THE TIGRERO.
Don Ruiz and his sister left the red chamber together, gloomy, sad, and despairing, and not daring to communicate their impressions, because they knew that they had nothing to hope from an exchange of conventional consolation. When they reached the hall whence ran the stairs leading to their different suites of rooms, Don Ruiz let loose his sister's arm, and kissed her on the forehead.
"Courage, Marianna," he said, gently.
"Are you leaving me, brother?" she remarked, with a slight tinge of reproach in her voice.
"Are you not going to your own rooms?" he asked her.
"And what do you intend doing?"
"To tell you the honest truth, sister," he replied, "after what has occurred in the red chamber, I feel in such a state of excitement, that I want to breathe the fresh air; did I not, I fancy I should be ill."
"Do you propose going out, then?"
"In leaving you, my dear sister, it is my firm intention to saddle Santiago, and ride about the country for two or three hours."
"If that be the case, Ruiz, I will ask you to do me a service."
"What is it?"
"Saddle Madrina at the same time."
"Your mare?"
"Yes."
"Are you going out too?"
"I want to pay a visit to my nurse, whom I have not seen for a long time. I am anxious to speak a few words with her."
"Will you go alone to the rancho?"
"Unless you give me the pleasure of your company."
"Do you doubt it, sister?"
"Yes and no, Ruiz."
"Why this reticence?"
"I will explain it to you, brother. To be frank with you, I want to see my nurse, and I may spend the night at the rancho; in the event of that happening, I do not wish you to make an attempt to dissuade me by entreaty or otherwise."
"Reflect, sister, that the country is not tranquil, and that you may incur danger in a wretched rancho, where any resistance would be impossible."
"I have thought of that, and calculated all the chances. But I repeat to you, I must go to the rancho, and may be obliged to pass there not only a night, but a day or two."
Don Ruiz reflected for a moment.
"Sister," he then said, "you are no ordinary woman, and everything you do is carefully calculated. Although you do not tell me the motives for this visit, I guess that they are serious, and hence will make no attempt to thwart your wishes. Act as you please, and I will do all you wish."
"Thank you, Ruiz," she answered, warmly; "I anticipated you would say that, for you understand me: my visit has a serious motive, as you have divined."
"Then I will go and saddle the horses," he remarked, with a smile.
"Do so, brother," she replied, as she gently pressed his hand. "I will wait for you here."
"I only require five minutes."
The young man went out. Doña Marianna leant on the balustrade, and fell into deep thought. Don Ruiz returned, leading the horses by the bridle: brother and sister mounted, and at once left the hacienda. It was about four in the afternoon; the great heat of the day was spent, the birds were singing gaily beneath the foliage; the sun, now level with the lowest branches, had lost much of its heat; and the coming breeze, which was beginning to rise, refreshed the atmosphere, and bore far away the clouds of mosquitoes which had for several hours darkened the air. The young people galloped silently side by side, absorbed in their thoughts, and only taking absent glances at the splendid scenery unfolded around them as they advanced further into the country. They thus reached the rancho without exchanging a word.
Bouchaley, faithful to his friendship for Doña Marianna, had long before announced her arrival to the inhabitants of the rancho, who had hurried out to welcome her. With a hurried glance, Marianna assured herself of the presence of her foster brother, which seemed to cause her great satisfaction.
"Goodness! You here so late, niña?" the ranchero said, in his delight; "What blessed wind has blown you?"
"The desire of seeing you, madresita," the young lady answered, with a smile; "it is so long since I embraced you, that I could not wait any longer."
"It is a good idea, niña," the ranchero said; "unfortunately it is late, and we shall only be able to converse with you for a few moments."
"How do you know, old father?" she replied, as she leaped off her horse, and threw her arms round his neck; "Who told you I should not spend the night at the rancho?"
"Oh, oh, you would not do us that honour, niña," the old man answered.
"You are mistaken, father, and the proof is that I ask my brother to leave me here, and return alone to the hacienda."
"Then I am discharged," Don Ruiz said, laughingly.
"Yes, brother; but you have no cause of complaint, for I warned you."
"That is true; hence I do not complain, little sister; still, before we part, tell me at what hour I am to come and fetch you tomorrow?"
"Do not trouble yourself about that, Ruiz; Mariano will bring me home."
"And this time I shall not behave as the last, niña: may the Lord confound me if I lose sight of you even for a moment," the tigrero said, as he took the horse's bridle to lead it to the corral.
"Will you be so cruel, Marianna," Ruiz observed, "as to force me thus to return at once?"
"No; I grant you an hour to rest and refresh yourself, but when that time has elapsed you will start."
"Agreed, little sister."
They entered the rancho: No Sanchez, with that hospitable speed all Mexican rancheros display, had already covered the table with pulque, mezcal, Catalonian refino, orangeade, and infusion of tamarinds. The young people, thirsty from their long ride, and not wishing to grieve the worthy persons who received them so kindly, did honour to the refreshments thus profusely offered them. Don Ruiz, while teasing his sister about her strange fancy for spending the night at the rancho, though he felt convinced that she must have a very serious reason for it, conversed gaily according to his fashion, and displayed a dazzling wit which is easier in Mexico than elsewhere; for, owing to the natural intelligence of the people, no matter their rank, they are certain to understand. When day began to fall, the young gentleman took leave of the rancheros, mounted his horse, and started for the hacienda.
In Mexico, as in all intertropical countries, evening is the pleasantest part of the day: at that time the inhabitants are all in the open air. At night they sit in front of the rancho doors, conversing, singing, or dancing; two or three in the morning arrives before they dream of going to bed. But on this day, contrary to her habit when she paid her nurse a visit, Doña Marianna seemed fatigued: at times she had difficulty in checking a yawn, and her desire for rest was so evident that the nurse was the first to invite her to retire. The young lady required no pressing, and after bidding the old folks good night, entered the rancho, and the room prepared for her. So soon as Marianna had left them, the old couple also retired to rest. As for Mariano, after making his usual tour of inspection round the rancho, he hung up a hammock under the portico, as he preferred sleeping in the open air to being shut up within walls which the sun's heat had rendered stifling. An hour later all the inhabitants of the rancho were plunged into the deepest sleep.
Suddenly the tigrero felt a hand gently laid on his shoulder; he opened his eyes, and by the light of the stars, which was as brilliant as day, recognised Doña Marianna. The young man who had thrown himself fully dressed upon the hammock, started up, and looked at his foster sister anxiously.
"What is the matter with you, niña?" he asked, in evident alarm.
"Silence, Mariano!" she answered in a low voice, and laying her finger on her lips; "All is quiet, at least I suppose so, but I wish to speak with you."
"Go on, tocaya," he replied, as he leaped from the hammock and folded it up.
"Yes, but I am sorry at having woken you; you were sleeping so soundly, that I looked at you for nearly a quarter of an hour ere I dared to disturb your rest; for sleep is such a blessed thing."
"Nonsense," he answered with a laugh; "you were wrong, niña; we wood rangers sleep so quickly that an hour is sufficient to rest us, and if I am not mistaken, I have been lying down for more than two. Hence speak, niña; I am attentive, and shall not miss a word of what you say to me."
The young lady reflected for a moment.
"You love me, I think, Mariano?" she at length said, with a certain hesitation in her voice.
"Like a sister, niña," he said, warmly; "in truth, are we not tocayo and tocaya? Why ask such a question?"
"Because I want you to do me an important service."
"Me, niña? ¡Caray! Do not be alarmed; I am devoted to you body and soul, and whatever you may ask—"
"Do not pledge yourself too hastily, tocayo," she interrupted him, with a meaning laugh.
"A man cannot do that when he firmly intends to keep his promise."
"That is true; still there are things from which a man at times recoils."
"There may be such, niña, but I do not know them; however, explain your wishes to me, frankly."
"I think, Mariano, that you are on friendly terms with the hunter, called Stronghand?"
"Very intimate, niña; but why do you ask the question?"
"Is he an honest man?"
The tigrero looked at her.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked her.
"Why," she said, with considerable embarrassment, "I mean a man of heart—a man, in short, whose word may be taken."
Mariano became serious.
"Señorita," he said, "Stronghand saved my life under circumstances when my only hope was in Heaven. I have seen this man perform deeds of incredible courage and audacity, for the sole object of serving people who frequently did not feel the slightest gratitude to him. To me he is more than a friend—more than a brother; whatever he bade me I would do, even if I had to lay down the life he saved, and which belongs to him. Such, niña, is my opinion about the hunter called Stronghand."
The young lady gave a glance of pleasure.
"You are deeply attached to him?" she murmured.
"As I told you, he is more to me than a brother."
"And you often see him?"
"When I want him, or he wants me."
"Does he live in the neighbourhood, then?"
"A short time back he stayed several days at the rancho."
"And will he return?"
"Who knows?"
"What did he during his stay here?"
"I am not aware; I believe that he hunted, though I did not see a single head of game he had killed whilst he was here."
"Ah!" she said, pensively.
There was a silence. Mariano looked at her, somewhat surprised that she should have woke him for the sake of asking him such unimportant questions.
"Well," she continued, presently; "if you wanted to see Stronghand, do you know where to find him?"
"I think so."
"You are not certain?"
"Forgive me, niña, I am certain; we have a spot where we are safe to meet."
"But he might not be there."
"That might happen."
"What would you do in that case?"
"Go and seek him at another place, where I should be sure of finding him."
"Ah! And where is that?"
"At the village he inhabits."
"What village is that? I know of none in the vicinity."
"Pardon me, niña; there is one."
"A long way from here, I presume?"
"Only a few leagues."
"And what is this pueblo?"
"A village of the Papazos."
"What?"
"Yes, I have forgotten to tell you that. Although he is a white man, Stronghand has, for reasons I am ignorant of, joined the Indians, and been adopted by one of their most powerful tribes."
"That is singular," the young lady murmured.
"Is it not?" the tigrero replied; understanding less than ever the object of the conversation.
The maiden shook her head coquettishly, and seemed to form a sudden resolution.
"Mariano," she said, "I asked you to do me a service."
"Yes, niña, and I answered that I was ready to do it."
"That is true; are you still of the same mind?"
"Why should I have altered it?"
"This is what I want of you."
"Speak."
"I wish to see Stronghand."
"Very good; when?"
"At once."
"What?" he asked, in amazement.
"Do you refuse?"
"I do not say that, but—"
"There is a but, then?"
"There always is one."
"Let me hear yours."
"It is long past midnight."
"What matter is that?"
"Not much, I allow."
"Well, what next?"
"It is a long journey."
"Our horses are good."
"We risk not finding the hunter at our usual meeting place."
"We will push on to his village."
The tigrero looked at her attentively.
"You have a great need to see Stronghand in that case?" he asked.
"Most extreme."
"It is more serious than you suppose, señorita."
"Why so?"
"Hang it! It is not so easy to enter an Indian village."
"But you do so."
"That is true; but I am alone and well known."
"Well, I will go on after you; that is all."
"Are you aware that the Indians have revolted?"
"That does not concern you, as you are a friend of theirs."
Mariano shook his head.
"You ask a very difficult thing again, tocaya," he said, "in which you run a great risk."
"Yes, if I fail; but I shall succeed."
"It would be better to give up this excursion."
"Confess at once," she said, impatiently, "that you do not wish to keep the promise you made me."
"You are unjust to me; I am only trying to dissuade you from an enterprise which you will repent when it is too late."
"That is my business, I repeat, Mariano," she continued, with a marked stress in her words; "it is not to gratify a caprice that I wish to see the hunter. I have reasons of the utmost importance for wishing to speak with him; and, to tell you all, he urged me to summon him under certain circumstances, and told me I need only apply to you in order to find him. Are you satisfied now? will you adhere to your doubts, and still refuse to accompany me?"
The young man had listened to Doña Marianna with earnest attention. When she had ended, he replied—"I no longer hesitate, niña; as things are so, I am bound to obey you. Still, I beg you not to make me responsible for any events that may happen."
"Whatever may occur, my kind Mariano, be assured that I shall be grateful to you for the immense service you have rendered me."
"And you wish to start at once?"
"How far have we to ride?"
"Some ten or twelve leagues."
"Oh, that is nothing."
"Not on a regular road; but I warn you that we shall be compelled to follow hardly visible wild beast tracks."
"The night is clear; we shall have sufficient light to guide us, so let us start."
"If you wish it," the young man answered.
A few minutes later they left the rancho at a gallop. It was about two in the morning; and the moon, which was at its full, lit up the landscape as in bright day.