PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE.
All the time Don Fernando was telling his story, El Zapote had assumed the nonchalant attitude of a man perfectly satisfied with himself; nodding his head affirmatively at certain passages, and smiling at others with an air of modest gratification. When the former ceased speaking, he thought it time to put in his word also.
"You see, señores, I made no objection whatever to following this estimable caballero; which means to say, that I am ready to obey all commands you may please to lay on me."
"Here is a compliment," said Don Fernando, with a malicious smile, "which would evidently have been addressed to others, but for the surprise of yesterday!"
"Oh, fie, caballero!" retorted the vaquero, assuming a look of indignant denial.
"But," continued Stoneheart, "I will not vex you on that score; your secret feelings towards me affect me in nowise. I thought I had given you ample proof a long while ago how little I dread you in any way. I will content myself with remarking, that, more generous than you, I have several times held your life in my hands, and never abused the power."
"On that account I am deeply grateful to you, señor."
"Pooh, pooh, Señor Zapote!" replied Stoneheart, shrugging his shoulders; "You have quite mistaken your man. I have no more belief in your gratitude than in your good feelings towards me, and I have only refreshed your memory in this respect to induce you to reflect that, if I have hitherto condescended to pardon you, the amount of courtesy I could afford to expend on you is at length exhausted, and on the next occasion matters will end very differently between us."
"I perfectly understand your meaning, señor; but, please God, such an occasion, I am quite sure, will never present itself. I repeat, once for all, that I have given you my word, and, you know, an honest man sticks—"
"No more!" broke in Stoneheart. "I wish it may be so, for your own sake. However that may be, listen attentively."
"I am all ears, señor; I will not lose a word."
"Although I am still young, Señor Tonillo, I know one important truth not very creditable to humanity. If one wishes to attract a man, and insure his fidelity, one must not attempt to act upon his virtues, but make sure of him through his vices. You are more richly endowed with these last than most men I know."
The vaquero made a modest bow in acknowledgment of the compliment. "Señor," he said, "you cover me with confusion; such praise—"
"Is richly deserved," continued Stoneheart. "I have seen few men in possession of such a formidable assortment of vices as you, my friend. Yours are so many, that I was at a loss which to select. But among these vices are a few more prominent than the rest: for instance, your avarice has acquired a prodigious development; I am going to appeal to your avarice."
The vaquero's eyes sparkled with greed. "What do you want me to do?" said he.
"First, let me tell you what I will give you; after that, I will explain what I require."
The leering, cunning face of the bandit instantly grew serious; and, leaning his elbows on his knees, he stretched out his head to listen to Stoneheart's words.
"You know I am rich, and can have no doubt that I am able to fulfil any engagement with you into which I may enter. However, to save time, and deprive you of any pretext to betray me, I will immediately place in your hands three diamonds, each worth two thousand five hundred piastres You are so well acquainted with precious stones, that a single glance will convince you of their value. These diamonds are yours. I make you a present of them. Nevertheless, if you prefer it, I engage to pay you what they are worth; that is to say, to forward seven thousand five hundred piastres on your first demand, after our return to San Lucar, in exchange for the jewels."
"And you have got the diamonds about you?" said the vaquero, in a voice half stifled with emotion.
"Here they are!" replied Stoneheart, drawing from his bosom a small deerskin bag, and taking out three good-sized jewels, which he placed in the vaquero's hands.
The latter clutched them with a glee he did not attempt to conceal, looked at them for a moment with eyes sparkling with triumph, and hid them carefully in his bosom.
"Wait a moment!" said Stoneheart, with a curious smile; "I have not yet told you the conditions."
"Whatever they may be, I accept them, señor. ¡Caspita! seven thousand five hundred piastres! It is a fortune to a poor devil like me! No navajada will ever bring me in as much, however well they pay me!"
"Then you want no time for consideration?"
"¡Canarios! I should think not! Whom am I to kill?"
"No one," briefly answered Stoneheart. "Listen to me: all you have to do is to lead me to the place where the Tigercat has taken refuge."
The vaquero shook his head discontentedly at this proposal. "I cannot do it, caballero. By all my hopes hereafter, it is impossible!"
"Very well," said Stoneheart. "I forgot to mention another little thing."
"What is it, señor?" asked the vaquero, in great trouble at the turn the conversation was taking.
"A very trifling matter. If you do not accept my proposal, I will instantly blow out your brains."
El Zapote examined the speaker's face most carefully; with a rascal's intuitive perception, he felt that the time for pleasantry was over, and matters were threatening to become serious. "At least give me leave to explain, señor," said he.
"I ask no better," said Stoneheart coldly. "I am in no hurry."
"I cannot lead you to the Tigercat's hiding place—I swear so; but I can direct you to it, and tell you its name."
"That is something. Go on; we have already made some progress. I see we shall come to an understanding. I am in despair at finding myself obliged to use extreme measures; it is so disagreeable."
"Unhappily, señor, I have told you all. This is what happened: the Tigercat, after his flight from the presidio, collected some score of resolute men, of whom I was one, who comprehended that for some time to come the Mexican Confederation would be too hot to hold them, and resolved to plunge into the wilderness, in order to give the storm time to blow over. All went well for a little while, when the Tigercat suddenly changed his route; and, instead of leading us to overrun the country of the Apaches, took us to the district of the bee-hunters and cascarilla gatherers."
"He has done that?" exclaimed Stoneheart, starting with surprise and terror.
"Yes, señor. You can understand how little I cared for a game of life and death, in regions infested by the fiercest beasts of prey, and, worse than that, by serpents whose bite is mortal. Seeing that the Tigercat was seriously bent upon taking refuge in this horrible country, I confess, señor, I got terribly frightened; and at the risk of dying with hunger, or being scalped by the redskins in the desert, I quietly dropped to the rear, and profited by the first opportunity to give the Tigercat the slip."
Stoneheart fixed on the vaquero a gaze which seemed to search his inmost soul; the latter bore it manfully.
"It is well," he said, "I see you have not lied. How long is it since you left the Tigercat?"
"Only four days, señor. As I do not know this part of the wilderness, I was wandering about at a venture, when I had the good fortune to fall in with you."
"Indeed! Now, what is the name of the place to which the Tigercat intended to lead you?"
"El Voladero de las Ánimas," answered the vaquero, without hesitation.
Stoneheart instantly grew pale as death at this information; and yet he had almost expected it, from the cruel and implacable character of his former teacher.
"Alas!" cried he; "The unfortunate girl is lost! This wretch has carried her into a very nest of serpents!"
The bystanders were dreadfully agitated.
"What is this horrible place?" said Don Pedro.
"Alas! El Voladero de las Ánimas is an accursed region, into which the hardiest bee-hunters and boldest cascarilleros scarcely dare to enter. The Voladero is a lofty mountain, which frowns over an immense expanse of swamps swarming with cobras, coral snakes, and others, whose slightest bite kills the strongest man in ten minutes. For ten leagues around this dread mountain, the country is alive with reptiles and venomous insects, against which how shall man defend himself!"
"Great God!" cried Don Pedro, in despair; "And it is to this hell they have carried my darling child!"
"Calm yourself," said Stoneheart, who perceived the necessity of restoring a little courage to the poor father; "the Tigercat knows this accursed place too well to enter it without taking the needful precautions. The swamps alone are to be dreaded; the Voladero is free from these noxious animals; the air is too pure, and its elevation too great for them to live there. Not one attempts to scale it. Courage, then! If your daughter, as I hope, has reached the Voladero alive, she is in safety."
"But, alas!" replied Don Pedro, "How are we to cross this impassable barrier; how reach my daughter, without encountering certain death?"
An indefinable smile illumined the features of Don Fernando. "I will reach her, Don Pedro," he exclaimed, in firm and resolute tones. "Have you forgotten that I am Stoneheart, the most renowned bee-hunter of the prairies? The Tigercat confided all his secrets to me when we were not only bee-hunters but cascarilleros. Courage, I say; all is not yet lost."
If a man who is struck down with some dire and and unexpected calamity has a friend beside him, whose stout heart and cheering words bid him hope, his prostrate courage revives, however faint and problematical the hope may be, and, confiding in the prospect held out to him, he gathers fresh energy for the approaching struggle. This was exactly what happened to Don Pedro. The speech of Stoneheart, who, for weeks past, had worked hard for him,—whom he had learned to love, and in whom he had entire confidence,—revived his hope and courage as if by magic.
"And now," said Stoneheart, addressing the vaquero, "tell me how the Tigercat treated his prisoners. You remained with him long enough to give me reliable information on this point."
"As far as that goes, señor, I can answer without hesitation, that his attention to the señorita's welfare was unceasing; he watched over her with anxious care, often shortening the day's march for fear of overtiring her."
His hearers breathed more freely. This solicitude on the part of one who respected neither God nor man seemed to indicate better intentions than they had a right to expect.
Stoneheart continued his interrogations. "Do you know the nature of the Tigercat's conversations with Doña Hermosa?"
"I overheard one, señor. The poor señorita was very sad: she dared not weep openly, for fear of offending the chief; but her eyes were always filled with tears, and her breast heaved with stifled sobs. One day, during a halt, she was sitting apart at the foot of a tree, her eyes fixed on the road we had just travelled, and large tears coursing down her cheeks. The Tigercat advanced towards her, looked at her for a moment with mingled pity and displeasure, and addressed her in nearly the following words: 'Child, it is useless to look back; those you expect will not come. No one shall tear you from my hands till the time comes when I shall think fit to restore you to freedom. To you alone I owe the ruin of my projects, and the massacre of my friends at San Lucar. I know it well. Therefore I carried you off, for vengeance' sake. But this I will tell you, for your consolation and encouragement: my revenge shall not be harsh; within a month I will give you to him you love.' The señorita looked at him incredulously; he perceived it, and continued, in a tone of implacable malice: 'My most earnest wish is to see you some day the bride of Don Fernando Carril: I have never lost sight of this. Take courage, then; dry those useless tears, which only disfigure you,—for I swear to you I will carry out my resolve, the very day and hour I have appointed.' Having said this, he left her, without waiting for the answer Doña Hermosa was about to make. I happened to be lying on the grass, a few paces from the lady. The Tigercat either did not notice me, or thought me asleep. That is how I overheard their conversation. To the best of my belief, that is the only time the chief ever conversed with his prisoner, although he continued to treat her well."
When the vaquero ceased, a long silence ensued, caused by the strangeness of this revelation. Stoneheart racked his brains in vain endeavours to discover a motive for the Tigercat's conduct. He recalled the words the chief had once uttered in his presence,—words which agreed with what he had just heard; for even at that time the old man seemed to take delight in the project. But Stoneheart vainly tried to find a solution to the question, why he should act thus.
In the meanwhile the sun had gone down, and night set in with the rapidity peculiar to intertropical climates, in which there is no twilight. It was one of those delicious nights of Southern America which are replete with sweet odours and airy melody. The dark blue sky was enamelled with a countless number of golden stars. The moon, now at the full, showered down a flood of soft and glorious light; and the transparent atmosphere made distant objects seem close at hand. The night wind tempered the oppressive heat of the day; and the men seated in front of the jacal inhaled with delight the refreshing breeze that whispered among the foliage, surrendering themselves to the influence of the night, which stole upon them with all its seductive languor.
When Don Pedro and his two confidential agents first set out on their search for Doña Hermosa, under the auspices of Stoneheart, Ña Manuela, that devoted pure-hearted woman, refused to leave her master and her son. She had loudly claimed her share in the risks and perils they were about to encounter, asserting her right to accompany them in her quality of Doña Hermosa's nurse. The good woman had persisted so obstinately, that Don Pedro and Don Estevan, touched by her self-abnegation, could no longer resist her entreaties, and she had come with them. Ña Manuela had charge of the commissariat of the camp. As soon as night had completely closed in, she issued from the jacal, bearing refreshments, which she distributed with strict impartiality to all present, master and man. Unseen, the worthy woman had listened to the queries put to the vaquero. Her heart failed her at El Zapote's story; but she dissembled her grief, for fear of augmenting Don Pedro's anguish; and she appeared amongst the travellers with dry eyes and a smiling countenance.
However, time passed on; the hour for rest had come; one after another the peones rolled themselves in their zarapés, and slumbered peacefully, with the exception of the sentries posted to watch over the safety of the camp. Stoneheart, plunged in deep meditation, was reclining, with his head supported by his right arm; his companions now and then exchanged a few words, uttered in a low tone, that they might not disturb him. The vaquero, with characteristic carelessness, stretched himself out on the ground, indifferent to what was passing around him. His eyelids grew heavy; he was already in a state of semi—somnolence, when he was thoroughly roused to consciousness by Don Fernando, who shook him rudely.
"Holloa, señor! What is the matter?" said he, sitting up, and rubbing his eyes.
"Is it possible to trust you?"
"A question you asked once before, señor. I replied, 'Yes, if you pay me well.' Now, you have paid me royally. There was but one man in the world to whom I could attach myself sooner than to you—Don Torribio Quiroga. He is dead; you take his place. No dog would obey your slightest sign more faithfully than I."
"I am not now going to put your new fledged fidelity to any rude proof; I shall content myself with leaving you here. But remember to deal frankly with me, and without reservation; for as surely as I have not hesitated to pay you in advance in the bargain I have concluded with you, so surely will I not hesitate to kill you on the spot if you betray me. And take this to your soul: if you deceive me, no hiding place, however secret or remote, shall save you from my vengeance."
The vaquero bent his head, and answered unhesitatingly: "Señor Don Fernando, I swear, by the Cross of our Lord, who died for the remission of our sins, that I will be faithful to you unto the death."
"Good," said Stoneheart; "I believe you, Zapote. Sleep now, if you are able."
The vaquero did not wait for a repetition of the words, but rolled over, and was soon fast asleep.
"Señores," said Stoneheart, turning to his friends, "it is time for you to rest. As for me, I must watch a while. Be of good courage, Don Pedro; our position is far from desperate. The more I reflect, the surer I am we shall tear from the Tigercat the prey he holds in his grasp and longs to devour. Be not too anxious; and if you should not see me tomorrow, do not on any pretext leave this encampment till my return: my absence will not be long. Good night to all!" Having said this, Stoneheart crossed his arms on his breast, and returned to his sombre meditations.
His friends, respecting his wish to be alone, withdrew; and ten minutes later all the inmates in the camp, except Stoneheart and the sentinels, were asleep, or seemed to sleep.