A BRAVE RESOLVE.
On leaving Carmen, Pedrito felt a recollection of his sister aroused in his mind, and in order to warn Don Valentine Cardoso of the invasion of the Indians, he started at a gallop for the estancia, which, thanks to the speed of the fresh horse the governor had given him, he reached without a check. All was quiet at San Julian, and the sentry watching in the mirador had perceived nothing alarming in the distance.
Patito, in the capitaz' absence, was on guard at the battery, like a faithful watchdog.
"Where is Don Blas?" the bombero asked.
"At Carmen, with Don Sylvio d'Arenal," the gaucho answered.
"What, have they not returned yet?"
"No."
"Lead me to Don Valentine."
The estanciero heartily welcomed the bombero, and sent for his sister, who arrived with Doña Concha.
"What brings you here in such a hurry, Pedrito?"
"A very serious matter, Don Valentine," he answered, after embracing Mercedes several times; "but only look, Excellency, how pretty she is in her new dress! Kiss me again, little sister."
"Have you only come to devour the girl with caresses?" Don Valentine asked with a smile; "If so, go on to your heart's content."
"That is almost enough," Pedrito replied, his eyes filled with tears. "Alas! Our family is diminishing daily. Still," he added, changing his accent, "however great the love I bear my sister, it is not for her sake alone that I am here. But stay, Excellency, that is not true; it is for her sake, her sake alone, though apparently for yours. I have just come from Carmen."
"From Carmen?" Doña Concha said, involuntarily.
"Yes, señorita," the bombero answered, as if reading the young lady's secret thoughts, "and I saw Don Sylvio d'Arenal there."
Doña Concha turned red as a cherry, and was silent.
"And what have you been doing in Carmen?" Don Valentine asked.
"I went to warn his Excellency Colonel Don Antonio Valverde, that the Indians have entered the country of the Republic, plundering and burning everything on their road."
"An invasion!" Don Valentine said, with an internal tremor.
"O heavens!" the two girls exclaimed, clasping their hands with a movement of terror.
"Yes, Excellency, an inconceivable and terrible invasion. When I had warned the governor, I remembered my sister, and came here."
"You are a worthy fellow, Pedrito," the estanciero said, as he offered him his hand. "You are not a brother to Mercedes, but a father. But do not be frightened! the estancia is safer than Carmen."
"I saw that so soon as I arrived, Excellency, and that removed a heavy weight which oppressed my heart. I shall now go, with almost gladness, to join my two brothers. Juan died on the field—the same fate awaits us. But Mercedes is happy, and I can die in peace."
"Oh, my kind Pedrito," Mercedes exclaimed, as she burst into tears, and threw herself into his arms; "must you not live for one who loves you?"
"Come, do not cry, little girl, but say good-bye; I must return to the plain."
He tenderly embraced his sister who was still weeping, left the room, mounted his horse again, and started at a gallop.
"Father," Doña Concha said eagerly, "are we going to remain at the estancia during the invasion of the Indians?"
"My child, it is the safest plan." "But, Don Sylvio?" she added, with a delicious pout.
"He will come and join us."
"Oh, no," she said hurriedly; "you forget, father, that the roads are impracticable, and infested with Indians; I do not wish him to fall into an ambuscade of the Pagans."
"What is to be done?"
"Send him a messenger ordering him, from me, to remain at Carmen, or, if he absolutely insists on returning, to take a boat; the Indians will not dare attack him on the river. Write to him, father; I will add a few lines to your letter, and he will not like to displease his wife."
"His wife?" her father repeated with a smile.
"Or nearly so, as I am going to marry him in two days. You will write at once, will you not, dear father?"
"I have no will but your caprices," he added, with an air of resignation.
He sat down at a mahogany desk and wrote; Concha, leaning smilingly over his chair, read over his shoulder. So soon as Don Valentine had concluded, he turned to his beloved daughter.
"Well, are you satisfied, little Mrs. Bluebeard?" he asked her.
"Oh, my kind father," she replied, taking his head in both her hands, and kissing him on the forehead. Then, with a movement full of loving grace, she took the pen from her father's fingers, and was writing a few lines at the foot of the letter, when a great noise, mingled with shrieks, was heard outside.
"O Heavens!" she exclaimed, as if struck to the heart, and turning deadly pale.
She rushed to the steps, and perceived Patito and Pedrito, carrying a man wrapped up in a cloak; other persons were collected round Doña Salazar, who seemed on the point of fainting.
"Whose is that body?" Doña Concha asked in a sharp, imperative voice.
"It is my son's!" the heart-broken mother cried.
"Don Blas Salazar," Pedrito answered.
"And Don Sylvio?" the maiden continued,
"Has disappeared," Pedrito said.
She fell back, half dead; her father caught her in his arms, and carried her back to the drawing room.
This is what had happened. Pedrito, when he had got a short distance from the estancia, was all but unsaddled, by his horse suddenly shying. Aroused from his reverie by the animal's terror, the horseman looked around, to discover the cause of it. Judge of his surprise! At a spot which appeared to have been the scene of a desperate struggle, the damp earth retained the marks of several horses' hoofs; weapons had been thrown away there, and seven corpses lay pell-mell in pools of blood and muddy water.
"What!" Pedrito thought, "Have the Indians come this way already?" and he added, "Why is it they have not stripped their victims?"
He dismounted, and walked to the bodies, which he examined attentively, and felt and raised one after the other.
"Something that is not natural has taken place here," the bombero said; "two Negroes! Oh! he said, on coming to the gauchos, Who are these men wearing masks? Oh! Oh! Has it been a crime instead of an ambuscade, and a bit of Spanish vengeance, instead of an Indian attack? I will have a look at them."
He tore from the faces of the four gauchos the strips of wool they had employed to conceal themselves.
"On my word, I do not know them; who can these scoundrels be?"
At the same moment, his eyes rested on another corpse, hidden by a thickly growing bush, beneath which it lay stretched out.
"This man is not dressed in the same manner, so he must be one of the caballeros attacked by these villains; I will have a look at him, and perhaps he will give me the clue to this adventure."
He uttered a cry on recognizing Don Blas Salazar, the capataz of the Estancia de San Julian. He bent over him, raised him softly in his arms, and deposited him gently in the road, with his back leaning against a rock.
"Poor capataz! So brave and kind! But if I am not mistaken, I can feel a little warmth. ¡Viva Dios! I should be glad if he was not dead."
The bombero then opened his clothes, and saw three insignificant wounds on his chest; he hastened to bandage them carefully, and found that the flesh was scarcely cut. Pedrito rubbed his hands with a satisfied air, until he discovered on the skull a fourth wound, on which the hair had clotted and stopped the flow of blood. He washed the wound, cut away the hair round it with his knife, saturated a handkerchief with water, and bound it tightly over the wound. The capataz gave a faint sigh, and moved slightly.
"¡Caray!" Pedrito exclaimed in delight, "He is saved; wounds on the skull, when they do not kill at once, are cured in a week."
By degrees the wounded man seemed to return to life, and at length opened his eyes, which gazed absently around.
"Ah, my good fellow, do you feel better? caray, do you know that you have had a narrow escape?"
The capataz gave a gentle nod.
"Wait a minute," Pedrito continued; and he thrust into his mouth the neck of the bota of aguardiente, which the bomberos always carry on their saddlebow. Don Blas made a grimace, but soon resigning himself, he drank the liquor his physician forced down his throat; in a few minutes, his eyes sparkled with their accustomed brilliancy, and a slight flush tinged his cheeks.
"Thanks," he said, thrusting away the bota with his hand.
"You speak, therefore you are alive, capataz. Can you talk?"
"Yes."
"Without danger to yourself, señor?"
"Yes."
"In the first place, do you recognize me?"
"You are Pedrito, the bombero," the wounded man said, with a smile.
"I am a friend."
"Yes."
"Who put you in this charming condition?"
"I do not know."
"Hum! How many were they?"
"I am ignorant."
"Eh! And why did they serve you out in this way?"
"I do not know."
"I do not know; I am ignorant; all that is not very clear; and if you never say any more, I doubt whether the assassins will be detected. Where have you come from? From Carmen?"
"We left Carmen this morning, to—"
"One moment, if you please. You said we, I think?"
"Yes, we."
"Who are we?"
"Don Sylvio d'Arenal, myself, and two Negroes."
"Good. Where did you separate from Don Sylvio?"
"I did not leave Don Sylvio at all."
"Oh, nonsense!"
"We were together, when masked bandits suddenly came out of this wood, and attacked us. Our Negroes were killed at the first discharge, but Don Sylvio and I got our backs against a tree behind our horses; I fought—and I can tell you no more."
"This blow on the head settled you; it was, by Heaven, enough to fell an ox; but you have a hard head, and lucky for you, for you will recover. So you were unable to recognize your assassins?"
"Yes."
"Just come and have a look at them with me. Can you walk?"
"I think so."
"Try."
And Don Blas Salazar got up, and tottered a few steps with extreme difficulty.
"Take my arm," Pedrito said.
The capataz, supported by the bombero, examined the faces of the gauchos.
"I recognize this man," he said, pointing to a corpse; "it is Corrocho. Now I know the originator of the snare."
"¡Caray! All the better; but Don Sylvio's body is not here."
"Heaven be praised!" the capataz exclaimed,
"He will have escaped, and we shall find him at the estancia."
"No!" Pedrito said.
"What do you mean by no?"
"I have just come from there, and should have seen him."
"Where is he?"
"That's the very point; I may say, like you, I do not know, or, if you prefer it, I am ignorant."
"Don Pedro, let us go to San Julian."
"I will carry you, then, at a walking pace; your head has not closed again yet, and a rapid ride would envenom the wound."
"No matter; I must go there with the speed of the wind."
"Then you want to kill yourself?"
"I do not care. I think you love Don Valentine Cardoso and his daughter."
"Caray! If I love them! I would lay down my life for them."
"The happiness, perhaps the life, of Doña Concha is at stake; you can see that mine is of no consequence."
"That is true," the bombero said, with an air of conviction.
"Then you consent?"
"I do."
"Thank you! One word more. If I die on the road, you will tell Doña Concha that the assassin—"
"That the assassin—" Pedrito repeated, finding the other hesitate.
"But, no," the capataz continued, "it is unnecessary. God will not permit me to die before I have seen her."
"As you please. Let us be off."
"At full speed; you promise that?"
"Like lightning."
He remounted, placed before him the capataz, who had no horse, and who, besides, was too weak to sit one, then relaxing the bridle, and digging in his spurs, he flew along with the velocity of the phantom horse in the German ballad.
Pedrito's horse, when it reached the gates of the estancia, slipped with all four feet at once, and fell dead. But the bombero, who had foreseen this accident, came down on his feet, and holding in his arms his friend the capataz, whom the shocks of this infernal ride had caused to faint for the second time.
Patito helped the bombero to carry poor Don Blas as far as the house.
Doña Concha, who had regained her senses, insisted, in spite of her father's entreaties, on remaining by the side of the wounded man. She lavished attentions on him, poured into his month a few drops of a powerful cordial, and awaited his return to life.
"Forgive me, señorita, forgive me," he said, as soon as he opened his eyes again and perceived her, "I could not save him; my strength deserted me."
"I have nothing to forgive you, Don Blas," the young lady answered, who had learnt the facts from Pedrito; "on the contrary, my friend, I thank you for your devotion. One word, however, when you fell was Don Sylvio still fighting by your side?"
"Yes, señorita."
"Then it was only after your fall that he succumbed to the numbers?"
"No; Don Sylvio is not dead."
"What makes you suppose that?"
"A very simple thing: had he been killed, his body would have been found lying by my side. What interest could the assassins have in concealing a corpse, when they left seven lying in the middle of the road? If they wished to hide their crimes, a hole is soon dug in the sand."
"That is true," Doña Concha murmured, "he still lives; but do you know the author of the crime?"
"Yes, señorita."
"And—"
The capataz looked at the persons who crowded the room. Doña Concha understood him, and dismissed them. Pedrito was about to follow with the rest.
"Remain," she said to him, "you can speak before Don Pedro, his sister, and my father. Who is the man that attacked you?"
"Permit me, señorita, I do not positively say that he was among the assassins, for I did not see him; but it is certainly he who let the cowards loose upon us, and directed them from a distance."
"Yes, Don Blas; he was the head, and these ten or twelve bandits were only the arms."
"The very thing. Among the dead I found the corpse of one of his confidants, the gaucho Corrocho, whom I surprised the other day conspiring with him against you."
A bitter smile for a moment curled the young lady's blanched lips.
"Will you tell me his name or no?" she exclaimed, stamping her foot passionately.
"Don Torribio Carvajal!"
"I knew it!" she said, with an accent of superb disdain. "Oh, Don Torribio, Don Torribio! Where is the man to be found at this hour; where is he? Oh, I would give my fortune, my life, to be face to face with him. Is it in order to assassinate his rivals with impunity that this mysterious man—"
She could not complete the sentence; she burst into tears, and fell into Don Valentine's arms, exclaiming with broken sobs—
"Father, father! who will avenge me?"
"Señorita," said Pedrito, "the man you refer to is difficult to reach."
"Do you know him, Don Pedro?" she asked with a start.
"Yes, señorita," he replied. "But do you know who he is?"
"He is said to be a rich Spaniard."
"It is a mistake."
"Have you penetrated the mystery that surrounds him?"
"Yes."
All drew close to Pedrito.
"Well, Don Pedro?"
"The name of the man you call Don Torribio Carvajal is really Nocobotha, and he is one of the principal chiefs of the Aucas Indians."
"An Indian!" the young lady exclaimed in stupor.
"Yes; but one of those white-skinned Indians, who are descended from the Incas, and call themselves children of the sun."
"Take care, Conchita," Mercedes said, "Nocobotha is a terrible man."
"Then, all that is left me is to die," said the poor affianced, girl, as she fell into a chair.
Mercedes regarded her for a moment with a blended look of sorrow, compassion, and tenderness, then walked up to her and gently laid her hand on her shoulder. At this unexpected touch, Doña Concha started and turned round.
"What do you want of me, poor child?" she asked sadly.
"To save Don Sylvio, if he is alive," Mercedes answered in a calm, firm voice.
"You?"
"Yes, I! When I was shelterless, did you not open to me your home and your heart? You are suffering, and, in my turn, I have come to say 'here I am!'"
"But what can you do, my friend?"
"That is my secret. I know the Indians and the way of behaving with them, and speak their language. The only condition I make is, that you promise not to leave the estancia for three days, and not make any attempt to discover what has become of your betrothed."
Doña Concha gazed at Mercedes, whose eye sparkled with a clear and bright fire, her features breathed a species of masculine grace, and so soft and calm a smile played round her rosy lips, that Conchita felt herself subjugated, and, in spite of herself, hope re-entered her heart.
"I swear it to you," she said, as she embraced the girl warmly.
"Thanks," Mercedes replied. "Good-bye, Conchita! in three days you will have news of your betrothed, or I shall be dead."