Title: The Guerilla Chief - And other Tales
Author: Reid, Mayne, 1818-1883
Language: English
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The Guerilla Chief
And other Tales
By Mayne Reid
Published by George Routledge and Sons Ltd. London.
This edition dated 1884.

The Guerilla Chief, by Mayne Reid.

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THE GUERILLA CHIEF, BY MAYNE REID.

Story 1, Chapter I.

CERRO GORDO.

"_Agua! por amor Dios, agua--aguita_!"  (Water! for the love of God, a
little water!)

I heard these words, as I lay in my tent, on the field of Cerro Gordo.

It was the night after the battle bearing this name--fought between the
American and Mexican armies in the month of April, 1847.

The routed regiments of Santa Anna--saving some four thousand men
captured upon the ground--had sought safety in flight, the greater body
taking the main road to Jalapa, pursued by our victorious troops; while
a large number, having sprawled down the almost perpendicular cliff that
overhangs the "Rio del Plan" escaped, unperceived and unpursued, into
the wild chapparals that cover the _piedmont_ of Perote.

Among these last was the _lame_ tyrant himself, or rather should I say,
_at their head leading the retreat_.  This has always been his favourite
position at the close of a battle that has gone against him; and a score
of such defeats can be recorded.

I could have captured him on that day but for the cowardice of a colonel
who had command over me and mine.  I alone, of all the American army,
saw Santa Anna making his escape from the field, and in such a direction
that I could without difficulty have intercepted his retreat.  With the
strength of a corporal's guard, I could have taken both him and his
glittering staff; but even this number of men was denied me, and _nolens
volens_ was I constrained to forego the pleasure of taking prisoner this
truculent tyrant, and hanging him to the nearest tree, which, as God is
my judge, I should most certainly have done.  Through the imbecility of
my superior officer, I lost the chance of a triumph calculated to have
given me considerable fame; while Mexico missed finding an avenger.

Strictly speaking, I was not _in_ the engagement of Cerro Gordo.  My
orders on that day--or rather those of the spruce colonel who commanded
me--were to guard a battery of mountain howitzers, that had been dragged
to the top of the cliff overlooking El plan--not that already mentioned
as the field of battle, and which was occupied by the enemy, but the
equally precipitous height on the opposite side of the river.

From early daylight until the Mexicans gave way, we kept firing at them
across the stupendous chasm that lay between us, doing them no great
damage, unless they were frightened by the whizz of an occasional
rocket, which our artillerist, Ripley--now a second-rate Secesh
general--succeeded in sending into their midst.

As to ourselves and the battery, there was no more danger of either
being assaulted by the enemy than there was of our being whisked over
the cliff by the tail of a comet.  There was not a Mexican soldier on
our side of the _barranca_; and as to any of them crossing over to us,
they could only have performed the feat in a balloon, or by making a
circuitous march of nearly a dozen miles.

For all this security, our stick-to-the-text colonel held close to the
little battery of howitzers; and would not have moved ten paces from it
to have accomplished the capture of the whole Mexican army.

Perfectly satisfied, from the "lights with which we had been furnished,"
that there was no danger to our battery, and chafing at the ill-luck
that had placed me so far away from the ground where laurels were
growing, and where others were in the act of reaping them, I lost all
interest in Ripley and his popguns; and straying along the summit of the
cliff, I sat me down upon its edge.

A yucca stood stiffly out from the brow of the precipice.  It was the
tree-yucca, and a huge bole of bayonet-shaped leaves crowning its
corrugated trunk shaded a spot of grass-covered turf, on the very edge
of the escarpment.

Had I not scaled the Andes, I might have hesitated to trust myself under
the shadow of that tree.  But a cliff, however sheer and stupendous,
could no longer cause a whirl in my brain; and to escape from the rays
of a tropical sun, at that moment in mid-heaven, I crept forward, caught
hold of the stem of the yucca, lowered my extremities, all booted and
spurred as they were, over the angle of the porphrytic rock, took a
Havana out of my case, drew a fusee across the steel-filings, and,
hanging ignited the cigar, I commenced watching the deadly strife then
raging in full fury on the opposite side of the ravine.

The prudent _nawab_, who preferred looking at a tiger-hunt out of a
two-storey window, or the spectator of a bull-fight in the upper tier of
a "plaza de toros," could not have been safer than I, since, without
running the slightest risk, I had a "bird's-eye view" of the battle.

I could see the steady advance of Worth's division of regulars,
supported by the fiery squadrons of Harney's Horse; the brigade of
Twiggs--that hoary-headed sexagenarian _bavard_, since distinguished as
the "traitor of Texas;" the close-lined and magnificently-mounted troop
of dragoons with horses of light grey, led by Phil Kearney--Kearney, the
accomplished gentleman--the best cavalry officer America ever produced;
the dashing, daring Phil Kearney, who, under my own eyes, lost his right
arm in the _garita_ of San Antonio de Abad; the lamented Phil.  Kearney,
since become a victim to the accursed Secesh rebellion, or rather to the
mismanagement of that wooden-headed pretender whose stolid "strategy"
ignorance still continues to mistake for genius--McClellan.

I saw them, one and all, regulars and volunteers, horse and foot, move
at the "forward."  I saw them advance towards the hill "El Telegrafo."
I saw them mending their pace to the double-quick, and break into a run
at the "charge!"

I could hear the charging signal and the cheer that succeeded it.  I
could see the base of the hill suddenly empurpled with smoke--a belt of
conglomerate puffs rapidly merging into one another.  I could perceive
the opposing puffs upon the summit, growing thinner and thinner, as the
blue mantle below _caped_ gradually up towards the shoulder of the
"cerro."

Then the smoke upon the summit became dissolved into translucent vapour;
the tricoloured Mexican flag flickered for a moment longer through its
film, until, as if by some invisible hand, it was dragged down the
staff; while at the same instant the banner of the stars and stripes
swept out upon the breeze, announcing the termination of the battle of
Cerro Gordo.

Story 1, Chapter II.

THE ESCAPE OF EL COJO.

Despite the chagrin I felt at being literally _hors de combat_, I could
not at this moment avoid surrendering myself to a feeling of exultation.

Both my chagrin and exultation were suddenly checked.  A spectacle was
before my eyes that inspired me with a vivid hope--a dream of glory.

Like a string of white ants descending the side of one of their steepest
"hills," I perceived a long line moving down the face of the opposite
cliff.  In the distance--a mile or more--they looked no larger than
_termites_.  Like them, too, they were of whitish colour.  For all that,
I knew they were men--soldiers in the cheap cotton uniforms of the
Mexican infantry.

Without any strain upon my powers of ratiocination, I divined that they
were fugitives from the field above, who, in their panic, had retreated
over the precipice--anywhere that promised to separate them from their
victorious foemen.

The moving line was not straight up and down the cliff, but zigzagged
along its face.  I could tell there was a path.

At its lower end, and already down near the "plan" of the river (Plan
del Rio), I perceived a group of men, dressed in dark uniforms.  There
were points on the more sombre background of their vestments that kept
constantly scintillating in the sun.  These were gold or gilt buttons,
epaulettes, steel scabbards of sabres, or bands of lace.

It was easy to tell that the individuals thus adorned were officers,
notwithstanding the fact that, as officers, they were at the _wrong_ end
of the retreating line.

I carried a lorgnette, which I had already taken out of its case.  I
directed it towards the opposite side of the ravine, upon the dark head
of that huge caterpillar sinuously descending the cliff.

I could distinguish the individuals of this group.  One was receiving
attentions from the rest--even assistance.  The Mexican Caesar was
easily recognised.  His halting gait, as he descended the sloping path,
or swung himself from, ledge to ledge, betrayed the cork leg of _El
Cojo_.

A mule stood ready saddled at the bottom of the precipice.  I saw Santa
Anna descend and approach it.  I saw him, aided by others, mount in the
saddle.  I saw him ride off, followed by a disordered crowd of
frightened fugitives, who, on reaching the chapparal, took to their
heels with the instinct of _sauve qui peut_.

I looked up the valley of the river.  It was enclosed by precipitous
"bluffs," as far as the eye could reach; but on that side where we had
planted our battery--scarce a mile above our position--a line of black
heavy timber told me there was a lateral ravine leading outwards in the
direction of Orizava.  The retreating troops of Santa Anna must either
find exit by this ravine, keep on up the stream, or risk running back
into the teeth of their pursuers on the opposite side of the river.

I hurried back to the battery, and reported what I had seen.  I could
have made my colonel a general--a hero--had he been of the right stuff.

"'Tis an easy game, colonel; we have only to intercept them at the head
of yonder dark line of timber.  We can be there before them!"

"Nonsense, captain!  We have orders to guard this battery.  We must not
leave it."

"May I take my own men?"

"No! not a man must be taken away from the guns."

"Give me fifty!"

"I cannot spare them."

"Give me twenty; I shall bring Santa Anna back here in less than an
hour."

"Impossible!  There are thousands with him.  We shall be lucky if they
don't turn this way.  There are only three hundred of us, and there must
be over a thousand of them."

"You refuse to give me twenty men?"

"I can't spare a man.  We may need them all, and more."

"I shall go alone."

I was half mad.  The glory that might have been so easily won was placed
beyond my reach by this overcautious imbecile.

I was almost foolish enough to have flung myself over the cliff, or
rushed alone into the midst of the retreating foes.

I left the battery and walked slowly away out of sight of my superior.
I continued along the counterscarp of the cliff, until I had reached the
edge of the lateral ravine leading out from the river valley.  I
crouched behind the thick tussocks of the zamias.  I saw the retreating
tyrant, mounted on his mule, ride past, almost within range of my rifle
bullet!  I saw a thousand men crowding closely after, so utterly routed
and demoralised that nothing could have induced them to stand another
shot.  I was convinced that my original idea was in perfect
correspondence with the truth, and that with the help of a score of
determined men I could have made prisoners of the whole "ruck."

Instead of this triumph, my only achievement in the battle of Cerro
Gordo was to call my colonel a coward, for which I was afterwards
confined to close quarters, and only recovered the right to range abroad
on the eve of a subsequent battle, when it was thought that my sword
might be of more service than my condemnation by court-martial.

Of such a nature were my thoughts as I lay under canvas on the field of
Cerro Gordo on the night succeeding the battle.

"_Agua! por amor Dios, agua--aguita_!"

These words reaching my ear, and now a second time pronounced, broke in
upon the train of my reflections.

They were not the only sounds disturbing the tranquillity of that calm
tropic night.  From other parts of the field, though in a different
direction and more distant, I could hear many voices speaking in a
similar strain, in tones of agonised appeal, low mutterings, mingled
with moanings, where some mutilated foeman was struggling in the throes
of death, and vainly calling for help that came not.

On that night, from the field of Cerro Gordo, many a soul soared upward
to eternity--many a brave man went to sleep with unclosed eyes, a sleep
from which he was never more to awaken.

In what remained of twilight after my arrival on the ground, I had
visited all the wounded within the immediate vicinity of my post--all
that I could find--for the field of battle was in reality a wood, or
rather a thicket; and no doubt there were many who escaped my
observation.

I had done what little was in the power of myself and a score of
companions--soldiers of my corps--to alleviate the distress of the
sufferers: for, although they were our enemies, we had not the slightest
feeling of hostility towards them.  There had been such in the morning,
but it was gone ere the going down of the sun, leaving only compassion
in its place.

Yielding simply to the instincts of humanity, I had done my best in
binding up wounds, many of them that I knew to be mortal; and only when
worn out by fatigue, absolutely "done up," had I sought a tent, under
the shelter of which it was necessary I should pass the night.

It was after a long spell of sleep, extending into the mid-hours of the
night, that I was awakened from my slumbers, and gave way to the
reflections above detailed.  It was then that I heard that earnest call
for water; it was then I heard the more distant voices, and mingled with
them the howling bark of the coyote, and the far more terrible baying of
the large Mexican wolf.  In concert with such choristers, no wonder the
human voices were uttered in tones especially earnest and lugubrious.

"_Agua! par amor Dios, agua, aguita_!"

For the third time I listened to this piteous appeal.  It surprised me a
little.  I thought I had placed a vessel of water within the reach of
every one of the wounded wretches who lay near my tent.  Had this
individual been overlooked?

Perhaps he had drunk what had been left him, and thirsted for more!  In
any case, the earnest accents in which the solicitation was repeated,
told me that he was thirsting with a thirst that tortured him.

I waited for another, the fourth repetition of the melancholy cry.  Once
more I heard it.

This time I had listened with more attention.  I could perceive in the
pronunciation a certain provincialism, which proclaimed the speaker a
peasant, but one of a special class.  The _por amor Dios_, instead of
being drawled out in the whine of the regular alms-asker, was short and
slurred.  It fell upon the ear as if the _a_ in _amor_ was omitted, and
also the initial letter in _aguita_.  The phrase ran:--"_Agua! por 'mor
Dios, 'gua, aguita_!"

I recognised in those abbreviations the _patois_ of a peculiar people,
the denizens of the coast of Vera Cruz, and the _tierra caliente_--the
_Jarochos_.

The sufferer did not appear to be at any great distance from my tent--
perhaps a hundred paces, or two hundred at most.  I could no longer lend
a deaf ear to his outcries.

I started up from my _catre_--a camp-bedstead, which my tent contained--
groped, and found my canteen, not forgetting the brandy-flask, and,
sallying forth into the night, commenced making my way towards the spot
where I might expect to find the utterer of the earnest appeal.

Story 1, Chapter III.

THE MENACE OF A MONSTER.

The tent I was leaving stood in the centre of a circumscribed clearing.
Ten paces from its front commenced the _chapparal_--a thicket of thorny
shrubs, consisting of acacia, cactus, the agave, yuccas, and copaiva
trees, mingled and linked together by lianas and vines of smilax,
sarsaparilla, jalap, and the climbing bromelias.  There was no path save
that made by wild animals--the timid Mexican mazame and its pursuer, the
cunning coyote.

One of these paths I followed.

Its windings soon led me astray.  Though the moon was shining in a
cloudless sky, I was soon in such a maze that I could neither tell the
direction of the tent I had left behind, nor that of the sufferer I had
sallied out in search of.

In sight there was no object to guide me.  I paused in my steps, and
listened for a sound.

For some seconds there was a profound silence, unbroken even by the
groans of the wounded, some of whose voices were, perhaps, now silent in
death.  The wolves, too, had suspended their hideous howlings, as though
their quest for prey had ended, and they were busily banqueting on the
dead.

The stillness produced a painful effect, even more than the melancholy
sounds that had preceded it I almost longed for their renewal.

A short while only did this irksome silence continue.  It was terminated
by the voice I had before heard, this time in the utterance of a
different speech.

"_Soy moriendo!  Lola--Lolita! a ver te nunca mas en este mundo_!"  (I
am dying, Dolores--dear Dolores! never more shall I see you in this
world!)

"_Nunca mas en este mundo_!" came the words rapidly re-pronounced, but
in a voice of such different intonation as to preclude the possibility
of mistaking it either for an echo or repetition by the same speaker.

"No, never!" continued the second voice, in the same tone, and in a
similar _patois_.  "Never again shall you look upon Lola--you, Calros
Vergara, who have kept me from becoming her husband; who have poisoned
her mind against me--"

"Ah! it is you, Rayas!  What has brought you hither?  Is it to torture a
dying man?"

"_Carajo_!  I didn't come to do anything of the kind.  I came to assure
myself that you _were_ dying--that's all.  Vicente Vilagos, who has
escaped from this ugly affair, has just told me you'd got a bit of lead
through your body.  I've sought you here to make sure that your wound
was fatal--as he said it was."

"_Santissima_!  O Ramon Rayas! that is your errand?"

"You mistake--I have another: else I shouldn't have risked falling into
the hands of those damnable _Americanos_, who might take a fancy to send
one of their infernal bullets through my own carcass."

"What other errand?  What want you with me?  I am sore wounded--I
believe I am dying."

"First, as I've told you--to make sure that you _are_ dying; and
secondly, if that be the case, to learn before you _do_ die, what you
have done with Lola."

"Never.  Dead or living, you shall not know from me.  Go, go! _por amor
Dios_! do not torment a poor wretch in his last moments."

"Bah!  Calros Vergara, listen to reason.  Remember, we were boys
together--scourged in the same school.  Your time's up; you can't
protect Lola any more.  Why hinder me--I who love her as my own life?
I'm not so bad as people say, though I am accused of an inclination for
the _road_.  That's the fault of the bad government we've got.  Come!
don't leave the world like a fool; and Lola without a protector.  Tell
me where you've hidden her--tell me that, and the n--"

"No! no!  Leave me, Rayas! leave me!  If I am to die, let me die in
peace."

"You won't tell me?"

"No--no--"

"Never mind, then; I'll find out in time, and no thanks to you.  So, go
to the devil, and carry your secret along with you.  If Lola be anywhere
within the four corners of Mexico, I'll track her up.  She don't escape
from Rayas the _salteadur_!"

I could hear a rustling among the hushes: as if the last speaker, having
delivered his _ultimatum_, was taking his departure from the spot.

Suddenly the sound ceased; and the voice once more echoed in my ear--

"Carrambo!" exclaimed the man now known to me as Ramon Rayas, "I was
going away without having accomplished the best half of my errand!
Didn't I come to make certain that your wound was mortal?  Let's see if
that _picaro_ Vilagos has been telling me the truth.  Through what part
of the body are you perforated?"

There was no reply; but from certain indications I could tell that the
_salteador_ had approached the prostrate man, and was stooping down to
examine his wounds.

I made a movement forward in the direction in which I had heard the
strange dialogue; but checked myself on again hearing the voice of
Rayas.

"_Carajo_!" ejaculated he, in a tone that betokened some discovery, at
the same time one causing disappointment.  "That wound of yours is not
mortal--not a bit of it!  You may recover from it, if--"

"You think I have a chance to recover?" eagerly interrogated the wounded
man--willing to clutch at hope, even when offered by an enemy.

"_Think_ you have a chance to recover?  I'm _sure_ of it.  The bullet
has passed through your thigh--what of that?  It's only a flesh wound.
The great artery is not touched.  That I'm sure about, or you'd have
bled to death long ago.  The bone is not broken: else you could no more
lift your foot in that fashion, than you could kick yonder _cofre_ from
the top of Perote.  _Carrambo_! you'd be sure to get over it, if--"

There was an interval of silence, as though the speaker hesitated to
pronounce the condition implied by that "if."  The peculiar emphasis,
placed on the monosyllabic word, told me that he was making pause for a
purpose.

"If what, Capitan Rayas?"

The interrogatory came from the wounded man, in a tone trembling between
hope and doubt.

"If," answered the other, and with emphatic pronunciation,--"_if you
tell me where you have hidden Dolores_."

There was a groan; and then in a quivering voice came the rejoinder.

"How could that affect my recovery?  If I am to die, it could not save
me.  If it be my fate to survive this sad day--"

"It is _not_," interrupted the _salteador_, in a firm, loud voice.  "No!
This day you must die--this hour--this moment, unless you reveal to me
that secret you have so carefully kept.  Where is Dolores?"

"Never!  Rather shall I die than that she should fall into the power of
such a remorseless villain.  After that threat, O God!--"

"Die, then! and go to the God you are calling upon.  Die, Calros
Vergara--!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

During the latter part of this singular dialogue, I had been worming
myself through the devious alleys of the thicket, and gradually drawing
nearer to the speakers.  Just as the "Die, then!" reached my ears, I
caught sight of the man who had pronounced the terrible menace--as well
as of him to whom it was addressed.

Both were upon the other side of the little opening into which I had
entered, the latter lying prostrate upon the grass; the former bending
over him, with right arm upraised, and a long blade glittering in his
grasp.

At the sight my sword leaped from its sheath, and I was about to rush
forward; when, on calculating the distance across the glade, I perceived
I should be too late.

Quick as the thought I changed my weapon, dropping the sword at my feet,
and drawing my revolver from its holster in my belt.

To cock the pistol, take aim, and pull the trigger, were three actions
in one, the result being a crack, a flash, a cloud of smoke, a cry of
commingled rage and pain; and succeeding to these sounds, a loud
breaking among the bushes on the opposite side of the opening, as if
some individual was making his way through the thicket, without staying
to seek for a path, and with no other thought than to put space between
himself and the form still recumbent upon the sward!

The latter I knew to be Carlos, or Calros, in the patois of his
_con-paisano_.  The fugitive was the _salteador_ so lately threatening
his life.

Had the murderer succeeded in his design?  I saw his blade brandished
aloft, as I drew my pistol from its holster.  I had not seen the
downward thrust; but, for all that, it might have been made.

With a heart brimful of anxiety, I ran across the glade.  I say brimful
of anxiety: for something, I could not tell what, had excited my
sympathy for Calros Vergara.

Partly may it have been from hearing that speech off sombre but
significant import,--"_Soy moriendo!  Lola!--Lolita! a ver te nunca mas
en este mundo_!" and partly from admiration for a noble nature, that
preferred even death to the disclosing of some secret, which might
compromise the welfare of his beloved Dolores.

I thought no more of the robber, or his efforts to escape.  My whole
attention became devoted to the man whom he had marked out for his
victim; and I made all haste to ascertain whether I had been successful
in hindering his fell intent.

In a score of seconds I was standing by the side of the prostrate
Jarocho, bending over his body.  I held the pistol in my hand, my finger
still pressing upon the trigger, just as after firing the shot that had
disembarrassed him of his enemy.

"Are you safe?"  I inquired, in the best Mexican-Spanish I could
command.  "He has not succeeded in--?"

"Strike, villain! through my heart, if you will.  Ah!  Dolores!  Better
my death, and yours--better far be in your grave than in the embrace of
Ramon Rayas!  _O Santissima Madre_!--I die--I die!  Mother of God
protect--_Lola!--Lolita! quer-i-da herm_..."

The last phrase was pronounced in a whisper, gradually growing so
indistinct that I could not make certain of the final words, though with
my ear close to the lips of the speaker.

His voice was no longer heard even in whispers.

I raised my head, and looked down upon the face of Calros Vergara.  His
lips moved no more.  His eyes still open, and glistening under the light
of the moon, seemed no longer to see, no more to mistake me for his
enemy.  He appeared to be dead.

Story 1, Chapter IV.

AN ANGEL VOICE.

For some seconds I hung over what I supposed to be an inanimate form; it
was that of a mere youth, and fair to behold, as was also the face,
which was conspicuously upturned to the light of the moon.
Notwithstanding its deathly pallor, it exhibited a fine type of manly
beauty.  The features were regular, the complexion brown, the cheek soft
and smooth, the upper lip darkly bedecked with the young growth of
virility, the eye rotund and of noble expression, the forehead framed in
a garland of glossy black hair, whose luxuriant curls drooped down upon
each side of the full rounded throat--all these I saw at a single
glance.  I saw also a faultless figure, habited in the costume of a
peasant rather than of a soldier, but a peasant of a peculiar people,
the _Jarochos_.  In the words lately proceeding from the lips of the
unfortunate youth, I had recognised the _patois_ of this people, and was
not surprised at seeing a richly-embroidered shirt of the finest linen,
neatly fitting over the young man's breast, a sash of China crape around
the waist, calzoneros of velveteen, with rows of bell-buttons, and boots
with spurs attached, apparently of silver.

Striking and rich as was the costume, it was still only that of the
Mexican peasant.  A few peculiarities, such at; the hat of palm-sinnet,
and the checked kerchief, that had covered the back part of the head,
both lying near, denoted their _ci-devant_ wearer to be a denizen of the
coast lands--in short, a "Jarocho."

These observations did not detain me, or only for a second of time, as I
bent down over the prostrate form.  My whole design was to examine the
wound which I supposed to have been given by the robber, and which I
really believed to have caused the Jarocho's death.

To my astonishment, I could discover no wound, at least none that was
fresh.  There was a blotch of coagulated blood on the left thigh, darker
in the centre as seen through the torn calzoneros; but this was from the
wound received in battle.

Where was that just given by the sword of the Salteador?  Certainly I
saw stains of blood recently spilt.  There were several spots upon the
white linen shirt, besprinkling the plaits upon the bosom, and others
upon the sleeves; also the cheeks of the youth showed a drop or two on
their pallid ground.

Whence had these blood-drops proceeded?

I could not guess.  I could discover no recent stab on the Jarocho's
body, not a scratch to account for them!

Had the robber, after all, failed in his fatal thrust?  Had the death of
his intended victim been caused by the shot-wound in the thigh, hastened
by the terror of that horrid threat?

While thus conjecturing, my eye fell upon an object glancing through the
grass.  I stooped down and took it up.  It was a _machete_--half sword,
half hunting-knife--to be met with in every Mexican house, or seen
hanging on the hip of every Mexican _cavallero_.

Was it the weapon of the wounded man, or that I had lately seen in the
hand of his enemy?

I took it up to examine it.  The blade was bright: not a speck appeared
on its polished surface!

Between my fingers, as they grasped the hilt of riveted horn, I felt
something _wet_.  Was it dew from the grass?

No.  The moonlight fell upon something darker than dew.  Both the haft
of the weapon and my fingers encircling it were red as rubies.  It was
blood, and fresh from the veins of a human being!

As it could not be the blood of Calros, I concluded it must be that of
Ramon Rayas.  My bullet must have been true to its aim.

While thus occupied with conjectures, a new voice fell upon my ear, as
different from either of those lately listened to as music from the
rudest noise.

"Calros! dear Calros!" called the voice, "was it you I heard?  Speak,
Calros! _valga me Dios_!  That shot!  Surely it was not for him?  No--
no--I heard him speaking after it.  Calros!  Answer me, if you are near.
It is I who call--I, your own Lola!"

Had it been the voice of an angel coming out of the chapparal, or from
the sky above it could not have sounded sweeter, nor thrilled me with a
stranger impulse.

For some seconds I remained irresolute as to what answer should be made
to the pathetic appeal.  I hesitated to apprise the speaker of the
presence of Calros.  Only his body was present; his spirit was not
there!

What a sad spectacle for the eye of the loved Dolores--the _loving_
Dolores--how could I doubt it?  Looking upon the handsome Jarocho--
graceful even in the attitude of death--I could not wonder at the
earnestness of that feminine voice, pronouncing him her "_querido
Calros_."

Once more it fell upon my ear, continuing the passionate appeal.

"Calros!  O Calros!  Why do you not answer me?  It is Lola--your own
Lola!"

"Lola!"  I responded, yielding to an irresistible emotion, "this way;
come this way!  Calros is here."

An exclamatory phrase, expressing gratitude to the "Mother of God," was
heard in response; and quickly following the words, a female form, fair
as the mother of men, parting the hushes that bordered the glade,
stepped cut into the opening.

Story 1, Chapter V.

AN UNPLEASANT MISUNDERSTANDING.

Yes, fair as the mother of men--it is no exaggeration to say it--was she
who, answering my summons, had emerged from the shadowy chapparal, and
now stood exposed to my view under the full light of the moon.  It was a
full moon--a Mexican moon, that delights to shine upon lovely woman; and
no lovelier could its beams have ever embraced than she who now stood
before me.

It was beauty of a type peculiar to the land in which I viewed it--
peculiar even to a single province--the _tierra caliente_, or
coast-region, of Vera Cruz.

The image of Lola is still upon the tablets of my memory, permanently
impressed as I saw her at that moment; perhaps more deeply graven upon
my heart as I beheld her afterwards.

The picture presented to my eye, and viewed under the moon's mellow
light, was that of a girl just approaching the completeness of
womanhood--or rather having completed it, for there seemed nothing
wanting to make the perfect woman.

A figure of medium height, neither sylphlike nor slender, but of full
physical outline, in points even imposing.

I do not deny that there is something sensual in this type, and I know
there are those who incline more to the intellectual.  For my part, I
doubt the honesty of such ethereal admirers; and must still cling to the
belief that bold elliptical outline is the true ideal of beauty in the
feminine form.

That of Lola, seen against the verdant background of the chapparal,
exhibited this curve in all its luxuriant windings.  It was displayed in
the tournure of the head, the cheeks, the throat, and shoulders; it
embraced bosom, waist, and limbs; it ran over her whole figure--a
living, moving curve, like the undulations of some beautiful serpent,
always tapering to an end, but never terminating.

It was the curve discovered by Hogarth, though but poorly expressed in
his pictures.  It was perfectly presented in the outlines of the lovely
apparition that came before my eyes in that moonlit glade, on the field
of Cerro Gordo.

Her dress did not destroy the voluptuous line.  It could not, even had
it been one of those monstrous contrivances of fashion for concealing
the too-often distorted form.  But it was not thus designed.  The
sleeveless chemise of snow-white cambric, and the translucent skirt of
thin muslin, like the gown of Nora Creina, left--

  "Every beauty free
  To sink or swell as heaven pleases."

The slight scarf of bluish grey cotton (_rebozo_) drawn over the crown
of the head, and falling loosely down in front, scarcely interfered with
the symmetrical outlines of the bosom; while behind, two thick plaits of
hair, escaping from under it, hung down to the level of its fringed
ends, terminating in a tie of bright red ribbons.

At first sight, I thought the girl was barefoot.  The skirt and
petticoat (_enagua_) permitted to be seen beneath them a pair of
statuesque ankles, nude to mid-knee.  But although thus stockingless, I
soon perceived that her feet were in _satin slippers_, hidden behind the
herbage.  Neither the naked ankles, nor the slight but costly
_chaussure_, gave me any surprise, however inappropriate either might be
deemed to a walk through the thorny chapparal.  I knew that both were in
the fashion of the country.

At the moment, I was not thinking of either circumstance, nor of the
incongruity of bare feet in satin slippers.  My eyes and thoughts were
turned higher, gazing on a face of peculiar loveliness.

It was a beauty I remember well, but can ill describe.

To say that the complexion was a golden brown, with crimson in the
cheeks; that the lips were like a pair of rose-leaves convexly curving
against each other, and when parted, displaying a row of pearly teeth;
that both eyebrows and lashes were crescent-shaped and black as ebony;
that the eyes were of the same hue, but sparkling with liquid light;
that the nose was slightly aquiline; the throat full and boldly rounded
upward--to say all this, would only be to state a series of physical
facts, which can give no idea of the loveliness of that face.  It was
the combination of these features--their mutual adaptation, their play,
that produced the charm which I have called _peculiar_.

And it was so.  Even with a heart at that time not wholly free, it
enchained me--and I stood admiring.  The face was near, and the moon
full enough upon it to enable me to view it with distinctness.  I could
trace every feature, every shade of expression, even to the quick
changing of the colour upon her cheek.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I stood in silence gazing on this apparition so unexpected, so lovely.
Surprise, along with admiration, restrained my speech.

For a time the girl was equally silent, though her silence had a
different cause.  Her eyes were fixed, not upon me but upon the form at
my feet.  She had only glanced at me, and then quickly transferred her
gaze to the prostrate figure.

It was a look of eager inquiry, lasting not long.  In a second it
changed to one of recognition, and the instant afterwards her eyes
filled with an expression of intense agony.  She saw Calros--her beloved
Calros--prostrate, his face besprinkled with blood.  It was Calros,
silent, but not asleep; speechless and motionless; perhaps dead?

"Dead!  Mother of God, dead!" were the words that, in accents of
anguish, came pealing from the lips of Lola.

Her eyes flashed upward.  In an instant the expression changed--grief
giving place to indignation--something still more dire.

I saw that I was myself its object.  With astonishment did I perceive
this.  It had not occurred to me to reflect on my compromising position.
I was still standing over the body of the Jarocho, blood-besprinkled as
it was.  Less than five minutes before, Calros's voice had been heard,
along with that of another man, mingling in excited dialogue.

A shot had been fired.  I held a pistol in my hand, from the muzzle of
which a slight film of sulphureous smoke could be seen stringing
outward.  Calros appeared to be dead.  Who but I could have been his
slayer?

I heard the word _asesino_ ringing in my ears, with other epithets of
like fearful signification, as the girl rushed up to the spot where I
stood.  There was no weapon in her hand, or I might have fancied she was
about to strike me.  Even with her clenched fist, I was for a while
uncertain whether this was not her intention; and to avoid her, I
stepped back.

She stood for some seconds looking me straight in the face.  Behind the
parting of her tightly compressed lips was displayed a double row of
teeth, that, despite their pearly whiteness, gleamed fiercely in the
moonlight; while her eyes, as they flashed, seemed to send forth jets of
living fire!

"I am innocent!"  I called out.  "It is not my act; it was not I who--"

"_Asesino! monstre_!  Whoever thou art; false fiend, to deny a deed of
which--_madre de Dios_!--I have been almost a witness.  There--there--
the weapon still in your hands--his blood freshly spilt!"

"It is not _his_ blood," I replied, hastily interrupting her.

But she heard not the rejoinder! for suddenly turning from me, she flung
herself upon the prostrate form, drowning my voice with her wild
exclamations.

"Dead!  Calros! dear Calros!  Are you dead?  Speak to me one word--a
whisper, to say you still live!  _Ay de mi_! it is too true.  No
answer--no breath!  Where is the wound that has robbed you of life, and
me of my only friend?  Where?--where?"

And as she continued to give voice to these detached exclamations, she
proceeded, as if mechanically, to examine the wounds of the unconscious
Jarocho.

Story 1, Chapter VI.

A DEVOTED WOMAN.

I felt the awkwardness of the situation.  Appearances were against me.
Some explanation must be given.

Stepping nearer, I bent down by the side of the young girl; and as soon
as her silence gave me an opportunity of being heard, repeated my
asseveration.

"It is not _his_ blood," I said, "but that of another.  Your friend has
received no wound--at least none lately given, and least of all by _me_.
His death--if he be dead--has been caused by this."

I pointed to the dark spot on his thigh.

"It is a bullet wound received in the battle."

"The blood upon his bosom--his cheeks--you see--'tis fresh?"

"I repeat it is not _his_.  I speak truly."

My earnest utterance seemed to make an impression upon her.

"Whose then? whose blood?" she cried out.

"That of a man who was in the act of killing Calros, when my pistol
frustrated his intent.  I fear after all he may have been successful,
though not exactly according to his design.  He intended to have stabbed
the wounded man with his _machete_."

I took the mongrel sword, and held it up to the light.

"There's blood on its blade, as you see; but it is that of him who would
have been the true assassin, had not my bullet disabled his arm.  Have
you ever seen this weapon before?"

"O nor; I could not tell.  'Tis a _machete_.  They're all alike."

"Have you ever heard the name of Ramon Rayas?"

The answer was an exclamation--almost a shriek!

"You know him, then?"

"Ramon Rayas! oh, the fiend--he--it was he.  He vowed to kill Calros.
Calros!  O Calros!  Has he fulfilled his vow?"

Once more the girl bent over the body of the Jarocho; and leaning low,
recklessly placed her lips in contact with his blood-stained cheek.  At
the same time her arms fondly flung around, seemed to enfold the corpse
in a loving embrace.  Had he been alive and conscious, with the
certainty of recovering, I could have envied him that sweet entwining.

My impulse was of a holier nature.  If I could not restore the dead, I
might give comfort to the living.  But was he dead?  It was not till
that moment I had doubted it.

As I stooped over the body, I heard a sound that resembled a sigh.  It
could not be the sobbing of the bereaved Lola--though this also was
audible.

The girl had again raised her head, and was holding it a little to one
side, while the sound that had attracted my attention seemed to proceed
from a different direction--in fact from the lips of the man supposed to
be dead.

I lowered my ear to his face, and listened for a repetition of the
sound.  It came in a moment as I had before heard it--a sort of sigh
half suppressed, like the breath struggling from a bosom over-weighted.

"Lola," I whispered, "your Calros is not dead.  He still breathes."

I needed not to communicate this intelligence.  The ear of affection had
been bent, keenly as my own.  By the sudden brightening of her
countenance, I could perceive that Lola had heard that same sound, and
was listening to catch it again, as if her life depended on its
repetition.

She had mechanically pushed me aside, so that her ear might be closer to
the mute lips of Calros.

"One moment," I said, gently raising her from her recumbent position;
"perhaps he has only fainted I have a remedy here; a stimulant that may
serve to restore him.  Permit me to administer it."

I drew forth the flask which providentially I had brought from the tent.
It contained "Catalan brandy," one of the most potent of spirits.

Silently but readily she glided out of the way, watching my movements
like some affectionate sister who assists the physician by the couch of
an invalid brother.

I felt the pulse of the wounded man.  My medical skill was not
extensive; but I could perceive that its beating, though feeble, was not
irregular--not flickering, like a lamp that was destined soon to become
extinguished.

Lola read hope in my looks: her own became brighter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I pulled out the stopper.  I applied the flask to the lips of the
unconscious Calros, pouring into his mouth a portion of the Catalonian
spirit.

The effect was almost instantaneous.  His bosom began to heave, his
breath issued forth more freely, his glazed eyes showed signs of
reanimation.

The girl could scarcely be restrained from repeating her fond embraces.

Presently the eyes of the invalid seemed to see--almost to recognise.
His lips moved, as though he was endeavouring to speak, but as yet there
came forth no sound.

Once more I applied the flask, pouring into his throat nearly a
wine-glassful of the Catalan.

In less than a score of seconds the dose produced its effect--made known
by a movement throughout the frame of the Jarocho, and a muttered
whisper proceeding from his lips.

Again the girl would have strangled him with her passionate caresses.
Judging from the joy with which she witnessed his resuscitation, her
affection for him must have been boundless.

"Keep away from him!"  I said, adding to the verbal caution a slight
exertion of physical force.  "There is scarcely an ounce of blood in his
body, that is why he has fainted; that and the shock caused by the
threat of--"

I did not choose to disquiet her by repeating what appeared to be a
dreaded name.  "Excitement of any kind may prove fatal.  _If you love
him_ stay out of his sight; at least for a while, till he recover
strength sufficient to bear your presence."

How idle in me to have made use of these words, "if you love him!"  The
appearance of the handsome Jarocho, handsome even with death's pallor on
his brow, forbade any other belief; while the beautiful Jarocha,
beautiful through all the changes of anger and hate, despair and hope,
showed by her every action that Calros Vergara was the loved one of her
life.

"Keep out of sight," I again requested: "pray do not go near him till I
return.  The night air is unfavourable to his recovery.  I must seek
assistance, and have him carried into my tent.  I entreat you, Senorita,
do not make yourself known to him now, or the shock may be fatal."

The look given by the girl, in answer to my solicitations, produced upon
me an impression at once vivid and peculiar.  It was a mingling of
pleasure and pain, just in proportion as my fancy whispered me, that in
those glances there was something more than gratitude.

Alas! it is true.  Even in that melancholy hour, I felt pleasure in the
thought that, whether he might recover or die, I should one day supplant
Calros Vergara in the affections of his beloved Lola!

Story 1, Chapter VII.

DESPOILING THE DEAD.

I aroused half-a-dozen of my men from their midnight slumbers.  Among
them was one who had some skill in surgery, derived from a long
experience as hospital assistant.

There was a _catre_, or leathern bedstead, in the tent--a common article
of camp furniture among the officers of the Mexican army.  By splicing a
pair of tent-poles along its sides, it could be converted into a
"stretcher" of a superior kind.

The transformation was soon made; and, returning to the chapparal, we
placed the wounded man upon the _catre_, with as much tenderness as if,
instead of an enemy, he had been one of our own comrades.

He had by this time so far recovered as to be sensible of what was
passing; but it was not until he had been carried within the tent, and
his wound carefully dressed by the ex-hospital assistant, that I
consented to an interview between him and his "querida Lola."

Mistrusting the effect of any sudden excitement--even though caused by
joy--I had entreated the girl to remain out of sight; and though
suffering from a painful impatience to speak to her beloved Calros, she
had obeyed me.

Being assured by the improvised surgeon that there was no real danger;
that the wound was not likely to prove fatal; and that the syncope of
the wounded man had been caused by weakness from loss of blood, I
withdrew the restriction.

In an instant after, the beautiful Lola flew into the arms of her lover.

It was an affecting scene, and touched even my rude companions, who
stood around the _catre_.  To me it was not pleasant--I might almost say
it was painful--to listen to that interchange of endearing epithets.  I
coveted the caresses that were being lavished upon the handsome Jarocho.

Soon the soldiers withdrew, to resume their interrupted repose, the
hospital assistant going with the rest.  I was left in the tent with
Calros and Lola.

I could not help envying the invalid.  For the sake of being tended by
such a nurse, I would willingly have changed situations with him!

Lola had heard the assurance given by the hospital assistant, and
communicated it to the wounded man.  There was no longer the dread of
death to hinder them from indulging in a free interchange of thought.

Perhaps they had something to say to each other which should not be
overheard by any one?  Under the idea that my presence might be a
restraint, I withdrew; I shall not say without reluctance.

Throwing my cloak over my shoulders, I walked out of the tent, leaving
them alone.

The night was still; the silence more solemn than ever.  Not a sound
disturbed it.  Even the moanings of the disabled men, who lay here and
there over the field of battle, which at an earlier hour had been well
nigh continuous, seemed now to have ceased.

I was astonished by this circumstance, and mentally endeavoured to
account for it.  Perhaps the report of my pistol had awed them into
silence, under the belief that the "strippers" were abroad, and that it
was better to endure their agonies in silence than to guide those
vultures in their villainous search!  This was the only explanation I
could think of.

I strolled off into the chapparal; but I soon found my way back into the
neighbourhood of the tent.  Under that piece of spread canvas, rendered
luminous by the lamp burning inside, there was an attraction that drew
me nearer and nearer.  It was irresistible; and involuntarily yielding
to it, I at length found myself in front of the arcade-like entrance,
gazing inward.

The flap was thrown back; and I could see the occupants inside, the
invalid stretched upon the _catre_, lying on his back as we had left
him, the girl bending over him, her eyes fixed steadily upon his face.
I could see that he was asleep; but not the less affectionately were
those beautiful eyes bent upon his slumbering features.

The tableau should have gratified;--it tortured me!

I turned away to escape from an emotion--evil, as it was unpleasant.

I walked over the ground, lately the arena of the enemy's camp, among
other tents that stood near.  There were not many of them.  Arbours
formed by the interlacing of branches, and thatched with reeds and
grass, had constituted the chief shelter of Santa Anna's soldiers.

His superior officers only had been provided with tents, of which not
more than a dozen were now standing.

Several of them I entered.  They were not all empty, though their living
occupants had deserted them.  Three or four I found tenanted by the
dead.  Stretched upon _catres_, or lying upon the floor, were the bodies
of men whose uniforms showed them to have been officers of high rank.

One lay so near to the entrance of a tent, that the moonbeams, slanting
inward through the opening of the canvas, fell full upon his face.  He
was a man of magnificent form, with a countenance that even in death
might be termed handsome.  His complexion was a dark olive, his features
perfectly regular, with a coal-black moustache and chin-beard.  His
dress was half civilian, half military, with insignia embroidered upon
the shoulder-straps, proclaiming him a general of division.  His name I
learnt afterwards, Vasquez, one of the bravest of our foes, who had
gallantly held his position on the hill of El Telegrafo till the last
moment for retreating.  A bullet through the groin terminated what might
otherwise have been a brilliant career; and he had been carried to his
tent only to die.

No attempt had been made to dress his wound.  It was perhaps looked upon
as hopeless; and in the panic of retreat even an officer of rank is oft
neglected.  Over the groin his trousers had been torn open, as if done
to examine the wound, and the sky-blue cloth, of which the garment was
composed, was saturated with blood, now dark and dry.  Its salt odour
pervaded the atmosphere, and I was about returning outward; for,
attracted by the distinguished appearance of the dead body, I had
stepped inside the tent to examine it; when a singular, I might say a
startling, observation, caused me to remain where I was.

The corpse lay upon its back, the head about midway upon the floor of
the tent, with the feet protruding beyond the canvas on the outside, a
little to one side of the entrance.  It was the feet, in fact, first
seen, that had drawn my attention; and the peculiar _chaussure_ which
they displayed caused me to stoop down and examine them.  They were
encased in elegant russet boots--such as were worn in the time of the
second Charles, and now only seen upon the stage.  A pair of bright
spurs buckled over them, sparkled in the moonlight.

Had I not looked inside at the body, to which this singular _chaussure_
belonged, I might have fancied a cavalier of the olden time asleep
within the tent; but the very oddness of the foot-gear influenced me to
examine the individual to whom it appertained.

Stepping up to the entrance, my eyes had fallen upon the handsome face;
but as my own shadow hindered me from thoroughly examining it, I had
gone inside to obtain a better view.

It was after I had completed the observations above detailed that I
became witness of the spectacle that startled me.

As I have said, I was on the point of returning out of the tent.  To do
so it would be necessary for me to pass close to the corpse, in fact, to
step over it, as I had done on going inside.  As I raised my foot to
effect this purpose, I fancied that the body moved!

In surprise I drew back my foot, and stood watching, not without a
feeling of fear.

The feeling was not diminished, but increased almost to the degree of
horror, when I became convinced that what I saw was no fancy--no optical
illusion.  _The body had actually moved, and was still in motion_!

Had I not observed the motion, the change of posture would have
convinced me it was taking place: for the head, originally lying in the
middle of the tent, was now nearer its edge, and gradually, but surely,
approaching the circle of canvas!

All doubt would have been removed--had any existed--when I saw the
corpse give, or rather receive, a sudden jerk, which brought the head
close in to the canvas.

I could stay no longer inside that tent; and with a single bound I
carried myself clear of the entrance.

No sooner did I get outside, than I was relieved from the influence of
the supernatural.  A perfectly natural--perhaps I should say unnatural--
cause divested the phenomenon of its mystery.  A man was in the act of
stripping General Vasquez of his boots!

With shame I recognised the uniform of an American rifleman.

In justice to that uniform be it told, that the man was not an American,
but a worthless mongrel, half Jew, half German; who on more than one
occasion had received chastisement for strange crimes, and who
afterwards, in a future battle--as I have good reason to know--fired his
traitorous bullet at my own back.

"Laundrich! ruffian!"  I cried.  "Despoiling the dead!"

"Ach! tish only a Mexican--our enemish, captan."

"Scoundrel! desist from your unhallowed work, or I shall devote you to a
worse fate than his whose noble remains you are defiling.  Off to your
quarters!  Off, I say!"

The human wolf skulked away, unwillingly, and with an air of savage
chagrin.

I never came nearer slaying a fellow creature--not to accomplish the
act.

Better, perhaps, had I completed it on that occasion.  It would have
spared me a severe shot-wound, afterwards received, with certain other
disagreeable _contretemps_, of which Johanna Laundrich was prime agent
and promoter.

Story 1, Chapter VIII.

A PLEASANT EXPLANATION.

The peculiar spectacle thus witnessed for a while distracted my thoughts
from the marquee and its occupants.

Only for a short while.  Soon again the lovely face of Lola rose up
before the eye of my imagination; and the longing to look upon it became
stronger than ever.

Yielding to this fascination--for which I could scarcely account--I
strolled back to the _ci-devant_ head-quarters of the Mexican
commander-in-chief.

On arriving in front of the entrance I paused.

Had the invalid been still asleep, I might have hesitated about
disturbing him.  But his voice warned me that he was awake, and in
conversation with some one--who, of course, could be no other than Lola.

Even then I hesitated about going in; but while thus meditating, I could
not help overhearing a portion of the dialogue that was passing between
them.  A name already known was on the lips of Calros, from which I
could easily divine the subject of their conversation.  It was the name
of Ramon Rayas.

"Yes, dearest Lola," said the invalid, as if replying to some
interrogatory, "it was that villain.  Not content with persecuting you
with his infamous proposals, he has followed me, even to the field of
battle?  He would have killed me outright.  _Carrambo_!  I thought he
had done so.  I saw him standing over me with his _machete_ pointed at
my breast.  I was too weak to make resistance.  I could not raise a hand
to parry his thrust.  He did not strike.  I know not why.  There was a
shot; and then I saw him standing over me again, with a pistol, its
muzzle held close to my body.  _Valga me Dios_!  I saw no more.  I
became unconscious."

"Dear Calros! it was not Rayas who held the pistol."

"Not him!--not Ramon Rayas.  It _was_, Lola.  I saw him.  I heard and
talked to him.  I listened to his threats.  He wanted me to tell him--
Oh! too surely was it he--he, and no other."

"Yes, he who threatened you with the _machete_.  That's true enough; but
the man who held the pistol--that was not Don Ramon; not an enemy
either, though I also thought him one."

"And who was it?" asked the invalid, with a puzzled look upon his
countenance.

"The _Americano_--he who has had you carried here into the tent."

"Which of them?  There were several around me.  Was it the _medico_ who
dressed my wound?  He must be a doctor to have done it so skilfully."

"No, it was not he."

"Which, then, Lola?"

"You saw an officer among them, did you not?--a handsome young officer?"

My heart then thrilled with a pleasant emotion.  I bent my eyes with
keen scrutiny upon the face of the invalid.  I expected to see there an
expression denoting jealousy.  I thought it strange that no such thought
could be detected on the features of Calros Vergara.

"He must be brave, too," continued the girl, "to have conquered the
Capitan Rayas."

"Conquered Rayas!  How?  What mean you, Lola?"

"You see those spots of blood on your shirt-bosom?  There were others on
your face, but I have washed them off.  I thought it was yours, Calros."

"And is it not?"

"No.  This is fresh blood, as you may tell by looking at it.  It is not
yet quite dried.  Thanks to the holy Virgin, it is not yours; to lose
more would have killed you, Calros; the _medico_ said so."

"_Carrambo_! whose is it then?"

"Don Ramon's."

"How?  Tell me, Lola!"

"You say he was threatening to run you through with his _machete_.  You
heard a shot?  It was not Ramon, but the young officer, who fired it;
and the bullet was aimed at Rayas himself, and not at you.  It must have
hit him, for his _machete_ was found beside you, the hilt stained with
blood; and these drops must have come from the wound he received.  Ah!
_dear brother Calros_! but for this brave Americano you would now have
been in another world, and I left in this, alone, and without a
protector."

_Brother_ Calros!

A load seemed lifted from my heart; the arrow, so lately entering it,
and already beginning to rankle, appeared to be suddenly plucked from it
without causing pain.

_Brother_ Calros!

No longer did I wonder at the stoical indifference with which the
Jarocho had listened to that flattering eulogy bestowed upon myself.

"No, Lola Vergara"--for that should be her name--"No!  Never in this
world, so long as _I_ live, shall you, beautiful Jarocha, be without a
protector!"

That was my thought, my mental resolution.  I could scarcely restrain
myself from rushing into the tent, and proclaiming it aloud!

Story 1, Chapter IX.

EVIL IMAGININGS.

My discovery of the real relationship existing between Calros and Lola
at once cured me of an incipient jealousy, which, though slight, had
promised to become sufficiently painful.

Its very existence, however, would have proved to me that I was already
in love, had such proof been required to convince me.

But I needed not to reason on that head.  I knew that I was enamoured
with Lola Vergara--had fallen in love with her at first sight--at that
very moment when her accusing eyes flashed fiercely upon me, and through
her dazzling teeth was hissed forth that angry epithet, proclaiming me a
_murderer_!  In the full tide of anger, with frowning face and furious
look, had she appeared lovely--scarcely less lovely than now in her
smiles!

I had since beheld these.  She smiled on learning that Calros was in no
danger of death.  She smiled on me as the preserver of his life,
gratefully--I fancied _graciously_.  On that fancy I had founded a hope;
and hence the jealousy that had so quickly and causelessly arisen.

The hope became strengthened on hearing that fraternal apostrophe,
"_Hermanita Calros_!" pronounced in a language unequalled in the
phraseology of affectionate endearment.

The words bespoke a relationship far different from that I had supposed
to exist between them--leaving her bosom free for another affection--a
passion compatible, if not kindred.

Was it my destiny to inspire this passion?  Was that grand triumph to be
mine?

Her singular speeches, not very honestly overheard, filled me with hope.

I hesitated about entering the tent.  I no longer desired to interrupt a
dialogue that had caused me such supreme pleasure; and yet I yearned to
proffer my devotion--to stand once more face to face, and eye to eye,
with the beautiful Jarocha.

In any case I could not continue to play the part of an eavesdropper.  I
could now perceive the indelicacy of the act--especially as my satisfied
heart no longer needed soothing.

I must either enter, or withdraw.  I decided upon entering.

But not till I had set my forage-cap more coquettishly upon my head,
drawn my fingers through my hair, and given to my moustache its most
captivating curl.

I confess to all this weakness.  I was at that time full of conceit in
my personal appearance.  I had heard the phrase, "handsome young
officer," applied to me by one from whose lips dropped the words like
the honey of Hymettus; and, inspired by the flattering epithet, I left
nothing undone to deserve it.

Nevertheless I felt embarrassed, as I presented myself once more before
the lovely Lola--an embarrassment heightened by the presence of her
brother.

Wonder at this, if you will.  It is too easily explained.  I entered the
tent with the consciousness of a design that was not honourable.  I
stood before them both--the sister and brother--with a conscience not
clear.  At that moment--I confess it to my shame--I had no other thought
than that of trifling with the affections of the beautiful Jarocha.

She was but a peasant--one of a race, it is true, to whom the
appellation is somewhat inappropriate--a people, though poor, elegant in
person, graceful in deportment, highly gifted with the _savoir faire_,
as it relates to the ordinary intercourse of life--at the same time a
people in whose pantheon the divinity, Virtue, finds but an
inconspicuous niche.

Neither the first nor the last of these reflections may be deemed an
excuse for my conduct.  I do not offer them as such, though both serving
at the time to satisfy my conscience.

Its scruples were not difficult to subdue.  Its still small voice was
unheard, or rather unheeded, under the promptings of a powerful, but
unholy passion, of which Lola Vergara was then the object, and as I
hoped, afterwards to become the victim.

She was but a peasant, a pretty _poblana_--perhaps already inducted into
the mysteries of Cupid's court: for it would be rare for one of her race
to have reached woman's age without loving.  The sister of a common
soldier--for such was the rank of Calros--what harm could be done?  What
wrong could I be dreaming about?

I did not need all this sophistry to satisfy the whisperings of my
conscience.  At that time of my life the task was easy of
accomplishment--too easy; and with such a lure as Lola Vergara it was
less than a task.

I made no effort to resist the temptation.  On the contrary, I devoted
myself to the winning of her heart with all the ardour of an important
enterprise.

It was her _heart_ I wished to win, and that only.  _I wished it because
she had won mine_.  I deny that I had any design beyond--any thought
more dishonourable.  That of itself may be deemed sufficiently so, since
I had no intention of offering her my hand.

Her love alone did I care for; though I will not conceal my belief,
that, in the event of conquering her _heart_, any other conquest would
be facile and without resistance.

This was my faith at the time--a faith founded on sad experience.  I
applied it to Lola Vergara, as I should have done to any other girl
under the like circumstances.

The future would prove whether my creed was erroneous as it was
dishonourable.

I entered the tent.  She, whose affections I intended trifling with,
rose from her seat, saluting me, as I stepped forward, with an air of
modesty that might have shamed my secret thoughts.  Her glance was full
of gratitude.  How ill did I deserve it!

"Senor," said she, after answering my inquiries as to the condition of
the invalid, "I hope you will forgive me for the rude manner in which I
addressed you.  _Volga me Dios_!  To have made such a mistake!  I
thought you had killed my brother, not knowing when I saw you standing
over him.  O senor! you will forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive, fair Lola.  Considering the situation, you
could scarcely have thought otherwise.  Fortunately, no one has
succeeded in killing your brother; not even the American rifleman who
sent his bullet through him.  I am glad to hear that the wound is not
dangerous."

"Ah, senor," interposed Calros himself, "but for you--Lola has just been
telling me--but for you I should have had a wound, not only dangerous,
but deadly.  That _cortante_ (the Jarocho pointed to the blood-stained
weapon lying on the floor of the tent) would have pierced my flesh--my
heart.  I know it; I am sure of it.  He meant to have killed me!  _El
demonio_!"

"You are speaking of Ramon Rayas?"

"Of him!--pardon, senor Americano.  You cannot know anything of him?
How learnt you his name?"

"From your own lips, Calros Vergara; and your name from his.  From both
of you a name prettier than either."

I glanced towards Lola, who returned my look with a gracious smile.

Calros looked puzzled; as if not very clearly comprehending me.

"You forget," I said, "that in the conversation which occurred between
you and this Ramon Rayas, you repeatedly addressed each other by name;
and also mentioned a third individual, whose acquaintance I have since
had the pleasure of making--your sister, is she not?"

"_Si, nor capitan_.  Na Lola is my sister."

"She is worthy to be your sister, senor Calros.  She who follows a
brother to the field of battle--seeks for him among the slain--risking
life to alleviate the pain of his wounds--ah! that is a sister for a
soldier.  Would that I had such an one!"

While speaking I regarded the countenance of the girl.  I regarded it
with a tender gaze.  I fancied that she returned my thought, but so
slightly as to have been perceptible only to the keen scrutiny of love.
It was only a single glance she gave me; and then the long lashes fell
over her eyes, hiding their sweet scintillation.

When I had finished speaking, she turned towards me, but without raising
her eyes.  Then pronouncing the formal phrase, "_Mil gracius senor_" she
stepped silently towards the entrance of the tent.

Before passing out, she paused a moment to state apologetically the
object of her departure--some trifling errand relating to the invalid.

But for this I might have fancied that my flattery had offended, or
perhaps the glance of gallantry with which I had regarded her.  Even had
it been so, I could not then have apologised: for in another instant she
was gone.

Story 1, Chapter X.

AN IMPLACABLE PURSUER.

I was in the midst of circumstances still unexplained.  A wounded man
found lying upon the field of battle--a mere youth; in no respect,
either in costume, accoutrements, or personal appearance, resembling the
thing called a "common soldier," and yet bearing no insignia to show
that he was aught else.

Found with an enemy standing over him, not a national foe, but a
countryman--and, as it appeared, an old school-fellow, _machete_ in
hand, threatening to accomplish what the foeman had left incomplete--
threatening his life, and only hindered from taking it by the merest
accidental intervention!

Near at hand, soon after to appear by his side, a woman--not one of
those hideous hags sometimes seen on the morrow of a bloody battle,
skulking among the slain, and stooping, vulture-like, over the mangled
corpse--but a young girl of sweet voice and lovely aspect; so
contrasting with the rude objects around her, so apparently out of place
amid such scenes, that instead of a human being, a form of flesh and
blood, one might have believed her to be an angel of mercy, that had
descended from the sky to soothe the sufferings which men in their
frantic fury had caused one another!

And this angel-like creature to prove the _sister_--and not the
_sweetheart_--of him whose cries had called me from my couch!

Even in this circumstance there was something to cause me surprise.  It
would not have been the first time I had met the soldier's sweetheart on
the field of battle; but never before had I encountered his sister.

I might have been more surprised at this peculiar encounter, but that on
the afternoon of that very day I had been spectator of a scene
calculated to explain it.  In a field adjoining the hamlet-village of El
Plan I had gazed upon four thousand soldiers of Santa Anna's army made
prisoners during the action; and circling among them--not as spectators,
but real actors in the affairs of the camp--were at least half this
number of women!

Though most stood in a different relationship, I learned that many of
these devoted creatures were the sisters--some of them the mothers--of
the men who had mingled in the fight!

I could not help contrasting this bi-sexual crowd with the invading army
to which I myself appertained; in which some half-dozen hags, under the
appellation of sutler's assistants; a like number performing the
_metier_ of the laundress; and one or two virgins of still more
questionable calling, formed the whole female camp-following.

After such a scene as that witnessed by the _rancheria_ of El Plan, it
could not much astonish me to find the sister of Cairo?  Vergara on the
field of battle.  My astonishment only arose from seeing _such a
sister_!

On being left alone with the Jarocho, I could no longer repress my
desire to obtain an explanation of the series of mysteries, that had so
suddenly and unexpectedly surrounded me.

My interference in his behalf had furnished me with a sort of right to
make the request--even to demand it.

"Ramon Rayas," I said, as soon as the girl was gone out of
hearing--"This Ramon Rayas appears to be no friend of yours?"

"Ah, senor! my bitterest enemy."

"He is not the enemy of your sister, though!  He professes to be her
very best friend--at least her lover, which should be the same thing?
Is _she_ of that opinion?"

"My sister hates him."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Nor capitan, you are a stranger to me; but the service you've this
night performed makes me feel as if I were talking to an old friend.
Excuse the freedom I take.  I am only a poor Jarocho--owning nothing but
my _rancho_, a few varas of garden-ground, my horse, my saddle, and my
_machete_.  I was going to say my liberty, but that's not true: else why
am I dragged from my home to fight battles in which I have no interest?
You may say what our military oppressors say--it is to fight for my
country.  Bah! what use in spilling one's blood for a country that's not
free?  It isn't for that I've been brought to Cerro Gordo, and shot down
like a dog.  It was to fight for a tyrant, not for a country--for El
Cojo, and nobody else!"

"You have not been in the battle by your own will, then?"

"_Carrambo_! nothing of the sort, _nor deconocio_!  I am here by
conscription; and I've been shot down by conscription.  No matter now.
_We_ have no liberty left in Mexico--at least I have none.  Still, nor
capitan, there's one treasure left to me which I prize above everything
else before riches, or even liberty.  It was left me by my parents--who
have long ago gone to a better world."

"What treasure?"  I inquired, seeing that the speaker hesitated to
declare it.

"_Na Lola--mia hermanita_."  (Lola, my dear sister.)

"I hope there is no danger of your losing her?"

"There is.  This very night you must have heard something to tell you
that there is."

"'Tis true I heard something that sounded like a threat; but what need
you fear from a man who can have no control over you or your sister?
You say she scorns his suit.  If that be so, I cannot understand how she
is in danger."

"Ah! _nor deconocio_! you know not our country, else you might
understand.  The man you speak of has power; that is, if he be still
alive."

The speaker glanced significantly towards the blood-stained cutlass.

"Power!  How?"

"He is my captain.  I am one of a band of _guerilleros_, raised in our
village and neighbourhood.  This man, Don Ramon Rayas, is our chief.  He
had his appointment from the dictator himself, Don Antonio Lopez de
Santa Anna.  It's a puzzle to me--and to others as well--how he obtained
it: for it's well known that before the beginning of this war with the
Americanos, Rayas was a _salteador_."

"A highway robber!"

"Neither more nor less, nor capitan."

"I heard you apply that unenviable appellation to him.  But what can be
his motive for attempting to take your life?"

"Only to get rid of me; and then Lola--my poor sister would be more
easily--_carrai_! you know what I mean!"

I needed not a more ample explanation, though Calros proceeded to give
it.

"Nor deconocio," said he, speaking in a low voice, so as not to be heard
outside the tent, "I shall tell you all about it.  You've seen my
sister.  Well, perhaps to you, whose countrywomen I have heard say are
very fair-skinned, Lola may not appear much--"

I did not interrupt Calros to tell him _how much_.

"Here, among us Jarochos, though I, her brother, say it, Lolita is
thought _muy linda_."

"She would be thought so anywhere, I should say."

"Well," proceeded the conscript, apparently pleased at my remark, "good
looks in a girl are sometimes only a misfortune to her--more especially
if she be poor, and that is just what Lola is."

"A misfortune!  How?"

I put the question with a keener interest than the invalid suspected.

Had Lola been already the victim of a misfortune?

"You see, sir stranger," rejoined Calros, "among those who have set
their eyes upon na Lola is this Ramon Rayas."

"An old school-fellow of yours, is he not?"

"True--such schooling as we had.  That is long ago.  Since then we have
never seen him till lately.  He left our village, and went to live in
the great city of Puebla--a wicked place, though it be called the _City
of the angels_.  We didn't hear of him for a long time; and then we were
told that he had taken to the _camino real_--had become, as I've said, a
_salteador_."

"And now he is an officer in the Mexican army?"

"That's the strangest of all.  But no.  It's not so strange to us down
here, who are well acquainted with Don Antonio.  Ramon Rayas isn't the
only _picaro_ in his employ.  As I've told you, we'd seen nothing of
Ramon since he was a boy at school.  Then one day he reappeared among us
with a commission to recruit--no, not that, but rather to take us young
fellows by force, and make soldiers of us.  I was compelled to go with
the rest.  We were formed into a _guerilla_, with Rayas as our captain.
It was at that time his eyes fell upon Lola."

"But did your sister accompany you in the campaign?"

"She did.  There were many other women with us--the wives and sisters of
my comrades.  They came to work for us, and make us comfortable in camp.
It is our custom, nor Americano.  'Tis not so with you, I am told."

"No, we don't trouble ourselves with such company."

"Ah, nor capitan, it has indeed proved a trouble to me.  It has required
all to protect my poor little sister."

"Protect her!  Against whom?"

"Our captain--Don Ramon.  His importunities--cruelties I should call
them--were of daily, hourly occurrence.  They were growing worse,
when--"

"You sent her out of his reach?"

"I did.  I found a friend who offered me a home for her.  My friend
promised to keep her concealed, until this war should be over, and I
could return home to protect her as a freeborn citizen of the republic."

"How came she to be here to-night?"

"Devotion," proudly replied the youth; "devotion, nor capitan.  She
heard from some fugitives that I was shot down and left on the field.
She came to find me--if dead to weep over my body--if living, to take
care of me.  Thanks to you, nor deconocio, she has found me alive."

After a short interval of silence, in which the invalid appeared to
reflect, he resumed speech.

"_Madre de Dios_!" he said, "if Rayas had succeeded in killing me!  But
for you, nor, he must have succeeded.  Lola was near at hand, calling my
name.  He would have heard her.  She would have come up, and then the
wolf and the lamb would have met in the middle of the chapparal.  _Madre
de Dios!  Thanks that she is saved_!"

As the more than probable consequence of such a meeting became pictured
in the imagination of the Jarocho, he raised himself, half erect, upon
the camp-bedstead, and emphatically repeated the thanksgiving.

The words had scarcely passed from his lips, when, for the third time,
the mother of God was invoked.

On this occasion, however, a different cause had called forth the
invocation--a cry heard outside the tent in the silvery intonation of a
woman's voice.

It was easy to recognise the utterance of Dolores.  On hearing it the
invalid sprang clear out of the _catre_; and stood for some moments
balancing himself upon the floor.

Yielding to his weakness, he fell back upon the couch, just as the girl
rushed inside the tent--proclaiming by her presence that no harm had
befallen her.

"What is it, _dear_ Lola?" cried her brother, almost word for word
repeating my own interrogatory.

"He!  Don Ramon!  He is there--outside the tent!"

"If he will only stay till I come out, I promise you, fair Lola, you
shall never more be troubled by his presence."

I drew my sword from its sheath, and was rushing for the opening in the
canvas.

"Nor, nor! _por amor Dios_!  Go not alone!  Don Ramon is wicked; but he
is _brave_--he is dangerous!"

It was _Dolores_ who interrupted me with these strange speeches.

"Brave!"  I said, turning to her with angry astonishment.  "Brave! a
villain such as he, brave!"

I spoke with a bitter emphasis.  The thought had shot across my brain,
that the scorn of which Calros spoke, might have been only a fraternal
fancy!

"I hope he will have courage enough to wait my coming.  We shall see!"
and with this valorous declaration, I emerged from the marquee, and ran
over the ground in search of Don Ramon.

Half a score of my comrades, who had started from their couches on
hearing the scream, were soon around me; but although we quartered the
chapparal for a good stretch on every side of the encampment, we could
find no trace of the robber.

Having doubled the number of the sentries, and taken other precautions
against the return of this terrible intruder, I re-entered the tent
which gave shelter to the Jarocho and his sister.

Restoring the invalid to such repose as was possible, I made
preparations to leave them for the night.  The girl was to sleep upon
the floor of the marquee, under cover of a _serape_, which I had
procured for her accommodation.

"Have no fear, _Linda Lola_!"  I whispered, as reluctantly I bade good
night.  "He who would harm thee must first pass over my body.  _I shall
sleep outside--before the entrance of the tent.  Adios!  Posa V. buena
noche!  Hasta la manana_!"

"_Hasta la manana_!" was the reply--simply my own words repeated, and
with an innocent unconcern, that should have nipped in the bud any
unhallowed hopes.

Story 1, Chapter XI.

A MEXICAN MEDICO.

In front of the tent--as I had whispered to her--I lay upon the ground,
enfolded in my cloak.  It was not the cold that kept me from sleeping,
but the proximity--I might almost say the _presence_ of that fair
creature, since only a sheet of thin canvas was between us.

I will not confess my thoughts; they are unworthy of being recorded.
Even my dreams--for I had short intervals of sleep, during which I
dreamt--all tended to one theme:--the enjoyment of the beautiful
Jarocha.

I listened long, with my ear keenly bent to catch the slightest sound.
I felt no interest in the noises without.  The night was now hastening
towards day, and the sufferers who had been making it hideous seemed to
have become wearied with wailing, for their voices were no longer heard.

Alone echoed upon the air the mocking strains of the _czentzontle_,
perched upon the summit of an acacia, and answering a friend, perhaps an
enemy, far off on the opposite side of the _barranca_.

The bird music fell unheeded on my ear, as did all other sounds
proceeding from without.  Even the firing of a gun would scarcely have
distracted my attention from listening for any murmur that might reach
me from the interior of the tent.

I could hear the heavy breathing of the invalid; nothing more.

Once he coughed, and became restless upon his couch.  Then I heard a
sweet silvery voice speaking in accents of affectionate inquiry, and
ending in the pronunciation of some soothing words.

From other sounds I could tell that his nurse had arisen, and was
ministering to the invalid.

By the silence, soon restored, I could perceive that she had completed
her task, and had returned to her recumbent position.

She appeared to have no thoughts of him who was keeping guard without;--
not as her guardian angel, but rather demon, who would not have
hesitated to destroy that innocence which enabled her to sleep!

Just in proportion as the time passed, so increased my respect for Lola
Vergara, and my contempt for myself.

The lovelight I had observed in her eyes was but her natural look--the
simple expression of her wondrous beauty.  It had no signification--at
least none that was evil--and in mistaking it for the glance of a guilty
passion I had erred--deeply wronging her.

Soothed by this more honourable reflection, I at length fell asleep,
just as the grey light of dawn was beginning to steal over the _spray_
of the chapparal.

I could not have been very long unconscious, for the beams of the sun
had scarcely attained their full brilliancy, when I was again awakened--
this time, not by the conflict of passion within, but by the voices of
men without.  The challenge of a sentry had first struck upon my ear,--
quickly followed by a parley with some one who had approached the tent.

In the scarcely intelligible dialogue that ensued, I could tell that the
man challenged was a Mexican, who, in broken English, was endeavouring
to satisfy the demands of the sentry.

The dialogue ran thus:--

"Who goes there?"

"_Amigos_! friends!" was the response.

"'Dvance, and gie the countersign!"

"_Senor centinela_! we are _medicos_--surgeon, you call--of the
ejercito--armee Mejicano."

"Ye're Mexicans, are ye?  Take care what ye're about then.  What d'ye
want hyar?"

"We are medicos--doctor--_entiende usted_?"

"Doctors, ye say.  Humph! if that's what ye be, ye mout be o' some use
hyar, I reckon.  There's a good wheen o' yer sodgers gone under for want
o' docturin.  F'r all that I can't let you pass 'ithout the countersign;
leastwise till I've called the corporal o' the guard."

The group, who stood in front of the faithful sentinel awaiting
permission to pass, was full under my eyes, as I turned my face towards
it.  The persons comprising it numbered about a score of men, only one
of whom was in uniform.  This individual wore a frock-coat of blue
broadcloth, very long in the skirt, with gilt buttons over the breast,
crimson edging, and a cord trimming of gold lace.  His pantaloons were
of similar colour to the coat--in fact, of the same kind of cloth.
Instead of a military cap or shako he wore a black glaze hat, with broad
brim; while several minor articles of dress and equipment proclaimed a
costume half military, half civilian--such a style as might be seen in
any army during a campaign, but more especially in that of Mexico.

The other personages of the party were variously clad--some in half
military costumes, but most of them in plain clothes,--if any garments
worn in Mexico can be so qualified.  Several of them, two-and-two, bore
stretchers between them; while others carried surgical instruments,
lint, and labelled phials--insignia that declared their calling.  They
were the hospital staff, the _assistentes_ of the young officer who
preceded them, and who was evidently a surgeon belonging to the Mexican
army.

It was he who had accosted the sentry.

The appearance of this party on the field of battle needed no
explanation.  No more did there need to be any ceremony as to their
introduction.

On seeing them, I shouted to the sentry to let them pass without waiting
for the arrival of that important functionary--the "corporal of the
guard."

As I arose to my feet, I was confronted by the Mexican _medico_, to
whose indifferent English I had been for some time listening.

"Senor Capitan," he said, after saluting me with a polite wave of the
hand, "I have been told that I may address you in my own language.  In
it, and in the name of humanity, let me thank you for the kindness you
have shown to our wounded soldiers.  In you, sir, we no longer recognise
an enemy."

"The trifling assistance I have rendered is scarcely deserving of
thanks.  I fear that to some of the poor fellows who were its recipients
it has been of no avail.  More than one of them must have succumbed
during the night."

"That reminds me, Senor Capitan, that I should not lose time.  I carry,
as you perceive, a _safeguard_ from the American Commander-in-chief."

While speaking, he held out the document referred to, in order that I
might examine it.

"It is not necessary," I said; "you are of the medical staff; your
errand is your passport."

"Enough, Senor Capitan.  I shall proceed to the accomplishment of my
duty.  In the name of humanity and Mexico, once more I thank you!"

Saying this, he walked off with his followers towards that portion of
the field, where most of his wounded countrymen had miserably passed the
night.

In the style and personal appearance of this Mexican there was a
gracefulness peculiarly impressive.  He was a man of not less than fifty
years of age, of dark complexion under snow-white hair, and with
features so finely outlined as to appear almost feminine.  A pair of
large, liquid eyes, a voice soft and musical, small delicate hands, and
a graceful modesty of demeanour, bespoke him a person of refinement--in
short, a gentleman.

The fact of his speaking English, though not very fluently, being an
accomplishment rare among his countrymen, betokened intellectual
culture, perhaps foreign travel--an idea strengthened by his general
manner and bearing.  There was something in his looks, moreover, that
led me to think he must be clever in his calling.

I bethought me of the invalid inside the tent.  Calros might stand in
need of his skill.

I was about to summon him back, when the young girl, hurrying out,
anticipated my intention.  She had overheard the dialogue between the
new-comer and myself, and, thinking only of her brother, had rushed
forth to claim the services of the _surgeon_.

"Oh, Senor," she cried, making the appeal to myself, "will you call him
back to--to see Calros?"

"I was about to do so," I replied.  "He is coming!"

I had not even the merit of summoning the medics.  On hearing her voice
he had stopped and turned round, his attendants imitating his example.
The eyes of all were concentrated on the Jarocha.

"Senorita," said the surgeon, stepping towards the tent and modestly
raising his sombrero as he spoke, "so fair a flower is not often found
growing upon the ensanguined field of battle.  If I have overheard you
aright, it is your wish I should see some one who is wounded--some one
dear to you, no doubt?"

"My brother, sir."

"Ah! your brother," said the Mexican, regarding the girl with a look
that betokened a degree of surprise.  "Where may I find him?"

"In the tent, senor.  Calros, dear Calros! there is a medico, a real
surgeon, coming to see you."

And as the girl gave utterance to the words she stepped quickly inside
the marquee, followed by the surgeon himself.

Story 1, Chapter XII.

A SIDE CONVERSATION.

I was about to enter after them, when some words spoken by one of the
attendants, who had drawn nearer to the tent, arrested my steps, causing
me to remain outside.

"It's Lola Vergara," said the speaker; "that's who it is.  Any one who
has had the good fortune to see that _muchacha_ once, won't be likely to
forget _her_ face, and won't object to look at it a second time."

"You're right in what you say, Anton Chico.  I know one who, instead of
disliking to look at her beautiful countenance, would give an _onza_ for
a single glance at it.  _Carrambo_! that he would."

"Who--who is he?" asked several of the party.

"That big captain of _guerilleros_--Rayas, his name.  I know he'd like
to see her."

"Why, her brother belonged to his _cuadrilla_; and the girl was with him
in the camp.  I saw her myself, not three days ago, down by Puente
National."

"That's quite true!" assented the speaker who had endorsed the
declaration of Anton Chico.

"She was with the army for some days, along with the other women that
followed Rayas's troop.  But then all at once she was missed, and nobody
knew where she went to.  Capitan Rayas didn't, I know; or why should he
have offered an onza to any one who would tell him?"

"He made that offer?"

"_Ver dad_!  I heard him."

"To whom?"

"To that ugly _zambo_ you've seen skulking about the camp--who belongs
to nobody.  It was at the Puente National, as I have said.  I was
standing under the bridge--the dry arch at the further end.  It was just
after dark; when, who should come there but Capitan Rayas, and the zambo
following him.  They were talking about this very _nina_: and I heard
her name more than once.  I did not hear much, for I had to keep a good
distance off, so that they might not see me.  But I heard that."

"What?"

"What I've said about the offer of the onza.  `Find out, Santucho,' said
Rayas--Santucho is the zambo's name--`find out where he has hid her.'"

"Who has hid her?"

"_Carrambo_! that's what I couldn't make out; but who, if it wasn't her
own brother?--Calros, they call him."

"There's something ugly in all that," remarked one of the men.

"It isn't the nina, that's certain," jocularly rejoined Anton Chico.

"The zambo, then! he's ugly enough.  What say you, camarados?"

"The patron, who wanted to employ him, is no great beauty himself," said
one who had not before spoken.  "Notwithstanding his fine trappings, he
has got some black marks against him.  Look here, _hombres_," continued
the speaker, drawing nearer to the others, and adopting a more
confidential tone.  "I'm a blind man, if I haven't seen his phiz before;
ay, and _tapado_ at that."

"Tapado?" echoed several.

"With black crape!  It was only on my last trip but one up the country.
I went with the _recua_ of Jose Villares.  He carried goods for that
English house--you know--in the Calle do Mercaderos.  Well, we were
stopped at the Pinal, between Perote and Puebla; every mule stripped of
its _carga_; and every man of us, with Jose himself obliged to lie with
our mouths to the grass, till the rascals had rifled the _recua_.  They
took only what was most valuable and easiest carried; but, _carrambo_!
it well nigh ruined poor Jose; he has never been the same _aniero_
since."

"What of all that, hombre?" inquired one, who seemed to be still
unsatisfied.  "What has that to do with the Capitan Rayas?"

"Ah!  I forgot," said the accuser; "it was of the Capitan Rayas we were
speaking.  Well, it has this to do with him.  The _salteadores_ were all
tapado, with black crape over their faces, their captain like the rest;
but while he was engaged examining some papers he took from Jose, I
caught a glance of his ugly countenance--just enough to know it again.
If it wasn't the same I saw the other day when I met this Rayas in the
camp, then I don't know _chingarito_ from holy water.  I'll answer for
it from the chin up to the eyes.  Above that I didn't see it, for the
tapado was over it."

"Bah!" exclaimed one of the men, who appeared to be of easy conscience
himself; "what if the Capitan Rayas has done a little business on the
road?  There are officers in our army of higher rank than he who've
cried out, `_Boca abajo_!'--ay, some that are now generals!"

"Hush, camarade!" interrupted one who stood nearest the speaker.  "See,
the medico's coming out.  _Guardate, guardate_! it's treason you're
talking!"

The interest with which I had listened to this singular palaver, had
hindered me from entering the tent.  The men had spoken loud enough for
me to overhear every word--no doubt under the supposition that I did not
understand their language--and to keep them in this belief, I had made
pretence of being engaged in a whispering conversation with one of my
own troopers who stood near.

As the return of the medico put an end to the talking of his attendants,
I advanced to meet him, and inquired the condition of his patient.

"Thanks to your care, cavallero, he is out of danger from his wound.
But from what he has confided to me--and to you also, I believe--he will
be in danger of another kind by remaining in this place."

I could tell from this speech that Calros had communicated to the
surgeon the incidents of the preceding night.

"How long do you keep guard here?" inquired the Mexican, with an
abstracted air.

"I am under orders to strike tents and march--exactly at noon."

"To Jalapa, I presume?"

"To Jalapa."

"In that case this young fellow must be carried back to the village of
El Plan.  A body of your troops will likely remain there for some time?"

"I believe that is the intention of our commander-in-chief."

"Then the invalid would be safer there.  It will do him no harm, if
taken upon a stretcher.  I must lend him half-a-dozen of my assistants,
or pick up some stragglers to perform this service."

"He would be safer in Jalapa?"  I suggested, interrogatively.  "Besides,
the climate of Jalapa is much more favourable to the healing of wounds--
is it not?"

"That is true," answered the man of science; "but Jalapa is distant.  We
have not a single ambulance in our army.  Who is to carry him there--a
poor soldier?"

"A fine young fellow, notwithstanding.  My men would not mind the
trouble of taking him, if you think--"

I looked round, in hopes that the proposal might be heard and approved
by another.

The Jarocha was standing in the entrance of the tent, her face beaming
with gratitude.  No doubt it was due to the assurance which the surgeon
had given her of her brother's speedy recovery; but I fancied I could
perceive, in the sparkle of her beautiful eyes, a smile indicative of
consent to what I had proposed.

The surgeon comprehended not the cause of my friendly interest in the
welfare of the wounded Jarocho.

Did Lola comprehend it?  Did she suspect it?  Endowed with the keen,
delicate instincts of her race, it was probable she did; at least, I
fancied so, from the kindly look with which she had listened to my
suggestion.

After all, it might have been gratitude for my friendly intentions, and
nothing more.

"I see no objection to his going up the road," said the surgeon, after
having spent some little time in considering, "It is very kind on your
part, cavallero," added he--"a stranger and an enemy."  Here the medico
smiled.  "It is only a continuation of your humane exertions during the
past night."

A smile, almost imperceptible, accompanied this last observation,
together with the slightest raising of his eyes towards the Jarocha.

"Suppose," said he, continuing his speech, and relieving me from some
little embarrassment, "suppose we consult the wishes of the invalid
himself.  What say you, senorita?"

"_Gracias, nores_," replied the girl.  "I shall ask brother Calros."

"Calros!" she called out, turning her face towards the tent.  "The young
officer who has been so kind to you proposes to have you carried up the
road to Jalapa.  Would you like to go there?  The medico says the air of
Jalapa will be better for you than this place."

With a fast-beating pulse I listened for the response of the invalid.

It was delayed.  Calros appeared to be considering.

"Why?"  I asked myself.

"_Ay de mi_!" broke in the voice of his sister, in a tone of ingenuous
reflection.  "It is very hot at El Plan."

"Thanks, sweet Lola!"  I mentally exclaimed, and listened for the
decision of Calros, as a criminal waiting for his verdict.

Story 1, Chapter XIII.

A GROUP OF JAROCHOS.

Had the wounded man been left free to choose, he would in all
probability have decided in favour of being taken to Jalapa--that
sanatorium for invalids of the _tierra caliente_.

I know not whether he had resolved the matter in his mind, but if so,
the resolution rose not to his lips; for, as I stood over his couch,
venturing to add my solicitations to that _naive_ insinuation of his
sister, I heard voices outside the tent--voices of men who had just come
up--inquiring for "Calros Vergara."

"Hola!" cried the Jarocho, recognising the voices, "those are our
friends, sister--people from Lagarto.  Run out, nina, and tell them I am
here!"

Lola glided towards the entrance of the tent.

"'Tis true, Calros," she cried, as soon as she had looked out.  "I see
Vicente Vilagos, Ignacio Valdez, Rosario Tres Villas, and the little
Pablito!"

"Gracias a Dios!" exclaimed the invalid, raising himself on the _catre_.
"I should not wonder if they've come to carry me home."

"That's just what we've come for," responded a tall, stalwart specimen
of a Jarocho, who at that moment stepped inside the tent, and who was
hailed by the invalid as "Vicente Vilagos."  "Just that, Calros; and
we're glad to learn that the Yankee bullet has not quite stopped your
breath.  You're all right, hombre!  So the medico outside has been
telling us; and you'll be able, he says, to make the journey to Lagarto,
where we'll carry you as gingerly as a game cock; ay, and the nina, too,
if she will only sit astride of my shoulders.  Ha! ha! ha!"

By this time the other Jarochos, to the number of six or seven, had
crowded inside the tent, and surrounded the _catre_ in which lay their
countryman--each grasping him by the hand on arriving within reach; and
all saluting Lola with an air of _chevalresque_ gracefulness worthy of
the days of the Cid!

I stood aside--watching with curious interest this interchange of
friendly feeling; which partook also of a _national_ character: for it
was evident that the visitors of Calros were all of the Jarocho race.

I had another motive for observing their movements, far stronger than
that of mere curiosity.  I looked to discover if among the new-comers I
could recognise a rival!

I watched the countenance of Lola more than theirs, scrutinising it as
each saluted her.  I felt happy in having observed nothing--at least
nothing that appeared like a glance of mutual intelligence.  They were
all thin, sinewy fellows, dark-skinned and dark-haired, having faces
such as Salvator Rosa would have delighted to commit to canvas, and
pointed chin-beards, like those painted by Vandyke.

None of them appeared to be over thirty years of age.  Not one of them
was ill-looking; and yet there was not one who inspired me with that
unpleasant feeling too often the concomitant of love.

From all that I had yet seen, the rivalry of Rayas, Calros's enemy, was
more to be dreaded than that of any of his friends.

Vicente Vilagos was the oldest of the party, and evidently their leader
_pro tem_.

It was no longer a question of carrying Calros to Jalapa.  That, to his
friends, would have appeared absurd--perhaps not the less so were Lola
to urge it.

She said nothing, but stood apart.  I fancied she was not too content at
their coming, and the fancy was pleasant to me!

Surrounded by her enthusiastic friends, for a time I could not find an
opportunity of speaking with her.  I endeavoured to convey intelligence
with my eyes.

The Jarochos are sharp fellows; skilled in courtesy, and thorough adepts
in the art of love.  I had reason to be careful.  My peculiar position
was against me, as it marked me out for their observation.

Their glances, however, were friendly.  They had gathered some
particulars of what had passed between their compatriot and myself.

"Come!" said Vilagos, after some minutes spent in arranging their plans.
"'Tis time for us to take the road.  'Twill be sundown before we can
rest under the palm-trees of Lagarto."

The poetical phraseology did not surprise me: I knew it was _Jarocho_.

Calros had been placed upon a stretcher; and his bearers had already
carried him outside the tent.  Some broad leaves of the banana had been
fixed over him as an awning, to shelter him from the rays of the sun.

"_Nor deconocio_," said Vilagos, coming up to me, and frankly extending
his hand.  "You've been kind to our _con-paisano_, though you be for the
time our enemy.  That, we hope, will soon pass; but whether it be in
peace or in war, if you should ever stray to our little _rancheria_ of
Lagarto, you will find that a Jarocho can boast of two humble
virtues--_gratitud y hospitalidad!  Adios_!"

Each of the companions of Vilagos parted from me with an almost similar
salutation.

I would have bidden a very different sort of adieu to Dolores, but was
hindered by the presence of her friends, who clustered around.

I could find opportunity for only four words:

"_Lola!  I love you_!"

There was no reply; not a word, not a whisper that reached me; but her
large dark orbs, like the eyes of the _mazame_, flashed forth a liquid
light that entered my soul, like fire from Cupid's torch.

I was half delirious as I uttered the "_adios_."  I did not add the
customary "_Va con Dios_!" nor yet the "_hasta luego_"--the "au revoir"
of the Spanish, for which our boorish Saxon vocabulary has no synonym.

Notwithstanding the omission, I registered a mental vow--_to see Lola
Vergara again_.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The beautiful Jarocha was gone from my sight!

"Shall I ever see her again?"

This was the interrogatory that came uppermost in my thoughts--not the
less painful from my having perceived that she had lingered to look
back.

Would she have preferred the road to Jalapa?

Whether or not, I had the vanity to think so.

Gone, without leaving me either promise or souvenir--only the
remembrance of her voluptuous beauty--destined long to dwell within the
shrine of my heart.

"Shall I ever see her again?"

Once--twice--thrice--involuntarily did I repeat the self-interrogation.

"Perhaps never!" was each time the equally involuntary reply.

In truth, the chances of my again meeting with her were very slight.  To
this conclusion came I, after a calm survey of the circumstances
surrounding me.  True, I had obtained the name of her native village--El
Lagarto--and had registered a mental resolve to visit it.

What of that?  A long campaign was before me, loading me in the opposite
direction.  The chances of being killed, and surviving it, were almost
equally balanced in the scale.  With such a prospect, when might I stray
towards Lagarto?

There was but one answer to this question within my cognisance:
_whenever I should find the opportunity_.  With this thought I was
forced to console myself.

I stood with my eyes fixed upon the turning of the road, where the
overhanging branches of the acacias, with cruel abruptness, shrouded her
departing figure from my sight.  I watched the _grecque_ bordering upon
her petticoat, as the skirt swelled and sank, gradually narrowing
towards the trees.  I looked higher, and saw the fringed end of the
reboso flirted suddenly outward, as if a hand, rather than the breeze,
had caused the motion.  I looked still higher.  The face was hidden
under the scarf.  I could not see that, but the attitude told me that
her head must be turned, and her eyes, "_mirando atras_!"

Kissing my hand, in answer to this final recognition, was an action
instinctive and mechanical.

"I've been a fool to permit this parting--perhaps never to see her
again!"

This was the reflection that followed.  I entered the tent, and flung
myself upon the _catre_ lately occupied by the invalid.

A sleepless night, caused by excited passions, succeeding another passed
equally without sleep, in which I had toiled, taking those useless
howitzers up the steep slopes of El Plan--had rendered me somnolent to
an extreme degree; and spite the chagrin of that unsatisfactory
separation, I at length gave way to a god resistless as Cupid himself.

Story 1, Chapter XIV.

AN INFAMOUS EPISTLE.

There is an interest--will any man deny it?--in awaking from one's
slumber, and finding that the postman has _been_; the fact made manifest
by the presence of an epistle tying proximate to your pillow, and within
reach of your hand.

It is an interest of a peculiarly pleasant nature, if the epistle be
perfumed, the envelope of limited dimensions, crested, cream-laid, and
endorsed by a chirography of the "angular" type.

The effect, though sometimes as startling, is not quite so pleasant,
when the "cover" is of a bluish tint, the superscription "clerkly," and,
instead of a crest enstamped upon the seal, you read the cabalistic
words, "Debt, Dunn, and Co."

As I awoke from my matutinal slumber--under canvas that had sheltered
his Excellency Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna--my eyes looked upon a
letter, or something that resembled one.

The sight inspired me neither with the thought which would have been
suggested by a _billet-doux_ nor a _dun_, but yet with an interest not
much yielding to either; for in the superscription placed fair before my
eyes I read the full cognomen and titles of the Mexican tyrant:--

"_Al excellentissimo Senor, Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, General en
gefe del Ejercito Mexicano_."

The presence of the epistle was easily explained, for I was lying on the
camp-bedstead upon which, the night before, had reclined the despot of
Anahuac--perhaps after sleeping less tranquilly than I.  Protruding from
under the leathern _catre_ was the letter, where it had, in all
probability, been deposited after perusal.

On perceiving it, my feeling was one of curiosity--perhaps something
more.  I was, of course, curious to peruse the correspondence of an
individual, in my way of thinking, more notorious than distinguished.
At the same time a vague hope had entered my mind, that the envelope
enclosed some private despatch, the knowledge of which might be of
service to the Commander-in-chief of the American army.

I had no scruples about reading the epistle--not the slightest.  There
was no seal to be broken; and if there had been, I should have broken it
without a moment's hesitation.

The letter was addressed--in no very fair hand--to an enemy, not only of
my nation, but, as I deemed him, an enemy of mankind.

I drew the sheet from its cover--a piece of coarse foolscap, folded note
fashion.  The writing was in pencil, and just legible.

"_Excellentissimo Senor!--La nina se huye del campamento.  Es cierto que
la ha mandado el hermano.  Ha recibido la putita las propuestas de V.E.
con muchas senales de civilidad.  No tenga V. cuidad.  Yo soy alerte.
En buen tiempo, dormira ella en la tienda y los brazos de V.E. o no esta
mia nombre_.

"Ramon Ratas."

Literal translation:--

"_Most Excellent Sire!--The young girl has disappeared from the camp--
assuredly by the command of her brother.  The `putita' (a word not to be
translated) listened to the proposal of your Excellency with much show
of complaisance.  Don't have any disquietude about the result.  I am on
the alert.  In good time she shall sleep in the tent and arms of your
Excellency, or my name isn't_.

"Ramon Ratas."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whatever of sleep was left in my body or brain, was at once dispelled by
the reading of this disgusting epistle.  I had not the slightest doubt
as to whom it referred.  "La nina" could be no other than Dolores
Vergara.

There might be other ninas following the Mexican army who had brothers,
but the communication of Rayas pointed to one who had lately disappeared
from the camp--a circumstance identifying her with the sister of Calros.

Besides, what other was likely to have tempted the cupidity of the
tyrant--his lust (for it was clearly such a passion), which his pander
had promised to gratify?

I was less surprised by the contents of the epistle than by the
circumstances under which I had found it, and the peculiar coincidences
that rendered its contents so easy of interpretation.

The character of Santa Anna--well known to me as to others--was in exact
keeping with what might be inferred from the communication of his
correspondent.  Lascivious to an extreme degree, his amatory intrigues
have been as numerous as his political machinations.  At least half the
leisure of his life has been devoted to dallying with the Delilahs of
his land, of whom there is no scarcity.

Even the loss of his leg--shot off at the siege of Vera Cruz by
Joinville--failed to cure him of his erotic propensities.  At the time
of which I speak--nearly ten years after having parted with his limb--he
was still the same gay wooer of women; though now, in his mature age,
occasionally standing in need of the _alcohuete_, as well as the
exercise of other vile influences.

Among these last, the bestowal of military commissions was well known to
be one of his most common means of corruption; and many a young
_alferes_ owed his _inglorious epaulette_--many a captain his command--
to the questionable merit of possessing a pretty sister.

Such was Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, Dictator of Mexico, and
"generalissimo" of her armies.

With this knowledge of his character, I felt but little surprised at the
contents of that "confidential" epistle.  Nor was my contempt for him to
whom it was directed so strong as it might have been, had my conscience
been clear.  In the impurity of my own thoughts, I was neither qualified
to judge, nor privileged to condemn, the iniquities of another.

I could scarcely conceive how any one could look upon Lola Vergara
without being inspired with a wish to become either her husband or her
lover; and as _El Cojo_--already _wived_--could not be the former, it
was but natural for such a man, placed in his all-commanding position,
to indulge in the hopeful anticipation of being accepted as the latter.

With shame I confess it, I felt but little surprise at the discovery of
this intrigue; and if I felt contempt, it was less for the sin itself,
than for the way in which it was intended to be committed.  With this
sort of despite I was sufficiently inspired, extending equally to the
patron and the panderer.

"Cowardly wretches!"  I involuntarily exclaimed, crushing the piece of
paper between my fingers; "both villains alike!  And the brute Rayas!
who talked of loving--of becoming _himself_ her husband!  Ha!  No doubt
would he do so: to obtain a better price for his precious commodity.
Double dastard!  It is difficult to believe in such infamy!"

For some time I strode backward and forward across the floor of the
tent, muttering such speeches, and giving way to such thoughts.

Mingling with my disgust for the tyrant and his pimp, there was another
feeling that caused me acute pain.  Had the wretch any right to apply
that vile epithet "putita?"  Was there any truth in his statement that
she had listened _with complaisance_ to the proposals of V.E.--proposals
of the nature of which there could be no misconception?

Notwithstanding the source from which the insinuation came, I will not
deny that, at the moment it caused me suspicions, and something more--
something very like _chagrin_.

It was less the knowledge of Lola's character--of which I could know but
little--than that of her countrywomen, that inspired me with this
suspicion.  Moreover, it was difficult to conceive how one so lovely and
loveable could have lived to her age under the burning skies of the
_tierra caliente_, without having loved.

That she _had been loved_, there could be little doubt.  As little, that
her lovers were legion.  Could it be doubted that of some one of them
she had reciprocated the passion?  After the age of twelve the heart of
a Jarocha rarely remains unimpressed.  Lola appeared to be sixteen.

The disquietude of my thoughts admonished me that I too loved this
Mexican maiden.  The very pain of my suspicions told me I could not help
loving her, _even if assured that they were true_!

My passion, if impure, was also powerful.  The imputation cast upon its
object in the letter of the _alcohuete_, instead of stifling, served
only to fan it to a fiercer flame; and under the impression that the
slanderer might have spoken the truth, I only blamed myself for having
behaved towards the beautiful Jarocha with a respect that might, after
all, in her eyes have seemed superfluous.

I was not so wicked as to give way to these gross ideas for any
continued length of time; and as my memory dwelt upon her fair face; on
her eyes of angelic expression; on the modest gracefulness of demeanour
that marked her every movement; above all, on the devoted fondness of
which her brother was the object, I could not think that Lola Vergara
was otherwise than what she seemed--an angel of innocence; and that her
brutal asperser was exactly what _he_ seemed--a demon of the darkest
dye.

Under the influence of these less degrading reflections, my spirits
became calmer; and I could ponder with less bitterness upon the contents
of that infamous epistle.

Infamy it revealed of the deepest character, on the part of both writer
and recipient, but nothing to compromise the character of the Jarocha:
for the insinuation of Rayas might have been made either to flatter the
vanity, or soothe the impatience, of his patron; and in all likelihood
one or the other--perhaps both--was its true purpose.

One fact, made evident by the communication, gave me disquietude of
another kind.  Whether the heart of Lola Vergara was still safe, certain
it was that her _honour_ was in danger.  The brutal ruffian who would
have murdered her brother, his old school-mate, on the field of battle,
was not likely to stick at trifles of any kind, as I knew neither would
he who was to reward him for the procuration.  The assassin in intent,
if not in reality, was not likely to be deterred by an abduction.

I could not help feeling serious apprehension for the safety of the
girl, having only her invalid brother, a mere youth, to protect her.
With the robber at large, and the patron still retaining a certain
degree of power, the life of the brother was scarcely more secure than
the chastity of the sister.

It was true that the arch-contriver, now a fugitive from the field, was
likely for some time to have his hands full of other and very different
work, than that of effecting the ruin of a peasant girl.  But the
subordinate would still be upon the spot; and even without the cheering
presence of his employer, or the prospect of speedy reward, he might
have views of his own, equally affecting the welfare of Lola Vergara.

I was so much disquieted by these apprehensions, that I had ordered my
horse, with the design of galloping down the road, if possible
overtaking the cortege which accompanied the invalid, and making known
both to him and to his sister the scheme I had so unexpectedly
discovered!

They had been gone some four or five hours; but, from the slow progress
a stretcher must make, they would not likely have been more than as many
miles beyond the bridge of El Plan.  There could be no difficulty in
overtaking them.

After all, what good could come of it?  I might put them on their guard;
but surely they had received warning already--sufficient to stimulate
them to the utmost caution?

Moreover, the Jarocho would be in his own village, surrounded by his
friends--I saw he had friends.  What danger, then, either to himself or
to his sister?

My apprehensions were unreasonable; and perhaps my horse had been
saddled as much from another motive which I need not declare.

_She_ might comprehend it, and to my prejudice--perhaps deem me
importunate?  She must have known all that I could tell her--perhaps
more!  Ah! true.  She might not thank me for my interference.

As I stood hesitating between these two conflicting emotions, I was
admonished that the hour was nigh, at which we had been ordered to
strike tents, and march to join the head-quarters of the American army,
by this time established in the town of Jalapa.

My troopers were forming on the field, preparatory to taking the route;
and this among other motives decided my course of action.

Just as the sun had reached his meridian height, the bugler sounded the
"_forward_!" and riding at the head of my little troop, I bade adieu to
Cerro Gordo, now sacred to the god of war, but in my mind to remain
hallowed as the spot upon which I had worshipped a far more agreeable
divinity.

Story 1, Chapter XV.

TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES.

Up the road from Cerro Gordo we travelled upon the track of a routed
army.

All had not made good their retreat, as was evidenced by many a sad
spectacle that came under our eyes as we went onward.

Here lay the dead horse, sunblown to enormous dimensions, with one lag--
a hind one--stiffly projecting into the air.

Not far off might be seen the corpse of his quondam rider, in like
manner swollen--bloated to the very tips of the fingers--so that the
latter scarcely protruded from the palms, that more resembled
boxing-gloves than the hands of a human being!

Though only thirty hours had elapsed from the time that life had left
them, this curious transformation had become complete.  It was owing to
the tropical sun, which for the whole of the previous day had been
fiercely glaring upon the bodies.

I noted, as we passed, that our slain enemies had not been unheeded.
All appeared, since death, to have been visited, and attended to--not
for the purpose of interment, but of plunder.

Everything of value found upon the corpses had been stripped off; in the
case of some, even to their vestments.

A few were stark naked--their swollen shining skins displaying the
gore-encircled _embouchure_ of sabre or shot-wound; and it was only
those whose torn uniforms were saturated with black blood, who had been
permitted to retain the rags that enveloped them--now stretched to such
a tight fit, that it would have been an impossibility to have completed
the process of stripping.

To the credit of the pursuing army be it told, that this ruthless
spoliation was not the work of the American soldier.  A part of it may
have been performed by the stragglers of that army--in nine cases out of
ten a European hireling--French, Irish, or German.  Myself an Irishman,
I can scarcely be charged with partiality in this statement.  Alas! for
the land of my nativity--whose moral sense has too long suffered from
the baneful taint of monarchical tyranny!  I but set forth the facts as
I saw them.

It was no great consolation to know, that much of that spoilation had
been done by Mexicans themselves--the patrolled prisoners, who had gone
up the road before us.

The same deteriorating influence had been at work upon _their_ moral
principles for a like period of time; and the intermittent glimpses they
had got of a republic, had been too evanescent to have left behind much
trace of its civilising power.

As we rode onward among the unburied dead, I was impressed by a singular
circumstance.  The corpse of no Mexican appeared to have suffered
mutilation; while that of an American soldier, who had fallen by some
stray shot, was stripped of its flesh--almost to the making a skeleton
of it!

It was the work of wolves--we had no doubt about that.  We several times
saw the coyotes skulking under the edge of the chapparal, and at a
greater distance the gaunt form of the large Mexican wolf.  We saw great
holes eaten in the hips of horses and mules; but not a scratch upon the
corpse of a Mexican soldier!

"Why is it?"  I asked of a singular personage who was riding immediately
behind me, unattached to my troop, and whose experience over Texan and
New Mexican battlefields I presumed would help me to an explanation.
"Why is it that the wolves have left _their_ bodies untouched?"

"Wagh!" exclaimed the individual thus interrogated, with an expression
of scornful _disgust_ suddenly overspreading his features.  "Wolves eat
'em!  No--nor coyot's neyther.  A coyot won't eat skunk; an' I reck'n
thur karkidges aint less bitterer than the meat o' a skunk."

"You think there's something in their flesh that the wolves don't
relish--something different from that of other people?"

"Think!  I'm sartin sure o't.  I've see'd 'em die whar we killed 'em--
when the Texans made their durned foolish expedishun northart to Santa
Fe.  I've seed 'em lyin' out in the open paraira, for hul weeks at a
time, till they had got dry as punk--jest like them things they bring
from somewhar way out t'other side of the world.  Durn it, I
dis-remember the name o' the place, an' the things themselves.  You know
what I'm trackin' up, Bill Garey?  We seed 'em last time we wur at Sant
Looey--in that ere queery place, whur they'd got Ingun things, an'
stuffed bufflers, an' the like."

"Mummeries?" replied the person thus appealed to, another unattached
member of the corps of _rifle-rangers_.  "Are that what you're arter,
old Rube?"

"Preezackly, Bill Mum'ries; ay, the name war that--I reccolex it.  They
gits the critters out o' large stone buildin's, shaped same as the
rockly islands we seed, when we were trappin' that lake out t'ords
California."

"Pyramids!" exclaimed the old trapper's companion, in a tone indicative
of a more enlightened mind.  "Pyramids o' Eegip!  That's where they get
'em--so the feller sayed, as showed 'em to us."

"Wal, wherever they gets 'em.  I don't care a durn whur; but as I wur
tellin' the capten, I've seed dead Mexikins as like them mum'ries as one
buffler air to another.  I've seed 'em lie out thur on the dry paraira,
an' neer a coyot, nor a wolf, nor even a turkey-buzzart go near 'em, let
alone eat o' thur meat.  That's what I've seed, and so've you, Bill
Garey."

"Ye're right, old hoss; I've seed what you says."

"Wagh! what, then?" interrogated the first speaker, "what do ye konklude
from thet?"

"Wal," drawlingly responded his younger compeer; "I shed say by that
thet thar meat warn't eatable, nohow."

"Ah! there you'd be right, Bill Garey.  There ain't a critter on all the
paraira as will stick a tooth into the meat o' a reg'lar Mexikin.  Coyot
won't touch it; painter won't go near it; or buzzart, that'll eat the
durndest gurbage as ever wur throwed out o' a tent,--even to the flesh
o' a Injun--won't dig its bill into the karkidge o' a yeller-belly.
I've seed it, an' I knows it."

"Well," I said, yielding to a belief in this curious theory--not
propounded to me for the first time--"how do you account for this
predilection, or rather _degout_, on the part of the predatory animals?"

"Digou!" replied the old trapper; "if ye mean by that 'ere a hanger agin
'em, 'taint nothin' o' the sort.  It be the pure stink o' the anymal as
keeps 'em off.  How ked they be other'ise, eatin' nothin' but them red
peppers, an' thur garlic, an' thur half-rotten jirk-meat?  'Taint a bit
strange, I reckin, that neyther wolf nor buzzarts'll have anythin' to do
wi' their karkidges.  Is it, Billee?"

"No," replied the individual thus appealed to; "not a bit, though some
other sort o' anymal 'haint been so pertikler.  If their skins hain't
been touched, somebody's been tolerable close to 'em, an' taken thar
shirts.  I calclate it's been some o' thar own people as have jest gone
up the road."

"An' maybe some o' ourn as well," rejoined the old trapper, with a
significant leer upon his wrinkled features.  "Some o' them don't appear
to be much better than the Mexikins 'emselves.  Look'ee there, Cap'n!"

The speaker gave a slight inclination of his head, accompanied by an
equally slight wave of the hand.

I looked in the direction indicated by this double gesture; and at once
comprehended the purport of his insinuation.

Story 1, Chapter XVI.

A BRACE OF BAD FELLOWS.

I was at the moment riding in the rear of my troop--having fallen back
to hold conversation with my two unattached followers, thus incidentally
introduced.  The last trooper in the rank--except the corporal, who rode
alongside of him--was a man of large body, somewhat slouched and
unshapen; as were also his arms, limbs, and the forage-cap on his head.
Altogether, he was a slovenly specimen for a cavalry soldier--to look at
from behind; and his aspect from the front did not alter the impression.

A long cadaverous countenance, bedecked with a pair of hollow-glass-like
eyes; a beard long as the face, hanging down over his breast, defiled
with fragments of food and the "ambeer" of tobacco; behind which
appeared a row of very large white teeth, set between lips of an
unnaturally red colour; above these a long nose, broken near the middle,
and obliquing outward to the sinister angle of his mouth;--such was the
portrait presented by the individual in question.

I did not see his face, for I was behind him; but it did not need that
to enable me to identify the man.  By his back, or any part of his body,
I could have told that the trooper before me was Johann Laundrich, the
Jew-German.

"What of _him_?"  I inquired, in an undertone, seeing that he was the
individual referred to in the speech of the old trapper.

"Don't 'ee see, Cap'n! them theer boots!  I heern ye stopped 'im from
takin' 'em last night.  He's got 'em along wi' him for all that.  Thar
they be!"

Rube's gesture was this time more definite; and pointed to the cloak of
the trooper, rolled and strapped to the cantle of his saddle.

Between the folds of the cloth, ill-adjusted as they were, I saw,
protruding a few inches outward, something of a buff colour, that
evidently did not belong to the garment.

A slight scrutiny satisfied me that it was a boot; and, guided by what
the trapper had said, I saw that it could be no other than one of the
pair I had prevented Laundrich from pilfering from the corpse of the
Mexican officer.

I had only hindered him for the time.  He had evidently returned to the
tent, and made a finish of his filthy work.

A loud angry "halt!" brought the troop to a stand.

I ordered Laundrich to ride out of the ranks; unstrap his cloak from the
saddle; and spread it out.  On his doing so, the buff boots fell to the
ground--where they were permitted to lie.

I could not contain my temper at the double disobedience of orders; and
riding alongside the ruffian, I struck him over the crown with the flat
of my sabre.

He made no movement to avoid the blow, nor did he stir on receiving it--
further than to show his white teeth, like a savage dog suffering
chastisement.

With Laundrich once more in the saddle, we were about to move on; when
the corporal, touching his cap, came up to me.

"Captain!" said he, "there's even worse than him among the men.  There's
one o' them got in his havresack a thing I think you ought to see.  It's
a scandal to the corps."

"Which one--who?"

"Bully, the Englishman."

"Order Bully to ride this way."

The trooper thus designated, on being summoned by the corporal, drew his
horse out of the rank, and rode up--though evidently with an awkward
reluctance.

He was quite as ill-favoured as the delinquent just punished.  His evil
aspect was of a type altogether different.  He was bullet-headed and
bull-faced, with a thick fleshy neck, and jowls entirely destitute of
beard; while, instead of being of dark complexion, like the Jew-German,
his face was of the hue of dirty shining tallow, not _adorned_ by a
close crop of hay-coloured hair that came far down upon a low square
forehead.  His nose was retrousse, with nostrils widely spread, like
those of a pure-bred bull dog; and his eyes were not very unlike the
optics of the fierce Molossian.

The man was known by the name above given to him; though whether he
answered to this appellation at roll-call, or whether it was only a
sobriquet bestowed upon him by his comrades, I really do not now
remember.

His appearance was simply stupid and brutal, while that of Laundrich was
cunning and savage.

They were the two worst men in the troop; and I had reason to believe
that both had been convicts in their respective countries; but this was
not much in the ranks of a campaigning army.

"Bully!"  I demanded, as he drew near; "let us see what you've got in
your havresack!"

A hideous grin overspread the fellow's features, as he proceeded to draw
out the contents of the bag.

"What is it?"  I inquired of the corporal, impatient to learn what could
be carried in a cavalry havresack, calculated to set a stigma upon a
whole troop.

"A piece o' a man," was the reply.

By this time Bully had produced the identical article.  Knowing what was
wanted of him, he saw there would be no use in attempting to "dodge" the
demand; and, without troubling the other impedimenta, which the sack
contained, he drew out only the article requiring inspection.

It was the finger of a man, encircled by a heavy gold ring, deeply
embedded in the swollen flesh!  It had been cut off at the posterior
joint, close to the hand; and a portion of the muscle of the two
adjacent fingers was still attached to it.  All this had been done to
secure the ring which could not, without breaking it, have been detached
from the finger.

The sight, taken in connection with the history deduced from its being
in possession of the trooper, was sufficiently horrible.

I did not allow my eyes to dwell upon it; and the shower of blows which
I administered to the inhuman scoundrel were not the less heavily dealt
on my being told that the finger had belonged to the same corpse which
Laundrich had despoiled of its boots!

Ordering the fragment of humanity to be brought along--with the design
of some day sending the ring to the friends of the mutilated man--I
resumed the route; painfully impressed with the disagreeable
circumstances, which had thus disturbed the tranquillity of my temper.

Story 1, Chapter XVII.

A RIDERLESS HORSE.

We halted about midway on the road to Jalapa, at a place called _Corral
Falso_, which, literally translated, signifies "The False Enclosure."

I know not why the name; but certain it is, that a large enclosure of
mason work, with a portion of it in ruins, occupied the summit of the
slight eminence where the village stands.

This enclosure may have been a "corral" or penn for cattle, or perhaps a
"paraje" for pack mules; though it seemed to be no longer used for any
purpose--as it exhibited the appearance of a ruin overgrown with bushes
and rank weeds.

The village itself may also have seen more prosperous days--in the times
of vice-regal rule--but Corral Falso, on the occasion of my making halt
in it, was nothing more than a very small collection of huts,
constructed out of tree poles--"Jacales"--and constituting that
grouping, known in Mexico as a _rancheria_--a collection of "ranchos."

The vanquished army, in its retreat, as well as the victors in their
pursuit having passed through the place, had temporarily deprived Corral
Falso of its inhabitants.  They had taken to the wild chapparal which
grew close to their village; and there had they hidden themselves.

But since then a whole day had intervened; and hunger had forced them
back to their despoiled homes--at the same time inspiring them with
courage to stay there, or at all events with a repugnance to return to
the starving shelter of the chapparal.

We found the Corral Falsenians at home--of both sexes and of all ages--
all alike trembling at our approach, and evidently gratified to find
that we did not eat them up!

I have given this prominence to the pretty _paraje_ Corral Falso, not
out of any consideration for the place itself but on account of an
incident that transpired there, which resulted in my losing two of my
men; and--which was of far more importance to me--was very nearly ending
in the loss of myself!

We had halted to "bait" our animals--from their own nosebags of course:
for there was not as much corn in Corral Falso as would have filled the
crop of a chicken.

While thus occupied, it was reported to me--that one of the horses would
not eat; but on the contrary, was more likely to die.

He had been stricken by the sun, or had got the staggers from some other
unexplained cause; which ended by his tumbling over upon the road, and
stretching out his limbs in their last tremulous struggle.

The horse belonged to the lieutenant of my troop; who was now, of
course, _demonte_.

Slight as the _contretemps_ may appear, or might have been under other
circumstances, it placed us at the time in somewhat of a dilemma.  One
of the men would have to be dismounted, in order that the officer might
ride; but how was the man to be taken along?  I had been ordered to
report speedily at head-quarters in Jalapa; and to have marched at such
a pace as would allow one on foot to keep up with the troop, was
entirely out of the question.

It is true that the dismounted trooper might be carried on the croup of
one of his comrades' horses; but all of these were greatly fatigued by a
long-continued spell of duty; and it was just doubtful enough whether
there was a horse in the _cavallada_ capable of "carrying double."

While my lieutenant and I were debating this question between us, fate
or fortune seemed to have determined on deciding it in our favour.

I have said that the _chapparal_ stretched in to the very confines of
the rancheria--holding the little village, as it were, in its thorny
embrace.

But the country around was not all of this character.  The thicket was
far from being continuous.  On the contrary, the eye rested upon broad
tracts of open pasture-ground, covered with a growth of tufted grass,
here and there matted, with clumps of cactus, and plants of the wild
agave bristling under their tall flower-stalks, and cymes of
strong-scented blossoms.

It was not these curious forms of the botanical world that attracted our
attention--we had seen and admired them before--but the hoof-strokes of
a galloping horse, ringing, not upon the road that bisected the village,
but upon the hard turf, that covered the surface of the soil in the open
spaces extending between the copses of the chapparal.

We had scarcely bent our ears to listen to the sounds, when we saw the
animal that was causing them--a horse--galloping down the slope of a
hill in the direction of the rancheria.

He was saddled; but without bridle, and without a rider!

The animal appeared to be a splendid _musteno_, of a steel-grey colour;
and the gleam of silver upon the mountings of the saddle bespoke him as
belonging, or having belonged, to an owner of some consideration--
perhaps an officer of rank.

The sight of a saddled but riderless steed, thus scampering across
country, was by no means strange--at least to us _then_ and _there_.
More than one had we observed upon our march enjoying a like liberty--
whose riders were perhaps, at that moment, coldly asleep upon the field
of battle, never more to remount them.

We should scarcely have taken notice of the circumstance, but for the
want which just then was making itself so unpleasantly felt.  We wanted
a horse to remount the lieutenant.  Here was one about to offer himself
ready saddled, and as if saying, "Come and bestride me!"

It was not so certain, however, that the mustang was thus generously
disposed; and it became still less so, when the animal, after
approaching within twenty paces of the troop, suddenly stopped, threw
his nostrils into a horizontal position; loudly inhaled the air; and
then with a terrific neigh turned in his tracks and galloped back up the
acclivity of the hill.

In the _cavallada_ of tall, scraggy steeds that stood in the street of
the village with their noses buried eye-deep in canvas bags--he seemed
not to have recognised his own species; or, if so, it was only to
identify them as enemies.

The horses of the troop had taken no heed of the shy stranger.  They
were not in the humour for a "stampede."  They did not even think it
necessary to neigh, but remained tranquilly crunching their corn, as if
aware that they were making only a temporary halt, and that their time
was too precious to be spent in any other occupation.

On reaching the summit of the hill, the mustang came to a stand, and,
with head high in air, screamed back a series of wild "whighers," as if
uttered in mockery or defiance.

There was but one horse on the ground capable of capturing that mustang;
and perhaps only one rider who could have conducted him to the capture.

Though laying myself open to the accusation of an inordinate vanity, I
must specify the horse and the rider thus alluded to.  The first was my
brave steed _Moro_--the second was Captain Edward Warfield, in command
of a "free corps of rangers."

An early practice of hare and fox hunting in my native land--continued
by the chase of the stag over the forest-clad slopes of the
Alleghanies--had given me a seat in the saddle firm as its "tree," and
close as the skin that covered it; while a still later experience on the
great western prairies, had rendered me habile in the handling of that
wonderful weapon of prairie and pampa--the _lazo_.

Habit had accustomed me to deem it almost as essential as my bridle;
never to go abroad without it; and ever, while riding at the head of my
troop of half guerilleros, half-regular cavalry--a coil of thin shining
rope composed of twisted hair from the tails of horses, might have been
seen hanging from the horn of my saddle.

I esteemed it an arm of equal service with my pistols, whose butts
glistened in the holsters beneath.  It could be seen in _Corral Falso_
hanging over the withers of my steed, as he stood among the others
quietly munching his maize.

My dismounted lieutenant had noticed it, and turned towards me with an
appealing look, impossible to be misunderstood.

He liked the appearance of the steel-grey mustang; and had become
inspired with an insatiable longing to bestride it.

That longing could only be gratified by its capture; and this could only
be effected by myself and Moro.

I understood the lieutenant's look.  Perhaps my comprehension was
quickened by the pride or vanity that fluttered up within my bosom at
the moment--a desire for even that trifling triumph of distinguishing
myself in the eyes of my own men.

I perceived that their eyes were upon me; and, ordering my horse to be
bridled, I leaped into the saddle, and started off in pursuit of the
_escapado_.

Story 1, Chapter XVIII.

A HORSE-HUNT.

My steed deemed to comprehend the object for which I had mounted him.
Without any guidance, either of voice or rein, he headed for the hill,
upon the summit of which stood the neighing mustang.

I rode cautiously up the slope, keeping as well as I could under cover
of the cactus plants, in hopes that I might get near enough to fling my
lazo without fraying the animal I wished to capture.

There was but slight chance of my being able to accomplish this without
a gallop.

The riderless horse was roused, and could not be approached unless by a
ruse, or after being run down.

I could think of no trick beyond that of stealing upon the mustang
through some trees near which he had stopped, and I rode towards them.

It was to no purpose.  The animal having the advantage in position,
could see me as I advanced up the acclivity.  Before I had got half way
to the trees, it turned tail towards me; and, uttering a shrill scream,
disappeared over the crest of the ridge.

Giving Moro a touch of the spur, I hastened on to the spot lately
occupied by the escapado.

On reaching the summit I saw the mustang once more, but at a rather
discouraging distance.  It had made good use of the short time it had
been out of sight--being now nearly half a mile off, and still going
down the slope, which declined in the direction of the Rio del Plan.

I hesitated to follow.  The pursuit might carry me far into the heart of
the country, and away from the main road.  My time was precious.  I had
orders to report at head-quarters at an early hour of the evening.
Cavalry were at that time scarce in the American army; and even my
"irregulars" might be required for some duty.  I had not much
discretionary control as to my movements; and, with these reflections
crossing my mind, I determined to return to my troop.

Rather should I say, I was about determining to do so, when a
circumstance occurred that decided me to go on.

As I sat in my saddle, watching the fugitive mustang--expecting it soon
to disappear into the woods at the bottom of the hill, all of a sudden
the animal came to a halt, and, turning around and tossing its head high
in the air, once more gave utterance to a shrill "whigher."

There was something in the neighing of the creature, as well as the
movement that accompanied it, that seemed to say, "Come after me if you
dare!"

At all events, I interpreted it as a challenge of this kind, and, in the
excitement of the moment, I determined to accept it.

I was influenced, also, by the presence of my comrades, who were
watching me from below.

Duty should have determined me to ride back to them, and resume our
interrupted march; but the chagrin which I should have felt in so easily
abandoning a project I had taken up with such a show of determination,
outweighed my sense of duty; and, without further delay, I launched
myself down the slope in pursuit of the fugitive horse.

As I drew near, the animal started off again; but, instead of taking to
the timber--as I expected it would have done--it kept along the edge of
the wood, in a south-easterly direction.

This was just what I wanted.  I believed that on open ground--in a fair
tail-on-end chase--I could overtake either it or any other mustang in
Mexico; and my hope was that it might give me a fair chance without
taking to cover.

Although I had hunted its wild congeners on the prairies of Texas, it
proved the swiftest thing in mustang shape I had ever followed, and I
soon began to doubt my capacity to overtake it.

After I had ridden more than a mile along the edge of the forest timber,
the creature seemed as far ahead of me as ever!  I was fast losing faith
in the fleetness of Moro; for I knew that he had been going at top speed
all the time, while the mustang appeared to have preserved the distance
with which it had started.

"It has heels equal to yours, Moro," I said mutteringly to my own horse.
"It will be a question of _bottom_ between you."

Was Moro stung by my reproach?  He seemed so.  Perhaps my thoughts were
his?  At all events I could feel him perceptibly mending his pace; and
perceived, moreover, that he was at last gaining ground upon the
fugitive.

There was a natural reason for this, though I did not think of it at the
moment.  The first mile of the chase had been _down_ hill--so much the
worse for Moro.  He was a true Arab; his ancestors had been denizens of
the great plains of the Sahara--a race of steeds famed for fleetness on
the level course.  The mustang, on the contrary, was by birth and habits
a _mountaineer_; and either _up-hill_ or _down hill_ would have been the
track of his selection.

Going down the slope, he had maintained his distance, or nearly so; but
now that the chase led along a level tract of country, he was losing it
length by length--so perceptibly, that I began to grope around the
pommel of my saddle, to assure myself of the _readiness_ of my lazo.

Perhaps another mile was passed over in the chase, without any change
taking place; except that I saw myself constantly closing in towards the
heels of the riderless horse.  Then a change did occur, and one
altogether unexpected: the mustang suddenly disappeared from my sight!

Story 1, Chapter XIX.

THE CAPTOR CAPTURED.

There was nothing mysterious in the disappearance of the fugitive.  It
had simply made a turn to the right, and plunged, as I thought, into the
forest, along the edge of which I had been hitherto pursuing it.

I declined taking the diagonal direction.  By doing so I might have
headed the mustang; but I feared that the timber might mislead me, and I
should lose the animal altogether.

I kept on, therefore, to the point where it had entered the wood.

On reaching this point, I perceived that I had been mistaken.  The
mustang had not entered the timber at all, but had turned into a sort of
alley, or opening, among the trees--along which it was still going in
full gallop, as when last seen.

I hesitated not to follow.  I was by this time too much excited to think
of consequences.  Moro's spirit was, like my own, roused to a pitch
closely bordering upon the reckless; and on we went through the forest
aisle--that appeared to grow gloomier the farther we penetrated under
its shadows.

It was a forest of silk-cotton trees--as I could tell by the flossy down
that lay scattered along the ground; but while noting this, I saw
something else of far greater significance--something, in fact, that
seemed to whisper to me, "You are riding fast, but you may be riding too
far."

The thing that suggested this thought was an observation I made at the
moment.  Though going at full gallop along what appeared to be a natural
avenue between the trees, I could not help perceiving that the ground
under my horse's feet was thickly imprinted with tracks.  They were the
hoof-prints of horses that, not long before, must have passed over it,
going in the same direction as myself I might have taken them for a wild
herd--the _cavallada_ belonging to some grazing hacienda--of which there
were more than one among the half-prairie chapparals that surrounded me;
but this conjecture was nipped in the bud, on my perceiving among the
tracks more than one set made by horses, that had been handled by the
_herradero_.

I knew that shod horses were rarely or never found in the grazing
_cavallada_; and therefore the large troop that had preceded me through
the forest opening, must have had saddles upon their backs, and men
bestriding them.

I had gone a good way into the timber before arriving at this
conclusion.

I need not say that it affected my further advance.  The horsemen who
had trodden the track before me must be enemies; they could not be
friends.  I was now full three miles from the main road--leading from
Vera Cruz to Jalapa--and I knew that no troop of our cavalry had left
it.

Besides, the shod-tracks I saw were those of mustangs, or Mexican
horses--so much smaller in their circumference than those of the
American horse, that I could note the difference, even in the glance
allowed by the rapidity of my onward gallop.

Mexican cavalry must have passed over the ground, perhaps in retreat
from the field of Cerro Gordo; but even so, they might not have
proceeded far, since they could have but little fear of our following
them in that crosscountry direction.

I was beginning to repent of my recklessness.  Already my bridle-rein
was, by a half-mechanical effort on my part, perceptibly becoming
tighter along the neck of my steed, when the chase that had lured me so
far, presented an aspect to seduce me still further.

I had been observing for some time that the mustang, although without a
bridle in its mouth, carried one upon the pommel of its saddle.  The
reins were hanging in a loose coil over the "horn."

This half explained to me why the animal had been going across country
without a rider.  Had it been bridled, I should have concluded that it
had left its owner upon the field of Cerro Gordo, or parted with him in
the hot pursuit succeeding that action.

But a bridle suspended from the saddle-bow--with bit, curb, and
head-piece attached--forbade the conjecture; at the same time suggesting
another: that the mustang must have made its escape from some temporary
halting-place, where, like our own horses at Corral Falso, it had been
unbridled to "bait."

It was not this conjecture that influenced me to continue the chase; but
the fact that the bridle-reins, suspended over the saddle-horn, had
begun to trail among the animal's feet, and promised, ere long, to prove
an impediment to its flight.  It was my observation of this that lured
me on.

Chance, not prowess, was likely to give me the victory.  But what
mattered it, so long as there would be no one to witness the event?

My comrades would not know how I had effected the capture; and, instead
of returning to them empty-handed--crest-fallen with chagrin--I should
ride back in triumph; and so should Moro, the steel-grey mustang
following at his heels.

Inspired by this pleasant anticipation, I once more struck the spur into
the flank of my brave steed, which needed not such prompting.  It was
merely mechanical.  Perhaps Moro knew as much, and forgave me for the
unnecessary infliction.

Quite unnecessary, as it proved; for, at the very instant I was causing
it, the riderless mustang, just as I had been wishing and expecting,
became entangled in its trailing bridle, and rolled headlong upon the
grass.

Before it could recover its legs, Moro was snorting by its side; and
Moro's rider, having forsaken his own steed, had looped the lazo around
its neck, and secured it as a captive.

I was not left much time to congratulate myself on my good luck; for, in
truth, it was luck, and only that, to which I had been indebted for the
capture of the mustang.

Having secured the animal, as I supposed to a certainty, I was
proceeding to re-insert its own bit between its teeth, in order the more
easily to lead it along with me on the return journey to Corral Falso.

I was even full of self-gratulation--chuckling over the conquest I had
accomplished--anticipating one of those pleasant little triumphs one
feels on having performed a feat, however trifling, under the eyes of
one's everyday associates.

I believed I should have nothing more to do than attach the captured
mustang to the ring of my saddle-tree, remount my own steed, and ride
back to the "false enclosure."

The "cup" was at my lips; I had forgotten the "slip."

Literally may I say the "slip," though the word may need explanation.

I was returning towards my own steed, with the intention of once more
regaining my saddle, and riding back in the direction I had come, when a
swishing noise fell upon my ear, that caused the blood to curdle within
my veins, as if the sound so heard had been the summons of the last
trumpet.

The wild cry that succeeded this sound added little to its terrors; for
I knew that one was but the prelude to the other.

The first was to me a noise well known and easily identified.  It was
the whistling of lazos projected through the air.  The second was but
the triumphant cheer that accompanied their projection.

I looked up in dismay, which instantly became despair.  It was not
causeless.  The air above me was a network of ropes, each with a running
noose at its end.

I might not have observed their intricate coiling, nor perhaps did I at
the moment.  I was not allowed much time for minute observation.  Almost
in the same instant that the "swishing" sounded in my ears, I felt my
body encircled by closing cords; and the next moment I was jerked from
my feet, and flung with violence upon my back.

Story 1, Chapter XX.

A CUADRILLA OF SALTEADORES.

Sudden as it was, and unexpected, there was no mystery in my capture.  I
had fallen into the hands of Mexicans, and, of course, enemies.

It was a party of horsemen, about forty in number--irregularly armed,
but all armed one way or another.  They must have seen me as I advanced
up the long opening among the trees, though I had no idea that I had
been observed by human eye.

Perhaps they had not seen me, but only received warning of my approach
by hearing the hoof-strokes of my horse; or they might have seen the
steed I was in pursuit of, before mine had made its appearance in the
avenue.

At all events, they had been made aware of my coming in some way, and
had thrown themselves into an ambush on both sides of the path.

Improbable as it might appear, I could not help fancying that the grey
mustang had been sent forth as a "stool pigeon," so well had the
creature succeeded in decoying me into their midst.

I scrambled over the ground, and at length managed to recover my legs.
On looking up, I saw that I was surrounded; and felt, moreover, that,
although permitted to regain my feet, I was still tightly held in the
loops of numerous lazos, which encircled my neck, arms, waist, and
limbs.

Any attempt to get away from such multifarious fastenings would have
been worse than idle, and could only result in my being plucked off my
feet again, and perhaps treated with greater rudeness than before.

Knowing this, I surrendered without making the least movement or
resistance.

It was a motley group in whose midst I stood: in this respect equalling
a party of Guy Fawkes mimers.  No two were dressed exactly alike, though
there was a general similitude of costume among them, especially in the
particular articles of broad-brimmed hats, and wide-legged trowsers of
velveteen.

Some of them had _serapes_ hanging scarf-like over their shoulders; but
all were armed with long knives (_machetes_), and lances; I could also
see short guns (_escopetas_) strapped along the sides of their saddles.

"A _guerilla_," I muttered to myself, thinking I had fallen among a hand
of guerilleros.

I was soon undeceived, and found I had not been so fortunate.  The
ruffian countenances of my captors--as soon as I had time to scrutinise
them more closely--the coarse jests and ribald language passing between
them, along with some other professional peculiarities--told me that,
instead of a band of partisans, I was in the clutches of a _cuadrilla_
of _salteadores_--true robbers of the road!

My observation of the fact was not calculated to tranquillise my
spirits, but the contrary.  As a general rule, the bandits of Mexico are
not bloodthirsty.  If the purse be freely delivered up to them, they
have no object in ill-treating the person of their captives.  It is only
when the latter show ill-humour, or attempt resistance, that their lives
are in danger.

At that time, however, with the country in a state of active war--with a
hated enemy marching victorious along its roads--some of the outlawed
chiefs had become inspired with a sort of sham patriotism--in most
instances for the purpose of being left free to plunder, or else with
the design of obtaining pardon for past offences.  Though occasionally
acting as guerilleros, and attacking the wagon trains of the American
army, their patriotism was of a very ambiguous order; and not
unfrequently were their own countrymen the victims of their despoiling
propensities.

In one respect only did this patriotism display itself with partiality,
and that was in the ferocity with which they treated such American
prisoners as had the misfortune to fall into their hands.  Horrible
mutilations were common--with all the vindictive modes of punishment
known to the _lex talionis_.

I could easily believe, while regarding the ferocious faces around me,
that I was in great danger of some fearful fate: perhaps to be drawn and
quartered; perhaps burnt alive; perhaps--I knew not what--I could only
conjecture something terrible.

After I had been pulled about for some minutes, and rudely abused by
several of the band, a man made his appearance in their midst, who
seemed to exert over the others some species of authority.  The word
"capitan," pronounced by several as he came forward, told me that he was
the chief of the robbers; and his appearance entitled him to the
distinction.

He was a man of large frame, and swarthy complexion--heavily bearded and
moustached.  His dress was splendid in the extreme--being a full suit of
_ranchero_ costume, with all its ornamental trimming of gold lace,
bell-buttons, and needlework embroidery.

The countenance of this man might have been handsome, but for an
expression of ferocity that pervaded it; and this was so marked as at
once to impress the beholder with the belief that it was the face of a
fiend rather than of a human being.

A row of white teeth glistened under his coal-black moustache; and
these, as he came near the spot where I was held captive, were
displayed, in what was intended for a smile of gratification, but which
had all the characteristics of a grin.

I supposed at first that this gratification simply proceeded from his
having made prisoner one of the enemies of his country.  I had no idea
that it could by any possibility have especial reference to myself.

One thing, however, struck me as peculiar.  When the brigand spoke--
addressing some words of direction to his subordinates--I fancied I had
heard his voice before!

It fell on my ears without producing an agreeable impression.  Rather
the contrary; but where I could have heard it, or why it should jar upon
my ear, were questions I could not answer.

I had been a good deal among Mexicans of all classes--not only since the
capture of Vera Cruz, but long before the commencement of the campaign.
My knowledge of their language had naturally inducted me into a more
extensive acquaintance with our enemies than was the lot of most of my
comrades.  For this reason it did not follow that the sound of a
familiar voice should lead to the instant recognition of the man who
uttered it--more especially as he from whom it proceeded was before my
eyes in _propria persona_--the chief of a band of salteadores.

I scanned the robber's face with as much minuteness as circumstances
would permit.  I could not perceive in it a single feature that I
remembered ever to have seen before.

Perhaps I was mistaken about the voice?

I listened to hear it again.  Not long was I kept waiting.  Once more it
was raised; not, as before, in words addressed to the _salteadores_ who
surrounded me, but to myself.

"Ho, _cavallero_!" cried the robber chief, coming up to the spot where I
stood, and speaking in a tone of triumphant exultation; "you are welcome
among us--the more especially as I owe you a _revanche_ for the little
bit of service you did me last night.  If I am not mistaken, it is to
your bullet I am indebted for this."

As the brigand spoke, he threw back upon his shoulders the closed folds
of his _manga_, exposing his right arm to my view.  I saw that it was
carried in a sling, and that the hand, protruding beyond the scarf that
supported it, was wrapped in cotton rags, that were stained with
blotches of dry blood!

My memory needed no further refreshing.  No wonder that the bandit's
voice had fallen upon my ears with a familiar sound.  It was the same I
had heard only the night before, giving utterance to that hideous threat
of which I had hindered the fulfilment--the same that had cried, "Die,
Calros Vergara!"

No additional explanation was required.  I stood in the presence of
Ramon Rayas!

"How feel you now?" continued the robber, in a taunting tone, not
unmingled with fierce bitterness.  "Don Quixote of the modern time!
You, the protector of female innocence!  Ha! ha! ha!"

"Ah," cried he, turning round, and fixing his eyes upon my beautiful
horse--held captive, like myself, by half a score of lazos.  "_Por
Dios_!  You have the advantage of La Mancha's knight in your mount.  A
steed fit for a salteador!  He will suit me, as if he had been foaled on
purpose.

"Ho there, Santucho!" he cried out to one of his band, who was holding
Moro by the bridle-rein.  "Off with that stupid saddle, and replace it
with my own.  I just wanted such a horse.  Thank you, _Senor Americano_!
You can have mine in exchange; and you will be the more welcome to him
since you have only one more ride to make before making that great leap
that will launch you into the gulf of eternity!  Ha! ha! ha!"

To this series of taunting speeches I offered no reply.  Words of mine
would have been idle as the murmurings of the wind.  I knew it; and
withheld them.

"Into your saddles, _leperos_!" cried the brigand, thus familiarly
addressing himself to his subordinates.  "Bring your prisoner along with
you.  Strap him tightly to the horse.  Have a care he don't escape!  If
he do you shall dearly rue your negligence, besides losing the pleasure
of a spectacle which I shall provide for you after we arrive at the
_Rinconada_."

Rayas leaped upon the back of my own brave steed, which chafed,
discontented, under the clumsy caparison of the Mexican saddle; but more
so when mounted by one whom he seemed to recognise as the enemy of his
master.

For myself I was roughly pitched upon the back of the brigand's horse;
and, after being securely tied, hands behind, and legs to the
stirrup-leathers, I was conducted from the ground, a brace of brigands
riding, one on either side, and guarding me with a vigilance that
forbade me to indulge in the slightest hope of escape.

Story 1, Chapter XXI.

ROBBERS EN ROUTE.

At a short distance from the spot where I had been lazoed, the road
taken by the robbers debouched from the forest, and entered the
_chapparal_.

No longer under the gloomy shadow of the great trees, I had a better
view of the band, and could see that they were genuine _salteadores_.

Indeed, I had not doubted it from the first--at least, not after
discovering who was their leader.  The wounded Jarocho had told me that
most of the guerillos commanded by Rayas, were no better than brigands;
and that such honest fellows as himself, who had been forced to join it,
would all return to their homes, after the breaking up of the Mexican
army by the defeat of Cerro Gordo.

What I now saw was no longer Rayas' _guerillas_, but a remnant of it--or
rather the individuals of that organisation, who had been his bandit
associates before the breaking out of the war.

There were in all between twenty and thirty of these patriotic brigands;
and from the opportunity I now had of scanning the faces of such as were
near me, I can justly affirm that a more ferocious set of ruffians I
never beheld--to the full as picturesque, and evidently as pitiless, as
their Italian brethren of the Abruzzi.

On their march they observed a sort of rude order--riding two and two--
though this formation was forced upon them by the necessity of the
narrow path, rather than from any control of their leader.

Where the road at intervals ran through openings, the ranks were broken
at will; and the troop would get clumped together, to string out again
on re-entering the chapparal path.

For myself, I was guarded by a brace of morose wretches, as I have said,
one riding on each side of me; and both armed with long naked blades;
which, had I shown the slightest sign of attempting to escape, would
have been thrust into me without either reluctance or remorse.

But there was no chance even to make the attempt.  I was strapped to the
stirrups, with my hands firmly bound behind my back; and lest the steed,
on which they had mounted me, should stray from the track, the lazo of
one of my keepers was passed through the bitt-ring of the bridle, and
then attached to the tree of the robber's own saddle.

In this manner was our march conducted--the route being towards Orizava.
There was no mistaking the direction: for the snow-capped summit of the
great "Citlapetel" was right before our faces--piercing up into a sky of
cloudless azure.

From the top of a ridge which we crossed, shortly after coming out of
the timber, I discovered that we were yet at no great distance from
Cerro Gordo itself; so near, that on glancing back--for we were now
riding away from it--I could see the American flag upon "El Telegrafo,"
and could even distinguish the stars and stripes!

My chase after the riderless horse had carried me several miles from
Corral Falso; but I had been all the while riding back in the direction
of the battle-field--in a line nearly parallel to the main road, over
which my troop had been travelling.  It was only on re-entering the
timber that the chase had conducted me in a different direction--
southward, towards Orizava.

I could now understand how I had fallen into the hands of Rayas and his
robbers.

After the battle, these worthies had lingered in the neighbourhood of
the field--for what purpose I knew not then--plunder, I supposed--and
this was, no doubt, the explanation, so far as most of them were
concerned.  Their chief, however, had a different object; one which, ere
long, I was enabled to comprehend.

The character of the country around Cerro Gordo--a labyrinth of _canons_
and _barrancos_--covered with a thick growth of tangled chapparal,
rendered their remaining near the field of their defeat an easy matter--
unattended with danger.  They knew the pursuit had passed up the main
road to Jalapa; and there was not the remotest chance of their being
followed across country.

They had accomplished whatever purpose had kept them near the field; and
they were now _en route_ for some more distant scene of action.

I had been actually _riding after them_--on that headlong chase which
carried me into the midst of their improvised ambuscade!

As a prisoner, my position lay in the rear--only one or two files of the
cuadrilla riding behind me.

I could see Rayas in front, at the head of his band.

I wondered he did not hang back for the purpose of taunting me with his
triumphant speeches.  I could only account for his not doing so, by the
supposition that he was a man of patience, and that my hour of torture
had not arrived.

That I should have to suffer some fearful indignity, in all likelihood,
and the loss of my life, I felt certain.  What had occurred between
myself and the brigand chief, had established a relationship that must
end in the ruin of one or the other; and it was clear that I was to be
the victim.  It needed not that hideous grin with which he had regarded
me, on becoming his prisoner--nor the jovial style in which he talked of
a _revanche_,--to assure me that for this mild term I might substitute
the phrase--"Deadly revenge!"

He had promised his associates a spectacle on their arrival at La
Rinconada.  I had no doubt, that in that spectacle I was myself to be
the prominent figure; or at all events the chief _sufferer_.

I had been riding for some time, absorbed in meditations, that I need
not pronounce painful.  Circumstanced as I was, they could not be
pleasant.  It was only in an occasional and involuntary glance, that my
eyes had rested upon Rayas, at the head of his cuadrilla.

I had not noticed a peculiar personage riding by his side.  This arose
from the fact, that the individual in question was of shorter stature
than the other _salteadores_, by nearly the head, and therefore hidden
from my view by the bodies of the brigands habitually interposed between
us.

After cresting the ridge above mentioned, and commencing the descent on
its opposite side, I could command a better view of those in front; and
then it was that the individual, riding alongside of Rayas, attracted my
attention.  Not only attracted it, but fixed it, to the exclusion of
every other thought--even the reflections I had been hitherto indulging
in, upon my own unfortunate situation.

At the first glance I had mistaken the companion of the robber chief for
a man, or a boy closely approximating to manhood.  There was a man's hat
upon the head--the usual low-crowned, broad-brimmed _sombrero_.
Moreover, the style of equitation was that of a man--a leg on each side
of the saddle.

It was only at the second glance that my gaze became fixed--only after
perceiving, by the long plaits of hair hanging down to the croup of the
saddle--along with some peculiarities of shape and costume--that the
companion of the robber chief was a _woman_!

There was nothing in the discovery to cause me surprise.  Both the hat
on the head, and the mode--_a la Duchesse de Berri_--in which the woman
was mounted, were sights that could be seen any day upon the roads of
Mexico, or in the streets of its cities.  Both were but the common
fashions of the country.

What fixed my attention was the fact, that I fancied I knew the woman--
or rather girl, as she appeared to be--that I had seen her before!

It was only the back of the head and shoulders I was yet permitted to
see; but there was sufficient idiosyncracy about these, to beget within
me a vague idea of identification.

I had hardly time to enter into the field of conjecture, when a slight
turn in the path brought the faces of the leading riders _en profile_ to
my view; among others, that of the girl.

A shot through the heart could not have been more painful, or caused me
to start more abruptly, than the sight of that face.

"Lola Vergara!"

Story 1, Chapter XXII.

DARK SUSPICIONS.

I cannot describe the painful impression produced upon me, at seeing the
Jarocha in such strange companionship.

At first I was inclined to disbelieve the evidence of my eyes, and to
think that I was being cheated by a resemblance.

But as the path turned into a second zigzag, more abrupt than the first,
the profile became a quarter-face portrait; and there was no chance for
me to avoid the conviction that Lola Vergara was riding alongside Ramon
Rayas!

A countenance like hers was not common.  It was too beautiful to have
had a counterpart, even in that land of lovely graces.

Besides, I now recognised the dress, the same worn by the Jarocha when I
had last seen her, some six hours before, with only the addition of the
sombrero, which had been donned, no doubt, as a protection against the
hot beams of a tropical sun.

I had just time to assure myself of the identity of the girl; when the
road, having reached the bottom of the hill, turned straight again; and
from that time till the cuadrilla came to a halt, I could only catch
occasional glimpses, either of the robber captain, or of the fair
equestrian moving onward by his side.

Though no longer privileged with a fair view either of Ramon Rayas or
Lola Vergara, the painful impression produced by their juxtaposition
continued to harrass my soul; and during the half hour that intervened
before arriving at the halting-place of the brigands, I gave myself up
to reflections and conjectures imbued with the extreme of bitterness.

My first thought, put in the shape of a mental interrogatory, was,
whether the Jarocha was a consenting party to the companionship in which
I now saw her?

The position, such as it was, looked more than suspicious.  Her dread of
Rayas, loudly expressed on the preceding night, might, after all, have
been nothing more than hypocrisy; nay, it might have been real, and yet
it might have resulted in the association now before my eyes!

I had seen enough of women to convince me, that terror is too often the
true weapon by which their affections may be assailed and conquered; and
that the possession of absolute power may turn their hate, if not into
love, at least into a feeling near akin to it.

I remembered some expressions in reference to Rayas, that, on the night
before, had fallen from the lips of Lola Vergara.  To me they had been
unintelligible at the time, though producing a vague sense of doubt,
about the honesty as to her declared antipathy to the man.

These were now recalled, with, as I fancied, a clearer comprehension of
their import.

In fine, why should she be there, riding by his side, voluntarily: for
there was no appearance of compulsion; but rather of _complaisance_.

No!  I should not say that.  The glimpse I had had of her face did not
give me that idea.  On the contrary, I saw, or fancied that I saw a pale
cheek, a downcast glance, and a sorrowful expression of countenance.

I was not certain of this; I would have given much to have been assured
of it; and my intent gaze was directed to this end, when the
straightening of the road, and the interposition of the salteadores, cut
short my investigation.

The fancy that she looked sad--in keeping with her name of Dolores--was
some consolation; which enabled me, with a certain tranquillity of mind,
to sustain that forced traverse through the chapparal in the
companionship of the salteadores.

There was one circumstance that surprised while it pained me as well.
Why did Lola not look round?

During all the time my eyes had been on her, she had not turned hers
towards the rear, nor even to one side or the other.  This I thought
strange, whether her presence among the robbers was forced or voluntary.

Was she aware of the capture which they had made--an officer of the
American army?  Or could she be acquainted with the more particular
fact, as to who was the individual made prisoner?

I could not think that she was cognisant of either circumstance; and yet
she had not looked back.  If no other feeling, that of natural
curiosity, proverbially strong in her sex, would have prompted her to
turn her head.

She had not done so.  Surely, after what had passed between us on the
preceding night, she could not be indifferent to my forlorn condition--
scarcely even to the uniform that distinguished me from my captors?

Such conduct was not compatible with the character of woman, whether
Mexican or American.  Lola Vergara could not have known of the capture
which the robbers had accomplished; she could not be aware of my
presence in the rear of the cuadrilla.

There was consolation in my thinking so, slight as it may be deemed.  It
would have been a grievous reflection to have believed her to be a
sharer in the fortunes of my captors;--to have known that she was a
participator of all that had transpired;--to imagine that she had even a
suspicion of who it was who was riding, fast bound to a horse, behind
her.

I did not wrong her by the belief I felt convinced she was unconscious
of all--at least of the last circumstance.

I was confirmed in this conviction by something that had occurred, as we
parted from the spot where I had been captured.  A short halt had been
made by the robbers, during which they had been joined by a party that
had not been present at their ambuscade.  In all likelihood, the Jarocha
had been one of this party, and might have been ignorant of what had
passed.

This was probable enough; though for myself I had been at the time too
much engrossed with my misfortune to take heed to what was transpiring
around me.

The explanation satisfied, at the same time that it pleased me.  I could
give credence to no other.  After what had passed on the preceding
night--my protection extended to her brother--my sympathy for herself--
my profession of something more--her own apparent reciprocation of that
something--surely Lola Vergara could not be my enemy?

In all I saw there was a mystery that needed elucidation.

Ere long I obtained it.  The cuadrilla came to a halt at a rancheria or
collection of huts, all of which appeared to be uninhabited--their
owners no doubt having fled at the approach of the robber band.

It was the Rinconada alluded to by the robber chief.  In the piazza of
the village the order was broken up; and the files in the rear closed in
upon the heads of the "column."

By this change of position I was brought close to the side of the
Jarocha.

Words can but ill express the pleasure I felt on perceiving that she was
strapped to her saddle--like myself, a prisoner; and the scream that
escaped her, as she recognised me, was, to my ears, sweeter than any
note that ever issued from the lips of Grisi or the "Swedish
Nightingale."

We were not allowed any interchange of words--scarcely even that of a
glance.  Before I could speak to her, the Jarocha was handed from her
horse, and conducted inside one of the _Jacales_--the one which appeared
to be the principal "hut" of the _rancheria_.

Story 1, Chapter XXIII.

A FIENDISH DESIGN.

I was left but little time for reflection; but, short as it was, it
enabled me to comprehend the scheme of my captors--or rather that of
their chief.

From the Piazza of La Rinconada, Citlapetel was in full view, with its
quick acclivity guiding the eye of the observer up to the azure canopy
of heaven.

That line of pure virgin snow should have been suggestive of spotless
innocence.  Alas! to me, at that moment, it was but the suggester of
thoughts of a far different character.

On the slope of that majestic mountain, stood the town of Orizava, the
capital of the surrounding country.  I knew--a knowledge all my own, and
not shared by my comrades in the American army--that the lame tyrant of
Mexico had fled towards Orizava, and was at that moment safe beyond
pursuit in this city of the mountains.

It was not likely I should so soon have forgotten the contents of that
infamous epistle found on the _catre_ so lately occupied by the Mexican
commander-in-chief, nor the vile conditions therein promised.  "_En buen
tiempo dormira ella en la tienda, y los brazos de vuestra Excellenza_."
Too truly did I remember them.

Now, certainly, did I perceive the scheme that the salteador was in the
act of executing.  Santa Anna should, by that time, be somewhere in the
neighbourhood of Orizava, if not in the town itself.  Orizava was the
destination of Rayas and his robbers!

It needed no further consideration, had there been time for such, either
to explain the past or forecast the future.  The girl had been taken
prisoner on the road between Cerro Gordo and the village of El Plan--
captured, perhaps, but a few moments after that parting I had fondly
deemed reluctant; ah! perhaps even through the delay caused by myself,
and which had separated her from her escort of Jarochos?  It might be in
the midst of that escort, dismayed and scattered by the onslaught of the
salteadores.  It might be that the unfortunate Calros--her brother--

My conjectures were cut short.  The robber chief stood before me.  His
air of savage exultation was easily interpreted.  He had come to prepare
me for the spectacle which he had promised to his companions!

I knew not what was to be its nature; nor do I know to this hour.  It
was like one of those promised performances of the theatre--conspicuous
in the programme, but omitted in the action.  It never came to pass.

The brigand directed me to be unbound, and separated from the horse, an
order that was instantly executed by his brace of subordinates who had
been more especially guarding me.

As soon as my feet were set free from the stirrup-leathers, I was
dragged out of the saddle, my limbs were fast lashed together, both at
the knees and ankles, and I was rudely cast upon the ground--where I
lay, helpless as a bale of merchandise.

During all the time that this action was going forward, the robber chief
stood near me, grinning gleefully at my forlorn position, taunting me
with my impuissance, and applying to me every ugly epithet to be found
in the vocabulary of the Spano-Mexican tongue.

His most favourite allusions were to the "putita" inside the hut, to
which he kept pointing, ironically entreating me to protect her; at the
same time telling me in plain and most disgusting terms, the fate that
was in store for her.

He could not have devised a more excruciating mode of torment.  No ill
he could have inflicted on my person could have been more painful than
this torturing of my soul.  I loved the girl whose dishonour was thus
freely foreshadowed; and knowing the character of her captor, I could
have no doubt about the fulfilment of his atrocious promise.

All the more was I pained, now that I had learnt how involuntary was the
Jarocha's presence among the brutal rabble that surrounded her; all the
more, that I fancied in that cry--which escaped her lips on recognising
me as her fellow-prisoner--an accent of interest not to be mistaken.

The look with which she had regarded me was eloquent of the same
interest; its muteness only showing the intensity of her sorrowful
surprise.

I could not help framing conjectures as to what was to be the spectacle,
of which I was to form the conspicuous figure.  Its _denouement_ I could
only guess--death in some shape or other.  Lola's fate I knew; and my
own--all but the mode of its accomplishment.  Death in some dire
fashion, by some of those horrid devices so well known to the ruffians
who surrounded me, under the sanction of the _lex talionis_, at the time
in full practice throughout the land.

Rayas had for the moment left me, and had gone inside the hut, where the
Jarocha was kept.

The brace of bandits still stood over me.  There was a peculiar grin
upon their faces--an expression that bespoke demoniac delight, as if
anticipating some scene that combined the comic with the cruel.

I noted a similar expression upon the faces of their comrades, who had
gathered in groups in front of the jacale within which their chief had
for the moment disappeared.

Not altogether disappeared.  Through the interstices between the bamboos
which formed the walls, I could see as through the wicker of a cage.
Four figures could be counted inside.  Three of them were moving about;
the fourth was stationary and seated.  One of the moving figures was
Rayas himself, the other two were a brace of his subordinates, who had
conducted, or rather carried, the girl inside.  It was her figure I saw
in the sitting position, or rather crouched and cowering as in fear.

What did it mean?  There was something to come off--something of which
the brigands had been already apprised--as I could tell by the infernal
glee with which they were congratulating one another.

Evidently some fiendish spectacle was at hand; and it soon became
equally evident to me, that it was not I, but my fellow-captive, who was
to be its principal figure.

Yes: clear as could be, the girl was destined to some atrocious
treatment--some infamous exhibition!

I was painfully pondering in my mind what it was to be--shaping hideous
conjectures--when I saw Rayas wave his arm in the direction of the
motionless figure.

It seemed a signal to his subordinates; who, in obedience to it, glided
up to the Jarocha, both at the same instant laying hands upon the girl.

She sprang to her feet, and commenced what appeared to be a struggle of
resistance.  Her cries at the same time came forth freely from the hut,
piercing my heart to its very core; while from the unfeeling wretches
outside, they only elicited peals of brutal laughter!

As I could but faintly distinguish the movements of the men inside, I
was still uncertain as to the nature of the struggle going on between
them and the girl.  They appeared to be disrobing her, or rather tearing
the clothes from her back!

This was in reality their purpose, effected in a few minutes: for in
less time than I have taken to tell it, she was dragged outside the
door; and I saw that the only covering which concealed her person from
the lewd eyes that were gazing upon her, was a slight chemise of thin
cotton stuff, scarcely reaching to her knees.

At the same instant a sort of truck bedstead, made of bamboos, was
brought forth from the hut by another brace of the brigands, who placed
it conspicuously in front of where I lay.

Towards this the girl was now conducted.

Merciful heavens! what could it mean?

I could only divine the intention by the circumstances that preceded it.
These made it too clear for me not to comprehend the dread drama for
which the stage was being set.

Rayas himself was to be the perpetrator.  I saw him preparing for the
grave deed!

I averted my eyes in disgust.  I could not look either at the villain or
his victim.  The sight of the latter might have melted a heart of
stone--any other than that of a brutal brigand.  Her cries were of
themselves sufficient to fill my heart with the acme of extreme
bitterness.

I lay upon my back, gazing upwards to heaven.  Was there no help to come
from God?  Had a thunderbolt from the sky struck me dead at that moment,
I should have deemed it mercy.  I prayed for death!

The faces of the two men who stood over me were lit up with smiles of
fiendish delight.  They saw my agony, and began to mock me with ribald
words.

They were the last that either of them lived to utter.  The one most
forward in reviling, suddenly stopped in his speech, as if rebuked by
something that had struck him in the face.

A stifled cry escaped from his lips; he tottered a moment on his legs,
and then fell heavily by my side!

He had scarcely settled upon the ground before his _confrere_, dropping
in like fashion, fell doubled over his body.

There was blood gushing out from the faces of both.  I saw that both
were corpses!

Story 1, Chapter XXIV.

A SCATTERING OF SALTEADORES.

I was less astonished than delighted by a phenomenon that might have
appeared mysterious.

But there was no mystery about the matter.  The explanation had already
reached me in the "crack, crack," quickly following each other, easily
distinguished as the detonation of a brace of rifles, whose reports I
had often heard before.

I raised my head, and looked in the direction whence the shots had
proceeded.  I could see no one; but the cloud of blue smoke fast
scattering upon the edge of the chapparal, scarcely twenty paces from
the spot, was sufficiently significant.  I knew who had created that
sulphureous vapour.

A wild cry arose among the terror-stricken brigands, who stood
transfixed to the spot, as if uncertain how to act.

It was not until the "crack-crack" had been repeated, and two more of
them went sprawling upon the grass, that the whole of the band put
themselves fairly in motion, each running towards the horse that stood
nearest him.

Their consternation was scarcely greater, when a loud "hurrah" was heard
outside the skirts of the _rancheria_; and the heavy hoof-strokes of a
troop of cavalry could be distinguished, approaching at full gallop
along the road.

Their chief was the only one among the robbers who did not seem to have
lost all presence of mind.

Alas! no.  It was now displayed with fiendish effect.

On perceiving the surprise, so little expected by him in such a place,
he had glided straight towards the Jarocha.  Flinging his arms around
the girl, he lifted her from the ground, and commenced carrying her
towards his horse.

He was not even assisted by his subordinates--for each individual,
yielding to the true instinct of _sauve qui peut_, was seeking his own
safety.

I saw that Rayas employed both his arms in this effort--having
disengaged the wounded one from its sling, before the surprise had taken
place.  It was only his hand that was wounded, and the arm was still
sufficiently sound for his purpose.

Despite the screams and resistance of the Jarocha, he succeeded in
placing her on the pommel of his saddle, and in springing behind her
into the seat.

In another instant he was going at full gallop, his left hand directing
the reins, both arms encircling the semi-nude body of the Jarocha, whose
struggles to free herself were still further defeated, by the teeth of
her captor fast clutching the long tresses of her hair.

It was a fearful crisis--the most painful I had yet experienced.

The "rangers" were already entering the outskirts of the _rancheria_, on
its opposite side--their rifles were repeatedly ringing; and here and
there I could see a fugitive salteador dropping dead from his saddle.
But Rayas, with his victim, was still continuing his flight.  No one
appeared to fire at _him_--for fear of injuring the girl--and this the
wretch seemed to know, as he rode exultingly away.

Mounted as he was upon my own noble steed, I knew there would be no
chance of any of my comrades overtaking him; and this it was that was
driving me to distraction.

"Fire at the horse!" cried several of the "rangers," who seemed to be
influenced by the thought, "Bring him down, and then--"

There was a moment of silence.  I listened for the shots.  They came
not: the rifles of all had been discharged, and were empty.  It was the
earnest action of re-loading them that had caused that momentary
interval of silence.

Fortunately it was so, else, in recovering my sweetheart, I should have
lost the finest steed that ever carried rider.  As it was, both were
restored to me.

The silence gave me the opportunity I wanted, though only then did the
thought occur to me.

With a wrench I raised my body half erect; and, concentrating all my
energies into the effort, I gave utterance to a cry that, if heard, I
knew that my steed would understand.

He both heard and understood it: for before its echoes had ceased to
reverberate through the _rancheria_, the horse was seen to wheel
suddenly round, and come galloping back!

In vain did Rayas strive to turn him to the track.  He only succeeded in
checking him, when a struggle commenced--my voice against the spurs of
the robber.

During the strife Rayas found full occupation in the management of Moro,
without thinking of the Jarocha.  Even his teeth became disengaged from
the plaits of her hair; and, seeing a chance for safety, the young girl
made a desperate effort, and succeeded in getting clear of that
unwelcome embrace.

In another instant she had reached the ground, and was seen running back
towards the rancheria.

The robber cast a glance after her, that spoke unutterable
disappointment; but seeing that his own liberty was in danger, and
despairing of a conquest over the horse, he dropped the reins, sprang
out of the saddle, and shot like an arrow into the chapparal--at that
place an almost impervious thicket.

Several shots were fired after him, and the thicket was entered in
search; but strange to say, no traces of the fugitive could be found.

In all likelihood he had made his escape by capturing some of the horses
of his comrades--several of which were at the time straying riderless
through the chapparal.

The rescue needed but slight explanation.  On perceiving that I had
failed to return in due time to the halting-place at Corral Falso, my
men mounted their horses and rode forth in search of me.  Guided by the
two trappers, Rube and Garey, they had no difficulty in following my
trail.

On entering the forest-road, the numerous hoof-prints of the robbers'
horses had filled them with fears for my safety; and having reached the
place where I had been "lazoed," the experienced trappers easily
interpreted the "sign."

From that point they had ridden at an increased rate of speed; and as
the robbers had no suspicion of being pursued, their slow march, with
the halt that succeeded it, had favoured the rangers in overtaking them.

Rube and Garey, acting as scouts, had kept in the advance.

On coming within sight of the rancheria, they had left their horses
behind, and had crept forward under cover of the thicket.

It was the double detonation of their rifles that had first given the
surprise to the salteadores--at the same time, as had been preconcerted,
it acted as a signal to the rangers to charge forward into the place.

The Jarocha's presence among the bandits has been already explained.  My
conjecture was correct.  On the way between Cerro Gordo and the village
of Rio del Plan, she had lingered behind the _cortege_ that accompanied
her wounded brother.  At a turn on the road, some half-dozen of the
ruffians of Rayas' band had rushed out of an ambuscade and seized hold
of her.  By stifling her cries, they had succeeded in conveying her off,
even without alarming the escort of Jarochos.

All this chapter of strange incidents occurred within the short space of
twenty-four hours: for before a second sun had set, I was once more at
the head of my troop, _en route_ for Jalapa; while the beautiful
Jarocha, with her honour still intact, but her heart, as I hoped,
sweetly affected towards her preserver, was on her way, this time with a
safer escort, to her native _rancheria_.

We did not part without a mutual promise to meet again.  Need I say,
that the promise was kept.

END OF THE GUERILLA CHIEF.

Story 2, Chapter I.

DESPARD, THE SPORTSMAN.

A CITY OF DUELLISTS.

Among the cities of America, New Orleans enjoys a special reputation.
The important position it holds as the key to the great valley of the
Mississippi, of whose commerce it is the natural _entrepot_ as well as
_decharge_--its late rapid growth and aggrandisement--all combine to
render the "Crescent City" one of the most interesting places in the
world, and by far the most interesting in the United States.

A variety of other circumstances have contributed to invest New Orleans
with a peculiar character in the eyes of the American people.  The
romantic history of its early settlement--the sub-tropical stamp of its
vegetation, and the truly tropical character of its climate--the
repeated changing of its early owners; the influx and commingling of the
most varied and opposite nationalities; and the _bizarrerie_ of manners
and customs resulting therefrom, could not otherwise than produce a
community of a peculiar kind.

And such has been the result.  Go where you will throughout the Atlantic
states, or even through the states of the West, you will find a certain
sentiment of interest attached to the name of the "Crescent City;" and
no one talks of it with indifference.  The young Kentuckian, who has not
yet been "down the river," looks forward with pleasant anticipation to
the hour, when he may indulge in a visit to that place of infinite
luxury and pleasure--the Mecca of the Western world.

The growth of New Orleans has been rapid, almost beyond parallel--that
is, dating from the day it became a republican city.  Up to that time
its history is scarcely worth recording.

Sixty years have witnessed its increase from a village of 10,000--of
little trade and less importance--to a grand commercial city, numbering
a population of 200,000 souls.  And this in the teeth of a pestilential
epidemic, that annually robs it of its thousands of inhabitants.

But for the drawback of climate, New Orleans would, ere this, have
rivalled New York; but it looks forward to a still grander future.  Its
people believe it destined to become the metropolis of the world; and in
view of its peculiar position, there is no great presumption in the
prophecy.

New Orleans is not looked upon as a provincial city--it never was one.
It is a true metropolis, and ever has been, from the time when it was
the head-quarters and commercial depot of the gulf pirates, to the
present hour.

Its manners and customs are its own; its fashions are original, or, if
borrowed, it is from the Boulevards, not from Broadway.  The latest
_coiffure_ of a Parisian belle, the cut of a coat, or the shape of a
hat, will make its appearance upon the streets of New Orleans, earlier
than on those of New York--notwithstanding the advantage which the
latter has in Atlantic steamers: and, what is more, the coat and hat of
the New Orleanois will be of better fabric, and costlier materials, than
that of the New Yorker.  The Creole cares little for expense: he clothes
himself in the best--the finest linen that loom can produce; the finest
cloth that can be fabricated.  Hats are worn costing twenty-five dollars
apiece; and the bills of a tailor of the Rue Royale would astonish even
a customer of Stultz.  I have myself some recollection of a twelve
guinea coat, made me by one of these Transatlantic artists; but I
remember also that _it was a coat_.

New Orleans, then, may fairly claim to be considered a metropolis; and,
among its many titles there is one which it enjoys _par excellence_,
that is, in being the head-quarters of the _duello_.  In no other part
of America, nor haply in the world either, are there so many personal
encounters--nowhere is the sword so often drawn, or the pistol aimed, in
single combat, as among the fiery spirits of the "Crescent City."
Scarcely a week passes without an "affair;" and too often, through the
sombre forest of Pontchartrain, borne upon the still morning air, may be
heard the quick responsive detonations that betoken a hostile meeting--
perhaps the last moments of some noble but misguided youth.

I have said that nearly every week witnesses such a scene--I am writing
of the present.  Were I to speak of the past, I should have to make a
slight alteration in my phraseology.  Were I to use the phrase, "nearly
every day," it would not invalidate the truth of my assertion; and that
of a period not yet twenty years gone by.

At that time a duel, or a street fight--one or the other--was a diurnal
occurrence: and the notoriety of either ended almost with the hour in
which it came off.

It was difficult for a man of spirit to keep his hand clear of these
embroglios; and even elderly respectable men--men, married and with
grown-up families--were not exempted from duelling, but were expected to
turn out and fight, if but the slightest insult were offered them.

Of course a stranger, ignorant of the customs of the place, and used to
a society where a little liberal "larking" was allowed, would there soon
be cured of his propensity for practical jokes.

But even a sober-minded individual could not always steer himself so as
to escape an adventure.  For myself, without being at all of a
pugnacious disposition, I came very nigh tumbling into an "affair"
within twenty-four hours after my first landing in New Orleans; and a
friend, who was my companion, actually _did_ take the field.

The circumstance is scarcely worth relating--and, perhaps, it would be
better, both for my friend and myself if it were left untold.

But there is a dramatic necessity in the revelation.  The incident
introduced me to the principal characters of the little drama I have
essayed to set forth; and the circumstances of this introduction--odd
though they were--are required to elucidate the "situation."

I love the sea, but hate sea-travelling.  I never "go down to it in
ships" but with great reluctance, and from sheer necessity.  My
fellow-voyager felt exactly as I did--both of us were alike weary of the
sea.  What was our joy, then, when, after a voyage ranging nearly from
pole to equator--after being "cabined, cribbed, and confined" for a
period of three months--buffeted by billows, and broiled amid
long-continued calms--we beheld the promised land around the mouths of
the mighty Mississippi!

The dove that escaped from the Ark was not more eager to set its claws
upon a branch, than we to plant our feet upon _terra firma_.

The treeless waste did not terrify us.  Swamp as it was, and is, we
should have preferred landing in its midst to staying longer aboard, had
a boat been at our service.

As there was none, we were compelled to endure the tedious up-stream
navigation of one hundred miles, before our eyes finally rested upon the
shining cupola of the Saint Charles.

Then we could endure the ship no longer; and our importunities having
produced their effects upon the kindly old skipper, two stout tars were
ordered into the gig, and myself and companion were rapidly "shot" upon
the bank.

It is not easy to describe the pleasurable sensations one has at such a
moment; but if you can fancy how a bird might feel on escaping from its
cage, you may have a very good idea of how we felt on getting clear of
our ship.

We were still several miles below New Orleans; but a wide road wended in
the direction of the city, running along the crest of a great
embankment, known as the "Levee," and taking this road for our guide, we
started forward towards the town.

Story 2, Chapter II.

SCENE IN A DRINKING SALOON.

We passed plantations of sugar-cane, and admired the houses in which
their owners dwelt--handsome villas, embowered amid orange groves, and
shaded with Persian lilacs and magnolias.

We might have entertained the desire to enter one or other of these
luxuriant retreats, but, under the circumstances, there was neither hope
nor prospect, and we continued on.

As we advanced up the road, other houses were encountered--some of a
less inhospitable character.  These were _cabarets_ and _cafes_, that,
with their coloured bottles and sparkling glasses, their open fronts and
cool shaded corridors, were too tempting to be passed.

There was a sweetness about these novel potations of "claret sangarees"
and "juleps," fragrant with the smell of mint and pines--an attractive
aroma--that could not be repelled, especially by one escaping from the
stench of raw rum and ship's bilge water.

Neither my companion nor I had the strength to resist their seductive
influence; and, giving way to it, we called at more than one _cabaret_,
and tasted of more than one strange mixture.  In fine, we became merry.

The sun was already low when we landed; and before we had entered the
suburbs of the city, his disc had disappeared behind the dark belt of
cypress forest that bounds the western horizon.

The street lamps were alight, glimmering but dimly, and at long
intervals from each other; but a little afterwards a light glistened in
our eyes more brilliant and attractive.

Through a large open folding-door was disclosed the interior of one of
those magnificent drinking "saloons," for which the "Crescent City" is
so celebrated.  The sheen of a thousand sparkling objects--of glasses,
bottles, and mirrors ranged around the walls--produced an effect
gorgeous and dazzling.  To our eyes it appeared the interior of an
enchanted palace--a cave of Aladdin.

We were just in the mood to explore it; and, without further ado, we
stepped across the threshold; and approaching the "bar," over a
snow-white sanded floor, we demanded a brace of fresh juleps.

What followed I do not pretend to detail, with any degree of exactness.
I have a confused remembrance of drinking in the midst of a crowd of
men--most of them bearded, and of foreign aspect.  The language was that
of Babel, in which French predominated; and the varied costumes
betokened a miscellaneous convention of different trades and
professions.  Numbers of them had the "cut" and air of sea-faring men--
skippers of merchant vessels--while others were landsmen, traders, or
small planters; and not a few were richly and fashionably dressed as
gentlemen--real or counterfeit, I could not tell which.

My companion--a jolly young Hibernian--like myself, just escaped from
the cloisters of _Alma Mater_, soon got _en rapport_ with these
strangers.  Hospitable fellows they appeared; and in the twinkling of an
eye we were drinking and clinking glasses, as if we had fallen among a
batch of old friends or playmates!

There was one individual who attracted my notice.  This may have arisen
partly from the fact that he was more assiduous in his attentions to us
than any of the rest; but there was also something distinctive in the
style of the man.

He was a young man, apparently about twenty years of age, but with all
the _ton_ and air of a person of thirty--a precocity to be attributed
partly to clime, and partly to the habitudes of New Orleans life.  He
was of medium size; with regular features, well and sharply outlined;
his complexion was brunette, with an olive tinge; and his hair black,
luxuriant, and wavy.  His moustaches were dark and well defined,
slightly curling at the tips.  He was handsome, until you met the glance
of his eye.  In that there was something repellent; though why, it would
be difficult to say.  The expression was cold and animal.  A slight scar
along the prominence of his cheek was noticeable; and might have been
received in an encounter with rapiers, or from the blade of a knife.

This young man was elegantly attired.  His dress consisted of a
claret-coloured dress-coat, of finest cloth, with gilt buttons, and
satin-lined skirts--a vest of spotless _Marseilles_--black
inexpressibles--white linen _bootees_--and a Paris hat.  A shirt ruffled
with finest cambric, both at the bosom and sleeves, completed his
costume.

To-day, and in the streets of London, this would appear the costume of a
snob.  Not so there and then.  The dress described, with slight
variations as to cut and colour, was the usual morning habit of a New
Orleans gentleman--that is, his winter habit.  In summer, white linen,
or "nankeen" upon his body, and the costly "Panama" on his head.

I have been particular in describing this young fellow, as I afterwards
ascertained that he was the type of a class which at that time abounded
in New Orleans--most of them of French or Spanish origin--the
descendants of the ruined planters of Haiti; or a later importation--the
sons of the refugees whom revolution had expelled from Mexico and South
America.

Of these the "Crescent City" contained a legion--most of them being
without visible means--too lazy to work, too proud to beg--dashing
adventurers, who, in elegant attire, appeared around the tables of
"Craps" and "Kino;" in the grand hotels and exchanges; at the public
balls; and not unfrequently in the best private company--for, at this
time, the "society" of the "Crescent City" was far from being scrupulous
or exacting.  So long as a gentleman's cloth and cambric were _en
regle_, no one speculated as to whether his tailor was contented, or his
_blanchisseuse_ had given him a discharge for her little account.

The New Orleanois pride themselves on minding their own affairs; and
indeed there is some justice in their claim.  Moreover, the role of the
meddler is not without danger among these people; and even the
half-proscribed adventurers of whom I have spoken, though not disdaining
to live by _cards_, were ever ready to exchange one with the man who
would cast the slightest slur upon their respectability.

Of just such a "kidney" was the individual we had met; though, of
course, at that first interview, I was not aware of it.  I was then
little skilled in reading character from the physiognomy, and yet I
remember that the glance of this young fellow, notwithstanding his
polite attentions, produced an unpleasant impression upon me; and some
instinct whispered to me that, despite his elegant attire and fine
bearing, our new acquaintance _was not exactly a gentleman_.

My companion seemed more pleased with him than I was.  I confess,
however, that he had drunk deeper, and was far less capable of forming a
judgment.  As I turned away to converse with another of the strangers, I
noticed the two--the Hibernian and the Frenchman--standing close
together, champagne glasses in hand, and _hobnobbing_ in the most
fraternal manner.

Ten minutes might have elapsed before I faced round again.  When I did
so, it was in consequence of some loud words that were uttered behind
me, and in which I recognised the voice of my friend, speaking in an
angry and excited tone.  The words were:--

"Yes, sir! it's gone--and, by Jaysus, _you_ took it!"

"Pardon, Monsieur!"

"Pardon, indeed!--you've got my watch--you've _stolen it_, sir!"

Almost simultaneously with this unexpected accusation, I heard a loud,
fierce "_sacr-r-re_" from the Frenchman, followed instantly by a sharp
metallic click, as of a pistol being cocked; and as soon as I could get
my eyes fairly upon the disputing parties, I beheld a somewhat frightful
_tableau_.

My friend was standing close to the bar, pointing with one hand to the
broken guard of his watch, which dangled loosely over the lapels of his
waistcoat.  His face was towards me, and from his gestures, as well as
from the words he had uttered, I could see that some one had made free
with his chronometer, and that he believed the thief to be the _elegant_
already described.

The latter was between me and the Hibernian, and, as he stood facing his
accuser, I could as yet see only his back.

But the suspicious "click" I had heard, caused me to step hastily to one
side; and this brought me in sight of the ugly weapon poised in the
fellow's hand, with its muzzle pointed directly at the head of my
fellow-voyager, who, seemingly taken by surprise, was making no effort
to get out of the way!

All this had passed within a second of time.

Impelled by a sort of instinct, I sprang forward and clutched the pistol
around the lock.

Whether I saved the life of my friend by so doing, I cannot say; but the
shot was not delivered; and in the subsequent struggle between myself
and the stranger, for possession of the pistol, the cap was wrenched
off, and the weapon remained in my hands.

Seeing it was harmless, I returned it to its owner, with a word of
caution to him not to be so ready in drawing such dangerous weapons in
the middle of a crowd.

"_Sacre_!" shouted he, addressing himself more particularly to my
fellow-voyager; "you shall repent this insult--_sacr-r-re_!"

"Insult, indeed!" stammered out the Hibernian--whom, as he would not
desire his real name to be known, I shall call Casey.  "I repeat it,
then, my fine fellow!  My watch is gone--it was taken from my fob here:
you see _this_, gentlemen?" and Casey exhibited to the crowd the
wrenched swivel.  "It was he who did it: I repeat that he is the thief!"

The Frenchman fairly foamed with rage at this fresh accusation; while,
by his gestures, he appeared as if desirous of recapping the pistol.

I watched him closely, however, to prevent such a movement, as I knew
that Casey was in no condition to defend himself.

At the same time I endeavoured, along with several others, to bring the
affair to an explanation, and, if possible, to a pacific termination.

Story 2, Chapter III.

A GENERAL SEARCH ALL ROUND.

My first belief was that Casey was labouring under an erroneous
impression.  That some one had robbed him of his watch was clear enough;
but there were several persons around him--some of them far more
suspicious-looking characters than the accused.

Moreover, the elegant style of the man, and the indignant warmth he had
displayed, seemed, to some extent, to attest his innocence.

My belief, then, was that Casey had pitched upon the wrong man; and I
appealed to him to withdraw the charge, and acknowledge his error.

To my surprise he would do neither the one nor the other; and,
notwithstanding the half-maudlin state he was in, there was an
earnestness in his manner, and an unwavering pertinacity in his
accusation, that led me to think he was not acting upon mere suspicion,
but had _seen something_.

The noise and confusion, however, for the time prevented any explanation
from being heard upon either side.

A voice arose above the din, calling out for the doors to be closed.

This was followed by a proposal that every one present should submit to
be searched.

"Let there be a general search all round!" demanded several voices.

I recognised the man who was foremost in this demand--it was the mate of
our own ship, who had dropped in along with several old sea-wolves like
himself--for the vessel had been warped up, and was now lying at an
adjacent wharf.

"Yes," responded several voices; "a search, a search! let us see who is
the thief!"

No one objected--no one could--for each person present had a personal
interest in the result; and, as no one was likely now to go out, the
shutting of the doors was ruled as unnecessary.

Two men were immediately chosen as "searchers"--one of whom was our mate
himself--the other the keeper of the saloon; and, without loss of time,
the search proceeded.

It was altogether an odd spectacle, to see the two inquisitors pass from
individual to individual--stopping before each one in turn, handling him
about the breast and back, and stripping him down the arms, legs, and
thighs, as if they were a brace of electro-biologists, putting the whole
company into a mesmeric slumber.

There was a good deal of merriment, and now and then loud bursts of
laughter, as some character well known to the company interrupted the
silence with a _jeu d'esprit_.  For all this, there was a certain
solemnity about the proceeding--a sort of painful anticipation that some
one would prove the criminal.

During all this time the accused maintained a moody silence--addressing
only a short phrase or two to some of his own friends, who had clustered
around him.  His look betokened confidence; and but for a side-whisper
which I had heard from Casey, I should certainly have continued under
the impression that the gentleman was innocent.  This whisper, however,
staggered my faith: for it was a simple and earnest declaration that he,
Casey, had seen the watch in the fellow's hand.

"Surely you must be mistaken--it might have been some other hand?"

"Not a bit of it!--I noticed the ruffles as the watch disappeared under
them."

"Remember, Casey, you're not very clear-sighted at this moment: think
what you've been taking--"

"Bah!  I'm not blind for all that; and I tell you, the loss of my twenty
guinea repeater has made me as sober as a judge, my boy.  I hope,
however, it is not gone yet--we'll soon see."

"You'll never see your watch again," said I.  "The fellow hasn't got
it--I can tell by his looks."

My conjecture proved correct.  The young Frenchman was searched in
common with the others.  He made no objection--he could make none--and,
to do the old sea-wolf justice, he performed his duty with elaborate
exactness.  He was no lover of Creole dandyism; and I verily believe he
would have chuckled with delight, to have found the stolen property on
the person of the exquisite.

It was not so to be, however: the watch was not there, and the Frenchman
smiled triumphantly at the termination of the search.

Others were now examined, until all had had their turn.  No watch!

All present were declared innocent men--the watch was not in the room!

This result had been prophesied long before, and I expected it myself.
It was easily explained.  Beyond doubt Casey had lost his watch, by a
thief, and inside the saloon; but several persons had been observed to
go out about the time he discovered his loss, or rather at the moment
when he declared the accusation.  One of these must have been the
thief--that was the verdict of the company.  More likely one of them had
been the _receiver_.

Casey was a little crest-fallen, and the regards of the company were not
favourable to him.  This, however, only referred to the Creoles and
Frenchmen.  The honest sea-faring fellows rather sympathised with him.
They saw he had sustained a loss; and they were well enough acquainted
with New Orleans life, to know that the man who did the deed was
probably still in the room.

Casey obstinately clung to his original statement; but of course no
longer urged it publicly--only _sotto voce_ to our mate, and one or two
others, who, with myself, were counselling him to apologise.

Our whispering conversation was interrupted by the approach of the young
Frenchman.  There was a certain resolve in his look, that bespoke some
determination--evidently the affair was not over.

As he drew near, way was made for him, and he stood confronting Casey.

"Now, Monsieur, do you apologise?"

Several cried "Yes," by way of urging Casey to an affirmative.

"No," said he, firmly and emphatically--"never!  I stand to what I said.
You took my watch--you _stole_ it."

"Liar!" cried the once more infuriated Frenchman, and both at the same
instant sprang towards each other.

Fortunately, neither was armed--except with the weapons which nature had
provided--and a short game of "fisticuffs"--in which Casey had decidedly
the advantage--served as a 'scape valve for the ebullition of their
anger.

I might have dreaded the re-drawing of the pistol; but, during the whole
interval, the mate and I, to whom I had given a hint, had kept our eyes
upon the owner of it, and hindered him from rendering it available.

The combatants were soon separated; and after that commenced the more
formal ceremony of the exchange of "cards."

Casey gave his address, "Saint Charles Hotel"--whither we were bound,
and towards which we had been steering when "brought to" by the gleaming
lights of the _cafe_.

The Frenchman's card was taken in return; and, after a parting glass
with the honest mate, and his two or three confreres, we sallied forth
from the saloon; traversed the long narrow streets of the First
Municipality, and a little before midnight we arrived at that
magnificent _caravanserai_ known as the Saint Charles Hotel.

Story 2, Chapter IV.

THE EXCHANGE OF CARDS.

  Monsieur Jacques Despard,
  9, _Rue Dauphin_.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Such was the little memento that met my eyes as I entered Casey's
sleeping apartment, at an early hour in the morning.  It lay upon his
dressing-table--a sorry substitute for the "twenty guinea repeater" that
should have been found there.

My friend was still in the land of dreams.  I was loth to awake him to
the unpleasant reality which that tiny piece of pasteboard would
naturally suggest; for, besides being in itself a symbol of grave
import, it would be certain to recall to poor Casey the remembrance of
his loss, to whom, being no Croesus, it was a serious one.

In reality he so regarded it; and, when awakened at length, and
conscious of what had transpired on the preceding night, he expressed
far more concern about the loss he had sustained, than about the
expected encounter.  The latter he treated as a ridiculous joke--
laughing at it as he pitched the card upon the floor.

"Stay!" said he, picking it up, and carefully placing it in his
pocket-book.  "It _might_ be the fellow's real name and address.  If so,
it will enable me to find him again; and, by Jaysus, I'll have that
watch, or take the worth of it out of his hide.  Hang it, man!--it's a
family piece--got our crest on it--has been in the family ever since
repeaters came into fashion.  Yes, I'll take the worth of it out of his
hide!  But that's not possible--the whole of his yellow skin isn't worth
that watch!"

And so talked Casey, while he performed his toilet as coolly as if he
were dressing for a dinner party, instead of preparing himself for what
might prove a deadly encounter.

Pistols we had decided it should be.  Casey, expecting to be the
challenged party, would, of course, be entitled to the choice of
weapons.  Had it been otherwise, my friend would have been in a bit of a
dilemma; for, as he assured me, he had never taken a fencing lesson in
his life; and it is notorious that the Creoles of New Orleans are
skilled in the use of the small-sword.  Some friendly strangers, after
the exchange of cards on the preceding night, had made us aware of this
fact, at the same time warning us that Casey's intended antagonist, whom
they knew, was a noted swordsman.  Swords, then, were not to be thought
of.

Of course, as the party to be challenged, our duty was to stay at home
(at the Hotel) until we should hear from the challenger.  For my part, I
did not anticipate there would be much delay; and I gave orders for a
hurried breakfast.

"Faith! you may take your time about it," said Casey to the retiring
waiter.  "There's no need to spoil the meal.  Never fear--we'll eat our
breakfast without being interrupted."

"Nonsense! the friend of Monsieur Despard will be here in ten minutes."

"No--nor in ten hours nayther.  You'll ate your dinner without seeing
either Misther Despard or his friend."

"Why do you think so?"

"Bah.--Is it a thief send a challenge to a gentleman?  All blarney and
brag!  I tell you the fellow's a thief--he has got my watch, bad luck to
him!--and he thinks the givin' of the card a ready way to get out of the
scrape: that's the maning of it.  We'll never set eyes on him again,
barrin' we go after him."

I was at first disposed to ridicule this logic; but, as time passed, I
began to think there was some truth in it.  We waited for breakfast
being prepared, and then ate it in the most leisurely manner.  As Casey
had predicted, no one interrupted us at the meal; no visitor was
announced--no card came in.  I had already given rigorous orders to the
clerk of the Hotel to forward any application on the instant.

The hour of ten arrived, but no communication from "Monsieur Jacques
Despard."

"Perhaps he is hunting up a friend?"  I suggested.  "We must give him
time."

Eleven o'clock.

"Let's have a sherry cobbler!" proposed Casey; "we'll have plenty of
time to drink it."

A couple of those magnificent "sherry cobblers," for which the Saint
Charles is world renowned, were immediately ordered up; and we passed
the better half of an hour with the straw between our lips.

Twelve o'clock.  Still no Despard--no friend--no challenge!

"I told you so," said Casey, not triumphantly, but rather in a tone of
despondence.  "This card's good for nothing," he continued, taking the
piece of pasteboard from his pocket, and holding it up before his eyes;
"a regular sham, I suspect, like the fellow himself--a false name and
address--you see it's in pencil?  Ah, mother o' Moses!  I'll never see
that watch again!  Sure enough," continued he, after a pause, "the
name's in print--he's gone to the expense of having that engraved, or
somebody has for him, which is more likely.--No!--he won't come to
time."

"We must remain at home till dinner.  Perhaps they keep late hours
here."

"Late or early, we won't see Misther Despard till we go after him; an'
by gorra!" cried Casey, striking the table in a most violent manner,
"that's what I mane to do.  A man don't point a pistol at my head,
without giving me a chance to return the compliment; and I'm bound to
have another try for that watch."

From Casey's earnest speech and manner, I saw that he was resolved; and
I knew enough of him to be aware that he was a man of strong resolution.
Whether a challenge came or not, he was determined that the affair
should not drop, till he had some kind of revenge upon Jacques Despard,
or, if no such person existed, upon the "swell" who had stolen his
repeater.

It certainly appeared as if the card _was_ a sham: for the dinner hour
came, and no one had acknowledged it.

We descended, and ate our dinner at the general _table d'hote_--such a
dinner as can be obtained only in the luxurious hostelrie of the Saint
Charles.

We sat over our wine till eight o'clock; but although a few friends
joined us at the table, we heard nothing of a hostile visitor.  Under
the influence of _Sillery_ and _Moet_, we for the time forgot the
unpleasant incidents of the preceding night.

For my part, I should have been glad to have forgotten them altogether,
or at all events to have left the matter where it stood; and such was
the tenor of my counsels.  But it proved of no avail: the fiery
Hibernian was determined, as he expressed it, to have his "whack" out:
he would either get back his watch or have a "pop" at the thief who
stole it.

So resolved was he on carrying out his intention, that I saw it was idle
to oppose him.

Certainly it was rather a singular affair; and now that a whole day had
passed without any communication from Monsieur Despard, I became more
than half convinced that Casey was right, and that the exquisite really
had committed the theft.  It was his indignant repudiation of the charge
that had misled me; but Casey's constant and earnest asseveration--now
strengthened by the after circumstances of the false card, and the
failure to make an appearance--satisfied me that we had been in the
company of a sharper.

With this conviction I retired for the night, Casey warning me that he
should be with me at an early hour in the morning, in order to devise
what measures should be taken.

With regard to an early hour, he was too true to his promise.  Before
six--long before I felt inclined to leave my comfortable bed--he was
with me.

He apologised for disturbing me so early, on the score of his being
without a watch, and could not tell the time; but I could perceive that
the jest was a melancholy one.

"What do you mean to do?"

"Why, to find Master Ruffleshirt, to be sure."

"Will you not give him an hour's grace?  Perhaps he may send this
morning?"

"No chance whatever."

"It is possible he may have lost your card?  Leave it alone till we have
had breakfast."

"Lost my card?  No.  Besides, he might easily have got over that
difficulty.  He knew we were on our way to this hotel.  Don't all the
world come here?  No; that isn't the fellow's excuse, and I shan't eat
till I know what is.  So, rouse up, my boy! and come along."

"But where are you going?"

"Number noine, Rue Daw--daw--hang his scribble!  Daw--phin, I believe."

I arose, and dressed myself with as little delay as possible.

Whilst making my toilette, Casey gave me a hurried sketch of how he
intended to proceed.  It amounted to little more than a declaration of
his intention to make Monsieur Jacques Despard disgorge the stolen
property, or fight.  In other words, Casey, believing himself to be in a
lawless land (and his experience to some extent seemed to justify the
belief), had determined upon taking the law into his own hands.

I saw that he no longer contemplated a duel with his light-fingered
adversary.  On the contrary, he talked only of "pitching into the
fellow," and "taking the worth of his watch out of him."  The angry
feeling he exhibited convinced me that he meant what he said; and that
the moment he should set eyes on the Frenchman, there would be a "row."

I saw that this would not do on any account, and for various reasons.
Monsieur Jacques Despard, if found at all, would, no doubt, be found to
have a fresh cap on the nipple of his pistol; and to be present at a
street fight, either as principal or backer, was not to my liking.  I
had no ambition, either of catching a stray bullet, or of being locked
up in the New Orleans Calaboose; and by yielding to Casey's wish I
should be booked for one or the other.

Before completing my toilet, therefore, it occurred to me to suggest a
slight change in Casey's programme--which was to the effect that he
should stay where he was, and leave it to me to call at the address upon
the card.  If it should prove that Monsieur Despard lived there, there
would be no difficulty in finding him whenever we should want him.  If
the contrary, my going alone would be no great waste of time; and we
could afterwards adopt such measures as were necessary to bring him to
terms.

This advice appeared reasonable, and Casey consented to follow it,
charging me, as I left him, with the emphatic message--

"Tell the fellow if he don't challenge _me_, I'll challenge _him_, by
God!"

In five minutes afterwards, I was on my way with the card between my
fingers, and walking rapidly towards the Rue Dauphin.

Story 2, Chapter V.

MONSIEUR LUIS DE HAUTEROCHE.

Following the directions, which I had taken from the hotel-porter, I
kept down Saint Charles Street, and crossing the Canal, I entered the
Rue Royale into the French _quarter_ or "municipality."

I was informed that by keeping along the Rue Royale for a half-mile or
so, I should find the Rue Dauphin leading out of it; and I had,
therefore, nothing more to do than to walk directly onward, and look out
for the names upon the corners of the streets.

Though it was daylight, the lamps were still faintly glimmering, their
nightly allowance of oil not being quite exhausted.  The shops and
warehouses were yet closed; though here and there might be seen a
cabaret or cafe, that had opened its trap-like doors to catch the early
birds--small traders on their way to the great vegetable market--
cotton-rollers in sky-blue linen inexpressibles, with their shining
steel hooks laid jauntily along their hips; now and then a citizen--
clerk or shopkeeper--hurrying along to his place of business.  Only
those of very early habits were abroad.

I had proceeded down the Rue Royale about a quarter of a mile, and was
beginning to look out for the lettering on the corners of the cross
streets, when my attention was drawn to an individual coming in the
opposite direction.  Though he was still at a considerable distance, and
we were on different sides of the street, I fancied I recognised him.
Each moment brought us nearer to one another; and as I had kept my eyes
upon him from the first, I at length became satisfied of the identity of
Monsieur Jacques Despard.

"A fortunate encounter," thought I.  "It will save me the trouble of
searching for Number 9, Rue Dauphin."

The dress was different: it was a blue coat instead of a claret, and the
ruffles were less conspicuously displayed; but the size, shape, and
countenance were the same--as also the hair, moustache, and complexion.
It must be my man.

Crossing diagonally, I placed myself on the banquette to await the
gentleman's approach.  My position would have hindered him from passing;
and the next moment he halted, and we stood face to face.

"_Bon jour, Monsieur_!"  I began.

He made no answer, but stood with his eyes staring widely upon me, in
which the expression was simply that of innocent surprise.

"Well counterfeited," thought I.

"You are early abroad," I continued.  "May I ask Monsieur, what business
has brought him into the streets at such an hour of the morning?"

The thought had struck me that he might be on his way to the Saint
Charles, to make some inquiry; and I recalled my conjecture about his
having mislaid Casey's card.

"What business, Monsieur, but that of my profession?" and as he made
this reply, his dark eye flashed with a kindling indignation--which, of
course, I regarded as counterfeit.

"Oh!" said I, in a sneering tone, "it appears that you pursue your
profession at all hours.  I thought the night was your favourite time.
I should have fancied that at this hour you would scarcely have found
victims."

"Fool!  Who are you?  What are you talking of?  What means this
rudeness?"

"Pooh--pooh!  Monsieur Despard; you are not going to get off in that
way.  Your memory appears short.  Perhaps this card will refresh it; or
do you repudiate that also?"

"Card!--what card?"

"Look there!--perhaps you will deny having given it?"

"I know nothing of it, Monsieur; but you shall have _my card_; and for
this insult I demand yours in return."

"It seems idle to make the exchange, after what has already passed."

Curiosity, however, prompted me.  I was desirous of ascertaining whether
his first address had been a false one, as Casey had suggested.  Hastily
scratching the address of the hotel, I handed him my card, taking his in
return.  To my astonishment I read:--

  "_Luis De Hauteroche_,
  _16, Rue Royale_."

I should have been puzzled, but the solution was evident.  The fellow
was no doubt well provided with cards--kept a varied "pack" of them, and
this was only another sham one.

I was determined, however, that I should not lose sight of him till I
had fairly "treed" him.

"Is this your _real_ address?"  I inquired, with an incredulous
expression.

"_Peste!  Monsieur_, do you still continue your insults?  But you shall
give me full satisfaction.  It is my professional address.  See for
yourself."

And as he said this he pointed to the door of a house, only a few yards
from the spot where we were standing.

Among other names painted upon the panel I read:

  "_Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche_,
  _Avocat_."

"I can be found here at all hours," said he, passing me and stepping
inside the doorway.  "But you will not need to seek me, Monsieur.  I
promise it, my friend shall call upon you without delay."

The door closing behind him put an end to our "interview."

For some seconds I stood in a kind of "quandary."  I could not doubt but
that it was the same man whom we had met in the drinking saloon.  The
dress was different--of a more sober cut, though equally elegant--but
this was nothing: it was a different hour, and that might account for
the change of garments.  The _tout ensemble_ was the same--the features,
complexion, colour of hair, curl and all.

And still I could not exactly identify the bearing of Monsieur Jacques
Despard with that of Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.  The evil expression
of eye which I had noticed formerly was not visible to-day; and
certainly the behaviour of the young man on the present occasion, had
been that of an innocent and insulted gentleman.

Was it possible I could have made a mistake, and had, in transatlantic
phrase "waked up the wrong passenger?"

I began to feel misgivings.  There was a simple means of satisfying
myself--at least a probability of doing so.  The Rue Dauphin could not
be far off, and might soon be reached.  If it should prove that Monsieur
Despard lived at Number 9, the mystery would be at an end.

I turned on my heel, and proceeded in the direction of the Rue Dauphin.

Story 2, Chapter VI.

MONSIEUR JACQUES DESPARD.

A hundred yards brought me to the corner of this famous street, and
twenty more to the front of Number 9, a large crazy looking house, that
had the appearance of a common hotel, or cheap boarding-house.

The door stood open, and I could see down a long dark hall.  But there
was no knocker.  A brass-handled bell appeared to be the substitute,
under which were the words--"_Tirez la sonette_."

I climbed the ricketty steps and rang.  A slatternly female--a mulatto--
half asleep, came slippering along the hall; and, on reaching the door,
drawled out:--"_Que voulez vous, Mosheu_?"

"Does Monsieur Despard live here?"

"Moss'r Despard?  _Oui--oui_."

"Will you have the goodness to say that a gentleman wishes a word with
him?"

The girl had not time to reply, before a side door was heard creaking
open, and a head and shoulders were protruded into the hall.  They were
those of a man.

Though the hair of the head was tossed and frowsy, and the shirt that
covered the shoulders looked as if it had passed through the "beggar's
mangle," I had no difficulty in recognising the wearer.  It was Monsieur
Despard--Monsieur Despard _en deshabille_.

The gentleman evidently regretted his imprudence, and would have
withdrawn himself from view.  The shirt and shoulders had already
disappeared behind the screening of the lintel; but, before the head
could be backed in, I had stepped over the threshold and "nailed him" to
an interview.

"Monsieur Despard, I believe?" was the interrogative style of my
salutation.

"_Oui, M'sseu_.  What is your business?"

"Rather a strange question for you to put, Monsieur Despard.  Perhaps
you do not remember me?"

"Perfectly."

"And what occurred at our first interview?"

"Equally well--that you were accompanied by a drunken brute who
calumniated me."

"It is not becoming to vilify a gentleman after he has given you his
card.  Of course you intend to challenge him?"

"Of course I intend nothing of the sort.  _Parbleu!  M'sseu_, I should
have a busy time of it, were I to notice the babble of every drunken
brawler.  I can pardon the slang of sling drinkers."

I had discovered by this time that Monsieur Despard spoke English as
fluently as he did French, and also that he was perfectly versed in the
slang epithets of our language.

"Come, Monsieur," said I, "this grandeur will not screen you.  It shall
be my duty to repeat your elegant phraseology to my friend, who I can
promise will not pardon _you_."

"That don't signify."

"If you are not disposed to _send_ a challenge, you will be compelled to
_receive_ one."

"Oh! that is different.  I shall be most happy to accept it."

"It would save time if you give me the address of your second."

"Time enough after I have received the challenge."

"In two hours, then, I shall demand it."

"_Tres bien, M'sseu_."

And with a stiff bow the _caput_ of Monsieur Despard disappeared into
the dark doorway.

Turning away, I descended the creaking steps, and walked back along the
Rue Dauphin.

On reaching the corner of Rue Royale, I paused to reflect.  I had ample
food for reflection--sufficient almost to bewilder me.  Within ten
minutes I had succeeded in filling my hands with business enough to last
me for the whole of that day and a portion of the next.  The object of
my halting, therefore, was that I might think over this business, and if
possible arrange it into some kind of a definite programme.

An open cabaret close by offered an empty chair and a table.  This
invited me to enter; and, seating myself inside, I called for some
claret and a cigar.  These promised to lend a certain perspicuity to my
thoughts, that would enable me to set my proceedings in some order.

My first thought was a feeling of regret at having promised Monsieur
Despard to call again.  I knew that Casey would insist upon a meeting--
all the more pertinaciously on hearing what had passed--and I was now
more than ever convinced of the absurdity of such a step.  What had he
to gain by fighting with such a man?  Certainly not his watch, and as
certainly there was no credit to be derived from such an encounter.
What I had just seen and heard, perfectly satisfied me that we were not
dealing with a gentleman.  The appearance of Monsieur Despard in his
morning deshabille--his vulgar behaviour and language--the
_mise-en-scene_ in the midst of which I had found him--and above all the
nonchalant bravado with which he had treated Casey's serious charge
against him--convinced me that the charge was true; and that instead of
a gentleman we had to do with a _chevalier d'industrie_.

What, then, could Casey gain in measuring weapons with a character of
this kind?  Certainly nothing to his advantage.

On the other hand he might lose in the encounter, and in all probability
he would.

A very painful reflection entered my mind as I dwelt upon this.  If the
fellow had designed it, he could not have exhibited more skill in
bringing circumstances about in his favour; and only now did it occur to
me the advantage we had given him.  The positions of the parties had
become entirely reversed.  His adversary now held the citadel: Casey was
to be the assailant.  If the Frenchman intended to stand up--and under
the altered circumstances it was likely he would--I feared for the
result.  He would have the right of choice; the rapier would
unquestionably be the weapon chosen; and from the inexorable laws of the
duello there would be no appeal.

As these considerations ran hurriedly through my mind, I began to feel
sincerely anxious about the consequences; and blamed myself for
permitting my temper--a little frayed by the insulting language--to
betray me into, what I now regarded as, a manifest imprudence.  "_Facile
decensus averni, sed revocare gradum_."

There was no retreating from the step I had taken.  Casey's antagonist
might be a gambler, a swindler, a suspected thief, but in New Orleans--
more especially at the time of which I write--these titles would not rob
him of the right to demand the treatment of a gentleman--that is, if he
offered to fight as one.

We had gone too far.  I knew that we were so compromised that we must
carry the thing to an end.

I had but one hope; and this was that Monsieur Despard might after all
prove a _bavard_, and show the white feather.

I must confess, however, that this hope was a very faint one.  If the
fellow had impressed me with an idea of his vulgarity, he had said or
done nothing that could lead me to question his courage.

Up to this time, the tumult of my thoughts had hindered me from dwelling
upon my odd encounter with the young avocat.  Since it had only happened
fifteen minutes before, of course, I had not forgotten it; and the
affair of my friend being, in my mind, now arranged, it became necessary
to attend to my own.

So ludicrous was the whole _contretemps_, that I could scarcely restrain
laughter when I thought of it; but there was also a serious side to the
question, calculated to prevent any free ebullition of mirth.

Already, perhaps, Monsieur De Hauteroche's messenger was on his way to
the Saint Charles Hotel; and, on arriving there, I might find that
besides having to play the easy _metier_ of second in a duel, I should
be called upon to enact the more serious _role_ of a "principal."

_Might_ find! there was no _might_ in the matter.  I was as certain of
it as if I already carried the challenge in my pocket.

I could not help reflecting upon the very awkward dilemma, into which a
moment of evil indulgence had plunged both my friend and myself, and
upon the very threshold of new world life.  It seemed that we were to be
initiated into its mysteries by a baptism of blood!

I was less uneasy about my own affair.  My chief source of regret was,
my having given pain and offence to a young gentleman, who appeared to
be one of delicate susceptibility.  Certainly my strange behaviour must
have astonished him, as much as the after finding of his counterpart,
and the resemblance between them, astonished _me_.

The likeness was really remarkable--though less than it would have been,
had Monsieur Despard been in full toilette, as I had first viewed him.
The scar upon his cheek, moreover, I now observed and remembered.  Why
had I not thought of it before?

With regard to my affair with Monsieur De Hauteroche, the course was
simple and clear: an unqualified apology.  I only hesitated as to the
when and where to make it.

Should I go on to the hotel and meet his second?  That would be a more
ceremonious way of proceeding--the most _en regle_.

But the apology would require an explanation--the embroglio was curious
and complicated--and the explanation could only be properly understood
by giving the details _viva voce_.

I resolved, therefore, to waive all ceremony, and, trusting to the
generosity of my accidental enemy, to return to him _in propria
persona_.

Quaffing off my claret; and flinging away the stump of my cigar, I
walked directly to Number 16, Rue Royale.

To my gratification I found the young _avocat_ in his office; and I was
further satisfied by perceiving that I was in good time.  No message had
yet been sent to the Saint Charles--though I had no doubt that the
military-looking gentleman whom I met in the office was upon the eve of
such an errand.  My appearance must have been as little expected as that
of the "man in the moon."

I shall not trouble the reader by detailing the apology.  The
explanation is known already.  Suffice it to say, that when Monsieur De
Hauteroche heard it, he not only acted in the true spirit of a
gentleman; but, from an enemy, became transformed into a friend.
Perceiving that I was a stranger, he generously invited me to renew my
visit; and, with a hearty laugh at the _outre_ style of our
introduction, we parted.

Casey's more serious affair was still upon my mind; and I hurried home
to the hotel.

As I expected, Casey _would_ send the challenge; and, as I almost
confidently anticipated, the other _accepted_ it.  It ended in a duel,
and I need hardly add that swords were the weapons.

I refrain from giving a description of this duel, which differed only
from about a million of others--minutely described by romance writers--
in being one of the very shortest of combats.  At the very first passage
Casey received (and I esteemed it very fortunate that he did so) his
adversary's sword through the muscles of his right arm--completely
disabling him.  That was all the satisfaction he ever got for the loss
of his repeater!

Of course this rude thrust ended the combat; and Monsieur Jacques
Despard marched off the ground without a scratch upon his person or a
blemish on his name.

Casey, however, still asserted--though, of course, not publicly--"that
the fellow took the watch;" and I afterwards found good reason to
believe he _did_ take it.

Story 2, Chapter VII.

HOSPITABLE FRIENDS.

Casey's views were commercial, and New Orleans was not the place where a
display of spirit would be likely to damage his prospects.  It appeared
rather to have an opposite effect; for, before his arm was well out of
the sling, I had the gratification to learn that he had received an
appointment in one of the large cotton commission houses--a calling
sufficiently suited to his temperament.

My own object in visiting the Western World was less definite.  I was of
that age when travel is attractive--young enough to afford a few years
of _far niente_ before entering upon the more serious pursuits of life.
In short, I had no object beyond idleness and sight-seeing; and in
either way, a month or two may be passed in New Orleans without much
danger of suffering from _ennui_.

My stay in the "Crescent City" extended to a period of full three
months.  A pleasant hospitality induced me to prolong it beyond what I
had originally intended: and the dispenser of this hospitality was no
other than Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.

Notwithstanding the _bizarrerie_ of its beginning, our acquaintance soon
grew into friendship; for the southern heart is of free and quick
expansion, as the flowers of its clime, and its affection as rapidly
ripens.  There the friendship of a single month is often as strong--ay,
and as lasting too--as that which results from years of intercourse
under the cold ceremonies of old world life.

In a month De Hauteroche and I were bosom friends; and scarcely a day
passed that we did not see each other, scarcely three that we were not
companions in some boating or hunting excursion--some _fete champetre_
among his Creole acquaintances, the hospitable planters of the
"coast,"--at the _bal-masque_, or in the boxes of the "Theatre
Francais."

In the morning hours I often visited him at his place of business--for
business he did not altogether neglect--in the Rue Royale; but more
frequently in the evening at his private residence--the pretty little
"cabane," as he called it, with its glass door windows and vine-loaded
verandahs, in the adjoining street of the Rue Bourgogne.

This charming spot had a peculiar attraction for me.  Was it the company
of De Hauteroche himself or that of Adele, his fair sister, that drew me
so often thither?  It must have been one or the other--for excepting the
dark-skinned domestics, the two were the only inmates of the house.  I
relished much the conversation of my young Creole friend--perhaps still
more, the music which his sister understood how to produce upon her harp
and guitar.  Especially did the notes of the harp vibrate pleasantly
upon my ear; and the picture of a fair maiden seated in front of that
noble stringed instrument, soon impressed itself on my spirit, whether
awake or dreaming.  Adele became the vision of my dreams.

Without designing it, I soon became acquainted with the family history
of my new friends.  It was but the natural consequence of the
confidential intercourse that had sprung up between us.

They were the orphan children of an officer of the Napoleonic army--an
_ancien-colonel_ of artillery--who, after the defeat of Waterloo,
surrendered up his sword and sought an asylum in the Far West.  He was
but one of many, who, at that time, deprived of the patronage of their
great leader, became _emigres_ by a sort of voluntary exile, finding in
the French settlements of the New World--Louisiana among the rest--a
kindred and congenial home.

In the case of Hauteroche, however, the habits of the military man had
not fitted him either for a commercial life or that of a planter.  His
affairs had not prospered--and at his death, which had occurred but the
year before--he had left his children little other inheritance than that
of an excellent education and a spotless name.

Far otherwise had it been with a comrade who accompanied him in his
exile--a brother officer of his regiment and a devoted bosom friend.
The latter preferring the cooler climate of Saint Louis, had gone up the
river and settled there.

He was a Norman, and his young wife had accompanied him.  With the
stauncher qualities of this race, he had devoted himself to commercial
pursuits; and his perseverance was rewarded by the acquirement of an
ample fortune--which, with his wife--also of Norman family--and an only
daughter, he was now enjoying in opulent retirement.

The almost fraternal friendship of the two ex-officers was not
extinguished by their altered mode of life; but, on the contrary, it
continued as warm as ever during the period of their residence in the
New World.  Annually the "crate" of oranges from the south was sent up
to Saint Louis, and as often was the barrel of apples or walnuts--the
produce of the more temperate clime--despatched in the opposite
direction--a pleasant interchange of presents effected by the medium of
the mighty Mississippi.

A personal intercourse, too, was at intervals renewed.  Every two or
three years the old colonel had indulged himself with a ramble on the
prairies which lie contiguous to the settlements of Saint Louis, while
his brother officer, at like intervals, reciprocated the visit by a trip
to the great southern metropolis, thus in a very convenient manner
combining the opportunities of business and pleasure.

Under these circumstances it was natural that the families of De
Hauteroche and Dardonville should be affectionately attached to each
other, and such was in reality the case.  I was constantly hearing of
the latter--of the goodness of Madame Dardonville--of the beauty of
Olympe.

It was nearly three years since either De Hauteroche or his sister had
seen their Saint Louis friends.  Olympe, as was alleged, was then but a
child; but the fervour with which the young avocat descanted upon her
merits, led me to suspect that in his eyes at least, she had reached a
very interesting period of her childhood.  Now and then the merry
badinage of his sister on this point, bringing the colour to his cheeks,
confirmed me in the suspicion.

My new acquaintances had admitted me as a link into the chain of their
happy circle; and for three months I enjoyed, almost without
interruption, its pleasant hospitality.

It became a spell that was hard to break; and when the hour of
leave-taking arrived, I looked upon it as a painful necessity--though my
absence did not promise to be a prolonged one.

The necessity was one of sufficient urgency.  A July sun was glaring
from the sky, and the yellow spectre had entered the Crescent City, upon
its annual visit of devastation.

Already had it begun its ghastly work, and here and there presented
itself in horrid mien.  In those Faubourgs where dwelt the less opulent
of the population, I observed traces of its presence; that symbol of
terrible significance--the red cross upon the closed door--telling too
plainly that the destroyer had been there.

It would have been madness for me to have remained amidst a pestilence,
from which it was so easy to escape.  Twenty hours upon a fast boat, and
I should be clear of the danger: and among the up-river towns I might
make choice of an asylum.

Four large cities--Pittsburg, Louisville, Cincinatti, and Saint Louis--
lay beyond the latitude of the epidemic: all easy of access.  In any of
these I might find a luxurious home; but I longed to look upon those
boundless fields of green, for years the idol of my youthful fancy; and
I knew that Saint Louis was the gate that guided to them.  Thither,
then, was I bound.

With regret I parted from my Creole friends.  They had no need to fly or
fear the scourge.  Acclimatised in the middle of that vast _marais_, its
malaria had for them neither terror nor danger.  Immunity from both was
their birthright, and New Orleans was their home throughout the year:
though during the months of intolerable heat and utter stagnation of
business, it was their habit to reside in one of the numerous summer
retreats found upon the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.

I was in hopes they would have accompanied me to Saint Louis, and I
endeavoured to induce them to do so.

Luis seemed desirous, and yet declined!  I knew not the delicate reason
that influenced him to this self-denial.

I promised to return with the first frost; for this usually kills
"Yellow Jack."

"Ah! you will not be here so soon?" said Adele, in a tone that pretended
to be pensive.  "You will like Saint Louis too well to leave it.
Perhaps when you have seen Olympe--"

"And what of Olympe?"

"She is beautiful--she is rich--"

"Those are qualities that more concern your brother; and if I should
make love to Olympe, it will only be as his proxy."

"Ha! ha! a perilous prospect for poor Luis!"

"Oh, no!  Luis need fear no rival; but, jesting apart, I should be glad
to enter into a little covenant with him."

"A covenant?"

"Yes--the terms of which would be, that in Saint Louis I should use all
my interest in his favour, while he should here reciprocate, by
employing his in mine."

"In what quarter, Monsieur?"

"Here, _at home_."

Adele's dark brown eyes rolled upon me a moment, as if in innocent
astonishment; and then, suddenly changing their expression, they danced
and sparkled to a peal of merry laughter, which ended in the
words:--"_Au revoir! la premiere gelee, adieu! adieu_!"  Luis was
outside, waiting to accompany me to the boat; and, returning the adieu
somewhat confusedly, I hurried up the steps of the verandah, and joined
him.

In another hour I was upon the broad bosom of the "Father of Waters,"
breasting his mighty current towards its far distant source.

Story 2, Chapter VIII.

THE VILLA DARDONVILLE.

Soon after my arrival in Saint Louis, I called upon the Dardonvilles,
and presented my letter of introduction.  It was a sealed document, and
I knew not the nature of its contents; but from the effect produced I
must have been the bearer of strong credentials.  It placed me at once
on a footing of intimacy with the friends of my friends.

The family did not reside in town, but at the distance of a mile or so
from it.  Their villa stood upon a high bluff of the river, commanding a
view of the broad noble stream, and beyond the wooded lowlands of
Illinois, stretching like a sea of bluish green to the far eastern
horizon.

Nothing could exceed the attractions of this transatlantic home; and the
many visitors whom I met there, proved that they were appreciated.
Dardonville, now rich, had retired from mercantile life, and offered a
profuse hospitality to his friends.  Need I say that he had troops of
them?

From the character of much of the company that I met there, it was easy
to see what was the chief object of attraction.  It was not the wines,
his luxurious dinners, nor the joys of the _fete champetre_, that
brought to the villa Dardonville so many of the choice youth of the
neighbourhood--the sons of rich planters and merchants--the young
officers of the near military post.  There was an influence far more
powerful than these--Olympe.

Olympe was an heiress--a beauty--a belle.

In truth she was a lovely creature--one of those blonde, golden-haired
beings, that appear to bring earth and heaven together, uniting in soft
sweet harmony the form of a woman with the spirit of an angel.

She was still only a girl; but the precocity of that sunny clime
promised the early development of her perfect form, already
distinguished by charms of which she alone appeared unconscious.

It would have been no difficult matter to have fallen in love with
Olympe--a far greater feat to have kept one's heart clear; and I rather
congratulated myself that mine was already occupied.  Happy might be the
man who should be honoured by the first passionate throbbings of that
young virginal bosom; but wretched he who should _vainly_ aspire to that
honour.

Perhaps it was my indifference that made me the favourite of Madame
Dardonville; or was there something in the letter of my Creole friend
that introduced me to her confidence?  I knew not; but from the hour of
my arrival this good lady admitted me to the intimacy of a confidential
friendship.

Through this confidence I soon became acquainted with the conjugal
destiny of the lovely Olympe--so far as that could be controlled by the
will of her parents.  Louis De Hauteroche needed no backer in me.
Notwithstanding his numerous and richer rivals, there was not much to
fear, with such influence in his favour.  Above all, the heart of Olympe
was still free.  I rejoiced on learning this; for seeing this fair young
creature beset by so many suitors--too young to receive proposals--I
trembled for the fate of my friend.  Madame Dardonville, however, was a
good "duenna;" and as for the retired merchant and _ancien lieutenant_,
he had no idea of any danger.  It was his design, and had been for
years, that Olympe should marry Luis de Hauteroche, the son of his old
comrade and friend--the son of his early benefactor, as he declared to
me in the warmth of his amical enthusiasm, when we were one day
conversing on the subject.

"Yes," exclaimed he, "De Hauteroche is poor--so was his father before
him; but De Hauteroche was a gentleman of noble race, Monsieur--a true
gentleman--and Luis must be--how could it be otherwise?"

I assured him it was my own belief; and in answer to many a question put
both by Monsieur and Madame, I found the opportunity of making some
slight return for the many kindnesses of my Creole friend.  Had I made
the covenant with Adele, I could not have been more zealous in carrying
out my share of its conditions.

Such was the position I held in the Dardonville family previous to my
starting for the prairies.

My excursion extended to the country of the "Crows," and occupied a
period of over three months.  I also had the honour of an interview with
the redoubtable "Blackfeet" and the good fortune not to leave my scalp
in the hands of these Ishmaelites of the prairies.  I do not here intend
to detail to my reader the incidents of my prairie life.  They have no
bearing upon our narrative.  I need only remark, that during my three
months' residence in the wilderness I had no communication whatever with
the civilised world, and never heard from any of the friends I had left
behind on either side of the Atlantic.  On my return to Saint Louis,
therefore, I found many items of news awaiting me--one of the most
unexpected being the death of Monsieur Dardonville!  Congestive fever,
after a short illness, had carried him off--not much beyond the prime of
life, and just when he had accomplished a position of opulent
independence.  This is not an uncommon fate with men who seek rest and
retirement after a life of continued activity.

My intimacy with the family suffered no interruption from this
melancholy occurrence, though of course its character was somewhat
changed.  But Madame Dardonville was as friendly as ever--even more so I
fancied--and for the few weeks that I remained at Saint Louis, she
pressed me to accept almost a constant hospitality.  General society was
no longer received at the villa: only those friends whose intimacy was
of long standing.

That I had won Madame Dardonville's confidence, must be attributed to my
relations with Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche; and to the same, no doubt,
was I indebted for a singular secret that was entrusted to me on the eve
of my departure for New Orleans.  It was to the effect that her husband
had made a most curious will--by which one half of his estate was left
to his widow, the other to his daughter.  There was nothing remarkable
about this partition of the property, and it appeared to me to be
equitable enough: but it was in another point that the will was oddly
conditioned.  This was, that in the event of Luis De Hauteroche offering
to marry Olympe, the latter should not be free to refuse, except under
forfeiture of the legacy left her by her father; and this was to become
the property of Luis De Hauteroche himself!  In other words, the
daughter of Dardonville was left by legacy to the son of his old
friend--on such conditions as were likely to lead her to their
acceptance, while young De Hauteroche was comparatively free in his
choice.  This I was assured by Madame Dardonville was the fruits of a
profound gratitude for some early favour, which her husband had received
at the hands of his former comrade De Hauteroche.

I thought it a fortunate circumstance, that the parties interested in
this strange document were not likely to offer any opposition to its
terms and conditions.  It would prove only an idle instrument, and
perhaps in a few months the writing contained in it would be no longer
of any significance.  My friend Luis would inherit the property of the
rich merchant, and marry his daughter to boot.  That would be the end of
it.

I was curious to know if De Hauteroche had not yet heard of the fortune
thus strangely conditioned to him, and I asked the question.  The reply
was "Not yet."  There were reasons why he had not been told of it.  But
there was no longer any object in keeping the secret from him, and the
Madame informed me that she had just written to him, enclosing a copy of
her husband's will, and giving him a full explanation of her views upon
the subject.

This conversation occurred upon the day before my departure from Saint
Louis.  Madame Dardonville had dispatched her letter by mail.  She
expressed regret at not having entrusted it to me, but she was not
apprised of my intention of leaving so soon.  Indeed it was hastily
taken.  _La premier gelee_--the first frost had made its appearance, and
I remembered my promise.

As I bade my adieus at the Villa Dardonville, the Madame also extracted
a promise from me--to the effect that I should not speak of what she had
told me--even to Luis himself.  She was desirous that things should take
their natural course.

Story 2, Chapter IX.

THE POST-OFFICE.

On my return to New Orleans, one of my earliest solicitudes was about my
European correspondence.  There letters are not delivered by a carrier,
or were not at the time of which I speak.  To obtain them, you must
either send to the Post-office, or go for them yourself; and expecting
some letters of importance, I chose the latter alternative.

I reached the office at the hour when the Atlantic steamer's mail was
being delivered.  As is usual at that time, there was a crowd around the
delivery-window; but by means of the simple contrivance of a gallery, or
_coulisse_, each applicant was enabled to take his turn.  I fell into
rank, and awaited mine.

As we moved gradually forward, I could hear the different individuals
asking for their letters--each giving his name, or sometimes both name
and address.

Rarely was any question asked, beyond the demand for the amount of
postage--the applicant paying it through the delivery-window, receiving
the letter, and passing on to make room for the impatient gentleman in
his rear.

I had arrived within some half-dozen files of the box, when I heard
pronounced a well-known name.

"_Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche_."

It was not very distinctly enunciated--in fact rather in a sort of
muttered tone--but I could not be mistaken as to the name.

There was nothing to surprise me in this.  The young lawyer was no doubt
there to receive his morning correspondence, like any other man of
business.  I should not have given a thought to the circumstance,
farther than to congratulate myself on the good fortune of having
opportunely encountered my friend--since I was just on my way to call
upon him, at his office.  I say, I should have given no farther thought
to the circumstance; but, just as the letter was being delivered, I
overheard the words "From Saint Louis," pronounced by the delivery
clerk.  No doubt it was some matter relating to the amount of postage;
but the phrase had a singular effect on my ears, and at once called up a
train of ideas.

"So," soliloquised I, "Monsieur Luis has received _the_ letter.  The
mail must have come down by the same boat in which I travelled.  Very
amusing!  I should know the contents of that epistle better than he.
Ha! ha! ha!  Perhaps the most important letter he ever received in his
life!  The opening of that envelope will reveal to him a world of
happiness.  Within, he will find the offer of a hand, a heart, and a
fortune.  Lucky fellow! he is indeed to be envied!"

I should have felt greatly inclined to have anticipated the post in its
office, and to have had the pleasure of imparting the delicious news
_viva voce_, but was restrained by remembering the injunctions of Madame
Dardonville.  I was curious, however, to observe the effect which the
letter from Saint Louis would produce upon my friend; and I leaned over
to catch a glimpse of his face.  It might not be he who had inquired for
the letter--some messenger from the office, perhaps,--and it now
occurred to me that it was not his voice I had heard.  But I was unable
to determine the point.  Three or four very stout tall fellows were in
front; and, twist myself as I might, I could not see over or around
them.  "Never mind!" thought I, "I shall follow him directly to his
office, and then--"

This reflection was interrupted by observing my friend, as I supposed,
emerge from the exit end of the slip, and pass into the street.  I
thought it was he, and yet I was not quite certain.  His back was
towards me; but as he walked out of the portico, he turned slightly, and
I caught a momentary glimpse of his side face.  It was certainly like
him; but I was struck with a sudden impression that it was more like the
face of Monsieur Despard.  This caused me to scrutinise the figure with
more eagerness; but some one stepped in front of me, and when I looked
again, he was gone out of sight.

"It matters little," thought I, "as I am on my way to De Hauteroche's
office, where, at this hour, I shall, no doubt, find him."

After waiting as patiently as possible for my "turn," I obtained it at
length; and, possessing myself of the expected letters, I sallied out
into the street.  I did not go direct to the office of my friend, but
made a long detour--to give me time to glean the contents of my
correspondence.

I arrived at length in the Rue Royale.  As I had anticipated, De
Hauteroche was in his office, and received me with a genuine expression
of welcome.

He was differently dressed from the man I had seen--in a coat altogether
unlike!  There was hardly time to have changed it?  It could not have
been he!

"_Parbleu_! my friend, what's the matter?" he inquired, observing my
astonishment.  "Do you perceive any change in me since we parted?  I
hope none for the worse, eh?"

"Answer me!" said I, without replying to his question.  "How long have
you had that coat on?"

"Ha! ha! what an eccentric question! ha! ha! ha!  I fear, _mon ami_, you
have left more than your heart in Saint Louis, ha! ha! ha!"

"Nay, please answer my question--how long?"

"To-day, do you mean?"

"Yes, to-day."

"Oh! about an hour.  It is my business coat.  I put it on when I came
into the office, about an hour ago."

"And you have not had it off since?"

"No."

"You have not been out of the office either?"

"Not that I am aware off, _mon ami_; but pray why do you make these
inquiries?"

"Simply because I fancied I saw you just now."

"Where?"

"At the Post-office."

"Oh, no!  I was not there.  I never go.  I always send for my letters;
it is so unpleasant, squeezing through the horrid crowd."

"I certainly saw some one wonderfully like you; and now I am convinced
of what I had only suspected, that he whom I saw was that same
gentleman, to whom I am indebted for your acquaintance."

"_Peste_!" exclaimed the young Creole, springing to his feet, and
assuming a serious countenance.  "Likely enough it may be.  _Mon Dieu_!
this is intolerable.  Do you know, my friend, that I am frequently
mistaken for him, and he for me; and what is still worse, I have reason
to believe that the fellow has, on more than one occasion, personated
me.  _Mere de Dieu_! it is not to be borne; and if I can only get proof
of it--I am even now about the affair--if I can only establish the
proofs, I shall effectually put a stop to it.  He shall find I can
handle the small-sword a little more skilfully than your unfortunate
friend.  _Mon Dieu_! it is infamous: a common _spoilsman_--a swindler--
even worse, I have heard; and to think how my character suffers!  Why no
later than yesterday, would you believe it, I was joked by one of my
oldest and most respected friends, for having figured at a low quadroon
ball in the Faubourg Treme!  It is positively vexatious!"

Of course I assented to this denunciation, and to the necessity of some
inquiry being made into the goings on of Monsieur Jacques Despard.
During my winter sojourn in New Orleans, I had more than once dropped
accidentally upon this last-mentioned personage, but never did I observe
him in any very creditable position.  It did not need the declaration of
De Hauteroche, to prove to me that he was both _sportsman_ (gambler) and
swindler; but just then other matters came before my mind.  I was the
bearer of a pretty little billet from Olympe to Adele; and the hour had
arrived in which it was proper for me to make my call and deliver it.
Leaving my friend, therefore, to his books and briefs, I went off upon
my errand.

I was a little puzzled at De Hauteroche's behaviour.  He must have
received the letter in time to have read it before my arrival at the
office; and yet I observed none of the effect that the reading of such
an important document would be likely to produce.  On further reflection
I felt convinced that he could not have read it at all.  Perhaps his
messenger, who had taken it from the post-office, had not returned.  Or,
what was likely enough, it might not be _that_ letter, but some other
one of no importance, or more probable still, there might have been
none, and I had mistaken the name.  Certainly, if it were the epistle I
supposed it to be, and if he had already perused it, the effect was far
from what I should have expected.  Of course I did not imagine he would
appear in ecstasies in my presence, and all at once reveal to me the
secret of his happiness; but, on the other hand, I could not account for
the imperturbable coolness he had exhibited throughout our short
interview--his thoughts, indeed, only occupied by vexation at the
unfortunate resemblance he bore to the gambler.  Of course, then, he
could have had no letter--at least not one that offered him a wife and a
fortune.  I might have ascertained this to a certainty by simply putting
a question, and some vague suspicion floating about in my mind, half
prompted me to do so; but I remembered the caution which I had received
from the little Madame Dardonville--besides, it was a delicate point,
and I dreaded being deemed a meddler.  After all, I had no doubt about
the matter.  His supreme happiness was still unknown to him.  The
messenger of glad tidings had not yet arrived.  The next mail-boat would
bring the precious epistle, and then--

I had entered the vine-shadowed verandah in the Rue Bourgogne.  The
green _jalousie_ opened at the sound of my steps; and those beautiful
brown eyes, smiling upon me through the fringework of the white
curtains, carried my thoughts into a new current.  Luis and his affairs
were alike forgotten.  I had eyes and thoughts only for Adele.

Story 2, Chapter X.

ANOTHER EPISTLE.

The hospitality of my Creole friends had not cooled in my absence, and
my visits were as frequent as of yore.  I had now much to tell them of.
My prairie excursion had furnished me with facts--deeds upon which I
could descant.  It pleased me to fancy I had an attentive listener in
Adele.  I could make Luis listen too at times--especially when I dwelt
upon the merits of Olympe.  No doubt it would have flattered me to
believe that Adele was a little jealous, but I could not tell.  I only
knew that she liked better to hear me discourse upon the wonders of
prairie land, than to listen to the praises of Olympe.  But Adele had
much romance in her disposition, and the plumed and painted horsemen of
the plains--the chivalry of modern days--almost rival in interest the
steel-clad heroes of the mediaeval time--certainly they are quite as
brave, and perhaps not much more barbaric.

My visits to the Rue Bourgogne were of daily recurrence.  Besides the
other occupation, I could not help closely regarding the behaviour of
Luis.  I was watching for some sign, but day after day passed without
his showing any.  The letter had not yet come to hand.  My position was
a strange one.  With one word I could have made De Hauteroche supremely
happy; and yet my promise hindered me from uttering that word.  It was
really tantalising to be thus restrained--for the pleasure of giving
happiness is almost equal to that of receiving it.

A week passed, and still no word--no sign of the letter having been
received; and then the half of another week without report.  Two
mail-packets I knew had come down from Saint Louis--for I had taken the
pains to ascertain this fact--but neither brought the precious epistle.

Had Madame Dardonville not written after all? or had her letter
miscarried?

The former I could not reconcile with probability, after what she had
said: the latter was perfectly probable, considering the character of
the American post-office, and the adventurous vagaries that sometimes
occur to an American mail bag, in its transit upon the great western
rivers.

Still the route from Saint Louis to New Orleans was a direct one.  There
was but one shipment from port to port, and where could be the risk?

I was puzzled, therefore, at the non-arrival of the letter.  In truth, I
was something more than puzzled.  At times I felt a vague feeling of
uneasiness as to its fate; and this was more definite, when I reflected
on the incident that had occurred at the post-office on the morning
after my return.  I could not well doubt that some one asked for a
letter for Luis De Hauteroche; for though the words were mumbled in a
low tone, they reached my ear with sufficient distinctness.  At the time
I had not the shadow of a doubt about the name.

Did De Hauteroche receive a letter that morning, and from Saint Louis?
For reasons given, I had never asked him, but I could no longer see any
harm in putting the question.  If an unimportant letter, he might not
remember it; and whether or no, the question would surprise and puzzle
him.  But no matter.  It was important I should have an answer--yes or
no.  I needed that to resolve a doubt--a dark suspicion that was shaping
itself in my mind.

I came to the determination to call upon him: and at once put the
interrogatory--_outre_ as it might seem.

I was preparing to sally forth from my hotel chamber, when a somewhat
impetuous knock at the door announced an impatient visitor.  It was the
man I was about to seek--Luis De Hauteroche himself.

I saw that he was strangely excited about something.  "My friend," he
exclaimed on entering, "what can this mean?  I have just had a letter
from Saint Louis--from Madame Dardonville--and for the life of me I
cannot comprehend it.  It speaks of a will--of conditions--of Olympe--of
strange contingencies.  _Mon Dieu_!  I am perplexed.  What is it?  You
have lately seen Madame.  Perhaps you can explain it?  Speak, friend!
can you?"

While giving utterance to this incoherent speech, De Hauteroche had
drawn out a letter, and thrust it into my hand.  I opened and read:--

"_Mon cher Luis,--Since my letter, accompanying the copy of my lamented
husband's will, I find that my duties as administratrix will detain us
in Saint Louis a week longer than I had anticipated.  If you have not
started, therefore, before receiving this, I wish to suggest a change in
our programme--that is, instead of coming alone, you should bring Adele
along with you, and we can all return together.  Perhaps your young
English friend would be of the party; though, from the anxiety which he
exhibited at the first appearance of frost here, perhaps he thinks our
Saint Louis climate too cold for him.  He shall be welcome
notwithstanding_.

"_You could come by the `Sultana,' which I see by the New Orleans papers
is to sail on the 25th.  Come by her if possible, as she is our
favourite boat, and I should wish to go back in her_.

"_Yours sincerely_,

"_Emilie Dardonville_."

"_P.S.--Remember, Luis, that your choice is free, and though I shall be
proud to have you for my son-in-law, I shall put no constraint upon
Olympe.  She knows the conditions of her father's will, and I have no
fear of her desiring to controvert what was with him a dying wish.  I am
well assured that her heart is still her own; and since you have always
been the favourite friend of her childhood, I think I might promise you
success as a suitor.  But in this, and everything else relating to the
conditions of the will, you must act, dear Luis, as your heart dictates.
I know your honourable nature, and have no fear you will act wrongly_."

"E.D."

By the time I had finished reading, De Hauteroche had become more
collected.

"When did you last hear from Madame Dardonville?"  I asked.

"About a month ago--only once since the letter announcing our friend's
death."

"And your sister--has she had a letter since?"

"None--except the note brought by yourself from Olympe."

"That could not be the letter referred to here.  There was no copy of a
will?"

"I never heard of such a thing.  This is the first intimation I have
had, that Monsieur Dardonville had made a will; and the postscript both
surprises and perplexes me.  Madame Dardonville speaks of conditions--of
Olympe being bound by some wish of her father!  What conditions?  What
wish?  Monsieur, for heaven's sake, explain to me if you can?"

"_I can_!"

Story 2, Chapter XI.

THE CHEQUE.

De Hauteroche stood before me in an appealing attitude, and with wild
impatience in his looks.  I felt that I was going to give him supreme
happiness--to fill his cup of bliss to the very brim.  I had long ere
this fathomed the secret of his heart, and I knew that he loved Olympe
with a passionate ardour that he could scarcely conceal.  His last visit
to Saint Louis had settled that point, and though it was doubtful
whether the young girl was, at the time, sufficiently forward to have
felt the passion of love, I had discovered some traces of a certain
tender regard she had exhibited towards him I had no doubt that she
would love him--almost at sight: for to say nothing of the direction
which had been given to her thoughts--both parents carefully guiding her
affections in the one particular channel--there were other circumstances
that would favour this result.  Luis De Hauteroche was by far the
handsomest gentleman she had ever seen--handsome as well as highly
accomplished--and I knew that no pains had been spared to impress Olympe
with this idea.  He was almost certain to be beloved by her.

Concealment of what I knew, was no longer required of me.  My promise to
Madame Dardonville was simply to keep silent, until the letter had
spoken for itself.  It was clear, however, that the letter had
miscarried; and it therefore became a necessity that I should declare
its contents.  I rather joyed at thus having it in my power to make my
friend happy; and I hastened to perform the pleasant duty.

In brief detail I made known to him the nature of the ex-merchant's
will--that part of it relating to his daughter and to Luis himself.

Joy overspread the young man's countenance as he listened; and my
repetition of those interesting conditions was interrupted only by
expressions of gratitude and delight.

For the rest, I knew not the precise contents of Madame Dardonville's
letter.  These could only be guessed at; but the communication just now
received was a good key to that which had been lost.

"What matter," added I, "about the other having gone astray?  It is
certainly not very agreeable that some post-office peeper should get
such an insight into one's family affairs; but after all, it's only a
_copy_ of the will that has been lost."

"Oh! the will; I care nothing for that, Monsieur--not even if it were
the original--the will of Olympe alone concerns me."

"And that I promise will be also in your favour."

"_Merci_, Monsieur, what a true friend you have proved!  How fortunate I
should have resembled Monsieur Despard!  Ha! ha!"

I almost echoed the reflection--for that resemblance had been the means
of introducing me to Adele.

"But come, Monsieur De Hauteroche! the letter of Madame Dardonville
requires attention.  You must answer the demand.  You are expected in
Saint Louis, to bring the ladies down to New Orleans.  If I mistake not
the _Sultana_ leaves here this very evening; you must go by her."

"And you will go with me?  You perceive, Monsieur, you are invited."

"And M'amselle De Hauteroche?"

"Oh! certainly.  Adele will go too.  In truth, my sister has not
travelled much of late.  She has only been once to Saint Louis since
papa's death.  I am sure she will enjoy the trip exceedingly.  And you
will go, then?"

"Willingly.  Your sister will need time for preparation.  Shall we
proceed to the Rue de Bourgogne?"

"_Allons_! on our way we can call at the post-office.  Perhaps the
missing letter is still lying there--we may yet recover it."

"It can matter little now, I fancy; but there is no harm in trying."

I had not much hope of success.  Something whispered to me that the
document was gone from the post-office, and had fallen into other hands:
though of what use could it be to any one?  Perhaps it had been detained
by some one, in the expectation that it contained an enclosure of
money--an occurrence which the loose arrangements of the American
post-office rendered by no means uncommon.

I was now more than ever convinced of the correctness of my first
impressions.  On that morning when I visited the post-office, a letter
for De Hauteroche had been asked for and taken out; and as he now
informed me that he had received no letter, nor did he remember having
sent any one to the office on that particular day--there was but one
conclusion to be drawn.  Some one, unauthorised by him, had obtained the
letter--no doubt the very one in question.

The coincidence of Despard's presence--for it must have been he whom I
had mistaken for De Hauteroche--led me to other misgivings.  I had not
seen the person who made inquiry for the letter--the files of men in
front preventing me--but judging by the time at which the _spoilsman_
passed out at the exit end of the slip, he must have been near the
delivery-window when the inquiry was made.  These circumstances, taken
in connection with what I already knew of this person, naturally led me
to the conclusion that De Hauteroche's letter had fallen into his hands.
His motive for such a vile act I could only guess at.  The hope of
obtaining money, perhaps--though there might appear but slight
probability of that.  In truth, the affair was sufficiently
inexplicable; and neither De Hauteroche nor I could arrive at any
definite resolution of it at the time.

On our arriving at the post-office, a gleam of light was thrown upon the
transaction.

"Has there been any letter addressed to Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche?"

The inquiry referred to a date of some days anterior.

The clerk could not answer that--indeed the question was rather an idle
one.  Of course, amidst the thousands of letters delivered by the
official, it would have been miraculous in him to have remembered a
particular one.  He had no recollection of such a letter being
delivered; and there was none for the address lying in the office.

"Stay--there _is_ a letter that has just come in by an extra mail, for
`Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.'"

My friend eagerly grasped the document--the more eagerly that he saw
upon it the stamp of the Saint Louis post-office!  It was scarcely large
enough to contain the copy of a will.  It could hardly be that of which
we were in search.

It proved not to be that, but a document of a very different character.
It read thus:

"_Monsieur,--The 1,000 dolls, cheque transmitted to you upon the
Planters' Bank of New Orleans, by a mistake of one of our clerics, was
not crossed.  It has been paid by the Bank and returned.  We are anxious
to know if it reached your hands safely.  Please state by return mail_.

"_Gardette and Co_,

"_Bankers_,

"_Saint Louis_,

"_Mi_."

"Mystery of mysteries, Monsieur!" exclaimed De Hauteroche, gasping for
breath, as he thrust the letter into my hands.  "What can all this mean?
I know of no thousand dollars.  Never received a cheque--never expected
one--know of no one in Saint Louis who should have sent it, nor for what
purpose!  Ho! there must be a mistake.  This is not for me."

And the speaker once more referred to the envelope.  But the address was
full and complete:--

"_Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche_,

"_Avocat_,

"_16, Rue Royale_,

"New Orleans."

There was no other Luis De Hauteroche--no other avocat of the name.
Undoubtedly the letter was for him--however little he understood its
contents.

I was less puzzled than he.  A gleam, or rather a flood of light, was
let in upon the mysterious transaction, which to me was no longer a
mystery.  Whence had come the cheque I could not tell I could only
surmise; and my surmise pointed to the hand of the generous widow of
Dardonville.  Where it had gone was unfortunately less doubtful,--for
the fingers of the _chevalier d'industrie_ were easily recognisable
here.  Beyond a doubt, Monsieur Despard had got the cheque; and this
would account for his after inquiry at the post-office, that led to his
obtaining the letter with the will.  He had watched the arrival of the
mails from Saint Louis, and obtained such letters as were addressed to
De Hauteroche.  Why he had done this at first, it would be difficult to
say; but afterwards--after obtaining the money--his object would be to
prevent the young lawyer from knowing it, until he could get out of the
way.

In all likelihood he was now beyond reach either of accusation or
conviction.  The two letters which had just come to hand were of
themselves evidence, that in all likelihood he was no longer near.

De Hauteroche was furious--half frantic when I imparted to him my
convictions; for, although the source whence the 1,000 dollars had come,
was still a mystery to him, yet there was the proof of its having been
sent, and the presumption of its having been stolen.

The New Orleans police were at once put in charge of the matter; and, as
no communication could possibly reach Saint Louis sooner than by the
_Sultana_, it was resolved that we ourselves should be the bearers of
the answer, and call upon the banking-house of Gardette and Co, the
moment we arrived in that city.

Detectives were set upon the search for Despard, but of course only as
spies--since as yet we could allege nothing stronger than suspicion
against him.  The _espionage_, however, was likely to prove
unsuccessful: for up to the hour of the _Sultana's_ leaving--which
occurred just at sunset--the sportsman's whereabouts had not been
ascertained; and the detectives, in quaint phraseology, declared their
belief that the "gentleman was G.T.T."  (Gone To Texas).

Story 2, Chapter XII.

THE MISSOURI BELLE.

The traveller who ascends the mighty Mississippi, will see neither hill
nor mountain--nothing that can he called highland--until he has attained
a thousand miles from its mouth.  Only the bold headland on which stands
the town of Natchez, and those very similar projections known as the
"Chickasaw Bluffs," one of which forms the site of the flourishing city
of Memphis.  All the rest, on both sides of the river, as far as the eye
can reach, is low _alluvion_, rising only a few feet above the surface
of the stream, and often, for hundreds of miles, periodically drowned by
inundation, or covered continuously by a stagnant marsh.  The forest
hides all this from the eye; and frequently the banks of the river have
the appearance of dry land, when there is not a spot of earth upon which
you may rest your foot.

This character continues till you have passed the mouth of the Ohio, and
have entered upon the regions of Missouri and the Illinois.  There the
scene changes as if by magic.  The river no more appears wandering over
a flat country; but runs in the bottom of a deep gorge or valley, whose
sides are nearly precipitous--often rising to the height of hundreds of
feet above the surface of the water.

We had been six days steaming up the river; and on the seventh at
sunset, the _Sultana_ reached the highland region, entering the
gorge-like valley, just as night was closing over it.

It was the period of a full moon, and as yet the fair queen was low in
the heavens--so low that her light fell upon the water, only in those
reaches where the river trended in an easterly or westerly direction.

Whenever the course was north or south--and this was the general
direction--the high bluffs completely overshadowed the stream; and then
only the glare of the fires lit up the dark water ravine through which
we were passing.

The sudden changes from light to darkness, and from darkness back to
brilliant moonlight, had an effect that was curious and interesting.
They resembled the transformations in a theatre.  One moment we were
steaming along in the most sombre shadow--the crest of the bluffy with
its crowning trees and _shot_ towers, dimly outlined above us--the next,
we would shoot out under the white fulness of the moonlight, that
rendered even minute objects along the _facade_ of the banks, almost as
visible as by day.

This ever-shifting panorama appeared more the work of magic, than the
effect of natural causes, and I had lingered upon the hurricane-deck to
observe its changes long after my companions had gone below.

While thus engaged, my ear caught the peculiar sound produced by the
'scape pipe of a high-pressure boat; and which is easily distinguished
from all other explosive noises.  At first it seemed the echo from our
own--for I had already noticed the reverberations which the cliffs sent
back at different points on our passage.  I soon became convinced that
the sounds I now heard were not echoes; but that another boat was making
its way through the dark gorges, apparently coming down stream.  This
was made certain by the sudden appearance of a brilliant lamp directly
in front of us, find more conspicuous still was the red glare of the
fires burning in the furnaces--which are always placed in the forward
part of the boat.

It was one of the darkest ravines of the river, where the two boats came
in sight of each other; but the lights of each guided the pilot of the
other, and there was neither danger nor difficulty in passing.  Each
held to the larboard--as two carriages would have done upon an ordinary
road--and a wide space was left between them: for the channel, though
narrower here than elsewhere, still afforded a sufficiency of room.

It was quick work, however, and the pilot of each boat adroitly
performed his duty.  The bend was of short reach; and, from the time I
caught sight of the descending steamer, I could scarcely have counted
two hundred till she had met and was overlapping the _Sultana_.  Like
two fiery meteors they brushed past one another--each bearing onward in
her own direction, without hail or the exchange of a single word I had
just time, as the stranger glided by, to make out upon her wheel-house
the name _Missouri Belle_; but, before I could have counted another
hundred, she had forged round a projection of the bluffs, and her lights
were no longer visible.

I stood gazing after her with emotions vivid and singular.  What was
there that caused me to do so!  The incident of meeting a steamboat on
the Mississippi?  There was nothing extraordinary in that--an occurrence
so common as scarcely to deserve being regarded an incident.  Was it the
name of the boat, which I had been enabled to decipher?  Some old
remembrance connected with her?

No, nothing of the kind.  The emotions that had suddenly arisen in my
mind, were springing from a very different cause; and I may at once
declare it.

Abaft of the _Missouri Belle_, and in the little gangway that encircles
the ladies' cabin, I had caught sight of a group of three persons,
standing outside one of the state-room doors.  Of the identity of these
persons I could not be mistaken--though the sight was sufficient to
stagger my belief.  Of two I was sure: for the light shone more fairly
upon them.  The third only remained unrecognised--the darkness hindering
my view of this individual--and, but for a horrid suspicion that flashed
into my brain at the moment, I should not have thought of even guessing
at his identity.

The two that I had recognised were women--ladies.  They were Madame
Dardonville and her daughter Olympe.  The third was a man, who stood
sufficiently near them to come under the same light--the glare of the
_Sultana's_ fires--but the unexpected presence of the ladies so
astounded me, that I did not see _him_ till too late to distinguish
either his form or face.  I only saw that it was a man--nothing more;
but, for all that, a painful suspicion--a presentiment of some horrid
evil--took immediate possession of my soul; and I became at once imbued
with the idea that my friends were in danger.

Gladly would I have adopted the belief that there was some error; and
that what I had seen was a fancy--a vision of the brain.  Certainly the
glimpse I had of those fair faces--especially of the beautiful
countenance of Olympe--was short and evanescent as any dream could have
been; but it was too real.  I saw her face well enough to recognise it--
well enough even to note its expression, which I fancied to be more sad
than smiling.  Beyond a doubt the widow and her daughter had passed us
in the _Missouri Belle_--strange though the circumstance might and did
appear to me at the moment.

And what, after all, was there strange in it?  Could it not be easily
explained?  Her affairs may have been set tied earlier than she
expected--they should have been arranged by that time--and, without
waiting for De Hauteroche, she may have formed the resolution to travel
without him.  The journey from Saint Louis to New Orleans is accounted
nothing; and in all parts of the States ladies are accustomed to travel
alone, and may do so with perfect safety and convenience.

But, then, they were _not_ alone--at least they did not appear to be.
There was the man--_the man_!

Some friend, perhaps, of the family?  Some distant relative or retainer?
Perhaps, only a domestic?

Could I have believed this, I should have escaped that feeling of
uneasiness that was every moment growing upon me; but I could not.
Something seemed to tell me, that the man I had seen was neither
relative nor friend--but an _enemy_.  Something seemed to whisper his
name--_Monsieur Jacques Despard_.

Story 2, Chapter XIII.

THE TWO PILOTS.

My suspicions were only vague and ill-defined.  I had the presentiment
of an evil--but what evil?  Even admitting that the man who accompanied
Madame Dardonville and her daughter, was the swindler Despard--what
injury could they receive from his presence?  But what reason had I to
think it was he?  Not the least.  Indeed, upon reflection, I could not
myself imagine what had brought this man into my mind: though that might
be accounted for--since the forgery, of which we more than suspected
him, was one of the first things to be inquired into, on our arrival in
Saint Louis--and there we should be in the morning.

There was little reason, however, in all this, to connect him with the
presence of the ladies on board the _Missouri Belle_; and the more I
reflected on the matter, the more improbable did it appear.

The circumstance of meeting Madame Dardonville on her way downward, was
certainly strange enough--especially when I remembered her letter.  In
that she had distinctly arranged that we should come up for her; and had
stated her intention to travel back by the _Sultana_.  Had she written
again, and once more altered the arrangement?  It had been her original
design, as appeared by her second letter--to have gone to New Orleans at
an earlier date; but some business, connected with the administration of
her estate, had delayed her.  Was this cause of detention unexpectedly
removed? and had she, in consequence, started southward, without waiting
for the _Sultana_?  Perhaps she had written a third letter, which had
not reached New Orleans at the time of our leaving it?

All these were probabilities--or rather possibilities--that passed
through my mind; but, viewing them in their most favourable aspect, they
failed to satisfy me.  I could not help suspecting that there was a
mystery--that there was something wrong.

The pilot was at his post inside his little cabin of glass, silent as is
his wont.  I would have entered into conversation with him; but just at
that moment his second appeared, coming out of the pilot's cabin, and
rubbing his eyes to get them open for his work.  A bell had just
announced the hour of change, and the second was about to enter on his
turn of duty.  The ceremony was simple; and consisted in the old pilot
handing over the spokes to the one that relieved him, and then squeezing
himself out of the glass house.  A little conversation followed before
the relieved officer retired to his "bunk."  Seated within ear-shot, I
could not help overhearing it.  "Durnation dark--whar are we anyhow?"

"Jest below _Shirt-tail_ bend--thar's the bluff."

"Durn me! if I can see a steim.  I couldn't see a white hoss at the eend
of my nose this minnit.  I reckon I'll be runnin' the old boat into the
bank, if it don't clear a bit."

It certainly was a dark night.  Some heavy clouds had drifted over the
moon, and she was no longer visible.

"Oh, no fear," rejoined the other, "you ain't got the sleep out of your
eyes, you'll see clearer by-'n-bye."

"Wal--it's to be hoped.  Much dirt in the water?"

"A few--there's a putty considerable drift comin' down.  That last spell
o' wet has done it, I reckon.  I han't seed many _sawyers_, but you'd
better keep a sharp look-out.  Thar's bound to be some o' 'em settled in
the bend."

"I'll watch 'em--say, what boat was that?"

"_Massoury Belle_."

"Oh! she's in the Ohio trade now?"

"So I've heerd."

"I thought they wouldn't run her to Orleans agin.  She aint the style
for below."

"No, she wa'nt big enough.  Old What's-his-name has bought her, and's
goin' to run her reg'larly 'tween Saint Louis and Cinc'natti.  She's
jest the thing for that trade.  Good night!"

Thus ended the dialogue; and, in a few seconds after, the retiring
officer had entered one of the little boxes adjacent to the wheel-house,
and shut himself up for the night.

Up to a certain point I had listened to this conversation with but
little attention, and might not have noticed it at all, but for its
quaint oddity.  All at once, however, it became deeply interesting to
me--at that point when it turned upon the _Missouri Belle_.

What could the man mean by the boat no longer running to Orleans?  New
Orleans, of course, he meant--for these men are perfect Lacons in
conversation, and I understood the curtailment of the name.  Was it
possible the boat was not _then_ on her way to New Orleans? and was she
bound round to Cincinatti?

If such were the case, the presence of Madame Dardonville on board of
her, would indeed be a mysterious circumstance!  For what purpose could
_she_ be going to Cincinatti? and, least of all, at such a crisis--when
she should be expecting her friends from the south?

Had I heard aright?  Or had I properly interpreted what I had heard?

Beyond doubt the pilot's words were to the effect, that the boat was no
longer to run to New Orleans, but from Saint Louis to Cincinatti, and of
course _vice versa_.  Perhaps he might mean prospectively?  Was it some
new arrangement of ownership, not yet completed?

The boat might be hereafter intended for the Ohio trade, but had not yet
commenced running to Cincinatti: she might be making her final trip to
New Orleans?  Only this hypothesis could explain the puzzle.

It occurred to me that I might arrive at a more lucid understanding by
an application to the occupant of the wheel-house--at all events he
could interpret what I had just heard.  I addressed myself him
accordingly.

I had no fear of being snubbed.  These Mississippi pilots are fine
fellows, sometimes a little dry with curious intruders, but never rude,
never impolite to a gentleman.

"Did I understand you to say that the boat we have just met--the
_Missouri Belle_--is in the Ohio trade?"

"Wal, stranger, that's what I've heerd."

"That means that she is to run between Saint Louis and Cincinatti."

"Course it do."

"And do you think she is on her way to Cincinatti now?"

"Why, stranger, whar else 'ud she be goin'?"

"I thought she might be going down to New Orleans."

"Wal, she did run thar form'lly; but she's off that now.  She's changed
hands lately, and's been put on the other line, 'tween Saint Louis and
Cinc'natti, which air a trade she'll suit for better.  She wa'nt big
enough for below; but bein' a light draught critter, she's jest the
thing to get over the Falls."

"And you are certain she is now on the way to Cincinatti?"

"No, that I aint, stranger.  She may be on top o' a durnation snag, or
chuck up on a sand-bar at this minnit, for what I can tell.  All I know
for sartin is that she's boun' for Cinc'natti; and if nothin' happens
her, she'll be thar in less 'n four days from now.  Whether she breaks
down, howsomever, air a question beyont my calkerlationa.  She mout an'
she mout not."

With this sublime resignation to probabilities, the tall speaker in the
glass house, evidently intended that the conversation should come to a
close, for I observed that he bent his gaze more eagerly ahead, and
seemed to direct his attention exclusively to the tiller.  Perhaps the
idea of the _Missouri Belle_ resting upon a snag or sand-bar, had
suggested the probability of the _Sultana_ getting into a similar
predicament, and stimulated him to increased caution in the performance
of his duty.

Though I had succeeded in concealing my emotions from the steersman, it
was not without an effort.  The information he imparted was full of
serious meaning; and augmented the feeling of uneasiness, from which I
already suffered.  Stronger than ever did I feel that presentiment of
evil.

The statement of the pilot admitted of no interpretation but one.  It
was direct and point blank: that the _Missouri Belle_ was bound for
Cincinatti.  The man could have no motive for misleading me.  Why should
he?  I had asked a simple question, without much show of interest or
curiosity; he had answered it from pure politeness.  There was not the
slightest reason why he should make a misstatement; and I accepted what
he had said as the truth.

The riddle had assumed a new character, and had become altogether more
difficult of solution.  "What," I repeated to myself, "can Madame
Dardonville have to do on a Cincinatti boat?  Surely there is something
astray?"

It did not appear exactly _en regle_, for the lady to leave Saint Louis
in the expectation of a visit from her New Orleans friends; but I
presumed she had sent a second despatch, which had not been received.
Moreover, she was going down to them, and it mattered less about their
coming up for her.  These were my first reflections after seeing her
upon the down-river boat, and until I had heard the talk of the two
pilots.  Now, however, circumstances had a different appearance.  On the
_Missouri Belle_ she could not be going to New Orleans, but to
Cincinatti.  Did she expect us to follow her there? and for what end?
Perhaps she would only go as far as the Ohio mouth, in this boat, and
there wait for another, coming down the Ohio river?  This method of
getting from Saint Louis to New Orleans was common enough, when there
did not chance to be a boat going direct.  The large hotel at Cairo
offered a temporary sojourn for such passengers.  But why should Madame
Dardonville adopt this roundabout method, and especially at such a time?

A score of conjectures passed through my mind, all ending idly.  The
only one at all satisfactory, was that, perhaps, I had been in an error
from the very beginning.  Perhaps, after all, I had neither seen Madame
Dardonville nor her daughter; but two ladies who very much resembled
them!  It was not the first _equivoque_ I had experienced; and this
should have rendered me less confident of the evidence of my senses.
Notwithstanding these reflections, however, I could not convince myself
that I was in error.

So long, therefore, as there was the slightest doubt, I felt that it
would be imprudent to communicate my suspicions to my travelling
companions.  It could serve no good purpose; and would only render them
uneasy, as I was myself,--in all likelihood, much more so.  Ere long we
should all know the truth; and should it prove that I was mistaken, I
would have the satisfaction of having saved my friends from unnecessary
pain, and myself from ridicule.

Though I joined them the moment after, I gave neither of them the
slightest hint of what I had seen or suspected.

Story 2, Chapter XIV.

NO ONE ON THE WATCH.

It was ten o'clock on the following day, when the _Sultana_ snorting
under a full head of steam, brought us within sight of the "Mound City,"
so called from certain Indian tumuli, that here form a conspicuous
feature on the banks of the mighty river.

Long before reaching our destination, my travelling companions and I had
ascended to the hurricane-deck; and we were straining our eyes to catch
sight, not of the spires and cupolas that overtop the town, but of a
building that had for all of us a far greater interest--a white cottage
or villa, with green Venetians--the villa Dardonville.  As it stood
conspicuously near the western bank of the river, and we knew that it
was visible from the level of the water, we expected soon to be
gratified with a view of it, especially, as we were now nearly opposite
to it.  A skirting of oak woods appeared alone to conceal it; and, as
the boat forged ahead, we gazed eagerly into the vista that was
gradually opening beyond them.

Slowly and gently, as if by the passage of a panoramic picture, the
villa was disclosed to our view; and my companions hailed its appearance
with exclamations of delight.  Visions of a happy meeting with old dear
friends, of sumptuous hospitality, of free rural enjoyments, of many
pleasurable incidents, were before the minds of both; and as for Luis,
the sight of that pretty homestead could not fail to call up emotions of
a still more thrilling kind.

Though I had myself seen the villa before, and from the water, it was a
new sight to both my friends.  It was, in fact, a new house, and had
been built by Dardonville on retiring from business.  On Luis's last
visit to Saint Louis, the family was residing in the city.  It was
shortly after, that they had removed to the charming abode on the bluff.

My friends were enthusiastic in their praises of the pretty mansion.
They admired its style of architecture, its smooth sloping lawn, its
shrubberies; in short, both were in the mood for admiring.

As the boat arrived directly in front of it, and the house came fully
into view, it did not strike me as presenting so hospitable an
appearance: in fact, an observer, knowing nothing of its inmates, would
have given it a character altogether different.  The front door was shut
close; and so, too, were the Venetian shutters, every one of them.  Even
the gate of the verandah railings appeared to be latched and locked.
There was no life, human or animal, stirring about the place; not a
creature to be seen.  There was no smoke issuing from the chimneys, not
a film.  The place had the appearance of being uninhabited, deserted!

My companions could not help noticing this, though without having any
suspicion that the house might be empty.

Why are the windows closed? and on such a beautiful morning?

I could only make answer to this pertinent query, by observing that the
house faced eastward; and the sun might be too strong at that hour.

"_Parbleu_!" exclaimed Adele, "I feel cold enough; you see, I shiver?
For my part, I should open every blind, and admit all the sun I could
get.  I shall do so, as soon as we get there."

"But la!" continued she, after a pause, "surely they expect us? and by
the _Sultana_, too?  You would think some one would be on the look out?
They must certainly hear the blowing of our grand boat?  And yet no one
appears--not even a face at the windows!  Come, M'amselle Olympe, this
is barely kind of you."

Adele endeavoured to disfigure her beautiful countenance with a slight
grimace, expressive of chagrin; but the laugh that followed showed how
little she was in earnest.

"It may be," interposed Luis, "they are not astir yet: it is early."

"Early, _mon frere_? it is ten o'clock!"

"True, it is that hour," assented Luis, after consulting his watch.

"Besides, where is old Pluto? where Calypse and Chloe?  Some of them
should be abroad.  At least, one of them might have been playing
sentinel, I think?"

These were the familiar names of Madame Dardonville's domestics, all
known to myself.

"Ah!" exclaimed Adele, a new thought suggesting itself, "I fancy I can
explain.  Madame and Olympe are gone up to town, that's it.  Perhaps she
knows that the boat is near: she may have heard it from below, and has
driven up to the landing to meet us?  Of course Pluto would be with her,
and the others are busy in the house.  That explains all.  So we shall
meet her at the landing.  Well, that will be charming!"

I gave my assent to this explanation, though far from believing it to be
the true one.  The deserted appearance of the house was a new element of
anxiety to me; and, combined with what I already knew, almost confirmed
the terrible suspicion that had shaped itself in my imagination.  Though
straggling to conceal my real thoughts, it was with difficulty I
succeeded in doing so.  More than once my companions regarded me with
inquiring looks: as though they observed a singularity in my bearing and
behaviour.

With a sense of the keenest anxiety, I looked forward to the moment of
our arrival: I did not indulge in much hope that Adele's conjecture
would prove correct.

Alas! it did not.  As the boat was warped in, broadside to the wharf, I
scanned the crowd with keen glances: not a group--scarcely an
individual--escaped my observation.  There were no ladies there--no
Madame Dardonville, no Olympe!  There were carriages, but not theirs.
No private carriages were to be seen, only hackneys waiting for a fare
from the boat.

I looked at Adele.  There was a slight curl upon her pretty lip--this
time really expressive of disappointment and chagrin.

"Perhaps they are up in the town?"  I suggested, gently.

"Nay, Monsieur, they should be _here_.  It is cruel of Olympe."

"The Madame may have business?"

"_N'importe pas_."

I saw by this that Adele was really offended.  Perhaps she had been
hearing too many encomiums upon Olympe's beauty.  It is not _woman_ to
like this; and least to be expected from a woman who is herself a
beauty.

Nothing remained but to engage a hackney.  This was the work of a
moment; and, as our united luggage was not large, we were soon passing
through the streets of Saint Louis.  The Jehu had received his
directions to drive to the Villa Dardonville.  He knew the house, and we
were soon carried beyond the suburbs in that direction.

We met people on the way.  The faces of one or two of them were known to
me.  As the carriage was an open phaeton, we could all be seen.  I
observed the eyes of these people turn towards us with a strange
expression: a look, as I thought, of astonishment!  Luis appeared more
especially to be the object of interest.  As we were driving rapidly,
however, no one spoke.  If they had anything to say, there was no
opportunity for them to say it.  I do not know whether either of my
companions observed this, nor might I have done so; but for the
foreknowledge of which I was possessed.

We at length reached our destination.  The phaeton being driven to the
front, halted opposite the verandah.  No one rushed out to greet us! no
one opened the door!

"_C'est drole_!" murmured Adele.

Luis stepped out of the carriage and knocked.  A heavy foot was heard
inside: some one coming along the hallway?  There was heard the turning
of a bolt, and then the rattle of a chain.  Strange! the door has been
locked!

It was opened at length, though slowly, and with some degree of caution;
and then a round black face was presented to our view.  It was the face
of Pluto.

Story 2, Chapter XV.

PLUTO.

The expression depicted on the countenance of the negro, told us at once
that we were not expected.  His lips stood apart, his eyes rolled in
their sockets, till only the whites were visible, and he stood with both
hands raised aloft in an attitude of astonishment!

"Why--wy--wy, mass'r Looey! war de dibbil hab you come from?"

"Why, Pluto, where should I have come from, but from home?--from New
Orleans?"

"Aw! massr! don't joke dis ole nigga.  You know you hadn't time to get
down dar; you'd scarce time to get to the mouf ob de 'Hio."

"The mouth of the Ohio?"

"Ya, massr!  You know de _Belle_ didn't start till near night; an' how
could you a got dar?  Golly, massr! hope dar's nuffin wrong? wha' did
you leave missa and Ma'aselle 'Lympe?"

"Where did I leave your mistress and Mademoiselle Olympe!  I have not
seen either of them, since I last saw you, Pluto."

"O Gorramighty! massr Looey, how you _do_ run dis ole nigga, 'case he
half blind.  Hyaw! hyaw! hyaw!"

"Half crazed, rather, Pluto, I should fancy!"

"Craze, massr? law massr, no.  But do tell, Massr Looey, whar be de ma'm
an' ma'aselle?"

"That is just the question I have to put to you.  Where are they?"

"Lor, massr, how can I tell.  Didn't I drive you all 'board de boat
yes'day noon, and sure massr, I han't seed none ob you since den?"

"Drive us aboard the boat! drive who?"

"Why you, massr, an' Missa Dardonville, and Ma'aselle 'Lympe."

"Of what boat are you speaking?"

"De big boat for Cincinatti--da _Massonry Belle_, dey calls her."

De Hauteroche turned towards me with a look expressive of stupified
wonder.

"What!" he gasped out, "what can this fellow mean?"

"Answer me, Pluto," said I, addressing myself to the domestic, "you say
you drove your mistress and Mademoiselle to the boat--the _Missouri
Belle_?"

"Ya, massr, dat for sarting."

"And did they embark in her?"

"Sarting, massr, I seed um go off afore I leff de waff."

"A gentleman accompanied them?"

"Ob coos, Massr Hoteroche 'companied dem."

"Who said it was Monsieur De Hauteroche?"

"Ebbery body say so; but law, massr, dis chile aint blind.  I see Massr
Looey ma'seff; an' sure he wa' stayin' at de house for more 'n a week.
You's only a playin' possum wi' de ole nigga? dat's what you are a
doin'."

"Another word, Pluto!  Did Madame tell you where she was going?"

"No, massr, not adzactly tell me, but I knows whar, for all dat.  Hyaw,
hyaw, hyaw!" and the darkie displayed his ivories in a broad grin, while
a knowing look was exhibited in the corners of his great eyes.

"Where was it?"  I asked, without heeding his ludicrous humour.

"Gorry, massr; p'raps Massr Looey, he no let me tell?" and the black
turned an inquisitive look towards De Hauteroche.

"It is just what I desire you to do.  For Heaven's sake, man, do not
delay!  This is most mysterious."

"Berry queer!  Well, Massr Looey, since you's no objection, I tell dis
gemman and Missy Adele; but I thort dey know'd all 'bout it a'ready.  Ob
coorse we brak folk only knows what we've heerd.  It may be true, an' it
mayent, for all dat."

"Out with it, man!"

"Well, de folks all say dat Ma'aselle 'Lympe she go be marry to young
Massr Looey; and dat dey all go de way to France to have de knot tied--
all de way to France! hyaw! hyaw!"

"To France?"

"Yes, massr.  De say young massr--hyaw--he have rich uncle dar--he die--
he leave all to Massr Looey--hope him true Massr Looey--dat young massr
he go to get de money, and den he marry Ma'aselle 'Lympe, and den dey
all come back hyar."

"And who has said all this?"

"Law, massr, ebbery body know 'im--ebbery body say so.  'Sides, I hear
Massr Gardette, de banker, tell one gemman, day I drove massr to de
bank.  Golly, de big cheque missa did draw out dat berry day!  She say
'twar for trabbelin 'spenses.  Dar wa dollars 'nuf to a trabbled 'em all
ober de world.  But say, Massr Looey, why hab you come back?  Sure missa
an' Ma'aselle 'Lympe are safe?  Hope dar's nuffin wrong, massr?"

De Hauteroche appeared stupified with amazement--absolutely petrified.
Pluto might as well have addressed his inquiries to a stone.

To question the negro further would have been idle.  Indeed, I was
already in possession of sufficient data to determine the outlines of
this mysterious affair--if not to make known the whole of its details.
I was now convinced that a horrid crime was being committed--a base
deception practised--of which Madame Dardonville and her daughter were
the dupes and victims.  In all likelihood, some one was personating Luis
De Hauteroche; and, under this guise--and by some pretence about a
legacy, as report declared--had induced Madame Dardonville to leave her
home and make a journey to France!  This part of the story might be true
or not; but certain it was that the ladies had gone away in the company
of some one who was personating Luis de Hauteroche.  Whither they were
gone, and with what intent, I could not determine; but I had little
doubt as to who was their companion and betrayer: it was the
_sportsman_, Despard.

I did not communicate my thoughts to either of my companions.  I could
see no object in doing so.  Their hour of misery would arrive soon
enough.  I thought it better they should suffer an hour of mystery.

I knew that Monsieur Gardette was a friend of Madame Dardonville--a
family friend, as such men are termed.  It was probable, therefore, he
could throw light on the matter.  He had cashed a large cheque, it
appeared, and must know something of the object for which it was drawn.
Moreover, the affair of the lost bill of exchange was to be inquired
after.  Both objects could be accomplished at the same time.

I proposed, therefore, that we should at once proceed to the
banking-house of Monsieur Gardette.  My companions, overcome with
astonishment, yielded unresistingly to my proposal, and, giving the Jehu
the necessary orders, we were driven back in the direction of the city.

Half an hour brought us to the banking-house, where the horses were
pulled up.  Adele sat in the carriage and her brother, acting under my
advice, remained with her.  I thought it better I should see Monsieur
Gardette alone.  Not yet had the time arrived, when it was necessary De
Hauteroche should know the full extent of his loss.

Story 2, Chapter XVI.

MONSIEUR GARDETTE.

I had the good fortune to find Monsieur Gardette in his counting-house.
He knew me; and our interview proceeded without embarrassment.

I shall not weary my reader with the conversation that passed between
us; nor yet detail all the circumstances that came to my knowledge
during that interview.  Suffice it to give only those more immediately
connected with the thread of my narrative; and which of themselves were
sufficient to confirm my most fearful suspicion.

Some one like De Hauteroche--resembling him almost as a counterpart--had
assumed his name; had deceived Madame Dardonville as to the identity;
and by an influence, as yet only guessed at, had persuaded herself and
daughter to take the extraordinary step of accompanying him to Europe!

All this might easily have been effected.  There was no improbability in
it, when it is remembered that it was some years since De Hauteroche had
been seen either by mother or daughter.

Another circumstance, which I now recollected, strengthened the
probability of their having gone on this journey.  I remembered Madame
Dardonville having told me that she contemplated a journey to Europe, at
some not distant period--that she was desirous of visiting the home of
her youth, and renewing some ancient friendships.  Moreover, she had
stated her intention of residing some time in Paris, in order that in
the world's fashionable metropolis, she might obtain for her daughter
the finishing touch of a polite education.

This was but an ambition common to most transatlantic _emigres_,
especially, as in the case of the widow of Dardonville, where pecuniary
considerations offered no obstacle.  It was not improbable, therefore,
that she had carried, or was about to carry, this design into execution.

All that seemed singular was the hasty manner in which she had
undertaken the journey: for in her letters to New Orleans she had not
said a word of such intention.  It was easy to conceive, however, that
the counterfeit De Hauteroche, acting with the influence which the real
De Hauteroche possessed, might, without much difficulty, have thus
brought about the event.

In reality, it was no longer a conjecture, but a _fait accompli_.  He
had done it; and Madame Dardonville and her daughter, in the company of
an accomplished brigand, were now on their way to Europe.  Of the truth
of this, the facts stated by the banker were sufficient proof Monsieur
Gardette was aware of my friendly relations with the family, and without
reserve he communicated all he knew.  His knowledge was not much, and
related chiefly to matters of business.  Of course, like other friends
of the family, he had heard the rumours that were afloat; and in his
business capacity he was made aware of the intended trip to Europe.  A
circular letter for a large amount (10,000 dollars), made payable in
Paris, besides a small cheque for present purposes, had naturally made
him aware that some grand manoeuvre was going on, and that Paris was to
be the _but_ of a journey.  Further than this, he had not been intrusted
with the confidence of the family.  All else he had drawn from rumours,
which were current in the place.  It would not be easy for a lady, so
conspicuous as the rich widow Dardonville, to keep even family secrets
concealed.  Rumour could not be cheated of her tales; and that which was
generally believed in this instance, appeared to be the correct one.

The banker had heard of the projected marriage of Olympe; that young De
Hauteroche was to be the son-in-law; and, indeed, some of the peculiar
conditions of Monsieur Dardonville's will were not unknown to him.
Administrators will let secrets slip out, and bankers have peculiar
opportunities of becoming possessed of them.

Monsieur Gardette had heard other particulars--that young De Hauteroche
had been on a visit to the villa Dardonville for more than a week: of
this fact he was quite certain, and no doubt it accounted for him,
Monsieur Gardette, not receiving an answer to a communication he had
addressed to that gentleman in New Orleans.

I knew well enough to what communication he referred; and I soon
convinced him that it did not account for his not receiving the answer.

All these particulars Monsieur Gardette imparted to me, without any
suspicion of the real state of the case; and, when I told him that
Monsieur De Hauteroche had not been on a visit to the Villa Dardonville,
he firmly, but politely, contradicted the assertion!

"Pardon me, Monsieur!  I know several who have seen him here, though not
in town, for, what was considered strange, he has never made his
appearance in our streets during the whole of his stay.  It is not so
strange, either," proceeded the banker, with a bland smile.  "At such a
crisis men care but little for general society.  Perhaps," added the old
gentleman, with a knowing look, "he will go more abroad by-and-bye.  A
lucky young man--a splendid fortune, sir!"

"An unhappy young man, Monsieur Gardette.  A sad fortune, I fear--more
truly, a terrible misfortune!"

"Why, Monsieur? what mean you?"

"That the person who was on a visit to the Villa Dardonville was not
Monsieur De Hauteroche; but, as I have reason to believe, a noted
_sportsman_, or rather swindler, who is personating him.  Monsieur De
Hauteroche has just arrived with me in the _Sultana_.  We came direct
from New Orleans: out of which city Monsieur De Hauteroche has not been
for months past."

Had a bomb-shell dropped into the counting-house of Monsieur Gardette,
it could not have startled him more effectually.  He leaped from his
chair, exclaiming:

"_Sacre Dieu_!  Monsieur--you are jesting?"

"Alas! no.  Look through the window, Monsieur Gardette--that is Luis De
Hauteroche."

The carriage was directly under the window; and Luis and Adele, seated
in it, were visible through the half-open Venetian.

"Certainly! it is he and his sister!  I know them both--pretty children!
I knew the old Colonel well _Mon Dieu_!  Monsieur--is what you tell me
true?"

"My friends will confirm it?"

"_Pardieu_!  I fear it needs no confirmation.  Ah! now I comprehend--no
answer--the thousand dollar bill--this accounts for it--his staying so
closely by the villa--friends not received there--the number of cheques
drawn!--_Mon Dieu_!  Madame Dardonville is lost--we are all lost!"

"Let us hope not yet.  It may still be possible to intercept this
villainous adventurer, and frustrate his scheme of infamy?"

"Possible, Monsieur!--no, no--impossible!  I can think of no means--how
would you act?"

"Follow them, of course?"

"Ah!  Monsieur, it is easy to say follow them.  The boat left yesterday.
She is a fast boat; she is the mail-packet.  There is no other for
Cincinatti--not one for a week."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Quite certain--here is the list."

The banker pointed to the printed table, that exhibited the days of
sailing of the different steam-boats.  I had not patience to examine it.
His assertion was sufficient to satisfy me: for he had himself a stake
in the pursuit--enough to give him an interest in its success.

His information filled me with chagrin.  All along I had been planning a
mode of procedure; and I could think of no other, than that of
immediately following Despard and his innocent victims.  I had
calculated on their being detained at Cincinatti: for I had ascertained
that the _Missouri Belle_ ran no farther.  It was not hopeless,
therefore, had there been another boat on that day, or the following, or
even the third day; but a week, that would never do.  The travellers
would easily obtain passage beyond Cincinatti; the more easily as it was
now the season of high water.  They would reach Pittsburg or Wheeling;
and from either of these cities the communication with the Atlantic
seaboard was constant and daily.  In New York lay the Cunard steamer.
Her days of sailing were fixed and certain; but at that moment my mind
was in such a turmoil, that I could not calculate with any degree of
exactitude, our prospects of reaching her in time.  That must be left to
a later period.

In spite of the confusion of the moment, an idea had come to my aid:
Cincinatti might be reached by horse.

I rapidly communicated this thought to the banker, who, to my
satisfaction, did not disapprove of it.  It was a long ride, over three
hundred miles, the roads heavy; it would cost much horseflesh, suggested
the man of money: but the circumstances required that some desperate
plan must be had recourse to.

De Hauteroche and I could take horse, and ride day and night.  Adele
could remain at Saint Luis.  No matter at what cost we travelled, it was
the only course to be followed.  No other offered a feasible hope.

It was a fortunate circumstance, that just before leaving New Orleans I
had had my exchequer replenished; and there would be no obstacle in
finding means.  The worthy banker, moreover, threw out a hint that he
would not hang back; and, furthermore, offered to become the guardian of
Adele during our absence.  I knew that this would be agreeable both to
De Hauteroche and his sister.

All these matters were arranged without communicating with our friends
outside.  I felt certain that it was the course of action De Hauteroche
would take, and I was but preparing the way.  It cost only a few minutes
to sketch out the programme.

Though suffering under the disappointment occasioned by Madame
Dardonville's unexpected absence, and tortured by the mystery of it, my
friends were not yet fully awake to its fearful import.  It was no
longer possible to keep from them the afflicting news.  In another
minute, and in the privacy of the banker's counting-house, they were
made acquainted with all.  I need not describe the surprise, the grief,
the agony, of both--the furious paroxysm of passion into which Luis was
thrown.

The necessity of action, however, at length produced calmness.  There
was no time to be wasted in idle emotions, and De Hauteroche, entering
at once into the design already sketched out, we speedily prepared
ourselves to carry it into execution.  Adele offered no objection.  She
saw the necessity of this painful parting--at once from brother and
lover--and she only prayed that we might succeed in the end.

Before the sun had passed his meridian, De Hauteroche and I, mounted on
the two toughest steeds the stables of Saint Louis could produce, rode
off for the ferry wharf.  There, crossing the broad river, we entered
the territory of Illinois; and, without pausing a moment, we started
forward upon the road that conducts to the distant city of Cincinatti.

Story 2, Chapter XVII.

THE PURSUIT.

But few words passed between myself and my companion for the first ten
miles along the road.  He was absorbed in profound melancholy, while I
was busied in making certain calculations.  We travelled as fast as was
safe for our horses; though far more rapidly than these were accustomed
to go.  Wherever the road would admit of it, our pace was a gallop; at
other times a gentle canter, or an ambling gait, known throughout the
Mississippian States as "pacing."  This, where horses have been trained
to it (and most western horses have), is one of the fastest and most
convenient gaits for travellers to adopt.  Both horse and horseman are
less fatigued by it than by either the trot or gallop; and the speed
attained is almost as good as by either.

I had some difficulty in restraining my companion.  Still labouring
under the excitement produced by the painful discovery, he would have
galloped on at top speed, till his horse had broken down under him.  I
knew that this would be the greatest of misfortunes; and that, if we had
any chance of reaching Cincinatti as soon as the steamer, an incident of
this kind would be certain to destroy it.  Should either of our horses
give up, from being overridden, much time might be lost before we could
replace them; and this, perhaps, might occur miles from any town--miles
from any stable where it was possible to obtain a remount.  Our only
hope, therefore, lay in carefully guarding against such a _contretemps_;
and economising the strength of our animals, as far as the necessary
rate of speed would allow us.

Of course we had no idea of riding the same horses all the way.  That
would have been impossible--at all events within the time allowed us for
the journey.  It was our intention to take the Saint Louis horses some
sixty miles or so, in fact, to such place as we might obtain a relay,
thence to proceed upon fresh ones, sixty or seventy miles further; and
so on till we had reached our destination.  This sort of journeying
would require a liberal outlay; but of that we were not in the mind to
care much.  The object upon which we were bent rendered such
considerations of inferior importance.

I have said that I was engaged in certain calculations.  They were
rather conjectures as to the probability of our success, though they
partook also of the character of the former.  Some of my data were exact
enough.  Others depended only on contingencies, that might or might not
turn in our favour.  Of one thing, however, I was able to assure both
myself and my companion; and that was, that there was still a
possibility of our overtaking the adventurer, and if fortune favoured
us, a probability of it.  I need hardly say how joyed was De Hauteroche
by the assurance.  Of course it was but my opinion; and I had only
arrived at it, after a process of reasoning in which I had examined the
case in all its hearings.  Before starting off from Saint Louis, we had
not allowed time for this.  In the confused haste of preparation, we
thought only of entering upon the pursuit; and had started blindly
forward, without even calculating the chances of success.  It would be
time enough to think of these upon the road: at all events, it was not
before we were fairly on the road, that we found time to talk of them.

One of the data, upon which I relied, was that incidentally furnished me
by the pilot of the _Sultana_.  He had stated, during our short
conversation, that the _Missouri Belle_ would reach Cincinatti in less
than four days--in all about four days from the time she had taken her
departure from Saint Louis.  Monsieur Gardette had confirmed this
statement: it agreed with his own information.  About four days was the
usual time in making such a journey.  The boat had the start of us about
three quarters of a day.  True she had a longer route to go--by more
than a hundred miles--but then her progress would be continuous, night
and day, at a speed of at least ten miles an hour; while we must rest
and sleep.  Could we have ridden three days and nights without stopping,
we might have headed her.  This, however, was a physical impossibility,
or nearly akin to it.  I believe my companion would have attempted it,
had I not restrained him.  I had still hoped that we might arrive in
time; and, by making one hundred miles a day, we might calculate on so
doing.  Three days would thus bring us to Cincinatti; and I knew that
the steamer could not arrive before.

It proved a long, hard ride; and, I need scarcely add, that it was not a
merry one.  It required all my efforts to cheer my companion, who
sometimes sank into the most profound melancholy--varied at intervals by
a passionate outburst of anger, as he reflected upon the villainous
outrage, of which himself and those he held dearest had been made the
victims.  There was still hope, however; and that had its effect in
restoring his spirits to an occasional calmness.

It was a long, weary ride; and occupied the greater part of both night
and day.  Many a poor steed was left along our route, with just strength
to return to his stable.  We scarcely took rest or sleep; but, saddling
fresh horses, we pressed on.  The road seemed interminable,
notwithstanding the rate at which we travelled; and many miles of it we
passed over, asleep in our saddles!

Our journey ended at length; but notwithstanding all our exertions, we
had not made good our programme.  It was the fourth day when we caught
sight of the spires of Cincinatti--near the evening.  No more weary eyes
than ours ever looked upon the walls of a city.  But the prospect of
success awakened us to fresh energy; and we rode briskly onward and
entered the streets.

The "Henry House" was upon our way, and it was the only hotel--at least,
the one where such a party would be certain to stop.  We halted and made
inquiries.  They had not been there: though other passengers by the
_Missouri Belle_ were in the house.  The boat, then, had arrived!

We were preparing to hasten on board; but it was not necessary.

"Strangers," said the hotel keeper, pointing to a gentleman who stood
near, "if you wish to inquire about any passengers by the _Missouri
Belle_, that is the captain himself."

"Yes," freely answered the latter, in reply to our inquiries, "two
ladies and a gentleman--Madame Dardonville, of Saint Louis--I know the
lady--and her daughter.  The gentleman I do not know--a young lawyer
from New Orleans, I believe."

"At what hotel have they stopped?"

"Not at any.  A Wheeling boat was just going out as we came to the
landing; they went by her.  They were going East."

De Hauteroche and I slipped out of our saddles, and walked, or rather
trotted into the hotel.  The intelligence was terrible, and for the
moment unmanned us both.  Fortune appeared to be on the side of
villainy.

Story 2, Chapter XVIII.

THE DENOUEMENT.

Refreshed by a draught of wine, I proceeded to prosecute our inquiry.  I
had not yet lost hope; and with this I succeeded also in cheering my
friend.  The day was Sunday; and I knew that the Saturday following was
the sailing day of the Atlantic steamer.  There was then only the Cunard
line; and only one steamer every fortnight.  Both day and hour were
fixed--each alternate Saturday at 12 noon--punctual as the Horse Guards'
clock.  At both termini of her long ocean-journey was this punctuality
observed; and I knew that a gun proclaimed the exact meridional hour of
her departure.  To reach New York, then, by 12 o'clock on Saturday, was
the object to be aimed at.  Was it possible of accomplishment?

Inquiry led me to believe that it was; and hope once more supplanted
despair in the bosom of De Hauteroche.

Everything depended upon when we could get a boat to Wheeling: since
beyond that the journey would be by stage-coach and rail; and these had
fixed and certain arrangements.

When could we start for Wheeling?  No one at the hotel could answer this
question; and, without loss of time, we proceeded to seek our
information at the wharf or landing.

None that day, of course.  It was Sunday, and we did not expect it; but
we ascertained that a small boat--a very indifferent looking craft--
purposed starting for Pittsburg on the morrow.  Of course a Pittsburg
boat would serve equally well for Wheeling.  The hour promised was
twelve; and, without further hesitation, we engaged passage.

We needed the refreshment of a hotel; and, having paid our fare, we
returned to the Henry House.

Here we were put in possession of a piece of intelligence, unexpected as
it was unpleasant.  It was to the effect that we need not calculate
getting off on the morrow--that there was not the slightest prospect of
such a thing; that the captain of the little boat--the _Buckeye_, she
was called--was well known to take several days in starting.  We might
congratulate ourselves if we were off by Wednesday!

There was an air of probability in all this; and our informants had no
motive for deceiving us.  Certainly it would have given us great
uneasiness--in fact, have destroyed our last hope--had it not been for
an idea that entered my head at that moment, and promised to get us
clear of such a sad dilemma.  I had observed, while aboard, that the
_Buckeye_ was a very humble trader--that the money she received, on
account of either freight or passengers during a single trip, could not
be a very large amount; and that a douceur of 100 dollars would no doubt
fix her hour of sailing--as punctually as the _Cunard_ steamer herself.

I communicated my opinion to my friend.  He was exactly of the same way
of thinking.

The thing was easily arranged.  It cost us a second visit to the
_Buckeye_; and, before we retired for the night, we felt quite easy in
our minds that the little steamer would take us off at the appointed
hour.

And she did: having steamed off from the landing on the stroke of 12
noon, to the astonishment of all Cincinatti!

Wheeling was reached; and then jolting by stage over the cold mountains
to Cumberland, we continued on by rail to Baltimore.  Thence without
delay to the drab city of Philadelphia; and onward to the metropolis of
America.  We made no inquiries by the way; we did not stop, except for
the hours of the different trains: we had but one object in view--to
reach New York by 12 noon on Saturday.

It was Saturday morning when we left Philadelphia.  We were in the very
train designed to reach New York in time--the express--arranged for the
sailing of the European steamer.  Thank Heaven, we should be in time!

The Fates once more turned against us.  Some accident to the engine,
occurring near Trenton, delayed us for half an hour; but this being
righted, we pressed forward with accelerated speed.

Many a watch was regarded with anxious eyes--for there were many in the
train who proposed crossing the Atlantic--but who can tell the agony
experienced at this moment by Luis de Hauteroche?  I was myself too
troubled to speak.

The feeling at length reached its culminating point.  The city of New
Jersey was in sight: there lay the _Cunard_ steamer at her moorings!

No, she is moving out!  See! she has dropped into mid stream!  Behold
that white puff of smoke!  Hark! 'tis the signal gun!  She is gone--
gone!

No boat may overtake her now--the swiftest would be launched in vain.
She will delay for no one--not even for Prince or President.  She is the
_Cunard_ packet.  Her laws are immutable--fixed--inexorable.  O God! she
is gone!

My friend's distress exhibited itself in a frantic manner; but there
were others, suffering from far less disappointment, who made equal show
of their chagrin.  This had the effect of drawing away from us that
notice we might otherwise have attracted.

Silent and melancholy we both stood upon the now deserted wharf--gazing
upon the black hull, that every minute was growing a more insignificant
object to the sight.  I shall not attempt to depict the feelings of my
companion: I could scarcely analyse my own.

We were turning coldly away to seek some hotel; we had even advanced
some paces from the landing, when a singular cry, followed by a confused
murmur of voices, as of men in dispute, caused us to look back.

A small knot of sea-faring men stood on a projection of the wharf: they
appeared to be employes of the Steam Company; who, after performing the
duty of getting the vessel afloat, had lingered to see her out of the
bay.  One of the men held a telescope levelled to his eye, and directed
down the bay: as if following the movements of the steamer.  We listened
to hear what the men were saying.

"Yes!" exclaimed the man with the telescope, "I told you so--something
wrong yonder."

"Give me the glass, old fellow!" demanded one of his comrades--a
rough-looking sailor.

"Yes, give it to Brace, Bill--he's got a long sight."

The man surrendered the glass, as requested; and Brace, placing it to
his eye, looked silently and steadily through it.  I could have heard my
companion's heart heating, had it not been for the thumping of my own.
How eagerly we waited for the words of Brace!  They came at length--
words of gold!

"Ye be right, Bill--there ur somethin' wrong--there's a paddle broke--I
sees 'em on the wheel-house--yes, that's it."

"They'll put back again!" suggested one.

"Sartin to do," drawled Brace, "they are putting back--they're getting
the cripple round now as fast as she can come.  Now she comes this way.
Make ready your ropes, boys--more grog, and plenty o' keelhaulin'!"

The reaction of feeling produced by these words, in the minds of my
companion and myself, cannot be described; and it was sustained by the
evidence of our own eyes--for, the moment after, we could make out that
it was the steamer's head that was towards us, and that she was slowly
but certainly making up the bay--back to the landing from which she had
just taken her departure.

There was something almost astounding in this occurrence.  It seemed as
if Providence itself had a hand in the event.

We did not allow our excited feelings to hinder us from taking some
cautionary steps necessary to the carrying out of our design.  There was
time enough for us to reach the office of the nearest justice, and arm
ourselves with the authority for an arrest; and before the steamer had
reached the wharf, we were on the spot with two plainclothes policemen,
anxious for action.  They scented large game, and consequently a rich
reward.

They had soon an opportunity of earning it; for, in a few minutes after,
we were aboard, and Monsieur Jacques Despard was in handcuffs!

I was glad that we alighted upon him alone--as it saved a painful scene.
The ladies were in their state-room; and knew nothing of the arrest,
till after their travelling companion had been carried over the side of
the ship!

There was a scene notwithstanding--a scene of surprise and confusion;
but explanations followed fast; and the scene ended by all who took part
in it becoming imbued with one common feeling--that sense of supreme
joy, which one experiences who has just narrowly escaped from some
terrible danger.

As yet no injury had accrued.  How near all had been to utter ruin!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of course the passage money was freely forfeited to Messrs. Cunard Co;
and the family luggage transferred from the steamer to a Broadway hotel.

After a short stay there, another steamer that plies between New York
and New Orleans, carried us directly to the latter city--where Monsieur
Gardette was good enough to meet us, and deliver up his temporary ward.

Long ere this we had learnt the details of the Despard infamy.  They
differed, in no essential particular, from what conjecture had suggested
to us.

It appeared that it was not the first time Despard had personated young
De Hauteroche, to his own advantage, and the latter's disgrace.  He was
well aware of the remarkable likeness between them; and with this, as an
aid to his swindling designs, he acted with a certainty of success.  He
had taken pains to possess himself of such points in the family history
as were accessible to his inquiries; and it was while prosecuting this
branch of his _industrie_, that the letters had fallen into his hands.
Of the use he made of them we know most of the details.  As already
conjectured, he had started for Saint Louis, on gaining possession of
the will and the letter which accompanied it; and, as neither Madame
Dardonville nor Olympe had seen Luis de Hauteroche for a considerable
period of time, the deception was easy enough.  The voyage to France was
a deep laid scheme; and the circular letter for 10,000 dollars on a
Paris Bank was a bold stroke of swindling.  Once there, the villain
expected to be the recipient of that money.  The plea for the journey
was not without plausibility.  The Saint Louis rumour was correct: a
dead uncle's property left to the De Hauteroches--a legacy that required
to be claimed immediately.  Another inducement: his sister Adele and the
young Englishman were to meet him there--in Paris.  The Englishman was
married to Adele, and preferred returning to Europe by the West India
steamer!  Such had been his story.

The hasty marriage somewhat surprised Madame Dardonville, as well as the
design of the European convention.  She regarded it as somewhat
eccentric; but Luis De Hauteroche was to her, nearest and dearest, and
how could she refuse compliance with his proposal?  In fine, she made
her arrangements, and set forth.

Nothing had been said of the marriage between Luis and Olympe.  That was
tacitly left for future arrangement.  Paris would be the place--if it
should ever come off It was doubtful, however, whether it ever would
have taken place--even if the steamer had held on her way.  Both Madame
Dardonville and her daughter had conceived strange imaginings about the
projected son-in-law.  Something had occurred every day--almost every
hour--to excite surprise--even a little _degout_.  Luis De Hauteroche
had much changed--for the worse--had become dissipated, vulgarised--in
short, anything but what should have been expected in the son of his
father.  It was a disappointment--a chagrin.

Poor Luis!  Had the steamer gone on, he might have lost part of the
fortune, but he was in little danger of losing his wife.  Olympe would
undoubtedly have forfeited the legacy rather than have yielded herself
up to the vulgar counterfeit.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I saw Despard once afterwards--while on a visit to the Louisiana State
Prison at Bayou Sara.  With his little pile of picked cotton before him,
he looked a sorry enough sort of wretch--far different from the ruffled
_elegant_ of other days.  The forgery had been proved home, and entitled
him to his present residence for a lease of not less than ten years!

How very different appeared his counterpart when I last saw him,
elegantly attired, living in an elegant mansion with elegant furniture,
and waited on by a troop of willing domestics!

And she who gave him all this was by his side--his blooming bride--the
lovely Olympe.

END OF DESPARD, THE SPORTSMAN.

Story 3.

A CASE OF RETALIATION.

The first action fought by the American army in the valley of Mexico, on
20th August, 1847, was at Contreras.  It was an attack upon a fortified
camp, in which lay General Valencia with 6000 Mexicans, composed of the
remnant of the army beaten by Taylor, on the hills of Bueno Vista.  It
was styled "The Army of the North;" most of the soldiers composing it
being from the northern departments--the hardy miners of Zacatecas and
San Luis Potosi,--and they were esteemed "the flower" of the Mexican
army.

On the previous day powder enough was burned to have cured the
atmosphere for twenty miles around; yet there was nothing done.  We held
the ground, however, in mud up to our ankles.  In this we lay shivering
under a cold drizzle until the morning.

By daylight we were at it in earnest.  During the night two of our best
brigades had crept, unperceived, through the clay "barrancas" close up
to the rear of the enemy's camp, ready to spring.

At daybreak old Riley shouted, "Forward and give them hell?" and before
our foes--not expecting us from that quarter--could bring their
artillery to bear upon us, we were in the midst of them.

The action lasted just seventeen minutes.  At the end of that time we
had laid our hands upon thirty of Valencia's cannon, and taken about a
thousand prisoners; and had, moreover, the satisfaction of seeing the
rest of them, in their long yellow mantles, disappearing through the
fissures of the lava fields, in rapid flight along the road to Mexico.

We followed, of course, but as our cavalry had not been able to cross
the Pedregal, and as the enemy were our superiors in retreat, we were
soon distanced.  As we came down upon the village of San Angel, the
occasional blast of a light infantry bugle, with the "crack--crack--
cr-r-r-ack" of our rifles in front, told us that we had still some more
work to do before entering the halls of the Montezumas.  We were, in
fact, driving in the light troops of Santa Anna's main army, lying we
knew not where, but somewhere between us and the far famed city.

It is not my intention to give an account of the battle that followed;
nor should I have entered into these details of the fight at Contreras,
were it not to put the reader in possession of "situations," and,
moreover, to bring to his notice an incident that occurred, during that
action, to a friend--the hero of this narrative--whom I will now
introduce.  I was at the time a Sub., and my friend, Richard L--, was
the Captain of my company; young as myself and fully as ardent in
pursuit of the red glory of war.  We had long known each other, had gone
through the campaign together, and, more than once, had stood side by
side under the leaden "hail."  I need not say how a juxtaposition of
this kind strengthens the ties of friendship.

We had come out of Resaca and Monterey, unscathed.  We had passed
through Cerro Gordo with "only a scratch."  So far we had been
fortunate, as I esteemed it.

Not so my friend; he wished to get a wound for the honour of the thing.
He was accommodated at Contreras; for the bullet from an escopette had
passed through his left arm below the elbow-joint.  It appeared to be
only a flesh wound; and as his sword-arm was still safe, he disdained to
leave the field until the "day was done."  Binding the wounded limb with
a rag from his shirt, and slinging it in his sash, he headed his company
in the pursuit.  By ten o'clock we had driven the enemy's skirmishers
out of San Angel, and had taken possession of the village.  Our
Commander-in-Chief was as yet ignorant of the position of the Mexican
army; and we halted, to await the necessary reconnaissance.

Notwithstanding the cold of the preceding night, the day had become hot
and oppressive.  The soldiers, wearied with watching, marching, and the
fight, threw themselves down in the dusty streets.  Hunger kept many
awake, for they had eaten nothing for twenty hours.  A few houses were
entered, and the _tortillas_ and _tasajo_ were drawn forth; but there is
very little to be found, at any time, in the larder of a Mexican house;
and the gaol-like doors of most of them were closely barred.  The
unglazed windows were open; but the massive iron railings of the "reja"
defended them from intrusion.  From these railings various flags were
suspended--French, German, Spanish, and Portuguese--signifying that the
inmates were foreigners in the country, and therefore entitled to
respect.  Where no excuse for such claim existed, a white banner, the
emblem of peace, protruded through the bars; and perhaps this was as
much respected as the symbols of neutrality.

It was the season when fashion deserts the Alameda of Mexico, and
betakes itself to _month_, cock-fighting, and intriguing, in the
romantic pueblos that stud the valley.  San Angel is one of these
pueblos, and at that moment many of the principal families of the city
were domiciled around us.  Through the rejas we could catch an
occasional glimpse of the occupiers of the dark apartments within.

It is said that, with woman, curiosity is stronger than fear.  It
appeared to be so in this case.  When the inhabitants saw that pillage
was not intended, beautiful and stylish women showed themselves in the
windows and on the balconies, looking down at us with a timorous yet
confiding wonder.  This was strange, after the stories of our barbarity,
in which they had been so well drilled; but we had become accustomed to
the high courage of the Mexican females, and it was a saying amongst us,
that "the women were the best men in the country."  Jesting aside, I am
satisfied, that had they taken up arms instead of their puny countrymen,
we should not have boasted so many easy victories.

Our bivouack lasted about an hour.  The reconnaissance having been at
length completed, the enemy was discovered in a fortified position
around the convent and bridge of Churubusco.  Twigg's division was
ordered forward to commence the attack, just as the distant booming of
cannon across the lava fields, told us that our right wing, under Worth,
had sprung the enemy's left, at the hacienda of San Antonio, and was
driving it along the great national road.  Both wings of our army were
beautifully converging to a common focus--the pueblo of Churubusco.  The
brigade to which I was attached, still held the position where it had
halted in San Angel.  We were to move down to the support of Twigg's
division, as soon as the latter should get fairly engaged.  Our place in
the line had thrown us in front of a house somewhat retired from the
rest, single storied, and, like most of the others, flat roofed, with a
low parapet around the top.  A large door and two windows fronted the
street.  One of the windows was open, and knotted to the reja was a
small white handkerchief, embroidered along the borders and fringed with
fine lace.  There was something so delicate, yet striking, in the
appeal, that it at once attracted the attention of L--and myself.  It
would have touched the compassion of a Cossack; and we felt at the
moment that we would have protected that house against a general's order
to pillage.

We had seated ourselves on the edge of the banquette, directly in front
of the window.  A bottle of wine, by some accident, had reached us; and
as we quaffed its contents, our eyes constantly wandered upon the open
reja.  We could see no one.  All was dark within; but we could not help
thinking that the owner of the kerchief--she who had hurriedly displayed
that simple emblem of truce--could not be otherwise than an interesting
and lovely creature.

At length the drums beat for Twigg's division to move forward, and,
attracted by the noise, a grey-haired old man appeared at the window.
With feelings of disappointment, my friend and I turned our glances upon
the street, and for some moments watched the horse artillery as it swept
past.  When our gaze was again directed to the house, the old man had a
companion--the object of our instinctive expectation; yet fairer even
than our imagination had portrayed.

The features indicated that she was a Mexican, but the complexion was
darker than the half-breed; the Aztec blood predominated.  The crimson
mantling under the bronze of her cheeks, gave to her countenance that
picturelike expression of the mixed races of the western world.  The
eye, black, with long fringing lash, and a brow upon which the jetty
crescent seemed to have been painted.  The nose slightly aquiline,
curving at the nostril; while luxuriant hair, in broad plaits, fell far
below her waist.  As she stood on the sill of the low window, we had a
full view of her person--from the satin slipper to the _reboso_ that
long loosely over her forehead.  She was plainly dressed in the style of
her country.  We saw that she was not of the aristocracy, for, even in
this remote region, has Paris fashioned the costume of that order.  On
the other hand, she was above the class of the "poblanas," the
demoiselles of the showy "naguas" and naked ankles.  She was of the
middle rank.  For some moments my friend and myself gazed in silent
wonder upon the fair apparition.

She stood a while, looking out upon the street, scanning the strange
uniforms that were grouped before her.  At length her eye fell upon us;
and as she perceived that my comrade was wounded, she turned towards the
old man.

"Look, father, a wounded officer! ah, what a sad thing, poor officer."

"Yes, it is a captain, shot through the arm."

"Poor fellow!  He is pale--he is weary.  I shall give him sweet water;
shall I, father?"

"Very well, go, bring it."

The girl disappeared from the window; and in a few moments she returned
with a glass, containing an amber-coloured liquid--the essence of the
pine-apple.  Making a sign towards L--, the little hand that held the
class was thrust through the bars of the rejo into his hand.  I rose,
and taking the glass, I handed it to my friend.  L--bowed to the window,
and acknowledging his gratitude in the best Spanish he could muster, he
drank off the contents.  The glass was then returned; and the young girl
took her station as before.

We did not enter into conversation,--neither L--nor myself; but I
noticed that the incident had made an impression upon my friend.  On the
other hand, I observed the eyes of the girl, although at intervals
wandering away, always return, and rest upon the features of my comrade.

L--was handsome; besides, he bore upon his person the evidence of a
higher quality--courage; the quality that, before all others, will win
the heart of a woman.

All at once, the features of the girl changed their expression, and she
uttered a scream.  Turning towards my friend, I saw the blood dripping
through the sash.  His wound had reopened.

I threw my arms around him, as several of the soldiers rushed forward;
but before we could remove the bandage L--had swooned.

"May I beseech you to open the door?" said I, addressing the young girl
and her father.

"_Si--si, Senor_," cried they together, hurrying away from the window.

At that moment the rattle of musketry from Coyoacan, and the roar of
field artillery, told us that Twigg was engaged.  The long roll echoed
through the streets, and the soldiers were speedily under arms.

I could stay no longer, for I had now to lead the company; so leaving
L--in charge of two of the men, I placed myself at its head.  As the
"Forward" was given, I neared the great door swing upon its hinges; and
looking back as we marched down the street, I saw my friend conducted
into the house.  I had no fears for his safety, as a regiment was to
remain in the village...  In ten minutes more I was upon the field of
battle, and a red field it was.  Of my own small detachment every second
soldier "bit the dust" on the plain of Portales.  I escaped unhurt,
though my regiment was well peppered by our own artillerists from the
_tete du pont_ of Churubusco.  In two hours we drove the enemy through
the _garita_ of San Antonio de Abad.  It was a total rout; and we could
have entered the city without firing another shot.  We halted, however,
before the gates--a fatal halt, that afterwards cost us nearly 2,000
men, the flower of our little army.  But, as I before observed, I am not
writing a history of the campaign.

An armistice followed, and gathering our wounded from the fields around
Churubusco, the army retired into the villages.  The four divisions
occupied respectively the pueblos of Tacubaya, San Angel, Mixcoac, and
San Augustin de les Cuevas.  San Angel was our destination; and the day
after the battle my brigade marched back, and established itself in the
village.

I was not long in repairing to the house where I had left my friend.  I
found him suffering from fever--burning fever.  In another day he was
delirious; and in a week he had lost his arm; but the fever left him,
and he began to recover.  During the fortnight that followed, I made
frequent visits; but a far more tender solicitude watched over him.
Rafaela was by his couch; and the old man--her father--appeared to take
a deep interest in his recovery.  These, with the servants, were the
only inmates of the house.

The treacherous enemy having broken the armistice, the burning of the
Palace-castle of Chapultepec followed soon arter.  Had we failed in the
attempt, not one of us would ever have gone out from the valley of
Mexico.  But we took the castle, and our crippled forces entered the
captured city of the Montezumas, and planted their banners upon the
National Palace.  I was not among those who marched in.  Three days
afterwards I was carried in upon a stretcher, with a bullet-hole through
my thigh, that kept me within doors for a period of three months.

During my invalid hours, L--was my frequent visitor; he had completely
recovered his health, but I noticed that a change had come over him, and
his former gaiety was gone.

Fresh troops arrived in Mexico, and to make room, our regiment, hitherto
occupying a garrison in the city, was ordered out to its old quarters at
San Angel.  This was welcome news for my friend, who would now be near
the object of his thoughts.  For my own part, although once more on my
limbs, I did not desire to return to duty in that quarter; and on
various pretexts, I was enabled to lengthen out my leave until the
treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

Once only I visited Saint Angel.  As I entered the house where L--lived,
I found him seated in the open _patio_, under the shade of the orange
trees.  Rafaela was beside him, and his only hand was held in both of
hers.  There was no surprise on the part of either, though I was
welcomed cordially by both--by her, as being the friend of the man she
loved.  Yes, she loved him.

"See," cried L--, rising, and referring to the situation in which I had
found them.  "All this, my dear H--, in spite of my misfortunes!" and he
glanced significantly at his armless sleeve.  "Who would not love her?"

The treaty of Guadalupe was at length concluded, and we had orders to
prepare for the route homeward.  The next day I received a visit from
L--.

"Henry," said he, "I am in a dilemma."

"Well, Major," I replied, for L--as well as myself had gained a
"step"--"what is it?"

"You know I am in love, and you know with whom.  What am I to do with
her?"

"Why, marry her, of course.  What else?"

"I dare not."

"Dare not!"

"That is--not now."

"Why not?  Resign your commission, and remain here.  You know our
regiment is to be disbanded; you cannot do better."

"Ah! my dear fellow, that is not the thing that hinders me."

"What then?"

"Should I marry her, and remain, our lives would not be safe one moment
after the army had marched.  Papers containing threats and ribald jests
have, from time to time, been thrust under the door of her house--to the
effect that, should she marry `el official Americano'--so they are
worded--both she and her father will be murdered.  You know the feeling
that is abroad in regard to those who have shown us hospitality."

"Why not take her with you, then?"

"Her father, he would suffer."

"Take him too."

"That I proposed, but he will not consent.  He fears the confiscation of
his property, which is considerable.  I would not care for that, though
my own fortune, as you know, would be small enough to support us.  But
the old man will go on no terms, and Rafaela will not leave him."

The old man's fears in regard to the confiscation were not without good
foundation.  There was a party in Mexico, while we occupied the city,
that had advocated "annexation"--that is, the annexing of the whole
country to the United States.  This party consisted chiefly of pure
Spaniards, "ricos" of the republic, who wanted a government of stability
and order.  In the houses of these many of our officers visited,
receiving those elegant hospitalities that were in general denied us by
Mexicans of a more patriotic stamp.  Our friends were termed
"Ayankeeados," and were hated by the populace.  But they were marked in
still higher quarters.  Several members of the government, then sitting
at Queretaro--among others a noted minister--had written to their agents
in the city to note down all those who, by word or act, might show
kindness to the American army.  Even those ladies who should present
themselves at the theatre were to be among the number of the proscribed.

In addition to the Ayankeeados were many families--perhaps not otherwise
predisposed to favour us--who by accident had admitted us within their
circle--such accident as that which had opened the house and heart of
Rafaela to my friend L--.  These, too, were under "compromisa" with the
rabble.  My comrade's case was undoubtedly what he had termed it--a
dilemma.

"You are not disposed to give her up, then?" said I, smiling at my
anxious friend, as I put the interrogation.

"I know you are only jesting, Henry.  You know me too well for that.
No!  Rather than give her up, I will stay and risk everything--even
life."

"Come, Major," said I, "there will be no need for you to risk anything,
if you will only follow my advice.  It is simply this--come home with
your regiment; stay a month or two at New Orleans, until the excitement
consequent upon our evacuation cools down.  Shave off your moustache,
put on plain clothes; come back and marry Rafaela."

"It is terrible to think of parting with her.  Oh!--"

"That may all be; I doubt it not; but what else can you do?"

"Nothing--nothing.  You are right.  It is certainly the best--the only
plan.  I will follow it."  And L--left me.

I saw no more of him for three days, when the brigade to which he and I
belonged, entered the city on its road homeward.  He had detailed his
plans to Rafaela, and had bid her, for a time, farewell.

The other three divisions had already marched.  Ours was to form the
rear-guard, and that night was to be our last in the city of Mexico.  I
had retired to bed at an early hour, to prepare for our march on the
morrow.  I was about falling asleep when a loud knock sounded at my
door.  I rose and opened it.  It was L--.  I started as the light showed
me his face--it was ghastly.  His lips were white, his teeth set, and
dark rings appeared around his eyes.  The eyes themselves glared in
their sockets, lit up by some terrible emotion.

"Come!" cried he, in a hoarse and tremulous voice.  "Come with me,
Henry, I need you."

"What is it, my dear L--?  A quarrel?  A duel?"

"No! no! nothing of the sort.  Come! come! come!  I will show you a
sight that will make a wolf of you.  Haste!  For God's sake, haste!"

I hurried on my clothes.

"Bring your arms!" cried L--; "you may require them."

I buckled on my sword and pistol-belt, and followed hastily into the
street.  We ran down the Calle Correo toward the Alameda.  It was the
road to the Convent of San Francisco, where our regiment had quartered
for the night.  As yet I knew not for what I was going.  Could the enemy
have attacked us?  No--all was quiet.  The people were in their beds.
What could it be?  L--had not, and would not, explain; but to my
inquiries, continually cried, "Haste--come on!"  We reached the convent,
and, hastily passing the guard, made for the quarters occupied by my
friend.  As we entered the room--a large one--I saw five or six females,
with about a dozen men, soldiers and officers.  All were excited by some
unusual occurrence.  The females were Mexicans, and their heads were
muffled in their rebozos.  Some were weeping aloud, others talking in
strains of lamentation.  Among them I distinguished the face of my
friend's betrothed.

"Dearest Rafaela!" cried L--, throwing his arms around her--"it is my
friend.  Here, Henry, look here! look at this!"

As he spoke, he raised the rebozo, and gently drew back her long black
hair.  I saw blood upon her cheeks and shoulders!  I looked more
closely.  It flowed from her ears.

"Her ears!  _O God! they have been cut off_!"

"Ay, ay," cried L--, hoarsely; and dropping the dark tresses, again
threw his arms around the girl, and kissed away the tears that were
rolling down her cheeks--while uttering expressions of endearment and
consolation.

I turned to the other females; they were all similarly mutilated; some
of them even worse, for their foreheads, where the U.S. had been freshly
burned upon them, were red and swollen.  Excepting Rafaela, they were
all of the "poblana" class--the laundresses--the mistresses of the
soldiers.

The surgeon was in attendance, and in a short time all was done that
could be done for wounds like these.

"Come!" cried L--, addressing those around him, "we are wasting time,
and that is precious; it is near midnight.  The horses will be ready by
this, and the rest will be waiting; come Henry, you will go?  You will
stand by us?"

"I will, but what do you intend?"

"Do not ask us, my friend, you will see presently."

"Think, my dear L--," said I, in a whisper; "do not act rashly."

"Rashly! there is no rashness about me--you know that.  A cowardly act,
like this, cannot be revenged too soon.  Revenge! what am I talking of?
It is not revenge, but justice.  The men who could perpetrate this
fiendish deed are not fit to live on the earth, and by Heavens! not one
of them shall be alive by the morning.  Ha, dastards! they thought we
were gone; they will find their mistake.  Mine be the responsibility,--
mine the revenge.  Come, friends! come!"  And so saying L--led the way,
holding his betrothed by the hand.  We all followed out of the room, and
into the street.

On reaching the Alameda, a group of dark objects was seen among the
trees.  They were horses and horsemen; there were about thirty of the
latter, and enough of the former to mount the party who were with L--.
I saw from their size that the horses were of our own troops, with
dragoon saddles.  In the hurry L--had not thought of saddles for our
female companions; but the oversight was of no consequence.  Their
habitual mode of riding was _a la Duchesse de Berri_, and in this way
they mounted.  Before summoning me, L--had organised his band--they were
picked men.  In the dim light I could see dragoon and infantry uniforms,
men in plain clothes, followers of the army, gamblers, teamsters,
Texans, desperadoes, ready for just such an adventure.  Here and there I
could distinguish the long-tailed frock--the undress of the officer.
The band, in all, mustered more than forty men.

We rode quietly through the streets, and, issuing from the gate of Nino
Perdido, took the road for San Angel.  As we proceeded onward I gathered
a more minute account of what had transpired at the village.  As soon as
our division had evacuated it, a mob of thirty or forty ruffians had
proceeded to the houses of those whom they termed "Ayankeeados," and
glutted their cowardly vengeance on their unfortunate victims.  Some of
these had been actually killed in attempting to resist; others had
escaped to the Pedregal which runs close to the village; while a few--
Rafaela among the number--after submitting to a terrible atrocity, had
fled to the city for protection.

On hearing the details of these horrid scenes, I no longer felt a
repugnance in accompanying my friend.  I felt as he did, that men
capable of such deeds were "not fit to live," and we were proceeding to
execute a sentence that was just, though illegal.  It was not our
intention to punish all; we could not have accomplished this, had we so
willed it.  By the testimony of the girls, there were five or six who
had been the promoters and ringleaders of the whole business.  These
were well known to one or other of the victims, as in most instances it
had been some old grudge for which they had been singled out, as objects
of this cowardly vengeance.  In Rafaela's case it was a ruffian who had
once aspired to her hand, and had been rejected.  Jealousy had moved the
fiend to this terrible revenge.

It is three leagues from Mexico to San Angel.  The road runs through
meadows and fields of magueys.  Except the lone _pulqueria_, at the
corner where a cross path leads to the hacienda of Narvarte, there is
not a house before reaching the bridge of Coyoacan.  Here there is a
cluster of buildings--"fabricas"--which, during the stay of our army,
had been occupied by a regiment.  Before arriving at this point we saw
no one; and here, only people who, waked from their sleep by the tread
of our horses, had not the curiosity to follow us.

San Angel is a mile further up the hill.  Before entering the village we
divided into five parties, each to be guided by one of the girls.  L--'s
vengeance was especially directed towards the _ci-devant_ lover of his
betrothed.  She herself knowing his residence, was to be our guide.

Proceeding through narrow lanes, we arrived in a suburb of the village,
and halted before a house of rather stylish appearance.  We had
dismounted outside the town, leaving our horses in charge of a guard.
It was very dark, and we clustered around the door.  One knocked--a
voice was heard from within--Rafaela recognised it as that of the
ruffian himself.  The knock was repeated, and one of the party who spoke
the language perfectly, called out:--

"Open the door!  Open, Don Pedro!"

"Who is it?" asked the voice.

"Yo," (I) was the simple reply.

This is generally sufficient to open the door of a Mexican house, and
Don Pedro was heard within, moving toward the "Saguan."

The next moment the great door swung back on its hinges, and the ruffian
was dragged forth.  He was a swarthy fierce-looking fellow--from what I
could see in the dim light--and made a desperate resistance, but he was
in the hands of men who soon overpowered and bound him.  We did not
delay a moment, but hurried back to the place where we had left our
horses.  As we passed through the streets, men and women were running
from house to house, and we heard voices and shots in the distance.  On
reaching our rendezvous we found our comrades, all of whom had succeeded
in making their capture.

There was no time to be lost; there might be troops in the village--
though we saw none--but whether or not, there were "leperos" enough to
assail us.  We did not give them time to muster.  Mounting ourselves and
our prisoners we rode off at a rapid pace, and were soon beyond the
danger of pursuit.

Those who have passed through the gate Nino Perdido will remember that
the road leading to San Angel runs, for nearly a mile, in a straight
line, and that, for this distance, it is lined on both sides with a
double row of large old trees.  It is one of the drives (paseos) of
Mexico.  Where the trees end, the road bends slightly to the south.  At
this point a cross road strikes off to the pueblito of Piedad, and at
the crossing there is a small house, or rather a temple, where the pious
wayfarer kneels in his dusty devotions.  This little temple, the
residence of a hermitical monk, was uninhabited during our occupation of
the valley, and, in the actions that resulted in the capture of the
city, it had come in for more than its share of hard knocks.  A battery
had been thrown up beside it, and the counter-battery had bored the
walls of the temple with round shot.  I never passed this solitary
building without admiring its situation.  There was no house nearer it
than the aforementioned "tinacal" of Narvarte, or the city itself.  It
stood in the midst of swampy meadows, bordered by broad plats of the
green maguey, and this isolation, together with the huge old trees that
shadowed and sang over it, gave the spot an air of romantic loneliness.

On arriving under the shadow of the trees, and in front of the lone
temple, our party halted by order of their leader.  Several of the
troopers dismounted, and the prisoners were taken down from their
horses.  I saw men uncoiling ropes that had hung from their saddle-bows,
and I shuddered to think of the use that was about to be made of them.

"Henry," said L--, riding up to me and speaking in a whisper, "they must
not see this."--He pointed to the girls.--"Take them some distance ahead
and wait for us; we will not be long about it, I promise."

Glad of the excuse to be absent from such a scene, I put spurs to my
horse, and rode forward, followed by the females of the party.  On
reaching the circle near the middle of the paseo I halted.

It was quite dark, and we could see nothing of those we had left behind
us.  We could hear nothing--nothing but the wind moaning high up among
the branches of the tall poplars; but this, with the knowledge I had of
what was going on so near me, impressed me with an indescribable feeling
of sadness.

L--had kept his promise; he was not long about it.

In less than ten minutes the party came trotting up, chatting gaily as
they rode, but their prisoners had been left behind.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the American army moved down the road to Vera Cruz, many travelling
carriages were in its train.  In one of these were a girl and a
grey-haired old man.  Almost constantly during the march a young officer
might be seen riding by this carriage, conversing through the windows
with its occupants within.

A short time after the return troops landed at New Orleans, a bridal
party were seen to enter the old Spanish cathedral; the bridegroom was
an officer who had lost an arm.  His fame and the reputed beauty of the
bride had brought together a large concourse of spectators.

"She loved me," said L--to me on the morning of this his happiest day;
"she loved me in spite of my mutilated limb, and should I cease to love
her because she has--no, I see it not; she is to me the same as ever."

And there were none present who saw it; few were there who knew that
under those dark folds of raven hair were the _souvenirs_ of a terrible
tragedy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Mexican government behaved better to the Ayankeeados than was
expected.  They did not confiscate the property; and L--is now enjoying
his fortune in a snug hacienda, somewhere in the neighbourhood of San
Angel.

Story 4.

THE BROKEN BITT.

Several months after our army had made its fighting _entree_ into the
capital of Mexico, the regiment known as the "Texan Rangers" arrived in
that city.  [Note.  By _our_ army is understood the American forces.]  I
am not very certain but that their approach, peaceful as it was, created
almost as much terror in the minds of the inhabitants, as our
sword-in-hand entrance had occasioned three months before.  The name
"Tejano" in the ears of a Mexican, sounded with a fearful emphasis, as
Goth might have done to a Roman, or Cossack to a plain Christian.  Many
of them thought they would now be called upon to answer for the sins of
Santa Anna, for the treason of Santa Fe, the slaughter of the Alamo, and
the _battue_ at Goliad.  In the midst of this ludicrous consternation,
the Texans rode quietly into the piazza, and breaking up into squadrons,
filed off to their respective quarters.  In a few hours the minds of the
Mexicans became once more tranquil.  They were not to be plundered,
after all!

I shall never forget the appearance of the Texan Rangers as they pulled
up in the Plazza--I could not call the movement a halt.  If I live, I
shall make an attempt to describe it.  I say an attempt, for, to do
justice to that ragged _coup d'oeil_ is beyond the privilege of the pen.
The brush might do it, handled by a Hogarth; and had that excellent
artist been in my place, there and then, we might have had a picture
that would have drawn laughter so long as paint and canvas stuck
together.  Here we have no room for details.  One point, however, must
be noted, as it relates to our subject--the horses--for be it known, the
Rangers were mounted men.  Instead of the large cavalry horses which the
government had put under them some six months before, each ranger now
straddled a scraggy mustang, his boot-heel, with its rusty spur raking
the ground as he rode along.  What had become of the original "mount"?
That was the question, which was answered thus:--The regiment had just
made its march of several hundred leagues through the enemy's country,
halting at various places.  During the halts, the rich _haciendados_
coveting the fine steeds of Kentucky--colossal when compared with their
own gingery jennets--offered freely for them.  A series of "swops" had
been the consequence.  The Texan, at a horse trade keen as the edge of
his bowie, took anything that could carry a saddle, at the same time
receiving a "mighty heap" of dollars to square the exchange.  In this
way they had brought themselves down to the ill-conditioned nags upon
which they made their first appearance in the capital.  Strange to say,
these grew fat in a trice, although they were constantly on the scout;
seldom idle long enough to let their backs get dry.  There was no rest
for the Rangers.  One week riding fifty leagues to capture Santa Anna;
the next, after Paredes, or the robbers of the Cerro; the next, on the
trail of the Padre Jarauta; and yet, despite this journeying and
fatigue, it was observed by every one that the Rangers' horses, though
still only mustangs, became as fat and plump as if they had been
standing all the time with their heads in a corn-crib.  It was wonderful
to see horses thus fattening upon hard work!

Some endeavoured to account for it, by insinuating that they were not
the same cattle upon which the regiment was mounted on its arrival--that
the "swopping system" was still practised along the road, and frequently
with only one party present at the "trade."  There were such
insinuations I remember well.  Perhaps they were slanders, perhaps not.
I leave it a question of inference.

About this time I was told of a splendid mare that was in the possession
of one of the Rangers.  Of course she was for sale.  I wished just then
to obtain such an animal; so, drawing three months' pay (being in all
about 300 dollars), I rode over to the Texan quarters--intending, if the
mare pleased me, to make a bid.

She was led out, and proved to be worthy of her reputation--a large
brown Arabian, with jet black legs and sweeping tail, while her head and
neck were graceful as an antelope's.

While examining her, I noticed a small brand upon her left hind flank.
I observed at the same time that some diligence had been used to render
the mark "unswearable."  After a little puzzling and adjusting of hair,
I made out the letter C.

"What is this?"  I asked.

"It er the mark of a hot iron.  Yer can see that, kint ye?"

"I can; but this mare is no mustang?"

"Aint a mustang neyther," responded the Ranger, whittling away at a
strop of leather which he held in his hand, and seeming utterly
indifferent to everything else.

"Why, then, has she been marked?"  I inquired.  "It is not usual for
Americans to brand their horses, excepting those that belong to the
government.  Then they're branded U.S.; this mark is a C."

"Well, then, stranger, if you must know all about it, the mar' wur tuk
from our people on the grand, by that ar chapparil fox Canales.  He
burned in that `C.'  C stands for Canales, I reckin."

"That's true, and for many other names as well.  But how did you get her
back again?"

"Wagh! we kumd upon Canales an' his yellerbellies, an' tuk her from them
ag'in, afore the singed bar had done smokin'.  Now er yer satisfied?"

I was not.  It is true, the story was probable enough.  The mare was not
Mexican, that was plain.  The horse of that country is of a peculiar
race, and is as easily distinguished from the English or American Arab,
as a sheep is from a goat.  Still she bore a Mexican mark, and had been
in the possession of some of these people.  She might have been, as the
Ranger stated, one of our own horses captured and recaptured on the
upper line; but I had not observed any such animal with the Texans on
their arrival; and as I had heard that the _ricos_ of Mexico had, from
time to time, imported blood stock from England and the United States, I
feared that she might prove to be one of these.  The voice of the Texan
interrupted my reflection.

"The critter's Kaintuck," continued he--"true Kaintuck.  She wur brought
down on the Grand, by a lootenant at the breakin' out o' this hyar muss.
She were at Paler Alter, an' at Monterey, an' Bony Yeesty; and at that
Hashendy, the time as Dan Drake rid the hundred-mile gallop on Cash
Clay's mar'.  Old Kaintuck she er, an' nothin' else.  They don't raise
such cattle in these hyar diggins, I reckin'.  Yee-up, old gal; hold up
yer corn-trap; thar's money bid for ye!"

At the end of this curious monologue, the mare threw up her head and
neighed long and loudly.

"Come, my man," said I, "what's the meaning of that?"

The neigh was peculiar, and struck me as that of a mare who had been
recently separated from her colt.

"She's a whigherin' for a hoss, that's hyar," answered the Ranger
coolly.  "They haint been separate a half-an-hour for more 'n a yar, I
reckin'.  Hev they, Bill?"

"That they haint," replied the man appealed to, one of a crowd of Texans
who had gathered around us.

"They're in the same kumpny, an' rid in the same file," continued the
owner of the mare.  "She won't bear that ar leetle hoss out o' her sight
a minit.  One o' the boys hes tuk _him_ out to water.  That's why she
whighers, aint it, Bill?"

"'Taint nothin' else," replied the _confrere_.

"But," said I, "it is strange I did not see this mare when you first
came up.  I was in the Piazza, and took particular notice of your
horses.  I think I should have remarked such a fine-looking animal as
this."

"Look hyar, stranger," answered the Texan, somewhat irritated by this
cross-questioning.  "I brought this mar' up the road along with the
raygyment.  If yer want to buy her, yer kin do it, by givin' a fair
vally for her.  If yer don't, there's no bones broke, an' I don't care a
nigger's dam.  If I only take her out to the Palaza, I kin git my axin'
from one o' these Mexikins in the twinklin' o' a goat's eye.  Can't I,
Bill?"

"Yes, siree," responded Bill.

"Yer say ye didn't see her when we kum up.  That aint nothin' strange.
She war kivered with sweat an' dust, inch deep; besides, she wur thin
then as old bull in enow time.  She aint to say fat yit, but she's
improved some, I reckin'.  Aint she, Bill?"

"A dog-goned heap," was the ready response of Bill.  I was so taken with
the appearance of the beautiful creature, that I determined to run the
risk, and purchase her.  I might have to give her up again to some
gentleman claiming his property; but, thought I, I can easily recover my
money, as the Ranger will be glad to pay it back to me, rather than
spend his time in the guardhouse.

"How much?"  I asked, having made up my mind to buy.

"The zact figger yer want?"

"Yes, the exact figure."

"Two-fifty: cheap enough, I reckin'.  Aint it, Bill?"

"Dog cheap," was the laconic answer.  I offered two hundred.  It
wouldn't do.  The cunning Ranger saw that I was "bound" to have her, and
stood up to his first asking.  I raised my bid to two hundred and
twenty-five.

"Won't take a picayune less nor two-fifty.  She's a'mighty cheap at it.
She er the finest mar' in all Mexiko.  That's sartin."

After a while, I saw that the man was inexorable; and, drawing out my
purse, I counted down the required amount.  A bill of sale, which was
signed by the Ranger, and witnessed by his comrade, Bill, completed the
"trade," and the mare was forthwith transferred to my quarters.  Under
the nimble brush and comb of my Mexican groom, Vicente, she soon became
the most admired piece of horseflesh that made its appearance on the
Pasao.

About ten days after, a party of us (we had nothing to do at the time)
came to the resolve to visit Real del Monte, a rich silver-mine in the
mountains that skirt the north-east of the valley.  A division of our
army was stationed there, and some of our old _comarados_ had sent us an
"invite" to come up and explore the mines--adding that two or three very
hospitable English _haciendados_ lived in that neighbourhood.

We could not resist, and consequently made ready to start.  There were
eight or ten of us in all, who had asked and obtained leave; and as we
intended to include in our excursion the old town of Tezcoco and the
pyramids of Teotihuacan--a guerilla neighbourhood--we borrowed a score
of dragoons to escort us.  I had resolved to try my new purchase upon
the road on this occasion.

The morning of our departure arrived, and I was about to throw my leg
over the saddle, when I was accosted by a small, spare man, with the
salutation--

"_Buenas dias, capitan_!"

There was nothing in the words strange or unusual, nor, indeed, in the
individual who pronounced them; but there was something in the manner of
this gentleman that told me at once he had some business with me.

"Well, senor," I asked, "what is it?"

The stranger hesitated for a moment, and then looking at the mare,
replied, "La yegua, capitan."

"The mare--well, what of her?"  I asked, with a beating heart.

"I regret to inform you, captain, that you have purchased a stolen
horse;" and the little man bowed politely as he said it.

Had it been an order from the commander-in-chief, placing me under
arrest, I should not have been so much vexed at it.  I had grown so fond
of this animal that I would cheerfully have paid down another two
hundred and fifty rather than part with her, and this I saw plainly I
would now have to do.

"Stolen!"  I echoed involuntarily.

"Yes, captain, it is true."

"And from whom?  From you, sir?"

"No, captain; from Don Miguel Castro."

"And you?"

"I am his agent--his _mayorazgo_--nothing more."

"Don Miguel Castro," thought I.  "Yes--C for Castro--yes, all as he
says, no doubt of it.  I must give up the mare."

"Well, my dear sir," I asked, after a pause, "how am I to know that your
statement is true?"

"Here, captain--here is the certificate of Senor Smeeth."  Saying this,
the little man handed me a folded document, on opening which I found it
to be a bill of sale delivered by the celebrated Joe Smith, of Mexican
horse-dealing notoriety, and describing the property to a hair.

"This seems quite correct," I observed, returning the bill; "but it will
be necessary for you to prove this claim before the commander-in-chief;
and when that is done I shall deliver you your mare.  _Adios,
caballero_!"

So saying, I rode off to overtake my companions, determined, since I
must part with the animal, first to have one good ride out of her.

We spent about a week in the mountains, enjoying every amusement that
our friends could provide for us.  We found the English _haciendados_
worthy of their reputation.  What a contrast between the cheer of their
Saxon hospitality and the cold welcome of the selfish Iberian!  But we
approached the limits of our "leave," and must get back to duty and the
city.  After a parting and a promise to return, we leaped once more to
the saddle, and headed our horses homeward.

It was our intention to have made the journey back in one day, but the
stirrup-cup had delayed us at starting; and night--a very dark one at
that season--overtook us as we crossed the isthmus between lakes Tezcoco
and San Cristobal.  The road was deep, miry, and bordered by bottomless
zancas of mud and water.  The little village of San Cristobal lay by the
border of the lake, at some distance; and wheeling out of the road, we
approached it, intending to remain there till morning.  The _pueblito_
was reached at length, and with the alcalde's permission, our horses
were picketed in the piazza, and ourselves put in possession of an empty
_cuarto_, which, with several millions of fleas, was placed at our
disposal.  Money was offered freely, but no supper could be had; and
when it was not to be procured for money, we had experience enough among
these people to know that it was not to be had at all.  A dish of
_frijoles_ stewed in lard, a _tortilla_, and a bowl of sour _pulque_,
were all that we could raise; and, after swallowing this, we lit our
cigars, spread our blankets both over and under the fleas, and commenced
arranging ourselves for the night.

It so happened that I could talk Spanish "like a book," and,
furthermore, that I was the only one in our party who possessed this
accomplishment.  The alcalde, in consequence, directed all his
conversation to me, and, being a sociable old fellow, he had become very
fond of me.  He had remained with us until a late hour, and during this
time I had offered him a havanna, which he had accepted and smoked with
much seeming enjoyment.  As I was about seizing my blanket to make my
"spread" along with the rest, old Jose Maria--for this was the alcalde's
name--plucked me gently by the sleeve, and whispered in my ear that "_su
casa_" was "_a mi disposition_" I was about to translate this hospitable
proffer according to its usual French and Spanish signification, when it
was repeated in a more pressing manner; and as I was not very difficult
to coax away from the _cuarto_, I took Jose Maria at his word, and
followed him across the piazza.  On the other side was _su casa_.  We
entered it at once, and were welcomed by a felt, buxom-looking old lady,
who proved to be Don Jose's left rib.  Another lady made her appearance
shortly after, who was neither so old, nor so fat, nor so buxom as the
dona, but whose complexion was very dusky, with a dangerous black eye
peeping from under a dark, crescent-shaped eyebrow.  This, I was given
to understand, was the only fruit of Don Jose's wedded life; and not
bad-looking fruit either.

The ladies spent but little time in idle phrases of welcome.  Jose
snapped his fingers, and in a twinkling, a turkey hash with a large dish
of _mole_, were smoking upon the table.  There were other dishes, too--
pleasant little _entrees_, spiced and flavoured with all sorts of
_chile_.

As I ate my supper with the alcalde and his compact little family, I
could not help chuckling at the advantage I had gained over my
supperless, and, no doubt, sleepless companions.  Neither was my
exultation diminished when, near the end of the repast, old Jose Maria
stepped up to an alcove and drew out a quaint, queer old bottle, whose
waxen seal conjured up exciting visions of the port of Funchal and the
peak of Teneriffe.

I was fortunately enabled, through my cigar-case, to contribute to the
evening's entertainment; and my host and I sat for an hour after the
ladies had retired, discussing our wine and tobacco, and talking of the
Texan Rangers, of which corps the worthy magistrate had rather a low
opinion.  It appeared that they had paid the neighbourhood a visit not
long before, behaving upon the occasion in no very creditable manner.

It was late, or early if you will, when Jose inverted the bottle for the
last time, and pressing my hand with a "_posa V. buena noche_!" the
Mexican showed me to my chamber.  Here I found one of the great and rare
luxuries of this land--a couch with clean sheets; and in the "twinkling
of a bedpost" I was between the latter, and forgetful of everything.

When I awoke in the morning, I found my comrades in the piazza, making
ready to start.  It was still only grey dawn, but as they were all sadly
flea-bitten, and knew that nothing could be had to eat in San Cristobal,
they had made up their minds to ride on, and breakfast at Guadalupe.  I
was preparing to accompany them, when Jose whispered in my ear that
breakfast would be on the table in five minutes, and I must wait for it.
This was a tempting offer.  My health was excellent, and half-a-dozen
mouthfuls of the fresh morning air had given me a keen appetite.

"If the breakfast," thought I, "bear any sort of proportion to last
night's supper, it's worth waiting for; better than we are likely to get
at Guadalupe; besides, `a bird in the hand,'" etc.  I could soon
overtake my companions on my fine mare, which had by this time proved
herself a first-class roadster.

I placed my lips under the broad brim of Josh's, and repeated the words,
"_Con gusto_."

"_Esta bueno_," replied Jose, slipping back into his house.

The next moment my companions had ridden off into the obscure twilight,
and I was left alone in the village.  None of my friends, I believe, had
noticed that I stayed behind; and if they had, it would not have called
forth a remark, as I was considered old enough to take care of myself.

My host proved as good as his word; for in five minutes, or less, the
breakfast was steaming on the table; nor did it do any discredit to the
supper.  There were ham and eggs; a ham omelette; a chicken _fricase_; a
dish of _chile rilleno_; another of _chile Colorado_; plenty of good
claret, to wash down the peppers; and after that, a cup of the coffee
which only Spaniards can make.  Then there was a glass of good old
Maraschino, and a cigar to "top off with," and as the morning was now
tiptoe, I rose to take my leave.  I shook hands with the senora, then
with the senorita; and, amidst a shower of benedictions, I walked forth,
followed by Jose Maria himself.  My mare stood near the door, ready
saddled.  I threw the bridle over her neck, and was about to plant my
foot in the stirrup, when my host touched me lightly on the left arm,
and holding out a small slip of paper, with a sort of apologetic smile,
uttered the words, "_Sa cuenta chiquita, capitan_."  (The small bill,
captain.)

"A bill!"  I exclaimed, as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment.

"_Chiquitita_," (Very, very small) coolly responded Jose.

I took the "_cuenta chiquitita_" in my fingers, and opening it,
read--"_Un peso por cena--un peso por cama--un peso por almuerzo--tres
pesos por vino:--Suma seis pesos_."  (Anglice: Slipper, one dollar--bed,
one dollar--breakfast, one dollar--wine, three dollars.  Total, six
dollars.)

"It's a joke the old fellow's playing me," thought I.

I looked at Jose, then at the bill; then back at Jose again, putting on
a knowing smile, to show him that I was up to his fun; but after
carrying on this dumb show for some moments, I perceived that not a
muscle of the Mexican's face betrayed the slightest motion.  His
features remained as rigid as the bronze statue of Carlos Quinto that
stood in the capital; and, after scanning them fairly, I became
satisfied there was no joke either "meant or intended."

Arriving at this conclusion, my first impulse was to make his "worship"
eat the bill, and then leap to my saddle, and show him "clean heels;"
but this, I saw on reflection, would be but a shabby reckoning on my
part.  True I had fared well; but it was vexatious to be thus
"chizzled," and in such a scandalous manner.  It could not be mended,
however; and mentally promising never again to trust Mexican
hospitality, I drew forth my purse, and reluctantly counted out the
"_seis pesos_."  Then both mentally and verbally sending Jose to a
climate hotter than the tropics, I touched my mare's flank, and left the
village in a gallop.

I was so "bitter mad" at the trick played upon me, that I did not draw
bridle for a mile or more.  After that, checking my fiery animal, I fell
into an easy canter, and laughed till I was nearly hoarse.  I kept
straight on for Guadalupe, expecting to overhaul my friends in the
middle of their breakfast.

I had not the slightest intention of showing them the "_cuenta
chiquitita_," or saying a word about it.  No, no; I should have
preferred paying it twice over.

With these reflections, occasionally making the woods ring with my
laughter, I had reached to within five miles of San Cristobal, when, all
at once, my mare uttered a loud neigh, and sprang into a by road.  The
reins had been thrown loosely upon her neck; and before I could collect
them, she was fairly into the new track, and going at top speed!  I
dragged with all my might upon the bitt--which happened to be a "fool's
fancy," lightly constructed--when, to my mortification, one of the rings
gave way, and the rein came back with a jerk.  I had now only one rein.
With this I could have brought her up on open ground, but we were
running up a narrow lane, and on each side was a treble row of magueys,
forming a most fearful-looking _chevaux-de-frise_!

Had I pulled the mare to either side, she would have certainly tripped
up in the magueys, and impaled me on their bayonet-shaped spikes.  I
could do nothing better than keep my seat, and let her run it out.  She
would not be long about it, at the rate she was going, for she ran as if
on a course, and staked ten to one against the field.  At intervals she
would throw up her head, and utter that strange wild neigh which I had
noticed on first seeing her.

On we went through the tall aloes, the rows of plants looking like a
green fringe as we shot past them.  We came up to several _ranchos_.
The _leperos_ that lounged about the doors threw up their hats, and
shouted "_Viva_!"  The _ranchos_ fell behind.  A large house--a
_hacienda_--lay before.  I could see beautiful women clustering into the
windows as I approached Gilpin and Don Quixote came into my head.

"Good heavens!" thought I.  "What will they think of my riding past in
this ludicrous style?"

Riding past!  I had scarcely given words to the thought, when my mare
wheeled sharply to the left--almost flinging me out of my seat--and
dashed right into the main gateway of the mansion!  Three more springs,
and she was in the _patio_, where, stopping like a shot, she threw up
her head, uttered another neigh, and stood looking wildly round, with
heaving, smoking flanks.  The neigh had scarcely echoed when it was
answered from within; and the next moment a half-grown colt came loping
through a doorway, and ran up with all the demonstrations of a filial
recognition.

I had not time to recover from my surprise when a lovely apparition
flashed out of the _portale_, and came running across the _patio_.  It
was a girl--something between a girl, a woman, and, I might add, a
goddess.

Without heeding or seeming to notice my presence, she rushed up and
flung her arms around the neck of my Arab, which bent its head to
receive the embrace.  The girl then pressed her lips against the
velvet-like muzzle of the animal, all the while muttering exclamations,
as--

"_Ah! mia yegua buenita!  Mora, Morita, digame de donde viene, Morita_?"
(Ah, my pretty little mare! pretty Mora, little Mora, tell me whence
come you, little Mora!)

And the mare replied to all this by a low neighing, turning from one to
the other of the two objects that caressed her, and seemingly at a loss
to know to which she should give most of her attention.

I sat speechless, looking down at the strange scene--at the beautiful
girl--at her shining black hair (a cloth-yard long), as it hung loosely
over her white, nude shoulders--at her rounded snowy arms--at her dark
flashing eyes--at her cheeks, mounted with the hue of health and
beauty--at her small red lips, as, like crushed rosebuds, they were
pressed against the smooth skin of the Arab.

"Oh, I am dreaming!" thought I.  "I am still between old Jose's
comfortable sheets.  It's the Teneriffe has done it all, and the _cuenta
chiquitita_ is only a joke after all.  Ha, ha, ha!  I have paid no bill
to the worthy alcalde--hospitable old fellow!  It's all a dream--all."

But at this point of my reflections, several other ladies made their
appearance in the _portale_, and several gentlemen, too, and the great
gateway was fast filling up with the _pelados_ who had hooted me as I
passed the _rancheria_.  It was no dream, then; I had settled one
account, and I was fast becoming sensible that I should shortly be
called upon to settle another.

Fortunately the fog caused by old Jose's Maraschino had now cleared
away, and I began to comprehend how the "camp was pitched."  It was
certain that my mare _had got home_.  That was plain enough.  It was
equally certain that the old gentleman with the white moustache, and
dark stern eyebrows, was Don Miguel Castro.  These two points were as
clear as daylight.  It was very evident that I had got myself, or rather
the mare had got me, into a most awkward predicament.  How was I to get
out of it?  This was by no means clear.

Should I confess all, and throw myself on their mercy?  It was a
queer-looking gang by the gateway.  They wouldn't wish better sport than
to chuck me into a horse-pond, or string me up to the limb of a tree.
No, it would never do to confess.  I must account for the broken bridle
to save a broken head.  I need hardly mention that these were only
silent thoughts.  But at that moment a plan of escape from my dilemma
came into my mind.

By that time the gentlemen, headed by the old don, had descended into
the _patio_ and approached the mare, upon whose back I still kept my
seat.  Hitherto they had exhibited indications of alarm.  They supposed
at first that a troop of Texan Rangers was at my heels.  Becoming
satisfied, in consequence of the reports of the _rancheros_, that I was
alone, they now surrounded me with stern, inquiring looks.  There was no
time to be lost.  I must not allow them to speculate on how the bridle
came to be broken, or that they were indebted to the mare alone, for my
visit.  No, that would never do; so, throwing my legs over the croup, I
landed upon the pavement with as much deliberation as if I had been
dismounting at my own stable-door.  Assuming all the _sang-froid_ I
could muster, I walked up to the old gentleman in grey, and making him a
polite bow, said interrogatively--

"Don Miguel Castro?"

"_Si senor_," replied he, in a hurried manner, and, as I fancied,
somewhat angrily.

"This is your mare?"

"_Si senor_," in the same tone and manner.

"She was lately stolen from you?"

"_Si senor_," with the like emphasis.

"By a Texan Ranger?"

"_Por un ladron_," (by a robber), replied the Mexican, with an angry
look, which I observed was copied by very dark countenances appearing
all around me.

"He certainly was not an honest man," I answered, with a smile.  "You
have an agent in Mexico," continued I, "who has claimed this animal in
your name?"

"_Si senor_."

"I had purchased her from the Texan, who deceived me as to her previous
history."

"I know all that," was the prompt response.

"I told your agent--not knowing him--that I could not give her up until
his claim was made good before the commander-in-chief, or until I could
have the honour of an interview with yourself."

"_Bueno_!"

"I was passing with a party of friends, and, leaving them, I entered the
road leading to your residence, and, as you see, I am here.  I should
apologise for the _manner_ of my approach.  The animal, overjoyed at
heading towards her home, made a complete run away with me, and, as you
may observe, has broken the bitt-ring."

There was the least little bit of a white lie in this, but I felt that
my life was in extreme danger.  The Texans had harried this
neighbourhood not a month before--in fact, at the time the mare was
stolen.  Several men had been killed upon the occasion.  The inhabitants
were much exasperated in consequence, and would have thought little of
making me the victim of retaliatory vengeance, by jerking me up to a
tree.  I think, therefore, I was rather justified in the slight
colouring I gave to my narrative.

Don Miguel stood for some time as if puzzled at what I had said.

"You say, then, the mare is yours?"  I resumed, breaking the silence.

"_Si senor, esta mia_," was the reply.

"Will you have the goodness to order one of your servants to remove the
saddle and bridle?"

This was done as desired.

"May I request you to keep them in safety until I can have an
opportunity to send for them?"

"Certainly, sir," replied the don, brightening up.

"And now, sir, may I ask you to certify that you have recovered your
mare, since that will be necessary to enable me to recover my money?"

By this time the don and his party were quite overcome by my _rare
generosity_!  The stern looks disappeared; the _pelados_ were driven out
of the _patio_; and in five minutes more I found myself stretching my
limbs under the family table, and on the best of terms with the whole
household, including the little goddess before mentioned, who proved to
be the real owner of the Arab.  It was lucky for me that I was not
quartered in that vicinity, or she might have become the owner of
something that I could less conveniently have parted with.  As it was, I
came out of the fire of her brilliant eyes almost unhurt, which I may
attribute to the insensibility produced by a very choice article of old
"Bordeos" that was exhumed from the vaults under Don Miguel's mansion.

I came off--I can hardly tell how.  I remember clambering into a yellow
carriage, and rolling along a level road.  I remember meeting a party of
mounted men, who said they had been sent out to look for me, and then I
remember--

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days afterwards I went to seek the Ranger, and learned, to my
chagrin, that he was gone.  His company had been ordered down the road,
as the escort of a train to Vera Cruz, where they were to be disbanded
and sent home.  Had I lost my two hundred and fifty dollars?  Not so.
On my return from Mexico, in June, 1848, I accidentally overhauled my
man in the Ranger camp at Encerro.  He was without a dollar.  The
_fandangueras_ of Jalapa had completely cleared him out; but, to do him
justice, he did all in his power to make suitable reparation.  Going
behind the tents, he returned in a minute or two, leading a large and
handsome sorrel, which he delivered over to me with due formality, and
with the following wind-up:--

"Thar aint no such hoss doins in this hyar camp.  I tell yer, cap, thet
thet ar mar' wa'n't a suckumstance to this hyar anymal."

Story 5.

A TURKEY HUNT IN TEXAS.

By far the finest game bird in the world, is the wild turkey of America.
It exceeds all others in size, in the ratio of two or three to one; and
in delicacy of flesh it is not excelled by either partridge, grouse, or
pheasant.  The domesticated variety is much inferior to the wild, either
in bulk of body, or quality of flesh; and in the markets of the United
States, a wild turkey of equal weight with a common one, will always
command a much higher price--partly from the greater scarcity of the
dish, but as much on account of its superior delicacy.

Before proceeding to hunt the wild turkey, some account of the habits of
this beautiful bird may not be out of place.  He stands--for we speak
more particularly of the "gobbler," or cock--full four feet on his
robust red legs: while his wings, which are rather short in proportion
to his bulk, have a spread of about five.  When of largest size, he
weighs forty pounds avoirdupois.  His body is finely proportioned, with
a small head and tapering neck.  In shape, he is far superior to his
loose, high shouldered representative of the farm-yard, and more
resembles his proud congener, the peacock; while in colour, although not
so gaudy as the latter, still is he an hundred times more brilliant than
his tame congener, that now for more than three centuries has been
reduced to companionship with civilised man, and naturalised in almost
every country upon the globe.

The general tints of the wild turkey-gobbler are purple and rich brown;
but his close-lying plumes exhibit many other colours, frequently a
beautiful violet gleaming upon them, according to the light in which the
sun is reflected from their surface.  The plumage all over presents a
fine metallic lustre, which in most other birds is chiefly conspicuous
on the gorget, breast, and shoulders.  The neck is not so destitute of
downy feathers as in the tame variety--having the skin and wart-like
protuberances of a purplish blue colour, while the wattle proceeding
from the crown is also furnished with a slight sprinkling of down; and
when the bird is excited, either by anger or by amorous propensity, this
appendage becomes so elongated as to cover the beak, and hang several
inches below it.

The tuft, resembling horse hair, which grows out from the junction of
the neck and breast, in a wild turkey-cock of full size, is often nearly
a foot in length! but for what purpose the bird has been furnished with
this curious "tresa" is one of the mysteries of nature.

The geographical range of this fine bird is longitudinally extensive.
Its northern boundary may be regarded as the British possessions, while
to the south it is found as far as the Isthmus of Panama.  The wild
turkey is often spoken of by, not very observant, travellers who have
visited South America; but the supposition is, that the birds mentioned
by these writers, were some of the larger species of the _Cracidae_ or
_curraesows_.

It is also probable that the beautiful ocellated turkey of Southern
Mexico and Central America, may be an inhabitant of the countries south
of Panama: as the same circumstances of soil, climate, and vegetation
exist there, as in the habitat where it is found.

Latitudinally, the wild turkey was supposed not to extend beyond the
line of the Rocky Mountains.  This is an error.  Although there is no
account of its being met with near the Pacific coast of California, yet
has it been shot upon the Gila River, which lies westward of the
Cordillera.

Throughout all the original United States territory--the great
forest-covered tract between the Mississippi and the Atlantic--it was
one of the commonest birds in the times of the early settlements; and it
is still far from rare, in those parts of the States where large patches
of woodland extend between the sparse plantations.

Westward of the Mississippi, on the "timber" prairies--especially those
interspersed with copses of _pecan_ and hickory-trees, as also some of
the acorn-bearing oaks--wild turkeys may be often encountered in flocks
of from eighty to a hundred.

It has hitherto been taken for granted, that only two species of wild
turkey (_meleagris_) existed:--that properly so called, and the
ocellated, or "Honduras turkey," already mentioned Of course, the
_tallegalla_, or "wattled" turkey of Australia, is not taken into
account in this enumeration: nor the common barn-yard breed, which has
always been regarded as the mere domesticated variety of the _meleagris
gullipavo_.

Discoveries, however, have lately been made by naturalists, which go far
to prove that the wild turkey of North America is not only a distinct
species from the domestic bird, but that the latter is of itself only
distantly related to another species, equally distinct from the wild
turkeys of the United States country east of the Mississippi.

That which has been found throughout Mexico--and northward upon the
Gila, and the elevated table plains on both sides of the Rio del Norte--
in short, throughout the Rocky Mountain district--differs in many
respects from the bird of the Alleghanian forests.  It is even plausibly
proved that our tame turkey could not have descended from the wild
species of the Atlantic States--one of the arguments being, that all
attempts hitherto made to reduce the latter to the condition of a
dunghill fowl--and they have been many--have ended in complete failure.

It is certain that the European breed was not brought from the United
States.  It was introduced as early as the year 1530, and must therefore
have been transported across the Atlantic by the Spaniards--either from
Mexico or the West India islands.

The Mexican wild species--if it be a different species--is in some
respects more like the tame variety than that of the north-eastern
portion of the Continent; and it is more probable, in every way, that
the former is the progenitor of the domestic breed.

Another hypothesis is, that on their arrival in the West Indies, the
Spaniards found tame turkeys stalking about the huts of the islanders;
and that it was from these they obtained the breed, since propagated
over the whole civilised world; and that the domesticated variety, as we
term it, is not sprung from either of the wild breeds--Mexican or
North-American--but is a distinct species in itself.

This hypothesis, or speculation, is not without probability: since the
bird of the barn-yard, instead of being an improvement, even in bulk,
upon the wild species, is in reality a retrograded and inferior
creature.

If the theory be correct, there would be four distinct species of
turkey--the American, the Mexican, the ocellated, and the tame--to say
nothing of the queer _tallegalla_, or "wattled" turkey of Australia.

Space does not allow me to dwell long upon the habits of this bird.
Suffice it to say that, like all the _gallinaceae_, the wild turkey is
gregarious, and is seen in large flocks or "gangs," often numbering as
many as a hundred.  These flocks are differently constituted at
different periods of the year.

In October they congregate into large promiscuous assemblages: that is,
males, females, and young ones, better than half-grown, grouping
together.  They seek their food, which consists chiefly of vegetable
substances, as berries, seeds, and grasses; but they do not confine
themselves to an exclusively vegetable diet, and will greedily devour
beetles, grubs, and even tadpoles, young frogs, and lizards.

Like all birds, at this season of the year they are in greatest
numbers--the young broods having become fully fledged, and each counting
from ten to fifteen in a family.  Up to the time that the young are able
to take care of themselves, the females keep them apart from the old
males, which would otherwise destroy them, by repeatedly pecking them on
the skull.

It is only as the autumn advances well into October, that all ages and
sexes unite to form the large gangs; and for this reason October is the
"turkey month" of the Indians.

Throughout the fall and winter they associate together making long
journeys across the country, rarely taking to wing, except when sprung
by wolves, foxes, or hunting-dogs, or when it becomes necessary for them
to make the passage of a river; for, like all migrating creatures, they
do not permit any impediment to interrupt the course on which design or
instinct impels them.

When about to effect the crossing of a river, they seek the highest
eminence on the nether bank, and remain there sometimes for two or three
days before making the attempt.  The males at such times gobble most
obstreperously, and strut over the ground with all the importance
imaginable: as if to inspire the females and the young with courage for
the undertaking.  Even the females take part in these demonstrations,
lowering their wings and spreading their tails, in imitation of their
lordly mates.

After this sort of play has been carried on for a considerable time, the
whole flock flies up to the highest branches of the adjacent trees; and
then, at a signal given by one acting as leader, all fly out over the
water--directing their flight toward the opposite bank.

The old and strong birds easily effect the crossing; but the younger and
more feeble individuals of the gang frequently fall into the water.  Not
always, however, to be drowned; as they can swim tolerably well--which
they do by spreading their tails, folding their wings close to their
bodies, protruding their long necks far above the surface, and
alternately plying their feet in strong, rapid strokes.

Sometimes all do not succeed in reaching the bank.  A few of the very
feeblest, unable to swim with sufficient speed, get carried down by the
current, and ultimately perish.

This is the winter life of the wild turkeys, when they become fat,
changing their bulk from fifteen or twenty pounds--which, is their
average weight--to thirty, and sometimes forty.

On the return of spring--in March--the females coquettishly separate
themselves from the males; though the latter continue in flocks,
following the former from place to place.  Then commences the season of
their loves; and though the sexes roost apart, their roosting-places are
near each other.  At this time the woods become animated by their
vociferous calling; and if a female bird utters her note within hearing,
it is taken up by scores of males, not with the gobble used by them on
other occasions, but with an imitative cry, such as may be heard among
their tame congeners of the farm-yard.

This calling is usually heard before the break of day; and as soon as
the sun has fairly risen, the males descend from the trees, and commence
strutting over the ground, with spread tail and wings, uttering at
intervals the "tsut" peculiar to the species.

On such occasions two males meet, and then ensues a fight, ending in the
defeat--often even the death--of the weaker.  The conqueror is then
joined by the female--or, more generally, females--that have been the
object of this deadly rivalry; and, during the next month or so, he
holds these as his harem, roosting by or near them, and performing the
duties of a protector.  In time, however, they become shy of him--
stealing off to deposit their eggs; which, should he chance to discover
them, will be instantly broken by the blows of his paternal beak!

The nest consists of a few dried leaves, collected carelessly on the
ground--sometimes among the tops of a fallen tree, sometimes on a dry
hillock in a thicket of sumach or bramble, or by the side of a dead log.

As already stated, the wild turkey is still to be found within the
limits of the old States of the American Union.  It is more common in
the Mississippi Valley, where it is still possible to obtain these birds
in considerable numbers.

The usual mode of capturing them is by a trap--known as a turkey-trap--a
contrivance of the simplest kind.

A square enclosure, of some six or eight feet wide, is constructed--the
materials being split pieces of timber--usually the ordinary fence-rail,
which is always eight feet in length.

These, resting at right angles on one another, form a rectangular
enclosure, which, when carried up to the height of six or seven feet, is
covered in by the same sort of rails, laid at regular intervals along
the top.  Care is taken that the spaces between them be not wide enough
to permit the passage of a turkey; and the top rails are also secured by
a heavy log, which hinders the bird--strong though he be--from forcing
them out of their place.  The trap is constructed on the declivity of a
hill; and on the lower side, a cut or tunnel is excavated, leading under
the bottom rail, inwards.  The cut is then continued for a few yards
down the slope, when it runs out to the common level of the ground.

This being completed, the trap is ready for work, and only requires
baiting.

This is done by laying a train of maize (Indian corn), a hundred yards
or so in length--commencing at any point in the woods, and carried along
a line until it enters the hollowed way to the enclosure.  Inside, a
larger quantity of the corn is scattered, lying conspicuously upon the
floor of the gigantic cage.

The gang of turkeys, taking their morning stroll, chance to come upon
the train of scattered maize.  They soon gobble up the few grains
sparsely distributed outside; and step by step approach the enclosure.
They are not shy of the rude structure; for often have they wandered
along the side of a rail-fence, or flopped over it, to commit
devastation on the maize-crops of the planter.  Even his corn-bins have
not deterred them from pilfering his garnered crops.  What else can this
penn be, but a remote corn-bin in the middle of the woods, with the
unhusked maize removed from it, leaving a few scattered grains upon the
ground?

The little ravine conducts them under the lowermost rail.  They enter
without hesitation--without fear; and it is only after they have
"gobbled" up the grains that seduced them inside, that they begin to
think of continuing their stroll through the forest.

Then, for the first time, does the thought occur to any of them, that
they are in a trap.  It soon occurs, not only to one, but to all: and a
fearful fluttering and screaming takes place, with a confusion of ideas,
that prevents the oldest and wisest gobbler of the gang from finding his
way out again.

With their eyes elevated far above the level of the excavated trench,
they never think of looking downward; and after spending hours,
sometimes even days, inside the cunningly-contrived trap, they are at
length released by the arrival of the trapper--but only to be
transferred to the spit or the market-stall, with the dinner-table as
their ultimate destination.

In America, as in England, turkey is the chosen dish of the Christmas
dinner-table--in America even more than in England.  There, whatever
else there may be of nick-nacks, _entrees_, and _hors d'oeuvres_,
turkey, roast or boiled, holds the prominent place--is the _piece de
resistance_ of the banquet.  He is but a poor man indeed in that once
great--to be hoped still great--republic, who could not have a turkey
for his Christmas dinner.

Upon that most interesting holiday, the humblest artisan in America may
dine upon tame turkey; but the greater luxury--the wild bird, with its
dark flesh and game flavour--the true _meleagris_, trapped or taken from
his remote forest feeding-ground--smokes only on the table of the
citizen who has been more than ordinarily successful in the pursuits of
life.

There may the wild turkey be seen, in all the perfection of size,
succulence, and savour.

If old Buffon, the charlatan naturalist of France, could have but eaten
a slice of the _meleagris_ under such circumstances, he might, perhaps,
have conceded to the birds of America some of the good qualities which
he has so recklessly denied them.

But the palate of this presumptuous curator of moth-eaten remains, had
never been indulged with the delicate flavour of a canvas-back duck, a
"reed-bird," a grouse of the prairies, or a wild turkey trapped amidst
the solitudes of an American forest.

He had studied their habits only at second-hand, while their bright
hues, their sweet songs, and their many other valuable qualities, he
could only deduce, or deny, from the stuffed and damaged skins seen by
him in a "royal collection."

With such superiority of flesh, it is scarcely necessary to say, that
there are people who make it their business to procure the wild turkey,
and send the bird to market.  There are a few men throughout the United
States who follow this business as an exclusive calling; but more often
the turkey is obtained as part of the game-bag of the regular
deer-hunter, and by him sold to the consumer.

The gun is used, as with other game-birds; and when it is a
fowling-piece, buck-shot--the swan-shot of European countries--is the
kind necessarily required to kill such a large, strong bird.  The
regular deer-hunter, however, never thinks of carrying a fowling-piece;
and his pea-rifle, with a barrel of nearly five feet in length, and
bored for a bullet not much larger than the buck-shot itself, is with
him the weapon for turkeys, deer, wolves, bears, panthers, and even
Indians--if need be.

There's still another method of hunting the turkey, practised on the
prairies; and that is with horses and hounds!

My young readers will no doubt be surprised to hear that a wild turkey,
with wings over five feet in spread, can be captured by dogs.  But such
is the fact; as I can assure them, by having myself ridden in many a
chase of the sort, and more than once have I had the good fortune to be
"in at the death."

Taking the turkey after this fashion is called "running it down."

I have practised this sport upon the beautiful prairies of Texas; and as
my first turkey hunt after this fashion led me into a little adventure,
which came very near having a serious termination, an account both of
this peculiar mode of hunting--as well as the occurrence in my memory
connected with it--may be given at the same time.

On a journey which I was making from Natchitoches, on the Red River of
Louisiana, along the line of military posts (forts) established in
Western Texas, I had occasion to stop for some days at the house of a
cotton planter--living along the route.

My halt was one of necessity--to recruit my tired escort, as well as a
fine horse I was riding, which, upon a journey that had extended several
hundred miles through the wilderness, I had used somewhat badly.  To
make up for having abused him, I resolved upon giving him a few days'
rest upon the plantation.  I had letters of introduction to its owner;
though these were by no means requisite to secure me a hospitable
reception in the house of a Texan planter--especially with the official
stamp afforded by the cut and colour of my coat.

As the planter was a man both of intelligence and circumstance--with
three or four fine sons and as many grown-up girls--my halt at his house
was far from being irksome; and perhaps I remained a day or two longer
than exactly "squared" with my duty.

Be that as it may, I remember that I ate my Christmas dinner with them;
and it was while procuring the _piece de resistance_ of that
dinner--_the wild turkey_--that I became initiated into the peculiar
mode of capturing these birds by "running them down."

The custom of having turkey for the Christmas dinner has been
transported by the colonists into the wilds of Texas; where it is as
rigorously observed as in the "mother country"--the United States.

On the day preceding this Christmas holiday, a turkey hunt was got up--
in order that a bird or two might be obtained for the table.

At an early hour we set forth--a party on horseback, consisting of the
planter himself, his sons, and one or two friends on a Christmas visit
to the plantation.

Each of the party shouldering his fowling-piece or rifle--though, as I
was informed, not with any design to use these weapons against the
"gobblers," but, only as a providence in case of meeting with other and
larger game.

Moreover, a Texan frontiersman without a gun over his shoulder--or
carried across the pommel of his saddle--is a creature rarely to be
encountered upon the prairies.

On that day the weapons, intended to be used against the turkeys, were
horses and hounds; and as we rode forth out of the enclosure of the
planter's dwelling, I noticed some half score of the latter--an appanage
of every Texan plantation--trotting along at the heels of our
_cavayard_.

I was myself no little surprised, on being informed that this was the
object for which the hounds were going out with us; and I did not quite
comprehend how the quadrupeds were to bring a bird _to bay_.

I could form some conjecture, however--founded on a past experience in
the art of venerie.  I remembered, while deer-hunting in the forests of
the Mississippi bottom, that the hounds, especially when ill-trained
ones, were often led away from the trail of the stag by that of wild
turkeys; and that the birds, although not seen among the underwood,
frequently conducted the chase, for a mile or so, across the hills.

The turkeys would, at length, come to a stand, by taking refuge on the
trees--thus leaving the hounds in a quandary, and the hunters in
something approaching to a passion.

I knew, moreover, that the wild turkey rarely takes to wing--and then
only when compelled by the necessity of crossing a river, or escaping
from some dangerous pursuer, that has got too close to the tip of its
tail.

Guided by these lights, I was not without some glimmer of a guess as to
the nature of the sport upon which we were setting forth.

My considerate friends, not wishing that I should be taken by surprise--
and in order that I should have fair play in procuring my share of the
spoils--gave me a full account of the _modus venandi_, as we rode on
towards the ground.

The prairie towards which we were proceeding--a noted haunt of the
turkeys--was of that kind known in Texas, as a "timber" prairie; that
is, a plain, interspersed with groves of great trees--at a greater or
less distance apart from each other--with here and there small copses--
in Texan parlance, "islands,"--intervening.

Sometimes the larger clumps of timber are so far apart as to be nearly
out of sight of each other; while the verdant surface between exhibits a
mottled aspect of darker tints, caused by the "islands," with here and
there some solitary tree--a giant evergreen oak--standing apart, as if
disdaining to associate with the humbler growth constituting the copses.

On the prairie towards which we were proceeding, the timber growth was
principally trees of the genus _juglans_ and _carya_--among which the
_pecan_ was conspicuous--sometimes forming islands of itself.  Of the
delicious nuts of this last-mentioned tree, the wild turkey is what the
French term _friand_--preferring them to all other food.

In the winter these nuts, having dropped ungarnered from the branches,
lie neglected upon the ground--that is, by human beings, although not by
the wild denizen of the prairies.

At such time the turkeys go in search of them--making long journeys
beyond the more secure fastnesses of the great forest; and while
straying among the _pecan_ copses, and far out upon the open prairie,
they become fair game for hounds and horses, and can be _run down_ by
either.

The mode of proceeding is to "approach" ah near as possible without
giving the birds the alarm; and then, calling out the "view halloo" to
the dogs, and spurring the horses to their highest speed, the chase
sweeps onward.

The turkeys, at the first start, whirr up into the air with a thundering
noise; and usually fly to the distance of half a mile--when they drop
down to the earth.  On touching _terra firma_, however, they do not
suspend their flight; for it is continued along the ground: almost as
rapidly as in the air--both legs and wings being brought into play.

The chase for a time now very much resembles that of the ostrich;
between which bird and the wild turkey there are many points of
resemblance.  The race is usually in a direct line, and towards some
heavy timber, which may be seen in the distance.

Should the latter chance to be near, and up-hill from the point of
starting, the turkey will distance both dogs and hunters, and escape to
the trees.  On the other hand, if a sufficient space of open prairie
intervene, either level or down hill, the quadrupeds will eventually
close upon the birds, when the latter will once more take to wing.

This second appeal to his pinions is not so prolonged as the first; and
after flying a few hundred yards, the gobbler will once more "come to
grass," and go legging it, with outstretched neck and flopping wings as
before--as before to be overhauled by hounds and horsemen.

Perhaps he may attempt a third and still shorter flight; but if a grove
be near, or a single tree, or even a tuft of bushes, he will take to one
or the other--in the hope of hiding himself from his relentless
pursuers.

He will either fly up into the tree, or bury his body among the hushes.
If it be a tall tree, he will not succeed in getting a safe roost: for
he is already too fatigued, and, being a _pecan-fed_ gobbler, too fat
for this last exertion.  In all likelihood he will stick his head into a
thick bush or tussock of long grass--where the dogs will soon "cook his
goose" for him, although he be a turkey-gobbler.

As, during our journey towards the _pecan prairie_, I had been
theoretically initiated into the mysteries of this peculiar chase, I
determined, after arriving on the ground, to play my part without
reference to any guidance from my companions: for it frequently happens
that a flock of turkeys after being once "scared up," fly in different
directions, leaving each hunter a choice as to the bird or birds he may
follow--the dogs being necessarily permitted to make a similar
selection.

As it chanced on that particular occasion, our turkey hunt turned out an
affair of the scattering kind--at least, mine did--carrying me so far
away from my companions, that I not only lost sight of them, but my way
as well; and came precious near sustaining the loss of something more
important than either--_my scalp_!

Almost the instant after entering among the islands of timber, we
discovered a gang of gobblers.  They were not all _gobblers_, correctly
speaking: for the flock was a promiscuous one--comprising old and young
birds, as well as male and female.  They were in the very situation
desired by the hunters: that is far out upon the open prairie, where
they could not easily retreat to the heavy timber, without giving us a
long chase, plenty of sport, and probably one or two captures.  They
were "grazing" along the edge of a little grove or coppice--which my
companions could easily identify as composed of _pecan-trees_--the nuts
of which, no doubt, had attracted them to the place.

By good fortune a series of similar "islands," forming a sort of
_archipelago_, extended from the point where we first came in sight of
the turkeys, to that beside which they were picking up the _pecan-nuts_.

By keeping the copses between ourselves and the birds, we succeeded in
stealing up behind that which was nearest them; and then suddenly plying
the spur, and raising the "hue and cry," we broke around the cover, and
went towards them at full gallop, the hounds harking-forward among the
hoofs of our horses.

As to be expected, the birds whirred upward into the air; but not all
together.  Neither did they fly in one direction.  They had been
somewhat scattered over the _pasture_; and the suddenness of our
onslaught caused a still further separation of their cohorts, which flew
off in bands of two and three together, taking different directions--
some of them, being, perhaps, more scared than the rest, going away
alone.

The hunters, as if taking their cue from this sudden distribution of the
game, became separated in like manner--the hounds also scattering into
couples as the chase proceeded.

For an instant or two I was nonplussed: not knowing which party to
follow; but, seeing what I believed to be the biggest gobbler of the
gang flying over the _pecan_ copse in a backward direction, and
reckoning from his ponderous appearance that his flight would not be a
protracted one, I wheeled my horse, and galloped under and after him.

There were none of the dogs going my way; but I had been told that this
was of no great importance.  A good horse will easily _run down_ this
sort of game; and the hounds are only useful when it comes to the
_finale_ of the chase, and the turkey is to be "grupped."  Then the
dismounted horseman is in danger of losing his bird, by the latter
taking a foul start, and so escaping him.

Determined, should I succeed in running down my turkey, to take
precautions against this, I lanced my horse's flanks and rode on.

Unfortunately, it was not my own horse's flanks I was lacerating, or the
chase would not have continued so long.  To save my precious steed, I
was astride of a horse furnished to me by my host--a stout Mexican
mustang, which, although by no means an indifferent mount, was nothing
to the splendid Arab I had left in contiguity with the maize-trough of
the planter.

I urged the animal forward with all the speed that lay in his lithe
sinewy limbs; and after less than a half-mile made over the verdant turf
of the prairie, I had the satisfaction to see the gobbler drop suddenly
down upon the grass, and continue his _flight_ upon his long red legs.

I was scarcely three hundred yards behind him, as he touched the ground.
This the mustang soon reduced to a tenth part of the distance; when the
old cock, perceiving himself in danger of being caught, once more
whirred up towards the sky.

This second "spring" did not exceed a couple of hundred paces; and his
coming down so soon convinced me, that the "balance" of the pursuit
would be a trial between the legs of the turkey and the limbs of the
mustang.

This conviction turned out to be well founded; and on we went over the
prairie, with all the speed that bird and beast were capable of
commanding.

For the first half-mile or so I saw that I was gaining upon the
gobbler--not rapidly; for the mustang, though tough, was far from being
a fast one.  He promised bottom, however; and I was indulging in high
hopes that in time I should overtake the turkey, and carry him back a
prize, a triumph in the eyes of my hunting companions.

All at once this agreeable prospect began to appear doubtful.  Although
I continued to press the mustang, both with spurs and voice, I still
perceived that the distance between me and the turkey was gradually
growing greater, instead of less!

Surely the horse had not slackened his speed?  I had guarded against
that.  The gobbler, then, must have quickened his.

What was the explanation?

I soon discovered it.  I saw that the chase was carrying me up a hill.

A sharp ridge trended across the prairie, transversely to the line of
the pursuit.  Both pursued and pursuer had parted from the level plain,
and were now gliding up the acclivity.

I knew the meaning of this.  I remembered a chapter of my ornithology,
studied among the pine barrens of Tennessee, where I had observed a
turkey-gobbler distance the hounds against the steep slope of a ridge;
and do it with perfect ease.  I knew that the bird, aided by its
extended wings, could run against the hill with almost double the speed
of either dog or horse; and that was the reason why my mustang was
falling so far into the rear.

I kept on; but only to have my chagrin increased, by seeing the gobbler
go much faster than myself.

He reached the crest of the ridge before my little steed, badly blown,
had got half up its sloping side!

I was about to give up the chase in despair.  The distance separating me
from the turkey was at least two hundred yards; and I fancied that the
mustang, winded as he was, might be hurt in trying to overtake it.  I
did not desire to damage my reputation by "riding a free horse to
death."

While thus hesitating, I was astonished by observing an unexpected
circumstance.  The turkey had reached the summit of the ridge, and was
so conspicuously outlined against the blue background of the sky, that I
could see it from head to heel.  While admiring the outlines of the
magnificent bird, I saw its wings all at once cease from their flapping,
and drop down by its sides, while, at the same instant, the action of
its limbs became suspended, and, as if having spent its last effort of
strength, it tumbled over on the turf.

"Good!" thought I, "I've run it down, after all!  What a fool I was to
think of discontinuing the chase!  There's nothing more to do but to
ride up and take possession of it."

Lest the bird might recover breath, and make a new start, I once more
drove my spurs into the sides of the mustang, and galloped up to the
crest of the ridge.

I need not have been in such hot haste: for on getting near enough to
the gobbler to be able to judge of his condition, I saw that he was
dead!

"'Twas the pace that killed him!"  I muttered to myself, gleefully
adapting the old saw to the circumstance which was giving me so much
gratification.

I lost no time in dismounting from my horse, with the design of taking
possession of my prize.

As I approached the fallen gobbler, I stopped short to contemplate him.

A splendid creature he appeared, even in death.  His plumage still
gleamed with the iridescent hues of life--just as at sunrise of that
morning, when he had strutted his short hour over the prairie turf
before the eyes of his coquettish female companions.

I was still occupied in this _post-mortem_ examination, when I perceived
that there was blood upon the beak of the bird--a tiny stream oozing out
between its mandibles.

I was somewhat astonished by this singular circumstance--the effect of a
simple chase.  But I was a hundredfold more surprised on perceiving the
true cause of the sanguinary extravasation, when I saw the feathered end
of an arrow protruding out from under the wing-coverts of the turkey.

I had scarcely time to reflect on this singular appearance, when I heard
a "swishing" noise in the air above me.

I looked up.  A looped cord was descending over my head, which the
instant after had settled upon my shoulders.  At the same instant a wild
yelling filled my ears; and I saw running towards me a score of human
forms, whose naked, bronze-coloured skins, clouted thighs, and
vermillion faces, proclaimed them to be Indians.

I perceived at once that I had fallen into the hands of a party of
Comanches--on the war-trail, too--as their scant dress and painted faces
proclaimed.

They had been bivouacking on the other side of the ridge; and seeing
only the turkey as it came upon the crest, some one of them had taken
advantage of the pause which the bird had made on perceiving them, and
sent an arrow into its side.

When I said just now that I had fallen into their hands, I spoke
figuratively.  It had not gone quite so far as that; though, had I been
without the bowie-knife habitually carried in my belt, such most
certainly would have been my fate--and I should, perhaps, never have had
an opportunity of recording this adventure.

But the keen blade proved my preserver.  In an instant it was out of its
sheath; and the lazzo that had fallen over my shoulders--and in another
second of time would have entangled my arms--lay, with its loop cut
open, idly trailing upon the grass.

I never took to the saddle with greater celerity; and if my mustang had
been allowed to lag a little while ascending that prairie slope, he made
amends for the delay in going down again.

He needed neither voice nor spur to urge him to his utmost speed.  The
sight of the Indians, to say nothing of their wild yelling--well
understood, and dreaded, by the mustang--had given him an impetus that
carried him across the plain like a streak of lightning.

Fortunately, the Indians were afoot, and I was not followed; but this
knowledge did not hinder me from continuing my gallop until I had
retraced the ground gone over in the turkey chase, and rejoined my
friends--still engaged with the gobblers they had pursued in the
opposite direction.

My report caused a sudden suspension of their sports--succeeded by a
quick ride straight homeward.

By good fortune, a brace of the birds had been already secured, to grace
the dinner-table on the following day, and upon which they appeared,
their flavour not a little heightened by the spice of adventure that had
come so near preventing their capture.

Story 6.

TRAPPED IN A TREE.

Among the many queer characters I have encountered in the shadow of the
forest, or the sunshine of the prairie, I can remember none _queerer_,
or more original, than Zebulon Stump--"Old Zeb Stump," as he was
familiarly known among his acquaintances.

"Kaintuck by birth and raisin'," as he used to describe himself, he was
a hunter of the pure Daniel Boone breed.  The chase was his sole
railing; and he would have indignantly scouted the suggestion, that he
ever followed it for mere amusement.

Though by no means of uncongenial disposition, he affected to hold all
amateur hunters in a kind of lordly contempt; and his conversation with
such was always of a condescending character.  For all this, he was not
averse to their company; especially that of the young gentlemen of the
neighbourhood who chanced to be honoured with his acquaintance.

Being myself one of those who could lay claim to this privilege, I
oft-times availed myself of it; and many of my hunting excursions were
made in the companionship of Old Zeb Stump.  He was, in truth, my guide
and instructor, as well as companion; and initiated me into many
mysteries of American woodcraft, in which I was at that time but little
skilled.

To me one of the most insoluble of these mysteries was that of Old Zeb's
own existence; and I was acquainted with him for a considerable time
before I could unravel the clue to it.  He stood six feet in boots,
fabricated out of the tanned skin of an alligator--into the ample tops
of which were crowded the legs of a pair of coarse "copperas" trowsers;
while the only other garments upon his body were a doeskin shirt, and a
"blanket-coat" that had once been green, but, like the leaves of the
autumnal forest, had become changed to a sere and yellowish hue.  A
slouch "felt" shaded his cheeks from the sun; though for this purpose it
was not often needed: since it was only upon very rare occasions that
Old Zeb strayed beyond the shadows of the "Timber."

Where he lived, and how he supported himself, were to me the two points
that chiefly required clearing up.  In the tract of virgin forest, where
I was in the habit of meeting him by appointment, there was neither
house nor hut.  So said the people of Grand Gulf (a small town upon the
Mississippi in which I was sojourning).  And yet Old Zeb had told me
that in this forest region was his home.

It was only after our acquaintance had ripened into a strong feeling of
fellowship, that I became his guest; and had the pleasure of spending an
hour under his humble roof.

Humble I may truly designate it, since it consisted of the hollow trunk
of a gigantic sycamore-tree, still strading and growing!

In this cavity Old Zeb found sufficient shelter for him self, his
"squaw," as he termed Mrs Stump (whose existence was now for the first
time revealed to me), his _penates_, and, when the weather required it,
for the tough old cob that carried him in his forest wanderings.

His household was no longer a puzzle; though there still remained the
mystery of how he managed to maintain it.

A skilled hunter might easily procure sufficient food for himself and
family; but even the hunter disdains a diet exclusively game.  There was
the coffee (to a strong cup of which I was myself made welcome); the
"pone" of corn-bread; the corn itself necessary to the sustenance of the
old horse; the muslin gown that shrouded the somewhat angular outlines
of Mrs Stump; with many other commodities that could not be procured by
a rifle.  Even the rifle itself required food not to be found in the
forest.

Presuming on our friendly intimacy, I put the question:

"How do you make out to live?  You don't appear to manufacture anything,
nor do I see any signs of cultivation around your dwelling.  How, then,
do you support yourself?"

"Them keeps us--them thar," answered my host, pointing to a corner of
his tree-cabin.

I looked in the direction indicated.  The skins of several species of
animals, among which I recognised those of the painter, 'possum, and
'coon, along with a haunch or two of recently-killed venison, met my
glance.

"Oh! you traffic in these?"

"Jess so, stranger.  Sells the skins to the storekeeper an' the deer
meat to anybody as'll buy it."

"But I have never seen you in the town."

"I never goes thar.  I don't like them stinkin' storekeepers.  They
allers cheats me."

"Who, then, does the marketing for you?"

"The ole 'oman thar.  She kin manage them counter-jumpers better'n I
kin.  Can't you, ole gurl?"

"Well, that I guess I can," replied the partner of Old Zeb's bosom, with
an emphasis that left no doubt upon my mind that she believed herself to
be speaking the truth.

I now recollected having more than once seen Mrs Stump in the streets
of Grand Gulf, on her marketing errands, and having dined at an hotel
upon a haunch of buck of her especial providing.  Still more, I
remembered purchasing from her a brace of white-headed eagles
(_falco-leucocephalus_), which this good lady had brought in from the
forest, and which I had forwarded to the Zoological Society of London.

Old Zeb's shooting was something that to me at the time appeared
marvellous.  He could "bark" a squirrel among the tops of the tallest
tree; or could equally kill it by sending his bullet through its eye.
He used to boast, in a quiet way, that he never "spoilt a skin, though
it war only that o' a contemptible squ'll."

But what interested me more than all was his tales of adventure, of most
of which he was himself the hero.  Many of these were well worthy of
being recorded.

One I deemed of especial interest, partly from its own essential
oddness, partly from the quaint queerness of the language in which it
was related to me, and not a little from the fact of its hingeing on a
phenomenon, to which more than once I had myself been witness.  I allude
to the caving in, or breaking down of the banks of the Mississippi
river, caused by the undermining influence of the current; when large
slips of land, often whole acres, thickly studded with gigantic trees,
glide into the water, to be swished away with a violence equalling the
vortex of Charybdis.

It was in connection with one of these land-slips that Old Zeb had met
with the adventure in question, which came very near depriving him of
his life, as it did of his liberty for a period of several days'
duration.

Perhaps the narration had best be given in his own piquant _patois_; and
I shall so set it forth, as nearly as I can transcribe it from the
tablets of my memory.

I was indebted for the tale to a chance circumstance: for it was a rare
thing in Old Zeb to volunteer a story, unless something turned up to
suggest it.

We had killed a fine buck, which had run several hundred lengths of
himself with the lead in his carcass, and had fallen within a few feet
of the bank of the river.

While stopping to "gralloch the deer," Old Zeb looked around with a
pointed expression, as he did so, exclaiming:

"Darn me! ef this ain't the place whar I war trapped in a tree!
Dog-gone ef taint!  Thar's the very saplin' itself."

I looked at the "saplin'" to which my companion was pointing.  It was a
swamp cypress, of some thirty feet in girth, by at least a hundred and
fifty in height.

"Trapped in a tree?"  I echoed, with emphatic interest, perceiving that
Old Zeb was upon the edge of some odd adventure.

Desirous of tempting him to the relation of it, I continued, "Trapped in
a tree?  How could that be, Mr Stump, an old forester like you?"

"It did be, howsomedever," was the quaint reply of my companion, "an'
not so very long agone neyther; only about three yeer.  Ef ye'll sit
down a bit, an' we may as well, since the sun's putty consid'able
hellish hot jest now, I'll tell ye all about it.  An' I kin tell ye, for
I hain't forgotten neery sarcumstance o' the hul thing.  No, that I
hain't, an' I'll lay odds, young feller, that ef you ever be as badly
skeeart as I war then, you'll carry the recollexshun o' that skeear till
ye gets chucked into yur coffin--ay, that ye will!"

Old Zeb here paused; but whether to reflect on what he was going to say
next, or to give time for his last words to produce their due
impression, I could not determine.  I refrained from making rejoinder,
knowing that I had now got him fairly over the edge of the adventure,
and was safe enough to "have it out."

"Wal, kumrade, I war out arter deer, jest as you an' me are the day;
only it had got to be lateish--nigh sundown i'deed--and I hadn't emptied
my rifle the hul day.  Fact is, I hadn't sot eye on a thing wuth a
charge o' powder an' lead.  I war afut; an', as you know yerself, it are
a good six mile from this to my shanty.  I didn't like goin' home empy
handed, 'specially as I knowed we war empy-housed at the time, an' the
ole 'ooman wanted somethin' to get us a pound or two o' coffee an' sugar
fixins.  So I thort I shed stay all night i' the wuds, trustin' to
gettin' a shot at a stray buck or a turkey-gobbler i' the urly daylight.
I war jest in the spot whar we air now; only it looked quite different
then.  The under scrub's been all burnt down, as you may see.  Then the
hul place about hyar war kivered wi' the tallest o' cane, an' so thick,
a coon ked scace a worm'd his way through it.

"Wal, stranger, 'ithout makin' more ado, I tuk up my quarters for the
night under that ere big cyprus.  The groun' war dampish, for thar had
been a spell o' rain; so I tuk out my bowie, an' cut me enuf o' the
green cane to make me a sort o' a shake-down.

"It war comfitable enuf; an' in the twinklin' o' a buck's tail I war
sound asleep.

"I slep like a 'possum till the day war beginnin' to break; an' then I
awoke, or rayther, war awoke by the damdest noise as ever rousted a
fellar out o' his slumber.  I heerd a skreekin', an' screamin', an'
screevin', as ef all the saws in Massissippi war bein' sharped 'ithin
twenty yards o' my ear.

"It all kim from overhead, from out the tops o' the cyprus.

"I warn't puzzled a bit by them thar sounds.  I knowed it war the
calling o' the baldy eagles: for it warn't the fust time I had listened
to them thar.

"`Thar's a neest,' sez I to myself; `an' young uns too.  Thet's why the
birds is makin' such a dod-rotted rumpus.'

"Not that I cared much about a eagle's neest, nor the birds themselves
neyther.  But jess then I remembers some thin' my ole 'ooman hed tolt
me.  She hed heerd thet there war a rich Britisher staying at the hotel
in Grand Gulf, who were offerin' no eend o' money to whomsoever ud git
him a brace o' young baldy eagles."

"You were rightly informed: it was I who made the offer."

"Dog-gone it, wur it you?  Ef I'd know'd--but niver mind; I kudn't a
done diff'rent from what I did.  Wal, strenger, in coorse I clomb the
tree.  It warn't so easy as you may s'pose.  Thar war forty feet o' the
stem 'ithout a branch, an' so smooth that a catamount kedn't a scaled
it.  I thort at first that the cyprus warn't climeable nohow; but jess
then I seed a big fox-grape-vine, that arter sprawlin' up another tree
clost by, left this un, an' then sloped off to the one whar the baldies
hed thar neest.  This war the very thing I wanted--a sort o' Jaykup's
ladder--an' 'ithout wastin' a minute o' time, I speeled up the
grape-vine.

"It warn't no joke neyther.  The darned thing wobbled about till I wur
well nigh pitched back to the groun': an' there war a time when I thort
seriously o' slippin' down agin.

"But then kim the thort o' the ole woman an' the empty house at hum,
along wi' what she'd sayed about the Britisher an' his big purse; and
bein' freshly narved by these recolleckshuns, I swarmed up the vine like
a squ'll.

"Once upon the Cyprus thar warn't no diffeequilty in reachin' the neest.
There war plenty o' footin' among the top branches whar the birds had
made thar eyeray.

"For all that it warn't so easy to get into the neest.  There kedn't a
been less than a waggon-load o' sticks in that thar construckshun, to
say nothin' o' Spanish moss, an' the baldies' own dreppins, an' all
sorts o' bones belonging to both fish an' four-footed anymals.  It tuk
me nigh an hour to make a hole so that I ked get my head above the edge,
and see what the neest contained.

"As I expected, thar war young 'uns in it, two o' them about
half-feathered.  All this time the ole birds had been abroad--as I
supposed, lookin' up a breakfast for thar chicks.

"`How darned disappointed they'll be!' sez I to myself, `when they gits
back an' find that thar young 'uns have fled the neest--'ithout
feathers!'

"I war too sure o' my game and too kewrious about the young baldies,
watchin' them as they cowered close together, hissin' and threetenin'
me, to take notice o' anythin' besides.

"But I war rousted out o' my rev'rie by feelin' the hat suddintly jirked
up off o' my head, at the same time gettin' a scratch across the cheek,
that sent the blood spurtin' all over my face.  It wur the talons o' the
she eagle as did it; while the ole cock, clost to her tail, kept
skreekin' an' screamin' an' makin' a confusion o' noises, as if he had
jess come custrut from the towers o' Babylon.

"I had grupped one o' the young baldies afore the old 'uns kim up.  I
needn't tell ye I war only too glad to let the durned thing go agen, an'
duck my head under the edge o' the neest; whar I kep it, till the
critters had got a sort o' tired threetenin' me, and guv up the attack.

"I needn't tell ye, neyther, thet I, too, hed gin up all thort o' takin'
the young eagles.  Arter the wound I'd received I war contented to leave
'em alone; an' not all the gold in the Britisher's purse ked then have
bought that brace o' birds.

"I only waited to rekiver my composure; an' then I commenced makin' back
tracks down the tree.

"I hed got 'bout halfway atween the baldies' neest an' the place whar
the fox-grape tuk holt o' the cyprus, when I war stopped short by
somethin' I heerd--a sound far more terrific than the screech o' the
eagles.

"It war the creakin' and crashin' o' timber--along wi' that unairthly
rumblin' such as ye may hear when the banks o' the great Mississippi be
a cavin' in.

"It war that very thing itself.  I kud see the trees that stood atween
me an' the river, tumblin' an' tossin' about, an' then goin' wi' a grand
swish an' a plunge into the fast flowin' current o' the stream.  The
cyprus itself shook as if the wind war busy among its branches.  I ked
feel a suddint jirk upon it, an' then it righted agin, and stood steady
as a rock.  The eagles above me war screamin' wusa than ever, while I
below war tremblin' like an aspin.

"I knowed well enuf what it all meaned.  I knowed that it war the bank
o' the river cavin' in; but knowin' this, didn't gie me any great
satisfaction: since I war under the belief that in another minute the
Cyprus mout _cave in too_.

"I didn't stay the ten thousandth frakshun o' a minute.  I hurried to
git back to the groun; an' soon reached the place whar the grape-vine
jeined on to the Cyprus.

"There warn't no grape-vine to be seen.  It war clur gone away.

"The tother tree to which its root had been clingin' war one o' them as
had falled into the river, takin' the fox-grape along wi' it.  It war
that had gin the pluck I feeled when descendin' from the neest.

"I looked below.  The river had changed its channel.  Instead o' runnin'
twenty yurds from the spot it war surgin' along clost to the bottom o'
the cyprus.  I seed that in another minuit the cyprus itself mout topple
over into the stream, an' be whirled along, or swallowed in the frothin'
water.

"For me to git to the ground was plainly unpossible.  I ked only do so
by jumpin' forty foot in the clur, an' I knew that to do so wud a
shivered my ole thigh-bones, tough as they mout be.

"I ked do nothin' but stay whar I war--nothin' but wait and watch--
listenin' to the screamin' o' the eagles--as skeeart as myself--to the
hoarse roarin' o' the angry waters, an' the crashin' o' the trees, as
one arter another they fell victims to the underminin' influence o' the
flood."

I had by this time become fascinated by the narrative, Old Zeb's
thoughts, notwithstanding the _patois_ in which they were expressed, had
risen to the sublime; and although he paused for some minutes, I made no
attempt to interrupt his reflections, but in silence I waited for him to
continue his tale.

"Wal, strenger, what do ye suppose I did next?" was the interrogation
with which my ears were soon after saluted.

"Really, I cannot imagine," I replied, considerably surprised at Old
Zeb's question, abrupt as it was unexpected.

"Wal; ye don't suppose I kim down from the tree?"

"I don't see how you could."

"Neyther did I.  I kedn't an' I didn't.  I mout as well a tried to git
down the purpendikler face o' the Chicasaw bluff, or the wall o'
Lexin'ton Court-house.  I seed I kedn't make a descent o' it no how, an'
thurfore I guv it up, an' stayed whar I war, crosslegs on a branch o'
the tree.

"It warn't the most comfutable kind o' seat, but I hed somethin' else
than kushions to think o'.  I didn't know the minnit I mout be shot out
into the Massissippi; an' as I never war much o' a swimmer--to say
nothin' o' bein' smashed among the branches in fallin', I warn't over
satisfied wi' my situation.

"As I ked do nothin' but stick it out, I stuck it out, keepin' to my
seat like death to a dead nigger, only shiftin' a leetle now an' then to
ease my achin' posteerors.

"In this unkomfitable condishun I passed the hul o' that day.  Though
there warn't an easy bone in my body, I had got to be a bit easier in my
mind; for on lookin' down at the river, I begun to believe that the
cavin' in had kum to an eend, an' that the Cyprus war goin' to keep its
place.

"So far I felt komfited; but this feelin' didn't last long.  It war
follered by the reflexshun that whether the tree war to stand or fall, I
war equally a lost man.

"I knowd that I war beyond the reach o' human help.  Nothin' but chance
ked fetch livin' critter within hearin' o' my voice.  I seed the river
plain enuf, an' boats mout be passin' up an' down--both steam an' flat--
but I knowed that both was 'customed to steer along the opposite shore,
to 'void the dang'rous eddy as sets torst the side I war on.  The river,
as ye see, young feller, are moren' a mile wide at this place.  The
people on a passin' boat wudn't hear me; an' if they did, they'd take it
for some one a mockin' o' them.  A man hailin' a boat from the top o' a
cyprus tree!  I knowd it 'ud be no use.

"For all that I made trial o' it.  Boats did come past, o' all kinds as
navigate the Massissippi; steamers, keel-boats, an' flats.  I hailed
them all--hailed till I was hoarse.  They must a heerd me.  I'm sartain
some o' 'em did, for I war answered by shouts o' scornful laughter.  My
own shouts o' despair mout a been mistuk for the cries o' a mocker or a
madman."

The hunter once more paused in his narrative, as if overpowered by the
remembrance of those moments of misery.  I remained silent as before--as
before struck with the sublimity of thought, to which the backwoodsman
was unconsciously giving speech.

Observing my silence he resumed his narration.

"Wal, strenger; I kim to the konclusion that I war _trapped in that
tree_, an' no mistake.  I seed no more chance o' gettin' clur than kud a
bar wi' a two ton log across the small o' his back.  The only hope I hed
war that the ole ooman 'ud be arter me, as she usooally is whensoever
I'm missin' for a spell.  But that moutn't be for a single night, nor
two on 'em in succession.  Beside, what chance o' her findin' me in a
track o' timmer twenty mile in sarcumference?  That hope war only
'vanesccnt, an' soon died out 'ithin me.

"It war just arter I had gin up all hope o' being suckered by anybody
else, that I begun to think o' doin' suthin' for myself.  I needed to do
suthin'.  Full thirty hours hed passed since I'd eyther ate or drunk,
for I'd been huntin' all the day before 'ithout doin' eyther.  I war
both hungry an' thusty--if anythin', sufferin' most from the
last-mentioned o' them two evils.  I ked a swallered the muddiest water
as ever war found in a puddle, an' neyther frogs nor tadpoles would a
deterred me.  As to eatin', when I thort o' that, I kudn't help runnin'
my eyes up'ards; an' spite o' the spurt I'd hed wi' thar parents I ked
a' told them young baldies that thur lives war in danger.

"Possible, I mout a feeled hungrier an' thustier than I did, if it
hedn't been for the fear I war in, 'bout the cyprus topplin' over into
the river.  That hed kep me in sich a state o' skeear as to hinder me
from thinkin' o' moust anythin' else.  As the time passed, hows'ever,
an' the tree still kep its purpendicklar, I begun to b'lieve that the
bank warn't agoin to move any more.  I ked see the water down below,
through the branches o' the cyprus, an' tho' it war clost by, thar
'peared to be a clanjamfery o' big roott stickin' out from the bank, as
war like to keep the dirt firm agin the underminin' o' the current--
leastwise for a good spell.

"Soon as I bekum satersfied o' this, I feeled easier; an once more tuk
to thinkin' how I war to get down.  Jess as afore, the thinkin' warn't
to no purpiss.  Thar war no way but to jump it, an' I mout as well ha'
thort o' jumpin' from the top o' a 'piscopy church steeple 'ithout
gettin' squashed.  I gin the thing up in shur despurashun.

"By this time it hed got to be night; an' as thar warn't no use o' my
makin' things wuss than they war, I looked about the cyprus to see ef
thar war any limb softer than another, whar I ked lay my karkiss for a
snoose.

"I found a place in one o' the forks large enuf to lodge a full growd
bar.  Thar I squatted.

"I slep putty well, considerin' thet the scratch the eagle had gin me
had got to be soreish, an' war wuss torst the mornin'.  Beside, I warn't
quite easy in my mind 'bout the cavin' in o' the bank; an' more'n once I
woke wi' a start thinkin' I war being switched into the river.  Nothin'
partickler happened till peep o' day, an' nothin' very partickler then,
'ceptin' that I feeled hungry enuf to eat a raw skunk.  Jess at that
minnit the young baldies war in bad kumpny.  While I war thinkin' o'
climbin' up to the neest an' ringin' one o' thar necks, I chanced to
look out over the river.  All at onest I see one o' them big
water-hawks--_osparay_ they call 'em--plunge down an' rise up agin wi' a
catfish in his claws.  He hadn't got twenty fut above the surface, when
one o' the old baldies--the hen it war--went shootin' torst him like a
streak o' greased lightnin'.  Afore he ked a counted six, I seed the she
baldy comin' torst the tree wi' the catfish in _her_ claws.

"`Good,' sez I to myself, `ef I must make my breakfast on the raw, I'd
rayther it shed be fish than squab eagle.'

"I started for the neest.  This time I tuk the purcaushun to unsheath my
bowie, and carry it in my hand ready for a fight; an' it warnt no idle
purcaushun as it proved, for scace hed I got my head above the edge o'
the neest, when both the ole birds attackted me jess as before.

"The fight war now more evenly atween us; an' the cunnin' critters
appeared to know it, for they kep' well out o' reach o' the bowie,
though floppin' an' clawin' at me whenever they seed a chance.  I gin
the ole hen a prod thet cooled her courage considrable; an' as for the
cock, he warn't a sarcumstance to her, for, as you knows, young feller,
_the cock o' eagles is allers the hen bird_.

"The fish war lyin' in the bottom o' the neest whar the hen had dropped
it.  It hadn't been touched, 'ceptin' by her claws whar she had carried
it; and the young 'uns war too much skeeart durin' the skrimmage to
think o' thar breakfast.

"I spiked the catfish on the blade o' my bowie, an' drawin' it torst me,
I slid back down the tree to the fork whar I had passed the night.  Thar
I ate it."

"Raw?"

"Jess as it kum from the river.  I mout a gin it a sort o' a cookin' ef
I'd liked; for I hed my punk pouch wi' me, an' I ked a got firin' from
the dead bark o' the cyprus.  But I war too hungry to wait, an' I ate it
raw.  The fish war a kupple o' pound weight; an' I left nothin' o' it
but the bones, fins, an' tail.  The guts I gin to the young eagles, for
a purpose I hed jess then.

"As ye may guess, I warn't hungry any longer, but thar kumd upon me a
spell o' the durndest thust I ever sperienced in all my life.  The fish
meat made it wuss, for arter I had swallered it, I feeled as ef my
inside war afire.  It war like a pile o' hickery sticks burnin' in my
belly, an' bleezin' up through my breast and jugglers.  The sun war
shinin' full upon the river, an' the glitterin' o' the water made things
wuss, for it made me hanker arter it, an' crave it all the more.

"Onest or twice I got out o' the fork, thinkin' I ked creep along a limb
an' drop down into the river.  I shed a done so hed it been near enuf,
tho' I knowd I ked niver a swum ashore.  But I seed the water war too
far off an' I hed to gie the idee up an' go back to my den.

"'Twar o' no use chawin' the twigs o' the cyprus.  They war full o'
rozin, an 'ud only make the chokin' worse.  Thar war some green leaves
o' the fox-grape-vine, an I chawed all o' them I ked lay my claws on.
It dud some good; but my sufferins war a'most unbarable.

"How war I to get at the water o' that river, that flowed so tauntinly
jess out o' reach?  That war the queery that nixt occerpied me.

"I 'most jumped off o' the tree when at last I bethort me o' a way; for
I did bethink me o' one.

"I hed a piece o' string I allers carries about me.  'Twar quite long
enuf to reach the river bank, an' let it down into the water.  I ked
empy my powder-horn and let it down.  It wud fill, an' I ked then draw
it up agin.  Hooray!

"I shouted that hooray only onest.  On lookin' for the horn I diskivered
thet I hed left it on the ground, whar I hed tuk it off afore goin' to
sleep under the cyprus.

"I warn't agoin' to be beat in that easy way.  Ef I had no vessel that
wud draw water I hed my ole doeskin shirt.  I ked let that down, soak
it, an' pull it up agin'.

"No sooner sayed than done.  The shirt war peeled off, gathered up into
a clew, tied to the eend o' the string, an' chucked out'ard.

"It struck a branch o' the cyprus, an' fell short.

"I tried agin, an' agin, an' over agin.  The darned thing still fell
short several feet from the bank o' the river.  It warn't any fault o'
the cord.  It war long enuf.  It war the thick branches o' the cyprus
that gin me no chance to make a clur cast.  I tried till I got dead
tired of failin'--till I seed the thing war impossible--an' then I gin
it up.

"I shed a felt dreadful at failin' arter bein' so cock sure o' suckcess;
but jess then I bethut me o' another plan for reachin' that preecious
flooid.  I've tolt ye 'bout my cuttin' a lot o' cane to make me a
shake-down for sleepin' on.  Thar it still war, right under me--a hul
cord o' it.

"The sight o' the long tubes surgested a new idee, which I warn't long
in puttin' to practice.  Takin' the shirt out o' its loop, I made the
string fast to the heft o' my bowie.  I then shot the knife down among
the cane, sendin' it wi' all my might, an' takin' care to keep the peint
o' the blade down'ards.  It warn't long afore I hed spiked up as much o'
thet ere cane as wud a streetched twenty yurds into the river.

"It tuk more time to manafacter the machine I intended makin', which war
a long tube as mout enable me to draw up the water o' the stream.  Thar
war no eend o' whittlin' an' punchin' out the jeints, an' then splicin'
the tubes one to the tother.  But I knowd it war a case o' life or
death; an' knowin' thet, I worked on constant as a ole gin-hoss.

"I war rewarded for my patience.  I got my blow-gun completed, an'
shovin' it carefully out, takin' the percaushun to gie it a double rest
upon the branches, I hed the saterfaction to see its peint dippin' down
into the river.

"My mouth war applied to the other eend, an' oh, golly!  Thar warn't no
mint julep ever sucked through a straw, as tasted like the flooid that
kim gurglin' up through that ere cane.  I thort I ked niver take the
thing from my lips, an' I feel putty sartin thet while I war drinkin',
the Massissippi must a fell a kupple o' feet in the clur."

"Ha! ha! ha!"

"Ye may larf, young fellar, an' I'm glad to see ye in sech good spirits;
but ye ant so elevated as I war.  When I tuk my mouth from the cane, I
feeled all over a new man, jess as ef I hed been raised from the dead,
or dragged out o' a consoomin' fire.

"Wal, strenger, I haint yet got to the eend o' my story--I s'pose you
wish to hear the hul on it?"

"By all means--let me hear the _finale_."

"I don't know what ye mean by the finalley, but I'll gie ye the wind-up
o' the affair; which preehaps are the most kewrious part o' it.

"I lived in the fork of thet ere cyprus for six long days, occasionally
payin' a visit to the eagles' necst, an' robbin' the young baldies o'
the food thar parents hed purvided for them.  Thar diet war various,
consistin' o' fish, flesh, an' fowl, an' o' a konsequence so war mine.
I hed all three for a change; sometimes a rabbit, sometimes a squrrel,
with game to foller, sech as partridge, teal, an' widgeon.  I didn't
cook 'em at all.  I war afraid o' settin' fire to the withered leaves o'
the tree, an' burnin' up the neest--which wud a been like killin' the
goose as laid the eggs o' gold.

"I mout a managed that sort o' existence for a longer spell, tho' I
acknowledge it war tiresome enuf.  But it warn't that as made me anxious
to gie up, but suthin' very diff'rent.  I seed that the young baldies
war every day gettin' bigger.  Thar feathers war comin' out all over an'
I ked tell that it wudn't be long till they'd take wing.

"When that time arrove whar shed I be?  Still in the tree ov coorse; but
whar war my purvision to cum from?  Who wud supply me wi' fish an' flesh
an' fowl, as the eagles had done?  Clurly ne'er a one.  It war this
thort as made me uneezy.  I knew it war not likely I shed ever be
diskivered now, since my ole 'ooman hedn't made her appearance sooner;
an' as to any boat stoppin' for my hail, thet trick I hed tried till I
war a'most broken-winded--leastwise I hed kep' hollerin' every hour day
arter day till my thrapple war as sore as a blister.

"I seed clarly thet I must do suthin' to get down out o' that tree, or
die among its branches, an' I spent all my spare time in thinkin' what
_mout_ be did.  I used to read in Webster's spellin'-book that
`needcessity are the mother o' invenshun.'  I reckon old Web warn't fur
astray when he prented them ere words--anyways it proved true in the
case o' Zeb Stump, at the time he war stuck up in that cyprus.

"I hed noticed thet the two ole eagles bekim tamer and tamer as they got
used to me.  They seed thet I did no harm to thar chicks, 'ceptin' so
far as to abstrack from them a portion o' thar daily allowance; but I
allers took care to leave them sufficient for themselves, an' as thar
parents appeared to hev no diffeequlty in purvidin' them wi' plenty--
unlike many parents in your country, as I've heerd, strenger--my
pilferins didn't seem much to distress them.

"They grew at last thet they'd sit on the one side o' the neest, while I
war peepin' over the other!

"I seed thet I ked easily snare them, an' I made up my mind to do thet
very thing: for a purtickler purpus thet kumm'd into my head, an' which
promised to extercate me out o' the ugly scrape I hed so foolishly got
into.

"Wal, strenger, my idee war this.  I hed noticed thet the eagles war
both big birds, an' strong i' the wing.  Everybody knows thet much.  It
thurfore occurred to me that I mout make them wings do me a sarvice,--
otherways thet they _mout carry me out o' the tree_.

"In coorse I didn't intend they shed take me up i' the air.  There
warn't much danger o' that.  I only thort they mout sarve to break my
fall like one o' them things, _parryshoots_ I b'lieve they call 'em, an'
the which I myself had seed onest in Noo Orleans, sent up into the air
wi' a cat and a coon in it.

"Arter I'd got my plan tol'ably well traced out, I sot about trappin'
the old eagles.

"In less 'n an hour's time I hed both o' 'em in my keepin', wi' thar
beaks spliced to keep 'em from bitin' me, an' thar claws cropped clur
off wi' my bowie.

"I then strengthened the cord I hed used to draw up the canes, by
doublin' it half a dozen times, until it war stout enuf to carry my
weight.  One eend o' it I looped round the legs o' the eagles, gatherin'
all four into a bunch, whilst the other eend I made fast around my own
karkiss, jess under the armpits.

"I did all this upon the lowest limb o' the cyprus, whar I had fetched
down the eagles.

"When all war ready, I drew my bowie from its sheath, and with its sharp
peint I pricked both the baldies at the same time, so as to set them
a-floppin.  As soon as I seed thar four wings in full play, I slid off
o' the branch, directin' myself torst the groun' underneath.

"I ant very sartin as to what follered.  I only recollex bein' dragged
through the branches o' the cyprus, an' the minnit arter plungin'
_cochuck_ into the waters o' the Massissippi.  I shed most sartinly a
been drowned ef that ere cord had broken, or the eagles had got loose.
As it war, the birds kep' beatin' the water wi' thar big wings, and in
thet way hindered Zeb Stump from goin' under.

"I've heerd o' a woman they called Veenis bein' drawed through the sea
by a kupple o' swans; but I don't b'lieve they kud a drawed her at a
quicker rate o' speed than I war carried over the buzum o' the
Massissippi.  In less than five minnits from the time I hed dropped out
o' the tree, I seed myself in the middle o' the river and still
scufflin' on.  I seed that the baldies war boun' for the Arkansaw shore,
an' knowin' that my life depended on thar reachin' it, I offered no
opposition to thar efforts, but lay still an' allowed them to continue
thar career.

"As good luck wud hev it, they had strength enuf left to complete the
crossin'; an' thar war another bit o' good luck in the Arkansaw bank
bein' on a level wi' the surface o' the water; so that in five minnits
arter, I foun' myself among the bushes, the baldies still flutterin'
about me, as ef determined to carry me on over the great parairas o' the
West.

"I feeled that it war time to stop the steam, an' take in sail; so
clutchin' holt o' a branch, I brought the baldies to anchor.  I war all
out o' breath, and it war some time afore I ked rekiver my legs, and
release myself from my feathered kumpanyuns.  I tuk good care not to let
them go; though sartintly I owed them thet much for the sarvice they had
done me, but jess then I bethort me o' the Britisher at Grand Gulf--ah!
you it war, ye say, young feller?"

"Certainly.  And those are the eagles I purchased from Mrs Stump?"

"Them same birds, strenger.  You shed a hed the young 'uns, but thar
warn't no chance ever ag'in to clomb thet cyprus, an' what bekim o' the
poor critters arterward, I haint the most distant idee.  I reckin they
ended thar days in the neest, which ye still see up thar; an' ef they
did, I reckin the buzzarts wudn't be long in makin' a meal o' 'em."

With my eyes directed to the top of the tall cypress, and fixed upon a
dark mass, resembling a stack of faggots, I listened to the concluding
words of this queer chapter of "Backwoods Adventure."

Story 7.

THE BLACK JAGUAR--AN ADVENTURE ON THE AMAZON.

It has been a contested point among naturalists, whether the black
jaguar of America is merely a variety of the _felis onca_, or a distinct
species.  The best informed writers regard it in the former light; and,
so far as my observation has extended, I can perceive no essential
difference between the two varieties, either in size, shape, or habits.
They appear to be distinguished by colour alone.

Every one knows the colour of the common jaguar--a glossy yellowish
ground, turning paler, almost whitish, under the belly and throat, and
mottled all over by what appear to be jet black spots, but which, on
closer inspection, turn out to be irregular rings, each with a black
blotch in the centre, forming a species of marking which may very
properly be termed a rosette.  It is this central spot of the ring that
chiefly distinguishes the markings of the jaguar from those of the
leopard and panther of the Old World--these having the ring, but not the
dab in the centre.

Among the _felidae_, of the second class, as regards size--that is,
those next in size to the lion and tiger--there are five spotted
species, quite distinct from one another, although they are usually
spoken of under the common appellation of panthers or leopards.  Four of
these belong to the Old World--the true leopard, panther, the cheetah,
or hunting leopard, and the ounce.  The first two are very much alike,
and can be distinguished from one another only by the skilled zoologist.
The leopard is an inhabitant of the warmer countries of both Asia and
Africa, while, as far as I can ascertain, the panther is found only in
Southern Asia and the great Indian islands.  The cheetah, easily
identified by its shape as well as markings, its black spots being
without the rings, is distributed over a vast range, comprising the
whole continent of Africa, with a large portion of that of Asia.

The fourth of the great spotted cats of the Old World is the least
known.  Buffon procured a single skin, and gave to the animal the
appellation of the "ounce;" but his description is worthless, and his
knowledge is confined to the expression of a belief that it came from
some eastern country--perhaps Persia.  Since the time of the French
naturalist the "ounce" has been a mystery; and although stuffed skins
may be seen in many museums, no one appears to know whence they have
been procured, or anything of the habits of the animal from which they
have been stripped.  But this uncertainty need continue no longer.
Beyond doubt, the ounce of Buffon is the white leopard of the Himalayas,
of late years often met with by Anglo-Indian hunters amongst the highest
summits of those mountains, and rarely descending far below the line of
the snow.

The jaguar, though often confounded with the leopard and panther of the
Old World, is an entirely distinct animal, exclusively confined to
America, and found there only in countries of a tropical or sub-tropical
character.  It is in the hottest tropical regions where this creature
attains to its greatest perfection, in the size and strength if its
body, and the fierceness of its disposition.

Buffon, who had a keen antipathy to everything American, describes the
jaguar as an innocuous creature of inferior dimensions; but indeed this
writer, whom the French love to designate as "a great naturalist," was
little else than a verbose compiler, and his knowledge of natural
history would scarcely exceed that of many a schoolboy of the present
day.

Humboldt more correctly characterises the jaguars, when he states that
he has seen specimens which, in point of size, equal the royal tiger of
India; and another distinguished naturalist, Von Tschudi, has given the
measurements of one, made by himself on the spot where it was killed, in
one of the Peruvian valleys, and which goes far towards confirming the
statements of the great scientific traveller.

I have never myself met with a specimen of the jaguar equalling the
tiger of India in size, but more than one have I seen as large as the
tigress; and I believe the true state of the case to be this:--The
largest jaguars are about equal in size to the smallest tigers.

As regards fierceness of disposition, and the danger to be apprehended
from an encounter with them, they are indeed the rivals of either the
tiger or lion of the Old World; and the disbelief in this, often
expressed by flippant writers who have never set foot in a South
American forest, is simply an impertinent absurdity.  Hundreds of human
beings dwelling upon the banks of the Amazon, the Oronoco, the
Magdalena, and other large tropical rivers, have fallen victims to the
savage instincts of these carnivorous creatures; and, in the eastern
Andes of Peru, it is well known that more than one village has been
abandoned by its inhabitants, for no other reason than to avoid the
danger of being devoured by the jaguars, which like the tigers of India,
instead of diminishing in numbers, usually increase by the proximity of
a settlement.

It is probable that there are several varieties of the jaguar, perhaps
species, distinct from one another, as the leopards of the Old World are
from the panthers.

But the black jaguar does not appear anything more than an accidental
circumstance in the colouring, just as the "black panther of Java"--also
found in Bengal--is but a darker variety of the panther itself.

And yet, taking the testimony of the native inhabitants of South
America--Indians, Portuguese, and Spaniards--there would seem to exist
something more than a mere accidental difference.  All agree in stating
that the black jaguar is fiercer, larger, and more powerful than the
fulvous kind.

Perhaps fancy may have something to do in the formation of this opinion.
The former is not only far less numerous than the latter, but in most
parts it is a scarce and rarely seen animal.  Its habits, therefore,
have been less observed.  Fancy ever delights to attribute rare and
wonderful qualities to that which is but little known.  This may account
for the peculiarities described as belonging to the black jaguar.

The nomenclature of the natives shows that, notwithstanding the
difference of colour, they in reality regard these animals as being of
one and the same species.  "Tiger" and "black tiger," are their
respective appellations in Spanish America, while the Indians of the
Lower Andes know both as the "chinca," but distinguish them by the terms
"yana chinca," and "chaque chinca," that is black and spotted "chincas."
Also in the "Lingoa Geral" they are respectively termed "jauarite" and
"jauarite pixuna."  This marking of the relationship between two animals
by the natives of a country where these animals are found, is pretty
generally a safe guide to the naturalist; more particularly in a country
of savage hunters, whose whole lives are spent in the pursuit and
consequent observation of these creatures.

We may assume, therefore, that the black jaguar is no more than an
accidental variety of the species.  In fact, if you suppose the yellow
or ground colour of the spotted kind to be deepened to a maroon brown,
you will have the black jaguar itself; for the latter is not black, as
its name would imply, but of a dark chocolate colour.  The ocellae or
rosettes are thickly studded over its body just as upon the fulvous
kinds, and these marks, although not visible to the superficial
observer, can easily be distinguished when the animal stands in a
certain light.

An incident which occurred to me some years ago, in which a black jaguar
played a prominent part, proved that this creature, whether or not it be
different in species from its yellow congeners, is at least their equal
in boldness and ferocity of disposition.

I had gone up the Amazon to the Brazilian settlement of Barra, at the
mouth of the Rio Negro; and having accomplished the mission of my visit
to that curious locality, I was desirous of returning again to Gran
Para.  There was no way of getting back but by taking passage on one of
the trading vessels of the river; and on one of those which chanced to
be going down to Para, I embarked.

The craft was one peculiar to the Lower Amazon, and known as an
"Igarite."  It had one mast amidships, with a lug sail, and was
flat-bottomed, without keel.  The cabin was nothing more than a
"toldo"--an arched roof, thatched with leaves of the _bossu_ palm, and
covering all the afterpart of the vessel, except a small space for the
steersman.  A similar toldo was constructed over the forward half of the
igarite, where much of the cargo was stowed; but as this consisted
entirely of _manteiga_ (turtle oil), carried in large earthern _botijas_
of Indian manufacture, the weather could not injure it; and every
available space was crowded with the jars.  Just enough room was left
for four oarsmen, the captain of the craft (Joao, by name), and myself.

I have been thus particular in describing the igarite and its crew, as
it has something to do with the adventure I am about to relate.

About half way between Barra and the island of Marajo, we had got into a
somewhat narrow channel between two islets.  The wind was blowing
up-stream, and was therefore against us; but as there was a fair
current, we were making a headway of about two or three miles an hour.
It was about mid day, and the sun over our heads was so intensely hot,
that the captain had ordered the "tapinos" to desist from rowing.

The sail was down, and the igarite floated with the current.  The crew,
sheltering their heads under the roof of the forward toldo, soon fell
asleep; and I myself in the after cabin, was nearly in a similar
condition.  Joao, acting in the double capacity of captain and
steersman, alone kept awake.

I had been lying for a considerable time without hearing any other sound
than the rippling of the water against the sides of the igarite.
Indeed, at that hour of the day it is always more silent than at any
other time.  Notwithstanding the abundance of animal life in the
tropical parts of South America, the traveller will see or hear but
little signs of it during the hours of noon.  The animals all go to
sleep.  Even the howling monkeys take their siesta, and the preying
ounce, and other fierce creatures, overcome by the heat, seem to give
their victims a respite.  The beautiful snow-white bell-bird is at this
hour the only creature that cheers the solitude of the forest with its
metallic monologue.

From my state of half-slumber I was awakened by the voice of Joao,
which, in a sort of half-whisper, was heard repeating,--

"Senhor! senhor!"

I looked up; Joao's face was peeping in through an opening in the back
of the toldo.  There was an expression upon it that told me something
was in the wind.

"Well, Joao, what is it?"  I inquired.

"Is your gun loaded, senhor?"

"Yes," I said, reaching forward and taking my double-barrelled piece
from its rest--"what is it?"

"There's a queer-looking creature ahead--may be a tapin or a jacare
(crocodile); I can't make it out--come and see, senhor."

I crept forward to the entrance of the toldo, and looked in the
direction pointed out by the captain, that is, down stream, and nearly
ahead of our course.

There was a point of the island that jutted slightly into the water, and
against this point a small raft had formed, consisting of dead logs,
branches, and river wreck.

The raft was not extensive, nor did it appear to be very firmly attached
to the bank; but the logs themselves were tree-trunks of the largest
size, and evidently of some light wood, as they floated high above the
surface of the water.

On the top of one of them--that nearest the water's edge--a dark object
was visible.  It was plainly the body of some animal, but what sort it
was, I could not tell, nor could Joao, as it lay stretched along the
log.

There was a back, and shoulders, and a neck, head, and legs, too, that
appeared to be grasping the trunk on which the animal lay extended.  It
could not be a piece of dark wood, nor yet a _jacare_.  The outlines of
the alligator I should have known at a glance.

"A tapin," thought I, as Joao had at first suggested; but no, it could
not be.  Its odd position on the floating log contradicted the
supposition of its being a tapin.  A capivara! not that either; and none
of the species of black monkeys would have lodged themselves so
singularly.  Besides, it was larger than any of the monkey tribe of
these parts.

I thought over every animal that I knew to inhabit the regions of the
Amazon.  I never once thought of its being a jaguar.  Of course the
yellow-spotted skin of this monarch of the American forest, I, as well
as Joao, would have recognised at a glance.

Both of us gazing and guessing--the tapino still slept--Joao had for the
moment forgotten his office of steersman, and we perceived that the
igarite was drifting right on to the raft.

The pilot instantly seized the stern oar, and with a strong pull, headed
the vessel so as to clear the timber.

We were now nearly opposite, and I at length procured a fair view of the
creature that had been puzzling us.  What was my astonishment--
consternation, I may say--on discovering its true character?  Instead of
being a harmless tapin, or cavy, as we had been guessing, it was no
other than the dreaded _janarit pixuna_--the _black jaguar of the
Amazon_.

My first thoughts were about my gun, which I held in my hand.  A look at
the weapon, and I saw that both barrels were empty!

I now remembered having drawn the charges that morning, for the purpose
of wiping the barrels, and I had neglected to reload.  It would be too
late to do so now.  A cold fear crept over me.  Except some dull
cutlasses for cutting brush, there was not another weapon on board.  We
were literally defenceless.

My gaze returned to the jaguar.  He was asleep!  His maroon-coloured
body, almost as large as that of an Indian tiger, lay stretched along
the raft, glistening in the sun--beautiful, but fearful to behold,
especially from our point of view.  The remains of a large fish, half
devoured, lay close by.  No doubt he had caught it, satisfied his
hunger, and, yielding to the heat of the noon-day sun, had gone to
sleep.

These were after thoughts of mine.  I was in no humour for reflections
at the time.  I only noticed, and with some satisfaction, that the
fierce creature slept.

Not a word had as yet passed between myself and Joao--a sign only--and
that was mutually, to enjoin silence.  The captain saw that my gun was
empty, and knew as well as I did the danger we had to dread.  He knew
well that should the jaguar awake, its first act might be to spring upon
the igarite and attack us.

It was no groundless fear--such things had happened before--ay, even out
into the mid-river, the jaguar had been known to swim, attack the
passing canoe, and drag its occupant overboard!  This, too, in the case
of a jaguar of the ordinary size and sort--but a _black jaguar_, one of
monstrous dimensions!

Joao knew the danger.  He stood like a statue firmly grasping the handle
of his oar.

A few seconds only elapsed until the igarite was opposite the raft,
almost touching it.  Now was the critical moment.

The tapinos still slept.  Would they awake?

I cast a hurried glance at them.  They lay like bronze images in the
bottom of the boat in different attitudes; I could hear their breathing.
Mine and Joao's could not have been heard--we scarcely breathed.

A word--a motion and we are lost!  There is neither.

We glide gently on; the dreaded sleeper hears us not.  How close!--I
could almost touch its glossy hide with the muzzle of my gun!  Softly,
softly.  Ha!

"See!" whispered Joao, "see, master! the raft comes away--it follows
us--_Santissima_!"

I saw it as soon as Joao, but could scarcely believe my eyes.  The part
of the raft upon which lay the jaguar, had become detached--no doubt by
the swell caused by the passage of the igarite, and was now drifting
down the current.  It had parted so silently that not a crackle had been
made among the logs, and the sleeper was not disturbed.  The animal lay
upon the floating mass perfectly unconscious of the change in its
position; and yet it was difficult to believe that its fierce nature
could be stilled into such a profound slumber.

It was not likely it would long continue in this unconscious condition,
and as the log on which it lay was carried by the current in the same
direction as ourselves, and at the like rate of speed, the distance
between it and us, and consequently our danger continued the same as
ever.

Awaking at any moment, it might have sprung right into the igarite,
where it would have had us completely at its mercy.

It is not necessary to detail the terrible emotions that passed through
the mind of Joao and myself, while under the convoy of that dread
_compagnon du voyage_.  The tapinos, still asleep, were spared them, and
no doubt, I myself would have felt them more keenly had I not been
occupied in the loading of my gun.

In this, also, Joao assisted me, and the process was as gentle and
silent as if the gun had been glass, and we were afraid of breaking it.

Fortunately we had succeeded in getting both barrels charged before the
event, which we had been momentarily expecting, came to pass--the
awakening of the jaguar.

It did come to pass, not from any noise proceeding from the igarite, for
there had been none, but by a disturbance in the water, close to the log
on which the sleeper was extended.

It was a porpoise that caused this disturbance, rising to the surface to
blow.

The jaguar started to its feet, causing the log to wriggle unsteadily as
it stood up.  For a moment, even its fierce nature seemed to undergo a
shock of surprise, at the odd situation in which it so unexpectedly
perceived itself to be.

In a short moment, however, its surprise gave place to the fiercest
fury, seeing human forms so near it, and no doubt believing us the cause
of its involuntary voyage.  Uttering its wild cat-like screams, and
lashing its long tail against its flanks, it cowered along the log,
gathering its four feet together, evidently with the intention of
launching itself towards the igarite.

As it couched to make the spring, with its horrid round head flattened
against the trunk of the tree, it could not have offered a fairer aim,
and knowing it would not long continue in this attitude, I lost not an
instant in taking aim.  I fired two bullets in as quick succession as I
could pull the two triggers, and fortunately, with fatal effect, for on
the smoke drifting aside, we had the satisfaction to see no jaguar, but
the trunk of a tree bobbing about in the midst of a disc of
blood-stained water.

The beast had gone dead to the bottom, and the tapinos, who sprang up in
affright from their recumbent attitudes, had only this evidence with the
words of Joao and myself, of the danger from which they had so
unconsciously escaped.

THE END.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Guerilla Chief - And other Tales" ***

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