THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.
In the meantime Don Fernando Carril, bending over his horse's mane, was gliding through the night like a phantom.
Thanks to the precaution he had taken of wrapping pieces of sheepskin round the hoofs of the horse, he passed on silently and rapidly as the spectre-horseman of the German ballad, making the frightened packs of coyotes fly before his career.
Gradually he neared the banks of the river, which he forded without slackening his speed; inciting his steed by voice and gesture, and throwing sharp glances to right and left, before and behind him.
His flight lasted full three hours, during which the Mexican never allowed his favourite a moment's respite to fetch his breath and rest his tired limbs.
But when at last he arrived at a spot on the narrow river, where it rolled its muddy waters between low banks lined with tufted cotton trees, he alighted in a thick coppice, and, having convinced himself he was alone, plucked a handful of grass, and rubbed his horse down with that care, and solicitude of which those alone are capable whose lives may at any moment depend on the speed of their faithful and devoted companion. Then taking off the bridle, and leaving him to graze on the tall and abundant grasses, the Mexican spread his zarapé on the ground, and closed his eyes.
Nothing troubled the silence of the night; no sound arose in the desert. Don Fernando lay motionless as a corpse, his eyes still closed, and his head supported by his left arm; and thus he lay for two hours.
Did he sleep? Did he wake? None could say. Suddenly the hooting of an owl arose on the air. In an instant Don Fernando half-raised himself, bent his head forward, and listened, with his eyes fixed on the heavens.
It was deep in the night; the stars were shedding on the earth their obscure and doubtful light; nothing foretold the approach of day.
It was scarcely two o'clock in the morning; the owl is the first bird to announce the approach of the sun, but owls do not proclaim the day three hours before it breaks. Notwithstanding the perfection of the imitation, the Mexican hesitated. Soon a second hoot, followed by a third, dispersed the doubts of Don Fernando; he rose, and thrice repeated the cry of the water hawk.
A similar cry issued immediately from the opposite bank of the river.
Don Fernando bridled his horse, cast his zarapé over his shoulders, examined his weapons to ensure their efficacy, flung himself into the saddle without touching stirrup, and crossed the river.
A short distance in front of him lay an islet, covered with poplars and cotton trees, towards which he bent his steps. The approach to the islet was easy; the horse, recruited by his two hours' rest, swam strongly, and touched the ground nearly in a straight line from the spot where he had plunged in.
Scarcely had the Mexican reached the land, when a rider emerged from the thicket, and halting some twenty paces off, exclaimed, in a loud voice, and an accent of great discontent:
"You were late in replying to my signal. I was on the point of leaving."
"Perhaps it would have been better had you done so," sharply replied Don Fernando.
"Aha!" said the other mockingly, "Does the wind blow from that quarter?"
"Never mind whence it blows, if I do not sail before it. I am here; what do you want with me? Be short; for I have no time to give you."
"¡Vive Dios! Something very interesting must entice you to the place whence you came, if you are so anxious to be there again."
"Listen, Tigercat," roundly and sharply replied the Mexican; "if you have summoned me here so urgently merely to chafe and laugh at me, it is useless to stay longer; so, adieu!"
As he said this, Don Fernando turned as if to retire and quit the island.
The Tigercat—for his interlocutor was no other than that extraordinary personage—quickly seized a pistol, and cocked it.
"¡Rayo de Dios!" said he; "if you stir a foot, I will blow your brains out!"
"Pooh!" replied the other, with a sneer; "What should I be doing in the meanwhile? A truce to threats, or I kill you like a dog."
With action as prompt as the Tigercat's, he too had drawn a pistol, cocked, and presented it at his opponent.
"You would not dare to do it."
"You know I dare all," said the Mexican.
"We have lost time enough; let us proceed to business," said the old man, alighting from his horse.
"Well, let us proceed to business. What is it you want with me?" replied Don Fernando, also dismounting.
"Why have you deceived and turned against me, instead of serving me, as you are bound?"
"I was bound to nothing with you; on the contrary, I roundly refused the mission which you persisted in forcing upon me."
"Could you not have remained neuter, and allowed these people to fall into my hands again?"
"No; my honour compelled me to defend them."
"Your honour!" burst out the Tigercat, with a cynical laugh.
The Mexican was confused: he frowned, but recovered himself, and continued:
"Hospitality is sacred in the prairie; its rights are indefeasible. The people I guided had placed themselves, of their own accord, under my protection: to abandon, or refuse to defend them, would have been to betray them. You yourself would have done as I did."
"It is useless to recur any more to this, or to discuss a deed that is done. Why did you not return to me?"
"Because I preferred to stay at San Lucar."
"Yes; civilized life is sure to attract you; I can understand that this double part you are playing, at your own risk and peril, has charms for you. Don Fernando Carril is received with open arms in the circles of the highest Mexican society. But believe me, boy, you had better take heed lest your adventurous spirit lead you into some false steps, from which not all the courage of Stoneheart could save you."
"I did not come here to listen to sermons."
"True; but it is my duty to read you the sermons you did not come to hear. As long as I remain in the desert, I will not lose sight of you for a moment. I know all your doings; I am ignorant of nothing regarding you."
"And why have you surrounded me with spies?" said Don Fernando haughtily.
"In order to know if I could still repose the same confidence in you."
"And what have you learned from your spies?"
"Nothing but what is satisfactory; only I insist on knowing how we stand towards each other."
"Do not your spies make you aware of my slightest doings?"
"Yes, of all that concerns you personally: thus I know you have not yet ventured to present yourself to Don Pedro de Luna;" and he sneered.
"True; but I intend to see him tomorrow."
The Tigercat shrugged his shoulders in disdain.
"Let us speak of more serious matters," said he. "How do we stand?"
"I have followed your instructions in everything. For two years, since the time I first made my appearance in San Lucar, I have lost no single opportunity of forming connections, which will, I hope be of service to you later on. Although my appearance at the pueblo is rare, and my visits are short, I still think I have attained the object you proposed to yourself when you gave me my orders. The mystery with which I surround myself has been of more use to me than I dared to hope. I have attached to myself the greater number of the vaqueros and leperos in the presidio—gallows birds, but I can count upon them; they are devoted to me. These fellows only know me as Don Fernando Carril."
"Ah, I know all that," said the Tigercat.
"You do?" said the Mexican, looking at the old man with a glance of anger.
"Have I not told you I never left you out of my sight?"
"Yes—as far as my personal affairs are concerned."
"Well, the hour is come to gather the harvest we have sown among these villains. They will serve me better against their countrymen than the redskins in whom I dare not place perfect confidence. They are acquainted with Spanish tactics, and accustomed to firearms. Now that your part with the pícaros is over, I shall begin to play mine. I must enter into direct relation with them."
"As you please; I thank you for releasing me from the responsibility of an affair the object of which you have never thought fit to confide to me. I shall be glad to procure you the means of treating personally with the rascals I have engaged in your service."
"I understand your longings to be free, and approve them the more, since it was I who first inspired you with the wish to become better acquainted with the charming daughter of Don Pedro de Luna."
"Not a word of her," said Don Fernando fiercely. "If, up to the present time, I have consented to be guided by you, and to obey your orders without discussing them, the time has now come to place the question clearly and categorically before us, so that no misunderstanding may arise between us in the future. It is this reason alone which had weight enough to bring me tonight in answer to your summons."
The Tigercat looked at the Mexican long and fixedly; then he replied:
"Speak, then, madman, who do not see the gulf which yawns at your feet: speak; I listen."
Don Fernando remained some time lost in thought, leaning against the knotted trunk of a poplar, and with his eyes cast on the ground.
"Tigercat," said he at length, "I know not who you are, nor the motives which have induced you to renounce civilisation, to take refuge in the desert, and adopt the life of the Indian; I do not wish to know them. Every man is responsible for his own actions, and must render an account of them to his own conscience. As to myself, never has a word from your mouth taught me in what place I was born, or to what family I belong. Although you brought me up—although, as far back as my memory carries me, I have seen no one belonging to me but yourself—yet I cannot think you are my father. Had I been your son, or even only a distant relative, it is evident my training would have been widely different to that which I received at your express commands."
"What are those words your bold lips utter?—How dare you venture to fling reproaches at me?" said the old man, bursting into a fit of passion.
"Interrupt me not, Tigercat; let me open my thoughts to you entirely," sadly replied the Mexican. "I do not reproach you; but from the time when, under the name of Don Fernando Carril, you forced me into the whirl of civilised life, in spite of myself, and no doubt in spite of you, I have learned two things, and my eyes have been opened. I have comprehended the meaning of two words, the significance of which was unknown to me till then. These two words have changed not only my character, but the light in which I used to look at things; for, with a purpose I cannot divine, you applied yourself from my infancy to foster every evil sentiment germinating within me, while you carefully stifled the few good qualities which my heart might haply have possessed, had it not been for the system you adopted. In a word, I have now arrived at the knowledge of good and evil. I know all your efforts have been exerted to make me a human wild beast. Have you succeeded? The future shall show. To judge by the feelings that are surging in my heart while I speak to you, you have not reached the result you aimed at; be that as it may, I am no longer your slave. I have served too long as the instrument in your hands of deeds whose aim I cannot see. You have yourself taught me that family bonds do not exist in nature; that they are absurd prejudices, trammels invented by civilisation; that no man has a right to impose his will as law on others; that the real man is he who walks free through life, unincumbered by relation or friend, recognising no master but his own desires. Well, then, I will now put in practice these precepts you have so long and steadily inculcated. What matters to me whether I be Don Fernando Carril, or Stoneheart the Bee-hunter? Following the law laid down by yourself, and elevating ingratitude into a virtue, I take back my own free liberty and independence of you, recognising no claim of yours to influence my life for good or for evil, and assuming from henceforth the right to walk after my own impulses, whatever may happen in consequence of my resolve."
"Go, my child," said the Tigercat, with his mocking sneer; "go, act as you think fit; but, in spite of all your efforts, you will soon come back to me; for say what you will, you belong to me, and will soon know it. But it does not rouse my ire to hear you speak thus; it is not you who speak—it is love. I am very old, Fernando, but not so old as to have lost all recollections of my youth. Love has mastered your heart; when he has utterly burnt it up, you will return to the desert; for then you will have learnt what that life is into which you, poor, ignorant child, are just plunging. You will have learnt that life in this world is but a feather blown hither and thither by every varying breeze; and that at the breath of love, the man who thinks himself the strongest becomes more feeble than the weakest and most wretched of created beings. But let us break off: it is your will to be free; be so. First of all, however, you have to render me an account of the mission with which I charged you."
"I will do so. Present yourself to the vaqueros in my name; this diamond"—and he drew one from his finger—"will be your passport. They have been warned: show it to them, and they will obey you as they would myself."
"Where do these men meet?"
"You will find most of them at a low pulquería in the new Pueblo de San Lucar. But do you really intend to venture within the presidio?"
"Assuredly. Now, one word more: can I count upon you when the hour for action arrives?"
"You can, if what you purpose is right."
"Aha! You are already beginning to impose conditions."
"Have I not told you so?—Or shall I remain neuter?"
"No; I have need of you. You will, I suppose, inhabit the house you bought? Every day a trusty person shall inform you of the course of events; and when the proper moment comes, I know you will be with me."
"Perhaps I may; but happen what will, do not depend too much upon it."
"I do depend upon it, nevertheless, and I will tell you why. At present you are under the impulse of love, and naturally your reasoning succumbs to the influence of the passion that masters you. But before a month is over, see what will inevitably happen. Either you will succeed,—and satiety, following on the heels of sated passion, will make you glad to return to the wilderness,—or you will fail, and jealousy and wounded pride will inspire the lust for vengeance, and you will seize with joy the opportunity I shall offer you to glut it."
"I see clearly that very shortly we shall not understand each other at all," said the Mexican with a melancholy smile. "You always reason from your evil passions, so great is your hatred of men, and the contempt you feel for the human race; while I only listen to my good feelings, and suffer myself to be guided by them."
"Well, well, child; I give you a month to finish your caterwauling. That time passed, we will resume our conversation. Adieu."
"Adieu. Are you bound for the presidio?"
"No; I return to my village, where, too, I have a little matter of business; for, unless I am mistaken, curious things have happened since I left it."
"Do you dread a revolt there against your power?"
"I do not dread, I wish it," was the enigmatical answer.
The old man then bid the Mexican farewell, mounted his horse, and rode into the thicket.
Don Fernando stood there some time, plunged in serious thought, listening mechanically to the sound of the horse's hoofs as they died away in the distance. When he could no longer hear them, he turned his head in the direction Tigercat had taken.
"Go," said he hoarsely; "go, savage, in the belief that I have not discovered your project. I will dig a mine under your feet to explode and crush you. I will foil your attempt. I would dare more than man dares to baffle your machinations. It is three o'clock," he continued, after looking at the sky, from which the stars were fading out; "I shall have time."
He called his horse and mounted, took the direction of Don Estevan's rancho, and recommenced his headlong course across the wilderness.
The horse, fresh from his long rest, stretched himself out freely; and daylight was just beginning to appear when they reached the rancho.
Don Fernando gave a sigh of satisfaction. All was quiet about the dwelling; all the inhabitants seemed wrapped in repose. The secret of his nocturnal excursion was safe.
He unsaddled his horse, groomed him carefully,—so as to leave no signs of his ride,—and led him to the corral, where he carefully divested his hoofs of the pieces of sheepskin, turned him in, closed the door, and softly returned to the zaguán.
Just as he was about to climb into his hammock, he observed a man, who, leaning against the doorpost with his legs crossed, was calmly smoking his pajillo.
Don Fernando recoiled on recognising his host; it was, in fact, Estevan Diaz.
The latter, without the slightest semblance of surprise, took the cigarette from his mouth, blew out an enormous mouthful of smoke, and addressed his guest in a tone of the most polished courtesy.
"You must be greatly fatigued with your long ride tonight, caballero. Will you have anything to restore you?"
Don Fernando, horrified at the coolness with which this was uttered, hesitated for a moment.
"How am I to understand you, caballero?" said he.
"How?" said the other. "Pooh! What is the use of dissembling? I assure you, it is useless to attempt to blind me: I know all."
"You know all! What do you know?" replied the Mexican, anxious to ascertain how far Don Estevan was acquainted with what had occurred.
"I know," replied the major-domo, "that you rose, that you saddled your horse, and that you went to meet one of your friends who was waiting for you at the Isle de los Pavos."
"What!" cried Don Fernando, scarcely repressing his rage; "You dared to follow me?"
"¡Vive Dios! I should think so; it is my way of thinking to fancy that a man who has been all day long on horseback does not take another ride through the whole of the following night for mere pleasure, particularly in a country like this, which, dangerous enough by daylight, is doubly so when night has fallen. Moreover, I am inquisitive by nature—"
"You are a spy!" broke in Don Fernando, in a fury.
"Fie, caballero! What a strange expression you use! I a spy! No, no; only as the simplest way of learning what I wanted to know was to listen, I listened."
"Then you were present at the conversation on the Isle de los Pavos?"
"I will not deny it, caballero; indeed, I was very close to you."
"And heard everything that was said there?"
"To be sure; yes, very nearly all," replied Don Estevan, still smiling.
Don Fernando threw himself upon the major-domo, but was stopped by him with a strength the former hardly expected to meet with.
Don Estevan continued, in the same placid tone in which he had hitherto spoken:
"¡Cuerpo de Cristo! you are my guest. Wait a little; we shall have time to finish this matter here, after, if it must be."
The Mexican, overwhelmed by these words, stepped back from him, crossed his arms, and, looking him full in the face, replied, "I will wait."