A FRIENDLY DISCUSSION.
After leaving his enemy (for the mysterious man with whom he had so stormy a discussion could be nothing else), Red Cedar set out to join the regiment, and hasten its arrival according to the orders he had received. In spite of himself, the squatter was suffering from extraordinary nervousness, and involuntarily he went over the various points of the conversation with the person who took such precautions in communicating with him. The threats he had proffered recurred to his mind. It appeared as if the bandit, who feared nothing in the world, had good reason, however, for trembling in the presence of the man who, for more than an hour, had crushed him with his irony. What reason could be so powerful as to produce so startling a change in this indomitable being? No one could have said; for the squatter was master of his secret, and would have mercilessly killed anybody he suspected of having read even a portion of it.
The reason was, at any rate, very powerful; for after a few minutes of deep thought, his hand let go the reins and his head fell on his breast: the horse, no longer feeling the curb, stopped and began nibbling the young tree shoots. The squatter did not notice this halt; he was thinking, and hoarse exclamations now and then came from his chest, like the growling of a wild beast. At length he raised his head.
"No," he shouted, as he directed a savage glance at the starlit sky, "any struggle with that demon is impossible. I must fly, so soon as possible, to the prairies of the far west. I will leave this implacable foe; I will fly from him, as the lion does, carrying off my prey in my claws. I have not a moment to lose. What do I care for the Spaniards and their paltry disputes? General Ventura will seek another emissary, for more important matters claim my attention. I must go to the Rancho del Coyote, for there alone I shall find my revenge. Fray Ambrosio and his prisoner can supply me with the weapons I need for the terrible contest I am compelled to wage against that demon who comes straight from hell, and whom I will send back there."
After having uttered these words in a low voice, in the fashion of men wont to live in solitude, Red Cedar appeared to regain all his boldness and energy. He looked savagely around, and, burying his spurs in his horse's flanks, he started with the speed of an arrow in the direction of the rancho, which he had left but a few hours previously, and where his two accomplices still remained.
The monk and the gambusino, delighted at the unforeseen termination of the scene we recently narrated, delighted above all at having got rid of Doña Clara without being immediately mixed up in her escape, tranquilly resumed their game of monte, and played with that mental satisfaction produced by the certainty of having nothing to reproach themselves with, disputing with the utmost obstinacy for the few reals they still happened to have in their pockets. In the midst of a most interesting game, they heard the furious gallop of a horse up the paved street. Instinctively they stopped and listened; a secret foreboding seemed to warn them that this horse was coming to the rancho, and that its rider wanted them.
In truth, neither Fray Ambrosio nor Andrés Garote had a quiet conscience, even supposing, which was very doubtful, that either had a conscience at all, for they felt they were responsible to Red Cedar for Doña Clara. Now that the maiden had escaped like, a bird flying from its cage, their position with their terrible ally appeared to them in all its desperate gravity. They did not conceal from themselves that the squatter would demand a severe account of their conduct, and despite their cunning and roguishness, they knew not how they should get out of it. The sharp gallop of the approaching horse heightened their perplexity. They dared not communicate their fears to each other, but they sat with heads bent forward, foreseeing that they would soon have to sustain a very firm attack.
The horse stopped short before the rancho; a man dismounted, and the door shook beneath the tremendous blows of his fists.
"Hum!" the gambusino whispered, as he blew out the solitary candle that illumined the room. "Who the deuce can come at this advanced hour of the night! I have a great mind not to open."
Strange to say, Fray Ambrosio had apparently regained all his serenity. With a smiling face, crossed arms, and back leaned against the wall, he seemed to be a perfect stranger to what perplexed his mate so furiously. At Garote's remark an ironical smile played round his pale lips for a second, and he replied with the most perfect indifference—
"You are at liberty to act as you please, gossip; still I think it my duty to warn you of one thing?"
"What is it?"
"That, if you do not open your door, the man, whoever he may be, now battering it, is very capable of breaking it in, which would be a decided nuisance for you."
"You speak very much at your ease, señor Padre," the gambusino answered, ill-temperedly. "Suppose it be Red Cedar?"
"The greater reason to open the door. If you hesitate, he will begin to suspect you; and then take care, for he is a man capable of killing you like a dog."
"That is possible; but do you think that, in such a case, you will escape with clean hands?"
Fray Ambrosio looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, but made no further answer.
"Will you open, demonios?" a rough voice shouted.
"Red Cedar!" both men whispered.
"I am coming," Andrés replied, in a voice which terror caused to tremble.
He rose unwillingly, and walked slowly towards the door, which the squatter threatened to tear from its hinges.
"A little patience, caballero," the gambusino said, in that honeyed voice peculiar to Mexicans when they meditate some roguery. "Coming, coming."
And he began unbarring the door.
"Make haste!" the squatter howled, "For I am in a hurry."
"Hum! It is surely he!" the gambusino thought. "Who are you?" he asked.
"What! Who am I?" Red Cedar exclaimed, bounding with wrath. "Did you not recognise me, or are you having a game with me?"
"I never have a game with anyone," Andrés replied, imperturbably: "but I warn you that, although I fancy I recognise your voice, I shall not open till you mention your name. The night is too far advanced for me to risk receiving a suspicious person into my house."
"I will break the door down."
"Try it," the gambusino shouted boldly, "and by our Lady of Pilar I will send a bullet through your head."
At this threat the squatter rushed against the door in incredible fury, with the evident intention of breaking it in; but, contrary to his expectations, though it creaked and groaned on its hinges, it did not give way. Andrés Garote had indulged in a line of reasoning which was far from being illogical, and revealed a profound knowledge of the human heart. He had said to himself, that, as he must face Red Cedar's anger, it would be better to let it reach its paroxysm at once so as to have only the decreasing period to endure. He smiled at the American's sterile attempts, then, and repeated his request.
"Well, then," the other said, furiously, "I am Red Cedar. Do you recognise me now, you devil's own Gachupino?"
"Of course; I see that I can open without danger to your Excellency."
And the gambusino hurriedly drew back the bolts.
Red Cedar rushed into the room with a yell of fury, but Andrés had put out the light. The squatter stopped, surprised by the gloom which prevented him distinguishing any object.
"Hallo!" he said. "What is the meaning of this darkness? I can see nothing."
"Caspita!" Andrés replied, impudently, "Do you think I amuse myself o' nights by watching the moon? I was asleep, compadre, when you came to arouse me with your infernal hammerings."
"That is possible," the squatter remarked; "but that was no reason for keeping me so long at your door."
"Prudence is the mother of security. We must not let every comer enter the rancho."
"Certainly not; I approve of that. Still, you must have recognised my voice."
"True. Still I might be mistaken; it is difficult to know anyone through the thickness of a door; that is why I wished you to give your name."
"Very good, then," Red Cedar said, as if tired of combating arguments which did not convince him. "And where is Fray Ambrosio?"
"Here, I suppose."
"He has not left the rancho?"
"No; unless he took advantage of your arrival to do so."
"Why should he do that?"
"I don't know; you question, and I answer; that's all."
"Why does he not speak, if he is here?"
"He is possibly asleep."
"After the row I made, that is highly improbable."
"Hang it, he may be a hard sleeper."
"Hum!" the squatter snorted, suspiciously; "Light the candle."
Andrés struck a match, and Red Cedar looked eagerly round the room Fray Ambrosio had disappeared.
"Where is the monk?" the American asked.
"I do not know: probably gone."
The squatter shook his head.
"All this is not clear," he muttered; "there is treachery behind it."
"That is possible," the gambusino answered, calmly.
Red Cedar bent on Andrés eyes that flashed with fury, and roughly seized him by the throat.
"Answer, scoundrel?" he shouted. "What has become of Doña Clara?"
The gambusino struggled, though in vain, to escape from the clutch of the squatter, whose fingers entered his flesh, and pressed him as in a vice.
"Let me loose," he panted, "you are choking me!"
"Where is Doña Clara?"
"I do not know."
The squatter squeezed more tightly.
"You do not know!" he yelled.
"Aie!" Andrés whined, "I tell you I do not know."
"Malediction!" Red Cedar went on. "I will kill you, picaro, if you are obstinate."
"Let that man go, and I will tell you all you wish to know," was said in a firm voice by a hunter, who at this moment appeared on the threshold.
The two men turned in amazement.
"Nathan!" Red Cedar shouted on recognising his son. "What are you doing here?"
"I will tell you, father," the young man said, as he entered the room.