THE NEXT DAY.
The sky was just beginning to be tinted with shades of opal—a few stars still shone feebly here and there in the gloomy depths of the sky. It was about half past three in the morning.
Within the locanda men and animals were sleeping that calm sleep which precedes sunrise. Not a sound, save at intervals the barking of a dog baying at the moon, broke the silence that brooded over the pueblo of San José.
The door of the cuarto in which the foster brothers rested was cautiously opened, a thin thread of light found its way through the orifice, and Valentine and the count came out. Don Louis had no reason for departing unseen; he had no motives for hiding himself. If he took so many precautions, it was only through a fear of disturbing the sleep of the other lodgers, who had not such good reasons as himself for rising so early, and whom, consequently, it was unnecessary to arouse.
On arriving in the patio Don Louis prepared his horse's trappings, while Valentine led the animal from the corral, carefully rubbed it down, and gave it water. When all was in order Valentine opened the gate, the two men shook hands for the last time, and Don Louis entered the gloom of the only street of the pueblo, where he soon disappeared, amid the barking of the masterless dogs aroused by his passing, and who rushed after him howling furiously, and snapping at his horse's legs.
Valentino remained for a moment motionless and thoughtful, listening mechanically to the decreasing sound of the hoofs on the hardened ground.
"Perhaps I ought not to have put him on that path," he muttered. "Who knows what awaits him at the other end?" A stifled sigh broke from his bosom. "Bah!" he added a moment after, "all roads do not lead to the same point—death! Why let such foolish forebodings have any effect over me? Live and learn."
The worthy hunter, somewhat comforted by these philosophic reflections, re-entered the patio, and set to work shutting the outer door, before throwing himself for an hour or two on his cuadro. While engaged in this occupation, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps behind him: he turned his head, and recognised Don Cornelio.
"Ah, ah, my dear friend!" he said gaily, offering him his hand, which the other pressed affectionately; "You are up very early."
"Eh?" the Spaniard answered with a laugh. "I think it a good joke for you to make that remark to me."
"Why so?"
"Because, if I have risen so early, it appears as if you had not been to bed at all."
Valentine began laughing.
"By Jove! You are right. The fact is that, with the exception of yourself and myself, it is certain that everybody is asleep in the pueblo; and now that this door is closed again, with your permission, I will go and do the same for an hour or two."
"What! You are going to bed again?"
"Certainly."
"What to do?"
"Why, to sleep, I suppose."
"Pardon me, but I did not mean that."
"I suppose not."
"And you know what I wish to say to you?"
"I! Not the least in the world. But, as you are a man far too intelligent to spend in walking about the time you might pass far more agreeably in sleeping, I presume that you have certain weighty reasons for being here now."
"That is true, on my word."
"You see!"
"Yes; but I did not wish exactly to speak with you."
"Whom with, then?"
"With Don Louis."
"Hum! And you cannot tell it to me?"
"O yes, I can; but I think it would be better to speak with him myself."
"Confuse the thing!"
Don Cornelio gave that shrug of the shoulders which in all countries and languages signifies the same thing; that is, that the shrugger declines all responsibility.
"And," Valentine continued, "what you have to communicate to Don Louis is probably very important?"
"Very."
"Hang it all, that is annoying; for it is impossible for you to speak with him."
"Bah! How so?"
"Because there is an obstacle."
"For me?"
"For you and for everybody else."
"Oh, oh! And what is that obstacle, Don Valentine, if you please?"
"Oh, I do not want to make any mystery of it; I am more vexed than yourself at what has happened; but the obstacle is very simply that Don Louis has gone away."
"Gone! Don Louis!" the other said in amazement.
"Yes."
"How was that—without speaking to anybody? Gone off at a venture?"
"Not exactly. There were urgent reasons to speed his departure; and see, I was engaged in shutting the gate after him when you arrived. A moment earlier and you would have met him."
"How unlucky!"
"It is; but what would you do? After all, the misfortune is not so great as it may seem to you at the first blush. We shall see him again in a few days."
"You are sure of it?"
"Quite; for it is arranged between us. So soon as I have succeeded in selling the herd, we shall go and join our friend again. So take patience, Don Cornelio; the separation will not be long. Console yourself with that thought, and good night."
Valentine turned and walked a few steps, but the Spaniard stopped him.
"What do you want now?"
"Only one word."
"Make haste, for I am dropping with sleep."
"Pardon me, but you made a remark this moment which struck me greatly."
"Ah! What was it?"
"You said that Don Louis had commissioned you to sell the herd."
"Yes, I did. What then?"
"That was the very subject I wished to speak with him about."
"Bah!"
"Yes, I have found a purchaser."
"What! For the whole herd?"
"Yes, in a lump."
"Stay, stay!" Valentine said, fixing his piercing eyes upon him; "that would singularly simplify matters."
"Would it not?"
"Where on earth have you dug up this strange purchaser since last night?"
"There is nothing at all strange about him, I assure you. I found him here."
"Here, in this locanda?"
"On my word, yes."
"I really beg your pardon," Valentine said. "I am too well acquainted with the gravity of your character to suppose that you have any intention of deceiving me—"
"Oh!"
"But all this is so extraordinary—"
"I am as much astonished as yourself at it."
"Really!"
"The more so because I did not know that Don Louis wished to sell the herd here, and consequently the proposition does not emanate from me."
"That is true. So you have been offered—"
"To take the whole herd off my hands this very day—yes."
"That is strange. Tell me all about it, my dear friend. What a pity that Don Louis has started!"
"Is it not?"
"Well, you said, then—"
"Permit me, if you have no objection, we will proceed to your cuarto, where we can converse much more agreeably than here."
"You are right, especially as people are beginning to get up in the house."
In fact, the servants of the hostelry and the muleteers were already stirring, and walking round our two friends, whom they examined curiously, while attending to their own business. Valentine and Don Cornelio left the patio, and proceeded to the hunter's cuarto. So soon as they had installed themselves Valentine said,—
"Now I am all attention. Speak, my good fellow. I confess I am anxious to hear the solution of this riddle."
Don Cornelio was aware of the friendship existing between Don Louis and Valentine; hence he had not the slightest difficulty in telling the hunter what had happened to him that night in the minutest details.
"Is that all?" Valentine said, who had listened with the greatest attention.
"Yes; and now what do you think of it?"
"Hum!" the hunter said thoughtfully, "if I must give you my opinion, it appears to me rather less clear now than an hour ago."
"Nonsense!"
"That is my opinion. Still we must not neglect this opportunity which presents itself so famously to get rid of our cattle advantageously."
"That is what I think."
"Very good; then do not stir. Above all, do not say a syllable about Don Louis' departure."
"Do you think so?"
"That is important."
"As you please."
"Then supposing you are summoned?"
"I will go."
"No, we will both go; that will be more proper. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly."
"Then good night; I am going to sleep a little. If there is anything new wake me up."
"All right."
And Don Cornelio withdrew.
Valentine was not at all inclined to sleep; but he wished to be alone, that he might reflect on what he had just heard. He perfectly understood that the young lady had been playing with the Spaniard like a cat with a mouse, feigning an interest in him which she did not at all feel. But what was her object in all this? Did she love Don Louis? Had the maiden retained in her heart the remembrance of what had happened to the child? Had gratitude unconsciously changed in her into love with growing years?
This was what the hunter could not fathom. Valentine had never been very expert in the matter of women; their hearts were to him as a dead letter, an unknown tongue, in which he could not read a word. The life he had constantly led in the desert, ever contending either with Indians or with wild beasts, had not been at all favourable to the study of the feminine heart; and besides, the deep love of his early youth—a love the memory of which still palpitated in his heart—had prevented him paying the slightest attention to the few women chance had at times thrown in his way, and who had only appeared to him weak, defenceless creatures, whom it was his duty to defend.
Thus the worthy hunter was now considerably bothered, and knew not what to do in order to read the young lady's intentions. It was evident to him that Doña Angela had a secret object she desired to gain, and that the purchase of the novillos was only a pretext to draw nearer to Don Louis. But what was that object? Why did she wish to see his friend? That was what he vainly sought, and was unable to discover.
"After all," he muttered to himself, while going over the chaos of thoughts that jostled each other in his brain, "it is perhaps better that she should not see Louis. Who knows what might be the result of such an interview? The lady's father is governor of Sonora, and we must be most careful not to get into any trouble with him. Who knows whether we may not need him hereafter? It is strange, I do not know where I have heard his name before; but I am certain I do not hear it today for the first time. Guerrero—Don Sebastian Guerrero. Under what circumstances can that name have been pronounced in my presence?"
The hunter had reached this point in his monologue when the door opened gently, and a man entered. It was Curumilla. Valentine started with joy on seeing him.
"You are welcome, chief," he said.
The Araucanian pressed his hand, and sat down silently by his side.
"Well, chief," Valentine continued, "you are awake. Have you been taking a turn in the pueblo?"
The Indian smiled disdainfully.
"No," he said.
An idea crossed the hunter's mind.
"My brother should go down into the patio," he said. "It seems there are other travellers beside us: he should see them."
"Curumilla has seen them."
"Ah!"
"He knows them."
Valentine made a sign of astonishment.
"What! You know them?" he exclaimed.
"Only the man. Curumilla is a chief: his memory is long."
"Ah, ah!" the hunter went on. "Is it possible that I shall obtain in this way the information I have been racking my brains to find?"
The Indian smiled and shook his head.
"Who is the man, chief? Is he a friend?"
"He is an enemy."
"An enemy, by Jupiter! I was certain I had heard his name before."
"Let my brother listen," the chief went on. "Curumilla has seen the paleface: he will kill him."
"Hum! Do not go to work so fast, chief. In the first place tell me who he is; then we shall see what we have to do. Unfortunately we are not here on the prairies: the death of that individual, whoever he may be, might cost us dear."
"The palefaces are women," the Indian replied disdainfully.
"That is possible, chief; but prudent. Tomorrow is not passed, as you gentlemen say, and every man gains his point who knows how to wait. For the present let us be shy; we are not the stronger."
Curumilla shrugged his shoulders. It was plain that the worthy Indian was not a friend to temporising measures; still he did not raise the slightest objection.
"Come, chief, tell me who he is, and under what circumstances we had a quarrel with him."
The Indian rose and stood right in front of Valentine.
"Does not my brother remember?" he asked.
"No."
"Wah! The conspiracy of the Paso del Norte, when Curumilla killed Dog-face."
"Oh!" Valentine exclaimed, striking his forehead, "I have it; it is the general who commanded the Mexican troops, and to whom Don Miguel de Zarate surrendered."
"Yes."
"Well, he was a brave and honest soldier in those days; he kept his word to our friend nobly. I cannot be angry with him."
"He is a traitor."
"From your point of view, chief, possibly so, but not from mine. It is true; I perfectly remember him now. Poor General Ibañez often spoke to me about him: he was not fond of him either. It is a strange coincidence. Good! Fear nothing, chief; I will watch. Whether friend or foe, this man has never seen me—he knows not who I am; hence I have a great advantage over him. Thanks, chief!"
"Is my brother satisfied?"
"You have rendered me an immense service, chief; so you can judge whether I am satisfied."
Curumilla smiled.
"Wah!" he said, "all the better."
"Yes, chief, all the better, and let us breakfast. I feel a ferocious appetite ever since, thanks to you, I have been able to see my way a little more clearly."
Curumilla and Don Cornelio had prepared their frugal meal in their cuarto, consisting of red haricot beans with pepper, a few varas of dried meat, and maize tortillas, the whole washed down with aloe pulque of the first quality, and a few tragos of excellent Catalonian refino.
The three friends ate with good appetite, and were preparing to light their cigars, the obligato termination of every American meal, when they heard a discreet tap at the door, which was only leaned to.
"Come in," Valentine said.
A criado appeared, and after bowing courteously to all present, said,—
"My master, his Excellency General Don Sebastian Guerrero, presents his civilities to the caballeros here assembled, and desires that Señor Don Cornelio and Señor Don Louis will favour him with a moment's interview, if their occupations will permit of it."
"Tell his Excellency," Valentine answered, "that we shall have the honour of obeying his orders."
The servant bowed and retired.
"Why, you know, señor," Don Cornelio then said, "that Don Louis is absent."
"No matter: am I not here?"
"That is true, but—"
"Leave me alone," the hunter quickly interrupted him; "I will answer for everything."
"Very good; do as you think proper."
"Trust to me. How can it concern this man whether he deals with Don Louis or anyone else, so long as the ganado is young, vigorous, and cheap?"
"That is true; it must be a matter of indifference to him."
"Come on: you will see that I shall settle this affair satisfactorily."
And he went out, followed by Don Cornelio, who, however, did not seem completely satisfied.