting victim, "here's a little work for
you, as I am somewhat fatigued.  I charge you with making this spy
confess who sent him here, and what design he had in coming.  Make him
speak out whatever way you please."

"By and by," answered the virago, "but not yet.  This coyote has come
round again, and better still, has come to his right senses at last: he
is about to confess."

"Bring him here, then!" commanded Arroyo.

Several men hastened to execute the order, and, detaching the victim
from the place where he had been bound, half dragged, half carried him
across the floor.  Don Cornelio saw that the unfortunate individual was
a young man--of less than thirty, of noble aspect, though his features
expressed at the moment the terrible agony he was enduring.

"Now, _Gachupino_!" exclaimed the woman, "where is your money hid?"

"Where is your wife?" cried Arroyo.  On hearing this question so
pointedly put, the hideous companion of Arroyo directed upon her husband
a glance of concentrated rage and jealousy.

"I want the woman," muttered Arroyo, "in order that I may draw a good
ransom out of her father."

The young Spaniard, his spirit tortured to a certain degree of
feebleness, in a voice scarce audible, indicated to his persecutors
where lay the secret chamber--the door of which, cunningly set in the
wall, had escaped even the keen eyes of the robbers.

Both Bocardo and Arroyo immediately repaired to the spot.  A keg of
dollars, with a large quantity of plate, was found in the chamber, but
the Senora Marianita had disappeared.

On hearing this news, a tremor of joy passed through the lacerated frame
of the young Spaniard.  Little cared he for his treasure, so long as his
beloved wife had escaped from the outrages of the brigands.  His emotion
caused him to faint anew; and he lay once more senseless at the feet of
his tormentors.

Don Cornelio now remembered the white phantom he had observed gliding
among the trees, and he doubted not that what he had seen was she of
whom they were in search.

Arroyo returned to examine his prisoner, but by this time the whole
nature of Don Cornelio appeared to have become suddenly transformed.
The perfumes of the alcohol, mixed with that of the resin torches, had
mounted to his head; and as he had never in his life even tasted strong
liquors, the effect was that of a partial but instant intoxication.  He
appeared to have become animated with a portion of that courage, with
which in the field of battle the flaming eyes of Galeana had more than
once inspired him--while combating under the aegis of the marshal's
death-dealing lance.

"Senor Arroyo!" cried he in a voice whose thundering tones astonished
even himself, "and you who call yourself the Colonel of Colonels!  I
command you both to respect the envoy of his Excellency the General
Morelos--myself--who am charged to tell you, that if you continue, by
your sanguinary cruelties, to disgrace the holy cause for which we
fight--not as brigands but as Christians--you will both be _drawn and
quartered_!"

At this unexpected and insulting menace the eyes of Arroyo sparkled with
fury.  Upon Bocardo the effect was somewhat different.  He trembled and
turned pale at the name of Morelos.

Lantejas, though somewhat alarmed at his own boldness, nevertheless
continued in the same strain.

"Bring here the negro and Indian!" demanded he, "prisoners like myself--
and see if both do not know me as Captain Don Cornelio Lantejas.  If
they do not I consent--"

At this point Arroyo interrupted the speaker, springing forward and
crying out in a husky voice--

"Woe be to you if you are lying!  I will pluck the tongue out of your
head, and scourge with it the cheeks of an impostor."

Lantejas, now elevated in spite of himself to a point of haughty
grandeur, replied to this menace only with a superb smile.

Clara being sent for, the moment after appeared within the room.

"Who is this man, dog of a negro?" interrogated the fierce brigand.

This time too punctual in executing the orders of his captain, the black
displayed his ivory teeth in a smile of significant intelligence.  "Don
Lucas Alacuesta, of course!" he replied.

A cry of gratification issued from the lips of the bandit.

"But there is another name which I also bear, is there not?" inquired
Don Cornelio, without losing countenance.

"Don Cornelio Lantejas," added Clara.

"The proofs--the proofs!" cried the guerillero, pacing rapidly backward
and forward, like a caged tiger who sees the spectators outside the bars
of his prison without being able to devour them, "the proofs!--I must
have them at once."

At this moment confused and violent noises were heard outside the door,
and rising above all the voice of Costal.  The door was suddenly burst
open, and the Indian rushed into the middle of the room, holding in one
hand a bloody dagger, while the other was enveloped in a shapeless mass
of what seemed to be cloth.  The latter was serving him for a shield
against the attack of several guerilleros, who were pressing him from
behind.

Costal, on getting inside, turned abruptly and stood facing his
adversaries.

These, finding themselves in the presence of their chief, desisted for a
moment from the attack--one of them crying out to Arroyo, that the
Indian had poniarded their comrade Gaspacho.

"I did it to get back my own property," replied Costal, "or rather that
of Captain Lantejas; and here it is."

In saying these words, the Zapoteque unwound from his left arm what had
served him as a buckler, and which was now seen to be the cloak so
inopportunely missing.

Don Cornelio seized it from him with an exclamation of joy, and at once
plunged his hands into the pockets.

"Here are my proofs!" cried he, drawing out a number of papers, so
stained with blood, fresh from the veins of the slain robber, as to be
scarce legible.  Enough, however, could be read to establish the
identity of Don Cornelio and the authority under which he was acting.

The names of Morelos and Galeana in the midst of this band of brigands
were, for him, like the whisper of the Lord to Daniel in the den of
lions.  Even the two ferocious leaders lowered their tone at the mention
of these names, so universally feared and respected.

"You may go, then!" cried Arroyo, yielding reluctantly to the authority
that had awed him; "but if you ever boast of the arrogant language you
have used to me, _Carajo_!" and the brigand hissed out the infamous
oath.  "As for General Morelos," he added, "you may say to him, that
each of us fights according to his own way; and, notwithstanding his
threats, I shall follow mine."

Saying this, an order was issued to let the three prisoners pass free,
after delivering up to them their arms and horses.

"Let six horsemen get ready to pursue this runaway Senora!" cried the
bandit chief, as Don Cornelio and his companions were leaving the room.
"Some one bridle my horse, and quickly.  I shall go along with them, and
you too, Bocardo."

Bocardo made no reply, but not equally silent was Arroyo's female
companion.

"What want you with the Senora?" she inquired, in a tone of angry
jealousy.  "Have you got the keg of dollars to satisfy you!"

"I have told you already," rejoined Arroyo, with a demoniac glance at
his wife, "that I want her for the purpose of enabling me to extract a
ransom from her father.  I want her, and will have her.  You stay here,
and guard the treasure; and by all the devils if you don't behave
yourself better--"

The bandit drew his dagger with such an air of resolution and menace,
that the hag, cowed by the gesture, no longer offered opposition to his
will.  Shrinking to one side, she appeared to busy herself in looking
after the keg of dollars.

Meanwhile Don Cornelio and his two acolytes, not caring to remain in
such company longer than was absolutely necessary, hastened from the
room; and, mounting their restored steeds, rode off into the darkness of
the night.



CHAPTER SIXTY NINE.

THE CATALAN LIEUTENANT.

It is already known how Don Rafael Tres-Villas had fortified his
hacienda of Del Valle, and how, when called elsewhere by his military
duties, he had left its garrison of nearly a hundred men, under the
command of a Catalonian officer, Lieutenant Veraegui.

On the same day in which he had made a sortie from the hacienda, and
succeeded in capturing ten of the besieging guerilleros, the Lieutenant
received a despatch from the governor of the province, ordering him,
without further delay, to attack the band of Arroyo, and annihilate it,
if possible.  Then, with his whole troop, to repair to Oajaca, which was
now in danger of being besieged by Morelos.  The despatch also conveyed
to Veraegui the additional intelligence of the raising of the siege of
Huajapam, and the total defeat of the besieging forces.

The news was anything but agreeable to the Catalonian Lieutenant.  In
the _alcavala_--which he had for the past two years been accustomed to
levy on all the traffic between Puebla and Oajaca--he had found
excellent pay for his soldiers; and being a man not over scrupulous,
though brave as a lion, he felt greatly disinclined to change his
comfortable quarters.  A fierce royalist, moreover, the news from
Huajapam excited his fury against the insurgents to the highest pitch;
and he blamed himself for the clemency he had displayed that very
morning in hanging four of the guerilleros he had taken, up by the neck,
instead of by the heels--as he had done with three of their comrades.

About an hour after Don Cornelio Lantejas and his travelling companions
had passed Del Valle--and only a few minutes from the time, when, thanks
to the darkness of the night, two of Arroyo's followers had found an
opportunity to carry off the heads of their three comrades--two men
presented themselves in front of the fortified hacienda.

They were Gaspar and Juan de Zapote, who had hidden themselves during
the day, and awaited the friendly darkness, to enable them to make their
way through the lines of the besieging force.

"I see no one," muttered Zapote, as they glided into the avenue.  "The
place appears to be deserted!  It's likely enough that my ex-comrades
have abandoned the siege."

"So much the better--let us keep on then!" rejoined Gaspar.

"Gently, gently, compadre!" counselled Zapote.  "You forget that my
costume is of the military kind, and likely to make a sentinel
suspicious of me.  A carbine shot might be the only hail we should get
from one of these Royalists."

"Your physiognomy, amigo, is more likely than your costume to beget
suspicions."

"Ah! that comes of the bad company I have been keeping of late."

"Never mind that.  I shall go forward alone, and make myself known to
the sentries.  I can then introduce you as a comrade, devoted to the
service of Don Rafael Tres-Villas, and who offers to assist in
delivering the Colonel from danger."

"Precisely so, that is, if the Colonel be still alive."

"_Quien viva_!" came the sonorous hail of a sentinel from the crenelled
parapet.

"_Gente de paz_!" replied Gaspar, advancing alone, while Zapote,
notwithstanding the obscurity of the night, instinctively placed himself
behind the trunk of a tree.

"What is your wish?" demanded the guard.

"I am the bearer of important news from the Colonel Tres-Villas,"
answered Gaspar.

"And we wish to communicate them to Lieutenant Veraegui," added Zapote,
from behind, but without leaving the shelter of the tree.

"How many of you are there?" asked the sentinel.

"Two."

"You may advance, then," said the soldier, dropping his carbine to the
"order arms."

The gate was soon opened; and Gaspar and Zapote, entering within the
fortress, were conducted by the corporal of the guard towards the
quarters of his commander.

The Lieutenant Veraegui was, at the moment, within one of the chambers
of the mansion, engaged over a game of cards with a young _alferez_.  On
the table before them stood a bottle of Catalan brandy--the product of
his own native province--clear and strong as alcohol.  A couple of
glasses flanked the bottle, and beside them lay a pile of Havana cigars.

Zapote, on entering, could not help a slight tremor; which was increased
as the Catalan Lieutenant bent upon him an inquisitorial look of his
grey eyes, that glanced keenly under eyebrows long and grizzled like his
moustaches.

Veraegui was a soldier of fortune, of rude unpolished speech, and with
manners not very different from those which he had practised while
wearing the chevrons of a Sergeant.

From the examination of Zapote, he passed unceremoniously to that of
Gaspar, whose features he instantly recognised.

"Ah! it is you?" he said, addressing the messenger.  "Well, you have
seen the Colonel, and bring news from him?  He has, I trust, escaped
from the disaster of Huajapam."

"Senor Lieutenant," replied Gaspar, "I know not of what affair you are
speaking.  All I know is, that this morning the Colonel Tres-Villas was
in the woods between here and the Ostuta--where the bandits of Arroyo
were tracking him like a wild beast."

"Ho!" cried the Lieutenant, angrily, as he started up from his chair;
"and it is only now you tell me of this, when you might have brought the
news in an hour?"

"Pardon, Lieutenant: both my companion and myself were also hunted by
the same brigands; and we were not able to escape from the woods one
minute sooner than we have done."

"Ah! in that case, I ask your pardon, and that of your companion there,"
continued the Lieutenant, turning to Zapote, "whom I should certainly
have taken for a friend of Arroyo, rather than an enemy to that worthy
individual.  Where the devil have I seen you, my good fellow?" he added,
fancying he recognised the features of the deserter.

"Oh! your honour, I have travelled a great deal," replied Zapote, whose
presence of mind did not forsake him.  "It would not be strange if--"

"So the Colonel has sent you to apprise me of his situation?" said the
Lieutenant, without waiting for Zapote's explanation.

"We met the Colonel without knowing him," blundered out Gaspar.  "It was
only afterwards we learnt it was he."

"Ha! that is very strange!" remarked the Catalan, again turning his eye
upon the men with a suspicious glance.

Gaspar now related how, as he and his companion were flying from the
bandits of Arroyo, Don Rafael had leaped down between them from the
branches of a tree; and how they had parted from him without recognising
him.

So far the story was well enough; but the narrator was treading on
ground that was dangerous for Juan el Zapote.  It remained to be
explained how they had been informed, by the ex-comrades of the
deserter, that the fugitive they had encountered was the Colonel
Tres-Villas.

At this point Gaspar hesitated, while the suspicion glances of the
Lieutenant flitted alternately from one to the other.  Zapote, however,
came resolutely to the aid of his companion.

"My compadre," said he, "does not wish to tell the whole truth, out of
regard for me.  I shall speak for him; and this it is.  In going away
from here on his message to the Colonel, my friend Gaspar was captured
by the scouts of Arroyo, and taken to the camp of the guerilleros.
There he stood a very fair chance of losing his life, when, out of
regard for our _compadrazgo_, and old acquaintance' sake, I consented to
assist him at the risk of losing my head."

"Oh! you are then from the camp of Arroyo?"

"Yes," muttered Zapote, in a tone of compunction, "the lamb is sometimes
found in the company of wolves."

"Especially when the lamb so nearly resembles a wolf, that it is
difficult to distinguish them," rejoined the lieutenant with a smile.

"I have always been an honest man," affirmed Zapote, with a demure look.
"Virtue has been my motto through life; and I assure your honour, that
I was forced to consort with these brigands very much against my will.
I was only too glad, when, to save my old compadre here, I found an
opportunity of making some amends for the wicked life I have been
obliged to lead in their company."

"Hum!" said the Lieutenant, with a dubious shrug of the shoulders, "I
suppose you expect your virtue to be well rewarded.  But how did you
ascertain that the man you encountered so unexpectedly was the Colonel?"

Zapote now recounted their subsequent interview with the brigands; and
how he had learnt from them the object of their pursuit--as well as the
adroit ruse he had practised to secure the escape of himself and his
"compadre."

"It's all true as gospel!" affirmed Gaspar, when his companion had
finished the relation.

Zapote also made known the advice he had given to Don Rafael: to conceal
himself among the bamboos.

"At what place?" demanded the Lieutenant.

"Just below the ford," answered the deserter.

"But, Senor Lieutenant," added he, "I shall be most happy to conduct you
to the spot myself."

"You shall do no such thing, my brave fellow.  You and your worthy
_compadre_, as you call him, shall remain here as hostages, till Don
Rafael is found.  I have no confidence in lambs that have been so long
in the company of wolves.  If the Colonel be living, so may you; but if
I find it otherwise, then your prospects--Ho, there!" cried the
Lieutenant, without finishing the threat, "take these two men to the
guard-house, and keep them there, till I order them to be set free."

So saying, the Catalan poured out a glass of his favourite liquor, and
commenced drinking it.

"What, and me, too?" inquired Gaspar, in a tone not very complimentary
to his companion in misfortune.

"A fig for you! my worthy fellow!" rejoined the Lieutenant.  "You should
have remembered the proverb, _mas vale viajar in solo que mal
acompanado_."  (Better travel alone than in bad company.)

"By the cross of Christ!" continued he, after quaffing off his glass, "I
shall make short work of it with this bandit, Arroyo.  To-night I shall
finish with him and his band; and if I don't give the jackals and
vultures a meal that will last them for a twelvemonth, my name's not
Veraegui!"

At an order from his superior, the _alferez_ flung down the cards, and
hurried off to prepare the garrison troops for sallying out of the fort
to the rescue of their Colonel; while the corporal of the guards
conducted Gaspar and Zapote to the prison--the latter no little
disconcerted at finding his first act of virtue so indifferently
rewarded!



CHAPTER SEVENTY.

NEWS SWEET AND SAD.

From the middle of the cane-brake where Don Rafael had found shelter, he
was able through the stems of the bamboos to see the camp of Arroyo and
his bandits.  He could note many of the movements passing within their
lines; and at length perceived the guerilleros striking their tents, and
riding off in a body from the banks of the river.

He still kept his place, however, until the night had fairly come on,
and then wading back to the high bank where the bamboo thicket
commenced, he looked out upon the open space between the river and the
edge of the forest.

At first, all was silent along the bank of the stream; but shortly after
three horsemen were seen riding past, and not far behind them two other
men followed, also on horseback.

The first party were Don Cornelio and his companions, making for the
ford of the river.  The other horsemen were two of Arroyo's _guerilla_--
who, by his orders, had remained near the hacienda Del Valle, for the
purpose of taking down the heads of his three followers nailed over the
gate--should an opportunity offer for their so doing.  They had found
the opportunity--as already known--and it was they who had passed Don
Cornelio at the ford, and whose ambiguous speech had caused a difference
of opinion, as to its meaning, between the Captain and Clara.

The first care of Don Rafael, as soon as he believed the road to be
clear, was to recover his horse--which he had left tied in a thicket in
the woods.

Like his master, Roncador had escaped the researches of the bandits; but
so weak was he with thirst and hunger, that Don Rafael had doubts
whether the poor animal would be able to carry him.  It was necessary
that he should take the horse to the river, in order to water him.  This
required to be done by stealth; for, although Don Rafael had witnessed
the departure of the guerilleros from the ford, he did not know whether
those who blockaded the hacienda had also gone away.

After giving Roncador his drink, just as he was leading the horse up the
bank again, he perceived a man coming from the direction of the ford.
As this man was on foot and alone, Don Rafael resolved to stop and
question him.  Sabre in hand, therefore, he placed himself in front of
the pedestrian.

The latter, thus assailed by a man with a naked sword--and who was
covered from head to foot with a coating of mud--was almost frightened
out of his senses.

"Oh, Lord!" he cried, "help a poor servant who is seeking assistance for
his master!"

"Who is your master?" demanded Don Rafael.

"Don Fernando Lacarra," answered the man.

"Of the hacienda San Carlos?"

"_Si, Senor_.  You know him?"

"Yes: is he in any danger?"

"Alas!" replied this servant, "the hacienda is pillaged by guerilleros;
and, just as I was leaving it, I heard the groans of my poor master
under the lash of their Captain Arroyo--"

"Again this villain!" muttered Don Rafael, interrupting the narrator
with his angry soliloquy.

"Ah! he is always committing some crime," rejoined the servant.

"And your mistress--the Dona Marianita--what of her?"

"It was to make him tell where she was concealed that Arroyo was
flogging my master," replied the man.  "Fortunately I was able to get
her out of the way, by assisting her to descend from the window of the
chamber where they had hidden her.  Afterwards I got off myself, and am
now on my way to the hacienda Del Valle, in hopes of getting assistance
from its brave defenders, who themselves never violate the laws of war."

"But how will you get in there?  Are not some of Arroyo's guerilleros
still besieging the place?"

"No, Senor.  The whole band is now at San Carlos."

"Good!" exclaimed the Colonel.  "Come along with me, and I promise you a
prompt and bloody vengeance."

Without further explaining himself, Don Rafael leaped upon his horse,
directing the domestic to mount behind him, and then started off at a
rapid trot in the direction of Del Valle.

"Where did you leave your mistress?" inquired Don Rafael, as they rode
on.

"In truth, sir," replied the domestic, "I was so confused when she left
me, that I did not think of reminding her to fly to Del Valle.  I only
told her to make into the woods near San Carlos.  But the most important
matter was for her to get out of the reach of Arroyo; and I hope she
will be safe in the chapparal.  Poor young creature!  She was so happy
this morning.  She was expecting on this very night the arrival of her
father and sister--neither of whom she has seen for a long time."

The Colonel could not hinder himself from shuddering.

"Are you sure that it is to-night that Don Mariano and Dona Gertrudis
are expected at San Carlos?" he inquired, with a tone of anxiety in his
voice.

"Yes; a letter had reached my master to say so.  God forbid that they,
too, should fall into the hands of these merciless men!  They say, too,
that Arroyo is an old servant of Don Mariano."

"Let us hope they may not come!" said the Colonel, with a choking
effort.

"It may be," continued the domestic, "that the illness of Dona Gertrudis
may detain them a day or two on the journey.  That would be the luckiest
thing that could happen."

"What say you? is Dona Gertrudis ill!"

"Senor!" exclaimed the domestic, "you, who appear to know the family,
are you ignorant that Dona Gertrudis is only the shadow of her former
self, and that some secret grief is wasting her away?  But, Senor, why
do you tremble?" inquired the man, who, with his arm round his waist,
felt the nervous agitation of Don Rafael's body.

"Oh, nothing," replied the latter; "but tell me--does any one know the
cause of her grief?"

"Rather say, who is there who don't know it, Senor?  Dona Gertrudis was
in love with a young officer; and so fondly, that it is said she cut off
the whole of her beautiful hair, as a sacrifice to the Holy Virgin, for
saving his life on an occasion when he was in danger!  And yet for all
this, he who was thus loved proved faithless, and deserted her!"

"Well?" mechanically interposed Don Rafael.

"Well," continued the servant, "the poor young lady is dying on account
of being so deserted--dying by inches; but surely--why, Senor, you are
certainly ill?  I feel your heart beating against my hand as if it would
leap out of your bosom!"

"It is true," answered Don Rafael, in a husky voice.  "I am subject to
severe palpitations; but presently--" The Colonel, for support, fell
back against the domestic, his herculean strength having yielded to the
powerful emotions which were passing within him.  "Presently," he
continued, "I shall get over it.  I feel better already.  Go on with
your history.  This man--this officer--did he ever tell Dona Gertrudis
that he no longer loved her?  Does he love any other?"

"I do not know," was the response of the domestic.

"Could she not have sent him word--say by some means agreed upon--which
should bring him back to her from the farthest corner of the earth?
Perhaps then--"

Don Rafael could not finish what he intended to have said.  A bright
hope, long time suppressed, began to spring up within his heart, and
with such force, that he feared to know the truth--lest it should be
crushed on the instant.

"Senor, you ask me more than I am able to answer," rejoined the
domestic.  "I have told you all I know of this sad story!"

Heaving a deep sigh, the Colonel remained for some moments silent.
After a while, he resumed the conversation, by putting a question, the
answer to which might terminate his doubts.

"Have you ever heard the name of this young officer?"

"No," replied the domestic; "but were I in his place, I should not leave
this young lady to die, for one lovelier I never beheld in all my life."

These were the last words spoken on either side: for at that moment the
voices of the sentinels, challenging from the walls of the hacienda, put
an end to the conversation.

"Say to Lieutenant Veraegui," commanded Don Rafael, in reply to the
challenge, "that it is Colonel Tres-Villas."

The sound of the trumpets inside soon after signalised the joy felt by
the garrison at the return of their old commandant, while the domestic
of Don Fernando flung himself promptly to the ground, asking a thousand
pardons for not recognising the quality of his _compagnon de cheval_.

"It is I who have most reason to feel obliged," said Don Rafael.
"Remain here till I see you again.  I may, perhaps, need you for an
important message."

The domestic bowed respectfully, taking hold of the bridle of Don
Rafael's horse, while the Lieutenant Veraegui, the _alferez_, with
several soldiers of the garrison, came forth with torches to
congratulate their superior officer on his escape from the dangers that
had so lately surrounded him.

As soon as their first greetings had been exchanged, Veraegui informed
the Colonel that they were just about preparing to start upon an
expedition against the banditti of Arroyo.

"You know where they are, then?" said Don Rafael.

"Not the precise spot.  But it is not difficult to find the traces of
these gentry," replied Catalan.

"True," rejoined the Colonel.  "But I chance to know their whereabouts.
They are just now at the hacienda of San Carlos.  This faithful servant,
who is holding my horse, has lately escaped from them, and come to beg
your assistance to rescue his master from the brutal outrages they are
at this moment inflicting upon him.  Lieutenant Veraegui! see that your
men are provided with a sufficient quantity of ropes.  Let a piece of
ordnance be mounted upon the back of a mule: we shall, no doubt, require
it to force open the gate."

"But, Senor Colonel, what do you want with the ropes?" inquired the
Lieutenant, with a significant smile.

"For the execution of these brigands.  We shall hang them to the last
man, my dear Veraegui."

"Good!" assented the Catalan, in a joyous accent, "and this time by the
heels, I hope.  I shall never forgive myself for my foolish
indulgence--"

"What! you have spared some of them?" interrupted Don Rafael.

"I have been too merciful to four whom I captured yesterday--in hanging
them by the necks.  But, by the way, Colonel, now I think of it, two odd
fellows came in a while ago, who say that they wish to speak with you."

"I cannot receive them now," answered Don Rafael, little suspecting the
supreme happiness their message would have given him.  "I shall see them
on my return.  We have already wasted too much time, while the worthy
proprietor of San Carlos is no doubt counting the minutes in anguish.  I
shall not even stay to change my dress; so haste, and get your men upon
horseback."

"Sound `Boots and saddles!'" cried the Lieutenant, hurrying into the
courtyard to give further orders; while Don Rafael, under the pretext of
being alone for a few minutes, walked out into the garden, and directed
his steps towards the spot where, two years before, he had deposited the
remains of his father in the tomb.

His spirit once more excited by the revelations made by the domestic of
Don Fernando, he felt he needed a moment of prayer to strengthen him for
this final effort for the punishment of his father's assassins.  The
murder of his father had been for him a terrible blow, but, as time
passed, even this grief, by little and little, had become appeased.

Far different was it with that other passion--which neither time, nor
absence, nor the constant changing of scene, nor the duties of an active
campaign, had been able to eradicate from his bosom.

He now knew that Gertrudis reciprocated his ardent love--that she was
dying of it; and, in the midst of the mournful joy which this news had
produced, he could have forgotten that his father's death was not yet
avenged, as he had sworn it should be.  One of the assassins was at no
great distance from him, and yet he could scarcely restrain himself from
yielding to the almost irresistible desire of galloping direct to
Oajaca, where he supposed Gertrudis to be, and then, flinging himself at
her feet, confessing that, without her, he could no longer live.

It was to steel his soul against this temptation, and enable him to keep
the oath he had sworn, that Don Rafael now repaired to his father's
grave.



CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE.

THE CAPTURE OF SAN CARLOS.

A few minutes sufficed for the performance of his sacred duty; and Don
Rafael, returning to the courtyard, placed himself at the head of his
troopers--already in their saddles.  There were eighty in all ordered
upon the expedition--only a small garrison of twenty men being left--
just sufficient to defend the fortress.  Two pack-mules accompanied the
party--one carrying a small howitzer, while the other was laden with the
necessary _caisson_ of ammunition.

At a given signal the great gate of the hacienda was thrown open, and
the troopers filing through, passed on down the avenue at a rapid trot,
and in silence.

A dozen or so of light cavalry went in advance of the main body--for the
purpose of reconnoitring the ground--and at the head of these was Don
Rafael himself with the Lieutenant Veraegui.

On the way the Lieutenant, in brief language, rendered an account to his
superior of the events that had happened since his last despatch to
him--to all of which Don Rafael listened far from attentively.  Absorbed
in his thoughts, he sat abstractedly in his saddle until after they had
forded the Ostuta.

On the other side of the river the advance guard halted to give the main
body time to come up; and here Don Rafael ordered the domestic of Don
Fernando to be brought into his presence.

"Do you know," said he, addressing the man, "if there be any road by
which we can get round the hacienda, and approach it from the opposite
side?"

The domestic replied in the affirmative.  He knew a path by which he
could conduct the troopers to the rear of the building, and by which
they might advance up to the very walls without their approach being
discovered.

"Go ahead then along with the scouts!" directed Don Rafael.  "It is
necessary we take these robbers by surprise, else they may get off from
us as they have done before."

The guide obeyed the order, and placing himself at the head of the
advance guard, the march was resumed.

The path by which the domestic conducted them made a detour round the
foot of the hill, upon which the hacienda stood, and where, but a few
hours earlier, Don Cornelio Lantejas had seen the flames shining so
brightly through the windows.  All was now silent as the tomb; and no
sound of any kind announced that the approach of the assailing party was
suspected.

A little further on the guide halted and pointed out to Don Rafael
several paths that branched off from the one they were following, and by
which the party, separating into several detachments, might completely
encompass the hacienda.  This was exactly what Don Rafael wanted.

Reserving to himself the command of the main body, he detached three
smaller parties by these paths--one under the direction of Veraegui, the
others each commanded by an alferez.  These, at a given signal, were to
attack on right, left, and in the rear; while Don Rafael himself with
the howitzer would storm the building in front.  Each party was provided
with a supply of hand-grenades, to be thrown into the courtyard of the
hacienda, or into such other places as the enemy might seek refuge in.

So long as the assailants were sheltered from view by the trees and
shrubs that skirted the hill, they approached without being discovered:
but the moment they became uncovered, on getting nearer to the walls,
shouts of alarm and shots fired by the sentries summoned the garrison to
the defence; and an irregular fusillade was commenced from the azotea of
the building.

The different parties of the attacking force, without heeding this, kept
on throwing their grenades as they advanced; while the party of Don
Rafael, on arriving in front of the building, at once mounted the
howitzer upon its carriage, and opened fire upon the main gateway.

The first shot crushed through the heavy timbers, carrying away one of
the posterns of the gate.

Meanwhile, the grenades, falling within the courtyard began to burst
upon the pavement--frightening the horses of the guerilleros to such an
extent, that the animals broke from their fastenings, and galloped
about, causing the greatest confusion.  The shouts of alarm, the groans
of the wounded, and the furious imprecations of the bandits, was for a
time the only answer made to the reports of the bursting grenades, which
were making such havoc in their ranks.

The loud explosion of the howitzer proclaimed a second discharge; and
this time the shot penetrated into the courtyard, and cut its way
through a mass of insurgents crowded near the further end of it.

"Once more! once more!" cried Don Rafael.  "Batter down the other wing
of the gate, and then, sword in hand, let us enter!"

So quickly did the practised artillerists of Veraegui handle their
piece, that almost on the instant it was loaded and discharged for the
third time.  The ball passed once more through the heavy door; the leaf
gave way and fell back with a crash, leaving the entrance open.

Tres-Villas, sword in hand, rushed into the gateway, followed by his
faithful adherents.

"Where is the dog Arroyo?" cried he, bounding forward among the thick of
the brigands, and cutting down every one within reach of his sword
before an answer could be given.  "On, my men!" he continued, "neither
prisoners nor quarter!"

"I shall hang by the feet all who surrender!" thundered the voice of the
Catalan from behind.

But despite this moderate promise of mercy, not one of the bandits
offered to deliver himself up; and very soon the courtyard contained
only a pile of dead bodies of the insurgents--the few who still lived
having betaken themselves to the upper rooms of the building, where they
secured themselves from present death by barricading the doors.

"Where is the dog Arroyo?  A thousand pesos to the man who can lead me
to the presence of the monster!" cried Don Rafael, vainly searching for
the guerilla leader.

But Arroyo and his associate Bocardo were sought for in vain: since it
will be remembered that both had gone off from the hacienda in search of
its fugitive mistress.

The dead bodies were examined one after the other, and with care, but no
Arroyo--no Bocardo--could be found among them.

"Let us on, Veraegui!" said Don Rafael.  "We must attack them in their
stronghold.  The chiefs must be hidden up yonder!  There is no time to
be lost."

"Alas!" rejoined the Catalan, with a sigh, as he stood regarding the
dead bodies with an air of regret, "I fear, Colonel, our ropes will be
useless after all.  These fellows are all dead; and, as for their
comrades up there, we shall have to set fire to their retreat, and burn
them alive in it.  If we attempt to dislodge them otherwise, it will
cost us a goodly number of our people."

"Oh! do not set fire to the house, Senor Colonel!" interposed the
faithful domestic, in an appealing tone; "my poor master is there, and
would suffer with the rest.  All his people, too, are with him, and in
the power of the brigands."

"It is true, what he says," rejoined Don Rafael, moved by the appeal of
the domestic; "and yet it will never do to let these fiends escape.  If
we attack them, entrenched as they are, and knowing that certain death
await them, they may cost us, as you say, more men than they are worth.
What is your advice, Lieutenant?"

"That we reduce them by a siege, and starve them into surrendering.  For
my part, I don't wish to be baulked about the hanging of them--
especially after the trouble we have taken in bringing these ropes along
with us."

"It will cost time; but I agree with you, it seems the best thing we can
do.  They must soon yield to hunger; and perhaps before that time we may
find some opportunity of getting Don Fernando out of their power.  At
all events, let us wait for sunrise before renewing the attack.
Meanwhile, I leave you to conduct the blockade.  The poor lady,
Marianita, is, no doubt, wandering about in the woods near at hand.  I
shall myself go in search of her."

Saying this, and giving orders for half a dozen chosen men to follow
him, Don Rafael leaped into his saddle, and rode off through the gateway
of the hacienda.

He had scarcely passed out of sight, when the sentinels placed by
Veraegui were signalled by two men who wished to enter the courtyard.
Both were afoot, and appeared to have come in such haste that they could
scarce get breath enough to proclaim their errand.

"What do you want?" asked the Catalan, before looking at the men.  "Eh!
my droll fellows!" he continued, recognising Gaspar and Zapote, "it is
you, is it?  How the devil did you get out of my guard-house?"

"The sentry allowed us to go, your honour," answered Zapote.  "He knew
that you did not wish us to be detained, if the Colonel should be found
alive; and as we have an important message to him--"

"The Colonel is gone away from here," interrupted Veraegui.

"Gone!" exclaimed Zapote, with an air of extreme chagrin.  "Where is he
gone to, your honour?"

The Lieutenant, after pointing out the direction in which Don Rafael had
ridden away, turned his back upon the two adventurers--who, instead of
being offended at this rudeness, were only too glad to terminate their
interview with the dreaded Catalan.  They lost no time, therefore, in
making their exit from the courtyard; and, as fast as their legs could
carry them, they started off in the direction taken by him whom they had
so long unsuccessfully followed.



CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO.

THE ENCHANTED LAKE.

It is ten o'clock at night, and a starry heaven is extended over a large
expanse of level country--here clothed with virgin forests--there with
broad, almost treeless savannas, now and then partaking of the character
of marshes and covered with tall reeds.  In the midst of this landscape
a large lake opens to the view.  Its aspect is sombre and sad--its dark,
turbid waters scarce reflecting the stars that shine so brilliantly over
it; while the waves beating against its sedge-encircled shores, utter
only the most lugubrious sounds.

Near the centre of this lake rises a mountain of dark, greenish colour,
resembling an immense cairn constructed by the hands of Titans.  Upon
its summit rests a cloud of white fog collected by evaporation from the
surrounding water, which has been condensed by the freshness of the
night.  The numerous dark fissures distinguishable along the sides of
this gigantic hill give it the appearance of being a mass of lava--the
debris vomited forth by some extinct volcano--and at night, when the
moon's rays fall obliquely upon its flanks, it presents a vague
resemblance to the scales of an alligator.  At the same time that this
fancy is suggested, the huge saurian itself may be heard, plunging among
the reeds at its foot, and causing their culms to rattle against the
rhomboid protuberances of his hideous carapace.

The mournful and desolate aspect of this lake, as well as of the shores
that surround it--the eternal silence that reigns over it--the bleak,
lonely appearance of its island mountain--all combine to produce upon
the spectator an irresistible impression of melancholy; and a spirit of
superstitious inclinings cannot help giving way to thoughts of the
supernatural.  No wonder that in such a place the ancient Aztec priests
should have erected an altar for their sanguinary sacrifices; and so
strong is tradition, that even in modern times the lake of Ostuta and
the mountain of Monopostiac, are invested with supernatural attributes,
and regarded by the vulgar with feelings of awe.

It was to the shores of this lake that the domestic of Don Mariano de
Silva had conducted his master, certain of finding there a secure
resting-place for the night.  He knew that the country surrounding the
lake was entirely uninhabited; and the brigands of Arroyo would scarce
extend their excursions to such an unprofitable foraging ground.  The
southern end of the lake was bordered by a strip of forest; and it was
in this forest that Don Mariano had determined to make halt for the
night.

A small glade surrounded by trees of many species was chosen by the
travellers as a place of their bivouac.  The ground was covered with a
carpet of soft grass, and many flowering shrubs and blossoming llianas,
supported by the trees that grew around, yielded to the night an odorous
incense that was wafted over the glade.  It was, in fact, a bower made
by the hand of nature, over which was extended the dark blue canopy of
the sky, studded with its millions of scintillating stars.

Don Mariano had selected this lovely spot with a design--that of
distracting his daughter's spirit from the sad reflections which the
more gloomy portions of the forest might otherwise have called up.

Shortly after halting, Dona Gertrudis had fallen asleep in her
_litera_--through the curtains of which, only half closed, might be seen
her soft cheek, white almost as the pillow upon which it lay.

Nature had almost repaired the outrage she had voluntarily committed on
her long dark tresses; but the life within her seemed fast hastening to
an end, and her breathing told how feeble was the spirit that now
animated her bosom.  She appeared like one of the white passion-flowers
growing near, but more like one that had been plucked from the stem
which had been the source of its life and sweetness.

Don Mariano stood near the _litera_--gazing upon the pale face of his
child with feelings of sad tenderness.  He could not help calling up
this very comparison--although it was torture to his soul; for he knew
that the flower once plucked must irrevocably wither and die.

At some distance from the _litera_, and nearer the edge of the lake,
three of the attendants were seated together upon the grass.  They were
conversing, in low tones, for the purpose of passing the time.  The
fourth, who was the guide already mentioned, had gone forward through
the woods--partly to search for the crossing, but also to reconnoitre
the path, and find out whether the road to San Carlos was clear of the
guerilleros.

Through a break in the forest that surrounded the glade, the enchanted
mountain was visible--its sombre silhouette outlined against the blue
background of the sky.

In all countries, every object that appears to vary from the ordinary
laws of nature, possesses, for the vulgar imagination, a powerful
interest; and the servants of Don Mariano were no exception to the rule.

"I have heard it said," whispered one of them, "that the waters of this
lake now so muddy, were once as clear as crystal; and that it was only
after they were consecrated to the devil, that they became as they are
now."

"Bah!" rejoined another, "I don't believe what they say about the devil
living up there upon the _Cerro encantado_.  He would choose a more
pleasant place for his residence, I should fancy."

"Well," said the first speaker, who was named Zefirino, and who was
better acquainted with the locality than either of his companions,
"whether the devil dwells there or not, some terrible things have taken
place on that mountain; and it is said, still happen there.  I have
heard that the fog which you see upon its summit, and which always rests
there at night, is extended over it by the god of the Indians--who is
only the devil himself.  He does that to hide what goes on up there.
There's one strange story the Indians themselves tell."

"What is it?  Let us hear it, Zefirino."

"Well, you've heard how in old times the Indian priests had an altar up
yonder--upon which they used to sacrifice scores of human beings--so
that the blood ran down the fissures of the rock like water after a
shower of rain.  Their plan was to cut open the breast of the victim,
and tear out his heart while still alive.  But why need I frighten you
with a story that, by my faith, is fearful enough?"

"No--no--never mind!  Go on, Zefirino."

"Stay!" cried the other domestic.  "Did you not hear a noise--just down
there by the edge of the lake?"

"Bah! it's only an alligator snapping his jaws together.  Go on,
Zefirino!"

"Well, comrades--the story is, that about five hundred years ago, one of
the unfortunate victims was about to be sacrificed in this manner as
usual.  The cruel priest had opened his breast and taken out the heart;
when, to the astonishment of all around, the Indian seized hold of his
own heart, and endeavoured to put it back in its place.  His hand,
however, trembled, and the heart slipping from his grasp, rolled down
the mountain side and into the lake.  The Indian, uttering a terrible
howl, plunged in after for the purpose of recovering his heart from the
water, and was never seen again.  Of course, a man like that could not
possibly die; and for five hundred years the Indian has been wandering
round the shores of the lake searching for his heart, and with his
breast cut open, just as the priest had left it.  It's not more than a
year ago that some one saw this Indian, and just about here, too, on the
southern shore of the lake."

As Zefirino finished his narration, his two companions involuntarily
cast glances of terror towards the gloomy waters of the lake, as if in
dread that the legendary Indian might suddenly show himself.  Just at
that moment, a rustling among the leaves caused all three of them to
start to their feet, and stand trembling with fear.

Their alarm did not last long; for almost immediately after they
perceived that the noise had been caused by Castrillo, the guide--who,
in the next moment, stepped forward into the glade.

"Well, Castrillo! what have you seen?" demanded his fellow-servants.

"Enough to make it necessary that I should at once communicate with our
master," and Castrillo passed on towards the _litera_, leaving his
companions to form their conjectures about what he had seen as best they
might.



CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE.

THE INVALID.

On perceiving the approach of the domestico, Don Mariano silently closed
the curtains of the _litera_, in order that the slumbers of Gertrudis
might not be disturbed.

"Speak softly!" said he to the man, "my daughter is asleep."

The domestic delivered his report in an undertone.

"I have been almost as far as the hacienda of San Carlos," said he.
"The road to the house is clear; and I should have gone up to it, but
for the strange sights which I saw there."

"Strange sight! what sights, Castrillo?"

"Oh, master!  I can hardly tell you what I saw--at least I cannot
explain it.  The windows were all lit up, but with such lights!  They
were blue and red, and of a purple colour, and they appeared to be
changing every instant, and moving about in the most mysterious manner.
While I stood looking at them, and trying to think what it could mean, I
saw a figure in white gliding past me in the darkness, like some one not
of this world."

"My worthy Castrillo, fear was troubling your senses, I am afraid you
only fancied these things?"

"Oh, my master! what I saw was but too real.  If you had seen these
lights as I, you could not have doubted it.  May it please God that I
may have been deceived!"

The tone of conviction in which the servant delivered his report
produced its effect on Don Mariano; and he could not help feeling the
unpleasant presentiment that some grand misfortune had happened to his
daughter, Marianita, or her husband.

The information brought by Castrillo was only the reawakening of a doubt
that had been already oppressing him.

A prey to afflicting thoughts, he remained for a while in that state of
silent uncertainty which follows the receipt of calamitous news.  The
servant having finished his report had joined his three companions, and
Don Mariano was alone.

Just then the curtains of the _litera_ were drawn inside by a hand from
within, and the voice of Gertrudis interrupted for the moment his gloomy
reflections.

"My sleep has refreshed me," said the young girl; "do you intend soon to
continue your journey, father?  It is near daybreak, is it not?"

"It is not yet midnight, nina.  It will be long before the day breaks."

"Then why do you not go to sleep, dear father?  We are in safety here, I
think; and there is no reason why you should keep awake."

"Dear Gertrudis, I do not desire to sleep until we are under the roof of
Marianita, and I can see you both together."

"Ah!  Marianita is so very happy," sighed the invalid.  "Her life has
been like one of the flowery paths we have been following through the
forest."

"And so will yours be yet, Gertrudis," rejoined Don Mariano, with an
effort to console her.  "It will not be long before Don Rafael comes to
see you."

"Oh, yes!  I know he will come, since he has sworn it upon his word of
honour.  He will come, but what then?" murmured Gertrudis, with a
melancholy smile.

"He will arrive to tell you that he still loves you," said Don Mariano,
affecting a conviction which, in reality, he did not feel.  "It is only
a misunderstanding," he added.

"A misunderstanding that causes death, dear father," rejoined Gertrudis,
as she turned her head upon the pillow to conceal her tears.

Don Mariano was unable to reply, and an interval of silence succeeded.

Then Gertrudis, by one of those sudden reactions common to invalids,
seemed all at once inspired with a fresh hope, and raising her head, she
inquired--

"Do you think the messenger has had time to reach Don Rafael?"

"He would be three days in getting from Oajaca to the hacienda Del
Valle; and if Don Rafael, as we have since heard, is at Huajapam, in two
days more the messenger should reach him.  He has been gone four days;
therefore, in four more, at the most, Don Rafael should arrive at San
Carlos, where he will know we are awaiting him."

"Four days!" murmured Gertrudis.  "Oh! it is a long, long time!"

Gertrudis did not dare to add, what she feared at the moment, that her
life might not last so long.

After a moment of silence she continued--

"And besides, when, with a blush upon my cheeks, and my eyes turned
away, I hear Don Rafael say to me, `You have sent for me, Gertrudis, I
have come,' what answer can I make?  Oh, father!  I shall die of grief
and shame; for I shall then feel that he no longer loves me.  He will
see me as I am--a ruin--only the shadow of my former self, with my
health gone, and my freshness faded.  Likely enough, generosity will
prompt him to feign a love which he does not feel, and which I could not
believe in.  What proof could he give that his words would only be
spoken out of compassion for me?"

"Who can tell?" said Don Mariano.  "Perhaps he may give you some proof
that you cannot help believing in his sincerity."

"Do not wish it, father, if you love me; for if he should offer a proof
I cannot refuse to believe in, I feel that I should die of joy.  Poor
father!" continued she, with a choking sigh, and throwing her arms round
his neck, "in either case you are likely soon to have but one daughter."

At this mournful declaration Don Mariano could no longer restrain his
grief; and returning the embrace of Gertrudis, he mingled his tears with
hers.  Both wept aloud, their voices being audible to the _centzontle_,
on a neighbouring tree--that catching up the mournful tones repeated
them to the ear of night.

Just then the moon shot out from behind a thick mass of clouds, that had
hitherto been shrouding her from the sight; and the landscape,
illuminated by her silvery light, all at once assumed a less lugubrious
aspect.

The lake, as well as the forest on its shores, appeared less sombre; and
the corrugated flanks of the enchanted hill glanced with a vitreous
reflection like the greenish waves of an agitated sea.  Upon the surface
of the water could be seen the dark, hideous forms of huge alligators
moving along the edge of the reeds, and now and then giving utterance to
their deep bellowing notes, as they disported themselves under the light
of the moon.

The domestics of Don Mariano, seated close together, more than once
fancied that they could distinguish the voices of human beings, and all
shivered with fear as they recalled the legend which Zefirino had just
related.

"I wish, comrades," said one of them, speaking in a tone of subdued
terror, "I wish that this night was well over.  From the noises we have
heard, and those strange lights that Castrillo has seen, one might fancy
some terrible misfortune was to happen to-night!  It only wants the
scream of an owl from one of the trees around here, and then we may pray
for the soul of our poor young mistress."

At that moment a voice--this time certainly a human voice--proceeding
from the direction of the lake, interrupted the speaker.  It seemed to
arise out of the bosom of the water.

The four domestics started, and sat regarding each other with looks of
affright.  There could be no doubt of its being a human voice which they
had heard, as if intoning a song or chaunt, but uttered in some unknown
tongue--such as that in which the ancient Indians used to converse with
their divinities.

"Santissima madre!" muttered one of the domestics, "what if it should be
the Indian who searches for his heart?"

His companions made no other answer than by nodding their heads to
signify that such had been the thought of each.

At this moment another noise reached them.  It was a rustling as of
leaves, and almost simultaneously they saw the figure of a man making
his way through the reeds that grew by the edge of the water.

In the clear light of the moon they could see that the man was
completely naked, and that his skin was of a bronze or copper colour--in
other words, that he was an Indian.

As he passed through the reeds he parted their stems with his
outstretched arms--at the same time keeping his eyes bent downwards as
if searching for something.

After reaching the edge of the open water, he plunged in; and, swimming
vigorously out into the lake, appeared to direct himself towards the
enchanted hill.

"God of heaven!" muttered Zefirino, in an accent of terror.  "It is the
Indian searching for his heart!"



CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

AN AERIAL COUCH.

After escaping from the company of Arroyo and his bandits, Don Cornelio
mechanically followed the guidance of Costal--who was now aiming to
reach the lake of Ostuta as soon as possible, in order that he might
commence his incantations before the rising of the moon.

Don Cornelio knew that it would be breath thrown away to attempt
persuading the Indian to abandon his absurd and superstitious design;
and to propose accompanying him, and becoming either actor or spectator
in the pagan ceremony, would be equally against the wishes of Costal.

After they had ridden for some distance towards the lake, the Captain
admonished his companions of his intention to stay behind and wait for
their return, after they should have accomplished their purpose, and had
their interview with Tlaloc and his wife Matlacuezc.  Costal was only
too glad to agree to this proposition; and promised to find a proper
halting-place for Don Cornelio at some distance from the shores of the
lake.  There was no house of any kind in the vicinity, not even the
meanest hut.  This, Costal, from his perfect knowledge of the locality,
was aware of; but the night was a pleasant one, and a few hours might be
passed in the open air without any great inconvenience.

Shortly after, the cool freshness of the breeze proclaimed that the lake
was not far off; and a pleasant grove of shady palm-trees offered an
inviting shelter to Don Cornelio.  It was the spot which Costal had
designed for his halting-place; and here, parting from the two acolytes,
the Captain dismounted, and prepared to make himself as comfortable as
possible during their absence.  Meanwhile Costal and Clara kept on
towards the lake, and were soon lost to view under the shadows of the
forest.

Don Cornelio had not been long left to himself, ere he began to rue the
disposition thus made of him.  It now occurred to him, and not without
reason, that the comrades of Gaspacho might fancy to avenge the
brigand's death, and for that purpose follow him and his two attendants
through the forest.  Arroyo would now be absent from the hacienda; Don
Cornelio had heard him proclaim his intention of going in search of its
mistress; and his subalterns might pay less respect to the emissary of
Morelos than their chief.

These considerations influencing the spirit of Don Cornelio, produced
within him a certain degree of uneasiness--sufficient to make him
discontented with the position he had chosen.

Determined to get nearer to Costal--whom he looked upon almost as his
natural protector--he remounted his horse, and continued along the path
that had been taken by the other two.

After riding a few hundred yards, he discerned rising up before his face
a high hill crowned with mist; and shortly after, the woods becoming
more open, he was enabled to perceive that this hill was surrounded by a
large lake of dark, sombre aspect.  Though he now looked upon both the
lake and mountain for the first time, he had no difficulty in
identifying them as the Lake Ostuta and the sacred mountain of
Monopostiac.

A belt of forest still lay between him and the lake, extending around
its southern end.  Entering into the timber, he rode nearly across it,
until the reedy shore of the lake came in view through the openings
between the trees.  Here he again halted, and after a moment's
reflection, dismounted.

Although the change of locality might make it more difficult for the
brigands of Arroyo to discover his retreat, he was still not so certain
of being free from danger.  To render his situation more secure, he
determined upon climbing into a tree, and concealing himself among the
branches.

He had another motive for freeing himself.  At a short distance from the
spot he saw the horses of Costal and Clara, standing tied to some
bushes; and he knew that their owners could not be far off.  No doubt it
was there they intended to go through their absurd rites; and all at
once Don Cornelio had become inspired with a curiosity to witness them.
His Christian conscience slightly reproached him, for thus assisting, as
it were, at a pagan ceremony; but he ended by persuading himself that
there would be something meritorious in his being a witness to the
confusion of the infidel.

A tree near at hand offered him a favourable point of observation.  From
its higher branches he could command a full view of the lake and its
shores to a considerable distance on each side of him, and also the
sacred mountain in its midst.

Securing his horse below, he ascended the tree, and seated himself among
its topmost branches.  He had taken the precaution to carry up his
carbine along with him, which was hanging from his shoulders upon its
sling.

He had just fixed himself commodiously upon his perch, when the full
moon appeared, at once lighting up the waters of the lake with her most
brilliant beams.

He looked to discover the whereabouts of Costal and the negro; but for
some time he could see nothing of either.  The enchanted hill,
glistening with a vitreous translucence under the white moonbeams,
presented a wild, weird aspect; and, from time to time, strange
unearthly sounds appeared to proceed from it, as also from the woods
around.

The nerves of the ex-student were at no time of the strongest; and he
had not long occupied his elevated post before he began to rue his
rashness, in having trusted himself alone in a place which seemed to be
the abode of the supernatural.

All at once a sound reached him, proceeding from the margin of the lake;
and, turning his eyes in that direction, he beheld the figure of a naked
man moving among the reeds.  It was the same apparition that had caused
such alarm among the domestics of Don Mariano, who, although unseen by
the Captain, were at that moment only fifty paces distant, screened
behind the bushes that grew around the glade in which they had encamped.

The apparition, although it at first startled Don Cornelio, did not
frighten him so much as it had the domestics; for, by the light of the
moon, he was enabled to recognise the figure as that of his attendant,
Costal.  The Captain, moreover, saw--what, from their position, was
invisible to the people in Don Mariano's camp--another human figure,
naked like the first, but differing from it in the colour of the skin,
which was black as ebony.

Both having passed through the reeds, plunged at once into the open
water of the lake; and, swimming off towards the enchanted mountain,
were soon lost to the eyes of Don Cornelio, as well as to those of the
affrighted attendants of Don Mariano.

While the latter remained under the full conviction that they had seen
the Indian who, for five hundred years, had been vainly searching for
his heart, Don Cornelio knew that the two adventurers were his own
followers, Costal and Clara.

From the direction they had taken through the water, he divined that it
was their object to reach the mountain island, there, no doubt, to
practise their superstitious ceremonial.

Although somewhat disappointed at being deprived of a spectacle he had
felt curious to witness, he still remained on his perch upon the tree.
His apprehension of being pursued by the bandits of Arroyo had not yet
forsaken him; and in such a contingency, he believed that he would be
safer among the branches than upon the ground.  He could watch for
Costal and Clara coming back through the water, and then rejoin them as
they returned to take possession of their horses, which were still
visible to him upon his elevated post.

For a short time he remained in his position without hearing any noise
in particular, or seeing anything calculated to alarm him.  Then a sound
reached his ears that came from a direction opposite to that in which
lay the lake.  It was a booming sound, like the report of a cannon--
shortly after followed by another and another of precisely similar
intonation.

Don Cornelio had no suspicion that at that very moment the hacienda of
San Carlos was being attacked by the garrison of Del Valle, and that the
noise he heard was the report of the howitzer battering in the gates of
the building.

Although at first rendered uneasy by these inexplicable sounds, as they
soon after ceased to be repeated, Don Cornelio no longer troubled
himself to explain them.  He had heard so many others, as mysterious as
they, that he despaired of finding an explanation.  As time passed,
however, and neither Costal nor Clara showed themselves, the Captain
began to feel a strong desire to sleep, and his eyelids every moment
grew heavier, until at length he felt that he could no longer resist the
desire.  Like Colonel Tres-Villas, on the preceding night, he took the
precaution, before committing himself to slumber, of making secure
against a fall; and for this purpose he attached himself with his sash
to one of the branches.  In another minute he was in the land of dreams,
unconscious of the singularity of the couch on which he was reclining.



CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE.

THE GODDESS OF THE WATERS.

For the first hour the sleep of Don Cornelio was undisturbed, even by
dreams.  With the second it was very different; for, scarcely had he
entered upon it, when a noise sounded in his ears, singular as it was
terrible.  He awoke with a start, on hearing what appeared to be the
loud clanging of a bell rung at no great distance off.

At first he fancied he was dreaming, and that what he heard in his
dreams was the bell of his native village; but a moment's reflection
sufficed to convince him that he was awake, and couched in the fork of a
tall tree.

The sounds that had ceased for a while, now recommenced; and Don
Cornelio was able to count twelve strokes, clear and distinctly
measured, as if some large clock was tolling the hour of midnight!

It was, in fact, just about that hour--as Don Cornelio could tell by the
moon; but the observation did not hinder him from shuddering afresh at
the mysterious sounds.  From his elevated position he could see afar
over both land and water; but no spire of village church or hacienda was
visible--nothing but the sombre surface of the lake, the spray of the
far-stretching forest, and the desert plains in the distance.

The tolling again vibrated upon the air; and Don Cornelio was now
convinced that it was from the lake itself, or the enchanted mountain in
its midst, that the sounds proceeded.  It seemed as if it was a signal,
to awaken the Indian divinities from their sleep of ages!

The moon was still rising higher in the heavens, and her brilliant beams
broadly illumined the lake, even penetrating through the thickly-set
stems of the reeds that bordered it.

Certain vague noises that had from time to time fallen upon the ear of
Don Cornelio, while half slumbering, now that he was awake, were heard
more distinctly; and after a little while these sounds became converted
into prolonged and dismal howlings, such as he had never before heard in
his life.

Upon just such another night he had been sorely frightened by the
howling of jaguars; but all the tigers in the world could not have
produced such a frightful noise as that with which his ears were now
assailed.  It was a chorus of voices entirely new to him, and that
seemed to proceed from the powerful lungs of some gigantic creature
hitherto unknown.

As thoughts of the supernatural came into his mind, the Captain shivered
through his whole frame; and had he not been tied to its branches, he
would certainly have fallen from the tree.

His horse, standing below, appeared fully to partake of his terror; for
after dancing about, and causing the branches to crackle, the animal at
length broke away from its fastenings, and, galloping off, joined
company with the horses of Costal and Clara that stood nearer the edge
of the water.

The terrible howlings, combined with the mysterious tolling of the bell,
produced upon the mind of Don Cornelio other impressions besides those
of mere dread.  He began to believe in a supernatural presence; and that
the sounds he heard were the voices of those pagan divinities whom
Costal had the boldness to invoke.

Captain Lantejas was not the only person whom these strange noises had
inspired with fear.  At little more than gunshot distance from him, and
hidden behind the trees, could be seen a number of men closely grouped
together, and whispering their fears to one another.  It need scarcely
be said that they were the domestics of Don Mariano, who had counted
with equal terror and astonishment the twelve strokes of the mysterious
midnight bell.

Their master, too, had heard the tolling, and was vainly endeavouring to
account for the singular phenomenon.

Just then the frightful howlings came pealing from the woods behind,
awaking Gertrudis, and causing her to raise her head with a cry of
terror.  The seven sleepers themselves would have been awakened by such
a terrible fracas of noises.

At this moment one of the domestics--Castrillo--appeared by the
_litera_, his face blanched with affright.

"What misfortune have you to announce?" inquired Don Mariano, struck
with the expression upon the servant's countenance.

"Not any, Senor Don Mariano," replied the domestic, "unless to say that
we are here in some accursed place, and the sooner we get out of it the
better."

"Get your arms ready," rejoined Don Mariano, "it must be the jaguars
that are howling near us."

"Ah!  Senor master," replied the domestic, with a shake of his head,
"never did jaguar howl after that fashion; and all our weapons will be
useless where the spirit of darkness is against us.  Listen, there--
again!"

Once more a series of prolonged vociferations came echoing through the
forest, which certainly had but little resemblance to the voices either
of jaguars or any other known animals.

"There have been many strange things during this night," gravely
continued Castrillo.  "Everything in nature seems to be turned upside
down.  Dead men have been seen by us wandering about; bells have been
heard tolling where there is neither church nor dwelling, and now the
devil himself is howling in the depths of the forest.  Oh, master, let
us fly from this place while we may!"

"But where to? where can we go?" rejoined Don Mariano, casting an
anxious glance towards the _litera_.  "My poor child--she can scarce
endure the fatigues of the journey."

"Oh, father," said Gertrudis, "do not think of me.  I shall be able to
go on; and I would rather go afoot, than remain longer in this frightful
place."

"Senor Don Mariano," continued the domestic, "if you will pray God to
protect us from the danger that threatens, I and the others will go
after the mules, and we shall get ready for marching.  Above all, we
must leave this place at once; for if you stay I could not hinder the
rest from running away."

"Very well, then," said Don Mariano, "be it as you wish.  Harness the
animals and let us start at once.  We shall endeavour to reach San
Carlos."

That which Don Mariano and his people were about to make--a movement
from the place apparently haunted--the Captain Lantejas would not have
attempted for all the gold in Mexico.  Glued by fear to the summit of
his tree, and cursing the evil fortune that had conducted him thither--
regretting, moreover, his foolish curiosity--he continued to listen,
though almost mechanically, to what he believed to be a dialogue between
some Indian divinity and his fearless worshipper, Costal.

All at once the noises came to a termination; and a profound silence
succeeded, which was equally fearful to endure.

This was of short duration, however; for in a few moments the stillness
of the night was once more interrupted by other and different noises,
that resembled human voices uttered at a considerable distance from the
spot.

Gradually the voices were heard approaching nearer, and Don Cornelio was
under the impression that it was Costal and Clara returning to where
they had left their horses.  He was mistaken about this, however, and
soon perceived his error.  The voices proceeded from the direction he
had himself followed in approaching the lake.  Costal and Clara could
not be coming that way.  Moreover, he now saw lights that appeared to be
torches carried by those who were talking; and from the rapidity with
which the lights flitted from point to point, they could only be borne
by men on horseback.  The Indian and negro could not be mounted, since
their horses were still standing tied where they had left them, along
with his own steed, that had just taken refuge by their side.  It could
not be Costal and Clara who carried the torches.

"Who then?" mentally demanded Don Cornelio; "might it be Arroyo and his
bandits?"

He had scarce given thought to the conjecture, when a troop of horsemen
rode out upon the open ground near the edge of the lake; and two of them
at the head of the others were instantly recognised by Don Cornelio.
They were, in truth, Arroyo and his associate, Bocardo.

The horsemen carrying the torches were seen riding from one point to
another, quartering the ground by numerous crossings, and exploring the
thickets on every side, as if in search of some person that had escaped
them.

On approaching the border of the lake, the horsemen turned off along the
margin of reeds, without having perceived the three horses that stood
under the trees.

The torches were now thrown away; and, riding off under the pale
moonlight, the horsemen disappeared from the eyes of Don Cornelio.

He was not without uneasiness as to the peril in which his two
companions would be placed, should they chance to fall once more into
the hands of the bandits; and he would gladly have warned them of their
danger, had he known how.  But ignorant of the locality in which Costal
and Clara were at that exact moment, he could do nothing more than hope
that they might perceive the horsemen first, and conceal themselves
while the latter were passing.  From Costal's habitual wariness, Don
Cornelio felt confident, that the ex-tiger-hunter would be able to keep
himself clear of this new danger.

The captain followed with anxious eyes the forms of the retreating
horsemen; and his heart beat more tranquilly when he saw them turn round
an angle of the lake, and disappear altogether from his sight.

The moon at this moment shining more brilliantly, enabled him to command
a better view of the waters of the lake, and the selvage of reeds
growing around it.  Once more silence was reigning over the scene, when
all at once Don Cornelio fancied he saw a movement among the sedge, as
if some one was making his way through it.  In another instant a form,
at first shadowy and indistinct, appeared before his eyes.  Presently it
assumed the outlines of a human form, and what astonished Don Cornelio
still more, it was the form of a woman!  This he saw distinctly; and
perceived also that the woman was dressed in a sort of white garment,
with long dark hair hanging in disordered tresses over her shoulders.

A cold perspiration broke out upon the brow of Don Cornelio, as the
female form was recognised; and his eyes became fixed upon it, without
his having the power to take them off.  He doubted not that he saw
before him the companion of Tlaloc, the terrible Matlacuezc, who had
just risen from her watery palace in the Lake Ostuta, whence she had
been summoned by the invocations of Costal, the descendant of the
ancient rulers of Tehuantepec!



CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX.

TOLLING THE SUMMONS.

We return to Costal.  We have seen the Zapoteque making his way through
the sedge, and boldly launching himself into the muddy waters of the
lake--his blind fatalism rendering him regardless of the voracious
alligators of the Ostuta, as he had already shown himself of the sharks
of the Pacific.  Could the eye of Don Cornelio have followed him under
the gloomy shadow which the enchanted hill projected over the lake, it
would have seen him emerge from the water upon the shore of the sacred
Cerro itself, his black-skinned associate closely following at his
heels.

The mountain Monopostiac is neither more nor less than a gigantic rock
of obsidian, of a dark greenish hue, having its flanks irregularly
furrowed by vertical fissures and ridges.  This peculiar kind of rock,
under the sun, or in a very bright moonlight, gives forth a sort of dull
translucence, resembling the reflection of glass.  The vitreous
glistening of its sides, taken in conjunction with the mass of thick
white fog which usually robes the summit of the mountain, offers to the
eye an aspect at once fantastic and melancholy.

At certain places, of which Costal had a perfect knowledge, are huge
boulders of obsidian, resting along the declivities of the Cerro, and
which, when struck by a hard substance, gives forth a sonorous ring,
having some resemblance to the sound of a bell.

After climbing some way up the steep declivity of the mountain, Costal
and his neophyte halted by one of these boulders.  Now apparently
absorbed in profound meditation, now muttering in a low tone, and in the
language of his fathers, certain prayers, the Zapoteque awaited that
hour when the moon should reach its meridian, in order to come to the
grand crisis of his invocation.

It would be a tedious detail were we to describe the many absurd
ceremonials practised by Costal to induce the genius of the waters to
appear before him, and make known the means by which he might restore
the ancient splendours of his race.  Certainly, if perseverance and
courage could have any influence with the Indian divinities, Costal
deserved all the favours they could lavish upon him.

Although up to this moment neither Tlaloc nor Matlacuezc had given the
least sign of having heard his prayers, his countenance exhibited such
hopeful confidence, that Clara, gazing upon it, felt fully convinced
that upon this occasion there was not the slightest chance of a failure.

Up to the time of the moon reaching her meridian--the moment so eagerly
expected--more than an hour was spent in every sort of preparation for
the grand crisis.  Up to that moment, moreover, Costal had preserved a
grave and profound silence, enjoining the same upon Clara.  This silence
related only to conversation between them.  Otherwise Costal had from
time to time, as already stated, given utterance to prayers, spoken,
however, in a low muttered voice.

The moment had now arrived when the dialogue of the two acolytes was to
be resumed.

"Clara," said the Zapoteque, speaking in a grave tone, "when the gods of
my ancestors, invoked by a descendant of the ancient Caciques of
Tehuantepec, who has seen fifty seasons of rains--when they hear the
sounds which I am now about to make, and for which they have listened in
vain for more than three centuries, some one of them will appear beyond
any doubt."

"I hope so," responded Clara.

"Certain they will appear," said Costal; "but which of them it may be, I
know not; whether Tlaloc or his companion Matlacuezc."

"I suppose it makes no difference," suggested the negro.

"Matlacuezc," continued Costal, "would be easily known.  She is a
goddess; and, of course, a female.  She always appears in a white robe--
pure and white as the blossom of the _floripondio_.  When her hair is
not wound around her head, it floats loosely over her shoulders, like
the mantilla of a senora of high degree.  Her eyes shine like two stars,
and her voice is sweeter than that of the mocking-bird.  For all that,
her glance is terrifying to a mortal, and there are few who could bear
it."

"Oh, I can bear it," said the negro; "no fear of that."

"Tlaloc," continued Costal, "is tall as a giant.  His head is encircled
with a chaplet of living serpents, that, entwined among his hair, keep
up a constant hissing.  His eye is full of fire, like that of the
jaguar; and his voice resembles the roaring of an angry bull.  Reflect,
then, while it is yet time, whether you can bear such a sight as that."

"I have told you," replied Clara, in a resolute tone, "that I wish for
gold; and it matters little to me whether Tlaloc or his wife shows me
the _placer_ where it is to be found.  By all the gods, Christian and
pagan!  I have not come thus far to be frightened back without better
reason than that.  No!"

"You are firmly resolved, comrade?  I see you are.  Now, then--I shall
proceed to invoke my gods."

On saying these words, the Indian took up a large stone, and advancing
to the boulder of obsidian, struck the stone against one of its angles
with all his might.  The collision produced a sound resembling that of a
brazen instrument; in fact, like the stroke of a bell.

Twelve times did Costal repeat the stroke, each time with equal force.
The sounds echoed over the waters of the lake, and through the aisles of
the forest on its shores; but their distant murmurings had scarce died
upon the air, when a response came from the woods.  This was given in a
series of the most frightful howlings--the same which had terrified
Captain Lantejas upon his tree, and which Don Mariano had found himself
unable to explain.

Clara partook of a terror almost equal to that of Don Cornelio, but it
arose from a different cause.  He had no other belief, but that the
howling thus heard was the response vouchsafed by the pagan gods to the
invocation of his companion.  After a moment his confidence became
restored, and he signed to Costal to continue.

"Sound again!" said he, in a low but firm voice, "it is Tlaloc who has
responded.  Sound again!"

The Indian cast a glance upon his companion, to assure himself that he
was in earnest.  The moon showed his face of a greyish tint; but the
expression of his features told that he spoke seriously.

"Bah!" exclaimed Costal, with a sneer, "are you so little skilled in the
ways of the woods, as to mistake the voice of a vile animal for that of
the gods of the Zapoteque?"

"What an animal to make a noise like that?" interrogated Clara, in a
tone of surprise.

"Of course it is an animal," rejoined Costal, "that howls so.
Sufficiently frightful, I admit--to those who do not know what sort of
creature it is; but to those who do, it is nothing."

"What kind of animal is it?" demanded Clara.

"Why, an ape; what else?  A poor devil of a monkey, that you could knock
over with a bit of a stick; as easily as you could kill an opossum.  Ah,
_hombre_! the voice of the great Tlaloc is more terrible than that.  But
see! what have we yonder?"

As Costal spoke, he pointed to the shore of the lake whence they had
come, and near the point where they had left their horses.  It was in
this direction, moreover, the howlings of the ape had been heard.

Clara followed the pointing of his companion, and both now saw what gave
a sudden turn to their thoughts--a party of horsemen carrying torches,
and scouring the selvage of the woods, as if in search of something they
had lost.

The two worshippers watched until the torches were put out, and the
horsemen passing round the shore disappeared under the shadows of a
strip of forest.

Costal was about to resume his invocations; when, with his eyes still
turned towards the point where the horsemen had left the shore of the
lake, he beheld an apparition that caused even his intrepid heart to
tremble.  By the thicket of reeds, and close to the water's edge, a
white form appeared suddenly, as if it had risen out of the lake.  It
was the same which had been seen by Don Cornelio from his perch upon the
tree.

It was not fear that caused the Zapoteque to tremble.  It was an emotion
of exulting triumph.

"The time is come at last!" cried he, seizing the arm of his companion.
"The glory of the Caciques of Tehuantepec is now to be restored.  Look
yonder!"

And as he spoke he pointed to the form, which, in the clear moonlight,
could be distinguished as that of a woman, dressed in a robe as white as
the _floripondio_, with long dark tresses floating over her shoulders
like the mantilla of some grand senora.

"It is Matlacuezc," muttered the negro, in a low, anxious tone, and
scarce able to conceal the terror with which the apparition had inspired
him.

"Beyond doubt," hurriedly replied Costal, gliding down towards the
water, followed by the negro.

On arriving at the beach, both plunged into the lake, and commenced
swimming back towards the shore.  Although the white form was no longer
visible to them from their low position in the water, Don Cornelio could
still see it glancing through the green stems of the reeds, but no
longer in motion.

Costal had taken the bearings of the place before committing himself to
the water; and, swimming with vigorous stroke, he soon reached the shore
several lengths in advance of his companion.

Don Cornelio could see both of the adventurers as they swam back, and
perceived, moreover, that the white form had been seen by them, and it
was towards this object that Costal was steering his course.  He saw the
Indian approach close to it; and was filled with surprise at beholding
him stretch forth his arms, as if to grasp the goddess of the waters,
when all at once a loud voice sounded in his ears, crying out the
words--

"Death to the murderer of Gaspacho!"

Along with the voice a light suddenly flashed up among the bushes, and
the report of a carbine reverberated along the shores of the lake.

Costal and Clara were both seen to dive at the shot; and for a time Don
Cornelio could not see either of them.

The white form had also sunk out of sight, but near the spot which it
had occupied, the long reeds were seen to shake in a confused manner, as
if some one was struggling in their midst.

Don Cornelio could hear their stems crackle with the motion; and he
fancied that a low cry of agony proceeded from the spot; but the moment
after all was silent; and the lake lay glistening under the pale silvery
moonbeam, with nothing visible in its waters, or upon its shores, to
break the tranquil stillness of its repose.



CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN.

THE PURSUIT.

Only for a very short interval did the shores of the lake Ostuta
preserve their tranquil silence.  In a few moments after the white robe
had disappeared from the eyes of Don Cornelio, he saw Costal and Clara
rise to the surface of the water, and make their way rapidly through the
reeds in the direction of the bank.  Presently both appeared on dry land
at less than a hundred yards distance from where he was perched.

The tragedy of real life which he was now witnessing, had so suddenly
mingled its scenes with the fancies that had just passed through his
mind, that for an instant his thoughts were thrown into confusion, and
he could scarcely distinguish the true from the fantastic.  Though he
saw that his faithful followers were still alive and well, the words he
had heard, and the shot that succeeded them, told him that they were in
danger.  That could be no fancy; and its reality was further confirmed
on his perceiving two men, sabre in hand, rush forth out of the bushes
and make after Costal and Clara, with threatening cries and gestures.

The latter ran towards their horses.  The sight of his two followers in
flight, completely restored Don Cornelio's senses; and almost
mechanically he caught hold of his carbine, which he had by his side.

Resting the barrel over a fork of the branches, he sighted one of the
pursuers, and fired.  At the report a bandit fell forward on his face,
who, after sprawling a while upon the ground, lay motionless.  The other
halted and bent over his comrade to see if he was dead.

The delay caused by this unexpected interruption of the pursuit enabled
the Indian and negro to reach their horses, and both, naked as they
were, their skins glistening with the water of the lake, at once leaped
into their saddles, wheeled their horses round, and galloped back
towards the pursuers.

It was now Costal's turn to pursue.

The bandit who still kept his feet had stopped only a moment over his
fallen companion: but that moment proved fatal to him.  Before he could
reach his own horse--which, in order to effect his ambuscade, he had
left behind him in the woods--the avenging Zapoteque was upon him, who,
galloping over, trampled him under his horse's hoofs, and then riding
back, ran his long rapier through the prostrate body without dismounting
from his saddle.

Meanwhile Don Cornelio had made all haste to descend from the tree; and
hurrying forward called his followers by name.

"Ah!  Senor Capitan," cried Costal, seeing him advance, "I am glad you
are still on your feet.  Seeing your horse along with ours I had fears
that some misfortune had happened to you.  Quick!" continued he,
addressing himself to Clara, and leaping out of the saddle, "we must
back to the lake at once, else Matlacuezc--.  Senor Don Cornelio, you
will be good enough to wait for us here.  We have important matters on
hand, and need to be alone."

At this moment, however, a new incident arose to interrupt the designs
of Costal.  Five horsemen, and a _litera_ carried by mules, appeared
suddenly in the open ground by the edge of the wood.  It was Don Mariano
with his domestics.

Having heard Don Cornelio pronounce the well-known names of two of his
old servitors, the haciendado had advanced in the direction whence the
voice proceeded, full of hope in this unexpected succour which heaven
seemed to have sent to him.  He had seen the party of brigands as they
rode past with the torches; and his people had easily recognised their
old fellow-servants, Arroyo and Bocardo.  It was a relief to know that
two more faithful than they--Costal and Clara--were in the same
neighbourhood.  He advanced, therefore, calling them by name, while he
also pronounced the name of Lantejas--asking if it were the Don Cornelio
Lantejas who had once been his guest at the hacienda of Las Palmas.

"Yes; certainly I am the same," replied the Captain, agreeably surprised
at thus finding himself among friends in a place which, up to that
moment, had appeared to him so melancholy and desolate.

Before any conversation could take place between Don Cornelio and his
former host, an incident of a still more thrilling character was to be
enacted on the scene.  From behind the belt of the cedrela forest--into
which Arroyo and his followers had ridden but a few minutes before--six
horsemen were seen debouching at full gallop, as if riding for their
lives; while close upon their heels came six others, who appeared
straining after them in eager pursuit!

For a moment the six in front seemed to waver in their course--as if
undecided as to what direction they should take.  Only for a moment,
however, and then heading their horses along the shore of the lake, they
pressed on in wildest flight.  Galloping at such a rapid pace they
appeared not to see either the party of Don Mariano or Don Cornelio and
his two followers--who on their part had scarce time to draw back into
the bushes, ere the horsemen went sweeping past the spot like a cloud of
dust.

Despite the rapidity of their course, however, the keen eye of Costal
enabled him to distinguish among the horsemen two of his old
fellow-servants of Las Palmas--Arroyo and Bocardo.

"We are on dangerous ground here, comrade," said he in a whisper to
Clara.  "It is Arroyo and Bocardo, pursued, no doubt, by the royalists.
Whichever wins it is no good for us."

He had scarce finished his speech, when the six horsemen in pursuit
passed the group, going at a pace not less rapid and furious than the
others.  One of the pursuers, of commanding figure, was several lengths
ahead of the other five.  Bent down almost to the level of his horse's
neck, he appeared to be straining every muscle in the pursuit; and
although his horse seemed rather to fly than gallop, the rider still
kept urging him with the spur.

Clutching convulsively his broad-brimmed sombrero--which the rapid
course had lifted from his head--he crushed it down over his brows in
such a manner that his face was almost hidden by it.  His horse at the
same instant, whether frightened by the _litera_ of Gertrudis, or by
some other object, shied suddenly to one side--as he did so giving
utterance to a strange snorting sound, which was responded to by a
feeble cry from behind the curtains of the _litera_.

The cry was not heard by the horseman, who, absorbed with the pursuit of
his enemy, passed on without turning his head.

Gertrudis was not the only one who trembled with emotion on recognising
the snort of the steed.  It brought vividly to the remembrance of
Captain Lantejas the chase he had sustained on the plain of Huajapam--
just before the powerful arm of Colonel Tres-Villas had lifted him out
of his stirrups.

Neither could Don Mariano fail to recognise the peculiarity of a steed
that he had so long kept in his stables; and as for the rider, the
figure appeared to answer for that of Don Rafael.  Could it indeed be he
whom they believed to be at the siege of Huajapam?  Don Mariano could
scarce doubt that it was Colonel Tres-Villas who had ridden past.

"By all the devils in hell!" cried Costal, swearing like a pagan, as he
was; "what has set the world mad on this particular night?  What sends
everybody this way, to interrupt the worshippers of the great Tlaloc?"

"True, it is damnably vexatious," rejoined Clara, who was equally
chagrined at this sudden and unexpected intrusion, upon what he regarded
as the only chance they might ever have of an interview with the
gold-finding goddess.

Putting off their invocations to a more favourable opportunity, both
Indian and negro now hastened away to dress and arm themselves, in order
that they might be in readiness for any untoward event; while Don
Cornelio stayed beside the haciendado and his party.

As yet uncertain how to act, Don Mariano thought it better to remain
where he was, and await the result of an action which he could not
regard otherwise than with anxiety.  It is needless to say that the
occupant of the _litera_ listened with still more vivid emotion, mingled
with deep apprehension, to the sounds that rung back along the shores of
the lake.

The chase was soon too distant to be witnessed by the eye, but upon the
still night air could be heard confused cries of terror and vengeance--
which indicated to all that the pursuers were closing rapidly upon the
pursued.



CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT.

VENGEANCE FORBORNE.

By a lucky accident Don Rafael, after leaving the hacienda of San
Carlos, had ascertained that the bandit chieftains were no longer within
its walls.  He had also learnt the object that had carried them out--the
same which was influencing himself, only from a far different motive.  A
renegade guerillero had made known to him the intentions of Arroyo in
regard to Dona Marianita; and it is needless to say that the noble
spirit of Don Rafael was, on hearing this report, only the more
stimulated to overtake and destroy the bandit chieftain.

Guided by numerous signs--which the bandits, unsuspicious of being
pursued, had left along their track--Don Rafael and his party found no
difficulty in following them, almost at full speed.  In less than an
hour after leaving the hacienda, they had arrived within sight of Arroyo
and his followers--still continuing the search for Dona Marianita, along
the borders of the lake.  The impetuosity of Don Rafael's vengeance had
hindered him from using caution in his approach--else he might at once
have come hand to hand with the detested enemy.  As it was, he had
advanced towards them into the open ground; and going at full gallop,
under the clear moonlight, his party had been discovered by the bandits
long before they could get within shot range.  Arroyo, from whose
thoughts the terrible Colonel was never for a moment absent, at once
recognised him at the head of the approaching troop, and, giving the
alarm to Bocardo--who equally dreaded an encounter with Don Rafael--the
two brigands put spurs to their horses and rode off in dastardly flight.
Of course they were followed by their four comrades, who, recalling the
fate of Panchita Jolas, had no desire to risk the reception of a similar
treatment.

The sight of that hated enemy--for whom Don Rafael had so long
fruitlessly searched--stirred within him all the angry energies of his
nature, and, involuntarily uttering a wild cry, he charged forward in
pursuit.

At each moment the space between pursuers and pursued appeared to be
diminishing, and Arroyo--notwithstanding a certain brute courage which
he possessed while combating with other enemies--now felt his heart
beating convulsively against his ribs as he perceived the probability of
being overtaken by his dreaded pursuer.

For a moment there appeared a chance of his being able to save himself.
The troopers of Don Rafael, not so well mounted as their chief, had
fallen behind him several lengths of his horse; and had Arroyo at this
moment faced about with his followers, they might have surrounded the
Colonel, and attacked him all at once.

Arroyo even saw the opportunity; but terror had chased away his habitual
presence of mind; and he permitted this last chance to escape him.  He
was influenced, perhaps, by his knowledge of the terrible prowess of his
enemy; and despaired of being able to crush him in so short a time as
would pass before his troopers could come up to his assistance.

The pursued party had now reached the eastern extremity of the lake.
Before them stretched a vast plain, entirely destitute of timber or
other covering.  Only to the left appeared the outlines of a tract of
chapparal, or low forest.

The bandits, on looking forward, saw at a glance that the open ground
would give them no advantage.  Their horses might be swifter than those
of their pursuers, but this was doubtful; and from the snorting heard at
intervals behind them, they knew that one at least was capable of
overtaking them.  The bright moonlight enabled the pursuers to keep them
in view--almost as if it had been noonday; and on the broad, treeless
savanna, no hiding-place could be found.  Their only hope then lay in
being able to reach the timber, and finding concealment within the
depths of the forest jungle.

To accomplish this, however, it would be necessary for them to swerve to
the left, which would give the pursuers an advantage; but there was no
help for it, and Arroyo--whom fear had now rendered irresolute--rather
mechanically than otherwise, turned towards the left, and headed for the
chapparal.

Despite the fiery passions that agitated him, Don Rafael still preserved
his presence of mind.  Watching with keen glance every gesture of the
bandits, he had anticipated this movement on their parts; and, even
before they had obliqued to the left, he had himself forged farther out
into the plain, with a view of cutting them off from the woods.  On
perceiving them change the direction of their flight, he had also
swerved to the left; and was now riding in a parallel line, almost head
for head with Arroyo and Bocardo; while the shadow of himself and his
horse, far projected by the declining moon, fell ominously across their
track.

In a few seconds more the snorting steed was in the advance, and his
shadow fell in front of Arroyo.  A sudden turn to the right brought
Roncador within a spear's length of the bandit's horse, and the pursuit
was at an end.

"_Carajo_!" cried Arroyo, with a fierce emphasis, at the same time
discharging his pistol at the approaching pursuer.

But the bullet, ill-aimed, passed the head of Don Rafael without
hitting; and the instant after, his horse, going at full speed, was
projected impetuously against the flanks of that of the bandit, bringing
both horse and rider to the ground.

Bocardo, unable to restrain his animal, was carried forward against his
will; and now became between Don Rafael and his prostrate foe.

"Out of the way, vile wretch!" exclaimed Don Rafael, while with one blow
of his sabre hilt, he knocked Bocardo from his saddle.

Arroyo, chilled with terror, and rendered almost senseless by the fall,
his spurs holding him fast to the saddle, vainly struggled to regain his
feet.  Before he could free himself from his struggling horse, the
troopers of Don Rafael had ridden up, and with drawn sabres halted over
him; while his four followers, no longer regarded, continued their wild
flight towards the chapparal.

Don Rafael now dismounted, and with his dagger held between his teeth,
seized in both his hands the wrists of the bandit.  In vain Arroyo
struggled to free himself from that iron grasp; and in another moment he
lay upon his back, the knee of Don Rafael pressing upon his breast--
heavy as a rock that might have fallen from Monopostiac.  The bandit,
with his arms drawn crosswise, saw that resistance was vain; and
yielding himself to despair he lay motionless--rage and fear strangely
mingling in the expression of his features.

"Here!" cried Don Rafael, "some one tie this wretch!"

In the twinkling of an eye, one of the troopers wound his lazo eight or
ten times around the arms and legs of the prostrate guerillero, and
firmly bound them together.

"Now, then!" continued Don Rafael, "let him be attached to the tail of
my horse!"

Notwithstanding the terrible acts of retaliation, which the royalist
soldiers were accustomed to witness, after each victory on one side or
the other, this order was executed in the midst of the most profound
silence.  They knew the fearful nature of the punishment about to be
inflicted.

In a few seconds' time the end of the lazo, which bound the limbs of the
brigand, was tightly looped around the tail of the horse; and Don Rafael
had leaped back into his saddle.

Before using the spur, he cast behind him one last look of hatred upon
the murderer of his father; while a smile of contempt upon his lips was
the only reply which he vouchsafed to the assassin's appeal for mercy.

"Craven! you need not ask for life!" he said, after a time.  "Antonio
Valdez met his death in the same fashion, like yourself meanly begging
for mercy.  You shall do as he did.  I promised it when I met you at the
hacienda Las Palmas, and I shall now keep my word."

As Don Rafael finished speaking, his spurs were heard striking against
the flanks of his horse, that, apparently dismayed at the awful purpose
for which he was to be used, reared violently upon his hind legs, and
refused to advance!  At the same instant the bandit uttered a wild cry
of agony, which resounded far over the lake, till it rang in echoes from
the sides of the enchanted mountain.  Like an echo, too, came the
strange snorting from the nostrils of Roncador, who, at a second
pricking of the spur, made one vast bound forward, and then suddenly
stopped trembling and affrighted.  The body of the bandit, suddenly
jerked forward, had fallen back heavily to the earth, while groans of
agony escaped from his quivering lips.

Just at this moment--this fearful crisis for the guerilla leader--two
men were seen running towards the spot, and with all the speed that
their legs were capable of making.  It was evident that they were in
search of Don Rafael with some message of great importance.

"A word with you, Colonel, in the name of God!" cried one of them, as
soon as they were near enough to be heard.  "For Heaven's sake do not
ride off till we have spoken to you.  My companion and I have had the
worst of luck in trying to find you."

The man who spoke, and who had exhausted his last breath in the words,
was no other than the veritable Juan el Zapote, while his companion was
the honest Gaspar.

"Who are these men?" indignantly inquired Don Rafael.  "Ah! it is you,
my brave fellows?" continued he, softening down, as he recognised the
two adventurers whom he had met in the forest, and whose advice had
proved so advantageous to him.  "What do you want with me?  You see I am
engaged at present, and have no time to attend to you?"

"True!" replied Juan el Zapote.  "We see your honour is occupied; and
that we have arrived at an inconvenient time!  Ah! it is the Senor
Arroyo with whom you are engaged!  But your honour must know that we
have a message for you, and have been running after you for twenty-four
hours, without being able to deliver it.  It is one of life and death."

"Mercy! mercy!" shrieked Arroyo, in a tone of piteous appeal.

"Hold your tongue, you stupid!" cried Juan el Zapote, reproachfully
addressing his former chief.  "Don't you see that the Colonel has
business with us?  You are hindering him from attending to it."

"A message of life and death!" repeated Don Rafael, his heart suddenly
bounding with a triumphant hope.  "From whom do you come?"

"Will your honour direct your people to step aside?" whispered Zapote.
"It is a confidential mission with which we are charged--a love
message," added he, in a still lower tone.

By a commanding gesture of the Colonel--for the communications of Zapote
had deprived him of the power of speech--the troopers moved off to one
side, and he was left alone with the messengers--to whom he now bent
downwards from his saddle, in order that their words might not be heard.

What they said to him need not be repeated: enough to know that when
their message was finally delivered it appeared to produce a magical
effect upon the Colonel, who was heard to give utterance to a stifled
cry of joy.

Holding by one hand the withers of his horse--which he appeared to need
as a support to hinder him from falling out of his saddle--with the
other he was observed to conceal something in the breast of his coat,
apparently a packet which the messengers had handed to him.  They, in
their turn, were seen to bound joyfully over the ground at some word
which Don Rafael had spoken to them, and which seemed to have produced
on Zapote an effect resembling the dance of Saint Vitus.

In another moment the Colonel drew his dagger from its sheath, and
called out in a voice loud enough to be heard by all:--"God does not
will that this man should die.  He has sent these men as the saviours of
his life.  I acknowledge the hand of God!"

And forgetting that he held in his power his most mortal foe, the
murderer of his father--forgetting his oath, no more to be remembered
amidst the delicious emotions that filled his heart--remembering only
the promise of mercy he had made to Gertrudis, herself--he leant back
over the croup of his saddle, and cut the lazo by which the brigand was
attached to the tail of his horse.

Disdaining to listen to the outpouring of thanks which the craven wretch
now lavished upon him, he turned once more towards the messengers.

"Where is she who sent you?" inquired he in a low voice.

"There!" answered Zapote, pointing to a group of horsemen who at that
moment were seen advancing along the shore as the escort to a _litera_
which appeared in their midst.

Roncador, freed from the human body, which attached to his tail had so
frightened him, no longer refused to obey the spur; and in another
moment he was bounding in the direction where the curtains of the
_litera_ of Gertrudis were seen undulating under the last rays of the
waning moon.



CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE.

A BRACE OF CRAFTY COURIERS.

It is necessary to explain the cause of Don Mariano's advance towards
the spot.

From the place in which he and his party had taken their stand, they
could witness most part of the pursuit, as well as the events that
followed it; but so confusedly, that it was impossible to tell by the
eye who were the victors, and who the vanquished.  The ear gave them a
better clue as to how the strife was turning; for the chase had not been
carried on in silence.

So long as the shores of the lake at that especial point were cleared of
people, it mattered little to Costal and Clara who should have the
advantage.  With Don Mariano the case was difficult.

Convinced by what he had seen, that the leader of the sanguinary pursuit
could be no other than the Colonel Tres-Villas, whose life was now
almost as precious to him as that of his own daughter--since hers
depended upon it--he stood for a while absorbed in the most painful
uncertainty.  From the commencement of the drama he had, in fact,
preserved a solemn silence--feeling that words could in no way relieve
the anxiety of Gertrudis.

A vivid sentiment of curiosity had equally kept in silence Don Cornelio
and his two followers, who at some paces from the _litera_ stood
listening.

Don Mariano was still ignorant of the fact that the hacienda of San
Carlos had been captured and pillaged by the band of Arroyo.  Had he
known of this, and other events of a yet more horrid nature, his soul
might have been harrowed by a far more agonising emotion than that of
mere uncertainty; and perhaps he might have become an actor instead of
spectator in the strife that was accruing.

As for Dona Gertrudis, she had easily distinguished that strange sound
that issued from the nostrils of the well-known steed; and with her ear
eagerly bent, she listened with mortal anguish to every breath that was
borne back from the scene of the struggle.

Costal, who was impatient to return with Clara towards the spot where he
had been so near capturing the white-robed Matlacuezc, was the first to
break the prolonged silence.

"Whatever may be the result," said he, in hopes of inducing Don Mariano
and his party to move away from the place, "the path is now clear for
you, Senor Don Mariano.  If it is to the hacienda of Las Palmas you are
going, you will find the road both open and safe."

"We are not going to Las Palmas," answered Don Mariano, with an air of
abstraction, at the same time advancing a few paces in order to have a
better view of what was passing.

"If I were in your place," persisted Costal, in a significant tone, "I
should go there.  It is the safest route you can take, and let me assure
you the moments are precious--_Carrambo_!" continued he, in an angry
tone, and suddenly facing round, as the crackling of branches announced
that some one was passing near through the thicket.  "By all the
serpents in the hair of Tlaloc, there are some more people in the woods.
In the name of--"

The invoked deity was not mentioned, as just at that moment voices were
heard where the bushes were in motion, and Costal interrupted his speech
to listen.  The words were--

"This way, _compadre_--this way!  I hear over yonder the voice of the
man we are in search of.  Listen! that's the Colonel's voice to a
certainty.  Quick, by all the devils!  Let us run at full speed, or we
shall miss him, again."

The voice of this speaker was not known to any of those who had heard
it, and he who was addressed as "_compadre_" appeared not to have made
any reply.  But the sound of their footsteps, and the swish of the
recoiling branches, each moment became more indistinct, till at length
the noises were lost in the distance.

It is scarcely necessary to say that the two men, who had thus passed so
near, were the messengers so often disappointed, Gaspar and Juan el
Zapote.  As already known, they had been to the hacienda San Carlos,
where they had learnt the direction taken by Don Rafael on leaving it.
They had followed his tracks, which to Juan el Zapote, a skilled
_rastreador_, was easy enough--especially in such a moonlight.  They had
even recognised Don Mariano and his party, on coming near the spot where
the haciendado had halted; and for a moment Gaspar hesitated about going
up to the group and reporting himself to his master, as he ought to have
done.

From the performance of his duty he was dissuaded by his astute
associate, who represented to him, that, in case of his reporting
himself, Don Mariano might countermand the message he had sent to the
Colonel, now that the latter was known to be on the ground.  He might
prefer delivering the precious talisman in _propria persona_, and then
where would be the bounty they had long expected, and for which they had
more than once risked their necks?

These arguments prevailed even with the honest Gaspar; and to such an
extent, that from this very motive he had declined to answer the
speeches of Zapote, lest his voice might be recognised by Don Mariano,
or some of his fellow-servants!  Cautiously did the two make a detour
through the trees, and so rapidly, that no one was likely to be able to
intercept them, before they could reach the place to which the voice of
the Colonel was guiding them.

As soon as the men had passed out of hearing, Costal and Clara, who saw
that Don Mariano showed no sign of following their advice, exchanged
glances of vexatious disappointment.  The haciendado still kept his
ground; and with his ear catching every sound, was vainly endeavouring
to obtain a solution to the painful uncertainty that surrounded him.

The moon, about to sink behind the summit of the enchanted hill, cast
oblique rays along the level shore of the lake.  There he could make out
a confused group of men and horses, some of the former dismounted and
flinging long shadows over the plain.  What was passing in the middle of
this group?  Some terrible scene, no doubt, was there being enacted--to
judge from the hurried movements of the men, and the angry intonation of
their voices.

At that moment a frightful cry rose upon the air, and, borne upon the
still breeze, was distinctly heard by Don Mariano and the people around
him.  It was the agonised cry of a wretch begging for mercy.  The voice
even could be distinguished by Don Mariano, by Costal, by Clara, and the
domestics.  All knew it was the voice of Arroyo.

The cry was significant.  Beyond doubt Don Rafael was the victor, and
was now executing upon the murderer of his father the act of merciless
justice he had promised before the walls of Las Palmas.

Don Mariano hesitated no longer; but, giving the order to his
attendants, advanced towards the scene of vengeance.



CHAPTER EIGHTY.

MATLACUEZC A MORTAL.

The shores of the Lake Ostuta, hitherto so solitary and silent, appeared
upon this night to have become a general rendezvous for all the world.
The _litera_ of Gertrudis had scarce moved from the spot which Don
Mariano had chosen for his bivouac, when another _litera_ was seen
entering the glade, and moving onward through it.  This, however, was
borne by men, and preceded by some half-dozen Indian peons with blazing
torches of _ocote_ wood carried in their hands.

On reaching the shore of the lake, the second _litera_ with its escort
made halt, while the Indians bearing the torches commenced searching for
something among the reeds.

Costal and Clara, instead of accompanying the party of Don Mariano, had
remained upon the ground, in hopes that they would now be left free to
continue their pagan incantations, and once more behold the Syren of the
dishevelled hair.  Don Cornelio also lingered behind, not caring just
then to encounter the victorious royalists.

As soon as Costal perceived the approach of this new party--once more
interrupting his designs--his fury became uncontrollable; and, making
towards it on horseback, he snatched a torch from the hands of one of
the Indians who were in advance, and then rode straight up to the
_litera_.  The apparition of a gaunt horseman with a torch in one hand,
and a bloody sword in the other, his countenance expressing extreme
rage, produced an instantaneous effect on the bearers of the _litera_.
Without waiting to exchange a word, they dropped their burden to the
ground, and ran back into the woods as fast as their legs could carry
them.

A stifled cry came from the interior of the _litera_; while Don
Cornelio, who had followed Costal, hastened to open the curtains.  By
the light of the torch which the Zapoteque still carried, they now saw
stretched inside the body of a man, with a face wan, pallid, and stained
with blood.  Don Cornelio at once recognised the young Spaniard--the
proprietor of the hacienda San Carlos--the victim of Arroyo's ferocity,
and of the cupidity of his associate.

The dying man, on seeing Costal, cried out--

"Oh! do not harm me--I have not long to live."

Lantejas made signs for this Zapoteque to step aside; and bending over
the _litera_, with kind and affectionate speeches endeavoured to calm
the apprehensions of the unfortunate sufferer.

"Thanks! thanks!" murmured the latter, turning to Don Cornelio with a
look of gratitude.  "Ah, Senor!" continued he, in a supplicating tone,
"perhaps you can tell me--have you seen anything of her?"

The interrogatory caused a new light to break upon him to whom it was
addressed.  He at once remembered the phantom which he had seen while
approaching the hacienda; the white form that had vanished into the
woods, and again the same apparition just seen among the reeds.  Both,
no doubt, were one and the same unfortunate creature.  Twice, then, had
he seen living, one whom the young Spaniard was never likely to see
again, except as a corpse.

"I have seen no one," replied Don Cornelio, hesitating in his speech,
and unwilling to make known his dread suspicions, "no one, except two
brigands, who had hidden themselves in the thicket, and who are now--"

"Oh!  Senor, for the love of God, search for her!  She cannot be far
from this place.  I am speaking of my wife.  We have found just now her
silk scarf, and not far off this slipper.  Both I know to be hers.  She
must have dropped, them in her flight.  Oh! if I could only once more
see her--embrace her--before I die!"

And so speaking the young man bent a look of suppliant anguish upon Don
Cornelio, while exhibiting the two objects which his attendants had
found upon the path, and which had served to guide them in their search.

Don Cornelio, unable longer to endure the painful interview, allowed the
curtains of the _litera_ to close over the wretched husband; and,
stepping aside, rejoined the Zapoteque--who was still giving vent to his
anger in strong and emphatic phraseology.

"Costal," said the Captain, "I fear very much that the wife of this
young Spaniard is no longer alive.  I saw a woman robed in white down
there among the reeds, just as the brigand fired his carbine; and from
what I saw afterwards, I am afraid that she must have been hit by the
bullet.  Surely it must have been her that they are now searching for."

"You are a fool!" cried Costal, in his ill-humour forgetting the respect
due to his superior.  "The woman you saw in white robes was no other
than Matlacuezc, and I should have had her in my arms in another second
of time but for that accursed coyote, who, by firing his carbine, caused
her suddenly to disappear.  Well! he has paid for his indiscretion:
that's some comfort, but, for all that--"

"It is you who are a fool, you miserable heathen," said Don Cornelio,
interrupting Costal in his turn.  "The poor creature, who has no doubt
been struck with the bullet, is no other than the wife of this young
Spaniard!  Do you hear that?"

This last interrogatory had relation to a cry that came up from the
reeds, where the Indians with their torches were still continuing their
search.

"Look yonder!" continued Don Cornelio, pointing to them, "they have
stopped over the very spot, and that wail--that is significant."

As Don Cornelio spoke a chorus of lamentations came back upon the
breeze, uttered by the Indian searchers.  It was heard by the dying man
in his _litera_, and apprised him of that which Don Cornelio would
otherwise have attempted to conceal from him.  It was now too late,
however, and the Captain ran towards the _litera_, in hopes of offering
some words of consolation.

"Dead! dead!" cried the young Spaniard, wringing his hands in mortal
anguish.  "Oh God! she is dead!"

"Let us hope not," faltered Don Cornelio; "these people may be
mistaken."

"Oh! no, no! she is dead!  I knew it; I had a presentiment of it!  O
merciful Saviour! dead, my Marianita dead!"

After a moment, becoming more calm, the dying man continued:--

"What better fate could I have wished for her?  She has escaped
dishonour at the hands of these pitiless brigands, and I am about to die
myself.  Yes, friend! death is now sweeter to me than life: for it will
bring me to her whom I love more than myself."

And like those who, calmly dying, arrange everything as if for some
ordinary ceremonial, the young man laid his head upon the pillow; and
then stretching out his hands, composed the coverlet around him--leaving
it open at one side, as if for the funereal couch of her whom he would
never see more.

Don Cornelio, turning away from the painful spectacle, advanced towards
the lake, making signs for Costal to follow him.

"Come this way," he said, "and you shall see how much truth there is in
your pagan superstitions."

Costal made no objection: for he had already begun to mistrust the
evidence of his own senses; and both proceeded together towards the spot
where the torch-bearers had halted.

A white robe, torn by the thorns of the thicket, stained with blood, and
bedraggled by the greenish scum of the water, enveloped the lifeless
form of the young wife, whom the Indians had already deposited upon a
couch of reeds.  Some green leaves that hung over her head appeared to
compose her last _parure_.

"She is beautiful as the Syren of the dishevelled hair," said Costal, as
he stood gazing upon the prostrate form, "beautiful as Matlacuezc!  Poor
Don Mariano!" continued he, recognising the daughter of his old master,
"he is far from suspecting that he has now only one child!"

Saying this the Indian walked away from the spot, his head drooping
forward over his breast, and apparently absorbed in painful meditation.

"Well," said Don Cornelio, who had followed him, "do you still believe
that you saw the spouse of your god Tlaloc?"

"I believe what my fathers have taught me to believe," replied Costal,
in a tone of discouragement.  "I believe that the descendant of the
Caciques of Tehuantepec is not destined to restore the ancient glories
of his race.  Tlaloc, who dwells here, has forbidden it."

And saying this the Zapoteque relapsed into silence, and walked on with
an air of gloomy abstraction that seemed to forbid all further
conversation on the subject of his mythological creed.



CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE.

TWO HAPPY HEARTS.

We have arrived at the final scene of our drama.  The shores of the Lake
Ostuta, which in so short a space of time had witnessed so many stirring
events, are once more to relapse into their gloomy and mournful silence.

Already Don Cornelio and his two companions have disappeared from the
spot, and taken the road for Oajaca.

The funeral cortege is moving off towards the hacienda of San Carlos--
the Indians who carry the bier marching in solemn silence.  On that bier
two corpses are laid side by side--the Spaniard Don Fernando de Lacarra
by the side of his youthful wife.

Don Mariano, accompanied by his attendants--to whom have been added
Caspar and Zapote--follows at a short distance; and still further
behind, the troopers of Don Rafael form a rearguard closing up the
procession.  The most profound and solemn silence is observed by all: as
if all were alike absorbed by one common sorrow.

This, however, is only apparent; for there are two individuals in that
procession whose hearts are not a prey to grief.  On the contrary, both
are at this moment in the enjoyment of the most perfect felicity which
it is permitted for mortals to experience upon earth.  Both are now
assured of a mutual love, tried by long tortures, and scarce too dearly
bought, since the past anguish has resulted in such delicious ecstasy.

At nearly equal distances from the escort of Don Mariano and the
troopers forming the rearguard, these two personages appear: one borne
in her _litera_, the other mounted upon horseback, and riding alongside.
It need not be told who is the occupant of the _litera_, nor who the
tall horseman who, bending down from his saddle, whispers so softly and
gently, that no one may hear his words, save her for whom they are
intended.

Absorbed with this interchange of exquisite emotions, both are still
strangers to the sad event that has occurred within the hour.  Don
Mariano, devouring his grief in silence, has left them ignorant of the
terrible misfortune.  God has been merciful to him in thus fortifying
his soul against sorrow at the loss of one child, by permitting him to
behold the unspeakable happiness of the other, who is thus preserved to
him as an angel of consolation.  He well knows the strong affection of
Gertrudis for her sister, and fearing in her feeble state to announce
the melancholy event, lest the shock would be too much for her, he has
carefully concealed the sad news, until some opportunity may arise of
preparing her to receive it.  A few hours of the happiness she is now
enjoying may strengthen her long-tortured spirit, and enable her to bear
up against this new and unexpected sorrow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Still riding by the side of the _litera_, his eyes fervently glancing
through the half-open curtains, his ear close to them lest he might lose
a single word that falls from the lips of Gertrudis, Don Rafael devours
the sweet speeches addressed to him, with the avidity of the thirsty
traveller who has reached the pure and limpid fountain, so eagerly
yearned for on his long and weary route.

As the moon is now low in the sky, and gleams with an uncertain light
through the curtains of the _litera_, Don Rafael can only trace
indistinctly the features of Gertrudis.  This half-obscurity, however,
favours the young girl, concealing at the same time her happiness and
confusion, both of which are betraying themselves in full blush upon her
cheeks, hitherto so wan and pale.

Impelled by the strength of her love, from time to time she casts a
furtive glance upon the face of her lover.  It is a glance of strange
significance; its object being to discover whether upon his features the
tortures of long absence have not also left their imprint.

But the passion which Don Rafael has suffered under, although as
incurable as her own, has left no other trace upon his countenance than
that of a profound melancholy, and at the moment, his heart filled with
exquisite happiness, all traces of this melancholy have disappeared.
Gertrudis only looks upon a countenance that shows not a souvenir of
suffering.

Don Rafael no longer doubts the love of Gertrudis.  She has given him
proofs no more to be questioned.  But of his?  What proof has he offered
in return?  Gertrudis cannot yet hinder herself from doubting!

The young girl endeavours to conceal the sigh which these thoughts have
summoned up, and though the moon is still bright enough for her to
perceive upon the countenance of Don Rafael an expression of the most
loyal love, she cannot rest satisfied.  Unable to restrain herself,
again and again she repeats the interrogatory, "Do you still love me,
Rafael?"  Again and again she receives the same affirmative answer
without being assured!

"Oh, it is too much happiness!" cries she, suddenly raising her head
from the pillow, "I cannot believe it, Rafael.  As for the sincerity of
my words, you could not doubt them.  The messenger has told you--
plainly, has he not?--that I could not live without you?  Then you came
to me--yes, you have come," continues she, with a sigh that betokens the
mingling of sorrow with her new-sprung joy; "but for all that, oh!
Rafael, what can you say to me that will convince me you still love me?"

"What shall I say?" rejoins Don Rafael, repeating her words.  "Only
this, Gertrudis.  I vowed to you that whenever I should receive this
sacred message," at this drawing the tress from his bosom, and pressing
it proudly to his lips, "I vowed that though my arm at the moment might
be raised to strike my deadliest enemy, it should fall without
inflicting the blow.  I have come, Gertrudis--I am here!"

"You are generous, Rafael.  I know that.  You swore it! and--oh! my God;
what do I hear?"

The interruption was caused by a wild cry that seemed to rise out of the
earth close to the path which the procession was following.  It seemed
like the voice of some one in pain, and calling for deliverance or
mercy.  Gertrudis trembled with affright as she nestled closer within
the curtains of the _litera_.

"Do not be alarmed," said Don Rafael; "it is nothing you need fear; only
the voice of the monster Arroyo praying to be set free.  He is lying
over yonder upon the sand, bound hand and foot.  He is still living; and
to you, Gertrudis, does he owe his life.  This assassin of my father--
whom for two years I have pursued in vain--but a moment ago was about to
receive death at my hands when your messenger arrived.  I hesitated not,
Gertrudis.  It was but too much happiness to keep my oath.  I cut the
cords that attached him to the tail of my horse--in order that I should
come to you the sooner."

Gertrudis, almost fainting, allowed her head to fall back upon the
pillow; and as Don Rafael, frightened at the effect of his
communication, bent closer to the _litera_, he heard murmured in a low
voice, the sweet words--

"Your hand, Rafael!  Oh! let me thank you for the happiness you have
given me, a happiness that no words can describe."

And Don Rafael, his frame quivering with exquisite emotion, felt the
soft pressure of her lips upon the hand which he had hastened to offer.

Then, as if abashed by this ardent avowal of her passion, the young girl
suddenly closed the curtains of the _litera_, to enjoy in secret, and
under the eye of God alone, that supreme felicity of knowing that she
was beloved as she herself loved--a felicity that had, as it were,
restored her life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like phantoms which have been called up by the imagination--like the
unreal shadows in a dream, which one after another vanish out of sight--
so the different personages in our drama, whose sufferings, whose loves,
and whose combats we have witnessed, are all gradually disappearing from
the scene where we have viewed them for the last time--Don Fernando and
Marianita on their funereal bier; Gertrudis, in her _litera_, restored
to new life; Don Rafael, Don Mariano, and his followers.

Don Cornelio, Costal, and Clara had already gone far from the spot; and
soon the last horseman of the Colonel's escort, forming the rearguard of
the procession, had filed through the belt of cedrela trees--leaving the
Lake Ostuta apparently as deserted as if human footsteps had never
strayed along its shores.

And yet this desertion was only apparent.  Upon the edge of the lake at
that point where the chase of the bandits had terminated, two human
bodies might, be seen lying along the ground.  One was dead; and the
other, though still living, was equally motionless.  The former was the
corpse of Bocardo, who in the _melee_ had been despatched by the
troopers of Don Rafael.  The living body was that of Arroyo, who, still
bound hand and foot with the lazo, was unable to stir from the spot.
There lay he with no one to pity--no one to lend a helping hand;
destined at no distant time to make a meal for the vultures, to perish
by the poignard of some royalist, or to excite the compassion of an
insurgent.

The moon had disappeared below the horizon, and the vitreous
transparence which her light had lent to the enchanted hill, giving it a
semblance of life, was no more to be observed.  The lake no longer
glittered under the silvery beam.  Both Ostuta and Monopostiac had
resumed the sombre aspect that usually distinguished them, with that
mournful tranquillity that habitually reigned over the spot--interrupted
only by the cry of the coyote, or the shrill maniac scream of the eagle
preparing to descend to the banquet of human flesh!

THE END.





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